#he's just gesticulating and the frame is too tight

[veiljumping]

this fucker (affectionate)

replaying origins and i completely forgot how fuckin tiny surna is standing next to any of the companions in the cut scenes it's so funny

[askaalaska-vdeppressed]

I Cannot Breath (So I Must Sing): Prologue

Alastor X Fem Opera Singer Reader

Series Masterlist

(Fair warning before we start, I'm used to writing for fandoms of like 12 to 30 people, so grace my darlings is all I ask)

The rapping on the door woke Alastor out of his daze. An involuntary huff leaving his lips before he beckoned the disrupter into his office. The whole of the radio station knew he was not to be disturbed if the door was closed. Meaning the fool on the other side was either from the outside or stupid.  

“What’s the word Al?”  

Both, Mickey was both stupid and not an employee. He was an unfortunate drinking buddy of his. Alastor would have preferred that he not see Mickey at all, but they were both regulars at the same club, and Alastor was loath to lose his favorite hunting ground.  

“I don't know my good man” The smile on Alastor's face was tight, his movements stiff from being sedentary too long as he stood up, gesturing for the carrot top to sit. ” You’re the one knocking on my office door.”  

 "I know you’re busy, what with the radio show and the radio drama and all that so I’ll keep this brief”  

‘So, God is merciful after all’ he thought . 

“But I think I gotta real good opportunity for you”  

That was another reason Mickey was still around, despite his annoying tendencies and lack of decorum he was a nice guy. Every time Alastor got half a mind to just kill Mickey and pull the nagging thorn of an acquaintance out of his side, he’d hear wind of the great deeds Mickey did for those around him. A tire change in the middle of the night here, escorting a lady home there, getting some poor downtrodden fellow a job. Mickey would give you the shirt off his back and the shoes off his feet. Given he remembered how to untie the laces.  

A true saint of a man, just a little simple.  

Alastor couldn’t fault him for that.  

“An opportunity?” Mickey was always looking out for those he deemed friends, another one of his kind yet annoying traits.  

“Yeah, you know I have that gig down at the theater? I do handyman work for em sometimes. Well for their new production they got this broad all the way from France over here to open it.” Mickey’s right hand gesticulated as he spoke, while he leaned his left arm against Alastor’s desk. 

“Oh I’m aware, the news has been all a flutter over here at the station. Supposedly she’s quite a big deal in Europe.” A flutter was a bit of an understatement, it was all he practically heard about. He was getting damn near sick of hearing about it. He could appreciate a love for the finer arts, but this was getting ridiculous.  

“Yeah so I was working there the other day and I got to fixing the door on her dressing room. It was leaning and ya couldn’t shut it all the way. See they can’t have any windows open back there so the humidity in the summertime does a number on door frame, not to mention the..” 

“Mickey.” The smooth tin in Alastor’s voice was not reflective of his feelings. This was getting rather tedious rather quickly.  

“Right , right , right so anyway we ended up talking while I was there, and she took a liking to me. So I asked her iffin she’d be up for doing an interview and she said sure! So I figured I’d come down and see if you or one of your colleagues would wanna talk to her on air? Since she’s such a big deal and all. Maybe get some new listeners ya know?”  

“Well well, I must say this is a very good opportunity. What have I done to earn such a gracious offer dear friend.” Oh this was too good. Not only had he been given a ratings hit on a golden platter, he would also get the opportunity to rub it in the faces of all those smug self-righteous bastards who’d been blabbering his ears off the past few weeks.  

Mickey had certainly earned himself a drink, next time they were out together. 

“Ahh it’s nothing! You’re my oldest drinking buddy it’s the least I could do for ya. So should I be expecting you or someone else?”  

“I’ll be taking this one on old friend, you went to so much trouble to get it for me after all” Alastor was not liked by most of his colleagues. While he was certain passing the opportunity on would have put him in their good graces, he didn’t much care if they liked him. Considering the shows he was in were the most popular by far, they'd be better off kissing his ass, not the other way around.  

“Eh like I said don't' t mention it, You free tomorrow? “ 

“As a bird” Alastor had a few things he needed to finish tomorrow, but they could either be done tonight or the day after. He’d make time for this. 

“Okay meet me at the theater at 2 “ 

“I’ll see you there”  

[combatruined]

he knew he was being an absolute prick about the entire ordeal. who was negan if not difficult? just a man with a bat, of course. lips curling into a grin, he could just barely contain himself. <believe me, you weren't my first choice either.> he could practically see @psyhottic's grin. she was sure proud of herself. big girl finally used her words! he was filled with sarcastic, faux glee.

tilting his head playfully, eyebrows furrowed together. there was just something he loved about difficulty and rejection. negan could feel himself burning up. “ah, such a shame. almost convinced myself i was."

he cooed out, mocking. it was utter bullshit, the façade masking the cruelty. lucille twisting underneath the gesticulation of an anxious hand. he could feel his vein thump, his blood rushing. he was imagining it now; hearing the 'pop' she'll make if he squeezed too tight.

“now, can you listen to orders or is this one of those moments where you're gonna' roll those pretty eyes at me and suck your teeth the entire time? cause really," his words dragged, leaning in closer. looking down, brown eyes lingering over her frame. “pretty girls aren't hard to come by, but useful ones? mmh."

[delirim]

MADNESS. / @desireoftheendless

BEDLAM  in  the  realm  of  Delirium.  Objects  and  images  float  in  irreversible  disarray.  Collide  into  massive,  gesticulate  pools  of  hue.  They  morph  and  twist  from  paint  stroke  to  fractured  glass.  On  one  side—  if  you  could  even  call  it  that,  for  Delirium's  realm  has  no  sides,  no  boundary—  is  a  school  of  fish.  They  swarm  across  a  palette  of  color,  their  little  eyes  bulging.

And  suddenly  they're  KNIVES—  a  DOZEN  of  them  shooting  through  the  air,  stabbing  whatever  tangible  form  stands  in  their  way;  a  giant  urinal  and  person  who  looks  something  like  Hannah  Hoch.

Delirium  of  the  Endless  stands  with  balled  fists  in  front  of  her  gallery.  The  color  within  her  respective  picture  frame  swirls  and  FROTHS,  an  unseemly  all-color.  A  pungent  brown.  An  almost-BLACK.

"Why  do  you  say  such  things,  sibling?"

Her  voice.  It  resounds  from  everywhere.  Angry  words  through  a  set  jaw.  IMPRISONED  behind  teeth.

She  looks  as  though  she's  been  crying,  but  no  tears  stream  down  her  face.  Instead  she  wears  the  expression  like  a  human  in  a  costume  shop.  Like  a  pet  in  a too-tight  sweater.

"Why  do  you—  you  make  me  do  wicked  things  against  our  brother  and  I  don't  hate  him—  I  don't.  He  called  me,  did  you  know  that?  He  called  me  through  there—"  A  finger  stabs  toward  Morpheus's  picture  frame.  "And  he  talked  to  me  for.  A  second.  He  likes  me."

But  the  words  are  drowned  by  DOUBT.  Her  voice  warbles,  water-logged  from  the  inside.  Wet,  WET.  DOUBT.  An OCEAN. She  doesn't  BELIEVE  what  she's  saying.  Wants  to,  but  DOESN'T.  She  says  it,  and  the  words  evaporate  into  thin  air.  Meaningless.  LIES.  She  wants  her  brother.  She  called  to  him  last  week  in  her  gallery—  no  response.

And  Desire.  They  stand  before  her  now, amongst the chaos with  tawny  eyes  ablaze.

She  fears  them.  Wants  them  too,  just  as  vehemently  as  she  wants  to  HURT  them  for  their  words.  Their  accusations.  Stupid,  STUPID.  Not  them,  but  HER.

A  second.  Morpheus  shared  no  more  than  a  handful  of  words  with  her  then,  and  she  lapped  them  up,  starving.

"You're  trying  to  HURT  me  on  PURPOSE."

Delirium's  eyes  are  furious  now.  She  prods  her  finger  against  Desire's  chest,  on  her  tip-toes.

[write-ur-wrongs]

Facing Your Demons

Jaskier x Reader 1785 words

TW: implied sexual assault, seeing an abuser in public, panic attacks, and references to trauma. I did my best to avoid explicit details but tread carefully. 

A huge thank you to @bubblegumfanfics for trusting me with this request - I hope I’ve done it justice :”)

Request: Something where the reader was a*saulted in the in the past and has a flashback or she sees her ex that did it and Jaskier ends up comforting the reader, telling her how much she means to him (accidental love confession? Maybe? I love those) while Geralt is dealing with her ex. The reader says she feel the same way but she can't give Jaskier anything sexual because it makes her uncomfortable. But jaskier says he'll be with her regardless and that he loves her and if she ever wanted to try he will oblige and if she doesn't like it he'll stop

It was only one contract, meant to last no more than a fortnight. It should have been an easy in-and-out arrangement; your client got nervous, enlisted a Witcher’s help, and you agreed against your better judgement to stay on and split the earnings. While you’d dealt with this type of apparition before, you were tired, and figured it wouldn’t hurt to work alongside someone tailormade for the trade.

It was only supposed to be for the one job. It should have never gone on like this. You should have never allowed yourself to be charmed by the Geralt’s friend, the bard. You shouldn’t have grown comfortable working alongside Geralt, earning twice the coin by doubling your work. Hell, you should have refused to travel with them while working that first contract. Because maybe if you’d done that, you wouldn’t have found yourself so heavily linked to the pair of them.

Maybe if you’d had kept your distance, you wouldn’t be where you are now.

And you so desperately did not want to be where you were now.  

Cowering in the dank, stuffy corner of this horrid tavern, trapped between Geralt’s gargantuan frame and Jaskier’s far-too-close body, you were stuck looking the devil in the eye.

Okay, don’t be dramatic, you thought desperately, clinging to whatever silver lining you could get your trembling hands on to stay afloat, you haven’t actually looked him in the eye.

But still, you’d seen him, and the memories you’d spent so long trying to scrub away were worming their way back into the forefront of your mind, traveling down your body like furious snakes. Each memory burning with venom over everywhere he’d touched you.

“Hey, Y/N, you alright?”  Jaskier asked, reaching over to lay a comforting hand on your arm.

At the contact, however, you recoiled so violently away from him that you practically slammed yourself into Geralt. The combined sensation of Jaskier’s warm, calloused fingers on your arm and Geralt’s broad, hard chest against your shoulder sent blaring alarms of panic through you. Everything was too loud; everyone was too close.

You jerked your knees up in an attempt to curl yourself into a ball but ended up slamming both knees, hard, under the table. Surprised by the sudden ruckus, Geralt swore loudly beside you as Jaskier yelped, jumping back as his beer spilt and splashed across the table and onto his lap.

Both knees were now throbbing angrily, your head felt as if it had been filled with cotton, and your mouth watered dangerously as panic-induced nausea crashed over you. I can’t be here, a voice screamed inside your mind, I can’t be here with him.

“Y/N, what the hell-” Geralt started, stopping short when he finally saw the state you were in; the pallor of your skin paired with your wide, vacant eyes were horrifically familiar. It was something he’d seen in the faces of traumatized villagers whose lives were ruined by war, and in soldiers who’d just seen their comrades killed.  

Geralt met Jaskier’s eyes over your head and knew that they were thinking the same thing.

Without speaking, Jaskier pushed the table away from you as Geralt scooped you up and began marching steadily towards the exit. Once outside, Geralt gently set you down on a bench as Jaskier materialized by your side with a cup of water.

You’d been so focused on the devil’s face that you’d barely registered the change of scenery, but when your back hit the cool rock wall behind the bench, you were pulled back to reality. Startled, you blinked back unshed tears and let your eyes focus on the two concerned faces before you.

Your breathing slowed, and as you were coming too you heard Jaskier as Geralt whether he should splash the water he’d brought onto your face.

“N-no,” you breathed, feeling more grounded with every passing second, “please don’t.”

Geralt hummed knowingly and smacked the bard upside the head, scolding him for his ridiculous proposal, eliciting another yelp from Jaskier. “It was just an idea!” he hissed defensively, earning only a vacant stare from you and a glare from Geralt.

Frustrated and inexplicably jealous to see Geralt assume the dominant protective role, Jaskier knelt in front of you and scanned your face for a sign. His brows furrowed as he watched your lips mumble something inaudibly. “What is it?” he encouraged you gently, resting a hand next to you on the bench, but decisively not onto you.

“I can’t be here,” you said, barely above a whisper, “I can’t be here with him.”

Jaskier looked back at Geralt inquisitively, as if assuming he’d know you better since he got so defensive earlier. But when Geralt shrugged unperceptively in response, Jaskier felt strangely vindicated and turned back to you confidently.

“Be here with who, love?” he tried, meeting your eyes and doing his best to communicate non-verbally that you could trust him.

“The devil,” you murmured, your eyes finding the man over Jaskier’s head, through the tavern’s window.

The two men turned to follow your gaze. Upon spotting the man they assumed to be devil – a pompous soldier, gesticulating wildly as he held audience in the tavern – their eyes met briefly, eyebrows quirked, before coming back to you.

“You mean, that ridiculous ass?” Jaskier asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“The one in red? you asked.

“That’s the ass,” he replied, eyes sad as a tentative smile played at the corner of his lips, hoping you’d mirror the act.

You nodded silently, eyes meeting his fleetingly. “We, um, I mean he –” you broke off unable to continue, your eyes now closed as memories washed over you like acid.

“You were… together?” he tried, looking back to Geralt for support but getting nothing back but a non-committal shrug.

“I was, I mean he – um,” you swallowed thickly before going on, “we were.”

“And it was bad?” Jaskier was whispering now, meeting you at your energy.

You hesitated before responding, and that brief moment of silence broke Jaskier completely as he imagined the worst.

“It was,” you replied finally, meeting his eyes head-on, “not consensual.”

What happened next happened quickly.

Geralt swore loudly, his hands closing into tight fists as Jaskier swore in a way you’d never imagined him capable.

“Geralt!” Jaskier called over his shoulder, saying his name more like a command, begging his friend to take action.

“Way ahead of you, Jask,” he replied, already stalking his way back into the tavern.

When the tavern door slammed shut behind Geralt, Jaskier sprang to his feet before tentatively sitting by your side. His hand hovered over yours momentarily before he thought better of it and brought his hand back to rest on his own lap. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“I can’t,” you choked out, putting your own hand over his, surprising both of you.

“That’s alright,” he breathed, placing his other hand over yours lightly, “you don’t ever need to think about it ever again. Geralt is taking care of it.” As he spoke, he swung a leg over the bench and turned so that his body faced yours squarely.

“But Geralt doesn’t get involved in human conflict,” you said, swiping at the tears that had managed to fall as you tucked a leg under yourself to angle yourself in his direction.

Jaskier’s eyes flit momentarily to the tavern’s window before quickly coming back to meet yours. “No, but he does kill monsters,” he assured, “and specializes in demons.”

“Do you think he’ll kill him?” you ask quietly, crossing your arms defensively over your chest.

“Hard to say,” he tried to answer, but was interrupted by loud crash followed by shouting coming from within the tavern, “but, huh, I think it’s fair to say you won’t ever need to worry about him again.”

You nodded lightly, trying and failing to hold Jaskier’s gaze. He was looking at you with such intensity, with a warmth you definitely didn’t think you deserved.  “Don’t look at me like that, Jask.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, bringing his eyes down to your still-intertwined hands. “I just hate to think of anything bad ever happening to you. I wish I could have known you then… that I could have protected you, that I could have,” he hesitated, considering his next words carefully, “that I could have loved you the way you deserve to be loved.”

“Oh, Jask…”

“No, no, darling, you don’t need to say anything. Please don’t feel obligated,” he blurted out, immediate regret burning at his cheeks, “I’m so incredibly stupid and selfish! I’m so sorry I-I just, seeing you like this it just, argh! I shouldn’t have said it-”

“Jaskier, please,” you interject, placing a feather-light hand over his chest, the pads of your fingers ghosting over the flesh exposed at his collar, “it’s not that. I’m… honestly I’m glad you said it.”

“Yeah?” he asked timidly, looking up at you through his thick lashes.

“Yeah,” you breathed, “I think I feel the same way… about wishing I could, know your love. Be able to love you, freely.”

“Yeah?” he murmured once more; eyes hesitantly alight with hope.

“Yeah,” a teary laugh escaping your lips. “But Jaskier, I’m afraid that I won’t be able to, you know, love you in the way you need.”

“Y/N, hey,” he cooed, your confession bolstering his confidence, “all I need is to know your heart. Knowing you love me is enough.”

“Jask, I don’t think you’re understanding me –”

“My sweet girl, look at me,” he pleaded, bringing his head down to hold your gaze through the curtain of your tear-soaked lashes, “so long as you’ll have me, I’ll be by your side. And I promise you, nothing will happen unless you’re ready and you want it. Nothing.”

“Yeah?” you ask, your eyes scanning his for any hint of mal-intent or deception but finding only earnest adoration.

“Hell yeah,” he whispered, bringing his forehead to rest against yours. 

Just then, Geralt immerged from the tavern and wiped his blood-soaked blade against the tall grass as he spoke. “We’re leaving.”

“Way ahead of you,” you parroted in a small voice, letting Jaskier pull you to your feet, before you ran to your horses.

You didn’t feel ready to ride out yourself, so you hopped behind Jaskier as Geralt led your horse behind him on Roach. As you put more distance between you and the tavern behind you, you found yourself growing ever calmer. Until finally, with your arms wrapped tightly around Jaskier’s waist and your face pushed between his shoulder blades, you took your first full breath of the evening and realized, incredulously, that you knew you were going to be okay.

[melon-wing]

Adagio 1/2 [Zed/Tango]

[Fanfiiction Masterlist]

A/N: All songs are linked in the story and if you want you can listen to them while reading. There’s some french in the story, but all you really need to know is that it’s names of Ballet moves.

~*~ Adagio: In ballet, Adagio refers to slow movement, typically performed with the greatest amount of grace and fluidity. In a typical Grand Pas de Deux (dance for two), the adagio is often the first movement or section where the ballerina is partnered with her male dancer partner.

~*~

Lean legs were stretched out, muscles tense against the handrail, body bent forward, slender finger wrapped around the shoe that sat perfectly and effortlessly on said handrail. The skirt – long pale blue fabric – was framing his legs perfectly, falling down like a river until it almost reached the ground. There wasn’t even a drop of sweat on that smooth skin, not one hair out of place.

“Zed?”

Zedaph almost jumped, stumbling a little from his held pose, hand flying to the wall to steady himself. Red eyes met his from across the room and he could feel his cheeks heat up in embarrassment as his failure to stand upright. He averted his gaze quickly, looking at the person now that had made him seem so clumsy.

“What is it, Impulse?”

Impulse smiled at him, his face practically glowing. He apparently had already finished warming up, a slight sheen of sweat on his brow, the fabric of his tights wrinkled in a few places. Zed knew their coach would not like it and so he reached out without a word, trailing his hand over Impulse’s leg and smoothing the fabric out again.

“Why don’t you audition for the lead?”

Zedaph sighed. They had gone over it a thousand times by now and Impulse still kept pushing.

“You know I can’t. Not when he’s the other lead. He’s… I’m way too small to be partnered with him. Small guys like me… They don’t get the lead. I’m destined to be a background dancer and I’m fine with that. I knew that.”

“And men like him should be contained to the male lead. And yet Tango has been getting female lead role after role. You’re good Zed. I’ve seen you dance. I’ve felt the emotion. You train so hard. You can lift all the girls with ease. You can-”

“They would never pick me.”

Impulse huffed and gesticulated behind Zed in the direction Tango had just been in and Zedaph hoped that Tango didn’t notice they were talking about him on the other side of the studio. “That’s what everyone thought about Tango! Didn’t you join this studio because of that? Because he made you believe in your dreams again?”

Zedaph felt like his whole body stopped for a second. “How- How did you know?”

Impulse smiled again, soft and fond. “You were about to quit ballet, Zed. You told me you would never dance again just a year ago. You’ve loved ballet since we were kids. When all the other kids made fun of you, you passionately defended it and made me decide to start as well. You’ve had dreams and then you wanted to give them up. Until you saw him on stage. You’ve worked even harder than I’ve ever seen a human do. You deserve to be his partner on stage. You want it, I know it. Why won’t you just believe in yourself.”

Zed felt his heart race a bit. He turned to look at Tango, who was going through his positions now, moving slowly and gracefully, eyes focused on the mirror, but even so focused they were full of confidence and passion.

And Zedaph knew that his friend was right.

He wanted to be there in the spotlight. And he wanted to share it with Tango. Impulse was right. Maybe he could do it after all. He had practised for so long. He had been the last one to leave the studio so many times, had danced through so many pairs of shoes. He could be Tango’s partner, help Tango shine even more on stage. He would put his heart and soul into the performance. He-

He looked from Tango to his own reflection standing next to Impulse. So small, limbs not as long and lean, face not as sharp.

“I won’t audition. I’ll never be the lead and we both know it.”

Impulse looked like he wanted to say more, but their coach walked into the room, demanding all their attention with just one look, making them all hurry to the handrail.

Zedaph let his gaze wander, one last longing look at Tango in his long skirt, the light hitting him just right, looking so ethereal, almost like an otherworldly being.

How could he ever compare?

How could he ever stand next to him?

How did he even dare to think he was good enough for him?

~

The clapping, the music and the teacher's voice was all Zedaph could hear as he moved through the steps. Another clap, another note, feet moving in turn.

“Sous-sus.” Clap. “Entrechat Cinq.” Clap. “Pas de Bourrée.” Clap. “Sissone.” Clap. “Pirouette and to the knee.”

During the lesson Zedaph could focus all his attention on the moves. There was only him and the sound of the music, the voice of the instructor and nothing else matters. His body flowed through all the positions he had been doing his whole life. He didn’t need to think about anything when he was dancing. He could just be himself and enjoy the way it made him feel so alive.

The moment the music stopped all of it came rushing back. The insecurities, the feeling of not being tall enough, not masculine enough, not muscular enough… Just overall not enough and it hurt. He wanted to go back to the place the music took him. Back to the world where he lived without any care.

“You coming, Zed?”

Impulse stood there, smiling softly at him, but there was a hint of worry in his face. A lot of the other dancers had already left. Zed’s eyes darted to the place Tango had been in, but it was also empty now. Tango never stayed overtime in their dance room. There were rumors he was naturally talented without having to put any work into it, but Zed had heard from Impulse that Tango just continued training somewhere else.

“No. I’m good. I’ll stay a bit longer.”

Impulse patted him on the back, a warm hand resting against his tense shoulders for a moment and Zedaph felt himself lean into the touch a bit.

“Don’t work too hard. You can’t afford to pull a muscle again.”

“I’ll be careful.”

Zedaph was glad that Impulse never bothered him about the extra hours spent in the studio. He didn’t insist on staying or tried to get him to leave. Sometimes other people stayed, but they always left before him. Today he was in luck though, as one after the other left the class.

He was standing on the floor, taking a calming breath as he lifted his right leg to lean on the handrail. Taking another breath he moved it further and further to the right, standing on pointe on the other leg until he was stretching to the furthest point. His mind went to Tango, who had stood in a similar pose earlier. Tango had looked so elegant, his pose seeming so effortless. Zed could feel his muscles stretching uncomfortably, growing hot as he held the pose for another few seconds before moving on to do it with the other leg. 

He didn’t look in the mirror while doing his stretches. He didn’t want to see the way his muscles shook, a slight tremble running through them.

He continued getting himself ready for a few minutes, before getting his phone from his bag, sitting at the side of the room. He scrolled over song after song. His finger hovered over one for a second, his lips silently whispering the name, but he shook his head and moved on.

He put in a small delay before going to his position. The all too familiar tune of the Dance of the Knights started playing. He had done this role before as a teenager and it would make auditioning for the part far easier. He had done the role on a stage before. It was a role very befitting of him. Maybe this time he wouldn’t be dancing in the last row. If he was lucky he’d get put into third or even second row. If he was really lucky he’d get cast as one of the main knights and be in the first row right under the stage’s glaring lights. Though at his height he didn’t fit the first row all too much

His feet moved easily over the steps, slow and precise steps to the music. He slowly drew his leg around, moving behind his body, changing his point of gravity and moving back forwards again, arms moving in a graceful arch. It was simple. Mindless. His body was guided by the music. There was nothing too complicated going on in the song. It was mostly about synchronized dancing after all. There to show off the main characters in an ensemble of nobodies.

He did a quick turn. He’d have one of the girls by his side for this dance, moving around him. When the music stopped he looked into the mirror. What would it be to have Tango gracefully move around him?

Zed huffed in amusement. As if that would ever happen.

But he still longed for something more challenging, something to show off the skills he had acquired through his hard training. That dance didn’t have any jumps, it wasn’t even en pointe. For an allegro tempo, it really lacked life and energy. Though it really did look good on the stage.

He went back to his phone. Once more he stopped at the same song before moving on. He pondered a bit and then stopped on “Masks”. He hesitated. It was close to a solo. Only three people danced on the stage, one of them the main character. He had done roles like that before. He could play one of the supporting characters instead of being in the background. He had done it in smaller productions.

“Impulse is right...I really should be more confident”, he whispered to himself, starting the music and then walking to the middle of the room as the countdown to the song started. He imagined the lights on him, getting into position and waiting for his que to start. It started easily enough with a sequence of steps to get from the back of the stage to the front before doing a soubresaut and landing on his legs in the fifth position. He took a breath and jumped again, doing a full turn in the air before landing again, legs back perfectly in the fifth position. Oh how often he had practiced the tour en l’air, stumbling around, and falling, to be able to do a full turn while switching the position of his feet.

The smile on his face was part of his role, but also genuine happiness at how far he had already come as he moved his hands through the air, doing a little jump with his leg lifted up before going back to his starting position. he only had a second to prepare himself before he had to do three Tour en l’air in quick succession. He almost didn’t make the landing on the third, but as he was able to move on quickly instead of having to hold the position he didn’t lose his balance. The jumps to the side were quick and not too hard, his legs perfectly stretched, muscles tense.

He wanted to believe he looked elegant, but he knew why he had his back turned to the mirror as he practised. The piece was not easy, having a lot of jumps, but Zedaph had fun with the challenge. Maybe he could get the supporting role and at least dance alongside Impulse who was certain to get the role of Romeo. It would be fun to do a slightly goofy dance together with his best friend. And the main move was the Tour en l’air which was one of his strongest moves.

When the music stopped, Zed felt like he had to try it again, before he lost the confidence. Maybe this time he really would audition for a better role. Maybe this time his nerves wouldn’t get the best of him and he could live his dream on stage and not just in a studio. Slightly out of breath he walked to his phone, restarting the song and putting it on repeat. He had at least two or three more repetitions in him. It needed to be perfect, because he sure as hell was not.

He did the song five more times. His leg hurt by the time he turned his phone off, sitting on the floor and taking big gulps from his water bottle. His free hand moved over his legs, trying to massage his sore muscles a bit. He put the water bottle down and picked up the phone with a smile, opening up his messages to Impulse.

<Zedaph> I’ve decided to audition for a bigger role!

<Impulse> ROMEO????!!!!

Zedaph rolled his eyes at the phone and sent an emote back that did just the same.

<Zedaph> No you idiot. That is your role. I did Masks. The one you hate so much

<Impulse> Those jumps and spins make me dizzy :(

<Zedaph> I know. I thought maybe I could go for Mercutio or Benvolio.

He stopped, biting his lips, suddenly feeling a bit uncertain about his bold declaration of playing such an important character.

<Zedaph> Maybe that is just a stupid dream though.

<Impulse> No!! You can do it! You would be perfect! We could dance together.

Zedaph smiled and then images flashed in his mind of standing there on the stage right next to Impulse. Impulse who held Tango in his arms, chests pressed together, smiling at one another. The smile faded and he sank from his emotional high into a pit. He opened his music again and stared longingly at the song. He didn’t know what compelled him to do it, but his legs moved on their own as he stood up again, his finger finally pressing the name of the song he had skipped over so many times.

Balcony Pas de deux

He didn’t know why he tried. It was a song for two and he was alone, but he couldn’t help it.

He raised his left leg, closing his eyes, arms moving into the fourth position. He imagined Tango was on the other side of the room in a flowing skirt, eyes focused only on him. This song had a lot of jumps as well, none too complicated. A mixture of Sissone Ferme and Sissonne Ouverte. But while not technically challenging you had to keep the muscles tense, the legs stretched and the landing precise. All the while he tried his best to look elegant and effortless.

He stretched out his hand. In the scene he would touch Juliet's face… Tango’s face. Caress his cheek tenderly. He missed a beat and had to skip a step to catch up with the song once more, cursing himself for getting lost in his fantasy for a bit too long. The jumps and spins started once more. Around and around, arms moving in between fourth and second position, legs flying over the ground, ending in a pirouette as the song was getting more intense. He had hit every pose, nailed every move. His energy was on a newfound high.

He opened his arms and waited, a coldness grabbing his chest. His partner would be running up to him in this scene. He would have to stop now just when he had started to enjoy himself and get lost in the song. And then someone touched his outstretched waiting arms. He could feel the wind of someone moving. With a start he opened his eyes to see the flash of blond hair as Tango did a pirouette right in front of him, Zed’s hands loosely on his hips right above the hem of the skirt he was still wearing. He ended in the Battement pose and Zedaph finally realised that this was not just his imagination, but reality. He felt heat rise to his face and was about to pull back his shaking hands.

Then their eyes met and Tango’s gaze was capturing him with energy and determination.

“Keep going. Don’t you dare stop.”

Tango’s voice was so commanding and Zedaph fell right back into the motion, back into the flow of the song. The short pause meant they skipped the first lift, so he wrapped an arm around Tango and dipped him softly, looking down at Tango in his arms, so graceful, arm stretched out. The dip went into the other direction and this time when he dipped Tango down, the other looked up at him and smiled. So softly, so encouragingly. It left no room for Zedaph to think about the next move.

He did not think.

He just did.

He kneeled down in front of Tango, stretching out his hand for Tango to take. His other hand wrapped around Tango’s leg and as he stood up again, turning, while moving through the steps, Tango’s body was now laying over his shoulders, legs stretched, moving through his own set of motions. It felt easy, far too easy as he moved through the room on light feet. Tango kept his muscles tense and it was as if he weighed nothing.

When he put Tango down and their hands touched only to move into different directions and needing to let go, the longing he felt was not just that of his role, but far deeper. They both smiled now, as Tango moved in once more, spinning into his arms as they both turned around. He felt like he was really supporting Tango as he guided him hand on hip through a series of twists and turns.

There was another short lift followed by more turns. He felt like he was walking on air. The song seemed to go so fast. They moved into another lift as he held on to Tango’s legs, Tango’s head hanging down below above his hips. 

The music got softer as Zedaph turned Tango in his arms so he was basically carrying him bridal style. Their faces were so close. Almost touching.

The song kept going, but neither him nor Tango moved. Juliet was supposed to move away from Romeo again but they stayed as the music moved on without them. Tango leaned forward a bit more, their breaths mingling. Zedaph could practically feel the warmth of the other’s lips.

“Tango”, he whispered. The music stopped and just as Juliet was supposed to leave, Tango pulled back, but not with a fond and loving look, but with one of horror.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry. I really shouldn’t have. I’m… I didn’t mean to.” “Tango, what…?”

“I just came by because I forgot something. I’m supposed to be with my personal coach and not here. But I watched you and you were alone and I wanted to dance. I’m sorry. It should be Impulse. It really should be Impulse. I shouldn’t have. Not you.”, Tango rambled on as he put more distance between them. Zedaph felt his heart sink even more as Tango hurriedly picked up a key on one of the benches to the side. “Impulse… Yeah.”, Zedaph repeated, feeling the sting of jealousy. Of course Tango wanted Impulse and not him. Maybe he had been imagining dancing with Impulse all along. “No worries. It’ll always be Impulse. Nothing will change”, he muttered, trying to assure Tango that he certainly wouldn’t try to take the lead role away. 

Some emotion crossed Tango’s face, but he didn’t get a chance to look at it closer as Tango all but fled the room.

A coldness felt Zedaph’s heart. His feet that had felt so light a second ago were heavy now, as if chained to the floor by Tango’s words. He took out his phone and opened his chat with Impulse, starting to type a message.

‘Sorry. I think I will skip this production altogether.’ He was about to hit send when a blonde head popped into the doorway again and Zed’s head snapped up, looking at Tango who just stood there, cheeks flushed, eyes darting around, not meeting Zedaph’s eyes. “Dancing with you was a lot of fun. Thanks.”

And before Zedaph could reply, Tango was gone once more.

He gave a sigh and deleted the message he had just typed.

Maybe it would be fun to be on the stage with Tango once more. Maybe this time he would dance alongside him in one of the supporting roles after all.

He smiled. Still feeling sad, but somehow also bittersweet.

He’d keep his promise. Impulse would be the one holding Tango in his arms the next time. But he’d be right next to them, cheering them on… and nobody would know if he was to dream about being the one with Tango in his arms.

[brat-tamer69]

Dog House

♡ Summary: Your son Eren wants a dog. Your husband Levi is a bit of a hardass. You have to meet them somewhere in between.

♡ Notable Tags: AU, Married, Parenting, Levi x Fem!Reader

♡ Send requests here!

The late day sunshine of spring provided an excellent spotlight for the imaginary stage created by the window. Its opening into the front yard of the house was picturesque; lively green oak trees surrounded the view as their son, Eren, romped around in the healthy grass, giggling at what Y/N could only presume were the images created by his juvenile imagination. A hint of a smile touched her lips as her eyes fell back down to the sink and as she turned the plates over underneath the stream of water. It wouldn’t be long before her husband would be home from work, and the breakfast dishes would be replaced by ones for supper. With that in mind, Y/N began brainstorming what she would make for the next meal, knowing that the often ravenous child playing outside would be responsible for consuming most of it.

“Eren,” she called, coming from around the doorframe to greet her child outside. She knew better than to step fully into the grassy yard though, fully aware of how much the damp footprints perturbed her husband Levi. “What would you like for dinner?”

Eren promptly sat up, his jade eyes wide and glistening at the sole mention of food. “I want– Hmm…” The toddler cut himself off and placed his thumb and forefinger on either side of his chin to emphasize the difficulty in his decision. “Oh, boy! I want cheesy potatoes! And ham! And- And steamed buns! And—”

“Slow down,” she giggled. “I think you’re answering with your empty stomach and not your head. I didn’t hear anything about a single green vegetable in there.”

“Okay,” he relented in a sulk. “We can have leeks...”

“It doesn’t have to be leeks.”

“Alright!” Eren brightened up again. “Then broccoli!”

“You got it.” She smiled at the toddler then wiped her hands on her apron half. But just as she turned to go back inside, she heard his usually chipper voice only murmur to her.

“Momma, can I also have a dog?”

With her back towards Eren and her hand gripping the splintered wood of the door frame, Y/N took advantage of the unique position to hide the anguish on her face. A dog. An adorable companion for Eren to play with during the day. A four-legged sibling. And to his father Levi, a walking manifestation of sentient filth. Probably grounds for divorce, too. Unfortunately, she couldn’t hide the disappointment in her appearance as she released a tired sigh from the depths of her body then turned to face her son.

“You want a dog? Did you talk to Dad about it yet?”

Seemingly already aware of the answer to his initial question, Eren’s shoulders fell in dejection and he shook his head. “I don’t wanna ask dad,” he muttered over his protruding lip.

YN’s heart lurched in her chest as she took in the sight of Eren’s dimmed eyes glossing over, his little arms folded as far across his chest as he could manage. It was certainly an effective pout. She knew for a fact that Levi wouldn’t agree to bring a dog into their lives, but she would be damned if she had to be the one to tell her cute baby boy as much.

“Hey,” she said softly, reminding herself to go over the floors later with a rag as she stepped across the yard to chuck him underneath the chin. “Your father lives here, too, you know. And as much as he loves you and wants you to have fun, having a dog here would be a big deal for him.”

“No, it wouldn’t!” Eren cried. “I’d make his food and brush him, and everything!”

Y/N wanted to interject with information about how the dog would be fed, but instead, she filled her cheeks with air to stifle her laughter, watching her son’s impassioned speech and gesticulations. “Still, Eren,” she finally spoke when she composed herself, “that’s a lot of responsibility. You’re gonna have to show Dad you’re responsible enough.”

“Respond-able?” he half-echoed with wide eyes. “How can I do that?”

“Well,” you tsked, “You can start by cleaning up your toys and making your bed.”

Y/N nearly bit her tongue in clashing with her son’s head as he shot up from the grass. But she was more bewildered by the newly determined gleam in his eyes and the way he had one of his tiny fists curled into a tight ball. “I’ll show him, momma!” he proclaimed. “I’ll show him that I can be responding-ble!”

“Responsible!” She had called after him but he was already racing inside the house and toward his bedroom, leaving dewy patterns of his precious little feet along the way.

• • •

Normally, the way Levi’s glower would soften to a more peaceful look upon the sight of her would make Y/N’s heart flutter. But instead, her stomach was performing leaps in anticipation of Eren’s question. It seemed to distract her from her other favorite part about greeting her husband after work. Levi seemed to not have missed her cues of nervousness either as he kissed her chastely on the lips, his hand gripping tighter on the small of her back and his eyes immediately scrutinizing her.

“What?” he both accused and questioned.

“What?”

“I mean, what the hell was that?” Levi’s voice was orotund, as always—deep and luxurious to supplement his charm but intimidating enough to dispel any temptation of dishonesty.

Y/N couldn’t help but to squirm in his hold and avert her eyes to the room down the hall where, no doubt, Eren was rehearsing his speech.

“It’s nothing,” she sighed. “Just- Eren has something he wants to tell you.”

For a moment, Levi’s piercing stare studied hers in a silent shakedown, and the combination of proximity and intimacy of it made her want to march into Eren’s room and reject the idea herself. But still, through Levi’s glare, she could see his curiosity was piqued, and that was much better than the immediate disdain and shutdown she had been expecting.

“Come with me,” Levi demanded, not giving her time to refuse as he strode in the direction of Eren’s bedroom. Y/N could hear Eren mumbling to himself and his little feet padding across the floor as he paced back in forth. However, his pacing stopped just as abruptly as both his parents appeared in the doorway.

It was more than apparent that Eren was unnerved; his eyes shone like emeralds the size of saucers as he gawked at his father. “D-Dad! You’re home!”

“Yes, I got home a minute ago. What is it you wanted to tell me?” Levi asked, gaping at the for-once, decently clean bedroom nearly as much as his son was staring at him.

Y/N’s eyes did a sweep of the room right along with Levi’s. To both of their surprise, the floor was visible. The toy soldiers that would usually litter the floor were hidden away in the chest that Levi told Eren was the soldier’s “base” many times. The duvet on his bed, albeit full of wrinkles, had a neat four-inch fold at the top. Even his shoes were lined up neatly in his closet.

Eren hesitated, clutching a fist to his chest as if to wind him up. “I want a dog!” He practically shouted the admission, his voice trembling and his eyes glittering with tears. “Momma said that I have to prove I’m respond-able and that you live here, too! But I live here and sometimes, I really want a dog so I can take care of it! And if I can clean my room then I can take care of a dog!”

Silence followed Eren’s speech immediately after, and Y/N’s only clue to Levi’s anxiously awaited reply was a quiet “hmph” and how he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Is that so?” he challenged the child in a voice slicked by sarcasm. “And who is going to shovel all the poop in the yard?”

“I- I will?”

Levi frowned. “Wrong.” At this, Eren jumped with a start, preparing himself for the stern lecture that he knew was to follow. “It’ll have to be me. You’re six years old, Eren. This is the first time you’ve picked up your own toys in months and our shovel is taller than you. A dog is an animal—an animal that’s going to track dirt in the house that you also won’t clean. It has no place here.”

The delivery of the words bit into Y/N as much as they did Eren, and she found herself redirecting her attention from her boy’s quivering lower lip to Levi’s shrewd expression. To hint to him that she wouldn’t be supportive of a further verbal lashing, she took hold of his forearm and pressed her fingertips into it as hard as she could manage. It took no time for Levi to recognize the wordless warning. But the warning came too late. Before either of them could react, Eren’s eyelashes were decorated with droplets as tears fell down his cheeks in streams.

Y/N caught a glimpse of Levi’s remorse while he stood frozen in trepidation at the doorway before she brushed past him and into the middle of the room to gather Eren into her arms. He was red in the face, completely deprived of air from the force of his crying. “Oh, honey…” she whispered, stroking his soft brunette hair rhythmically in an effort to lessen the sobs he choked out. “You’re just too little is all. This doesn’t mean you can never have a dog.”

“But—” Levi stammered with a halting hand extended toward Y/N only for her to quickly shut him up.

“It doesn’t,” she said more pointedly. “It just means you have some growing up to do so we can all be sure that the dog will be safe and happy at home.”

Perhaps after a minute of silence from all parties, and a lot contemplation from Eren amid his sniffles, Y/N finally felt as though there was a resolution. For now. As much as she disliked having to correct Levi, she knew that she would have no peace if his brash manner of speaking to Eren didn’t go unchecked. And she made him aware of it too, making sure to contradict the soft kiss she gave Eren’s cheek with the ice cold eye contact she gave her husband on her way to kitchen.

Dinner went as well as she could have hoped by the grace of a higher power. She thought it would be awkward with a moping toddler on one end and her nettled husband on the other. Fortunately, only Levi appeared to be the one moping with Eren having found just as much joy in cheesy potatoes as he previously did in the idea of having a dog. More concerned with her child’s mood, Y/N went on to clean up and help Eren to bed without paying any attention to Levi, somehow resistant to how sweet the scene of him tucking Eren into bed and kissing his forehead was all the way until it was time to address his behavior.

The comment came when Levi had already settled in bed, a small book balanced between his fingers and his brows furrowed in concentration as he undoubtedly tried to ignore his wife’s annoyance.

“Levi,” she began in a chiding tone. “Did you truly have to say all that to him?”

Levi promptly lowered his reading, his unamused eyes now trained on her. “I told him the truth, Y/N. He’s old enough to know it. He doesn’t need you coddling him and sugarcoating things anymore.”

Y/N’s arms folded across her chest in defense. “Coddling? Levi, he’s six. I don’t expect you to coddle him, but you’re his dad! It’s nice for him to know he can come to you for the harsher truths and vice versa without his feelings getting hurt.”

Levi’s eyes narrowed as they met hers. “Feelings are temporary. The truth isn’t. It surrounds us all day and every day whether we like it or not. It stung for a minute but he got over it. And so should you.”

For whatever reason, the passive aggressive request for Y/N to let the issue go was enough to push her over the edge. She could feel her blood heating as it ran through her and rushed to her face, providing just enough adrenaline for her to snatch the book from Levi’s hand before he could use it to shut her down again. Stunned by the brazen move, Levi’s mouth fell slightly open.

“Do you hear yourself?” she scolded him. “You sound like you’re talking to a damned thirty year old monk! This is a toddler we’re talking about—someone that just started losing his baby teeth. And not only that, this toddler is your son!” Y/N paused before continuing, knowing her next words would be treading sensitive territory. “I know the way you were raised! You didn’t get coddled and nice words, and hugs and kisses all the time. But we agreed when we had Eren that that was something you would change. You said you would work hard to give him the childhood that you didn’t have, and I didn’t see that happen tonight.”

Levi’s eyes fell to his lap, completing a face of guilt as he ruminated. For a soundless moment that felt more like hours, Y/N feared she had driven her point so far that it went to a place of no return. Though despite her worries, he soon spoke up, a more relaxed look about him.

“I did, didn’t I?” he mused through somewhat of a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And in that promise, I didn’t realize that Eren would be so smart. Didn’t even get to teach the damn boy how to tie his shoes before he beat me to it. I guess holding him to such a high standard just comes too naturally now.”

“He is really smart, isn’t he?” Y/N agreed, easing herself onto the bed and by Levi’s side. Conscious of not overwhelming him with too much physical affection, she settled for leaning her head against his shoulder, and Levi welcomed it by pressing a kiss to her temple. “He’s also a sweetheart, just like his dad. And he looks up to him so much that it hurts him sometimes.”

“I know,” Levi said with a frown in his voice. “I’m going to make sure it doesn’t anymore.”

“I will, too... And I’ll get him a dog.”

“Y/N,” he grumbled.

“What?” she questioned back innocently. “You said he’s really smart. He can figure a dog out!”

“The kid can’t even wash his ass on his own yet and you expect him to clean up after a dog?”

“No, that’s what you’re for.”

Levi scoffed, his eye roll from beside her nearly palpable. “We’ll get him a fish in the morning. Now go to sleep, brat.”

[angeli-marco-writes]

The Stolen Moments: Chapter 3 - Confidence

A/N & WC - I do not know Tom, Jake or Ryan, nor do I claim to. This is a work of fiction. Series masterlist. 5k words.

Warnings - very angsty towards the end, Ryan Reynolds being Ryan, allusions to slutshaming and assault, talk of loss of a family member and Jake's films prisoner & southpaw.

Summary - Your date with Tom is fast approaching, you turn to your dad for some fatherly advice, and his friends for some better advice, considering your dad's crisis over your first date. Will your confidence carry you through your anxieties?

“Dad, can you help me choose an outfit?”

“Course I can sugarplum, just, why?”

His words die out with a faint trail and are followed by senseless mutterings about what’s on the telly. She sighs, completely exasperated, her robe wrapped incessantly tight around her body as she thunders her footsteps around the house until she reaches the living room. He’s got a game on, a glass of water gripped tightly in his fist and bound to go all over the floor in three… two… one…

“COME ON!” he screams.

Thankfully, only a drop or two falls to the floor, the rest of it spills onto Boo Radley, prompting Jake to discard his drink and leap up from the sofa, instantly seeking out his pupper, scooping him up and cooing apologies amongst kisses.

“I’ve got that date tonight, I told you. Then again, you were rather drunk, so that’s my bad.”

Shrieking with excitement he flings his arms around his daughter. “My Y/N’s first date! Oh this is so exciting, I’ll help choose your outfit right now.”

Jake doesn’t leave games for anything, especially not in such a sprightly manner, so when he turns the TV off and practically bounces into her room, she can't help but feel special. Maybe telling him it’s Tom right now wouldn’t be such an awful thing.

“First... who, where, when, why? And are they a he or a she... or a they?”

“He is someone you don’t need to worry about, he’s just taking me out to dinner at some Italian place on Greenwich, and I told him to meet me there at seven.”

“Why isn’t he collecting you?”

“What do you think?” She glares at him and gesticulates wildly all around. Not necessarily the mess of her bedroom but more just the whole… house. Awards with her dad's name on them, family photos with all the Gyllenhaals, the easily recognisable dogs, the general Jake-ness to the place, and a framed picture of him and Heath Ledger, a man who was just as much family to them as anyone she’s known. Well, all of that is the reasoning she gives Jake, cautiously omitting the fact of the matter that Tom would in fact recognise her block and her home the second he arrived outside in decent enough light due to the fact he was just here yesterday.

“And besides, who knows if we can trust him to know the secret?”

“This is how I know you’re my daughter,” he smiles warmly, “you’re really damn smart.”

“I know,” she chimes, “and I already told him the rules.”

“Good girl. Now show me those outfits.”

Having spent far too much money shopping days earlier, her closet is overrun with dresses she doesn’t need and will likely never wear. Jeans, too, and they certainly won’t be helpful tonight. She knows what Tom likes, what he wants, the sort of style he likes on a girl: hip, minimalistic (she means that in a literal sense), sleek. That isn’t her style, not at all, so it’s all about finding a happy medium.

By the end of ninety minutes, she fears her door might drop off its hinges from the amount of opening and shutting it does between outfit changes for her, none of which worked out. Mini dresses, midi skirts, blouses, crop tops, co-ords, nothing seemed to work, not even the trouser suit she’s been saving for a special occasion. Many outfits a young woman wouldn’t even dare to try on in front of her father, but Jake gives honest advice, nothing about wearing a longer skirt or telling her she’s showing too much chest. She’s always been taught that it’s her body and to do what she wants with it, wear what she wants to, act how she wants to, and should anything happen, it’s Jake’s problem, and he’ll snap them in half, a fact he willingly demonstrated the second anyone tried anything… and he swiftly put Y/N into self defense classes, so that she could take people down looking like a boss. That’s just the kind of dad he is, and he’ll never slut-shame his daughter for wanting to wear something she likes on a date.Today, his only comments are on the vibe of the outfit, on the weather and if she’ll be warm enough, whether it suits her current complexion and hair length, but with every outfit he tells her the same thing. “You look beautiful.” What sort of dad would he be if he didn’t hype up his daughter? A decisive one, that’s what, because his endless compliments do nothing to help her choose. It’s a long afternoon, and she’s soon running out of time, so Jake takes a leaf out of Tom’s book and slaps his thighs as a substitute for excusing himself, standing up, ready to leave Y/N be.

“You’ll look lovely in whatever you choose,” he declares, watching her as she turns towards him in her vanity chair, the last outfit still on her, even if the zip is now half undone. “You always do. Wear what you feel the most comfortable in, he’s stupid if he doesn’t think you’re the best girl out there. And if he hurts you tonight, tell him I’ve got a .45 and a shovel.”

“Thanks, dad,” she responds, a sad smile gracing her lips as she looks up at him through thick lashes. “And I hate to break it to you, but you need to shave, your beard just looks patchy now.”

“Hey!” he protests, “I take great pride in my facial hair.”

“Far too much. Shave it off.”

He laughs, gripping to the doorframe. “Will it get me more girls if I do?”

“I bloody hope not!” she exclaims, throwing her hairbrush at him “do it for your job, and you’ve got that alum dinner coming up that I’m burdened with too, which I shan't attend if you have that monstrosity on your face.”

“God alright, moody cow,” he eventually concedes, squealing as he slips from her room, narrowly missing the hit she puts out with her chapstick, flinging it long over her shoulder.

He shuts the door behind him and instantly begins to fret, making his way towards the dogs to sit, and hopefully not mull over his fears, as he wonders who the hell is taking his daughter out tonight.

She knows she has another hour and a half in her room if she wants to be done and ready in time, so she sits doing her makeup, carefully brushing the shadow over her eyes, adding an extra lick of mascara to her usual, dabbing some nude lipstick on, styling her hair, running a brush through the ends and her roots, smoothing it all over with her fingers. She’s just about to flick through her clothes again when a knock sounds on her door and it pushes open just a sliver.

“Someone on the house phone for you,” Jake says, holding it in his outstretched arm.

Confused, she darts her tongue out from between her lips and tucks her hair behind her ears, taking it. “Oh, that reminds me, Aunt Maggie called last night while you were out. She’s nagging me to get a boyfriend.”

“Perhaps after tonight you will! Excited?” he teases

“Yeah, a bit,” she answers, not really thinking straight, “but don’t tell uncle Ryan,” she implores, desperation evident in the puppy eyes she pulls.

“Too late! He’s on the call.”

If looks could kill, Jake would be sprawled out on the floor, so he makes a desperate break for it while he still can, his laughter following him around the house and invading Y/N’s stressed brain even after she slams the door shut. Ryan Reynolds on the phone giving her dating advice? Not the best stress reliever. In his way, he talks her ear off for twenty minutes while she goes about trying on more things, flicking through every outfit from before as well as some more, when eventually, she slips into one last dress, and it just feels right. Her favourite occasion dress, the one she’s only had the chance to wear once before but served her excellently, just as Ryan finishes his lecture about what she should wear to give off the right vibe.

“Wear something classy. But not too classy, you don’t want him to think you’re a prude, but then again, he shouldn’t be thinking about sleeping with you unless Deadpool will be on his case. Whatever you wear, you won’t look like a slut, and I trust Jakey to tell you what to wear, but don’t have it too low or too tight or too short, ok? You know what men are like nowadays, tsk, and Blake will tell you the same thing, but you should wear what you feel will suit you and the mood of the evening. Where’s he taking you? Somewhere nice? Is it in the city? Ooh, inside or outside? You should wear a jacket anyway, but only a thin one, then he’ll do the chivalrous thing and give you his blazer. Do you think he’ll wear a blazer? Ooh and what shoes are you wearing? Blake would say high heels, if you were around then she’d be sharing her shoe collection with you, but since you’re not then you have me to deal with, and I must say I recommend against thigh high leather boots because that’ll just give him the wrong vibe you know? So are you thinking dresses or a sk—”

“Will you shut up if I tell you who I’m going out with?”

“YES!” he yells, almost deafening her with the shrill excitement, even with it on speaker and halfway across the room.

“Ok, but you’re not allowed to tell dad. Promise?”

He hears the inflection in her voice but is too excited to escalate those feelings, practically bouncing off the walls, “Can I tell Blake? Can I?”

“Ye—”

“BLAKE!”

Y/N slams her finger to the volume button on the phone, desperately decreasing it as a preventative in protection of her remaining ear drums, just as Blake’s dulcet tones appear.

“Y/N is telling us who she’s going on a date with but we can’t tell Jake!” he blurts.

“Hey hon, who is it? Anyone we know?”

She takes a deep breath: in through her nose, out through her mouth. “Tom Holland.”

Jake certainly hears the repeated scream of his name coming from Ryan’s end of the line, she’s absolutely sure of it, and proceeds to face palm. He screams for another minute straight before taking a breath, she thinks, and proceeds to offer her muted sympathies to Blake, who wholeheartedly congratulates her and apologises on behalf of her husband.

“Full time occupation I presume.”

“While he’s distracted,” Blake hisses, “run. Before he gives you his safe sex talk.”

“Oh, he’s already given me that, in great detail. Sex ed, a protective dad chat, and telling me to get some all in one.”

“God, I’m so sorry,” she laughs.

“It’s fine, I mean dad hasn’t even broached the subject, and I don’t plan on sleeping with him tonight.”

“Hmm, well, those nights are always the most dangerous,” she teases, “you already know what I’ll say. Just be true to yourself, and be safe in all aspects of the evening.”

“The most beautiful thing you can wear is confidence,” they say together.

“Thank you, Blake.” She disappears on the end of the line, leaving Y/N to speak to Ryan now he’s calmed down a fraction. “Uncle Ryan? I’ve decided, I’m getting ready now, I’ll send you a picture, but I need to get ready.”

“Yes, of course, Y/N. Your dad must be so proud, you’re growing up so quickly!”

“I’m twenty,” she says in a complete monotone, her face unmoving as she searches through for a jacket, perhaps his advice wasn’t all dreadful.

“Well, good luck tonight, have fun, and wrap it up.”

“Not listening!” she shouts, “bye, love to the kids.”

And he finally hangs up, leaving her free and able to exasperate. He’s an absolute gem, a well meaning darling, always so excited for her achievements like he’s really her uncle and not just her dad’s loopy best friend. How Blake puts up with him, she’s not sure, but Blake says the same about Y/N having put up with Jake her whole life. They’re excited that it’s Tom though, approving, pleased. That’s a step, right? One of the people closest to her dad thinks she’s made a good choice in lieu of having his opinion. She really is just overthinking everything. Apart from Tom. She knows he’ll be lovely, she knows he’ll compliment her no matter what she wears, she knows he’ll be the kind soul he always is with that extra humour sprinkled in, she just hopes he doesn’t feel the same tension she does. Will their past aid and abet them tonight, or will it send everything crashing down before it’s even begun? She certainly hopes for the former, and also that the dress will bring her good luck, with the way the fabric clings to her waist and skims her hips, ending closely just below her knee, the dark material fitted to her shape just enough. The last step, ankle booties, that actually support her feet enough that, despite the heel on them, she’s unlikely to snap her bones.

A final pat down, to make sure she has all the essentials in her jacket pockets, that her hair is still ok at the roots, that her lipstick is still on, that her dress isn’t sticking up, that her perfume smells strongly enough but not too strong.

Confidence.

———

When she appears in the doorway of the living room, where Jake is sitting nervously, biting his thumbnail, with no music on and nothing on the TV, both of the dogs keeping him company, she thinks she’ll combust. There’s a pressure building inside her, rushing in her chest, images of Tom and Tom alone blurring her vision.

“Dad?” She stirs him from his reverie.

Eyes darting up at her instantly, he stands upon instinct, but it feels like the floor has been ripped from beneath him, and five Y/Ns appear, swiftly blending into one when he feels her touch on his arm.

“Dad? Are you ok?”

Tears begin to well in his eyes, clouding his vision. If his gut feeling about this date and who it's with is right then no, he’s certainly not ok at all. But gosh if he isn’t a proud as hell father right now.

“My baby’s all grown up,” he chokes out, gripping her hard. “You look beautiful, sugarplum. So beautiful.”

“Dad it’s not prom or anything,” she mumbles shyly, unable to meet his eyes.

“I know, but that douchebag you dated before didn’t do anything like this for you. It’s your first proper date. It’s monumental.”

He knows how he sounds, so overzealous, so ridiculous, but he couldn’t be prouder. She’s achieving everything, the young woman he raised from when she was the same size as a watermelon. And even better, she looks like him, she’s got the same dark hair as he does, the same piercing eyes, but she’s so damn perfect that he’s not sure how dickhead nineteen year old Jake was able to create something so brilliant, so life changing. And all she’s doing is going on a date.

“Can I take a picture of you? Just to send to Aunt Maggie and Uncle Ryan?”

She nods sheepishly, and picks his phone up off the coffee table, handing it to him carefully. Maybe Tom will react this way, she damn well hopes he does, or else what’s the point? She poses, just a normal one, offering the camera a small smile, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

“Now get a picture with Boo and Atticus, it wouldn’t be a special night if they weren’t messing up your clothes.”

Damn right, it’s like a dog’s job, but after so many years of outfits being destroyed by dog fur, Y/N doesn’t care, and picks Boo up, sitting on the arm of the sofa with Atticus on the seat by her side, paws in the air.

Jake snaps a fair few photos, airdropping them all to her phone instantly, muttering “Perfect” after each shot.

“I’ll post these to the family facebook.”

“No you won’t!”

“Try me,” he challenges, that battle worthy smirk pulling at his lips. Unsurprisingly, she dons that same expression.

He knows she doesn’t have time, though, and tucks his phone away, removing Boo from her body, and by doing so, giving her a chance to brush the worst of the fur off her before her departure. He can see it in her eyes that she’s thinking about him, about the date, anxious it’ll go wrong. And if he’s learnt anything throughout his years of dating (many relationships of which have ended in headlines of the utmost hilarity and incredibly good breakup songs written about him) it’s that a nervous person doesn’t need to be reminded that they’re nervous, or told to just be themselves. Y/N knows to just be herself, it's all he’s ever taught her, to be unapologetically who she is and to stay safe. She’ll do brilliantly. It’s the boy he’s more concerned about, and that’s somewhere in those worry-misted eyes of hers too, hidden beneath her nervous muscle clenches. She wasn’t this nervous on her first day of Columbia (which he accompanied her on, what parent wouldn’t?) and he was proud of her on that day, posting about it on the family facebook wall.

“Are you sure he's a good guy? You like him?”

Her chest visibly deflates in relief, happiness tugging at every angle of her face as she fights off a smile. That’s answer enough for him right now. “I do, dad, he makes me feel all tingly and nice, and he flatters the hell outta me. I feel like you’d like him too, he’s a proper gentleman and I’m sure he’ll be real good to me. He’s rich too, and young.”

“As long as he treats you well. Go out there and have some fun, but if there’s a second date, I expect to meet him first.”

“Ok, dad,” she answers as she fixes her earrings in the hallway mirror.

The growing tension between him is something he doesn’t like but at the same time, can’t fight. If he is to meet this person, something he’s undecided on, he needs to know the basics. “Just to be absolutely sure he is a dude? I don’t want to accidentally meet him tonight and get pronouns wrong.”

“Dad, he’s a man, a straight white man.”

“Okay darling, I just don’t want you to think I’m forcing you to only date one gender, I’m open you see?” He opens his arms to mirror his words, a somber expression on his face.

“Says the man who has strictly dated rich straight white bleach-blonde models for the past two decades,” she says, completely inscrutable, turning to him with dead eyes, the faintest twitch of a smirk. She learnt this insolence from him.

Knowing his threats aren’t all that threatening, he takes a shot anyway. “Watch that mouth missy or I’ll ground you!”

“Have fun trying.” Yeah, he probably shouldn’t have done that, because she’s unendingly challenging through all of her habitual daughterly care tasks.

He pokes out his fingers and pinches Y/N’s waist, forcing her to flinch away from him with an aghast grin cotorting her features.

He just stands away, and laughs at her reaction and stroppy walk until she almost walks into the big framed photo on the wall, a somber expression passing over his face then. He approaches her, the two of them just gazing up at the smiling faces on the wall pensively.

“He would be so proud of you right now.”

“Thanks dad,” she replies, hugging him around his tummy.

Late family members and friends are always a touchy topic with her dad, and she gets why, but it's just... funny. She was so young when they died, but she knows how much they all meant to her dad, how soft he is on the inside, the memories he shared. She remembers what her dad said, how she was the only thing that got him through the tough times, having someone there to hold and cry to without having to talk about any of it. She’d like to think she’s always helped her dad that way, and she always will. But she can see it on his face that he’s worried, he just looks tired, and he doesn’t do tired, that’s what betrays him. When she grows up, gets a boyfriend, gets her degree and moves out, she’ll forget about him; that’s what his mind has convinced him. She just has to prove that won’t happen. A girl always needs her dad.

She smiles sadly, tapping her dads back briefly. “You should go out tonight, take your mind off it.”

“I know. I have plans. No drinking involved tonight, I promise.”

“Ok, good.” She pauses, and moves away to collect her keys and her phone from the side board, but she stops, and turns to peer over her shoulder. “Are you... ok with this?” she asks hesitantly, the pitch of her voice rising.

His deep breath that moves his whole burly chest up and down, followed by running a hand through his unstyled hair: he has no plans of going out, she can see as much. “Of course I am, I just want you to stay safe,” he kisses her forehead. “Now go before I change my mind.”

With Jake’s blessing, she moves a little freer, even if it is given with great reluctance. Tom will be waiting for her, she’s sure, looking dapper as always with that mischievous smile to match the twinkling glint in his eyes. He’ll be wearing a nice shirt, he wears them a lot, and his arms will fill out the entire sleeve width, naturally. His curls will fall into his eyes if his hair is long enough, and his voice will be deeper than usual, the way he always tends to make it when he’s flirting with someone. The thought of seeing him again makes her fingertips tingle and her core burn, butterflies erupting in her throat.

She gathers her things and herself, and straightens her spine, righting the angle of her hips, ready to make her way out, but not before hugging her dad one last time.

“Be home by eleven, alone. No hands. Have you got your rape alarm? Phone? Everything else I told you to pack earlier?”

“I’ve got them all, dad, don’t worry.” She says, adding a slight breathy chuckle at the end to ease the anxiety in her own tone. If she doesn’t stop him now, he’ll get a checklist out, and she’ll never leave.

“I do worry though, Y/N. You’re my only daughter, my baby girl, and you’re on a date looking so grown up.”

“Dad, don’t cry,” she warns tenderly.

He swallows thickly, “I won’t, I won’t I promise. I’ll have my phone on. Call me if you need me, good luck. I love you, kid”

Keys in hand, the elevator door opens, and she steps in. “Love you.”

And the doors close, her final glimpse of her dad one of his strained fake smile to make her feel better in herself, when really, she can see he’s just aching to give her date a stern talking to, but other than that, she feels good in herself, especially with the texts that begin flying in. Grandma, Grandpa, Aunt Maggie, Uncle Ryan, Uncle Hugh, they’re all commenting on the photo of her with the dogs that Jake has posted on their private page, all comments hyping her up the same way Jake just was, compliments flying in.

Nothing like confidence to leave the house with.

———

In 2013, Jake did a film called Prisoners, and on press for it, he had to have half of the tapes wiped. It was a film about a man whose daughter was abducted alongside her friend, and he had to investigate it. He had to have a therapist on set, he barely left Y/N an evening or a weekend alone without calling her or skyping her or flying over, desperate to see her. The thought of his real life reflecting his film terrified him more than words could say. The nightmares turned to daymares while he was filming, and have followed him ever since. How he could ever tone down his care, he doesn’t know, because it’s a real risk, he’s heard the stories. It’s still his greatest fear, and it always will be. It was before, and even now with the blossoming young woman she’s becoming, he fears even more. Men can’t be trusted, and never again will he let a man lay a finger on her the way his ‘friend’ once did. She’s his treasure, his daughter to protect, the best thing that ever happened to him. That’s why he can’t face leaving the house tonight. He’ll just end up crying outside, worrying himself sick. The city is a scary place, and people can’t be trusted, but he knows he can’t take her everywhere.

The making of Southpaw eighteen months later was just as hard, perhaps even worse, and required Y/N to take a semester off school, working remotely with her dad. It was a film that mirrored the possibilities of life, and making it caused him months of heartache. Almost every day she was on set with him, holding his hand before every shot even at her big age of fourteen. There was a therapist on that film too, on set especially for Jake, to keep him from going into a similar spiral to that of his character, but really, despite all the training and the help, he kept breaking down. Paranoia ruined him, taxed him. No one would ever take his little girl from him, so all the pain, all the hurt he shows in that film is real, that’s his heart acting. Anguish took its toll on him, and made his performance better than before, authentic, fuelled by torment.

There was one scene where his daughter had to run up and hug him, all battered and bruised, and Jake had asked Y/N to stay off the set for the day. It was too violent for her, too scary, but she’d already taken the term off, and had to see him. As she entered the room, unbeknownst to her, the cameras started rolling, and she ran. Screaming and bawling, she ran to her dad, flinging her arms around his neck, clutching to him, trying desperately not to look at his bruised face as he held her back and whispered reassurances into her ear. On the B roll, there’s an actual clip of that. She took over the kids part any time she could, making it easier and simultaneously harder for her dad to act, but really, he needed her there more than he’ll ever admit. Seeing him that way scared her to no end, though, and that’s why they had to stick together. Even more than Prisoners and Stronger, it was the hardest film he ever made, because it was his little girl he was fighting for, a job he’ll never stop. On that set, he lost himself and his bearings more often than he should’ve, leading to everyone working on set to have to sign an NDA after they all found out about Y/N. He didn’t care, she was safe and by his side, he was able to take care of her and she could take care of him. That’s what family is all about. Being in that courtroom, though, even just acting, he thought about the real possibility of losing the custody of his precious daughter, and it split him apart. He wouldn’t let Y/N leave him that night, he stayed awake and sat in bed with her, running his fingers through her hair. Never will anyone take her away from me, he swore to himself that day, but now she’s grown up, he knows someone will take her eventually. She’ll grow, she’ll find a nice husband, and she’ll be taken away from him.

She needs to grow up, get away from him, he’ll never dare smother her, but tonight, maybe he should just follow her…

No.

He scolds himself instantly, how dare he think that? His fears will never affect her, he promised himself that. Nothing wrong in his life will mar her life and her growth. He has to trust it, whatever it is. The process, the boy (no chance), his daughter. That much is easy. He loves her more than words, so much it sometimes scares him, what he’ll do when she moves out and stops being his daughter, but he’s always trusted her too, always, and he’s sure that she kept those boarding school staff in line more than they did her. She’s achieved so much so young, an absolute marvel, and she’s never set a toe out of line. He trusted her to be safe and well while he went on sobbing in interviews at the slightest mention of an abducted child. Were she there, he certainly wouldn’t have held it together, and for some reason, that’s what’s convincing him to stay away. She’ll do far better on her date with the mystery man provided she thinks he’s out having a good time of his own instead of following her and spying on her. Trust and love are key, he just has to believe she’ll be okay, and he’ll see her later. Maybe he’ll meditate instead.

[rosyandraw]

Les Liaisons Dangereuses

@lamenweek Day 6: Auguste Lives AU.

For years they had been on the brink of war. It had seemed inevitable and yet suddenly here they were; the furthest south any Veretian royalty had been in a generation, ready to peddle peace. To sign a treaty nearly four years in the making. Since the truce at Marlas.

Yes, and Damen was a celibate who planned to join a temple. He didn’t buy it for a second, but that didn’t mean they could afford to have this go any way other than perfect. Every protocol had to be observed, the questionable etiquettes from the Veretian court had to be respected and catered to, the volcanic ground of cultural differences must be carefully navigated and they must not -under any circumstances- offend the delegation or give them cause to pull out of the peace treaty.

He was on the balcony, overlooking the courtyard. Nikandros on his right was frowning, equally as annoyed as Damen over hosting half the Veretian Royals for the summer. On his left was Jokaste, leaning against the rails and watching avidly as the train of horses spilled into the courtyard on a wave of blue and gold.

Her skin was strikingly pale against the dark crimson of her gown and Damen was not unaware of the way she let her own fingers dance across her one bare shoulder and clavicle. Look at me the gesture said. Damen looked, with her he would always look. But not touch. Not yet. 

Jokaste had been the object of his affections for months now. He’d been courting her from the moment he’d seen her but she was too smart to give in too quickly. Nikandros might call Damen stupid sometimes but stupid he most definitely was not. He knew what kind of games women like Jokaste wanted to play and he was not interested in gifting a grasping minor Lords daughter the throne. Though admittedly, he’d come close several times when the tension reached a fever pitch and she made her smirking excuses. But he knew better. Marginally.

“Here we go,” Nikandros said drawing Damen’s attention back to the scene below.

The Veretians were coming to a halt in the courtyard. They were a large party and Damen could not help the way his eyes went inevitably to the head. The Princes were easy to spot, dismounting first, in clothes so tight and so fussy Damen had to wonder how on Earth you’d get them off.

Auguste drew his gaze first.

The Crown Prince had hair like spun gold and a commanding presence. He was a few years older than Damen and made every show of paying due respect as he greeted his father. The younger brother was about eighteen and followed behind him, hair a shade paler than Auguste’s. Prince Laurent had a smaller frame and was some inches shorter but he carried himself as though the whole place was beneath him. His bow to the King was not quite so impressively eager as his brothers had been.

They were both obscenely attractive. The rumours did not lie it would seem.

“Just your type,” Jokaste said inclining her head to the princes below.

“And yours,” Nik said from Damen’s other side “Royal, wealthy, and pretty… that’s what you like isn’t it Jo?”

“Some of us have taste, yes,” she said without taking her eyes off the Veretian Princes

Nikandros scoffed, grumbling about Jokaste as Damen stared at his father gesticulating below, looking imposing and battle hardened next to the silks and fuss of Vere. The clothes didn’t look bad on the princes though, quite the opposite and Jokaste was right, they were his favoured type. Which she well knew.

He watched for a few long moments, the unnecessary ceremony of greeting the Royals upon the steps that his father observed only as a nod to Veretian custom. A custom Damen had refused. But from his vantage on the balcony he could watch and assess easy enough.

Auguste was talking, too far away for his voice to carry but it wasn’t him he watched. Prince Laurent beside him drew Damen’s gaze despite himself. He looked bored at best. Disdainful at worst. His lip curled and he turned his head often, eyes wandering; inspecting, judging. Damen wanted to rile against the disregard. And he did. Was.

But there was no denying his beauty. Damen was overcome with visions of ruining his stiff poise, of wiping the derisive expression from his face, of wrecking the tight laces and making all that pale skin turn pink and blotchy on his cheeks, and chest, and between his thighs. Of what he’d look like on his knees and begging for whatever Damen would give him.

“I know that look,” Nikandros said after a few seconds, which had Jokaste turning her eyes on him

“Which one are you going after?” Jokaste said, apropos of nothing.

Damen scoffed “who said I’m going after either of them?”

They were Veretian after all, pretty they may be but Damen knew better than to follow through with any momentary desires. Especially desires born from a place that felt like lust but with all the sharp edges of animosity.

Nikandros laughed “Damen they’re blonde, unobtainable, and beautiful, surely the only question is, which one?”

“I don’t think he’s fussy which Nikandros,” Jokaste smiled, feline and sultry all at once.

“I think he’ll go for which ever one you’re not going for,” Nikandros fired back

“Who said I am?” Jokaste smiled, leaning further to see around Damen, eyes on Nikandros.

It was Damen’s turn to smile eyes still on the Prince below “because there is a Y in the day and air in your lungs,”

“Are you calling me a whore Damianos?” She asked, not unpleasantly

“Never dear, I’m merely saying you play this game well,” he said, tearing his eyes away from Laurent to grin at her.

She studied him for a beat “better than you?”

Damen scoffed “now I wouldn’t say that,”

“Prove it then,”

“I don’t like the sound of this,” Nikandros said straightening to stare at Jokaste too as she reached up to toy with the necklace sitting prettily at her throat; coral and pearl. A gift from Damen himself.

“Prove it?” he asked distracted for a beat by the way her teeth nipped at her lip.

She nodded, already smirking “how about a little bet?”

Nikandros instantly groaned “Damen, a bet? This isn’t wise, your father would kill you, this is a peace summit remember, if they found out you were making sport of them-”

“I remember,” he said, cutting him off, still staring at Jokaste “name it,”

Behind him Nikandros let out a put-upon sigh and Jokaste smiled widely.

“A race,”

“Race?”

“First to bed one of the Veretian Princes wins,” she said and she most definitely had his attention. This was what he liked about Jokaste. She never failed to surprise him.

“And what do we win?” he asked because if she was making a wager she would have something in mind most definitely.

“If I win I want an independent title,” she said

It wasn’t impossible. Highly unlikely and almost unheard of. But he could do it. It was better than her asking for a crown. His father would kill him though, so it was a good job he didn’t plan on losing.

“And if I win?” Damen asked “what do I get?”

Jokaste’s laugh was melodic and she stepped into him, tipping her head up, so close they were all but touching “something you want,” she said and though she had lowered her tone the loud tut from Nikandros behind him meant he’d heard her anyway.

“And what do I want?”

“Me,” She said simply, shrugging one gentle shoulder with a sultry smile. She wasn’t wrong. And it couldn’t be so very hard, could it? Damen was very good at getting what he wanted; he’d just never played with stakes before. He didn’t even think about it. For Jokaste, to have her, he’d do worse than play a silly game of bets and wagers.

“The terms?” he asked, gratified by the pleased expression on her face.

“No cheating, you can’t tell them it’s a bet, it doesn’t matter which one you get as long as you get one into bed,” she said still staring up at him as though daring him to naysay her, she looked thoughtful for a moment before adding “to win you have to fuck one of them, or let them fuck you if you’re feeling adventurous,”

“Deal,” he said and shook her outstretched hand, entranced by the slow smile pulling at her mouth.

Simple enough. No loophole. Hands and mouths didn't count. It had to be all in. A fair game.

Perhaps the Veretian visit wouldn’t be quite as tedious as he had feared. He was going to fuck not one but two pretty blondes by the time they were leaving again. A golden Prince and Jokaste. It was all the incentive he could possibly need.

Damen dropped her hand, turned his face back to the scene below and was almost surprised to see at least one Veretian head had turned toward their balcony. Laurent did not immediately look away, in fact, he almost made Damen feel as though he were the one who had been caught staring. But Damen didn’t look away and it was only Auguste putting a hand on Laurent’s shoulder that drew the younger Prince's attention away from the balcony. He had not looked impressed. Perhaps Damen's lack of attendance had not gone unnoticed. Or unjudged. But then waiting on the steps was a Veretian tradition and he'd seen no particular reason to join when his father hadn't insisted. Kastor wasn't present either though the Veretian distaste for bastards meant he was likely to find a pressing reason to be away from court soon.

“This is a terrible idea,” Nikandros groused some moments later once they'd bid farewell to Jokaste and started toward the throne room.

“Don’t worry Nik it’s just a game,” Damen said, flashing him a smile “besides you said yourself, the only question is, which one?”

Nikandros flashed him an unimpressed look but Damen already knew exactly which one he wanted. The only real question was how far he’d go to get him.

~*~

Aware the Damen/Jokaste may be breaking the rules somewhat and that I’m relying heavily on the fact everyone knows the plot line of Cruel Intentions. That is my excuse and I am sticking to it because this has been living rent-free in my head for a while.

[duskyskz]

Blueberry Claws - H.H.J

Warnings - Halloween Au, mentioned assault, choking, Hyunjin!Dom mild tones, slight violence

Word Count - 4.7K

A/N - ahaha this .. turned out way longer than I meant to ohno I'm sorry Hyunjin had my heart in a vice grip lately

Part of @nightshade-minho and @mini-meanhoe 's Halloween collab!

*********************************

Elbow deep in ruddy earth, you kneel among the undergrowth of your garden, plucking away stray roots and weeds. It’s not your favourite part of the day, but you pride yourself in the exquisite berries your growth produces, and adequate sunlight is a must in bringing the sweetest fruits. Autumnal chills creep down your spine, warning you of setting sun and cooler nights looming over the forest horizon. It is a quaint little house, settled carefully between the curve of the river and the forest border, a hat’s toss away from the village settlement, and you enjoy it that way - far away enough for privacy and undisturbed peace, yet not isolated enough to be unreachable and dreary. 

People weren't the only viable company, anyway. Your neighbors came in the form of passing badgers rummaging through your compost, squirrels and mice poking their noses through cracks in your windowsill while you bake, the sweet smell of sugar and jams luring in a furry audience you felt obliged to entertain, tossing crumbs and peels into the open yard. 

“Croak!” 

You raise your head away from the mud at the screech, glancing upward. 

“Hello.” You greet your most recent visitor. The magpie quickly climbed upon your friendlist, introducing itself with a persistent knock of its beak against your poor kitchen windowpane. It came back the next evening, and the one after that, never missing more than a day in it’s routine to rob you of your pie crusts. 

“Are you hungry?” 

“Croak!” You suppose that’s a yes, considering the intensity with which the bird stares down at your precious blueberries. 

“Come on, then. Lunch wouldn’t hurt me, either.” 

***

“Can you believe that - that witch!” You stomp along the pavement to your front door, slamming it open. “The audacity to even imply my pies are anything but organic!”

Positively fuming, you don't entertain the absurdity of venting your frustrations to a corvid. At times, you think to yourself the little blackbird almost understands you - head tilting in accordance with your words, nodding when appropriate and watching your dutifully as if awaiting continuation. 

Then it’s attention switches from your wild gesticulations to the fresh batch of muffins cooling on your counter, and your suspicions of a higher intelligence disappears, leaving you to sweep cake crumbs off it’s feathers. No, plunging neck-deep into hot cake is not wise, you’d point out later. 

***

Maybe the loneliness does get to you after all. It’s a little embarrassing to admit how reliant you become on the magpie’s company. Its’ shrill croaks and glassy eyes became a comfort to you, a presence your day no longer felt complete without. Brushing your fingertips over the delicate feathers on its back, you rest your chin on your other palm. 

“It’s a dreary winter coming, birdie.” You muse, humming at the overcast sky. Masses of grey and washed out blues tumblr over the hills, warning you of approaching snows and rains. “I should fix the roof hatching tomorrow morning - be a shame to freeze my toes off before the solstice, wouldn’t it?” 

 The magpie doesn’t reply, and you don’t expect it to, but the slow blinks as you speak convince you your words don’t fall on deaf ears. 

“As long as I don’t have someone warming my bed, I better do all the warming myself.” Springin to your feet, you set to work on tidying the front yard. 

“Would you care to join me to fetch new hay for the roof tomorrow?” 

Your unconventional companion opens his beak, groaning. Then it snaps down into the ground, impaling one of your finest strawberries. 

Ah, well. 

You can only guess what a magpie must tend to in a day - you weren’t about to keep it from important bird tasks.

***

Your window panes quiver with the force of the hurricane, creaking sadly in their wooden frames. You have no idea what time it could possibly be, but judging by the time already passed since sundown, it’s way into the late night. Dismorphed figures haunt the outside, shadows passing over your bedroom like a predator, and you burrow deeper under your covers. Of course, approaching winter was harsh. In the hillside, mountain winds rolled down rocky foundations to crash into your humble home with rapid force. Turning onto your side, you press your head against the pillow to mute the whistle of the wind through your thin walls. You’d patched the roof last week - but you had yet to insulate the walls fresh, and chills made themselves known through cracks and gaps in last year’s worn overlay. 

With a soul-crushing snap, your window is thrown open as the lock gives way to hurricane, two fragile glass planes whipping open into the dead of night as you curse your luck and scramble out of bed to grasp the handles before they’re torn off entirely.

Yet something past the glass grabs your gaze before you can pull them shut, petrifying you in place. You don’t know if it’s the rain freezing your feet to the ground, or the unfiltered terror, but you can’t even scream as your eyes meet the vividly yellow ones across your garden.

Hunched above your blueberry bush, in a cloak of pitch black, stands a creature you’ve only seen in manic sketches in the village hall prior to tonight. Its’ spine seems bent, somehow, too long and too skewerd to fit precisely in its body, leaving two lumps protruding from its back. In a pale face, boxed in by wisps of black, you can only focus on two luminous eyes, zeroing in on your figure with far too much attention for your liking. 

In its knifed claws it grips a branch of your favourite plant, mangled and weeping blueberry juice onto the dirt. Maroon splatters blot the beast’s face, but you don’t gaze long enough to separate fruit from the blood of some poor soul. 

Maybe your blood will be next on its beak. 

Yanking the window shut, you tumble into your bed, curling as tight as you can into the duvet, shielding your head. Maybe it’ll go away if you don’t make noise, holding your hands to your ears. 

Maybe it’ll just go away.

***

It’s been three days since the storm, and coincidentally, three day since you’ve last seen your closest friend. Really, mayhaps this was a sign your friendship should extend elsewhere, and not the local corvid populace. Shovelling pastries into your hamper, you venture out into the open air for the first time since that night.

You’re still unable to clean the wreckage in your front yard. Somehow, the thought of laying your hands on the same branches that unknown horror touched fills you with dread, and you can’t bring yourself to rid the leftover mess. You had enough jams and preserves stockpiled to last you the whole winter if need be - if you weren’t financially obliged to sell most of them, anyway. 

Fitting yourself with a scarf to guard from temperamental weather, you wrap the wool tightly up to your nose as the first leaves fall from the oaks beside you. 

You love your town, you really do. 

The whimsy of nearby streams rolling over lustrous green fields is a wonder to wake up to every morning, and the walk into town is always a pleasant meander under centuries-old oaks and pine trees, spying on the conversations of woodpeckers and crows.

Yet, among all the commotion, you find yourself missing one particular croak. Never quite the same elegant cry as the other birds, but particular and endearing in its own right. 

And entirely missing from your life for half a week.

Passing the stone gates, you keep to the right of the road to make space for idle carts and horses wandering the streets. Carefully, you unload all your stock onto the market table - this stand has your name carved into the wooden leg, and you pride yourself on being a regular enough attendant to warrant a reserved place. 

The day flurries by you in a mess of clinking jam jars and passing coins. Afternoon had already set in a while ago, traversing into the evening by the time you begin wrapping up your last sale. Bidding goodbye to the market staff, you hoist your (significantly lighter) basket over your forearm, leaving the town square. It’s not dark yet, bare wisps of the night inking over your head as the sun lowers over the woods, letting you lose your train of thought in the scenery.

You feel the last pricks of stress leave you as your thoughts drift to the hallowing creature from nights ago. Perhaps your mind, in its hazy and exhausted stade, played up the vivid shadows and reflections in the moonlight? Yes, surely. There’s no way an animal this size and fright roamed your woods unacknowledged - The only terror you knew was the fabled warlock, but nobody has seen his face in decades. You weren’t even sure what he looked like. All tales of warlocks the library gave you marked them as haunted men, selling their soul for mastery of dark arts, giving up their limbs for a hint of inhuman power. Some had horns, you’d read. Some, a devilish tail winding between their legs, while some gave up their own eyes and replaced them with animal counterparts for better senses. 

It scared you more than you’d like to admit, the more you entertained the possibility of a being so twisted hiding in the depths of your woods - but was Hwang Hyunjin even real, or a figment of townsfolk imagination? 

Entangled in your own head, you fail to notice the arm lashing out to grab your elbow and yank you violently sideways, slamming your back into the brick wall between two buildings. 

“Ouch!” You rasp out, catching your breath, but your scream is broken by the hand quickly winding around your throat.

Great, after a shitty week you were going to get robbed, too! 

“Don't you try open your mouth again, you little bitch.” A coarse voice hissed against your cheek. You tried to reel away from the terrible stench of his breath, but with your back against the wallside, it was impossible to weasel out. “Made quite a pretty penny at the market today, didn’t ya?”

A large, cold hand snuck down your waist, over the ribbons tying your corset shut, and you were sure you’d retch when clammy fingers started tugging at the knot. 

“Where are you hiding it, then? Down your vest?” One sharp pull leaves your corset flying open, exposing your skin to freezing night air, shielded only by a thin undershirt. You try to shake your head, but the hold on your neck makes it impossible to even curse. “That’s a bit thin, isn’t it? Not much to hide under such flimsy fabric -”

“Shit!”

You heave in a breath as the tightness around your throat suddenly wanes, disappearing, and all weight lifts from you. Eyes watering from the lack of oxygen, you blink rapidly to clear your vision, stumbling back as you find focus. 

Shrill cries tear from your assailant, angry red oozing from the gash above his left eye, arms flailing maniacally to chase away the blur of feathers thrashing around his head. Slinking down to catch your breath, you pull your knees to your chest to steady your breathing, though the scene before you grows more gruesome every time you blink. 

You can’t tear your eyes away, even as the bird dives down again, embedding its razor claws in the man’s eye socket. The screams are terrifying, but you don’t have the thought to wonder how no one else came to check the commotion. 

Maybe nobody wanted to.

In muted horror, you watch as the man finally lands a hit, thrashing the tiny bird into the wall opposite with a numbing crack, spinning on his heel to face you once more, though his one eye struggles to find your face. He stumbles forward, lurching in your direction, drops of fresh blood flying at your feet.

“What are you, a witch? I should burn you alive -”

Smack!

You’re sure you’re hallucinating as he topples to the pavement, struck by a surprise force. Hunched over him, in a flurry of black feather, sits a mass you know  you’ve seen before. For a moment you think, another bird? A whole flock? But then the feathered cape shifts, raises, and you realise it’s one pair of  heavy-set wings protruding from a broad back, arms poised to strike over and over at a target long void of defense. You feel sick - everything that unravelled in the last few moments makes your stomach churn, and you vomit onto the floor between your feet. You can’t watch the blood any longer, listen to the crunching sound of tendons snapping and bone breaking, rolling over as you feel your legs give way to jelly.

***

You can feel yourself swaying, gently. You don’t feel the ground, but you know you’re moving, head balanced on something pillowy and warm, but still solid - what a weird combination. 

There’s something holding you up by your legs, and another clutching onto your back. You have half the mind to open your eyes when you’re coherent enough to, knowing you should be alarmed given the situation you just vaguely avoided. But this is nice. Your lift your eyelids barely enough to take in your position, head propped carefully on a shoulder. You can’t see much beyond the collarbone your nose is tucked into without outing yourself as awake, so you settle for breathing in deep, lulling your nerves with the scent of ash and fern. It's safe, comforting somehow, in a way you’ve never felt comforted in. Your forehead grazes his cheek, tips of his dark hair tickling your skin as you heave out a sigh and press your face deeper against the warmth. 

“I’m sorry I left you, Birdie.”

His voice is gentle, too. You let it ring in your head, soft whispers and words you can't quite decipher but appreciate nonetheless lulling you back into shallow sleep. You recognise your surroundings by the shift of light, stepping out from the tree canopy into wide hillside, catching last rays of sunlight. 

You think he’s going to wake you and ask for a key, but your front door grants him access with just a single flick of his wrist under your knee. You’ll have to ask him about that later.

Nudging his way inside, ducking to fit past the low doorframe, your saviour swiftly marches to your bedroom, confirming your suspicions. The layout of your house was entirely too familiar to him for it to be the first time he’s visited the premises. Or the second, if you count the night visit three days back. When he lowers you onto the mattress, it's with such care your heart skips in your chest, and you pray he doesn’t hear it stop entirely when you feel his fingertips brush over your shoulder to pull the blankets over you, strong arms straining under his shirt as he moves your head from his shoulder and you immediately miss the heat. There’s a cup of water by your bedside that wasn’t there before, and when satisfied with your placement, he steps away. Your eyes blink open fully when you feel his presence leave your side. 

“Are you leaving?” Your voice sounds small even to you. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d want me around.” He answers after a hesitant pause, kneeling by your bed. “You - You looked really scared that night. I never want you to be scared of me.” 

You sit up, reaching for the glass of water which he swiftly passes to you to soothe your throat and wash out remaining bile. Your skin still burns in the places that asshole touched you, and you hiss when your fingers rub the sore spots on your neck, before a larger hand wraps around your palm, bringing it down to glare at the bruise.

“I won’t apologize for what happened to him, though.” The venom in his voice makes you still. “That filth got what he deserved - I should have taken his other eye, too.” 

“...Is he dead?” You’re not sure you should ask.

“No. I left him breathing, but I can’t guarantee someone will find him in time.” 

“You left him blind, that’s enough Hyunjin.” His head snaps up at the name, as if he didn’t expect the confrontation. “You’re the magpie that’s been visiting my garden this summer, aren’t you? You’re the fabled terror in our woods.”

You say the last part with a smile, but the warlock  lowers his head still, glancing down at the blanket curving over your hips.

“....Yeah.” He mumbles, observing the many silver rings at his knuckles. “Is that too much for you?”

“What do you mean?” You scrunch your nose, confused, when he doesn’t elaborate. 

“At first I just came to visit because of the garden, but every time you saw me you’d talk to me like I was a person - Like I could understand. And I know you talk to the others too, like that ugly goose -” You want to scold him for calling Truffles ugly, but he carries on without pause. “But in my head it was just, nice. Even if I couldn’t reply, whenever you speak, there’s no darkness in me. Nothing but you.”

Hyunjin frowns, not wanting to meet your eyes yet. His hand grips the edge of your duvet, straining the fabric as his wings twitch.

“I was so fucking mad at myself when you saw me. You looked so small, so petrified - and of me. And as much as I wanted to take you into my arms and reassure you I couldn’t.” 

You can’t deny it, you were scared then. But knowing the man before you now, the events of today and the large part thunder and your own exhaustion played into your fear that night, you felt none of the apprehension now, resting your hand atop his shaking ones. 

“Maybe you wouldn’t want to see me again, if you’d guessed what I was after that. So I let you be, watching from a distance, because I couldn’t bring myself to let go completely. And today, fuck -” He runs a clawed hand through his locks, pushing hair out of his face to finally look at you, golden eyes rooting you to your spot. “I should have snapped both his legs for even thinking to touch you.”

“But maybe that’s my own vice.” You watch soft pink lips form words you’re not sure are real. They could have been your own imagination, for how quietly he speaks. “Maybe my love would be too much for you.” 

The silence that follows his confession is crushing to both of you, for entirely different reasons. 

You barely wrap your head around the idea of being loved by him before he pulls his hand away from yours, accepting rejection he knew was coming. It’s not until he stands that you breathe in, catching the edge of his jacket before he can leave you again.

“It’s not.” You state. “It’s not too much.”

You hope he doesn’t mistake the quiver in your voice for doubt, because you’ve never been so sure of something in your life. 

“Do you mean that?” The hopeful lilt to his voice sparks your heart alight, he’s at your side in seconds, long feathers sweeping the floor below his feet as he moves. “Are you sure you want me the same way I want you?”

“I do.”

You nod to reassure him, sliding further down the bed to make space for his larger frame. Hyunjin slinks in next to you, crawling over to hover above you, taking in the way you look finally beneath him. His feathers block out most light, sun long set. You can barely see, but before you can complain about missing his ethereal beauty, a candle flickers alight by your window, and another on your bedside table. Another, and yet one more afterward, until your bedroom filters in a warming glow from a dozen shy fires. 

Ah, warlock things. 

“It’s okay,” Hyunjin hesitates still, lips stopping millimeters away from yours as the last strings of hesitation cling to his thoughts until you urge him to move. “You can touch me.”

His lips are warmer than anything you’ve ever felt, moving over your mouth like fine malt wine. There’s a quiver in his hands when he brings a palm down to cradle your cheek, running his thumb over the smooth skin as his tongue runs over your teeth. 

You don’t notice your legs spreading open to allow him between your thighs until his knee bumps against your core, bundling your skirts in his fist to pull them down and off. 

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited to have you under me like that, birdie.” Hyunjin whispers. “All for me, at my mercy - you look so good like that.”

The irony of him using your own nickname for him on you is lost in the moment you arch your back into his touch, pressing your still corseted chest against his palm. Every place he touches has you needing more of him, every part you can reach. 

“Undress me, please.” 

“Gladly.” Nimble fingers pluck the bow of your shirt open, lifting it over your head. In the cocoon of his wings and candle light, you feel a love you’ve never known before. Discarding his own shirt next, you hardly have a moment to take in the exquisite expanse of his chest before your field of vision is taken up with glimmering navy feathers, Hyunjin’s head dipping to swirl his tongue over your nipple. Your grip in his hair makes him keen against your chest, groaning over the sensitive flesh between his teeth.

“Are you - You’re a virgin?” The idea of him being the first to make you feel so open, the only person to see you react to such intimate touch gets him harder than Hyunjin thought possible. 

“Ah, yeah…” You nod. Were your reactions so telling? You suddenly felt even smaller, caged between his arms and the pillows, watching his tamarind eyes flicker.

“I’ll love you well, birdie. Don’t worry.” He blows cool air onto your damp bud and you feel like crying. One hand leaves the space by your head, pinching your other peak. At first gently, testing how far he could push your limits to get you melting at his touch, then harder when you moan at the slight burn. 

Your hips rise to rub against his thigh, unknowingly seeking out friction to aid the dampness gathering in your underwear. His hand meets you there, slipping a finger under the band of your panties to snap it against your skin for your impatience, and you still immediately, recognising his dominance even without prior warning. 

“Be good and wait. If I own you, I’m taking my time with you.” There’s a hard edge in his voice, something about the empty threat makes you want to push his buttons until he snaps. 

You don’t need to wait much longer.

Ridding you of the last scrap of clothing you had left, Hyunjin has you bare and displayed, every part on show and within his reach. Slower than you can take, he drags his thumb on the inside of your thigh, kissing and nibbling the delicate skin just inches away from your dripping cunt. When his thumb finally, finally rubs a circle against your clit you whine his name so loud he nearly bites down hard. Still, he holds his pace, pressing his thumb in patient patterns against your nub as his teeth mark up your thighs.

“Jinnie, go harder, please.”

You know you fucked up when he glances up at you, brows quirking in amusement. 

“I said I’ll take care of you, y/n. If you want to cum, lay there and take it.”

You’re thankful he has a shred of mercy for your sanity, because your pleas seem to have a marginal effect on his movement. 

You eat your words when Hyunjin forces two fingers inside your already wet slit, scissoring you open with harsh flicks of his wrist. His lips remain stuck to your clit, and the sudden assault on your senses has tears rushing down your cheeks.

“W-Wait! Hyun, wait, I don’t want to cum yet!” You don’t really believe he’ll listen.

“Don’t you? But I thought you wanted me to hurry, birdie?” The mockery in his voice makes you clench, and you’d flush if you weren’t so close to orgasm. “For someone not ruined before, you beg for a dick so well.”

“No...Not yet, I wanna cum on you, please.” 

Hyunjin can resist many things - spells, curses. Killing a man on multiple occasions. 

Your whimpering voice as you beg for him to take your virginity in your own bed, wrapped around his fingers and blushing from his tongue is not one of those things. 

“Fuck, okay.”

Pulling his fingers out, your lips part at the emptiness, but your nerves prickle with knowledge of what awaits you next. Hyunjin is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, sweat dampening his forehead and eyes peering right into your heart whenever your gazes meet. You’re hypnotised by the way muscles in his back tense when he kneels between your thighs, urging you to open up for his fit. You only catch the briefest sight of his length, but it’s enough to make you gasp in anticipation at the size and thickness of his base. 

“You’re sure you want me?” Your legs wrap around his waist as he asks, not yet penetrating you, only resting his length on your slick core. 

“I want you more than anything I’ve ever dreamed of, Hyunjin.” You channel all your love and trust into your words, daring yourself to press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. 

Feeling the stretch of him is euphoric, inch by inch, more than any discomfort could hope to reach. Your focus on the flex of his forearm propping him up beside your head, the tantalizing way his mouth curls in a moan of your name when he bottoms out, placing his seal on you completely. 

“Tell me when I can move, alright?” 

“N-Now, you can move. Please move.” You’re gonna go insane if he doesn’t ravage you right now, digging your nails into his bicep. Hyunjin starts off slowly, gentle languid strokes brushing over your walls. With every move, he feels you relax, the tension in your legs loosening into desperate longing as you pull him deeper into you, trapping him against your body.

You open your eyes only to grab his hand, wrapping it around your throat. His hips stutter, before he grips you fully, squeezing the sides of your neck until your moans turn to broken cries of his name.

“You’re such a cute little whore, love. What a dirty pussy you’ve been holding out on me.”

The smirk he looks down on you with is downright filthy, degrading every shred of dignity you had left, but you don’t take in anything but him, his hips slamming you into the mattress and the hot breath against your ear. “Are you gonna cum from that? My good girl, just like that...Let go and cum under me.”

He pulls his hand away from your neck, allowing you to heave in a breath and scream his name. Hyunjin holds you down by your wrists above your head, thrusting relentlessly as you cum around him, shaking and sobbing from the overstimulation at your centre. He allows himself to release then, as your whimpers quieten and he rides out your highs with you, filling you to the brim. 

You stay entwined for a moment as you catch your shaky breath, coming out of the headspace Hyunjin fucked you into. When he pulls out, you fight the urge to clamp your legs shut as he holds your thighs apart, admiring the way his cum spills out of your rawed hole. 

“Let me clean you first, birdie.” 

You nearly drift off in the blissed-out feeling that envelops you as he wipes your legs clean with a warm, damp cloth, stroking over tingling bruises with adoration. 

When he’s finally satisfied with your state, Jinnie allows you to tug him back into bed with you, arms immediately coiling around your middle to press you into his chest, nose nuzzling against the crown of your head to breathe in your scent. 

“I meant every word I said.” He mentions, speaking against your forehead. His lips tickle you with every word and you’re so tempted to kiss him again just because you can. “ I really do love you.”

“I know, Jinnie. I love you too.”

****

Tag list - @defsbxessi @godlyaj @palet-innie

[oristromboli]

If You Be Our Star, We’ll Be Your Sky | 5

Chapter 5: Offerings

After discovering the scroll's contents, the disciples following the God of Duality become the next destination.

Life is simply a series of fair exchanges and offerings to one another in devotion.

(Smut this chapter: none)

A distant voice starts to sing.

Six dear companions all still alive,

One lost his throne and then there were five.

 ---

 You inhale deeply as you tuck the three bottles against your chest with one arm. With the other, you bring your hand to make an emphatic fist. “Today has been. Rough. This had better be a fever dream.”

Childe whistles low, eyes scouring your frame that is now free from dirt, but still littered with scrapes from the Ruin Hunter. “Rough, huh? Did you remember to give a safe word?”

(Aether shushes Paimon’s quiet question of what’s a safe word?)

You unfurl your fist to pinch two fingers together. “I am this close.”

He squints and leans forward, narrowing his eyes. “But your fingers are touching.”

Childe barely manages to dodge the rock you hurl at him.

 ---

 “So, on a scale of one to ten, how mad are you at me?”

You hum. “About an eight.”

Childe scoffs. “I can do better than that.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Aether grits, “But I believe we owe Paimon an apology.” His hands finish wrapping bandages around your forearm and you wince, noticing the gremlin still pouting with her back turned to you all.

After Childe side-stepped your stone and stood up in an attempt to placate you, you immediately took a swing at him. Of course, characteristic of your exhaustion and Childe’s nature, he side-stepped again and stuck out a foot. Which you tripped over. Which he laughed at. Which neither Zhongli nor Xiao stopped, assuming you could break the fall.

Of course.

This led you to tumbling and knocking over the remaining plates that had food on them, to Paimon’s shrieking horror. She held a dumpling to her chest and solemnly followed Zhongli’s gentle advice on a proper, er, funeral speech with a chorus of voices yelling behind her (in irritation from you, in please stop embarrassing me from Aether, in mockery from the king of clowns himself).

Xiao’s hand awkwardly pets her head as she refuses to look at you two.

“I paid for it,” you grumble and Childe snickers.

“Now you know how I feel.” You glare at him and elbow him before sighing, looking at Paimon.

“I’m… Sorry? Ow – “ Aether pinches your side and crosses his arms. Try again. “I’m very… Sorry. I’ll, uh… Your next meal is on me?”

She harrumphs.

“How about your next meals are on me? Breakfast included,” Childe says with a jovial tune, placing a hand on your shoulder. You shrug it off and ignore the feigned hurt look on his face as you cross your own arms. He chuckles quietly when you hold up eight fingers to him. “Uh, all your future meals are included?”

Paimon suddenly pirouettes and floats happily. “Okay! No backing out now with Zhongli here,” she chirps, and Childe manages to barely suppress the irritated twitch of his eyebrow.

“Damn leeches, the lot of you,” he murmurs. Sitting squarely between Aether and Childe, you notice how Paimon takes the liberty to sit on Xiao’s outstretched leg. Poor thing is unfortunately hoisted and promptly placed on Zhongli’s knee instead as he sits cross-legged. Without missing a beat, Zhongli begins petting her as well while the six of you sit in silence for a moment.

“Okay, so did I miss anything important?” you suddenly say, turning to Childe on your left. He raises an eyebrow at you in stage confusion and smirks.

“Like missing the mark on hitting me?”

“What are you doing here, Childe?”

Even your own soft tone catches you off-guard and Childe’s eyes widen for a brief second before he schools a look of casual neutrality. Another voice cuts through the air.

“You’re here to observe, are you not?” Xiao interjects. Childe groans and rolls his head to the side, blinking his eyelashes up innocently towards the adeptus with a plastic laugh.

“Aw, am I that obvious? If even spear-up-his-ass can read me, then I really must be losing my touch.”

Aether smiles and reaches behind you to lightly punch Childe’s arms, but you saw how Aether’s own lips pulled slightly too tight. Even he’s on guard. Centuries together allow you to catch these little ticks that others thankfully miss. “It’s gotta be that, with the way we’ve been tearing through Fatui strongholds.”

Childe smirks back at Aether with a dangerous glint in his eye. “Yeah, you’re lucky they sent me and not somebody much worse. I actually like you all.”

Whether or not Aether also heard the sincerity in his voice, he spares Childe the momentary embarrassment and continues with a jab without missing a beat. “Sucks that you’re sent back here, I know how much you like to travel.”

Childe sighs and casually sits back, leaning on both of his hands. The night has long fallen, but the blanket of stars and warm glow from Liyue Harbor nearby is enough to illuminate his boyish face with practiced tranquility.

“The Tsaritsa is pissed. Normally she wouldn’t care since she has her Gnosis, but… She wants to keep tabs on your movements. You’ve already stirred up trouble in Mondstadt and Liyue, can’t have it spreading elsewhere. So, I got placed on janitor duty after failing to obtain the Geo Gnosis.”

“I know.”

All eyes turn on you as you flick your own to the thick journal hanging on your belt buckle.

You miss Childe’s eyes narrowing at the book.

(You miss how Childe’s mouth parts at the starconch dangling along its pages.)

“I read those reports in the camps, but… I didn’t think it was worth mentioning to the others. The Fatui are trying to juggle too many priorities so they’re always a step behind us. If we appear in Dragonspine, they write it down after we show up in Springvale. According to some letters, the official solution was to send a Harbinger to try and boost morale, but that seemed too far-fetched at the time. The Eleven aren’t glorified bureaucrats meant to watch over a region.”

Too simple. Too easy. If they wanted to kill you, they would not have sent just one. Something’s not right.

“Pretty bird, you asked me why I’m here while already knowing the answer? I’m proud. You’d make a fine Fatui spy,” he grins as your eyes roll to the back of your head. Childe hums and continues with an innocuous question. “Kind of interesting how quickly you travel, huh? My men just can’t seem to figure it out.”

It’s a trap, yet with the way Aether’s breath hitches lightly, only you and he caught it. All parties present are among the few who know of your abilities to manipulate the mysterious waypoints.

The thing is, there isn’t actually some… Grand secret. You just simply could. The Tsaritsa didn’t need to know your own lack of competence – and you sincerely doubt she would believe you two anyway.

You sense Aether’s attention shift to your presence rather than see it. Both of you must give credit where credit’s due to Childe: play the fool when you are the one fooling everyone else. As you must fulfill your duties, Childe must fulfill his.

Unfortunately for him, the two of you have been a part of this dance for centuries with countless companions asking similar questions. Always fishing for information, always trying to step over those careful lines that Lumine was the first to draw for safety.

“Yeah! Paimon’s seen the way they interact with the old technology here. It’s super confusing!”

“Oh?” comes the amused reply as Childe leans forward. There, there it is again. Those lifeless eyes. “And how do you suppose you all manage that?”

Aether is the first to interrupt. “We don’t know. Paimon is in as much of the dark as we are.”

You slowly move your hand to nudge Aether’s in a moment of gratitude to speak in your stead. He doesn’t look your way, but you feel a soft touch back.

This time, Childe meets your eyes, though something unnerves you in the scrutiny you’re placed under. “Is that so…” he murmurs before throwing his head back in a loud laugh. He places both hands behind his head. “Ah well! Mysteries galore, never a dull moment with you all. Not too upset about being back if my nights are gonna be fun like this.”

“Childe,” Zhongli says for the first time, smiling as his voice pitches deeper like he’s taking part in some conspiracy. “Are you implying… You enjoy Liyue?”

“What can I say,” he grins, “I enjoy the people.”

Xiao grunts. “Give it time.”

“But why did they send you? You’re not the spying type, you’re…” One of your hands gesticulates wildly to Childe’s form. “You’re a fighter.”

“Because I’m already close to you all,” comes the shockingly quick reply. You blink. Childe blinks.

You both blink.

“Signora would set off more alarm bells, wouldn’t it?” he teases, immediately breaking the tension.

“This settles it, then,” Zhongli says, crossing his arms and closing his eyes in contemplation. “I see a wonderful opportunity to appease all parties involved in their respective endeavors.”

You frown as you notice the knowing glance passed between Childe and Zhongli but opt to ignore it.

“I propose,” he continues, looking between you, Aether, and Childe, “that since Xiao and I have no dealings with mortal quarrels, we will officially remain out of your affairs. However, Childe is here to alert the Cryo Archon of your dealings to stifle any further disruptions. You will feed him information about your travels where relevant – and, of course, I will help in an unofficial capacity where possible. In return, you stop rampaging Fatui encampments and endangering the tentative peace found within Liyue after Osial. Relations between the Fatui and the Qixing are stressed as is.”

Aether clicks his tongue as he frowns. “This feels like a very easy solution, and nothing is ever easy. What’s the catch here?”

Childe shrugs as he smiles back to Aether. “Don’t be surprised if I’m ordered to do something very messy?”

“Indeed, matters of the battlefield are no easy proceedings,” Zhongli muses. “The machine of war requires all cogs to be functioning and efficient. Make no mistake, the Tsaritsa’s plans are never granular with flaw. This is a skirmish she intends to win, and I doubt she will allow you to meet the Archons before she acquires their Gnoses, if at all. Appease and abate her curiosity for now. It will spare the land from being watered with blood once again.”

Childe raises an eyebrow as he tuts. “Dear Zhongli, for a former God of War, you sure are awfully transparent about tricking the Tsaritsa in front of a Fatui Harbinger. Does my title mean nothing to you?”

“On the contrary,” you counter before Zhongli can respond. “It’s because it’s you that this might work. You can either accept this ultimatum and make it easy, or we drag a lot more unnecessary innocents into this situation with drawn-out fights across two regions. Wouldn’t want the other Harbingers to come and steal the spotlight again, right?”

You meet his ocean blue eyes again, hoping your gamble on his distaste for the other Harbingers pays off. There has to be a reason it was only one Harbinger sent, it was only him and not someone else.

“Because it’s me, huh?” Something… Something suddenly flashes across his face as the corners around his eyes crinkle briefly. Just as quickly, it disappears. Good grief, you think you’re going to get whiplash with the speed of his changing expressions.

Though, to be honest, you’re the one to blame because you’re certain nobody else pays as much attention to his face as you do. Stars know that Aether sure doesn’t.

Childe tosses a smirk to Zhongli. “A really stupid decision. This will make my job easier, though, and for once I get to keep the damn glory. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you if it comes down to it.”

Zhongli smiles back. “I sincerely doubt it will.”

After that, banter flows easy between all of you as you catch up on your days with somewhat strained ease.

(“I’m not reliving my day sober,” you say as you take a long swig from one of the bottles you bought, feeling Zhongli’s heated gaze on the bob of your throat. Another night, you promise yourself.

“Neither am I,” Childe grunts as he swipes a bottle and joins you.)

You never mention the contents of the scroll, and thankfully, neither does Paimon. You’ll have more time for that after you get wasted.

At some point, Paimon dismounts from Zhongli to sit comfortable on the picnic blanket as he switches places with Aether so that the blonde is next to Xiao.

You don’t miss how the two lean close to one another, or how Xiao’s shoulders seem to relax slightly after the change. Zhongli is flanking your right while Childe is on your left and everyone is sharing in the bottles. Despite the growing comfort that blankets everyone as the night marches on, you feel creeping tendrils of doubt weave into your gut.

And promptly short-circuits every time Childe brushes against your thighs lightly. You never meet his eyes each time, though you both know how quickly you straighten your posture in response.

This is… Okay. Tonight, everything is going to be okay. You shove those nasty feelings of suspicion deeper down, refusing them the chance to ruin a good thing.

Childe’s back. Surprising, but it’s… Good. You’re happy (?).

When you feel a slight nudge to your shoulder, you look up to meet the devil’s eyes as he smirks. At this distance, you can smell the faint aroma of alcohol emanating from him. “I know you’re still upset with how we left things off last time, pretty bird. Let’s try to mend this rift, yeah?”

Liquid courage, huh?

You swallow and grin back. “Only if you pay for the meals.”

“Just the meals? Wow, you are an easy date. Then, for the night, mind telling me your safe – “

More shouts erupt as you suddenly jump up, your wrists caught before they can wrap around his throat and Childe is just laughing at your alcohol-fueled attempt to fulfill your promise.

“Am I at a ten now?”

 ---

 Only much later would you and Aether look back on this moment with horror, realizing how dearly you underestimated the ambition of the Cryo Archon in her pursuit for dominion.

 ---

 Five dear companions stand together ashore,

One’s tossed to the depths and then there were four.

 ---

 So, to be fair, the time is now after. You’re wasted.

Okay. Remind sober future you to not… Not tempt the stars. Or fate. You sigh deeply as Paimon goes on a long-winded rant to the buzzed crowd about the scroll’s contents at Zhongli’s behest. Truly, truly you did not want to talk about the scroll, something about Childe’s sudden appearance made you feel… Uneasy.

Or maybe it was the alcohol talking. Time to repress your anxieties again.

You zoned out too much, because all eyes are on you expectantly and you’re at a loss. Thankfully, Aether motions to your journal in a fat hint as to why, so you grab the item to open it to the page you copied the scroll down and hand it to Zhongli.

He leans closer to Xiao so both adepti can peer at the pages. “This is…” Xiao starts, frowning as he continues reading. “I thought this was lost to time.”

“As did I,” Zhongli says. “What you have is a remnant from the God of Duality.”

“Jeez, we know!” Paimon sighs. “That’s what Paimon was talking about earlier!”

Zhongli chuckles softly. “Forgive me, friend, you are correct. What I mean to say, is that you have a map to the God of Duality’s disciples.”

“We know it’s a map! Paimon wants to know if there is treasure involved.”

“What is with you,” you hiss at her.

Xiao raises a lazy eyebrow. “What you have is treasure. Long ago, before the God of Duality gave up their own life willingly in pursuit of the ‘last knowledge’ beyond divine death, they left a series of maps to the mortals as a guide to find the adepti who dedicate their lives to the practice founded by the god. Think of it as like a Sigil of Permission, although should a mortal naturally stumble across their abodes, they are permitted all the same.”

“Indeed. Guizhong once worked with this god, although she was more interested in the… Practical and material application of her knowledge,” Zhongli supplies.

“So, like the ballista?” Childe replies. “But if she involved herself with the material application, then what was the god’s reasons? Spiritual?”

“Of a sort, but I can’t imagine the likes of you being privy to that,” Xiao says, scowling at Childe. Aether sighs and rubs his face.

“And you were doing so well…” he mumbles.

“You are close, but not quite. Think of it as the adepti version of mortal alchemy,” Zhongli continues, ignoring the petulant look Xiao gives him. “We all must deal in transactions and contracts, although for illuminated beasts, the nature of this can be taken a step further. However, even as the God of Contracts, I do not understand the true nature of this god’s power.”

“So,” you say, pursing your lips. “Can this be anything? Items, food, or even knowledge itself?”

“Yes, but you must first offer something worthy of it.” Xiao crosses his arms. “Mortals do not understand this. Most walk away cursing the adepti for tricking them, despite them willfully misinterpreting what exactly is demanded.”

“Indeed. For example, a man on the brink of starvation offering his first kill in a month to the adepti in exchange for knowledge on how to feed his family will be rewarded with the location of the finest hunting grounds, the best traps, and the means to make sure his family never suffers famine again.” Zhongli frowns and looks to Liyue Harbor. “However, if a rich man were to ask the same with the same offering, he will walk away with a plague set upon his crops and his cattle slain.”

“Ouch,” Childe says, inappropriately thrilled at the prospect. “Little harsh, don’t you think?”

“A curse for an insult,” Xiao growls. “The adepti arts are not meant for the quick and foul schemes of you humans.”

“Alright! I get it, you sanctimonious prick. You’re supposed to lick the boot, not deep-throat it,” Childe grumbles back as the alcohol loosens his words. “Something like that though would be useful for the Fatui. A leap of faith for the ol’ Liyue arts.”

“Careful Childe,” Zhongli says. “What you say may be taken literally by the god’s ways. They may indeed ask you to leap from a mountain top to prove your worth. Do you know what will happen then if you fail?”

“I’ll be home in time for breakfast?” Childe lazily responds.

“Your body will never be found.”

Silence descends before Paimon coughs a little too loudly. “Sheesh… So, can only humans ask them for favors?”

“No,” Zhongli says, looking to her. “Everyone may request something, though even gods can hesitate at their payment. I once made such a transaction myself for my weapon, Vortex Vanquisher, to be smithed and imbued with the divine ability to seal Osial.”

“Really?” Stars gather in Paimon’s eyes as she kicks excitedly. “But what did you offer in return, Mr. Zhongli?”

He only smiles, but you see how his gaze fades, looking past Paimon to a time long ago. “Enough.”

Childe frowns and takes the journal from Zhongli’s hands, inspecting it himself. “Huh. I don’t see any markings to the abodes though.”

“That is because you must first have an offering in hand and a will to see it through before the map will reveal itself,” Xiao says, harshly seizing the book before offering it back to you. You laugh and take it, reattaching it to your belt. “Find something to represent your question before you seek these disciples. They may ask more of you regardless.”

“More importantly, I am not sure that most of these locations still have the disciples. As time progressed, most have gone into hiding deeper into the mountains.” Zhongli hums as he puts a tentative hand to his chin, trying to summon memories of his subjects’ whereabouts.

“Yeah, Jueyun Karst, right?” Paimon asks.

“That is where the more formidable adepti reside. The others have retreated to the City of Ichor.”

At Paimon’s quizzical glance, Xiao adds simply, “The capital of adepti abodes.”

Everyone takes a moment to allow the information – surely forbidden to outsiders – to sink in.

You sigh before standing to stretch out. “Well, I don’t know about all of you, but this day’s been a lot for me. On that note, let’s call it a night, yeah? We can deal with this later.”

“We?” Childe laughs, standing up as well. “Are you inviting me along, pretty bird?”

“You are inviting yourself along, you free-loader,” Xiao says as he stands. Aether smiles as he’s offered a hand from the adeptus and is gently tugged up.

Childe closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, clearly mustering what little patience he has left. “For someone who can jump so high, you sure are terrible at catching jokes.”

“Anyway. If you can find something, then sure. All part of your job, right? Just don’t make me regret it,” you chuckle while Paimon floats up next to you, carrying the picnic blanket.

“Remember that I’m the lesser of the evils here, o mighty one,” Childe says as he smiles placidly and waves his hands mockingly to Xiao. Still… Something lurks in his eyes that pierces the warm alcoholic daze in your mind.

Childe feels real, feels present, but he seems too… Lucid, considering how much he drank. Like the scroll woke something up in him.

But of course it would, you reason with yourself, he’s a Harbinger serving Her Majesty. Who wouldn’t jump at the opportunity?

“One more warning,” Zhongli calls as he walks past everyone, beginning his own descent back to Liyue Harbor. “What you offer must be honest and from your own heart. You cannot seek someone else’s desires. It is an insult to send someone in your stead to bargain your own contract, so think carefully on what you ask, Childe – and for whom it truly is.”

Childe pauses and stares, a rare sight on his easy-going face, before he shakes his head and laughs. “Of course, of course,” he says, trailing after.

As you walk closer to Liyue, lagging behind the group while they converse amongst themselves, you can’t help the doubts gnawing at you once again at the idea of seeing these adepti.

And with the way Aether turns behind himself to look at you, he can’t either.

 ---

 “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” you say as you take another bite from your salad.  Aether nods while he refills Paimon’s cup with more tea, glancing at the journal on the table.

It’s been a least half a week since your last encounter with everyone, since your last encounter with…

You sigh, willing that thought away. This doesn’t escape Paimon’s notice as she frowns, placing a small hand atop yours.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, concern creasing her features.

“Just thinking you look better without all those worry lines.” You laugh when she smacks your hand.

“You know, the same can be said of you!” Paimon huffs before laughing too. “But… Seriously, what’s going on with you two?”

Aether looks at her before meeting your gaze. He puts down his cup to turn to Paimon again, trying to find the right words.

“Exploring isn’t the only reason why we travel,” Aether starts carefully. “We’re also looking for something. Or, well, I’m just helping her.” He chucks his thumb to you as you snort.

Paimon’s eyes light up as she smiles wide and bright. “Oh! Do you think the adepti can help you? Maybe Paimon can help too, as your official Teyvat tour guide.”

You chuckle slightly as you push the plate of remaining salad towards Paimon as a gift. “I hope so. You can finish this for me, by the way.”

Although Paimon grabs a fork and starts eating, you still catch the quiet complaint of misleading names and there’s nothing satisfying about this salad.

 ---

 “I do not understand.”

Zhongli pauses, placing a hand on his chin. “Xiao, I will not pretend that I know any more than you do. However, walking among Liyue’s people, I have found them to be consistent in their inconsistency. A tree, though verdant and in bloom, will change its colors before shedding its leaves entirely. This does not mean it will never again bear fruit. A bird will always come home when it flies, a flower will still be beautiful though its life is short. We must place our trust in these cycles of life and season.”

(A mantra, they both know, heard a thousand times. A poem. A plea of compassion for the mortals from she who rests with dust.

Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.)

Xiao purses his lips, growling to himself. He still does not see the meaning of peace in turbulent and unreliable things. “These humans are fickle. They can raze forests in their greed.”

“Yes, and they can plant new ones all the same.”

“But, my lor – “

“Don’t,” comes the warning noise from Zhongli. “I am that no longer, Xiao. Call me Zhongli. We are equals here, please.”

He maintains steady steps with Zhongli. He’s… Confused. Why did his mast – Zhongli allow Childe back so soon, so easily? “Do you truly trust that man?”

Zhongli nods. The two of them are walking along the shores bordering Liyue Harbor. Although Xiao won’t admit it, he��s been slowly allowing himself to drift closer and closer to the city. He looks to Zhongli when the other sighs, clearly understanding the reluctance swirling in Xiao’s mind. “My friend, you know Childe will not dare defy my contract.”

“But what about the Travelers? What of Aether?” Xiao cries suddenly, opening his arms. They’re getting closer still to the boats, and though Xiao slows his steps – with Zhongli slowing with him – they continue their march regardless. Liyue’s people remain far, though, as the younger adeptus was never fond of crowds. “Do you think Aether trusts him? Do you truly believe that – “

“I cannot and will not speak for Aether,” Zhongli interrupts, pausing in his steps. He holds up a single hand, motioning for Xiao to stop as well. “If you care for his opinions, why not ask yourself?”

“W-what? How can I even ask him when I don’t know where he is?”

Zhongli smiles and stretches his arm behind him. Xiao follows the motion and pauses, widening his eyes when he spots you, Aether, and Paimon conversing with Childe at the edges of the city. However brief the interaction was, as you all part, Aether turns and flashes a two-fingered salute to the Harbinger before walking away.

Xiao scowls and turns around. “I will question him later,” he mutters.

Zhongli simply laughs.

 ---

 (Xiao hates the doubt creeping into his mind. He has devoted time immemorial to his lord, would lay down his life thousands of times over should Zhongli ever ask. Xiao is who he is because of Zhongli, because he saw fit to save the life of one who was damned.

He hates the doubt creeping into his mind.

It is not because of the morality of this man, no, Xiao could care less. He has slain demons worse than the Harbinger. It is not because of the enigma of the travelers, for Xiao understands secrets intimately.

It is because Zhongli has held and kissed and cared about so many humans, yet… Spoke so easily of mortality, of cycles and seasons, of excitement coming from those who break the norm and are worthy to lie with a lithic god.

He hates the doubt whispering to him that Zhongli – glorious, wise, effervescent Zhongli – was wrong. That the all-knowing did not know what Xiao felt whenever he gazed upon Aether.

Guizhong nurtured flowers, but Morax possessed them.)

 ---

 Four dear companions see a mask donned with a growl so beastly,

One left for war and then there were three.

 ---

 “Aether…”

“Yeah?”

“I just realized something.”

“Hm?”

“We’re breaking one of Lumine’s rules. ‘Be mindful of the company you keep, with connections to enemies and friends alike – ‘ ”

“ ‘Don’t get attached and pay a price so steep, we must leave before the night.’ “

“What do we do? We…”

“I know. We’ll figure it out.”

 ---

 Three dear companions saw hands in the art she drew,

One could not escape their grip and then there were two.

 ---

 “Hi, Albedo! Long time no see!” you call to the blonde, waving merrily. The alchemist turns and smiles softly to you as you approach his table at the base of Dragonspine.

“Ah, Traveler, I didn’t expect to see you,” he replies politely, reticent as usual.

More days have passed, and both you and Aether agreed to split up in search of worthy offerings for the adepti. Briefly, you encountered Zhongli and Childe at Liuli Pavilion, though only stuck around long enough to discuss their respective choices in whether or not they decided to join your journey. Of course, they said yes.

Just as quickly, you turned on your heel, refusing to indulge the confused mixture of lust and irritation that quickly pooled at the small interaction. Get it together! Now isn’t the best time for that. Childe’s back, you’re pissed still, you’re mad at him.

You keep chanting these words to yourself in hopes of making it truth.

… He’s not bad looking.

Ugh.

Although you have an idea of what to give, you came to Dragonspine in hopes that the renowned alchemist can offer some insight.

“Yeah, I wanted to ask you a quick question, if you don’t mind?”

“Go on.” He puts down his papers, a clear indication to continue.

“I have something from my travels, and I’m wondering if the material can be transmuted. Err, I mean… Is it conducive to alchemical properties?” You hold out your hand and summon an iridescent mask. Although, you have to admit that calling it a ‘mask’ is loose at best, as there is no holes for eyes, just a cut out for a mouth. The mask shimmers in a cacophony of cosmological colors under the light on one side, resembling the abalone shells found along shorelines. There are almost no other features, making it a twisted mirror to the viewer. On the other, there is a matte blackness that reflects no light.

Albedo frowns and sticks out his hand, tentatively holding the object as you pass it along. As he turns it this way and that, mumbling observations under his breath, you can’t help but shift your weight from foot to foot in anticipation. You notice him pick up a scalpel to collect the smallest sliver of a sample and he places it on the alchemy table.

Stars, how long can he stare at the thing?

Eventually, Albedo turns to you (and ignores your sagging relief) to hand the item back. “I don’t know where you acquired such a fascinating specimen. Pray tell, where did you come across this?”

“Um,” you start, blinking widely. “Nowhere close to Dragonspine?”

He nods. “A shame. Perhaps I can find something similar one day.”

Not a chance, buddy. “So? What do you think?”

“The materials, though nearly as primordial and resilient as Liyue’s crystals, are extraordinarily organic in nature. This should be likewise conducive to any transmutational processes you wish to conduct. However, unlike inorganic objects, you cannot easily predict the outcome. Why do you ask?”

You nod as you hold the eyeless mask, staring into the blackness behind it.

“Just trying to figure something out for a ritual. Tricky thing has a mind of its own sometimes.”

It stares back.

 ---

 (You decide to find a new offering. This will reveal too many things, stir too many questions that you have no answers for.

It’s better that they don’t know. They can’t know.

Aether understands. He still remembers the day he met you.)

 ---

 As Childe walks along a bridge towards Wangshu Inn, he pauses to savor the idyllic landscape. The sun is setting steadily behind the inn, casting deep shadows all around him. “You know, where’s the honor in sneaking up on your opponent, hm?”

In a flash, he whips out his bow and fires a shot towards Xiao’s head. The Yaksha leaps gracefully and flips in the air, twisting his body so that he utilizes his weight in a downward thrust. Childe jumps back to avoid the shattering earth and smirks, rubbing his nose. “Show off.”

Gold eyes meet blue. Shit, Childe can practically see the air around him twist with hostility and Childe’s feeling like a kid in a candy shop. “I warned you that I will not spare you, human.”

“Good. Don’t you dare disappoint me,” he snarls before running towards Xiao. When the other sweeps his spear in an arc, Childe flips over the motion to swipe at his head with his own hydro spear. Xiao grunts and leans back, allowing the blade to graze his cheek as he twirls with the pole to regain balance.

Childe moves back to raise his bow and fire a literal rain of arrows upon the ground, but in the commotion, he nearly can’t keep up with his opponent’s speed as Xiao dances between each arrow fired. Xiao leaps again with fangs bared, aiming for the spot where Childe is perching before his instincts push him to dive out of the way.

Breaking his fall with a roll, Childe turns to see Xiao charging him. No better time to practice the moves he’s seen Zhongli employ in their rare outings to the wilderness.

Right as the adeptus thrusts his spear, Childe summons his blades to parry the movement with an upward cross, trapping the pole between two swords. When Xiao moves back to dodge the rounded kick to his side, Childe switches to a pole once again to thrust into the earth where Xiao’s feet dance out of the way.

Now or never. The Harbinger grunts as he shifts feet to kick the spear.

Neither graceful nor imperial like Zhongli’s, the action gets the job done regardless as it spins dangerously fast towards Xiao, releasing arcs of sharp water-like echoes across the air. Xiao dodges all of them, panting when he notices the water is fierce enough to cleave the stone near him in half. He stands straight, motioning his spear accusingly to Childe. “Where did you learn such a move?”

“Zhongli showed me his spear, of course,” Childe replies sweetly. With a shout for bloody murder, Xiao moves for the kill, but… Childe’s eyes flick to his right and he suddenly wills his blades away to stand straight, placing one hand in his pocket. He relaxes his figure and smiles leisurely.

Come on, take the bait you asshat.

Shy of stabbing Childe’s throat, Xiao’s spear halts as he hears it: children. Very fast, very young, and very loud children skipping closer to their battle. Xiao growls again as he releases his weapon, standing straight and crossing his arms. Neither break eye contact as the kids run past them with giggles when they hit each other with toy swords.

“Why are you here, scum?”

Childe buckles like he’s been shot with an arrow, leaning forward as he places a hand on his chest. “Oh! Oh! So mean, XiaoXiao.”

“Disrespectful little rat.”

“Ha. I’m here for the Travelers. Word has it that they were last seen around here.”

Xiao scoffs and looks away. “You are too late, they left long ago.”

“Oh?” Childe steps closer to the adeptus and slowly leans forward, plucking a single golden strand of hair from Xiao’s shoulder. He stiffens as he glares at the Fatui, who shakes his head like he caught a child with their hand in the cookie jar. “You know, I really hate liars,” Childe sighs.

He side-steps the adeptus to continue his languid walk to Wangshu Inn, humming a traditional Snezhnayan song all the while.

“You sound horrible,” comes the crabby voice behind him.

“Sheesh, so wound up. Do me a favor and either go fuck yourself or go fuck someo - ”

Once again, Childe barely manages to dodge a rock hurled at his head.

 ---

 “Hey! Aether buddy!” Childe cries, opening his arms when he spies the blonde. Aether turns and laughs, waving to the enthusiastic Harbinger.

“What are you doing all the way out here?” he says, smiling as bright as the sun when he spots Xiao behind him. “Xiao! You two didn’t fight each other?”

“Uh – “

“Dear XiaoXiao and I? Now, who do you think we are?” Childe pouts. Paimon squints and flies up to Xiao, giggling as she spies a crimson cut across the other’s cheek that is purposefully hidden behind bangs.

“Paimon thinks that they did,” she says in a sing-song tone. Aether gasps as he runs over, fussing over the deep wound much to adeptus’ chagrin. Still, Childe notices the slight blush creeping up his face. What a bunch of lovesick idiots.

“Good grief,” Childe mutters, rolling his eyes. Paimon looks just as unimpressed as he felt. “Is this a regular thing, stir-fry? I’m about to puke.”

“First of all, Paimon is not stir-fry! And secondly, it kind of is,” she sighs, rubbing her temples. “Paimon doesn’t get how they haven’t figured it out yet, but Paimon doesn’t want to just tell them.”

“Yeah, they’d never believe you, they’re trying too hard.”

“What’re you doing here anyway, Wallet?”

“Oh, I’m looking for – Wait. What d’you mean ‘Wallet’?” Childe scoffs, glaring at Paimon. He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose as he suppresses the very real and very loud urge to commit homicide. It’s illegal here, stop it, too many people, you can kill her later. “If you’re going to embarrass me like that, at least avoid doing it in front of the Fatui underlings. I still have a reputation to maintain.”

Paimon hums and holds out her hand.

Is she serious?

She makes a ‘gimme’ motion.

Is she fucking serious?

“Promises, promises. Remember that night with Mr. Zhongli?”

Childe releases a string of filthy Snezhnayan curses as he grabs a small bag of Mora to hand over from his own knapsack. “I am on a budget, you know. Not that you’d understand, you bottomless pit. Will this be enough to cover your next meals, m’lady?”

“Yep. You may leave, Mr. Wallet,” she say solemnly, raising her head as she motions for him to make his exit before breaking out into a smug fit of laughter.

Oh. That’s it. Legality be damned, he’s going to kill her –

“Xiao told me you were looking for us?” Aether calls. Childe blinks quickly, before nodding and repeats your name, all thoughts of murder pushed to the back of his mind. For now, anyway.

“Where is she? Thought little birdie would be here.”

“Oh, she’s still in Dragonspine, though I think she mentioned staying for the night before leaving. She should be back first thing tomorrow. Come with us to dinner?”

“Aether, no – “

“I would be delighted. Right, XiaoXiao?” Childe grins, opening one arm to allow the blonde to lead the way. “Team building and all of that.”

“Please? At least get along on the upcoming trip?” Aether smiles at Xiao, pleading with his eyes in that certain way that makes Xiao’s heart race again. He grumbles and allows the other to lead them towards the tables.

Xiao turns around and puffs with irritation at Childe’s entertained gaze.

The Fatui makes a heart symbol with his fingers. Asshole.

 ---

 “You know Aether, had Lord Rex – “

“It’s Zhongli now, remember?”

“Yes, you’re right. Had I known he would have found someone so capable, even to the adepti, I would have hoped to see you fight sooner.”

“Aw, now you sound like you’re about to ask me for a favor too, Xiao.”

Xiao’s lips barely turn upward, soft and slow. “You dare assume I need help?”

Aether pouts slightly. “No. Just wanted to offer anyway. And you were being so nice, ha.”

“… Shall I practice my flattery for your next visit, then? With any luck, I will be better.”

Aether laughs and leans a bit closer. Some time passes before he speaks again.

“Xiao, have you ever been beyond the borders of Liyue?”

Xiao raises an eyebrow as he looks to his right and stops, losing his breath. Aether is… Aether is radiant under the moonlight. More than that, truly. The strands of golden hair billow softly in the wind, catching the light from the lanterns all around them. And… He’s smiling so earnestly, so sweetly and golden.

The ginkgo tree behind Aether sways.

“Why do you ask?”

Aether leans back, kicking his legs as they hang over the balcony. “Well, ever since you accepted the contract to defend Liyue, have you ever been given a chance to leave? Will you leave now that ‘Rex Lapis’ is gone? The people here are capable of defending themselves.”

Xiao sighs and looks back to the horizon. “I do not know,” he mutters. “I… I do not remember if I have left Liyue. Before I came to serve under Zhongli, I served another, but my memories during those days slip through my fingers. There are flashes. It…” Hurts.

Aether understands. He scoots closer again, delicately placing a few fingers over Xiao’s. When Xiao flinches slightly, Aether starts to withdraw before his hand is grabbed. He allows himself to be pulled back gently. Though his heart beats against his chest, Aether feels more at ease than he has for a long time.

“I want to take you. We should go someday,” Aether says quietly.

“Where?”

“Somewhere. Anywhere. If I call your name, you’ll come, right?”

“Yes. If you want to see me…” He dares a glance at Aether.

“Xiao.”

They stay like that for a time. Xiao decides that night that honey is better than almond tofu.

Aether decides to make a list of places to go.

 ---

 A young Snezhnayan boy, surrounded by many others of his ilk, recites his oath before the feet of the Tsaritsa with glee. His blood rushes to his ears as he kneels at her feet. Tartaglia is his name now, his duty, his purpose. The ice-tipped sword digging into his shoulder as he echoes and affirms his vows only fuel his determination to serve his beloved goddess.

Yet, when he rises, he is no longer in the throne room. He is standing on a cliffside watching the venerated Tsaritsa dangle a woman over a yawning ravine by her throat with the other Harbingers bearing witness beside him. The woman is struggling, clawing at the goddess’ forearms and whimpers, “Your Majesty! Please! Give me another chance! My love - ”

Once, he stood as the Twelfth Harbinger.

Now, as the Tsaritsa releases her hold, he stands as the Eleventh.

His eyes steadily follow Columbina’s shrieking fall into the Abyss. Traitor.

The Tsaritsa turns her steely gaze to the audience presented, meeting each of their eyes. “Ice, once fractured, requires a sacrifice to seal it once more. We cannot allow weakness in our ranks.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the Harbingers respond in unison. However, when Tartaglia blinks, the scene starts to replay once more.

Except this time, instead of Columbina, the Tsaritsa is holding –

No. No no no no no!

 ---

 Childe sits up, sweat beading along his skin and temptingly close to emptying his stomach. He closes his eyes and flexes his hands, willing water to slowly coalesce in his grip without bothering to look at the other entity in the room.

“If you get off on watching people sleep, you could’ve wined and dined me first,” he grumbles, joke falling flat.

“I thought I already did." Childe looks to see Xiao casually sitting in his windowsill, one leg hanging off the side. However, the adeptus isn’t looking at him but at the moon rising. “Who is Teucer?”

“How,” Childe rasps. He didn’t realize until then how dry his throat is. “How do you know that name?”

“You were screaming it.”

Chidle doesn’t respond but releases his hand, allowing the water to evaporate once more. He groans and leans his head back, hitting the headboard with a dull thunk. Some time passes, though neither seem eager to break the silence.

“Why do you serve her?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why. Do you. Serve her?” Xiao repeats, slow but forceful. “You’ve seen what the Fatui are capable of.”

Childe narrows his eyes at Xiao’s back, irritation slowly growing in him again. “You’re lecturing me? You who fought in the Archon War? Give me a break. I may be just a human to you, but… You know what happened to Khaenri’ah.”

It’s not a secret among the Harbingers and the highest officers where Snezhnaya inherited most of its technology nor what happened to the ancient empire. One of the many missions of the Dottore involved researching the ancient factories producing Ruin Guards, after all.

To the Snezhnayans, though, the Fatui are paragons of virtue for humanity against the Abyss and they remain blissfully ignorant to the true reasons behind Khaenri’ah’s fall.

“The Tsaritsa is leading us to become the strongest nation.”

“That is what she tells them,” Xiao replies. “Why do you serve her?”

“You think I want my motherland wiped off the maps because we are willing to do anything, anything, to survive the cold? To make the lives of our poorest easier? To feed the empty bellies when winter comes? The Tsaritsa is helping all of us in Teyvat, you ungrateful bastard. She’s making sure that we can thrive as people, not as pets to Celestia. Once she frees us, we’ll all be safer in a new era.”

Xiao makes a sound vaguely like a laugh – a pitying laugh, Childe notes – and stands. He never turns around as he sighs. “You believe that the gods aren’t pets too? That she’ll just forget? Remember that it took seven Archons to condemn the fallen nation, not six. Celestia’s seat will not remain uninhabited forever.”

He then leaps and Childe watches Xiao’s departure before huffing to himself. Good riddance. The gall of this adeptus to enter his room and then act like he’s on the moral high ground? What a self-righteous prick.

Sighing, Childe slides back to bed and pulls the covers over himself again. His knuckles go white as he grips his sheets, remembering how easily the Tsaritsa tossed her mortal lover aside.

One day, he will crush the thrones of the gods.

“I know.”

 ---

 Dreams come more frequently for Ajax now. He wonders if he will ever hear those voices from the first night again.

 ---

 Aether and Childe are eating their breakfast together, idly chatting over upcoming plans. When the blonde begins stripping his scarf to avoid stains, Childe whistles long and low.

“Careful comrade, the world will explode on itself if you take any more off. I fear what seeing your collarbone will do to the common folk.”

Aether laughs and rolls his eyes before stabbing at his meal. “So, you got an offering yet?”

“Mm? Oh yeah. Definitely.”

“… No you don’t.”

“No I don’t.”

He sighs and leans forward, staring at Childe intently. “I know that you’re going to ask for more power, but the question is, what’s worth that? You already have the heretical teachings from the Abyss, the Delusion, the Vision…”

Childe pretends to be hurt as he waggles his eyebrows. “Comrade! You can never truly know what I have up my sleeve.”

“Well… What about a toy?”

That sends Childe reeling. “A toy? Why a toy?”

“You said it yourself, you defend childhood dreams, right?” Aether’s voice is soft, but he doesn’t look at Childe in an attempt to allow privacy for the Harbinger. “That’s why you fight. So give them a toy.”

There’s a pregnant pause before Childe laughs again, charming and familiar, but there’s an overtone of sincerity. “Ah, maybe you do know what’s up my sleeve.”

“Careful Childe,” Aether responds, eyes twinkling. “I fear what seeing your arms will do to the common folk.”

“Aw, they would love it!” he grins, flexing both of his arms upwards in a show of mock strength. “Maybe I can just offer those adepti the adoration from my fans.”

Aether snorts. “Call it a hunch, but love and adoration might be two different things.”

“Yeah,” Childe replies, digging back into his food. “Besides, I think my biggest fan’s love is the only one that matters.”

His companion raises an eyebrow, but says nothing when he sees the rare expression of peace on the Harbinger for Teucer.

Aether wishes Lumine could see it too.

 ---

 Two dear companions saw a blonde figure run,

One chased to the end and then there was one.

 ---

 Gods… What did you do to piss off the stars? Truly? There must be some sort of karmic balance in play. Life just saw you having a good morning and decided hey, it’s been too long since she’s had something bad happen!

You’re definitely cursed.

You groan as you roll onto your side, ignoring Childe’s own pained moans. When you were walking up the steps to Wansgshu Inn – true to his damned codename – the immature Harbinger thought it would be hilarious to hug you from behind to surprise you.

Which was a bad idea because you suddenly grabbed him in response. Which had you both losing your balance. Which made you tumble to the bottom of the steps together.

Of fucking course.

“Ha, did you – ugh – fall from Celestia babe? Because coming down those steps, you – “

“Childe, I’m giving you three seconds to shut up.”

“Right.”

When you both sit up, you stare at each other for a long moment before you sigh, fighting back a grin. “Alright, what’re you doing here?”

Childe pouts and stands up, offering you a hand to help you up.

You ignore how familiar it felt, how nice that he dusted the dirt off your back while holding you tight.

“Pretty bird’s been avoiding me. Can you blame me if I go hunting?” he whines.

“I have not! I’ve been looking for something to trade and you should be doing the same.”

“Oh, that? Pfft, I got that covered.”

Raising an eyebrow, you cock a hip out as you stare. He only nods enthusiastically and rolls back and forth on his feet. “Aether told me you might need help completing a commission? There’s one nearby if I recall correctly. We’re all meeting up again later tonight to discuss the next steps anyway, can’t hurt to have your loyal comrade along!”

Shaking your head, you two meet up with the others at the inn to discuss the day’s plans before setting out on your journeys. Shockingly, fewer insults – though no less scathing - pass between Xiao and Childe than you expected while you finish speaking to Aether.

Huh. Last you saw Xiao and Childe, you could’ve sworn they were more… Hostile.

Some time walking along the road passes while you two chatter briefly. It’s all small talk though, and you can feel it again, that chasm between you, that something left unsaid. Maybe a peace offering will do?

You feel Childe’s eyes on you as you summon a bag of spices in your hand and shove it towards him, not bothering to look at his face. “Here. Forgot to give it to you earlier.”

No, you didn’t. You just bought them today.

“Hm? What’s this? …Snezhnayan spices?”

“Yeah, I saw a merchant selling it and thought it’d be interesting to try out for some recipes. You’ll definitely get more use out of it than me.”

Total fucking lie. You bought it entirely to show him, hoping to make things less awkward and… Maybe see his smile, too.

You ignore the flashes of amber eyes and a deep voice running through your mind. It was just a fun night. Nothing more.

“Huh. Thank you.”

Nodding, you both continue along, but the silence between you is comfortable now. It’s nice again, simpler, like Osial never happened. Almost, anyway.

Childe makes sure you aren’t looking as he puts the spices away, smiling to himself.

 ---

 One dear companion left under the sun,

She wandered in search of her friends and then there were none.

 ---

 “Guizhong, what are you singing of now?”

Guizhong turns and giggles at the sight of Morax in his full draconic glory, scales aflame with a  gold shimmer that no treasure can match. “Beloved, you need not appear as a god before me. Come and sit so I may braid your hair.”

When Guizhong looks to the plains, she continues her soft melodies. Morax settles next to her in his mortal form. Without hesitation, he tilts his head when her hands reach his hair, offering her his peace. There is a tacit understanding between them when anxiety tugs at her heart; as an industrial goddess, she turns to her hands to settle her thoughts.

Morax, though he never shows on his stoney face, enjoys providing this comfort for her. After so many centuries together, Guizhong long abandoned the endeavor of persuading Morax to express emotions in the human way. She knew that the brute before her will always remain an illuminated beast at heart.

That is why she loves him so.

“Morax, my love, you are purring again,” she teases. He huffs and stops, but at her light tug on his hair, he resumes. “Is our dear dragon turning into a fat house cat?”

“Which am I, Guizhong?” he says. When she leans in to kiss the corner of his mouth, he turns to meet her soft motions with his own. He was never gentle, this god of stone, yet he tries for her. “Am I a god, or am I your pet?”

Her lover’s words are teasing, and she cannot help the bubble of laughter as he tries – and fails – to smile charmingly in a show of fangs.

“You are my love,” she murmurs and kisses him again.

Hers. Of course, he thinks. Hers.

“My heart belongs to you,” he whispers back, though frowns when she notices her crestfallen expression.

“Your heart belongs to you, as my love for you is mine. Do not give it away so easily. Beloved, love is a thing that should free us. I do not wish to bind you, but I want to grow with you. Love is changing, is it not?”

He follows her gaze upwards to the ginkgo tree they sit under before she continues. “Welcome the changes time brings you, Morax. You may find yourself surprised yet. Promise me you’ll try.”

At her contemplative tone, he looks to her again, though she doesn’t meet his gaze. “I will,” he replies. “I promise to try and appreciate these mortal cycles. Though I would not call myself so dramatic as to die for it; so many humans declare this a romantic notion. How strange.”

“It’s a start,” she laughs. “Perhaps start with loving the land and loving your subjects. They have never truly courted death.”

“I do not see why you fret,” he mumbles and moves closer to kiss her jaw. “You will be here with me.”

“Of course,” she says. “Of course.”

She moves her ankle further beneath her dress, hiding from his imperial gaze the black decay that eats at her.

“Another promise. Indulge me, God of Contracts.”

He grunts in acknowledgment, though he continues his ministrations.

“Promise me that you will free me if you love me. Love me enough to live, instead of dying for it then.”

More silence meets her, though from the grip of his hand on her thighs, she knows he acquiesces.

When she met with the God of Duality so long ago, Guizhong knew her days were numbered as she collected artifacts filled with poisonous malice. The day that this blackness takes her is swiftly coming. Her dear friend chose death in their pursuit of knowledge since their true love lay in discovery. She knew this long before she ever met her lover.

Guizhong closes her eyes as she fervently kisses Morax with an apology deep in her heart. She loves her people enough to toil endlessly for them and, eventually, die with them, yet Morax did not choose this path. Guizhong refuses to choose for him, made him promise to continue his own journey.

Someone as strong as the God of War would not understand her desperation. Among the gods of this land, Guizhong is weak enough to be considered a mortal herself – a fact she accepted long ago as she offers her knowledge to her people.

Regardless of this, she wonders briefly if she was selfish in this, in loving him knowing that it would be temporary. But when he moves down her neck and presses his body to hers, she finds her heart soaring with peace. She’s lived a good life, selfish as it was. How ironic that she chided Morax on his possessiveness.

Guizhong knows she will be his first love, but she prays to whoever is listening that she will not be his last.

 ---

 The sky twinkles, too far away to be seen.

-

notes:

gosh I love exploring facets of a character's personality via a different POV

1) The idea of adepti (and by implication other non-humans of Teyvat) dealing in favors and transformations is directly inspired by various mythologies in different cultures of fair trade whenever humans wanted something. City of Ichor is directly inspired by the myths of separate lands (like Tir Na Nog)

2) Among the many symbols attached to the ginkgo tree is longevity, peace, and hope

3) Since the Harbingers' titles are directly referencing the Commedia dell'arte, I decided to pull one of the characters from it as a 'lover' for the Tsaritsa. The Columbina character is the secret lover and assistant to the Harlequin whose own character is known for his trickster qualities, thwarting his master's plans, and pursuing what he loves at all costs. Since the Cryo Archon is the Archon of Love, I mean...

4) Childe's story directly references his desires to "crush the thrones of the gods"

5) Guizhong's corruption is my personal theory since the quest "Treasure Lost, Treasure Found" has us find tablets, but the archaeologist is utterly confused as to how Guizhong was killed with the strongest god protecting her. Combined with no natural disaster would have been enough to strike her, nobody would dare challenge two gods, and one tablet says "there THEY fought on Guili Plains" with black dust and splintered rocks as the only elements in the last battle, and - yeah. I know a lot of people portray her as sweet and all-knowing, but I wanted to humanize her a bit (hah) because she's still a god who strongly valued her own intellect above most else and carelessly collected evil artifacts the Adepti had to hide after her death. You can't tell me she didn't have some flaws.

[time-machine-fart]

His White Shirt

Pairings: Steve X Reader

Words: 7.1k 

Warnings: Angst (a lot of it), FLUFF, mentions of sex BUT NO SMUT! and mentions of blood and gunshot wounds (NO VIOLENCE THOUGH).

Summary: Post Civil War fugitive Steve is on the run, but he is shot. He can’t go to the hospital, so he comes to the reader’s house, who happens to be his ex-girlfriend.  

Recommended music to listen to: 

False God by Taylor Swift

Cornelia Street by Taylor Swift

Cut That Always Bleeds by Conan Gray

This is a long story. You’ll enjoy it better if you read it slowly. Make a cup of coffee, perhaps? Just kick back and relax, and enjoy this one shot ;)

I huffed as I tugged the last piece of cloth from the hanger and discarded it into a small bucket. With great effort, I managed to close the window that thudded loudly against the barbarous winds. Breathless, I took a seat at the edge of the bed as I surveyed my surroundings. The bucket contained the clothes that I had left to dry out in the morning, because the stupid dryer broke down again. I had hoped to save them from getting wet by the rain but unfortunately I was too late. They were thoroughly drenched.

The floor near the window was wet too, because I didn’t care to close the window before going to sleep. I internally groaned at the thought of going to work tomorrow amidst the humid weather and the moist muddy ground.

I glanced at the clock, which read 11:14 pm. I was having a peaceful, dreamless sleep, until I heard the rain thumping against my window.

I spent the next ten minutes cleaning up the mess. The sudden running about made me lose sleep, so I lazily dragged myself to the living room, where I ensconsed myself in the comfort of my sofa. I switched on the TV and absent-mindedly switched through the channels. I finally settled on a news channel.

A blonde woman, in her late 20’s, stood in front of an empty restaurant, with shattered windows and broken tables. She was wildly gesticulating at her surroundings, so I cranked up the volume to hear what she was saying.

There was a shootout, apparently. Civilians were injured, only one dead. I squinted at the screen. There was something about the restaurant that I quite couldn’t place. Had I been there before? The reporter answered my question when she mentioned the location of the restaurant. It was just a few blocks away from my home. That didn’t surprise me much, because my neighbourhood wasn’t exactly posh. Crimes were not uncommon here.

I listened to the reporter yammer on for a few more minutes before switching off the TV. I gazed at the grey empty streets of Munich and the trees swishing wildly against the wanton winds. My eyes grew heavy and my shoulders drooped. Perhaps I could sleep right here on the couch and not go to work tomorrow…

But the sound of the doorbell jolted me awake.

It was 11:43 am. My knowledge about this country was little, but I knew this much that Germans definitely didn’t just pop bye their friend’s houses at midnight. It could be my brother, I thought, as I dialled the emergency number on my phone. But he lived in the UK, and he’d definitely call me before he decided to visit me. I rushed to the kitchen to find a knife. It is an intruder, I thought. I was sure of it. The bell rang again.

I tip-toed towards the door, a knife clutched tight in my hand and the emergency number on the standbye. I ducked under the peep-hole and raised my head slowly to look at the person. Observing at the silhouette, I judged it was a man. And that’s when I recognised him. I cautiously opened the door, to find Steve Rogers in front of me, after seven long months.

You’d think seven months would change a person’s appearance, but he didn’t. His dirty blonde hair that I used to run my hands through; his rosy lips that would kiss me every morning despite my protests about having bad breath; his wide and muscular frame towering over me that (to this day) annoys me and used to amuse him…all remained the same. One could look at him and say nothing changed in these past seven months, when my entire world tipped off balance and fell right into the hands of this man.

‘Steve what are you doing here!’ I asked, my voice tremulous.

'Can I come in?’ was his reponse. He was taking short breaths, his hand clutched over his side. Was he hurt? It was hard to tell. It was dark outside, and his shirt was black.

I stepped aside, and let him in. He was standing in the middle of the living room, completely drenched. His wet shirt clung to his skin and beads of water trickled down his face.

'I’m sorry for ruining your carpet,’ he said, his tone pleasant and conversationary. His hand was still clutched to his side.

'Steve you are shivering.’ I stated. I could see his teeth chattering, even though he was trying to hide it.

He just looked at me. I was wrong before. Everything was the same, except his eyes. Those once steely, blue, confident eyes now looked spiritless, soft and…hurt.

'Steve, are you okay?’ I asked him finally. I tried to look calm, but my head was spinning with thoughts. It felt surreal, having him in my room when we had promised we’d never see each other again.

'I’d feel a bit better if you kept that knife down,’ he responded. He winced a little, as if talking hurt him. I barely noticed the knife in my hand. I placed it on the couch.

'I’m gonna get you a towel,’ I said and rushed to my bedroom. I came back with a towel in my hand and instead of offering it to him, I draped it around his shoulder. He graciously accepted the warm relief around him and hugged it closer with a sigh. I heard him wince when my hand brushed against his stomach.

'What’s wrong?’ I demanded, but didn’t wait to hear his explanation. I lifted his shirt a little to see what was the matter.

'Steve, you are shot!’ Alarmed, I leaned in to look at the wound more closely. A bullet was lodged in his muscle, just above the edge of his pelvis.

'Good observation,’ he replied.

'I’m taking you to the hospital.’ I announced.

'Y/N you’re not taking me anywhere,’ he gripped my wrist.

'Steve, you are shot–’ I began.

'That’s why I’m here, Y/N. You are a doctor,’ he asserted.

'I’m an intern!’ I shouted.

'Y/N you know I can’t be seen. It’d be a big problem for me and you.’ He stated firmly.

'How did this happen!’ I was on a verge of panic.

'I’ll tell you everything, but first I need your help sewing this up,’ he panted.

Defeated, I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. My eyes flitted to the phone in my hand, where the emergency number was just one tap away. I could send him to the hospital, where he would get the proper treatment. But the US Government would capture him again, and he’d have to sit in a jail for months, possibly years – no, that can’t happen. But I wasn’t an expert either. I could seriously hurt him if I did anything wrong. A final look at his pleading puppy blue eyes convinced me to make my decision.

'Alright, fine,’ I said. 'Lie down here.’ I cleared the sofa and helped him lie down. His warm hand was still clutched on mine.

He moaned softly as his body sank in the warm comfort of my couch. He scrunched his eyebrows and his lips parted in gratification. I couldn’t help but swoon a little at the sight of him – a supersoldier with the ability to pull helicopters from the sky, now just a normal man on my couch. Perhaps he wasn’t completely invincible.

'Thank you,’ he said sincerely, his eyes boring into mine. His eyes twinkled, and the blue in them looked more prominent.

I tried to smile, I really did. I wanted to assure him and tell him everything would be okay, that I’d fix him up properly, but I couldn’t. Instead I gave him something like a half-smile and a half-whimper, and gently pried his hand away from my wrist.

I walked towards my bedroom, my face calm and composed but my confidence dropping with every step I took. I pressed my shoulder against the cupboard and closed my eyes, my breath ragged as anxiety started rising in my chest. I cannot afford to screw this up. I tried to recollect everything my superiors taught me about gunshot wounds, but my mind was in a dissaray, constantly reminding me of a hundred ways I could screw this up.

I am not going to let Steve get hurt, I scolded my subconscious. I will fix him up first and then worry about other things.

With new determination and resolve, I rushed around the house to find anything and everything I would need to do the surgery. Washcloth, tweezers, gauze, needles, I checklisted the items in my head as I collected them one by one.

I was back in the living room, kneeling in front of him while I arranged the first aid kit at my feet. I tugged at his shirt, and rolled it upwards to get a better glance at the wound, but it kept rolling down.

'Steve, I’m sorry, but you have to get up again. You need to take off your shirt,’ I said.

He groaned softly, and I felt guilty for causing him ache and discomfort. I helped him take his shirt off, and place it away from the makeshift surgical field. His chest was bloody and wet.

Fear and anxiety tugged at my heart again. Usually I do this under supervision, and with proper equipment. One wrong nerve and I could mess him up permanently.

A gentle hand on my shoulder halted my train of thoughts. Steve’s hand inched towards my neck, and my heartbeat accelerated. Was he trying to calm me down? Because that wasn’t working. My hand involuntarily crept towards his chest, which was still cold, but atleast he wasn’t shivering any more.

'You can do this, Y/N,’ he whispered, his eyes scolding me to get a grip on myself. I noticed the close proximity between our two faces, when I knelt towards him and sat on the balls of my feet. His lips tugged into a boyish smile and said, 'I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t believe you were a good doctor.’

'Intern,’ I corrected, but a smile finally made its way to my lips.

'Intern,’ Steve repeated, as his fingers absent-mindedly stroked the back of my neck. I felt a strong desire in my heart to kiss him. I wanted to stop the time, and paint this moment right there, where he was back in my house, and we were in each other’s comfort, so that I’d look at it again and again.

But we had said our goodbyes. He was a soldier-turned-fugitive on the run and I was barely a doctor. I figured this would end some day. He finally said it, and I remember feeling numb at his words. Being in a relationship with him meant endangering my life, and he woudn’t allow me to get mixed up in his world. Governments, villains, anyone would use me as bait once they found out I was Steve’s girlfriend. Of course I protested. We shouted, argued, fought with each other for days but I knew it was a long time coming. When he left, it felt empty. I had fallen in love with the perfect person, and now he was taken away from me under the pretense of my safety. Getting over him was the hardest thing I had to do. I was not going to fall for him again.

I cleared my throat, and his hand dropped. I diverted my concentration on saving his life. It didn’t take as long as I had expected. I cleaned the wound, and managed to remove the bullet without losing pints of blood, thanks to his serum powers that healed him faster than normal people. My insides squirmed with dread as I picked up the needle that I would use to stitch him up.

I looked up at him, and found him staring at me intensely. 'Don’t look at me,’ I whispered. 'You are making me nervous.’

He chuckled weakly and looked away at the ceiling.

My fingers surprisingly moved slowly and efficiently with fine dexterity as I sewed up his wound. Apart from a few hisses and groans that Steve emitted when I would accidentally put too much pressure or prick his skin, I managed to stitch him up well. It wasn’t until I had attached the gauze to his wound when I let out a sigh of relief and slumped down to the floor. I rested my head against the edge of the couch. I was panting, as if I had run a marathon, when the only activity I had done was sit on my knees and move my hands a bit. But I felt instantly calm. The weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I had managed to not kill my ex-boyfriend.

His hand clutched my shoulder, and I couldn’t help but hold his hand. Warmth spread through my body as our hands touched, just how it did when we had first met.

'Hey,’ he said, his voice soothing and stable than before. 'Are you okay?’

I couldn’t see his face because my back was facing him, but I noticed the concern in his tone. 'Just tired,’ I sighed, and my head leaned onto the unhurt part of his chest.

I heard his breath hitch in his throat. 'I’m sorry, doll. I truly am.’ he said, his voice hoarse.

My heart tingled with nostalgia and butterflies when he called me doll. It was something he called only me.

I turned around so I was facing him. His eyes gazed at me intently that made me feel weak on the inside. 'You don’t have to be sorry for anything,’ I answered, trying to avoid sounding feeble. 'I couldn’t have left my ex-boyfriend bleed to death on my doorstep, now could I?’ I smiled.

He laughed a little at my words and his mouth spread out into a goofy grin. 'Now what?’ he said, running his fingers across the gauze.

'I’ll get you some fresh clothes. You are still wet. You should sleep here tonight.’ I said, as I got up with a groan.

Steve hesitated. 'Are you sure, Y/N?’ He looked down at his fingers. 'I mean, I don’t want to cause you any more trouble.’

'Nonsense, Steve. You anyway can’t go out in this weather, let alone walk.’ I gathered the medical supplies on the floor. I didn’t let him answer back because I walked out of the room, but I did hear a faint 'I’m sure I can still walk…’

After dumping all the materials in the kitchen, I trodded towards my bedroom, to find some clothes for Steve. I opened my closet to find all my clothes in a cluttered mess. I rummaged through the bottom section and pulled out Steve’s old white shirt that I had kept with myself. My cheeks flushed at the thought of Steve finding out that I had kept one of his shirts with me.

'Now that’s why I can’t seem to find my favourite shirt.’ A voice said from behind me. I whipped my head around to find Steve looking at me, with his eyebrows raised and his arms crossed on his chest.

'You’re out of bed,’ I said as I got up, my cheeks hot with embarrassment.

'I’m fine,’ he pulled his shirt from my hands, a mocking grin plastered over his face. 'And clearly I can walk.’

'But you shouldn’t.’ I scolded him.

I turned around to search for a pair of pants in the closet. I pulled out a set of sweatpants that my brother kept with me in case he decided to come over and visit me. I tossed it towards Steve, who catched it effortlessly.

'You still keep things messy, I see. Looks like you haven’t changed a bit.’ He teased me again. He did seem to be mocking me a lot lately, considering I just saved his life. But I had to admit before he came into my life I wasn’t exactly a functional adult.

I shot daggers at him as I shut the closet door a little too loudly. I hate it when I have nothing witty to say back.

'You can change here,’ I mumbled, and closed the door to the bedroom on the way out.

I sighed for the millionth time today as I poured myself a glass of water. Steve is here. Steve is here! I thought happily. Damn my brain for getting excited. He is here just for one night. He is gonna go tomorrow. My mind sobered up a little. To prevent myself from cooking up any more fantasies in my brain, I began making coffee.

I heard the bedroom door open after a few minutes. I walked out of the kitchen, holding a cup of coffee in my hands.

'Oh sweet, is that for me?’ Steve said, as he ambled towards me. My heart fluttered at the sight of him, looking so soft in his white shirt and grey sweatpants. Just how he looked every morning when he’d get up, his hair a mess and his sweatpants hanging low…No, don’t you dare go there.

He still looked pale and I noticed him limp a little. Legs tend to get heavy.

I laughed. 'No, silly. This is for me. You can’t have any beverages yet.’

Steve frowned. 'Not even water?’

'Normally people must not drink after getting shot.’ I took a sip.

'Well, I’m not normal, am I?’ he smiled.

'Still. Go sit in the living room. You can’t have anything unless I tell you so.’ I ordered.

Steve rolled his eyes and dragged himself towards the living room like a scolded child, his wet clothes in his hands.

'You can give them to me. You’re not going to be wearing these again are you?’ I said, pointing at his wet and bloody clothes.

'Why? So that you can keep them with you?’ he smirked.

'Oh get off it,’ I mumbled, and snatched the load off his hands. I could feel his smile broaden as I tramped towards the kitchen where I threw them in the garbage.

Steve sat on the part of the sofa that was clean and not dirty with water and blood. I adjusted the thermostat to make the room warmer and silently prayed Steve didn’t catch pneumonia or anything.

I sat beside him, careful not to spill any coffee.

'I’m sorry I ruined your couch.’ He said, keeping a little distance from my face now.

'It’s okay. It was due for an upgrade anyway,’ I sipped. 'So tell me everything. What happened?’ I turned to face him.

Steve sighed. 'You know that Indian restaurant down the street? Well, I was there –’

'The one that got burned down!’ I gasped.

'Yeah, how’d you know?’ he asked.

'Just saw it on the news.’

'Oh,’ he replied. 'Well, I was there to meet Natasha’s informant –’

'Wait, where is Natasha? And Sam? Are they okay?’ I interrupted him again.

'They’re okay, and will you let me finish?’ Steve said, exasperatedly.

'Sorry.’ I pursed my lips.

'Yeah, so anyway. I was there to meet this guy who Natasha knew well. We’re beginning to track these criminals who are smuggling Chitauri tech in the Middle East. Natasha and Sam are in Berlin, meeting other people who might know about that stuff. So I was talking to him, when the feds burst in.’

My eyes widened. Of course, the US Goverment won’t just give up on finding Steve Rogers.

'I managed to escape with just one bullet wound,’ he placed his hand on the bandage. 'But the other guy died in the line of fire.’

I looked at him. A shadow fell over his face. 'I’m sorry, Steve.’ I said.

'I managed to call Nat by a public telephone to tell her I was okay. Of course, I wasn’t exactly okay. Then I thought of you. You lived closest to the restaurant, so I came to you,’ he said, his head hung low.

'I’m sure you did everything to save him,’ I assured. I truly did feel sorry for him. He had lost so many people already.

'Yeah, I did.’ He said, his voice thick.

The atmosphere suddenly became tense and heavy. 'I suppose you can drink some water now,’ I said after a few moments, trying to dissipate the tension. I returned from the kitchen to find him observing a picture frame of my family.

'How’s your brother?’ he asked me as I handed him the glass of water. Cole, my brother, was one of the few people who knew of our relationship.

'He’s well. He and Josh are thinking of adopting a little girl.’ I smiled and pointed at the picture of Josh, my brother’s husband. Steve nodded in acknowledgement.

'And your grandfather?’ he asked.

'Oh. He passed away 3 months ago.’ I said quitely.

Steve put the frame on his lap. 'I’m so sorry, Y/N.’ He looked at me with a countenance that said he knew the pain of losing a loved one all too well.

'It’s okay,’ I said. I had spent some time with him when Steve broke up with me. Steve doesn’t know, but my grandfather knew of our relationship. I turned the little ring around my pinky finger. The last gift my grandfather gave me before passing away.

I realized I must be getting emotional because my throat felt constricted all of a sudden.

I hurriedly placed the frame back in its original position. 'So you said something about the Middle East?’ I asked, anxious to change the topic.

'Yeah, we are trying to take down small criminals who are dealing with Chitauri tech. Somehow the main source in New York has stopped supplying but there are other criminals who are also dealing with that stuff in the Middle East. We have managed to get enough intel to make a move.’ He said.

My heart drooped like a wilted flower. He was going away now, for real. Of course, I knew he would not be around when we broke up but I always assumed he’d be somewhere nearby…like in Europe or something. Now he is gonna go to a place really far.

'When are you leaving then?’ I asked, trying to mask the hurt in my voice.

'Tomorrow.’ he replied. Maybe I saw a glimpse of guilt in his eyes.

Tension loomed again. God, what is it with all this angst today?

'What’s going on with you lately?’ he asked, and I mentally thanked him for changing the subject.

'I’ve been reading a lot. But the work is super hectic so I don’t get much chance.’ I shrugged.

'Are you seeing anyone?’ he asked.

I blinked in surprise. Whoa, where did that come from? He tried to act nonchalant but I could see right through him. I felt annoyed and angry for some reason.

'You didn’t just ask me that.’ I scoffed.

'Why what’s the proble –’

'What’s the problem? You come here after seven months and the first thing you ask about me is if I have a boyfriend?’ My voice rose several octaves.

He paused. 'Why are you getting pissed? It’s just a question. And what did you mean about the seven months thing? I have to move around a lot. It’s not like I had a choice. ’

'I’m not angry about that. It’s just…oh, forget it.’ I sighed.

'It’s just what, Y/N?’

'It’s- it’s you. You pack your bags one day, just leave, and don’t even call me –’

'That’s how break-ups work.’

'I know! It’s just…you out of all people shouldn’t ask me this, okay?’

'You’re hiding something,’ he gazed at me intensely. 'What are you thinking, Y/N? I won’t ask you again.’

I swallowed. 'It took me so long to get over you. You just went away, with your friends fighting bad guys everywhere, and I was just stuck here in this godforsaken place. I really didn’t want you to go, but you still did. And now, you come back, just as suddenly as you left and you have the gall to ask me if I am dating someone?’ I felt my voice quiver in the end. I wasn’t crying, but I was on the edge of it. I cannot afford to cry. I am done being the weak one in this relationship.

'I can’t believe we’re having this conversation again,’ he looked at me incredulously. 'Do you think I wanted to leave you? Do you think I wasn’t even a bit hurt and guilty for leaving you behind?’ he sighed exasperatedly. 'I don’t want you to get hurt-’

'You don’t get to decide if I can get hurt or not!’ I shouted.

'Yes, I do!’ he slammed his glass on the table. 'You may not care if you get hurt, but I do. How do you think I’ll feel if something happened to you? Who do you think will take all the blame? How do you think I’ll live with that?’ he said angrily.

'Ever thought about me, Steve? Ever thought what’d I do if you died? Every morning I would wake up thinking it could be your last day. How did you think I dealt with that when we were together? The answer is: it was scary and agonizing. But I still dated you, didn’t I? I thought in a relationship both the people made sacrifices. I did mine, why won’t you do yours?’ I shouted.

'I just won’t, okay? Call me an asshole, I don’t care. But I am not going to lose another person because of me. And that’s final.’ he snapped.

I couldn’t control the tears any more. Tears rushed down my cheeks and I hated myself for crying in front of him. I shook my head, trying to somehow stop them from falling. I hated everything, this unfair situation, this horrible luck, and my heart for falling for him.

I held my face in my palms, trying to muffle the sobs as best I could. 'This just shows how much you care.’ I said.

He was silent.

'Forget it, I’m going to sleep.’ I got up, wiping a fresh tear with the back of my hand.

'I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice thick with emotion.

I didn’t look back and walked towards the bedroom. I grabbed an extra blanket that I kept under the bed and came back to the living room, wiping away any other excess tears along the way.

'Here, take this,’ I handed him a blanket. 'I wouldn’t want you to get cold.’

'Oh, thanks.’ He said. My eyes drifted to the couch. It was wet. And bloody. No condition to sleep in. I pondered over a moment whether I should ask him to sleep with me or not.

'You shoudn’t sleep here. The couch is wet and dirty.’ I said, my voice a bit hoarse. He stopped unfolding the blanket.

'I don’t think I should sleep in your bed, I-’

'Honestly, it’s okay. Besides, you’re injured. Sleeping in that little space could hurt you.’

'I can handle a little hurt.’ He said. I noticed the gleam in his eyes fade.

'Alright, your choice. If you still want to come, you can. I won’t mind.’ I sighed, and trudged back to my room.

I switched off the lights and slipped into my duvet. The pouring rain outside perfectly reflected my sombre mood. I sniffled and cried a bit more before slipping into a deep slumber.

The screeching of my alarm woke me up. I switched it off. My eyes burned with the lack of sleep. It should be a crime to make me sleep for only five hours. My shift started at 8, and it was 6:15 am at the moment. My body felt hot for some reason. I looked down and gasped as I saw a warm hand wrapped around my waist. Steve. He must have come back sometime in the night. I clutched my pillow tight as my heartbeat accelerated. I wondered if he intended to touch me, or it just happened. I foolishly wished for the former.

I turned to look at him. His face was calm and serene. Boys always seem to look younger when they are peacefully asleep. His hair was tousled and his lips were parted just a little. I missed the mornings when I would run my hands through his beard and snuggle close to his chest.

Flashbacks of last night flooded my mind. I thought about his obstinacy, and how much I hated the fact that he took my decisions. But he was somehow right in his judgement. He had lost everyone he knew when he went into the ice - Bucky, his friends, and so many people even after coming out of the ice. If I were him, I wouldn’t want more people to die for me. I sighed. So where does that leave us? Is our relationship over now, officially?

I turned a bit more to his side, careful not to wake him. But his eyes twitched a little and I knew he was waking up.

I stayed still as his blue eyes fluttered open and focused on me. Silence loomed over us, as we faced each other. The only sound we could hear was of our own breathing. 'Morning,’ he said, his voice husky and thick.

'Morning,’ I replied.

We resumed staring into each other’s eyes. I thought of the mornings when he’d caress my hair, kiss me deeply and make passionate love that left me pining for more. I looked into his lustrous blue eyes and wondered if he was thinking the same thing.

'How are you feeling?’ I murmured groggily.

His hand travelled to his stitched up wound. 'It doesn’t hurt much now,’ he said.

'Of course it doesn’t,’ I smirked. 'I’m an excellent doctor.’

He chuckled lightly and I noticed his hand was still wrapped around my waist. 'Don’t you mean intern?’

'No, you can call me a doctor now. I deserve it.’ I said. I placed my palm on his neck. His breath hitched at the contact. I noticed his eyes turn darker.

'You’re warm though,’ I stated and withdrew my hand. 'Do you have a fever?’

'I am usually this warm. You forgot?’ he whispered.

Of course I didn’t. My hopeless heart was searching for reasons to make him stay a bit longer.

I simply smiled in response.

'You feel a bit cold,’ he said. 'Did you not sleep with a blanket?’

'I sleep with one but I always kick it away at night when it gets toasty. You forgot?’ I turned the question on him.

'Guess I did.’ He shrugged.

Well that was rude. I mean, I couldn’t blame him for not remembering my little quirks. Unlike me, he had important things to focus on instead of thinking about me. But still, a small voice said from the back of my head. Does he not think about me much?

'I’m sorry about yesterday,’ he said after a pause. 'I shouldn’t have shouted.’

'I shouldn’t have shouted either,’ I confessed. 'I’m sorry too.’

'So I guess this is it, then?’ he sighed.

'Yeah,’ I responded quitely, and hoped he didn’t hear my heart shatter into a million pieces. A look of understanding passed between us. We were never going to see each other again. Then I attempted something very risky.

I took a deep breath and pushed myself closer to him, closing the small proximity between our bodies. I nestled my head in his chest, and my fingers tentatively grasped his biceps. I didn’t meet his eyes. My heart was beating a mile a minute. I heard the soft thumps of his heart against my ears become erratic with every growing second. It would be an embarrassment of a lifetime if he didn’t reciprocate my actions. But then his hold on my waist grew tight. He dragged his fingers up my spine and planted them on my neck, an act which sent shivers through my entire body. I felt his hot breath on my scalp before he planted a soft kiss on my temple. His lips lingered over there. My insides squirmed with desire, and my breathing turned ragged. I moved my fingers across his chiseled chest, taking in his scent and feeling his heartbeat which had not slowed down yet.

My subconscious curled up in this sweet moment of comfort and love, but then I remembered I had to go to work. Unwantingly, I pushed myself away from him and sat up on the bed. I gazed down at him, his eyebrows were furrowed and his blue eyes dark with desire. 'My shift is starting at 8. I’ll be out making breakfast,’ I sighed, and clambered out of the bed. Before walking out the room, I turned around and said, 'You can rest till I make breakfast. I’ll call you when it’s done.’

I used the last remaining eggs I had in the house to make pancakes. I was placing hot pancakes on the plate when I noticed Steve hadn’t come out yet. I set them down on the dining table near my window along with two hot cups of coffee. I looked at the sky. It was blue and cloudy, any trace of rain gone.

I went back in the bedroom to call Steve out, when I noticed he was sleeping again. I climbed in beside him and shook his shoulders. 'Steve wake up,’ I said. He groaned in response.

'C'mon, breakfast is ready.’ His eyes opened tentatively. He rose, balancing his body on his shoulders. I felt guilty for waking him up when he should have been sleeping for much longer. He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes still drifting in and and out of consciousness. I feared he must have thought it was all a crazy dream, what we did before. I didn’t blame him for falling asleep though, he was tired and injured.

'Alright, come on now, get up.’ I grasped his arm and pulled him up. I would have let him sleep more but I had to go to work and so did he.

He joined me in the living room a few minutes later. His walk was back to normal again, and one could say he had never even been shot.

'I miss these,’ he said, smiling nostalgically at the pancakes as he sat down opposite to me. 'Now I can eat, right?’ he mockingly asked for my permission.

'You may.’ I smiled and dig into my pancakes.

We scarfed down our breakfast silently, talking only to ask for more maple syrup or sugar. Steve went into the kitchen to bring more coffee, ignoring my orders about him not getting up.

He placed my mug on the table, and ambled up to the window, where he gazed at the sunrise. I swooned a little at the sight of him, his white shirt perfectly hugging his muscles, and his tall frame towering over me that reminded me of his habit of pinning me against the wall when we made out.

I squirmed in my seat, rubbing my legs together to release the tension that had formed between my thighs. I was begging my brain to stop thinking about him like that.

I realized I hadn’t asked him what time was he leaving. Or more specifically, how was he leaving.

'Steve?’ he looked back. 'When are you going to be leaving?’ I asked.

'At 10 am. A quinjet is waiting for me at the airport,’ he said. 'I called it in as a favour from King T'Challa.’ He added, when he saw a look of confusion on my face.

'Oh’ was my only reply. The final goodbye crept nearer.

'Yeah. Which reminds me I have to go to back to my apartment to gather my stuff.’ He said. 'When does your shift start?’ he asked.

'In an hour,’ I looked at him. He nodded coolly. He seemed pretty nonchalant about leaving, I noticed. Maybe he has gotten over me,or maybe he found someone, like a secret agent or someone, I thought enviously. Of course, he should have dated someone who could take care of themselves if there was danger. I couldn’t protect myself if someone attacked me, but someone experienced like Natasha or Maria could protect themselves. He should have dated someone like them, not me.

'Well, in that case I shouldn’t stall you any more,’ he muttered.

I got up, and my brain scavenged for more reasons to make him stay. He gathered the plates and mugs and carried them to the kitchen. I swallowed thickly, pushing down the incoming wave of dread that will overcome me when he will walk out the door. I was aware of my attachment towards him. If I didn’t have to go to work now, would we have slept with each other this morning? It would have been the best morning since months. But I knew I still wouldn’t have done it. I couldn’t have borne the thought of him leaving again, especially after we did something so intimate as sex. Getting over him was the most exruciating thing I had done in my life. I am still going to be pining for him tomorrow, but at least it would hurt less.

Pain will always be lesser if you detach yourself from him, grandfather’s words flashed from my last ever visit. I absent-mindedly turned the ring on my pinky finger. I won’t be around forever to pester you with my wisdom, my dear child, he said when he handed my the ring. So let this ring be a reminder to make wise choices.

The wise choice is to get over him, but I just can’t, because everything reminds me of him and the circle starts all over again.  

'Do you have money to pay for the cab?’ I asked, wishing he didn’t, so I’d spend more time than necessary to find change for him.

But he responded, 'Yeah I do,’ and pulled out some euros from his pocket.

My face fell, but I didn’t let him see it. We silently walked to the door. He suddenly stopped and turned towards me.

'Last night you said I didn’t care about you,’ he said, his eyes heavy with grief. 'You were wrong, Y/N. I do care about you. So much, that it scares me. I really wish there was another way. I spent so many days trying to think of ways I could save this relationship. But I came up with nothing,’ he swallowed. 'Every possibility led to your life being in danger.’

I paused, and mulled over his confession. I was struck by his words. He still cares about me. Then why didn’t he act like it?

'The way you acted, one would think otherwise.’ I whispered. Perhaps he was lying to make me feel better.

'You still don’t get it, do you?’ He shook his head. 'Do you know why I came here? Because out of all the people that I know in this world, I feel the safest with you. Not Natasha, nor Bucky nor Sam, whom I’ve known longer, but you. Everyone I know is either hiding something from me, or is trying to hurt me. But you…god, I can never really relax unless I’m alone with you,’ his hands cupped my cheek. 'That’s why I fell in love with you, Y/N. I have never stopped loving you. And I tried so hard last night to not fall for you again. I cannot even imagin-’ Steve could speak no further because I was kissing him with the greatest passion.

He responded immediately, and his fingers clutched around the back of my neck. Our lips moved in perfect synchronization, the air around us charged with passion. I placed a hand on his stubble, and worked my way up to his brown locks. I tugged at them, and I felt his kiss deepen even further. His hands left my neck, but they roamed all over my body, making me feel hotter inside with every new place he touched. His fingers trailed down to my waist, and I gasped as he suddenly pushed me against the door. He took the opportunity to move his tongue into my mouth. A moan emerged from the back of my throat. Heat pooled between my legs and my muscles clenched deliciously as I hungrily devoured his mouth. My hand crept inside his shirt, and I took my time feeling every muscle on his chest. It must have affected him quite a bit, because he was pinning me harder, and coming more closer, which seemed impossible because our bodies were already pressed so tightly. I pulled out of the kiss to regain my breath. I was panting, and he was too. I swallowed. 'I love you too, Steve,’ I whispered. 'I never stopped loving you either.’

Steve pressed his lips on mine once again, but this time it was sweet and sensual. He interlocked his hand with mine, and gently pinned it on the door. The kiss deepened once again. My other free hand travelled to his neck, and I immediately found his sweet spot. I caressed it with my thumb, and he broke away from the kiss just to say 'Fuck, Y/N’. His hot breath fanned my cheeks. I was still panting, and I gasped when I felt his mouth on my neck. He pressed hot wet kisses down my neck. I moaned loudly as his lips found my sweet spot. 'Steve,’ I breathed. He bit my ear lobe, and I clutched his shirt tighter. The heat between my legs became irresistable. I wished to tear his shirt apart, and close the little proximity we had between us, to feel his skin against mine.

His kisses turned south, and he left a trail of hot kisses on my collarbone.

I momentarily opened my eyes, when I noticed the family frame lying near the couch. My pinky finger seemed sensitive of the ring around it.

The words ’pain would be lesser’ ’detach yourself from him’ and 'make wise choices’ flashed in front of my mind. This jolted me out of my reverie. No, I cannot. I cannot do this, I cannot sleep with him, I can’t. It’d be harder to get over him. But the pleasure would be worth it, I thought. No, I scolded myself. Getting over him was the hardest thing I had to do. I cannot let this happen to me again. I am not ready to get hurt again. 'Steve, wait’ I panted. His kisses didn’t stop, but they faltered. He must be wondering if I had actually said that. 'Steve,’ I clutched his shoulders, and he broke away from the kiss. I looked at him.

'I’m sorry, I-I can’t to do this,’ I said with great difficulty because my body was screaming for his touch.  'I can’t go any further than this. I’m so sorry, so sorry’ I mumbled against his lips, my hand slowly dropping down from his biceps.

'I understand,’ he whispered. He dropped my hand from his, and he stepped back. My body suddenly felt cold. It begged for his touch again, his chest against mine, his fingers interlocked with mine, and his lips back on mine.

I clenched my teeth, trying to hold back the tears. I looked down at my feet, trying to escape his eyes. 'I’ll go now,’ he said, and placed a last  kiss on my temple. His fingers briefly touched my cheeks again, but they dropped, the touch now just an evanescence.

'Bye, Y/N,’ he said. I didn’t dare look up again. I moved aside to let him walk out the door for the last time. The door shut behind me, and the tears streamed down my face again. It was for my own good, I chanted to myself as I dropped down on the couch, my head in my hands. I sniffled.

I never really did get over him, did I? I thought to myself. I failed at getting over him seven months ago. I guess this time won’t be any different.

I detached my face from my palms and dabbed away the tears. I looked down at the couch and saw the blood from last night. I thought of him sitting there yesterday, looking so strikingly beautiful even in his simple clothes.

Then I abruptly realized he was wearing the white shirt when he went away. The white shirt, the only thing I had of him with me, now gone forever. My breath hitched in my throat, and I felt my heart crush. It felt like someone had stolen a part of me.

Pain will always be lesser if you detach yourself from him, my dear child. If you want to forget someone, throw away everything that reminds you of them, the words buzzed in my ears. I ignored my grandfather’s advice seven months ago and still kept that white shirt with me.

Now it was gone. He took away the shirt with him, the last remaining possession that reminded me of him and our memories. It always comforted me in a way, but was always a reminder of my loss and pain.

Atleast getting over him will be easier now, I thought miserably, feeling cold and dismal. I curled up on the couch alone, and a fresh batch of tears rolled down my cheeks.

[seagreen-meets-grey]

Like a Shadow in the Night

She was here to study the dead lord's library. She was not supposed to pay any mind to the imprisoned dark mage. He, however, did not agree.

Crossposted on ao3 and ff.net

_______________

The flames of the candles flickered in the air as she moved through the room, floorboards creaking, shadows dancing around her. The storm outside was raging, gathering its strength for the night, shaking the walls of the old mansion. It seemed alive, the wind crawling through every niche, every nook, rattling the roof, moving curtains, howling around every corner.

Outside, she knew, the Elite Guard was having a tough night in the wind, the rain, the hail. Lightning flashed in the sky, lighting the room for a brief moment before deafening thunder pierced her ears. Through the stained windows, massive dark silhouettes bowed to the powers of the sky, small twigs and branches occasionally hitting the building. A gust of hail splattered against the glass.

She was glad she didn’t have to be out there right now, guarding every entrance, every square of the perimeter. Instead, she was up here, listening to the unfortunate moods of nature as she sat down at the small table and placed the candelabra next to the pile of old leather-bound books she wanted to take a look at.

From time to time, she could hear a distant humming, the clang of something being dragged over metallic bars, or the sound of an object hitting a wall. She didn’t spare it much attention, for she was here to check out the library of a fallen lord, not to deal with the imprisoned mage. His magic didn’t work in here, anyway. The late former inhabitant had made sure to secure the entire place and adjacent grounds against any form of magic. He’d seen himself too safe for too long, though, and when he went on a stroll through the woods, one of the witches he’d had hunted by a local band of anti-magic veterans had made short work of him.

Now, all the writings and ancient scrolls he’d collected throughout his life and passion for witch hunting could come in handy for the Elite Guard and their fight in the looming war between the Dark Forces and the King’s Guard. And since she was an expert in the field, the Guard had sent her in here to do some research.

Fiddling with the long blonde braid hanging over her shoulder, she skimmed a few paragraphs on the history of the Shadow Clan, spotting nothing she didn’t already know. Maybe this book wasn’t what she’d been looking for, the information it contained seemed to be too basic to tell her anything new. After carefully flipping through a couple more chapters, she placed it aside and opened the next book, a small one with yellowing pages and paling ink. It was written in tiny, cursive handwriting and she had to bring her face closer to decipher anything. She let out a curse at the little light her candles could provide her, hoping the storm would let up soon so someone could repair the giant chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings in every room. Or maybe they could just fetch her a few torches, but every person in the proximity of the mansion was indispensable from their current job. She sighed. The candles would have to do.

A few hours passed, the storm kept howling and her head began to grow heavy. She had to blink away the tiredness and concentrate on the pages, the words starting to swim before her eyes.

“Doesn’t that get boring after a while?” She jumped, accidentally ripping part of the page she had just been about to turn.

There, in the doorway, leaning lazily against the frame, was a young man. His clothes were dirty and torn. The mop of wild hair on his head was hanging into his face, glowing auburn in the spare light. Impossibly green eyes were watching her and a shudder ran down her spine at the intensity. She felt like prey under that gaze.

“How- how did you get out?” Alarmed, she stood, holding the candelabra in front of her as if it would actually be of help, would he decide to attack her.

He shrugged, taking a bite from a bread roll she realized he must have taken from the basket of food she’d brought and placed in the kitchen, for herself and for the guards after a shift change. Which, she reminded herself with a gulp, wouldn’t be for at least another hour. And even if there wasn’t a storm raging right now, nobody would hear her screams from inside the mansion.

He chewed and raised an eyebrow at her defensive stance. “Relax, I’m not going to do anything to you.” When she didn’t move, he took a few slow steps towards her, a wicked grin forming on his face. “What, do you not trust me?”

She didn’t dare leave him out of her sight for one second as he started to stroll around the room, ran his fingertips over dusty surfaces, gaze wandering over the bookshelves lining the walls, the spiderwebs, the windows, and finally, her. She felt trapped, although he wasn’t standing between her and the door anymore. She could make a run for it. But what would that do? He’d escaped his prison; she didn’t know what else he could do.

“How did you get out?” she repeated.

He was tall but skinny, maybe she had a chance of overpowering him, if needed. But something told her she shouldn’t underestimate him. It had taken the Elite Guard years to track him down, months to finally trap him, with the help of a royal knight disguised as a trader who’d been able to get close enough and backstab him at the last minute. Hundreds of men had died in an attempt to catch who they called the Shadowbringer. Others called him the Night Fury. Offspring of Lightning and Death itself. If she didn’t know about this place’s securities against magic, she’d have suspected the storm was his doing.

He sneered. “They think all I am is because of my magic. They think they take that away from me and I am nothing more than an empty vessel.” He fished something out of his pocket that looked suspiciously like a lock pick, twirled it between his fingers and put it away again. “But I’m not stupid.” He spoke with a calm, collected voice that could have fooled her if she didn’t know better. There was a dangerous power behind that voice and she got chills from the way his eyes drifted over her body. “Meredith, isn’t it?”

She didn’t answer, but the twitch of her mouth and slight widening of her eyes revealed her surprise. “Yeah, I thought so. The guards are arrogant enough to think themselves above me when they talk right next to me, like I’m incapable of listening or thinking just because they have me locked up– and, and some kind of… of power over me.” He was gesticulating at nothing in particular. Something in his eyes turned dark as he regarded her. “What about you, Meredith? Do you think you’re mightier than me because you’re collecting knowledge on how to defeat me?”

The hairs on her arms stood up at the implication that, even though he was at the Guard’s mercy at the moment, he could still defeat – kill – them all. She gathered her words and her voice back from the pit of her stomach. “I think you’re supposed to be in your cell right now.”

Like a shark sensing blood in the water, he heard the slight tremble in her voice, smirking at her. From his other pocket, he produced an apple – the red one she’d personally picked from the market this morning – and tossed it into the air a couple times, catching it with ease every time. He might be distracted enough, she thought, maybe she could formulate some kind of plan, or, or…

“I’m supposed to be many things right now.” He approached the desk and she instinctively took a step backwards, clutching the candelabra that her knuckles turned white. He laughed, low and deep and alluring. She gulped, heart hammering in her chest. In the back of her mind, she saw the field of dead bodies, saw the black skin, the shadows that had gorged themselves on their lives, eyes milky and gray and dead–

“Don’t come any closer!” Her voice was definitely trembling now, along with her hand. Molten wax ran down the brass candleholder.

Unimpressed, he put the apple down on a corner of the desk, on top of a pile of notes on alchemy. Idly flipping through a few sheets, he rolled his eyes. “I told you, I’m not going to hurt you.” When she still didn’t relax, he waved at her tight grip. “And will you finally put that thing away? I’m not a vampire.”

She did. She put it on the desk, not because she trusted him, but because she would burn her skin from the wax if she kept shaking like that. She didn’t move her hand away from it, though. Just in case.

“Wh-what do you want?”

“From you?” He looked up from the page he was reading. “Oh, nothing, really. I just like to get out of my lovely cell once in a while and roam this place. It has lots and lots of secret paths and hiding places, did you know that?” He raised his chin and nodded at the chandelier above them. “A little extravagant for my taste, though.”

Cocking her head, she regarded him, curiosity taking over. “Why don’t you just leave?”

He glanced at her, again with the single raised brow. “Sure, and then I’ll play a game of tag with your royal guard friends out there.”

She frowned, not quite buying that argument. Surely, if he wanted, he could find a way to escape. Maybe he was just putting on an act and he wasn’t as powerful as he made himself appear? No, she didn’t believe that. He must have a different plan in mind – if only she could figure it out, figure him out…

Suddenly, that wicked grin was back on his face, and before she could react, he stepped close to her, so very close. She froze, her breath hitched, the warmth of another body almost tangible. He leaned in so that their noses were almost brushing, his magical green eyes trained to hers, locking her in place. A swoop went through her stomach and her heart was beating so loud, she was sure he could hear it. She swallowed when she felt her body tingle at the proximity. Not now, not here… Concentrate… Steeling herself, she pushed these feelings away.

“Or maybe you could help me. Pretty thing like you should be able to distract the guards for a few minutes…” His fingers lightly touched her wrist, trailed up her arm, leaving maddening electricity in its wake. Dammit…

“Or I could make you…” From one second to the other, his face hardened, something dark glossing over his eyes, his hands gripping her arms so tightly it hurt. A short, terrified cry escaped her and he leaned ever closer to her instinctively retreating form, but there was no way to escape, he held her firmly in his grasp. “It would be so easy,” he whispered into her ear and a shiver like a cold shower overcame her entire body. Wow… Through all her emotions, admiration crept towards the surface, and she let it hover there. As long as it didn’t break through her mask…

Ostensibly satisfied with her reaction, he pulled away from her, dangerously unpredictable smirk back in place. With a heart pounding for several reasons, she watched him pick up his – her – apple, toss it into the air one more time, and make towards the door. “If you need me,” he called back without turning his head, “I’ll be in the shadows.”

A few moments after he’d left, the life rushed back into her veins, her knees wobbled and she collapsed into her chair.

“And scene!”

As the lights went back on, someone came to blow out the candles, people started clapping and cheering and slowly, the crowd around her came back into focus. And with this change of atmosphere, Meredith turned back into Astrid.

From around the corner, Hiccup sauntered in, the wicked Shadowbringer grin morphed back into that gap-toothed smile she liked so much.

“I think we really got it this time!” she heard Gary call from his director’s chair, but Astrid barely noticed. She held up her hand for a high-five and when Hiccup accepted it with an excited whoop, the tingles were back in full force. This time, she didn’t try to push them away.

“Fuck, Hiccup!” She laughed and lightly shoved his arm. “I was actually scared back there; you were so amazing!”

An adorable blush spread on his cheeks. “Thanks. Not bad yourself.”

Someone shouted, “Early lunch, everybody!”, and she immediately caught Hiccup’s gaze.

“Lunch in your trailer?” he asked in a low voice, a secret, suggestive glimmer in his eyes. She nodded, lips tingling in anticipation.

“Meet you there in ten.”

[shyvioletcat]

soft drunk lorcan "we'd make such cute babies, you know" "you want a baby with me?" "well, yeah, i like babies, i like you, it just adds up" plllleeeeaaasssseeee? you killed me with all the angst twists 😞🥺😪

Sometimes we all just need some soft Lorcan in our lives...

~~~~~

It was very late, or rather early, when Elide was answering the knocking on her door in a light robe. She wasn’t too upset, she was still up reading after taking a very long afternoon nap, waiting expectantly for Lorcan’s return. It was the first night out all the boys had had in a while so she wasn’t expecting him to be sober in the slightest. It always became a game amongst his friends of how wasted they could get him.

Elide opened the door to see Lorcan who was being supported by a very apologetic looking Rowan. She just moved aside to let them by.

“Sorry to get you up, Elide,” Rowan said, sounding barely tipsy.

“I was up. Just take him to the bedroom so I don’t have to move him later,” Elide told Rowan. He nodded and did as he was told.

Elide didn’t follow. She went to the kitchen and grabbed Lorcan’s water bottle and filled it with fresh water, hopefully she could get some water in him before he passed out. She heard footsteps coming through the house to the kitchen and Elide turned to find Rowan standing there.

“How badly is he going to suffer in the morning?” Elide asked.

Rowan tried not to smile before he answered. “Fenrys was on a mission tonight.”

Elide let out a light laugh. “Thank you for bringing him home.”

“Goodnight, Elide,” Rowan said as he made his way to the door.

“Night. Remember to try and not wake the baby. Aelin might actually kill you,’ Elide called after him and she heard Rowan chuckle as he closed the front door.

Then she made her way to the bedroom. Lorcan was sprawled over the bed still fully cclothed, it seemed Rowan had done her the courtesy of taking of Lorcan’s shoes though. He was still awake and he had a dopey smile on his face. Elide came to the edge of the bed and passed Lorcan his drink bottle as he propped himself up on his elbows. With her hands free Elide slipped of her dressing gown and went to her side of the bed, leaving her in the tshirt of Lorcan’s she had decided to wear to bed, so oversized on her small frame. Lorcan tracked her, his smiling softening.

“What is it?” Elide asked as she slipped beneath their sheet.

Lorcan lent over and caresses her cheek softly. “We’d make such cute babies, you know.”

Elide tried to hold in her laughter. “You want a baby? With me?”

“Well yeah,” Lorcan dropped down so he way laying flat on the bed. Then he used his hand to gesticulate while her spoke. “I like babies, I like you, it just adds up.”

Elide burst out laughing. Lorcan turned to her, his brows furrowed. “You don’t want a baby with me?”

“Oh, honey, it’s not that. It’s just,” Elide said through her laughter as she picked up his hand and laid it on her stomach over her almost 5 month baby bump.

Lorcan’s face lit up with the realisation. “Oh I forgot!” He said and literally slapped his forehead.

“What did they do to you tonight?” Elide asked.

Lorcan didn’t answer, he was busy ridding himself of his jeans. Then he pulled Elide to him so that her back was tucked tight against his chest. One of his hands rested protectively over her stomach.

“Mmmm, I don’t really remember,” Lorcan said and the sighed. “I love you, Elide. I’m sorry I forgot about our baby.”

Elide patted his hand. “That’s alright. You can make it up to the two of us tomorrow.”

Lorcan hummed his agreement then promptly fell asleep. Being tucked in close to his was body Elide soon followed thinking of all the things the baby was making her crave so she could send Lorcan out to get them tomorrow.

~~~~~

I wrote this at like 2am so if it’s terrible forgive me.

Tags:

@fucking-winchester-trash // @literary-licorice // @galyxsy // @tangledraysofsunshine // @highqueenofelfhame // @3am-reading // @soup-that-is-too-hawt // @aelinfire-bringer // @nalgenewhore // @highladyofthesith // @http-itsrebecca // @sleep-and-books // @average-girl-at-best // @alifletcher2012 // @westofmoon // @sleeping-and-books // @ttakeitbacknoww // @armixers-unite // @mariamuses // @chocolate-eating-bitch-queen // @velarian-trash // @queenofxhearts // @heroesofterrasen // @ladyofstoriesandmusic // @empire-of-wildfire // @camerooonchiu // @crackedship // @lowhangingtreebranches // @over300books // @yourwhisperingshadows // @thesirenwashere // @tswaney17 // @impossiblescissorspeachpaper // @cat5313 // @judelovescardan // @flowerspringsea // @chaoticskyy // @the-regal-warrior // @fanfictrash3000 // @blueeyes425 // @starseternalnighttriumphant // @bamchickawowow // @thehuntressofmoon // @giorgia-the-trashpanda //

[eyesfixedonthesun22]

Three Simple Rules

Summary: Jim Hopper is a fan of three simple rules in all aspects of his life. Easy to follow. Uncomplicated. That is...until he decides to break rule #3, with his secretary, on his desk. Pairing: Jim Hopper x Female Reader Warning(s): Smut 18+, possessive Hopper, canon level cigarette smoking, implied age gap Word Count: 2,014 Beta Reader: The stunning and sexy @supersoldiersruined-me.  Notes: This was my first request! I hope I did your wish justice, @fandomfic-galore.  Request Message:

For the Jim fic I was thinking of something like he has a new PA and she gets caught doing something she shouldn’t. Something naughty and he wants to teach her a lesson in his office. Haha. After your exam of course.

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It’s 10:15 a.m. There’s not a clock in sight but you know it must be true. The squeal and slam of the Blazer’s door followed by the heavy crunch of gravel up to the police station door are as good as second and minute hands. Hopper isn’t much for reliability in other areas but he is reliably late to work.

“You know that is just so interesting.”

The extra flirty inflections on your words is unnecessary, truth be told, but it felt like a cherry on top. You’ve slung your torso over the young deputy’s desk in a way that’s far too inviting. Your shirt, usually quite office appropriate but currently unbuttoned an extra button, crept down just deep enough you could tell he had a good look down your front. Your pencil skirt rode up high enough you should move to adjust it but—

The door slams open as Jim Hopper enters the office. He’s mid-sentence, trying to brush off Flo’s chiding, when he greeted by a prime view of your ass propped up in front of him.

“Is Callahan bothering you, sweetheart?”

You can see his jaw tick and the tone of his voice is just above growl. Flo’s eyes flit back and forth between you and the chief.

“I’m so sorry, Hopper. These young ones nowadays. She’s still learning her duties.”

It’s true. You had only been hired as a secondary secretary at the Hawkin’s Police Department just about a month ago. In actuality, you were quite bright. You’d picked up on all the secretarial tasks rapidly. If anything, you were bored at your job. Which could possibly explain your current antics.

Jim eyes you up and down analyzing the scene before him. His eyes pause on the swell of your breasts visible and plump under the undone button, the extra length of silky exposed thigh from your tight skirt, and then back up to your blushing cheeks. His eyes narrow and his nostrils flare. Busted.

“That’s okay, Flo. I’ll have a word with her.” You and Florence begin to apologize in unison but it’s clear the topic isn’t up for discussion. Hopper places a large hand on your shoulder gently directing you to his office. “Let’s talk...alone.”

The last word had a deadly lilt to it. For a split second, you wonder if you’ve taken this whole thing too far. You don’t get to continue the thought as the heavy oak door of his office clicks closed. Hopper stalks over to the only window in his office and harshly tugs the blinds closed. It’s with an eerie grace, he sits down on the edge of his desk and lights a cigarette.

“Hopper, I…” The look he shoots you stops you in your tracks. “Jim, I’m sorry.”

He huffs a heavy cloud of smoke out from his lungs that would make a steam engine jealous. At the end of the exhale, his lips play into a sharp smirk as if he’s enjoying your discomfort. The two of you sit in the office in silence with only the clicking of his clock proving the time is passing. He stares you in the eye before beginning.

“Okay, so let me get this straight in my head…” The pause between his sentences is pregnant with anticipation. He takes a long drag from his smoke and continues, “You thought it was a brilliant idea to flirt with Phil Callahan.”

“I can explain.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

“You’re the one who—” His brows raise towards his hairline but you trudge on with as much conviction as you can muster. “You’re the one who started something he couldn’t finish this morning.”

He takes a third drag; groaning as he exhales. The smoke curls in tendrils around the coarse hair of his mustache before dissipating into the room. The sound shoots tingles straight between your thighs. He strides with a grace all too foreign on his large frame and sits in the chair behind his desk. Another guttural sound escapes his lips while he contemplates your sin. The smoke and emotionally charged atmosphere have turned the small office into an oppressive sauna.

“That’s fine. That’s just fine.” His tone indicates it’s anything but fine. “You’re a needy little one aren’t you? Was last night not enough for you?”

The temperature of your skin, near boiling in anticipation, deepens across your chest and cheeks under his accusation. Despite the shame and heat radiating off your skin another heat has settled at the apex of your thighs. Hopper had made the terms of your arrangement very clear. Three simple rules.

You were his and no one else's. He does not share.

This could end at any time. Attachment isn’t his thing.

Absolutely zero discussion of the arrangement or acting “familiar” at work, in town, or around anyone else.

Yet, here he wasn’t actively talking about the two of you, like that, at work. Sure, you were behind closed doors in his office but that seemed menial protection at best.

“I asked you a question, dammit.” His hand slams on the desk. He manages to keep the volume of his voice in check. “Last night wasn’t enough so you thought it was a good idea to come in here advertise yourself like some ten dollar hooker for Phil?”

He’s not being fair. You had certainly been looking for punishment but he’s hitting low blows. Your instincts wants to curse and spit; anything to fight back and defend yourself. Your body seems to have other thoughts. The timbre and power behind his voice have you soaked and your brain clouded.

“I just wanted…”

“What? What did you want that was so damn important?” You hang your head shamefully. His posture changes. “I see. You wanted to be punished.”

The booming chuckle stings. You know it’s mocking. His first cigarette is gone. He tamps down the last of the ashes in the tray in time with his laughter.

“Well since you know best, get on with it.”

Your face screws up in confusion. What was he asking? For you to beg? Ask forgiveness? He couldn’t possibly be giving you what you want so easily. He flicks his lighter open and ignites before leaning back in his desk chair. He holds the white stick between his plump pink lips and rips open the belt and zipper of his pants.

He takes a long drag. You always found it annoyingly attractive how he holds them, pinched tightly between his thumb and index, gesticulating with them when he needs to make a particular point in a conversation. The smoky undertones that cling to his lips whenever you dipped your tongue inside.

“You know I looked up one time how long it takes a cigarette to burn down. Average is five to seven minutes. I even timed myself when I was younger and first started smoking. It’s a stupid thing.” You’re still paralyzed on the chair across from him waiting for the punchline. “I used to average five minutes. No idea how long it takes me now. You have until this is finished to do things your way, since you seem to want to call the shots, and bounce that pretty little ass up and down on my cock.”

“And when it's done?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see won’t you, sweetheart?”

You should have been embarrassed at the speed of which you jumped up to take his hardening cock out of his pants. You lick him only twice; engulfing him all the way into your mouth the second time before straddling his lap. You’re still sore from the events of last night. You ruck your skirt up higher and pull your panties to the side. You try to have him enter you slowly but his hips buck into you; stretching you so deliciously from the inside.

“Don’t pretend like you’re not dripping, sweetheart.”

He wasn’t wrong. He makes no move to touch your breasts or guide your hips. You’re on your own working yourself up and down on his length while trying to balance your weight on the desk chair.

He’s leaned far back taking drag after drag off his smoke. When a quarter of it is gone, you’ve settled in your rhythm. When half is gone ripples of pleasure have settled low in your pelvis; the beginnings of something begging to be unleashed. When a quarter remains, your fists are bunched in Hoppers uniform biting the back of your hand to keep your pants and moans at an acceptable volume. The entire time Jim hasn’t moved. One hand is tucked smugly behind his head as he leans and the other only moves to bring the cigarette from the ashtray to his lips and back again.

“Times up, sweetheart.”

“Wait! I’m so close!”

“I don’t fucking care! Times up!”

He stands, easily carrying the weight of you, and roughly presses your back against the cool wood of his desk with his own wood still deep inside you. His hulking frame hunches over you briefly planting a sloppy but much needed kiss on your lips. He tugs your hips off the desk so they’re supported only by his huge palms.

“Look down, baby. Look at me inside you. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to see you like this. Spread wide, taking my cock so fucking well on my desk.” Your core clenches as he pumps in and out of you wildly. You adored when he was like this; brutish and wild. A Hopper only you got to see.

A knock on the door interrupts your haze of lust.

“The door isn’t locked! Hopper, the door isn’t locked?!”

“It doesn’t have a lock.” His palm smacks a stinging blow against your ass. “That doesn’t mean I’m stopping.”

His pace is bruising and brutal only interspersed by the occasional biting smack from his hands on your flesh. You feel yourself inch further away from him from the power of his thrusts. A frustrated hand grips you hip tightly and the other plants firmly on your neck. Using each pressure point of your body for leverage, he resumes his punishment. Another knock sounds against the door; louder and more urgent.

“I’m busy!” He bellows at the door. “Can you imagine it, sweetheart. Phil barging in here seeing you choked out, ass red, and taking my fat cock.”

That nearly pushes you over the edge. Your tiny hand sandwiches his on your throat pressing a bit harder. He meets your gaze knowing what your asking. The pressure increases on your windpipe. You couldn’t tell him how much you loved it even if you wanted to. He grinds his pelvis into yours like he does when his own release is close. Another couple of thrusts and you’re clenching and spasming around him while he empties in you warm and sticky.

The first breath of air is cold and gulped down greedily.

“Chief!” The knocking returns. “We got a call. I really think we should go check this out.”

“In a second!”

He kisses you tenderly and helps you straighten yourself before tucking himself back in his pants.

“Too far, sweetheart?”

“No, Hop. Just far enough.”

“I don’t hate it by the way. The whole, flirting with the other guys in the office thing.” You straighten his tie and press out wrinkles in the shirt. “You were right. It turns me on. Knowing I’m the one to get to go home and be the one to fuck you into the mattress.”

“The only one, Chief.”

You wink before throwing the door open to the office and returning to reality. Phil stands there eyeing the both of you guiltily. Before you make it back to your own desk, you hear him apologizing to Hopper.

“I’m sorry, Chief. Truly. Shouldn’t be acting like that here at work.”

“You’re right, Phil. Don’t let it happen again.” He sneaks a glance at you, still preening from your words, while he shrugs on his blue jacket with the sherling lapels. “But between you and me, I think she kinda likes it.”

[kutemouse]

Through Hell (A Park Jimin One-Shot)

“If you’re going through hell, keep going.” ~ Winston Churchill

Disclaimer(s): The middle picture of Jimin used in my header is the property of BTS and BigHit, I just edited it a little and put it in the frame. The one on the far left was scanned and edited by @bangtan-sonyeon-scans. I’ve kept their logo/watermark intact and did not touch their edit in any way. The only thing I did was put it in a frame. All credit goes to them for the edit. Please check them out, they do amazing work 💜 I cannot find the owner of the picture on the right. I found the pic on Pinterest and it didn’t have any logos or watermarks on it. I assume the picture belongs to BTS and BigHit, but if someone knows who the original owner is, please let me know so I can properly credit them.

Age Recommendation: 18+ (See warnings, this def isn’t for young ‘uns)

Genre: Angst w/ a happy ending

Warnings: Swears (f*cking duh), straight up abuse including hitting and slapping (do NOT read if you are not comfortable), ANGST.

Word Count: 2.4k (not too bad, not too bad)

Master List

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

Through Hell (Jimin One-Shot, Angst)

“Could you try to at least be a little personable?” your fiance growled, gripping your forearm tightly.

“I-I’m trying,” you muttered, looking down at the ground.

He pinched your jaw between his fingers, forcing your eyes to his. “Well fucking try harder.”

Dragging you out of the empty hallway, the both of you rejoined the table with smiles much too large to be real. You did your best to please your fiance, making an effort to talk more, laugh louder, and gesticulate frequently. You were the life of the party, the perfect trophy almost-wife, there to socialize and make witty conversation.

You realized you had done your job too well when one of your fiance’s business partners slid a hand over your thigh, chuckling at something you said. You instantly froze, flicking a fearful glance towards your fiance. Rage smoldered behind his dark eyes.

“Fuck,” you thought. You shoved the man’s hand away and abruptly excused yourself to the ladies’ room, practically sprinting away in an attempt to escape.

Too late. A hand closed around your wrist, jerking you to a stop the second you stepped outside.

“What the fuck was that?” your fiance snarled, yanking you close.

You let out a yelp. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“The hell you don’t!”

He released you only to draw a hand back and slap you square in the face, the force of his palm colliding with your cheek causing you to stumble. Your vision blurred as the sting worked its way through your nerve endings, causing your skin to redden.

Your fiance drew his hand back once more when you heard the shout of an unfamiliar voice. “Hey!”

You blinked away your tears just in time to see your fiance whirl around and get punched in the face. He fell to the ground with a groan, his eyes rolling back in his head.

The stranger who’d saved you clambered on top of your fiance, pinning him to the ground. Your fiance struggled, but stilled when he saw the stranger’s fist poised above him, ready to strike. “The fuck is wrong with you?!” the stranger growled. “Didn’t your mommy teach you not to hit?!”

“Get off me!” your fiance grunted.

The stranger reared back and punched him once more, effectively knocking him out. With a heaving chest, he slowly stood up and turned towards you, using his fingers to comb back his messy orange hair. You were still frozen from shock, your mouth parted open, your hands hanging limply at your sides. It wasn’t until the stranger reached a hand out to you when the feeling began returning to your limbs. You closed your mouth and slid your palm into his, surprised at how soft his skin was.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m Jimin.”

“Y-Y/n,” you stuttered, distracted by the way he moved your hands up and down.

“Are you okay?” he asked, leaning down and looking in your eyes.

“I think so.”

Your fiance groaned, causing both of you to look down at him. “He’s coming to,” Jimin said. “We should get out of here. Can I give you a ride?”

“Sure.”

He gave you a small smile, tugging gently on the hand that was still sheathed in his. “C’mon. My ride’s a couple blocks from here.”

You nearly pulled your hand out of his. You didn’t know this guy. Just because he saved you from a brutal beating from your fiance didn’t mean he was a good person. For all you knew, he could be even worse than your fiance.

Then again, what did you have to lose? Your fiance would probably call the cops and get Jimin put in jail, then take you home and beat you senseless. You looked into Jimin’s bright brown eyes, and you saw nothing but sincerity and warmth. That was enough for you. You let him lead you down the steps, around the corner, and away from who was supposedly going to be your terrible future.

You relished in the freedom of getting away, giggling a bit as you both walked down the street still hand-in-hand. Jimin looked at you, nothing but fondness in his eyes. You took a second to look him up and down, appreciating every inch of the handsome man beside you. His bright orange hair stood in stark contrast to his black leather jacket and uber-tight jeans. Silver glinted in both of his ears, but an earring dangled down from just his left ear, giving him an attractive rebel vibe that had your heart pounding.

Wait. You couldn’t think thoughts like this. You were engaged. To be married.

But was it a true promise of marriage when you didn’t love him? When you were forced into betrothal by your controlling father? When you saw no happy future, no light at the end of the tunnel, no escape, no happiness?

“Sorry to barge into your argument like that,” Jimin said, running a hand sheepishly through his hair. “I didn’t mean to interfere, and I know it’s none of my business, but—”

“Don’t apologize,” you interrupted. “Believe me, you saved my ass back there. Temporarily, at least.”

He stared at you. “Don’t tell me you’re going back to that asshole.”

You glanced at the ground. “It’s not like I want to, but… I have no choice.”

Jimin stopped you right there, in the middle of the sidewalk, gently putting a finger under your chin and raising your eyes to his. Such a contrast to the way your fiance would grip your jaw and force you to look at him. “You always have a choice,” he murmured.

You gave him a tiny smile. “Tonight I do. But I don’t know what tomorrow will bring.”

“Look, I know I barely know you,” he said. “But come stay with me. My friends and I can protect you.”

You were taken aback. “You don’t even know me,” you retorted, slipping your hand out of his. “You don’t know who my father is. He’ll find some way to take you out and drag me back home.”

Jimin stepped close. “And you don’t know who I am.”

“I know enough.”

He smirked. “I don’t think you do.”

“I’m still not staying with you.”

“Fine. But the offer still stands.”

You opened your mouth to shoot a reply back, but closed it when a terrifying thought stopped you. They’d already be looking for you.

You grabbed Jimin’s hand once more. “Fine, I’ll stay with you… but just for tonight, alright?”

Maybe giving your fiance the night would give him a chance to calm down. Maybe your father would be so terrified of losing you, he wouldn’t force you to marry that dickbag. Maybe things would simply look brighter in the morning, and would give you the strength to face them both.

Jimin’s smirk widened and he started down the sidewalk once more. “Not far now.”

Jimin’s ‘ride’ turned out to be a motorcycle parked at the very end of the block. I looked down at my tight evening gown, the deep gold color glinting in the dim streetlight. Not exactly the outfit for a motorcycle ride.

“I have a spare helmet,” Jimin said, handing you a black helmet that matched the one he already had on.

“Gimme a minute.”

You reached down and grasped the fabric of your dress between your hands, tearing it away from your legs with a loud rip.

You didn’t miss the way Jimin gawked at your exposed legs. You reached behind you and took the pin holding your hair up out, shaking your curls loose. Jimin’s mouth parted open, causing a blush to swell beneath the skin of your cheeks. “I’ll take that helmet now,” you said playfully, taking it from his grasp and putting it on your head.

Jimin shook his head, closing his mouth. “R-Ready?”

“Yep,” you said as you snapped the clasps underneath your chin together.

You clambered on the back of the motorcycle, sliding your arms around Jimin’s firm torso, relishing in the way his breath hitched as you felt him up. The motorcycle started up with a stuttering roar, and you were off, the wind whipping through your clothes and over your skin, causing your eyes to water.

You didn’t dare close them, though, wanting to remember every second of what might be your last delicious moment of freedom. Jimin weaved between cars, going faster and faster. Your dress flew up, trailing behind the cycle in a wave of gold fabric, revealing more of your skin than you normally would have liked, but tonight? Tonight you didn’t give a damn.

Almost too soon, Jimin stopped in front of a grungy apartment building in a part of town your father or fiance likely wouldn’t dare step foot in. He propped his motorcycle up on its kickstand, and you climbed off of it, gratefully accepting the hand Jimin held out to you. You both took off your helmets, and you self-consciously tried to smooth down your hair at the same time Jimin ran a hand through his once more, combing the soft orange strands away from his face.

And, oh, what a gorgeous face it was. Besides his beautiful brown eyes, you took a moment to appreciate his smooth skin, his high cheekbones, and most of all, his full, pink lips that you longed to rub the pad of your thumb over.

Noticing your stare, Jimin tossed a smirk your way. “Enjoying the view?”

You looked away, a blush dusting your cheeks pink. “Is this where you live?”

“Yep. Come on, let’s go inside.”

Fifteen minutes later, you found yourself wrapped in a blanket, sitting on Jimin’s bed in his tiny studio apartment. He handed you a mug of steaming tea, which you took a sip from despite its hot temperature.

“Thanks,” you said.

“Any time.”

You both were quiet for a moment, sipping from your tea and staring at the kitchenette directly across from you. “Can I ask you something?” Jimin said suddenly.

“Sure.”

“Why were you even with that guy?”

“Who? My fiance?”

Jimin scoffed. “You’re engaged to that asshole?”

I hung my head. “Unfortunately, yes,” you muttered.

“Why? Why not break it off? You clearly know he’s not good for you.”

“Because reasons,” I sighed.

Jimin put a hand over yours. “Tell me.”

You looked up at the ceiling, focusing hard on the bumpy texture to keep the tears at bay. “Because I have to.”

“But you know you don’t, right?”

“You don’t understand. My father is a billionaire who practically owns half this city. Ever since I was little, I’ve been promised to this guy… he’s heir to a company that directly competes with my father’s company. If we marry, our families and companies join, and my father has been promised an extensive partnership with my fiance’s father that will double his assets. He wants to build an empire.”

Jimin’s gaze grew darker with each word. “And you can’t say no? You can’t just walk away?”

You swallowed hard. “I’ve been groomed for the role of perfect wife since I was a child… I have no skills, I’ve never been allowed to do anything for myself. Where would I go?”

“Here,” Jimin said forcefully. “You can stay here. I can help you get a job, teach you how to live in the real world.”

You shook your head. “He would find me. My father would find me and drag me back home. I’d be lucky if he didn’t keep me prisoner until my wedding.”

Jimin stood up and began pacing, striding back and forth, back and forth, over the wooden floor over his apartment. “I know people,” he finally said, looking at you. “People who can… get you a new identity. We might have to change your appearance a bit, but… it could work.”

Your furrowed your brow. “Why?” you whispered. “Why would you do all this for me? You said it yourself, we barely know each other.”

Jimin knelt down in front of you, enfolding your hands in between his. “Because no one deserves to be treated badly,” he said seriously.

That sincere, warm look was back in his eyes, drawing you in, hypnotizing you into a state of resolution. Determination flowed through you, making your blood boil and tingles to break out along your spine. For the first time in your life, you felt your rebellious spirit rise up and possess you, drawing out courage you didn’t even know you had.

You looked deep into Jimin’s eyes and nodded. “Fine,” you said. “We fight.”

Jimin’s full lips turned upward in a smile. “My two favorite words.”

Without warning, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours, causing you to stop breathing. The kiss lasted for only a few seconds, but to you, that kiss was your ticket to freedom. It helped you remember what you were fighting for every time life, your ex-fiance, or your father threw a wrench in your plans. It helped you remember exactly who you were, and how much power you held to change your life. It helped you find out what true love actually felt like.

But most importantly, It helped you remember that no matter what hell you were going through, you would do absolutely everything to just keep going.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

A Note From Kutemouse: So I’m a slut for orange-haired Jimin. Yep. Thought you should know that.

Annnnnyways, so this didn’t exactly fulfill the request given, and for that I feel bad, believe me, I do… but I’m sorry, I just can’t write abusive Jimin 🥺 I know that’s a popular thing out there (last I checked, the number one Jimin story on Wattpad was an abusive Jimin au), but I can’t write it. I just can’t see Jimin ever, ever, ever hitting someone or being abusive ever, and writing any BTS member in that light makes me sick to my stomach.

So, once again, I apologize kutie anon. I hope this one-shot is good enough for you to forgive me 💜

Also, please do NOT follow Y/n’s example and hop on the back of some stranger’s motorcycle to go live with him. There are good people in this world like Jimin, but there are also a lot of sketch people. Be safe, use good judgment and common sense.

Love you all 💜