#he has to not use his powers for weeks before he regains some feeling in his arms and body

[worstloki]

imagine thor doesn't feel much pain easily since a bunch of thor's nerve endings are dead from having lightning constantly running up his skin

[carooosa]

Bound by You: Love is Power, Love is Weakness

Part 1: Exposure (rewrite)

Full series here

Word count: 1.5k Rating: Explicit Pairing: Ascended Astarion x AFAB Resist Durge/Reader Warnings: 18+, exhibitionism, ear play, violence against an NPC AO3 link: Exposure

Summary: Astarion can exert his control/power as he maintains composure while fucking you, and while he may not be as strict with his council when doing so, the harshness behind his actions is still there. But when you torture him by making him moan in front of everyone who is beneath him? Not only will it show him weak, but it’ll show his weakness.

It’s another boring day as a consort while you sit on your lover’s bare lap, slowly rolling your hips into him. Ever since the ascension, Astarion has refused to let you out of his sight for too long, always wanting to have some part of him touching you. It upset you, at first, having to sit in on all of the dreadful conferences and dull discussions. But as always, Astarion made sure that it was worth your time.

He’s droning on about some inaccuracies in recent reports he’s received and his fingers dig into your hips as the proprietor of the counting-house stumbles out an excuse. You can’t help but giggle when you picture the proprietor trembling as he tries to talk his way out of this mess. You remember his name being quite the joke as well, something like Sparkleboard or Glimmerbrook.

“Rakath Glitterbeard,” Astarion barks at the dwarf before berating him for his inadequacies. He shoots you a mischievous glance, confirming that he too is bored with this meeting, so much so that his mind had wandered into your own.

Of course the poor sod’s name was something ridiculous. If he was going to have a name as awful as that, he should just change it to Goldcoin or something similar. At least then it’d have relevance to his job.

Astarion pinches your hips in an attempt to stifle any laughter that may come out, and you yelp in surprise. You look at your lover and notice the slightest crinkle in the corner of his eyes. The ramblings from Rakath stop, and Astarion’s head snaps towards him. “Have you run out with excuses already, Glitterbeard? Or have you simply come to your senses and decide to own up to your shortcomings?” Astarion says with a growl.

You turn your head as well, excited to see what’s about to unfold. The dwarf readjusts his collar before clearing his throat, and the idiot decides to speak up against your Lord.

With the arrogance of a little kid, he says, “No, Lord Astarion, I just noticed that you seem to be preoccupied and thought I would wait until you regain focus.”

Astarion scoffs and you feel him grab onto your ass with one hand as he stands up and kicks back the chair he was sitting on. With his other hand, he pushes off all the paperwork that lay strewn about the desk. He sets you on the edge of the table before pushing you down so that your back is against the hardwood. He stares directly at that insufferable banker as he begins to thrust into you – hard.

“What was that about losing focus?” Astarion says with a crazed look in his eyes.

Rakath’s face turns bright red as he tries to stammer out a response, but it’s no use, as Astarion has already made up his mind.

“Silence. Pick up those documents and put them back on the table – in their correct order. After that, you will redo all of this week’s reports, as well as the last 4 month’s as well.” Astarion is interrupted by a noise of disapproval, his frustration reaching its highest point today. “I said silence. Perhaps you’ve forgotten how that tongue of yours works, shall I cut it out and show you?”

Rakath drops to the floor and begins frantically gathering the papers, all the while Astarion continues to slam into you with reckless abandon as he addresses the rest of the meeting attendees. 

“Do I need to remind everyone that you’re in the presence of the Vampire Ascendant? I am more powerful than you could possibly comprehend, yet you wager your lowly lives just to make some ridiculous point. I could replace you with the snap of my fingers and no one would even care. I keep you around because I couldn’t be damned to get rid of you – however, give me enough of a reason and I’ll put the dungeon to use.”

You weren’t sure exactly how or when it started, but whenever Astarion would get annoyed or pissed off during a meeting he would yank you closer and begin to fuck you, right there, in front of everyone. Somehow he was able to maintain composure as he catered to your needy whines, asserting his dominance over the room while he dominated you. He always took care of you, and one day, you got the brilliant idea to care for him in return.

You’re once again sat on your lover’s lap with his cock buried deep inside you. His nose is deep in a document, a contract with an architect from Neverwinter, and his shoulders are tensed. You delicately reach your hands behind his shoulders to start massaging the knots. He doesn’t acknowledge you save for a quick twitch in his ears, so you push harder, hoping to alleviate some of the stress the Vampire Lord must feel. Moving up to his neck, you meticulously knead every knot you find, humming a soft melody as each point of tension slowly comes undone. When you finish giving him a massage, one of your hands slightly brushes against his ear, causing a shutter to ripple through Astarion.

You quickly look at his face and notice his lips part, a silent moan leaving them. Interesting, you think to yourself, and you slowly reach out to stroke his ear.

You watch as Astarion gasps, eyes fluttering closed in contentment, the contract falling from his hands. He desperately tries to regain control by focusing on his breath. You caress the helix of his ear and his breathing hitches before a pleased sigh escapes his mouth and he leans into your touch. His hands move to your back to stabilize you as he begins to roll his hips, ever so slightly fucking you.

He looks so beautiful like this, you think to yourself. Astarion’s eyes are hooded when he opens them again, and if your heart was still beating, you’re positive it would’ve skipped a beat.

You can tell from his posture that he’s about to move your hand away, and the mind-link connection you share confirms that. The Vampire Ascendant has an image to upkeep, and he can’t show any vulnerability outside of the bed chambers. He starts to shift in his seat when suddenly, you take his ear lobe in your mouth. He mindlessly bucks his hips forward and grasps the armrests of his chair, splintering the wood. You nibble on the lobe, pressing and flicking your tongue against the soft skin.

He can vaguely see in his peripherals the guests from Neverwinter glance at each other and shift in their seats. One of them clears their throat and Astarion tries again to regain his poise but all he can think about is your lips on his ear. You roll your hips and gingerly reach out to his other ear, pinching and rubbing the tip. A quiet moan starts in the back of Astarion’s throat as you coo at him, telling him that he’s such a good lord, so strong, incredibly smart, your love. All the meeting attendants can do is watch as the Vampire Ascendant comes undone beneath your touch.

Astarion is panting as you whisper sweet nothings in between giving attention to his ears. You bite down on the flesh in your mouth – harsh enough to draw blood – and moan from the sweet ichor that flows into your body. The nobility that would usually cower at the mention of the vampire lord’s name now sit watching, unable to do anything in fear of retaliation. One of the younger nobles, the son of the architect, begins to slowly stroke his fingers against his strained trousers.

Within seconds, Astarion barks an order.

“Stop.”

You pause, concerned that you may have gone too far. Before you can ask if you did something wrong, you’re sat alone on the chair while Astarion is on his feet and holding the young man by his throat. He raises the boy above his head and dangles him above the table, his claws piercing into his flesh. The architect starts to get out of his seat but a nearby guest stops him.

“You fucking degenerate. How dare you please yourself while looking at my consort,” Astarion bellows.

The boy is unable to respond as blood fills his throat, causing him to suffocate. Astarion slowly closes his grip around his neck, watching as the architect’s son struggles to pull his nails out. The boy stops thrashing, the life drained from his eyes as his body goes limp.

Astarion continues to hold the corpse in the air as he addresses his room. “Leave. Now. And if so much as a word of today’s events is whispered outside of this room,” he pauses, throwing the body onto the table where the group congregates, “I will personally hunt each and every one of you.”

A few days later, a rumor silently spreads across Baldur’s Gate. Astarion, the unforgiving and merciless Vampire Ascendant, has a weakness. While many laugh and make jokes about how the powerful tyrant gets turned on with the touch of his ears, a resistance group takes note of his true weakness, and their key to his demise: you.

Part 2 here Full series here

[phantom-0-writer]

nightwing the cosplayer

Barely 30 minutes into his shopping journey to find a present for his mom, Danny’s ghost sense went off. He only had enough time to grab the Fenton Thermos and wrist ray from his bag, before three vultures infested The Mall. Easily souping the first vulture, Danny zapped Vulture Number Two, but the distance between them made the impact of the ray feel more like a wrist slap than a gutting punch. Vulture Number Two apparently didn’t like that very much and took it upon himself to attack Danny. As if the vultures weren’t bad enough, Razor Claw came crashing through the ceiling right behind them. 

“Fenton!” Dash called because he was here too apparently, “Behind you!” When Danny turned around he was expecting Vulture Number Three, another rebel, maybe even Plasmius himself. 

Not Nightwing.

Like Nightwing from Gotham, Nightwing. Formerly Robin the First. Member of the Titans and Justice League Jr. Standing there, like, right in front of Danny. “What the fuck?” Danny heard himself say before turning to Dash, who was standing next to him now and felt validated by their shared confusion. 

“Are you a cosplayer?” Danny heard Dash whisper-ask Nightwing. 

Nightwing, who was just awkwardly and nervously(?) standing there, seemed taken aback by the accusation. “W-What?” He said gracefully, before regaining his composure. He sounded almost indignant “No, I’m the real Nightwing.” As if to prove himself, he pulled out a Bird-a-rang and displayed it to the two teens like it was some kind of rare YuGiO card. Talk about professionalism. 

“Looks fake,” Danny said in a mock whisper to Dash, knowing Nightwing could still hear them. 

“He’s totally a cosplayer,” Dash responds with a sage nod. Nightwing was about to respond, but the words were knocked out of him when Danny pushed both of them out of the way of an oncoming vulture attack. 

Seriously, why in the Ancients was Nightwing here? If one of the Justice Leaguers had to show, then at least someone useful like Zatanna or Dr. Fate, heck even Constantine. But no , he has to get the guy that outgrew his Robin suit. 

Razor Claw used his claw to slice at some of the merchandise in a nearby store, laughing in amusement at the shopper’s terror. Danny slipped his bag off, opening up the middle zipper. “There should be three spectator-deflectors and maybe a few rays.” He told Dash, “The Ghost Shield Rooms are probably full by now, so just use that. You two stay here.” 

“What? You’re not dealing with this on your own.” Nightwing protested, grabbing his arm before Danny could leave. 

Danny gave him an unimpressed look, “And what? Wait for the Justice League to show up?” Danny scoffed. 

Nightwing scowled in response, “Still-” 

“Dude.” Danny said pointedly, “We do this like every week. This guy’s a small fry, compared to, like, Plasmius.” Danny reassures him before forcing his arm off to blast an incoming Vulture attack, the positing just right to leave him ready for Thermos Time. “Two down. Easy.” Danny told Nightwing, just as Vulture Number Three swooped down at Danny, knocking the thermos out of his hand, causing  it to roll away from Danny’s line of sight. 

Him and his big mouth. 

Just then, Razor Claw launches an ectoblast at the three of them. Danny rolled out of the way, putting some distance between himself and the sitting ducks. Dash and Nightwing had already put on the specter deflectors, so the shield had popped up just in time to block the attack. “Dash, you’re on guard duty,” Danny said before heading to deal with Razor Claw and the Last Vulture and hopefully find the thermos. 

“I’m doing it because I want to and not because you told me to,” Dash yelled back at him from inside the store. Danny could hear more protest from Nightwing, but not even a Gotham hero could defeat a ghost on their first try (especially one without any powers). 

“Sure, dude.” Danny shot back, knowing Dash was probably flipping him off. 

“I'll have you in my claws soon, pest.” Razor Claw sneered, turning around on his hoverboard to shoot a blast. The shot from the wrist ray missed the ghost but landed a clean hit to the hoverboard, as the device tumbled down ineffective. Not that it really did much- the ghost just used his natural flying abilities to charge at Danny.

“Kwan!” Danny heard Paulina call out somewhere to his left. 

“Yeah?” The football player asked back. Danny looked over and noticed he had the thermos right next to him. 

“Look! The thermos!” Paulina pointed out to their intellectually declined friend. 

“Oh yeah, I have it” Kwan held it up to show her from where she was crouched down. Paulina facepalmed. 

“Give it to Danny, you dumbass!” Star practically screamed at her boyfriend. 

“Oh, Okay!” Kwan said before rearing to throw the thermos at Danny. Proving why he was a starter for the football team, the thermos landed squarely in Danny’s hands. Not wasting any more time, Danny scooped up Razor Claw and the incoming vulture. 

“Good teamwork guys!” Danny called out to them cheerfully knowing they wouldn’t return the energy.

“Shut up, Turd Face,” Dash said, pushing the spectator-deflector into his chest roughly for no other reason than to be Dash. He went off to join his friends in doing whatever he and his friends did.

“That was pretty impressive,” Nightwing walked up to meet Danny, handing his bag and spectator-deflector back “With a little training, you could easily be on par with the Robins.”

Danny bent down to put his stuff back in his bag, “If this is your invitation for me to join Batman’s gaggle of furries, I’m gonna have to give you a hard pass.” Danny responded, looking up to see Nightwing look like he couldn’t decide if he should laugh or not. “Respectfully.” He added half-heartedly. 

Nightwing watched him in amusement. “I thought I was a fake?” Nightwing prompted as Danny stood up swinging on his backpack. 

“They don’t exactly sell High-Density Reinforced Kevlar in your average corner store,” Danny said, knocking on Nightwing’s insignia lightly. The unique sound of the light impact confirmed his point. 

Nightwing gave him an inquisitive look (Danny assumed). “Then why did you tell your friend-”

“Uh!” Danny stopped him abruptly, putting a finger in his face, “We’re not friends.” Danny started walking into a nearby store with Nightwing following him. “And to answer your question, Dash can keep a secret but not from Kwan. Kwan would try to keep it a secret but he'll probably let it slip to Star. Star tells Paulina everything. And Paulina definitely cannot keep a secret. So unless you wanted all of Amity in your business for however long you’re supposed to be here, I did you a favor.” Danny finished, looking through the rows of memorabilia the store offered. He picked up a snow globe with a little ghost inside. 

Nightwing was quiet for a while, still following behind Danny as they headed to check out. “Aren’t you gonna ask why I’m here?” 

“No,” Danny said, easily asking the check-out lady to gift wrap the globe for him. “It’s probably the Dr. Kilye case. It went pretty big. And if it’s not, then I’d rather stay not knowing.” 

“Cool cosplay, dude.” Said the check-out lady, handing Danny his gift bag. 

“Thanks,” Nightwing responded awkwardly, as Danny walked away.

excerpt from regular boy: daniel wayne (chap 3)

masterlist

[apathycares]

could you write about Sukuna being bored after he conquered the world again and taking itadori’s girlfriend as his wife cause he always ,,noticed her’’. You know like he kind of liked her when she was with Yuuji and he wanted to experience the same love and warm she gave to Yuuji?

Hola anon, thank you for the request! I sort of explored this concept (sans Yuuji and a little bit more dark) in my multi-chaptered monster I created here, so feel free to tune in if you're interested! Here's a little something for your request though -

※ Warnings: suggestive violence against people and children, Sukuna in general

※ Characters: Sukuna x reader, implied Itadori x reader, Gojo Satoru

Sukuna lives for his pleasure and displeasure alone. Defeat would mean death for him, which is why he was able to conquer his adversaries and ascend to the highest position in the world. No matter how much those sorry excuse for sorcerers were willing to die fighting him, they were not ready to die, leading to their defeat.

Japan had not only reverted to the freedom of the Heian Era, but devolved to an anarchist society upon the curse's reign. The rest of the world dubbed Japan a dead country, and refused to partake in any of its affairs. Despite this, they were very much aware of Sukuna's power and wanted nothing to do with it.

They simply lived on his whims alone.

Sukuna had not only conquered and reigned supreme, but he had taken everything that he wanted - he had kept Gojo Satoru alive as a pet, his eyes gouged out and kept in a case among his war spoils. All other sorcerers were killed and returned as cursed spirits, some held in captivity for entertainment and others loose in the world. And his wife?

She was the cherry on top of his possessions.

Not that she was happy about it.

The door to Sukuna's chambers creaked open, allowing a stream of light into the dark yet lavish space. You barely moved from your sprawled form on the massive bed, eyes dull and faraway as the sound of the door closing punctured the quiet of his room and duly reminded you that you were still alive. The inaudible yet heavy footsteps of your captor echoed off of the high walls, in a beat that you could pick out from anyone else’s, as he undoubtedly made his way to you as he always does when he needed to –

“You seem lively.” Sukuna said sarcastically, staring down at your unmoving body before he poked your side. “I’ve been informed of your refusal to eat – are you going to make me go through this again?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Sukuna tilted his head as he watched the minute rise and fall of your back, counting your breaths for a minute before he was satisfied. You were steadily regaining your health back after your last 'emotional lashing'. He had to endure several attempts at you harming yourself in the beginning of your union, up until he could finally enjoy the fruits of his labor and keep you by his side at all times. Sukuna only kept you in his chambers when he needed to take care of some business alone, which was rare.

Taking a moment to run his eyes around the room, he noted the bath water needed to be replaced after your use, and the room needed to be aired out so you would flourish a bit more. He asked if you would like to get some Sun and fresh air with him, sighing a bit when you said no.

“I’m not going to kill myself, Sukuna.” You spoke up suddenly after he sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling his attention back to you when you finally lifted your face off the mattress and cast your gaze at him for the first time in weeks. “My goal is to be just shy of that so you’d get bored of me and let me go back to Yuuji.”

“Impossible.” He shot down, pushing your leg to make room for himself so he could lie down, placing his head on your back and smiling at the ceiling when you made a noise of protest. “Whatever happens, there’s one absolute truth that has remained so since I first saw you – I’ll never abandon you.” Sukuna rolled over on his side to face you, never really able to stop himself. “Moreover, where would you go? All your little friends are either dead or curses.” He laughed a little as he said, completely ignoring the brat's name. “You wouldn’t want me following you into the foreign lands, would you?”

No matter how broken you were, you would never tempt yourself to lead Sukuna into the curse-less, populous world outside of Japan after causing this whole mess in the first place. No matter how much you believed that he kept you as a trophy after you survived Kenjaku’s ritual, morphing into a vessel for his ‘lesser’ emotions when the thrill of killing and fighting wasn’t doing it for him anymore, you wouldn’t doubt that he’d take your escape as a challenge to hunt you down, endangering anybody in his path to get you back by his side, as prideful as you've come to recognize him to be.

He had truly won, and there wasn't anything left to conquer.

Sukuna would hold death tournaments when he returned from his travels around his kingdom, sometimes jumping in when he got too bored or too excited, eviscerating the competition.

On monotonous days, he'd have you around as a spectator, dragging your detached form to his death matches and travels around Japan, laughing in pure ecstasy when you'd betray a small reaction at the carnage he'd hosted.

That's when he realized once again that it was you - you would always quell his boredom and restlessly cultivate his fire for pleasure when he needed you to.

So he kept you closer. You barely ever had a moment to yourself. He'd put you in exquisite kimonos and kosodes and hair ornaments, dressing you up like a doll ready to be shown off at all times. If anyone visited him, they knew to bring along gifts exclusively for you, and if he wasn't pleased with your reaction, he would use the visitor to pull one out of you.

Eventually, you got used to his antics, causing Sukuna to quickly grow bored once again, and so he decided to pull out his best -

"You wound me, wife." Sukuna drawled, clawed fingers reaching down and tracing your spine beneath your kimono as you sat at the foot of his throne. Your empty stare ahead did little to deter him, as he'd gotten used to your acts of rebellion pretty quickly. His fingers trailed down until he turned you by the jaw, leaning down to smile lovingly at you. "What will it take for you to smile for me again?"

Roll over and let me stab you in the ass until you die, you thought, but kept your mouth shut. Time and time again he'd ask you how he could melt the ice from your stare, or show some affection towards him when he was in the mood, and you'd respond with something along those lines hoping to hurt his ego, but all it did was make him laugh and derive pleasure all the same. You've come to find out that what hurt Sukuna the most was your non-reaction, and although it was hard to steal your heart, that's what you would give him until the end of your days.

"Hm, seems like you need a little inspiration."

You perked up a little as he descended from his throne and disappeared from the room, curious to see what he'd come up with next. Was it another death match? Maybe a few more children to skewer and roast in front of you?

Despite teleporting out, he'd chosen to return through the door.

Your heart froze over and dropped straight to your stomach.

"Surprise!" Sukuna tugged the chains in his hands and pushed forward his captives to kneel in front of you, reveling in the hot tears that fell freely from your widened eyes.

A disheveled Gojo stared up at you with empty sockets for eyes, bruises littered on whatever bit of skin that was exposed, and a hefty collar around his neck. His cracked lips parted in a silent plea to free him, before he was shoved out of the way and landed on the ground, the crack of his bones echoing in the large throne room, by a cursed spirit. No matter how deformed and disgusting this cursed spirit looked, you instinctually knew who it used to be.

"Yuuji?" You sobbed, placing your hands on your mouth.

"Die." It said in a cracked voice, reaching out to claw you just as Sukuna reeled him back towards himself. "Die. Die. Die."

"You're correct!" Sukuna dropped to a knee in front of you, holding the cursed spirit of your dead boyfriend back without a sweat as he smirked at you, completely unbothered by Gojo who had obediently sat up again like a robot. "Now, do you want to see them fight to the death, or will you give me a little smile?" He cooed at you, rolling his wrist to better hold on to Yuuji.

With eyes drowning in tears and a chest heaving up and down with a building panic attack, you cracked the most devastatingly broken smile he had seen in his entire existence.

"Beautiful." He mused, his heart fluttering for a moment in nostalgia before he reigned it in again and shot you a wide grin.

Sukuna released them to fight anyways.

I just realized I completely went left from the request. I'm sorry anon LOL might do another part to depict why he chose her and do the fluff bit (as close to fluff as we can get from this man).

[callmerainman]

𝐍𝐨𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮 | 𝐑𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐞𝐧 𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

fandom. Mob Psycho 100 by ONE

spoilers!. unspecific spoilers about season’s 3 finale in the beginning, otherwise spoiler free

plot. Reigen Arataka is not only your boss at your part-time job, but your former high school best friend and unrequited love. After a kiss happens between you two, you worry that maybe Reigen is drifting away from you another time. You are devastated, and decide to discuss it while sharing a cigarette at your place.

word count. 4,836k

prompts. fem!Reader, reader is a model, childhood friends, not actually unrequited love, love confessions, fluff, light angst, smoking, late night conversations, kissing, teen crush, childhood memories, hurt and comfort, getting together, making out, emotional sex, naked cuddling, love making, getting together

tw. mild sexual content, sex is here but not graphic or either specifically described

notes. this fanfiction can be considered as a sequel to my other work “Still Into You”. It’s not mandatory to read, but it gives some more insight into reader’s work as a photo model and when Reigen realizes he’s in love with her. Enjoy :)

“I care for you still and I will forever”

There was a kiss.

With Reigen's hands plunged in your hair. Your eyes squeezed shut until they hurt. The sound of his breathing going out of his nostrils. Your hands holding his face.

It happened when Mob lost control of his powers, spreading chaos throughout Seasoning City. You could go with Reigen only for a brief part of your road towards the perturbation, as Serizawa protected the three of you with his umbrella. Reigen insisted on trying to meet Mob halfway, despite your protests.

"It's just Mob, I'll be okay and I'll be back"

He said all of this before taking off his shoes and running in the middle of all the debris that was flying around in the sky. Your legs couldn't move anymore than that, and you just put a hand on your mouth, trying to suppress the urge to scream at him to stop. As Reigen tried to reach Mob, you waited for him while leaning on Serizawa's shoulder, his umbrella protecting you two. Then, the storm stopped. And Reigen emerged under the sunsetting sky, his shirt ripped, blood pouring down his temple. As soon as you saw him, you stood up on your feet, beginning to run towards his direction as he did the same.

"Reigen!"

In a matter of just a few seconds you find yourselves in the arms of one another. It wasn't clear who started it first, but you began kissing. And why? For the care. For the passion. For the happiness of being alive. For love? You felt Reigen's lips moving on yours with resolution, while he ran his hands in your hair. He tasted like smoke, and vaguely of blood. It was a warm kiss just like you imagined it happening between you two. Your heart was beating so hard that you were sure that he was feeling it from your chest to his, from your heart to his. It wasn't the first kiss with Reigen that you expected, but it was the one you wished for. You were so lost in yourselves, that at some point Dimple had to call you two out.

"Geez, get a room"

Only then you regained the necessary awareness to separate. A nervous laugh escaped your lips, and slowly the hands that held you two close started to drift away from your skin. The moment you realized that not only Dimple was still alive, but that Mob was also okay, you ran up to both to hug them tight, even if it was difficult to do so with the green spirit. About the kiss, you didn't exactly know how to feel.

You don't even know it now that things between you and Reigen became weird. It has been two weeks since the kiss and neither one of you talked about an "us". Even after a kiss like that it was still just Reigen and (Y/N). But childhood friends don't kiss like that, and neither do co-workers or people who don't really love each other. That day, maybe for the first time, you had no doubt about his intentions. Reigen really did want to kiss you. It was written in his hands in your hair, in him pressing his body against yours, in the trembling breaths he took at any given occasion. But now you are tormented by doubts. The tone of your conversations was the same for the two weeks following the kiss. Always with the desire to talk about it on the tip of your tongues, but never with the courage to do it. You blame yourself too, it's the responsibility of both you and Reigen to consider your actions, what you two do to each other. But every time you see each other in the office there's that silent agreement: today the kiss will not be discussed.

This afternoon in the office is no different. Reigen has his appointments, Serizawa prepares some tea before heading out for an exorcism, while you on your desk do some paperwork. The looks you and Reigen exchange from time to time, full of unsaid things that are pushing to get outside the heart. In the beginning you could take it. The majority of time spent in the office was with Serizawa or Mob, and it wasn't the case to talk about the kiss in front of them. But after two weeks the excuses were running out. Even today. Not when Serizawa has been out for hours to get an exorcism done and neither you or Reigen decide to talk. Your eyes are slowly starting to sting, as you are scribbling down some practices. You think about how you and Reigen were best friends in middle school and high school. You told each other everything, even the things you were afraid to say to yourselves. You fell in love with him as you grew together, and hopelessly. You gazed at him from a distance at any given occasion, when you couldn't be close to him. Then you distanced yourself when you understood that your feelings couldn't be reciprocated. He just didn't love you that way. Your parents gave you the opportunity to move from Seasoning City and you took it. You and Reigen had promised each other to stay in touch but, over time, your paths were divided. You both started university, found a job and made a new life. Texts and calls became colder, more rare. This until you didn't even wish happy birthday to each other anymore. Then, after ten years apart, you came back and reunited with him after accidentally bumping into each other in the same office you are working now. You just walked in because you thought that your backache was orchestrated by an evil spirit. You didn't read the sign outside and when you came face to face with Reigen, your world changed again. Even if ten years went by, Reigen still reached out to you to help you find a part-time job while you tried to pursue your career as a photo model when you talked to him about your problems. And like that, you were together again.But now, because of a kiss and again because of your feelings, you feel Reigen slip away from your hands. Your eyes start to water at the idea, your writing on paper becomes more sloppy.

Why can't you hold Reigen close to you? A single hiccup escapes from you, and you immediately try to shut it by smashing your hand on your mouth. Finally, after an entire evening with his eyes on his laptop, Reigen flashes his head upwards. He looks at you, and he understands immediately that something's wrong. His lips part, his eyebrows curve upwards.

"(Y/N), are you okay?"

Your eyes bolt up, watered, and your cheeks start to get hot.

"I'm sorry"

You get up and quickly get out of the room, your hand still on your mouth. While you're in the bathroom shedding your tears and your frustration alone, Reigen has his hands planted on his face and his fingers pulling his hair. He lets out a low and muffled groan against his palms, and he curses himself. Seeing you cry makes him crumble completely. And it's not the first time he sees you like this. In high school you were not afraid to cry in front of him, because you knew that you could afford to do that with him. Reigen always listened to you religiously, he always knew what to say to make you feel better and understood. But there were times when you were impossible to comfort.

One of those times, you showed up in front of Reigen's front door without any notice. You were still dressed in your high school uniforms, and it was a spring night. When he opened the door, he immediately asked what happened to you. You planted your hands on his shoulders. Then you got close to his face, your lips parted. And at last, you burst out crying, pressing your forehead against his shoulder. You began crying so hard that Reigen, fearing for your privacy being invaded by neighbours, pulled you inside and shut the door quickly. You two were alone, just you and Reigen in that empty and liminal space as you cried against his shoulder.

"(Y/N), don't cry, please" Reigen said, concern in his voice.

You didn't say anything, too overwhelmed. So Reigen decided to take you upstairs, in his room where you spent so many afternoons. He made you sit down on his futon, then he rested his hands on your shoulders, caressing them.

"What happened?" he asked, gently.

You shook your head.

"(Y/N), please, talk to me"

Breaking your sighs, you finally managed to say "Taka, I just can't tell you"

Reigen, although confused, understood you. With all the respect for your feelings, he accepted that he just couldn't know what was making you cry like that. So he took you in his arms and laid both of you down on the floor. You were so close in that embrace, your legs intertwined, your face in his neck, his hand on the back of your head and his breath on your trembling lips. Two teens in their last year of high school inside a little bedroom on a spring night. One of them cried until her eyes shut from fatigue, and the other fell asleep after making sure that the crying stopped.They fell asleep in their school clothes, all over each other, until the sun came to wake them up. And Reigen never knew why it happened that night that, although so sad, he would always remember with romantic nostalgia.

Today in the office you feel like you are living that night again. But this time he can't cheer you up and he knows exactly why you're crying. Inside the restroom, as you shed tears, you watch your reflection in the mirror. Your shoulders are hunched forward, your hands pressing on the sink. You look in the mirror as you say to yourself "you and Reigen won't ever be the friends you were before". It hurts you more than the idea of him not loving you. When you come back from the restroom, Serizawa is in the office again. He says hello to you with a smile, and you reciprocate, he doesn't notice your red and swollen eyes, but it's not his fault. He's the first to leave the office, closing the door behind him. You silently start to help Reigen close the office for the night. It's dark outside and way past the lunch hour, which you both skipped in order to wait for Serizawa to come back. You feel Reigen looking at you from time to time and your cheeks are hot from embarrassment and frustration.

"Okay, everything's closed" Reigen says, walking towards the door "you ready?"

"Yeah" you say, with half your voice.

Before you can reach for the door knob, Reigen blocks your way with his body. You look at him, confused.

"Today I came with my car, I can give you a ride home" he says "if you want to of course”

You feel your stomach tightening. With an unsure sigh you say "It's really dark outside, are you sure?"

Reigen's driving experience was really limited, but he nods convincingly "I'm sure"

You take a deep breath and nod "Okay then, lead the way"

You walk out the office, making small talk as you go down the stairs. It's more comfortable than your silences. Years ago your silences were relaxing and intimate, beautiful. You can't afford that luxury now. You chat about your day in the dark and empty parking lot behind the office. Reigen was used to escort you to your car when you finished work late, just to make sure that you were safe. You arrive in front of his grey car, the one that you had to drive when he got too drunk at a wedding party. That same wedding where you pretended to be a couple to avoid people's prejudices. You slow danced and smiled together. Maybe you haven't had such an intimate moment with him since high school. The chatting ends inside the car, replaced with commercial music on the radio. Reigen keeps the volume low to not get distracted as he drives through the city night lights. Your elbow is pressing against the inside of the car door, your gaze fixed outside the window as you rest your chin on your hand. At red lights, Reigen takes some seconds to look at you.

He would kiss you right now if he could.

After ten minutes of driving in the night streets, the car slows down. Reigen's foot hits the brake, stopping it completely. You don't move from your position, and he looks at you with apprehension.

"Wanna smoke a cigarette?" he asks.

Finally you turn around and look at him, and you give him a melancholic smile.

"Yes, why not?"

Reigen nods and opens the door. He takes a few steps outside and then he lays on the car hood as he waits for you. You stay in the car, looking at him. Your heart steadily beats against your chest. Then, you get out and walk close to Reigen at a determined pace.

"Do you wanna go inside?"

Reigen, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, widens his eyes a bit in surprise.

"If that's okay for you" he replies.

"Of course it's okay"

You smile. It costs you some effort but not because you don't mean it. Reigen reciprocates. It's maybe the first sincere smile you exchanged since you kissed. Reigen starts to follow you up the stairs of your condo. You guide him, and from another perspective that walk up the stairs looks like a chase. It's not that far from reality. In front of your door you shove your hand inside your purse, frantically looking for the keys. You take them out with a chiming sound and then you turn them around in the keyhole. Reigen thinks that your apartment smells just like you. Like the perfume you always put on, vaguely like your lips of which the taste is carved in his mind forever. And it had that same pleasant air of your former house during summer afternoons when you were teens, when you used to sit on the floor in a star position. The fan always on, ice cream sticks thrown away in a corner, sweat running down your temples and your hair sticking onto your skin.

"We can smoke on the balcony" you say, gesturing him to follow you.

"It's your own apartment but it smells like your old bedroom" Reigen adds.

"And the mess is still here"

As you walk towards the balcony, you shove some clothes behind a sofa with your foot.

You slide the big door-window open. You both get out, and a cold breeze hits you unexpectedly, making his grey jacket and the hem of your skirt flow. Then, you close the door behind you and go towards the balcony railing. You lay against it on your back, it's cold and rough. You start searching for a pack of cigarettes. It's new and fresh, the smell of tobacco mixture faintly tastes like chocolate. You take one cig and put it between your lips. You gesture towards Reigen's lighter with your finger, since yours died.

"Wait" he says, and he makes you come closer.

You obey, and he makes the tips of your cigarettes touch, his is already lit up. Inhaling deep from the filter, even yours lights up with a magmatic color. You look at Reigen and your faces are really close as you exchange a cigarette kiss. Then you separate and you both blow the smoke out in sync.

"It's funny" you say, exhaling smoke "the first time I saw you smoking after we met again I was surprised because I thought you dropped the habit"

"Yeah, but since Mob started working for me I smoke way less" Reigen takes the cigarette between his lips, but then his eyes widen and he looks at you "wait, what do you mean by habit?”

You chuckle "You thought I was that stupid in high school?"

"I dunno what you're talking about"

You smile with nostalgia "I knew that your bathroom breaks during class were just excuses to go behind the school and smoke"

Reigen presses the filter between his lips and inhales. Meanwhile, he puts his hands up to resign, and he exhales a puff of smoke.

"You got me" he says, an amused grin "I didn't want you to think badly of me"

Now Reigen's elbows are pressing against the railing, his clasped hands hanging down. Your apartment is not in the heart of Seasoning City, and during the night the balcony is plunged into nothing but darkness and starry skies. Both you and Reigen puff some clouds of smoke that start to dissipate between stars. You don't see them because you are laying on the back, opposite to Reigen who is hunched forward. Your head slightly swings back and cold hair hits your naked neck.

"You've always been like this, Arataka" you whisper.

"Like what?" he asks.

"Ahead of me"

Reigen frowns his eyebrows and takes another hit. He seems concerned. You copy him and you let the smoke roll on your tongue.

"During middle school, high school..." you continue and blow smoke out "you were always so ahead of me. Everytime I looked at you, I couldn't help but feel like you were always a hundred steps ahead of me. Not in a bad way, but not in a good one either. It was just like that"

Reigen puts the cigarette out, throwing it out the balcony. He looks at the last cloud of white smoke disappear in the starry sky, dissipating forever. With a nervous chuckle he says.

"That's not true"

You look at him. Reigen's eyes are somewhere else, very distant, maybe in another reality. He talks again.

"I mean, you were the prettiest girl in both middle school and high school. Perfect grades, in a lot of clubs and groups, with students asking you out almost on a daily basis. Maybe if I didn't hang out with you I would have been bullied or something like that"

You shake your head.

"That doesn't mean anything, Arataka"

For some reason, the soft and tender tone of voice you used made Reigen want more. He gets close to you, who just stepped on the butt of the cigarette with the tip of your shoe. Almost without noticing, Reigen's arms encage you between his body and the railing, his fingers wrapping tightly around it. He looks at you deeply as you look at him through your lashes.

"The truth is that I couldn't even reach your ankles. I was nowhere near you," you say, slowly "because I loved you but you didn't love me.

Reigen's eyes widen and his fingers squeeze the iron railing more. His heart skipped way more than just a beat. You don't move beneath him, because you're so tired of not talking and running away. Your eyes are fixed on one another, pupils dilated.

"The beautiful and intelligent girl you talk about actually spent the night crying between your arms ten years ago because she couldn't be yours. I never told you, but that night I cried for you and not just that. I even cried because I thought that if I couldn't get you then I couldn't get anything. I moved from Seasoning City because of this. I felt small at that time and I feel small now, because I don't know my future in the modeling career and I'm still here chasing you. Because I still love you, Reigen. Maybe I never stopped in ten years. And I know that you don't feel the same but I wanted to tell you anyway"

"But I do love you" Reigen says "I really do"

It's a really quiet night. It's made of stars, cold air, smoke and words that are finally said. Made of (Y/N) and Reigen, his eyes in yours, his arms that create a space that is all between you two, his hands that are shaking around the railing. And it's made of your (e/c) eyes that fill up with intent, and your irregular breathing, and your mouth opening.

"And I'm not saying it just because you became this super hot model who poses for famous perfume brands. I say it because I loved you everytime we smoked a cigarette together, or when you wished me good morning in the office with a smile. And I love the way you never judge me even if I always do so with myself. I feel small in the world too, and with this anguished feeling that I've never accomplished anything in this life"

Reigen takes a deep breath, just a few inches from your face, and his voice breaks slightly.

"But I rather feel small in the world with you than being alone"

Reigen gets close to you and kisses you. Your mouth smothers the shaking in his voice. You reciprocate the kiss immediately, closing your eyes. It's happening again. You missed his mouth as if you had kissed it a thousand times already. Without notice, his body pins you against the railing, and when he does it you relax. You feel the airy noise of his breathing blowing out of his nostrils, and his heart beating against his chest. When you were in high school you spent a lot of time thinking about how kissing Reigen would be and feel like. Maybe it would happen in class when it was you two's turn to clean it, or at your home when he visited you to read manga together on the floor, or maybe in the back of your car after you took your driving license. Now this kiss feels right as it is, just like the first. When you separate you look at each other with astonishment, the eyes before and the lips after.

"Stay here tonight" you say, in a whisper.

"Yes" Reigen says.

This time you kiss with more urgency, your hands in the bristly base of his honey hair, his arms around your waist. Reigen moves you from the balcony railing and you begin to walk inside. Sometimes you stumble on your feet or bump your teeth against each other. Both of you chuckle and whisper some sorry's. Once inside, you close the glass door and take his hand, guiding him towards the bedroom. You take a second to switch up the lampshade and then you begin to take your clothes off. Your skirt first, then your shirt, and even your underwear, until Reigen sees you completely naked under the dim and orange light of the lamp. He gets close to you, removing his jacket, and he looks at you up and down.

"You're so beautiful (Y/N), you've always been" he says, calmly.

You, on the other hand, cup his face in your hands and kiss him again, and you feel him pushing you lightly towards your bed. You fall down on the mattress, a cloud of pristine blankets moving under your body like waves, your hair contrasting with them and scattered all across the bed as if you were underwater. You look at Reigen with hypnotized eyes as he gets on top of you and takes his shirt off, then you help him unbutton his pants. Only his boxers are on now.

"Can I?" he asks, he's sweet and his hands encapsulate your knees.

"Yes, please" you blurt out in a hurry.

Reigen opens your naked legs and slides his boxers down his thighs. He kicks them off with his feet and positions himself between your legs. You stroke his cheeks and his bangs with the tip of your fingers.

"I find you as beautiful as I thought you were in high school"

You smile to each other slowly, drowning in your gazes. Then, Reigen enters you and you both emit low groans.

Reigen starts making love to you with infinite delicacy, always looking at you in the face. Your lips relax.

"I waited so long..." you whisper.

Reigen arches his eyebrows upwards as he speeds up his thrusts. He feels your legs intertwine around his waist so you can feel him deeper. Your bedroom, in which you always slept without company, is now full of the sound of skin against skin, of the sweet nothings you whispered to tell each other that you were doing good. A lot of praises too. Sometimes you stop to kiss, with Reigen caressing you everywhere, and you squeezing around him even more because you want to be closer. Two bodies under a soft light and with the night out the window. After a while, the rhythm of Reigen's thrust gets more erratic like the creaking of the bed, you know he's close and you are too. You come first, then Reigen follows you. Your mouths are wide open to catch air. Then, Reigen collapses on top of you, plunging his face in your neck. In your skin, he whispers

"Maybe I didn't love you then, but I love you now I swear"

You close your eyes and hold Reigen close as you feel him slide outside of you. You brush your face on his shoulder.

"I know you mean it, you never lie to me"

Reigen rolls on his back, his diaphragm moving up and down irregularly. He looks up at the ceiling as he takes you in his arms and makes you rest on his naked chest.

"I wish I loved you ten years ago, so I would have never lost you"

You shake your head and look up in his eyes.

"Arataka, it was all my fault. You didn't owe me your feelings, not ten years ago and not now, I was just selfish in moving from Seasoning City because I couldn't handle the heartache. We were best friends before lovers, and it wasn't right to just run away without telling you why"

"I could have done more to hold you close, maybe writing you more, calling you, insist to know what was going on"

Reigen shields his sweaty forehead with his hand, covering his eyes in frustration.

"C'mon, stop. We are here now, and we are together"

You pull Reigen's hand away from his face and he rests it on your back, tracing circles on your naked skin with the tip of his fingers. Then, he cups your cheek with his free hand and closes the distance between you and him, kissing you deeply. He moves you on top of his body. Then, you reach for the lampshade switch and turn it off.

"We were good today, we did good to each other" Reigen says, holding you close.

You nod, your hair tickling his chest.

"And tomorrow morning I'll make you breakfast in bed, have sex again if you want and then I'll take you out to eat ramen"

In the darkness it's possible to distinguish only the outline of your bodies, which looked like an individual identity. The motion of your laugh and Reigen stroking your hair can be seen.

"You are every girl's dream. Well, mine in particular. Thank god that after ten years it's still me and you"

You both fall asleep all over each other.

In the morning you wake up to the sunlight shining through the open windows. It floods the room with a warm natural light that makes the white sheets of the bed shine, and even your naked skin. You open your eyes, fluttering them a couple of times. You start to slowly roll on your side, sheets sliding down your body. During the night, Reigen inadvertently scooted away from you and laid on his stomach. He's still sleeping, it's dictated by the slow movement of his back going up and down. The scar he got from his first fight against The Claw is clearly visible, a deep cut running from the top to the bottom of his back. His face is directed towards the window, you can't see the expression he has on his face. But you are more than happy to just settle with looking at his honey colored hair that play with sunlight. You smile full of the awareness that you love Reigen, and Reigen loves you.

I'm sure we're taller in another dimension, you say we’re small and not worth the mention

[genocidehim]

Nacho secretly falling for Lalo's trophy wife and she not so subtly likes him back

notes: render is female, angst, marital problems, emotional neglect. words: 2715 part. 2 here

1. keep in mind that if Lalo as a husband seems disgusting here, it's because I'm basing it on the common archetype of the Mexican drug lord! don't kill me, I'm just trying to give some realism to the matter.

2. This could have more chapters, I really liked the dynamics!! Just ask for more and I'll make them.

Since Lalo's return to Mexico, many things had changed, but many remained the same.

Life in Mexico was pleasant and peaceful despite all the inconveniences brought by the criminal life. You were Eduardo Salamanca's wife, a man who was quite respected in Don Eladio's cartel, which gave you and your family some status.

You met Lalo about three years ago, when by chance, you both became emotionally involved. He was an attentive and somewhat arrogant man, like any man involved in organized crime. Lalo loved to shower you with gifts and treat you like a queen. He even proposed to you not long after and took you to live with him in his house.

Although married life with Lalo seemed like a dream, it was much more problematic than you imagined. Lalo was an obsessive man with his work and would typically not spend time at home, much less with you. Once he had you in his house, he began to neglect you because he no longer saw the point in chasing you. He had you under his power. Although he was still quite thoughtful and romantic, it was almost a rarity. Lalo was mostly away from home working, and there were days when you didn't see him at all. Not to mention, he didn't sleep with you most nights due to his strange sleeping behavior.

Over the years, you seemed to have grown accustomed to staying at home without expecting him at night, and due to the danger of going out, you stayed at home while watching the employees work and converse. You were not a prisoner, but you felt like one.

You no longer had friends, your family was not happy with your decision to marry a criminal and they avoided you. You didn't see your husband, and you had forgotten the last time you had spoken to anyone other than the house employees.

Lalo had priorities, and his wife was not among them. His family and his business came first.

When he had to leave for Albuquerque urgently due to business problems, you couldn't even say goodbye before finding out he was already in another country. However, that was already a habit and it didn't even make you sad anymore.

You lived alone in a house where the only people who talked to you were those who were paid a salary. Living in luxuries that you could not enjoy and feeling like just another decoration in Lalo's expensive house.

And technically, that's what you were. Just the beautiful wife that Lalo showed off at parties.

That's why when you heard the shots and a car skid through the entrance of the house, you guessed that he had returned, not knowing how many weeks or months had passed.

You took the time to fix yourself up before going downstairs. Your mood was much lower than on previous occasions, and you felt less excited to receive your husband because that meant having to make yourself hopeful only to be abandoned again without even being able to say goodbye.

You went down the stairs and walked to the entrance of the house after seeing all the employees welcoming Lalo with applause and smiles. You walked towards them and gave your best smile to Lalo, who quickly gave you a big hug and a kiss on the lips to which you tried to respond.

"¡Al fin veo a la niña de mis ojos!" Lalo held your face and gave you another kiss on the lips. "How has the queen of my heart been?"

Lalo's gentle and sweet voice awakened something in you, that love that you used to suppress when he was away. Little by little, you were regaining the excitement of having him home, and your eyes lit up when you saw him.

"Missing you... Last time I couldn't say goodbye to you."

"Ay mi niña... Did I leave you too abandoned?"

Lalo wrapped his arms around you while speaking in a sweeter and more mellow tone, caressing your hair as if you were just a little girl who needed attention. Shortly after, he let go of you and smiled widely as he put his hand on your back to keep you close to him.

"You still haven't met Ignacio! I want to introduce you to him. He's going to stay in the house for a while; he's a friend of mine."

You looked at the man Lalo was introducing you to and felt a small pang in the pit of your stomach. A strange sensation filled your body as you kept a warm smile while getting to know him.

Ignacio seemed your age, much shorter than Lalo, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in muscle because, yes, the first thing you noticed was how well that red shirt he was wearing fit him.

"Pleasure to meet you, Ignacio," you said as you extended your hand to introduce yourself. He hesitated, but eventually took your hand and shook it with little force.

When Nacho first laid eyes on you, he knew that you would be his downfall.

The days in the house didn't seem so boring to you anymore, and they were less stressful for Nacho.

Most of the time, Lalo seemed to be more occupied with fixing his cars and taking care of his horses than paying attention to you. He thought it was enough to have you at night and see you at breakfast, and he didn't seem too interested in playing the loving husband if he had more important things to do. It was something that Nacho noticed almost instantly.

Nacho was more observant, subtly noticing how you seemed to be seeking Lalo's attention while he seemed interested in other things. How you flirted with him at every opportunity you had, and how Lalo seemed to completely ignore it, offering you a credit card as a solution to your flirting, thinking that was all you needed from him.

Over time, Nacho discovered that Lalo wasn't just a man obsessed with the Cartel and his family, but they were his top priorities above his young and beautiful wife.

And then came the interest. Nacho started seeing you with different eyes when one of those days when Lalo wasn't home, you asked him to accompany you to a clothing store to replenish your wardrobe, and he was the first spectator to see you in clothes that were quite revealing, with the excuse of "wanting to know his opinion."

You weren't subtle, and neither was he.

The topic began to escalate when the factor of physical attraction came into play. Some afternoons, he would wear slightly tighter shirts or even sleeveless shirts to subtly show off his body in front of you. Other times, you took advantage of the heat to dress more lightly and walk around the house showing more skin. They were so subtle with the signals that no one would think it was intentional.

It was one of those strange mornings where you had a slight argument with Lalo before he had to leave to Don Eladio's house despite having plans with you that day. Lalo had his priorities and you weren't one of them.

It was insulting and it saddened you how everything had cooled down so much, now you could only watch Lalo's horses while reflecting on things in your life. In the distance, you heard Nacho's jovial voice, which seemed strange to you.

"Weren't you with Eduardo?" you asked curiously.

"No, he asked me to stay here resting while he did other things."

You nodded with disdain and gave him a forced smile before refocusing your attention on the galloping horses. Nacho felt a little more courageous and approached you to talk more privately without looking too obvious.

"Everything okay?" he asked as he leaned on the railing that contained the horses.

"Yes... I'm just a little bored of being in this house..."

"You're always at home, you should go out with your friends or do something else."

Nacho realized he had touched on a sensitive topic for you because your gaze saddened and you turned it away from him.

"I don't have many friends... Especially now that Mexico is so dangerous and there are so many kidnappings of narco families..."

Ignacio couldn't remember that, probably because the place where they were was quite safe and well-protected, but it was true that Mexico was much more dangerous now with organized crime so rampant.

"And why don't you invite those friends here?"

"I don't have friends, Ignacio," you said seriously as you gave him a cold and serious look. It was embarrassing for you to have to reveal that part of your life because it was admitting that you were just Lalo's trophy wife, that woman who was only in his house waiting to be the incubator of his children.

"I'm sorry... I had no idea."

"I thought you had already noticed, everyone notices it instantly..."

An awkward silence lingered in which both were unable to speak no matter how much they wanted to break the silence. Nacho hesitated if it was respectful to ask more about it, and you wondered if it was appropriate to talk about your marriage with one of your husband's friends.

"... Would you like to have lunch with me?"

Your question caught Nacho off guard for a moment as he didn't know how to respond. When he looked at you and saw you smiling with a sad expression on your face, he felt the need to accept.

"Lunch together?"

"Yes, we were supposed to have lunch all together, but Lalo had to go to Don Eladio's and I imagine he'll eat there..."

"I don't want to sound nosy, but... why didn't he take you with him?"

"To where? To Don Eladio's house?" You chuckled before continuing. "I don't go to those kinds of meetings, they never let wives attend the meetings."

"I understand…" Nacho recalled his last encounter at Don Eladio's house and was able to piece things together. Those gatherings were typically focused solely on the cartel: alcohol, cocaine, women… things that most husbands would hide from their marriages. And although Nacho knew that Lalo wasn't particularly interested in getting involved with other women, he couldn't guarantee it 100%. Not when he knew very well how the narco behavior was in Mexico.

"You've been to one of those gatherings, haven't you?" You asked curiously, turning around to face him. Nacho felt somewhat out of himself having you so close, normally when he spoke to someone he kept a considerable distance, but now you were just an arm's length away and he could smell the expensive perfume you were wearing.

"Just one, it was when Lalo introduced me to Eladio."

"And… is it true that there are girls at those gatherings?"

The sad look you gave Nacho was enough to break his heart. It hurt to see a young girl like you feeling so insecure about her marriage, a marriage that seemed more like a sentence in jail.

"There are always girls, Mrs. Salamanca…"

"Don't call me that… you can call me by my name." You felt some discomfort remembering that you were also a Salamanca, but not part of the family, just an extension that would one day serve to bear and give birth to true Salamancas.

Nacho nodded and watched you in silence as you seemed immersed in your own thoughts, with an unreadable expression on your face. Ignacio often didn't understand Lalo, and this only made him have a more abstract idea of what kind of man he was. He knew that Lalo had a strong connection to his family and always did everything for their benefit, but... Wasn't his wife also his family? How was it possible for him to abandon such a pleasant woman like you in a house like this? It was almost like a castle where you were locked up. Nacho wasn't very knowledgeable about many things, but he could easily deduce that you were depressed.

Those thoughts made something inside him stir. He couldn't conceive the idea of a woman like you losing her youth and life locked up in this house. Nacho wondered if your love for Lalo was so great that you allowed it, but was it right?

"So... do you want to have lunch with me?"

Your question brought him back to reality and he nodded, giving you a kind smile to which you responded with your own.

Both decided to take their lunch to one of the tables outside the house. Sweet Yolanda prepared Chilaquiles rojos and some natural juice to drink as they talked with more privacy outside of the house. The atmosphere was cool, the heat no longer felt as present, and the fresh air messed up your hair as you tried to keep it away while eating, eliciting laughter from Ignacio.

"Provecho! I hope you like it. I told Yolanda to make this especially for you."

Nacho's sweet gaze watched you with affection as he thanked you politely. Nacho's gaze seemed more focused on watching you than on the lunch he had in front of him. He was enchanted by you, not only were you beautiful, but you also seemed very affectionate and charismatic, and Nacho imagines that you would be a good wife and mother with those incredible qualities.

Nacho's heart beats strongly and he begins to wonder if it's really right to think of you that way, his boss's wife. However, he can't deny that being beside you really makes him happy.

"I wish Lalo could eat with us…"

The mere mention of Lalo's name made Nacho feel repulsed.

"Maybe tomorrow it could happen."

"I doubt it… He never has lunch with me, only breakfast and dinner."

"Lalo is a busy man..." Ignacio can't believe he's defending that man as you look at him with sadness. "I don't think he does it on purpose."

You let out a sigh and set your fork aside. You're tired, as if your pent-up emotions are about to overflow. You feel the words coming and speak up;

"I shouldn't be talking about these things, but... Sometimes I feel like I'm just a decoration in this house."

The sadness in your words really moved Nacho, who gave you a sad look seeing how distressed you were.

"Lalo only needs me when he wants to show off his beautiful wife... Sometimes he just talks about the pretty children I can give him, how obedient I am, that I never give him any trouble..."

Nacho stared at you with a sadness on his face. He could see how your beautiful eyes had no shine and only held sadness and loneliness... The idea that you felt that way crushed him deeply and only gave him more reason to despise Lalo.

What kind of man could be so cold to his wife? The kind of man who only cared about his business, and Lalo was like that.

It hurt Nacho to hear you describe yourself as useless, it hurt to hear you call yourself a "decoration" in your own home.

"God... I'm sorry I told you this, I don't know what came over me... I don't think I've ever had a chance to get it off my chest." You sighed, feeling the air in your lungs become heavier, holding back the urge to cry as you tried to regain your composure. "Don't tell Lalo I told you this... He'd be so angry with me if he found out."

He has to maintain his composure to not get lost in his emotions. He wishes so much he could stand up and embrace you in his arms, caress you, and tell you everything will be okay, to let you know that you are not really the things you think of yourself… However, he has to restrain himself, it's a bad idea, it's a terrible idea that he's starting to feel things for Lalo's wife.

"I won't tell him, I promise. Trust me."

The warmth of his words had really managed to take away some of your sadness. With some reassurance, you took Nacho's hand and gave it a little squeeze before thanking him. And Nacho felt like he had won heaven just by touching you.

[crash-and-cure]

If I Were You Part 2 (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: Reader tries to navigate the immeadiate aftermath after that fateful night with Elvis, to varying success. WIth his return to performing on the horizon reader questions is if there is a way of forward that causes the least amount of damage for both parties. Elvis sees only one path forward.

Note: This is based on @venus-haze One shot If I Were You. Please go read that before this because it’s absolutely incredible. And yes before anyone asks I had her full permission to continue the story and she has been on board the whole time. I swear on my life this was originally a one-shot to continue on and let it be known what I saw for reader and Elvis’ future. Then about 5k into this story and realizing there were so many scenes I wanted to add within the first week alone for these two, I just went all in and decided to restrain this chapter to a week. There will be at least one more chapter following this. Reader is cis female, and aside from that no other descriptors are used. Full disclosure I do use this song, which, while never performed by him, has all the makings of one, and it fit to well in the scene it’s in. I do have a Bachelor’s in Psychology, but I am not a therapist, so nothing here should be treated as genuine mental health advice. That being said there is alot more focus on reader this time around. Please read the warnings before deciding to read.

Word Count: 10.5k

Warnings: Yandere fic so there are themes of obsessive , manipulative, and delusional behavior as well as some heavy allusions to blackmail, emotional and otherwise, here too. There is an informal therapy session depicted here as well in which topics such as performance anxiety, sex, exploitation, and substance abuse are discussed. Depictions of drinking that may be seen as delving into alcohol abuse territory, as well as some other erratic behavior on readers part. Explicit sexual content depicted that includes oral (f. recieving), pentrative sex (m/f), spanking, some daddy kink, and other dom/sub undertones sprinkled throughout. And of course Elvis’ mommy issues and readers daddy issues (truly aa match made in hell). Finally depictions of a toxic relationship that include power imbalances, manipulation, and uses of coercion. Please do not interact if you are under 18.

Part 1  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5

My Masterlist

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You kept that bottle of wine, you can’t fully explain why though. Worse yet you kept it in the bottom drawer of your desk, and every time you opened that drawer these past few months you were always secretly hoping that it wouldn’t be there and would always feel the disappointment when it continued to be there out of your sight. How poetic you thought idly as Elvis forced open that locked drawer after curiosity over the glass clinking sound had gotten the better of him.

Recognizing the bottle he let out a dark chuckle. “Well I’ll be damned. Thought you didn’t take gifts from us patients, Doc?” he said, very much amused as he used his teeth to take the cork out. “Don’t worry though mama,” he paused taking a swig, “I forgive ya’. Least I could do after all ya’ gave tonight.” 

Shaking both in shock and humiliation, you grabbed the bottle and after nursing it for a beat too long, you proceeded to ride him to oblivion as he sat in your own desk chair in some twisted attempt to regain control of the situation. Though the closer you got to your peak, it became clear that this was all in vain. The way he sat there, lounging back, one hand behind his head and the other leaving finger-sized bruises on your rear, guiding you as you desperately chased your release, he was the very image of a King on his throne. It was on that thought that you proceeded to shatter around him once again that night, drifting as he whispered in your ear what a good girl you were. 

The rest of the night proceeded as a blur as the next conscious thought you had would be wondering how you were going to get to work the next day as he drove you home in his own car. You don’t quite remember giving him directions, but for the sake of your sanity you just assumed you did. And in some perverted form of chivalry, he even walked you to your front door and gave you a tender, almost sweet, kiss as though he didn’t have you bent over your own desk not even an hour ago, before departing into the night. 

You’re in a fugue state as you work toward your nightly routine. You don’t taste your dinner, you don’t hear the music from your neighbor’s radio, and you especially don’t feel his cum flaking on the skin beneath your blouse. Nope. Definitely not. You’re too ashamed to even look at yourself going so far as to shower with your lights off. 

As you settle into bed that night, your sleep is fitful as you try your best to decide what to do about this night. In the end, with all the evidence of your tryst washed away, you resolve to ignore these feelings at the very least until you have to see him again. 

What you can’t ignore the next morning is your car, that had no business being there, in its usual spot, along with your keys in the ignition. Not really trying to think too hard on the implications you would rush to work hoping to clean up before your first client of the day.

To your surprise everything in your office is already in order: No furniture askew, no suspicious stains on the desk or chairs, not even the panties that you swore didn’t come home with you anywhere in sight. The only proof that last night even happened at all was the broken desk drawer and the slight tenderness on your ass.

The days following that session were hazy at best to you as, even during work, your mind was occupied by him. You formulated plans as to how best to address what happened and why it must never happen again. Elvis has always had a reputation as a bit of a cad, so perhaps you can both treat this as a one time thing. Something that he had to get out of his system in order to successfully further his treatment. Even in session he confessed that he had trouble with maintaining monogamy to almost all of his previous partners - though, you thought, he did immediately follow that up with the justification that he was looking for the “right” girl. 

You pushed that notion away, he will understand - he has to understand - that it would be better to return to the previous professional relationship. So come Thursday morning, you take steps to effectively unsex yourself; no makeup, loose fitting pants and blazer, hair in a less than flattering style, the whole nine yards. All of this done in an effort to make yourself a less viable option for a sexual partner .

As you leave your apartment you catch a glimpse of your ill-fitting attire and you can’t help but be reminded how as a child you would wear your fathers suits and declare you were going to be a Doctor like him. As you would swim in his oversized coat, you remember feeling lucky to receive a dismissive glance your way and monotone orders to return the clothes back where you found them. You rush out to your car before you can dwell on that train of thought.

If your other patients noticed your sudden change in style that day, no one mentioned it. You had previously taken pride in the level of professionalism you were able to maintain, but in the grand scheme of things, looking frumpy for one day of work could hardly be deemed the worst thing you have done. 

As 4 PM rolled around you were still in the process of convincing yourself that you were ready to confront this head on by not confronting it and acting as though nothing ever happened. You can do this- you have to do this- you told yourself. 

4:15 PM, you were ready for the knock on the door that would not come that night. 

4:30 PM, you were still waiting in a rigid state with your pen and notebook clenched in your hands, full attention at the wooden door, like a dog waiting for its owner to come home. You shudder at the comparison. 

4:45 PM, you were justifying his tardiness with his upcoming concert, and even with your barebones knowledge of performing, you realize that these types of things are planned weeks, even months in advance. And so you wait.

5 PM and you’re already mentally packing up to go back to your apartment. You know that all of your things are sitting at your desk but you wanted to spend as little time looking at it as possible. These past few days, you had the irrational fear that even so much as looking at where your indiscretion happened would tip off everybody. You disregard that reflexive response that makes you clench your thighs together when you look in its direction. 

5:15 PM you can no longer ignore the stiffness in your back but you're doing your best to disregard the feeling of rejection that has settled in the pit of your stomach. Because this seems to be the place where you make your worst decisions, you decide to pull out that damned bottle of wine. You see the teeth marks on the cork, and you push down the part of you that blushes at the thought of putting your mouth where his was. 

It is in that moment with the stopper wrenched free and you thinking about a man you definitely shouldn’t be thinking about, does the shrill tone of your office phone ring. It’s embarrassing really how quickly your hand shoots to answer it, moreso when you answer with a mouthful of cork. 

“Hww-” you quickly spit it out. “Hello this is Dr. Y/L/N.”

It is little comfort when you recognize the voice. 

“Baby I’m so sorry that I missed tonight, but I coulda swore I told one a my boys to let ya’ know I wouldn’t make it.” he said apologetically. “We got rehearsal’s all this week for Saturday and my minds been all over the damn place.”

Baby, you thought as you took a quick gulp of wine. Early on, he had slipped and called you tha, maybe a month or two into his treatment. You, as gently as you could, informed him how you would appreciate it if he wouldn’t refer to you as such. He reassured you that he meant nothing by it as he apparently calls everyone that from time to time. You accepted that answer and didn’t say anything the few times he would say it later on. 

Looking at the bottle in your hand, you had spent the last few days blaming it for being your first misstep in your career, but retrospect is funny like that and you’re now realizing it was one in a series of many over the last year. With him continually elbowing his way back into your life, you doubt it will be your last. 

“That’s alright Mr. Presley, just please don’t let this happen again in the future.” is your response, wanting to end this conversation as quickly as possible. “I’ll see you for your next session on Monday.” 

“Speakin’ a that. I was hoping we could reschedule today for Saturday,” he said before you could lift the receiver from your ear. 

“Mr Presley, I don’t work on Saturday’s,” you half-heartedly protested. 

“Then you’re free,” he quickly countered. “Doc, it’s just that… I’mma need some help gettin’ my head straight before the show, cause it’s been over a year since I done this, and even longer since I done a show sober.”

You immediately clock what he’s trying to do, and for all the ill-advised actions you’ve taken in the last week, you didn’t get your license out of a cracker jack box. “Elvis, that is in no way appropri-”

“Well it’s the show,” he quickly cuts you off. There is a dark edge to his tone as he continues. “And what happened on Monday. I think I really need to talk to someone ‘bout it.”

It doesn’t have to be you, goes unsaid.

He’s got you there and you know it, and currently you’re in no state of mind to try to find a way around this. So rather than doing anything semi-responsible and enforcing the boundary you have set, you down most of what’s left of the bottle and agree. 

“Darlin’ that’s perfect. If there’s one thing I can promise, it's a helluva show” You can almost feel the self-satisfied grin over the phone. “I also been thinkin’ ‘bout what you said with not lettin’ people know that you’re my therapist, and you’re right.”

The neck of the bottle is clenched so tightly in your fist, you’re concerned it may shatter at this point. That earlier feeling of rejection being quickly replaced with dread.

“So I think I best I send you a lil’ somethin’ to wear for the show, I want them knowin’ you’re my girl, not my shrink, and you don’t exactly dress the part Doll.” he says this with such a cool authority that leaves no room for argument.

You stared off into space with this offer. You’re idly reminded of months ago when you had him practice an exercise in control. He did, you observed, have an excessive need for control in almost every aspect of his life, but this mindset also held the detrimental effect that everything that went wrong was also his fault due to the control he felt. So you came up with this exercise so you could both figure out where it is reasonable to be in control, and in which places he could relinquish it a bit. One aspect he mentioned that he often controlled was the way his girlfriends dressed, which you will admit made you do a double take. The only thing you commented on that detail was that so long as both parties were consenting he was truly not in control of the entire situation. 

Doll indeed, you think bitterly. Did he take it as a challenge? Whatever the case may be, one thing becomes evident. You have no doubt what his intentions are anymore, no overwhelming emotions clouding his judgment, nor any post-orgasmic high having him say things he doesn’t mean. 

As you look at the near empty bottle of wine while you sit in the room where your career has lived and will inevitably die, you can hardly say the same thing about yourself.

Mark had insisted you keep it that night months ago, and after realizing that there was no way of returning it to Elvis without bringing up the incident again, you kept it in your office for the sole reason that it felt wrong to keep it in your apartment. Too Intimate, you had thought. You begin to wonder how your life would have been had you told Mark why you wished to refuse the wine. Maybe you would have been strong enough to put your foot down and keep this relationship professional… or maybe he would have taken the same approach you took, and let it slide under the guise of Elvis not knowing any better at the time. Elvis seemed to have that effect on people, of wanting to justify his actions in spite of it everything.

Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the way he sounded when exhausted, or just maybe it was looking into Pandora's proverbial drawer and finally finding those lost panties with the evidence of your attraction to him stained into the fabric. Whatever it was you found yourself finishing off the bottle and agreeing to his requests - demands really-  and drunkenly trying your best to rationalize to yourself why you shouldn’t burn your license to ash at this very moment. 

The next day rolls around and you return to your normal wardrobe. Though that morning you can’t help but take an extra long look at it as though the promised new addition will change it fundamentally. You chalk that thought up to you still being hungover. As the day continues, you try your best to be more attentive to your patients that day, because even if you failed to do so once, these people deserve a space free from your own personal issues.

You’re not surprised to be met with a package at your doorstep, though the colored box and large bow it arrives in are a bit much for what you assumed to be a single dress. What you’re met with inside is in fact a full outfit complete with even the undergarments you assume you’re expected to wear. The style itself so far from your typical business professional taste, it circles into the territory of a disguise. You even have to admit that there is an air of brilliance to it, since you doubt even you would be able to recognize yourself in this outfit.

Though in that regard, you already have a lot of trouble doing so lately.

Your tentative plan as of right now is to attend the concert and take part in this impromptu therapy session, and you will discuss with him what happened and explain why it is in fact critical to his mental well-being that this affair goes no further. You begrudgingly admit that come Monday, you will have to start from square one with him, but this is the only path forward you can see anymore.

That Saturday morning is devoted to running in and out of grocery stores, trying to gather as many tabloids featuring Elvis as possible, if you’re going to -temporarily- play the part he wants you to play, you will have to look like it. The rest of the day is devoted to primping and preening to get said right look. This brings back memories from undergrad, you and a friend preparing for a double date and Priscilla, along with various other celebrity faces, taped to the mirror for inspiration. Specifically you remember after being able to achieve her dramatic cat eye, your friend joking that if this college thing didn’t work out for you, you could put in an application for being Elvis’ next girl. You laughed at how preposterous that idea was at the time.

Your thoughts of the past are quickly interrupted by rapid knocking at your front door, and you quickly put the finishing touches on your makeup and throw on the ensemble. At the door you’re met with a familiar blonde whose apparent agitation swiftly surpasses whatever momentary discomfort he clearly feels at encountering you once again. Though in that moment you’re at least grateful Elvis had the good sense to not involve anyone else in this matter (that and the fact he didn’t send a limo).

Getting into the car you’re praying for a long and silent trip to the show. Jerry not reading the room says to you “Sorry for rushing you out the door back there, um…” he says. “It’s just been a bit of a crazy week, and the Boss is just wigging out about every single detail.”

“I understand” you attempt to placate, wishing for this exchange to end as soon as possible. “You have a job to do.”

“By the looks of it, so do you,” he says in an attempt to joke, though he quickly cuts himself off after seeing you tense up. He quickly apologizes and as you turn to look out the window, you hear what sounds like a flask being opened and Jerry downing a good portion of it. 

You resist the urge to demand a shot of whatever he’s drinking because, as poorly timed as that joke was, you are on the clock. And for as unprofessional as you have been lately, you don’t think you’ve quite gotten to the level of drinking right before a session. Because that’s what this is: an emergency/supplemental session that will precede a momentous occasion for your patient, and out of respect for his privacy, you are in disguise so that no one will know he’s even seeing a therapist. You’re hoping the more you tell yourself that the less ridiculous it will sound.

And due to the fact you're on the job you reason, it may be best to get an idea of his state before going in. “How has he been today? I’m sure the stress of the event is getting to him,” you ask.

“Yeah, uhh… he’s been in a bit of a mood all day,” he says carefully.

“Meaning?” 

“He’s basically been sayin’ that he wouldn’t perform until he saw you,” he says, looking anywhere but at you.

And there it is, you think. You give a simple nod in acknowledgement to Jerry, as he is all too happy to let this conversation peter out. You now recognize what Elvis is attempting and using Jerry as a proxy for. Despite all your training that tells you that you’re not responsible for any actions your patients take, you feel yourself start to shoulder the burden of getting him to perform tonight. Not only that but it seems you also bear the responsibility of putting him in the right headspace to perform well tonight. 

The rest of the ride to the show itself is quiet, which you’re grateful for, as it gives you time to steel yourself. Jerry as well seems to ease into a more relaxed demeanor the way one would when doing something that has become routine. It seems he’s no stranger to ferrying women to the King of Rock and Roll. 

Regardless of the slight pang of sorrow you feel momentarily at that observation, you try to see the upside to it. That this… thing with Elvis, your patient you have to remind yourself, will be short-lived. 

Arriving at the venue, you are immediately led backstage, and you’re not sure you can write off the feeling that everyone was watching you to paranoia on your part. Whatever it was, you surmised, there were more than a few people beyond Elvis expecting your arrival. As you were ushered to his dressing room, you felt equal parts dread and anticipation as to what would be on the other side.

What you weren’t expecting was your office. Though that may be a stretch, you can’t seem to find the logic in a dressing room having two chairs facing each other with a small table between them complete with a box of tissues right on top. The entire arrangement takes up an inordinate amount of space in an already cramped room, and you can’t help but conclude that it is intentional. 

You find the man of the hour in an open robe (sans shirt, though thankfully with pants on) sitting cross legged on the sofa in what you recognize to be a meditative position. You wouldn’t say he is quite disheveled, but every time you’ve seen him, he’s looked nothing less than immaculate. So finding him in this state with his hair undone and no ostentatious clothing is slightly jarring. Upon hearing the door open he cracks open one eye, and seeing you his face breaks into that handsome grin you’ve become far too familiar with. “Y/N, baby you’re here.” he says feigning surprise.

Not even acknowledging what he just said, you make your way into the room and Jerry, clearly just as disturbed by the setup, closes the door behind you. You glance at the clock on the wall showing that you had a little over 2 hours until the concert was set to start, just enough time for a full session and then some for him to get ready for the show. There is no way this was not meticulously planned, you conclude. 

You sit down placing your bag on the floor, as he takes his time to stretch out for a bit before he strolls his way to sit astride the chair across from you. There with an amused look on his face, he says nothing apparently wanting you to start. 

Considering there is no protocol as to how to conduct a session in this highly specific situation, and not wanting to immediately open with the elephant in the room, you decide to begin with just idle chit chat. “So… um, I didn't know you practiced meditation.”

“Yeah, it was somethin’ I picked up in San Diego,” he says off-handedly.

“I’m glad that it works for you,” you say as neutrally as possible. 

“Oh, it don’t,'' he clarifies. “It works in gettin’ everyone to leave me the fuck alone for awhile. But not in the other ways it’s supposed to.”

You nod your head in acknowledgement as he continues. “I got into yoga when I was down there too.”

“Do you find that works better for you?”

“Yeah,” he verifies. “When I feel somethin’ real bad, I gotta move. It don’t matter how.” This makes sense as he's a very physical person. You are aware of his love for Karate, and you briefly consider recommending he pick up Tai Chi as a happy medium between meditation and martial arts to help him in achieving mindfulness. Your thoughts are interrupted as he continues. “Too bad I ain’t been able to practice in a while.”

“And why is that?” you softly probe.

“I been needin” a partner,” he said with a sly grin, very much an offer.

There’s your opening, you think to yourself. This is the moment you can make a bid to reinforce some level of boundaries between the two of you. Where you can tell him that Monday was a mistake and should never happen again. That this infatuation with you is in fact detrimental to his mental well-being and will destroy your career. And most importantly that there is no future between the two of you.

“Elvis, please” you say, exhaling in frustration. “About what happened on Monday… I think it would be best if we-”

“Well,” he chimes in, “I think it best we save that talk for another time,” his severe delivery leaving no room for argument. Fear grips your throat as he continues in a notably softer tone, “Everything out there is ready for me to play, but up here,” he says, putting two fingers to his temple. “I don’t know ‘bout. Darlin’ I need your help right now, because I can’t do this without you”

Almost everything within you says to push forward no matter what, and tell him right here and now. The one thing that stops you is knowing for a fact he will be devastated with what you have to say. And then what? You leave and he’s unable to perform, leaving hundreds devastated. And come Monday will he even show up, or will he make the call and have you immediately reported for your part in this whole ordeal. Not to mention the long-term variables of if he will even want to continue therapy should you fail to get him ready tonight.

You sigh in defeat, as it appears you have no choice but to concede on this matter and focus on the immediate task at hand. “So you mentioned over the phone that your head’s been all over the place this week. Tell me, is this how you normally feel in the days leading up to a performance?” 

He looks pleased with your question and answers “Not in the last few years no. I mean, first time in Vegas it was a little like this, but after a while that all became routine.”

He leans his chair back and reaches behind him to the vanity table to reach for a glass of water. This angle puts his full chest on display and you can’t help but rake your eyes over the hair there and follow the trail of it down to his-

Focus, you think to yourself.

He offers you a glass, and in spite of how dry your mouth feels at the moment, you are trying to no longer accept anything from him at this point regardless of how small, so you refuse. “Tell ya’ what though,” he says, taking a sip. “I ain’t feel this nervous since my early days of performin’ and I would shake somethin’ fierce on stage,” he laughs a little at this statement. “That’s actually parta where all my dancin’ came from.” 

“I see.”

It’s unsettling how you could almost mistake the rest of your time together as a typical session with him. The only cosmetic differences being the harsh lighting from the vanity behind him and the uncomfortable feeling from the leather chair sticking to the back of your thighs. You’re also at a bit of a loss as to what to do with your hands without anything to take notes in, and the outfit has you feeling particularly vulnerable. As for his part you doubt you’ve ever seen him this relaxed in your presence before; leaning back with his legs spread and his robe exposing a mouth-watering amount of his torso. If you had to guess, it may have something to do with you being in his territory so to speak, as opposed to the typical setting of your office. Or maybe he’s just into your humiliation.

Aside from those factors, you would have even labeled today as a successful session… that is until the conversation takes a turn.

“I’ve done what feels like a thousand shows, most of them without all that crap Nic was pumping me with, but it feels like… I don’t know. Like that was some other guy that was performin’ and that he ain’t here tonight.”  

“This ‘other guy’ has he always been a part of the way you perform?” 

“I ain’t feel like myself on stage in a long time.” he said morosely.

“Elvis, I want you to try to recall a concert where you did feel like your true self. It doesn’t have to be the last time you felt this way, just the most memorable.” You replied leaning forward.

The half smirk that creeps on to his face makes you regret that question though. “Actually the show that comes to mind is the comeback special. You seen it before?” he asked. 

Yes. “...No, I-I believe I missed that one,” you manage to stutter out.

He grins knowingly, “Well they had me in front of an audience, maybe less than a hundred people and had me dressed all in leather with only a small square for a stage. In spite all that I felt free especially since Parker had almost nothin’ to do with it,” he said wistfully. “He chewed me out later for it, sayin’ shit like how it was no real audience and that they were told when to clap. But I knew…”

His hungry gaze meets yours and you feel a kin to prey about to be devoured. “You wanna know how I knew?” he said.

In spite of your gut instinct that you are delving into dangerous territory with this conversation, you’re far too curious at this point. So you try to swallow that uneasy feeling and reply in the affirmative.

“I came in my pants,” he says, taking a sip of his water, as neutral and matter of fact as if he were just telling you what he ate for dinner last night. 

“Wh-what?” you said, for the first time in your career, truly at a loss for words. 

Sex certainly wasn’t a taboo subject to discuss with your patients, and it wasn’t even the first time you discussed it with Elvis himself. But those conversations typically surrounded your patient's fears of intimacy with a new partner, and even though that wasn’t a concern for Elvis, he did make reference to it when discussing his need to please others. Most importantly though when discussing sex with a patient, you’ve never actually had the experience with them.

“It was the weirdest thing, Doc. Never happened before, hasn’t happened since,” he said, at complete ease with himself. “Sure a few close calls here and there, but it never got to that point. Hell, it mighta been the suit itself that did it for me. What ya’ think it means doll?”

And what can you say to that really? You try to even out your shallow breathing as your mind races through the possible implications of this reaction. You have certainly never met another performer before so you’re unsure whether this is even unusual to those in his line of work, but at the same time most people who do what they love for a living also aren’t sexually aroused by it, let alone reach climax through it alone. Previously you would have labeled yourself as firmly within that category, but that damp feel beneath your dress proves otherwise. 

Across from you, he waits patiently for your reply, but he is also openly delighted by your squirming state. 

“I-” you clear your throat. “Um… Sex is a perfectly natural thing.”

“Don’t I know it,” he smiles rakishly.

“Yes I…” you say, briefly losing your train of thought. “A way of interpreting the… arousal you feel on stage is that being there and performing in front of an audience comes just as naturally to you. As for what happened at your special, it may have been the moment you felt most acutely aware of your desire to be on stage.”

He nods his head and you continue. “You’ve mentioned previously how you were unsatisfied by your movie career by that point in time. So the return to the stage may have also acted as a cathartic release of all these pent up frustrations you were feeling up until that moment.” 

He raises an eyebrow at that in the way he typically does when he’s confused by your wording. “Basically you were feeling unhappy for a long period of time, so when you felt the joy of being back on stage, you’re…” you hesitate, suddenly embarrassed. “Body, as a result misinterpreted that joy as arousal. And adding to that, Parker’s disapproval as well as the feeling of being free that you described. It all culminated into that… reaction.”

He sits on your presumption for a moment, before chuckling a bit. “I see where you’re comin’ from on that doc. Though I gotta ask.”

You pause, apprehensive to what he may ask. “Ask what?”

“What are my chances for a repeat performance tonight?” he asks in a way you could almost mistake as innocent. As you feel close to hyperventilating, he continues. “I mean those things you brought up from the special are here tonight sooo…” he quirks an eyebrow, putting it on you to continue.

“...well… um” you draw out, truly dumbfounded and without any words to respond to that. You’re only saved from this conversation by hurried knocking at the door behind you. 

“Well, looks like we’re outta time here doc,” he said standing up, prompting you to stand up as well. With a hand on your lower back guiding you to the door, you don’t miss the fact he’s effectively dismissing you. “Baby, thank ya’ for comin’ down here tonight and settin’ me right. And I just want you knowin’ that this whole show is because of you. I don’t think I woulda made it this far without my girl” he said looking down at you and bringing you close while his other hand was on the doorknob. 

Your primary focus is trying your best to collect yourself before you need to go out there, but you’re so astonished by how he just so casually slipped in “my girl” into there. You know then you have to say something.

“But… I’m not your gir-” you quickly cut yourself off as you see his jaw clench, the previous look of satisfaction on a dime replaced with one of intense indignation at your denial. Before you can even begin to feel regret for your refusal, his expression just as rapidly shifts to one of downright mischief. 

Not wanting to find out what that look meant, you attempt to turn towards the door, only to be halted by an iron-like grip on your jaw. “Not my girl, huh?” he says, forcing you  to look at him, as he brings his face closer to yours. He then whispers, his lips just barely brushing yours, “tell that to them.” 

You can’t say you weren’t expecting him to bring his lips closer to yours, but you can say you weren’t expecting to be such a willing participant this time around. You can tell yourself all you want that you did it to save him from the embarrassment of being walked in on with a less than willing woman, but it seems, deep down, the both of you knew better. So you played your part as you grabbed a fistful of hair at the nape of his neck as your lips came together, and he was all too willing to believe in your role as his hand snaked down your back. You’ll never fully know (or at least admit) who closed the distance that night.  

All you really know is that being in here with him as he was now, was nothing short of intoxicating, in a way it had never felt in your office. You were not one to participate in drugs, but as his tongue slips past your lips to wrap around your own, you truly believe you could become addicted to this. His scent, his taste, his touch, all of it threatened to consume you whole and never let you go.

He was so all consuming in fact, you barely registered the sound of the door opening beside you, but you definitely don’t miss what feels like a dozen sets of eyes in full view of the both of you. You’re aware that you should in fact be more embarrassed of your compromising position with your arms thrown around his neck and his hand firmly on your ass. But with all the shame you’ve been feeling this past week, this hardly registers as the worst. Though you do feel a spark of it when he pulls away, and you let out a small whine from being denied his plush lips, until you feel them near the shell of your ear. 

His breathy demand for another session after the show is hard to deny in your state, and more so when you see the color of your lipstick haphazardly smeared across his downright sinful smirk. It goes without saying what that will entail, but you surprise even yourself by not immediately running for the hills. Instead you, with all the grace of a newborn fawn, stumble past a line of people rearing to get in and do their job. This venture, not at all aided by the playful swat he gives your behind. The “knowing” looks on some of their faces tells you what they are all assuming. Part of you wishes they were right, because doing that would somehow have been less shameful than what actually happened.

After that “session” you try to compose yourself as best as you can, and make your way to the ladies room. Alone in the restroom you see your face in the mirror and to your relief aside from the smudged lipstick, you look relatively fine. You reach for your bag to touch it up, only to realize that you forgot to grab it when he was leading you to the door. As you shudder at the thought of going back to retrieve it, you finally realize how much of a sopping mess you’ve made of your underwear. 

Insanity is truly your only defense for your next course of action, as you quickly remove your panties and dispose of them. 

After cleaning yourself up a bit, you end up wandering around backstage with a new resolve to not think about him. You still have roughly another hour to kill before the show is set to start, so unsure what to do with yourself until that time, you attempt to strike up conversations with your fellow VIPs. Your attempt at keeping your mind off of him proves fruitless though, as it becomes apparent that word travels fast behind the curtains, and their interest in you begins and ends with Elvis. You’re flooded with questions as to what he’s going to wear tonight, what he’s going to sing, if there will be an afterparty at Graceland and subsequent requests for you to try to get them invited. The only time any questions are directed at you, it’s simply polite inquiry as to where you met him and how long you’ve known him, and you try to be as vague and non-descript as possible.

One woman remarks how she thinks she saw you in a magazine last week along with “the big man himself.”

“Guilty,” you reply with a nervous laugh, because you truly are. How would you even begin to try to explain the truth?

You are able to meet most of the members of the so-called “Memphis Mafia,” and get the rundown as to who does what in the group after asking in an effort to get a basic conversation going. It doesn’t go unnoticed that none of them ask what you do for a living, only mildly interested in the fact you’re the new girl, as though being Elvis’ “girl” is supposed to occupy the totality of your existence. Usually you would take offense to this, but under these circumstances, you know the fewer in the know, the better. 

You don’t think you’ve ever truly considered the world he lives in until this moment. A world in which he’s surrounded on all sides by women that want him, and by men that admire and/or envy him. What does that do to a mind when everybody he meets falls into one of those two categories? How would one handle someone who doesn’t fit into either category? 

Eventually though Jerry finds you and brings you to your seat, front row and center, because of course Elvis would. You know from his stories about his Vegas residency that he would often kiss women in the front row, and you already have a feeling as to how this is going to play out. As Jerry leaves, you contemplate making a break for it at this point, but without your purse, that idea is quickly tossed out.  

You look around your area and breathe a sigh of relief at the fact that all are virtually unrecognizable. You know from the tabloids that this concert was deemed one for the ages already, being essentially his second comeback and with rumors flying around that there would be more than a few international attendants this fact is not all too surprising. There’s a small swelling of pride within you knowing that he is so loved worldwide that you quickly try to stamp down.

As the curtain goes up and the music starts to blare, you make the conscious decision that at this moment you are not his therapist, and that you are merely a fan. That you will be without worries at the state of your career right now, without fear that the APA is breathing down your neck, and definitely without any guilt to the sexual attraction you feel for him at this moment. Afterall you’re a fan, isn’t that just par for the course?

So as he steps on stage and immediately makes eye contact with you, you play your part. You get lost in it even, as you dance and sing and make a fool of yourself. He’s just… incredible doesn’t even begin to describe what he is as you’ve never seen someone move like he does, never felt music as you did in this moment. There’s not a single inch of the stage that’s not occupied by his presence as he’s able to keep the crowd fully enraptured for music they’ve undoubtedly heard hundreds of times before. His command over everything truly brings a new perspective to his King epithet. 

Despite your best efforts you cannot help but think of the comeback special incident and in the brief moments between songs you can’t help but observe and this makes you feel all the more  like a voyeur. In spite of the fact that there’s a couple hundred people watching the same show you are, they aren’t cursed with what you know. Unintentionally you read into every gyration, every hip thrust, even every time he throws his head back looking for any indication. You had thought about what he looks like in the throes of ecstasy an inordinate amount of times already this week, so you even compare every face he makes up there as well. 

Eventually, after two demands for an encore, Elvis merely has to put a finger to his lips to command the rowdy crowd down. “Now before I go,” he pauses with a slight quirk in his lips as he hears their protests, but continues with “I’m gonna leave y’all with somethin’ new.” This statement is met with uproarious applause as he gestures to the band behind him and begins. 

Want me to love you in moderation?

Do I look moderate to you?

Not even two lyrics in, you know you’re in trouble. Previously he had the decency to not single you out as he worked the entire crowd in front of him, but as he sings you know exactly who he’s directing this song to. 

And are you any better? Like the other women in the front row you move to the stage, as you're overpowered with the urgent need to be as close to him as possible. You’re overwhelmed with just about everything at this point: the audience, the song, him, and all your conflicting emotions this past week all reach a crescendo as he kneels on the stage before you. You’re crowded by his fans all reaching out to touch him as though he were some divine being. But you knew better.

Girl, you better learn

Can’t hold it in,

And girl you better learn

I just can’t win

Cause I don’t see the worth

I don’t see the worst

He is something monstrous, demonic almost. Elvis is a siren-like creature who is leading you to your doom. As he leans down closer to you, you stand on your toes, willing your knees to not give in at a time like this. The women around you flock even closer, all trying to get a piece of him, while he puts a hand underneath your chin, his eyes challenging you to stop him. He may very well be a siren but you’re his victim who is all too happy to drown at this point.

And I’m still tryna figure out if it

Always

Always 

Always 

Has to hurt

Unlike the last few times, you were very much prepared for this kiss. At least you were, until he proceeded to lean away from you and plant the kiss on the woman directly next to you. Time slows at this moment, truly forcing you to take in every single detail of what is happening not even a foot away from your face. He kisses her with all the filth and passion you were craving in that moment, and she just as enthusiastically kisses him back. 

His face is glistening with sweat from his performance that runs down onto her, but this woman doesn’t seem to mind. She will leave this concert and forever be able to have an interesting anecdote to tell at every party she will ever attend. This will be her one crazy story to tell about Elvis Presley, and the more logical side of you truly envies that about her. 

Finally, after what was perhaps only seconds but felt like an eternity, he breaks away from the kiss, though that doesn’t ease the heavy stone that has settled in your stomach. You want to cry, you want to scream, and judging from the state of the women around you, you wouldn’t be at all out of place. You’re upset that you’re in this position, you’re devastated over the fact that this is the man who holds your career in the palm of his hand, and most of all, you’re heartbroken that you even wanted him to kiss you at that moment.

Did he not see you? Did he mistake her for you? Shouldn’t you be glad about this new development? That hundreds of people weren’t witness to you flagrantly breaking every rule and ethical responsibility you made upon becoming a therapist? 

He answers all these questions with the single look he gives you as he stands before you, his lips now stained red from that random woman. 

You want looove

You feel a tug at your elbow as Jerry once more guides you backstage. Elvis for his part shamelessly watches you walk away all the while belting out those final lyrics of his song. As the lights from the stage blink out, and the crowd proceeds to explode in near-deafening screams and hollers, and you see him bow out as the curtain drops. You try to make yourself numb to it all as you make your way through the bustling corridors, but in reality you can’t ignore your heartbeat thundering through you, nor the uncomfortably slick feeling between your thighs. 

You have to get out of there and you know it. But you also want to stay and there’s no denying that. You have accepted that he has an unhealthy attachment towards you, and you naively thought you could work to dismantle it over the next few months to get him back on track. But seeing him kiss that other woman made you realize that this attachment threatens to be mutual, and that is truly where it will derail. 

Before you can figure out what you’re going to do, you’re back in front of his dressing room door and you walk in not even having bothered to knock. You find him along with several members of his crew already in there but upon seeing you he grins and a simple wave of his hand has them all scurrying out, leaving the two of you alone. He stays seated at the vanity, too comfortable apparently, with his feet propped up, the upper half of his suit peeled off of him, and a towel around his neck. He doesn’t even bother to fully turn around to look at you directly, he simply watches you through the mirror. 

“You enjoy the show Darlin’?” he says, lightly dabbing himself with the towel. “It sure as hell looked like you did out there.” 

Despite knowing he saw how you behaved, you still try to lie with an indifferent, “You did good up there.”

“Ahh, baby” he draws out in a light teasing tone. “Don’t be like that. Why don’t you come over here and tell daddy what’s wrong?” Your breath hitches at his casual use of that word and you find your feet making the decision for you. You make your way over to him and you finally find your purse on top of the vanity. You go to grab it but in one fluid motion he grabs your hand and you find yourself on his lap. As he leans forward for a kiss, you see the red that still paints his lips and without even thinking you use the towel to wipe some of it off. 

He makes a pleased hum at that, believing that this is what has you acting this way. 

Is it not though? You think sarcastically. After rubbing off most of the color you drop the towel letting it fall back into place on his chest. He takes your hand into his, and your heart does an embarrassing little skip as he gives it a sweet kiss.

“Baby, I was raised to be a gentleman,” he said, adopting a chivalrous affect. “If my bestest girl don’t like me kissin’ others, all she’s gotta do is say so. Then I ain’t never gonna do it again.” His eyes pleading as he waits for your answer.

So that’s what his plan was, you think bitterly. You’re resentful over the fact that it worked at all. But he doesn’t need to know that.

You rip your hand away from him as you reply with as much resolve as you can gather, “You can do whatever you want Elvis,” before mulishly looking away. He evidently didn’t like that answer, as he stood up to prop you onto the vanity and placed himself between your legs. You try to escape his grasp only for him to place his hands at the top of your thighs, effectively pinning you in place.

“I can do whatever I want?” he says in a low, challenging voice, looking you directly in your eyes. It is only then do you regret your wording. Were you not so petrified, you would have admired his ability to quickly turn your own dismissive words into seemingly an invitation. There is no denying the trembling force in your body at this point and with the way he’s holding it is only inevitable that he will find your secret. And as though reading your mind, you feel his thumb brushing your inner thigh, and he finally notices the slick feeling in between. If you're going to be honest with yourself, you think you’re even more wet than when you walked in.

He makes an approving hum as he flips your skirt up, and you get the momentary pleasure of seeing his eyes widen at your lack of underwear. That is until he quickly bunches up the material past your hips and you feel mortified at being naked from the waist down in a room you don’t remember locking. You’re even more mortified as he kneels down and begins to pepper your inner thighs with light kisses. You instinctively try to close your legs, but his grip makes it impossible, and he notices your effort.

“Ahh, sweetness none of that,” he drawls out, emphasizing his point with a small nibble at the sensitive flesh that has you cursing. You feel his hot breath waft over you and as you’re trying to wrap your head around what’s happening, he teasingly licks a stripe up your slit, giving you a taste of what he has to offer. You gasp for air as though you’re about to drown. 

“I can do what I want, can I?” he asks knowing you’re far too preoccupied to answer. “Well I want this,” he purrs, emphasizing his point with a soft kiss to your clit, which you meet with a strangled moan. He chuckles at your reaction before resting his head on your thigh and looking up at you. “But I gotta know what my girl wants,” he trails off.

Your muddled mind cannot even begin to process the question itself before he follows up with. “What’d ya’ say mama? Do you wanna be my girl?” he says looking up at you with those piercing blue eyes of his, and you know there is not even a choice anymore. You’re so far gone at this point, you hardly hesitate in saying yes. “No, no mama. I wanna hear you say it.”

You can already feel a few shameful tears trailing down as you cover your face with your hands, as though that will absolve you of your next words. “Yes… I want to be your girl,” you cry out desperately, and he dives straight in. 

All of your composure is tossed out the window the moment you feel his mouth on your needy cunt, you moan and shout freely, no thoughts given to the people undoubtedly outside of the door. He’s going at an unhurried languid pace, exploring your nether regions, seemingly trying to learn what gets the biggest reaction out of you. He’s apparently indifferent to how desperately you need to cum. You grab at his hair and try to bring him closer, desperate for some control of this situation but the noticeable tightening of his grip on your legs make it clear that he’s going to take all the time he wants.

You’re there for what feels like hours before you’re at the point of begging him to let you cum. The King finally takes mercy on you as he stuffs his fingers into you while simultaneously nursing at your clit as you are finally allowed your release.

You’re a mess after that devastating orgasm, and as he brings himself back up to you, you don’t put up a fight to this kiss. You taste yourself on his lips, and the smallest, pettiest part of you feels victorious over that woman whose name you will never get to learn. Before you can dwell on that part of yourself, he spins you around so you’re facing away from him. Despite all of that you still feel yourself wanting for more, and as you look over your shoulder at him, you know he is very aware of that.

“Were you watching mama?” he said, pressing kisses to your neck as he undoes his belt. “Were you sittin’ there, wonderin’ if I did it again, and that’s how you got this wet?” You let out a small keen as you feel his cock just barely brushing at your entrance, and he presses a hand on your back, prompting you to bend over the vanity fully. You give a slight shriek as you feel a sharp swat on your ass. “Answer me,” he growls out, sending another shiver down your spine. 

“Yes,” you say, pushing yourself backwards to him. 

Another swat on the other side, “Yes what?” he rasps.

“Yes daddy,” you nearly cry out and you bury your head into your arms in shame as he drives into you. Once slotted fully inside, he pauses giving you time to adjust to him. The stretch of him burns only slightly this time around, though mostly you feel satisfaction as he feels achingly familiar. 

“You don’t gotta worry mama,” he pants next to your ear. “I saved it all for you,” he says as he slowly begins to push his hips back and forth into you. You find yourself just as eager as you push backwards to keep him within. You close your eyes to the sensations, as this feels like the closest you’ve come to a reprieve in this whirlwind of a week he’s caused. You want to lose yourself here, and for once want to believe as he does that this is any way healthy or sustainable for the both of you. This delusion has the ability to ruin you, but for the moment you truly just want to indulge yourself in it.

Reality will always win out though. At some point he thrusts so hard, your feet no longer meet the ground, and you have to brace yourself on the mirror. Here in this position you’re truly forced to look at yourself for seemingly the first time as you truly are. You see your eyes bloodshot and pupils blown, your mascara trailing down your face, and, mortifyingly, you're drooling from the pleasure at not only what he’s doing to you but the sight you're met with in the mirror. You also see him behind you, looking more animal than man with the way he forces your hips to meet his pace and the snarl that mars his face. It’s all too much for you to handle. The only way to describe how hard you came in that moment would be violently, as you convulse and sob terribly at all the shame and pleasure you’re experiencing in that moment. 

You feel him pull out, and moments later you hear a shuddering howl as he paints your lower back with his cum, effectively marking you as his. You sob even harder with the realization you had not even been thinking about protection in the last week, and now you fear that there will be another cord that will forever tie you to him. 

If he sees your tears he ignores them and places a kiss on your cheek before sitting you down in front of the mirror. He lets you know that he has a press conference soon, but that he will meet you back home for the afterparty. He quickly dresses himself while you use a tissue to fix your makeup and try to make the wrinkles in your dress less noticeable. Once outside the door he hands you off to one of his men with orders to take you back to Graceland.

It is only as you’re pulling up to Graceland do you realize you gave no resistance whatsoever to his whims and didn’t even try to insist you go back to your own apartment. You pay no thought to that as you see there are already many of his people there to celebrate his astonishing performance, and the last thing you need is to draw more attention to yourself by being the one woman having a breakdown at the party. 

So you slip back into your role as his girl, though can you even say that it is simply a role anymore when you fully agreed to it. 

Eventually he arrives home and is met with all the praise and glory he has earned tonight. Yet he barely looks at anyone before he seemingly sweeps the room to zero in on you. He grins and approaches you to sweep you into a hungry kiss which is met with various wolf whistles and cheers from those around you. You are still playing your part for the audience you tell yourself. 

The rest of the night is spent on his arm essentially advertising to all attendants that you're his. Eventually he announces to no one in particular that he is starting to feel tired, and it feels like only moments later when a mass exodus occurs, no one daring to stay past their welcome. The grip he has on your waist though tells you that he has no plans of letting you go.

That night and the following day in Graceland you spend in a daze of fucking and resting and even more fucking, interspersed with conversation between the both of you. Surprisingly you find yourself opening up to him as well, and with the conversations being not so focused on him, it’s easy to pretend that this is even remotely natural. 

You do make a few attempts to leave that day, each time met with some pushback on his part to get you to stay. Each attempt is met with some excuse on his part be it being too early, his fans outside the gates, his exhausted state etc., and immediately following your concession, you are bombarded with physical affection and compliments as to how understanding and what a good you are for him. You allow yourself to indulge in this fantasy for a little while longer, and stay another night with him.

The next morning, reality sets back in, and there is no denying your active part in this anymore. He kisses you good morning and he reminds you that you have work today. You’re amazed that he hasn’t already made you cancel all of your appointments today, until you remember who you have your final session with later. You shower and use his toothbrush, no longer hesitating to do something you would previously labeled as far too intimate to do with anyone, let alone a patient.

You are however disturbed but not surprised when you exit the restroom and find a full outfit ready for you. This one is more in line with your regular work attire but the blouse does have a rather loud pattern, a far cry from your admittedly limited, colorwise, wardrobe. Without the tags, you briefly wonder if this is something left behind by the previous stand-ins or if he bought it for one of them to better pretend they were you. You push that thought aside as you finish getting ready for the day. Being early on a Monday morning you are able to be driven to your office without the worry of any ogling eyes. He even gives you a parting kiss at the door and it feels far more domestic than it has any right to be.

You would deem that day almost normal. You are of course exhausted from the strange weekend you had, but somehow you also feel unfettered when compared to the stressful week you had previously. You receive some compliments on your blouse, and you are able to, through tightlips, confirm yes when someone asks if you got it from someone special. 

Other than that you are able to get back to your standard attentive self for your patients. Having worked with Elvis for nearing a year at this point, has had the unexpected benefit of making your other patients seem easier in comparison. You laugh at their funny stories, you dole out advice and insights when asked, and you comfort them when needed. These moments in between your nearly all encompassing thoughts around Elvis, you find, are a welcome respite from the looming black cloud that is your future as a therapist. 

Eventually though 4:30 PM arrives and you hear a knock at the door.

[dailydragon08]

Random cute Luke x Reader headcanons that live in my head rent-free pt 2 (Force sensitive reader edition)

- Luke is completely mesmerized by you when you first meet. Just the fact that there’s someone else out there who is like him (especially after Yoda told him he’d be the last Jedi) fills him with so many emotions.

- Luke’s gotten used to sensing other people’s emotions, but isn’t used to someone else being able to sense his. He really loves and appreciates how in tune you are with him and always seem to know just what he needs. You never push but just knowing there’s someone out there who cares and notices makes him feel incredibly lucky.

- He’s a bit shy at first, especially if you’ve had a lot of experience/training. There are a lot of things with regard to the Force that he just doesn’t think about since it wasn’t part of his life for a long time. Sometimes, before you have a chance to use the Force to grab something out of reach, he’ll get it for you and hold it out to you with a shy smile.

- The first time you two spar, he really has to make an effort to regain his composure seeing you in such revealing, form-fitting clothes.

- You both teach each other things about dueling and the Force that you learned from your respective masters/training.

- But that doesn’t mean you don’t have fun. Pranks via the Force are practically a requirement. After you two get together, you have a habit of Force-flinging his towel across the room as he steps out of the refresher. “Oh noooo ~ guess you’ll have to walk around naked.” “Maker, you’re ridiculous” (but of course he’s laughing and fully planning on doing it to you later).

- He can’t help but daydream about running a Jedi academy with you by his side. Once he had a dream about the two of you with a little stone hut on a forest planet surrounded by padawans, a few other masters, and of course R2. He wasn’t sure if it was a dream or Force vision (but hopes it’s the latter), but hasn’t been able to let it go since and prays one day it will be a reality.

- Your presence always soothes him (and vice versa). When you first meet, it’s a bit distracting for him cuz he’s just so starry eyed over you, but as your relationship progresses, having you there actually helps him meditate better cuz of how calming and relaxing he finds your presence.

- When you first met though, he was definitely peeking his eyes open every few minutes during meditation to just stare at you (and you were doing the same).

- The two of you send cute little communications to each other through the Force. Whether it’s just a wave of love and affection or less innocent teasing, your ability to connect to each other through the Force is something Luke prizes above all else. Even though it drives everyone else crazy when you can communicate with just a look (“oh, maker, they’re speaking Force again”).

- You and Luke get looooots of one-on-one time going off on Force-related adventures. Although he knows you can handle yourself and respects (and a lot of times is in awe) your abilities, he still worries for you and dives in harm’s way to protect you more than once.

- Lots of cute, gooey, doe eyed post-mission injury care.

- You both have a great sense of what the other person likes and doesn’t like based on the excitement or disgust you can feel through the Force. After one particularly hard mission, the way his face lit up when you returned to the ship with a giant box of hot chocolate packs could’ve powered Home One for a week (of course he insisted on making you some).

- He feels so privileged to have met you, and feels even luckier when you decide to be with him, and does everything he can to show you how grateful he is everyday.

[nadia-zahra]

st5 ramblings plus more

I've been wondering if anyone was talking ab how plausible time travel is for st5, and the first and only post I've seen about it was this really well done post by @endgamebyler. I'm just gonna add on to the crazy-train lol.

The first lines El has in st4 are this:

"Dear Mike, today is day 185. Feels more like ten years. Joyce says time is funny like that. Emotions can make it speed up or slow down. We're all time travelers if you think about it..."

Emotions can make time speed up or slow down

It makes ya wonder if Will's emotions the night he disappeared were so strong that it caused time to completely halt in the Upside Down, and that's why it's stuck on November 6, 1983.

And like if ya really think about it, how the fuck was Will to know he'd been in there for a week? There is no sense of time in the Upside Down, so for all we know he could've thought he'd only been in there for the night. Him thinking he'd only been in there for the night could also explain why time didn't continue moving with the seven days he'd been there.

Plus the st writers' posted this:

It makes a fuck ton of sense for time travel to be involved in st5 if it's supposed to tie Will's disappearance in 1983 and Vecna together. Maybe it'll be able to answer the questions of how tf Will got there in the first place if he didn't use a gate, why tf was Vecna seeking out Will at all, and why was El able to point Will out in the photo when they'd never met.

All of these questions are major plot points that had never been touched on-- maybe with st5 being a combo of st1 and st4 we will finally get some answers.

To rope in the flea and the acrobat for a sec, maybe the way it worked for Will was that he was so fucking scared and desperate for a way out that he accidentally traveled to the Upside Down with unknown powers instead of with a gate.

That's right, I'm tyin in the Will has powers theory cause believe it or not it makes fucking sense for Will to have the power of time control!

To further back up the idea that emotions are tied into Will's Disappearance lore and to Will having powers, EVERYONE who has powers in stranger things uses strong emotions to harness them-- what if Will was just unconsciously using his powers to stop time and escape (aka go into the Upside Down)?

This has already been touched on, but Will having the ability to control time would explain why Henry wanted him so freaking badly. Like the only people Henry didn't want to kill, but instead team up with, were Will and El. El has the power of going into the mind and opening/closing gates, and Will (probably) has the power of time control. If Henry was capable of either getting these two on his side or gaining them for himself, he would be unstoppable.

And think about it-- Vecna only goes after people who are extremely emotional because he thrives off of people's fear and emotions. What if he killed all those poor kids in st4 and in 1979 because they couldn't harness their emotions into powers he deemed valuable like El and Will can?

Furthermore: How did El lose her powers and Vecna gain them?

Well, obviously El was emotionally drained after everything she'd gone through within the last six years (yeah I'm starting with the mf rainbow room massacre) and she had to regain her emotional strength to get her powers back, but before she lost them Henry definitely didn't have the ability to just magically go into people's minds like we see him do in st4. He practically jumped Billy and had to possess him to gain control over his mind, so why tf didn't he have to do that with the other kids?

This is a stretch, but what if Vecna got a lil bit of El's power when that slug thing was in her. Seriously, after she had to manually rip it out from within her body, she lost her powers. That lil peice of Vecna did get squished by Hop, but it was still in there for long enough to cause some serious damage. Enough damage to make El lose her powers and give Vecna a taste atleast.

So to bring this post back to st5 time travel, let's speculate on how it's gonna come into play. They can't just randomly have Dustin or Nancy be like, "Oh no Vecna's back, looks like the only reasonable thing to do is use a wormhole!"-- like no they need an explainable reason why time travel's even involved. Personally, I think it's gonna be with Will needing to go back into the Upside Down and change the past.

Like what if those phone calls Joyce was getting from Will were actually 1986 Will trying to tell Joyce to go to the library or something while in the Upside Down, but he couldn't get in touch? What if he was trying to warn himself and Mike by flickering the lights outside the garage?

Will and Mike have been HEAVILY hinted at being the ones to stop Vecna *cough 20 cough*, but my brain is a lil too fried to add Byler onto this rn.

Point is, time travel is most likely happening it's just a matter of how and when.

[primalsouls]

Inner Visions

can you tell what's happening?

nothing's ever what it seems

tighnari x gn!reader pt.2

theme: general

warnings: ooc Tighnari?, kinda heavy dialogues, not much but please lmk if you find anything triggering or need a warning for.

summary: Tighnari's life was safe but appreciation wasn't shown. Forgetting the new fungi, his attention moves on to an individual who claims they can see the future, which he finds to be impossible to do. No one can really see the future.

notes: outfit look because i suck at description lmao it took me a while to get this done lol. it is currently 2:00am and i work at 8am xD .... oh gosh. anyway, here is Inner Visions pt 2! would try to work on pt 3 this week or next. please enjoy and lmk what you think in the comments. the characters might be a bit ooc but that's due to me not playing the game for a long while haha. anyway, please have fun!

pt. 1

✿ some reader info ✿

has a third eye - uses to see future visions when activated, atm the third eye is ◉ᵕ◉.... third eye is the closed one haha...

a "deity" - doesn't have a region to rule nor followers to guide

third eye makes them lose energy, making them be tired easily, sleeps regains their energy/power back

wields a polearm mainly but can use more than one weapon - hand-to-hand combat mostly preferred

Kunishiko is the name I used for Wanderer haha.

more will be added once i remember haha

⌑ reblogs & feedback are appreciated here! ⌑

"That's impossible." Were the first words Tighnari spoke right after (Name) introduced themselves. The atmosphere felt thick but he wasn't sure if it was the horrendous smell of the fungi or the deep unsettling gut feeling built within the depths of his stomach. It was confusing. How was it possible for someone to see the future? What if they followed him here instead and lied about such nonsense? But if that were the case, he would have known by the sounds of their footsteps his long ears would have picked up or Iraj would have let him know there was someone behind him from the get go. Actually, how didn't his ears pick up any sound from them? Tighnari looked around. There wasn't any other entrance nearby other than the one he came from.

"I'm a light walker." (Name) answered without hearing the ranger's worried questions. Their voice caught his ears, his eyes snapped back on their figure. "You're thinking how I got here. I didn't follow you. I just saw in my visions that someone was going to die in this cave by eating a deadly mushroom. I was actually heading my way to Sumeru City. This place was just on my path there and before I could continue on, I got a flash of someone with fox-like features about to commit a stupid move."

Tighnari frowned, his bow lowered by his side. He still kept his stance up, not fully trusting (Name) yet. And they could see it in his eyes. Such pretty serious eyes. (Name) figured there was no use to continue staying in the cavern with the forest watcher. They had done their good deed for the day, there was no point in trying to prove themselves to someone. Especially when they had someone else in the city waiting for them.

"Believe me or not, take what you can from this encounter. It's not like I've expected for anyone to believe or know about me. Though, as much as I'd like to stay and chit chat with a pretty fox like you, I have to go." (Name) said as they turned on their heel, but they didn't miss the chance to see the light pink blush decorated the fox-hybrid's cheeks. Raising the hood over their head, the stranger began to walk away.

Tighnari stood there, watching their figure distances as they walked out of the cave. Bow in hands. His heart was still racing from the earlier attack—or in their case, help—(Name) caused by the use of their polearm. Letting his weapon disintegrate as he put it away behind him, Tighnari quickly climbed out of the cave. There were too many questions in his mind. The new fungi was long forgotten the moment he set his eyes on the other. Maybe they hadn't gotten too far. His ears stood on high alert for their footsteps but nothing was able to be picked up. When he reached the entrance of the cavern, Tighnari turned to Iraj.

"Iraj!" The ranger called out, hurriedly making his way towards the startled man.

"Oh, Master Tighnari! What's wrong? You looked as if you saw a ghost." Iraj said as he walked towards the dendro user. Tighnari glanced around the area for any sign of (Name).

"I hope I didn't." He said, panting under his breath. "Have you seen someone just walk out? A hooded individual with a trident?" Iraj shook his head, a look of confusion on his face.

"No, sir. No one has walked in nor walked out." The ranger said. Tighnari frowned. How was that possible? Then how was (Name) able to pass Iraj with being seen?

"I see…" His brain tried to wreck any other entrance of the cave. There was the first Southern opening just where Iraj guarded. Above them to the right was both the second southern entrance and the first northern one. But the northern opening belongs to another cavern just above the one they stood at. Maybe they came from the second way in. Though they would have been too late to stop him if they took that way in. "What are they?" He asked himself, looking back at the cave before he scanned his surroundings once more.

"Was someone in there, Master Tighnari?" Iraj asked, concern laced in his tone. The fox-hybrid scratched the back of his head, unsure what to say.

"No, um, forget it… I'm gonna leave my stuff behind there. Need to go to the city." He said. Before the ranger could say anything to stop him, Tighnari already headed on his way to Sumeru City. It was the destination they mentioned they needed to reach afterall. Who knows, maybe he would be able to catch them before they reach the city's walls.

"So, who are we meeting again, Nahida?" Paimon asked, looking down at the dendro archon with a tilt of her head. The duo were called by Nahida at the Sanctuary of Surasthana for a small meetup. They were notified by Katherine at the Guild when they went up to report their last commission. The small archon requested their presence at the sanctuary. And there they were, the archon catching them up with her latest commission.

Nahida smiled, looking up at the floating girl. "(Name). They are an old acquaintance of mine. I found out about them when I was searching for some more information about Aether's sister through memories in Irminsul Tree. There was a hidden ley line that held some unusual information about (Name). I figured with their help, maybe we could learn more about your sister." Nahida explained, turning her gaze on the puzzled traveler.

Help them learn more about his sister? Could this (Name) person have anything to do with Lumine? What could their relationship with his sister be? So many questions ran through his mind, but he won't let this opportunity slip away from his fingers. "I hope they can be of any help. Thank you, Nahida." Aether said, a kind smile crossing his face. Nahida beamed with a nod, turning her small body towards the door.

"Then let's go. They should arrive here in no time." Nahida said.

"Wait, what about Kunishiko?" Paimon asked.

Nahida giggled. "He's studying with someone right now."

The pair raised a brow. That was a first. Usually he wasn't the type to study with someone. Dismissing the whereabouts of the Wanderer, the trio descended their way to the entrance of Sumeru City. Nahida looked forward to meeting her old friend. She was grateful they managed to reach out. Hopefully there was no trouble heading their way. She didn't want anything to ruin their rekindle meeting and friendship.

Tighnari frowned. He stood at the entrance of Sumeru City but found no sight of (Name). Did they lie to him? Did they also see in the future that he was going to follow them? A scoff of a laugh left his lips. There was no such thing as future visions.

"Who would have known you would be a stalker." That alluring voice! Tighnari turned to the source. There they were, standing near the Guild with their arms crossed over their chest, the hood down to their shoulders. Registering the words from the other, Tighnari scoffed.

"I didn't stalk. I-I… I—well—I…" Why was it difficult to think of a lie? "I've… came to pick up some new materials. Yes, new materials. Since the ones I had were destroyed." Tighnari eyed the individual with a glare.

(Name) smirked, a shrug being delivered at the fennec fox. "Sounds like it could be partially true, but we both know why you came here, cutie." Their words made Tighnari do a double take, a huff leaving his lips. Another blush colored his cheeks from the endearment they used. Before he could continue the banter, another voice popped out.

"Tighnari!? What are you doing here?" Turning to the owner of the high-pitched voice, the young man noticed the traveler and the other two make their way to the Guild. Paimon flew over to him, standing between him and (Name). "Do you know them?" She asked, glancing between the two. Tighnari kept quiet, unsure what to say until Nahida took account of their behaviors.

She turned to the individual, a polite smile on her face. "You must be (Name), right?" She asked. Earning a nod, Nahida clapped her hands. "I don't know if you remember me but I'm Nahida! The dendro archon of Sumeru. It is a pleasure to meet up with you again, (Name)." The archon asked. Hearing her introduction, Tighnari frowned.

"I'm sorry but you guys know them?"

"Only Nahida does! We're just meeting them now, too. They're here to help Aether learn more about his sister's whereabouts." Paimon explained with a nod towards Tighnari. "Have you met them before, Tighnari?"

"We met at a cave today. Poor fox was about to meet the stars so soon." (Name) said with a cheeky smile. They received a glare from him.

"I've almost eaten a new mushroom found within the caves of Gandha Hill. Fortunately, (Name) was there to stop me." Tighnari admitted, a look of embarrassment on his face. (Name) chuckled.

Nahida looked at the vision user. "Why don't you join us then? We would love to have more extra hands to help, I'm sure (Name) wouldn't mind." She offered. They shook their head, silently agreeing they truly didn't mind his presence. Paimon and Aether agreed excitedly as well. It would be a good chance to catch up with Tighnari. The fennec fox hesitated in his answer, sparing a glance at (Name) who only sent him a wink. Huffing a sigh, Tighnari agreed to come along. With his positive response, Nahida guided the group to the Lambad's Tavern. Today's reunion meeting was going to be interesting.

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation {Sal Fisher}: Emo Buff Daddy [15]

TW::: smut, mention of self harm

And quick A/N: i know a couple people were upset with me for not using the keep reading option-- i'm very sorry but i'm still new to tumblr so i didn't quite understand how it worked! i've added this feature to all of my chapters so anyone can skip past it if they want. i hope it's better now-- happy reading!! <33

++++++++++++++++++

"I don't see why you're still standing."

Sal's dark tone and breathless voice catches me off guard. What's that supposed to mean? My gaze snaps up to his and our eyes meet. His are slightly narrowed as though his brows are furrowed behind his prosthetic.

His hand suddenly wraps around me and presses into the small of my back, his nails digging into my too-warm flesh. The stinging sensation pushes me over the edge and I suck in a breath, still looking up at him inquisitively. What does he want me to do if not stand?

His free, gloved hand reaches up and aggressively latches onto my jaw, setting my face right before his. The rough surface of his prosthetic nose scratches against my mask as his eyes glare into mine. I feel exposed to him, all my thoughts, feelings, as well as my entire body completely bare to him.

The edges of his fingerless gloves brush over my chin, making me gulp down any visceral reaction I may have because of the light touch. It's teasing, almost. A soft, barely noticeable touch makes me feel more than a complete, full enveloping touch does. Because no matter how ridiculous it may seem to someone else, a fleeting touch has so much withheld intention. There's a difference between wanting to do something and actually doing it-- the prospect of someone holding back makes every nerve-ending in my body light up. I could power an entire city right now.

Sal's head tilts slightly to the left. His fingertips dig into the hollows of my cheeks, his breaths are a bit ragged and muffled, his knee is propped between both of legs with reason. His combat pants rub against the inside of my bare thighs, creating a friction so delicious that it's nearly painful. He moved us into a compromising position before I could even really notice.

"I said," he starts, voice low. So low that it carries off into the air around us to the point that I almost miss it. "I don't see why you're still standing."

I blink up at him and he squeezes my face. So I suck in a breath that's been deprived of me for the past couple minutes and lick my dry lips. He makes me nervous in an exhilarating way. "What do you--" my voice cracks and I quietly clear my throat, casting my gaze off to the side. "What do you want me.. to do?"

As if my head began to lean away from him, he readjusts his grip on my jaw, gripping it so tightly that I'm forced to look into his eyes yet again. His ocean eyes that seem more like the depths of a dark sea rather than clear water once you're near the surface, just about to breach.

"If your knees aren't bruised by the end of the night, then there's a problem," he rasps out, dark eyes capturing the image of my parted lips before our gazes clash again. "So bruise them."

I swallow thickly over the sudden shiver that passes through my body. Sal notices my light tremor, his fingers loosening around my face.

We stare at each other for a moment or two longer as I replay his words in my head. He obviously wants his dick in my mouth, and honoring up on our bickering that I thought was merely some harsh jokes a few weeks ago feels a bit horrifying now that the opportunity is being presented to me. Obviously I want to do it, but if it's anything like what I felt last night, I'm not sure I'll be able to do such a great job at taking all of him into my mouth. There's no way.

"Hey." Sal regains my attention again, his eyes blazing as he stares at me. His voice is just as serious as it's been since we ran into each other, but the underlying lust is filtered out for a moment. "Are you uncomfortable?"

I gulp, shaking my head vigorously to let him know that I'm fine. I guess my silence made him feel the need to make sure that I'm cool to do this. That's... uncommonly kind of him.

Sal relaxes a bit, his shoulders dropping as the tenseness falls away and he moves his fingers from my jaw. To replace that bit of control, he slaps my cheek gently and holds my chin up with two fingers, tilting my face toward him. "Good," he breathes. "Then don't fucking make me say it again."

My lips are uncomfortably dry, so I lick them again and nod once at him. I swallow down all of the surface level fears I've developed in the past second and grab onto the waistband of his cargo pants. I'm so glad the photographers put him in this getup because I've never seen him look more drool-worthy in all my life.

"You--" I say quietly, looking down the empty hallway that we're occupying. I slowly pull my fingers from the fabric of his pants and crack my knuckles. "Here?" I ask.

"C'mon," he taunts suddenly, taking a little step closer to me. His combat boots scuff the cement ground at our feet and his eyes squint. "You always have so much to say. Where's that dirty mouth of yours now? You nervous over the possibility of getting caught?"

I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out as a rush of heat filters through my veins. He's not wrong. I'd hate to get caught sucking him off in a fucking hallway. I can't be vulnerable like that.

But Sal's on a warpath today and he isn't showing me any mercy. But then again, when does he ever show me any mercy?

His eyes drop to my mouth again and he snickers beneath his breath. "That doesn't turn you on? The prospect of someone finding us while I'm buried in your throat? You're such a little slut, I'm shocked you're not into that."

There he goes again with the degrading. His voice alone is enough to sway me, but his words are manipulative too and suddenly his desires are my own. Maybe the looming threat of someone walking in on such an obscene act is pretty invigorating...

Sal's calloused thumb rubs along my wet bottom lip, pulling it forward. "So soft," he mumbles, eyes never straying from where his fingers touch. His hand wraps further around my back just as he dips his thumb between the seam of my lips, the digit barely brushing over the surface of my teeth. "They'd look so pretty wrapped around my cock."

My breath catches in my throat and I effectively pause everything-- my thoughts, my breathing, my movements, even my fucking heartbeat. Sal seems to notice the moment I've reconsidered his offer. Just as he releases my lip, I drop the tactical gear in my hands, grab his biceps, and reverse our positions. I back him up with shaky breaths until he's pressed against the wall, then I drop to my knees right in front of him.

"Good girl," he purrs, praising me prettily as he drags his fingers over the underside of my jaw. I waste no time after his words shoot through me. I trail my hands up the sides of his legs and keep eye contact with him the entire time before finding my way into the top of his pants again.

I hook my fingers into the fabric and give a light yank, watching as Sal's pale hips come into view. His boxers are just barely visible, hardly hanging onto him at all. I brush my thumb over his warm skin and swipe my tongue over my bottom lip when Sal sucks in a sharp breath. He's sensitive.

I pull his pants down the rest of the way, which didn't take much effort on my part since they're pretty loose. They pool around his ankles and then the only thing in my way is the thin fabric of his underwear. Even with that covering him, his member is incredibly apparent and there isn't a single thing that could hide him right now.

And then there's that tattoo on his hip. Earlier today, mere hours ago, I still couldn't make out what it was. I have so many opportunities now, I can rip his underwear off him and finally answer the question I've had since Larry sent me that damned picture of him over Discord.

His shirt is covering the very top of the tattoo from me, so I'm only able to see a set of vertical curves and lines along his skin that never connect at the top that's hidden from my view.

My fingers carefully trail along his bare leg until I reach his boxers, crossing over to the front to palm his thick cock through the fabric all while looking into his mesmerizing blue eyes.

Sal's breath stutters as I rub my hand along his length, teasing him until he cracks-- hopefully. He was rough with me last night, deliciously so, and that's the type of attitude I'm looking for again.

I squeeze his dick lightly, not enough to set this scene in motion, but it's enough for him to shut his eyes in ecstasy. "Vi," he says darkly, a grating edge to his voice. "If you don't start choking on my dick in the next second, I'm going to do it for you."

My hand tightens around his member again and I tilt my head up at him. His eyes are still closed. "I don't think you'd be able to choke on your own dick, Sal," I say softly, sensually.

His head snaps down to look at me, eyes blazing with lustful rage. Within the next second, as promised, he's shoved his boxers down with one hand and buried his hand into my hair. His fingers wrap around the strands and he yanks my head back roughly so I'm looking up at him. He doesn't give me a single chance to finally find out what kind of tattoo he has on his hip. "It's about damn time I shut that dirty mouth of yours, you fucking brat," he barks out, nearly sneering down at me with that impressive fire in his eyes and the tantalizing grip he has on my hair. Then he pulls me back a bit more, tilts my head down just a tad, and taps my chin. "Open the fuck up. Now."

My mouth willingly falls open and before I can fully prepare myself, Sal drags my face forward and bucks his hips up at the same exact time. His dick slams into the back of my throat and my immediate reaction is to choke.

Thankfully, he doesn't move. He sits there for a second while I gather my wits and adjust to something so large intruding my airways. But I quickly close my lips around his length and blink over the tears that brim my eyes.

"You're going to cry?" He says through pants, letting out a single laugh. "Pathetic. You can do better than that."

With his cock filling up every inch of my open mouth, I can't make a sound no matter how badly I want to. I simply blink up at him quickly, relishing in the way he gazes down at me with glazed eyes that drink me in so devilishly.

So instead, I moan around his length and shut my eyes again, hollowing my cheeks as I suck on the part of him that's in my mouth. I lift a hand and wrap it around the rest of his cock, giving it a gentle squeeze. My other hand moves to his bare thigh. As soon as my fingers brush his skin though, Sal uses his free hand to slap mine away. "No touching unless it's my dick. Got it?" he breathes, fingers tight around my wrist.

Fuck it, whatever. If that's what he's into then fine. It's not going to stop me.

Sal drags his fingers through the strands of my hair until he reaches the end, then he wraps it around his hand, holding on close to my scalp. He pulls my head back then pushes his dick further into my mouth.

And then he's thrusting into my throat, pushing my head forward to meet him halfway. I'm just the added pleasure-- he has no patience, doesn't want me to help him at all.

I do everything I can to use my tongue, licking under his shaft and using my leftover saliva to pump the rest of him with my hand. But Sal fucks my mouth rough and quick-- so much so that this is simply so he can cum as fast as possible. It's not about a slow build up, it's about using me to chase his high.

Too bad he chose the wrong bitch for the job.

Tears threaten to stream down my cheeks as his head repeatedly slams into the back of my throat. I choke on his cock multiple times and it has to be music to his ears. Sal's a whimpering, groaning mess above me, bucking his hips into my face and tilting his head to the ceiling.

Sal's hand is still clutching my wrist, but I want to drag this out for as long as I can, especially if he orgasms quickly like he did last night.

I tug on my wrist a bit and Sal pauses his rough thrusts, taking a breath. "What?" he asks, shockingly a tad concerned. "Are you okay? We can stop?"

He's let go of my arm and that's what I wanted. Instead of answering, I glance up at him and pull back so just the tip of his dick is between my lips. Then I suck gently, swirling my tongue around him to lick up all the pre-cum that had leaked. Sal shivers, a deep groan following the action. The sound forces my thighs together either to hide the evidence of my own arousal or to provide some relief for myself-- I'm not sure which one.

I wrap my hand around his velvety cock to give him a tight, slow pump, all while looking into his eyes. I want to watch him squirm.

He lets out a quivering breath when I separate my mouth from him with a reverberating pop that makes him flinch. He moans quietly and my eyes catch the way his hand squeezes into a fist then slowly stretches out beside him. That's hot. Mr. Darcy who?

I use my hand as leverage, placing my tongue at the base of his cock to slowly lick a stripe all the way back to his tip. Then I suck the head of his dick into my mouth again, my tongue wrapping around his throbbing member and eliciting a pretty little whimper from him.

Finally, I start bobbing my head along his length, sucking and licking up as much of him as I can. The salty taste of him coats my tongue deliciously, making me eager for the moment he finally climaxes.

Sal lets out a deep, trembling breath as I repeatedly take him in and out of my mouth, going as deep as I possibly can to force him into making some kind of sound again. He pushes a hand through my hair, gently massaging my scalp with his long fingers. It's almost intimate, but I know better. This is praise for doing well.

"You can take more than that, Vi," he says, voice audibly shaking. "Keep going, pretty girl. Don't make me take the reins again."

I know he'd love to take control and shove his dick down my throat again, but hopefully I can get him to cum on my own. I just know he'd cry for me. I want that bad.

I pull him out of my mouth and use my hand to pump the entirety of his pretty, soaked cock that I'm finally able to lay my eyes. He's definitely a good size. Gorgeous, pink, and so incredibly sensitive.

And there's the tattoo. My eyes were pinned to it as soon as I had a moment to admire his cock. It's faded, something he must have gotten years ago compared to the newer, darker marks on his arm and neck.

A crescent moon and stars around it. Fitting for him, actually. I find myself admiring it while I take my time to pleasure him. It's detailed, pretty. If there were any perfect words to describe him, this perfect little tattoo says it all. Dark, night, a little bright, definitely a dreamer. A hoper. It's him, more personal to him than any of his other tattoos.

I'm brought back to reality, heart thumping affectionately in my chest when Sal twitches in my hand. I look up at him, panting heavily since I'm finally able to get a good breath of air in. Saliva and pre-cum is smeared across my face and Sal seems drunk off of the image when he glances down at me again.

His fingers stop their gentle caress and tighten around my hair again, quickly using that grip to keep my head still as he shoves his throbbing dick back into the depths of my throat.

He doesn't say a word as he repeatedly thrusts in and out of mouth, making more tears flow down my cheeks. He doesn't have to say anything-- I took my mouth off of his cock for too long and right after he warned me. This is his nonverbal way of telling me that karma's taking control.

No matter how many attempts I make to bring him closer to climax with my tongue, by sucking every inch of him I can, it means nothing. All he cares about is making me crumble beneath him. All he craves is the sound of me gagging on him. All he wants to see is his cock filling up my mouth and the tears that have begun to paint my cheeks.

"Just like that," he moans out pathetically, beautifully. "You're doing so good." I'm hardly doing anything other than acting as his fucktoy, but if that's what he wants then I'm more than happy to oblige. Watching him fall apart, pleasure himself, and show this vulnerable side is enough to satisfy me. I don't even need to cum if it means he'll do it for both of us.

"I'm about to cum," he rasps out, still pounding into my throat roughly. I might not be able to speak after this, not with the way he's fucking my throat raw. "Swallow every drop or you'll fucking regret it--" his voice falls into a sinful whimper and he shudders, his fingers tightening impossibly around the strands of my hair.

I moan against him, squeezing my eyes shut as he picks up the pace, his dick roughly pumping into my mouth. It's brutal and I love every second. He feels good, he tastes good, he sounds good. I'm obsessed with the way he falls apart so viscerally. It's intoxicating.

For just a second, I'm thinking I might actually orgasm over the sound of his salacious moans alone. He's so vocal and so dirty about it-- how could I not? But he bursts into my mouth before I can think harder about it. The salty flavor and warmth of his cum envelops my tongue so quickly and I try to keep it all contained, but he continues thrusting into my throat. A bit of the liquid seeps from the corners of my lips, dripping onto the floor.

I don't care and Sal doesn't either for the moment. He simply whimpers between breaths above me, sucking in as much air as he can before he looks down at me and begins to pull his cock from my mouth.

I suck on him to lick up whatever cum I can. He jolts at the feeling of my tongue on him, hissing as his head tilts down to look at me.

I run my free hands up his thighs, absolutely reveling in his post-orgasm bliss with him. He's so pretty-- takes his hand out of my hair to run it through his, pulling strands away from his sweaty forehead. And now that the moment is over, he's not stopping me from touching him.

But as I'm feeling his skin, I notice something. A row of thin, raised lines. Not just one, multiple.

I try to rationalize it in my mind. There's no way-- but what if there was a way?

My heart thumps wildly in my chest and I flatten my palm on his thigh, rubbing my thumb gently over the protrusions. I swallow the remnants of Sal's orgasm and watch him with a renewed mind. He looks down at me and wipes his cum off of my chin, sticking his thumb into my mouth to slather the liquid onto my tongue.

He's still glowing right now-- he must not realize what I've discovered and I can't even fully wrap my head around it myself. I know what this is. How do I bring this up? I don't know if these are from two months ago or from years ago and if he's not happy... I can't just act like I haven't noticed anything.

I gulp down my nerves. It's going to be uncomfortable for both of us but I'd rather help him. I know I would have appreciated it when I was going through a tough time. Whether I hate him or not, I don't hate him enough to let him suffer alone.

"Sally," I say hoarsely, clearing my throat. "Are these..." my voice is barely audible from the way he abused the inside of my throat, but I rub my fingertips along the lines on his thighs again and Sal suddenly returns to the land of the living.

He roughly shoves my hands off of him, nearly pushing me onto my haunches. His boxers are back on before I can even regain my balance. "What?" he asks, taking a breath to recover from the marathon-like orgasm he just had. My heart thumps in my chest, an overwhelming mix of anxiety and shock taking hold of me. "I have a lot of scars, Vi. If that's going to gross you out then let's just stop this now."

My head rears back at his sneer and accusation. He's deeply offended and I can't help but feel like he's acting this way because someone's turned him away because of the scars before. That's not my intention-- I'd never do that.

"No, they don't--" I gape up at him, brows furrowing. "I'm the last person who's going to be grossed out by scars, Sal. I'm just..." I pinch my lips together as a wave of fear washes over me. He's going to think I'm insane for actually worrying over him. "Fuck, this sounds crazy," I warn. "But I'm just worried."

I watch him with wary eyes, but Sal scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Don't be worried about scars from my delinquent past with Larry. If anything, I deserved these," he grumbles, looking down and grabbing his pants. He shimmies them up his legs just before I can get a look at the scars that I felt. And I don't believe him. Those are too meticulously placed.

"Deserved? Delinquent?" I ask softly. "These are--"

"Yea. Delinquent. Larry and I hopped a barbed wire fence and my unlucky ass got caught on it. That's what those scars are. I broke laws, karma broke me. That's the circle of life." He says this all so nonchalantly, all the while swiping another drop of cum from my lips.

No one would be able to lie so efficiently. Not even I could. Something's still sketchy about this and I want to question him more. But that's invading his privacy and I can already tell that he's on edge. One wrong move-- which is the direction I'm heading in-- and he'll never open up about this regardless.

But what if he's telling the truth? Maybe I'm just bringing up past trauma. I didn't get to look at the scars on his thighs anyway.

I should keep asking anyway though. If he needs help...

I'm driving myself insane. I want to pester him, beg him to be honest with me just because I know how desperate I was at one point for help with my mental. I couldn't leave anyone to stay silent when I suspect that there's something wrong, even my enemy. It's just not--

"Now, I remember saying something about you having to regret not swallowing everything," his voice suddenly turns sinister in a very pleasurable way. He pulls me back to reality quickly, and I find my heart racing for a different reason. The truth always comes out. Obviously he wouldn't trust me enough now, but maybe he will in the future. I will find out.

For now, there's nothing more I can do. I tried.

Sal tilts his head down to the floor between us, so I follow his gaze to notice the various drops of milky white on the floor.

I gulp, swallowing the remnants of what was left in my mouth. The salty taste begins to die away-- I can hardly taste anything, in fact, as anticipation takes hold of my entire body. My mind goes blank in an instant, my worries replaced with expectations.

My eyes instinctually look back up at Sal who's already gazing at me. I'm guessing he's waiting on some kind of reaction from me.

Half of me wants to let him do whatever it is he's undoubtedly planning, but the other half of me is hyper-focused on the clothes I'm supposed to be changing into. And what I discovered just seconds ago. This doesn't feel right, not when there's so much else to focus on. But memories of last night have plagued me all day. What to do, what to do...

I really should just get dressed and start heading back to the other room. If Sal and I are away for too long, it's going to look really suspicious. And I mean, if anything, we can find another time to continue this. If he's adamant on punishing me, so to speak, he'll make time to do it. That'll give me time to figure out a plan on how to get the truth out of him too.

With that thought in mind, I grab the pile of clothes and push myself off my knees, standing to my full height. I take a breath and then a step back, all while Sal watches me closely. His eyes are so bright right now-- they look like they're glowing. The hardly contained desire swimming around in his cerulean irises does nothing to help.

I open my mouth with the intention of telling him that we'll figure something out later, but I don't even get a chance to say a syllable-- I only squeak out in surprise when Sal lunges toward me, sweeping me off my feet with no effort.

My hands automatically latch onto his shoulders once he wraps my legs around his waist with a little grunt. My eyes widen significantly when Sal turns on his heel and starts heading for the room that he just came out of. The clothes that were previously in my grasp are pressed between him and I-- they miraculously stuck around during whatever just happened.

Sal's hands grip my ass tightly, his fingertips digging into my flesh as he quickly walks us closer to the changing room. "You're lucky I don't make you lick that off the floor like a fucking dog," he bites out, a short chuckle following.

I have too many responsibilities for him to be talking like this.

My legs tighten around his waist and I squeeze my eyes shut. My lips pinch together as I try to remind myself why I can't just let him tear me apart in the room that he's carrying me into. My thoughts are clouded-- rational mind is completely missing because Sal is in tactical gear, I just sucked his dick, and he has his hands on me. How could anyone think?

Sal moves one hand to grab the heavy metal door leading to the changing room. He rips it open like it weighs nothing, but the way it scrapes across the cement floor says different. Maybe it only makes a scary sound, but it's actually pretty light? Who knows.

As soon as he crosses the threshold into the room, the door slams shut behind us. Then, Sal's unwrapping my legs from around him and dropping me to my feet. The sound of my shoes hitting the ground echoes in the room-- cement floors again.

I swallow thickly as my clothes drop to the ground. They're going to be so dirty. My hands slide from Sal's shoulders to the top of his chest due to the sudden height difference. The same goes for him; his hands move from my ass to my waist, my shirt riding up from the contact. His cool fingertips press into the skin of my hips, and he uses that as leverage to yank me even closer to him.

"You have to be quieter than you were last night, Vi," Sal breathes, leaning his head down to rest on my shoulder. His prosthetic nose runs along the length of my neck, causing shivers to erupt along my spine. As those words roll off his tongue, one of his hands crosses over to my stomach.

I have two options: get pleasure and get caught or wait it out and play it safe. Either way, I'll see to it that he makes up for this later. I have no doubt that he'll make extra sure to handle me later too.

"Wait," I say, wincing over the fact that I'm not going to go through with this. Truly, it hurts to push him away for now.

I can always count on Sal to listen to me when it comes to our situationship. He doesn't listen regarding absolutely anything else, but he at least takes this seriously.

His hands pause instantly and he pulls his head away from my neck, looking into my eyes. He's wary, concerned, alert. "What?" he asks. "We don't have to."

I lick my lips and take a deep breath. "Don't get me wrong," I tell him. "I want to, but everyone's expecting both of us to come back any minute now."

Sal looks off to the side, his hands slowly dropping from my waist. The loss of contact makes me want to whimper. There's a far-away look in his eyes as he seems to think. "Oh," he murmurs. "That's true," he whispers to himself.

I gape at him. How could he forget? He's literally clueless. I've said it once and apparently I have to fucking say it again. I place my hands on my hips and roll my eyes. "Really?" I scoff. "You forgot that you're supposed to be modeling right now? You're working for Treyarch but you let pussy blind you?"

Sal's eyes meet mine again and his eyebrows furrow, a glare taking over what little features I can see on him. "You don't have room to talk. You're not even supposed to be modeling with us so why do you have clothes?" There's that snarky, aggressive tone again.

"You never fail to prove how self-centered you are," I sigh, taking a step back and leaning down to grab my clothes from the floor. "Larry mentioned me and the photographers heard. They asked me-- well, more like told me to go change." Just thinking back on what happened a few minutes ago brings a smile to my lips and a fluttering to my heart.

Sal snorts, "Tasteless," he says in regard to the photographers choosing me. He turns away from me and moves to a corner of the room. The corner has a fancy chair with a pile of clothes on it-- if I had to guess, those clothes are for Sal. And then a vanity with a mirror and table with makeup and other essentials. Those probably all belong to Ash.

They're tasteless for choosing me when he chooses to hang around gothic beauties like the one from the bar the other night?

"Says the man with a preference for emo barbies," I murmur halfheartedly. I'm too focused on ingesting the room. My words were a mistake though-- I'd gone back to the night that woman sat with him at the bar and I let the argument get to me. I really shouldn't have said that because it shows that it bothers me. But, it doesn't actually bother me.

A wave of anxiety slams into me like twenty puppies running to a newcomer at a daycare. Fuck, he's going to attack me for that one. It's so obvious that the woman bothered me.

Sal tilts his head at my words. "Is that what you're calling yourself now?" he says and I perk up a bit. I don't know how I should react to that. He didn't realize I was talking about his lady friend, but he also just admitted that I'm part of his preference in women. "I think bratty little bitch sounds better."

I lick my lips and try to contain the smug smirk that so desperately wants to take over my face. He's so preoccupied, I doubt he even realizes what just came out of his mouth.

I glance around the room. There's not much in here-- some ugly orange rug on the floor, a black leather couch with Todd and Larry's clothes on it. Todd's clothes are neatly folded whereas Larry's are just thrown into a pile-- that's how I was able to distinguish who's were for who.

Then there's a little folding screen. Ash's clothes are hanging over the edges. Besides that, there's a mini fridge in the corner adjacent to Sal. That's pretty much it.

"I wouldn't have to be a bitch so often if you weren't such a dick," I finally respond to his words after letting them percolate in the air for a short while. "Fix your attitude and then I'll fix mine."

Sal glances over his shoulder, black-lined eyes meeting mine. "Fix yours first and then we can talk," he says disinterestedly.

I shake my head. "Guess we'll never agree then."

I walk over to the folding screen and step behind it, laying my clothes on a little stool that the photographers were gracious enough to place back here. I start pulling my shoes off with a little grunt, moving onto my socks afterward.

Arguing with Sal comes so naturally now. It's mildly aggravating, but it isn't making me want to retrieve heads on pikes like it usually does. Maybe it's because we're both distracted right now.

"You're only well-behaved when you're being a whore," Sal says, and I look up because his voice is a lot closer to me now than it was before. And now, his slightly monotone voice is replaced with a nagging, agitated tone.

My head snaps up as I'm shimmying my skirt down my thighs and I make unexpected eye contact with Sal who's standing right in front of the folding screen.

I pause my movements, heat enveloping my cheeks at the same moment that Sal realizes I'm almost half naked. His eyes latch onto my thighs and then he takes a step back, then another until he can't peek over the top of the screen anymore.

I release a sigh of relief. "Do you watch all your women change or something?" I grunt out, watching him with a raised eyebrow-- not like he can see it. I know it doesn't really matter-- he's seen a lot of me so far. This is innocent compared to what he saw last night, but it still feels awkward and it seems he feels the same way.

"I didn't mean to," he snaps, crossing his arms over the armor plate on his chest. "I actually had pure intentions for fucking once. Don't make me out to be the bad guy."

"Funny," I respond, pulling my shirt over my head. "You always play the villain so I never expect anything else from you."

"Wow," he sarcastically says. "High praise. Considering me a villain is the nicest thing you've done for me."

I glance up at him while pulling on black cargo pants. He looks so proud and smug. What an ass. "It wasn't a compliment," I grit out.

"And that's exactly why I took it as a compliment. It pissed you off."

I shake my head, roll my eyes, and go back to changing. The entire reason his fingers aren't in me right now is because we have somewhere to be, so I don't understand why the hell he's sticking around and pestering me.

Then something slaps me in the face. Well, my mask.

I blink, shocked at the audacity of Sal to throw something at me, but when I look down to where the unknown object dropped, I see a little rectangular piece of foil. I tilt my head, wondering if I'm seeing right.

I lean down and grab it. Yea, this is gum.

I stand up again and eye Sal curiously, warily. Did he poison this?

Sal must see the contemplative look in my eyes because he scoffs in disbelief. "It's just fucking gum, dick breath. I'm doing you a favor."

I cringe at what he just said. "Oh my fucking--" I take a deep breath and close my eyes. "Get out of here, Fisher. There is absolutely no reason for you to be hanging around with me. I literally cannot stand you." The more I think about what just happened, the words that came out of my mouth, the more I want to jump over this folding screen and choke him out.

Sal cackles evilly, backing over to the metal door with his hands in his pockets. "You're just upset because I'm right, like I always am."

"Fuck off, asshat," I fire back. It's a weak comeback but it's all I've got. Of course this would happen after I thought about how mild our argument was earlier.

Sal's laughs die off when he opens the door, but then he calls me. "Vi," he says and I hesitate to look up. But when I meet his bright, cerulean eyes, I see determination. "We'll continue where we left off later. Okay?"

I watch him. Those are good words. Those are expectations. So I nod gently. "Okay."

And then he's gone. Completely disappeared from my view in the blink of an eye.

Every inch of malice and aggravation I felt just seconds ago melts away like candle wax. It'll reform all over again later, but for now, it's just replaced by butterflies making my stomach turn excitedly. So there's something for me to look forward to later. Absolutely wonderful.

I pull off my shirt and replace it with the long sleeved grey one that I was given. It's a little big on me, but no one has my body proportions either so I expect as much. My chest plate is adjustable, which helps tremendously. It makes the loose shirt stick to me like glue and because of that, it's hardly noticeable that the clothing isn't even my size. Said chest plate is much like Larry's-- camo and cargo. If anything, it's more like an armored vest with gun magazines and extra storage.

I secure it over my arms and to my chest then move on to the belt that holds a couple holsters for what I presume will be prop guns that I get later.

All that's left is for me to tug on the tan combat boots, which I lace up fairly quickly, and from there I'm home free. The issue now is walking up to my friends like I didn't just have their friend's dick I'm my mouth. I have to face Larry and pretend that I didn't suck the soul out of his step-brother's cock.

Simple. Easy job.

I take a breath and watch the door, begrudgingly unwrapping the spearmint gum that Sal was oh, so generous enough to give me. I want to be mad at him— I am mad— but he did help me out, even if it was only because he didn't want everyone else to smell the clear evidence of whatever happened in the hallway.

My feet trudge toward the big metal door while I chew on the stupid fucking gum. This couldn't be any worse... but no regrets.

My hand fits around the handle easily, but when I push it down to open the door, a little tug does absolutely nothing. I pause and stare at the door, bewildered. Sal threw this thing open earlier? One-handed? No way.

I give another tug, this one a bit more forceful. The door squeaks on its hinges, slowly moving to follow my weight. It's not extremely heavy, but I have to put some weight behind it and physically walk with the door. Am I tripping or am I just pitifully weak? Both?

I'm finally able to get the door open enough to squeeze my body through. Even then, the door gives me a little shove in the right direction, hitting me as it slams shut before I can move out of the threshold. My glare pierces through the inanimate metal while I rub my abused back. I did not ask to be the target of everyone's hostility today.

The hallway isn't nearly as eerie to me now as it was a few minutes ago. I walk through it quickly, the buzzing lights on my mental back-burner once I reach the door that separates me from reality.

I purse my lips, blowing out a sigh. Ash, Larry, Todd, and Sally Face Fisher are on the other side of this door. I am not going to fuck up. I am going to be brave. And I'm not sure why I'm so nervous— maybe it's because any one of them could have very easily walked in on Sal filling up my throat like it was a common occurrence. Yea, probably that. But, we didn't get caught, so there's really nothing for me to worry about.

I guess my fantastic, trauma-induced ability to lie is a plus here. Not like it's fed me all too well in the past. Seriously, I'm playing three different people right now and all it's doing is tangling me up in a sick mess that I created. There's Vi, who no one knows, there's y/n who everyone loves— except Sally-- and then there's Lexi who just so happens to be the object of Sal's affection.

Things literally couldn't my be any worse. But damn if I do, damn if I don't. I'll lie my ass off when I leave this hallway if I have to.

With my little pep talk finished, I pull this much lighter door at the opposite end of the hallway open and cast my gaze upon the darkened room. The Faces are perched in front of a large, stretched out tapestry being used as a background. It's this dusty looking city scene from what I can tell. And my friends are just milling about, talking with each other. Well, most of them. Todd is in the corner stuffing his fishing hat under a pile of prop rubble. I guess the photographers tried to make him keep it.

I amble toward them, a little unsure of how to address anyone after what I just did. I actually got to sleep on the knowledge of Sal and I last night, but now I have no time to recover.

Relax, y/n. Everything's fine. No one's going to suspect a thing.

Upon finally reaching my friends, Larry's the first to acknowledge me. His eyes glance over me appreciatively and he nods his head, furrowing his brows as a little smirk pulls at his full lips. "You look delicious. But you always do," he chuckles. Then he walks over and claps a hand onto my back. "So what took you so long, Vivi? Found some good dick to munch on?"

There's no way to describe the way my stomach suddenly drops out of my ass. I've seen this scene so many times. It's like when Jim gets caught flirting with Pam in The Office— that initial reaction of fucking book-it or use the worst excuse known to man while awkwardly looking around.

So I intellectually hit my friend with, "Yea. Why else would I be chewing gum?"

I make a face akin to the expression that anyone would pull after sucking a lemon or taking a shot of tequila. I genuinely want to disappear. This is going terribly.

Even Todd turns his head toward Larry and I, raising an eyebrow in my direction. Ash and Sal are just out of my direct line of sight and they can fucking stay there. If I meet any more judgemental gazes, I'll probably vomit.

But Larry's a giggly mess, something I didn't take note of because I'd panicked. His hand is squeezing my shoulder while he bends over and wipes a fake tear from his eyes. "See?" He says, giving me a wide, gap-toothed grin. Cutie. "You get it. That's humor, baby!"

I giggle nervously, slowly letting go of the nauseating bout of anxiety that just swam through me. "Mhm," I hum. "Don't worry, Lar. I'll always take good care of your jokes." I cannot form good, coherent responses for the life of me right now.

Larry can't answer me in time because there's suddenly a huge prop gun shoved into his arms. I step away from him, baffled when the weapon clatters loudly in his unprepared hands. It's a shock to my system and the same goes for Larry who juggles the hunk of— metal? plastic?— with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

"This shit is heavy," he gasps out, finally getting a good hold of it. "These— these aren't real, right?" He asks, looking up at the photographer who's currently holding out a big Resident Evil-esque gun toward me. Assault rifle, maybe? I know nothing other than Leon Kennedy when it comes to those games.

I take the weapon carefully after Larry's nervous remark. He's not kidding— it's heavy as hell, definitely metal. They wouldn't give us actual weapons right? There's a serious issue going on in the world with these things and the last thing I want to do is hold a real one.

I look up to the photographer, my gaze questioning, hoping to get an explanation for Larry's question.

"No," the photographer says, snickering. "Well, they were once." I cock my head to the side. Were?

I watch the photographer drop a hand gun into Ash's awaiting arms, then a shot gun goes to Sal. They both look pretty shocked by the weight too.

"Hold on," Ash says. "We didn't come here to fuck around with real guns. Fake ones, fine. No one can get hurt. This is different—"

"I said they were real at one point," the photographer cuts her off, heading toward Todd. "They aren't real anymore." Todd trades in his fishing hat for a gun similar to mine and the photographer rolls his eyes. "Our crew found these on eBay. They're refurbished military-grade guns, basically. They were either damaged or deemed as duds. But someone bought all of them and got creative, took them all apart and put them back together as paint-ball guns. So no, they can't hurt anyone. Plus, since they're remade and no longer used for horrendous shit, they come pretty cheap."

My lips form into a little "o" at the explanation. See, this is more acceptable. Perfectly explains why they seem so real.

"That's actually pretty interesting," Todd murmurs, turning his weapon over in his hands. "Sounds like something I'd be into."

"Leave the Super Gear Boy in seventh grade, Todd," Sal pipes up, sighing at his scientific friend.

I roll my eyes. He always has to kill the mood, and for what? I think this is a good way to kill off guns instead of letting someone fix them up to resell as actual weapons. Todd would thrive in the paint-ball industry.

"What's paint-ball even like?" Larry asks, completely mystified if when putting the sound of his voice into account. I glance to him, noting the way he looks into the barrel of the gun. Even if it's not real, that shit still makes me nervous.

I close an eye, recalling my limited paint-ball experience. If I wasn't doing something band related or reading in bed, I was playing paint-ball, truth be told. I grew up in two of California's— no, America's— major city's. If you weren't old enough to hit the bars or clubs in town, there was virtually nothing for you to do, period. That left me with dad's favorite little hobby and a run down storage building for me and my two or three friends to go rip open the gates of complete chaos. It was fun.

"I don't quite know how to explain it," I tell Larry, shrugging. I hold my gun at my side, gripping it by the handle. "Think Call of Duty. You load it, then you shoot it basically."

"And how do you know?" Ash asks, scrunching her nose up at me when I turn to acknowledge her. I love her little nose scrunch. It has to be the cutest thing I've ever seen.

"I had a lot of free time as a kid. So I used some of that time to play paint-ball," I tell her with a smile.

"You'll definitely have to teach me one day," she grins, viridian eyes twinkling in the bright white lights.

The photographers move us into place mere moments after Ash's request. I'm not used to photoshoots— so I do my best to follow the directions aimed at me. Move here, step there, pose like so.

There's a lot of straight faces and eye work. "Look angry," "look determined," "look scared but in a way that doesn't show it." None of it makes much sense to me, but I do my best, aiming my gun in random places and trying to keep the awkward grin off my face.

It's tedious work if anything. I'm stuck changing positions second after second or having to hold a pose with this heavy ass gun for ten minutes at a time. I agree with The Faces now— it isn't half as fun as models make it seem.

"My arm is killing me," Sal grumbles to himself, but I catch his words and Larry seems to as well. Sal is positioned behind me, one of his elbows on my shoulder and the other aiming his gun forward. If it's not already obvious, he fought like hell to convince the photographers to put him with someone else for this shot.

I've been trying to smoosh down all of the excitement I feel because his knee is positioned between both of my legs. His chest is pressed into my back. I can feel every breath he takes, I can smell his shampoo, I can hear every word he speaks before he even says it. Every single syllable that leaves his throat. It consumes me, leaves me a drunken mess below him.

But I try to hold onto my sanity and I do that through negativity.

"Yea," I grunt, discreetly rotating my arm. "Well, you're killing my shoulder with that bony ass elbow of yours."

Sal doesn't respond immediately, only presses his elbow even harder into my shoulder. I bite down a gasp, sneering at the photographer in front of us.

"Hold that expression, VioletViolence— perfect, beautiful!"

I want to roll my eyes. Maybe they put Sal and I together for a reason. Somehow they know we bring the worst out of each other, and thus, the angry facial expressions.

"Stay strong, broski," Larry calls out from beside me. Yea, right. He's one to talk. He's laying on his stomach with his gun propped on the ground, all he has to do is put his hands on it. "Free style match!" He suddenly yells. I furrow my eyebrows, confusion swallowing me whole. "I'll go first," Larry continues in a sing-song voice.

"Okay, so... actually, someone give me a topic." I shake my head at Larry's request. He went back on his word immediately.

But Ash is quick to jump in. She's positioned to mine and Sal's left. "Ooo!" She says. I can't look up at her or I'll get scolded for moving. "How about cake?" I almost snort and break character. Cake, of all things. It had to be Ash.

A sudden flash blinds me for a second, but I blink through it, trying to hold my angry gaze.

"Cake?" Todd mutters, huffing out a quick laugh. "That's all you could come up with?"

"Hey," Ash snaps, disappointment evident in her sweet voice. "I think it's a good topic. It's definitely going to be hard for Larry to—"

"Got something," Larry says, an evil chuckle following his statement. My eyes widen— that's a concerning laugh and he actually managed to come up with something in, what, half a second?

I need to fear this man. This buff daddy, tactical gear-wearing, snarky, humorous, emo man.

"Alright," Sal sighs from above me, finally pulling some of the weight off of my shoulder. I groan at the instant relief. I'm definitely going to get back at him for this later. "Please, do go on," Sal continues sarcastically. My guess is that he doesn't believe Larry could come up with something like that on the fly. I hate to say it, but I'm with him.

"Okay, alright," Larry whispers. "Prepare for absolutely malarkey."

I guilty grin quirks my lips and I truly struggle to hold back a couple giggles. Larry is ridiculous.

"Do you like watching people eat cake too?" Larry asks and I glance down at him, noting the shit-eating smile taking up his entire expression. He's going to get in trouble for that. And why is he asking about cake? I thought he was going to bust a few free style rhymes.

And bust some rhymes he does, taking me by complete surprise.

"Nah, I prefer watching them eat my dick. When she sucks my soul like a motherfuckin' tick. Love it when she goes in lick for lick— errrrrrr. Resident Evil, baby, I know those zombies would pick herrrrr. Got her lips around me, getting stifferrrrrr Getting kinda goofy like Stiflerrrrr."

I snap my head down to Larry, eyes wide and a cackle working it's way up my throat. Did I hear all of that right? Is this motherfucker kidding me right now?

Every single one of us breaks character— Sal snorts as soon as Larry ends his verse, Todd actual smiles and pats a giggling Larry on the back, and Ash is in tears. Her gun has clattered to the floor and she's fighting to regain control of her emotions.

I join them, giggling with Ash who's borderline moaning in humorous pain on the ground beside me, on her hands and knees. The photographers have given up on us for now— all four of them moving away to chat about the pictures, no doubt.

"Honestly, should I say that?" Larry asks, taking a deep breath and swiping a hand over his face as he calms down from his insane laughter. "That was a little much."

Sal hums next to him, so I look up. The man looks like he's holding onto his sanity by the thinnest piece of string known to humanity. All of that just to drop his own free style continuation of Larry's monstrosity.

"It's never too much, she can never get enough. She's always barking at me like a dog, ruff ruff. She's a fucking baddie, you know she likes it rough. My girl's all pretty like Hilary Duff. She begs and she pleads, she likes that kinda stuff. Transformers Megan Fox vibes, I feel like Shia LeBeouf."

"You have to be fucking kidding me," Todd bites out, voice wavering with barely held back amusement.

Ash grabs onto me for moral support and I look toward her, tears building in my eyes while I try to contain the laughter that so desperately wants to be released. How on earth could both boys come up with something like this?

When I finally see Ash, she's got a permanent gaping mouth with her eyes squeezed shut in that awesome silent laugh that tells everyone something really funny just happened.

It's a wonderful, core memory moment where everyone's keeled over, giggling or crying their guts out. Sal and I aren't angry with each other, Larry isn't flirting with anything that has a pulse, Todd isn't stoney-faced, Ash isn't plagued by constant worry. We're all just friends being goofy and enjoying our time together. I hate to say it, but this is something we don't get very often.

I look around at my friends as they recover. Larry finally takes his hands off the floor, kneeling on the ground with tears streaming down his cheeks. He swipes a hand over his face as Sal walks toward him. They do a quick fist bump, praising each other for the perfect lyric session. Sal is still bent over, his eyes scrunched together with glee to accompany his horrible attempts to contain giggles that tumble out from behind his prosthetic.

I wish he looked this happy all the time. I wish he was this happy all the time. No matter what, I can't help but imagine what it would be like if we were different people in different universes. Maybe we would have met sooner. Maybe I wouldn't feel so guilty for wanting him like I do. We could have been friends. We could have been lovers. We could have been more-- more than whatever this is. Fucking around when we feel like it because we both clearly have issues, both personal and regarding each other.

But I guess it doesn't really matter now because none of those universes are achievable. I can't unlock upgrades in life-- I just have to hope and assume that things will get better between us. To do that, I have to stop being so angry with him all the time too though. And that might be hard to do.

"She can't hear you bro," I hear Sal say. My kidney twitches at the sound of his voice. I'm being overdramatic, but that's how keen I am when it comes to his voice. I instantly tune in and feel frustration build up in me. I just know he's talking about me. "Vi's just mad she isn't Hilary Duff." I turn away from Ash, narrowing my eyes at Sal who then turns to me with malice veiled by amusement in his pretty gaze. "She isn't Megan Fox either. Must suck."

"What point are you trying to make? That I'm not successful? That I'm not pretty?" I sneer, tilting my head in question. Anyone would find that offensive. I don't know what he'll say to that, but I'm prepared for anything. If he wants a verbal battle, I'm absolutely down.

Sal shrugs, hands readjusting their grip on his gun. "I'm not saying that. I'm saying that you're not as successful or pretty as them."

I can't believe I put my everything into a blowjob for this absolute, complete, stuck up, and disrespectful cunt.

Tongue in cheek, I spin on my heel and look down at the ground. I can't tell if the flame of rage is growing in me, or if the embarrassed, insecure pin is about to officially pop my ego balloon.

Ash looks up at me, finally getting to her feet again, but she isn't laughing anymore. She isn't smiling either.

"Ash," I say shakily with failed attempts to hide my shaking hands. "I'm going to fucking strangle him," I bite out.

It seems like every time I try to look at him in a positive light, Sal's able to tell. Like he's a mind reader. And he jumps in every single time to completely obliterate any chance I was willing to give him. Even just a sliver of hope gets thrown back three miles the very moment he detects it. And now, we're ten steps back compared to the half step we had taken forward.

I can put up with most things he shoots my way, but shots to my insecurities really tear me down.

"Sweetheart, no one's going to strangle anyone, okay?" Ash says, bringing her small, cool hands to my cheeks. She lifts my face, forcing me to look into her eyes. When I do meet her gaze, those viridian irises are filled with the big R's-- regret and revenge. "Not until I do it first," she continues sweetly, her voice sugary like melted chocolate. To anyone else, it would seem like a joke, but that look in her eyes is real.

I feel a little better now.

"Ash," Sally spits out quickly, voice panicked. "I was kidding. Don't strangle me." How very pathetic of him to be scared now.

"Yea," Larry cuts in, chuckling. "He'll moan if you do."

Larry's barely able to finish his statement when a loud thwack echoes in the big room, followed by a resounding "Fuck! I'm sorry!" from emo buff daddy himself.

Ash looks off to the side, fuming with grace-- something only she can achieve. "You're lucky, Sal," she says coldly. "Larry handled you well enough, I think." She lets go of my face, so I finally chew down my anxiety and embarrassment and turn to the two boys again. Sal's looking like he's caught between contrition and anger, like he can't tell which emotion he should feel. "You need to cut this shit out, Sal. Vi didn't provoke you, there was no reason for you to say that. There's never a good, viable reason for you to target someone's looks. That was low, even for you."

I watch him with a glare, staying silent. Ash handled him better than I could. She said everything I wanted to and more.

Sal scoffs, "I wasn't serious. I'll even give Vi a compliment if that fucking helps. A real one." I don't believe him. There's nothing he could say or do that would make up for the damage he just did. Hearing his attempt at appeasement makes infuriation boil in me again, and his stupid blue eyes glancing my way only make that worse. It doesn't matter if he looks good in all that tactical gear.

"Actually," Ash chirps, "I think that's a great idea. Both of you give each other one compliment. And be serious. Don't be generic either, say something that sticks out about the other person."

Is Ash on fucking drugs? Did she smoke too much again because there's no way she dragged me into this.

"Okay, cool, fine," Sal grunts, looking to me again with a gaze that spell out the most genuine form of nonchalance. He couldn't care less about me. "I'll go first. Vi," he starts, tilting his head down. The light illuminates his azure irises, trapping me in that gilded cage I repeatedly find myself in upon simply looking at him. I hate this. "I think you have gorgeous eyes. They go with almost any color I've seen you in."

I gulp. Not only did he steal my compliment for him, he also hit me with the same compliment he gave Lexi. Does he know that we're the same person? Was that him trying to discreetly tell me that he knows my secret? But, then again, why would he go out of his way to fight me about Lexi and even text her?

Well, I've done that too, actually. But he's not like that-- so did he really mean that then? That's the only thing I can really think of.

I gape at him like a fish for a couple moments, blinking quickly while I try to come up with something to say. Blush on my cheek, fingers dipping into the pockets on my vest, boots toeing at the cement beneath me all while my heart races and my insides tremble. I shouldn't react like this after he said I wasn't as successful or pretty as famous women. I'm being ridiculous.

"I--" I say, voice barely a whisper. "You--" I try to speak a bit louder, but my voice cracks so I clear my throat, tilting my head down. What kind of compliment can I give him? "You..."

"What? Nothing you can think of?" He snaps, crossing his arms, gun still in hand. His tone blazes with fury. "You're such a hypocrite. You can get mad at my joke, but then you can't find a compliment for me even after I gave you an honest one."

I pinch my lips together. He's so fucking aggravating. "Shut up," I seethe, "I'm trying to pick one." The truth falls from my lips before I can think better of it. Please don't say anything-- please don't say the obvious. Please don't point out that there's actually things I can't help but admire about you, Sal. There's a lot that I hate, but there's a few attributes that I respect too. "You have pretty and talented hands," I finally say, lifting my left hand to gesture toward him. But that sounds like I'm referring to his expert ability to make me cum. "You're really, um, a talented guitarist," I tack on, wincing. I'm trying so hard to keep the heat off of me that I may very well be attracting it instead.

I take a quick, quivering breath as true terror grips my mind and body. Anyone would be able to tell how hard that was for me, how shameful it was. This is awful, this entire day has turned into a mess.

I pull a mag from my vest, inspecting it to pass the time and ignore my surroundings. But when I look into the cartridge, expecting it to be empty, I'm pleasantly surprised to see it completely filled with neon blue and green paint-balls.

Surely these photographers aren't that dumb. They can't be, right?

A satisfying shiver runs through my body, making goosebumps rise along my skin. This is just the distraction I was looking for. Everyone's had more than enough time to think over the compliment I gave Sal, but I won't let them get a chance to say anything about it.

"Hey, Ángel," I call loudly, glancing up to survey the room and find the photographer who told us about these guns in the first place. I finally catch his confused gaze and nudge my chin in his direction. "Do you guys have extra tactical gear?" Come up with something, y/n. No one can suspect anything. "I'd love to bring this home if I can," I lie smoothly, offering up a shy smile. "You know, for... memories."

Ángel shrugs, giving me a look that screams that he thinks I'm a little crazy. "I mean, we always have extras but you can't take it home. Activision spent money on all of this."

"Ah," I hum, returning to examining the weapon of mental destruction in my hands-- a fully loaded magazine of paint-balls. "Bummer," I mumble.

With an energetic grin on my face, I shove the mag into the holder right in front of the trigger. This is unlike any paint-ball gun I've ever seen, so I'm taking a guess-- but it clicks into place easily, so I assume I'm doing something right.

"Well," Ash says softly, awkwardly. "That was a... nice compliment, Vi." I can tell she's trying to make me feel better, but she's struggling too. I don't blame her. What I said was so sad, really.

But I have this paint-ball gun to make me feel better.

"Yea," I murmur distractedly. "Hey," I ask her, looking up for a moment. "Does this thing have a safety? Does it work?" Using what very little knowledge I know of weapons here. I'm a fan of knives for a reason.

"Um," Ash purses her lips, leaning over my shoulder. She turns my gun over and flips a little switch, showing a red dot. "Yea, look," she continues. "When red shows, safety's off." Then she switches it again.

I nod my head, letting that information go in through one ear and out the other as soon as I flip the switch again, taking the gun off of safety. I'll never need that knowledge anyway.

"Thanks, Ashy," I chirp, grabbing onto the barrel of the gun with one hand and the handle with the other, lifting it up so I can look through the scope. It's one little red line line at the end of the glass so I move the weapon, glancing around the room until Sal is in my sight.

"Nothing's better than revenge, my dear friend," I mumble to Ash as I close my left eye to get better focus on my target. I lick my lips, waiting for Sal to acknowledge me, finger hovering over the trigger. Energy reverberates through my body, hitting the top of my skull and bouncing back down to my toes, only to repeat the process over and over again.

Ash gasps and I really wish I could see her expression right now. "Vi," she hisses excitedly," Are you really--"

Before she can even finish her sentence, Sal turns his head, blue eyes flashing when he notices me. I see panic fill him for a brief second, right before I turn my aim to the armor plate on his chest and press down on the trigger before I can give myself time to change my mind-- or give Sal time to talk me out of this.

There's a loud thunk that comes from the gun as soon as the paint-ball flies out of the barrel. Then the splat heard around the fucking world the exact second that Sal's armor plate gets hit with neon green.

Paint gets everywhere. It's on the bottom half of his prosthetic, all over his chest and black shirt, spilling down his pale arms.

Sal staggers on his feet, taking a step back to catch himself from the velocity and force of the paint-ball. It didn't hurt him-- he didn't make a painful sound, plus the armor plate protected him. But he's a mess now which makes this evil plan of mine so worth it.

I lower the gun, opening my left eye to get a good look at the damage. Todd's jaw is dropped, his eyes wide. He caught a bit of the paint too, a couple green dots littering his freckled face. Larry starts laughing as soon as he gets a good look at Sal too, tears streaming down his cheeks for the second time today as he drops to his knees again.

Ash giggles beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder. "This is why I love you," she tells me confidently. My smile widens. "Great minds think alike."

Sal looks down at himself, lifting his arms up to examine his now neon green chemical spill. All that black polish on his nails is covered in green. His shirt sleeves: green. Veiny, guitar playing hands-- you guessed it, green. It's a beautiful catastrophe in my opinion.

And then he looks up, absolutely murderous blue eyes locking onto mine. Now he feels just like I felt earlier-- ready to attack at any second.

I grin at him, putting my arms in a comfier position over my body so I can hold onto my gun. "What a shame," I say, feigning disappointment. "I ruined those pretty, guitar playing hands of yours." I stick out my bottom lip in a fake pout. "I guess my compliment to you is obsolete now."

__________________

A/N:::::: HI SWEET BABIES!!! i'm back with another ryver original. the lyrics that larry and sal spit out during this chapter was the outcome of an idea bestowed upon me by my friends. i mentioned that i liked watching people eat cake, and they said, "that sounds like either the intro to a porno or a lyric in a rap song." so... i wrote a a couple verses for it LMAO i can't control myself, i am very much an embarrassing disappointment.

ANYWAY i really wanted to post this sooner, but i had my first day back at college yesterday and i was utterly exhausted. i literally fell asleep at 8pm and all of you know that i'm an unapologetic night owl so going to bed early was WEIRD-- but needed apparently. I didn't wake up til 9:30 this morning and that was only 'cause i had a class at 11am :3

huge thanks to MadamMilky on Wattpad for coming up with Sal's tattoo-- i think it's such a cute, unique idea for him and it just fits so incredibly well <333

so here you go, dropping a 12k word load on you guys again. thank you for the continued support, for the love, for the friendship. thank you for everything. i love you all eternally, more than the sun loves the day and the moon loves the night <;33

[sparksinger]

a little snippet of what i've been working on

i haven't had much time to write in recent weeks, but last night i actually managed to sit down and write something. it isn't as much as i wanted to write but it is better than nothing.

for context, cordelia is recovering from a short illness and is connected to an iv drip. optimus is using his holoform in this snippet. it does mention cannulas and iv lines just for you to be aware.

.

When she woke, the first thing that she was aware of was a profound warmth, enveloping every part of her.  There was a deep pounding in the depths of her skull, making her feel like she had been hit by a sledgehammer. 

The pain in her abdomen was mercifully absent, though she felt a little tender between her legs.  A clammy moistness clung to the surface of her skin, rendering her cold despite the weight of the thick winter duvet she was snuggled under. 

A comforting weight was present over her side.  She turned her head slightly to see Optimus’ left arm curled over her, holding her close.  She relaxed into the shape of his body, finding peace and solace in the familiarity of his metal frame at her back. 

His weight shifted the mattress slightly as he pushed himself into a sitting position, making sure to tuck her back in from where his movement had dislodged the duvet.  He was slightly blurry as she blinked the sleep out of her eyes, coming more into focus as she blinked. 

She tried to push herself up against the pillows, but Optimus placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and tenderly laid her back against them. 

“Easy love, gently does it now.”  Optimus’ voice was a soothing balm against the ire of the fire that was slowly stoking itself inside her skull.  She raised a hand to her face to wipe away some imagined stain and became distracted by the presence of a cannula in the back of her left hand.  One tube was attached, delivering a clear liquid into her veins. 

Optimus caught her inquiring look and offered a gentle explanation.  “Hound inserted that more as a precaution as opposed to any real necessity.  You have a habit of becoming dehydrated very quickly.  After all, they say prevention is better than cure, don’t they?”  He smiled warmly at her, moving to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. 

He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, no doubt taking a reading of her body temperature.  She watched with mild amusement as he nodded to himself, apparently satisfied with his findings. 

Cordelia reached her hand out to him, fingers outstretched to bridge the small distance between them. 

His servo slid along the sheets to gently envelop her hand.  She watched as the frame of his hand swallowed hers.  Unexpectedly, tears welled up to the surface, making him shimmer before her. 

She swallowed before she spoke, trying to regain some semblance of control over her wayward emotions.  “It never ceases to amaze me you know,” she murmured, rubbing her thumb slowly back and forth over his knuckles. 

“Oh?  And what is that my little one?”  He asked earnestly, his optic ridges drawn up so that they resembled an upside down ‘V’. 

“The fact that you can be capable of so much raw strength and power, yet you are the gentlest person I know.  Physically and emotionally.  I mean, here, right now.  You can crush most things with next to no effort, and yet with me you carry this aura of…infinite gentleness.” 

His optics softened at her words, their irises dilating to their widest aperture.  He reached up to frame her face between his hands, his silvery thumbs tenderly brushing away tears she didn’t know had fallen. 

“That is because I hold the most precious treasure in the known and unknown universe between my hands.  Cordelia, you are so precious to me, more precious than you can possibly imagine.”  His gaze held hers, granting her unrestricted and full access to his soul. 

“I have lived for longer than the human race has existed.  I have seen civilisations rise and fall.  I have been a titan upon planets and been the one underfoot of titans.  But in all those eons, all those experiences, none have touched my Spark the way that you have my little one.

“You have shown me the beautiful strength of fragility and resilience, helping me to understand that one’s true strength lies in the ability to be gentle.  You often refer to me as your ‘hero’.  Well, I strive not to be like those heroes depicted in Earth’s comic books and movies.  No, what I strive for everyday is to be a true hero.  To realise that true strength means embracing one’s imperfections and vulnerabilities.  In essence, you have taught me to be strong enough to be gentle.” 

Cordelia’s throat was thick with emotion as she digested Optimus’ words.  She was about to respond when he interjected with a low chuckle. 

“And, of course, there is the undeniable fact that you are quite tiny.”  He winked playfully at her, and she managed to release a choked laugh. 

“Oh my god Optimus, you are literally the biggest dork on the planet!”

-- something i'm working on

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Feall and Wyld

Fantasy Masks AU: Chapter Twenty-Eight

A JSE Fanfic

I thought this chapter would be short because I was very busy this week. Turns out, it's actually almost 7000 words so whoops. It's also the first fic I'm publishing where I'm using the new Tumblr text editor (I've been using the Legacy Editor all this time) so forgive me if there are some formatting issues I miss, or if this goes up at the wrong time. Anyway. This chapter is a sandwich. At the beginning and the end we have some personal drama with Henrik, and in the middle we have Marvin learning a bunch of weird magic stuff and exposition. Enjoy XD

Previous Part | More AU

Taglist: @brokentimewatch

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The Cliffs of Feall were one of the southernmost points in the kingdom. The edge of the island suddenly dropped into sheer black rock faces, with a slight pebbly beach at the bottom that was only visible during low tide. The Dragon’s Greatwoods fell away, leaving an empty field right before the cliffs dropped into the sea.

The Phantoms had set up camp in the middle of this field. It was much smaller than the one they’d had in the mountains. Much more... thrown-together. It was still a solid camp, but after Wyvernlair—a camp that had been set up for years—anything would be worse in comparison. Many of the Phantoms missed the safety of being surrounded by a protective ring of dragon bones. Though not all of them had come from Wyvernlair. Some had joined up from other camps. Most notably, the crew of the Serpent’s Wake were here, their ship floating farther out at sea where there was no risk of running aground.

Jackie and Henrik had arrived the night before. This morning, the two of them had gathered all the Masked Phantoms to share important information. Everyone had to be on the same page if they were going to continue their resistance efforts. So, they told everyone. The King they were fighting against was an enchanter with the power to manipulate the mind.

The gathering had instantly devolved into chaos after that.

Now, Henrik sat near the cliff’s edge. Not close enough to be in danger of falling, but close enough to see the sea below. He watched the Serpent’s Wake, anchored in the water, for a while. It was mostly empty now. Most of the crew had come over to camp early in the morning. Though they would be going back to the ship to sleep. Henrik didn’t really understand that choice.

“Sitting here all by yourself, sova?”

Henrik jumped a little. He twisted around, and saw Vsevna standing nearby. “You startled me,” he breathed. “That is not a good thing to do at the edge of a cliff.”

“Deeply sorry.” Vsevna grinned, giving a little two-finger salute. “May I join you?”

“Y-yes. Of course.” Henrik turned back around and hoped his face wasn’t as red as he felt it was.

Vsevna sat down next to him, crossing his legs. The grass around them was fairly long, reaching shin-length when standing. “Thinking about something?” Vsevna asked.

“Actually, I was thinking about you—your ship, I mean,” Henrik hurried to add. “It has to be an inconvenience to spend the night there. You have to find a path down the cliff, find where you left the rowboats, and then paddle all the way back out there. Seems like too much trouble.”

“Not too much.” Vsevna shrugged. “Considering we do not have any tents on board, we can’t stay in camp in any case.”

“I’m sure others would let you share a tent with them.”

Vsevna grinned. “Are you offering?”

“I—” Henrik choked.

Vsevna laughed. “Ah, I would not put that much pressure on you, Henrik.” He put a hand on Henrik’s shoulder. “Never feel pressured, yes? I don’t wish to be that sort of person.”

“Y-yes. I understand.” Henrik nodded. He took a few deep breaths to regain his composure. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“I came to check on you,” Vsevna said. “Jackie wanted to, but he is busy calming things down back there.” He jerked his head back towards the camp. “Five different people have already turned in their masks.”

Henrik groaned and let his head fall into his hands. “Of course.” He didn’t blame people for wanting to leave the Phantoms after hearing that news. Fighting a king was difficult enough. Imagine fighting a king with magic.

“Most people are staying, but they are still concerned,” Vsevna continued. “People are asking about witchcraft charms to protect the mind.”

“Those do exist,” Henrik mumbled. “But the materials for them... I am not sure how easy it will be to find glass or clear crystals.”

“Some of them are, what is the word? Ah yes. Outraged.”

Henrik laughed at the casual way Vsevna said that. “There was a lot of shouting at the meeting.”

Vsevna inclined his head, not laughing. “They are not mad at you. At this King. I know there is a lot of faith in the royal bloodline in this kingdom, so it must feel like a betrayal. I heard a few siding with your friend Marvin’s ideas of just killing the King.”

“Things are that bad, then.” Henrik sighed. “I suppose it’s a good sign. I never liked this blind faith many in Glasúil had towards the royals. But it was mostly harmless. Until we needed to start a revolution.”

“Kings and queens are nonsense.” Vsevna rolled his eye. 

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far, but I am not surprised that you do.” Leylodka, Vsevna’s home nation, was ruled by a council, not a single monarch. It was very strange. “Do you think Jackie needs my help?”

“Do you think you can help?” Vsevna asked quietly.

Henrik bristled. “I am one of the people who started this.”

“No, that came out wrong. Of course you are capable. But, well... you must have left for a reason. It couldn’t have been just for the view.” Vsevna gestured at the open sea surrounding the cliffs.

Henrik had left for a reason. All that shouting, all that chaos, it was so much. He’d felt himself starting to untether. And this was not the time to slip out of reality and into his own mind. So, he had whispered that to Jackie, and Jackie had suggested he take a moment. Henrik had readily agreed. And now, here he was. But he wasn’t keen on telling Vsevna why he left. He was... still afraid.

The moment of quiet turned into a longer silence. The two of them sat near the edge and stared out at the open ocean. “Do you know what the name of this place means?” Vsevna asked.

“The Cliffs of Feall? No, I never thought about it. It is just the name.”

“‘Just’ a name. All names have meanings.” Vsevna stretched, raising his hands over his head and bending back. “I have been to many places, I always like hearing why they’re called what they are. Sometimes places are named after people. Sometimes they are named after the nature around them. Sometimes they are named after a myth.”

“Alright.” Henrik raised an eyebrow. “What are the Cliffs of Feall named after?”

“Well, that is the interesting part. See, ‘Feall’ used to be a word in Glassish. It meant... ah, what is it? When you... traitor someone.”

A small snrk sound escaped Henrik’s mouth. “Traitor someone?”

“Yes! Traitor someone, like when you stab them in the back and they scream out ‘Augh! Why are you traitoring me?!’”

Henrik burst into laughter. “It’s ‘betray.’ Traitor is a noun. A traitor will betray someone, and they will scream ‘Why are you betraying me?!’”

Vsevna rolled his eyes. “You knew what I meant.”

“I did, I did. And I agree, that is a stupid noun-verb pairing. They are too different. Glasish should be more consistent.” Henrik coughed, and resumed a more serious tone. “So, ‘feall’ used to mean ‘betrayal,’ then?”

“Yes. I think it was a specific sort of betrayal. It must not have been a common kind, if they stopped using the word.”

“Maybe. There are many reasons people could stop using a word.” Henrik nodded, looking thoughtful. “Do you think they are called the Cliffs of Feall because a betrayal happened here?”

“That is what everyone assumes. Perhaps someone pushed someone off the edge.” Vsevna leaned forward as if he was peering over the side of the cliff, even though they weren’t close enough for that.

“Not a very...Not a good omen, to have a camp here, then,” Henrik muttered. “Though, if I am being honest, I was a bit wary about this location for a while. It is not too far from the Wyldwoods on the west half of the kingdom. Perhaps some strange magic could drift over to us.”

“Bah. Even if that could happen, Wyldlands are nothing compared to the Wyldseas out there.” Vsevna grinned. “Don’t worry, Henrik, me and my crew have seen worse. We are very able to protect everyone.”

“Hah. Yes, I... I am not worried.” Henrik ran his hand through his hair, partially hiding his warm face again. “You... are very capable. And... very kind.”

“Thank you.” Vsevna stared at him for a moment longer, then turned back to the sea. “Do you want to be alone? I could leave.”

“No!” Henrik gasped, then cleared his throat. “No, you can stay. Please. I-I may not say much, after a while, but I would like your company.”

Vsevna smiled at him. “Company it is, then.”

The two of them sat there for some time. Long enough for the shadows to move. They said nothing. But occasionally, Henrik would open his mouth to speak. To tell Vsevna everything. All of the feelings Henrik had for ages now. But... the words never came. Those fearful thoughts were still there, stopping him. Telling him that there were so many ways this could go wrong, that what was happening now was fine and he shouldn’t risk things suddenly getting worse. Telling him that... that most likely... Vsevna wouldn’t want to bother once he knew about Henrik’s symptoms.

He didn’t like those thoughts. But he couldn’t push through them. Not now.

Until, eventually, Jackie arrived to tell the two of them that things had calmed down and the whole camp was now eating lunch. They all headed back, Henrik trailing silently behind with all those words he wanted to say still stuck in his throat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One week. Marvin had been walking through the Wyldwood for one week. And he still had no answers. In fact, he had even more questions.

Why were the trees alive? Or, more alive than plants normally were? Why did Draco—his familiar, who he should know everything about—have a connection to this place? Did the Wyldwood have a mind of its own? If it did, why did it want him here? It was herding him towards a location, but where?

He never seemed to get too hungry. At most, his hunger was a slight discomfort that could occasionally be sated with a few fruit and berries from the nearby plants. Not just any fruit or berries, though. Marvin had learned the hard way that some of them were dangerous. One time, he tried eating a fruit that looked like a dark green apple. Draco had meowed and tried pawing at him, but he’d quickly taken a bite before the cat could do anything about it. The moment he swallowed it, pain like sharp thorns had erupted in his throat. And then his stomach. That had kept him from moving at all for the rest of the day. Another time, Draco batted some bright red berries out of Marvin’s hand. The moment they hit the ground, they burst open, their juice sizzling and burning the grass.

He quickly learned to listen to Draco when it came to the food.

Thirst was similar. It was there, but rarely more than an inconvenience. And there were plenty of small streams and ponds around, many of which had unnaturally clear, clean water that instantly quenched his thirst.

But not all the water was safe. Marvin had walked towards an unusually wide river one day, only for the roots of the trees to rise from the ground and form a waist-high barrier. Curious, he’d watched the pond for a while. About ten minutes passed, and Marvin watched as a large reptilian head poked out of the water, green and slimy with yellow eyes the size of his hand. It soon disappeared again, and Marvin swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. He wasn’t sure what the Wyldwood wanted, but at least he now knew it didn’t want him dead.

And he knew he wasn’t alone in the woods.

Even though he never saw another living thing besides plants and Draco, he saw signs of other beings. Splashes in the streams just as he arrived. Movement in the corner of his vision. Strange symbols carved into the bark of trees. Tracks on the ground. One time he found a particularly long stretch of mud, embedded with a perfect set of footprints... that turned into a perfect set of hoofprints halfway through the mud.

His mind raced. He’d heard of all sorts of magical creatures in books, but he’d never seen any. The closest he got was occasionally hearing fierce wind in the distance that could have been hiding a clamor of voices—supposedly, that was a sign of the Wild Hunt passing by. But it could have just been wind, as well. Other than that, he had no experience with magical creatures. He half-believed they’d all died out like the dragons. But now he was starting to reconsider that...

One week. One week of walking, of following the path that the Wyldwood made and Draco led him through. One week of wondering what in the world was going on. One week of worrying about Jameson and Chase, who he’d been taken away from.

And then they arrived at their destination.

Marvin could tell something was happening because of the way Draco kept pausing. Muscles tensed, whiskers and ears twitching, clearly picking up on something that Marvin couldn’t sense. He grabbed his amulet—which had not stopped glowing since he’d ended up in the Wyldwood—and cautiously followed.

The thick trees became thin trees, letting in more sunlight through the canopy of branches. Those trees gradually fell away, revealing the edge of a cliff. Well, no. It was just a hill, but the drop was so steep and rocky that it might as well have been a cliff. Marvin stopped just before the sudden slope and looked down.

His first instinct was to call it a clearing, but that didn’t sound right. Forest clearings still had some sort of life in them. This was a circle of rocky ground, dead grays and blacks, an area sunken into the ground big enough for a small town to fit comfortably but almost entirely empty of anything but stone earth. In the very center was a... cabin of some kind. Maybe. It was far away. Definitely a building. It was surrounded by a circle of gray trees, leafless, their branches unnaturally twisted.

Marvin raised his hand. The cabin and its trees were far enough away that he could hide them completely from his vision with just his palm. And yet... looking at it, standing on the edge of this rocky circle... It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He grabbed his amulet. And as he did, he noticed its glow was flickering. “Don’t tell me this is where you want me to go,” he muttered, looking down at Draco.

Draco stared back up at him. The fur on his back was on end, as was his tail. He didn’t like this place any more than Marvin did.

{You don’t have to walk into that blasted heath just yet.}

For a mad moment, Marvin thought that Draco had spoken. But then he looked around wildly and saw a man standing next to him, just out of arm’s reach. “You!” Marvin gasped. His grip on the amulet tightened and he tried to pull forth his magic. But, strangely, he was having trouble grasping it. The magic kept slipping out of reach.

The man was previously looking down into the circle of rocky ground, but now he turned to face Marvin and smiled gently. {I think you’re mistaking me for someone else.} Though the man’s mouth didn’t move, Marvin heard his voice clear as day.

That strange sight made Marvin pause. He gave the man a closer look. He had thought the man was the King at first glance, but no. There were differences. Though he had the King’s green eyes, golden circlet, and general features, his brown hair was longer, pulled back in a small bun, and his beard wasn’t quite as thick. He wore a green cloak, as the King was often seen doing, but it was a lighter shade than the King’s. There was a weapon by the man’s side, but it was not a seax knife. Instead, a simple short sword. Marvin didn’t recognize the specific design, but he’d spent enough time with Jackie to recognize it was a lightweight model meant for one-handed use.

Jackie had also said that royal warriors hadn’t used one-handed swords in hundreds of years, which is why they were always surprised when Jackie used his. The fighting style for that sort of sword—especially when using two—threw them off.

Hundreds of years... 

With a start, Marvin finally noticed the most obvious discrepancy: he could see through the man. The surrounding environment was vaguely visible through his body, as if it was made of fog. “Wh... what are you?” Marvin asked. “Who are you?”

{I am... merely a memory,} the man said. Marvin also realized then that the voice was coming not from the man, but from within his own head.

“You’re a spirit,” Marvin said slowly. “A spirit of an enchanter?”

{You’re deadly sharp, aren’t you?} The man grinned.

“But... your eyes.” Marvin stared at the man, confused. “Royal green.”

{Did you think your current ruler was the only Glasúil to be an enchanter?} The man shook his head. {It’s run in the family for ages. But it started to die out a few generations after me. Strong enchanters, like your current ruler, are rarer and rarer in the Glasúil bloodline.}

This must be a very old spirit. Only ancient texts referred to the royal family as the Glasúils. Nowadays people only used it to refer to the kingdom as a whole. “I... won’t lie, I’m a bit alarmed that the royals have been enchanters ‘for ages,’” Marvin says carefully.

{That’s good. That’s a natural response. If you weren’t alarmed, I would be worried.} The man chuckled.

Marvin paused. “Which King were you?” he asked. “Those eyes must mean royal blood, and if I wasn’t sure... that circlet you’re wearing, it’s the one the King or Queen always wears.”

{You’re right, I was a King of this land,} the man said. {My name was Samuel. Though I usually preferred just Sam.}

Marvin gaped at him, absolutely speechless. “S... Samuel the Green-Eyed?” he finally managed to whisper. “The... the first ruler? The one who united the kingdom?”

{The very same. But please. Just Sam is fine.} The man—Samuel—Sam tilted his head. {I understand I’m a bit of a legend these days.}

Marvin nodded wordlessly.

{I’m honored. Really. But... all legends tend to get warped by time.} Sam turned and stared back at the rocky clearing. The “blasted heath,” as he’d called it. {There are some things you’ve all forgotten. Though I don’t blame you. It’s hard to remember something when you can’t speak about it.}

A moment passed. When Marvin was sure the spirit wouldn’t say anything more, he also turned to look at the blasted heath. And the strange cabin and trees in the center. “What is this place?” he asked quietly. “Wh-why am I here? Why did the Wyldwood make me come here? Why did Draco?! How did Draco get me here?! He somehow transported me across the kingdom!”

Sam raised an eyebrow. {Oh, don’t you know? Your cat there is actually a cait sìth.}

“Wh—the magical fey cat that’s said to steal souls?” Marvin looked down at Draco with wide eyes. “Really?”

Sam burst into laughter. {No, I’m just having a laugh with you. Cait sìths are much bigger, and they’re almost entirely black.}

“...oh.” Marvin couldn’t believe he was really talking with the ghost of a legendary ruler. And he couldn’t believe that said ruler was a bit of a prankster. “I’m not very good with jokes of that kind,” he grumbled.

{Ah. I’m sorry.} Sam stopped laughing. {But for the real answer... Do you know what familiars are?}

Marvin nodded slowly. “They’re animals summoned by a wizard who are able to do magical things. But if you’re asking where they come from, no one is really sure.” He glanced around at the forest. “Some say they come from the Wyldlands. Like this Wyldwood.”

{Well. That’s partially correct, I suppose,} Sam said thoughtfully. {Familiars are magic itself. They are a bit of the magical energy that resides all around us, taking the shape of an animal that suits the wizard that called them.} He made a grand, sweeping gesture. {And all of the Wyldlands in the world are places where that magical energy gathers. Where it wells up and pools. And since familiars are part of magic, they all have a connection with the Wyld places, like this Wood.}

“Hm.” Marvin nodded slowly. “I... think I understand. Even though Draco is his own being, he’s... related to the Wyldwood. Like a parent and child.”

{That’s a good way of comparing it, yes. And as for why you are here, it is because the Wyldwood asked Draco to bring you here. I suspect it gave him a little bit of the magic gathered here in order to teleport you.}

“How did it do that when we were in Suilthair and the Wyldwood is on the other side of the kingdom?”

Sam waved that question away. {Magic energy is everywhere. The more magic you have, the less distance matters. And things like familiars and Wyldlands, which are magic itself? Everything is within reach.}

“Fascinating.” Though Marvin was in awe at these revelations, and though he longed to know more, he couldn’t let himself be distracted. “But... what is that?” He pointed to the cabin and trees in the center of the blasted heath.

Sam’s expression darkened. {It is a place where something unspeakable happened.}

Marvin waited for more. But nothing came. “Alright... but what happened?”

{Didn’t I tell you? It’s unspeakable.}

“Wait, you mean that literally?”

Sam nodded. {There is strong magic preventing me—or any other living or dead being—from speaking of what happened, or speaking of who did it. The only way to know is to piece it together yourself. And going down into that blasted heath to see for yourself is a key part of that.}

“...alright.” Marvin took a deep breath. He scanned the steep, rocky hillside, looking for the best way down. Then he took a step forward.

{Wait!}

The mental shout was so loud that Marvin physically flinched. “What?” he asked, spinning to look at Sam.

Sam was closer now, reaching out as if he was about to grab Marvin to stop him from going into the heath. {You can’t go just yet,} he said.

“Why not?”

{You need to bring someone else here.}

Marvin’s brows furrowed. “Who?”

{Your friend Chase. He needs to know what happened here.}

That was the last person Marvin expected to hear. But as he thought about it, it made sense. “Wait, does... does this have to do with Jameson’s vision?” he asked. “The one where he saw Chase defeat the King.”

Sam nodded. {We must be sure the future that Jameson Jairsolas saw will come to pass. The knowledge Chase gains here will be invaluable to that.}

Marvin took a step backwards. He let out a long sigh. “Well, I was just with Chase a week ago,” he said, a bit snappishly. “We were in the same city when magic itself decided to whisk me over here. You couldn’t have waited until the next time Chase and I were together and transported us both? It would have saved you at least two weeks’ time. Maybe more! Because I don’t know where Chase is right now! He might’ve been captured, for Elders’ sake!” The trees seemed to rustle as he mentioned the Elders.

{I’m not entirely sure of the situation you were in,} Sam said slowly. {But it seemed like you were about to be captured yourself.}

“You don’t know that. No one knows that! I wasn’t able to try and fight my way out before I was—what was that word you used? ‘Teleport’? Before I was ‘teleported’ here! And why did I have to walk for a week? If you could transport me anywhere because distance doesn’t matter, why not transport me here immediately? Can you put me back? Or, can the Wyldwood put me back? Or—actually, who is behind this? Who’s making sure Jair’s vision comes true? It can’t be just you, you’re a spirit—”

{Are you done yet?} Sam interrupted. He looked unimpressed. {Can I explain?}

“...yes.”

Sam sighed. {You’re right, I’m not behind this. I cannot leave this area, due to unspeakable reasons. As for why Draco couldn’t teleport you and Chase, it’s harder to do with more humans, especially if they’re not particularly magical. Chase happens to have not a drop of magic in his blood. That makes things difficult. So, the plan was to teleport you into the Wyldwood and show you the way here so you could guide Chase—and whoever else you might want to bring—later. It was essential that it was just you. Not only because of the teleportation limits, but because the Wyldwood is a very dangerous place. With Draco’s help, it was able to shield you from the dangers, but it will not be able to do so with more than one person. It is a very powerful magical place. But it is not all-powerful. Nothing is. Not even the unspeakable one.}

Marvin stared at him. “So... I’m supposed to leave this place. Then come back with Chase and maybe more people. And guide them through a very dangerous magical forest. So that Chase can learn something that will help him defeat the King.”

{Yes, exactly.} Sam grinned.

“You never answered one of my questions. Who is doing this? Who is asking that I risk my friends’ lives?!”

Sam paused. {Who is giving Chase his draíslings?}

“He... says that in the dreams, he sees...” Marvin’s eyes went wide as the realization dawned on him. “...he sees the Horned Elder One. God of wild places.”

Sam tilted his head. {I knew you were deadly sharp.} A slight breeze blew through the air, and Sam’s form dissolved into mist and disappeared.

Marvin stood there for a moment. Then he turned around, staggered over to the nearest tree, and sat down at its base. Draco followed him and leapt into his lap, staring up at him with big blue eyes.

This... was a lot.

For a long time, Marvin just sat there, staring up at the sky and processing everything that just happened. Defeating the King was more than saving a kingdom. It was now a mission from the very beings who watched over the world.

Draco rested his head on Marvin’s chest and began to purr. Marvin slowly reached up and started petting him. The motion was comforting. And the weight of a cat—magical or not—was grounding.

Marvin took a deep breath. “Well. I suppose we’ll have a long way to go to get back to Suilthair.” He looked down at Draco. “Unless you can do that ‘teleport’ thing again.”

Draco stopped purring. His eyes began to glow bright blue.

“Of fucking course,” Marvin muttered.

A flash of blue light lit up the Wyldwood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“—really, it could have been worse,” Jackie was saying. “Everyone’s calmed down now. Some people have turned in their masks, but I guess that was inevitable. It’s big news. Anna sent out messenger birds delivering the news to other camps, I really hope nothing will happen to them. I can’t even imagine what would happen if the King knew we’re aware he’s an enchanter.”

Henrik nodded absentmindedly. The two of them were sitting on the ground in the tent they shared. It was small, barely big enough for their two bedrolls and packs of possessions, but anything was better than sleeping out in the open. 

“Henrik? Schneep, are you with me?” Jackie leaned forward, half-reaching out.

“Ah, yes, sorry.” Henrik shook his head.

“Good.” Jackie dropped his hand. “Sometimes when you go quiet I get worried.” He laughed, but there was a bit of tension in the sound that showed he was more serious than that. “Were you thinking about something?”

“Yes. I-I was thinking about Vsevna again.”

Jackie raised an eyebrow. “In what way?”

Henrik rolled his eyes. “In the way that I want to tell him how I feel, but I am nervous.”

“Hmm.” Jackie paused. “What if I was there? Would that help?”

“What? As in, standing beside me while I tell him I lo—I-I have feelings for him?” Henrik stammered over the word, still not fully able to say ‘love’ out loud.

“Yes. Would that help?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Henrik fidgeted, playing with the edge of his scarf. “I would just feel... self-concerned if anyone other than the two of us were there.”

“Hmm. So, don’t do it on the deck of his ship, then,” Jackie said. “Even at night when it’s anchored, someone’s always awake.” He leaned to the side and drew back the tent flap, looking at the sky outside. “How soon do you want to do this, by the way?”

“Ah... I am not sure. Is difficult to plan for.” Henrik paused. “Why?”

“Well, if you want to do it today, you’re running short on time. I think Vsevna and the rest of the Wake’s crew are heading back to the ship for the night soon.”

“What?!” Henrik cried. “But it is nowhere near night!”

“That’s true, but Yuko said something about the tides.” Jackie shrugged. “I think it’s because they put their rowboats on that small beach at the base of the cliffs. If the tide rises to cover it, the boats will... I’m not sure what will happen, but my guess is they’ll either sink or drift into the ocean. Not good.”

“But—they will be back tomorrow, yes?” Henrik insisted.

“Probably.”

“Probably?!” 

“The crew practically lives on that ship, there’s no guarantee that all of them will come to camp every day, especially if we’re not going to break camp for a while. It might be easier to just stay on there?” Jackie shrugged. “Personally, I can’t imagine staying on the sea for so long when there’s perfectly good land within rowing distance, but sailors can be—are you going somewhere?”

Halfway through Jackie’s words, Henrik had scrambled to his feet and lunged for the tent door. His heart was beating out of his chest. “I-I think I’m going down to the beach,” he said.

“Hmm?” Jackie pretended to not care, but Henrik could tell he was invested in this. The jittering leg gave it away. “Well, be careful on the path down the cliffs, it’s still very rocky. Have fun. Good luck.”

“Thank you.” Henrik nodded, and then left the tent, running across camp and towards the narrow path that led to the beach at the cliffs’ base.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he felt spurred to action now. Perhaps it was because he’d seen Vsevna in person for the first time in ages. And now he might not even come off the ship to visit camp? Henrik couldn’t go back to writing letters when he knew that Vsevna was right there. Sure, he might be back tomorrow, but Jackie had sown seeds of doubt in there. Maybe he’d done that intentionally, actually. To urge Henrik to do this sooner rather than later. But it was working!

The steep path to the beach forced Henrik to slow down. And as he did, he started to feel a bit foolish. It wasn’t like Vsevna was leaving. The Serpent’s Wake would be anchored near the Cliffs for a while. Henrik could see him some other time. This didn’t need to happen now. It wasn’t as urgent as it felt.

And then he got down to the beach, boots crunching on the gray pebbles, and saw Vsevna and the other crew members who’d visited camps all loading into the boats. One was already starting to push off the beach and into the water. That sight made it urgent again. “W-wait!” Henrik shouted, running towards the boats.

Vsevna noticed immediately. He turned, surprised, and held up a hand. The rest of the crew noticed as well, then, and paused what they were doing. “Henrik?” Vsevna shouted.

Henrik waved his hands. He came to a skidding halt right at the edge of the surf. “I... I need... to talk to you,” he said, struggling to catch his breath.

“Oh! Yes, of course!” Vsevna nodded. “Is this important?”

“Not... not too important... I suppose.” Henrik pressed a hand to his chest. His heart was beating rapidly, and he wasn’t sure if that was caused by his nerves or the dead sprint. “I... Can we talk... somewhere less... in earshot?”

Vsevna raised an eyebrow. He glanced at Yuko nearby, who also raised an eyebrow and made a sweeping ‘by your leave’ gesture. He looked back at Henrik and grinned. “Of course. Here, we walk this way.”

The two of them walked up the beach, closer to the rocky base of the cliffs. Henrik still wasn’t entirely comfortable knowing that the crew could still see them, but that was the price he paid for a spur-of-the-moment thing like this. “I... This is not... Phantom business,” Henrik said in Alterdan.

“I didn’t think it was,” Vsevna replied in the same language, chuckling a bit. “What is it, sova?”

Henrik opened his mouth. Fear fluttered in his stomach, and the words wouldn’t come. He took a few deep breaths. Vsevna waited patiently, his grin gradually fading into a softer expression. Henrik kept playing with the edge of his scarf. His eyes darted everywhere, landing on anything—the ground, the crew in the distance, the decorative cloth Vsevna had wrapped around his arm as an armband—except Vsevna’s face. After a solid ten seconds of nothing, he finally blurted out, “You mean quite a lot to me.”

Vsevna was silent for a moment. “You mean quite a lot to me, too.”

“No, I—” He had to convey this better. “I—We met a couple years ago now, wh-when I was in Bherreih for doctoring, and you—You are quite... stunning—” Oh Sisters no don’t open with that “—I mean, striking! I-I mean—you have a—a presence that I find—that I’m sure many people find—i-it is hard to not pay attention to you. A-and then, when you found out I was involved with the Phantoms and you—you told me right away that you had figured it out and you wanted in—” He could still picture that in his mind. They’d been in an alleyway between two buildings, so small their faces had to be a hand’s span from each other, it was dark, but Vsevna’s smile was lighting everything up...  Wait no stay focused! “—I-I was immediately—I was instantly... struck.”

“...By lightning?” Vsevna said, another smile on his face now. Not like the one Henrik was remembering, which was a wide, excited grin. This one was smaller. Light-hearted, but warm.

“No! I mean, I-I might as well have been, I—” Henrik laughed nervously, looking down at his hands. “You are... I-I admire you greatly. You are... You dive into everything right away. You do not hesitate, it is straight into action.”

“And that is good? Well, I suppose you do spend time with Jackie. You would like those types of people.”

“No, i-it’s different with you,” Henrik insisted, looking up again. “Jackie is my friend, almost my family, I-I know how he does things. It is different. He charges into a fight because it is what he’s good at, and what he knows needs to be done. You will go into that same fight with—with a smile, a-and a laugh, and this—this air of—of confidence, of... being assured. Jackie enjoys a fight, but to you, it is fun. It is an adventure. A-and you are that way with... with a lot of things. I-it is why you sail. And it is... what I admire. It is... one of the things I like about you. But there is more. There is your smile. There is the way you remember people. There is the way you switched to Alterdan right away when you realized where I was from, a-and...”

Vsevna said nothing as Henrik trailed off. It was hard to read his expression, but it didn’t look... un-favorable.

Henrik swallowed a lump in his throat. “I care for you a great deal. And... I... know we are friends, but... there... can be more for me. But if you do not see that option, I... I will be fine with that, as well. Because I know it will be happier for you. But... if it is possible... it would make me very happy if we... were more.”

A moment passed in silence. Henrik couldn’t breathe. It was out there. No taking it back. All he could do was wait. Vsevna took a step forward, putting a hand on Henrik’s arm. “Henrik, I—”

Suddenly, the beach was lit up by a flash of blue light. Henrik and Vsevna drew back in surprise, and the others by the boats raised their hands to shield their eyes from the blinding light. Then the light disappeared. There was a thump! and the crunch of pebbles, a voice said “oof!” and an animal yelped. No, not just any animal—that was a cat, yowling in surprise.

“Wait a moment.” Henrik blinked, clearing the afterimage of the light from his vision. Someone was sitting on the beach who wasn’t there before. He took a few steps towards them. “Marvin?”

Marvin looked at him. Then at his surroundings, taking in the cliffs, the boats, and the group of people. His hair was longer, chin-length and tangled, and his clothes were terribly dirty, as if he’d been wearing them for days straight. “This isn’t where we’re supposed to be,” he muttered. He looked down at his lap, where Draco was sitting. “Did you do this on purpose? I thought distance wasn’t supposed to matter! Just take me directly back there!”

Henrik blinked, confused. “Ah, Marvin?”

Marvin glared at Draco. “Fine, I’ll work with it!” he said snappishly. Then he stood up, forcibly dislodging Draco from his lap. The cat immediately started walking away. “Don’t expect an apology this time! I’m not in the mood!” Marvin shouted after him, then turned to Henrik. “Schneep, where am I?”

“Ah... we are at the base of the Cliffs of Feall,” Henrik said slowly.

“Okay. That’s still about a week’s journey away from Suilthair. Damn it!” Marvin kicked at the ground, sending a spray of pebbles into the air. “There has to be a better way of doing this!” He shouted at the sky. “Couldn’t Sam have explained that too?!”

“Who is Sam?” Henrik asked. “And... how did you get here?”

“That’s a long story. Where’s Jackie? Have you two heard from Chase or Jair?”

“Jackie... should be on the top of the cliffs.” Henrik pointed. “We made a camp there.”

“Camp? Right, because Wyvernlair was found. Of course. And Chase and Jameson?”

“We have not heard from any of you in over a week. Though, that could be because we were on the run, traveling down here to the Cliffs.”

“Fuck. Fuck! Of course.” Marvin rubbed his eyes. “Alright. Alright. I can work with this.”

“What is happening?” Vsevna asked slowly, glancing from Marvin to Henrik and back again.

“Who are—right, Vsevna. No one else is that blonde and has an eye-patch.” Marvin laughed, the sound tinged with a manic sort of stress. “Sorry, I’m really thrown off right now. I just learned a whole cartful of overwhelming information. A spirit told me Draco’s made of magic and I have to take Chase to a blasted heath to help kill the King.”

Henrik blinked. “I’m... sorry?”

“It’s a lot,” Marvin said. “Just—just—How do I get up these cliffs? I need to tell you and Jackie and anyone else who you think should hear this!”

“There is a... path that way...” Henrik pointed. “It looks like Draco is already going there.”

“Yea sure he is!” Another manic laugh burst out of Marvin’s throat. “Sure! Alright, I’m going to follow him, I guess!” He walked in that direction, stumbling a bit on the pebbly beach.

Henrik stared after him. Then he looked at Vsevna. “I... should hear what... is going on with him...”

Vsevna nodded. “You know, I am quite curious, too.” He laughed. “I suppose we are not going back to the Wake after all. We will have to find a spot to tie down the rowboats. You go on, Henrik, I will catch up. Tell Marvin to not say anything until I am there.”

“Right.” Henrik nodded. He turned around.

Before Henrik could leave, Vsevna leaned closer to him. “We can talk about what you said at a less stressful time,” he said quietly.

Henrik’s stomach twisted into knots. It was strange that hearing that made him more nervous than whatever was happening with Marvin’s sudden appearance.

Though, of course, that was confusing as well. Had he mentioned something about a spirit? Chase killing the King? What was that all about?

Henrik took a deep breath, and started walking after Marvin. 

[richincolor]

We have three books on our radar this week! Are any of them on your TBR list?

Their Vicious Games by Joelle Wellington

A Black teen desperate to regain her Ivy League acceptance enters an elite competition only to discover the stakes aren’t just high, they’re deadly, in this searing thriller that’s Ace of Spades meets Squid Game with a sprinkling of The Bachelor. You must work twice as hard to get half as much. Adina Walker has known this the entire time she’s been on scholarship at the prestigious Edgewater Academy—a school for the rich (and mostly white) upper class of New England. It’s why she works so hard to be perfect and above reproach, no matter what she must force beneath the surface. Even one slip can cost you everything. And it does. One fight, one moment of lost control, leaves Adina blacklisted from her top choice Ivy League college and any other. Her only chance to regain the future she’s sacrificed everything for is the Finish, a high-stakes contest sponsored by Edgewater’s founding family in which twelve young, ambitious women with exceptional promise are selected to compete in three mysterious the Ride, the Raid, and the Royale. The winner will be granted entry into the fold of the Remington family, whose wealth and power can open any door. But when she arrives at the Finish, Adina quickly gets the feeling that something isn’t quite right with both the Remingtons and her competition, and soon it becomes clear that this larger-than-life prize can only come at an even greater cost. Because the Finish’s stakes aren’t just make or break…they’re life and death. Adina knows the deck is stacked against her—it always has been—so maybe the only way to survive their vicious games is for her to change the rules.

Rana Joon and the One and Only Now by Shideh Etaat

This lyrical coming-of-age novel for fans of Darius the Great Is Not Okay and On the Come Up, set in southern California in 1996, follows a teen who wants to honor her deceased friend’s legacy by entering a rap contest. Perfect Iranian girls are straight A students, always polite, and grow up to marry respectable Iranian boys. But it’s the San Fernando Valley in 1996, and Rana Joon is far from perfect—she smokes weed and loves Tupac, and she has a secret: she likes girls. As if that weren’t enough, her best friend, Louie—the one who knew her secret and encouraged her to live in the moment—died almost a year ago, and she’s still having trouble processing her grief. To honor him, Rana enters the rap battle he dreamed of competing in, even though she’s terrified of public speaking. But the clock is ticking. With the battle getting closer every day, she can’t decide whether to use one of Louie’s pieces or her own poetry, her family is coming apart, and she might even be falling in love. To get herself to the stage and fulfill her promise before her senior year ends, Rana will have to learn to speak her truth and live in the one and only now.

Infested by Angel Luis Colón

The Taking of Jake Livingston meets Cemetery Boys in this YA ghost story about a Puerto Rican teen’s battle with a malevolent spirit targeting his apartment building and the all-too-real horrors of gentrification. It’s the summer before senior year, and Manny has just moved from Texas to the Bronx in New York. So, instead of hanging with his friends and making some spending money, Manny is forced to do menial tasks in his new home, a luxury condo his stepdad is managing, while stressing about starting over. Thankfully, he meets Sasha, who is protesting the building but turns out to be really cool. And he strikes up an unlikely friendship with Mr. Mueller, the building’s exterminator. Maybe life in the Bronx won’t be so bad. Then the nightmares begin. And Manny swears he has roaches crawling under his skin. When building contractors start to go missing, Manny and Sasha come to the terrifying realization that Mr. Mueller is not who he says he is. Or rather, he is, but he died decades ago in a fire exactly where Manny’s new building is located. A fire that Mueller set. Now, in a race against time, Manny must rescue his family from a deranged specter determined to set the Bronx ablaze once again.

[hellishere7980]

Begin Again Chapter 6 (sequel to IMW)

After the... questionable training session, they only had an hour before dinner. no one even dared to hope that Alfred was gonna move dinner time.

"So" Timbers began, his hand poised at the keyboard. "What are our questions, gentlemen-" and he smirked at demonspawn. “gentlelads?"

Damian shot him a glare that normally had thugs trembling, but the tired man just let out a laugh.

Bruce only gave a slight smile and got back into Mr. Serious mode. "How did she get her powers? Who knows about them? What are her powers? Are these powers hurting her in any way? Does she need help?” he rambled.

"OK B" Timbers said. "Slow down even if I can't type that fast. "

"Yeah B" Jason snorted. "You're going to look like you care..."

"I do care about Jason." Bruce responded; his teeth clenched.

"Sure," Jason said, looking unconvinced. "Tell that to someone who would believe that bullshit."

Bruce grinded his teeth. "You also agreed it was for her safety."

"I wouldn't have known that you were going to abandon her!" Jason fired back.

As Bruce was about to respond a note on violin floated down the drafty air of the bat cave. All heads turned to see Pixie by the wall playing the violin. She looked up and the violin poofed.

"How did you get here?" demon spawn asked. "More importantly, when did you get here?"

"Honestly," Pixie began. "doesn't matter, come on, grandpa says dinner 's ready."

With that she poofed again.

After Timbers hurried up with the printout, they all dashed in in the dining room where Pixie was helping Alfie lay out the plates. Bruce (he seriously needed some room reading skills) began. "Isabel, the paper." he awkwardly handed it out to her.

Alfred cut into the conversation. "I hope master Bruce that you will not bring such matters to the dinner table.

"Of course, not Alfred," Bruce Said.

Ha! Even the broody bat was no match for the true head of the vein patriarchy.

After that truly delicious dinner... who was he kidding Alfred's dinners are always delicious.

Bruce again placed the list in front of Pixie he was feeling a sense of deja vu seeing it was only a couple of months earlier Pixie herself placed a list in front of Bruce.

Pixie pulled the list closer. "How did I get my powers? - classified. Who knows about them? - honestly there is no right answer for that question. Do I have a mentor? - classified. What are my powers? - classified. Are they hurting me? - no... I think. Do I need help?"

Pixie looked up. "No."

Bruce looked agitated. "YOU ANSWERED HALF THE QUESTIONS CLASSIFIED!"

"SO?" Pixie shot back.

Bruce waved his hands around in anger. "YOU NEED TO TELL US!"

"WHY?" Pixie snarked. "YOU DIDN'T THINK IT WAS IMPORTANT TO TELL ME THAT MY BROTHER CAME BACK TO LIFE, THAT YOU AND MY FATHER WERE LOST IN THE TIME STREAM, PRESUMED TO BE DEAD, THAT I HAD TWO MORE BROTHERS AND A SISTER! ACCORDING TO THAT LOGIC YOU SHOULD ACCEPT THAT I DECIDE WHAT INFORMATION IS IMPORTANT FOR YOU TO KNOW OR NOT!"

They were kind of expecting this ever since they called her asking her to come back to Gotham, they knew that she would ask how all of this happened and more importantly why they didn't tell her and there was no right answer for that question.

Bruce stuttered. "But... but..."

"But WHAT?" Pixie screamed.

"Nothing." Bruce said deflating.

"Good." Pixie said regaining her composure. "My friends are coming to visit in a couple of weeks. I can host them in Gamora's penthouse, so I'll not be here for at least four to five days."

"You can invite them here." Bruce said.

"Fine." Pixie replied suddenly looking tired. "Goodnight, everyone." With that she got up and left.

Flashback to when they called Marinette/Isabella's legal guardian Gamora in order to call her.

Dick finally looked like he had enough. He eased the phone out of Bruce’s hand ad hit the call button. The call connected ad there came the voice of a 40-year-old woman.

Dick answered. “Good evening, ma’am, I am Richard Grayson-Wayne and I'm calling on behalf of my father Bruce Wayne regarding your ward Marinette Luscinia."

A melodious voice answered back.

“Good evening Mr. Wayne. I am sorry to disappoint you, but this is my work number, and I am not going to disobey work rules by answering personal questions.”

“Ma’am, is there any way we can talk to Marinette?”

“May I ask the reason for this conversation?”

“Has Marinette never said anything about the Waynes?”

There was a pause.

“As I said before I would not be entertaining personal questions but I can give you her personal number.”

“That is appreciated ma’am.”

“She has mentioned you in the past. Her number is…”

“Thank you ma’am” Dick replied, ever the gentleman.

Dick looks up and calls the number and pushes the phone in Bruce's hand.

A young voice comes up.

"Marinette Luscinia, how may I help you?"

"Umm...it's Bruce."

“Bruce as in Bruce Hady? Thank God you answered! I want an emergency arrangement ASAP!”

Everyone in the cave exchanged questioning looks.

“Bruce, a douchebag, not you obviously. But another Bruce I know has found me and I need you to introduce me as a suspect in literally any case. Just enough that I can't leave France better yet Paris. Including through jets.”

“Isa it's Bruce Wayne.” he replied wincing.

“Ohh…” there was an awkward silence. “okay bye”

The silly tone of hanging up rang out in the Batcave leaving Bruce staring dumbly at the phone.

[purpureumwrites]

Darth Vader x Reader | Twin Moons | Bonus Chapter

A/N: Anon asked for more Twin Moons, I read the message, and for some reason, after not writing for so long, I just couldn't stop myself. So here is the bonus chapter. If someone has a good idea for another Vader one-shot or fic, I'd be happy to hear it. I really enjoy writing him, and it really bothers me when he's written ooc, which is way too often tbh, so I try to capture him as best as I can and it's quite fun. Hope you like this c:

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1.5k.

A year ago, the two of you had reached an agreement. A fragile, very risky, agreement.

Keeping a curated public image, you continued your days behaving as the typical superior and subordinate would. No displays of affection, not a single trace of anything beyond a professional relationship. You mimicked the way everyone else reacted and conducted themselves around him: with caution, docility and a constant dose of fear. Not that you had to fake much of it. You may have gotten closer than most, but neither would pretend he wasn’t Darth Vader. It wasn’t just about being caught. He was a risk himself.

You endured the lectures, punishments and trials expected, some by his own hand, some by others. You trained and worked tenaciously, always dancing over the line of averageness. Enough to be useful and worth of working with him as your boss, but always short of presenting yourself as competition in the intricate game of power within the Empire.

Your training with the Force never finished. There were no official sessions anymore, but he hadn’t stopped teaching you and testing your abilities. You had managed to damp it down, restrain it. Even though it would probably be useless if you were to meet the Emperor himself, it could save you a lot of trouble and attention from everyone else. It was a constant effort that had gained you a finesse and control over it that you never thought you would have.

It felt unnatural at first. This energy had been something natural and flowing, not to be reined in and obfuscated, but to be felt and experienced just as the wind or the sun could be. You worried sometimes about bursting. But if there was something that could push those thoughts aside, it was fear and of that you had plenty.

After a few weeks of routine, you got used to the rhythm. What you couldn’t get used to, was him. Actually him. Intimate, personal him.

Sex had so many shades. It was needy and abrupt when you had spent too much time apart, each on your own missions. It was slow and steady if you had the time and privacy. It was harsh and overpowering after you misbehaved.

You couldn’t say he had become open and vulnerable to you. Most probably, that would never happen. But he was more tolerant and more aware of your cues, and he seeked your presence unlike any other. He may not love you, probably wouldn’t admit it even if he did, but at least he seemed to feel some warped version of it. You weren’t sure if you did anyway. The power balance was so off that lines blurred where they shouldn’t, and feelings were a convoluted mess. It would hurt if he discarded you and you missed him dearly when apart. That was all you needed to know.

As he kneeled before his master, Vader focused only on his current objective. There was nothing else, not until this business was done and he was out of there. Just as he had done countless times before.

Once you had established the nature of your relationship and its rules, he easily compartmentalized that new side of his life. It was crucial that he did. He would feel the consequences, he would be punished for it, but you… you would pay the price with your life. You were the only thing the Emperor had no control over in his life. He would kill you in a blink to regain absolute power over him.

It was a necessity that he saw you struggle with the first few weeks. He treated you the same as anyone else which, to be fair, meant as cruel and brutal as the rest of his subordinates endured. He could see glimpses of sadness in your eyes, that the rest would mistake for horror. And you would be more quiet and withdrawn the next time you were together. He never apologized, there was nothing to be sorry for. He did what he had to do. Though he couldn’t deny that he may be more gentle those nights.

But as quick as you seemed to learn everything else, you adapted to it. He hated the intensity of his emotions around you but… god, was he proud of you. Maybe you weren’t a natural at many aspects your position asked of you, maybe you still struggled from time to time, maybe you were scared deep down. But you were resilient, strong and tenacious.

And the same way you got used to some things, he had gotten used to others. The closeness, the weight of your body on his bed, the warmth when you locked your arms around him, the intoxicating, glorious sex. He longed for you when you were separated in a way he was sure he never would again.

And together, you were serving the Empire with unrelentent determination.

***

A sudden tug pulled you out of your sleep. You looked around the red lit room, finding no one. The sea of lava outside the fortress was all that could be seen through the windows, an unexpected scenery for such a calm place, at least from the other side of its black, impenetrable walls.

“Run”, a voice roared in your mind.

You jumped out from under the sheets. That was his voice. He wasn’t in Mustafar, there were no alarms going off in the building and the outside looked exactly the same as any other day, which could only mean that whatever this imminent danger was, it was coming only for you.

Putting your clothes on, you went over the steps of the emergency plan: pick up your bag, run to the closest, most discreet vessel you could find and fly off to a planet with weak imperial presence. Probably stop on the way there in some space station (one dodgy enough for anyone with common sense to avoid) for some fuel and quick alterations to the ship. Pick a new name. Tiptoe around for the rest of your life.

You had no time to assimilate the situation. You ran through the corridors as if in a trance, your feet moving by themselves, everything feeling like a dream you couldn’t wake up from. It didn’t really hit you until you had been sat in the ship for a couple of hours. Once the adrenaline started to wore off and you were semi-confident that there were no imperials following you, you held onto the arms of your chair as you started sobbing.

It didn’t matter how much you thought you were ready for this, how aware you were of the outcomes of your decision. Your life ended here. Maybe you would die or maybe you would disappear. Whatever your future entailed, it was certain the person you were until that very moment would soon expire. You would be no longer.

After you reached the worst space station you had ever stepped in and agreed to some questionable customization for your ship, you rented a small, bleak room to rest for a couple of hours before you made your final trip to your potential new, depressing home planet.

You weren’t even deeply asleep, you were still too agitated, when the door opened. You felt him before even opening your eyes. You sat up in the bed, staring at your legs embarrassed by your own weakness, a tear already rolling down your cheek. He sat next to you in complete silence.

A few seconds passed before he spoke. “They are going through your room in my fortress. You’re still hours ahead of them”

You didn’t answer. Neither of you moved until you felt his arm around your waist pulling you to him. As he pat the bed, you moved instinctively to straddle him. You sighed, wrapping your arms around his neck and finally feeling some sense of release when he held you tight.

“You will survive this, girl”

“Will you?”

“I will not be crushed so easily”

After… seconds, maybe minutes, your sense of time had been warped since you woke up, he stood up with you still in his arms. As he loosened his grip, you put your feet on the ground.

“I have taught you better than this”

“I know”, you looked up to him. “I’m sorry. This is going surprisingly worse and better than I had imagined, at the same time, somehow”. You wiped the last tears off your face. "I will miss you"

“Go to your ship after I leave. Don’t look back. He will be searching for you”, he said walking towards the door, but stopped for a moment. “I will not forget you”