#eye test centre near me

[sharp-sight92]

Give a healthy lifestyle to your Vision

We should keep our eyesight healthy and take care of our eyes like other parts of our body. We should get our eyes checked by an ophthalmologist twice a year for refractive errors and age-related changes. Eye exercises provide you relieve eye strain and relaxes eye muscles. We should practice it more often as screen time has increased in our daily routine in recent times.

Stretching Stretch your eye muscle whenever you get free time, it can be done while relaxing in a chair or during a walk. Stretching gives your eye strength and sharp vision. Eye exercise such as rolling your eyes up and down without moving your head can be practised. Similarly, rolling your eye left and then right, and repeat this exercise 10 times daily.

Blinking Normally our eyes blink 12 to 15 times/ minute. However, babies and children blink their eyes rarely, it’s about two times per minute. By the time you are a teenager or an adult, it increases to 14 to 17 times/minute and it stays for the rest of your life. But when we work for long hours on the screen or watch television at a stretch, we forget to blink our eyes often. We should consciously blink our eyes to protect them from dryness and other diseases.

Small Exercise To protect your eyes from strain while working on a screen for long hours, take a 20-second break in every 20 minutes by looking 20 feet far or keeping your eyes closed for 20 seconds. This will help you to reduce your eye strain, watering, dryness, and blurred vision.

Focus Change This can be done from any position.

Hold your index finger a few inches away from your eyes, and start focusing on the finger. Slowly start moving your finger, holding your focus. Move your focus away for a moment, into the distance.

Focus on your finger and bring it back to your eye. Then, look away and focus on something else which should be placed at a distance. Repeat three times a day.

Figure 8 This exercise makes your eyes more flexible. Imagine a big 8 in front of your eye and start moving your eyes as per the 8 figure. Keep doing that for 30 seconds, then switch directions. This might help you to get a clearer vision.

Let’s have a look at the warning signs for eye health:

Below are the possible symptoms that one could experience in their routine life.

Frequent changes in your spectacle number

Seeing distorted images

Seeing floaters and flashes

Reducing peripheral vision day by day.

Consuming an appropriate diet always gets brownie points which include green veggies, fish, lots of fruits, nuts, and lean proteins to keep your eyes healthy.

If you’re not able to consume the same diet, then ask an ophthalmologist for a good diet to uphold your eye health.

If you’re experiencing any changes in your visual clarity, without a delay you should consult an ophthalmologist. An Eye specialist is one who can protect your vision with all their expertise. If you’re really concerned and wondering where to go for a comprehensive eye check-up, don’t worry Sharp Sight Eye Hospitals got you covered with all the solutions related to your eyes.

Sharp Sight Eye Hospitals is one of the best eye hospital in Delhi which contains the latest techniques, world-class infrastructure, experienced medical staff, and the best team of eye specialists.

Sharp Sight Eye Hospitals deals with every eye problem and tries to delight all our patients with satisfactory eye treatment.

[eyemira]

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[dstryvampres]

Smoke Signals

Jonathan Crane x Reader

Summary: Dr Crane is tired of you talking back.

Warnings: smut, fingering, age gap(reader is early 20s, crane is mid 40s), power imbalance, brat taming(I think??), reader is a smoker, dub con, p in v, unprotected, praise, degradation, spanking, creampie

Word count: 2.2k

The trek to Dr Crane office on the fifth floor was quick and easy, seeing as there was no one else using the elevator because it was so late at night. When you push open the door to Dr Crane’s office it creaks, alerting him immediately to your presence.

“I thought I told you to quit smoking before you come to my office,” is what Dr Crane decides on greeting you with. His face is stern, pen in hand as he writes out a statement on a student’s quiz.

“Yeah, well I was fiending all day and they don’t let you have a smoke within 15 meters of the psychology testing centre. Hard to get a smoke break in,” You quip back, hanging your tote bag over the back of a chair before sliding between it and Dr Crane’s desk to sit.

“Well, if you won’t quit all together, you could at least have the common courtesy to not reek of it near me,” He scoffs, clicking his pen and setting it down on his desk.

You toy with the fabric of your sheer black tights as Dr Crane sets aside whatever he was working on before and brings out two sheets of paper. Two rubrics, one for him, which he settles in front of him, and one for you, which he flips towards you.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Dr Crane asks, standing up from his desk and heading towards the table near the window. He clicks on the kettle, staring at it for a couple seconds before he starts to hear it bubble up before he turns to you again.

“Just any tea is fine, except ginger, I want something herbal tonight,” you reply, rummaging through your tote bag looking for a pen to use for tonight.

“So herbal tea?” Jonathan asks, shaking his head at you in the corner of your eye.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I said,” you sit up straight once again when you find your pencil case, plopping it down on Dr Crane’s darkwood desk.

You hear a sigh from the professor as he turns around to look out the window at the rain, his fingers toying around with the packaging of a tea bag. No matter if Dr Crane happens to be your boss, you can’t deny that he’s insanely attractive. Young looking face with high cheekbones, blue eyes that stare holes into your being, dark brown hair that he somehow styles perfectly without trying that hard, all packaged in suits that do him far too many favours. Sure he has a slightly bitter attitude, but you’re no better. With all the times you snap back and push his buttons he’s far too patient with you, and seems to genuinely care about your well being. Whether that care is actually genuine or is just to avoid having to find another TA, you’re not one hundred percent sure.

A click comes from the kettle, and soon enough Dr Crane sets down a steaming mug in front of you before sliding into his own chair with a mug in his hand.

“Thank you,” you say, blowing on the steaming liquid in hopes to cool it down quicker.

“Don’t burn yourself.”

Dr Crane grabs his pen before directing both of your attention to the rubric and assignment guide. He drones on about the basics, word count, percentage to dock based off of just principle things, before delving into more important specifics to the assignment. For a supposed research essay, the need to include the students own fears into the mix was a weird choice to be a necessity. There’s no need to ask about it, the conditions for the assignment have already been set in stone, the due date is in about a week.

“Everything making sense?” Dr Crane asks, looking at you, eyebrows furrowed together.

You nod in response, reaching over to grab a highlighter from Dr Crane’s collection across the table. Maybe you should bring up the weird conditions of the assignment…

“Actually, just one thing confuses me about this assignment,” You start, looking for any signs of anger from Dr Crane, knowing just how often you seem to push his buttons before continuing, “why do the students need to disclose their own fears in this assignment, it’s supposed to be a research essay on different ways the brain copes with fear.”

Dr Crane clenches his jaw, looking away from you annoyed. Acting like you were questioning the fundamentals of grammar and not some strange one off point he decided to add to this assignment. He shakes his head, taking off his glasses and laying them down on the table.

“You’re not the one running the class, are you?” Dr Crane asks, voice showing just thin his patience has become in a matter of seconds.

“Well, obviously not, but I’m just-”

You’re cut off with the screeching of Dr Crane’s chair as he stands up, walking towards the door. Fuck, is he going to leave? Is he going to ask you to leave? Are you being fired out of one of the best looking jobs on your resume? When you hear the click of the lock on the door, you’re not sure if your fate is better or worse than any of the options thought of before. Nevertheless, your body tenses up and your head starts to fog up, whatever is going to happen you don’t think it will be too pleasant.

“You know what? I’m so sick of you always thinking you know better than me,” He slowly walks over to you as he speaks, shoes clicking on the linoleum floor of his office.

“I don’t think that,” you respond, voice strained. Now he’s standing over where you’re seated, forcing you to look upwards at him. You feel so small and powerless in this moment. Maybe, it’s only now and here, in this position, that you finally remember that this man holds your entire future as a psychologist in his hands.

“I want you to remember who has more leverage here, who can get you into the best jobs in the state,” it’s like he can read your mind.

You gulp and close your eyes. You’ve spent the last year and three months of your masters degree and time as a TA under Dr Crane pushing back against him, challenging the man. You’re sure that it’s here, in his locked office that he will give you a piece of his mind before dropping you completely. Leaving you and your master’s thesis to flounder in the last half of it, beg for anyone to aid you in the specific thesis everyone knew only Crane was suitable to supervise at this university. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Please, don’t drop me and my thesis. I won’t challenge you ever again, I’ll do anything you want, please,” you beg, opening your eyes to stare at Crane’s. Hoping the eye contact would connect with some deeper part of him, but his blue eyes stared back, cold and emotionless.

“Anything?” Crane asks, quirking an eyebrow at your begging.

“Yes, anything. I’ll get on my knees and beg you, I’ll mark every assignment myself-”

“Face the table and put your hands on top of it,” Crane demands.

“What?” Your mind short circuits at his request, not expecting something like that.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to challenge me ever again?” Dr Crane sighs, crossing his arms, waiting for you to obey.

You follow his request, placing both your hands on the table, looking down at the dark oak wood. It’s cold underneath your palms, but that doesn’t help with the sweat accumulating onto your palms. Dr Crane hums behind you, seemingly happy with your compliance to his request. He kicks your feet away from the desk, making your butt stick out more.

“Now, I want you to spread your legs for me,” Dr Crane puts a hand on your ass, squeezing the flesh. Your eyebrows furrow, taking a second too long for his liking and earning a slap to the ass, you quickly move to spread your legs.

“Good girl,” Dr Crane hums, massaging the spot where he hit you previously. You whine in response, feeling a heat start to grow in your cunt.

Dr Crane smacks your ass again, a little lighter than before, almost teasing. His other hand is placed on your ass, both hands move down to your thighs, then back up to your ass, this time sliding under your skirt and flipping it up. Your pink panties are visible through the sheer black tights causing Dr Crane to sigh out.

“You feel how hard I am, slut?” Dr Crane asks, you hear the smirk in his voice as he presses his hard-on into your ass. You moan, feeling the weight of it press into your wet cunt and soiled panties.

Quickly Dr Crane rips open the thin fabric of your tights, allowing for direct access to your panties and cunt. He feels your wet heat through your panties, quickly moving them to the side to expose your cunt. You moan as the cold air of his office hits your cunt.

“You’re so wet. Do you let all your professors fuck you? Or am I a sort of desprate case?” Dr Crane cooes, ghosting his fingers over your exposed cunt.

He runs his fingers up and down your cunt, collecting your wetness over them before pushing them inside of you. The intrusion is so unexpected it makes you gasp, pull away from it briefly. He fucks you with his fingers shallowly, at a bored pace. You push back onto his fingers, begging for more. Dr Crane removes his finger from your cunt, and you whine in response.

“Fuck, you’re a desperate whore huh?” Dr Crane laughs, giving your ass another harsh slap.

Behind you Dr Crane unzips his pants, freeing his cock. He lines it up with your hole and just stays there. No matter how much you try to push back and whine for him to put it in he isn’t moving.

“You’ve been such a bitch, I don’t think you deserve my cock. Why don’t you beg for it?” you can hear the cocky look on Dr Crane’s face just from his voice. Though it doesn’t seem to matter much as you open your mouth to beg.

“Please Dr Crane, I’ll be such a good girl. You can use me anytime and I’ll never be a bitch again, as long as I have your cock, please doctor please,” you plead, wiggling your hips.

“Good girl.”

Dr Crane pushes inside of you. His cock is average length, but stretches you out in a way no other man ever has. It makes your head spin as he spears you on his cock.

“Fuck, I didn’t expect a whore like you to be so tight,” Dr Crane pants out, putting both of his hands on your waist.

He pulls out of you slowly, before slamming back into your cunt. Setting a brutal pace as soon as he slams back into you a second time. Only faltering when he smacks your ass. You yelp out each time, before pushing back onto his cock. Dr Crane continually stretched you out and hit the most sensitive spots inside of you. Your legs start to shake half way through, the only thing stopping you from crumbling being Dr Crane’s cock and hands. He pushes you back on him each time, almost demanding you take him in further.

“You fuck me so good doctor,” you moan out, “Can I cum doctor?”

“Yeah, cum all over my cock dumb slut,” Dr Crane says, speeding up the pace.

One of his hands reaches down from your hips to your clit, rubbing fast and hard on it. A touch so hard and borderline painful on the sensitive bundle of nerves tips you over the edge in mere seconds. Your knees buckle. Stars flood your vision. Your boss fucking you through the whole thing.

You start to weep from overstimulation, tears welling in your eyes when you come back from your high. Dr Crane is still fucking you in the same brutal pace.

“Sluts like you don’t get breaks until I come too,” Dr Crane snarls out at you and your weeping, earning another sharp smack to your ass.

The tears spill out over your eyes as you cum again all over his cock. Your walls clenching and seizing around Dr Crane so hard his cock becomes painful as it pumps in and out of you.

He speeds up and his pace starts to become more aggressive, until Dr Crane stills inside of you. His cum rushes into your cunt, holding himself inside you after both of you have finally come down from your high. Once Dr Crane pulls out of you, you feel as his cum comes spilling out of your cunt.

“I’ll give you your share of the papers to mark next monday,” Dr Crane says, tucking his cock away and zipping up his pants. “I expect to not hear any confusion about the grading from you, I feel like I explained myself pretty well.

taglist: @paradiseprincesss @xanaxiii @luluartpop

[starlost-mochi-x]

𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙜 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙡 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙩 ⊹ 𝙜𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙧

pairing: bang chan x reader

summary: chan's been busy, so you decide to surprise him.

genre: fluff, idol! au, comfort, extreme softness, reader is a sweetheart, chan is also a sweetheart (but what's new), i cried writing this oops

a/n: happy birthday, channie ♡ (seungmin in the background) "chan you're half 56-"

The evening sun casts a golden glow across the rooftop of the studio, its last rays spilling over the horizon, tinting the sky in hues of pink and orange. The city below was alive with the hum of traffic and distant chatter, but up here, it felt like another world — quiet, intimate, serene.

Just the two of you.

Chan leans against the railing, a soft breeze ruffling his hair. He turns his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a playful smile. “I still can’t believe you managed to pull this off,” he says, his voice a mix of surprise and affection.

You smile, shrugging your shoulders casually. “Well, you’ve been working non-stop for weeks. I figured you deserved a break.”

It had taken weeks of secret planning, coordinating with the studio staff, and a few sneaky conversations with his members to set up this surprise. You’d transformed the usually empty rooftop into a small, cozy haven. It had taken a while, with several near-accidents (mainly involving a certain Han Jisung trying to hang up the lights, but you appreciated the help nonetheless).

Fairy lights twinkled above, casting a warm glow over the space. A small picnic setup was laid out with Chan’s favorite snacks, and in the centre was a guitar, propped against a chair.

He steps closer, his eyes scanning the space, clearly touched by the effort. “This is amazing,” he whispers, his hand finding yours, fingers intertwining subconsciously.

“I wanted to do something special,” you admit, looking up at him. “You give so much of yourself to your music, your fans, and your members… you deserve a moment just for you.”

Chan chuckles softly, cheeks dusted pink, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You know, you didn’t have to go this far for me.”

“Of course I did,” you reply. “You work hard every single day. I see it, and I know how much it means to you, but I also know how much you need to breathe sometimes.”

He was quiet for a moment, his eyes soft as they gazed into yours. “I don’t think I thank you enough for always being there.”

You squeeze his hand softly, gazing at him. “You don’t have to thank me. I just want you to be happy.”

Chan pulls you into a gentle embrace, his chin resting on the top of your head. “You make me happier than you know,” he whispers. His voice, though quiet, carries the weight of his sincerity.

After a few moments, he pulls back slightly, his eyes twinkling with a familiar spark of adorable mischief. “Alright, what else do you have planned? I can tell there’s more.”

You grin, stepping back and gesturing toward the guitar. “I thought you might want to play something. You’ve been working on so much music, but I haven’t heard you play in ages.”

Chan’s eyes light up, and he reaches for the guitar, settling onto one of the cushions you’d laid out. He strums the strings lightly, testing the sound before looking up at you with a grin. “Anything you want to hear?”

You tilt your head thoughtfully. “How about something new? Something you haven’t shown anyone yet.”

He chuckles, his fingers already moving over the strings, creating a soft, melodic, lilting tune. “Alright, but this is still a work in progress.”

The melody that followed was gentle, the kind that made you close your eyes and lose yourself in the moment. His voice, smooth and filled with emotion, carried through the quiet evening, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. As he played, the world seemed to shrink, leaving just the two of you and the music, hung in the air, making the twinkling lights seem brighter with the shining, incandescent melody.

When the song came to an end, you open your eyes to find Chan watching you, a soft smile playing on his lips. “What did you think?”

You sigh, completely in awe. “It was beautiful. You always manage to create something so… real.”

He blushes slightly at the compliment, setting the guitar aside and reaching for your hand again. “Thank you,” he murmurs, “for all of it. This- everything… it’s so perfect.”

You lean into him, your head resting on his shoulder as the golden hour fades into twilight. “You’re welcome,” you whisper. “But it’s only perfect because you’re here.”

The two of you sit in comfortable silence, watching the stars begin to twinkle in the sky. Your hand, the one that isn't holding Chan's moves to your pocket, slipping inside to brush against something. You glance at Chan to see if he's noticed, but he's too busy looking at the twinkling fairy lights, the golden shine reflected in his dark eyes.

He looks so beautiful.

Your voice comes out a hushed, almost reverent whisper.

"Chan?"

He hums, dragging his gaze away from the lights and onto your face. His eyes seem to shine even brighter, and he smiles, making an all-too familiar warmth settle in the pit of your stomach. You inhale.

"Do you remember when we first came up here?"

He nods, recalling the memory. You know it's one of his favourites.

"I was getting stressed from all the schedules we had planned. I was supposed to fly out to Shanghai for the fanmeeting and concert the next day... I got so close to honestly just crying, and you came up onto the roof after Felix snitched to you about where I was."

You smile ruefully, remembering it all too well. Chan continues.

"I remember you told me that it would all be okay, and you gave me this," he shows you his hand, a silver ring with a movable chain running through the middle. "You said that you noticed I was fidgeting a lot recently because of the stress, so you got me this to help me stop messing with my hands."

He spins the little chain twice with a smile before continuing.

"I remember flying out the next day, sitting on the plane, watching the ground fall away, taking me away. From home, from you. But you told me before I left that the ring was a little part of you, that I could take with me while we weren't physically together," Chan's eyes are suspiciously bright. He takes a shaky breath, smiling.

"I never took it off, even when I slept. The stylists kept getting frustrated with me because I refused to take it off, even when it didn't match what I was wearing. But I kept it on, during the fanmeeting, the concert, the activities with the Kids, everywhere, all the time. Minho used to say to me during the trip, "Hyung, did she glue the ring to your finger?"."

Chan laughs then, and so do you. He had pretty much kept it on all the time.

"Even when I returned, I kept wearing it. It stopped being a part of you and became a part of us. I felt wrong without it, and during the recent events where the stylists insisted I take it off, I wore it on a chain."

You giggle, leaning into him. "I remember you ran to hug me after the concert and the chain hit my cheek. I wondered what you were doing, wearing it all the time."

Chan huffs a small laugh, exhaling. "It's a part of me now. Forever."

Your smile fades, replaced with a soft, affectionate look.

"Channie, I did all this tonight because I wanted you to have a break. But I also did this because I need you to know how much I love you. You mean so much to me, and you're always spoiling me and doing things for me, so I wanted to give back. I know that love isn't grand gestures or fairy lights or guitar music, but you deserve this. So much.

And I'm glad you played the song for me. It was so beautiful, it felt like I was floating up into the air, I felt so free and at peace. I know you always say that music is the way to capture emotions, but no song could ever capture how I feel for you, or how much I love you. Music helps us to express our emotions and fond memories, but no melody, harmony, or tune could ever express how much you mean to me. And it's frustrating because I want you to know, I want you to be able to feel it-"

"I do feel it," Chan interrupts, grabbing your hand and gazing into your eyes with a soft smile. "During the hectic last-minute dance practices with Hyunjin, where you cheer me on, or during late night conversations, our chaotic dates, or all-nighter studio producing sessions. I feel your love wherever I go, because it's always with me. It chases me like a light and spills into everything that I do."

You smile, squeezing his hand again, and continuing a little quieter. "I've been by your side through everything, Chan. The moments of joy, the quiet sadness, the doubt, the excitement. I've seen it all. I've been right next to you through it all, and you always tell me that I'm your biggest supporter, your best friend, and more than you ever thought you deserved. But you do deserve it, Chan. All of it. I always try to make moments like this perfect for you, but the truth is, any moment with you already is. Whether we’re laughing, or even just sitting in silence… I realised that I've been searching for something, and all along, it was right in front of me.

When you're working away at producing with me on your lap, when we're running through the streets at night holding hands, taking photos of each other at ridiculous angles, and fighting over the last chip, it's perfect. Even during the rare moments when we disagree, or get frustrated with each other, that's perfect too. Because no matter what either of us feels, or what we're going through or facing, I know I can turn around, and you'll always be there. And you know I'd do the same for you, in a heartbeat. Always.

Channie, I know you always say that I'm a part of you, and so is that ring you never take off, and the chain too. I know my happiness and sadness and doubt and fear and love and affection is exactly what you feel, too. The members always joke and poke fun about how we're glued to the hip and can't go a day without each other, but for once, they couldn't be more right."

You let out a shaky exhale, eyes meeting Chan's.

"I know you love that silver ring, Channie, but I want to replace it."

You smile softly and reach up to wipe away a glittering tear from your cheek. With a startled realisation that Chan is also crying, you smile softly before reaching across to do the same for him, your voice soft.

"Bang Christopher Chan, will you marry me?"

a/n: happy chan week, everyone. i hope someone does this one day for him, he deserves it all ♡

[livin4woso]

Breaking the media

Chapter 5- the incident

CW- brief mention of SA please dont read if it a triggering subject

As the sun peeked through the corner of the blinds it wasnt the blaring sound of your alarm that woke you up it was the calling of your name from alexia "y/n come on you need to get up" she said from the kitchen. Half asleep you clambered out of bed and into the kitchen where a plate with pancakes on waited for you "goodmorning" you said letting your eyes adjust to the light in the room "morning to you too now eat up we can't be late for training" she said while pulling the chair back for you to sit in. After finishing the morning routine and climbing into the passenger seat of the car you made small talk in the car "so how are you enjoying barca" she asked "its good, a lot warmer then back home" you joked "just a question y/n" she asked you hummed in response "i don't want to pry but why are you here by yourself" she asked, you paused before answering "oh well my parents weren't the best for my career they didnt mind when i played at sunderland but when i moved to arsenal i lived with a foster home so when i came here i didn't really have anyone to bring with me" you said trying not to show the sadness on your face it was a sensitive topic for you "im sorry pequeña" she said and rested her hand on top of your leg.

Training was hard today you had been doing fitness tests all day unlike the other girls who had normal training due to being new. It was so they can determine your stamina compared to the others and see how much they can play you on the pitch. "Hey y/n are you going back to yours to pack the rest of your stuff or are you gonna do it later" alexia asked you it was if she had read your mind or if the tiredness had spread across your face "I think I'll do it later, im sorry im just really tired" you said packing your stuff in your bag. You had arrived back at alexias place when you had essentially passed out on her sofa of tiredness "hey pequeña is it okay if mapi and ingrid come over?" She asked bringing a cup of coffee to the table. You just stuck your thumbs up at her you had 0 energy to talk and you needed a shower.

It was friday when you had finally got around to collecting your things from your apartment, the remaining days you noticed how close alexia and mapi were considering as in 4 days you'd seen her and ingrid twice. "Call me when you're done packing and i will bring the car for you" she said as you began to leave the building. Normal you wore your sweats to leave but it was so hot you decided to keep your shorts on. Alexia would have come and helped you pack but unfortunately she had to stay back for media and so did some of the other girls. You began to walk to your apartment when after a couple minutes you had noticed a tall man in all black following close behind you, but before you got to panicked you decided to take a turn which was no where near your house but it was just to check if he was actually following you. Then he turned down the same street all of sudden you started to feel your heart beat to speed up and you did the only thing you could do and that was call alexia.

The call came halfway through media luckily it wasn't alexias shoot, she picked up her phone and saw your contact and had no problem to pick it up and she wandered out to the hall "ale..please help" your voice was quiet and filled with panic "pequeña whats wrong" she asked her voice filled with concern "someone is following me" you said almost in a whisper, the minute she heard this alexia was filled with concern and almost a sense of anger but she needed to stay strong for you "okay amor you need to listen to me, walk to the nearest bus stop the one near the town centre and I'll be on my way" she says "okay please hurry hes getting closer" you said following her instructions as you headed towards the bus stop. She hung up the phone and nearly sprinted to the door when she said that she needed to go but before she drove herself to you she was in no state to drive her hands clenched ready to knock out whoever this was she didn't care if he was 5 foot 4 or 6 foot 6 she would do it. "Mapi i need your help please can you drive me to the bus stop near the cafe y/n is being followed and i said i would get her there" she said frantically to mapi on the phone "yes of course me and ingrid are on the way now" mapi responded grabbing her keys and ingrid to come to the car.

You had made your way to the bus stop when you sat on the furthest seat away and the man sat on the other side of the bench glancing at you every minute or so. You pulled out you phone to try and see how close alexia was to you but from the corner of your eye you could see the man shifting more and more towards you. The text came through to alexias phone 'please hurry he's moving towards me' you practically begged if alexia was driving she would have definitely broke some speed laws and here she sat in the passenger seat of mapis car her leg shaking up and down and worry knitted across her face. As each passing second the man had now made his way beside you his leg pressed against yours, you were helpless there was no one to save you and you couldn't move almost frozen by fear and slowly preparing your self for the worst. "Hey gorgeous whats someone like you doing by yourself" he gritted through his teeth placing his hand on your thigh "none of your business now please leave me alone" you said trying to mask your anxiety through your voice but it didn't stop him. His hands moved further up you leg to your inner thigh just as they were about to reach the hem of your shorts you saw a car pull up. Alexia had seen the sight from a couple hundred metres away and she couldn't believe it she flung the car door open and started shouting in spanish. Mapi quickly followed to restrain alexia from knocking him out "calm down ale, we don't want to cause a scene" mapi said her hand firmly on alexia waist trying to calm her down.

Meanwhile it was ingrid who had come to you, she crouched down infront of you as you were fixated on staring at your thigh you could almost still feel his hand on you. That's when alexia had turned around to face you, you were as pale as a ghost and trembling she reached out to put a hand on your shoulder buf before she could reach ingrid had slapped it away "ale you cant just touch her after she has been touched without consent" ingrid said trying to hide the anger in her voice. Thats when it hit alexia you must be terrified something way worse could have happened if she didn't show up earlier "hey pequeña can i touch you" she said gently you just looked up at her your eyes dwelled with tears. You didn't respond you just launched yourself at alexia and cried into her shoulder " he was.. he was so close ale... i was so scared" you sobbed into her shoulder as she rubbed circles on your back "its okay now you're safe" she whispered into your ear "how about we go home" she said as you nodded in to her shoulder. This time it was alexia who sat in the back as you lay still surgically attached to her as she sat and brushed her hand through your ragged hair you had fallen asleep on her lap as your tears had exhausted you.

You had arrived back home where instead of waking you up she carried you to her bed not yours she wouldn't let you out of her sight not again. Then she turned to mapi and she let out the emotions she was hiding to stay strong you she cried into mapis shoulder "i was so worried about her.. she.. she.. its my fault. I told her to go" alexia said her voice raspy her thoughts could only bring herself to blame herself for what happened "no no ale it wasn't your fault no one could have predicted that it would've happened" mapi said soothing her besf friend. After 10 minutes alexia was ready for bed she was greatful of the catalan who had let her cry on her shoulder but now she only had one place to be and that was next to you. To make sure nothing like this will ever happen again not under her protection she wouldn't let it happen.

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ Line of Sight ❞

poly!Billy Loomis & Stu Macher X easily distracted!reader | fluff | graphic descriptions of violence

Billy and Stu adore their boyfriend, so they keep an eye on him due to the fact that he has this odd but adorable tendency to get...distracted.

#1, PURPLE FLOWERS "D'you believe in past lives?" Billy paused his rummaging and from behind his locker door he peered at his boyfriend, Stu, who was leaning on the row of lockers beside Billy's. "What type of question is that? Ya' been smoking pot again?" his arms, already sore from last night's activities, pinched as he added the weight of the AP Biology textbook among the binders full of notes. He readjusted his grip, shutting the locker as Stu jerked his chin across the hall. Bumping their shoulders together as he mimicked Stu's pose, Billy's gaze followed Stu's to the windows that lead to the school's front yard. There (Y/N) was, knees tucked under him and backpack forgotten by his side with his face in gentle awe at the flowers that had grown near one of the trees. That would explain why you weren't in the hallways like your boyfriends were. You probably were on your way but caught a glimpse of those purple petals and simply could not resist yourself. "I'm guessing that in his past life, he was a puppy" Stu chuckled. "Small attention span, ya' know? Gnawing on your ankles, trippin' over his widdle paws" Billy cocked a brow, a lopsided grin climbing his face at Stu's curled hands swiping at the air - like a puppy, he says. Billy thinks he looks like a lanky mantis shrimp. "Does he know classes are about to start?" he asked and Stu laughed. "S'he look like he does? Come on, let's collect our puppy and send him on his way" he all but cooed. The taller of the two shouldered open the school doors, wincing as he'd inadvertently put pressure on a cut he'd received - also from last night's endeavours. "What d'you think I was in my past life, Billy boy?" he let the question linger in the air as they came up behind (Y/N), who was none the wiser. He never got his answer, not that he minded, because (Y/N) had turned his attention to the murderous duo with a blinding smile that made the sun burn with jealousy as the winds ushered the clouds away like show curtains - it still paled in comparison to (Y/N)’s beauty.

“Classes are about to start” Billy put his back to the tree whilst Stu plopped himself next to (Y/N). “I know” bemoaned (Y/N) “but I saw these and they just reminded me of you two” he presented them with a mice-sized bouquet of fragile, dusty purple flowers with a deep vinyl colour in the centre, and meekly twirled it between his thumb and pointer fingers.

“We aren’t pretty like some dainty flower” Stu plucked it from (Y/N)’s hold, its petals tickling his boyfriend’s cheek as Stu tucked it by his ear. “But I am?” (Y/N) mused, squinting his eyes at Stu. Billy’s touch, which had always been cold, sent shivers as he placed his hand on (Y/N)’s head; “The prettiest little devil we’ve ever met”

The bell rang but the three boys stayed ever so enamoured with each other, more and more flowers decorating each other.

Everyone paid no mind as purple flowers kept falling from (Y/N) as he moved from class to class - though the nickname flower boy persisted for a few weeks despite how uncreative it was. (Y/N)’s boyfriends thought it was cute.

#2, COOL ROCK

In all honesty, Stu wondered why Billy had chosen this location as a date. He constitutes eating with a good movie, cuddling, making-out, and maybe some bed shaking sex as a good date not taking a walk through the Woodsboro woods.

But, it was nice.

The tests and quizzes…thank fuck this would be the final test for a good while before university rolls in. Well, that is if he aces it.

“Baby” he snaps out from his reveries and turns to see (E/C) coloured eyes with their eyebrows sloped in concern. “You went quiet, everything okay?” Billy halts from ahead, hands shoved in his pockets as he wonders why the two had lagged.

“Yeah, yeah” Stu’s rubs the back of his head and his shoulders droop as (Y/N)’s fingers slip in his hands.

“What’s up?” Billy inquired once they caught up. (Y/N) shakes his head, telling him not to worry too much as he reaches to hold Billy’s hands as well. “He thought he heard something” he soothed them both by rubbing his thumb over their lightly bruised knuckles. “Yeah?” Billy didn’t sound convinced and (Y/N) pursed his lips at him as they made eye-contact.

“Yeah, wolf or something…” Stu continued which made Billy eye him then glance around unsurely. (Y/N) snorted, rolling his eyes. People assumed Billy was the cool headed, suave, Cassanova. Which, to his credit, he was...sometimes. Meanwhile, people assume Stu was the airheaded, frantic, hyperactive comedy relief of your relationship.

They did not know how romantic Stu was, or how smart he was. His extrovertedness along with his bubbly attitude was often mistaken as some sort of weakness - if only they knew how terrifying it was how closely intergrated Ghostface was in Stu’s very soul.

How for Billy, he can hang the robe and mask in the closet. Despite how it peers from the darkness, creaks it open and makes the walls shake from its breathing when it demanded attention.

Stu? The line between him and the mask was a blurred line in the sand that he barely notices. He is Ghostface, with or without the mask.

He’s like…he’s like a…an…a…

There was a twinkle from the corner of (Y/N)’s eyes.

Your boyfriend’s were debating the existence of a wolf and mountain lion hybrid when you spotted the glimmering ‘gem’.

“After this, we’re getting something nice and warm, right?” Stu batted his lashes and Billy nodded, not quite registering the loss of weight and warmth from his left hand as he peeked at the treetops. “Yeah, might be good, it’s getting pretty cold lately” Stu allowed the satisfying crunches of the dead leaves on the forest floor to distract him from (Y/N)’s hand slipping away.

That and Stu’s anxiety of the uncertain future with Billy simultaneously unsure of how to bring the topic up himself. Thankfully, Stu unknowingly made a segway to the conversation for the perfect opening.

“Why’d you even drag us out here, Billy?” Stu whined, kicking a stick out of the way. Billy paused, sighing a bit and moving to bump their shoulders.

“You looked like you were about to damn near cry while staring at your textbook and my head was about to explode anyways, so was our (Y/N)’s. I figured a walk in the woods would help us” Stu realizes that it was more for him because Billy had been silently skimming through some English assignment while (Y/N) had been half-asleep on Stu’s bed. He pressed a kiss to Billy’s jaw, effectively making them pause as he fully held Billy’s face in his hands to kiss him.

He mumbled (Y/N)’s name into the kiss while the corners of his mouth lifting as he grasped Stu’ waist; “(Y/N) also promised me I’d get some kisses from both of my boys if I did as I was asked, he suggested it…” Stu wondered why he stopped midsentence but then he looked around, blood going cold as all he saw was trees and more trees.

“(Y/N)! Baby!” Stu called, interlacing his fingers with Billy as they called out for you. They weren’t too worried about scouring the woods for you as they dredge through here at night often - to evade curious eyes as they carried their equipment around - along with the fact that you couldn’t have possibly been that far.

“(Y/N), come on! Where are you, doll?” Billy called out, retracing their steps down the path as they attempted to spot their darling boyfriend.

“I’m here!” a voice came from behind an overturned tree, the two raced over and blinked owlishly as (Y/N) held up his palm to show them -

“A rock?” Billy brushed his bangs back, holding it in his hand as he turned it around. He even held it up to catch the light, it twinkled shyly under (Y/N)’s lovers gaze.

“It’s a pretty rock! It’s shiny!” he defended as he rose from his knees, dusting the dirt away from his (insert bottom attire).

“You seriously let go of our hands for a rock, baby?” (Y/N) pouted as Stu pulled him into his side, pressing a kiss to his temple all while Billy continued to inspect the rock. “Hey, quit it! I’ve never seen a rock as shiny as that, okay” he huffed, reaching for it while Billy evaded his attempts.

“No, no, answer his question” Billy ‘frowned’ and Stu giggled, “A rock over us?”

“You guys are assholes!” (Y/N) exclaimed making his boyfriends laugh with complete glee.

The shiny rock stayed on Stu’s desk, googly eyes glued on as it weighed down a note that read;

Don’t lose your head over the small stuff. You’ve got this, baby. We love you - (Y/N) + Billy ♡

#3, SHINY KEYS?

In all fairness, (Y/N) thought it was lovely how his boyfriends insist on either one of them holding his hand or both at the same time. But surely, they must not think he was that helpless. Call him crazy but clammy hands was not a cute thing to feel despite how nice of a gesture it was to be holding hands. He’d slipped away a few times, only a few! Nothing bad happened. If anything, most of the time, (Y/N) came back with trinkets!

Well, there was that one time when Stu was hosting a party to let loose and some guy’s cousin from a neighbouring high school had shoot his shot which ended with him getting practically beheaded with a hunting knife by two annoyed Ghostface’s a week or so later.

But, (Y/N) was completely fine!

“I am not that bad” he retorted for the fourth time and Billy simply squeezed their hand and kissed his temple.

“Don’t be a big baby about it”

“Yeah, you saying ya’ don’t like holding hands?” Stu swings their arms together and (Y/N)’s mouth twitches as he fights the urge to smile. “M’not a big baby, I’m a grown man!” a few heads turned towards the trio as they made their way down the street. “Yeah, because grown men yell that they’re grown men” Billy grunted as he was elbowed. “I will castrate you” (Y/N) hissed, “You like my dick too much to do that” he braced himself for another elbow but Stu’s gasp saved him from the wrath of his boyfriend.

“Dude, they opened up an ice cream and waffle place!” Stu tugged his boyfriends across the street, (Y/N) yelping as frantically made sure they weren’t going to become the first hand-holding trio to end up in the ER as some sort of human pretzel’s.

“Jesus, didn’t take long to replace that shitty old man’s shop” Billy muttered with a cruel smirk. The butcher who used to own the shop lot had been a mean asshole who often sold even older cuts of meat for a hefty price. He’d brag his family had practically been the first butchers in Woodsboro and how it was a piece of the town’s history when one bought his product.

You’d think with that as a selling point more people would’ve mourned when he ended up as a corpse, bled-out and hanging from the hook in some pig farmer’s barn. The brutality certaintly shocked everyone but the funeral service held for him had been a dreary affair, with only a handful of people.

“His kid sold it” (Y/N) said as he looked at the menu on the chalkboard sign propped next to the door, “Heard from his grandkid, ya’ know Brandon from theatre?” Billy nodded “Yeah, well, his grandpa was in debt so Brandon’s father decided to sell it”.

“Brandon is related to that geriatric bag of bones?” Stu laughed, clutching his stomach. His boyfriends joined. Well, to be far, the guy was the nicest person you could possibly meet so it was a jarring surprise to know he is related to such a grumpy man.

“Think we did him a favour” Billy curled an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulder with his other placed on his hip. “When Christmas rolls around, I’m betting he’ll get some extra shit out of pity” he continued while Stu moved forward to peek inside the store.

A few familiar faces stuck out to him, they waved in recognition and he glanced at Billy and (Y/N) to gesture for them to head in. Shrrugging, they went along. Stu was the most extroverted - a natural people’s person. It wasn’t unusual for him to be pulled aside to chat with someone. Neither Billy nor (Y/N) minded, especially in this case seeing as they could squeeze in some dessert.

A group of people walked towards the entrance as the three walked in, a gasp of Stu’s name making traffic stop.

Truth be told, Billy had thought he had him leashed to him by his hand alone but by the time the group of school mates had passed through the threshold, he was not there.

Cue the usual song and dance of the lovers heads swivelling and eyes darting to catch a glimpse of (Y/N).

Stu motioned for his friends to wait as he stepped out fully and called out (Y/N)’s name.

“Stu, I’m here!” came the sheepish reply, there he stood in front of a neighbouring store. Their shoulders sagged in relief, lips pursed endearingly as they walked to stand on either side of him.

It was an antique store. Billy swore he could smell it through the display glass, the dust and nostalgia of all sorts of trinkets that were once loved. (Y/N) lifted his hand and pointed to a clever showcase of keys on a string that decorated the top left and rights of the display window. Big, old and clunky but swaying ever so slightly from th ventilation within the store.

They twinkled under the light.

“Puppy,” Stu snickered which earned a head tilt from (Y/N) - it further cemented his claim.

#4, PIZZA

They did it. They fucking did it. They graduated. What better way to celebrate then a date at the new mall?

Stu had outdone his usual parties with the one he had thrown just a few days ago - the three of you were still finding confetti in all sorts of corners in Stu’s house - it was a real Gatsby. Even Billy had found himself dancing in the crowd, feverishly and unabashedly squeezing (Y/N) between Stu and himself.

Now, with that done and over with, it was time for a more private celebration.

(Y/N)’s boyfriends were keeping him in the centre, Stu’s hand around his waist while Billy held a few bags of dorm essentials. Last-minute shopping squeezed into a date, it was usual with the boy’s hectic life and double life.

“That movie sucked” Stu said, “fake blood never looked faker”. (Y/N) rolled his eyes, placing his head on Stu’s shoulder.

“Not everyone’s a murder and horror movie expert, Mr Ghostface” Stu narrowed his eyes at (Y/N)’s teasing tone, grip tightening. He knew what that particular nickname did to his lovers. Billy’s stomach grumbling made their eyes shoot towards his warm face.

“Hungry, baby?” (Y/N) received a sigh and nod. They continued walking as they wondered what they should eat. This mall was huge, and all sorts of restaurants were squeezed into every corner. But that was not where the problem lay.

“Why the fuck would I eat raw fish?” Stu scoffed “We might as well hit the pet store and ate the goldfish”.

“A California roll isn’t as fucking stupid as Italian food made from some American red neck” Billy snapped “I’m the one that’s fucking hungry, I should choose”.

“Nah, no - (Y/N), you choose”

A pause, the escalator they were on continued it’s task of sending the two boys to the upper level with their lover nowhere to be seen.

Unlike the times before, however, calling out your name and retracing their steps did not work. For the first time, they felt cold sweat erupt as they shared a glance. Sure, no real harm could have come to (Y/N), and he was full and well capable of protecting himself. But he was also someone that had walked into a pole, thrice.

“(Y/N)” Billy called out as he and Stu reached the third floor of the mall, nearing the kid’s arcades and all when he finally spotted (Y/N)…

Talking to someone in a brown bear mascot that had a top hat, bow tie and microphone in one of his hands.

“(Y/N)!” he perked up as his boyfriends came into view and waved them over. The man who wore the suit narrowed his eyes at the two, a flash of recognition in his eyes as they came by (Y/N)’s side.

“David, this is Billy and Stu, Billy and Stu, David” Billy paid little attention, just noticing the fact that one of the gloves David was supposed to wear was off and in his hand was a cell phone.

(Y/N)’s name typed down along with his number.

Stu slipped his hands around (Y/N)’s waist, slipping a hand up his shirt which he did little to react too - seemingly used to it.

David’s face fell, expression clear as day despite the shadows of the suit.

“He was talking about this deal they had!” (Y/N) chirped out, showing them the flyer with the establisments name written in a whimsical font.

FREDDY FAZBEAR’S GRAND OPENING!

“How’d you even find this place?” Billy took the flyer, feigning interest as he cocked a brow at David. Who, by the way, realized where he recognized (Y/N) from; he was the boyfriend of Billy Loomis and Stu Macher and he was untouchable.

“While you two were arguing I saw a flyer so I decided to scope around, didn’t think you’d mind considering how serious the discussion of spaghetti and sushi was” he mused, leaning against Billy as he passed the flyer to Stu who had not let his eyes leave the poor part-timer.

“And David…explained the deal?” Stu inquired and (Y/N) nodded “Yeah, we even exchanged our numbers so he’d get us the best seats in the house” he cooed and David shifted uncomfortably as (Y/N)’s boyfriends gazed at him with daggers in their eyes.

“Why the hell would we even eat a kids place with creepy animatronics?” Stu retorted “Let’s bounce, this is laaame”.

There was an edge in Stu’s voice. It often did when he decided to use this sharp-tongued persona - which rarely came out…unless he was particularly annoyed.

(Y/N) rolled his eyes but shrugged and gave David an apology as they eventually walked off to some sushi place.

—

“Woodsboro police department reports the dead body found within the suit of the Freddy Fazbear Pizzaeria mascot is identified to be David Perron. His body was found mutilated and stuffed within the mascot and dragged into the ball pit of the establishment. Authorities are saying this might be the work of the infamous serial killer, Ghostface -“

Stu turns the radio off, (Y/N) squealing as he bounced his knees - effectively making the boy in his lap jump and hold him tighter.

“Stu!” he laughed, the wind in his hair as Billy rested a hand on the back Stu’s headrest. The roof of Billy’s new convertible was down, letting the three lovers feel the blissful breeze and gentle warmth of the California sun.

“Bounce, bounce!” Stu cheered which made Billy peek at the two of them from over the rim of his sunglasses.

“Come on, baby, celebrate!”

“I’m not jumping on your lap in the car! Dumbass!” Stu was no deterred as giggles poured out of (Y/N)’s mouth, his lips attacking (Y/N)’s neck with tongue and teeth.

“The sweater looks better on the floor” Stu purred, hissing sharply as Billy tugged his hair back as he nonchalantly drove with one hand on the wheel. The sweater all three of them were wearing had the logo of the university they’d been accepted into and the one they were making their way towards.

“Billy” Stu whined, the wind muffling it as (Y/N) leaned to kiss Billy and shortly after, turned the radio on. Their favourite song blasted and the lovers rode off, cheering and whooping.

[lix-ables]

the escort.

pairing — lee minho x reader | fake dating(?)!au

word count — 1052 words

rating — 18+ mdni.

genre — smut, includes teasing, slight hand kink, teeny bit of fingering, light biting, mentions of deep throating and slight corruption.

NOTE — yes i may have read the kiss quotient a long time ago and fell in love with michael phan, and that inspired this, what about it? shut up i maybe a closeted hopeless romantic after all. hopefully this fic makes up for the next two weeks till my tests are done sigh. but also hello hi @tasteleeknow please take this as a mini birthday gift tehehe and for also omg being such an amazing writer??? also @lino-nyangi i need help this man is just

it was that damn shirt again.

the same black buttoned down shirt he wore when he first walked into your apartment and had you laid out on your couch, kneeled down on your floor while his fingers made their way all the way down to your thighs and squeezed them. just once. but the look he had in his eyes, and the cocky smirk that sat on his now cold face, the stare that never left you when he had you whining and weak in his arms as he let those same fingers tease your inner thighs, tracing circles to your skin which made you shiver.

how many button downs does this man own?

“already?” minho lifts up a brow, interrupting your thoughts, when he spreads your legs before his eyes set on the stain at the centre of your underwear and you cursed at yourself mentally. “and, i haven’t done anything yet,” he sighs, watching your face once again as he lets his fingers trace that same stain, eyes searching for any signs of visible pleasure on your face, making you feel like he was staring into your soul. “i asked you a question, darling.” “mhmm,” you nod, humming at the sound of his voice – it was low, almost gravelly you noticed, but now wasn’t the time to think about how his voice was, especially now when minho was in the process of getting you completely stripped out of your clothes.

but this was not supposed to happen. this thing(i) with minho was supposed to be a one time thing – to forget about your annoying ex with his stupid dick inside someone else’s cunt and yet here you were, for the third time this week, with this man’s fingers ready to fuck you, again. here you were, for the third time this week, in your apartment when you’re going to find yourself waking up to him leaving at the crack of dawn, just after making sure for the fifth time that you were well taken care of. the third time since the month started, with your mind filled with just minho’s fingers, and the way he bit lightly yet expertly, if you had to put it, into your inner thigh, marking you almost, as you sat in your bathtub, and fingered yourself twice(i) till your body could no longer take it, and your thighs were shuddering. then you remembered, that was just this afternoon, before you got out to meet him. how does he fucking do that?

if your either of your best friends saw you right now, not in this specific position of you, on the couch, your hair in a messy bun, ready to be brain-dumb with no thoughts in your head except for how gorgeous and addictive this man’s hands were – you didn’t want to think about it.

“your head’s not here,” minho whispers into your ear, leaning away from you and stands up, buttoning up his shirt again. you blink your eyes  at the man in front of you, propping up on your elbows as you watch him closely. “w-what?” you mumble at, you weren’t sure if what you said even made sense to him. “i said your head is not here, darling. you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“i was just thinking about the day before,” you let out. the day before. the last time you saw minho, and the last time you went on a dinner with him, where he took you to a restaurant near your apartment, one that you never really went to before, and then brought you back home safe, with his palm resting at your lower back as he guided you inside before pushing you lightly up against the wall, locking the door behind him while his fingers tucked your hair behind your ear, his eyes on you the whole time.

“what about the day before?” minho asks, sitting down next you, picking your legs up and resting them on his lap, his fingers absentmindedly tracing more patterns to your bare calf. “i liked it,” you smile a little, getting shy right after as you play back what exactly happened the day before. “you know i like it when you use your words, hmm?” minho says after a moment of silence, leaning back on the couch and tilts his head to face you properly. his fingers never stop for a minute, distracting you from what he was saying. “tell me, what about the day before?” he hums, finally grabbing your attention, a small smile visible on his face now. “i can tell you what i liked about it,” he sighs, lifting a hand up, raking his fingers through his now tousled hair. you hum in response, the sound left your throat, you realised, and you found yourself turning red at the noise you made.

“the day before, was the first time i made you come against the wall. i couldn’t take you past the door that day,” minho recalls, his fingers coming to a stop on your thighs, resting there before continuing, his eyes closed. “you should’ve seen how pretty you looked, with your hair let down, and your fingers clutching onto your dress because i told you to, and my face between your pretty thighs. i wanted to mark you up that day, red, maybe some purple too, if you let me,” he opens his eyes again, only to find you staring at him, your face pink from how shy you were getting at his words.

“the day before, was also the first time i wanted to fuck your throat. i wanted to fuck your throat since the first time i laid eyes on you, but i thought, you’d be too shy, too precious to break. until of course, you came for me, five times, if i counted right, with your legs shaking and my fingers deep inside that cunt,” minho finshed, this time, getting up from where he sat, and moved to the floor again, his hand in yours, pulling you with him, as he made you sit on the couch.

“you’d let me do that again, won’t you?” he mumbles, bringing your fingers to his lips, kissing your fingertips as his eyes looked at your face. “you’d come for me again won’t you, darling?”

taglist. @hwajin @starlostseungmin @chrisbahng @niinjo @chvnnie @lixhues @joonszn @cherryhanji @blueberry-chan @dnadoublefelixx @ethereallino @stuckwithaphobiaa @chewryy @bangchanbabygirlx @zizis-world12 @aimeexx @whatudowhennooneseesyou @nightlychans @americanokisses @katieraven @comet-falls @hwan-g @svintsandghosts @idek-at-this-point-lol

[girl-next-door-writes]

Now and Then

Characters: Mycroft Holmes x reader

Summary: A bustling airport lounge had Mycroft contemplating the future and what his life could become with you.

Word Count: 1383 word

Prompt: Airport. Seeing them with kids/baby. Making you taste test. “You know you’re stuck with me, right?”

A/N: This is the penultimate part of my Build-A-Festive-Fics so thank you to the utterly brilliant @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek who put these prompts together for the lovely Mr Holmes. This can be seen as a second part to my first Build-A-Festive-Fic is you like.

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Another year, another airport. There were times Mycroft wondered if it wouldn’t be more economical to invest in a private jet. The airport lounge at Christmas was a festive oasis amidst the hustle and bustle of holiday travel. As travellers awaited their flights, the lounge became a haven of seasonal cheer and comfort. Twinkling lights adorn every available surface, casting a warm and inviting glow throughout the space. Garlands of pine and red ribbon drape elegantly over counters and railings, infusing the air with the nostalgic scent of Christmas.

A towering Christmas tree, adorned with an eclectic mix of ornaments, took centre stage, its branches sparkling with lights and reflecting the colours of the season. Beneath the tree, carefully wrapped presents create a sense of anticipation, adding to the overall festive ambiance. Soft instrumental renditions of classic holiday tunes play in the background, creating a melodic backdrop that adds to the joyful atmosphere.

Mycroft lingered by the bar, a gentle smile gracing his lips as he observed you near the resplendent Christmas tree. You stood with a small girl in your arms, enthusiastically pointing out the various types of decorations that adorned its branches. There was a warmth in your interactions that tugged at his heart, an ache that had become all too familiar in recent times. The sight of you with the child painted a poignant picture of familial bliss, a scene that both touched and unsettled him in equal measure.

Sherlock's deep voice sliced through Mycroft's contemplative silence, injecting a note of teasing smugness. "Thinking about the future, brother mine?"

"I was simply observing," Mycroft replied, his tone steady, though a subtle softness lingered beneath his composed exterior.

Sherlock, ever perceptive, leaned into the banter. "Observing the love of your life holding a small child and absolutely not wondering about what that might look like if you had one of your own."

Mycroft's lips tightened imperceptibly, a flicker of irritation crossing his otherwise impassive features. "It had not even crossed my mind," he declared with a carefully measured hum, attempting to deflect the conversation away from the unspoken thoughts that lingered in the recesses of his mind. Yet, a keen observer might catch the hint of vulnerability in his eyes, betraying the depth of emotion stirred by the scene before him.

In the quiet recesses of his mind, Mycroft found himself entertaining the notion of what life might be like with a little one in tow. The prospect of sharing knowledge, moulding a young mind, and experiencing the unpredictable chaos that parenthood promised had begun to weave itself into the fabric of his contemplations. An unexpected warmth enveloped him at the mental image of guiding a curious mind through life's intricacies, embracing the potential chaos as a welcomed disruption to his meticulously ordered existence.

Despite these musings, Mycroft had yet to broach the subject with you. The various paths to parenthood lingered unspoken, a myriad of possibilities silently contemplated but carefully kept in the realm of his private reflections. Whether through traditional means, adoption, or other avenues, the desire for a family remained a quietly nurtured aspiration within Mycroft's heart.

Sherlock chuckled knowingly, taking a sip of his drink. "You may fool the entire everyone else, brother, but you can't fool me. You're a romantic at heart, even if you hide it beneath layers of bureaucracy. You are not the Iceman you once were."

Mycroft shot him a stern look, but Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow in response. The truth was, Mycroft Holmes, the enigmatic and powerful government official, had a softer side that few were privy to. The prospect of family, of a life beyond the intricacies of political manoeuvring and clandestine operations, was something he couldn't help but entertain since you had entered his life.

As you approached with Rosie and John, Mycroft smoothly shifted the conversation. "And what have you been conspiring about over there?" he asked, his tone impeccably composed.

You grinned, the little one in your arms giggling. "We were just discussing the best strategy for decorating the tree. It seems you have a budding interior designer on your hands, John. She has very definite ideas about what belongs on a tree."

Mycroft's gaze softened as he looked at the two of you, a twinge of warmth in his eyes. "Indeed, it appears so. Perhaps we should let our young prodigy take the lead in the decorations next year."

Sherlock smirked, detecting the subtle shift in Mycroft's demeanour. "I never thought I'd see the day when my brother willingly allowed his home to be decorated for the festive season. It seems we have a Christmas miracle."

Your laughter echoed through the air as you handed little Rosie over to John, a sense of warmth lingering in the atmosphere. Placing a gentle hand on Mycroft's arm, you remarked, "It's a season of surprises, after all."

Meanwhile, Rosie, in her father's arms, couldn't contain her curiosity, her tiny hands reaching for the enticing display of sugar cookies on the bar. Without hesitation, you purchased one, starting to unwrap it before a thoughtful pause crossed your face.

"Oh, do you think these might be a little too sweet for her? Mycroft, darling, can you try a bit?" You turned to him, holding out the cookie, expecting him to automatically acquiesce.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, a mild protest forming on his lips. "Me?"

With a playful grin, you teased, "Well, you are the one with the sweet tooth."

The accusation, albeit light-hearted, was one Mycroft couldn't deny. With a small sigh of mock frustration, he broke off a corner of Rudolph's ear and placed it into his mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, he declared, "Not as sugary as one might think, given the season."

John accepted the cookie gratefully, making his way to an empty table where Rosie eagerly indulged in the festive treat. As you and Sherlock observed the adorable scene, Mycroft slyly purchased a couple of cookies for himself, slipping them discreetly into his jacket pocket.

Sherlock sauntered over to join John and Rosie, his penchant for imparting unconventional knowledge evident as he began explaining to the small child the reasons why Rudolph might be a female reindeer rather than male. Mycroft, standing nearby, couldn't help but wear a bemused expression as he watched his eccentric brother engage with the little girl.

"Your brother is infuriating, but he is surprisingly good with children." You mused, leaning against Mycroft and letting your arm slip around his waist.

"Unnervingly so," Mycroft replied, his attention momentarily divided, a faint frown forming on his usually composed features.

Sensing a slight distraction in Mycroft's demeanour, you decided to break the quiet moment with a question, hoping to offer some reassurance. "You know you're stuck with me, right?"

The unexpected inquiry caught him off guard, and Mycroft looked down at you, raising an eyebrow. "I am not 'stuck' with you; that would imply I am unhappy with the arrangement. I rather fear it is you who is 'stuck'."

Your laughter filled the air, and Mycroft couldn't help but allow a small, fond smile to grace his lips. The banter, the shared moments, and the ease with which you complemented each other had become an integral part of his life—a fact he wouldn't trade for anything.

Your words carried a tender sincerity that caused a subtle shift in Mycroft's usually composed countenance. The glint in your eyes hinted at a depth of understanding that made him wonder if you had somehow glimpsed his recent musings.

"I think you would be a rather brilliant father, just so you know," you declared nonchalantly, your eyes twinkling with genuine affection.

Mycroft, momentarily caught off guard by the heartfelt compliment, allowed a softness to touch his features. "Perhaps that is a discussion for the New Year. Right now, we have to sit through an eight-hour plane journey with a toddler."

His attention returned to Rosie, who was thoroughly engrossed in creating a masterpiece on Sherlock's shirt with crumbled cookie and icing. The amusing chaos brought a small smile to Mycroft's face, a silent acknowledgment of the unpredictable joys that parenthood might bring.

"First things first," you agreed, acknowledging the immediate reality of the plane journey ahead and the shared journeys which might present themselves in the not too distant future.

[mintharan]

I've been burdened with terrible visions. Walk with me.

It struck me how Spawn Astarion with Duke Wyll and Ascended Astarion with Duke Wyll could work as negatives of each other.

For instance, Wyll marries spawn Astarion, they are so happy everyone around them gets hit with the fallout. Wyll singlehandedly makes nightly soirees a thing. "I just think parties should happen at night, there's no point in holding any kind of grand event during the day if you really think about it." Just so Astarion can attend and be the centre of attention and speculation.

Everyone wonders about the Duke's mysterious husband who never goes out during the day. Rumours abound. "I hear Duke Ravengard is extremely jealous and doesn't let his husband out of his sight, locks him up inside the house so none may gaze upon him." "Nonsense, I hear the man is actually a pale drow and the sun hurts his eyes." "More nonsense, I hear he's an insufferable prick who thinks everyone is beneath him and only comes out at night because the sun makes other people's flaws too apparent."

You get the gist of it. Astarion delights in having all these rumours about himself, and tells Wyll to stop trying to dispel them. "Darling, the people of Baldur's Gate get bored easily, let them speculate, it's better than starting yet another cult." They adopt Lily Aurora, who Astarion raises to be a menace. Wyll thinks she's just darling even as people look in horror as she attempts to chew the furniture.

It's all very sweet, despite Astarion's occasional maudlin periods about not being able to go out into the sun.

Now, Ascended Astarion and Duke Wyll get exactly the same story, except no one's happy about it.

This works best imo if they were together before Astarion's ascension and then Wyll broke it off. In this case he'd choose to become a Duke out of an extreme sense of duty to protect the people of Baldur's Gate from the monster Astarion had become.

They would orbit each other constantly, Wyll reminding Astarion that he couldn't go too far without consequence and Astarion testing the limits of Wyll's feelings for him (the love was still there, just twisted).

Eventually the loneliness gets to them both, but mostly to Wyll, who can never get over Astarion, and in a moment of weakness gives in. It feels like a victory to Astarion at first, but like everything else about Ascension he soon realizes it's hollow.

Wyll isn't happy about compromising his morals, even if it's for love, and he despairs in not recognizing the man he fell for in Astarion. Wyll tries to end it many times, but Astarion has him wrapped around his finger, with sex, but mostly with the mimicry of the romance they enjoyed during their early courtship.

Astarion fears one day he'll leave him for good and that he'll be alone. Again. Haunting the halls of his former prison with only his memories for company.

So he brings Lily home, and at first Wyll is horrified but soon he finds comfort in the child's presence. He stays home for longer periods of time. Less 'Duke' duties take him away from Astarion. He's a fucking genius, he solved it.

Except it's obvious Wyll loves the child more than he loves Astarion. He takes to being a father like a duck to water, and while he's home more often all his time is spent with their daughter. His daughter really, he seems to think Astarion will be a bad influence on Lily if he as much as breathes near her.

So his grand plan backfired and now he's so jealous he can barely see straight. He wishes he could take back the damn girl and return her to the Ilmater priests.

But then he remembers. Cazador had made good use of a father's love for his daughter when he made Leon do everything he wanted to keep Violet safe.

Astarion starts doing the same, manipulating Wyll with veiled threats to Lily's life. Wyll knows exactly what he's doing, but he's powerless to do anything. Astarion got the child on his own, they're not married, Wyll has no rights to her.

But he could have, Astarion reminds him. Dangling the promise like a noose. If he agreed to become Astarion's consort, he could have everything.

"Have I not been made into enough of a monster?"

"Darling, at least we'd be monsters together."

It all comes to a head when Astarion threatens to turn Lily instead. "Think about it, she'd be your sweet child forever. She'll never grow up to blame you for anything."

Wyll gives in, allows Astarion to turn him and becomes his consort. They get married, it's a grand event, with the whole city in attendance.

Astarion is triumphant, Wyll is resigned. He becomes more accommodating to Astarion's whims, and Astarion wonders if that's the result of his influence over him through their bond, or Wyll finally accepting the love he can give him.

It kills him that he'll never know.

Astarion has everything he ever wanted, he just wishes he could be happy about it. Wyll still dreams about the shy kisses they traded on an empty beach with only the moon for a witness. Another life.

[orkbutch]

for the ficlet, what about someone getting hunted down by another character? whether it's flirty or murderous is up to you

Hot. I'm going with the obvious pair, imo.

---

Shadowheart moved in near silence through the thickest part of the wilderness’ woods. She had run through a manicured portion of the forest used for hunting and foraging, too open and touched by moonlight to avoid her pursuer. Here in the dense centre, the underbrush grew tall enough to disappear into. The trees grew close and wild, their layered canopies filtering the moon until there was utter darkness.

She crept slowly, her heart beat loud in her ears. She was focused on trying to see where her hunter was. Shadowheart knew she could see better in the dark. But her hunter was tricky, unpredictable, and very motivated. She knew this had been coming eventually. Euphoria was always so wrapped up in Karlach, she hadn’t listened to Shadowheart’s warnings - hadn’t taken her seriously. But she was serious.

A glint of silver in the dark. Shadowheart’s insides lurched, but she repressed any sudden movement. But then something snapped so close to her it seemed deafening, and she launched into a sprint away from that glint of silver.

Quick and so easily, Shadowheart was swept from her feet and crushed ruthlessly against a tree. The body pinning her was sturdy as iron and warm with activity, smelled sweetly alien, like a musky flower she’d never encountered in her life. One calloused hand pinned her arm, while the other had grasped her jaw tight, and held her head twisted back.

“Le’ me go,” she said painfully, her jaw complaining at the angle it had been crushed into. 

“Silence, istik. It is clear from your behaviour that this is what you’ve wanted all along. I am only answering you finally.”

Shadowheart had been antagonising her. Their spat over the artefact that night had brought things to a boil, and Shadowheart had known no matter what Lae’zel had said to Euphoria, the Githyanki would not let the matter lie so easily.

Shadowheart could only wait for some point of weakness and try to break free. Then, it would be a matter of speed. Kill or be killed. “Don’t act like you haven’t been waiting to pounce,” Shadowheart muttered snidely. 

“You’re right,” Lae’zel said, her voice touched by amusement. “I would not be here if I didn’t want this. Not that you made it easy. You are painfully dishonest, even with yourself.”

Shadowheart tested moving, but Lae’zel clamped down on her like a bear trap. She frowned as she processed what Lae’zel had said. “What are you talking about, Gith?”

She was suddenly released and spun to face Lae’zel, pressed back into the tree by her shoulders. Lae’zel was in nothing but her strappy leather kit. She regarded Shadowheart impassively, and then kissed her very firmly.

Shadowheart’s brain stuttered to a stop. Lae’zel’s lips moved against hers, her tongue brushed the line of her mouth. Shadowheart’s lips parted automatically, and she was drawn into a dizzying kiss, held hot and tight against the rough bark, in Lae’zel’s immovable arms. 

They broke apart breathlessly. Shadowheart stared into Lae’zel’s eyes, her thoughts lagging back to the present. “I thought you wanted to kill me,” Shadowheart said breathily.

Lae’zel’s eyebrows drew together. “We agreed to work together, yes?”

“Yes.”

“I intend to honour my word.” 

“... And you thought I wanted this? From the beginning?”

Lae’zel caught her in another kiss, her hand curling over the back of Shadowheart’s neck and squeezing. It made Shadowheart’s legs tremble, some embarrassing whimper spilling from her lips. Lae’zel pulled back, infuriatingly smug.

“You wanted this.”

[strxnged]

TIGHNARI: # the roots of ambition.

CHAPTER II. In which your research is disturbed by several events, and Collei is told a bedtime story.

Word count. 2.6k. Genre. Found family, gn!reader.

Table of Contents. / Next chapter.

It was your first time in Gandharva Ville, and it was nothing like you expected.

You’d heard about the treetop huts, and the winding paths between them. You’d anticipated the culture of the Forest Rangers and the rustic lives they kept. You couldn’t have been mistaken about the smells or sounds of wildlife around the village. No, it was something you couldn’t have prepared yourself for with all the knowledge in the world.

Everyone was so friendly. As compared with Sumeru City, the glowing diversity of food vendors and perfume smells had been replaced by chatter of Forest Rangers with one another, with the nature around them, and with your entering group that day around noon. 

“General Watchleader, how was your journey?” — “Collei, how are you feeling? You should get some rest.” — “Amir, come and see how your pups are doing!” — “Forest Watcher Tighnari, I finished a rash cream prototype!” — “Hello, who’s this you’ve picked up, sir?”

You realized this question addressed you. You smiled, “I’m an Amurta scholar.”

The woman who had asked the question replied with a knowing grin, “Ah. Not for long, dear.”

Tighnari’s hut sat near the centre of the village and there was no door on the way in—simply a large leaf he pushed aside for himself and you. He pulled a chair out from a desk and said, “Please, sit. Why don’t we go over your research goals?”

You obliged. 

“I’m interested in the current state of fungal mycelium as the ecology of our nation changes drastically. Especially, I want to understand the changing role of mycorrhizal networks between trees.”

“With the spread of Withering Zones.”

You nodded.

“I see. How are you testing it?”

“I’m trying to collect samples from healthy soil and from soil near Withering Zones. Or, I was, before I was so rudely interrupted.”

“Before you were almost so rudely killed,” Tighnari sassed.

“The fungi wouldn’t have been aggravated if you’d left me alone!”

Tighnari only laughed. “We do apologize for the inconvenience. So, what do you hypothesize? Do you expect the control group to associate with Adhigama saplings, and for the fungal mycelium from areas at risk to infect them?”

“Based on the circulating theory that fungi are the most deeply connected with Irminsul, this would support the idea that the mycorrhizal networks are the paths by which The Withering spreads.” 

“Interesting,” Tighnari said, narrowing his eyes pensively. “Very, very interesting.”

You unloaded your samples and tools from your bag onto his desk. As he continued you labeled the last sample that he’d helped you filter yesterday and sorted them.

“Now, why trees? Why not, say, Nilotpala Lotuses? Though mycelium might not interact quite as much with them, they have a way of repelling The Withering that would be beneficial to study. In my studies I have been able to unite them.”

“I’m more interested in replicating as much of the context as I can. It would be an entirely separate phenomenon that would yield results I’m less interested in.”

“Context.” He nodded. “Good.” He knelt next to his desk so that his sparkling hazel eyes were horizontal with the items on the desk. 

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Working with Tighnari was unlike any group project you’d engaged in reluctantly at the Akademiya. In some ways, he was like a senior guiding you, rebuking you, facilitating your ideas—in others, he was like a fellow student who had as much curiosity—though not possibly more—as you in this project. There was also the issue of his proximity. He wasn’t encroaching on your personal space by any means, but he had a way of looking over your shoulder or reaching across the desk that felt like the closest any person had been to you for a long time, aside from your physician. You had always known that people had a certain hesitation because of your condition. Some would feel squeamish, as though the plain knowledge that the disease was not contagious suddenly merited questioning anytime you were too close. Others acted careful, as if they were afraid your arms or legs or emotional mask would just brittly snap off at a moment’s notice. You assumed it was his experience as a medical professional, but a part of you doubted things would stay the same if he knew. Things always changed when people found out about the Eleazar.

You spent days together, mostly, though it seems Tighnari was the most popular individual in the Avidya Forest. Every few hours or so, someone would let theirself into the hut to address Tighnari with whatever news or issue he needed to help with. He’d go off and fix it and then return to get to work with you.

After a few days of this, as the experiment was nearing its end, a certain request caught your attention. “Sir, Collei’s just come back from an expedition with some other Rangers and we’re trying to convince her to get some rest, but she just won’t stop reading.”

Tighnari’s ears perked and you turned to see a Forest Ranger with a somewhat defeated look on his face. As Tighnari made to leave, you offered to step in. “I haven’t seen her much since we got here—I’d like to see how she’s doing.”

Collei was indeed reading stubbornly. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed in her hut with a thick book open on her lap. Her eyes had dark circles under them, making her purple eyes look rather ghostly.

“Collei,” Tighnari said sternly.

She started and nearly threw the book. “M-Master!”

Tighnari tsked at her and took the book with ease from her grasp, closing it. “You need rest. I told you not to push yourself. Should I tell Y/N I’ll take a break to stay with you until you listen?”

“I can stay with her,” you said, taking the book from Tighnari’s grasp. The Folio of the Foliage, Three Volumes, read the cover. “What chapter were you on, Collei? I’ll read it to you so you can lie down.”

“I was just starting Volume 3… I’m sorry, Master Tighnari.”

Tighnari crossed his arms. “I need you to take your health more seriously, Collei.” He turned to you and leaned in to whisper, “Take care.”

You nodded at him as Collei got herself under a blanket, facing you on her side. You observed her for a moment. She looked so small, so young. You would have hated to have been taken care of in such an attentive way at her age. Back then, you were always running off to be by yourself outside. And still now, you wouldn’t let anyone press their knuckles to your forehead. Life was easier this way. You knew in your soul that you were not made to be taken care of, and so you were at peace with the prospect of the sudden end your life may have.

You could only give others that same peace, you’d realized long ago, if they weren’t given the opportunity to care.

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You really wished you had brought some water with you as you reached the end of the story. Your voice was a bit hoarse, and you wondered how Tighnari kept it up when he talked her to sleep. Well, she wasn’t sleeping at any rate, so you might as well finish before you found some respite for your throat.

“The lord of all animals let out a furious roar with its dying breath,” you read, “then fell, protecting all that she had entrusted to him. But the memories themselves did not shatter, collapse, nor fall. Like the wisdom she left behind, they were unborn, imperishable, eternal, and ancient.”

You finished the last paragraph and looked up at Collei. She said, “Thank you, Y/N, for reading that to me.”

You tucked Collei’s blanket a little more snugly up to her chin and said to her, “Do you think you might actually get some sleep now?”

“Okay,” she acquiesced, her tone trailing off into drowsiness.

As her eyes slowly closed, you felt there was still a gaze on you. You rose from the side of her bed and acknowledged the General Watchleader, who leaned on the doorframe with his tail waving gently. 

“Thank you,” he mouthed.

You left the hut with him, letting the large leaves fall over the entryway before you asked, “Have you read that story before?” You noticed your tone was tired. You’d put more of your energy into that than you’d thought. 

“I have. You do it justice.”

You nodded, still feeling hoarse. You knew if you coughed, the tension in your chest from the Eleazar would worsen and ruin your day, so you kept your breaths shallow and slow.

“I think Collei really looks up to you, you know.”

You almost laughed. “Really? I thought you’d indoctrinated the Akademiya admiration out of her.”

“There’s more to you than your status as a scholar.”

“Can’t that be said of anyone?”

He shook his head. “Research out of curiosity and research out of greed are separate disciplines.”

That much was true. But yours wasn’t purely out of curiosity. You, too, had greed. You were greedy to search for a way to have a longer life than was allotted to you by Irminsul.

“Besides, you’re good company, and it was very selfless of you to sit there and give her so much of your day.”

“I didn’t know you liked to compliment people this much. Is this part of some scheme to convince me to join the Forest Rangers?”

Tighnari’s ears flattened a little. “No… Not exactly.”

“Not exactly?”

“We’d like you to stay and join our team. I hope that’s no secret. But I’m capable of giving genuine compliments too.”

“I guess it’s just backlash after all your critique these past few days. Doesn’t… sound right.” You felt out of breath and you slowed your pace.

“Y/N? What’s the matter?”

You shook your head, but you felt a chill up your spine that warned you of an oncoming bout of numbness. It forced you to stop and lean on a tree. “Archons. I’m fine,” you said, taking a deep breath. “I must have spent a little too long staring at a microscope lately. Don’t worry about me.”

“You should take a break tonight. No use in pushing yourself to exhaustion. There will be more mycelium.”

There would be more waves. More frequently.

And you were afraid that he knew.

What if he saw the shadow towering behind you and chose to say nothing?

“No, I’ll be fine once I’ve had some water. You know, I’m not so good at talking for extended periods.”

“It’s a skill I’ve been blessed to acquire in passing. The Akademiya occasionally persuades me to lecture field researchers.” He chuckled lightly. “You must have skipped the last one.”

You made no response. Perhaps you had.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?”

You decided a change of subject would be most suitable. “I’m just thinking about Collei. I feel bad for her.”

“She’s come a long way, you know. That child couldn’t read a word when Cyno showed up with her on my doorstep. Now? I have to chastise her for reading too much. Once again, thank you for making time with her. I want her to rest, but I don’t want her to hate every moment of surviving. Eleazar is hard on the body, and hardly easier on the mind.”

“She’s bright, and so eager to please you.”

“I know. I think she mistakes my care for her, sometimes, as anger or disappointment.”

“But she knows you care?”

He smiled. “She knows well that Cyno, the rest of the Forest Rangers, and I care about her and her well-being. It is my humble hope that she is finding herself a home with us.”

“Do many Forest Rangers start on your doorstep, Tighnari?”

“You know, now that I think about it, there is an uncanny pattern. I suppose that indicates we have a good reputation all around.”

“I wish that were true,” you said, meaning it. “I was wary of the Forest Rangers and their unbookish methods. Now I see things are different.”

You approached the hut and took a swig of water from your flask. “Things are… better here, than at the Akademiya. I will grant you that.”

“High praise indeed,” he said with a chuckle. “Are you feeling better?”

Hardly. The tension in your chest was building.

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As you recorded the final details in your lab book, you couldn’t help but notice the fox-eared Forest Watcher watching you. The results of your study had been made clear tonight; there was no difference in the soils, your saplings and sample networks had intertwined equally, with no significant chemical differences found between control and experimental saplings. Your hypothesis hadn’t been supported. While your results were still worth presenting, you felt like you were missing something, and perhaps your face reflected this to Tighnari as you scribbled away.

Once you had finished and closed the book, he asked, “What’s next?”

You set the book on the desk. Exhaustion overwhelmed you, but you pushed yourself to your feet and sauntered to the window. The night sky was obscured with clouds, so you gazed into nothing when you said, “I don’t know, yet.”

“These results open a realm of possibility for future experiments. Do you want my help to brainstorm?”

You let out a puff of air. “No, not… Not right now.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

He was right. This wasn’t a bad thing, not exactly. But had your hypothesis been correct… “I’m just disappointed.” And fried. You felt like you needed to lie in a bed, and not leave it for a week. You refused to admit defeat in such a way, but the feeling remained. “I guess I was more invested in getting the results I wanted than I should have been.”

Tighnari stepped closer, tilting his head to look into your eyes. “Y/N. You look exhausted. Have you been sleeping?”

You shrugged. “You’ve asked me this before.”

“You didn’t answer me then, either.”

Gripping the windowsill enough to turn your knuckles white, you admitted, “No, I haven’t been sleeping. I haven’t slept a night through in a very, very long time.”

He paused. “It’s more than the research, right?”

Your heart skipped a beat. 

“What do you… mean?” you said, trying to keep calm. He knew?

“For me, my research has always felt like an extension of myself. A space made just for me to examine nature’s mysteries. I break myself, sometimes, to learn something new. Gods know it’s the only time Collei gets to lecture me.”

You laughed. “Really?”

“I have a thing where I feel compelled to put non-toxic species in my mouth to taste their properties,” he said, sounding a bit sheepish. “It’s empirical. You can’t deny that.”

“I guess it’s something like that,” you lied. You couldn’t even imagine what you meant. Your head was swimming as you attempted a joke, “Did you lick my samples, Tighnari?”

He quickly made a gesture of denial with his hands. “No, no, no! Don’t misunderstand. That would have vastly altered our results.”

You tried to agree but no words came out. Here came the numbness—stronger than before, wiping even your mind blank from everything but senseless panic. The last clear thought you had was, if he doesn’t know yet, he will soon.

Then, you knew no more.

Table of Contents. / Next chapter.

[moosemonstrous]

Ghost Rider Pacific Rim AU - night classes

“It’s so cool,” Gabe pulls his face down to get a better look at his eye. “You’re like Dr Luo! Is it like that forever now?”

Robbie wracks his brain for an image of Dr Luo – he’s pretty sure that’s one of the bad guys in Ninja Wolf. Wait, this hurts your feelings? That’s hilarious. It’s nothing. He’s just glad Gabe isn’t freaked out by the way his pupil is still misshapen, the surrounding iris cloudy-brown from the broken blood vessels. Dr Montesi said the damage is mostly cosmetic, but seemed a little taken aback that he could see without much trouble. She spent the majority of their appointment frowning and making notes while Cho rattled off incomprehensible test results. They clearly arrived at some sort of a reluctant conclusion, but didn’t translate it into non-PhD, so all he knows is that he needs to go into the resonance machine again, this time for a full-body scan. MRI became MRS, which will apparently make all the difference.

He’s been prescribed extra rations. He’s already struggling to finish what the mess hall considers regular ones – but Gabe is always hungry after finishing his, so it’s hardly a problem.

“It should go back to normal in a couple of weeks,” he says as Gabe pulls his lower eyelid down. “How was school, anyway? Did you meet anyone new?”

While school-prep was essentially quarantine, proper ‘school’ turns out to be something of a misnomer – it’s a classroom attached to the unattended minors centre where the whole base dumps their kids when their guardians are at work, or otherwise occupied. Sometimes, after a demon attack, some of the children find themselves permanent residents until alternative care can be arranged. It’s good for them to be used to the environment.

“We’ve been notified you will be joining the academy,” the teacher told Robbie while Gabe was saying goodbye to his new classmates. He didn’t offer congratulations. “You don’t need to worry about the schedule. I know Major Brooks likes to run his sessions long.”

Major Brooks can like his sessions on the moon for all Robbie cares. He’s not letting Gabe live out of a temp bunk full of abandoned and orphaned children. The nightmare he had, the one about dying in The Charger – Didn’t die. – still makes him uneasy, and he has no plans on joining any strike teams. Besides, it seems a little unfair – as in any other childcare facility he’s ever seen, the staff are stretched thin and never paid enough for all they’re asked to do. Robbie can’t imagine preparing for a shift with sixty kids and ending up with a hundred, because someone up in the dome ran an exercise for an extra two hours.

That’s because you’ve never been in a Kwoon ring. Trust me, it’s better than hanging around a cripple all day.

He freezes. Was that–

“...and Lin said her dad can make me elbow pads like hers,” Gabe finishes recounting. Crap, Robbie didn’t mean to space out like that. “I want to draw her a picture from her story. Can we get the book?”

Gabe has a school-issued tablet that came complete with a stern warning about selling Shatterdome property. It takes Robbie longer than he’d like to figure out how to access the online library. Every piece of technology they get is second-hand or renovated, and still years ahead of what he could afford back in L.A.

The e-reader has adjustable text size and screen contrast, and a read-aloud option. Damn, you’re easy to impress. The book Gabe requested seems to be some sort of a video game novelisation.

This is all too good to be true, he thinks when Gabe is busy finishing his second helping of noodle soup while following the text along to the narrator in his earphones. The stipend he’s getting from medical is slightly less than what he’d make as a mechanic, and nowhere near enough to save up and leave, but so much on the base is provided for free it’s not really a concern. It feels not unlike the first few weeks in their own flat back in Hillrock Heights – a to-date unprecedented amount of comfort. That lasted only seven months before the demon attack. According to the countdown display, the next one is due in three weeks.

“Robbie-Robbie,” Gabe sing-songs without looking away from the screen. “Your soup is getting cold.”

“You’re holding it wrong. Extend your thumb,” Robbie says to his dad, grabbing his staff to demonstrate.

Dad is only a couple of inches taller than him. He rolls his eyes. He looks… fond.

“I can still knock the snot out of you, soldier boy.”

Robbie laughs. It sounds forced. “Yeah? That a threat?”

“Hell yeah.” Dad looks a little unsure for a moment. “Seriously, Juliana is watching. Go easy on me, huh?”

Robbie doesn’t remember having dreams like that before. Normal stuff, sometimes nightmares, but never these… these weird whole-scene narratives. He lies in his cot for a good ten minutes, trying to level his breathing; it felt so real. His arms ache.

Four in. Hold four. Four out. It’s being in the Shatterdome. Back in the Shatterdome. It’s messing with whatever… block he’s got in his head. There are records – classified, but maybe if he asked–

Or you could just plug back into The Charger. It’s got what you need.

Is it weird that Gabe doesn’t seem interested? Then again, he was too little to remember dad at all. He stopped asking after mom fairly quickly too. It used to be a point of pride for Robbie – he could do it by himself. They didn’t need anyone else.

He presses his knuckles into his eyes until he sees sparks. Jesus, pull yourself together. Right. He swings down from his bunk and goes to wake Gabe up – he’s been sleeping like a log with all the noise suppression in the crew quarters. They have morning routine down to the minute – roll out the kinks from Gabe’s legs and lower back, make sure he doesn’t try to spit out the one pill that doesn’t come in a sugar shell, decant the rest of the day’s meds plus emergency supply into the plastic container, check the medical info sheet is still in his backpack where it’s supposed to be. Gabe showers in the evenings, and Robbie in the mornings while he gets dressed. Back in L.A., the harried social worker he used to harass for advice mentioned that now Gabe is a teenager, Robbie needs to occasionally leave him alone behind a closed door, and this is the best he can offer – other than never, ever thinking about it any further in any detail.

All the kids get meals at the beginning of each shift, so he drops Gabe off first before looping back to the mess hall for his prescription food. Most of everything on offer is vegetarian, but with his new academy assignment Robbie can technically access the pork. It’s half eight in the morning – he has to solemnly promise the old lady behind the counter that he won’t starve to death on just rice and beans.

It turns out to be the wrong choice.

*

Tony waves Amadeus over to the edge of the viewing platform and points to the mat to the far side of the gym, where Robbie Reyes is getting his ass handed to him for the fifteenth time in a row. He’s probably counting, too. He looks the type.

“Ouch,” Amadeus hisses in sympathy. “Wasn’t he supposed to just run laps?”

“Yep,” Tony pops the ‘p’. He wishes he’d brought popcorn. “Don’t ask me, they were already at it when I got here.”

They watch the sixteenth match end, once again, with Reyes flat on his back on the mat. Tony waits until Eric gets him up again to nod his head to the other side of the platform. “Watch the Colonel.”

Ivanov doesn’t make a habit of observing the recruits. He shows up in the Kwoon Combat Room for pair ups, because that’s always good fun, but the cadets are pretty pitiful until Eric whips them into shape, and the brass tends to train when the impressionable young people can’t hear their backs creak from the effort. He’s been watching Reyes like a hawk, though, and according to Tony’s quick dig into base surveillance, arrived just in time to potentially instruct their Fightmaster to change up his training program. Eric doesn’t sway from his routines unless directly threatened with public speaking. Or unless Carol asks nicely enough, and she’s on duty this morning.

“His orthodontist will have some work to do,” Amadeus comments. He produces a pack of jelly beans from his coat pocket and offers some to Tony. “Are we being anti-establishment again?”

“Please, we’re always anti-establishment. Say, I know nothing about martial arts. Is Reyes any good?”

Only the rangers stand any chance of winning against Eric, and usually only after several years of learning his every move. That the kid hasn’t tapped out yet is already pretty impressive, but Tony has been known to mistake stubbornness for skill before. Amadeus crunches on the jelly beans for a long moment before replying.

“It’s like he’s been studying from old movies,” he says, thoughtful. “Knows what to do, but can’t back it up.”

“Did he mention getting any lessons?”

“Two boxing classes at fifteen.” Amadeus has the good sense to appear slightly red-faced at how quickly he pulled that information out of his giant brain. Tony magnanimously lets it slide. “What are you saying?”

He shrugs. “Nothing. But something smells funny here, doesn’t it?”

“Wait till you see what Montesi pulled out of his MEG scan.”

“Oooh, do tell.”

One level below, Reyes begins losing his cool. He puts enough strength into his next hit that when the wooden staff hits the mat instead of Eric’s leg, it bounces back and nearly hits him square in the face. Tony really doesn’t know much about fighting – he’s more of a lover type – but he knows Eric Brooks, and under three hundred layers of repression and self-esteem issues no therapist in the universe could crack, the big guy appears to be surprised.

“Not here,” Amadeus pockets his jelly beans. “Patient confidentiality and all that.”

That’s even more curious. “That good?” Amadeus has that look on his face. It’s been a while since Tony had last seen it, and he can’t say he enjoyed the resulting mayhem. “Alright, boy wonder. Lead the way.”

[partystoragechest]

A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting invites four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this chapter, read the first line.

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. Next entry. Words: 3,363. Rating: all audiences. Warnings: fighting and blood mentions.)

Chapter 39: Duel Purpose

“The Commander is going to duel Lady Orroat!”

Trevelyan almost spat out her tea.

Lady Samient had burst through the door of the Baroness’ chamber, disrupting the quiet morning conversation taking place within. Both women whirled on her, but—before they could query what she had said—Samient was already gone.

Trevelyan locked eyes with the Baroness, their faces equal in confusion. With nary a word spoken between them, they threw down their tea, and gave chase.

They pursued the sound of Lady Samient’s vanishing footsteps along the corridor, and down the stairs—tumbling out into the Great Hall, where they managed, at last, to catch her.

“What is going on?” asked Trevelyan, to no answer. Samient’s only response was to shoo them out of the door, to the courtyard beyond.

Emerging into the glare of the sun, they caught a glimpse of a crowd below, congregating around the sparring ring. Soldiers, servants, visiting nobles—it appeared most of Skyhold had turned out for the event. Word, as always, had spread rather quickly.

Yet, within the ring, Trevelyan saw only two individuals of note: a battle-ready Lady Orroat, plated in iridescent obsidian, preparing to fight—and a flailing Lady Erridge, who tugged fruitlessly at her arm.

“Really, Lady Orroat, it is quite all right!” she pleaded, as the Ladies neared. “I suffered no injury from the Commander’s rejection, I assure you!”

Lady Orroat fastened her pauldrons.

“I am completely fine—I swear!” continued Erridge, to seemingly little effect. “I don’t mind at all! This is surely unnecessary!”

Lady Orroat turned. She hooked a finger beneath Lady Erridge’s chin, and tilted her face towards her own. Soft morning light trickled around them, motes of dust dancing through the air. The crowd almost melted away; time appeared to slow. Just their silhouette, in the shape of two lovers. As gentle as her touch, Lady Orroat spoke:

“My dearest Tam, though you may bear the insult, I cannot. No man shall walk this plane and feel so entitled as to so callously discard your treasured affection.” Her thumb traced the curve of Erridge’s jaw. “Please, my Lady. Allow me this.”

Trevelyan’s mouth fell open. Lady Samient gripped her arm. The Baroness fanned herself. All those romances Lady Erridge had read, and somehow, she had failed to realise that she was, apparently, living in one.

Naturally quite helpless to do anything but gaze back at Lady Orroat, her eyes—wide and innocent as a doe’s—fluttering rapidly, Lady Erridge assented.

“Oh, well—um, don’t hurt him too much, I suppose?”

Lady Orroat took a step back, and bowed low. “Anything for you, my Lady.”

She strode away, to meet her foe. Lady Erridge listlessly waved her off, before stumbling over to where the Ladies had gathered. She was a mess of giggles and squeaks, unable to say anything that was not in relation to her dear Lady Orroat.

The Baroness helped her regain her faculties, as Trevelyan and Samient shared in the amusement of it. Certain that Erridge would recover from her stupor, they returned their attention to the ring.

Lady Orroat—sword drawn—had taken position at its centre, and performed spectacular practice swings, to the adoration of the crowd. Yet, while all eyes were on her, Trevelyan’s drifted, to the other side of the arena—in search, perhaps, of the Lady’s opponent.

Her breath caught.

There he stood. Soldiers flanked his sides, aiding him to prepare. Armour was placed upon his body; leather straps were pulled taut by his iron grip. He tested his breastplate with a beat to the chest; it clanged against the metal of his gauntlet.

His mantle was brought, and draped over his back, amplifying the broadness of his shoulders. His helm was presented—a lion’s roar, frozen in steel—and lowered upon his head, his fearsome glare framed within its maw. His sword was last, offered in its belt and sheath. He strapped it around his hips, good and tight. His fingers curled around the blade’s hilt.

The sword was drawn; he needed no practice. He was the Commander of the Inquisition—and Maker, did he look it, in the entirety of his regalia. Intimidating, unwavering, he stalked towards his opponent.

“Hey.”

Trevelyan startled, quite unaware how how enraptured she had been by the display. She glanced about for the source of the voice, and found Varric beside her, holding up a pouch of coin.

“I’m taking wagers on who’s gonna win. Want in?” he asked.

Lady Samient, whom Trevelyan had definitely not forgotten was beside her, took an interest. “What are the odds?”

“Winning side splits the pot.”

The Baroness tossed a coin to him, which he caught with ease. “One crown on Lady Orroat.”

Lady Erridge applauded. “Oh, good choice!”

Varric noted it down, and moved on to the next group of punters. Trevelyan watched him go, then returned her gaze to the arena. A Captain addressed the combatants, and defined the rules—to which they gave their assent. Satisfied, the Captain withdrew, and raised an arm.

A hush fell over the crowd. Anticipation slowed the air around them. Breath spilled from Trevelyan’s lips. The Captain’s arm dropped.

They charged. Swords clashed.

It was the Commander who dominated first. His muscular build and experienced arm were a force to be reckoned with. He struck out with a barrage of blows, each one ferocious as the last. Each one as confident. Each one as precise. He commanded the battlefield, as was his right.

Yet Lady Orroat showed no signs of yielding. She was a fleet-footed fighter, taking each hit and turning it into momentum. Dodges and blocks; no counters. It seemed she was not interested in fighting back—not yet. She was biding her time. She was waiting for something.

Whatever opening this was, the Commander would not give it. He stepped back only to return, with even greater force. Trevelyan admired the arc of his sword through the air, its flash in the sunlight, as he thrust hard toward her abdomen.

Lady Orroat deflected it away. The crowd gasped. The Commander was open.

She delivered a swift slice to his arm, before it could straighten. The Commander’s grip weakened. She moved in, butted her pommel direct into his helm. The Commander stumbled back. A mighty kick to his chest, and he was thrown to the ground.

The crowd roared, the Ladies cheered. The Baroness was going to get that crown back.

Lady Orroat strode to where the Commander lay. Before he could recover, she knocked his helm away, with the tip of her blade—and then held it to his throat.

“Yield.”

The crowd waited, breath bated, for the reply. The Commander let his sword fall from his grasp. “I yield.”

The Captain’s arm went up, on Orroat’s side. The crowd began to holler and cheer. Soldiers, trained hard in this same ring, applauded the satisfaction of seeing their Commander humiliated.

Lady Erridge burst from the masses, running to Lady Orroat’s arms. The Lady dropped her sword, and embraced Erridge entirely, twirling her through the air.

Over the noise of the crowd, one could barely hear what was said between them in that moment. But as their dance ended, and Orroat set Erridge down, she sank onto one knee—and the crowd fell silent once more.

“Lady Tam Erridge, of West Coldon,” said Lady Orroat, loud enough for all to hear. “My dearest friend. My most ardent love. I have been enamoured with you since the day we met; in the years I have known you, my love for you has only grown. I have always cherished our friendship, but I wish to cherish you entirely. Please, I humbly beg—will you marry me?”

The pause afterward felt as though a lifetime. Though no one suffered it as much as Orroat, the Ladies held their breath. They looked to Erridge—as did the entire crowd—and waited.

Erridge, fixed in place, blinked. “Oh, Lady Orroat,” she gasped, “well—of course! I could not think of anything more wonderful in all my life!”

Lady Orroat shot to her feet, and collided with Erridge. The Ladies screamed, joyous and in sheer disbelief. The crowds applauded. At long last, a kiss that had waited for years to exist, finally came to be.

The Ladies rushed the arena, and even more followed. They met and embraced both Erridge and Orroat, smiling, laughing, squealing in delight. The world became nothing but noise and happiness. Congratulations were given, and received with joy. Invitations to a wedding, promised and assured.

Never had Trevelyan seen such mirth, and such festivity. Though very few of Skyhold knew the significance of the event, they celebrated nonetheless. The happiness of others was enough motivation.

And yet, in the crowd, Trevelyan found one face to be missing. As her friends continued their revelry, she continued to sweep their surroundings. Somewhere, in this maelstrom of merriment, surely—

“Your winnings!” came Varric’s voice, not quite the one she’d been looking for. He passed a handful of coins to the Baroness, who tucked them discreetly into a pocket, and told some joke about starting a fund for her wedding attire.

But before he moved on, to hand out his next prize, he stopped—for just a moment—beside Trevelyan.

“Armoury,” he said.

Trevelyan looked out, over the heads that surrounded her. The vaguest shape of red wool and silver plate disappeared into a building nearby.

“Thank you,” she said to Varric—but he had already gone. She made her excuses to her friends instead, and began to pick her way through the crowds.

It was difficult, to move against the flow of excitement—but soon enough, she found herself at the very edges of the hubbub. The armoury door lingered open, just a crack, in the distance. She hurried towards it.

Peeking her head through, Trevelyan took in the space. She’d not been here often. It acted as a secondary smithy, with forges and furnaces along the back wall, swathing the room in their warmth and light.

Yet, unlike the smithy of the Undercroft, soldiers would frequent this place. Armour and weaponry lined the racks, ready for use in training. A long bench, where such soldiers would prepare, waited below.

Today, however, it boasted only one occupant.

The Commander had collapsed upon the bench, wrenching the plate from his body. Each piece clattered to the floor as soon as the straps came loose. With all outside celebrating, there was no one to attend him.

And so he continued the task himself, stripping his mantle and laying it over his lap. Arms free, he tugged at his gorget until it came loose; removed it and the breastplate beneath. Just a gambeson, now, and his helm.

He discarded the latter first, his face at last revealed—exhausted, and panting. Sweat-streaked skin glistened in the glow of the fires. But not mere sweat alone. Trevelyan gasped. Blood. There was blood.

The Commander must have felt it, for he raised his hand to his upper lip, and pulled it away, red. A bloody nose. That strike to the face.

He sighed, and, like the weight of the world was holding him down, leant back against the wall—

“Forward, Commander!” blurted Trevelyan, before she’d even thought of what to say next. “You... need to tilt your head forward.”

His eyes widened at seeing her there, but he followed her instruction regardless. “Thank you,” he said.

Trevelyan barely acknowledged it. She glanced at the door, and almost stepped through—but, out of the corner of her eye, saw a drop of crimson splash against the floor.

She could not leave him like this.

She let the door shut, and turned instead towards him. A hand dipped into her pocket, and from within, she produced a small cloth.

“Commander,” she said, creeping closer, “use this.”

Head still tilted downward, the Commander’s hand clumsily found hers. Their fingers overlapped for the briefest of moments—before he took hold of the cloth, and fled with it.

Yet he hesitated, in bringing it to his face. “This is from the banquet,” he muttered.

Surprising that he’d somehow remembered. But he was right. It was the napkin he’d given to her that night, to dry her tears.

“I had it cleaned,” said Trevelyan.

He held it out to her. “I... can’t use this.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to stain it.”

Trevelyan sighed. “Commander, you’re bleeding. Please.”

His hand withdrew, and he pressed the napkin to his nose. Trevelyan took a little step back, and watched him. Her hands twisted around each other, unsure of what to do with themselves.

“Commander?” she whispered.

He started to raise his head.

“No, no—keep it forward,” Trevelyan instructed. “Please.”

This order came not only for the benefit of his bloodied nose. She could not bear both his gaze, and the words she wished to say. Thank the Maker, he did as asked.

“I’m... so sorry, Commander, for my behaviour, last we spoke,” she murmured, struggling not to falter. “My response to your situation was entirely unsympathetic, and undeservedly harsh. My temperament at the time was not balanced, and it is you who bore the brunt of that. I am sorry, truly, I am.”

He was quiet for a moment. A terrifying, excruciating moment. Until, that is, he said:

“You needn’t apologise to me.”

Trevelyan blinked. “What?”

“Nothing of what you said to me that day was incorrect or undeserved,” the Commander told her, voice firm. “You had every right to despise me. I treated you all disgracefully.”

He lifted his head, if only for a second, to look at her—despite the pain it seemed to bring.

“It was not your fault, but mine. There is nothing for you to apologise for. I am sorry. For everything I did.”

She waited until his head dipped back down, and moved a little closer. “But even if I were upset, even if I were right, I needn’t have been so wicked in how I addressed you.”

“No. I deserved to know the consequences of my actions, in as clear and difficult terms as possible. I was cruel, and ignorant. I needed to understand the hurt I had caused. Especially to you. And... I am sorry that I did, cause it.”

Trevelyan sank to her knees before him. Gently, she took the napkin from his grasp, and examined his nose.

“The bleeding’s stopped,” she told him.

Unable to meet her eye, he nodded, head still bowed.

“I understand why you did it,” she muttered. “Lady Montilyet explained to me, what the court of Orlais has put you through. Were I faced with the same, I cannot imagine I would have acted differently.”

The Commander’s head shook. “You would. You would never have done what I did to all of you.”

“Oh, come, Commander. You’ve seen my less savoury side, now.” She folded the napkin, so that it formed a clean little square. “You should have heard the things I called you the first night we met.”

“Deserved, I’m sure.”

“Stop punishing yourself, Commander.” Trevelyan raised the napkin to his face. “May I?”

He nodded. She placed her fingertips beneath his chin, and tilted his head. The cloth was dabbed upon a small cut, lancing across his cheek.

“Besides,” she said, “I hear you’ve had punishment enough.”

The mere mention was enough to eke a little smirk from his mouth.

“Yes, the Ladies made quite sure of that,” he murmured. “I... ought to have listened to you, and Lady Montilyet. They are good women.”

“Impressive, even?” she suggested.

“Yes.”

Trevelyan smiled. She turned his head, and brushed dirt from his other cheek.

“Their ‘punishments’ were more endearing than I believe was intended,” the Commander confessed. “I quite enjoyed their company.”

“Finally.” Trevelyan withdrew her hand, let him face forward once more. “I told you.”

“You did. Though… I was right about one thing.”

“What is that?”

He smiled, eyes askance. “I still much prefer yours.”

“Oh.”

Trevelyan stared at him. No longer seeking his skin for wounds, she took in his face, closer now than it had ever been. Every prick of stubble was in perfect focus. The exact curve of the scar that marred his lip. Each lash that framed his honey eyes.

She caught their gaze.

“Um…”

The door burst open. Trevelyan scrambled to her feet, shoving the napkin into her pocket. Lady Orroat—halfway-out of her own armour—strode in, with Lady Erridge hanging upon her arm.

“Oh!” gasped Erridge, eyes wide at seeing Trevelyan. “Lady Trevelyan is here. Um, dearest Hul, perhaps we should leave them, for a moment—”

Lady Orroat, apparently as oblivious in nature as her fiance, continued regardless. “But we must make certain the Commander is all right,” she begged, marching for where he sat. She winced, upon seeing his face. “Oh, Maker, I am so sorry, Commander.”

“It’s fine,” he said, though Trevelyan could not help but note a hint of confusion in his voice. He mouthed, to Lady Orroat: “Does she know?”

‘She’ referring here to Lady Erridge—who promptly began to giggle.

“I’m afraid I do!” she confessed. “My dear Lady confessed all to me after the duel had ended—though I had suspected it might be a ruse. Dear Hul would never truly be so insistent upon fighting if I objected so!” She took Orroat’s hand, and squeezed it tight. “Oh, it was so terribly romantic. Thank you, Commander. I am ever so sorry that it got you hurt.”

He waved it off. “Perhaps that makes us even.”

Erridge nodded. “I believe it does.” She glanced between Trevelyan and the Commander once more, and tugged at Orroat’s hand. “Come, my love, we’d best be off.”

Orroat finally allowed herself to be led away—but as they left, called out:

“There’s been some kind of impromptu party arranged at the tavern nearby! Do come along!”

“No, no,” said Erridge, hurrying Orroat out of the door, “stay here as long as you like!”

The door swung shut, and silence fell again. Trevelyan looked to the Commander. He had begun to reoccupy himself with the removal of his armour, and was already busy loosening his greaves.

“Is that why you invited Lady Orroat here?” she asked.

He glanced up. “Hm?”

“You conspired with Lady Orroat to stage a duel?”

The Commander released the straps, and straightened up. “Not originally. I invited her because I realised Lady Erridge cared for her. I thought it might be a start, at making amends. I spoke to her privately after she arrived. She told me of how she and Lady Erridge had met—through a duel, between a boy and Lady Orroat.”

Trevelyan nodded. “Lady Erridge told me the same story.”

“I suggested we recreate the circumstances, to provide Lady Orroat an opportunity to reveal her affection. I thought it... might be poetic, in some way.”

He shrugged. Trevelyan smiled. A little warmth gathered in her chest.

She moved closer.

“Will you be attending the party, Commander?”

He shook his head, and continued working off his greave. “I am unsure the loser would be welcome at the celebration.”

“I believe it would a show of humility,” Trevelyan teased. “You do have an arrogant streak.”

“I’m working on it.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

The Commander glanced up at her, hand finding the back of his neck. “I, ah…”

Trevelyan giggled. “Here,” she said, offering him the napkin, sullied as it was, “in case you need it. I’d best get to the party, before any rumours start.”

He took it, and nodded. “Yes, of course, ah…”

“Perhaps I will see you,” she said.

“Perhaps.”

She smiled, and bid him farewell with a curtsy. He bowed as best he could, and watched her go.

Trevelyan had thought, that when she spoke to him again, she would know what she wanted. Whether she wanted to forgive him, whether she wanted to trust him.

She was right, in a way. For when she glanced back, one last time, before slipping through the door—she knew exactly what she wanted.

It was simply not an option she’d expected.

[kmenkea]

Bloodlust - Part 1

A/N: This is the first chapter of my Astarion Fanfic. It will mostly follow actual in game conversation, but I will expand on them greatly. The main reason I'm writing it is because I felt like there was a gap in all these stories: none of them had an explicitly evil or morally grey Tav. I like my anti-heros and I want to share this love to everyone.

Leeith is the character I'm playing (first run, still at act 2). I made up a whole backstory for her, so excuse me while I also try to develop her.

I have a plan of where things will go and I might keep writing even after the events of the game.

Other than that, feedback is very much appreciated. I tried to stay true to the companions personality, but it is hard to write characters which aren't my own. Hopefully it won't ruin your experience.

I will also try to add a quick doodle to each chapter.

The smut will come in like 2 chapters, but I did leave some breadcrumbs around.

There's lots of Gale hate because he insulted me and I never forgave him.

Word count: 4.6k

Summary: Leeith is quick to mistrust. Astarion seemed extremely suspicious that night. Fortunately, he was just thinking about their companions blood. The pair decides to take some time to themselves, away from the party.

Read on AO3

Leeith’s eyes were transfixed in the fire, chin resting on her knees to relax. The moon was high up in the sky, casting its light on the camp. They had set it up in a clearing, where a large rock stood in the middle, overseeing all the tents that had been put up around it. The place was quiet and green, covered on most sides by the mountains, except that for a little lake, which sang its song: calm waves caressing the shore. Some bedrolls were laying around the fire, for whoever preferred to sleep near the pit, rather than alone. 

The drow was one of them: being in the centre of camp meant that it was going to be a lot harder for any threat to sneak up during the night and slit her throat without anyone noticing. Plus, she didn’t know how to put up a tent. It just looked horrible, barely able to ward off the wind and rain, giving free reign to the cold to bother her all night long. The underdark was much better, full of caves and alcoves to hide, with little rain to worry about. The only thing she would miss if she returned back home was the gentle light of the moon and all the stars.

The drow extended her hand out, testing the flexibility of her wrist: she had slipped in a puddle of mud and down a small cliff the day prior. In the fall the clothes had got torn apart, too damaged to repair even with magic, so Shadowheart had to part with one of her suits. It wasn’t too bad, and the drow was actually happy with the change: the dark cloth suited her better, bringing out the colour from her pale grey skin. Her hair was a black, grey and red mess, as if she was hit by one of her own eldritch blasts, but that was the norm for her. It was much easier to just take a dagger and shorten it whenever it was needed, than having to deal with braids and coils, just for it to look like a bird nest right after any fight.

The stinging pain returned when she flicked her wrist too fast: the bone wasn't broken, but the flesh still swelled up. That was her casting hand and the recoil from her blasts wasn't helping the recovery. Alas, she couldn't take the time to rest. Everyone relied on her planning and she certainly didn't trust anyone enough to go out without her present to keep track of everything. 

Many of her companions were reliable fighters, above all Lae’zel, strong and able to perform all tasks with extraordinary efficiency. She respected her, even if she was hard to deal with at times: her arrogance came from mastery of her abilities, so it was righteous. Shadowheart was quiet, but didn’t seem the type to backstab anyone. The cleric had two motives: she wanted her mission to be over and the tadpole out of her brain, the best way to get both was to travel together. Then there was Wyll and Gale: the first seemed too much like an honourable hero with a heart of gold. The drow didn’t trust him one bit. Her methods were ruthless and often involved cruelty, so she would rather keep him occupied with other errands, than take the chance of him making a scene during a crucial moment. Gale, well, he was just an asshole and not the funny kind. His ego was inflated like that of a beholder, always spewing some bullshit about how great he was compared to everyone else. She didn’t feel like that at first, but his comment on her being just a lowly warlock, rather than a learned and mighty wizard like him, had hit just the wrong nerve. He was relegated to cannon fodder for now. 

Which left her with one last person, reliable for sure, but something always felt off. More off than him being a blood-sucker spawn. Too nice, too perfect, too flirty. Just enough mistakes to make her believe that maybe that was his true self. Enough said about his past for her to know what she was dealing with and what his motives were: control the tadpole, kill Cazador, gain freedom. Commendable. And useful. Just as a spawn, Astarion already had an edge, a natural talent that only required a few drops of blood to kick in; a full vampire would have proved a most formidable ally. But only if it was governable. 

As she laid there, analysing and planning, Astarion's eyes were darting around, pensively. He was trying to hide his face with the large book in his hands, staring at the words, before gazing back up again; in all this time the page had been turned maybe once or twice, so either he was reading a very difficult passage or, more likely, was just trying to conceal some plot that was forming in his head. A good few times Leeith caught him staring at her, but their eyes never met. She wanted to lull him in a sense of false security, so that the drow could learn what his intentions were and why he was checking everyone out.

Her patience though was wearing thin and Astarion seemed pretty content to stand there still. The elf’s sanguine gaze fell on her again, but this time, it was met. She could almost see her reflection in it: they shared the same eye colour, though for her kind it wasn't unheard of to have red irises. The vampire didn’t flinch, appearing nonchalant even after having been discovered with his hands right in the pie.

Leeith stood up, dusting some ash away from her bottom and walked over to him with a smirk. 

"Astarion!" she started. "How are you doing this fine night? Is that book any fun? You seem extremely absorbed by it." Her arms followed her words theatrically, to end up crossing in front of her chest. Astarion closed the book, holding it below the armpit.

"There you are. Quite a fine and serene night, made all the better by your presence." He put the book on a nearby table.

"You're too gracious. I didn't know surface elves were still taught courtesy… or discretely ploying." He seemed unfazed, still observing her from under his brow. Leeith walked past him, to sit in one of the many pillows which adorned his tent, giving it a pretty cosy atmosphere. The bit of blood splatter around, she did not mind. The elf soon followed, remaining at arms distance.

"I was just thinking about you." He sighed and shook his head with grace, the curls falling barely out of place. "And about that delicious moment we shared the other night." Leeith didn't even need the gestures towards her neck to understand what he was talking about. This had yet to explain why he was studying everyone, but she was starting to get a hitch of the reason. 

"The moment when you bit me?" She decided to still play along. 

"The very same." He nodded with a smile that looked genuine. For just a moment, his gaze fell down at the ground, absorbed in thought. His expression changed and though it still held a smile, it was also a lot more serious. For a moment more, no words were uttered, so that the only thing they heard was the lake and the crackling fire. His hands fiddled together for a split second, in search of the right words 

"I've had this… condition for two hundred years. But, truth be told? You were my first." Those last few words were quiet, almost a whisper, but a smirk still lingered on his lips. The drow raised an eyebrow, harbouring disbelief and a slight weird sense of pride, if what he said was true. She didn’t get to rebut with anything, that his face returned jolly and his eyes skimmed over everyone once again, studying them and thinking gods-know-what in that wretched mind. 

"In all these years I've only fed on beasts. Drinking the blood of thinking creatures is a different thing entirely." The vampire leaned closer, barely able to contain his hunger. "You were delectable." He purred, gently tracing Leeith’s neck, where two dark punctures were still more than visible. Leeith flinched at the unexpected touch, suddenly aware of how close they were laying. Astarion moved back, amused and excited, happy almost. "And now, I can't help but wonder how the others taste!" He laughed, gesturing towards the camp. Leeith holstered the imaginary dagger she was holding, grateful she didn't have to deal with a traitor. The smile returned to her lips, as she dropped her defences. 

"Are you looking at other necks? I'm hurt!" Every word was filled with fake indignation. "I really thought we had something special, instead here you are, traitor, after I took your bit-rginity… that sounded better in my head." Astarion chuckled, if at her or at her pun she couldn't tell. 

“Don’t worry, there’s enough of me to go around. I’m a man of tremendous appetites!” He placed a finger over his lip in thought. “Not that I think they’d volunteer, of course, but it doesn’t make me any less curious” He rested his weight on his elbow  stretching his legs out. She did the same, propping her head up with one hand. Most men and women here on the surface looked so plain, with their brown hair and brown eyes. Even those with some special characteristics, like the devils, had little that interested her. But the vampire was different, skin and hair so fair they glimmered in the light and eyes red like her own, that spoke of subtle blood and violence. It was the charm of bloodlust that made him so attractive in her eyes, of stopping at nothing to survive and thrive, but revelling in the chaos caused, not be ashamed of the cruelty. More than once Leeith needed to defend the vampire from their travelling companions, especially the morning after being bitten. Truth be told, Astarion seemed more than ready to suck her dry that night. It made sense now: after two hundred years of wandering in the desert, thirsty and with rocks and knives thrown at him, the pale elf had found a source of clear water.

"Take Gale for example," the voice shook her awake from the vision of them laughing from high atop a mountain of corpses. "He strikes me as someone whose blood is rich, refined, like a well aged brandy.” Astarion twirled an imaginary glass. “But the Gith? What in the hell would she taste like?” The elf looked up, catching the drow’s eyes.

“Surely something exotic, like an Amnan liqueur.” Discussing the taste of blood wasn’t in tonight’s plan, but they were both having fun.

“Ohh! That sounds very appealing. I’m almost convinced.” She didn’t know if the other’s could listen and, frankly, she didn’t care. For the first time since leaving the underdark, the drow had met someone that did understand her. Being labelled as a mindless monster, just because he had been cursed to be a spawn, isolated him. Leeith too was always labelled as a low-life murderer because of her lineage, but she enjoyed the fear she’d strike in those below her.

“Could I convince you to kill someone less useful?” She raised an eyebrow and chuckled.

“No one is getting killed, I swear. We’re just- two friends talking.” He waved his hands between them. “So - in the spirit of theoretical questions - if you had to take a bite from one of them, who would it be?” He got closer, raising his eyebrow. For once he sounded actually happy, not just cheeky and overconfident. Leeith pondered, staring up at the stars. She glanced at him, noticing how his hair captured the colour of the moon and the light of the fire.

“You, of course.” His eyes opened up and he couldn’t hide a grin.

“Oh! I’m flattered. Who knew you had such taste.” His ego kicked in again.

“That… and the fact my blood doesn’t come free. It’s only fair I get a taste of you, after I shared my own.” Leeith reached up for his neck and, like he had done previously, caressed his scars. The feeling of cold skin was strange, even if she had lingered only an instant.

“Of course. It was a gift. One I do intend to repay.” His voice was much lower now, returning to his flirtatious attitude.

“All this talk made me realise I would love to get treated to a bottle of fine wine.” Leeith sighed. “You surface dwellers really do have much sweeter wines than the sour water we get downstairs.” Her gaze returned to Astarion, but wasn’t met. He was sitting back up again.

“Unfortunately, it will have to wait. All this talk is getting me hungry. I’d better find something I can actually sink my teeth into.” The vampire looked ready to be back on his feet.

A thought crossed her mind. Should she act upon it? It seemed like the perfect time and, truth be told, she was starting to get a soft spot for the elf. Laying there on those pillows, she moved her hair away from the neck, freeing her scars.

“And where would you go? Am I not delectable anymore?” She grinned, raising her arms above her head. “Unless of course you have acquired a taste for goblin.”

“Oh- well.” He fumbled, surprised by the offer. “Of course. I didn’t expect you enjoyed it enough to offer yourself again.” His cocky tone would have almost sounded perfect, if it wasn’t for the fact he didn’t move. He was stuck sitting there, waiting for something; a question still lingered on his tongue. Yet still, he couldn't help lick his teeth and lips.

“Don’t flatter yourself too much.” Leeith was tense, but still tried to keep a calm demeanour. “As you said in the past, I need you strong. If a bit of my blood is enough, then you can have it. I trust you won’t go overboard this time.” Astarion looked around camp. A few too many glances were being thrown in their direction, even the dog seemed to stop sniffing around just to focus on them. Leeith noticed too.

“Should we wait ‘till after dark?” His tone was hushed, but it didn’t mask his excitement.

“If it’s more comfortable for you not to have eyes on you, sure. In my opinion, it’s their fault for not looking away.” She giggled and stood up, stretching her back. “Well, I’ll go eat something more myself. Have a fun time with your book.” 

Leeith returned to the fire, calling Scratch to her.

Not much time passed before everyone said their good nights to one another. Leeith spent the time studying a map of the region, thinking of ways to best ration their food during the following days of travel. The light kept getting dimmer in the fire, so she'd just chuck another log in. Scratch was sleeping beside her, shaking his paws at times. She glanced at Astarion's tent: the elf had the flap pulled down, but she could sense movement inside. They were the only two souls awake in the camp. He didn't need much sleep; she didn't feel the need to either, but her body was still weary and hurt in places. She wanted the day to be over and finally rest. The map was folded and put back in the backpack, then she walked to Astarion. The drow knocked on the floor and whispered his name. It didn't take long for him to appear.

"Yes, darling?" He was shirtless. Leeith took her time to respond, not really knowing how to ask. "Did the cat get your tongue?" Something metallic caught a ray of light. A moment later it was gone from his hands. 

"I- well, are you still hungry? I am pretty tired, I kind of want to be done with today." She motioned at her bandaged wrist. 

"Mh, I didn't think you were this impatient." Astarion made his voice deep, glancing at her with a seductive grin. "Well if you can't wait I'll find a boar or rabbit to snack on. Don't need to miss your beauty sleep for me." He disappeared back into the tent, but Leeith followed him. 

"I can wait, just need an estimate." Sprawled on the floor there were a few bottles of blood, some empty, some full. At least the drow didn't have to ration the food for him, since he could provide for himself. More weirdly though, she also saw a pair of scissors, some thread and a small metal box full of pins. His white shirt was laying on the ground, the collar ripped off. 

"I know you aren't a vampire, but you could have still asked before entering." He barked, annoyed at this invasion. The elf picked up the shirt and began to pin and sew the collar back on. 

"Well, it's not like you're doing anything weird here. I didn't know you liked sewing… you could have fixed up my clothes instead of forcing me to borrow Shadowheart's!"

"I'm afraid your clothing was beyond repair even before it got torn apart. If anything that might have helped make it look better." 

"Tks, I'll show you what true luxurious clothing is like; the underdark has the best spider silks imaginable, they feel like water around your body. You surface dwellers know nothing." 

"And yet none of your ancestral fashion knowledge got to you, did it?" Replayed him. Leeith crossed her arms and furrowed her brow. If he was any other person, he would have already been made into a fine mist of gore, but his tone was too sarcastic for her to take it seriously. 

"I'm done." he said at last, donning his shirt back on. "After you, darling." He pointed to the outside. The drow crawled away, soon followed by tonight's companion. Astarion stepped in front of her and, after making certain no one was around, directed her through a small hidden path. He was more than excited: she could see it in the way his hands trembled, his eyes flickered eagerly towards her, to make sure she was still following. Leeith caught him licking his lips once, the phantom sweetness of her blood still lingered on them. 

Finally they got to a small river, with little flowers growing everywhere. It wasn't any random spot, the elf had put thought on where to lead her. Did he think a cute flower bed would have made her more trusting? Or was he just a romantic, wanting the moment to feel special for him? Not that it mattered. He didn't even need to set up a trap since the drow had offered herself. 

"So?" She sat down, crossing her legs and looking up at the man. He soon followed, landing at her side, closer that he had ever been. She expected warmth to come from him, but again, nothing but cold dead flesh. 

"So? Want to admire the stars before I go?" He teased, brushing her hair away from her neck. His hand fell on it, caressing it. His skin was soft and cared for, unlikely for a warrior. It smelled of fancy cologne and fabric soap. 

"Maybe I will, Astarion. You don't seem that hungry after all." Leeith stretched her legs out, then lowered her head to the ground. Her eyes did search for the moon, but it was hidden among the clouds and leaves above her. Finally she shut them, bracing herself for the bite.

"What do you gain out of this? Why are you doing it?" He blurted out, not having moved an inch. His eyes were still bloodshot, but he was controlling himself. Leeith was puzzled. 

"Nothing really. Why are you asking?" She lifted one of her eyebrows and rested her weight back in her elbows.

"You said it yourself, I'm borrowing your blood and you want something in return. What is that?" 

"Well, I suppose it's true I never do anything for free, but I don't know. I wasn't actually expecting anything back. Again, you can treat me to a bottle of wine if you want, but otherwise, I'll be fine. It's just some blood, a good night's rest will take care of it." 

"So, is this just… out of the goodness of your heart?" The way his voice got higher, it almost made him sound offended.

"Oh yes, Astarion. When the gods were handing out goodness, I skipped everything regarding not murdering people or threatening them, and grabbed bucketfuls of selfless vampire feeding acts. My soul aches for all the poor little starving vampires of this world." She placed a hand over her heart. His expression was undecipherable, a mix between confusion and indignation. 

"Relax, Astarion." Leeith sighed and dropped the act, understanding his displeasure. "I don't know why I'm doing it, but it does help you, doesn't it? I see the way you fight and act after being able to eat something proper. It's a completely different you. A better you. I need that." 

"Is this it?" He was still unsure. Was this it? Not even Leeith could tell. There wasn't a reason to give herself out like that. He was a perfectly good assassin even when hungry. The only ulterior motive was gaining his favour, so he’d still be on her side once killing and drinking Cazador. Not that she was going to tell him that. She scrolled her shoulders.

"Guess so." At that answer, he smirked again, returning to his old bastard self. 

"Shall we make ourselves comfortable?" The vampire guided her down, supporting her head all the way. His body shifted over hers, putting his weight on his knees. For a moment, Leeith hoped his fingers would caress her stomach and move upwards to her ribs or down to her thighs. That didn't happen. Astarion just used his other hand to keep himself hovering above her. The drow closed her eyes and exposed her neck. A sharp pain followed. She whimpered and gripped his shoulders tight, clenching her jaw almost enough to break some teeth. Then the pain faded, substituted by a dull humming above her shoulder, in rhythm with her heartbeat. Astarion's tongue lapped at her skin. 

"Easy now." He murmured, still with his lips on her. Was it just a thought he had? Leeith swore she could sense herself in his mind and him inside her. A similar feeling to the tadpole, but more fuzzy, deep into the recesses of their soul. The drow smiled, feeling his bliss as hers, the excitement of blood awakening something in them. For the first time, his body felt warm, alive, as he kept clinging to her sweet, sweet life. The elf was on edge. He didn't want this to finish, it felt better than any sex or drug or wine he's ever had. Just a moment more, just one more drop. Leeith’s mind was well and alive, shaking in shared joy. He needed this more than gold; he needed her to stay, to defend him from others. He couldn’t let the drow grow bored of him. As long as she trusted him, he wouldn’t have had to worry about monster hunters or Cazador’s goons; the warlock would have scared them off and, failing that, she was more than capable of crushing their bones. Her body was warm like the sun under him; He was going to cling to it for as long as he could.

The cold arrived too soon. The connection broke for an instant, as the drow below him got weaker. A wake up call.

He lifted his head up and almost felt like he needed to catch his breath, but his lungs were still dead. The vampire admired the wound on her neck: he had done a perfect job, with very little blood running off. They shared a glance as he went down on it again, just licking the few droplets on her shoulder. 

Leeith tested the wound with one hand once he sat up. It hurt like hell, but it wasn't bleeding a lot. She undid the bandage on her wrist and used that to pat her neck dry. Astarion, by her side still, was brimming. His eyes were alive and shining like rubies, a faint smile was on his lips and he seemed not to have noticed that a drop of blood was about to fall down from his chin to his prized shirt. They sat in silence for a few minutes. The drow was the first to break it. 

"So your hobby is sewing." She noted. 

"I would call it less a hobby and more a useful skill. It's not like Cazador would give me his hand-me-downs." He spat, bile raising from inside of him.

"You're free now. You could buy anything you want." 

"I quite like my clothes. And besides, where should I get anything? Maybe if we were in Baldur's gate I’d think about it, but here I could at best cover myself with twigs like those druids." 

"Uhh… you wouldn't look too bad covered in fig leaves. I'm sure you'll find a way to make it work." 

"Just because you want to see me nude, doesn't mean I'll concede myself to you so easily." 

"Alright then, no more blood until I see you dressed with just one leaf." She wanted to sound serious, but the look on his face was worrying. Did he actually understand sarcasm? 

"Hey, I'm still joking. No need to look at me like that." 

"That reassures me. The thought of bedding a drow wasn't a pleasant one."

"Hey what?!" For once she was actually offended.

"Canings, ties, gags, whatever spiked torture device you have in your caves to get you off. Are you sure you are having sex down there, or just trying to eviscerate each other?" 

"Well first and foremost, the "device" is called a spike cross and you aren't actually supposed to get off on that. Second, not my fault you surface elves are more sensitive than a babe. And third," she moved her lips close to his ear, whispering seductively. "I'll be gentle your first time, you'll still be able to sit the next day." She smirked, but couldn't hold in a chuckle. 

"Is it true your men are slaves?" He asked all of a sudden. 

"It depends. Most commoners, like me, have left the practice behind. Not that I wouldn't enjoy having a slave or two, but you know, either they consent or I buy one. Now, the matriarchs, they still cling to the old ways. In any case, most say it's not as bad as it was a few centuries ago. This doesn’t change the fact all men are unworthy and unclean in the Spider’s Queen eyes and her followers… like me, but I won’t chain you up unless you request me." She shrugged. Astarion was lost. His face was turned towards her, but his eyes were looking somewhere far. In that moment, Leeith remembered all that he had to go through, between the torture and the servitude.

"Hey," she placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him. "That won't happen anymore, alright. You're free now. Nothing can take that away and if they try, you aren't alone. I'll personally go into Cazador's lair and open all of his curtains, while you stand above his ashes. The sun will burn him, while you will be free." He shook his head.

"A naïve and puerile fantasy… but thank you. Shall we go? You said you were tired and don't think blood loss made you any stronger." He offered his hand and she took it. Even with that, standing up was not an easy task when her world kept spinning and going dark at the edges, but she managed. 

"Lolth be graced, no one tells you the downsides of being a blood bag when you pick up this job." She joked, as they both walked back to camp.

[42bakery]

Put That Guy in a SituationTM Ask Game/Prompt: Pedro & Fermin 57

Sorry for the delay, Anna. At this point, it's even embarrassing how much time it took me to write this, but life got in the way. Anyway, it's done and I hope you like.

This is an accidental hand-holding with Fermín Aldeguer and Pedro Acosta from the Put That Guy in a SituationTM Ask Game list. (I'm still open if anyone wants). This has also been posted on AO3 too.

One-shot under the cut.

Pedro breathes in and breathes out with his eyes closed. He's trying to relax and shake off his nerves, but he can't. The media are all over him, taking photos and studying all the interactions he has had so far. They are trying to study everything and try to guess how his performance will be based on his attitude. Journalist are all like vultures, searching for a crack in his demeanour or studying his behaviour to drag him through the mud. They are trying to see if the pressure of the colours of the factory team has got to him. It didn't. He has worn those same colours in the Red Bull Rookies Cup, in Moto3 and in Moto2. The strange thing was wearing the red from GasGas last year.

He breathes in and out once more, trying to shake his nerves away, but it’s not working. There are more flashes around him as the time for the MotoGP class photo approaches. There aren’t any eyes for the lingering Moto2 riders, or the other MotoGP riders near him. Everyone seems to be focused just on Pedro without a real reason, except he’s now a factory rider. The pressure of riding a factory bike is not making him crumble, but the pressure and the attention of the media sure has the potential for it. He was a factory rider in Moto3, considering how things are in that category works, so he knows the colours are not important. Having a team listening close to you is not that important either, but how the media treats you, sure it’s different in between being just a rider and being a factory rider.

Pol and Izaskun start to walk toward him slowly, but with clear intentions, and Pedro tenses. He's not ready for that interview yet, but he can't send them away without getting labelled as difficult. In a moment of panic, and wanting some comfort, he tries to grab Martín, who is behind him chanting with Aldeguer. Maybe, if he has the Aprilia rider, who is in the same situation as him, this will be fine. Maybe, if he has the support of someone who can draw the media towards themselves, he won't be as nervous. Maybe this way he won't be the centre of attention for now, which might get his nerves under control for future interviews.

At the first try, he manages to grab a hand, which makes him happy because he wasn't really paying attention to what he was grabbing. The hand feels hot, and big, strangely big for Martín, but Pedro doesn't have a lot of time to think about it, so he gently pushes Jorge towards him, hoping the Aprilia rider doesn't mind being dragged towards an interview he wasn't expecting nor prepared.

The one that stumbles towards his direction is not the brand-new Aprilia rider like Pedro has wanted. The one that comes along, and still is holding his hand, is Aldeguer, but none of them can react before Pol rushes towards them. It's like the test rider has sprinted after seeing that, maybe smelling the potential of blood or witnessing something unusual between both Murcian riders.

‘What do we have here?' Points Pol to the joined hands of both riders with his free hand. The other is holding proudly the DAZN's microphone, showing what is doing now, act like a journalist. Pedro wants to remove his hand, he really does because he doesn't want to have to explain anything, however, Fermín doesn't allow him. The Gresini rider squeezes his hand and holds it firmly, preventing Pedro from ending the contact.

‘Nothing, just recreating an iconic moment of the Spanish's history of MotoGP. You know, the handshake between Pedrosa and Lorenzo with the king of Spain' says quickly. Then Aldeguer adds 'we know some people have compared us and our relationship to theirs, so why not do it? This is us promising to be cordial, but also wanting to destroy each other on track.' Pedro is just looking at him, and he's happy that the other rider has saved the day and taken over the interview., but at the same time he doesn't really know what the other rider has in his mind.

Martín has moved to Pedro's other side, looking at them with one of his eyebrows up in question. Pedro would like to answer in the same way, indicating he doesn't know what's going on either, but by doing that, he will make Aldeguer look like a liar, and he can't allow that. Or at least not now. Pedro will have time to explain later when no camera is pointing at them.

‘Oh amazing. So, you both want to re-write history' applauds Pol. Pedro starts to get more comfortable now that the attention isn't on him being a factory rider. Now it's about his and Aldeguer's rivalry, and he can deal with it. He's more than ready to talk about it.

‘Well, we are doing it on our terms' adds Pedro, dragging the words like he always does. He also has his side smile like always. It's all about pretending this isn't weird or an improvised thing.

‘Okay if you are Jorge and Dani' says Izaskun pointing at Aldeguer and then at Pedro, ‘Pol can be our king. This way, we can do it properly. Let's recreate history' suggests the journalist, but rather than a suggestion is a veiled order because they all will do as Izaskun has said. The KTM test rider doesn't need any time to give the microphone to Jorge and then grab Pedro's and Fermín's wrists. It's the same way as it was done in 2008, like how the king did with Dani and Jorge.

‘Don't fight' starts saying Pol. He does his best to sound solemn and not laugh. ‘Shake your hands for Spain' says and immediately adds ‘there, there'. By this point, they are all trying to not laugh at the poor imitation the test rider is doing of the ex-King of Spain. The one who is doing the worst job is Fermín, and Pedro is tempted to call him out, but he prefers to stay in his role, and that is just stare at the other rider with a serious face.

‘And then we can just battle two to three more years hard against each other and pretend this never happened.' Pedro adds while retiring his hand. Somehow this has calmed him, and he now feels ready to confront the media. He can now answer all the questions about his change from the Tech3 to the Factory, about his expectations and what he can do. Also, about the difference between the 2025 bike compared to the 2024 bike, he's so ready for those.

‘I'm perfectly okay with that if it means fighting this guy for titles.' There's a gigantic smile on Fermín's face. In Aldeguer's mind, there's probably the results during those years, when Jorge won a championship over Dani, and how Izaskun has labelled him as Lorenzo. No doubt, the Ducati rider wants those same results, but Pedro is there to prevent them. He wants those victories, tittle and glory for himself, and he'll fight every rider, especially Aldeguer, to get his hands on the tower.

Aldeguer's smile is rapidly imitated by Pol, who is back to his pit-lane reporter mode, ready to dig in their past and their rivalry, but also on what they can do this year with their current bikes. The rest of the interview happens in a blur, just like the next one and the next one, except that for the rest of them he doesn't have Aldeguer on his side. Pedro is now alone against the journalist, and he's okay with that. He's in complete control of himself and his feelings, ready to fight the whole world and win them.

[typingatlightspeed]

TF2 Fanfic - Someone Else's Song Chapter 2

A whole week of cracking away at N.G.'s mystery letter yields no leads, so Spy creeps out of his smoking room to put boots to pavement and do some more hands-on espionage. Meanwhile, Engie has some meaningful conversations about his chances.

Chapter 1 Chapter 3 Ao3 Link!

Really want a grilled cheese after writing this chapter tho. :/

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Spy awoke with a snort, lifting his head from the surface of his desk, a small piece of notepaper stuck to his chin by a patch of dried drool. He swatted it away and tugged the handkerchief from his pocket, using it to wipe his face. He checked his watch. Eight A.M. He sighed. He had fallen asleep sometime before late night had transitioned to early morning, it seemed. His eyes scanned the desk in front of him.

The surface was scattered with papers. Laying at its centre was original letter itself, which had been tested with every solution to reveal invisible ink that Spy could think of. Sitting around were several copies penned by Spy with different notes and marks calling out different letters, words, and turns of phrase, no definitive patterns to be found. Keys for every major cipher in common and uncommon use decorated the periphery. Several examples of the other mercenaries' handwriting were stacked up to be analyzed versus the two letters that N.G. had written, to try and eke out anything from the deeply opaque clue. Spy leaned back in his chair and stretched, having been hunched over for hours. With a weary groan, he took out and lit a cigarette. He puffed a long drag and looked dimly at his fruitless work.

It had been days of this, hammering away at a diamond with a chisel made of tin, no closer to an answer than when he'd picked the letter up in the first place. Staring bleary-eyed at his work wasn't about to spontaneously spawn epiphany. He needed to stretch his legs. And get a coffee. And a shower.

Engineer's work stool had been squeaking near-constantly for the past hour. He wasn't even aware of it, but it was doing it, and constantly. The heel of his boot rested hooked on the bar that circumnavigated the stool's legs, forming a footrest for the man perched atop it, and the toe of that boot was bouncing, making the stool squeal with each jerky movement. Engineer did not notice this. He was too engrossed in the project on his drafting table. Or more accurately, with what was churning away inside his brain while he pretended to be able to get any work done at said drafting table.

The slam of gloved hands on his workbench startled him out of his reverie, and he looked over to see Pyro glowering at him, an oxyacetylene torch clamped to the bench and lit, a small pile of cinders beside it. Engineer reeled back in spite of the good ten feet that separated them. "Somethin' wrong?"

"I'm trying to burn things over here, but bouncing your leg is making that chair sound like we've got upstairs neighbours that just learned what sex was! If you don't stop that racket I'm going to burn down this entire base, starting with myself."

A sheepish smile crossed Engineer's face, and he stilled his leg. "Sorry, Py. I'm just awful wound up."

"I couldn't tell," Pyro shot back, hands settling on his hips. "Spy, huh?"

"It's been a doggone week and he's been playin' it so close to the chest he may as well start coughin' up cards." He shook his head, setting his pencil down and pulling off his hardhat to scratch at his stubbly scalp.

Pyro took a moment to turn off the oxyacetylene torch and flopped onto a rolling stool, gliding over to his friend. "You think he's figured it out?"

"If he has, he ain't said a word about it." Engineer sighed, shaking his head. "Which feels about as good as just bein' shot down, if I'm honest. Maybe I should just be glad he was tactful enough to not just turn me down in front of everyone, or make fun of me for it."

"That's an awful thing to think about the guy you've got a crush on," Pyro chastised.

"It ain't a crush!" Engineer barked. "It's just...interest. Attraction."

"Attraction you expressed by writing him a love letter."

"It was your idea!"

"It's a crush."

"You make me sound like a damn teenager findin' out what love means for the first time."

Pyro tilted his head to the side. "Is that how Spy makes you feel?"

Engineer went silent, considering that for a moment. He sighed. "Fair enough."

A giggle bubbled its way out of Pyro's mask, and he gently clapped his hands in delight. "But here's the thing: Spy, for all of his class and charisma, is pretty forthright. He wouldn't just let things lie. If he wanted to reject you, he'd communicate it somehow , regardless of what level of cruelty he chose to use, right?"

"I s'pose."

"So that means somehow he still hasn't figured the damn thing out a whole week later. I think you covered your tracks too well somehow."

Engineer couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Spy's the kind o' fella who reads so far past the surface he drowns in the details. He'd cut a tree in half to count the rings without even realizin' he's in a damn forest. If I know him half as well as I hope I do, he's probably been burnin' the midnight oil when the answer's plain as day in front o' him."

"Is Spy really that dumb?"

"He ain't dumb at all," Engineer said warmly, a laugh threatening to edge into his voice, "he's too smart's the problem.

*

"I tell you this," Heavy said, setting down his bottle of oil and picking up a rag. "After you use mayonnaise, you will not use butter again. It is life-changer."

Sniper frowned, shaking his head. "I dunno, mate. Mayo for a grilled cheese?"

"I did not believe at first either. But it brown more even, make flavour more...," the giant searched for the right word, "rich? I think is how to say?"

"Yeh," Sniper confirmed with a nod, finishing laying out the pieces of his rifle on the worktable of the armory. "Right, next time you're fixin' one, throw one on for me. I'll try it. If I like it, I'll teach you my special grilled cheese recipe."

"Special grilled cheese?" Heavy asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"The secret is ham, apples, and a runny fried egg," Sniper said with a conspiratorial grin. "But you gotta poach the apples in cinnamon and sugar first, so it's almost like applesauce or pie fillin' without the corn starch."

"Is sandvich really still grilled cheese at this point?"

"Dunno, but what I can tell you is that it's delicious."

"Will keep this in mind," Heavy agreed with a nod. If making Sniper a normal sandwich got Sniper to make him a fancy sandwich, he wasn't about to turn it down. Especially if ham was involved.

Spy suppressed a sigh. He stood, cloaked, leaning against the door to the armory as his teammates chatted sporadically as they maintenanced their guns. Everyone made time to clean and work on their weapons at some point every few days, though Heavy was a fixture, pampering his darling Sascha as a daily ritual and making him easy to find for anyone seeking him out. It was one of the rare times one could catch the giant for a casual conversation.

Apparently this time, Sniper had seen fit to use his time with Heavy to talk about food. It was one of the universal languages, Spy supposed.

It didn't help him at all in his effort to eavesdrop on the team for clues, though. At least, not until...

Sniper looked back over his shoulder, and Spy froze, invisible and silent and far enough away that any lingering scent of smoke on him wouldn't be detected. "So, you think Spy's cracked the code yet?"

Heavy chuckled. "Don't know. There are many common ciphers used. He has lot of work to do to eliminate them all."

"Probably spent the whole week neck-deep in cryptography for nothin'."

Heavy shook his head. "It is funny. Spy is too smart to be so stupid sometimes."

Spy frowned at the insult, trying not to let it bother him too much. Heavy didn't know enough English to speak delicately.

"Look how his kid turned out. Apple don't fall too far from the tree."

"You are mean to Scout. Thought you are Scout's friend."

Sniper shrugged with a laugh. "Mate, if anyone's qualified to rib the little gremlin it's 'is mates. I'd expect no less from 'im in turn."

Heavy shook his head, realizing that perhaps he'd spent so long only socializing with his family that the urge to banter had grown rusty. Certainly, he remembered teasing his friends in college mercilessly, and laughing when they did the same in kind. "This is fair."

"Either way, I hope all of this gets figured out soon, else N.G.'s gonna 'ave a heart attack from waitin' on tenterhooks." Sniper took up the barrel of his rifle in one hand. "Pass that brush?"

Heavy handed his teammate a brush with a nod and a grunt, and silence fell as they worked.

Spy lingered a little longer, but soon slunk away with a silent sigh. It seemed like Heavy and Sniper had an idea of who this mysterious N.G. was, that it was neither of them, and from the way they spoke, it was an obvious thing to them. He didn't know whether he should be insulted or not, stymied in the search as he was. The way they talked, it was clear that he was looking too hard , which only frustrated him more. Had he wasted all of his time on a line of thought that lead nowhere?

Fine.

If cryptography would get him nowhere, he would do things the old-fashioned way: pure surveillance. Already, skulking him in the shadows had gotten him that much, a half-step closer and Sniper crossed off the list, so perhaps it was time for a bit of the human touch.

*

Coffee. Medic needed coffee. Those chupacrabra kidneys weren't going to be used to filter irradiated echidna blood on their own, and Medic just knew his hands weren't going to be steady enough for the suture work he'd need to do after an all-nighter unless he had at least a little more caffiene to keep him going. Once he had the data he needed he could finally crash out and sleep. Just a little longer.

With a yawn, he pushed open the door to mess, a little surprised to find Spy there, leaning against the counter on which the communal industrial-sized coffee maker sat, an overlarge mug in his hand. He looked almost as tired as Medic felt, and judging by the dark circles under his eyes, he, too, had been neglecting sleep in the pursuit of knowledge. Medic smiled fondly and waved as he approached.

"Spy! It is nice to see you outside of the battlefield for the first time this week," he teased, snagging a mug and dumping an unconscionable amount of sugar into it before filling it with coffee. "You've spent so much of your liberty time working in your office, I was worried you'd turned into me!" He tittered, then added milk enough that the beverage began to match his skin tone, and snatched a spoon to stir it with.

Spy tried and failed to not make a face as he watched Medic mangle his coffee. "It is a smoking room, but you're not incorrect. I have been working, though the way I currently feel, I can no longer say it is tirelessly."

Medic grinned at that, a soft, "hoo," of a laugh puffing out of him. "So how does the search for your secret admirer go?"

"Secret admirer; you make it sound like we're children."

"You received a love note from someone with a crush on you."

Spy pouted in reply.

Medic tittered. "It's sweet, really. Romance is childish, isn't it? At it's root?"

"Your idea of romance is very different from mine, then."

"Think about it: Naked emotion making your heart race, your palms sweat, your brain positively swim with oxytocin, manifesting as giddy delight? Your body's reaction is as brazen and free of guile as children speaking plainly, 'I like you,' wouldn't you say?"

Spy eyed Medic for a long moment, waiting for some unhinged or dismissive follow-up. When none came, he shrugged a shoulder. "Fair enough, I suppose." He sipped his coffee, sneaking a sidelong glance at his companion, a bit disarmed by the fanciful soft side he had revealed.

Was he wrong in discounting Medic so swiftly? What if it was him? Would it be so bad, to be loved by a man who could heal your every wound, every ailment, make you stronger, faster, better, more healthy and hale than nature could ever offer of its own accord?

In sickness and in health indeed.

But Medic was married to science. It was his husband, his work his wife. His greatest passion could never be devoted to a mere man, no matter how extraordinary. A lover would have to be satisfied always being the runner-up in Medic's heart and life.

Spy couldn't imagine being satisfied with that. Even he had tried to put his work aside once, his love of a woman far stronger than the love of his life's calling. Sadly, that calling was not about to be so quickly turned aside.

But he couldn't blame Medic, either. Brilliance often brought with it a certain single-mindedness. Medic and his experiments. Heavy and his guns. Only Engineer seemed able to pull himself away from his hyperfocus, powerful and self-destructive as it was, still taking time for playing guitar and cookouts and nights sitting under the stars, enjoying the quiet beauty of nature when he thought the rest of the team had gone to bed and he'd been left alone to his own devices, unaware that Spy would often rest against the wall beside the door to the porch, cloaked and sharing in the moment of peace. Each man contained multitudes, but only Engineer could pull himself away from his work with enough regularity to place that fact on display. And rustic though he may be, Spy couldn't deny that there was a bucolic charm to his non-work interests.

Spy looked back to Medic, who was smiling at him over the rim of his mug. He realized that he'd been caught spacing out for a moment as his brain churned away. Medic tittered as their eyes met.

"I almost forgot: there is also the telltale rush of blood to the capillaries of the face, causing erubescene," he teased, "or blushing , as you might know it." He gestured gently to Spy, who realized to his own dismay that his cheeks had grown hot as his mind had drifted.

Spy cleared his throat, straightening his posture like it would hide the pink peeking above his mask from the taller man. "Yes, well, thank you, Docteur. But I should be getting back to it. Mysteries do not solve themselves."

Medic took another sip to contain his giggles. "Of course! Good luck, Spy, and I hope the real thing turns out as lovely as your fantasies!"

Spy grumbled out a vague thanks as he set down his empty mug and slunk out of the room in a small huff.

N.G. definitely wasn't Medic. He got far more enjoyment out of needling him, both literally and metaphorically, than any romance would offer.

*

Scout sat back from his drawing, pen tapping against his lip as he regarded the shape of the car he was sketching out. Something wasn't right, but he couldn't place what. Then again, he also wasn't used to drawing at a forty-five degree angle. "Draftin' tables are weird," he said, looking past said drafting table to where Engineer was seated on a rolling shop stool, hunched behind a dispenser, its wires spilling out as he went at something inside with a pair of pliers.

"Takes some gettin' used to, I'll admit," Engineer replied absently.

"Yeah."

Silence fell for a long moment as Scout scratched down a few more lines onto his notebook. "So, you bend Spy over the workbench yet?"

Engineer dropped his pliers, sputtering in surprise, his face going red in an instant. "What the hell is wrong with you askin' somethin' like that?"

"Seriously? No? Don't tell me 'e still ain't figured it out! Shit, man, you might as well just tell 'im at this point, if 'e's too dumb to pick up on it after a whole-ass week."

"He ain't dumb."

"Yeah okay," Scout snorted.

"It also ain't your business."

"Why not? Man, if two 'a my coworkers're gonna be all kissyface an' shit all the time an' bangin' in the off hours in the base where we all live which ain't got soundproofin' , that's gonna turn into my business at some point. What if Spy's a screamer? Especially with what you're packin'!"

"...what I'm packin?" "We all shower together; ain't nobody not noticed you swing pipe, Engie."

"You little pecker checker."

"I was scopin' out the competition."

"Competition for what?"

"I dunno; not Spy though, I'll tell you that. He's your problem. Least, he will be once you just go nut up an' tell 'im."

Engineer set down his pliers and stared hard at Scout. "Like how you told Miss Paulin'?"

Scout stammered a bit before crossing his arms across his chest. "This ain't about me."

"First time you've ever said that about anythin'," Engineer shot with a smirk.

"Look, I don't get why you're into 'im, but you are. A guy don't write another guy a freakin' love letter if 'e ain't down bad for 'im."

"The letter was Pyro's idea. Said 'e was sick of watchin' me pinin' away in silence. And now I'm in this mess."

Scout smiled a little at that. It explained a lot. A love letter didn't really seem Engineer's style, which probably wasn't helping Spy solve things. "What, were you just never gonna say nothin'?"

"Spy's a refined fella. He wouldn't go for a country boy like me if I just up and said somethin' to 'im."

"You kiddin' me? You've got more PhDs than there are guys on base! You can play guitar! Chicks dig smart artsy guys."

"Scout, Spy's a man."

"Do guys who like guys dig smart, artsy guys?" Scout asked, rolling his hand like he was waiting for Engineer to catch up with him.

Engineer stared for a long moment, unable to argue. "S'pose so."

"See? Look just 'cause you're all yee-haw an' axle grease don't mean that ain't what 'e's into, Eng. Like yeah, I bet he'd totally wanna bang a dude just like 'imself, but maybe that ain't all, yeah? Maybe he likes a guy who's stronger an' more manly than 'im, yanno? Hold 'im in 'is big arms, make 'im feel safe..."

Engineer lifted an eyebrow.

"I mean girls like that, so maybe guys who like guys do?" Scout recovered, gesturing broadly with his arms.

"Maybe they do," Engineer huffed out with a laugh. Scout was right. It was entirely possible that Spy would be interested in what he had to offer. He was aloof, but that didn't mean he didn't find anything attractive in any of them The man maintained a standoffish facade with the whole team, buts it was his own brand of professionalism, likely to make up for what an immature little shit he could be on the field when he thought nobody was looking.

Engineer was looking, and what he saw made him laugh. It was endearing, really, to see the cool, aloof cat of a man doing voices and chucking insults the same as the rest of them. He wasn't really above it all, in spite of how he tried to play.

"Look, I ain't got a dog in the race, Eng. So I can tell ya square: anyone with eyes can see you're a catch, man. You're built, you're handy, you play guitar an' sing an' know how to cook. Plus, you're rich. Like crazy rich. Like not just built yourself up rich but Daddy's Money rich on top 'a that. Fuck around money rich. If you were into girls they'd be tearin' each other's hair out tryin' to get to you! An' I bet Spy sees that too. Guy sees everythin', yanno?"

Engineer chuckled at that. Scout wasn't exactly great at navigating it, but the spirit was there, and he appreciated being hyped up a bit. "Thank ya kindly," he said demurely, laying a hand over his heart. "But him seein' everythin's why I ain't piped up yet. I want 'im to figure it out, act on 'is own initiative. Ain't the same if I confront 'im with it, feels like. Plus, the man loves his ego stroked. Bein' able to solve the puzzle'll go toward that, I reckon."

"I don't get it. Figured with guys you could just circumvent all that pussy-footin' around shit. 'Hey, gorgeous. We both got dicks; wanna do it?'"

"And that's why you ain't had a date of any gender long as I known you."

"Man, I ain't had a date 'cause we're stuck livin' in a base in the middle 'a fuckall nowhere!" Scout barked, indignant. His expression turned to a pout as the only reply he received was Engineer's signature wheezy chuckle.

*

"We're bloody terrible at this game," Demoman huffed, watching his horseshoe land a full foot away from the stake.

"You have no depth perception, of course you're terrible!" Soldier barked, lining up his shot. He let his horseshoe fly, only for it to overshoot the stake by at least two feet. "Too much mustard on that one."

"And ye can barely see out from under the brim o' that helmet," Demoman huffed. "I'll have ye ken me aim's close enough. Can hit a runnin' Scout with a pipe at twenty paces nae danger!"

"I thought close enough was supposed to work for horseshoes and hand grenades! You're one for two, maggot!" "Shut it!" Demoman's lip curled up into a snarl as he lined up his next shot. He swung his arm and released the horseshoe, which fell limply to the dirt just barely inside of the pit, two and a half feet from the stake. "Crud!"

Soldier hacked out a laugh, doubling over to brace himself on his thighs to keep standing.

Demoman stood there pouting at him, arms crossed over his chest. 'I'm too sober's the problem. Nae had a drink in almost an hour. The double vision's the trick, ye ken."

Spy watched from the porch, posted against one of the supports holding up its bockety, sun-rotted roof. He was getting fidgety from spending a while without cigarettes, trying not to get made by scent, but he kept his shaking hands hidden in the pockets of his trousers. The last thing he wanted was to jitter so much that the motion of his cloak could be seen.

As expected, there wasn't much to eavesdrop on with Demoman and Soldier, the two of them spending most of their words to roast one another with the sort of viciousness only close friendship could elicit. It did warm Spy's heart a bit, in spite of it all. At least that whole business with the BLU Soldier hadn't dulled this friendship or made things awkward. Though he suspected neither man had the emotional intelligence to realize why it could get weird. Ignorance may truly be bliss after all.

Either way, while it was certainly entertaining to watch, it wasn't really getting him anywhere. He suspected as much, but due diligence made it just seem right to see if two of the most loose-lipped men on the team would let anything slip. Given Demoman's known interest in men, it could make him more prone to gossiping about the base's newest potential homosexual romance.

Assuming Spy was right and he hadn't written the letter himself.

With a sigh, Spy pushed off of the support, deciding to cut his losses and go try to see if he could talk Pyro in enough circles to spill something. The arsonist clearly knew something, or at least liked the drama enough to be working on figuring it out as well. Either way, it was likely to be more fruitful than watching the most tragic lawn game he'd ever witnessed.

A creak sounded from the old, dry-rotted wood. Then the roof groaned . Spy's head snapped back to look up a moment before a rotten chunk of the structure fell. He leapt, rolling across the concrete paddock of the porch, and narrowly missed the rain of wood and shingles as the whole corner of the roof gave way and collapsed with a clatter and crunch. His cloak sputtered and dropped, leaving him on one hand and his knees, staring wide-eyed at the wreckage.

"Oi! Spy! Ye alright?" Demoman called, jogging over.

"Y-yes, thank you," Spy replied, climbing to his feet and dusting off his trousers.

"Knew that thing's days were numbered, but I didnae realize just how close tae the end it was," the bomber mused, looking over the damage.

"Why didn't Engie fix it?" Soldier asked, ambling over, utterly calm.

"'Cause he fixes everythin' else on this bloody base, and he cannae be everywhere all the time," Demoman reasoned, a bit shamefully.

"He's reliable and capable, but even he is but one man," Spy mused, taking out a cigarette and lighting it with relief. If his hands weren't already shaking, they definitely would be now.

"We need two of him," Soldier concluded, slapping his fist down into his open palm.

"How're ye gonnae do that?" Demoman replied with a smirk, egging Soldier on.

"He could make a clone of himself! I bet he could reprogram Respawn to do it!" Soldier grinned broadly, proud of his idea.

"Aye, that's definitely how that works." Demoman rested his hands on his hips and had a chuckle. "So Spy, ye out here eavesdroppin', or was that," he gestured to the wreckage that was the corner of the porch, "just a wee coincidence."

Spy sighed. Demoman was too canny for his own good sometimes. "If you're accusing me of dropping eaves, I assure you, that ," he, too, gestured to the destroyed porch roof, "was not my intention."

Demoman whooped out a laugh at that. "Ye should banter more, Spy. Ye got the touch!"

A soft, self-satisfied chuckle left Spy, and he took another long drag. "I've spent the majority of my liberty this week slaving away at that love letter. Some fresh air would do me good. At least, I thought so, until the porch tried to crush me."

"Ach, what's a bit o' mortal danger? It's good for the blood," Demoman dismissed with a laugh. He hopped up on the edge of the porch next to where Spy stood and patted the concrete paddock, inviting him to sit. Soldier climbed up on his other side, kicking his legs in the air.

With a moment's consideration, Spy shrugged and settled in beside Demoman, half-facing him with one leg up on the porch, the other hanging. "I assume you'd like to chat."

"Aye, aye. Surprised you're of a mind."

"Like I said, I've spent the entire week with no human interaction outside of combat, slamming my head against a puzzle." Spy took a drag and exhaled, looking off to the side. "Don't get used to this."

That made Demoman snort. Spy was ridiculous, preening like a cat and pretending to be above it all. It would be infuriating if it weren't so transparent. "Sure, aye, nae danger."

"So, have you figured out who it is, yet?" Soldier asked.

Spy sighed, thinking it obvious. If he had, why would he be here, sneaking around and almost dying to faulty construction? "No, I have not."

Soldier replied with a soft, "Hm."

"Dinnae let it get ye down," Demoman offered, clapping Spy on the shoulder then swiftly removing his hand after clocking the look of utter disdain that it elicited. "Honestly? A whole week o' radio silence after a note with barely a hint? It's strange, it is."

"Perhaps, but when presented with a mystery like this, what am I to do?"

"I ken ye've nae conclusion, but any theories?"

Spy took a long drag. "A few. Some more attractive than others."

Demoman chuckled at that. Fair enough. "Which ones're more attractive?"

"Fishing for compliments?" Spy teased with a smirk.

"If I'm still in competition I'd be more concerned about yer qualifications for wearin' that balaclava, mate. Ye ken me style, and sneakin' love notes isnae it."

"Didn't you and the BLU Soldier get together at a gun show?" Soldier asked.

"It's where we met and struck up a friendship," Demoman explained. "Wasn't 'til after we hit the bars, got good 'n liquored up, fought the cops, and laid low at a motel outside town that I kissed him. Was ready tae write it off as adrenaline until he kissed me back, and started slidin' his hand down me trews." He sighed fondly, as painful as the nostalgia was.

"Wait, you fucked on the first date?" Soldier asked.

"Did we have time tae consider there'd be another one?" Demoman reasoned. "I'm nae some blushin' flower, mate. I've got a braw lad askin' me tae blow his back out, I aim tae do it."

"You can't aim for shit," Soldier snorted, then fell into laughs as Demoman pushed him off the porch.

"Yes, well, I suppose the speed at which you move isn't quite compatible with writing notes," Spy said, rolling his eyes and trying to expel the mental image of Demoman fucking the BLU Soldier from his mind, even if it did answer the idle curiousity he had as to which of the bombastic, competitive men had been the bottom.

"Aye, aye, but still's tae the point: any o' those theoretical authors actually have a chance, mate? I imagine yer nae gonnae throw yerself at a lad just 'cause he's wrote ye a love note. So what's the best case scenario? Who'd actually have a shot? Who d'ye hope it is?"

Spy sat with that question for a long moment, taking a thoughtful drag of his cigarette. The pause was so pregnant Demoman fancied its water was about to break.

He hadn't really considered that. Not in earnest. Sure, he thought about the pros and cons of who it might be, whether it was preferable. But what would he really do once he discovered the answer? And what if it was an answer he didn't like? What if it was an answer he did? What was an answer he did? Who was he kidding? He hadn't gathered the thoughts in a cohesive manner, but in his gut, he already knew who he wanted it to be. His own wandering mind had taught him as much.

"Engineer," Spy sighed, looking away so as not to meet Demoman's eye. Out of the corner of his own vision, he caught a smile crossing the bomber's lips anyway.

"Good, you can get him to fix the porch," Soldier announced.

"Engie, aye?" Demoman said appraisingly, giving a little nod. "Ye've good taste, lad. Broad, braw bloke like that? Muscles for days and a bit soft? That voice? "

"Do I have competition?" Spy teased with a soft laugh, grateful that he hadn't been teased immediately for a rare moment of candidness.

"Ach, nae. I'd nae dare stand in yer way."

"In my way?" Spy asked, eyebrow lifted.

"Look, lad. It's clear ye want him tae be the answer. Which means yer sweet on him. Which means nae matter who this secret admirer o' yours is, what does matter is ye've yer eye on someone already. The matter's been breached, in so many words. Why nae just make a move?"

"And if he's not the author?"

"Then yer nae interested in the author anyway," Demoman reasoned. "Right?"

Spy nodded slowly, admitting it to himself. Any other candidate just didn't capture him the same way, didn't set his heart to racing and his mind to distraction like thoughts of the short Texan with his warm voice and strong hands and eleven hard-science PhDs. "Which leaves the question of whether Engineer would be interested," Spy pointed out, gesturing vaguely with his cigarette.

"You will not know the answer to that if you do not ask," Soldier said plainly. "If he did write it, then he is interested. If he did not, you can not know if he is interested unless you ask."

"Hate tae say it, but the lad's right," Demoman agreed, jerking a thumb at Soldier. "And say he's nae the author, and someone else's feelings get hurt: lad wrote ye a note so opaque even you o' all people couldn't crack it, and never followed up, dropped any other breadcrumbs, just sat back and let it lie. Can he really blame ye for followin' yer heart?"

"He snoozed, he lost!"

"Aye, exactly!"

Spy chewed on that thought for a moment and took another long drag to finish his cigarette, stubbing it out on the concrete porch as he exhaled. "Fair enough, I suppose."

"I ken the direct approach isnae yer wheelhouse, but sometimes, the only way out is through!"

"Yeah, go get 'im, Frenchie!"

Spy snorted out a soft laugh and shook his head. This was where he was getting his romantic advice? Still, he supposed, they weren't wrong.