#but little steps! we will get there eventually :')

[meanbossart]

So, I was thinking after the newest Bhaalist DU Drow art (and his hand dangerously close to Astarions throat): what would happen if Astarion runs away? Did he ever try?

And, what's also pretty sad, how does affection look like for them in this AU? Does Astarion just push through and dissociate? Can he ever say no? Or does he hope the love of his life (or unlife) changes at some point?

Thankies 💕

CW: Non-explicit description of a coercive sexual relationship.

You know, I'm not sure he would try to run away. I haven't thought about this AU in quite as much depth as I have their canonical story, but I do know that DU drow has turned Baldur's Gate and the area around it into quite the scary place. The "immediate and absolute control over the brain" outcome that we get in the game is a bit too easy for me, but he DOES retain the stones and therefore ownership over it, not to mention a huge bargaining chip in political control of the vicinity.

The church of Bhaal is reinstated, and while it will never be in the interest of Bhaalists to be blatant about their activities, it would become common knowledge that they have eyes everywhere. Killing is still ritualistic rather than mindless massacre, and indoctrination is prioritized - they can't expand and fulfill Bhaal's will if all potential followers are dead. People who don't yet follow the gospel have reason to cooperate with them since that lessens their chances of being killed.

So, if the darling of the cult's head were to suddenly disappear, everyone infected would be immediately zapped with the knowledge of exactly what he looks like and where he was last seen, and what the repercussions are for anyone who fails to report his whereabouts. Astarion knows this, DU drow would make sure that he does.

Also, it would probably be far too easy for Astarion to justify his own compliance and try to make peace with the situation. This IS the man he fell in love with, he DID encourage his pursuit for power at every step, he may not be the grand vampire ascendant, but he is the Murder Prince's beloved. He doesn't beat him, he doesn't torture him, he spoils Astarion with riches, comfort, and all the fresh blood he could dream of; all he asks for in return is his eternal devotion, constant affection, adoration, control over where he is, wears, does, and total surveillance.

When the alternative is braving the cold, ruthless world as a meager little vampire spawn while being hunted down by your ex's minions (hm, sounds familiar) being the equivalent to your partner's boutique pet starts to look pretty desirable. Astarion falling to old habits and resigning to his circumstance seems pretty likely to me. If he did run away successfully, life would be a whole lot harder for him. If he runs away unsuccessfully, he loses the trust of his murderous, power-hungry partner and the few liberties he is afforded at all.

Speaking of liberties, saying no to intimacy is one he still has, however the consequences for being frigid and nonreciprocating would come in other forms, over time, and Astarion would probably rather spare himself the trouble and just play along as the highly affectionate and fiery lover that this DU Drow wants him to be. The happier he is, the easier things are.

Not to mention that, occasionally, he can pretend that everything is back to how it used to be when they are being intimate.

I think there are vulnerable moments where he hopes he will snap out of it, but most of the time Astarion is convincing himself that he hit the jackpot, that he has DU drow wrapped around his finger and he will be able to turn this more in his favor eventually.

[yellowbrokenblue]

Harry joins you in the hot tub…

Your brother brought his best friend on vacation, and you find yourselves stuck in a rather steamy situation.

cw: smut, cheating, degradation, semi public sex, harry and reader being a horny mess

kofi

You had no idea how your brother had managed to coax your parents into paying for his best friend, Harry, to come on vacation with your family, but somehow it had happened.

And it was killing you.

Harry was the sort of guy you only saw in movies. A perfectly chiseled jawline, brown locks you wanted to tangle your fingers in, and pink lips with a permanent smirk on them.

And what was even worse was that you were kept up at night with thought of him with your own fingers in your pussy.

It almost made you forget about your boyfriend, Brandon, who had conveniently had to attend a friends birthday party instead of his own girlfriend’s family vacation.

Everyone had been asleep for hours, but you had no chance of sleeping while dirty thoughts of Niall’s best friend kept circulating your thoughts- so you quickly changed into your bikini and made your way to the hot tub for a late night dip.

The water wasn’t as soothing as you’d hoped it to be, and instead the heat of the water had made you even more horny. Resisting the urge to dip your fingers below your bikini bottoms was killing you right now.

“Seems I wasn’t only one who wanted a dip in the hot tub tonight.”

Your head snapped upwards. Everyone was supposed to be asleep, you weren’t supposed to be hearing any voices at this time of night.

Especially not his voice.

“Harry.” You breathed.

“Mind if I join you?” He asked.

He was wearing only his swimming trunks, leaving his beautiful, tattooed chest on full display.

You caught yourself staring at him, and snapped your eyes away.

You don’t remember the last time you took a breath. You’d been holding it in as he stepped into the hot tub and settled himself directly opposite you, not breaking eye contact the whole time he got in.

“Why’s Brandon not here, then?”

You looked at him, confusion on your features as you listened to Harry spit out Brandon’s name with distaste.

“He couldn’t make it.”

Harry shook his head, frowning, “He’s a fucking prick, Y/N.”

You shrug.

“Oh well. I’m glad he’s not here. It’s kinda nice it just being me and you.” Harry said again.

Your heart skipped a beat.

“Don’t you think?” He asked.

“Yeah.” You said quietly, “It is nice.”

You squeeze your thighs together. The effect Harry had on you right now simply by sitting opposite you without a shirt on was crazy.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Harry asked.

You bite your lip, unsure of what to say, and nod.

“I say we play a little game, hm? You seem tense, let’s lighten the mood.”

“Uhm, alright. What’s the game?”

Harry shrugged, “I get to answer any question, and you have to answer. Then you ask me a question, and I have to answer… And so on.”

You frown, “And what if I don’t want to answer?”

A smirk spread over his features.

“Then you gotta take an item of clothing off.”

A lump forms in your throat.

“We’re wearing swimsuits, Harry.” You said.

“I don’t have a problem as long as you don’t have a problem.” He said, “Do you? Do you have a problem?”

You shook your head.

“No problem.”

Harry grinned, “Good.” He said, “Let’s get started then, shall we?”

You nod.

God, he was so hot. Sitting there, staring at you with those eyes. You felt like you were going to sink to the bottom of the hot tub and never come back out.

“What’s your body count?” Harry asked.

You swallowed. You had expected the questions to make a sexual turn eventually, but not straight out on the first one.

“Three.” You said, not elaborating anymore.

“Now you ask me one.”

You thought for a second. If Harry wanted the questions to be about sex, you’d make them about sex.

“Where is the weirdest place you’ve had sex?”

You noticed Harry smirk, and he wasted no time answering the question.

“A girl sucked me off in a movie theatre one time, but the weirdest place I’ve fucked someone? I dunno, like, janitors closet in high school?”

“Movie theatre? Like during the movie, or in the bathroom?”

“During the movie. There wasn’t many people watching the film to be fair, but the movie was on.”

“You’re insane.”

“I know.”

How you fucking wished it had been you sucking Harry’s dick in a movie theatre.

“Okay. My turn.” Harry said, “Why are you happy that Brandon didn’t come on vacation?”

“What?” You asked, “Of course I’m not happy. I’m upset about it!”

You frown at Harry.

“Either you tell the truth, Y/N, or you take an item off. Your choice, sweetheart.”

You think for a moment. Neither options are particularly good ones.

“Okay. Fine. I’m happy he’s not here. I just like… Needed a break from his constant complaining and constant need to create an argument.”

“That’s everything?”

You nod.

“My turn.” You said.

You pause.

Nothing comes to mind at all.

“I can’t think of one.” You say.

“Do you want me to just go again?”

It’s almost as if your heart had stopped beating- you were barely able to process the words that Harry was saying.

“Was it you that I heard touching yourself in your bedroom last night?”

Your cheeks go pink. You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

You swallow again, your heart racing.

“No answer?”

Harry smirks, sliding over to the other side of the hot tub, stopping in front of you.

“Sweetheart, you know the rules. If you don’t answer, that skimpy little bikini of yours has to come off.”

“I-”

You physically couldn’t get any words out of your mouth. Your thighs were pressed together as Harry stared hungrily at you.

He moved his hand closer and closer to the back of your neck where your bikini was tied, and in one swift movement, pulled the string of it, causing it to fall into the pool.

His eyes didn’t leave your breasts for what felt like forever. They were locked on your body, his eyes taking everything in.

“One point to me.” He said, “And I’m changing the fuckin’ rules. Only I get to ask questions now.”

You nod.

“Tell me who you were thinking of when you had your fingers in your own cunt last night, Y/N.” He said, his hands that had been placed on your hips moving closer to your panties, his fingers eventually dipping under the waistband, “Cause I sure as hell know it wasn’t Brandon.”

He spat out your boyfriend’s name like dirt on his shoe.

“Does he make you cum, Y/N? Does he make you cum with his tiny dick in your pussy? Does the make you feel good the way you know that I would make you feel good?”

Harry didn’t even wait for you to answer any of his questions. He ripped your panties down your legs, leaving you stark naked in the pool.

“Harry.” You say.

The pain between your legs was unmeasurable. You needed him so badly rignt now that it hurt.

“Tell me you want me, baby, and I’ll give you anything.”

“I want you, Harry.” You say.

“You can have me, babygirl. But first I want to see you touch yourself. Touch yourself the way I heard you last night.”

You wasted no time doing what he asked. The need to release the tension between your legs was so bad right now you’d do anything.

Your hand slipped between your legs and found your clit, rubbing fast circles, moaning out in pleasure.

“Dirty, dirty girl.” He said, “All this because you are so desperate to fuck me.”

“Please Harry. Please I need you.”

“That’s it, baby girl.” Harry said, palming his dick through his pants, “Beg for it. Beg for my cock, Y/N.”

You moan, your fingers still playing with your clit.

“Please Harry. Please give me your cock. I’m so desperate.”

He quickly changed the positions in you both were in, and had his shorts off his body and dangling over the edge of the tub in no time.

“That’s it.” He said, helping you straddle his lap, “You’re gonna take daddy’s cock like the pretty little whore you are.”

Daddy. You moan at his words.

He had hold of your hips, and you moaned as he pushed you onto his cock. Pushing his hips up so you took the whole length all at once.

“Such a tight cunt.” Harry groaned as his cock was pushed right inside of you.

You tried to grind against him, but he had hold of your hips so you couldn’t move.

“Stay still.” He instructed, “Play with those pretty tits and then I’ll let you move.”

You brought your hands to your breasts. You’d do anything for this man right now.

Harry moaned as he watched you push your tits together.

“Oh.” He moaned, “I’m gonna fuck those tits after this. Cum all over them.”

The feeling of his cock inside of you was already making you feral, but this was on another level.

“Please!” You say.

Harry seems to snap, and out of nowhere starts to move your hips, rocking you against him.

“Bounce for me.” He said. “Bounce on daddy’s cock.”

You moved your hips faster than you ever had before, moaning with each time you pushed your hips towards him, his cock filling you up more and more each time.

“Oh, Harry.”

Harry helps you moved faster and faster until you’re physically crying with how close you are to an orgasm.

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming.” You cry out, your orgasm washing over you like a fucking tidal wave.

Your legs were trembling as Harry groaned, indicating he’d reached his own high, your body falling limp, resting against him.

“You’re never gonna fuck that Brandon loser again. You understand?” Harry said, through his own orgasm, “It’s my cock only from now on.”

[k0mmari]

Okay people, I need to talk about IDOL!Shen Yuan AU before I explode (aka slight Aggretsuko inspired office au…..)

I’ll try to make this short for once jdvfhbjdhbvdf, but basically SY has been (forcefully) made to work for his brother(SJ) in the family company, after SJ decided enough was enough, and SY was going to do something with his life besides rotting away in his bed whether he liked it or not. The thing is, he wasn’t (just) rotting in bed reading atrocious novels, but he also took some time to experiment with music as a hobby, and over time, he grew a small following.

Though, after he was dragged to work at SJ’s side, the ever boring of dealing with paperwork and staring at white walls was eating at him. It’s not like he struggled doing his job, in fact, he was quite good at it, but he wasted no effort to make it very clear that he did not like that he was there in the first place. So, in an act of rebellion and to just do SOMETHING other than feel every passing second of the day in a cubicle, he decided to work even harder in his music hobby. It eventually led to SJ finding out and sparing no words to say that SY needed to focus on his real job, which only made SY brat out even harder, even managing to find an alternative music club and booking a few performances.

It went great! More people showed up than he expected, and all went great, but since his health was still not the best, after that he basically spent a whole month crashed out, not being able to do any more performances and barely able to go to the office once a week.

Anyways, it all led to SY thinking he had proved SJ right that he couldn’t continue this life style, and even thinking about quitting it, but one day while he was scrolling on the comments on one of his MVs (aka a Fancy Lyric Video), one of the comments mentioned that SY was one of the most important influences for that person, and that it inspired them to start pursuing music. It was the first time he had received a comment of that nature, and it lit the fire of his motivation back up.

Some 2 years passed, SJ still kept SY at the office, but SY had reached a nice balance on his online music work and performances on that club, and as his popularity grew, his performances at that one club had almost turned into a whole event for his most dedicated fans. So, enter Luo Binghe:

He was that comment that SY had read, and he did want to try music after being a fan of SY’s for almost three years now, but due to his financial situation he desperately needed some other source of income first. Now, at his last year of college, he managed to get an internship onto the Shen family’s company, which was a huge step forward towards his dreams, unfortunately he just had to go under SJ, which as we all know, was never kind to Binghe, instead acting as if the boy should just give up the internship entirely. And Binghe did think about it, but it seemed as if the stars had aligned for Binghe at least once, and SJ, after getting a sudden influx of work, delegated Binghe to SY.

They got on quite well, and Binghe even grew to have a little crush on SY, but it was all going fine and great until one fateful day. The office was as boring as ever, and after SY let Binghe know they wouldn’t have to entertain any clients for the day, Binghe decided to work on his part while listening to some music of his favorite artist.

Binghe has an awful habit of listening to music worryingly loud, so when SY went to get him to explain his new task, he ended up listening to what Binghe was hearing: his own music, in fact, his newest song. He pondered telling Binghe about the coincidence, but decided that maybe would be overstepping some professional boundary, and instead told Binghe about his one music club SY had heard about…

Binghe, excited to get to know more places around the area (and maybe understanding what SY did in his free time), decided to go to the club the next week after work, and did not even think about checking who would be performing in the day he would visit. Imagine his surprise when he gets to the door of the music club and hears some awfully famíliar music, and after rushing to be as close to the stage as possible, besides being blinded by his favorite artist’s greatness, also noticed that, hey, the artist looked an awful lot like a certain coworker of his….

Anyways, shenanigans ensue, Binghe starts his own investigation on SY possibly being the artist, SY juggling his office life, music career, and SJ perhaps coming to accept his brother’s career, and even maybe revealing a bit about his own past with music performances.

That’s all I had for today, just wanted to release this into the world! If anyone wants to expand on this, or try their on take on it, feel more than free to! Here are some more doodles of the usual day at the office :)

[slashbitch2]

The Proposal AU! (part three)

Summary: when your boss Agatha faces the threat of deportation, she convinces you to marry her in return for a promotion- and things only get more complicated with a trip to Salem, an eccentric tarot-card-reading aunt, and a homophobic mother to convince.

Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

TW: deportation (which I admit I know very little about I'm not American lol) suggestive themes, sort of arranged marriage

W.C: roughly 1.4k words

PARTS: ONE, TWO

As soon as you left Hayward’s office, Agatha started furiously typing on her phone, the crease between her brows growing deeper with each step out the building. You simply followed; uncertain of what else you were meant to be doing right now. Packing, you supposed. But your first priority was to get some information out of the woman, who was currently on a mission to remove herself from the building, striding at least three steps ahead of you at all times.

It wasn’t until you were both sitting in the taxi that you finally had the chance to speak. “So…” You started, paused, then realised she wasn’t going to put her phone down anytime soon. You sighed. “We’re going to Salem?”

“Unfortunately,” Agatha murmured. “If I can get in contact with my mother, that is.” She spat, resuming her frantic typing.

You scowled, leant closer to peak at the phone screen and tried desperately to ignore the way her perfume pleasantly filled your nostrils. Something about being in close proximity with Agatha was mesmerising. It always had been, but it seemed this latest situation was worsening your complex feelings towards her. If someone asked you to label it, you would say admiration, but deep down you knew it was something greater than that. You simply refused to acknowledge it.

“So, you weren’t originally going to visit?”

Despite having to be involved in Agatha’s life, you had never heard her talk about her family. Not once. It didn’t surprise you. It was near impossible to picture the woman in any scenario other than sitting behind a desk, winding up one of your coworkers for their incompetence, or shmoozing a business deal. Although you imagined her prickly personality had to come from somewhere, and shuddered to think what her mother might be like.

“No.” Agatha scoffed. “I try my best to stay as far away from family gatherings as possible.”

“I’m guessing you’re not close…?” You questioned, slow and cautious.

“God no.” She shook her head, strands of hair coming loose from the vehement movement. “I want nothing to do with my mother and her coven of freaks.”

You tutted, suppressing a smirk at her colourful choice of language. But instead of pursuing the topic further, you turned to look at the scenery flying past the window. “Shouldn’t have mentioned it to Hayward then…”

“Well, with your parents ever so conveniently out of the country, it did appear suspicious that we wouldn’t tell a single soul.”

“Could’ve eloped.” You murmured.

“Sorry, darling.”  Agatha droned; her tone petulant. “Next time I’ll set us up a nice horse-drawn carriage down to the registry office.”

You took in a deep breath, ignoring the surge of irritation at her smarminess, something you recognised you would have to learn to cope with for the next painful while. You had no idea how long this whole process would take, and realised with a sudden stab of guilt that you would have to eventually inform your parents of this decision.

If you explained it was to keep your boss’ position at the company, rather than any dumb, spontaneous act of love, they would surely understand, right?   

“Agatha?” You called, met by a hum of acknowledgement. “Are you telling your family the real reason for this marriage, or are we going to have to keep faking it?”

“Oh, my mother’s a raging homophobe.” Agatha chuckled bitterly, refusing to meet your eyes. “If she doesn’t immediately kick you out, I’m going to enjoy riling her up.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

At last, Agatha’s focus was diverted from her phone as she looked briefly over to you, mildly intrigued by your perseverance. “I was just going to see how it went when we get there.” She replied, shrugging.

“Great…”

“And until then, don’t mention this to a single soul.” Agatha jabbed an accusatory finger in your direction. “We continue as normal for the next day and a half, with me singlehandedly driving this company to success, and you following me about all dazed and heart-eyed.”

“What!” You protested. “I do not follow you about, nor do I have heart eyes!”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” She smirked, radiating an irritating charm that had you forgetting how to breathe for a second. You wrung your hands about anxiously in your lap, willing yourself to relax.

“Our flight leaves at 6pm on Friday, so we’ll have to go straight from work,” Agatha said, changing the subject. “You can hide your luggage in my office, and we’ll have my driver pick us up so that saves that hassle…”

She trailed off suddenly, and despite your insistence on not getting too caught up in the intricacies of your boss’ behaviour, you peaked over at her. Just like earlier in the immigration office, she was chewing at her lip, this time with a faraway expression. You frowned, sensing she was nervous about something. It set you slightly on edge to see her this way. Agatha was never nervous. Big meetings didn’t faze her, important deadlines never stressed her out and public speaking was like a second nature to her. Where once this bravery had been sickeningly envious, its disappearance now gave you concern.

Agatha was a mystery to you, one you were reluctant to address, yet desperate to understand.

---

Agatha flopped down onto her desk chair with a huff, allowing her head to fall backwards and feeling her neck crack with the movement. The tension that racked her body seemed to grudgingly resist lessening, and she considered whether she ought to just take the remainder of the day off. But that would be suspicious...

She loathed the idea that her every decision was being monitored but dreaded to imagine the other option: moving back home, back in her mother’s grasp. She hadn’t seen the woman in over ten years, and to think now that she would spend the weekend in her company… Agatha groaned, letting her face crash forward into her hands. She squeezed her eyes shut, and in the darkness saw only her mother, pictured how she would be reacting to the news that Agatha would be joining them for part of the trip.

As per usual, her attempt to reach out to her mother had been met by silence. She was starting to suspect her number was blocked, and thus Agatha had instead chosen to inform Lilia Calderu about this impromptu reunion. The woman was cooky, but kind. She had always been Agatha’s one ally within the family, and since her emancipation, was the only one who had bothered to stay in contact.

As if abruptly summoned from her thoughts, Agatha’s phone buzzed across the table, likely holding more information from Lilia. With a sigh, she reached forward to raise the lit screen into her eye line, yet was surprised to be met by another’s name

[4:10pm] Jennifer Kale: you’re coming to Salem????

Agatha chuckled, though not out of humour. Jen was one of the many people her mother seemed to just acquire. It was a terrible feature of Evanore Harkness: that the crazy gravitated towards her, became involved in their family and never left.

The word ‘family’ didn’t quite sit right with Agatha. It was more like a cult.

[4:11pm] Agatha Harkness: I am. I take it you’re still hanging about?

[4:12pm] Jennifer Kale: well when you abandoned ship someone had to replace you.

Agatha scoffed, ignoring the wave of irritation at Jen’s phrasing. She was irreplaceable. Though the idea that her own mother should even try to swap one daughter out for another didn’t exactly come as a surprise. Nonetheless, it still hurt. Agatha crossed her arms over her chest, deciding to pursue the conversation no further.

[4:15pm] Jennifer Kale: Lilia mentioned you were bringing a plus-one. who is she?

At this, Agatha’s loathing softened ever so slightly. Jen was one of the few that had supported her coming out, had even attempted to defend her from Evanora’s outrage. She picked the phone back up, feeling a smile grace her lips as she started to type.

[4:15pm] Agatha Harkness: someone I’ve been seeing for a while. She’s nice. You’ll like her.

The message was a simple lie, but it did the job.

Still, reading it back Agatha found she had a lot more to say about you…

NEXT PART

[maybanksmusings]

THE WALLS ; JJ MAYBANK

SYNOPSIS ; when an unknown face appears in the outer banks searching for a father she's never met, she's unaware of how her life is about to be completely turned upside down.

WARNINGS ; jjmaybank x routledge!reader, strong language, depictions of violence, afab!reader, sexual content, mentions of abuse, drug and alcohol consumption, strangers to lovers, fast burn to slow burn, canon adjacent, not proofread.

AUTHORS NOTE ; buckle up pookies, as this is merely part one of a multi-part fic that spans as far as the end of season three ( on the fence about season four but we will see ). as noted above, this fic will be canon adjacent, mainly focusing on the storyline as portrayed in the outer banks chapters of the 'netflix stories' mobile app. without any more of my yapping, i hope you all enjoy!

you can't help but squint once you step off the bus, your dollar store sunglasses doing very little to shield your eyes from the burning, outer banks sun. you bring your hand up in an attempt to further protect your eyes, needing to make your way to the seahorse hotel and fast.

a flash of long, blonde hair invades your vision, something you don't think twice about until the body attached to said hair knocks right into you, saturating your white tank top with her oversized cherry-coloured drink.

there's a beat of silence between both of you, behind darkened lenses your eyes bore into the girl before you. if looks could kill.

"shit! i am so sorry!" the blonde apologises, face turning as red as the newfound stain on your shirt. her hand darts out in an attempt to miraculously wipe the stain away "oh god, this is so embarrassing."

a part of you feels empathetic, it was an easy mistake to make in hindsight. another part of you wanted to push past the girl and continue getting on with your day.

"my name is sarah," she continues rambling, her hand still frequently scrubbing at the stain, making it worse "i didn't get your name, well no shit" the last part is barely a mumble, but you still catch it.

an unintentional laugh escapes you, finding amusement in her panicked awkwardness "if i tell you will you stop feeling me up?"

it was a joke, at least mostly, yet sarah froze in horror as the realisation set in. she was feeling up a stranger at the bus stop.

before she can begin rambling again, you speak up "my name is y/n." purposefully, you drop the surname. sure, sarah seemed sweet, but that didn't warrant spilling your life story at her feet.

sarah nodded in acknowledgement, taking a step out of your personal space and taking a proper look at you "touron?"

your face screws up, it feels like she just called you a name you couldn't repeat "excuse me?"

"you're a tourist, right?" sarah clarified, gesturing towards the scruffy backpack hanging from your shoulder.

"not quite," you trail off, unsure of how to broach your new arrival without dropping yourself in hot water "just, in town for a while."

"unlucky you.."

"unlucky how?"

sarah links her arm through yours, all but dragging you down the street alongside her "i'll fill you in on the way."

your protests and kidnapping allegations fell on deaf ears, only being told to stop being dramatic as she dragged you along. eventually, the dragging falls back into you willingly walking with her through pristine neighbourhoods that housed buildings like nothing you had ever seen.

you listened as sarah explained the outlandish rules that accompanied living on the island. the outer banks were essentially split in half, the kooks and the pouges, the haves and the have-nots, the sarahs and the y/ns.

when her pace eventually stalls, you have to tense your jaw to stop your mouth from falling open. you had seen some serious houses on the way here, but compared to sarahs they looked like dives.

"welcome to tanneyhill" sarah beams, but you can feel the uncertainty bubbling inside her as if she was embarrassed "come on, i'll show you my room."

you follow her through the glass doors and into the manor, eyes intently scanning the walls as you climb the staircase "you make a habit of bringing random strangers into your house?"

"do you make a habit of going home with random strangers?"

"depends if they're my type."

your quick rebuttal elicits a laugh from sarah as she pushes the door open, waving you into her room and heading straight for the closet "and what is your type?"

"you sweet on me, stranger?" you tease, your playful tone making it clear you were simply messing with her.

"with my whole heart, newbie" she laughs, the contents of her closet being dropped to the floor as she rifled through it "but our secret love affair must remain hidden as i am a taken lady"

with a dramatic gasp, you slap your hand to your chest and fall back on the bed "you wound me."

"sarah 'the heartbreaker' cameron is what they call me." as you're processing her surname, a white cropped tank is flung at you from the opposite side of the room "now, come on, boy talk"

"what if i wanna girl talk?" you question, holding the piece of fabric up to examine it "sarah 'the homophobe' cameron more like"

as she crosses the room to sit alongside you, sarah rolls her eyes "my sincerest apologies, sex talk then"

"cameron now i really think you want me." you wiggle your eyebrows at her, huffing when she hits you with a pink pillow with a sparkly 's' "hey! watch the rhinestones"

"you know, i was gonna try play matchmaker at the boneyard tonight but if you wanna be like that.."

"you just said a lot of words with very little meaning" you tut, not fully clued in on the outer banks slang.

by now you have risen to your feet, standing between the bed and the window as you changed into the clean shirt, balling up the stained one and stuffing it in your backpack.

"its a pre-storm rager on the beach, the one place kooks and pouges get along. we party as long as we can and when the storm hits, run for cover"

you're only half listening to sarah, instead your attention hones in on the head of curly brown hair down on the dock as it moves along a boat named 'my druthers'.

you barely register the figure by your side, watching just as closely as you were as the brunette is joined by three others, laughing and joking.

"that would be john b," without looking you can hear sarahs grin, mistaking your fascination for attraction.

"routledge?" your mouth opens before your brain can stop it, you knew who it was, but you needed to hear it.

"you know him?"

finally, your brain catches up and you somehow manage to pull a lie out of your ass "not personally, saw him on tv. some appeal for his dad."

sarah bellows out a soft, sad sigh, letting her thoughts be known without saying a word. there's an unspoken air of silence between you, until sarah, literally, shakes it off and stands upright again.

"wanna meet him?" the blonde offers, despite the fact its more of a demand as you're being dragged along once again.

only this time your refusal is much clearer, practically begging the girl to let you go before she managed to get you out into the yard. again sarah is misreading the situation, interpreting your panic as awkward butterflies.

your demands persist, though much quieter as you're dragged further down the dock, closer to john b and his friends.

"hello, ladies" john b's blonde friend greets with a low whistle and a cheeky grin, shamelessly checking both you and sarah out.

for a moment your anxiety vanishes, your entire nervous system sparking still but for different reasons. this might be the most beautiful boy you've ever set eyes on.

this. this was your type.

"you're new" he speaks, gesturing towards you "that's for sure, yet to be a time i've forgotten a face like that." with a wink, he takes your hand to place a kiss on the back of it.

you curse god. why couldn't you have met this guy somewhere else? why wasn't he the blonde stranger that took you home?

"you done macking on the kook?" a girls voice echos from behind him, her words and her expression dripping with disgust as she eyed you.

"i'm not a kook." you bite back, sightly too aggressive for a first impression but you couldn't help it with the look of clear disdain embedded on her face.

sarahs arm links through yours, a mumbled "easy, newbie" falling only on your ears "y/n is new in town, i brought her down here while i found out what you guys are doing on my dads boat." despite her civility there's a challenging edge in her voice.

"lest ye forget, i work here."

john b, suddenly emerging from the ships hull and hurling a snide smile in sarahs direction. you had only ever seen him on fuzzy news broadcasts, he was taller than you had anticipated, confrontational too.

though, genetics could explain that one.

"can we help you?" the girl speaks again, sending your eyes rolling as you face john b.

"can you tell your guard dog to stand down? last i checked one of us was invited here and funnily enough it wasn't her"

you hear another boy mumble an excited "cat fight!" to your new, blonde, hyperfixation as they exchange money on bets.

"seriously? i expect this shit from jj but pope? disappointing" john b tutted, sounding like a disappointed father as he got off the boat "not looking for trouble, just bringing back the diving shit, full."

menial conversation is exchanged between sarah and john b, though your attention mainly resides with the newly named jj. he was leaning back against the boat, rolling a joint without a care in the world.

you try to keep the glances to a minimum, after all you had much bigger problems to wade through right now, but you simply couldn't look away. he was the definition of magnetic.

even when he catches you looking, there isn't a morsel of awkwardness, just a knowing look of curiosity that lingered far longer than it should have.

then, he winks. he fucking winks before returning to rolling with that stupid, insanely hot grin on his face. you were far from shy, and only for the audience around you, you would've jumped on him long ago.

any reckless ideas potentially coming to fruition is spoiled when sarah, still linked with you, retreats back toward tanneyhill. with a final glance back at jj, you hold your thumb and pinky to your ear and mouth 'call me', earning yourself a wink and a crossed heart in return.

maybe this wouldn't pan out to be a total shit show after all.

[lizhly-writes]

for some reason, i felt like writing this. we are now talking about shang qinghua's master, the prior an ding peak lord.

It was commonly said that his master's engagement was extremely well-arranged. Indeed, the interactions between An Ding and Bai Zhan were the most harmonious out of any pair of peaks in the current generation.

As to why, their disciples had come up with a set of reasons. This set of reasons revolved around the idea that obviously this pair of honorable and dignified shixiong and shidi were fucking.

Did they treat each other as good friends? Brothers? Why consider those options at all when you could go for the much more dramatic route of star-crossed love, a beautifully-married couple who were forced to live apart (you know, on separate mountains) for the sake of duty? How romantic!

There were various stories going around just An Ding alone. They got even more absurd once they reached Bai Zhan. Shang Qinghua had been making a collection of them just so he could marvel at the creativity of it.

After all, Shizun and Shishu didn't seem to do much in public. They got along well, and favored each other, but certainly there was no candlelit dinner alone or courtship gifts being thrown around. Stumbling into a wife plot wasn't entirely out of the question -- Shang Qinghua really shouldn't have come up with this number of aphrodisiac plants, holy fuck -- but surely Shizun hadn't actually made a declaration of love to the Bai Zhan Peak Lord against the setting sun, flower petals blowing softly around his face as two crystalline tears dripped from his... stunning sea-blue orbs.

Shang Qinghua frankly had a hard time imagining Shizun could ever be so sentimental. If you didn't actually know him, he supposed it made a reasonable and pretty enough picture. Shizun, like all Peak Lords, was an incomparably beautiful and ageless cultivator. But somehow, even with perfect skin and a distinct lack of eyebags... he really gave off the aura of an ordinary old manager working 996.

Did Shizun fuck? Maybe! Logically, he must have! Possibly during his disciplehood! Again, Shizun was a beautiful and ageless cultivator, he must have had admirers! But in his heart, Shang Qinghua felt the answer was no. For some reason, the idea of it was weirdly discomfiting.

This was why he was incredibly surprised when, upon arriving back at Shizun's Leisure House with a tray of tea and tea snacks, he found the Bai Zhan Peak Lord there.

They weren't doing anything illicit. Shishu was standing next to Shizun at his desk. If the distance between them was a bit close -- if the Shishu's head was bent a little lower than necessary --

"Shizun," Shang Qinghua said, somehow feeling as if he had seen something he shouldn't have.

Shishu took a step back. Shang Qinghua also took a step back. Shizun did not take a step back, as he was still seated at his desk and scribbling something down.

"Qinghua is back," Shizun said, eventually looking up. He turned to Shishu. "Did you wish to stay for tea?"

"Unnecessary," Shishu said, and promptly said his goodbyes. If these goodbyes were a little fast --

Ah, well, whatever. "Did Shishu come to talk about something important?" Shang Qinghua said.

Shizun tilted his head at Shang Qinghua. He looked the same as he always did, which was, of course, very tired and very annoyed. Truly, Shizun had an unfortunate resting face. Shang Qinghua had learned to get vibes off of it, though, and the vibe he was getting today was -- okay, still tired, but also distinctly amused.

"Qinghua can see for himself," Shizun said, and tapped the paper he was writing on.

It was, as it turned out, an incredibly lurid story about Shizun and Shishu.

"Shizun???"

"The rumors going around are certainly interesting," Shizun said. He was still writing. On closer inspection, he was busily annotating it in red ink. Notes like "this didn't happen" and "combination of 5c and 18a from year of XX" and "is this based off our incident as disciples?"

What incident as disciples???

"Does Qinghua have any thoughts?"

"Shizun?????"

"On the rumors," Shizun clarified, as if that was the problem.

"I have a collection of over fifty stories," Shang Qinghua didn't say.

"This disciple wouldn't dare comment!" Shang Qinghua said.

"That is notably not the same as not having thoughts," Shizun said, and set his brush down, folding his hands neatly on his desk. "Does Qinghua believe the rumors are true?"

This was not a question Shang Qinghua felt like answering!

"Shizun has brown eyes!" Shang Qinghua blurted out.

"...Yes," Shizun said, eyebrows furrowing at this true non-answer.

Shang Qinghua tapped the line about Shizun weeping prettily with sea-blue orbs (who wrote this???). Shizun looked enlightened. "I see. And that is... the only part of this you believe isn't true?"

"Shizun is very close to Shishu," Shang Qinghua hedged. "This disciple wouldn't dare speculate!"

"Qinghua."

Shang Qinghua threw up his hands. "I don't know! What do you want to hear from me? Why are you asking me about your sex life? Are you fucking Shishu?"

There was a long pause. Shang Qinghua vaguely wondered if he was in trouble. Shizun liked him, but holy shit, not that much.

"Audacious," Shizun said, which, okay. Yeah. But! But!!! Sure, it wasn't a great thing to say, but ask shitty questions, get a shitty answer!

"That's not a no," Shang Qinghua said.

It was at this point that Shizun revealed an incredibly wry and incredibly rare smile. "This master," he said, "believes that Qinghua can figure out this matter for himself."

"What the fuck does that mean???" Shang Qinghua cried.

Shizun did not answer this. Instead, he saddled Shang Qinghua with another pile of paperwork.

[r-eatyourfriends-n]

SMOKED | l.hs 이희승 | Collide pt. 2

bestfriend!heesung x bestfriend!reader

READ PT 1 HERE.

warnings: smut (mdni), pwp (plot's there if you look hard enough), unprotected sex, overstimulation (sort of?), no use of "y/n", light switch!dynamics from both reader and heesung, car sex, unsafe driving lowkey, dryhumping, minor argument, heesung is down bad honestly.

wc: 3.8k

synopsis: days have passed after your first hook up with Heesung, though neither of you have said anything about it. Instead, you continue your search for a good one night stand somewhere else, but your mind and body know where you should be.

a/n: wow! the moral obligation I had to finish this before posting anything else was crazy, but after a huge block it's finally here. If you think this is better than pt1 it's because it is, but it's also because it has been approved by the one and only @molloygendered !!!!! my bestfriend and editor. he wanted to review this again before posting it but I'm a kid on sugar so I held him at gunpoint to approve this. any feedback is appreciated !!! hope you enjoy.

4 unread messages.

sorry to bother u so late

can u pick m up? pls

[Address]

idk if ure awake sorry

Heesung's screen lit up on his desk, breaking his focus from the heated game in front of him. He unlocked his phone, the other hand still gripping the controller tightly. His eyes moved quickly from the texts popping up and then back to the screen, which nearly got him killed. 

The team won eventually, but just barely. Heesung logged out as soon as it was over. He spent the whole time wanting to check his phone.

“Dude, what the fuck are you doing?”Jake yelled at him through the call. “We almost lost."

“My bad. Gotta go,” he said in a monotone voice, showing no remorse as he hung up the call despite Jake's groans.

He looked back down at his phone and texted back a short "omw" before getting up from his chair, stretching his arms. His bones cracked, so loud it made him wince at the sound.

With quick steps, he changed into something a bit more decent, just a plain white t-shirt on top of his cargo pants, which had been slowly losing their black tone after each wash. The chains on his thick belt dangled as he walked out of his room and began to head out of his apartment, taking his keys from the cat-shaped key holder you had put on his wall. He had been surprised the first time he hung his keys and a white cat popped up. It was supposed to be a prank, but Heesung never found it in him to take it off despite the fact that it didn't match with the overall vibe of his room one bit. The kitten disappeared inside the box as he left.

The distance to your location was short, or perhaps Heesung was driving a little too fast. Either way, he arrived about fifteen minutes after telling you that he was on his way to pick you up. He parked in front of a small, black gate which led to some stairs. The complex seemed fairly little, but somewhat cozy, with small balconies filled with pots and all kinds of houseplants. Although it was past midnight and dark, he could still make out the colors of the flowers that were placed by the edges of the windows, leaves moving along with the wind.

Leaving the car on, he hopped out, leaning back against  the driver's door to wait for you. Admittedly, it was ill-intended. He hoped your date would see him and would be thrown off. 

The wait felt like eternity. When the door opened, your figure finally appeared in a white dress with black dots, just a bit above the knee. The cleavage allowed for the black choker to stand out, your name's initial dangling softly. Heesung had always wished it was an H instead.

You smiled at Heesung when you saw him, tilting your head in confusion because why was he out of the car? Heesung smiled back at you, a soft beam on his lips. Then looked to your side when a boy appeared next to you.

He eyed your guy up and down as he said goodbye to you. He was tall like you liked them, with flawlessly tan skin and a face that was nothing short of charming, with a sort of boyish appeal to him, and it was obvious why you had said yes to a date in the first place. Heesung swallowed hard, his own jealousy burning down his throat.

You didn't seem too enchanted by the guy, though, looking almost uncomfortable as he leaned in to kiss your cheek. You fake-giggled (at least, he thought you did) and grinned at him politely before making your way to Heesung. The guy appeared to be a little turned off by you getting picked up by another man, for he did not take his eyes off of Heesung as he walked to the passenger's seat to open the door for you, a gesture that you were used to. Before hopping back in, Heesung winked at him, a smug grin forming. After that, you two were off speeding down the road. He'll take the long way home, he decided.

“Thanks for picking me up,” you broke the silence after a few minutes of driving. “You didn't have to wait outside though, it's freezing.” 

"I was trying to scare him off,” Heesung chuckled, a half joke that managed to pass as just something playful, making you laugh and hit his arm.

“I don't think he liked that,” you said after your laugh subsided.

“I think it was you who didn't like him.” 

You went silent for a bit, sulking on your seat.

“So, how was it?” 

“I liked him,” you mumbled, biting your lip in thought. “It was good, yeah.”

“But?” Heesung inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“I guess I was hoping for something more... intense?”

Heesung turned his face, pretending to check something on the rearview mirror so that you wouldn't notice him biting his lip. He hoped you were referring to him, about the intimate moment you two had shared a few nights before, about the bite that was still decorating your shoulder so beautifully. A purple light enough to resemble a bruise; poor clumsy you, tripped and hit yourself with his mouth.

“Intense how?” he asked.

“To hell if I know,” you shrugged.

He furrowed his eyebrows, glancing your way quickly. 

“You clearly do know.” 

“I don't. If I did I would tell you, Hee,” you said, confused.

“Like how you told me you were off to see another douchebag?” Heesung spat. 

His words made you quickly turn your head. And although he wasn't looking at you, you knew he could feel your glare burning through his skin. The sudden change in attitude had been nothing short of baffling. He seemed to keep his eyes on the road to avoid your stare rather than for safety. You couldn't tell if bouncing his leg was anger, anxiety, both, or something entirely different.

“How do you know he was a douchebag?! I told you it was fine!” you whined.

“Did he even make you come?” he asked. 

You opened your mouth to fight back, but the only sound that came out was your breath hitching. It had been such a simple question, but it ignited the memories of your one time affair with him. The soft promises, the surpassed expectations, the sweet, sweet release. Your body began to tingle in the places where his hands had lingered, and you found yourself shuddering on the seat. Of course Heesung had asked that, while knowing your answer, too.

“Sex is not all about that.” you said finally, voice low with uncertainty. 

“Oh, so that's why you fuck every idiot with a mushroom cut.” Heesung mumbled.

“What the hell is your problem? You don't even know him!” your ears rang as your voice raised in pitch.

“Oh I know him; clerk job moron who thinks sticking it in is enough.”

You tried to ignore the fact that he was a receptionist at your esthetician’s clinic who you happened to make conversation with during a long wait. He had been bold enough to ask you to grab dinner and two days later you were kissing in the elevator of his one-bedroom apartment. 

That kiss had set your expectations through the roof, hoping that you had landed your perfect match. And it had been nice, sort of, but not like you had wished for, or had imagined. The way you had envisioned things and the way said things happened were complete opposites. Maybe it had been your fault for already having something in mind.

The conflict his words caused reflected in your face, a turmoil evident as you stumbled out your next words.

“I still don't understand why it bothers you so much. I know I'm sleeping with a bunch of idiots.” 

“You're hellbent on letting these assholes touch you.” he grunted.“ I can't stand it, I don't get it. It's pointless, it's…”

You were barely able to make out the words; he was just rambling, or so you concluded.

“How is that your problem?” you cut him off, bringing him back from his thoughts.

Only then, Heesung realized the slip up. Yes, you were right, and regardless of how close the two of you were, it was ultimately your call who you slept with, which bothered Heesung to no end. Why were you so against calling him again? Why didn't you ask to have sex again? Why did he finally have you, only for you to slip through his fingers? 

He hoped you hadn't caught onto it, but you knew him too well not to. Everything made sense after; his seemingly sudden offer, waiting for you outside of the car, this angry fit.

“I said, how's that your problem? What about it?” you pushed, in response to Heesung's answer, which had been silence.

“You can do so much better than that.” he finally said.

“So,” you smiled at him. “Think you can be my better?”

Heesung pulled the car over, so quickly your body flew towards the door, and he almost hit his chest with the steering wheel. His grip on it was tight, and he began panting. You thanked god about the empty, dark road, otherwise it could've ended in a nasty crash.

Both of your eyes meet, his pupils blown out with a hint of a gleam in them. There was hope, a tad bit of anger, and an undeniable desire. His hands were twitching, itching to touch you, and you didn't remember ever feeling so wanted.

Heesung's gaze slowly drifted to your lips, almost involuntarily. Your mouth fell open to breath, uneven and quick. The car was cold, but your temperature went up like a fever.

“Are you going to kiss me?” 

His gaze met yours once more. “Can I?”

You nodded. It was all he needed to pull you in, holding your face with both hands as gently but firmly as he could. Afraid, in a weird way, that you would disappear if he let go. That this was all a sick dream from his hungry mind and that he was soon to wake up alone, in bed, with you far away from his grasp.

Despite how much he wanted to keep it slow, the kiss was just plainly instinctual. It had started soft, as if he wanted it to last forever, which he did. Then it was relentless, like nothing was enough, with your faces pressed so tightly together that you almost felt you couldn't breathe properly. Heesung allowed you a few seconds of air before he was onto you again.

It was hard to keep up with him, but you managed, because this was what you wanted anyway. It was hard to tell if you would ever get to feel something like this again; the desperation, your blood pounding in your ears from the anticipation before he made the move, and your whole body shaking in excitement as if it had a memory of its own, and could recognize the touch. 

“Backseat,” you muttered between kisses. 

He heard you, loud and clear, he just couldn't stop himself. He wanted more. Heesung wanted to do so much with you, and to you, that he was unable to do anything at all. He couldn't bring himself to separate his mouth from yours despite needing the air, and his hands roamed mindlessly and only for the sake of getting a feel. The once deliberate and calculated Heesung was now a wreck in your hands, melting in the heat like a popsicle. Sweet.

But you really had to pull him off, otherwise you'd turn blue. Your nails scratched his scalp as you yanked him back, making him whimper in the process. The way he looked burned in your memory; eyes half-lidded, lips pink and swollen, parted, panting. Even with his eyes nearly closed, you could see his darkened eyes.

“I said backseat, Heesung,” you repeated, letting go of his hair. “Do you want to fuck me or not?” 

In every single position there was. Fingers, tongue, cock, he wanted to give you everything and more, so he scrambled to the backseat as you had ordered. 

This is who you were; demanding and controlling. That one time he manhandled you? Only that, a one time thing, now you wouldn't give in so easily. Not after the little jealousy number he pulled, at least. You weren't all that resilient yourself, but you would drag it as far as you could.

Heesung thought that he had chosen the worst type of clothing possible. Had he kept the sweatpants instead of changing into something else, then maybe the friction would've been more bearable. The rough material of his pants brushing against his cock made him groan whenever he slightly shifted. And when he finally found comfort, you seated yourself on his lap and grinded, hard. 

“Ohfuck,” he whined, his hands flying to your hips to find some leverage. His nails dug into your sides. “You're gonna— I'm not gonna last.” 

You grinded down again. And again, until you set your pace, ignoring his cries. The nails trying to claw at your skin drove you further despite the sting. As much as he tried to slow you down in the name of ‘lasting longer', he still thrusted his hips up to meet you halfway, though his eyes were tightly shut, and lips pressed in a straight line.

“Please, please baby, I don't wanna come yet, please.” 

“Did I just hear The Lee Heesung begging?” 

He looked up at you, teary eyed. His bangs were stuck to his forehead, as sweat had already begun to drip from his hair. That had been enough of an answer.

Yes, you had. It had been about the hottest thing you had ever heard as well. Usually confident Lee Heesung, always took the lead Lee Heesung, would rather die than humiliate himself Lee Heesung, whining and whimpering about coming too fast after some kissing and humping. That same Heesung that had been able to get not one, but three orgasms out of you before even getting close. It was a sight to see.

You stopped, and Heesung sighed in relief, although the calm didn't last long. As a smirk formed on your lips, his eyes grew panicked. 

“If you come, I'll leave this car,” you said, rolling your hips again.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he whimpered. He squeezed his eyes shut again, the shape of his fingers imprinting onto your skin. Back then, when the two of you first had sex, this was the reality of what Heesung felt, even when he did a good job at not letting himself seem so desperate. 

He'd be damned if he looked like a loser in front of you, or so he thought. Because now that your wet underwear was soaking his pants, he was a mess. A hard, pathetic mess, desperately trying not to burst in his jeans from having you on top of him.

You yourself didn't believe you could keep torturing him, only because you were also torturing yourself in the process. His hard length along with the rough fabric of his pants brushed against your clit in a way that sent jolts through your body. It was harsh and uncomfortable while still feeling good enough not to stop.

Heesung's hips twitched with a mind of their own, searching for release against his wishes. You halted, leaning your body back to unbuckle his belt. He groaned at the loss of contact though didn't complain any further, and instead helped you get rid of his restraintments quicker. His breath ghosted over your skin as he sighed in relief, which made you shudder. 

His fingers went down to tease you under your dress, rubbing over the wetness seeping through your panties, and even with the layer in between, he could feel his fingers dampen. Heesung continued until you were left whining and attempting to grind your hips harder onto his hand. Only then did you feel him push the fabric to the side, and the tip of his cock pressed against your cunt.

After Heesung had you the first time, he knew that he couldn't let you go. Days went by where he would still feel your lips against his; the skin of your thighs, hot and sweaty, burning his cheeks as you closed your legs around his head while you came on his tongue. Not one day went by where he didn't fantasize about pushing himself inside you, and in some dreams, he would just stay there. 

But nothing was able to prepare him for when it actually happened. He thought the desperate way in which you lowered yourself on his cock might be too much for you. In reality, it was almost too much for him, as it forced a deep moan from his throat.

It was a little painful, walls tightening and loosening around him to accommodate the quick stretch, though the sting was worth Heesung's debauched expression. You wondered why,despite the uncomfortable, small space, it felt so much better than the first time. Maybe it was how much both of you had seemed to crave it, or the car forcing even more proximity between you two, as the things you could do were limited. Regardless, you could feel your lower region sticky and warm with the slick that had, apparently, dripped out of you and spread around your thighs and ass. 

You could barely hear your over breathing over Heesung's heavy one. His hands massaged the skin of your waist where he held himself, mostly to ground himself to earth, or so you guessed, because he looked completely gone. His cheeks cherry red and his lips a peach pink, and you succumbed to the urge to kiss him. 

This time, it was slow and calculated. He took the time to feel the rest of you, from threading his fingers in your hair, to ghosting his fingers over your spine from under the dress. You didn't fall behind, though, raising his shirt as much as you could to run your nails over your stomach, stopping to feel his muscles tense beneath your hands as you began to move your hips.

“Slow, baby, please,” he breathed out, it came out way more high pitched than he intended to. 

As much as you wanted to keep messing with him, the world had seemed to fade away, leaving you two alone with the car and the small piece of road that you were parked in, and you didn't feel like breaking the moment just yet. You placed your hands on his shoulders for better stability, and rested your forehead on the crook of his neck.

Whispers of praises poured from his lips. You're beautiful, you're amazing, could stay here forever, and another handful that got lost between all the shit's and fuck’s that also came nonstop. He followed all of his words and phrases by kissing your neck, sometimes even biting. You might find a mark when you look in the mirror, but you cared little about that. Instead, you decided to leave a mark of your own, sucking and biting on the most visible place that you could think of. That's when he began to meet your movements, thrusting up messily in an attempt to pick up a pace. 

“Say you're—,” he gulped, interrupting himself. “You're mine.”

“Always have been,” you smiled against the light red bite mark. 

Your voice as you rode his cock kept driving him closer to the edge. Every moan and whine just made him go faster, having already been close to his orgasm from the grinding before. And as you grew tired, it felt as if he was regaining some form of control. Heesung smirked when you laid, practically limp, against him, allowing him to set the speed that he wanted. He remembered that he loved being in control as much as he had loved giving it to you.

“F-faster,” you pleaded lowly.

Heesung pouted, even when you couldn't see him. “No manners, sweetheart?” 

Most likely, you were about to pay a small price for threatening him to leave. 

You swallowed, so loud you were sure he had heard. “Please.” 

“What? I didn't hear you.” 

“Go faster, Hee, please!” you nearly yelled. It had been hard to get the words out after getting him where you wanted.

“There we go!” 

Were you being pushed down on his cock or was he pushing up into you? By this point, you weren't really sure. What you were certain about, though, was that he reached wherever you needed him to, and the squelching sounds were at its loudest.

“Was he good like me?” Heesung asked, grunting through his teeth. “Were you thinking about me while he fucked you?”

He wasn't expecting to get answers, and he didn't. You were too focused on the feeling of your body overheating from the inside out, and all of your muscles tensing. Your walls clamped around him involuntarily as pushed you closer to the orgasm that you had been chasing since the beginning of your date a few hours ago.

Heesung wanted you to finish first, he truly tried, but there was no way to stop the waves of pure pleasure that hit as he came, and the fact that he got to come inside of you just made it hit harder, and you had to help him ride out his climax because he really couldn't move, just kept himself there with his brows furrowed.

You were close as well, so you didn't really stop despite Heesung reaching his orgasm first. Even through his over sensitivity, he helped you reach your own high. He sneaked his hand between your bodies to rub messy circles on your clit. You kept it slow on him, but he went fast. 

It didn't take long for you after that. Feeling you on his cock as you orgasmed almost made him hard again, if it wasn't so late and you hadn't been going at it for what felt like forever—not that he was complaining—. He got to watch your face contort into pure pleasure, better than any daydreams.

Heesung pressed his forehead against yours, unable to do anything other than show you something, whatever that something was. It lingered in the air, in the way he looked at you through his teary gaze. He kissed you, slower than ever before.

Whatever was going through his mind was deeper than lust, you could feel it in the way his lips moved so softly against yours, holding your face with both hands. You wondered if he knew that you didn't plan on slipping away again.

[caitified]

Do a fic for when Kate discovered that her wife was pregnant and how she told everyone of the team, you could also talk about how was the pregnancy

baby

kate martin x reader

warnings: ivf and pregnancy! going back in time a bit for those who have read my other kate family stories.

kate’s hands trembled slightly as she held the test in front of her, her wide eyes darting between the little screen and your face. you couldn’t quite tell if the tears forming in her eyes were from joy, shock, or a mixture of both.

you had been waiting for her to get home from practice all day, your nerves building with each passing hour. the positive test had been sitting in your pocket, burning a hole through the fabric as you tried to focus on anything other than the massive news you were about to share.

kate had barely walked through the door when you blurted, “i need to tell you something.”

her forehead creased in concern as she kicked off her sneakers. “what’s wrong? are you okay?”

you shook your head quickly, stepping closer and pulling the test out of your pocket. “no, nothing’s wrong. actually, everything’s perfect.”

her eyes darted down to the object in your hand, and for a moment, she froze. “is that…?”

you nodded, unable to hold back the tears that welled in your eyes. “kate, we did it. i’m pregnant.”

kate’s jaw dropped, her bag slipping from her shoulder to the floor. “oh my god,” she whispered, reaching out to take the test from you, her fingers brushing yours.

“it’s real,” you murmured, your voice shaky but full of awe.

kate let out a breathless laugh, staring at the test as though it were the most precious thing in the world. then she dropped it onto the counter and pulled you into her arms, holding you as tightly as she could. she buried her face in the crook of your neck, her body shaking with a mixture of laughter and tears.

“we’re having a baby,” she mumbled, her voice muffled against your skin.

you felt tears prick at your own eyes as you clung to her. “we’re having a baby.”

it had been months of waiting, hoping, and holding your breath, and now it was real. you were pregnant with your daughter, a miracle born from countless doctor’s appointments, late-night conversations, and unwavering support from kate every step of the way.

kate finally pulled back to look at you, her face lit with a smile so bright it made your heart ache. “you’re incredible,” she said, cupping your face in her hands. “i don’t even know how to put into words how much i love you.”

“you don’t have to,” you replied, leaning into her touch. “just love our little girl as much as you love me.”

kate laughed, brushing her thumb over your cheek. “she’s already got my whole heart, just like her mom.”

you both stood there for a moment, wrapped in each other and the overwhelming joy of what was to come. when kate finally pulled you toward the couch, settling in with you wrapped in her arms, she tilted her head thoughtfully.

“we have to tell the team,” she said, with you curled up against her.

you groaned, hiding your face in her shoulder. “do we have to tell everyone? you know they’re never going to let us hear the end of it.”

kate chuckled, stroking your hair. “babe, they’re going to be so excited. plus, it’s going to get out eventually, and i’d rather they hear it from us than from some random gossip site.”

you sighed, knowing she was right. “fine. but you’re doing most of the talking.”

“deal,” kate agreed with a grin.

🫂🫂🫂

the next day, kate gathered her las vegas aces teammates at the team facility, promising there was “big news” to share. the group was buzzing with curiosity, and you could feel your nerves mounting as everyone settled in.

“alright, everyone,” kate started, standing at the front of the room with her arm around you. “we’ve got something pretty exciting to share.”

a’ja was the first to pipe up, her grin mischievous. “you two finally getting a dog?”

“better,” kate replied, her smile widening as she glanced at you.

the room went quiet, everyone hanging on her next words. kate took your hand, squeezing it gently.

“we’re having a baby.”

for a moment, the room was completely silent. then, chaos erupted.

cheers, squeals, and excited chatter filled the air as the team surged forward, wrapping the two of you in hugs and bombarding you with questions.

“when did you find out?” “how far along are you?” “oh my god, is it a boy or a girl?”

kate fielded the questions with ease, her hand never leaving yours as she proudly shared the news.

“it’s a girl,” she said, her voice full of pride. “our little girl.”

the team melted at that, and a’ja immediately started brainstorming baby names while kelsey demanded that she would be the cool aunt.

amidst all the excitement, you caught kate’s eye, and she gave you a look that said everything she didn’t need to say out loud.

thanks for reading! requests are open and feel free to give me ideas for their family.

[painted-flag]

OF FLOWERS AND DEATH - aemond targaryen

Chapter 20: An Elf's Rage

☾⋆⁺₊✧ dark elf!Aemond Targaryen x f!human!reader series. ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series masterlist. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ word count: 7.3k ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series warnings: 18+ depictions of violence/gore, eventual smut, warfare, sickness/disease, some moments of misogyny, and mentions of alcohol consumption. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ The world tilts, friends fight friends, and there is no escape from the carnage.

‘That’s where you’re wrong. This time, we’ll take them all out. Starting with this spoiled bitch.’

Cole’s words echoed in your mind as tensions ran high. You saw the elven soldiers around you as they watched on to what their king would do. Cole was in open subordination and that stance alone seemed to shock a good portion of them. The other portion looked surprisingly calm, faces blank as they watched on with calculation in their eyes. The sun beat down through the thin canopy of trees and you could smell the bustling breeze that carried the scent of flowers in the fields beyond the camp. The fields of your old home that happened to be on the verge of being set alight. 

The gleaming steel of Cole’s sword was pointed at you, just a few metres from your body. Within a few moments after Cole threatened you, Aemond moved from your side to be in front of you. His hand had grabbed your forearm and pulled you behind him. The hand left you to then rest on the hilt of his sword, yet he waited to draw it. 

“You will have to pass me first, Cole.” Aemond’s tone was calm but held a weight behind it that you had scarce to ever see. 

“No, you will step aside and let us finish what you could not.” Cole's words were threatening, not unlike anything he had ever said to you. However, this time it was towards his king and in an area so open. Your mind got caught up in his words. Us?

“Careful now,” Aegon pipped up from beside Daeron as he stood with the other elves, “That is your king.” 

Cole let out a strangled laugh and paid Aegon no mind, his eyes staring intently at Aemond, “You’ve been so blind to your own elves' anger at your inaction.”

Aemond made a move to speak, but Cole did not let him, “So many of your people have grown tired. We want them gone.” You were overcome by anger at his sentiment. 

“So this is why you started the taint? Because you could not let anything go?” You had tried to step forward to get nearer to Cole. All notions of self-preservation had left you, but Aemond’s arm which had been ready to seize his sword flew out to keep you behind him. While it warmed your heart at his innate need to protect you, your adrenaline urged you to fight Cole yourself. Truly, it would not go well for you as you had never held a sword in your life. 

“You be silent, scum!” Cole had lost what little composure he had left when you spoke. It was like he was offended at the fact that you thought it was okay to speak to him, to even look in his direction. 

“Say that again.” Aemond challenged. He moved his hand back to the hilt of his sword and squared his shoulders. The disrespect Cole had shown him, especially in front of other soldiers, would not go unpunished. 

“I said that she is a whore,” Cole spat out, “And I do not fight alone.” At those words, many of the elves standing by pulled out their swords as well and aimed them at Aemond. You nearly stumbled back completely. Almost half of the current forces here – which was already a few thousand total – had sided with Cole. This could not have been sudden but rather planned. Bile almost rose to your throat. How long had he been planning this?

In quick succession, the elves turned on their own soldiers and started to attack. They seemed to already know which were on Cole’s side. Aemond unsheathed his sword and pointed it at Cole to block the elf's strike. You yelped as Aemond pushed you back and out of the way. The wound in your side throbbed. You looked around at the chaos around you. Just moments ago everything was alright and now it had crumbled into chaos. 

Clanging swords against one another rose with a fervour. Elves fought with senseless and reckless abandon, cutting into one another. Guttural screams rose above the clanking metal, intermixing with the sounds of dented armour and cut skin.

Aemond and Cole were locked in on one another. You could not help but be entranced, stuck in awe at the sight in front of you. The way they fought with such skill and precision outmatched any you had ever seen. It was a dance of wrath; born from one friend's growing discontent and the other’s betrayal. 

While Aemond was distracted, an elf from the sidelines came at you with his sword raised. You had no means of protecting yourself, no weapon to even try. You wished, with all your might, that you had learned how to fight for yourself. In all your years, you had learned to live by yourself – but fighting had never been an option. 

The elf, just moments from you, had suddenly stopped as a piece of steel burst forth from his throat. He choked on his blood, the squelching sound being driven into your head and forced to rest there forever in blistering torment. The steel slowly receded and left his throat, causing the elf’s body to tumble to the ground. Aegon stood there, looking at his sword as if he were in shock at what he had done. 

Too soon after that one attack came another. This time from behind you and Aegon would not be able to intervene. Aemond, amid his fight with Cole, seemed to still be keeping a close watch on you. He lunged forward and struck down the elf coming straight at you, but unfortunately, it left him vulnerable and Cole swooped in. The elf’s sword made a brutal downward chop toward Aemond’s side with nothing but unbridled brutality behind it. Cole seemed lost in his indignation towards the King and struck with rage rather than precision. 

Aemond stumbled to the ground, his knees hitting the solid dirt. His sword fell from his grasp and Cole swung his longsword down. Aemond was able to roll to his side away from it and let out a grunt. Cole began to scream as he swung his sword with reckless abandon, each time he hit the dirt, Aemond managed to dodge the swings. Eventually, as Cole paused for a second to breathe, Aemond kicked out his leg and knocked Cole to the ground. Cole grunted loudly as his body, covered in hard armour, hit the ground with a loud thump. 

You watched on, now between Daeron and Aegon for safety, as Aemond and Cole used their firsts to strike blows at one another. They tossed and turned in the trampled shortgrass. Each movement caught a ray from the sun on their now dirtied armour. It was all snarls and bunched-up firsts as they fought. 

More elves came to try and strike at you, each being taken out by Daeron or Aegon. You never wanted to feel this helpless again in your life. If you had any chance of survival, you would not suffer this again. You would learn to defend yourself. The brutality in front of you compounded. It was like hell had opened, spilling chaos from its yoke. 

In your moment of distraction as you watched Daeron plung a sword through a weak spot in an elf’s armour and into his belly, you heard a strangled shout. The voice, so instilled in your bones had never made that sound. The world seemed to slow as you turned and saw a dagger in Aemond’s stomach. There was a small opening in his armour, and Cole had taken advantage of it. The hilt looked a lot like the one that Cole had used to stab you. Aemond’s head hit the ground and he lost his strength. 

Cole kneeled above Aemond. He tilted his head up to the sky, letting the rays hit his face and closed his eyes in victory. His arms were outstretched as if he accomplished all that he had ever wanted. Your eyes slipped to Daeron who was near you and currently fighting an elf. There, resting on his hip, was a sheathed knife. It was not large but had enough of a blade to create damage. You surged forward, no thought in your head other than pure desperation to protect the elf you loved. It did not matter if you had no experience; you would die trying. 

You took it from Daeron's waist causing him to turn to you in surprise. You made your way towards Aemond, seeing his eye closed in pain. In the haze of the fight, his eyepatch had slipped off and you could see the intensifying blue of the sapphire that replaced his destroyed eye. You knew it was a sapphire, he had told you so those weeks ago by the campfire the two of you shared. Yet, he never showed you. That would require a level of vulnerability you did not think he could display. Now, here, seeing him wounded on the ground with his eye so exposed made you think of the memory you saw of when the human prince had attacked him and taken his eye. 

Both times, Aemond was forced to fight someone he thought of like family; always ending in a piece of himself, a part of his soul, being ripped from him and exposed. 

While Cole was celebrating an early victory, you found a spot on his neck that his armour did not cover and you used all your might to drive it into the side. You had come from behind him. With the chaos of everything around, noises louder than ever, he had not heard you. If it was any other scenario, you would not stand a chance against the seasoned warrior. It had been a cowardly move on your part, but again, he had stabbed you first. 

It was only natural you would return the favour with similar cowardice to mock his own. 

Cole choked and scrambled off Aemond as his hands reached up to try and stop the blood from pooling forth. His body convulsed and he scrambled away. He finally looked at you. The amount of gratification that came off of you at the look of realization in his eyes felt almost evil if it was not for the given circumstances. The discovery that he had been bested by a human in more ways than one shot through him. His eyes shone with anger, confusion, malice, and even fear.

With a gargle, faint words came from Cole’s last breath, “For the order.” 

His body crumbled to the ground. As much as you wanted to relish in that moment, your fear for Aemond took control over the carnal side of you that wished to fight. You turned to Aemond and knelt down beside him. Your hands took hold of the wound to block the blood. He looked up at you with a haze in his eyes, as if unsure that you were there. 

“Aegon! Daeron!” Your voice was hoarse, seeping with despair. The two brothers saw you on the ground with Aemond and instantly moved into action. They whistled out for soldiers that eventually formed a perfect circle to protect the royals. All around camp the elves had taken their stances on who they wished to fight for. None of it mattered to you, Cole had this planned coup for a long time with the amount of supporters he had. 

Aegon and Daeron crouched beside you at their brother who had gradually started to weaken. Your hands shook as you tried to staunch the blood. There was nothing around to help. No medical supplies or even any herbs within the immediate area. You tried with all your might to hold back tears, but they silently trailed down your face and carved red lines in the skin. 

“Daeron. What,” You choked out, “What can we do?” You pleaded. It was like all your skills as a healer left your body at seeing him mortally wounded. All Daeron gave you was a solemn look in return. His eyes communicated what he could not do vocally; there was nothing either of you could do to help Aemond. That confirmation caused your shoulders to shake as you sucked in a deep breath. 

Aemond’s wound was serious. It was shaking to see such a strong-willed and powerful being be reduced to nothing but an injured creature. He was the king. Countless tales and bard songs – even in your kingdom – spoke with a fearful reverence at his might and success on the battlefield. Elves were immortal, but still susceptible to death. That you knew all too well in the eyes of your patients. The fleeting of their soul was something you recognized. 

That is why it petrified you to see that same look on Aemond. 

The barrage of elves still threatened to break through the protective circle. Daeron and Aegon had no choice but to join in the fight and left you with Aemond. You were breathing heavily by then, short inhales and exhales made your head feel fuzzy. The surrounding slaughter, a symphony of clanging metal, shouts, screams, and spilled blood intensified the pounding that began to build up in your skull. 

You were trying to think of anything that could work to help Aemond, but nothing came. 

His voice, quiet but heard, reached out to you. Aemond had muttered your name, his one eye trained on your face. You shuffled to rest on your legs and lifted his head to be on your lap. If you could do one thing, it would be to offer him comfort as he slipped from the land of the living. 

“We match,” He croaked out. You furrowed your brows, but all he did was tilt his head to look down at the dagger in his abdomen. He was speaking of both his and your injury. 

“That’s not funny, Aemond.” You reprimanded through tears. 

A faint smile, one you had never seen on him, graced his lips. “I like it when you say my name...” He said with a look in his eye similar to the one you would see between Amara and Liriel. 

Amara and Liriel…

There was a single solution that could save Aemond, but proposing such a thing was preposterous. You remembered, in the first week of your stay in the kingdom, the wedded couple telling you of elf marriages. They could be romantic or platonic, but each had the characteristic of the binding of souls which helped rebuild the body. Maybe his wound could… 

No. 

Absolutely and unequivocally no. 

But what other options were there? What other path was there to take save for watching him bleed out in front of you? 

“Aemond,” Your hands put more pressure on his wound to slow the blood flow. The warmth of his blood was more intense than the small rays of sun that penetrated through the treetops. 

“There is one thing I could do, but –” You were so conflicted in telling him, but it was worth it to at least try, “Take a part of my soul.”  

His eye squinted and the lucidity he was drifting out of came back at your suggestion. He tried to sit up more but grunted in pain. The wound was just small enough to give him time to slowly bleed out. Cruel, but it gave you more time to likely convince him to even do this. 

“What?” 

“It would heal your wound, right?” You questioned. 

Aemond shook his head from side to side, “Yes, but–” 

“Then do it.” You voiced with determination. It would hurt you. You loved him and nothing would pain you more to be so close to him, but not be loved in return. Not allowed to truly be with him. However, that was infinitely better than never seeing him again. Being his friend over watching him die was the best option. 

“You would do that?” Aemond enquired. 

“But would you? Bind yourself to a being you hate?” Your tone bordered between seriousness and a jest. However, Aemond was not looking at you with laughter in his gaze. There was a gentleness there, a vulnerability exposed as he lay helpless on the ground. 

He sighed, “I never hated you. I hated that I couldn’t.” His words struck you so deeply that you had no other recourse than to stare at him. Was it you that was hallucinating? Had you died to Cole and all of this was some sort of manically charged last surge of your mind before it faded? 

Aemond lifted one of his hands to move and grip the hilt of the dagger in his stomach. You put yours over his to stop him as he tried to pull it out. 

“What in the seven hells are you doing?” 

“We’ll need a blade,” Aemond grunted, “If we are to do this.” You understood what he was saying. If you did the ceremony, the wound would begin to rapidly heal; having a knife in the way would be ghastly. A knife was also needed for the ceremony. It was fitting that the same steel used in an attempt to kill you both would be what intertwined your souls.

A sick jest from the gods, perhaps. Even sicker as you knew Aemond was only doing this because he had to, not because he wanted to. 

He sucked in a breath before pulling the blade out. You immediately covered the wound with one of your hands, but knew it was futile. The warmth of his blood, the sheer heat of it, overwhelmed you. 

“Hold,” Aemond winced, “Hold out your hand, rūklon.” You obeyed and gave him your free hand. It was already covered in his blood. He took the edge of the blade and cut a long thin line on your palm. He shakily handed you the dagger before holding out his hand for you to do the same. You gripped his hand, which was significantly larger than yours, and cut down the length of his palm. His fingers twitched just slightly at the pain. 

His cut hand took your cut one and you could feel the blood mixing. 

“Are you sure?” Aemond asked you again. You thought for a moment. It might have been the adrenaline from recent events or the throbbing in your side from your still-weakened state that influenced your decision. Truly, however, you simply could not and did not wish to live a life without him, even if you knew he did not return such affections. 

“Yes.” You told him. He nodded at your words. 

“Repeat after me,” Aemond said. He began to speak in the Old Valyrian Elvish language. You did not understand the words but listened intently so you could repeat them.

“Ondoso ānogar, ondoso ñelly, ondoso soul. Ēva morghon, iksi hae mēre.” He muttered the words while looking into your eyes. You took them in and began to repeat the words back to him. Your voice stuttered multiple times and you felt embarrassed, but you managed to finish. When you were done, Aemond tried to pull himself up, but you stopped him from over-exerting himself. 

Your cut hands were still joined and he used his other hand, also covered in blood from holding his injury, to reach up and cup your face. You could feel the wetness on your cheek but paid it no mind. 

“Do you trust me?” He asked. Your head tilted up and down in confirmation. Your faces were just inches apart and he leaned in slowly. It was like your heart dropped to your stomach as you felt his lips just brush over yours. The skin was soft and quickly the two of you sunk into it. It was tentative at first, full of a delicate nature that sharply contrasted with the ongoing battle. While entirely new for you, it felt familiar; as if it was something you had experienced your whole life. Your heart began to thrum louder than the thunder of the soldier's footfalls on the ground. 

A buzzing feeling started at your joined hands and spread through your body. Aemond’s hold on your face cradled you sweetly and his thumb made back-and-forth motions against your cheekbones. You felt his lips move against yours one last time before pulling away. You had to blink a few times to get your mind back in control of your body that had slipped into a daze. 

The look in Aemond’s eye was tender, “Avy jorrāelan.” He spoke. 

“Avy-” 

“No,” Aemond interrupted you, “That is not part of the ceremony. It’s…” He trailed off. His hand left your face, but his other one did not leave your hand. 

All at once, the two of you let out winces in sync. You felt a terrible, sharp pain in your side where your wound had been before it disappeared. Any sensation of pain that you had and the feeling of the stitches against your skin was gone. Your gaze moved down to Aemond's wound and was immediately surprised that it was gone. Through the small gap in his armour and the tear in the fabric, thick blood still clung to the area. Yet, the wound was gone. 

You were suddenly aware of the fighting around you again and proceeded to move on shaking legs. Slowly, you were able to get up. Aemond, as if never hurt in the first place, moved up and grabbed his sword that had laid disregarded on the ground. He stared down at Cole’s limp body just a short distance from you. The emotions that battled in the storm of his blue eye were hard to grasp; pain, regret, and fondness were the ones that came easy, but others were likely left a mystery that only the elves could feel in their centuries of wisdom. 

Despite the hate you felt for Cole, you were saddened that his death struck Aemond so strongly.

Turning around, you saw that Daeron and Aegon had moved back inside the circle, having stopped fighting. You could tell, by the fact that Aemond had not stopped holding your hand, that they saw what had just happened. The brothers moved forward to speak to their king. 

“Brothers,” Aemond addressed them both. His eye squinted and the scar on his face crinkled as he studied the fighting outside the circle of guards, “You are to get the Queen back to the castle safely.”

Queen?

Your mind stuttered as you struggled to absorb what he had said. You did not sign up for that. It had not even crossed your mind. Surely, one had to be qualified to take up such a position. There were no qualifications in your past to even merit a spot as a lady, let alone a damn Queen. 

“Yes,” Both Daeron and Aegon responded. 

“What?” Your voice fell on deaf ears as the three elves ignored your protests. 

“Bar the gates, do not trust anyone else to keep her safe. Do you hear me?” Aemond’s voice boomed with authority as he stared his brothers down. He adjusted his grip on his sword, glancing every few seconds at the fighting elves.

“Of course,” Daeron responded while he turned to scout for a possible escape route. 

Aemond nodded to Aegon and spoke, “I will stay behind and end this.” 

“Are you serious? You were nearly killed!” You argued. Aemond tugged on your connected hands to have you face him fully. He removed his hold to place his hands on your shoulders. 

“I’ll be fine. It's you that I worry about. Go home and work on that cure, yes?” His voice had calmed significantly from his previous demanding tone. You could do nothing but nod, too focused on the care reflected on his face and the fact that you could feel some of his emotions. It came with the ceremony and you knew it, but it still surprised you. To feel part of another’s emotions was incredibly weird.

You nodded in confirmation and he gave you a tight-lipped smile, “Good.” He quickly kissed your forehead. It happened so fast that you almost did not perceive it. He let your hand go after giving it a tight squeeze. He pushed you gently towards Aegon. 

When Aegon grabbed you to leave, Aemond stopped him, “Brother…” There was fear behind his eye as it darted between Aegon and you. He was scared for you, terrified for your safety. It was odd for someone to be worried about your safety. It had been so long since that happened.

Aegon did not need any words and understood his worry, “I know. She'll be safe.” They both bowed their heads once before Aegon tugged on your forearm to make you follow behind him. You wanted to keep watching Aemond but had to turn away. The last you saw of his figure was him moving to the other side of the circle and going to leave the lines of protection to join in on the fight. 

The guards dispersed and then made a smaller formation around you, Aegon, and Daeron. Your group cut through the elves around you on their journey to the edge of camp. When you had come in, you were on a horse and that time had passed by quickly, but walking it now you could truly see how vast the elvish army was. A chill went down your spine when you realized that this was not even the full army. They were still waiting for legions from the outer corners of their kingdom. 

In due course, your group had made it to the surrounding edge of the camp where many horses stood about, fighting against the ties that kept them near the ongoing chaos. Through a mess of confusion, Aegon had lifted you onto one of the horses and got on one for himself. Daeron and Aegon flanked both of your sides while the other guards that helped you mounted other horses. 

From there, reluctantly, you could do nothing but look back as your horses fled the scene. You wished, desperately, to catch a glimpse of Aemond for any reassurance that he was alright, but could see nothing. 

Blood.

All you could see was blood. 

Your group had arrived back at the castle no less than an hour ago. Since then, you had run to the laboratory with Daeron to make sure all of the brews were alright and if the other healers had been doing their work. You were all still waiting for them to finish, as the potions were on the very brink of being ready. The other healers were excused. You could not remember what Daeron told them, only that you were incredibly relieved when they left the room. 

Looking down at your hands, you could see Aemond’s blood on them. It had cooled and begun to congeal with bits stuck under your fingernails like dirt after a long day of tending to growing herbs. They shook as you tried to wipe away the blood. Turning to a shelf of vials, you could see your dishevelled image in the reflection. Aemond’s bloody handprint had taken over a large portion of your face. In your state of panic, you tried to swipe it off but only managed to add more blood that had come from your hands. 

You began to hyperventilate. The carnage you had witnessed was nothing you had ever seen before. You were lucky enough to grow up in a period of centuries of peace. Precarious peace, but there nonetheless. Two hands shot out to hold yours still. Through the fog of your vision, you saw Aegon looking at you with worry. 

“You there, little lady?” He slowly guided you to one of the tables, where a bowl of water and some disregarded scraps of fabric were. “You’re alright, you’re safe now.” 

“What if this is just the beginning of his blood that is spilt?” You whispered. Aegon had trouble hearing and leaned in, but you could not repeat it. Your mind was running at speeds that you could not catch up with. Aemond was in danger, imminent danger. His soldiers had turned on him. Who was there left to trust?

Aegon had picked up a rag and dipped it into the water. He carefully ran it over the planes of your face. His fingers would ring out the water after washing the blood off and he repeated the process slowly and calmly. When your face was clear, he submerged your hands into the bowl of water and began to clean them off. 

“He’ll… he’ll be alright, won’t he?” You began to ramble, “Ridiculous, selfish of me to worry about only his safety when there are countless sick people in need of saving and soldiers laying down their lives at this very moment.” He had to grip your hands to keep them still as they had begun to shake again. Daeron silently worked a few tables away, potting doses of the potion into vials to distribute to the patients in the hall. 

Aegon thought for a moment before responding, “It is not ridiculous at all to worry about the people you love. You do love my brother, right?” He began to pick under your nails to get the last of the blood out. 

“More than anything.” Your response was immediate and full of truth. 

“Good.” Aegon nodded while focused on your nails, “He needs that in his life. Deserves it.” While his words were appreciative, there was a look of yearning on his face; a deep form of pain that could only stem from some kind of loneliness. 

“I know those feelings are not returned, but I will treasure him regardless.” You wanted to reassure Aegon that despite the desperate nature of your hasty ceremony to keep him alive, there was still care there. While you did not know what you were entirely signing up for, you would do your best to care for Aemond and the kingdom. You may be human, but you were comforted by your achievement of discovering the cure. Surely, that of all things, has won over the hearts and minds of the elven folk enough to grant you an easy transition into your new position. 

Aegon let out a short laugh at your words. He dropped your freshly cleaned hands and looked you in the eyes, “In all your genius skills, the obvious always seems to evade you.” 

Aegon gestured to Daeron who was now standing at the door and calling in some of the other healers. You looked at the filled vials and somehow nothing felt real. It felt like an out-of-body experience. It had not been more than three moons since you were hunched over at a desk in your tiny home in the village, struggling to put together your father’s research. Now, the cure was in front of you and you knew it worked. 

While your heart tugged towards Aemond and the need to know he was safe, your duty was to remain here and begin curing the patients. With time, you could move on and work on the rest of the taint that stained the land. For now, you will fix what you have control over and pray to any and all gods out there that they keep Aemond safe. 

It had been hours of back and forth between the laboratory and the sick hall. There were constant rotations of elves brewing more potions and giving the finished ones to patients. It would gradually heal them, but that period varied from patient to patient. Some had gotten up to walk, while others still lay in a state of pain – though they thankfully described a gradual gentle relief making its way through their body. 

You had wanted to help with making more brews, but Daeron had stopped you. Making the blood sacrifice and dealing with the loss of energy was a requirement to brew it as the mortua terra flower would take from the host. However, according to Daeron, you could not do that anymore. Your soul was tied to Aemonds, therefore any dark magic would not just suck at your soul, but his as well. It would be unfair to the bond you now shared to weaken it in any way. 

Time was spent moving from patient to patient, giving doses to the ones who had yet to receive any and taking notes on the ones who had. It was incredible to see the wiry darkness of the taint start to fade from the patient's skin. The dark purple, almost black bruises that formed on the skin faded over time. The volume of coughing had gone down significantly and it was the longest period between having to summon guards to carry a fresh corpse out of the hall.

On the way to your next patient, you passed by an empty bed. A sharp stinging pain shot through your heart. It was unfamiliar to not see Lyra sitting in that bed and be greeted by her smile. You were too late to save her; which may be one of your worst regrets. It would be a guilt you shall hold for as long as you live. 

You had just made it to your next patient when the two large grand doors of the hall creaked as they opened. You were frozen in your spot as two guards came in to push the doors open further. 

Standing there, battered and bloody, was Aemond. He had sheathed his sword. His armour was scratched, with some of the metal being dented. It was covered in dirt, grass, blood, and some burn marks. You had no idea how the hell burn marks would have ended up on his armour, but only that it must have gotten worse after you left. His eyepatch was put on again, also dirtied. However, he was still standing – that fact alone hit you with more relief than you had ever felt. 

His eye scanned feverishly about the hall in search of something. He had a frantic glint in his eye. You stood up from your crouched position beside the patient's bed and it immediately alerted him to where you were. When he spotted you, you could see the tension in his shoulders ease as they slumped down. His lips parted like he lost his breath. You could see his frame was veiled with exhaustion.

Without wasting a moment, you placed your notebook down on a nearby tray and bunched up the skirts of your dress in your hands to make a rapid move toward him. You speed walked down the centre aisle past the beds of sick patients and healers. They had all turned to look at their king but shied away when you were walking towards him. One thing you liked about elves was their tenacity in providing privacy when needed. 

You had finally reached him but paused, unsure of what to do. What do you do? Should you hug him? He was your husband, surprisingly so. It felt inappropriate to do so, especially in front of the elves. Despite being married, it was not exactly a wanted union. It had been born out of desperation rather than love. 

Aemond did not speak, just stared at you with a certain fondness you could not pinpoint. After being in the hall for hours and tending to elves, you were running on muscle memory alone.

In your mind, you saw him as another wounded patient that needed tending to. However, you wished for more privacy. 

You reached out and grabbed his hand, your thumb brushing over his knuckles, and then pulled him out of the hall. The two of you silently walked down the torch-lit hallways of the castle and towards your room. 

You released your hold to open your door and usher him into the room. The hearth had been lit to keep the room cool. You could only guess that it was sometime in the middle of the night. Both of your bodies were wrecked with exhaustion. Before Aemond could even think to sit down, you stopped him. He would need to take off his armour if you were to assess and care for his injuries. 

Aemond grunted in pain and tried to take off his right pauldron, but struggled to keep his arm up. You gently swatted his hand away and took over. Your fingers nimbly took off the metal from his shoulders, almost touching the skin of his neck that was exposed by removing the piece. 

You worked in silence, the moment too oddly intimate to speak. You were taking off his outer layer of armour, slowly stripping the soldier away and revealing Aemond underneath. Again, he seemed to always be watching you. Your cheeks heated up under his gaze and you struggled to keep your nerves from making you shake. Each piece of metal weighed more than expected and you could not help but marvel at the strength he possessed. To be able to carry such weight and still fight was a feat. 

Once the metal had been laid out in a pile, you moved on to taking the chainmail off and then the under gambeson. Aemond was left in just his leather boots, pants, and a thin linen shirt. You guided him to a chair and watched as his exhausted body slumped into the seat and his eye closed. He rested an elbow on the arm of the chair and put his chin in his hand. His chest heaved with deep breaths. 

You collected some things in your room that would be needed to help him. Various rags, a bowl of water, salve, and bandages were carefully laid on a small circular table placed beside the padded chair. You stood in front of him awkwardly. In order to clean his wounds, you would need to remove his tattered shirt. 

“Um, I’ll need you to…” Your voice trailed off. Aemond opened his eye and looked at you before moving on to grab the hem of his shirt. He pulled it up partway but got stuck near the shoulders. You could already see large bruises forming on his torso. You helped him take it off and discarded it next to the pile of armour on the ground. 

Your feet carried you back to the door to the room and you opened the door, leaned out, and spoke to a guard stationed in the hallway, “I’ll need some male clothing, could you task a handmaid nearby?” The guard silently nodded and left. You closed the door again and walked back to where Aemond sat and dragged a stool so you could sit down. 

Once on the stool, you soaked the rags and began to work. You started on one arm and began to clean it and then applied a salve to larger cuts. It was difficult to not ogle the lithe muscles of his skin, especially the ones that composed his torso. Aemond trained daily and that habit showed by the nature of his body. You moved onto the other arm. Once that was done, you started at his upper chest. The whole time, he watched you through his half-lidded eye. You swallowed down saliva that had pooled in your mouth and continued your job. 

“They’re cleaning up the bodies now…” Aemond trailed off. You knew what he meant. At this moment, countless elf corpses were being dealt with. Their bodies thrown onto carts to be buried or burned. 

“It’s over?” You questioned as you meticulously wiped away dried blood patches. 

“No,” Aemond muttered, “I don’t know how many were working for Cole. They could still be here in the castle and are most definitely posted throughout the kingdom.” 

You nodded at his words and pulled away to clean the rag in the water. The hearth fire crackled and sputtered while the wood snapped piece by piece. Even in the warmth of the room, the water was cold and trickled off of the rag. 

“I’m sorry for not believing you. When you came to me about Cole…” Aemond told you. Your fight was still fresh. The anger and insults hurled at one another that morning echoed in your mind. If you had simply stayed in your room and talked with him, how much different would things be? You would have never gone to your lab and Cole would not have tried to kill you. Though, he likely would have tried some other time.

“You had every right to not believe me. He was your close friend. I’m only new here, Cole has known you for longer.” You gave him a half-smile and went back to dragging the cloth across his chest. Aemond’s hand went up to grab yours and stop your movements. 

“Yes, but…” He paused. He was battling with himself to speak more, “We have to talk about–” Sharp knocking sounded on your door and you quickly shot out of your seat and away from Aemond. You do not know why you were so eager to get away from him. Perhaps it was fear in what he wished to speak to you about. 

The deal had been met. 

You knew that you were to stay in the kingdom for a year or until there was a cure. The cure had been made and now you have extended past your welcome here. Maybe he would have you sent back home. That thought alone pained you. After all, why would a human be allowed to stay with the elves?

However, you were also technically the Queen. You had married Aemond – despite his likely wariness of it all. Yet, you were unsure of your place here. 

You opened the door and spotted a handmaiden with folded clothes in her arms. You muttered words of thanks, took the clothing, and closed the door. Aemond watched closely as you walked back to him. You held out the clothing to him and refused to look at his form. If you did, you knew that the heat would come back to your face and a redness would coat your skin. There was no need to make Aemond any more uncomfortable than he was. 

Your arms extended and Aemond grabbed the clothes from you. His fingers brushed yours and you felt a jolt trail up both arms. You skirted away and held your hands behind your back. You wanted to curse yourself out for acting so distant. You were closer than ever, souls bonded, yet you could not get through the wall between you two. There was something there, unspoken and present, that prevented you two from being on the same page. 

“It’s best that you get some rest. Fighting for so long has drained you.” You spoke. Aemond stood up from the chair and placed the clothing down where he had sat. 

“About us, we–” 

“The people need their king right now. Eat, sleep, and get ready for tomorrow.” There were still elves among his people who likely sympathized with Cole and his cause. It would be a challenge to find them all and interrogate them for answers. You also could not stand there, exhausted, and have Aemond tell you that your arrangement was only one of convenience.

Your heart would not be able to take his rejection. You had only just lived, that would surely be what would kill you. 

You decided to let him change in your room and took the initiative to leave. When you had finally opened the door with the mission to go back to the laboratory, Aemond had called out your name. Your gaze shifted to him. He stood there, his face was a mix between yearning and dejection. 

“You need to rest as well.” 

You nodded with a tight-lipped smile, “I will rest when all of my patients are cured.” With those words, you closed the door to give him privacy. 

Epilogue: An Elf's Devotion Preview

“I feel as though I owe you an explanation,” Aemond spoke as the two of you began to waltz across the floor with the other dancing elves. 

“An explanation?” You questioned. Aemond’s eye was scanning the room. You could see it in his stance, he wanted to talk about something. Deeply. However, his posture held hints of nervousness.

“I know our union may have been done in haste, but I need you to know that,” Aemond licked his lips, took a deep breath in, and locked his eye on you, “I–” He huffed. You could feel his fingers tighten just slightly as his gaze swept to the floor. You were unsure of how to proceed. You had never seen him in this state.  

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[tofics]

Broken - Chapter 7

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: A year has passed since Joel and Ellie have returned to Jackson when he finds you on patrol, half frozen and half burning up. Jackson takes you in and nurses you back to health, welcoming you as the newest member of their community. The more time passes, Joel realizes that you and him have more in common than he likes… Until one day, everything changes and you get a gift that he’ll never get.

Word Count: ~8k words

This chapter is very dark. Reader discretion is advised.

Warnings/tags: show canon violence, clear intentions of killing, mentions of mental melt-downs, description of (underage) SA, cursing

Chapter 7 - Shared Pain Is Still Pain

The door to the room flies open and crashes against the wall with a loud bang, making the pregnant lady jump. Joel feels remorse for a split second before he appears in his line of sight and Joel sees nothing but red again. His hands dig into the man's collar with the determined grip of a python, yanking him off his chair with ease in spite of the man's size and mass.

Neither height nor weight stand a chance against Joel's rage. He slams the asshole into the nearest wall, wishing it was made of something sturdier than wood, something more gravelly perhaps or spikey even. Out of the corner of his eye, he registers movement, but he ignores it. Although the bastard’s head connected with the surface with a loud thump, it's not enough, nor is the dazed expression in his eyes after the impact.

"You like touching on little girls, hm?" Joel's voice is as cold as ice. The steps behind him come to a sudden stop. A quick sideway glance at Tommy tells him his words have struck a cord with his little brother, just like they had with Joel when you'd spat them out.

Joel slams the asshole against the wood once more. "Hm? Like how helpless they are, yeah? You get off on that, big man?"

"Joel." Maria's voice carries through the room with authority, her unspoken command clear. Stand down. But Joel doesn't obey, nor do his hands release the pig's collar. He feels his lips quivering in disgust as he stares into the bastard's eyes. It's taking every ounce of strength he has not to put an end to this pig’s life right here, right now.

"Maria," Joel pushes out between clenched teeth. "Might wanna take her out of the room." He cocks his head at the pregnant woman without ever taking his eyes off of his target. "She don't have to see this."

Immediately, the woman starts to protest, and Joel feels a fleeting tinge of worry for her and the unborn child in her belly. Images of Sarah's mom cloud his vision, belly and ankles swollen. Stress ain't good for the baby. The doctor had put her on bedrest for the last three weeks.

Over the loud protests, Maria instructs two men to remove the now screaming lady from the room and then closes the door behind them. “Don’t - don’t hurt her-“ The man’s cut off by another violent shove against the wall. “Shut your fuckin’ mouth,” Joel seethes. He’s grabbed the pig by his face, forcing his jaw shut by way of his fingers. They dig into the flesh with force, strong enough to leave bruises behind. “You think we’re scum like you, hm? Think we get off on hurting women like you do?” Joel’s spit lands just inches beside the scum’s ear. He has the decency to flinch, staring daggers into Joel’s face, but he keeps his trap shut.

"Joel," Maria warns again, but Joel’s grip doesn't loosen. If it did, his hands might wander straight to the man's throat instead, and he tells Maria so.

He hears her sigh behind him and then Tommy's right his side; a soothing hand on his back. "Liam's got a gun on him. He tries anything, we shoot. You can let go, brother." Tommy pats him on the back but doesn't urge him on. He knows him well.

Joel takes a couple more breaths, his face still distorted into a mask of disgust and fury. It feels like a monumental feat, but he manages to pry his fingers loose from the bastard eventually.

When he steps away, the other guy doesn't move from where Joel shoved him into the wall, just rightens himself slightly. Joel's delighted to see the man's hand come away soiled with blood after he touches it to the back of his head. It puts a grim smile on Joel's face.

He hasn't had much cause for blood-thirst as of late. Not since he rescued Ellie from the Fireflies. He became calmer after that, soothed by the safety Jackson had to offer and all that came with it. It changed him for the better, brought out more of the Joel he had been before the world had gone to shit and Sarah had been ripped from him. Her jarring loss had twisted something inside of him that only Ellie had managed to untangle. She'd made him softer in many ways, rounded out his hard and jagged edges where twenty years of brutal survival had chipped away at him.

But now that bloodlust has been rekindled inside of him, and the flames are licking up his insides, asking to be unleashed. Joel sees fire, and he wants to burn this man to the fucking ground until nothing but ashes are left of him.

As promised, Liam has his rifle trained on the man's chest. He's a good and loyal man, and Joel trusts him, but his hands are still itching to take the rifle from his hands and empty its magazine into the chest it's pointed at.

"So." Maria drags a chair over to herself and puts one leg up on the seat, her elbow casually resting on her knee.

"You wanna tell us in your own words what had one of our people react to you the way she did?"

Joel's glad to hear Maria's phrasing. One of our people. He knows Jackson's decision are run through the entire council. No one here decides anything monumental on their own, especially not the fates of potential newcomers. But he also knows that Maria's opinion carries weight with the rest of the council-members. It makes her phrasing of you as one Jackson’s own all the more meaningful.

"Go on," Joel urges when the man makes no move to open his mouth, just stares ahead blankly. His own hands are twitching, ready to beat the information out of him if necessary. Just give me a reason, Joel thinks. Lord knows he already has reason enough to beat this asshole to pulp.

Silence settles over the room. Four pairs of eyes rest on the man’s face, but he avoids all of them, just stares ahead blankly at the door he'd presumably love to leave through.

"Listen, you ain't doin' yourself any favors by not talkin," Tommy tries in what Joel recognizes as his ally-tone. "Better to hear it from you than someone else. You want a shot at livin' here? Give us your perspective."

"No way in hell we're letting that asshole stay-," Joel begins, but Tommy shuts him up with a look.

"Everybody gets their fair trial. That includes bein' heard out," his little brother chides him and Joel has to bite down on his lips to hold back a remark. Has to remind himself that this is why he wants Ellie to grow up here, and not in a QZ, with FEDRA and their sadistic version of what 'fair' means.

"He's right." Maria takes out a notepad and pen and looks at the scum expectantly, although there's no kindness in her eyes, just a neutral expression on her face. "Now let me tell you how this goes. You talk, we listen. We, that's our council. We decide things together in this town. You're gonna have a chance to tell your story to each of us individually. After that, we'll discuss your case within the council. It's in your best interest to stick to the same story. We'll all be taking notes and comparing them, so any discrepancies will be noted and followed up on. There’ll be a vote in the end about whether or not you get to stay. Any questions?"

Joel listens to Maria explain the town's prosecution process and can't help but feel like she is reading the man his rights. If you can't afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you. The wording from the old Miranda warning echoes in Joel's head, a remnant of a life that is long gone. Probably made one hell of a lawyer back in the day, he thinks and promptly feels a profound sense of pride for his sister-in-law.

Joel's head is swimming when he leaves the interrogation room two hours later. What a goddamn fucked up world we live in, he thinks as he heads out to find you.

Something like this was bound to happen, of course. Eventually, something was bound to disturb Jackson's peace. He just didn't expect it would come in the form of a rapist of all things, much less be brought in on his own damn horse. It sickens him to his stomach that him and Jeff are the ones who brought this evil into town, even if it happened unknowingly and with the best intentions.

Amber - the pregnant lady - is bound to give birth any day now, according to Jackson’s resident doctor. Joel could’ve told you as much on his own. By the looks of her swollen belly, it was clear that she’d be due soon. When him and Jeff came upon them, it had seemed like a no-brainer that they'd bring her and her husband back to Jackson with them. After all, they were a couple in need, and Jackson had both the space and resources to help.

It only occurs to Joel now that besides you, these are the first people he has brought into town. What are the odds that his second charitable act since becoming a member of Jackson could cause such a disruption?

His head is throbbing, both from what he's heard during the last two hours and a consistent worry about you. He needs to hear your version of what he's been told, but most of all, he needs to find you and make sure you're okay.

After what he witnessed not too long ago, Joel can't shake the looming worry that with the town's newest arrivals, your mental state is on the brink of a crisis and a meltdown is imminent. He just hopes he can catch you before you fall too deep.

Your visceral attack from this morning plays out in his mind again. He sees the fury in your eyes as you lunge at the man and bring a knife to his throat in a speed he did not think you were capable of. He’s sure that if he hadn't intervened, you'd have split that man open without hesitation.

Joel quickens his pace. He needs to find you.

You're showing Ellie how to bottle-feed the lambs when Joel all but bursts into the barn with a panicked look on his face. You can see the panic give away to confusion when he takes in the scene in front of him, just seconds before relief settles over his features, just a hint of suspicion remaining.

You can't blame him, of course. You know exactly what he was expecting to find, especially after he couldn’t find you at yours or his own house. It’s likely he looked there first. You would've left a note, had you been to either place before you came here, but you didn't trust yourself enough to allow yourself even the smallest of breaks.

You just walked straight across town to where you knew Ellie was working on the town’s barrier with her security crew. She seemed surprised to see you, and you could see the same hint of worry flickering in her eyes that Joel is now regarding you with. You couldn’t blame her either - it was taking all of your strength and then some to stay collected and to not fall apart at the seams.

Ellie didn’t hesitate when you asked her to come with you. You tried to keep the urgency out of your voice, to allow her the chance to stay out of your misery if she wanted to. She had already witnessed one of your meltdowns and you were hesitant to include her in another one, already feeling shameful that your legs had brought you here, to a teenager of all things, when you were a grown woman and supposed to be in charge of your own feelings. But next to Joel, she was the one who made Jackson feel like home; a faint echo of your own daughter.

You couldn’t deny that it was also worry that had driven you here and not just a need for companionship. With the personification of your worst nightmare having set foot into town, you needed to make sure that she was safe. You would sooner die than let that bastard lay a hand on her.

To Ellie’s credit, she didn’t ask beyond what was necessary. She accepted your answer of the barn as your destination without further inquiries, and didn’t even press on when you responded with “not yet” to the question of whether she should be worried.

You would have to tell her eventually, but you didn’t have the words just then. Not in the moment where he was being interrogated on the other side of town.

About what he had done.

About where she was.

About if he had lied; if she was truly still alive.

You didn’t have the strength to find the necessary words to explain yourself in a way that wouldn’t rip Ellie of whatever innocence she had left.

At the barn, you started prepping bottles and explained some of the vital factors to take note of when taking care of little lambs. Ellie listened intently, asking questions in all the right places. You loved her dearly for it. There was no hiding of the fact that you were teetering on the brink of madness, but Ellie either had enough instinct for self-preservation or your emotional needs not to question your lecture. You were almost certain that she recognized this barn excursion for what it was: an attempt at self-regulation.

As Ellie and you fed the little baby sheep, you tried your best to stay focused on the task at hand and to abandon all thoughts of the man Jackson's guards had taken into custody, but his words kept echoing in your head.

She's still alive.

You didn't allow yourself to think about what that could possibly mean, not even for a second. No lambs in the world could have saved you then, Ellie or no Ellie present.

But now, Joel is standing in the doorway of the barn, panting and visibly relieved to find you in such a 'composed' state, even though you're hanging on by a thread and your strength for self-regulation is slowly running out.

Ellie looks up when you stop talking mid-sentence about the correct way to hold a lamb's throat during feeding and notices Joel in the doorway. You feel her eyes going from Joel to you and back to Joel, and the shame for having dragged a teenager to the barn with you in an attempt to keep yourself calm washes over you once more. Here you are, at thirty-six years old, reliant on the presence of a teenager to keep yourself together.

Pathetic.

Worse than that, you can't help but wonder if Joel approves of your decision. You took Ellie out of a safe place and dragged her into your mess - again.

Something close to pain must flicker across your eyes, because Joel finally abandons his position in the doorway and strolls into the barn with an exaggerated sense of ease. It looks almost comical, the way he's trying so hard to appear calm and you wonder who he's doing it for - you or Ellie? Perhaps both. Either way, he's not fooling either of you which becomes evident when Ellie just outright comments on his funny pace. "Your foot fall asleep or something?"

Joel shoots her a glare, but Ellie just snorts, and before you know it, you're cracking up too, surprising even yourself. Emotions can be such a strange thing.

"No, I think he's just trying to be very casual so I won't be set off and go crazy, not while you're around," you say with a smile when your own laughter has subsided.

“Ah.” Ellie nods knowingly while she strokes the back of the lamb in her lap. You see her looking at you out of the corner of your eye. “Is this where I find out why I’m currently getting a free-of-charge lesson in lamb-feeding?”

Ellie's casual tone matches yours, and you suddenly find your heart filling with love, out of all the things you could be feeling right now. But you can't help it. Here you are, in the midst of hay and sheep, with the two people that somehow took you in and made Jackson a home without you ever having to ask for it in the first place. You don't know how you can ever repay them - if you can ever repay them for what they've done.

The unexpected surge of love works like a sedative and you feel your limbs growing heavy as the adrenaline slowly ebbs away. You're not calm by any means, but it finally doesn't feel like there's electricity coursing through your entire body anymore. "Because, kiddo." You sink to the hay-covered floor besides Ellie with a deep sigh and run a tired hand over your face. "Jeff and your father figure here unknowingly brought a man into town this morning that's responsible for my worst nightmare."

Joel looks like he's in pain at your words and you’re quick to point a finger at him. "You. Uh-uh. None of that. You didn't know," you say, hoping to nip whatever guilt-ridden bud is trying to take root in his head.

You beckon Joel over with a flick of your head. “C’mon.” He hesitates at first, but then walks over and kneels in the hay opposite of you and Ellie. You hand him one of your prepped bottles, then motion for him to grab hold of one of the lambs beside him. They’re all baa-ing and bleh-ing around the three of you, scrambling over themselves to get to the priced bottles. A flicker of a smile dances across Joel’s mouth.

You’ve been here for more than an hour, but you took your time, purposefully slowing down your movements in the hopes of also slowing down your heart. As a result, the lambs, used to a quick feeding, are slowly going insane.

You show Joel how to hold the lamb he’s picked, how to hold the bottle at the correct angle so the little one doesn’t swallow too much air at the same time. Ellie proudly shows off what she’s learned in her time with you and for a little while, it’s just the three of you feeding lambs, like a little wholesome family moment.

Eventually though, you have to ask.

You've avoided thinking about him as much as you could, trying to keep it together, but now you need to know.

"So. D'you kill him?"

Joel doesn’t answer right away. You see Ellie looking at him expectantly, like she has no doubt Joel could’ve killed a man just an hour ago. The thought doesn’t seem to scare her in the least.

He finally shakes his head with a look of distaste on his face. "No. Maria wouldn't let me."

Ellie snorts in response. "What'd you expect?" An unexpected grin flickers across your lips. You nod in agreement with her. "Yeah. Figured as much."

Something tightens in your chest. He's still out there. Still alive. Still breathing.

And so is your daughter. At least according to him.

“Did he say? Where…” You have to collect yourself, take a deep breath to get the words out. Prepare yourself for a no, you tell yourself. Don’t get your hopes up. But you know it’s too late for that. “Did he say where she is?”

The bottle in your hand vibrates slightly from how you’re shaking. You take deep, calculated breaths to steady yourself. Keep calm. You’ve got this. You feel the urge to scream as loud as you can.

“He did.”

The bottle in your hand squeaks as you press down on it too harsh. Milk shoots out of the top and soils the hay underneath and you’re glad you didn’t have a little one attached to the tip of it. You can feel Joel’s eyes boring into you, seizing you up, gauging your reaction. Deep breaths, deep breaths. Your vision goes blurry.

“So she’s… alive?” There’s a deep humming sound in your ear. You’re straining to hear Joel over it.

“That’s what he said.”

You slump forward, curl in on yourself. The bottle falls from your hand, spilling milk on the floor, but you don’t care. You can’t breathe, can’t hear anything over the intense buzzing in your ears. Your hands are shaking so hard you have to press them to your stomach to stop them from shaking.

She’s alive. She’s alive. My babygirl is alive.

The bottle gets picked up and is set down out of your sight. A hand appears on the back of your shoulder, stroking in soft circles, then a smaller hand appears on your lower back, mimicking the same gesture.

You try to breathe, to force air into your lungs. Alive, alive, alive. The word pounds in your head like the gong of a church’s bell, deep and strong. The rubbing on your back continues, offering a soothing counter rhythm to your erratic breathing. Slowly, the buzzing in your ears subsides. A few faint baa-s and bleeh-s reach you. The smell of hay seeps into your nose, grounding you to the floor. The rubbing on your back never seizes.

Joel’s on your left, Ellie on your right. He keeps his hand on your shoulder when you finally straighten yourself again. Ellie’s hand slips to your thigh, resting there assuringly. You would cry about the silent love you’re receiving if your brain wasn’t so occupied in the moment.

You take a deep breath, then look at Joel. His brown eyes are fixed on you, brows furrowed in concern.

“Where?,” you ask.

“He couldn’t say for sure,” Joel starts and you huff and roll your eyes. “Of course he couldn’t, cause it’s not true-“

“He couldn’t say for sure,” Joel loudly talks over you, his hand squeezing your shoulder, “but he gave enough pointers ‘bout where we could find her.”

You gnaw on the inside of your lip. You want to believe him so badly, but you don’t know how to survive if it turns out to be a lie.

“Do you believe him?”

Joel’s expression hardens. “I made it very clear he wouldn’t survive it if he lied.“

“I’m coming with!”

“Like hell you are. You’re stayin’ here.”

“Joel-“

“I said no, Ellie!” He doesn’t like raising his voice at her, not anymore. Joel and Ellie rarely fight, and when they do, he hates every second of it.

“Are you fucking kidding me!”

That girl’s got a mouth on her like a sailor, he thinks to himself. Joel pinches the bridge of his nose. He knows this argument is far from over, no matter how much he wishes she’d just listen to him and be done with it.

“Ellie, we ain’t got a clue 'bout what we’re walkin’ into. Hell, we got less of a clue than when I was takin’ you to the damn Fireflies,” he tries to reason with her. Can’t you see I’m trying to keep you safe?

“And that’s supposed to convince me to stay back? Just sit here and wait while you guys ride off into whatever danger? You can’t be serious.” Ellie’s got her arms crossed in that pissed-off stance she perfected over the years. It sometimes reminds Joel of the way Sarah would cross her arms at him. Always makes his heart ache, too.

“Babygirl, listen here, I just wanna-“ His warm approach is cut off when Ellie throws her hands in the air.

“Oh, don’t give me that. I know you wanna keep me safe. Don’t even start with that speech. I am not staying here. And asking me is downright cruel. I told you, I’d follow you wherever you wanna go. You’re my family. I’m not staying back.”

Joel doesn’t reply right away, just keeps firing clothes into his bag. He hates that she has a point.

“I’m coming with,” Ellie repeats.

Stubborn ass kid. Joel fires a pair of boxers into his backpack like they personally did him wrong and flicks his tongue. He knows asking her to stay behind while he rides out into danger is cruel, but what is he supposed to do? Chain her to the house?

“You know I’ll follow you either way. So just save all of us the trouble and take me with now.”

“You just know how to push my damn buttons, don’t cha,” Joel hisses.

“Course I do. All ninety-five of them. Now what’s it gonna be?” Ellie grins like she knows she has won. Of course she does.

“Alright, you listen to me.” Joel turns around with a sigh of defeat, a sour expression on his face. Damn that girl and her antics.

“Same rules as before. You listen to me, do as I say. No back talking, you hear me? I tell you to run, you run-“

“Yeah yeah.” She interrupts him with a smug grin. “I know. What you say goes. I know the drill.”

Joel flicks his tongue once more in annoyance. He sends her off to pack her things, then calls her back at the last second.

“One more thing.” Ellie lingers in his doorway, her eyebrows raised expectantly.

“You run it by her. This is her mission. She wants you to come, you can come. It’s up to her.”

Joel's tossing and turning in his bed. He can't find a single comfortable position, and even if he could, sleep would likely evade him anyway.

His brain is working overtime, running a hundred miles an hour. He tries to quiet his mind, to catch a couple of hours of sleep before the three of you ride out in the morning. But it's fruitless. The second he manages to put a cap on one thought, the next pops up and demands his attention, like an annoying game of whac-a-mole.

Joel grunts in frustration and sits up, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He knows sleep isn't on his side tonight.

Joel swings his legs over the side of his bed. He can't keep laying down.

He checks on Ellie first, slowly creaking her door open to catch a glimpse of her sprawled out between her sheets. It's a habit he picked up when they moved to Jackson, an echo of how he used to check on Sarah. He couldn't trust the safety at first, had to make sure that Ellie was still in her room, unharmed. Every nightmare of the Fireflies brought him to her door, night after night, sometimes more than once. Now it's just a force of habit, something he does when he can't sleep. The sight of her relaxed body has a soothing effect on him.

Downstairs, he pours himself a glass of whiskey, a luxury he doesn't grant himself often. Tonight, though, he needs one. If only just to silence his thoughts.

Joel's worried. About you, about Ellie, about riding out into a situation based on information he has no way of knowing are reliable. He fears what they might find. What you'll do if she's alive. What you'll do if she's not. How you'll react if you won't find her.

Will you leave? Leave Jackson to go look for your daughter that you were certain was dead, but has now been revealed to still be alive?

He knows he would. If it was Sarah, if there was somehow a way that she was still alive - he'd go out of his way to find her, move mountains if necessary. Not a soul could stop him if there was a chance he could hold his babygirl in his arms again. Not you, not even Ellie.

He knows this, and yet he can't stop himself from thinking that he doesn't want you to leave. It's selfish, he knows that, doesn't need to be told how incredibly selfish of a man he is to want you to stay when there's a chance that your daughter is still out there. But he can't help it. You've brought something back into his life that he never thought he'd feel again, and it's awful and selfish of him, but he doesn't want to give it up. It's too good, too sweet. He's been devoid of that kind of love for so long that he's not sure he's able to let it go, now that he's found it.

But he also knows all of this thinking is futile. Nothing is set in stone yet. For all he knows, if all goes well, you could be reunited with your daughter in a week, maybe less, depending on how soon they find the settlement.

Then again, when have things ever gone 'well' in this shit-show of a world?

Joel downs his glass of whiskey and wanders back to his bed through the dark of the house.

Only time will tell what the future holds. He only hopes you'll be in his.

Maria and Tommy had come over to Joel's to inform you of the interrogation. Ever the proactive man that he was, Joel had all but insisted for you to come home with him and Ellie. You didn't object in the least - you didn't trust yourself to be alone either. Not yet.

Ellie was lurking in the kitchen doorway, clearly unsure of whether she was welcome or not. You left the decision up to Joel, and he reluctantly agreed. "Ain't gon' be pretty, just so you know." Ellie took a seat next to you, silently squeezing your hand. Your heart ached with the love you felt for her.

"We've spoken to William at length," Maria opened. You recognized her tone as neutral. She was all business. No wonder she is a council member, you thought. "I understand that time is a valuable factor here, but we have to get your side of things first before you ride out."

You nodded. It felt like you were sitting on a pile of ants, the way you were squirming in your chair. What did he say? Where is she?

"In the name of fairness, we'd like for you to retell your experience before we share what he has said with you." Maria kept her eyes trained on you, her face a blank mask of neutrality. Tommy, however, did not quite have the same pokerface. He was leaned back in his chair the way Joel often was too, the resemblance between the two siblings showing in his stance. His arms were crossed over his chest and his lips were in a tight line, eyes trained on the table.

You nodded again. It made sense, it did. But to tell it all again, to relive it all over again... Do it for her.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. Then you began to recount the worst day of your life.

It's raining. Not just raining, but pissing down, endless buckets of water being poured out over the QZ. Just like the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that. Rain, rain, and then some more rain, until half the QZ is practically swimming, brewing in a stew of piss, rubble and murky rain water that stands a couple inches tall in the streets, despite the day-workers doing their best to unclog all the drains. The pay has gone up too. You get one whole extra ration card per hour if you're willing to sift through the murky and stinking water while getting drenched from head to toe. You scoff when Hailey tells you. "Ain't that the finest deal I've ever heard of." Hailey giggles, and you ruffle through her hair affectionately.

Despite your sarcasm, you consider whether you should take up some street-work shifts. Lord knows you could use the extra rations, even if it's just six per day. You and Hailey try to live as frugal as you can, you make sure of that. Resources are limited. You know it, she knows it, everyone and their uncle knows it. Still, you try to make as much of it as you can, trading and haggling where you can to get a little something extra out of it for your little girl. Anything that you can to brighten her day, you do it. The smile on her face always pays for whatever you had to go through to get here.

Tonight is special. It's Hailey's fifteenth birthday. You've saved up for this day for weeks, traded one of your finer clothes and some ration cards for the little cupcake that you're now placing on the cracked plate in front of you. It cost about as much as three normal food rations, but you don't care. You can go hungry for a night or two if that means you get to make her birthday special.

Carefully, so as not to mess with the delicate frosting, you push a single candle into the sugary goodness. That one you didn't get through cards, nor through a trade of goods. Nope. Something as simple as this little birthday candle cost you a blowjob, of all things. Not your favorite by any means, but still bearable. At least Barry keeps himself washed, unlike some of the other FEDRA soldiers.

Hailey's eyes gleam as you bring in the lit cupcake, softly singing 'Happy Birthday'. Her smile is about as wide as her face will allow her to stretch, and she blows the candle out carefully so none of the wax drops onto the frosting.

"How'd you get this?" She looks at you in wonder, like you can do anything. Your heart swells with love and pride. "Pulled some strings," you reply with a wink and gently tug on one of her hair strands. She giggles like she's ten years younger, the sound warming your chest and erasing any memory of when you were on your knees, working hard for the birthday girl's candle. Worth it, you think. Always worth it.

The knock on the door comes late in the evening. You're laid up in bed, your daughter nestled against you as you read to her from the book you've borrowed. The words die out on your tongue as your door rattles, a fist pounding against it from the other side.

"FEDRA. Open up."

Hailey's eyes find yours in a panicked, silent question. What's happening? You run a quick hand over her hair and press a kiss to her forehead, easing her worries. "Don't worry," you mumble as the two of you scramble off of the worn out mattress on the ground. "Probably just a routine check-in," you assure her with a smile that carries more certainty than you feel on the inside.

The second you open the door boots stomp into your little safe haven. Decked out in typical FEDRA tactical wear, four men barge in, all carrying a sense of importance around them that they are known and feared for.

The QZ was supposed to be a safe haven, a shelter from the horrors of the infected and raiders. That's what it had been marketed as, a pillar of society in a now broken land. You had soon found out that it was anything but.

"Come on in, boys," you say through a smile that promises a willingness to cooperate that you do not feel. But this isn't a time to revolt. Not when Hailey is here.

One of the men grabs the door out of your hand and shuts it with force. So much for this being a quick thing, you think and your stomach thinks.

There are four armed men in your tiny apartment, along with yourself and your daughter. You will your heart to beat steadily as you cross the room to stand by her. "What can we do for you?"

"Heard a little fun fact today," one of the larger men drawls. You know him - of him, really - he's one of the leading men in charge. You don't have a clue what he's doing here, but whatever the reason, it can't be good. He takes a look around the room like he's seizing up your possessions, to see if there's anything of value around. You'd give them the shirt on your back if that meant they'd leave again peacefully.

"Yeah?" You force your voice to be calm, force the smile to remain on your face. "What's that?"

He saunters over and comes to a stop in front of Hailey. Your hand reaches for hers involuntarily. His eyes roam over her, slowly, drinking her in from top to bottom. You feel bile climbing up your throat.

The man clicks his tongue and then puts a finger under Hailey's chin, turning her face up to him. You feel her shivering beside you, squeezing your hand in a panic. Calm, you tell her in your mind. Stay calm. You yourself are anything but. You want to gauge his eyes out with the way they're roaming over your daughters face, but you keep yourself composed. Keep her safe. Keep Hailey safe. That's your only goal.

"Little birdie told me it's this pretty one's birthday today," the man drawls. Your eyes flicker over to the rest of his men and you find Barry among them, an apologetic look on his face. 'Sorry' he mouths at you and your blood runs cold in your veins. Next time you've got his dick in your mouth, you'll bite off a good chunk.

"Fifteen years old! Practically a young woman now," he coos and runs a finger over Hailey's cheek. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from reaching out and smacking his hand away.

"Gotta start payin' her dues now, doesn't she."

...no. No.

"My daughter does afternoon shifts after school, just as is law," you're quick to say. "You can check, too. We've got all the paperwork." You're already scrambling to find the papers in the drawer behind you when you hear an amused chuckle.

"I'm sure everything's up to code here," the man smiles. "Ain't what we're here for, though. Pretty thing like this? She gotta pay extra. Special pretty tax we got. Ain't that right, boys?"

The men all mumble something in agreement, and anger boils in your stomach. You hate all of them, cowards that they are.

"And when I heard that we got a pretty bird turning fifteen... Well. Just had to come see it for myself. Ya sure didn't lie, Barry. She's a sight to behold." He tuts as he twirls Hailey's face from side to side, examining her like one would a piece of furniture at an auction. You look at Barry, but he avoids your gaze. You're dead, you think. You're fucking dead.

"About time you get broken in, don't you think? Hm?" You feel Hailey shaking with fear as the man lowers his face to hers. Your hand is gripping hers so hard your knuckles turn white.

"Take me."

His eyes slowly wander from Hailey's face to yours. "Take me," you repeat, the determination edged into your face. "Do with me whatever you want, but leave her out of it." Your voice has authority, but you can't deny the pleading edge in your tone. Please. Not her.

The man's lips purse like he's considering it for a moment, then claps his hands together. "Ha! Nice offer, hun, but that's just not gonna work. Now you see, young William over here-" He pulls forth the youngest of the men who stumbles forward, a shy expression on his face. He can't be much older than Hailey. "-young William here is overdue for his initiation. And nice as you may be, but you're just a bit old for the young boy here, ain't cha." The ugliest wink you ever did see is thrown your way and you feel like you might scream.

"Alright, then." The man claps his hands and all three of you flinch at the sound; you, Hailey and young William. "Let's get to it. William, show us what you got."

For a moment, time stands still as the words echo in your brain. Show us what you got. Then you're shoving Hailey behind yourself. "No. No. Take me. Not her. Take me. I'll do anything."

The man in charge flicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I heard you the first time. Pretty sure you heard me too. Ain't gonna do it. Now sit back and enjoy the show, unless you want me to put a bullet between your eyes."

The gun is pointed at you before you know it and Hailey screams behind you. "No!" She's fighting to get out from behind you, but you keep her locked in place. With a hard swallow, you pry your eyes away from the barrel of the gun and force yourself to look at the man who's pointing it at you.

"Please." Your voice wavers, thick with emotion. "Please. Don't do this. Please." You feel tears brimming in your eyes as you beg for your daughter to be spared. Not her. Not her.

You hear the cracking sound first before you feel the pain explode across your scalp. Your vision blurs for a moment and you slump forward, brought down by the force of the blow. A muffled groan presses out from between your lips as you fall to your hands and knees. There's a high pitched scream behind you, and then you're yanked forward, across the floor and onto your mattress.

The world spins as you try to straighten up. Your head feels warm and sticky where the pain is pulsating, and you see red smeared across your hand as you bring it from the top of your head to your eyes.

The screeches in front of you grow louder, calling your attention away from the blood on your hands. You narrow your eyes to see what's happening, and when your view finally sharpens again, you feel your entire body growing cold in seconds.

Hailey is being forced to bend over by Barry and the other man that you don't really know but you're sure you've seen before, her pants being pulled down towards her ankles. She's screaming, fighting, and each of her words pierce through your heart like an icy dagger. "No," you groan and crawl forward on your bed to get to her, only to be kicked back by a boot to the shoulder. You fly backwards and slam into the wall behind you, making you see stars as your head feels like it's being split open anew.

"No! No! Please! No!" Hailey's screams cut through your dazed state. You fumble to get onto your knees again, crawling forwards in what seems like slow motion. The world is still spinning and your arms threaten to give out, but you force yourself forward until you're suddenly yanked forward by your head.

"You're just dying for a front row seat, ain't ya," a voice hisses in your ear like an angry snake. You wince at the sound and try to rid yourself of the hold, but the large hands that hold your head hostage clamp down on you harsher, keeping you in place where you can only watch but not reach.

"That's right, open eyes, baby," you hear in your ear and you gag, both from the pain in your head and the sight you're being forced to watch.

With all the things you've seen, with all the things you've been through, everything shrinks in comparison to what you're seeing now. You feel like your heart is being torn apart, shredded into a million tiny pieces and you can only howl out in pain until a hand clamps down over your mouth. "Shut your damn mouth, whore."

You sob into the gloved hand as your daughters innocence is ripped from her on her fifteenth birthday. You watch and cry and wish it was you instead of her while you feel yourself dying on the inside.

Silence hung heavy in Joel's kitchen when you finished. Joel looked like he wanted to break something, whereas Ellie sat on the other side of you with a somber expression on her face. Tommy let out a breath and ran a hand over his mouth.

"Maria," he said and leaned forward til he leaned on his knees. His wife nodded, seemingly straining to keep her mask of neutrality intact. "Yeah," she replied lowly, then cleared her throat.

"N' you're telling me he's entitled to what. A fair treatment?" Joel spat the words out like they're too bitter to keep in his mouth. You could feel his eyes on you, running over your head like he was looking for the scar he now knew is hidden beneath your hair.

"He does." Maria inhaled deeply opposite you and brought order to the stack of papers she brought with her. "But fair doesn't mean unjust." Then her hand reached across the table and squeezed yours. "In light of your... experience, I would suggest to the council that we work with your testimony as I've written it down, so you don't gotta repeat yourself over and over. Would that be in your interest?"

You felt some of the tightness in your chest slowly releasing.

Maria nodded as you voiced your agreement. "Good. Please read this over to make sure I got the details right. It's important."

When Tommy and Maria were gone, Joel and Ellie sat with you as you read through your own testimony. You had to set the pages down a couple of times, and each time, they were there with hands on your back, on your thigh, intertwined with your own. They silently helped you relive your worst nightmare for the second time that night, and you didn't know how to give voice to your gratitude.

Joel protested when you got up some time after dinner and announced you'd be going home for the night. There was something wild in his eyes, worry mixed with something you couldn't quite place, and it warmed your heart to see him so worried for you. You had to assure him thrice with a hand on his cheek that you would be okay, that you would come and find him if it got too dark, and that you would be back first thing next morning.

"I'll break down your damn door if you ain't here at 6am sharp," he growled and you had no doubt that he meant it. "I know." You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "Good night, Joel. I'll see you tomorrow. Night, Ellie." She waved you goodbye, and Joel brought you to his backdoor, his hand on the small of your back as he walked you there.

"You sure you'll be good by yourself," he asked again when you turned to leave. The smallest of smiles appeared on your lips.

"Yeah. I just... need some time to digest everything."

He looked at you for a moment before finally nodding. "Alright. G'night, sweetheart."

You knew he kept watching you as you walked through his backyard and then up the street, and you couldn't blame him. But you had meant what you said. You needed to be alone.

You needed the time to think about the fact that for the first time in two years, there was a chance your daughter was still alive.

"I'm coming for you, baby," you whispered to yourself as you slowly walked yourself home.

Tomorrow, you would ride out to find her. Tomorrow, you'd go and look for your babygirl.

Series Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist

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[elizabethsnuts]

Hiii !! i just wanted to say that you daughter!reader stories are just the cutest ever 💖 Can i request one emily x daughter where her little girl is in her super clingy behaviour phase and just wants to be with emily 24/7?

Velcro-Baby

Emily Prentiss x Daughter!Reader

Summary: You were going through an extra clingy phase, not wanting to part from Emily at all.

———

Emily had her first day off in a while, finally getting to spend her whole day with you, her clingy little toddler daughter who never wanted to let go of her mama for only a second. One day of not hearing your heartbreaking cries every time she tried to leave for work.

You were sitting on Emily’s lap while the both of you ate breakfast, you were shovelling some yoghurt in your mouth with your pink plastic spoon. You suddenly started singing your words, very cheerful since Emily wasn’t leaving. “Mama! Mama! Mama!”

Emily let out a little amused laugh, putting some of her own breakfast in her mouth. “Hello, hello, I’m right here! I’m not leaving today.”

You just giggled and turned around to look at Emily, giving her a sloppy-toddler-like kiss on her cheek with your yoghurt-covered mouth. You obviously didn’t care about the yoghurt you were leaving on your mother's cheek, you just wanted to shower her with all the love in your little heart.

Emily scrunched her face slightly at the feeling of yoghurt and baby drool on her cheek, but she knew you meant well. She returned the gesture with a peck on your tiny cheek. “I love you too! I love you and your yoghurt kisses.”

Eventually, breakfast was over and Emily set you down on the floor gently, grabbing both now-dirtied bowls to take them to the sink. Though she only got a few steps before you started to bawl your eyes out.

You immediately pulled yourself up by a nearby chair and toddled as quickly as your tiny legs could take you over to Emily, gripping her legs tightly as you cried. “Mama! Up! Mama!”

Emily let out a small sigh, picking you up and setting you on her hip. “Sweetheart, Mama’s trying to do the dishes. I can not hold you for one second, my love.”

You had immediately quietened down when Emily picked you back up, watching her now attempt to wash a bowl one-handed. “Mama.”

This had gone on for most of the day, you would not let Emily put you down, not even to go to the bathroom. Every time she tried you’d just cry your head off. Now Emily was trying to put you in your car seat so she could quickly go pick up a case file at the office, though you were not cooperating.

You were squirming in the rear-facing seat, your tiny hands gripping the sides of the padded car seat as your little legs prevented Emily from laying you down. You let out a loud cry and tried to push yourself out of the seat. “Mama! Mama! Mama! Wan’ Mama!”

Emily let out a frustrated sigh, holding you down and trying to do up your buckle with one hand. “Y/N, it’s okay, I’m right here. I’m right here, baby. We just have to go to Quantico, we can see Uncle Hotch, Aunty JJ, we can see everyone! You gotta let go of Mama for a second, then you’ll be right back in my arms.”

By some miracle, Emily got you buckled in your car seat and on the road in under 20 minutes. Though she did have to listen to your heartbreaking cries the whole way. She knew that since your car seat was rear-facing you couldn’t see her and that only made you more upset. She was talking with you the whole drive, a reassurance that she was still there and she wasn’t going to leave you.

The two of you finally arrived at the FBI building in Quantico, Emily parking the car and getting you out of your car seat. The second you were back in your mama’s arms, you let out the most cutest relieved sigh, hugging her tightly with your tiny arms. “Mama.”

Emily chuckled softly, gently stroking your hair as she rested your little head on her shoulder. “See? You’re back with Mama. Mama is right here, she’s giving you a big cuddle and everything is okay.”

Emily suddenly heard a familiar voice from behind her. “Hey, Em! What are you doing here?”

Emily turned around with a smile, recognising the voice of her very best friend, JJ. She was still soothingly rubbing your back, gently swaying you side to side. “Hey! Yeah… just here to pick up a case file. You’re leaving early?”

JJ nodded, running her hand through your soft hair. “Got to pick Henry up from daycare, poor thing fell off the swings.” She laughed softly as she saw your eyes closed, hugging Emily tightly and soaking up all the comfort of the cuddle. “She’s clingy today!”

Emily just rolled her eyes in mock annoyance, a smile on her face. “She won’t even let me put her down for a second, won’t let me pee, won’t let me have a shower, spent 20 minutes putting her in the car seat.”

JJ just smirked in amusement, giving you a tiny kiss on the cheek. “Ah, velcro-baby phase, Henry had it too. It’s irritating but it’s really sweet that all they want is you. She’ll grow out of it… though I do sort of miss it, as irritating as it is.”

Emily smiled, giving you a gentle squeeze. “I secretly love it, though I’d also love to pee in peace.”

JJ just smiled and gave your back a gentle rub. “Bye-bye, Y/N. See you on Saturday, huh? Henry’s already got all his toys out for you guys to play with!”

You gave JJ a small smile, unwrapping one of your tiny arms to give her a small wave goodbye. “Bye-bye.”

The three of you parted ways and Emily got her case file, driving back home. She had spent the rest of the day with you, giving you all the cuddles you had ever asked for, keeping you close. Despite the annoyance of not being able to put you down or leave you alone, she knew you weren’t going to be a baby forever and soon you wouldn’t want to be by her side every minute. For now, she’d just soak up all she could.

[saveyourblood]

Pretty Boy - Ch 5 (Buddie x Reader)

Summary: You can feel Buck staring. When your eyes meet his, you realize he’s staring at your hand, which is still on Eddie’s knee. You slowly retreat, which makes Buck turn his attention to your face. You smile softly. He just looks out the window. The one where you’re an advanced paramedic, Buck and Eddie are firefighters, and you think you might be in love with both of them.

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4

A/N: Me? Desperate for validation? It's more likely than you think Word Count: 3.8k Warnings: none

You make your way through more of the rubble, taking frequent breaks in an attempt to conserve your energy. It’s probably been less than an hour, but it feels like you’ve been trapped for days. You used most of your effort to free Russ, which proved futile, so now you’re simply exhausted.

At some point, you see a glimpse of light between two pieces of crumbled concrete. Using the blunt side of your axe, you begin chipping away at the space. More light begins to break through. The sight causes you to catch your second wind, and you begin swinging harder. Eventually, you make a hole big enough for you to crawl through.

You climb over some of the bigger pieces of the fallen structure and slip between others. You sneak between a few vehicles. You keep walking, though you aren’t sure what you’re looking for. Something in you gut is pulling you in this direction, and you have nothing else to go off of, so you’re going with it.

You hear a cough.

Your head snaps in the direction of the sound. You start moving so quickly that you stumble a little and have to slow yourself down so you don’t break an ankle. You shine your flashlight to the side. It lands on a little girl. She squints her eyes and lifts a hand to block out the brightness.

“Kat?” You ask.

She nods.

You laugh. You laugh with joy. You laugh with relief. You laugh until a few tears spring into your eyes. You cut yourself off—no way are you breaking down in front her. You’ve both come this far, and you’re going to see each other to the end. If you’re saving anyone today, it’s her.

You reach into the inner pocket of your jacket, eternally grateful that you took on the added weight. “You looking for this?”

It’s her shoe.

Kat smiles and nods again.

Kat’s tired, and so are you, but you carry her on your back anyway. You swear that, in the distance, you hear a car alarm, so that’s the direction you head in.

“What if we can’t get out?” Kat asks quietly.

“What? Hey, come on, don’t start talking like that now,” you gently scold. “We’ve already made it through the hard part!”

“I guess…” She says, unsure.

You hear the shifting of rubble, but only a little. You think you might hear voices, too. You take off in that direction.

Concrete shifts, and you see more light—a lot of light. Like, your headlamp times ten. You scramble towards it, ducking a little so as to not hurt Kat.

As the dust settles, you can make out at least ten firefighters standing around the scene. You can’t help but smile.

“Hello fellas,” You say, taking a few more steps forward.

A firefighter from a different crew helps Kat off of you. Your attention immediately focuses on two particular firefighters in front of you, both of which have ‘118’ on their caps.

“Welcome back,” Buck greets with a grin.

You laugh and stumble forward right into his arms. Once again, you find yourself holding back tears. You feel someone pat your back and leave his hand there, and you don’t have to look to know it’s Eddie.

You make it back to the triage area, Kat walking in front of you. The moment she sees her parents, she takes off running. On instinct, you jog behind her, but when you see her collapse into her parents’ arms, you stop and simply watch.

They look over at you and nod. You smile and nod back.

Hen insists on looking you over, testing everything from your range of motion to your vision. Even you surprise yourself a little when you pass with flying colors. Hen steals a quick hug before she gets back to work. You just sit there, dumbfounded. You’re exhausted, but you’re okay. You’re alive.

“Hey you,” Buck says, taking a seat next to you.

Somehow, that’s all it takes for the floodgates to break open.

“Woah, hey, come here,” Buck wraps an arm around your shoulders.

You wrap an arm around his waist and lean your head on his shoulder. You breathe out a few sobs but slowly quiet yourself. You can feel Buck’s lips pressed to the top of your head. You sit up straight, wiping your eyes. Buck keeps his arm around you.

“Sorry,” you whisper, shaking your head a little. “Just… rough day.”

“Russ?” Buck asks quietly.

You smile sadly and nod, a few more tears escaping in the process. “You know he wasn’t even scheduled to work? He just heard about everything and wanted to help. And now he’s dead. Because I couldn’t save him.”

“But you were there for him,” Buck points out, rubbing his hand up and down your arm. “Even if you couldn’t save him, you were there for him. He didn’t die alone. You did that.”

“Yeah, I guess. It just doesn’t feel like enough, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.”

You clear your throat a little. “When I was alone and thought you guys might not find me, I made recordings. I wanted the people I love to hear from me one last time. Can you guess how many I made?”

Buck just watches you. His expression is a mix of intrigue and sympathy.

“Five,” you answer, even though he doesn’t ask. “I made five recordings, one for each of you. That’s it.”

“What about your parents? Siblings?”

“My mom died when she gave birth to me,” you answer. “My dad fell into a bottle. I haven’t spoken to him since I moved away from home seven years ago. People tell me he changed after she died, but… that’s the only way I know him. It makes me feel like I got cheated out of both my parents instead of just one.”

The two of you sit in silence. It’s broken when you laugh.

“I don’t know why the hell I’m telling you all of this,” you chuckle as more tears form. “I guess I just need someone to know that… this job is quite literally my entire life. It’s my passion, my work, my home, and my family. Most of the time, I feel lucky. On days like today, though, it just… scares the hell out of me. Because I’m either gonna die doing what I love, or doing what I love will kill me. I don’t know which one’s worse.”

“I get that feeling,” Buck agrees softly. “I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do. I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather do it with, either.”

Once you all returned to the station, you hopped in the shower. When you got out, Buck was waiting for you in the locker room. He insisted on driving you home, making sure you were okay. When he told you, you rolled your eyes, but your heart swelled. The last thing you want to do is navigate LA traffic, so you accept his offer.

When you both started to leave, you noticed Eddie was making phone calls and texts. You learned that he was trying to find a ride to Christopher’s school; he hasn’t had the chance to buy a vehicle yet.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Eddie asks again as you all get to the parking lot.

“Just get in the damn car, Eddie,” you say.

The ride is a little tense. Eddie touched base with some of the school staff, so he knows Christopher is okay, but it isn’t the same as seeing it for himself. He taps his phone against the car windowsill. You insisted on sitting in the back, and for good reason: you can already feel yourself dozing off.

Buck pulls over, and you look up to see you’ve arrived at the school. Almost before the car is in ‘park’, Eddie flings open the door and runs up the stairs. Christopher is standing in the front hall, a staff member off to the side. Eddie picks him up in a hug, spinning him around.

“They’re really cute,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

Buck is too busy watching them to even register what you said.

Eddie thanks the staff member before opening the door for Chris. The two make their way back to the car, Christopher a little bit in front of Eddie. For a kid with crutches, he moves quickly; the poor kid is probably ready to go home.

Eddie opens the side door for his son, setting the crutches on the floor. With his father’s help, Christopher joins you in the backseat.

“Chris, these are my friends,” Eddie says, pointing at you and Buck as he introduces you both.

“It’s nice to meet you, Chris,” you smile.

“My dad talks about you. A lot,” Christopher says.

You giggle in surprise. “Does he, now?”

Even in the dark, you can see Eddie’s face get red. “‘You’ as in the 118,” he clarifies.

Buck shakes his head and laughs softly as he pulls away from the curb.

This might be the dumbest call you’ve ever been to, and that’s saying something.

A bunch of women decided to get drunk at 11:30 in the morning, and as a fun drunk activity, one of them stuck her head in a tailpipe. The only problem is she couldn’t get it out, so now it’s the LAFD’s problem. Medically, she’s clear, so you and Hen stand back and let the boys do their thing. Unfortunately, the drunk girl has drunk friends and said drunk friends are relentlessly hitting on Eddie and Buck.

“What are you so tense for?” Hen asks.

“I’m not.”

You both know it’s a lie. Until she said it, though, you didn’t realize that your jaw was clenched and your brow furrowed. You roll your shoulders and turn your neck a few times, hoping it relaxes your muscles.

The women are bothering you. And it’s really stupid and childish, especially considering that neither Buck nor Eddie is your boyfriend. They’re just your coworkers, so you have literally no right to get upset that women besides yourself find them attractive.

“I uh, I don’t think I’m what you’re looking for,” Eddie politely rejects one of them. “I have a son.”

“I’m gonna puke!” The woman says from inside the tailpipe.

“You better not!” One of her friends shouts. “These fire guys are totally hot.”

You can feel your jaw start to tense again.

After getting the woman free from the tailpipe, you all begin to make your way back to the engine. Buck and Eddie are a few steps in front of you. They’re trying to be discrete, but you make out every word.

“Hey, so is your son really the reason you don’t date?” Buck asks.

“That, and.. They weren’t my type,” Eddie shrugs.

“I’m talking in general,” Buck continues.

“It’s complicated when you have a kid.”

“Come on, that’s a weak excuse.”

The conversation is cut short when Eddie gets a phone call. He takes a few steps away while you and Buck linger behind. You don’t have to hear anything to see Eddie’s body language change. Buck sends you a knowing glance.

It’s about Christopher.

It’s always weird going past the ER of a hospital. It feels like you’re in forbidden territory, like you’ve stepped outside your bounds. The nice thing about having few family members is you barely have to cross the picket line.

You, Buck, and Eddie get off the elevator. Eddie is a few steps ahead and quickly sees his aunt in a nearby waiting area. They chat a little, and you can see that Christopher is standing near a few nurses, completely eating up the attention. It makes you smile.

Eddie’s aunt explains that it’s his grandmother who’s in the hospital—broken hip. When she was watching Christopher and called him inside, she slipped on a porch step. Christopher had to call 911.

“Who’s this with you?” His aunt asks, turning her attention to you and Buck.

“We work together,” Eddie explains after saying your names.

“Mmm, I thought you just dressed alike.”

“This is my Aunt Josefina—Pepa,” Eddie introduces.

“Hi,” you both say politely.

Pepa begins to lecture Eddie about leaving Christopher with his grandmother. You can tell Eddie feels bad, but you can also tell he has no other options. He dismisses himself from the conversation by meeting up with Christopher.

“Must be rough,” Buck remarks.

“Raising any child alone is rough,” Pepa agrees.

“Eddie’s a saint,” You praise.

Pepa smiles. It’s bittersweet. “I pray for him anyway.”

Christopher ends up spending some time at the station, and it’s one of the best shifts you’ve had in a long time. Eddie’s aunt was busy working when his shift started, and with his grandmother still in the hospital, he truly had nowhere else to take him. It was either bringing his son to work or calling in from work to watch his son. Eddie chose the former.

You’re able to take him on a simple MVC call with no suspected injuries. As you all work to free the drivers and passengers, Bobby explains everything to Christopher. He’s standing on the ground while Christopher stands on part of the firetruck, holding one of the rails for stability. Bobby has an arm around him for the same reason.

When you get back to the station, you make him a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch. He approves. Then, Chim swoops in and teaches him how to play pinball. At some point, all of you are standing around the firepole, helping Christopher slide down it.

Pepa shows up, and the fun is over. Before Eddie walks them out, he pulls Cap into a hug. You and Buck look at each other and smile.

“This was a really nice idea, Buck.”

“Eh, I figured we could all use a little stress relief,” Buck shrugs.

“Well, clearly Eddie appreciates it. I guess it really does take a village.”

Buck nods in response and begins to walk away.

“I’m thinking of going to nursing school,” you blurt out.

He turns back to face you. “What?”

You clear your throat. This wasn’t how you planned on telling him, just springing it on him in a random conversation. You knew that if you didn’t say something soon, he would hear it from someone else first. You definitely didn’t want that.

“You remember that conversation we had at breakfast a few weeks ago? You know, the one about what we’d be doing if we didn’t work at the 118?”

“You wanna be a nurse?” Buck frowns. “I mean, nurses are great; Maddie’s a nurse. Or, well, she was. You just… don’t seem the type.”

“Uh, yeah, I’ve kind of always been interested in flight nursing. You know, like, going up in a helicopter, responding to scene calls, that sort of thing,” you explain as you wring your hands.

“So that means you wouldn’t work here anymore.”

“That’s… a long ways down the line. Like, at least 18 months, probably closer to 2 years. Bobby said I could always stay on casually, pick up shifts whenever I want.”

“You already talked to Bobby,” Buck rubs his neck. “You must be pretty serious about this, then.”

“I guess,” you shrug. You’re trying to sound casual, but the thumping of your heart in your chest doesn’t cease.

Buck smiles. The expression doesn’t meet his eyes. “I hope everything works out the way you want it to.”

This time, he walks away for good, leaving you with a bitter taste on your tongue.

The 118 is called to a helicopter crash site. The pilot tried to make an emergency landing in a park football field but landed in the bleachers instead. After Buck pulls one of the victims from the scene, you do an assessment and quickly realize that, by some miracle, she’s completely fine.

Buck makes his way over to the two of you. “Hey, do me a favor and say ‘And on the 405, speeds are under five miles an hour, making your morning commute a rough one.’"

You look over at him with a raised eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“I-I know that voice. It's, uh, it's Taylor Kelly reporting, right? Skywitness News Eight,” Buck says, pointing back to the helicopter.

“That’s me,” Taylor says with a soft chuckle.

“Wow. Um, it's weird to hear that voice come out of a face.”

Taylor laughs again. “Thank you?”

They’re flirting. You clench your teeth together so hard you think your jaw might pop. You start randomly tossing supplies back into your bag, zip it up, and hop back into the rig before you can hear the end of the conversation.

The next time you see Taylor, she’s at the station. She doesn’t come alone, either—a man holding a television camera is a few steps behind her.

The first one to approach her is Buck, of course. Then Eddie, Chim, Hen, and finally, Bobby. You watch everything happen from the loft; there’s no way you’ll willingly engage in whatever conversation they’re having.

Bobby makes his way up the stairs.

“What’s all that about?” You ask as he walks by.

“Ms. Kelly wants to do a story on the 118,” Bobby says.

You frown. “Is she even allowed to film in here?”

“The chief’s office is on hold. Something tells me that we’ll be seeing quite a bit of her and her cameraman the next few days.”

Bobby’s already gone, but you still roll your eyes.

Taylor manages to track down everyone and get an interview: everyone except you and Captain Nash. She follows along on a few calls, on which you can mostly ignore her. It's much harder to ignore her when she corners you in the loft.

You’re eating breakfast alone at the kitchen island when Taylor bombards you, her cameraman beside her like always. She gives you a massive grin, and something about how it looks makes you nauseous.

“Can we have a few minutes with you?” She asks, still smiling.

“No,” you respond simply.

“...No?”

“No,” you repeat, taking a sip of your coffee. It’s cold.

“Look, I know this is probably a little awkward and uncomfortable-”

“It’s not,” you interrupt as you stand. “I just don’t want to talk to you.”

You head towards the coffee pot to warm your cup. You refill it and take a sip as you lean against the counter. Taylor just stares at you.

“I want you to know I only have one goal here: to tell a story. Your story,” Taylor says, forcing the smile back on her face.

“Oh, really?” You ask, setting your coffee on the counter behind you. You push off of the counter so you can approach Taylor. “And uh, how much money do you think you can make telling my story?”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s what this about, right?” you challenge. “You have a chance to change the trajectory of your career. You can go from the girl who talks about traffic to the woman who sheds a light on the unsung heroes. You’d be stupid not to jump on that opportunity.”

Taylor looks at you. “I suppose.”

“And I would be stupid if I actually believed you have good intentions,” you continue, “because you don’t give a damn about us. You don’t care about the 118 or what we do everyday—you care about yourself. So no, I don’t have a minute and I don’t want to talk to you.”

“You missed the show.”

You open your locker with a huff. You shrug as you pick up your shoes. “Bummer.”

“You were barely in it,” Buck continues. “Something tells me that wasn’t exactly an accident.”

You take a seat on the bench so you can change your shoes. “What makes you say that?”

The only sound in the room is you kicking off your boots and slipping into your converse. You begin tying the laces, then pause.

You look over your shoulder at Buck. “You talked to her, didn’t you?”

Buck looks everywhere but your face.

“You know what I said to her,” you say. It isn’t even a question: you can tell by how he’s acting.

“I just don’t understand why you were so rude to her.”

“Oh my god, seriously, Buck?!” you say, standing up to face him. “Her?!”

He crosses his arms. “What does that mean?”

You scoff and shake your head. “It means you haven’t changed at all.”

“What?”

You pick up your boots and toss them in your locker, which you slam shut. “You heard me.”

“That’s not fair,” he argues, moving his hands to his pockets.

“It’s not?” You ask, cocking your head. “I’m pretty sure a few months ago, you were sleeping with whatever woman fell for the whole ‘hero’ act. So how exactly have you changed?”

“Why are you so pissed at me?” Buck asks defensively. “I mean, it’s not like you care enough to stick around.”

Your heart drops into your stomach. “How dare you throw that in my face.”

“Am I wrong?”

“You’re wrong,” you confirm, stepping towards him. “Not that it’s any of your goddamn business, but I haven’t even applied to anything.”

“If it’s not my business, then why’d you make it my business?” Buck provokes. “Why’d you even tell me?”

“Because I thought you were my friend!” you shout. “I thought you would be happy for me!”

“Be happy that you want to leave?”

“Be happy that I want more for myself!”

“Well, I’m not happy,” Buck says, crossing his arms again. “You say that we’re your family, and then a few weeks later, you’re talking about other jobs. I mean, was that just a bunch of bullshit?”

You scoff again, and this time, angry tears fill your eyes. “Fuck you, Evan.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he says, turning to the door.

There are a million things you want to say. But then, you remember: you’ve already said them.

You reach into your pocket and come back with your phone. As Buck walks away, you hit the ‘play’ button on a recording you never wanted to listen to.

'Pretty Boy,' your voice in the recording crackles.

Buck stops and turns around.

'Evan Buckley… where do I even start with you? I’m not gonna lie: I really didn’t like you when we first met. And that’s funny, because now, you’re probably one of the most important people in my life. You definitely proved me wrong, man: you were good. You are good. And you have to keep being good, okay? I might not be there to see it anymore, but you should still do it. Do it for the both of us, will ya?'

You hit the ‘pause’ button and stuff your phone back into your pocket.

“You can be pissed at me all you want, but don’t you ever say that I don’t care about this job,” you whisper as you walk towards him. You poke a finger into his chest. “Don’t ever say that I don’t care about you.”

“I-”

Your shoulder slams into his as you walk out.

[sweetdreamz2]

Entangled Bonds - S. Gojo x S. Geto

synopsis: caught between two powerful sorcerers, you find yourself trapped in a dangerous and controlling relationship.

pairings: yandere! S. Gojo x S. Geto x f! reader

word count: 1.8k

content: MDNI!! kidnapped reader, coercion, emotional abuse, slight signs of reader exhibiting stockholm syndrome, toxic relationship dynamics, emotional manipulation

You were seated on the couch, unmoving while your trembling fingers nervously played with the hem of your shirt —well, not your shirt but one of Satoru's —ending at your thighs. 

The oppressive silence in the room was putting you on edge, but alas that was broken only by the faint rustling of fabric as Suguru shifted by the window. His posture was firm, arms crossed against his chest tightly, and his gaze was anything but soft. It was sharp, unrelenting as his dark orbs slowly flickered towards you. 

It wasn’t always like this—at least, not in the beginning. You never expected that meeting Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto would upend your life in ways where you could never break free. 

You met them years ago, though for you it felt like another lifetime. At the time, you were but an apprentice—a healer specializing in rare techniques that’s been passed down for generations in your family. Your days were reticent as you spent most of your time treating small ailments alongside learning how to channel energy into restorative power. It wasn’t glamorous, but you were content with your life and it was yours. 

Then Satoru Gojo walked into your clinic. 

There was no way you could miss him—the towering man with snowy white hair, dressed in black from head to toe, a white blindfold hiding what you later discovered were piercing, unnervingly beautiful eyes. He was injured, but he waved it off like nothing and instead flashed a lopsided grin towards your direction.

“Looks worse than it is,” he spoke casually, his frame leaning against the doorframe as blood drenched the side of his uniform.

You merely blinked, taking in his flippant attitude and the faint sparkle of power that radiated off him like heat. 

“Keep walking around like that and you’ll eventually bleed out,” you retorted all the while reaching for your supplies.

Satoru smirked. “Oh? You’re worried about me already? We just met.” His tone was full of teasing.

At his reply, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, not bothering to answer him and motioning with your pointer finger for him to sit down. He sighed dramatically, dragging himself to the nearest chair as if it were an incredible effort.

You began to clean and patch up his wound until you found yourself distracted by the strange energy he carried, your movements halting. You could tell he’s a sorcerer, but he was unlike any you’ve encountered before. The power he was exuding was overwhelming, suffocating even, but he carried it effortlessly, as if the weight of it didn’t bother him the slightest. 

“You’ve got steady hands,” he said, breaking the silence. His tone was light, though his words made your cheeks heat.

“I have to,” you replied back softly, shaking your head to gather your thoughts to focus back on your work. “Healing can be tricky and isn’t forgiving of mistakes.”

The white haired male tilted his head as if studying you. “A perfectionist, huh? I like that. What’s your name?”

You hesitated, reluctant to share anything personal, but his disarming smile made it hard to resist. You finally told him your name, your orbs focusing on his wound —or what’s left of it. 

“Well, Y/N,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “I think we’ll get along just fine.” 

After you finished treating Satoru, another man stepped through the clinic door - Suguru Geto. His presence was the opposite of Satoru’s; where Satoru was loud and attention-seeking, Suguru was quiet and composed.

“Making a mess already, Satoru?” Suguru’s tone was dry while he glanced at the blood-soaked chair. 

“It’s not my fault she’s got a cozy little place here. Can’t blame me for wanting to stick around!”

You looked between the two, confused yet slightly uneasy. They were a strange pair, both carrying an aura of danger you couldn’t ignore.

“You should be more careful,” you said, addressing the two males. “I don’t know who—or what— you’ve been fighting, but it’s reckless to be out and about in this condition.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow, his lips slowly stretching into the faintest smile.

“You’ve got a sharp tongue for a healer.” 

You narrowed your eyes, shooting a small glare. “It’s called common sense,” you retorted, though your voice wavered slightly under his intense gaze.

From that moment, your life began to intertwine with theirs. They returned to your clinic again and again and again, sometimes injured or sometimes just stopping by for the heck of it. Satoru always teased, pushed at your boundaries, while Suguru observed quietly, his eyes never missing a thing. You weren’t sure why they’ve taken such an interest in you, but you couldn't deny the pull you felt towards them despite how dangerous it felt.

-

Now, years later, you were tapped in their web, your once - peaceful life a distant memory as you were brought back to reality by a voice.

Suguru’s voice cut through the air like a blade, low and cold. “You’re not taking this seriously, are you? Do you think this is some game? That you can do whatever you want and we’ll just overlook it?”

Your stomach churned at his tone. It wasn’t the first time he’s spoken to you like this, but each time it sent a pang of guilt right through your chest. You remembered the soft smiles, the promises they made about protecting you, and how you once thought there might be a way out. But you knew better.

“I… I’m sorry,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t trying to upset you, Sugu. I just thought—”

He interrupted you sharply. “Thought?” 

Suguru took a step closer to you, his eyes narrowing. “You thought stepping outside, exposing yourself to god-knows-who, was a good idea? Do you realize what could’ve happened? Or do you not care?”

You shut your eyes, flinching at his words as you felt your heart sank. You didn’t want to make him angry— didn’t want to make either of them upset. You didn’t mean to disobey them, you just wanted some space.

“I do care,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “I really do. I just.. I didn’t think it would—”

“That’s the problem, you didn’t think.” He snapped, his tone growing harsher. His dark eyes bore deeply into yours, disappointment and anger twisting the knife of guilt even deeper. 

“After everything we’ve done to protect you, this is how you repay us? By being reckless?”

“No, I wasn’t trying to—”

“Stop.” Suguru interjected, his voice colder now. “No more excuses.” His fingers dug into his forearms, and his face remained unreadable, but the distance between the two of you felt like an ocean.

“You should know how dangerous the outside world is, Y/N. You’ve been with us long enough to understand the stakes.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you instinctively reached out towards him, desperately trying to calm the storm you unleashed unintentionally.

“Suguru.. I’m sorry. I really am. Please, I—”

“Enough.” Once again you were shut down, his voice like a wall slamming down between you.

Your throat tightened as you dropped your gaze to your lap, the heavy weight of guilt eating you alive. You felt like a child being scolded by their parents. You never intended to disappoint Suguru or Satoru. All you wanted was space, air to breathe again, but now you felt like you were suffocating.

Satoru, who was sitting quietly from the other side of the living room, finally spoke up. “Whoa, whoa, hey, let’s not make this more dramatic than it needs to be.” His voice was soft and light, though it held an undertone of seriousness. 

He stood up from the chair, sauntering over and stepping between you and Suguru with ease. Crouching in front of you, he tilted his head to catch your downcast eyes. 

“You’re scaring her, Suguru. You know how sensitive she gets when you use that tone.” Satoru spoke while a small frown tugged at his lips, giving a look towards the other male. 

Suguru kept quiet for a moment, his hand rubbing the back of his neck while rolling his eyes at the comment. 

“She should be scared. Maybe then she’ll finally start thinking before putting herself in danger. It’s not about coddling her, Satoru.” He finished off, his jaw tightening as his dark orbs flickered briefly over towards you.

For a moment, there seemed to be something unreadable in his gaze— frustration mixed with something softer, but it disappeared almost instantly.

You glanced at Satoru, seeing a smile replace the frown from earlier as his hand gripped your thigh gently underneath his fingertips. The touch was soft and gentle, his fingers squeezing your skin ever so often in a way to comfort you. 

“Toru.. I didn’t want to make him upset. I didn’t want to upset either of you. I just.. just needed a bit of space. I thought… maybe I could have a few moments of normality.” Your voice trembled slightly, tears beginning to stream freely down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

Satoru softened slightly as his hand reached out to brush away your tears. 

“You don’t need to apologize for wanting some space, sweetheart. We get it, really. But next time, let us know, alright? No more running off and getting into trouble. We just worry about you.” His words were playful, though it held an underlying seriousness that made your chest tighten.

You gave a weak nod, but the guilt still lingered. Suguru’s disappointment was still evident, and despite the reassurance from Satoru, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you only made things worse.

Suguru’s gaze hasn’t left your form, still as unyielding as ever, but a subtle change flickered in his eyes.

“You can’t keep doing this, baby. We’re here to protect you, but you have to let us. It’s our responsibility to keep you safe. You belong with us.” Suguru’s voice was calmer, yet firm as he stepped closer towards you and Satoru.

You glanced between them, heart torn in two. Satoru’s words felt like a balm—comforting, reassuring— but Suguru’s felt more like a chain, tying you down tighter with every passing moment. They were right, and that’s what hurt the most. You never really gave much thought about how much danger you could be in, how much they had already given to keep you safe.

“I’m… not sure if I can do this,” you whispered.

Satoru reached out, cupping your cheek with his hand. “Sweetheart, you don’t need to worry. We’ve got you. We promise you’ll never be alone.”

You closed your eyes at his warmth, though guilt still lingered deep within you. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologized again, though it was more to yourself than to them. “I didn’t mean to make things harder for you.”

Suguru’s gaze softened just enough to let you catch a glimpse of the concern buried beneath his stern exterior. He sits down next to you, reaching out to grab your hand in his and squeezes softly.

“I’m only angry because I care, Y/N. We both do,” he finishes off while Satoru leans forward and places a gentle kiss against your temple.

You closed your eyes, the weight of their words pressing down on you like a chain you could never break.

[striveattemptfail]

maybe it's a little too early (to know if this is gonna work) | Logan Howlett/Wade Wilson, 5.2k, M

@poolverine-week: Day 6 – Sharing Clothes

Summary: Five times Wade steals wears Logan's clothes, and one time Logan wears Wade's suit. Rated for allusions to sex, but nothing explicit. Takes place some time after the movie’s events; assume Logan and Wade are back-up X-Men. Read on Ao3

A/N: Thank you to B @broosepayne for helping out with random details + thank you to @fuckselfloveihatemyself for suggesting "impersonation" for the final scene. Shout out to the Manga Hoes server for listening to me bitch about finishing this fic lol. Un-beta'd and I apologize /o\ Title from You Look Good In My Shirt by Keith Urban—just be grateful I didn't give this fic the exact same name lmaooo

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[ Wardrobe Status: Nothing / Wearing Wade’s Clothes ]

The first morning he wakes up in Wade’s timeline—his new universe—Logan has on nothing but a t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off and a pair of highlighter pink Hello Kitty boxers. He desperately needs something to wear aside from what are basically undergarments because he came into this world with nothing but his X-Men suit.

Or what’s left of it anyway.

Which is why, once he finally gets up from the pull-out bed, he sees Wade trying on the jacket that the TVA gave him after they destroyed the Time Ripper. Wade is in front of the only full-size mirror in the apartment, twisting his body every which way to inspect the jacket.

Then, he catches Logan’s reflection in the mirror.

“Morning, peanut!” he greets, turning around to face him with a smile. “I’m trying this on to see how it fits on me.”

“Uh, yeah. I see that,” Logan says with brows furrowed. “Why?”

“I was thinking about grabbing you some clothes but need a reference for your size.”

“Bub, that jacket is too big even for me.”

“...okay, yeah,” Wade eventually concedes, “but it’s the only thing you own that isn’t shredded to pieces from the Time Ripper.”

Unfortunately, the moron has a point. As it is, the boxers Wade loaned him are a bit tight on his waist, and the collar of the shirt is snug on his neck, but it’s not like Logan’s in any position to complain.

“I have to swing by Target to grab supplies for Dogpool anyway,” Wade continues before making kissy faces at the dog in question. “We need to get you some treats, huh, little missy? Yeah! And then we’ll get honey badger some clothes that actually fit him!”

And, well, it’s not like Logan is keen on stepping outside of this apartment in the brightest colour he’s ever worn in his over 200-year existence. It’s also not like he even has the funds to buy himself a hotdog from the street vendor around the corner, much less purchase anything for a new wardrobe. So if Wade wants to go out and buy some clothes for him, Logan isn’t going to stop him.

He grunts his assent as he makes his way to the kitchen, muttering a gruff Fine as he starts on a cup of coffee.

Later, when Wade leaves for Target, Logan grabs the now tossed aside TVA jacket.

If he happens to take a sniff of it once Wade’s out the door (inhaling the scent of cloyingly sweet body wash, hot sauce, and something Logan is fast recognizing as Wade), it’s simply because he wants to know whether it already stinks after yesterday’s events.

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[ Wardrobe Status: One Load of Staples ]

Luckily for Logan, Peter and Dopinder volunteered to help Wade clothes shop when he went to Target. Apparently, Wade wanted to buy all sorts of brightly coloured cutesy shit—like much of his own clothing, allegedly so the two of them could match—but Peter and Dopinder manage to rein him in and grab a few staples. T-shirts, jeans, sweatpants, boxers, socks, and a pair of shoes that’ll fall apart in about a month if Logan has to guess.

It’s enough for him to survive on until he can buy more clothes, and enough to produce a load of laundry once the day arrives. Luckily, the apartment has a washer-dryer combo in the unit, so he finishes the single, meagre load of clothes he owns in no time. He’s bringing them to the bedroom to put away when he finds Wade already inside, standing there in nothing but the smallest pair of tighty-whities Logan’s ever seen on a man.

“What the fuck,” is all he can say.

“Hey, honey badger!” Wade greets, normal as ever, as if he’s not exposing miles of skin and taut muscle that Logan would love to—

He messily dumps his clothes onto the bed, scowling at Wade.

“Why the fuck are you naked?” he demands.

“Oh, please, I’m hiding all the goods,” Wade brushes him off. He turns back to the heap of clothes on the hamper, presumably to find something that doesn’t smell like wet dog or weeks old nastiness.

Shit. The damn briefs aren’t even large enough to completely cover Wade’s ass, and Logan can see a hint of cheeks peeking through.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Logan rolls his eyes, hoping that his frown hides the conflict inside him.

With a smirk that can only spell trouble, Wade faces him again to thumb at the waistband of his underwear. “Would you rather I take them off?”

Logan snarls, averting his gaze to the small mound of clothes he has to put away. He angrily starts folding things, breath coming out in huffs that he hopes convey annoyance.

“Jeez, who pissed in your coffee this morning, kitty cat?” Wade complains, letting go of the waistband. “It’s not like I’m rubbing one out in front of you.”

“Shut the fuck up, bub,” Logan spits, throwing down another folded shirt.

The problem—like most things—is because of Wade.

It’s hard enough to share any amount of space with him, much less sleep in the same bed together every night, and Logan’s only a man. He might be too proud to admit it out loud (especially to a blabber mouth like Wade), but god fucking damnit somehow the fucker’s gotten under his skin. He makes Logan crave for more than innocently spooning in the early hours of the morning, want more than stolen glances when he thinks Wade isn’t looking.

It doesn’t help that Wade flirts with him constantly. People used to chastise Logan for how aggressively he pursued Jean back in the day. Now, he knows it’s nothing compared to the constant boner Wade has towards anything that speaks to him.

Logan needs to stop this train of thought—thinking about Wade’s boner is only going encourage his own.

“So, why are you naked?” he asks, probably angrier than acceptable for a conversation like this but, fuck, does Wade bring out the asshole in him.

“Technically, I’m not—”

“Fine, almost naked, you annoying prick.”

He looks up to find Wade with narrowed eyes, shooting him a dubious look that can only say, Are you serious?

“Obviooouslyyy,” he drawls out, rifling through the hamper again, “I thought I had more clothes left.”

Logan looks at the mountain Wade’s digging through. “Wait, you’re completely out of clean clothes? How the fuck did that happen?”

“I don’t know!” Wade throws his hands up in exasperation. “Ask the author!”

“I have no idea what that means,” he admits. “Anyway, why are you only in underwear?”

“What? You want me to steal some of Blind Al’s shit?” Wade pauses then, clearly mulling it over. “Actually, now that I think about it, her tracksuits would look great on me. They’d fit like baby clothes on a high schooler but it could be like a Y2K revival. Juicy Couture à la Wade. I’d smell like mothballs and old lady all day but it’d be worth it, I think!” He ends the rambling with a toothy grin.

Logan doesn’t dignify that with a response. He scrubs a hand over his face with a sigh.

“Just... put on some damn clothes, bub.”

“Fine.”

Wade—probably in an attempt to piss him the fuck off, as usual—stares at him with a piercing gaze, maintaining eye contact with Logan as he grabs a white t-shirt from the folded pile and slides it on.

Logan just glares at him, jaw clenching tight.

The worst part is that he’s not even mad that Wade’s grabbing shit that he just folded. For some fucking reason, there’s a small but very loud part of Logan deeply satisfied to see Wade in his clothes again. He hasn’t worn anything of Logan’s since trying on the TVA jacket that first day home, but seeing him in one of Logan’s tees is apparently doing something for him.

Wade spins in place, and Logan notices that the hem of the t-shirt barely covers Wade’s crotch, skims the peak of Wade’s pert ass. Once he faces Logan again, he pinches the sides of the shirt like he’s holding a skirt, dipping into a small curtsy.

“Is that better, oh, prudent majesty?” he taunts.

Logan finally snaps.

Before he’s even conscious of it, he’s striding over to where Wade is still staring at him, his expression turning confused though still playful.

“Woah, big boy, I didn’t think you’d be that pissed—”

Logan grabs his face and cuts him off with a kiss, Wade making a surprised noise against his mouth before finally kissing back. Even though Logan is leading, Wade still gives as good as gets, his tongue darting into the cavern of Logan’s mouth when he gasps for air. He’s not sure how long they suck face for, but when Logan finally pulls away, a satisfied noise rumbles through his chest at Wade’s stunned but amused face.

“Finally got you to shut up,” Logan teases, words coming out shallow and thin.

“Oh, it’ll take a lot more than that, old man,” Wade quips back, and another purr builds in Logan’s chest when he hears the gravel in Wade’s voice. Wade throws his arms over Logan’s shoulders and crashes their lips together again.

Neither of their laundry gets finished for a long while after that, both of them too caught up in seeking pleasure from each other. Most of Logan’s freshly laundered clothes lie wrinkled on the bed for hours until he remembers to put them away. Wade doesn’t even start on his own laundry until Logan tells him that Althea would definitely kick his ass if he wore her stuff.

But he continues wearing Logan’s shirt until his own clothes are finally clean, so Logan can’t complain at all.

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[ Wardrobe Status: Half Complete + A New Suit ]

They’re suiting up for an X-Men mission when Wade snatches the Wolverine cowl before Logan can put it on. He’s still in the middle of zipping up when he spots Wade grabbing it out of the corner of his eye, and he doesn’t even need to turn around to know that the dipshit’s already wearing it.

“Give it back,” he says absentmindedly, buckling in the last straps of his suit.

He turns around and shoots Wade a flat look, correct in his assumption that Wade put it on. Typical Wade, he’s wearing his Deadpool mask underneath the Wolverine cowl.

“How do I look?” Wade asks, voice lilting with anticipation.

He looks like someone threw up primary colours on his head and decided to call it a mask.

“You look like someone threw up primary colours on your head and decided to call it a mask.”

Wade gasps, clearly offended. “Rude!”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Just hand me my fuckin’ cowl, bub.”

“Mmmmm, no.”

He never makes shit easy. Logan can only sigh.

“Wade, we gotta leave for the mission brief,” Logan reminds him. They’re about to leave on time for once, and that never happens. “Gimme my goddamn cowl.”

Wade ignores him, as he often does, sauntering over to Logan with a sway in his hips, and Logan quirks a brow at him. He knows what that walk means, and suddenly heading to the X-Mansion for a mission is becoming the last thing on his mind.

Wade drapes his arms over Logan’s shoulders, and Logan automatically places his hands on Wade’s hips. Even beneath both masks, Logan can tell that Wade is waggling his non-existent eyebrows at him once they’re pressed close together. “Wanna inspect the wind resistance on these blowjob handles yourself, peanut?”

Logan snorts. “No, because I don’t wanna see my own mask sucking my dick.”

“Aww,” Wade whines, and Logan can hear the pout in his voice even if he can’t see it, “you’re no fun!”

“‘Sides,” Logan murmurs in his ear, low and sultry, as he pulls Wade closer, “I like seeing your face when we’re together, bub.”

He moves a hand from Wade’s waist to slightly lift his Deadpool mask at the collar. He then ducks his face into the curve where Wade’s neck meets shoulder, mouthing at the now exposed skin there. He smirks when he feels the catch in Wade’s throat.

“I thought we had to leave for the mission brief?” Wade mocks, but it comes out breathy and very pleased by the turn of events.

Logan hums mischievously, nipping at Wade’s neck. “Don’t give a shit anymore.”

“Cool cool cool,” Wade babbles, body pressing against Logan’s, all hot and eager. “I just—oh, fuck, honey badger—I was just thinking—”

“If yer thinking, then I ain’t doin’ this right,” he grumbles, words starting to slur together because there’s something else he’d much rather be doing with his mouth. The hand he still has on Wade’s waist travels to his crotch. Wade bucks his hips into Logan’s open palm with a husky groan, already half-hard.

“You’re doing everything so, so right,” Wade gasps, hips rutting into his grip. “It’s just—ngh—you better be the one taking off this suit, because I did not spend five whole minutes and half a thing of baby powder squeezing my ass into it just to—oh, shit!—strip it off again.”

With a final lick to his pulse point, Logan pulls away just enough to look at Wade. He smirks at the way Wade is panting, puffs of breath hitting his face in needy bursts despite the fabric covering Wade’s mouth.

“I gotta take off your clothes?” he confirms. Wade nods jerkily. “S’not a problem with me.”

And he drops to his knees, unbuckling Wade’s utility belt to do just that.

They do eventually get to the X-Mansion—just 30 minutes late, and they completely miss the briefing. Colossus looks at both of them in disappointment when he relays the abridged version of the mission objectives while they fly to their destination on the X-Jet. Frankly, Logan only half listens to the giant, completely unapologetic in his lack of focus. Being distracted is well worth it as he mulls over the events of the past hour.

Because Logan discovers that, while he might not get off on seeing his own cowl blowing him, he doesn’t mind when he’s on his knees looking up to see it thrown back in pleasure.

At least as long as Wade’s the one wearing it.

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[ Wardrobe Status: Signature Items Acquired ]

The next time they leave together, it’s to meet Vanessa and Dermot for bowling. Logan’s ready before Wade is, waiting in the living room because apparently how long it takes Wade to decide on an outfit completely depends on how he’s feeling.

Thankfully, today isn’t too awful. He’d only worn the Deadpool mask in the morning because he, quote, “felt like skewered chicken intestines,” and nearly cancelled on bowling altogether. But after an orgasm from Logan and cuddling from Mary Puppins, his mood had turned around.

All of which means that Wade is now in a mad dash pulling an outfit together. Logan knows better than to try and help him or force him to hurry up, so he’s left on the couch quietly grumbling to Mary about how he thinks Wade looks good in basically everything he wears.

He’s proven absolutely right when Wade finally steps out of the bedroom. Logan barely registers the full outfit because he’s completely focused on one item.

“How do I look?” Wade asks with a sly grin, walking over to the mirror to inspect himself. He twirls in front of his reflection while smoothing down the leather of the jacket he’s wearing.

Logan’s jacket.

He’s unable to put words together with the way his brain is currently short-circuiting. He grunts in response anyway, knowing that Wade will keep talking even if he doesn’t reply verbally.

He’s proven right yet again because Wade continues without missing a beat. “You think I should switch styles? Give yours back and get my own? Jackets aren’t really my thing though... Oh! What if I got a cape instead? It’d help for ‘no capes’ AUs to actually shed a cape, huh? Has there ever been a DP with a cape? I don’t remember seeing one when we fought the Corps.”

He hums a contemplative sound as Logan stands up from the couch, making his way over to Wade.

“Maybe I need to test trial this,” he continues to ramble, “maybe I can borrow Cable’s shawl-cape thing!”

Even Logan is surprised when he immediately interrupts Wade’s babbling with a stern: “No.”

Wade’s eyes snap to his, confused by the sudden harshness and increased volume in his tone. He makes a questioning noise and shoots Logan a displeased look.

Remembering that Wade will only ramp up how annoying he is if Logan bosses him around, he shakes his head and tries again. “I mean, just—you can, uh, keep mine.”

He clears his throat, eyes darting away to take in how the jacket fits on Wade. It’s a little loose on him, a little too broad because Logan’s chest is a bit wider than his, but it sits well on his frame nonetheless. After awkwardly patting Wade on the shoulder, Logan’s hand slides to Wade’s bicep, then down to cuff where Logan thumbs at the leather there. His fingers bump Wade’s hand and he feels electrified by the touch.

When their eyes meet again, Logan’s relieved to find Wade’s face as red as his own cheeks feel. He’s not entirely sure who leans in first but their lips meet halfway. The kiss isn’t demanding or dirty, neither of them trying to turn it into something that would lead to sex for once. It’s different from when they usually make out, just soft and lingering, and Wade gasps when Logan’s tongue gently licks at the seam of his lips.

At some point, they wrap their arms around each other, because when they finally part for air Wade’s cupping Logan’s jaw and his hands are on the small of Wade’s back.

He eventually grumbles out, “Keep it, it suits you.”

“Oh.”

It takes a moment for Wade to shake the dazed look off his face, but he recovers by flashing Logan a knowing grin. Logan rolls his eyes fondly.

Of course, the little shit did it on purpose. He should’ve known the moment Wade stepped out with that giant smile.

Afterwards, when they finally meet with Vanessa and Dermot at the bowling alley, Vanessa’s smirk and raised eyebrow are well worth it because Wade keeps the jacket on.

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[ Wardrobe Status: Full Closet ]

Logan’s been gone for almost a month because of an extended X-Men mission. Between stakeouts, recon, strategizing, and actually nabbing the bad guy, it’s the longest he’s been away since Wade and Althea’s apartment became his home.

He walks in and unceremoniously dumps his duffle bag and the rest of shit by his shoes, throwing his keys on the sidetable by the door. Despite it being well into the afternoon, the apartment is surprisingly quiet. He figures Althea is out for “bingo” (likely a coke exchange) but Wade and Mary Puppins’ lack of noise makes him suspicious.

Until he hears the snoring.

He pads over to the pull-out bed to find Wade and Mary napping together. Wade’s curled around her, snoring with his face buried in her very sparse amount of fur, and Mary’s tongue sticks out as she huffs out quiet, little snuffles of her own.

But what catches Logan’s attention is Wade wearing one of his flannels.

It’s one of the thickest he owns, made for colder weather and blistery autumn breezes, a dusty yellow and blue with snap buttons. It’s large on him—like everything else Logan owns whenever Wade wears his clothes—but this particular flannel is loose on Logan, so the fabric almost drowns Wade in a pattern of faded checks.

And like every time the moron steals his crap to wear, Logan’s stomach flips in a way he can no longer ignore.

He’s not sure if they’re exclusive or not. They fall into bed together as easily as they fight side-by-side on missions. But it’s impossible for Logan to tell if Wade is serious about half the flirtations streaming out of his mouth when the idiot’s easy affection gets directed at anyone that looks at him twice.

And as much as he’s loathe to admit it, Logan wants so much more than that. He wants Wade’s lingering looks to mean something other than platonic nothings. He wants the softer kisses they share to be more than a break from sex. He wants Wade to need him the way Logan needs him. Hell, he wants Wade to annoy him in ways that Wade would never bother anyone else, because at least then Logan would know that he means something different to the motherfucker, something more than a roommate he hooks up with.

He wants just Wade, all of him, full stop.

He gingerly sits on the mattress, trying not to jostle the two napping Deadpools too much with his weight, and he reaches over to gently stroke Wade’s cheek with a thumb. Feeling emboldened when Wade doesn’t stir, he leans down to press his lips onto Wade’s forehead.

“Well, g’morning to y’too, honey badger,” Wade slurs at him, voice thick with sleep.

Logan abruptly jerks away, eyes wide, and the movement is enough to jostle Mary Puppins from her slumber. She hops off to nap in her own bed after a grumpy growl, leaving Wade alone on the mattress. He attempts to swallow the sudden lump in his throat before clearing it with a cough.

“S’four in the afternoon,” Logan mumbles. Pinching his lips into a flat line, he awkwardly sits next to Wade rustling around in the sheets. His eyes catch the flannel falling open to reveal that Wade is also wearing one of his tank tops.

Logan takes a deep, stuttering breath.

Eyes still closed, Wade blindly flaps his hand around until finding purchase on Logan’s shirt. He tugs Logan back down, and Logan curls over to kiss him softly.

“Welcome home, peanut,” Wade breathes onto his lips. “Missed you.”

He touches his nose to Wade’s. “Missed ya too, bub.”

Wade’s face splits into a slow, easy grin, pulling Logan into laying down. Logan follows him without a thought, gathering Wade into his arms.

“You’re wearin’ my clothes again,” he whispers.

Wade hums, nuzzling into his chest. “S’cold, and it smells like you.”

A pleased purr escapes Logan before he has a chance to stop it, and Wade giggles at him, kissing his collarbone before falling right back to sleep.

They don’t talk about what they are after that, but it’s at that moment when Logan finally realizes that maybe, somehow, Wade feels the same way about him too.

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[ Wardrobe Status: Wearing Wade’s Clothes (Again) ]

The TVA brings them in because they need help with some lady going after Deadpool variants. It would be a fruitless endeavour since Deadpools can’t die (well, except Nicepool) if it weren’t for the fact that the fucker apparently stole a weapon that disintegrates things to oblivion.

“Shouldn’t the law of physics stop that from happening?” Wade asks, gesturing at the screen when B-15 presents the mission to them. “‘Matter can’t be created or destroyed’ or something like that?”

“That’s energy, idiot,” Logan corrects him.

Wade just shrugs. “Hey, don’t blame me for failing physics twice!”

He turns to Wade with a confused grimace. “Who else would I blame then?”

“The teachers, duh!”

“Anyway,” B-15 interrupts, hitting a button to show another slide, “this variant’s got a fascination for destroying the indestructible, but she’s going after Deadpools because she has tritanopia, or blue-yellow colour blindness. She can see shades of red the easiest, hence, sticking with Deadpools as her target.”

“That’s so stupid,” Wade says and Logan can only agree. “There are, like, dozens immortal superheroes in red and she chooses li’l ole me? Seems like the writer copping out of coming up with a better plot, I-M-O.”

“We also believe Mary was double-crossed by the Deadpool in her timeline, giving further motive to go after his variants.”

“Hmph! Now isn’t that just convenient?” He crosses his arms. “Wait, ‘Mary’?”

“Yes.” B-15 shows another slide, this one a close-up of the woman—Mary’s—face. “She’s a Typhoid Mary variant. Have either of you encountered her before?”

“Not in my world,” Logan answers.

“I admittedly did not keep up with Netflix’s Daredevil long enough to meet Bloody Mary, no,” Wade says.

B-15 presents them with further details: Typhoid Mary’s known abilities and weaknesses; how she has dissociative identity disorder on top of her colour blindness; how she managed to acquire the worst weapon available from the arms dealers she was supposed to take down; how her alter apparently took over and decided to go after invincible mutants until she finally got even with her world’s Deadpool. The TVA did try to intervene, but she ended up killing every agent that went after her before stealing one of their TemPads and consequently going on her multiversal manhunt. B-15 makes it absolutely clear how imperative it is that they do not kill Mary or destroy the weapon so the TVA can keep them both under tabs.

Then, she reveals the TVA’s plan to capture her: They want Logan to pose as a Deadpool variant in the timeline they believe she’s going to strike next. Typhoid Mary’s current M.O. doesn’t account for superstrength so he should be able to break out of anything she traps him in. Meanwhile, Wade will be in the shadows, using a tranquillizer gun to incapacitate her once she’s busy with Logan.

Logan groans internally while Wade claps his hands in delight.

“Ooh!” he practically squeals, patting Logan on the shoulder with unrestrained excitement. “Finally, it’s my turn on the other side of this trope!”

B-15 shakes her head and sends them on their way.

The suit the TVA provides him fits perfectly, and he notes Wade’s heated, lingering gaze on him once he steps out of the dressing room. Luckily, another agent gets them through a portal before Wade starts on a tirade that would no doubt be filled with inappropriate innuendoes about Logan.

The mission is executed almost laughably easy. Typhoid Mary’s telekinetic and telepathic abilities are so low-level Logan’s shocked that the others she went after were able to be taken down so quickly.

(“Plot armour, peanut,” Wade said when Logan had asked B-15 about this. “She needed to last long enough to meet us!” As usual, Logan had chosen to ignore him.)

Like the TVA discovered, she lures Deadpools by spreading rumours he can’t ignore, adding a honeypot stash filled with weapons he loves. Geared up in Wade’s suit, Logan “falls” for her trap: entering an abandoned warehouse meant to shelter an upcoming gang targeting Deadpool, but secretly only houses her. Once Logan finds the crate of weapons meant to entice Wade, Typhoid Mary wastes no time in capturing him. She points a giant ray-gun of sorts at his face after wrapping him in the warehouse’s chains with her telekinesis.

He feels the faintest compulsion to stay still, which is probably her telepathy trying to subdue him. But she’s nowhere near the level of other telepaths Logan’s encountered, like Jean or Cassandra Nova, and the compulsion is easy to ignore. The chains are slightly harder to deal with in comparison, but he’s certain he can get out of them without too much trouble. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Wade moving into place.

During Logan’s silent assessment of the situation, Typhoid Mary apparently began monologuing. He doesn’t let her get a chance to finish though, breaking out of the bonds around his torso with sheer force and grunting at the exertion. He slices the chains around his ankles with his claws, the metal cutting like butter against the adamantium.

“What?!” she screams. “A Wolverine-Deadpool variant? How?!”

Logan doesn’t even open his mouth for a reply because Wade shoots a tranq dart in her neck. She falls to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Wooh! No scope oneshot K/O, baby!” he hollers, skipping over to pick up the weapon Typhoid Mary dropped. “God, I’d love to take this home with us,” he bemoans as he assesses it, “I can finally stick it to Cable and show off my own badass, futuristic gun!”

“That won’t be necessary,” B-15 announces, suddenly next to them. A group of armed TVA agents begin to file in from the portal behind her, a few of them attempting to grab the weapon from Wade while others lift Typhoid Mary away for custody.

The aftermath of the mission would be just as easy if isn’t for Wade bitching about giving up the gun. After B-15 debriefs them, she and Logan spend entirely too long demanding that Wade hand it to her.

“I’ll give it back if we can keep this suit for pookie here,” Wade eventually offers, pointing at Logan.

“What?” Logan asks. The suit’s not bad but he has no reason to wear it again once he takes it off. “Why—?”

“Deal,” B-15 immediately agrees.

Wade begrudgingly relinquishes the gun, giving it a flying kiss goodbye before taking Logan’s hand. B-15 opens a portal to their apartment and guides them through. “Thanks for the help, gentlemen!” she says, waving a hand at them. They both wave back, and the portal closes.

Logan looks down at the Deadpool suit he’s still wearing. “Why the hell did you want—mmph!”

His lips are suddenly bombarded with hot kisses, and he growls when Wade opens his mouth his tongue. He didn’t even notice that Wade took off his mask.

“God, you look so fucking good in my colours,” Wade moans, hands roaming all over Logan’s body. “Is this how you feel whenever I wear your things?” Logan makes a noise of assent, too busy mouthing at Wade’s jaw to give a proper answer. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

Logan starts moving them towards the bed—Christ, he hopes Althea is gone because there’s no way he’s stopping what Wade’s started. His cock is already taking interest, and only gets harder when Logan bumps his hips into Wade’s. They tumble onto the pull-out in a feverish heat with Logan straddling Wade’s thighs.

He’s licking at Wade’s pulse when the dumbass gasps, “Oh my god, I’m gonna fuck a variant of myself.”

Used to Wade’s non-stop yammering even during sex, Logan mindlessly replies, “‘S still me, bub, I ain’t a variant of you.” Foolishly, he adds, “Besides, that’d be weird.”

“What? Why?”

With Wade groping his ass, Logan actually has to pause getting his hands under Wade’s suit to think about an answer.

He finally lands on: “It’d be like fucking your own clone.”

Wade actually stops everything he’s doing—hands no longer kneading his cheeks, mouth pulling away from him. Logan groans, knowing his brought this on himself, and dips his forehead to rest on Wade’s shoulder.

“What? You wouldn’t?”

“No, because that’s weird.”

“I’d fuck my clone.”

“Course you would.”

“T-B-H, I’m so pro-clone fucking I’d just have an orgy with all of them. Who’d be better to fuck me than me, right?”

This, by far, is one of—if not the—stupidest conversation Logan’s ever had with a person. Somehow, his dick doesn’t flag, and he’s still irrevocably fond of Wade’s random chatter. He kisses Wade before he can start on another tangent, cupping his perfect idiot’s face softly.

“Shut the fuck up,” he says, but knowing the smile he’s got on, Wade isn’t going to listen to him.

Wade’s answering smirk is a challenge. “Make me, peanut.”

——————————————

(More notes on Ao3.)

[laswells-ashtray]

The fun thing about taking a childcare course in college is that now I'm going to tell you the 141's key features of attachment when they were children/toddlers and you can't stop me.

If you've seen nay of my Price-posting then you know I think his parental situation consisted of a dead mother and a drunk father who was heavy handed with a belt, this stands.

John's key feature of attachment when he was just a little toddler was safe haven, returning to dad when he was upset even if the man had drunk himself into unconsciousness. But the lack of conscious interaction did nothing to soothe his distress or anxieties, so in the long run, it resulted in an ignorance towards the man's actions. John couldn't tell you if he entered or left a room because he became so apathetic to his presence and he became reliant on himself for comfort and protection that in his adult years it's why trying to explain his discomfort or anxieties to someone else makes his skin crawl. It's also why he so often acts as a base of security for the other men, spending years self-soothing leads him to try and soothe others the way he never was.

Kyle was without a doubt proximity maintenance, didn't matter if it was Mum or Dad. He wouldn't need to be clinging to them but if his Mum was in the living room and then moved to the kitchen then he carry his blocks through to the kitchen table so he could play while she was near. If Dad was out in the garden fixing up his older brother's bike then Kyle had his toy cars and was playing with them on the steps just a few feet away.

He didn't need their attention at every second but he needed the comfort of knowing they were nearby. He has a great relationship with both of his parents, on the worst of days he'll go home and sit in the kitchen while his mother cooks and they'll talk. She doesn't want his help because God, if he isn't fucking useless with anything other than a pot noodle but she'll let him sit there for as long as he needs and they'll just chat about whatever.

Simon's was secure base. If little toddler Simon Riley was exploring a new environment then he needed Mum somewhere in the general vicinity so he could return back to her every 10 minutes or so to stop the experience from becoming overwhelming.

Only, we all know what his childhood was like. And my perception of it is that his mother's mind was elsewhere, her priority was ensuring Simon didn't do anything to anger his father. So, it resulted in almost a disinterest, the less she cares about what the little one is babbling on about then the less likely he is to get enthusiastic and subsequently loud, which would upset his dad. And the lack of interest or comfort she provided led to Simon approaching new environments with an uncharacteristic disinterest for a child of his age, he wouldn't explore or participate in any of the same sensory seeking activities as other children his age. He'd just sit there on his own and glance around with a blank look. In later years he'd struggle to form good relationships with people because of his perceived disinterest, he'd never be enthusiastic about anything. Eventually, he'd learn how to express himself in a way that doesn't make him embarrassed but also can't be mistaken as a lack of care.

Johnny is without a doubt separation distress. Take him away from his Mammy and see what fucking happens. If Mrs MacTavish is cooking then he's standing by her side and holding on to the edge of her cardigan. And when she realises she's three seconds away from tripping over him then he's sitting on the counter and her cardigan is draped over his shoulders as he babbles away at her.

He has a good relationship with his dad too, mind you. His dad never took it personally but Mr MacTavish knows that when Johnny Boy comes home after being away for months, he's heading straight to his Mum to give her a hug. He keeps one of her old scarves at the bottom of his bag and switches it out whenever he goes home not because he can't live without it but he sleeps a little easier knowing that it's there. If there's anyone in his life whose opinion he cares about it's Mum, if he's going to get a new tattoo then he'll ask her opinion on it first and if she has suggestions then you bet your arse that he's adjusting it accordingly. He can go months without talking to her but no force on earth can stop him from being a Mammy's boy.

[sp4ceboo]

CHAPTER 6 ~ CALM BEFORE THE STORM

beneath a crimson sky masterlist | ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 4 | ch 5 | ch 6

pairing: stray kids ot8 x afab!reader

genre: apocalypse au, dystopian, dark, adventure, action, thriller, fighting, eventual smut, romance

a/n: apologies for the sparse updates i swear i'm still alive, icl i have beef with this chapter in terms of characterisations but the next chapter is my lil baby so yall can look forward to that

chapter warnings: large amounts of crying, swearing, panic attacks, mentions of mind control, for some reason i really like The Hello Kitty Blanket, not much else but i probably forgot at least 1 thing

chapter word count: 3.6k

When you wake, you are lucid. Too lucid, it seems, because you recall your dreams with such clarity that you throw up, emptying the meagre contents of your churning stomach into a bucket someone had handily placed by your side. You do not want to believe what you’ve seen, so you chalk it down to the fever.

It’s early in the morning, and Jisung lies propped up against the wall beside the makeshift bed the boys must have made you, heavily asleep, a half full bottle of water held loosely in his hands. You manage to heave yourself upright, and it’s only then that you notice the rope tied loosely around your wrists and ankles, tied to the foot of the centrifuge and tethering you down.

Your stomach twists. Felix. You hurt Felix.

And yet, Jisung snores peacefully beside you. There is a calm in his slumbering face, a tranquility. He feels safe to sleep beside you, and no one has deigned to disturb him from his position - then, they don’t blame you, nor do they fear you.

Hesitantly, almost expecting your body to disobey your orders, you reach out and pluck the bottle from his grasp, taking careful sips until it’s finished. With a glance behind you, you notice Jeongin has sat up, rubbing his eyes, and that Chan is making his way towards you. He looks a little paler than before, and the semicircles beneath his eyes are darker.

You cannot imagine for the life of you why they have stayed and looked after you.

Unbidden, a smile finds its way onto your face as he approaches, and it widens when he returns it, his dimples appearing in his cheeks. Relief is clear on him, in the slight sag of his shoulders and release of tension in his brow, as if a heavy load has been lifted from him.

“Hey,” he whispers, crouching beside you, eyes bright and hope filled as he unties you. “I knew you would make it.”

“Chan,” you say, and suddenly your voice and smile are wobbly.

You reach out your hand, simply intending to grab ahold of his hoodie and remind yourself that you’re fine now, that they didn’t leave you even though they should have, but he goes one step further and engulfs you in his arms. Breath shaky, you close your eyes, holding onto him as tightly as you can.

Chan is warm and solid, and he smells ridiculously like clean laundry despite the fact that none of you have gone near a washing machine in weeks. It feels as if he is keeping you whole, as if you might crumble apart if he lets go. You squeeze your eyes shut and breathe him in.

You’re able to find your voice once your face is hidden in the safety of his shoulder. “Did I hurt anyone?”

“No,” he says, and you can’t tell if he’s lying or not. “You were pretty weak when that stage set in.”

You nod, trying to find words. “How - how long was I out?”

“Just under a week.”

Your jaw drops. “A week?”

“Yeah,” he says. “The next ship hasn’t landed yet. We met three guys looking for the rest of their group. The leader - his name was Hongjoong - has dubbed it the Reprieve. I just think it’s the calm before the storm.”

You blink. “You talked to someone? Were any of them sick?”

Getting to his feet, Chan shakes his head. “I don’t think anyone has been since the first horseman’s ship took off.”

Grabbing his hand, you stop him. “Thank you, Chan. You - you didn’t have to put yourself or the boys in danger for me, but you did, anyway.”

“I did what I’d do if it happened to any of us,” he says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world to him.

You’re about to reply, but you’re cut off by a drawn out gurgle from your stomach. Chan chuckles, his dimples appearing again. He is so bright, so clear, that it is hard to believe the shadows could even survive while he was there.

“I’ll get you some food in a second,” he grins. “Minho, Changbin, Felix, Seungmin, Jeongin and I are going out on a supply run. We don’t know how long the Reprieve will last so we’re going to try and stock up as much as possible in case we need to hole up when the second horseman comes.”

Briefly, you consider volunteering yourself too, but although you feel healed, you’ve been out for the last week and you need to rest. No doubt Chan would refuse to let you come along, anyway - he hands you a can of pasta shapes drowning in synthetic tasting tomato sauce, and you scarf it down while the lab begins to fill with life as the others wake up.

Felix bounds over and hugs you, followed closely by Hyunjin. You scan the former’s face for any signs of fear or hurt, but he beams at you, and your soul feels a warmth it hasn’t in a long time. There’s a beauty in his smile that is so hard to come by, now.

All of the boys greet you once they’ve woken up, even Minho, who kind of just stares at you like he can’t believe you’re alive. You don’t blame him. Hope is rising in your chest, the same way it shines in Jisung’s eyes when he jerks awake to see you conscious and radiates from Jeongin’s smile, because despite it all, you survived Pestilence, and if you survived the first horseman, maybe there’s a chance you’ll all be able to live through the next ones.

The hope rises so high that you dismiss your fever dreams. It lingers, wonderfully so, and rests on you, Hyunjin and Jisung after the others go out on the supply run, filling the three of you with bubbling laughter as the hours pass.

And then, abruptly, it falls short.

The sun is setting, painting the already red sky redder, and the others do not return. They do not come bustling through the door, laden with plastic bags full of supplies. Their voices do not echo down the street as they make their way back to the lab.

There are plenty of reasons they could have been delayed. They could be lost, or maybe they met that guy called Hongjoong again, yet you can’t help but feel the sinking feeling of despair re-enter your chest, when before you’d been so light and happy and hopeful. Hyunjin stares down at his lap and picks nervously at his cuticles. You glare worriedly out the window, tapping your foot on the floor.

Jisung begins to hyperventilate.

Immediately, you scoot over until you sit on the floor beside him. He’s rocking back and forth, his hands clenched into fists so hard that you know his nails must be digging painfully into his skin. His worry is contagious, settling in your bones and creeping into the back of your mind, armed with doubt.

Hyunjin is frozen where he is sat, and for a terrible, mind numbing moment, you feel painfully out of your depth - you know you could fight to protect him, but this is not something you know how to deal with. Minho or Chan would know what to do, not you.

Still, you prise his hands open so you can hold them. Positioning yourself so he can feel the press of your front against his back, you grip him tight enough for him to stop rocking. You tell yourself that the others will come back, repeating those words like a mantra, and even though you cannot fully deceive yourself, it steadies you nonetheless.

“Breathe with me,” you command, in a voice that leaves no room for arguing - a voice that sounds just like Chan’s.

Jisung’s breathing stutters, his chest heaving with the effort of it, but he fights to obey you, and you hold him close to you, grounding him even when his grasp on your fingers begins to sting with how hard he squeezes them. His trembling begins to ease up, and you loosen your arms on him, but he grips onto your wrist, keeping you wrapped around him. Carefully, you stroke his hair, keeping your breathing slow and deliberate.

“I’m here,” you soothe. “Jinnie’s here as well, okay?”

He twists in your arms so he can face you. Tears have tracked down his cheeks, and you wipe them away with your thumbs, a tight ache developing in your chest when his face crumples and he hides himself in your embrace again. Hyunjin shuffles over, resting his head on your shoulder and stroking a hand down Jisung’s back. You realise he’s shaking too.

“What if the next wave starts and they’re out there?” Jisung asks quietly.

“We’d have seen the ship coming down,” you tell them firmly, pushing back flashes of your dreams that crowd your head. “It’s not over yet.”

Hyunjin nods against your shoulder, a little sniffle escaping him. You wrap an arm around his shoulder and bring him a little closer, resting your chin on his head. The three of you stay like that for a while, tangled together as you listen to the sound of your heartbeats; there is a tension filling the lab not unlike the tightness in the air before rainfall, and you attempt to tamp down your worries, keeping them to yourself when the sky becomes the darker than the deepest of red wines and stars begin to wink to life.

This is the calm before the storm. You’re just afraid that your own, more personal storm might have arrived before the big one.

“I hate them,” Jisung announces after a while, and his arms tighten around you.

“The aliens?” You ask.

He nods. “I don’t care if they hear. I hope they hear - I hope they know I hate them for what they’ve taken from us.”

He has raised his head from where it was resting on your shoulder, and there is a fire in his eyes that you have not seen before, paired with pain woven through with a bitter sort of determination - the type derived from spite, the dogged tenacity to survive. A lump grows in your throat. You pull him close again, burying your face in his hair so he and Hyunjin don’t see the tears welling at your lash line.

You hate the aliens too. You hate them for their fucking games and stupid horsemen, you hate the way they’ve invaded your sky, you hate that they have broken millions of hearts and torn families apart. And now, if the others don’t come back, another family will have been lost.

The waiting makes you feel helpless. Restless, you pace circles in your mind, wondering whether you should go out and search for them, but that would leave Jisung and Hyunjin alone, and the next horseman could arrive at any time. You want something to do, something to put your mind off the worry, but there is nothing. All you can do is pull the two of them closer to you and soothe them with hollow words.

You’re about to suggest trying to eat something when the sound of footsteps approaches. You’re all on your feet in seconds, hurtling to the door, and before you can think to caution him, Hyunjin has shoved it open and looks out with wild hope bright in his eyes.

It’s dark outside. You can see silhouettes making their way towards you, their heads bowed tiredly, and though you can’t see their faces, you know for sure now - it’s not over yet. It won’t ever be over, as long as you’re all together and breathing.

Jisung sprints out into the street and hurls himself right into Minho’s arms.

You slump against the doorframe, relief swamping any anger you felt at them for coming back so late. Minho has dropped his bags and is gripping Jisung tight, his nose buried in the younger man’s hair, eyes squeezed closed - the sight is poignant enough to make your vision blur with unshed tears, vanquishing the tension that had been pervading your body for the last few hours. You step into Felix’s arms, your knees feeling as if they may give out any second.

“What happened?” You breathe out, sheltering in his embrace.

“There were dogs,” he replies, patting your back soothingly. “We were stuck balancing on top of a food shelving unit until they got bored and left. I’m sorry, we came back as fast as we could.”

You almost find it in you to laugh. All that worry, while the boys were camped out on the top shelf, waiting for animals that used to be beloved pets to lose interest in them. It feels as if you should take it as a warning, a reminder that you should take nothing for granted, but it fills you with a vicious triumph instead - they came back, and that’s what matters.

You squeeze him hard enough that he squeaks. “Don’t be sorry. Just, I was - we were scared. Shitless. Don’t ever do that again, you fucker.”

He laughs, and suddenly, with that bright sound ringing sweetly through the air, everything is alright again.

Everything continues to be alright until, a few hours later, you all decide to sleep, and though you are not alone as you once were, the dreams still come.

Snatches of laughter echo in your ears. Grasping, shadowy fingers tear at your hair and clothes. A blonde woman and a bronze skinned man, reduced to nothing but puppets, command swathes and swathes of survivors.

Reaping more than should ever be taken, great slaughter and boundless hunger ravages the land. There is only endless falling, like you are trapped in the vast pull of a black hole.

Eventually, you wrest yourself from the visions' claws.

Panting, sweat breaking out all over your skin in sharp prickles, you sit up, kicking the blanket off you. You pause for a moment, listening. Tonight is a rare night where Chan is actually asleep - his breathing is deeper and far slower than it is when he lies with his eyes closed, pretending. He is still next to you, frighteningly so, and you wish you could not so easily imagine him lifeless beside you.

Moonlight bleeds from the crack in the blinds, alighting on Hyunjin’s shoulders and spilling from them like a crimson cloak. His head is bent towards someone else, a slighter figure, with light hair, blonde hair -

She’s here.

And then you realise that the blonde is slightly grown out, that it’s far too glossy and a little too short to be hers. You deflate in relief. It’s just Felix. When he turns his face towards you, you see his sweet eyes and his freckles, and wonder how you could have ever seen his hair and mistaken him for her, even in the near darkness and from across the room.

Felix smiles and beckons you over, and you get up, keeping your footsteps quiet. The two of them have tucked the Hello Kitty blanket around them - a glance over your shoulder reveals that Changbin is now sharing Seungmin’s blanket, tucking himself tight against the younger man’s back, even in sleep. Hyunjin opens the blanket on his side, and you gratefully wedge yourself in.

The lab air is cold and a little biting, as if there aren’t solid walls separating you from outside, but you feel warmed by their actions, by the openness blooming so plainly on both their faces that it makes your heart ache.

“Nightmares?” Felix asks.

Mutely, you nod.

“Do you want to talk about yours?” Hyunjin asks. “Sometimes it helps.”

You blanch. Telling them of your fever dreams feels like speaking truth into them, like giving them the power to become real. There’s a chance that they’re just the substance of your terrified mind, but they have a strange quality to them, like the humming, disastrous tone of a prophecy. Not telling them could be withholding information that might be valuable.

“I had these visions when I was ill,” you blurt, then quieten your voice. “I don’t know if they were visions or dreams. Either way, they showed the next three horsemen.”

Hyunjin sucks in a sharp breath, stiffening beside you. Although he doesn’t say anything, Felix reaches out and squeezes your hand, and you cling to him like he’s your anchor, willing yourself to continue. It is harder than expected to describe what you saw - the images flash before your eyes, the scents and the sounds right in your head, and yet your tongue is stiff in your mouth with fear and dread.

“The one coming now is War. He…” You struggle with your words, wondering how many details are needed. “I think he possessed these two people. They’re supposed to be generals of some sort, maybe. Once he looked at them, they were his.”

Hyunjin curses under his breath. A rustle sounds nearby, like the sound of someone rolling over, and you glance up, aware that your voice had risen and taken on a panicked edge near the end of your sentence. Jeongin is stirring, but soon he relaxes, and you twist the blanket in your fingers, worrying at a loose thread.

“Keep going,” Felix urges.

“The third one is Famine. She was terrible, but beautiful too,” you murmur, unable to meet their eyes. “This one was hazier. I just remember the hunger, so strong that I would have done anything to destroy it. It felt like my body was changing, too, but I think that part was symbolic of something. Like the weighing scales she had.”

“Symbolic, like of the monsters humanity is becoming?” Hyunjin says, the horror clear in his voice.

Swallowing harshly, you press on. “The last was Death. There are blurry parts, parts I can't focus on, like what he said to me, but I remember other bits. Falling. What he looked like. I was - ” Your voice cracks. “ - terrified. That’s the clearest bit. The fear. I was helpless.”

Felix squeezes your hand. “We’ll - we’ll make it through. We’ll survive them.”

You can’t fathom how strong he must be to say that.

“Please don’t tell the others,” you whisper. “In case it’s not true, and it was all just some crazy fever dream. I - I don’t want to scare them. Chan will worry.”

“I agree,” Felix replies. “We don’t know if it’s real.” He squeezes your hand again. “Thank you for telling us.”

“Thank you for listening,” you mumble.

What you really mean is: thank you for staying, thank you for looking after me while I was under Pestilence’s hold, while I went crazy and could have killed or hurt you all. They are insane, for risking their own lives for you, merciful where the end of the world should have hardened their hearts.

Hyunjin is silent. You are too afraid to glance over and look him in the eyes, for fear that you will be condemned by what you will see in them. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, just huddles under the blanket with the rest of you, and you wonder if he hates you for being the bearer of news that could be the death of every person in this room.

You wouldn’t be surprised if that is the case, yet when he finally turns to you, he hugs you tight - tight enough to squeeze all the air out of your lungs, yet it doesn’t suffocate you. It feels like he’s holding you together, just like it did with Chan.

You allow a few of your tears to soak into his shirt before you pull yourself together.

When you raise your head, you realise Hyunjin is crying too, and yet the tears streaking down his cheeks look like war paint. He looks strong, like a warrior prince, and fearsome. Though he weeps, it is the farthest thing from a weakness.

And then he yawns, rubs at his face, and he is just sleepy, Hello-Kitty-blanket-around-his-shoulders Hyunjin again. Still, you see the remnants of that magnificence, and you know that although it has receded, it is as much a part of him as the tired but brave smile he sends you when he catches you looking.

“Shall we go back to sleep?” Felix asks.

You nod, and Hyunjin stands, wiping his eyes and holding the blanket around his neck like a cape. A smile tugs at your lips, and he grins down at you, doing a little twirl - the soft fabric flares out at the bottom, and you duck to avoid getting smacked in the face by it, opening your mouth to tell him that he looks like some sort of Sanrio monarch.

A keen whine splits the air like a guillotine.

The colour drains from Felix’s face, and his eyes dart immediately to the window. Hyunjin freezes. Suddenly, Jeongin is up, and he rolls right out from under the blankets and onto his feet, crossing the room to the window so he can yank the blind open. Baffled, you follow his gaze, and your heart sinks.

It’s a ship. The next horseman is coming.

You haven’t heard the sound of one of their ships before - you’d been delirious - but there’s no doubt left in your mind as one of the dark specks in the sky detaches from the others and arcs towards the ground like a falling star.

The Reprieve is over.

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