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oldstateofmind · 1 year ago

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nobody else can heal it (but you) [part l]

➜ pairing: miguel o’hara x fem!reader ➜ warnings: spoilers from ATSV, a bit of angst cause i’m human, violence, torture, hanahaki disease but make it nightmares instead. english is not my first language. ➜ words: 4.3k ➜ a/n: I’ve watched this movie 3 times by now because I’m obsessed with Miguel. His character is so interesting and captivating, he’s so grumpy and sad and that just makes me wanna fix him. Ugh, I have a soft spot for anti-heroes. And being voiced by Oscar Isaac is the icing on the cake. This first part sets the tone because I just can’t jump straight to smut, but I promise I’ll compensate next chapter.

chapter l. bad disease

For too long, you've been yearning for Miguel; only to be trapped in an endless nightmare. While awake, you had to live with the fact that he was out of reach – tearing your soul apart. While sleeping, violence and death had his face – tearing your whole being apart. No matter when or where; you were maimed by the same man.

Ao3

It starts with a hiss; then a shadow moving in the corner of your vision.

In the dark, cold envelops your body; chilling to the bone. It’s awfully quiet besides the continuous dripping of water in the distance, the echoes of each drop remind you of a ticking clock; counting the time you’ve left – for what, however, you’re not really sure.

You rub your arms in an attempt to bring a bit of warmth back to your skin, and as always, it’s useless. It seems like a forever winter inside the place you’ve found yourself in for the past 2 weeks.

What once started as a nightmare that made you wake up in the middle of the night, now plagues your mind every time you close your eyes. There’s no escape from it, no matter how hard you try. You’re more than tired, it’s exhausting not getting more than 3 hours of sleep when your job requires attention and disposition.

Even the pills Lyla gave you last time you were at the HQ didn’t work – actually, they made it even worse. Because then, your body was completely knocked out while your mind was terribly awake, reliving the scene over and over again. You threw them down the drain once you woke up. Never again.

And even though you already know what happens by now, it is still dreadful to wait for the nightmare to unfound. Your senses are hyper-aware of every single tiny sound, every movement in the dark.

There’s something poetic in the way you can feel him move even with your eyes closed; the way you could recognize the pattern of his breathing in the distance even when fear creeps into your brain. Your spider-sense tingles as his heavy steps are headed toward you, it screams danger. Goosebumps break out across your body, sending a small, cold shiver through your spine.

Red is the first thing you see. And also the last.

“...to Y/N.” Someone is calling you in the distance, but the hazy feeling of the nightmare still lingers within you. It’s hard to focus when your brain still hasn’t turned off properly for weeks, still trapped in whatever curse this is.

“Earth to Y/N, is anyone there?” There’s a snap in front of your eyes, and you suddenly flinch with the unexpected sound. The touch on your shoulder grounds you a bit.

You blink your eyes, rubbing them in an attempt to brush off the dreadful feeling still creeping into the back of your mind. As your eyes adjust to reality, Gwen’s face is filled with concern.

“I’m sorry, guys.” It’s the only thing you manage to say, how could you possibly begin to explain what’s been happening?

“You’ve lost your cue twice now, what’s happening with you today?” The girl presses, still holding onto your shoulder. And for that, you’re grateful.

Not getting enough sleep has been causing you to lose grip on reality – and that scares you the most. Not being able to tell if the sounds are coming from your head or from somewhere else. Or worse, having to avoid him because it’s unbearable the feeling that eats you from the inside out; the sense of fight or flight kicking in every time you hear his voice. Not tolerating being in his company as shadows follow you around like a ghost, tormenting you into remembering.

And it’s just not fair.

“Nothing!” You say, adjusting the bass strap on your shoulder. Hesitating on letting you go, Gwen squeezes your arm before retracting her hand. You try to smile, “I’m good. I…I’m good.”

The smile stretched for too long, awkwardly pulling your face into a grin rather than a genuine beam. The avoidance of looking at the member of the band doesn’t really back you up on your lies. You hear Hobie huff in annoyance, while Gwen’s piercing gaze still hasn’t left your face. You feel slightly guilty about keeping your nightmares a secret, but it’s not like they would understand, would they?

After all, Miguel O’Hara was a difficult subject for you to talk about.

“I know that look, I have seen it in the mirror quite a few times,” The girl admits. And you knew it was true.

When Gwen joined the Spider Society just a few months ago, the melancholy gloom that followed her was palpable. The teary eyes whenever someone asked about her life, the avoidance of returning to her world, always crashing at yours or Hobie’s. Her father was a tough subject on which she never really dwelled, too painful to remember.

However, even if she could relate to the feeling of losing sleep over someone, she wouldn’t understand how it felt to be torn apart by your own brain, to have precious memories distorted in a sick and twisted nightmare that was a culmination of your worst fears. To know it was coming and having no power to stop it. And all the while having the face of the person you cared about the most in the world, in all universes.

No, no one could begin to understand.

You bit your lips, signing in defeat, “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“That’s rubbish. Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?” Hobie chimes in, crossing his arms over his chest. He raises his eyebrow, seeing through your facade without breaking a sweat.

“You’re not even glowing like you usually do!” Pavitr shouts from the audience, waving his hand toward you. Sometimes he would come by to watch the band practice, but today you had not even seen him coming, which was a terrible sign because Pavitr always made an entrance when he stopped by.

“I thought you would be grateful for that.” You scoff.

“Hey, you can’t blame me! My eyes are sensitive.”

The typical headache starts to pound in your head like a thousand bells ringing directly in your ear. It’s disorientating the way your senses feel out of place – like a fish out of the water. Not even having superpowers was helping you stay afloat.

You took pride in being a Spider Woman, doing your job as best as you could so that at the end of the day, Miguel would see you. Your talent, your dedication. But lately, you feel yourself falling further down in his list. And it hurts.

“It’s just that–” You sigh, rubbing your eyes again, foolishly trying to make the pain go away. The ache in your head was bad, but the one in your heart could bring you to your knees. “I’m not getting much sleep these last few weeks.”

Gwen snaps her fingers excitedly, “You should try one of those pills they hand over at the–”

“No!” You shout before you can stop yourself; memories flood your troubled mind. The blood, the screams. Talons ripping flesh, pain consuming your body and soul. But the worst of all; his words. Gwen stops in her tracks, caught off guard by your sudden outburst. The guilty eat you away.

“I mean, I–I’ve tried it,” You whisper, the lump forming in your throat makes it hard to say a single word, “but they… didn’t work for me.”

The trembling of your hands caught everyone’s attention. And It’s just too much.

“I’m sorry.” Whispering, you turn around to hide your face. You take the bass strap from your shoulder and place the instrument in its case. “Let’s just wrap this up, I don’t want to waste anyone’s time.”

“Oi, Y/N,” Hobie calls for you, but you’re already grabbing your coat and heading toward the door. “We are here to help you, it’s what a band is about, innit?”

You look over your shoulder at them, heart aching at the thought of leaving them with no explanation – as a frightened animal, cornered with nowhere to run, all bite and no apologies.

“Right,” You agree but vanish in thin air seconds later.

ll.

Time becomes its own entity when you lose track of it. It’s another late hour, probably somewhere between 3 AM, and the coffee you got from your favorite spot in town is hot against your cold fingers. You dangle your feet at the edge of a building, admiring the view of a sleepy neighbor – no matter the time, New York is always full of light.

It’s been a few days since you left the rehearsal in a hurry, the band has been trying to get in touch with you but you’ve been avoiding taking their calls and answering their texts – you’ve been avoiding a lot of things lately.

Like swinging in the middle of the traffic, as an example. Something that came naturally, but now it has become too dangerous. The notion of space and distance have been lost days ago together with the full awareness of your surroundings. You’ve been trying to do your job, but it has become almost impossible to pay attention to your movements when the heaviness of your limbs begs for you to slow down.

There’s also Lyla, who you've lost count of how many times she chimed in while you were working, telling you about a meeting that you had missed out on. Not that it was totally required to be there, but if once you counted the days to be in the same room as Miguel, just so you could see him, now you avoided it like the plague.

You haven’t heard from him ever since you disappeared – only stopping by the HQ when extremely necessary – so you might not be in that much trouble. However, it definitely did some heavy damage to your heart noticing how O’Hara didn’t really need or wanted to see you in the first place. Not even a call, not even a message.

And that was devastating.

Blowing out your coffee, you sigh. The lack of sleep has been taking a toll on you. It started off as simply missing the timing from one building to another, and now you can feel the nasty bruise forming on the side of your hip. Actually, your body now looks like it has been painted black and blue with the number of bruises it’s collecting.

And you still can’t find the answer, nor any clue on how to make them go away. It will kill you eventually, you’re sure of that. It was just a matter of time now. Maybe then you could finally rest.

The bitter taste of the coffee spreads in your tongue and you welcome the caffeine with open arms. You’ve been trying to stay awake for the most part of the day, only hitting the bed when you’re completely and absolutely worn out. It does give you a few more minutes, but as the sun comes down and another moon appears, you can feel yourself slipping away, getting fewer and fewer hours of sleep, and slowly descending to madness as the nightmares start to feel more vivid, clouding your judgment.

Maybe you should ask for help, after all.

As a result of a very slow mind, it takes you more than it should to sense a new presence on the rooftop with you. Startled, the hair on the back of your neck stands up. You quickly throw away the coffee, lamenting not being able to finish it.

You pull your mask down; if it was another one of those villains of the week the guy was fucked because you had run out of patience. “Honestly, I’m in a really bad mood today,” You say to whoever is hiding in the shadows, your senses tingling as the figure slowly walks towards you, “No tricks, please. Let’s do this quickly.”

The movement stops, and you roll your eyes in annoyance. Another guy who thinks that making a scary little entrance will impress you. You’re about to make a joke when the shadow speaks, making your heart stop for a second.

“Y/N.”

The cold creeps in underneath the flesh, freezing your blood and yourself in place. All the hair in your body stands up as your body tenses with trepidation and fear. There it was again, that voice that haunts you night and day.

No, please. I’m awake, aren't I?”

It was hard to tell, as your surrounding started to blur; the sound of the street and surroundings go silent, as the only focus of your mind is the man in front of you and the way his eyes glow scarlet against the dark of the night. Your heart hammers your chest so furiously you’re afraid it might break free.

“Y/N.”

Miguel calls out for you again, his tone nothing more than a whisper. But you have seen this scene before; a hundred times you’ve heard those same words roll out of his tongue as if it disgusted him – as if you didn’t deserve to be mentioned it.

You flinch as he steps forward, memories of talons ripping your skin apart make you fight against the rising panic; the outcome of the nightmare is inevitable, you’ve tried to change it, but the aftermath was always the same; killed by the man you loved the most.

“Stay away from me,” You warned him. It was useless when fate seemed to have your lines already written, with no chance to change the full stop by a coma. “Please, stay away from me.”

Miguel stops, the glowing of his suit hurts your eyes. You can’t see his expression, there’s a dark shadow covering his face, but the red tint gives his demeanor a haunting feeling – another shiver runs down your spine. Your vision starts to blur; the fine line between reality and dreamland crashes together in your mind. Nothing feels real, the foggy state of mind wraps around you, gradually taking over your sanity.

So you flee. Or at least you try.

Before you could jump from the building, Miguel’s strong hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you directly in his direction. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, and quickly you are able to untangle yourself from his grip, kicking him in the process.

“Y/N.” You know it’s his voice, but at the same time, it doesn’t feel like it. It’s disconnected from the man you’ve grown to love. Dread gnawed at your insides as the nightmare turns into another torture section. His mouth is moving but you can’t make up the words; every sound gets lost in the loud rush of blood in your ears.

Not that you need it, anyway. You’ve been living the same dialogue over and over again to know like the back of your hand.

“Don’t hurt me again,” You plea, raw panic in your voice. Your mind is erratic, coming up with ideas on how to escape, but your body doesn’t follow the same line of thinking, “Please, I’m so tired.”

But it’s all in vain; the man bolts in your direction like an animal ready to devour its prey. You find yourself half mad with terror – your throat tightens as anxiety eclipsed your thoughts.

Before Miguel can get to you, you attack.

It never works as the man is way above your abilities, but you try – anything to be freed from having another slow, painful death. Gathering the last of your strength, you shoot a web that miraculously lands on his foot and it sticks to the ground. Quickly, you jump from one wall to another, landing a kick on his chest.

It doesn’t do anything more than startle the man, but it gives you enough time to soar across the night sky, landing on another rooftop. The glowing of your watch catches your attention. Usually, you don’t have it with you, nightmares don’t really give you the option to flee.

But it seems this one does.

“Y/N!” Miguel roars. In the slip second your eyes had darted toward the gadget, the man had torn apart the single web holding him in place. He huffs, shoulders hunched forward as tension grows between you both.

Against your better judgment, you shot him a glance. And like magnets, his eyes find yours in mi the sea of lights that only New York could offer.

You press the bottom, eyes fixed on the man coming towards you like a bolt. His talons cut the air in front of your eyes – almost like a kiss – the petrifying realization makes you fall on your back towards the portal.

Then everything turns black.

lll.

When you open your eyes again, you’re absolutely and awfully exhausted. The weight of your body holds you down against the cold floor, almost as if it didn’t belong to you anymore. You had lost ownership after not taking care of it. Your eyelids are heavy, and for a moment you consider just going back to sleep, finally giving in to the sweet taste of relief.

But then, the warnings in the back of your mind start to go off, and you remember why you can’t. Grunting, you take off your mask and pick yourself up. There was no rest for you, not until you find out what the hell happened. And if it was all in your mind, of if Miguel was there.

Because that definitely didn’t feel like a dream. The phantom feeling of his fingers wrapped around your wrist still lingered, and the intensity of his gaze still made you shrink. A chill runs down your spine in trepidation. If he was really there were the nightmares just a premonition of the future?

No. Miguel would never do that.

Even though he didn’t… like you as you liked him, the man didn’t have a single motive to want you dead. Miguel was many things, but mostly he was righteous. Dedicated to his job in an unhealthy, and obsessive way? Yes. However, he still had kindness hidden underneath his scowl, and even though his heart was mostly painted black by the loss of his old life, it still beat for the new ones the Spider Society protected. Besides, he still had some humor in him; a completely dated and cringe type of humor, but there.

And every time it made an appearance, you would find it adorable. A tiny smile appears on your lips. How could you not treasure every moment with him when it was all so rare?

“Y/N?” Someone calls for you in the distance. You are still picking yourself up from the floor, the sudden movement makes you dizzy, and nauseous. You’re pretty sure you hit your head.

“Oh my god! Are you okay?” Margo comes into view, she quickly puts one of your arms around her neck and helps you get up. “You look terrible.”

“You should see the other guy,” You try joking around. And even though the blue avatar softly huffs, her expression of concern is serious. You must look worse than you thought.

Margo helps you get into a chair, gently holding you until you’re comfortable in your seat. “I’m sorry for barging in, I honestly didn’t know where I was going.”

“Where you running from something?” She jokingly asks. She grabs a tablet, reads something on the screen, and goes back to work.

“Yeah,” You groan, running your hand through your hair, “You could say that.”

The room was as quiet as it always was, the only sound coming from the girl who was softly humming a song. Looking around, you notice there was no one around, only the machines as a company. You wondered if Margo ever feel lonely here; the place was big enough to fit a few dozen Spiders, however, it was always deserted. The truth was that no one actually liked to be around villains after they were captured, and sending them home was a dreadful job. Margo was definitely a viable asset to the team.

You can feel your senses start to relax, the darkroom was a perfect invitation for a well-deserved rest. But with the sleepiness came the loss of concentration, and the last time you let your guard down, you fled from a very real Miguel.

Small talk would be, then. “So… who’s next?”

Margo picks up her tablet, tapping a few things before showing you a picture. “She calls herself 'Torment'. But you’re probably familiar with her. After all, you and Hobie caught her a few weeks ago.”

Wait. A few weeks ago? That's exactly the time when the nightmares started to occur.

Suddenly, a flashback hits you like a bullet. A purple and blue cloud, the touch of a finger. The laugh.

“Margo, I need to talk to her,” You demand, getting up from your chair as if you had been electrified. The pieces fall into place and make a clear picture. How could you have let this fly over your head? Of course, the nightmares weren’t something normal! It had to be a product of something, or someone.

“Y/N, I need to send her ho–”

“It’s urgent,” Holding the girl’s hand in yours, you squeeze them in a silent plea, “Please, Margo. Just give me 5 minutes.”

Margo presses her lips together; you must look desperate because she sighs, defeated. Then nods, “Make it quick.”

“Thank you.”

The Send Home Machine had come out of its cocoon, and now sat atop a circular base; waiting for the command to start the process of pulling the strings to weave the portal back home. You always thought the whole mechanism was a bit too much, but if it worked, then who were you to complain?

Margo brings Torment in, and she immediately recognizes you.

“Oh, I knew I would see you again!” The woman’s face lights up like a Christmas tree – that couldn't be a good sign. She claps her hands, bouncing on her feet. “Looking for answers, darling?”

A cold shiver runs down your spine, but it’s not fear that spreads through your veins. It’s anger. “What did you do to me?”

The woman laughs, throwing her head back. You can clearly see she was having too much fun with you. “Now you’re interested in what I’ve to say? You didn’t seem that excited when I first came to you and your little friend.”

Your blood boils. If she wasn’t already locked up and ready to be sent home, you would definitely teach her a lesson or two. Your knuckles go white as the woman stares, the smile on her face is disturbing. How could she find pleasure in tormenting someone like that?

The sound of the engine turning startles you, Margo sends you an apologetic look as the machine descends from its place atop the base. You’re getting out of time.

“What do you want?” You shout, desperate. You can’t imagine going another week, another day haunted like this. “Tell me!”

Torment’s stare is piercing, a shadow crosses her face when the smile fades into a thin line. The silence was agonizing, and with each tread of the web, you felt your sanity slipping away. This was your last chance.

“I’m so fucking tired!” You cry out, hitting the glass so hard it almost cracks. “Do you know how it feels to not get a single hour of sleep because your nightmares are too fucking real? Do you have a single idea of how torturing it is to have him, of all people–” Margo was listening, but you didn’t care. You wanted answers and you would get them. “Why him?”

“Poor little thing. You haven’t figured it out yet?” she hums, furrowing her eyebrows. And you hate the look of pity she has on her face. It was her that did this in the first place! “That must be tough, to keep all of that to yourself.”

No one knew about your feelings for Miguel. Well, you had a slight hunch that maybe Peter B. Parker might have noticed it. But otherwise, you kept all to yourself. Treasuring little moments as precious jewelry.

He was your boss! And besides, he was still too caught up in his late family. He would never open his heart again after the tragedy bestowed upon him. You couldn't blame him; a man forever stuck in the past, reliving each moment when he was happy.

However, sometimes, you would catch him looking. Exchange glances in a crowded room; during meetings. You would spend time with him alone; in a comfortable silence hard to find, or in an easy-going atmosphere that left you smiling like an idiot.

But that was what they were, fleeting moments. And even though sometimes you dreamed about a future where you could give him all the love he deserved, they were just that; silly dreams. There was no space for you in his life. You had accepted that long ago.

“You see, my abilities are a gift,” Torment simply says, still unphased at your suffering. “They search deep in your soul for what you seek the most. The nightmares are just an incentive to make you finally take the big step.”

“What?” A memory comes to the forefront of your mind; a finger touching your forehead, the slight shock that sent you back a few steps. Miguel’s face appears right after the electric feeling dissipates. “What do you mean?”

“You know very well,” There’s some sort of twisted kindness when her smile appears again, it irks you profoundly, “Take care, darling. You can thank me later.”

The machine finishes threading the web, encapsulating the woman inside a honey-colored web. The last thing you see is her waving at you before disappearing into nothing.

Outraged, you punch the glass again, and again. No, no, no. This can’t be happening! That woman must be lying, there’s no way the cure to this torment is–

��Calm down, Y/N!” Margo holds your wrist before you can land another hit. She’s saying something but you can’t hear it. Anxiety takes over your body as you crouch on the floor, hiding your face in your arms.

You will have to tell Miguel.

And that was worse than any other nightmare.

#miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #across the spider verse spoilers #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fic #sometimes i write

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james-silent-hill · 1 month ago

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PLEASE READ THE TAGS AND SUMMARY:

Make sure to read Part 1 and 2 first !

Part 1

Part 2

Enjoy part 3!

At some point after making sure James was alright with everything that happened you got up from the couch, fixed whatever clothing you could fix, grabbed the pair of those half leather boots and left to lay down in that dusty bed with no pillow but a somewhat okay looking blanket.

But sleep doesn't come, you miss the feeling of his hand around your throat already, the thick and heavy feeling of having him inside of you. All you got as a little reminder is the drenched underwear.

The blanket smells old and everything about this room reminds you of home. You hate it. You don't want to sleep, you can't, you need to...

You need to get out of this place. This Apartment. This fucking town. You want to go home, wrap yourself up in a fluffy blanket with your bottle of Red wine and a new season of your favorite show.

You also really need a drink by now, how long has it been? You lost track of time in this place. There has to be a bar around here somewhere right? But these things are outside!

You don't want to ask James for help, you can manage.

Before you even get to the door of the apartment you get caught.

"Where are you going?" James looks up at you, sitting at the small kitchen table. Holding an envelope.

"Going for a walk?" You shrug as your hand moves to twist the door handle.

"You can't go out there by yourself." He gets up and suddenly you feel stuffy. The whole point of getting fucked like that is to NOT have any man care about you, worry about your safety. You don't like this whole 'you're a weak Lady and I must protect you' act of his.

"Don't act like you care, okay? It's fine, really, it's been fun and all but I gotta go" You open the door and when his arm shoves it shut again you really get angry.

"Did the fidgeting start? A tingle in your fingertips? Do you struggle to sleep because of that pounding heart and pool of anxiety in your stomach? Eyes feeling dry yet and that unbearable feeling of something awful happening around you? Huh? How bad is it? Like an hour away from panic attacks, stomach aches and cold sweats?".

"What?" You huff at him.

"You're an alcoholic. That's where you are trying to sneak off to. A bar." He looks away when he sees the shadow of the bruise that's going to form on your neck. The exact shape of his fingers.

"First of all... I'm an adult, I can do whatever I want. Second.. we are trapped in a fucking foggy Monster invested nightmare, so yes, James, I will go have a drink." You avoid his accusation of being an alcoholic.

You practically flee the Apartment once you manage to get to the door again, the air outside bites you everywhere where your skin is exposed, which are quite a lot of places.

You remember you walked by some neon sign not so long ago. It's gotta have a stash of liquor somewhere.

_______

Heavens Night

When James finally catches up to you he's even a bit out of breath, someone actually sprinted a little. He sees the glass of amber colored liquor in your hand, he's glad he made it in time. "Don't drink that, okay? Look i'm sorry, I know It's not my damn business i can just relate a lot and believe me.. the drinking never changes anything" James walks closer to the bar and towards you, only noticing now that you two are in a strip club.

Weird.

"That...is so sweet of you" You smile wide at him, leaning a bit closer. "But this is my third" You wiggle the glass with a soft smirk before you take another long sip from it.

James stares at you in defeat, he's insanely close to having one himself. This day has been something alright. But he should stick to his own words, it's a failed attempt to escape that loneliness but in the end the drinking never changes a damn thing.

"If you're doing this because of what happened earlier-" His eyes make you want to punch him in the throat.

That lost puppy look. Here goes a speech about how he didn't really want to do it that rough but he felt like you wanted it and he only wanted to meet your needs and not his own selfish ones.

A speech about how he isn't actually like that. He's a good guy. A nice guy. Blah..blaah.

"I needed it."

"I mean it was exactly what I needed. So if this is what you really need right now? I won't stop you" he keeps his hands almost flat on the bar.

"Just don't try to persuade me, I'm done with alcohol. For good." He points out.

"I won't." You feel stunned. He didn't excuse anything he didn't apologize to you. He didn't say he felt guilty about it or regretted it. He just needed it.

It's as simple as that.

"I really can't figure you out, are you sure you're real?" You ask but there is a worry that this is all somehow just in your head.

"I've been asking myself the same thing since I got here" James takes a deep breath, looking around the club. He can't believe he had sex with someone else, while looking for Mary as hard as he is, he also didn't know he had it in him to be this...rough with someone. It's almost as if it's always been there, somewhere deep inside of him, this ability to be violent or something.

Takes some to beat a monster's head in and then stomp their bodies to make sure they won't get up again.

"What's her name again?" You ask.

"Mary." James puts his face on one of his hands, he's tired but there will be no sleep in a place like this, he's sure of it.

"Mary.. and she passed three years ago but you are still looking for her? Here?" You wonder. He's either insane or just ruined by grief.

"I know how this sounds, i'm not crazy you know, I just..want some answers" He smirks a bit before almost robotically wiping it off his face again....

Hm.

"Hey it's okay if you were, you know? I am THE last person to judge anyone else’s crazy" You huff. Taking another sip of your drink before you set the glass down again.

His eyes seem relaxed and comfortable for once, even if it won't last long you are relieved to experience this look on his face. Neither of you feels weird or judged anymore, a silent understanding goes a long way. The fact that he didn't make any excuses or tried to reason as to why he fucked you like that? PERFECT. It's such a great feeling not having to listen to a man whine about why he did the things he did and why he couldn't help himself.

"My crazy is also a lot so, looking for a dead wife doesn't seem too insane" You pour some more of the booze into your glass before you walk around the bar, taking a seat next to him. Revealing a new pantyhose. You got a new pair of underwear too. This time something a bit more durable than a slip, still having no idea as to what your clothes are supposed to mean here.

"It's also a very understandable one." James looks at your thighs and knees when you sit down. "How did you?.." his throat gets audibly dry. This new one has a certain webbing that just draws him in. It's beautiful.

"Oh! Well, benefits of a strip Club right?" You look around. "Found a suitcase of fresh stuff" You could have worn a pair of mens briefs and sweatpants yet you stuck to this look somehow.

The not so survivalist attire.

"Right." James snaps himself out of it.

"Let's get out of here" He stands up nodding towards the door but...

You have other plans.

"Let's stay here, come on! It's a lot nicer than those creepy Apartments. Besides, There's a lot to drink here and not just booze. I think I even saw some snacks, the booths are comfy and..." You smirk wide when you lean halfway over the bar.

You push a button under the counter and the lights change and some slow and sensual strip music starts playing.

But while you are excited James holds a rather firm expression, he doesn't seem convinced.

"I really don't think that this is the place to be" He really doesn't allow himself any kind of fun.

"I'll behave this time?" You tilt your head to meet his gaze.

And there it is again, this almost wholesome chuckle of his. Whatever brings him here, in your book he's not a bad person. He seems almost sweet.

"Fine, okay, you're right. This place does look a bit nicer than those Apartments. I'll give you that." His eyes follow the lights before he picks himself a booth, testing the seat for himself and it might not be as good as a real bed or couch but it still is pretty comfortable. Less moldy and creepy.

You just watch, you take in almost everything he's always doing. There is just this strange fascination about him, how he manages to appear cold and a bit gloomy only to chuckle at your jokes the next second. It really is as if you have to defrost him first and underneath the ice is a beautiful cozy heart.

"Snack?" You shrug, walking behind the bar again and watching him nod from the booth. His hands are flat on the wooden table, you notice he does that a lot, maybe it's something to ground himself? Feel the surface of things that are right in front of him? It sounds like a good way not to totally lose it in this place.

You grab whatever is edible and not expired from behind the bar, you also take your glass and bottle of whisky with you. Turning the music and sexy lights off again before you walk towards the booth he picked out.

"So I have an arrangement of nut mixes, granola bars and small packages of dry cereals." You pour yourself another drink before taking one of the granola bars.

James reaches for the cereals.

"I actually don't even remember the last time I ate something" He frowns and you know exactly what he's talking about. It's almost as if Hunger for Food doesn't really exist in this place. But even if you two aren't that hungry, a little snack for the nerves never harmed anybody, right?

"Yeah, it's weird" You bite into the granola bar, chewing slowly, it doesn't taste like much but at least it doesn't taste awful.

James has the same unfazed expression when he shoves a handful of cereals into his mouth.

"Definitely had better" He mumbles.

_______

After trying a few snacks and discovering none of them hold much flavor you and James give it up, eating things that don't have any taste when you're not exactly hungry isn't easy.

You end up a few drinks deep, talking, sharing some stories with each other.

"Oh no! What did you do then?" You ask, pulled into James Story of cleaning out his elderly neighbors basement for him.

"I wish I could say I was being a brave man about it but..." He shrugs a bit. "Something like a squeal escaped me and I ran. I mean, that thing was HUGE okay? The kind of Spider that could easily eat you whole" He laughs a bit.

It's really nice to see him like that, sharing a wholesome and funny Story.

You share a Story about your first time seeing a snake in the woods when you were a Teenager. It's Equal to his, the squeal and the running away.

You both laugh for a good Minute especially since you recreated your Teenager self's high pitched squeal which seemed to seriously crack him up.

"Those were some great stories, really" You sigh softly, taking another sip of your whisky.

"Yeah it's been...good, to think and talk about something else for once. Thank you, for, you know? Making me laugh" He doesn't want to sound too serious but you can guess how he means it. Probably not a lot to laugh at when someone that close to you passed away. You're happy you could get him to smile and laugh again, even if it was just for a little while.

"Wanna catch some sleep?" He asks, looking around this place once more.

"Yeah! I think I saw some blankets in the back, don't worry, I'll make sure they are the clean ones" You huff before getting out of the booth. The first few steps feel a bit wobbly and your hand needs to hold onto the table for support. Giving him a thumbs up before he can ask if you're okay, you can hold your liquor. You just didn't realize how much it was and how long you sat there with him.

It feels like hours went by..

It's so easy to talk to him, that defrosted Version of him is pretty adorable. He's shy and he doesn't like to brag about things, he doesn't even notice how handsome and really insanely hot he looks half the time.

"Don't uh, don't leave this here okay? Take it with you." James hands you the bottle of whisky. There isn't a whole lot left in it to begin with but you admire his strength and self control.

"Right! Fuck.. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to shove it in your face" You clutch the bottle tightly.

"It's okay." He leans back in the booth when you walk towards the back. You are trying to gather clean sheets and blankets. Catching a glimpse of yourself in the dusty mirror. You're a mess. Tacky clothes, some smeared mascara, hair in all directions. Maybe you should freshen just a bit. Give that man his jacket back too.

You fix what you can in the mirror with some tissues and comb your hair a few times. You switch his jacket for a Black Bomber jacket you found in the lockers. Probably the security man's jacket judging by the print on the back.

You walk out into the open area again, giving James his jacket and a clean blanket.

But the drinks make you wobble a bit again.

Taking a seat next to him before you stumble around or anything. "You really are pretty, you know that?" You sigh while he's so up close.

"You had a few drinks, come on, I'll tug you in" He makes a move to get you to stand up again but you slump into his side.

"You made me feel so good James, I miss your strong hand around my throat already" You trace the slow forming bruises with your fingers. Looking at him with big eyes.

"I'm not going to pretend it didn't happen, but this isn't the time or place for a recap." James tries to get himself out of the booth. He can't do it again, he hates himself enough for the first time even if he really did need it. But he can't touch you again, he's looking for Mary. He loves her. Only her.

She's the only thing that matters.

"I know! I know..and I'm sorry, I know I'm nothing but a drunk slut right now but I..- I made you feel good too didn't I? Let me make you feel good again, please" You softly tug on his arm.

He sits back down and you take it as a signal.

Your hand strokes over his thigh, leaning in closer.

"You said you'll behave..." his tone is so icey again, so cold. Distant. Almost annoyed.

"Puh...did I? Would it be so terrible if I didn't?" You tried to tease a bit but something in him went back to stone. He doesn't seem up for a round two which is...sad, but fair, you understand.

"No, but I can't." His thin lipped nod is all you need to know to slowly bring some distance between the two of you again.

"Besides that, you're drunk" He frowns when he moves himself onto the other booth. He can't do this again and he certainly won't touch you when you're drunk. He shouldn't have touched you in the first place but this part of him that really needed was simply stronger than any voice of reason in his head.

"Rest, we both need it." James takes one of the blankets and lays down. Covering himself almost to his ears. It does look comfortable in a way, so you lay down to try it out, pulling the security jacket and the other blanket over yourself as well. The booths really are comfortable.

You nod off into an uneasy and light sleep fast.

James however doesn't find a single moment of rest, whenever he closes his eyes he can see her, Mary, struggling to sit up to take a sip of water but still noticing the way Nurse Ashley puts her hand onto James arm. Ruthless little whore, flirting with her husband right in front of her like that, like she can't die fast enough or something.

'Hey let me help you-' James tries to put another pillow behind her back and hold her water but Mary angrily shoves him away. Spilling the water cup everywhere.

'GO! Go on and fuck that nurse James, don't pretend anymore, don't.. - don't pretend you still look at me that way. The way you look at her' Mary sobs.

'Mary? What are you talking about? There is no look, I don't look at her, okay? I'm looking at you, always, you know i do' James tries but she wouldn't have it. Wouldn't listen. She would yell at him but she's too weak for that.

James jolts up from the booth, holding his face with both hands. He can't sleep. He can't keep wasting time like that.

He needs to move on, he needs to find her.

His eyes trace your sleeping frame, carefully putting his blanket over you.

Collecting his things.

"I'm sorry" He sighs softly and quietly.

He doesn't want to leave you behind like that, but he needs to do what he came here for. He makes sure the place is safe and that the doors are secure before he leaves.

Darkness and fog don't mix very well, before he even knows it he's lost in some kind of hospital.

No way back now...right?

______

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rainforestakiie · 4 months ago

Text

omega lucifer x omega adam part 05! so excited! the fall in next part!

lucifer and adam meets eve again! and she's after a lot more then just learning about being an omega! also, adam sees why lucifer is considered to be one of the most fearful angels~

Nest of the Damned (Omegaverse Omega/Omega) Part 01. Part 02. Part 03. Part 04. Part 05. Extra 01.

Full Version

Their heat lasted nearly two weeks, a period marked by sheer luck and chance. Their minds cleared only for brief intervals, just long enough to realise their need for sustenance. In those fleeting moments, they would dart out of their nest, driven by desperation, to hastily gather whatever they could find. If Lucifer wasn’t the one jolting awake, it was Adam, each taking turns to hurriedly scavenge for food and water. Their intense bond made it unbearable to be apart, compelling them to grab the first things they saw.

At last, their heat subsided, leaving the two Omegas lying side by side in exhaustion. Their bodies were spent, burning, and tingling after countless hours of unrelenting passion. Neither could move much, their fingers barely entwined as they lay on their backs, breathing heavily and gazing up at the delicate purple and pink flowers above them.

“Are…” Lucifer licked his swollen, sore lips. His pale skin was adorned with marks of love and passion. “Are you okay?”

Adam didn’t respond immediately. His body was a mirror image of Lucifer’s. “Hmm, I feel… happy? But also… sore.”

“I’m happy too,” the angel sighed. Summoning all the remaining strength within him, Lucifer squeezed Adam’s hand, feeling a surge of pride at this small act.

Sniffling, Adam’s eyelids began to droop. Fatigue took hold, and he found himself drifting off, only to force himself awake again. "Luci, what was that? Why did we feel like that?"

Lucifer sucked in his lips, his cheeks puffing up like a chipmunk’s. "I... I don't know... that’s never happened to me before."

"Was it because we ate the apple?" Adam asked, his voice becoming soft and low. "Was it our punishment from God?"

Lucifer didn't want to agree, he really didn't. But considering the sudden burst of heat and the overwhelming need for passion was something new, and it had occurred immediately after they ate the apple of knowledge, the coincidence seemed too likely to be dismissed.

"It's likely..." he mumbled quietly, his eyes fluttering half-lidded. "It wasn't bad, was it?"

"Well... it hurt when we weren't... you know," Adam replied. He squirmed a little, trying to roll onto his side. His face scrunched up from the aches and pains that wracked his body. It wasn't a terrible pain; it was almost enjoyable. "What about you? How do you feel?"

Seeing Adam's successful attempt to roll onto his side, despite feeling so exhausted and spent, Lucifer felt compelled to do the same. It took him longer, hindered by his numb wings, but he eventually managed to meet Adam's gaze.

"I felt the same way. It was like we were being burned from the inside out," Lucifer said thoughtfully.

"A heat," Adam mused. "Like the animals in the summer."

Lucifer raised a weak hand to brush Adam's thick hair out of his face, his fingers caressing along Adam's cheeks. He smiled as Adam closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. "Are you mad at me?"

"About the apple?" the human Omega questioned softly. "A little."

"I'm sorry," Lucifer murmured, his voice laced with deep remorse. “I know it was wrong, but I just…I just wanted to heal you. To undo the damage that was done. It was my fault you got hurt, because I was selfish and arrogant.”

With a tender hum, Adam leaned forward, their faces touching as he nuzzled Lucifer with a comforting purr. His hands traced along Lucifer’s pale skin, gently caressing his mating glands. Lucifer shuddered from the touch, causing Adam’s emerald eyes to light up with affection.

“I forgive you,” Adam whispered softly, a gentle rumble emanating from his throat. “I know you did it for me. The heat was frightening, but it was bearable because of you, because I had you by my side. That means everything to me. You didn’t leave me alone.”

Lucifer's own rumble echoed Adam’s, and the Archangel enveloped them both in his wings once more. He pressed their aching bodies together, burying his face into Adam’s shoulder. Slowly, tremors coursed through Lucifer as his hands shifted from tense to gentle.

“Why are you crying?” Adam asked softly, slipping his arms around the Angel. His hands moved soothingly up and down Lucifer’s back, while the other hand gently stroked the back of Lucifer’s head, fingers running through the soft golden curls. “Were you really worried I would be angry at you?”

"Of course," Lucifer whimpered, tightening his embrace. He sniffled, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as he hiccuped painfully. "I thought...thought you might be furious with me, you might even hate me."

"Why would you think that?" Adam cooed softly.

Lucifer pulled back to meet Adam's gaze. His sapphire blue eyes were glassy and watery, tears gathering at the corners. "Because I'm a bad person, Adam! I'm a terrible, terrible person, an awful Angel! It's my fault you got hurt! I was too selfish! I didn’t want Lilith to see how beautiful you are and take you away! I wanted you to be my Omega, and the thought of her wanting you broke me! I couldn't stand seeing you with someone else!"

"Why would you think Lilith would ever want to be with me?" Adam tilted his head in curiosity. "Lilith hates me. From the very beginning, from the moment she was created, she looked at me with disdain. She was never kind to me, never enjoyed my company. Lilith went out of her way to avoid me long before you started spending time with her. Lilith was never nice to me."

Lucifer's bottom lip quivered, and he shook his head furiously. "You just don't understand. You just don't see yourself the way I do. Adam, you're the most gorgeous Omega I've ever seen! Lilith would have noticed eventually, and it hurt to think of her noticing...it hurt to think of you both noticing each other."

"You... were made for one another... and I..." Lucifer's face scrunched up, his chest aching. "You and Lilith were destined to be together, to be the parents of humanity, and I'm just an Angel. I wasn't made for you, but I wish I was. I wish I was so very badly, and I..."

Cupping Lucifer's blue cheek, Adam caressed the soft flesh with a tender kiss. "But you're wrong. We were made for each other."

"But..." Lucifer whimpered.

"Luci, it was just you and me at the beginning, remember?" Adam said lovingly. "Before Lilith's creation, it was just us. God created both you and me; Lilith was different, wasn't she?"

Nodding slowly, Lucifer snuggled in closer, his panic and fear beginning to settle. "Lilith was created by us, the Angels. Or well, Uriel, really, with Michael and Sera overseeing."

"Exactly!" Adam squealed adorably. He smothered Lucifer's face in butterfly kisses, making his loving Omega mate giggle. "God created us, so he made us for each other. There's a difference."

"I still shouldn't have made Lilith believe we were going to mate..." Lucifer sighed, returning the butterfly kisses just as sweetly. "It's my fault she hurt you. Because I tricked her, I wanted to make sure she would never desire you, so I made sure she never looked your way. In doing that... she hurt you because I manipulated her."

"Do you feel sorry for doing that to her?" Adam asked softly.

Lucifer looked away shamefully. "No, I don't. I'm sorry she hurt you. I'm so, so sorry you got hurt because of my actions. That's what I regret. But I don't regret tricking her to have you. I would do it again if I had to."

"At least you're honest," Adam teased, a soft blush on his cheeks. Lucifer would really do anything to be with him? It warmed his heart. "I don't hate you at all, Luci. I love you. I love you more than anything. I could never hate you. Never."

A rumbling purr of happiness escaped Lucifer. "You forgive me for tricking you into eating the apple?"

"I knew you tricked me!" Adam gasped before giggling in amusement. "You're really good at doing that."

Raising an eyebrow, Lucifer tilted his head. "I'm good at manipulating to get my way?"

"Yes," the human Omega snorted. His expression was more than adorable, it was something new that Lucifer would never forget. "I guess it's your talent."

Lucifer was unsure of what to say, unsure if it was a good thing or not. But still, his chest bubbled with warmth from how sweet and beautiful Adam was. He immediately kissed him, unable to stop himself. Maybe it was a good thing his mate appreciated his... cheekiness? Yes, it was his cheekiness.

Even if Lucifer did enjoy being a snake…

“I love you, even the tricks and words you use!” Adam added with a laugh. “I don’t care if you do that that thing - manipulating, I love you anyway~”

~#~

Their heats became a cherished routine, a rhythmic dance that intertwined their souls every three months. At first, it was a bit overwhelming, but the experience was comforting and intimate. It was best when they nestled in their shared sanctuary, a cocoon of comfort and warmth. The intensity of their connection grew with each cycle, their bond strengthening like an unbreakable thread.

Lucifer had given him the apple, hoping to undo the damage Lilith had inflicted. Although the apple hadn't fully healed Adam—he still bore the nasty scar, and his glands hadn't regrown—he had gained something new. Adam still couldn't release his own scent or detect Lucifer's Omega scent, but he could feel it. He could sense Lucifer's presence, like butterflies dancing across his skin. Even when Lucifer wasn't nearby, Adam felt his essence. He might have lost parts of his inner Omega, but he discovered new aspects that were still unfolding.

A giggle escaped Adam as his skin tingled from another sweet wave of sensation, akin to wings caressing him, even though Lucifer's wings were nowhere near. It felt like being cuddled by feathers, a sensation that brought a bright smile to Adam's face. His emerald eyes sparkled as he crawled closer to the slumbering Omega Archangel. Lucifer lay curled on his side, his soft wings spread across their nest, fluttering with each gentle snore.

He was so adorable.

Adam moved closer, sitting on his knees beside the sleeping Angel. He giggled again as Lucifer's Omega pheromones washed over him like delicate feathers. With tender fingers, Adam brushed the blonde curls from Lucifer's face. A soft blush bloomed on Lucifer's cheeks, and while Adam could feel Lucifer's Omega scent, he wondered if Lucifer could sense his unscented pheromones.

With a loving touch, Adam leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Lucifer’s rosy cheek. He then whispered, "I wonder if you can feel me, the way I feel you." His heart swelled with affection, knowing that even without a scent, their bond was palpable, a beautiful testament to their unbreakable connection.

"You make me happy. Even if there were rough patches, you make me so happy. I don't understand how I can feel so much joy; it's like my heart is going to burst," Adam whispered, careful not to disturb Lucifer's sleep. He touched his chest, feeling his heart pound. "I don't really understand everything I feel; there are so many things I don't know. But I'm not scared. I'm not scared because I'm with you, and you make me feel so happy..."

Lucifer made a soft sound in his sleep, humming gently as Adam continued to run his fingers through his soft blonde hair. Adam smiled down at him with such love that it physically hurt.

"And I'm sorry... I'm sorry you had to give up everything to be with me in Eden. It's not fair that you were punished just because we love each other. It's not fair you can never go home, back to Heaven." Adam bit his bottom lip. "It's not fair you lost your siblings because you wanted to be with me... but I'm still happy, even though you lost everything. I-I'm s-still happy I get to be with you..."

Adam sniffed and rubbed his eyes with his other hand. "That makes me sound selfish, doesn't it? I'm selfish and awful because I am glad you're down here with me and not up there. I hated it when you would leave me to go back to Heaven. I really hated that feeling of being left behind."

Did it make him awful? Did it make him terrible? Adam just wanted to be with Lucifer forever. The Archangel was his lover, his mate, his everything. And it hurt every time Lucifer had to return to Heaven. Adam really didn't like it when his mate left him behind. So he was happy when Lucifer was banished from Heaven because that meant they could stay together.

And that makes him a terrible person! He was so selfish!

Adam was broken from his sad thoughts by a sound. A branch snapping outside the purple blossoms hanging like a wall. His green eyes scanned the inside of the purple wisteria, gazing softly at the glittering sunlight shining between the petals. Adam shuffled on his knees, leaning forward with his head tilted to the left, straining his ears. After a while, when Adam didn't hear anything and Lucifer let out another adorable sneeze in his slumber, the Omega immediately returned to his loving mate.

Lucifer's wings fluttered in his sleep, appearing inviting. Adam was just about to crawl into the wings and snuggle up to sleep too, deciding to store his worrying thoughts away, when he heard another sound. This time it was much closer to their purple wisteria, and Adam sprung up with wide eyes.

He could see a shadow on the other side of the flower wall. Somebody was definitely outside!

Curiosity mixed with anxiety filled him. His hairs stood on end. Who would come close to their nest? Who would dare enter their domain? Fear began to rear its head, and Adam glanced towards Lucifer, wondering if he should wake up his mate. Adam would feel much safer with Lucifer at his side!

...but... but Lucifer needed to sleep. Adam didn't want to disturb his rest!

Inhaling deeply, Adam turned back to the purple flowers. His stomach churned as he made his decision. The human Omega climbed to his wobbly feet, beginning to approach the flowers, only to stop. Adam's emerald eyes flickered down on himself, gazing at his pale skin and feeling a deep blush spread across his cheeks in horrified realisation.

He was naked! He didn't want to walk around in front of somebody who wasn't Lucifer like this! It was the first time Adam had ever felt such embarrassment and horror. He tilted his head, eyes landing on the robe Lucifer had given him. His Angel hadn't taught him how to wear it yet, but Adam grabbed it, wrapping himself up in it. It was a bit of a struggle to position it similarly to how Lucifer wore his, but it would have to do! Adam was sure Lucifer would teach him later.

Adam ducked beneath the cascading blossoms of purple wisteria, their sweet fragrance enveloping him. He squinted his emerald eyes, peering into the lush expanse of the Garden of Eden. It didn’t take long for him to spot the figure prowling outside their sanctuary.

A woman.

She bore a striking resemblance to Lilith, but her thick red curls and large brown eyes set her apart. Her skin was kissed by a constellation of freckles. Although Adam couldn't catch her scent, he sensed her Omega nature. His stomach tightened, and he stiffened. Had she come to their nest because of Lucifer? Could she detect his pheromones?

The thought sent a shiver down his spine. Adam shuffled his feet, his hair standing on end as he glanced over his shoulder. The idea of someone taking his mate away filled him with dread.

"Um..." He turned back to the woman, awkwardly. "Why are you here?"

She jumped in surprise, a radiant smile spreading across her lips. "I wanted to see you."

"Why?" Adam blinked, confused.

"Because you're an Omega, like me," she said, stepping forward cautiously. "I wanted to meet the other Omegas of Eden. Lilith, my Alpha, told me about you and your mate."

Adam's eyes narrowed, his skin prickling at the mention of Lilith. So, this woman was his replacement. Sera had created a new Omega for Lilith. "You shouldn’t be here."

"But I just wanted to talk to you." The woman's smile faltered, her brows knitting together in sadness. "I don’t understand why that’s a bad thing."

"You—you should leave," Adam forced out, his voice wavering between compassion and protectiveness. This was their sanctuary, their nest, and this woman was an outsider. An Omega no less. It wasn't safe for her to be in their domain. "Leave," he repeated, his voice gaining strength only to falter slightly. "P-please."

The female Omega blinked at him, a myriad of emotions flickering across her face. Some expressions were foreign to Adam, leaving him puzzled. Suddenly, her brown eyes seemed to light up with understanding, and she tilted her head, gazing thoughtfully at him.

"You don't smell that, do you?" she asked abruptly. "Is it the same reason why I can smell you?"

Adam's spine stiffened, his posture straightening as he tried to keep his voice steady and firm, masking his nervousness under her penetrating gaze. "T-that's something personal. It doesn't—it has nothing to do with you, s-so please just leave now. I don't—I don't like that you're here, so close to my nest."

"Nest!" she exclaimed suddenly, stepping forward once more. She placed a hand over her chest, her expression filled with awe. "What's a nest? And why does my heart flutter at the mention of a nest? Do you have one? Can I see it?"

"N-no," Adam inhaled deeply, trying to steady his racing heart. "No, that's private. You—nobody is allowed to see an Omega's nest unless invited by the Omega."

"You're an Omega," the woman pointed out with a soft chuckle. "You won't invite me?"

Adam's mouth fell slack as he shook his head. "No, I won't invite you into my nest. It's a private, intimate thing. Outsiders aren't allowed in."

"I'm an outsider?" the female Omega asked with a hint of amusement. "Me?"

"Yes," Adam nodded, his fingers nervously tangling in the white robe he wore. "So leave now, please and thank you."

Instead of leaving, the woman tilted her head in curiosity. "What is that?" she asked, gesturing to the white robe. "Why do you hide yourself under it? Lilith and I don’t have those things. What are they for?"

Adam glanced down at his robe, its fabric soft and flowing around him. "It's... It gives me comfort and protection. We all have our own ways of feeling safe."

The red-haired Omega continued to gaze at Adam, her eyes boring into him with an intensity that made him want to turn and flee. The mere thought of her invading his nest, disrupting the sanctuary he and Lucifer had painstakingly created, was horrifying. It was too much for him to back down and let her pass. Adam's heart raced, the pulse pounding in his ears. He also couldn't bear the thought of her seeing Lucifer as he was, sleeping peacefully in the nude.

"Lilith told me about you," she said softly. "She said you couldn't be trusted. A bad Omega, one who would go out of their way to take what doesn't belong to them."

Adam's face contorted in pain, his lips trembling as he exhaled softly. "Lilith...doesn't like me. She has never liked me. It's understandable she would say those things, considering her feelings."

"Why doesn't she like you?" the woman asked.

"I don't know," Adam shrugged, glancing away. "I guess I annoyed her too much. I never took anything that belonged to her. She was told 'no.' That should have been enough, that should have ended the...disagreement."

The female Omega fell silent again, her eyebrows furrowing in thought, her lips curling crookedly. Adam continued to watch her, hoping she had learned enough and would leave, but she remained standing before him with no intention of departing.

"You're mated to another Omega, aren't you?" she finally asked, making Adam sigh. "Lilith said that was wrong. Was that a disagreement? She claimed you took away her mate, that before I was created, she had a mate you tricked and lured away."

"She's wrong," Adam said, his voice trembling. He bit his bottom lip and clenched his hands together. "It's not about whether mating with this person is wrong, it's about being with the person who makes you happy, who makes you feel loved. My mate and I, we were already close before Lilith was made. It was us from the beginning...and..."

Adam paused to steady himself. He raised his apple-green eyes to meet the woman. "And you can't claim ownership over a person. Nobody can. That's cruel and a horrible thing to do. Nobody belongs to anybody, we're all free."

"Free..." she whispered in awe. "Nobody can own somebody?"

Adam nodded firmly. "That's right. Lilith never had ownership over my mate. He might have been misguided in some of his actions, but he never approached her with the intention to mate. The moment he realised what she wanted, he told her 'no.' It was Lilith who wouldn't accept that."

"No means no, in every way," Adam stated firmly. "You can't force somebody to love you. You can't force somebody to care for you. You can't force somebody to mate with you. You can't compel someone to be with you for the rest of their life."

The female Omega opened her mouth but then shut it again. Her eyes grew glassy, her pupils dilating. Her crimson curls shimmered in the sunlight of Eden. "No means no. No matter what. You can't force somebody to love you. To mate with you."

Adam tilted his head innocently. "Are you happy?"

"What?" She jumped, startled.

"Are you happy with Lilith?" Adam asked. "Is she being nice to you?"

The Omega didn't answer immediately. She appeared to be genuinely considering Adam's words, her face pinching uncomfortably. "Happy? I...I want to be happy. Why does it matter if I'm happy or not? I don't understand."

"Of course it matters if you're happy. My mate makes me extremely happy. I'm the happiest when I am with him," Adam explained as softly and tenderly as possible. His chest fluttered with warmth at the thought of his beloved mate. Lucifer always made him happy; even when he was sad, Lucifer would cheer him up with ease. "You mate for love, nothing else. There should be no strings attached. Love and happiness are the two most important things in a mating courtship. Are you happy with Lilith? Does she treat you kindly? Do you love each other?"

"I care about her greatly..." the other whispered. Finally, thank God, she took a step back. Her amber eyes lowered as she chewed her cherry-red bottom lip. "I'm not sure what love is, but I care about Lilith so much. I don't know if...if she cares about me too. She does take care of me, she makes sure I'm fed and that I am comfortable. Lilith has been nice to me; she has never been mean, but cold. She has been cold to me at times."

It sounded better than his own relationship with Lilith. The Alpha had never taken care of him. She had never treated him kindly or gone out of her way to ensure he was comfortable. Maybe there was a chance at happiness for her with this new Omega. His replacement...but Adam felt no bitterness towards her at all. He just hoped for the best.

Adam was in love with his best friend. He had mated with his closest friend. He was happy with his mate. He wanted Lilith to find the same with her own mate. This female Omega, meant to be Adam's replacement, could be just that for Lilith...and then...maybe she would stop blaming him for Lucifer choosing him.

"What's your name?" the female Omega asked suddenly. "I'm named Eve."

"O-Oh, I'm Adam," he said sheepishly, nodding.

"I-I should head back now," Eve said, taking another step back. Her shiny brown eyes seemed much brighter than before, and Adam wondered if he had been the cause of the change. "I don't want Lilith to worry. I have been gone too long. I should head back to her now..."

Adam awkwardly waved. "That's a good idea."

"You know..." Eve paused as she began to turn away. "You're not what I thought you would be. I was expecting something else, but I guess there's a lot more to question than just the Angels' rules and restrictions."

Blinking in confusion, Adam raised an eyebrow. What did she think he would be like? What rules and restrictions was Eve talking about? Had he changed from what he was? That was possible!

"Could it have been the apple?" he mused softly to himself.

Eve perked up at the words. "Apple?"

"O-Oh, it's nothing—nothing! Pretend I didn't say anything!" Adam hurriedly replied.

The other Omega gave a small, not fully convinced nod before she turned completely around and began making her way back down to the forest. Adam waited until she was fully out of sight before spinning to face the purple wisteria. He leaned towards the soft indigo blossoms, inhaling their gentle fragrance. He inched forward, gently brushing his fingertips across the petals before finally ducking back underneath. He slipped back inside, where his nest and mate were waiting.

...where his mate was wide awake and sitting up, staring at Adam the moment he slipped through the hanging flowers.

"Luci!" Adam squealed in happiness. "You're awake! You're supposed to be resting!"

Automatically, Lucifer's arms reached for the human, his blue eyes shining like diamonds as Adam wasted no time throwing himself into a hug. Their arms embraced one another tightly. Adam nuzzled his face into Lucifer's neck with a purr, immediately feeling ten times better now that he was in Lucifer's arms.

"You were so patient with her," Lucifer murmured softly, returning Adam's rumbling purr with his own. His large white wings unfolded and cocooned around them. "I would have been less understanding."

Tilting his head back to meet Lucifer's eyes, Adam hummed. "She was too close."

"Yes, she came too close to our nest. She should not have done that. I gave her a warning when I saw her entering our domain the other day." Lucifer sighed, resting his forehead against Adam's. "But you were so good with her and kept your boundaries in place. I'm so proud of you."

A laugh escaped Adam, and he beamed in return. "She was made as my replacement."

"You can never be replaced," Lucifer grunted with a snort. "Perhaps as the mother of humanity, but you can't be replaced in general. You're one of a kind."

The two shared a loving kiss after the statement. Adam giggled as his arms looped around the Angel's neck. Lucifer's own hands brushed along the white robe Adam had hastily tied around himself, an amused grin taking over his lips—he'd have to teach Adam how to wear it correctly.

"But it sounds like their relationship is a good one," Lucifer spoke while pressing more kisses across Adam's face, down his throat, and to his shoulders, where Lucifer began to scent him. Granted, he knew Adam couldn't smell his pheromones, but Adam could feel them! "Sure, it is only the beginning of a relationship. It's fragile, but it sounds like Lilith and Eve are building a healthy one."

Purring, Adam pressed himself back against Lucifer. His eyes grew glassy as he felt Lucifer's Omega scent washing over his skin in ways he had never felt before. Adam sighed, resting his head against Lucifer's shoulder. "I just want them to be happy. I want us to be happy."

"They will be, and we will be," Lucifer promised, cuddling Adam once again. "I’m sure we will all be happy."

Adam smiled, pressing a kiss to Lucifer’s exposed shoulder. His emerald eyes caught sight of the yellow apple still lying just on the edge of their nest. It hadn't been touched or moved since they had shared a bite months ago.

Swallowing thickly, Adam felt an inexplicable worry gnawing at him. It was as if he had made a mistake, but he couldn't pinpoint what it was. He tried to think more about it, but his beautiful and stunning mate quickly regained his attention.

Another laugh escaped Adam as he fell back onto their nest. Lucifer moved above him, his blue eyes shimmering with pure love and delight. The two were so madly in love with one another and their connection only grew stronger as time passed.

~#~

Adam hummed softly, his fingers gliding through Lucifer's wings with a reverent touch. His eyes were sharp, discerning the worn feathers with precision before gently removing them, allowing the new, vibrant ones to flourish. The feathers came out effortlessly, needing no force, as if they were whispering secrets as they fell. The human Omega knelt at Lucifer's right side, tending to the inner wing with meticulous care, while Lucifer focused on his left, bending it inward with a slow, deliberate motion.

Lucifer's six vast wings made the task arduous and time-consuming, a process that stretched over hours for both. Alone, it had taken Lucifer twice as long. Despite Lucifer's insistence that Adam wasn't obliged to help, the endearing human eagerly seized any opportunity to touch the angel's delicate wings. Adam found an unexpected joy in grooming Lucifer's feathers, an act that tethered him closer to the ethereal being.

A sudden giggle escaped Adam when Lucifer's upper right wing shifted, the tip of its feathers brushing against his neck with deliberate intent. Adam glanced at his mate, seeing Lucifer still absorbed in his task. Dismissing it as an accident, Adam returned to his work, only to squeal in surprise as the feathers trailed from his neck to the small of his back, leaving a tingling path.

Startled, Adam snapped his head around, his eyes narrowing suspiciously at Lucifer. The angel met his gaze with a look of feigned innocence, a slight tilt of the head adding to the facade.

"Are you okay, Adam?" Lucifer asked, his voice honeyed and perhaps too sweet.

Adam hummed a response, nodding curtly. "Just peachy."

Lucifer's grin flashed, revealing pearly-white teeth before his blue eyes returned to the middle left wing in his hands. Adam continued to eye his lover suspiciously for a few moments before resuming his own task. But unlike before, when the top wing had merely brushed his neck and shoulder, Adam gasped sharply and jolted when a warm, wet tongue licked the back of his neck. A powerful shudder raced up his spine, making him sit up straight.

"Luci!" he squealed, his hand clamping over the scarring of his glands as he spun around, his face flushing hot.

"What~" Lucifer cooed, the picture of innocence. "I didn't do anything~"

"Sure you didn't." Adam pouted, his eyes gleaming with his own mischievous ideas. He shifted to get comfortable, fingers softly sliding across the feathers in his lap. His green eyes watched Lucifer from the corner of his vision, catching the archangel giggling to himself, his cheeks warming.

When Adam was certain Lucifer's attention was elsewhere, he twisted around and pressed a butterfly kiss against Lucifer's exposed mating glands. A startled yelp escaped Lucifer, his back arching as all six wings fluttered. His eyes widened as he clamped a hand over his neck, head snapping around to stare at Adam.

"What~" Adam echoed, shrugging innocently. "I'm not doing anything~"

"Oh really?" Lucifer teased, his voice a soft purr as he began to crawl forward with tantalising slowness. His delicate white wings arched elegantly, spreading over his back in a display of ethereal beauty. "You're not doing anything at all~"

Adam's face turned a brilliantly delicious shade of red. "Nope, nothing at all, and even if I did, you started it~"

"Ah! I started it, did I~" The Archangel's lips curved into a wide grin, revealing teeth as white as snowflakes. The sight made Adam's insides twist with delight. "If I started it, then I better finish it!"

A laughing squeal escaped Adam's throat as he fell backward. Lucifer pounced like a playful lion, even letting out a pretend roar. The two Omegas tumbled together in the nest, their giggles soon blossoming into full-blown laughter.

It was a perfect day. A day filled with love, joy, and the ever-deepening bond between two souls who grew closer with each passing second.

It was supposed to be a good day!

...until it wasn't...

A sparkling rock burst through the cascading purple blossoms of the wisteria, hitting the trunk of the beautiful tree before skittering across the ground. It rolled into their nest, coming to a stop right next to the two Omegas. They both tilted their heads, large eyes filled with confusion as they stared at the stone.

"A stone?" Adam asked, rolling onto his stomach and beginning to crawl towards it. He reached out a hand to touch the stone, but Lucifer practically climbed onto his back, pushing him away with protective urgency. His fluffy, feathered white wings folded over Adam like a shield.

Adam looked back with wide, apple-green eyes. "It's just a rock."

"You can never be too sure," Lucifer grunted, using the tip of his top right wing to brush against the stone.

When nothing happened, Adam flashed a smug grin. "See, it's just a stone! There's nothing dangerous or worrying about it! So let me pick it up~"

"No, nope." Lucifer flipped himself over Adam, hunching protectively above the rock. "You can never be too sure. It could be dangerous."

A snort escaped Adam, and he blushed when Lucifer gave him a stern look. Folding his arms under his head, he lay his chin on top of them, kicking his feet lightly in amusement. His emerald eyes sparkled with mischief, a warm smile playing on his lips.

"It's just a stone~" he sang again.

Lucifer's eyebrows twitched, and he shot Adam another look that sent his Omega giggling. With a sigh and a shake of his head, Lucifer wearily curled his fingers around the stone and finally picked it up. He rolled it over in the palm of his hand, gazing at its shiny, sparkly surface. His eyebrows rose as he studied it, realising it was one of the most beautiful stones he had ever seen.

Well, almost. It wasn't as beautiful as the stone Adam had found for him all those years ago, now lovingly woven into their nest. Lucifer often looked at that stone when he felt sad or lonely, finding solace in its presence when Adam wasn't around.

"It's..." Lucifer began, turning the stone over in his hand. It was pretty. Yes. Just pretty. It was nowhere near the beauty of the stones Adam had gifted him over the years. "Just a rock."

Adam released a laugh, perking up like a meerkat. "I told you! I win!"

"You win, huh?" the Archangel hummed, tightening his fingers around the rock and tilting his head towards Adam. His azure eyes sparkled with amusement as he turned towards him. "You win? And what do you win? What's your reward?"

"I get a reward?" Adam moved to his knees, meeting his mate halfway. His hand rose to cup Lucifer's cheek, and the Angel immediately leaned into the touch with a purr. Adam began to move closer, aiming for a loving kiss. Lucifer's eyes even began to close, expecting the kiss—only it never happened!

With a joyful cheer, Adam took the stone and pulled back, a smug smile on his lips as he looked at the bewildered Archangel. "I learned that from you~"

"Oh." Lucifer blinked in a daze. He glanced down at his empty hand and then back at Adam. "You learned it from me...that does seem like something I might have done."

"You did! You did it to me many times before!" Adam chirped, turning the stone over in his hand. "Don't you remember? It's how you always found out my secrets. I could never hide anything from you."

Lucifer felt a swell of pride for his adorable Omega using one of his tricks. He shrugged; his siblings didn't call him Eden's snake for nothing. Lucifer didn't care, really; he was just proud. So he crawled after Adam and playfully pushed himself into Adam's side, his head nuzzling into Adam's neck.

"It's just a rock," he grumbled. "Why are you so interested in it?"

"Because it came out of nowhere," Adam said, looking up at the trunk. He could see a small indent from the impact of the rock. "It was thrown at us. Who would throw it at our nest, Luci?"

Who would throw a rock at them? At their nest? Oh, it wasn’t a hard guess.

Lucifer's face darkened, his lips twisting into a harsh scowl. His eyes narrowed into a sharp glare. His wings shuddered, flaring out protectively on either side. Lucifer bit down on his bottom lip, tightening his arms around Adam as he stayed pressed against his Omega's side.

He sensed it this time and threw his right wing up, shoving Adam down just in time. The second rock flew over them and struck the trunk.

"Somebody who's going to regret it," he growled, baring his teeth as he twisted towards the direction the stones came from.

"Luci?" Adam poked his head out from behind the feathered wings. "Calm down, I'm sure they didn't mean any harm."

Adam crawled quickly after his mate, leaping onto Lucifer's back just as the Angel prepared to fly. A startled yelp escaped Lucifer as they both fell onto their stomachs. Hovering above the Angel, Adam moved a delicate hand to push the flowers aside, revealing the garden outside.

"Adam, why did you do that? It could be somebody dangerous outside!" Lucifer protested.

Squinting his eyes, Adam peeked out into the garden nervously. "It's only E-"

"The female Omega," the grumbling Angel interrupted. "I could smell her from here. It’s gross."

Blinking in curiosity, Adam cocked his head and glanced down at Lucifer. "Her name is Eve, and she smells bad?"

"Eve," Lucifer repeated with a scoff. "She smells like sour grapes. I hate grapes."

"Oh..." Adam licked his lips. He didn't know Lucifer disliked grapes. Adam made a mental note to avoid them in the future. "Well, she's outside. She must want to speak to us again."

"Why is she standing so far away?" Lucifer wondered suspiciously. His sharp eyes narrowed into slits.

With a grin, Adam kicked himself up and burst out of their nest. "She's respecting our boundaries! I told her she was too close last time!"

"Adam," Lucifer grunted, quickly following his Omega. "Wait, don’t get too close to her."

Eve waved as she noticed both of them. Her eyes sparkled with a star-like gleam as she saw Lucifer following Adam.

"Eve." Adam went to approach the other Omega, but Lucifer pulled him back. "What are you doing back here again?"

"I thought I told you not to come into our domain anymore," Lucifer huffed, settling himself next to Adam. The two immediately intertwined their hands, seeking comfort in each other. Eve's gaze dropped to their joined hands, eyes wide with wonder.

"I wanted to talk to you." Eve said. "You said I was too close to your nest last time."

"You're much too close to our nest and you throw rocks at us."

"How am I suppose to catch your attention when I want to talk to you?" Eve asked. "I'm not allowed to come close your nest. I thought this distance would do, does it not?"

Lucifer's lips twisted into a familiar sneer, ready to deliver the same cold reply, but Adam's hand tightened around his. Adam's glance, eyebrows raised in a silent plea of agreement, only deepened the Angel's scowl. Now Eve, the new intruder, had Adam's support. How exasperating. She might be another soul Lucifer would need to banish, just as he had with Lilith.

"If I stay ten feet away from your lair, will that suffice?" Eve's innocent smile only stoked Lucifer's irritation further.

"Yes—" Adam started eagerly.

"No," Lucifer growled, his tone dark and brooding. He practically sulked under the weight of Adam's imploring look that silently urged, 'please, be kind.' With a deep, reluctant sigh, Lucifer's shoulders slumped, and he shot Eve another withering glare. "Twenty feet."

"Alright, I can manage that!" she replied, her voice bright and cheerful, a stark contrast to the tense atmosphere.

"Also," Lucifer began, snatching the stone from Adam's other hand and holding it aloft. "Don't ever throw rocks at our nest again."

Eve caught the stone as he tossed it back, her hands clapping together around it. "Alright, sorry. I just didn't know how else to get your attention."

"Yeah, well, a simple 'hey!' would do," Lucifer muttered dryly.

Eve cocked her head, her amber eyes widening. "From over twenty feet away?"

"Then yell!" the angel snapped before settling himself once more as Adam squeezed his hand again. "What do you want? Why did you come out to us?"

A warm breeze whispered through the garden, tugging at the flowers, leaves, and grass. Eve's long red curls were caught in the wind, fluttering like a crimson banner. Her Omega scent mingled with the breeze, and Lucifer fought the urge to cover his nose. She smelled too much like Lilith. The strong Alpha scent intertwined with Eve's proved the two spent a lot of time together.

"It's about what Adam said last time," Eve spoke, and Lucifer soured at the realisation she knew his mate's name. "You spoke about...being free...and that made me...think."

Adam blinked in awe. "I made you think?"

"Hm." Eve nodded and lowered her head, her amber eyes falling to her hands as she bashfully twirled her fingers together. "You said...we're all free, nobody can own another. That we can't force somebody to be your mate."

Adam was such a sweetheart. Lucifer's love for him deepened even more as Adam gasped, his expression instantly morphing into one of worry.

"Yes, I remember. Are you alright?" he asked, concerned about lacing his voice. Adam's eyebrows furrowed as he instinctively scanned Eve's body for any sign of injury, bruise, or even a scrape. But there was nothing, save for countless freckles dotting her skin. "Is there something you want to ask?"

Eve seemed to flip a switch. She transformed from a sweet, shy, and slightly nervous Omega into an entirely different person. She straightened her short stature, her back rigid, and her hands dropped to her sides.

"What did you mean by free? How can we be free? What does it mean? Are we not free? What does it even mean to be free? Would it make a difference?" Eve's questions spilled out rapidly, one after the other. Both Lucifer and Adam stared at her, bewildered, as she rattled off a dozen more questions within minutes. Some of her queries didn’t even make sense, and soon Eve was simply babbling about freedom.

Lucifer glanced at his mate from the corner of his eye, ensuring Adam was still comfortable. His thumb traced soothing circles on the back of Adam's hand.

"To be free is... freedom," Lucifer said quietly, meeting Eve's eyes. "It's being able to do what you want, without being told what to do. To make your own decisions and choices, to do things for yourself, and not be..."

"Restricted?" Eve interjected.

Lucifer shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. In a way. Not having freedom means being restricted and bound by rules. Being told what to do. Being told when to stand, when to sit, when to eat, when to drink, when to sleep, shit, and piss. Being ordered to follow rules and restrictions, always feeling like there is more out there…"

"That's what Lilith said," Eve breathed out softly, her voice laced with awe. Her warm caramel eyes bored into Lucifer's. "Lilith always says that there's more beyond Eden. She believes we should crave more than just this paradise, that we deserve to live freely without the Angels constantly watching over us."

Adam averted his gaze, memories of Lilith's fervent speeches flooding back. She never welcomed his responses, always demanding his silence, expecting him to just listen. Even when he yearned to understand, her anger and moodiness silenced him. She saw him as nothing more than a verbal punching bag.

Adam hoped Lilith wasn't treating Eve the same way, but Eve was different, more vocal. Lucifer squeezed Adam's hand, sharing the same concern. He remembered the effort it took to coax words back out of Adam, to heal the mental wounds Lilith had inflicted.

"Lilith has always been headstrong," Lucifer spoke sternly. "It'll lead to trouble if she's not careful."

Eve's freckled face concealed a darker judgement as she stared at Lucifer. "I think Lilith is right. There's more out there. Why do the Angels discourage our questions? Are they hiding something? It doesn't add up."

"Then that's a conversation for the Angels," Lucifer bristled. "We don't want to be dragged into your issues."

Eve shook her head, crossing her arms tightly. "But you're already involved. Adam is free, isn't he? He doesn't have to follow the Angels' rules."

Lucifer inhaled deeply, meeting Adam's eyes. His sweet, loving mate smiled at him, reminding Lucifer of why he defied the heavens in the first place. He did it for freedom, so they could be together, unbound.

Lucifer had defied Michael for Adam.

"What do you want?" he asked, turning back to Eve. "You and Adam aren't the same. Adam is my mate, and I will do anything for him. So tell me, what do you want? You've been pestering us for a reason."

Eve's smile was almost gleeful. "I want what Adam has. I want freedom."

"What?" Adam frowned, his eyebrows knitting together. "I-I don't think we can give you freedom. It's something you have to find on your own."

"You can," Eve insisted, stepping closer. "You said the apple changed things for you. It can do the same for me and Lilith. We deserve to be free and awakened too."

Lucifer's wings unfurled threateningly. He had suspected this all along. Eve's intentions were never about self-discovery; she wanted what Adam had. But Lucifer wouldn't jeopardize his precious bond for her or Lilith.

"Leave," he hissed. "You have no idea what you're asking."

"Why should you be free but not us?" Eve pressed, advancing. "I'm not asking for much. Just the apple. Give us the apple."

Adam's apple-green eyes widened in shock, his hair standing on end. Eve's voice had shifted, becoming cold and sharp, echoing Lilith's harsh tone. He shuddered, stepping back as his stomach churned.

Sensing Adam's fear, Lucifer shielded him with his wings, glaring at Eve. The eye on his chest glowed brightly as all six wings spread wide, adorned with small, watchful eyes. His halo shimmered brilliantly above his head.

"Eve, this is your final warning. Leave and don't return," he commanded, his voice echoing in an almost inhuman manner.

Eve's frown deepened. "Why won't you give me the apple? Why won't you share freedom with me and Lilith?"

"You're not ready for the apple of knowledge," Lucifer snapped. "Neither of you are. God will provide when the time is right, but now is not that time."

"Why are we not ready but Adam is? What makes him different?" Eve demanded, her calm facade betrayed by her darkened eyes. "We deserve to know the truth too."

Lucifer raised his hand, fingers splayed wide, his angelic power crackling around him like a living thing. Little balls of flame snapped and popped against his skin, and his eyes darkened almost to black as golden light flared around him, radiant as the sun.

"Lucifer!" Adam gasped, clutching his arm as the golden magic built into a furious storm in his palm. "Stop! You're going to hurt her!"

The Archangel of dreams, hopes, and creation seemed lost in a trance, his eyes unfocused and distant. The eyes imprinted on his wings burned brighter, nearly scorching through the feathers. The golden fire in his palm coiled around his fingers and wrist, crawling up his arm like a serpent. Adam winced as it bit at his fingertips, but he held on tighter.

"Eve! Please leave!" he yelled, the golden fire growing blindingly bright, forcing Adam to squint. "Run, Eve, run away!"

Eve spun around and fled, her red hair whipping behind her. Soon, she vanished from Adam's sight, consumed by the overwhelming light.

Adam twisted on his toes, pushing himself against Lucifer's chest, wrapping his arms tightly around his mate. "Luci," he called tenderly, "Luci, it's okay. She's gone now. Please calm down. Everything's okay."

The golden light continued to crackle around them. Lucifer's eyes, usually a serene blue, were now a tumultuous gold, staring at nothing. Adam reached up with a trembling hand, his thumb tracing gentle circles on Lucifer's cheek.

"Lucifer, it's alright. Please calm down," Adam whispered, stretching up onto his tiptoes to press his lips to Lucifer's. "I'm not hurt. Eve doesn't have the apple. It's still safe in our nest. We're safe."

Adam kissed his mate once more, feeling the divine power that marked Lucifer as one of the most powerful Archangels. Adam loved him deeply, adored every part of him.

"Okay?" he whispered, pulling back to watch as Lucifer's eyes regained their familiar blue sparkle. Relief washed over Adam as he saw Lucifer returning to himself. His stiff wings began to sag, and he slumped against Adam, trembling.

"I'm so sorry, Adam. I'm sorry," he whimpered, tears spilling from his eyes. "I just want you to be safe. I don't want anything to happen to you."

Caressing the back of Lucifer's head, Adam ran his fingers through the golden curls. "Nothing will happen to me. We're both fine."

"She can't have the apple, Adam. Neither of them can," Lucifer said, hugging him tighter. "It's not the same. They're not the same. It's different. We won't be forgiven by Heaven if we give them the apple. We won't be allowed to just be together if we defy those rules. It's dangerous for us."

Adam pressed soft kisses along Lucifer's shoulder and neck. "Then we won't give Eve or Lilith the Apple of Knowledge."

To ensure their future. Their happiness.

#fanfic #au #hazbin hotel #adamsapple #fanficiton #lucifer x adam #guitarduck #omega x omega #omegaverse #omega lucifer #omega adam #omega eve

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fatteningfeeder · 1 month ago

Text

A Different Kind of Blueberry Factory

George’s head throbbed as he struggled to shake off the lingering haze of unconsciousness. When he finally managed to open his eyes, his surroundings came into focus—dark, cold, and unfamiliar. He tried to move, but his arms were stretched uncomfortably above his head, wrists bound together by thick ropes that were fastened to a steel beam overhead. His feet barely touched the cold concrete floor, the strain on his arms pulling his shoulders tight.

He tugged at the ropes, wincing as the rough fibers bit into his skin. Panic surged through him, his heart racing as he realized just how trapped he was. His voice was hoarse, but he called out anyway, his words echoing off the basement walls.

“Let me go! Whoever you are, let me out of here!”

A sound reached his ears—slow, deliberate footsteps approaching from behind. He craned his neck to see a woman stepping into the dim light. Her expression was calm, almost disconcertingly so, but her eyes held a gleeful edge. Long, dark hair framed her face, and she held a syringe filled with a dark blue liquid that looked almost black in the shadows.

“Who are you?” George demanded, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “What do you want?”

The woman tilted her head, smiling as if amused by his defiance. “You can call me Alexis. And as for what I want… well, you’re about to find out. Let’s just say you’re going to become very important to my new business.”

George’s eyes darted to the syringe in her hand, dread coiling in his stomach. “What is that? What are you going to do to me?”

Without answering, Alexis stepped closer, raising the syringe. George’s muscles tensed as she pressed the needle into his arm, her fingers steady on the plunger. He tried to pull away, but the ropes held him firm, and there was no escaping the thick, icy liquid that flooded into his veins. A burning sensation spread through his body, quickly replaced by a deep, unnatural warmth that seeped into every muscle and bone.

Within seconds, the changes began. George’s skin tingled and itched as it took on a faint blue hue that deepened rapidly, spreading outward from the injection site. He felt a strange, unsettling tightness, as though something inside him was pushing out against his skin. His muscles twitched, and his breath hitched as his limbs began to swell.

“What… what’s happening to me?” he gasped, his voice strained and breathless.

Alexis watched, her expression impassive but with a glint of excitement in her eyes. “You’re becoming something special, George. My own little blueberry.”

The transformation was slow at first, but then it began to accelerate. George’s arms swelled in their bindings, the ropes digging into his growing flesh as his biceps and forearms expanded into thick, blue mounds. He could feel his chest swelling outward, his pecs rounding and growing heavy, pulling against the fabric of his shirt until the seams began to pop. He groaned, his head falling back as the pressure in his torso built to an unbearable level.

His belly pushed forward, rounding out into a bulbous curve that strained against his waistband. He could feel the weight of it growing, pulling his body downward, but his wrists remained fastened high above him, leaving him no way to ease the burden. His legs swelled along with the rest of him, his thighs growing thicker, stretching the fabric of his jeans until they split open, revealing the taut, blue skin beneath.

The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of discomfort and a strange, alien fullness that he couldn’t comprehend. His entire body felt like it was filling up, every inch of him stretching to contain the expanding volume inside. He could hear the faint creaking of his skin, feel the tension pulling at his joints, as though his body was becoming a balloon being inflated to the brink.

“Oh god… make it stop!” George’s voice came out in a strained whimper as he felt his chest pushing out even further, the weight of his swollen pecs becoming almost too much to bear. He tried to shift his stance, his legs quivering as they thickened, but the ropes held him in place, forcing him to endure the transformation without relief.

Alexis stepped closer, running a hand over the smooth, taut surface of his round belly, pressing lightly as if testing a piece of ripe fruit. “No, George, this is just the beginning. I have big plans for you.”

He could feel her touch, every nerve hyper-aware as his body continued to expand. His face began to swell, his cheeks puffing out until they pressed against his vision, leaving his surroundings a blurry haze. His lips grew fuller, parting slightly as the pressure in his chest made it harder and harder to draw in a breath.

His clothes, shredded and useless, hung in tatters from his inflating form. He was nearly unrecognizable, his body now an enormous, rounded mass, blue and gleaming in the dim light. His chest swelled outward like twin balloons, heavy and round, the weight of them straining against the suction of the tubes that Alexis had attached to them. George could feel the pull of the suction, a steady, rhythmic tug that drew out the thick, sweet-smelling juice that now filled him.

The sensation of the juice being siphoned out sent shivers through his bloated form. Even as the liquid flowed from him, his body continued to swell, his skin growing tighter and more sensitive with each passing second. He could hear the steady gurgle of the juice being collected in containers nearby, but he was beyond the point of caring, his mind clouded by the intense, unending pressure that filled him.

Alexis circled him slowly, her fingers trailing over the tight, overstretched skin of his arms and belly. “You’ll never deflate, you know,” she murmured, her voice almost gentle as she inspected her work. “The formula ensures that you’ll stay this way, constantly producing more juice. A perfect, living factory.”

George’s thoughts were a whirlwind of fear and desperation. He could feel every inch of his body, stretched and swollen beyond recognition, filled with the juice that Alexis so eagerly collected. He had no idea how long he could endure this—trapped in his own skin, bound to a fate he couldn’t escape.

As the days blurred together into a haze of soreness, swelling, and constant pressure, George's existence continued to revolve around the unending cycle of production. His body had adapted to the grotesque demands placed upon it, swelling and expanding to accommodate the constant flow of juice that Alexis harvested for her mysterious business. He had long since given up struggling against the ropes that bound his arms above his head, knowing that his own bloated, immobile form made escape impossible.

Alexis was always meticulous in her routines, checking the juice levels, adjusting the pumps, and ensuring that her captive blueberry remained in peak condition. She would stride into the basement, her footsteps echoing off the cold concrete, and inspect the tension of the tubes, the tautness of George's overstretched skin, and the way his body had continued to change under the relentless pressure.

One day, however, Alexis arrived with a different look in her eye. She circled George as usual, her fingers brushing over his bulging belly and the swollen mounds of his chest. But then she stopped, eyeing the ropes that held his arms aloft, his wrists red and raw from the constant strain. She tilted her head, a small, calculating smile playing at her lips.

“You know, George, I think it’s about time for a change. Those arms of yours look terribly uncomfortable, don’t they?” she said, her tone almost mocking as she reached up and ran a finger along the rope.

George blinked, his mind struggling to process her words. It had been so long since his arms had been allowed to hang freely that the idea of it seemed almost alien. He shifted slightly, the ropes creaking under the weight of his swollen form as he tried to look at Alexis through the narrow slits of his puffed-out eyes.

“You... you’re letting me go?” he managed to wheeze out, his voice raspy and breathless from the constant pressure on his chest.

Alexis’s smile widened, and she chuckled softly. “Not exactly. But I think it’s clear you’re not going anywhere, are you?” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small knife, the blade glinting in the dim light. With a few quick, practiced motions, she sliced through the ropes binding his wrists.

As soon as the ropes fell away, George’s arms dropped heavily to his sides, the sudden release of tension sending a jolt of pain through his shoulders. He groaned as the blood rushed back into his limbs, the numbness giving way to a dull, tingling ache. For a moment, he tried to move his arms, but they felt like dead weight, swollen and heavy from weeks of disuse and the unending changes wrought by the formula coursing through his veins.

His legs, barely able to support the massive, rounded weight of his body, wobbled beneath him. His belly jutted out in front of him like a great dome, pushing his center of gravity forward, and his chest, heavy with juice, sagged and pulled at his overstretched skin. He stumbled, taking a step forward, but his swollen thighs rubbed together painfully, making even that small movement a struggle. He reached out instinctively, grasping at the steel beam for support as he struggled to keep his balance.

Alexis watched him with a satisfied smile, crossing her arms as she took a step back. “There we go. That’s better, isn’t it? No more sore wrists. And don’t worry, I’m not afraid you’ll try to run. After all, where would you go?” Her voice was light, almost casual, as if she were speaking to an old friend rather than a prisoner she had transformed into a living blueberry.

George panted heavily, his cheeks flushed a deep blue as he struggled to maintain his balance. He could feel the weight of his body pressing down on him, his skin creaking with the strain as the juice inside him continued to churn and swell. Despite the freedom of his arms, he knew she was right—his body had become far too unwieldy, too bloated with juice, to make any kind of escape possible.

The thought of trying to flee briefly flickered through his mind, but it was quickly extinguished by the reality of his situation. Even the act of taking a single step was enough to leave him breathless, his swollen legs barely able to support the weight of his belly, chest, and limbs. The skin of his midsection was stretched so tightly that it felt like a drum, every movement sending waves of discomfort through his overinflated form.

He glanced at Alexis, hoping for a shred of mercy in her eyes, but all he found was that same, predatory amusement. She seemed to revel in his helplessness, the way his bloated body quivered and strained under its own weight.

“Please...” he gasped, trying to summon what little strength he had left. “Just let me go... I can’t take this anymore.”

Alexis shook her head slowly, reaching out to pat the side of his swollen belly, her hand sinking slightly into the taut surface. “Oh, George, you’re still not getting it, are you? You’ve become far too valuable to me. Besides, I think you’re adapting quite well. Just look at how much juice you’re producing!”

Her hand lingered on his belly for a moment longer before she stepped away, moving to adjust the tubes that connected to his chest. George felt a fresh wave of suction as the pumps activated again, drawing more juice from his engorged body. He shuddered, his legs trembling as the sensation coursed through him, his belly tightening further as the pressure shifted within him.

Despite his newfound freedom of movement, George could do little more than stand there, leaning heavily on the steel beam as the juice continued to flow from his body. His swollen limbs and bulbous torso made even the simplest actions impossible, his body now a monument to Alexis’s twisted vision. And all the while, she stood nearby, watching with a pleased expression as her creation continued to serve its purpose.

Time continued to lose meaning for George. Days, or perhaps weeks, passed as his life settled into its grim new routine. Alexis had been right—he couldn’t escape, and she no longer bothered to keep him restrained. But she was always there, checking the pumps, monitoring his production, and ensuring that her prized blueberry remained in peak condition.

His body, now grotesquely altered, never shrank back to its former size. Instead, it remained in a constant state of fullness, his skin stretched and taut, encasing his bulbous, rounded form. The formula that Alexis had injected into him worked ceaselessly, turning his body into a permanent, ever-replenishing reservoir of blueberry juice. The swollen mounds of his chest, which had once been just pecs, had morphed into large, rounded masses that draped heavily on his front. They throbbed with a dull, aching pressure as they filled with juice, the weight pulling uncomfortably on his shoulders and back.

Every time Alexis activated the pumps, George would feel a shuddering release as the liquid was drawn from him, a slow but steady drain that eased the internal pressure slightly. The sensation was not entirely painful, but it was intensely invasive, a constant reminder of just how far from human he had become. The suction tugged at the tender, overfilled skin of his chest, pulling out thick, dark blue juice that flowed through the clear tubes into large glass vats positioned nearby. Each time, the sound of the juice gurgling through the tubes filled the room, a strange mix of relief and humiliation washing over George.

But even as the juice was pumped out, George’s body continued to swell, the process unending. His skin stretched ever tighter, taking on a polished, almost glossy sheen as it fought to contain the growing volume inside. His belly, already massive and round, pushed out further with each passing day, hanging lower and growing firmer as it became more and more distended. He could feel the weight of it pulling on his core, straining his muscles in ways they were never meant to handle. It made breathing difficult, every breath a labored effort that made his rounded cheeks puff out even more.

The sheer size of his body made movement impossible. His arms and legs, thickened to the point of near immobility, hung uselessly at his sides, mere stumps compared to the rest of him. His thighs and calves had ballooned outward, becoming heavy, cumbersome mounds that pressed against each other. Even his hands and feet had puffed up, their blue, bloated shapes barely recognizable.

George’s face, once sharp and angular, had lost all its definition. His cheeks had rounded out, pressing up against the sides of his head and narrowing his field of vision. His neck had all but disappeared, swallowed up by the swelling that now surrounded his shoulders and chin. The heaviness of his cheeks made speaking difficult, and when he tried to protest or beg Alexis for mercy, his voice came out as a muffled, garbled whimper. But Alexis rarely paid him any mind, treating him more like a machine than a person.

“I have to say, George,” she remarked one day, her voice a mix of satisfaction and amusement as she patted his rounded belly. “You’ve become quite the money-maker. I never imagined you’d produce this much.”

George could only groan in response, his cheeks puffed out with the effort of even that small sound. He was beyond words, his mind clouded by the constant strain of his bloated, juice-filled body. The basement air was cool, but his skin felt warm to the touch, the constant production of juice creating a sense of internal heat that left him flushed. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, rolling down his blue skin as he labored to breathe through the endless pressure.

The worst moments were when the pumps were shut off—times when Alexis would leave him alone for hours, his body continuing to produce juice with nowhere for it to go. In those moments, the pressure became almost unbearable, his chest swelling until it felt like it might burst, his belly stretching out further, pressing against the ropes that held him. Eventually, the sound of footsteps would signal Alexis’s return, and she would reactivate the pumps, allowing the juice to flow out of him once more. But even the relief of being drained felt like a twisted form of torment, the reminder that his body was no longer his own, that it existed only to serve Alexis’s bizarre, insatiable needs.

And yet, through the haze of pain and fear, one thing remained clear: Alexis had no intention of letting him go. He would stay like this: bloated, swollen and producing juice for as long as she desired. And all George could do was sit there, helpless, as his body continued to inflate, becoming more and more like the living blueberry she had forced him to become.

#feedee belly #feedee encouragement #feedee feeder #feedee piggy #feederist #feeding kink #blueberry #blueberry inflation #blueberry expansion #rapid weight gain

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amaryllisenvy · 5 months ago

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The Ties That Bind

Part Two

Billy the Kid x OC

WARNINGS: if you are comfortable with watching the tv show, you should be okay with this entire book. I will definitely try to put more graphic trigger warnings for any extreme scenes!

Part two has mentions of blood, violence, and is a slow-burn. Please let me know how you guys feel so far!

Part 2:

November 8th, 1876

The mirror was covered in dry water marks and was obscured so that her features were difficult to entirely make out in great detail. But it was her. The face she had lived her whole life with framed her brown eyes as she looked at herself.

The exhaustion in her was evident, but she still had her job to do. The world revolves around the money she can or cannot make. As such, Yllis made it her priority to focus on the next step and not what her eyes had seen. The faint scar on her neck had taught her that.

She stared back at herself as the clock ticked faintly in the quiet. The ticks were timed perfectly to the beat of her pulse fluttering in her neck. She gritted her teeth.

Only seconds had ticked by but in her mind, she relived her first memory of being able to peer at herself. Her father had come back from his work on the trail months later and gifted her with a looking glass as the lid to a compass. It was no larger than her pocket and the weight of it sat around her neck, hanging from a chain so that everywhere she went, it would accompany her.

Tick, tick, tick.

Before Sunrise, November 9th, 1876

Stirring, Yllis miraculously awoke in the early hours of the morning. Before she even cracked her eyes open, the unbearable throbbing pain in her shoulder had her opening her mouth in agony. No sound left her but a shaky exhale as she refrained from crying out

She woke to find herself in one of the rooms available at the inn. The accommodations were less than incredible, but she was able to rest.

She remembered nothing. The only thing she could recall from the night before was her staring at herself in the mirror of the saloon bathroom.

What happened? How did she get back to her room?

Before she even opened her eyes, she smelled the rain that had fallen the night before. It was one of her favorite smells. She loved how the rain could wash away imperfections, leaving only the clean smell and the dampness in the air that followed. Her window was always open as she couldn’t stand the air of the inn that became stale with how little airflow it got.

Her eyes shot open to immediately find the darkened sky backlit by the earliest hours of dawn. The deep blue blended into the bright pink and yellow of the sunrise. Her skin that had been exposed to the room air was cold.

Contrarily, her right shoulder was on fire. She let out a whimper with the wince she gave when she moved the blankets to look at what was causing her so much pain. She revealed the makeshift bandage completely stained through with her blood. The cloth meant to staunch the bleeding was not nearly tight enough.

With a silent cry, she sat herself up in bed with a great deal of effort. Every movement left her in torturous pain. The fingers of her right hand tingled and were swollen because of her injury.

Christ.

She swore under her breath. Shuffling in the chair beside her bed alerted her to someone else’s presence in the room, and the pain ebbed away as adrenaline coursed through her instead.

Her gaze landed on Ash Upson, asleep in the chair. His brow was creased with worry, even in his dreams, and she hoped he hadn’t been so worried about her to neglect himself.

Mr. Upson was one of the best men Yllis had the pleasure of knowing. His heart was always with those who needed it and he was wealthy in compassion. No doubt, the terrible bandaging was his handiwork. Mr. Upson was more of a scholar than a mender.

She started to clear her throat when she took in just how exhausted he seemed. He would be furious if he woke before she could get back.

Inevitably, this led to her quickly dressing in her loosest and warmest gown before she left the inn. She needed to stitch her wound that still actively bled. Too much trauma had left her blood incapable of clotting the massive wound adequately enough.

Her head swam and she felt woozy still as she walked through the silent streets. She was familiar enough with the town they were passing through to know where to find the healer. The lightheadedness she felt was pushed to the side for now.

How much blood had she lost?

What the fuck happened?

Her early and unpleasant walk brought her to the rear entrance of the town's clinic. Frustration creased her face as she found the door locked, but her gaze quickly landed on an open window barely five feet away.

Couldn’t they just have left the door unlocked?

It was hard for her to shimmy her way through the window. She was a small girl, but any pressure or weight resulted in so much pain.

Having had the briefest role in mending the men injured in war, she worked closer with Doctor John when she arrived in New Mexico. He was a nice enough man but she questioned his methods and his skills. John Witteveen was talented for sure. However, confident men were susceptible to overlooking important details.

What broke her “apprenticeship” (as if women could ever be allowed to be doctors) with the man was the way he would never listen to suggestions. Sometimes, she couldn’t stand the men she was surrounded by under sheer circumstance.

She searched through the supplies until she found a curved needle and a spool of silk. Gathering gauze and ointment, she searched every cabinet before concluding that there was no phenol. The pain in her shoulder throbbed again and she gave up her hunt.

John Witteveen slept upstairs with whatever woman he paid for the night. The building he occupied had seven extra rooms, nothing special. Those with injuries so severe often stayed the night for critical care. The silence in the building left her wondering if she was the only one there.

Drumming her fingers on the counter, she loosed a breath as she opened a drawer at the bottom of the kitchen cabinet. There she knew she would find his vast collection of spirits. With a grimace, she decided on the honey whiskey and took it from the drawer, placing it in front of her.

Swearing under her breath, she winced and stifled her cry as she pulled her dress over her head, leaving her only in her thin chemise. She frowned as the cream fabric was stained with her blood.

Sitting herself on the counter, she removed the bandages that stuck to her wound. Peeling off the covering took the clot that plugged her wound with it and she inhaled sharply between her teeth and screwed her eyes shut at the resulting feeling in her arm. It felt like she peeled her skin off and her eyes watered. Taking a minute, Yllis focused on breathing through the agony.

After a moment, her hand shook as she unscrewed the top of the bottle. She felt like she was going to throw up every time her body went rigid with the pain. Her head ached and the pulse she felt through her wound was thready and slower than normal. She noticed that the pulses she felt in her wound were synchronous with the pounding in her head and was relieved.

Gritting her teeth to the point she was surprised they didn’t shatter under the pressure, she lifted the bottle to her wound. Nothing could have prepared her for the burn of the alcohol in her wound.

Unable to suppress the cry that escaped her lips, she almost dropped the bottle as she lurched away instinctively. Her breaths were guttural and purely animal as they came out as more of a growl.

It took her what must have been several minutes to regain enough consciousness to fill the bowl with the whiskey and soak the cloth in it.

The hardest part was threading the needle while her body was shaking uncontrollably. Next time, she would be sure to thread it before she started the agonizing procedure.

It was against nature to not shy away from the pain. Her body was begging her to stop. She knew that if she didn’t finish caring for her wound, she would most likely lose her arm. Worse, she knew how quickly infection could claim her life.

The sky outside was the brightest yellow as the sun rose above the hulking mountains and shone on the valley between them. The light was the beginning of the day for those who resided in the town. People would be awake soon enough.

Everything was shaking. Her breaths were staggered and her eyes were watering. Regardless, she managed to thread her needle. When she first pushed the sharp point through her skin, she almost felt nothing. Until she felt every-fucking-thing.

Her whole body felt as though it was on fire as she worked on the part of the wound in the front of her body. Stitching herself was no easy task. It was against human nature to willingly cause oneself so much harm and she had to fight every instinct in her to stop. To pass out. To scream in anguish.

Continuing like that for a while, she repeated the process of sewing her skin back together. Between threadings, she would take the smallest of breaks to just breathe and calm her trembling limbs. She needed the stitches to work.

“It’s you.”

Yllis jumped out of her skin.

She leapt from the counter and turned in an instant to the boy who stood in the doorway. She was clumsy at her best and winced when she twisted her ankle.

“Shit.” Yllis stumbled and caught herself from face-planting into the edge of the counter. After her lousy attempt at self-preservation hurt her shoulder more, she made herself simply stand still.

Jesus.

Any weight she placed on her ankle added to the wealth of torture beneath her skin. Her eyes shakily flicked up to the boy who had been in the doorway watching her. What she didn’t expect were his hands steadying her at her waist as her knees shook. Being in such agony made the weakness and trembling uncontrollable.

How did he get to her so quickly?

Looking down at herself, she acknowledged how much of a mess she must have looked. Never mind the impropriety of this man seeing her in only her chemise. Her very thin chemise.

“You are the lady who stood in front of and saved my best friend from a bullet intended for him.” The low scratch of his voice fluttered in her ears as she took in the sensation of being supported in the man’s arms. She was shot? Her brows were furrowed until she met his eyes and stilled.

His eyes.

Like two aquamarine gemstones, his gaze felt valuable. To have such striking eyes dart across her skin, her body, had to be an honor. Watching him had an itch forming in the back of her mind.

Those eyes.

And then, she remembered the night before. Like a bookmark, her mind flitted to the very last page -to the exact moment- she had last held the attention of such stunning eyes.

She hid her realization well. “You give me too much credit, sir. I was simply in the wrong place at the right time.”

Feeling unable to breathe, she extracted herself from him and picked up the needle hanging from her skin. Biting the string, she pulled it taut before cutting it with her dagger. It was far from her best sutures and she couldn’t help but wonder if he thought the same as he stood with his hands on her hips, ensuring that he could catch her if her knees gave out. Maybe it seemed dramatic, but the dizziness she felt meant that his support was much needed.

She wrung the towel out so it was damp and placed the alcohol-soaked bandage over her sutures. She couldn’t help the sharp exhale of breath this time.

“What are you doing?” The young man spoke with alarm as his hand moved to stop her from causing herself so much pain.

“Infection. Alcohol is all he had left.” Her breath came out shallow and broken.

He studied her intensely, his eyes bore into hers in the silence for what felt like years before he gently took the cloth from her fingers.

“Let me.” Taking the bottle of whiskey, he poured a healthy dose over his hands and scrubbed at them.

She hesitated for a moment and bit her lip.

Smart man.

“The bullet seems like it went straight through. While you did beautiful work, I don’t think it’ll be so easy to repeat it on your own back. Let me.”

He was right. Yllis hated to shirk her responsibilities, but she wasn’t so prideful to deny the truth. “Do you know how to suture a wound?”

“No idea.” His lips slipped into the slightest grin that slowly crept onto his face as he stared at her. Involuntarily, it made her lips part as she exhaled deeply.

Another moment passed and she just took him in. His shaggy curly hair flopped into his eyes and she stretched up to move it from his eyes. The motion hurt, but not enough to stop her. Releasing an unsteady breath, Yllis turned and pressed her hands against the counter, grounding herself.

“I don’t have a choice. Whatever you manage to do is better than what it was.” She stilled when she felt his calloused fingers slide the strap of her chemise over her shoulder to allow him to see the wound.

His fingers brushing away the baby hairs on the base of her scalp made her want to squirm.

“More importantly, you’re right. It’ll be better than what I can manage to do by myself.” Her voice was barely above a whisper as she watched him take the needle from the bowl of alcohol and thread it easily from the corner of her eye.

“What happened last night?”

The pause in his actions when the words left her lips created a silence in the room that was filled by the touch of his hand on her upper back. “Bastard shot you both for losin’ in a goddamn poker game.”

Nodding, she was glad that her lack of recollection from the night before could be justified by her injuries. Thank god, she thought as she could confirm she wasn’t just sundowning.

“M’sorry. I know I don’t have to tell you how this will hurt.”

“Just need it over with. Please.” She was not above begging. “Pour the alcohol over the wound first.”

The boy followed instructions well and she gasped out an involuntary whimper against the counter when he speedily poured the liquor over her shoulder. She had to hold on to the edges of the surface tightly to stop herself from jerking away.

Pressing her forehead to the counter, the coolness felt good against her flushed face and contrasted with the fire that felt like she was being set alight like a pyre.

When the needle pierced her flesh, she bit her forearm to stifle her cries. The process felt long and gruesome, and she would never feel as relieved as she did when he picked up the scissors and cut the string.

“What’s next?” His voice was softer and kind, the hand he placed on her lower back as she breathed in and out heavily was the same.

He looked so apologetic when he saw her watery eyes that she knew she didn’t need to keep her hand around the hilt of her dagger with this boy.

It took her a moment before she could muster an answer.

“I can do the rest by myself. The worst and hardest part is over.” She turned and smiled widely at him, although both of them knew how feigned her ease was in an attempt to assuage him. “I can’t thank you enough.”

Studying his face, she watched as he glanced down to the floor and avoided her stare, only for a moment. He must have found the confidence he had briefly lost because his eyes snapped determinedly back to hers. His grateful smile lit up the kitchen and she decided that, out of all the misery in the world, his grin could never be affected by any of it. It was too pure and sincere that evil couldn’t come close to ever living under his skin.

“‘Course you can do it yourself.” he picked up the salve-covered cloth. “But you don’t need to. I’m here.”

Amaryllis felt so at ease and her stomach fluttered before she did as he instructed. The stretch of her swollen skin smarted as he covered her back in the soothing salve. The relief was marginal but instantaneous as the cooling and numbing properties eased some of the burning heat.

When she felt him pull away from her back and reach for the other cloth that would be used on her front, she slowly turned to face him again.

She watched as his brows furrowed. “The one on your back is a lot worse.”

“Exit wounds are typically a lot more traumatizing to skin tissue.”

At her explanation, he locked his eyes onto hers again. “Well, shit. Are you sure ‘bout not lettin’ Doc check it out for himself?”

Her lips turned upward. “He isn’t going to do anything that you didn’t already do.”

At this, he nodded and focused on the area below her collarbone. His eyes had been mesmerizing before, but having them focused on her skin was enough to stop her heart.

“Can you-” he loosed a breath and pulled away, cutting himself off.

Now it was her turn to furrow her eyebrows at him.

He saw her confused expression and explained further, “Just that you are a lil’ too short.”

“Sorry?” her mouth fell open in mock offense. “You’re just repulsively too tall.”

At this, he laughed. It was a chuckle that was little more than him exhaling, but felt revolutionary. Yllis subconsciously decided that she liked that sound. She liked it very much indeed. If she got a chance, she would make him do it more often.

She didn’t realize his intentions until those repulsively large hands of his were on her waist and he was lifting her easily on top of the countertop. “There. That should do it.”

Resuming his charge, he smoothed more salve onto her wound and she sighed. At the slight relief it brought, she closed her eyes and tilted her head back. Many problems could be fixed by just taking a second to get your thoughts in order. Being too quick to act often makes one reckless.

“How do I. . .” his voice trailed off as he held up the long length of cloth that would cover her wounds.

“There really ain’t anything to it. Just try and place the bandage tight so the pressure is on the wound.”

He worked quickly, wrapping her shoulder, bringing the cloth around and around like she was being mummified. It was like he had done this a thousand times as he brought the cloth around her other shoulder to help keep it in place. When he was satisfied, he snipped the long cloth and tied the two ends together in a knot.

“Incredible work. You’re a natural.” Yllis was being sincere.

Medicine was not an easy thing for most people, but he had the care it took to thoroughly assess a situation. He wasn’t overconfident in himself. She could tell he paid great attention to minute details.

“You did it all, I just followed orders.” Yllis noticed that when he smirked, there were deep dimples on both sides of his face.

“And how good you are at following them. Maybe I’ll take you home after all.” She patted his cheek like he was a well-behaved mutt she found on the streets.

He looked so amused at the action that a smile showing his teeth nearly broke free.

On the counter, the young man stood off to the side of her when he had worked the salve onto her shoulder. When he applied the final bandage, maybe he didn’t even notice that he had stepped between her thighs. He was so close to her that Yllis couldn’t ever recall being this close to anyone. She decided that he probably hadn’t done it intentionally because it just felt so. . . natural to be that close to him.

She hadn’t been kidding. Even on the counter, he towered above her like a mountain. Neither made any move to change this. Her smile melted away and she reached up, brushing the curly and unruly hair that fell into his eyes away once more.

“Well, if I am bringing you home with me,” she questioned, receiving a glint of amusement in his ocean eyes. “What should I call you?”

“Billy. It’s Billy Antram, ma’am.”

In her peripheral vision, she saw him lift his hand into the space between them in an offering. She took it in hers and made the motion for a handshake. When their hands touched, she didn’t expect it when he lifted her knuckles to his lips. The masculine gesture of respect.

Her mind briefly recalled how he had greeted her at the table not even twelve hours before.

Billy Antram was a gentleman.

“Amaryllis Delphie Alteo. If that’s too much, people closer to me call me Yllis.”

A pause; it seemed like he was taking time to try the words on his own tongue.

“You saved my best friend’s life. There is nothin’ I can ever do to make us even. It seems like I’m forever in your debt, Amaryllis.”

“He lived?” The shock in her voice must have been palpable. ”The bullet would have still hit him after going through me.”

God, she thought. He was alive.

“It doesn’t seem possible,” his head bent imperceptively closer to hers. “It wouldn’t have been possible if it hadn’t been for you.”

Uncharacteristically, she broke their eye contact first and looked down at herself. His stare was so intense and felt like it could peel back her skin and look inside.

Realizing her current attire, or lack thereof, heat rose to her cheeks. Doing the opposite, her reaction spurred his eyes to trail over her. Those eyes traced every inch of her. He was close enough to almost feel him physically, too. The way he studied her, she hoped that he couldn’t see what she was thinking of.

“Do you want to see him?” his voice was barely above a whisper.

She didn’t need to ask who. A smile graced her face. “Yes.”

Her voice seemed to snap him out of whatever made him dominate her space and he awkwardly cleared his throat. Taking a long step back, she missed his proximity instantly and looked away, searching for where she had discarded her dress in her panicked haste to stop the bleeding.

Noticing her thoughts he bent down and picked it up from the floor before finding how it would go on her body. It wasn’t difficult, considering the blood stain that soaked it would be on her right side.

Stupidly she took the dress and went to pull it over her head before she remembered her injury. It reminded her with the sudden train of agony that crashed into her and she whimpered.

“Let me.”

Her nightdress luckily didn’t have sleeves, but Billy took extra care when he stuck his large hand down the sleeve and softly took hers into his, feeding her injured arm through the hole.

When both of her arms and her head were through, he slid his hands down to her hips. “Ready?”

His brow had cocked in question and she just stared at him.

Christ’s cross, he was beautiful.

After accidentally gawking at him again, she nodded and he slowly picked her up and placed her feet on the tiles once more. The ache in her ankle had eased slightly and was bearable, but the dizziness returned with a vengeance and she nearly stumbled. As was a theme of the night, Billy took her good hand into his so she could place some of her weight on him, the other rested on her waist to steady her, and he slowly let her walk to where his friend was.

#tom blyth #billy the kid #billy the kid x oc #billy the kid romance #tom blyth romance #Billy the kid smut #Billy the kid fanfiction #Fanfiction #Romance

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bbitess · 2 months ago

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fumbled prt 2- chris x f!reader

part 1 here

enemies to lovers‼️ she goes back to his house

warnings‼️ drug use, mostly fluff :)

youtube

i woke up in a shitty holiday inn, slightly confused. i sit up and try to recall the details of last night. chris was back, and i am battling conflicting feelings; did i want him to go, or did i really want him back?

i look over to the second bed, i see chris’s shoe and the bed undone. where was he? i looked at the clock, shit it was already ten.

i flop back onto the pillow and put my hands over my face. i needed to go to the recording studio in a couple hours. i attempted to think up ideas but my train of thought was cut short by the bathroom door opening and chris walking out. my eyes came into focus as i looked at him, he had a towel wrapped loosely around his hips, a thin happy trail lead down to his v-line; slightly exposed. his smooth chest, wet and his hair dripping around his features.

damn. he grew up. i kept my hands over my cheeks, to cover the obvious blush. “morning, sunshine,” he said in a deep voice which makes my ears perk up. i missed him- my senses missed him- my body missed him. i had always wondered what he would look like five years older and without a shirt, and now i know i can never forget just, damn.

i was so flustered, i had no clue what to say. i just groaned as i rotated in bed to obstruct him from my gaze. my tummy tingled and swirled in a knot.

i got ready and chris insisted on driving. i was a little hesitant but agreed since it seemed like a nice gesture. as we were going to the studio, we didn’t talk, the stereo softly playing nirvana.

“did you pay for that hotel last night, chris?” i asked, he just nodded, without moving his eyes from the road. i still looked at him, his stunning profile and bobbing adam’s apple, every time he swallowed. he must be a little nervous, his gaze still locked in front of him. “thank you chris, you really didn’t have to.” i insisted, i usually sleep in the car. “it’s the least i could do darlin’, it’s okay- you are pretty when you sleep.”

wow. the knot reformed in my stomach as i tried to steady my breath, i couldn’t let him know that affected me. he called me darlin’, he hasn’t called me that since high school. i laugh, but it accidentally sounded more like a giggle. “oh please, i don’t hold a candle to you, chris.”

i meant for it to be sarcastic, to blow off steam, but it sounded more flirtatious then intended. he looks over at me- finally, his lips parted and head tilted. a small smile etches onto his face in the short few seconds his bright eyes meet mine. damn those eyes, they pull me in every time, but not this time, no- i’m not getting my hopes up ever again.

we got to the studio and set up, we had a couple hours to play. it was crazy hearing chris play again after all this time. i never thought this could ever happen.

after the time went by, chris and i had become more familiar again, starting to feel like the old days. we sat next to each other writing tabs or lyrics. we went back to the hotel and packed our things, i knew i should probably go back to my apartment.

chris and i checked out and walked out to our cars, it was a bit chilly, the clouds covered the sun. “thanks for giving me a chance.” he said, placing his hand on my shoulder and looking down at me. i can’t believe this was happening again.

“yeah chris, thanks for paying for the hotel.”

“yeah,” he removes is hand and fidgets with his fingers, looking at his shoes. “so do you think you would let me play for you sometime?” his eyes looked up and slowly met mine. i smiled softly, “sure… it wasn’t completely unbearable.” chris laughs, it sounded like music, better than we could make with instruments. my mind wandered to the other kinds of music we could make together…

we were still looking at eachother, our eyes locked, waiting for the other to do something. the time felt like it moved slow, i watched his eyes quickly flash between my eyes, even my lips.

“do you want to see claude?” chris questioned. i didn’t want to say yes, i didn’t want to get as comfortable as i was before, i didn’t want to intrude.

“yes” he beamed, “but i dont have to, it’s okay.”

he was already walking to his side of the car, “please, you are always welcome at my house, darlin’.” he said- flashing me a flirty smile- before getting in and starting the engine. i contained my bubbling excitement, not only from chris but from myself, as i tried not to think and just go to an old neighbors house.

when we pulled up, i got hit with a wave of nostalgia and deja vu. it felt so close and so far away. it looked the same and chris got out of the car, swiftly coming to open my door for me. i thanked him and he hurried to the door and watched me intently as i got out and looked at the house.

chris walked to the door and opened it for me to enter. when we went inside, it was even stranger, it was different. i looked around at the new furniture and appliances. i saw chris and claude’s graduation photos hung on the fridge, held up with a magnet from some foreign capital they must have vacationed to. i wondered about all they had done when i was away.

“come on.” chris urges, waving his hand for me to follow him to the second floor, where the boys bedrooms were. chris knocked on his brothers bedroom door, i stood beside him.

claude answers the door, already rolling his eyes at chris. “yes,” he said with annoyance. but then he noticed me standing beside his brother. “how the fuck did she get here?” he questions.

“wow, what a welcoming thing to say, claude.”

chris pushed past him, “hey!” claude yelled, but allowed us to enter, closing the door behind us. “do you have any weed?” chris asked claude.

“no.”

“liar.”

claude stayed silent. chris persisted, “come on give it up, i know you want to smoke a bowl all together again.” i watched claude roll his eyes another time. he surrendered, “everything you need is in that dresser,” he pointed, “bottom drawer, and use the bong.”

chris did as he was told and packed a nice bowl. we went around in a circle, taking hits from the bong.

i am still nervous about smoking and being high around them, especially chris. it’s not that i don’t trust him at all, it’s that i don’t trust myself.

after about a half hour, chris exited claude’s bedroom and it seemed our visit had expired. i followed chris into his room. it was also very strange, the same but different, just like chris himself. his posters banded the walls and his cd and records collections had doubled in size. he had an ashtray on his window, his bed wasn’t made, and… omg, he still had the old pictures of us hung up on his mirror. i tried not to dwell on it for too long, it was just a strip of four pictures from a photo booth at a mall. we both looked so young… and so happy.

i lean in for a close look at our pixelated expressions. “i missed you.” chris called from behind me, i saw him walk behind me and turned to face him. he was closer than i expected and i backed into the dresser. “i-“ i couldn’t speak.

“you don’t need to respond i just thought i should let you know.” chris said while awkwardly rubbing his neck and beginning to ramble. “i really wish things wouldn’t have gone the way they did, i wish claude never got my phone, but it happened and i don’t know what to do about my past shitty behavior besides apologizing and trying to make it up to you. that’s why i came to the show and saw you, and that’s why i want to make music with you. i miss you, i miss our music, i miss your voice and-“

i didn’t know what to say, chris was rambling on and on so i cut him off swiftly, by pushing my face into his, pressing our lips together. finally.

he seemed stunned, but his lips melted into mine and his anxiety eased. i pulled away, a short sweet kiss.

chris was stunned, “wow, baby, you caught me by surprise.” he said, smiling at me. now he leaned into my face, grasping the back of my neck and planting another kiss on my lips which turned into our tounges swirling together.

finally, i got to see what his lips felt like, what his mouth tasted like, how perfect it felt to be in his arms. i had dreams of this very moment.

the makeout was cut off by claude banging on the door, asking if chris wanted to order pizza. chris pulled away looking annoyed, rolling his eyes.

“its okay chris, i should get back to my apartment.” i said, holding his hands. “i understand, you haven’t been home in a while. ill drive you back to the hotel.” chris said.

claude banged on the door again. chris swung the door open, “bro, i’m going to take her home, i’ll pick one up on the way home.” they brushed eachother off. i walked behind chris, he opened the door for me. we drive to the hotel, i played chris some music i like, and then we pulled in.

we sat in silence in the car for a few seconds. “thank you chris, i had fun.”

“really?” he asked, placing his hand on my thigh. “of course,” i responded, “i wouldn’t lie to you.” chris smiled and leaned over and we shared a quick kiss in the car before i stepped out.

“goodbye.” i said, walking to the driver’s seat with a subtle smirk. as i was driving away, i was smiling. but then i stopped, i can’t believe everything, i need to be smart. and then i thought about him with nothing but a towel, and i fell back into the downward spiral.

#Youtube #rory culkin #rory culkin fanfic #chris kenton

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its-jaytothemee · 7 months ago

Text

WIP Wednesday

Part of an upcoming chapter for Until I Met You! Part of the Halsin/Tav slow burn, but this chapter is just Karlach & Tav.

Full fic here: Tumblr AO3

Word count: 1,199

Tags: Graphic description of injury, hurt/comfort (light comfort for now), friends don't let friends burn to death.

Summary: The gang clears out the Grymforge, but Karlach's engine is struggling with the added heat from their surroundings.

“She hit me!” Astarion shrilled as he rubbed the small knot forming on the back of his head. “Fucking murder hungry gith…didn’t even taste good.” He started muttering under his breath.

“It’s okay, buddy. I’ll take care of it.” Tav smiled fondly as Astarion pouted at Lae’zel. No longer under the duergar’s charm, he was back to his snippy self. She cast a quick healing spell to ease the headache, giving him a quick pat on the shoulder when she was done.

“That’ll have to do for now, I’m all out.” Her fingers tingled as she tried to cast another spell but produced no magic.

She was going to inspect Nere’s body when she heard a cry behind her, followed by a loud thud on the floor. When she turned around, Karlach had collapsed and was now writhing in pain.

“Karlach!” Tav yelled and ran over to where she was laying. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Unhh…” Karlach groaned and thrashed as she grasped at her chest, her nails starting to scratch the skin raw. “Too much…”

“What’s happening?” Gale’s voice was ripe with panic.

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” Tav hovered protectively over her friend as she tried to find a way to help.

“…Heat…” Karlach’s tears fell from her eyes to mix with the sweat pooling beneath her face and neck.

Tav looked around frantically, trying to find a way to help move her. Being so close to the lava must have put her engine in overdrive. But how could they help get her out? Another screaming sob from Karlach startled her out of her thoughts.

Oh, fuck it. This is gonna hurt.

Tav took a deep breath and grabbed Karlach’s arm to wrap around her neck. Even through her thick gloves, she could feel the heat radiating from her skin.

“No, Tav…you’ll burn.” Karlach cried.

“You’re not dying here, Karlach.” She growled back. “You guys get Nere’s head; I’m getting her out of here.” Gale and Wyll nodded their understanding.

She managed to wrap one arm around her shoulders, her skin met the nape of Tav’s neck causing a grunt of pain from her. But Tav mustered all of her remaining strength to drag Karlach down the stairs and closer to the docks. The heat coming from her arm was unbearable.

How in the hells does she live like this?

Karlach’s arm continued searing the back of Tav’s neck, leaving the smell of burning flesh in their wake. She felt her skin split as she turned her head which sent a sharp pain down her back. The white-hot burn brought tears to her eyes, but she kept a firm hold on Karlach. Sweat dripped from her face and neck, stinging the wound and causing another cry of pain from Tav. The other hand helping to hold up her torso was starting to burn even over her clothing and through Tav’s gloves. Karlach’s other arm came up to grab Tav’s for support. Once again, the blinding heat cut through armor and clothing alike to meet her skin. Hot enough that she could feel blisters starting to form under her gloves and armor. The sensation could only be compared to being boiled in a pot of oil. Surely the Nine Hells themselves couldn’t even be this hot.

“Almost there, Karlach.” Tav grunted as another spike of pain ripped through her neck and up into her head.

She dropped her at the bottom of the stairs where they had arrived. The sudden motion tore Karlach’s arm from her neck, ripping away part of the skin that had seared to her bicep. Tav screamed as she felt blood start to trickle down her back. Her vision was clouded with spots, and she tasted bile at the back of her throat.

Despite getting away from the lava, Karlach was still spasming on the floor beside her. Deep gashes lined her chest from where she had clawed at the infernal engine below. The glow beneath her skin raged against its fleshy prison – beating and pounding against the walls of her ribcage. Blood streamed from the scratches on the surface, the trickles sizzling and popping along her scalding skin. The heat coming from her body was rising with each passing moment.

Out of the corner of her eye, Tav saw a bucket. She scrambled over to grab it before filling it up with the lake water. She took the entire bucket and dumped it on Karlach, a satisfying hiss of steam rose up from the flaming tiefling. Just to be sure, she filled it again, and dumped another bucket full of water on her. Afterwards, her breathing seemed to slow, and the flames calmed down to their normal level.

“Better?” Tav asked, out of breath.

“Much Better. Thanks, soldier.” Karlach gasped as she pulled herself up to one knee. Tav nodded in response, causing her to wince. She moved her hair to the side to keep it from brushing against the fresh burn.

“Oh shit…oh fuck…oh shit, Tav.” Karlach puffed. “Oh soldier, that’s a bad burn. I’m so sorry…” Tears started streaming down her face again.

“It’s alright, I’m sure Shadowheart can take care of it. I knew the risks, love.” Tav grunted as she tried to lean back.

The position of the burn made it difficult to move her head or shoulders without searing pain ripping through her upper body. Even when she didn’t move, the edge of her armor sat right over the most painful section. When she took off her gloves, she noticed that her hands were blistered as well.

“I…I need to get this armor off. It’s rubbing the burn and making it worse.” Tav sucked in a sharp breath through gritted teeth.

“Here, let me.” Wyll had joined them at the docks. He quickly untied the straps holding the armor at her shoulders. Lae’zel came to the other side of her to help him lift it off over her head. They made slow, gentle movements, careful not to bump the burn as they removed it.

“Okay, let me take a look.” Tav heard Shadowheart behind her and felt her small hands brush against her back. “This is bad. I can help alleviate some of the pain, but I really think we should have Halsin look at this. Unless you want some nasty scarring.”

“Do what you can for now, we need to get back across the lake anyway.” Tav took a few steadying breaths to help ease the pain.

Involuntary tears streaked her cheeks as Shadowheart slowly gathered her thin tunic and pulled it over her head, once again taking care to not brush it against the burn. Her healing spell took some of the sting out of the wound, but she could still feel the heat radiating from her neck.

“Where are the gnomes?” Tav asked.

“They’re on their way down. They’ll be heading across the lake as well. A couple of them wanted to speak with you before we part ways.” Gale explained.

“Very well.” Tav breathed the words out.

“Okay, that’s as far as I dare heal this for now.” Shadowheart stood up and brushed herself off. “We need to get her to Halsin.”

#bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #wip #wip wednesday #halsin x tav #halsin fanfic #karlach & tav #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii

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madeline-quinn · 5 months ago

Text

— reasons as to why ★

If I were to become a fuck-up at 16, 19 would most definitely be the age to get shit together.

Tragically enough, the start of it all was 11, when I first smoked a cigarette. Or maybe 10, when I first robbed a store. Or perhaps 4, when I first got assaulted by my drunk father.

I miss him.

I know I shouldn't. His actions are unforgiveable. Not even the Satan will do him good.

But despite that, he was a good father at heart, I always knew it. He just didn't have enough commitment for the role of a parent.

He'd protect me at times, and teach me how to handle the ups and downs of life. When all my mother could love was something else, he gave all his love to me and without him, I would be embarrassed of how I'd turn out.

I wonder if he thought about me before death.

My silky hair flows freely along the chilly breeze, reminding me of how his ashes flew almost in the shape of ocean waves. But I was also high when I scattered them, so I wouldn't trust everything my eyes witnessed.

The wind is quite feisty tonight, blowing my satin, beige night gown, laced with midnight patterns, around in different directions. Goosebumps crawl down my arms, my head as hollow as an empty box.

I breathe in the heat, I breathe in the carbon monoxide. My skin glows ruby from the huge fire.

When the breeze heads towards me, the flames follow its flow in an instant and I stumble back with my bare feet, shouting and giggling, spinning around with my arms up. The police sirens echoing across the entire neighbourhood are my rhythms, and the flame is my partner. My gown isn't one to sleep in, its for dancing, and so I do.

"Hands up, police!" I hear the rough words of a man. Easy to command, I follow their orders without daring to turn around.

Firefighters come, so do the paramedics.

I feel their presence nearing, and to be forcefully touched by a stranger would send me into a manic episode. So eventually, I slowly face them.

Three cops stand before me, others are dealing with the crowds of people. One of them has a gun out, but I'm not terrified by the slightest bit. Nothing can scare me, I think, up until I recognize Carl as one of the police men.

I can't tell whether my body heats up and is about to explode, or cools down and is moments away from passing out.

But what I can tell, is how my heart fills up with an unbearably sharp emotion, similar to the one I felt during the last time I saw him. It's like undying frustration mixes into a swirl of sorrow and excitement, making my dopamine levels skyrocket and my stomach twirl with tingles, yet I also desire for my fingers to be wrapped around a sniper.

Hair shorter, body manlier. I watch his expression change when he notices my identity. He's confused, whispering something under his breath what might be my name. But it's not a secret that his features soften.

"Miss, can you please step over here for your safety?" one of the cops says and I realize how awfully close am I to the fire.

I slowly move, my eyes bluntly lingering on Carl. No fucking way he's a cop now. And what the fuck is he doing in New York?

"Can you tell us your name and what happened here?"

One last glance at him, and my eyes shortly flicker to the man who's speaking to me. "Madeline. I set this house on fire," I lazily smile.

"Miss, we're going to need to detain you for your safety and ours. Please turn around," the other cop speaks, bringing out handcuffs.

"You can't touch me, dipshit!" I squirm and try to shake off their filthy gloved hands, swiftly making an attempt to escape, before the third cop quickly closes all my opportunities and harshly bends me over the cop car bumper, interlocking my hands with tight handcuffs to which I whine at.

"Carl, what the fuck? Leave me alone!" I try to scream, but I can barely breathe.

He interrupts me, words dominant and professional, "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand?"

It's like he's trying to tame a wild animal.

I have no other choice but to submit.

"Yes," I breathe out.

He pulls me back, finally allowing my lungs to inhale grand air, and holding me by my handcuffs, he messily leads me to the back of the cop car

I feel like I'm being treated crazy behind the metal partition separating me and the officers as if I'm in a cage.

"We're taking you to the station now. Sit tight," one of Carl's partners speaks, whilst he sits behind the wheel and starts up the car. Replying makes me sick.

I glance at his icy eyes in the rear-view mirror. It's funny how last time we shared this sort of eye contact, we were heading towards a campsite, not the police station. stupid, and head over heels for each other, he wouldn't have ever hurt me or handcuffed me. I feel my veins pulse.

Arriving at the police station brings me a weird feeling.

It reminds me of an airport for some reason, must be the lighting, or the urgency and madness of everyone around.

Last time I was here was many years ago for my father because of abuse and almost drugging his wife to death. I was still too young to recall what happened exactly I probably couldn't even comprehend that, but I never attended any of his other sentences. I simply didn't care enough.

They ask for my personal information, scan my finger prints and take my photograph. Those people I don't know of promised me privacy and safety, calming me down as if I'm a psychopath, fighting the urges to lash out and start World War III any second. I was a fool to build trust, I realized that when I was asked to take my clothes off.

A panic attack followed shortly after.

But no one cared. So I was taken to the interrogation room.

A dim light bulb flickers above us, I weakly place my arms down on the table and try to manage my breath. A guard stares me down from the corner like a paralysis demon, I feel deeply uncomfortable.

"Before we start," a middle-aged woman, with jet black hair and office glasses speaks, "I need to remind you that you have the right to remain silent and the right to an attorney. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, yeah, your law buddies told me that already. Ask away," my nails tap on the table repeatedly.

"Can you tell us what happened at the house?"

I sigh, leaning back and crossing my arms over my chest. "It was my dad's house that he built with his bare hands when we were planning to move to New York. Unfinished, but still a creation of his. I burnt it down."

"You do not live in it, am I correct?" she calmly asks.

"I live in an apartment in New York with my mom, who moved there after my father gave up on the building because of his drug addiction."

"Your dad suffers from a drug addiction?"

I scrunch my eyebrows tighter. "Do not ask me personal questions. Let's move on with the crime I committed."

"Miss, you must answer all questions I ask, but okay," she breathes out a sigh of pity. "Let's move forward. Why did you burn it?"

"I think my dad's death is taking too much of an impact on me, it's been years and I'm still scarred and grieving. Therefore, I'm trying to erase everything that reminds me of him. Also, I once burned down a tent I fucked one of the cops in, whilst he had a girlfriend, and it felt so good," I pause, "not the sex— I mean yes the sex, but—"

"Do you feel any remorse?"

I take her question in for consideration.

"Weirdly, probably not," I pout in a thinking manner. "Why would I? Nobody lives there anyway."

"You could've put the lives of the neighbours at risk."

I scoff. "It's not my problem. No one calls them to stand in a fire."

Her eyes narrow me down, I wonder what's going on in her head.

"Are you aware of any mental health issues you might have?"

"It's none of your business."

"Miss, answer my question."

My lips form into a straight line, and I shut my eyelids just to open them once again. "They diagnosed me with BPD and anxiety. But that doesn't change anything. I knew what I was doing and I did it for a reason. Jail me up for all I care."

The detective completely dismisses the last part of the sentence, I figured after admitting I'm not completely okay in the head, anything stupid I might say will instantly get excused by a mental illness. "Are you on any medication for these conditions?"

"Yes, but I stopped taking them."

"Why?"

I don't respond for a second, but the eye contact remains strong and tense. "They dull me, make my brain feel foggy."

"Do you think stopping your medication affected your decision to set the fire?"

"For fuck's sake, quit asking stupid fucking questions. What am I, Ariana Grande?" I snap at her, but she remains unbothered, waiting for my response. "No. Maybe. I don't know. Fuck," my voice cracks down. "I don't know what to do with myself sometimes."

"Okay, calm down, miss. I need to make sure you understand the situation you're in and the severe consequences you'll be facing."

"I understand, okay?" I bark at her through tears. "I understand. I'm just— I don't know why I'm crying. Oh my god."

The overwhelm of sorrow gets the best of me. I want to stop these tears from pouring down my cheeks, because I can't clearly comprehend what's happening and not a single thought is running through my head. So why is my stitched up heart shattering again?

I go through legal representations, arraignments and trial. My lawyer advices me to plead insanity for my case. The word makes me sound like I'm some sort of crazy maniac psychopath who's about to go on a killing rampage and be the next Ted Bundy, but if I don't want to sit in prison and get gang raped by clinically unstable men, that's what I must do.

The court sentences me to five years in a psychiatric facility with eligibility for supervised release after three years.

A small, dimly lit room in the psych ward. I sit on the top of the bunk bed, alone, as my roommate, who suffers from depression and severe suicidal thoughts, is somewhere, probably trying to off herself. Poor girl, I wish I could make her want to stay.

I don't even know if I want to.

My wrist circles rapidly as I hold a pen tight, writing out every single thought and every single emotion crossing through my brain, trying to convince myself that all that I feel does not make me insane, and I have valid reasons. Reasons, which may be rooted in a borderline disorder or a psychopathic household, but they are still valid and I'm only here because of a mistake.

There's a soft knock on the door, before one of the workers informs me someone has come to visit. I feel confused at first, then, when the existence of my mother clicks into my brain, disappointment haunts down my chest.

I hesitantly follow her to a shared space within the facility. There sits Carl Gallagher on a comfortable chair, his eyes flick to mine. I never wanted to see him again.

"Maddie," he breathes shallowly, standing up.

"What do you want from me?" I make sure to embrace my obvious fury with him by crossing my arms and arching a single eyebrow.

"You okay?"

"Well," I clear my throat. "I'm on a shit ton of meds. I think my brain is melting, and I'm speaking to a man who ruined my life."

"Listen to me," he cups my shoulders with his hands, and I do not react whatsoever. I would, my heart wants me to. But these medications make me feel like I'm a walking zombie, I don't think I care to care enough.

In just a few moments, his arms are wrapped around my back tight and I'm inhaling his masculine cologne to the depths of my lungs. I can't breathe. Not because the hug is too tight, because I have forgotten how to. "I'm gonna get you out, alright?" his whisper hits my ear gently.

This is not a genuine hug, I start to understand. We're being watched from every direction, all our conversations on display.

"I don't belong here," I begin.

"I know," he tenderly replies after me.

"They think I'm crazy, they overdosed me. I can't think."

"I know," he reassures me once again, gently tapping on my back. "I understand. I will help you if you let me to."

"During the shift change tomorrow night, there's a brief window where the security is less tight. I need you to distract the guards at the back exit," I whisper.

"Distract them how?"

"Just create a commotion, anything that will draw them away for a few minutes. I can slip out during the confusion. I'll have everything ready."

He nods along, and I try to smile. But it's difficult, and awkward, as if the corners of my lips are being pulled up by two puppet strings

It's a clear middle of the night, not a single cloud present to mask up the gorgeously shining new moon, just the distant sound of crows and pigeons to fill in the silence.

But it doesn't need to be filled in, especially when the police sirens are spread all around the outside of the psychiatric facility. Blue and red flashing before my eyes, I can barely see.

As a part of our plan, Carl used his privileges as a police officer and called for support, following a made up story of pretending to chase down an escaped mentally ill person who is armed. That situation created enough commotion for the guards to round up in the so-called crime scene and help the law.

For Carl to not lose his rank or even profession, he will simply inform that the person ran away.

Since the entire plan circles around a made up individual, with my departure, soon enough it will become clear that I was the person who managed to escape. But they will never know the trickery behind it all, and they will never find me.

Carl waits for me at a very secret and hidden spot we decided on after our illegal fun. But he gets sick of it, after my presence is not here.

I'm 15, and I'm free.

The bygone stars scattered across the faint sky glow softly at me amongst the obscurely angelic clouds, painted yellowish orange by the sunrise. It's the middle of July, the very anchor point of summer, but lately, even the mornings don't get too hot.

I wave my dirty converse in the air, sitting on top of a roof with my hair down and a tight tank top of some rock band I don't know wrapped around my torso. Long shirts are completely out of my closet now, as my belly button piercing has just finished healing.

I sit in between Fiona and Emily, Akira next to the blonde. And since the building is L shaped, to my right sits Lip and Ian. Most of us have our fingers wrapped around cigarettes and lighters, but especially excluding Akira, he keeps denying like a christian mother.

It's okay to refuse smoking, addictions will never have a good outcome. But just for the fun of it, just to laugh at the way he whines and comes up with reasons why it'll guarantee you lung cancer is funny.

Although nobody really expected him to change his mind at all, suddenly, he mumbles something beneath his breath and wraps his pale lips around a cigarette.

Trying to light it up, his eyebrows furrow when it doesn't work, and after narrowing our eyes, the rest of us cackle.

"No— no," I try to speak through my laughter. "It's the wrong way. You're lighting the filter."

Trying to ignore his dumbfounded face so I don't fall off the roof laughing, I slide the cigarette out of his mouth and turn it around, grabbing the lighter and sparking it up myself.

"Okay, now inhale," Ian tells him like it's an order, which Akira follows.

But instead of inhaling, he only sucks in the smoke inside his mouth and blows it out through the corner of his lips. "Didn't feel like anything," he mumbles, dazzled.

"No!" I don't even try to control myself from laughing this time. "You have to inhale into your lungs, y'know? Like breathe in."

He gives me a glance as though I'm speaking a language of aliens, before shifting his focus towards what I told him to do. His eyelids linger lower above his eyes, and finally, he draws in all the nicotine laced smoke. Too much, way too much, the cigarette comes flying out of his mouth and he grips tighter onto the edges, coughing.

"You did it, bud," Lip congrats him, his voice like a proud dad's.

"Shit," realization hits Fiona like a truck. "Carl wasn't here to witness Akira's first puff."

Whines echo across the entire block, even Akira pouts, looking upset, yet on the verge of choking.

"Well, someone call him!" Emily quivers her head and squeezes her brows together, motioning with her hands a shrug.

"No, don't," Lip interferes. "Last night he read an article about the importance of sleep, and because of the whole police-obsession shit he has going on, he thinks sleeping at 8PM will improve his critical thinking."

"As if he has any to begin with," the blondie rolls her eyes.

Lip smirks daringly, "You know how serious he is about his passions. He'll kill all of us if we wake him up."

"Oh, shiver me timbers," Emily's hands cross over each other and she fiercely glances straight into Lip's eyes, but he doesn't frighten one bit, the corner of his lip just won't go down. And just last night they were fighting over math homework answers, the true definition of academic rivals. Do they ever give each other a break?

"Maddie should call him, in that case" Ian suggests. "She's the only thing he might find more important."

"That's not tr—" I try to speak up.

"Right! Also, make up that you're in danger or something, he'll come running like a pathetic dog," a grin widens on Emily's lips.

I hopelessly sigh. I mean, if we got Akira to finally take a puff, might as well submit to the pressure.

My hands reach for my pocket and I unlock my phone, scrolling through it, looking for his contact. Once I press it, with Akira whispering to turn on the speaker, I press the little megaphone icon. My phone rings about four times, I count them in my mind, before he suddenly picks up and I even embarrassingly flinch, hoping nobody noticed.

"Maddie?" he mumbles into the microphone with a sluggishly resonant tone, anyone would be able to tell he'd just woken up from a nap.

I quietly clear my throat, heart pounding hard already before I even begun my first words. "Carl!" my voice squeals in a whisper. "Shit, can you come to our hangout roof? There's a shady guy and he's trying to drug me, he's taking a leak right now. Please, I need your help."

"Fuck, for real?" I bite down my lip, smiling at the way sounds of a bed creaking signify him sitting up, words getting clearer and more serious.

"Yes, hurry!"

The call ends in a deep, and everyone lets out the laughs they've been holding.

But in just mere minutes of chit chats and small talks, we turn our heads to see Carl standing right next to the entrance. Hair a mess like a rat's nest, clothes all wrinkled and stacked up on each other, one pant pulled a little higher than the other, shoes untied and chest flowing up and down like he's taking his first breaths after being held captive underwater for 10 minutes. I can't tell who looks closer to getting strangled, him, or Akira after taking his first puff.

"What the fuck?" he curses at our snorts and chuckles.

"You missed Akira's first cigarette, Carl!" Fiona smiles wide and bright at him. "Come on, sit," her hand taps a space closer to her.

"You guys lied to me?"

"Not my idea!" I innocently put my hands up, one slowly forming into a thumbs up that leans forwards and backwards in Emily's direction, subtly blaming her.

He exasperatedly groans and rolls his eyes all across the sclera, slowly stumbling towards us and sitting down next to Lip, who immediately ruffles his hand through Carl's fluffy hair as if it isn't stupidly messy enough already. The sight of them just reminds me of their brother bond, of course the older one teases the younger for being a fool and smitten.

"Lady Red's Club of Secrets" reads the glowing name above an entrance, enhanced with a scarlet image of a high heel next to it.

It's been a month or two after I last got out the psych ward. After causing an 'accidental' electrical fire at my own apartment to settle my anger, I moved to Indiana.

Having a criminal record of arson makes it exceptionally hard to find a stable job, so I had no other choice but to work at a strip club. Away from everyone, I do not have any financial support. Or emotional even. I've made a few friends here, they're okay. But it really hurts starting to forget the faces of my best friends.

My hair is free and wavy, easily bouncing on my naked shoulders. Black, shiny leather hugs the curves of my chest in the form of a tube top, reflecting on all the disco lights and flickers from all around the room, and my bottom is hidden by a mini skirt to match the color.

I smudged my face in heavily flattering mascara and burgundy lipstick, as it won't be much noticeable in the darkness anyway. My hips circle smoothly with the rhythm, as I run my hands down every inch of naked skin and arch my back whilst looking down upon the gross, old men. Their mouths are just foaming, staring at me with hungry eyes, throwing cash right at my platformed heels and I wink, biting down on the exposed tip of my tongue.

I'd feel disgusting if I didn't feel numb. And looking at the bright side, this is kind of an ego boost.

"Show your tits!" a bald grandpa shouts at me. Daringly, I walk up to him blooming with confidence. He's seated on a chair, I press down my empowering heels onto his rising boner.

"For 50 dollars, I just might."

"50 dollars? Don't be ridiculous, darling—"

I press harder. "60. Keep on talking."

"A 100 for a quick hand job too, then?" he devilishly smirks whilst trying to compose himself under the pressure, I want to gag.

"150."

"Fine."

"Meet me when my shift ends," a sly wink flutters as I bite my lip and continue walking to my stage. But just before that, another random drunkard stops me and requests for a lap dance.

Him already manspreading on one of the comfortable chairs, I position myself comfortably midpoint his knees and begin rolling my hips around. Just before a familiar voice calls my name.

"Madeline," I hear, my orbs of deep oceans immediately flickering back and forth through the crowd, but it's only filled with disgustingly sweaty people humping on each other, spilling around expensive drinks, or weirdos eyeing down young women.

Until I see Carl.

"Maddie, hey," he rushes through the crowd, fear of losing me within them.

I commit to eye contact, but purposely ignore him.

"What's going on? Why are you here?" he urgently questions, and I can see my customer is beginning to get distracted.

"Can't you see I'm working?" my face burns with displeasure. "Go away."

"You work here?" he judgingly eyes around the club, gas and smoke steaming everywhere and loud music blasting at our eardrums, muffling down all the moans and singing. And each other's words. "You're a slut now?"

I narrow him with my sharp fox eyes. "Say that again and I will pierce my stripper shoes through your throat."

"Easy, whore—"

"What the fuck's your problem?" I snap at him like a distressed dog. Mostly not because he's here and he's Carl, but his sudden arrival is interrupting my job and the customer I'm trying to please is clearly getting disappointed.

"I want to talk to you."

"I'm not allowed to speak to anyone who's not my coworker or a customer. So get lost," I coldly smirk and turn around to face him, attractively grinding my hips and tracing down my curves for the stranger to focus on, instead of our conversation.

"Okay," his hand surfs through his pocket and he hands me two dollars of 100. "One lap dance."

I stop in place, a single glance at the money, and a single glance at his face. Trustworthy or not, I can't decide, but something is fishy.

I'd rather fill my pockets with rocks and jump off a cruise than to talk to him, but the entire point of my job is to dismiss my wishes and desires, work against all my morals and do whatever I am asked to do for the bill. My exhausted, yet feisty eyes full of hesitation and even a branch of fear, I wrap my fingers around the money and leave the man wanting more.

He expresses clear displeasure by shouting something I can no longer hear, but I don't really care. Money is money.

Leg after another in a straight line, I slowly walk over Carl, glaring up into his eyes through my fatigued eyelids and darkening mascara. Showing not a single worry in the world, he patiently waits for me to take action, lips almost smirking, but not quite yet, which only makes me want to question what his true intentions are.

A gentle, yet demanding push to his chest, he falls back into the chair and my slim figure follows his shortly after, instantly slithering in between his legs and beginning to circle my hips seductively within the flow of the slow pop music.

"So, officer, what is it you wanted to talk about?" I flip my messy hair to my shoulder and slyly smirk.

"Why are you working here?"

"Where else do you want me to work?" I nonchalantly raise my eyebrows, indicating a loss of interest as I slowly bend my knees and work my way down, teasingly tracing his thighs before rolling back up. "I am a convicted felon with diagnosed mental issues and I burned down my house with all my money. Couldn't even work at an office, they were afraid I was going to burn the place down at a single miscommunication."

"You'd do that," he senselessly snickers, and I pull out a sharp pocket knife from secret pocket of my skirt, leaning towards him.

"Do not test me, Gallagher," I do not realize how I suddenly climb onto him, my other arm outstretched to the backrest behind him as if to trap him beneath my hold.

His eyes wander from the sharp edge of my weapon, to my fierce orbs, pupils dilated into two swallowing black pools either because of the darkness, or because I'm manic, then down to my plump lips and back to my eyes. As I notice a smirk gradually curling on his lips, it clicks into my mind that I'm invading his personal space and I distance myself.

"Where'd you get that?" almost grinning, he slowly asks like he's mesmerized by me. God damn, Carl, get your shit together.

"From my friend. For self defense. In case anyone tries to rape me."

With his submission, I slip the knife back and continue hovering my hips and my stomach over the space between his legs like a bee hovers flowers. It nearly cracks me up to see the stupid smirk get wiped off, eyes popping wide and features tensing.

"Does that happen often here?" I can decipher apprehension in his tone.

"Sometimes. Typically, it's not allowed to grope on young dancers, but everyone goes through shit, right?"

"Don't tell me an old man has groped you before."

"Oh no," I force up a high pitched voice. "Do not sue this place for sexual harassment of the workers, sir. Or I might actually become homeless."

I gently grab onto his veiny hands and guide them towards my waist, holding them in place as I roll my body like water, seductively as ever, and when he gets used to my tensive energy and I'm guaranteed he'll keep his hands in place, I use mines to caress my chest and other places.

"This isn't okay, Maddie. You aren't okay."

"I'm doing much better than when I was messing around with you," my alluring leer fades away. "Did you ever wonder why I left you at the altar? That is why, Carl. I used you, just like you used me," my words are slow and almost like a whisper. A taunting whisper, and I cheekily grin.

"Anything I've ever done to hurt you, it was never intentional."

My heart breaks a little. But I believe him, and it's the truth that hurts.

"Intentional or not, it was immoral. You are a smug arrogant, did you know that?"

"You know where I grew up, Maddie. Love wasn't always in my life."

"Newsflash, neither was it in mine. And I still tried."

"I did too."

I stop.

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I fucking did," he stands up, almost raising his voice at me, which rewards with a few ugly stares from around us.

"If you had tried, we wouldn't be doing this right now," I snap at him, staring straight into his dark, tensive eyes.

"What would we be doing? Going on a date?"

"Yes," I flick my head. "So why aren't we?"

"Because I'm getting married tomorrow."

My breath pathetically hitches, and I'm tired of all this shit happening in my life.

"No," I shake my hands around, smiling widely. "No. No, no, no. I'm not doing this with you again, Carl," my voice miserably cracks at his name.

"Doing what?" his eyebrows furrow as he slowly makes his way closer to me whilst I back away, constantly bumping into strangers. Considering our distance now and the loudness of the music, our voices are much louder, too.

"Fucking you while you have a whole ass love life going on!" I'm on the verge of hysteric ally laughing.

"What the fuck do you mean?"

"I just can't hate you, can I?" I quickly brush off a sorrowful tear forming at the side of my waterline, exhausted and a manic smile still hanging on my lips. "Leave, Carl."

"No, this— this is why I came here. I found you, because I wanted to invite you to—"

"Are you serious?" I roughly breathe out, smiling hysterically. "You want me to come to your wedding?"

Streaks of bright, violet lights sway, landing on his features, highlighting the glint in his eyes and the shine in his teeth, peeking through his slightly parted lips. There is barely anything left to breathe, heat hanging low in the air full of people. Fatigue attacks me, and so does sickness, and a headache. The music seems to be too loud to get through my ears without piercing them like a thousand spikes.

"Why did you help me escape the psych ward?" I slightly change the conversation, now in terms with his speechlessness. My tone more serene in the fear of passing out, I hope my words reach him. "Was it because of the same reason? For me to attend?"

"No," he's quick to respond, much calmer, too. "I wanted to help. I would have, if you hadn't ran away."

"Help me how?"

"Support you. I know you're struggling."

I stare at him, eyes dull. "You don't know anything about me."

He takes a step closer, and I feel the flames inside my heart rise.

"I know more than you think," he begins, his eyes softening as they near mine. "I know those slutty friends of yours are nothing but shit for you, I know you miss Akira and Emily. I know you regret leaving Chicago and breaking contact with everybody, and I know you're trying to distract yourself with all of this. Come back home, Maddie," standing so close before me, he tenderly brushes away a strand of hair stuck to my mascara and reminds me how I haven't felt this much care ever since forever. "We miss you."

Not only do I feel helpless, I am helpless.

"No, this is what you do," my voice slightly quivers. "You make me vulnerable and you hurt me."

The words 'don't touch me' were about to roll off my tongue, but I couldn't. I couldn't do it.

"I won't do that again. Do you trust me?"

His words feel like a fever dream. I don't, but I want to. Or maybe I do, but I don't want to. I can't tell at all, I can barely form a single thought. All I know is how painful it feels to experience all my emotions circling in my chest, and how much I want to cry into someone's shoulder.

Trying to not let out a single tear, I am unresponsive, yet my darkened orbs gaze deeply into him like as if I'm afraid to let go.

Suddenly, his arms slightly outstretch as if an invitation for an embrace, and taking the opportunity, I leap into his hold like a quivering chick into its nest, eyes puffy and bloodshot, trying to comprehend what to do. But this just might be better than crying on spot, I wouldn't have ever thought I'd feel safe in this club. Why do I feel safe?

I can't exactly tell how long this hug lasts, because before it's over, I hear a high pitched ringing in my ears and I'm unaware of my surroundings.

For a split second, I awaken my eyes and I find the world spinning around me, blood rushing to my head and clogging my hearing. Something causes me discomfort to breathe, pressing on my stomach hard, I feel like I might vomit all over the concrete I can barely look at through my hair flowing in my sight.

I blink a few times, cough and try to use my hands for support as my instincts suggest I'm two moments away from falling straight on my head. But my efforts come to a waste as someone's hands are securely grasping my naked thighs.

The wind is chilly, but I'm not cold. I feel numb at most.

"Morning," the man holding me speaks, I visualise a smile curled on his lips according to how his words sound.

"Carl?" I mutter, trying to get hair out of my face. "Where the fuck are we?"

"We're going to my car. I parked far."

"What?" I elbow his back using the least amount of my efforts. Perhaps I wouldn't be so fragile if I wasn't upside down. "Hell no! Did you even tell them I was leaving early? I've still got a client to serve!"

"Calm down, chatterbox. That client of yours is in interrogation at the time we're speaking for the act of sexually harassing minors. And the club is currently closed for the exact same reason, won't be open any time soon I hope."

He sounds so proud of himself.

"Seriously?" I sigh, obviously bothered. "Where am I supposed to work now?"

"We'll find you a place."

"Fuck you and your cop privileges," my words mutter almost like a whisper. "Also, there's no 'we'. I'll do it myself," I furiously state.

"Sure."

I'm surprised at his lack of effort to try to convince me otherwise. Or maybe he's mocking me. "I will!" I insist.

"I believe you."

I sigh and roll my eyes like a brat. "Can you put me down? My ass is on display."

What I said was laced with nothing but seriousness, but I realize how stupid I actually sounded once he giggles at me and I scrunch up a fist to repeatedly bang on his lower back. "Lucky strangers, huh?"

With caring hands, Carl lets me go down from his shoulder and provides help to comfortably find myself a sitting position in the front seat of his police car. Realizing the coverage of the clothes wrapped around my body, I visibly get shy and a little flushed, I think he can see it, too. So he opens the glove compartment and hands me one of his extra wrinkled police jackets.

I lay it down on my knees and my chest like a blanket, his scent lingers on it so clearly, I don't know how to label the emotions I'm feeling.

He sits behind the wheel and begins driving.

A dark night in Indiana. The street lights flash at the speed of light in the corners of my eyes, as I focus them on the middle of the road. I'm exhausted, but not sleepy. I've gotten used to staying awake for night shifts at my job, previous job, so therefore my brain is like a bat's, only putting me to unconsciousness once the sun rises.

"How did you find me, anyways?" I curiously wonder, trying to kill the awkward silence. But it's not entirely awkward, it feels nice to not be bothered to entertain a man and comfortably rest in the passenger seat.

"After hearing about the electric fire in your apartment, I began questioning around. Found out you went to Indiana. Used my cop privileges," he remarks, smiling, "to track down your phone and reviewed property ownership records from around the area, patrolled through the streets only to finally find you here."

"So that's what you're doing in Indiana? Stalking me?" I tease him, raising one eyebrow.

"If you put it like that," one of his lip corners rises slightly higher than the other, as he steals a glimpse at me and looks back to the road. "How's Michael?"

"I don't know," I hopelessly shrug, my eyes saddening by the second. "He was very upset with me when we moved back to New York. I understand him, I was upset with myself too. And after I moved out, I haven't seen him since."

"We should find him," he calmly suggests. "How old is he now? 15?"

"Something like that."

"I don't think he enjoys living with your mom very much. When I was 15 and Monica came back, I was ready to shoot her with a rifle."

"A rifle?" I teasingly cackle. "Where would you get one from?"

"My military equipment," a prideful smirk creeps up upon his lips, and he doesn't notice the way I stare him down with scrunched eyebrows and eyes shot open.

"The fuck are you talking about?" I ask with dazzlement present in my tone.

"I used to attend military school, didn't I tell you that?"

"What?"

"Yeah," he laughs under his breath. "You never noticed me walk around with those camo pants?"

"I thought you just had a stupid taste of fashion," my eyes slowly revert back to the road, mind busy with thoughts. "Wow. Cadet Corporal Carl, that would've sounded cool."

"Sure. But officer Carl sounds better."

"But if you went to military school, why are you a police man now?" deep down, I hope I'm not sounding stupid. To be fair, I am completely clueless on all this law and country shit, I couldn't name the most common gun for the life of me. Father gave me to shoot them, not to acknowledge them.

"Didn't make it to West Point. Funnily enough, I got the rejection letter right after you left," he says that in a way that makes me think I should take it as a joke and laugh along, but I can sense a bittersweet emotion in his words.

"Guess I was your lucky charm," I smile stupidly.

"Guess you were."

It's quiet now, but I find myself impatient. Holding a stable conversation with a person just feels so satisfying.

"Aren't you supposed to be on patrol, Mr. Policeman?" I judge accordingly to his blue shirt and a star shaped police badge shining bright on his chest.

"I am on patrol," he tells me, smiling like a foolish toddler who's much too proud of himself.

"In Indiana?"

"I work with the law. What are they gonna do, fire me?"

My eyebrows rise as I slowly nod. "Right."

"Wanna see some real action?"

"Yeah," I reply without a single bit of hesitation, eyes glittering like straight out of a cartoon.

Sharing a dangerous grin, he turns up the police sirens and presses down on the pedal, one hand resting as the other carelessly circles around the wheel, almost drifting on turns. My grip onto his coat tightens, and I think I might be manic, because the adrenaline is feeding my lack of activity and dopamine, as I laugh and squeak louder than the flashing alarms.

I sleep over at Carl's, which without given context definitely sounds completely shitty and wrong.

It's not like that. When we come to his apartment, I feel an urgent rush of uncomfortable emotions. Like it's illegal to be here, as though before I step in I subconsciously expect the place to be familiar, but it isn't at all, and that's what scares me.

The rooms are tidy, pictures hang up on the beige walls of him and Kelly on vacations, kissing and placing their curved hands together to form hearts. Informing me that his fiancé is out for a party, he lends me some of her clothes to dress in — a coral shirt and flowy, white shorts. I feel stupidly embarrassed to wear them, for all the reasons possible.

With Spanish music quietly humming from the radio in his kitchen, he sits me down on his bathroom's toilet lid and wipes off my whorish makeup with a few pads and micellar water. I can't help but giggle at how awfully bad he is at that, making me gag and cough each time he accidentally brushes against my open mouth or my eye.

"I don't understand why you put up with me," I lazily tell him, soft voice as ever.

"What do you mean?" his grin widens as he continues rubbing my smooth skin as if he's rubbing nothing, but that makeup has been sitting on my face for quite a while now, so I won't blame him if it's difficult to get rid of.

"I'm unstable, and unpredictable. I may leave again and never return at a minor inconvenience, and you know that."

"I don't care. I'll find you again if I have to."

"But I'll hurt you. And you'll hurt me."

"That’s what we do. Makes us great friends," he sarcastically jokes, throwing maybe the fifth wipe up to the counter. Jesus Christ, it's either he doesn't know that the other side is perfectly good to use, or I have never heard of a limit to makeup.

I lightly sway my feet and accidentally hit his thighs a couple of times, shutting up for a moment to try to organize my thoughts and prepare for what feels like a hurricane in my chest. I have so many emotions pent up, and when I even trigger them in the slightest way, I panic, not knowing what to do with myself. I want to scream and shout and cry and it's impossible to comprehend why. Fuck BPD.

"Carl," I whisper just when he thinks I have fallen asleep sitting on the toilet lid. He hums in return, patiently waiting me to continue which takes a moment. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

He's expecting about a trillion different reasons. That doesn't mean all of them are reasonable and valid to apologize for, but he knows me well and he understands how likely am I to apologize for the stupidest things.

"I acted like a bitch at the campsite," I soften my voice, glancing at him with half-closed eyes. "I was angry and reckless."

"I know," his face completely melts and it's as though he forgets about his task.

"I left you when you helped me. I was afraid to trust again."

"I know," he whispers, nodding once.

"I'm sad," I inform him with a sorrowful mumble.

"I know that too," his eyebrows barely twitch, surprised when he watches me weep.

"And I'm hurt. I don't know how to go from here, I don't even know if I want to."

"That's okay," he tucks a thick, messy strand of brunette hair behind my ear.

"I did so much bad stuff, and even worse stuff when I left Chicago. I was at such a low point at life, I didn't even care when I drank in front of Michael. And going back to school was a nightmare, I kept sleeping through my alarms and coming up with terrible excuses because I couldn't get out of bed," a haunting vine of spikes suddenly wraps around my throat, I can't force out a word without breaking down. "I harmed myself."

Thoughts go like bullets through me, I have no idea why I chose the option of making myself remember everything.

"Come here," he slightly opens his arms and I jump from the closed toilet lid right into his hold. Gripping my trembling hands onto the fabric of his shirt, I allow my warm tears to sink into his shoulder like an anchor. "I got you, I got you," he compassionately whispers, giving light taps on my back.

"Fuck, it hurts," I shakily half-scream, my voice not able to pronounce a syllable without shattering.

"It'll be oka—"

"No! The micellar water! Fuck, it's all over my eyes!" I instantly back away and rub them without thinking, which only makes it worse. Feeling as if they're burning a hole through my skull, I try to stand up and reach towards the sink, causing me to bump into it.

Poor Carl tries to handle me and guide me the way, watching me stumble over anything and everything. Even despite completely losing my sense of sight, when I hear his laughter full of candle-lit energy, I can't help but smile too.

And when I tell him I need to take a bath, he insists he'll help me wash my back and my hair.

No. I refuse immediately, weird as hell for me to accept that kind of service from a man who's holding a wedding tomorrow.

But after all, he's not a stranger. He's not someone different only because he's getting his life together. He's the same Carl as I always know, the same Carl who I grew up with, my best friend.

We hold small talk as he runs his soft fingers through my soaked hair, rubbing in shampoo and relaxing every tense muscle wiring my body. I don't even notice when I lose myself in the amount of pleasure, arching my dripping head back into his shirt and closing my eyes, right before he starts complaining and we both laugh along.

He reveals, that the cupcakes Fiona, Akira and Emily delivered to me during the day of my departure, when I laid in the hospital, were actually baked by him. He couldn't bring himself to see me in person, but like any person would, he found his own way of showing remorse.

Hearing that, my heart thumps with nothing but regret fondness for a million of unspoken reasons. And I realize the reason why they were oddly sour.

But amongst that, there lies a heavy amount of reliability and protection I've never felt ever in my life. Like an injured canary who's been trapped from cage to cage throughout all her life, the way he caresses down my back is as though I'm having my feathers tenderly brushed and taken care of.

It's the last day of a summer. For some reason, the thought of that just pains me. It's as if the moment it ends, all the candle-lit memories that hang easy at the depth of my mind will simply fade away, and I'll no longer have anything to attach to.

My parents have been arguing a lot lately, sometimes I accidentally come across mentions of moving out somewhere far. I can only hope that's false and just a threat, my mom likes to do that a lot.

Boosted music jumps through my bones, the Gallaghers are always down for a celebration.

Dancing, dancing, and more dancing. If the last thing I saw to remember summer was Frank teaching a line of girls how to throw it back, I'd be the happiest person out of all.

I can slowly feel the energy of school, stress and loneliness approaching, even in physical form too, that's when Jayden walks in.

Short, light acorn hair formed into a quiff with an undercut beneath, disgustingly smug face and eyes as dark as his intentions. His figure appears bulkier than the last time I saw him, and that's crazy, because our last regretful conversation occurred on the very last day of school. I don't even remember what it was about, that's how much I don't care.

He was my first ever boyfriend. Genuinely, I can't name one positive about him, it puzzles me how I ever found him attractive enough to date. Or maybe it all died down the moment he broke up with me and called me a slut for not wanting to have sex.

His presence sets off discomfort, and a weird feeling at the bottom of my stomach, but I choose to ignore it and go for another shot.

That's until I'm washing my hands all alone in the small Gallagher bathroom, and the doors suddenly burst open.

"Hey, Mads," the son of the devil nicknames me with a perverted tone lingering in his words, creepy enough to make me immediately glance at him and swallow down unsettling fear.

"Don't call me that," I command, but doesn't listen and it's very obvious with his sudden intent of walking closer to me.

"So, the Gallagher boy," his hand leans on the corner of the sink, trapping me in. "He likes you?"

"I—I don't know," I accidentally stutter. "We aren't dating."

A quiet snicker echoes from his lips to my ears. "You fuck him yet?"

Frowning, I now begin to realize how disturbingly he eyes me down, and how wicked his smile is, and how he moves so uncanny and how even his scent alarms my instincts to protect myself, to make my heart pound against my shirt. So I pull out a glock.

"Leave" I state, making sure not an ounce of fright is in the way I present myself, but it might just be a mask. No matter the conditions I grew up with, and no matter the weapon I have my fingers wrapped around, he's a man. He's bigger, he's stronger, he's thrown an empty glass bottle at my head and he'll do it again at a whim.

"Oh no," he mockingly whines, raising up one free hand. "You have the balls to kill but not to take in a dick?"

"We having a problem here?" suddenly, Carl peeks through the door whilst passing by, and I don't know whether I should feel relief or more tension. Or laugh.

"Just talking about private stuff," his smirk slowly fades away, yet not completely. "Go away, Gallagher," he says with so much disgust.

One glimpse at Jayden, he isn't convinced surely. But just to clarify the situation, the glances into my petrified eyes burning with rage and intense emotions. They desperately scream at him to stay, to not leave me alone. Because neither murder, nor sexual harassment sounds good on my plate.

"I don't think talking involves holding people at gunpoint," he turns and strolls into the room, hands in his black short pockets whilst subtly smiling.

"That's just how she is," Jayden flashes an awkward smile. "Right, Mads? Having psychotic mom genes is crazy sometimes."

I don't respond to his sentence directing me, knowing that if I put enough effort to form a sentence, I might just as well put the energy into pulling the trigger.

"I think she wants you to go," Carl tilts his head.

"She would've said so," he arrogantly responds. "Don't speak for your whore."

Oh, no he didn't. I hitch a breath.

"My whore?" Carl repeats, eyebrows slightly nearing each other in a furrow.

"Isn't she? That's why she don't wanna bone me, 'cause her mind's on your dick," he speaks with such pride and egoism, I sink the gun into his chest deeper as a threat.

"We're not together, though?"

"Doesn't take a relationship for a slut to bang. If not you, then Lip, Ian, fuck no, that one's gay, the Milkoviches, whatever. You gotta admit this bitch's ran-through," edges of his lips sharp, he grins. I can't believe he even has the audacity or capability to smile whilst saying those words.

"What's with you and trying your hardest to prove I sleep around?" I neatly raise an eyebrow, finger slowly pressing down on the trigger but my mind tells me not to.

"Why else would you not want to be in a committed relationship with me?"

"I never said that. I refused to fuck you, not be loyal."

"Okay, fine then," he says as though he's finally listening to me, but I know that's only an act of mocking. "Why?"

"'Cause she's not interested, fuckhead," Carl smugly grins, the first one to react and I don't even have the time to hold him back, he's already lashing at Jayden.

He grabs Jayden by the collar of his sweatshirt and just as I twitch in place and my irises tighten, he swings his fist right into his cheekbone so abruptly, it's as though I can literally feel the breeze of air hit me.

His barely conscious body falls onto the sink, then onto the bathroom, and I'm a little confused on how he's out of it from just a single punch. But then, his nearly trembling hands try to grasp onto the surroundings, muttering an entire dictionary of cuss words under his shaky breath.

I lower my gun.

"You okay?" Carl asks me, concernedly, eyes flickering across my body to look for any bruises or other signs of physical abuse. "Did he hurt you?"

"I could've handled this myself. I'm the one armed here," I sassily swing my hip to the side and hold up the gun into his sight, giving it a slight shake.

"Yet you were too scared to pull the trigger," he stares at me with half-closed moonlit eyes, still a complacent, but lazy smile hanging low on his face full of ego.

I cheekily smile. “Was it worth the bruised fist?”

“Yeah, it was,” he twists it and rubs his thumb over the reddening spot.

Stepping over Jayden's ankles, I get an inch closer, unknowingly copying his face expression. "A gentleman, a saviour," I slowly speak, tone laced with a little with of sarcasm and a lot of temptation. "You're like my hero."

"Damn right," his eyebrows flick up.

With confidence and desire pressing down all my buttons, I step so close to him, almost nearing for our lips to collide like magnet and metal, but just before that happens, I brush my shoulder past his whilst walking out and leave him hanging. Accidentally, my eyes share uncomfortably awkward eye contact with Emily, clawing onto Lip's neck like a wild tigress as his teeth are softly sinking into her bottom lip. They probably thought the bathroom was unoccupied.

The wedding ceremony is just about to start, I'm running late, touching up my makeup just as I'm climbing up the entrance stairs of the church.

Firstly, my eyes greet many people I'm not familiar with. But that's good, it gives me more time to mentally prepare myself to look everybody in the eyes after disappearing for years. If I were to see Lip eyeing me down the moment I entered this place, I think I'd have a heart attack here and there and die.

A dark red dress hugs my figure tight, but the lower part flows like petals, accessorized with a small black coat, thin tights and black heels, making me much taller than I actually am. My outgrown, layered hair is finally properly brushed and held into a ponytail on top of hanging waves, with a few strands out framing my face. I can't quite tell whether my outfit is too dark and 'vampy' for a wedding, at least that's what Carl told me when I suggested him it. But it's not like it's my wedding, and if Akira is going to attend, guaranteed I won't be the odd one out.

The echo of my heels hitting the floor and the loud chatters of strangers is just enough to quiet down my bursting anxiety. I clutch my purse tight, hoping that nobody will notice it.

I enter the room of the wedding.

Holy shit.

Perky, white and blooming flowers everywhere, it's like an angel of purity and love vomited all over.

Everyone's heads turn at me, and some of their reactions were expected, yet they still make my knees tremble.

Debbie and some girl I don't know sit together. She has barely changed, but her hair is a little longer and much wavier. At the first sight of me, I notice her narrowing her eyes and trying to adjust to who she's looking at, and once she does, a wide, open grin flashes, causing the raven haired woman sitting next to her to tilt her head in confusion. She looks awfully mean, I surely as hell won't try to talk to her.

Behind them, there is Lip and Emily, and some toddler in Lip's lap. Wait, what?

No fucking way that's their baby. God, I knew those two were going to have their happily ever after, but it feels terribly surreal having my best friend's biological kid right in front of my eyes.

Immediately, a bittersweet memory occurs to me. A picture of Lip ranting to me in his room at 3AM, worried he'll be a terrible dad in the future because of things he can't change. His tendency to drink, and get angry, all driven by nothing but his growing up situation.

And I used to always calm him, claiming that just the fact he cares enough to consider that is proof he'll make an awesome parent. Frank never burst a nerve, neither did Monica or my parents.

Never mind that, they both have changed a lot, much more than Debbie. Lip's hair being shorter, and features older, he looks like he's really growing into his role of a father. And Emily has dyed some of the streaks in her blonde hair ruby, now more confident in experimenting with eyeliner and heavier makeup. A matching smile curls up on their lips, but Emily's just progressively grows wider, like she's seconds away from jumping out of her seat and going to hug me.

Then I see Akira and someone oddly recognizable with him.

Wait, what the fuck?

Is that Taehyung? From BTS?

I hitch in a breath and curl my eyebrows in a squiggly line, eyelids rising as my mouth gapes, blinking twice, or maybe ten times to make sure I'm not hallucinating.

Well, last time I saw him he was getting shipped away to military. Now he's buffer than three Akiras and I can see a peek of tattoos all across his hand, similar to the younger one's from BTS. I'm wildly confused.

And meanwhile for Akira, I don't think he's changed at all. Two snake bites sparkle at the corners of his bottom lip, but I can't quite recall whether he had that before or not.

Ian's here with Mickey, but Mickey looks like someone I don't know. Not appearance wise, he's just... happy? Tolerable? His eyes don't have that burning fire in them that makes everyone think he's on the verge of bombarding half of the world with a nuclear bomb.

Fiona sits with Liam, and holy shit, he looks grown now.

I think I've changed too, I wonder what they're thinking about me right now. But looking at their smiles fills me with hope, I return the gesture back with nothing but happiness. Suddenly, Akira and Emily decide to finally stand up, even though the ceremony is just about to start.

They greet me and shower me in questions, hugging me so tight, I fear they might smudge their makeup all over my coat. But it's worth it, my heart beats with joy.

"I will fucking kill you if you disappear like this on us ever again," Akira whispers into my right ear, and my eyes flicker to him, yet I can't see nothing but black, messy hair.

Through their shoulders, I peek at Carl.

Wrapped around in a classy suit with a romantically red rose attached to the right of his chest, its shade matches my dress and I think that makes me more miserable. His hair is shiny, and his eyes are upon me just like everyone else's. But I can't quite read the look on his face.

It's about to start. Everyone goes back to their seats, including me. I end up sitting with Jungkook. Oh shit. That's the young one. What the fuck is he doing here, did Carl seriously just invite random k-pop stars? Or is Akira behind all this?

"Um, saranghae— shit, no. Annyeong," I whisper to him, straightening my back and adjusting myself uncomfortably.

"I can speak English, dumbass," he dryly responds, looking at me from the side without even bothering to turn his head to speak to me. Jesus, what has this man been through in the military?

"Sorry, damn."

The pope begins his speech, and everyone watches the bride's father walk her down the isle.

Wow. Whoever she is, she is gorgeously majestic in white, and her smile is the brightest I've ever seen. Or perhaps I just think so, because she's anybody else but Kassidi. Good lord, if Carl had married her, I think I would've genuinely burned this place down.

She walks step by step with nothing but pride and angelic energy, staring down at her one true love who's a little deprived of sleep, but won't take his eyes off of her. Good for her, good for them.

Their fingers tenderly cupping each other's, they reflect an ever longing smile.

"Kelly Keefe, do you take Carl Gallagher to be your lawfully wedded husband and promise to love, honor, and cherish him, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, for better or for worse, from this day forward?" the pope asks.

But just before she can breathe in and form a response, suddenly, the doors bang open and a big German shepherd comes in running down the aisle, barking and howling, leaving a trail of muddy paws along the way.

His sudden appearance causes both Carl and Kelly to depart from each other's touch, as the wild dog jumps at the pope's thigh and he screams in agony.

"Hunter, no, Hunter!" Carl calls out with a distressed expression, trying to get closer to the dog. It doesn't take me a moment to figure out that this is the German shepherd Frank gave me, and I was just wondering where it went.

I hide up a secret snicker by covering my lips and giving all my efforts not to snort, but it becomes impossible when a black skinned guy with dreads hanging low above his eyes runs in through the door, trying to chase after the dog, but his eyes look like they're about to pop out of his sockets once he realizes who is standing at the altar.

"Kelly?" he mutters, voice fragile like a shattering glass. "This is your wedding?"

"Mitch, holy fuck. I can explain!"

Everyone goes from whispering around and giggling to staring intensively as if they're watching a documentary.

"You told me you were going to your aunties wedding and she didn't allow black men because she was racist! Why the fuck are you getting married to Carl Gallagher!?"

Kelly hitches up her wedding dress laced with flowers and elegant symbols all across, her veil drops down along the way but she doesn't care. She doesn't even bother to look at anyone else.

"I should've known you were lying when you asked me to watch this random-ass dog," he softly murmurs.

"No, Mitch, you shithead. I love you," her voice as soft as melody, they say things that are worthy of loud gasps. "I only wanted to marry him because you know how it is with my family and black people, and I didn't want to disappoint them. But I would've filed a divorce the moment you asked me to," she freely wraps her gloved arms around his neck, smile even shinier than before.

"I don't want you to marry him. I don't want to see you with any other man but me," he whines.

"Okay. You won't have to, fuck," the bride roughly grabs him by the jawline and pulls him in for a kiss. His face of sorrow suddenly emerges into one full of joy, enveloping his strong arms around her figure, he happily returns the kiss.

"Fuck you, Carl!" after a moment of passion, she turns around and puts up a middle finger. "Fuck you for being hella obsessed with guns and knives to the point where it's creepy, fuck you for spending more time with that god damn dog than me and fuck you for drowning me in your fucked up attachment issues!"

He turns around, hair messier now from trying to tame dog the dog, but it seems almost impossible. "Okay, you know what? Fuck you for breaking up with me because I was too clingy, bitch. Good luck with your nonchalant dread head, you whore!"

Mitch picks Kelly up with ease, and whispering sweet nothings, they depart from the church walking among the mudded pathway.

"Pope, you doing drugs?" Carl's attention immediately turns back to him, grabbing onto Hunter's body as many guests stand up, most from Kelly's side to run after her, and most from our side to help the pope not lose a hip.

"This is a Gallagher wedding, I just had to!" he tries to speak through screams of ache. "And I'm damn glad I did, Jesus had this planned for me!"

With the dog's positioning, Carl finally gets the opportunity to reach into the pope's pockets and grasp a bag full of heroin. Fortunately, Hunter lets his jaw go of the pope and tries to bite onto the pack of drugs, but the boy holds it high enough for it to be nearly impossible, trying to calm the wild animal down.

"Okay, okay, Hunter. Easy down, Buddy," he motions his hand for him to chill. "We got the drugs now, alright? We found the bad guy. Come on, sit."

Hunter does as he's told, and it is a sign for everyone to release the breath they've been holding.

Carl's gaze finds me within the people, his smile signaling something. It makes my heart jump.

Suddenly, life loses meaning, I think. Or maybe the opposite.

After sharing the one look that is the embodiment of eating sweet honey on a warm summer day, I suck in my lips, still smiling as I shrug and raise my eyebrows. His features soften, smiling foolishly yet brightly, and I stand up to walk over to the aisle, picking up the gorgeously long and graceful veil from the ground and carefully putting it around my head. I look silly, like an idiot. The distance between us closing in, I stroll until there's a small gap separating us.

My eyes follow his hand reaching towards the veil, adjusting it a little as I shyly sneak a tiny grin. "Hunter? How cute."

"Fits him well, doesn't it? I taught him how to detect drugs too," his eyelids dim.

My sight focuses on the injured pope laying against the wall behind him. "I can see," I breathily laugh.

"Can you guys just kiss already?" Kev shouts in the distance, instantly getting shushed down by V and I'm too late to restrain my laughter that echoes through the church, leaning into Carl as if I'm drunk. One hand sneakily crawling up my back as the other tenderly holds my chin in place and he wraps his soft lips around mines

I jump onto him, wrapping my legs around his waist as he instantly grips onto my thighs and holds them steadily. Our lips don't part, and that fills my heart with overwhelming joy. Or maybe it's when I feel his lips widen in width as he smiles into the kiss.

There is clapping, there is shouting, and weirdly enough, it seems much louder considering the fact everyone already left from disappointment. I think I recognize Emily's voice the best amongst the crowd behind us, must be our biggest supporter. 'I knew it, you fuckers! I told y'all!'

Later on, the 'ceremony' carries on in the backyard that was intentionally meant for the reception.

I get to catch up with the Gallaghers and greet my older friends that I missed so much, I thought I might die. Greeting Emily's little toddler felt like a miracle, I've never felt such maternal instincts towards a child that isn't even mine. And meeting Akira's new boyfriend was definitely an experience.

But most importantly, I finally poured myself a glass of alcohol completely willingly and happily and drank shots after shots, rolling my body and giving it all whilst dancing to various pop songs. Especially Pitbull.

Coat already laying somewhere crinkled up in the grass, hair down and bouncing all across the air. I can't even keep up with the number of people I've danced with, starting with Carl and ending with Hunter. Buddy was surely hyped up for the party and the attention, thanks to him and the pope being a stoner this even happened in the first place.

Later tonight, Carl brings me back to the apartment.

Impatient and irresistible, the moment we enter the hallway, he's already all over me, taking off his suit and pitting me against the wall so harshly, I hear some of the picture frames shake. Portraits of him and Kelly. I don't feel guilty this time.

"Our first time we won't regret, huh?" I teasingly mention, my fingers working like lighting bolts unraveling his tie.

"Only if we don't forget protection," he conceitedly jokes, hands clinging onto my body like I might evaporate any time soon. By the time I'm throwing the tie on the floor, he begins unzipping my dress from behind.

I rise my eyebrows and even awaken my eyes a little, "Don't you dare, Gallagher," I scold him. And I hope he doesn't think I'm sarcastic. 'Cause I'm not. As cute as Emily's and Lip's kid is, baby fever is still mountains away for me.

Our short conversation was only a brief moment to recollect our breaths, as we're back to sloppily making out again. It feels needy and it strokes my ego that he kisses me like he's been longing for my touch since forever, as if we hadn't been sharing contact in one way or another for the past hours.

A moan slips out of my mouth as soon as the kiss gets rougher and his hands are everywhere, from gripping my hips to pulling up my leg and hooking it up over his hip to properly feel my thigh, all while his lip are still on mines.

I grind against his figure, desperately trying to get ahold of that pleasure and lust that clouds my mind.

This morning is one of the few ones when I don't awaken with either a burning headache, an unbearable urge to throw up everything that's inside my stomach or so furious with myself and with the world, I'd more ready to face a rope than to face the sun of dawn.

Carl's still deep asleep, head soundly breathing on my collarbones, both of our bodies cuddled up against each other under a thick, warm blanket of his bedroom.

I need to get up, but I'm still trying to figure out how without awakening him. Who knows, it might be 6AM and I could put the poor guy in misery.

Haunted by boredom, I try to carefully sit up in the slightest way to get a better view of his room, and my navy blue eyes start flickering around.

I notice Hunter laying on the ground, curled up into a big fur ball. Wow, awkward. But either way, it warms my heart to know that he kept him, gave him a name, even. God, so many memories flood in just by looking at the dog.

The thought of nostalgia lingers in my mind. And it spikes up when I notice Carl's bracelet, something I hadn't payed much attention to before.

It's nothing like an expensive gem, not expensive silver or gold. Instead, it's a simple black string tied around his wrist, with a single piece of rock attached to it. The rock being the exact colors of my iris, every shade possible, or at least that's what I assume.

My theory proves itself to be right once I very carefully steal my phone from the counter and open up the camera app, widening my eyes up like a zombie and staring into them before taking a shot and comparing it to the stone.

Literally identical. The exact shade of midnight blue. It must've been picked up during that one evening we went gathering for rocks, the feeling of warm reminiscence and adoration clenches around my heart.

I smile like a fool, pouting at the same time as I grasp my hands around my wrist, carrying a bracelet of a rock light azure.

"Morning, wife," Carl mutters into my naked skin, surprising me.

"Say that again and I'll kick you out."

"Out of my own bed?" he whines in a teasing manner, sounding devastated with my response, yet still obviously smiling.

"It's mine now," I swiftly rub my fingers through his hair and slowly get up, searching throughout all the blankets and pillows, trying to find any piece of clothing to not walk around the house like a nudist.

"You're so cheeky," he lazily responds in a deep, morning voice, one eye furrowed as his arms outstretch and he yawns in a breath.

Still rubbing my eyes, I walk into the kitchen and watch Akira spread all across the floor in a starfish position, dark eyes wide open like black holes. The sight of that sends uncomfortable shivers down my spine, I begin to wonder if he's even alive.

Seeing Taehyung seated on the stool, sipping on coffee.

"The fuck's wrong with him?" I ask, raising an eyebrow concerningly.

"미국인들은 왜 모든 문장에서 욕을 하는 걸까요? 너희들 마약에 취한 돼지 같으니라고," he dryly responds, but does it count as a response if I can't understand a single word?

"God, speak English, wrong. Speak Korean, wrong. Why are all of you so god damn unhappy?" I mutter under my breath, walking over to the counters to find myself a mug.

"죄송합니다," he apologizes. "Bad morning, Kiki go to sleep and scream from bad dream all night, no sleep at all for gun shooter like me. Now he sleep with eyes open like crazy psychopath."

I slowly nod along. At least that answered my question.

After finishing brewing my morning coffee and sitting down, I turn to Taehyung. "So, how did you guys get here? I don't remember you tagging along last night."

"이 크고 발정난 바보들아, leave the door unlocked for thief and criminal to walk in and watch banging. And Kiki had a few too many, he said to come here because all live in south shithole and no place to go for us, so we all went. But nobody was here, not you, not Billie Eilish boy, and we scared to open the sleeping room, so everyone dancing and passed out."

"Everyone?" I furrow my eyebrows. "You mean, there's more people here?"

"Yes. Blondie with Elena Gilbert hair sleeping in the toilet, her boyfriend who snuck onto earth is on couch with cute baby. But very ugly boyfriend, don't speak."

A cackle escapes my throat like a bullet. "Okay thanks, um, whichever one you are."

Deciding I am not interested in spending more time around here, I wrap my fingers around my steaming coffee mug and start walking towards the balcony.

The streets of New York are less crowded than usual.

It's a gloomy weather outside, maybe that's why.

To be completely honest, I've never felt fulfilled when living in the city. It's nice, sure, but spending my days in Chicago is like a memory so full of warmth, it will never die down.

But despite all that, it takes a lot of time, patience and strength for someone to learn how to appreciate the little things. I could care less whether I am standing in a balcony of an apartment or the front porch of a house on the South Side, I'm just glad to smile without guilt. To have awakened my eyes without my mind immediately looking for reasons and excuses to sleep in, allowing air to fill my lungs deep and not feeling regret.

The journey does not end here, though. I should still consider rehab for my addictions, and maybe a good therapist that'd handle all my aches and a psychiatrist to prescribe me with working meds. Someone might have to hold me down as I take them, but if that's what happiness means, so be it.

Difficulty weights me down. I don't know how to start from scratch, I wasn't even supposed to be alive today.

Tiny footsteps and nail scratches enter the balcony, I glance at Hunter, wagging his tail and sitting down in front of me impatiently as if pleading with attention with his big, sparkly eyes.

I gently smile, my hand reaching towards his fluffy ear to scratch behind it.

And for the first time in my life, I think I will be okay.

0 notes

sexually-confused-goblin · 4 months ago

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Thanks for tagging me @no-cinnamon-for-synonym <3 Can't wait to read those fics once they're finished :D

I don't have any smut to share, but the beginning from the next chapter of "Walking a Travelled Path":

“What the fuck just happened?” Harrow couldn’t stop staring at the white assassin’s bindings laying on the floor in front of his former captive. Runaan just stared at his swollen biceps until he blinked up at the human. He looked like a fish out of water. “I am already dead,” the elf mumbled. “I can’t feel anything and the bindings fell off. They don’t just fall off. And they’re still white. I … I must be dead.” “Give it a minute and you’ll realise just how alive you are right now,” Harrow chuckled, already knowing what would await his companion in a moment thanks to a wife and later a son falling asleep on his arm many nights in the past. He pitied the man, but couldn’t help his smirk as understanding visibly dawned on Runaan’s face. “By the moon, how can it hurt more to have all feeling return to my arms than getting them cut off slowly?!” Runaan wheezed, wet eyelashes reflecting the warm light from the fireplace. “I’ll have to apologise to Ethari the next time I see him,” he panted through the almost unbearable tingling in both his arms. “For making him think his husband might never return to him? Or at least not alive? Yeah, definitely,” Harrow laughed. He bent forward to pick up one of the white bindings and inspect it curiously. “Well, that too, I suppose you are right,” the elf groaned, daring to move all eight of his fingers delicately, “However, I was referring to the times my husband had woken up with a numb arm because I had fallen asleep on it. Moon, help me, I didn’t believe it would actually feel this awful every time he complained about it.”

And a bit from my planned Ethari/Runaan/Harrow(/Sarai?)-modern&human-AU:

Ethari had just filled a few pots and bottles with fresh tap water when his phone started blasting the chorus of “In The Shadows” from Beyond The Black, the song Rayla had insisted he and Runaan use as her personal ringtone as soon as her teenage years had started, drowning out the continuous howling of the storm raging outside and the rain hitting the kitchen windows. Quickly drying his hands with a kitchen towel, he stole a look at the clock telling him his foster daughter should actually be sitting in her classroom trying not to fall asleep during Latin lessons. He accepted the girl's call with worry tingeing his voice, “Hey Moonberry, what's wrong?” “Hi Ethari! Soren, stop it! I'll put him on speaker, so get your damn hair out of my face already,” Rayla greeted him, before some shuffling and rustling was all the man could hear for a few moments. “Alright! You’re on speaker, Ethari. Sorry about that, hi again,” sighed Rayla. A wave of several “Hello!"s and “Good afternoon!”s hit Ethari on the other end of the line. The man chuckled, relaxing as it seemed there was no emergency which might have prompted the call, “Hi kids, to what do I owe the honour of you all skipping class?” “We actually got the permission from Mrs. Zubeia,” Callum answered before Rayla continued, “Yeah, we have a slight problem. And with “we�� I mean the whole school. You might have noticed the weather isn’t the best right now?” “What? No way, I hadn’t realised … shit, the laundry!” Ethari’s sarcasm and theatrics earned him a round of chuckles and an exasperated groan from his daughter.

WIP Wednesday

Hi hi! Been a minute since I've shared a WIP!

I recently posted a part two to Grow as we go, a soft hurt/comfort (mostly comfort) fic. Here's a paragraph I especially love:

Runaan paints different types of stars and planets, a galaxy bursting to life along his husband’s arm. Stars shimmer as they dry, planets dance with each twist of Ethari’s wrist. His markings and his own scars set the galaxy alight, comets shooting across his skin. Ethari seamlessly switches his mug to his other hand as Runaan moves to paint his other arm, this time painting a garden of vines. Flowers bloom along them, stems and vines branching out, growing leaves, curling in the crook of Ethari’s elbow.

And I wrote smut for the first time since last year! I wrote a smutfic!! And finished!!! (And so did they 😉) I'm currently working on editing it :D

Runaan comes out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, drying his hair with another towel. Ethari swallows harshly, eyes traveling down his husband's body. Runaan notices and grins, but only comes to sit on the edge of the bed, grin softening.

“How are you feeling?”

Ethari hums. “Better. But perhaps I could use another distraction...”

Runaan’s grin returns in full force as he moves to straddle him. Runaan tosses aside the towel he was using on his hair, draping his arms around Ethari's neck and nosing at his ear.

“Oh? And what did you have in mind?”

Thanks to everyone who keeps tagging me @artsyunderstudy @stitchyqueer @brendughh @noblecorgi @run-for-chamo-miles

@wellbelesbian @hushed-chorus (excited for your CODW!) @forabeatofadrum @larkral @imagineacoolusername

@you-remind-me-of-the-babe @rimeswithpurple 💖💖

Tagging all y'all back plus @hoothalcyon @bazzybelle @no-cinnamon-for-synonym @valeffelees @tea-brigade <22

#i'm sorry i'm posting it after wednesday is already over

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rubyreduji · 2 years ago

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[minors dni]

"w-what are you doing?" chan asks as you lift up his covers and crawl into his bed next to him

"it's cold in my room and you know that i don't handle the cold well" you say as you scoot over to tuck yourself into chan's side. despite his annoyance he still allows you to bury yourself into the space under his arm

"just use a heater"

"it doesn't work the same and your body runs warm. chan please im already here. do you want me to freeze alone and die?"

chan grumbles to himself but doesn't tell you to leave again and you grin as you wrap your limbs around your roommate, trapping his body agaist yours

"ugh this isn't comfortable" chan gripes and pushes you away only to shift your positions and pull you back into him

you're now wrapped up in chan's arms as he spoons you from behind, his arm thrown over your torso and your legs tangled together to maximize body contact so you can steal as much of his warmth as you want. you reach down to slip your hand over chan's, lacing your fingers together as they rest over your stomach

chan tucks his chin over your shoulder and you hum as warmth spreads through your body. you two lay like that for a while until you feel your limbs starting to tingle with numbness and you shift around. you keep shifting, trying to break free from chan's grip until he grabs your hips tightly

"stop moving around" he grunts out

"i'm just trying to get more comfortable, give me a second" you wiggle a bit more but chan hisses and you stop "what is wrong with you?"

you turn your head to look at him but he's not looking at you, instead staring at the wall, his face flushed and the tips of his ears red

then like a lightbulb moment you understand what's happening, your eyes flicking down to his covered crotch and back up to his face. you giggle a big before turning your whole body around so you can face chan directly

"you got a little problem channie? i can help you out. it will help me out too, you know, help me get all warm" you coo as you run your fingertips up his shirt to brush his abs

"y-y/n" chan gasps at the contact of your cold fingers to his stomach

"that is...only if you want help. i get if you don't wan-"

you go to pull your hand out from under chan's shirt but he grabs onto your wrist and forces your hand to stay "i-i want to"

despite being the one to initate the offer, chan's response still has your mouth going dry. the tension between you and your rooommate has reached borderline unbearable as you two do your best to skirt around each other's (very obvious) attraction towards one another

you lean in and press your lips against chan's and he hungrily accepts your kiss, pulling your body close to his as his lips overtake yours. you can feel chan's hard-on rub up against you as you two continue to make out

chan pushes himself up to hover over you, pressing your body into the mattress. he slips one of his hands up your shirt, his warm hand trailing across your bare skin. his pushes it up higher and freezes a second when his fingers brush the curve of your breasts

"you're not wearing a bra" it's not a question, rather an observation

"n-no, i uh came in here right from my bed, i wanted to be comfortable"

"you're just a little tease aren't you? did you want this to happen?" chan pushes his hand up to fully cup your breast in his palm and you gasp a bit

"n-no, but im not mad that it is" chan's thumb brushes over your nipple and you arch your back into his touch

"so pretty like this, what a good girl" chan murmurs as he presses his lips to your neck softly. he nibbles at the skin as his fingers continue to squeeze the supple flesh of your chest

you can feel your body starting to really heat up and your panties start to dampen as chan works at you

"can i take this off?" chan's fingers tug at your shirt and you nod

"only if you take yours off too"

you and chan both move to undress yourselves and despite the bite in the air you now have direct access to chan's bare skin, his body heat nearly radiating off of him and into the space shared between you

you take a moment to appreciate chan's toned body, the way you can see the definition in his muscles. you reach up and run your hands over his pecs before pulling him back down into another kiss

you two take your time exploring each other's mouths as your hands roam over each other's bodies. you let out a small whimper when chan's knee finds its way between your legs and presses right up against your crotch. without meaning to you grind down onto his leg and chan chuckles at you

"look at you, so needy"

"like you aren't" you retort back "getting hard just from some cuddling" you reach in between your bodies to grab chan between his legs, stroking him through his pants, it's now his turn to gasp out, his resolve breaking a bit as he buckles under your touch

you chuckle at chan's reaction only to stop when you feel his dick twitch in your hand

"hey chan?"

"what?"

"please fuck me"

chan's face is bright red now but that doesn't stop him from scrambling to shuck off the rest of his clothes. you giggle and start to strip yourself as well

you glance over at chan's naked form and bite your lip slightly to keep you from smirking. you're not surprised that your roommate looks absolutely delectable when naked, his solid frame flushed and his cock hard against his stomach

you reach down to grab his cock in your hand and you pump a few times before running your thumb over the tip, causing chan to moan low

"there's condoms in the top drawer" chan gasps out while he points at his bed side table

you quickly move to grab on and hand it to chan and he wastes no time rolling it on before he's back on top of you

"god y/n you're so pretty like this" he whispers. his hands trail down your body before he presses his fingertips against your clit and rubs at you slowly. your hips buck up into his hand and you whimper the slightest amount

chan smirks down at you "god you're so wet already, do i really have you that worked up?"

"y-yes chan, please. please fuck me"

"no baby, not yet, i need to prep you first"

"i'm ready chan please, i'm so fucking wet, i promise it'll fit"

"god you're so needy, fine" chan says, but there's no real malice behind it

chan spreads your legs open and lines his cock up to your entrance before gently pushing into you. you both groan as he easily slides through your folds and into your desperate pussy. you're about to tell chan that you told him so but before the words can even leave your lips he's pulling out only to slam his hips right back into yours

"c-chan!" you gasp

"god y/n you feel so good" chan mutters as he starts to find his rhythm, you can't respond because of how good he feels inside of you

chan's mouth finds yours again as he captures you in a kiss. your lips clash together as chan continues to pound into you, one hand on your hip with the other braces his weight

your brain is fogged with nothing but chan as he continously ruts into you. you can taste his tongue in your mouth, smell his cologne filling your nostrils, hear his soft grunts, feel his hands on you and the drag of his cock inside of you. it's nothing but chan, but you don't mind

your own hands grip at chan's back and shoulder muscles, digging your nails into the flesh just so you can ground yourself

even as chan keeps a steady, quick pace fucking into you, you think about how you wouldn't mind just laying here cockwarming him as your bodies press against one another's. you file that idea away for later

you and chan break away from the kiss in a panting mess before chan leans down to rest his forehead on your shoulder. he moves his hand down between you two so he can rub circles into your clit again

your breath is shaky as you feel yourself reaching your climax. you've never cum so fast but you can't help it with chan's incessant digging on your g-spot

all it takes it for chan to lean down and press a kiss to one of your nipples to have you cumming hard on his cock. you moan loudly as you do, your fingers pulling at chan's hair as you do

chan's hips continue to rut into you until he's groaning and relasing his own load while he mouths at your tits

when you've both calmed down form your highs chan pulls out of you gently and disposes of the condom before flopping down on the bed next to you. you roll over so you can face him and you cover his lips with yours. this kiss is softer, sweeter, now that you two aren't wildly desperate for one another

chan's warm hands rub up and down your side in a calming fashion and you press yourself into a little harder. you two continue to exchange soft kisses until chan finally pulls away

"so...were you able to warm up?"

you snort at him a bit before pressing a kiss to his check "hmm...i don't know...maybe we should do that again just to be safe"

and well, you don't have to tell chan twice

606 notes · View notes

noteguk · 4 years ago

Text

bad attitude | jjk | m

[ ! ] this is part of the bad influence collection. You can read it as a stand-alone though!

— summary; in which Jungkook finally learns how to behave. Kind of.

— contents and warnings; pwp, smut, badboy!jk x goodgirl!reader, enemies with benefits/enemies to lovers, brattysub!kook x dom!reader, actually more of a switch!kook/switch!reader, the oc is kind of a demon with teasing because payback is a bitch, bondage, edging, dirty talk, begging, oral (m receiving), female masturbation, cockwarming, unprotected sex (don’t be dumb), creampie, stuffing, Taehyung makes a cameo, terrible use of the two wolves meme I’m so sorry

— words; 7,2k

— author’s note; yes I started this with a meme and no I’m not okay. This is kind of chaotic tbh but I wanted to write something a bit more unhinged and lighthearted after all that drama from the third part of the series. This happens some time after bad reputation.

Also! Take a look at the text messages that brought them to this moment ;)

Probably one of the dumbest things that Jungkook had ever heard came from his roommate and childhood friend, Taehyung, after a few hours scrolling through Facebook with a blunt hanging from the corner of his lips. Taehyung was in the deep web equivalent of social media: entrepreneur pages, where young, overly-dressed men with obviously rented convertibles promised to teach gullible people how to become millionaires by working at home (if you only pay for their courses). Nevertheless, what started as an ironic scroll through shallow motivational quotes quickly escalated into a semi-believable, mostly high rant about the importance of controlling your inner demons, which Jungkook sadly had to endure, since he was the only person around and, therefore, his roommate's sole target.

Taehyung was high out of his mind, but it seemed as if he would be the last to get that memo: in his twisted conception, he was spilling the hottest of truths (and not the incoherent ramble that it really was). Fighting through Jungkook’s complaints and eye rolls, he simply went on and on about how the page “Alpha Billionaire 101” wasn’t really that off beat when they said that you do, in fact, have two wolves inside you — and the one you feed is the one that wins. Jungkook was basically disassociating by the point that Taehyung started drawing some graphs, looking fixedly at the two wolves on the screen of his computer (one written “success and drive” and the other one representing “failure and procrastination”) and wishing that the gods above would strike him down once and for all.

And why is that important? Well, because eventually Taehyung fell asleep and moved on with his life, only casually mentioning the other stuff he saw on that page, but his words stuck around, glued to the back of Jungkook’s head. Not because they held any sort of meaning, but because the wolf metaphor was just too stupid to forget. And that eventually caught up to Jungkook in the strangest, most unexpected of ways: with you and bondage being involved.

Now, Jungkook had two wolves inside of him: one was extremely laid back and barely cared about most things that happened, as long as he was having a good time. The second wolf was a bitter, prideful, egocentric, mean little thing that simply wouldn’t fold no matter how much the world wanted it to. And it was that second wolf that took him to that position: because Jungkook told you that he was positive, certain, a hundred percent sure that he’d never be like you and beg for something during sex.

Which made both of your wolves absolutely pissed.

“What the fuck…” he mumbled, looking up at your agile hands moving like wasps around his wrists. The room was dark, barely illuminated by the moonlight that came from the window, but that wasn’t really the reason why his pupils were so blown-out. “Where did you learn to tie knots like this?”

You smiled, giving a last pull on the ropes to make sure they would stay still. Jungkook had been elated when you finally told him that you’d be willing to try it out bondage. One thing he didn’t expect, though, was that he would be the one getting tied up. “I was in the Girl Scouts,” you told him, sitting back against his thighs.

Jungkook scoffed, tugging at the ropes. They weren’t too tight, yet they burned his skin a bit — not an unwelcome feeling, but his mind wasn’t too focused on it. He had to live up to his own words. “Of course you were in the fucking Girl Scouts.” He rolled his eyes. “So, how long is this gonna take?”

His gaze followed as your hands unclasped your bra. Jungkook, who had already been stripped down to his boxers, could barely disguise the twitching of his eyebrows when your breasts finally came into view. The bra collapsed somewhere on the floor. “Depends on how long it takes for you to say it,” you reminded him.

Jungkook shifted around, gaze following the rise and fall of your chest. His hands struggled against the ropes, aching to touch your breasts, and you could notice the frustration blossoming at the back of his throat when he spoke up. “I’m not gonna say it.”

With a pout, you leaned back in, placing your hands on his broad chest for leverage. “Then it’s probably going to take a long time.” You blinked up at him, and there was a devilish glint in your eyes that he didn’t remember seeing before. He was doomed. “Comfortable?”

“Not at all,” he complained.

The smile you gifted him made his knees weak for a second. “Perfect.” Your hands traveled to the back of his neck, fingers playing with his hair and eyes zeroing in on his mouth. “Now, be good and kiss me like you mean it, okay?”

Be good?

Jungkook didn’t get any time to digest your words before your mouth was pressing against his, enveloping him in your warmth — and suddenly he didn’t want to think about anything else. How could he? When you had your hands caressing his neck, with a soft sigh against his lips, there was nothing else in the world that could rob his attention.

In the end, past his brooding, unshakable persona, Jungkook was still a weak man when it came to you, he really was. It had become a natural, well-rehearsed reaction of his to explore your mouth with his tongue at every chance that he got; your lips slapping together as he groaned against you. The skin of his wrists was tingling, pressing hard against the ropes that held his hands back from exploring your body; from pulling you closer like he wanted to. Instead, he was at your mercy, following your own pace as you leaned your head to the side, fingers tugging on his hair as you sighed happily into the kiss.

It was exactly the way he liked: sensual, slow, messy; made his head spin when you rolled your clothed center on his erection before sucking on his tongue. Jungkook was sure that you were doing all that on purpose, riling him up as much as possible before finally touching him where he needed so much, and that was definitely going to be a problem.

In the back of his head, Jungkook was currently trying to decide if he hated Taehyung or not: the fact that his roommate had compulsively chosen to attend a party three hours away was the reason that you were there, kissing him like he was the air that you breathed, but also the reason why Jungkook had gotten tied up in the first place. If he had had a bit more time between texting you that he would never beg in sex (a very dumb, very unthought action), and the moment that you actually tried to make it happen, perhaps he would be able to convince you to step down from it. Perhaps he would realize that his prideful side was also really, really fucking stupid when it came to predicting his own limits.

Truth was: Jungkook was pretty much panicking when you moaned against his lips, because his cock was unbearably hard inside his underwear and he just knew that he would fold after some time. Especially when you were acting like that, like a demon trying to seduce him into selling his soul; a siren about to drag him to the abyssal depths of the ocean. He could barely follow what was happening.

Because of his dominating tendencies, Jungkook had never seen you showing your typical neurotic, controlling self during your sexual adventures — which was something he endlessly teased you for, but never thought it would actually have any sort of backlash. It seemed that both of you liked the usual dynamic (of Jungkook taking over) well enough and, yet, as he watched that sadistic expression monopolizing your features, he realized that maybe it was for the best. Maybe you had been training your whole life to perfect the masterful art of having things happening the way you wanted it, and maybe giving you the lead was one of the worst decisions he had made in some time.

As you pulled away, Jungkook chased after your mouth, managing to place another small kiss on your lips before the ropes held him back. “More,” he groaned.

The curve of your mouth was a wicked little thing, almost making him lose his composure for a second. “No, no more,” you were firm in your words. “Be patient.”

He huffed. “You only got an attitude because my hands are tied up.”

“I always have an attitude,” you were fast to correct, getting out of his lap. The lack of your warmth was instantly felt, made his chest heave in frustration as you sat down next to him. There was an embarrassingly large wet spot on his underwear that he was hoping you wouldn’t notice. “But, yeah, maybe I’m a little braver because of it.” Before he could muster up a response, one of your hands traveled between his thighs, faintly tracing its way up his skin. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Jungkook clenched his jaw — it was embarrassing how sensitive he was, goosebumps spreading through his legs. “Don’t tease."

“Or what?” A squeeze of his bulge was everything you need to make him shut up, his hips buckling up to meet your palm. Jungkook was hard and leaking, pulsating as you gave him a few, half-assed pumps through his underwear. A few seconds were more than enough to let him have his fun, it seemed, because you were soon removing your hand from his erection. “Now, stay still unless you want me to tie your feet too.”

He hissed at the lack of contact, but refused to complain about it out loud. You smiled at his reaction: Jungkook was so stubborn when it came to things like that, would never show you his weak, needy side so easily. But you were patient and, from what you had been told, you had all night to get your way.

Call it revenge, call it whatever: there was nothing that you wanted more than to see Jungkook bite back his own words and beg for you. It was an ego thing, perhaps, the mission to leave him just as overwhelmed and desperate as he had made you so many times in the past. Maybe you were a bit mean about it. But it was well deserved.

You took your time pulling one of his legs towards you, watching as his cock throbbed when you placed your body between his thighs. Jungkook could only think about how soft your mouth felt as you kissed up his thigh before, at last, you were nuzzling your face against his erection, placing kisses on his clothed member as your thumb pressed down on his sensitive tip. His breath grew irregular at the feeling, his tongue poking out to wet his lips as you looked up at him with that demonic smirk of yours, those big doe eyes that wiped his thoughts clean. Jungkook was absolutely fucked.

Luckily, he didn’t have to urge you further because, soon enough, you were pulling his underwear down, making it join your bra on his bedroom floor. Jungkook could’ve cried when you rolled your thumb over his crown, spreading his precum all over him, a delighted hum dripping past your throat. “You’re leaking,” you commented, eyes following the glistening of his reddened tip. He could only muster a raggedy, short sigh before you were talking again. “I can clean you up, don’t worry.”

Jungkook moaned out when you wrapped your lips around his cock, not hesitating much before you sank down on him. His head fell back when you started sucking, your cheeks hollowing out and tongue pressed flat against him. “God, your mouth feels so fucking perfect.” His hips thrusted up, but you had enough of a reflex to pull away before he managed to hit the back of your throat. “Take it deeper, baby, do it for me.”

But you did the opposite, removing him from your mouth. You glanced up at him with a disinterested look plastered all over your face, lips glossy with a beautiful mixture of your saliva and his wetness. Jungkook made a mental note to never forget that sight. “I don’t know if you understand what’s going on here, Jungkook.” You wrapped one hand around his cock, pumping it twice. It felt good, but nothing compared to your mouth. “But it’s really not your place to tell me what to do right now. That’s not how it works.”

“Yeah?” He chuckled, eyebrows raised in a silent dare. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Poor decisions: Jungkook’s week was filled with poor decisions. Blame that unshakable arrogant side of his, blame his terribly constructed defense mechanisms; blame whatever it was that didn’t allow him to think clearly when you were so beautifully placed between his legs, but it seemed that he really thought it would be a good call to provoke you when you were already 1) deadset on making him embarrass himself 2) probably the best Girl Scout to ever tie a knot in history.

Jungkook was completely helpless: he knew that, you knew that. So the reason why he mocked you in such a position would forever be another mystery that science could never answer.

And the payback arrived soon enough. Jungkook only earned a few seconds of relaxation, staring at your impassive face, before your mouth was sinking back down around his member.

If Jungkook thought that you were teasing him before, now you were sucking him like you wanted him to cum in two seconds — hands pumping his length, playing with his balls, tip hitting your throat, tongue dragging against his slit: the four horsemen of your apocalyptic blowjob technique that got him seeing stars in no time. “Fuck, that’s my girl,” he moaned. He was sure his wrists would be all red in the following morning from the way he was mindlessly moving his arms around, his mind just so hyper-focused on the need to touch you, to pull your hair when you were wrapping around his cock so well. “Feels so fucking perfect.”

Then, as he was just about to tip over, you pulled away.

“No, what the fuck,” Jungkook’s eyes snapped open, still unfocused and glazed-over. His body flinched at the interruption of his pleasure, and his cock throbbing against his pelvis, angry for attention. “Fuck, why did you stop?”

“That’s what I’m going to do about it.” You smiled, and Jungkook noticed that he was really playing a very dangerous game. In a span of two seconds, he asked himself if he was that mean to you, realized that he probably was, and came to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t change anything about it. “Are you going to behave now, Jungkook?”

He groaned, fighting against the frustrated waves that overtook his body. His orgasm, before so close, had now been washed away, leaving him with a pulsating feeling inside his guts. “You’re pissing me off.”

“Likewise.” You tilted your head to the side, placing one hand on his thigh. “Now, stay still and do what I tell you to do. That’s the last time I’m asking.”

He frowned. “Or what?”

You blinked, pausing for a second. “Isn’t it obvious? Or I’m leaving you like this.”

Jungkook’s brain finally seemed to comprehend the fact that, sometimes, it’s better to keep your mouth shut. So, instead of saying something, he simply watched as you removed your underwear before sitting between his legs, your thighs over his.

Because you absolutely hated him, you had opened your legs wide, pussy on full display, as you used one hand to lean back against the mattress. His eyes almost jumped out of their sockets when you used two fingers to spread your folds apart. “Look,” you said, your breathy voice making something inside his chest switch. “I’m so wet.”

And wet you were. Jungkook exhaled, nostrils flaring. His mouth salivated at the thought of licking you clean, fingers growing white around the ropes. He never hated an object so hard in his life. “I can… I can see that.”

You giggled at the grogginess of his tone, dove into the satisfaction that came from his focused eyes on your soaked folds. A gentle suspire left you as your digits slipped up, covering your clit with your arousal before pressing down on it. You were acting up a bit, whining loudly at the feeling because you knew that it drove him crazy to hear you make sounds for him. “Jungkook…” you trailed off. You had to bite back a laugh when his stare snapped up at you, looking so overwhelmingly horny and pissed off at the same time — the duality of men. “Want to have you inside me.”

He exhaled heavily. “Do it,” he said and you allowed him to think that it was his order (and not your decision) that made you move.

Jungkook’s pupils were blown out in sheer desire, wanting to absorb every light that bounced off your soft skin when you lined yourself with his cock, covering his tip with your warm wetness, allowing it to rub between your folds. By the time that you sat down on him, he was dangerously close to cracking.

“Oh fuck.” His hips thrusted up, wanting to feel more of your tight walls around him. It was heaven and hell, just the way he loved it, but his delight wouldn’t last long. “Fuck, baby, that feels so good.”

“It does,” you agreed, but there was a teasing inflection in your tone that he did not miss. Soon, your fingers were back where they were before, circling your clit. “And I happen to know how to make it even better. For myself, at least.”

It took him a few moments to understand what was going on, but, once it clicked inside his head, he could’ve cried from frustration. “What are you doing?”

“Getting myself off.” You smiled — oh you were such a fucking demon, he thought, a trickster spirit that wouldn’t rest until he was begging you to let him cum. Worst part? He might as well do it. “You don’t mind, do you? I know you love to keep your cock inside me like this.”

They say that revenge is sweet and, as you saw the flash of desperation that crossed Jungkook’s face, you couldn’t agree more. “Aren’t… aren’t you going to move?” He tried.

You could tell that he was holding back from just thrusting up inside you, which was equally satisfying and arousing: maybe, just maybe, he was starting to learn one thing or two about following your orders. “Hmmm… not at all.” You smirked, a tiny gasp leaving your lips as you circled your sensitive spot just the right way. Jungkook followed the movement of your lips as if they were writing the secrets of the universe. “Not if you keep that attitude up.”

He frowned, the corners of his mouth twitching in frustration. From your peripheral vision, you could see his wrists vaguely struggling against your knots — humbly speaking, you were a great Girl Scout, the typical overachiever, and you were positive that they would hold up.

“You’re going to regret this later,” Jungkook warned, but his words didn’t even have the chance to affect you. One clenching of your walls around him was all that it took for his head to roll back, a deep grunt dripping from his mouth at the sensation. It was just enough to keep him dangling over the edge, but not even close to making him cum. “Your pussy is so fucking tight, baby. Feels so fucking good.”

“I’m almost there, that’s why.” Your other hand slithered up your waist, cupping one of your breasts. Being a bit more theatrical than necessary (because you wanted to provoke him as much as you could), you gasped out his name as you rolled one nipple between your fingers, arching your back at the sensation. You swore you saw Jungkook’s eye twitch. “Gonna cum just like this. And you’re gonna be good and watch me.”

Again with that be good bullshit, again not giving him enough time to process it before you were timidly rolling your hips. “Baby,” he gasped. “This isn’t fair.”

“It isn’t,” you agreed, slightly breathless, your hand moving to play with your other breast. Jungkook followed the action like every part of you was magnetic, calling for his attention. “You do that to me all the time, though.”

He frowned. “But I let you fucking touch me.”

“How nice of you,” you sarcastically remarked. Another small roll of your hips made you gasp, fingers working faster around your clit. Teasing Jungkook got you shamefully turned on, it seemed, because you were just about to tip over the edge. “Fuck, feels so good.”

“It would feel so much better if you just— God, you’re so fucking wet,” his mind was barely functioning at that point, the heavenly feeling of your walls clenching around him was making him go insane. “Just ride my cock, baby.”

“No,” that simple word was like an arrow, shooting all his hopes down. Jungkook closed his eyes and threw his head back, trying to fight against the claustrophobic nature of his position. There was no way he could hold himself back, he thought, he would beg you as many times as he needed it that was what it took for him to finally cum. “I’m close, Kook.”

That whimpery, needy tone of yours would be the death of him one of those days. “I can fucking feel it,” he cursed. Jungkook just wanted to thrust inside your dripping pussy, make you cream his cock like you were made for it, but he knew that you would just stop everything again if he did so, and he seriously didn’t think he could take that. “S-Shit, baby, you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

But you had a good idea of how you were affecting him. Through parted lids, you watched as his face contorted in pleasure when you squeezed particularly tightly around him; a muffled sob perishing on his throat when you vaguely raised your hips. Jungkook was filling you up so perfectly, like he always did, and it was that amazing stretch of his cock inside you, combined with the clear hunger that covered his features, that pulled your climax towards you.

The orgasm that washed over you was abrupt, overbearing, just blinding enough so you didn’t notice the weak little moans that Jungkook let out at the throbbing of your walls around his aching length. You tried to prolong it for as long as possible, rubbing yourself, crying out his name for theatrical reasons, but eventually sensitivity got the best of you and you stopped.

What you found when you did, however, was a glorious sight. Jungkook was a perfect picture of lust and desperation, his chest rising and falling rapidly and eyes locked on where your two bodies joined. There was a thin coat of sweat all over his skin, the small sound of the ropes pulling on the headboard. When he noticed you were staring, he found your gaze. “I- I stood still,” he said.

“I know, you did so good.” You placed one hand on his cheek, leveling your face with his so you could kiss him. Jungkook melted under your touch, a deep sigh leaving his mouth as you pulled away, his cock still deep inside you. “I’m proud of you.”

As if something had magically changed, Jungkook tried to fight against his immobilized hands, only to find out that he was still unable to free himself. “Wanna touch you so bad, baby. You look so fucking hot sitting on my cock like this.” Jungkook was spoiled, you realized, because it didn’t take him two seconds of good behavior to revert back to what he wanted to happen. It was a terrible habit, you realized, one that you probably helped enable. “Fuck, just let me cum, baby. Take these off and I’ll fuck you just the way you like it.”

And maybe if you weren’t so high up in your power rush, you would’ve at least considered his offer. However, having Jungkook turned into a pliant mess beneath you was worth more than anything else at that moment. “I’ll think about it if you say the magic word.”

He frowned, his charm melting away. Jungkook was so adamant on having it his way that it bordered on a joke. “Not gonna do it.”

You kissed him once again before speaking up. “Then we don’t have a deal.” You shook your head, moving away from him. Jungkook searched after your mouth, but your stupid Girl Scouts knots didn’t allow him to go much further. He collapsed back against the headboard with a frustrated groan. “You’re a terrible sub.”

“Maybe because I’m not a fucking sub— Shit.” All his thoughts were wiped clean when you slowly raised your hips, only leaving his engorged tip inside, before, finally, sitting back down. The drag of your velvety walls against his sensitive cock was driving Jungkook up the wall, his tied-up wrists mindlessly knocking against each other. “Fuck. I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” You pouted, repeating the movement. You watched as his jaw clenched, a sharp exhale leaving his nostrils as Jungkook both fought against and searched for his pleasure. “Sure you don’t wanna say it?”

A deliciously slow roll of your hips got him gasping out. “I’m not gonna — fuck — not gonna say it.”

You leaned your head to the side, stopping your movements. Jungkook’s abdomen was caving in with every small brush of your pussy around him, the illumination from the streets making the drops of sweat on his skin look like small diamonds. It was an erotic sight, from the falling of his dark hair over his hooded eyes, to the beautiful inked drawings on his arms. Unfortunately, you had other things to do other than to admire him endlessly.

With a sigh, you got up from his lap. “Too bad.”

“Baby,” Jungkook whined — actually whined — when he felt his cock slip out of your perfect heat, collapsing against his abdomen. The sensation got him flinching, made him bite his lip for a second in an attempt to compose himself. “Baby, don’t leave me like this, come on.”

You frowned, faking annoyance. “How can I not leave you like this, Jungkook?” Your palms slithered around his shoulders, pulling your body closer to his. “You’re being horrible right now.”

“S-Sorry.” His breath caught in his throat when your mouth met the skin of his neck, tongue prodding out to lick a small trail up his skin. Your heat was unbearable, suffocating him and drowning out his thoughts to the point that he had really apologized for his poor demeanor. If your predictions were correct, it wouldn’t take long before he folded the way you wanted him to. “Just, come on, you can’t just— I’m just so hard right now.”

You giggled, fingertips moving down on his chest until you found what you were looking for. “Aw. Poor thing,” you teased, feeling as he grew stiff when you started to play with his nipples. A few weeks back, you had made the wonderful and unexpected discovery that Jungkook was really sensitive there, but you never really had a chance to explore that side of him before he flipped you over and had you his way. But the universe always searched for balance, and that moment was the karmic payback you were looking for. “What’s the problem, Kook?”

“Wanna cum.” He winced away from your faint caresses, but he really didn’t have anywhere else to go. A smirk curled up on your lips as you watched Jungkook fight against the knots, a frail, airy moan leaving his chest as you rolled his nipples between your fingers. He sounded so perfect: so needy and desperate that you could feel another gush of arousal accumulating between your folds. “Just wanna cum so bad, baby.”

“I’m not gonna be mean and hold it off,” you told him, moving back so you could place a kiss against his pouty, swollen lips. Jungkook looked so beautifully messy, so on edge, that you almost cried out at the sight of it. “You just have to say it,” you told him, lowering your hips until you were straddling his cock.

With a roll of your pussy against him, his cock brushed between your wet folds, tearing a broken sob from his throat. “Fuck,” Jungkook cursed. He was never in a position like that: edged for so long that he couldn’t even control the grunts that left his throat. “You’re so fucking evil.”

“You love it.” Another grind of your pussy had him throwing his head back, a loud moan ripping itself from his heaving chest. Jungkook was sensitive, responsive to the tiniest of your touches and, most of all: he was desperate, seconds away from cracking. “You know, if you say it, I’ll let you cum.”

His cock throbbed against you when you finally stopped your movements, raising your hips so your center moved away from his. Jungkook complained at the lack of sensation, practically on the limit of throwing a tantrum, and his pelvis mindlessly buckling up in search of your warmth. Instead, he found nothing, and his member simply collapsed back against his abdomen, aching for its release.

“This— This is torture,” he groaned. You giggled at his distress, taking one hand to brush away the sweaty hair from his forehead. Jungkook leaned into your touch. “Please, baby, just fuck me.”

Your ears perked up at that, a pool of arousal starting to grow between your legs. That sounded even better than you had predicted. “Sorry, what was that?” You teased.

Jungkook closed his eyes, clenching his jaw. “Don’t make me say it again.”

Slowly, you lowered your hips again, pressing your pussy against his cock. Jungkook reacted instantly, taking in a sharp inhale. “Didn’t hear you,” you said.

“God, baby, just fuck me, please,” he finally broke down, his dazed-out gaze seemed to have some trouble focusing on your face. Desperation was plastered all over him, staring at you like a beautiful, shimmering trophy. “Please, just let me cum. Please.”

You hummed, leaning away so you could sit on his thighs, facing his erection. You were a woman of your word: you said you wouldn’t hold it back, and you wouldn’t. “Since you asked so nicely…” you trailed off, one hand wrapping around his base, pumping him a few times. Jungkook throbbed in your hands, his abdomen sinking as your thumb grazed his sensitive crown. “Where do you wanna cum?”

It looked like you had truly broken the poor boy down because, for the first time in his life, Jungkook didn’t have any idea on how to answer that question. “I- I don’t know,” he struggled to speak when your hand was still caressing his member: just enough for him to feel something, but too slow and light for him to actually cum. “Anywhere. Just wanna cum.”

You pouted, letting his cock go. It bounced on his pelvis, tore a painful cry from his throat as he felt his pleasure wash away once again. “I need an answer, Kook.”

And he said the first thing that came into his mind. “Your pussy, baby, please.”

A smile tugged on your lips — it seemed as if that word wasn’t so hard to say anymore. “Of course, you’ve been so good.” You moved around until you were sinking down on him, feeling that fantastic stretch all over again, and earning a shaky moan from his part. You only spoke up again after you were sure he couldn’t go any deeper. “Kook?” You called. His pleading eyes shot up at you. “Wanna fuck me?”

He breathed out, just a tremulous gush of air that he could barely get ahold of. “Y-Yes, yes, please.”

You hummed, wiggling your ass around just so you could watch his face contort in despair, crumbling under the delicious drag of your plump walls around his cock. Jungkook almost looked cute, you dared to think, even if you were sure he would fold you in half the second that he got those ropes off. It was like teasing a tiger in a zoo: people only felt brave enough to do it because there was a thick glass between them. “You better do it, then,” you told him.

After everything you had put him through, Jungkook seemed almost hesitant to do so. “C-Can I move?” He asked, just to be sure. Last thing he needed was to do something wrong and have you walking out on him. His cock was so hard, leaking inside you, and he didn’t believe that he could handle being left like that.

“Of course,” you told him, the tenderness of your voice so different from what you sounded like all night. Jungkook was still on the palm of your hand, but your victory when it came to making him beg had already been achieved. So you could relax and let him do the heavy lifting for once. Being active was exhausting sometimes. “Come on, Kook,” you egged him on, leaning forward so you could find support on his chest. You knew what was coming. “Fuck me.”

That seemed to be the last spark he needed to ignite his fire because, soon enough, he was placing both feet on the mattress and thrusting upwards, your body collapsing forward under the force of his movements. Jungkook barely gave you any time to breathe: he fucked you fast and deep, helped by the gravity of your weight above him; shallow breaths and noisy whines leaving his mouth in a beautiful cacophony of sounds. It wasn’t long before he was making you bounce on his cock, pretty moans melting upon your lips as you fought to keep your balance over him.

“B-Baby,” Jungkook stammered, an airy, high-pitched moan sounding from his parted mouth. His brain was utterly bewildered by the movement of your body above his own, the bouncing of your breasts and the wild fluttering of your eyelashes. And those moans, those gorgeous, ethereal little sounds that you reserved just for him. “S-So perfect. All mine.”

“All yours,” you said promptly, struggling to meet his gaze. No matter how much you tried, you could not follow the speed of his thrusts, so you simply kept your body in place as he used it as he pleased. “Is this what you wanted?”

He nodded, mouth falling open. His lips were pouty and swollen, slightly red from the way he had bitten them before. “Wanna cum,” he breathed out, “inside you.”

No pretty please, you realized. Perhaps it wasn’t your best call to ask him to fuck you, because it dawned on you that you had just handed Jungkook his esteemed control back on a silver platter. That started simply as a doubt in the corners of your mind, however, you were sure that you had lost that battle once his needy whimpers started to wash away, instead replaced by the guttural, rough groans that he usually presented to you.

Not that you truly cared about it: you had already proven your point.

His head leaned to the side, pressing against his elevated arm. Jungkook was hypnotized by the way that your bodies met, the way you held yourself up so he could fuck himself inside you. You were always so good for him. “Your pussy feels so fucking amazing, baby,” Jungkook moaned out, hips snapping up against yours. A hiss dripped from his mouth when he felt you clench around him, signaling that you were close once again. “Look so pretty. Made for my cock.”

“Y-Yes,” you stammered, head falling back. You could feel that familiar tingling at the bottom of your stomach, your orgasm ready to snap once more. Jungkook always fucked you so well, even when his hands were tied up, always left your brain scrambling after the most basic of words. “I’m c-close.”

Jungkook tried once more to pull at his restraints, but it simply wouldn’t bulge. The contrast between the red ropes and the dark ink decorating his skin was beautiful, the veins of his hands getting thicker as tugged again and again. Jungkook was beyond the realms of reason by that point, struggling like a caged animal because there was nothing else in the world that he wanted more than to touch; to suck your breasts and to fuck you the way he wanted to. “Gonna cum too, baby,” his voice was almost a roar, deep and frustrated. It shot straight up to your core, made you tip over the edge and come down spasming around his cock, your high washing over you. “That’s it, cream my cock,” he praised. In the background of your overwhelmed state, you could feel as his member throbbed inside you, ready to release. “Take everything for me, alright? Wanna fill you up.”

You barely had any time to nod before he was spilling himself inside you, a long, throaty moan dripping like sin from his lips. Jungkook tried to keep his movements up for a bit longer, delighting himself in the way you winced at the feeling, but even he had grown too tired to continue it. So, at last, he collapsed back against the mattress, sweaty hair falling over his eyes.

“Get up,” he commanded, breathless. “Let me see it.”

With shaky movements, you did as he requested, planting one hand on his thigh so you could raise your body. His cock slipped out at the motion, already softening, but his gaze was stuck on the gradual dripping of his cum between your pussy lips. As much as you were used to that specific request, it always made your legs weak when you looked at him during that part — no matter what happened before, Jungkook always had that maniac expression plastered all over his face, like the mere image of his cum slipping out of you was enough to send him into a frenzy all over again. And, most times, it was.

“Good girl,” his dark stare slowly navigated towards your eyes. His arms were surprisingly still, no longer battling against the ropes, and there was something ominous about that. “Push it back in.”

Because you didn’t want to anger him any further, you agreed. It was almost impressive how quickly Jungkook was able to take back his control: even with him being immobilized, you were still folding and following his wishes like it was your second nature. “Like this?” You asked, using two of your fingers to stuff his cum back inside.

“Yeah, just like that.” He breathed out, the final seconds of his exhale morphing into a low growl. “Now, ___,” he called, eyes still glued to your pussy. “Untie me.”

You almost wanted to go against that, given the way he was about to break you in half, but that wasn’t probably the brightest of ideas. A bit nervous, you moved off his lap and sat down next to him, hands flying to undo the knots. “Hang on,” you requested. From the corners of his vision, you could see Jungkook staring you down, his piercing eyes focused on your face, silently watching you through the curtain of his black hair. At last, you managed to undo the ropes, the thick material falling beside you as Jungkook lowered his arms and started to massage his wrists. “How are your hands? I hope it wasn’t—“

“Lay down.” He interrupted, dry. Your mouth fell shut — none of your usual sarcastic remarks finding their way past the lump in your throat.

The softness of the pillow was a welcomed sensation, but your body could not relax, not when Jungkook was still looking at the pink marks on his inked skin, thinking about what he was going to do to you. You waited for what seemed like hours until he finally moved around, arms on either side of your head and chest pressed flush against yours. Jungkook’s heat was asphyxiating, his nose bumping against yours as he placed a small, tender kiss on your lips. He was being too calm, you noticed that instantly; still waters with sharks swimming underneath.

“Silly girl,” he mumbled against your mouth, fingers pressing on either side of your jaw. Jungkook pulled your mouth open, thumb caressing your lower lip as he stared down at you like an arrogant monarch. You felt terribly small, shrinking under his presence. “It’s not my hands that you should be worrying about.” He smirked, and his thumb paused its tender motions on your lip. He sighed. “Now that you had your fun, I’m gonna have mine.”

Jungkook was right: his wrists were red the next day. He naively thought that no one would be able to see it through his tattoos, but Taehyung, even in his hungover stupor, had his detective eye ready and noticed the marks right away. There was absolutely no way all his crime documentaries made him such an expert, Jungkook thought, but couldn’t really be sure of it.

“You know… things like this only make me more curious,” Taehyung said after Jungkook had refused to tell him who had come over the previous night. He was munching on his sandwich like his life depended on it, brows furrowed into a perfect picture of concentration. There was jelly all over his mouth, pulling up the corners of his lips and making Taehyung look like a terrible, discount copy of the joker. “Like, a chick tied you up? Come on, I have to meet someone like that. It’s a matter of, like, survival, some alpha wolf bullshit—“

“Fuck off,” Jungkook cut him short, burying his face on his hands. He was too tired to deal with any of that. “I never want to hear about you or your wolves ever again.”

check out the rest of the bad influence collection!

taglist > @minyoongiboongi @bvrrym0re @marcoazam2 @shojotae @youurkryptonite @fan-ati--c @btstrasht @crazy4myself @ft-multi @kooafraid @dianaaviny @ggukkieland @cryinginmypromdress @kissestothesky @imluckybitches @gyukult @jinsalpaca @0901-1230 @we8joon @gamerkooks

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skyloftian-nutcase · 2 years ago

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What is Lost and What is Bound (Legend of Zelda & Linked Universe fanfic)

My Fierce Deity headcanons demanded I start writing stories and the like, so here we are. This can be read as an origin story for the Hero of Time in Linked Universe because it’s canon compliant with that AU (so it’s not quite as crack/goofy as the headcanon post, because Jojo seems to have a darker tone set for the mask), BUT it can also just be a Legend of Zelda story featuring the Hero of Time after his adventures. Whatever suits your fancy!

Summary: Everyone makes mistakes. When Link’s mistake costs him an eye, a fierce deity decides it’s time to take things into his own hands.

The blade breaches his defense faster than he can register it. The next thing he knows, searing heat erupts on his face, stinging and burning and tearing into him. White spots cloud his vision, he hears a scream rip its way out of his throat, and he falls back. He tastes bile and blood, and he feels the thick, warm liquid stain his chainmail and undertunic. His eyes are closed, the pain unbearable, but he has to get up because the enemy is still there and he will die if he does nothing.

He hears shuffling feet, panting breaths, chainmail and armor clinking, and his heart skips a beat. The turncoat Hylian knights are still coming for him, and he has to get up.

Fumbling in his pouch for a potion, Link rolls to the side instinctively in an attempt to just keep moving despite having both eyes squeezed shut. The pain is overwhelming and agonizing, and he can’t think straight. His hip bumps against something in his adventure pouch and it seems to pierce into him. He searches his pouch frantically, he can’t find a bottle to save his life, but his hand slips over smooth wood, and he registers that its shape is that of one of his masks.

His fingers tingle at the sensation, and the pain is numbed for a moment. The mask seems to be burning, radiating heat into his fingers that travels up his arm like electricity. His entire arm starts to shake and spasm, the sheer power of the mask seeming to already try to take over his body. A persistent, nagging thought buzzes in his brain, like a distant cry, screaming let me handle this.

The Fierce Deity.

Link hasn’t used the mask since the War of Ages years ago. He used it so extensively during that time it almost became instinctual to lose himself to the battle, and it had scared him. He’d sworn to lay off it since then.

But this… desperate times called for desperate measures. If he doesn’t do something quickly he is going to die. And he will not leave Malon a widow, not just a year into their marriage.

Link doesn’t hesitate. He has to be decisive, he has to act.

His fingers grasp the mask, dragging it out of the pouch and practically slamming it against his face. The power of the mask engulfs him, making him scream in pain, but then it eases, like the pain of having an arrow pulled from a wound and the blessed relief that comes after the offending object is out and a potion is trickling down his throat. He feels himself slip away, tucked in a warm embrace and safe and not having to worry about anything at all. He feels his body move, he hears screams, but he can’t quite focus, can’t quite tell what is happening, can’t quite connect sensation to thought to reality.

Is that blood still trickling down his face? Is that scream his own? Is that dizziness from moving and fighting, or is it from floating in this daze of being and not-being? Despite the warmth and safety this state brings, there is still a sickly otherworldly sensation that accompanies it, and the small but ever present panicked words of you’re not in control anymore gnawing in the back of his mind, pulling him down and freezing him in place like a ReDead’s scream or a Dead Hand.

This state is safe, this state is agonizing. This state is warm, this state is cold. He feels everything and nothing. His world spins and is still, roars and is silent. He’s forgotten it was like this, it’s been so long since he’s worn any of his masks from Termina. He used to hear whispers, voices of those who were once cursed, voices of the masks. He could never quite understand them, but after he’d stopped wearing them they’d faded. Now he suddenly hears whispers again, soft, deep, gentle, soothing, but dangerous.

Abruptly, it shifts.

Link gasps, dizzy and nauseous. The last thing he truly felt was rolling in the rocky ground and pulling the mask out of his pouch, but now the ground is soft, a warm something draped over him, and the world is dark. Itchy cloth nags the right side of his face, and he blearily opens his left eye, wincing at the ache he receives in his right eye under the cloth.

He takes in his surroundings quickly. He’s in bed somewhere foreign, a small room with no weapon in sight. A bowl and bandages are on the nightstand, alongside a lit candle that is at the end of its wick, the flame slowly dying. Link reaches up and feels that the itchy fabric on his face is, in fact, a bandage cut from the same roll on the nightstand. He remembers the fight, abruptly, remembers the pain in his face, and a cold dread and worry sink into his gut. Slowly, he unravels the gauze and grabs the bowl, seeing that it is filled with water, and gazes into his reflection.

He’s horrified at the sight, but he doesn’t have time to really understand the ramifications of the markings, the horrendous scar and swollen shut eye, when he hears a voice.

“Ah. So, you’re finally awake.”

XXX

Nabooru cusses as she runs.

Idiots, the lot of them. She hates all of Ganondorf’s leftover followers, but she hates them even more now that they have started dragging Hylians into the conflict.

She’d only just heard about a group of Ganondorf’s followers bribing some corrupt knights into hunting down the child who was responsible for their leader’s imprisonment and execution. It’s already wrong, Nabooru has no way of knowing how old this kid is at this point, but even if this boy is no longer a child, he is friends with the queen, and this sort of act would absolutely drag the Gerudo into a war.

Nabooru has enough problems to deal with; a Hylian-Gerudo war is not one she wants to add to that list.

She knows that the band of dishonorable knights were tracking the child, and she knows they were in this vicinity recently. She just has to catch up to them and kill them before they can reach their target.

But then she hears swords clashing. She hears grunts and cries, cuts and falls, the syncope of battle with the harmony of bloodshed. She cusses again.

She is scaling a hill when she hears a yell louder than the rest, and it makes her body jolt with a sickening realization. She hurries her pace in time to see a figure on the ground surrounded by knights. Her heart skips a beat.

Drawing her scimitars, she makes a beeline for the group before they can finish off this person, who is likely the target she is trying to protect. Before she can reach the group, she sees a knight lift his blade to finish the job when the young man on the ground pulls out what looks like a mask and puts it to his face.

The world changes in an instant.

The young man on the ground screams, and the act catches the knights off guard. Golden locks bleach to white, golden armor stains to silver, green clothes bleed into blue. The only thing that stays the same is the sticky crimson liquid that is dripping down his face and neck, but it no longer has a source – whatever wound the young man sustained is sealed, scar tissue covering his right eye.

His sword, discarded, warps and shifts, splintering and entwining into a double helix blade, and he grabs it in the heartbeat it takes the knights to register this strange change. He sweeps his blade across the crowd around him, and bodies fall in halves as if he had sliced through butter.

Nabooru freezes, blades half raised, confused and horrified.

And that’s when this man, this monster, turns to face her. His right eye is closed under the cut that mars his face, but his left eye is a white socket, no iris or pupil to be seen, and she feels a shiver run down her spine.

Gulping, Nabooru steels herself and raises her blades defensively. “I’m not here to hurt you. Are you… are you Link?”

The monster pauses, waits. His brow, deeply furrowed in rage, starts to relax. “Who are you?”

“My name is Nabooru,” she says evenly, not lowering her guard. “I’m the leader of the Gerudo people. I had heard there was a plot to assassinate you and I came trying to stop it. It seems… that wasn’t necessary.”

The white haired man turns to face her fully, and she gets a look at the strange markings on his face as he stabs his blade into the ground. When he releases the hilt, she finally starts to lower her own weapons.

“You came here to defend Link?”

Nabooru blinks, confused. So this isn’t Link? She isn’t entirely surprised, not expecting a Hylian to be like this monster, but still. “Yes. Where is he?”

“That isn’t the point,” the man snaps, danger in his tone. Nabooru flinches, but she won’t be intimidated by this creature, whatever he is – he certainly isn’t Hylian, but she’s dealt with monsters before. “The point is that you are not a threat to him.”

“No,” she answers honestly. “I’m not.”

The man huffs out an irritated breath, crossing his arms. Though it’s unclear where his blank gaze falls, the slight tilt of his head towards the ground implies he’s staring just at her feet, thinking.

The two stand in silence for a time, and Nabooru shifts awkwardly. “Look, I need to make sure Link’s safe—”

“He is.”

“Your word isn’t enough assurance.”

A small smile pulls at one corner of his mouth, and the creature moves his head to seemingly look at her again. “You seem a sincere woman. For your sake, it had better be true. But my word is all you will get.”

Nabooru’s hands settle on her scimitars as she grows agitated. “You can question my motives all you like, monster. I am not here for you.”

“Oh?” he tilts his head to the side, motioning behind him, his face darkening. “Perhaps you’re here for them? You can collect the pieces if you like.”

“I’m not here to bury the dead,” Nabooru replies. “Just to protect the living.”

“They deserve no burial,” the white haired man suddenly hisses, and his face contorts in rage, and then he takes a measured breath to calm himself. “Protection is my duty as well, Lady Nabooru. I assure you, Link is safe. Go about your business.”

“Link is my business.”

The monster raises an eyebrow, his left hand slowly creeping closer to his blade.

Nabooru rolls her eyes. “In terms of protection. For Din’s sake, are you always this moody? It was a group of Hylians who attacked you, I don’t know why you’re thinking a Gerudo woman is in league with them.”

The man blinks, his hand falling to his side, not relaxed but not ready to fight. “Those terms mean nothing to me.”

“What, do you live under a rock?” Nabooru snaps. This conversation is going nowhere – assuming the man is telling the truth then she shouldn’t worry, but she has to confirm that there is no more threat to the kid. All she knows right now is that she stumbled onto a fight of some sort between Hylian knights and this creature. For all she knows he’s a menace to Hyrule. Hyrule’s affairs are its own, but she has to find Link. She can’t do that when her queries are consistently redirected.

“A mask, actually,” comes the dull reply, and Nabooru rolls her eyes again.

“I know for a fact that people are hunting him,” Nabooru explains again. “The only way I can be certain that he is safe, the only way that I can return home is to track him down and ensure that nothing has happened, that nothing will happen.”

“And how exactly is this assassination attempt supposed to happen?”

“Hylian traitors,” Nabooru spits, disgusted at the thought. It isn’t surprising to her, just another testament to people’s idiocy. It reminds her too much of the fools who followed the colossal sorcerous moron who wanted to claim the Triforce.

The creature blinks again, his expression almost resembling exasperation or some kind of sarcastic reply, and he grabs his sword. Nabooru tenses, drawing her blades immediately, but the man turns and instead digs his blade into a knight’s torso as if he were skewering a piece of meat. He holds the corpse up for her appraisal. “You mean like this?”

Nabooru feels her stomach roll. She is no strange to battle and bloodshed, but the sheer disrespect of the dead that this monster is displaying is almost enough to make her ill. But the realization hits her immediately after, and she pushes aside the sickening gesture. “Wait – they’re the ones who were after Link?”

“They hurt him.” The man hisses, his tone dripping with poison. His blade hums with energy, and the torso bursts into flames. Nabooru takes a startled step away from the grizzly sight.

Shaking her head, she tries to refocus. “If he’s hurt, then we need to attend to him.”

He narrows his white orb for an eye, the cut on his face pulling and leaking blood. “Why do you seek to protect him?”

“I want to maintain peace between my people and his,” she explains. “Relations with the Gerudo are tense. I do not wish to make it worse. I know Link is a very important member of Hylian society, and I don’t want my people taking the blame for his injury.”

“Why would your people take the blame?”

Great. She might have backed herself into a corner on this one. Sighing, she relents. “Certain traitors in my own land are trying to avenge their fallen lord, whom Link got arrested many years ago. They are the ones who bribed the Hylian traitors. Once I learned of the plot, I eliminated the treasonous Gerudo. I was trying to ensure the Hylians were taken care of as well so Link would remain safe.”

Slowly, the monster lowers his blade, the flesh of the skewered knight burn to cinders. Bones rattle off the blade loosely, and Nabooru again fights the urge to vomit.

The man hums, and places his sword on his back, crossing his arms. “You’ll have to earn my trust in order to get to Link.”

Nabooru wants to argue, growing impatient, but given what she’s seen this monster do, she decides not to. Instead, she sheaths her scimitars and shrugs. “Fine.”

The man claps abruptly, making her jump. “Great! Let’s go fishing.”

She blinks. “What?”

“Fi-shing,” he repeats slowly with emphasis on each syllable as if she’s never heard of the term. “I like fishing.”

She feels her face burn in exasperation and annoyance. “Didn’t you say Link is hurt?!”

He shrugs. “He’s safe now. I’m protecting him.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.”

“Do you want to go fishing or not?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“You can always leave.”

“Fishing it is.”

As they walk, Nabooru finds herself marveling at how this day is probably one of the most insane of her life. Then she glances at the towering figure beside her and motions to his face. “You gonna do something about that blood?”

He licks his lips, tasting the blood lingering from the seemingly innocuous scar cutting through his right side. He hums. “I lent him my eye. He’ll be fine.”

“You did what?” Nabooru asks.

The monster huffs, suddenly annoyed, and shakes his head. “Never mind.”

Wait a damn minute.

“The mask,” Nabooru says, stopping dead in her tracks. “You’re a result of the mask, aren’t you? That was Link being attacked!”

The creature shrugs. “I change hair color a lot.”

Nabooru faces him fully, crossing her arms. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“Well, I can assume as much.”

Nabooru blows out a breath, enraged. “Why you—”

The creature smiles innocently. “I have a great talent for changing my hair color.”

“Then make it purple.”

“I don’t like purple.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m not! Purple is not my color.”

“Fine. Blue.”

His mouth becomes a thin line. “I’m already wearing blue.”

Nabooru rolls her eyes for the millionth time since she’s met this anomaly. “You’re ridiculous.”

The man laughs, and it makes her jump in surprise. It’s a booming sound, but not an unpleasant one. “That’s one I haven’t heard in quite a while.”

“Can you at least tell me your name?” she asks suddenly, trying to trip him up. If he’s an enchanted item, he won’t have a name except for his bearer’s.

He hums, twirling some hair between his fingers. “Well… I was called an old man by the troops back in that other land. It was quite insulting, actually, I don’t look old. Just because my hair’s white doesn’t mean anything.”

Nabooru raises an eyebrow. “Well, how old are you?”

He huffs. “That’s not the point.”

“So you are old.”

“That’s confidential.”

“I’m calling you Old Man unless you give me a real name.”

He opens his mouth to protest and then it snaps shut. He huffs again. “Fine.”

Nabooru laughs, and they continue their trek until they reach Lake Hylia. Nabooru grows uncertain again at the sight of it, suddenly realizing how much ground they’ve covered. “You said Link was hurt, should we really—”

“He’s fine,” the Old Man insists, pulling out a fishing rod. “I’m making sure of it.”

Nabooru bites back a laugh. “You know, you’re really not good at the whole ‘hiding you’re an enchanted mask’ thing.”

“I honestly have little need to hide it,” he replies, pulling out some bait. “We both know I can kill you whenever I like. Your fate rests in your hands, not in your knowledge of who or what I am.”

“And fishing will help me decide my fate?”

“Well, walking away could do that too.”

“How will you keep Link safe after that?”

“I always keep Link safe.”

Nabooru watches him intently, examining him. “You… you care about him.”

The Old Man pauses from putting bait on the hook, his face softening. “Of course I do.”

He seems contemplative all of a sudden, and Nabooru’s head is spinning at this bizarre day, when he suddenly gasps, staring at his reflection in the water.

“My—I—what—” he stammers, his hand flying to his face.

Nabooru leans over to look at him. “What is it? Is the wound bleeding?”

“No, it’s my markings, I—” he pauses, frantic. “Hylia, I didn’t mean for—great, he’s going to have a fit when he wakes up.”

Nabooru squints, looking at the markings on his face. He has two plum colored curved parallel lines under his left eye. At first glance she had thought they were cuts, but she had quickly deduced earlier they were tattoos of some sort. “What’s wrong with them?”

He smacks his right cheek lightly. “I should have more of them. He stole my markings!”

Nabooru stares at him, flummoxed. “He… stole them?”

“Well…” the Old Man trails off, leaning back thoughtfully. “I gave him my eye, maybe it was a side effect…”

“Okay, how does that work?”

“They took his eye. I gave him mine.”

“But how?”

He shrugs. “Magic, of course.”

“So you’re a sorcerer?” she questions, suddenly suspicious.

“I’m a deity, thank you very much,” he says proudly, smacking his chest with his fist. Then he softly mutters ow, shakes his hand out, and grips his fishing pole.

Nabooru snorts, not believing that for a second. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe that should be my nickname instead,” he mutters, watching as his line lands peacefully in the lake. A content smile crosses his face. “So tell me, Nabooru, you fought against Ganondorf?”

She jumps, startled. “How—you said you knew nothing of the Gerudo!”

“I don’t. Link does. His knowledge is accessible to me.”

“You’re reading his mind?”

The Old Man sighs. “Well, I try to talk to him, but he can’t hear me. Just makes him paranoid, he keeps thinking the mask is trying to make him wear it.”

Nabooru tries to comprehend this, tries to piece together everything she’s heard so far. She understands little of such enchantments, but this sounds like more than just a magical mask. This man sounds alive. It’s… bizarre.

The Old Man stares at nothing, his blank gaze somehow looking more distant than before. Then he lazily lets his face turn to her. The blank orb that should bear emotion and expression bores into her, making her squirm.

“A Sage,” he mutters. “But not here. Interesting.”

She blanches. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s not my information to tell.”

She shakes her head. “Who are you? Really?”

If he decides to answer her or not, it’s pointless. He grows distracted when his fishing rod gets a distinct tug, and he gasps in excitement. He starts to reel it in gently, fighting the fish a little bit, and Nabooru has to marvel at him fighting with a fish when he had the strength to chop eight men in half with one fell blow just half an hour ago.

Eventually the game of tug-of-war ends and the fish flies triumphantly into the air, and the Old Man catches it with an enormous grin.

“Would you look at that!” he exclaims in excitement. “Link will love it.”

Nabooru can’t help her smile. His tone, his joy, and his words relax the worry that has been clenching her heart, and she finally decides that whether or not she figures out who this mysterious creature is, she at least knows now that he isn’t a monster.

But he can be if he wants to.

Sighing, the Old Man tucks the fish into a pouch and then seems to look a little sad. “I suppose it’s time to go.”

Nabooru looks at him questioningly. “You only caught one fish.”

“Yes, but… I shouldn’t waste any more of your time,” he finally admits, albeit with no sense of guilt so much as a matter-of-fact statement. Rising, he dusts himself off. “I cannot treat Link once I take the mask off, so someone else has to. And, well… Malon might panic if I show up to the ranch like this.”

“Who’s Malon?” Nabooru asks.

“Someone who you will never speak of again,” the Old Man advises with a small, polite, but dangerous smile. “Just know if anyone thinks about getting near her or Link ever again, their fate will be worse than those soldiers.”

Nabooru isn’t quite sure how it could be worse, but she also has a sinking suspicion he can make it quite possible. She shrugs off the threat, knowing it isn’t entirely directed at her. “Well we have to go somewhere if I’m going to treat him. It’s too exposed out here.”

He nods in agreement. The search for shelter thankfully doesn’t take long, and they find a half collapsed abandoned shack that still manages to have some furniture left in it.

The Old Man gazes uncertainly at the place. “You know, we could… find an inn.”

“I’m not going into Castle Town,” Nabooru says abruptly. She wants little to do with Hylian cities, knowing that she’ll attract a lot of attention.

“Kakariko?”

“No.”

The Old Man grumbles. “Well it better not be damp.”

“Quit being a baby!” Nabooru says, exasperated.

The two enter the dilapidated building, and Nabooru pulls out medical supplies from her own travel pouch. She always comes prepared. She also sees the Old Man rifling through his things and he pulls out a few potions.

“Ugh,” he groans. “These taste awful.”

“Good thing you won’t be the one drinking them, then,” Nabooru reminds him pointedly.

He crosses his arms. “This mask isn’t coming off until I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“You think I’m going to hurt him? You do change your mind quite easily.”

“No, I learned what I needed to from you,” he remarks, shaking his head. “I just want to—great goddesses, this won’t do!”

Nabooru pauses from pulling gauze out of her bag and follows him into the next room. It’s a small bedroom with a dusty bed in one corner, a chipped nightstand beside it, and a stool in the opposite corner. She sees no threats, and looks at him curiously.

“What is it?” she asks.

“There’s only one pillow and Link likes two.” He states, sounding appalled. “Also I can’t help but wonder if he’ll be sneezing with all this dust.”

“Oh for Din’s sake—get your ass in bed and take the damn mask off.”

The Old Man crosses his arms. “Not until you can find another pillow.”

Nabooru looks at him incredulously. “Are you kidding me?”

“No.”

She stares at him, dumbfounded, and then throws her hands in the air. “You know what? Fine!”

Some day this is turning out to be. She started her journey frantically looking for this Link person, stumbles onto a nightmare, realizes the nightmare is the strangest mix of soft dad and enigma she’s ever met, and now she’s on a blasted side quest for pillows.

And a side quest it certainly turns out to be. Nabooru spends the better part of an hour huffing it to the nearest village wearing a cloak to hide her identity and buying not only a pillow, but some fresh water and several blankets because Link needs to stay warm he gets cold easily, okay, don’t forget the blankets.

Unbelievable.

When she returns, Nabooru’s patience is worn as thin as the moth eaten blanket she discards to the floor. The Old Man lies on the bed and sighs heavily, a sadness shrouding his face. Her irritation dissipates as she watches him, and he reaches up and pinches just below his chin. Light shines brightly in the room, and Nabooru shields her eyes. When she looks back, she sees a young man, blonde, unconscious, and smaller in build.

Link.

She stands in silent wonder for a moment, looking around for the mask that had caused this change, but she doesn’t see it. She wonders how he managed to put it away even while in this state, or if the Old Man had done it. It doesn’t matter either way, she supposes.

She leans forward and gets to work wrapping his wounds, and pauses as she sees freshly emblazoned markings on his face. The gifts that accompanied the eye, supposedly. She almost pulls his right eyelid open to look and see if there really is a blank orb there like the Old Man’s left eye, but she stops herself.

What a bizarre young man.

It takes another few hours for her to hear stirring in the room, and when she enters, she sees him staring at his reflection in the water.

“Ah,” she says, crossing her arms. “So, you’re awake.”

And thank the goddesses for that. A brief, cryptic explanation to keep the Gerudo safe from any scrutiny and she’ll be on her way home to where things make sense. She smiles at the young man and decides that this day is definitely the strangest of her life, but she’ll remember it fondly.

She wonders if Link really can’t hear the Old Man. She wonders if he realizes how much the Old Man cares. But she decides not to comment on it. It isn’t her business.

As Link looks at the person who spoke to him, he recognizes the Sage he met years ago immediately, and the mask tucked under the blankets hums gently. He’s trying to process everything quickly, still horrified at what has happened to his face, and he has to figure out what’s going on.

In the back of his mind, he hears a chuckle, and he shudders. But he also hears a voice, quiet, strangely familiar, yet so, so far away.

You’ll be okay, Link. I’ll make sure of it.

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