#haunted: chapter five (mid-chapter)

[mostlikelythedevil]

Haunted. | [Chapter Five, Mid-Chapter]

Pairing(s): Kevin Owens x Fem!Zayn!Reader, Solo Sikoa x Fem!Zayn!Reader

Warning(s): Explicit Language

Word Count: 2,905

Chapter Summary: The Bloodline have another discussion about Sami Zayn's younger sister while on the way to their hotel for the weekend. Roman and Solo have some very interesting private thoughts about their soon-to-be newest member.

Link(s): AO3, Masterlist

Note(s): This was a really fun chapter to write out! I feel like I did a decent job showing the relationships within The Bloodline, but please let me know if you disagree. As always, feel free to leave feedback/ideas/discussion!

Tag(s): @crowleysqueenofhell @raeluvshammett @mohawkmama

The inside of the limousine is nothing short of impressive: white and brown leather seats, an entire mini bar filled with the finest liquors, and custom lighting controls. Even with five men lining the innards, there is no lack of space for them to stretch out after a long night; something that Roman is, though entitled to have, grateful to have — nothing would be worse than being cramped after a long night.

Roman sits in the middle of the seating, as per his usual, with a strong whiskey in hand and his legs outstretched. Despite not having a match on Smackdown, he is tired; the on-going issue with Sami’s sister is something that has been more stressful than anticipated with her unusual stubbornness. It doesn’t make sense as to why she is so defiant; she is being offered the opportunity of a lifetime at the side of The Bloodline, especially as someone so new to the challenge of being televised, and yet she continues to spit at the offer.

Truthfully, though, the younger Zayn being so very headstrong is almost commendable. Her determination to be her own person, to fight through the highs and lows of becoming a fan-favorite, reminds Roman of himself when he was younger; he struggled desperately to be the one that the crowd adored for a very, very long time. He did everything by the books, and he was good, but where did that get him? The crowd rejected him — hated him. Now, with the same determination that condemned him put into himself rather than the crowd, he commands respect. Sami’s sister could have all of that without the struggle. She would.

Sami’s sister would have the rise to fame that Roman should have had when he joined the main roster; she would be on top of the world with no bumps, no foolish determination pushing her to nothing. Championships, luxury, and money would be near meaningless in the piles that she would have — in exchange for her undying loyalty and obedience to The Bloodline. Her dominance over the women’s division, among many other things, would be crucial to her necessity; of course, this would take time to build given her greenery, but he could be patient. Having both Zayn siblings so indebted to him is too invaluable to be impatient about.

“I have to admit,” Roman breaks the silence in the limousine as it begins moving, “I’m impressed with your sister, Sami.”

Sami, who is sitting next to Solo on the farthest side of the limousine, looks up from the floor with a nervous smile. “Yeah?” He asks, almost sounding in disbelief.

Roman nods, taking a long sip of his whiskey. “I think we all expected her to be a little upset about the whole championship thing with Kevin, but coming out with that sledgehammer? She could have taken care of our Kevin Owens problem all on her own if she wasn’t stopped,” he almost laughs as he speaks, though he instead turns to glare at Solo.

“I’ve certainly never seen her so angry,” Sami agrees, eyes following Roman’s to Solo. Sami frowns, looking away rather quickly; the last thing he wants to do is upset the man sitting beside him for the next hour or so.

“And even in all of that anger, she still made the choice to allow Solo to keep his undefeated streak.” Roman turns his attention back to Sami. “That’s growth — growth in the span of hours.”

Jimmy nods in agreement. “It was crazy out there, dawg. I ain’t ever seen Little Zayn so aggressive; I mean, I thought she might put Kev out for good. Imagine the shit she’ll do with us.”

Beside Jimmy, opposite of Sami and Solo, Jey rolls his eyes. “Shit, Uce, you thought she was gonna put us all out for good.” He snickers, pulling at his brother’s arm playfully. “Pullin’ on Solo’s leg like you was playin’ tug-o-war.”

“You was panicked out there.” Solo confirms, a slight smirk on his lips.

Jimmy rolls his eyes, pushing Jey’s arm off of him. “She come out lookin’ like she crawled straight outta some horror movie with all the blood and the sledgehammer draggin’ behind her and shit — and I’m the weird one here?” He shakes his head. “Nah. Y’all lost y’all damn minds.”

“I told y’all she had fire, didn’t I? She looked like a monster out there.” Solo leans back against the leather, arms folded over his chest. “She needs to learn when to stop, though.”

Roman, nose flared, turns to his cousin. “Is that why you felt the need to step in? You thought she needed to be stopped?” His voice, for the first time tonight, is condescending and angry.

Solo looks at Roman, and he nods. “She was pushin’ her luck. She was gonna get herself fired or worse with the way she was beatin’ on Kevin; I stopped her from ruinin’ plans.”

The air is thick with tension as Roman holds eye-contact with Solo. He does not move to say anything, though his expression and posture remain largely agitated; regardless of what Solo’s intentions had been, the fact remained that he allowed Kevin to go uninjured in their time of fighting. The very slim possibility of Sami’s sister being disciplined for hurting Kevin would have overall been worth the headache — especially with the likelihood of her being fired so incredibly low with Roman’s influence.

“If I knew she’d stop on her own, I wouldn’t have stepped in, but you saw how she was,” Solo continues after a moment of silence from Roman, still relatively unbothered. “I didn’t want to stop her. I got to see that fire I been tellin’ y’all about up close — hell, she even got in my face, but there ain’t no reason for her to ruin our plans to take Kevin out.” He almost smiles, the corners of his lips curving up just enough to be noticeable.

Jey notices the smile tugging at Solo’s lips and mumbles something to Jimmy; both men snicker. “Is that why you was starin’ so hard? You liked watchin’ her beat on Kevin?”

“Yeah, Uce. I ain’t ever seen you so impressed with anyone,” Jimmy adds with a grin.

Solo rolls his eyes despite feeling his cheeks getting warmer. “I been watchin’ her because she’s gonna be one of us soon. Maybe y’all should try it so she ain’t so lost when she gets here.” His eyes find the floor as he speaks, avoiding his twin brothers entirely.

Feeling the power behind her slap, seeing her unconstrained anger being unleashed on Kevin— Sami’s sister had proven herself to have much more potential than Solo initially thought. In just a few hours, she had become an entirely different person; crying and angry to raging and thoughtlessly daring. Her lack of fear in approaching him, ready to fight him and anyone by his side, while certainly foolish, was undeniably attractive — though Solo would never be so open with anyone, especially his brothers. They would only use his attraction to tease him, and he had very little patience for their stupidity already. Besides, one moment of attraction meant nothing in the grand scheme of things; one moment is nowhere near enough to constitute a relationship— or any kind of interest, really.

“Shit— we paid her plenty of attention tonight,” the sound of Jey’s voice breaks Solo’s thoughts. “Like Jimmy said, that’s the first time that girl has been any kind of aggressive. We was impressed out there, especially when she stepped up to you thinkin’ she was gonna do somethin’.”

Jimmy nods, smile on his lips as he looks at his youngest brother. “She ain’t afraid of gettin’ her hands dirty if she’s pushed — and we can teach her how to hone that aggression.”

“Damn straight. There ain’t no better teachers out there — especially for someone that looks so damn good in blood,” a smack is heard as Jimmy slaps Jey’s leg with a quick glance. “What? I’m just keepin’ it real.”

Once again, Solo finds himself rolling his eyes; he knows well that Jey is trying to get some kind of reaction out of him. It’s not going to happen; it wouldn’t happen even if Solo did have some kind of interest in Sami’s sister. He’s too well-composed for those games. Speaking of Sami, though, he looks like he’s going to be sick from Jey’s comments. Solo scoots slightly further away from him.

With a slightly paler-than-usual face, Sami awkwardly smiles upon noticing Solo scooting away from him. “Yeah. She seemed more comfortable in her skin tonight.” He says with a slight cough, avoiding Jey’s amused eyes.

“That’s all we want, Sami — and with her helping Solo tonight, I think we’re close to getting her on board.” Roman interjects, shooting Jey a warning look. Jey looks down at the floor, grinning; he’s very clearly enjoying himself.

“I— I don’t know. My sister— she can be really spiteful when she wants to be. I mean, you saw how she came out; that was to make Kevin feel worse,” Sami replies with shame, gnawing the inside of his cheek. “Her help to Solo was probably just to upset Kevin that much more.”

Roman considers Sami’s words for a moment. It made sense for his sister to act out of spite, trying to harm Kevin to the best of her ability after ‘his’ interference in her match — but, even with it being fueled out of spite, she still chose to aid The Bloodline rather than harm. If she wasn’t considering The Bloodline in any kind of way other than anger, that aid would have never happened; her attitude toward them was improving, meaning the chances of her joining them was improving as well.

In the corridor, when Little Zayn was having her temper-tantrum over Kevin, Roman had gotten through to her; he saw the realization in her eyes when he spoke, locked deep behind all of that stubborn, misplaced anger. She knew, deep down, that she had been fooling herself about who Kevin truly was, and she knew that, in the grand scheme of things, Roman had saved her from much more emotional pain by exposing Kevin so early on. With every wrongdoing from Kevin from that point, starting with his interference in her match, that humiliating realization will burn brighter and brighter until she can no longer suppress it — and with the aftermath of him costing her an opportunity at the Smackdown Women’s Championship, it will only take a few more stupid comments from Kevin before she comes running into the arms of The Bloodline.

“Even if your sister had no intentions of helping The Bloodline tonight, she did. After everything that happened in that corridor earlier, she still chose to help us — even if she wasn’t actively thinking about it,” Roman states after a moment, swishing the whiskey in his glass.

“That’s progress, Uce.” Jimmy comments with a smile.

Roman nods in agreement, though he does not smile. “That being said, she denied joining The Bloodline — again. Hell, she refused to even accept our help to medical.”

Sami claps his hands in his lap, fiddling nervously with his fingers; he recognizes how problematic his sister has been in cooperating, and the last thing that he wants is for her to cause more problems for The Bloodline — because, at some point, The Bloodline would have to retaliate to her vicious behavior. He opens his mouth to speak, but he is almost immediately silenced by Roman holding up his palm.

“Being the Tribal Chief, I prepared for her to refuse given her grief tonight.” Roman allows his palm to fall back to his whiskey glass. “On Monday Night RAW, or beforehand if your sister is accepting company, I’ll have you approach her with a proposition that she simply can’t refuse.”

Sami’s eyes seem to light up a bit. “Well, I— I can try to contact her, but I doubt she’ll be willing to answer given what happened in the ring,” his voice falters a bit as he speaks, “but— but the good news is that I know for a fact she won’t contact Kevin! She made her emotions clear out in the ring.” His hands move excitedly as he speaks, voice gaining a bit of his usual enthusiasm.

“That’s great, dawg, but what about Kevin contacting her? Would he try to sort this all out, even after he got his ass handed to him?” Jimmy pipes up before Roman can respond, though Roman does not look displeased with the question. It’s important, after all.

Solo, with his infamous harden expression, huffs out a laugh. “If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll keep his damn mouth shut.” His arms remain folded over his chest, and he looks as serious as he ever has.

“Oh, so you gonna take Kev out yourself if you hear him talkin’ to Little Zayn?” Jey jumps in with a smirk, eyes beaming with amusement.

The stoic expression on Solo’s face sours to a frown. “I’ll do what needs to be done.”

Sami, with his brows furrowed in confusion, turns his attention back to Roman. “Kevin shouldn’t be any kind of problem; if he does say anything, it’ll be in front of the RAW crowd.”

“Good,” Roman puts the whiskey glass he has on the bar, clasping his hands together. “The next order of business is finding out how bad that injury is; I need to know if she can wrestle. I’ll have Paul call medical when we get to the hotel.”

“No need!” Sami grins, finally losing some of the nervous wobble in his voice. “Solo and I stopped by medical on our way out. She should be fine to wrestle with some nose protection.” He grins, unknowingly giving Jey something more to tease Solo about.

Before Jey can speak up to tease Solo yet again, Jimmy smacks his leg to hush him; the two have a very muted conversation, ending only with both of them snickering once more. Solo does not appear to be paying them any attention anymore, with his eyes focused in on Roman rather than their childish giggling.

“Her nose is broken, but she’ll be fine to wrestle with some protection,” Solo offers through his brother’s fit of giggling — which only grows at the innuendo-riddled statement.

Roman nods, jaw flexing in mild annoyance at the obviously tipsy twins. “She won’t be able to refuse.”

“My Tribal Chief, if you don’t mind me asking, what exactly are you going to propose to my sister?” Sami asks after a moment, voice meek. “She still seems very against joining The Bloodline.”

Roman half-laughs, half-smiles. “Kevin cost your sister everything tonight — even though he wasn’t really the one to interrupt her match, that was his fault in your sister’s eyes,” his voice is more amused than it has been for the majority of the night, “and as the Tribal Chief, I can personally rectify the injustices brought on by Kevin tonight; I can give your sister the championship match that should have been hers.”

“And in exchange, she joins The Bloodline?” Jey asks, lips pulled in tight with disbelief.

“I— I still don’t think that would convince her,” Sami admits with his head hanging, afraid of the potential reaction from the Tribal Chief.

Irritated, Roman clears his throat. “In exchange, your sister will be travelling with The Bloodline for an entire week — RAW to RAW. For her security, I will guarantee her the match, even if she chooses to not join us by the end of that week,” he glances around, expecting push-back.

“I don’t understand, Uce.” Jimmy pipes up first, looking at Roman with furrowed brows.

Jey jumps in next, “ain’t the whole point to get her on board? She ain’t gonna get on board when she has a free out like that, Uce.”

“Her out is to make her feel more comfortable— to give her the idea she has more control than she really does. I have every confidence in the world that she’ll join us by the end of the week,” Roman replies, leaning forward in his seat. His elbows rest on his thighs. “We’re going to show her that we’re not the people Kevin has convinced her we are; for the entire week, she’ll be treated with all of the benefits of being a member of The Bloodline — the expensive food, the luxury hotels, the private cars and jets.”

“She’ll be treated to everything that Kevin has kept from her,” Jey grins.

“He’s gonna act out when he finds out she’s travelling with us,” Jimmy shakes his head. “Is that headache worth the price?”

“Kevin ain’t a concern.” Solo states, ignoring the grin that Jey sends his way.

Roman looks at Jimmy, nodding his head toward Solo. “He’s right. I want Kevin to throw a tantrum — especially when he finds out that she’s travelling with us. Let him ruin his relationship with her that much more.”

“She’s going to be distant, even with all of the nice perks. She doesn’t trust any of us, not even me,” Sami sounds a bit sad as he speaks. It’s depressing to know that his little sister has been so brainwashed against him that she can no longer even trust his word.

“Believe me, she’ll come around.”

[cherrixpie]

HOW NOT TO DATE A SLYTHERIN

part one of five

↬ being harry potter's sister wouldn't make dating theodore nott any easier - which was why you tried to hide it

↬ sfw; only fluff this chapter; wc: 3.4k; cw: none; secret relationship trope, potter!reader, griffindor!reader

( masterlist )

The chill of the night air bit at your exposed cheeks as you climbed the final steps to the astronomy tower, your breath visible in faint puffs. Winter had arrived particularly early this year, chilling your bones even now, on the last weekend of october. The school lay quiet below, the golden glow of the countless windows no longer having given in to the darkness of a cold autnumm night.

You pulled your robe tighter around you, wincing at the faint creak of the wooden door as it swung open by the push of your hand. You knew you shouldn't be out after curfew- your brother was usually the one breaking rules and making trouble- but the pull of him was irrestible. He, who’s voice cut through the haunting silence like a knife.

“I was starting to think you wouldn't show.”

You froze mid-step, your heart leaping to your throat at the familiar voice. Even though you had been expecting it. Theodore Nott was was leaning casually against the stone railing, his pale face bathed in the cold light of the moon that sharpened every dip and curve in the prettiest way. A light smirk was curling at the corner of his lips, his usual cigarette dangling from his pink lips. His green slytherin tie was loosened, his robes slightly crumpled, as if he’d wandered here on a whim rather than planned this meeting. But you knew better. Theo rarely did anything without careful thought.

“I had to make sure the coast was clear,” you replied, trying to copy his nonchalance. His dark eyes followed you closely as you crossed the space between you, coming to a halt a few feet away from the railing to keep some distance between you and the abyss. It was funny how you could ride a stick of wood regularly, tens of meters in the air, but looking down a great height with steady floor under you feet had nausea creep up your chest.

You tried not to shift under his prying eyes. Being eyed up by Theodore Nott was a rather particular feeling. Every time you met his eyes, you felt like he was staring right through you, blowing through every cover, every mask, every wall you had ever shielded your true self with and assessing it with disarming precision. As you returned his stare, his smile widened a little and he puffed on his cigarette. “You’ve gotten better at sneaking around, though. Tell me, do the Potter genes include an innate sense of rule-breaking?”

“And here I was, thinking I was your ‘good girl’,” you replied, quoting his teasing nickname. A rare laugh escaped his throat, more of a huff, really, that he hid in his hand holding the cigarette. You eyed it reproachfully.

“You’re going to die at a very young age, Theo.”

Slightly puzzled, he looked down at you, blowing smoke into the air and holding out an arm to beckon you closer. Answering the silent invitation, you let him nudge you towards him gently, the cigarette-free hand pulling you closer by the waist. “Is that a threat, cara? Because I could think of no better way to die than by your gentle hands.”

The charming bastard got a hold of said hands that were shivering slightly from the cold as you had forgotten to put gloves on, and pressed a gentle kiss onto your palm, carefully watching your reaction. You could only pray he took the flush on your cheeks as a symptom of the cold rather than your flustered reaction to his Italian.

“That's not what I meant,” you frowned, indicating the cigarette between his slender fingers. “What I meant was that you’re going to smoke yourself into an early grave.”

God, the way his eyelashes caught the few too-early snowflakes melting hopelessly on the ground. You gave a high-pitched tone of surprise when suddenly, he surged forward, pulling you even closer and trailing kisses up your jaw to your ear. “Tell me you’d hate that,” he whispered and you gave him an incredulous look he couldn't see.

“Of course I’d hate that!”

Before you could say anything else, Theo discarded the cigarette over the railing. Though you had no time to follow the tiny glowing ember on its way down, because just a fraction of a second later, his lips crashed into yours and you let out a startled squeak. Feeling him smile against your lips, you kissed him back in a weak attempt to take the initiative. He allowed you to play, but the movement of his hands, the caging of his arms and the way he beckoned your mouth open so easily proved his underlying dominance. Theo just wasn't beatable at kissing.

This was what you had been looking forward to all day, sitting through transfiguration, charms and defense against the dark arts, all subjects you had without him, stealing longing glances over dinner and quickly looking back as to avoid drawing the attention of your friends or brother to the silent exchange.

As the kiss got more heated, Theo’s fingers curled into your sides, spinning you around so you were with your back to the railing. Miraculously, you couldn't bring yourself to care. All there was in this microcosm of the two of you was him, you and the feeling of his lips on yours. One hand of his cupped your jaw, angling it slightly back to gain best access to your throat. As his lips trailed down the expanse of it, nipping, kissing and sucking, you found yourself snapping out of your theo-kiss-induced haze and pulled away aprubtly.

Panting, you covered Theo’s lips with one hand and he raised his eyebrow at you. He did that well, his eyes alone could make your stomach flutter. But you didn't give in. “Theo, what if someone sees marks on my-” You're were a little embarrassed about the subject matter, breaking off mid-sentence, and glared at his shit-eating grin, invisible behind your hand. “Well, I mean-” You were blushing. Oh god, you were blushing like crazy.

“Did you not enjoy that, cara?” Theo whispered seductively, carefully prying your hand from his mouth and kissing it gently. His eyes glinting with mirth, he looked at you challengingly.

“Of course I did!” you said, exasperated and embarrassed at the same time. You hated it when Theo took advantage of your unfamiliarity with intimacy and relationships. “But nobody can see!”

You expected him to tease you some more, so you were surprised when he merely breathed a long sigh and pulled you into his chest. Immediately, you buried your nose in his robes that smelled of him so deliciously. Smoke, old wood, a hint of mint, bookshelves. You felt him breathe your scent in as well, nose buried in your hair, and laughed lightly, but he didn't join in. His voice was a whisper, hard to make out.

“How long do you think we can keep this up before someone finds out?”

You didn't want to answer the question.

Something picking at the back of your hand snapped you out of your drowsy state. Still tired from last night, you had dozed off a little in history of magic, but as soon as you caught the culprit of the picking at your hands, a hardly suppressed smile pulled at your lips. It was a little paper bird, and the fancy handwriting clearly indicated it as a note from Theo.

You waited until Professor Binns turned his back to the class to write on the blackboard, before carefully slipping the note into your lap, shielding it from Hermoine who sat next to you, taking notes. When you carefully folded the note open, you were greeted by Theo’s elegant handwriting.

If you keep chewing on your quill like that, I might lose my ability to concentrate.

Your cheeks flushed pink as you glanced sideways at him, where he sat a few rows behind your brother who had his head buried in his folded arms, fast asleep. Theo was leaning back in his chair, his quill poised lazily over his parchment as though he had been diligently taking notes, instead of composing witty distractions. His lips curved into a light smirk when your eyes met, and he tilted his head slightly, as if to say, Well?

You hastily scribbled back, your handwriting looking sloppy and slanted next to his. Maybe I'm trying to distract you. Someone’s got to keep you on your toes, Nott. With a flick of your wand, the note floated subtly back to his desk, and you could barely contain a smile as his brows lifted in amused surprise before he began to write again.

Turning to the blackboard to copy the notes, you felt Hermoine's eyes on you and looked up from your parchment. She was eyeing you suspiciously. “What are you smiling about?” she whispered, sparing a nervous glance at the professor. “Nothing,” you answered, hastily grabbing the next messenger pigeon out of the air before it could enter your friend's vision. You could practically feel Theo chuckling at your unlucky predicament.

But Hermoine turned back to Binns once more to listen to his sermon and you stuffed the bird into your back subtly to read it after class and away from prying eyes.

“You’d be a half-decent Chaser if you didn't spend half the match showboating,” Theo drawled, his tone so casual it was clearly meant to provoke.

He leaned against the headboard of his bed, arms crossed as he regarded you with an expression that was equal parts exasperation and amusement. You, meanwhile, were sprawled across the emerald-green bedspread of his four-poster, arms tucked behind your head like you owned the place. At his words, you shot up immediately, propping yourself up on one elbow. “That's rich coming from the guy who winks at the crowd every time he scores- what’s that, part of your technique?”

The slytherin dormitory was quiet, except for crackling of the enchanted fire in the corner and the endless string of your playful teasing. Theo and you had the room for yourselves today as his mates were in Hogsmeade and Theo had stayed behind with the excuse of homework. As if he hadn't already finished all his work like the flawless O-grader he was.

“And anyway, I don’t see you scoring against Gryffindor’s defense without half your team clearing the way for you.” you teased, attempting to get a rise out of your ever calm and collected boyfriend.

But Theo’s smile only deepened, and he leaned forward just slightly, his voice dropping to a teasing lilt. “Jealous of my stats, are we, Potter? It’s not my fault you lot rely on your Seeker for every win.”

“You-” you started, your eyes narrowing, but his soft chuckle cut you off. You tossed one of his pillows at him instead, grinning when he caught it effortlessly. “Just keep laughing, Nott. You’ll regret it next match when I leave you in the dust.”

Suddenly, you felt his hand close around your ankle and shrieked as you were pulled towards him with alarming force. Before you could comprehend the shift in his behavior, he jolted forward as well, hovering over your body, sprawled out defenselessly underneath him. A light smile played around his lips as he took in your shocked expression with satisfaction and he brought a gentle hand up to your chin to tilt it upward, giving him access to your neck.

Theo dipped his head down to trail ghostly kisses down to your shoulder, muttering against your skin: “Are you sure about that, tesoro? Because I think you’ll have to work on your reaction time a bit before you can beat me.”

“Sneaky bastard,” you said, but couldn't suppress a high-pitched moan when Theo suddenly buried his teeth in your shoulder. Embarrassed by the sound that had slipped from your lips, you threw your hand over your mouth and blushed when he chuckled darkly into your neck.

“What, are you embarrassed?” he teased, looking up at you through his long dark lashes. Your pointed glare and flushed cheeks were answer enough.

When Theo broke out into a hearty laugh, you attempted to scowl at him, but it was hard when you were half in wonder by the sound of his laughter you got to hear so rarely. All the years you hadn't known Theo except for that one slytherin boy, you thought he couldn't laugh. When he did it for the first time with you, talking in the library over a muggle book you both had read and neither of you could talk to anyone else about, that was the first time you felt a flutter of butterflies rummaging in your stomach in his presence.

Awestruck by the sound of his laughter, you realized you had spaced out for a moment. Theo’s cackle had faded into a soft smile you could only reciprocate. His handsome features were painted with a gentle brush by the light of the fire. “You should laugh more often,” you said, not for the first time. “It’s beautiful.”

Theo hummed amused and leaned on his elbows to hover only a few inches above you. At this angle, his dark curls fell into his eyes, obstructing the view somewhat, so you reached up to run a hand through them. Savoring your touch, he closed his eyes and when he opened them, they held an implicit hunger that made you gulp. “I like your laugh too, tesoro. Love it, in fact,” he murmured, lips barely an inch from yours and you were itching to close the space in between. “And what I also love is y-”

Something banged at the door and both of you shot up, startled. As you stared at it unmovingly, the chatter of boy’s voices now unmistakably being heard through the closed door, Theo, the ever-quick thinker, jumped off the bed and beckoned you to follow. You shot up, heart thrumming with horror, scrambling onto your belly and rolling under Theo’s bed as far back as possible. With one quick glance to check if you were okay, that you answered with a silent thumbs-up, Theo got to his feet and walked over to the door, opening it.

“Theo, you bloke! Why did you lock the fucking door?” you heard a voice that sounded very much like Mattheo Riddle's shout. Several heavy steps resounded against the wooden floor and from under the bed, you could make out four pairs of shoes, undoubtedly belonging to Riddle, Malfoy, Berkshire and Zabini.

“I was studying,” Theo said, annoyance shimmering through his voice. “I prefer to do that undisturbed.”

You silently thanked the heavens that you and Theo had actually been studying before and therefore supplanted convincing evidence consisting of books and parchment. But suddenly, another realization dawned on you and your stomach curled with dread. Your parchment was up there too, with your handwriting and your name on it!

Theo’s eyes had also fallen on your parchment and he casually strolled over to his bed to collect it, concealing it with his and setting it aside. He felt annoyance rise within him and tried to keep it at bay. Of course his mates would barge in unexpectedly early in the exact moment he was about to confess his love to you. Clearing his face of any resemblance of emotion, he turned back around, leaning against his bedpost and trying his best not to worry about you, squeezed under his bed.

“You’re early,” he remarked, raising one brow. A memory almost made his lips twitch, of you trying to imitate the way he was able to raise one brow.

The boys threw glances at each other, some wary, but Blaise laughed. Only now did Theo notice his bleeding lip, and the others didn't look better of. Damn. He was really distracted when he hadn't even noticed it until now, when he always counted on his flawless perceptional ability.

“Who did you brawl with?” he sighed, though amused, looking directly at Mattheo who raised his hands in defense.

Draco nodded his way, dapping at a cut above his eyebrow with his shirt. “Mattheo picked a fight with Potter and some of his mates and we had to flee the scene before the old McGonagall caught us. Potter and Weasley got detention though.” He laughed in malicious joy and Theo's lips twitched slightly at the thought of you rolling your eyes under the bed.

“Potter’s sister wasn't with them though,” Enzo pondered, swapping out his slightly bloody hoodie for a clean one. When his head ascended from his collar, hair slightly disheveled, he was met with four pairs of raised brows. Well, three pairs plus one.

“What do you care about Potter’s sister?” Mattheo grinned wolfishly and Enzo rolled his eyes, chucking his bloody hoodie at him that got Mattheo right in the laughing face. Over that, he thankfully missed the subtle clench of Theo’s jaw at hearing him say ‘Potter’s sister’ in such an invidous tone.

Enzo, evidently, didn't like it either, which didn't help Theo’s irritation that he hid behind a mask of indifference. “She’s actually quite nice,” Enzo retorted, rolling his eyes at Mattheo’s and Blaise’s teasing whistles.

“Where’d you talk to her?” Theo asked, making his words sound so utterly indifferent nobody picked up on his sudden focus on the subject.

Under the bed, your heart did a little leap when you realized why he was asking. Though Theo was no outright jealous person, you sometimes caught him stealing glances at your male friends, voice tightening subtly when he talked about them. Anytime you teased him for it, he denied it, of course, saying jealousy was irrational and for fools because he knew you would never even glance at them. Hearing his inquire, you made a mental note to taunt him with it when this was all over.

“The library,” Enzo said, sitting down on his bed and taking one of his novels off the shelve. “I’m lousy in Arithmetic, as you know, and she isn't.”

“I’m surprised she even talked to you,” Blaise said as he magically fixed his lip in the mirror, making sure it looked flawless and untainted. “From what I gather, she’s the biggest goody-two-shoes in school, and a Griffindor ontop of that, why would she associate with a Slytherin?”

Enzo only shrugged, and Mattheo let out a loud groan as he longed himself at his bed that creaked under his impact. “Merlin, why are we still talking about Potters? There is so much more interesting stuff to talk about. Like what Theo has been doing today. Or who.”

He threw a teasing smile Theo’s way who raised his brow nonchalantly. “I told you, I was studying.”

“Yeah, sure,” Mattheo yawned, but kept his gaze fixed in his friends indecipherable expression. “You’re already five steps ahead in class, every assignment this year you got back with an O, what would you need to study for? Not to mention, you’ve been sneaking out more lately, and I bet it’s not ‘cause you’re dating Filch.”

Theo returned his stare unblinkingly, keenly aware of the fact that you were listening to every word. “So what if I am?” A slight smile graced his lips as he leaned his head against the bedpost. “Can't I fuck who I want?”

“Sure,” grinned Mattheo, unrelenting. “But you haven't done a lot of sleeping around for the last few months, from what I can gather. Seems to me like your man-whore-heart finally rests in the hands of only one unlucky girl.”

“Your audacity calling me fickle when you’ve slept your way through every willing girl in our grade is obnoxious,” Theo sneered, making the other boys laugh and directing the conversation towards the ravenclaw girl who’s heart Mattheo had broken just yesterday. With the other boys distracted, Theo dared kneeling down, pretending to tie his shoelaces while at the same time peering into the dark under his bed.

His eyes met yours in an instant as you raised your brows teasingly, and as he rose to his feet, Theo could hardly suppress a little smile that dared creep upon his face.

[charlietheepicwriter7]

Teen Villain Alliance

Chapter 1 - Damian

Despite his proficiency in the skill, Damian hated spying on the Teen Villain Alliance. 

Having appeared two years ago in alliance with Klarion Bleak, the Teen Villain Alliance, or TVA, quickly made themselves known as little more than pests, often rushing in to assist other young adult criminals or harass Justice League officials. Father wanted to investigate when they first appeared, but with Todd’s reveal and Damian himself coming to take his place as Robin, he’d been… busy. 

Which allowed the TVA to flourish into a respected criminal enterprise. No vault was safe, no hero strong enough. A group had even banded together to take down Superman! And while there was no lasting damage other than some bizarre markings on the Kryptoian’s face, it was enough to prove these teenagers as a threat. 

Damian, as much as it galled him, was not the first chosen to infiltrate. Martian Manhunter, shapeshifted into a meta fourteen-year-old girl, tried and was identified as a hero on sight. The Teen Titans and Young Justice got closer, actually able to talk to the villains about joining, but “it was like they could smell the hero on us,” Beast Boy had explained. “I don't know how else to explain it.”

Most likely, the TVA kept tabs on the Justice League and affiliated organizations. They needed someone fresh, someone who wasn’t a hero.

Damian had been more than willing to volunteer. 

Introducing himself as Damian Al Ghul, the recently escaped Heir to the Demon Head, he’d been accepted immediately despite having approached the group mid-heist. All he had to do was extrapolate about how Grandfather’s assassins were chasing him, and the Wolf—a designation given to the members of the TVA’s inner circle—allowed him to join, but he was forced to stay with the hacker of the group while the heist commenced with no interference from a hero.

Damian had been confident. He’d gotten so far in mere minutes when a member of the Justice League, and even Drake, couldn’t get past the first few questions. He’d have the Teen Villain Alliance dismantled within the week.

Then Manson, as the Wolf had introduced herself, took out a device that transported them all to another dimension. Which was where the main base of the Alliance was. And none of his communication devices or trackers worked there. 

Damian had only been able to update the Justice League a few times since his tenure as a spy began. Superman had reassured him it was fine, that there had been plenty of missions were communication was infrequent, but after a month of living in the TVA Base in the Infinite Realms, Damian hated not being able to contact his father easily. And in return, Father and Drake had taken to interrogating him for as long as possible the couple of times he was outside Headquarters. 

(Phantom’s Haunt is what the TVA members called it. It was Phantom Dark’s home that he opened up to them all. Damian didn’t know how to feel about that.)

Damian had only been able to contact Father three times in his four weeks undercover, each time on a supply run… which was essentially just a grocery trip for the Haunt. The first time Damian had slipped away to the bathroom and called, Father had been… furious. He’d thought Damian’s lack of updates was on purpose. It had been five minutes before Damian could correct him. 

He wished Grayson had answered during any of his updates, but he was on a mission in space and wouldn’t be back for another two weeks. 

In those four months, Damian was still the newest member, and had yet to be involved in the truly illegal aspects of the organization. All the information he’d gathered purely administrative, like how Duulaman, a reincarnated pharaoh turned hacker, stole money from various billionaires and government organizations to fund their plans. He’d yet to be involved with anything serious. 

He wasn’t allowed on serious missions either. He only had the supply runs to look forward to, and those only occurred once a month. 

His other objective, to undermine the Teen Villain Alliance and spur a mutiny, was also going poorly. The children he surrounded himself with were fanatically loyal to the Alliance, citing Phantom and his harem as the reason they were alive today. Even those who weren’t directly rescued were loyal. One such child, a boy named Kyd Wyckyd, had confessed to turning to a life of crime due to his terrifying meta abilities and their effects on his appearance. 

But the TVA took him in after the collapse of HIVE Academy. He hadn’t participated in a crime since, preferring to work with the Wolf named Jasmine who led individual and group therapy sessions for the villains. Jasmine had tried multiple times to convince her therapy sessions—more like brainwashing sessions—but Damian had stayed strong in the face of adversary. 

Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be much more Damian could do. He tried to push, to get involved with the criminal aspect of the organization, but the Wolves blocked him at every turn, saying he was “too young.” That he needed “stability” and to “rely on them to keep him safe.”

Perhaps Damian oversold the danger of the League of Assassins. 

For now, Damian hid in his room in Phantom’s Haunt. His castle. Even the magnificence of the compound he grew up in couldn’t compare to the headquarters. There were an infinite number of rooms—”as many as we need,” Phantom had told him—that changed based on the user’s preferences. Right now, Damian’s room looked like a cave. The Batcave, to be precise, though he didn’t allow references to his Father and legacy. 

He was hiding because Manson had suggested he attend some of the classes held in the libraries—there were four libraries at the moment. Classes were taught by ghosts under Phantom’s control and weren’t mandatory, but “everyone’s worried about the lack of structure in your life.”

He tried to tell himself it was because he didn’t want to be brainwashed by Phantom’s lackeys, and that he already knew everything they were going to teach. But in truth… Damian was anxious. Attending school at the Haunt felt too permanent, too much like he was planning to stay. He hadn’t gotten the choice to attend school back in Gotham, with Father acting like he would compromise their identities around children. He wasn’t that petty. 

Someone knocked on his door. “Damian? Are you inside?” 

Sighing, Damian stood up and opened the door. “Dr. Fenton. Am I needed for anything?”

Dr. Daniel Fenton was another Wolf, another member of the harem Phantom had built around him, twenty years old and not an actual doctor but everyone called him that anyway. While Damian had yet to see Fenton and Phantom in the same place, Damian was keeping a detailed record of how the Wolves’ polyamourous relationship worked. Phantom and Fenton both dated Manson and Duualman, though they didn’t seem to be dating each other or Jasmine. Klarion often inserted himself into those relationships for hugs and hand-holding, but only seemed to kiss Jasmine. 

“Actually, yes.” Damian’s lips parted in surprise. “I wanted to talk to you about something down in my lab. Would you join me?”

Fenton’s lab was off-limits to low level members of the TVA. He was the engineer, the creator of all their weapons of destruction. Fenton had no minions, while Manson had her thieves, Duualman had his hackers, Jasmine had her helpers, Klarion had his witches, and Phantom had his fighters. 

Fenton was alone. 

Isolated. 

Damian agreed. 

Fenton led him to the depths below the castle, past the never-used dungeon and through a secret door into a surprisingly bright and airy lab. He caught Damian looking through a window that displayed one of the Haunt’s many gardens, an impossible feat for being so far underground. “Magic castle, remember,” Fenton chided him. “Those work as portals that lead to the garden too, so it’s an easy one-way exit.”

Damian scoffed, abashed that he’d been caught so easily. From a glance, the lab was perfectly maintained, with every piece of equipment assigned to an outline meant to indicate where it belonged. As he walked further into the room, Fenton made slight adjustments to his tools, meticulously shifting them back into place. It looked more like a set than a laboratory. 

But then, Damian observed Fenton. The twenty-year-old relaxed as he put his space back into order, nudging the screwdrivers and beakers back into their designated outlines. As he worked, the sleeve of his lab coat road up, revealing a glimpse of lichtenberg scars before it was hidden again. 

Finally done, Fenton turned back to Damian. “My sister, Jazz, has told me that you’re not attending individual or group therapy sessions, is that correct?”

Well, that revealed a  lot of information. Ignoring the fact that Fenton and Jasmine were apparently siblings, Damian replied, “I do not see a reason to attend. If this meeting is an attempt to force me–”

Fenton held his hands up in surrender. “No, I would never. Therapy doesn’t work if the person receiving it doesn’t want it. But you haven’t been attending any of your classes either, and Phantom has mentioned that you don’t hang out with the other kids. Are you settling in alright? I know the others are a few years older than you, so it might be harder for you to connect with them.”

Damian chewed on the question. While part of him was furious that someone, especially a villain like Fenton, was concerned about him and discussed him with his fellows, the other part… wasn’t. It was true; he was having difficulty connecting with the villains. Damian didn’t particularly want to, but it would make his mission easier. 

He chose a neutral answer. “In the League of Assassins… I was the only child in the entire compound. Other children weren’t allowed inside, not unless their parents did something wrong. And those children…”

“Were used against their parents?” Fenton offered when he struggled to find the words. 

“Precisely. It’s not in my nature to associate with children.”

Fenton nodded in understanding, stroking his chin in thought. “That does present a conundrum alright. How unfortunate; the task I needed your help with requires you to interact with at least some of the others, but if you’re that uncomfortable with the idea, then I could find someone else.”

Damian stared at the man in suspicion. “What task?” he demanded to know. If this was a way to get more information for father, he needed to know. But if this was another trap to get him into therapy…

“You’ve probably noticed by now, but I’m the only Wolf without someone working under me. Sam has her Bats, Tucker has his Flies, Jazz has her Rats, Klarion has his Strays, and Phantom has the TVA as a whole. The others have been pressuring me to create my own group, but babysitting a group of teens in a lab where anything could explode is just asking for trouble.”

Damian stepped away from the nearest device. Fenton continued, “However, I think a group dedicated to investigation would work much better. Here in the Infinite Realms, we’re very isolated from the human world, so my research on competing inventors is always lacking. Tuck and Sam help, but Tucker has his own hacking projects, and Sam targets financially viable targets instead of labs.”

“You want me to be a member of your new… group?” Damian read in between the lines of what Fenton was saying. Surely Father would be proud of him for gaining information about Fenton’s inventions and targets—

“I want you to lead the group.”

His glare dropped right off his face in shock. “Lead?” he whispered. 

“That’s right,” Daniel agreed. “It’s not conventional and I barely got the others to agree, but Damian, you’re one of the best trained villains to ever join the TVA. Yeah, you’re really young, but you are serious and professional. To be honest, most of the kids we take in don’t take our work seriously. It’s not a bad thing, but I need a leader who is willing to keep their group in line. Infiltration and information gathering can be very dangerous, and I need someone who can keep the team safe.”

Daniel trusted him enough for that? Father didn’t trust him enough to be his partner; honestly, Father didn’t even trust him enough to introduce Damian to the world as his son! Perhaps he was aggressive towards the interlopers in his home, but he wasn’t going to stab a civilian!

And while Damian didn’t understand why Daniel was so cautious around what amounted to breaking and entering, he wanted Damian to lead. He trusted Damian for that. 

And Damian was going to take back whatever information Fenton revealed back to his father, like a hunting dog to its master. 

Daniel continued, “Of course, this is still a few months off from being necessary. But that should give you plenty of time to attend some classes to prepare you more! One on leadership skills, one on modern technology, one on basic magic and wards, maybe a refresher on hacking… Knowing you, you’ll test out of them in a few weeks, but the main point is to find other people to join our team. I’m looking for four other team members, and while I am looking for certain traits and skills, it's up to you to decide who you want on the team.” Daniel placed a hand on Damian’s shoulder. “So, what do you think?”

He’d betray Daniel by saying yes. He’d betray Father by saying no. 

He made his choice. 

Damian looked up at Daniel, determination set into his face. “I won’t let you down.”

Daniel smiled. “I know you won’t. You couldn’t if you tried.”

[k4vehrtz]

⸻ YOU'RE A CRISIS OF MY FAITH

. ✦ . starring — dom!top! t. fushiguro / m! reader

warnings — porn with some plot, sacrilege, a copious amount of religious themes, priest! reader, virgin reader ergo loss of virginity, allusion to homophobia / internalised homophobia, unprotected sex, blowjob (r receiving), deepthroating, fingering, riding, creampie, toji lowkey has a corruption kink, use of the nickname 'angel', toji refers to the reader as father once but that is entirely in a religious sense . ✦ . wc — 2.1k . ✦ . notes — we'll all pretend that didn't just happen!! anyway!! i'm so so normal about toji...and !! i don't know what exactly falls under dark content but seeing as this contains sacrilege you've been warned nevertheless. not proof read bc t**blr stressed me out

“what does —” he stops himself mid-sentence to motion upwards, “the big man upstairs think about homosexuality?”

you swallow hard, your adam’s apple bobbing. you hadn’t expected the question, naturally. especially from the likes of toji fushiguro of all people. but you answer anyway. “well,” you murmur, averting your gaze so that you’d stare out the window as the first signs of winter begin to settle in for its extended stay instead of being forced to meet toji’s pointed gaze. “we all are subject to desires that may or may not reflect god’s light, but these desires aren’t sinful unless you act or encourage others to act on them.”

he nods almost absentmindedly in response before following up with: “…even you, i imagine, as a man of god, could fall victim to such desires?”

and you pause for a beat, your jaw tightening as an image escapes the dark recesses of your mind; the neat box you’ve forced what you deemed unpleasant thoughts into.

the man in your mind didn’t look quite like anyone you knew at first. he was just a man without a name or a face — similarly to the world before god’s divine intervention, he too was without form. but then, by chance, you met toji fushiguro and his teenage son. then the man who’d haunt your thoughts began to change.

he was older, weathered by life experiences and parenting, and taller, maybe 6’2, with messy black hair that fell over his brows. his hair reminded you of the cloudless, starless night sky. then there was that scar on the corner of his right lip. you’d imagined yourself on more than one occasion leaning toward him, pressing your lips against it before he’d open his mouth and let you explore the wet cavern.

though you shake your head as if that would dismiss your thoughts, fingers curling defensively around the window’s ledge. “everyone encounters temptation in their day-to-day, but, like god’s son, we must resist.” you counter eventually. “you’re not one for idle chatter.”

“i’m not,” he agrees, his voice smooth, something akin to the feeling of silk against your skin. it gives you goosebumps and makes the hairs stand up. he puts his hands up in mock surrender, his gaze intent. you can feel him burning holes into the back of your head. “you know, i think i’m long overdue for a confession.”

“as you wish.”

“our heavenly father has declared the following in the book of james, chapter five, verse sixteen: ‘therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. the prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective’. now, in the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy spirit, amen.”

silence — and then toji sucks in a breath, his voice thick with an emotion you can’t quite grasp but has you shifting in your seat on the other side of the confessional booth anyway. you’re, on some level, disgusted by your behaviour. it’s unprofessional at best, or perhaps the beginning of your unravelling at worst. you fear it’s the latter.

“bless me, father, for i have sinned,” the words slide off his tongue with ease, “it has been two months since my last confession.” and your eyes flutter closed, or maybe you forced them closed because you feel no better than a pervert by the way you ache at every sound that comes out of his mouth.

either way, you don’t notice the way the door creaks as toji lets himself out of his side of the confessional booth and opens the door to yours until he’s kneeling in front of you, the pads of his fingers digging into your sides. the skin of his fingers is rough, worn out from the different tasks he takes on to keep himself and megumi afloat, you think. he’s become something of a handyman around town.

“to be honest, father,” he says, now directly addressing you. “i came here fer’ your guidance…you see, i’ve been havin’ thoughts lately that i don’t think align with what god wants.” and you find yourself at a loss, your eyes still closed, though your adam’s apple bobs again as you swallow your suppressed thoughts. “my guidance?” you repeat quietly, “confess your…thoughts…then, and seek forgiveness. it’s not a sin unless you act on those thoughts.”

he lets out a pleased hum at that, leaning forward so that his face is practically buried in your clothed crotch. “so,” he counters, “if my understanding is correct, would it be a sin if i told you to spread your legs f’me?”

you don’t trust yourself to speak right now — not when your thoughts are all muddled. so, you simply nod and toji clicks his tongue. “but sin or not, you’re going to anyway because you and i both know how we feel about each other, right? c’mon, use your big boy words and tell me.”

the smart thing—no, the right thing to do here would be to say no. adamantly deny the lingering touches and glances that the two of you had come to share. affection between two men could only go so far. but then again, you’ve gone so much farther in the safety of your bedroom long after the sun has set. how much longer could you shamelessly show your face to the other members of the church and listen to them confess their deepest secrets to you? you’re parading as a righteous man when you’re anything but.

if it turns out to be as bad of a sin as they say, god will strike you down.

turns out it’s not as bad of a sin as they say — or maybe it is and you’ve yet to receive divine punishment.

“god works in mysterious ways,” you say under your breath but toji hears it anyway. how could he not when you’re in such proximity to each other? you hadn’t meant to say it out loud but it doesn’t matter. and toji (ever the charmer) takes it upon himself to respond, “maybe he brought us together for a reason…or maybe i’m one of lucifer’s lackeys sent to seduce you.”

you make the conscious decision to ignore that which seems to entertain toji even more. he’s ridiculous in ways you can’t fathom. like…the way he’s got your legs spread, back pressed firmly against the wood of the confessional, your thighs trembling as he clicks his tongue, “spread yer’ legs a little wider f’me angel, s’not enough f’me to suck that pretty cock.”

he… he knows what he’s doing. whereas you were clumsy and inexperienced. but, to be fair, you had taken a vow of celibacy when you were twelve.

now, though, you’re experiencing true pleasure for the first time — and with a man, no less. you tilt your head back in what little space the confessional affords you as toji gives your balls tentative touches, maybe light squeezes, as he aligns the head of your leaking cock with his mouth. you’re embarrassed, warmth flooding your cheeks, but you can’t look away. not when this is all you’ve ever wanted.

there’s pre-cum on his lips; your pre-cum. it’s there, as clear as day, and he’s entirely unbothered. all of his attention is on your cock. your cock that’s throbbing as he sucks on it. pre-cum and saliva mixing. it’s all so new to you.

as for him…well isn’t this cute? you’re trying your hardest to stifle those needy moans of yours, he can tell. but no matter how much you bite down on your lower lip or how you press your hands against your mouth those pretty sounds you make always find a way of escaping. part of him, somewhere deep down, feels guilty for corrupting you like this. but perhaps he doesn’t feel guilty enough.

he continues to work on your cock, sucking on it whilst simultaneously fondling with your balls. you’re quivering, rutting your hips forward now and then. occasionally you go too far and it scares you at first — you didn’t mean to push your cock all the way to the back of his throat! ever the unbothered, though, he welcomes it until you’re spurting your load down his throat. and he swallows, utterly content.

then he coos at you, bringing a thumb up to your face, and tracing the outline of your jaw. “don’t worry about me, angel, you’re not going to hurt me. what you’re going to do f’me is let me reposition us so i can see your pretty boy hole, m’kay? my boy can do that f’me, right?”

my boy. the idea of being his. after so long…it only feels right. so, you allow him to readjust your position so that you’re straddling his lap and somewhere in the process you both disregard your clothes.

“you’ve been thinking about my cock? that’s why yer’ hole is winking f’me? all ready to take my cock like a big boy?” he asks and you nod your head eagerly. every word that comes out of his mouth is dirty but your reactions are the icing on the cake. you’re not the quiet, unassuming priest he met by chance all those months back. and to think that he’s the reason why.

well, he doesn’t linger on the thought. you’re impatient, squirming on his thighs in search of friction. but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t get him going and he may be many things but he would not force himself into you without properly preparing you to take him.

so as much as you whine about it, he ultimately takes his time with you. the nearest lubricant happened to be some sort of oil, but he made sure that it was safe to use before coating his fingers in a generous amount. then he oh so carefully drags his finger across your hole. it makes you shudder, but after a few minutes of this, you find yourself unprepared for the stretch of fitting a singular digit in. it hurts and the moment you so much as whimper toji’s pressing his lips against yours. the same lips that were around your cock only moments ago. his lips are gentle, soothing, even.

and he keeps it like that — his lips against yours as he slowly introduces more fingers into your ass. it takes a while but your pained whimpers soon morph into more desperate, filthy little noises as he drags his fingers in and out of your hole before curling them, tips grazing your prostate.

you want it, you decide. his cock, that is. you want his cock in your ass beyond a reasonable doubt. it’s all you need. bouncing on his fingers feels good but you just know that his cock would feel so much better.

“this is a sin, we’re both sinning,” you announce, your words strong but your delivery coming in between laboured gasps as his fingers continue to graze your prostate. “so i expect you to fuck me like you mean it.”

and he doesn’t need to be told twice. with a scoff — one that sounds more amused than annoyed — he pulls his fingers out of you. shaking his head as you whimper at the loss. but it’s soon replaced by something bigger and much thicker. it’s his cock, covered in the same oil, and you almost can’t believe it when he’s aligning it with your entrance, pushing past the tight ring of muscle.

you have to take a few breaks before you fully sink on him with a low groan. he makes you feel so full and he hasn’t even moved yet. and when you take it upon yourself to ride him you revert to the softheaded boy he makes you out to be.

your movements are clumsy — mediocre, you’re sure of it. but toji doesn’t intervene. he simply leans back, big, warm hands on your hips, while you figure out your rhythm. and after a few failed attempts you find one that works for both of you. it feels good, it feels great even. his hard cock filling you to the brim while you all but mindlessly bounce on his cock, your walls clenching around his throbbing length.

you’re going to cum soon, you’re sure of it. and when you do eventually watch through teary eyes as your cock spurts ropes of cum onto his stomach you’re not surprised whatsoever. toji, however, takes a lot longer to cum. you’ve probably cum at least two more times by the time toji takes control, his grip on your hips tightening as he angles you just the right way to hit your prostate with each thrust of his hips upwards. your toes curl, eyes half-lidded, and you just barely acknowledge the warmth of his semen in your ass.

all you can think of, and just barely manage to stutter out is: “you’ve fucked me,” and he stares up at you with a smug smile, chest heaving as he copes with his orgasm that has been a long time coming, “yeah, i’ve fucked yer’ pretty boy hole.”

[dramioneasks]

Top 10 Most “Kudos-ed” (Completed) Fics on AO3 of 2023:

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A Game of High Stakes by In_Dreams - E, 51 chapters, Words: 263,110 - In theory, the task is simple: kill Draco Malfoy. In practice, putting a curse through the Dark Lord's favoured lieutenant will take everything Hermione has―especially since he's trying to kill her, too. Even more so when the lines between them start to blur. Sometimes, the only way out is through.

Hogwarts: A History (Hermione's Version) by Lizzie_carlile - M, 38 chapters, Words: 141,828 - Lord Voldemort has been defeated, and the children of the Wizarding War are thriving. When the heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black is adopted and takes her place in the family with her loving fathers, a new trio is formed. With her best friend and her brother by her side, Hermione Black is thrust into a world that she never knew existed. Will whispers from the past threaten to destroy the world she knows? Or will love once again conquer all? Another take of the Nice Things AU. What would happen if Draco asked Hermione to the Yule Ball before Ron Weasley had a chance to?

Teach Me How to Forget by scullymurphy - E, 20 chapters, Words: 109,646 - Hermione Granger is 27 years old when her life falls apart. Cheated-on, flatless, fed up with her job, she decides to change one thing she can--take a class and try for some career advancement. But change is never easy, especially when an old enemy is the catalyst. And the class instructor. "Just as the minute hand clicked over to the hour, the doorknob twisted and a figure slipped into the room. He was tall, a bit windblown. Hermione had a general impression of crisp cuffs and polished leather, and then a more specific one of the most beautiful grey coat—highlighting his shoulders and eyes, skimming to just the right place on his knife creased trousers. His movements were precise and confident. He was wearing the softest-looking gloves. He was not Professor Belinda Rowle. He was Draco bloody Malfoy."

The Order of Serpents by bl_crtz - E, 44 chapters, Words: 193,506 - During the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry Potter walked into the forbidden forest, died, and walked out with crimson eyes as the new vessel of the Dark Lord. Since then, Hermione Granger served as an elite member of the True Order, isolating herself from other Order members and going on missions alone, not only haunted by the loss of her best friend, Harry, but Ron who had run away after the battle. Three and a half years later, Draco Malfoy shows up with his two year old son on the Order’s doorstep seeking to switch sides. Together, Draco and Hermione are forced to deal with not only each other, but their own past and confront who they’ve become because of the war.

The Contender by rubykrishna - E, 9 chapters, Words: 58,875 - Hermione stopped walking. Her eyes scanned back up the roster until they found the name that she initially mistook for a typo. Draco Malfoy….Beater. She could comprehend the words, the name and the meaning. She understood that his name being on the roster meant he was the starting Beater for England’s national team, but for whatever reason, when her eyes ran over the black ink, her brain could not articulate any emotions or reaction. 

Sincerely Yours by LovesBitca8 - E, 10 chapters, Words: 40,759 - A smile tickled the corners of Hermione’s mouth as she clicked Send. She listened to the whoosh of the message and then turned off her computer. When the ping! had come in, she’d had one foot half-out the door of her flat. She’d dropped her coat and darted for her computer desk, a wide grin blossoming at her inbox. You’ve Got Mail.

[honeyedmiller]

Law of Attraction — Chapter One: Rough Draft

series masterlist | next chapter

rating: 18+, minors dni.

warnings: Professor!Joel, reader is self conscious for a bit, reader is mentioned to be plus sized, no outbreak au, smut (fingering, thigh riding, f oral receiving, unprotected piv), pet names, age gap (joel is in his mid forties and reader is in late twenties), no use of y/n.

word count: 4.4k

chapter synopsis: you need help with a paper you’re writing for Professor Miller’s class, and he’s more than happy to oblige.

Professor Miller’s class was your favorite.

Criminal Law was your favorite subject, and Professor Miller made learning about it sound like the most interesting thing in the world (which to you, it truly was).

Although the class itself was a bit monotonous, you got to look at the most handsome Professor on the University of Austin’s campus. It was no secret that people only joined Professor Miller’s class just to ogle over him and his ruggedly handsome looks.

You, on the other hand, needed this class to graduate. Which means you needed to try. You were a good student; A’s and B’s as your final grades at the end of each semester, took good notes, studied hard, and asked for help when you needed it. However, you found it to be a bit difficult to do so for Professor Miller.

Even just being around him made you unintentionally blush. His eyes always tended to land on yours because you sat up front, and, well, tried to pay attention to the lesson. So, when you weren’t exactly confident in the rough draft of a paper you wrote for his class, you’d emailed him for help.

to: jmiller@uta.edu

Good evening Professor Miller,

I was just wondering if I could have you read through the rough draft of my paper. I seem to be struggling a bit with this particular section of the course, and would like some feedback to see what I need to change or can improve.

Thank you and kind regards.

You held your breath as you clicked ‘send’, and in less than five minutes, he replied to you. Your heart leaped into your throat when you saw his name on the screen, and you rolled your eyes at yourself for getting so worked up over a man that you’d never be able to have, regardless if you were well above a legal age.

from: jmiller@uta.edu

Of course. Meet me after class tomorrow and we can go over it in my office during my office hours.

Have a good night.

Professor M

You often thought of Professor Miller outside of class, and, sometimes, you’d let your mind wander to places it shouldn’t go. Places like what it’d feel like for him to run his hands over you, fingers in you, him moaning because of you.

Your thoughts always quickly dissipated though when reality sunk in. Surely he’d want someone his own age, not a student of his, and someone who was… well, thinner. You were a bigger girl and you’d struggled with your image a lot, especially because trauma from your childhood from being made fun of constantly haunted you into your adulthood.

It wasn’t easy not caring what people thought of you, especially since you weren’t society’s “standard” beauty. You were curvy, yes, but you didn’t have a flat tummy like other women. You’ve been on a journey of self love and healing for a long time, and you've come a long way. You've had a newfound confidence spring within you, but you just couldn't help the thought loom in the back of your mind as you fantasized about your unfairly gorgeous professor.

So, as it was, you went to bed that night fucking yourself with your fingers, wishing they were his instead as a ghost of his name was whispered from your lips.

-

It was unusually hot in Austin the next day, which resulted in you wearing a pencil skirt that came just above the knees, a button down shirt with the first couple of buttons undone, and strap back kitten heels. You had a presentation in your first class with a team to act as if you were profilers giving a profile on a high stakes case. So, naturally, you had to dress the part.

What you didn't take in account is the fact that several of your classmate's eyes landed on you as you walked into Professor Miller's class a few minutes before it started. Professor Miller's eyes snapped up and looked at you, taking in your professional attire. You felt your face get hot as you tried to subtly head to your desk in the front, but your heels clicking against the floor didn't help.

Joel cleared his throat as he typed something on his computer, turning on the projector so the screen could display today's lesson. Joel got up from his desk and trudged over to yours, knocking on it twice. Your head was already buried in the notes from the previous lessons, so his presence startled you.

"I remembered your email from yesterday. See me after class today if you can." He pauses, taking a moment to look over your features, pretty face was perfectly on display for him. Your eyebrows were furrowed and your doe eyes scanned his face, lips in a soft pout, and your chest was rising and falling faster than usual. The way he looked at you made you squeeze your legs together, and Joel noticed.

"For my paper." You stated matter-of-factly, rather than questioning it. He nodded, and you mirrored his actions once before he stalked back to his desk. He greeted the class shortly after, beginning the lesson almost immediately.

Class lasted the two hours as usual, and as everyone gathered their stuff, you stay put. You’d crossed your leg over one another because the heavy feeling of arousal just wasn’t going away.

Professor Miller looked particularly good today, with his hair done up and a tight cotton green button down hugging the muscles in his arms. You always admired his husky build, and this shirt he wore with the fitted denim jeans he had on accentuated it perfectly.

“So what exactly are you struggling with?” Professor Miller cuts to the chase, prompting you to come up to his desk. You clear your throat as you pull the rough draft from your folder, sliding out of your desk. You walk over to him, heels still clicking onto the floor with purpose. You hand him the paper and he takes it from you gently.

“I’m having trouble with the case study here,” You lean over his desk slightly, a perfectly manicured finger of yours pointing at the third paragraph on the first page. “I don’t know if I should apply or dispute it.” You chew on your bottom lip nervously, not realizing how incredibly sexy you look to your dear professor right now.

One of your hands was hooked to the edge of his desk, gripping on it to balance yourself as you leaned over giving him a slight peep of the very top of the soft flesh of your breasts. You biting your lip like that didn’t make things any better. Joel felt his cock twitch in his jeans, and he wanted to groan.

Joel’s admired your curviness since the first day you walked into his classroom. He always found plus size women attractive, so naturally, he felt more drawn to you. He knew you were a consenting adult and a grown woman at that, so he truthfully didn’t feel too guilty for unashamedly checking you out. You just never noticed.

Joel’s eyes snapped back to your paper, reading over the section you pointed at. “You should apply the argument,” Joel said, writing next to the printed words with red ink. “Everything looks good, though. Just apply the argument and assess the similarities between the two cases and you’re golden.” He hands you back the paper after writing his feedback.

“Great. Thank you for your help, Professor.”

“Call me Joel.”

You look at him a little confused. “Sir?” The word just slipped out of your mouth, and you didn’t realize what you’d just said until after the fact. Joel exhaled shakily out of his nose.

To change the subject, he took in your attire again. “What’ya doin’ dressed up all fancy like that?” He asks, leaning back in his chair. He was trying to distract his own mind from wandering places that it shouldn’t with you.

“Oh,” You laugh, and fuck if that wasn’t one of Joel’s new favorite sounds. “I have Professor Sanchez’s class before this. We had a group presentation today,” You turn away from him to put the paper back in your folder, so your back was facing him. You heard Joel get up from his chair, but his footsteps didn’t go far. It sounded like he was leaning up against his desk. “We basically had to give out a profile for a mock high stakes case.”

Joel hummed, and you whirred around to face him. His body looked elongated the way he leaned so cooly up against his mahogany desk, legs extended but crossed as his boots touched the ground, and his arms were crossed over his chest. He looked like a tall glass of water and you’d be damned if you didn’t get a sip.

“Professor Sanchez’s class sounds fun.” Joel quips, tilting his head.

“Yours is better.”

“Oh really? Why’s that?” He uncrosses his arms and pushes himself off of his desk, analyzing your body language again. He can tell by the way your legs are pressed together and the rising of your chest that you’re nervous, which makes him nearly smirk.

“More fun to learn about.” You shrug, trying to play it cool. You were certain he could see right through you, though, but neither of you were doing anything about it. You couldn’t help but have a hunch that Professor Miller might just want you the same way you want him. Maybe.

He huffs a chuckle and looks down at the linoleum tile on the floor, biting his tongue. You know he wants to say something, but he’s hesitant. So, you took the initiative and took a step closer to him, taking in his broad frame.

“Look, darlin’,” He starts, and your stomach flutters at the nickname. “I know you’re a grown woman and all, but you’re still my student.”

You tilt your head to the side in wonder, a ghost of a smirk on your lips. “What ever are you talking about, sir?” You’re playing with fire now as you take a step forward, just inches away from the man you’ve wanted to ruin you for so long.

“You know exactly–” He paused as you dragged your index finger down the side of his neck, to his exposed collarbone. “What I’m talkin’ about.”

“As far as I’m concerned, sir, we’re both consenting adults.” You drop your hand and shrug, your eyes feening innocence.

He sighs defeatedly, shaking his head.

“You’re not wrong about that. You don’t know how hard it’s been trying to keep my eyes to myself every time you walk into my classroom. And then you come in here looking like this?” Joel gestures to your whole body, and your heart is hammering in your chest.

“Never thought you’d look at me that way, Professor.” You confess.

“You kiddin’ me? You’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen in my life,” He scoffs as if he can’t believe you don’t see yourself in the same light that he does. He thinks for a moment before opening his mouth, then clamping it shut. It seems that he made a final decision when he sighs and closes his eyes, opening them to look directly into yours. His brown eyes were so mesmerizing, you almost didn’t hear him say his next words. “If you really want this, want me, follow me into my office.” He whispers, and you nod with subtle eagerness.

Holy fuck. You couldn’t believe this was happening. You trailed not too far behind him with your book bag slung over your shoulder, heels clicking against the floor in anticipation as you tried to keep up with his wide strides. You walked through a door in the classroom that led to a hallway with another door at the end. Joel unlocked the door and opened it for you, letting you in first. He trailed in hot on your heels and shut the door. He locked it and swiftly grabbed the softness of your hips, pushing you up against the door. You gasp softly, hands landing on his broad chest.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so beautiful.” Was all he said before he crashed his lips with yours, gripping one of your thighs and bringing it up to wrap around his waist. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thigh as your skirt rode to your hips, leaving you to feel just how hard Joel’s cock was getting.

You moaned into his mouth and tangled your fingers into his slightly graying hair, tugging the slightest bit. He pushed you even further into the door, grinding his hips into yours. You left out a soft whimper into his mouth, but he swallowed it right up when he swept his tongue over your bottom lip. You didn’t hesitate to let his tongue explore your mouth.

You both were clearly so ravenous for each other, and the clashing of tongues and teeth proved that. You gripped at each other like you’d both disappear and this would’ve been a sad, unfulfilling dream.

Joel pulled apart from your lips as he trailed his warm lips down your throat and to your collar bone, his hot tongue poking out to soothe tiny bites he made along the way.

“Joel, please.” You beg, not really sure for what though. You want him everywhere on you all at once. You wanted to drink him in like he was the last fucking water source in the world. You wanted to feel his burly muscles rippling beneath your hands as you became full of him, stretching you out so heavenly that you couldn’t even comprehend what was going on around you.

He moaned at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue, and he pulled apart from you. He dragged you over to his desk, where he sat down in his large office chair and pulled you down to straddle one thigh of his.

“Go on, baby, use me.” He breathed, brushing the curve of your cheekbone softly. You leaned forward to kiss him again, finally registering what he meant. You settled your clothed core over his jean-clad thigh, grinding yourself onto him slowly at first. The friction was heavenly and you knew you were already close.

So many days and nights of fantasizing about this and how it’d go down, only for it to come true in the end, was truly otherworldly. His large hands moved down to unbutton a couple of more buttons on your shirt before moving down the curves of your body to rest on your ass, giving it a squeeze. You brought your hands onto his shoulders to steady yourself as you began to really ride his thigh.

You moaned softly and your eyebrows threaded together, the friction becoming nearly unbearable.

“Fuck.” You muttered, jaw going slack. Joel watched you in pure lust and amusement, waiting for you to soak a spot into his jeans. Seeing you like this, on top of him, riding his thigh, getting off because of him… made his head swirl with euphoria.

“That’s it, angel. C’mon. Give it to me, baby.” Joel encouraged, softly forcing his hands against your ass to get you to rut your hips a little faster.

“Fuck, fuck, Joel, I’m gonna– fuck!” You came hard on his thigh, and he nearly came in his pants at the sight. He felt the warm slick on his thigh, and he needed to get a taste of you.

“So good for me, sweet girl,” He murmured as he lifted you by your hips and set you down on his neat desk. Your skirt was already up to your hips, so Joel swiftly removed your soaked panties and stuffed them in his back pocket. “Let me just get a taste.” He said, looking down at you. Your cunt clenched around nothing at his words, silently begging him to devour you like you were his last meal.

He got down on his knees and pulled your ass closer to the edge of the desk by your thighs, hooking them around his shoulders as he came face-to-face with your glistening heat. “So fuckin’ pretty. This pussy’s mine.” Joel mewled, calloused fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs once more as his tongue circled your clit.

The drag of his muscle was slow, teasing. He took his time just to hear you beg for his mouth. He needed to hear it.

“Sir, please.” You softly whimper, and his eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head. His ran his tongue up and down your folds, swirling it a few times before it prodded your entrance. He delved his tongue inside of you, and you had to clamp your hand over your mouth in order to keep from screaming.

His tongue felt so warm and wet and heavenly in you and around your aching cunt, just begging to be devoured until you reach another orgasm. Joel is was moaning against you, and the vibrations shot straight up your core. It made your toes curl in your heels, and your hips buck up from the desk. He folded his hands on top of your stomach to keep you locked down, and you whined at the sensation.

You were panting heavily beneath your hand, trying to muffle the loud whines and moans that you emitted. Joel’s tongue kept working against you as he lapped up your slick, drinking you in like he was dehydrated in the desert. You tasted so good to him; like nectarine from the ripest peach.

He then solely focused his tongue on your clit, flicking over it rapidly before using his lips to lightly suck on it. Your nails from your free hand clawed at the desk, the feeling of overstimulation creeping in. You felt that low burning sensation in your core as your next orgasm began to build up. As if on cue, Joel swiftly detached his mouth from you as he gathered your slick on his middle finger, followed by his ring. He pushed his two fingers into your entrance slowly, relishing the tightness around his digits.

He latched his mouth back onto your clit, interchanging between licking and sucking. Your shaky thighs began to squeeze Joel’s head as your orgasm was about to peak.

Joel hummed against you as he curled his fingers , hitting that spongy spot inside of your cunt that had you rolling your eyes back as your body shook through your climax. You whimpered as he detached his mouth and removed his fingers, bringing them to his mouth to lick them clean. The whole bottom half of his face was covered in your arousal, and he looked down at you with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“So sweet f’me, baby. Could eat that perfect pussy all day.” He tossed you a shit-eating grin, and your thighs clamped shut as you tried to regain your breath. He leaned down to give you a kiss, and you tasted yourself on his tongue as he slipped it into your mouth. You could feel his painfully hard erection against your thigh, so you tried to muster up as much energy as you could to start taking off his belt.

Joel helped you by taking the rest of his belt off after you undid the buckle. He unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, pulling them down just below his ass. He tugged his boxers down too so he could free his erection. Your mouth watered at the sight of his erect cock, head weeping and leaking pre cum.

“L’me taste you.” You managed to say in your already fucked-out state, but Joel shook his head.

“Next time, baby,” Next time. You pouted at him and he chuckled, cradling your face. “Now if you need to tap out, give me two hard taps on my thigh, okay angel?” You swallowed and nodded at his directions, and once again, you clenched around nothing.

“I’m– I have an IUD.” You say, and Joel looks down at you.

“Good.” Was all he said before putting both of his hands by your head, leaning down to kiss you gently. Without removing his lips from yours, he took one hand and guided the head of his cock over your aching folds. You were buzzing with anticipation, because the need to have him in you was almost unbearable.

He slowly prodded your entrance, then pushed himself in. You nearly choke on a gasp as he fills you up. You felt every ridge and vein on his silky, girthy flesh and you closed your eyes in pure ecstasy at the feeling. His cock was heavy in you, the weight adding to the extra pleasure you were already experiencing.

Joel looked at your face, admiring how it was contorted in pleasure and slight pain before he leaned down again to bite the soft flesh of your breast as he adjusted to your tightness.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, baby.” Joel moaned, standing upright after littering a few more kisses on your chest.

“Please move, Joel.” Was all you said before he began to rock his hips steadily. His thrusts were slow at first, but you tried to grind your hips against his for more friction. A few times your clit met the coarse hair at the base of his cock, and that gave you the friction you needed to clench around him so deliciously.

“This pretty pussy is all mine, y’hear me? So fuckin’ wet and tight, darlin’. Have me fuckin’ losin’ my mind,” Joel picks up his pace, slamming into you at an impossible rate. “Say it.” He warns, taking your breasts out from the cup of your bra.

“It’s–fuck, it’s all yours sir. All yours.” You couldn’t believe how good he felt as he fucked you like this, feverishly and buried to the hilt every single time.

“Good girl.” You moaned at the praise, and he leaned down to capture a swollen bud into his mouth. His hot tongue swirled around your flesh, sucking it and ever so slightly nipping it with his teeth. You hissed at the feeling, but it only spurred your arousal on further.

You wrapped your legs around his waist as he fucked you, but he stood up and removed your legs from him and put them over his shoulders instead. The new angle made it easier for him to fuck you deeper. A dark glint passed in Joel’s eyes as you moaned loudly.

He gathered both of your wrists into one of his, pinning them above your head. The pace of his hips picked up, and all that was heard in the windowless room was the sound of skin on skin slapping together, your wonton moans, and Joel’s grunts. He moved his other hand over your throat, wrapping around it and giving the sides a squeeze as he fucked you senselessly. You felt that tight coil in the pit of your core once more, and you were writhing beneath Joel the best you could.

“Fuck, Joel, ‘m gonna cum again.”

“Go ‘head angel, cum f’me.” His deep Southern drawl is what sent you over the edge, crumbling down and shattering all at once as your orgasm ripped through you. You cried out, and Joel quickly removed his hand from your throat and kissed you urgently, but the pace of his hips didn’t let up. He released your wrists next and your hands found purchase in his hair, raking their way down his back as you desperately tried to grab a hold on him.

It resulted in your nails scratching down his back, which he hissed at but didn’t seem to mind overall. Joel was chasing his own release as your slick cunt gripped him so desperately.

“C’mon baby, give me one more.” He grunted, gripping your hips so tightly you were sure there were going to be bruises. As if on command, your body beckoned to his call and you found yourself orgasming for the fourth time that day. A gush of liquid expelled from your overstimulated cunt, and a strangled cry left your mouth.

Joel was teetering on the edge, teeth clenched and brow furrowed. “Where do you want me, angel?” His voice was strangulated and desperate, both of you gasping for air.

“In me, Joel, please.” You cry, gently gripping at his hair as his head dropped to your shoulder, warm spurts of cum shooting into you. He groaned into your ear, cursing under his breath as he filled you to the brim.

He collapsed onto you, cradling the side of your face as he kissed you passionately.

“So good f’me, sweet girl. Y’did so well.” He praises, kissing your lips once more before standing up slowly and pulling himself out of your sensitive cunt.

You hummed as you tried to relish in the feeling of being so fucked out by one of the hottest men you’ve ever come to know in your life. You couldn’t believe that just happened, and your mind was swirling with a million thoughts per minute.

Joel helped you up onto shaky legs, grinning to himself at how fucked out you looked. He was sure he looked the same way, but he couldn’t care less.

“You have any classes after this, baby?” Joel asks as he buttons up your shirt for you. You shake your head no, your voice not quite caught up to you just yet.

“‘M going home to sleep. Im exhausted.” You sigh, leaning against him. He chuckles and kisses the top of your head, smoothing out any stray hairs that were misplaced from your activities.

“Get some rest, baby. Here. Take my number and I’ll call you.” He rips a piece of paper from a notebook laying nearby, scribbling his number on it before tucking it into the breast pocket of your shirt. You beam up at him, hand trailing up his torso to rest on his chest. Your other hand found purchase on the back of his neck, softly tugging him down to kiss him once more.

“Mm. Will do, Professor.” You playfully wink at him, and he taps your ass playfully before you unlock the door to his office.

He half smiled as he watched you walk away, admiring your beautiful body from behind. He called out to you one last time, hoping you’d text him asap that night.

“Don’t forget to fix your rough draft!”

tag list:

@cool-iguana ; @wannab-urs ; @bastardmandennis ; @nostalxgic ; @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin ; @pamasaur ; @planet-marz1

[olenvasynyt]

MASTERLIST

Hello I’m Dana! I am in my mid-20s, and my pronouns are she / her. My username is olen väsynyt which means I’m tired in Finnish because I’m always tired lmao. I write, draw, and make random Pinterest, headcanon, and meta posts for ACOTAR / SJM. I love Elucien, Jesminda x Lucien, Eris, Lady of Autumn, Tamlin—basically anything to do with Autumn and Spring!

This is my masterlist of fanfics, artwork, commissions, and gifts given to me by lovely friends and mutuals who fuel my obsessions!

SOCIALS:

Instagram ✥ TikTok ✥ Ao3 ✥ Pinterest

FANFICS

A Court of Embers and Sunlight - Lucien x Jesminda backstory with Eris x Male OC, and LoA x Helion

13/? chapters, 71,212 words

Summary: It has been eighty years since the end of the Human War, and a delicate, tenuous peace has grown in Prythian. But as an ancient rivalry between two High families suddenly arises, the consequences of the War are pondered, and painful memories are stirred up for members of the Vanserra family, including Eris Vanserra and the Lady of Autumn. But being sixty and the youngest of seven brothers, Lucien Vanserra is eager to avoid a lot of things. Including the consequences of the War. Haunted by secrets and keen to avoid the Forest House, Lucien allows his errancy to lead him to Prythian’s Summer beaches, Winter lakes, and Spring fields until he finds himself stumbling down a path to a female he never expected. One who lights up his dark, rotting world like dappled sunlight through the leaves.

The Trees Have Eyes - Eris & Lucien Vanserra

3/3 chapters, 20,833 words

Summary: For Eris Week 2024: Day Five—Adventure. When a trading meeting doesn’t go Beron’s way, the Lady of Autumn asks Eris to take his nine-year-old brother Lucien on a hunting trip for an undetermined amount of time to avoid Beron’s wrath.

Gold Of The Richest Kings - Lucien x Elain

1/1 chapters, 3,430 words

Summary: Elain wakes up bathed in sunlight and dripping with her lingering orgasms from last night's lovemaking. Exhaustion and the constant need to give have worn her mate Lucien thin, so she decides that this morning would be the perfect opportunity to return the favor. (Sleepy morning sex turns to feral mating behavior)

My Poor, Sick Mate - Lucien x Elain

1/2 chapters, 5,574 words

Summary: Elain is tending her garden when she and Lucien get stuck in a rainstorm. She should have predicted she would get sick…but thankfully, Lucien knows exactly what his mate needs. For Stickyelectrons ACOTAR Gift Exchange 2024!

My art:

✥ Elain taking care of sick Lucien for stickyelectrons

✥ High Lord Eris Vanserra

✥ ACOTAR irises WIP: Tamlin, Gwyn, Eris and Lucien

✥ Azriel Week Day 5: No Need For Poetry. Gags, blindfold, and muzzle

✥ Azriel shibari

✥ Helion rescuing the Lady of Autumn

✥ Outlander Elucien for Elucien week 2024: Day 7 AU

✥ Jesminda faceshots and sketches

✥ Feyre’s UTM / CoN dress

✥ Jesminda wings design

Commissions and gifts:

✥ Jesminda by adduani

✥ Jesminda outfits by j.sgrey

✥ Lucien and Jesminda in the woods by j.sgrey

✥ Lucien and Jesminda on a picnic by electra.rt

✥ Raivis Vanserra gifted by @jon-snows-man-bun and @buffy-vanserra by @onigiripurr

✥ Jesminda gifted by @queercontrarian

✥ Lucien and Jesminda meet cute gifted by @bonecarversbestie

✥ Jesminda outfit and profile gifted by @officalblackheron

Dividers are by @saradika-graphics

Banner frame design is by kyberkurwa on DeviantArt

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

✧*̥˚ my muses, acquired like bruises *̥˚✧

a collection of my fics inspired by taylor swift songs/lyrics, in honor of the release of THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT

JOEL MILLER

cruel summer | au | explicit | chapters: 6/6

Joel takes a contracting job renovating a master bedroom and bathroom while the homeowners are away for the summer on a cruise. He wasn’t expecting their twenty-three year old daughter and the thoughts he’d have about her.

↳AO3 | Tumblr: chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5 | chapter 6

crimson red paint on my lips | post-outbreak | explicit | connected work

Joel Miller is an asshole. You should have known better than to show up at his door with your lips painted red. Connected to me and the devil and marked me like a bloodstain

↳AO3 | Tumblr

marked me like a bloodstain | post-outbreak | explicit | connected work

You save Joel’s life when the two of you are attacked on a smuggling run. He has an interesting way of saying thank you. Connected to crimson red paint on my lips and me and the devil

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karma is my boyfriend’s dad | au | explicit | connected work

Your boyfriend, Sean Miller, is an asshole. The one redeeming thing about him? His dad, Joel Miller. And he's just invited you along on the family vacation to Panama City Beach, Florida.

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in a feud with her neighbor | au | explicit | connected work

Five times you think Joel Miller is the worst neighbor ever, and the one time he isn’t.

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bonus scenes: in a feud with her neighbor | au | PG-13 | connected work

Fluffy bonus scenes for "in a feud with her neighbor" as suggested by anon!

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toyin’ with them older guys | au | explicit | one-shot

Joel Miller is the grumpy bartender and owner of your favorite bar near campus, where you attend trivia every Tuesday night. Thinking there’s no way Joel could return your feelings, your friend suggests trying out Tinder. But when you bring them to the bar for a date, they keep leaving mid date with no explanation. Maybe there’s something Joel isn’t telling you after all.

↳AO3 | Tumblr

help me hold onto you | post-outbreak | explicit | one-shot

Joel always tries his best to keep his mind from wandering to its darkest corners, but occasionally, the frayed threads holding him together with sloppy stitches start to unravel. Sometimes you need to give him something to hold onto.

↳AO3 | Tumblr

seven | post-outbreak | explicit | one-shot

Joel Miller has spent twenty years pushing the grief and guilt surrounding the death of his daughter, Sarah, to the darkest recesses of his brain in favor of survival. Living a more quiet life in Jackson means the ghosts of his past have returned to haunt him. He finds his solace in you, the town librarian.

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the last great american dynasty | au | explicit | one-shot

Joel Miller has loved the historic Victorian home in his neighborhood since the first time he laid eyes on it. When the elderly owner passes, he thinks he might get his chance to finally buy it and fix it up. He doesn’t expect to find you, the granddaughter of the previous owner and trustee of her estate, standing in the way of his dream.

↳Tumblr | AO3

TOMMY MILLER

wrong place, right time | pre-outbreak | explicit | one-shot

What if Joel didn’t answer Tommy’s call from jail? And what if the waitress he’d been defending that night bailed him out instead?

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JAVIER PEÑA

i can see you (javier peña's version) | au | explicit | one-shot

When Javier Peña takes credit for your lead, you take revenge. Good thing you know Javier can't resist a girl in red lipstick.

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FRANKIE MORALES

my tears and my beers and my candles | au | explicit | one-shot

It’s been a bad week and you just need to have a good cry. You didn’t expect Frankie Morales, best friend and unrequited crush, to crash your pity party. He’s got some interesting ways of making you feel better. Maybe it’s not so unrequited after all.

↳AO3 | Tumblr

invisible string | au | explicit | one-shot

After fifteen years, the invisible string that ties you to Frankie Morales pulls you back together

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MIGUEL O'HARA

i can see you (miguel o'hara's version) | au | explicit | one-shot

As Dr. Miguel O’Hara’s graduate teaching and research assistant, you’ve spent years pushing down the inappropriate thoughts you’ve had about the brilliant, gorgeous man. But what happens when a late night at the lab and a scientific breakthrough leads to a breakthrough of a different kind?

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EDDIE MUNSON

the mark you saw on my collarbone | vampire au | explicit | connected work

A snippet of life with your human and your monster. A oneshot in the bat out of hell series

↳AO3

[gogodollie]

Sister Imperator and Papa Nihil Romance Masterpost

Saw someone the other day claim that Sister Imperator was a bitch for leading Nihil on and although I blocked them instantly, it haunts me because genuinely what are you smoking to EVER get that vibe.

These two are old people and they’re crazy. Nihil is just really into the chase and Sister still thinks that playing hard to get is sexy. Once again, they’re old.

Chapter Media

Chapter One: New Blood

Sister Imperator: “Not here… not now- not like this.”

At this point I don’t think there’s much from the prequelle livestream that would confirm the two in a current sexual/romantic relationship so that means that is the first instance where there’s an insinuation that there is in fact something sexual going on between them. Sister redirects Nihil rather than shutting him down entirely just makes it clear that this is a mutual thing and not just Nihil being a horndog. Also, the fact that this was a direct result of the sexual charisma spiel and involves a lot of heavy breathing (and several glances downward from Imperator.)

Chapter Five: The Call

Papa Nihil: “You have always had excellent critiquing of films, Sister.”

Sister Imperator: “Papa… Tell me, are you alone?” “And what are you wearing?”

Sister Imperator: “I’m just trying to- forget it.”

This is one of my favorite scenes ever but the secondhand embarrassment it gives me is so bad (my poor girl Imperator has been in that hospital for WEEKS I can’t even blame her for attempting it). Anyways, another clear example of Sister being receptive to Nihil’s flirting and even going on to (very poorly) attempt to reciprocate. She wants to get fucked sooooooo bad it makes her look stupid. If Nihil was a little smarter this could have worked but unfortunately Sister has no game and Nihil was on the toilet.

Chapter Eight: Kiss The Go-Goat

Papa Nihil: “Why can’t I have another chance?”

Sister Imperator: “Do I have to remind you what happened last time?”

This part gets quoted a lot in reference to Sister rejecting Nihil and her lack of forgiveness towards the cheating incident. However, all things given, I don’t think those lines directly are about their relationship given the context that they’re said in (but they can definitely be taken that way when considering the KTGG sequence and ending). This reads more as Imperator reminding Nihil of his failed attempt to lead the band after he criticizes Copia

Chapter Nine: Tomb It May Concern

Sister Imperator: “Ugh it’s perverse: Papa.”

Sister Imperator: “I…had his balls.”

This is the first instance that Sister brings up a sexual connotation with the title “Papa” which she clarifies in Chapter Ten: Home Coming & Special Guests when Copia asks if she won’t call him Papa because of “the old guy.” Then obviously she just straight up says she had Nihil’s balls in a metaphorical and literal sense much to Copia’s horror.

Non-Chapter Media

Prequelle Promo Sermon

Papa Nihil: “Well Sister you’ve never made a mistake in my eyes.”

Sister Imperator: “Isn’t he sweet? Very generous man, he always was.”

Dance Macabre Music Video

I take this mv with a grain of salt because nothing about it aligns with the 60s and to me it feels more like a retelling of their meeting from Copia’s memories, rumors he may have heard, and whatever misinformation Sister and Nihil had spread about the event themselves. That being said, I do know there are a lot of people that accept that this was the actual first meeting and wedding of Imperator and Papa which actually is insanely romantic. They’re like if Romeo and Juliet were cult leaders and also in their mid-twenties. Love at first sight! Also the first insight into a past relationship between the two.

SIOSP Promo Live

Papa Nihil: “Oh Sister, I wish you were here- I wish Sister was here. She’d be so proud of me.”

Just a guy missing his girlfriend nothing to see here folks.

Ghost on Ghost

Literally just look at them. The context of the scene they’re recreating is enough to sum everything up, the video being posted on Valentine’s day, those old people were getting NASTY.

Mary on a Cross Music Video

There’s a lot of things about this music video that make me crazy and I would like to begin with the confirmation that the two did in fact live together in a non-abbey setting (PLEASE peep the two empty glasses and wine bottle on their porch table). Aside from the violent aftermath of Nihil’s little on stage scandal, the two obviously were seriously together in some sort of way that would both warrant this reaction from Sister and also would involve them living together (mind you it’s still the 60s and this sort of arrangement between an unmarried couple would be uncommon but also they’re fucking satanists so. whatever). A little peak into Sister being the one to initiate intimacy even after the cheating and what their messy future will look like together (but this time around she doesn’t forget her bra).

The Future is a Foreign Land Music Video

This is mainly just about Nihil’s perspective on the breakup and the instant regret he has once realizing that Sister is gone for good. Though he may be an idiot, Papa is genuinely willing to give up everything to have her again and in his little drug induced haze is dreaming about a future where she does forgive him for all that he’s done. Also the way that dystopian Sister/Papa fucking explode and old futuristic Sister/Papa just fade away makes me think that perhaps there’s an essence of moving on in a physical sense in the future but for my sake (needs to see those old people as much as possible) I pray this is not true.

Final thoughts:

In my humble opinion, I think by the time Maralyn took over as Sister there was a shift in her relationship with Papa Nihil that made them go from strictly sexual to romantic again- the next few chapters and RHRN make them seem almost domestic as they take on more parental roles. This could be because of Nihil’s death and Imperator being able to forgive him because she is quite literally one of the few people that can see/interact with him (she was NOT risking another cheating incident, who knows what that 80 yr old was capable of when he was still alive OR she was just finally able to make peace with it because Nihil in some sense is an entirely different person than the man that cheated on her all those years ago (aka a fucking ghost without a physical form).

At the end of the day these two are STUPID and despite the assumed breakup in the Mary on a Cross music video, I don’t think they’re capable of being away from each other for long. God knows they fucked at least twice directly after watching Papa Nihil kiss three different women in front of her so I really would not doubt that they were still hooking up from the time after the moac mv and before their first older appearances.

[anderstrevelyan]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤️

Hi, thank you!! And to @yesistolethisurl and @say-lene, who sent this, too. <3

I love how doable this is as a task when I only have four fics published for the fandom I'm currently writing for. (Incentive to keep kicking on my WIPs to take some of these slots!)

1) Haunted One (Durgetash, plus the Dark Urge & Jaheira; M; 19k) remains my favourite thing I've written, so let's lead with it! It's a bridge between bg1/bg2 and bg3, where the son of Gorion's Ward and Viconia becomes the Dark Urge—the first half deals with his falling into Bhaal’s clutches, and the second his entanglement with Enver Gortash. (And I always feel I should mention: it's written to be accessible to readers who've only played bg3, too.)

2) Her Undoing (M; 2k) This one's my most underrated, but I reread it recently and it made me emotional, so! Here she is. Another bridge, bringing Viconia DeVir through her bg2 happy ending into bg3.

3) The Heart (Durgetash; M; 2k) Valas shows Gortash how it feels to hold a still-beating heart (then gets on his knees).

4) My Blood Your Paint (Durgetash; M; 3k) Valas returns to Baldur's Gate—and Gortash realizes just how little he remembers.

Aaaand I struggle to truly rec from my Dragon Age writing, since the best of it's buried in an unfinished longfic I have no current plans to work on (oh, the things I've learned about myself as a writer since this first big-project attempt!)—but you know what, I'm really proud of parts of it still, so let's suggest some chapter pairings from:

5) Force of Nature (Amell/Anders):

"The Leap" and "The Lie" (Ch. 2 & 3)—Anders, caught mid-escape attempt by the Circle's star apprentice, shows him his first sunset as a distraction. Then the payoff in "Memories" (Ch. 13), during Awakening, in a we're-all-trapped-in-the-Fade sequence.

And for some more depth to that, going from "Alone" (Ch. 5), where Amell faces the consequences for that lie as an apprentice, to his active defence of Anders as Warden-Commander in "I Would Drown Us in Blood" (Ch. 16).

[jamneuromain]

Addictive

Santiago "Pope" Garcia x PhD Candidate!Reader (You)

Warning: Sugar Daddy!Santiago Garcia, Implied age gap (Santiago is in his late 30s, reader in her mid-20s), Mention of a near-death experience ... fluff, eventual smut but we'll see about that (and more tags to come)

Summary: The start of an unconventional sugar relationship.

A/N: I solemnly blame @innorogers for indulging me with sugar daddy!Santiago Gargia thoughts. Thank you 太太 you're the best. Mwah😘

Prologue

"What are you going to do with your share?"

>

"So, what are you going to do with your share?"

It is a question that has come up way too many times in their time spent together. They discussed the possibility of being rich in that shabby pub during the humid and sticky night before the heist. They talked about it again, after the heist, when they nearly lost Redfly on the mountain ridge, nerves on edge with two hundred million on their backs. They ended up splitting the stolen money five ways. Each gets a share, which is forty million US dollars: Tom "Redfly" Davis, William "Ironhead" Miller, Ben Miller, Francisco "Catfish" Morales, and of course, last but not least, himself, Santiago "Pope" Garcia.

Ben got the Ferrari he always wanted. Tom deposited a quarter of his money into the college fund for his girls. William was finally rid of the horrific job of giving the same speech to uniformed men and women, now investing in a gun range. Francisco spends a couple of hours a day in some aviation club, working as a coach. He owns the entire hanger and all the iron birds inside.

Santiago ... Santiago hasn't done anything with his money apart from getting a flat and buying a new car.

So, the question now is specifically targeting him. Now that the five men are watching football from the latest model of a flat-screen TV in Tom's living room.

"What are you going to do with your share, huh Santi?" Frankie repeats with a shit-eating grin.

"Dunno." Santiago takes a sip of his beer, avoiding the scrutinizing gaze of his four closest friends, smoothing his gray strands with his other hand, "I'll figure something out. But enough of me, I heard your Tess wanted to be a doctor?"

There's only one of them who has a family: Tom.

Tom was two inches away from getting shot in the forehead up on the Andes.

Tom chuckles, "That's my bright girl, alright. Takes up after her mom, thank the Lord. Still, the tuition for Pre-med is a bitch. Speaking of, could you pick her up from her AP tutoring at five thirty? It's in a studio near the real estate agency I used to work for. I had other plans for Molly at six."

Ben whistles after one too many beers, "Getting your wife back, nice."

William punches his younger brother Ben in the shoulder.

Tom shakes his head with a small smile, "Can't keep my hopes up though. But Tess - you can pick her up for me, right?" He turns to Santiago for confirmation.

"Sure, bud." Santiago clicks his beer bottle with his former team captain.

Approximately two hours later, you catches his eye when Santiago drives to the tutoring studio to pick up Tess. A pencil in your ear, a load of books in your arms. Your cuffs faded into a lighter shade than the outfit, one of your sleeves resewn, tighter and shorter compared to the other one, the side of your hand smudged in pencil dust, waving Tess goodbye.

"Hey, Uncle Santiago!" Tess pipes up, sliding into the front seat of his sleek black sedan.

"Hey, Tess. Who's that?" Santiago lifts his chin at the girl - you - at the bus stop.

"Oh! That's my tutor for AP Chemistry. She works for this tutoring studio but she's actually a brilliant grad student in the Med School. It's her second year in the PhD program. She works on this really cool project called ..."

As the young teen's voice fades into the background, Santiago pulls his car out from the parking lot. The question that has been haunting him ever since the planning of the heist pops into his mind.

Yeah. He thinks to himself. I'll figure something out.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | ...

[depressedbagpipe]

A Heartrender's Fire: ch. III

Tolya Yul-Bataar x Lantsov!ofc

Words: 5199 Warnings: canon-typical violence and language, volcra, poor descriptions of grisha powers, grisha powers following the show's logic and not the one in the books, me making up names and titles. also justice for kovu cause the guy straight up disappeared mid-episode. also i don't speak ravkan (russian?) so let's pretend i know what I'm doing A/N: this took way too long because i essentially had a surgery performed on me last month and I'm *still* recovering. anyways, this is way too fun to write so don't worry, i am continuing this story. we're getting some backstories here, too, which i think is pretty neat.

Series Masterlist Previous chapter <> Next chapter

III: Like calls to like

The day woke up cloudy, but the spirits at the Volkvolny were as bright as the Sun Summoner’s light. Sturmhond had been preparing the ship for the trip to the Fold all morning, giving concise directions to the crew. Only a small group would be coming with him and his clients up in the air, and his sister quickly pointed out that she wasn’t staying behind, no matter how much her brother wanted to keep her safe on the ship while he returned to their homeland. 

“Anything happens on the Fold, you’ll need me,” she had argued, once again before Tamar and Tolya’s unimpressed faces.

“I have a Sun Summoner now. I think I’ll be fine.”

Ouch, Irina didn’t let the reaction show in her face. Tolya did feel her heart beat just a tad faster, though. Not that he was actively seeking her heartbeat out. He would often find himself listening unconsciously and could distinguish it from miles away. Not even metaphorically. 

“It’s my country too, Nikolai. Anything happens on the Fold, you’ll need me,” she repeated.

Sturmhond looked at his sister. Few times she ever addressed him with his name, right in the open, and he realized that no matter how much he wanted to keep his little sister away from danger, she would always find her way to it, face first, full charge.

“Fine,” he sighed. “You’re buying kvas later, though.”

“Deal.”

He still scowled when he took her in, smiling her victorious smile as she high-fived the twins, the three of them chattering amongst themselves as the ship took them closer to the black void that had haunted and fascinated the second prince for so long. Irina was fully aware of the danger, and despite her best efforts, a chill went through her spine at the thought of her first passage through the darkness, afraid, and alone. 

I have a Sun Summoner now. Sturmhond could lie to himself all he wanted, but his sister knew he was just as scared as her. Only now they had a living Saint with them, able to wield the power of two amplifiers and the hope of an entire nation. 

The Volkvolny sailed through the waves seemingly faster than ever. Irina almost wished the ship would stop and trap them on the sea forever, anything but returning to the one place she had been miserable at. No matter how many dirty taverns, war camps, and smelly docks she stepped on, the image of the Grand Palace was enough to fix a permanent frown on her otherwise peaceful manner.

But she was a big girl now. Whatever was waiting for her on the other side should fear her, too. She was powerful, not as much as Alina, or as intelligent as Nikolai, but she still had royal blood in her veins, which coincidentally pumped enough fire to bring down the whole palace with just a flick of her hand. She felt the warmth on her cheeks at the thought, and with a small smile, she looked up, finding Tolya’s gaze.

The giant was looking at her with an all-knowing grin, which she quickly replicated. He noticed her fingers had been absentmindedly tracing her own amplifier, barely taking it out of her clothes. He had noticed that little quirk of hers after she got it, almost a month into joining them on the crew. A failed smuggling operation on the Fjerdan border ended with Sturmhond almost decapitated by a wolf, and Irina melting the snow around them as she protected him from the pack that was sure to attack. Tolya had known Irina’s heart marched to a different beat than her brother’s, but it was only after seeing the flames around her body that he fully knew what was different about her. He had eyed her closely after that, always finding something new about her to stare at, from the way her eyes seemed to come alive in the sun and radiate warmth in the night. Or how she was grounding herself as her fingers danced down the wolf’s fang as if she too needed a reminder of the fire she carried in her soul. There were many things about Irina Lantsov that could be admired, according to Tolya. Not that he would ever tell her. 

Simultaneously, Alina was also stroking her wrists, feeling the amplifiers without looking up. Irina glanced at her, noticing the way her face lit up when Mal approached her again. For a second she longed for it, that love out in the open, despite the dire situation the young couple was in. Their conversation was soon cut short by her brother, perched nearby, waiting for his big entrance as he always did. His voice was loud, demanding, and powerful–everything he had been raised to be.

“Who says you’ll be on your own?” He raised his leg on a box and casually leaned up front. “I want a front-row seat to the light show, thank you very much. Plus, the King’s on the other side of the Fold, ergo, so is my payment.”

“We could definitely use your arsenal,” Mal reckoned.

“Maybe some kind of fortified carriage?” Alina thought.

“Carriage? Land travel is so boring. And that’ll take days!” Sturmhond walked away from them, giving Irina the silent indication she needed to brace herself for takeoff. “Come along! Prepare to decouple!”

Tolya and Tamar quickly jumped to the section, their faces glistening with anticipation.

“Kovu.” Sturmhond nodded at the Squaller behind Alina and Mal. He pulled the lever that engaged the sails. “Secondary mast released!” Kovu shifted the position of the sails so they stood horizontal to the ship, all of it under the astonished eyes of the Sun Summoner. “Engage secondary sail!”

And with another push upwards, the Hummingbird flew out of reach as the rest of the Volkvolny stayed on the water. Alina stumbled over to the wooden bench Irina had fallen asleep just a day prior and looked around in disbelief and fear as the air grew colder and purer the higher they flew in the sky. Tamar chuckled at the girl, enjoying the sight of the Sun Summoner scrambling to stay sitting. Even Irina grinned, feeling somewhat superior for a slight second.

Even the Sun Summoner feels fear.

She couldn’t help but comment. “It’s like watching a newborn discover the world.”

Tolya laughed, who had casually stood beside her, looking at the sea below them and enjoying the sight of the horizon. Irina felt a warmth in her cheeks that she was sure wasn’t because of the chill that settled around the Hummingbird. Instead of looking in Tolya’s direction, she faced her brother, who was also staring at Alina with amusement, only his eyes were kinder and curious, a sight Irina knew too well was only reserved for very few women out there. 

Yet Mal was the only one who got her to open her eyes and walk with her to the edge. Mal was the only one she trusted to catch her if she fell. Irina wondered what that would feel like, should the moment come. Who would come to her rescue, not for who she was, but because they cared about her. 

Kovu kept working the sails as they rapidly approached Ravkan soil, the sea blending with the land. Irina’s heart drummed in anticipation, looking back as they left the sea behind.

“How are you holding up?” Tolya suddenly spoke. He seemed nearer, their arms barely touching.

“Meh.”

He shook his head, his eyes shifting from the sky to the ground below them. “Why haven’t you told them about you being Grisha?” He lowered his voice. Irina looked around, sighing in relief once she saw her brother keeping his guests entertained. “It’s bound to happen, anyway.”

“And give away the big reveal? No way.” Irina scoffed, looking back at him for a second.

“Don’t be like your brother.” Tolya’s seriousness would’ve caught her off-guard, but she was used to his sudden tone changes. 

“I’m not like my brother. In fact, I’m better.”

“Something Sturmhond would say.”

“Something Ainthe would say, too,”

“See?”

“Shut up,” she giggled. He smiled too, missing the sound of her laugh. After the prior day’s events, he wouldn’t admit he would miss her laugh if she was gone. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’m so used to hiding amongst Ravkans… I can’t tell how they’ll react.”

“They’re good people.”

“How can you tell?”

“I happen to have a way with hearts.”

“You don’t say.”

“Captain! The Fold’s in sight!” Tamar called, effectively interrupting the banter between the two Grisha.

“Next stop, destiny.” 

“For Saint’s sake, Sturmhond,” Irina groaned. 

“What? I’m trying to add dramatic effect here.”

“We don’t need it.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Children.”

–·–

The Hummingbird entered the pit of darkness in complete silence. Thunder rumbled as the flying vessel tore through the barrier, and Irina took one last big gulp of fresh air before her body was completely surrounded by obscurity. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the black, and she released a silent breath, moving her head around as soon as she heard the first creature’s wail in the distance. Kovu kept the flying skiff afloat, his arms tiring but without complaint. Alina stood at the front, arms ready, while Irina gripped the ropes, looking wildly around. 

The crew seemed to gather behind Alina, with narrowed eyes, trying to find some hope to hold on to.

“I hate this place,” Mal commented in a low voice.

They all knew they had to be very silent if they wanted to make it out alive.

“Eh, it’s just a bit of pitch black and bloodthirsty monsters,” Sturmhond joked. He ignored the unimpressed faces of his clients and faced his family. “What’s not to love?”

He gladly received in his open palm his firearm which Tamar had thrown at him, never losing his mischievous smirk.

“Seems like a good day to kill some Volcra,” Tamar growled, getting her own weapons ready as well.

Tolya sighed. “I’d much rather a hot bath and a book of sonnets.”

Tamar stared at him in disbelief. Tolya was looking at the darkness with a longing look, picturing himself in the warm water, and Irina had to glance another way just to stop those thoughts from wandering elsewhere. She rolled the sleeves of her red coat up, her hands tense and ready to summon. Should Alina fail, she would become the first line of infantry. Irina stood next to Kovu, guarding the Squaller at the back while the rest of the team remained at the front.

“All good?” she asked the man, noticing the faint line of sweat on his forehead.

“Could be better,” he replied.

Irina sighed. “It won’t take much longer, don’t worry.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

The girl couldn’t say anything else, for she too felt the tension rising with every passing second. She knew it hadn’t been that much time since they entered, but any time spent inside the Fold felt like an eternity. 

Alina stood up near the edge, and the light show quickly began. With heavy breathing, the Sun Summoner created a light barrier that first extended around the Hummingbird, and then expanded into the black void. Irina stared around in amazement, a hole opening itself in front of them where the ancient mountains of Tsibeya stood at the horizon, welcoming them home once more. Light and heat overwhelmed Irina as beams of light danced on Alina’s arms. 

The barrier only got bigger from then on, and just as they were about to exit on the other side of the hole Alina had opened, things spiraled down. Alina’s light flickered, her arms flailing wild as she tried to call on her power once again, but nothing responded.

“Alina!” Mal kept calling her, but whatever made her stop had also thrown her off on the deck, the protective barrier of light gone with her.

The Volcra didn’t take long. Their growling was near, angry and ferocious, as the last beams of light extinguished around them. The Fold swallowed them whole again, and Sturmhond didn’t waste any time.

“Kovu!” he yelled at the Squaller as he took some steps back. “Get us out!” he stood before his sister, guns ready.

Kovu quickly rearranged the sails, making the ship fly faster at his mercy. Irina’s relief was short-lived, for one of the haunting monsters was now perched right beside them, ready to launch itself at its first victim.

Sturmhond quickly fired his revolver at it, making it stand back. The twins stood at the rear of the ship, the five of them standing in a circle as they protected each other’s backs. With Alina still on the floor and Mal perched over her, they weren’t the primary victims of the giant creatures.

Another one tore the main overhead sail open and landed on the deck right in front of the twins, who quickly got to work to end the monster’s life. The skiff was tilting dangerously, having lost its main support to stay afloat, but Kovu was doing everything in his power to get them out of the Fold on the other side while keeping the Hummingbird in the air. Irina didn’t need to be a genius to know they would not last long.

Sturmhond helped Tolya with a shot to where the Volcra’s heart supposedly was, and the giant quickly cut its head off. Irina assessed the damage, noticing the big hole in the fabric right above her head. She saw Alina finally stand up, still looking out of it, and because Mal only had eyes for her, neither of them saw the monster that was coming at a rapid speed to them.

Alina barely had time to look up before Irina stood protectively over them, firing a big and scathing flare up towards it, almost bursting it into flames as it fell through the void, fire following the Volcra as it sunk deeper into the Fold. 

Irina smiled at the sight, her fingers itching for more, standing tall and proud at her own display of power under the stunned faces of Alina and Mal.

“You’re Grisha?”

“No time to explain, Sol Koroleva,” Irina said.

The Hummingbird hit the exit of the Fold with a strong thud, nothing in comparison with their previous smooth entrance. The ship kept descending, gaining speed as it did so. One of the engines didn’t survive the attack, and the smoke was quickly turning into a well-spread fire at the front of the skiff. Irina was almost sent back flying, and would have crashed into the ship’s barrier if it hadn’t been for Tolya’s extended arm, catching her and bringing her closer to him, pinning her to the same rope he was holding on to for dear life as gravity pulled the crew down.

“Kovu, begin descent!” Sturmhond called, balancing on two feet, even though there wasn’t much Kovu could do. “Brace yourselves for landing!”

They were hurtling straight to the ground, and the Squaller could only do so much to prevent them from crashing completely. Everybody was trying to grasp at anything that could keep them up, bracing for the incoming impact. Irina felt helpless once again, but she didn’t have time to feel sorry for herself, because, with another jolt, the Hummingbird finally crashed, sending everybody down on the ground, impacting with the walls as the ship swept along the flat land and continued forward. Tolya kept a hand on the rope and another slithered around Irina’s waist, keeping her in front of her as the ship continued in motion through the meadow. Irina could only count the seconds until the movement stopped, closing her eyes in a silent prayer. 

Fortunately for her, it wasn’t long before it did.

Everybody was grunting and breathing heavily. Irina felt the burn on her hand from groping the rope for dear life, but Tolya didn’t take his arm off her.

“Is everyone okay?” Sturmhond asked loudly, quickly getting up.

Irina felt Tolya’s arm tensing slightly before finally releasing her, going to check on his sister who was still panting but seemed otherwise fine. 

“You good?” Sturmhond asked Irina, placing a hand on her back as he checked for any injuries on the younger girl. 

She nodded. “Yeah. You?”

He nodded too. That was all confirmation they needed before they both jumped over the deck onto solid ground, assessing the damage.

“Another one gone.”

Irina frowned. “This one worked. It was the Volcra.”

“It’s always the Volcra.”

But none of them could even breathe in relief before a bugle blew nearby. A regiment of the First Army had so lovingly decided to welcome them back to their land, with raised firearms ready to shoot at them, and its Colonel walking up front in a menacing stance.

The twins didn’t even shudder at the sight.

“Well, looks like we’re about to enjoy a traditional Ravkan welcome,” Tolya joked. 

Irina smiled, feeling the air charging with her brother’s boastful ego, about to make his big entrance. Maybe she was a bit like her brother. Not that she would ever admit that.

“You’ve crossed illegally onto Ravkan soil. Identify yourselves,” the Colonel called.

Sturmhond jumped down, standing in front of his crew with a straight back. He took off his bag, giving it to Tolya. “I’ll handle this.”

Irina stood back, repressing a smile.

“What are you doing?” Alina whispered at him but shut up at the look Irina sent her. She hid back slightly behind Mal, mainly because she was still the country’s number one fugitive.

“Identify yourselves at once or be shot.”

“Have I really changed so much, Raevsky?” Sturmhond, very slowly, started undoing his blue captain coat, leaving behind his fake persona and embracing his birthright before the Colonel’s own eyes. “I know it’s been a number of years, but people swear I remain boyishly handsome.”

He was wearing his First Army uniform underneath, and just as the green attire caught the Colonel’s eyes, he smiled.

“It can’t be.”

Tolya was being used as a coat hanger by that point, with Nikolai Lantsov standing proud and tall, with a devilish grin as he walked closer to the regiment.

“Yes, it is.”

“Moi tsarevich,” Raevsky mumbled before kneeling, the rest of the troop doing the same. “My prince. We’d all but given up hope.”

Nikolai chuckled as he shook the Colonel’s hand. Raevsky didn’t waste any time and turned around, facing his regiment and presenting the prince with a boisterous speech.

“I present Nikolai Lantsov, Major of the 22nd Regiment, Soldier of the King’s Army, Grand Duke of Udova, and Second Son to his Most Royal Majesty, King Pyotr the Third, Ruler of the Double Eagle Throne,” the Colonel called.

Irina mouthed the titles as Raevsky went on, and even the twins shared impressed looks at the many names their fearless captain bore.

“You’ve got to be joking,” Mal whispered, both him and Alina frowning. 

“Saints.”

Nikolai continued. “And in your own words, as I recall, ‘the greenest and most useless grunt you ever had the misfortune of commanding.’”

“Now, that sounds like you,” Irina spoke out loud, only noticing her mistake when the Colonel’s eyes glanced at her, also opening wide as he kneeled once more.

“Moi tsarevicha.”

The regiment, once again, copied their Colonel, kneeling as she walked closer to her brother, already regretting the attention she was receiving, but knowing the longer she stood without saying a word about her identity, the harder it would get later.

“I, once again, present Irina Lantsov, Grand Duchess of Mydrov, and First Daughter to his Most Royal Majesty, King Pyotr the Third, Ruler of the Double Eagle Throne.”

Nikolai chuckled when he noticed his sister's discomfort. “Thought you could get away with it?”

She groaned before motioning the Colonel to stand up. He took a step forward and bent down to kiss her hand, while Irina forced a smile onto her face.

“At your service, Your Highness.”

“We wanted to return sooner, but not without her,” Nikolai looked back at Alina.

Irina grimaced, knowing what was coming.

“May I present my esteemed traveling companion, former cartographer and sometimes Saint, Alina Starkov!” he extended a hand towards her, yet looked back at Raevsky. 

His sister shook her head, seeing how Alina was taking fast steps towards her brother. Despite her protectiveness over him, she knew he had it coming.

“Sol Koroleva. We heard you were dead,” Colonel Raevsky spoke with fear evident in his face, but his words died as soon as Alina yelled.

“You lying bastard!”

The punch to Nikolai’s face was met with utmost silence. The sound of betrayal was too loud to say anything else in return.

–·–

“That was fun,” Tamar said as they rode toward the Spinning Wheel.

“It was terrible,” Irina groaned, closing her eyes momentarily.

“You looked so cute there, like all stiff and stuff, and all the soldiers in awe like ‘Saints, the princess’,” Tamar kept going.

“I didn’t know where to look anymore! Everything was so awkward.”

Tolya joined. “Were they curtsying the right way?”

Irina groaned. Tamar laughed. 

The twins loved teasing the princess about her royal status every time they were on Ravkan soil. And while Irina pretended she couldn’t stand their banter, she knew she wouldn’t last a day without it. 

“How long do you think she’ll be mad at him for?” Tolya wondered.

The three of them looked back at where the Sun Summoner ignored the prince, looking at everything except the blond next to him. The three of them rode at the front, followed a few feet away by Nikolai and Alina, the rear of the party finished by a brooding Mal and a silent Kovu. Alina was still ignoring Nikolai, and despite his best efforts, he couldn’t seem to get on her good side. 

“No one can stay mad at Nikolai for long, but she seems stubborn enough to try,” Irina commented. 

“You know what he’s planning, don’t you?” Tamar said as she looked ahead again, fixing her posture on her horse as she looked around, searching for anything dangerous that could find them on their route.

The princess nodded. “Yup.”

“And she’s not gonna like it.”

“Nope.”

Tamar groaned. “Did he tell you?”

Irina shrugged. “It wasn’t necessary. I always know what he’s thinking. I mean, when you grow up with him, it’s easy to read his mind. Heartrender or not,” she winked at her friend. 

“It reminds me of this poem by a Kerch author, about the bond between brothers–” Tolya started, but his sister interrupted him.

“Is he dead?”

Tolya stopped. “Yes?”

Tamar shrugged. “Then I don’t care. I only vibe with the living.”

“In which case, last time on Novyi Zem there was this street artist who…”

The three of them continued with their playful chatter as their party rode on, leaving behind Raevsky’s regiment and the Fold. The Spinning Wheel was already in sight, and Irina felt a shiver set permanently in her bones as she gazed at the fortified mountain. She had spent years sneaking up there with her brother, perfecting her techniques, helping him build the place from the ground just to create something that would somehow resemble her ways. It had been her personal sanctuary once, and it was now full of Grisha displaced by General Kirigan’s torment and greed. Irina wasn’t truly the patriot that her older brother was, she too felt the tug in her heart at the thought of all the families that had suffered at the mercy of a pointless war, and the generations of both Grisha and Otkazat’sya that had been divided by the envy of the few. Her own life had been a constant lie because of it. And she was about to face it all over again, no matter how much she had convinced herself that she wouldn’t ever have to.

Those thoughts lasted long enough to reach the Spinning Wheel. Irina was still frowning as she got off her horse but forced a relaxed grin as soon as her brother appeared next to her.

“Welcome to the Spinning Wheel. My inventions workshop. It’s become something of a refuge for Grisha,” Nikolai spoke, introducing the place to Alina. He made sure to wink at his sister at the last bit of information, which the Sun Summoner clearly caught.

“Is that why you care so much? Because of her?” Alina asked the prince.

He simply shrugged, suddenly not caring about boosting his ego further. He looked at his sister, who was looking at him with a knowing smile.

“She’s my family above all. And as I already told you, you do what you have to do to protect the people you love.”

Irina shook her head, yet warmth spread across her chest. Nikolai finding out about her being able to summon fire had been an accident, much in the same way she found out. They were both playing outside the Grand Palace borders, sneaking around their older brother, their nanny, and the two guards who followed the small party into the outer world, as the princess liked to call it. The storm found them sitting on top of a tree, and suddenly, Vasily and the rest of their chaperones were running towards the palace again, leaving the two lesser children to fend for themselves. Nikolai was gripping Irina’s hand tightly as they made their way down and followed the path they had taken out of the woods when lightning struck a nearby tree and cut it in half. The trunk was about to crush them when the girl raised her hands in a terrified scream, and the next thing she knew, a huge chunk of ash was dissolving into thin air. Nikolai, wide-eyed and drenched, only took his sister’s hand once again and ran with her back to the palace. Without saying a word they sneaked past the guards at the entrance and escorted her to her quarters, helping her dry off. He sat her near her chimney, and with a silent nod, they both agreed no one ever would know about it. When she woke up the next day, Baghra was sitting by the window in her room, looking at the poor unfortunate royal soul with a sad expression on her pale, aging face.

–·–

“We’ve received accounts of First Army units found massacred, here, here, and here,” Nikolai pointed at the map. The improvised war room stood on one of the balconies overlooking the main entrance, and his most trusted advisors –namely, his sister, Alina, and Mal–, looked down as his fingers traced the old ink on the yellowing parchment.

“Too far from the border to be Shu incursions,” Mal commented.

“Or Fjerdan.” Alina kept her hands close to her, her hands almost itching to touch the intricate patterns on the paper, suddenly missing her simple life as a cartographer, before the entire world fell down on her shoulders.

“There’s good evidence that these units were holding Grisha captive. Some reports say soldiers were mutilated. Some… cut in half.”

Alina sighed. “It’s Kirigan, isn’t it.” But she didn’t even have to ask to know the answer.

“We haven’t been able to find his base camp–”

Mal shook his head in disbelief. “There’s no way he survived the Fold.” 

“He survived it before,” Alina cut him off. “Besides, he’s the only one who can do the Cut. Baghra, yes, but this is him.”

Irina shuddered at the mention of her old teacher. The only Grisha who knew about her back at Os Alta. The only one who never treated her as a porcelain vase, but instead built her up to become strong and fierce in her abilities. With a frown, the princess realized she had missed the old hag. She could only pray the General had spared her.

“If he’s alive, it’s only a matter of time before word reaches him about your attempt in the Fold,” Nikolai voiced it carefully, but his statement stung Alina.

“‘Attempt,’” she repeated. 

“No disrespect meant.”

“No, you’re right. That’s what it was. An attempt,” she still sounded defeated. “You three saw my light. It was… strong and angry and dangerously off-kilter. I can try to master what I have, but I’m afraid it won’t be enough.”

“We need to find the third amplifier,” Mal finished for her.

“The firebird,” Irina spoke, surprise laced in her tongue. 

Nikolai stepped away from the table, turning around as if to follow his train of thought, his head orchestrating their next steps as they continued the meeting.

“The more we search for it, we are at the mercy of your protection in this country.”

Alina searched Irina’s eyes, desperate to get her point across. And Irina already knew what her brother was about to say.

“Well, until then, a proposal.” Nikolai turned around. Irina closed her eyes. “We can try to stop this country from falling apart and tell the Fjerdans to shove their bounty up their ass in the process.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Alina asked.

“I bring you under the wing of the Royal Family, our name becomes a shelter to you, and a banner under which we can enact change.”

Mal frowned. “Your name?”

Nikolai nodded. Irina shook her head.

“Wait,” Alina caught on. “This is a ‘proposal’ proposal. You’re suggesting marriage.”

Mal looked ready to throw himself off the balcony at that point, whereas Alina seemed she was going to be sick any second from then on.

“Alina, I’m not proposing a love match. Just a political alliance of Grisha and Otkazat’sya.”

“Well, that’s just what royal marriages are, aren’t they? Strategy,” Mal was looking everywhere but the future royal couple.

“Precisely. Maybe we never get to marriage. An engagement signals a strong commitment to cooperation and it will allow us to enact meaningful change for Grisha and Ravka,” Nikolai explained. 

“Don’t you have a Grisha sister, too?”

“Leave my sister out of this, Mal.”

Irina stepped forward. “Mal, I know Nikolai’s plan sounds crazy but it’s our safest bet. Nobody knows about me being a Summoner and the court will not take likely to the revelation. There’s never been a Grisha on the Ravkan throne and I certainly will never be the first one.”

“I’ve seen what you both mean to each other. I understand if you decline, but I hope you weigh the options and consider the benefits,” Nikolai nodded his head in silent farewell, and both royal siblings left the couple to talk it out.

On the way down, Nikolai grabbed her arm. “How long have you known?”

She frowned. “About the proposal? Since you saw her face on the posters.”

It was his turn to frown. “Not even I thought about that then. It was after she got on the ship.”

Irina smiled mischievously at her brother. “Guess I’m smarter than you now.”

He pinched her side, making her giggle.

“You should rest before tonight. Gotta be patient enough not to punch Vasily in the face.”

“How did you know I was thinking about doing that?”

Nikolai smirked. “Guess I’m still smarter than you’ll ever be.”

“You little piece of shit.”

Next chapter

[emma-m-black]

Soul Mate Magic - Chapter Fifteen

Rupert Giles x OC (FanFiction) - MATURE 18+

A new magical transfer comes to Sunnydale High, and ends up discovering a magical connection with our favorite Watcher.

OC is 19+ (Not a Minor), Age Gap, Slow Burn-ish (with a little preview thrown in there during the Bandy Candy Episode).

____

Author Master List

Read: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten, Chapter Eleven, Chapter Twelve, Chapter Thirteen, Chapter Fourteen,

When Rose awoke, something felt off. There was a hollowness in the air, an emptiness that settled deep in her bones, making every breath feel heavier than the last. Not that anything felt right these days. Ever since the counterspell, a strange, dull ache seemed to follow her like a shadow, gnawing at her constantly. The unsettling feeling of absence, of something missing, weighed on her chest, but she knew exactly what it was.

It was Giles. Or rather, the lack of him.

The moment the counterspell had taken effect, Giles had excused himself, leaving without a word. No explanations, no goodbyes. Just silence. He hadn’t returned that night, and the emptiness left in his wake had been unbearable. Willow had tried to soothe her, assuring Rose that he was home safe, but she also mentioned that Giles had asked for time alone, promising to see everyone at school.

But Rose hadn’t gone to school the next day. Or the day after that.

Her heart clenched painfully at the thought of him—the last kiss they had shared, the warmth of his hands on her skin, the way his lips had claimed hers in a whirlwind of desire and something deeper. Love, perhaps. Or at least, that’s what it had felt like. But now, all of it was just a memory, an echo of something that had been ripped away too soon. The magnetic pull between them, the force that once bound their magic together, was gone. Now, all that remained was the hollow ache of a love she had never truly owned.

It felt like she had lost the love of her life, even though she had never been allowed to fully have him.

Dragging herself out of bed, Rose moved through the motions of getting ready for her first day back at school. Each movement felt mechanical, her body on autopilot while her mind wrestled with the gaping void inside her. She felt haunted by the words Ethan had left her with…

“You’d have dismissed it as a fleeting crush. And Rupert, well, he would’ve remained the saintly, rule-abiding Watcher.”

A crush. That’s all it could be now. Just a fleeting crush. But deep down, she knew it was not that simple. Not after everything they’d been through. The last kiss they had shared—the way his lips had lingered on hers, the surge of their connection, like wildfire—would haunt her for the rest of her life, because that, that could not be just a spell. She knew that, even if she didn’t want to admit it. The idea that he could walk away from her, that it all might have been nothing more than a spell-driven illusion to him, made her chest ache with a profound sadness she couldn’t shake.

“Rose, you ready to go?” Buffy’s voice cut through the haze of her spiraling thoughts, jolting her back to the present. Rose was still brushing her hair, lost in the storm of her own mind.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” She turned to face Buffy, noticing the weariness etched into her friend’s features. “Buffy? Are you okay?”

Buffy looked tired, and something felt off, like the air around her was unsettled. “My dad blew me off.”

Rose set down her brush and reached for her bag. “Your dad was coming?”

Buffy shrugged. “Yeah, but it’s nothing. I’m still feeling off. I’m gonna check in with Giles once we get to school.”

At the mention of his name, Rose’s heart lurched painfully. Her hand froze mid-motion, gripping the strap of her bag as if it was the only thing tethering her to reality. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she had to force herself to exhale.

“But I should be the one asking if you’re okay,” Buffy said, stepping into the room with concern in her eyes. “You know we aren’t going to let anything happen to you, right?”

Rose adjusted her glasses and slung the bag over her shoulder, sighing heavily. “I’ve just been feeling... off too… but I won’t be checking in with Mr. Giles.” Her voice wavered, the ache inside her too raw to suppress.

Buffy raised a brow. “Well, then we’ll find Willow, because you’re under friend arrest. No being alone allowed.”

Rose let out a long, weary sigh, tipping her head back as she tried to gather herself. “I’m not going to run again. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Sorry, but that’s the Watcher’s orders: no being alone, especially with your creepy family lurking around. I swear, the ones who followed me on last night’s patrol were like shadows. Do any of them ever like need to pee?”

Rose forced a small, humorless smile. “Unsure.”

The ride to school blurred past in a haze of nerves and growing unease. Every emotion felt different now—sharper, and as they grew closer to their destination, Rose became more anxious. The fear of what might happen when she finally saw Giles again gnawed at her, twisting her stomach into knots. Would he look at her with indifference? Would he act like she was nothing now that the spell was broken? The very thought made her chest tighten with dread.

As they neared the school, her pulse quickened, every nerve on edge. Buffy and Joyce had insisted she return, thinking it was her family that kept her hiding away. But the truth was, Rose was terrified to see Giles again. She was scared of seeing the cold, empty look in his eyes—the look that would tell her the connection between them was truly gone. The look that would confirm she had meant nothing to him, after all, and that now she was alone in her feelings.

Pulling into the stall, Rose parked the car, and she and Buffy stepped out. As they approached the school, Xander greeted them.

“Happy birthday, Buffy!”

“Buffy! It’s your birthday?” Rose quickly questioned, suddenly feeling like a terrible friend. “Why didn’t you say anything? Oh, no, your dad—”

“It’s all good, Rose,” Buffy interrupted, adjusting her backpack. “My birthdays usually turn into world-ending disasters, so a quiet night in sounds just like what I need.” Rose could tell Buffy was trying to put on a brave face. “Xander, do you mind sticking with Rose? Giles wanted to see me before classes.”

And just like that, Buffy disappeared into the crowd, leaving Rose and Xander standing in awkward silence.

“So…” Rose began.

“So, first day back, huh?” Xander said as they started walking toward the school.

“Yeah. I still don’t think I’m ready to face the world, but here I am,” Rose whispered.

“Face the world, or face a certain librarian?” Xander asked with a raised eyebrow.

“That obvious, huh?”

Xander gave a shrug. “I mean, you did, you know, with the guy. If it makes you feel any better, I almost slept with a teacher once… She turned out to be a giant praying mantis.”

Rose stopped in her tracks and stared at him. “What?”

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned in Sunnydale, it’s that we’re all pretty good at pretending we remember nothing, so there aren’t any judgements from us,” Xander said, his smile lifting Rose’s spirits just a little. “Besides, with all the almost-apocalypses we have, something even more embarrassing is bound to come along.”

“Thanks, Xander. You’re a giant help,” Rose said, rolling her eyes, though the tension of being back at school broke slightly.

“It’s what I’m here for.”

Thankfully, the good mood stuck with Rose until lunch, when she watched Buffy get knocked down by a jock and saved by Cordelia.

“Buffy!” Rose shouted, rushing to help the blonde to her feet as Willow and Xander hurried over.

“We’re talking to Giles now,” Buffy ground out, dusting herself off.

So now Rose found herself in the one place she did not want to be sitting as far from Giles as possible as she listened to Buffy recount what happened. She had yet to look at the man since entering the library, quickly grabbing a book and retreating to the far stairs leading up to the shelves, where she pretended to immerse herself in its pages.

There were two things Rose gathered from the conversation: Buffy felt insecure about who she would be if she weren’t the Slayer, and Giles was hiding something. His tone was off—the way he spoke to her was different. And for a brief moment, the familiar tingle she normally felt near him sparked back to life, making her clench and unclench her fists to shake it off. Her eyes dared to glance at him, relieved to find he was focused on Buffy.

He looked tired. Defeated. Sad.

The sight made her heart lurch painfully, every fiber of her being wanting to go to him, but she kept herself firmly planted on the stairs, watching him. Then, as if sensing her gaze, Giles looked at her.

Her body erupted in a wave of heat, and the butterflies in her stomach took flight as they stared across the room at each other. It felt like hours, though only seconds passed, before he finally looked away.

Giles hadn’t looked at her like she was nothing—he had looked at her like he was scared, like he was a man on the stand, about to be judged.

“Allow me some time,” Giles said. “I may know someone who can help.”

After Giles had left, the gang worked quietly, flipping through a seemingly endless selection of books, hoping to find some answer for Buffy’s sudden loss of powers. But the hours passed without any breakthroughs and Rose could not shake the gnawing suspicion that their efforts were futile, that whatever was happening wasn’t something they’d find in any of these dusty pages. Deep down, she was certain Giles already knew the truth. The way he’d left them, as if fleeing from the weight of it, only reinforced her feeling.

Finally, Giles returned, pushing through the library doors, but he looked worse than before—more hollow, if that was possible. The faint hope in Buffy’s eyes ignited as she jumped up to meet him.

“Giles, did you find anything?” Buffy asked, her voice laced with worry.

He glanced away. “Uh, no. Not yet,” he replied, sounding almost… ashamed.

Lies, her mind whispered sharply. Rose’s chest tightened as his eyes flickered her way, catching hers for only a moment, and in that brief look, she saw the drowning pool of grief in his eyes. The sorrow radiated from him, sinking into her, and she knew he was carrying something far heavier than he’d let on.

“Perhaps you should all be getting home before it gets dark,” he said, his tone quiet but firm, and it felt like a dismissal tinged with guilt.

The others murmured in reluctant agreement, shutting their books and gathering their things. As they made their way to the door, Rose suddenly stopped, her heart hammering with a determination she had not quite expected. “Can you guys give me a minute? I’ll be right back,” she said, her voice steady.

Xander held the door open as the others left, casting her a curious look before he released it, leaving her alone with Giles.

Giles stood with his back to her, glasses dangling loosely from his fingertips, his other hand running through his hair. Rose could see the weight of whatever he was holding, pressing down on him, and her heart beat faster—not just from the nerves of confronting him, but from the unspoken tension that had simmered between them.

“Mr. Giles,” she spoke softly, her voice breaking the silence.

He stiffened at the sound of her voice, his shoulders tensing before he turned to face her. “Ms. Murphy?” he replied, his voice guarded.

Rose opened her mouth, then hesitated, her hastily prepared words slipping away. She took a slow breath, trying to find the right way to convey what she wanted—her faith in him, her understanding of his struggle. “Whatever is happening with Buffy,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper, “I think you already know what it is.”

Giles looked as though he was about to say something, but she raised a hand to stop him. “Whatever it is, that you aren’t telling Buffy. I’m sure you have your reasons, but you need to know that she trusts you. We all do.” She swallowed, feeling a rush of vulnerability, even as the words felt right. “If you’re honest with her, she’ll forgive you for whatever it is you are hiding, Rupert. You just need to trust her as much as she trusts you.”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, she saw past the walls he kept so firmly in place. His eyes held a glimmer of desperation, of sorrow, as though her words had reached something deep inside him. “Sometimes… it isn’t that easy, Rose,” he said, his voice barely a breath.

Rose sensed that he wasn’t just talking about Buffy—that there were shadows haunting him, unresolved fears he couldn’t face. She took a step forward, a new steadiness in her voice. “But it is that easy, Rupert. We are all care about you, and Buffy. Whatever it is, we will help you, help both of you. You just need to have the courage to tell us what is going on.”

Their eyes held for a long moment, and the air between them seemed to pulse with words unsaid, truths they couldn’t voice. Finally, she took a step back, the weight of the moment heavy in her chest as she turned and pushed open the door.

If she’d lingered just a second longer, she might have heard the low, bitter voice from the shadows, serious and cold.

“Wise words from someone so young,” it spoke.

“You leave her out of this,” came Giles’s sharp reply, brimming with an anger that was both protective and pained.

“Unfortunately,” the voice continued, tauntingly smooth, “your relations with the witch and her coven’s needs must also be addressed…”

Chapter Sixteen

[abdlgirl25]

Chapter One

I was crazy—I had to be. There was no other explanation for sitting in my car at the edge of the property, staring at the imposing Victorian estate as if it might swallow me whole. The manor was breathtaking, its grandeur demanding attention even from my sleep-deprived, caffeine-fueled haze. It looked more like a home for royalty than an institution. The massive three-story structure was built from cold gray stone that seemed both unyielding and timeless, the kind of place that bore witness to countless untold stories. It should have felt ominous, yet there was something oddly inviting about it, as though it held secrets it was ready to share with those brave enough to enter.

Wrought-iron windowpanes, blackened with age, framed each window, reflecting the faint morning light in fractured patterns. A spire jutted into the sky, its sharp silhouette slicing through the wispy clouds above. The vaulted roofline and sweeping arches were softened by cascades of wisteria that wrapped around the stone walkway, their purple blooms swaying gently in the breeze. In the distance, I caught a glimpse of a greenhouse with rose-tinted glass and a garden teeming with every imaginable shade of color. The sight was dreamlike, almost surreal—the kind of beauty that felt too perfect to be real.

I clutched the steering wheel, my fingers trembling. The address was smudged but still legible on the inside of my wrist, written hastily in black ink. I’d had no other way to remember it, and now, here I was, drawn by a mix of desperation and an inexplicable feeling that this place was meant for me. There was no sign at the gate, no confirmation that I was in the right place beyond the faint whisper of intuition. Yet something about this estate—its quiet elegance, its carefully manicured grounds—called to me in a way I couldn’t ignore.

For a moment, I let myself drift, replaying the series of events that had led me to this crossroad. Work had consumed my life for years, and I had prided myself on being someone who thrived under pressure. Long hours at the law firm, juggling impossible deadlines, and navigating office politics had become my normal. But lately, that normal was breaking me. I hadn’t slept through the night in months, my dreams—when they came—haunted by an endless litany of tasks left undone. Even my reflection in the mirror had become unrecognizable, dark circles etched beneath my eyes no concealer could hide.

“Seriously, girl, you look like shit,” Melanie’s voice echoed in my mind, her bluntness softened by concern. It had been one of those moments at work where time felt like quicksand. I’d been hovering over the copy machine, willing it to work faster. Callen needed the addendums printed five minutes ago, and the machine seemed to know it, spitting out pages at a glacial pace.

“I know,” I had muttered, not even glancing up. “I’m trying.”

Melanie leaned against the counter, her arms crossed. “What’s going on, Emery? We haven’t seen you in weeks.” She wasn’t talking about work. No, she meant outside of it—the pub nights, the late-night phone calls, the part of me that had once lived a life beyond the firm.

I had smiled, a tight, strained thing that barely reached my lips. “I’m good,” I lied. “Just busy, you know how it is.”

She’d grabbed my wrist then, stopping me mid-motion. “Ever think that maybe what you need is to slow down?”

Her words lingered long after I’d rushed away, papers in hand, my promise to catch up another time ringing hollow even to my ears. I had no time. Every hour of my day was consumed by work, and every ounce of energy was spent trying to keep my head above water. But that’s the thing about drowning: the more you struggle, the faster you sink.

Walking into Callen’s office, he snapped. “Did you use the copier on the fifteenth floor? For heaven’s sake.” He snatched the papers from my hands and returned to his desk, lost in the contents.

Rolling my eyes, I turned around and started to walk out when he said, “I’m going to need you to find me something I can use on the corporate case by morning.”

“Jensen Holdings? That’s scheduled to be in court at ten tomorrow morning.”

He looked at me as if I were spouting useless information.

“I know,” he said, sitting down at his desk. “That’s why I need you here tonight.”

“Callen, that’s nearly impossible. That’s thousands of documents.”

He looked at me briefly, waved his hand, and dismissed me.

“Shut the door on your way out.”

That was the start of it all—the fracture before the break. After pulling an all-nighter, drowning myself in an insane amount of coffee and vending machine food, I had delivered my findings to him by nine—just enough time for him to make it to the courthouse.

“Where the fuck were you?” Callen slammed the door shut. “I could have used this two hours ago.”

“I don’t understand.” My voice was level; I refused to let him frighten me.

“Judge Milweed moved the case to eight this morning. You should have had this to me by seven.” Before I could speak, he interrupted me. “I’m not sure you’re cut out for this, Miss Watson. You’re always behind in the work, never at your desk when I need you, and—are those the same clothes you wore yesterday?” He huffed. “We do have a dress code policy here. I will have to report this all to HR, but until then, you’re on administrative leave.”

The memory made my chest tighten, shame and anger twisting into a knot I couldn’t untangle. That night, I’d found myself at the pub, nursing a drink and trying to convince myself that everything would be fine. It was Melanie who had found me there, who had slid into the seat beside me and handed me a slip of paper with an address scribbled on it. “You need a break,” she’d said simply. “This place… it helped me when I thought I couldn’t go on. Just trust me.”

I hadn’t asked questions. I’d written the address on my wrist, more out of politeness than intention. Yet here I was, staring up at the estate, my heartbeat thudding in my ears.

With a deep breath, I started the car and drove through the iron gates, their intricate design curling like ivy. Parking at the base of the stone steps, I killed the engine and reached for my coffee cup, only to find it empty. Of course. Sighing, I grabbed my purse, the thud of my heels against the pavement echoing in the still morning air.

The doors were open, a soft breeze carrying the scent of lavender and vanilla. As I climbed the steps, I noticed a small metal plaque beside the entrance: Hensley’s Sanitarium & Rehabilitation Center. Below it, in elegant script, was a name: Dr. Mathias Hensley. The only indication I was in the right place.

Stepping through the threshold, I was greeted by an older woman at the front desk. She smiled warmly at me, beckoning me forward. It was a strange thing for me to see another welcoming face. The firm was filled with grouchy, straight-lipped assholes who only cared about themselves, so I was pleasantly surprised by the change.

“What can I do for you, dear?”

“Well…” I wasn’t sure how to ask. “I’d like to check in, but first, I was hoping you could tell me a little more about what you do here.” I couldn’t find much on the internet, and virtually no information about this place other than Melanie’s glowing recommendation. I was not entirely sure if this was more like a spa retreat or a medical institution; I already had mental reservations.

“You know what,” I started, “this was silly—never mind.”

“Nonsense, dear,” she stood up. “Checking in is simple. Look over these forms, hun, and when you’re ready, bring them back up, and we’ll get you that rest and recovery you so desperately need.”

She handed me a clipboard and a pen anchored to the board. “You poor thing. Just sit right there,” she pointed to a soft chair in the sitting room to her right, “and I’ll just let the doctor know you’re here.”

I ventured into the sitting room and sat in one of the large leather chairs. In front of me was an enormous bay window with a muted light. The early sun was filtered by thin white lace curtains and bordered by large navy-blue floor to ceiling drapes. Behind me was a massive bookcase spanning the entire length of the wall with an array of old and new books ranging from all topics. I wasn’t sure what I expected, old medical journals maybe, but there didn’t seem to be any. Instead, there were all sorts of topics: politics, gardening, nutritional cookbooks, leadership, and even a few architecture books mixed in.

In the center of the bookshelf was a doorway leading off to another part of the house but without craning my neck, it was impossible to snoop.

Glancing at the first form, it was a standard aches and aliments checklist asking about known conditions, sleep habits, eating habits, and sexual health. I felt a dread as I began answering the questions truthfully, afraid that I might be judged on how poor I’d taken care of myself. The next two focused simply on stress, anxiety, and depression that rated severity by questions. My pen hovered over the possible responses—part of me didn’t want to admit I was stressed or needed help, but I circled them anyway.

My heartbeat sped up and I felt the growing tightness in my chest.

“Here you go, dear. A little something to freshen you up.” She handed me a glass of water. I took a sip, thankful to get a break from the forms. I detected something fruity and flavorful.

“This is delicious,” I mused, “what is it infused with?”

“Cucumbers, strawberries, and mint.” She beamed a happy smile toward me. “Grown in our own garden. I’m glad you like it.”

“I do, thank you.”

“Do you have any questions on the paperwork so far?”

“Umm…” I was a little embarrassed. “I’m still working on them actually.”

“Take your time, dear. The doctor will see you when you’re finished.”

I finished the assessment and moved to the last page. Years of paralegal work had taught me to read through everything before signing but the consent form was very lengthy. I filled in my name consenting to voluntary admission to Hensley’s Sanitarium & Rehabilitation Center and entered today’s date. Under the consent and authorization section, I read the paragraph which mentioned that I would be under the inpatient care of the licensed physician, Dr. Mathias Hensley for a one-week period where care is to be reevaluated by the provider at the end of seven calendar days. The patient has the right to leave after the initial period is complete unless the doctor extends the care an additional seven days for failure to complete treatments.

By signing, I was authorizing Dr. Hensley to provide treatment that included medication to be administered orally, intravenously, or rectally—to be determined by the medical care professional.

Cringing on the last part, I willed myself to keep reading when a scream broke my concentration. I looked up, hearing a commotion coming from upstairs. There was a pounding of footsteps and then a loud bang as a door slammed shut.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I wasn’t crazy—just exhausted and in need of some rest.

Shaking my head, I looked back at the form; I came here for a reason. Picking up where I left off, the next paragraph explained that some unusual or unorthodox methods may be used if deemed necessary and that the safety and wellbeing of the patient would never be jeopardized. I underlined that section making a mental note to ask the secretary to elaborate on unorthodox. I kept reading… authorization to use restraints, cryotherapy, hydrotherapy, intense psychotherapies, and other means necessary. There was that vague writing again.

I took a sip of the water with a shaky hand.

My pulse started to race uncontrollably. My palms were sticky with sweat. I was finding it difficult to focus on the form when another scream echoed through the house.

Nope, that was it.

I decided right then and there that I would make do without this. I’d figure it out on my own.

Just then two orderlies clad in white uniforms and black tennis shoes rushed past me and up the stairs.

I didn’t belong in a nuthouse. As quickly as I could, I gathered up the papers and shoved them back on the clipboard, dropping my purse in the process. Eager to get out of there, I swooped down, grabbed the scattered contents on the floor, and went to stand but the room spun. Fumbling back, I knocked the glass of water off the table. It struck the ground with a clank and shattered into a few dozen pieces.

Oh no. I didn’t mean to, but my heart kept pounding, faster and faster. All I could hear was the sound of drums beating in my ears. My body grew unusually warm.

The secretary rushed toward me, beckoning me to take a seat behind me but I didn’t want to. I wanted to leave. I tried grabbing my purse again, but I began to hyperventilate; my vision blurred, and I stumbled on weak legs.

“Just breathe. It’s okay. Deep breath in,” she coaxed.

I could barely make out her words and she ushered me into the chair with more force than I thought the small frail woman was capable of.

I didn’t understand what was happening to me. I couldn’t catch my breath, as if those wrought iron gates outside were locking me in. Everything felt tingly and my hands grew numb. The pounding in my ears grew louder and louder until they too were faint. The room around me was growing dark, my vision blurring even more until all I saw was nothing.

Chapter TWO

I woke with a killer headache, my skull throbbing as though a drumbeat had taken up residence in my brain. I tried to sit up, only to feel a steady, warm hand on my shoulder gently pressing me back down.

“Easy. Try not to move yet,” a calm, firm voice instructed, the kind of voice that made you instinctively listen.

Blinking, I willed my vision to clear. Slowly, the world came into focus, and I found myself staring into a pair of piercing blue eyes—the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. They were bright and clear, contrasting with the man’s strong, angular features. His auburn hair was perfectly tousled, managing to look both artfully messy and deliberately neat. He had a sharp jawline and was clean-shaven, giving him an air of professional precision. His crisp, white doctor’s coat hung neatly over a light blue button-down shirt and khaki slacks. He looked young, too young to be the lead physician of this place—thirty-two at most, making him only a handful of years older than me.

“Where am I? Who are you?” My voice was hoarse as I looked around, trying to get my bearings. The room I was in was unlike any medical office I’d seen. It had the feel of a study or a personal library. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls on either side of the solid oak double doors. The farthest wall was dominated by three massive windows, their thin curtains drawn just enough to let in muted light. Beneath them was a large wooden desk, its surface tidy except for a leather journal, a small stack of papers, and a few books. Curiously, there was no computer in sight, adding to the room’s old-world charm.

As I surveyed the room, the man walked to the windows and drew the curtains fully back. Sunlight spilled into the space, illuminating the rich tones of the wood and the muted patterns of the upholstered chairs. The sudden brightness sent a fresh wave of pain through my skull, and I winced, closing my eyes against the intrusion.

“I’m Dr. Hensley, and you’re in my office,” he explained, his voice calm and even. “Mrs. Knolty alerted me when you fainted. I brought you in here for privacy and observation.”

I glanced down at myself, doing a quick assessment. Other than the pounding headache, I felt fine… until I noticed the intravenous line taped to my left arm.

“It’s just saline,” Dr. Hensley said, anticipating my question. “You were severely dehydrated.”

My instinct was to reach over and pull it out, but he crossed the room in a few long strides and caught my wrist before I could. His touch was firm yet surprisingly gentle, his hand warm against my skin.

“Leave it. You need the fluids,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. His gaze flicked to my wrist, and he noticed the faint ink marks there. “Do you always write on yourself?” The question, tinged with mild reproach, made me feel small, as though he were scolding a child.

Pulling my hand free, I muttered defensively, “It’s an old habit.” But I didn’t want to lose sight of my original intent. “I’m actually feeling better now. Sorry to take up your time; I’ll be on my way.”

“You’re not a very good liar, Miss Watson,” he replied smoothly. Before I could protest further, I swung my feet around to the side of the table, only for the room to tilt violently. I grabbed the edges of the table to steady myself, my breath hitching.

Without a word, Dr. Hensley moved to my side. He gently placed his hands on my ankles and maneuvered my legs back onto the table. His touch was clinical yet soothing, and the simple act felt oddly grounding.

“The light sensitivity, nausea, headache, and dizziness are all symptoms of the panic attack you experienced earlier,” he explained. “It will take some time to dissipate. Until then, you’re in no condition to drive. Releasing you now would be a disservice to you, my profession, and this community.”

“Discharge me? But I didn’t sign the forms,” I protested weakly.

“I’m well aware,” he said, leaning casually against the edge of his desk. He picked up the clipboard containing the paperwork I’d partially filled out earlier. “Have you ever experienced a panic attack before?” he asked, pen in hand, poised to make notes in the margins.

I shook my head, still too disoriented to find my voice. His gaze softened as he studied me, and I felt a flicker of vulnerability under the weight of his piercing eyes. There was something undeniably authoritative about him, but not in a way that felt overbearing. It was as though he commanded respect effortlessly.

“Panic attacks can happen unexpectedly, often when we feel overwhelmed or out of control,” he said, his voice gentler now. “It’s a primal fight-or-flight response.”

Recalling my college psychology class, I added quietly, “I’m familiar with the concept.”

“Then you understand why your attempt to rush out of the lobby triggered hyperventilation. The shallow breaths caused a lack of oxygen to your brain, leading to your loss of consciousness,” he explained. “Considering the stress and anxiety reflected in your assessments, it’s not surprising.”

“I’m stressed, but it’s nothing I can’t handle,” I said, a defensive edge creeping into my tone.

He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “I disagree. When stress and anxiety go untreated for long periods, the body begins to react in unpredictable ways. My job is to help you identify those triggers and reconnect your mind and body. I use a range of intense, but safe methodologies designed to reduce stress and restore balance.”

“Intense?” I repeated, arching a brow. “What do you mean?”

“I’m glad you asked,” he said, a faint smile curving his lips. “Every treatment plan is tailored to the individual. For some, it involves cellular detox, nutrient-rich diets, thermal therapies, or even psychological exercises. For others, it might include techniques that stimulate the body’s natural healing processes, such as orgasms to release endorphins and promote relaxation.”

“Orgasms?” I repeated, startled by his candor.

“Yes,” he said without missing a beat. “Orgasms have proven benefits, including stress relief and improved sleep. Some methods might feel uncomfortable or unconventional, but they are never harmful.”

I nodded slowly, absorbing his words. “And I can leave when I want?”

“Your stay here is voluntary for now. As soon as you’re fit to drive, you’re free to go. But I encourage you to give this a chance. Admitting you need help is the hardest part. You’ve already taken that step, and it’s a courageous one.”

I didn’t know how to respond, so I simply nodded again.

“If you choose to stay, the initial period is seven days,” he continued. “Leaving prematurely can disrupt treatments and have adverse effects. The full week allows us to make meaningful progress toward your recovery.”

“That sounds fine, but… I’m not sure this place is for me,” I admitted hesitantly.

“You’ve made it this far, Miss Watson. What’s holding you back now?”

I avoided his gaze, my uncertainty growing. The truth was, I didn’t have an answer.

“Ah,” he mused, his tone thoughtful, “I think I understand now. You heard one of the residents earlier. I’m sure your mind is coming up with a thousand and one scenarios about why she was screaming, all of them casting this place in a poor light, I assume, given your reaction. I will say, the screams you heard earlier were not of pain or resistance, but of pleasure. No one was being hurt, I can assure you.”

Pleasure? The word hit me like a jolt. My cheeks flushed as the implications unfolded in my mind, and I was suddenly hyper-aware of my surroundings. I wanted to question him, to demand clarification, but his calm and confident demeanor left little room for doubt. My thoughts strayed to his earlier mention of orgasms. Replaying the sounds in my mind, I supposed… they could have been the result of an orgasm. The realization made my pulse quicken, though whether from embarrassment or curiosity, I couldn’t say.

Dr. Hensley seemed unfazed by my internal turmoil, his expression remaining steady. “I hope this has soothed some of your concerns,” he continued. “As I mentioned, your admittance is voluntary. If you choose to stay, if you want to be healthier, to be stress-free, and to find balance, then sign on the bottom line.” He placed the clipboard beside me on the table, the pen balanced neatly on top as if to emphasize the simplicity of the decision.

“If you still wish to leave,” he added, his voice softening, “I only ask that you wait until the bag of fluids is completed and you no longer exhibit symptoms that might impair your driving.”

The steady throb in my head persisted, but his explanations had dispelled many of the fears that had gripped me earlier. I realized how much my imagination, fed by years of horror movies and skewed perceptions, had distorted the idea of a sanitarium. Instead of a cold, foreboding institution, this place felt… different. It was elegant, warm, and oddly reassuring. Dr. Hensley himself embodied that contrast, his presence both authoritative and approachable.

One week felt like a long time, though. A small voice in my head whispered doubts, reminding me of the administrative leave forced upon me after Callen’s cutting remarks. I’d planned to spend those two weeks hiding at home, nursing my wounded pride and pretending I wasn’t unraveling. Melanie had disrupted that plan when she suggested this place. Still, this couldn’t be much different from isolating myself at home, right? If anything, it might be better.

He made it sound so simple. Just sign and let him help me. As though fixing everything could be as straightforward as putting my name on a piece of paper. But the weight of that pen, resting so innocuously on the clipboard, felt immense. I hesitated, my mind racing with second thoughts.

Dr. Hensley’s gaze didn’t waver. His blue eyes seemed to pierce through my defenses, as if he could see the doubts tumbling through my mind. “It won’t be an easy journey,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring, “but it will be worth the reward.”

I swallowed hard. Those words carried a weight that settled deep in my chest. This wasn’t just about recovery or relaxation—it was about facing everything I’d been avoiding, confronting the cracks I’d tried so desperately to ignore. The path ahead wasn’t clear, but something in his tone made me believe it might be worth it.

With trembling hands, I reached for the pen. The smooth barrel felt cool against my fingers as I stared at the blank line awaiting my signature. My chest tightened with the gravity of the choice before me, but I knew I couldn’t let myself overthink it. Before I could second-guess myself, I scrawled my name across the page and added my initials where required.

The moment the pen left the paper, a strange sense of finality washed over me. I had done it. Whatever came next, there was no turning back now.

Chapter THREE

Dr. Hensley took the forms from me, his sharp blue eyes scanning them with meticulous focus before setting them neatly on his desk. “The next step is to get you changed while I evaluate your assessments and then proceed with a physical exam. Normally, this is done in our intake room, but I don’t want you moving just yet—not in your condition. I’m going to grab a nurse and get you a gown.”

He didn’t waste any time. There was an efficiency to his movements, but no urgency that felt rushed or chaotic. Everything he did exuded calm control. He disappeared through the double doors and returned a few minutes later with a light pink gown, a pair of soft, non-slip socks, and a warm blanket folded over his arm. His footsteps were steady as he approached, the quiet confidence in his demeanor making the sterile environment feel a little less intimidating. Before coming closer, he pressed a button on the wall near the doors. A small red light blinked to life above the doorway.

“That should ensure some privacy,” he said, his tone reassuring. Pulling a screen divider across the space between his desk and the table where I lay, he set the items on a chair beside me. “Let’s try sitting up first. If you feel dizzy or faint, let me know.”

He extended his hand, and I took it, welcoming the warmth of his touch. My hands were icy from the cool saline drip, and his steady grip grounded me. As if anticipating my discomfort, he reached over to the now-empty IV bag, clamped the line, and gently detached it from the port in my arm before capping the end.

“As much as I’d prefer starting another bag, that can wait a little while longer,” he said, his voice softening as he studied my reaction.

I managed to sit up without the room spinning, though the relentless pounding in my head made me wince. “I really am okay,” I tried to assure him, but the raised eyebrow he shot me said otherwise. His expression carried an air of quiet authority that reminded me I wasn’t as convincing as I hoped.

Dr. Hensley helped me down from the table, his firm grip steadying me as my feet touched the cold floor. Only when he was sure I could stand on my own did he let go, the sudden absence of his warmth making me acutely aware of how depleted I felt.

“Do you always see patients in your office?” I asked, trying to distract myself from the lingering ache in my limbs.

“Only the ones who need careful observation,” he replied with a faint smile. “Your treatments won’t always be in here, but given the events of this morning, I think this is best. It gives me a chance to keep an eye on you.”

That smile—subtle and fleeting—somehow made me feel safer. It wasn’t the clinical precision of his actions or the wealth of knowledge he clearly possessed that put me at ease. It was that small, human gesture, as though he understood just how fragile I felt without me needing to say a word.

Pulling me from my thoughts, he instructed, “Take your time getting changed. You can place your clothes in here,” he gestured to a wire basket beside the table, “Jewelry too,” he added. “Don’t rush, and if you need help, I’m just on the other side of this curtain.”

I waited until I heard the creak of his chair as he sat down at his desk before I began. My fingers fumbled with the button of my jeans, my body feeling weaker than I expected. As I shimmied out of them, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror across the room. My reflection startled me. The curves I used to have were gone, replaced by sharp angles and protruding bones. My collarbone seemed more prominent than ever, and the hollowness around my hips made me feel strangely exposed. Maybe that was why I had chosen the oversized hoodie this morning—to hide the frailty I hadn’t wanted to face.

Pulling the sweatshirt over my head proved more difficult than I anticipated. I moved cautiously, mindful of the IV port, but even the simple act left me breathless. I sat back down in just my t-shirt and panties, trying to gather my strength.

“Are you doing alright?” Dr. Hensley’s voice cut through the silence. A drawer shut, and I heard his footsteps approaching.

“Yes, just taking a break for a moment,” I admitted, my voice quieter than I intended.

He stepped around the curtain, his eyes meeting mine instantly. He didn’t glance away, didn’t scan my body, but somehow he seemed to take in everything he needed to know. Bending down, he picked up my jeans from the floor and folded them neatly before reaching for my hoodie.

“You don’t have to—” I started, but he silenced me with a firm hand on my shoulder, gently pushing me back into the chair.

“Sit,” he said firmly. “It’s no bother at all.”

He folded the hoodie with the same precision and placed it in the basket beside my jeans. His gaze returned to me, this time softer, but still expectant. “What did you have for breakfast?”

I hesitated, not wanting to admit the truth. His raised brow told me he already knew. “The venti coffee in your car is not an appropriate substitute,” he said, his tone carrying just enough reprimand to make me squirm. “While you’re here, you will be eating a minimum of four to five nutritional meals a day. No exceptions.”

My eyes widened in surprise. “How did you…”

“When you fainted, I asked one of the orderlies to check your car for medications. All he found was the coffee cup.”

I hadn’t realized until then that my purse was missing. My gaze darted around the room, searching for it, but Dr. Hensley gently grasped my chin, tilting my head so I had no choice but to look at him.

“Mrs. Knolty brought me your purse and cell phone. Everything is accounted for. Now, take a deep breath.”

I obeyed, inhaling slowly and exhaling just as he had instructed. His hand moved to my elbow, guiding me to my feet with a steadiness I couldn’t muster on my own. He unfolded the gown with one hand, his movements fluid and practiced.

“I’m steady,” I insisted, though my voice lacked conviction. “I can do it.”

He didn’t respond, his calm authority leaving no room for argument. He turned me gently so I faced away from him, maintaining contact as he unhooked my bra with practiced ease. The cool air against my skin made me shiver, but his professionalism kept the moment from feeling invasive.

Guiding my arms into the sleeves, he fastened the ties at the back, his fingertips brushing against my shoulders as he moved my hair to the side.

When I turned around, he had already folded the rest of my clothes and placed them neatly in the basket. “Panties too,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind.

I hesitated, but the look in his eyes left no room for protest. Leaning down, I shimmied out of them, using his arm for balance. Handing them to him, I felt a strange mix of vulnerability and relief when he simply nodded and placed them in the basket without comment.

“Now, back on the table, Miss Watson,” he instructed, stepping behind the curtain briefly before returning with his stethoscope and a thick cream-colored folder.

“I’ll be writing down notes and stats during the exam,” he explained as he set the folder down. “Not everything I write signifies something is wrong; these are just observations for my review later. There’s no need to worry.”

I nodded, my attention briefly drawn to the file. My assessment and consent form had already been hole-punched and neatly added to it. Before I could read too much, I felt the squeeze of a blood pressure cuff around my arm. Dr. Hensley adjusted it with precision, gently placing my arm down to ensure an accurate reading before clipping an oxygen sensor onto my finger.

“You left the section of current prescriptions blank,” Dr. Hensley stated, his tone as calm and measured as ever. “Are you taking anything… vitamins or dietary supplements?”

I shook my head, feeling a pang of guilt. “I used to take vitamins regularly, but it’s been a few months. With this new work schedule, I’m hardly ever home, let alone remember to take them.”

“Ah, I see. And, no birth control?”

The blood pressure monitor beeped, breaking the momentary silence. He jotted down the numbers, removing the cuff from my arm and slipping the oxygen sensor off my finger.

“No, nothing,” I replied, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze.

He studied me with a hint of curiosity before asking, “Is that a personal choice, or due to medical or religious affiliation?”

I wasn’t about to admit that it had been nearly three years since I’d had sex and hadn’t seen a reason for birth control. Instead, I answered simply, “Personal.”

He didn’t press further, his expression neutral as he observed me. Reaching for my wrist, he placed two fingers against my vein, his eyes on his wristwatch as he silently calculated my heart rate. The simplicity of the action struck me—no machines, just an old-fashioned method that somehow felt more intimate.

“Are you feeling anxious?” he asked, releasing my wrist and sitting back slightly.

I shook my head. “Like I said, I feel fine.”

Dr. Hensley leaned forward, unbuttoning the top few snaps of the gown. He retrieved his stethoscope and placed the cold metal against my chest, making me flinch slightly.

“Sorry,” he murmured. When he finished listening to my heart, he looked up and explained, “Your heart rate is fast. Your body has acclimated to high stress, high anxiety, and now believes this is the new normal. It’s not a lifestyle we encourage, but our intention is to get you back to a healthier baseline by the end of your stay.”

He moved the stethoscope to my back, instructing me to take deep breaths. Afterward, he checked my ears, nose, throat, and pupil response. When he flashed the small penlight into my eyes, I instinctively turned my head away, the brightness making me wince.

He jotted a note in the margins of my file, his pen moving swiftly across the paper. I craned my neck, trying to see what he was writing, but was interrupted when he tapped my knees with a small rubber hammer, testing my reflexes.

“Reflexes are normal,” he said with a small nod. “I’d like to grab a quick height and weight if you feel steady enough.”

I nodded, and he held out a hand to help me off the table. My feet touched the cold floor, and I steadied myself, his hand never leaving mine as we walked across the room. His attentiveness felt protective rather than patronizing, a detail I couldn’t ignore.

He motioned for me to stand tall against the wall, my heels pressed against the baseboard. After noting my height, he gestured for me to step onto the scale. The number staring back at me was disheartening. I’d lost sixteen pounds, likely from skipping meals and overworking myself. My throat tightened with embarrassment, and I avoided looking at him as I stepped away.

Walking back to the table, I felt his presence close behind. My shame swirled in the air between us, but when I finally glanced at him, his expression was gentle, devoid of judgment.

“Go ahead and lie down,” he instructed. He guided my legs onto the table, swiveling me into position with the same care as before. His hands were firm but gentle as he palpated my stomach, pressing carefully across my abdomen.

“Let me know if any of this is tender or painful,” he said. His hands hovered over certain areas, and I winced when he pressed lower. He paused, writing another note in the margins before continuing.

“Tell me about your diet habits,” he prompted.

I sighed, feeling exposed in more ways than one. “I’ve not been the greatest,” I admitted. “I don’t always remember to eat, and when I do, healthier options take more time than I can afford.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I can see that,” he said, his tone compassionate. “There’s no judgment here. I only wish you’d come sooner. You have a few blockages in your intestines that will be uncomfortable to remove, to say the least.”

My frown deepened as he continued. “As I mentioned earlier, you will eat a minimum of four nutritional meals a day. Processed sugars, simple carbs, and caffeine will be eliminated from your diet. We take a fast and hard approach—ripping off the Band-Aid, so to speak.”

“No caffeine? That’s barbaric,” I muttered, a shiver of dread running through me. “I can’t just cut cold turkey. I can’t function without my morning coffee.”

“You can,” he countered, his voice firm yet reassuring. “I promise you, but you won’t be alone. I’ll be here to help every step of the way. It will be difficult, but your body will thank you later. Caffeine is a drug—legal and normalized, but a drug nonetheless. It exacerbates anxiety and panic attacks, which I hope you understand.”

I slumped against the table, pouting slightly as his words sank in. Seven days. I could survive that long, right? But doubt crept in, the realization hitting me like a freight train. I’d signed away my ability to make decisions. My cell phone was gone, the one lifeline I’d relied on for months stripped from me. For the first time, I felt trapped.

A knock at the door interrupted my spiraling thoughts. A nurse entered carrying a small metal tray, the top covered with a cloth. She set it down on a stand near the table as Dr. Hensley pulled stirrups out from beneath the table and positioned them at my feet.

“Thank you, Mary,” he said warmly, his smile genuine. A pang of longing flickered through me. I wanted him to smile at me like that, but all I’d received so far were fleeting grins and professional detachment.

“Anything else, doctor?” Mary asked, her tone brisk.

Dr. Hensley lifted the cloth, inspecting the tray’s contents. “No, this will do. If you could see to Miss Watson’s room, I’d appreciate it. We won’t be much longer here.”

The nurse nodded and exited, and my eyes followed her until the door clicked shut. The sound of latex snapping against Dr. Hensley’s wrist drew my attention back to him. He had donned gloves, his expression focused as he prepared for the next part of the exam.

“Slide down for me a little,” he instructed. I complied, feeling the edge of the table against my thighs. “That’s perfect.”

He placed my legs in the stirrups and fastened straps around my ankles and thighs. “This is just a precaution,” he said, his tone soothing as he draped the blanket over me, creating a tent-like barrier.

The scent of disinfectant filled the air as he wiped a cool solution over my sensitive skin. I flinched at the temperature, instinctively trying to pull away, but the straps held me in place. “I’m just going to let that dry for a moment,” he explained, removing his gloves.

“When is the last time you had a breast exam?” he asked, his eyes steady on mine.

I shook my head, unable to recall. Watching me closely, he moved closer. “May I?” he asked, his hand hovering near the gown.

I nodded, appreciating the gesture despite knowing he didn’t technically need my consent. His hand slipped under the gown, his touch methodical as he examined my left breast. His movements were professional, but as his thumb grazed my nipple, my breath hitched. Our eyes met, and a flicker of awareness passed between us.

“Are you always this sensitive?” he asked softly.

His touch lingered around my areola, grazing the edge of my nipple on purpose. I closed my eyes while he continued to search for lumps when all of a sudden, he pinched my nipple hard, and my eyes shot open.

“I asked you a question,” he toyed, “are you normally so sensitive?”

I stumbled to find the right words. “I don’t know.” I shook my head. “I haven’t been touched in a long time.”

“I see.” He noted that on my chart and continued to repeat the pattern with my right breast—massaging, lifting, and then tugging on my nipple. My hips raised a little off the table. Something deep within me had awaken and out of nowhere, I was craving to be satisfied on a deeper level.

Opening my eyes when his touch disappeared, I watched him return to my spread legs, his eyes on me when he grabbed a stool. “I know these things can be uncomfortable, but I’ll try to be as gentle as I can.” He pulled on a new pair of gloves and sat between my legs, rolling the cart closer to him. I heard the clank of something metal but couldn’t see anything.

“Take a deep breath in and let it go.”

Out of nowhere I felt something cold and foreign entering my tight bum on the exhale but by the time I clenched, it was too late. It was already inside me.

“Just relax, I’m just getting your temperature.”

I tried to sit up on my elbows. “You couldn’t have used that thermometer?” I pointed to the one next to the blood pressure machine.

He smiled. “I find this method to be more accurate, and it does wonders to keep my patients guessing—reminds them of who is in charge.” A cheeky grin formed on his lips, and I realized, that behind the stoic professionalism was a sadist.

“I don’t need a reminder.” I confessed. “You’re not the one with their legs spread wide.”

He smiled, “Miss Emery, I’ve known you all of two hours now and I can tell you with all honesty, your biggest issue is going to be letting go of your control. You’re going to have to learn to let someone else take care of you, because quite frankly, you don’t seem capable.” He removed the thermometer and jotted down the temperature. “One-hundred and two. I suspected as much.”

Now I was annoyed. “I didn’t come here to be chastised.”

“No, you came here to let me help you feel better.” His voice was stern. “Alright, the next step is a urine sample.”

Again, I tried to pull on the restraints, but forgot that I couldn’t move my legs.

“Not so fast, he rested a hand on my thigh. “You won’t need to move. I’m going to use a catheter to avoid contaminating the sample. Just lay back and try to focus on your breathing.”

My cheeks turned bright red. “Is that really necessary?”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Yes, Miss Watson, it is. I’ll be quick, I promise, and with the amount of fluids you’ve had already, I know you have to go.”

I did. Badly, but I hadn’t found the right moment to ask to go to the restroom. I was pulled out of my thoughts when his fingers spread my labia and something cold swiped across the distance from my clit to my rose bud. And then again with another swipe. It wasn’t stingy like the alcohol swabs, but it has the same antiseptic smell. I winkled my nose.

“Just try to relax and don’t hold it in. When the urge hits, just let go. I promise you’re not going to make a mess.”

I tried to but there was a burning sensation and then a pinch. My hips rose off the table, stopped by the straps.

“You’re almost there, nearly done now.” He encouraged.

There was another sharp pinch. “Ow.” And then I lost control as if I was wetting myself but I couldn’t stop it.

“It’s a perfectly normal sensation,” Dr. Hensley said, “I’m inflating the balloon now to keep it in place, but you did good.” A few seconds went by. “Even with the fluids, your urine is still darker than I’d like. We’ll start another bag to help rehydrate you after I’m finished with your exam.”

I felt his gloved finger enter my sex and then another as he checked the wall of my vagina in a circular motion, spreading the cold lube.

Just then I felt something cold and hard at the entrance of my sex. “Deep breath and breathe out.” He was slow and gentle like he said he would be and other than the cold metal, there was no discomfort.

The speculum clicked once and then again, spreading me open. “You’re doing great, nearly finished here.” I wanted nothing more than to sink into the emptiness of my mind at the moment. I felt the familiar pinch of the swab on my cervix but it was nothing to the burning sensation of the catheter. A second later, the speculum retracked and he gently removed it.

Breathing normally, I relaxed until I felt a gloved finger enter my bum uninvited.

“Relax. I’m only checking to make sure there are no tears in the tissue. And besides, I think you’ve deserved a treat.” With one finger in my ass, he slipped two more into my vagina, instantly finding my g-spot.

Everything came alive, a whirlwind of sensations burst through to the forefront of my mind as his touch created a circular pattern and sparking a rhythm of intoxicating motions from within. I forgot every embarrassing moment leading up to this, poof—gone.

Closing my eyes, I focused on only the sensation. It was building. And then, his thumb rolled over my clitoris, and I practically melted. My hips raised off the table, and the muscles in my stomach clenched.

His slow, steady repetitious motions were throttling every nerve ending in my body—the fuel to the fire—igniting a flame from within. A moan escaped my lips as he pressed against my g-spot and clit at the same time, and I came loudly.

My body rocked with the flood of endorphins and chemicals. My breathing was labored and instead of the chill I had earlier, my entire body was washed over in a wave of warmth.

When my hips returned to the table, and my body relaxed, he gently pulled his hands free, removed the catheter, and cleaned me with a warm washcloth. In any other moment I probably would have been embarrassed he was cleaning me up after such a powerful orgasm, but I didn’t have an ounce of care in the world.

With a soft touch, he unfastened the buckles on the leather straps and lowered my legs back to the table. I was so high from the orgasm that I hadn’t even noticed he was beside me until I felt him touching my arm. With my curiosity piqued, I watched as he withdrew four vials of blood A second later, he was reattaching another bag of fluids to the port in my arm.

I felt a flood of warmth, not unlike the aftermath of the orgasm, but this time my body felt heavy. I looked over as he pulled a small syringe out of the IV.

“It’s a mild sedative; a little something to help quiet your mind. Get some rest, little one.”

Like, follow, and comment for more or if you're impatient like me, read the entire novel on Kindle Unlimited for free now. This is book 1 of 3 focusing on medical fetish/ abdl elements.

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[antigone-ks]

Lantern of Evil, Chapter Five

MARVEL MASTERLIST

CHAPTER FOUR

Chapter Five - The Autumn Days Swung Soft

Pale September, I wore the time like a dress that year/ The autumn days swung soft around me, like cotton on my skin

____________________

“I’ve passed this a hundred times and didn’t notice it,” Grant says.

“You didn’t notice pedestrians on the Mid-Hudson Bridge?”

“I noticed them; I just didn’t realize it was a whole thing.” The whole thing was a 4-and-a-half-mile loop that went from the waterfront over the bridge to the state park, then up to the Walkway Over the Hudson, through town, and back again.

Classes had started again, which meant the museum was filled with freshman art history students who hadn’t lost interest yet. “Give it a couple more weeks,” you’d assured Grant, “and we’ll have it pretty much to ourselves again.”

In the meantime, though, you’d agreed to find alternate ways to get you out of the house and Grant out of the office. This week was supposed to have unseasonably cool temperatures (meaning it shouldn’t get above 80), so you were taking the opportunity to enjoy it. Grant had apparently endless time that he could take off work, and had offered to join you.

You’d teased him about that, about his secret-agent job, or his fake witness-protection job, that let him just wander off in the middle of the day. He’d chuckled along and said that whenever the current project’s issues were solved, he’d lose most of his free time, so he was making the most of it now.

“How long have you lived up here?” you ask, fiddling with the camera on your phone. “Cheese!”

Grant smiles obligingly, his back to the railing. “Uhh . . .” he looks sheepish. “2015, more or less. I was away for a bit, but yeah. A few years.”

“Not a fan of the outdoors, then?” He’s joked about his asthma, but promised it was fine when you suggested this walk. “Allergies?”

“Strangely enough, not a single allergy,” he says. “I just, I grew up in the city, and there weren’t a lot of parks in that part of Brooklyn when I was a kid. Plus, I was always kinda . . .” he gestures to himself, a sweeping motion that takes in the entirety of his small frame. “My mother worried about me, running the streets, getting in fights.”

“Getting in fights?” you hoot. Grant is sublimely even-tempered, as far as you’ve seen. He barely even grouses at traffic, which shouldn’t even count as temperamental in your book. “I can’t at all picture you starting fights, and I’ve got a really good imagination.”

“I never started them!” he says, offended. “But if some other guy started it, bein’ rude or something . . .”

“Then you’d finish it?” You bump him with your hip, and he laughs and puts his arm around your waist.

“Well, ah. Sometimes. Kind of. If I was lucky, buh – my pal James would sniff me out and get ‘em off me.” He grins, lost in nostalgia. “He was like a bloodhound if he thought I might be getting into trouble. One time he found me in an alley behind the movies – I hadn’t seen him all day – he was just going about his business and thought ‘geez, I bet Grant’s in hot water,’ and I sure was.”

“What, was someone talking at the movies?”

He opens his mouth, shuts it, and deliberately looks away.

“Oh my god.”

“It’s not like – look, he was being really disrespectful,” he says, pulling away sulkily.

You stroke his arm, and he turns his palm up to catch your hand in his. “I just find it very hard to imagine you losing your temper. You’re always so sweet.”

He’s staring hard at your entwined hands, and you wonder what he’s thinking. Maybe he doesn’t like being called sweet; some men object to any description that might sound weak, and if he’s feeling insecure it might not go over well. You wish you could tell him that his height has never been a negative for you. It’s nice to not feel overwhelmed by a man, to be able to look into his eyes with ease, to (you imagine, frequently) be able to kiss him without anyone getting a crick in their neck . . . but even after weeks of haunting the museum together, semi-cuddling at the movies, and holding hands in public, you still feel like he’s not quite. Like he’s not. Like he might not want you.

You ought to just stop, you tell yourself. Walk away from whatever this is before your dumbass heart gets broken and it’s all your fault. You boyfriend-zoned him and he doesn’t even –

But he pins you with a look from those intense blue eyes and presses his lips to your fingers. “Well. It’s easy to be sweet with you.”

And that’s why you can’t walk away.

There are sailboats on the river, just a few, and some late summer wildflowers growing along the path that Grant wraps into an honest-to-gosh cloth handkerchief for you to keep. The breeze off the river is still a little chilly, and Grant puts his arm around you again as you stroll on. The first time he did it, you felt self-conscious about the breadth of your waist. It’s one thing for him to know that you’re chubby, zaftig, fat – but another entirely for him to feel the softness of your body, feel it yield against his hands. But he didn’t seem to mind, not that first time nor any other, and by now you feel comfortable enough to put your own arm around his narrow waist.

(The first time he tried put his arm around you was at the movies, that second week as you watched Ingrid Bergman pine over Cary Grant in Notorious. Like you yourselves were in a period piece, he’d offered his jacket as soon as you got into the theater, settled next to you like a gentleman, and about twenty minutes in had done what would have been the smoothest yawn-and-stretch maneuver known to man, if he hadn’t accidentally smacked the back of your head and then spilled the entire bucket of popcorn in his haste to apologize. His cheeks were still red when you walked out at the end of the movie. So honestly it was a wonder he’d tried again at all, bless him.)

“So what was it like, growing up in the city?”

He considers for a moment. “Loud,” he says, and you both laugh. “Louder than here, but not as loud as the city is now. No sirens, more neighbors yelling and talking and babies crying. Kids running around. Pretty loose rein on most of them – as long as they were back by dinner, their mothers didn’t check.”

“Probably glad to have a second to themselves,” you joke.

“No doubt.”

“It sounds kind of idyllic. I didn’t realize New York was that safe in the 70s and 80s. The news made it seem like the whole city was packed with Times Square pimps and dealers.”

“Oh, ah, well.” Grant rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, which you now recognize as a sign of nerves. “Well, you know, every borough is different, and my neighborhood was mostly just . . . poor. Lot of immigrants and all of us poor.”

“Were your parents . . . ?”

“Yeah, from Ireland. Looking for a better life.” He looks out across the river, his eyes downcast. You knew they’d both died young; his father when he was a baby – or maybe right before he was born? You’re a little unclear – and his mother right after he’d left high school.

You give him a little squeeze. “And now their son is a hotshot graphic designer who stares at moderately-famous art for fun.”

He snorts. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“Ok; barely-famous art.”

He looks aghast. “There’s a Chagall in there.”

“Most people would guess that’s a wine.”

“You can’t say stuff like that, doll; you’re gonna give me dyspepsia,” He shakes his head at you, but the sadness is gone from his eyes as you walk on.

***

It’s a good thing modern medicine has come as far as it has, Steve thinks; he’d have been hard-pressed to make this walk with you seventy years ago. It’s not the distance – he wandered all over Brooklyn looking for work, fought all over Brooklyn when he had to. It’s the – it’s just –

His heart started pounding while he was getting dressed this morning, and it keeps surging whenever you touch him. It’s the same every time you meet – his heart races when he thinks about you, gallops when you let him take your hand, or slide his arm around you. It’s only when he looks at you, looks right into your eyes, that everything stills. His pulse slows, the world goes weightless. In your eyes, he can just be . . . he can be. Not be Captain America, not carry that weight. Just be a man, with a woman he adores. Is fond of. If he could live in your eyes, he wouldn’t need that damned inhaler.

But when you squeeze him close and make jokes about art, he’s hard-pressed to stay on his feet.

He wonders, idly, if the de-seruming had put him as he had been, entirely unchanged. Not just his health, but his whole being. He feels like a teenager with an arm around his first girlfriend – not that he’d had one then – too nervous to ask for a kiss, instead of a thirty-five-year-old man who’d had girlfriends, plural. Well, two. Sort of. And a couple of ladies who’d gotten very friendly but weren’t quite interested in being serious. Which is their choice, of course, he thinks hastily. And it’s not like I objected.

Still. He’s felt like this before. He should feel like he's felt this way before. This feeling should be familiar, even if he's only felt it this intensely once before, but it's not. He feels new, with you in his arms. In his arm. Just the one, until he gets back to himself.

You’re playing a dangerous game, pal, he scolds himself. Getting this close when you’re still lying to her. Should have backed off until they got you fixed up. His hand flexes on your waist and you glance at him, smiling like an angel. Got no right to mess with her like this, acting like she’s your girl one minute, then pulling back when you feel guilty. Got no right putting your hands on a lady when you can’t even be honest with her.

But what can he say? “I’m really Captain America, and Iron Man and the Hulk promised me that in a few weeks I’ll be the kind of guy you’ll actually want to be with.”

She wants to be with you now, genius.

You do, he knows.

It’s not Captain America who gets to hold your hand. It’s not America’s Golden Boy who’s got his arm around you, watching the breeze lift strands of your hair into the light. It’s not even Nomad, the persona he’d worn for a while until he and Tony could get themselves right again (and the ladies had really liked Nomad. It was almost a shame to shave off that beard when he picked up the shield again. Maybe you’d like the beard, if he grew it out again). No, the guy you’re with is just little snack-sized Steve.[1] Or Grant.

Shit.

“You ok?” you murmur, shifting against him.

Steve sighs. “Yeah.” He can feel your eyes on him, and he risks a brief, heart-stopping look into them. “It’s a good day.”

The sun is high by the time you reach the Walkway Over the Hudson, the bridge almost empty, the wind picking up. You lean on the northern railing, looking at the boats at the marina upriver. You look so tranquil, your cheeks just the slightest bit reddened by the sun and wind, your eyes clear and wide.

Steve edges away, pulls out his sketchbook. You look at him quizzically as he digs out his graphite pencils.

He takes a breath. “Can I draw you?” He’s done it before, secretly, in bits and pieces. Your eyes – pages of your eyes, over and over – the curve of your mouth, the place where necks meets shoulder should meet his lips, your bosom – no, the neckline of your blouse, last week, and the way it draped against your skin.

(But also, yes, your breasts, and his hands on your breasts, and the way they would fill his hands, and how your nipples would harden against his palms, against his lips. He’d torn that one from the sketchbook as soon as it was done.)

He can see the shyness in your expression now, but you nod.

“How do you want me?” you ask softly.

Oh, God.

Every way. Always.

His hands are trembling, so he shakes them out and busies himself choosing a pencil. “Just, just look at whatever you were before.”

He roughs out a sketch, the lines and angles, how you lean against the railing with your hip cocked. You’re a little tense, now, aware of yourself in a way you hadn’t been before, and Steve reaches out to stroke your hair.

“Relax, sweetheart.”

If your breath is a little shaky, he pretends not to notice. If his is, well, he’s got asthma.

He stops every now and then, lets you move and shake the stiffness out. It’s absolutely not a gambit to make you let him readjust you back into position. But, like. He’s not above that. His hand slides along your hip, dangerously low, and when you make a soft, unsteady sound Steve’s heart pounds so quickly he thinks he might actually have a heart attack. That’s it. He’s going to die here on this bridge because he came this close to touching a lady’s derrière. He can hear Sam’s voice now; “Cause of death: that booty.”

He chokes on a laugh and you turn, lips pursed. “Sorry, sorry. Just thought about a friend of mine. He likes to poke at me when I’m being . . . when I’m in my head.” He ought to step back, get back to the sketch, but he’s not moving. “You’d like him.”

“And here I was, thinking I was your only friend,” you tease.

“You should meet him,” he says before he can get his goddamn mouth back in line with his brain. “In a . . . sometime . . . after a while.”

The light in your eyes dims a little, and you look away. Steve steps back at last, picking up the sketchbook. He’s almost finished; it’s not sophisticated, but it’s got your curves and your hair waving around your face and the peaceful expression that he loves.

Loves. No, not now. Not like this. You can’t do this.

His pencil stutters across the paper, mercifully missing anything delicate.

“Grant?” You’re facing him now, biting your lower lip.

“It’s ok; my hand just – “

“What is this?”

“– cramped, and. What?”

“This thing we’re doing. What is it?”

He looks at you, brain gone static-y like a radio late at night. He looks at you until your gaze drops and you step back and he has to grab your hand, has to pull you back, has to keep you here with him, because if you walk away something important will be lost. Something that matters more than he wants to consider.

“I like you,” he whispers. “I . . . I like you so much, sometimes I can’t breathe. I just . . .” You try to tug your hand away, but he clings to you, pulls your hand to his chest, lays it against his heart that’s beating like a drum. “You’re so beautiful. I just need to take it slow. Please.”

Liar, liar, you’d take her now if your lungs wouldn’t explode.

You’re silent for a long moment, then you bring your other hand up to cover his. Your smile is soft, uncertain, but real.

“I like you, too.”

[1] Bucky’s the only one who’ll say it, and Steve loves him for it

____________________

Fiona Apple – “Pale September”Pale September, I wore the time like a dress that year/ The autumn days swung soft around me, like cotton on my skin

READ CHAPTER SIX

[ironstrange1991]

Strange Love (Part 3)

Pairing: Doctor!Strange x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Tony is concerned about the state of Y/N and decides to ask Doctor Strange for help. Gradually, something more than friendship begins to sprout from the relationship between the two.

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: Mentions of past traumas, slight angst

A/N: Sorry for taking so long to post this. If it's any consolation, know that the next five chapters are already written and I hope to start posting them weekly. (I won't promise, though) Let's see what happens.

Chapter 3: Whole Again

“She's not getting better”  Tony Stark was starting to get worried about you. It had been almost a month since the tragic events in the basement and since then you had barely gotten out of bed, had barely eaten, and had not spoken to anyone.

“Maybe she needs more time, Tony” Pepper said trying to be understanding “Look at everything that happened, it's traumatizing.”

“Where's Strange?” Natasha asked “No one has seen him since that day.”

Tony shrugged “Kamar-Taj. Looks like it's in Nepal. Said he need time to get to know himself now that he have absorbed the other Stranger's powers. Honestly, it sounds very much like a mid-life crisis”

“She and Loki...” Natasha didn’t finished

“I don't know. It is possible that they broke up.”

Tony did not approve your relationship with Loki, but the abrupt way you pushed him away after Doctor Strange's death worried him. Several times Loki had tried to talk to you, but you refused to see him.

"Maybe we should take her to a doctor," Pepper suggested. "Maybe a therapist, someone she could talk to."

“No therapist in the world will be able to talk to her about the things that happened” Tony said discouraged  “I saw it and I'm still trying to believe it”

“All this has been out of the media until now and we want to keep it that way. Talking about these things with anyone outside can be dangerous”  Natasha said apprehensively.

Tony wasn't surprised by the calculating way Romanoff looked at things, and he had to admit that she was right.

“I just want her to get better, but my hands are tied. I do not know what to do.”

  ...

The hours passed before your eyes forming days, weeks, a month...

The memories haunted you, you couldn't believe everything that had happened, you were sad, but it was a strange sadness, it was a bitter and dangerous thing.

You were sitting in an armchair watching the fireplace on, it was daytime but all the curtains were closed.

Someone knocked on the door and you jumped. The door opened, it was Tony.

“I'm loving the new decoration of this place” He said looking at the apartment “Low light, no air, broken glass... I liked it.”

You did not answer.

He approached you “You've been here for four weeks, it's starting to make me nervous” He looked at you, his eyes wide open  “I'm... terrified actually.”

You continued in silence.

“Listen... I can't say I understand what you're feeling... at most I can make a poor comparison with when half the universe was dusted and I lost important people for 5 years... I had to deal with all this pain, but I imagine it's not the same thing for you.

You stared at him with red, swollen eyes. He sat on the couch next to you.

“What I'm trying to say is that I've lost several times... you know that better than anyone, but... at some point we have to move on. You are alive and I am sure that right now you didn’t want to be, but you are. So please listen to me, you need to go back living.”

He sighed putting his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees “It's all so strange out there, everything is so quiet, I've barely been able to work... I... I'm very worried about you. Please y/n, you know I love you, right?”

You looked at him and tears were streaming down your face  “Tony...”

He hugged you and you collapsed on his shoulder in tears.

 “It's okay, put it out.” He let you cry until you calmed down and then he touched your face, pulling your hair behind your ears and stroking it. “It's going to be okay. I know it’s hard but I am here for you. Always.”

He managed to convince you to take a shower and brought food, you sat down at the table, but at the first bite your stomach turned and you pushed the plate away.

He watched you sitting at the other side of the table apprehensively “You didn't like it, ok, I can order something. How about pizza? It’s your favorite, isn’t it?”

You shook your head.

“You need to eat or you'll get sick, please y/n, I'm trying here.”

He gave up trying to get you to eat after a while. He wanted you to come down, but you could barely walk and you were always so tired.

He didn't argue anymore and took you to your room when he realized it was the only thing you wanted. You lay down hugging the pillow. He sighed and sat on the bed leaning against the headboard and pulled you onto his lap. He stroked your hair, touched your forehead a few times.

“You'll get better”  He said apprehensively more to himself than to you “I'll make you feel better.”

   ...

“She's burning with fever” Tony said worried “I don't know what to do.”

“Tony...” Pepper was apprehensive “Maybe its time to take her to see a doctor. Grieve its hard and painful but this… this isn’t only grieve, she is giving up”

Tony ran a hand over his tired face “I'll take care of it“ He said getting up.

"You're not thinking about doing what I think you're going to do," Pepper said in disbelief

“She needs a doctor, you just said!”

Tony knocked on the door of the Sanctum Sanctorum and it opened by itself.

"Strange" he called into the empty, silent hall.

“Stephen Strange is not here at the moment”  Wong replied “Can I help you, Stark?”

Tony ran a hand over his nervous face “Hi Wong, I... I need to talk to Strange, it's... important.”

“Have you tried his cell phone?”

“Funny that you have a sense of humor with that face. Listen, I don't have time for cell phones, I need Strange, NOW”.

A portal opened in the middle of the hall as Tony spoke and Stephen Strange entered  “Stark?”

“You see” Tony said teasing Wong “That's what I was talking about. Cell phone, how absurd!”

Wong walked away leaving the two of them alone.

“What do you need, Stark?”

“You look different”  Tony said making fun as he stalled “You look a bit.. strange.”

“I've heard that joke more times than I could tell and it never gets funny”.

"You'll have to admit it's funny." Tony turned on his heel.

Doctor Strange looked at him apprehensively “What do you need?”

“She's not getting better” Tony said darkly “She doesn't eat, she doesn't get out of bed. This morning she had a very high fever.. I don't know what to do.”

Strange stared at the floor sighing “Tony, I don't think I'm the best person to help her right now.”

“Yeah, I know... that face of yours won't help, but she needs someone who understands and she needs a doctor. You are both. Please… I can’t lose her”

Stephen sighed “I will see her tonight.”

Tony sighed relieved “Thank you, Doctor.”

   ...

You were lost in some dark dream and you couldn't wake up and it was cold, very cold and your whole body was shaking.

“The fever is very high. She won't wake up until we get her temperature back to normal.”

Stephen... you could hear his voice, but he wasn't there. It couldn't be him. Stephen Strange was dead. It was all so dark.

    ...

“The serum will help hydrate the body and the intravenous medication will take effect faster, normalizing her body temperature.”

Stephen Strange was staring at her unconscious on the bed. He couldn't help but feel guilty that he hadn't been able to resolve the situation without going to the extreme end it had.

 “What happened to her, Strange?” Stark asked.

Strange sighed “Trauma manifests itself in different ways. She's been through a lot lately.” Strange could see the exhaustion in Tony Stark. He could fall sick as well if he wasn't careful.

“You should rest, Stark. You need to." The doctor touched Tony's shoulder “Or you will get sick too.”

Tony looked at you lying unconscious.

“I'll stay with her. I can’t leave her alone” Tony insisted.

“I will take care of her. I won't leave her side. I promise”

Stark nodded with another worried look at her and left.

Strange stood at the window watching the night. Something inside him seemed to react to all this strangely. Since receiving his powers, he felt more dangerous, more irritable, it was almost as if together with them he had absorbed traits of the other Doctor Strange's personality and that scared him.

Now as he watched her sleep he noticed that he felt a strange warm in his chest. Feeling uncomfortable with the intensity of that feeling , he left the room leaving the door open and sat in an armchair in the living room.

Those things inside him stirred in response to his unease. He spent the night there, taking turns between the living room and the bedroom. He measured the temperature from time to time and sighed more calmly when he noticed that it began to drop.

It was after 3 am when she finally woke up. He continued to sit in the armchair, watching cautiously. Something inside him said it was a mistake that he was the first person she saw, but there was no other person besides him at her bedside.

   ...

You looked around the dark room and soon noticed something in your hand, a needle connected to an IV bag. You ran a hand over your face and struggled to sit up in bed, but your body didn't respond as you expected, so you saw him watching you from the armchair at the back of the room.

“Strange...is that you?”

He stood up and then you could see his face.

“You woke up. Stark was getting worried.”

Your  heart soared at the sound of his voice and you had to force yourself to understand that this was the Doctor Strange of your  universe. The Doctor Strange you was completely in love with was dead.

 “What happened?”   You asked and your voice cracked as reality hit and memories came to your mind.

He approached the bed “The high fever and severe dehydration made you shut down. You blacked out for hours.”

You nodded without taking your eyes off him. It was impossible to see him the same way now and extremely painful to accept reality.

“Are you feeling better? I can increase the serum so it will end faster.”

Was he there as your doctor? He got up fiddling with the IV and then went to the bed side table and got a stethoscope.

“I will… “ You flinched at his approach and he pretended not to notice. He listened for a while and you watched him. His eyes were deeper and with light circles under them, he looked tired.

“Your lungs are fine, normal heartbeat” He said looking at you awkwardly “It was probably just a malaise due to your fragile emotional state.

You forced yourself to sit up again and he helped you and then to your surprise, he sat down next to you on the bed.

“What happened to you? You disappeared”  You asked, your voice was hoarse.

“I'm fine, do not worry.”

The sound of his voice could still make you tremble, if you closed your eyes it was as if the other Strange was still beside you.

“What... did they do to him?”

“We buried him...” He looked away. “We had to use another name, but I insisted that he had a decent funeral.”

Your eyes filled with tears.

“It wasn't your fault. He was obsessed and corrupted by loss. No one could have saved him.”

“I could have saved him.”

“Giving up your life, and all the people who love you. Y/n, that would not be fair.”

You went silent.

“I also carry some guilt for what happened”.  He sighed “If there wasn't a Doctor Strange in this universe he could have stayed.”

You stared in surprise, You didn't imagine he felt that way “It doesn't make sense!”

“No, it doesn't, but we can't change the way we feel, can we?”

You closed your eyes, a tear running down your cheek.

 “You're gone.”

“I went to Kamar-Taj to seek... knowledge so to speak. I spend some time there”

“And did you find what you were looking for?”

He stared his own trembled hands “Not Enough.”

“He gave his powers to you. He was the most powerful Doctor Strange in the multiverse and don’t ask me how I know that, I just know, and right now that is you”

“I wish he had also delivered the knowledge he acquired over the centuries... I don't know what to do with all this.”

“You have to protect us, it's your job. I know that something big is coming and I thought it was him, but its not, is another thing. I think you need to put yourself together Doctor and protect our reality, our universe. May be that was the reason of this all”

He sighed nodding and Tony knocked on the door entering the room. Stephen got up and stepped away from the bed.

“Hi.”

“You woke up” He smiled approaching you “It's good to see you better.”

“I'm sorry... I didn't mean to worry you.”

“Worry? I wasn't worried. Did the Doctor think I was worried?”

Stephen smiled, that was so rare  “He was worried. He was desperated”

“Look, she's smiling, it's an evolution” Tony smiled relieved and you felt guilty for having made him go through all of that.

“She needs to rest” Strange said authoritative is his Doctor mode  “No leaving the house for the next few days. I'll prescribe a medication and a vitamin, soon you'll be feeling much better.”

“I thought you'd give her some kind of potion, you know, some wizard thing.” Tony teased

Doctor Strange walked away writing in a small notebook of recipes ignoring Tony and looked at you smiling “If you need me, you know where to find me.”

“I accompany you Doctor to…”

“It won't be necessary”  He opened a portal and went through it.

Tony stared in disbelief “This guy doesn't care about good manners of etiquette.”

“Tony...”

He sat down next to you and looked at you apprehensively.

“I'm sorry for everything that happened.”

“There is no need to apologize,  you weren't to blame for anything.”

You went silent and so was he. An anxious silence.

“I wasn't going to ask... but I can't stand it...”

“What?” You said without understanding what it was about.

“How did you do that? You not only got rid of Friday's commands, you took control of her functions... I was curious to say the least.”

You sighed, thinking that the best thing was to tell the whole truth”

“Before coming to NY I only had dreams and these sensations and sometimes I heard voices. It was how I knew about you, all of you.”

He nodded.

“Since I got here these skills seem to have expanded exponentially. First it was with Loki, I mentally called to him without even knowing what I was doing and then the visions started and now... I didn't know I could do it, I just did it.

"Telepathically you mean." He didn't seem to believe what he was hearing.

“Yeah. I... managed to access the AI ​​code with my mind. I managed to get into her programming and recalibrate her to respond to me as well.

He smiled seeming to find it all unbelievable “You hacked my AI with your mind... I shouldn't, but I'm proud.”

He made you chuckled. Only Tony could make that after everything.  It was amazing how Tony always managed to make you feel better.

“You saved my life” He said regretfully “I... don't know how to thank you.”

“Your life wouldn’t being in need of saving if I hadn't put everyone here at risk at first place.”

He sighed getting up “You see, that's what you do, you blame yourself for everything, for things that weren't your fault.”

“I should have gone with him..”

“And would you have left me?”  He said challenging you “You say you love me, that I'm everything to you, right? Wrong, because at the first opportunity you were going to walk away and leave me here.

Your eyes filled with tears “I'm sorry, I know I'm wrong... I... I love you Tony, I don't...”

He agreed “Apologies accepted. That said, I'm not going to accept this talk of fate anymore, you understand? We stay together, you and I, whoever wants to separate us is the enemy, do you understand that?”

You nodded and there you stayed cuddled in  your bed and you felt that there were nowhere else where you could be safer.

…

Two weeks have passed since the day Doctor Strange needed  to go to your rescue. He had visited you at other times as a doctor. It was always awkward situations, but you were grateful to him for all the support he gave you.

 You finally felt ready to get out of that apartment. You showered, changed, and went downstairs to the workshop where Tony was absently working. You missed your afternoons working together.

“Need help?”

He smiled.

You helped Tony repair the combat-damaged nanotechnology device. You both spent the whole afternoon there, talking and eventually the subject would have to come up.

“I haven't seen Loki since the last time he came here and you refused to talk to him. I was worried that something might have happened between the two of you.”

You sighed.

“You don't have to say anything if you don't want to, I know it's none of my business, I'm just... I'm worried about you, I'm walking on eggshells here.”

You sat on the floor turning the screwdriver that was in your hand

“He... well, I... asked him for some time. To think, to put everything in order in my head, your know”

Tony looked surprised “Some time, nice...very grown up of you. And what did he say?”

“He was upset, I think I hurt him. I haven't spoken to him since then. And I don’t think I will.”

Tony sighed “Ah this is... complicated. I imagine that as a prince he isn't used to losing. You know that guy wanted to rule an entire planet.”

“I don't... “ You hesitated a little to speak.

Tony walked over and sat on the floor next to you.

“After everything that happened with Strange, the way I felt for him... I don't think I could just erase it all and pretend that nothing happened.”

“Strange explained to me a little of this... thing that happened to you. What madness!”

“Yeah” You chuckled nervously “Everything's still here Tony. It's a little difficult to tell what's real and what's not. I couldn't go on with Loki while I was feeling this way. It wouldn't be right.”

He put his hand on your shoulder “You did the right thing. Stopping, thinking, putting everything in place before taking the next step.”

You shook your head “Then why do I still feel like I failed him?”

Tony looked at you regretfully “Loki will get over it. And soon you'll feel better and you'll be able to pick up where you left off.”  He grimaced  “It's so weird that you have a relationship with the guy who tried to kill me years a go”

You let out a small laugh and were surprised to still be able to laugh “It seems like an eternity ago. Things would be easier if our problem was still Loki trying to rule the planet”

Tony grinned, looked relieved, and again you felt bad for putting him through all that in the last few weeks. “You're right.” He got up and gave you his hand. “Enough of talking, let's get to work.”

…

That night Tony insisted that you should have dinner together. Rhodes was present and you talked normally about anything that didn't involve the tragic fight in the basement.

“I was with the Secretary of State yesterday” Rhodes began “He is adamant about the Accords.”

“Accords? The Sokovia Accords?” you asked confused.

“No” Tony replied “ The Sokovia accords is gone. This one is a little more... flexible so to speak.”

“The current accord requires all persons with special devices or abilities to identify themselves as such and respond to the government in cases of conflict.” Explained Rhodes.

You stiffened. "Doesn't seem so different from the other"

“Don't worry” Tony said to you immediately “Nobody knows about your... abilities and I intend to keep it that way.”

You agreed. Rhodes seemed to disagree. “She needs to be registered, Tony.”

“She won't fight, she doesn't need to.”

Rhodes sighed “What about the wizard?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Doctor Strange and you mentally scolded yourself. It needed to stop. He was someone else entirely. Well, not really. Things got a little messy inside your head.

“Sorcerer” Tony replied  “I think it's the correct term, I don't know.”

Pepper was silent, perhaps worried about the direction of the conversation. She kept looking at you like she was checking your reaction all the time.

“Ross wants him to register himself right away.”

“Oh he's going to love this” Tony put his hand on his face “Technically he was never part of the Avengers, so...”

“Tony it doesn't matter, everyone saw him fighting in NY. Everyone knows him.”

Tony sighed “I'll try to talk to him.”

“I think it's a big waste of everybody's time” You said without holding back. They stared at you. “The order of the Masters of Kamar-Taj protects this city, this planet, this dimension and universe long before the Avengers dreamed of joining. Doctor Strange will not agree to sign this... document. And he doesn’t have to, he is above it all.”

“Ross is not kidding...” Rhodes said preoccupied

“Will they try to force him?” You asked sounding more petulant than you intended. “Strange is not Rogers, they won't want to get in trouble with him.”

Tony rolled his eyes “Yeah, because now he is a super sorcerer with super magical powers”

“Tony, can you stop joking, this is a serious matter” Pepper asked annoyed. “ The idea was to have a calm and decent dinner and you both…” She stared to Tony and Rhodes “… are ruining it”

“Okay, no one will fight with anyone, I'll talk to him.” Tony promised

“And enough of this conversation.” Pepper demanded.

…

You were too restless to sleep and didn't want to be alone, but it was late at night.

Contrary to any notion of self-preservation, you slipped out of the tower and took a taxi to the nearest cemetery. Not all NY cemeteries was open at night, but some few were and you needed to find him, to say your last goodbye. You walked through the graves not knowing what you were looking for in the dark, but there was something in your mind pulling you forward so you knew you were in the right place and then you found him.

Stephen Strade. The headstone was new, the grass growing where the soil had been turned. It could be a coincidence, but something in your mind told you were in the right place.

You looked around at the empty cemetery illuminated only by the moon that was full and yellow that night. You sat there on the floor. The memories coming through your mind, all the times he swore he loved you and his melancholy apology.

Your heart overflowed with desperate sadness and you began to sob and you talked to him like he was still by your side.

“I'm sorry Stephen… I am so, so sorry.”

You were so distracted by your own crying that you didn’t hear someone approaching, it could be anyone.

“It's a little late to visit cemeteries, don't you think?”

You stared at Doctor Strange dressed casually in jeans, a gray tshirt, and a long-sleeved shirt on top.

“I could not sleep.” You said wiping the tears from your face.

He approached you  “Next time let me know and I can medicate you, I'm sure it's safer than walking around NY past 1am.

“I wanted to see him.”

“How did you know he’d be here?”

“I didn't know, but I... felt”

Strange agreed.

You got up, beating the sand off your clothes “It doesn't make much sense, does it? He is no longer here with us.”

Strange sighed closing his fists“I'm not so sure.”

You stared without understanding.

“Come on, I'll take you home.”

You hesitated. He seemed to understand and extended his hand to you “Come on”.

We entered the Sanctum Sanctorum and everything was quiet. The place was a little scary at night.

“May I offer you some tea?”

You agreed and he went ahead and you followed him. Arriving in the kitchen, you sat by the table. Strange used his magic to make tea and it was fascinating to watch him to do those things. He sat across from you handing you a cup.

You sipped and remained silent.

“Tony called me earlier today and said you got better, he seemed confident.”

You smiled nervously “ I've been trying to show that I'm fine in front of him, in fact I'm trying hard to get better for him.”

“Why?”

You went back to taking a sip of your tea “I don't want to worry him. Tony has a lot to worry about, I don't want him to worry about me too.”

“But he does, a lot. He likes you. You are very important to him.”

You smiled “And he is important to me”

Strange agreed, his both hands was crossed over the table “I never understood your relationship. What you are to each other. I know it’s none of my busyness”

You couldn't help but smile. Talking about Tony made you feel good “I love him. More than I ever loved any man. He is the great love of my life...”

Doctor Strange looked perplexed and you pretend you didn’t notice his confusion.

“... he's my father, my brother, an uncle, I don't know... Tony is all that and none of that at the same time, he's my best friend, the person I trust the most in this world.”

He smiled, trying to seem understandable, but he clearly doesn't understand what you were getting at with your answer. “I'm glad you found each other and that you feel that way about him.”

You agreed and he sipped his tea in silence and then as if he couldn't help himself, he asked “And Loki...”

You looked away.

“I'm sorry” He said embarrassed “I don't want to intrude, I just remembered that Tony mentioned that he hadn't seen him in a while and...”

“I haven't seen Loki in weeks, I needed some time.”

He sighed and you were wondering if it was a smile you saw on his face for a second.

He finished his tea “It's not hard to imagine his reaction. He is Loki after all”

“I hurt him, I'm not proud of it, but I think it was the best thing to do for now. I'm still very confused by everything that happened.”

He agreed.

"You seem to have come out of this a little better, assuming you're as good as you look."

“I'm not good at showing feelings.”  He said sighing “Or we can put it this way: I'm very good at not showing feelings.

You nodded understanding very well what he meant.

 “I spent a few weeks at Kamar-Taj. I read what I could about what seemed to suit my situation, but...”

You waited. Your tea long forgotten and cold.

“There is nothing in any book that explains what he did. However he did it, it has never been done in our universe until now.”

“Are you referring to when he gave his powers to you?”

He shook his head no “A simple transfer or drain spell. Highly dangerous, but simple. The question is this…”

He showed his hand and closed his eyes concentrating and in a second it turned into a tentacle right in front of you and his eyes turned red. He forced it back to normal getting embarrassed. “I don't know what this is. I can control it. I am really good at it and some masters told me this could be a valorous weapon against enemies, but I am afraid…”

You sat silently wondering whether or not to mention what you witnessed at the London Sanctum. In the end you decided it was best to be honest and tell what you knew. “In London, in the Sanctum, he fought this thing. I saw it.

“Did he defeat it?”

You denied “He absorbed it. It entered his body.” You sighed “He believed that these things died when he did that, but it seems that they became part of him, a living part inside of him. Suddenly you are not only one, your are a legion.”

Strange agreed “I would like to know how to get rid of it. It's been exhausting trying to keep these things under control.”

“He said it was a curse. I think you will have to learn how to live with it.”

Strange sighed and then changed the subject. “You told Loki what happened between you and...

“Almost everything.”

He was silent and you wondered why he insisted on talking about Loki.

“So you didn't say that...”

“That I slept with him? Yes, I did. That I fell in love with him? No, but fuck it, it doesn't matter anymore.”

To your complete surprise, he smirked. A cocky smirk “Hard to imagine those words coming out of your mouth.”

“You don't know me that well, Doctor”

“I would like to know.”

You were surprised and felt your face heat up. A tension enveloping you both. It made you uncomfortable and you felt the need to get up and step away.

“I think I better go. Tony might be worried.”

He got up too “Oh sure, we don't want to worry Tony Stark.”

You smiled a little sheepishly “Thanks for the tea and the conversation, Strange

“Come whenever you want, I like the company” He smiled “And please, call me Stephen.”

You agreed your cheeks a bit more red than before.

He opened a portal to your apartment.

“Good night, Stephen.”

The portal closed as you passed it and you stood there feeling something you wasn't quite sure what it was.

Reblog please! Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing!

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