#ch tag: you are so infuriating

[chrisginny]

CHRIS NOEL in Dead Poets Society

+ the pink sweater white headband outfit

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Heirs

Pairing: Robb Stark x Baratheon/Lannister reader

Tags: NSFW, Arranged marriage, Robb is a bad boy in this one, corruption, innocent reader, first time, angst,

CH. 2 - He was the center of attention. The day's champion archer was charming the girls with his stories and teasing them with flirtatious gestures. Your blood started to boil as you watched him, oblivious to the fact that he was doing this just to taunt you.

Chapter tags: fingering, semi-public fingering, voyeurism, corruption kink,

The music from the instruments was loud, and the atmosphere in the tent was filled with excitement, but you sat in your spot, glaring.

You didn't care that you were the only one. It wasn't fair. In Westeros culture, men were not expected to remain virgins until marriage. Robb took great pleasure in this fact.

You tried to focus on the conversation your ladies were having around you, but your eyes kept drifting towards him across the room, surrounded by girls from all over the country.

He was the center of attention. The day's champion archer was charming the girls with his stories and teasing them with flirtatious gestures. Your blood started to boil as you watched him, oblivious to the fact that he was doing this just to taunt you.

One Northern girl boldly kissed Robb, baring her sharp canines while he laughed into her lips as another girl ran her arms around his barely covered torso. He turned and gave you a sly wink, running his tongue across his own sharp canine teeth, knowing that it would only infuriate you more. And it did.

From his point of view, the delicate princess sat wide-eyed, chest rising in her expensive dress as she inhaled and exhaled harshly through her flared nostrils. So responsive.

Robb enjoyed provoking you - he didn't know why yet. Perhaps he was doing it to see how you would react, testing your feelings for him, or because he was unsure how to express his growing attraction. When he winked at you, it was not just to anger you—he wanted to see you break your perfect demeanor, to understand if this was just duty for you or if you had feelings for him.

Your mother taught you that wives must be composed, no matter how foolish their husband's behaved and how their behavior humiliated them. She would glance at your father on occasion, chin up and confident pose, while her eyes betrayed the anger she felt. You now understood the patience your mother exercised as you were experiencing the same thing with the Stark Prince. Jealousy made you realize your feelings for Robb, despite his behavior. You were torn between your upbringing as a lady and your raw emotions when it came to him.

As the night progressed, Robb kept up his game. You had had enough. Jealousy rendering you unnable to look anymore.

You released a grumble of frustration before getting up, lifting your skirts in a less than ladylike fashion and storming out of the tent, leaving your friends behind calling your name in confusion.

The cool night air hit your face as you took a few deep breaths, trying to calm yourself. Disregarding your safety, you wandered through the beach grounds, trying to calm your racing thoughts. You couldn't understand why Robb insisted on playing mind games with you.

It was just the second time you two had crossed paths, yet he somehow made you feel inferior.

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The previous morning

Robb Stark arrived in King’s Landing with a small Northern contingent for the summer tourney. You were seeing him for the first time in years, and it was immediately clear how much he’s grown—his transformation from the boy you once knew to the formidable man standing before you now. His physical growth and his commanding presence were evident.

You stood alongside your mother and siblings as he walked into the great hall alongside his bastard brother, Jon. The two were close in age, and both had formidable height and posture, that of trained soldiers. Jon seemed calmer than Robb, more inspective of his surroundings, while his older brother took confident strides.

Robb wore a leather jerkin, the dark material molding to his broad chest and wide shoulders, accentuating his muscular frame. Beneath it, a simple linen shirt was tucked into his trousers, and the sleeves rolled to his elbows to combat the heat, revealing strong, veiny forearms. A leather belt rested at his waist, bearing the Stark sigil and his sword at its sheath.

As you stood with the ladies of the court, their laughter and hushed conversations filled the air. Your attention was briefly stolen by the sight of Robb Stark entering the courtyard, his presence commanding the space effortlessly. The women around you fell silent for a moment before erupting into a flurry of excited whispers.

"Gods, look at him," one sighed.

"Have you seen those arms?" Another chimed in, leaning in to get a better view.

The first giggled, her gaze never leaving Robb as he moved through the courtyard and kneeled in front of the king. "He’s nothing like the men of the south... I wouldn’t mind being captured by a man like that."

You weren't sure if you wanted to agree or roll your eyes.

"Do get up, boy." Robert Baratheon drunkenly grinned at the young wolf. "Your father is like a brother to me, I dont need his eldest kissing my arse."

Robb stood up, offering a respectful nod. "As you say, your highness."

"You cheeky..." Your father shook his head, grasping Robb by his shoulders and laughing how he's changed since he was a boy. The two exchanged a few words about the Starks, including messages from Ned.

Then they both turned to look at you.

You felt your heart skip a beat. Those grey eyes, which you recalled as teasing, were now alight with something else as they roamed over your figure. Robb briefly glanced to your side where your personal guard stood. His eyes narrowed on him before blinking back to you.

You hoped to impress him with your wardrobe. Your gown was a rich velvet, dyed deep red. It clung to your frame in a way that accentuated your curves. The fabric cascaded softly around your hips and flared slightly at the hem, skirts flowing elegantly around your legs.

Your hair was woven with gold thread, pinned up in a way that highlighted your cheekbones and neck, a delicate chain with a small ruby resting against your chest, his eyes zeroed in on it.

Robb turned to say another word to the King, and you watched your father nod before dismissing the young man. Conversations arose in the court as your betrothed approached you.

"Princess," Robb offered a warm smile, bowing respectfully. "How lovely you've become."

"Thank you, Lord Stark," You offered a bow in return, hoping he didn't hear the gasp in your voice.

He regarded you with admiration, his eyes glancing condescendingly at your guard before falling back on you. He leaned down to wisper in your ear. "May I have a moment with you? Alone."

His lips skimmed the skin of your ear, his breath tickling your skin. You shuddered. You overheard your ladies giggle behind you as you nodded, straightening up and collecting yourself.

He held his hand for you to take, then walked you out of the room, Ser Oliver and Jon followed close behind.

You and Robb had a pleasant conversation about your time apart. Speaking about his training and your studies. He listened patiently as you spoke about the health properties of herbs and plants, grey eyes gazing intently as you passionately discussed your favorite topics.

At last, you guessed you've spoken long enough, asking him to tell you how his sisters were doing.

He chuckled, his eyes creasing. "At each other's throats. It can be quite amusing so long as you're not in the line of fire."

You nodded. "And your brothers?"

He turned back to Jon. "They like to watch as Jon and I spar and offer useless advice."

That image made you laugh. You've always wanted a big family to watch your kids grow to be friends as you saw the Stark children did.

Your eyes switched back to him, landing on his lips, full and framed by recently shaven stubble. You caught yourself staring, opened your mouth to respond when a young voice called out your name-

"Y/n!"

You turned in the direction where your sister, Myrcella called, running up to the two of you to grasp and pull at your skirt. "Sister! He's hurting the frogs again!"

You blinked, trying your best to understand what she was talking about.

"Joffrey!" Your youngest brother, Tommen, ran up to stand alongside his sister and pull you by your hand. "We were playing with them, and he started kicking them! You must help."

Robb saw you sigh and shut your eyes like this was not the first time. He turned back to exchange a look with Jon, who shrugged in turn.

You let them pull you, turning to offer Robb an apology. "Apologies, my lord. This will just be a moment."

"Take your time, princess. I do hope the frogs are alright." The corner of his mouth raised slightly when he said it.

So, Robb considered, this is what you were up to all day, mending small animals and nannying your siblings.

Jon walked to stand alongside his brother, watching you rush into the garden to stop Joffrey from crushing a frong with a rock, scolding him while carefully taking the injured animal in your hands. "Must you always hurt the poor animals, Joff?"

Joffrey gave you an ugly glare and spat, "Why do you care? You're going to be Stark's pet soon enough, anyway."

Myrcella gasped. Tommen stared between you and Joffrey awkwardly.

Both Robb and Jon both froze, exchanging a look of disbelief at the young boy's cruelty to his own sister. Even Arya never spoke this way to Sansa.

Despite Joffrey’s words, you remained calm toward him, shielding Tommen and Myrcella from his sneers. "This is not how a future king behaves, Joff. Very poor manners, especially in front of guests."

Joffrey rolled his eyes. "A king behaves however he wants."

You opened your mouth to speak again, but he got up and walked away. Your shoulders dropped with a huff of frustration.

"Can you treat it?" Tommen spoke. You followed his gaze down to the frog in your hand. The poor animal had a cut along its limb.

"If you hold him, I can try my best." You smiled at your brother, taking your small sewing kit from your sleeve.

Over the years, you had gotten quite good. Practicing by sewing up Joffrey's scraped knees when he would fall. Tommen gently held the frog as you washed the wound with water, sewed it shut, and wrapped a small amount of gauze around it.

Jon and Robb observed from their distance.

"That's our future king..." Robb murmered quietly. "And my future brother."

Jon, being naturally perceptive, quietly pointed out to Robb. "At least her and her other siblings' kindness contrasts with his."

Robb grimaced still.

"I notice the way you glowered at her guard." Jon added before teasing him. "Perhaps your feelings for her are more complicated than just familial duty?"

"Perhaps you should..." Robb turned to sass him off, but Jon’s observation lingered on his mind. "Perhaps we should step away. This seems to be a family matter."

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Jon stood by Robb’s side, serving as support. He noticed Robb’s distracted, jealous glances toward the royal stands where you sat, observing the archers beside your guard, occasionally exchanging a few comments with the man.

Jon nudged Robb, “Could you be more obvious?"

Robb tore his gaze away from you. "Sorry."

"You’ve faced worse foes than a well-dressed guard.” Jon spoke, assessing the archers stance and technique.

Robb pulled at his bowstring, typing it to his bow while speaking, "You were always the cool-headed one," he spoke quietly. "Sometimes I envy your ability not to get so... emotional."

"It comes with the title." Jon offered, referring to his bastard blood.

"Stop it, Jon." Robb shook his head. "You know we dont think of you that way."

Jon nodded, not responding to Rob's obvious lie. "Don’t mess this up. You're the best shot in Winterfell, besides me, of course."

Robb snorted, lightly shoving his brother.

Jon continued. "This will be target practice for you. It's easier than half the game you bring back home."

"Sure," Robb wasn't concerned with the Archery contest. In the slightest.

And surely enough, you sat in the Royal stands, watching him best the other archers, hitting the center of the target from multiple distances to cheers from the crowd.

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Present Time

You were hiding behind the flap of a tent, sneakily observing a knight kneeling in front of a courtesan from Essos.

He seemed to be kissing her sex. You were confused by the position. It defered from everything you'd learned about lovemaking. The women made sinful noises. You were curious as to why.

Your eyes narrowed. But surely that wasn't right.

"He's quite good." A male voice spoke close to you.

"Gods -" Gasping, you jumped at the sudden intrusion, turning to see Robb leaning beside you, hair disheveled and shirt undone at the top, a drunk bkush spread across his cheeks.

His words registering in your mind, you huffed. "As if you would know."

He chuckled, then took you by the arm and turning you to face him, your skirts swooshing between your legs as you came face to face with him, your lips a breath apart. Stormy eyes were focused on your lips with such intent that you found it hard to look. Visions of him embraced by the northern girls flooding your mind again. Your cheeks heated up so much that you had to back up away from him.

Only there was no room, and you were stuck between himself and one of the thick tent posts. The wooden surface hard against your back.

"Do I sense some hostility, princess?" He hummed.

She shushed him, whispering. "Be quiet. Let's go,"

"And miss the performance?"

"Robb!"

He laughed and let you slip under his arm to drag him away. By the time you had walked off into a more deserted area, you had reached the water's edge, away from the camp and the crowds. Your bodice clung to you as you took in much needed deep breaths to calm yourself.

"So," Robb cleared his throat behind you. "Are you gonna tell me what you were doing creeping up on the swordman coupling, princess?"

You screwd your eyes shut. "Dont you have two girls to get back to?" You tilted your head mockingly. "Or was it four?"

You heard a huff behind you. "Ah, so it did bother you." His lips were by your ear in instead to wisper. "Good."

"How much ale have you had?" You felt goosebumps running up your arm.

"Less than you think."

You rolled her eyes. "It would anger anyone."

He shook his head, his curls brushing against your locks. "It wouldn't anger an un-caring wife. I want my wife to be selfish over me."

Your breathes were speeding as his warm breath tickled your skin. His words tickled some other parts of you.

"So," he wispered. "Are you gonna tell me what you were you doing? Have you picked up an interest in the art of love-making?"

You chuckled. "If you can even call it that."

You felt his head tild behind you, as if confused. "You absolutely can."

You scoffed. "He wasn't even doing it right."

He chuckled, throwing her own words back at you, "As if you would know."

For some reason, that made you feel self-conscious, so you turned to glare at him.

He pursed his lips, throwing his hands up. "Apologies, princess. That was rude. What did he do wrong?"

You wrapped her arms around yourself. "He didn't even... he wasn't..."

He raised a brow, anticipating.

"Well," you insited, before finally, quietly saying. "... penetrate."

"Well. You can't simply begin from that." He said nonchalantly.

That made you pause. "What?"

"Princess," Robb grinned, bringing his hand to his temple as if rubbing at a headache.

You blushed, facing away from him. "You're laughing at me."

You couldnt see his eyes crease at the sides as he smiled down at your hair. "Darling, no."

"You are!" You turned back to him again, her skirts blowing with the small breaze, your eyes withholding tears. "I may not be experienced like you-" you pointed your finger at him. "-but I know enough! You can't have children by... through... what he was."

"You're right, you can't." He confirmed holding up his hands in surrender. "But who said children were the only outcome of sex?"

You remained quiet, now thoroughly confused.

"There is also pleasure." He hinted.

"Oh!" You nodded. "Well, sure, it can occur, but..."

"It must." He spoke like it was obvious. "You do know there are other ways to induce pleasure than mere penetration?" He asked.

You blinked at him.

A grin spread across his face, wolfish canines shines in the moonlight. "Oh, you're going to enjoy this study, princess."

Your mouth opened as if she wanted to say something but looked unsure.

"Trust me. The maesters won't-teach-you-this." He slurred slightly. "And if they do, that's bad. Then you have to tell me."

Curious eyes met confident grey ones, and you gave him a soft nod, taking his hand, letting him lead her down to an empty cove.

The two of you sat by the sand. At first, you took a seat side by side with him, but he pulled you to sit in front of him with you back to his chest. Never having been this close to someone of the opposite sex, you swallowed nervously.

"Breathe, princess. You're in good hands."

"The last time you said something like that, I fell out of consciousness."

"Well, this time don't. I'd hate for you to miss this." He ran his hands along the uncovered skin of your arms, you collarbone, shoulders, you skin tensing up everywhere he touched. "You shouldn't rush into things when giving pleasure."

You nodded. "Right,"

He leaned down and trailed, sticking kisses from your ear to your neck, sending a trail of goosebumps that made you gasp.

"There are other sensitive zones on your body, not just inside your cunt."

You nodded, your toes curling against the sand. "Okay,"

"Like your ears and neck," He spoke through kisses. His hands reached to her your bodice, unlacing the front exposing your breasts, giving your nipples light touches.

You gasped, arching your back against him. "Mhn,"

"Or your breasts," he continued to play with your hardened peaks, rolling and pinching them lightly. You closed her eyes, your hand eaching to grasp at the sand. His hand trailed down to your skirts, pulling them up to your waist and exposing you to the cool night air before palming your heat between your thighs.

You jumped at the feeling.

"Or this spot between your legs,"

"What is it?" You asked, voice trembling.

"It's your special spot," he replied, his fingers teasing you gently.

You couldn't hold back the whine that escaped as he continued to touch you just the right way. You had never experienced pleasure like this before, and it was intoxicating.

He leaned in and whispered in your ear, "you should explore your own body, princess. It's full of hidden treasure."

Your breaths quickened as he continued to rub you, faster, and faster. "I... oh-"

Unable to hold back any longer, your body tensed up and shook as you experienced the first orgasm you had ever felt. You were overcome with pleasure, and your body shook with the force of it. He pulled you by your hair, craning your neck towards himself, and kissed you roughly. You reciprocated the kiss with enthusiasm, still shaking as his hand teased you through your climax.

When you pulled apart, he was happy to see your eyes still glazed over.

Robb had struggled with his feelings for you, wondering if they might be desire, or duty, but he also questioned how much power he truly had over you.

Going from girl to girl in Winterfell was a norm, but something about you was not the same. He wanted to corrupt you, to introduce you to a world of pleasure that you had no idea existed. Hed wanted to be the first to deflower the heir to the throne. It had been a long time since he had felt this type of curiosity. The image of you writhing in pleasure, your body arching, and moans of his name filled his mind, making his eyes shut to take in the fantasy.

"Is it like this every time?" You wispered, drawing him out of his thoughts.

"It should be," he leaned down to nibble on your throat. This girl. He needed to see her come undone again.

"Princess!" A male voice called in the distance.

Robb cursed. That fucking guard...

"By the gods! What time is it?" You jumped up before rushing to lace your bodice and pat your skirts back into place, tidying up her hair. Robb leaned back on his arms and stared as you rushed off, his teeth grinding.

You hadn't even said anything. Just left as if you didn't just share an intimate moment together. He chuckled to himself, running his hand down his face and lying back against the sand.

[hivemuthur]

Tightrope - Ch.2.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit!, frenemies/academic rivals to lovers, modern university AU. This is part of a request for @pxszels

Ch.1. | Ch.3.

word count: 5,4K

tag: #tightrope

summary: You and Viktor are tethering the line between friendship and rivalry, Jayce being one amongst the few common factors you both acknowledge (of course more is there but for the smart people you are, you tend to be very stupid about things). Oh, and you have to do a project together.

author's note: okay, things escalate, all I'm gonna say :v Very dubious science warning and thank you @rennethen for beta reading!

also the artist behind art is here!

Cross-posted on AO3

—

A lot of intrusive thoughts clatter through your mind as you glare pure death at Viktor, sitting two chairs away from you. Jayce—a buffer that protects the both of you from yourselves.

Strangulation is the first, most obvious one, but it dangerously quickly turns into something borderline erotic when you watch Viktor’s neck. And you really stare at it—the sharp angle of his jaw turning into the smooth column, porcelain skin interrupted with freckles, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he speaks out his infuriating truths. Ugh, since when is this happening?

The second, also obvious, is electrocuting him—just successfully this time. But then again, an unbidden image breaks into your mind’s eye: Viktor’s startled expression, his hand clutched to his heaving chest, hair tousled from the electric current, cheeks a bit flushed under your palms cradling them.

The heat on your own face almost betrays you, but fortunately, the picture of Viktor’s mouth saying I could make you gag gives you a comfortable explanation for the roses blooming across your cheeks—you are just really, really pissed.

You’ve been at each other’s throats for over a week now, and each encounter has been a small battle to win. So far, as expected, it’s a tie, but you are determined to stomp his head into the ground, his ear in your teeth.

You’ve just sat through Viktor’s answer to Heimerdinger’s conundrum:

"Given the choice between a platinum-based catalyst and an experimental cobalt-nickel alloy for an industrial hydrogenation reaction, which would be the superior option in terms of efficiency and long-term viability?"

"If the goal is efficiency, the answer is already clear," Viktor says in a flat tone, and you almost break your pencil. You parrot his voice in your head, your face doing a tiny, mocking expression—one that Jayce immediately counters with puppy eyes.

"Platinum’s catalytic activity remains stable across multiple reaction cycles, and its surface energy allows for consistent molecular interactions," Viktor continues, his posture so unbothered it’s as if he’s already won. "Even if alternative materials show potential, they introduce variables that compromise long-term reliability."

"You're focusing on controlled lab conditions, but industrial applications aren’t perfect systems," you mutter, leaning over your desk and addressing the entire thing to Heimerdinger. "In real-world settings, we need materials that are adaptable, not just reliable in a vacuum."

Your tone becomes more passionate, encouraged by Heimerdinger’s eager nodding. "The alloy has a wider range of operating conditions and costs significantly less—why cling to a metal that’s prohibitively expensive when there’s a viable alternative?"

"You're assuming ‘viable’ just because it works in some conditions," Viktor counters, his voice clipped, clearly irritated. "There’s a difference between potential and actual applicability. Platinum has proven efficiency—your alloy is a gamble."

You huff, leaning forward and turning to face Viktor this time, as Jayce slowly sinks into his chair. "And you're assuming ‘superior’ just because something is well-documented? Science doesn’t advance by relying on what’s already been done. You can’t just dismiss an emerging material because it makes you uncomfortable."

Viktor’s lips curl slightly in that way that always makes you want to throw something at him. "Uncomfortable? No, I simply prefer optimised methods over—what was it—guesswork?"

Your jaw tenses. "Right, because clinging to the safe choice is the height of scientific innovation."

"Optimisation and recklessness are not the same thing," Viktor snaps.

"No, but stagnation and cowardice are pretty damn close."

That’s probably what prompts Heimerdinger to finally step in.

"As fascinating as it is to observe your ongoing academic duel, might I remind you that this is a classroom, not a battleground?"

The words should sting, should make you shrink into your seat, but the bemused glint in his eyes softens the blow. Viktor, ever the picture of self-restraint, merely tips his head, as if the interruption is a minor inconvenience. You, on the other hand, can’t quite suppress the triumphant curve of your lips as you lower yourself back to your seat.

Heimerdinger sighs. "If either of you would like to continue this discussion, I suggest you do so after my lecture."

You don’t quip a single sound throughout the rest of the class, and Viktor doesn’t either. You can feel his eyes on you periodically—or rather, you can see them in the corner of your eye when you try to make it look like all your focus is directed at Heimerdinger’s blackboard.

By the time you get to worrying about how your afternoon project session with Viktor is going to go this time, the class ends, and Joe picks you up for breakfast. A brief reprieve is interrupted by Viktor’s dry, “Don’t be late this time.” But before you can poke his eye out with a pencil, he passes right by you without even sparing a glance.

All that tension dissolves into laughter when Joe makes fun of your miserable crossword choices.

“Aren’t you supposed to be ridiculously smart?” he teases, tapping his finger against the newspaper. “Why the hell did you put 'Beethoven' for ‘Famous deaf baseball player’?”

You groan, snatching the booklet back. “I was in a rush!”

Joe smirks. “The answer is Dummy Hoy, by the way. Actual deaf baseball legend. Try to keep up.”

“Well, excuse me, smartass!” you say, flashing a ludicrous grin as you hurriedly scribble over the letters. “Huh, okay, it does fit. Words are not my strength, what can I say.”

Joe hums, watching you with an easy smirk as he takes a ridiculously large bite of his apple. “What are your strengths, then?” he asks, chewing thoughtfully.

You tap the end of your pencil against your chin. “Huh. Engineering, I suppose. And I’m a pretty okay friend, I’d like to think.”

Joe raises a brow, amused. “A pretty okay friend? I’m not sure I can resist such attractive advertising.”

“Oh, shut up,” you scoff, nudging his arm. “I’ve had some bumps in my record recently.”

Joe’s smirk softens into something more genuine. “As I said—I probably won’t resist.” He leans back, tossing his apple core into a nearby bin with practiced ease. “And speaking of being good friends, since I do aim to become one, I should probably drop you off at the lab?”

Your stomach drops. “Oh, shit, yes. If we want me to live, definitely yes.”

You shove a chocolate bun and all your other things back into your bag and urge Joe to move faster, which prompts him to pry whether the skinny guy glaring daggers at you in front of the classroom can really do any significant damage. He demonstrates a few rugby pacifying moves, which you try to take with a straight face—but you burst out laughing when, just as you reach the lab’s door, he tells you, “Remember the dump tackle.”

And you have no idea where the urge to hold your breath as you enter comes from but releasing it upon seeing that your two favourite buffers—Jayce and Sky—are there to ease any blow coming your way makes you feel somewhat lighter. They sit hunched over their notes, so you only wave hello and approach Viktor, who is leaning over the intricate layout of books and papers splayed across the workbench.

"Glad to see you on time for once," he mutters, not even bothering to spare you a look.

"I tried very hard," you sigh, dropping your heavy bag onto the floor. "For you."

He smiles. Odd. The smile vanishes as quickly as it appears, and Viktor is back to his stuck-up self when he turns and says, in a tone seeping with boredom, "Alright. I rewired the band properly while you were gone. It's time to discuss the possible power supplies."

Properly, huh. "What do you have in mind?"

Viktor straightens, gesturing vaguely to the mess of notes sprawled across the workbench. "A micro thermoelectric generator would be the most efficient choice. Converts body heat into electrical energy—self-sustaining, minimal maintenance, and no reliance on external charging."

You arch a brow. "Efficient, sure. If you ignore the fact that it's highly dependent on temperature gradients. The output fluctuates, and if the user isn't generating enough heat, the power supply suffers. You'd be relying on biological inconsistency."

He hums, noncommittal. "There are ways to stabilise it. A supplementary capacitor—"

"Which introduces another point of failure," you cut in smoothly. "Supercapacitors have high charge cycles, but they degrade. If we're adding redundancy, why not go with something that guarantees a steady output?"

Viktor glances at you, unimpressed. "And what would you propose?"

"A miniaturised kinetic energy harvester." You lean forward, tapping a finger on the notes in front of him. "Energy is gathered through natural movement—walking, gesturing, any kind of physical motion. The output is consistent and doesn’t rely on external conditions."

"Consistent, yes, but also inefficient in comparison." He tilts his head, eyes narrowing. "Kinetic harvesters require constant motion for optimal performance. What happens when the user is sedentary? The energy reservoir drains, and there is no backup supply."

You purse your lips. "Then integrate both. A hybrid system—kinetic as primary, thermoelectric as auxiliary. Movement generates most of the power, and any residual body heat supplements it. Redundancy without overcomplication."

For a moment, Viktor is quiet, his fingers idly tapping against the workbench. Then, almost reluctantly, he gives a small nod. "A reasonable compromise."

You blink. "Did you just agree with me?" Unthinkable. But you do have witnesses.

He exhales sharply, picking up a pencil. "Do not make me regret it."

Before you can fire back, Jayce, having had enough, loudly shuts his notebook and stretches. "Alright, I am starving," he announces, shooting a meaningful glance at Sky. "Lunch?"

Sky, who has been keeping her head down and very obviously pretending not to listen, perks up immediately. "Oh, yeah. Definitely."

Neither of them waits for an answer before standing. Jayce claps you on the shoulder as he passes, his voice overly casual. "Try not to kill each other before we get back."

"Can’t promise anything," you mutter.

Sky just snorts as she follows Jayce out, leaving you alone with Viktor, making the forced civility even a bigger challenge. He writes down your ideas on the board, when a loud growl of your stomach makes him pause.

“Haven’t your himbo—erm, sorry, Joe—fed you properly?”

“Get lost,” you counter stupidly, rummaging through your bag for your safety bun. You tear off a piece with exaggerated nonchalance, throwing Viktor a shit-eating smirk. “He fed my soul.”

Viktor rolls his eyes, unimpressed. “Good for you,” he grumbles, turning back toward the board, but you catch the briefest flicker of something—mild annoyance, maybe—as he refocuses on his work.

Viktor taps his fingers against the edge of the workbench, gaze fixed on the equations scrawled across the board. “The issue with the stability of the connection isn’t the materials themselves,” he says, his tone clipped with focus. “It’s the uneven current distribution. If we integrate a secondary regulator—” He gestures to a hastily drawn diagram, circling a particular point with the chalk. “—we can stabilise the output without overhauling the entire circuit.”

You exhale sharply, arms crossed. “That’s just putting a bandage on it.”

“It’s refining, not patching,” Viktor corrects, finally glancing at you. “A full redesign would be unnecessary, and we don’t have the time for it,” he mumbles, less sure of himself and you take a note of his brows furrowing.

You linger on the rebuttal, but ultimately, you step forward, coming to stand beside him. Your eyes scan the board, taking in the schematics, the modifications—annoyingly, frustratingly sound. You rub at your temple and sigh.

“Okay. Okay,” you state firmly, staring at the board. “I will admit the superiority of your idea over mine, because I am decent.”

You turn to Viktor, for once glad to admit defeat with such grace—only to catch him outright staring at you, his eyes almost absent. It usually doesn’t take him that long to formulate a comeback that is supposed to land like a slap but of course bounces off and figuratively flares up on his cheek instead.

No slapping this time, though.

“What are you looking at?”

“You have a—” he says quietly, pointing at the corner of your lip.

Your hand flies to your mouth, wondering how long you’ve been walking around with a chocolate moustache before he noticed. You nag at the spot with your fingers, but Viktor scrunches his eyebrows, looking almost pained when he whines, “God, not here.”

“Well, you showed me there!” It’s ridiculous, but you actually laugh, still trying to blindly locate whatever food dirt clings to your mouth after eating that cursed bun.

“Ah, damn, not here—here!” Obviously, you’re doing a poor job because Viktor huffs, half-annoyed, his lips turning into a pitying smile. “Ah, just—” He sighs, exasperated, then finally—oh.

He licks his thumb, stills you with a hand on your shoulder, and leans in. “Let me,” he murmurs, swiping his wet thumb over your skin.

“Oh.”

Viktor does such a great job of not looking at you while performing his little mercy that this gesture—almost sweet, if you two weren’t dangling from that tightrope right now—might have had a chance of passing as friendly. Maybe—if his touch resembled that of a mother cleaning dirt off a child’s face. Maybe—if his thumb weren’t caressing your lip with lingering tenderness, as if trying to memorise the order in which your mouth would wrinkle were it to come to kiss his.

He’s possibly, most likely done at some point, and you should be all cleaned up. But he doesn’t stop. He takes in your face—chin tilted up, leaning into his touch. Eyes hooded, defenceless. Such a gentle, fragile picture before him, so different to the way your mouth twists into a groan when you see him or the way you smirk when your insult lands on a fertile ground.

A calloused, trembling thing keeps swiping over your lips, and you inhale sharply. His hand shifts from your shoulder to your neck, and your eyes fall closed.

And then, oh, he still doesn’t stop.

His hand is shaking, breath held tight in his chest. Quivering fingers—index and middle—ghost over your upper lip, and for the love of everything sacred, you have no idea what overcomes you. When you part your mouth.

Viktor has a faint idea of what possesses him when he accepts the invitation and slides his fingers inside. It’s that nagging, ever-present thought—or wonder, rather—of what this mouth feels like from the inside. He’s thought about shutting your yapping mouth many times before. He just didn’t know his fingers would do as good a job as his tongue.

For a moment, it’s so insanely erotic that your brows scrunch. He pushes in and out, glides over your teeth and tongue. It’s all quiet, just the soft clicks of your make, until—

“Oh, fuck,” Viktor exhales, his thumb swiping beneath your jaw.

You hold him firmly between your lips and, at one point, even hum softly as his fingers part and graze the inside of your cheek. With a sharp exhale, he retreats, dragging your spit over your skin before cupping your face.

Your eyes open, and he’s so close you can taste his breath. An impossible moment.

You don’t think. You just do.

You let your face be pulled closer and closer until you think his mouth almost brushes yours—when your eyes meet. And then Viktor looks to the door.

His expression changes. A spatter of darkened gold flicks between the entrance to the lab and you, back and forth, before suddenly—he withdraws. His hands leave you in an instant. He rushes away, drops onto a stool, grabs a notebook, and starts scribbling as though nothing happened.

And you barely manage to take a ragged breath before the door swings open, laughter spilling inside—Jayce’s, loud as ever, followed by Sky’s.

Jayce looks around, eyebrows raised. “Huh. Nothing’s on fire for once.”

He passes you, and you can only bulge your eyes out to yourself, the only silent embodiment of the shock coursing through your veins. And goddamn it—Sky fucking catches it.

“Are you okay?” she asks, stopping in her tracks, eyeing you from head to toe.

First, you nod. Many times. Smiling like an idiot, completely fake. “Yes.”

“What was that then?” She mimics your expression, and it looks so fucking stupid you almost snort—but unfortunately for you, Jayce sees what Sky is trying to express, and now his attention is on you.

Quickly, you turn back to your previous position, lean on one leg, drill your eyes into the board, and a half-smile onto your face.

“I’m just… thinking. With my face. About this,” you gesture vaguely to whatever Viktor managed to cross out and write over in your split second of focus.

“Just some internal monologuing. In fact,” you say, slapping your thighs. “I need to… excuse me for a second—” is the only thing you manage before turning on your heel and rushing out.

Jayce immediately turns to Viktor. “What did you do?”

But you don’t hear the answer. You let your face twist and turn as you walk fast through the corridors, bumping from door to door, praying that one of them will be unlocked—some classroom or a janitor’s closet good enough for you to hide and slam your fists against a wall.

Finally, you find one—a small storage room stocked with backup sanitary items for disinfection. You barge in, leave the door ajar, and begin your dance.

You fall into a crouch and contemplate whether you could scream. You probably can’t, so you just hide your face between your knees, bury your hands in your hair, and mouth, What the fuck?

You take a couple of breaths. Stand up, take a few steps. A thousand expressions fly across your face as your mouth falls open and closed between cut whispers, crumbs of your thoughts. No and what and oh, God fall out, barely audible, as you gesture wildly with your hands and walk around in a tiny circle.

You try to jump it out, kick something that’s not there, before muttering, fuck. What the fuck. Then, a long exhale, and your hands just fall to your sides.

Fuck, again.

You press your lips into a thin line and breathe heavily through your nose, eyebrows all scrunched.

“Are you alright?” Viktor’s voice startles you.

He is standing in the doorway—for God knows how long—and you just clutch a fist to your chest, still unable to speak.

He stares at you, half-smiling at this display of internal conflict. He looks like he wants to say something. Or like he wants you to say something. You have no idea.

The longer you don’t speak, the more worried his face becomes. You take two steps toward him—then turn again, leaning over a small table. Then straighten back up, mouth something at him, but it’s impossible to say what. Chew on your cheek to the point of drawing blood.

As you get closer and closer, something breaks within you. Your hands reach for him—then retreat again. One more step, and one more.

And Viktor is stuck in place in the doorframe, having not even the faintest idea what to do.

Finally, you’re so close you could touch him. And you nod, as if to yourself, as if admitting some kind of defeat—when your hands cup his face, and you close the distance between his mouth and yours.

Just one kiss. Deep but fleeting, no tongue.

When you break away, you lick your lips and look at his nose. You make a tired, strangled sound, but Viktor doesn’t let you back away further.

He hooks his cane over his forearm, hands come to grab your waist and your neck, and he kisses you back—this time with tongue. Walks you inside, breathes through his mouth into this kiss that is neither fierce nor gentle. It’s just… so wanting, his moans are almost cries.

And you, too, want him to the point of crying out, when your hands don’t calm down with his touch—simultaneously mussing his hair and tugging at the collar of his shirt, signalling you want it off, you want to feel more of him. You slide your fingers underneath, nails scratching his collarbone, and he releases a low growl into your mouth.

It must look absolutely idiotic, when you bend backwards and pull him with you, making him hunch to not lose your lips, and Viktor stumbles, almost knocks you over before using your body for balance. You wrap your arms around his neck so tight his head almost snaps off and he responds with an equal strength of his palms crushing your ribs.

Hoarse breathing and little needy cries fill the tiny space, and you almost rip the shirt off his back, until—

The sound of your name echoing down the corridor startles you.

And then—

“Viktor!” Jayce calls. Behind him, Sky calls yours.

You detach from each other, panting, pure peril oozing between you.

“I’ve messed you up,” Viktor says quickly, adjusting your shirt back into your skirt. You could smile at the sweetness of the gesture, but—

The voices—closer, and closer, and closer.

“God, your hair,” you whisper, hands flying up to smooth down the strands you’ve mussed with panicked fingers.

Viktor’s hands drop from you. He lets you fuss over him but the more you touch him the more distant his expression grows. You almost deem your work decent, when he leans back in and shoveshis tongue into your throat again, as if he can’t stay away.

“Viktor, no, they will—”

You get cut off by a firm push to the table. He steps between your legs, yanks the door closed with his cane, and clasps a hand over your mouth.

“Quiet,” he pants. “They won’t.” And then he licks your neck, and your legs kick around him, thudding against the table leg.

“Shh, quiet,” he whispers between breaths. Bastard drags his tongue up your neck again, his free hand coming to pin your wrists together on your stomach. A kiss under your ear, a gentle suck of his lips gets your thighs clenching, trapping him between your legs and he has the audacity to smirk against your skin.

The sweet torture continues, when, feeling your fidgety hands grow pliant he releases you, only to use the newly gained freedom of his arm to slide a flat palm up your back, between your shoulder blades, all the way up so his fingers brush under your hairline before grabbing a fistful at the base of your skull. Have you known any better, you would bite the silencing hand, but you moan into it instead.

The moan dies into a whine, when Viktor’s tongue abandons your neck, and he comes back to look you in the eye all serious, then kisses the knuckles of his own palm as if they were your lips. “I meant it when I said I could gag you,” he hums and either he is not ready to see your eyes rolling to admire the insides of your eyeballs or the mere thought gets him to turned on his lids shut involuntarily.

And when Jayce and Sky clearly trot right next to the door that is now holding a secret dearest to your heart, you both freeze and keep your eyes shut, following the moronic rule of if you can’t see them they can’t see you either.

“All right, I’m ready to give up,” Jayce says, and Sky responds with nothing, but you can see her nodding in your mind’s eye. “Let’s just hope there aren’t any bodies lying around come morning.” That, Sky dignifies with a chuckle.

You both listen to the sound of their chatter and steps descending down the corridor in complete stillness, and when he is absolutely certain you are now truly alone, Viktor releases your mouth, its tender flesh pulled with his retreating hand, a quiet sticky sound follows.

He bites on his lower lip and stares at the glistening inner side of his palm for a moment and you wonder if he contemplates whether to lick it or wipe it into his pants. Then, he looks back at you, unsure and searching and you take one more step toward utter insanity, wrapping your legs around his and fisting his crumpled shirt.

“Is that a yes?” he asks against your mouth, cane comes to rest by the table and needy hands accept the invitation before his brain does as they cup your ass, pressing you against him. The feeling of his cock, hard between your legs and straining in his pants sends a cramp all the way to your core.

“A yes to what?” you bounce the question off as your tongue darts to lick his upper lip.

“To gagging,” Viktor still tries, but the chuckle gives him away.

“You’re disgusting,” you snort, nearly into his mouth. He swallows it in another kiss, prettier than the last one, gentler. Deeper as well, when he cups your face and licks into you through pleased hums, his eyelashes brush underneath yours and you can smell chalk and paper on him.

Of all people, Viktor giving you kiss so full of emotion, is not a thing you would bet on. But you accept it, messing his hair back into the state from before you licked it down with your palms, soft strands fill the gaps between your fingers as you flex them to tug, pull, and scratch your nails on his scalp and as you crack your eyes open, goosebumps rises and falls in waves down the taunt skin of his cheeks.

“For fucks sake touch me,” he rasps, showing you his underbelly. “Please.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say this word to me,” you tease him, licking into his mouth and shifting your hips so that your clothed cunt would press on his crotch. He groans your name out in a warning and doesn’t let you win this one, biting your neck, almost unhinging his jaw in the process.

You don’t retaliate either. Shaky fingers come to undo the first few buttons of his shirt, and you caress his collar bones before placing a soft kiss in the pool where they meet. Viktor’s head lulls back on his shoulders, hips roll into yours and mouth moans out the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard.

“Ah, fuck,” you hiss against his skin despite yourself. Very reluctant to let him know how hot you find him right now, you drag your tongue up his neck to shut yourself up. Viktor, obviously at the edge of his patience, grabs the back of your neck and collides your mouths back into another greedy kiss, making you almost, well, gag, on his tongue.

“Yes to gagging, then,” he says triumphantly. Tired with waiting for your hands to touch him where he wants it the most, he slides one palm under your skirt, pressing on a thin, wet barrier of your knickers and hums, pleased that he is not alone in his overwhelming want.

“Ah!” A gasp escapes you when you feel how desperate his touch is. “So, there is, fuck—” you stutter at the feeling his fingers sliding the material to the side and finding your clit. “Kindness in your touch after all.” Your hands already fumble at his belt and Viktor smirks at the stark contrast between the overall cockiness of your message and a very poor delivery not backing it up.

“Only kindness,” he whispers and there is honesty within him you’ve never seen before. He sinks two fingers inside you, thumb fixed where you throb and pulse, and you almost lose his cock from your hand at the stumbling realisation of how good he is with his hands. You brace yourself with a firm grip on his shoulder, your free hand spreads the beads of precum over his head and Viktor exhales a shuddery breath. You give him a couple of experimental pumps and decide to push him further, retreating your touch only to present him with your palm open, waiting below his chin when you say, “Spit.”

“Who’s disgusting now,” he chuckles but obeys. Soon a warm wet splash lands on your hand, and you cannot take your eyes off his lips when his cheeks hollow out and tongue rolls to gather his spit for you. You’ve never seen him doing it either. The movement of his fingers doesn’t waver for a moment, and you have to use all of your massive brain power to not get distracted between your own pleasure and his cock.

You grasp him at the base and spread the slick all the way to the top, rolling your fingers on the sensitive spot under his head, to which Viktor replies with a firmer rub against your clit. The more you edge him, the more he coms forth, curling his fingers inside you, making you scowl and lose your rhythm on his cock and he’s willing to make this little sacrifice only so see how lovely your face contorts the closer you are to falling apart.

He defeats you almost entirely when a third finger gets introduced to your hole and all you can do is just hold him in your palm, your other hand slides back up his hair and you tug him close to taste his lips again and send your groan into his throat. Finally, you come in a couple of clenched out spasms, losing control of your mouth as you press yourself into him and Viktor gulps down your moans, humming and smiling with something clean and genuine.

Your legs go limp on his sides, forehead comes to rest on his shoulder, and you allow yourself a couple of shuddery breaths before moving your hand again. You lift your head to look at him, face all pink and covered with a sheen of sweat and his lips part sweetly when you resume languid rolls of your wrist.

Viktor braces himself on the edge of the table, hands come to grip on each side of your hips, his knuckles pale, and he leans in, holding your gaze. Utters a quiet fuck when you smile at him, all blissfully complete and you suddenly find yourself wanting to make him feel just as good. So you pump his cock faster, taking cues from the way his cheeks flare up, eyes flutter and breath hitches. He grunts and moans and pants and you record each and every one of those sounds in the grooves of your brain.

When’s he’s becoming unbearably hot and twitching in your palm, his hands crawl back to cup your face, and he kisses you deeply, soft tongue invading your mouth again and you know he is almost there, so you pull your skirt up and make him paint your inner thighs with cum. Heat spreads across your skin when Viktor shakes out the last spasms of his orgasm, your lips still glued together.

“Who knew you are such a sweet creature,” he mumbles hotly between kisses, his softening cock rolling in his own cum on your thigh.

“It’s a secret, don’t tell anyone,” you whisper, reaching blindly to the shelf above your head to grab a roll of paper towels. You hand it to Viktor, and he tears off a piece and sets the roll outside of your reach. With a protest already dangling off your tongue, you let it crawl back into your throat when Viktor wipes himself off your thigh with tenderness and care that gets you borderline embarrassed.

Then, he cleans himself up and you watch him with wide eyes as he tucks everything back into his pants, throws the cum-stained paper into the bin and leans back to kiss you, as if something just got established.

“A compromise agrees with you,” he says, resting his forehead against yours. “You too,” you reply stupidly, brushing your thumbs over his cheekbones. And you wonder—how long is the fall off this tightrope going to be? When will you crash into the ground and break your neck?

[izumkay]

THE CONTRACT CLAUSE- |CH-1|

—SATORU GOJO

ღPairing- SatoruGojo×Fem!Reader

ღSummary- Thanks to your friend, Haibara, you land a job at the country’s top company—but CEO Satoru Gojo? He’s not impressed. Between causing him trouble and his infuriating charm, you quickly become his favorite target. But when things take an unexpected turn, Gojo finds himself in a position he never thought he’d be—desperate, frustrated, and drawn to you in ways he can��t ignore. The office just got a lot more dangerous—and a lot more heated.

Genres/tags- Modern AU, love triangle, Enemies to lovers, contract marriage, office romance, Sunshine×Grumpy, fluff, tension, forced proximity, Satoru is desperate for you, why not?

Warnings- 18+ only, sexual content, toxicity, angst, hate sex, mentions of death, blood, hurt/comfort, obsession, possessiveness, SA attempts.

Wc- 6.1k

♡A/n- and here's another series, kinda getting wild writting 4 fics at same time, my hands been itching to write this, and here it is, hope you enjoy this series😋

Next chapter!

You never expected to land a job at one of the most prestigious companies in the country. But here you were, walking through the gleaming halls of a corporate empire, thanks to your friend Haibara. He’d been raving about the opportunity for weeks, insisting you’d be perfect for it, despite the fact that your background wasn’t exactly corporate royalty.

"Don’t worry," Haibara said with a wink as he led you into the building, "Gojo’s an easy guy to get along with. Just don’t take him too seriously."

Easy? From what you’d heard about the CEO, Satoru Gojo was anything but easy. The man was a legend—charming, brilliant, and with a reputation for making life hell for anyone who crossed him. Not exactly the kind of person you’d expect to have an easy time with.

When Haibara introduced you to Gojo in the lobby, you weren’t sure what you were expecting. But when the CEO turned around, grinning like he owned the world, it was worse than you could’ve imagined.

"Ah, so this is the famous friend of Haibara," Gojo said, his tone light but his eyes scanning you with obvious amusement. "Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you."

You frowned, unsure how to take that. Haibara had warned you about Gojo’s charm, but you couldn’t help the uneasy feeling in your stomach.

"I’m sure you have," you replied coolly, "It’s hard not to leave an impression."

Gojo’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh, trust me, I’m sure you’ll leave quite an impression here too."

You didn’t like the sound of that, but Haibara quickly ushered you away, probably sensing the tension already building.

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The first day at the company went exactly as you’d expected—awkward and filled with subtle judgments. As Haibara had promised, most people were friendly enough, though you couldn’t shake the feeling that some of them were sizing you up, like they didn’t quite believe you belonged. But nothing prepared you for your interactions with Gojo.

For the first few days, he kept his distance—mostly. But then came the first meeting, a big one that you’d been nervously preparing for. You had to present some data that, frankly, you weren’t entirely confident about. Just as you were halfway through your presentation, you heard Gojo’s voice cut through your nerves.

“Actually,” he interrupted with a cocky smile, “I think the numbers are wrong. Did you check these?”

Your stomach sank as all eyes in the room turned to you. Gojo leaned back in his chair, watching with mild amusement, his usual playful grin now tinged with a hint of superiority.

“I—I’m sure they’re accurate,” you stammered, trying to regain your footing. But Gojo didn’t back down.

"Really? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’ve missed a few important figures." His eyes glinted as he leaned forward, a mock-serious tone in his voice. "Maybe next time, you should double-check your work before presenting it."

You could feel the heat rising in your face. The room was silent, all attention on you. You glanced at Haibara, who gave you a sheepish smile, clearly not expecting this level of public humiliation.

“Gojo, I—” You cut yourself off, the urge to snap at him bubbling up. “Maybe you should check your own numbers first before you criticize mine.”

There was a brief, stunned silence before Gojo let out a laugh, loud and infectious. “Oh, I like you.” His eyes twinkled, and the way he looked at you felt more like a challenge than anything else. "Keep it up."

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

The rest of the meeting was a blur. Every word you spoke felt like it was being analyzed, judged, and immediately met with Gojo’s cool, unbothered responses. By the time it ended, you were completely drained.

Haibara found you standing in the hallway afterward, clearly trying to regain some composure. “Hey, don’t let him get to you,” he said, offering a grin that was a little too wide to be comforting. "Gojo’s just... Gojo. He’s always like that with new people. He’ll come around."

You shot him a look. “If by ‘come around,’ you mean ‘make my life miserable,’ then yeah, I’m sure he will.”

Haibara laughed nervously, clearly not expecting this much tension so soon. “Just... try not to let him get under your skin too much. I know he’s a pain, but it’s all part of the job.”

You stared after Gojo’s retreating form, already plotting your next move. If he thought this was a game, well... you weren’t about to lose.

“He literally humiliated me during today’s presentation, Haibara,” you said through gritted teeth, storming down the hallway. “I was trying to make a good impression, and he—he mocked me in front of everyone.”

Haibara sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I warned you about Gojo. He’s… a lot. But that’s just how he is with everyone new. He likes to test people.”

“Test people?” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “He practically made me look like a complete idiot. I’ll never live that down.”

Haibara gave you a sympathetic look, but there was a hint of something else in his eyes. “Look, I get it. It’s not fun. But the thing about Gojo is, if he’s teasing you, it means he’s paying attention. He doesn’t waste his time on people he doesn’t care about.”

You paused, narrowing your eyes at him. “Wait… you mean he does this to everyone? Just to mess with them?”

Haibara nodded, almost reluctantly. “Yeah. He’s not exactly known for being subtle. But if you can put up with it, you’ll see a different side of him. Trust me.”

“Great.” You sighed. “Now I’m supposed to just... what? Endure his reign of terror until he decides to show me that ‘different side?’”

“Exactly,” Haibara said, half-grinning. “And I’m pretty sure he’ll find a way to make it up to you—somehow. It’s just the way he works.”

You looked down the hallway, where Gojo had disappeared into his office. “I swear, I’m going to make him regret ever messing with me.”

Haibara just chuckled. “Careful what you wish for. Gojo’s not as easy to outsmart as you think.”

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

The company cafeteria was bustling as usual, but you were in no mood to enjoy it. After the disaster of your first presentation, you'd barely managed to salvage your dignity. All you wanted was some peace and quiet with your lunch before heading back to work.

You were mid-bite when a shadow fell over your table.

"Well, if it isn’t my favorite new employee," a familiar, infuriating voice drawled.

You looked up to see Gojo, his signature cocky smile plastered across his face. He held a coffee cup in one hand and a perfectly balanced tray of food in the other, looking like he had all the time in the world. Without asking, he slid into the seat across from you.

"What do you want, Gojo?" you asked, your voice flat.

He leaned back in his chair, completely unbothered by your tone. “Nothing, really. I just thought I’d check in on you after that interesting performance in the meeting earlier. You know, see how you’re holding up.”

Your jaw tightened. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“Are you, though?” he teased, resting his chin on his hand. “Because it looked like you were about two seconds away from throwing your laptop at me.”

You gripped your fork tightly. “I was two seconds away from throwing my shoe at you.”

Gojo laughed, loud enough to draw attention from nearby tables. “See? That’s the kind of passion I like to see in my employees. Keep that up, and you might actually survive here.”

You glared at him, your appetite completely gone. “Do you always make a habit of humiliating people in front of their colleagues, or am I just lucky?”

His smile faltered for the briefest moment, but then it was back, brighter than ever. “Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad. If anything, I was helping you toughen up. This industry isn’t for the faint of heart, you know.”

You didn’t bother responding, choosing instead to stab at your salad with a little too much force. Gojo, of course, didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he just didn’t care.

“You know,” he continued, as if he hadn’t already said enough, “if you ever need pointers on how to actually impress people in a meeting, I’d be happy to help. Just say the word.”

Your fork clattered against your plate as you stood abruptly. “You know what, Gojo? I don’t need your ‘help.’ What I need is for you to stop making my life a living hell.”

Without waiting for his response, you grabbed your tray and walked away, ignoring the amused chuckles that followed you. You could practically feel his smug grin burning into your back as you stormed out of the cafeteria.

You could feel the weight of other employees’ eyes on you as you stormed out of the cafeteria. It wasn’t hard to guess why—The Satoru Gojo had been sitting across from you, grinning like he didn’t have a care in the world, and you had dared to talk to him so casually, like he was nothing.

Whispers trailed behind you as you made your way to the elevator.

“Did you see how she talked to him?”

“Who even is she?”

“I heard Haibara got her the job…”

You clenched your fists, willing yourself not to turn around and snap at them. Of course, they were surprised. Gojo wasn’t just the CEO; he was practically a legend around here—charming, untouchable, and so ridiculously good-looking it made you sick. People probably bent over backward to please him, and yet here you were, treating him like the pain in the ass he was.

You pressed the elevator button with more force than necessary, muttering under your breath. “Why does he have to be so insufferable? Couldn’t he just ignore me like a normal boss?”

The elevator doors opened, and you stepped inside, leaning back against the wall with a sigh. As much as you hated to admit it, Gojo’s charm was dangerous—not because it worked on you, but because it made everyone else act like he could do no wrong.

But you? You saw through him. Beneath that perfect smile and effortless confidence was just a guy who got off on making people’s lives harder. Well, if he thought you were going to be another one of his fans, he had another thing coming.

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

Your shift finally ended, and the office was slowly emptying out as employees trickled toward the elevators. Letting out a sigh of relief, you pushed back in your chair, relaxing for the first time all day. Stretching your arms above your head, you savored the feeling of being done.

Grabbing your bag, you slung it over your shoulder and stood, ready to make your way home. But just as you turned, someone tapped your shoulder. Startled, you spun around to see a woman standing behind you.

She had brown hair, and though her dark circles made her look utterly exhausted, there was an air of calmness about her that instantly put you at ease. She looked like someone who had been through a lot but didn’t let it faze her.

“Hey, newbie,” she greeted, her voice soft and unhurried, as though the chaos of the office didn’t touch her. “I’m Shoko Ieiri. Pleasure to meet you.”

There was no sharpness, no judgment in her tone—just simple politeness. You felt your shoulders relax a little more.

You gave her a small smile and introduced yourself in return.

Shoko nodded, adjusting the strap of her bag. “I’ve seen you around. Figured I’d say hello before you got swallowed up by this place.” She gestured around the emptying office with a faint smirk.

You chuckled nervously. “Yeah, it’s… definitely been an interesting first few days.”

“Let me guess,” she said, raising an eyebrow knowingly. “Gojo?”

The way she said his name, with just a hint of exasperation, made you laugh despite yourself. “How’d you know?”

Shoko rolled her eyes. “Oh, he has a habit of singling people out. Likes to see how much he can push before they snap. Don’t let it get to you. He’s harmless—mostly.”

“Mostly?” you repeated, skeptical.

Shoko smirked. “He’s annoying, not evil. Though sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.” She tilted her head, studying you. “You stood up to him, didn’t you?”

Your face flushed slightly, and you shrugged. “I wasn’t about to just sit there and let him walk all over me.”

Shoko’s smirk widened into a small grin. “Good. He needs someone to put him in his place every once in a while. Just… don’t let him get too under your skin. That’s what he wants.”

You weren’t sure whether her advice was comforting or ominous, but it was nice to have at least one ally in this place.

“Well, thanks for the heads-up,” you said with a small smile.

Shoko waved you off. “No problem. And if you ever need a break from Gojo’s nonsense, come find me. I’m usually in the infirmary—or hiding on the roof.”

With that, she gave you a lazy wave and headed toward the elevators, leaving you standing there feeling a little less alone in this chaotic new world.

She's hot.

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

The next few days were a blur of work, tension, and Gojo’s irritatingly constant presence. Each time you saw him, you could practically feel the weight of his eyes on you, his gaze a mix of amusement and challenge. It was like he was always waiting for you to crack, and you weren’t about to give him that satisfaction.

It wasn’t until a week later that things took a strange turn.

You were in the breakroom, pouring yourself a coffee when you heard footsteps approach from behind. Before you could turn around, a voice cut through the quiet hum of the room.

"Mind if I join you?"

You didn’t have to look to know it was Gojo. His voice was unmistakable.

You paused for a moment, then finally turned to face him, raising an eyebrow. "Are you... allowed in the breakroom?"

Gojo chuckled, clearly amused by your sarcasm. "I run this place, remember? I’m allowed wherever I want."

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your cool. "Right. Forgot about that."

He leaned casually against the counter, his presence taking up way too much space in the room. "You’re still holding a grudge about the meeting, huh?"

"Why would I not be?" You shot back, folding your arms. "You made me look like an idiot in front of everyone."

Gojo grinned. "I didn’t make you look like an idiot. I just pointed out what you missed. No big deal."

"No big deal?" You shook your head in disbelief. "That’s easy for you to say."

Gojo took a slow sip of his coffee, eyeing you with that infuriating, confident look. "You’ll get over it."

You felt the heat rise in your chest. “I’m not getting over it, Gojo. Not until you apologize.”

He blinked at you, as if surprised. “Apologize?”

“Yes, apologize,” you repeated firmly. “For humiliating me.”

For a moment, Gojo was silent. Then, in a tone that sounded way too calm for your liking, he said, "I don’t do apologies."

You stared at him, trying to suppress the frustration building inside you.

Gojo’s smile softened, just slightly, as he leaned closer. "But I do know how to make it up to people. If you’re willing to let me."

Before you could respond, he was already walking out, leaving you standing there, once again at a loss for words.

What's his problem? Fucking bastard.

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

It was lunchtime, and you were more than ready to get away from your desk for a bit of peace and quiet. You grabbed your lunch from your bag, planning to eat in solitude, away from the chaos of the office. The thought of being alone, if only for a little while, was comforting.

But as you started to make your way toward the breakroom, two girls appeared in front of you. They were dressed similarly—well-put-together, with matching smiles that felt a little too rehearsed.

“Hey, newbie,” one of them said in a sweet voice that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Wanna have lunch with us?”

You hesitated, glancing at the two of them. You weren’t in the mood for small talk. You just wanted to eat in peace. "Uh, no, you can go on, thanks," you replied, already feeling the discomfort of the situation.

But they didn’t move. Instead, they exchanged a look, almost like they were trying to decide something. Then, the other girl spoke up. “Come on, we’d love to get to know you better. You don’t want to eat alone, do you?”

You could feel the pressure mounting. It was clear they weren’t going to take no for an answer. You sighed, trying to keep your frustration in check.

“Really, it’s fine. I’m just—”

But the first girl cut you off, her tone more insistent now. “It’s not a big deal. We’ve already got a spot saved for you.”

They stepped forward, practically guiding you down the hallway toward the cafeteria. Your resistance was futile. They were pulling you into their orbit whether you liked it or not.

You shot a look of exasperation at them, but they only smiled sweetly, too sweetly, as if they had no idea how fake it all felt.

Great. Just what I need.

You let out a small groan as they guided you into the crowded cafeteria, making your way to a table at the far end, far enough to feel isolated from the rest of the office. They both sat down, pulling out their lunch with practiced ease, waiting for you to sit across from them.

“Come on, don’t be shy,” the first girl insisted, flashing you a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We don’t bite.”

You sat down, feeling the weight of their expectations press down on you. "Thanks," you muttered, unfolding your napkin and trying to focus on your food. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that they weren’t just trying to be friendly.

“So,” the second girl began, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “How’s your first week been? We heard you’re special—you know, thanks to Haibara.”

You raised an eyebrow, shooting a glance at her. “Special?”

“Oh, we’ve heard all about how Haibara got you the job. He’s quite the popular guy around here,” she said, her tone almost too casual, like she was fishing for something.

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you focused on your food, trying to ignore the unease creeping up your spine. But the silence between you was thick, like they were waiting for you to crack, to say something.

It was then that the first girl leaned in slightly, her voice lowering as if she were about to share a secret. “You know, Gojo doesn’t usually take well to people who are… difficult to handle. And Gojo seems pretty interested in you.”

Your grip on your fork tightened. Of course, they knew. It was practically the office gossip by now.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said coolly, trying to hide your growing irritation. “I’m just here to do my job, like everyone else.”

But they weren’t buying it. The second girl smirked, her eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Oh, we’re sure you’re just here to do your job. But with Gojo, things don’t always go as smoothly as you’d like, right?”

You shot them both a look, your patience running thin. “Is there a point to this conversation, or are you just trying to get under my skin?”

The first girl giggled, but it sounded fake, like a high-pitched attempt to cover up something else. “We’re just saying… be careful. People around here might not be as nice as you think.”

You looked at them both, sensing the underlying threat in their words, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d made a huge mistake by getting caught up in this office politics mess.

But you weren’t about to back down. “Thanks for the warning,” you replied, with as much calm as you could muster. “But I can handle myself.”

The tension in the air was palpable, but they didn’t press further. Instead, they exchanged a look, nodded to each other, and then turned their attention back to their food, as if the conversation had never happened.

But you could feel the weight of their words hanging over you. Be careful.

You weren’t sure if it was their jealousy, or something more sinister, but one thing was clear—this wasn’t just about lunch anymore.

As the lunch continued, the two girls didn’t seem to let up. Instead of wrapping up their conversation, they ordered even more food—each plate arriving in front of them like they were trying to prove something. They smiled at each other, exchanging whispers, occasionally throwing glances your way.

“More food?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as a waiter brought over a massive platter of sushi and another tray of tempura. “Isn’t that a bit much?”

The first girl, who had barely touched her own meal, grinned. “Oh, we’re just hungry. And we thought you might want to try some more things. You know, since you’re still... adjusting to the office.”

You stared at the food, trying to make sense of their behavior. It was becoming clear that they weren’t just offering a kind gesture—they were making a statement. They wanted you to feel out of place, to see how out of their league you were.

“Don’t worry,” the second girl chimed in, her voice almost too sweet for comfort. “We’ll be here to help you with everything. We’re kind of experts around here, after all.”

You caught the undertone in her words, a hint of superiority that made your skin crawl. They weren’t interested in being friends. They were sizing you up, measuring you against their version of the office hierarchy.

Taking a deep breath, you forced a smile and said, “I’m good, really. Thanks.” You didn’t want their charity, nor did you want to be their pawn in whatever game they were playing.

But it didn’t matter. They kept piling food onto the table, filling every empty space as if to make sure you couldn’t escape their clutches. At that moment, you realized they weren’t just trying to be nice—they were trying to show off. They were flexing their power in this place, and you were just the unlucky newcomer caught in their spotlight.

Your stomach churned with the sudden feeling of being trapped. You had to get out.

The two girls continued to push food toward you, their smiles becoming more insistent with each passing minute.

"Come on, you’ve gotta try this," the first girl said, nudging a plate of sushi closer to you. "It’s really good. You wouldn’t want to miss out."

You glanced at the platter, feeling the weight of their gaze on you, the pressure mounting. But there was no way you were going to eat with them—not after everything that had just happened.

You shook your head, forcing a polite smile. "Thanks, but I’m fine. I’m really not that hungry."

They exchanged another look, the kind that made you feel like you were being judged in ways you couldn’t fully comprehend. The second girl raised an eyebrow, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. "Oh, come on, don’t be shy. We ordered all this for you, after all."

You stiffened. All this for me? It was clear now. They weren’t being generous. They were trying to trap you in their world, to make you feel like you owed them something.

"No, really," you said, shaking your head more firmly this time. "I’m not hungry. You can enjoy it yourselves."

The first girl leaned back, folding her arms with a small pout. "You sure? It’s really good."

You met her gaze evenly, refusing to let the discomfort show. "I’m sure. Thanks, but no thanks."

They finally seemed to get the message, though they didn’t look happy about it. They stopped pressing, but the atmosphere around you had shifted. The two girls returned to their food, but there was a coldness in the air now, a silent tension that hung between you.

You pushed your plate away slightly, your appetite completely gone. You could feel the weight of their judgment, like they were watching you closely, waiting for you to slip up, to give in to their pressure.

But you wouldn’t. Not with them.

As you stood up, ready to make your escape from the uncomfortable situation, you couldn’t help but notice that the two girls had devoured every last bite of the food. Of course they did. They were practically setting you up for this.

You sighed, preparing to head back to your desk and pretend this entire ordeal never happened. But as you started to walk away, one of them called out, her voice dripping with false sweetness.

"Where are you going?" she asked, narrowing her eyes in mock confusion. "Pay for this all first. You were giving us a treat, right?"

You stopped dead in your tracks. A treat? Your stomach dropped as realization hit. There was no way you were treating them. You had barely enough money for your own lunch, let alone the absurd amount of food they had ordered.

You turned around, trying to keep your composure. "What? When did I say that? Look, I don’t even have—"

But before you could finish, the second girl interrupted, her tone more forceful now. "Oh, come on. You said yourself you’d treat us. Pay up." She smirked, like she knew exactly what was going through your mind.

No way.

The cafeteria suddenly felt much smaller. You could feel the eyes of everyone around you, the whispers, the judgment. You had no idea how many people were watching, but it felt like the entire place was waiting for you to make a fool of yourself.

Your heart raced, the beat echoing in your ears. Shit, shit, shit. You felt the blood rush to your face, the heat of embarrassment flooding your cheeks. You didn’t even have enough to cover your own meal, let alone all of this.

"Look, I—I can’t pay for this," you said, trying to keep your voice steady, but it cracked, betraying the panic you were feeling.

The first girl’s grin widened. "Really? Because you said you would. And now you’re backing out? Interesting."

The tension in the room was unbearable. It felt like everyone was just waiting for you to crack. The whispers grew louder, and you could feel the judgment pressing down on you. Your hands trembled at your sides.

You glanced around, desperately searching for an escape, but there was none. They had cornered you, and now you were the center of attention in the worst possible way.

The tension in the cafeteria was suffocating. Your face was burning, your stomach twisted in knots. Every pair of eyes seemed to be on you, waiting for you to somehow get out of this mess. You could feel the heat of their gazes, the quiet murmur of voices spreading like wildfire.

The second girl stepped closer, her grin widening. "I guess we’ll just have to tell everyone how generous you are, huh? Backing out of your word like this?"

You swallowed hard, trying to gather your words, but before you could say anything else, the sound of the door to the cafeteria opened, and a calm, deep voice broke through the tension.

"Is there a problem here?"

You turned instinctively toward the voice, and there, standing in the doorway with a quiet confidence, was Suguru Geto.

He was dressed in a sharp suit, his expression cool and composed, like he had just stepped out of a boardroom meeting. Suguru’s gaze shifted from you to the two girls, then back to you, noticing the way you were practically frozen in place, trapped in an impossible situation.

The two girls didn’t seem as confident now, glancing at Suguru with a mix of surprise and unease. Suguru stepped forward, his calm demeanor not shifting an inch.

"What’s going on here?" he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

The first girl opened her mouth to speak, but Suguru raised a hand to stop her, his voice steady but firm. "You’ve been harassing her for a while now. I’m guessing that’s not exactly ‘friendly,’ is it?"

They both fell silent, unsure how to respond. Suguru's presence alone seemed to have a calming effect, though it was clear they weren’t used to someone calling them out so directly.

Finally, Suguru turned to you, his expression softening slightly as he spoke. "Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it."

Without waiting for a reply, Suguru walked over to the counter, where he paid for the entire meal with a few smooth motions, the cashier offering a respectful nod.

Turning back to you, he gave a small smile. "You’re free to go now. I’ll handle the rest."

You stared at him for a moment, your heart still racing, but a small wave of relief washing over you. How did he know to step in?

The girls exchanged a quick, frustrated glance but said nothing. They were no longer in control of the situation. Suguru's intervention had completely shifted the power dynamic, and just like that, you were no longer the center of their mockery.

"Thank you," you muttered, feeling a bit of gratitude and confusion mix together.

Suguru gave a simple nod, his expression still composed. "No problem. You don’t have to thank me. Just... be careful with those two."

With that, he gave you a small, reassuring smile before turning to leave. As he walked away, the weight of the situation seemed to lift, and you let out a long, shaky breath.

You watched Suguru walk away, your heart still racing from the wave of relief that washed over you. The girls were no longer a threat, and you were free from the embarrassment, but something else lingered. Something you hadn’t expected.

As Suguru’s back disappeared through the cafeteria doors, you couldn’t help but feel this rush of gratitude and something else—something deeper, more unsettling. He was so nice. The way he had stepped in, so calm and effortless, his composed demeanor... He had a certain presence that made you feel safe, like no one could touch you as long as he was around.

But there was more than that. You couldn’t ignore the way your heart skipped a beat when he spoke to you, how his cool gaze seemed to hold your attention with every word.

You had barely known him for a moment, but that moment felt like it had lingered. The way he effortlessly took charge of the situation, the way he seemed to care without any hesitation—it made you want to know more.

His dislikes. His likes. Everything.

What was he like? What did he enjoy? You found yourself curious, almost desperate to find out. You wanted to ask him questions, to uncover every little detail about him, even if you had no idea where to start.

You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. Focus. You’re at work. You don’t have time to get caught up in this.

But it was hard to ignore the way your pulse quickened whenever you thought about him. Suguru Geto had just saved you from a world of embarrassment, and now all you could think about was how incredibly cool he was.

And, as much as you tried to push it away, a small part of you wondered just how much of that coolness was a façade—and how much was real.

As you made your way back to your desk, your mind kept circling back to the brief interaction with Suguru. The gratitude, the rush of emotions, and the way he had effortlessly handled the entire situation. It wasn’t just about saving you from the awkwardness—it was the way he made you feel seen, like you mattered in a place where you were still just a newcomer.

You sank into your chair, the familiar hum of the office surrounding you, but your thoughts were elsewhere. Suguru Geto. The name echoed in your mind. He was calm, composed, and kind. You didn’t know why, but you wanted to know more. Much more.

You took a deep breath, pushing the thoughts aside for the moment. Work wasn’t over, and there were plenty of things you still had to get done. But as you opened your laptop, your thoughts lingered on him, on how his presence had felt like an anchor in the chaos.

You shook your head, trying to get back to work. Focus. One thing at a time. But deep down, you knew this was only the beginning of something far more complicated than you could have imagined.

The day went on, but your mind stayed with Suguru. And for some reason, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that this was just the start of something far more intriguing than you’d ever anticipated.

A/n- I swear guys this is a Satoru×reader fic, Trust🙏🔥

Check out my masterlist for more!🩷

→ Series Masterlist.

🏷️- @katthekat1234 @ilovejeann @gojobiggestslut @mypenguinobject @belle643

[woofwoofwolf]

Overgrown Flowers

Tighnari x Reader

-Chapter 1-

Branches That Snap

Art Credit: @alcruid

Summary:

Tighnari was perfect. Perfectly infuriating.

If you weren't at such a low point in your life, you would've appreciated studying under him a lot more. Now you had to prove to him that you were worthy of being his equal. That is, until you get down with a mysterious illness that even he doesn't know the cure for.

Tags: Graphic depictions of illness, (internalised) ableism, PTSD, slowburn

[masterlist] [Ch.2] (coming soon)

You couldn’t take your eyes off of it. Soft and chalky white, twisting its way out of the cave wall— it was the most beautiful flower you had ever seen. The bud was closed, but from a distance you could still make out blue-grey looking petals. What was really remarkable about it was the way it glowed; pulsing softly, as if beckoning you closer. The cave you had found it in was well hidden, but once inside, this flower was impossible to miss. There were bioluminescent plants all over Teyvat, but your knowledge and instincts told you this was different from something like Small Lamp Grass.

“Be careful, please!” Collei nervously clasped her hands against her chest, eyeing the ivy covered ditch you were half hanging over. “Oh, you’re going to fall!” 

Her panic brought you out of your trance and back to the present. Recently Collei had invited you to join her once a week on her shorter patrols. It had sort of come out of nowhere for you, since you were new to Gandharva Ville and a temporary resident at that. You were only there because you needed a... break from the Akademiya. You thought your glum state and general pessimistic personality would keep everyone at arm's length. It didn’t help that you weren’t a Sumeru native, so sometimes it was hard to relate to the people around you. This didn’t stop Collei though. She and Tighnari were the only ones you really spoke to since arriving a few weeks ago.

“I almost got it, just stand back and don’t worry–” you gasped out, one foot off the ground, left arm fully outstretched, while your right held on to a root hanging from the cave’s ceiling, right across from the flower you were trying to pick. 

You were starting to think that fussing over things was part of Collei’s character, making it easier for you to dismiss her (frankly justified) worries. “After this we can go back to Gandharva Ville, I promise!”

Naturally, you didn’t want to destroy the plant if it was as rare as you deduced, but picking just one out of the dozen that were around should be fine. The idea of returning with this mystery plant gave you a giddy feeling that you hadn’t felt for months at that point. You reached out a little further, until finally–

Crackle! SNAP!

You barely had the time to register what was happening before you were tumbling down the ditch. The root you were holding on to was too brittle to carry your weight and it  had come loose from the rock. Head first, you slid right through the ivy covering the ditch, landing with a dull thud at the bottom.

Collei screamed. “Oh my goodness, are you alright?” She fell to her knees and peered into the hole. 

You’d done it now. Of course this wasn’t going to be as easy as you hoped. You were sure you had shocked Collei to her core, poor young thing. Thankfully, there was a bed of moss breaking your fall, so the damage wasn’t as bad as it could have been. 

“O-oh no- What do I do!”

A cough signalled that you were still alive. “A rope would be nice,” you groaned.

“Right! A rope!” Collei sprang into action, quickly rummaging around for a rope in her satchel. “Can you climb out on your own? Oh.. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to carry you.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine… Somehow– I only scraped my knee a little bit. ” You tried to stand up on the slippery moss. Ugh, your leg was going to be sore for a while. But when you looked down at your gloved hands, your irritation turned back into joy. Clasped tightly in your left hand was the flower you were so desperate to bring home with you. Not only that, but the entire wall of the ditch was covered in said mystery flower. The bud of the flower in your hand had opened and so had a few of the ones on the cave wall. Did they open when agitated? 

Everything now had a thin layer of blue pollen on it, including yourself. You must’ve breathed in quite a lot of it as well, your throat was feeling rather irritated.

Without thinking you brought the flower in your hand up to your nose and had a whiff of its smell. It was faint but... earthy? It smelled like mushrooms and spices. What an odd smell for a flower. A strange emotion stirred in your chest, one you couldn’t quite place. You quickly realised how stupid it was to bring an unknown plant up so close to your face and got to work getting your supplies from your bag.

“There’s so many of them!”

“R-right, I’ll bandage you up as soon as I get you out!” Collei said as she secured the rope to a rock.

“No, not that! The flowers!” Your voice came out raspy. You coughed to clear your throat. “They sure produce a lot of pollen too… You think holes in the ground like these are its  preferred habitat?”

Collei sighed. “Well… At least you’re well enough to still be talking. You could’ve hit your head, you know? Master Tighnari isn’t going to be happy.”

She was right. In the short time you had come to know him, you had already received your fair share of lectures from Tighnari. It hadn’t contributed well to your initial impression of him. You had previously thought that he was an insufferable know-it-all who thought of himself as better than people like you. The type of person you had experienced more than enough of while at the Akademiya. 

You had gotten ‘permission’ from Master Naphis to study under Tighnari for a while, so your initial attitude towards him hadn’t really worked in favour of your academic progression. But you quickly felt like you were wrong about him. How you DID feel about him was still hard to say, however. Or how he felt about you. Would he be impressed that you had managed to find such a mysterious plant? Actually, he’d probably be mad that you convinced Collei to stray from the regular patrol route… Hopefully your new discovery would distract him enough from the inevitable lecture.

A rope fell down and you quickly made your way back up, eternally thankful your injuries were minimal enough to allow you to do so by yourself. Once reunited with Collei, you triumphantly held up not only the flower you plucked earlier, but also two other samples, WITH roots attached.

“They’re BEAUTIFUL! I bet not even Tighnari has seen these before!” Holding one up to the well lit cave entrance, you could now see the bright aqua veins that ran down the stem and leaves of the plant, and that the inside of the petals were a dark blue teal colour.  Before you hadn’t been able to get a good look at the flower because of its bright glow, but it had completely dimmed after you plucked it. 

Interesting, you were going to have to examine why that was.

You looked back at Collei. To your surprise, her brown skin now had a thin layer of blue on it. She was nearly as covered in the pollen as you were.

“How did you–”

Collei sheepishly smiled and dusted off her clothes. “There was a huge cloud of pollen when you landed. I wonder if this would make for blue honey?”

You laughed. “It probably would!” 

Your laugh turned into a little cough and Collei watched you worriedly. 

“It must be the pollen. Oh no, What if it’s toxic after all?”

You shook your head pensively. “I’m sure it’s just an irritation of the throat. Pollen can have defensive compounds, but it rarely causes lasting effects. I think in this case the flower dispenses a lot of pollen once agitated because it’s in such a secluded place and thus has to take advantage of any visitors it comes across to carry its pollen.”

Doubt crept up your chest. If Collei got sick because of you, you wouldn’t be able to face Tighnari ever again, nor would you be able to forgive yourself. You were going to have to hurry back to Gandharva Ville and ask the expert to be sure…

Said expert was indeed not amused. He stood tapping his foot at the village entrance; probably tipped off about your arrival by the sound of your footsteps and rattling patrol gear. Now those perceptive ears of his were downturned against his head, something that told you from a distance that he was more than displeased.

“Care to explain to me why you took two and a half hours longer than expected to complete today’s patrol?” His frown deepened, stepping towards you to swipe some of the blue pollen off of your clothes with his glove. “What’s this?”

“Ehh…” Collei avoided looking him in the eye, her hands nervously brushing through her hair.

“I’m sorry Tighnari, it’s my fault. I spotted a hidden cave while on patrol and I convinced Collei to check it out with me. Inside there were these flowers, see?” You extended one of the flasks to him. “I think it might be an undiscovered species!”

Tighnari placed his free hand on his chin as he took the flower from you, carefully examining it from different angles. “Is that why you’re both covered in blue dust?”

“Y-yeah… The pollen of this flower is rather unique. It even glowed in the dark cave.”

Tighnari hummed in thought. Then his gaze fell on your bandaged knee. “Collei, you go wash up. Report back at the infirmary once you’re done. (Y/N), come with me.”

Your posture slumped in disappointment. He had nothing to say? You trudged after him in silence. Once in the infirmary he made you sit down so he could removed Collei’s bandages to take a look.

You couldn’t help but break the awkward silence. “I collected samples of the pollen in these flasks, I even have a few complete specimens with the roots intact.” 

You had to know his thoughts. Had he seen the flower before? Did he agree with your theories on why it dispensed so much pollen? More than anything you just wanted to discuss theories with him. For him to acknowledge your find.

“They’re quite unique. I don’t recall seeing anything similar in Pardis Dhyia, nor in textbooks. If you bring me a map, I can point out where we found these. I’m sure we could find more of them if we figure out what made them grow there. I-” A series of coughs interrupted your story. Your eagerness to share caused your irritated throat to choke on the air.

Tighnari watched you worriedly, taking out a stethoscope. “Could you take off your coat? I’d like to listen for any alterations in your breathing.”

You awkwardly shuffled out of your coat and breathed in and out as he instructed. “I’ll be fine, really! I just took in a bit of dust and pollen, it’s only natural my throat is a little irritated. I… I don't think the plant was toxic. Collei breathed in a small amount as well and she wasn’t coughing at all.”

“Maybe.” Tighnari answered curtly, a blank expression on his face. “I’m going to have to examine the pollen to be sure. Let me take a look at your throat.”

There was only silence while he pointed the flashlight down your mouth. You shyly peeked at him as he noted down some things on a clipboard. The lack of the usual annoyed sassy lecture was spooking you a little bit.

You thought of things to say as he prepped the pollen for examination under the microscope. He let out a low hum as he looked through the eyepiece.

“Tighnari, I… I’m sorry…”

He moved away from the microscope with a sigh, finally looking you in the eye. “At least you have the decency to know you did something you shouldn’t have.”

Your head dropped in resignation. “It was wrong for me to put Collei in that position. I… I didn’t know there would be so much pollen. I had her stand a distance away, but I can see now that wasn’t good enough. Next time– Next time I’ll note the location on a map and ask for you or other forest watchers to come with me.”

“Good.” Tighnari said with a curt nod. “I know you didn’t deliberately put the both of you in danger and that’s the only reason I can begin to look past this.” He took another look through the microscope. “From a cursory examination, this pollen has a fairly basic structure. It looks like it’s part of the same genus as the Sumeru rose. If anything, I’d be worried this points to an issue with the ley lines, but I haven’t heard of any other incidents that would point to this… They sure produce a lot of pollen though,” By the end he was muttering to himself, more so than explaining any of it to you.

“However–!” He pointed his pen right in your face, interrupting his own rant, making you jump. “Although I’m very happy to see some enthusiasm from your part, endangering yourself like that is still absolutely unacceptable.”

Ah, there came the lecture. One you absolutely deserved, mind you.

“Had you fallen unconscious, Collei would have had to go back to the village on her own to get help. Worst case scenario, you could have broken your neck and died in an instant. It is the duty of forest rangers to preserve both the rainforest's ecosystem and the safety of its visitors, but our most important skill is to ensure the safety of ourselves . This is the basic rule of any survival situation. Do you understand?”

You wanted to object that you weren’t a forest watcher, but you assumed that wouldn’t go over well. “Yes, Tighnari.”

“That almost sounds as if I’m not useful to have around at all.” You turned to a pouting Collei, who had suddenly appeared in the infirmary's doorway.

“Your time as a full fledged watcher will come Collei,” Tighnari calmly explained, recovering from his surprise in an instant. “You’re young and still learning, there’s no need to rush. You should know that you have my full trust.”

You self-consciously looked away from the two, wondering what you could do to earn Tighnari’s trust like that. Maybe the flower you discovered really was a new species? Would that get him to talk to you about it?

“Oh I know,” Collei answered, timidly plucking at her nails. “I’m just saying.”

Something stirred in your chest and you rubbed at your sternum. The day left you rather tired and you were ready for it to be over. Tighnari turned back to you. 

“I would offer for us to examine the plant together, but… You’re better off taking a bath to wash off all that pollen. I’ll schedule it in for our regular review on Tuesday, but I can’t postpone the initial examination for you. I have to make sure this plant is safe.”

That was rather disappointing. You had no issue sharing your discovery with Tighnari of course, but this felt like handing it over instead of working together. You understood him not wanting to postpone it, but why couldn't he allow you there during the initial examination? Did he think you were going to get in his way? That you were only good as a student and not a research partner?

Despite your negative spiral, the thought of fighting his decision made your stomach churn, so you accepted it, trying not to seem bitter when you nodded.

“Oh, and please meet me at my hut Friday morning so we can retouch your forest safety training. We have lots of rules to… rediscover.”

You cleared your throat, “Alright. Thank you, Tighnari.” 

You were hoping he was going to forget about punishment. Then again, this probably didn’t count as such in his mind.

Tighnari briefly hesitated before speaking up again. “And… (Y/N)? You don’t need to prove yourself, okay?”

You felt a hotness bloom across your chest and face. On face value it was a sweet sentiment, but you didn’t interpret it that way. It was a subtle way of saying: ‘don’t get in my way’. 

“…Okay.”

You ran away quickly in order to not show that it bothered you. Once you were far enough away from the infirmary you breathed in deeply. No matter, it was still your discovery. You would fight tooth and nail to defend that honour. Tighnari was going to let you research with him, whether he wanted you to or not. That fighting spirit pushed down the fear enough for you to feel a little less suffocated.

The irritation in your throat hadn't cleared yet, but you hoped that it would be gone by morning. These things usually resolve itself after a morning beverage.

More importantly, you were ready to think about what this find could mean for your future! With this, maybe, just maybe, you could finally turn things around for the better.

------

This work is finished, I just need to edit it. Looking for beta readers!

Posting every 2 weeks (as long as I have chapters edited)

--TAGLIST OPEN--

[catsoupki]

CH.1 | inebriation quenches the thirst (3.0K) series m.list | next chapter

synopsis - katsuki is a constant that drops in and out of your life at a moment’s notice, when he’s a teenager thinking about you in his bed, and when he’s an adult bringing you a thermos in a cold and lonely hospital room; a fight leaves you battered at the mercy of death and katsuki’s floodgates, the emptiness within you doesn’t settle when he leaves you behind and out of his life, but you want to teach him what it really means to love.

tags - pro hero au, fem reader, banter, hurt/comfort, canon-typical injuries, eventual smut !

“You look like shit.” Bakugou stalks into the room just to catch you in your most vulnerable moment— you only had concealer applied to your face. “You insulted the wrong person, babe.” You shoot back before muttering a small ‘sorry’ to the angel of a woman that was doing your make-up, who shakes her head with a soft smile while muttering something about puppy love. You roll your eyes. Bakugou clicks his tongue before falling down on the seat beside you with a heavy thud. “You letting yourself go that soon, Kats?” The nickname you’ve given him doesn’t properly sound as your makeup artist, Tanaka, was it? covers your lips with some scrub.

You celebrate your victory of the day as he only answers with a tch. He glares at the poor soul assigned to do his make-up for the event through the mirror, before his gaze shifts towards you.

You look stunning, as always. Not that he’d admit it, ever. You look like you fit the title “Number Four Hero”. Wearing only a flimsy vest, your collarbones were exposed as you sat in the make-up chair. The lighting at the studio only further accentuated the curves of your arms— forcing him to will his eyes to meet anything else before you catch him, and he certainly, most definitely does not want to endure your teasing, and for the record, your teasing absolutely does not make his night spent at these charity events more tolerable and manageable, and, not even enjoyable. Not in the slightest bit. At least that’s what he tells himself anyway.

You two were intentionally put into the same room, as always— you’re notorious for being one of the few pro-heroes who’s able to keep up and deal with his temper and attitude. Ever since your graduation from Shiketsu, the media immediately spotted the similarities between your personalities and fighting styles: strategically brash, stupidly abrupt, and chaotically unpredictable. The only difference being that you aren’t unnecessarily rude to those who don’t deserve it;

Finally though, during an interview a few years after your debut, it was made clear that you had known Dynamight since he was a child growing up in the rural outskirts of Musutafu. Ever since, the two of you became each other’s automatic plus-one for every social event.

+++

Doing the breathing exercise your manager of all people taught you, you step out of the black vehicle, instantly greeted with a myriad of flashes and shouts. Paparazzi, fans and the like all vie for your attention, the December air nipping at your skin but you put on your plastic-smile and fight your way across the red carpet, stopping at the stairs and meeting the eye of Dynamight.

He was in a dashing grey suit and a black blazer the same shade as your low cut maxi dress, tailored to fit him at all the right places, all broad shoulders and tiny waist (his waist-to-hip ratio is infuriating) donning a red tie that didn’t live up to the crimson in his eyes at all. He looks good, as he always does. You really can’t be any more grateful to the shiver of sharks and cameras surrounding you two, by the time you get home, you can gawk at his stature in paparazzi pictures in the quiet of your humble abode. It doesn’t mean you won’t try your best to sneak glances up and down his body tonight though, but there will only be so many instances where he has his back turned to you.

His hand grazes your lower back while your arms remain at your sides, both of you standing at a slightly slanted angle so that you were facing each other in the tiniest bit. Flashes of cameras continue to barrage you two as the shouts get more and more aggressive, Bakugou quickly lifts up his hand and sends the photographers a hot and quick message of fuck-you with his middle finger; you were thankful, but that didn’t stop you from elbowing him in the ribs before you were so rudely torn away and steered around the venue by your plus-one.

Both of you were accustomed to this, boring speeches from the host of the event — some balding guy that was shrivelling up in his seventies with too much money — awards honoured to the top five heroes and a bunch of group pictures.

“Next up, we have our number four hero, Metal Gear!” Your smile is as plastered to your face as the sweat on your hands as you walk on stage, met with claps and the beaming smiles of your friends and colleagues and ex-classmates. “This year, she not only made history by becoming the first female hero to achieve such a high ‘blood-spill’ rating, she also has the highest score for ‘the element of surprise’ since the founding of the Hero Commission!” You shake hands with the rich and balding guy as he hands you two plaques made of glass, the backstage workers motion for you to join Tsukuyomi next to the rest of the guests while you wait for the remaining heroes. “Smile!” The photographer gleams as you all but Katsuki does the basic celebrity face— cheeks up eyes open!

And the rest? It all goes by in a blur.

+++

It was some time close to the ass-crack of dawn. After attending the set amount of after-parties your manager set you to, you crawl into the back of the agency car before it speeds off to your honest cabin. Your gaze settles unfocused outside the window, tall and lonely street lights taking turns mocking your weak frown with their derisive yellow hues, you take note of the scattered blue lights in office towers, those who live a life not knowing comfort and safety, and a sense of gratitude fills your heart.

Fighting off inebriation and drowsiness doesn’t get easier despite the accumulation of experience, you’re flushed with alcohol, ears still buzzing with lost excitement, stomach fluttering with the remnants of butterflies from the times Katsuki brushed his knee against yours under the dining table that night, or when you felt his (almost envious) eyes burning holes at your back as you involuntarily talked with Monoma.

Slurring a quick thank you, you stumble out the door and fiddle with the keys before kicking off your heels and crash-landing on your couch. You won’t wake up until tomorrow, when your manager calls your house phone because she knows you. After all, she has worked with you since the founding of Metallica™, she knows your habits, she knows the battery of your cellphone has long been dead since last night, and she knows you haven’t showered yet, nor have you done anything really. So she calls you with a long enough buffer period that by then you’ll get your life and yourself back in check and open your eyes to another day of paperwork and patrolling.

She brings you your second cup of coffee in the morning. Hangovers are difficult to deal with so she gets you a cookie to help with the patrol you have to go on 17 minutes later too. You’re paired with a new sidekick whose name you forgot, the both of you groaning after hearing the screams of civilians and the shatters of windows in the penultimate minute of your duty time. You decide that you like this sidekick.

But it’s everyday work, you’re used to this. This being the fact that your neighbourhood burglars and robbers always resort themselves to metal weapons because they’re the cheapest and most accessible.

You’ll have to thank them for the relatively easy but interesting job though.

+++

This time the monthly group hangout is, surprisingly, being held at Bakugou’s place. You have no idea what blackmail Mina must have pulled up to convince him to let you guys absolutely wreck his place, but you keep your comments to yourself.

You’re the last to arrive, having just finished an interview with some late night show, you hurry towards Katsuki’s home, a modern and sleek one at that. He hired some designer who was apparently a friend of his mother, and man did that woman have taste.

The interior mostly consisted of neutrals, grey walls and black cupboards, and obviously a kitchen done to his exact liking, with a rotating seasoning rack, a two-door fridge, and a sink that has a detachable faucet with five different pressure settings.

Your knuckles were met with nothing on the third knock, the door swinging open to reveal an extra smiley and doubtlessly tipsy Kirishima. You can hear the television playing, some shitty movie with the cheesiest lines you’ve ever heard, ‘but I love her!’; Mina and Kirishima were probably the ones responsible for the rather unwise movie choice.

You give a polite wave, simultaneously kicking off your shoes before beelining to the makeshift bar to pour yourself at least two shots before joining the rest of them. Denki gives you his usual greeting, something something flirtatious with a wink, Sero a friendly hello, and of course, his elbows. Mina must be stuck in the bathroom since you still haven’t had air pushed out your lungs by her signature hug. And Bakugou? You don’t see him.

Ah, he’s in the kitchen. As much as he likes to complain that he isn’t Denki’s nor Sero’s private chef, you know he can’t stand their poor dietary choices, so he takes matters into his own hands instead. For whatever reason, their habits of eating instant ramen six nights a week never truly left them even after UA. Whatever Bakugou is making, it smells delirious, you feel yourself getting high just from smelling it—

“Oh my god bitch I haven’t seen you in so long!” So long as in two weeks. Just how she is anyway. You usually return her energy, but it’s been a busy day, so you just respond with a tired nod and hooded eyes before allowing yourself to be dragged towards the couches, but being weary doesn’t make you any less alert so you don’t miss the (worried) glance Katsuki sends you.

You guys are a weird, weird group. You’ve known Bakugou since he was a scrawny little kid at the sandbox, and for a long time you went on play dates together while your mothers sipped on expensive teas and gossiped about the neighbourhood drama, but when Katsuki started acting more violent and aggressive towards Izuku, you had stopped talking to him after numerous failed attempts of telling him to stop. He’d reply with ‘You don’t get to tell me what to do!’ or maybe ‘If you loved stupid Deku so much go play with him instead!’, his crimson orbs didn’t look familiar when he spat those ugly words at you.

You were sad, of course. Your mother was your saving grace because she told you you’d be moving a few streets away and attending a different school just three weeks later.

It was a bittersweet goodbye, whatever that meant for two seven year olds, but despite his absence from your life, his grip on you never loosened, his influence was as present as ever, and you found yourself longing to become a hero by the age of thirteen, your parents began to lecture you, and you were no longer the sweet nine year old toddler who listened to every word spoken by your dear father, but instead you rebelled— you filled out the high school application form yourself without consulting your parents, you put down your own phone number when your homeroom teacher requested to call your mother to make sure your school choices are final.

Even with Bakugou off of your mind, you two still had uncanny similarities that Izuku never unsaw. You didn’t make it into UA, but two years after the USJ event, you started studying at Shiketsu.

You grew to be a wonderful teenager and soon, a preadolescent. You kept seeing Bakugou on the television, for the first few times you hated it, but you grew to accept that— you’ll have to share the same neighbourhood anyway.

That became true during your final year in Shiketsu, where you went to Miruko for your internship, you ran into Bakugou, the sidekick, there.

It took some reconciliation, sure. Months and months were spent biting at each other’s necks, never backing down from fights and bickers, but you were quickly adopted into their group despite being two years younger when Mina relaid the things she heard you call Bakugou to the rest of her friends (“Is Mitsuki doing well? Can’t be that well if she still has you as a son,” “You should text her yourself, maybe she’ll give you some skincare advice too.”)

Two shitty movies later, Denki and Sero have their arms around each other’s shoulders as they bump their way out the door and down the hallway, Kirishima is holding Mina’s heels while she herself is smothering you with kisses and telling you to get home safe, you would have texted her about it if you weren’t in the bad state that you are in now. They don’t say anything about you staying, you’re always the one to stay to help with clean-up at every meet-up anyway. But, this time, you think that maybe you should’ve left with them too, the air is awfully thick with tension, and you don’t know why—

“Fuck’s sakes eyebrows, just spit it out, we both know you have something to say.” Katsuki mumbles quite softly, but the way he aggressively picks up beer cans negates the gentleness he was trying to convey.

“‘m just tired. ‘s been a hefty week.”

You know it’s a blatant lie, even he knows it’s false. But he doesn’t call you out on your shit, not yet anyway. Instead, he decides to bribe you to save your ego.

He wraps up the cleaning process at lightning speed before bolting towards the kitchen. And just with the ingredients he’s pulled out, you know he’s making you your favourite soup.

(You ignore the feeling that infests your heart just by knowing he’s kept the necessary ingredients for your favourite soup in his fridge.)

The way he handles the knife, the food, the pot, even with the way he shuffles across the kitchen, grabbing the seasoning he knows you like, it’s all way too meticulous. It’s his territory, arguably more so than the battlefield. You sit at your usual spot, the left corner of the kitchen island to watch him cook, your spot. He hands you the mug, your favourite way to drink his soup, your favourite mug, and your own dedicated spoon. It’s all too meticulous, he leans against the countertop, drinking you in while you drink the soup he made. You look tired, more exhausted than usual, even more strenuous than the time you did 7 social events back to back.

He knows something’s wrong, he’s just waiting for you to tell him, like how you always do. And even you know you’ll tell him eventually. So you save both you and him some precious time and sleeping hours by spitting it out now.

“My parents have been giving me shit again, I thought that after they laid off a bit meant that they have finally come to terms with my work as a hero. Surprise surprise, they haven’t.”

The nonchalant look on your face, the would-be furrow between your brows, the would-be tears in your eyes, he already sees them. He inhales deeply, all the way down to the last crevice of his lungs, resting his eyes for a split second before realising just how sleepy he is, but he’ll always have time for you, so he doesn’t mention it.

He waits a bit more, and you’re confused at first, until you realise that he’s just waiting for you to finish the soup. So you do so hurriedly, and let him drag you to his bed. You flop onto it unceremoniously and certainly without much grace. He sighs, not having the heart to force you into cleaner pyjamas, he's just going to have to clean those sheets for the second time this week. He rolls onto the bed himself, he doesn’t touch you, not like he ever has, but he just lets you know he’s there, with his pillow, his blanket; it’s his cologne that floods the bed, it’s his apartment that you’re in, but you kind of knew, that he’s here, for you. Always your respite, always your safe haven.

[duchessonfire]

Savior Carl!AU re-read Part 2 Chapter 5

Follow-up of my re-read of Part 2 Chapter 4. If you're not interested and don't want to have your dashboard spammed, you can block the tags Duchess reads and Savior Carl AU reread.

Commentary for Part 2, Ch 5 below the cut (spoilers for part 2 ahead):

So funny thing, this chapter ("Claimed") was supposed to happen much earlier but I kept being sidetracked by Carl and Negan's slow burn. The Claimers were always going to be a part of the AU series, and they were one of the first things I added to my draft for part 2.

I will never tire of saying this: the way the series just handwaved away the trauma of Carl's near sexual assault is absolutely infuriating. Plenty of characters have had better exploration of their abuse and the lasting effect it had on them (Daryl and Carol, just off the top of my head, but also fucking Maggie who has been carrying her PTSD from the line-up for 5 seasons and one goddamn spin-off), but apparently we're all supposed to believe that Carl, who was anywhere between 13 and 16 in the series, just brushed off the time a man pinned him on his stomach and almost raped him in front of his family before watching his attacker get brutally gutted by his father? That doesn't deserve more than one passing mention by Michonne, which was more about the fact that Carl was giving the cold shoulder to Rick than about the trauma he just went through? Yeah? Okay...

My boy deserves better than this so I really wanted a story that focuses fully on the Claimers episode and explores the lasting consequences it will have on Carl. Also, I'm always a sucker for any opportunity to show what an absolute badass Savior!Carl is. Obviously he's 18, so he's not a brutal killing machine nor does he have the physical strength for it. But he's like Carol in the show (or at least before they absolutely butchered her personality and story arc in seasons 9+): shrewd and quick on his feet.

I also knew the Claimers would be the perfect characters to introduce a line-up. You can't write an apocalypse Negan story without a line-up, and I knew this would be a good opportunity to have Carl do the line-up with Negan, for him be on the side of the attackers for once, the hunter and not the prey. Back when I wrote part 1 in 2021, a lot of Cegan fics were variations of the line-up episode: some were about how Carl and Negan already knew each other from before and got reunited when Negan lines up Carl's group, other fics were about Carl working with Negan and being the one who put Rick and his ground on their knees in the clearing (I think I even read a few where Carl and Rick had been separated and this was how they reunited). This is to say that the line-up is a big and powerful moment in the Cegan fandom so I knew I had to include one. However, I also knew I didn't want Carl wielding Lucille in this one. Carl had already done that when he killed Shane and I really wanted to preserve the singularity of this moment, which would have been somewhat trivialized if Negan just started handing Carl his bat to kill people with left and right. So instead, I went with the screwdriver.

For the life of me, I can't remember where I got the screwdriver idea from. I definitely think it's from a TV series or movie of some kind, but I can't tell which. However, I can tell you that any time Carl is being a badass in the Savior!AU, it is one way or another inspired by Marvel's The Punisher, which I re-watched obsessively to get inspiration for Shane in the Savior!AU (and I am so excited that Frank Castle is back in Daredevil:Born again!!)

Okay, now that I'm done babbling, let's get into the chapter:

Carl dreams about the first night they spent in Alexandria, all of them huddled together in the living room of one house, not wanting to be split up, so suspicious they took turn to keep watch, every single door and window barricaded. They were all wary after Terminus, and this fairytale town seemed too good to be true, everyone a bit too quick to welcome them with open arms. They didn’t sleep, just dozed off in turn, jerking awake before they could start falling into dreams.

This flashback was directly taken from the series, when Rick & co arrive in Alexandria. Deanna gives them two houses but they all pile up in the one house that first night and sleep together in the living room while some of them keep watch. There's this delightful moment after, when Deanna comes to check on them in the morning and finds them all huddled together like a pack of feral dogs and is just awed.

It happened several times during the night, too many for Carl to count, but every time exactly the same. Shane would jerk awake and look at Lori, look at Carl, and look at the door. Again and again. Lori, Carl, the door. A holy trinity. Lori, Carl, the door.

Little moments like that are so important to me because, yes, Shane was a grade-A abusive asshole, but his abuse was rarely gratuitous. 90% of the time, Shane's actions were fuelled by his need to protect Carl and keep him alive. Shane only let go of Carl after Carl lost the eye and even that stemmed from Shane's honest belief that Carl would be safe inside the walls of Sanctuary, that Negan would feel indebted enough to Carl to keep him as a worker of some sort and keep him protected inside the factory. Shane weighed Carl's options and found Carl would never make it out in the wild with him, so he just left Carl on Negan's doorstep the way people will abandon a dog in front of a pet shelter. Like, yes, it's a shitty thing to do, but it's still better than leaving them in a dumpster.

Everyone is so focused on her, no one pays attention to him. He makes his way into an empty space toward the back and Carl thinks he is out of the woods when Negan suddenly looks up, and his gaze hones in on him like a missile. Carl’s breath catches in his throat. Negan inspects him for a second before smiling slyly, like they’re sharing a dirty secret. The motions of his gloved fingers on the bat turn intentional, long up and down strokes along the smooth handle that make Carl’s stomach squirm. He knows, Carl thinks with horror. Somehow, he knows. The tip of Negan’s pink tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, his eyes dark and seductive, before he shifts his attention away from Carl and back to Regina.

I love, love, LOVE those little moments when Carl and Negan look at each other and the rest of the world disappears. There are so many moments like that in the Savior!AU and, in most of them, they don't even talk to each other, just exchange a glance, and yet there's a whole conversation happening, a conversation that only they know, and everyone else either doesn't notice or is left confused by it. These two are so connected, they (almost) always know what the other is thinking.

“You were late,” Negan reprimands. “I’m sorry,” Carl apologizes immediately, hoping he’ll just get an earful and maybe thrown into a cell as punishment. Instead, Negan grins from ear to ear. “I bet. Long night? I take it you enjoyed my gift? Put it to good use? Maybe you need another bottle already?” Carl’s cheeks turn crimson and he keeps his eye down on the concrete floor, hoping that a show of deference will appease Negan, make him so bored he’ll put him aside in favor of another chewtoy. Of course, it’s never that easy. Things go from bad to worse when Negan presses the blunt head of the bat to Carl’s chest, forcing him to step backward until he hits the door. Carl grits his teeth and he drops his mask of subservience, fed up with being herded and cornered like a sheep for the second time in two days. His glare adds fuel to the fire of Negan’s amusement and the man leans forward, his hand pushing until the hard weight of Lucille presses painfully against Carl’s sternum, squeezing the breath out of his lungs.

One thing I completely forgot and that I'm now rediscovering during this re-read is how often Negan touches Carl with Lucille. I remembered all the times Negan used her to touch Carl's shoulder in part 1, but I forgot how much Negan uses the bat to push Carl around in part 2 (and later part 3). It goes without saying that the bat is phallic symbol 101 so do with that what you will.

"But guys like Pete?” Shane chuckles, and there is nothing nice about it. “They’re vicious. They’ll beat up their own kids just because it makes them feel like a man and then they’ll go around and pretend they’re God’s damn gifts to the world. So if he comes to you again, you run to me. You don’t fight, you don’t stop, you don’t go to Glenn, or Maggie, or Abraham. You come to me, alright? I’ll deal with that piece of shit for you. Got it?” Carl looks at where Ron and Sam are arguing next to their dad, a perfectly normal family. The kind his parents always wanted them to be, trying so hard to pretend that everything was fine even when they spent entire evenings locked in a screaming match, until his dad inevitably gave up and walked out the door for a drive, leaving Carl alone with a frustrated mother. Then, the next morning, they would all gather around the breakfast table and eat the awful pancakes that Lori made them, chuckling quietly when his dad would ask who wanted the last piece, more floury lumps and pieces of eggshells than cooked batter. That’s what families in the old world used to do. Pretend. Pretend to be happy and satisfied and normal. It wasn’t an act aimed at other people, to make them lower their guard and put down their weapons, like the Cannibals at Terminus pretended. It was an act designed for the family itself, to fake happiness and contentment and normalcy, in the hope it would eventually turn into a reality. But in Alexandria, just like at Terminus, Shane could sniff out the bullshit quicker than anyone else. “Got it,” Carl answers.

That flashback is very dear to me for several reasons. 1. It shows that Shane wasn't always delusional. In fact, he was often more clear-sighted than most people around. 2. It's a reminder that things in Alexandria weren't rosy before Shane & co showed up, and that they still aren't now that Negan is in charge (Spencer, your days are numbered, buddy). 3. It's another instance of Shane being fiercely protective of Carl. If the Claimers had happened on Shane's watch, you can bet that he would have pulled a Rick and chewed out Joe's jugular as well, no questions asked. 4. Even when Shane is protective, he's also deeply possessive, telling Carl to go to no one but him, because protecting Carl is his job, because Carl is his. This, of course, is especially important to understand why Carl is so deeply attracted to Negan. After his mom died, Carl's only source of parental love came from Shane, who was defined by possessiveness as much as protectiveness. For 4 long years, this is what Carl has come to understand as love and affection. And of course, because fate works nicely like that, it's exactly the same way that Negan expresses his own love and affection: through protectiveness and possessiveness.

“I feel bad for what happened to that Savior girl,” Eduardo says at one point, interrupting Davey’s frustrated monologue about Richie’s choice of music. Behind the wheel, Davey scoffs. “You ever met Lara Lee? She would have shanked her own mother for a fix.” Eduardo shakes his head. “Still, man. She didn’t deserve to die like this.” Then, more quietly to Carl, “My cousin got gangraped. Before. Some white college douchebags at a party spiked her drink, even filmed it. That video went through the whole school. It was sick.” In the rearview mirror, Davey rolls his eyes. “Your cousin said she was raped. Girls always say that when they get found out. They go to parties and get frisky with the guys, shaking their little ass at them and then they change their mind when people start calling them sluts. Am I right?” he asks Big Richie next to him. The Savior shrugs, uninterested in the whole thing. Eduardo frowns. “Negan’s right. Rape’s fucked up. We can’t call ourselves Saviors if we let it happen.” “Give me a fuckin’ break. Negan’s only saying that because he’s got all the pussy he wants. If the wives weren’t lining up to be his private buffet, he’d be singing a different tune, let me tell you that. Same goes for you, by the way,” Davey mutters, his eyes narrowing at Eduardo in the mirror. “You think we don’t know how you’ve fucked half the lady workers on the floor? Is that why you always take their side? So they’ll keep serving you their pussy on a silver platter?”

Can you tell that Creepey Davey is a creep even in part 2? Also, RIP Eduardo, you were a nice cinnamon roll and you didn't stand a chance in the apocalypse. Also RIP DJ, I still don't know why I killed you off when you lasted so long in the series (if I remember correctly, DJ is one of the few Saviors we see fully integrated in Alexandria after the war, like Laura).

Obviously I'm not going to quote the whole Claimers attack, but I'll just say that this was the first Shane hallucination and it will not be the last. In fact, I always planned on Shane haunting Carl, and the Claimers episode felt like a natural beginning for that. A friend said in the comments of this chapter that Shane has his claws in Carl even after being dead, but this time it was for good, because it's what allowed Carl to escape the Claimers. This is 100% right. To me, the Savior!AU is as much about Carl & Shane as it is about Cegan. Shane is not going anywhere, whether it's in flashbacks or adrenaline-fueled hallucinations.

In front of him, Dwight whistles, and a girl he recognizes as part of Regina’s team hands him a walkie. “It’s Dwight,” the Savior says. “No sign of them but we found the kid, about two miles north from B point.” A voice crackles on the other end, and Carl freezes when he recognizes Negan, his tone unusually flat through the speaker. “Is he dead?” Carl finally puts the bottle down, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. The dirty fabric comes out red from Eduardo’s dried blood still on him. “No. He’s alive and well. Doesn’t even have a scratch on him,” Dwight answers with a shake of his head, slightly awed. No response comes back, and the both of them wait expectantly. After more seconds of worrying silence, the blond Savior frowns down at the walkie. “You copy?” Static buzzes. “Yeah,” Negan finally says. “Tell your team to keep looking but bring the kid home. I want to hear what happened.”

I debated a lot on how to make this scene happen. In the end, I went with complete silence on Negan's part because I felt like it would be the best way to subtly say a lot while saying nothing at all. This conversation on the walkie was of course a direct echo in the series to when Rick tells Negan that Carl is dead over the walkie. Negan's silence, his closed eyes and deep sigh, conveyed a lot while at the same time being extremely subtle. Same went for when Michonne read him Carl's letter over the walkie. JDM, the actor that you are <3

They drive in silence, and Carl doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but he just does. He drifts off without even realizing it, his head tilted against the window, warmed by the comforting rays of the sun and lulled by the roaring engine of the car. He jerks awake when the door suddenly opens. It takes him a second to figure out what’s happening, to recognize the moans of the walkers on the fence, the smell of metal and rotting flesh of the parking lot. He’s home. A pair of legs topped by a familiar belt buckle stops right in front of him and Carl blinks back against the blinding sun, suddenly high in the sky when it seemed to be morning only a few minutes ago. When he can finally see clearly, he finds himself face to face with Negan, bent down to peer at him in the passenger seat. He looks tired and angry, the circles under his eyes deeper than Carl remembers. But then their eyes meet, and the frown over his brow clears up as his lips stretch into a slow, slow smile. Negan laughs, a rough, warm sound. “God damn, kid. God damn.”

Another scene where I debated on how to make it happen and ended up settling on minimal words from Negan. Instead, it felt more right to give subtle signals of what this must have been like for Negan to think Carl was dead: the dark circles under his eyes showing he hadn't slept, his angry temper that clears when he finally sees Carl... When the Negan pov is ready to post in some more or less distant future, I'm really excited to share what this event was like on Negan's end, spending a whole night grappling with guilt over the fact that he likely sent Carl to his death.

Okay so I was trying to find a short passage to quote from the infirmary scene when Negan discovers what happened to Carl, but I just can't decide on a few lines so, to avoid copy/pasting everything, I just won't quote anything. BUT it was definitely so fun to write. Negan knows Carl better than anyone so he can tell that something happened that Carl isn't admitting to. He's frustrated by Carl's silence but at the same time he wants to be gentle so he has to refrain from just grabbing Carl by the ankles and shaking him upside-down until the truth falls out. He plays a guessing game until he finally gets it, and when he does, he has to physically restrain himself from going berserk and instead put Carl's medical care first. I love those moments when several emotions are battling inside of Negan at once: his rage, his heart, his reason, his needs, his duties... He's a complex character and far less impulsive than people might assume.

Same thing for the line-up episode, I'm not going to quote everything, but I'll just say that when Carl has to inflict violence, Shane always appears, because Shane will always be the embodiment of violence for Carl. He's the one who taught Carl to fight and be angry, he's the one who created Carl's violent tendencies and encouraged them to flow. Carl isn't a showman like Negan. He doesn't hurt people to teach them a lesson. When he hurts someone, it's either for survival or payback, nothing else.

Also, can we talk about @besosderuina's amazing fanarts of Shane and Dan???? Forever in love with their fanarts for the Savior!AU <3

Finally, he turns toward Carl and says, “Look, I know you and I had that moment in the parking lot before… And I just wanted to make clear that… well, that…” He fumbles for a moment, then seems to give up. “Holy hell, I’m not good at this touchy-feely shit,” he grumbles. “I’m sorry, is what I’m trying to say.” And it’s the first time that Carl has ever seen Negan apologize, to him or to anyone. “I thought I was helping you back then, being all sex-positive and shit. But after what those scumbags did…” His face scrunches up, like he just smelled something foul. “It was just really, really shitty timing.” “…Okay,” Carl says when Negan gets quiet and looks at him expectantly. He wonders if this is it, if Negan came all this way to apologize, but he doesn’t seem to be done. “I want to make one thing crystal clear: no one gets to touch you like that. Not them, not me, not anyone. And what you do—or don’t do—on your own free time is no one else’s business but yours. I screwed up, before. I crossed a line. And, Carl, I need you to tell me the next time that happens,” Negan pleads urgently, stepping forward before stopping himself, like Carl might get spooked if he gets too close. “Look, I know who I am. What I am. I’m the kind of guy who can waste people all the goddamn day. I’ll bash their heads in, iron their face off, make their wives and kids widows and orphans, but I don’t just do it for the kick of it. I’m trying to make order out of chaos. I’m bringing civilization back from the ashes and that means getting my hands dirty and scaring the living shit out of people so they follow the rules. Same thing goes for you and the rest of my Saviors. I’ll throw you in a cell and let the guys beat a lesson into you once in a while. Hell, I might even fantasize about having a go at you myself,” Negan says with a wry smile. Then, he sobers up, his eyes grave and steely once again. “But that’s it. I’ll never touch you below the belt like those assholes did. Whatever next rebellious little act you pull out of your hat, no matter how absolutely insane you drive me when you refuse to obey, that will never be part of the punishment. You hear me?” Carl nods, mystified. Negan opens his mouth like he’s about to say something else, but then bites his lower lip. He sighs and lets himself drop on Carl’s bed, his elbows on his knees, his leather jacket half-open like a crack in the armor. He looks exhausted, nothing like the excited showman of last night, making knock-knock jokes as he bashed in the heads of the Claimers with effervescent brutality. “Carl,” he sighs again, “I know you were all traumatized yesterday and that’s why you couldn’t talk to me… But I’m goddamn serious here. I need to know if anything like that ever happens again, especially in Sanctuary. I had a couple of guys a few years back who thought they could force workers to give them blowjobs in exchange for points, and I straightened that shit out the second I heard about it. So, if anyone tries something with you—or if you even see it happening to someone else—you come to me directly. I’ll take care of those dickheads for you. You understand?”

My favorite line here is the simile of the open leather jacket being "a crack in the armor". My second favorite line is me shooting myself in the foot by making Negan say he will never use sex as a punishment and then having Negan use sex as a punishment several times in part 3 (just off the top of my head: the failed blowjob, the sex against the door after the inhaler drama, the failed masturbation in the cell, the dick in the eye scene...). I'm a clown. *sad honking noise*

Conclusion; tldr: The Claimers never stood a chance against Negan. Carl is a badass. Negan doesn't know he's in a throuple relationship with Shane's ghost. Rick & co will appear in part 4 once I figure out how to make it happen. If TWD writers can handwave the plot away then so can I.

You can find the commentary for part 2, chapter 6 here.

[msilwrites]

Papa Bear Material Ch 8 (Captain Price Fic) - Whiplash

Chapter 1  Chapter 1 (Shorter Version) Chapter 2  Chapter 3   Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 9 Chapter 10  Chapter 11 (Last Chapter)

@darkangel4121@teenagellamaangel@madzzz0797@callsignferal(To the other’s who want me to tag you when there’s an update, just tell me at the comments)

A/N: Hi guys! Sorry for the delay in updating. I wanted to make sure I did proper research on how an actual OPS (operation) goes down, so I could make the scene as realistic and detailed as possible. I tried to break it down so it's easy to understand and hopefully paint a vivid picture. Apologies if it’s a bit long, but HERE is a little bit of a spoiler; if you stick with it, there’s something funny at the end, so be patient! Or, if you're not feeling patient, just skip to the bottom and get your laugh. 😂 Thanks for reading! ----------

Y/N couldn’t ignore the progress her team was making. Their drills were faster, sharper, and far more coordinated than before. It was such a stark improvement that even they started teasing her about it.

But Y/N knew exactly why.

Price was relentless. Every drill, every scenario, he dissected her tactics with ruthless precision. A gap in her perimeter? Exploited. A hesitation in her decision-making? Targeted. Overreliance on sweeping and clearing? He turned it against her without hesitation.

It wasn’t just a training exercise anymore—it was personal.

Her team noticed too. While they kept things professional, the pattern was clear: Price wasn’t just testing the squad; he was laser-focused on her. The way he singled her out made her grit her teeth, though she kept her expression neutral. Giving him the satisfaction of a reaction wasn’t an option.

Still, his determination forced her to adapt. After every drill, she analyzed his methods, shored up the weaknesses he’d exposed, and adjusted her approach. Sometimes, she even managed to outmaneuver him, claiming small victories.

But those victories were fleeting. Every time she won, he came back harder, forcing her to lose twice over. It was infuriating, a game of tug-of-war where he refused to let her gain any ground for long.

And yet, she refused to back down. If Price wanted to play this game, so be it.

That afternoon, after the morning drill and a quiet lunch, Y/N stayed in her cubicle. She avoided the rooftop entirely, certain Price would be there, ready to disrupt her peace. Instead, she sat at her desk, pretending to focus on paperwork while her thoughts churned.

Always one step ahead, she thought, her jaw tightening. The frustration simmered as she replayed the challenge in her mind.

She hadn’t cared much about winning or losing before. Her focus had always been on her team—protecting her people, completing the drills, and moving forward. But now? With this ridiculous deal hanging over her head, the thought of losing felt unbearable.

Her hand hovered over the edge of her desk as an idea began to form. If Price won, she wouldn’t owe him anything—not really. She’d play along until her reservist ended, then disappear. Block him, ignore his calls, and ghost him completely. It would be clean and final. No date. No follow-up. No Price.

A flicker of satisfaction tugged at her lips. If he thought a few drills and some clever teasing were enough to wear her down, he had another thing coming. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of winning—not in the way he wanted, at least.

I’m a woman of my word, she mused, leaning back in her chair, but that doesn’t mean I’m playing by his rules.

Her plan solidified with each passing second. She wouldn’t engage. She’d leave him on read, let his messages pile up unanswered, and ignore his calls entirely. Let him deal with the frustration of being left in the dark.

He’d think he’d won—that his persistence and charm had paid off—but she’d pull the rug out from under him. No explanations, no closure. Just silence.

She smirked faintly at the thought, her resolve hardening. Price might be relentless, but so was she. If he wanted to play games, she’d make sure he left empty-handed.

With a quick glance at the clock, Y/N straightened in her seat, readying herself for the next round of drills. If Price thought he could push her into a corner, he was about to learn just how wrong he was.

----------

Y/N had managed to win two rounds of drills, narrowing the gap between their scores. One more win, and she’d even the playing field—or lose and be stuck honoring that ridiculous date. Or not. Disappearing was still an option, and her mind was already spinning with plans on how to make that happen.

The next day, however, brought an unexpected twist. There were no drills. Instead, the entire unit was called in for a counter-terrorism operation. The situation was serious—real, not simulated—and the urgency was clear. They needed to act swiftly, decisively, and most importantly, quietly. Resolving the threat before the media caught wind of it was critical.

Y/N was already gearing up when she noticed Price’s absence. For once, he wasn’t on base, and the thought gave her a small measure of relief. She didn’t know when he’d return—not that it mattered. By the time he did, she’d be gone, fully immersed in the operation.

Her focus sharpened as she prepared for what lay ahead. There was no room for distractions, no space for personal frustrations. The mission came first, and she intended to give it her all. If Price did show up later, it wouldn’t be her problem. She’d be in the field, doing what she did best.

One more drill can wait, she thought, strapping on her gear. For now, the stakes were higher than a petty competition. ----------

The operation unfolded like clockwork. Three teams, each with their assigned roles, moved into position with precision. Y/N and her team touched down on the rooftop helipad, the unmarked helicopter disappearing into the distance as soon as they disembarked. The air was brisk, and the city below carried on, blissfully unaware of the chaos lurking within the office building.

"Alpha One moving," her teammate reported over comms as he and another operator headed toward the fire exit on the rooftop, preparing to descend.

"Alpha Two in position," came the confirmation from the second half of their helipad team, who were securing their entry through the service access point.

"Alpha Three ready," Y/N whispered into her mic, her voice calm despite the slight tremor of nerves beneath the surface. She secured the rope to an anchor point on the rooftop, double-checking every knot.

Her smaller, lighter frame made her the ideal choice for the rope descent. Her teammates, though strong and capable, weren’t the ideal for this kind of maneuver. She, however, was.

“This isn’t a roller coaster at the theme park,” she muttered under her breath, tightening her grip on the rope and edging closer to the drop. At least here, she had control over the outcome.

The snipers’ voices crackled in her ear. “Targets confirmed on the ninth and tenth floors. Two on nine, three patrolling ten.”

“Copy that,” Y/N replied, her hands tightening further on the rope.

One of the snipers added, “We can’t fire clean. They’re grouped too tight. If we take one, the others will know before we can cycle the next round. It’ll blow the whole op.”

Y/N understood immediately. The targets’ close proximity and overlapping patrol routes made it nearly impossible for the snipers to eliminate them without alerting the rest. This wasn’t about precision—it was about timing, speed, and silence.

“That’s why you’ve got me,” she said, her voice dry but focused.

With a deep breath, she stepped backward over the edge and began her descent. Feet pressed firmly against the glass exterior, she moved smoothly downward, her body angled and controlled. Each step and slide was deliberate as she relied on the rope for balance, her rifle secured but ready.

“Ninth floor, second office from the left. Two targets,” one of the snipers reported.

“On it,” she replied, her voice steady.

Pausing her descent, she angled her body, flipping upside down with practiced ease. Her rifle was in position within seconds.

“Hold fire,” she murmured to the snipers. “On my mark. We take them together.”

There was a pause on the comms, followed by quiet acknowledgments from the snipers.

“Three… two… one… mark.”

Y/N fired simultaneously with the snipers stationed across the building. Her silenced shots punctuated the air as the figures behind the glass dropped in sync, their bodies hitting the floor soundlessly. The timing was flawless—no alarms, no panicked shouts.

“Clear,” she reported, resuming her glide downward.

“Three on the tenth floor,” the sniper advised.

“I see them,” she confirmed. Adjusting her position, she fired again with precision, her gloved hands steady. These targets were more spread out, but her silencer and sharp aim ensured they never knew what hit them.

By the time Y/N reached the designated floor, her teammates were already in position inside. One of them used a tactical glass-breaking tool to create an opening—a compact device designed to shatter glass with controlled force.

The sharp hiss of pressure and the cracking sound of glass breaking told her it was time. “Alpha Three, you’re clear,” her teammate signaled.

With a firm grip on the rope, Y/N swung herself inward, using the momentum to land softly inside the room. Her rifle was raised immediately, scanning the surroundings.

“Let’s move,” she ordered, her tone clipped and commanding. The team fell into formation, sweeping the next room with silent precision. ----------

The team moved swiftly through the first room, shots ringing out with practiced precision. Each movement was calculated—one target down, then another, each takedown happening in rapid succession. There was no time to waste.

Y/N and her team cleared the space, checking corners and eliminating threats as they went. Her focus was unbroken, the mission at hand consuming every ounce of her attention.

One of her teammates, a seasoned operative, gestured to the hostages huddled in the corner. “Move them out,” he instructed.

Another member of the team guided the hostages to the fire exit, his pace quick but measured. He ensured they stayed low, ducking behind furniture and moving out of view of any potential threats.

With the hostages safely on their way, Y/N and her remaining teammate moved to the next door.

“We wait for Alpha Four,” Y/N murmured, her eyes locked on the hallway.

“Understood,” her teammate replied, his voice steady but taut with anticipation.

They crouched in place, every sense heightened. The seconds felt like minutes as they waited for the others to arrive.

When the confirmation came through their earpieces, Y/N nodded. “Let’s go.”

Together, they moved toward the door. Y/N placed her hand on the breach tool, signaling to her teammate to prepare for entry. The device was positioned, ready to take down the door with minimal noise.

She took one last breath, steeling herself for the next phase. The countdown to breach was about to begin. ---------

As Y/N reached for the breach tool, the door to the next room shuddered under the pressure of a sudden, violent blast. The force hit her with unexpected power, sending her flying backward, crashing into the wall. For a moment, everything blurred—her body rocked from the impact, her breath knocked out of her lungs.

The blast had come from within the room—an ambush. The terrorist inside had anticipated their entry, and the door wasn’t just locked. It was rigged.

Her team reacted instantly, diving for cover, weapons raised. Gunshots tore through the air, deafening in their intensity. Y/N barely registered the chaos as her teammate, seeing her vulnerable position, lunged forward. He grabbed her, pulling her by the shoulders and dragging her to safety behind a nearby stack of crates.

“Move, move!” he shouted as they hit the ground. Y/N’s ears were ringing, her vision still fuzzy from the blast.

But they couldn’t afford to rest. The package—the critical asset they’d come for—was still inside with the terrorists. Y/N shook off the disorientation, forcing herself to her feet, gun in hand.

“We can’t let them escape with it,” she said, voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through her veins.

Her team nodded, their focus sharp. The mission hadn’t changed. They would break in, neutralize the threat, and secure the package. No matter the cost.

Shaking off the lingering disorientation, Y/N pushed herself up and sprinted down the hallway. The terrorists had moved fast, carrying sensitive intel—information that couldn’t fall into the wrong hands. Her helmet was long gone, knocked off during the blast, and she’d removed her balaclava to breathe more freely, the cool air filling her lungs.

Ahead, she spotted one of the terrorists. Without hesitation, she launched herself at him, her legs wrapping around his waist just below his ribs. In one fluid motion, she twisted, using her momentum to drag him down. Her arms circled his neck, tightening into a vice-like grip as she forced him into submission, cutting off his air supply.

He struggled, but it was too late—Y/N was already in control. His attempts to fight were futile as she held him firm, waiting for the rest of her team to catch up and secure the situation.

She charged forward, her body tense with adrenaline, as bullets suddenly ricocheted off the walls behind her. She barely registered the sharp pain in her shoulder, a bullet grazing her as she sprinted toward the fire exit. No time to stop, no time to think about the wound.

"Alpha Three, need backup, gunmen on my tail. I’m moving downstairs!!" she radioed, her breath ragged as she darted down the hallway, dodging the shots.

She had the package now, but the danger wasn’t over. With one hand clutching the precious intel, the other wrapped around a handgun, her knives still tucked securely at her side. The snipers were watching the glass, waiting for her signal.

"Alpha Three, abort! We’ve spotted a gunman on your floor," came the urgent call from the sniper. Too late.

The blow came suddenly—her face met the force of a backhanded slap, throwing her off balance and sending her crashing backward. Her head snapped against the floor as the terrorist lunged for his weapon, intent on shooting her and taking the package.

Reacting on instinct, she threw one of her knives, striking his palm and forcing the gun from his grasp. In a blur, she kicked it further out of reach, but the terrorist was quick. He pulled out his own knife, and the fight became a brutal, fast-paced melee.

The two exchanged strikes, the blade swiping past her face as she deftly evaded. His next move was swift—a stab aimed directly at her face. She blocked his arm with everything she had, forcing the blade away, and used her strength to push back.

With the force of the move, he stumbled, losing his footing. She seized the opportunity, maneuvering him to the ground beneath her. She quickly pulled out her own knife, aiming for a decisive strike—but he wasn’t finished yet. He pushed against her with all his strength, trying to keep her at bay.

In a savage moment of desperation, she sank her teeth into his arm, catching him off guard. He screamed in pain, his body jerking in response. But she didn’t stop. She pressed the knife deeper into his chest, her grip tightening as she continued to bite down, her teeth locking on his flesh. His eyes widened in shock and terror, but it was too late. With a final push, the blade buried itself in his chest, immobilizing him in fear and agony.

"Alpha Three, all clear. Package secure. Target down," she said, her voice strained, the metallic taste of blood lingering in her mouth.

The target had passed out from the pain—he wasn’t dead, though the knife had found a critical spot in his chest. The wound was deep, agonizing, but not fatal.

"Alpha Two, clear. Floor's secure. Charlie One and Two, you better fill me in on what you saw later," her teammate radioed, nodding toward the snipers.

There was a brief pause before the snipers spoke. "That was… well, quite savage, Inspector," they said, their tone a mix of admiration and surprise, trying to lighten the mood. They’d just watched her take matters into her own hands, witnessing the raw brutality of her actions up close.

----------

After the operation, she was rushed for medical attention. The bullet wound on her shoulder wasn’t just a scrape; it was deeper and more severe than she had initially thought. Blood oozed steadily down her arm, soaking the sleeve of her uniform, while the sharp, relentless pain made every movement unbearable. Her face, where she had taken a hard hit, was swollen and already blossoming into ugly shades of purplish-yellow, the throbbing ache a constant reminder of the brutality she’d endured. She had pushed herself to the limit, and her body was now making her pay for it.

Meanwhile, the unit worked quickly to secure all footage from the building’s CCTV. Keeping the operation under wraps before the media caught wind of it was critical sending it to MI5 afterwards. However, there was no escaping the evidence of her altercation—particularly the moment she’d bitten down on the terrorist’s arm to drive the knife deeper into his chest. One of her teammates, with a mischievous streak, managed to pull a clip from the drone footage and building cameras, which vividly captured her throwing the man down, the brutal bite, and the finishing stab. Within thirty minutes, the clip had made its way into the team’s group chat, where it had already earned the title of the "Savage Knife Fight."

The memes came pouring in. Someone photoshopped her face onto a snapping alligator turtle mid-bite with the caption: When the ‘snap’ in Snapping Alligator Turtle isn’t just a nickname. Another showed her lunging at a cartoon terrorist with oversized reptilian jaws, complete with a knife clutched in her teeth. By the time she’d finished getting patched up, the entire office had unofficially reaffirmed her title as the “Snapping Alligator Turtle” of the unit—a nickname she’d earned long ago thanks to the infamous joke patch on her uniform sleeve.

The patch itself was an inside joke from her team—a snarling cartoon depiction of a snapping alligator turtle, emblazoned with the words, “Fast? Not when you’re dead.” The twist? It was supposed to reference to her as a tortoise, not a turtle, as she was affectionately nicknamed the “Snapping Alligator Tortoise.” Her team loved pointing out that no such tortoise exists, making the name both a playful jab and a nod to her relentless tenacity in the field. After the knife fight? That patch felt less like a joke and more like a badge of truth, cementing her reputation in the most savage way possible.

The Chief smirked when he saw the latest round of memes circulating. “Looks like you’ve lived up to your patch again, Inspector,” he teased, leaning against the doorframe of the medical bay.

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a wry smile. “My other arm couldn’t push him down, so I had to do what I had to do,” she replied, her tone dry as ever.

The banter and jokes didn’t bother her—not really. If anything, they were a reminder that she’d done her job, even if she had to bite her way to the finish line.

----------

Earlier, the medic had to cut through the sleeve of her uniform to tend to the wound on her shoulder. Now, her dominant arm was heavily bandaged and barely functional, leaving her to manage everything with her non-dominant hand. It made simple tasks—like typing or clicking a mouse—frustratingly slow and clumsy.

To make matters worse, the painkillers she’d been given contained something that left her drowsy and sluggish, further slowing her progress. Every few minutes, she caught herself blinking too long, the haze of exhaustion tugging at her focus.

Her unit had urged her to go home and rest for the day. “You’ve done more than enough,” one of them had said, practically pleading. But she’d waved them off, stubborn as ever. “I’d rather finish the paperwork now,” she’d replied flatly. “No point in letting it pile up for tomorrow.”

So there she sat, struggling through the reports with one arm out of commission and her body fighting to shut down. Her movements were slow but deliberate, her determination unwavering. If nothing else, she refused to let a stack of unfinished paperwork get the better of her after the day she’d had.

The office phone rang, cutting through the quiet murmur of keyboards and low conversations. Her colleague in the next cubicle picked it up, his expression shifting from casual to mildly alarmed. He glanced over at her, hesitant.

"Uhhh… Commander Price is asking for you," he said, dragging out the words like he was delivering bad news.

Her fingers froze above the keyboard, and she immediately tensed at the name. For a moment, her tired brain tried to pretend she hadn’t heard him. With a sigh that sounded more like a groan, she finally looked up.

She was in no mood for this—not with her dominant arm out of commission, her painkillers making her feel like she was one wrong blink away from passing out, and her shredded sleeve making her look like the Hulk mid-transformation.

With a deadpan, drowsy expression, she replied, "Tell him I’m busy. Really sorry." Her tone suggested she was anything but. Without waiting for a reaction, she turned back to her painfully slow typing.

Her colleague hesitated, but then dutifully repeated her words into the receiver. A sharp click sounded as the line disconnected. He stared at the phone for a moment, then placed it gingerly back in its cradle, casting her a sidelong glance.

"You know he’s not gonna buy that, right?"

"Not my problem," she mumbled, squinting at the screen. "He can wait like everyone else."

About 10 to 15 minutes later, her colleague, now holding a freshly filled mug from the water cooler, burst into the office at full speed.

"Y/N! Commander Price is in the hallway! He’s heading this way!" he blurted, nearly spilling his drink in the process.

She froze mid-keystroke, her eyes widening in disbelief. "You’re joking," she muttered, though the look on his face confirmed he was very much not.

Her drowsiness evaporated instantly, replaced by a sudden, panicked burst of energy. She shot up from her chair, looking around like a trapped animal. Hide! Where to hide?!

Her first instinct was the file closet, but one glance at her injured arm told her there was no way she could wedge herself in there. Desperate, she looked at the desks, considered crawling under one, but quickly dismissed it as undignified.

"Think, think, think!" she hissed, spinning in a small circle like a malfunctioning robot.

Finally, her eyes landed on the fire exit. Without a second thought, she bolted for it, ignoring the confused looks from her colleagues. She flung the door open and dashed down the stairwell, taking two steps at a time despite her bandaged arm screaming in protest.

By the time she reached the first floor, she was breathless but didn’t stop. She ran straight through the lobby, past a bewildered colleague who barely had time to call out, “Everything alright, Y/N?”

“Yep! Totally fine!” she replied, not breaking her stride.

And then she was out the door, vanishing into the afternoon like a fugitive fleeing a crime scene.

----------

After bolting down the fire exit like her life depended on it, she burst into the parking lot, deciding to make a break for the mess hall building. Maybe she could catch her breath and grab a drink before Price found her again.

Unbeknownst to her, Commander Price was already in the mess hall. Spotting her sprinting toward the door, he leaned casually against the frame, waiting like a predator lying in ambush. As soon as she was close enough, he straightened up, a playful grin spreading across his face.

“Boo,” he said, his voice low but unmistakably teasing.

She froze mid-step, her breath catching as her eyes snapped wide open in disbelief. “No… NO.”

Without a second thought, she turned on her heel and bolted back the way she came. “Not today, Price! Not with my luck!”

Her panicked retreat was as chaotic as it was ill-planned. In her frenzy, she failed to notice the police van reversing directly into her path. By the time the warning beep registered, it was far too late. She collided with the front of the van, the impact sending her sprawling across the hood.

“FUCK!” she screamed, rolling with dramatic flair across the windshield before tumbling off the side and landing with a graceless thud on the pavement.

The van screeched to a halt, and the driver jumped out, his face pale. “Inspector! Are you—oh my gosh!! are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” she snapped, though the way she cradled her now definitely broken arm told a different story. Groaning, she flopped back onto the pavement, glaring up at the sky. “Just… give me a minute to die in peace.”

By then, the entire parking lot was in an uproar. Unit members spilled out of the building, drawn by the loud thwack of human-meets-vehicle. Captain Price, who had witnessed the entire debacle from the mess hall entrance, was already sprinting toward her, his expression shifting from amusement to genuine worry.

Kneeling beside her, Price’s gaze flicked from her arm to her face, his tone softer but still laced with teasing concern. “Bloody hell, darling. Are you trying to give me a heart attack? First running like a lunatic, and now this?”

She glared at him through the haze of pain, her voice sharp despite her discomfort. “Don’t darling me, Price. If it isn’t obvious, I didn’t want to face you!”

His lips quirked into that infuriating smirk she’d come to dread. “So, you admit you were running from me?”

Her eyes narrowed further, venom practically dripping from her gaze. “I blame you! If you hadn’t ambushed me, I wouldn’t have been running!”

Price raised an eyebrow, clearly unbothered. “Would it help if I carried your paperwork to the hospital?”

She let out a frustrated groan and shot him a rude hand gesture with her good arm as the non-emergency ambulance pulled up. The medics began loading her onto the stretcher, her scowl deepening with every second.

“Gosh, I hate you,” she muttered, closing her eyes as if willing herself to disappear. “This is all your fault.” her scowl growing darker with every jostle.

The medics prepared to shut the ambulance doors when one of them turned to Price. “Commander, do you want to ride along? She might need some support.”

Her eyes snapped open, fire practically shooting from her gaze. “NO! I said, keep that man away from me!”

Price, now thoroughly entertained, leaned closer with a grin. “See you at the hospital, love.”

The doors shut, muffling the beginning of what sounded like a creative string of curses.

The parking lot fell into stunned silence before one officer snorted. “Honestly? That might’ve been the best entertainment we’ve had all year.”

Another officer grinned. “Oi, Captain! You better follow her! She’s gonna need someone to carry all that pride back!”

Encouraged by the cheers and laughter from the unit, Price gave a mock bow, climbed into his car, and started the engine.

By the time she spotted his 4x4 in the ambulance’s window, her angry groan could probably be heard in the next postcode. “I swear, if that man follows me into the hospital, I’m filing two injury reports—one for my arm and one for my sanity!”

A/N: Well, I hope you enjoyed this chapter despite it being a bit on the longer side. I tried to get into all the messy, chaotic details. 😅 And just a heads up, it’s going to be a little harder for her to run away from Captain Price now, especially considering she’s injured. But we all know she’ll try, anyway. 😂 Thanks for reading, and as always, feel free to drop your thoughts below!

Edit: On to the next chapter!!-------->

[wheneverfeasible]

WIP Word Game

Rules: You will be given a word. Share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word.

Tagged by @estrellami-1 for this one, with my word being…

RUNNING

🏃‍♀️ 🏃 🏃‍♂️🌟🏃‍♂️‍➡️ 🏃‍➡️ 🏃‍♀️‍➡️

Robin tried to understand, and she definitely understood more than most, definitely more than Nancy and Jonathan ever had. But there was still something deep inside Steve that he just couldn’t properly or even fully explain because there just weren't enough words for it.

“What’s in a Name” - marriage of convenience

🏃‍♀️ 🏃 🏃‍♂️

Ungrateful, selfish, infuriating little savage bastard. Steve wanted to wipe that self-righteous and smug look right off Munson’s stupid face. It really was unfair that the guy was as attractive as he was, because his personality was a giant, steaming pile of shit.

“Blackmail” ch. 4

🏃‍♂️‍➡️ 🏃‍➡️ 🏃‍♀️‍➡️

Nancy’s hand twitched, and Robin’s eyes automatically dropped to the movement. To the gun still in Nancy’s hand. Terror filled Robin’s chest in a way it hadn’t been able to then on the dirty restroom floor.

She’d just came out to someone holding a gun.

untitled Ronance

🏃‍♀️ 🏃 🏃‍♂️

Not that stressing over anything would change the outcome. If his royal omeganess wanted to have Eddie beat up or whatever, he’d just take it and grin back with bloody teeth. Like usual. He was getting quite good at taking punches, but he was even better at running.

“King Chooses Freak” - omegaverse

🏃‍♂️‍➡️ 🏃‍➡️ 🏃‍♀️‍➡️

“If you insist, little nugget,” he replied, and Lonnie again felt something like jealousy curdle in his stomach at the way Will beamed at the older boy. Steve let out a sigh then and moved to sit in the chair nearby, crossing his legs at the knee in a way his pop would have termed girly. And thus entirely unacceptable.

“Waynnie” - Wayne/Lonnie

🏃‍♀️ 🏃 🏃‍♂️

Now, Steve was prepared to put a stop to a lot of things if need be. He knew what bands, especially super famous ones, got up to in dressing rooms and hotels. Knew that he might have to put his foot down and demand whatever half-undressed groupie was inside to vacate immediately, or throw out whatever illegal drugs were no doubt strung about the place.

“this side of the moon” - sugardaddy/sugarbaby

🏃‍♂️‍➡️ 🏃‍➡️ 🏃‍♀️‍➡️

“God!” he exclaimed. “Fuck, Eddie, I would never,” he continued in a rush. “I meant it man. I’m good, I’m cool. I don’t care about that. You’re one of my best friends, man. I don’t care who you find attractive or want to…I don’t know, date, or fuck, or whatever. I swear, I’m totally good. I just…”

And here Steve looked regretful, remorseful, repentant. Embarrassed, even.

“I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just…you said something earlier that seemed to confirm my suspicions and I just…I wanted you to know I’m cool with it.”

untitled steddie summer

🏃‍♂️‍➡️ 🏃‍➡️ 🏃‍♀️‍➡️ 🌟 🏃‍♀️ 🏃 🏃‍♂️

I’m gonna be honest and I’m just gonna tag my permanent tag list because it’s late and I’m tired and I’ve been tagging so many people recently. If you’re a writer, great but no pressure! If you’re not…idk, enjoy these snippets I guess.

Hostage Hotties (open):

@derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @scoops-aboy86 @dotdot-weirdlife @everywherenothere @bumblebeecuttlefishes @hiei-harringtonmunson @estrellami-1 (hehehehe) @nebulaoz @renfrisol @tinyplanet95 @hairspraywhore

Your word is…

CHIMNEY

[marisol-000]

The Sandbox Scientists ch.2

Chapter 2! I can't believe how long this got, I had to push some stuff to the next chapter sooooo look out for that one!

(a03)

The boys didn't take the news that they weren't going home well.

There were lots of tears and crying and yelling until eventually weak promises and the offer of cookies calmed them down.

She couldn't blame them of course, the poor things suddenly waking up in a place they don't recognize with people they don't remember.

But what could they do? Neither she nor Robert knew where Jekyll had lived, just “somewhere” in Glasgow; and forget Edward 'street urchin’ Hyde!

Even if they could send them home it probably wouldn't be a good idea. Whatever had happened to her friends was likely temporary, or at least more likely to be solved by one of the scientists here than any townie in scotland.

All they could do now was try to keep the two comfortable while they looked for a solution.

And the first step to that was to get the boys in some fitting clothes!

“Right, but we don't have any. This isn't exactly a daycare.” Robert mused.

“Well you seem to forget! I'm quite the gifted seamstress!” Rachel bragged, wiping some cookie dough off her hands.

She flipped the patterned rag over her shoulder. “I can have some outfits going for these two in no time.”

Robert leaned around her, peeking into the kitchens where the two were playing tag. Henry kept tripping over his pants which slowed him down, but Edward couldn't seem to catch him anyways; not stepping wide enough and his arms not quite reaching, so there seemed to be no clear winner.

He let the door swing shut.

“Hmm, A whole wardrobe? For two boys? There's no telling how long they'll be this way. We'll need shirts, slacks, vests, coats, shoes and who knows what else. I'd much prefer taking him to a tailor.”

“Him?” Rachel raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms, “I suppose you mean Henry.”

“Yes Henry.” he said unflinchingly, “You can't expect me to take Edward Hyde to the bloody tailor, he's still a wanted criminal you know.”

“He's a child!”

“He's a nuisance! He'll probably knock a candle over and set the shop on fire, it's in his nature.” he huffed.

Rachel paused and clenched her hands. She fixed him with a nasty glare.

“Don’t talk like you know him! That fire was *not* his fault! Master Hyde is a sweet boy who’s not done *anything* wrong.”

Lanyon hesitated, surprised by her sudden attitude change. Regardless he cleared his throat.

“Well, you seem to have forgotten about all the drinking and bar fights he’s known for. He's a bad influence. I don’t want him anywhere near Henry.”

Rachel rolled her eyes, “He is *not* a bad influence.”

She walked into the kitchen, swinging the door open and holding her arm out to gesture. “Edward Hyde is a charming young man who would never do anything wrong, much less convince Henry of all people to do so too!”

Both boys were on a chair, eating raw cookie dough directly from the bowl.

They blinked at the adults with their big round eyes.

Robert crossed his arms over his puffed chest, turning to her with an infuriating smirk.

Rachel sighed and got them cleaned up.

First Edward, then she balanced Henry on her hip while leaning over the sink. He was old enough to use the bar of soap by himself but she couldn’t resist wiping his rosy cheeks, humming while she dried his hands with her apron.

His feet barely touched the floor before Robert grabbed his arm and whisked him towards the door.

“Oi! And where do you think you’re going?” Rachel yelped.

“To the tailor, as I said.” Clearly believing he won that argument. Which he hadn't! She just… hadn't had the best timing.

“While he looks like that?” she gestured to Henry’s oversized and by now wrinkled clothes. “Robert, people are gonna think you kidnapped him.”

“Well how do you-” Lanyon made a shooing motion towards Edward, who was trying to follow them, “How do you expect the tailor to make him clothes without measuring him?”

Rachel rolled her eyes, sometimes she couldn't tell when he was being a helpless rich boy who couldn’t do anything himself or just plain stubborn. 

“I’ll take the measurements, they don’t need him there in person. I’ll measure both boys and you can take that to them. 

And say it’s for nephews come to town! No one’s gonna believe Robert Bleeding Lanyon of all people is taking in poor orphans.” That got a snort out of him.

Privately she didn't think it was a good idea to separate the two so soon, they only just stopped crying. And they'd been sticking close together since she and Robert found them. Seemingly feeling safe and comfortable with each other.

She snickered to herself. She couldn’t wait to tell Dr. Jekyll and Hyde how cute they were together.

Once they warmed up to the place the kids will be back at each other's throats in no time!

“Besides, you probably couldn't handle one child much less two.” she smirked.

Robert huffed, Take that! Who's winning now Robert?, and crossed his arms while sitting back down at the table.

“Fine, whatever, just measure them already.”

Rachel ushered the boys to her room, wrapped a measuring tape around the wiggly worms, and wrote a list of things for Lanyon to buy. With notes on fabric types and colors. Lots of Red and Green of course!

As much as she would have loved to see Edward in Eli's old clothes, they hadn't kept any from that age.

The neighborhood they had lived in was in constant need of hand-me-downs, and they hadn't been expecting to need things to remember him by…

Anyway!!!!! That just meant that it was time for her favorite activity:

Dress up time!

‘Edward Hyde’ was not enjoying dress up time.

They liked Rachel, the woman who found them, well enough. She was making them cookies after all, but she's so grabby!

Especially with him, he couldn’t go longer than a minute without being practically picked up in hugs or stuffed with various snacks.

Not that he didn’t want them, he was SUPER hungry after waking up, but the way she squealed when he said ‘Thank you’ hurt his ears.

Henry…it felt weird to call someone else his name. He tried to think of it like the two Jeffery’s in his class, who both had the same name. Instead of someone else who was him.

Henry didn’t like being prodded either. Whispering as much to him when she left the room with her note.

He agreed, and hoped whatever “Situation” the adults said they had to be here for would be over soon.

“Alright! Here are those cookies I promised you, *cooked* this time.” Rachel pouted, entering the room with a silver tray.

“You two are welcome to any books I have when you're done, I'm gonna be busy for a while.” With that she sat at some sort of machine. And started using it to stitch some fabric together.

He knew how to stitch! Well, kinda, Momma had shown him a few times, but putting dead animals back together was different than clothes.

He snuck glances at the boy who was also Henry, who occasionally glanced back.

He wanted to talk to him so bad, surely if they were the same person then he had done that too?

He wanted to ask so many questions, and try things he couldn’t do alone. It was thrilling to potentially have a friend that was willing to do weird stuff with him.

But for now Rachel was in the room, and adults never liked his ‘science’ much.

The two of them sat in silence and ate their cookies.

After what felt like hours the woman straightened up with a pop in her back.

“Whew! Two pairs of shirts and pants in record time! Ready to try them on?”

He looked up and nodded eagerly, dropping the dreadfully boring romance novel, “Yeah! It’s so cold in here.”

She whipped her head to look at him, pigtails flying.

“Oh! I’m so sorry Edward, I should have noticed! I’ll get you some blankets and more of Jekyll's socks, I’m sure we can layer them til you're warm again!”

He was sure she could layer them to the point that he would never walk again.

“Er, no thanks! The clothes will be fine.” he said, dodging another hug.

Henry snickered softly, out of Rachel's hearing. He snuck around and inspected the clothes she put together for them.

They were nothing fancy, buttonless white shirts and coal black pants. The stitching for both of them looked to be black too, but upon closer inspection it was actually a dark green, it seemed she had a lot of green lying around.

He wondered if she would notice if they took out the thread later, or if this was a ‘gift’ they'd have to rewear, like with his extended family.

“Well, when you two are done, come back to the kitchen and I’ll make you something more filling than cookies!” she said, and muttered, “God knows you two don't eat enough.”

“Yes ma’am.” they said in unison. 

With another squeak and a giddy grin she shut the door behind her.

A few minutes later, the door slowly creaks open. And two heads pop out.

Archer was losing his mind. Maybe he saw wrong? Or was finally going mad like the general public believed.

Surely something had happened to his head because he could have sworn he just saw a child.

Two even.

“Uh…did you see that?” he asked Bird, welding pen loose in his grip.

Bird looked up from adjusting one of his contained moss cultures, “Hmm? See what mate?”

Archer was leaning comedically far in his chair to see out the door, cord stretching to its limit.

“Just. Two little…I don’t know, ghosts maybe? One of Maijabi’s do you think?”

Bird raised an eyebrow, “Something on the loose in the society again? Should we tell the others?”

“Uh, could be my imagination.” he said, but set the pen down where it wouldn't burn anything. He stretched his arms above his head and groaned.

“Well, I’m overdue fer a break anyway, it’s been a while since anything interesting’s happened around here.”

Flowers was on the hunt.

She was on her way to the kitchens for a bite when she saw a short shadow dart through the common room.

Fortunately she had all sorts of equipment in her pockets, a true scientist is always prepared! But for some reason her emf reader wasn’t picking anything up.

Not under a couch… not behind this case…

The clack of shoes alerted her to someone approaching but she was more interested in the sound of wheels or metal boots.

“Hello Flowers, what are you looking for?” Tweedy then, she should remember to ask about some more batteries before he left. Her mosquitoes were too small to include a charging port.

“A small robot,” she said, checking under a table, “ ‘bout waist height. I think one of Pennybrigg’s creations is on the loose.”

“Oh, is that what I saw? I thought Ito shrank someone again.” he laughed loudly.

“Yeesh, that woman can be cruel when she's pissed off. Still can’t believe Dr. Jekyll taught her how to do that.” she shuddered.

Tweedy leaned on an armchair, derailed from whatever he’d been doing, “Actually I heard it was Hyde, everyone forgets he is Jekyll’s lab assistant.”

“Ah, well I’ll believe Hyde did that.”

On the floor above, Lavender rushed in, skidding to a stop before the railing. A large net slung over her shoulder.

“Excuse me! Has anyone seen any kids around here?”

Flowers and Tweedy looked up at her in shock.

“Kids?! I thought that was a robot?” Flowers gaped.

“Well *I* thought it was one of our creatures. I saw something slip out of our lab and was chasing it, but it turns out there's actually human children running around the society!” Lavender wheezed.

“I can’t emphasize enough how dangerous this place is for kids.”

The two on the ground floor looked at each other, slack-jawed, then scrambled to help her search.

“Well, we’ll just hope none of your creatures slipped out after them!”

By now it had spread throughout the society that somehow, for some reason, there were children there.

A good amount of lodgers were gathered in a random hallway, loudly trying to figure out what was going on.

“Is it true? Are there really children here?” someone asked.

“Sure are!” Pennybrigg laughed, “I saw them with my own eyes!”

“Huh, I thought that's what that was but I didn't think anyone would be dumb enough to let kids in here.” 

“Does anyone know how many? We can’t have any left behind that's for sure.”

“Just two. I had to chase them out of my lab.” Griffin huffed, “The damn brats laughed at me.”

That earned a few snickers from the very mature adults in the room.

“How’d they even get in here is my question.”

“Well, it’s not like we keep the doors locked, it's probably just some curious teens here for a lark.”

“No, they looked younger than that. What if they're lost and need help?”

“Has anyone seen Dr. Jekyll? He’ll want to know about this.”

“Screw Jekyll! We don’t need him to hold our hands all the time, we can find two kids by ourselves!”

“But if they get hurt it’ll reflect badly on the society!”

The crowd murmured in worry, with people either confirming they locked their labs or resolving to. Luckett cursed and sprinted off right then, almost losing his hat in his haste.

“Then we’ll just find them before they get hurt! Come on, less talking, more looking!” someone said, clapping their hands loudly.

With that the crowd split off into different hallways.

“I GOT ‘EM!”

Twenty minutes later there came a cry from Ranjit Helsby.

Like a flock of birds the lodgers descended upon him. Cheering and pushing to see his catch.

“You cheeky buggers can’t hide from us!” Helsby crowed.

The exploratory bathynaut was carrying one child in each hand.

Scruffed and struggling like kittens, the two were yelping and crying for help.

They seemed to be about the same age. One was brunette, with a healthy flush, and dark brown eyes. He was yelling to be put down and kicking his legs in the air.

The other was smaller, frailer, a little pale but was squirming and kicking the same. He had a wild shock of blond hair, and quite the set of lungs, his voice quickly growing hoarse from his shouting.

The outfits they were wearing were odd. They weren't anything fancy, though they certainly weren't the rags worn by street urchins. Bizarrely, neither of them were wearing shoes. Just plain clothes with visible stitching.

Contemplative, Flowers reached into her pocket.

“Oh Helsby, put them down already!” Cantilupe cried, “They’re damn near the verge of tears!”

Sure enough the boys looked like they were about to start bawling. With the blond starting to hiccup, and the brunette's lip wobbling dangerously.

Pouting, Helsby did, trusting the wall of lodgers to prevent their escape.

Predictably the boys were off the second their feet touched the floor. Everyone reaching arms out and bumping into each other to catch them.

However they didn't try to escape, simply darting for the nearest person wearing a dress. Who happened to be Chabra.

They crashed into her, nearly knocking her off balance. She startled but didn’t pull away. The small boys took hold in fistfuls and buried their faces in her skirt.

Chabra leaned down and awkwardly, cautiously, put her hands on their backs.

“Aww, guys we scared them! They're just babies!” Archer cooed from the crowd, triggering a flood of coos from everyone else.

The blond one peeked out to give a glare, but it was watered down by his red nose and big eyes.

“W-Who are you people? Leave us alone!”

Lavender curiously offered her skirt to the boy closest to her, the brunette.

He eyed it for a moment, then took the bait, reaching a pudgy hand out to the fabric. He didn’t grab on though, only running a hand over it a few times.

Incapable of going one at a time, the lodgers began bombarding the two with questions.

“Are you lost?”

“Do you need us to find your parents?”

“Who sent you??”

“Wot? Nobody-”

“Yeah what? They're literally children!”

“That's what they want you to think!”

“Do you want to see me set this plant on fire?”

“What are your names?”

“Hen-er- Ed-”

“Henderson you say, I had a cousin named that, but my uncle's name wasn’t Hender!”

“Oh, shut up Bryson!”

“No my names-!”

“Do you know someone by the name of Rachel Pigdley?”

The two boys look up at that.

Amidst the swarm of questions, Flowers had managed to win their attention, the other lodgers quieting down attentively.

The boys hesitate, suspicious. They whisper to each other, not even Chabra able to hear despite still leaning at an awkward angle.

“Do *you* know Rachel?”

Flowers puffed in pride at her hypothesis being confirmed. She relaxed her grin into a softer, hopefully reassuring smile.

“I do, she's the Day Manager. Next to Dr. Jekyll, she's the boss around here. Though she’s quite nice when you get to know her.”

Pushing someone out of the way, she approached the boys and carefully knelt by them.

She reached into her pocket. And turned it inside out.

“You see? Rachel’s a friend of mine. She sewed some pockets into my dress for me.” Flowers showed the boys the stitching on her inner pockets. The thread was a lighter shade of green than theirs, to match her dress, but visibly the same pattern and spacing.

She could have done them herself but these ones had been thanks for fixing an alarm clock Hyde had broken when he came in a window once.

This more than anything seemed to convince the boys. They let go of Chabra completely and leaned over her pocket like curious birds.

“Yeah! Rachel patches up some of my stuff too!” Sinnet jumped in.

He raised the elbow of his shirt, where a large brown patch was surrounded by some soot that had never washed out.

Some of the others pitched in, getting the idea.

“Yeah mine too!”

“And me!”

The two boys seem convinced and relax fully. A few people let out sighs of relief that they wouldn't have crying kids on their hands.

“Do you live here too?” asked the blond, looking around at all the people.

Sinnet looked at him quizzically, “Too?”

“Yeah, like Rachel and Robert.”

“Oh, yeah! Can't say I know any Roberts, though.”

“They mean Dr. Lanyon dear. Dr. Robert Lanyon, our co-founder?” Lavender sighed.

“Huh, I didn't think he liked kids, you suppose they’re new recruits of some kind?”

“Do we look like babysitters? Half the things in this building could kill a child like *that*!” Luckett snapped his fingers.

To everyone’s surprise the two boys gasped in excitement, “Really?!”

They didn't look scared, they looked eager. And… curious?

“Er…yeah actually. Do you… want to see them?”

Lavender smacked the man on the shoulder, “Luckett!”

“Come on! You saw their faces!  Remember when you were that age and curious about the world? I'd bet anything these two are scientists!” he nodded confidently.

That got some excited whispers. Everyone turned to look at the two boys.

Their mismatched eyes were open as wide as possible, jaws dropped. “You-you’re scientists?” asked the brunette.

Nods from the crowd.

They looked at each other, then back. “We’re scientists!!!”

“That settles it! Let’s give them the grand tour!!”

The lodgers broke into cheers and lifted the boys up, prancing up the stairs as fast as they could.

As the others raced towards the nearest lab, Cantilupe and Maijabi followed at a more leisurely pace.

Once they reached the landing, the rapid click of flats managed to reach their ears.

Glancing over, they watched as Rachel ran through the halls and the common room. Calling out and frantically checking behind furniture.

“Oh, there's Miss Pidgley. I was beginning to think something had happened to her to have left those boys alone so long.” said Cantilupe.

Maijabi squinted, adjusting his eyepatch, “Hm, least she could’ve done was give us a heads up if there were new lodgers. It’s not like her.”

She paused to take a breath and called out again, “Edward! Henry! Edwaaaardd!!”

“Ah, that explains it, Hyde’s on the loose again.” Cantilupe giggled.

“Ha! That'll keep her busy fer a while. Suppose we’ll have to ask about the boys later then.”

Cantilupe nodded in agreement and they carried on behind the others.

Rachel checked the candelabras to make sure no candles were knocked over.

[beefromanoff]

Tempting Fate Ch. 10

summary: Friday night. Jade's in town. Tony throws a party. chaos ensues.

author's note: so this was originally twice as long but it was taking me forever to finish because I keep adding more, so I split it in half. here's part one <3

masterlist

tag list: tag list: @yiiiikesmish @sunflower1290 @barnescamboy @thedisc0spider @bitchy-bi-trash @kulteule @kandis-mom @i-mushi @unknown-writings @jainaeatsstars @mcira @brooklynbear32

Friday Afternoon | Stark Industries

Evie shut down her workstation with a satisfied sigh, for once not running up against the lab’s automatic “Hey, go home, workaholic” lights-out protocol. One implemented by Tony after she’d pushed 50 hours straight working, which normally he wouldn’t care about, but he claimed Pepper was trying to get his HR violations down these days. So today, she had wrapped up early, packed her things, and for the first time in forever, she wasn’t the last one in the lab.

Because today was special. Today, Jade was coming.

She grinned to herself, stuffing her tablet into her bag, barely able to contain the excitement buzzing in her chest. The last few weeks had been a whirlwind—Steve and Bucky consumed most of her waking thoughts, work was both exhilarating and infuriating, and she still felt sheer giddiness at the fact that her days were full of uninhibited innovation. One thing was missing, and it was her best friend in the world. It was all coming together. Now she had a weekend of chaos, cocktails, and much-needed girl talk awaiting her just outside of this tower..

But first—one quick stop.

Evie took the elevator up rather than down, the familiar ding echoing softly in the otherwise quiet residential floor. She swiped her access card with ease (one minor security clearance update never hurt anyone) and stepped inside the apartment Steve, Bucky, and Sam shared. The place was eerily still, missing its usual inhabitants, but that didn’t stop her from waltzing in like she belonged there.

She grabbed a sticky note from the counter, uncapping a pen with her teeth as she scrawled out a quick message:

Boys—Hope the trip isn’t too miserable without me. I’d say I miss you, but I don’t want it to go to your heads. See you tonight.P.S. Borrowing a hoodie from JBB, since I already stole one from Cap and never gave it back. Need to keep things even.

She signed it with a little heart.

Then, purely because she could, Evie meandered over to the bedroom she knew was Bucky’s, opened the closet, and rifled through until she found something suitable. A navy SHIELD crewneck with a small emblem embroidered on the shoulder, tiny threaded font reading ‘Sargeant J. Barnes’. Her heart fluttered seeing his name there.

Focus.

With one last glance around, she slipped out of the apartment, the elevator taking her down the dozens of floors to the lobby. When the doors slid open, she was met with the most smug face she’d seen in quite some time. Or however long it had been since she last ran into her employer.

“Well, well, well,” Tony drawled, arms crossed over his chest.

Evie narrowed her eyes. “If you’re about to say something clever, don’t. I’m leaving early for once. No snark allowed.”

Tony gasped, clutching his chest theatrically. “Leaving early? My god, someone take a picture. I thought you and the lab were legally married at this point.”

Evie huffed, adjusting her bag over her shoulder. “There’s another few years before common law kicks in, Stark.”

“I prefer to concern myself with other parts of the law,” he said simply.

Evie gave all her faux sweetness as she tilted her head. “Like what the punishment is for being drunk and disorderly?”

“Precisely.” Tony shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets, suddenly far too casual. “Anywho, I assume you’re leaving to go fetch your oh-so-delightful friend and prepare for tonight’s party. There’s no more noble cause. Carry on.”

Evie stopped walking and narrowed her eyes. “That’s it? No more commentary?”

Tony put a hand over his chest. “Nope. Go forth, have fun, commit minor crimes. If you don’t tell me what happens, I’ll assume the worst. I’ll see you both later.”

Evie smirked as she turned. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“Tell Jade I can’t wait to see her,” Tony called behind her. “I’ve missed her every day!”

“Yeah, I’ll be sure to pass it along.” Evie called back as she crossed the lobby, fighting a grin.

She’d been back in her apartment for approximately fifteen minutes when Jade texted that she was pulling up. Evie practically flew out of the elevator, nearly colliding with a poor delivery guy carrying three overloaded Doordash bags.

“Sorry—uh, important business,” she called over her shoulder, sprinting past the concierge desk and straight to the glass doors leading outside.

Jade’s car was a sleek, suspiciously expensive little thing, pulling up to the curb just as Evie burst through the doors.

“YOU—”

“OH MY GOD—”

The valet had barely stepped toward the driver’s side before Jade shrieked, throwing the car into park and launching herself out of the vehicle with zero regard for drawing attention to herself.

Evie ran right across the pavement. Right past a bewildered businessman who barely dodged out of the way. Right into Jade’s open arms. They collided, shrieking like they had just been separated for years instead of months.

Jade jumped, wrapping her arms and legs around Evie, forcing Evie to stumble slightly as she attempted to keep them both upright.

“I’VEMISSEDYOUSOMUCH,” Jade wailed dramatically, with absolutely zero regard for the fact that they had texted every single day and FaceTimed three times a week.

“IT’SSOGOODTOSEEYOU,” Evie screamed back, equally unhinged.

The valet, midway through reaching for Jade’s keys, paused, blinked twice, and subtly stepped back, as if deciding he did not get paid enough to be involved in whatever was happening here.

The doorman, however, was unfazed. He just sighed, rubbed his temple, and muttered, “Lord have mercy..”

Jade finally released Evie enough to slide back to her feet, but only barely, still clinging onto her arms.

“Oh my God, let me look at you—”

Evie grinned, stepping back dramatically and giving a twirl. “Same me, new tax bracket.”

Jade wheezed. “You look hot. Bitch, you look expensive. Is this what working for Tony Stark does to a person?”

“I mean, mostly I just get bullied on a corporate level and work obscene hours, but yes, the paycheck is nice.” Evie smirked, crossing her arms. “And damn, nice wheels, J. Guess your law career is really paying off.”

Jade grinned, patting the side of the car. “Oh, you know. Dad said I needed something reliable for my final year at Harvard.”

Evie snorted. “Mmm, yes. A brand new BMW convertible. Very practical. Perfect for studying.”

“Wouldn’t want to be late for class.” She winked.

Evie cackled, shaking her head. “Jesus, you are getting way too good at this. How are you even pulling this off?”

Jade smirked, slipping her arm through Evie’s as they finally started walking inside, making room for the valet to slip in and take her car. “Turns out, forged transcripts and the occasional paid-off admin assistant go a long way.”

“God, I cannot wait to see how this whole thing explodes one day.”

“We all have our cross to bear.” Jade sighed, dramatic. 

The elevator dinged as they stepped inside, trading places with the delivery driver from before. That’s when Jade finally took in Evie’s outfit, specifically the sweatshirt draped over her frame, the name embroidered on the sleeve, clearly not hers.

Her eyes snapped up, mouth dropping open. “IS THAT—”

Evie slapped a hand over her mouth, hissing. “Lower your voice.”

Jade ripped Evie’s hand away. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME—”

Evie gave a polite nod to the man, looking curiously over his shoulder as he walked through the lobby. Pushing the ‘close door’ button incessantly, she released Jade as the doors finally slid shut.

Jade cackled, utterly delighted. She bounced on her toes, eyes still locked onto Evie’s crewneck. “Evie. Genevieve. You absolute menace. That’s Bucky Barnes’ hoodie.”

Evie lifted her chin. “So it is.”

Jade fake-fanned herself. “Oh, my God. I leave you unsupervised for five minutes, and you’re out here stealing clothes off New York’s most eligible super soldier.”

Evie smirked, crossing her arms. “I didn’t steal anything off of them. It’s not my fault they just leave clothes lying around. In their bedrooms. On floors that I have access to.”

“Wait, did you say them? As in plural?” Jade clutched her heart. “I am so proud of you right now.”

The elevator dinged.

Evie grinned, looping an arm through Jade’s as they stepped out onto her floor. “Welcome home, baby.”

Jade sighed dramatically, already kicking off her shoes as they stepped inside.

“Holy shit, Eves,” She was breathless as she set her bags down and walked through Evie’s apartment. She took in the high ceilings, massive windows, and incredible skyline view. “Screw fake law school, I’m about to move in here and be your sugar baby. I’ll even call you daddy, swear.”

“Shut up,” Evie laughed, crossing her arms. 

“I’m not kidding,” Jade bounced up, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “Laundry, breakfast in bed, I’ll treat ya real nice…” She planted a glossy kiss on Evie’s cheek, making her squeal and shove her aside. 

“Jade!” She giggled, wiping the gloss print off of her cheek. “First of all, you can’t cook for shit, otherwise maybe I’d be tempted. Second, we need to get ready. We have a party to attend tonight.” 

Jade froze and turned, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “Why didn’t you lead with that?” 

An hour and a half later, Jade stood in front of Evie’s full-length mirror, tilting her head as she critically assessed the black dress she had just wiggled into.

“Okay, but does this say fun and flirty or I have committed fraud and I’m not afraid to do it again?”

Evie, finally finished with her makeup, flopped across her bed, took a lazy sip of wine and smirked. “It definitely says I lied my way into Harvard and will lie my way into your bed, too.”

Jade beamed. “Perfect.”

Evie giggled, rolling onto her stomach to grab the nearly full bottle of obscenely expensive wine from the nightstand. She tipped the bottle toward Jade’s glass, topping it off with an artistic flourish. “Drink up, baby. This bottle cost me way too much for us to even be considering drinking it.”

Jade snorted but took a sip anyway, immediately making a face. “Jesus Christ.”

Evie winced, tasting hers again. “Yeah, I know.”

Jade stared at the bottle. “This wine costs more than my rent. Why does it taste like ass?”

Evie groaned, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling. “I dunno. I saw a price tag with too many zeroes and thought surely this would be amazing for a special occasion such as this. Turns out, rich people are drinking garbage and convincing themselves they like it.”

Jade sighed. “Well, we gave it a shot.” She grabbed the nearly empty bottle of cheap tequila from the dresser instead, twisting off the cap with a flourish. “Let’s drink like the poor little peasants we are at heart.”

Evie grinned. “God bless America.”

Music played in the background, a Lana-filled playlist that was just loud enough to drown out their talking-over-each-other-catch-up but not loud enough to be a full-blown noise complaint.

Evi sat cross-legged on the bed, lazily twirling a strand of hair around her finger as she watched Jade attempt to curl her hair and take a tequila shot at the same time. It went about as well as expected.

Jade coughed, eyes watering, and set the shot glass down way too hard. “Jesus. Okay. Back to the important topic—”

Evie sighed, more for show than actual desire not to have this conversation. Jade spun to face her, eyes glinting. “THE SUPER SOLDIERS.”

“God, you’re relentless.” Evie groaned, rolling back onto the bed. 

Jade cackled, crawling onto the bed beside her. “Evie. You are living the dream scenario of every woman in America. Possibly the world.”

Evie tilted her head. “I don’t know. Chris Evans exists.”

Jade waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah, he’s great. But Eves, you have Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes wrapped around your perfectly manicured little finger, and I need details.”

Evie examined her hand nonchalantly. “I did get a manicure yesterday.”

Jade gasped, grabbing Evie’s hand. “Oh, let me see—” She blinked. “Wait, don’t change the subject.” She snatched Evie’s phone off the bed. “I swear to God, if you’re not texting them right now, I’ll do it for you.”

Evie laughed, reaching for it, but Jade dodged out of reach. “Oh my God, give it back—”

“Not until you admit that you’re in deep,” Jade sing-songed, holding the phone above her head.

Evie flopped back onto the pillows, groaning. “Fine. Yes. They are distracting and annoying and entirely too good-looking for their own good. Happy?”

Jade beamed. “Extremely. I mean, seriously. How is it fair? One super soldier? Understandable. Two? That’s just greedy.”

Evie grinned. “Oh, it’s criminal.”

Jade shrieked, kicking at her before launching herself off the bed and grabbing her half finished tequila shot. “Okay, okay—real talk.” She downed the rest of  it like it was water, then pointed dramatically. “You like both of them, right?”

Evie sighed, running a hand through her damp hair. “Yes.”

Jade smirked. “And they both like you?”

Evie paused, picking at the hem of Bucky’s sweatshirt.

“…Yeah.”

“And they’re both going to be at this party tonight?” 

“Yep.”

Jade wiggled her brows. “Oh, this is so good.”

“Please, you’ll be so distracted with all of New York’s finest bachelors-and-otherwise to even pay attention to me.” Evie sipped her drink, pacing herself more than her friend.

“As if a girl can’t multitask,” Jade winked. “Now go get dressed, we have a party to attend.”

Evie laughed, checking her phone as she pushed off of the bed. 

A text from Bucky popped up: You seriously broke into our floor just to steal a hoodie?

A response from Evie: i like to keep things even.

She stretched her arm out and snapped a quick photo. Evie, cozy in the hoodie, sipping ridiculously expensive wine, legs bare.

A new message from Bucky popped up.

Bucky: Brat.

Evie laughed, delighted, as she texted back.

see you tonight. xo

Jade, watching intensely, grabbed Evie’s arm. “I love you so much.”

Evie grinned.

“I know.”

________

The Uber pulled away, tires crunching against the pavement as Evie and Jade stepped onto the curb, looking up at the blazing spectacle that was the Stark Tower penthouse. Even from the ground floor, the music was thumping, and through the massive glass windows, silhouettes of partygoers moved beneath the glow of chandeliers and flashing lights.

Jade let out a low whistle, tipping her chin up as she took it all in. “I’m sorry. What kind of party did you say this was?”

Evie smirked, shifting her clutch under her arm. “A Tony Stark party.”

Jade grinned, turning toward her. “So pure chaos?”

“Correct.”

Jade’s eyes narrowed as she scanned the entrance, where a small army of private security guards stood flanking the doors. She gestured toward them, deadpan. “Okay, but why is there actual security? This is a party full of Avengers.”

Evie sighed, looping her arm through Jade’s and tugging her toward the private entrance. “Yeah, well, you don’t have to worry about supervillains crashing the party—just drunken CEOs and foreign dignitaries who can’t hold their liquor.”

Jade snorted, glancing over her shoulder as one of the guards subtly reached up to press his comms earpiece. “Are we even cool enough to be here?”

Evie grinned, flashing her badge at the private scanner. “We don’t have to be. I have clearance.”

A soft beep sounded, and the doors slid open, leading them into a sleek, gold-lit private lobby with a direct elevator to the penthouse.

Jade’s eyes widened as they stepped inside, her head tilting up. “Holy shit.”

Evie laughed, hitting the button for the top floor.

Jade turned to her, eyes bright. “Dude. I have seen this building on the news since I was like, twelve.”

Evie grinned, linking arms with her again. “Yeah? You starstruck?”

Jade huffed, rolling her eyes. “A little. Not the point.” She turned to Evie suddenly, excitement creeping into her voice. “Wait—can I see your lab?”

Evie let out a mock gasp, placing a hand over her heart. “Not even through the front door yet and you’re already more interested in my tech than my actual presence? Wow. I feel so used.”

Jade grinned, leaning dramatically against the elevator wall. “Evie. Bestie. Love of my life. I am always interested in you. However, I also have an insatiable hunger for your cool science shit. Show me the lab.”

Evie laughed, shaking her head. “Later. After the party.”

Jade groaned, dramatically tilting her head back. “Fine. But only because I know you’re excited to see your boys.”

Evie arched a brow, immediately deflecting. “I’m actually far more concerned for Tony’s behavior if he has to wait much longer before seeing you.” She tilted her head, lips curving. “Considering this entire party is because of you.”

Jade blinked, flat expression not fooling either of them.

“…Oh, shit.”

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, spilling Evie and Jade into the chaos of a full-scale Stark Tower party. The atmosphere hit them instantly—low lighting pulsing in time with the bass, laughter threading through conversations over the sound of clinking glasses, the gleam of a champagne tower catching the light from the massive chandeliers overhead. The open-concept space was packed, a swirling mix of New York’s elite, SHIELD operatives, and Avengers alike, all seamlessly blending into Tony’s particular brand of organized debauchery.

Even from across the room, Evie felt their eyes on her.

Steve and Bucky had been mid-conversation, Steve nursing a drink, Bucky flicking a poker chip idly between his fingers, when she stepped in. Now, they both stood frozen, the air around them shifting in a way that only seemed to happen when they were together. Their focus was locked, unwavering. Desperate.

A slow, satisfied smile curled at the edges of Evie’s lips.

Oh, they were done for.

“Ready to meet them?” Evie murmured to Jade.

“They’re so much…bigger in person,” Jade said through her smile as she looked them up and down across the room.

Evie waggled her fingers in a lazy wave, biting back a smirk as she watched Bucky shift in his stance, his grip tightening around the chip until it snapped in half. Steve didn’t even blink. Didn’t move. Just held her gaze like he was waiting.

She took a step forward—

And got intercepted.

“Evie!” Tony’s voice was already in rare form: booming, slightly slurred, and laced with the unmistakable glee of a man who knew exactly what he was doing. His arm slung around her shoulders before she could even react. “Just the genius I was looking for.”

She sighed, less than amused, before glancing up at him. “Oh? I was under the impression you had other priorities tonight.”

Tony smirked, then looked beside her to where Jade stood, effortlessly elegant in her champagne-colored dress, watching them with her usual brand of sharp amusement. His grip on Evie tightened. “Ah, yes. My priorities have just materialized in front of me. Hello, Harvard.”

Jade tilted her head, feigning confusion. “I’m sorry, have we met? I feel like I know you from somewhere…”

Tony grinned, already enjoying himself. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe from your wildest dreams?”

Jade let out a soft hum, considering. “Mmm, no, that’s not it.” She tapped a manicured finger against her lips. “Wait—you’re that billionaire. What’s your name again?”

Tony’s brows lifted. “You wound me.”

Jade’s lips twitched. “Something industrial… Stock? Stork?”

Tony’s smirk widened. “Keep going, sweetheart. It’s getting better.”

Jade snapped her fingers. “Oh, that’s right—Stank.”

Evie snorted. Tony barked out a laugh, clearly eating it up. “God, you’re dangerous. I love it.” He looked at Evie. “I love her.”

Jade took a slow look around the room, feigning disinterest. “You should be careful about throwing that word around, Stark. A girl might think you mean it.”

Tony leaned in, his grin sharp. “And what if I do?”

The air between them crackled. Evie rolled her eyes. “Alright, well, I’m not third-wheeling whatever this is.”

Tony barely glanced at her, waving her off. “Yeah, yeah, go find your geriatric boyfriends.”

Evie shot him a glare over her shoulder. “I will.”

And she did.

As she wove her way through the crowd, she felt the air crackling the closer she got.

They didn’t say anything at first.

Steve stood straighter the second he saw her, like his body reacted before his brain caught up. He was holding a glass, but he hadn’t taken a sip. Bucky was still flipping the half of the poker chip between his fingers, eyes pinned to her.

Evie slowed as she approached, letting them look. She never shied from attention anyway, but but there was just something about the way they looked at her.

Steve cleared his throat, gaze flickering from her heels to her face and back again. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke. “You look beautiful.” Not flirtatious. Not teasing. Just… sincere. Sweet. Steve.

Evie blinked, caught slightly off guard. “Thank you,” she said, softer than intended.

Bucky hadn’t spoken yet, but his eyes lingered on her a little longer, flicking over her hair, the dip of her collarbone, the cut of her dress. He didn’t say anything at first. 

“I thought you were going to wear red,” he said finally, voice rough at the edges.

“I did.” Her lips curled, tilting her head.

Steve tilted his head, brow creasing as his eyes scanned down her black dress.

Evie leaned in ever so slightly. Lowered her voice. “Underneath, Captain.”

It took a full second for Steve to compute. Bucky’s hand flexed around the fragmented poker chip.

“You’re dangerous,” Steve murmured.

“That’s funny,” Evie said, tone brightening into a tease. “Coming from the two men who’ve been sending me texts that could land you in mountains of HR paperwork for a very long time.”

Bucky’s mouth twitched. “You started it.”

“I seem to remember something about a coat closet,” Steve added, voice lower now.

“Mmm. I did mention that,” Evie mused, stepping just a little closer. “Tell me, Captain. Did that make you blush?”

Steve’s jaw ticked. “A little.”

“And you?” she asked, turning her attention to Bucky. “Still thinking about that red lace?”

Bucky didn’t respond. He just reached behind him and set the poker chip down on the table—snapped clean in half again. “Every damn minute.”

Evie’s smile turned dangerous. “Well then,” she said, taking a small step back, just enough to give them a better look. “What are you going to do about it?” Evie lifted a brow, coy and composed—but her pulse was hammering.

Bucky took a half-step forward. Steve’s hand flexed at his side like he wanted to reach for her and couldn’t. The tension wrapped around all three of them like static; buzzing, bright, inevitable.

“Okay, absolutely not,” a voice cut in from behind her. “This is a family-friendly event—depending on your definition of ‘family’ and your tolerance for lawsuits.”

Tony. Again.

Evie exhaled sharply through her nose, already annoyed, but the sheer smugness in his voice made her slowly turn towards him, not bothering to mask her glare.

“Tony,” she said, biting the word.

He grinned. “Evie. Darling.”

“What the hell do you—”

Tony leaned in, voice lowering just for her. "Unless you want the entire party to watch you and America's Most Wanted devour each other with your eyes, I suggest you take a lap."

Evie narrowed her eyes. “And what if I want exactly that?”

Tony clucked his tongue and slung an arm around her shoulders like he owned the place. Which, unfortunately, he did. “Then I’d have to remind you that I’m technically your boss. And Pepper has not-so-gently reminded me that I can’t afford another PR firestorm this quarter.” He turned to Steve and Bucky, nodding once with the air of a man who’s been dragged into this mess against his will. “Gentlemen.”

Steve looked like he was desperately trying to remember how to breathe. Bucky looked like he was seconds from committing a violent crime.

“I hate you,” she muttered. “Where’s Jade?”

Tony gestured with his drink toward the other side of the room. Evie followed his gaze and nearly snorted. Across the party, Jade was leaning casually against a barstool, absolutely holding court with a senator who looked completely enraptured, hanging onto her every word.

Evie shook her head. “Of course.”

Tony hummed. “You think she’s talking about politics?”

Evie glanced at the way Jade’s lips curved as she spoke. The way the senator was nodding along, utterly transfixed.

She smirked. “Not a chance.”

Tony took a sip of his drink, watching. “I love her.”

Evie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, get in line. Now what do you want? I know you have better things to do at this party than cockblock.”

Tony grinned, turning back to her. “I dunno, I just wanted to talk.” He slowly sipped his drink, clearly amused at her impatience. “Maybe to tell you that Leah Westbrook from Forbes is here, wanting to meet you and,” He nonchalantly swirled his drink, looking around the room as if he had all the time in the world. “Schedule a time to do a feature piece on Stark Industries’ newest prodigy?”

Evie blinked. Her irritation melted so fast it could’ve steamed off her skin. “What?!”

Tony smirked. “She said, and I quote, ‘I want to talk to the redhead in the black dress who made Tony Stark hire her twice.’ I assumed that was you.”

Evie clutched his arm, eyes wide. “You’re not messing with me?”

“Would I ever?” he said innocently. 

“Yes,” She scoffed, as though it were obvious.

“Well, I’m not. This is no joking matter. It’s very impressive, Red. I should know, I got my first Forbes feature at twenty-one. So, you know. You’re not too far behind.”

Evie scoffed. “You’re a nepo baby.”

“Rude, but not incorrect,” he said, shrugging. “Still counts.”

He took another sip of his drink, watching her practically vibrate with excitement. “She’s here with a few other reporters,” Tony added casually. “She said your latest patents have the tech world buzzing.’”

“Oh my god,” Evie whispered, bouncing slightly in her heels.

“Still mad I interrupted your very public verbal foreplay?”

“Yes,” she said sweetly. “But I’ll exact revenge after my cover story comes out.”

Tony chuckled. “You’re terrifying. I’m so proud.”

Evie threw her arms around him in a quick, excited hug; her excitement getting the best of her. “I know. Thank you. Thank you.” She spun on her heel. “Where’s Jade—Jade!”

Jade, still mid-conversation with the senator who looked visibly enchanted by her, looked over just in time for Evie to grab her by the wrist and yank her out of his orbit.

“We have a situation,” Evie hissed, fighting to keep her face neutral when her cheeks ached to break into a giddy smile.

“Is it a good situation or a blow-something-up situation?” Jade asked, already reaching for her clutch like she needed lip gloss either way.

“Forbes.” Evie squeaked. “There’s a woman here from Forbes. She wants to meet me.”

Jade blinked, jaw dropping. Then grinned. “Champagne. Immediately.”

“Yes.”

They both turned in perfect sync like a well-rehearsed heist team and started speed-walking toward the drinks table.

An hour later, the party was in full swing.

The music had shifted to something low and sultry, champagne was flowing like tap water, and the floor had split into loosely organized clumps: Stark Industries execs on one side, Avengers and their honorary members holding court on the other, an amalgamation of politicians, models, and professional athletes in between.

Evie stood near the balcony, half-listening to a perfectly pleasant but unmemorable CEO who’d introduced himself with some line about admiring her work. Though she would have bet her entire first years’ salary that he didn’t even know what she really did, she’d nodded, smiled politely, even laughed once—but her eyes kept drifting.

Steve and Bucky were holding position by the bar, where Natasha had stationed herself as the unofficial bartender. She wore a stunning green dress with a plunging neckline, and an expression that made people tip her without being asked.

The martini glass was cold against Evie’s palm, condensation dripping down the stem as she swirled the last remnants of the drink. She barely noticed.

Because across the room…

Steve and Bucky.

They looked good. Oh, so good.

While she stole another glance in their direction, another suit-clad business man joined them and the two began to drone on about stock options or quarterly earnings or some other meaningless nonsense. She tore her eyes away and forced herself to pretend to be engaged in the conversation in front of her, all the while committing the previous image to memory. Steve in a perfectly tailored navy suit, Bucky in all black, both leaning against the bar, sleeves rolled up, watching her just as much as she was watching them.

She should not be this affected.

Bucky lifted his glass to his lips, ice clinking softly, his blue eyes dragging down her frame at a pace that should have been criminal. Steve, beside him, was more subtle, but just as devastating. Jaw flexing, fingers drumming against the bar, like he was actively forcing himself to stay put.

They weren’t even hiding it.

Evie was losing her goddamn mind.

“…so as you can see, it’s a very exciting time for investors.”

She barely refrained from rolling her eyes. Who the hell were these guys?

She had stopped paying attention fully somewhere around his first mention of the economy.

Across the room, Bucky smirked. Steve glanced at him before leaning in to mutter something against the rim of his glass. Bucky huffed a quiet laugh. Evie bit her lip.

Enough.

She downed the last sip of her martini in one smooth motion, then, without even sparing a glance at the CEO, pressed the empty glass straight into his hand. He looked up from the conversation he was having, startled, but Evie was already turning.

“I’m gonna go, uh…yeah…goodbye.”

And then she was walking. Straight across the party. Straight to them. Straight to whatever she had been dying for since Saturday night.

She saw Bucky’s smirk widen. Saw Steve swallow hard. She reached them, didn’t even hesitate. One hand wrapped around Bucky’s wrist. The other hooked a finger through Steve’s belt loop. She pulled them. Not that she needed to, they followed instantly. 

Natasha blinked. “Well. Okay then.”

Wanda, who had quietly returned with a flute of champagne just in time to see it happen, tilted her head. “I knew it,” she whispered conspiratorially. “I said it last week, did I not?”

“You did,” Nat grinned, sipping her drink.

Wanda nodded toward the hallway Evie had just disappeared down, flanked by two super soldiers who looked ready to commit crimes. “Think we should warn the cleaning staff?”

Nat shook her head. “Just be glad you didn’t check a coat.”

The door shut with a quiet click.

Evie barely had time to register the dim lighting, the walls lined in luxury coats, the faint thud of bass from the party beyond before Bucky moved.

One step. Then another.

She backed up instinctively and collided with something solid. Warm.

Steve.

A sharp inhale.

Trapped.

“Going somewhere?” Steve’s voice was low, right against her ear.

Her breath hitched. Bucky stopped in front of her. “She’s been making those eyes all night,” he said, eyes dark. “Thought we weren’t gonna do something about it?”

Evie lifted her chin, heart racing. The heat between them was molten. “I was counting on it.”

That was all it took.

Steve moved first, his hand finding her jaw, tilting her face up and back towards his. His eyes searched hers, giving her just enough space to say no.

She didn’t.

He kissed her—hard. Like he’d been starving for it. Like he’d been counting down the days. Weeks. Maybe longer. His hand snaked up and cupped her jaw, turning her head and kissing her deeper.

Evie melted into it, her hand wrapping around his wrist, her breath catching in a little sound she didn’t mean to make.

In front of her, Bucky watched for exactly two seconds before stepping in.

His hands gripped her hips—hot and sure, metal and flesh—and then he was pulling her back against him, mouth finding her neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her skin like he already knew every inch of her.

Steve broke the kiss just long enough to breathe.

Bucky didn’t wait.

He lifted her. Effortlessly. Pressed her between them, spine flush against Steve’s chest, thighs wrapped around Bucky’s waist.

“God, look at her,” Bucky muttered, voice rough, lips dragging along her collarbone. “You should see her face.”

Steve’s breath was shaky against her ear. “Fuck, Eves…”

Evie’s head tipped back, eyes fluttering. She was caged in completely: Steve’s arms wrapped low around her waist, Bucky holding her up like she weighed nothing, their hands finding skin like they’d been waiting for permission.

Steve kissed along her shoulder. Bucky’s fingers skimmed under the hem of her dress.

“Tell us to stop,” Steve murmured, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“Don’t you dare,” she whispered.

She felt Bucky’s grin against her throat. Steve’s answering exhale was practically a growl.

They were absolutely— 100%— About to make a scene.

[equallyloyalandlethal]

Last line WIP tag

Because people's (@xtarmanderx, @spiderraeken, @outcastpack) have all decided to tag me in this, here, have lines for the four things I've been working on lately.

🐾 Sweater Paws

Enough was enough. He stretched across the couple of feet between himself and the nearest single member of either squad. Street fit the bill well enough, and was the least likely to deck him for this later. He grabbed the guy’s arm without a word and turned back towards where Luca and the woman were still standing. “Try this one,” Rocker huffed, all but shoving Street towards her, completely ignoring the younger’s surprised Hey! as he did it. “He’s single.”

🐦‍🔥 Standing In My Ashes, ch 4

Liam needed to do something, anything other than just stand where he was and seethe in the mess tearing him apart. Normally, Malia would be with him and would have dragged him off the woods or the back of the Hale Auto Shop that Derek was restarting so they could safely throw each other around and fight. But she was busy cleaning up the facility.  He eyed his now torn shoe that was laying crumpled in the middle of the apartment. A run might work. Might. It used to, before he was turned and even a short while after too. Running was a good middle road, active enough to make it feel like he was doing something, and burned off the excess energy, without too high of a potential for him shifting. 

🌷- Love Like Hellebores (tough like dandelions sequel)

Theo fell onto the door with all of his weight, eyes closed, blocking out as much of the world as he could. A long, tight whine slowly built in his chest, painfully pushing up and out, piercing and sad like a puppy's high-pitched howl. As he inhaled, his nose wrinkled.  Liam’s scent was strong still, enough to make his head a little dizzy with want, but stale. They hadn’t been here for nearly a week, too busy with saying goodbyes to the pack. There was too much of everything else and not enough of him and his mate now. Too much noise in the hall. Too much feeling all over his body. Too many scents. Just, too much everything for him to filter or handle or manage.

❤️‍🩹 - Anything Is Unbreakable Until You Test It ch 3 (thiam post-canon)

“And when were you gonna tell me?” There’s a split second as Brett flashes a smarmy grin that is too pretty and nerve-eating all at once that he regrets asking. He recognizes that stupid mischievous look, it’s sharp in all the wrong ways that he just knows are going to bite him in the ass. It’s all too common of a look among the idiotic pack he’s unfortunately more or less attached to now.  “I just did,” Brett says, that irksome and infuriating grin still in place.

[izumkay]

THE CONTRACT CLAUSE |Ch-2|

—SATORU GOJO

ღPairing- SatoruGojo × Fem!Reader

ღSummary- Thanks to your friend, Haibara, you land a job at the country’s top company—but CEO Satoru Gojo? He’s not impressed. Between causing him trouble and his infuriating charm, you quickly become his favorite target. But when things take an unexpected turn, Gojo finds himself in a position he never thought he’d be—desperate, frustrated, and drawn to you in ways he can’t ignore. The office just got a lot more dangerous—and a lot more heated.

Genres/tags- Modern AU, love triangle, Enemies to lovers, contract marriage, office romanc, Sunshine×Grumpy, fluff, tension, forced proximity, Satoru is desperate for you, why not?

Warnings- 18+ only, sexual content, toxicity, angst, hate sex, mentions of death, blood, hurt/comfort, obsession, possessiveness, SA attempts.

Wc- 10.1 k

Previous chapter!

The rest of your workday passed in a blur, but your mind? It was stuck on him.

Suguru Geto. The man who had swooped in like a silent storm and saved you from that humiliating cafeteria setup. You barely knew him, yet his presence lingered in your thoughts like an unsolved mystery.

You tapped your pen against your desk, staring blankly at your screen. Maybe I should ask Haibara about him. It wouldn’t be weird, right? Just casual curiosity. Nothing more.

Before you could overthink it further, a familiar voice interrupted your thoughts.

"Spacing out during work hours? Tsk, tsk, such bad employee behavior."

Your eye twitched. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

You turned your head slowly, already bracing yourself for the headache that was Satoru Gojo.

The CEO leaned lazily against your desk, his signature smirk plastered across his face like he owned not just the company but the very air you breathed.

"Lost in thought?" he teased, his blue eyes practically glowing with amusement.

You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to keep calm. "Do you need something, sir?" you asked, emphasizing the last word just enough to remind him that he was the one with the fancy title here—not you.

Gojo merely grinned. "Nope. Just checking in on my favorite employee."

"Lucky me," you deadpanned.

He chuckled, tapping a finger against his chin as if he were actually considering something serious. "Actually, now that you mention it... I do have something for you."

Your stomach sank. "I don’t like the way you said that."

Gojo reached into his pocket, pulled out a neatly folded paper, and placed it right in front of you. "You’re assisting me in tomorrow’s client presentation. Congratulations~!"

Your jaw nearly dropped. "What?!"

Gojo winked. "See you bright and early, sweetheart."

And just like that, he strutted away, leaving you sitting there, stunned, irritated, and—unfortunately—completely at his mercy.

You stared at the paper on your desk like it had personally offended you.

Assist Gojo in a client presentation? No. Absolutely not. You weren’t mentally prepared to deal with him for an extended period of time—especially not when your hatred for him was growing stronger by the day.

"That looked intense," a familiar voice said.

You turned to see Haibara leaning against your desk, arms crossed, his usual cheerful expression dimmed with concern. "You okay? You looked like you were about to commit a crime for a second."

You groaned, rubbing your temples. "You won’t believe what that smug bastard just did."

Haibara snorted. "Gojo? Yeah, I can believe anything with him. What happened this time?"

You handed him the paper, and his eyes scanned it quickly. His lips twitched, like he was trying not to laugh. "Wow. You? Assisting him?"

"Why do you sound so entertained by this?" you muttered, shooting him a glare.

"Because I know how much you love Gojo," he said, grinning. "And now you’re stuck working closely with him. This is the best news."

You slumped back in your chair, letting out an exaggerated sigh. "This is hell."

Haibara chuckled before tilting his head slightly. "Well… maybe it won’t be that bad? I mean, sure, Gojo is a menace, but he is good at his job. Maybe you’ll learn something?"

You narrowed your eyes. "The only thing I’ll learn is how much I can tolerate without committing actual murder."

"Fair," Haibara said with a smirk. Then, he nudged your arm. "On the bright side, at least Suguru was nice to you today."

At the mention of Suguru’s name, your posture stiffened slightly.

Haibara raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Interesting reaction."

You glared at him again. "Shut up."

But Haibara wasn’t letting this go. "You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?"

"No."

"Uh-huh. Sure."

"Go do your own work, Haibara."

He held his hands up in surrender, still grinning like he’d uncovered the greatest secret in the world. "Alright, alright. But just saying… if you wanted to know more about Suguru, I do happen to know him pretty well."

Your fingers twitched, tempted to grab Haibara by the collar and demand everything he knew.

But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Not yet.

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

As the day came to an end, you picked up your stuff, ready to leave. The office had mostly emptied, save for a few employees finishing up last-minute work. You exhaled, exhausted from the whirlwind of a day—first the cafeteria disaster, then Gojo's unexpected nonsense, and now Haibara teasing you about Suguru.

You slung your bag over your shoulder and made your way toward the elevator, pressing the button with a sigh. All you wanted was to go home, take a long shower, and pretend none of this had happened.

The elevator doors dinged open, and just as you stepped inside, a smooth, familiar voice called out.

"Leaving already?"

You turned your head—and there he was.

Suguru Geto.

Standing a few feet away, sleeves rolled up, tie slightly loosened, looking effortlessly composed despite the long workday.

You swallowed. "Uh… yeah. Shift’s over."

Suguru stepped into the elevator with you, pressing the ground floor button. As the doors closed, silence filled the small space, save for the faint hum of the elevator.

You shifted on your feet, stealing a quick glance at him. He didn’t look at you immediately, just leaned back against the wall with his hands in his pockets, gaze fixed ahead.

Then— "Did those girls bother you again?"

Your lips parted slightly, surprised he even brought it up. "Uh… no. Not after you stepped in."

"Good." His voice was calm, but there was an underlying firmness to it. "You should be careful. Some people around here like to test how far they can push others."

You frowned. "You say that like you’ve dealt with them before."

Suguru let out a small chuckle. "Let’s just say I’ve been around long enough to see the patterns."

You hesitated before asking, "Why did you help me?"

He finally turned to look at you, and for a second, you wished he hadn’t. His eyes—deep, dark, and unreadable—studied you like he was trying to figure something out.

"Because I don’t like seeing people get cornered," he said simply. "And… you seemed like you needed someone in your corner today."

Your breath hitched just a little.

The elevator dinged, doors sliding open, and Suguru stepped out first. Before he walked away, he glanced back at you.

"See you tomorrow," he said, and then he was gone.

You stood there for a moment, heart pounding.

This was bad.

Because now, you were really curious about Suguru Geto.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

You finally stepped out of the building, greeted by the chilly night air. A sharp breeze passed through you, making you shiver. Oh god, I should have brought my blazer. You wrapped your arms around yourself, cursing the sudden drop in temperature.

The streets were quiet, only a few employees leaving here and there. The company building stood tall behind you, its glass windows reflecting the city lights. You pulled out your phone, checking the time.

10:17 PM.

Damn, I stayed late.

You sighed and started walking towards the bus stop, rubbing your arms for warmth. The day had been exhausting enough, and now the cold was making it worse. Could this day get any more annoying?

And then—

"Oi, you look like you're freezing."

You stopped.

That voice.

You turned your head, and sure enough, standing a few feet away, hands stuffed in his coat pockets, was none other than Satoru Gojo.

Great. Just what you needed.

"Thanks for the observation, Sherlock," you muttered, rolling your eyes.

Gojo grinned, stepping closer. "You should’ve worn something warmer. What if you catch a cold? Then I’d have to deal with your grumpy mood and your sneezing."

You gave him a deadpan look. "Not everything is about you, Gojo."

He gasped dramatically. "Wow. Harsh. After all, I am your boss."

You exhaled sharply, too cold to argue with him. "What are you even doing here?"

"Waiting for my car," he said, stretching his arms lazily. "I was about to leave when I saw you looking all small and cold."

You clicked your tongue. "I am not small."

"Mm-hmm," he hummed, obviously not listening. "Anyway, want a ride?"

You blinked. "What?"

"A ride," Gojo repeated, tilting his head. "You do take the bus home, right? And it’s cold. So, you know, my offer is kinda generous."

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious. "And why would you offer me a ride?"

Gojo smirked. "Because I’m nice?"

"You’re not."

"Ouch." He clutched his chest like you had stabbed him. "Fine, fine. Maybe I just want to mess with you a little."

You sighed, your body shivering again. As much as you hated the idea of being in a car with him, standing here freezing your ass off wasn’t appealing either.

So, against your better judgment, you muttered, "Fine."

Gojo beamed. "See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?"

You groaned, already regretting your decision.

Then, his car pulled up.

Of course, he had a driver. And of course, the car looked ridiculously expensive—sleek black, polished to perfection, with tinted windows that screamed rich bastard energy.

You hesitated for a second. This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. But before you could back out, Gojo had already opened the door and slid inside, motioning for you to follow.

"Come on," he said, not even trying to be patient.

You exhaled sharply and got in, shutting the door behind you. The interior was just as fancy as you expected—smooth leather seats, a subtle but expensive scent in the air, and way more legroom than necessary.

Gojo didn’t bother sitting in the passenger seat like a normal person. No, he got in the back with you, stretching his long legs out like he owned the whole damn space, well he did.

You frowned. "Why don’t you sit in the passenger seat?" you asked, voice laced with annoyance.

Gojo grinned, resting his arm along the back of the seat, dangerously close to your shoulders. "What, and leave you all alone back here? Nah, that’s just mean."

You rolled your eyes. "Mean would be pushing you out of the moving car."

He gasped dramatically. "You really need to work on your gratitude, sweetheart."

You ignored him, crossing your arms as the car smoothly pulled away from the office. The city lights blurred past, the roads quiet at this late hour.

For a moment, there was silence—until Gojo tilted his head, peering at you with those annoying, too-bright eyes.

"So," he started, voice teasing, "Suguru came to your rescue today, huh?"

Your entire body stiffened. "What?"

Gojo smirked. "Oh, come on. You didn’t think I wouldn’t hear about it? Word travels fast in my company, you know."

You clenched your jaw. "It wasn’t a big deal."

He hummed, clearly unconvinced. "Mmm. I dunno… You looked pretty flustered when you two left the cafeteria together."

"I was not flustered."

"Sure, sure," he said, waving a hand. "He is pretty charming, though. And polite. And nice to look at—"

"Why are you talking about this?" you cut in, glaring at him.

Gojo leaned in slightly, his smirk widening. "Just curious."

You narrowed your eyes. "Are you jealous?"

He blinked. Then, his grin turned almost predatory.

"Would you want me to be?"

Your stomach did a weird, traitorous flip.

"No," you said firmly, looking away. "I’d rather jump out of this car."

Gojo laughed, leaning back. "Damn. You really do hate me, huh?"

You didn’t answer. Because honestly? You weren’t sure if hate was the right word anymore.

And that was the most frustrating part.

Gojo didn’t press further, but his smirk never faded. The air inside the car felt heavier now, charged with something unspoken. You hated that he always had this effect—this ability to get under your skin without even trying.

The car moved smoothly through the city streets, and you focused on the outside world instead of the infuriating man sitting beside you.

"So, where do you live?" Gojo asked suddenly.

You gave him a look. "Why do you want to know?"

He shrugged. "I’m dropping you off, aren’t I? So I kinda need to know."

You debated lying. Telling him a fake address, making him drive across the city just to mess with him. But you were too tired for games, so you begrudgingly told him your apartment's location.

Gojo let out a low whistle. "That area, huh? Not bad. Pretty safe. Not as nice as my place, obviously, but hey, not everyone can be me."

You scowled. "God, you really love hearing yourself talk, don’t you?"

"Of course I do. Have you heard my voice? It’s amazing."

You groaned, looking away. "Unbelievable."

The car fell into silence again, save for the quiet hum of the engine. The night outside was peaceful, but inside, the atmosphere between you two was anything but.

Then—

"You know," Gojo said, tapping his fingers against his knee, "you should be careful around Suguru."

You frowned, turning to face him. "Excuse me?"

He wasn’t smirking now. His expression was unreadable, his usual playful tone replaced with something… different.

"Suguru’s a good guy," Gojo continued, "but he’s not always what he seems."

You scoffed. "Oh, and you are?"

Gojo smirked slightly. "No. But at least I don’t pretend to be something I’m not."

Something about the way he said it—casual, but with a strange weight behind the words—made you pause.

Before you could press further, the car slowed down, turning onto your street.

"Looks like we’re here," Gojo said, back to his usual self. "What a shame. I was really starting to enjoy our little bonding session."

"Yeah, I bet," you muttered, rolling your eyes.

The car came to a stop. You grabbed your bag and reached for the door handle, but before you could get out, Gojo spoke again.

"Hey."

You turned your head.

He was watching you, his usual grin still there—but his eyes held something else. Something you couldn’t quite place.

"Try not to miss me too much," he teased.

You scoffed, stepping out and slamming the door shut behind you.

As the car drove away, you let out a long breath, shaking your head.

What the hell was that?

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

You entered your home, tossing your bag on the couch, already feeling the weight of the day lift off your shoulders. The familiar warmth of your apartment greeted you, but there was something even more comforting in the air—an undeniable, delicious aroma wafting from the kitchen.

"Are you back, sweetheart?" your mom called from the kitchen, her voice warm and welcoming.

You quickly made your way over, the promise of your mom’s cooking making you smile despite the day's frustrations. You leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen, watching her as she stirred something in a pot.

"It was pretty tiring today," you said, rubbing your neck, "but I know your food will fix everything."

Your mom looked up, her eyes sparkling as she set the wooden spoon down. She always knew how to make everything feel better. "I figured you’d be hungry," she said with a wink, "Come on, sit down. I made your favorite."

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. Your mom always made everything better. She didn’t even need to ask what you needed—she just knew. As you sat down at the table, she dished out a generous serving of the meal she had prepared, the comforting scent filling the room.

"I swear, you’re a lifesaver," you said as you took the first bite, savoring the rich, familiar taste.

Your mom chuckled softly, sitting across from you. "It’s nothing, sweetheart. Just glad to see you home safe and sound."

You ate in comfortable silence for a moment, but your mind kept drifting back to the events at work—the chaos, Gojo’s antics, and Suguru's sudden kindness. You didn’t know why, but the more you thought about it, the more confusing everything seemed.

Your mom noticed the distant look in your eyes and raised an eyebrow. "Everything okay at work? You seem a little off."

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to explain. "It’s... complicated," you finally said, pushing a piece of food around on your plate. "Some people are really nice, and then there’s... him."

Your mom laughed softly, clearly amused by the way you said it. "Him? Sounds like there’s a story there."

You sighed, setting your fork down. "It’s Satoru Gojo. He's... arrogant, annoying, and always acting like he's the king of the world. But... there's something more to it, I guess. I don’t know."

Your mom gave you a knowing smile, leaning back in her chair. "Ah, so you’re not just frustrated with him—you’re intrigued, huh?"

You shot her a look, feeling your cheeks warm. "I’m not intrigued. He’s just... annoying." You were lying to yourself, but there was no way you were going to admit that.

"Uh-huh," she teased. "Well, honey, you know how it is. Men like him always have something they’re hiding. Just make sure you're not letting that attitude distract you from what matters."

You nodded, though your thoughts couldn’t help but linger on Gojo. He was a puzzle, one you weren’t sure you wanted to solve.

"Mom, where's Akane?" you asked, glancing around the house.

"Oh, she's in her room," your mom replied casually, continuing with her chores.

You nodded and made your way to Akane’s room, knowing she usually had her door closed when she was busy. You knocked gently before pushing it open.

"Akane?" you called out.

She was sitting at her desk, scrolling through her phone. She looked up at you, her eyes narrowing as she noticed you standing there.

"Yeah, come in," she said, smirking when she saw you. "What's up, pig?"

You rolled your eyes, half-annoyed, half-amused by her nickname for you. "I was just asking Mom where you were. You’re holed up in here like it’s the end of the world."

"Isn't it?" she replied with a wink, stretching her arms above her head. "The world is exhausting, and I'm trying to get some peace and quiet. But if you wanna disturb my peace, I guess I can spare you a few minutes."

You grumbled, walking over to her bed and flopping down dramatically. "I just needed to vent. It’s been one of those days."

Akane raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What happened this time? Did you mess up in front of the whole office again, pig?"

You groaned, throwing a pillow at her. "Shut up. No, nothing like that. Just... work’s been a lot. People are exhausting, and I’m just ready for a break."

Akane’s face softened for a moment, and she leaned back in her chair. "Well, look at you. Finally getting some work stress after all this time, huh?"

"Ha ha," you said dryly. "You're hilarious."

She chuckled, but then her expression became playful again. "You better not be slacking on your diet now. We both know you eat like a pig when you’re stressed."

You grabbed another pillow and chucked it at her, but she dodged it easily. "I don’t always eat like a pig, okay?"

"Sure, sure," Akane said, her voice teasing. "Just don’t go stuffing yourself with junk food, or I’ll have to put you on a diet again."

You groaned, sinking into the bed. "I’m not in the mood for your diet lectures right now."

"Fine," she said with a dramatic sigh. "But don’t come crying to me when your jeans don’t fit anymore."

You couldn’t help but laugh. "You’re impossible."

Akane shrugged. "Yeah, but you love me anyway."

You stuck your tongue out at her before heading back out of the room. "I’ll survive without your advice. Thanks, though, pig."

She laughed and called after you, "Anytime, pig!"

You paused at the door, turning back to Akane with a sly grin. "Oh, and by the way, how did your date go with him?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. You were referring to her boyfriend, or maybe future husband—Akane was always a bit secretive about her relationship, but you were curious.

Akane’s eyes widened slightly, and she shot you a playful but warning look. "What are you, my personal gossip reporter now?" she said, smirking. "It went fine, okay? Nothing too special."

You couldn't help but laugh at her attempt to brush it off. "You’ve been seeing him for how long and still ‘nothing too special’? Come on, spill the beans!"

She sighed dramatically, leaning back in her chair. "It’s not like that, alright? We just had dinner. You know, the usual. He’s... great. That’s all I’m going to say."

"Uh-huh, sure," you teased, walking toward the door. "You’re not fooling anyone, Akane. I’m sure he’s already planning your wedding or something."

Akane rolled her eyes. "You're such a little brat. Don't be getting any ideas. I’m not even thinking about that stuff yet."

You shrugged, still grinning. "Yeah, sure. I’ll be at your wedding when it happens, though."

She flicked you off as you left, calling out, "Don’t be too excited, pig!"

You stuck your tongue out at her before shutting the door behind you, but despite her teasing, you couldn’t help but feel a little envious. Akane had always been so confident, so sure of what she wanted. Maybe one day you’d find that too—though, right now, your thoughts were still stuck on a certain annoying CEO.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

You reached the office earlier than usual the next day, the quiet of the building almost eerie. The place was still empty, except for the few early risers who got in before the rush. You rubbed your temples, already dreading the day ahead.

You had to assist Gojo with a client presentation today, and just the thought of it made your stomach turn. The guy was a handful on his own, and you had a feeling it was going to be an exhausting experience. You sighed heavily, wishing you could somehow escape the madness about to unfold.

As you made your way to your desk, you could already hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching. Your heart dropped a little when you saw a familiar face.

Gojo.

He strutted into the office like he owned the place, as always, with that cocky smile plastered across his face. "You're early," he said with a grin, noticing you sitting at your desk. "I didn’t think you had it in you."

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your irritation in check. "I didn’t have much of a choice. I'm assisting you today, remember?" you said, forcing yourself to stay professional despite the frustration building up inside you.

He gave a lazy shrug, leaning against your desk. "Yeah, yeah. Don't worry, I’ll make it easy for you," he said with that usual smug tone. "It’ll be a piece of cake."

You stared at him for a moment, your eyes narrowing. "Sure it will be," you muttered under your breath, not sure whether to believe him.

Gojo, of course, seemed completely unfazed. He was already pulling out his tablet, checking over the presentation slides as if everything was already under control. Meanwhile, you tried to focus on the task ahead, but your mind couldn’t help but wander back to the chaos of yesterday.

"Let’s get this over with," you finally said, standing up and grabbing your materials. Gojo’s constant teasing and arrogance were already wearing on you, and you just wanted to survive this meeting without losing your mind.

"That’s the spirit!" Gojo said, his eyes lighting up as if he’d just won some kind of victory. "Let’s make this presentation one to remember."

You followed him to the conference room, unsure if you were ready for whatever was about to happen.

The conference room was already set up, the large table covered with documents, laptops, and presentation equipment. You could hear your heart beating a little faster as the time for the meeting approached. The last thing you wanted was for Gojo to make you look bad in front of the clients.

Gojo, however, didn’t seem the least bit stressed. He sauntered to the head of the table, flinging his jacket over the back of the chair like it was nothing. "Alright, let’s get this show on the road," he said, flashing you a grin that did little to ease your nerves.

You took your seat beside him, trying to look calm and collected, though inside, you were a mess. Your eyes kept darting to Gojo, who was already reviewing his notes like he was preparing for a fun game instead of a serious business meeting.

A few minutes passed, and the door opened. The clients entered, and Gojo stood to greet them, his usual charm turned up to the max. You had to admit, he was good at this. He greeted them with a smile, offering firm handshakes as he introduced himself, almost as if he was the one in charge of the whole damn company.

"Please, take a seat," Gojo said smoothly, waving them over. "I’m sure we’ll have no problem securing this deal."

You tried to focus, but your thoughts kept drifting. You had to remind yourself that you were part of this presentation, too. You couldn’t just sit back and let Gojo take all the spotlight, even though he made it look so effortless.

As the presentation started, you found yourself growing increasingly irritated. Gojo was on fire today—smooth, confident, and completely in control. He was rattling off facts and figures with ease, making witty remarks, and charming the clients without even trying. Meanwhile, you were sitting there, trying to make sense of your own notes while hoping that you wouldn’t mess up.

Then, Gojo’s voice cut through your thoughts. "And of course, we have our newest team member," he said, turning to you with that grin of his. "She’ll be handling the logistics side of things. Feel free to ask her anything, she’s got it all covered."

You snapped out of your daze, blinking at him. The last thing you expected was for Gojo to throw you into the spotlight like that. You could feel all eyes on you, and your throat tightened. "Uh, yes," you said, clearing your throat. "I’ve been working on the project details and—"

But before you could even finish your sentence, Gojo leaned in, his hand casually brushing against your arm. "Don’t worry," he whispered low enough that only you could hear. "You’re doing great."

The way he said it, with that almost teasing, reassuring tone, made your heart race for a completely different reason. You hated how easily he could throw you off balance.

The clients didn’t seem to notice your discomfort as they nodded along, asking a few questions, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of Gojo’s presence looming over you. Despite how much you wanted to hate him, you couldn’t help but be drawn to him, even when he was making your life more complicated than it needed to be.

The meeting went on, and you managed to pull yourself together, answering questions when needed, trying to make sure you didn’t make a fool of yourself. But the tension between you and Gojo was palpable—he kept glancing at you with that annoying grin of his, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the meeting came to an end. The clients stood up, offering their thanks, and Gojo flashed them his usual perfect smile.

"Great job," he said, turning to you and giving you a wink. "I knew you’d nail it."

You forced a smile, your insides still a tangled mess of frustration and confusion. "Yeah, thanks," you said quietly, not sure whether you were thanking him or just trying to survive the moment.

As the clients left, Gojo turned back to you, his grin widening. "You survived," he said, looking thoroughly amused. "Not bad, newbie."

You crossed your arms, rolling your eyes. "Yeah, you make it look so easy," you replied, trying to hide the frustration creeping up your throat.

Gojo leaned back in his chair, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Well, someone has to show you how it’s done. And who better than me?" He chuckled, clearly pleased with himself.

You clenched your jaw, staring at him with a mix of annoyance and... something else you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

"Just don’t get too cocky," you muttered, gathering your things. "I don’t need any more of your... help."

Gojo raised an eyebrow, still grinning. "You sure about that? You could use a little more of me in your life."

You didn’t bother responding as you walked out of the room, your heart pounding in your chest. It was only the beginning, and already, you were tangled up in this mess with Gojo.

As the last of the clients left, the conference room suddenly felt quieter, more intimate. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, trying to shake off the nerves from the presentation. Gojo, however, didn’t seem to have the same sense of urgency.

"Well, that went better than I thought," Gojo said casually, his voice light, but there was an underlying tension you couldn’t quite place. He leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the table. "You actually did better than I expected."

You glanced at him, feeling a sharp edge of frustration. "I didn’t exactly do anything. You carried the whole presentation," you said, trying to hide the annoyance in your voice.

He shrugged, a lazy smirk crossing his lips. "I always carry everything. You should get used to it."

You rolled your eyes, but before you could say anything else, Gojo stood up, stretching his arms over his head. "Hey, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, alright?" His voice was unexpectedly softer now, though there was still that teasing edge to it. He took a few steps closer, the air between you suddenly feeling much more charged.

"Gojo," you said, your voice tightening. "What’s your deal? You can’t just be so... so obnoxious all the time."

He stopped in his tracks, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. "You think I’m obnoxious?" His voice was a little quieter now, more serious. "Maybe I just like getting under your skin."

You weren’t sure why, but something in the way he said it made your heart skip a beat. "Why?" you asked, a little sharper than you meant.

Gojo didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he took another step closer, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that left you momentarily speechless. His usual cocky smile was gone, replaced by something darker, more serious.

"Maybe it’s because you’re... interesting," he said softly, his eyes narrowing just slightly. "You don’t let me get to you the way everyone else does. And I kinda like that."

Your breath hitched in your throat. You weren’t sure if you were imagining it, but something in the air had shifted. The playful tension from earlier had turned into something else entirely—something more personal, more charged.

You swallowed, trying to maintain some semblance of control. "I don’t need you to like me," you said, though it came out a little more breathless than you intended.

Gojo’s lips curved up into that familiar smirk, but there was something different in his eyes now. Something that made you feel like he wasn’t just playing games anymore.

"Maybe not," he said, voice low, "but I think you like me a little more than you’re willing to admit."

The words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The space between you felt impossibly small now, as if the rest of the world had faded away.

You could feel your pulse quicken, the tension too thick to ignore, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything. Gojo was standing right there, so close now that you could feel his presence—his warmth—and for some reason, you didn’t want to step away.

His eyes softened just slightly, and for a second, you thought he might actually say something else—something deeper. But then, as if snapping out of whatever moment had passed between you, he grinned, the cocky persona slipping back into place.

"Well, whatever you say," he said, straightening up and turning toward the door. "But just remember, you owe me one for today."

You watched him leave, the smirk still on his lips, but your mind was racing. What the hell had just happened? You weren’t sure if it was just the stress of the day or something else, but whatever it was, it was clear—Gojo was playing a game. The only question was, what exactly did he want from you?

You stood there, still in the conference room, trying to process what had just happened. The air felt heavier, your pulse still racing from the tension that had built between you and Gojo. Your thoughts were jumbled, and you couldn’t quite make sense of the mix of emotions swirling inside you.

You’d spent so much time despising him—his arrogance, his cockiness, the way he seemed to toy with everyone—but now, after that moment, you weren’t sure where you stood. He’d been so close to you, his presence almost overwhelming, and his words lingered in your mind.

You owe me one for today.

You repeated his words in your head, trying to figure out what exactly he meant by that. Was it just more of his usual teasing, or was there something more? You didn’t know, and that uncertainty was driving you crazy.

Shaking your head, you grabbed your things and left the conference room, trying to push the encounter out of your mind. But the truth was, you couldn’t. Gojo’s words and his presence were stuck in your head, and the more you thought about it, the more you realized how much they affected you.

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As you made your way back to your desk, you noticed Gojo talking to Suguru, his assistant, near the elevator. They were deep in conversation, and you couldn’t help but feel a little curious. You tried to focus on your work, but your attention kept drifting back to them. Gojo’s laughter rang through the office, and Suguru’s more composed demeanor stood in stark contrast to his boss’s playful energy.

You felt a twinge of annoyance, and a little jealousy, as you watched them. The thought of Gojo getting so close to anyone else made your stomach twist. You were not sure if it was just the frustration from the earlier interaction, or if there was something deeper at play here.

Suddenly, Gojo’s eyes flicked in your direction, and a knowing smirk spread across his face. You froze for a moment, realizing he had caught you staring. His grin widened, and he gave you a small wave, which you reluctantly returned with a forced smile.

Suguru, ever the calm and composed one, noticed the tension, his gaze flicking between the two of you. But before you could even react, Gojo turned away, resuming his conversation with Suguru as if nothing had happened.

You exhaled sharply, trying to shake off the lingering feeling of discomfort. Why does he always do this to me?

You wanted to ignore him, to not let him get under your skin, but Gojo seemed to have this uncanny ability to do exactly that. Every interaction, every smile, every teasing comment—it all added to this confusing mix of frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of work, your thoughts constantly drifting back to Gojo. You knew it was a bad idea to let him occupy so much space in your head, but the more you tried to push him out, the more he seemed to push back.

By the time the end of the day came, you were exhausted, your mind still buzzing from the events of the day. You packed up your things and prepared to leave, hoping that once you were out of the office, you could finally relax.

But just as you were about to head out the door, Gojo appeared beside you, his usual grin plastered on his face.

"Hey, newbie," he said, his voice light and teasing. "I hope you’re not planning on leaving without thanking me for today."

You turned to face him, raising an eyebrow. "Thank you? For what?"

"For the presentation, of course." He winked, his expression still playful. "I saved your ass, remember? So, you owe me."

You felt your frustration flare up again, but there was something about the way he said it—his confidence, his cocky grin—that made you want to snap back at him.

Instead, you just sighed. "Fine," you said, unable to hide the annoyance in your voice. "I’ll thank you. Happy now?"

Gojo laughed, clearly entertained by your response. "Very happy," he said, stepping closer to you. "But I think we both know I’m not done with you yet."

Your heart skipped a beat, the tension rising once again. You could feel the heat between you both, but you didn’t know how to respond. Before you could say anything, Gojo turned and started walking toward the exit.

"Let’s get out of here, huh?" he called over his shoulder. "I’m starving, and I’m sure you are too."

You hesitated for a moment, but then followed him, your curiosity and frustration mixing into something more complicated. You couldn’t seem to escape him, and maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want to.

As you walked out of the office together, the night air felt different this time—charged with something new. You weren’t sure what was going to happen next, but you knew one thing for sure: Gojo was never going to make it easy for you to ignore him.

You walked beside Gojo as he talked excitedly about his cravings, but you couldn’t help the irritation that started bubbling inside you. His usual carefree chatter, always about what he wanted or what he was thinking, only annoyed you more the longer you spent with him.

"Are you dropping me home today too?" you asked, trying to keep your tone as neutral as possible.

Gojo hummed in acknowledgment, as if it was obvious, not even sparing you a glance. "Mhm... but let’s eat something first! You see, I’m very hungry and craving something sweet, and what about you? What do you want to—" He kept on rambling, his words starting to blend together, but you had heard enough.

“Gojo, no, it’s already so late, no thanks,” you cut him off, your voice sharp as you tried to avoid the invitation. You weren’t in the mood to sit down for another meal with him, especially when you just wanted to go home after a tiring day.

Gojo paused, blinking in surprise as if your refusal was something new to him. He stopped walking for a second, looking over at you, his expression a little more serious now, though the playful glint in his eyes remained. “Oh? No sweet cravings today?” He tilted his head slightly, clearly amused. “I think you're just scared to eat with me.”

You shot him a glare, but it didn’t seem to faze him in the least. "I’m not scared of anything," you muttered under your breath, turning away from him as you started walking faster, hoping he’d just drop the whole thing.

Gojo easily caught up, a laugh escaping him. “Sure you’re not. But you know,” he said, voice dropping a bit lower, “I think it’s just that you don’t know what you’re missing. I’ve got excellent taste, and I’m great company. You could learn to enjoy being around me, you know.”

The nerve of him. You refused to let him get under your skin, but you felt the heat rising in your cheeks. "I’m perfectly fine on my own. Now, drop it."

Gojo chuckled, the sound light and teasing. “Fine, fine, I’ll spare you today,” he said with a smirk. “But I’m still taking you home. You’re not getting away that easy.”

You sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing with him about the ride home. He was stubborn—annoyingly so. Fighting him on it would only drag this out longer, and honestly, you were too tired for that.

"Fine," you muttered. "But no detours. Straight home, Gojo."

He gasped, placing a hand over his chest dramatically. "Wow. You make it sound like I’m some kind of kidnapper."

"You act like one," you shot back, rolling your eyes as you walked toward his car.

Gojo only laughed, clearly enjoying himself. His driver was already waiting, and like last time, Gojo slid into the backseat with you instead of taking the passenger seat.

You gave him a look. "You do know that’s what the front seat is for, right?"

Gojo grinned. "Yeah, but it’s more fun annoying you back here."

You groaned, resting your head against the seat and closing your eyes for a second. "Unbelievable."

The car pulled away from the office, the city lights flashing past the windows. The ride was quiet for a few minutes, and for a moment, you thought Gojo might actually let you have some peace.

But of course, that was too much to hope for.

"So," he suddenly spoke up, turning slightly to face you. "Do you really hate me that much?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected question. You turned your head toward him, only to find him watching you with an unreadable expression—still teasing, but softer than usual.

You hesitated. "Hate is a strong word," you admitted, looking away. "You’re just… exhausting."

Gojo chuckled, but it wasn’t as loud as usual. "Exhausting, huh? I’ll take that as a compliment."

"It wasn’t," you muttered.

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to something quieter. "You know, for someone who claims to find me annoying, you spend an awful lot of time thinking about me."

Your breath hitched slightly. "Excuse me?"

Gojo smirked, clearly amused by your reaction. "I see the way you look at me sometimes."

Your face heated up instantly. "I don’t look at you."

"You do, though," he said, tilting his head like he was enjoying watching you squirm. "And you’re doing it right now."

You quickly turned away, facing the window. "I swear to god, Gojo—"

He laughed, leaning back comfortably. "Relax, I’m just messing with you," he said, though his tone was still laced with something more. "But if you ever do wanna stare at me, I won’t stop you."

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. "I hate you."

"See? There’s that word again," he mused, grinning. "You really need to work on your insults, sweetheart."

You let out a long, frustrated sigh, vowing to never accept a ride from him again. But as much as you wanted to ignore him, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was right about one thing.

You had been looking at him.

And that was the most frustrating part of all.

The car continued through the quiet streets, the tension between you and Gojo lingering in the air like an unspoken challenge. You wanted to ignore him—to pretend he wasn’t sitting there, watching you with that infuriating smirk—but he made it impossible.

Just as you were about to pull out your phone and distract yourself, the car suddenly slowed down.

Then, it stopped.

You frowned, sitting up. "Why did we stop?"

Gojo blinked, looking out the window with mild curiosity. His driver, glancing back through the rearview mirror, sighed.

"Flat tire," he said simply.

You groaned. "You’ve got to be kidding me."

"Relax," Gojo drawled, stretching his arms behind his head. "We’ll be back on the road soon. It’s just a minor inconvenience."

You exhaled sharply, already annoyed at the situation. "Right. Because being stranded in the middle of the night with you is exactly how I wanted to end my day."

Gojo gasped dramatically. "You wound me, sweetheart. Here I thought you'd be thrilled to spend more time with me."

You gave him a deadpan stare. "I’d rather walk home."

Gojo chuckled. "Then go ahead," he challenged. "But it's a long way in the cold, and I know you forgot your blazer again."

You huffed, crossing your arms. Damn him for noticing that.

The driver got out to inspect the damage, leaving you and Gojo alone in the car. The silence stretched, heavier than before. You could hear the faint sounds of the city—distant car horns, the occasional murmur of people walking by—but inside the car, it was just the two of you.

Gojo tapped his fingers against his knee, his usual playful demeanor still present but slightly subdued. "Since we’re stuck here," he mused, "why don’t we pass the time?"

You shot him a suspicious look. "By doing what?"

He grinned. "I don’t know. Maybe bonding? Sharing our deepest, darkest secrets?"

You scoffed. "I’d rather sit in silence."

Gojo laughed, completely unfazed. "Fine. Then I’ll just have to entertain myself."

Before you could react, he shifted closer, leaning in just enough to invade your personal space. His scent—clean, with a faint hint of something expensive—filled your senses, and you instantly stiffened.

"What are you doing?" you asked, voice cautious.

He smirked. "Observing."

You narrowed your eyes. "Observing what?"

"You," he said simply. "You’re fun to mess with."

Your heart did an annoying little flip, and you cursed yourself for it.

"I swear, Gojo—"

"You swear what?" he interrupted, tilting his head. "That you’re totally not affected by me? That your face isn’t getting warmer right now?"

You clenched your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. "You are so full of yourself."

He chuckled, still way too close for comfort. "Maybe. But I’m right, aren’t I?"

You turned your head toward the window, trying to focus on anything but him. The fact that you were stuck here, trapped with him in such a small space, only made things worse.

Minutes passed, and finally, the driver knocked on the window, motioning that he was handling the situation.

You let out a breath of relief, but Gojo? He just smiled.

"Looks like we’ll be here a little longer," he said, resting his chin on his hand. "Guess that means more quality time together."

You groaned, pressing your forehead against the window.

This was going to be a long night.

The minutes stretched on, the city buzzing faintly outside, but inside the car, it was just the two of you, trapped in a space that suddenly felt way too small.

You exhaled, trying to focus on anything but Gojo. The leather seat under your fingertips. The faint hum of the engine. The way your pulse had picked up ever so slightly the moment he leaned in.

But he noticed.

Of course, he did.

"You’re awfully quiet," Gojo murmured, voice low and smooth, like he was testing something. "What happened to all that attitude?"

You clenched your jaw, refusing to look at him. "I just don’t feel like entertaining you."

Gojo chuckled, shifting slightly, and you felt it before you saw it—his knee brushing against yours, the subtle warmth of his body radiating through the space between you. It was the lightest touch, barely anything, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

"You sure?" he mused, tilting his head. "Because I think you’re just trying really hard not to react."

Your fingers twitched. Damn him. He was doing this on purpose, wasn’t he? Testing how much he could push before you cracked.

You turned your head sharply, ready to snap at him, but you froze when you realized just how close he had gotten.

The dim glow from the streetlights outside cast soft shadows over his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the way his silver-white hair fell slightly over his forehead. But what made your breath hitch was his eyes—brilliant, piercing, locked onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach tighten.

"Gojo—"

"Satoru," he corrected, voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart skipped.

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself. "What are you doing?"

He smiled, slow and knowing. "I told you. Observing."

Your pulse hammered in your ears. The air felt thicker, charged with something heavy, something dangerous.

"Stop messing with me," you muttered, but even to your own ears, your voice lacked conviction.

Gojo leaned in just a fraction more, his breath warm against your skin. "And if I’m not messing with you?"

Your chest tightened. He was too close now. Close enough that if either of you moved just a little—

A loud knock on the window shattered the moment.

You practically jumped back, heat rushing to your face as the driver gestured that the car was ready to go. Gojo exhaled a quiet laugh, clearly amused by your reaction, but when you glanced at him again, there was something unreadable in his eyes.

Something real.

"Guess you’re saved," he murmured, pulling away, though the smirk never left his lips.

But as the car started moving again, your heart still racing, you couldn’t shake the feeling that neither of you had really escaped anything at all.

The car was moving again, but the tension inside remained, lingering like an unfinished sentence.

You pressed yourself against the door, staring out at the city lights blurring past, trying to ignore the way your heart still pounded in your chest. The small space between you and Gojo felt charged, your skin still buzzing from how close he had been just moments ago.

Gojo, of course, looked completely unbothered. He sat back, one arm draped lazily over the back of the seat, fingers tapping against the leather, like he hadn’t just almost—

You swallowed hard, shaking the thought away.

"You okay over there?" His voice was light, teasing, but there was something else beneath it. Something watchful.

"I’m fine," you said quickly, too quickly.

Gojo hummed, his smirk deepening. "Are you, though?"

You turned your head sharply, glaring at him. "Yes, Gojo. I am."

His grin widened. "Satoru," he corrected again, voice low, testing.

You tensed, remembering the way he had whispered it before, how your breath had caught in your throat. He knew what he was doing. He was playing with you. But this time, you weren’t going to let him win.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to smirk. "You really like hearing your own name, huh?"

Gojo tilted his head slightly, as if considering. "No, I just like hearing you say it."

Your stomach flipped.

You scoffed, looking away, willing yourself to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck. "You’re insufferable."

Gojo laughed, the sound low and rich. "And yet, here you are, stuck with me."

You hated how smug he was, how effortlessly he could turn any moment into something charged, something dangerous. But the worst part?

You weren’t sure if you hated it enough to pull away.

The car slowed as it reached your apartment building, the driver smoothly parking at the curb. You exhaled, reaching for the door handle like it was your lifeline.

"Well," you muttered, not looking at him. "Thanks for the ride."

Gojo didn’t respond immediately. And for some reason, that made you pause.

When you finally turned your head, he was watching you again—intently, like he was debating something. The air between you felt heavier again, just like it had back in the conference room.

Then, just as you were about to escape, Gojo leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into something dangerously smooth.

"You’re fun to mess with," he murmured, eyes glinting. "I think I’ll keep doing it."

Your breath hitched.

And before you could snap back, before you could tell him no, you will not, he leaned back, looking far too satisfied with himself.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," he said, the teasing lilt back in his tone.

You didn’t respond. You just got out of the car and shut the door behind you, maybe a little harder than necessary.

But even as you walked up to your apartment, trying to shake him from your mind, you knew the truth.

This wasn’t over.

Not even close.

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You stormed into your apartment, shutting the door behind you with a heavy sigh. Your heart was still pounding, your skin still buzzing from him.

That stupid, arrogant, insufferable man.

You tossed your bag onto the couch and rubbed your temples, trying to will away the heat still lingering in your face. But no matter how hard you tried to shake it off, Gojo’s words echoed in your mind.

"I think I’ll keep doing it."

Your stomach twisted, and you groaned, flopping onto the couch. What the hell was that? Gojo always teased, always played his little games, but tonight had been... different. The way he looked at you. The way his voice had dropped, all smooth and knowing. The way he’d gotten so close, like he was waiting for you to break.

And the worst part?

You almost had.

Just as you were about to scream into a pillow, a voice interrupted your spiraling thoughts.

"You’re home late, pig."

You groaned loudly. "Akane, not now."

Your sister appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, an amused smirk already forming. "Awww, what’s wrong? You look all flustered." She leaned against the wall, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Wait... did you get rejected or something?"

You shot up instantly, glaring. "What?! NO."

Akane’s smirk widened. "Oooooh. So something did happen."

You clenched your fists. "Nothing happened!"

She hummed, clearly not believing you. "Mhm. Sure."

You grabbed a pillow and threw it at her. She dodged it effortlessly.

"Okay, okay, relax," she said, laughing. "But seriously, why do you look like you just had the most dramatic rom-com moment of your life?"

You exhaled sharply, sinking back into the couch. "Because I work with the most insufferable person on the planet."

Akane raised an eyebrow. "The CEO guy?"

You groaned again, covering your face.

She gasped. "No way."

"Akane, drop it," you warned.

She did not drop it. She walked over, plopping onto the couch beside you, grinning like she had just uncovered the greatest secret of the century. "Wait, wait, wait—is he into you?"

Your face burned. "No!"

Akane studied you for a moment, then smirked. "Uh-huh. But are you into him?"

Your stomach twisted, and you immediately stood up. "I’m going to bed."

Akane cackled as you stomped toward your room. "Denial looks so cute on you, pig!"

You slammed your door shut, pressing your back against it. Your heart was still pounding, but now it wasn’t just from Gojo—it was from the horrifying realization that Akane’s teasing words were now stuck in your head.

"Are you into him?"

You weren’t.

Right?

You buried your face into your pillow.

This was going to be a long night.

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The next morning, you woke up groggy, the events of last night still haunting your mind. You had tossed and turned in bed, replaying every moment in that damn car, every word Gojo had said, every look he gave you.

And Akane? She had only made it worse. Are you into him? Her voice echoed in your head like a curse.

No. Absolutely not.

You groaned into your pillow before finally dragging yourself out of bed. You had work to do, and no time to think about Satoru Gojo and his infuriatingly smug face.

But the universe, apparently, had other plans.

As soon as you stepped into the office, coffee in hand, your bad luck continued.

"Morning, sweetheart," a familiar, way-too-cheerful voice greeted you.

Your body tensed instantly. You didn’t even have to look. Of course, it was him.

You sighed, taking a deep breath before finally turning to face Gojo, who was leaning against your desk, arms crossed, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips.

"Do you even work?" you asked, deadpan.

"Technically, you work for me," he said, flashing you a grin.

You gritted your teeth. "God, it’s too early for this."

Gojo chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. "You say that, but I think you secretly love seeing me first thing in the morning."

You narrowed your eyes. "If I push you out of a window, will you still be this confident on the way down?"

"Probably."

You groaned, moving past him to get to your desk, but Gojo followed, leaning down slightly, his presence way too close for comfort.

"You left in such a rush last night," he mused, voice dropping lower. "No goodnight kiss?"

You choked on air.

Your head snapped toward him so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash. "W-WHAT?!"

Gojo grinned, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Relax, sweetheart, I’m joking."

Your face burned. "You’re insufferable."

"You already said that," he teased, straightening up. "I think you need to work on some new insults."

You glared at him, your grip on your coffee tightening. "I think you need to work on staying the hell away from me."

He let out a low chuckle, stepping back, but the amusement in his eyes never faded. "Oh, sweetheart," he drawled, turning to walk away. "We both know that’s not happening anytime soon."

You clenched your jaw, watching him disappear into his office. Your entire body was buzzing with frustration—and something else you refused to acknowledge.

This man was going to be the death of you.

"Your assistance is much better than you," you said, your voice flat and blunt.

You froze for a moment, not sure where the words had come from. You’d meant to brush off the moment, but instead, you blurted it out without thinking.

Satoru's expression immediately shifted, eyebrows furrowing as he turned back to face you. "Suguru?" he asked, his voice suddenly sharp. "You like him or something?"

Your stomach dropped, realizing too late how that had come out. You hadn’t meant for it to sound like that, but now, it was out in the open, and the tension in the air thickened immediately.

You stared at Satoru, feeling your face flush, your heart hammering in your chest. Why the hell did I say that?

"I—" You cut yourself off, trying to scramble for a response, but Satoru didn’t give you much of a chance to explain.

"Wow," he said with a soft laugh, clearly amused but with a hint of something else in his tone. "You do like him, don’t you?" His grin was smug now, almost too satisfied. "I should’ve known. Suguru’s always the one everyone wants to be around."

You couldn’t even look at him. You felt caught in your own words, and now, Satoru seemed way too interested in making you squirm.

"I don’t like him like that," you muttered quickly, trying to recover. "I’m just saying, Suguru is way more competent than you."

Satoru raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Oh, so you’re saying I’m incompetent now, huh?" His voice was teasing, but there was an underlying edge to it. "You know, I think I might actually be offended."

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "You’re just not as serious as he is," you said, your voice quieter now, more defensive than you intended. "Suguru actually gets stuff done without trying to make everything... a joke."

Satoru tilted his head, a glimmer of something unreadable flashing in his eyes. "Oh, I see," he said, his voice smooth. "So, Suguru is the serious one, huh?" He took a step closer, leaning in just enough that the air between you two felt charged. "And what does that make me? The joke?"

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a second, you weren’t sure if you wanted to retreat or close the distance between you. This is ridiculous.

"I didn’t say that," you said quickly, your voice shaking just slightly.

Satoru’s grin didn’t fade. "No, you didn’t," he agreed, his tone low. "But it sure sounds like that’s what you meant."

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could get a word out, he was already walking away, that smug smile never leaving his face. "I’ll take your advice into consideration. But just so you know," he said, his voice dropping lower, "if you ever need someone serious around here..." He glanced back at you with a wink. "You know where to find me."

Your stomach tightened as he left, and you couldn’t help but feel like you’d just stepped into a new kind of mess—one that was way more complicated than anything you’d signed up for.

You stood there, trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling that was settling in your chest. Satoru’s words echoed in your mind, and for some reason, they bothered you more than they should have.

You huffed, running a hand through your hair in frustration. This was all so messed up. First, Gojo’s relentless teasing, then your careless words about Suguru, and now this weird tension building between you and him. You were so not prepared for this.

You forced yourself to sit down at your desk, trying to focus on the mountain of work in front of you. But every time your mind drifted, it went right back to the conversation with Gojo—and that look in his eyes when he’d leaned in closer.

It was like he knew.

"Hey, you good?" Haibara’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you looked up to see him standing near your desk, looking a little concerned.

"Huh?" you blinked, still half-dazed. "Oh, yeah. I’m fine."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "You sure? You look like you’re about to explode."

You sighed, slumping back in your chair. "I don’t know what the hell is going on anymore."

Haibara leaned against the edge of your desk, watching you with a curious expression. "You and Gojo had another one of your famous moments, didn’t you?"

You groaned, rubbing your face. "I didn’t mean to say that about Suguru... but now Gojo won’t let me live it down."

Haibara chuckled, clearly amused by the whole situation. "Oh, I bet. He loves poking fun at you. You know, he’s been eyeing you for a while now."

You shot him a look, surprised by his words. "What?"

Haibara shrugged nonchalantly. "You don’t think Gojo notices when someone’s interesting? Trust me, he’s got his eye on you."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you immediately looked away, hoping Haibara didn’t notice the sudden flush on your face. "That’s ridiculous. You’re reading too much into it."

Haibara grinned. "Am I? Or do you secretly enjoy the attention?"

You groaned, slumping forward onto your desk. "I don’t enjoy anything about him."

But even as you said the words, something in the back of your mind was telling you the opposite. Gojo had this strange way of making your heart race and your thoughts scatter. He made you angry, but somehow, alive in a way that nothing else had.

Haibara watched you closely, and you could tell he wasn’t buying your protest. "Alright, alright. I’ll let you work through your own mess. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you."

You shot him a look, but before you could respond, he was already walking away, leaving you alone with your swirling thoughts. You tried to focus, but there was only one thing on your mind.

Gojo.

And you hated that.

Previous chapter!

A/n- I hope you liked this chapter, many things going to happen in next chapter🙏🔥

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Taglist- @ilovejeann @katthekat1234 @belle643 @gojobiggestslut @mypenguinobject @gojodihh

[scarabsinthestardust]

Tender // Ch. 4

MASTERLIST

word count: 2200+

CHAPTER WARNINGS: language; mentions of drinking/alcoholism; arguing/one-sided arguments; depression; anxiety; unspecified undiagnosed mental illness; tiny little spoiler for Better in the Morning, but nothing that will be a shock to readers that are caught up on it

The trouble with things going smoothly is that one tends to get complacent. They get comfortable and let their guard down. They make mistakes and people suffer for it, mostly the ones they never wanted to hurt in the first place.

Josh and I have been going strong for the last six months. We’ve not so much as bickered since the first argument. He’s somehow convinced me, on some uncertain level, that maybe I do deserve this happiness. The fear is still there, of course, but Josh has found a way to quell it, and suddenly I don’t feel like I’m drowning. He’s my spark, my ever-burning flame, and I think maybe I might be able to keep it from going out.

I never wanted kids, and that hasn’t changed, but watching Josh light up around them only increases my love for him. It’s no different with his new niece. He’s been fawning over Kya and Jake’s baby nonstop since she was born and has made it his life’s mission to ensure he’s the ‘favorite uncle.’ He talks about her constantly, and I’m surprisingly not put off by his incessant chattering these days. But I suppose all good things must come to an end.

We’re in his kitchen, cleaning up after dinner. Although I still have my own place, I find myself spending most of my time at his house. He’s talking a million miles a minute about his day, and his most recent visit to Kya’s. He tells me practically everything the baby did, which isn’t much considering she’s, well, a baby, but Josh is excited, so I let him have his moment. Then he says something that makes my heart stop.

“Jake said they’re probably gonna go to West Virginia soon to visit… uh, whoever you guys know up there. I thought maybe we could tag along, make it a whole family trip.”

“No. I’m not going to West Virginia.” Bile is rising in my throat at the thought, and I’m infuriated he would even suggest it.

He reaches out to touch my arm. “I mean, I’d be there with you the whole time. I think it’d be-“

“I said no.”

“I want to see where you grew up, and whatever happened out there, we can-“

The last remaining calm in me dissipates, and I snatch my arm from him, slamming my fist on the marble countertop so hard it shoots pain up to my elbow. “Drop it!”

He blinks at me in shock, and I pretend I don’t notice the way he flinches. I’ve never raised my voice like this toward him, but now the dam has broken, and I can’t stop. “Why can’t you ever just fucking leave shit alone?”

“Finn…” His voice is so small and soft that I almost feel bad. Almost.

“Stop. Fucking. Talking. For once in your life shut the fuck up. I don’t understand why you always have to keep pushing and pushing for shit you know nothing about! Maybe no one’s ever told you no, you’re so used to getting everything you want, but it doesn’t fucking work like that. And you don’t even understand one piece of what you’re prying for. So, stop acting like a spoiled fucking brat, and quit digging!”

I know he doesn’t deserve any of what I said, but the damage is already done. His eyes are filling with tears, and he takes a step away from me. His jaw tenses and he nods, refusing to look me in the eyes. “Fine. Okay.” He doesn’t argue, the first indication that I’ve truly hurt him, only turns away and disappears down the hallway.

My heart’s racing, my skin feels like it’s on fire, and I’m squeezing my fist so tightly my nails are digging into my palm. The house is too small; the walls might be closing in on me. I don’t hear anything, and Josh doesn’t come back out. I should go apologize, but it seems like such a daunting task that will only result in more confrontation, and will inevitably lead me to hurt him more. That’s the last thing I want to do, so I grab my keys, slam the door on the way out, get in my car, and drive.

I don’t have a destination, I just need to get away. It’s already dark; the bright oncoming headlights in the opposite lane make my eyes water. Or is it the guilt and anxiety? I very much wish I could go back and do things differently. Maybe it’s not too late to salvage my relationship with him, but I can’t return to him like this, when my mind is still mottled with rage. I don’t trust what I might do. Instead, I’ll do what I do best – run.

~

JOSHUA

When Josh told his twin he was coming over, Jake wasn’t expecting to find him with bloodshot eyes and splotchy, tear-stained cheeks. “Shit, what’s wrong?” Jake ushered him inside and directed his attention to Josh, concern painting his features.

“Finn and I got into a fight. And he didn’t come home. It’s been 24 hours. His phone’s going straight to voicemail. I checked his place, and I don’t think he’s been there either. What if something happened to him? What if-“

“Josh, calm down. I’m sure he’s fine.” Jake coaxed his brother to sit down on the couch. He gently reminded Josh to keep his voice down, so he doesn’t wake the baby. “Did he say anything before he left?”

“No. No, we argued… he was so pissed off so I tried to give him some space and he just left.” Josh didn’t want to elaborate on the details; he knew how Jake would react to Finn being the primary aggressor, and he didn’t want to make his boyfriend out to be the bad guy. He blamed himself for it anyways. “I don’t know what to do. I’m worried about him. And I checked the weather, there’s another storm coming through. What if he gets stuck out in it somewhere?”

Jake shook his head. “What are you talking about? He’s not a fucking dog, Josh. It’s just rain. He’ll figure it out.”

“No, he’s right to be worried.” Kya’s voice came from behind them; they didn’t hear her come around the corner until she spoke. “He’s always been terrified of storms. I don’t know why. He used to hide in the closet when we were kids, until it passed. But that also means he watches the weather like a hawk. I’m sure he’s found somewhere safe to hunker down until it passes.”

“Is this normal for him, to just disappear?” Josh’s eyes pleaded with her for some kind of reassurance.

Kya shrugged sadly. “He’s always been a little ghost-y, I guess. But I didn’t think he would just drop off without telling you. What… was it that bad of a fight?”

Josh swallowed as he fought back tears. “It… no, it was stupid. And I’m the one that upset him. I started it.”

Kya watched him carefully; there was something he wasn’t telling them. But she didn’t call him out on it. She figured if it was something serious, he would have said something. “He’ll come around,” she said. “He doesn’t handle confrontation well. I’m sure he just needs some time to cool off and clear his head. He’ll come back.” She didn’t let on that she was suddenly doubting her own words.

When Josh eventually returned home, dejected and depressed, he curled up on the couch under a soft throw blanket. He held his phone close and made sure the volume was turned up in case Finn did call him back. He wanted to stay up, wanted to wait just a little longer, but exhaustion won out and he soon drifted to sleep.

~

It’s barely dawn by the time I make it back to Josh’s house. His car is here. He’s probably asleep, which makes me falter. I don’t want to wake him up, but I know the longer I stay away, the harder it will be. I’ve rehearsed a hundred different conversations in my head, like memorizing a script that will change based on how Josh responds to each line. I’m honestly quite terrified. I considered just staying gone, but I know Josh well enough to know that kind of uncertainty would only hurt him more. If I’ve lost him, at least we’ll both know it.

I ring the doorbell. I know where he keeps the spare key, but I don’t feel like I’ve earned the right to use it. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath as I wait for a response. I’m surprised at how quickly he comes to the door, and I’m even more shocked when he throws his arms around me so hard I almost stumble backwards.

“Where the hell have you been? I was so worried about you. I thought… I thought something happened to you.”

He was worried? About me? I coax him inside so I can shut the door. I’m not keen on providing intel on our private lives to the neighbors. He sniffs and rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. When I finally get a good look at his face, my chest aches. He hasn’t slept; he looks exhausted. I know he’s been crying, and I hate that it’s my fault.

He allows me to lead him to the couch, but instead of sitting with him, I kneel on the floor in front of him. “I’m so sorry.” It seems like a good place to start. “I’m sorry for how I treated you. You didn’t deserve that, Josh. I lost my cool, that’s all on me. And… I understand if you want me to leave, if you don’t want this anymore.”

“Where did you go?” he asks quietly.

“Uh, Wichita.”

“Kansas? What the hell is in Kansas? Or… who?”

I’m mildly taken aback at the implication, but if the roles were reversed, I’d be thinking the same thing. “I promise you, it’s nothing like that. I didn’t plan to go to Wichita, I just ended up there. I…” I hesitate to tell him the whole truth. Hiding it is easier, and he may not ever forgive me. But maybe he’ll pity me instead, and that’s almost worse. “I messed up, though.” I pull my AA chip from my pocket and place it in his hand, careful to avoid his eyes. “I’m sorry. I know you’re probably disappointed in me. I found a meeting before I came back, but if you don’t want-“

“I don’t want you to leave.” He looks at the chip in his palm before holding it back out to me. “This doesn’t define you, Finn. You’re allowed to make mistakes.”

Mistakes get people killed. “You deserve better,” I admit. I’m giving him an out, an escape route, and the small piece of me that is still decent wants him to take it. I slip the chip back into my pocket, although it feels dirty now, contaminated somehow.

He’s staring down at the carpet, and I can see the wheels turning. “You weren’t drunk, though.”

“I got drunk. I went to a bar, and-“

“No, I mean before you left. You weren’t drunk when you screamed at me.”

“No,” I whisper. “I… I can’t go back there, Josh. You trying to convince me to, it… it triggered something in me, I guess. I can’t stand feeling like I don’t have a choice.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I know you didn’t. I’m working on it, though. And I know it’s a lot to ask, but I promise if you give me another chance, I’ll do better. It won’t happen again.”

He stays quiet for a moment, sniffling as he considers my words. I’m still not confident that he’ll forgive me, and I brace myself for the worst. But instead, he leans forward, resting his arms on my shoulders and pulling me to him. “I’m sorry. Just please don’t leave. Let me help you,” he practically begs.

I give into his pleas, and we stay like this until he asks me to come to bed with him. “Will you just lay with me?” I hold him then, neither of us saying a word. His fingers absentmindedly trace my skin, just under the hem of my shirt. They trail along the small scar just above my right hip and I tense up involuntarily. The little patch of marred flesh is just a reminder, another in a long line of stories I will never tell him. He’s learned to quit asking about it, now.

I don’t think I really sleep. Josh eventually drifts off and I’m left alone. I don’t want to admit it, but my gut is telling me this is wrong. Something in me is screaming to get away from here, from him. Except it’s not because I’m in any kind of danger. It’s because I know he is. No matter how many promises I make, how many times he forgives me for the things I’ve done, or how much he pleads for me to stay with him, I will inevitably hurt him over and over again. There is no doubt in my mind that everything he’s tried to build in himself, I will bring it all crashing to the ground. I do love him, more than I’ve loved anyone this way. Some say if you love something, you need to let it go. But my love for him, and my own selfishness, is why I know I never will. I’ll hold onto him for as long as I can, even if all I do is drag him down with me to the pits of wherever the hell I end up.

///

@hollyco @fleetingjake @musicislove3389 @hailthegodsong @josh-iamyour-mama @katuschka

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[lunarsands]

ESMP Fanfic: A Garden’s Path - Ch 4

In this chapter:

Characters: MythicalSausage, TangoTek, JimmySolidarity, ScottSmajor, Sir Carlos, Shrub, KatherineElizabeth, and introducing: The Children of Mythland

Relationships: MythicalSausage/Scott Smajor, TangoTek & SolidarityGaming, Shrub/Katherine Elizabeth

Tags: PTSD, adoption, fluff, wholesome

Chapter Summary: Sausage’s untimely dealings with a stray Warden interfere in spending time with Liana. She takes it in stride – there’s always time for more tea parties, right? However, something else haunts him… But Liana doesn’t believe in ghosts, after all! Who else would be better to help him move on from those whispers of the past?

(Also available on Ao3!)

[ Prologue ] [ Chapter One ] [ Chapter Two ] [ Chapter Three ]

---

Chapter Four – The Parties and The First Dreams

Sausage shivered as he brought up the rear behind Jimmy, the stray Warden ahead of them and Tango at the front luring it along the tunnel with the sound of pops and sizzles from his fiery hair. With the need to keep the Warden moving as top priority Sausage hadn’t reattached his prosthetic yet, keeping it tucked through his belt on his right side for the moment. The lack of lava pockets in the area paired with the surrounding stone made the cold seep into his bones; within a few more minutes the chill began to draw out an ache in his stump. He reached over to rub at it but a sniffing noise from the Warden made him go stock still.

Jimmy noticed this from the corner of his eye – and he halted, too. He gave Sausage a single nod in acknowledgement. Only when the Warden uttered a dismissive grunt did the two allow themselves to breathe and continue forward. However, Sausage didn’t truly relax until the Deep Dark appeared ahead of them. He kept an ear out but there wasn’t even so much as a single squelch of Tango’s feet on the sculk due to the careful way the Blaze hybrid carefully tread on it. As soon as the Warden fully crossed over the deepslate bordering the sculk it dug downwards to return from whence it came.

A tense minute passed as Tango and Jimmy searched around the immediate area, but after signaling to each other that there were no shriekers in the vicinity, they ran at each other and whiffed a high-five – on purpose, which had become their custom congratulatory ritual to avoid injuring each other by mix of fire and water.

Sausage let out a sign of relief before turning to head out. He nearly jumped out of his skin a second later when a boom of thunder crashed through the tunnels. “Ohmygod! That shouldn’t travel like that all the way down here!!” He clutched at his chest in genuine distress.

Jimmy assumed the man was being overdramatic as usual. “Gee, Sausage, just be glad that doesn’t rile up Wardens, or Mythland would be overrun with ‘em!” He clapped Sausage on the back in a patronizing manner. “You’ve looked nervous this whole time, by the way. Has settling down made you lose your touch or something?”

A jumble of responses bounced around Sausage’s mind, then he made a point to grasp the end of his right arm and blurt out, “Yeah. This touch, Jimmy!” He twisted his face into an infuriated glare.

He was, however, only pinching his lips together to hold back a guffaw at his own joke, but the expression served to make the Codfather think he had severely offended the Mythlandian.

Jimmy hastily stepped back, reacting as expected. “Sorry, man. I – uh – kinda forgot about that for a second. You – You haven’t let it slow you down, y’know? F-From what I’ve seen you’re still good ol’ King Sausage, mighty ruler of Mythland!”

Tango popped up beside him to rescue Jimmy from his unintentional fumble, as well as to get them walking. “Speaking of, have the caves and sculk pockets and possible Ancient City under your kingdom been fully mapped out?”

“Uhh…” Sausage coughed to hold back his initial response of, ‘I already explored the whole thing in another world so why would I do it again?’ and instead said, “Well, there are some old maps that a previous ruler of Mythland drew, but obviously sculk spreads over time so they might be a little outdated and not one hundred percent accurate anymore – which, you know, actually might be why a Warden emerged here when no sightings had been reported before. Obviously I’ve been focused on my family lately, so updating musty old maps hasn’t been at the top of my list, and I’m not about to take the kids on an adventure this early in their lives, oh no!”

Tango cackled. “Relax, your highly-est-ness. What I’m saying is that we could do the mapping for you! Navigating the Deep Dark is like second nature to me, and my codly friend here has – obviously – been learning from the best!”

Following Tango’s lead Jimmy chimed in, “And – And you can look at it this way: we can make it safer for your kids by finding all the dangerous spots and blocking them off! Then you guys can have a family adventure without worry!”

Sausage spun around so he could regard both of them. He noted their eager smiles. “Are you guys just looking for an excuse to explore Deep Darks that you haven’t been in yet?”

“Yes,” Jimmy and Tango chorused in sweet tones.

Sausage turned to resume walking, surreptitiously slipping his prosthetic free and holding it by the forearm section with his left hand. He then tilted his head up and clasped his chin – with his prosthetic hand, controlling it remotely. “Hmm. Hmmm,” he uttered with drawn-out, thoughtful inflection. “Hmm…”

He heard eager and anxious squeaks from behind him. He grinned; at least their antics had helped to calm his nerves. “Hmm. Well…”

“Well?” Tango echoed.

“Yeah?” Jimmy asked.

Smoothly switching to walking backward, Sausage pivoted to face them again so he could show the comical position of his arms. Then he pointed his prosthetic at them – while pointing one prosthetic finger at them, as well. A brief giggle escaped him as he was amused by his own absurdity. He needed to remember to try this one on the kids. “You do seem qualified for the job, so I’ll let you do it! But I want you to start at the borders and work your way inward. Small villages and settlements need to be protected, too! I have enough guards and soldiers in the capital to protect the castle and close-by towns.”

By this time Tango was cracking up at the sight of the prosthetic hand waggling around, but pulled himself together a second later to respond, “Sure, sure, solid plan. We’ll get on it just as soon… as…” His voice trailed off as they reached an elevation high enough to hear the rain that had ended up accompanying the thunder from earlier. Tango emitted an irritated noise.

Sausage lowered his arms and looked at Tango questioningly. “What is it? Do you have other plans? You don’t have to do it right away. Mythland is huge! This is probably something that could take years, considering how out of date some of those maps are! And you’ve both got your own responsibilities I’m sure, and—”

Jimmy interrupted. “It’s not that, Sausage. Listen.”

Sausage stopped rambling and did as told, angling his head as if his left ear might be better at picking up on what had made Tango abruptly turn surly.

“Rain,” Jimmy said. “Tango hates the rain. It’s not exactly something he experienced in the Burning Dark.”

As if to emphasize the point, Tango let out an irritated growl before muttering, “Stupid water that stupidly falls from the entire stupid sky, rrr-gak!”

Sausage was puzzled, then he noticed the increasing amount of smoke coming off of the staves that encircled Tango’s head. An unintentional laugh burst out of him. “Oh, I see! Because of the whole Blaze thing! Wait, but wouldn’t it just evaporate when it lands on you?”

“Yeah,” Tango squawked, “If it’s a light drizzle! But it rarely drizzles! It’s always like that dumb sky of yours sees me and goes ‘Well, time to dump buckets full of rain on this guy in particular! Hoo-hoo, let’s show the Blaze man what the surface world is all about!”

Jimmy uttered an awkward sound. “Um, sorry, Tango. I kinda like the rain…”

Tango flailed his hands at the Codfather. “That’s because your fish brain thinks the droplets hitting the water are bugs! Fish food instincts! You fishy-fish… fishman!”

Jimmy now laughed softly at his friend’s incoherent rage. “Gee, Tango, maybe you should step out into the rain for a little bit to cool off!”

Tango’s rage subsided into annoyed muttering for the rest of the walk up to the tunnel that exited out into the larger cave where they had started. Sure enough, the view of the world outside featured a sky full of clouds and pouring rain. Tango risked a closer look, then meeped in distress and jumped backward as wind blew some raindrops onto him.

There was a flash of lightning that was immediately followed by thunder. The main storm was directly over them. Sausage took a peek outside for himself. “Hm. Those are some heavy, dark clouds. Looks like it will be storming for a while.”

Tango made yet another annoyed sound then meandered further away to the back of the cave to sit up on a ledge. Jimmy stayed near the cave entrance and even made himself comfortable in a puddle that had begun to form in a lower-lying spot. “Might as well get comfy, then. If you both want, I can go to the village to get food before it gets too dark and we can camp here until it’s over. We probably should have planned for that, but you were in a big hurry, Sausage. You can’t really rush a Warden wrangling session, my friend.”

“What do you mean, get food?” Sausage asked.

“Well, we were too busy to be hungry,” Jimmy replied, “But if the storm keeps up for that long, then we’ll want dinner at some point, right?”

“What?? But we should have plenty—oh, no.”  Sausage’s expression became mortified, then he began to look panicked, patting around his body like he was searching for something.

“What is it, Sausage? Wha—”

“I said I’d be home for lunch, Jimmy!! It’s going to be past dinnertime if I wait for the storm to stop! My little princess is missing her first full day with her new papa!!”

“Sausage, you—”

The Mythlandian whimpered indecisively. He took his prosthetic from his belt and looked from it to the cuff-covered end of his stump, wondering if it was worth the time it would take to get it reattached, or just leave immediately. Jimmy was about to volunteer Tango to help with it, since Tango had redstone knowledge, and it might distract the Blaze hybrid from his misery, but Sausage then shoved the prosthetic down the front of his shirt and rushed out into the rain without another word.

Jimmy blinked but made no attempt to go after him. Tango made a point to scrape his boots on the stone as he drew his legs up. “So, umm, hey. What’s this ‘princess’ thing, now?”

~*~

As soon as the rain had started Scott ushered the children in from the garden where they had been playing after their shopping trip and subsequent delayed lunch when Sausage hadn’t returned on time. There had been a brief protest from Liana, who was accustomed to mainly snow as precipitation and wanted to experience Mythland’s version. He had warned her that lower elevation storms could come with other dangers.

A lightning bolt that struck the weathervane on the tallest tower accompanied by a bone-rattling crash of thunder sufficed to send her wailing after her brothers, who had retreated to the dining room to decide on an indoor activity to pass the time. After checking on her Scott settled into his seat when the boys chose to do some individual reading; he offered to read a book with Liana but she fidgeted, then said she wanted to be brave and watch the storm.

She picked a window just outside the dining room – good for staying in Dad’s line of sight, at least – and cautiously looked outside. At first she peeked up over the windowsill, then she stood up to observe, and finally she dragged a chair over to sit. She was soon swinging her legs and leaning her upper body from side to side to match the motion while occasionally saying, “Ooh!” after a particularly bright flash of lightning.

Scott was glad she had so easily found a way to keep occupied and remain in one spot, since he soon found himself tending to reports that came in regarding a few rivers that had a history of overflowing in torrential rains. For the moment all was in hand, so he sent responses recommending to place a watch on standby and let him know when noted locations looked like they would become a risk. In the event of a breach, he could fly to the location and build up ice dams to prevent anything worse happening.

He explained this to the boys before he sent off the last responses, offering to train Elowen in flood mitigation procedures when the budding ice mage felt he was ready. He also gently requested for them to watch over Liana if he did have to leave, because Sir Carlos and Bubbles might also have to go out to assist citizens. He reassured them that the storm was unlikely to reach drastic proportions, but he wanted them to be prepared for his absence just in case. Obviously there would be plenty of guards and castle staff to help them with anything in these instances.

As expected, Azahar took on an air of assuming responsibility for his younger siblings. Elowen declined the lesson for the moment, and the two went over to join Liana. They patiently listened to her excitedly list how many lightning bolts she had counted in the sky compared to how many looked like they had struck the ground somewhere.

Scott had hoped a message from Sausage would arrive along with the reports, yet as time ticked by neither word of him or a message from him came in. Scott knew Liana would be disappointed, but it seemed like Sausage’d had the sense to take shelter to wait out the storm until it was safer to fly.

He was set on this belief up until Liana called out, “Daddy! There’s a giant bird flying this way!”

Scott looked away from the latest missive that had just been delivered, puzzled by how she could have seen such a thing from that window’s particular angle – then he saw that she was out of the chair and crouched down, her cheek against the windowsill and her head fully sideways to view what was apparently just enough of a sliver of the sky. He signed off on the scroll and let the attendant take it from the table themself while he went over to attempt a look.

Liana moved aside and pointed. Scott ducked down, trying to catch a glimpse of what she had seen, but he was too tall to find that same angle. He gave up and went to the doors of the garden. Maybe it was only a bird. On the other hand, birds usually find a place to roost during storms. He knew his husband wasn’t always as wise.

What Scott saw was definitely not a bird, but at least was someone in a reassuringly slow, planned downward glide. The danger of lightning still concerned him, though, so he lowered the temperature about half a meter from the ground to transform the rain into padded snow. He added an extra layer of snow for good measure – the softer the landing, the better.

He heard Liana’s delighted cry from the doorway; of course, the children would be drawn by his actions. “You said you did magic, but I didn’t know you could change a whole storm!”

“Not the whole thing,” Scott explained distractedly. “Just a small area right now.”

Liana merely giggled and began scooping up the snow that had fallen closest to the doors. “It feels like real snow!”

“It is real – Liana, I’m sorry, but now is not the time to play. I’ll make snow for you when it’s safer, okay? Please go inside.”

“Okay, Daddy. Make sure you catch Papa!”

“What—” He had been so intent on ensuring the snow would be deep enough that he hadn’t been paying attention to an exact trajectory of where Sausage might land.

His husband’s voice faded in to an audible range. “Innncominggg!!”

Scott looked skyward just in time to see Sausage lop-sidedly gliding directly at him. By reflex he did as Liana suggested and spread his arms; he caught Sausage, all right, and both of them tumbled through the snow for his trouble. Sausage grinned awkwardly down at Scott when they came to a halt, the elf ending up the one with his backside in the snow. “Nice catch, my dearest.”

Scott playfully shoved him off. “I love you, but it was dumb of you to fly in this.” He then noted how careful Sausage was about getting back to his feet, which is what made him realize there was a lack of prosthetic arm. He frowned. “What happened to your arm now?”

“Oh, heh, it’s fine! Mostly. Um. I didn’t have time to put it back on because I was in a hurry to get home. Do you know how easy it is to lose track of time when you’re purposely trying to find the Deep Dark? I figured it was better to just carry it home so you could help instead of leaving it up to slippery-fingered Jimmy, or lose even more time with Tango asking about every single little redstone detail that even I can’t explain—”

“I’m pretty sure you could have trusted either one of them, Sausage – even if it did take longer! They’re not the worst people to wait out a storm with, and maybe you should know more about all those little details. Anyway, where is your arm? You’re not carrying anything in your hand!” Scott began to look around the little furrow they had left in the snow. “Did you drop it? I’ll melt this so we can find it easier, hold on.”

“Oh, oops, uhh…” Sausage patted at himself.

Before he could play at theatrics again, however, Liana yelled from the doorway, “Papa, did you lose your metal arm? Don’t worry, I bet Daddy can make you one out of snow! Like he made all this snow!”

Sausage let out a forced hearty laugh, aware of how Scott’s shoulders went stiff. “He could maybe, but it would melt any time I ate soup! Fear not, though! I have it right here!” He reached under the collar of his shirt and pulled out his prosthetic – only to utter a long, “Uhhh…” upon seeing that the thinner struts around the inner basket had been warped by the collision and subsequent roll with Scott. “Ah. Heh. Hm. I, um, didn’t think that part of it was so… crushable.”

Scott eyed the damage and grumbled, “That’s because it’s meant to be held in shape by the rest of your arm.”

Elowen’s face appeared at the doorway next, seeming concerned by this news, but Sausage calmly said, “Oh, well. At least it didn’t get smashed by a Warden or anything like that. I’ll put on a spare and see if I can bend it back into shape by myself. If not, um, I’ll just send a little message to fWhip when the rain is over.”

“He’ll be happy to hear from you,” Scott said wryly. He then pushed Sausage toward the doorway. “Now let’s get you inside and dry you off. You’re soaked and you are very late for lunch. If you’re lucky, we can fit in an afternoon tea before dinner.”

Liana and Elowen giggled at the sight of their papa being scolded. Everyone headed upstairs since Scott was now also soaked from the rain – and Liana had managed to sneak snow into her skirt pockets which, of course, promptly began to melt.

~*~

Scott lightly scrubbed Sausage’s hair with a towel then moved to dry his bare shoulders as Sausage sat on a sturdy footstool, dressed in a fresh pair of trousers and house slippers. He was inspecting the four spare prosthetics laid out on a cloth-covered table at the side of the room, away from the window where rain water might get on them. fWhip currently had two other previous models that he was tinkering with, intending to improve them so there would be proper spares, but for now the choices were limited to the non-so-perfect versions.

The very first model was there for sentimental value, at this point mostly good for use as a paper weight and probably should have been stored in the treasury. There was one with sketchy redstone connections, and one with very sketchy redstone connections. Then there was the fully plated one with minimal moving parts for diplomatic emergencies if his regular prosthetic failed right before he needed to deal with foreign dignitaries – or very particular Mythland nobles.

At the moment Sausage was trying to remember which of the middle two had the most-sketchy redstone. They looked very similar and he hadn’t thought to mark them – or flat-out return them to fWhip to repair or scrap. The answer was obvious to him: try them on and find out.

He picked up one and tried to make himself memorize the slight dent on top of the forearm casing. As Scott went to pick out a shirt for him, Sausage slipped the upper part over his stump. He felt a zap as it made contact with his skin. “Ow. Heheh, that kind of tickled.” He tested the finger movement and found it stiff. “Hmm. Not as flexible as I remember.” He slipped it off and placed it on the opposite side of the fully plated one to distinguish the two.

Then he picked up the other dubious one and eased the slightly patina-coated copper basket into place. “Ow! Well, that was more than a tickle.” He eased it away in case he had merely pressed it on too tightly, then tried it again. “Ow. Nope, definitely not this one.”

Scott shook his head in amused exasperation as he returned with a gold-embroidered, violet shirt that had no sleeve on the right side, ideal for accommodating older versions of the prosthetic. “Dear, I’ve encouraged you not to do things like that.”

Sausage laughed. “Okay okay okay! I was only kidding around!” He cleared his throat as he lowered the definitely-malfunctioning prosthetic onto the table, now putting it on the far side of the prototype. “But, honestly, the choices aren’t great. I’m going to have to insist fWhip finish those other backups.”

“You could also be more careful with the one you have. You should have just taken the few minutes to ask for help to put it back on. …Come to think of it, why did you remove it in the first place?”

“Well, you know I can control it remotely, and so why risk ourselves when risking my arm is only a minor inconvenience compared to, say, one of us being smashed to pieces by a Warden?”

“WHY were you using your arm as Warden bait in the first place?!”

“It – It – listen, listen listen. It seemed like a good idea at the time! We improvised a noise machine, and—”

“Nope. Stop right there,” Scott commanded. He had caught sight of motion by the door. Azahar was signaling him. Scott nodded. The boy grinned and disappeared from view. Scott draped the shirt over Sausage’s shoulders before sweeping around to the other side of the table. “I’m going to have strong words with those two next time I see them, but for now—” He picked up the fully plated prosthetic. “Just go with this one. The elbow bends, you can hold it out well enough, and you don’t need it to eat. You can still have a nice meal with our new daughter without a fully functional arm.”

“Fine, fine.” Sausage sighed in mock-resignation, slouching down. “It’s not like I wanted to run around to play in the garden and carry her on my shoulders or anythi—”

Scott gestured emphatically toward the window. “Sausage! It’s still pouring rain!”

“I know, I just—”

“Shush already and finish getting dressed. You can always read stories by the fireplace,” Scott suggested.

Sausage perked up. “Oh, yes, of course! I have endless stories of my own to tell! Like how I single-handedly defeated a Warden today!”

Scott conjured a snowball to fling at him. “You get one – one – joke to tell the kids a weeks – tops! Don’t encourage them like you do my brother.”

“Deal. But they get to make all the jokes they want to, because I want them to have fun with it! You’re so mean, though.” Sausage pouted at him before pulling on the shirt. “If I had to go and cause myself to lose an arm I want to be silly about it with my children. That was an unspoken part of the deal.”

Scott switched to giving him a patient smile. “Very well. Don’t worry, there is plenty of time now for all the silliness you can fit into a day.” He let Sausage arrange the shirt to his liking, then helped him don the less-familiar prosthetic. Scott finished by hooking Sausage’s dress cape across his shoulders, then retrieved his own cape from his wardrobe. “There. No reason to not be a bit fancy. We did find some nice new clothes for everyone, after all.”

Sausage grinned brightly. Scott then had to make it not seem too obvious that he was trying to stop his husband from running the whole way down the hall – but at least he took the stairs slower, with Scott tugging on his left arm once reaching the bottom step. Scott smile and hooked his arm around Sausage’s, ensuring a calm walk to the dining room.

Sausage gave him a befuddled look after the tug but followed it with a small shrug and accepted the hint to carry himself with kingly dignity rather than new-father enthusiasm. As they rounded the corner, however, he was befuddled again by the sight of Azahar standing at the doorway with his hands behind his back, wearing a herald’s tabard and cap. The latter sat oddly on his head as if covering something else. Within the dining room, the table was set for dinner with the addition of tea cups at each place. The chairs had been rearranged so that there was one at the head of the table facing the doorway and two to either side, instead of one at each end.

Azahar called out loudly in a fake deep voice, “Now welcoming the wonderous and kind Dad and Papa of Mythland!” From behind his back, he produced his violin. He played a few notes in imitation of a trumpet’s fanfare. “Please, my lords, be seated,” he directed in a less-booming voice.

Scott nodded to him. “Thank you for the introduction, good sir.” Sausage continued to feel confused, but a goofy smile rippled across his face as he and Scott headed inside. He reflexively went to the head of the table, but when he pulled out his chair he realized he wasn’t meant to sit there this time. He nearly giggled as he sat next to Scott instead.

Azahar then announced, “The Princes of Mythland shall join us shortly.” He played another short fanfare. “I shall now introduce our hostess, the beauteous and imaginative and loquacious and optimistic and—”

A voice hissed from somewhere to the side. Azahar politely cleared his throat. “And many other such things that she may be known for. I present to you: Princess Liana!” He played a longer fanfare as Liana appeared, accompanied by Elowen who was dressed in an oversized blue robe and matching cap that also seemed to be covering something else on his head. He was one step behind her with his hands held out over her head. She wore a long purple dress with ruffled tiers down the skirt. A lighter shade of lace was strung along each tier and on the short, round puffed sleeves. Atop her head was a slightly-uneven tiara made of ice, which Elowen was obviously trying to hold into shape.

When Liana reached the chair at the head of the table she curtsied to Elowen. “Thank you, High Wizard of All Ices. You may go now.” Rather than immediately leave, Elowen helped her climb onto the cushion that had been occupying the chair.

He then carefully bowed, keeping a hand on his cap to stop it from falling off, then he shuffled backward until he had made it out the door. Azahar followed until they were both out of sight; a few seconds later he used his herald voice again. “Our tardy guests have arrived! Welcome, Azahar the Musical and Elowen the Chilly!”

The boys ambled into view, tugging their clothes into place: the very outfits they had worn to their debut gala, which they clearly had been wearing under the tabard and robe, along with having been wearing their crowns under the caps. They entered the dining room and bowed low. In his normal voice, Azahar said, “So sorry for the delay, Lady Princess.”

“Our carriage was set on fire by a fire-breathing elk!” Elowen provided.

Liana tutted at them, waving a dismissive hand. “All’s well an’ good, Princes. These things happen. Please be seated.” The boys did so, with Elowen sitting closest to her so he could subtly reach toward Liana’s head to stop the tiara from melting.

Sausage had a beaming smile by this point, having put his elbows on the table and carefully interlaced his fingers to rest his chin on the back of his left hand. “You look very lovely, princess Liana. That dress is perfect for you.”

Liana’s pretend airs almost fell apart when she noticed the difference in his prosthetic. “Papa, your—” She hastily stopped herself with a little cough. “’Scuse me, Papa of Mythland, I can’ts help but see how fancy your metal arm is today. It’s interesting that you gots diff’rent ones.”

She was keeping her tone calm but her eyes sparkled with an obvious question of being allowed to see the possible others later.

Sausage replied suavely, “I wear this one for the most special of events, such as dining with very important people, like yourself.” Liana’s face lit up with a grin. Sausage’s smile quickly matched it. “I can tell you more about it this evening – perhaps after we eat? I wouldn’t want to take time away from what you have to tell us about your day, dear Princess,” he said, indicating his own interest in what he had missed.

The day’s exploits were described and the family continued with the somewhat-theatrical game up until the kitchen staff started bringing out food. Liana suddenly became quite focused on taking extreme care with how she ate, not letting a single crumb fall onto her new dress.

Her efforts continued through to dessert, although it was obvious how her façade slipped as her eyes widened and an excited smile overtook her face when presented with a piece of cake. Somehow she reigned herself in. “Why, I do says, the castle baker has outdone herself today. A very y— lovely cake is before us. Ev’ryone should enjoy it!”

A chuckle escaped Azahar. Liana’s gaze darted to him; a tiny frown twitched at her lips, either a warning or precursor to a pout if he went out of character. He salvaged the moment by saying, “Pardon my amusement, Princess Liana. I had allowed myself a thought toward the fashion of these days, and an amusing memory crossed my mind. Do you know of the shop off the main thoroughfare? Perhaps a maid has brought word? Well, they had on display a gown of the most garish shade of green that you can imagine!”

Scott was impressed at the cleverness as the conversation that followed segued back into a recounting of the shopping trip and the items they had each picked up. Elowen was more direct in his list, technically dropping his pretend act but Liana didn’t call him on it because she was just as excited to tell Sausage what she had seen and found that day.

The pretend game came to a natural end, with Liana now excited to show Sausage all her new clothes – and show him exactly what Azahar and Elowen had gotten. While Scott and the boys opted to take their time relaxing after dessert, Liana led the way up the stairs, exuberant yet careful not to trip or catch her dress on anything. Her attention slipped at the top step, however; thinking that she had reached the floor, she turned to ramble about her fitting at the tailor’s shop, only to trip.

Just as she began to fall backward, Sausage caught her by the waist and lifted her up with a grin, then set her onto her feet. “Careful, little princess. Even a pretty dress is replaceable. You are priceless.”

Liana grinned back at him. “Thanks, Papa!”

The incident didn’t stop her from running to her room, leaving him behind. By the time he caught up she was in the process of changing into a casual dress that was a shade of green close to Sausage’s usual royal robe. “I still wanna keep it nice, though,” she explained in a serious tone. Sausage nodded and hung it up in the wardrobe for her alongside other new dresses. He smiled about how they had replaced her tattered old ones.

By that point Azahar and Elowen had come upstairs to also show their new clothes. Sausage sat on the floor of the shared room with Liana hovering behind him, while Scott stood in the doorway, glad that Sausage was still participating in some way. Elowen held up a new shirt and showed how his new leggings reached below his ankles where his old ones had started coming up short. Azahar spoke of how his new shirts were more comfortable, less tight against his broadening shoulders.

Sausage offered compliments on color combinations and applauded the choice of embroidery designs on items they had picked out themselves. He then helped to swap out the ill-fitting clothes for the new.

This is where Liana pointed out how Azahar could give clothes that no longer fit him to Elowen to play in, and she could take some of Elowen’s clothes because she didn’t mind wearing things that weren’t dresses, clothes were clothes after all, and what if she did want to climb trees or run around in the mud sometime – you can’t do that in a pretty princess dress, or her new dresses, but maybe in her really old clothes, and—and—

Scott smiled throughout her motivational speech, amused yet again at how she was the perfect match for Sausage’s verbal energy, which brought about a mental image of Sausage as a young child. It came in contrast to the disquiet air hovering around Sausage at the moment despite his own delighted smile at Liana’s rambling. Scott couldn’t put a finger on what it was. If things had gone poorly with the Warden he was certain Sausage would have said something. The way his husband was caught up in the children’s enthusiasm made it seem it wasn’t the morning’s incident nor missing the day out with them that was the cause.

He would have to keep an eye on that.

~*~

The rest of the week was spent on little tours to help Liana familiarize herself with the castle grounds and the city, where she continued to charm pretty much everyone she met. She invited castle staff to tea parties, although most of the time the invitations had to be politely declined due to the already scheduled work, but Liana would find other toys visiting her to join instead. Even Bubbles would find a seat at the low table allocated for playtime.

By the following week, however, Sausage had begun to excuse himself from participating, too – briefly explaining to Liana that he had some very important kingly matters that needed his attention right away, like the one on her first full day in Mythland. His tone was regretful; he truly wanted to spend time playing with her, but the thing he couldn’t say was that in the back of his mind he had something else gnawing at him, and work was a needed distraction.

Regarding the schooling he would be missing out on in Liana’s case, Sausage had Sir Carlos direct her lessons more toward reading and language skills as agreed on with Scott, leaving more in-depth topics like math, magic, and Mythland’s history for later months. This did make Liana’s school sessions shorter than her brothers’, giving her enough free time to cheerfully play her favorite pretend games with plushies while waiting for her dads and brothers to join her.

On the fifth consecutive day of Sausage being unable to attend, however, Liana was quiet as she slowly circled the extra table in the library – now designated for tea time, since it was the easiest place Scott could keep an eye on her while also supervising the boys. She set six places instead of the usual five, going so far as to lower the cups onto their plates extremely carefully so they wouldn’t clink too loudly. Not that she lacked care the previous times, but usually she would hum to herself or talk out loud about which flavor tea she would serve and which flowers she would arrange together for a centerpiece, as well as patting at the cushions lying on the floor to make sure they were soft enough for everyone to sit on.

This time when she was done she sat in one of the big armchairs by the fireplace to wait. She swung her feet and seemed to be trying to refrain from humming, although a note slipped out every now and then. She would hastily silence herself. Scott glanced over during these moments and noticed how her head moved as her gaze would go from the hearth to the empty fireplace.

Scott had been walking behind the boys to check their progress on a history test Sir Carlos had written for them. They were both sailing through the questions with little hesitation, so he leaned between them to whisper that they could call him back over if they needed anything. Then he went over to Liana and knelt beside the chair. “Do we have a new guest today, Liana? I saw you didn’t bring your bunny to read to him while you wait for us. I heard Sir Carlos say he would be back in time to join us. Did he say he would bring a friend?”

Liana squirmed slightly and continued to look at the hearth rather than at him. “No. I just wanted to have a place for Papa so’s he could have some tea, too. Maybe he cans finish work in time today…”

Scott patted her arm. “He has been trying. I am sorry about this. We had expected to have a lot of free time for both of us to spend with you, Elowen, and Azahar aside from breakfast, dinner, and story time before bed. Sometimes unexpected things happen, and kings have to make sure every family in the kingdom is protected.”

“Mm-hmm,” Liana quietly agreed. “I know. But… kings should gets af’ernoon snacks, too. An’… an’ he didn’t come to lunch, neither. Are kings s’posed to not eat lunch when they gots a lotta work??”

Scott chuckled. “I assure you he eats while working.”

“But we’re s’posed to only eat at the table!” Indignation rose in her tone, which actually made Scott feel better – it meant she was returning to her feisty self. “We eat lunch at the big table, an’ have tea on this table, an’ there’s a table in the garden for snacks when it’s not rainin’! I wanna have a tea party in the garden one day, but ev’rybody has gots to be there!”

“Well, I’ll check with Papa before dinner and find out for you how much work he has left. We’re still waiting for that special order tea set for you, after all. We could make a garden tea party the special event when we get to see how it turned out.”

“Okay.” Liana went back into a sulking mode. “But only if Papa cans be there.”

“I’ll make sure of it.” Scott stood up and smiled down at her. “I’ll go see if your brothers are done and then while we wait for Sir Carlos I’ll tell you a story about my first lessons learning ice magic.”

As he started to turn, Liana’s hand caught his sleeve. “Daddy, cans I learn magic, too?”

He smiled gently back at her. “You can definitely give it a try. Just remember, not every elf can use magic. That’s why Azahar and Elowen have different studies at times.”

“I know,” she replied with the level of seriousness small children have. “I prob’ly don’t wanna do ice magic, anyway.” She let go of his sleeve and promptly went back to staring at the fireplace.

She had managed to convey a finality that stopped Scott from asking which other type of magic she would like to try. He found himself turning away, taking two steps toward the other table, then glancing at Liana again.

Now there was another feeling in the air he couldn’t put a finger on.

.

When Sir Carlos returned he was accompanied by a member of the kitchen staff who carried a covered platter for him. “Dear Lady Liana,” he clucked, bowing to her as she hopped down from the armchair. She curtsied in return. “Upon my way to the castle I was entranced by the scent of fresh pastries. I procured a number of them so that we might enjoy them with our tea.”

The staff member walked forward after a nod from Scott to set the platter down in the middle of the tea cups. Liana’s eyes widened. She ran over to crouch down until her gaze was level with the edge of the table, staring with anticipation at the platter. Lifting the cover revealed a dozen mini tartlets filled with a red jam. Liana tilted her head. “What flavor is that?”

“Raspberry,” Sir Carlos replied, his tone bright. “A fresh shipment came in from our southern allies.”

Liana did not seem enlightened. “What does ras’berry taste like?”

Scott chimed in since he could guess the best comparison she might be familiar with. “Raspberries are similar to cloudberries. Depending on how they’re prepared, they can be a little tart or made sweeter.”

Liana scrunched up her face. “That’s kinda confusin’. Cans I taste one to find out, or do I hafta wait until tea?”

“You may taste one,” Scott said. He was curious how she would react.

Liana’s hand hovered over the platter as she attempted to choose the best one for sampling. She started to reach for the one that looked the smallest, then seemed to consider picking up the biggest. However, she ended up stepping away to run over to the boys instead to ask, “Have you tasted these before?”

Azahar offered a thoughtful expression. “I’m pretty sure we have.”

Elowen nodded. “Yeah, I remember Uncle Xornoth gave us some at our gala.”

“What gala?” Liana asked, momentarily distracted from the matter of tarts.

Elowen answered, “The one where we first met Uncle Xornoth and when we got our crowns, remember?”

“Oh, yeah, I ‘member now.” Liana just sort of blinked as if now overwhelmed by imagining a gala’s worth of tarts. “Maybe Uncle Xornoth cans come to my garden tea party so’s I can meet him soon.” This new thought distracted her further.

“Maybe,” Azahar replied. “He’s a busy king like Papa and lives, well, far away as you know. But anyway, you can have one all to yourself right now to make up for us already having some.”

“Okay.” Liana went back over to the tea table, although it was another few seconds before she selected one. She carefully picked it up as if afraid it might crumble, then put it down on one of the plates. She glanced toward the door, then toward Scott, then at the door again. She inhaled loudly, then announced, “I’m gonna go ask Papa for permission, too!”

She grabbed the plate and raced out of the library before Scott could stop her. Sir Carlos clucked in alarm, “Sire, she—”

Scott shook his head. ”I think it would be worse to stop her. She might slow down if no one is following her.”

Sir Carlos clucked more quietly. “As I recall… Yes, that is a sound strategy for overly-energetic children.”

.

Despite her haste, Liana was holding the plate with care to avoid damaging the precious treat. An idea had possessed her that had little to do with getting permission. She made her way through the halls, remembering on her own the way to Sausage’s office.

There were guards stationed to either side of the closed door. One remained on watch as the other looked down at her curiously. “Good afternoon, Princess. All is well with your father, but he is busy right now.”

“I know!” Liana proclaimed, “But I wanted to bring him a – a ras’berry tart. Even kings should gets a snack when they’re busy, an’ he’s too busy for tea right now, too.”

The guard smiled patiently, and even the other paused his eagle-eyed gazing along the hall to give a nod. “Very well, Princess. Please enter.”

They opened the door for her. Liana gave a careful curtsy, a firm grip on the plate. “Thank you!” After she entered, the guards closed the door again.

Liana made her way past displays of armor and ignored the assorted curios on the bookshelves, marching straight up to Sausage’s desk, where she found him not scrawling on a thousand scrolls but lightly snoring as he slept, his head resting on his left arm with the metal fingers of his other hand sitting in a small pool of ink that had spilled from a knocked-over bottle.

Liana huffed. She set the plate down on a nearby chair then turned with her hands on her hips and declared with exasperation, “Papa! If you needed a nap instead of wantin’ tea, you coulda just said so!”

Sausage’s latest snore turned into a startled snort. “Hm? Huh? Wha—? Oh. Oops.” He blinked down at the spilled ink, then realized who was there. “Li-Liana. Sorry, am I missing tea time again?” He rummaged around the desk until her found a handkerchief to wipe his hand. “And well, I should be working instead of napping, but I didn’t sleep well last night, so my body decided I should have a nap!”

“Well, that means you should has a snack so’s you’re not too sleepy. Sir Chicken brought—”

“Sir Carlos,” Sausage gently corrected.

Liana nodded. “He brought special tarts, an’ I wanted you to have one!” She held out the plate and nudged it onto the side of the desk. She peered at the scroll Sausage had fallen sleep on, her eyes moving across to the puddle of ink. “I don’t think that’s gonna be accepted-ible as a message from a king. Do you wants some help, Papa? Daddy said he helps you sometimes. I’m a princess, so’s I should be able to help, too!”

As he picked up the ink bottle, Sausage was about to suggest she return to the library, then he smiled and carefully picked the scroll – with its ink pool – up. “I think there is something you can do for me, actually.” He folded the scroll and tipped it so the ink would run along the crease into the bottle in an effort to save what hadn’t started to dry. “I’ll give you this to write and draw with, and then I’ll tell you what the rest of my work here needs to be done, and then we’ll have tea – but I’ll be able to eat this delicious-looking tart while you take over for me.”

.

The library group’s awaiting of Liana’s return was punctuated by the quiet clucking of Sir Carlos as he graded the quizzes taken earlier and the occasional sound of a page turning as Elowen flipped through his spellbook. Across the table Scott stretched himself taller to get a glimpse of the pages, interested to see which spell Elowen might chose to practice. Azahar sat with a tea cup in hand and now sipped his pretend tea while also watching his brother from the side.

Azahar lowered the cup and said, “School is supposed to be over. Let’s not let this delicious tea and tarts go to waste!” His tone and volume indicated he was perhaps trying to summon their little sister simply by saying it.

Elowen peered over at him. “Liana isn’t back yet. Why play tea party if she’s not here? It’s her game,” he stated matter-of-factly.

Azahar smiled over the rim of the tea cup. “Well, I want to practice violin when moving so I can do that if we go look for her.”

Scott had a reasonable guess as to where Liana had gone, but he wouldn’t dissuade Azahar’s idea by mentioning it.  And so, a short time later he and Elowen were following Azahar through the halls as he played a simpler tune than he had recently been practicing. Since there was the added complication of needing to avoid walking into a wall he figured he should stick to the basics.

The tune only wavered once or twice when he mistook a tapestry for a doorway – likely due to seeing it out of the corner of his eye, his brain too occupied by striking the correct notes to process the difference between rectangular shapes.

They saw no sign of Liana until they neared Sausage’s office. They came to a halt about six steps shy of the door when she stuck her head past the guards and yelled, “Cans you please go play somewhere else? Papa an’ I gots work to do!”

Azahar stilled the violin’s strings. “We were looking for you – you forgot to come back to the tea party, and we didn’t want to have it without you.”

Liana stepped fully into the hall with her arms folded over her chest indignantly. “I’m not havin’ it without Papa! Maybe if you princes helped, too, he’d finish work faster!”

The guards stepped aside, letting the whole family enter, unsure what else they were meant to do in this situation. Scott and Azahar looked over Liana’s head while Elowen peeked past her to see a scattered pile of drawings on the floor while Sausage had a tidy pile of scrolls on one side of his desk. He gave them all a sheepish look in return, having heard Liana’s comment. “We’re almost done. I did tell her a minute ago that it was okay to go ahead to the library. Didn’t I, Liana? Your brothers don’t have princely duties aside from their lessons, which means you don’t have princessly duties aside from your lessons.”

“Then Daddy should help you! He don’t gots lessons!”

Scott stifled a chuckle. Sausage, meanwhile, laughed loudly. “He helps already by being a teacher. That’s his job now. He used to help me all the time with things. But you have a point.” Sausage tapped the quill he had just picked up against his lips. “Maybe we should start sharing paperwork. And I can teach lessons like running through the garden, how to climb trees, and fetch with Bubbles!”

“Papa, that’s playtime!” Liana protested in a scolding tone. “Lessons are for readin’ an’ learnin’ hist’ry, an’ how to do magic, or how to make pretty songs! Those are things princes do!”

Scott asked, “Out of curiosity, Liana, which of Papa’s paperwork have you been doing?”

She scurried over to her mess of papers to show examples. “Well, Papa was readin’ out requests from townsfolk. Like, he said the farri-ri-er needs iron for horseshoes. So’s I drawed some horsies that already gots shoes so’s she won’t need so many yet.” She held up two pieces of paper containing three drawings each of a six-year-old’s approximation of horses wearing iron boots on all four hooves.

She searched for another piece of paper then continued, “An’ the shipsmaster wants iron for bands on shippin’ barrels, so’s I drawed iron bands for him!” She presented a paper where nearly the whole thing was taken up by circles. She uttered a child’s long-suffering sigh. “Ev’rybody sure needs a lotta iron!”

Azahar volunteered information to her. “We learned in our lessons that iron is the main export of Mythland. But that doesn’t mean we send all of it away. People across our own kingdom use plenty of it.”

It was now that it occurred to Liana to ask, “Where does all that iron come from, anyway? Sheeps grow back wool! Shiny gold comes from the ground, but it runs out when it gets dug up!”

Sausage saw an opportunity to finally move the conversation elsewhere. “Sir Carlos can tell you. He’s the one who knows the most about Mythland’s history – even more than me!”

“And,” Scott said, “He’s probably done grading those tests by now, so he’ll be free for you to ask him. You should hurry before he becomes too busy with the next lesson plan. I’ll help Papa put all these drawings together with their requests and send them off. Just like you said to, Liana.”

He waved the children off as Azahar led the way back to the library. Then he turned to Sausage. His tone switched from light-hearted to serious. “You’ve been very focused on work lately. Too focused. We were supposed to be delegating some of the less essential things so we could have time with the children. Isn’t the foreman at the Iron Castle supposed to be handling requests?”

Sausage stammered the excuse, “I’m just reviewing the summaries. It made Liana feel helpful since, you know, there’s not much to actually do here except sign my approval.”

“No, this is different. I noticed when Azahar took up the violin – which meant less sword training on the schedule, but you really threw yourself into it after that warden incident two weeks ago. Is there something you need to tell me? Did Jimmy say something and it set off something like that wall-building competition, like the old days? If I’m wrong, you know you can tell me anything.” He tried to sound encouraging rather than just sound worried.

Sausage put the quill aside and stared at the top of the desk for a moment. Then he reached his left hand over to hold his right shoulder. “It was the thing with the Warden, you’re right. No one said anything in particular, although Jimmy did accuse me of going soft. Which, I mean… He’s right, but that reason isn’t why. It was the… well. You know how it is with caves, when you’re underground and there’s… Just darkness and… stone all around you where there’s not much room to move…”

Scott could tell Sausage didn’t want to be exact in his word choice, so he said it for him. “Cold.” He walked behind the desk and started to massage both of Sausage’s shoulders, hoping he would only feel warm comfort in the gesture. “I get it. You want a distraction, and working has always been your way – and you don’t get to do as much architecture as you used to. But I think you should stick to delegating, and throw yourself into raising our children instead of dwelling on what you need to fix.”

Sausage nodded, his expression slightly crestfallen. “I know. I was trying to limit it to, you know, a time when they would be with you anyway. Sort of like shoving all my, uh, worries into scrawling on scrolls so it would be off my mind for the rest of the time.”

“That makes some sense – up until you’re late for tea,” Scott gently teased. “Liana will just keep refusing to start without you, so you might as well schedule a break for her sake, at least.” He earned a sigh in response. He leaned further into the shoulder massage then added, “They’re waiting right now. You can leave these, or I can take over. Or… even better…”

Scott reached past Sausage to the desk and, grinning, swiftly began picking up the remaining unrolled missives before Sausage could stop him. “Bring your work with you! Then Liana and the boys can help with illustrations and—”

He stopped, hand poised above neatly cut out squares of paper that had designs drawn along the borders. One had swirls, one had flowers, and one had precisely shaped rabbits. Scott’s smile softened.

Sausage’s face flushed a little. “I – I thought it wouldn’t hurt to start thinking of invitation designs, even if it’s a few years away.”

Scott set down the missives to hold up the cards for a better look. “No, you were on to something when you said we should make our own tradition. Why wait until she’s ten? We can just hold it on her upcoming birthday. That gives us about four months to plan everything. Which also reminds me that Elowen’s birthday is coming up soon. Let’s not overshadow that.” Sausage nodded in agreement.

“But right now…” Scott gathered the sample invitations and tapped them into line with each other. “…we should attend today’s tea party. No excuses. I’ll help you make up the time whether we bring this stuff to the library or not.” He took Sausage by the arm to pull him from the chair.

~*~

Elowen’s birthday began with a bumpy start: that being the bouncy motion of someone jumping up and down on the end of his bed. This was followed by Liana’s voice calling out, “Elowen! Elowen! It’s birthday time! Happy birthday!”

He stared blearily over at her. She jumped up and down exactly one more time. “Liana,” he mumbled, “I can sleep more on my birthday if I wanna…” He tried to pull the blanket up while turning onto his side; her weight kept it from moving far enough, although she shuffled her feet from one to the other to avoid falling off.

“But you’re s’posed to be excited for birthday breakfast! It’s the best thing about birthdays!”

Elowen tugged the blanket again, then gave up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He now got a better look at her. “Liana, why do you have powder all over you?”

“I was helping!”

“It’s in your hair. What were you helping to do?” Elowen sounded doubtful of any skill she might have been lending, having become familiar with her way of involving herself in things during the past month and a half since her adoption.

“Birthday breakfast! Come on!” Liana hopped off the bed. She failed to stick the landing and so ended up on her knees, but she picked herself right up and ran out of the room.

Azahar, awoken by the ruckus, commented, “There’s really no stopping her. Might as well get up now.”

As they started to take out clothes for the day they heard Sausage call out, “Liana, come back! Why are you covered in flour?!”

Another voice that the boys recognized as one of the castle cooks said, “Sorry, Your Highness. We’ve been trying to catch up to her to clean her up, but she’s, well, quite fast.”

“It’s fine. You may return to your duties. I’ll handle this.”

The boys stopped what they were doing and covered their ears. The cook hurried past their door. Sausage then bellowed, “LIANA! GET BACK HERE AND CLEAN UP, YOUNG LADY! THIS INSTANT!!”

The boys lowered their hands and went back to changing clothes. A giggling Liana came running past again. “Sorry, Papa. But it’s Elowen’s birthday!”

“I know it is, but you can’t just make a mess of yourself. You need to look nice for his birthday, too.”

“Okay, Papa!”

They heard her run past again on her way to her room.

“Hold on, I’ll help you get it out of your hair.”  Sausage paused at the doorway to glance in at the boys. “Good morning! Birthday Boy, Azahar,” he greeted with a smile. “Getting ready to see what your sister has cooked up this time?”

“Looking forward to it,” Azahar replied as he buckled his belt. “I’ve never known someone to get so excited about breakfast like that.”

“Hmph. Yeah,” Elowen mumbled, making it clear that he would have preferred to still be sleeping.

Sausage gave a nod of agreement. “Well, I’ll see you downstairs. This, ah, this might take a few minutes…” He disappeared from the doorway, although they could hear him light-heartedly scolding Liana.

Within those few minutes Scott appeared. “Good morning, boys. Elowen, would you like me to braid your hair for your big day?”

Elowen patted at his shoulder-length hair thoughtfully. He realized it was still unruly from sleep. “Maybe one braid. On this side.” He pointed to the right side of his head, then sat down on the corner of his bed. Scott picked up a hairbrush and length of gold ribbon from the dresser then sat sideways on the bed behind him.

“What would you like to do today?” Scott asked while carefully brushing the tangles out of Elowen’s hair. “Papa’s whole day is free so you get to decide how we spend it.” With expert motions he gathered up just the right number of strands for braiding, mindful of Elowen moving his head when he talked.

“Can we take some of Bubbles’ troops out for a long walk in the forest? We haven’t gone out really far since Liana came home.” A mischievous smile crossed his face. “The troops are for watching her, then we can climb some trees without her running around all crazy.”

Azahar let out a laugh in agreement. “Good idea! Maybe we should post some around the castle to do that, too!”

Scott tied off Elowen’s new braid with the ribbon. “Particularly the kitchen, I hear.”

“At least on birthdays,” Elowen said. “So everyone can sleep as late as they want that day.”

Scott stood and put the brush back. “We’ll let you sleep late on her birthday to make it fair.”

Elowen looked aghast. “Dad! She’s gonna have everyone up at dawn probably!”

“I’ll tell her that birthday breakfast will be served late. Now let’s go find out what that even means.”

After collecting Sausage and a slightly-less-dusted-with-flour Liana, the family headed to the dining room. Liana, of course, insisted on running ahead so she could gesture to Elowen’s seat with a beaming smile on her face as the kitchen staff, attending the dining room for the special occasion, moved to the walls to await their cues to lift the covers on the platters in front of each person. “Look! Look! For you! It’s the best!”

Elowen put his hands on the back of his chair, contemplating more mischief by waiting, but yielded to his sister’s bright, expectant eyes and sat down. The staff member behind him stepped forward to lift the cover, releasing a waft of steam and revealing a stack of five fluffed up, round foodstuffs on his plate that were decorated in a cascade of different berries in fruit syrup. He knew what they were and was pleased to see them, but Liana’s hyper elation about it seemed a little unwarranted.

“Pamcakes and berries!” Liana crowed.

“Pancakes,” Scott corrected.

“Yeah!!” Liana pointed to Azahar’s place. “I made some like that for you, too, ‘cause I missed your birthday! But there’s less berries because it’s not your birthday.”

Azahar sat and offered her a gracious look. “Thanks for thinking of me, Liana. You’re awfully excited about these. Did you not have pancakes very often at your old home?”

“Not super big ones like these! Even when I spilled batter on the pan and there were only a bunch of tiny ones they still came out huge!” Liana hopped up onto her chair.

Scott, having a suspicion about her comments, asked, “By huge, do you mean how high they rise up when they cook?”

“Yeah!! I didn’t know pamcakes could be so tall an’ fluffy!” Liana replied. “I only ever saw flat ones! Like really, really flat! I don’t think those were actually cakes at all!”

Scott chuckled. “Elven pancakes and Mythland pancakes are made differently, Liana. Elven ones are meant to be thin and flat. The ones here are what is referred to as ‘hearty’. Humans like hearty food as fuel for their work.”

“Heart-y?” Liana pronounced the word with uncertainty. “But there’s no hearts in them! There’s eggs an’ flour an’ van-il-la! An’ sometimes berries! The cook ‘splained it to me when I said that if one berry is tasty, then putting all the berries in should make it more tasty! But if you put in too many berries, they get messed up! So’s I put the berries on after the pamcakes were done.”

Sausage seemed stunned by the whole conversation. He abruptly asked, “Wait, have we not had pancakes since she got here? That is unacceptable! I’ll make sure they’re on the menu regularly from now on!”

“Papa!” Liana’s voice took on a whiny edge. “They’re for birthday breakfast! Y’know, special!”

A gleeful look entered Sausage’s eyes. “Well, it’s got to be _someone’s_ birthday on whatever day we have them! We can have pancakes in their honor!”

Liana didn’t seem sure what to make of his reasoning. She sat down and scrunched up her face in thought, remaining that way as the food was presented to everyone else at the table, and she stayed in quiet contemplation as she ate.

Elowen wouldn’t say it out loud, but that was a pretty good present.

Finally, after the dishes were cleared away, Liana announced, “I wanna know everyone in the castle’s birthdays so’s we cans have pamcakes on those days!” She pointed to the door the staff had exited through.

Sausage uttered a laugh that sounded like he was partially crying. “Okay, okay. We’ll do it that way from now on!”

.

The family was soon on their way for a nice walk along forest paths, enjoying the fresh air and being away from responsibilities. As requested, a half dozen of Bubbles’ spare troops accompanied them. The children had fun running along the paths, throwing sticks scavenged from the ground for the dogs to fetch and letting themselves be chased around giant mushroom stems. Sausage and Scott strolled arm in arm behind them, smiling at the joyous hollering.

At one point they all stopped at a tree with particularly large, low-hanging branches which Elowen and Liana wanted to climb on. Elowen managed by himself but Liana needed extra help up, so Scott went over to help her find the right hand holds.

Sausage meandered away when one of the dogs went sniffing into some underbrush, curious – and in some ways wary – of what the dog had caught wind of. He followed for a minute or more, going further off trail, until he saw the brief twitch of a fluff gray tail. The dog took off running, panting excitedly. Sausage shook his head at the lacking of training but smiled in relief. No actual danger; merely a squirrel.

He turned to go back to the trail but didn’t see it right away, underestimating how far he had gone. Should be easy enough to find, he figured. Just wait to hear Liana shouting about something. He walked in what he figured was the general direction. If anything, the dog would return to his side and he would ask it to sniff out his family.

Presently a gust of wind rustled the leaves. Sausage looked up and noted how densely packed they seemed in the area, making it impossible to see the sky. It was chilly in all this shade. He hugged his arms over his chest without thinking about it, gaze still turned upward for a glimpse of the sun. In doing so he wasn’t paying attention to what was in front of him and he strode right into an oak tree’s trunk. It set him off balance, so he instinctively threw out his right hand to catch hold of it and steady himself. The bark split and came loose under the hard metal of his prosthetic fingers, costing him the anchor point and putting him further off balance. He stumbled in response, fetching up against a larger dark oak tree. His gaze went to the branch that he had narrowly missed hitting his head on, directly above his crown.  The trunk at his back felt so cold from perpetually being in the shade. He hastily turned away from it, moving backward while keeping his eyes on the tree as if something felt wrong about it.

This caused him to bump right into another of the thick, looming trees. They were so close to each other. The world was so dark under them. There seemed to be no other world beyond them, it was only him and walls made by the trunks. The shade was so cold. …So cold…

He heard Scott’s voice calling as if from a distance. From the other side of that wall…

It was the sound of dogs barking that snapped him out of it. He saw the small pack come charging between the trees, tails wagging and tongues out to lick at his left hand. Instincts kicked in again to get him moving as he gently patted them on the head in turn.

“There you are!” a relieved Scott called out, pushing a small branch out of his way as he passed between the trees just fine like the dogs had. The children followed behind him. “And here we had worried about Liana wandering off.”

“I— sorry— I—I was just keeping an eye on the little guy who ran off after a squirrel,” Sausage explained, casting a glance over the dogs to find the one in question. He couldn’t really pick it out from the pack swarming around him.

Scott was studying him intensely but only said, “We should head back home anyway. Elowen scraped his arm on the way down from that tree we were at.”

“O-Oh no!” Sausage turned his attention fully to his younger son. “How bad is it? You sure it’s just a scrape?”

“Yup,” Elowen replied, sounding proud. “Look, I already covered it!” He held up his left forearm, where his shirt sleeve had been torn all the way to the elbow but the injury in question had a layer of frost over it, preventing any bleeding. “Ice bandages are cold, but I did it myself!”

No one saw the spot over Sausage’s right eye twitch. “That’s really impressive. Good job! But we’ll still go home. Maybe have a snack and then we can run around in the garden instead. We should also practice tree climbing there so that doesn’t happen again!”

~*~

Whether from too much syrup in his stack of pancakes or from the experience out in the forest, Sausage found himself tossing and turning in bed, half-aware of his discomfort but asleep enough to have flickers of a dream dancing through his subconscious.

The whispering. Quiet, insidious. His right hand, reaching out. A dark blade within his grasp.

A smile. All teeth, no joy.

Two figures stepped forward, blocking his way. Their auras were bright and he squinted against the glow, but he was stronger. He would not be stopped.

They fell, revealing his goal behind them. A sword of ice held ready to meet him.

So cold, like the look in the eyes of the wielder. A look of betrayal and no forgiveness.

The whispering spoke to him again. “So, this was how you chose to get what you wanted?”

Pain ripped through him – not from the ice sword, but from the look in those eyes. Sausage was poised to strike in return, right arm raised. He forced his body to halt. “No. This isn’t what I wanted. Take it back. Take the power back!”

“It is yours to keep. It is a part of you now. Go on. Finish what you started. There is only one way to end it.”

“No!”

“But it suits you; so it does now as it did then. You brought it with you. You could no further cut it away from yourself than you would your own heart. Grasp it. Embrace it. Hold it in your hand.”

His hand. His  h a n d.

Sausage bolted upright and reached out with his right hand, grabbing onto empty air—

—Except he didn’t. Because he couldn’t. Because he had no right hand. Yet he could swear he felt it…

He darted a glance over to Scott to make sure he hadn’t awoken him. Making sure that his husband remained undisturbed, Sausage left the bed and padded out of the room, foregoing a robe over his night clothes in his haste. Not wanting to disturb the children, either, he silently made his way to the library where the layers of books would dampen sounds like whispers from echoing off stone walls. Once there he stoked up a small fire in the fireplace to ward off memories of ice that were making him feel cold.

He sat in the armchair closest to the hearth then undid the buttons on one side of the cuff covering his stump. He rubbed his thumb over the scar that ran along the end. He used the change in texture to remind himself that the arm was, in fact, gone; it was merely a phantom sensation that had him imagining something was there.

He pressed his fingertips into his skin closer to his shoulder. That was a real feeling. He wasn’t able to hurt anyone like this…

And yet the mix of memory and dream played through his head over and over, continuing to haunt him. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone into that cave. He should have just left it to Jimmy and Tango. He shouldn’t have gone with them to where it was so deep and cold and closed in, where it was dark and isolated and away from everything where no one could reach—

The impression of a small hand on his knee brought him back to the present. Liana stood beside the chair in her nightgown and bare feet. Indigo eyes looked up at him in concern. “Papa, are you okay? I was gettin’ water an’ saw the fire in here, an’ there’s not s’posed to be fire in here without anyone! Aren’t you sleepy?”

“L-Liana, hi,” Sausage stammered, though to his own surprise he kept his tone gentle rather than awash with the turmoil that had been on his mind. “I had a bad dream and I just wanted to sit for a while without bothering Dad, so I came here. I’m – I’m okay. You should go back to bed, though. Little princesses need their rest.”

“But you’re gonna need a nap when you’re workin’ again if you don’t sleep! A princess cans take a nap whenever, but it doesn’t seem like a busy king can! ‘Specially when…” Her gaze drifted to the loosened cuff. She continued in a soft voice, “…when he only gots one arm.”

For a moment Sausage felt self-conscious and couldn’t remember if he had told her that he didn’t sleep with the prosthetic on. He then wondered what her perception of him might have been while he was sitting there zoned out holding his stump. He pushed a smile onto his face. “Well, I might need a nap every so often, but I can still do plenty of things with one arm. Like… I can still pick up little girls who should be in bed!” He shifted his weight in the chair so he could lurch to the left and scoop her up with his arm, then shifted to sit back with her in his lap.

Liana giggled and hugged him with all her tiny might, then crawled to the side and placed a kiss on the end of his stump. “I kiss it and make it all better, okay, Papa?”

Sausage’s eyesight blurred with tears. He suppressed a small choked sound then stammered again. “Th-thanks, Liana. I think that’s just what I needed.” More than you know, he added to himself. He returned the favor by making a show of noisily trying to kiss her on the forehead, inspiring another giggle as she fended off being tickled by his beard. Eventually he did land a kiss somewhere in her hair. “All right, back to bed for both of us, my little princess.”

Sausage gently hugged her and moved to put her down so he could more easily get up from the chair, but she clung to his left arm. She didn’t seem upset about anything despite her face being pressed to his shoulder, but Sausage settled into the chair again anyway. He instinctively moved his right arm to hold her across the back – a different kind of forgetting the lack of arm – and instead leaned his head against hers. He let her snuggle up to his chest for a little while, although at some point they both fell asleep, leaving the fire to die down on its own.

The library seemed warmer by then, anyway.

~*~

The sound of Scott’s voice quietly saying his name, along with the shaking of his shoulder coaxed Sausage awake. He didn’t respond right away since he felt the weight of Liana on him. The little girl was still fast asleep. Scott, sensibly having a thick robe over his night clothes, stood over him and upon meeting Sausage’s eyes he whispered, “Did she have a nightmare?”

“No,” Sausage said, his voice gruff from sleep, “I did.” He tried to shift a bit, intending to get up while still holding Liana, but the leverage to do so eluded him.

Scott stepped in, reaching to pick her up, but then she awoke with a yawn. “’Mornin’, Daddy! Papa was sad about his arm, so’s I kissed it an’ made it better!”

“Oh?” Scott replied. He went ahead and half-picked her up, half-helped her down from the armchair, guiding her far enough away so Sausage had space to use his left arm to get himself up. “That was wonderful of you to do, Liana. Did you follow him all the way here just for that?”

“No, I was gettin’ water. But I forgot it when I saw fire in here!”

“That explains the cup in the hallway,” Scott said, clasping his chin and nodding at the solved mystery.

“Yeah, I saw Papa an’ wondered why he wasn’t sleepin’. See, that’s why he needs a nap when he’s workin’!”

Sausage laughed awkwardly as he stepped over beside her. “I guess you’re right. I’ll have a chat with Dad about it later. Or maybe right now,” he amended when Scott shot him a stern look. “But you need to go get dressed before breakfast. No hugging as an excuse this time! We’ll be along soon.”

“Yes, Papa.” Liana hugged him anyway, then hugged Scott, and finally scurried out of the library. Less than a second later they heard her announce, “I forgots my water again! It’s spilled on the floor now!”

“It’s fine, Liana,” Scott called after her. “We’ll take care of it! Please go upstairs!” He waited a moment before turning to Sausage with what was now an imploring look.

“I – I’m okay, I promise,” Sausage assured him. “It was just one little dream. I just needed to walk for a bit, a-and needed to sit for a bit and… and needed to be by myself for a bit…”

Scott’s gaze went to Sausage’s right side, eying how the cuff was hanging open.

Sausage covered it with his hand. “I just… um…”

Scott stepped up to him and enfolded him in an embrace. Sausage lowered his face to Scott’s chest and sighed; he let his shoulders go slack as Scott said softly, “You don’t have to tell me about the dream. But you don’t have to sneak out or be alone. I know it’s not easy if something reminds you of what happened. And I know we can’t predict what might be a reminder. And… I know you, when you’re left alone with those thoughts. I’m glad Liana happened to be there. Remember, you and I are here, we’re here for our children, we’re here for the future.”

“I know,” Sausage mumbled into the front of Scott’s robe. He allowed the elf his own moment, recalling how things got dicey even after the loss of his arm. His left hand moved upward to embrace Scott in turn. After another second or two Sausage again spoke through the fabric of the robe. “Um. We should get going. Before the kids walk by.”

Scott drew back. “Right. Sorry. I just—”

Sausage cut him off with a smile, “We both just want a lot this night – morning – whatever time of day it is. You know what else I want? To start planning the biggest tea party the empires have ever seen!”

~*~

It was a lovely day in The Undergrove, with a sunny view from one of the outside balconies on the rainbow mushroom castle where Katherine and Shrub were having a picnic together. They could hear the chirping of numerous local birds – although, presently, they heard a deeper croak and a jet-black bird glided down to land on the checkered blanket.

It croaked again and danced closer to Shrub so she could see the scroll held in its talons. “Guardian Shrub! Undergrove!” the bird announced.

Shrub leaned to take the scroll. “News from Mythland, huh?” She unrolled it and scanned the words.

Katherine scooted over. “Is it private, or general news?”

A smile spread across Shrub’s face. “Nope! One probably went to the Overgrown, too! It’s another debut gala invitation!” She held the missive up for Katherine to read as she looked over Shrub’s shoulder, consequently nestling closer to the gnome. They took a second to smile softly at each other, then Katherine skimmed the words on the scroll.

“Aww! Scott and Sausage decided to adopt a little princess! How sweet! So, she likes bunnies and playing tea party? She sounds adorable!”

[To be continued in Chapter Five: The Twins and Them ]

[badbatchposts]

Quiet Corners of the Galaxy, Ch. 26

Relevant tags/content warnings: Crosshair/Original Female Character, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Periodic Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, 18+/Explicit

Read the full fic so far on AO3

Read previous chapters on Tumblr: Ch. 1 l Ch. 2 l Ch. 3 l Ch. 4 l Ch. 5 l Ch. 6 l Ch. 7 l Ch. 8 l Ch. 9 l Ch. 10 l Ch. 11 l Ch. 12 l Ch. 13 l Ch. 14 l Ch. 15 l Ch. 16 l Ch. 17 l Ch. 18 l Ch. 19 l Ch. 20 l Ch. 21 l Ch. 22 l Ch. 23 l Ch. 24 l Ch. 25

Chapter 26 summary: The Batch returns to the clone base, and Crosshair struggles with showing Dara that he cares.

Extra content warnings for this chapter: Smut! 18+! PIV sex, fingering, dirty talk, light degradation, discussion of dom/sub dynamics, light spanking

The return trip to the clone base was long and quiet. Tech busied himself analyzing the samples they’d acquired, while the others speculated about what they’d found—apart from Dara, who had shut herself up in the cargo hold the moment after she passed along the vial she had stashed after the villa heist.

Crosshair pulled Omega aside once they were safely in hyperspace. “Try to get her to let you treat her hands,” he murmured to his sister, shoving a medkit at her. “They’re bad. She’s going to get an infection.”

Omega looked at him pointedly. “Maybe you should go.”

He leveled a glare at her, which promptly melted in the face of her raised eyebrow. Finally, he sighed. “She doesn’t want my help. We’ll just argue. Come on—she’ll listen to you.”

With a knowing and, frankly, infuriating smile, Omega acquiesced, politely knocking before letting herself into the cargo hold. Crosshair watched the closed door anxiously for the long while that it took his sister to return.

“Mission accomplished,” she informed him with a gentle pat on the knee.

He gave her a small, tight smile—about the maximum expression of gratefulness that he was capable of—before heading to the cockpit, finding Hunter thoughtfully watching the lights of hyperspace. Crosshair sat next to him and inserted a toothpick between his lips, chewing intently. This was the harder part; it was somehow easier to ask Omega for help, and so much more difficult to expose himself to Hunter like this.

As usual, though, it didn’t take his brother long to pick up on his distress.

“Problem?” Hunter asked, not shifting his gaze even the slightest towards the sniper. This was how the Sergeant often invited his brother to open up: avoiding eye contact, feigning nonchalance, making sure he didn’t feel backed into a corner. Crosshair appreciated it more than ever in this moment, feeling himself on the prickly edge of defensiveness already.

“Did the others already mention…how Dara reacted?” Crosshair began slowly. When Hunter murmured in assent, he continued quietly. “Omega treated her hands, but I don’t know if she’s eaten or drank anything since she… found them. Maybe you should check on her,” he suggested.

Hunter was merciful—at least for now—directing no comment, not even a raised eyebrow, at Crosshair. He simply stood, clasped his brother on the shoulder, and grabbed rations from the galley on his way to the cargo hold. Marginally more relaxed, Crosshair remained seated, watching hyperspace fly by the viewport. Later, perhaps, he would be subject to teasing, smug looks, a lecture, but for now, Hunter would take care of things. Dara would listen to Hunter, she would let him make sure that she was okay.

Something about that stung a little—the infuriating certainty that Dara would accept help from Omega, Hunter, hell, anyone else on the squad, other than himself. That he wasn’t allowed to want her to be warm, or rested, or cared for—except for when she’d been too drunk to remember it.

But he could admit that it was his own fault. He had already decided that, when he could get Dara alone for a moment, he was going to do something very rare for him: he was going to apologize.

***

It was late afternoon on the clone base by the time the Marauder landed, and the atmosphere remained grim as the squad filed into a meeting room to debrief from their joint mission. Rex was accompanied by Howzer and Gregor to listen to what they had discovered, and Saw joined via holo, expression as serious as ever. Dara—who had at least taken a few moments during the journey to wash the smell of death and decay off in the fresher—and Tech led the meeting, taking turns filling in what they now knew not only of the facility on Xagalus and the fate of the missing clones, but also Fait Prium and Kumalon Laboratories.

As Dara reported on the information they had gathered by coincidence during the earlier mission, Rex asked her to elaborate further on what Nor Raab had implied about the company’s work with the Empire. Frowning, she dug through her pack until she found a wide band of woven leather; Crosshair recognized it as the one she had been creating on the Marauder after that mission. She examined it closely, tracing the knots with a finger, before answering the Captain’s question.

Saw unexpectedly broke into a mischievous smile at the clones’ evident confusion over her actions. “Another one of Dara’s secrets,” he noted proudly.

Dara shot him a tolerant glance before explaining, though her voice remained duller than usual. “It’s an ancient record-keeping system. I use it to preserve coded intel while on mission so that I don’t forget—and there’s little chance of it being understood if it falls into the wrong hands.”

Tech barely contained his evident interest for the sake of finishing the debrief, though he would undoubtedly interrogate Dara about the details later.

“I was able to confirm that the sample we found on Xagalus matches the one we discovered in Prium’s vault,” he concluded. “However, I will require some time to conduct tests and further analyze the plant and chemical samples in order to determine the drug’s purpose.”

Gregor giggled and elbowed Howzer good-naturedly. “Don’t suppose it’d be a good idea just to test it on ourselves, eh?”

Rex nodded and took over before Tech could overlook the joke and begin explaining exactly why that was such a bad idea. “Good work, everyone. I’m sorry to hear that we weren’t there in time to recover our brothers—but this is exactly why we need to keep doing what we’re doing. To get them justice, and to stop what’s happened to them from happening to anyone else.” He turned to Saw and addressed him directly. “We’ll keep looking into what kind of experiments the Empire’s doing with this chemical, and when we see you in a few rotations hopefully we’ll know more.”

With the debrief concluded and Saw signing off, the clones began to break away, some chatting in smaller groups while others set out toward various tasks. From across the room, Crosshair saw Dara slipping off alone and made to follow.

He caught up with her a few platforms away in a quieter portion of the base. This platform hosted an enclosed building that appeared to be a secondary storage area; a few crates littered the windowless hallway where he finally found her leaning against a wall, arms folded, staring at the floor.

Dara looked up and met his eyes. “Why are you here, Crosshair?” she asked.

He opened his mouth to begin his apology, but something in her expression stopped him. He had expected her to still be angry with him, to lash out and snap, to have to talk her down before he could get a word in.

What he hadn’t expected was for her to look a second away from crumpling.

It was as if, with the mission over and debrief done, everything she’d just barely managed to hold together was leaking out, leaving her deflated. Somehow, she even looked smaller.

This was bad. He didn’t like this, this image of a woman so close to breaking. This was worse than after the bar fight, when she’d admitted that she thought he should’ve just let her die.

This was the very picture of himself right after Mayday’s death, when despair was ready to suck him dry from the inside out and leave him a husk. When the only thing that kept him alive and conscious and out of Imperial hands, the only thing that got him back to his family, was his rage.

He was wrong. Dara didn’t want him to take care of her. She didn’t need his apology or whatever minute, clumsy tenderness he was capable of. She needed the fury back. That was what was keeping her going.

Crosshair could give her that. He could get her blood boiling.

He could fuck her so hard she would forget to think about falling apart.

So Crosshair didn’t apologize, didn’t say he didn’t mean it, that she deserved to bury her dead. That he knew what it was like—that he never got to bury Mayday. Instead, he took a step forward, and another, until he was standing close enough to touch her.

Instead, he said, “I’m here because, through every second of that debrief, all I could focus on was the idea of you giving it with my cum still dripping out of you.”

And then he waited a beat, two beats, until suddenly Dara was crashing her lips against his.

***

When Dara saw Crosshair emerge through the door into her hiding place, she wanted to lose it. She wanted to yell, to clench her fists, to shove him away, to make him leave so that she could be alone with the pit in her stomach and the buzz in her brain. She’d just barely made it through her report, clinging desperately to the even-natured, controlled façade that she put on through every mission, every undercover assignment, every strategy meeting, and now all she wanted was a quiet place to lick her wounds.

But she was too tired to scream or fight. There wasn’t even enough left in her to mourn.

Dara couldn’t imagine what Crosshair wanted from her now, and she was almost too exhausted to care. There was something inscrutable in the way he was looking at her when she asked, his eyes soft then hard, the lines in his face open, then closed off.

She hoped to the Force that he didn’t want to talk about what it meant that they’d fucked.

So when he made clear that all he wanted was more wild, mind-numbing sex, she didn’t feel guilty anymore at the idea of indulging. She no longer had the capacity—or the desire—to feel anything but want.

And kriff, she wanted him.

Crosshair’s mouth was as insistent as she remembered, his tongue prying between her lips without waiting for permission. Dara let out a moan that she didn’t bother suppressing, and closed the gap between them, pressing one of his armored thighs between her legs as she clawed frantically at his codpiece, fumbling with bandaged hands. Crosshair slid his gloved fingers beneath her shirt impatiently, squeezing at her hips and waist before trying to tug her shirt and poncho over her head in one go.

“No way,” Dara protested, pulling away from the kiss. “I’m not getting fully naked here where anyone might walk in on us!”

Crosshair growled and nipped at her neck, retracing the bruises he’d left there before. She felt herself melting, the menacing snarl and the twinges of pain sending electric sparks along her skin, but tried to maintain her glare even as she stretched to expose more of her throat to his attentions.

“Fine,” he relented. “At least take off this ridiculous thing so I can feel you.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” Dara muttered, but pulled her poncho off and tossed it aside nonetheless. She returned her fingers to his codpiece, finally managing to unlatch the plastoid and letting it clatter loudly to the floor. She sucked her own mark into Crosshair’s throat as she palmed him through his blacks, feeling his cock harden and eliciting a groan from him.

Crosshair tugged his gloves off with his teeth, dropping them to the floor, and let his warm, calloused hands roam over Dara’s torso beneath her shirt, stroking at her scars and curves before kneading at her breasts. He ran his thumbs over her nipples, and even through her breast band she could feel how they jumped at his touch.

She wanted more bare skin, she wanted him out of his armor. But this wasn’t the place for it.

Crosshair must also have been needing to feel skin against skin, because he slipped both hands beneath the waistband of her pants, cupping her bare ass tightly and using this new leverage to press her into his length. He rutted against her, grinning wickedly. It was the widest smile she’d ever seen from him, and fuck if it didn’t do something for her.

“You want this cock, burk’yc? Are you going to be a good girl for me?” he teased.

Dara rolled her eyes, pretending his words didn’t make her clench around nothing. “You know the answer to both those questions.” She punctuated her statement with a grind against him and stood on tiptoe to bite his earlobe.

Crosshair hummed noncommittally. He removed his hands and stepped back, turning her around so that she faced the wall, and snaked his arms around her waist. Suckling and nibbling at her neck, he undid the buttons on her pants and tugged them down just below her ass, exposing her only as much as necessary for the moment. His left hand clutched at her breast, while his right ghosted down along her slit, one finger dipping between her folds.

“But you’re already being so good,” Crosshair purred. “See how wet you are for me?”

Dara shuddered and pressed both hands up against the wall, leaning heavily. With the hem of her pants still resting at mid-thigh, she couldn’t spread her legs any further, couldn’t balance herself, could hardly even move to try to direct Crosshair’s attention to where she wanted him. Luckily, he didn’t seem interested in teasing her this time—at least, not physically. He didn’t demand anything before plunging one finger deep inside her, curling it with precision and earning a series of pleased moans as he worked it rhythmically.

“Do you want more, mesh’la?” Crosshair murmured against her ear. His voice, kriff, she could cum from his voice alone.

“Yes,” Dara gritted between her teeth. Her eyes were screwed shut, her mind blank, focused on nothing but how good he was making her feel—although she couldn’t help the fleeting, suspicious thought that he was being strangely cooperative so far.

The idea evaporated with the feeling of him pressing a second long digit inside of her, stroking expertly along her walls. Yes, that was even better, she felt so full, and then his thumb was circling around her clit with a steady pressure, and she was riding his fingers as best she could and he had better not try to interrupt this or she would kill him, and then she teetered over the edge, crying out, shuddering and keening with pleasure.

After working her gently through it, Crosshair pulled his fingers out and held them against her lips. Without thinking, still lost in the haze of her orgasm, Dara opened her mouth for him, sucking every drop of her juices clean.

He chuckled, tonguing the shell of her ear. “See? You are a good girl.”

Kriff. Dara couldn’t let him know how much she enjoyed that, didn’t want to let him have her on this unequal footing. If they were going to fuck, it was going to be on her terms.

“Fuck off,” she panted, the curse probably undermined by how weak and breathy her voice still was.

He only chuckled again. After a quick slap to her ass—“Hey!” Dara protested, only to disguise the delighted cry she would have let out otherwise—Crosshair was pulling his cock out from his blacks, stroking lazily a few times before lining up with her entrance. He had to squat a little to make up for their height difference, balancing carefully with his thighs caging in her own before pressing slowly into her, inch by hot inch.

Groaning, it was his turn to force the words out through gritted teeth. “Fuck, you’re tight like this.”

“Yeah, well, I can hardly move,” Dara complained. Better to deflect than to say how big he felt inside of her, how good it felt to be impaled on his cock again. Crosshair moved one hand to her waist to help her balance and tangled the other in her hair. He tugged, drawing a squeak out of her throat and giving him better access to return to nipping at her neck. Then he thrust hard, transforming the squeak into a full-throated cry.

“Cyar’ika, you can say what you like to me, you can act like a brat, but right now… You. Are. All. Mine.” Crosshair found a comfortable rhythm, dragging his cock languidly against her walls, fucking her deep and hard. It was an exquisite torture, to feel so full, so sensitive after her first orgasm, her mind emptying dangerously.

Still, she wouldn’t let him get away with that.

“I’m…not…your…anything,” Dara eked out. She reached both hands behind Crosshair and gripped the plastoid of his skid plate, wishing it was the flesh of his muscular ass, and used it to press him even more tightly against her, trying to force him to speed up.

Crosshair tutted and removed her hands, pinning them back against the wall and thrusting deep. “Brat,” he whispered into her ear. “We both know you want me to take control. Why keep fighting it?” He gave her hair another harsh tug, gripping by the root. “You’re in control everywhere else, and you’re too ashamed to admit how badly you want to submit here—is that it?”

“Who says that’s what I want?” Dara countered. She was getting impatient, and, with the fire of lust sufficiently stoked within her, now she found she suddenly had the energy to fight again. Was it so much to ask for some good sex without having to deal with Crosshair’s obnoxiousness to get it?

He was keeping up his steady rhythm, seemingly full of infinite patience as he fucked her just hard enough to give her pleasure, but not nearly enough to build towards another orgasm.

“You like it. It’s obvious. You can’t help reacting.” He tightened his grip on her hair and scraped his teeth along her throat, and Dara proved his point by shivering.

“That’s not the problem,” she insisted. “The problem is I don’t like you.” She’d given up control during sex before, been submissive plenty of times and enjoyed it enormously, although that wasn’t the role she played with every partner. No, it wasn’t that. It was Crosshair.

The sniper continued laving at her throat. “Come now, burk’yc. What have I ever done to you?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

He slowed his pace for a moment, then thrust hard into her, picking his rhythm back up again.

“I guess not.”

For a few minutes she thought that might be the end of it, but she wasn’t so lucky. He sped up his thrusts a little as he returned to his train of thought, the plastoid of his thigh plates striking hard enough against her ass to bruise.

“So, you don’t trust me enough to give me control, but you’ll still let me take you against the wall like this.” It was more a taunt than a genuine question. Although her view currently afforded her little more to look at than the wall, Dara could imagine the sneer on his incredibly punchable face.

“I thought you were supposed to be the quiet one. Don’t you ever shut up?” she snapped.

“Why?” he mocked. “Am I distracting you from how badly you want to cum on my cock?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed.

“Well then be a good girl and quit arguing with me so I can make you cum.”  

Dara finally exploded. “You are such a kriffing asshole!”

It was as if Crosshair had finally gotten the reaction he wanted, needling and provoking her until she was so filled with fury that she might have actually attacked him if she weren’t thoroughly pinned down. He spanked her once, hard, and Dara’s eyes rolled into the back of her head as she was overcome with a bliss sparked by the sharp, sudden pain, letting a moan that, this time, she could do nothing to disguise. By the time she’d come back to herself and managed to refocus, panting heavily, Crosshair had spun her around so she was facing him again. He held her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to meet his amber eyes, the pupils dilated with lust.

“If you were mine, I’d have to punish you for speaking to me that way, mesh’la,” he murmured, voice like a coiling snake. Dara shivered involuntarily, unable to tear her gaze away from his, thrown too far off balance to come up with a fiery retort.

Suddenly, Crosshair dropped to his knees. He made quick work of removing her boots, tearing her pants the rest of the way off and sucking bruises into her thighs while she stood there, paralyzed, until she was bare from the waist down. Then he stood just as abruptly and lifted her, fingers sinking deeply into her plush ass, so that she was trapped between him and the wall, his armor cold against her skin. He wasted no time in seating her on his cock, and she cried out with pleasure as he entered her again, penetrating even further with this new angle. Once he could go no deeper, he stilled and kissed her hard, exploring every inch of her mouth with tongue and teeth before he finally continued.

“But since you’re not mine, and your tight little cunt feels so fucking good for me, I’ll just keep using you how I want.”

With that, he returned to pounding into her relentlessly, picking up a frantic, overwhelming pace. Dara could do little more than grip his shoulders for dear life and throw her head back, keening as he panted into the crook of her neck. Luckily, that was all she wanted to do, mind blank, chasing her pleasure, meeting him thrust for thrust, focused on nothing beyond how Crosshair was fucking her brains out in some dusty storage building and everything was going to be fine as long as she got to cum right this kriffing second. Her ears were ringing and she no longer had any control over the volume of her moans, and now he was slipping his fingers between their bodies and rubbing her clit again and—

“Fuck, Crosshair, I’m going to—”

“That’s right, cyar’ika,” Crosshair purred. “Scream so loud for me Hunter will be able to hear you all the way across base.”

And she did, moaning nonsense and curses and his name until he groaned into the side of her face, kissing her jaw messily as he came to his own end. Dara’s body and mind crackled and burned with a pleasant rush, like feeling returning to frozen limbs after too long in the cold. Crosshair held himself as deep inside of her as he could go for a few long moments while he caught his breath, tickling her ear and jaw with every heavy exhalation.

Finally, Crosshair pulled out and settled Dara’s feet back on the floor. He tucked himself back into his blacks and refitted his codpiece while she pulled her pants back on, then sank down to sit on the ground. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back to rest against the wall.

She was so spent that she didn’t have the energy to be surprised or annoyed when she felt him sit down next to her, or even when she felt a tentative hand gently tracing the scar on her lower back.

Dara opened one eye to look at Crosshair, amused. His own eyes were closed and he already had a toothpick in his mouth.

“What is it with you and scars?” she asked. “You have a thing for them or something?”

The hand stroking her lower back paused, then retracted. She almost winced, feeling bad for a moment—the contact was unexpected, but it hadn’t been bothering her. Still, she wasn’t about to tell him that.

“They were the only proof I had that there was more to you than you were admitting,” Crosshair murmured.

She shrugged. “You could’ve asked about them.”

“Oh? What lie would you have told me?” He glanced at her with a smirk that was equal parts annoying and boyishly attractive.

Dara couldn’t help grinning back. “Childhood speeder accident and a mugging gone wrong. I’m terribly unlucky.”

“Mmm…” He hesitated a moment before continuing. “They’re… both from the war?”

Dara wished a little that she hadn’t brought it up. It wasn’t that she couldn’t talk about what caused them—the story wasn’t all that bad. No, it was everything surrounding it that she wished she could forget.

She grunted in confirmation, steeling herself. “The last battle for Onderon. I was shot early on. Got treated and tried to keep fighting a few hours later. Then the shrapnel from a crashing gunship hit me. We’d run out of bacta by then—it scarred badly, but I lived.” Dara chuckled at one part of the memory that was less difficult to reflect on. “Our medic was so pissed at me for going back out after I got shot. She still brings it up.”

Crosshair frowned. “I thought you were a spy, not a soldier.”

She smiled sadly. She was never supposed to be either.

“I used to do strategic intelligence-gathering when we were infiltrating the capital city, but by that point we’d retreated to the mountains,” she explained. “We needed every person we had for that battle. Almost lost. Lost a lot of our people.”

He looked at her intently, too intently, with that piercing amber gaze, and she looked away, kept talking to avoid dwelling on it, to keep him from asking any more questions.

“They called us terrorists then, too, but in some ways it used to be easier,” she reflected. “This war’s different. It won’t always be outright battles that get us victories. Or losses.”

Dara got up and retrieved her poncho, settling it over her shoulders. With one last glance back at Crosshair, who was still watching her like he could see through her layers and down to her very bones, she strode off into the cool evening air.

She was sore, but no longer numb. This was better.

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