#for good i���d want to take it and stick around just long enough to hear how much they’ll cry about it before i fuck off

[hyukascampfire]

TO: SOMEONE FROM A WARM CLIMATE ... ❨ O6 ❩ ⸺ 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵��𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦, 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴

𝓘N WHICH 𝗁𝗎𝗋𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗓𝗓𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾. "𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂 𝖺𝗆 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝖾, 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗇'𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎?" 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗎𝗉 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗍, 𝗍𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗉. "𝗌𝖺𝗒 𝗂𝗍," 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗌. "say what i am."

faerie!𝗍𝖺𝖾𝗁𝗒𝗎𝗇 ╱ faerie!𝗒𝖾𝗈𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗇 · ƒ ! r 15k 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗒 ⸺ smut, angst, unprotected sex, mentions of past trauma, kissing scars, yandere themes, oral f rec, overstimulation, cumming on belly, power play, jealousy and possessiveness ｡ ( playlist )

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🪶 ⦂ look what's finally out. i almost shed a tear formatting this post. i've missed this series so much. hehe. did i shed a few real tears over this? yes. i know that this part is shorter, and i did cut some stuff out, but i think that it packs the biggest punch. things HAPPEN. there is no meandering here.

“Tomorrow?” Beomgyu says. He’s laid with his shoulder pressed to yours, watching the ceiling the same lazy way you do.

Tomorrow. Leave it to Taehyun to spring stuff on you. Just when this place started feeling like home, here you go packing. You suppose you could stay here with Beomgyu and stick your head in the sand, but what good would that do you? You can’t pretend that the world will stop moving around you if you do. It won’t. Ancient powers will still be toeing at war, and Taehyun will still be general, and you will still be too near to the center of it all than you ought to be. They are indelible truths, so whatever. You’ll go to that war camp with him, if it’s for the best. 

For tonight, though, you’ll enjoy Beomgyu’s presence. You almost want to ask him to come with you, but to the kelpie, being dragged into some meandering court war is worse than being left here by himself. Truly, he’ll probably be here thriving by his lonesome. Kelpie is as kelpie does.

You echo the word with a sigh. “Tomorrow.”

He turns to you, mischief sparkling in his mud eyes. Even without words, you know exactly what that look’s supposed to be saying.

“Don’t even start,” you say, elbowing him. “I was just beginning to think that I might miss you. Of course, you had to remind me of your nagging…” There’s no real bite. You’re never really annoyed, and Beomgyu doesn’t really care to run away. 

Well, he might. You like to think that he’d at least look back twice were he to get the chance to make his grand escape for the treeline. But this conversation is more of a strange, unconventional comfort for the both of you than it is a genuine consideration.

“You’ll miss the nagging most.” He turns props himself up on an elbow. “Will you talk with the grass stalks when you’re there? The Lord isn’t much for words, and you love to hear your own.”

Gasping, you glare. “Are you calling me annoying? That’s not fair coming from you. You love the sound of your own voice more than any faerie I’ve known, and you love the sound of your own voices.”

Of course, Beomgyu takes pride in that. “I do tell a story good. You should love my voice, too.”

He’s awful, but you laugh. He’s right enough. There was a time, when you first brought him here from his forest, that you’d talked to him for so long into the night that your voice went raw. You had never talked so much in your life.

“I guess the grass will have to do.” You interlace your fingers on your belly.

“They are quite humorous.”

“Whatever, liar,” you snort.

“Oh, but they are.” Sitting up, Beomgyu’s snarled hair hangs as he looks down, impish amusement bursting at the seams of his face. “Such a human thing; to think that because you don’t know it, then it can’t be how it is. Everything has something to say, you just don’t hear it.”

Blinking, you look at him. “I guess that’s true,” you say. You’d always known that there was a lot about the world that you didn’t know, but you are reminded of that more than ever these days. Even just in little things like this. “I wonder how it’ll be.”

Beomgyu looks a little bit less playful. “You’ll need to watch yourself. Humans don’t go to faerie war camps. They won’t be glad to have you there. The Lord thinks he’s protecting you, but our world is feeling the unbalance. Not even his mind, as sharp as he thinks it is, can predict what’s unpredictable.”

How terribly ominous is that. “Do you know something I don’t?” you ask, releasing a short breath for a laugh and fiddling with the trim of your pillow that you’d made pretty with gold swirls.

Beomgyu shoots you one of his eerie, knowing grins that leaves you unsure whether you should laugh with him or worry about what it means. 

“What?” you say, giving him a contemptuous frown instead. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You’re reminded of when he’d told you similar things when he’d helped with your geas. You will never be whole again, but you ought to savor what you’ve got left. Perhaps he does it just to mess with you, but you’ll never be sure. That’s the thing about a faerie: the moment you think you’ve understood who they are and what they’ll do, they’re different the next. Capricious and ever-changing, at least to your human mind.

You’d thought you’d known a faerie once. That’s a lesson better taught than learnt.

Or maybe what you have here, in those strange eyes and that fickle smile, is just friendship, and the things he says are just because of what he is. Maybe you’re trying to look at Beomgyu through the same cracked lens that Yeonjun had left you with. You’d been a trusting girl once. Breathing out a sigh, you take a long look at his face. Shouldn’t you let yourself be her again? Isn’t it unfair to assume the worst of him because of what another did?

“It means that I worry for you,” he says, flopping back down beside you. “And that you should be safe. I don’t wish to live in this terrible estate with just the Lord, some servants, and I.”

You blink up at the ceiling, your throat tight for whatever reason. “A lie,” you say. It comes out more as a rueful complaint than the shoddy joke you intended for it to be. It’s hard when you’re not sure whether or not you believe it to be the truth. He’s the one that said he could lie if he wanted to.

His gaze falls on you, old in its weight. “And so, if it is?” he says. His voice is gentle, or perhaps comforting, in a way you weren’t sure he could be. “Would you make yourself sick debating it? Hanging onto every word to discern whether it's a real truth or a faerie truth?”

Instead of speaking when you don’t know what to say, you turn to him and let his words wrap around your bones. 

You would, just as you always have. Out of all the people that’s not fair to, it might just be the most unfair to yourself. You’ll never know for certain, so why torture yourself trying to?

Well, if only it were that easy. If only you could know what someone intends before you give them a tender spot in your chest to leave achingly empty. To leave it bruised and a shriveled, wary husk of its former self. 

“And,” he says, full of humor, “if not you, then who would I bother asking to release me from the bridle’s hold? Not the Lord. He wouldn’t tolerate it. He’d keep me here for an eternity, was it convenient for his own plans.”

No, you don’t think he would. Taehyun hadn’t gotten Beomgyu to serve his menial needs; he hadn’t gotten him for himself. You wonder if you’ve been looking at Taehyun through that same, warped lens you’ve been seeing the rest of the world with. Did you let it bend his image into something untrue?

“Of course,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I was wrong. You are predictable. Maybe I’m with Taehyun on that.”

❆

Cutting through snow up to your calves and with a pack on your back and Taehyun’s silhouette leading the way, it’s impossible to not remember the last time you did this. So much has changed since then, and then so much has stayed unchanged.

It’s been months since you two came north. A lifetime ago. And so much has happened between the both of you, quicksand up to your ears, but you can’t say you know him that much better than you did then. You might even know less now. It’d been cut and clean—he was a dark, impolite man that saw the world down his nose.

Going west, it takes less time for frost and white forest floor to give way to green than it had when you went north. Foliage. Seeing a forest untouched by the cold’s bitter death has you breathing in the air, savoring the way it doesn’t sting your lungs. It’s fresh in a different way.

Once your feet begin to ache, you make a small camp for the night. Camp, meaning a fire made of damp wood off the forest floor that’s reluctant to burn and tree stumps to lean your back against. Good that it’s warmer here.

Taehyun gets some poor small forest animal to roast, and you brought some apples to eat on the way. The gamey tang and the sweetness mesh into something that’s not too awful, considering your circumstances. You sit down by the meek fire, holding your palms out at it. You’re not so far away from home yet that the night doesn’t at least make your bones ache with the chill.

“Did you not know until recently that they’d want you to go to the camp?” you say, trying to warm the air between you in the same way you toast your numb fingers.

With one arm propped up on a bent knee and his apple dangling untouched in his hand, he shakes his head. The fire dances an array of oranges and yellows in his eyes. “I’m their general. It doesn’t matter why I did it; if I don’t play the part, it’ll have been for nothing. If I stayed in my estate, they’d have no use for me.”

So, it was his idea. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

Taehyun purses his lips, watching the fire. Thinking about whether or not to say. “I thought it’d upset you,” he says finally after a long moment.

Unsure of what to say to that, you take a pause. Truthfully, you hadn’t expected that—that he thought it would be fine either way, that he hadn’t thought to, that it wasn’t up to him, you might’ve assumed. He was nervous to tell you that he, and by extension you, were going to have to go? He didn’t say it outright. Taehyun never would. But the thought is sweet, in a way. Your lips turn up at the corners, a soft and unexpected smile.

“I guess that’s true,” you say. You would’ve gone either way, though. The fire sizzles and pops as it eats up the wet logs, the little stack falling. “Don’t you worry about the fact that they might find out that you’re not so enthusiastic about the war? To be general?”

“As long as I do their bidding, I don’t think they’ll care what I believe in.” He shrugs. “I play general, they get to have war. If they aren’t coming to our doorstep because we were spies, that’s all I care about.”

You suppose that’s right. Neither of you are looking out to play hero, anyway. Just to survive. The both of you seem to always be doing that together. 

“What are they asking of you?” you say. If they’re moving out into camps, then something must be happening. That was inevitable. 

“The camp is near the King’s castle. Just a little north of it, on a big grass plane. They’re not looking to be sneaky anymore,” he says. “So, it could be anything.”

Nodding, you cozy back up against the tree. You hope it’s not anything too terrible. For his sake.

❆

Taehyun’s not awake by the time you stir, his arms crossed over his chest and his head back on the bark. A few early birds sing back and forth to each other from the boughs of the trees above you. It’s a sound as fresh and clear as the blue dawn sky and the dew that sparkles from the grass.

How sweet it all would be, did the bottom of your spine not pinch from the night spent upright on your ass, and were there not the unignorable muckiness that clings to your skin from a day spent walking. Dusting your palms of dirt where you’d planted them to the ground, you decide to make a trip to the gentle stream that had lulled you to sleep with its rushing last night. A bath in that water would definitely wake you up quick.

You follow the sound of it until it appears from between two trees. It just looks cold, rushing over the mud riverbank a crystal clear color. You kick off your boots and test it, gasping as it bites. You can’t help but smile at yourself—it’s exactly what you need to come out fresh enough to suffer another day of dragging your feet over the ground.

Getting in is like pins and needles. You peel your clothes off and step in up to your hips, your hisses meshing with the sounds of the morning air. Damn it, it’s cold. Ice cold, as it runs down your spine from where you cup it and wet your hair. And when you’ve gone numb to it, you feel the water rushing in between your fingers, scrubbing it over your skin, letting the crystalline coolness make you clean.

Hopefully, they’ll have some way for you to bathe there. The folk don’t need to bathe for hygiene the way you do, and they’d have no reason to bring a luxury like a tub along in that case. It’s a war camp. You wonder in what other ways it’ll be inhospitable for a human.

Maybe you’ll have to find a river, there, too—

Taehyun’s voice startles you. “You didn’t think to at least tell me you were going?” There isn’t any real bite, more like annoyance. 

You freeze, heart kicking into action so hard that you feel it. You thought he’d be asleep for at least until you got back. Covering your chest with your arms, you spin.

“Sorry,” you say, cheeks burning. Why’s this feel so… Well you don’t even know how to put it into words. He’s had his hands all over you, his lips on you, but him catching you like this just is different. Frankly—you’re flustered, aware of each inch of bare skin, water still rolling down your body and your hair laying in wet tendrils,  that he has to pretend he doesn’t see. For your sake.

Or maybe it doesn’t phase him. Your tummy flips. Would that be for the better or worse?

“I thought something happened,” he says. Curt. Short. “You shouldn’t be out alone like this. It leaves you vulnerable.” His eyes stay trained on your face—distinctly, purposefully. It’s almost humorous how stone-faced he is. Almost, if your heart wasn’t pounding in your ears.

“I wanted to clean up.” You shiver, maybe at the soft breeze on your wet skin or maybe at the redness of his ears. “I’ll tell you. Next time.” Please go, so I can put some fucking clothes on, you want to add.

“Yeah. That would be useful.” He thumbs the hilt of his sword. “Finish up and meet me back at camp. We should get going.” Unceremoniously, he turns on his heel and disappears back into the trees, spine straight.

Water falls from you as you step onto land, wringing your hair out. You’re just glad he didn’t insist on closing his eyes and staying as you dress to keep watch. 

Add that to the list of reasons the air becomes suffocating the moment you’re in proximity to him. It seems that the things you leave unsaid and unaddressed, like those words he’d said to you when he kissed you for the second time, the ones that make your spine tingle the more you pretend they didn’t happen, are sometimes heavier than what you do say.

❆

Camp is a scattering of a few tents raised on a grassy stretch, just as Taehyun had said. Their flags willow in the wind, pointed swords strewn out beside straw-stuffed dummies. 

You’re sharing a tent with Taehyun. It’s simple: two beds on opposing sides, trunks for your belongings, and nearly nothing else. You appreciate your bed at home a little more when you plop down into the cushions, but blankets and pillows are better than tree trunks and bark.

Taehyun slips in some time later. It’s dark out behind him as he does, the stars hanging above. 

“It’s certainly functional in here,” you say, running your fingers through nasty tangles in your hair like a comb. “A war camp.”

“We’ve both slept in worse.”

“Yeah, we have,” you snort, but don’t miss the distance in his voice. After a few beats, just watching him lean his sword against the wall, you ask, “Did something happen?”

He breathes out slowly through his nose, eyes caught where he’d just placed his heavy, dutiful sword. “They want to go straight for bloodshed. They thought I’d get here and just march into the fucking palace.”

You open your mouth, bracing your hands on the mattress beside you as if unsure if you want to stand up or gawk at him. “What? Just walk right up? How does that make any sense?” you say. “You said no, right?”

“Yes, I said no.” Taehyun sits on his bed and works on the laces of his boots. “It doesn’t just make no sense. It’s not how war works. Not a faerie war.”

“Were they… okay with that? You telling them no?” He’s not a general that has commanded an army at war—not his father. They know nothing but the fact that Taehyun is the General’s son and that he’s come here pretending that he’s somebody to tell them what they should or shouldn’t be doing. The faerie ego is not sympathetic to that.

He grits his teeth, jaw flickering.

No. Most definitely not. “Why go in with swords? They know that, by hospitality, they’d have to entertain us if we asked to be. A feast, a celebration of nothing, literally anything. And then we could make a quiet move while we’re in there. Battling it out in some field is ridiculous.”

Taehyun blinks. Thoughts turn in his head, visible through his eyes. “That would break the rules of hospitality, though.”

“So, they won’t see it coming. It seems better than just throwing armor on and hoping we can outnumber them. You said that the North couldn’t win this, but isn’t that only if we play by their rules? Of course they’ll do better when it’s the stakes they put up.”

“You’re good at that.”

“Well,” you say, unsure and flustered. “It just makes the most sense. I thought it’d be what you were thinking too.”

He lets his head drop into a laugh. A laugh. You don’t think you’ve ever held on to the sound of someone’s laugh the way you do the soft, mellow sound. 

You linger on the last remnants of his smile, letting its stark contrast with his usual disposition ring through your bones, as he snuffs out the candle and lets a new, uncharted kind of silence fall over the space.

You linger on it as you fall asleep, too. 

❆

The camp becomes more hollow as Taehyun takes up his role. The only time you get to see him now is when he steps into the tent too late in the night. He’s always up earlier than you.

It’s not like you have anything else to do. Other than Taehyun, this place is just an encampment of strange, hard faces and unnerving eyes that watch you as you toil through the days. Eyes that are curious as to why you’re even here. You start to wonder the same, under their scrutiny. It certainly feels like you shouldn’t be. 

You know better than to stick your nose in their business or to try and make friends. Instead, you whittle time down with practicing on the fine, veneered bows and taking your needle to any tattered old fabric you see. 

Today, you snatched one of Taehyun’s simple black tunics to work away at. All you’d brought in your pack when you had stuffed your essentials in there was some black thread. So you stitch blackthorn branches around the cuffs even though nobody would notice unless they cared to look.

You thread and you thread, letting the world blend into nothing as it always does when you work with your hands like this. The sun sinks from its peak, casting golden afternoon warmth onto your skin from in between tents. You focus on that. When you were a girl, you did the same thing with the goldspun threads you had then. It’s one thing you had for yourself.

Only the sound of something different draws your attention enough to drag you away from decorating the cuffs. A familiar sound; melodic and off-kilter in the same way. Something so singular that you’d know it anywhere, no matter if it made sense or not. Faerie music, and not just any faerie music.

Your feet follow the sound until you find him: a flop of golden hair, freckles spackled over his nose, and music floating away from his lute like magic. Because it is magic.

But, why would he be here?

“How come I knew you’d show up right when I was looking for you?” Kai says. He has clover in his hair, of course he does, and wears a faerie smile. “You have such a strange way of finding yourself in the middle of things. Come for a dance?” He plucks a few notes like an invitation.

You can’t disagree with that. Staying put where you are, you say, “What’s a bard got to do in a place like this?”

“A faerie needs music wherever they will go,” he answers, “and none else more than us antsy for a show.” Crisscrossed in the grass, he puts his instrument down for the first time since you’ve known the strange faerie. “It would not be remiss to say that you and I are both here on equally unlikely terms. Who is to say that you are to be here and I am not, or that I am to be, and you are not?”

Beomgyu’s vernacular has made you at least a bit more accustomed to faerie turns of speech, but Kai speaks the wordiest of them all. A taleteller. That was either fully the truth, or a lie disguised somewhere in those long and gossamer words. It has to be at least partly the truth, though, because Kai is sympathetic to the North. 

Or maybe he isn’t. You can’t tell exactly what Kai is, or what he believes in, or if he likes or dislikes you, or if he’s here or there. The only certain thing about him is that you might never know.

“Okay, well,” you say, “I’ll be off then, if we’re playing riddles.”

Kai looks up at you, his brows raised presumptuously. “Why leave when you’ve only just arrived?” he says. “We are two of a kind here. I don’t see why we two can’t be friends. And, oh, do I have something that you ought to see.”

Your interest must show in your face, because he smiles and pats the ground beside him. That could mean a hundred different things, coming from him. You don’t move, eyes narrowed.

“Don’t be wary,” he laughs. It sounds something like bells twinkling in the distance. “What good would it bring me to play tricks on you? You’ll hate to miss what I’ve brought for you.”

Still not entirely convinced, but definitely intrigued, you take a seat on the ground with him, criss-crossing your legs. A gentle breeze tugs your hair one way. It’s a beautiful day. Maybe you should’ve let yourself enjoy it a little.

“Not a trick,” you say, playing with the grass beneath your fingertips. “Then what? I thought you to be the tricksy type.”

The sun gilds his silhouette, making his hair into true gold around the edges. He laughs, nose wrinkling with such joy that you wonder if it really was that funny. “You suffer trust,” he says.

It’s nothing but a flippant, passing remark. Nonetheless, it strikes you deep, because deep down you know it’s the truth. You just hate that it’s so obvious to them and their kind. You hate that everything about you is obvious to them. It’s as though they reach in and flip through your pages, while you’re stuck out here trying to figure it out yourself. Beomgyu had done the same.

The long moment in which you look at him makes him laugh again, shaking his head. “Here. Let me show you.” He reaches into a pocket.

A letter. He produces a letter. You aren’t stupid enough to pretend that it might be from Beomgyu or anybody else. Belly dropping, you know exactly who’s written to you.

“I don’t want it,” you rush out. “Keep it. Send it back to him and tell him I won’t be taking any of his letters.”

You keep telling yourself that you’re past it. Past him. No healed person has to remind themselves that they are, or has to choke down the lump in their throat at a slight reminder as this. It is achingly pathetic.

Kai seems to think so, as well. He furrows his brows. “You don’t want them? Are you not lovers?”

“No, we are not,” you lie. Or, well, it’s the truth, but it’s as venomous as a lie on your tongue. “It doesn’t matter. I wonder why he would send you all the way here just for this.” Now, it’s clear why Kai is here at this camp. 

He grins, because your reaction makes it obvious to anybody looking close enough. “Take it. Read it at least once, and then burn it if you must. I can’t leave this place until you have it.”

That doesn’t sound so awful. Tentatively, you accept it into your hands.

Kai, in a different tone of voice than before, points at the little patch of clover that you wouldn’t be wrong to assume he stole the ones in his hair from. A four leaf clover stands proud in the center of them. “Luck, it seems,” he says, “has its own say.”

What that means, you don’t know. You take his letter and burn it in a candle flame, watching the words float up in curls of wispy smoke. Not for anger, but because you know better than to do this again. You know yourself and how much you love his sweet words too much to even allow yourself to read them first.

And over the weeks the next came and then the next. You burnt those ones too. Seeing Kai becomes your routine, stepping out into fresh air to go sit with him wherever it is. A damp patch of grass, on a fallen log out in the edge of the forest, in between two tents. He’s somebody to talk to, and goodness are you hungry for that. He’ll play old songs for you, telling you stories in which you are even less sure whether or not they’re bolstered with dramatics than Beomgyu’s.

Goodness, you miss that horse. You ask Kai to take something to him for you, since he’s coming in and out anyway. The letter you get back makes you laugh out loud. In jagged, unsightly lines, he scrawled back, sending letters now, are we?  You’re just surprised he knows how to write, honestly. Would it be a cruel joke to write back and say, you’re free? Would that even work over ink? It seems that you’ll be here forever, with the way things are going now. The long haul. Taehyun wouldn’t even know Beomgyu was gone until you got back.

Nonetheless, you are certain he’s content there by himself, though it isn’t the loch he wishes it would be. 

There’s always something happening here, and you live just on the outskirts of it. You’re not sure what. Taehyun doesn’t come to tell you about it, but from what you’ve pried at Kai over, you know that things aren’t going well. You figured as much, what with the quietness that Taehyun returns with every night, the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders, and the way his face has become sharper.

The weight of a leader that he will shoulder, because he believes it to be his duty.

❆

For the first time in a while, Taehyun comes back at an hour that you’re not opening one heavy eye to watch him through. Kicking the blankets off your legs, you sit up and watch him peel his doublet over his head, the one with the Blackthorn crest in silver.

And then he takes his tunic off, and there is his back, bared to your eyes. Your stomach erupts with violent butterflies. His muscles move under his skin, precise and powerful, the movement of him throwing the fabric elsewhere showing them off beneath each jagged old wound. At the top, in his shoulder blade, is one that you recognize. 

“That looks better than when I last saw it,” you say, voice gentle with sleepiness. 

Taehyun pauses, looking over his shoulder. “I thought you were asleep. I’m sorry.” 

Tension; tension as thick as smoke in the air between you. It’s been that way for a while now. Suffocating.

“No, it’s okay.” You purse your lips. “I haven’t gotten to talk with you much. I stayed up a bit later.” The fact that it insinuates that you’ve been waiting to speak with him, you don’t address. You sleep in the same little space every night. It’s hard not to want that. 

Sitting on his bed, elbows braced on his knees and his hands clasped, he looks at you for a long moment. “Is that so?” he says. “I didn’t know.”

How could he know? It’s not like the two of you have ever been the way you and Beomgyu had. The way you and Yeonjun had. There’s always been this exact indescribable tension underlying it all between you. Something you are desperate to understand, but in the same way, deeply frightened to. 

Crossing the room, you sit beside him. “I know you’re busy,” you say, filling the candle-lit air with words. “The stitches. They helped? It doesn’t look so bad.” You lie. It’s a gnarly scar, still red and tender, but no longer an open wound. For some reason, though you don’t think another scar would bother him too much, you don’t want him to know that it’s unsightly. It’s not what he deserves to hear. He got that one carrying your poisoned self when he didn’t need to. 

There are a lot of things he did for you that he didn’t need to, and you struggle to grapple with why he did. Why he left behind a spy’s golden trove of information as if those years of his life meant nothing. Why he did a number of the things he did, when it made no sense for him to. Taehyun isn’t one who will do the kinder thing over the rational thing. So, then, why?

“They did,” he hums, his voice low. “It healed up fine. Thank you.”

There’s a few long beats of silence. You’re looking at his back, curved forward into a bend, and you blurt it. You curse yourself even as it's coming out, because it’s a ridiculous thing to ask, really.

“Can I…?” you say, a soft thing that trails off toward the end. Bringing your palm up, you hover it just over his back. 

Taehyun tenses up, but he doesn’t object.

His skin is everything that a living thing’s should not be, under your palm. Cold; bitterly so, and each long, marred line is a groove under the pads of your fingertips. His back is torn up, and then smooth muscle where it isn’t. It makes your stomach sick.

“Are these… all from him?”

The timbred rumble of his voice reverberates through your palm. “No. Not all of them.” You run your fingers over a vicious, sideways scar. Something once festering and visceral, but his skin mended into something whole once more. That jagged mark will never leave, though. “But some are.”

His voice is distant and tight. You know it’s that he thinks speaking of it is pitying himself, when he survived it already. He doesn’t see it how you do—how much it’s clear that those still bother him. Your heart clenches in your chest, but you hold back all the things brimming on your tongue. You don’t want him to think you pity him.

“How did you get that one?”

He surprises you by answering. “The day I learned I was strong enough to fight him.”

Your hand freezes on his back. You knew each had a story, but hearing them is different. “What happened?” you ask, gentle but prodding. You wonder which parts of him were built by that man, and which still remind him of it.

“It doesn’t matter now,” Taehyun says. His voice is terse; walls beginning to draw back up. 

“No, it doesn’t.” You thumb the scar he got with you, and then so very slowly, you press a soft kiss to just beside it . Your breath puffs out from your nose, warmth over the frigidity of him. 

Taehyun shudders. His heart thumps in his chest—you can hear it, up this close. An unsteady rhythm, frantic against his ribcage. When he sits up and turns to look at you, his eyes are something different. Somewhere between intense, frightened, or unsure.

Your heart mimics his. With your voice soft, you say, “I’m sorry for that one.”

Where he had walked in here a war general with hard eyes and his jaw tight, the man you see now is one who hasn’t ever known a gentle touch, who hardened himself so that he couldn’t. And yet—like a frightened, unsure animal, he lets you in just enough to know that you won’t balk at his unsightliness. Beyond just his torn-up body. That doesn’t bother you, beyond the heaviness knowing what he was made to survive leaves you. Rather, down to what he is at his very core.

❆

 Most of what you know about what’s happening comes from Kai. Not that Kai has ever shown animosity toward you—with time, you’ve come to at least enjoy listening to him playing for hours. You wish Taehyun would come to you to talk about it. Wish that he felt like he could. 

What is this, between you? Is it trust, or not? You don’t know. You don’t even know how you feel, let alone even beginning to know how he does. But with this, shouldering it all himself, it looks like maybe he doesn’t. And, then again, his favorite tunic to wear for weeks has been the one that you made pretty. The threading that only he and you would know was there. Small gestures, and whatever they mean from him.

The sentiment toward Taehyun, with the faeries here, and you’re sure back home in the North, is starting to sour toward him. His moves have all fallen apart, ended up with us worse than we started off with. You keep a distance between yourself and all of that—but even you know what’ll happen if that trend keeps up. What use is a general that will lead you into loss? They’ll rid themselves of him. 

Worse. You choose not to think about that, or the dark pit it leaves in your stomach.

It makes no sense at all. Taehyun is capable and intelligent—he doesn’t do anything without considering it. If anybody in this world was to succeed in something like this, it’s him. But suddenly he is not, and you watch it weigh on him. 

And then, there’s Yeonjun. His sending letters tells you he’s at least okay. You might make peace with receiving and burning them forever, did you still not wonder about him, or ache for somebody to hold some nights. There had been a time in your life when you had never known what it was to hold or to be held, and still you lived. A bitter part of you wishes you never did. It’s like what Beomgyu had said: You’ve only got so much of yourself. Each time you fill yourself up with our magic, you lose that space. You will never be whole again

You will never be whole again. Yeonjun’s love was magic in its own right, even if it wasn’t really. It sometimes seems like it’s a hollow, empty spot inside of you where he sat. But that’s not right. It’s that he is still there, and always will be, and you feel as much when you try and pretend otherwise. So now you are to live forever as if you didn’t know him, didn’t love him, and it aches. You cannot pretend it doesn’t.

So, sometimes, you consider whether or not it’s better to live without him forever or to forget yourself and indulge. It’s not like he ever was a pure evil. Hardly that. But when you get to thinking about how sweet he’d been, how much you enjoyed it, you remind yourself of what he did, who he’s left you as. For the better. For the better.

You worry that he really will make good on what he wrote in those letters. Regardless of what he sends you now, you choose not to look. Losing you was fresh, then. Yeonjun is not nonsensical, just hurt. You tell yourself that, anyway. 

Taehyun’s in your tent before you even are tonight, slipping in after a long evening of Kai trying to teach you the lute. As handy as you are, music seems to be out of the question. You don’t just spend time with him on days where he comes with letters—it’s most of your days, now. It’s easier that way.

His shoulders are rigid. He sits, so still and lost in thought. Sword still on his hip and still dressed down to his boots, he probably hasn’t moved since he sat there. It’s not hard to imagine what it is.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, ruffling through your trunk for something to make a snack out of. “Do they still not trust you?”

Taehyun scoffs. “They don’t just not trust me. They want me out. Not all of them, but the loud ones. They think that I’m doing it on purpose.” Laughing with a caustic edge, he shakes his head and looks at you. “I wish I was.” After a moment, he adds, “How did you know?”

“Kai said as much,” you say. Forget eating. 

A look of something akin to realization flashes over his eyes, and then he nods. “Of course. Of course.”

“...What?” you say, knitting your brows. 

“Somebody’s been telling my people that I’m a traitor. Somebody’s been making sure that each and every one of my moves goes down in flames. Somebody was sent here to do a prince’s bidding and give you his letters.”

Pausing, you frown. You didn’t think that Taehyun knew about those, but you also think that he’s just pieced that together himself. “But I’ve been with him most days,” you say. You were today, and then just the day before. “He wouldn’t have been able to.”

Jaw working, Taehyun trains his eyes on you. “Does that mean you were with him always? And that doesn’t mean that he dirtied his own hands.” He pauses, softening his tone the littlest bit. “You don’t know him as well as you think you do.”

You know that. Goodness, do you know that. You might say that he’s just avoiding considering the fact that it could be that his moves have failed, but that’s not Taehyun. If it were that, it wouldn’t bother him like this. He’d try a new approach, find a way, because he is utterly capable. That’s the problem, and why he’s come to this conclusion. Because he already knows that it’s the truth. 

“Then, should we do something that couldn’t be sabotaged?”

He waits for you to elaborate with interest shining in his dark eyes. 

Flushing, you’re reminded of the last time he trusted you enough to follow your lead, and how it ended for you. Still, he looks ready to do it again. You take a gnaw at your lip before saying, “We could do something. Us, if they’re just gonna mess it up when you send others. That way we know that it gets done, and they’ll see that it’s not your fault. They’ll trust you again, even if someone’s running their mouth.”

Taehyun thinks about that for a few moments. The silence as he does reminds you again of what you stand to lose if it went sideways. “They’re not as easy to convince as that. Not if somebody’s still in their ears, and if they’ve already decided that I’m not who they want leading their army.” A beat. “But, better that than letting it happen.”

You let out a long sigh, settling down opposite of him on his bed. Letting the silence stir between you with only your eyes speaking for a few moments, you say, “You think it’s him?” Not Kai—Yeonjun. At least, the one who would want this.

“I know it is.” His face goes hard, a sharpness you’re familiar with. “And you cozied right up with his messenger. It’s ironic.”

Gritting your teeth, you shoot back, “That’s not fair.”

Taehyun doesn’t answer you. His eyes burn with something beyond anger—an expression that you can just barely name hurt. You hold back the reflexive scoff that begs to come tumbling out like an old habit. Back to this. Searching his face, you try to find what, exactly, has him looking at you like that.

“Don’t do that,” you say. The emotion that comes out with it, straining the words, surprises you. “You’re just… shutting me out again. I thought you…” You don’t finish your sentence, but the air carries the meaning along for you. I thought you would let me in.

He doesn’t answer, but there’s a flash of something over his face. A wince. Like he wants to say something, but he can’t let himself.

“Why do you do that?” you say. Your blood roars to life in your veins, and you find your mouth straining under the weight of words you’ve wanted to say, just like it has for so long. And then it buckles. “To be honest with you, Taehyun, nothing you do makes any sense. One minute, you’re looking at me so cold that it looks like I mean nothing to you, and then another you’re… You’re saying stuff that I don’t understand. One second you won’t even speak to me, and then you’re leaving behind your life because I wanted to stay with Yeonjun. Why? Why would you do that? Why didn’t you go back and tell them I was a traitor kissing their prince? Why didn’t you get me killed? You make me think…” Your voice cracks despite you, but you don’t care if it makes him see you weak. “ It’s not fair.”

The tent falls silent, the air a thousand pounds, each beat sounding like you’ve said it now. Chills erupt over your arms, and you can take none of them back, so no matter what, you will at least finally know. Finally. Your  stomach is done so tight up in knots.

“Because I never cared about being a spy,” he says, face dropped. “Or about being general, or being Lord of an estate, or about what people thought of me either way, or about any King or Queen or wars.”

Reeling, you breathe. The slow sound of it fills the room, but the pounding of your heart in your ears roars over it. That makes no sense at all. Your mind buzzes. 

 “Why did you do any of it, then, Taehyun? What do you care about?”

His throat works. Those cold eyes have something tender in them, but not a gentle tender. Tender like an old wound that he’s long since licked clean himself, that he hates to poke and examine out loud. Despite it, he tells you. Just for you, because you tend to always need him to do so. 

“Nothing. I cared for nothing.” He’s rigid, so out of place, sat in front of you. “So I gave myself purposes.”

That word, cared, puts in context so much that you have to blink and make your head stop spinning just so that you can catch a solid thought. He cared for nothing. You have had Taehyun wrong in your head down to a ridiculous, fundamental level. Taehyun didn’t become who he is because that’s what he wanted. He was a ghost, a shell left hollowed out, floating between duties that he assigned himself just to survive, like becoming a spy, or whatever else he did. He had no goal, no place he cared to call home. Never want or let himself want anything—froze himself from the inside out to ensure it.

Cared, as if he found something to care for. Your mouth dries up, belly doing flips. Because, of course he didn’t care about leaving behind his life to follow you wherever you went, when he has been cold for so long, and he felt something. Of course he went to any lengths, no matter how unsure his motivation seemed to you then, to keep you safe. Of course he tried to mold himself into Yeonjun’s shape, as unbending and unmoldable as he is, because he felt that whatever hollowness he saw inside himself, you would not want. He knew that he was pushing you away because he doesn’t know how to nurture something like that, so he tried to veneer himself with bits of the man you were so enraptured with. Filled that hollowness up with something he thought would make you look his way—but of course he’d never say it. He couldn’t make himself, no matter how much he wanted it. Because that is who Taehyun is: a contradiction of himself.

All those time’s he’d frozen up and lashed out at you, because it was fucking killing him. Seeing you with Yeonjun. You had thought moments ago that it was Yeonjun who was the one with a bottomless sea of wants. Well, where Yeonjun wants, Taehyun needs. He will have you, because somebody who has only ever let themselves want something once is not going to just let it go.

What could you even say to that? How could you digest the bigness of it? Instead of trying, you go utterly still and wide-eyed in front of him. 

He wanted something to trust. Searching his eyes, the ones that have gotten even more wildly tender in your silence, you determine that. Taehyun had nothing and nobody, not his father, not his killed mother, not a single one of his own kind in this world, to trust.

You, hands curled into the fabric of your clothes, breath fully for the first time in a while. You think you know the feeling. You think that you have become intimately familiar with the severe lack of it. That much, you can offer him.

The words fall from your mouth floaty and ethereal. Something unreal in the orange, all-too-real glow of the space. “I understand.”

About all the things that just came crashing over your head like ice water, or about the yearning for trust, you’re not sure. Either way, you do.

❆

Crouched behind some bushes, your knees dig into the mud. In front of you, the High King’s palace stands proud, briars crawling up its walls and strange, unpredictable windows here and there. It looks more like a festival hall than a palace.

Taehyun decided that doing something, just the two of you, like you had said, was best. It’s reminiscent of where you began. The two of you, spies again. In a way.

It’s nostalgic, but then it’s also so… new. The air between you, charged with new energy, but energy that grips you all the same. So many questions were answered, but so many cropped up to fill their absence.

But this feels lighter. You can’t discern why, when it fully should leave your spine tingling. The gravity of what he feels for you should tug you straight down to the earth with the force of it. It doesn’t. Turning to where he crouches beside you, you eye the lines of his profile. Your heart does a little jump.

“Now?” you say.

“A minute. We have to wait for the watch to change.” He tilts his head up in a point gesture toward the massive door at the main entrance.

“Or, we could go in another way. I’m sure they have other doors. How can we just walk right in?”

“There could be a door in through the servant’s quarters, but…” he says, eyes flicking over to you.

“That sounds like it would be better, though. Easier.” The hall is massive—you don’t doubt they use servants to make it run.

Running a thumb over the bottom of his sword at his hip, a little thing you noticed he does, Taehyun falters. “They keep human servants,” he says.

Like Soobin. Glamoured to be brainless hands, floating like spirits around the halls to fulfill their assigned purpose. You eye its walls and think of how easily you could’ve found yourself there. Some fates are fairer than others. You wish you knew why. 

“We’ll wait until we see those watchmen leave. Then we can slip in.” He says it as fact. “We’ll search rooms. It’s not much, but we could use leverage. Anything.”

You nod slowly, and then turn to watch through the gaps in the leaves.

The watch does change, as Taehyun has said. You slip in silently, and nobody stops you. If it’s so easy to make your way into here, maybe war with them wouldn’t be so unimaginable. Your eyes dart everywhere as you do. It couldn’t really be that easy.

But it is. You split off from Taehyun. At the center, there’s an opening hall where feasts must be held. You imagine how many of those have happened there, and how many of the kinds of stories Kai tells you might’ve started right beneath that high ceiling. You don’t linger long enough for anybody to find you, but you do take in the look of the walls and imagine how Yeonjun would’ve done the same years ago. His home.

You peek your head into a number of rooms. None look like anything important, but you dip in to scan them just in case. Not counting the guards, you haven’t seen a soul. Empty; each room, empty. With how alive Court had been in the north, this is starkly not that. A dead palace. How strange, considering that the North is known for its bitterness and unwelcoming nature, and this place the opposite. It doesn’t feel that way.

You come to a room that gives you pause. It’s decorated not too differently from the rest, a bedroom as opposed to studies and other sorts of rooms, bathed in crushed velvet greens. The floor is littered with a strange array of things, surfaces dusted. It’s even more vacant than the rest of the hall, left untouched by whoever called it theirs once.

And, it’s familiar. You just get this achy, tingling feeling in your core. Bending down, you blow dust off some paint. It’s bright and colorful in ways only something from the human world is. Reds, blue, yellow, a rainbow in a little palette of dried up colors. A few unfinished, amateurish canvases lean against a wooden dresser. Decks of cards, none like any from here, scatter over the wood panelling. 

Yeonjun always did like keeping human things. Dragging in a long, deep breath, you try and see if you can catch the woody, warm scent of him, left lingering here where he no doubt spent so much time. Nothing but the musk of an empty, dusty room meets you.

Picking up a leatherbound book from the blanket, you sit and pull it open. It creaks like old leather. The pages are moth-bitten and most are blank.

In an elegant hand, you find a written page. That handwriting. You loose a steadying breath. 

It reads, They say I’d only make some stupid order that all humans would be free from our people, were I King. Would that really be so terrible? 

You wet your lips. It’s some letter that never ended up with whoever he intended it for. Seeing that he did, in fact, live a wholly different life is strange. He left it behind for reasons that you know—he hated this place. Still, seeing it all confirmed. In front of your face. The rebellion must mean a lot to him. It seems, reading these little bits left behind, that he had his reasons. And obviously, he did. Nobody leaves behind their life for no reason. The time he spent in the human world changed him. Or, it magnified what had always been there: a soft spot.

Footsteps come for the door. You snap the book shut, but the door’s already opening.

“Hey,” Taehyun says. 

Clinging to the leather, you let yourself breathe. “Hey,” you echo.

“You’re not great at being quiet,” he says, lips tilting up to one side in something that you could call almost playful. “You’re lucky that there’s nobody here. Anybody with my ears would’ve known you were in here.”

You figured as much. “Why, though? Where are they?”

“I don’t know where.” His gaze flickers around the room before landing back on you. “They have never left this hall. I thought that they would’ve just sat in here and let us right in before ever leaving.”

“Eerie…” you hum, hopping off the bed. 

“Yeah.” Thoughts swirl behind those eyes. “They were smart enough not to leave anything, either. I found nothing.”

Looking down at the book you clutch to your chest, you purse your lips. Neither had you, but no part of you wants to leave this to be gnawed on some more. So, you don’t.

❆

Pulling back the bowstring comes easier now. It creaks, your arms aching. But you release your breath in a slow, measured puff, eyes finding the center of a straw bullseye a hundred yards down.

You let it fly. It cuts the air straight and makes its mark a little left of dead center. Always a little left… You huff, arms aching. Kai plays a song that faded into background noise thirty minutes ago.

“You shoot well,” Kai says. You can hear the smile in his voice. “You taught yourself?”

Shooting him a glance, you shake your head.

“Then, the General taught you himself,” he deducts. “An interesting thing.”

“I guess. A lot of things are interesting. Like how you play music the way you do.” A deflection, more than anything.

Kai pats the face of his lute. “You’ve learned how to speak like us, though you can lie. That, of all things, is interesting. You’ve spent more time around our kind than most. Tell me, what have you learned?”

He’s no doubt collecting a story he thinks he can make into a song. A storyteller like him is always listening and watching for another. That’s one way to be immortalized in this world. “I have no reason to lie,” you say, tinted with a laugh.

“Don’t you?” he says, playful eyes watching you. 

“Don’t I?” Forget your bow—you toss it elsewhere. “Am I the one with a reason to lie?”

Cocking his head to the side, his mouth splits into a grin. Many of the folk are glad for animosity; Kai seems to be the type. He knows exactly what you mean. “You have a lot to say. I’d like to hear it.”

You do. But where do you start? Instead of asking him something that beats around the bush, something he could find a loophole in, you’ll ask him plainly. That’s a start. “Why are you trying to sabotage us? Is it because of Yeonjun? Did he ask you to?”

“He did,” Kai answers, without any flounce or fakery. Straight up. It shocks you. It shouldn’t be that easy. He could’ve just as well not answered. That might’ve been as much an answer as saying it outright, though. “Does that make you hate him?”

Freezing in place, your mouth doesn’t move to say yes. You don’t know how to answer that. You wish you did. Instead, you say, “What does he think he’s achieving? What if they find out that he’s sneaking around? It’s stupid.”

“It is,” Kai hums. The day is overcast, but his colors aren’t dulled by the grey sky. “When the prince feels, he feels it true. He makes his mind, and then he lives for it.” The way his eyes meet yours strikes you. Full of meaning. “What, then, would he change his mind on something like a purpose he believed as he did that one for?”

“I’m asking you,” you say. Yeonjun feels deeply and unapologetically, you are already intimately aware of that. From the moment he told you that his initial purpose was to identify and have you as spies killed, you have wondered how deeply he stood for the cause. That’s another thing that’s troubled you for the fact that you can’t make peace with it.

Well, since he’s here in front of you, it’s best to just ask.

“Did Yeonjun love me? Really love me?”

“He did, but I believe you know that already. That’s not what you really wonder.”

You hate that he knows. Gritting your teeth, you nod.

“You interest me, so I’ll give you this. The prince has never cared to become a king. A soft-hearted, joke of an heir. So, then, why would he have rebelled against his father if not to have his spot? Because he had one purpose, after living among your kind. The prince could never stand the way we treat you. That was enough for him to leave his home and try to change it.”

Yeonjun’s book still sits somewhere in your trunk. That lines up with what you had read. 

“The prince cares for you,” he says. “More than even that. Enough to forget what else he did. Enough to forget anything else.”

There that is again. Why does it even matter to Kai? “I’m sure he said the same plenty of times before,” you say. Bitterness, as a habit. “I don’t understand why you do what he says. What’s in it for you, if he has me back? I don’t see what you gain.” Kai, who lived always between here and there.

“He’s an old friend,” he answers. “And I know what it is to love a human. That’s all.”

You purse your lips. He was a part of the rebellion as well. As mysterious as he is, of course Kai has his own reasons. 

“Tell him that, if he does love me, then he’d stop. It’s past the point where we can go back to what it was.”

“I know that what happened hurt you, but I don’t think you really believe that.” 

He says it so matter-of-factly, so airily, that it doesn’t even annoy you. Your ears go hot with defensiveness. “You don’t know me. How would you know that?”

Shrugging, he says, “It doesn’t matter what I say. But you have a few decisions you need to make for yourself. Not for what you should do, but whatever it is that you want.”

“And, what? I should decide to run back to him? Because that’s what you want, and he wants, so that’s what I should want too?” Your knuckles bleach white. “I don’t trust him. I can’t trust a word you or him say.”

“Why? Because he was scared to tell you, but still, he did because you deserved to know?”

Shaking your head, you say, “Does he pity himself? If he was as selfless as you want me to believe, he would’ve left it at that. But he didn’t. You’re here, aren’t you? That’s proof enough.”

“I’m hardly trying to say that he’s selfless. He is selfish. But it’s distorted to pretend that he’d hurt you.”

“What do you know?” you say, scoffing with pure acid. His eyes watch you as you go, but he doesn’t call after you.

Your nails make crescents in your palms, but you dig them in harder so that you feel that, rather than the aching like a poked bruise you thought had healed. His words ring disturbingly true regardless.

❆

Even though it seems that Taehyun is under more stress now than he ever was before, something has changed between you. Something unspoken.

It’s not as if he’s become talkative. But in some quiet moments, you catch him for long enough to have quiet, meaningless conversations with him into the night. And the nights where you get those dreams, he doesn’t mind you taking a spot in his bed to talk yourself out of it. He surely misses out on sleep for it, and as busy as he is, he surely needs it, but he never complains. Just listens to you ramble until you’re too tired to worry that you’ll close your eyes and find something frightening behind them.

He’s awkward. Terribly awkward about it. Sometimes he doesn’t know what to say, so he just stares at you. You imagine that he’s piecing together his speech in his head. It’s endearing in a way that has your heart clenching in your chest. He understands so much of the world so deeply, the darkest corners of it, but letting someone close? Speaking just to speak? It’s as though he’s trying to teach himself when he’s around you.

Orange flickers over the planes of his face. He watches you, his arms crossed over his chest, like he usually does.

“Taehyun?” you say, hair unkempt and your eyes sleepy. He doesn’t seem to care. “Can I ask you something?”

He hums.

Ever since he whispered it into your ear, that unintelligible word, you’ve been viciously curious. Chills erupt over your skin at the memory. Him behind you, the pads of his fingers on your skin, the heat of his breath. And, whatever it had meant, it crackled like magic in the air. Something different. 

“That one day, you said a word that I couldn’t understand. What did it mean?”

Tongue darting out to wet his lips, he shifts. “My real name.”

You freeze, mouth dropping open as though to scoff and laugh it off. But his face is bare of humor. That can’t be right. Having a faerie’s real name is as good as them handing their life over to you. They don’t just hand them over like that. Most will spend their entire life holding it viciously to their chest, and for good reason. Anything you said or commanded, he would have to do. The way Beomgyu’s face had morphed when Taehyun commanded him to do anything—something like that. Anyone with a faeries name could tell them to crawl in the dirt and then take a dagger to cut their tongues out, and they would. They would. 

And, Taehyun, of all of them? It doesn’t seem logical for him to give that to you. For a man so adept at surviving, it’s out of order. “What?” you say, voice peaking. “Why?”

As if it were the most obvious thing in the world, he says flatly, “Because I trust you with it.”

Your chest tightens. What a heavy, unbelievable thing to hold: somebody’s life in your hands, and to know that without a doubt that you will nurture it. His life, with which he did not care for so long about. You understand the gravity of that.

“I could hurt you with it,” you say. You can’t breathe, the air sucked from the room. “Aren’t you worried about that?”

“Then do it.” His jaw flickers. “Hurt me with it.”

How can he just say that? “No—why would I? I won’t ever. I won’t ever even use it. I promise you.”

“It’s yours.” He shrugs. “Use it how you want.”

The words slither up your spine, tickling the back of your skull. Oh. “I don’t even remember how to say it.” Could you? The vivid memory plays out, and it’s as incoherent to you as it had been then.

In a low, breathy voice, he repeats it. The hair on your arms stands up.

It takes you a few tries before you finally manage to get something close to it to come from your mouth. The dimple in his cheek peeks out with each attempt. But when you do get it, his eyes darken.

“There,” he says, nodding once. “Say it again.”

You do. The air crackles and comes alive.

“Do you feel it?”

“Yeah,” you say. “It feels like when I ate Lachrymose.” Tastes like it, too.

He frowns. “When did you?”

The knee-jerk reaction is to lie and say that it was something that happened when you were little. But you’re trying to tell less of those. “There was this time that he took me to a market. I had to have some to even see it.”

Taehyun’s jaw ticks, shadows flickering, but he doesn’t comment on it. “I had a feeling you were off doing dumb stuff.” It’s terse, but not mean. You might even call it an attempt at humor.

Snorting, you cross your arms. “You can’t pretend I’m the mysterious one.”

“Mysterious?” he says, arching his brows.

“Yes, mysterious. What do I know about you? I guess I know that you were a spy, but that doesn’t count.”

“That’s because there isn’t much to know.” His voice goes distant like it always does when he’s thinking.

Even if he had lived a phantom life, everybody has a history. “That’s not true. I’ve never been more curious about anybody’s past than I am yours.”

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Sorry? For what?”

“That I don’t have anything to tell you.”

A life like that must’ve been awful. Your heart aches for him. Going from one place to another, unsure why you are or what you want or what your purpose is. “Was it lonely?” you ask.

Hair brushes his eyes as he moves. They look softer under this light—not soft, but softer. “It was all I knew. It couldn’t have been lonely.”

But, he felt the lack. Whether he calls it loneliness or not, he knew he was carved out by something. Isn’t that loneliness?

“Did you like being a spy?” Did it hurt you to leave it behind, you want to add. 

“No more than for the fact it was something I was good at. I’m good with swords and metal, and not much else. It was a start.”

You nod, smiling gently, “I’m not good for much else than sewing.”

The air sits still between you, a calming presence that wraps you up in its arms. At ease, safe, like you usually feel with him.

You talk until your throat’s sore. Youdon’t even realize dawn has come until he pushes himself up off the bed and the soft blue light peeks in as he leaves.

Laying under your blankets to fight the morning chill, you say his true name one more time. Just to taste it.

❆

The drooping pearl of the necklace Yeonjun gave you swings delicately side to side. No matter what, you couldn’t leave it. You hold it out, watching it. Just watching it.

Kai had gotten up under your skin. His words peeled the dressing you had so carefully laid down for yourself. He’d done it so easily that you’re almost angry.

It doesn’t feel good to paint Yeonjun out to be all terrible, because he isn’t and never was. The truth of the situation is that he didn’t expect to end up loving you, or maybe he didn’t expect for his job to involve hurting a human life in any way. In any case, he never meant to break your trust.

But he did. Aren’t you a hypocrite, then? You weren’t telling him everything, either. Even if he already knew what you were, that was a decision you made. Because you were afraid. He was afraid he’d lose you, too. At least he told you regardless. That’s what gets you; he did tell you. Is what you’re doing punishment for that? Is it mean? And yet, if you go to him again, what of the fact that he thinks he can make you come back by pulling strings? That leaves a nasty taste on your tongue. 

You don’t know. Dropping your head, you sigh. For a long time, everything has been bubbling up in your chest. Now, it rises into your throat and restricts your breathing. You don’t know, you don’t know. 

The thudding of booted footsteps has you popping your head back up to find Taehyun in the doorway. His mouth moves in a half-smile to say something until he zeroes in on what you hold in your fist. Eyes going sharp, his face twists.

“Oh,” you say. “You’re back.”

His feet remain planted. He’s so still that it doesn’t even seem like he’s breathing. It sends a genuine chill over you, hair prickling. That look; you recognize what it is, now. You’ve seen it once or twice. So intense that it eats up the oxygen in the room and leaves none left for you.

“What’s that?” he says, crossing the room to snatch it from your hand. He watches it spin and glimmer in the lowlight. Last time he had seen it, he couldn’t help but snap it off your neck. His throat bobs around a hard swallow.

“A necklace.”

“Always him,” Taehyun growls, eyes smoldering. “No matter what I do. What will it take for you to stop fucking wanting him?”

You’d breathe, but it all gets caught in the back of your throat. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You don’t?” he scoffs, taking your face in his hands. So gentle in contrast with the razors he sneers with. “Bullshit.”

You do. Of course you know what he means. You try to muster up words, but his thumb down the line of your jaw stops them short.

“Look me in the eyes,” he says. Mush-brained, like you always seem to be around him, you do. His jaw ticks and he breathes out a weakened, “Fuck.”

The mattress meeting your back doesn’t even register through the thick, fire-smoke haze of his mouth on yours. You gasp into his mouth, fingers curling into the front of his tunic. That same one you had embroidered. Him, walking around in your touch all day. It makes your belly turn over. 

He licks the seam of your mouth, his hands in your hair and then running up your torso and then squeezing the plush fat of your hips, as if he can’t decide where he wants to feel you, so he devours it all at once. As if he could make up for all the times he wanted so badly to do this, but could not. 

You gasp for breath when your mouths part, kiss so impatient and frantic that it dazes you and leaves your lips smeared. “Taehyun,” you shudder out. He always leaves you stupid and with nothing to say but that. 

He takes your chemise where it lands on your thighs and brings it up. Each inch is scalding and exhilarating at once. When it’s bunched up above your breasts, those intense eyes eat the sight up. All sharp edges and want, but you see how his ears go red.

“I haven’t wanted anything this bad in my whole fucking life,” he says, palm splayed over your ribcage. “I have gone so long like this. Never had anything to want. But I want all of you. That, I need.”

You shake like a leaf in his hands with it; want. “Take it,” you say. It’s good that it’s nothing more than two words, because you don’t trust your voice right now.

 But, really, is it? You think they’re much more than just words. Your head spins so much that the world blurs into lines around you—everything but him and the beating of your heart. 

Instead of devouring you like you thought he would, he thumbs the hinge of your jaw. Yeonjun, as sure of himself as he is, would’ve. But everything about Taehyun is contrary to what you’ve known. Yeonjun was a slow, tantalizing burn because he knew exactly what he wanted to do with you. Taehyun’s all over you like he cannot get enough, a dazzling white-hot fire. And he cannot get enough.

“Are you sure?” he says, the words tumbling out past his lips with trembling urgency. “Because I’m… Don’t play with me. Please, don’t fucking play with me. You want this?”

You’re just as bad as he is. Worse, even. It’s like he takes whatever is inside of you and makes it tenfold. Your skull pounds to the same terrible rhythm as your center. It goes through you in waves. “Taehyun, please, just do something. I do. I do.” 

His fingers are biting as he tugs you down to the edge of the bed, his hair hanging in his eyes. Dark, swirling pools. You drown in them. They’re even better in between your thighs, down on his knees. 

“Tell me where he touched you,” he says, breaths puffing over your inner thighs. 

So he can replace it all with himself. Your blood boils under your skin.

“Did he do this?” he asks. It doesn’t come out vindictive. No—he’s really asking. He wants to know exactly what you like, to make himself exactly that. Why does that set you on fire the way it does?

“Yes.” You run your palm down the length of your belly, slowly, just to feel it and the tingles. His eyes track it the whole way, darting back up to yours when you take his hair in your hands. “Yes, he did. And he was so good at it, Taehyun.” It’s purposefully antagonistic, but your belly tightens as his face falls to shadows.

The first swipe of his tongue is a test. He watches you jump with analytical precision and then applies that like he does everything else—watching. Observing. Another, trying a flick, and his intelligent eyes note how your thighs shake. Then his fingers go tight under your thighs, the cold of him like frostbite, and he dives in. No long drags, no fanfare.

You squeak, but it devolves into a litany of feral sounds. No, Taehyun is not Yeonjun. He reminds you of that in the way he pins you, his arms stronger, in the different way his mouth moves on your cunt. Not at all. It’s like you’re learning how your body reacts anew. 

He does not let you clamp your thighs around his head, does not let you buck your hips, and does not let you breathe.

“Oh—” you start, but your vision tunnels as he takes your clit into his lips. A graze of teeth here, his tall, strong nose against it there. Wholly overwhelming you so that he knows, beyond a doubt, that there’s nothing in this world that you could be thinking about but this. Him. Because he so desperately needs it that way. 

“Taehyun,” you plead with him. Your fingers tug at his scalp, and you’re positive that his jaw must ache, but there’s nothing but an endless hunger that meets your gaze when you find it in you to pry your eyes open and look. “Taehyun, please,” you say, voice cracking toward the end as your belly tightens.

His nose. It sends your body rigid each time he digs in deeper and bumps it up against you. It pushes you closer, closer, and then closer, until you burn all over, nails digging into his muscle-corded forearms to have something to hold as it licks down your spine. The last words you can manage are intelligible—your tongue betrays you.

Taehyun presses a rough hand right below your navel and holds you down through it. He’s the only thing that’s real beyond your hoarse cries and shaking body. Him. 

He doesn’t stop flicking your clit with his tongue until you’re jumpy and choking on your breaths, belly going taut.

The vision of him as he pulls back has stars speckling your vision. His mouth is covered in you, his pupils blown wide. On him, on his perfect, clean-cut face, it’s the lewdest thing you’ve ever seen. Though you’re still floating in a smoky haze, sedated, it sends glowing sparks through you.

His breaths fan over your face as he climbs back up, maneuvering you however he pleases. With his forehead pressed to yours, he half growls, half shudders, “Damn it.”

The words are scalding. You know exactly what he means, because you’re feeling it too. Something as powerful as the sea swallowing you clean, sucking you down to where you know you won’t ever reach the surface again.

You take a hand and run it up the plane of his stomach, feeling and savoring each scar, until you feel his heart. It thuds under his skin frantically. It echoes through your bones, so loud that you might hear it if you strained your ear enough. It tugs at the strings of your heart.

“You’re nervous?” you say, eyeing the mess of his hair, the flush on his cheeks. All so endearingly human. Sweet, even.

“No,” he says. His voice is vibrantly husky and thick. “I’m not scared. I’m just…” His eyes sweep over the sight of you, the spread of your soft thighs and the splay of your hair and the same glazing of the eyes in yours as there is in his no doubt, longingly. There’s a flicker of unsureness, and then he presses his forehead to your shoulder and rolls his hips into you. He lets that speak, the hardness of him. “Good?”

Running a finger over the curve of his ear, you feel the scar tissue left there. “Good,” you say, still partly lost for breath. More than that; you want him all over you. You want him like liquid silver in your bloodstream, heavy but utterly potent.

He fumbles with his pants for a moment, the sword calloused pads of his free hand brushing over your pulse. It stutters under his thumb as he holds it there—checking if you’re feeling it how he is.

“I have been tortured,” he says, wetting his lips and scoffing as if he can’t believe what he’s about to say. “I have been tortured, driven up the fucking walls, by the sound you make when you cum. Since you let him have it in my home, since you let me hear it.” His eyes flash, and then he’s bent you straight in half.

With your thighs flush to your front, your mind goes blank white all but for the very human, very fundamental kick that comes with being so utterly held down. All his brawn is suddenly more apparent now than ever. You press at his hard chest, nothing but his breaths to breathe. “Tyun,” you say, calves on his shoulders.

“Good?” he repeats, his jaw working. The tip of him presses to your entrance.

Taking your lip into your teeth, you cut through the haze and nod for him. “Yes,” you say. “I’m good.”

That’s everything he needed to hear. The thick tip of him presses in first, and then you’re hanging on to each new inch, taking to his shape and size slowly but surely. A sound catches in his chest as his body meets yours, a gravelly curse following.

For a moment, he hangs on and lets you wiggle your hips in circles to learn the feeling. He’s different from Yeonjun like this, too. And then he takes your waist into his hands and begins to fuck you, because hardly could the both of you wait a moment longer. You need, need, need. 

He drops his head and works his hips into you so eagerly that it’d be impossible for him not to brush up against that sweet, saccharine spot inside you. You press a palm over your mouth. Not to quiet yourself—when the world has gone to nothing else but him on top of you, you don’t care. But because you haven’t got a clue what else to do with your hands. You’re clawing, both grabbing him closer and pushing at him. 

“Taehyun,” you whimper. “There—right there.”

Angling his hips, he searches your face. “Yeah? You…” His voice chokes off before he can gather himself again. “Like it there?”

Cupping the back of his head, you pepper kisses and nip wherever you can reach. It’s all your overwhelmed mind can do to thank him.

That deep, trembling feeling starts at the base of your spine. It’s inescapable between him and the bed beneath you, your toes curling in the air and your back going rigid. Everywhere you go, he’s there. Every square inch of you. 

Taehyun’s no better off. “Fuck,” he whimpers. It’s like nothing you’ve ever heard come from his mouth. His head drops into your neck, a procession of something between whiny breaths and growls spilling into your skin.

“I’m…” you say, insides burning up far too much for you to finish that thought. You teeter on the edge just enough to drive you mad, mad enough that falling off feels both like punishment and prize.

He knows, though. “Me too,” he says, voice so tight you think it might snap. Hips faltering, he takes the hair at the back of your skull and tugs your head back just to press a smoldering kiss to your mouth. You know why he’s done it—the sound of his coming undone is muffled into your mouth as he eases up just enough to let your twitching legs down, slipping out. He takes himself into his fist, the slick sounds so obscene they break through your delirium. Belly going taught, the little bit of soft, healthy fat there, he throws his head back and spills over your stomach with a bone-deep sound. 

Both made lazy, you don’t have it in you to move for some long moments. You just listen to the sound of his ragged breaths coming and going off pattern with yours. It’s all you need to hear. All you need to know.

Dazed, you watch him stand to find something to clean you up with. The air is empty, but not bad. Not stifling. He dabs at your belly with a gentle hand, tossing it away. You half expect him to slip out or go lay in his own bed, but he doesn’t. You always did seem to get him wrong, anyway. 

You draw shapes into his skin, talking nonsense with a raspy voice until you’re droopy-eyed and don’t even realize you’re drifting.

❆

Poking through the fabric, you tug the string taut. Another one of Taehyun’s shirts dangles down from your hold.

Something’s happening. You’re not exactly sure what. But he’s hardly here, so something must be. You gnaw at your bitten lip. It doesn’t seem so much like there’s any buzz or mistrust around here anymore, so then what? 

You know that you came here for real war, but the notion of it finally becoming actualized makes your stomach go nauseous. Not to mention the fact that you don’t even know where they’ve gone. That leaves a door of possibilities cracked that you don’t even want to peek into. 

Taehyun can handle it. You know he can. Despite it, you hang on to every moment that he’s not here. What’s that? You decide not to name it, for your sake. 

You thread and you thread, circling the cuffs and then around the neck, letting your mind wander. But not too far. 

A rustle at the tent opening catches your attention, and then Kai’s stepping inside. Your belly doubles over itself. Never once has he come to you. “Is everything okay?” you say, throat tight like you already know. Because you do.

Wasting no time, Kai says, “The prince has been apprehended. But I’d tell you that he’s been given away.”

Silence washes over you as you pause. “What?” you say. Your voice is distant as it comes out. That was not what you were expecting, but it’s not any better. Taehyun’s shirt goes forgotten. 

“For leverage,” he elaborates, “the King has been told about his son's rebellion. He’s been betrayed by one of our own.” There’s a deep sadness in his eyes. Old friends, he had said. “Our general is a cruel, sharp man.”

“What do you mean by that?” you say. The walls spin around you. That’s not right. That’s not right.

Kai doesn’t answer you, but his long, telling look speaks truer than words. Producing a letter, he offers it to you. Yeonjun’s insignia is stamped into wax on the face of it. “I suggest that you read this one.”

Your hand trembles as you take it from him. Yeah. You’d better read it. The cruelty of burning letters hits you like a real blow to the chest. The King has his traitorous son, probably sitting somewhere you haven’t got a clue of, plotting on having his head. So many words—oh, you feel sick just thinking of them going up in smoke now. Yeonjun will die. 

The letter tears with a sickening sound. You don’t have the steadiness in you to open it delicately like you did once.

𝐾𝑎𝑖 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑠 𝑚𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑚 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒, 𝑚𝑦 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒. 𝐴 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑔𝑙𝑎𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑖𝑡, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑎𝑛.  

𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑑𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑢𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑐𝑟𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑡𝑦, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑓𝑎𝑢𝑙𝑡. 𝐼 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑓 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑥𝑖𝑚𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠, 𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑑𝑜 𝑖𝑡. 𝐼’𝑙𝑙 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑦. 

𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑢𝑛𝑐ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑎𝑝𝑒𝑟 𝑢𝑝 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑡. 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑑𝑎𝑦, 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑙𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑜𝑛𝑒 ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡. 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡 𝑚𝑒, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼 ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 

𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑦, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑦 𝑡𝑜𝑜. 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡. 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑏𝑒. 𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑓 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑓𝑢𝑙, 𝐼 𝑎𝑠𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑠. 𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑖𝑐, 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑔𝑙𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡. 𝐼’𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡. 𝑀𝑎𝑦 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑢𝑛𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑢𝑛𝑡 𝑚𝑒.

  𝑌𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑗𝑢𝑛

It’s all so sickly sweet, so dramatically him. Hot tears burn down your cheeks, jaw trembling as you make attempts to keep it all in place. Even just to see his handwriting…

You want to close your eyes and pretend that Taehyun would not, but your gut doesn’t allow it. You know the truth. You know that it was Taehyun who deducted it was Yeonjun sabotaging you. You know that it’s Taehyun that so perfectly, so seamlessly hid behind an ice wall for months that you hadn’t a clue how deeply and voraciously he needed to have you. It was him, with his sharp mind—that part of him that is capable of shutting down emotion and acting on brutal, detached strategy. 

A strategist through and through. It was Taehyun who will have Yeonjun’s head.

🪶 ⦂ this is the happiest day of my life (＞＜) i missed them so much. i know how this development is probably making yall feel... so yes i will be needing to hear everything.

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[risuola]

Please hear me out!

i’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I wanted to write it myself but I can’t write for shit 😭 Here’s my idea, reader (she/her) is close friends with Satoru and Suguru. She takes Suguru’s place instead, and Suguru ends up not going insane, and decides to stick around in Jujutsu High. But because the reader takes his place in this story, she spirals and abandons the idea of being morally good. (She’s a sensitive softie at heart 🥹 the cruel reality of being a sorcerer really took a toll on her). She commits so many crimes that the higher ups urge the strongest duo to finally execute her after dismissing her for nearly a decade. She dies in their hands, and doesn’t get a proper burial. Kenjaku takes her body and uses it as vessel. When Shibuya arc finally unfolds, she shows up right in front of Satoru and Suguru, alive and well. Soon reveals that it’s Kenjaku who has full control of her body. Of course their guilts eats them alive, and the reader (more like kenjaku) rubs salt on their wounds by taunting them about how she’s a great vessel and also a waste that she had to die so soon.

LOST CAUSE — F. READER x GOJO SATORU + GETO SUGURU, but there’s no romance whatsoever, guest appearance of Kenjaku

cw: an au where SatoSugu have another close friend; spoilers for Hidden Inventory/Premature Death arc and the very beginning of Shibuya arc, so much angst and the usual that comes with JJK – blood, hurt, tears and depression : D also, possibly inaccurate references to the original plot, reader's death — 5,5k words

a/n: I’m hearing you out dear! Thank you for the conception, it certainly fulfilled my need to write long and angsty <3

It was stupid. All of it was stupid. Why? Which decisions led you to where you now stood, all of your mind and body filled with devastation as you stilled in time – above the piles of little corpses, disfigured and permanently contorted in a grimace of dread and suffering. A stench of blood and burned bodies irritated your nostrils, your eyes were teary from all the smoke that still was filling the air and as you looked down at your hands, they were covered in blood and purple goo. Sticky. Repulsive. And the screams. In the dead silence of your surroundings, your head was still filled with an echo of those, who were now dead at your feet. Those, who you were unable to save. The imagery of them running, begging, dying carved itself into your mind. Why were you here, again?

* * *

“Hey, y/n, you’ve lost some weight. Are you alright?”, Satoru asked, playing with pencil that just a moment ago he asked you to throw at him. A showcase of his new skills, the techniques he’s been perfecting for the last year after encountering Toji Fushiguro. You forced a smile, squinting from the blinding sun of the summer at its peak.

“Yeah, sure,” you replied, patting Suguru’s shoulder, because his attentive eyes were scanning you already for any sign of disorder; you could hear his analytic brain cranking up, his golden pupils drilling holes in your head. “I’m good, it’s just too hot you know?”

“Wanna go grab some ice cream later?”

“Always.” No, you didn’t wanna go grab ice cream with them. You didn’t wanna grab anything with anyone for that matter and already you had come up with some half-baked excuse to sell later to your two best friends.

You, Shoko, Gojo and Geto were all in the same year in Jujutsu high. You joined them a little late, but quickly found yourself inside the love triangle with the two boys. You called it love, but it truly was nothing more than just a bonding friendship that you wished will last forever; a really close one and you couldn’t imagine your world without their chaos. They were like brothers to you, the ones you’ve never had and Ieiri was like a sister, but she was smart enough to keep her distance from the mess of SatoSugu. You were not as bright in that matter, but for two years, you couldn’t appreciate enough the yin and yang that they created, the casual bickers and deep talks late at night, the cuddles and pinches, the pats and smacks, the tears and laughs, sleepovers, sleepless nights and everything between. You loved them, you couldn’t think of your future without them.

That’s until not that long ago. Few months, maybe. You felt like you’ve been spiraling slowly into something that could only be named depression, because if not that, then what else? Why would you randomly tear up nowadays, zoning out completely in the midst of sentences. Why would you spend nights, blankly staring at the ceiling instead of sleeping, isolating yourself from your friends more and more? And why would you still hear that? The screams, the pleads of hysteric, the soul-tearing sounds of pain and frighten that you’ve been carrying inside your brain since that one mission.

Everything went wrong then, and you were alone. Shoko stayed at the campus, working her way towards becoming a doctor and you, Satoru and Suguru were assigned only to solo missions since the plasma vessel failure. You were strong, it was stated that your year was exceptional, that all of you have a chance to become special grades soon, but you hated that. Being strong came with a burden that you were not ready to take, and when you realized that, most of it was already heaving on your shoulders.

When you got to that school, it was already too late and it wasn’t your fault. You rushed there as soon as you were assigned with the job, but when you dropped the curtain and looked at the building, there was already smoke coming from the window holes, that some time earlier had glass in them. And when you kicked your way inside the little indoor sports arena, the view struck you in ways you couldn’t possibly prepare yourself for and certainly, you couldn’t process it as well. The school was primary, those people were just kids, but the curses pay no mind to age of their victims. This one was particularly playful – or rather, eagerly violent – spreading hellfire around, burning these children alive one by one, causing chaos, suffering and bloodshed. When you finished exorcising it, it was over. For the curse, for your job and for the lives of all of those children. None survived. Not even one.

Not always we can save everyone, Suguru always told you, rationalizing the sacrifices sorcerers have to make and you tried to repeat that in your head when you got out. You tried to play it over the screams, but eventually, the soft tone of your friend’s voice got lost in the catastrophic cacophony of sorrow, sizzling skin and burning death. And that, maybe wouldn’t be enough for you to lose your mind. Maybe you could recover from that, but soon after the incident you witnessed the group of people that stood behind the assault. A band of grown humans, men and women, who were convinced some of those children were possessed by devils or some other shit, so in all hypocrisy known to race, they hired a curse user to fight fire with fire. Quite literally. Those people were so blinded by their fear of unknown that they sacrificed lives of dozens of little children, they shattered so many innocent lives only because they believed in something absurd. And then, they tried to push the blame on you, on sorcerers despite the fact they hired one to do the dirty job. And then, they killed the user, fearing him too. When you’ve got to see the body of a sorcerer that you’ve never got to meet, or at least you thought so, you realized that probably, you wouldn’t recognize him anyway. You’ve seen corpses barely reminiscing of humans, twisted and broken as curses often chose the most petrifying, violent ways of killing, but this? This was something you’ve never seen before – a cruel, ruthless exhibition of pure hate, evidence of deliberate torture, the picture painted in stabs, burns and bruises. All of which, caused by people, who frankly, showed no remorse nor regret as their faces were painted in pride, origin of which you failed to notice.

Those humans. Used jujutsu to commit mass murder only to blame it on your people and kill them. Animals. No. Worse. Much worse.

“Y/n, please, let’s talk it through,” Suguru tried to reason, as you stood up against the two of your friends, in the middle of Shibuya’s scramble crossing. People were passing next to the three of you, unbothered by the way your worlds were colliding right here, in the busiest part of Tokyo. People didn’t care of others, they wouldn’t react if someone next to them would get stabbed to death, only caring about their own shoes to not get them stained in the dirt of blood.

“Don’t be stupid, it’s not who you are,” Satoru raised his tone, but all you felt was nothing. The emotions you’ve seen on his face were real, you knew it. Satoru wears his heart on his shoulder, he pours everything he feels into the words he aims at people that are close to his soul, and you were no exception, but at this moment, you felt nothing. “I know you couldn’t do that.”

“Couldn’t I?”, you asked, thinking back on the last Friday, during which you executed those same people that used jujutsu sorcerers to wipe the floors of that primary school. To wipe the blood and burned bodies. You remember how they knelt before you, how the women cried begging for their lives, yelping that they have children, families and yet, those same children and families were nowhere in their mind when they ordered a mass murder in the primary school. “And why would that be exactly? Because you two think so?”

“Y/n, I get it,” Geto stepped forward, but stopped as you glanced at him. “I really do. You know me, we talked about it. It was hard for me too after Riko, I know what you’re going through.”

“I know Suguru.”

“I thought you keep his side, y/n,” Gojo threw his hands in the air, helplessly trying to find the words to dress his mind with. “I thought you believe in doing good with your powers. That people won’t understand so we shouldn’t look at them and just do what we do. Wasn’t that what you’ve told me?”

“I did, yes,” you gave it a nod and exhaled. “But it changed. Yes, they won’t understand. Anything that they can’t comprehend is pure evil for them and yet they believe in such absurd like gods. They will use us to do their dirty works and then blame us for it, because they cannot understand a single thing. And then, they will kill us, one by one and we, the strongest, cannot do nothing about it. We’ll have to go through life through the corpses of our friends. People don’t deserve what we do for them.”

“Y/n, please, let’s talk about it. Let’s get back to school-“ Geto tried, but you cut him off.

“You two, get back to school. I know I have a sentence already, there’s no point for me to get back there only to get executed. And frankly, I don’t want to get back there, to take part in what they teach us is right when we die for those people. We give our lives for them and they have no idea,” you said, taking a step back. You could tell the lights will soon switch. “Look around, Satoru, Suguru. They crawl around us unaware of our sacrifice and yet, even if they are so fragile a single blow can kill them, they think we deserve to be killed. I’m not gonna take part in this anymore. I’m sorry.”

“We can’t let you go, you know that, we-“

“Then attack me. I’m sure any of you can take me down. I’d rather die by your hands, than on a job of protecting them.”

You turned your back on them, and Satoru raised his hand, pointing at your silhouette, blue already on his mind as his cursed energy gathered in front of his fingers. Suguru’s curses sprawled out of their dimension, but none of them pursued with the attack, unable to do that. They couldn’t kill you. You were too dear to them. They loved you too much to take your life like this. So they let you go, and soon enough, they lost the sight of you in the crowd.

* * *

Nine years. It's been almost a decade and many things changed. You changed your ways completely, making a point of protecting sorcerers from people, even if that meant killing them, but care for humans was something you’ve lost many years ago, having it slowly replaced by disgust. Your once soft heart turned hard and dark and all the good in you vanished as you time after time solidified your beliefs that humans are simply not worth saving, therefore there was no need to keep them alive the moment they became useless. Over those years, you used those people to your benefit, raising money and gathering intel and then, the second their use to you has become nonexistent, so were them. Blood burned permanent stains on your hands but screams of hurt didn’t phase you at all. Have you become a monster? You might have. But for the lives of sorcerers, it was worth it.

It’s been almost a decade since you’ve been dismissed from jujutsu community for crimes, that over those years piled up rapidly and during this time, both Satoru and Suguru tried to stay out of this, whilst Yaga turned a blind eye to the corrupted path one of his students went down by. The now principal felt responsible for not doing enough, for not saying enough, for not noticing soon enough and though the rest of his students, now teachers in Jujutsu high told him that some things were inevitable, it wasn’t that easy to switch off the thinking. Same went for both the strongest, but for years, they waited in hopes for something to change.

That was until you killed someone seemingly important. A politician of sorts, high government pawn that you learned was funding a unit of so-called sorcerer killers, ones that modelled after Toji Fushiguro in cold blood were meant to take down a menace that jujutsu users were, as if it was them who were the ones to fear. Opposite to little no-one’s deaths, this one was loud, this one was medial and this one, Yaga couldn’t let slip. So, an order was given.

Kill on sight.

Almost ten years, and yet Satoru still couldn’t believe what happened. Whilst young, the three of you were almost inseparable and you, out of the whole group, were the most sensitive person he knew. You were soft and full of smiles, kind above all else and yet, you were strong enough to hold back the tears he knew were threatening to roll down your cheeks on many occasions. You were soothing, an oasis that was easily able to turn any darkness into light, and what Satoru couldn’t forgive himself was that once that same darkness started devouring you, he didn’t notice. Too focused on his own missions, on lighthearted shenanigans, on perfecting his usage of limitless and six eyes, he had no idea about your state of mind and when he realized, you have already been sentenced. Suguru didn’t notice either. Or maybe didn’t want to notice, because you talked through many nights about the doubts you both had. He knew about the utter devastation that was slowly consuming your soul but hoped you’ll overcome it, because you always were a sunshine, and a sunshine couldn’t die down to shadows. Turned out, this shadow was pitch black and no light made its way through it.

“Y/n,” they called you and the beautiful music that their voices created brought back memories of your youth. Ten years, almost, had passed since you’ve seen your best friends the last time, and with curiosity sparkling through your system, you turned to face them.

“Satoru, Suguru,” addressing them, your lips curved up slightly in a manner of soft joy. Your heart fluttered at the sight; your pulse raised just as it would for person who’s just seen the love of their life. “Long time no see.”

“It’s not as pleasurable as we would like it to be, y/n,” Suguru sighed and you took a moment to absorb the view.

Both of them changed. Suguru, still tall and broad, seemingly even buffier than he was before stood there with his hair now longer and partially knotted and partially left loose on his back. His facial features sharpened, jaw got more edge to it, eyes turned more narrow and focused, but still, some softness remained from what you remembered and probably he would seem even more familiar if not for the tough expression he had going on. Satoru, right next to him, became even taller. His white hair was now pointing up, kept by a white wrap that completely covered his eyes – something that he probably adapted during the time of usage of his six eyes. Not much of his face you could see, but with ease you noticed his features matured. Both were dressed in uniforms that you could only tie to their unbreakable bond with Jujutsu high.

“You’re now teachers, the two of you, huh?”, you asked, smiling softly, but keeping their moves in mind. “I’ve heard this year’s students are exceptional, now it makes sense. Good they have such amazing senseis.”

“You could have been one of the teachers too,” Gojo snapped.

“How could I teach anyone something I don’t believe in?” a chuckle rumbled deep in your chest as you thought of the image. Abstraction of it made you amused. “How’s Shoko? Is she a doctor now?

“She is,” Geto muttered, unsure why is he answering your questions. “Yaga is the principal.”

“Oh, is he? Look at him, climbing up that ladder,” you laughed, “so, it’s on his orders that you two are here?”

“You killed a fucking politician, y/n,” Satoru spoke, sounding calm but you could tell his blood was boiling. Both of his hands hidden in his pockets were visibly clenched in fists and even though you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew his brows were furrowed. “Almost a decade we allowed you to do whatever you tried to do, but this time, higher ups stepped in. The sentence is decided, we cannot let you pursue your goals further.”

“And why are you both here? I’m sure just one amazing special grade would be enough,” there was a certain amount of poison in your words, though it wasn’t directed at your friends and both of them knew it. “Are the higher ups so desperate to get me off the board because it’s them who give green lights to those assholes that kill us? Did you know that that pathetic politician I’ve killed was in midst of creating an army of little Toji Fushiguros? How do you think he even knew about the dude, huh?”

“An army of Toji?”

“Yeah, remember that guy, that cut both of you into slices? Yea, that one. And who’s giving away the cursed tools to said army? Well, it’s not me and I assume not any of you as well.”

 “Y/n,” Suguru made his way to the side in what seemed like an attempt on surrounding you, because in that same moment, Satoru began shifting to the other side. “I agree with you. People don’t deserve what we do. But no one else can do it. You’re killing those whom we swore to protect.”

“Tell me, Suguru… how many bodies of our friends did Shoko cut open?” you asked and the question made the dark-haired man tsk. It was the truth that hurt the most, he hated how precisely it hit the spot. “How many of our allies were spread across her metal table after Haibara was there? Well, half of Haibara?”

“That’s not the point,” Satoru scoffed and with an exhale, he raised his hand up to loosen up the bandages around his eyes. “We die just as people die. Sorcerers are not above death. You know that, right?”

“We’re not above that, but we are above people and we risk our lives, which we just like them have only one of, for them. And they fuckingstep on it. If I have to pick who’s gonna die from a curse, why would I pick a sorcerer, when a loss of a mere human will be much less tangible than the loss of one of us?”

“Because they cannot protect themselves from curses, and we can.” Geto replied and in a whiff, you felt the appearance of his curses around him. Both him and Gojo were getting ready for a fight, so you had to get ready as well.

“But can we really protect ourselves from them?”, you glared back at him; your tone calm but laced with icicles that pierced through Suguru’s mind as he struggled to see you inside of you.

All of the softness he had always equated you with dissolved into something he couldn’t quite place. Image of you killing someone just for the sake of killing somehow couldn’t materialize inside his mind and it pained him, breaking his heart to think that he will be the reason of your death. And it’s true that probably, just one of them would be enough for that fight, but there was no way they would be able to chose and no one else could do it. You were the strongest, you grew into a special grade quickly after leaving and your technique proved to have no flaws or holes. You were a threat above abilities of others, stepping down only to the two of your friends, if not being equal to them.

“Let’s do it quickly, Suguru,” Satoru sighed, tucking his wraps into one of his pockets.

“Oh, where’s your playful attitude, Satoru?”, you teased, but somehow it hurt you as well. It was your friend you were talking to. Both of them, that came here to kill you and only way for you to get out of it was to kill them.

And killing them, turned out, you couldn’t do. Even hurting them came with difficulty not physically, but mentally. But you fought them both at the same time, keeping a defensive stance, searching for an opening to vanish. From them, you wished to run away, to not make them take the burden of your death because you could see it in their eyes, you were just as dear to them still, as they were to you. But they left you no opening to run away, so you fought. Using everything you’ve got to immobilize them, because instead of taking their lives, that would give you more time.

The way you stood against them, with your cursed technique of energy manipulation, it gave them the hardest time since Toji, and considering they were both taking part in the fight now, ten years after and significantly stronger, just showed how much work you’ve put into your own development. And with pride you noticed, how strong both of your friends became as well. You countered all of their attacks, slashed away the curses and blocked the blues and reds, albeit it really was a matter of time and you knew that. And so, you pushed through, materializing in your hands weapons made from pure, solidified cursed energy, using swords and needles and creating armor around your body that effectively, shielded you from any attack. Your weapon was different from cursed tools. It was made only from energy, strong and unbendable, changing shapes and forms as you deemed it necessary, allowing you to use it in close combat and on long distances. Any curses Suguru summoned stood no chance against what you wielded, but the sheer amount of them was just short of overwhelming you. On top of that, Satoru’s constant offensive, his fists saturated in limitless abilities, the sheer strength of both bodies that were attacking you, slowly rendered you weaker. And it didn’t surprise you.

The end has come when one of the curses stopped you mid-way, engaging in a fight that distracted you enough for a hollow purple to reach your body. The blast threw you away as your body pierced through three buildings straight, through thick concrete bocks and hard steel reinforcements like it was tearing through wet paper and it’s only thanks to the full body coverage of your cursed technique, that it didn’t kill you on the spot. But it hurt. All of your body felt broken once you finally stopped, back pressed against the wall that still cracked underneath the impact of your frame hitting it. Blood covered your vision and a cough shook your body with painful wave overtaking your entire nervous system.

“So that’s the infamous hollow purple, huh?”, you muttered, leaning your head back against the cold solid behind you. There wasn’t much in your body that wouldn’t be fractured at least, you could tell without a mistake that your heart was still beating only because of the cursed energy that still circled throughout your frame.

Both men appeared in front of you, jumping from above – Suguru coming from one of his flying curses and Satoru, probably just teleported here.

“I’m sorry, y/n,” Gojo whispered, squatting in front of you and Geto followed his motion to level his vision with yours.

“’ts alright, ‘toru,” you muttered, feeling the dizziness taking the best of you. After the hit you took, you were certain not even a genius like Shoko could save you. “Sugu… both so strong.”

Exchanging a quick glance, both sorcerers sat down, on your sides, paying no mind to the puddle of blood underneath you. They took your hands, so small in comparison to theirs, now red and wounded severely, but the pain you couldn’t feel much of anymore.

“I’m sorry I didn’t take this mission for you. Back in our days. It was meant to be mine, but I was training,” Satoru confessed, squeezing lightly the fractured bones in your palm, reminiscing of the day that was the beginning of your end. The elementary. That day engraved itself in his memory as one of many days that seemingly mattered nothing. Yaga told him about the issue, the curse and fire in school for the youngest, but he brushed it off, focusing all of his mind on perfecting the last touches of his technique. He still remembers how sensei was mumbling profanities, but couldn’t care less because he was that close from teleporting.

“’ts okay, ‘toru.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there either,” Suguru added, his voice barely a whisper as you leaned your head against his shoulder, desperate to ease the heaviness. What Geto remembered from the day in question was that he had an issue with his own technique. Little difficulty, as he was absorbing one of the special grade curses he just caught. It wasn’t severe, it wasn’t even that important, he could have fix this on another time and take the god damn mission, but instead, he declined. “I thought if I don’t take the job, Satoru will, but turned out, it got to you.”

“Sugu, ‘ts ok.”

“Remember how we used to sneak out the dorms to get ice cream in the middle of the night?”, Satoru changed the topic completely – a defensive mechanism to lighten up the mood, to prevent him from crying. And you hummed in response, lowering your heavy lids.

“And how Satoru got drunk after three sips of a beer? That’s when we all knew he’s the lightest head in the history,” Suguru added and faded images of how Gojo discovered that he cannot drink to save his life rushed to the front of your mind.

You had no idea how long it took, was it few minutes or merely few seconds, but you listened to both men rambling above your head, reminiscing of your school days and everything that you did together. Of every prank you witnessed that they took on poor first years, of every little mischief and menace they performed, following Satoru’s lead, because it’s always him who stood tall in the name of chaos. You were humming softer and softer, quieter and quieter.

Until you were not.

“And then we put those cupcakes in Nanami’s bed and-“

“Satoru,” Geto cut him softly, looking down at your stilled frame. At your frozen chest and softened features, sensing no more heartbeat. And Gojo turned his eyes towards you as well, taking in the last picture of you, who he loved as his little sister, even though there was no age gap between you and him. And then they both cried in silence, spending another hour with your dead body before gathering you and taking home.

* * *

October 31, 2018

21:18

Only word that could describe what was happening in Shibuya at this moment would be chaos. Pure disorder, people frightened and running, some unconscious on the ground and some other hiding from what was happening in the Shibuya station. Most of them couldn’t see it but felt the terror, saw the blood, smelled the death in the middle of which, two men were standing.

Both Satoru and Suguru, when they came down here to fight whatever the hell was attacking people, couldn’t move; their heads void of any logical thoughts as memories rushed to the fronts of their minds. Stunned to the core and frozen, they looked into the eyes of the person in front of them, distrusting their own vision. The person that wore the familiar look of you, the energy of you and what seemed like – the same cursed technique, and voice, and face, and hair, and everything. Not one thing betrayed trickery or deception as there you stood, facing them both with a smile on your face – one of those soft ones that had melted their hearts on the spot a decade before. Your features relaxed, genuine, borderline joyous as you breathed the air around them once again.

“What…?”, Suguru snapped first, forcing his own body to move and smacking his friend’s shoulder. “How?”

“Who the hell are you…?”, Satoru whispered, voice stuck in his throat as all of the information that his senses were receiving contradicted with what his soul was telling him.

“Aah? It’s been few months, but do you not recognize me anymore?”, your voice flew through your mouth, the very same gentle and bright tone they used to fall asleep to. “It’s hurting my feelings.”

“Cut it,” Gojo snapped, now putting more pressure on his vocal cords, a groan escaping his throat in effect. “Cut the bullshit, you’re not her. You cannot be her. Y/n is-“

“Dead? Yeah, that purple really messed me up,” you chuckled, shrugging your shoulders slightly and stepping forward. “I have to admit, restoring the body wasn’t the easiest of all.”

“Reveal yourself,” Geto took the defensive stance, ready to pursue with attack if needed and his curses floating behind him on standby. “You’re not fooling us.”

“Ah, how stubborn,” another laugh brightened your face, only now more menacing, more teasing as your dainty fingers reached up to gather the lose hair out of your forehead, revealing a line of thin stitches across your skin there. “See, you really did me a favor by burying her body oh-so traditionally. Isn’t that the procedure to burn every deceased sorcerer?” your mouth was moving, spilling the words interlaced with taunt as the, what looked like, thread was pulled out of the horizontal line above your eyebrows and soon after, grabbed by the hair, the top of your head was lifted, revealing the terrifying image of a brain. With mouth of its own.

“What did you do to her?!”

“Oh, I just took what you two threw away,” you replied, slowly putting the upper skull part down on its place, matching the lines as the thread went through the holes by itself, securing the head together. “And I have to thank you for your little sentiment. If not for that, I wouldn’t have my perfect vessel. Ah, but it’s sad, isn’t it? Such a young, pretty girl had to die so early, and more so, killed by her own best friends. What a waste to jujutsu community, don’t you think?”

Both the boys stood there in shock, guilt eating them alive as the salt and acid was being rubbed into the wounds that just opened. The scabs of the past were ripped away, revealing the gushing pain and Satoru growled in anger, realizing that once again, he might have been responsible for what happened to you. This time, Suguru kept up with him in terms of fury, feeling his own blood boiling in his veins, unable to watch your body being possessed like this, used like a toy.

“Y/n, I know you’re there-“ Gojo called, but got stopped quickly by another pilfering laugh.

“Oh, but she’s not. Her soul is long gone and dead. You made sure to have her soul dead, and you have to know I nearly teared up reviewing her memories when I took the body. Such a poignant story, oh, so heartbreaking.” The teasing had no end as more and more poisonous venom spilled through your mouth, contradicting the carefree and joyful tone of your voice.

“What makes you believe that even if you take her body, you can win here? We’ve defeated her already,” Suguru narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, you’ve won but that’s because she let you two won. Wasn’t that surprising how easily you finished her? A special grade? How she didn’t even try to dodge the hollow purple, like the little curse that she was fighting with was really that much of a struggle? Oh, don’t be silly, you two. It wouldn’t be that easy if she tried.”

“We won’t let you-“

“You must understand your situation. What you’re standing in is a special grade cursed object. A prison realm, and to say it simply, you’ve already lost,” you pointed at the floor, from where the four corners of a cube stretched into a mass of flesh, with an eye – giant and bleeding, staring at its target, as the next stage of sealing began before either of sorcerers reacted. “And what’s more interesting, the prison realm can seal only one person at the time, but with the incredible technique of my current host, I was able to fuel its capacity to two occupants, by manipulating the cursed energy it used. Marvelous!”

The cursed object began enveloping both men, rendering them helpless and immobile, as their cursed energy became unavailable for their use.

“We’ll save you, y/n, you hear me?”, Satoru yelled in unison with his friend and the lone tear rolled down your face, before your hand reached up wiping it in amusement.

“Gate close.”

[goingmerryfics]

hello there :D i just saw the requests and could I request Eustass Kid and Killer for mute s/o?

Mute/Selectively Mute S/O w/ Kid & Killer

Content: Gender neutral reader, SFW content

Notes* Thanks for your request! I wanted to make this inclusive for both ends- those who know sign language due to their muteness and those who don’t and may just be selectively mute due to anxiety or otherwise. These two are some really interesting characters for this prompt, so I’m really happy to write it and I hope you enjoy it!

Kid

When you and Kid first met, he hated how you never answered anyone ‘properly’

He didn’t pay very close attention to you because you weren’t a bother, nor were you someone very spectacular in his eyes

You stayed out of his way, you did your tasks, and you kicked ass

He’d watch you interact with others and felt it was very one-sided. 

People would ask you questions and you’d simply answer with a nod, a shake of your head, a shrug, or a note on a piece of paper

Or if you know sign, you would speak to Killer this way and he would translate

He didn’t understand why you wouldn’t just speak 

Until Killer explained how you couldn’t

Kid’s immediate thoughts were that you just needed to get over being so ‘scared’ of everyone. If you were going to be a pirate, especially one on his crew, you couldn’t be a little coward

For someone who has anxiety, he really knows nothing about it

But for someone who literally could not speak because of an accident or just birth circumstances, he’d understand that way quicker

Either way, he’d avoid speaking to you, thinking that if he did it would only anger him to not be able to talk to you in the traditional sense. But then he started sitting in on conversations that included you, and he softened

You were so… Sweet. You were kind to everyone and, not surprisingly, a good listener

Then he actually started talking to you

He would keep all the little slips of paper that you wrote him when a yes or no wasn’t a sufficient answer

Flipping through them behind the closed door of his room, thinking about your smile, cursing as his heart pounded in his chest

It graduated to flirting, and around the time when the two of you became an item publicly enough for the ship to know about it, he started asking Killer to teach him sign, too

One day he surprised you by clumsily signing that you were ‘his favorite idiot’

It made you laugh, and you signed back a thanks to him with a few tears in your eyes

It takes him a while to get good enough to translate like Killer does, but he can get the jist of what you’re saying 

Quickly sticks up for you if anyone makes rude comments (Similar to what he would have said back in the beginning)

If you have the ability to, eventually you begin to verbally speak to him in private and he’s so excited about it

The first time you spoke out loud to him, it was a ‘good night’ as you were about to leave his room to head to bed. He’d stopped in the middle of brushing his teeth and stared at you, and you had to laugh at how he looked

Eyes wide, toothpaste foam dripping out of his mouth

He pulls you into private rooms all the time after that if it means he can hear your pretty voice

Killer

Unlike Kid, it doesn’t take Killer long at all to figure out your situation and why you won’t speak to others.

Whether or not you use sign, Killer understands it and will be happy to translate for you to the others, which means you two end up paired up a lot, since he is one of the only people on the ship who you feel really understands you

But he really likes when it’s just you two. It feels special

You two will stay up late just talking in his room, well into the night, with only a small light on so he can still see your hands or notes

Despite never speaking a word, it’s like you two never have an end to the things you want to talk about with each other- which means that you two get very close very quickly

Truly a strangers to friends to lovers trope here

You begin to feel comfortable with him very fast, which leads the both of you to getting more and more openly affectionate with each other. Leaning on each other, giving hugs, etc

The thought of you two dating doesn’t come until other crew members point out how sweet on each other you are and asks the pair of you if you’re dating

The two of you share a look, and Killer answers, ‘Yes’ while you nod at the same time

You’re assigned as dating now, but it’s not different from before

If you’re able to, one day you work up the courage and comfortability to verbally speak to him

You planned this beforehand and had chickened out a few times, but you knew that he didn’t care whether you ever spoke to him or not. You would do this when it felt right

So when you’re sitting behind him and braiding his hair while he sits quietly, enjoying the feeling of your fingers in his hair, you lean over and tell him you love him for the first time

He gasps audibly, waits for you to tie his hair and then turns to face you and cup your cheeks

He quickly tells you he loves you too

In return for you opening up to him and just because he’s been wanting to, he takes off and leaves his mask off to the side

His eyes are gorgeous, and of course you tell him that

He asks for permission to kiss you

As soon as he gets the confirmation, he’s on you like a fly on honey, kissing you all over

[m1kawrites]

2000+ 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌, 𝖫𝗎𝖼𝗂𝖿𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝖲𝖥𝖶 𝖺𝗅𝗉𝗁𝖺𝖻𝖾𝗍

2000+ word G/N reader :3 I haven't wrote in ages so sorry if it's not that good AGHH!!!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

This man is a sadist both in and out of bed, but when it comes to aftercare? He’s an entirely different demon. Sex with you is his best stress reliever, a way to loosen up and relax after a long day of his brothers antics alongside the stress of paperwork. But no matter how rough or gentle he was, he’s always attentive afterwards watching you closely to make sure you're okay.

If you need a drink, he won’t hesitate to fetch one while you clean up. If you’re too exhausted, he’ll help, even running a warm bath if you're still sore afterward. if you're the type to drift off to sleep, he’s more than happy to wrap you in his arms, holding you close until you’re settled only then will he quietly return to any unfinished work. B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

For his favourite body part of his own... I’d say his hands. He is the type to take great care of his hands using some hand care products Asmo gifted him to keep them soft and smooth. One of the main reasons he likes his hands is how nicely they look against your body, tracing over your skin as you shiver from his touch.

(A close second would be his hair. Okay hear me out but I can totally see this old man being ridiculously picky about it. If he's having a bad hair day well he'll be in a foul mood all day)

Now, when it comes to his favourite body part of yours, I’d say he would love your neck. The mere thought of marking up your neck just ever so faintly and seeing the marks slightly being visible out from your uniform drives him wild. Seeing the proof of his love on their skin fills him with pride. Oh and when he teases you? he would feel up your neck with his lips just to feel your little human pulse quicken beneath his lips? That’s just the cherry on top and his favourite thing to do! C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) I don’t see Lucifer being the type to play with or eat cum, it’s just not his thing. However, creampies? That’s a different story. The pride of seeing you completely fucked out, oozing his load? Yeah, he loves that.

That said, I do think he’d prefer using protection. Mostly for the convenience of an easier clean up and, if his partner is AFAB, to prevent any risk of pregnancy. So while he mostly sticks to condoms, he might occasionally indulge himself

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Before you and him got together, he has fantasized about you walking in on him at just the right moment of him pleasuring himself. The idea of being caught in the act and seeing your shocked or flustered reaction, was something that crossed his mind more than once.

Now, if you or worse, someone else accidentally walked in on him? That's something else.. He would hate that, His pride would be absolutely shattered. But if he wanted you to catch him? If he planned it, knowing exactly when you’d be doing your usual nightly check-ins? That’s a different story. Just the thought of you walking in, seeing him like that.. would you freeze up? Be shy and embarrassed? Would you get turned on? or... maybe just maybe you would join him? The anticipation alone was enough to drive him wild. E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Lucifer is definitely experienced, but not in the same way as Asmo. He’s not the type to sleep around with every demon or human he meets he has a reputation to uphold! His experience comes from an understanding of pleasure. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Reading your body language, watching every twitch of your expression as he thrusts into you~ he uses it all to push you right to the edge, only to pull back at the last moment hehe.. It’s almost infuriating how well he knows your body… maybe even better than you do yourself. F = Favourite position (this goes without saying)

He’d love doggy. being able to grip your hips as he pounds into you, with the perfect view to spank you to his heart’s content as he watches your ass slowly turn red. Doggy makes it so he can easily grab your hair or press your head down into the pillow or desk, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

That said, he’d also enjoy any position that lets him see your face. watching every little expression you make as he drags you closer to the edge, taking in every reaction and lip quiver as he makes you feel way too good. G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Definitely serious but teasing.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) fully clean-shaved and very well-groomed if not fully shaved. He has nothing against body hair and wouldn’t mind if his partner kept things natural down there. However, for himself? He’d definitely prefer to be shaved just something about the clean, smooth feel that he enjoys. I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He’s a sadist who enjoys being rough in bed, degrading his little brat but there are still nights when he can be romantic where he is slow and passionate. On those nights, he’ll take his time, moving gently inside you as you’re both perfectly in sync, savouring the feeling of both of your bodies interlinked while He’ll whisper sweet, romantic words into your ears.

But if you decide to act up and be a little brat in bed during it? Well, he won’t tolerate that. He’ll make sure you know who’s in control.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn’t do it often, he’s simply too busy with work. But if he’s had a particularly stressful week, I can see him jerking off to release some tension, most likely in the shower early in the morning so he won’t have to worry about cleaning up.

As I mentioned in my "dirty secret" section, I feel like he’d enjoy the idea of you catching him or even giving you a little “punishment” under his desk. As he spills his load deep in your throat, making sure you’re completely under his control. K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He loves the Dom/Sub dynamic and of course, he’s always the Dom. You can try to make him the sub, but good luck with that he’ll quickly put you back in your pathetic place

Bondage is something he absolutely enjoys. The thought of you completely tied up, at his mercy, with red ropes wrapped tightly around your body, gets him going. The way you look, so helpless and pathetic, only adds to his excitement.

And he’s 100% the type to edge his lover. Watching you come undone, crying and begging for release, especially if you've been stubborn lately, is the perfect form of punishment. He’ll watch you slowly lose control, turning into nothing more than a babbling, desperate little slut. L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

His study is one of his favourites, the thought of you bent over his desk as he pounds into you, being able to spank your ass over the desk, or even you under his desk, choking on his cock? That’s perfect for him.

Another favourite of his is the bedroom, where he can just rut into your body in any position with ease M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

If he sees you acting up in public or around his brothers, he won’t give in easily. He knows exactly what you're doing, trying to rile him up and he won’t let it work. Instead, he’ll ignore you, letting you stew in your frustration of defeat. But once you finally give up, that’s when he’ll come to you.

I can also see you getting touchy with him as a sure fire way to rile him up. He’s a touch starved man, after all. The moment you start being forward, it's bound to make him excited.. he won’t be able to resist~

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

If something upsets you, he wouldn’t do it, he values your feelings and wouldn’t cross that line. I also see him as one who won't like pegging, I don’t think he’d be into it. His pride wouldn’t allow it, and even if he agreed to try, he wouldn’t find himself turned on by it.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He definitely has a preference for receiving oral, but that doesn’t mean he dislikes giving it. He’d much rather see you looking up at him as you take him deep into your throat, warming up his cock in your throat while he work. He’ll tell you to be a patient little lamb, and wait for him to finish before you can get what you want. Once he’s done, he’ll guide your head up and down, watching with satisfaction as you choke on him, enjoying the tears in your eyes from the stretch of your jaw. P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It all depends on his mood. If he's had a stressful day and you’ve riled him up, he’ll be fast, hard, and rough, his pace matching his frustration. But if he’s in a good mood and a bit tired from work, he’ll slow things down. His movements will be sensual, as he whispers romantic words in your ear.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He doesn’t mind quickies, but it’s not something he does often. He prefers taking his time with his partner, savouring every moment. After all, how can he turn you into a babbling overstimulated mess just from a quickie? Well he could easily do that if he wanted too but he much likes longer. For him, the thrill is in the control, and that requires more time.. more opportunity to tease and torment, to slowly push you to the edge before pulling back.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s willing to try certain things once, especially if you ask him nicely. He’s not the type to constantly seek out risks, but he won’t play it too safe either. If he's feeling bold, he might send you to R.A.D with a vibrator inside you, turning it on throughout the day just to watch you squirm while you try to stay quiet and composed.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Oh, he could go for multiple rounds, all night if he wanted to. Especially if you’ve riled him up or if he’s been stressed. But you’re human, after all, and the last thing he wants is to hurt you or push you past your limits. He knows exactly when to stop or when to take breaks for your sake. Especially after he’s thoroughly overstimulated you, making you cum more times than you can count. T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He owns toys, but not for himself as they're to be used on you. If you ever wanted to try one or had your eye on something new, he’d oblige without hesitation, making sure you get exactly what you want. After all, it’s going to be used on you~

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He loves to tease. He’d spend all night tormenting you, whispering about what a desperate little slut you are for riling him up just so he’ll fuck you. He’ll humiliate and degrade you, reminding you that all you had to do was ask if you wanted his cock that badly. But no, you had to be needy, had to push his limits so now? He’s going to make you regret it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not loud, but he’s not completely silent either, somewhere in between. You can definitely hear him, but if you moan too loud, you would just drown him out. He’s the type to let out deep grunts and soft gasps with his heavy breaths right against your ear, letting you feel what you’re doing to him.

Though, when he finally cums? You might catch a quiet, breathy moan slipping past his lips.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He enjoys your tears. not from genuine discomfort and fear of him, never that. But the ones that spill when he’s fucking you so good you can’t hold them back. The ones that come from sheer pleasure, from desperation, the pain from his whip, from the overwhelming need to cum. Yeah, those tears? He loves them. X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Lucifer’s got a big cock, though I feel like he might be lacking a bit in width, not that it’s anything to complain about since he still has a nice width just not as girthy as Beel’s. However his length more than makes up for it. 8 inches, His tip is a very light pink, and his cock has a slight curve up rather than to the side.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

I’d say his drive is pretty high (have you seen him in the game? LOL). He can control it, sure, but when he goes too long without relief? He gets pent up and I mean pent up. So well.. the next time he has you beneath him, he’s taking it all out on you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He wouldn’t fall asleep until you do and he didn't have any work to do. He’d make sure you were okay, watching over you until you drifted off before slipping away to his study to finish up any lingering paperwork. Only once everything was in order would he finally allow himself to pull you back in his arms and fall asleep

A/N: I hope you enjoyed!! Haven't written in ages.. I feel rusty so I hope I can get back in my game. I'm planning on doing another one of these so which brother do you want to see next?

[xoxochb]

Hey Prue, congrats on 500 followers!!

I also wanted to say that I am a mutual in case you don’t know. I just don’t interact much because I am not used to it. I hope you don’t mind 🫶

Confession d‘amour for Connor Stoll - 🎆 (I want a kiss scene 🙏)

Have a great day!

⋆·˚ ༘ * new year’s day

warnings: none

pairing: connor stoll x fem! reader

event request list

every new year’s eve the remaining campers staying year round would throw a party for the new year. tons of fireworks and alcohol snuck in to camp (thank you mr. d!). like usual you would go with connor who was eager to show you the fireworks he had set up with travis. however this year he mentioned ‘special fireworks’ which he kept private for the most part, all you knew was he had to bribe the hephaestus campers to make them

you waited on the dock- the ‘perfect spot’ to watch the special fireworks as connor had said. as dark as it was your glow stick bracelets were enough light for the whole camp. how long had it been? it was probably only ten minutes since connor left to set up the fireworks but soon enough he would be back to watch his special fireworks with you. waiting and waiting for five more minutes until you hear your favorite voice,

“miss me?”

the very boy that occupies your thoughts stands beside you. is it normal for your heart to be beating this fast?

“you wish”

your bright smile gives you away- yes, you did miss him the fifteen minutes he was gone. but unbeknownst to you connor felt the same way whenever you parted from him no matter how long

you would be lying if you said you weren’t nervous for your special fireworks because with connor stoll that could mean anything. maybe he was plotting to kill you? or could he be sincere, doing something nice for you?

you watch the sky, any moment would be the reveal of the anticipation fireworks. connor steps closer to you, arms brushing and he speaks,

“can I ask you something?”

“of course you can”

“you know how we always spend new year’s eve together?”

you nod and he takes this as a signal to continue. you’re unsure if that’s a good idea since he’s practically shaking

“well I really like you- not just on new year’s eve, every day. and if you don’t feel the same this might be really awkward but I was wondering-”

“of course I will”

“I didn’t ask anything?”

“you were going to ask if we could kiss when the clock strikes twelve”

“how’d-”

“travis”

“of course” he mutters “you don’t have to if you don’t feel the same way, I won’t mind”

yes he will. if you said no he would have cried himself to sleep

“I really like you too, idiot”

on perfect timing you hear shouts of counting down. 10, 9, 8, 7…

connor was sure when your arms wrapped around his neck he could’ve died happy, right there, right then. he places his hands on your waist, and when you kiss him he goes into a lovesick daze. the remaining seconds end quickly and you hear cheers in the distance. enamored with each other you fail to realize the heart-shaped fireworks in your favorite color going off behind you

[oonajaeadira]

Leave Off Your Wandering pt. 3: Autumn

Fandom: The Last of Us (TV)/ Joel Miller

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. Old enough to have been an adult on Outbreak Day. Wyoming born and bred. Sheep farmer, easy-going but confident and self-sufficient. Likes to sing, not a great cook. Childhood friend of Maria. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

Rating: T for now

Warnings: Angst. Canon-typical tragedy (not main characters). Childbirth. A few names that may twist a knife.

Summary: You give Joel a lot to think about.

A/N: Set after season 1 and then diverges. Does not acknowledge the existence of further plot/seasons, although I claim the right to steal ideas and bits of cannon from the second game if I want to for plot reasons later.

It takes a lot to gain Joel's trust, and even longer to tame him. Thanks for sticking it out this long. We're finally shifting into acceptance mode.

“No, they do not make you look old. They make you look like Joel Miller in glasses. Just like the last five pairs. These are distinguished.”

“Looks like something my old man would have worn.”

“Your dad must have been a stunner. Assume the position. Bottom line.”

Turning him by his shoulders, you square Joel up to the line on the floor across from the eye chart at the back of the Jackson commissary.

“P…E Z O L C…F…T D.”

You pass him a handwritten note. “Good. Now use the bottom half of the lenses to read this one. Do it without squinting.”

Taking the paper, he squints. You pull on his arm to distance it correctly and he stops. He stares at the paper for a while. You might be concerned at the pause if he wasn’t taking a comically elongated time, breathing out hard through his nose, his jaw ticking left to right, feigning decisions, trying not to laugh. “Gimme a pencil.”

Without taking your eyes off him, you reach over to the counter and snag a pencil out of a cup and hand it to him, watch his eyebrows lift, his head shake, and give another dramatic sigh as he marks the paper before handing both the note and the pencil back over to you.

Joel Miller, will you go to the harvest dance with me? [x] yes or [ ] no.

“I don’t think these are gonna work,” he points to the black frames on his face. “Can’t read a damn thing. Not one damn word–” He can’t even make it through the sentence without cracking a smile, and only fully laughs when you playfully punch him in the arm.

“I’ll have you know this is a binding contract whether you can see it or not,” you join him in the tease, fanning the note in his face. “Just how blind are you???”

“Well, maybe I was working up to asking you the same question so…I guess not as blind as you seem to think.”

This slowly melts your laughter down to a smile. “Working up to it? What’s there to work up to? You mean… Did you…not want to?”

When his own smile fades, you realize too late that maybe he didn’t.

While you and Joel have fallen into a close friendship over the past few months, sometimes that’s all it really seems to be. There are moments that come close to something more–an arm draped over the back of your chair–or perhaps across your shoulders–as you stand in the back yard watching the fireflies, always a ready hand to help you up from a chair or the ground. If the two of you are ever in the same room, he’s always near, keeping you on his left where he can hear you. It took a while, but both Joel and Ellie have just stopped knocking when they come by, treating your house as they do Maria and Tommy’s–like family.

There are times he smiles in that way where his eyes shimmer and you think he’s coming around to falling for you. But he never pushes for more and you are beginning to wonder if he even wants that. After all, you’d learned from Tommy what life in a QZ can do to a person….and that’s on top of all the years the brothers spent surviving in some of the most violent and criminal ways possible.

Sometimes when you all sit out on Maria’s porch after dinner and watch the sunset together, he might take your hand in one of his–big, warm, roughened but gentle. And it’s at those times you almost forget about how he’d used it in the past. Almost.

With his bare hands, Tommy had said. Just come up behind ‘em and squeeze.

It takes time to become someone else. You always knew you’d need patience.

You just never braced yourself for something….a little less than affection.

“Listen, Songbird,” he sighs, his jaw shifting hard to one side. “I don’t want you to think–”

“Oh yeah, lookin’ goooooood,” Ellie’s opinion precedes your notice of her entrance. “Hey there, professor. I was looking for a book on relativity. Any suggestions?”

Pushing the glasses up the bridge of his nose, he ignores her sass and turns instead to the commissary register to mark down the inventory he’s taking. “Aren’t you supposed to be with Maria?”

“Yeah,” she shrugs, picking up an earthenware mug from a shelf and admiring the owl painted on it. “Her water broke. Baby’s coming. Can I claim this mug?”

“What??” Your body jerks, ready to run, but just barely holding back, shifting all the dismay you were just collecting and using it to power a new anxiety.

Joel’s head whips around, the glasses staying mercifully in place. “What are you doin’ looking for us? Go get Dr. Johnson!”

“Unclench yourself, my good sir. I already did. Went to her–” she says to him and then winks to you,”-- and Willa, thank you very much. You two didn’t tell me where you were going, you think I’m dumb enough to spend time hunting you down first? I’d be looking up and down Main forever. Have been. Almost went out back to see if you were eating spaghetti in the alley with one long noodle between you. Baby’s probably already here by now, jeez.” She spins on her heel, tapping the mug with a finger. “I’m taking this, thanks.”

Joel exchanges a look with you, the former conversation shoved roughly aside for a new concern. “I’ll register it and grab a few other necessaries. You go.”

This is no time to pick up the dropped dialogue but… maybe…should you stay and help? Oh. It takes a second to click that you can leave it to him. You don’t have to tell the man what’s needed for a new baby…after all, he knows more than you. Even if it was a whole other life or two ago.

And with a nod, you shelve your feelings for one more day and jog out the door to catch up with Ellie.

_____

Willa’s just walking out the door by the time you get to Maria and Tommy’s.

“You’re going?”

“For now,” she nods, working her shoes back onto her feet. “She’s got a while to go. It looks like it will be a pretty straightforward labor.”

“Did Dr. Johnson have anything to say?”

Her exhale tests high for irritation. “She’s upstairs. Why not go ask her yourself.”

“Wait. Willa. Did she send you away? I didn’t want to call her, but Joel thought–”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m going to go take a nap so I can get through the night. But she’s using up all the air in the room and what Maria needs is to rest as much as she can and let it come. A good midwife would know that. Too bad the medical authority in this town is a gastroenterologist and not an obstetrician. It’s a baby and she’s treating it like an obstructed bowel.” Muttering something further about obstructions and matters of the bowel in regards to Dr. Johnson, Willa pats you on the shoulder before making her exit. “Maria can have water for a couple more hours, then sips only. Make sure she eats something.”

Upstairs you find your old friend in full concentration mode–laying on her bed, eyes closed, breathing hard, forehead smooth but glistening–as she awaits the next contraction. Tommy’s curled up next to her, holding one of her hands, his forehead to her temple, matching her breath for breath.

Her other hand is being held aloft as the good Doctor checks her pulse. “Family only,” she condescends as you enter the room.

“Good idea,” you say, plonking down at the end of the bed with enough of a bounce that Maria opens her eyes and glares from behind her belly. When you point to her swollen feet and let your eyebrows request consent, she nods, shuts her eyes, and focuses back on the process as you take a foot onto your lap and start to massage.

Maria groans in contentment and Dr. Johnson takes it for discomfort. Turning to you, her silvery hair pulled back into a tight braid, her frown causes her jowls to deepen. “I really must insist that you clear the room. The fewer distractions she has, the better things are going to go for her.”

You pull your stockinged feet up onto the bed. “Is that how it was when you had kids?”

“I never had children,” the doctor snaps.

“I see. Well, Maria said she was gonna freak out if I wasn’t here, so it seems now we’ve got ourselves a conundrum between what the doctor says and the patient wants. But, seeing as how this is her second child and she is very much my family, I think I’m going with her wishes on this. I never got to meet the first one; I’m sure as hell not gonna miss a minute of my new godchild.”

“Who said you were going to be the godmother?” Maria grumbles.

“I did. It’s your own fault. You left the position open and nature abhors a vacuum, so I’m gonna plug my old ass into that hole.”

“You are mixing so many metaphors there. Where’s–nnnnn,” her face becomes a wall of teeth as the contraction hits, her body a live wire as you and Tommy move to soothe. It takes a good minute for her breathing to slow enough to ask, “Where’s…Willa?”

“She says she’ll check back in tonight. You’ll probably be at this awhile.”

“Well, then, if you’ve got your magic healing woman then I’m not really needed here,” Dr. Johnson’s smile only travels halfway up her face. “Blood pressure’s doing well, no signs of abnormality. I’m sure you’ll be just fine. If you need me, you know where to find me. Just send the foul-mouthed girl again. Certainly with a set of lungs like that, she can easily wake me up in a matter of minutes.”

Nobody stops the good doctor on her way out and the train of her passive-aggressive, attention-seeking attitude trails behind her.

“She means well,” Tommy answers your scathing look.

“Your wife didn’t ask for her.”

“My wife’s never been through labor without drugs before. And she’s older now. I just…” his eyes soften on her with concern as he leans in and presses a kiss to Maria’s forehead, “I just want her to be okay.”

“She’s Maria. Of course she will be.”

The subject groans with a minor cramp. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here and go make me a taco. I’m starving.”

She’s less than thrilled with the berries you bring instead– “water and fiber now, carbs later” –but is placated with you reading her to sleep from one of her favorite Amy Tan novels. Every now and then she wakes up with a contraction, but a little soothe in your voice and she’s out again.

After a few hours, Tommy goes to nap in a spare room and Willa returns with a bag full of clean linens, ready to take over, sending you out to get your own nap in.

It’s quiet downstairs, the setting sun throwing long shadows through the western windows, mixing with a few faint rainbows still filtering through the leaded stained glass over the door.

Maria’s not far from you in age. If there were still doctors in hospitals, they’d call her pregnancy not just geriatric, but advanced geriatric. Even with all the medicine that used to be available, she and the baby would still be under the care of several wary eyes. If they both make it, they’ll have beaten the odds. If they don’t–

Slumping down on the couch and pouring yourself over it–just to put your feet up and your head down for a second…just a second–you push worry out of your orbit. This isn’t a world to worry in anymore. What comes comes. All you can do is what you can do. Maria is strong. Tommy loves her. Willa’s capable. The baby’s on time. Everything’s going to be fine.

It has to be.

It hurts too much to consider an alternative.

_____

When your eyes open again, the house is dark and quiet, the sun long since set.

Although, not so quiet when your stomach growls. Nor so dark either, as you notice a faint glow coming from the kitchen.

A simple investigation leads you to a tea candle burning in a jar on the countertop, next to a scrap of paper with your name scrawled on it and a plate covered in a linen dishcloth, under which you discover a flatbread sandwich.

One look at the handwriting and you can imagine Joel coming by to check up on things only to find you asleep on the couch. There was no gentle-but-possibly-disruptive blanket-covering, no “thought you could use something to eat” beside your name on the note. Nothing but reverent candlelight and one word to let anyone who found the plate know for whom it was intended, no requests or commands, just a quiet devotion, a simple offering to a sleeping idol to be taken or left as you chose.

If he doesn’t want you to fall any harder for him, he’s doing a terrible job.

_____

The final labor comes the following morning, Tommy holding one of Maria’s hands and you the other–both of you gritting your teeth as her grip leaves bruises–and Willa holding the soles of Maria’s feet, giving her something to push against.

Joel’s been tasked with guarding the door to the house since Maria’s taken to screaming with each push–not in pain, but in ferocity–and the neighbors have been coming around in concern. He’s quick to turn them around and send them on their way and you’ve gathered from Ellie’s reports that they seemed offended until she started volunteering the information that Willa is upstairs helping out. Then everyone readily accepts that all is well and being taken care of.

But Maria, she’s the real star of the show here. Yes, she’s in pain, and yes, she’s tired and weeping–no tears, dehydrated–but she’s nothing if not a fighter. She wouldn’t be in Jackson without that being true. And, frankly, Jackson wouldn’t be Jackson if it weren’t true either.

When it’s all done and the delivery miraculously comes off without a hitch, when Willa checks the baby boy over and finds him responsive and healthy, ties him off and hands him over to Tommy, taking her leave to go wash up and rest, the room is eerily quiet.

“Hello, little man. I’m your dad,” Tommy whispers, on the edge of tears but too tired to cry as he sits next to Maria and shares the bundle with her, the two of them staring down in awe at the tiny new human. “I’m your dad, and this is your beautiful, strong, fantastic mamma. And your auntie’s here too and we’re all damn happy to meet you. Welcome home.”

Maria smiles wide, the pain already fading to memory, an unnecessary detail she’s gonna leave behind her in exchange for exponentially better days ahead.

“Good job, you three.” Adding to the kiss count on Maria’s head, you start to pick up some discarded towels and sheets, preparing to leave the new family to rest. “Did you finally agree on a name?”

“Oh, I think I settled early on,” Maria sighs, completely in love. “Riley.”

You hum in satisfaction. “Nice. Where’d that one come from?”

“Ellie suggested it and it just hit me right. It’s a good name for a boy or girl, but mostly I liked it because it’s a fighting name. All riled up and ready to go.”

“Sounds like trouble.”

Maria snorts. “Oh, I’m sure. After all, he is a Miller.”

“Damn right,” Tommy whispers, bestowing his legacy.

It’s an easy decision to make, your vow of silence. You’ll never let them know you feared losing her. Not when there’s more now to protect, more to love.

There's been enough fear. It isn't worth your time.

_____

Over the next week and change, a routine easily emerges. You make yourself available during the day for any needs–help with cooking, diaper washing, or just rocking Riley while Maria has a bath or Tommy needs a nap. After school, Ellie comes by and adds two more hands, truly turning childrearing into a village affair. Joel’s the last to add to the party after the sun starts getting low and construction on the new district slows down for the day, earlier if it’s his day for patrol. Every night is family dinner night now and sometimes Riley’s actually awake enough to join them.

Ellie can’t get enough of her new little friend. If she’s got empty hands she willingly fills them with baby, either rocking him or laying him on a cushion to watch him watching her. She’s not had a lot of experience with babies or newborns other than the lambs, but she’s a quick learner. It’s just one more thing that this harder world has deprived her of. Babies were few and far between in the QZ and Ellie seems bound and determined to make up for lost time, not wanting to miss an instant of growth or change.

Joel, on the other hand, is more stoic. If he was hard of hearing before, it almost completely disappears when Riley’s in the crook of his arm. He can’t help but be captivated by his new nephew and you catch a fond smile creeping along his cheek now and then, but there’s always something a little sad behind it, and when the light catches a glimmer off the face of his broken wristwatch, it’s not hard to guess what he’s thinking.

It’s during one of these moments when Maria’s napping and Ellie and Tommy are out in the yard, that you finish up the dishes and plop yourself down on the couch next to Joel.

“Your arm tired? Want me to take him?”

“No. I’m fine,” he says quietly, trying not to wake the boy. But the silence is more for himself than the baby–Riley sleeps hard. For now.

You simply draw a knee up onto the couch and lean your elbow against the back cushion, watching them, chin in hand.

“Where’s Ellie?” he finally asks.

“Enough leaves are down. Tommy’s out back showing her how to make a leaf pile. And what to do with it.”

He chuckles, knowing exactly what’s proper and good to do with leaf piles. “We used to have a big maple out back when we were kids. Dad spent hours raking and nothing he could say or do could keep us from demolishing his work. Whip our hides and we'd be back out there the next day making a mess.”

“Well, at least lawn maintenance isn’t such a priority anymore, right? Just think of all the leaf piles this one’s gonna get. Let the destruction commence.”

“Yeah.” It’s slow and subtle, but the light slowly leaks from him, a twilight descending over his brow. “I guess there’s still a few pleasures to be had for kids in this world.”

This is why he’s always so contemplative with Riley. Worrying. Taking everything he’s seen and experienced and piling them onto one little baby, doing the parent thing, hoping that they’ll have a better life…but doubting that it could ever happen.

“There’s always going to be something, Joel. If the world hadn’t gone to hell, there’d still be car accidents and kidnappers and war in some far off country and the capitalist job market. A kid has every chance to have a good life in this time as in any other. And even if it isn’t in the world we remember, this one has you and me and all of us in it to look after one little boy who gets to live a life. Isn’t that what’s great?”

“Is it?” He finally turns to you. “You think it’s a good idea to bring a kid into this disaster?”

His eyes lay bare the puncture you’ve made in him, his sorrow and apprehension starting to vent, and it seems he hopes you can patch the hole because god knows his hands are full and not steady enough to handle the delicate procedure.

“Hey. Kids are going to happen, Joel. People are still going to find each other and fall in love and I hate to break it to you, but babies are sometimes a consequence of that. Biology’s a hell of a thing. But just because it’s not the world we knew as kids doesn’t mean it’s not worth living in. In fact, Ellie and Riley are going to do better than us, because they were born into it. They’ll have all of this kind of living in their bones from birth and don’t have to take twenty years to relearn it all. Or use up twenty years living life with regret.”

You expect him not to take that well, but he surprises you, softens, and turns back to the baby, his eyes skipping to his watch.

Maria told you once that sometimes she’s glad that Kevin died. He was still young��only 3 and a half–but he would have remembered. He would have held trauma. Back then, a lot of the little ones were lost, either to hunger or to attack…they didn’t know enough to be quiet.

Sarah on the other hand…. Joel didn’t know it, but Tommy had said once that Sarah would have never made it in this world. Too good. Trusting. Gentle. She would have been taken advantage of or become severely damaged by the shift coming in her formative years. Children are resilient, but a teenager’s psyche could be a difficult thing.

“Still not a good idea,” he mumbles. “But he’s here now.”

“Thank god. Maria needed another man in her life to boss around.”

He’s not budged by your joke. Instead, he side-eyes you, hits you with a cynical question, trying to knock you off your rosy pedestal. “If you’re so happy about kids, why don’t you have any of your own?”

You shrug. “Got sheep. What. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what.”

“Not every woman wants kids, Mr. Man. Even if they like them a whole lot.”

“Biology’s a hell of a thing.”

Catching his not-so-clever info gathering, you smirk. “I had other things to concentrate on. And in the meantime, the factory had blessedly closed down.”

He can’t help the instinct that makes him truly assess you now. “You’re not old enough for that.”

You chuckle. “I’m starting to think what you don’t know about women could fill a few books, Joel Miller. You let me know when you’re ready to brush up.”

It’s at this point that Ellie calls in from the porch, telling Joel to “get your flat ass out here! Tommy says you’re a champion leaf-piler!”

“Goddammit,” he hisses as Riley starts to stir.

“Go on,” you smile, holding your arms out for the baby. “I’ve got him. We’ll need to wake his mamma up so he can eat soon anyway. Go on outside and play with the other kids. Be home before dark.”

_____

A few nights later, you’re making assessment in a full-length mirror on the inside of a closet door in a room in your house you very barely use. When was the last time you really had a look at yourself? And when was the last time you wore a dress?

Sure, it’s a fall dress, fine-knit by Addie as a gift for bringing her on as a Roostling so many years ago. You keep it for special occasions, which means you get to wear it maybe once a year. The wool is undyed, so the natural oat goes well with your brown leather work boots. Unfortunately, shoes are at a premium, so having a second pair just for fancy isn’t really a thing anymore. Doesn’t matter. The weather’s been a bit wet and the streets a bit muddy. Boots’ll do you just fine.

But you haven’t worn your hair like this in ages. Freshly washed and let to dry rather than set back or under a bandanna for utilitarian purposes, you almost forgot what it looked like natural like this.

You almost forgot that you could actually clean up quite pretty. Huh. Imagine forgetting a thing like that.

The knock at the front door’s expected. Even though Ellie and Joel come and go as they please, tonight you knew he’d do the polite thing and knock. The comfortable part of you wants to call down and tell him to just come in. But the hopeful part of you knows that this is his way of making an effort. Of taking a step your way.

“You sure?” you’d asked Maria earlier in the afternoon. “You’re gonna be okay for the night?”

“It’s a dance, not a trip to the moon. And Ellie’s here. We’ll have fun.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, clearly not happy about diaper changing duty, but smiling through it. “Please. Go. Get him out of the house. The later he comes home the better. Bonus points if he’s not back until morning.”

“Jesus, Ellie.”

Maria only smirked in full agreement.

He’s waiting on your porch when you open the door, one thumb tucked into his belt, the other holding onto a porch pillar as he examines the sole of one boot.

“You step in something?”

“Shit, I hope not. I just cleaned these. I thought–” but of course he stops when he looks up and sees you. Joel himself doesn’t have a lot of extra clothes, and is dressed in a clean dark flannel and jeans, nothing you haven’t seen before–although tucked in this time–his hair is still wet and slicked back, exposing more of the gray.

Your getup, however, is a new sight for him, and he’s struck enough to let it show on his face. So you give him a twirl, let the dress swing a bit. “Get your fill, I only bring this out like once a year. You’ve earned it this time.”

The smile is subtle, but it’s there, along with the tiniest of nods.

It’s not a long walk to the mess hall, but on your way you both determine that Joel’s definitely stepped in something, and yes, it’s still worth holding his hand. Horses are gonna horse and stepping in crap is an everyday occurrence when you live around animals at the end of the world. He seems grateful and maybe a bit chagrined, but neither does he seem ready to let you go.

The mess hall’s brightly lit; several jack-o-lanterns carved by the town’s kids adorn the long tables which spill out into the street to make room for the buffet and the dancefloor inside. A good portion of the town is out tonight and mingling under the canopy of string lights.

Addie and Goldie are the first to find you and greet you, the former admiring her own handiwork on your dress–even if she’s much improved over the years–and the latter pushing mugs of warm cider at you and Joel. Willa, it seems, took to the Roost short after Riley’s birth, always opting to take solitary watch during big gatherings and celebrations. But she did help with the decorations and is responsible for a good portion of the cornbread on the banquet table. When they start asking questions about the baby, Joel politely excuses himself, muttering something about getting you a plate.

“And how’re you doing?” Goldie asks, nodding after Joel. “I didn’t think that grump would warm up to anyone, but I suppose you’re tenacious enough when you want someone. I don’t blame you. Grey Fox indeed. If I was twenty years older, we’d have to share.”

“Yeah, he’s coming around.”

“Didn’t think you’d ever take up with anyone again. I heard Ellie had a run-in with the lye.”

A sudden lump rises, nothing you can’t swallow down. “She’s fine. And so am I. Maybe I'm a little lonely is all. Maybe I got a type. Here’s to hoping I’m wrong where it counts!” You smile wide, clinking your mug with Goldie’s and drink deep, chasing away whatever guilt rudely decided to come calling.

Tonight’s supposed to be happy. Tonight’s your night with Joel. Just you and him. No family, no interruptions. The past is the past. And this night is easily the first of many.

Soon enough you catch him waving you down at one of the tables and join him for dinner.

“Figured you weren’t picky, so I got you some of everything.”

“Hells bells, Foxy. Were you planning on dancing with me at all tonight? Because I won’t be able to move if I eat all of this.”

At least he swallows what he’s chewing so he can answer you between forkfuls. “Don’t worry. I’ll eat what you don’t.”

“Then how are you gonna dance?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t plan on gettin’ rowdy. Not with these knees.”

“Oh my god, you old man. Did you really come here with me just to sit and eat? There’s a band playing. And they’re good. You’re not gonna dance with me?”

“To be honest,” he says, straining above the chatter spilling out of the hall and taking another bite of chicken, getting it mostly down before continuing with a pained squint, “I was never good at it. One of those ‘stand around with a beer and watch the band play’ kinda guys. But a pretty girl wanted me to slow dance, I could do that. More swaying than anything.”

“Well I guess that’s something to look forward to then.”

“Good thing you’re easy to please.”

It’s another hour sitting at the communal table, the night settling in and the fiddle and guitar music rolling out from inside the hall. A few friends come by to visit, Missy Tippett makes her way to Joel’s right side to flirt and he pretends to hear her, answering all questions with a “yep” even if they aren’t yes or no queries and you do your best not to laugh. True to his word, Joel takes on the leavings of your meal–nearly half the plate–while you chat with folks, and he rises beautifully to the challenge. Without having to scrape and scramble in the QZ or starving out in the wilds, he’s put on weight since the spring, just enough to fill out his hollowed cheeks and pleasantly soften down his belly. He keeps active with the construction enough that he’s putting away more fuel than storage, but it’s good to see him enjoying the harvest.

You’re mid-conversation with one of Willa’s brothers when Joel taps a knuckle on your elbow. Turning to find him with his chin in his hand, he points inside of the mess hall where a slow song just started, an old Buddy Holly tune, True Love Waits. The time has come then. Like the worn shoe that he is, he gets up and re-tucks his shirt as you excuse yourself and then let him lead you inside to the dance floor.

He’s an old-schooler, guiding you close around your waist and taking your hand in one of his.

In all the time Joel and Ellie have been in Jackson what you’ve felt toward him was a strong pull, a crush, an attraction. It’s been years since you felt drawn to someone like this. But it isn’t until this moment that you actually register the ramp up and learn that your species of butterflies don’t really seem to reside in your belly, but behind your sternum. The tip of your nose and chin tingle with the proximity to his, his breath warm and apple-scented, his flannel smelling of soap and being dried in the sun. His hand fits perfectly at your lower back and your arm was made to curve up and around his sturdy, ample shoulder.

It’s that feeling where you can’t seem to look him in the eye for more than a fraction of a second for fear of losing control, and so you focus on his chin instead, yearning to land your lips there.

It takes most of the song to realize he’s doing the same with the top of your head.

You should say something; it feels odd not to be poking fun somehow. But then, you can’t think of a damn thing to say now that you’re exactly where you’ve been wanting to be all these many months. Well, nothing witty anyway.

“It’s been forever since I slow danced with anyone.”

“Out of choice, I assume,” he answers after a while. “Seems odd you being here so long and not spoken for.”

“Not everyone has to be paired up for life to be worth living.”

“Maybe not. But it looks like you want to and I’m not sure how anyone says no to you if you set your sights. You’re damn persistent.”

The song ends and you break to applaud, ready to quip back. But there’s a look on his face, and expression that you’re not able to categorize in the context of this moment, only that it looks like he might want to leave or be alone.

“Joel, I’m sorry if I pushed you. I know you’re still settling in. I didn’t mean to–”

But the next song starts up, sweet and slow–You Belong To Me–and he doesn’t give you a chance to finish. He just pulls you in close, tucking your head against his shoulder under his jaw, taking your hand again and holding it against himself.

“I’m settled,” is all he says as you sway.

Determination. That’s the expression. A commitment laced with lingering sadness or fear.

And that’s okay, you think. After everything he’s been through, that’s okay. As long as he wants to be here with me, everything’s going to be okay.

At the end of the song he peels away, and while the expression has softened, it still remains.

You reach for his hand. “You wanna walk?”

He nods. You let him lead.

Outside in the crisp autumn night air, he doesn’t take the direct path to your house, instead, he ambles slowly down another road, toward Maria and Tommy’s place.

Joel’s a thinker. He’s got things to say but needs to put them in order in his head first. So you let him organize while you walk slowly beside him, the light and the pretty violin ballad fading behind you. It takes a little longer than you expect and you’re almost to the house when he finally speaks.

“I’m not good at this.”

“You say that like there’s one right way. Like I’m expecting something out of you.”

It’s obviously not what he expected you to say. “But you are.”

“Okay, maybe. But I’m also willing to meet you where you are.”

“No, that’s not what…” he breathes out hard, frustrated that his thoughts are getting out of order, but you wait. “You should be…expecting…something. You should want me to…reciprocate.”

“I do want that, but I can’t force you and I know it.” You amble on, watch his jaw tick. “Joel, I’m crazy about you and I’d love nothing more than for you to feel the same way about me. It’s been a long time since I felt that way about someone. But I know it’s different for you. I know you were more recently attached, and for a long time–”

“It wasn’t like that. Well…wasn't like this, anyway.”

You follow him silently past Maria and Tommy’s place–dark, everyone asleep–and take a turn that will eventually lead you to your own house. A block goes by before he finds his next words.

“Tess and I…our lives…we were…rough with each other. Cared for each other, but we were hard. We had to keep on our toes, couldn’t let feelings get in the way or make mistakes. But all that…stuff… We had each other physically but we kept a lot at arm’s length. Like a survival mode. Conserving our energy for things that kept us alive. Safe.”

“I think I understand. Tommy said–”

“Tommy didn’t understand shit. He thought I was using Tess. But he was wrong.” Even if he’s keeping his voice even, his eyes cold, you can see his fist clenching and unclenching out of the corner of your eye. “I…I needed her and didn’t know it. She was right there and I should have… told her so. That’s what I think I’m saying. I don’t have any practice in anything that isn’t just surviving. And I don’t know if I can give you what you want.”

“Are you pulling a ‘you deserve better’ on me?”

Another look of surprise. Again, you’ve thrown him for a loop.

“Because I do deserve better. You’re right. I do deserve to be loved and to be adored and to be happy. But so do you. Most of us do. Doesn’t mean everyone’s gonna get it. Sounds like you spent the last decade and change denying it for yourself and to someone else. But at least you had someone. At least you knew where you stood. Me, on the other hand…I spent the last decade remembering something like that and wishing it would come back, knowing it wouldn’t, and beating off any chance of having it again like a damn fool. Maria ever tell you about Troy?”

His headshake is subtle, but his look of concern not so much. You decide to let it roll off you just as you had with everyone else in the past ten years.

“Figures. Tommy’s got a big mouth but Maria’s always kept her trap shut when it’s not her story to tell.

“Troy was my...husband. We were married for three really good years. He was a refugee, like you. Came through from Seattle QZ with his sister. Ash was a wild one, loved the sheep. She was the last trainee we had before Ellie came out. She had a habit of wandering though, hopping the barrier for berries and honey and just to run free in the woods without a care in the world. Almost cut her off from going out to the Meadow, but Troy spoiled her, took her side in most things. His only weakness. Damn, I loved that stupid man so much.”

Coming up to your house, you take a seat on the steps, not ready to go inside yet. As you continue, Joel follows your lead and ends up beside you.

“You ever wonder why Maria and I don’t live on top of one another? Troy and I lived in the house next door. Once he died, I couldn’t bear to live there anymore.”

The breeze picks up and you give it a minute to die down. Joel’s voice pushes through your silence just above a whisper. “What happened?”

“Troy and Ash were out at the meadow and they weren’t answering the check-ins. So Willa and I went out there with the patrol. Right away we see almost the whole herd gathered in one lay. Not like them unless they’re protecting a sick or injured one. And that’s what they were doing, all huddled around the hole.

“Can’t say for certain how it went down, but from the looks of things, Ash got herself bit, nearly took off her forearm. Back then the area wasn’t so cleared out and Ash liked to play her chances outside the barriers as I’ve said. Must have scrambled back in and come looking for Troy or he brought her back thinking he could fix it and found out he was wrong. He blew her face clean off. He must have dug the hole and put her in it. Covered it with lye. Got in there with her. Shot himself.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. Bodies were in pretty rough shape when we found ‘em.” The stars are bright tonight as you blink back tears in the dark. “I shouldn’t have let her go out there. I thought he would get her to take it seriously. I should have pushed. But. They were so close and I also know that I couldn’t ask him to choose my wants over hers. And in the end it looks like he wouldn’t have picked mine anyway.”

The power from the dam is being conserved for the harvest dance tonight, so the streetlamps are dark on your row. But the moon’s bright enough to catch Joel watching you, reassessing you.

“I’m very, very capable of deserving love, Joel. And I’m capable of giving it with my whole, stupid heart. I remember what the world used to be, and how it turned on a dime and how we all lost everything we were and had. And when I met Troy I thought that love could fix it. Nope. It doesn’t fix it. The past doesn’t go away. But it’s nice to have someone to walk through the better days with. To choose to live in the present and make it brighter.”

As if the world is an underscore to your story, one last, lonely cricket interrupts the silence, a holdout for the season, waiting a little too late to find itself a mate and a home.

“I’m a murderer, Songbird.”

It’s a simple statement.

“I know you are.”

“Just so you know. Just so you know what you’re getting into.”

Now it’s your turn to gather your thoughts. “We’re all a pile of our many selves. Who we were, who we choose to be going forward, how we see ourselves, how others see us. It’s all there, always will be. All of us a little broken. Fractured. But it doesn’t have to be just one thing forever. There’s no mark of Cain here. Just making choices every day to be the person you want to be. You find your people and you take care of them as best you can, and they do the same for you. You slip up, you start over tomorrow.”

And now it’s his turn to blink up at the night sky.

“You did what you had to do, Joel, we all did. We all had to revise the moral manual for a minute. Nice thing about Jackson these days is that there’s nothing you have to do. You can just do what you want, what makes you feel whole and alive. And if that’s something different every day, then that’s your choice. You say you’re not good at this, but you are. You danced with me. Walked with me. Listened. You’re just as good as you have to be and if you want to be better at it then you just...try again. You get unlimited tries.”

His expression is muddled in shadow, his face turned out of the light and focused on you.

Suddenly tired, you stand up and walk up the stairs to the door. “I had a nice time tonight, Foxy. The best. Even if it ended on a downer.”

“That’s my fault.”

“No. It’s nobody’s fault, it’s just what life is now sometimes. Will I see you tomorrow?”

He’s slow about it, but he climbs the last few steps to the porch. You were wrong about the solitary cricket; there’s still a few still pushing the limits, challenging the first frost, singing to the moonlight.

Reaching out, letting his fingertips trail your arm all the way down, he captures your hand to keep you still and moves in, slow and quiet.

When he finally kisses you, it’s a tentative declaration, a promise of what he can give right here, right now; his kiss lingers in apology, showing you in every way that he has trouble letting go, unpracticed in being tender, but he’s willing to try.

Finally.

Every second lingered is worth the wait, only because you can feel that it won’t be the last.

“Guess I shouldn’t put off until tomorrow what I can start on today then,” he says when he steps back.

“That's a real good start.”

There’s not much more to say as he makes his way down the steps off into the night and toward his own house. No need. No expectations. There’s always tomorrow.

And since Joel’s come to town, it seems like every tomorrow’s usually been better than the yesterday before.

_____

You’ve been sitting on Maria’s couch knitting a sweater in the chilly morning sun for at least a good hour when Ellie comes down from upstairs.

“Oh hey, you’re here,” she says, throwing herself down on the floor by your feet and beginning to paw through your basket.

“I am. Didn’t have any plans today, thought I’d come and be on hand. How’s Riley?”

“Down for one of many naps. He’s growing so fast already.” Finding a full spindle in your stash, she begins unwinding it and forming it into a neat ball with practiced hands.

“That’s what babies do. He’ll be walking and talking before you know it.”

“We should bring him out to see the sheep when he’s walking.”

“We’ve got a corral of milkers in town he can visit. Probably not a great idea taking kids out of town. You’ll see when he’s up and about. Little kids like get away from you and hear themselves scream. Hard to keep safe if you’re dumb and loud.”

“Oh. Right.” She’s silent a while, slowly building her yarn ball.

“Something you wanna ask me? It’s not like you to volunteer to help with this part.”

There’s a certain way Ellie chews her lip and scrunches it at the same time. “I was thinking of asking you…if I could stay behind next time you go out to the Roost.”

That makes you chuckle. “Riley’s a little more fascinating than the sheep right now, huh. What. You thought I’d be mad?”

“No, just…I do like being out there. But I also feel like I can help here. For now. And I know you’re skipping your weeks to be here and I thought if I stayed you could go and then there’s still enough of us around….”

“The sheep are in good hands, they can wait. I’m in no hurry and I don’t mind being here. But I appreciate it.”

The yarn’s coming to an end, the ball in her hands reaching a pleasing softball size. “Can I ask you a favor then?”

“Of course.”

“Tommy went out to the reconstruction site and left his lunch and Maria asked me to bring it to him so he doesn’t come home for it and wake her or the baby.”

“But you wanna stay here.”

“Yeah.”

“Good timing.” Smiling and finishing up your row, you tuck the needles and sweater into the basket. “It’s a nice, dry day for a walk and I’ve been meaning to go see that sector. Tell you what. Eye for an eye. I go out there, you ball up all those spindles while I’m gone. Don't undo my knitting."

What the autumn sun is lacking in warmth, Ellie makes up for it with that spark of unbridled joy. “Fuck yeah, deal!”

_____

Swinging a bundle bag full of Tommy’s lunch and other sundries, you walk out to the old north edge of town. The wall’s come down here, another one erected a handful of blocks beyond, re-civilization slowly sweeping and expanding out as the need arises. The houses are in varying stages of disrepair, repair, and some have come down to use for scrap. Your elementary teacher’s house is still here, getting a spiff-up treatment and you’re remembering Mrs. Erstine and her roses fondly when there’s a sharp whistle and call of your name.

Joel’s walking down the block toward you with an easy smile and you return it as he nears. It’s been a couple of weeks since the harvest dance and you haven’t seen each other much outside of family dinners and scattered evenings at Maria and Tommy’s’. Between the rush to get some of these homes fit for winter and you helping out with all the canning and preserving down at the mess hall, a twilight trio on the porch with Ellie here and there has been your scant means of together time.

“What’s brought you up this way? Everything okay?” He’s good enough to bend his neck a little so you can meet his patchy cheek in a kiss.

“Tommy forgot his lunch and Maria wants to spare him a trip.” You hold up the bag. “And I brought treats for you too.”

His finger hooks the bag, trying to peek in. “Really.”

“Nah ah, not until you take me to your leader.”

“My leader,” he scoffs, turning and leading you up the street. “Ain’t nothin’ he can do I don’t have to come up after him and fix.”

“Speaking of fixing, we could use new shingles at the Roost. It’s been wet and I’ve heard there’s a leak.”

“Yeah? When you going out next? I’ll go out with you.”

Turning onto a more wooded road, you both follow the sound of hammers. “Well, Goldie’s up there now and I usually take after her. I suppose I could go next week before the rains really start up.”

“Next week then.”

As you approach a beautiful A-frame home, Tommy’s over to one side at a couple of sawhorses, measuring out a beam. Joel calls out to his brother with the same whistle he gave you.

“It’ll be just you and me,” you say. “Ellie wants to stay home with Riley.”

Joel’s head whips around. “What?”

“Hey there, ma’am-o-jam, what brings you up here? Everything alright?” Just like his brother.

“Yeah, all’s well. You forgot your lunch and my legs needed a stretch.”

“Oh shit,” he grins. “I was just starting to get hungry. Thanks.”

“No problem.” You gesture to the house. “This is really beautiful. It’s like a bigger version of the Roost.”

“It’s nothin’ like the Roost. It’s on the ground.” Tommy smiles as you swat at him. “We’ve started with all the houses that need the least amount of help, tearing down the ones that need the most to fix ‘em up. This one had a lot of protection from the elements–the sun and the snow–from all these pines around it. All the windows still in place. Mostly just had to clear out a couple of overgrowths in the basement–probably the previous owners gone to seed. But it’s all good treated hardwood. Good bones. It’ll stand another century or two.”

A small, involuntary shiver passes through you at the casual mention of dead infected. “Did you burn them? The previous owners.”

Your reaction doesn't escape Joel’s notice. “Did it myself. There were a few in this section. It’s okay. They were long gone. Dry as a bone. It’s safe here.”

He’s earned a smile, even if it’s a sad one. “That’s good. They must have loved this house, to want to stay here, even when they didn’t know any better. Can’t blame ‘em. Anyway,” you go through your bag, lifting out a small parcel and handing the rest to Tommy, “here you go. But this is yours,” offering the parcel to Joel but then snatching it away as he reaches for it, “only if you promise to be honest and tell me if you like it or not.”

Joel’s eyes light up when he opens the package. “Holy shit; is that…pecan pie?”

And Tommy winks as he takes his lunch and walks back toward the house.

“Heard it was your favorite.” You can’t help but laugh at his big dumb grin. “Don’t be too excited! I obviously had to make every substitution. Walnuts for pecans, honey for sugar; it’s not exact, but it should be close enough. Been working on my bakes.”

Taking a bite, he shakes his head in what at first seems like pain but soon reveals itself to be the opposite. “Damn woman. And you only bring me one piece?”

“You’re a carpenter. That’s a triangle obviously cut out of a full circle. You know there’s more where that came from.” It’s a pleasure to watch him lose a battle against another big bite. “I take it you’re happy.”

His mouth full of sticky sweetness but the crow’s feet setting in, all he can do is chew and cock his head, looking you over as if to say, damn right I am.

_____

Joel’s quiet the whole ride to the Roost. It’s easy to guess what’s troubling him. A whole week alone should be exciting, but he’s worrying about expectations again and there hasn’t been much time to talk about it…or he just didn’t want to.

“Meadowlark to Goldfinch.”

“Present.”

“Bringing a Grey Fox in at the north gate.”

“Noted. You brought your own sheets I hope.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Joel’s frown and straightened shoulders as he suddenly loses the sympathetic gait with his horse. “Yup. Both sets. For two beds. Man’s here to work on that roof and I’m only payin’ him in food.”

“Ooof. Poor Joel. He deserves better.”

“Yeah, well I’m working on it. Boiled water last night and I didn’t even burn it.”

The banter seems to have relaxed him back into the saddle sag for the time being, and you keep it up until Goldie has you in her sights.

“I know you like sleeping under the stars, Foxy, but it’s been cold and wet. Bed’s yours. I’ll take the top bunk.”

“Fine,” he grunts.

“And you’re not allowed to go up on the roof unless I’m around to spot you.”

“I can handle it.”

“Oh, I’m sure, but my nerves can’t. And this is my domain. I’m the boss out here.”

This gets you one half serving of smile with a side of eyeroll. “Yes ma’am.”

Once you’re settled in, Joel descends the ladder and starts going through the woodpile, looking for adequate repair material, taking up the axe to split some logs for shingles while you go take a cursory round through the meadows.

The sheep are mostly on the near side by the copse of trees housing the Roost, keeping a tight flock, settled down and facing into the wind. A few bleat as you arrive but none of them skitter, allowing you to pat a couple as they chew cud and to check any for painted marks in case Goldie found one of them sick or lame. Other than one small ram that wants to playfully butt you in the thigh, all seems well. The rest of the flock is mostly down by the river and you take a little time to make some noise and shoo them toward the others before circling back to the Roost….

…which is where you find Joel Miller up on the ladder prying at rotted shingles.

“What the hell did I say, Cinnamon Roll?”

“Hold your britches,” he calls down. “I’m just assessing.”

“How am I supposed to get up there and you got the ladder?”

“Oh now we have a quandary,” he jokes. “What are you gonna do if I don’t let you up?”

“You think I haven’t slept out with the sheep before? I’d have no issue with it but that it’s gonna rain, so maybe you should let me up so I can help and make that repair go faster.”

Coming down and moving the ladder to the balcony drop, he scans the sky with doubts. “What makes you think it’s gonna rain?”

“Because I read sheep.”

“You read sheep.”

“Yeah. They spell it out like a marching band. RAIN. Big letters. Cursive. Could you just–”

The ladder comes sliding down with a thunk and you climb, taking his helping hand as you reach the top.

He smirks. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”

All you can do is shake your head and hide your grin. “Don’t you dare. I’m gonna get my gloves.”

As he starts to heft the ladder back up, you go inside and quickly grab a wool hat and a pair of deerhide gloves from your pack. Turning to go back out though, a glint catches your eye near the door.

There’s a new nail in the wall.

With a broken watch hanging from it.

Huh.

This must be the place where he feels like he can be free of it and of the past you gather it represents for him. A special spot for it by the door where he won’t forget it when he leaves, somewhere he can see it if he needs it, but not carry it so much.

It’s a nice piece but for the hole. Well cared for. 2:40. You realize with a little regret that you missed the anniversary, that Outbreak Day no longer registers. Which means you also didn’t–

He doesn’t like to celebrate his birthday, Tommy once said.

It had come and gone without much fuss. But also without any noticeable misery. Railroaded by a new nephew and hard work.

That’s good. He’s not forgetting, just letting it rest. Someday it will be a good day again.

“You gonna get out here and hold this thing or what? You’re the one said rain is coming.”

“Not me. It was the sheep. Hold your britches or get a better belt. I’m coming.”

_____

A gentle roll of thunder wakes you in the night and the Roost is dark as you listen for a moment to the rain pattering against the roof slanting up and over you, inches away. Tuning in, you train your ear for a hard patter, a splotch, any indication that the roof patch didn’t hold, but of course it has. It was mended by Joel Miller himself.

Well, at least it’s dry, but damn, it’s chilly. A glance toward the little iron stove shows you nothing but darkness, which means the fire’s out. As much as it hurts to leave the little nest of warmth you do have, it’s probably better to relight it and warm the place by morning, so down the bunk ladder you go, being as quiet as possible.

Somehow, it's always comforting waking up at night at the Roost. Your house in town is too quiet at night, too full of the possibility of unfamiliar ghosts--of those that lived there, of the society it held, of your own loneliness. At least out here you feel held by the trees and needed by the sheep. There are ghosts buried out there in the meadow, but they're long gone now, part of the land itself, land that was always wild and free and full of the kind of life that wasn't destroyed all at once in one day. Night at the Roost is a quiet comfort, a place of purpose and sisterhood and family. It's full of wooden and woolen things made by hands you know and is welcoming to everyone, including the moonlight and the stars.

It takes a little doing with the wind up and you have to manipulate the flue a bit, but after a few minutes there’s a lovely crackling and smell of pine. Padding over to the chair by the window to snatch the wool blanket there, you stop for a minute to look out at the storm, trying to catch a glimpse of the sheep in a flash of lightning, but there’s not much of that to be had, so you wrap the blanket around yourself and make your way back to the bunk ladder.

“Sheep okay out there?” Joel mumbles in the dimness from his bed, somewhere near your knee.

“They’re fine. Did I wake you up?”

“No. Been listening to the rain a while. You cold?”

“Yeah. Fire went out. You?”

His answer comes in the form of something like a sail in the darkness and it takes a second to realize that he’s holding his blankets open in an invitation. “Come on. You’re gonna let the heat out.”

Sliding into Joel’s warmth is an easy decision to make. And it’s not just the warmth of his sheets, but that he brings the covers around you, pulling you all the way into his chest against his soft old undershirt, tucking you in under his chin, wrapping you up in his whole, woodsmoke-scented self.

Every tension in you simply melts into bliss.

Resting his lips against your forehead, his breath fans gently at your hair. “I could get used to this.”

A long hum rides out on your exhale. “I think I already am.”

“You’re a good woman, you know that?”

“Spoken like a true Texan.”

A long kiss presses into your forehead. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. I’m gonna do my best to be good again, Songbird. Hope I can be what you want.”

“That’s easier than you imagine. You’ve been what I want since you showed up around here, so I’m already quite pleased. Hope I can be what you want.”

A new warmth takes you over as he starts to spread his hand along your back, simply running over your contours, testing out what it’s like to hold someone this way, slowly caressing, lightly squeezing, tucking you in tighter. “You seem to know what I want before I even do. I look forward to finding out what I want next.”

“Well, I have to admit. Your brother tipped me off about the pecan pie.”

He laughs a little as he tips your chin up to meet you in a kiss in the dark. It’s hesitant but hungry; a long time needed and a long time savored.

“Did your sheep say it was supposed to rain all day?”

His hair and beard ruffle softly under your fingertips. “I didn’t ask, but I think it probably will. Sure hope that new roof holds.”

“We could always just stay right here and keep an eye on it.”

“See? You know exactly what you want. We can do that. I’d say that’s a good day’s work.”

His hand splays big and warm on your back, pinning you close for another kiss. “I tend to agree.”

_____

PREVIOUS: SUMMER

WINTER

MASTERLIST

SERIES MASTERLIST

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

can you write about dave mustaine watching the fem!reader touching herself through a small space in the bedroom door, and then decides to take the reader by surprise and helps her with his big hands?

A/n: I love size differences, maybe because I'm short but just the thought of it even in a domestic sense like cuddling and stuff, I love it. Dave is half a foot taller than me so I very much enjoyed writing this lol

Warnings: Smut, fingering (f receiving), masturbation, squirting, if you think I missed something please let me know otherwise enjoy :3

You had been living with your parents for your whole life, bouncing between jobs but nothing ever seemed to stick. Thankfully, your parents were happy to have you around and understood the situation.

Everyday you would check the newspaper for job openings, you’d walk around town and hand in your resume.

One fateful day you were walking around. You were getting down on yourself pretty hard, all your friends had jobs, some had families. You were trying harder than anyone and it seemed to be getting you nowhere. Of course it just had to start raining.

Without an umbrella your only hope was to find a newspaper stand. There was one nearby and you got a random newspaper to hold over your head as you made your way back home. It wasn’t that far so the paper didn’t get soaked all the way through, you thanked your lucky stars.

You got your shoes off and headed into the kitchen. You fell onto a chair at the dining table and dropped the newspaper onto the table before planting your head beside it, completely drained.

Your mom came over and sat beside you, rubbing your back in a comforting manner. She looked over the newspaper and saw a job citing. “What about this one?” She asked, pointing to the small column asking for a tour manager, someone to help get this band you’ve never heard of what they wanted when they wanted it or something. They were paying a fair price and the criteria seemed easy enough so you gave it a shot and called the number. I man answered, walked you through the interview and like that you were hired.

You’ve now been working with Megadeth, an up and coming thrash metal band, for a few weeks now. You’ve been on tour for a week or two, everything has been going great and you were happy to be with this job. The band was nice, anytime anyone ever gave you any trouble they were right there with you, a group of menacing fellows who weren’t afraid to throw more than a few hits.

You were in your room the night before an early flight. The lead singer of the band had a suit and offered you the spare room because he didn’t want you having to pay for a whole room when he had a perfectly fine empty one, his words. That ‘spare’ room you took was supposed to be the bassists room, for whatever reason he decided to give Dave the whole room.

Whatever the reason you didn’t care all too much, you were more than happy to not have to pay for your own room.

You felt that this was finally working out for you, after all your struggle and hard work you’d finally made something, a good something. While lying in bed you figured you deserved a treat, a reward for doing so good.

You slid your hand under your waistband and into your panties, a nice lacey thing you got for yourself as another treat. Feel good, look good, right?

Your fingers circled your clit and teased your hole. Your body was so hot from the excitement you’d been keeping from it for so long that now every touch just drove you crazy.

Dave’s room was right beside yours, he couldn’t quite hear what you were doing but the walls were thin enough that he could hear you rustling around. There had been times during the tour that you guys had to take a flight, fairy or bus ride through the night and Dave had caught you up at unreasonable hours more than once so he figured it was just that, you couldn’t sleep and were tossing and turning to find a comfortable position that didn’t seem to exist.

He got out of bed and made his way to your room. The door was opened a crack and he could see you moving around on your bed. The way your fingers sunk into your hole, the way your back arched and your legs stretched out. He saw all of that, the way you pleased yourself.

He never planned on admitting it to you, he swears, but he didn’t hire you because of the interview. He hired you because of your voice, he didn’t think a more beautiful voice could exist and he knew your looks would match.

Before the tour started he found himself thinking of you late at night, he’d end up in the same predicament that you were in right now. His underwear bunched around his ankles, legs spread apart as he pumped his hand up and down his shaft.

He was given an opportunity right now as he watched you. He was already hardening in his pants at the idea of helping you get off. Your hands just weren’t cutting it, his hands were bigger, calloused from playing the guitar for years.

He opened the door and let himself in. You immediately went to cover yourself, tugging the blanket over your exposed body as fast as you could but it was far too late.

Dave paid no mind to it and just walked over to the bed as you tried to straighten yourself out. “Davie, I-It’s not what you think, I was just-”

“Shh, just let me help you.” Dave said with a soft smile. He sat beside you on the bed, putting an arm around your shoulder and pulling you to him. He slowly peeled the blanket off of you, revealing your naked body all for him.

Dave moved behind you, letting you lean back against his chest and he wrapped his arms around you. His one hand went to your chest, groping your chest and pinching your nipples while the other went to your cunt.

He toyed with your swollen clit a bit before pushing a finger in you. Your back arched against him and he loved it. He pumped his finger in and out of you, curling inside you and pushing against your gummy walls, searching for that perfect spot that made you see stars. When he found it he made sure to hit it over and over again.

Your mouth fell open in a waterfall of moans. His finger stretched you out more than your own did, the callouses felt so much better as they prodded your sensitive flesh. “Fuck, you’re so pretty.” Dave whispered in your ear. “Just couldn’t get yourself off, could you? Needed help, didn’t you?” You nodded, bucking your hips into his hand.

“Yes! Yes, fuck, yes, please!” You cried, gripping his arm tightly. Dave chuckled at you and stuck another finger into your hole, making your eyes shoot open and roll to the back of your head. Your body shook as it was taken over by climax, one you hadn’t seen coming until it coated your body.

It took you several moments to figure out why Dave was smiling so proudly down at the sheets. It wasn’t until you gained back your composure enough to look and see that you’d squirted all over the hotel mattress, soaking the sheets and comforter. Your eyes widened at the mess but Dave just chuckled. “What a pretty girl.”

[queenofallimagines]

Meguru Bachira with a black s/o

LISTEN!! I picked up the 2 volume of the manga on accident when I went to target and I’m in love w him the man of my dreams!! Not taking blue lock right now bc besides Isagi and kunigami i don’t remember any other characters name or anything about them😅 feel free to talk to me about him tho I have SO many thoughts👀

** can you tell this is just me rambling 💀

Megaru💕:

- this pic gives me butterflies holy shit

- WHEW this man has huge unhinged sunshine energy

- Like giggling and kicking my feet how he’s the happy go lucky character trope (I.e hinata) but they make sure you remember he’s not “soft”

- Like the way y’all be uwuing hinata that is a grown man😐 he was throwing fists the WHOLE SERIES but he don’t know about sex? Bffr

- Anyway he’s definitely a switch but kinda leaning more top? he definitely just wants to fuck he don’t care who’s on top

- He’s so cuddly it’s adorable

- Getting neon yellow nails to match his hair>>>

- Definitely would like to match fits w you when y’all step out

- WOULD GET YOU AN ANKLE BRACELET W HIS INITIALS ON IT SO HE CAN KISS YOUR ANKLE WHEN HE PUTS YOUR LEGS OVER HIS SHOULDERS!!

- Most fashionable couple FR

- Always has to be touching you in some way

- Holding your hand, arm around you, hand in your pockets

- Wants to make sure you’re there and won’t slip away from him

- Imagining him going to meet your family and he’s SWEATING like he knows he’s not everyone’s cup of tea and really doesn’t want to start anything

- “You are good at soccer so you have like + 100 points right now”(watching Latino people watch the football on the Olympics is so scary 😫)

- Imagine your family watching his games😭 embarrassing bc now I’m imagining a room full of dads and uncles glued to the tv and cheering him on like he can hear it💀💀

- “You so skinny you need to eat more!”

- He’s charming your aunties to steal plates from your house

- You get in the car and he has like 3 Tupperwares full of left overs

- Great with kids because they think he’s cool

- he’s breaking they ankles in soccer tho he’s not gunna play nice w kids

- If “play where it’s safe cuz it’s NOT over here” was a person

- Like he can go 0-100 in a millisecond so if someone tries him

- Very “who’s gon beat my ass about it??” Type beat

- People think y’all are so cute bc he’s so smiley and sweet to you

- DEFINITELY says filthy shit in your ear too

- Like he’s cuddly w everyone he likes so you’d be no different but he’s slipping his hands up your shirt

- Number one hype man when you get your hair done

- So extra

- “My baby so cute🥹🥹”

- Box braids are his favorite bc he can put charms and stuff in your hair

- also medium long locs bc imagining him walking up to you and pushing them out your face to see your eyes🥺

- Freak

- Probably sends you links to sex toys and is like

- “👀👀??”

-“I’m a visual learner btw”

- The MOST unserious character in this whole series so far

- His song is rodeo but just the flo Milli verse i WILL NOT ELABORATE!!

- Once he get to doing that thing where he lower his voice just call in sick bc you probably not walking

- Not that he doesn’t care about your pleasure it’s more he’s fucking until HE taps out so your brains can be soup but he’s not done so,,,,hold on?

- If you like me and a few inches shorter than him will be smug about it

- His personality is big enough to count as a size kink but being a little taller makes him get a big head

- Talks you through it the whole time

- Switching back and fourth between degrading and praise so fast it makes your head spin

- “Hm? Don’t tell me my little slut is tapping out? You were begging me so nicely earlier”

- only one who can say babygirl and it not be cringe 🤭

- “be a good boy and spread your legs for me, hm?”

- Really sloppy kisser during sex too

- Will tell you to stick your tongue out for him

- On the rougher side of kinky stuff

- Fucks you like it’s the last time he ever will every time

- Don’t care about getting caught bc either way he’s not stopping

- Probably how you’d end up sleeping w him and Isagi I fear

- Isagi is so sweet and megaru is MEAN

- Isagi trying to go slow and be gentle and Megaru over here pulling your hair calling you a pretty whore

- this man In grey sweatpants would end me

- APART OF THE SHORT KING BIG DICK CREW

- he’s tall by Japanese standards but juuuuust 3cm above average in American height

- he already walks out the shower naked w NO care in the world

- probably walks around the house like that too Ngl

- “I am returning to the natural state of my birth” I will glue your clothes to your body sir :/

- feel like he’s more girth than length like don’t get me wrong he def has a third leg but he’s gunna have to work you open

- “ Oh don’t worry, I’ll make sure it fits”

- Act right dick™️ so don’t push him too far in public

- Definitely a bad influence!! You’re trying to be normal in public and he gives you a look

- Next thing you know he’s on his knees for you in a bathroom or an empty hallway🙄

- In the locker room so many times the rest of his friends already know, and when you two disappear they not stepping foot in there

- Buys you lingerie because he’s your biggest hype man

- When you feel confident you’re the most sexy

- “Mmm you look so good in that cute outfit, you won’t be too mad if I tear it off right?”

- Spreads your legs wide and will make you look in the mirror and watch as he fingers you open

- The type of man who fucks you so good you would get his name tatted on your ass

- Your family actually is probably like “don’t you go corrupting that sweet boy”

- And behind closed doors he’s got his hand holding your hair in a tight fist as he makes himself comfy in your throat

- “Let me hold your hair up for you💕”

- L$D- asap Rocky is also his song

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Villain's Coffee Shop part 34

Warnings: rough recovery, bedbound villain

Hero couldn't help the small smile that quirked her lips. That sounded a lot more like the Villain she was used to.

She left to give him a few hours of rest before it was time to give him the next dose of painkillers. Mocha was curled up by his neck when she came back and got the medications ready.

Villain groaned when she gently shook his shoulder to wake him and give him the new injections. He winced when the needle slid into his arm, peering dizzily up at Hero's face. He wasn't looking too good, his face deathly pale..

"How long until you think I'll be able to walk again?" He asked hoarsely.

"When I took you to the hospital the doctor there said it could be months," Hero admitted grimly.

"I don't have that kind of time," Villain sighed heavily. "Especially if Superhero finds me like this to finish me off -- I wouldn't be able to defend myself."

"Maybe we could just try talking to him and get his side of the sto--"

"NO!" Villain shouted hoarsely, and Hero was taken aback by the pure terror that darted across his face. "What will it take to convince you that Superhero isn't your friend?!? Look what he did to me!" He broke off into a bout of wheezing coughs.

"You're right," Hero quickly said, face wrinkling. "Sorry. My mind still compulsively wants to fawn over and believe in the best of him. It's a hard habit to shake."

That seemed to calm Villain down a little. "Has... Has he tried calling you yet since you left?" He asked in a small voice.

Hero shook her head. "I didn't have my phone on me when Mocha got me out. And I haven't been back to the Agency to retrieve it ever since. I've been... kind of too busy saving your life."

Villain heaved a sigh, breath rattling in his lungs. He hesitated, looking like he wanted to say something, and Hero waited patiently for him to find his voice.

"I... actually might have someone I can call to help me," he said cautiously, tone guarded. "They have healing superpowers that accelerates regeneration tenfold. Miracle-worker type. It's the only way I'll be able to function without waiting months to years to physically recover. They could heal me in a day."

Hero's eyes widened. "Why didn't you mention that sooner? That is a perfect idea, and it'll save you a lot of pain too."

Villain didn't look ecstatic about it like she would have expected. "Because... it comes with a hefty price tag," he said slowly. "The person I am referring to does nothing for free. But... I think it's the only workable option. Hard as it is to admit, I'm virtually useless in this state of health. I need my body back -- I need to be able to walk and fight again before Superhero finds me."

Hero tilted her head to the side. "Sounds sketchy, but if you're sure this person can help..."

Villain's gaze darted to a table on the other side of the room. "In that case grab my phone -- password is 'M-U-R-D-E-R'."

Hero gave him a sharp glare as she went and snatched up his phone. "That's seriously your password?"

"I'm a villain. What do you expect?"

"Fair enough..."

Villain guided her to his phone numbers, and to a contact saved as 'anonymous enemy', and Hero hit the call button, letting the phone ring.

"Can you just... set the phone down on speaker and leave for a few minutes while I make the call?" Villain croaked weakly. "I... have to do some negotiating... and I'd rather you not be present to hear my offer."

Hero narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "How would you stop me from sticking around if I say no?"

"...I can't," Villain said flatly, voice monotone. "You know that. Stop being a jerk and weaponizing my current state of weakness. If you won't let me do this alone I'm not making the call. You might as well hang up now before they even pick up. I'll take the long road to recovery instead."

"Wow, it's that serious, eh? You'd rather suffer for months than let me overhear your conversation?" Hero teased playfully, but Villain didn't laugh or smile.

"Yes. It is. It's a devil's bargain, and it is my choice the price I will pay for my contact's help. Knowing you, you'd try to do some sort of self-sacrificing offer and screw things up. I don't want you getting involved in this one."

Hero's gut sank. "What exactly are you offering? You're making it sound like it has some serious value behind it with some sort of grave consequences."

"That's for me to know and you to never find out," Villain muttered. They stared at each other in charged silence, until the phone was answered.

“What do you want?” A grouchy voice snapped.

“Hero. Please. Just let me handle this,” Villain hissed quietly.

Hero hesitated, but eventually caved, setting the phone down on the couch next to Villain’s head.

“If you really think it'll help,” she whispered. “I sure hope you know what you're doing.” She trudged out of the room right as Villain finally began speaking to whoever mystery person he was calling for help.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222

@federthenotsogreat @everynameistakencarrots

[capobegone]

The Hashiras’ Starbucks Orders (As told by a barista)

Capo job reveal! During my lovely six months working at Starbucks, I have acquired enough knowledge of my craft to confidently predict people’s orders. Just today, a lady came up who looked like she would order a caramel ribbon crunch five minutes before closing, and she proceeded to do exactly that! Which got me thinking—I love my job, and I love KNY, so why not use this superpower to match the drink to the Hashira?

So, uh, here we are!

Kanroji Mitsuri

-Starting off strong with our pink drink girlie! To be specific, it’s a pink drink with matcha cold foam. One of my coworkers gets some variation of this regularly and says it’s delicious.

-I couldn’t decide between matcha or pink drink for her so we met in the middle!

Kocho Shinobu

-In my heart, I desperately want to give her a Dragon Drink, but we all know that is not what she would get. Perhaps on a special occasion!

-Shinobu is a black brewed coffee type of gal, because it’s fast and efficient and will get her through the day so she can return to her Douma-killing, hospital-running routine! Girlboss!

Iguro Obanai

-We know from canon that Obanai can’t have heavier things without feeling sick, so one sip from Mitsuri’s drink would probably kill him instantly. Enter the light and fresh passion tea! It’s herbal and easy on the palate, which is right up his alley. His Starbucks dates with Mitsuri are officially saved!

-The pup cup is for Kaburamaru :D

Uzui Tengen

-He likes the drinks with long names so it’s extra flashy when the baristas call them out. Therefore, he gets the White Chocolate Macadamia Cream Cold Brew. -Besides, look how pretty that is!! I bet he has one of those bedazzled tumblers for extra flamboyance.

Tomioka Giyuu

-To be honest, I have literally no explanation for this. I thought about him and my brain immediately provided Hazelnut Latte with oat milk. So that’s what he gets.

-It’s warm and comforting which my man definitely needs. Besides the oat milk implies he’s lactose intolerant which is hilarious LMAO rip Giyuu

Shinazugawa Sanemi

-Sanemi strikes me as a pretty down to earth, no-nonsense kind of guy in his day to day. Therefore, he gets a classic Americano. (He’ll get it hot in the winter.)

-Surprisingly, I feel like he would be pretty nice to the baristas. A little gruff, but respectful and would probably tip his change. Unless you fuck with him, so best to just give him his coffee and bid him adieu.

Rengoku Kyojuro

-Alright, alright, I know I’m taking the easy way out on this one. But I genuinely think he would get it because it looks like him and he finds it amusing! It’s popular with his juniors too, so he’d probably get them drinks as well. -I actually had this drink today and it was pretty good, so he would stick around for the bright flavor!

Tokito Muichiro

-I wanted to say London Fog SO BADLY LMAO but let’s be real he’s like fourteen years old. The Vanilla Bean Frappuccino is every child’s favorite, which is valid because it’s fucking delicious.

-One day he would come in and slam a doppio espresso and give all the baristas a heart attack.

Himejima Gyoumei

-Gyoumei definitely strikes me as a warm and cozy drink guy, so he gets a chai tea latte!

-It’s wholesome and delicious. He’ll cry when the baristas give it to him because it’s so good. Often comes by to pick up a drink for Genya because Sanemi refuses to do it himself.

Anyway that concludes my official analysis! Which is totally based in facts and data and not at all conjecture. As always if I missed your skrunkle feel free to infiltrate my ask box or replies! And I wanna hear your ideas too so do tell if you have a different take :D <3

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hey again Sex Witch!

Thank you so much for your help! I’m the gay guy from the other day whose ask re: sexual attraction you’d answered. You really got to the heart of the matter, and I truly appreciate that.

This might sound silly but… Are you sure it’s really not weird, gross or… otherwise wrong of me to just randomly initiate a conversation with someone in a bar like that? I’m sorry - even if the worst that could happen in theory is just a few awkward seconds, a part of me still thinks that an unsolicited “hey I like your necklace” Is too… forward. lol even if there’s a guy in a jockstrap gyrating two yards away.

Again, sorry for the weird asks. And thank you for all your help!!!

hello again, anon! I'm very glad to hear that I could tap into something resonant for you. doing this kind of work without being able to have a proper one-on-one convo means I sometimes I sometimes have to guess at exactly what the best advice for someone will be, but luckily I've been doing this long enough that I've gotten to be a pretty good guesser :)

I'm 100% certain that it's not weird, and certainly not gross, to approach someone that way, as long as what you're saying is appropriate for the context. for instance, I'd broadly advise against walking up to someone who's, say, sitting in a coffee shop minding their own business and opening with "you have a gorgeous mouth, I want to see my dick in it." there are absolutely people out there that it would work on, sure, but you shouldn't assume that, because the potential to guess wrong and become an instant sex pest are wayyyy too high.

but even that's not wrong in every setting! that guy gyrating in a jockstrap probably wouldn't mind someone being a bit sexually forward; indeed, there's a very good chance that he's doing what he's doing specifically to encourage that.

but there's also a HUGE world of other, much less risque ways to open up a conversation. let's talk about your example with a necklace, and complimenting details about someone's appearance in general:

"hey, I really like [aspect of person's appearance.]" many people (wisely) recommend sticking to things that people pick and have control over - for instance, makeup, piercings, jewelry, tattoos, hairstyles, and clothing, rather than focusing on specific facial features or body parts. there are also a lot of ways to take that one further if you want to go for a more substantial conversation, including the following:

"I like that tattoo/piercing, did you get that done around here?" or "I like that [article of clothing], where did you get it?" gives them the option to provide as much or as little information as they like, potentially tell personal stories you can respond to, etc.

alternatively, if there's an identifiable common interest in their outfit: "hey, is that [thing] a reference to [whatever]? I love [whatever]!" great, now you can talk about d&d/comics/a movie/a band/an anime/literally whatever for as long as you want as a way to get to know each other

or, alternatively: "hey, that looks really cool. is it from something?" again, gives them plenty of options about how much they want to respond, which you can play off accordingly, and honestly? letting people explain a thing to you can be VERY fun, not to mention people LOOOOOVE having an excuse to talk about shit they like.

also, hey, if someone is just wearing an outfit that's really fun overall? something that they clearly took effort putting together to look nice? man, they WANT you to compliment that. they want you to compliment that so bad.

"but Makenzie how do you know?" because I dress like a loud-ass fruit 7 days a week. and I'm not doing specifically because I want people to compliment me, duh, I'm doing it because it's fun, but it's nice when people say something kind about my outfit! it's nice to be noticed! the other day I wore a pair of bright pink overalls and a student passing by me stopped to say that seeing them made her happy because pink is her favorite color! that's a great interaction, nothing unpleasant about it! I've also recently dyed my hair a shade of yellow that can be best described as "highlighter," and a LOT of people have been stopping me wherever I go to let me know how much they like it. that's nice! feels good! I also wear a lot of huge earrings, especially when I'm working at events where I get to meet prospective students for the university where I work, because it gives nervous teenagers something easy to start a conversation with! they say "I like your lego mermaid Batman earrings" and I say "thank you, I wear them so gay people will talk to me!" and then they get to say "whoa, I'M gay!" and then we're off to the races.

obviously it's presumptuous to assume people are dressing to be alluring to you specifically, but there are also very few people in the world who will be upset at being told that their hair looks nice and their outfit is cool and you think their tattoos are awesome.

people are also generally pretty stoked to hear something like "you're a really good dancer!" or "that food/drink looks good, what did you order?" or "sorry, but did I hear you talking about x? I love x! what did you think of xyz?"

statistically most people love to think that they have good taste and hate being the one to make a first move, so if you do both of those things you're already off to a GREAT start.

also, another fun reminder: even if complimenting that necklace doesn't lead to a romantic or sexual connection every time, it does serve as good practice for talking to people and makes you someone who gives compliments easily - and hopefully someone who's good at receiving them back, because many people love to repay a compliment immediately in kind! and it's never bad to be known as somebody who's generous with saying nice things :)

just give it a try; I promise you'll like it once you see how warmly people can respond to even casual praise!

[starsurfacemortalkombat]

hai hai! Was meant to ask ages ago but I forgor to but could I please get some continuation HCs for the CG Kano and regressor Kabal?-✨

Hi!!! Of course!! Sorry if this ones shorter, wasn't able to check the page count. 👀

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

CG Kano w/ Regressor Kabal Hcs pt 2

⚔️ The Black Dragon isn’t a very good area to regress, but Kano’s office is decent!!

🫁 By that I mean he fixed up his office a bit, being able to easily hide his dangerous ‘big kid’ things

⚔️ Kabal mostly slips at home, but sometimes he slips at the Black Dragon Base

🫁 He gets a bit grumpy that he can't touch any of Kano's things, but doesn't push it because he doesn't want Kano to get upset at him

⚔️ It's the one of the few things Kano gets really upset at, since he doesn't want his baby holding anything dangerous (or his booze)

🫁 The rest of the Black Dragon isn't allowed to say anything bad about age regression (Kano and Kabal are a bit terrifying when they're big, and Kano gets super scary when Kabal runs to him teary eyed)

⚔️ No one hurts his baby.

🫁 I made a mention that before I knew who Kabal was, I called him “Keyblade Guy” because his weapons reminded me of Keyblades from Kingdom Hearts

⚔️ So! I like to think Kabal ‘plays’ Kingdom Hearts when he’s regressed <3

🫁 By play, I mean he’s not super into the stroy or lore, but look Dada! They fight with keys! It looks like his weapon!! :D

⚔️ He normally tries to only stick with the Kingdom Key (the main Sora one) but does think the others are pretty too

🫁 Kano praises him for winning boss fights, and has fought some for them (they were just too hard!!! . . . Even if he is playing on Beginner Mode 🥺)

⚔️ Kabal really likes putting bandaids on Kano, just for fun

🫁 Or stickers!!! He's gonna make Dada look all pretty >:)

⚔️ Kano doesn't mind, even if he has the entire disney princess cast on one arm and his actual tattoos on the other arm

🫁 Kabal would put stickers on himself, but sometimes they irritate his skin :(

⚔️ Little Kabal sometimes gets super fussy about his mask, he doesn't like it, he wants it off

🫁 He can take it off for a very short amount of time (an hour most, inspired by @autismoplayden ‘s post)

⚔️ Kano watches Kabal very carefully when he's without his mask, and persuades him to put it back on almost immediately when he notices Kabal struggling to breath or such (even the most tiniest wheeze, he's not taking chances)

🫁 Kabal gets a little fussy when he has to put it back on, but Kano promises him that he can get a bunch of cuddles or his favorite milkshake and he usually calms down a bit

⚔️ Kabal is very clingy when he's small, constantly clinging and hanging onto Kano (especially when he regresses young)

🫁 He could watch himself, or he could bother Dada enough to get him away from his work, only to decide that he wants to play alone now >:3

⚔️ ^ Kabal repeats this until Kano has enough and carries him to the couch for cuddles and tv

🫁 Other times, Kanos just clingy because he wants to he clingy <3

⚔️ Kabal has some long hair, not long enough to style, but long enough to brush!!

🫁 Kano has to be incredibly careful though, because the slightest pull can make Kabal cry (his skin can be really sensitive at times)

⚔️ Kanos a bad guy, but if Kabal and Stryker stay friends (and if we ignore canon <3) I don't exactly think he'd be against watching the both of them

🫁 He's a bit against Stryker at first, but he warms up pretty quickly, especially when Stryker regressed around him the first time (which was a complete accident)

⚔️ Plus, Stryker and Kabal get along really well when they're both small (and big) so he likes hearing his baby giggle

🫁 Kabal usually doesn't regress small enough for padding, but when he's in babyspace, he might need them

⚔️ Especially because he normally only slips that small when he's having bad memory days (although sometimes he does have more happier baby days)

🫁 Kabal gets super fussy about needing padding, but mostly when he's bigger, baby Kabal is pretty okay with it

⚔️ Kano tries really hard to squash any bad thoughts Kabal has about needing padding or regressing in general

🫁 His baby shouldn't be feeling all bad about things that help him, he he's not going to let Kabal drown in his thoughts alone

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

I can always make a pt 3!! :D

[casualaruanienjoyer]

Aruani, Jeanmarco, Reibert triple date

Oh anon, you're spoiling me! This is so cute 😭 This was SO FUN to write, I hope you'll love it as much as I do!

Triple Date

Armin checks his notes, making sure they are heading the right way. He really can't screw this up!

He somehow managed to convince Annie to spend the day together outside the camp. Not that Annie didn't want to spend time with Armin, but she was always reluctant when it came to being affectionate in public. They have grown closer recently, spending more and more time together around camp, but things are still a bit awkward between them.

Thankfully, they are headed towards a small fun fair Connie told Armin about. He was always good at keeping up with whatever events were on. Cadets were not supposed to go, but they're both out of uniform and Armin frankly does not care at the moment. He's holding Annie's hand and that's the only thought he can process for now.

They can hear the music getting louder and louder and when they take a last turn they find the street Connie told them about.

'Whoa!' Armin gasps, taking in the many colourful stands, ribbons and flowers decorating the street. Even Annie looks surprised.

'Come! Let's check it o-' Armin says excitedly, but without realizing he runs into someone. 'O-oh, my bad!'

'Well, well, well. What do we have here?'

Oh no

'Hi, Jean'. Armin starts sweating, face turning red while Jean crosses his arms.

'Sneaking out together? How cute.' he says with a shit eating grin on his face.

Armin goes stiff, unable to reply.

But Annie smirks.

Jean lifts an eyebrow. "What are you smirking at-" but just as he's about to finish his question someone else appears from behind him, holding what looks like two long sticks wrapped in fluffy candy floss.

'Pookie, I'm back!' Marco says gleefully.

At that Jean's face reddens. 'Oh hi guys.' Marco says, a bit embarrassed. "Didn't know you'd be here too!"

'Connie told us about the festival and we wanted to check it out' Armin replies, trying not to laugh.

'I see -Pookie- over here had the same idea' Annie sneers. There's pure evil in her eyes. Jean would never be able to live this down. 'You two also on a date?' she asks, arm resting on her hip.

'D-date??' Armin and Jean jump, and Annie rolls her eyes. Men.

Armin looks lost in thoughts (A date?? She called it a date?? Are we dating now?? Is it official??) and Jean grows more and more annoyed with Annie (How dare she mock me?? A date?? With my bro?? Don't be ridiculous!).

Marco clears his throat to break the awkwardness. "Well anyway, we should be goi-"

'Hey! You there!!'

Oh shit.

Reiner.

This is the LAST person they want to meet in this situation. Reiner, despite being the headstrong leader they respected, was also a massive sap. A hopeless romantic, for sure. Leave it to him to make things even more awkward than they already are.

They don't act fast enough and Reiner approaches them, waving. Behind him a massive bear shaped plushie follows.

'What the hell is that?' Annie mutters. 'A... bear?'.

'I think that's Bertholdt' Jean replies, a hand covering his mouth to conceal his snickering. Everyone knew that the two were an item.

Reiner and Beartholdt stop in front of the rest.

'I didn't know you guys would also come!' Reiner laughs, hands on his hips. 'Connie told us about this place, and we had to check it out!'.

But then it all clicks: Annie and Armin holding hands, Jean and Marco sharing candy floss, the blush across everyone's faces and the sneaky glances being exchanged.

Reiner instantly tears up. 'YOU GUYS!! I DIDN'T KNOW!! HOW COULD I BE SO BLIND!?' he shouts, reaching for a delicate napkin in his pocket to wipe away his tears. Bertholdt pats him on the back. 'There, there'.

'YOU HAVE MY BLESSING' he continues, and everyone wants to disappear.

'Reiner, i-it's nothing like that!' Armin responds. 'Yeah man, we're just hanging out as bros, right Marco?' Jean continues, but both Annie and Marco look unimpressed.

There's an awkward pause.

'What's with the bear?' Annie asks, intrigued.

Bertholdt smiles. 'Reiner won it for me at one of the stands! If you hit all the targets you can win a prize.' he hugs the bear tightly. 'Of course, if you do well you get a plushie like this, but even if you do terribly you get some sweets.' Reiner opens his coat, revealing lots of candy that had been stuffed into his inner pockets.

Annie's eyes narrow and she turns to Armin, determined. 'Let's go there!' She commands, squeezing his hand. This was a win, win situation.

'I want a plushie too!' Marco glances at Jean with big puppy eyes.

Reiner laughs.

'Guess we're heading back there then!'

💜This fic is now also on AO3 !

[just-horrible-things]

'Verse: Resistance AU: Healer and Handler, co-author @whump-sprite

Whipped, pt1 [ First | Prev | Next ]

Shivering violently on the cold floor, Alex hasn't the strength to get up. The blood that soaks his clothes has cooled to a damp chill. That's probably a good sign, it means he's not still bleeding. But it wicks away heat that he doesn't have.

The whip has cut so many lines across his back that he can only feel them as distinct wounds at the edges – the one that snaked up the side of his neck, the one that curled round his ribs, the one right over the bone of his hip. The rest throb as a single broad wound. He lost count around fifteen. 

He'd almost gotten used to his back not being an open wound. It makes it harder to bear. He used to be able to sleep like this, but he can't. He lies awake shaking and waiting for morning. Dreading it and longing for it in equal measure.

Ariadne will help him, he thinks. If she isn't angry too. If this isn't punishment for something he doesn't realize he did. She'll be gentle. 

She'll make him heal, no matter how dizzy and faint and freezing cold he already is. 

But she'll bring him something hot to drink, and she might carry him if he's good, and she'll take care of his back. 

He wants to crawl to the blankets in his corner. The floor is so cold under his body. But he'd get blood on them, and then they might be taken away. 

He's already bled on the sweater she gave him. 

He cries, off and on, and shivers, and waits. The night has never seemed longer. 

When the lock clicks, Alex is too dazed to respond as fast as he should. He ought to get up on his knees but his limbs don't seem to be responding. 

"Healer," Ariadne exclaims – and he's unreasonably relieved just to hear her voice, "what happened?"

Isn't it obvious? 

He looks up at her, even his eyes aching from how much he's been crying, and can't summon the words to answer. 

If she's angry too, he doesn't know how to bear it. 

"Hey healer," she prompts more gently, crouching beside him. "Are you with me? Still alive in there?" Alex's teeth chatter as he unclenches his jaw enough to answer. "Y-y-yes s-sir," he croaks. "C-c-can w-work s-sir." "Glad to hear it." She's not angry. It gives Alex just enough will to keep trying. For her. His scrubs stick to the floor as he pushes himself up, leaving a bloody imprint of himself on the concrete. 

“Easy there,” she tells him. “No hurry, okay?” As he tries to stand, she catches his wrist to keep him down. It catches him off guard and he sits heavily back onto his feet, choking back a little sound as all the fresh cuts pull. “No hurry,” she repeats. “Try not to faint on me.” “S-s-sorry, sir.”

“I’ve got your breakfast here, do you think you can eat?” He hesitates too long, and she purses her lips studying him, and he cringes from the disapproval. “Feeling sick?” she guesses. “Y-yes sir, I’m s-sorry, I-I –” “That’s okay, nothing to be sorry for.” Alex sags in relief, and his back protests with another fresh wave of pain. He’d rather go hungry today than throw up good food and seem ungrateful and maybe lose the privilege of breakfast. “C-c-can I have the, the w-water, please sir? “Of course.”

It’s hot, like he hoped, like he needs, and he drinks urgently enough that the heat leaves his tongue and throat stinging.

“What happened?” she asks again. “I mean, I can see you got whipped. But why?” Alex doesn’t know how to answer. Does she really not understand? How can she not, when she’s one of them? “Bec-cause… b-because I’m a, a f-filthy warlock, s-sir.” She frowns, and he cringes from it. “No,” she says, “I mean… what did you do?” “I-I d-don’t know, sir, I’m s-s-sorry, sir.” The frown deepens. “You don’t know?” “N-no, sir, I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry.”

He didn’t do anything. He doesn’t have to do anything. But he knows better than to say he didn’t deserve it.

“Well.” She gets up, takes her coffee from the tray, and leans against the inside of the door. “Okay. What happened, then?” “I… I was just here, a-asleep, and, he c-came in w-with the, the whip, a-and, just –” “Who did?” It’s getting hard to breathe, even though he hasn’t even started work today. “I, I-I – I c-c-can’t – he, they, s-said – not to, to t-tell you, s-s-sir…” “And I’m saying tell me.”

His lungs are full of broken glass, crunching painfully with every shallow gasp he manages to suck in.

“I-it, it, h-he s-s-said, i-it – if I-I-I t-tell it, it’ll b-b-be worse, t-tonight –” “Easy.” Her voice has softened, and the relief lets his chest open just a fraction. “Breathe, it’s okay, I hear you.”

She sits on the floor beside him again. He leans in without thinking to her hand on the front of his shoulder. He has nothing to offer to make up for refusing to answer a question. But she is merciful…

“Easy,” she repeats. “I’m not going to hurt you. You don’t have to tell me.” A tiny, vulnerable sound escapes Alex. He wants – against all sense or dignity – to be held. Disgust crawls across his skin. It’s just that she’s warm, he tries to tell himself. It’s just that he needs any warmth he can get.

“I’m going to take a look at the damage,” she warns. “I’ll be gentle.” Alex sets his teeth so he doesn’t bite his tongue, and nods. He digs his fingers into his knees as she takes the edge of his shirt. She peels it gradually from his back rather than ripping it straight off, but the sting still brings fresh tears to Alex’s eyes.

“You’re telling me you didn’t do anything?” she asks. “No one asked you to heal?” No one asks Alex to do anything. But she doesn’t care about the distinction. “N-no, sir.” “And he didn’t say what it was about?” “No, s-sir, I’m s-s-sorry.” Nothing that wouldn’t tell her who it was. “Easy, I’m not angry at you. Can you tell me when it happened? Closer to evening, or morning?” “I d-d-don’t know, sir, I’m s-sorry.” She sighs heavily. But, “Okay,” she says, “don’t sweat it. Nevermind.”

“What an asshole,” she grumbles as she helps Alex the rest of the way out of the torn and blood-soaked top. “Thinking he can just waltz in and – tch. You’re mine, he had no right.” Mine. She wants to keep him. “Yes,” Alex agrees desperately. “Yours, please.”

He disgusts himself. But what’s the use of dignity? If it makes her want to stay, want to keep on being his handler…

She’s looking at him like he mis-stepped, and he wilts inside. Maybe that was too pathetic, even for her.

He’d just rather be hers, than Neil’s. He doesn’t have better options. 

“It’s okay,” she says softly. With a thumb, she wipes a smear of blood from Alex’s face, and fresh tears well up. “I’m here now, and it’s just me for the rest of the day. Let’s… get you cleaned up, hey?” He nods miserably. He could almost, almost believe that she cares.

She takes his arms to help him up. His legs turn to water as his head spins, and he falls against her. She puts her arms under his to support him, and as the darkness at the edge of his vision starts to recede he begins to feel the heat of her soaking in through his skin. He doesn’t want her to let go.

“S-sorry, sir,” he mumbles. “You’re okay,” comes the answer. “I got you.”

She shifts his arms both over one of her shoulders, and he recognises preparation to pick him up. He’s afraid, because it will hurt again now, but he lets it happen, like he lets everything happen. 

She lifts him with her arms across the backs of his thighs, and doesn’t touch his back, and he is grateful. Her shoulder is against his sternum, and he flops passively over that shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Anything else is too difficult, too unsteady.

“C-c-cold, sir,” he pleads plaintively as she opens up the cell door. “I can tell,” she says. “We’ll get you warmed up, don’t worry. You need a hot shower.” “Th-thank-k you, sir.”

It’s everything Alex can dare to hope for. But it does mean going up to the hospital to use the showers there. Alex clings weakly to his handler’s shirt as they get close. If a doctor or nurse spots them, they’ll want him to heal right now, and he doesn’t know if she’ll say no.

[Next]

[agent-felix]

WELCOME!!!!!!

Welcome to my little corner of the universe!! Happy to have ya!!

My name is Felix! Short for Felixian, long for Ian. You can call me any of the three, but I'm most used to Felix. I'm a trans guy who uses he/they/it pronouns!!

My persona (and IEYTD fan character) is Agent Felix! He's an agent-in-training with no handler, and is mostly working at solving stuff without using technology. He used to work for Dr Zoraxis in that field, not really caring if he got paid or not since he was doing what he loved. Eventually, he turned to be a reformed villain after hearing about Agent Pheonix's work. He's pretty gullible, and could switch back to the evil side if persuaded enough, but since he constantly wears an agency t-shirt he'll stick with the agency for a long time. (The agency knew they could manipulate him into staying for that reason.) He doesn't have a handler- in fact, he's been mostly self-training since everyone's kinda scared of him. (He has REALLY sharp teeth and can't bite anyone because of that. He has bit people in the past out of reflexes. He's working on it :D ) He's startled really easily and can barely remember simple things- he jumps at any loud noise, forgets where he puts his shoes, etc., yet somehow he remembers where people leave their stuff and forget. He's really helpful like that. He's always loved helping people, good or bad. He doesn't have telekinesis... yet. He's trying to replicate the kinesium device implant so it can be used for new agency members like him. He's also trying to figure out a safer, less terrifying way for it to be implanted.

By the way, if Felix hugs you then you are special to him in some way!! He loves hugs but is generally touch-repulsed UNLESS he really wants to hug the person. So it's really rare for him to hug anyone. Congrats to anyone he's hugged already!

Agent Felix is basically just me as a goober agent!! So please be nice!! If you're mean, we'll probably take it as a joke or something-

Oh, and feel free to be weird around me! ...Not like. Sexual weird or anything- I'd like to keep this PG/PG-13 :'D (Horror stuff is accepted!! I love that stuff)

Fanart is also highly appreciated and encouraged!! You have no idea how much my day gets brightened up when I see that stuff. (It's like anti-depressants for me haha)

Asks are accepted!! You can ask about anything as long as it follows the rules!!

Rules:

-Nothing sexual (Flirting is ok but there's a good chance it'll fly right over my head)

-Nothing that is like. Super weird (simping is- well- I'm not sure?? I've never had it happen before so...)

-Be nice!! No bullying!!

-Don't be LGBT-phobic because I'm trans and bi + ace and so is Agent Felix!!

-Don't like.. ask for art because I'm very tentative about it and only doodle what I really want to doodle unless I get something in return (Art trades are okay sometimes!! Just ask!!)

Felix reference!!!

Please don't steal like actually I will start sobbing

If you need to contact me more efficiently my username on Discord is telekinesium !!

random Agent Felix facts under the cut hehe

-He's a teenager, but the agency has no idea. He was known by Zoraxis and his operatives as the Teen Prodigy. Sometimes used as a compliment, the rest of the time used as a spite name.

-Self-taught in everything he believes he needs to know- science, math, art, English and Spanish. Science includes all forms of science but mostly geology, technology and psychology. He loves researching mental disorders, for some reason. (Some of the things listed were taught by Zor himself.)

-He also loves playing piano! He overheard someone playing it when he was about six years old and managed to convince them into giving him lessons.

-He's very sensitive to sound so it's likely that if an alarm goes off he'll just be stuck there covering his ears.

-He loves singing, too! His voice is high-pitched and gives him disphoria pretty massively, so he sings to relieve it. (He loves his singing voice!)

-The Death Engine actually traumatized him. He refuses to talk about it :')

-He's very weather-sensitive. As soon as it gets colder than usual he'll be wearing clothes for winter while it's only fall. He'll keep that outfit for a few months then switch to something less heavy. Same for summer- as soon as it gets hot he'll be in short sleeves and shorts, maybe flip flops if it's 5⁰ above normal. Then he'll ease back into regular clothes.

-He's the reason why Dr Zor is evil

[catless-and-covenless]

The ride to the graveyard was really nice. Everything about this day was really nice actually. Maybe that’s just the leftover energy from the bath I took. Cr left me with some lavender bath bombs and I added some of my anointed oils to enchant it. Everything felt so nice and magical that I just wanted to keep it going. I smell like almonds and lavender and cherries and roses and I feel warm and soft and…girly? Idk.

Seeing the grave look so…despondent made me a little sad. And it felt nice. To finally be able to give back to someone instead of just using words. Words are so meaningless sometimes. Not like touches or helping someone with something. Especially when the person asks so sweetly. It took a little time but we got it looking presentable again. I want to go back sometime soon and maybe use the dry brush and some D/2. I have some around here. I just need to water it down. I don’t want to wreck it. I know she likes roses. So I will bring roses and marigolds and maybe some nice forget me not to round it out. I don’t want to mess up the color of the roses so I think I’ll just stick to white. And i think she really likes cigarettes so those would be nice to take.

It was nice meeting her. I think she at least has a sense of humor. She didn’t feel angry at least when G and I goofed around. Granted we are a little more aggressive than others when it comes to playing but we can both handle it. She seemed content. I want to bring her some water, a candle, and maybe even something to eat. She must be exhausted. Her ending was so energetic it must have taken her a long time to reach the land of the dead. I’ll make sure her name isn’t forgotten. I need to pick up some supplies to give them to G. He seemed like he really was considering making her an alter.

Speaking of Alters. Apparently I am officially now banned from the church. The sacred grounds finally recognized me for what I am. Granted I finally am leaning into spellwork and not just rituals and helping mami. I should have expected it. But I wanted to just be a stupid teen for a little bit and nothing is stupider than terrorizing the local religious sycophants by collecting their holy water. To maybe fight vampires? Demons? Whos to say, at least it would be something. And it was stupid seeing the statue and realizing what it meant. Seeing it for the first time. It was..disturbing. Until he brought me back by being so…him. Making the most idiotic joke about my dream. I mean at least I didn’t talk in my sleep and say his name. NOW THAT…Would have actually sent me to an early grave.

And Abuelo likes him-begrudgingly. I know he feels guilty for not being around to walk Papa away from the line like he used to but he doesn’t need to be so overprotective. I swear that’s where Mami gets it from. She didn’t even like the idea of me getting coffee with N. And when I looked at the phone I just had to feel guilty enough to look at Ca’s message. She wanted me to ask something so personal but I don’t know if I want to know. And if G was ready to share whatever it was, wouldn’t he have told me? We spent the whole morning together. I don’t know. I didn’t want to ruin anything. It was a really nice day. Yeah I might hear about the church thing from Papa after his Sunday sermon but like, it was worth it. It was nice to have such a genuinely good moment in the midst of everything the last three days has been.

If he would have asked though I was brave enough to have been honest. But he didn’t and we ended the morning perfectly fine. I don’t know if I’ll feel brave again, but even if I don’t, I hope I have more moments like that. Now if I can get what Ca said OUT of my brain I might be able to be normal at Taco Bell. Just end the night right before school tomorrow. British Rom. Lit. Yay. I hope the prof. Is just as cool as my Monday class. Maybe..I could take a peek? Scry? And tomorrow will be when I deal with the whole Ca/Cr situation. Anyways, logging off I have a present to work on and need to remember to pack my bracelet making stuff in my bag.