#I feel like countries would be warned VERY early not to get involved with humans romantically

[islandiis]

Have you ever dated a human?

Ah... No. [He blushes a bit, though, and then tucks a lock of hair back behind his ear.] It's only the past little while, in my life, that I've really been able to even consider dating. But even then — no, not humans. I have close friends who are human, don't get me wrong! And, I mean... [He coughs briefly into one hand.] I've occasionally, eh, 'hooked up', with a human? Is that the right term? — And even once or twice I've felt, I guess what you might call a "crush" on a human. But I've never acted on it, and — I don't really see it happening. I don't know. I just feel like we are too... different, I guess. I'm over a thousand years old, and — you know. [He gestures to himself, a little sheepishly.] I don't exactly look human, entirely, with my scars and everything. I can sometimes just be mistaken for being albino, in terms of my hair and everything, but my scars...

[He clears his throat, and then shrugs again.] I was also always taught, growing up, not to get involved with humans in that way. I think that's stuck with me. It's just a recipe for heartbreak, and as much as I care for some of them, I think I would feel more comfortable dating other people like me, I guess. Immortals.

[argcicle]

I’m breaking my silence on the matter (/lh). gay block men below the cut

trigger warning for mentions of abuse and death, no explicit details

first off, this starts soon after the manberg festival. the turbulent aftermath of tubbo’s execution for pogtopia creates ghostza, a physical manifestation of the influence he’s had on l’manberg. his hair is longer and sits in the loose ponytail that wilbur and techno always talk about, he looks like the young warrior his sons remember, and the green he wears has faded into a calming blue. but he’s intertwined with memories of wilbur and tommy, so he wanders manberg thinking it’s l’manberg. schlatt finds him in the early hours of the morning, and ghostza is so based on phil’s analogies of kindness and allies that he accepts the idea that wilbur and tommy are on vacation. schlatt uses the relationship mainly for the wealth of information about wilbur and tommy, but he quickly becomes enamored with the idea of having a seemingly godly being on his side.

ghostza’s wings are white and you can tell his clothes aren’t supposed to be blue. they look drained of color like his skin does. his eyes are too white to be blue and too blue to be white. if you would see him out of the corner of your eye, he glitches slightly surrounded by deep blue errors. for his happier and kinder demeanor, he’s terrifying to see roaming manberg. schlatt calls him “angel”. quackity’s scared to call him phil in case he isn’t, so he eventually just calls him “blueberry”.

and the enticing thing about this love triangle is that everyone is suspicious of everyone. schlatt wants both of them all to himself, but in the back of his head he knows the two are meeting without him. quackity is stuck between an abusive man he doesn’t want to leave and the only man who treats him okay but who rings the loudest alarm bells in his head (added with the fact that according to wilbur, phil is on an entirely different server). ghostza fully recognizes schlatt as corrupt and abusive once he sees how “l’manberg” is ran, and is trying to help quackity but is worried about quackity’s involvement.

quackity repeatedly tries to convince schlatt of the danger over nice dinners and being the “housewife” he usually tries to resist. a kiss to Schlatt’s cheek before he complains, “we don’t know where he’s from.” after quackity portions out the food for him, “it’s just worrying that he insists he’s their dad. why would he be on our side?” after he hides his grimace while schlatt admires the apron he had gotten for an old anniversary, “there’s no knowledge of him or what he is.” schlatt just rubs his fingers over the frilly edge of the apron with a blank, unemotional grin. “y’know, it’s- you make such good points, you really do doll. can’t help but notice— you’re focusing a lot of attention on phil and not on the country we are running. and really, you’ve made me realize that I don’t know what you are, quackity. I really don’t. would you care to share?” his eyes gleam with a brutal glee that makes his point loud and clear; “don’t mention this again.”

it’s not like ghostza doesn’t feel the pure animosity quackity has, and he shows it every time quackity withdraws from the situation. but he persists. ghostza chases him down, trying to connect with late night walks and fancy dinners. they mainly remind quackity of how he and schlatt started, which reminds him that schlatt is angry and alone and expecting him home. ghostza mainly crashes the few moments quackity finds himself alone, but eventually he finds himself anticipating the moments he gets to relax with this spirit. ghostza tends to be the only real escape he gets from manberg that doesn’t either get back to Schlatt or is taking away precious time to work on the plan with pogtopia.

with something on his side that’s clearly not human, maybe even ethereal in a way, schlatt gets much more erratic. with no knowledge of ghosts, he assumes it must be a god on his side. he takes more risks, stops the very small and very futile steps for his own health and stretches himself thinner and thinner. it comes crashing down in that rusty old van on november 16th. ghostza crumbles down similarly when he sees himself join the server and kill his own son.

it’s quiet rebuilding l’manberg from the crater. ghostza stays in a snowy area (eventually where techno and phil’s cabin is built) to avoid what the living version of him did. he sees the new l’manberg now and he can’t visit the crater without panicking. quackity visits him occasionally, but ghostza finally disappears during their final meeting after schlatt’s funeral.

quackity meets the real phil soon after, and he vaguely remembers walking around l’manberg. the memories aren’t the same, but they’re close and the closeness drives quackity insane. he misses the blue and the glitching but he still loves phil. he’s a welcome escape; quackity expects his stomach to twist seeing his lover while the butcher army’s actively hunting down techno, but it’s just relief. the last time phil and quackity really talk is once the compass is found, a simple goodbye that feels wrong compared to how phil glares at him.

when phil escapes the server, ghostza returns. quackity is mainly wandering; he does that a lot after his second death, but no matter where he is it doesn’t feel right to settle down there. he’s yet to find an area that is far enough away from kinoko kingdom, or las nevadas, or any place with history that doesn’t turn to a bitter taste in his mouth, so he just returns to glatt’s bunker each night to live in the escapism of the gym and a version of his husband who doesn’t always glare at him.

he finds ghostza while wandering, and they walk around the next few days. on november 13, ghostza, glatt, and quackity sit in the gym and talk. it’s cozy, and quackity has to admit he loves sitting with versions of his past from before so many tragedies. it’s a husband who never wronged him and a lover he never wronged. but it chills him to be the only person living presently, sitting with the ghosts of his past. slowly, quackity’s track jacket goes from navy blue to a light baby blue as if to mimic the two men around him. he senses something else is wrong, but he never thinks it could be the impending doom of the nuclear fallout above them.

beaming the infodump rays into ur mind you wanna listen to my schlatt/quackity/philza thoughts you wanna hear me go insane over three minecraft men /j

[biaswreckme]

how to care for your hybrid | jjk

Pairing: hybrid!Jungkook/Reader

Member: Jungkook

Length: 5253 words

Genre: smut, fluff, angst, 5+1

Rating: 18+

Triggers/Warnings: smut, hybrid smut, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), insinuation of past abuse (but nothing explicit or even saying what happened), mention of abandonment 

Project: @btscreatorscorner​ March workshop with the theme push the limits

Summary: how to care for your hybrid, or 5 times you cared for bunny hybrid!Jungkook and one time he took care of you

A/N: So this was supposed to be a drabble and it turned out to be a 5k fic. Alright. This was written for this month’s workshop for BTS Creators’ Corner network, and the theme was to push the limits. I had never written a hybrid fic before, so I interpret the theme as coming out of my writing comfort zone (even though it’s still smut...) Thankssss to my lobely lobely betas, @heejinnien​ for beta-reading the sfw parts of this fic, and to @taegularities​​ for beta-reading the nsfw bit :3 I love you girls ♥

You can find the sequel here.

1. Provide them with a comfortable home

You still remembered the day you had brought Jungkook home from the shelter. You had gone with a friend, just as a companion, not intending nor really wanting to adopt a hybrid. Sure, you’d feel lonely sometimes, living by yourself and in a foreign country, but the thought of adopting a hybrid had never crossed your mind. Adopting a plant? Sure. Adopting a cat? Maybe. Adopting a hybrid? Never. Until you saw him, that is.

The shelter was legit, your friend had said, having done her research. But the place still made you uncomfortable; the creatures, those people, inside the divisions - you refuse to think of them as cages - waiting for someone to help. You had to bite your lip to keep from crying upon seeing them, knowing it was a rescue shelter, and then your eyes crossed with his.

There was some magnetic energy in the air that had pulled you closer to his unit until you could read the informational pamphlet: he was named Jungkook, a rescue bunny hybrid. Your gaze had immediately shifted to the man again; he was only a couple of years younger than you, but there had been something about his gaze that almost hypnotized you. He had such wide, expressive, and round eyes glistening with moisture and paired with his ears drooping low on the back of his head, you could not resist it.

There would be a home inspection and you would need to get some provisions to fulfill all the exigencies, but you rushed to get everything together. They had provided you with a list of items to make the bunny hybrid comfortable and ease the transition, and you did not hesitate, deciding to worry about the credit card bills later.

And so you took him home. He had clung to you entering the apartment, slowly exploring the space and showing where he would be sleeping. At the shelter, they had told you the hybrid would need an appropriate bed, but you hadn’t felt comfortable just getting a bunny bed at the store, so you got him a real and human bed, wanting him to feel at ease enough to not need to shift into a full bunny to sleep - they had also told you he tended to do that, sleeping as a bunny because he did not feel comfortable in his hybrid human-like body.

You had gotten the basics necessary for the approval of the adoption, and then you took him to the store, letting him choose his own things. It would be a while until that wide-eyed, surprised look would leave his expression, even when you were alone at the apartment and just hanging out on the couch on a Sunday night. That first night, giving him the blankets and tucking him in, you promised to take care of him, and you could barely hear his voice in reply, so small and shy, even though he was much taller - and more muscly - than you. It did not feel right that he had to make himself so quiet and small if that was even possible, so you swore to yourself that you would do everything to help him come out of his shell.

And soon you would find yourself in the company of a very loud and boisterous bunny, no shame about singing, his love for gaming until late hours, and working out. And you could not avoid falling in love with him.

2. Make sure they are getting appropriate food

It was a Friday night, you got home tired after a long day at work, and you smiled to yourself, biting your own lip upon the sight that greeted you upon entering the apartment. A shirtless Jungkook, towel haphazardly thrown over his shoulders, his torso glistening with sweat from working out in your living room. He lifted his head upon hearing you enter, a big smile lighting up his face and his long ears pointed up. He got up and made a movement to hug you.

“Hi, noona!”

“Oh no, you don’t,” you barely ducked out of the day. “Jungkook, you’re sweaty…”

He was faster than you, predicting where you were going to dodge his new attempt at enveloping you with his arms, something he had been picking up whenever you joined him in a boxing workout. His arms quickly went around your body, pressing you against him, your forearms up in the failed endeavor of avoiding getting his sweat all over you. He hugged you tight, his chin resting on your shoulder and you felt one of his ears on your head as his entire body seemed to tremble, and as you looked down you saw his tail wiggle from side to side rapidly.

“You’re finally home,” he sighed, swaying you softly from side to side.

“Is everything okay, bun? I’m sorry I’m late, they had me stay…”

“I’m so hungry,” you could almost see the pout, knowing the small lisp that came out whenever he pursed his lips and whined.

You looked around the living room, seeing the empty protein shaker bottle on the coffee table, narrowing your eyes.

“Didn’t you have your shake? You were working out.”

“Well, I did…” he started.

“We went grocery shopping and there are still some veggies and fruit cut up from our weekend meal prep, bun,” you felt him hiding his face even more on your shoulder, squeezing your body. “What’s going on? Am I forgetting something?” There was a slightly teasing tone in your voice, knowing what he wanted.

“You promised…” his voice was a mumble, muffled by the way his pouty lips were pressing on your body, but before you could ask him to repeat, “You promised pizza night, noona.”

“I know, bun, I haven’t forgotten it,” you stepped away from him, looking into his eyes and seeing his demeanor change completely.

“Oh?”

“I made the order when I was stuck at a red light. I got your favorite,” you were about to continue, but was interrupted by his sweaty hug again, this time accompanied by a chuckle.

“Ok, we have just enough time to shower before it arrives, so let’s run and get ready.”

You were right and there was just enough time to quickly wash the day - and Jungkook’s sweat - away. You set up the coffee table while he went to get the pizza, knowing it would be hot and he would almost drop it entering the apartment as usual. You sat side by side on the floor in front of the small table, turning the television on to the show you have been binging, your backs propped up against the sofa.

Jungkook was usually very strict with his diet, being mindful of the food he ingested to maintain his physique and try to lower his body fat percentage - which was crazy to you, his muscles were already prominent and he seemed to get only bigger… how were you supposed to leave the house to work when you had your bun looking like that, especially early mornings, his hooded half-open eyes almost smiling at you wishing you a good day at work. Your fridge was always full of fresh and cut-up vegetables, fruit, and greens, catering to his diet (and you had to admit you have been eating much better since he entered your life). Sometimes you thought it was all his difficulties from before, his time spent in the shelter, that he had such a love for a cheesy hot pizza every once in a while during the weekend.

And how could you say no to him when he purposefully lowered his ears, pouted, and widened his big round eyes even more to convince you?

3. Explore new things together

��Come on baby, you said you wanted to try this. It’s just us now.”

“Y… yes, noona. It’s just so… big.” Jungkook’s eyes were wide open, looking at the size of the pool in the club. For as much of a muscle bunny he was, the sheer magnitude of the pool seemed to scare him.

He first brought up the idea when you were watching tv a few days ago, some random program late at night showing people on a beach, and Jungkook had seemed to be fixated on the screen. He wanted to visit the sea, for he had never been there before. You agreed to it, but you had to admit that you were scared too, so you compromised: you would start your water adventures at a pool, so he could test things out, see if he truly enjoyed being in the water and swimming.

A few calls later there you were, standing by the water. You picked a time when they said people weren’t usually in - it even involved getting a day off work so you could go this early, but you would do everything for Jungkook. You looked at him, observant, watching his reactions carefully. His ears were down the back of his head, his hands clenched together in front of his shirtless torso, his front teeth worrying into his bottom lip. You took one of his hands into yours and started taking him in the direction of the small ladder to enter the pool. For a moment you wanted to jump in, but you didn’t want to make him even more nervous.

“It’s okay, bun, we’re going into the shallower part so most of your body will be above the water, ok?”

He nodded, but still seemed hesitant to get in, waiting for you to do it first. You stepped down the small ladder, showing him that almost half of your body was above the water, that he would be safe and didn’t need to worry about this part. The water was on the warmer side; you thought going for the hot pool was the best idea to help him feel comfortable at first. He stepped in feet by feet, slowly, his nose scrunched, but the moment he felt the warmth on his feet it was like magic: his ears shot up and his eyes widened in surprise, his mouth coming into a small circle.

You smiled encouragingly and stepped back, giving him some space, seeing him put one of his feet to the bottom and then the other, grounding himself. He was taller than you and he noticed the difference in the level of the water surrounding you. You lowered your body, telling him you were doing it first so as not to frighten him and submerged yourself to get your hair wet. When you emerged, you saw his eyes were wide again, but his ears were not down as before. There was a glint of curiosity in his expression and you nodded in encouragement for him to try it out.

“It’s just like when you wet your hair in the tube, bun. Here, hold on to my hands and remember to hold your breath.”

He did so, holding them tightly in his fists as he bent his knees and lowered his body. You chuckled slightly when you saw that half of his ears were still out of the water, so you quickly untangled one of your hands from his and lightly pressed on them so they were submerged too. He got up and shook his head, water droplets flying everywhere. He started laughing when he saw you put your hands in your eyes, and you couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

“Good?”

“Yes, noona, it’s good.”

“Are you ready to go a bit deeper?” His long ears perked up at your question, but his face seemed apprehensive. “Not much, we’re not swimming today, just going a bit more so you can maybe try floating.” His head moved up and down, agreeing to the idea, and you couldn’t help but think it was so cute the way his ears moved too.

You grabbed both his hands again so you were looking at each other as you slowly started to step back further into the deeper part of the pool. You didn’t rush, letting him adjust to the increasing level of the water, and only moved when he seemed comfortable. Jungkook always loved to have baths, so you figured he would love going to the pool too, especially a hot one. His smile got wider with each step, feeling more confident and safe with you. When the water hit your shoulders, you stopped and let his hands go.

“Bun, let’s try floating, ok? We’re starting small today, so you can just come closer and put your arms around my shoulders.” You said as you turned your back to him, and almost immediately you felt his arms around you. “Good! Now try letting your feet rise from the floor, let your body float a little.”

He tentatively lifted his feet, clinging to you harder as his body moved with the slow slushing of the water.

“I’ve got you, Kook,” you said as you pressed your hands to his. “I’m not letting go. Trust me, bun. Kick your feet back and put your weight on me.”

You felt him kick the water behind you, his strong arms flexing as he let his weight fall onto you. You knew the moment he started to float and enjoyed it; he pressed his face against your neck and started giggling, and when you looked at him, his nose was scrunched with happiness. His long ears were slightly facing backward, his eyes half-closed, and his little tail wiggling. You walked around the same area of the pool while he kicked his feet behind him, laughing freely as he enjoyed himself. As soon as you taught him to swim you would be taking a small holiday on the beach; you wanted to see this joy in him forever.

This moment was worth everything.

4. Make sure they are getting enough attention

“Morning, noona.”

You heard his voice, so gentle and still thick from sleep, waking up to the sound and the small kisses, his lips softly pressing against the back of your neck, his nose smelling your hair, his warm chest pressed against your back. You made an attempt to move your body but he tightened his arms around you.

“No moving yet, noona.”

“Morning, bun. What are you doing?”

“Just making sure you’re not going to leave my arms today,” he started, and you noticed his voice was heavy with emotion.

“Bun?”

He stayed quiet, hiding his face on your shoulder blades, and you did not say anything else until you felt it, until you felt them. There were small droplets of tears falling on your skin, and you turned around quickly to look at him fighting his embrace. Your hands immediately went to his face, wiping his cheeks, seeing him close his eyes and just quietly crying. Whenever he got like this, he would usually be quieter, needing to talk in his own time, so you did not ask him anything else, giving him space to let his feelings out. All you did was press your forehead against his and wipe his tears with your thumbs, and when you saw he would not stop so soon, you hugged him, letting your shirt dampen without caring about it. The moment you cradled his head against your chest, sobs started to wreck his body, making him shake and you could feel tears gathering in your own eyes. You had no idea how long you were like that, slowly caressing his hair, minding his long ears, but all that mattered was Jungkook. Slowly you felt his body starting to shake less, his hard sobs turning into small hiccups as he almost clawed at your back, needing to be closer to you.

“You’re… you’re not leaving me, right, noona?” His voice was quiet, but his question was too loud in the silence of the bedroom on a Saturday morning.

“Jungkook… no, love, I’m not leaving you,” your heart started to crackle with this question, and you pressed him against you even more. “Why, why do you think that, bun?”

He sniffled, pressing his nose against you and inhaling deeply, then said, his tone still small, “I’m feeling lonely… this past week…”

“Oh, Kook…” it seemed impossible, but you held him even closer to you, “I’ve been just too busy and exhausted from work, I know I got here yesterday and you were already in bed… I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

He sniffled again and you felt a new wave of fresh tears wetting your clothes.

“I thought…” he started, but his voice faltered. “I thought I made you mad. I thought you were angry at me… and that…” there was a small sob that shook his entire body, “I was scared, noona, I was scared you were going to take me back.”

You could not stop your own tears from falling on top of his head; you had no idea he had felt that way. You had tried texting him during the day whenever you could have a moment for yourself at work throughout this insane week, but again and again, they demanded more hours from you and you did not have the chance to say no. Jungkook was still finding his freedom and footing in the world, and it had worried you that you had to leave him to spend more time by himself than usual. But you never expected this reaction, and you made up your mind. They could ask someone else at work, why did it always have to be you?

“No, Kook… Listen, bun,” your voice trembled, so you paused to be more stable when talking to him. “I’m so sorry you were alone this week, this is not going to happen again, I promise. And the day you came home with me I made a promise, remember? I’m never taking you back unless you want to go.”

He shook his head quickly, signaling his opposition to the idea.

“I don’t want you to go either, bun. I love you, and I’m sorry again.”

He finally looked at you, murmuring I love you too, a small smile gracing his lips. Your chest was starting to feel lighter, starting to relax after being so worried at his crying. You had never seen him like this, and you never wanted to see it again.

“What do you need from me, bun?” you said and kissed his forehead, letting your lips linger for a brief second.

“Can we just… stay in bed today? I want to stay like this in your arms, I missed you too much, noona.”

“Whatever you want, love, I’m yours.”

“I never want to leave this bed,” he whined, burrowing closer to you, and you noticed that even though his face was swollen from the tears and his voice was hoarse, his ears were more relaxed than they were before; they were tense in a way that was new to you.

“What about food? And I’m sorry, you’re not using this bed as a toilet, ok?” you tried to lighten the mood and it worked, the sound of his delightful chuckle filling the room, and you laughed along. But you understood and agreed. You never wanted to leave this bed. And at least for the day, you would only leave when necessary, needing to feel him in your embrace and carefully observe as he truly started to believe in you, leaving his worries in the past.

5. Love them unconditionally

The first time it happened was purely accidental. You were cuddling on the sofa, watching television, your hand caressing his hair when you felt his entire body tremble with such force that you stopped and looked at him, your hands away from him.

“Jungkook, bun, what… did I hurt you?”

You were worried; his arms were crossed in front of his body and his hands clasped together tightly on his lap. His doe-like eyes were more expressive than ever, open wide, his long ears were down, and he seemed to still be shivering. What had you done? You noticed there was a pink hue starting to tint his cheeks and neck and when you kept staring at him, you saw that he tried to make himself smaller. You felt tears start to gather in the corners of your eyes, fearful that you had done something to remind him of his life before, as he usually referred to the time that preceded the shelter.

“I’m sorry, Jungkook. I’m so sorry, just tell me what I did so I don’t do it again.”

“You didn’t…” he started, his voice slightly higher-pitched than usual. He cleared his throat and continued, his eyes wandering around the living room,  “you… I…”

You nodded, trying to encourage him to speak, needing to know what went wrong.

“Noona… my ears… my bunny ears, they’re, hm, too sensitive,” he said, blushing harder, and he shuddered.

Oh.

Oh. Your gaze shifted downwards, and you could see his hands were trying to conceal his erection. You licked your lips unconsciously, and his eyes seemed to get even bigger.

“Bad sensitive or good sensitive?”

He looked down at your question, clenching his hands and pressing them on his crotch, but said “Good sensitive, I think?”

You scooted a little closer to him on the couch but still did not touch him. “Talk to me, bun,” you said softly, feeling that the subject was delicate, but you wanted to know whether or not to bring it up again, whether or not you could touch him like that.

“Noona… no one ever touched them like this before, like you,” he seemed hesitant, but continued nonetheless, “you don’t hurt me. You like it, you like me, right?”

You did not think twice before enveloping him into a hug, pressing him tight against you, overwhelmed with emotions at his question.

“I love you, Jungkook. Every part of you.” You had a feeling that this was what he needed to hear. It was not often that you saw him being insecure anymore, and it tugged on your heart uncomfortably. “You don’t ever have to feel bad with me, ok? I love you,” you repeated, emphasizing, trying to comfort him.

“I love you too, Y/n,” his voice continued soft, but he looked a tiny percentage more confident. “I think… at some point… maybe…” he looked at you, and you nodded again for him to continue. “I think I might want you to touch them when we’re, you know,” he wiggled his eyebrows up and down, chuckling, and there he was, getting back to you.

You laughed with him. It was unusual seeing him this shy in talking about sex, as he was definitely not shy at all performing it or even talking about it most of the time, but you understood this was a different issue.

“Only if it will make you feel good, bun, you know I don’t want to hurt you or make you uncomfortable,” you took his hand and held it, caressing the back of it with your thumb, and he nodded.

The next time it happened was not accidental at all, and it caught you by surprise.

You were already in bed, whispering sweet nothings as sleep didn’t reach you. The kiss started innocent enough, his lips pressing softly against yours while his hands stopped at your lower back, pulling you towards his body. His tongue caressed your lower lip and you opened your mouth, deepening the kiss as you pressed your body closer to his. His leg nudged its way between yours, and shortly after he rolled over you, his underwear not able to conceal his erection and you felt it directly where you needed it as he grabbed your leg and wrapped it around his waist.

His kisses moved down to your neck, nipping and sucking, his hips subtly moving, stimulating you. You grabbed his hair as he descended, lifting your tank top, softly sucking on your nipples as his hands started to lower your panties. He wasted no time, licking your slit from bottom to top, pausing to circle your clit before putting his lips around it and sucking rhythmically as one of his fingers teased your opening, slowly moving in and out. It wasn’t long until you felt your orgasm building that your hands grabbed his hair, pulling him up and towards you.

“I want you in me,” you whispered against his lips, tasting yourself, you needed to feel him.

He nodded and quickly removed his underwear, throwing it haphazardly behind him. He moved back between your legs, lowering his body on top of yours as you crossed your legs on his waist, helping the angle. His cock started to press into you and you felt the delicious stretch, inch by inch. His thickness filled you perfectly; you could almost feel the veiny lines that adorned the underside of his cock pressed on your walls, and whenever his hips made those small sharp trusts, the upwards curve of his erection put some pressure just right where your sweet spot was.

It was sweet and slow, your mouths connected in a seemingly never-ending kiss, his hips moving without rush, the pleasure building unhurriedly and constantly, his weight on top of you heightening the feelings. You started canting your hips with his, your languid movements following his rhythm, and his hand reached to yours, intertwined your fingers. He broke the kiss, looking into your eyes as he directed your hand to his hair. You immediately entangled your fingers on his dark strands, tugging on it and he moaned, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again and stopping the movements of his hips. Before you could ask what happened, he pushed your fingers from his hair, shaking his head softly and smiling. Still staring, he lowered his head and made your fingertips graze against one of his long ears, almost a ghost-like touch. You opened your mouth in surprise and let out a loud moan at the same time, as your first touch on that sensitive part of his made him snap his hips hard once against yours.

A shiver perpassed his body, probably due to the intensity of the touch, but he looked at you and nodded, and so you did not hesitate. Your other hand went to his head too, so you could gently caress his bunny ears; he trembled again but started moving his hips, this time with more urgency and small whines came out of his mouth in between kisses on your neck. One of his hands sneaked between your bodies, his thumb circling your clit, pressing on it, needing you to get closer, the intensity of his orgasm starting to overwhelm him. You were already close, so close to it, but you wanted him to reach his peak with you.

“Can I…” you pause to moan, feeling the edge approaching, “can I touch your tail too?”

He seemed so lost in the moment that you had to repeat the question, the need clear in your voice, and upon hearing it again, he did not hesitate in moaning out an affirmation, curious to see what it would feel like. You waited until you were at the brink of the precipice, your right hand going down his body, his back. And just as a sharp snap of hips hit you just right, snapping the coil of your orgasm, your fingers reached the fluffy tail. Feeling your touch, Jungkook let out a loud shout and stopped his hips, his cock deep inside you as you felt him pulse and his entire body trembled. He fell on top of you as aftershocks still ran through his figure, little high-pitched moans leaving his lips. You were not sure how long you were like that, legs entangled, your fingers caressing his back soothingly as your own body calmed down from the intense orgasm.

“Jungkook?”

“I’m…” he moaned out, “good. We’re doing this again as soon as I have control over my body, okay?”

You chuckled and he moaned for you to stop, the tiniest of movements overwhelming his senses. The next time you giggled at a comment he made, he turned you over, pushing your upper body into the bed and hoisting your hips up, and you certainly did not laugh anymore that night.

+1: Expect to be surprised by them

You heard the commotion outside on the street and you ran out of the apartment to the front door of the small building to see what it was about, and you opened it just in time to see Jungkook stepping out of the cause of the noise.

“Bun, what’s all this?”

“Oh hi noona! Surprise!”

It was indeed a surprise. This morning you had woken up and could not find Jungkook anywhere so you assumed he had gone for a run, but apparently not. There he was standing and waving at you in front of a camper van, a huge smile on his face, his long ears perked up. You could see your neighbors, Taehyung and his cat hybrid Jimin next to him, a sheepish expression on Taehyung’s face and a smile as big as Jungkook’s on Jimin’s lips.

“We’re going camping, noona!” Jungkook said as he approached you, enveloping you into his arms. “You’ve been so tired from work and now that you have a break, I thought we could go camping and have some fun…”

“Right now?” You asked, a little overwhelmed, but starting to get excited about the idea.

“Yes! Taehyung-hyung called up this place and rented the van, we got groceries, and Jimin even helped me pick a new coat for you, noona, I know you needed one.”

You felt your eyes tear up. You were so used to taking care of Jungkook and putting him in the first place that it was strange having someone take care of you like this. But this was Jungkook, you should have expected that. The day you brought him home from the shelter, he had said he would take care of you just as much as you would take care of him. You kissed him softly, pressing him against your body, and you whispered a thank you low in his ear.

“I love you, noona. Now let’s get your things ready, we have to get going, or else Tae-hyung said he is going to play all his old records in this player he brought the entire trip,” he stated wide-eyed and clearly hinting that he definitely did not want that.

You chuckled, knowing how picky Jungkook was with everything - his food, his clothes, his music. You took his hand and pulled him into the house, waving to the other boys at the front, signaling you would be out in a minute. You quickly packed a bag with Jungkook’s help and you waited as he got his camera and equipment bag, not forgetting the aux cord, set on not letting the other boys have control over the music.

What you would find only later on that evening is that for the first night, Taehyung and Jimin would set their tent a little far from the camp, giving you two some space for the date Jungkook had planned. A bottle of your favorite wine, Jungkook cooking a simple dinner by the fire camp, the bun’s eyes shining brightly as he scrunched his nose, and his small tail wagging slowly to the rhythm of a Frank Sinatra record under the moonlight.

--

Hope you enjoyed it and if you want to read more, how about finding out about the first time bun!Jungkook went to the beach?

[catalina187]

Reality Check

Supergirl x Protester/Human Rights Activist FemReader

Warnings: Angst/Violence/Police violence/Hurt-comfort

A/N: It's my first time writing something like this. With what's going on in Colombia, I needed a way to relay what's happening. This is based on my own experience as well as a variety of testimonies from the protests going on.

This is gonna be long, but I need to do it in one go.

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

You've been dating Kara for a few months now, when the bulk of the protests started. They have been going on throughout the country, as the current administration kept making terrible decisions in favor of the political elites, while getting an increased pushback from the people. The final blow was a new tax reform that would increase taxes for the middle class, creating greater inequality and the rich to become richer.

You started out as a small-time journalist at CatCo, but slowly you made your way up and now are one of the top political journalist and columnist. However, recently you've been more involved in activism and actually organizing protests in National City.

It was difficult at the beginning, since you felt you had to cover the protest with an unbiased look, but after what you've seen...you took a break from reporting and actually got involved in organizing, deciding to take a sabbatical as to not tarnish your reputation as a journalist. Now, you formed part of a Human Rights brigade in charged of looking out for those protesting on the streets and those who get arrested by the police, as there had been reports that the police were making young protesters disappear without a trace.

Tonight you left early because you had promised Kara that you'll be at game night. You knocked the door tiredly after yet another day of tear gas, water cannons, and rubber bullets, but you really wanted to see Kara and just be with your friends, trying to cope with how fucked up everything was at the moment.

The door opened to reveal your gorgeous girlfriend with an empathetic expresion on her face.

"Hey baby!" Kara greeted excitedly and hugging you tight.

"Hi Kara" you said quietly into her neck with a small smile on your face. Your girlfriend really could make you feel better with just a small gesture...it was just amazing.

"I'm so glad you could make it" Kara replied, pulling away to let you in.

"Me too, I really needed this." you said, coming into her place and leaving your make-shift shield, helmet, gasmask, and backpack near the door.

"Oh look who it is!" Nia said giving you a smile. You notice that the TV was on, apparently on the news channel covering today's protest. People were still out there, but your mates were keeping watch.

"Sorry I was late guys" you sat down next to Lena, who was getting the Scrabble board ready.

"Don't worry about it, today seem like a difficult day." Alex said a bit tightly.

You were about to reply, but Kara beat you to it.

"Okay, let's play!" She said sitting on the floor between your legs after she gave you a glass of your favorite wine. Leave it to Kara to just know how to make you feel better.

"Get ready to get your ass kicked Danvers." you smirked to Alex.

While you loved Kara so much, your relationship with her sister was a bit strenous as well with her friends, but not because they were bad people of anything. However, as you got more involved in activism, you realized not only how wrong the system was, but more importantly that those in power would do anything to keep it. The problem was that both the Danvers sisters and their friends worked for said government and were part of the system that had been killing, injuring and disappearing people for weeks now.

This is why you chose not to talk about that particular topic, and mentioned very little of your work to your friends, which made things a bit easier. What surprised you however, was the fact that even when they would still defend the government and law enforcement, they did started to see and pay atention to what was actually going on a bit more critically than before.

"And the reign of terror continues!" Kara said as she put in a word that honeslty no one was very sure actually existed, giving her an even greater advantage.

"Oh come on...how is that even a word!" Kelly said laughing at Kara's antics.

You kept playing probably until 1am, when the guys finally dicided it was time to put an end to Kara's reign of Scrabble terror.

You helped Kara put things away and got ready for bed. You immediately looked for her comforting arms, resting your head on her chest.

"You know...I've been thinking." Kara whispered after a while.

"Mhmm..."you replied, implying you were awake and listening.

"The streets are getting worse."

"Yeah..." you lifted your head a little to see Kara frowning, as if trying to find the right words to say.

"We were talking with Lena about getting more coverage of the people on the streets."

"Kara...I'm not..."

"No, not you."

It takes a few seconds for you to realize what she's trying to say.

"Oh..." you opened your eyes a little. "You mean you wanna cover the protests."

"Yeah, I mean...you're always saying how we actually need to see things for ourselves and not from the news, and what better way than to be on the ground....with you."

"Kara...I'm not sure." you replied, trying to collect your thoughts. "I mean, I think it's a good idea...but if you're gonna do this, you can't turn into supergirl."

"Why not?" Kara asked, looking at you, knowing how easily the streets have turned almost into a war zone. "Y/N if the police is as violent as you say it is, then you guys will need all the help you can get."

"Kara..." you know that what she's saying actually make sense, but the reality is much more complicated. "Please just trust me on this. Under no circumstance you can be Supergirl out there. You'll understand once you start talking to the people." you reasoned with her.

--------

It's been a few days since both you and your girlfriend talked about the protests. You knew that Kara wanted to cover from the streets, but unfortunately Supergirl business got in the way and prevented her from doing so.

Fortunately the past few days the chaos had died down a bit and protesters were able to get a bit of a breather...specially after National City's Pride. But now, tensions were at an all-time high after a human rights organization released an gut-punching report on the countless of abuses from the police and armed forces. You were getting all your gear ready because you know today was gonna be difficult. You packed extra bandages, water, baking soda, among other supplies. It was gonna be a long day.

Then you got the call. Kara had lost her powers fighting something. Solar-flared they call it.

Immediately you left your place and got to the DEO in record time. They already knew you, and while most of the people working there didn't agree with your opinions on the social unrest, they still cared about you...or at least that's what you thought. You saw Kara sitting on a gurney at the medbay. She looked ok, but...human.

"Kara! Are you alright love?" You asked having only eyes for your girlfriend.

"Hey baby...I'm fine." She replied. "Just, you know...human for a few hours."

"I'm glad." you smiled back, then turning to Alex. "Can I take her home?"

"Yeah, she doesn't have any injuries that we need to be concerned about."

"Thanks, Alex." you took Kara's hand. "Come on, I promise we'll get some potstickers on the way."

"Actually Y/N..." Kara stopped you. "Isn't there a major protest today?"

"Uh...yes? Why?" you asked, not sure where she was going.

"Well...I'm human, and you said that we needed to experience what you guys are going through out there...what better way than as a human?"

"No." "Absolutely not." both you and Alex say at the same time.

"Why not?" Kara crossed her arms lifting an eyebrow. "You don't have any powers Y/N and yet you put yourself at risk every day"

"Kara, you're not used to this..."

"Plus, you're too important." Alex complemented, and you simply nodded.

"No. That's crap and you know it." your girlfriend looked more determined than ever, which meant that there was no convincing her. "I'm going."

[potteresque-ire]

Not sure if this has circulated before, but here’s a link to Henry Jenkin’s reactions to 227, largely as responses to an interview he did with Sanlian Lifeweek magazine (三聯生活周刊), a publication modelled after TIME magazine and published under China Press Publishing group (中國出版集團), the largest and state-owned publisher in China. The magazine asked for Jenkin’s opinions on the fandom-related aspects of 227 back in March, 2020. Henry Jenkins, as many may already know, is among the most renowned scholars of (Western) fan culture ... if not the most renowned.

Personally, I find this article to be quite limited in perspective, because 227 had a significant non-fandom-oriented, sociopolitical component ~ and hence its scope, its chaos, its damage. IMO, 227 stopped being a fan war, stopped being about solos, cpfs, and even Gg the moment AO3 was shut down ~ the powerful Chinese state had intervened, and the incident necessarily became a political incident. That One Fic on AO3, the conflict between solos and cpfs about whether and where That Fic should exist was at most a lighter left at the scene of what would become the blaze; it wasn’t even responsible for igniting the first fire. Most i-turtles (i-fruits?) are probably aware too at this point: if fan wars are sufficient to start 227, then there wouldn’t have been a 227 ~ because 227 would have been every date of the year.

Fan culture is fundamentally transgressive, and what that means can only be defined in the context of the subculture’s “mainstream” sociopolitical and cultural environment. I therefore find the article’s attempt to transplant Western fan culture’s observations / theories / analysis / conclusions to the incident without explicitly comparing, addressing in depth the differences of the pre- and post-transplant environment to be ... prone to rejections (as organs are after transplantations!)—exclusion from being useful or valid. And this article was very short on such comparisons or address. Jenkins being a fandom expert aside (and he was careful about not treading outside his area of expertise), early “antis” of 227 presented themselves as crusaders for the freedom of speech and, by late March when this article was published, the heated debates surrounding the incident on Chinese social media had already led to embarrassment for multiple powerful state publications. It was probably a wise choice to not make another dive into the political aspects of the incident.

Being a new(-ish) turtle who joined the fandom a full half-year after 227, I’ve been backtracking, trying to really understand the incident, which remains very much beyond comprehension in many aspects. The discussions I’ve dug up that have most fascinated me have been those in non-fandom spaces, by non-fandomers / politics enthusiasts who barely knew who Gg was, who didn’t know That One Fic involved more than one idol and had zero knowledge about solos vs cpfs. In these discussions, “antis” are not referred to as “antis” because while the action of the so-called “227 coalition” was to kill Gg’s career, that wasn’t considered its ultimate goal ~ its ultimate goal was to warn whoever tried to clamp down the freedom of expression that their opposition was strong enough, populous to fight back and take away whatever, whoever those who attempted the clamp-down care the most about. In this case, “Gg fans”—I put this in quotes because eventually, no one would know who would lurk behind those pro-Gg Weibo IDs (and the anti-Gg ones as well)—were the perceived enemies of creative freedom. Gg, assumed to be the one, the symbol of what “GG fans” cared about the most, naturally became the target of the coalition.

Gg wasn’t special in that sense ~ and that was perhaps, the saddest thing I found about this incident as a Gg fan (without quotation marks); Gg could be any idol who achieved top fame at the moment, who had enough fans to make the point known. The coalition was therefore not “anti-Gg” in its ideological sense. It was anti the fan circle culture that had cemented Gg’s popularity, that had already been known to deal extremely poorly with dissent—complaints had been abound that c-ent was no longer fun for bystanders because the latter could issue no critique, not even doubt, about an idol without the fear of being reported, torn down by fans. The coalition eventually grew to include anti the many happenings, the many censorships and imprisonments in the past few years that had silenced the creative crowd in China, happenings people dared not speak about beyond a loud grumbling ...

The coalition tried to take down Gg, because they couldn’t take down the force that had shut down AO3, that was truly responsible for the silencing. They played the Hunger Games in the Weibo arena instead of challenging Who The Real Enemy Was, because some might not have given much thought about  The Enemy; some might have thought the Enemy too invincible to be worth the effort; some might have got too carried away by their blood thirst, the cruel schadenfreude of shredding a beautiful, successful young man into pieces, and forgot why they were there in the first place ... 

And that was only the political side of 227. 227 was also widely suspected to have a commercial component, which added another layer to the symbolism behind Gg the Idol ~ pretty much as soon as 227 happened, netizens investigated, tried to uncover the chain of capital behind Gg. With the scent of money was the memory of filth associated with it, in a country not exactly  unknown for its corrupt business practices. Much like in The Book of Exodus in the Bible, the Idol is believed to be forged with gold; it is ungodly, tainted. Whether Gg the Person was identical to Gg the Idol, Gg the Symbol mattered to few. That Gg *was* a person seemed lost to many ... 

I’ll have to dive into the non-fandom aspects of 227 with more rigour. As much as I'd love to leave 227 behind, every time I see Gg, I see its legacy on his face, in his smile, and perhaps, I’m not the only one ~ ADLAD cast him as Patient #5 because of 227′s effect on him. Put it another way, 227 is already modifying, writing Gg’s career trajectory ~ a trajectory that is undoubtedly under scrutiny by many who wish to duplicate his success but circumvent his pain. And every time I see a young idol—Gg, Dd, and anyone else—I wonder if the hurt of 227 can happen to them (again) because the crux of the incident has never been resolved; the oppression and silencing have remained strong as ever. 

Anyway (sorry for the rant) ... what I found noteworthy about this article was the quotes the magazine highlighted in its published form (in Chinese), which weren’t highlighted by Jenkins on his own website. They reflected what the magazine would like to be the take-home messages of the interview. I’ve listed them below; all of which had Jenkins as the speaker:

[Pie Note: About Real Person Fiction (RPF) in Western fandoms]

“American fans often do have some shared norms about what is and is not appropriate to write, mostly having to do with protecting the privacy of other people in the star’s life. Writing about the star is seen as fair game; writing about their family members is not.”

---

[Pie Note: About GG being “cast” as a transgender woman in The One Fic that started the incident; gender in fandom]

“We write fan fiction as a form of speculation and exploration. For some people, it may be one of the few spaces in the culture where they can express who they are, what they are feeling, what they are desiring. And for others, it is a place of “what if” where they explore in fantasy things they would not necessarily desire in reality.” 

---

[Pie Note: Whether GG should be held responsible for his fans’ behaviour]

“Under these circumstances, I would not hold a performer responsible for his fans’ behaviors but the performer is responsible for their own behavior and fans may respond negatively to performers who over-react to the existence of alternative fantasies and insult or hector their audiences.”    

---

[Pie Note: About AO3 and why fans were so upset about its closure] “Keep in mind that AO3 is a particular kind of platform. Alongside Wikipedia, AO3 is one of the greatest accomplishments of participatory culture in the digital era.”

---

[Pie Note: About the “problematic” content on AO3]

“Among my findings were that fan fiction sites can be a valuable space for young people to acquire skills (and receive feedback) on their writing from more experienced writers who share these same passions ... That said, while teens have participated in fandom, a large part of those on AO3 are adults, engaging in adult conversations on adult topics.”

---

[Pie Note: About media text in the new media era]

“First, I would stress the proliferation of media texts at the current moment ... We have access to a much broader range of media content than ever before and in this context, fans play a constructive role in curating that content, helping some shows get greater visibility ...  Second, these texts have become more malleable”

---

[Pie Note: About idols not producing “good” media texts]

“Rather, the question should be what are fans finding meaningful about these performers and the texts they generate. I start from the premise that human beings do not engage in meaningless activities. I may not immediately recognize why something is meaningful but my job as a scholar is to understand why cultural materials are meaningful to the people who cherish them.”

---

My understanding of this selection of quotes is this: this state publication (as others) was quite ready to forgive Gg, to put this incident behind. It could choose to not publish this interview; it could choose to leave out certain quotes, or not do the highlighting that cast both AO3 and Gg in a positive / innocent light. But it did all these things. This article furthers my impression that the state never intended 227 to blow up the way it did, and that it did—enough for stories about it to be found in non-China websites, and in English—was what I’m still trying to comprehend. 227 was, admittedly, how I was first introduced to Gg beyond Wei Wuxian. And as I got to know Gg, like Gg, my want to understand 227 only becomes stronger, perhaps because only through comprehension I feel I can find peace for the GG fan (again, without quotation marks) in me.

Maybe I should email Dr Jenkins and ask if he’s looking for a PhD candidate. 5 years of research and thinking ... maybe that’s what it’ll take. 

I feel I’ve already started anyway. 

[eddiesfaerie]

Long Sleeves (part 2)

Summary: Pushed to its absolute limits; a retelling of the past 4 months of you and Charlie’s complicated relationship (13.5k words, i dont know what to say other than im so sorry)

Warnings: NSFW, f!reader, major angst, annoying fluff, mentions of divorce, affairs, age gap (between Charlie and reader, previously implied), nudes, phone sex, PIV sex, daddy kink, some size kink, pain kink(?), rough (and angry and sad) sex, dom and sub themes, spanking, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), i also mention christmas a lot at the beginning which isn't really a warning but i know not everyone celebrates it!

Part 1

A/N: for those of you who are not a fan of d*ddy kink but who may still want to read this; i only use it between the time stamps of Christmas Eve to March, following the March timestamp there will be no mention or use of that word! just thought i’d mention cause the ending is cathartic!

LATE DECEMBER - APARTMENT

With Henry and Nicole staying in LA until after the holidays, Charlie would be alone with you until he left again.

And he didn’t leave your apartment once in the meantime.

Making up for lost time, is what you could call it.

The hours, days, spent in between sheets, on countertops, on couches, in the shower. Like he was trying to mark your apartment with his scent, make sure you never forgot him when he would leave again for LA in a few days.

You would remember him everywhere.

The way your knees bruised on the tile floor of your shower. The welts on your ass from his harsh hand. The bite marks on your shoulders, the bruises littering your neck, stomach, anywhere he could reach.

You would remember him everywhere.

The thousands of ‘good girls��� he praised you with and the thousand and one ‘fucking sluts’ he punished you with. Charlie was coming to know your insides and outs better than you could at this point, it was a certain level of familiarity you were happy with him reaching. He was becoming more and more comfortable around you.

You could tell not just because of the frequent sex, the hard fucking, but because of how he was opening up to you about the divorce. About what was really going on down in LA, what was happening with Henry, what had been happening (or more so, not happening) with Nicole for nearly the past year. 

He told you about how she ignored him, refused to have sex with him, even touch him. How he had found solace in a one time affair with their stage director, how he just missed feeling needed, feeling wanted by the only person who was supposed to fulfill that innate human desire.

He told you everything he could think of, every little detail. He was tired of hiding, holding it in.

He realized he would have to tell you when he would get a random call from his lawyer or from Nicole herself, when he would talk to Henry. When he yelled through the phone or hung up crying, slamming his device against the wall, nearly breaking it.

He knew he would have to explain it to you, he owed it to you.

You deserved to know, especially now that he was involving you in this to some degree. He didn’t want to, didn’t want to involve you but he needed you more than he needed anyone else right now. More than he was ready to admit perhaps, just how much he truly needed you.

And that’s why going back to LA would be the hardest thing he’s done all week.

He stood at the door, dressed, suitcase packed, heart lurching, thumping low in his chest with dread, resent, fear, and some feeling he couldn’t fucking name.

Lo-

“I wish you could come.” He says instead, the saddest smile you’ve seen adorning his perfect lips. You smile back, just as sadly. You know there was absolutely no reason for you to go to LA with him, to spend Christmas with Nicole and Henry and whatever extended family would be there as well. It would never happen, never work. At least, not right now. Not like this.

The divorce proceedings were on break till after the holidays, both in and against Charlie’s favour. It meant not giving Henry two Christmases, one last normal one. But it also meant pretending, indulging in that… façade that him and Nicole have been keeping up for too fucking long now.

The deed would be done sometime in February, maybe March, Charlie couldn’t remember. He tried not to think about it too much. Think about losing everything-

“I know. But you’ll enjoy yourself. Henry will be happy.” You remind him, letting him hold you so, so tightly. His vice grip, digging into you, trying to anchor himself to you.

“I can’t believe I’m leaving you alone during fucking Christmas.” You laugh.

“I’m going home to see my parents, I won’t be alone, Charlie.” He nods his head, hearing the words you’re saying but he still can’t stop the guilt from creeping up on him. He doesn’t want you to think he’s abandoning you. He won’t abandon you, like everyone’s abandoned him. He just hoped you wouldn’t abandon him either.

Charlie presses his forehead against yours, his hands gripping your waist and pressing your body against his. Your arms wrap around his neck.

“I’ll call you this time, I promise. Every night… I’ll call.”

“Okay.” You giggle, believing him.

His hand sneaks its way up your jaw, gripping your cheeks gently but angling your face for you to meet his dark, dark eyes. You know that look, so familiar now. You feel the pressure start to rise inside you, heat pooling in the very pit of your stomach.

“You’ll be good for me?” You nod immediately, fervently.

“Yes, Charlie.”

“If I ask you to send me pictures, what’ll you do?”

“S-send you pictures.” Breathless, your voice sounds so breathless. Your eyelids threatening to close but you keep them on him, always.

“That’s my good girl.” He growls, tilting your face all the way to his lips, a kiss, a seal of approval. You moan against his lips, letting your eyelids flutter shut, imagining yourself in all those new lingerie sets he’s bought you over the last week.

Your early Christmas presents, he had told you.

“The… the taxis waiting out front.” You say against his lips, not wanting him to leave just yet, but also not wanting him to leave you high and dry before getting on a plane set for across the country for at least another week, probably longer. Charlie ignores you, shoving his tongue down your throat, his grip on your jaw moving down to your neck, squeezing ever so slightly, fingers ghosting over bruised skin, enough to make you fall further into his chest, gripping his perfectly ironed shirt, ruining it.

He pulls away all too soon, no doubt doing this to you on purpose. It was 7am and you were already whimpering into his parted lips.

“I-I’ll miss you.” You admit, heart crashing into your ribs. 

You hadn’t meant to say it but he was making your brain foggy, your thoughts were jumbled together and you just let it slip past your lips. Charlie stares at you, red lips swollen like petals, cheeks matching, hair perfectly in place with your help nothing but fifteen minutes earlier. It feels like a lifetime has passed before he says anything back to you. The taxi honks outside on the curb.

“I’ll… I’ll miss you more.”

CHRISTMAS EVE - UPSTATE NEW YORK

It was relieving to be away from the city, surrounded by more wilderness, more foliage, more trees, more animals. A literal breath of fresh air that wasn’t tainted by sewage and the ever present scent of smoke coming from somewhere or someone.

You loved coming up here. Escaping. You hadn’t been back home since last Christmas. You moved away when you were quite young, the relationship you had with your parents was complicated, clashing personalities, it was difficult to understand each other when you were younger but there was clarity that came with age. They finally respected you, and you finally respected them as well, understanding them better.

You think spending so much time with Charlie and Henry gave you an insight into parenthood that you had never been privy too beforehand. You were thankful for that, not only did you appreciate your parents more, but now parenthood had many more benefits that you had never considered before. Magical, rewarding, fulfilling.

Charlie kind of made you feel that way too.

It was still awkward at times with your parents, that was unavoidable. No siblings around meant all eyes were on you. They were asking for too many details, prying too deep and you just never felt comfortable indulging in yourself this much. But you always came prepared, it was the holidays after all, things always got weird.

After Christmas Eve dinner, your parents invited you out on a walk with them around their little town. They did this every night apparently, just walking together, talking. It was cute, endearing. You declined their offer, however. Thankfully you weren’t sixteen anymore, and your parents didn’t press you any further to come along with them like they used to.

They’d be back in thirty minutes.

That gave you thirty minutes to call Charlie. Just as he instructed.

Earlier this evening, as your parents were beginning to prepare dinner, Charlie’s family was just finishing lunch out in California. A perfect time for a perfect distraction, or intrusion. 

You had packed a few sets of the new lingerie Charlie had bought you, not knowing what he would want to see on you or how often you should switch it up. You nearly brought all of them but didn’t want to take up too much space in your luggage and be suspicious.

You put one on that you thought Charlie was particularly fond of, a skimpy little number that revealed more skin than hid, it’s colour complimenting your skin like it was made for you, made to hug your figure in all the right places. You forgot that Charlie had such a visual mind sometimes, he knew exactly what you would look good in.

Nervous and a bit shaky, you tucked yourself away into your childhood bedroom to take your pictures for Charlie. You felt like a teenager again.

Charlie was not pleased with the timing of your pictures, seeing as he was surrounded by family and innocently looked at his phone only to get a glimpse of your beautiful fucking body, all the blood going from his head straight to his cock. He nearly fainted. His cheeks lit up like Nicole’s Christmas tree and he stumbled from his chair. Thankfully, everyone seemed to be more occupied with paying attention to Henry than to notice him sprint to the bathroom to scold you over text.

That was hours ago. Charlie had told you to call him exactly at 11pm eastern time. That was only 8pm where he was but he said it worked out perfectly so you didn’t argue. You just waited patiently on your bed, number dialed on your phone and ready to call, all the clock head to do was strike eleven.

Finally, the clocks ding around the house, your thumb flies across your screen and you hold the phone up to your ear, worrying the flesh of your lip between your teeth. It rings once, twice, three times before you can hear his breath on the other end. It already sounds heavy.

“H-hi Charlie.”

“What are you wearing.” His voice is strained, maybe he’s already holding himself in his hand.

“Merry Christmas Eve.” You twist your fingers together nervously. Charlie grunts on the other end, a frustrated sound.

“I f-fucking told you, no pleasantries. I-it’ll only make us miss each other more-” You stayed quiet. You knew he was right, but you already missed him so much and hearing his voice was making it worse. You felt your lip tremble, you missed his arms, his warmth, his-

“Are you fucking pouting right now?” His voice was firm, sturdy, and annoyed.

“No, Charlie.” A lie.

“Good, now tell me what you’re wearing.”

“I’m wearing your favourite, the one from earlier. I’m barely covered.”

“Oh I know baby, your tits looked so fhuuuucking good in those pictures you sent me.” The fluctuation in his voice was rising and falling randomly, you could picture his hand wrapped tightly around his angry cock, the head flushed red, precum dribbling out the top, just begging to be licked. He tasted so good…

“A-are you touching yourself?”

“No, you didn’t tell me to.”

“G-good girl, you’re so fucking good to me, you know that?” You pictured his chest, the way he flushes right in the center, between his pecs. The way the red splotches climb up, up, up his neck and onto his cheeks and up to the peaks of his ears. You thought about the heavy rise and fall of his chest as well, how fucking wide he is, how much bigger than you he is. You audibly moaned.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about?”

“Y-you.”

“Be specific- fuck.”

“Um, your- your cock. How big it is, how big you are. How it feels when you stretch me out, when you go so deep I feel you in my stomach-”

“Keep going baby, I’m… I’m so f-UHcking close.”

“I think about the first time, a-a lot. How it felt the first time you split me open- fuck Charlie you’re so big I never think you’re going to fit but I always take it, I-”

“Yeah, yeah you always take me like the good little girl you are, such a good fucking slut for me, taking my cock in that tight fucking pussy.” He sneers, you can tell he’s talking from behind clenched teeth and you moan again, loudly. Your brain short circuits, what comes out next, comes from the deepest part of you.

“Oh Daddy,-”

“What did you just call me?”

Fuck.

You hadn’t really meant to say it, you were just so caught up in the moment, the feeling, the sound of him that you completely lost your inhibitions and let it slip out. You expected him to just end the call now.

“Charlie I’m so sorry-” He cuts you off with a firm call of your name.

“I asked you a question. What… did you call me?” Your stomach flips and your insides threaten to spill past your lips and onto your floor.

“Daddy.” You say so quietly you’re not sure he even heard you.

“I didn’t catch that.”

“Daddy.” Frustration laces your voice as you project the word throughout the entire upper floor of the house. He definitely hears it that time. You think you hear Charlie moan on the other end but you don’t want to be too hopeful.

“You wanna call me Daddy? Hmm? You want me to be your fucking Daddy, is that it?”

“N-no…” You’re not sure what he’s getting at, but you feel like he’s just going to torment you.

“Don’t fucking lie to me you little slut.” His breathing picks up again, his voice booming, heavy breaths between every few words. You can hear the slick of his hand as it moves quickly over his length.

“Yes! Yes I- I want you to…”

“Say it.”

“I want you to be my Daddy.” Charlie moans loudly again, his hand somehow moving faster. You can tell he’s close. You can’t believe he likes this. You love it.

“Yeah, I’ll be your fucking Daddy. You better fucking call me that non stop when I get back to you, my sweet little girl.” You moan this time, squeezing your thighs together, feeling your arousal trail slightly down onto your thigh. You were so distracted you hadn’t realized you’d completely soaked through your underwear.

“I will, Daddy.”

“Fuck, I’m-”

Confidence surged you. You still couldn’t believe he liked this but you finally gave in, feeding his desires. When you spoke, your voice was filled with something wicked, sickeningly sweet and most of all, evil.

“Are you going to cum for me, Daddy? Make a mess for me?”

You felt like you hadn’t even finished your sentence before a loud moan punched through your phone and into your ear. You moaned as well just from his release, feeling it in your mind and in your chest, squeezing your thighs again for any sort of friction. Charlie continued to moan through his release, you pictured his silky cum painting his taut abdomen and his beautiful chest. You imagined it blending in with his moles and freckles, you pictured yourself rubbing your hands through it, massaging it into his skin before licking it all up. 

He wouldn’t even have to ask, you would just do it.

“Y-you’re fucking perfect… you fucking angel.” He’s so breathless, completely spent and wasted from your voice alone. You felt so hot. You needed to relieve yourself but you didn’t know if you should ask for permission or not. Before you could even debate it, Charlie spoke again.

“Go to bed, wouldn’t want Santa catching you up like this.” You laughed softly at his comment. Static on the other end. He said your name as if to check if you were still there.

“Yeah?”

“Merry Christmas.”

The line went dead.

JANUARY - BROOKLYN

You had sent Charlie pictures nearly every night after that. And you two called each other every other night as well.

He asked it of you and you couldn’t say no to your Charlie. It was a bit tricky while you were still staying with your parents, he would simply text you and you would have to scurry off to your room or the bathroom and snap as many flattering pictures of yourself as you could. You tried to make it seem less suspicious by drinking tons of water and just blaming it on your bladder.

But the new year had finally come, and you were now back home in your apartment. Charlie would be returning tonight and you were counting down the hours until you saw his taxi pull up on the curb side. You distracted yourself until then.

At around 7pm, you got an unexpected call from Charlie.

“Hi.” You felt like your smile was audible through the phone.

“Hey,” Charlie chuckled darkly, his voice always sounding deeper and richer through the receiver. “I just got in. I was wondering if you’d like to join us for dinner tonight?”

Us? He didn’t mean….

“It’s just me and Henry, Nicole’s uh, staying in LA until further notice. If you’re busy or if you can’t that’s-”

“I would love to,” The fact that Charlie would ask you to spend dinner with him and Henry warmed your heart beyond comprehension. Your weeks of loneliness suddenly dissolving into the background and becoming nothing more than a distant memory, a distant feeling. “but is Henry okay with it?”

“Of course he’s okay with it. He’s actually been talking about you quite a bit. I think he might have missed you more than I did,” Charlie choked a bit on his last words, “not that I didn’t miss you, I just meant that he, you know, Henry was-”

“It’s okay, Charlie I understood what you meant.” You giggle, finding his slight awkwardness endearing. How was it that you both were having incredible phone sex for the past two weeks and now you both sounded like teenagers calling their crush?

“So, you’ll come?”

“Yeah, I’ll come.” Charlie groans at your suggestive tone.

“Don’t start now.” His voice stern, unwavering. You laugh again, more mischievous this time. You test the waters, not stepping in enough to drown... just yet.

“I’ll be over in ten minutes, is that okay, Daddy?” You hear rustling on the other end of the phone and then Charlie cursing a low ‘fuck!’. You think you hear Henry’s voice too, followed by more of Charlie’s now muffled voice.

“Ten minutes is fine.”

//

Henry had bombarded you at the door, he wrapped his tiny arms around your legs and hugged himself tightly to you. It took everything in you not to cry, you knelt down so you could hug him back.

“I missed you.” He dug his cheek into your shoulder. This kid was the sweetest, he would melt your heart every time.

“I missed you too, Henry. How was LA? How was Christmas? Tell me everything!”

Henry grabbed your hand and dragged you into the living room where all his new toys were laid out, ready for him to play with. As he was pulling you there, Charlie emerged from around the doorway like an angel himself. Your eyes met and you felt as if you were moving in slow motion, and not being dragged at top speed by his child.

“Hi.” You greet, almost shyly. Unsure of how to act around him with Henry present.

“Hi.” Charlie repeats, grabbing your free hand for the briefest moment, giving it a tight squeeze until it's pulled out of his grasp by Henry.

You’re not sure how long you spent playing on the floor with Henry, him retelling you the events of the last two or three weeks while Charlie sat on the couch, glancing at the two of you every now and then. You tried not to think about the position you were in, kneeling on the floor, carpet digging into your knees, Charlie sitting tall above you on the couch, looking down at you from between his parted knees. It looked like such a natural position for him, almost like he was too comfortable like this, too familiar with it. You wanted to-

The doorbell rang, making both you and Henry jump from the sharp noise.

“Henry would you like to go pay the pizza guy?” Charlie asked, already pulling his wallet from the pocket in his pants.

“Yes!” Henry shouted, jumping up from the carpet, whisking the crisp bills from his dad’s hands and running to the door to answer it. Charlie figured he had a minute or less before Henry came back.

He lifted himself from the couch, taking your jaw into his hand and bringing you to stand with him. He crashed his lips into yours, violently shoving his tongue down your throat and you had to bite back the moan that threatened to spill through your lips and into his awaiting mouth. His hands had a deadly grip on your waist and on your jaw, you only wished he would ease up because you didn’t want Henry to wonder why you both looked so flustered.

“I can’t wait until tonight.” He said against your lips, his hand on your jaw moving to trail down your throat.

“W-what’s tonight?”

“I got it!” Henry came rushing back into the living room but not before Charlie pushed himself away from you and let go of your throat and waist. It looked like nothing had happened.

“Let’s go set it up in the dining room.” Henry stomped his foot in retaliation, whining slightly.

“Nooo, Dad, can we please watch a movie with pizza?”

“Henry, we have a guest-”

“Please!”

“What movie do you want to watch?” You asked, budding in, trying to stop a tantrum in its tracks. Henry’s eyes lit up and he glanced between you and his dad.

“Have you ever seen ‘Frozen’?” You actually had, but he didn’t need to know that. You gasped.

“I haven’t!” You glanced over at Charlie. His eyes were dark but an innocent smirk pulled at his lips.

He was thinking about how this just meant it would take longer before he could finally fuck you again, a two hour movie cockblock. It had been over two weeks since he had felt your body against his, nothing to satiate him but the sound of your voice and some mediocre photos. Charlie thinks he should show you how to take some really good ones sometime soon. Not that yours didn’t most definitely do the trick, he just thinks he likes the idea of directing you, positioning you...

But Charlie was also thinking about how he found it very sweet, very heartwarming to watch you bond with Henry. He loved watching you have such a good time with him and treat him like a person, not just a child. And he could tell that Henry really liked spending time with you too. Not just from how much he talked about you when you weren’t around, but the smile that lit up his face when you came over or when he went over to your place.

It was getting harder and harder to get Henry to smile like that.

You all sat down on the couch, little wooden fold up tables in front of your seat to hold your plate of pizza slices. Henry sitting between you and Charlie, of course.

Henry sang along passionately to almost every song, sometimes with bites of pizza in his mouth and Charlie would scold him for it, afraid he would choke but Henry ignored his dad’s requests, just continuing to belt out along with the characters on screen.

As the movie progressed and neared the end, you could feel Charlie getting more and more sleepy on his side of the couch. He would rearrange his sitting position every now and then and his eyes would close for minutes at a time. He looked so soft with his arms folded across his chest, his eyelashes fluttering against the tops of his cheeks, his lips coming to rest in the softest little pout. You nudge Henry gently and he turns to look up at you.

“Looks like your dad’s asleep.” You giggle, pointing to Charlie. Henry immediately jumps on him, startling Charlie awake.

“Dad I can’t believe you fell asleep again!” Henry pouts, grabbing Charlie’s face between his hands and shaking him from side to side. Charlie grabs his son’s little hands to stop his efforts, sitting himself up straighter on the couch and hugging Henry to his chest.

“Mmm’wasn’t sleeping.” Henry rolled his eyes.

“Why don’t you go get your daddy a blanket so he can get comfy for the rest of the movie.” You wink at Henry, sending him searching upstairs for the perfect blanket for his dad.

Charlie groans and drops his head on the back of the couch, his hand draping across is as well, coming to rest on the very tip of your shoulder. He wraps his fingers along your muscles, squeezing the flesh into his palm, tightly.

“I heard that.”

“Heard what?” Daddy.

His head lifts from the couch to glare at you, his stare deadly, shooting right to the deepest parts of you. Why were you teasing him like this?

“Dad is the dinosaur one okay?” Henry calls from up the stairs, slowly making his way down and back to the couch.

“It’s perfect, Henry. Thank you.” Charlie takes the blanket from Henry and kisses the top of his forehead before he settles back on the couch, cuddling up next to his dad.

You unpause the movie, admiring the two of them every now and then, watching Henry becoming more and more sleepy as the film nears its end. As the credits roll, Charlie removes the blanket from around himself and moves it to wrap around Henry.

“I’m going to go tuck him in.” Charlie whispers to you. You nod sweetly at the two of them. Charlie carries Henry in his arms towards the stairs before Henry grumbles, calling out your name to you back on the couch.

“Will you come too?”

You look to Charlie for guidance, you don’t want to overstep any boundaries. You’ve never been in the upstairs part of their apartment, you’ve never seen the rest of their place, Henry’s room, Charlie’s room, their bathroom. You’d never seen any of it and it all felt incredibly intimate and incredibly wrong in some way. You didn’t want to accidentally see something you shouldn’t. But Charlie just smiles back at you and nods his head gently.

“Of course, Henry.” You follow them up the stairs, smiling at Henry who smiles that shiny little kid smile at you before laying his head back down on Charlie’s shoulder, resting his eyes again.

Henry’s bedroom is exactly like you imagined it would be. Colourful blue walls, vibrant comic book patterned bed sheets, toys absolutely everywhere yet Charlie avoids them like their place on the floor has meaning, like he’s ingrained it into his mind from stepping on them too many times, muscle memory. You stay in the doorway, leaning on the door frame watching them, not wanting to intrude.

Charlie carefully lowers Henry onto his bed, tucking him in the covers and kissing his forehead. He says sweet words to his son, lulling him further to sleep and Henry smiles dopily back at him, whispering a quiet ‘love you, dad.’

Charlie turns around to face you, he flicks his head in the direction of the stairway mouthing the word ‘go’ to you, you nod and head down the stairs, waiting for him in the living room. You decide to settle yourself at the foot of the couch, sitting on your knees, feeling the burn of the carpet again and waiting for your Charlie.

He descends the stairs slowly, achingly slowly. Making you wait for it, making you feel the weight in his steps, his foot pressing into the wood, applying his weight until he shifts down another step before finally, finally, making his way to you.

You look up at him from your place on the floor, you try not to let your mouth hang open as you gaze up at him, this beautiful man. Sometimes, when you look at him, you wonder if whatever god or gods were out there made him like this on purpose. Sent him here looking the way he does to taunt you, to test you. Test your strength, your will to defy him when you know there is no humanly way possible to deny this man of what he wants. And what he wants is you. Why would you say no? How could you?

After observing you on the floor below him, Charlie seats himself down on the couch like before, knees spread, looking down at you. You scoot closer to him, hoping he doesn’t tell you to stop. His hand comes to rest on his knee before he pats it.

“Lay your head down on me.” His voice rumbles in his chest. You think you feel it through the floorboards, through your knees, up your spine and in the pit of your stomach. You listen and scoot closer, resting your head on his bony knee, nuzzling it with your cheek and looking up at him through thick lashes. You continue looking at him as you press a tender kiss as well, just for fun.

The lights are dim in the living room, the time ticking closer to midnight, Henry asleep upstairs. You both had to be quiet, you both knew this. Charlie’s hand comes to brush against your cheekbone, he trails his index finger all along the valleys of your face and then moving into your hair, gripping the back of it into a fist before relaxing again, bringing his hand back to hold your cheek.

“I’ve missed this.” He says so quietly. You nod, biting your lip.

“Me too.” You say, eagerness beginning to fill your voice. You adjust your position, coming to lean further into him, closer to his crotch where you can tell he needs you. Charlie hums contentedly.

“Mhmmm. Tell me what exactly you missed. Who you missed.” You let your hand glide over his knee, over his muscular thigh and towards his crotch, feather light touches along the fabric of his pants. You could feel how hard he was, it seemed painful.

“You. I missed your cock too... Daddy.”

There it was. He found what he was looking for. His hand found its way into a fist again in your hair, tugging it tightly, his head falling back against the couch as you pressed your lips over his covered cock, straining in his pants.

“You can do better than that,” he groaned, voice almost as strained as his cock yet still so forceful, “show Daddy how much you really missed him.”

You whimper at his tone, your voices both so hushed, rasped and desperate, spurring each other on much quicker than usual. Your hands, shaky with desire, reached up for his belt, grasping the cold metal into your hands and unbuckling it as quickly as you could. Only when you got to his zipper, did Charlie stop you with a light tap to your cheek.

“Teeth.” He scolded. You nodded.

You brought the zipper in between your teeth, biting down on the tiny piece of metal and slowly dragging it down over the hill his cock was creating in his pants. The heat radiating from his body was palpable, you could feel it coming onto your face the lower you dragged the zipper and the more he was revealed to you. You could also smell him, that smell that was undeniably Charlie; musky, earthy, a hit of fabric detergent and just the natural smell of his skin, like almonds in the summer. It made you dizzy, drunk off of him already.

You hadn’t even gotten him in your mouth yet.

You nuzzled your face into his clothed crotch, feeling his hard member pressing into your cheek, you could feel it pulsing, you could feel him wanting, waiting for the moment your mouth would take his length as far back as you could. You whimpered at the thought.

“You like it? You like my cock?”

“Yeah, I love it.”

“Then show me with that pretty fucking mouth of yours.” He sneered, pulling harder on your hair. You hummed and smiled, you felt giddy, maybe you really were drunk. You nuzzled your face into his crotch one more time before bringing both of your hands up to his waist, letting your fingertips dance around his beautiful skin that lay revealed to you above the waistband, you lean up, up, up pressing the softest, delicatest kisses to his skin.

Charlie groaned, pressing on the back of your head, pushing your face further into his tummy. You left more and more kisses before you gave him a tentative bite, not letting your teeth sink in too much before you lave your tongue over the abused flesh.

“Fuck that feels- fucking good.” Charlie moaned, looking down at the new mark that would only darken itself by tomorrow as more blood rushes to the affected area. It was placed beautifully next to his hip bone. You think it looked pretty. So did he.

You finally let your fingertips dip into his waistband but not before latching your teeth onto the stretchy fabric as well, aiding your fingers in removing them. You dragged it down, down, down his skin, just until his cock sprang free and laid heavy on his lower stomach. Charlie hissed, his hips bucking slightly from the sudden freedom.

He has the prettiest cock you think you’d ever seen. You never get used to seeing it, taking it in your mouth or your cunt. The stretch is always so painfully good, you’ve come to crave it. And going without it for the past however many weeks has made you near delirious for it. You stick your tongue out and run it all along the underside right to the very tip, where a shiny, pearly bead of precum has just begun to spill over. You hum as you lick it up, eyes nearly rolling back into your head.

“Don’t be a fucking tease.” Charlie grits from behind clenched teeth. You look up at him innocently, you notice that he’s clenching and unclenching his jaw like clockwork, his eyes look glassy and his cheeks are a few shades darker. He already looks so disheveled, so perfect like this.

“I can’t help it… it’s so pretty.”

“You think Daddy has a pretty cock?” You nod your head, humming, which you can’t seem to stop doing tonight, he just has you feeling so content, so safe. You don't think you could be like this with anyone else. You trace your fingers along his length, watching it bob from the slightest of touches, even Charlie tries to bite back his groans.

“Can-can I kiss it?”

“Please.” You lower your head towards his length, pressing your lips so softly onto his red angry head, giving little kitten licks in between kisses which has Charlie gripping your hair like a vice, afraid you’ll float away. You like the way his stomach flexes in response to your touch, like his body is bracing himself for the tidal wave of pleasure that’s bound to hit at any moment.

You finally take the spongy pink head into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it before letting a few inches fall past your lips as well. Charlie’s tummy flexes even more, the v shaped muscle becoming more and more prominent and you moan onto his cock. His free hand that had been clenched into a fist comes to hold one side of your head and the other comes to meet it. He holds your head in his hands and forces you to take more of him, but not all of it just yet. You start bobbing your head up and down on his length, his hands helping you find his ideal speed.

“Fuck yes, oh my god, j-just like that-” Charlie moans your name, his fingernails digging into your scalp making you moan on his cock again, only making him dig deeper, pressing your head further down his length, forcing you to take him until he hits the back of your throat.

“Gonna let Daddy f-fuck that pretty little whore mouth of yours?” You let your jaw go slack more than it already has and do your best to nod with his cock half way down your throat, tears already beginning to brim in the corner of your eyes. Charlie starts lifting his hips off the couch slightly, all the while moving your head further up and down his cock, forcing it down your throat as far as it’ll go without you making obscenely loud gagging noises.

His son was asleep right upstairs, after all.

You let your eyes roll back into your head, letting Charlie take control and just fuck his cock into your mouth like you know he needs to, like he knows you need it too. It’s been too fucking long. Too fucking long since he’s had you like this. At his disposal, his little plaything to do whatever he pleases with. And you fucking love it.

The cool, sharp metal of his unzipped zipper digs into your jaw and occasionally your neck, biting into your skin and scratching your skin when Charlie lifts his hips up particularly high but you don’t care. In fact, you welcome the pain, embracing it as a mark of Charlie’s rough loving. You hope it draws blood.

“Fuck, your mouth i-is so fucking perfect, so warm... I don’t-” He doesn’t finish his sentence, his eyes screw shut and you can feel his cock growing impossibly harder. He looks down at you, his face twisted in absolute pleasure as he loses himself in your tight little mouth. He pulls you off his cock with all of his strength. A trail of saliva connecting your spit swollen lips to the head of his cock. You start pumping him quickly with your fist.

“No-no wait I don’t…”

“I want it Charlie, please,” Charlie throws his head back, moaning your name, “cum in my mouth... please.”

You nearly whine that last part. Charlie grabs your hair and tugs it, shaking your head a bit.

“I want to fuck you, I don’t wanna cum yet- FUCK!” You hadn’t stopped your hand movements, your fist moving faster over his cock while he fights his release.

“You can fuck me tomorrow.” You say quickly before attaching your lips around the head of his cock, sucking on it until you feel his thighs, abdomen, hands, mind and soul tense up before he bites back his guttural moans, letting them rumble through his chest like thunder passing, before spilling himself onto your tongue. You moan as it lands, letting it slide down your throat as you taste him, taste all of him until he’s completely drained.

You look up at him through heavy lashes, coated thick in tears that have streamed down your cheeks. Chest heaving, abdomen pulled taught, cheeks incredibly flushed, lips swollen, eyes heavy and tired. Completely spent. He looked so beautiful, your Charlie. So beautiful like this.

“S-show me.” His hand reaches for your jaw, pinching your cheeks to force your jaw and mouth open. You stick your tongue to show him. All gone, you swallowed all of his cum, for him.

“Good girl.” He whispered, patting your cheek affectionately. You smiled sweetly at him, coming up with your hands resting your weight on his thighs, pressing your swollen lips to his. As you extend your knees to stand, you feel the ache in the joints, the bruises already present, no doubt. You loved the pain. Your lips glide effortlessly across each other, so tired, so worn out but always wanting.

“Stay, please.” He says against your lips. You shake your head, no. It was a simple answer. A simple predicament.

“Henry.” 

You pull back to look into Charlie’s eyes, he pulls you into his lap and he winces as you apply just a bit too much weight onto the base of his cock. You look into his eyes, already so sad at the idea of you leaving. But Henry would ask too many questions in the morning.

Why is the nice lady from next door still here, Dad?

Did she stay the night, Dad?

Did she sleep in your bed, Dad?

You and Mom’s bed, Dad?

“I know, I know.” Charlie says, defeated. He presses you into his chest, hugging you to him tightly, tighter than you were expecting. It was a hopeful thought. He understood why it couldn’t happen, couldn’t work. Maybe he just wanted you to entertain the idea for a minute with him. Maybe it would happen one day.

“I really did miss you.” He whispers into your hair, cradling the back of your head with his large, warm hand, pressing you further into the nook of his neck.

“I did too. I really missed you too, Charlie.”

MARCH - BROOKLYN

Charlie was currently back from his third visit to Los Angeles, hunting burroughs for the perfect new home for himself and for Henry. Maybe for you as well, but Charlie didn’t like to dwell on that for too long, he couldn’t allow himself such hopeful thoughts, he would only be let down. 

Would you really want to move in with him? Was that moving too quickly? Would you think he was insane? Crazy? Obsessed? The truth was, he is all of those things; insane, crazy, obsessed with you. He couldn’t help it, no. Not when it came to you.

He would always be desperate for your affection, your attention.

Things were escalating with the divroce. Nicole and Charlie had turned bitter, viscous, backstabbing, conniving. Both fighting for a child who has no intention of hurting anyone, certainly not his mother or father.

Henry had no idea what weight his actions or words held, no idea what it meant when someone came over to observe him and his dad, or him and his mom. When they sent someone out to New York to watch him there, sometimes you would be over too. They asked you so many questions, he didn’t understand why. Why were strangers suddenly so involved in every little thing his parents did? Were they in trouble? Were they bad people? Was he a bad kid? Did they hate him?

Henry pouts as you hold his hand, walking up the driveway to the new apartment Charlie was almost one hundred percent decided on renting. It was in more of a family oriented neighbourhood, still close to his school. Somehow, it had a decent sized backyard (which you had never heard of in New York, even Brooklyn), three bedrooms, an office, a beautiful kitchen, it was basically perfect in Charlie’s eyes.

The first time he visited it back in February, he sent you dozens of pictures and little videos when he had gone alone. He quickly booked another appointment for you to go and look at him with it so he could get your opinion. He made it very clear how important your opinion was to him on this matter, he was always asking you questions about the apartment, even bringing it up randomly. He would scroll through the pictures he had taken, scrutinizing every detail and ask you about it.

Do you think the backyard is big enough?

What if I end up getting Henry a dog? Would there be enough space for that?

Do you really like the kitchen? Be honest.

What about the office room? Do I really need that? Is that too much?

What about the guest bedroom?

You wonder if he was so invested in your opinion because he trusted you, or because he wanted you to move in with them. Neither of you had ever spoken about it before, never had that conversation. And even if you did, Henry would always have the final say. If he didn’t want you living with them, well, that was that. You couldn’t argue with Henry, not when his childhood and upbringing was in question. Especially after this divorce. Charlie would do anything for him. Even if it meant risking you.

//

Charlie ended up getting the house he had been eyeing for nearly a month.

Him and Henry would restart here, no painful memories embedded in the walls, in the flooring, in the holes in the walls, the slammed door frames, the windows that threatened to shatter from all the screaming and crying. None of that was here, it would never be here. None of that would happen again.

Charlie hadn’t asked you to move in.

And you hadn’t necessarily been waiting on him asking either.

You were already coming over pretty frequently. And not just on account of Charlie, Henry still loved seeing you and hanging out with you. You still babysat him when things at the theatre ran late. 

When Nicole moved to LA, Charlie was thrown full force into his work. Forced to recast, rework, and rewrite so many things that she had just left hanging. You watched Henry those nights, stayed until Charlie got home and then took the subway back to your place, next to their now vacant apartment.

You were so lonely those nights you couldn’t sleepover at Charlie’s. You missed his warmth. You hadn’t realized just how much comfort you got knowing he was just next door, just beyond a thick wall. You could have touched it and felt his presence radiating through. But now, nothing. It was cold, dark, empty, meaningless.

And because Charlie had been so overworked for the past few months, the stress was starting to get to him. The constant obstacles and backtracking in the theatre production. The random calls from Nicole, his lawyer, the random flights down to LA, the weeks Henry spent away from him, the nights he lost himself in you, using you as an outlet. You let him, you liked it when he took it out on you, you liked how rough he would get, all that pent up anger being pounded out into your hot cunt. You loved it. Loved when he got mad, frustrated. You were always there for him. You would always be there for him, you hoped he knew that.

But what you didn’t love, was when he started neglecting you.

He would go days sometimes without calling you, so much as even texting you. You would get no word from him for a couple of days and sometimes you would just randomly piece together that he was in LA and he just forgot to tell you. You tried to not let it upset you, you couldn’t imagine what he was going through, the stress of the divorce, the potential of losing Henry, his whole life hanging by a thread. It really wasn’t his fault that he just forgot to mention it to you.

Sometimes he would lash out at you, a small comment or action rubbing him the wrong way and he would erupt, say something he didn’t mean or just walk out on you. Times when things go heated, you tried your best to keep you composure for his sake. He didn’t need you being upset at him too on top of everything else, so you kept it in, for Charlie.

Sometimes he would lash out before you two went out with his theatre friends. He would smile and hug everyone, but kept somewhat of a distance from you. Barely speaking to you, barely including you in the conversation unless someone else asked you a question or directly addressed you. What did you look like to them? Friends? Friends with benefits? Did you look like his whore? The babysitter that he was secretly fucking?

You kind of were.

You drank a lot that night. He fucked you when you got back to his new place. He fell asleep quickly after. You pulled on your long sleeve shirt and nice dress pants that you had been wearing that night after laying next to his warm, sleeping body for thirty minutes, debating, thinking, worrying, dying inside.

You stood up and walked to the door, you looked back to find him watching you. You nervously tugged at your sleeves, staring back at him until he turned around, pushing his face into the pillow, as if silently willing you to leave. You left. You called a taxi and left. You didn’t sleep that night.

//

You think it was because he told you he was going to Los Angeles again.

Maybe he mentioned Nicole? His lawyer? Something about Henry? The theatre? 

You couldn’t remember what started all of this yelling, smashing. You were over at the new place, helping Charlie organize some things for Henry before he came back with him the next time he went out to LA again, which was in a few days.

Charlie was pissed and this time, you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold your calm resolve for him.

“Charlie if you just need some space from me tell me, it won’t hurt my feelings, I understand.” You decide to try and change the subject, maybe just cutting to the chase. Offering him what you think he wants, alone time. Time away from you, from everything. There’s no way he doesn’t need a break.

You hated how quickly you would give everything up for him. You would do anything for him, anything he asked.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He asked, eyes squinting in confusion. You sigh, running a hand down your face, your patience was running thin and you didn’t want to accidentally set him off.

“Everytime you see me you manage to get frustrated or mad about something. I just don’t want to give you more problems than you already have. I know you’ve been really stressed.”

“Elaborate, please.” His voice was clipped as he put his hands on his hips, stopping what he was doing and turning to you, seemingly giving you more attention than he had in weeks. You huff, not sure how to explain this to him.

“Charlie I-”

“No, what the fuck are you trying to say? That if I fucking ended things you would just leave? No questions asked?” His voice boomed, echoing off the newly painted walls, shaking the frames of yours and Henry’s dinosaur paintings from all those months ago. 

He takes a step closer to you, you take one back, then another just for good measure. Your back hits the wall and you take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts as best as you can with him staring at you with those eyes. Those fucking eyes. They still managed to twinkle even when he was angry.

“I- I would… for Henry. You put Henry first, I put Henry first. If he wanted me gone-”

“He doesn’t fucking want you gone, you know that.” Charlie scoffed, walking closer to you, his face red in frustration, maybe anger. He says your name, it's never sounded so sad.

“Why are you lying to me?” He’s a step away from you now, chest heaving with laboured breaths. He’s trying to compose himself, you can tell. Trying to stay calm but his patience was wearing thin.

“I’m not, I w-wouldn’t lie to you, Charlie.”

“You would leave me?” You nod your head, lip trembling, tears burning, stinging in your eyes, your breathing becoming heavy too. Was this it?

“If that’s what you wanted, if you want me to leave I would.”

“Why? Why would you do something so fucking stupid?” His lip is also trembling, you feel like he’s about to spit in your face, yell at you for being such an idiotic little girl. The thought alone had you squeezing your thighs together, this was so fucked. You shouldn’t like this, shouldn’t like when he got frustrated, you resented the fact that you did.

You couldn’t think straight, the words leaving your mouth didn’t feel your own, like you were speaking some other language, possessed by a foreign being.

“Be-because…” Bile rising in your throat, you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

“Fucking why? Tell me why!” He was yelling, his face in yours and his voice breaking.

“Because I… because I love-”

And then Charlie was kissing you.

Charlie was kissing you.

His tongue swiped into your mouth like he was trying to strangle you with it. His hands came to your cheeks and pressed your body flush against his and the wall, sandwiched between the two. He was hard, you could feel his cock pressing into your stomach as he rolled his hips into you, you moaned into his mouth, tears spilling down your cheeks. He didn’t wipe them away.

“Don’t say it… don’t- fucking say it.” He said against your lips, voice so hush, so quiet and scared.

“Why? Why are you afraid of me?”

“I’m not fucking afraid of you.” He says, confused, angry, lips rough on your own. He keeps trying to kiss you, you don’t want to push him away but you try, you push on his tough chest, his heart beating wildly in its cage.

“Yes you are. You keep pushing me away.” You cry, hiccupping on a ragged sob that leaves your chest, as you ironically try to push him away from you. Charlie tries to kiss you through it, trying to suffocate you.

“I’m not.” He fights.

“You are.”

“I’m not-” You push, harder this time. He stumbles back, lips already swollen, his eyes are wet, glossy too. Like yours.

“You are!” You yell, voice breaking, choking on your tears. “Don’t act like you haven’t been treating me differently for the past month.”

When Charlie says nothing, you continue.

“You don’t call me, you don’t text me, I only come over to babysit Henry when he’s here and when he’s in LA you just fuck me and then get mad about something and leave. When we go out you don’t look at me, you don’t touch me-” Your voice falters, you’re not sure you can go on with the way the sobs wrack through your chest and into the rest of your body. You feel weak, like you might collapse into the ground. You wish you would, you wish the floor would just swallow you up and you could disappear.

Charlie sees red. His fists shake, clenched into fists at his side after you’ve pushed him away. His palms burn to touch you. He knows he shouldn’t, he knows he should listen to what you’re saying, let you talk, remind him how much he’s been hurting you. He knows what he’s doing, he’s not stupid.

He wasn’t trying to push you away, he definitely wasn’t doing it on purpose. But he was sabotaging himself, sabotaging everything because he felt he didn’t deserve you. He was a bad father, a selfish person for wanting to take Henry away from his mother, for wanting Henry to himself, a bad person for hating Nicole, a woman he once loved.

Love.

It was all because of love wasn’t it? Charlie wants to laugh at the thought. Wants to laugh and scream and yell and hit something at the thought of stupid fucking love. Was he really becoming that nihilistic already?

Would he come to hate you like how he hates Nicole? Would you come to hate him the way he hates himself? The way Henry probably hates him? The way his parents hated him-

His knees hit a hard surface, blistering, blinding pain shooting up his legs. He’s collapsed onto the floor before he’s even aware of it. Unaware of the sobs that push and pull at his lungs, forcing his chest to heave in the oxygen before choking it back out along with spit and tears. 

He’s crying. You’re crying. Fuck, how did it come to this. This was all too familiar. He feels numb.

How could he love you when love was the scariest thing? When love was the most frightening emotion he had ever experienced. Everything that’s happened to him for the past two fucking years was because of love. Love would ruin everything. It always did. But he couldn’t…. he couldn’t lose-

“Y-you… you can’t- leave me.” He chokes, hands planted shakily on the floor, holding his upper body up, his arms weak.

You… you’ve never seen Charlie like this. And honestly? It scares you. Sure, you’ve heard him yell, scream, cry at Nicole, his lawyer over the phone. But this was different. This was visceral, burning desire, regret, shame, embarrassment… this was everything coming crashing down around him at once.

Fuck.

This is what you’ve been trying to avoid over the past month. That’s why you’ve tiptoed around him, letting him get angry, letting him yell, letting him ignore you, use you, fuck you and ask for nothing in return. You were avoiding this.

But maybe you had just prolonged the explosion? Let enough gas build up before it eventually burst into flames.

Eventually…

You had definitely made this worse, by ignoring it you’ve let it fester, let it rise and rise and rise, just pushing down the lid for your own sake. Maybe it was both of your own faults? You don’t know, you don’t care. This was bound to happen at some point. And it just so happened to be today. All you really care about is Charlie.

You kneel down on the floor in front of him, resting your palm on the floor like he has, letting your pinky finger graze against his. The slightest of touch as to not scare him off. He flinches, his head still hung low, eyes screwed shut.

You place your hand on top of his, feeling his burning skin, testing the waters. He doesn’t pull back so you continue your efforts. You intertwine your fingers with his, slowly, slowly lifting his hand up off the ground and closer to you. He still doesn’t look up. You keep moving his hand until it’s on your chest, covering your left breast. Only then does he look up, searching your eyes.

He feels it then. That same thing he felt the first time… the first time he had you. Your beating heart, pumping wildly in your chest just like his was. Did you know? Did you know what you did to him? Did you know how much he needed you, how much he thinks of you? Did you know that he… that he-

“I won’t.” You say, cutting him off mid thought. His hand clutches onto you through the fabric of your shirt, trying to reach through you and grab your heart into his hands. He wants to pull it from you, keep it for himself and lock it away, make sure you never fucking leave him. He was so selfish.

“I won’t leave you Charlie.” You say again when he says nothing, just watching his hand twist into the fabric of your shirt, tugging it strangely until he’s rid you of it. He places his hand back on your chest, feeling your heart better now through the barrier of only your flesh.

“I…. I’m sorry.” “You said you wouldn’t lie to me?” It feels like the first thing he’s said in hours, his voice rough around the edges, gooey in the middle. His post-yelling voice, you knew it too well.

“I wouldn’t.”

“Then why… why would you even say that? That you would leave me?”

“Because if that’s what you wanted, what you needed… I would do it. I would do anything you wanted, anything for you, Charlie.”

“Why?” He couldn’t understand. There was no fathamobale reason as to why he would deserve such devotion. Especially from you. 

You’re quiet, unsure of how to answer him. This was the same back and forth you both had before he exploded, when you almost told him you… that you lo-

“I-I don’t know how to answer… you told me not to say it.” You whimper, tears spilling from your eyes again. His hand comes to hold your cheek, thumb swiping away the tear. You nuzzle into his hand, kissing his palm. You stay there for a moment, resting your face in his palm, feeling his warmth radiating from his hands, letting a silence wash over the two of you. It was sort of peaceful. A chaotic peace.

“Charlie, I-”

“Don’t... don’t say it.” You cry some more, tears spilling. His hand moves to your throat, squeezing gently, you find it oddly comforting.

“But I want to, I want to say it, please.” You grab the wrist of the hand holding your throat, squeezing his flesh, asking.

“No.”

“Charlie-”

“I said no.” He grabs your jaw, shaking you from side to side a little. You whimper, eyes screwing shut, pushing more tears past the precipice. He pulls you into his lap, you’re putty in his hands, letting him move you however he needs to move you. He holds you in his arms, your legs wrap around his waist and his legs bring him to stand up somehow, his strength always shocking you.

“You can’t say it... you can’t leave.” He continues, you sniffle, hiding your face in his neck, grabbing onto his hair as he carries you somewhere through the apartment, up some stairs…

“I’m sorry, Charlie, I’m- sorry.” You hiccup and cry into his neck, wetting the skin. You press your lips over the newly wet skin, feeling his heartbeat flutter underneath, teeth grazing the thin flesh.

Suddenly he’s lowering you down, down, down until you come in contact with a soft surface, his mattress. Charlie crawls on top of you, you let him rest between your thighs, keeping your legs up high on his waist.

“Don’t ever fucking leave me.” You shake your head from side to side in agreement with him, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. His hand trails down the length of your body roughly, burning your flesh in its unforgiving path. You’re left only in your jeans since he removed your shirt when you were still downstairs.

“I won’t, I-I didn’t mean-” You can barely form a proper sentence, choking on your own tears and sadness that wrack through your mind and body. Charlie’s hand in already palming your sex through the thick denim you wear, you whimper, trying to squeeze your thighs together but his body blocks them.

“Stop talking.” He barely gets out the words before he’s pressing his lips to yours again, letting his lips glide against your wobbly and swollen ones. You breathe each other in, letting your tongues dance across one anothers as you gasp and cry into his mouth. It’s all teeth and all tongue, it’s messy, clumsy, desperate, burning. You don’t care, he doesn’t either when your teeth clack against each other, nibbling on lips, biting sometimes.

Charlie flips you over underneath him so that you face the sheets, sliding down your body and roughly tugging down your jeans along with your underwear in one swift motion. You gasp as your wet cunt comes in contact with the cool air of the darkening day. Charlie stands on his knees behind you, pulling your ass up higher, higher, higher until he’s satisfied. His cheeks are warm, his ears pink at the peaks. Before either of you even have time to think, his hand comes down harshly onto your right ass cheek, you cry out, gripping the sheets by your head.

“Ch-Charlie!” You gasp, earning you another smack to your other cheek. You push your head down into the covers, trying to muffle your cries and moans as he keeps going.

His smacks you again, and again, and again and again until you’re a sobbing mess in the sheets. Words, languages lost to you in your muddled brain. A pool of spit near your mouth soaked into the white fabric, only a wet spot remaining to show for evidence of your euphoria. You can feel the imprint of his hand on your ass, you know it's burning red, you know the skin is raised and puffy. You fucking love it.

Charlie’s chest is heaving, breaths labored as he takes it all out on you like he knows you need it, knows you love it. He does too; love it and need it. The way your ass gets so much brighter, how big the imprint he’s left on you is. How fucking perfect you are for him... He’s pulling off his shirt before he knows it, shedding his pants too until he’s in nothing but his underwear. You’ve stayed exactly where you are, not daring to move a muscle since he hasn’t instructed you otherwise.

“So now you listen.” Charlie mutters to himself, it's barely audible to you since the blood is coursing so loudly through your veins, through your ears. You’re buzzing.

Charlie pushes you back down on the mattress so you lay completely flat. He pulls your jeans and underwear down the rest of your legs until you lay there bare before him. He inhales sharply at the sight of you. He could see the way you glisten for him, he could feel it on his hand when he had spanked you, your arousal having begun to trail down the tops of your thighs, he moaned at the sight.

His hand comes flying down, this time spanking you roughly on your pussy causing you to lurch forward into the sheets, crying out his name pathetically again. He leans over you, keeping his hand clutched tightly around your cunt, feeling your juices seep between his fingers, you moan and try to press back into his hand but he just slaps it again, your eyes screwing shut. He’s nearly got his entire weight on top of you, his hot breath fanning across your cheek as he comes close to your face.

“You’re so fucking wet for me… you want it that badly?” You nod your head vigorously.

“Yes! Yes, Charlie I want you, I-I need you so badly, please.”

“Hmmm, what do you need?”

“Anything, y-your fingers…”

“Where”

“... in me, in me please.” You’re completely desperate, your crying and sobbing from earlier making you especially weak to his ways, his voice, his body. God, he could do anything to you, and you would let him, you would beg him, you would thank him.

Slowly, Charlie sinks one thick finger into your soaking cunt. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he pumps it slowly, in and out, in and out of you. You try and push your hips back to meet the small thrust of his finger but he keeps you pinned down.

Charlie could feel you clenching around his single digit and he groaned next to your ear, nibbling on the soft lobe as he continued his ministrations. You whined, withered underneath the weight of his body, his hot chest pressing into your back, pressing you into the mattress. 

“Charlie, please I-”

“What? You need more? You need more from me?”

“Please.” Charlie draws his index finger out of you before joining it with his middle one, probing your entrance teasingly, swirling his fingers around it but never going in.

“Fuck-”

“Do you think you deserve it?” He didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve you, your pussy, none of it. He was only projecting his worthlessness onto you. He didn’t mean it, he couldn’t.

“N-no.” You say, tears welling in your eyes from a multitude of things. Overstimulation being one of them. You tried to get your hips to stop pressing into his hand but it was so hard when the temptation was right there.

“No… you don’t.” He kisses the tears that slip from your eye, pressing a finger to your mouth and you gladly take it in, laving your tongue around his salty, rough skin. His two fingers at your entrance finally push in deeper, causing you to cry out around his finger that was in your mouth, drool slipping past your lips.

Then he starts pumping, quickly, and you can’t stop the way your hips push into his hand, trying to meet him halfway through his thrusts, needing more so badly. You moan around his fingers, he echoes your moans back into your ear. You can feel his cock filling out, getting harder and harder against the back of your legs where it still lays confined in his underwear.

All too quickly he pulls his fingers from you and spanks your pussy again, you choke on a cry around the finger that’s still in your mouth. You’re already wrecked, and he’s nowhere near done with you.

“You only get to cum on my cock, understand?” You nod your head with vigour, eyes trying to meet his from where he’s positioned, behind you yet over top of you. You can feel him moving around, pulling his fingers from your mouth and his underwear off as best as he can without moving too far away from you.

“I understand, Charlie.” You cry, the tears unrelenting at this point, beyond your control.

Fuck, what weas he doing? Why was he doing this now?

What other way did he really have though, to show you what you mean to him? Definitely not words, no. No matter how much he writes for the theatre, words could never come close to describing what he feels for you, what he needs from you, wants from you, what he wants to give to you, tell you, provide you. None of it, no language would do.

Nothing would come closer to his body on you, in you, moving in tandem with you, hearts so close together that he loses sense of himself and just feels you wrapped so tightly around him in every sense. That’s the only way he could show you, the only way he could tell you.

He grabs his cock in his hand, pumping himself slowly and rests his head on your shoulder, groaning into your skin at the sensation. “Beg.” He spits, his lips moving against your flesh. He rubs the head of his cock against your slick folds and you yelp, pressing your hips back but he anticipated it, drawing his hips back, away from you.

“Charlie, please I-I need you so badly, I’ve never wanted… anything else but you, I just- please, I need you so bad, I-I, l...love-”

“I told you not to fucking say it.” He grits from behind clenched teeth, slapping your ass harshly and you let a sob leave your lips. The burn was so good.

“I-I’m sorry, I can’t help it-” You whine, fists bunching up the sheets with a grip so deadly your skin is turning white. He lets his head drop to your shoulder again, his own eyes screwing shut, trying to will his own tears away as he continues to run his cock along your pleading entrance, collecting whatever arousal has seeped out of you.

“Fuuuck, perfect little pussy... so desperate for my cock, isn’t it?” He mutters, almost to himself as he watches the way his cock moves between your glistening folds. Unashamed, you keep crying, moaning at the feeling of his big cock so close to where you need him most, nodding your head.

“Please, Charlie I need you inside m- fuck, just put it in, please-”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you feel him press in with the tip, letting the spongy head break through your folds and slightly dip into your entrance. Your fists clench and unclench against the sheets. With a sharp ‘fuck’ Charlie presses the rest of his long, thick cock into you, both of you moaning and breathing in one another.

He lets his cock sit in you, coming to interlock his fingers with yours, pinning your hands above your head, elongating both of your bodies but mostly yours, from how much longer his body is. Only then does he start snapping his hips into yours, letting his thrusts punch out your moans and cries from your chest.

At this angle, he’s hitting places inside of you so deep you never thought you could fathom, filling you up to the brim, you swear you can feel him in your stomach, punching your guts into your throat with every violent thrust.

You moan his name without relent, it’s the only thing you could possibly ever know. Charliecharliecharliecharliecharlie to infinity. You never wanted to know anything else, no other thought suddenly as interesting as him. He was the only thing that mattered. The way his cock filled you was dizzying, mind-numbing, and bone-shattering.

“You always need me so badly, you could never leave me, never leave this cock. Desperate little slut.” Charlie groans, head resting on your back as his powerful thrusts push you up the bed. He latches a hand around one of your hips, trying to keep you pinned down.

“You would never fucking leave me, you’d never fucking do it.” He continues, maybe to himself. You can feel him nuzzling his face into the skin on your shoulder, kissing and biting the skin, leaving a mark in his wake like he always does.

“I won’t, Charlie- I won’t, I promise.” You hiccup, his thrusts unrelenting in their assault. You could feel your release building, that bright white feeling rising inside of you. The only sounds in the room were your breathy moans, Charlie’s growls and the loud slap of skin on skin, his hips colliding with your ass every time.

“Dont ever say that s-shit again- dont ever fucking leave me. Don’t - ever. Fucking. Leave.” He growled, biting your shoulder and punctuating his words with harsher thrusts, fucking into you.

“I’m s-sorry Charlie-” You’re cut off by a sensation on your back. Hot, wet, slippery. Charlie sniffles. 

He’s crying, burning holes into your flesh as they land on your back. Your own eyes well up all over again. The pleasure of his cock deep, deep, deep inside you and the emotions flowing through both of you was overwhelming, overstimulating, your mind was going blank, you felt like you would black out.

You hear it then, his quiet cries, the way his chest shakes as he finally lets it go, lets it out. And then he’s suddenly pulling out of you, grabbing one of your ankles and one side of your hip, flipping you over quickly, hiking your legs back up around his waist and continuing his punishing, relentless pace. You moan embarrassingly loudly as you watch the way his stomach flexes into you, the way his chest tightens and constricts, the flush that spreads from in between his marvelous pecs to his cheeks, his dark wet eyes, the red that fills them, the way his eyelashes clump together, making them look longer, darker, the dark halo of hair that frames his face. Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

It was beyond you at this point, you couldn’t stop what was already put into motion.

“Oh, Charlie…” You cry, chest arching into his, your nails scraping his biceps. He moans at the pain, dropping his forehead to yours. You’ve never heard him moan like this, never seen him cry like this, never seen him so lost and completely gone in you.

Even if it was a mistake.

Even if you would regret it tomorrow.

Or five minutes from now.

Or immediately afterwards.

It was the truth, your truth. His truth. It was the only thing you could ever possibly know.

“I love you.” You cry, burning tears streaming down your cheeks. Charlie’s eyes meet yours, lost, delirious, shocked.

“You… y-you can’t.” He doesn’t tell you to stop this time. Doesn’t tell you to shut up, doesn’t tell you how dumb and pathetic it is to love him. You love him.

“I do, Charlie I-I do. Fuck, I love you so fucking much.” You whine, nails biting the skin on his back. His hips never stop, he’s fucking common sense and all things rational out of your mind. All you know is him. All you ever want to know is him, Charlie.

His chin wobbles, moans escape past his lips as he refuses to stop fucking you, his cock so fucking hard it hurts him, almost more than this. Almost more than the chant that has started to leave your lips, the floodgates have been opened and you can’t stop your confession now.

“I love you, I love you- shit, Charlie I love you, I love you so much, I love your fucking cock, fuck!” You couldn't stop, you felt like you could never stop at this point. You never wanted to stop saying it, never wanted to stop telling him. You loved him, you loved him, you loved him.

“You’re… you’re not real… you’re- fuck, too fucking good for m-me.” Charlie gasps, his hips speeding up, his cock growing harder somehow. You feel him pulse inside of you. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, mouth hanging agape, no sound being emitted from you. Charlie moves his lips down to your exposed throat, kissing and sucking on the delicate skin before wrapping a firm hand around it, not squeezing too tight.

“Yours.” You manage to choke out, gripping onto his wrist that's at your throat with all the strength you had with your body gone pleasure weak. Charlie moans your name, it makes you cry more.

“I’m yours, Charlie.” You manage to say more clearly, using all your willpower to look him in the eyes. His eyes are blown black, the dark circles underneath them so, so pigmented. You could feel the crescendo building, he was about to break. His lips were glossy, spit slicked and roughly bitten.

“You’re mine.” He confirms, more to himself than to you. He just… he felt like he could never be sure enough. Like he would never believe that you were his. That you were in love with him.

You nod your head, hands interlocking behind his head, gripping tightly into his hair.

“I’m yours, yours.” You keen, hips rolling into his as you both neared your release. His hand around your throat keeps you pinned in place as his fucks you into the mattress, moaning, groaning, crying your name. The slight added pressure makes you see stars, your pussy flutters around his cock and your back arches, pressing your chest into his but Charlie keeps you exactly where you are, your body convulsing as you cum, cum, cum around his cock, screaming his name.

“M’gonna cum, gonna f-fucking cum s-so deep inside, fill you up-”

“Please, Charlie.” You whine, dumb from the high that he continues to fuck you through, tears stained on the skin of your cheeks. You tug on his hair roughly, meeting his thrusts with a roll of your hips and that sends Charlie over the edge.

“Fhuuuck-” He lifts his head slightly, to look at you better as he splits you open one final time, his cock stilling in the deepest parts of you before he cums so fucking deep inside your pussy with the most guttural moan.

He fucks his cum back in to you until it’s seeping back out onto his cock. He groans so loudly you feel it in your bones. His hands wrap around your upper body, holding you tightly as he spins to lay on the mattress, holding your body to his chest, his cock still nestled deep inside of you.

Charlie gives you a small thrust, pushing and mixing his cum with yours one final time. You gasp and cling to him, your nails digging slightly into his muscular pec at the sensation, the delicious burn. You feel so incredibly full, so full of your Charlie. You love him.

“I lo-”

“I love you.”

Your heart must have stopped beating, your lungs, forgotten their functionality, your brain short circuited, your limbs incapacitated.

You looked up at him with those big, shiny wet eyes. You looked like a fawn, lost on the side of the road who just found someone who could help them. Someone kind, someone gentle, honest, safe, warm. Someone worth loving. He was worth loving. Charlie was worth loving.

But you already knew that.

He said it again, so low in the dark room, the dark night, eclipsed with spilled feelings and sweat, tears too. So many fucking tears. His voice so low it almost didn’t register, the deep vibrato rumbling your insides and warming you up all over again. 

He said it with you curled up on his chest, he said it again when you moved up his body to press your face into the crook of his neck, pressing your lips to his bruised skin, he said it as tears spilled from your eyes. He would say it as you fell asleep on him in the deadly hours of the night and again in the morning when you woke. He would remind you constantly, he couldn’t stop, couldn’t hold it in. Not anymore.

He would tell you he loves you a million and one times from then on, until you didn’t want to hear it from him anymore. 

tag list! @morby @shesakillerkween @gamingaquarius​ 

[thatsamericano]

Take My Hand, Take My Whole Life Too

Pairings/Characters: America/Romano. Background Gerita, and Seborga and Prussia are there too. Very brief appearances from Denmark and Lithuania in the video, as well as a ton of other characters who don’t get lines.

Rating: Teen, but only for cursing. Very fluffy, and no warnings to speak of.

Word Count: 2518

Summary: America sends Romano a special video for his birthday. He isn’t Elvis Presley, but it’s the best rendition of the song Romano’s ever heard.

A/N: I wanted to post something fluffy for Romano’s birthday. This will be up on AO3 soon.

It had been a nice, quiet birthday for Romano so far. Feli’s macho potato had dropped by to spend the day with him, and Prussia had tagged along too. Savino was glad Gilbert and Marcello were here, because otherwise he would’ve been stuck third-wheeling the sappiest couple in the world on his own birthday. Spain and Belgium had said they would arrive in a couple hours, which Romano was looking forward to as well. Most of the people who had sent his little brother a happy birthday message had remembered to send one to him too. America had sent them both silly e-cards, and the gifts he’d sent had arrived a week early and would be unwrapped along with all the others after they frosted the cake.

Romano was not lonely, especially not for someone who would’ve had to fly across a whole ocean to see him. He only threw a spatula at Germany’s head when he leaned in to kiss Feli right after he put the cake in the oven because the sight of the potato bastard kissing his little brother grossed him out to no end.

Feliciano pouted at him. “Fratello, that wasn’t very nice of you.”

“I had to stop you two before I lost my appetite. I want to actually be able to eat a slice of cake later!”

Germany muttered something under his breath, and Seborga giggled while Prussia ruffled his hair. “Relax, Savi. It’s your birthday.”

Romano shoved Gilbert’s hand away. “I’m relaxing just fine, damn it.” He walked over to the counter to check his phone, which had received a few new messages since he and Feli had started making their joint birthday cake.

As he was reading a message from New Zealand (who seemed to be confused by the time difference and hoped their message had arrived on time), a new text popped up on his phone. From America.

“Huh, that’s weird.”

“What’s weird?” Marcello asked.

“America sent me a link to a Youtube video.” Alfred liked to upload a lot of strange things on Youtube, including cooking videos with his twin, recordings of him prank calling England, and the occasional stunt that would’ve turned Savino’s hair gray if he’d aged like a human. Seriously, what the fuck had possessed him to surf down a staircase on a fucking ironing board?

The message before the link was cryptic as hell. Happy bday. Here’s an extra present for you. 😉 Hope you enjoy.🎶 Knowing America, Romano wouldn’t have been too surprised if he’d opened up the link and seen that one Rick Astley song the idiota still thought was funny to send to people. But Feli immediately got excited about it.

“Oh, he finally sent you the video! I thought he’d do that a month ago!”

Prussia smirked as Feli rushed over to them. “Nah, Al had always planned to upload it today.”

Germany came over with a subtle hint of a smile on his face, like he knew what all this was about too. At least Marcello still looked baffled as he leaned over to get a look at Savino’s phone.

“What the fuck are you assholes up to?” Savino didn’t like this feeling. He didn’t like that everyone except his baby brother had been plotting something behind his back.

“It isn’t bad, Romano,” Germany promised. “Just open the link and you’ll see.”

Romano didn’t trust Germany further than he could throw him, and the guy was way too heavy for him to even lift. But if Germany thought it was okay, it probably wasn’t a video involving the kinds of ridiculous shenanigans America liked to film, and it certainly was nowhere near as heart-attack inducing as some of the videos he’d seen Fredo post (especially if Prussia or Denmark were egging him on). Savino squinted at Ludwig suspiciously before he clicked on the link.

It wasn’t Rick Astley. The video started with a black screen. “No, Gil, you’re supposed to press the red button!” The voice sounded like Denmark.

“Magnus, I pressed the red button!” That was Prussia.

“Guys, maybe we could use my iPhone instead?” America asked. His voice sounded uncharacteristically strained and nervous. “The quality won’t be as good, but at this point Vinny’s probably given up anyway.”

Suddenly, the image of a white dress shirt with a navy tie (and an inexplicable ukulele) appeared on the screen. The camera zoomed out a little, and he could see Alfred smiling at him in a crowded bar with many nations Romano knew well, and many who were only acquaintances. Denmark rushed past him, but Romano could scarcely take his eyes off America. He was wearing the same outfit he’d seen him in on the day of the last world meeting he’d attended a couple months ago in Berlin, and he was cradling a ukulele in his arms. His warm smile, as always, made Romano’s heart skip a beat. But there was a hint of anxiety in his crystal blue eyes, and that made Romano wish he was there to talk to America and help him with whatever seemed to be bothering him.

“Hey, Vinny! Right now it’s still January, but by the time I upload this video, it will be your birthday, so happy birthday, dude! I hope you’re having a good day with your brothers.” He chuckled. “You guys will probably need a huge cake if you’re gonna blow out all your birthday candles.”

Romano rolled his eyes. “That’s what numbered candles are for, idiota,” he murmured.

“Anyway, I know I’m not the best singer in the world—” Prussia snickered from behind the camera and America glared at him sharply before relaxing back into the smile he’d had on his face before. “But I’ve been practicing this song a lot, so hopefully you’ll like it.”

Romano wondered which song it was. If it was the Italian version of “Happy Birthday,” America wouldn’t need a ukulele, and this video would not be three and a half minutes in length.

America started strumming the ukulele, and it wasn’t the “Happy Birthday” song. Savino vaguely recognized the melody, and apparently Feliciano knew what the song was, because he was bouncing next to him and muffling squeals behind his hand. Savino was tempted to smack him, but that would involve looking away from his phone.

Then, America started to sing in a shaky but surprisingly clear voice, staring straight at the camera. “Wise men say, only fools rush in…”

Marcello gasped. “He didn’t!”

“Oh, he totally did,” Prussia replied smugly.

Savino was too emotional to talk. He teared up as Alfred continued with the next line. “But I can’t help falling in love with you.” Fredo’s voice was full of sincerity, like he actually meant it, like he actually loved him. For so long, Romano had assumed his feelings for America were completely one-sided, that he would have to ignore them as much as possible, vainly hope they might disappear, and move on with his life as best he could. But clearly, he had been wrong, and the proof was that America was serenading him with a love song. On his birthday.

America started walking backwards with his ukulele, and Prussia’s camera followed him. At the end of the first verse, he’d reached a booth with Spain, Portugal, Belgium, the Netherlands and Luxembourg. They all held up signs wishing him a happy birthday in various languages as they sang the last line together. Spain waved and Belgium winked at the camera, and America grinned as he kept walking through the bar.

He briefly stopped by other groups of people to allow them to hold up signs wishing Romano a happy birthday as he sang. Russia, his sisters, and Canada. Lithuania, Estonia, Latvia and Poland. Hungary, Austria, Germany, Switzerland, and Liechtenstein. China, Japan, Taiwan, Vietnam, and South Korea. France, Monaco, all the UK countries, and Ireland. Australia, New Zealand, Seychelles, and Kenya. Greece, Turkey, and Egypt. All the Nordics too. It was the sweetest, most romantic thing anyone had ever done for Romano. America must have gone to so much effort to orchestrate something like this, to gather so many countries together in one bar in Berlin and convince them to go along with his plan. Savino smiled as he kept watching the video. Maybe Alfred wasn’t as good a singer as Elvis Presley or any of the many people who had covered this song, but his performance was heartfelt, and Savino loved every second of it.

Near the end, all of the countries sang the line “For I can’t help falling in love with you” together and held up their happy birthday signs. The bartender and some confused humans sang along with them. Savino laughed as Alfred chuckled sheepishly in the video, cheeks turning pink because this was an unusually public spectacle, even for him.

Alfred repeated the final chorus and sang with just him and the ukulele, as he had begun the song. “Take my hand, take my whole life too.” His eyes were shining with tears, and not the happy kind Savino had been shedding since the second line of the song. “For I can’t help falling in love with you.” He repeated the final line then took a deep breath.

“So, yeah. That uhh… wasn’t just a song.” America glanced off to the side. “I’ve kinda been hopelessly in love with you for a while.”

“About 90 years, give or take!” a tipsy voice shouted from off camera. It sounded just like Lithuania, the few times he’d had a little too much to drink at a speakeasy back when he, America, and Romano all lived together. Romano remembered those days fondly.

America hunched his shoulders with a pained look on his face. “Yeah. What Tolys said. You mean a lot to me, Vinny, both as a friend and possibly more, if you want that. If you just wanna stay friends, that’s cool. I hope you liked the song. Happy birthday.”

The screen abruptly cut to black, and the video ended. Savino wiped his eyes and looked up at Feliciano. “This is… this is why we had to fly back right away, isn’t it? Our boss didn’t call you.”

Feli shook his head. “I lied. America asked me to lie so he could surprise you with that video.”

“I can’t believe he did that for me.” Part of Savino felt like he didn’t deserve it, but a much bigger part of him was too selfish to care about what he did or didn’t deserve. He just wanted to be happy. “I wish he was here,” Romano confessed quietly. “I wish I could tell him I feel the same way.” And he wanted to kiss away every tear that idiota had ever cried over him, which was long overdue.

Savino ignored his little brothers cooing over what he had just said and tried not to bristle at the fact that even Germany seemed to think it was adorable. Prussia, weirdly enough, was too busy texting on his phone to join in on the overbearing fawning.

Gilbert chuckled at something on his phone. “Alfred’s a lot closer than you think. He decided to skip the Saint Paddy’s Day parade this year.” He grinned up at Romano, who instantly got the message. Alfred wasn’t celebrating with his Irish-American citizens. He was here in Italy, and it wouldn’t take much effort for Romano to find him.

He sprinted to his front door and flung it open. Alfred, who had been standing with his back to the front door, turned around to face him. “Vinny, I…”

Savino was too impatient to let him get another word out. He tugged on the collar of his emerald green t-shirt and sealed their mouths together. Alfred made a muffled sound of surprise and started kissing him a couple seconds later. He wrapped an arm around his waist, and Savino could feel that he was holding something wrapped in cellophane in his hand. He didn’t give a fuck what it was. He didn’t give a fuck about anything except the fact that Alfred was grinning against his mouth as he reluctantly pulled away for air.

Alfred’s face was flushed, and he had to reach up to fix his glasses. “Wow. This t-shirt never worked before.”

Savino glanced down at the shirt, which read “Kiss Me, I’m Irish!” (of course it did) and snorted. “I didn’t kiss you because of a fucking t-shirt logo. I kissed you because I watched that birthday video you sent me, which was the most adorable goddamn thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“So you liked the song, huh?”

“I loved the song. And I love you too, Fredo.”

He heard sniffling, and it couldn’t have been Alfred, who was beaming at him like every prayer he’d ever uttered had been answered just by Savino saying those words to him. And the sniffling noise was coming from behind him. At least one person had followed Romano to the front door, but Romano had been too focused on America to notice.

Romano tensed up as America laughed and put an arm around his shoulder. “Germany, are you crying, dude?”

“I… I’m verklempt. That was a beautiful moment.” Savino glanced over and saw that Germany wasn’t the only one. Veneziano, Seborga, and Prussia were all standing in the entryway, and they all looked misty-eyed.

Romano groaned and turned to bury his face in America’s ridiculous t-shirt. “Seriously, did you come out here to fucking spy on us?! What the hell is wrong with you?!” America squeezed his arm around him in a silent gesture of support. He could probably tell how embarrassed Romano was.

“Well, you were the one who decided to run out the front door suddenly,” Marcello said teasingly. “You can’t blame us for wanting to see what was going on.”

Veneziano piled on. “It’s nice of you to visit us on our birthday, America. You can come inside if you want, or you can stay out here and kiss Savi some more.”

Romano growled and turned to shoot vicious glares at both of his brothers, but America didn’t seem bothered at all. “As tempting as it sounds to stand here and kiss Vinny all day, I think I’ll come inside.” He dropped his arm from around Savino’s shoulders and presented him with the floral bouquet he somehow hadn’t noticed earlier in his mad dash to the door. “These are for you.”

“Grazie.” Savino smiled as he bent his head to sniff the bouquet of red roses mixed with white lilies. The symbolism wasn’t lost on him.

“Anything for you,” America whispered, too quietly for the others to hear. He pressed a kiss to Savino’s cheek, grabbed his wheeled suitcase, and dangled out his free hand as they headed into the house behind the others.

Romano grabbed America’s hand and laced their fingers together. This was the best birthday he’d ever had, and it was due in no small part to the fact America was holding his hand right now and smiling like he was the one who had received everything he ever wanted.

[lovelylogans]

honey, you’re familiar (like my mirror)

prologue: (re)birth

see next chapters, notes, and warnings here!

“We all experience many births and deaths in a life.” —Jonas Maliki, Sense8 

EMILE

Emile Picani has always loved children, but, as a cis man, he had generally contented himself with the fact that a woman would eventually bear them (as he pieced together the whole oops, all gay! thing in his mid-to-late teens, he mentally altered that to through surrogacy) or that he would adopt children with a loving partner someday.

He had really been very, very content with the idea of never giving birth. He had been perfectly fine with the idea of never giving birth. He would really, really love it if he were not giving birth right now. But as it is—

“Does psychic birth count as birth?” Linda asks, tilting her head; she’d chopped off her hair in her kitchen a month ago, so now it swishes along her jaw. The loss of a foot of hair doesn’t mean her hair is any more tamed than it was when it was waist-length, back when they’d first seen each other face-to-face.

Emile moans in pain, rolling face-down onto the couch to press his face into the cushions, blocking out all light; the pressure and ache behind his eyes that’s been mounting for days is almost as bad as it had been when he’d been born. Reborn. 

Sensate birth is so confusing.

The weight of another member of his cluster dips the couch cushion near his feet.

“I would be this close to leaving if the call to visit wasn’t so strong,” Andy groans, and then the sound of someone hitting him; Missy, he’s sure.

“He is having our weird psychic niblings,” she scolds from where she sits beside Andy. “We need to be here and support him while he’s in the birthing bed, as moral support!”

“Not actual birth,” Emile groans into his couch cushion.

“Hey, Emi,” she continues, ignoring him, “you can’t tell if one of them is in Greece yet, can you? Try and aim for one in Heraklion, I never get to go to Crete and I want to go sightseeing!”

“Or Manila!” Linda calls. “But that’s more for my convenience than a vacation.”

“I’m pretty sure you can’t pick where you’ve got your psycellium-connection children, but if you do, aim for Brazil for me so I can meet one,” Nate says, with a hand still awkwardly on Emile’s back in an attempt to comfort him, and Emile is so grateful to him for being with him through the whole of this psychic labor he could cry.

Well. He’s pretty sure he’s already crying from the pain, but.

“Do they count as children?” Andy says, then, “well, I guess you don’t know how old they are yet, do you. It could be a super early activation, so you could end up with a bunch of kids. Or, wait, hey, how funny would it be if you ended up just plucking late activations from retirement homes?”

Emile reaches blindly for the nearest cushion to block his ears. He can tell through feeling that it’s the Mickey Mouse one, but even as he places it over his head the texture skitters under his fingers—a pen, a soft blanket, thick paper, a cold glass sweating with condensation, back to a cushion—and he goes about blocking out Linda and Missy’s chattering about hoping one of them is in their respective countries, so they can be the weird psychic aunties they’d always been meant to be.

Another voice that manages to actually startles him this time, and blurrily, barely comprehensible beyond the pain, he thinks that should probably be how he knows the birth is close: ever since they’d all gained some form of equilibrium, after their own birth nearly ten years ago now, he’s never, ever been startled by the appearance of one of his cluster, ever.

“Ditto on telling me if you end up getting a Canadian,” Brian says, and Emile manages to peek out from his cushion to see Brian crouched on the floor in front of him, beside Nate, smiling at him as if nothing’s wrong, even though he can feel Brian’s nerves roiling alongside his own. “B'ezras Hashem, they won’t end up with only Missy as an auntie, eh?”

He lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sob and he has to squeeze his eyes shut against the pain, then, the pressure behind his eyes unbearable, like all the water of a dam pressing unerringly against the littlest crack, waiting for it to burst.

“Where the hell are you, Remy,” he can hear Toby snarl—when did Toby get here?—and Nate’s hand rubs soothingly up and down his back, shushing Toby.

“Of all the days to take a blocker off-schedule,” Andy tsks. “You should all listen to me, we knew that could be a worst-case scenario—”

“Not his fault,” Emile chokes out—if this could be equitable to normal, human baby birth, Emile might think that the stress of Remy catching sight of someone entering his café and immediately blocking them all out before anyone else could notice might have been what triggered this labor to come on so sudden and so strong.

“No, ‘course not,” Linda says in a soft, soothing voice, nearly drowned out by the sound of fabric smacking against skin; he’s pretty sure that Missy’s hit Andy upside the head with one of his couch cushions, and that’s confirmed when he hears Missy hiss “that is his boyfriend what is wrong with you for bringing that up right now” “well he did!” “oh my God, Emile is literally giving birth right now, this is not the time—”

A particularly strong surge of pressure and Emile clenches his teeth against a scream of pain—sunlight in his eyes flowers in his nose rocks scraping his hands—and his bickering cluster falls immediately silent, and still, and scared, a moment of silence before their thoughts come rushing in—what if this goes why didn’t harley tell us it could be like where is he it’s his damn boyfriend need to help them is he going how is this going to work harley where are you

“It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay,” Nate chants, rubbing a hand up down his back, and Emile actually sobs, this time, because it hurts, it hurts so much, he feels like his brain is exploding.

There are so many flickers of sensation, all the time, flickering from his own couch to the floor of Nate’s office to Linda’s kitchen table to a fancy apartment to Andy’s balcony to a dark silent bed to a grassy field to sprinting along the sidewalk past a patisserie to ears popping on an airplane on wait go back go back that was Remy Remy—

But it’s snatched away on a brisk wind on a blast of air conditioning on a cocoon of warmth under blankets on on on on on

it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay, his cluster says as one, it’s okay it’s okayit’sokayit’sokay—

Nate squeezes his shoulder, and Emile sucks in a desperate breath of air, distantly aware of his own body, the fact he’s writing on his back, now, the heels of his hands digging into his eyes, his throat aching like he’s been screaming, Nate’s hand on his shoulder Missy’s fingers twining with his Linda touching his wrist Andy holding his ankle Brian’s hand on his knee. And he feels anchored.

And then Remy bursts into the apartment, and Emile bawls at the sight of him, the force of it making all of the cluster reach for Remy as one.

“I’m here, I’m here,” Remy pants, skidding to a stop at his couch, “fuck, I’m so sorry, baby—”

“Hurts,” is all Emile can say, and suddenly his body and the entire cluster has shifted—Remy lying behind him, his arms wrapped around Emile’s chest to keep him upright, his cluster touching his arms, his legs, his chest.

“I’m here,” Remy whispers, carding back Emile’s sweaty hair. “I’m right here, babe, I’m so sorry, I’m here now. I’m here.”

“It hurts,” Emile whimpers. “Rem, it hurts so much.”

“I know, I know, I can feel it,” Remy whispers into his ear, rocking him back and forth. “Em, you’re so close, baby, you’re almost done, you’re amazing.”

Emile, blindly, reaches out to clutch his hand and Remy is always, always there to take it, letting Emile crush his hand.

There’s a pull, now. He can feel it, a full-body pull, and—

“You got this,” Remy whispers. “Emile, honey, you’ve got this. We’re right here with you.”

You’re right here with me, Emile thinks, dizzy with the relief of it, finally, all of them, EmileRemyLinnyBrianTobyNateMissyAndy, you’re right here with me, and he lets himself be pulled.

And his brain expands.

“Remy, I see them,” he whispers. “I see them…”

The lights are off here, the only lighting from the moon, illuminated the massive apartment furnished in sleek black lines and bright golds, a man tossing and turning, facing Emile.

The man glances at him, rolls away, pauses, then rolls back abruptly; in the low light, Emile can see the scar slashed across his cheek, bisecting a birthmark. 

“Oh,” Emile whispers, his throat clogged suddenly at the sight of this man—he already knows that his name is Janus, and he is brilliant and cut-throat and lonely and dangerous and Emile loves him already. “Oh, they’re beautiful. You’re beautiful, my dear. My darling.”

Emile reaches for him, and Janus opens his mouth, brow furrowed, about to ask, but Emile is pulled away before he can.

He is suddenly drenched with sweat under hot lights, a conglomeration of cameras in the distance, and he squints to where the boom microphones are held directly aloft—this is Roman, who has his head tilted toward a man in a baseball cap, deep in conversation. Emile glances back over his shoulder and sees a city skyline—old, and beautiful, and familiar because Emile’s been here. Or one of his cluster had been, anyway.

For all that Roman looks so involved in the conversation, Emile can feel the exhaustion of a long day’s shoot, the weight on his shoulders, the constant itch to reach for his phone, to scan the news. Roman’s brow furrows and he looks up, directly meeting Emile’s eyes.

“Are you lost?” Roman says uncertainly, and Emile smiles at him.

“No,” he says. “I was looking for you.”

“Who are you talking to?” The man in the cap asks, and Emile is pulled away.

He’s on a plane and his ears are refusing to pop. Emile grimaces in sympathy, even as he’s glancing over to the man sitting beside him on the plane. Well, slumped, to be more accurate, trying to get some sleep and failing miserably. Emile’s eyes ache with commiseration.

“Sorry,” Emile says sympathetically, remembering his own sleepless days after rebirth.

The man squints out at him, tugging off his purple headphones. “‘Scuse me?” He says, his voice accented—African?

“You’re probably not going to be able to sleep for a few days. Or, um. Not sleep well, I should say.”

“...I’ve had jet lag before,” Virgil says, and yes, he has, hasn’t he?

“Congratulations,” Emile says hastily, already feeling the pull. “A doctorate’s a very big achievement, you should be proud of yourself.”

Virgil’s eyes go wide, and he shrinks back a little in his seat.

“How did you—?”

And Emile is not trapped in a plane anymore, but he almost wishes he was.

“Jiminy crickets, it’s cold,” Emile says aloud, wrapping his arms around himself, because jeez louise it is cold!

Logan freezes from where he is examining a telescope to ensure it’s in working order. 

“The supply ship isn’t due until next week,” he says. His voice is very even and measured. “That is the only opportunity for strangers to get onto the island.”

“Supply…” Emile repeats, before he learns—remembers? “Oh. My goodness, you’re researching in Antarctica?!”

He is! He is researching in Antarctica! He’s a space researcher who is so good at what he does he got to go to Antarctica to study even more in-depth! Gosh, Emile has birthed a smart cluster, there are at least two doctors here! 

“...Am I hallucinating?” Logan asks himself very quietly.

“No!” Emile says hastily. “No no no no, goodness, no!”

Logan’s eyes narrow. “That is… precisely what one would think an induced hallucination would say.”

Emile’s about to explain, but he’s pulled before he can; he has a feeling that Logan’s going to need the most in-depth scientific explanation the Archipelago has accrued over the years.

And he is in a brightly decorated room, with soft toys and lots of colors and the letters of the alphabet winding around the room; a big, tall man is kneeling on the ground, carefully easing a backpack onto a child who couldn’t be more than five.

“All right, Livvy-Lou, we got it all figured out now, don’t we?” the man says brightly—his name is Patton, and he is soft and loving and beautiful and so very sad. 

A grin bursts out on the child’s face. “Thank you, Mr. T!”

Patton smiles, flicking one of her braided pigtails into place so that it doesn’t get tugged by her backpack straps, and gently nudges her along her way before he glances up.

“Hello!” Patton says to Emile brightly. “Are you a—?”

And then he falters.

“...you’re not a parent,” Patton says slowly. “Are you?”

“Well,” Emile says. “I suppose it depends on how you define ‘parent,’ and also, whose parent you think I am.”

Patton’s eyes crinkle with a smile. “What an odd way to answer that question.”

“You’re about to have a lot of odd days ahead of you,” Emile says, “I mean, a lot,” and—

A man sitting hunched under a tree is cussing to himself, even as he eats food he’s gotten from the trash, and his eyes widen at the sight of Emile, already rising to a half-crouch, ready to run.

“Oh,” Emile says. “Oh, goodness. You’ve gotten yourself into quite a situation, haven’t you?”

Remus snarls at him wordlessly. 

Emile frowns a little, his heart aching with terrible concern, not all of it his own. “Is that all you have to eat?”

“Fuck off,” Remus spits, and—

Emile gasps, back in Remy’s arms, back in his apartment, his cluster all staring at him, wide-eyed.

“So?” Missy urges. “Greeks? Tell me you got a Greek.”

He looks at her, and he thinks of the cluster he has just brought into the world, and he feels such a surge of overwhelming joy that he can do nothing but laugh.

His cluster laughs with him, and Remy lets out a huffing breath, hugging him close and kissing his temple, and Emile sighs, closing his eyes, exhausted but still smiling, smiling, smiling.

In London, in Mexico City, in the air between Baltimore and Pretoria, in Antarctica, in Monterrey—

He hopes they all hear it.

Welcome to being sensate, my loves.

[ibijau]

The modern xisangyao I’ve been talking about yay /o/ also on AO3 (and big thanks to the xisang discord for listening to my ramblings a while back + providing a lot of ideas for this!)

Lan Xichen hangs the phone and slumps against the back of his office chair. It is unusual enough to catch the attention of his assistant who looks up from his laptop with a concerned noise.

"Something wrong?" Mo Xuanyu asks

Lan Xichen nods weakly. "It was a fake after all." 

Mo Xuanyu immediately understands what he means, and relaxes upon learning it is something he wouldn't count as important. To Lan Xichen though, it is devastating. That painting has been all he's been thinking about for weeks at this point. A lost Nie Huaisang resurfacing is always exciting for the very small circle of people who care about these things. And Lan Xichen cares, of course.

He wrote his thesis on the master, and he has a deal for a book so more people can learn about that forgotten genius. He has been called the leading expert on the Tang era scholar, though it isn't hard when hardly anyone else bothers with him. 

That's why when 'Winter moonlight in Qinghe', long thought lost to a fire early in the last century, resurfaced on the market, the buyer turned to Lan Xichen to ensure that it is the real deal. It is well known that there's a staggering number of fake Nie Huaisang paintings out there. One of many oddities about the man’s work, since his fame never rose high enough to be so eagerly copied by other artists of all periods, and his paintings have rarely sold for a price that would justify the attention of skilled forgers. 

Lan Xichen is also trying to write a paper on that, when his book and teaching leave him the time. 

It had been a treat to behold 'Winter moonlight in Qinghe'. There are no known copies of that one, only descriptions which do not do it justice. Lan Xichen could have cried at those delicate lines, fraught with inexplicable melancholy, like a last goodbye to a beloved home. 'Winter moonlight' is the last known work of Nie Huaisang before he dropped off the record, well into his eighties or possibly his nineties, and Lan Xichen did get a sense of finality upon seeing it. It wasn't just a painting, it was a farewell. 

As to its authenticity, Lan Xichen had no doubt at the time. The lines, the subject, the sense of light and darkness, everything was perfectly fitting with the master's other works. It really had to be the lost masterpiece, the culmination of a great artist’s life. Lan Xichen had only recommended further analysis to confirm it, certain that it was the true 'Winter moonlight'.

The painting's owner has just called to explain that the paper is too young by a few centuries. 

Lan Xichen is distraught to say the least. It's not that he is above mistakes, he is only human after all, but he was convinced that this painting was real. 

It's the thing with Nie Huaisang though. Not only has he attracted many counterfeiters over the centuries, they are always forgers of rare talent. 

"Well, that's disappointing," Mo Xuanyu agrees, more out of politeness than anything else. "Not really surprising though. How many fakes does it make this year?" 

"Three. No, two, 'man with rabbits' was tested last month and confirmed as being authentic after all. He painted that one in his youth so his style wasn't quite settled yet, but the paper and ink are right and it does look exactly like that copy they have in Beijin."

Mo Xuanyu rolls his eyes, and turns back to his laptop. 

"I don't know why anyone bothers with that guy's paintings," he huffs, having never shared Lan Xichen's passion for the artist. "Most of the ones we have are fake."

"The estate sale that got us those two fakes also produced several confirmed ones," Lan Xichen protests mildly. “It’s a shame 'Winter moonlight in Qinghe' turned out to be fake, but apparently ‘Mountains longing for snow’ has been confirmed as real, even if it didn’t sell. I’d give anything to have a look at that one too.”

Mo Xuanyu, who clearly lost interest in the conversation the instant he realised it was about an artist Lan Xichen has heard him describe as mediocre at best, turns his full attention back to his laptop when he sound warns him he has a new message.

“Then do that,” he mutters without conviction. “Go have a look or something.”

Lan Xichen stops breathing for a second, and stares at his assistant as if Mo Xuanyu had just handed him the key to the secret of the universe.

It is always a little awkward to contact owners of paintings once they are in private collections, and Lan Xichen has learned the hard way to avoid it. Some collectors are rather defensive, and a few don't want it publicised that they own rare art. But surely the antiquarian who currently holds those works wouldn’t mind letting him have a look? His interest in them, if publicised, could certainly create a ‘buzz’ of some sort in the small community of Nie Huaisang enthusiasts. It is for that sort of things that his little brother has convinced him to get a social media presence after all, so why not use it to his advantage?

Already recovering from his disappointment over 'Winter moonlight in Qinghe', Lan Xichen gets to work and starts looking for information about whoever currently holds those unsold paintings. It takes a surprisingly long while, but he eventually discovers that the series of paintings was bought by a man named mister Shanzi, apparently after the death of their former owner whose identity has not been revealed.

It is not the first time Lan Xichen encounters the name Shanzi. The man is a reputed antiquarian and art dealer. Part of his reputation comes from rarely ever being fooled by fakes and copies, and for often being the one to spot lost works from obscure artists. If mister Shanzi was fooled by 'Winter moonlight in Qinghe', then Lan Xichen feels a little better for his own mistake. The copy really had to be excellent.

The problem with mister Shanzi being involved is that he is not an easy man to contact. In this digital age, mister Shanzi is an art dealer without an online presence of any sort, though after some probing, Lan Xichen learns from one auction house that in recent years mister Shanzi has hired an assistant, and that young man is slightly less elusive than his employer. Not by much though, and it takes all of Lan Xichen’s persuasion and good reputation to obtain the email of that assistant.

It would be an understatement to say that the assistant in question is unhappy to have had his contact leaked to a stranger. The first email Lan Xichen gets in answer to his painfully polite enquiry is probably the most passive-agressive thing he has ever beheld, and that includes family dinner with his father and his mother’s new girlfriend. 

If it were earlier in his career, if he were a few years younger, Lan Xichen would have given up at that point, fearful to disturb. But he’s learned to fight for what he wants when it is needed, and what he wants, right now, is a chance to look at paintings he will otherwise never see unless by some miracle a museum in the country buys them… and he knows how unlikely that is. Nie Huaisang doesn’t attract the crowds and academics.

Not yet, anyway. Lan Xichen’s book will change that.

And the more of Nie Huaisang’s work he gets to see with his own eyes, the easier that book will be to write.

So Lan Xichen replies to that unpleasant email with an essay detailing his hopes of attracting attention to his work, the possibility that prices might rise in the future, but above all his interest in an artist who deserves to be admired along with more famous names.

To his surprise, it works.

Mister Shanzi’s assistant’s reply states that he also has deep admiration for the forgotten master, and that his employer has a private collection of Nie Huaisang’s works. He is unsure whether mister Shanzi would be willing to show those, since they are stored in his own home, but perhaps an arrangement could be made. Hopefully, Lan Xichen might agree to meet in a few days at a café near the university where he works, so that they can more easily discuss what he would need for his book.

Lan Xichen readily agrees, and the day of their meeting cannot come soon enough.

When it does come, at last, Lan Xichen is almost half an hour early at the café. He tries, at first, to grade some essays from a class he teaches, but quickly finds that he cannot focus on that at the moment. It is ridiculous to be so nervous over this, he’s met with plenty of antiquarians and art dealers before, he’s been invited to check private collections as well, but on that late afternoon, his skin is buzzing with excitement, as if he were on the verge of something extraordinary.

That excitement spikes up when an elegant young man enters the café, browsing the table with searching eyes, only to smile when he spots Lan Xichen. The young man, who might be one of the most beautiful people Lan Xichen has ever seen, quickly gives him a short bow.

“You must be Lan Xichen?” he asks.

Lan Xichen can only nod, and gestures to invite the gorgeous stranger to sit across from him.

"I'm mister Shanzi’s assistant,” the other man says as he takes a seat. “Meng Yao, at your service."

[moon-yeongjun]

Cat Got Your Tongue? || Moon Princess + Ting-Ting

Summary: On the morning of September 22, Jun races off to Ting-Ting’s in search of a solution to his little furry problem. 

@princess-haru-chan 

@princess-ting-ting

@moon-yeongtae

JUN: Jun was a cat.

Unfortunately, this fact had not changed during the frantic drive from the Moon Farm into town. Jun did not suddenly wake from this horrible nightmare to find himself hungover from last night’s Chuseok celebrations with a cough in his throat, rather than a hairball. But no! Instead he sat in Haru’s lap the entire way into town, though he took every opportunity there was a bump in the road to dig his claws into her thighs. Just a little revenge, though naturally he blamed his brother’s terrible (illegal!!!) driving.

And so he arrived at the Qins house as a cat. Yes, in one piece, but maybe getting run over would have been preferable.

Kidding.

Maybe.

It depended on how this early morning emergency magical consult went.

And it was early. Unfortunately, it wasn’t even 7 am yet, and Jun’s phone was probably under the couch somewhere ( he hoped? Honestly, where had his clothes gone?! Would Eomma find them and think the worst?) so they hadn’t been able to ring Ting-Ting beforehand. Jun just had to hope for the best-- namely, that she was a morning person, who saw this kind of thing (spontaneously cursed into the form of a cat) a lot.

So Jun leaped from Haru’s lap as soon as the truck’s door was open and dashed to the front of Ting-Ting’s house. “Hurry up, hurry up!” he hissed at both Haru and Tae as they clambered out too. Tae reached down to pick Jun up, but Jun bat his hand away. “Think about it and die!” he hissed.

Haru just rolled her eyes and then reached forward to knock on the door persistently, until it opened.

Instantly, Jun meowed first, despite how pointless an effort this was. “Ting-Ting, ah, thank god it’s you! Oh, we apologize for coming so early, but I need your help! Tell her, tell her!”

HARU: Haru wasn’t a cat, but she sure wished she was.

If she was a cat, she wouldn’t have claw marks in her thighs and she wouldn’t have to worry about translating for a very grumpy Jun-cat so humans could understand him. That was maybe the worst part of this whole thing so far because Jun-cat wasn’t a very nice cat. He hissed a lot, used his claws, and was not above using his teeth.

Haru tried for a bit, asking Tae to slow down and watch how he was taking corners, but every time Haru translated something, Tae would look down at Jun and smile at him which made Jun more angry and ended up hurting her legs even more. She stopped translating around the time Jun started threatening to never let Tae drive again and didn’t pick up again until Ting-Ting opened the door.

“Hello,” Haru said, shushing Jun-cat as he batted at her ankles. “I don’t know if you remember me but--”

“Jun-hyung is a cat!” Tae blurted, covering up his giggle with his hand. Haru wasn’t sure when he went from anxious and worried to thinking the whole thing was funny, but she supposed laughing was better than hyperventilating.

She turned and looked back at Ting-Ting.

“He’s not wrong,” she said. “This is Jun.” Haru gestured at the handsome black cat currently hissing at her. “He wants me to tell you he would really appreciate any help you can give him.”

Haru offered Ting-Ting an apologetic smile. “Sorry if we woke you.”

TING-TING:

Ting-Ting would like to say that she was up bright and early, but the truth was, she was actually fast asleep when the doorbell rang. At first she thought it was part of her dream (and it was a very good dream, actually, where she was a character in Dragon Age and — okay, that was besides the point), but then it rang again, and again, and finally Ting-Ting realized that oh, someone was at her door before 7 am and maybe it was serious.

Blinking away sleep, she grabbed a robe and made her way to the door, hoping that Mei and Su were still asleep.

She had no idea who it could be, but she certainly wasn’t expecting a hissing, spitting cat. She certainly wasn’t expecting Jun’s brother to blurt out that the cat was Jun. Slowly, she blinked. She looked at the woman, who she’d definitely seen around at Moon Market, but could not remember the name of, then looked at the cat.

“Oh my God,” said Ting, and she opened the door wider.

Immediately there was a bark. Key came sprinting down the stairs, her tail wagging furiously, as she caught the scent of a cat. Tiptoeing behind Key was Princess Kevin, who meowed curiously, but remained a safe distance away from Jun the Cat. Ting did her best to block off Key with her leg, while still ushering her guests in.

“Sorry it’s a bit of a menagerie in here,” she apologized. “Uh — sit down, please. I’m gonna make some tea so I don’t look like a total zombie.”

“Ting-Ting!” This was Mu Hou, calling from upstairs. “What’s going on?”

“Just some friends!” said Ting, as loud as she could while not being too loud. “Please don’t wake Mei and Su.”

Key barked. Kevin meowed. MuHou came sliding down the rain of the stairway. Ting wanted to bury her face in a pillow.

Instead, she put the kettle on, then sat down on the couch.

“So… why don’t we start at the beginning? How did … this happen?”

JUN: The relief Jun felt when he saw Ting-Ting lasted approximately… mmm… maybe seven seconds.

And then there was barking.

Every instinct in Jun’s cat-body reacted before his human brain. Because in his perspective: the dog was big, bigger than him, and coming straight for him.

He shrieked. It sounded like a yowl. And without warning, he launched himself up his brother’s leg, scrambling until a flustered Tae finally collected him in his arms, wincing and complaining as soon as Jun���s claws dug through his shirt. Jun could not be blamed for this! There was a massive dog and a strange cat and too many scents! He shivered in fright, never feeling more vulnerable as he did right now. Oh, the privilege of having two legs and standing up right! He missed it, needed to be a human again the way he was supposed to be!

Jun was therefore carried into Ting-Ting’s house and as soon as Tae and Haru sat down, Jun hopped off Tae’s lap but stayed squished at his brother’s side. His eyes tracked onto the loud dog and his ears flattened. If it got so much as one step closer to him…

Was that a monkey?! “What the hell?!” Jun hissed.

Oh, this was so overwhelming!

The best thing to do was get through it as quickly as he could. So as soon as Ting-Ting sat down, he meowed toward Haru. “Well! You should know, you’re the reason I’m like this! Tell her about your… your… cat magic ways!”

“Cat magic?” meowed the cat.

Wait, Jun could understand that? His ears perked and then he groaned, putting a paw up to his face. It was too early in the morning for this.

HARU: Haru wasn’t exactly sure what she was supposed to say. It was hard to think with Jun meowing loudly at her one second and practically yowling the next. Ting-Ting had always seemed very nice when she came into the market, but Jun should know better than most people that it was hard to tell random strangers your life story! Haru had been keeping the cat thing secret so long (mainly because of Jun!) that having him hiss at her to tell Ting-Ting was a little disorienting.

Sure, she knew they’d come here for help, but what if Ting-Ting couldn’t help them? What if Haru told Ting-Ting all about her home and how she was actually a cat and then Ting-Ting simply said she didn’t believe her and kicked them out of her apartment?

Ugh!

“Hush, Jun! I can’t think with you hissing at me all the time. Gosh you’re so whiny as a cat.”

With pink cheeks, Haru turned her attention back to the woman across from her.

“So, um, he said I should tell you how this happened to him, but I don’t actually know. He thinks, and he’s probably right,” she added while looking back over at Jun where he was squished against Tae, “that it has something to do with me being a cat.”

Haru blinked and continued, avoiding Ting-Ting’s gaze. “I, um, I actually come from somewhere else. I think it’s really weird like, portals are involved and everyone where I come from is a cat. I’m actually a princess, my country is called Nihon and I sort of miss it but Swynlake is really nice too and Jun has been so helpful and sweet and…” Haru trailed off, realizing she was rambling. “I don’t know how this happened to him, but I really hope you can help him. Do you think you can?”

TING-TING:

On one hand, Ting-Ting was very flattered that Jun kept coming to her for magical help but on the other hand he kept coming to her with increasingly complicated situations — honestly, she wondered how the heck he managed to get himself caught up in all of this? People taking on other’s appearances?! A world of cats?!

She wondered if there could be use in going to Reza — this seemed like a curse, if she had to guess. Though it didn’t seem malevolent… more like an accident if anything. But transmutations and transformations were absolutely out of Ting’s wheelhouse and honestly, all things considered Jun-as-cat’s internal Yin-Yang balance was pretty fine. Well, at the very least she could probably try to restore his power of speech, but…

She listened as best as she could, trying to formulate some sort of actionable plan — literally anything, when Mu Hou spoke.

“Oh dear,” said Mu Hou. She hobbled into the kitchen, lifting the whistling kettle off the stove and said nothing else.

Ting whipped her head around.

“You only say that when you know more than you’re letting on,” she scolded. “What is it?”

At her feet, Key rested her head, never once taking her eyes off Jun. Kevin aloofly kept his distance, but tilted a head in their direction every so often.

Mu Hou tsked her tongue, as she prepared the tea tray.

“You’re going to have to go back home, dear,” she said, not to Ting, but to Haru. She walked over, setting the tray down on the coffee table. “The only way to reverse this is to return to Nihon — this is a magic that won’t be undone here. I mean, theoretically, it could since — “

“There is in theory a spell for anything,” recited Ting, rolling her eyes a little.

“Yes, but it might take years to decipher. Your best bet, sir,” and here, Mu Hou addressed Jun, “is to go back with this young woman and find someone to remove the spell. They’ll know how to do it there. It’s pretty standard.” She hummed to herself and poured some tea. “But Ting can at least give you your voice back, if you’d like — isn’t that right?”

“Oh yes,” said Ting, standing up. “I can prep the spell for that if you don’t mind waiting a bit.”

JUN: Wait wait wait. This monkey said what?

First of all, Jun was quite unsatisfied with Haru’s explanation. It left out most of the important facts in his opinion! Like--

Well, actually, Jun did not know. For the first time, he realized his own squeamishness when it came to magic had meant that he’d never really asked Haru how she had become human in the first place, or why she’d come to Swynlake, or any of that. He’d just… well, he’d put it out of his mind completely. But surely she had to know much more about these things, at least the piece where she ended up in Swynlake! Yes, she was running away from a marriage, but why here? And how? Did she steal a, a charm, or could she open up portals herself, or what?!

There were missing pieces of this conversation that made Jun even more uncomfortable than he was. Miss Monkey’s confident diagnosis hardly did anything but make him more dismayed.

So while Ting-Ting stood up to at least give him his human voice back-- thank god!-- he glanced from Haru to Mu Hou and back again. At least they both could understand him.

“That makes no sense! Why are you so sure we have to go back to Nihon?” Jun demanded of Mu Hou. “And you!” This, to Haru. “You never explained to me how you even got here, eh! That seems relevant to this conversation, don’t you think? What kind of magic have you been hiding this entire time?”

TAE: As far as holidays went, this Chuseok was probably one of the more memorable ones. It wasn’t every day that his hyung’s girlfriend woke him up to tell him that his hyung was actually a cat and by the way so was she, you know? In fact, as the little cat form of his hyung snuggled up against his side, shying away from the other animals in the room, Tae was still struggling to wrap his mind around the whole thing. As far as he knew, Haru was related to someone at church! That’s why she’d been around so much. That was obviously a lie.

Now Tae was sitting in a room with talking monkeys and a girl who could understand his hyung when he yowled at her in cat and honestly he was going to have to talk to Jun as soon as all of this blew over--have a chat about telling lies and dating magick cat-girls like some anime or something.

Actually--Tae laughed from his spot on the couch, his fingers petting over Jun-cat’s back absentmindedly--and then blushed when they all looked at him. They were clearly having some sort of serious conversation that he could only hear half of and he’d interrupted them, but it was just so funny. His hyung was living an anime! He couldn’t wait to tell Nemo--well, as soon as the whole thing blew over and it wasn’t a giant secret anymore--but he was literally dating a cat-girl and then got turned into a cat!

“Sorry, I just--” he said to the room. “I was just thinking about something funny, don’t mind me.”

Haru cleared her throat beside him and he turned to look at her. He still really liked her, cat-girl or not. She was good for his hyung. He’d paid attention. He’d noticed Jun smile at her and let himself have a little fun when she was around. He really hoped Jun didn’t hate her too much for this.

“It’s not my magic,” Haru said, basically out of nowhere, though Tae was sure she was answering Jun’s meows. Heh. Cute.

“Back home we have a sorceress, Purrseph--she was kind of like a mother to me sometimes. I liked to follow her around, ask questions about what she was doing and she let me. I think she--well, I think she liked me more than my own family did sometimes, but that’s not important.” Haru’s eyes got a little shiny and Tae felt his heart twinge. He could understand that. Not that his family didn’t like him, but there was that fear of rejection--being scared of being tossed aside. He reached over and patted her arm.

Haru smiled at him and kept going.

“She told me she’d figured out a way for me to be happy when I came to her. She said she knew I didn’t want to get married to that stupid cat and that I was going to come to her so she’d been working on it. She said it would send me somewhere where I’d find that happiness and only when I found it would I be able to come back so I had to be sure.”

Haru’s cheeks were super red and Tae looked from her to Jun then smiled.

“Aww, hyung, you made her happy!”

“I think it was your whole family, Tae,” Haru said. “You all were so kind and welcoming and I just--I felt really at home with you. So thank you.”

MU HOU:

While Ting-Ting busied herself with the spell components — muttering a quick apology before dashing upstairs to the landing to collect all the reagents — Mu Hou pursed her lips, listening to the chatter of the cat-girl and the boy-cat (they were different, you see, for one was a cat turned girl and the other was a boy turned cat).

“Ah, I see,” said Mu Hou, with an understanding sigh. “I would’ve done the same for my girls. Well, perhaps not the same — but once I had them switch bodies to teach them a lesson. We mother-figures have to get creative sometimes, you know, otherwise a lesson won’t stick.”

She figured Haru would understand — animals often went about their ways in more indirect manners than humans. Part of it was not always being able to communicate in the same way, but Mu Hou found that those lessons stuck more when the people had to figure it out on their own.

“I’m back!” called Ting-Ting, darting down the stairs. “So so sorry — somehow we do have all the reagents, which is great, so they're all bubbling together right now and — “

“You’ll have to journey to the cat kingdom,” repeated Mu Hou. “I bet this Purrseph put a specific lock on the spell that only she can break. Complicated, yes, but lots of sorcererers will put failsafes on these sorts of things — especially when they come from the heart.”

She smiled at Haru, then looked fondly at Jun.

“It might seem… unconventional, but I have a feeling you will come out of this with something valuable.”

“Oh, please don’t tell me this is like those cookies,” moaned Ting, who scrunched up her nose. “That was a nightmare.”

“And you learned!” said Mu Hou. “Now — fetch that spell and help poor Jun find his voice again at the very least.”

Ting did as she was told — she always did — and soon enough, the spell was assembled and handed over to Haru in a little vial.

“Uh, he can lap it up using a little saucer?” offered Ting.

JUN: Ah, yes. A cat sorcerer. If there were a cat kingdom, and a cat princess, why wouldn’t there be a cat sorcerer? Though the more Haru explained, the more Jun wished she didn’t because of what it all implied--

Haru had been happy.

Apparently, Jun was this way because Haru was happy. He was supposed to fill in for this strange cat prince, and go rule a kingdom or something, like this was a strange faerytale about kissing frogs. If Jun had skin, he would be red from the tip of his ears to the tip of his nose. Did this mean that Haru actually like-liked him?

Yah, what was he, a fourteen-year-old?! Thinking things about ‘like-liking’ someone! He really needed to get out of this cat body, it was frying his brain!

(Though he couldn’t ignore that he’d had similar thoughts last night. But it wasn’t so much a feeling, was it? No butterflies at all. He and Haru had been perfectly comfortable with each other and that’s why Jun thought all those maybes. Maybe dating her for real wouldn’t be awful….maybe she’d be a good mother, a good wife, one day… maybe maybe maybe…

This was his fault too.

He’d never admit it!)

Instead, he leapt off the couch and padded toward the saucer. At least he could stop this high-pitched mewling! Jun lapped up the potion quickly, which wasn’t difficult because it was actually quite delicious. Then, blinking, he looked around at Mu Hou and Haru and Tae and finally Ting-Ting. “Well, I don’t feel any different. How do I know it’s work-- my voice!” Jun exclaimed. He could hear it this time, his words! His voice was back!

“Ah, thank you so much Ting-Ting! You have no idea how grateful I am. I promise, I’ll find a way to pay my gratitude.” He bowed...as a cat. Several times.

Though the main problem wasn’t fixed. But apparently… they had to go to Nihon for that.

He glanced at Haru. “Come, Haru, Tae-yah. We should er, let Ting-Ting get back to her morning. I’m sure she’s very busy.”

[shinsorokiri]

UA Idol | Chapter Nineteen

Hitoshi Shinsou x Reader

Word Count: 5k+

Warnings: Language, cancer, talking about a past emotionally abusive relationship, mentions of sex, rlly awful older guy doing rlly awful things to a minor, sad Hitoshi Shinsou, mentions of alcohol

A/N: This one is literally the longest chapter I think I’ve written in my life ever. I know it’s still kinda short compared to what other people put out, but I’m really proud of it! Also, it is a little angsty, but I figured adding some background info was a must. I hope y’all enjoy it! Also, yes, I will also be uploading tomorrow as well, so woohoo. This is my Christmas gift to y’all hehe :)

───────────────────────────────────

Much to your disappointment, you eventually had to leave Hitoshi and Denki’s room. It just got “too late.” Of course, you would have loved to stay and just chill with Hitoshi, but Denki and Mina cannot know, and you guess you’ve been around him a bit too long for a friendly situationship. Maybe. You don’t really know what the boundaries for this situationshhip are when it comes to hanging out with each other. Whatever, though, it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you need to get all of your preparations for your song all together immediately so you can make it easier for the band and sound and lighting designers. 

So here you are, six in the morning, not sleeping, no, of course not. You’re too busy making a basic beat that you can show the band, sketching out some ideas for a light show, and counting each and every vocal cue that might need to be prerecorded and played. Of course, Mina is unconscious in the bed next to you, but that’s because she’s singing Positions by Ariana Grande, so a backing track will do perfectly, and the minimal dancing she’ll be doing will all be done by her. Besides, the two of you talked about it for a long time about her song and she’ll be one hundred percent fine. You, on the other hand, were just an anxious mess about the entire situation about to go down. Much to your expectations, you got a text notification from none other than Mr. Hitoshi Shinsou. Man doesn’t sleep, and the fact that he got so much sleep earlier today really fucked with him. 

‘what are you doing right now’

‘trying to write down my lighting cues, why?’

‘come to the hotel roof, it’s a lot calmer and peaceful up here’

You can’t help but smile. Leave it to Hitoshi to be up ridiculously early. Then again, it’s not like the two of you really had anything to do tomorrow. Not anything big, anyway. It mainly consists of just telling the band and everyone everything, so going up to the roof wouldn’t be a bad idea. You grab your laptop and a notebook and head on up. Sure enough, Hitoshi is sitting near the edge, mindlessly strumming his guitar, and just gazing off to the ocean. “You should really get some sleep, you know. I mean it’s nearly 6:30 in the morning.” You tease as you sit down next to him. He smirks, shaking his head. “Sorry, I refuse to listen to someone who is also up at this hour by choice. So, politely fuck out of her with that shit.”

You gently push his shoulder with a chuckle before he starts strumming away again. “So, what’s up? Why are you awake at this hour?” he glances over at you and you sigh. “I’m just stressed about everything. I already have gotten super behind on schoolwork because of this and like yeah, technically I could just drop out this semester and go back for next but it’s just… super complicated and if I don’t get through to live shows… what am I gonna do?”

“You’re going to get through, kitten. I know you will. You’re amazing, stop doubting yourself.” 

“You’re just saying that, Toshi.”

“No, I’m not. I’m being 100% serious.” He stops playing his guitar as he looks at you, a dead serious expression on his face. You sigh, shaking your head. “Thanks. I just always assume the worst, I guess.”

“I know you do. But based off of past experiences, it makes sense,” he says, looking away from you and back out at the ocean. You two would probably see the sunrise together. Romantic. You pause for a moment, before speaking again. “I never actually tell you about what happened with me and my ex, did I?”

Hitoshi pauses now. You never did tell him everything, just enough. And he kind of pieced together some things because of the songs you wrote about him, but he would kind of love to know more. Not like love, but he would like to know who the motherfucker who broke your heart was. “No. Just that he was older than you and the absolute worst.”

“Ah, yeah, well, that’s the basics.”

Hitoshi looks at you. “Would you want to tell me?”

You hesitate before nodding your head. “Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

“Then, I’m all ears.”

You nod, looking out at the stars before beginning, “So… when I was seventeen, I met… him. He was much older than me, like our relationship was not legal, which looking back on it now, I’m like, ‘wow (Y/n), you are such a dumbass for that,’ but I was young. I didn’t know that it was bad, so… yeah. But I certainly found out. At first it was great, I had an older boyfriend, I was edgy, everything was amazing. And then… well… I know now that it was gaslighting. Following that was manipulation, there was… a lot of emotional manipulation. For example, you call me kitten, or (Y/n) or my nickname. He would call me dumbass, stupid, loser, bitch, slut, all the bad things. And it wasn’t in an endearing way. It wasn’t like I’d do something stupid and he would laugh and be all, oh you’re such a dumbass. No. It was for everything. He would also treat me like a child. I was young, yeah, but he acted like he was all knowing, and I didn’t have any experiences with anything at all. Which, granted, I had very little experience, but… still. It was demeaning. It made me feel small and worthless, and he’s the worst for it.”

You pause for a moment, glancing over at Hitoshi. You see his eyes fixed on you; jaw clenched. You can tell he’s kind of… pissed at this guy. Which makes sense, I mean the two of you are now romantically involved, so why wouldn’t he hate your ex. It only makes sense. Especially since he was a dumpster fire of a human being. You look down at your lap, continuing on. 

“I fell in love with him, though. That’s why I let it go on for so long because I was like, well, we love each other, so everything will be fine. And that’s partially why I lost my virginity to him. I mean, that was… a whole other ordeal. Once again, I was seventeen, he was very much older, it was just… it was very illegal and bad and well… yeah. And when I was like, ‘oh, but you’re older than me isn’t that bad?’ he was all, ‘age is just a number, baby. We can do whatever you want,’ and my naïve ass fell for it. And from that moment on I thought there had to be something special about me. And well… after almost two years of us being together, I found out he was cheating on me. And it kind of destroyed me in a way. And… yeah. He’s the worst.”

Hitoshi is silent for a moment. Only because he doesn’t trust what might come out of his mouth. This man lied to you, manipulated you, hurt you, cheated on you???? What the actual fuck is wrong with him. Not to mention the whole grooming thing he did to you. What the fuck was that. “Well, I’m just going to let you know this now.”

Hitoshi starts talking but pauses to turn and face you completely. “If I ever meet this guy, I’m beating the shit out of him. Badly. And then I’m going to ruin his life by letting the police know that he coerced a minor into having sex with him. That’s what your whole ass song Seventeen is about, so it’s not like it would be a random story.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right about that, but I think he’s out of my life now. Sometimes he tries to slide back in, but he hasn’t tried for six months now, so yay. All time high record.”

“Next time he contacts you let me know and I will literally send him a video of me like, going down on you or something. I’ll flip him off the whole time.”

You laugh at that but can’t hide the flustered feeling you get from the thought of Hitoshi doing that. You wouldn’t complain if he did do that, though. “My knight in shining armor.”

“You know it,” he says, flashing a smile at you. You roll your eyes, laying down on the ground. He watches you for a bit, just staring at you as your eyes are closed for a while. “But in all seriousness. I’m really sorry that happened to you. He’s definitely the worst and you did not deserve to go through that. I’m sorry you did.”

“It’s… well, it isn’t really okay, but that’s okay. It’s okay for something to not be okay, you know?”

“I know… I definitely know that. And I’m really sorry that asshole completely ruined an emotion like love for you. You deserve so much better.” You open your eyes at that, giving him a sad smile. “Maybe I’ll get over it someday. But yeah. I wish he didn’t do that, but he really did. I guess I’m just afraid of getting hurt again.”

“I understand completely,” Hitoshi nods, staring back out at the stars meeting the ocean. Suddenly his phone buzzes, causing him to look down at it. “Oh, yeah. It’s like 10:45 over in Japan right now,” he mumbles, unlocking his phone to message his mom back. “Oh? I didn’t realize you were so popular that even in a different country your phone would be blowing up,” you tease him, and he chuckles before giving you the middle finger. “I’m not, my mom is just worried I’ll get alcohol poisoning and die here.”

“Don’t tell her about last night, she’ll shriek.”

He smiles, knowing that she definitely would. That’s when he realizes he’s never really told you about his mom. And that’s just not fair since you basically just poured your heart out to him about your shitty ex. Time to let you know. “She definitely would, and then the nurses would grill me out next time I went to see her.”

“Nurses?”

“Oh, yeah. I never told you, did I? My mom basically lives in the hospital at this point. I mean, not really, but she has to be there a lot for the chemotherapy treatments. She was always a sickly woman, but six months ago she was diagnosed with stage IV breast cancer. And, well, they gave her at least three years.” Hitoshi pauses for a moment. The news still makes him emotional, so he’s fighting back the emotions surfacing in him right now. Or at least he’s trying to, but you make it really hard. Especially since you’re immediately wrapped around him. He lets out a shaky sigh before giving you a teary smile. “It’s not okay, but it’s okay for it to not be okay. My dad passed away when I was seven because of an accident on the job, so my mom raised me. Even when I made it nearly impossible, she was always there. So, yeah. It’s… it’s hard. It was hard losing someone I loved when I was a kid, and it hasn’t gotten any easier.”

You don’t say anything at first, just gently push his head into your shoulder. You gently rub his back as you two sit in silence. You know that he’s crying silently, so you just stay there before you break the silence. “I’m here for you, Hitoshi. You can always talk to me about everything going on.”

He nods, setting his guitar to the side, and fully wrapping his arms around you. You run your fingers through his hair to try and help him out. You’ve had a shitty relationship, but that can never compare to Hitoshi’s situation. You could never imagine losing people you loved. At this point, it seems like that emotion just does more harm than good for everyone. No wonder the two of you never want to deal with it again. You’re afraid of getting hurt by someone you love again, and Hitoshi is afraid he’ll lose someone he loves since it seems to keep happening. 

The two of you stayed like that for quite some time, until you noticed the sky beginning to lighten up. “Toshi, look. The sun is rising.”

He pulls himself out of your arms but makes sure to keep one of his around you as he pulls you closer to him. You lay your head on his shoulder and he lays his head on top of yours as the two of you watch the sun rise over Los Angeles. You never thought you would ever see this sight, but it’s certainly beautiful. “(Y/n?)”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For listening. And for comforting me. I haven’t really been able to talk about it with anyone.”

“What about Denki?” you ask, shifting your head and looking up at him. He lets out a chuckle. “I’ve talked about it with him, yeah, but I don’t know. It’s nice having a change of pace and being able to talk to someone else about it, y’know?”

“Yeah, I know. The only person I ever talked to about my guy problems is Mina, so it was really nice talking to you about this stuff.”

He grins. Even though he just reminded himself of the fact that his mother is sick, just the mere fact that you were there with him was enough to make him feel a little bit happier. “What do you say we go to bed now? It’s seven in the morning and we have work to do tomorrow,” he mumbles, and you nod. You would be lying if you said you weren’t tired. Hitoshi stands, extending his hand to you which you happily take. “Too bad we can’t sleep in the same bed again. Mina and Denki will definitely know something is up,” you say with a sigh as you gather up the things you brought to the roof. All of it went untouched, but maybe that was for the better. You were stressing out too hard and your notes probably weren’t even comprehensive. He grabs his guitar and frowns. “Yeah. That really sucks, I like having you with me while I sleep.”

“And I like having you with me,” you say, opening the door that took the two of you to the roof. You both walk silently to his room first since it’s on a higher floor, and he quickly gives you a peck on the lips as a goodnight… er, good morning? Doesn’t matter, he disappeared into his room as quickly as he did it, just leaving you grinning in front of his door like an idiot. 

You quietly walk into your room, being extra careful to not wake Mina even though she wouldn’t wake up if you screamed directly in her ear. You settle into bed, hugging a pillow close to your body and pretending it’s Hitoshi. It does help that your pillow still smelled like him from the night before, too. Lavender and Eucalyptus. Not a scent you ever expected to find extreme comfort in, but here you were. 

Waking up was confusing, since you literally had no idea when you even fell asleep. You wake up around 10:30, exhaustion immediately making itself felt. “You didn’t sleep because you were stressed last night, huh?” Mina asks, sitting on her bed with her headphones on. You shake your head no, letting out a big yawn as you do. Mina sighs, shaking her head before shutting her laptop. “Do you need to sleep in more? I can call Denki and we can go give our information to the band and designers if you would want to sleep in.”

“No, I need to get my information to them earlier rather than later,” you mumble, pulling yourself out of bed and going over to get clothes on for the day. “Whatever you say, but I’m definitely not coming back to the room afterwards and I’m definitely forcing Denki to go to the beach with me because I don’t really want to go alone and I know he’s weak and would never be able to turn me down, so knock yourself out when I’m gone. Literally. Please.”

You laugh at that but nod regardless. That would be very nice, being able to just take a nap while she was off sitting in sand and staring at scantily clad women on the beach. But before you can look forward to that, you need to go tell the band and designers what you need for soundcheck tomorrow and then for the actual performance. You grab your laptop and shove it in a backpack as well as your various notes and look at Mina. “Are you coming too?”

“Oh, definitely. Of course.”

“Great. Is Denki coming?”

“He and Shinsou are already there, actually. Guaranteed it’s because Shinsou dragged his ass there before he had.a chance to protest, but we gotta go.”

You both leave your room, Mina calling an Uber as you make sure you have everything to make this exchange as easy as possible for all parties. “Okay, (Y/n), but seriously. What is up with you and Shinsou? Like, you don’t just fall asleep with someone while drunk, you know that, right?” she asks as the two of you wait outside for your ride. You roll your eyes. “Yes, you do. Especially if y’all are very close friends who happen to both be tired as hell and drunk as hell at the same time.”

“Oh, please. He was literally doting on you the entire time we were at the club. He definitely wants something more with you.”

“No, he really doesn’t. We already talked about all of… that stuff after you and Denki left the room and we thought we were dying. We were just drunk, and he wasn’t doting he was just making sure his friend was okay getting drunk in a new city in a new country.”

Mina narrows her eye at you from suspicion but decides that the story checks out and lets out a dramatic sigh. “I just want you to find someone, you know? I feel like it would help you with everything going on in your life.” “I don’t need someone else to be doing well, Mina. Believe me, I’m just fine on my own.”

“I know, I know. But still. It wouldn’t hurt to see you happy in a relationship.” 

Your Uber arrives and the two of you hop in. You stare out of the window, trying your hardest not to fall asleep in this car as Mina chats the driver’s ear off. Luckily the drive isn’t too long, and you both head inside the theater you’ll be performing at. You walk over to the band, showing them everything you need. You even give examples of what you’re looking for, playing the guitar to get them familiar with it, the piano, bass, drums, all of it. And they are very grateful for it, because they have a shit ton of other contestants that they have to do this for, and not all of them are as nice or ready as you are. You thank them before going over to the designers and showing them the idea you had come up with for the performance. You let the sound designer know that your friends would be singing back-up and how you would like their microphones to sound throughout the performance, and then you move on to telling the lighting designer what you think would look cool. You spend at least twenty-five minutes just talking with them and bouncing ideas back and forth until you all settle on a light show and sound. You thank them again, and then turn to go back to the lobby. 

You find Mina outside talking with Denki and Hitoshi, and as soon as she sees you, she waves you over. You walk over to them, giving Hitoshi and Denki a small wave. You were even more tired now than when you woke up, so talking exudes too much energy that you really need to save. “I told you she didn’t sleep at all. She’s definitely not going to the beach with us,” Mina says to Denki, her tone dripping with an ‘I-told-you-so’ attitude. Denki groans. “But we never get to do anything fun with (Y/n)! Not since the club.” “Are you saying hanging out in your room all together last night wasn’t fun?” Mina challenges and Denki goes silent. “Oh, yeah, I guess it was.”

“Listen, Denki, I think you should just let (Y/n) go home and take a nap. She obviously needs it,” Hitoshi cuts in, masking the concern he’s feeling for you with a dry tone and no expression. “I know, I know. Go back to the hotel and take a fat nap, (Y/n/n). I wanna hang out with you later today, alright?” You nod, getting your phone out to call an Uber back to the hotel. “I already called one, (Y/n/n), you can just ride with me,” Hitoshi says, and you nod. “Aw seriously? You’re not coming either?”

“Denki, I also did not get any sleep last night because I have insomnia, I would also like to just relax for a bit.”

“Okay, fair. But I mean it! We’re all hanging out later!” “Okay, but no drinking. I mean it. We have soundcheck tomorrow.”

“Fine.”

And with that, the Uber arrives and you and Hitoshi pile in. “We are going straight to my room and passing the fuck out because I had a horrible time trying to sleep without you last night, alright?” Hitoshi literally pouts, causing you to laugh. “Okay, okay, calm down. I’ll stop in my room to change into something more comfortable and then-”

“Nope. You’ll wear one of my shirts and a pair of sweatpants that I own, and we will go to sleep as soon as possible. We’re going straight to my room though, because if Denki and Mina burst into any room it’ll be yours.” “Fair point. Okay.”

“Good.”

He wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer to him as your Uber driver winds through traffic. You arrive at the hotel pretty quickly, and you both head on up to his room. He throws some clothes at you and you go in his bathroom to change before coming out and curling up under his covers and into his arms. He pulls you closer to him and pretends like he wasn’t just affected by seeing you in his clothes, but boy oh boy he was. He would like to see you like that more often, to be honest. But he probably wouldn’t, and he knew that, he just kind of really hoped he would. “G’night, Toshi,” you mumble, falling asleep immediately. He chuckles silently, carefully and gently tracing patterns on your back. He got very lucky, and he knows it. Even if you two aren’t dating, he has a cuddle buddy and a music buddy and a kissing buddy who he really really likes. And not like in just a romantic way because he definitely does and he’s doing his best to make sure that feeling doesn’t turn into… something more, but also like in just the fact that you allow him to be himself. It’s amazing, and he wouldn’t trade it for the world. He falls asleep fairly quickly, too, and you two take a cute little four-hour nap. 

You wake up at two in the afternoon to see Hitoshi already awake and staring at you. “Good morning, kitten,” he says, his ‘I just woke up’ voice very much evident. “Morning,” you mumble, burying your head back into his chest. You feel the vibrations of his laughter in his chest, and grin. “When do you want to actually get up?” he asks, going back to rubbing your back. You shrug. “Probably soon. It is the afternoon, so.”

“Yeah. You’re right there. Do you maybe want to go meet up with Denki and Mina? Go grab some lunch and stuff?”

“Yeah, sure. Why not.”

The two of you get up, Hitoshi changes while you stretch out a bit then you head down to your room so you can actually appear presentable as well. You throw Hitoshi’s clothes in your suitcase, saying you’ll give them back to him later but honestly? You had no desire to give them back. They were too comfortable, and they smelled too much like him. They belonged to you now. He had a hunch that was what you were doing, but he honestly didn’t mind. He brought more casual shirts and sweatpants with him on this trip anyways, you could keep them if you wanted to. And you wanted to. And he lowkey wanted you to, too. You text Mina, asking where they are, and she answers right away. “Looks like they’re at some beachside restaurant, let’s go,” you say, calling an Uber yet again to get to the restaurant. 

When you arrive, Mina and Denki are already a few drinks in, so they were far too excited to see the two of you. Luckily, there were sober people there to make sure they don’t try to annoy the two of you into drinking. Kirshima, Bakugou, Jirou, and Momo are all there, too. Four new people are there as well, the boy with the messy green hair, the really cute brunette girl, the guy who looks like and definitely is a stoner, and the edgy guy whose hair is dyed half white and half red. You two are introduced and you learn that their names are Izuku Midoriya, Uchako Uraraka, Hanta Sero, and Shouto Todoroki. You learn that Sero and Kirishima became friends after getting stuck in the elevator together. You also learn that Uraraka is friends with Jirou and Midoriya and that’s how he and Todoroki ended up coming. Another thing you learn very fast is that Midoriya and Todoroki have fat crushes on each other, but apparently, they aren’t dating yet. It’s kind of cute watching how flustered they get with each other, honestly. You end up hanging out with all of them for the rest of the day, occasionally getting filmed by a UA Idol camera crew going around to catch what the contestants are doing on their days off. It was actually really fun. You got to know these new people and you really liked them, they were super cool. And it was a nice way to destress. 

You never expected to make so many new friends, all from different places. This competition is giving more opportunities and friendships to you than you expected it to, but hey. You were NOT complaining about it. It was also funny to see the different dynamics everyone brought to this little hang out. Bakugou would call everyone and extra or a dumbass, but when it came to Kiri he was softer and somehow gentle with him. It was hilarious to hear him call Midoriya a piece of shit waste of space and then immediately go mom mode because Kirishima said something he ate made him feel a little bad. And then Midoriya was equally as hilarious. He was this cute little positive boy covered with freckles and smiles, but the minute that Bakugou would be rude he would somehow insult him on his biggest insecurities without batting an eye. You don’t know how he did it, but if it weren’t for Kirishima and Todoroki you’re pretty sure they would have gotten into a fist fight. Uraraka was very similar to Midoriya in that regard, whereas Todoroki was very bad at picking up social cues and kept a cool and calm demeanor through anything. Of course, Jirou and Denki were flirting the whole time, but the way she flirts is by being mean, which Denki lowkey loves. And Momo and Mina are getting along very well, they’re kind of exact opposites which makes them work nearly perfectly. 

Just hanging out with them was ridiculously fun, and you really hoped that this wouldn’t be the last time. Based off of all of their performances that you had seen, they all would be able to get through to live shows. You just wondered if you would be able to pull of getting to the live shows. Luckily for you, every time you got lost in thought, Hitoshi would subtly squeeze your hand to pull you back into reality. At this point, you don’t know what you would do without him. And that scares you too. Not because of the growing feelings you have for him, because they aren’t there, duh, but because if he makes it through and you didn’t, you would have to go back to Japan without him. And that’s the worst thought because you know he’ll make it. And you know Mina and Denki will too. You’d like to believe you will, but will you really? Your phone suddenly buzzes, and you look at it to see a text from… Hitoshi?

‘kitten, the anxiety is radiating off of your body. just relax, okay? i know you’re nervous but everything will be okay, i promise. besides, everyone at this table is here for you and feeling the same nerves you are. for now, just try to relax and enjoy this time. oh, and i’m also buying your food. sorry not sorry’

You grin a bit, especially since immediately after you read it you feel your other hand get squeezed in reassurance. He really knew how to make you feel better. And even going into the next day, he was constantly reassuring and helping you. And you were doing the same for him. Soundchecks were now going on, and while you were nervous, you weren’t as nervous anymore. You had watched Mina go already, as well as Denki, Kiri, Bakugou, and Uraraka. Now, it was Hitoshi’s turn, which meant you were up there, singing harmonies with him. His soundcheck went really well, they set everything for him, and he was good to go after two runs of his song. Then you were up. Now don’t get it wrong, even though you were less nervous doesn’t mean you weren’t nervous at all. Quite the opposite, actually. You were still worried things would go wrong, but you know that if that’s a thing then it’ll get fixed. You just really care and want everything to be okay. And it was! Soundcheck went really well, the lighting show was great, your microphone was adjusted, the band knew exactly what to do, you knew exactly what to do everything went perfect! And you were very happy about it. 

“I told you everything would be fine,” Hitoshi says to you after your soundcheck is over. You roll your eyes and stick your tongue out at him. “I can’t control my nerves sir.”

“I know, but I still told you everything would be fine. Do what you did today tomorrow, and you’re guaranteed a spot in the live shows.”

“Well, thank you, but you do know that same statement applies to you, too, right?”

“Mmmm, no I could have done better.”

“Hitoshi Shinsou, I swear to GOD.”

He laughs at your tone and the look on your face, putting his hands up in defeat. While the two of you were talking, Midoriya leaned over to Mina and asked the golden question that everyone wanted to know. “So, are they a thing?” “I wish I knew Midoriya,” she whispers, and Denki joins in. “They won’t let up on the idea that love is bullshit, so here they are, dating without actually dating and ignoring any and all assistance we try to give them.”

“Huh… is this what Todoroki and I are like?”

“Yes.” This time Uraraka butts in, sending Midoriya a glare. He instantly turns bright red, causing Denki to bite back a laugh. “Just ask him out, bro. You know he’ll say yes,” Denki says, patting him on the back. “Yeah! And that way, the three of you can join the groupchat we have devoted to spying on them and plotting to get them in a relationship!” Uraraka snaps her head towards Mina so fast that she probably should have gotten whiplash from it or something. “That’s a thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Why am I not in it yet?”

And that’s how Uraraka got in the group. But not Midoriya. He only got in after he asked Todoroki to be his boyfriend. Now there were two secret operations going on, and both parties were literally completely oblivious to everything going on between each other. Funny how that works. 

For you and Hitoshi though, the focus was mainly on the competition. The final round of Hell Week was tomorrow, after all. No matter what happened, your lives were definitely about to change.

[victoria-daydreams]

Till Kingdom Come

Chapter Six: Introductions

AN: When I first began writing this chapter I had an idea in mind, but seeing how long this chapter ended up being I decided to save it for the next chapter. Also, I was going to hold off on uploading this chapter, but I just finished watching the Lovecraft Country finale and now I’m depressed, so posting this is my boost of serotonin.

Word Count: 3.2k

Trigger Warnings: racism, racial slurs, dated/offensive terms, sexual assault

Chapter Seven: Target Practice

Two Months Later

The sound of a single gunshot cracked through the air, making the birds that rested in the nearby trees hurriedly fly away.

"You missed," Booker announced dryly, his breath a visible puff in the chilly, early December air that showed no signs of warming up.

Sabine eyes narrowed, "Thank you, for your wonderful commentary Booker," she said sarcastically, shooting him a glare.

"Just in case you didn't know," he retorted, lifted his hands.

"I have shot a gun before," Sabine reminded.

"So you've told me," he replied, moving behind her. "You aimed for the man's heart and somehow shot him in the ribs," he recalled, with a soft hum. "Great shooting there Sabine," he chuckled, and she could only envision the smug smirk on Booker's lips.

Sabine cursed under her breath, lowering the musket from her face as she stared at her target. Briefly, she wondered if the breeze had affected her aim, she had done everything right. The sudden contact of Booker placing his hand on her mid-back instantly made her body became rigid, her mind immediately flashing back to her time on the Martin Plantation.

"Don't get familiar," Sabine gritted out, looking over at him.

"I wasn't trying to!" Booker replied defensively, snatching his hand from her body. "Your posture was lacking and I was trying to correct it," he explained, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Well then find a way that doesn't involve touching me like that!" Sabine snapped, sticking her hand out to the side. "Matter of fact, just tell me next time," she suggested, with a slight shake of the head. Sabine exhaled and turned her attention back to the musket in her hands so she could reload. "What happened to Nicky and Josef teaching me how to shoot?" she questioned, glancing over at Booker before she brought the hammer to half-cock.

In the past two months that Sabine has known him, she's taken to calling Joe, 'Josef'. She liked the way it rolled off her tongue.

"It doesn't take two people to teach someone how to shoot a gun," Booker answered simply. "They were needed elsewhere," he added.

"And let me guess, Andy is busy as well?" Sabine asked rhetorically, and from the corner of her eye she saw him nod. "So, I'm stuck with you?" she asked, sliding the rifle down onto the butt.

"Sorry to disappoint," he quipped, a smile tugging at his lips. Booker unclasped his hands and began rubbing them together as he paced back and forth, trying to generate some warmth in his body. "You know, when I went looking for you in the wounded tent I had the strangest encounter," Booker stated, turning his head in her direction.

Sabine arched a brow, "And what's that?" she asked curiously, slipping her hand into the ammunition pouch.

"I came across this Irish fellow who warned me about and I quote, 'a she-devil, colored nurse'," he recalled, and Sabine's lips twitched up into a smirk.

Screams, yells, and moans of the injured echoed in Sabine's ears as she stood inside the field hospital tent. All around her, doctors and nurses were patching up anyone they could get their hands on. The air was thick with the smell of blood, bile, and other bodily fluids. The day was hard and encountering difficult and stubborn soldiers like the one in front of her, made Sabine's day more difficult than necessary.

Sabine went to reach for the injured Union soldier's leg again, but he jerked his body away from her.

"Get your nigg-" the soldier began to shout.

But Sabine was having none of it.

Before the man could finish his sentence, Sabine remorselessly jabbed her index and middle fingers into the gaping hole of the man's gunshot wound. The man let out a roar of pain and began thrashing in bed, unfortunately for him, nobody in the tent was paying attention to them because there were several men just like him screaming in pain. Only difference was, Sabine was inflicting it on purpose.

"Get my what hands off you?" Sabine questioned, staring down at the soldier as continued to scream in pain. "I'm sorry, I don't think I quite understood you. You said put my hands on you?" she asked again, pressing her fingers harder against the wound. The volume of the soldier's scream increased further more.

"Make it stop!" the man cried, writhing in pain.

"Say, 'I'm sorry, Miss,'" Sabine suggested, still maintaining pressure.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry Miss!"

"You wouldn't happen to know who that might be would you?" Booker wondered, staring at her with a knowing look.

"I bet that Irish bastard won't think to say it again when addressing me," Sabine remarked, grabbing a paper cartridge from the pouch a lot harder than necessary. "These ungrateful, Union bastards believe themselves to be all high and mighty compared to the seceshs," she continued, her grip growing tighter around the cartridge as her anger rose. "When they themselves, treat me like I'm some child who needs constant supervision or I'll hurt myself, disrespect me by calling me out of my name when I pass by them, or even as I try to help them. When they're the ones, bleeding out on the goddamn, blood soaked wooden floors of the hospital!" she seethed. "But hey, it's alright. Since the Union soldiers treat colored folks like me with a little more humanity than the Confederates would, I guess I should be grateful," she finished, sarcasm laced in her voice.

"Sabine,"

She looked over to Booker to see his hand hovering over hers. "Your hand," he said, and Sabine's eyes move down to where the packed paper cartridge once rested in her hand, but now there was nothing but black powder smudged all over her hand. "Here," he offered, digging inside his coat pocket and pulling out a handkerchief.

Slowly, she pulled the cloth loose from his fingers, "Thank you," she said quietly, lowering her eyes back to her hand. "I'm sorry," she apologized, shaking her head once more. "I don't know where that outburst came from," she stated, rubbing the cloth onto her palm.

"No, don't apologize," Booker replied, grabbing the rifle that rested on Sabine's body. "Your anger is righteous Sabine," he affirmed. "Let's take a break, eh?" he suggested, motioning to the grass where they could have a seat and Sabine just nodded in agreement.

She lowered herself to the ground, tucking the skirt of her dress underneath her as she went.

"Earlier...I snapped at you and I shouldn't have," Sabine commented, bringing her eyes away from her hand that she still cleaning the powder off from her skin.

"Don't let it trouble your mind, I deserved it," he defended, laying the rifle beside him. "You were right, I should've asked before touching you like that," he agreed, as Sabine slid her gloves back on.

She placed a hand on her forehead, "It's been a long day and it seems like nothing has gone right since the moment I woke up this morning," Sabine said, rubbing her fingers back and forth.

"Nicky and Joe told me about the nightmare you had this morning," Booker stated, looking over at her. "Was it about-" he started.

"No, it wasn't about the Orient woman drowning again," Sabine cut in, dropping her hand into her lap. "It was something much worse, if you can believe that," she added, a sardonic chuckle escaping her.

"Your time on the Martin Plantation?" Booker guessed.

"Yes," she answered, her voice suddenly becoming hoarse

"Do you want to talk about it?" Booker questioned, and Sabine remained quiet as she stared out in front of her. "Don't feel pressured-"

"It was three months ago," Sabine interrupted, craning her head to look back at Booker. "Only a month right before my death," she noted, feeling her arms raise in goosebumps.

Booker turned his body more to face her better, "What happened?" he asked.

"Have you ever heard of a mandingo fight?"

Sabine sighed as she sat in front of a vanity mirror, a look of pure disgust painted all over her face as she felt herself being pampered and doted on by Louisa and Joan, two female house slaves who were working on her "unruly" hair, as they liked to put it so. Tonight Master Martin was visiting the French Quarter for some "entertainment", but Sabine knew better, whatever Master Martin considered fun or entertaining was undoubtedly the exact opposite.

"Sabine, are ya payin' attention girl?" Louisa asked impatiently.

Her words snapped Sabine out of her thoughts and she shook her head, looking at the older woman who was no more than about thirty something years old, but already was sprouting gray hairs.

"What is it?" Sabine asked, irritation etched onto her features.

"I's was sayin' that ya hair and face is done,"

Sabine's gaze snapped towards the mirror on the vanity and she felt herself deflate. Her curls had been combed and brushed to the point that her hair was now in soft waves, styled into a middle part chignon. Instead of seeing her nude colored lips, she was greeted with the sight of them being painted a deep, sinful red. Her eyelids were blackened with eye paint, bringing attention to Sabine's dark brown orbs and making her appear more alluring, and her cheeks were tinged in pink rouge.

Who was the woman looking back at her in the mirror?

"T-this-" Sabine stammered out, looking at herself in horror.

She was never done up this nice for the Martin family parties, ever.

"Very pretty?" Louisa asked, with a bright smile.

"Lovely?" Joan offered, sharing the same expression as Louisa.

"No...not me," Sabine corrected, waving her hands in disagreement. "I am not this woman, and she is not me," she went on, pointing at her reflection.

"Yes, you are," a male voice objected. "You look more like a dignified negro gal now," he informed.

Sabine felt herself bristle as she saw the reflection of Master Martin leaning against the doorway. He was dressed in what Sabine could only imagine was a very expensive black suit, a waistcoat the color of sherry, and black patent shoes that seemed to have a small and mostly unnoticeable scuff on them.

"Ladies, will you give Cecile and I a moment?" he asked, giving a false smile towards both the house slaves who suddenly looked terrified at his presence. They both nodded and scurried out of the room, knowing it was good to leave Master Martin and his favorite slave alone.

Once the door closed Master Martin advanced onto Sabine who only kept her gaze on the mirror, her full lips drawn into a tight, straight line. He came behind her, placing a hand on her supple naked brown shoulder, a sickly smile on his face as he leaned down towards her, inhaling her sweetening scent. He chuckled lowly as he felt her shudder in repulsion, her eyes still hard as stone as she kept her gaze forward.

"Do you know how beautiful you are...?" he asked in a mocking tone, his hot breath on her ear.

"You have told me many times Master Martin," she replied curtly.

Master Martin would always call her beautiful, but she always knew those were words of spite and menace. He never saw her truly as beautiful. She was a mere toy.

His toy.

Master Martin then laughed lightly, grabbing a loose strand of her hair, tucking it hair behind her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. Sabine suddenly let out a loud gasp when she felt his large calloused hand roughly hold her cheeks, forcing her to look at him. Fear sparked into Sabine's eyes as she stared into the penetrating eyes of her Master. He gave her a tight lipped smile, his hand squeezing her cheeks, making her wince in pain.

"How many times have I told you to call me Aaron when we are alone?" he questioned, low and menacingly. Sabine knew not to answer, she could only stare into the face of evil. "How many?!" Master Martin shouted in her face, shaking her a little, making Sabine let out a slight yelp of fear.

Tears burned at the corners of her eyes as she felt him remove his large hand from her face and she squeezed her eyes shut, a few tears falling down her face as she waited for the pain to arrive. Master Martin never did like to hit her, however, on rare occasions he would. But the pain that Sabine was so anxiously awaiting, never came. Sabine cracked open an eye, seeing Master Martin, smiling at her ruefully.

"What...?" he asked mockingly. "Did you think I would hurt you?" he asked again, using the same tone.

Sabine nodded her head slowly, her body trembling lightly. Master Martin then tsked her, shaking his head lightly, walking over to her and then wiping her tears away from her face. The act seemed almost intimate, but she knew that it was far from it.

"Sabine, do you think I'm some kind of monster?" he asked, removing his hand from her face.

"Yes," she thought.

The thought of answering out loud had crossed her mind, but she was in no mood to be hit tonight. She just wanted to accompany him to this stupid outing and then go back to doing her duties as a house slave.

"You don't have to answer that," he said humorously. "Just come downstairs in the next five minutes. Our carriage will be ready soon," he informed, patting her cheek rather roughly. "Also, I want you to provide some music for this little get together we're going to. And none of that mongrel music I hear you sing. Sing something more dignified and more...white,"

Master Martin then cupped her cheek and gave her a soft and lingering kiss. Sabine resisted the urge to bite down so hard onto his lip that he would bleed or spit into his mouth. But she just simply kissed him back, though every inch of her internally was screaming at her to fight back. But she didn't. She couldn't.

She was scared.

Once Master Martin broke the kiss his gray eyes gazed into her dark brown ones in a very sickening love way and he smiled, running his thumb over her plump bottom lip. "Je t'aime…" he said softly, before leaning up and walking away from her.

And once Sabine heard the door close shut, she felt herself break down, tears running down her face as she choked back sobs that would surely bring Master Martin back to the room.

"In all the years I was on that plantation," Sabine began, tears flowing freely down her face. "He was never that physical with me until this year," she explained, with a sniffle. "And I-I don't know what triggered it. Maybe it was because Marc and Alain were gone, or m-maybe I-I did some-"

"Sabine there is nothing you did to deserve being assaulted," Booker cut in. "You hear me? Nothing,"

And Sabine just silently nodded in agreement, another sniffle coming from her.

"Now, go ahead and use my handkerchief to dry your eyes," Booker suggested, motioning to the cloth that rested in her lap.  "Be careful though, I'd hate to see gunpowder all over your face," he joked, a warm smile on his face.

A watery laugh escaped Sabine, "You liar," she responded, bringing the clean part of the cloth to her eyes. "You'd probably think its funny and let me walk around with my face all dirty," she pointed out, dabbing the fabric underneath her eyes.

"It did cross my mind," Booker remarked, with a chuckle. "Come on, we should get back to camp. We'll continue this tomorrow if all goes well," he said, before placing his hands on the ground to help him stand.

"No," Sabine answered, shaking her head vigorously. "We're not going back until I hit that target," she stated, pointing in the direction where the target was.

Booker let out a sigh of faux exasperation, "We'll be here till sundown if that's the case," he quipped, reverting back to his usual self.

Sabine's face broke into a grin and she balled up his handkerchief and threw it at him, smacking him right in the chest. Booker mirrored her smile, grabbing the cloth and stuffing it back inside his coat before pushing himself off the ground and dusting his coat off.

He stuck his hand out, "I'm only joking," he said, sticking his gloved hand out which Sabine took. "Well, only a little bit," he added, and Sabine just rolled her eyes.

She picked the rifle up from the ground and placed it on the butt as she did earlier. Taking out another paper cartridge from the ammunition pouch, she ripped open the top with her teeth and poured the pre-measured black powder into the barrel. Afterward, she pushed in the bullet, paper and all, into the barrel and began ramming the contents with the ramrod.

"Sabine," Booker called, and she glanced up from what she was doing. "That night you told me about, he didn't...he didn't..." he trailed off, struggling to finish the question.

"No Booker," Sabine answered, as she finished ramming down the bullet with the rod. "He didn't rape me, he was too drunk to do it," she informed, tossing the rod down. "The worst I got was some wet, sloppy kisses," she recalled, bringing the rifle to her face.

He cleared his throat and nodded to himself, a look of relief clearly on his face.

After a moment, Booker took a few steps back, "Alright," he started, clearing his throat once more. "Remember to stand up straight and stand your ground," he reminded. "That rifle is pretty powerful, so keep the butt of it pressed against your shoulder," he instructed. "And keep it steady," he added, eyes keenly set forward.

Sabine cocked the hammer back with two clicks, her finger curling firmly around the trigger of the rifle. A glossy bead of sweat formed on her forehead as she aimed her gun at her target. She used her other hand to steady the barrel, closing one eye in the process. Looking down the barrel, she aligned the sights toward the target, which was still slightly obscured by the midday haze. Tiny whispers of doubt began floating in Sabine's mind on whether or not she could hit what was in front of her, but those thoughts were pushed out of her mind as she squeezed the trigger.

First, there was a powerful bang, and immediately after a shuddering recoil pushed her back. Sabine kept her balance, albeit barely, but Booker rushed to her side and kept her grounded.

She blinked, "Oh. So that's what it feels like," she looked to the Frenchman and burst into a fit of laughter, seeing his lips twitch up as well. "Come on, let go see the damage," she giggled, after regaining her composure a little.

Lightly, she grabbed Booker by his sleeve and they made a brief journey to the makeshift target, a stump between a pair of bare trees. A few torn scraps of metal were all that were left of the tin can Sabine had been aiming for.

"Wow," she breathed, an awed look on her face, as she picked up a piece of the destroyed can. "I guess that was a lucky shot though," she added with a giggle, lifting her eyes to Booker's.

He sauntered up to her, hands in his pockets. "Don't sell yourself short," he commented, his mouth curving upwards. "There may be a markswoman in you yet,"

Chapter Eight: Tis’ the Season

[bard-llama]

The Witcher Fic Masterlist

Masterlist of all of my Witcher fics, updated as of June 5, 2021.

If you like my writing, consider donating to my ko-fi! I am writing gift fics for all donors.

Here is a masterlist of all completed multi-chapter fics.

Series:

Families of Choice

Geraskefer Canon Divergent AU

Summary: The best families are those you choose. Jaskier realized that early in life, but his family continues to expand over the years.

Series Masterlist

Cintra Happily Ever After Series:

AU from the Families of Choice Series (as of the end of 5 Dinners with the Lioness chapter 5)

Summary: A series in which I pretend everything is fine and nobody dies, and Geralt makes Cintra his home base after the feast in episode 4.

Series Masterlist

Chronic Pain Series

Summary: Unconnected shorts in which I vent my pain onto fictional characters.

At Her Back

Summary:  Yennefer was born with a twisted spine. Her transformation had cured her, but she still felt the pain as if nothing had changed. Geralt offers Jaskier's services as a masseuse.

Coming to a Head

Summary: During a confrontation gone wrong, Jaskier gets hit with a spell that is supposed to cause unimaginable pain. So why does Jaskier seems mostly unaffected?

When Pigs Talk

Summary: When seeking pain relief, Yennefer takes something that makes the pigs in her pig pen start talking. It’s the start of an interesting evening.

Your eyes aren’t rivers there to weep

Rated E

Summary: Geralt’s eyes burn and ache like he’s undergoing the trials again, so Jaskier does his best to help distract from the pain.

Don’t Cry for Me, Temeria

Iorveth/Roche Witcher 2 Different First Meeting AU

Summary: A Witcher 2 Canon AU in which Iorveth and Roche meet before either of them know who the other is. Somehow, this changes absolutely everything.

Series Masterlist

Fish Out of Water

Iorveth/Roche MerMay AU

Summary: Once upon a time, all elves lived in the sea and had mer forms. Now, Iorveth is something of a novelty, one of the last true elves.

Series Masterlist

For You, My Love, I Bleed

Iorveth/Roche angsty AU

Summary: Iorveth and Roche had been happy, or so Iorveth had thought. Then King Foltest recalls Roche to the capital, and suddenly Iorveth is left alone as Roche returns to Foltest. Roche made his choice, clearly, and Iorveth just has to deal with that. But all is not as it seems, and Roche considers everything worth sacrificing if it protects the man he loves.

Series Masterlist

A Hard Day’s Night

Iorveth/Roche interrogation AU

Summary: Iorveth ends up imprisoned, with Vernon Roche as his interrogator. From there it only gets worse - or better, depending on your point of view.

Series Masterlist

If You’re Good to Mama

Iorveth/Roche Outsider POV

Summary: The Clarabelle is the finest brothel in town and its located in the shittiest part of town. Follow the adventures of the Madame, Eliza, and the brothel workers as they start working to supply food to the terrorist elves in the Scoia'tael.

Series Masterlist

Keep Me

Iorveth/Roche fanart AU

Summary: All Vernon Roche wants in life is someone to keep him and appreciate him. Surprisingly, he may find exactly that - in the form of his enemy, no less. Based on this art.

Series Masterlist

King and Country

Iorveth/Roche divergent AU

Summary: When Foltest rejects Vernon Roche, he sets into motion a series of events that have consequences he never could've expected. A universe in which Roche's anger and hurt at Foltest remove the rose colored glasses.

Series Masterlist (NEW ADDITIONS!)

Love Shack

Iorveth/Roche Secret Relationship AU

Summary: The Love Shack: a ramshackle cabin in the forest that happens to be Iorveth and Roche's only respite from a reality full of violence, war, and hate. In the Love Shack, all that matters is each other.

Series Masterlist

The Lovestruck Fox

Iorveth/Roche Schoolgirl Crush AU

Summary: It’s obvious to anyone with eyes that the Scoia’tael Commander holds his opposite in the highest esteem. 

Series Masterlist

Petals and Stripes

Iorveth/Roche Hanahaki AU

Summary: Those that felt the deepest of deep loves could develop a condition known as the wasting disease. Those afflicted slowly suffocate as their lungs fill with fruit representing the one they love. Well, it's supposed to be fruit. So why is Commander Roche coughing up flowers?

Series Masterlist

With A Look I May Not Meet

Iorveth/Roche capture AU

Summary: When Iorveth is captured using his relationship with Vernon Roche, Roche is forced to make a decision. Stand with King Foltest and Temeria as he has always done - or choose Iorveth and go on the run.

Series Masterlist

The Woodland Fox and The Temerian Hound

Iorveth/Roche animal transformation AU

Summary: Roche usually didn’t mind Triss’s magic much. Sure, she poked at him with it all the time, but it was always playful, inviting him in on the fun. This time, however, something had gone very, very wrong and he was quite sure that it would take him a long time to trust her magic again. Because somehow a rebound spell had hit him, and now he had a tail. A dog’s tail. Well, he was always getting called Foltest’s attack dog. Now it was just a bit more literal.

Series Masterlist

Under the cut:

New! Gen fics (22)

Yennefer fics (4)

Geraskier/Geraskefer fics (25)

Geralt getting railed fics (4)

Cintra fics (Calanthe/Eist and others) (9)

Lambert/Aiden fics (6)

Lambert/Jaskier fic (1)

Wolf Witcher fics (2)

New! Iorveth/Roche fics (45)

New! Saskia fics (3)

Gen Fics:

(They came after me) With Masterful Deceit

Summary: When Jaskier discovers that Yennefer has Elven blood, he is forced to confront his prejudices.

Beauty and Imperfections

Summary: Jaskier signs up to be a nude model. He's expecting it to be a fun, sexy time. It goes a lot differently than he expected.

The Blood of the Covenant is Thicker Than the Water of the Womb 

Summary:  Found Family prompt fills, focusing mostly on Iorveth and Roche. Chapter 1: Geralt invited all of his family to join him in Corvo Bianco, which is great, but has the downside that finding a moment alone is near impossible.

Cards Out For Your Country

WiP

Summary: In which a great number of people are convinced or coerced into posing for a Gwent Pinup Calendar.

Greg the Demon Horse

Summary: Jaskier tries to make a stuffed toy for Ciri. If only he knew how to sew properly.

Gwent, The Good Old Game (NEW!)

WiP

Summary: Zoltan, Dandelion, and Priscilla decide to go all in on a new money-making scheme involving gwent. This time, they are going to sell stories and dolls of the characters that appear on gwent cards. It's guaranteed to make a killing.

History is Written by the Victors

Summary: “Dara said grandmother’s men laughed as they raped women and killed babies by - by swinging them by their legs, bashing their heads in.” Fuck. Tentatively, Jaskier wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into a hug when she didn’t flinch away. In his head, he could hear Filavandrel’s voice, the humans proudly watch these very fields grow... our babies fertilizer for their grain. He swallowed against rising bile. Against his neck, he could feel Ciri finally succumb to tears. “How could grandmother order that? I know her, that wasn’t what she was like! But Dara wouldn’t have lied.”

Wherein our characters struggle with knowing that good people can do awful things, and that everything you think you know is probably wrong.

How to Train Your Roach

Summary: The story of how Jaskier's stupid ditties on the road accidentally trained Roach.

Inspired by Her Fire

Warning: Spoilers for Witcher 2, specifically something from the end of Iorveth’s Path.

Summary:  Saskia's POV during the Council Meeting where Saskia introduces Iorveth.

It’s the Little Things

Summary: A collection of fills for various prompts! Chapter 1: “You. Rest. Now.”

jaws that crack the bones the lion leaves

Summary: Jaskier writes a song about the Slaughter of Cintra.

Life is a Cabaret

Witcher 3 Canon/Spoilers

Summary: Set during the Cabaret quest, after Geralt helps Dandelion with his staged fight, he decides that Dandelion's big comfy bed at the Rosemary & Thyme is perfect for a bit of rest. Dandelion doesn't exactly mind.

The Lion That Haunts My Dreams

Rated M

Summary: Calanthe does what is needed to protect her kingdom. Dara just wants to forget. Two perspectives on a genocide.

Marilka

Summary: Geralt knew he couldn’t claim his Child of Surprise. Destiny had punished him harshly the one time he’d thought about raising a child. He could not risk its wrath again.

Power

Summary: Yennefer had been forced to fight for every bit of power she had. So why does the power to make people see her seem so unattainable? An introspective look at Yenn during the Dragon Hunt (but ignoring the break up because I can)

Sentenced to Write

Summary: A collection of fics from 1 sentence prompts. Chapter One: Thief!Ciri Chapter Two: Kid!Calanthe

Soft Words and Kind Hearts

Summary: A collection of fills for Geralt Fluff Week 2020. Day 1: First times. Geralt gets a tattoo and becomes part of the Blue Stripes Commandos

Sweat and Blood and Tears: A Geralt Whump Collection

Summary: Collected shorts for Geralt Whump Week

What Makes a Family

Summary: Ciri spends her first birthday since the Fall of Cintra at Kaer Morhen.

What You Meme to Me

Summary: A collection of Witcher fics inspired by memes. Just because. Second chapter: Jaskier doesn't understand why people are so obsessed with gender. Why would what's in their pants matter?

The White Wolf

Summary: Geralt always gets named the White Wolf in fight clubs, even before Jaskier gave him the name. Sometimes he even hid his medallion and gave a fake name, and still, he was always called the White Wolf.

Your Voice is Your Life

Summary: “Your voice is your life.” His old teacher used to tell him. Jaskier largely disagreed, but then a djinn steals his voice. Bottled Appetites from Jaskier's point of view

Yennefer Fics

To Be...

Summary: Collection of shorts for Yennefer Appreciation Week on Tumblr!

A Tribute to the Fae

Rated E

Summary: When Yennefer accidentally trespasses on fae land, she must pay the price.

Viscount Pankratz and Wife

WiP

Summary: When Jaskier receives an invitation to a fancy party addressed to him and his wife, he decided he deserved a night of fun causing problems for people. Who better to help than Yennefer of Vengerberg?

Yenn & Djinn

WiP

Summary: Bottled Appetites AU Jaskier’s last wish is for Geralt to appear. This manages to change everything.

Geraskier/Geraskefer Fics: 

(I would not wish) Any Companion But You

Summary: I’m not your friend, Geralt always insists whenever Jaskier calls them such.

100 Ways to Love You

Rated E

Summary: A drabble collection for Witcher OT3 sex Okay, it might be more double drabbles than drabbles, but shhh

Awaken in Pleasure

Rated E

Summary: Geralt dreams of having Jaskier waking him up with sex. He finally manages to ask for it.

Bounce a Coin Off Your Witcher

Rated E

Summary: Jaskier has lots of thoughts about Geralt's arse in leather pants. And then they get stuck in a small room together.

Butter That Biscuit

Rated E

Summary: Bottled Appetites Ep 5 AU – When Jaskier awakes in Yennefer’s room, he does, in fact, butter that biscuit.

Five Almost Kisses and One Happily Ever After 

WiP

Rated E

Summary: What it says on the tin. Geralt knows he wants Jaskier, but why would the bard ever be interested in a witcher? Five times Geralt ALMOST figures it out and one time he actually makes a move.

Five Times Geralt Frotted Against Jaskier’s Ass and One Time He Fucked It

Rated E

Summary: Based on this tumblr post about Geralt frotting against Jaskier's ass in his sleep.

Fulfilling a Need

Rated E

Summary: Geralt has been twitchy and restless lately. When Jaskier confronts him, he discovers that what Geralt needs is for Jaskier to take control and fuck his face. So he does.

Gestures of Affection

Rated M

Summary:  A collection of shorts featuring any configuration of the relationship between Geralt, Jaskier, and Yennefer and the ways they show affection to each other. With bonus Ciri, because she’s their family.

Hit Me Baby (One More Time)

Rated E

Summary: Jaskier desperately wants physical evidence of Geralt’s love for him.

How to Spoil Your Pet

Rated E

Summary: Yennefer and Jaskier team up to give Geralt everything he wants. He wants a lot. Good thing they're amenable.

Howling Swirling Storm

Summary: Jaskier is a winter spirit who has always been shit at hiding his powers. But somehow Geralt still never figured it out?

Jaskier’s Words are Horseshit

Summary: The thing about Jaskier is, he never shuts up. Literally, ever. That was the first thing Geralt noticed about the bard, but he was not prepared for all that entailed. Jaskier was, quite literally, always making noise of some sort. If he wasn’t singing, he was humming, muttering, strumming at his lute. Even in his sleep, the bard hmm’d and sighed and mumbled and snored continuously.

A Kiss With a Lash

Rated E

Summary: Geralt asks Jaskier to punish him for the Break Up (TM)

Making Amends

WiP

Rated E

Summary: Jaskier is putting his life back together after the Mountain™. So what is he supposed to do when Geralt arrives at his doorstep?

Pamper Your Witcher

Rated E

Summary: Geralt doesn't let himself have the finer things in life. So Jaskier decides to pamper him.

That Wild Blue Yonder

Summary: Jaskier lives in the modern world as Julian Alfred Pancratz. When his family vacations at an old castle his cousin owns, he discovers an old wardrobe that leads to the Continent. Specifically, it leads to a wardrobe belonging to Madeline de Stael.

The Pleasure of a Good Bath

Rated E

Summary: Geralt had always enjoyed baths. Since Jaskier had joined him, they'd gotten even better - and it was making it difficult to hide that he wanted more.

Porny Prompt Pile

Rated E

Summary: Just porny fics based on prompts. First chapter: Geraskier - blow job while standing Second chapter: Geraskier - Jaskier riles Geralt into rough sex

Relationships Require Communication

Summary: Jaskier liked to joke about him being allergic to the word ‘friends’, but he wasn’t far off. Geralt was aware that he was not good at talking, not good at feelings, and definitely not good about combining the two. After Yennefer and Jaskier leave him on the mountain, Geralt does some thinking about what happened and how exactly he messed up. And how to fix it.

Rushing Thoughts and Pulsing Hearts

Rated E

Summary: Geralt knew he was in love with Jaskier, but what could he do about it? No one believed Witchers could love. Not even him, sometimes.

So hold me, lover, like you used to

Rated E

Summary: When Geralt brings Cirilla to Oxenfurt to search for Jaskier, he was not expecting to walk into a concert the bard and another were giving together. Songfic based on The Amazing Devil.

When Words Act As Phantoms on Horseback

Summary:  Jaskier gets Geralt used to the lack of silence. Without him, the silence creeps up on him and itches at his mind until he must break it. AKA how Netflix!Geralt slowly becomes more like Game!Geralt.

With Knot But A Look

Rated E

Summary: Jaskier asks tamed werewolf!Geralt to fuck him in the forest under the full moon.

Worth 100 Words

Summary: This is a Witcher drabble collection, using prompts. Mostly OT3 and family fics with Ciri.

Geralt getting railed fics:

A Cintran Welcome

Rated E

Summary: Geralt’s Witcher stamina is too much for Jaskier to handle alone, but he wants Geralt to experience being fucked to exhaustion. So he arranges a gangbang in Cintra. Featuring Geralt’s self–loathing getting overwhelmed with pleasure.

Forest of Plenty

Rated E

Summary: Geralt goes to visit his friend Mousesack for some fun and discovers that Mousesack and Jaskier have already anticipated his arrival and prepared quite a surprise for him.

I’m Yours to Claim

Rated E

Summary: Geralt knew he would eventually agree to go to Cintra. It was Jaskier asking, after all. He hadn't expected to run into his old friend and fuckbuddy, Mousesack, but it was nice to see him again.

Size Matters: The Geralt Size Queen Chronicles

Rated E

Summary: Just porn about Geralt being a size queen.

Cintra Fics: 

5 Gifts from Family, 1 Vision of the Future, and 1 New Start

Summary: Pavetta gets to know her family after the banquet.

Artistic Endeavors

Rated M

Summary: Calanthe discovers that her daughter has a habit of drawing rather explicit art. For the Banned Together Bingo prompt "Porn". Set before Episode 4: Of Banquets, Bastards, and Burials

Falling Into the Lion’s Den

Rated E

Summary: Calanthe and Eist have slept together many times, but it was never about feelings. So why does Eist propose to her and insist on changing everything?

Her Mother’s Legacy

Summary: Ciri had always had trouble with schooling. So if Geralt wants to train her in monster lore, he's going to have to do some things for her. Featuring ways Pavetta helped Ciri figure out how to manage her ADHD.

Like a Punch to the Face

Summary: “Oh sweet Cintra, you were so promising, from your spoiled princess to your stupid old king! But when I arrived, the royals were dead! Tossed out a window or shot in the head!” Ciri forced herself to keep walking past the puppet show, feeling like a fist had reached into her chest and ripped out her heart.

The Lion in the Woods

Summary: Mousesack teaches Ciri about the importance of balance.

The Lioness and the Seahound

Rated E

Summary: A collection of Calanthe/Eist porn fics. Chapter One: Calanthe positions Eist so that she can ride him while giving the illusion that she was taking him. Eist loves it.

Mousesack’s Educational Retreat for Proper Young Nobles

WiP

Summary: 13 year old Calanthe gets sent to a “whip-your-heirs-into-shape” 6 weeks and she is not happy about it. She’s also not delighted by this kid Eist, who is determined to become her friend, and sharing her room with 2 other noblewomen was not fun. Featuring 13 year olds’ interpretations of cultures, some significant cultural misunderstandings, and some slow but sure developing friendships.

O war! Thou son of hell

Summary: In the aftermath of war, Calanthe waits to feel the way everyone said she was supposed to.

Lambert/Aiden Fics:

An Evening of Frippery

Rated E

Summary: When Lambert and Aiden get invited to a fancy party, it’s the perfect excuse to dress up, dance, and have some fun.

Fuck Me Properly (NEW!)

Rated E

Summary: Aiden stumbles upon Lambert getting fucked by a plant. With tentacles. Then his brain kind of shorts out.

One Way to Skin a Cat (NEW!)

Summary: A reflection on Aiden's thoughts in the aftermath of his near death, and a realization of what Lambert must be thinking.

pretty witcher (walking down the street)

Rated E

Summary: Lambert decides to finally make his move, dressing up in his prettiest dress to encourage Aiden to give in to temptation. Before he has a chance, though, bandits force them into an unexpected position.

Silk and Lace

Rated E

Summary: When Aiden and Lambert split up on the road to tackle separate contracts before meeting again, Lambert takes the opportunity to spoil himself with pretty clothes and slow, drawn out pleasure.

Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This (NEW!)

Rated M

Summary: Lambert wakes up when Aiden has a bad dream. Fortunately, he knows a good way to get Aiden's mind off of it.

Lambert/Jaskier Fics:

Desperate Affection

Rated E

Summary: Lambert didn't know when he'd fallen in love with the bard, but he could no longer imagine life at Kaer Morhen without him.

Wolf Witcher Fics:

Ensnared

Rated E

Summary: Lambert, Geralt, and Eskel have a long tradition where Eskel ties them up. This time, they've invited Aiden and Jaskier in on the fun.

The School of the Wolf

Summary: Vesemir is old, the oldest Witcher alive. Witchers don’t retire, they get slow and they die. He knows he's slowing down, but all he has left in this world is the boys he trained, and the legacy of the School of the Wolf.

Iorveth/Roche Fics: 

A Kiss Can Mean A Thousand Things 

Summary: Fills for kissing prompts based on the 50 Types of Kisses Writing Prompts

And Ghosts Did Shriek and Shrill

WiP

Rated M for violence/gore

Summary: After the unjust murder of his team, Vernon Roche is willing to do anything to get them back. Even if it means drawing on unspoken-of beliefs from a childhood in Velen.

Before All Else, Be Armed (NEW!)

Summary: Iorveth and Vernon Roche are finally getting together. But when it comes time to disrobe, they run into a few problems. Namely, the sheer number of concealed weapons each of them carry.

Brewing Romance and Dissent 

WiP

Summary: When a spear to the eye means that Iorveth needs to take at least a year to recover, he decides to spend it undercover in a coffeeshop in Vizima's Royal Quarter. He's also not expecting his favorite customer to be a human.

Can’t We All Just Get Oolong? 

WiP

Summary: In which Iorveth and Roche discover that Roche's mom Eliza works for both of them, drink lots of tea, and slowly get to know one another.

The Chase

WiP

Rated M

Summary: Iorveth likes making Roche chase him when the Blue Stripes and the Scoia'tael clash. When Roche manages to catch him one day, something entirely unexpected happens. And then it keeps happening.

Commander Roche’s Secret Lover (NEW!)

WiP

Rated E

Summary: Commander Roche is very clearly hiding a lover. His team tries to figure out who it could be.

Deep Inside Me (NEW!)

Rated E

WiP

Summary: Iorveth longs for things he shouldn't want and his attempt to ignore that ends up making everything worse.

Devour What’s Truly Yours

Rated E

Summary: When Roche discovers Iorveth inside a magical circle of flowers with pollen that makes you feel good, he was not at all prepared to find out what they had to do before they could leave.

A Dh’oine’s Only Use (NEW!)

Rated E

Summary: Iorveth arranges for his Scoia'tael to make use of his new whore, Vernon Roche. After all, a dh'oine's only use is as a hole to be fucked.

Dream a Little Dream of Me

Rated E

Summary: It totally doesn’t mean anything that Roche dreams of Iorveth.

‘Ere Our Souls Are Ground To Dust 

Summary: After Nilfgaard conquered the continent and deigned to let Temeria be self-governed, Roche finds himself drowning in work trying to build a new government and keep an economy afloat (well, more get it back there for some parts of Temeria). Meanwhile, he and Iorveth were managing to live a fairly domestic life together. It had only been a few months, but it was going well. Then they have their first fight. Over coffee, of all things.

Every Kiss Begins With Kayran (NEW!)

WiP

Rated E

Summary: Every once in a while, there was a local brave enough to seek out the Kayran for a pleasant distraction. The Kayran was delighted to oblige. And sometimes, sometimes there were people who wanted a more regular experience. People like Iorveth, who had scheduled monthly fuck dates to work off the stresses of command. Neither of them expected to get discovered during one such session.

Explore That Which Sets Your Soul Aflame (NEW!)

Rated E

Summary: Iorveth very much was not expecting Vernon to ask about his ears. But if he's going to satisfy Vernon's curiosity, it's only right that Vernon satisfy his in return.

Eye on You 

WiP

Rated E

Summary: 5 Times Iorveth Accidentally Watched Roche Come and 1 Time Roche Watched Him

False Positive (NEW!)

WiP

Rated E

Summary: When Iorveth sneaks into Lobinden in disguise to enjoy the Imbolc festival, the last thing he expects is to deal with Vernon Roche - especially because Vernon doesn't know it's him.

The First Seeds of Trust 

WiP

Rated E

Summary: As soon as Iorveth had started fighting vines rather than fighting him, Roche knew something was up. Still, nothing could have prepared him for what happened next.

Great Eggspectations (NEW!)

WiP

Rated E

Summary: In the aftermath of Temeria's fall, Vernon Roche is feeling unmoored. So it only makes sense to track down his once-enemy. Iorveth has always encouraged his mind to bring its best and right now, he dearly needs that. He's in for a slight surprise when he actually finds Iorveth, though.

A Heart’s Fire (NEW!)

Summary: Skellige is the only kingdom without a price on Iorveth's head, so it only makes sense to seek shelter there after the Scoia'tael are disbanded. The isles are nice, but what had been pleasantly cool in summer now turns freezing in winter and elves were not made for temperature extremes. So of course Iorveth manages to get caught in a blizzard.

How to Fluster an Elf 

WiP

Summary: When Geralt, Dandelion, and Zoltan make a casual remark about never having seen Iorveth flustered, Roche decides to take it as a challenge. Featuring Nilfgaardian feasts, cultural differences, really fancy beds and baths, and a witcher, a dwarf, and a bard who are having the time of their lives watching Roche try to catch Iorveth off guard.

It’s the Little Things

Summary:  A collection of fills for various prompts! Chapter 1: “You. Rest. Now.”

The language of friendship is not words but meanings 

WiP

Summary: When Geralt is hired by the Blue Stripes and the Scoia'tael to find their missing commanders, he discovers that not only have said commanders somehow turned into children, but that the two groups managed to scare them away before introductions could be made. Fortunately, Roche and Iorveth both have their own ways of making themselves understood.

Leap of Faith

WiP

Summary: When Roche changes the rules of engagement in a skirmish with the Scoia'tael, Iorveth ends up captured.

Needs More Dragons

Summary:  Frankly, 2 dragons in all the Witcher stories? Not enough. So have some fics with random dragons! Chapter 1: Honey, I Adopted A Dragon: Iorveth may have acquired a baby dragon while Roche was traveling. Roche is about to find out.

Never Have I Ever

Summary: The Blue Stripes have an evening off. What better way to spend it than by playing drinking games?

On Knife’s Edge 

Rated E

Summary: After they assist in the Battle of Kaer Morhen, Iorveth and Roche end up traveling back to Temeria together. An injury to Roche’s arm leaves him unable to shave himself, so it’s only polite for Iorveth to offer his assistance… right?

Olfucktory Senses (NEW!)

Rated E

WiP

Summary: Iorveth typically found the smell of human exertion to be nauseating. But when it's Vernon Roche's sweat, somehow he finds himself responding entirely differently.

Orificial Business

Rated E

WiP

Summary: When Roche hears a rumor that the Scoia’tael might be frequenting a brothel on the edge of town, he decides it’s worth going undercover to see.

Pining and Poignards (NEW!)

WiP

Rated E

Summary: Iorveth may spend a lot of time thinking about Vernon Roche, but it didn't mean anything. It couldn't mean anything. Doesn't stop him from contemplating the possibilities, though. Meanwhile, Roche attempts to teach himself Elder Speech to translate the carvings on a knife Iorveth stabbed him with.

The Portrait of Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon (NEW UPDATE!)

WiP

Summary: Ciri hates the portrait from her childhood that Geralt displays openly and proudly and loudly. He shows it off to everyone he can and she wants to destroy it. Lucky for her, two fighting enemies present a prime opportunity to make the portrait's destruction look like an accident.

The Pride of Temeria

The Blue Stripes are Temeria's elite Special Forces Unit. Their mission is to hunt down the Scoia'tael, but in between fighting and drilling, they get up to an awful lot of shenanigans. “He looks like he’s dead,” Shorty said, poking the sleeping form of their commanding officer with a stick. “Shorty!” Silas hissed shrilly. The newbie was still scared of breaking rules and he fidgeted nervously. “What?” Shorty shrugged, “He sleeps like the dead, it’s fine. As long as he’s not actually dead, anyway.” “He’s not,” Ves, their erstwhile second in command, rolled her eyes. “He’s just fucking weird.” “Are you sure he’s okay? How can he possibly breathe like that?” Igo frowned in worry, which wasn’t surprising for the man who had accidentally become their de facto team therapist. “What he needs,” Thirteen pointed in what would have been a dramatic gesture if not for the drunken stumble, “is a goo’ pair o’ tits to bury his face in.”

Red is the Rose (Complete!)

When Roche gives Iorveth a rose of remembrance, Iorveth doesn't know what to think. Legend has it that if you give a rose to someone you love, then it’ll live forever, but surely that can't be true. After all, Roche is his enemy.

Run Away With Me

Summary: Iorveth and Roche spend a starlit night together. “Run away with me,” he murmured, only half aware of the words he was saying. But when Iorveth froze, they truly processed and suddenly cold fear gripped him. He stuttered a correction, “I mean – I know, obviously, you can’t just leave your people. It’s – I–” Iorveth cupped his face, cutting off the stream of words. “Vernon,” Iorveth said, voice soft and wondrous. “Vernon,” he said again, tugging Roche forward into a desperate kiss, full of wanting and longing and regret. Even though Roche already knew the answer – of course they couldn’t just run away together – he still had to close his eyes and brace himself against the words he knew were coming when Iorveth drew back again. “Cariad,” Iorveth whispered, stroking his face. “Were my life my own, I would go anywhere with you.”

Scenes from Another World

Summary: Standalone scenes based on different trope AUs, but set in the canon Witcher universe.

Sentiment and Condescension

Summary:  Roche hadn’t been planning to go to the Vengelbud party, but as soon as Emhyr told him not to... Now if he could just get Iorveth to leave him alone, he could get wasted in peace.

Seven Seconds in Holding 

Summary: Iorveth is very, very unclear on how his last fight with the Blue Stripes led to him here, spooning Roche in the Blue Stripes’ holding cell, both their wrists cuffed together.

Spousal Privilege

Summary: Stuck at a diplomatic conference, Roche is frustrated that none of the elves in the room will even acknowledge he exists. Then Iorveth enters and it's like seeing an old friend. And then somehow they end up pretending to be married.

A Stubbornly Persistent Illusion (NEW!)

WiP

Rated E

Summary: Roche wakes up in a different world, one where he and Iorveth are raising Foltest's children in the dwarven city of Vergen.

These Boots (are gonna walk all over you)

Rated E

Summary: Neither Iorveth nor Roche had expected their fight to go like this. Inspired by this gorgeous art.

Time is Cruel, To Rob Us from Ourselves 

WiP

Summary: An AU of Don’t Cry for Me, Temeria/(Im)Perfect Strangers where a magical artifact sends everyone back through events of Iorveth’s past. Iorveth is less than pleased, but the insights into his character may be invaluable for more than one person present.

Under Pressure 

WiP

Rated E

Summary: When Iorveth defeats Vernon Roche, he intends to take his time interrogating his enemy. Fortunately, an abandoned mage’s house nearby provides him with the perfect toys to make this fun.

The Value of a Man

WiP

Summary: When Iorveth finally defeats Roche, he decides that such a valuable prisoner is worth ransoming back to the King. After all, surely the King's Enforcer is worth a few concessions to elven rights. Right?

To Weave The Strands of Fate (NEW!)

WiP

Summary: There is a tradition in Velen. Whenever a child is born within Velen, a lock of their hair is cut off and gifted to the Ladies of the Wood. According to whispered legends, the Lady Weavess could add the hair to her loom and thereby change their Fate.

What Happens in the Cave-In Stays in the Cave-In

WiP

Summary: When Iorveth and Roche’s fight ends abruptly because of a cave in, they find themselves trapped together as they wait to be unburied. In the meantime, Roche is injured and Iorveth has herbs that could help - but all he knows about humans is “they need more”.

Wolves and Squirrels and Stripes

Rated E

Geralt/Iorveth/Roche

Summary:  A collection of Witcher 2 short fics featuring Geralt, Iorveth, and Roche. Chapter 1: Iorveth had never expected this to happen when Geralt invited him to visit Kaer Morhen.

Saskia Fics:

Damned Be The Thoughts That Refuse To Leave (NEW!)

Rated E

Saskia/Iorveth/Roche

Summary: When Saskia gifted him a toy shaped like a large human penis, Iorveth had sworn he would never use it. After all, it wasn't as if there were any humans he desired... right?

Shared Custody (NEW!)

Rated E

Saskia/Iorveth/Roche

Summary: Iorveth wasn't sure how walking into Saskia's office to see her talking with Vernon Roche of all people led to the three of them jammed into a closet with him in the middle, but he supposed it could be worse.

What Goes Around Comes Around (NEW!)

Rated E

Saskia/Philippa

Summary: Philippa decides to give Saskia a little treat to wake up to. Saskia repays her in full.

[losille2000]

Mister America, Prologue: Massachusetts

CHAPTER NUMBER: 1/? CHARACTERS: President!Chris Evans/OFC (see notes) GENRE: Romance/Drama FIC SUMMARY: After a massive social media write-in campaign organized by others, Chris finds himself thrust into a spotlight that he is unprepared to handle. His campaign managers suggest that a political marriage might help him weather the storm and help his image during the campaign... just so long as it isn’t the one woman Chris really wants. RATING: M  WARNINGS:  Nothing. AUTHORS NOTES: This story is AU in the fact that this is the 2020 presidential race, and Chris is a candidate. But everything in the past is still the same with him being an actor. Also, COVID-19 is not a part of this story. I needed to play in a land where COVID didn’t exist and “Captain America,” in his alter ego, punched out a Nazi in a metaphorical(?) way. For more on the story, go here.

This first part is prologue-y.

I have also curated a soundtrack for all 50 states, and then some. You can listen on Spotify right now, may eventually put it on Youtube. There will be 50 chapters (I’m hoping), but many of them will be shorter.

Also on AO3!

Boston, MA Evans for President Campaign Headquarters November 3rd, 2020 30 Minutes Before First Polls Close

Stage fright is no joke.

When it hits, it hits like a semi truck going seventy on an icy Massachusetts road. In the blink of an eye, you’re completely obliterated. Except this is on stage and you’re not dead, even though you wish you were. In fact, you’re very much alive. Alive enough to feel the force of the impact, followed by the squeezing in your chest and choking on your breathless words. Paralysis takes over. Cold clammy sweat slicks your palms and also trickles down your back to that one spot between your shoulder blades you can’t reach, but causes your costume to uncomfortably stick to your skin.

There’s no escape. You know what’s coming. You worry you’ll forget your lines, or trip on your cue, or make a complete and utter fool of yourself. You feel like an imposter, questioning why you’re here, in this role, when that dude, JD, from your acting class years ago was a million times more talented than you, and you’re the one that got that teen movie deal.  You’re the one who became one of America's most beloved superheroes for a decade.

You’re also the one who has a very real chance of winning the 2020 presidential election, despite no college education, limited understanding of what elected officials in DC actually do on a day to day basis, and the closest thing you have to experience as a “boss” or “commander in chief” of anything was a movie set or two where you were director and executive producer. 

Nope.

What I, Chris Evans, have is a dedicated online fan base who took the time to write my name into ballots when they discovered I had filed for ballot access in every state of the union. I didn’t do the filing on a whim; we sat around late one night talking about the interviews I had been conducting in DC for a website about party positions on important issues. My business partners and I came up with the idea that a long form documentary about campaigning would be interesting, and we determined the best way to understand the process was to become a “candidate” myself. Meaning, we only planned to use the credentials to be on the front line of the campaigning process. I was never going to create signs and make speeches or debate with others.

I never intended to run a legitimate campaign.

But, as I mentioned, something strange happened during the Democratic primaries. People started to vote for me, a trickle of rain in a hurricane.

I won a few primary delegates.

Without even trying.

Not enough to win the Democratic ticket, but enough to make pollsters sit up and take notice.

My loyal fans stepped in again, undaunted, and ignited a storm. They dubbed it “Operation America’s Ass” and created a grassroots campaign across the country with GoFundMe donations and a lot of pluck. I thought it was a joke. A part of me still does think it’s a joke. I mean, what other explanation is there for this mess? For the red, white and blue bunting hanging on the walls with the “Chris Evans for President” sign plastered underneath it? For the staffers who stop briefly to see if I need anything...‘Would you like a drink, sir?’... or, upon seeing how pale I look, give me a vote of confidence… ‘Are you ready for your acceptance speech?’ There’s absolutely no good explanation as to why there are twenty or thirty people buzzing around the hotel suite waiting for results. They’re so energized with hope for a better future.

Hope that I can be everything they ever wanted in a president.

An Independent president, free from party oversight.

A president with class.

A president for the people.

A president who can bring the United States back from the brink of destruction at the hands of previous leaders.

I wish I had their confidence.

When they asked me on career day in school what I wanted to be when I grew up, I always said artist. When I was older, in high school, I knew I was going to be an actor. Never president. The job never entered my mind as being a possibility, not even when I used to work for my uncle’s congressional campaigns. Or when I started filming those interviews.

Why does anyone think I, a straight white momma’s boy from Boston should be president in 2020? Just because I made a few popular Tweets about the current president’s lack of leadership?

It has to be a joke. A cosmic one. I’m a punchline. I am convinced they’ll jump out from behind a doorway and yell “You’ve been PUNK’D! We really got you this time, now here, Bernie, you’re the better candidate.”

And yet…

What if they see in me something I do not?

I place a lot of stock in being in the moment. I’ve also put a lot of work into accepting the twists and turns of life instead of allowing all the “what ifs” and “what should I dos” to eat away at me. I told everybody after I was done with Marvel and financially secure enough to only work on projects I really wanted to, I’d take life as it came at me.

Well, it came after me.

To be fair, I originally chose to get into politics, even in a tiny way, because I wanted to be informed about my choices. I created a website so others could learn, as well. As time went on, I became more involved on Capitol Hill. I even did some lobbying for a few causes dear to my heart. And, yes, I did file the ballot access paperwork.

Had I unintentionally set my path in this direction? Was it inevitable for me to become a contender for the presidency?

Fortunately, I learned early on in the process that a lot of being a presidential candidate is being a convincing showman. An actor. The world's a stage, after all, and I am but a player. You have to have some solid ideas and convictions to back up the image, but a lot of the governing comes from other members of the executive branch. Should I win, I’d only be signing off on everything.

Of course, that “everything” affects the lives of more than 300 million souls. I wouldn’t trust me with a kitchen knife, much less nuclear launch codes and people's livelihoods and education and health and…

My hands shake with nerves just thinking about it.

Let it be said, once I do make it out onto the stage--be it as an actor or presidential candidate--I rise to the challenge. The energy from the audience buoys me. Makes me feel alive. But I am not, by nature, someone who likes to sign away so much personal freedom in exchange for the weight of carrying an albatross around my neck. I thought signing for Captain America would be tough; the human toll of running for president even moreso.

Actually being President? I can’t even wrap my mind around that.

It would be easy to call it quits, even now when the votes are already cast. I could have done it a long time ago, when the reality of the situation hit me the first time. I didn’t. Something told me to hold back, play it out. I persevered. Why? Somewhere, along the line, I began to believe I could do this. I could make a positive difference in the lives of Americans.

I certainly want to do right by all my supporters--and my detractors. I want to be a leader for all Americans.

But can I, really, while knowing my incredible deficiencies?

Maybe I can’t, but I can be the team leader. A brand ambassador, if you will. A good leader delegates. And I intend, should I win, to surround myself with the best and brightest. I will accept no less. I will do ‘Whatever It Takes,’ as our slogan boasts. I am American, first and foremost, and I care deeply about this country.

A real Captain America, if you will. Maybe not as strong or powerful as others, but I sure as hell can give a great speech and will defend my country from bullies until my last breath, whether they be purple… or orange.

Except, I suppose if I’m elected, I won’t be Captain America anymore. They’ll call me Mr. President.

Or, horror of horrors, what if the new name my nearest and dearest coined makes it out into the public. They tease me with it just to see my visceral revulsion and get a laugh. But if I have learned anything about the internet--and pop culture--is that if something is catchy, it sticks around for a long time.

Maybe I ought to get used to the idea of being a punchline.

So, I suppose I have a question for you.

Won’t you consider a vote for Mr. America?

[wirewitchviolet]

How not to Write a Campaign

I have been playing RPGs for a very long time. Back in the day, I avoided any and all pre-written adventures of any sort because my limited experience with them was... just frankly terrible. Weird inconsistencies in tone, unfair encounter setups, too many assumptions about PCs’ motives and actions, etc. Then much later I discovered a group of writers who actually got it, wrote things perfectly in line with how my friends like a game to go, and we’ve been all in on those for a decade and change. But I just finished running a ROUGH one, and I want something good to come of it.

I don’t want to make this a specific review, because... I’m in the industry, I know the people who wrote this campaign, I can guess at some of the problems involved, and I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings or reputation, so let me just refer to the offending prewritten campaign here as the Amnesia Campaign. It’s for a big fantasy RPG, it riffs of a particular author’s work, you can probably guess what it is from that, but, I’m trying.

The first problem I need to bring up with the Amnesia Campaign is that it just commits the cardinal sin of long term RPG campaign writing- The mustache-twirling villain who always manages to escape from the PCs at the last minute. I cannot convey just how important it is that you never, ever do this. The worst sort of example is when you plan around the PCs actually confronting your villain multiple times, and failing to kill them, which is a terrible idea because there really is no way to ever stack the deck and account for every contingency to make an unwinnable fight, or even one where escape is always possible, and especially if you’re publishing adventures, some number of groups will kill the villain too early, either shorting things out or forcing a handwave to keep an ineffectual villain in play and pretend they’re still a threat.

The Amnesia Campaign doesn’t quite go there. Having an actual chance to go toe to toe with the villain is reserved for the very end, but it does use another variant, where no matter what happens, the PCs arrive just after the villain they’re chasing has left. Now... there’s a way you can make that work. If you have a villain who cannot be reached in practical fashion, and can launch attacks anywhere within a huge region, you can build a whole campaign out of characters reacting to the aftermath of evil actions they could not be expected to even learn about until the villain has left the scene. Here, meanwhile, we have a villain with a big elaborate plot that requires traveling all over the world gathering things, based on research he does at the very start which the PCs can, and indeed are expected to do, quickly pick up on these research notes, and basically know everything the villain plans to do from nearly the start of a very long campaign. And... frankly, the villain has no real edge to keep him believably one step ahead. He is a mildly wealthy man hiring goons, mundane forms of transportation, and having to negotiate and fight his way through to various sub-objectives needed for his plan, and it is at least strongly implied that he doesn’t have a lot of lead time. When presented with a scenario about someone needing to be chased down and stopped, PCs can pretty reliably be counted on to constantly be rushing forward, coming up with clever ways to accomplish what they need to in less time, and cut down if not completely nullify their travel time. But, like with battles the villain somehow keeps escaping from, I am forced to continuously state to my players in running this that no, somehow even after avoiding this whole side quest by reading the mind of the person with important information, and directly teleporting to where the villain left for by riverboat, he somehow beat them there, and once again, just left. It’s frustrating, and implausible. We end up with a villain who seems overwhelmingly outmatched, but keeps succeeding because... well, he has plot armor so we’re railroading this.

Admittedly, having a good villain when writing a full campaign in advance can be tricky. The safe and tested formula is generally to start off with minions of your main villain, starting with some who don’t even know who they’re ultimately working for, gradually build up to who’s calling the shots and to what end, have a big side trip to prepare for the final confrontation not directly involving the villains, than cap it with a big showdown. If the PCs know who the main villain is from the very start and where to find them, it becomes hard to rationalize anything between. Sometimes you can pull it off if they’re leading an army or ruling a country, but even then, you want to work up a food chain to them.

A similar problem, which crops up a bit towards the end of the Amnesia Campaign, is making too many assumptions about how the PCs react, and who they befriend. In RPG writing, you need to make as few assumptions as possible about the specifics of what the PCs will do in any situation. You can count on the real broad strokes. The party will investigate the situation described in the adventure, they’ll explore the area, find the villains, fight them, win, learn something to keep the larger plot growing, but that’s it. You can’t assume they’re going to team up with this NPC, enter this room from that direction, or otherwise reenact what you’d imagine you’d do in their place, or what happened in your test play of your adventure. This is particularly important when you include a little sidequest unconnected to their primary goal, or you’re presenting an open-ended investigation.

Ideally, you just have a sensible location, have some villains in it with clear goals and personalities laid out, and you scatter around some things to enable various clever tricks if players think to try them, without mandating any of them. Mention where windows are, and chandeliers, and holes just too small for the average human to fit through, but don’t, as part of the Amnesia Campaign does, invest heavily in the assumption that the PCs will start investigating a sewer system when investigating how a cult gets around a city and go sparse on other possible clues. Also don’t waste adventure background note space on thousands of years of history at the expense of what the actual current problem in the area is and who or what is behind it.

The next problem is one that, were I the average consumer just buying this book would bother me a hell of a lot more than it does as someone who knows how the sausage gets made. Put mildly... you do not want to play a rogue in the Amnesia Campaign. Nor do you want to play a swashbuckler, a critical-hit focused character of any stripe, really any class out of the... roughly 25% of all classes who rely on knowledge of where to make a hit count the most to do the full amount of damage with their attacks, because practically everything is immune.

Now, again. I partly understand how this happens. We have several different authors writing different chapters of the campaign, simultaneously, in pretty unforgiving crunchy conditions, with just a rough outline to go off. Nobody really has a chance to confirm notes and say “hey, did your chapter totally invalidate one of the foundational character archetypes, because I was thinking of doing that and having two of those back to back would be a bit much.” And while the publisher of the Amnesia Campaign does throw out little booklets of tips for players on what sort of character concepts will/won’t work, they’re not written last, so this sort of tip is missing there too. On the other hand, it’s a huge problem within nearly any given chapter just on its own. If you’re making the call on what all monsters to include in a multi-level stretch of a campaign, you should generally avoid choosing nothing but monsters immune to one of the most common bread and butter class features. And honestly, given how the subject matter naturally lends to the deployment of a particular monster type, erring on the side of assuming everyone else is heavily deploying them wouldn’t be a bad assumption for any author to make.

This though, unlike the rest of my gripes, is ultimately a high level problem that needs a high level solution. When you’re publishing a whole campaign, and you’re doing it in a game where several foundational character concepts kinda live or die based on things like whether things are properly harmed by particular flavors of damage, or whether a decent percentage of enemies fall under a certain classification, that really shouldn’t be a double-blind. Coordinating to get all authors to use a decent spread, or include outline notes like “it’d make sense for about half the enemies in this chapter to be fire elemental themed in various ways, but keep a good variety otherwise,” and/or trying to get a rough handle on emergent themes to adjust for/warn about in player-facing pitch material. Even the best-written campaigns are prone to rude awakenings or hilarious reductions in challenge as turns out, say, going all in on cold damage does indeed pay off for the one with Fire in the title.

Meanwhile, on the other side of that coin, more or less, huge swaths of the Amnesia Campaign really just completely break down by failing to account for some basic standard issue capabilities of a typical party. Particularly the fact that past a certain point, you need to account for the fact that the PCs are almost certainly capable of flight. It’s a thing that happens. If you are really keen on writing adventures where local warlords are chilling out on the open-air rooftop patios of their otherwise heavily fortified fortresses, or melee-oriented monsters plan an ambush in a canyon in a vast wasteland, or a dangerous leapfrog between a series of elevated platforms over something dangerous, you want to make those low-level adventures, or else a typical party, possibly even accidentally, will just completely circumvent the whole thing. There is a whole lot of that in the back of the Amnesia Campaign. My group... literally skipped giant swaths. Heck, there was a whole side quest in the last book where the PCs are rewarded with the location of a giant obelisk which I had to cut because... it was in the middle of a big open outdoor space, and they flew over the city on the way in. They definitely had a view over those hedges.

This sort of dovetails into the next issue, consistently escalating threats. The whole fantasy RPG gimmick is that at level 1, you’re a helpless peasant barely capable of doing anything remarkable, and by level 20 you’re literally punching gods in the face and have more money in your pocket than everyone else in your home country combined (with the obvious exception of the other people in your party). Now, mechanically, balancing around that is a very easy math problem. Characters of level X are meant to deal with threats of level Y, either pull a Y level monster out of the book, or slap levels on something lower to bring it to that point, or spread that out over more enemies, then they drop Z amount of fancy loot. Easiest thing in the world. But you also need things to fit together thematically. You can absolutely throw fighter levels onto the local chicken-stealing goblins to make them mechanically as threatening as a demigod bursting through from another plane of reality, but when a group of characters is at a level where they can be expected to handle the former, it’s just plain weird for them to end up dealing with the latter. Like, yes, these particular goblins have 200 HP instead of the usual 4, so the local town guard can’t handle them, but that should never be true of chicken-stealing goblins. You don’t get that tough stealing chickens, and once you’ve gotten that tough, you should have your sights set a good deal higher than that. At least be stealing rocs or something.

The 4th chapter of the Amnesia Campaign is a particularly blatant example of not getting this, featuring a large number of “please be aware the party can fly at this level” moments mentioned above, and also just demanding the PCs deal with problems that really are beneath them at that point. Seeking out local guides, impressing petty local warlords, getting challenged by giants they must impress to rest safely when crossing a huge desert. These are... not appropriate speed bumps at a point in the narrative where the party is traveling to a location where they are going to literally fight a god, weakened or otherwise. The whole setup would be wonderful as the first chapter of a campaign, but that far in, it just doesn’t work. Particularly when the actual opening of the Amnesia Campaign sets the tension very high right off the bat, with extradimensional threats, shapeshifters, an evil cult, things that typically come later as things start to escalate.

This isn’t to say you can’t mix things up a little. Dealing with threats well below a party’s capabilities can be really nice as a chance to just sort of flex, and get some perspective on how much more capable they’ve grown over time, but you have to do it in a low-tension point of the narrative, and a little self-awareness about it doesn’t hurt.

Finally, while I really kinda hate modern wealth-by-level assumptions, they are baked into the design of the game, so if you’re running with it, you really need to make sure you’re really giving the players something they can use. The Amnesia Campaign really leans heavy on treasure being weird oddities that may be of value to a collector... while also being set, generally, in places so totally removed from civilization that shopping trips aren’t really practical. Much less those needing the party to really find the right sort of buyer.

Really, you want to give out entirely practical loot (really hard to do without knowing the party makeup, but variety can work), big piles of cash/sellables along with sufficiently large cities along the way for viable shopping, or raw materials suitable for crafting plus ample time to really do something with them.

Anyway, hopefully this has come across more as practical constructive advice for anyone writing a campaign, either as a printed product or just for your home game, not just me tearing into the Amnesia Campaign at length.

[kittensjonsa]

Trophy Wife

Another day, another detective-lawyer tag team duo Jonsa AU nobody asked for lol. Has this been done before? No idea but for some reason, this was dying to get out of my system, so I just had to -so please bear with it. Or not, up to you (trigger warning below). 

Summary: Sansa needs help in bringing down one of the worst criminals of the century - and save her abducted best friend. Jon, a shy elusive private investigator offers a helping hand. Sparks fly when things heat up, while going undercover. *winks*

Rated NC-17 to E for language and content. Major trigger warning for abuse (various). I am neither a lawyer nor a PI so forgive me if I get some of the terms wrong. Part One of (maybe, let’s see) Three. Enjoy! x

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Part One

Eviction. Jon hated that word. He hated hearing it, hated being threatened by it and now there it was, written all over his door on a notice in red capital letters. Fuck you too, he thought as he tore off the paper. I'll say when I'll go. This was not a time for moving houses or looking for a new place. He was busy, there were things to do and places to hide in. If only they could spare him a couple more months, that was all he needed, if the rent he owed was correct in his head. Jon had lived in his car once and he couldn't live through that again.

Besides, he was on a roll. At least, he'd like to think so. Clients were coming in and he had more jobs that he did a year ago. Of course, that was largely due to his success in uncovering the biggest scandal in all of Westeros - involving the Lannisters and a certain pair of twins who had relations with one another, in a biblical sense, or so it seemed. It did not help one bit when the Lannisters were also the family everyone loved to hate, and Jon probably did the country a huge favour when the news went public. Within days, it was reported that any Lannisters who planned to run for government office were rejected, shunned and ridiculed. So much so, that they went into hiding. Good riddance.

You reap what you sow. They had it coming, Jon told himself. And truthfully, he relished every second of it, bringing down the notorious family - such a satisfying accomplishment it was. It was just ironic that a member of the Lannister family had hired him, turning the evidence into a weapon and declaring war against the Lannister legacy. So much for a happy family.

The pay check from the Lannister job was substantial enough and managed to pay his debts that he owed but when it came to maintaining the business, the cash quickly ran out. Furthermore, it did not help that his clients would only pay once they had received proof that their suspicions were right all along, which took some time. Jon hadn't even counted his gas money and meals during stake outs or the electricity bills that soared after spending late nights playing and watching video tapes over and over. Surveillance was a costly, slow and painstaking process but essential, in getting the dough and the job done.

Maybe I'm too nice. Jon wished he had stipulated a clause in his contract that required a deposit before he accepted any assignments. But frail crying wives desperate to get out of loveless marriages were not people he wanted to take advantage of and a lawyer, he was not. If he had a therapist licence, perhaps it would be more useful in bringing in the bucks. Still, through word of mouth, steadily the business grew - apparently, spying on people was a lucrative outfit. Jon couldn't recall earning this much when he worked at his former security firm at Castle Black.

“So, you'll do it?” the gentleman asked, sliding an envelope towards him. Jon opened it and took a peek, in it had a flash drive and a rolled up wad of cash, which looked like a few thousands.

“I would. But you must know that I work best alone,” Jon agreed.

“Oh no. Not for this one. It will be difficult to crack this one without a partner.”

Smart ass. Trying to tell me how to do my job. The cash looks good though. It'll help tide over a couple of things.

“All right. So I need a partner. You have to give me some time to look for one. And that's going to cost you, you know that right?”

The gentleman smiled and drummed his fingers on the dining table. “Oh, I know that. But what if I already have a partner for you? She's ready to work on this with you.”

“She? Whoa.. back up for a second. I didn't say I needed female partner. Besides, this isn't a job for a lady, if what you told me is true.”

“Trust me, she's on board with this a hundred percent. I trust her to do the job, above and beyond.”

Jon was still reluctant. The quick and easy cash advance had come with its own conditions. “Okay. Does she have a name? I'd have to do background checks, you know and all of that, for safety reasons.”

“Of course. All you need on her is on the flash drive in there,” he pointed to the envelope Jon was resting his hands on. “Besides, she's my niece.”

“Your what? And you're okay with her getting involved?”

He nodded and turned his attention back to his newly refilled coffee. Jon couldn't believe his ears. What kind of uncle are you?

“She feels as strongly about this than just about anyone. Maybe more. And she volunteered. I suppose she has her reasons. How can I say no that?”

“Yeah... but we're investigating an alleged sex ring. Are we not? Seems a little inappropriate, don't you think?” Jon whispered as he leaned in, wondering what kind of shenanigans people are up to these days.

Jon watched as he put down his mug and adjusted the glasses that sat low on the bridge of his nose. He didn't strike Jon as a sleazeball, the kind who would sell and pimp anything or anyone to make a buck. He was mysterious yet friendly, sophisticated yet ruggedly worn, as if he had seen enough ills in his lifetime.

“A human trafficking ring, to be exact. We've been trying to go after them for years but they get away with it every time. You know why? Because all evidence pointing to them were ruled inadmissible. Come on, you've read about it in the papers, on the news. Day in, day out we built the case and every time we find something worthwhile, another detail or another statement comes up and render the leads useless.”

It was true. It was all over the media - the Boltons and the Freys accused of allegedly running an illegal sex trade. But to Jon, it seemed that there was all there was to it. People wanting to have a bit of fun at a party isn’t that new or illegal, he thought, even though he depised the Boltons and the Freys as much as the next decent guy on the street. Unless of course, if the ring was made up of abducted girls or worse, minors. That would truly be despicable and one that warranted medieval torture and capital punishment. This is going to be quite the undertaking, Jon suddenly realised.

“Have you considered going to the police... or your client going to the police for help? Instead of a private investigator.”

Jon waited for an answer as both their eyes met, one was smiling and the other was not.

“You don't think the police isn't involved in this? Not investigating, no that. We have reason to believe that members of the police are themselves the perpetrators. I'm talking high ranking officials, son. So, you see why we have to.. approach this in another way.”

“Okay, I see your point. All right then. I'll need to meet this niece of yours, so I can clue her in on how to go about this. Though, I'm not sure how it'll work.”

“I am sure you'll try your best. Believe me, Jon, if we win this case, it'll be the biggest one yet. It's something greater than all of us. It's for the greater good. I can't quite discuss names or details than what I've just told you or who my client is but the money? There's more where that came from. Here's my card, should you need anything.”

Jon looked at the name card. “ Well, you sold me there. We'll be in touch, Mr Stark.”

“Likewise, Jon. Oh, and call me Ben. I hope to hear from you soon.”

Jon watched as Benjen Stark left the diner and into his Mercedes, as he contemplated his next step. This was a big job, and Benjen was right, he probably could not handle it alone. Still, Jon was curious and intrigued, wondering whom his partner was.

Jon jolted up from his bed when the doorbell rang. It was only eight in the morning and Jon did not recall ordering anything that required an early morning delivery. Ugh, what..

Jon stumbled out of bed, clad only in yesterday's jeans and stepping on notes scattered everywhere in his room. His living room wasn't spared either, with boxes of carefully labelled tapes stacked haphazardly in every corner.

“Jon Snow? Hi, I'm Sansa Stark. My uncle.. he spoke with you yesterday..”

Jon rubbed his eyes and squinted at the blurry figure in front of him. His eyes were stubbornly still asleep. Slowly but gradually, in the few minutes that it took for Jon to recover from his sleep-ridden stupor, his vision came round and found himself gazing at a tall redhead standing before him. Whoa.. okay.

“Bad time? I can come back later,” she said, sheepish at the sight of a sleepy half naked man yawning at her.

“No.. wait. You're the niece? Of Benjen?” Jon said, as memories from last night's meeting came to mind.

Sansa nodded. “The very one. He says I'll be working with you. On the case?”

It was way too early to be discussing details about work or anything, really and Jon needed a cup of good strong black coffee to stay awake. Shouldn't have read the file at three in the morning.

“Right. Come on in.” Jon opened the door wider as he led her into the living room. Sansa accepted the invite, albeit with caution as she stepped in, carefully steering clear of the boxes and files around her. 

“Pardon the mess, I don't get visitors much. Coffee?” Jon apologized as he helped himself to a cup of chilled coffee from the fridge. It was a norm now, keeping coffee from the night before, to save money. It didn't taste as good as freshly brewed coffee but it woke him nonetheless.

“Uhh.. no thanks. Water's fine.”

Jon watched the lady seated on his couch waiting politely for him to finish. He had gone through the file on her as Benjen had given. Graduated with honours at the top of her class at University of Westeros' Law School. Interned for two years at one of the top firms right after graduation and now a junior partner at Stark, Tully & Reed. Perhaps one of the most fascinating fact was that Sansa Stark had been on the prosecuting team in the 'Lannister vs the people' case. It was no wonder the Starks had come looking for him. He guessed he probably didn't need any further introductions, for now.

“So, how about we start about why you're here, Miss Stark,” Jon said, handing her a glass of tap water.

Sansa thanked him as she took the glass from his hand and set it down on an empty spot on the cluttered coffee table.

“Sansa, please. First of all, I apologize for not letting you know that I was coming. I did call and text yesterday but I suppose you were asleep. It was late anyway. Sorry about that.”

Jon then remembered his phone, which was now likely dead since he forgot to charge it. Oops.

“Oh, did you? Lately been trying to kind of de-plug every once in a while. But yeah, I might have fallen asleep too. Had some notes to go through and kind of forgot about my phone. My bad.”

Sansa smiled and took a small sip of water. “Oh.. that's all right. Anyway, let's start over. I'm Sansa Stark and I'll be working with you. I believe my uncle has filled you in? Pleased to meet you, Mr Jon Snow.” Sansa offered her hand.

Jon returned the handshake with a wary smile. “Pleasure's all mine. And please, Sansa, call me Jon. So, I'm guessing you know what we're working with?”

“I do. I was the one who put it together so I should know more about it than anyone.”

Benjen said he couldn't share details about who the client was and now Jon was curious. Sansa Stark seemed a force to be reckoned with - coming up and putting together a case of this magnitude could either be the ruin or the highlight of her law career.

“I see. Well, I must say I'm impressed. But you do know this can be dangerous work, right? If what your uncle says is true.”

“If it means saving hundreds from a cruel fate then I'm all for it. Besides-”

A loud rumbling growl startled Sansa to a pause mid sentence.

Jon's cheeks reddened, patting his stomach. “Umm..Do you think we could talk about this over breakfast? I.. I had a light dinner yesterday.”

Sansa bit down her lip as tried to stifle her giggle. This man is hilarious. Cute though. She didn't mind at all working alongside him. “Sure. I'm buying.”

Awesome. I don't mind it at all. Nothing more Jon loved than rich people willing to spend. But a cheap greasy diner breakfast with all the works was just what he needed right now. He can think of other fancy things later.

“I hope you don't mind. Not many fancy places around here,” Jon pointed to a booth in the diner, right in a corner where he usually sat every day and night. Grenn, the owner and chef who was also a friend and neighbour, made sure it was always empty and reserved just for him.

Sansa beamed at him, her striking blue eyes sparkling in the morning sun. “Are you kidding me? Diners are the best. The only places that helped through mid terms and finals. And man, they were gruelling. I would retreat to a diner and have a chocolate banana milkshake whenever things got a little tough. This.. is nice.”

Jon felt at ease immediately. Something told him he was going to have a great time working the case.

“So, tell me. Why 'Trophy Wife'? I mean, can't you call it what it is?” Jon asked, in between mouthfuls of bacon and French toast.

“Well, it's a code word you know. Human trafficking, sex ring.. these are terms people are not comfortable hearing, especially in public or in an office. Besides, not many people know about it and it is absolutely crucial that it stays that way. Too much information shared with anyone else won’t be good for us. Plus, I think it's also because.. it seems the victims are forced and paraded as wives of these predators. You know, so it seems legit. But that’s just a guess. I know deep down, there's nothing legitimate about it.” 

“Good point.” Jon concurred, shoving the last piece of French toast into his mouth. 

“You want to hear a story? We actually managed to get hold of a marriage certificate, you know, one that shared a victim's name on it. But get this - it was fake. There was no such church nor was there any minister with that name. It was a bust.”

“Yikes. Okay, so that should be proof enough right? I mean, right there is already fraud.”

Sansa sighed. “Yeah, up until someone accused us of fabricating the marriage certificate. I mean, we couldn't use it at all since it was fake. It definitely derailed the investigation for a while and it was the only promising lead we had. I believe there are still many. Out there. We just have to make sure the case won't go cold.”

Jon had to ask, seeing how fired up Sansa seemed about the whole thing. “Can I ask you something? If you don't mind my asking. Why this? I mean there are so many easier cases out there waiting.. but why this one?”

Sansa looked at him and looked away, turning towards the window.

“Jeyne Poole was twenty five years old when she went missing last year. Next month would be her seventh month missing. Her parents are worried sick and her mom had a stroke because of it. Jeyne was last seen at her place of work and that was it. She just disappeared and dropped from the face of the earth. That's not Jeyne to pull something like that.”

“What do you mean?”

Jon's furrowed brows prompted her further. “She's my age and my best friend, Jon. And no matter what, I have to search for her. Whether she's dead or alive.”

Jon was no stranger to hearing heavily personal details and he thought he could handle all the doom and gloom thrown his way, but this had him a little shaken up.

If he wasn't convinced before, he was sure as hell now. It was a dark treacherous path ahead but Sansa was a woman on a mission. And Jon knew well already, not to get in her way.

“Right. So, what do you need from me?”

It was a quiet walk back to his apartment as the brevity of the situation started to sink in. He may be a mediocre private investigator but a mediocre human being, he was not planning to be. Armed with new information and Sansa's fervour rubbing off on him, Jon was determined to find and annihilate the fuckers, if they really were the Boltons and the Freys, even better. Two less scumbags in the world would be a huge win; they won’t be missed. Sansa and him would be saving, hopefully, not just Jeyne Poole but dozens of vulnerable young women from the very clutches of evil itself.

“I can share the workload with you, if you want. You know, go over the details, help out on surveillance, research all that stuff,” Sansa suggested, as she flipped through the pages of the folder Jon had compiled. It had only a couple of handwritten notes with addresses and names along with documents he printed from the flash drive he was given. He was keen to find some kind of link and honestly, two brains were definitely better than one for it.

“Don't you have a job to attend to? I mean, I don't mind the help but I don't think it's fair that I take you away from what pays your bills. If... you do that sort of thing.”

Sansa shrugged. “One of the perks of living with your parents, I guess, is not paying bills and still having a roof over your head. I've got some money saved and since this is my case, I managed to get an expense budget for it. So, that's covered I guess.”

Jon scoffed. Rich people. “And this expense budget... is from your client?”

“I am not at liberty to say but up to you what to believe. All I know is, what we need for this case, is settled and paid for. Nothing is spared.”

Must be nice being rich.

“Well, you don't say, this client could give us a temporary office to work in, no? I mean, I don't mind doing it out if my house but-”

“You're being evicted in less than two weeks. I know. I had some checks done on you, Jon. Safety reasons, I'm sure you know. But granted, it's not ideal, But I think we may have just the place.. I mean, for the time being. Though.. it's going to take some work and I'll brief you on that soon.” Sansa offered as Jon unlocked his apartment door.

“Okay..that’s a first for me. I mean, if it’s no imposition, I-”

“Yeah, it’s totally fine. But hey love to chat but I kinda have to go. Can I take this with me? I'll make you a copy,” Sansa grabbed the folder and walked up to the door, casually glazing over the bit where he was about to be homeless soon. Damn lawyers.

“I was going to pay, you know. It's just that I had to settle other bills first,” Jon explained, though it was futile knowing who he was talking to.

“That's all right. Doesn't make you a bad person. You had priorities, it's understandable. Although if you’re planning on living in your car, I don't think all the boxes in your living room would fit.”

It didn't faze Jon how she had known about him living in his car once upon a hard time and he couldn't agree more. He couldn't exactly afford a storage unit either since the material he had was sensitive and would spell trouble if anything got lost or stolen.

“So, I'll show you the new place? You can come pick up your stuff later this weekend if you want.”

Jon found himself with renewed enthusiasm, relieved that he said yes to the assignment. Whatever tomorrow brings, he'll face it head on, with a swanky new roof over his head. 

Bring it on.