#es fanfiction

[marmolady]

Last Night on Earth (N*SFW)

Main Pairings: Estela x (f)MC

Summary: Preparing for the Watchers to lay siege upon The Celestial, Estela faces up to her feelings for Taylor… who has her own hopes for what could be their last night on Earth. Basically, expanding upon the start of Taylor and Estela's romantic relationship. Erring heavily on the smutty side, which is so noooot my comfort zone.

Word Count: 5420

Thanks for reading

Estela sat down next to Taylor, catching the trace of a smile.

“It’s hard to eat anything,” Taylor observed. “My stomach’s churning like you wouldn’t believe. But I’m not going to not put fuel in knowing what’s coming.”

“We spent all those hours trying to make a half-decent fighter out of you; I’d be pretty pissed if you went and blew it by going in on empty.”

She hadn’t wanted to care for Taylor. She hadn’t wanted to care for anyone. She should’ve been better at keeping her distance.

Would it have made a difference? Could she really have turned away from the other students’ plight?

No. She hadn’t banked on this-- how could she have seen it coming? But the simple truth was that she wouldn’t see innocents hurt by whatever the hell Rourke had done here, not if she could help it.

“Estela--” Taylor reached for her hand, but while Estela tensed, taken totally by surprise, she let the touch linger. It felt… nice.

“I want you to know I appreciate you being here.”

She wasn’t expecting that.

“Whatever you’re here for, you’re ready to throw your life away for it-- it’s something bigger to you. But you’re here. I wouldn’t ask it of you… but it means a lot. Somehow you help me feel braver than I thought possible. So, yeah… thank you.”

Estela looked away, the warm sincerity in Taylor’s blue eyes having become overwhelming. What could she even say to that? “I’ll do what I can-- I can’t promise I can you through this alive--”

“I wouldn’t ask you to.”

“Taylor, I--” Estela stalled, even as she looked back into Taylor’s eyes, finding herself caught up in that gaze again. She knew what this was now; she wasn’t stupid. It wasn’t because of the note her mother left, though she could tell herself that like a lying coward. As if that would explain the longing to know the feel of her lips? Estela felt her cheeks burn, her ears, her neck, but when she finally broke Taylor’s gaze, it was only to find herself lingering upon her mouth… those lips slightly parted, surely so soft…. She trailed off, and again turned away, sighing.

Taylor didn’t push. She moved her hand away, reducing the pressure. It was a relief-- and yet Estela immediately missed the touch.

“I had a weird conversation with Lila and Iris just now,” Taylor said, diffusing. It worked, for Estela was switched-on once more, looking back to her with a frustrated shake of her head.

“They’re all crazy to put any trust at all in that thing,” she growled.

All at once, Taylor looked sheepish.

“Yeah…. I’m sorry Raj said…. It’s not comparable. And it’s not anyone’s place to say ‘no one trusted you’ on behalf of everyone else.” Taylor picked at her food some more. “Iris might be useful up against the Watchers, though. I guess, if we survive, we’ll take it from there.”

There was no denying the sting of Raj’s words after they arrived back to the Celestial with Iris, but Estela hadn’t dwelled upon it; the other students were sensible not to trust her-- it was only Taylor who was stupid enough to not know trouble when it stared her in the face. And yet, Taylor, for the most part, seemed to have a good head on her shoulders. Maybe she just sees things differently.

At any rate, it seemed like the group… Estela hesitated to call them her friends… but it seemed like they looked at her as one of them now. And as for Iris… that computer was not as pressing a threat as the Watchers. It could be dealt with later-- if they survived this night.

 Estela looked Taylor in the face, listening. Hoping she could do so without ending up staring again, getting distracted. What was the matter with her? “What were you talking with them about?”

Taylor cleared her throat, her cheeks slightly flushed.

“I asked Lila,” she said, “-- she knew about Aleister. I’m pretty certain she’s keeping a whole lot to herself; she knows more than you’d expect for someone who supposedly just deals with tourists. There’s just something so off about her, especially with anything concerning Rourke herself, she just gets… weird.”

Admittedly, Estela didn’t like that. At all. “Well, it seems like we’re stuck with both of them for now. Be careful what you say around them.”

“Oh, for sure. I know I’m not the only one being cautious; Zahra was adamant Lila didn’t come with us to the observatory. We’ll just have to keep our heads about us.”

Estela nodded. By now, trusting Taylor came easily and, in spite of Estela’s instincts to fight it, she was coming to accept that Taylor saw her as a friend in return. Could Taylor possibly know how much it meant? Was her loneliness that obvious?

“Hey, I wanna catch Grace-- she’s looking a bit lost over there.” Taylor offered her plate towards Estela. “I think I’ve forced down as much as I can; you’re welcome to finish off my sandwich if you can stomach it.”

Always kind. Estela looked up to Taylor-- her friend-- as she stood to move off, and their eyes met. For a moment, she was lost there, unable to tear herself away. Could Taylor hear how hard her heart was pounding?

She reached for her.

Stop it! The hell do you think you’re doing?

Somehow she recovered herself, swallowing hard. “Then I’ll see you later… hopefully before shit hits the fan.”

Taylor’s smile was almost… shy? Did she feel something between them? Estela had never been flirted with; chances were, she was reading it all wrong. But she smiled back, and she could’ve sworn Taylor’s cheeks pinkened.

“Yeah, I’ll see you round. I’m not facing down certain death without you.”

There was no way Estela would be having that.

“You better not.”

____________________________

Coming down from the roof where she’d left Grace and Aleister, Taylor found herself a little at a loss. What do you do when you’re just waiting… waiting around for your fate to play out. Either they’d be killed or they’d survive, and there was nothing left to do but… wait.

“Heya Taylor.”

Diego looked… oddly chipper given the circumstances.

“How are you holding up, Diego?” Taylor asked. She was proud of him. They’d been through all kinds of crazy, and he had his way of making her smile through it all. That, she was certain, was a special kind of bravery.

“Oh, you know. Ups and downs, peaks and valleys. Found some chips in the kitchen, gonna get murdered by a bunch of Lord of the Rings rejects…. The usual.”

He grinned, and it bolstered Taylor’s mood. It was all beyond the point of worrying-- they’d just have to face it head-on, come what may.

“At least you got some chips, though.”

“Salt and vinegar, baby. The best.”

He glanced over to where Estela appeared to be warming up her body to fight.

“Soooooo… you gonna… you know….”

Was he getting at what she thought he was getting at?

“Am I gonna what?”

“Do I seriously need to spell it out? Make a move!”

Yep.

“Wh… what?”

 It wasn’t that she was playing dumb. She could barely get her mind off Estela, drawn to her as she was like a moth to a flame. But the timing, though….

“Come on, Taylor! I’ve seen the way you’ve been acting! Flirting… teasing… staring out with those ba-dump ba-dump heart eyes…. So what are you waiting for? Go get that steamy R-rated action!”

“I… I mean… now?”

“This might well be our last night on Earth, Taylor. What better time than now?”

Estela was beautiful. And dangerous. She’d saved Taylor’s life a couple of times, even putting her own on the line to do so. Taylor had snuggled up to Estela, defiant against the cold night, and felt a warmth and safety that she never wanted to leave. Estela had her secrets, and they were secrets that would get Taylor hurt-- if she was lucky. And her hard-won smile made Taylor’s stomach swoop wildly, made her heart nearly beat plain out her chest.

Nothing was ever simple.

“I don’t even know if she’s interested in women, let alone interested in me--”

“Taylor. She’s into you. Those sparks flying off between you don’t lie!” Diego’s face became serious. “Who knows how things are gonna go down tonight… but do you really want to face down death leaving this hanging? It’s not the time for regrets.”

Taylor bit her lip. Estela would think she was crazy-- thinking about sex when they were on the verge of being under siege. It wasn’t just sex, though, it was something more. She wanted to know Estela, to be close to her. She longed for it, good sense be damned. And whatever happened after… well, she’d go out with all her cards on the table. Honest.

She took a deep breath. “I guess… what have I got to lose?”

No holding back now. Just gotta rip the bandage off.

____________________________

“Hey.”

Estela looked up. She’d felt Taylor approaching as she stretched, limbering up for what lay ahead.

“...Hello, Taylor.”

“You, um, busy?”

“No, not really. I’m killing time until the Watchers attack.”

Taylor shifted her weight, appearing nervous. She opened her mouth, paused, and then spoke.

“Well, you know… I was just wondering if… maybe you wanted to come with me to my room?”

Estela studied Taylor. Was she… getting at…?

“Hang out. In your room. Just us.”

She felt hopeful, then ill. Her heart skipped a beat when Taylor replied….

“Yeah.”

Oh. “I….”

She could feel her eyes prickling with tears threatening to come. A hard lump came to her throat. Her gaze met with Taylor’s, so warm and earnest.

Now it was all there in front of her, she just didn’t have the will to fight her feelings any longer.

“Yes. I’d like that.”

_________________________

“So. This is your room.”

It had been a quiet journey upstairs. Estela hadn’t known what to say… and it seemed Taylor had the same problem. Actually, it seemed Taylor was holding her breath pretty much until they got back to her room.

Then, she was on edge… jumpy. Estela found it oddly reassuring-- at least she wasn’t the only one absolutely bricking it.

“Yeah, uh, go ahead and make yourself at home. I’ve got some wine in the cabinet, and there’s a pretty great view out the window, and--”

“Taylor… did you invite me up here to discuss your room?”

It was better to get to the point. Taylor was only getting herself wound up.

Taylor’s sapphire eyes filled with relief. In this space, just the two of them, they only had to be truthful… the truth wasn’t anything to fear. It was something beautiful. “...No. Not really.”

Estela stepped forward, tense but hopeful. I don’t have a clue what I’m doing…. But she knew she wanted it. Unbidden images flooded her mind, and for the first time, she let herself want it. She swallowed hard.

“Listen, I… I’m not skilled at this sort of thing. I don’t exactly know what to say.”

“Well,” Taylor’s voice shook, just a little, “…what do you want?”

“I….”

For just a moment, Estela hesitated. She’d already gone this far. And Taylor… she could be honest with Taylor. About everything. Even….

 “I want you to kiss me.”

Taylor stepped forward, closing the space between them… and softly touched her lips to Estela’s.

Estela flinched at the shock of it, a split-second of panic at the sudden intimacy. It’s okay-- it’s Taylor. Then she kissed her back, eyes fluttering closed as she gave into the sensation, sweet and warm, and the giddy explosion somewhere in the pit of her stomach, all driving her to deepen the kiss, to lose herself in it. Fireworks… this was why they always said it was like fireworks….

They came apart all too soon. Estela caught the flicker of nervous exhilaration in Taylor’s eyes. She’d wanted it too. It baffled Estela, but she didn’t question it.

“Was that okay?” Taylor asked. She was definitely flushed now, no mistaking it.

Yes… but Estela needed more. If she was giving into this, she was giving in completely. Just tell her….

“...I want you to kiss me again. And I want to touch you this time. To feel you.”

Taylor pulled her shirt off over her head, and Estela sucked in a breath. She could hear her heart beating in her ears. Oh my god. Then, her expression a little shy, Taylor put her hands behind her back to undo her bra, which fell to the ground.

There was an intense swooping in Estela’s stomach and a throbbing heat at her core as her eyes fell upon Taylor’s naked chest, the perfect peaks of her breasts. Overwhelmed by her flaring arousal, Estela closed her eyes, moving in again to kiss Taylor again.

She was bolder this time, kissing fully, passionately seeking more of the feeling, a gasp escaping her as Taylor’s tongue flicked against her own. And all the while, she touched… her hands roaming the warm skin of Taylor’s back, tracing the contours of her sides, stroking over her breasts, nipples pebbling beneath calloused fingers. She felt Taylor exhale, trembling, against her lips.

“How’s that?” Taylor seemed more confident now herself, a smile upon her face. Smiling as though she wanted this as fiercely as did Estela.

“Mmmmm….”

Her heart hammering against her ribs, Estela took hold of Taylor’s hands and guided them to pull off her shirt. Taylor obliged, taking her time, as though savouring every inch being revealed. The heat of Taylor’s gaze upon Estela’s body was electric, and though she knew she should have felt vulnerable, it simply wasn’t there. She just wanted Taylor, more of her.

Estela pressed her body up against Taylor’s, feeling the warmth of her, the softness of her skin… but it still wasn’t enough. Hastily, she brought Taylor’s hands up to undo her bra, letting out an involuntary whine as they brushed against the sensitive skin at the sides of her breasts.

Taylor’s eyes were upon her again, heavy-lidded with desire, raking over her body. Wanting her in return….

It was almost too much.

“God… you’re perfect…,” Taylor crooned, standing there exposed, the curves of her body bathed in lamplight.

How did this feel so good? Estela could feel herself grinning like an idiot, and she didn’t even care. “Shhh.”

She tugged her in, kissing her, grasping onto her body with increasing urgency. Taylor….

Then Taylor’s hands cupped her face, cradling her, almost reverent, and Estela had to come up for breath. Taylor’s lips traced a path down by her ear, down her neck-- making Estela’s breath hitch-- and lingering over her collarbone.

“Here,” Taylor said softly as she looked back up only to capture Estela’s lips again. “Lie down.”

Unable to bear even any space between her body and Taylor’s, Estela guided Taylor with her, easing her on top of her as she sunk down into the mattress.

“More,” she said-- it came out far more of a growl than she’d intended, but now that she’d given in to her need, it was insatiable. “Touch me. Feel me.”

Taylor slowly slid down her body, and Estela tangled her fingers in her hair, for she  couldn’t not be touching her. She hoisted up her hips, inviting Taylor to remove her pants, which were soon discarded, leaving her all but bare. Estela’s own heady scent reached her nose, surely it was strong to Taylor who was now trailing insistent kisses up her inner-thigh….

Estela gave a gutural moan. She almost couldn’t bear it…. Then Taylor’s lips skimmed over the thin black fabric of her underwear, making her buck her hips. She moaned again, louder. Please….

The firm kiss pressed damp fabric against Estela’s sensitive skin, and she realised how wet she’d become. Then another, right over her aching clitoris.

“Oh my god….”

This was ecstasy. Estela arched her back while her hands clenched around Taylor, almost clawing her.

“Please. More. More.”

She needed to look at her, to look her full in the face and make her feel it… how much she wanted her. God, she wanted her.

Estela pulled Taylor up flush against her, delighting in the sensation as their bare breasts pressed together. They were so close now that their noses were touching, their breath mingled panting upon one another’s faces… and the thundering of Taylor’s heart… Estela could not have separated it from her own.

“I want you,” she croaked out.

Taylor’s breath shook, and those tantalising lips curved into a smile. “I’m yours.”

Taylor kissed Estela deeply, then left her momentarily to squirm out of her underwear. She took Estela’s hand, and watching her reaction closely, brought it between her legs.

The whine Taylor made when Estela’s fingers first brushed past the neat patch of blonde curls all but made her come apart. She delved deeper, chasing the whimper, her two fingers slipping easily through the slickness of Taylor’s folds, rolling over the small mound of her clit.

Taylor gasped, her eyes closing and her head thrown back. “Oh god, Estela….”

It set Estela on fire, heat prickling in places she didn’t know could feel it-- from what, just her voice?-- the feel of her?

Panting, she sat up to deal with her own underwear, finding herself hot behind the ears as she tugged them down. She was a long ways past needing to be shy with Taylor, but to be entirely physically exposed was new. Never had she given any thought as to whether her more private areas might have been pleasing to the eye. She was not as neatly groomed as her… lover?… kissing partner?… whatever this was? Taylor, for her part, was looking upon her glistening petals as if Estela’s pussy was something beautiful to behold.

Then, Taylor was on top of her once more, her slick heat rubbing over her thigh as their legs entwined.

“Lie back…,” Taylor whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Estela did as she was told, her nails digging into Taylor’s back as talented fingers pressed against her, rubbing against her clit, then teasing at her entrance.

“Is this okay?”

Estela moaned her response, clawing harder at Taylor’s shoulder and bucking her hips. Obliging, Taylor entered her, finger crooked against some sensitive spot Estela hadn’t known was even there. Estela pressed against her, wanting more, and Taylor got a rhythm going, thrusting her finger, then two, in and out, while her thumb pressed against her clit, pushing Estela closer to release with every motion.

She couldn’t just come apart like this, void of all control. But she couldn’t stop it, and she could no longer fathom wanting to. Whatever this was building up inside her, she was helpless to give in to it.

Taylor’s fingers tangled in Estela’s hair, anchoring their bodies together, and the sharp tug brought her ever-closer. Estela buried her face in Taylor’s shoulder and cried out as she came, clinging through the rush as if for dear life and collapsing into that beautiful woman while she saw stars.

Taylor was grinning above her face, a beautiful sight, and when she kissed her it was gentler, sweet and soft.

Her body shook as aftershocks of pleasure raced through her, but Estela reached for Taylor. It was a struggle to find a rhythm while her body kept shuddering, but she kept her hand pressed between Taylor’s legs, allowing Taylor to thrust against her. Eyes closed, Taylor appeared lost in a state of bliss, and the sight of her, hair mussed, sweaty, and riding her hand sent a further zap through Estela’s twitching body.

Estela pulled Taylor up once more, claiming her mouth with her own. While one hand fiercely grasped her hips, her ass, the other redoubled the rhythmic rubbing against Taylor’s swollen clit, until she brought her over the edge with a shuddering gasp.

Taylor’s spent body seemed to melt into Estela’s, their legs all in a tangle. Estela’s chest heaved; she was utterly exhilarated, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from those blue ones… how they sparkled with affection. …For her? She leaned in, kissing Taylor slowly, savouring the feel of her mouth, aching to know it intimately. And Taylor caressed her, fingers trailing through her hair, stroking her face. Oh, Estela adored her.

What have you done to me?

Estela exhaled, and what felt like a world of built-up tension flowed out of her.

Taylor, what have you done?

__________________________

Estela lay face-to-face with Taylor, near enough to lean in and kiss her. Her body was alive with tingling sensations that were new and alarming and wonderful.

Taylor lifted a hand to somewhat tame the mess had been made of her hair. She was grinning, glowing.

“That was… that was amazing.”

Estela could feel her face lighting up. God, Taylor’s smile made her giddy….

“Was it really?”

“Of course, really!” came Taylor’s laughing reply.

“You… you should know…. I’ve never done that before.”

“With a girl?” Taylor asked, her hand trailing down Estela’s arm idly.

“With anyone.”

Taylor’s surprise lasted only a moment; everything she knew about Estela told her that getting close to others was hard. Then, the most bizarre sensation of not being able to even remember if she’d ever done it before either. Unnerved, Taylor focused her attention upon Estela; for now, nothing else was important.

 Estela fiddled with Taylor’s fingers over the sheets, fondling them. There was something so delicate about Taylor’s fingers… they were gracile and soft.

“I just….” She looked back up to Taylor’s lovely face, seeing the warmth there. This was why it was her. “I’ve never really trusted anyone like that. Not anyone I met. Until you. And I got to know you. And I felt this… this yearning… that I’d never felt before. Have I been missing out this whole time? Is kissing always this good?”

And as if to answer, Taylor brought a hand to the back of Estela’s head, bringing her in. There she kissed her full and deep, feeling a small giggle against her lips.

“I think our kissing is exceptionally good,” sad cheekily as they came apart.

“I’d like to think so.”

She was entranced. With Estela… she hadn’t imagined the dam would have broken as it had, however much she might have desired it. A sense of peace had settled over her; whatever happened in the hours to come, Estela knew she cared for her. That counted for something.

Ignoring the doubts that tugged at her mind surrounding her own love life, Taylor probed gently as she ran her hand along Estela’s hip and her toned stomach… somehow managing to do so without her mind completely short-circuiting.

“So you never really dated before?”

Estela shook her head. “My life has been… let’s say atypical.”

“Atypical in what way?”

Estela turned away, looking up to the ceiling. After everything… she needed to let Taylor in. She wanted to. “My father abandoned my family when I was just a baby. So I was raised by my mother and my uncle in San Trobida. My uncle taught me the ways of our family business. He taught me everything I know. How to hunt… how to fight… how to kill.”

Taylor should have balked, but she didn’t. She was just listening… damn, that woman was unflappable. She just lay there, genuinely open, wanting to know her.

Estela continued. “My mother though… she always dreamed of a better life more me. A peaceful life. A safe life.” Her face fell. “That’s why she loved working for Rourke International… because it was our ticket out of there.”

Somehow, that was what surprised Taylor. “Your mother… worked for Rourke?”

“Yeah, and when I was fifteen, she got reassigned here. The Celestial. I stayed with my uncle, because no children were allowed… but she still mailed home a letter every week.”

She swallowed hard. “Then one day… the last letter came.” She could feel Taylor’s frown, as if she’d picked up the dread of what was coming. “This one was different. It was handwritten, messy. My mother claimed she’d discovered something Rourke was up to… something illegal… something very dangerous. She was afraid for her life. She begged my uncle to come get her.”

Taylor felt her stomach drop. She knew what was coming. Oh, Estela….

“The next day, we received another letter. Directly from Rourke International. It said my mother had died in a freak accident at the resort. But I knew even then, it was bull. Everett Rourke killed my mother.”

For a moment, Taylor digested what she was being told, the horror of it. The pieces began to fall into place.

 Though she was pretty sure she knew the answer, Taylor asked; “What are you going to do about it?”

Estela’s expression hardened, all traces of the sweet smile Taylor brought forth gone.

“I vowed, then and there, that I had one mission, one goal… to avenge my mother, or die trying. Of course, it wasn’t easy. How does a poor girl from San Trobida get close to the richest, most powerful man alive? I found out he had a son, little Everett Junior, enrolled in college under a fake name. I used my uncle’s connections to forge papers to get me into the same school. I was so close to finding out who he was.”

“What would you have done with Aleister?” Taylor asked hesitantly. Did she want to know? But they were doing this. All cards on the table.

“To be honest, I planned to take him hostage. Use him to get close to Rourke. And then… get my revenge.”

“Damn….”

It was confronting, and Taylor needed a few moments to wrestle with it. But she wasn’t afraid of Estela. Not in the least.

“Then I saw the contest,” Estela continued. “Ten students, selected for a trip here. To Rourke’s prized jewel.” Her voice cracked. “To the island where my mother died.

“I couldn’t believe my luck when I won,” she said quietly. “But I had to go, to join you on this trip… if I was ever going to have a chance at my revenge.”

A deep sadness settled over Taylor. This was a mess. A horrible, bloody mess. And with everything she knew…. Who could blame Estela for getting justice the only way that seemed big enough?

But if the collateral damage was Estela’s own life?

Taylor searched Estela’s eyes, hoping she’d see she’d not just lost her with what she’d shared. Even if… even if it scared the crap out of her.

“You still want that?” she asked gently. “Is that still your mission?”

Estela took her time, considering Taylor… what they’d shared together… as her fingertips trailed along the contours of her side. She’d stay here with her like this forever if she could. If she could.

“You’ve… shown me things I didn’t think were possible. Made me feel things I didn’t know I could feel. For that, I’ll always be grateful.”

“Why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming?”

The sadness in Taylor’s eyes hurt like a physical wound, but Estela wouldn’t lie to her. She wasn’t going to give up. She couldn’t.

“...But Everett Rourke killed my mother. And that means he has to die.”

Then, all of a sudden, Taylor’s face was ashen. Of course-- how could she not be horrified, repulsed? But she also looked… confused?

“You’re quiet. You’re weirded out by me, aren’t you?” Weirded out? Understatement of the century.

Taylor sat up, shaking, looking down at her trembling hands, then back up at Estela, looking into her face as though she was seeing a ghost.

“Estela? Is it really you?”

What--?

Then, Taylor launched herself forward, clutching Estela against her chest. And she was crying.

“Uh….”

There was something cold and metal against Estela’s back, and as she sat up, Taylor stared at it, her mouth agape.

“What the hell is that?” Estela demanded. And where did it come from?

“It was real….”

“What are you talking about?”

Taylor seemed to pull herself together, and looked Estela in the face. “Do you trust me?”

Estela almost laughed. “I mean… I think that’s obvious at this point.”

“Then I need you to come with me, right now.” Taylor reached for Estela’s hand and hurriedly pulled her out of bed and into the closet.

“Round two already?” Estela asked as the door shut closed behind them, leaving them in darkness. She might have been new to all this, but that seemed the most plausible scenario for their being holed up naked in a closet together. Maybe that was how Taylor coped with….?

But Taylor put a finger to Estela’s lips and shushed her, her expression serious. Something was up.

Estela could have sworn she shore a shadow pass over the moon, and then---

CRASH

Her jaw dropping, Estela grasped onto Taylor as she saw the unmasked Watcher-- the leader?-- swing confidently into the room with a deafening shatter of glass.

“What the hell?” she breathed, unable to contain herself in her shock. “How did you--”

“Shh.”

Of course. Estela silenced herself, and her grip around Taylor tightened. Huddled in together, they held a shared breath as through the tiny gaps in the wood they saw the Watcher search the apparently empty room… passing right by the closet.

The confused Watcher moved out into the hall, continuing the search elsewhere, and Estela felt Taylor slump against her in relief.

“Too close for comfort,” Estela admitted.

Taylor was still shaking as the two of them stepped back out into the bedroom, and her chest was heaving.

Estela reached for her. “Stop,” she said gently. “Just stop, okay? Tell me what’s going on.”

Swallowing past a lump in her throat, Taylor found her voice. “I…. I knew what was going to happen because it already had. We were in bed, and… and the Watcher came through the window. You were fighting… rolling on the ground, and then… the glass.” She shuddered involuntarily, and her hand went to her mouth. “He rolled you over this massive shard of glass and you….”

Taylor wiped her eyes. “Sorry, we really don’t need me getting all worked up right now with everything that’s….” She righted herself, leaning against her lover’s shoulder. “But you died in my arms. I felt you….”

Shit. Not knowing what on earth to say to that, Estela just hugged Taylor. When they came apart, Taylor appeared more herself, more grounded.

She held up the necklace, pointing out that the stone had turned grey.

“I wanted more than anything to be back in bed with you, before it all went wrong… and when I touched this, it came true.”

It was insane, truly insane.

“It can’t be… but….” Estela shook her head. If they didn’t keep their wits about them, they’d both actually be dead. “Doesn’t matter. Right now, that guy’s roaming the halls looking for us. We’ve gotta warn the others….”

It was a strange feeling to be throwing clothes on, to be plunged back into reality. Everything had changed.

Protectively, Estela pulled Taylor flush against the wall, and she edged forward to peek around the corner. Her heart sank at the sight of several more Watchers, all armed with weapons of amber.

“We’ve got more company,” she muttered.

“How are they all getting in?” Taylor hissed, her brow furrowed.

“There’s a lot of them. I’m guessing our barricades didn’t hold for long.”

It was inevitable. They’d all known that. But she didn’t want to leave Taylor now….

“I know the timing sucks, but we’ve gotta split up if we’re gonna warn everybody in time.”

Taylor’s eyes were wide-- she was scared. Seeing someone you… someone you cared about… killed, of course that would scare a person.

“I don’t want to leave you either, but you’re right.”

Estela wanted to reassure her, to tell her nothing like that would happen. But she couldn’t lie.

“Just… be careful, alright? Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Then she pulled her close, and kissed her, tender and deep. It wouldn’t be goodbye… she wouldn’t let it be. Estela lingered just a moment in the feel of her, her Taylor. I’m gonna fight like hell for you.

Then she took off jogging on light feet down the hall.

With the fire burning through her right now, those assholes weren’t gonna know what hit them. 

[cyberapid]

Earthspark Bumblebee x Cybertronian Reader

Work Jitters

No gendered terms are used for the reader. There’s gonna be another part as soon as I stop fucking around.

I’ve also got two more chapters for my Mom 2 that I’ll post when I stop fucking around again

:•)

•-•-•

The laughter of the human Malto’s children rings through your audials as the tallest twin slips over the mud that Mo had unexpectedly thrown under them— just as you had instructed her.

Much to Thrash’s annoyance and Twitch’s delight as she quickly jumps over the mudslide taking the lead in their relay race.

It's common for larger bots to have slower and clunker reactions, especially one so young and inexperienced. Nothing of concerning note, not yet at least, you think to yourself but noting it down doesn't hurt for later.

“That's not fair! I thought they weren’t a part of the race,” Thrash’s complaints bring you from any thoughts that knock around your processor. He's now at least five feet behind his sister who leaps over a stray log left in their path then flips over completely before landing on her pedes and continuing on.

Looking down at the screen attached to your arm plate, wirelessly connected to the bots allowing you to monitor their function. You see that the cables in her pedes and struts strain and her vents are struggling to keep up with her, so she’s quickly overheating.

Though amused by their antics, you reprimand the bot, “Slow down, Twitch. Remember this is a race in name only, I just needed data on your physical state…..” Your warning is waved off as she continues her rate.

Thrash is quick on her tail, also pushing himself to an unnecessary degree.

Pulling yourself up to your peds allows you to see them run further down the open plains of the enclosed farm, spooking any poor animal in their way, trekking towards the makeshift ending ribbon that's being held by a fence post and Robby. Who looks nervous by his sibling’s quick approach. Agitation creeps its way through your processor as you finally shout towards the terrans, “Twitch, Thrash that's enough!”

Twitch is the first to skid to a stop at your serious tone and look back towards you but her brother takes her pause as his chance to continue and overtake with a triumphant yell, but his excitement is short lived before he’s stumbling over his sisters stuck out pede and falling flat onto his face plate with an audible clattering.

“Sorry!” Twitch is fluttering towards you with her servos cupped, held over her chest plate, and pedes no longer touching the ground. Leaving her brother reeling, dramatically checking over his enstril, dermas, and dentas to see if everything is still placed where it should be. “We were just-”

“Pushing yourself too far. You're young and haven't been training long, give yourself time.” You place your servo on her slumped arm and crouch down to be face to face with the young Terran.

Your intake halts at the sudden voice of a familiar mech, “Actually, ‘haven’t been training at all' is more accurate.” Bumblebees vents sound with a familiar annoyance, something he's been expressing far more than often recently. Twitch sighs loud and far too dramatic at Bumblebee’s approach, she then turns to you with pleading optics.

“We are training! You’ve got us running and dodging things, training! See,” she turns to a less than impressed Bumblebee who turns to you, equally pleading optics making you roll your optics at their antics.

“I'm not here to train you, nor am I qualified. I'm a medic and only meant to keep you healthy and to learn more of your biology,” you motion towards Bumblebee with your free servo while the other stays placed on the young Terrans shoulder plating, “He’s here to train you. Bumblebee has experience that far surpasses mine. He’s one of the best scouts I’ve had the pleasure of meeting,” a flush blue covers his faceplating at your compliment which goes unnoticed by you but the human children catch it, stifling their laughs as a glare from the yellow scout is shot towards them.

The twins groan loudly and the tallest of them flops onto his back, impact causing mud to splatter over the whole group. Any laughter the humans might still have had quickly dies as their clothing and hair is abruptly covered in mud. Mo being the first to react, eye wide and mouth agape, “Thrash!! Moms gonna kill us,” she turns to her older brother who looks more exasperated than shocked.

“She’s gonna kill Thrash,”

“Kill?” The Terran comes to his pedes quicker than any bot or human has seen so far, terror fills his face and spark at the notion

“A metaphor, not literal. You will live Thrash,” a servo is placed on his shoulder, in the hopes of calming the mech down.

He vents loudly, leaning his helm on your shoulder and slumps, “I thought I was a goner, Teach,” you can’t help the smile that creeps over your facial plating at his theatrics, looking down you transform your arm into a scanner before the blue light goes over both Terrans registering current physical data into your data.

“Thankfully you live another day, thank primus. Meaning you get to have an even better day tomorrow, with Bee, training” the groans coming from the twins swiftly kills the smile that was creeping up Bumblebees dermas.

[terriblyrenderedenigma]

The Coveted Star

(A/n: This is my first little attempt at a little transformers blurb of Megatron x OC/Self insert who will be greatly elaborated upon in later posts. Just thought id dip my toes in the water here.)

Tags: Nonspecific Transformers continuity (As of current at least, leaning towards TFA, or maybe changing context and interaction before going earthspark) Description: Megatron trying to persuade a human turned unaffiliated bot into joining the Decepticons. Word Count: 637 Warnings: Probably ooc Megatron x Fem oc/self-insert; Probably confusing lore but will have an oc lore dump post laterrr; brief corpse mention but not serious; Religious Imagery - hell mention; slight xenophobia; eye strain because colored text; probably poor use of cybertronian anatomy

“Look at you! A great star in the sky among walking corpses with withering souls! You hold amazing power… it would be such a waste for you not to use it…” The dirtied grey mech held out his servo in offering to Aquarion, his broad digits scratched and deeply scarred from decades of fighting, of war. The sleek femme’s purple optics moved with trepidation from the dark flat palm of his servo, flitting across his dented plating until their optics met.

The crimson glow of his optics burned like the fires of hell that made old historians writhe in their sleep before vomiting their horrors onto withered pages in striking raven ink. If his passion was inferno, he burnt like the lake of fire he'd be condemned to for the sins he held heavy servo'd against his fellow kin. Palms bathed in enough energon alone to rejuvenate his dead and broken home...

“I cannot take a place at your side…” Aquarion’s soft tone breaks with static, vocalizer quickly correcting as she vents a heavy puff of steam. White plating shone like freshly fallen snow, violet bio-lights peeking out between the crevasses, the breaks in her armor.

Her frame ran hot. Wiring burning with unease much like the nerves that used to sting her once human flesh with sensations deeper than this by tenfold. “To take up my burdens and follow you would be to turn my back on the people that I used to be a part of.” As the words left her, a frown wormed its way across her faceplate.

“Used to. Have you not experienced the hateful gazes? The fear and scrutiny in their fleshy eyes as they look up at the form that has consumed you. Changed you-" The leader of the Decepticons arms swing out dramatically, gesturing to the femme in all her new glory. The body that held her conscious was strong and sturdy, powerful, volatile, capable! It would kill Megatron to see the potential in her circuits wasted on neutrality -- or worse, the Autobots. "-Named you Aquarion and chose you out of all your kind for a higher purpose! This is a gift... You are no longer one of them! You are one of us!” Megatron demands, the deep timbre of his voice echoing not only within the gears of his own chassis, but hers as well. There’s an echo of desperation, an anticipation to make her understand that things are not the same anymore, her life is no longer what it was and never will be again.

No longer human, but hot blooded cybertronian... "I can't-"

"Take my hand!" Megatron demands harshly now, thrusting his servo forward once more at her continued hesitance, the swift movement of his hand towards her making her massive wings flare in a defensive stir. "Take my hand, and I will show you greatness you've never known! Teach you who you were meant to be..." The roughness of his vocalizer tapering off into a tender request.

Why did he persist so strongly? Demand so insistently that she follow him? Go with him into the deep dark night into even more mystery?What fears would she have to conquer as her palm fit smoothly within his own?

What manipulation, scheming, plotting would she be forced to be a part of? The decepticons certainly weren't the kindest or truthful of all beings. But Megatron their great leader, strong, dangerous, downright terrifying to any normal human... Stood face to face with her and-

"Please."

His pleading, set in motives unknown sent her over. Aquarion relents and takes his servo firmly and without another thought.

"Alright then... why don't you show me what I can do?"

Aquarion knew not what path this choice would lead her, but she was sure of one thing. This was going to end terribly.

[chaesonghwas]

justi. jus. jus babe. justi.

the one with the flowers. i need that ficlet.

HI BABE!!! FLOWERS!!!!!

y'all mentioned sunflowers being charles' fav flower on anna's bday fic and now that will be my headcanon forever, so have this little ficlet in return 💖💖 i hope u like itttt

"i brought you flowers." "for what?" "there has to be a reason?"

It all starts with a stupid interview - one of those TikTok things for the F1 page, asking unconventional interview questions.

“What’s your favorite flower?”

“Huh.” Charles had looked deep in thought, brows furrowed and lips pursed. Utterly adorable, like always. The backdrop of the bright pink flowers in the Singapore paddock made his green eyes pop. “Sunflowers, I think.”

And it made Pierre pause because -

Even after so many years, he doesn’t know everything about Charles. This silly video that Ilies had sent him with many laughing emojis - mostly because it also contains a diss at Pierre’s football skills - has revealed a truth about his boyfriend he never knew and, most importantly, that he never even bothered to ask. A twinge of guilt twists a way in his stomach because Charles deserves the best - he deserves someone that cares about what his favorite flower is and someone who won’t give him generic flower bouquets.

That’s why he ends up at Charles’ doorstep in Monaco carrying a sunflower bouquet he can barely fit in his arms, when he most definitely should be in Milan preparing to train with Ben. Pierre might have gotten a little carried away, he’ll admit.

“Hello?” Charles asks over the intercom after Pierre rings the doorbell, a little confused. Maybe he should’ve texted ahead, Pierre thinks. 

Pierre puts on his deepest voice as he answers. “Special delivery for Charles Leclerc.”

He doesn’t expect that to work, but Charles buzzes him in so Pierre rides the elevator up to his apartment. A wave of doubt washes over Pierre, but he trudges ahead and knocks on Charles’ apartment door. “Delivery!” he repeats in that deep voice.

When the door flies open, Pierre hears Charles gasp of surprise and he just about melts into the floor in a pile of goo. He loves him - he loves him so much. “Oh my god, Pierre.”

“Hi, calamar.” He tries to poke his head out from between the stems, but he’s mostly unsuccessful. “I brought you flowers.”

“For what? Shouldn’t you be in Milan right now?” His words are formatted like a reprimand, but his tone is more emotional than anything.

“Does there have to be a reason? Can’t I just be a good boyfriend?” 

Can’t it just be because I love you and you deserve good things?

Pierre thinks that but he doesn’t say it because this thing between them is still fairly new and raw and growing - they haven’t said I love you as a couple yet but Pierre can reel it in and wait, because he wants to give this time and he has known Charles is the big love of his life since he was about thirteen, so he’s not worried. He hopes that for now the sunflowers will be enough to communicate to Charles how he feels - I love you, I care about you, you’re my sun.

“You are the best boyfriend,” Charles answers, a little choked up. “It’s beautiful, thank you Pear. Now come in and set the flowers down so I can kiss you stupid, yeah?”

“Nothing would make me happier.” Charles giggles at Pierre’s words and grabs his wrist to lead him inside, sending sparks flying up his arm. When he finally manages to set the flowers down on the table, Charles kisses him and walks them backwards into his bedroom. 

“Sunflowers are my favorite, you know?” Charles muses after, in a post orgasm haze. Charles has a hand splayed across Pierre’s chest and his head tucked in his boyfriend’s neck, content and relaxed.

“I know.”

Charles doesn’t give a verbal answer, he just lifts his head and squints at Pierre. When Pierre chuckles guiltily, knowing he has probably clocked on to him listening to the interview, Charles just lets his head fall and cuddles back into Pierre with a quiet hum.

[sophie1973]

Several Sentence Sunday

So I have been tagged over the past week and today by @stellarmeadow @tinyarmedtrex @onthewaytosomewhere. Thank you !

2 days left of 2024, 2 fics to post. The first one is Roop's Birthday fic, 'Excuse my French', which will be posted tomorrow.

The second one is a little tooth-rotting fluffy oneshot I wrote for New Year's Eve, which will be posted on the 31 (duh). If you have read the December prompt (Si c'était ça le bonheur) I wrote for the Red Umbrella collection, it takes place in the same universe.

Have a little snippet here. Tags under the cut.

Dinner time arrives, filling the house with delicious aromas and lively chatter. Alex has prepared a feast, and even David and Stevie get their own special dog-friendly menu. The atmosphere is slightly chaotic but warm and full of life – just the way Alex loves it. He finds himself pausing between bites, taking in the scene around him: Henry laughing at one of Olivia's jokes, Emilia sneaking a piece of meat to David and Stevie under the table (not as stealthily as she thinks), with the TV providing a white noise background. After dinner, they clear the table and bring out the board games. What starts as friendly competition - Olivia definitely inherited his competitive streak -  quickly devolves into playful accusations of cheating, with dramatic gasps and laughter filling the room. Alex catches Henry's eye across the table during a particularly heated round of Game of Life, and they share a private smile, both clearly thinking the same thing – this is pretty much close to perfection. Alex can’t wait to make it even more perfect in about an hour. As the evening wears on, they move to the living room, gathering around the fireplace. Henry brings out the ingredients for s'mores, which the girls attack with enthusiasm, while Alex carefully monitors to ensure no one sets anything (or anyone) on fire.

Tagging with no pressure : @thighzp @tailsbeth-writes @theprinceandagcd @orchidscript

@anincompletelist @priincebutt @14carrotghoul @whoevenknows-things @jafffacakess

@wordsofhoneydew @suseagull5914 @bitbybitwrites @miharaikko

@blueeyedgrlwrites

@kj-bee @thesleepyskipper @shesfromboston @0npurpose

[cityzenshark]

Bear Necessities fix-it excerpt | Firsts to Grow Up, Book One: Family - 17: Mama Bears

Dorothy takes Mo and Twitch with her as they head to her park ranger outpost on Dot’s truck. Twitch sits invisible on the open back of the truck, securing the cage holding the bear cub. Mo complains that Robby should’ve explained to Jawbreaker more specifically, feeling they had ruined the birthday party. Dot reassures that the party isn’t ruined and tells Mo not to blame Robby or JB because Dot’s job doesn’t stop for her birthday.

Twitch mutters loudly, “At least they didn’t make ‘Bee leave.”

Mo turns around to look at her Terran sister in annoyance. “Twitch, come on...”

This piqued Dorothy’s attention. “What’s this about Bumblebee?” she asks both of her daughters.

Mo answers before Twitch could drop the topic, “Twitch still blames Nightshade for what happened with Bumblebee.”

“Mo!” Twitch cries out in betrayal.

“Still?” Dot says to her teenage daughter.

“Yeah! Me and Robby have been trying to tell Twitch to get off Nightshade’s back but she keeps complaining about the security systems while they’re around even though it’s been fixed.”

“I did not!” Twitch yells.

“Don’t lie!” Mo yells back.

Dorothy commands, “Enough! How about you two stop fighting and—!”

A laser suddenly shoots from the foot of Dot’s prosthetic leg. Surprised, Dot loses control and the truck drifts towards the barrier overseeing a steep cliff, crashing through it. Twitch swiftly flies to the front and stops the truck from going fully off the road. Twitch pushes the truck back up to the road. Dorothy and Mo shakily exits the truck, the mother checking over her daughter. After catching her breath, Dot tests her fake leg by shouting “Fight!” three times, and laser shoots from under its foot three times.

Mo speaks aloud what her mother is thinking, “I guess this is Nightshade’s other surprise.”

Dorothy says to herself that she and Alex need to have a long talk with the owl Terran later. Then she remembers the bear cub.

Twitch checks the back of the truck. It’s empty. She looks at the road behind them and finds the carrier broken open in the middle of the road. The cub is gone. Enraged, Twitch complains crossly how Nightshade is always the cause of problems ever since meeting Tarantulas and how Bumblebee would’ve still been with the family if it weren’t for Nightshade’s security systems.

Dot immediately sets Twitch straight: Bumblebee wouldn’t have to leave if he hadn’t gone drag racing. The security systems is only bad timing because of Schloder’s sudden visit and things might have gone worse if Bee didn’t go racing that night. Bee’s situation is a result of his own actions; it’s never Nightshade’s fault. She also points out how Twitch doesn’t blame Hashtag whatsoever despite knowing well she’s equally responsible with the systems, showing her bias towards her younger sister. Dot doesn’t like it when her children play favourites with each other, especially Twitch because she stepped up to be the leader of her Terran siblings.

“Once we’re done with today’s activities, you must apologize to Nightshade. Sincerely. Don’t do it just because I told you to, and do not mention to them about what happened just now. Let me and your father handle that. You must apologise for everything you did to them for the past week. Do you understand, Twitch Malto?”

Shame laced Twitch’s voice. “Yes, Mom. I understand...”

Dot then tells her daughters to wait by the woods and find the bear cub’s trails while she parks her truck properly. Mo gives Twitch a comforting touch as the two heed their mother’s request.

.

.

Author's notes: I think it'd be interesting to show Twitch's challenge in leadership wasn't that her Terran siblings don't listen to her, but rather her feeding her anger and arrogance. Thrash is empathetic but a gatekeeper while Twitch often lets her anger get the better of her.

[concreteburialplot]

Intertwined // 05

-> 05 - Girl Crush*

pairing; noah sebastian x nicholas ruffilo

masterlist; here | crossposted; ao3 | word count; 10.3k 😅

warnings; sad lol, dumb boys, mutual masturbation, p0rn, alcohol, peer pressure, vomiting, college!omens, jolly intro, gay panic & very mild gender confusion??, denial is a river in egypt, 18+ MDNI

REMINDER: this is an au where everyone is around the same age, follows no actual timelines/events, and uses oc's for family members.

a/n: don't like it don't read it. don’t be mean for no reason & let others enjoy things thnx :)

-NICHOLAS- 

It had been about a month since Noah moved out completely and was fully living with us. It wasn’t that difficult of a transition since he stayed with us most of the time anyway. He seemed to be finally settling in and getting comfortable, which I was happy about.

Him living in my house wasn’t the only thing that became comfortable - in fact maybe we’d gotten too comfortable. 

That first night weeks ago, where we took care of our morning wood next to each other, wasn’t the last time. It started as that one time thing, then an occasional thing, then finally, a casual thing. Neither one of us seemed to take it seriously, maybe to play off the implications of it. Because what else are you supposed to do when you jack off next to your best friend regularly?

It became so casual, sometimes as if the other wasn’t there.

--

My half-asleep ears fill with the faint sounds of moans, accompanied by restrained groans I recognize. The more I wake I feel movement behind me.

I stir a bit before turning around finding Noah pumping himself under the covers while holding his phone in the other. He jumps a little when I catch him but doesn’t stop. His actions only halt temporarily.

“Sorry if I woke you up.” He says bashfully, baby pink tinting his cheeks.

“It’s fine.” I gulp, my eyes drifting to the obscene noises coming from his phone. “Whatcha watching?”

He shrugs, tilting his phone to me, revealing the most generic looking porn I’ve ever seen. But porn is porn and it makes my already semi-hard dick twitch. “You wanna… watch too?”

My cheeks grow warm at the offer, “Oh, um, I mean, I don’t wanna intrude…” Though, I can’t help my eyes from being glued to the screen.

He shifts a bit and reaches over, setting the phone down between us propped up in a divot of comforter. In the clumsy process, the duvet slides off his lap revealing his cock.

My eyes widen at the sight of him but I immediately divert my attention so that he doesn’t catch me and assume something else.

“Oh sorry.” He blushes and goes to cover himself again but pauses, “Actually, do you mind? I just don’t wanna deal with the mess and-“

“I don’t mind.” I reply faster than intended. I shake my head, “I just don’t wanna… do that. But I don’t care if you do.”

“Cool.” He nods and returns to his previous position with his eyes locked on the screen.

There’s a panicky heartbeat lingering in my chest but the throbbing in my cock takes precedence. I relax a bit beside him and life the duvet higher up on my body, trying to cover as much of myself as possible.

I spit into my hand before dipping it beneath the covers and down around my member, working it out from my shorts. A hiss leaves my mouth at the coldness of my palm but it doesn’t take long for that discomfort to fade.

My eyes begin on the phone, to the blonde woman with large unnaturally perky breasts being railed by some strong man with a big dick, something you’d find on the first page of any porn site. Not my usual cup of tea but whatever, it’s doing something for me right now.

Naturally, my eyes drift and happen to fall on Noah’s cock. His large hand works up and down his member – he’s duo-toned darker at the base and lighter towards the tip, kind of like me just much pinker. I glance between him and the man in the video. He’s smaller than the man, but he’s definitely not small. The video is obviously emphasizing the man’s large size, but he’s still smaller than me, not by much but he is. It makes me wonder if Noah would be impressed by my size.

Why would I think that? What do I care if Noah’s impressed by my dick?

Noah’s probably not even looking at him like that, I’m just weird I guess.

As if on cue, Noah comments.

“I wish my dick was that big.”

Not wanting to stay uncomfortably silent, I nervously chuckle, “Yeah me too.”

“Well, how big are you?” He asks casually.

My eyes nearly pop out of my head. Surely, he doesn’t actually wanna know.

“Oh – oh, I don’t know, but I don’t wanna take the covers off because-“

Noah proposes a solution, “I could feel?”

“I uh – what do you mean?”

“Like, feel it under the covers. So, I can’t see it. That’s what you’re insecure about isn’t it?”

“Um, I, well,” I stutter, trying to think of any sort of appropriate response. I should say no. I shouldn’t want him to do that. But something in me screams that this might be the only time this could happen – not sure why that’s even important. “Um, sure.”

I scooch a little closer to him so it’s easier for him to reach. Unexpectedly, he brings his free hand up to his mouth and spits into it. My eyebrows furrow at the action, not quite understanding why that’s necessary. But when his arm snakes itself under the covers and his hand replaces mine, I’m suddenly not as confused.

My eyes round at the feeling of his hand around me and every muscle in my body tenses when he starts moving.

“Jesus, you’re pretty big.” He says before his hand even reaches my tip.

Suddenly, all the nerves in my body seem to flood to cock and I feel so sensitive under his fingertips. I should be watching the video, but my eyes bounce between his still working on himself and on his other one bobbing under the covers. I can’t tell fully, but it seems like he’s pumping himself faster than before.

His palm reaches the head then slowly slides back down. “You’re so much bigger than me.” His voice seeming casual, but there’s a hint of strain beneath it.

His words and his even faster movements on both of us only worsens the buzzing in my cock.

“Is this okay? I just, I’ve only ever felt my own dick so, I’ve only ever imagined what having a bigger one would feel like.”

“Yeah, yep. It’s fine.” I reply quickly, just trying to maintain my composure.

My chest rises and falls rapidly and my fingers curl into the sheets. A familiar knot forms in the pit of my tummy and the last thing I want to do is cum while he’s touching me. His hand moves on me at the same speed as on his own. His fingertips stride up and down the underside of my length, hitting the sensitive spot beneath my tip every time. My lips press flat together as I try to stave off my orgasm – I don’t want to cum while he’s touching me, but I also don’t want him to stop.

Thankfully he has less stamina than I do.

“Ah, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He groans, working quickly on himself chasing his climax. “Fuck, fuck!” He whines desperately. His hand doesn’t stop on me while his hips buck up into his hand spurting milky white all over his exposed tummy.

The visual of his cock twitching and spilling cum all over his hand, combined with his high pitched moans and his hand on me catapults me over the edge. “F-Fuck.” I sputter out a strangled groan and scrunch my eyes closed. Before I have time to yank him off of me, my body goes rigid beneath him. The buzzing across my skin seems to all rush into my throbbing cock in Noah’s still moving hand. “O-Oh.” Slips from my mouth just above a whisper while every muscle in my abdomen tightens. I feel myself twitch and spill my own cum into the duvet and all over his hand.

The orgasm nearly blinds my vision and my heart beats so fast I can hear it thumping in my ears. Those couple seconds where it was just me, my racing heart and my throbbing cock, it was pure bliss. Possibly the hardest I’ve ever came before. 

It’s not until I begin to come down that I realize what just happened and that… he worked me fully through my high? 

My eyes shoot open the second I return to earth and feel his hand finally slip off my softening member. For a split second I contemplate if there’s a way for me to get out of this without even looking at him and god I wish there was. 

Fuck

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-” I begin to profusely apologize before he cuts me off. 

He laughs, “It’s okay. I’m sure having someone else’s hand probably feels a lot better than your own. Even if it had been you I probably would’ve came even faster than normal… and you know I already don’t last long as it is.” He chuckles with a light peach tinting his cheeks.

One part of me feels bad that I hadn’t returned the favor, until I remember I didn’t really even want to do this to begin with. Then, another part of me wishes I had returned the favor, maybe I wanted to know the same thing he did - maybe I want to know what another cock would feel like in my hand too. 

“Yeah - um,” I swallow the little saliva I have left in my dry mouth. “Yeah it was nice.” 

He pulls his hand from beneath the covers. “So much for not making a mess.” He laughs. 

My eyes round when I see just how much I had spilt all over his hand. “Yeah, yeah sorry again, I just didn’t think that…” My eyes follow his stare on the milky white mess of mine on his hand. 

His coffee brown eyes snap up to mine and utters out the last words I ever thought he’d say. “Have you ever tasted your own cum?”

I blink blankly at him, completely devoid of words. 

What the fuck

“I-I um, no? Why would I?” 

“I don’t know, curiosity?”

“…Have you?”

“Well, yeah, I wanted to know.” He shrugs. “It was gross, bitter. But,” His eyes flutter back down to his hand. “I’ve obviously never tasted anyone else’s. I wonder if yours tastes different?”

My brain seems to glitch, not fully comprehending his statement. 

“I-I um, I mean, probably.”

“Would it be super weird if I tasted it?”

My brows shoot up at the question. 

But I reply before I’m even sure of my answer. “No, I um, don’t think it would be that weird?” 

And it wouldn’t be, right?

He’s just curious.

Just like he was about my cock. 

“Alright.” His tone much less confident than just seconds ago. 

His dark brown eyes drop to the puddle of my cum on his right hand, just above where his thumb meets his hand. He lifts it tentatively up to his mouth; my eyes can’t help but rotate between his face and his approaching hand. Hesitantly, he darts his pink tongue past his lips to dip the tip of it into the puddle. Unexpectedly, his eyes find mine, snapping me out of my gaze that was locked on his tongue. His mahogany eyes surprise me, with how round and soft they are - so puppy dog-like for a situation such as this. I blink at him and for some reason, seeing him flatten his tongue a bit on the remnants of me makes my cock twitch. He takes a scoop of my orgasm on his tongue and into his mouth. 

“Hm.” He hums, almost sounding pleased, like he was taste-testing wine. “You taste better than me. Sweeter. Must be all those bananas you eat.”

Sweeter

My brows join together, perturbed, “It can’t be that different?”

His boney shoulders raise into a shrug. “You can try mine if you want? To make it even or whatever.” He gestures his left hand up a bit to remind me that his mess remains on that hand too. 

“Oh - I - well -“ I watch his hand gesture towards me again. The turbulence in my tummy reminds me of when someone offers you a gift and out of politeness, you’re supposed to refuse it - but I don’t want to refuse. I want to know.

“Oh c’mon it’s only fair, it’s not that bad.” He urges me, only reaffirming my inability to voice a decline. 

I look down at the back of his hand covered in cloudy white rivers. My fingers gently take hold of his wrist and he lets me take control of his arm without a single ounce of resistance. I bring his hand to my lips and copy his actions - dart my tongue out and meet his eyes. His are just as intrigued as mine were, locked in my tongue. 

The second his cum meets my taste buds, my eyes flutter closed. I’m surprised at the taste, it’s bitter and salty, what I imagine battery acid must taste like. The texture is about what I imagined, thick and slimy. And yet, even with the immediate disgust of it, it makes my cock twitch again. There’s a tingle in my fingertips and on my tongue that urges me to lap up the rest of his orgasm but I fear if I did, I’d be completely hard again. I never thought something as rancid as battery acid would make me hard, but for some reason right now it’s threatening to. 

I’ve never been more grateful for anything more than the duvet on my body right now. 

I half-force a twist in my face at the taste as I pull back from his arm. “Augh, that’s disgusting.” 

He lets out a hearty laugh, “See! Told ya.” 

A nervous chuckle escapes me, “That you did…” 

-Next Day- 

Since landing an apprenticeship at a local tattoo parlor, I don’t see much of either Noah or Folio. While I’m at work after class, they’ve been hanging out at the library in a study group full of people I barely know - people from the frat party a couple weeks ago. 

Today though, I got off my shift early and I’m on a different mission. 

-

My tires screech and the weight of my entire body jerks forward as Stella makes another abrupt stop at a redlight. My hand lands on my dash as a reflex I had gotten far too familiar with.

My tongue passes between my lips before pressing them together and close my eyes through a deep breath. I consider myself a fairly patient person, but if there’s anyone on earth who could get me to snap, it is definitely my sister.

“I told you to start braking 5 million feet ago.” I exhaled with the hopes of Buddha himself coming down and bestowing me with a well-deserved medal of excellent patience.

“Whatever, we still stopped, didn’t we?” She sasses, as she continues to dance to whatever pop song pours through the speakers.

“Yeah, barely.” I grumble, crossing my arms in the passenger seat. “I have no idea how they let you pass your driver’s test.”

“You are so grouchy today.” She glares at me. “What, did the shop bully you again?”

My eyes roll so hard they could’ve fallen out. “No.” I clench my fingers into my palms and stretch them out as overlayed flashbacks of scrubbing every inch of the tattoo parlor flash across my mind. “No, I just cleaned a lot. Fumes. Headache.”

“Right.” She responds unconvinced.

The car takes a sharp turn into a plaza I’ve only ever driven past before and pulls into a parking spot right in front of the destination of my mission.

“We’re here!” She beams, turning the engine off.

We walk up to the small shop snuggled in the tiny strip. The walls look like they were once white, a long, long time ago. Now they’re stained a yellow-y beige with weeds and vines growing across the plaster.

“’Record Store. Plus repairs.’” I read off the giant red letters above the door. “How creative.”

Stella’s elbow sharply jabs into my ribcage. “Ow!” I hiss and recoil away from her. 

“Be nice. Be cool.” She scolds me in a hushed tone.

Whatever the fuck ‘nice and cool’ means to a teenage girl.

A bell trills sharply when she pushes open the glass door. A rush of cold AC blasts against our skin soon as we step into the foyer. 

At the tall reception desk stands a man with lengthy brown hair and a long face. He looks a couple years older than me, at least 23ish.

“Hi Jolly!” Perks Stella almost jumping the second her fingertips meet the glossy wood.

My teeth dig into my bottom lip in an attempt to stifle a giggle when I see the man noticeably deflate the moment he hears the shrill chirp of my sister’s 16-year old voice.

He sets down his pen on whatever paperwork he was working on and turns to us, “Hello Stella.” He greets flatly, with a hint of a foreign accent I can’t place yet.

It’s quite obvious that she comes in here often, more than she’s let on – enough for them to be on a first-name basis.

“Jolly, this is my brother Nick, Nick this is Jolly.” She beams at his name, completely smitten with the older boy. If it wasn’t so obvious that he’s irritated by her mere presence, I’d be more protective of her - but she’s perfectly fine. She’s made sure of that herself.  

“Hey.” I meekly wave at him.

He acknowledges me with a nod and looks back at her. “What’s up.”

“Well, we need your help!” She rocks up and down on her feet with her hands behind her back.

“Great. What is it you need help with?” His fingertips restlessly patter on the table top, impatiently waiting for her to deliver her pitch faster. 

“Go on Nick, show him.” She urges motioning her hand towards him.

I sigh and pull out my phone from my jean’s back pocket, then scroll to find a picture of Noah’s snapped guitar and hand it to the man.

“Could you fix that? Or know someone who could?” I inquire, already feeling as though the trip was hopeless.

His brows pull together as he inspects the picture then uses two fingers to zoom in on the instrument. “Whoever did this really did a number on it.”

“Yeah.” I mumble, scratching the back of my neck. “So, do you think you could fix it?”

“Hmm.” He hums, pulling down his thick-rimmed glasses down his nose. “I can’t say for sure, you’d have to bring it in.”

Air escapes my throat with another sigh, that’s the last thing I wanted to hear. “Okay. I’ll get it in as soon as I can.” Even though I have no idea how I’ll be able to do that without Noah noticing.

He hands me back my phone, “That’s a really rough break.”

“Trust me, I know. Thanks for looking.” My tone suddenly lacking optimism. “And sorry about…” When I turn to point at Stella, I realize she’s not beside me anymore, now shuffling through the various wooden crates of records. “Her.”

He taps his pen against the counter and glances over at her. “It’s fine. She brings friends in. They buy records. Sales are sales.” He shrugs before going back to whatever he was working on before we interrupted him.

Stella doesn’t seem to want to leave anytime soon so I let myself roam around the shop. The majority of the small store is made up of boxes full of records, a mix of old and new. A small, separated section has various instruments strewn about, most of them looking refurbished. The air is pungent with the smell of sandalwood incense, some kind of chemical-y polish, and stale wood.

“Okay! Ready to go!” Stella calls from behind me and when I turn to her she’s holding a record that I recognize.

“Since when do you listen to Nine Inch Nails?” My brow arches up, seeing as she’s only ever been a Taylor Swift type of girl.

She giggles, “Jolly suggested them.”

I take two fingers and pinch the bridge of my nose with a deep sigh, “Okay, whatever, let’s go.”

--

Stella and I walk into the house and my ears are immediately unsettled by the sounds that fill the house. They’re giggles, some I recognize to be Noah’s but the other is quite … feminine. 

The edges of Stella’s lip curl into a mischievous grin, “Oooooh Noah snuck a girl innnn.” She snickers in a sing-song tone.

“Go to your room Stella.” I order, mostly because her tone irritated me but also because I don’t want her to see what’s behind the cracked door.

She gives me a glare, “You’re just jealous that he’s getting some and you’re not.”

“Go. To. Your. Room.” I repeat sternly through gritted teeth.

“Fine, whatever. Be the party pooper you always are.” She huffs before turning down the hall and slamming the door behind her when gets to her room.

I blink at the doorknob as her words sear into my chest. I question even interrupting until another giggle pierces my eardrums.

I’m precarious with the way I approach the cracked door and peer in. Noah and the girl from the party, Kassidy, next to each other on the bed with open textbooks and notebooks littered about. They’re laughing at something but all I can focus on is her hand on his thigh. An odd twist forms in my abdomen, somewhere between my ribs and my gut. It makes me feel sick, like I ate some gas station sushi.

My knuckle taps on the door and creaks it open. “Hey.”

“Oh, hey Nick!” Noah seems surprised to see me but not necessarily upset by my presence, which for some reason eases the knot in my chest. “I heard a door slam did-”

It’s not until the blonde waves at me with the hand that’s not glued to Noah’s thigh that I realize the anger staining my fingertips.

“Noah, can I talk to you for a minute?” I ask through a fake smile.

“Sure.” He nods, “Be right back, Kass.”

Once the bedroom door clicks behind him, I feel myself begin to unravel.

“Does my mom know you’re bringing girls home?” I question, my voice coming out much harsher than intended.

“No…?” He answers. “I figured I would just do what we always did with each other? Sneak in.”

“Okay well, I don’t appreciate you bringing girls into my room. Please tell me you guys didn’t do anything in my bed.” The words shoot from me, quick and sharp, like acid bullets.

His face falls and I see the light behind his warm eyes dim.

My

Fuck

I regret the words the second I realize my mistake. Though I suppose on some level, deep down, I knew that the word choice would hurt him, but I said it anyway.

I said it anyway.

I was so upset that I said it anyway.

“No?” He replies sounding a bit offended at the accusation, even though it’s not out of the realm of possibility. “I wouldn’t do that in your bed.”

The impulse to lash back is there, bubbling just under my skin, but I have no reason to be angry. No valid, explainable reason. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Lie.

“Right.” Noah says softly but with a slight edge. “Well, I” He thumbs over his shoulder. “Um, she was just about to leave so.”

“Okay.” I reply quietly, suddenly overwhelmed with an odd mixture of anger and guilt.

-

While Noah escorts the girl out to say goodbye, I begin tidying up the room. Noah is pretty clean thankfully, so the room itself is clean, but I can’t shake the feeling of something oddly foreign within the four walls. The room suddenly feels so dirty and the taste on my tongue is sour like expired milk. My eyes land on the bed sheets and my stomach feels like I had drank expired milk – maybe 3 whole gallons of it. My mind struggles to account for the food I had eaten today but fails. Surely that is the reason for my abrupt nausea.

Before I can even process my actions, my fingers hungrily latch onto the bed sheets, snapping each fitted corner off the mattress. Heavy textbooks and pens hit the floor with a loud crash.

Despite having just washed them, I’m absolutely positive that they’re filthy.

Maybe they smelled too much like stagnant laundry this morning

Maybe they were making me itchy last night

Maybe I developed an allergy to our detergent

Maybe it’s been too warm and I soaked them in sweat

Or maybe I just want to clean the fucking sheets.

“Oh,” Noah’s gentle voice startles me from the doorway. His eyes trail up from the mess on the floor to the balled-up sheets beneath my palms. “Um, did I accidentally get highlighter on them or something?”

“Nope.” I’m quick to answer. “Just wanna wash ‘em.”

His brows furrow still looking at where my hands keep the shape of the large sphere of material. “Oh. Um, well. I just washed them like 2 or 3 days ago?”

“It’s fine, I just want to wash them again.” I respond shortly.

“Okay… well, let me do it then.” He crosses the space between us going for the sheets but I pull away.

“No. I got them, thanks.” I avoid him by swerving around his thin body and head towards the door.

 “Well, what can I do? I could mop again or… reorganize the fridge? Or…” He trails off, not being able to come up with much else.

“No, Noah. It’s Stella’s turn to mop and who the fuck offers to reorganize a fridge?” I snap at him from the doorway, “You don’t need to be cleaning the house 24/7, okay?”

His eyes falter but he nods “Oh, sorry, I um, I just wanna be doing my part. You know… earn my keep and all that? I just… wanna help.”

My face softens and the tight muscles in my shoulders ease. I feel guilt all over again. 

I sigh. “I’m sorry – I just - I just had a bad week with school and with the shop and,” I pause. “I didn’t mean to snap at you, okay?”

He nods and the edges of his mouth upturn ever so slightly into a tight-lipped smile. “Okay.” He pauses, fidgeting with his fingers. “Sorry about Kassidy. I should’ve asked.” He says quietly while his eyes drop to his anxious hands.

The tips of my fingers curl into the sheets a bit, a stream of… frustration maybe?  shoots through my veins. “It’s okay. I just don’t want my mom to get mad.”

A half lie.

“Right.”

When I turn to leave, he stops me, “Oh – I wanted to ask you something?”

My eyes widen while still turned away from him. A chill rolls up my spine at the realization that we’ve barely spoken since yesterday morning, when his hand was around my cock.

“Um sure, what’s up?” I turn back to him cautiously.

“Well, the fair is in town this weekend, I thought we could go? You know, me, you and Folio?”

I smile at him, relieved it wasn’t about something else. “Sure, sounds fun.”

-Friday Night-

When Folio comes to pick us up, I immediately regret agreeing to carpool. The passenger side door flings open with yet another blonde in the front seat. This one a bit more of a natural, darker blonde and not nearly as bobblehead-like. She looks vaguely familiar, maybe she was one of the wannabe sorority girls from the frat party.

I sigh when I glance over to my busted blue car that’s been acting up every morning since the cold weather’s been getting closer.

The girl smiles wide at us and gets out so we can fold her chair to get to the backseat.

We squeeze our way to the back and naturally, Noah’s mile-long limbs take up most of the room.

The thick distinctive stench of paper-wrapped nicotine coats the cracking plastic of his car doors and the pungent aroma of $10-per-gram weed oozes from the stained beige seats.

Even though Nick brought his ‘friend’, I feel decent about the fair tonight. I mean these are the things we should be doing, right? Going out is what college kids do.

The girl hands back a plastic bottle wrapped in brown paper and Noah hungrily takes it.

“Vodka.” She says simply with a dazed smile.

“Cool.” Noah grins, though I know he’s never tasted pure vodka in his life.

He puts the bottle to his lips and tips it back, immediately scrunching his face in disgust at the taste. If it was just us, I know he would’ve spit it out.

He wipes his mouth off with the back of his hand, “Not bad.” He lies straight through his teeth.

Noah tips the bottle offering it to me. I shake my head and wave it off, “No, I’m good thanks.”

“Oh, c’mooonn Nick, don’t be a wuss.” Noah whines.

“Yeah Nick, loosen up! Have some fun!” Folio perks up from the driver's seat and watches me in the rearview mirror.

The last time he told me to “loosen up”, he ended up floundering in a lake so it hardly has an enticing ring to it.

“No really.” I reaffirm. “Not for me.”

Noah tsk’s and rolls his eyes, “You’re no fun.”

The words hit me square in the chest and my ribs mold around the letters like playdoh.

You’re no fun.

They’re simple words. Logically, I know they’re mostly a joke. Yet, they burn like a lit match colliding with white paper.

You’re no fun.

We’ve been friends for a long time. Long enough to sit in boring silence scrolling on our phones comfortably for hours. But now I’m no fun because I won’t drink out of a foreign bottle?

The searing in my lungs forces my hand to reach and snatch the bottle from him abruptly. I don’t think, I just do. I take the bottle to my lips and tilt my head back with scrunched-closed eyes. I chug, better he did and better than the girl, until the scorching of my throat gets too much.

I shove the bottle back at him, now an extra quarter empty. His face and every other face in the car seem shocked, eyes wide with slightly dropped jaws.

“What?” I hiss and let out a vodka-singed burp. “You told me to have fun.”

--

Nick’s wheels roll to a halt in the dirt of the fair’s extended parking. The crowded car disperses faster than I anticipated, leaving me alone in the empty car. I stumble out of my seat and precariously steady myself in the dirt to scan the parking lot for the group. The four of them are already ahead of me, nearly halfway to the entrance. Their laughter carries in the wind all the way back over to me. 

Once I catch up, I trail behind them quietly. My hands stuffed in my pockets and my Vans kicking up dry dirt, just trying to focus on walking in a straight line. 

As we approach the ticketing office, my heart plummets to my stomach when I see two familiar girls standing at the gate waiting for us. 

I should’ve known.

“Nicholas, you remember Brooke, right?” Noah grins and gestures to the carbon copy of every other sorority girl on campus.

“Yeah. Hey.”

That’s when I notice the delay in my words and the lag between my fingertips as I wave to her. And as we buy our tickets and make our way into the fair, I catch the warmth all over my skin and the growing numbness in my lips.

I think I’m drunk. Really drunk. 

 --

We make a solid lap around the entire park – picking up random snacks here and there, some fried oreos, a shared funnel cake, slushees, and more I can’t even remember. All the fried food mixed with the couple spin-y rides and the alcohol sloshing in my stomach, I was more than ready for an actual meal. I convinced everyone on hotdogs since it’s the cheapest food here and I’d already spent a good chunk of my tip money on ride tickets and overpriced junk food.

When we reach the window of the hotdog stand we’re met with a familiar face.

“Bryan!” Exclaims Folio, excited to see his fraternity mentor.

As always, Bryan looks about as thrilled as a mother of toddler triplets after a candy bender.

“Trout.” He replies unenthusiastically with his monotone cadence matching the deep sleep-deprived purple beneath his eyes.

Normally I would’ve giggled at Folio’s ridiculous nickname but my body was too focused on sustenance.  

“Two hotdogs and fries please.” I skip past the rest of the indecisive group.

“We’re out of fries.” He replies flatly.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

He just shrugs, unbothered.

“Fine. Just the hotdogs then.” I huff.

“Coming right up.” He feigns enthusiasm.

The rest of the group place their orders and I can’t help but find amusement in how comical Bryan looks. He’s uniformed in a hotdog themed apron and a silly hotdog visor.

We finally make our way to a painted blue picnic table that sits off to the side away from the busy crowd. I’m grateful for the small respite from the overwhelming, overstimulating chatter.

I fucking hate hotdogs. Usually.

But the minute that meat and bread combo meets my tastebuds, it is as though heaven itself found home in my mouth.

The rest of table fades out as I devour my food and it is only when I’ve finished my 2nd dog that start regaining consciousness. I glance over at the boys who are in the midst of telling some story that’s got all the girls laughing.

My eyes land on Kassidy. She’s giggling at every single thing Noah says and he’s looking at her like she hung the moon. 

No matter how tacky or annoying she is, she’s still objectively beautiful – beautiful in a way I could never be.

The way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, makes me want long blonde hair too. When she bats her fake lashes at him, it makes me wish mine were longer. Her nails adorned with white tips suddenly make my nailbeds feel bare. The foundation caked on her face reminds me of the breakout I have on my cheek and the stubble growing beneath my nostrils. All at once I’m disappointed with every bit of myself that isn’t like her.

A fleeting moment of curiosity passes pondering if this is what it feels like to question your gender. It had never crossed my mind to be anything other than male, nothing else I ever desired. I’ve never felt like I was in the wrong body or anything of the sort – so, I don’t quite think that’s what I’m feeling now.

Maybe I just envy her existence or how confident she is. Maybe I find her attractive? It’d be kinda shitty if I found her attractive, seeing as she’s Noah’s date and I’m here with Brooke. I don’t think it’s that either, since I can barely tolerate either of them.

Perhaps I’m just drunk and confused.

I must just be drunk and confused.

Once the food settles in my tummy, I feel significantly better, a little nauseous still but better nonetheless. My buzz has fizzled, but the tips of my fingers still tingle and words are still hard.

I quietly use a leftover bun to move around a glob of ketchup as entertainment. Noah’s always been the social one, he’s always been the connections, the glue. So, it’s no surprise that he’s captured the attention of the whole table, filling the air with collective drunken giggles. Normally though, he helps nudge me gently into conversations. He helps me not stay silent like I am now. It’s fine though, I don’t have much to contribute since they have all these inside jokes from their study group.

I snap out of my daze when I hear Folio crunch a coke can in his hand as he gets up from the table. There’s an emptiness beside me I hadn’t felt til now – Brooke is gone.

My gaze follows the group as they get up from the table to bring their trash to the overflowing garbage can.

“Where did Brooke go?” I ask to the general conglomerate, most of which pay no mind to me.

“She left to go meet up with some other friends.” Noah replies, his tone suggests that he’s downplaying the situation. I’m sure she wasn’t having fun with a half-drunk silent boy.

‘You’re no fun’ rings in my head from earlier in the car.

2 things I’ve learned from tonight are:

1 – eat hotdogs when drunk.

2 – pretending to be “fun” is really fucking exhausting.

“Oh.” I say quietly, matching their actions by tossing my flimsy paper plate and Dr. Pepper can into the trash.

“We’re heading towards the bigger rides, if you want to come.” He turns and follows the rest of the group through some carnival game tents.

‘If you want to’ I mimic him in my head.

No I don’t fucking want to but I was driven here and I’m stranded.

“Yeah.” I mumble and quickly jog to meet them ahead of me.

--

The others made their way to the short ferris wheel line after I insisted it was okay to leave me behind. I sure as fuck didn’t want to sit in a pod alone or 3rd wheel on one of their’s.

I watch Noah and Kassidy’s pod reach and stop at the peak of the small ferris wheel, I don’t know why I’m watching but my body is rooted where I stand. Upon it’s a slow descent down, I see it.

His hand cupping her face. Their lips locked.

It’s not a decision I make until their pod locks at the gate and they’re being let out. My foot swivels in the dirt, kicking up dying grass as I try to dip around various family-owned booths for cover. As feared, I hear him calling from behind. I knew I had messed up by making a run for it so late.

“Nicholas!”

His calling only makes my legs move faster – I’m not sure exactly why I’m running or what good it’ll do, just that I need to get as far away from him as possible.

He catches up to me faster than I was prepared for. Fall leaves crunch beneath his worn-out Converse. “Where are you going?” He asks and before I even turn around to see him, I know the look on his face. The same look that I can’t seem to ever say no to – the one that breaks my back just to make me bend to him.

I sigh and turn to him. “Noah, I’m going home.”

“What! Why?”

And there it was. Big, round, puppy dog eyes full of decadent chocolate so sweet it could rot the teeth right out of your skull - paired with pouted lips that demand pity and restitution.

“I’m not having fun. I don’t want to be here.”

“What? You told me you wanted to go to the fair?” He questions with curved eyebrows.

“No. I didn’t. You invited me. You told me that I wanted to go. You tricked me into being on a triple date I didn’t want to be on.” My arm gesturing towards the fair.

“Well, c’mon we can still make it fun! We can just get some more ride tickets and-” He grabs the sleeve of my flannel and tugs at it towards the fair.

I yank my arm back so hard it nearly pulls him back with it, “No you’re not listening to me Noah. I don’t want to be here. Why do you continue to bring me places that you KNOW I won’t like?”

“We’ve been to the fair a million times, Nick.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“Yeah! With just us! Not with three random fucking girls!” The churning in my chest begins to spit drunken thoughts out without filters.

His brows knit together in confusion. “They’re not random girls Nicholas, and I really thought you’d hit it off with Brooke-”

“Oh my god, why the fuck would you think I’d get along with her? Just because she’s got tits and ass? Sorry, I’m not you, I need a little more than that.” I scoff.

“Well, I-I don’t know just thought you’d want-”

“Augh!” I groan and pace a tiny lap around the grass. “Can you stop assuming you know what I do or don’t want?”

“So, let me get this straight. You don’t want to go to parties, or the fair, or hang out with girls… normal college stuff, you don’t want?”

My heart pounds hard against my eardrums and my fingers burn with frustration. My fists tighten at my sides and my jaw clenches, digging each row of teeth into the other. Molten lava threatens to spill from my throat.

“No, Noah. I guess I don’t want ‘normal college stuff’, I don’t fucking like alcohol and I don’t even know if I like girls!”

My yelled words tumbled from my mouth so easily I didn’t even realize I said anything that odd until Noah’s eyes widen.

I don’t even know if I like girls.

“What?” Noah asks softly and genuinely with his head tilted slightly.

“I-I,” I stumble back, accidentally hitting an oak tree behind me. “I’m- I just need to go home.”

“Nick.” His hands stretch out to grab my arm as I turn to leave but he’s a millisecond too late. “Nick!” He calls after me.

Every bit of adrenaline available in my body propels me forward, past all the booths, all the rides, and through all the neighboring forest. When my feet finally find asphalt, my head feels like a basketball on a player’s fingertip. My eyes widen at a sharp turn in my stomach. I analyze my surroundings in a split second, running towards a lamp post for support. The moment my palm touches the cold metal, I double over and empty the contents of my stomach onto the concrete. The funnel cake, the cotton candy, the fried Oreos, the slushees, and the goddamn fucking hotdogs all found home the sidewalk.

I don’t even know if I like girls.

I don’t even know if I like girls.

Why would I say that?

Is that true?

Do I not like girls?

Of course, I like girls.

I wobble over to a bench and sit on the cool wood. The weather’s a lot colder now that the sun has set, and I regret not bringing a proper jacket.

I like girls. I know I like girls. Right?

I mean, I’ve been jerking off to girls… this whole time? So, if I didn’t like girls, why would I do that?

I like girls.

Only.

I like girls.

Right?

I shake my head of the thoughts spinning faster than I can even grasp.

The dim light of the street lamp flickers and it occurs to me that it’s almost 10 pm and I have no idea where I am or how to get home.

Fuck.

Pulling my location up in my Maps app tells me that I’m still fairly close to the fair, which unfortunately means I’m pretty far from home. Tears begin prickling in my eyes and a tight knot forms in my throat.

The weight of the night crashes down onto me all at once.

The “you’re no fun”

The fucking hot dogs

The “she went to meet other friends”

The “if you want to”

The ferris wheel

The “I don’t even know if I like girls”

“Fuck.” My voice cracks as tears take hostage of my cheeks.

My body doubles over, folding in on itself to bury my face in my hands.

I’m drunk, I had a shit night, I left my best friends at the fair and now I’m stranded on some random street.

Even through my own heaving, a brief pang of guilt shoots in my stomach for leaving Noah behind.

He wanted to have a good night, perhaps I ruined it. 

In the past, I would’ve stayed feeling guilty because I knew for a fact that if the roles were reversed, he’d come back to find me. But now, I’m not so sure. I don’t think he’d leave Kassidy for anyone or anything.

Not even me.

My palms try to stave off the tears by digging into my eye sockets.

“Fuck, okay. I need to get it together.” I say out loud to myself, letting out a deep exhale. “What the fuck am I gonna do.”

Both of my only friends are still at the fair.

Mom is at work.

So that leaves me with…

Stella.

“Shit.”

I unwillingly pull myself from the bench and begin to pace back and forth taking fast but deep breaths. I ring out my hands out, trying to expel any sort of panic from them. The last thing I need is for her to see me like this.

Finally, once I’ve composed myself, I dig my phone out of my pocket and click her contact name “Snot”.

It rings for a little bit too long and I almost hang up just before she answers.

“Hello?” She asks a little louder than necessary, shortly after I hear a flood of giggles in the background. Her sleepover.

“Hey.” I barely get out without my voice cracking.

“Hey, what’s up?” She asks with concern lacing her voice. There’s the sound of a door closing behind her, shutting out the chatter.

“Oh um-“ My tone pitched up and I feel tears welling up in my eyes again. If the rest of tonight’s events weren’t enough, here I am making a fool out of myself to my little sister. “I forgot about your sleepover. It's fine – I’ll just walk home or something.”

“Walk home? Where are you?”

I swallow the knot in my throat trying to keep my voice level, normal and calm but my pause is long and loud.

“I-I,” My eyes squeeze shut pushing as much of my tears out. “I don’t know.”

“Did you drink?”

The back of my hand roughly wipes my nose. “Yes.”

“Are you with Noah?” Her voice is gentle and kind and reminds me of how our mother would talk to us when we scraped our knees.

I sniffle and my voice threatens to break once more. “No.”

“Okay.” She states as if she just got handed a checklist of effortless tasks. “The girls were just about to go home.” I know that’s a lie. “Drop me a pin and I’ll come get you.”

“Thanks Stell.” I reply quietly.

“Of course.”

--

It took about 20 minutes for Stella to pick me up in my own car.

My arms wrap around my shivering body and my head rests on the window as I watch the streetlights zoom past us. Her speed is inconsistent, fast in short bursts then slow in long drags. Her stops are jerky and her turns wide. If this was an early Tuesday school morning, she wouldn’t be able to stop my mouth from rambling off critiques. But tonight, opening my mouth seems more dangerous than her driving.

“So. Do you wanna talk about what happened?” She cuts through the silence unapologetically, like opening a crisp can of Coke in a dead, silent room.

I shake my head.

“C’mon. You can’t really expect me to pick you up in the middle of nowhere at midnight without any context?” She patters her fingertips on the steering wheel and glances over at me. “Did something happen with Noah? Did you get into a fight?”

“Something like that.” I mutter.

She squints her eyes and kind of tilts her head to the side. “You guys never fight?”

“Well.” I reply bluntly. “Things change, I guess.” The fabric of the seat cover stretches as I shift. “I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”

The gears spin in her head, I can almost see them. “Weird.” She mumbles under her breath. “Was it about a girl?”

“I said I’m done answering questions.”

“Sheesh, okay.” She says defensively.

Silence fills every empty space in the car. I’m not sure I’ve ever been uncomfortable around my sister before, but I certainly am now. It’s a new feeling, something I want to run and hide from. My knee bounces nervously as my mind cycles through everything that happened tonight. Regardless of anxiety and confusion twisting my organs into pretzels, I fear that if I don’t say what’s chanting in my head right now, I could explode.

“I told Noah that I don’t even know if I like girls.” I blurt out with extreme urgency, as if I didn’t get it out now, I never would.

Her eyes widen a bit but they stay focused on the road. My heart thumps hard against my chest threatening to jump right out.

“Okay.” She says calmly but cautiously. “And why did you say that?”

“I-I don’t know.” I let the weight of my body finally relax and sink into the seat. “You’ve known me my whole life. Do you think that I… might not only like girls?”

She turns to me at a red light and the face she gives me reminds me of when she was 4 and I was 7, when I speculated that Santa might not be real. Without a second thought she replied, “Of course he’s not real, silly.”

Even at 4 years old she was smarter than me.

“I think that might be a question you have to figure out yourself, Nick. I can’t tell you what you do or don’t like.”

I huff, suddenly frustrated that I couldn’t hand off such a complex task onto someone else – that I couldn’t have someone else give me a quick, solid, factual answer.

“I guess you’re right.” I mumble. 

She returns her focus to the road and lets out a little sigh. “Do you remember when we were little? And we liked Power Rangers?”

“…Yeah?” I reply confused as to what exactly Power Rangers has to do with my sexuality.

“Well, I remember the first time we watched it - and you thought it was so stupid.”

“No I didn’t? I loved Power Rangers?” 

“No.” She corrects me. “At first, when it was just us, you thought it was dumb. But then all your friends started liking it and suddenly you did too. You even wanted to be the red one for the group costume that Halloween, remember?”

“Okay… and? What are you getting at?”

“I can’t tell you what you are or aren’t, Nick. But you’re right - I have known you my whole life. And I know that sometimes you change things about yourself to, I don’t know… not make waves? Not stand out? To fit in? I don’t know your reasoning and I don’t know if that’s what you did with this. But… just something to think about I guess?”

My fingers tap at my knee in thought. I don’t really remember that specific component, only that I had Power Ranger shirts and bedsheets. I remember playing with the figures on the playground with friends and running around the neighborhood with them on Halloween as the Red Ranger. If I was having fun, does it really matter if I didn’t actually like Power Rangers? 

“Yeah… I guess it’s something to think about.” I let out a deep sigh. “How’d you get so smart anyway?”

She shoots me a smile, “I learned from the best.”

“Nope, definitely not me. That was all Mom.”

“Who did you think I meant?” She smirks.

“Ha-ha so funny.” I roll my eyes with a toothy grin, finally feeling the tiniest sliver of ease enter my body.

The relaxation slipped from me as quickly as it arrived. “Please don’t um, tell her…or anyone that we talked about this – especially Noah.”

“You got it. I would never.”

I somehow feel relieved yet terrified of what I’ve just divulged to her.

“Do you wanna get donuts from that 24-hour place? And maybe some water for your inevitable hangover?”

“God yes please.” My thumbs rub circles into my throbbing temples. “And a burger please, jesus I need a burger. And fries, I need fries more than air right now.”

“Fiiine, McDonalds too, I guess.”

“Thanks, Stell.” I say soft and genuine.

“Of course, Nick.”

I smile kindly at her. Tomorrow I’ll probably regret everything I said and did tonight but right now, I’m getting junk food with my sister at midnight and the world is quiet. Everything feels okay, even if it only lasts until the end of my Mcdonald’s.

I wave Stella goodnight as she walks into her room. With a twist of my doorknob, I open my door and my feet halt in their tracks. My swollen eyes widen at the last thing I expected to be in my room.

“What are you doing here?” I question before I can even really gauge my own reaction.

Noah sits on the edge of the bed still in the same outfit from the fair.

“I went looking for you.” His brown eyes find mine and it makes my chest ache the same way it did earlier on the bench.

“You did?” My square shoulders soften briefly before straightening back up again. “And why would you do that?” I snap at him.

The space between his brows burrows slightly, seemingly confused by my harsh response. “Well, I-I,” He presses his lips together while his fingers pick at his nails. “I was worried about you.”

My eyes dart down to the carpet and try to ignore the way my heart swells at his words. I swallow hard and curl my fists at my sides. “Well, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I’m fine.”

“Oh okay…” He trails off and lets his gaze drop to his fiddling hands and bouncy leg. “I just wanted to make sure, I guess.”

“Okay well, you’ve made sure. Now I really just wanna go to bed, if that’s okay with you.” I cross all of the two feet from the doorway to my dresser and forcefully yank the top drawer open.

He carefully lifts from the bed and meets me where I dig for clothes. “Nicholas.” His voice is gentle and full of concern, but no matter how much it should comfort me it just fans the flames of my resentment.

“What now, Noah.” I sigh harshly and turn to him.

“What did you mean at the fair?”

After the food adventures I had with Stella, it had almost erased what I had said from my memory. Too bad it couldn’t have done that to him too. I was really banking on him being too drunk to even remember. But I should know better than that – Noah and his very selective memory.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I feign confidence and turn back away from him to focus on finding PJs. My chest and limbs fill with a feeling similar to sitting in the waiting room of a principal’s office. Suddenly, I’m small and the room triples in size while the oxygen rapidly depletes.

“You know what I’m talking about Nick.” His fingers gently grab my arm to turn my attention to him again. “Do you… not like girls? Do you think you’re-”

“Gah! No!” I all but spit out. The thought of what he was about to say makes me want to vomit all over again. “No, I’m not…that.”

“O-oh, okay…but if you were, you know you could tell me, right? You know you can tell me anything, like we’ve always done.” His voice is quiet and tender, even through the vodka I can still smell on his breath.

“Oh my god Noah.” I grasp at the air in frustration. “No. I just said it to, to throw you off. So you’d let me go, so you’d leave me the fuck alone.”

“Oh.” His hand slips from my arm and he takes a step away from me.

If this was any other night, after any other event, I would apologize, minimize it, and say that I’m just having a bad night. But it’s not any other night and I don’t have enough energy in my entire body to make more excuses.

My fingers dig into the bundle of PJs I hold, and my stare stays straight on his chest. “I just, want to take a shower and go to bed. Okay?”

“Right.” He sucks his teeth and nods. “Okay, enjoy your shower then.”

“I will, thanks.” I reply blandly, shoving the overflowing drawer closed.

-

The world seems much lighter now that the thick layer of carnival muck, the remnants of alcohol and vomit were washed down the drain. I scrunch my hair with a terry cloth towel while I walk to my room from the shower.

I’m confused to find my door cracked open with the big light still shining through the door. I spent almost an hour trying to get all the grime off and let the water ease the pulsing in my head. Surely, Noah wouldn’t still be up, it’s almost 3 am.

I quietly creak the door open to find the bed empty.

“Huh?” I whisper to myself and make my way over to the disheveled bed. Noah’s nowhere to be found, but instead there’s a plushy on his pillow. I hook my finger through the plastic carabiner attached to it and lift it to my eyeline. It’s a stuffed tuxedo cat with sunglasses that look similar to the knockoff RayBans I usually wear.

I look back at the pillow and notice there was a note beneath it. I pick it up and unfold it with the cat dangling on my pinky. 

‘Saw this at the fair and thought of you. 

Went to stay over at Kassidy’s so, you can have your room back for the night.

-N’

The breath that escapes from deep in my torso seems to deflate me completely. I knew the slip of up of my words the other day hurt him, more than I thought. A vine of thorns wraps around my throat, each guilt-drenched spike digs into my windpipe. He left because of me.

I take a precarious seat on the edge of the bed, holding each item in each hand. My palm aches to crush the note in my fingers but my eyes burn with salty tears too. All while the cat swells my chest in the saddest way possible. How could someone feel so many things at once? 

I have no screams, no yells, no sobs left in me and my body begs for rest. I can’t let myself wallow in whatever this is, how could I make sense of it now? When my brain is so hazy and my eyes are so sleepy. 

I use the back of my hand to wipe away the tiny bit of tears left in my eyes and set the note and the stuffed kitty on my bedside table. The bed creaks when I bury my knee into the mattress and let myself fall to the middle. 

The bed feels colder and emptier without him in it, but right now I’m not sure this is where I want him to be. 

I reach up to tug the lamp light off and pull the duvet around my shivering body. 

After about 20 mins of stirring with no hope of falling asleep, I give in and just stare into the stillness of the room. My eyes finally adjust to the darkness and start making a sort of mental inventory list counting all of the items scattered around my room that aren’t mine. I try to remember what the room looked like before he moved in, but I can’t.

While there are growing pains, I can’t imagine my room without him in it anymore. He’s tangled himself into the very essence of the space. 

Drawing my gaze across the room, I land on the kitty he’d gotten for me at the fair. I reach across the space and bring it to the bed, placing it in his spot. 

It fills a tiny void in the vast emptiness of the bed and for about 15 minutes I cling to the minor comfort it brings, believing it might help me fall asleep. 

I let out a frustrated sigh. The heaviness of the night drops onto my shoulder blades and finds refuge beneath my eyes. Once again a venomous coil tightens itself around my ribs.

It is mostly confusion that I feel, the only factor I can distinctly pick out. 

The only other one I can somewhat recognize is, loneliness. 

I glance back over to the cat and it dawns on me the possible reason I can't fall asleep. My fingertips tap rhythmically against the mattress cycling through my options until I find one. 

I wrap my thick duvet around my body and grab my pillow before shuffling down the hall. I gently tap my knuckle against her door then crack it open just a bit.

“Stella.” I whisper-yell into her room. “Stella.”

She shifts in her bed and cracks one eye open at me. “Hm?” She groans sleepily.

I let myself in and scuffle across the carpet to her bedside. “Can I sleep on your floor?” I request in a hush. 

“What? Why?” Her brows knit together with her eyes barely open. “What’s wrong with your bed?”

I chew on my bottom lip searching my brain for an answer that makes any sense but there’s only one. 

“It’s empty.” 

Next Chapter -> 06 - Like Us*

tag list; @ladyveronikawrites @sinkingteethinwhitenoise @concretenoah @kingdomof-omens @the-hell-i-overcame @blackveilomens @xxrainstorm [comment if you'd like to be tagged?]

Thank you for the support on this series and on my other series, Virality. I appreciate it more than you know. I love reading your comments and asks. I am incredibly grateful for them, thank you.

[starsha-k-luna]

For all of those Megop Fans out there.

I just finished reading this & I absolutely loved it!

[password-door-lock]

Mystictober Day 20-- Best CG

You come home to find Saeran in the maid dress again (723 words). Content warning: slightly suggestive (just in case)

“What would you like me to do for you, my love?” Saeran greets you warmly upon your return home.

“Oh my god,” you manage, a heavy groan escaping your lips at the sight of him in that maid dress once again. “What is all this?” 

Saeran giggles, curtsying at you and lifting his pale pink skirt to show off the tops of those damn socks again. In this moment, he is the entire world, and you’re just a satellite orbiting around him. “I knew you’d be tired after work,” he informs you glibly, steering you over to the couch and sitting you down. You don’t protest, allowing your husband to guide you as he sees fit. “I thought it would be a good opportunity to wait on you.”

“Oh, did you, now?” You ask, cheeks heating. You always feel a bit guilty asking for what you need— it’s possible that Saeran has noticed that this maid character helps ease your undue feelings because he’s making it so clear that he wants you to give him instructions. Perhaps he just wanted to treat you to something special tonight. After all, he does know that you came in early and stayed late at work. Either way, it’s a pleasant surprise. 

“Yes, my love.” Saeran addresses you with pouty lips and big eyes.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. Then, louder, “What did you have in mind?”

“I thought I might run you a bath,” Saeran informs you, “Since you’d be tired and stiff after working for so long. Then I could serve you dinner… and maybe dust the living room.”

“You keep circling back to this dusting thing,” you observe. “Are you trying to tell me that you want me to start dusting more often?” Saeran isn’t normally one to default to such oblique forms of communication, but perhaps the gesture is a subconscious one. 

“Why would I want that?” Saeran does a very good job of looking perplexed. Truthfully, you want to kiss that expression off his lips, but you know that the slow burn is a very important element of the fantasy that he’s worked so hard to create. God, he looks so fucking pretty. You’re going a little bit feral just looking at him, “I’m here to serve you, my love. You don’t have to lift a finger, and I’ll take care of everything.”

You bite your lip. “A bath sounds nice, then,” you manage. 

Saeran offers you another giggle and leads you into the bathroom. “I thought you might say that,” he confesses, “I ran the water just before you came home. I made it a little too hot, so it should have cooled down to the right temperature by now.” 

“Wow,” you breathe, your eyes flitting around the room to take in Saeran’s handiwork. Not only is the bathroom impeccably clean— it was his week to handle that particular chore, but normally the counters don’t shine the way they do right now— but it’s full of candles. Your bath is fairly simple, just the way you like it, with steam rising from the water and rose petals floating within. Once again, he thought of everything.

“You can take as long as you need,” Saeran assures you, “I know you must need a moment after such a stressful day.” He grabs something off the table and presses it into your hand— a bell, you realize, by the feel of it. 

“What’s this?” You ask, perplexed.

“You can ring the bell to call me anytime tonight,” Saeran explains with a playful smirk. He’s clearly well aware of exactly what he’s doing to you. Confidence is a very good look on him. “I’ll drop whatever I’m doing and come running. Then… of course, I’ll do whatever you say.” He must have been practicing those big eyes in the mirror or something, because the way he looks at you is targeted and precise. 

“Wow,” you breathe again, “Thank you.” It’s all you can think of to say. 

“Of course,” Saeran’s hands find the collar of your shirt, moving slowly toward the line of buttons beneath it. Fuck, okay. “Now… please, my love. May I get you ready for your bath?” 

Your head is spinning too fast to allow any response more elaborate than “Okay,” but it seems that this is all that Saeran needs. 

[manahiel]

Cottas wirklich schrecklicher Urlaub, der eigentlich auch gar keiner war (10445 words) by Manahiel

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Three Investigators | Die drei ??? - Various Authors Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Inspector Cotta/Goodween (The Three Investigators) Characters: Inspector Cotta (Three Investigators), Goodween (The Three Investigators), Jupiter Jones | Justus Jonas, Pete Crenshaw | Peter Shaw, Bob Andrews Additional Tags: Crack, Fake/Pretend Relationship, There Was Only One Bed, Pining, Inspektor Dad, Implied/Referenced Homophobia Summary:

Cotta, Goodween und die drei Fragezeichen geben sich als Familie aus, um einen Verdächtigen beschatten zu können. Nichts läuft so wie geplant, Cotta bereut seinen Kollegen gefragt zu haben, für den er heimlich Gefühle hegt, die drei Jungs sind eine Warnung für sich und Goodween hat seine eigenen Probleme.

[marmolady]

Sisterhood

Just a short little fic. Estela bonding with Quinn. Kind of an unlikely pair, but that just makes their friendship even cuter.

_________________

“Estela!” It was Quinn. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.”

That sounded ominous. Or rather, it would have done, had it not been coming from Quinn. Estela budged over on her spot on the side of the pool-- though there was no need to make room, it was a clear invitation to the other woman.

“Cooling off after the gym?” Quinn asked as she sat down, letting her legs dangle into the water.

No way that was what Quinn had been so keen to discuss, but Estela entertained the small talk politely.

“Yeah. I’ve been taking out a lot of feelings on the punching bag.” She looked Quinn in the face, ready to get to the point, whatever it was. “Okay,” she said. “Shoot.”

“Everyone’s been getting photos blown up to put on their walls when we move,” Quinn said, a little tentative. “I wondered…. You… probably wouldn’t have any pictures of your home, do you Estela?”

Estela frowned. It was sweet that it was playing on Quinn’s mind, but it really wasn’t anything she needed to worry about.

 “I have pictures of me and my family,” she answered, “thanks to Vaanu and thanks to Aleister, but the place, not so much. My tio had too many enemies-- well, I did too-- for it to be worth the risk of just having photographs on my phone. As little that could make us identifiable as possible.”

She gave Quinn a smile, though her eyes were full of heartache. “I don’t know if that’s better, you know? If I had pictures of home, maybe I’d just wish for it even more, like I do when I see my mom’s face. I don’t want to forget either. We fought hard for our home, to make it a fairer place. I don’t want something that meant so much to just fade away.”

Quinn made to say something, then paused, then tried again.

“I was thinking,” she said, “if you ever wanted me to, I could try and paint something? I don’t know how well it would work, but you could describe what your house looks like as I paint, maybe we could come up with something?”

Estela knew her cheeks were going pink. Little kindnesses still flustered her, and this was a big kindness. She nodded slowly. “Thanks. It really means a lot. Your art is beautiful, Quinn, you put so much of yourself into it all… some of your paintings it’s like you’ve purged all your emotions into them.”

Probably does the job of a punching bag if you’re Quinn.

“Sometimes it feels that way. I’m lighter afterwards because I’ve lingered in the feelings enough to put them out there.”

“That must help.”

“It does. I know I’m lucky to have that outlet.”

Estela scratched the back of her neck. If Quinn really wanted to do this for her… it really would be wonderful to have an image of home to look to. It didn’t have to be accurate, it was an artist’s impression after all, but it really would mean a lot.

“I’m not the best at drawing,” she said,  “could be worse, though. I could give you a crappy sketch to work from maybe. I’d like to be able to show Taylor the house I grew up in.”

Quinn’s eyes lit up, as if to be able to give something like that was just as much a gift to herself-- she was that kind.

“Then we’ll do it! It’s probably the most useful thing I can do-- help people feel a connection to home.”

Estela’s lip twitched with a small smile. “I dunno. Cake is a pretty useful way of improving someone’s mood. And you’re a good listener. You give a lot.”

It was Quinn’s turn to flush pink. “Thank you. That really means a lot. It’s hard not to feel completely out of my depth with everything that’s happened, but we’re all out of our depth, and I should appreciate what I do have to offer.”

“Yes, you should,” Estela said firmly. “Or I’ll have to set Taylor on you with a pep talk. She’ll be happy to offer her personal cheer-leading services.”

Quinn burst out laughing. “Trust me, she’s already been on to me!”

Figured. Wouldn’t expect anything else. Estela just smiled. How lucky was she to have met someone with that warm, open heart? How lucky were they all…. Taylor would say it was just because she was made for that purpose, that she was programmed that way, but Estela wouldn’t hear it. Taylor was who she was because of the choice she made every day to care. If she was only what Vaanu had created her for, she’d have left now, her purpose fulfilled--but Taylor was a living, breathing, mistake-making member of their family. Just another human being stumbling through life.

Quinn must have noticed Estela’s being lost in thought, seen the smile falter, though she could not know why, know that her Taylor could well be not long for this world.

“I’m so glad you found each other. Taylor’s a special person.”

Too special maybe. If Vaanu had their way, too extraordinary to be allowed to stay.

Estela shook her head gently, pulling herself from that place of darkness. “She says ‘I love you’ with this smile that makes her nose crinkle up, and the way she looks my way and it’s meant to be a quick glance but she gets herself all caught up, like she’s stuck smiling at me. And she gives my fingers the lightest squeeze that’s so soft I could miss it if I didn’t know her so well. She’s always telling me that she loves me, and I’ve got to listen, because it’s honest. She makes me know that I’m loved.”

“That’s beautiful, Estela.”

“That’s her.” Estela swung her hanging leg gently, sloshing in the still water. “It’s still crazy to me that it’s real… that someone can feel that way about me. I mean, I believe it-- it’s just… crazy. And I love her back, more than I could ever say.”

Quinn beamed. Complete romantic as she was, she couldn’t help but gush. “You’re just meant to be! Anyone can see that. I wonder if I’ll find something like you two have… a soulmate. I, um, I have feelings for Michelle.” She chuckled, “Typical me, catching the feels for a straight woman! I don’t expect anything to happen, and I think I’m okay with that. For the first time in a long time, I can really trust that I have time. Even when the experimental treatment worked for a few years, a part of me knew I was still running fast toward a foregone conclusion.”

That was a whole lot of sharing by Estela’s reckoning; Quinn must trust her. She knew Quinn trusted her, but people didn’t just open up to her in this way. Estela realised that she wasn’t just accepted, loved, by her friends; they’d come to see her as a safe place, a support. It was honestly touching.

“That must be really freeing. I’m not… not used to looking forward either,” Estela said quietly. If Quinn wanted to share, she’d offer the same vulnerability in return. “Other than, like… this blinkered tunnel to my goal. After that it was just, nothing. I would either be dead or locked up. I was okay with that. Maybe that’s why you and me adjusted to living here easier than most of the others.”

“I think so. It’s kind of nice to talk to someone who gets it. Don’t get me wrong-- I struggle, especially with knowing how my parents died and that I just got lucky to still be here… but it does feel like I’m going through something different to most everyone else. I didn’t lose a future; I gained one.”

Estela considered Quinn quietly. She hadn’t really imagined there was much they’d shared in common, but there they were.

“So… the future. You just want to… see where it takes you?”

“Yeah,” Quinn smiled. “I couldn’t really ask for a fresher start than this. I’m not ‘The Dying Girl’, so I owe it to myself to find out who it is I am. Maybe romance will be a part of that-- I mean, I hope so-- but mostly I want to know myself better, where I wanna fit in this world.”

“I know it’s just a start,” Estela said, “but you fit in with all of us. You’re a sister to me. Maybe that’s a piece of your puzzle you’re putting together. You’re certainly a piece of mine”

Estela blushed fiercely under the appreciative smile Quinn gave her, a smile glowing with warmth.

“Can I hug you?”

If anything, Estela’s cheeks grew even hotter, but she nodded and opened her arms to Quinn. “Knock yourself out,” she grumbled quietly.

Quinn put her arms around Estela’s middle and squeezed her tight, lingering there to make it quite certain the message was received; ‘you’re a sister to me, too’.

With an exhale, Estela relaxed into the embrace, let herself belong there. It was still new, but she liked it.

“’Stel!”

Quinn gave a little laugh. “That’ll be the wife.”

Sure enough, Taylor was rushing over, towels and snorkels in hand. “Oh-- hey, Quinn! D’you wanna join us? We were going to have a little paddle around the reef.”

“I’ll just grab my things,” she replied. As she stood up, Quinn gave Estela’s shoulder a playful nudge. “Hey, look at that. Her nose does scrunch up when she smiles at you!”

Estela looked back at Taylor, and grinned like an idiot. I love you too, Taylor.

[its-alittleobsessed]

I want you guys to know that i write fanfiction with a synonym tab and translate tab opened 24/7

[pointwhitmark]

So, liebe Leute, ich habe ein Bitte.

Ich werde im November wieder versuchen das NaNoWriMo Ziel von 50.000 Wörtern zu erfüllen und dafür brauche ich Ideen.

Bitte gebt mir alles an drei Fragezeichen Ideen/Wünschen, die ihr lesen wollt, selbst nie schreiben würdet, plötzlich in eurem Kopf auftauchen.

Ihr würdet mir damit einen großen Gefallen tun und vielleicht kommt ja sogar etwas Passables zu lesen bei raus.

[editorialtazadegato]

¿Quién ríe ahora?[One-shot] [post-canon]

Post-canon, angst, venganza, violencia, tortura, Agatha!fantasma, Lady Death. Darkfic (el último que hago antes de pasar a la programación habitual!)

No se hace enojar a Lady Death. Sólo un idiota lo haría, un idiota y Agatha Harkness.

"Adivina qué, Agatha. Tenías razón, yo no tengo corazón. ¿ves?"

..............................................................

La muerte había abandonado el nombre Rio. Lo dejó hace siglos, muchos siglos. Lo perdió como el lado humano que había desarrollado y también como su negro corazón, al cual pudo ver hacerse trizas dentro de ella. Los restos, como cenizas semitransparentes, se fueron con el viento para desaparecer completamente y para siempre.

A partir de ese momento, la muerte no se enfocó en absolutamente nada más que su trabajo. Los cuerpos. Las almas que necesitaban ser atendidas con urgencia. Cada vez llegaban más, una después de otra, y aquello la mantenía ocupada realizando viaje tras viaje, transportándose hacia distintos lugares de la tierra a presenciar los momentos finales de cada ser viviente. Continuó haciendo visitas a Italia, Brasil, México, Francia, Rusia, Bolivia, a todos los países y ciudades del mundo para tomar los cuerpos, hacer que sus almas crucen la puerta al más allá, tomarse un par de minutos y volver a lo mismo.

Jamás volvió a mostrar su forma humana. Ni siquiera para guiar a las almas de niños, su forma original se volvió su uniforme diario y ya no necesitaba aquel cuerpo humano que no le trajo más que dolor y miseria. La muerte desearía poder tirarlo a un bote de basura en la tierra y quemarlo, pero tenía mucho trabajo que hacer.

Olvidó la piedad, la consideración, la empatía.

"De todos modos tampoco es que todos los humanos la posean, al diablo con eso"

Repetía para ella misma, porque, sin las almas, la muerte se pasaba los días sola y habían días en los cuales ni siquiera escuchaba su propia voz. Se había vuelto un ser de aspecto aterrador, digna de las peores pesadillas, pero no le importaba lo que la sucia raza humana piense, ni lo que desee. Ya cometió ese error una sola vez y se juró a sí misma no volver a caer bajo la trampa de cualquier insignificante ser viviente. Se volvieron poco menos que ganado.

"Soy el orden natural de las cosas" se repetía constantemente.

Le tocó ir de nuevo a los Estados Unidos, la muerte le guardaba un poco de fastidio al país y mucho más si se trataba de Salem, Massachusetts. Después de hacer una visita a Los Ángeles para esperar a que una mujer madura y ebria se vuele la cabeza de un balazo, apretó los puños y fue a Salem igual, desapareciendo en una niebla negra para volver a un lugar que conocía muy bien.

No podía ser ella. No justamente ella. ¿Qué clase de tortura cósmica era todo esto? Esa forma fantasmal, el cabello blanco y largo y el vestido, el aura púrpura, y la sonrisa triunfante que la hizo enfurecer.

"No esta malnacida de nuevo"

Agatha Harkness, el fantasma, flotaba con animosidad justo a unos pasos. Jugaba a atravesar cosas y un ave pequeña.

La última vez que se vieron fue en el llamado sendero de las brujas, siglos atrás. Aquel último encuentro la dejó destrozada desde entonces, aborreciendo a la mujer y haciendo intentos desesperados de quitarla de sus recuerdos con una carga enorme de trabajo duro. El único motivo por el cual Agatha pudo haberla llamado era irse como correspondía y estar lista para ver a su hijo.

"NO" pensó la muerte. "Me NIEGO a llevarme a esto. ¡NO!" Deseó irse, pero al parecer Agatha Harkness había decidido que su trabajo estaba terminado y, así como si nada, deseó irse a ver al niño. Siempre hacía lo que quería, sólo pedía las cosas y exigía ser atendida. No lo tendría esta vez, la muerte le cumplió su último deseo la última vez y se juró a sí misma no volver a ser un tapete. No más deseos, ni contemplaciones.

Deseó gritar y destruir todo a su paso, no pudo evitarlo y todos los árboles a su alrededor murieron, cayeron, las plantas se iban secando y el fantasma se aproximó observándola detenidamente.

La muerte tenía puesta la capa negra encima que jamás se quitó. Cogió su daga y apretó fuertemente el mango, algo le sucedía y no se explicaba bien qué era. Su corazón negro ya no estaba, no podía explicar ese arranque de ira.

"Cuánto tiempo" Dijo Agatha Harkness observando a la muerte con curiosidad y sin tener respuesta alguna.

Silencio.

"No pensé que llegaría a decir esto pero ya no es tan terrible verte" la voz fantasmal de Agatha hacía eco, y la muerte no dijo una palabra de nuevo. Sólo mostró la daga.

"Oh, ¡vamos! han pasado siglos. Muestra tu otra forma" Agatha sonreía maliciosamente y extendió la mano hacia su hombro, tratando de invadir su espacio personal pero la atravesó. "Yo sé que quieres" Agatha siempre se la pasaba dando órdenes y comportarse como si estuviese en un hotel de lujo a donde vaya.

Silencio.

"¿Vas a continuar haciendo este teatro? No te deja bien parada en tu trabajo, ¿o me equivoco? ¿Puedo hablar con tu supervisor? La señora Rio Vidal..." Agatha empezó a usar su clásico sarcasmo como lo hacía en vida, gastando bromas pesadas hasta que la muerte la interrumpió.

"Rio se ha ido. Soy la muerte"

Agatha se burló y siguió flotando en círculos alrededor de ella.

"Lo dices como si no lo supiera, pero te recuerdo querida que Rio también es tu nombre y es más fácil para mí decirlo así, y menos problemático para Marvel Studios y Disney, por supuesto..."

"Sólo dirígete a mí como corresponde, además ¿qué diablos haces tú aquí? Me haces perder el tiempo. ¿Vas a marcharte o no?"

"Cumplí mi misión, el trabajo no resuelto. Es tu tema ¿no? Tú ves y sabes esas cosas, es tu área. El asunto es que acabé y deseo..." Agatha hizo una corta pausa, reacomodando sus ideas. "...y deseo verlo. Tú sabias que en cualquier momento yo querría ir" Agatha fantasma se cruzó de brazos y miró fijamente al cráneo que la muerte mostraba por cara. Por una parte odiaba hacer lo que Agatha deseaba, pero otra parte de ella encontró en la acción un motivo para fastidiarla.

"Fui una guía espiritual. Conduje a Billy y a su hermano hacia donde debían ir. Volví a morir, volví a ser un fantasma porque al parecer alguien no quiso tomar mi alma" dijo Agatha en tono acusatorio. "Pero creo que es tiempo de irnos. No me sentía preparada pero ahora sí. Llévame con él." Ordenó.

Si la muerte mostrase un rostro humano, hubiese puesto los ojos en blanco.

"¿Alguien no quiso tomar tu alma? Por favor, Agatha. No seas ridícula. ¿Quién fue la que me hizo prometer que no volvería a mostrar mi cara? Es más..." la muerte hizo una pausa "tú rompiste el pacto que hicimos y lo último que hice por ti fue respetar lo que deseabas, incluso cuando no merecías nada más proveniente de mí. No haré más por ti"

"Pero debes hacerlo, es lo que siempre haces. Además, rompí el trato que hicimos" Dijo Agatha, en tono desafiante. "Así que muestra tu otra forma, con esta no me dan ganas de tener una conversación"

"¿Y qué si esta vez hago una excepción?" La muerte empezó a jugar con su daga pasando los dedos por la hoja mientras hablaba "y si ahora decido romper las reglas por mí y no llevarte a ningún lado porque no lo mereces?" Dijo calmadamente. "Si, es mi trabajo...pero así como cometí el error más estúpido de darte seis años con tu hijo, hoy puedo decir no, paso."

La sonrisa pícara de Agatha se fue desvaneciendo, y la fantasma frunció el ceño.

"No serías tan cruel. No te creo capaz"

"¿Ah, si?" Respondió la muerte en un tono burlesco. "Adivina qué, Agatha. Tenías razón, yo no tengo corazón. ¿ves?"

La muerte se quitó la capa mostrando una figura femenina casi esquelética, el traje tenía aspecto gastado, pero lo que horrorizó a Agatha al punto de atravesar su rostro con su mano transparente fue el enorme agujero en el medio del área del pecho. Parecía como si alguien hubiese sacado el corazón violentamente y hubiese dejado así el cuerpo. La piel se secó, dejando una espantosa vista que la muerte mostraba con orgullo, como si de un emblema se tratase.

"Nada me detiene de no llevarte a ningún lado y hacer que te la pases por aquí vagando y flotando como estúpida el resto de la eternidad. Simplemente dejarte aquí, sin que conozcas la paz, sin darte la posibilidad de que tu mugrienta alma reencarne. Si no fuera por la enorme carga de trabajo que tengo en estos momentos me quedaría a ver cómo entras en crisis y suplicas pero ya no eres importante" dijo la muerte, volviendo a jugar con su daga.

"¿Sabes? Antes te quería en el más allá, con nosotros, y me preguntaba por qué te negabas a ir...pero cambié de idea el momento en el cual te moriste por primera vez. Lo mejor de todo es que esto no afecta el balance, así que yo gano, y tú te quedas atascada aquí y ni siquiera la familia con la cual estás asociada te va a poder ayudar, esto va más allá de cualquier tipo de magia"

La sonrisa pícara que Agatha tenía al inicio se esfumó totalmente. Incluso, la forma cómo flotaba indicaba que estaba realmente asustada. El miedo podía verse en su rostro semitransparente.

"¿Y si quiero irme?"

"Decidiste ser fantasma, Agatha, lo hiciste para deshacerte de mí y lo hiciste porque SABÍAS que yo respetaría tu deseo incuso al morir, cosa que hago así no lo merezcas. Lo habrás planeado todo pero ahora yo decido si te vas o no. Así como escuchaste" La muerte disfrutaba al ver a Agatha lucir confundida y alterada.

"Pero espera..." Dijo Agatha. "No puedes hacerme eso, ¡tú me amas!" Exclamó Agatha señalando a la muerte con el dedo y la mirada fija en los orificios que tenía por ojos. "Yo sé que aún me amas"

"¿Quién dice? ¿Tú?" Contestó la muerte en un tono burlón. "Eso fue hace tiempo. Lo que quedó de esos sentimientos se fue contigo y esa escena melodramática que hiciste antes de morir. No te amo más, Agatha. Eso sí, reconozco lo buena actriz que eres, ¿Dónde está tu Emmy? a mejor actriz de serie dramática"

Agatha sólo flotaba, confundida y sin saber qué responder, sus palabras parecían quedarse atascadas.

"Pobre Agatha Harkness...por fin quiere reunirse con el pequeño Nicky...pero no tomó en cuenta que fue un pedazo de mierda en vida. Falló la estrategia está vez, Agatha"

"Primera vida" contestó Agatha. "En la segunda salvé a Billy, ayudé a esos chicos, ayudé a Jen, entendi que Nicky debía irse...y lo quería conversar contigo ¿eso no cuenta?" Agatha sonaba irritada, tenía los labios fruncidos y los brazos cruzados, sólo quedó suspendida a un metro del suelo.

"¿Y eso qué? No vas porque yo lo decido" Dijo la muerte. "No me interesa si salvaste a la humanidad, así como pude romper las reglas por ti, también lo puedo hacer contra ti. Ahora si me disculpas, tengo trabajo real que hacer, y otra cosa más..." hizo otra corta pausa.

"...no vuelvas...a mostrar...tu cara"

Dijo la muerte dándose la vuelta y a punto de desaparecer entre más niebla negra.

"Te seguiré llamando hasta que lo hagas" Dijo Agatha, muy confiada y cruzada de brazos. "No voy a parar" Agatha ya sonaba muy alterada.

"Suerte con eso, Agatha. No atiendo a más fantasmas varados en la tierra por siglos, nueva política de la empresa. Yo me buscaría un pasatiempo"

"¡RIO!" Gritó Agatha, todas las plantas alrededor de ambas entidades se habían marchitado. "¡...Por favor, mi amor, quiero ir, quiero verlo!"

Antes de desaparecer, la muerte se detuvo y volteó por un segundo.

"No esta vez, Agatha, lección aprendida, no meterse con la muerte, ¡Es una mala, muy muy mala idea! No se usa a la muerte, no se traiciona a la muerte"

Se retiró entre risas, desapareciendo, dejando un gesto con la mano mostrando el dedo medio al irse y dejando a Agatha Harkness dando un grito tan desgarrador que pudo haber espantado a las criaturas que vivían en ese bosque si no se hubieran muerto con las plantas ya marchitas.

[cillivnz]

𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐜𝐞𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐮 𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬 [𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭]

CHAPTER ONE —— AFTERMATH

warnings. angst, gore descriptions, torture, mentions of death, stabbing, shooting; basically your average 14 minutes into a john wick movie.

a/n. occasionally updating the preliminaries post of this series as deemed necessary. all warnings and details would be mentioned in that post. note, this is a slow burn (emphasis on slow). i hope you enjoy reading this short chapter, i promise it’ll get better. this one’s for the anon who wanted angst, i owe it all to you, honey. <3 pardon any inaccurate translations.

notes. Rehneyr Corsioni [OC] — ex-associate of reader’s father. Edgar Corsioni [OC] — Rehneyr’s son.

TRANSLATIONS. mon ange — my angel; tenez-moi — hold me; va te faire foutre — fuck you/fuck off; “Écoute, si tu parviens à répondre, tu seras libre de vivre ce qui reste de ta vie pathétique.” — Look, if you manage to answer, you will be free to live whatever is left of your pathetic life; “Sing, pute.” — Sing, bitch; “Je ne ferais jamais ça.” — I would never do that; “Laisse moi ici,” — Leave me here;

Clustering sounds beside you were your alarm. Your eyes fought to get adjusted to your dimly lit surroundings, in a panic, you shot up from the bed. Bed? You were uncertain of where you were, until you saw a tall figure hulking, with his back towards you. As if sensing your inquisitive eyes on him, he turned around, a solemn expression on his face, plump lips sealed tight, yet his gaze softened at the sight of you. “Good… morning.” He said shaking his head, it seemed like he wasn’t too fond of his words, considering the sun set a few hours ago. You took a moment to look down at yourself, wearing an oversized, white silk shirt, and your panties. “I took the liberty of cleaning you, I’m sorry, ange.” He was avoiding your gaze, looking at the foot of the bed. “It’s okay, Vince.” “I appreciate you.” Your voice was soft, just a whisper lingering in the breeze.

“You need to rest.” He spoke with an authoritative concern. “I can’t, I just woke up.” You let out something along the lines of a chuckle and a scoff. “Lie down.” He raised his brows, a pleading look on his handsome face. “Lie down with me.” You quirked a brow, not anticipating the flush on his cheeks to be so prominent. “If, uh, if that’s what you want, ange.” He dare not look at you while discarding his jacket, slowly climbing beside you in the queen-size bed, long legs almost swinging out of it; the long bed that sufficiently accommodated you, failed to do the same for him.

Perplexity. Life had a way of arousing it, for life is a gland and these shitty plotholes are the hormones it secrets into your bloody life. A day ago, you mourned the loss of your family, this man, one who vowed service to your father, abandoned him when he needed him the most; when you needed him the most — but he’s here now, isn’t he? You should’ve been mad, hell, he of all people knew the degree of your wrath once unleashed, but you couldn’t be mad at your Vince, not when he sank into the mattress, beside you, pressing himself against you, tauntingly gently, reluctant on whether to be a bit selfish and let his arm rest on your waist, close all humane proximity between you two, and let whatever warmth he still possessed, even if it came from the fiery depths of hell he was certain to burn in, creep onto you.

You noticed this reluctance, despite not facing him. You couldn’t, you feared what you’d do once you’d catch those ocean eyes of his staring into the depths of your soul, digging an abyss into it with his piercing gaze, creating his personal hell inside of you.

“Vincent,” you whispered. “Yes, mon ange.” His soft voice whispered. “Tenez-moi.” Finally, the hesitant arm found homage, snakes around your waist, pressing his godly body against yours. The grip was possessive, permanent, and above all, right. Nothing has ever felt so right, to both of you. In that moment you knew, Vincent would fight heaven and back for you, in your name, whatever it takes.

Amidst your sleep, you heard agonising whimpers from behind you. Both of Vincent’s hands were on your hips, like the fullness of them was comforting. “Ange,” He shivered a whimper, grip tightening around your hips, squeezing them in fear, fear of whatever horror he saw behind those eyes shut tight.

“It’s okay, Vince. I’m not going anywhere.” You whispered, fingered grazing the veins on his large hands. He seemed to lean into your touch, crouching so his head could rest on your shoulder. ‘Not now, not ever.’ You meant to say, but you’re never had a way with words, a knotted tongue and a betraying body.

When morning came, so did the hellhounds. Jolting up at the sound of gunfire, your first thought was if Vincent got hurt, but not seeing him in bed with you as you’d requested, somehow, hurt more than what you’d knew a shot to the heart would. Getting up from the sheets in a frenzy, you reach for your 9mm and rush to the window. The sight below was three men circling in on one Vincent. Three armed men, and one Vincent with his weapon on the ground. You aim at the thug on the left — headshot; right, headshot, leaving the big boy with one man to knock down, a piece of cake, considering the boy was 6’4. He looked back at you, a grin plastered on his beautiful face, before he turned to the man in-front of him and tackled the shooter to the ground. “Atta boy.” You yelled out the window, before heading down to assist him.

‘Torturing’ is what an amateur would call it. You, on the other hand, say it like it is. ‘Information extraction’, it is. That’s truly how simple it is, the good ol’ human compliance, cooperation. You wouldn’t want to be a sinful Pinocchio and say you didn’t enjoy it when they didn’t, however. A challenge, hellions and rascals, and you loved brat-taming. Foreseeable, was this sight. A man stripped to the bone, tied in razor blade ropes of bondage, bleeding rivers of crimson at the hands of you and your beloved. Friend. Beloved friend.

“Tell us who sent you.” Vincent demanded, the tone of his voice was enough to snap you out of your sinister daze and let gooseflesh arise. “Va te faire foutre.” The son of a bitch had the audacity to retort. “Écoute, si tu parviens à répondre, tu seras libre de vivre ce qui reste de ta vie pathétique.” You sigh, rubbing the bridge of your nose in annoyance. The bastard spitting on your face was the last straw for Vincent, who conjured a knife from an apparent holster and grabbed the perpetrator by his short hair. “If you won’t talk,” he said, slashing the man’s throat in one swift stroke, “Sing, pute.”

Fear, for the first time, as the evening sun made feeble attempts to paint the perpetrator’s etiolating face a hue of tangerine, gargling on his own blood, he managed to weakly reveal, “Corsioni,” before leaving this realm, leaving behind no legacy in a maggot’s world, but a mess for you and Vincent to clean.

Rehneyr Corsioni, an associate of your father’s. You remember talk amongst your mother and his wife of a marriage (of convenience) between you and his son, Edgar. “Je ne ferais jamais ça.” You’d scowl at the sound of his name. He had his Russian mother’s face and his Italian father’s eyes, his skin and her hair. A lethal combination, something many a woman has succumbed to in the past, but not you. You had your own plans involving a very mercurial and brooding Parisian boy. His fawn hair, his blue-green eyes; you’d decided to call the colour a shade of Turkish blue. Looking at him now, dried blood splatters tainting his face, you noticed he hasn’t changed much. He was still your Vince, right?

After ridding yourselves of the body, Vincent and you stayed outdoors, staring into the wisteria horizon; at the ravens flying into the greenery and at the bats flying north. “How are you holding up?” He asked you, breaking the silence after minutes of staring at you, a habit you’ve noticed him picking up. “All things considered…” you paused, peering into the sky as if the clouds were etched in your answers. “I’m just glad you’re with me, Vince.” You turn to him, resting your head on his shoulder.

May you be damned for finding solace in this state, but were you really to be blamed when tonight’s the first time he’s lowered his walls? Just enough for you to hop over, or sit atop them prettily. “About that,” he inched away a little, causing you to raise your head, tilting in confusion. “I think you should leave.” He spoke, his words were choked by uncertainty and his brows furrowed at how pathetic he sounded. “What?” Your voice was barely a whisper. “America. Stay there for a bit, lay low, or even find contracts. Laisse moi ici, just until things pacify.”

Pacify? What was left to assuage in this city of ruins? “Vincent, there’s nothing left for me here — for us, here.” You began reasoning, eyes flickering from his face, to his hands. When he blatantly refused to meet your gaze, you grabbed one of his hands, the whole of your hand seemingly elfin in his large ones. This act forced him to stare you down, unlike he does voluntarily, from time to time; this instance, you had to force him to look you in the eye.

“I’ve already booked a ticket, an apartment, clothes, everything— you don’t have to worry about none of that.” He tightened his hold on your hand, grabbing the other, too. “Please, Ange. I need you to do this.” He beseeched. Never had you ever seen such a pleading look on his face, agony whirling in his eyes. “For me?”

For him you found yourself on a plane to New York, tears threatening to break the dam of dignity in your eyes and flood away as you reminisce about his arms that wrapped around you the night before, and the way he leaned in but pulled away in the blink of an eye, muttering curses, unheard of by you, but the twitch of his mouth and the tearing up of his eyes didn’t go unnoticed by you.

If your departure meant more to Vincent than he was letting on, why was he adamant on sending you away, and what wrath will the city of Paris go through now at the hands of a man apoplectic with provoked rage? Unfortunately, you couldn’t see for yourself, so, you let sleep cradle your being and drift off to some unconscious safe haven.

[ojosdesalamandra]

I couldn't find some of my favorite SNK fics on ao3 and I discovered this…

The author "Porkberrie" is no longer on ao3…. I haven't felt a feeling of despair like this in a long time.