#i ended up splitting it up so bits of it are in chapter two and three

[llumimoon]

Here’s the lil synopsis for the next part btw:

Normal takes Dot out in public with their new body for the first time to meet with the other teens. Something goes terribly wrong.

[uglypastels]

you've mentioned several times that you've had to rewrite parts of the pirate fic and that it takes a while so i was wondering, idk if you can actually calculate this, but how much you've written for this fic in total?

luckily for us, i don't delete anything. so all my failed attempts at this fic are still on the good ol' drive, and with a little maths all these files come up to a wonderful total of-

80,395 words

not counting the drafting i've written by hand in my notebook, or any notes I've made on my phone or anything. just the docs on my drive.

for comparison, the current wordcount of what I've managed to post is 21,487

(25,782 counting the words of the chapter i am currently working on)

>> pirate!Eddie ask night!

[vvatchword]

BS2 Fanfiction, Chapter 16: Gimmicks

The next morning, Naomi insisted that John dress to the nines and dragged him to a breakfast at a bistro in Olympus Heights, where the high-class apartments congregated. The reporters mobbed the bistro until the proprietor threatened to call Sinclair Security.

Passersby crowded in from the streets to snap photos and ask for his autograph. John’s scrambled eggs were rubbery by the time he got to them, and his coffee was knocked into his lap by the overzealous crowd.

Then she took him shopping at Fort Frolic. She bought him clothes—ties, suits, jackets, hats, a monogrammed bathrobe. She fussed over the length of the arms in his shirts, leaned uncomfortably close to him to cluck about the cut, and ordered a pair of exorbitantly-priced cuff links. Reporters stood a few yards away, taking notes and peering over racks, as though they were sociologists penning the habits of a far-flung civilization.

John finally put a finger on his irritation while Naomi was buying him another set of shoes.

I feel like a doll, he thought, lifting the bags off of the counter. I feel like I’m watching myself from far away.

As soon as he noticed it, he tried to shake it. First he rifled through a selection of pleasant memories: that familiar mattress in the workshop basement, the pillows heaped up just the way he liked them; sitting with a good traveling group on the rails, howling a tuneless rendition of “Do Your Balls Hang Low?” with more and more inventive lyrics until everyone started laughing too hard to continue; a sweet soft girl blushing in his arms.

When that didn’t work, he tried to think when he’d felt that detached before, and he couldn’t. He’d always felt firmly grounded in his own body. Even when his stepfather whipped out the belt, even when his mother threw him out for the umpteenth time, even when he’d been hungry enough to eat old leather, he’d never once felt like he didn’t belong to himself.

Is this why people believe in souls? he thought. No wonder they start praying.

In his detached state, he watched the goings-on of his body. Everything was unnecessary—that was the problem. The clothing was pretension; the smiles were superficial, by people who didn’t know him, and didn’t care; the five-star restaurants plated a single shrimp with a leaf on it for some fucking reason, and then did that seven more times in a row when they could’ve just brought him the whole meal right at the beginning; the grandiose statues, the gilding, the marble, the towers—all that money spent on stone and metal when you couldn’t so much as find a coat closet that wasn’t cold as fuck.

And the clothes, the shopping, the eating, the entertainment—a nonstop flood of social excess. Beneath his ribs, a knot of misgiving: it was all too easy; you couldn’t trust it if it were easy. “There’s either someone paying somewhere, or you pay in the end,” as his stepfather used to say, and fuck, if the old asshole wasn’t right. And besides, John knew what he was. He’d known since he was a child. Put him in a flour sack for all he cared. He could get by with a dollar. Who the hell needed to shine like Fred Astaire on parade? Fuck Fred, and fuck Ginger, too.

There was a brief period of about 15 minutes where he wondered if he had actually died out on that abyssal plain. Perhaps he was in the final throes of nitrogen narcosis. Perhaps he was the last man on Earth, surrounded by devils who, for lack of prey in other places, each vied for a bite of his soul.

He came to his senses when he was standing in front of a mirror, staring into his own face, studying his scars and the movement of his eyes as he listened to the pulse of his blood.

You feel this way because you’re putting your life in this woman’s hands, he thought. And you won’t feel right until you’re free. Because buddy, you and I both know: you may not be in a cell, but you sure as hell ain’t going anywhere.

*******

They stopped for lunch in a glitzy restaurant in Fort Frolic. John stared out at the city skyline as Naomi chattered at him. She was fucking adorable: coy smiles, meaningless little wrist flicks, tossing her head when she laughed.

Jesus, why couldn’t everyone see what a fake she was?

The waiter set an order down in front of him. It was a steak and a fluted glass of red wine. He didn’t remember ordering any of it.

“You’re still moping,” Naomi said.

He glowered at her. “Yeah. Let me have this.”

A switch flipped. Somehow, although her expression never changed, it instantly lost its meaning: it was the shape of a smile, but carried nothing. Gone were the head bobs and the flutter of her lashes. Suddenly he felt like he was staring at an alien.

“These first few days are critical.” She cocked her head. Her curls bounced. She never blinked. “Do this for me: push those sad thoughts into a box. Can you do that? It’s not like you can’t think about it. Of course you can. It would be unreasonable not to. But there are places and there are times. I’ll tell you when it’s safe to bring that box out, and then both of us will get along so much better. Besides, this should be the time of your life. So many people to meet, and so many things to see, and so much of life to enjoy, all in the best city on Earth.”

The switch flipped back on, and her eyes crinkled up. He could almost believe she was warm.

He took a deep breath.

One. Two. Three.

“Yeah,” he said, breathing out. “You’re right.”

What was this escape, after all, but a marathon? A test of endurance. Mourning could wait. Once he was out, he’d take a bat to the dump for a day of beating bottles and old armchairs to death, and he’d sure as hell tell every newspaper he saw. Wouldn’t bring Jules and the boys back, but it would take everything from Ryan.

She slapped his hand.

“I saw that,” she said. “Stop it. Think about something nice.”

“Sorry.” He bent over the steak, groped for something innocuous. “So… you have cows here?”

He jabbed the beef with his fork and sawed it in half with one motion. The blade screeched against the plate. Naomi winced.

“Yes.” She smiled prettily. “But they’re miniature cattle, and there aren’t that many.”

He chewed slowly, then scowled.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Tastes like someone rubbed a fish all over it,” he said.

“Oh, they can’t help it,” she said. “It’s the seaweed, I suppose…”

“Darling,” a lady said. “What are you doing here?”

A woman in blue strolled toward their table, a white handbag tucked under her arm. Her hair rolled in thick chocolate ringlets over her shoulder, pinned with pearl-encrusted clasps; her face was half-hidden by a hat trimmed with polka-dot ribbon. But the first thing John saw was her eyebrows, and all he could think about was that they were sharp enough to pin butterflies with.

“Blanche!” said Naomi, rising to her feet. “What a surprise!”

John rose to his feet, too, but Blanche did not look at him. Instead, she clasped arms with Naomi and they kissed each other on the cheeks. Both began speaking rapidly in French. He stood there dumbly, glancing from woman to woman. If the tone of their voices was to be believed, they were the greatest friends in the world and they hadn’t seen each other in a decade.

Naomi waved at John and grabbed him by the arm. Blanche’s eyes flicked from the top of his head down to his feet.

“Hmm,” she said.

Naomi said something that sounded conciliatory.

“But this, darling?” Blanche said, in heavily-accented English. She jerked her chin at John. “I am surprised at you.”

“I knew you would be,” said Naomi.

“Don’t tell me that you are keeping him in your room.”

“Not in my room, dear. On the sofa.”

“Still, it is a dangerous thing.” Blanche looked him up and down again. “He might have a disease.”

Naomi shook her head. “Please. Of course not.”

“But look at him. Where do you see cause for all this excitement?” “Why not? Consider what he has done. Nobody else has simply broken into the city and successfully defied the council…”

“There are hundreds of smugglers down on the docks. Probably much nicer-looking ones.”

“And without Fontaine, what on Earth would they be?” laughed Naomi, tossing her head. “This man came here of his own strength and cunning.” She threw a glance at John and winked.

To John’s shock, the wink thrilled him—as though for one magnanimous moment she had opened a bright and shining door that included him. He actually gave her a grin before he realized what he was doing.

Oh, hell no, he thought, and squashed the smile flat.

“Furthermore,” Naomi said, “he’s one of a great band of explorers… he’s world famous in diving circles.”

Blanche chuckled. “For what? Being the cleanest among them? You have dressed him very nicely, but I can tell your handiwork when I see it.”

John looked at Naomi. “And who’s this?”

“Mademoiselle Blanche de Glace to you,” said Blanche, her lips curling. “And you are the diver.”

“Yeah. I’m the diver.” He looked at Naomi and jerked his chin toward the table. “Can I cut out? My food’s getting cold.”

“Oh, don’t mind Blanche.” Naomi took him by the arm. “She’s having a party tomorrow night and she was wondering if you could come.”

“Sorry, can’t go. I’ll give her friends fleas,” John said.

“They have no taste; they deserve it,” Blanche said. “Now. You tell me. You are the one who destroyed two bathyspheres, and…?”

“Sure,” he said. “I also fought a hundred men at once with my bare fists and I won.”

Strangers leaned over to listen. Conversation died off. The only sound was the canned music.

Naomi shook her head. “He’s being facetious. But he did fight off over a dozen attackers and escape the police in Neptune’s Bounty fish market.” Her eye flickered to the diners around them. “After traversing the ocean floor, tricking sailors in a bathysphere armed with torpedoes…”

“He could not possibly have fought everyone,” said Blanche. John shrugged. “Well, no, but there’s a trick to it. Keep a few steps ahead, don’t fight unless you have to, and fight one at a time if you do.”

She arched an eyebrow. “How would you learn to fight so?”

The edge of his lip twitched. “I’ve had a lifelong career as a rascal.”

“Then you are perfect… if I must have a bar fight,” said Blanche. “Such a gimmick!”

“What, don’t you believe me?” John asked.

“Of course not. You are a silly little man, a puff of air,” she said. “Ah, well, if that is the price I pay…” She handed Naomi a card. “The party begins at 9 on Friday in the Demeter Ballroom at Adonis Luxury Resort. Be there promptly.”

“I have work that evening, Blanche,” Naomi said sweetly.

“Promptly!” Blanche snapped. “I hope that he will gimmick and make nonsense… and for god’s sake, make sure he is clean. Throw him in a bucket and swish him around.”

“Of course he’ll be clean,” said Naomi. Her voice lowered conspiratorially. “Please, John, don’t mind her. For Blanche, everything is a scene.”

“This is not a scene.” Blanche’s eyes flicked over Naomi’s shoulder. “Now I am very sorry, but I must go…”

Naomi grabbed her by the wrists. “Oh, don’t leave so quickly, darling. Wouldn’t you like to stop for a bite to eat?”

John set his jaw.

Blanche glanced at John. “Not for the world. Until we meet again.”

She strode away, snapping her purse shut with a note of finality. John leaned toward Naomi as they sat down.

“What the hell was her problem?”

“Blanche is one of the top-billing actresses in the city,” said Naomi, taking a sip of wine. “She expects everyone to react accordingly.”

“Tell me you’re not really taking me to her fucking party.”

“Of course I am. Oh, don’t give me that face. There will be two or three hundred people there, maybe more. You won’t see much of her and it will be a fine debut for you. In fact, I welcome you to break your silence. Tell as many stories as you like. Feel free to embellish them…”

He looked at her blankly.

“I mean that you should lie and exaggerate, darling. Look, don’t take her so seriously. She is past her prime and these days she’s running on her name alone. It’s only a matter of time before she can’t find anything at all.” She smiled. “Unless she’s willing to take parts for meddling aunts and the like. And if I know Blanche, she’d rather die.”

“You don’t like her, then?”

“I don’t like or dislike her. She’s a connection, that’s all. I owe her a little for taking me underneath her wing early in my career, and we help each other from time to time.”

“So you have no friends.”

“In your sense?” She smiled. “No.”

*******

Friday evening, after a whole day of nothing but art exhibits and promenades, John attended Naomi’s play—a romantic comedy called “A Ballyhoo in Boston.” Showings were weekend affairs staged at a theater called Fleet Hall in Fort Frolic, a theater John’s eyes had slid over before—just more grandeur struggling for definition amongst grandeur.

He fought his way through the paparazzi all the way to the ticket booth. Once he popped past the ushers, the mass of humanity on the other side assaulted him with programs and pencils. Only when a handful of ushers stepped up was he able to escape up the narrow stairs to his private box.

He drew the curtain and sat in the back rubbing his face. He felt distracted, nervy, off-kilter; below, a sea of top-hats and chiffon, strange faces peering up at him with mild curiosity. He ended up scooting all the way to the back of the box until the lights fell. The orchestra welled up and the curtains swept away. At first, all he could see were the silhouettes of what might have been buildings; then the colored lights burst on.

He’d never seen anything like it. The sets were a caricature of turn-of-the-century Americana; the players sported bushy handlebar mustaches and bustles, rushed along below oversized posters for minstrel shows, and tended real horses pulling real carriages. He slowly migrated from the back of the box to the front.

Soon enough, he leaned over the balustrade, mouth hanging open. The plot went right over his head. There was so much going on in the backgrounds, so many interesting little details peeping out behind open doors and false storefronts, acrobats hanging on wires and dancers on rooftops, and an orchestral score that swelled up in themes strangely striking and fresh. He only really started hearing dialogue 15 minutes in, and he missed Naomi’s entrance completely; it took him halfway through the play to pick her out. There were a lot of blondes, and almost everyone wore hats.

Near the end, as the mistaken beaus stood alongside a puffing life-sized train considering their headlong flight into the country, Naomi rushed out of the wings with her skirts in her fists. The orchestra rattled off her footsteps, chased her down with tympani and snare, rolled up behind her in a building brassy cloud.

It was so easy to forget, just for a little while, that life couldn’t always be like this: every human being heralded in song, every color rich enough to drink, every detail an artisan’s dream. Oh, that the whole world could be one great big sensible misunderstanding tied up with a pretty bow.

*******

They returned to Naomi’s apartment by 8:30. He found himself staring out the bathysphere window into the city feeling oddly high. At first, it was delicious; he had been unhappy for so long—and hadn’t realized it was unhappiness—that he welcomed the momentary madness. All of Rapture seemed brighter, more colorful. Every person was a character; every object was a piece of art; every color was so deep and richly saturated he fancied he could sink into them.

Then they walked through the apartment door.

“We’re gonna be late,” John said, squinting at the clock.

He cut himself off. His voice didn’t feel real; his words felt scripted. When had he become an actor in his own life?

“I know, darling,” Naomi said. “There’s no helping it. I’m not going to starve for Blanche.” She looked over her shoulder. “I’m going to use the shower first.”

“Ladies first,” he said, shrugging.

The tension was back.

Naomi immediately disappeared into her bathroom. The shower hissed on.

John did not immediately move. Instead, taking a deep and shuddering breath, he rolled out his shoulders, closed his eyes, just stood and thought nothing. He concentrated on his breathing:

In. One, two, three. Out.

In. One, two, three. Out.

In…

Out.

He followed the tension from the tips of his toes up his legs, into his hips, into his belly, up his spine, then back down again. Jules had taught him to do it early on in his training when he got too worked up.

“It can be scary down there,” said Jules. “When it’s dark, when you can’t see for shit. Don’t worry about the oxygen and just breathe. You can’t do a damn thing if you’re panicking.”

The air kicked on with a loud hum.

John let his breath out, shook out his hands, dropped to the couch, lit a cigarette. The nicotine drifted over him like a blanket.

“What comes after this?” he asked himself.

He tried to think of people who’d been famous for, say, a month or two. How long had he been aware of them in papers? On the news? Some of them appeared only once, then disappeared without a sound. Where had they gone to? What were their lives like afterward? Tragedies aside, he’d suspected that most of them had gone back to the invisible labors of everyday life, and that their fame became a fun five-minute story at family barbecues.

But after fame dropped him here?

Couldn’t dive.

Couldn’t work in the Bounty.

Back when Jules had started training him, he’d thought he would have at least two decades of work, injuries permitting. Now he was stuck: there were no railcars out of Rapture. He could weld and he was handy with a toolbox, sure, but welding paid peanuts compared to salvage. And in a place like this, peanuts would kill him.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Gotta start job-hunting now or I really will be shit out of luck.”

Then the black-and-white images of the Hercules popped back up in his head. In his imagination, he could almost feel the weight of the ocean, and the water shivered with unseen scavengers creeping many-legged…

He turned on the television, cranking the volume all the way up. For a while, he watched a mystery serial. None of it was clicking; the actors were just noise and cutouts. Out of the corner of his eye, the front door beckoned.

You could just leave, he thought. You could just fucking go. Right now. Fuck Naomi and her shitty friends. Not like she could do any take-backs.

Memories of the slum tunnels and their visceral stink slapped him in the face. He winced.

What do you want to bet you end up there anyway? he thought.

Maybe Naomi was right. Learn the city a little bit, make some good connections while he could, enjoy himself before the inevitable descent. Put the shitty parts of his brain in the box. Kick it back under the lockers for now. Why not? It wasn’t like he was forgetting them. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t take care of it. Just not now.

Before he could follow the thought further, a news reporter rattled off his alias. He glanced down. The screen flickered to an afternoon entertainment news broadcast with highlights. There was a shot of him sawing at his steak.

“I wasn’t moping,” he said under his breath.

Eventually, the shower switched off. The cabinet clattered and drawers slammed. The clock chimed the hour. Count on a dame to take an eternity; he’d probably get himself ready in 15 minutes. He flipped a paper open to the classifieds and picked up his trusty magnifying glass.

He had worked through a couple columns and circled a number of promising leads when the bathroom door swung open. He didn’t look; he had averted his eyes all week even though she had been practically mummified in towels. Not his business. He was starting to think she should be nobody’s business. He traced a column with his pen.

Her soft white hand dropped on his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Job-hunting,” he said, flipping the paper closed. “You won’t be my meal ticket forever.”

“Oh?” She leaned over his shoulder. Her breasts drooped beside his ear, hugged in gold.

He jumped back. He had just swung around to tell her to cut it out when he met her eyes.

His breath caught in his throat. The way she leaned was indecent. Those naked shoulders, that heaving bosom. Gold webbed around her throat. Her lips were wet and red and slightly parted, and over her ears twisted gold leaves speckled in pearls.

He slapped the paper down over his lap.

“Don’t do that,” he said. His voice cracked.

“You need to use the bathroom, I’m sure,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, rising to his feet, folding up his newspaper officiously. “Quick shower.”

“You’re not going to shower with the paper, I hope,” she said.

He tossed it on her bureau and ducked in. When he caught his reflection in the mirror, he jabbed a finger at himself.

“Don’t you dare,” he whispered, and thrust off his jacket.

*******

When he stepped out in evening dress—fresh-shaven, hair slicked back, spinning his hat on an index finger—she was still leaning on the couch watching television. She did not look at him, but even so, he felt that something had changed. Something like the wink, he thought. Like a door had been opened. He was being included, somehow, and she was doing this without looking at him.

“Are you done?” she asked, swaying upright.

God, did the dress have to hug her like that? He wracked his brain for her last outfits and couldn’t think of any of them. They’d been outfits, that was all. Nice-looking ones, sure, she was definitely a pretty bird, but…

She took his hand.

“You’re thinking again,” she said, slapping him on the arm. “Stop that.”

Her smile was intoxicating. Damn, and the musk she wore. Fucking primal. Was this what it had been like for Annie when he had smiled at her? Fuck, he hated it. He’d never do it again.

As she led him out the door and locked it, committing them to the flash and pop of the paparazzi, he collected himself. There was no reason to start thinking of her any differently. He knew what she was and she knew he knew. Just breathe and keep walking. It wasn’t going to be forever.

But then she took his arm. She nestled into his side just right, fitting the straight lines of his body without even trying. The heat of her skin, the rise and fall of her ribs, the thud of her heart…

Suddenly they were halfway to the metro. He was time traveling. Her breasts pressed against his arm and he had to make a concentrated effort not to look.

My god, the boys would think I was sick, he thought.

“I thought you hated me,” he said as they ducked into the bathysphere.

“Whatever made you think that?” she asked, punching her ID and hitting the button for Adonis Luxury Resorts.

“You don’t have friends, just… business partners.”

“And they can be quite enjoyable partnerships, too.”

“Look, I’m just trying to ask you to stop hanging all over me.”

“Darling, we’re just playing a part.” She curled up against him as they sat down.

“Nobody can see us here,” he said, shifting away. “Why the hell should we play a part here?”

“It’s practice.” She shifted into him. “Oh, do stop worrying. Let’s just try to enjoy each other’s company. After all, we have to stick together for such a long time.”

Even her voice had changed, although he couldn’t have said how. Were his eyes wet? Was he going to fucking cry? Jesus. He forced his gaze out of the window. Even there, he couldn’t escape her. Her reflection lit a cigarette and the orange light flickered across her cheeks. Did she know he was staring at her? Fuck, how could she not? He’d always known when the girls were looking at him, hadn’t he? Shit, and he’d savored it. No reason to think she wasn’t doing the same.

He tried to remember her heels on Gerard’s forehead. He tried to remember the way she turned off at lunch.

“You’re quiet,” she said at last. “You aren’t thinking again, I hope.”

Yep, there was that faint note of satisfaction. Good, now he hated himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said flatly. “You look very nice tonight.”

She tossed her head back and laughed. The pearls shivered in her hair.

“Is that all!” she said. “I hope so!”

The bathysphere dinged and ground into arms of steel, bumping as it docked. He turned to snap something about how that’s not what he meant and she knew it, but the bathysphere lurched as it rose and jolted him into her side. He met her eyes. She met his. She brushed his cheeks with her lashes and her breath was hot and wet on his throat.

And then the bathysphere shuddered, the door creaked open, and she drew him into a hail of flashbulbs.

Blinding. Like walking onto the surface of the sun. Squinting, arm up over his eyes, he finally made out the wall—rosy marble, pinstriped wallpaper, and a massive oil painting with the same square footage as his first apartment. Its subjects: a dozen nubile women falling out of bedsheets.

John had just parsed what might’ve been a nipple when Naomi yanked him down the hall. Royal purples and velvet mauves and gold trim: if Fort Frolic had been the burlesque dancer of Rapture, Adonis Luxury Resort was the Carnegie. Marble nudes and satyrs stared lifelessly from false forests. Above grand entryways were fish arcing beneath blazing sunbursts, and the floors were geometric roses. Naomi craned her neck around him to peer down a hall. Her throat was so smooth, so slender! The muscle tensed beneath the gold. God, he just wanted to…

“Oh, John, we’ll have to come here next,” she said, squeezing his arm. “This is the wing for the ballrooms and restaurants—there are saunas and pools lower down. Don’t you think that would be enjoyable?”

“Yeah,” he said, and pulled back. He had started leaning down toward her. Why was he letting her hug his arm like that? How dare she hang from his elbow with that familial ease? It hurt him, it was so pleasant: he thought of Jules laughing at him from the wheelhouse.

Just past the crowd was one of the omnipresent glass walls. He could see Neptune’s Bounty swelling out of the gloom, windows gold and green; just beyond it, the Welcome Center towers lit up in silver and blue.

“Does this connect to the Bounty?” he said.

“There’s one tunnel, yes,” said Naomi, her voice darkening. “Why do you ask?”

“Just don’t want the law to think I’m coming here on purpose.”

She laughed. “Why would they think that? You’re a philosophy-abiding citizen now.”

“I guess I am.”

He laughed, and to his shock, she laughed with him. He started smiling at her. He started smiling at her! He was going to hell! He was an idiot! She was going to push him into a meat grinder! And still, without even meaning to, John had relaxed into her touch, hands tucked in his pockets. The heat in his belly built up into his chest, down between his thighs.

Hell, they were like… they were like friends, almost.

It won’t be forever, he thought. She knows it. I know it. Maybe we can just have a little fun. That’s all it is. Fun never lasts forever.

A weight was lifting away from him. He stood straighter, looser. They shouldered through a hallway filled with journalists, dames like peacocks, and a hundred identical Mr. Moneybags. He was one of them, too. No one would have been able to tell the difference unless they shook his hand; his calluses would cut them in half. Suddenly he wished he’d worn gloves.

At some point, they were no longer fighting for space, but being pushed by a current of humanity. They dragged a long train of interested passersby who peered at John like he was a lion at the zoo. Whispers followed in their wake. The only thing John could pick out with certainty was the whisper, “Is that him? Is that really him?”

Naomi kept walking as though she could not hear them. As for John, he was beginning to feel claustrophobic and light-headed. Suddenly he was grateful that she held him. She knew where to go. She was taking him to the place he needed to be. He didn’t have to think about it: it was in its box, it was waiting for its time; every deed had its time. Besides, his debts were paid. Oh, thank god, thank god, the weight rose off of him, it bounced with the cigarette smoke on the ceiling. Was he smiling? Was she smiling back? What was that word she mouthed at him?

The high-class mob squeezed them through the hallway, faster and faster, like water through a sluice, flowing madcap past pink and satyrs and flowers and servants in matching suits, until they were swept into a ballroom.

John whistled as they stepped onto the landing.

An entire wall of the ballroom looked out upon a garden shimmering with bioluminescence. The pillar in the center of the room had been carved to look like a tree. Its branches glowed with lanterns, birds, apples, and leaves of bright and glittering glass. The ceiling was painted like a sunlit sky with scudding clouds and putti as pink and lumpy as ham hocks. At the foot of the pillar was a bar sculpted to look like a hedge, and around the bar spun a hundred couples resplendent in rainbows. The floor reflected the painted heaven back at itself. On the stage, a woman in red sequins hovered over her microphone, and her voice welled out like amber, like coffee, like rich earth. Behind her was an orchestra, a pianist flying over ivory. Some song he’d heard somewhere. He couldn’t place it.

Blanche swept out of the crowd toward them.

“There you are,” she said. “You are late!”

“I told you, darling, I worked tonight.”

“I said ‘promptly,’” Blanche said, “and I meant ‘promptly.’ If you will inform the muck-digger that he should close his mouth, as he looks like a fish.”

John snapped his mouth shut and gave her a stink-eye.

Blanche had gowned herself in an ivory floor-length number and had thrown a mink stole around her naked shoulders. Now that he gave her a second look, he saw what Naomi had mentioned: faint lines in her cheeks, the touch of crow’s feet, the old woman pressing through—death taking its due.

“Oh, don’t be cruel!” Naomi dragged John toward Blanche, glowing like a star. She kissed Blanche on the cheek and rattled off a line of French.

With a shock, John felt the shape of jealousy balling up in his gut.

“As long as you have the gimmick,” said Blanche, turning to the crowd.

Now, in addition to John’s train of followers, some curious ignorants bunched up in the door to listen to Blanche, and a ruckus kicked up in the hall as the crowd backed up.

“I have an announcement to make,” Blanche called out. She clapped a few times. “An announcement!”

When nobody paid attention, she flung up her naked arm and snapped her fingers. John nearly jumped out of his skin: her eyes flashed and a long thin flame burst above her pointing finger.

“What the hell!” John said.

Everyone started laughing.

“This is Johnny Topside, as I promised,” Blanche said.

They fell upon him chattering. The fumes from their perfume and cologne and tobacco choked him. He coughed and backpedaled, nearly losing Naomi, only to bump into a wall of people extending their hands. The voices were an unintelligible roar.

“Damn you, Blanche!” he said.

Blanche plucked a cigarette-holder from her purse and laughed. Soon, he lost sight of her in the mass of people. Naomi was his foundation. She propped him up; she pressed part of the throng back with obsequious smiles and an out-flung hand. He clenched her arm like she could save him.

He had no idea of half of what they asked him; he shook dozens of hands, politely declined to dance, and gave vague answers to breathless young men asking about his adventures. And the women—they were everywhere, of every age, from grand dames to starry-eyed girls. Soft hands touched his. Soft hands on his arms, soft heaving bosoms, soft bright-eyed girls in every color, every shape, bejeweled and smiling, and Naomi—

Naomi crushed his arm to her waist. Her fingers slipped between his fingers; her hip melted into his hip.

“All right, all right!” John said at last. “Everyone pipe down. I can only answer one question at a time.”

The crowd erupted into questions again.

“I’ll ask!” he said. “You.” He pointed at the prettiest girl in the circle—a hazel-eyed brunette in dark blue. A golden net winked in her hair. Naomi’s grip threatened to cut off circulation to his hand.

The brunette blushed. “Did you really fight all of the smugglers in Neptune’s Bounty?” she asked.

The crowd shifted and he saw Blanche again, glaring at him with thinly-veiled contempt.

“Uh, not really,” he said. “Maybe I should start at the beginning.”

John had just told the crowd how he’d been ground into the seafloor by the submersible when Blanche reached through the crowd, grabbed him by the arm, and yanked him through the throng. Her nails dug into his elbow like the teeth of a rat; Naomi staggered along with them both.

John hissed and the crowd grumbled.

“Oh, Blanche!” said the pearl-haired girl. “He was telling us a story!”

“You are clogging the way, muck-man,” Blanche said. “Down to the dance floor, if you please.”

“Blanche, don’t be so rough,” said Naomi. “You just have to ask.” John ripped his arm away. “Exactly.”

“Go,” said Blanche, pointing down the stairs.

“I just managed to get it organized,” John said as they turned down the stairs.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think she’d just jump in like that,” said Naomi. His hand ached where she squeezed it.

Soon storytelling was the last thing on John’s mind. He moved slowly down the stairs, shaking hands as he went. Naomi introduced each person; here was a famous producer, here was a great actor, here was a businessman who made more money a day than John had in ten years. John forgot them as soon as he met them. There were too many. Every time he said hello to one group of partygoers, another glittering wave swept up to meet him.

Naomi tugged him toward the bar when they reached the bottom of the staircase.

“He’s getting tired, I think,” she said. “Wouldn’t you like a drink, darling?”

“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “Please!”

The crowd laughed.

“It’s on me,” said an oily shrimp with a camera. He had a face like a weasel and a Jersey accent.

“Who’re you?” John asked.

“Stanley Poole, Rapture Tribune,” said the little man, offering his hand. It was sweaty and a little greasy. John shook it and wished he hadn’t.

“You here for an interview?” John asked, wiping his hand off on his pants. Naomi pursed her lips and dug a handkerchief out of her handbag.

“Natch,” Stanley said, smiling. His hair was slicked back with Brilliantine and his scrawny neck stuck out like a box turtle’s. John immediately had the sensation that the man was thrashed regularly as a child.

“Maybe later,” John said, leaning into Naomi. “I’m a little shell-shocked.”

“All right,” Stanley said. “Understandable.” He laughed. It was an ugly, horsey sound. “Here, maybe a drink’ll calm your nerves. Bartender—you got some of that Allson’s Orchard Limited, red, 1948?” He passed a hundred-dollar bill to the bartender.

“That’s okay, really,” said John. “I’ll just have a beer.”

The crowd around John laughed as though he had uttered a joke.

“Yeah?” said the bartender. “Which one?”

“A Schlitz?”

The crowd laughed even harder. Naomi blushed.

John blinked. “What’s funny?”

“You’ll like it,” said Stanley, pushing the drink over to John.

John nodded to him and picked up the fluted glass. He sipped it, smacked his lips, and raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

“Like it? Yeah? Mind if I take a picture?” Stanley asked.

“Sure, go ahead,” said John. “You’re going to take one anyway.”

Everyone laughed again. John wished they wouldn’t. He felt like they were all privy to a joke he didn’t know.

The camera popped; the flash left stars in his eyes.

Grimacing, John took a quick swig of the wine. The crowd laughed again, but he laughed with them. He rolled his shoulders as he set the glass down.

In…

Hold…

Out.

“So what did you want to know?” John asked.

“That’s just what I wanted to hear.” Stanley set a dictaphone between them, then flipped out his notepad and pen. “First things first. You’re the Naomi Lucas, right?”

“Yes.” She smiled prettily. “I’m a friend of Blanche’s.”

“Fantastic.” Stanley scribbled something down. “You’re movin’ fast.”

“Why not?” Naomi said, squeezing John’s arm.

“Jesus,” John said.

The crowd laughed again.

“So, Johnny Topside. The Rapture populace wants to know,” said Poole. “Where do you come from? Are you a spy? An explorer? Or did you come here by accident?”

“Maybe I should begin at the beginning,” John said. “Just to set the story straight.”

The crowd grew silent. Even the bartender leaned toward him.

“That would be fantastic,” Stanley said, and pressed the button on his dictaphone.

*******

The story took much longer than John thought it would, mostly because he kept getting dragged down rabbit holes. He told them about his dives on Spanish galleons and modern shipwrecks, as well as his last near-death experience, when his air hose had fouled during bad weather in shark-infested waters.

The crowd around him posed questions; sometimes they spoke too loudly or too much, and John had to repeat himself. By the end of his tale he had managed to drink the wine and two small glasses of cognac and had accepted several cigarettes that were quite clearly made with real tobacco. Three filled glasses sat by his side waiting to be drunk. He felt pleasantly warm, relaxed; he couldn’t imagine why he had ever been on edge. All these plump, soft-handed paper-pushers? Sometimes he fancied that he loomed above them and they were the sizes of kittens.

Naomi sipped a glass of wine, leaning on his shoulder. For once, he was glad she was there. He didn’t know if he could have stood being there alone, the heavy eyes of strangers boring into him.

Stanley finally punched the button on his dictaphone and closed his notepad.

“Thanks, bud,” he said. “Mind if I call you ‘bud’?”

“Nah.” John shook his hand. “Thanks for the drinks.”

“It’s no problem,” said Stanley, slipping him his card. “Keep in touch.”

Stanley dropped off of his stool and disappeared into the crowd; it closed around him and crushed in toward John, hands extending pieces of paper and pens, a hundred mouths calling out his name. John backed into the bar.

“Whoah!” he said, stuffing the business card in his pocket. “Give me a second!”

“Why don’t we dance?” whispered Naomi in his ear, and then yanked him through the crowd. It broke around them grudgingly.

“S-sure?” John said. “Good god, is this the way it’s gonna be all night?”

“Oh, no, of course not.” Naomi patted him on the cheek.

Naomi swept him to the edge of the dance floor. The song was a swing number that he did not recognize. He perked up.

“Good tune,” he said.

“That’s Anna Culpepper and her orchestra,” Naomi whispered in his ear. “She’s an acquaintance of mine.”

“Do you know everybody in show business?” John asked.

“I try to. Shall we dance?”

She took him by each hand, gently wrapping his left around her waist. When she lifted his right—gently, instructively—he realized she thought she was going to teach him something.

So the minute the music hit an upbeat, he whipped off into a swing step, sore foot be damned. She stumbled after him with a squeal and for a few seconds struggled to keep up. He was gratified to see her mouth fall open.

“You—you know how to dance?” she said.

“Sure. This isn’t my first rodeo.” He hooked his arm around her waist, thrusting his hips up a mere inch from hers. He leaned in close. “What if I told you I took lessons?”

Just as she shuddered, he swept her away.

This time, his crooked grin landed. Her eyes lanced into his; she bit her lips. She wasn’t as fast or smooth or precise as he was, and frankly, he didn’t give a damn.

“How inventive do you want to get?” he asked when he swung her close again.

“Oh,” she said, blushing. “I’m… not right now.”

“You need me to slow down? Maybe downgrade to a little foxtrot?”

“No!” Her blush was doing something to him. “But do you know how we dance in Rapture?”

She almost sounded frantic.

He leaned in close, pressing his cheek against hers. He felt her sharp intake of breath more than heard it.

“Show me,” he said.

There were deep red grooves where her nails had dug into his hand earlier; now all she did was hook him with the pads of her fingers. There before the coral garden, she gripped his hands, she scuffed at his feet with her pretty white pumps, she counted out loud. He picked it up in minutes, and soon they swung off together to the beat on the edge of the dance floor, then into it.

God, it felt good. Without warning, he cast his worries and fears out into space, reunited with his body, and was free. It felt good to fall into a rhythm, to whirl with the surge of trumpets, work in all that subtle sway to his hips and knees, to match the beat of the drums with his feet. And it felt good to feel watched—for he was good and he knew he was good. He noted out of the corner of his eye how others were looking at him—women and men both—and he leaned into it. The whip-snap precision of heel to toe, the way he swayed with his whole body, the complementary swing of his limbs, the arch of his back. Stanley Poole was one of the watchers, standing next to one of those ubiquitous Moneybags, with his camera on his hip and his hands in his pockets.

Let them laugh at him about his booze and background as much as they wanted. He’d show them up here.

As the song rushed to its tumultuous end—the throb of drums, the crescendo of trumpets, Culpepper with her hands trembling on either side of the mike, her eyes closed as she surrendered to one rapturous note—he yanked Naomi tightly against his body, then dipped her, and she stared up at him so starstruck that he started laughing. One curl had broken free of his pomade and bobbed over his right eye. He let her go. She staggered back from him, hands on her cheeks. Dancers were clapping for the band, but a fair number were looking at him. He pretended not to see.

“Oh my god,” she said.

“I feel like a drink,” he said, offering his arm. “How about you?”

She hooked her arm in his. “Oh, absolutely.”

He drank some wine, watching the other dancers twirl. Naomi leaned into him, breast heaving, gleaming with sweat, and he tucked his arm around her waist. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he was standing on his own.

He hadn’t stood there long before a host of pretty girls swarmed up, begging for the next dance. Naomi’s hand clenched at his arm.

“Sure,” he said, and patted Naomi on the hand. “I’ll be right back. You were going to talk to some people, right?”

He danced with every girl who asked, watching Naomi seethe from a distance. He was finally warm. The lights were melting stars; heaven was cloaked in bumping clouds; when he eyed Naomi, the light had smeared around her hair in rays. He had a cocktail no one told him the name of, and then someone gave him another champagne. The tastes all ran together. He didn’t care. The faces of strangers disappeared in a haze. All he could see were smiling faces. Everyone liked him, and he liked them. Eventually he returned to the bar, sopping with sweat. Naomi clung to him like a barnacle. She laughed at every joke he cracked, even if it wasn’t funny; she gazed up at him with sweet smiles and stroked his arm.

After an hour or two of dancing and free booze, winded and weary and buzzing, Naomi and John finally stumbled to a table overlooking the garden. In the dusky evening lighting, the kelp and coral glowed, and strange lights flashed in alien patterns between the waving leaves.

John set his hand against the window. It was ice cold, but the sensation was good against his hand. An inexpressible longing passed over him.

“Are you all right?” Naomi asked, nestling against him.

“Yeah.” He quickly turned back to her and wiped his hand off on his pants. “Don’t know what came over me.”

She bit her lip and looked out at the garden with him. “Darling, this is a bit off topic, but…”

“But what?”

“I have a question about your story.”

“Yeah? What about it?”

“You mentioned taking pictures.” She looked up at him. “What happened to the camera? You said that you took it with you, but you never said where it went.”

“I hid it.”

“Why would you do that?” she said.

“They said I had a duffel bag on the news program. I had to drop it off.”

“Oh, that makes sense.” She looked at him closely. “Would you like me to go get it for you?”

John hesitated. “You’d do that for me?”

“Certainly. I’m sure the camera holds sentimental value for you. Didn’t your friend make it just for you?”

He looked away. Something clenched in his gut. All glory and gladness melted away.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

When he spoke again, it was in a whisper. “It’s behind a vending machine in the Welcome Center, in the lobby above the bathysphere dock.” John leaned in close. “You’d really get it for me?”

“Oh, of course! Nobody can stop me from going to the Welcome Center.”

“God, thank you,” he said.

“It’s my pleasure,” she said.

Before John could react, she kissed him on the cheek. Her eyelashes tickled.

A flashbulb went off and John jumped. He glanced over his shoulder to see Stanley Poole fiddling with his camera, and behind him, several crestfallen girls.

“Don’t look at him,” said Naomi softly.

“What was that for?” John whispered.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “I suppose you could think of it as a reward for doing so well tonight.”

“What makes you think I wanted that?” he said.

She laughed and did not answer.

*******

The return to Naomi’s apartment seemed to take longer than before. The tunnels stretched out for miles and miles, and the railcars slumbered like giant pill-bugs beneath the ribbed glass. It was almost homey, even if the cold had returned. When strangers passed, he did not think of them. He was one of them now.

The hallway was stable for the most part, but every now and then it swayed gently. They staggered together. He couldn’t remember how many drinks he’d had. How much had Naomi drunk? He couldn’t remember her drinking more than two glasses of wine, but maybe that was because he had been concentrating on the crowd.

“Damn it, I don’t want to be drunk,” he said.

“Oh, you’re not that drunk,” she said. “You’re just a little tipsy.”

John stumbled into her. She propped him up, cooing.

“I don’t want to be tipsy.”

“I like you tipsy,” she said. “You’re not so serious, and I get to see that real smile.”

“The hell are you flirting with me for?” he asked, laughing.

She blushed and squeezed his hand.

They wobbled up to her doorway, laughing louder and louder. John was still snickering, tears in his eyes, as Naomi drew out her purse and turned to face him.

“Thank you for walking me home, Mr. Topside. Would you like to come in?”

“If you’re willing, miss.” He leaned toward her. She leaned back. She uncurled one hand against his chest, the other on the doorknob.

“I have to open the door first,” she said, teasing the key from her purse. He missed the pressure of her palm.

“You tease,” he slurred, slipping his arms around her waist.

She pressed back into the cradle of his hips. He buried his face into her hair and took a deep breath. Lilac perfume, and beneath it, the pleasant scent of her sweat.

She sighed; one hand stroked up underneath his jacket, her knuckles dragging against his sweat-dampened shirt.

“Hmm,” she said. “You scoundrel. At this rate we shall astound the neighbors.”

He nipped her ear. Her skin was hot, her sweat was bitter with perfume…

She turned the key in the lock—slowly, taking her time—and then turned the knob, gently. The door swung open. She pushed it open, fraction by fraction…

John kicked off.

Shrieking and laughing, they stumbled into the apartment. The door swung shut behind them. It was lightless; she was only a silhouette against the windows, through which he could see the lights of the city on parade. She whirled upon him in the darkness and her mouth pressed against his with so much fire that it spun his head. Her hands slipped underneath his jacket and she began to unbutton his shirt with rapid-fire precision. John’s hands stroked down her back, hunting for a zipper.

They broke apart momentarily, gasping for breath and fumbling with each others’ clothing. John abandoned the search for the zipper and yanked her gown up over her knees. He lost his grip when they staggered backward, laughed stupidly, righted themselves against the sofa. She kicked off her heels and fumbled at his belt. He kissed her down her cheek, down her throat, down her collarbone. They lingered there, kissing roughly. He cradled her head in his hands, running his fingers through her hair. Her crown pricked at his fingers.

“I shall be the first lady in Rapture to have you,” she whispered in his ear.

“Lucky you,” he whispered.

Before he could finish his thought, she shoved his slacks off. He snapped the buckles on her garter—cradled the plump round of her ass—shoved her against the cold window and kissed her. The lights of the city haloed her silhouette like fireworks and set her hair on fire with a thousand colors.

UPRISING: BLACK SCRAPBOOK HUB

[infamous-if]

✭INFAMOUS UPDATE IS HERE ✭

238K -> 457K WORDS

Please read this post before playing! It's finally here! After five months of writing and rewriting and salvaging and crying and sweating and bleeding I finally finished sort of kind of! Firstly, I want to thank you for your patience and understanding over this duration of this rewrite. It was stressful at times but I'm happy with the end result and I hope everyone else will be too :)

This will be the last chapter I release without beta testers/other sets of eyes so expect errors. I can playtest until my fingers turn blue but I'm just one person </3 I'm bound to have missed stuff.

Please let me know of errors! I tested it a few times with no problems but we know how it goes lol

IN THIS CHAPTER THREE UPDATE:

drama

mayhem

chaos

some betrayal

some surprises

just...read it lmao

PROLOGUE - CHAPTER 2 CHANGES:

**chapter two was too large of a file to upload on dd so I had to split it last minute and I uhhhh dont know how that translates in the demo but it should work lol please let me know if its wonky!**

fixed up grammatical errors and typos

expanded some scenes and added some more choices

you can now choose that your mc has "changed" in some way (drinking, no longer drinking, partier, no longer a partier, negative, positive, attached, detached, or a general default. I was asked to add an MC who "gets around" or hookups a lot but I'm still debating on whether I'll add that since there's already quite a bit lolol)

you can choose to have changed your band's genre before/after seven

TECHNICAL CHANGES:

you will be able to explicitly state your sexuality in the beginning. this was a big ask and I apologize for not doing it earlier! I wasn't good at coding when I started and I knew I always wanted to make the genders separate from MC's sexuality but I didn't know how to do that at the start :) So you can still choose the genders of the ROs for story purposes and variety. IF YOU DO NOT SEE ROMANCE OPTIONS THAT IS NOT A BUG. You simply chose a RO gender that doesn't correlate with the sexuality you chose for your MC. Having said that, if you do see a romance option available and it's not supposed to be there please let me know! That means I may have missed it coding-wise.

the stats have been all fixed! I've added all the necessary variables and such. The stat portion of the game has been updated with the appropriate pages but they're not finished. Still, the stats should be fine.

You will now have confessionals in the stat page! The feature still isn't a thing yet because I haven't come up with the confessionals lolol but you can click on it to see what it's about. Essentially, as you progress through the story you will be able to see confessionals from the cast of Infamous throughout. They disappear and appear periodically so if you miss it, THAT'S IT! You won't get a chance to see them again until MC watches an episode where it's relevant.

There is now a: Discography page, Infamous wiki, botb cast and staff page, and other characters page for organization. Those are not finished but they're there!

I changed a few stat names but their functions remain the same.

You will be able to choose how you would like to be described (masculine, feminine, neither, both).

O is officially gender-selectable.

You can set the genders of the ROs at the start or wait till you meet them.

PLAY HERE

[lisenberry]

Feral Friday 141 Thoughts     

NSFW/MDNI/18+    

When you really need to ride him...

...He’s sitting on the couch, watching the day’s match.  Knees spread wide and taking up half the cushions.  You’re cuddled under his arm with your feet tucked up, reading a book or a download on your phone.  It’s in the middle of a steamy scene in your latest bodice-ripper.  After chapters’ worth of fighting and resisting, the heroine is finally going to come all over the big mean villain’s engorged appendage.  

You’re so engrossed, you’re sure he can feel your breath change and your cheek heat up where it rests against his chest.  Can he sense your arousal as it dampens your knickers underneath the old, softened t-shirt you claimed from his bedroom floor the first time you slept over?

When the whistle sounds to end the half, you vaguely notice, until he stirs next to you. “Hey, babe?  We got any snacks?”

“Umm, I th-think so.”  You pull your attention away just in time to meet his eyes.  And he immediately knows. 

“Got yourself a good one there, do you?”  You’ve bitten your lips raw, you’re sweating, and your chest is nearly heaving with lust as you nod desperately.

“Do you mind if I take the edge off?”  You squeeze your thighs together and feel the slick dripping past the fabric.

“Your finger or mine?” he asks, keeping one eye on the telly and one on you as your maneuver out of your underwear.

“I’m going to need something a bit more this time,” you nearly whine as you launch onto his lap, careful not to headbutt his chin in your urgency.

GAZ – He doesn't miss a beat as you nestle your excited little pussy just over his cock.  He’s already rock-hard and it doesn’t take much to pull him out from the sweatpants he wears slung low on his hips.

“Take what you need, love.”  He smiles proudly as you drop down onto him, slipping and sliding on your own slick. 

And you do, pitching forward to settle him against the bundle of nerves deep in your belly.   He’s so long, he doesn’t just graze it, he impales it.  You swear he’s in your lungs, stealing your breath with each rise and fall.

He cheers you on the whole way. 

“Look at you bouncing so well on my cock...So pretty all flushed and sweaty...Fucking hot, you are.”

Your unfairly handsome, quick-tongued rake tenderly wipes the hair and perspiration from your face, and lets you use him until you're shattered and worn out. 

SOAP:  He lets you grind against him for a bit through his gym shorts, dick fully chubbed like the pommel of a saddle. 

“Please tell me it’s a Scottish highland warrior that’s got you so bothered, and not some prissy English lord.  You’ll hurt my feelings.”  He grins, his eyes already rolling back in his head at your steady stroking.

“Keep talking, Johnny.”  You hump against him faster, knowing the second you put him in, you’ll be done for.  A weeping, overstimulated mess before he even catches his stride.  His burly, veiny length has an upwards curve like he was molded and kiln-forged just to fit you. 

And he could go for hours if you didn’t wind him up good.  Tease him and test him, get his attention exactly where it needs to be.

“Let me suck on your tits, bonny lass.”  He deepens his brogue and his voice an octave as he tries not to laugh, while he strips your shirt off and buries his face into your bosom.

You are quite sure that the hot-headed highland scoundrel in your story didn’t use the word ‘tits’, but you let it slide.  The one between your thighs is everything you need, and more.

GHOST – He’s wearing jeans, so it’s a bit harder to get him free.  After you let out a frustrated huff at the complexity of his wardrobe, he cups you under your ass and stands you both up.  Undoing his belt buckle and the fly one-handed before setting you back down astride him again.

“Needy little dove today.”

“Just let me try, Si.”  You rarely ever ride him.  The few times you’ve attempted it, you give up when your thighs turn to mush and your cunt aches from being split in two.  He’s just too thick for a quickie.

“Are you going to let me help this time, or are you going to be stubborn?”

“Help!”  The strangled sound escapes your throat as you fit him in to the hilt.  He takes up so much space, you can’t tell where you end and he begins. 

“You’re fucking soaked.”  He rolls his hips to stretch you further, to find the right spot, as your slick trickles down to coat his balls.  You feel them wet and sticky against your seam.

“Mmmh-uhhh, that’s it.  Right there,” you bellow gratefully to the ceiling.

“What are you going to do about it?”  He grabs your hips rudely, fingers pressing to dimple the skin and hold you down as he spears your nerves like a spike.

You fight against his hold, knowing that’s what he's looking for.  Just a little fire in your belly, a little steel in your spine and your merciless, battle-scarred rogue will give you anything you want.

“That’s it, dovey.  Fuck me good.”

PRICE – He’s watching you with awe, wide-eyed and slack jawed, so immersed in the act of being milked by your warm, soft walls that he’s relinquished control completely.  You know that look too well.

“Do not come yet, John.  Please.  Think of bullets.  Hollow points and grenades.  A...ummm, a panzer!”  You’re almost there.  So...close your mind is just pulling words from memories of past conversations you were only barely listening to.

“A panzer?  Like the bloody old German tank?” he asks with the sort of clarity of mind you need of him in this situation.

“Yes, keep thinking of dusty relics rotting in museums.  While I ride your big, beautiful cock—”

“You’ve done it now.”  He groans, and you feel him stiffen inside you.  The sensation of it, coupled with the hot spurts of his spend hitting your most sensitive spot, get you there just in time to join him.

You don’t even mind that it was so quick.  It warms your heart, and your cunt, that the callous, domineering war hero falls to pieces so completely for no one but you.

[sashaisready]

Starting Over: Chapter 3 - Bolt

Mob!Bucky x Female Reader

Series Masterlist

When Bucky throws you out of the house for a betrayal and won't listen to your side of the story, you know the only way out is through - it's time to start over. Maybe this was never going to be your happy ending.

Back again! I have split the final chapter into two parts as it makes more sense that way, you’ll see why when you read the last one – which hopefully I should be able to post later this week, or early next – I’m just working on getting it right. Warnings for angst, angst and angst in this part – sorry in advance. I felt a bit weepy writing this. I’ve been blown away by the support this story has received, especially as it was written on a bit of a whim, so thank-you for all your reblogs and comments – it means a lot!! Also shout-out to the recent Variety SebStan photoshoot - very inspirational...

💔

You were sleeping like the dead, it was a miracle that anything could’ve woken you – but the soft click of the hotel door opening must’ve cut through the void somehow, because you shot up in bed awake, disorientated and suddenly on alert. Your breathing was heavy as you adjusted to your surroundings. What…where were…?

Bucky gently closed the door behind him and rushed over to your bedside.

“Hey, hey…it’s just me, you’re okay doll. I’m sorry I startled you. I was trying to slip in quietly…” he cooed, “I thought knocking might be too jarring…stupidly…”

You blinked at him, you were just able to make out his face in the dark as recognition sunk in. His features were subtly illuminated by the parking lot lights, the room’s curtains doing little to keep that glare out. He looked tired and drained; his hair unkempt. There was a weariness in his face that you hadn’t seen before. You groggily flicked on the bedside lamp as your brain caught up with the rest of you.

For a blissful moment you’d forgotten it all, from the haze of sleep, you’d forgotten why you were here. Bucky! Bucky is here! Your safe place. You began to smile and instinctively moved towards him. He smiled too, a relieved smile, holding out a hand to you so you reached for it with your own –

Wait.

Oh.

You saw the hope in his eyes dwindle when you jerked away from him, a scowl hardening your expression as you whipped your hand back as quickly as if it had been burnt. You pulled the sheets high and tight, covering your body as if you didn’t like that any of you was visible to him.

As he tried to lean over to get closer to you, you greeted him with a blunt, hard slap across the face.

He recoiled, his hand moving to his stinging cheek as he stood up to his full height and stepped back, “fine. I deserved that…”

“What are you doing here?” you sneered, “How did you even get in?”

He tilted his head towards the door and held up a key card, “They let me in. They gave me a key”.

“Well, they shouldn’t have! They shouldn’t just give away door keys to random people…”

“They don’t, just me,” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes and turned away, “You think this is funny?”

“Doll…” he reached out to you again, but you smacked his hand away.

“No,” you growled.

“I found out the truth…I know it wasn’t you. I’m so sor-” he sounded frantic, stuttering and jumbled, worlds away from the cool and collected man you knew so well. But you were unmoved, his betrayal still stinging and raw.

“I don’t care,” you interrupted, your tone flat and cold, “it’s too late”.

“I should’ve listened to you. I’m so sorry, baby. I flew off the handle without talking to you. I should’ve trusted you…” he pleaded.

“Yes, you should’ve,” you snapped bitterly, “but you didn’t. You wouldn’t let me talk, you just shouted…then you threw me out with nothing! Like I was trash! I walked for nearly two miles alone in the dark, in the middle of the night, Bucky. Anything could’ve happened to me…” your voice wobbled slightly at the end of your sentence; you took a deep breath – refusing to let anymore tears fall for him.

He dipped his head, his gaze dropping, unable to look at you. “I know, you’re right…I keep thinking about it…I keep…”

“Save it!” you shouted, a little more emotional than you intended. “All I wanted was for you to listen to me. I don’t know anything about a recording, or my phone pinging, or whatever you were ranting about. I just can’t believe you wouldn’t believe me, after everything we’ve been through…”

He sighed heavily, then withdrew his phone from his pocket. He began to scroll through.

You scoffed, “what are you-”

And then your voice, clear as day, rang out from his phone. Bucky held it up towards you, his face pained. You listened, stunned, as you heard yourself on the recording. It was so real you almost considered that it was you, and you’d somehow forgotten that you’d actually said it.

“Just give me a bit longer and I’ll have that one-armed pussy spill everything…”

After it had finished, you furrowed your brows in confusion, your mouth hanging open.

“But that wasn’t…” you whispered.

“I know. I know that now,” he sighed, putting the phone back in his pocket. “Rumlow set it up. He put it together with cutting edge AI, some advanced tech Stark helped develop. He also planted fake footage of you on the CCTV. Took your phone to an incriminating location. But Sam caught him tonight. He’s been working with the feds to bring me down, to make room for a HYDRA revival. He knew I’d be weaker and easier to takedown if you and I fell apart, so breaking us up was a two-birds-one-stone deal”.

You blinked, bewildered, a chill running through you as you thought about the lengths someone would go to in order to break you and Bucky up. You knew a little about HYDRA, the rival syndicate that Bucky used to work for before he struck out on his own. They’d been defunct for years, or so Bucky had told you. The implication of someone being able to make your voice say anything they wanted also haunted you. Rumlow could’ve even framed you for a crime with such technology. It was…scary.

You could see why Bucky freaked out, presented with all of this incriminating evidence, but…

“Rumlow didn’t break us up, Bucky”, you said quietly as your words sharpened. “You did. You could’ve come to me first. You could’ve showed me this and we could’ve set everything straight. Instead…you went nuclear…”

He dropped his gaze again to the threadbare hotel carpet, unable to meet your eye. It was almost funny, he looked small for the first time since you’d met him. Despite his towering height and hulking frame, he almost seemed like a little boy in that moment.

“…I just can’t believe you thought I’d do something like that to you. That I’d betray you like that. That I could look you in the eye every day and lie to you and…”

He suddenly looked up, quickly snatching your hand, “I’m so sorry, doll, this is the biggest mistake I’ve ever made…I’d do anything to take it back…”

“Well you can’t!” you sniped back at him as you tore your hand away from his, tears in your eyes. “You must think so low of me that you think I’d be capable of this. And all the stuff you said about me leeching off you for your money! I’ve never been comfortable spending your cash and you know that! I can’t believe you’d throw it all back in my face…”

“Baby, I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean of it. I was hurt…” he said, the desperation building in his voice as his eyes widened, “I was just trying to hurt you the way I thought you’d hurt me. I didn’t really think it. I never have”.

“It must’ve come from somewhere!” you spat venomously, “you didn’t pull it out of thin air…”

“I promise. I was just throwing words out and didn’t care what they were as long as they hit. I just was so mad,” he sat down on the bed and began running his hands through his hair as he closed his eyes, he always did that when he was stressed.

He sighed heavily, then turned to you, “Look”, he began – his voice soft now. “I guess part of me always thought this was too good to be true…everything happened so quickly when we met. I’d always been content with one-night stands and casual hook-ups. Then I met you, and…” he trailed off as he chewed his lip, carefully choosing what to say.

You watched him, your earlier anguish now hardened into pure rage, you wanted to kick him out – send him out into the street the way he had with you. But you also wanted to hear this. You wanted to understand what possible reasoning there could be for causing of this pain. What weak excuse he could use to try and justify his cruelty. He looked at you again. His eyes were kind, warm. But you couldn’t help but remember the coldness in them from earlier. You didn’t think you’d ever forget it.

“I guess…everything changed. I fell for you so hard. You took over my life. Invaded my thoughts, my senses. I just wanted to be with you all the time. And to my surprise…you felt the same. This sweet, wonderful woman wanted to be with me, too. I was sure you’d turn away when you found about my job…my past…my scars, my arm... Because why wouldn’t you? You were kind and decent. You saw the best in people. How the hell could you love someone like me? A killer. A monster…”

“Bucky, I…” you croaked.

“Please, just let me finish…” he pleaded, “but somehow, you did love me. And I know you moved in with me quickly, but it felt right. You had a rough start in life, and all I ever wanted to do was take care of you and fix it so you didn’t have to worry about money or paying bills or any of that ever again. I wanted you to sleep soundly, knowing I would protect you and do right by you and you wouldn’t have to sling burgers and fries to get by anymore. And part of me knew it was selfish…because you deserved better than me. You deserved the white picket fence, a dull but decent man with a boring job who comes home and tells you about whatever shit Janet in Accounting got up to that day. But no, you had me – who stole you from that peaceful future to make myself happy. I worked late and committed violent acts. I had to give you bodyguards just in case. I uprooted your entire life. I did my best to give you the love you deserve, but I couldn’t even get that right. When I heard that tape…it was like the universe telling me what I already knew - I wasn’t worthy, and the debt I owed was getting collected. I guess part of me always expected I’d inevitably screw it up, because I never deserved you in the first place. And I’m just sorry that I proved myself right”.

You sniffed back your tears, bowled over by his words. He’d never said anything like this to you before, you had no idea he held those insecurities. The silence hung heavily between you, until you finally spoke, your voice shaky.

“But I was happy slinging burgers. And I never wanted the boring guy. I never wanted the white picket fence. I wanted you, Buck. Only you. I knew who you truly were, and it didn’t matter. It never mattered. You did deserve me. You did deserve love and everything we had…until…well…this”.

He nodded sadly, taking your hand in his.

“I know that now, doll, I do. I ended up sabotaging the best thing that ever happened to me because of my own fears. And that’s on me. But look…I need to ask, do you think you could ever forgive me? I’ll do whatever it takes, I’ll go at whatever pace you want…We can just be friends and see how it goes. I’ll go to therapy to sort out my shit. Anything. I’ll never doubt you again. All I ask is that you give me one final chance to fix this. Please, doll…I’m begging you…”

You looked into his big blue eyes, glossy with his unshed tears. Your heart ached and twisted at the sight. You’d never seen him looking so vulnerable before, so lost. You loved him so very much. You would’ve taken a bullet for him if he’d asked. He was correct that the two of you had moved fast in your whirlwind romance, but it always felt like a natural progression. It had always felt right.

But something had shifted. Something monumental. And you didn’t know if it could ever be like it was. It was wrong now.

“I’m sorry Bucky, I can’t….I…” you whispered, squeezing his hand as your tears began to fall. “I want to…I just…I don’t know if I can…”

He inhaled deeply and your heart shattered as you saw the flash of anguish in his eyes. But then he took a moment, a sad but accepting smile creeping over his face. He leaned over and wiped away your tears with his thumb.

“It’s alright, doll” he told you softly. “This was my fault. I’m not gonna force it or push you to forgive if you’re not comfortable doing so, okay? Not because I don’t care or don’t want to fight for you. But because I love you, and loving someone means sometimes you have to let them go”.

You nodded as you looked up into his eyes, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

“Hey, c’mon…” he soothed.

He quickly vanished into the en-suite bathroom, returning with a small wad of toilet paper to dab at your tear-soaked cheeks. He extended a finger and gently moved it under your chin, propping your face up to look at his. The tenderness and care he showed you was what you were used to with Bucky. This was the version of him you’d always known. It almost made you forget about everything. Almost.

You both shared a small smile. A melancholic smile, a smile that you both understood meant too much had happened here tonight. Too much had changed. You can’t put the toothpaste back in the tube. Nothing was spoken, but everything was said.

It was hard to know how much time had passed, but eventually he got up and moved to the door. You didn’t stop him, and he didn’t ask you to. He ran a finger over your trusty red backpack as he passed the desk. He chuckled and picked it up, “I should’ve known this old thing was involved. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how you left with no clothes or money…but you’ve always been the most resourceful person I know.”

You smiled back at him weakly.

“It’s funny…” he mused as he caressed the straps, “you had this emergency kit already to go. Just in case…”

You shook your head, “no…it wasn’t meant to be a kit, it was just left from where I moved in with you. I didn’t-I just dumped it when I…”

“Yes…left fully packed and untouched. With clothes and cash. And debit cards, presumably. Stashed in a closet by the front door. That doesn’t strike you as a choice? A plan? Even if you weren’t fully aware of it?” he asked.

You didn’t respond as the silence laid thick between you. Incisive Bucky, as always. He could read you better than anyone on the planet. You knew he was right, he knew it too. You swallowed, looking down at the frayed thread on the bedsheet.

“You are always planning, doll. Because you always had to, with the life you’ve had. You always had to keep moving and stay one step ahead. We both know that”.

Again, he was met with your silence as you pulled at the thread. But there was no denial. You couldn’t deny the truth.

“Guess we both had our own ejector seats for this plane,” he mused as he moved the bag back to how he found it. “Looks like we had even more in common than we knew”.

He was right, again. It seemed that both of you had your anxieties and insecurities about this relationship. Both of you were maybe a little too cynical and world weary to believe in happy ever afters. His had manifested in anger, in rage…yours in being ready to flee at any time. Both of you had been on the starting line waiting for that pistol to fire.

But it had only finally imploded because of him.

He continued his slow march to the door, clearing his throat as he looked back at you.

“I meant what I said, every word. I’d do anything to get you back. I’d go at any pace, I’d take whatever you offered – in any form, as long as I’m still in your life in some way. I’d spend the rest of my days apologising if I had to. But honestly, I’d also be happy just to be your friend. Okay? So, you can call me, text me, anytime. Hell, just send me an emoji. Even if you just to talk. Even just to yell at me. I’ll always pick up, I promise”.

He pulled a business card from his wallet and placed it on the desk, “here. Put my number in your new phone when you get one”.

You stayed mute, but your eyes followed his hand as he gently put the card down.

“Will you be okay? For money, I mean?” he asked as his hand rested on the doorhandle, “because I can…”

“I’ll be fine Buck, I always am”.

“Yeah doll, I know”, he said softly.

Neither of you said goodbye. Maybe it was too hard to actually say the word out loud. Speak it into existence and accept its reality. So, he just nodded at you, and you smiled back, and you tried not to think about the tears glistening in his eyes or that painful tugging in your chest.

A few seconds later he was gone, and then it was as if he’d never been there at all.

[voyter]

MATCHPOINT — part one.

pairing. jeon jungkook x fem!reader x kim mingyu genre. tennis au. college au. smut. love triangle.

while tennis was your priority, the two boys who couldn't stop competing both on and off the court somehow were too.

word count. 8k words warnings for this chapter. threesomes and tennis LMFAO. they are SIMPS. a bit of crack, i love writing funny moments. my attempt at describing a tennis match even though i know jackshit. SO MUCH FLIRTING. smut. three way makeout sesh yummy. fingering. male masturbation. BIG DICK KOOGYU. oc got that wap.

ana's notes. publishing this an entire day early bc i am impatient :p anyways, i know the smut wasnt much in this chapter but it gets more and more explicit within each part hehe. let me know what you think so far, your feedback is very important and keep your comments positive or say nothing at all xx

series masterlist.

Mingyu and Jungkook shared everything.

They shared a childhood, swapping toys and creating endless adventures out of thin air. During sleepovers, they were mature enough to share a bed without fuss, laughing at the idea of one taking the floor. On school days when one left their lunch sitting on the kitchen counter, the other would split theirs without hesitation. They borrowed each other’s clothes so often that no one could remember whose was whose. When it came time for college, they applied to the same universities, and when both were accepted to the same one, they became roommates, sharing a dorm like they had shared everything else in life.

They were inseparable, always found together — so much so that when one was absent, people immediately asked, "Where’s the other?" They were two birds of a feather, yin and yang, brothers in every sense but blood.

One of the many things they shared was a deep love for tennis. It became their outlet, a way to escape the pressures of life and channel their competitive spirits. The rush of adrenaline they felt during a match was unmatched, and while they had fun playing, they took the game seriously, analyzing every serve, every backhand, every forehand with laser focus. They’d sit side by side, watching matches with an almost religious reverence, eyes glued to the ball as it zipped across the court, mouths slightly open, bodies leaning forward as if they could will the players to win.

If there was anything they loved more than each other (and their families, of course), it was tennis.

And that intense, unwavering focus they had when watching a tennis match? It was the exact way they were both watching you.

A scarlet dress clung to your body, black stilettos elevating your stature. But of course, they were red bottoms. And to top it all off, you weren’t complete without the striking shade of red on your lips.

Mingyu had found out about your upcoming tournament from fellow students at the college, along with word that there was going to be a little party on the tennis courts in honor of it. That’s how the two boys ended up there tonight. Mingyu had his eye on you ever since he caught you practicing on the courts one day. There was something about the way you moved in red, a fiery aura that stuck in his mind like a persistent dream. He couldn’t stop thinking about you.

The upbeat rhythm of a Nelly Furtado track thumped through the air — an early 2000s throwback that had everyone nodding along. Jungkook knew the song too, but if you asked him, he wouldn’t be able to tell you what it was. The music had faded into the background, drowned out by the sight of you. Everyone else was a blur, just shifting figures in his peripheral vision. His eyes, however, were locked on you, following your every movement like the moon that seems to chase you no matter how far you drive, or like the gaze of a painting that never lets go, no matter where you stand. 

His focus was relentless. He just stood there, mesmerized, as if time had slowed just for him to take you in, every detail etched into his mind. He didn’t even blink — he wasn’t about to miss a second of you. His body was rooted to the spot, eyes tracing every flicker of movement you made. Even when Mingyu nudged him in the arm, he didn’t react, completely frozen in place. He’s got it bad.

“Dude!”

Jungkook blinked, snapping out of his trance. He looked at Mingyu beside him, startled, before immediately returning his gaze to you, as if afraid you’d disappear the moment he looked away.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, distracted. “You say something?”

Your hair bounces with every move, catching the low lights of the party as your hips sway in perfect rhythm with the beat. There are plenty of people dancing, but to Jungkook, you're the only one who matters. Every gesture you make, from running your fingers through your hair to the way your body moves effortlessly with the music, leaves him entranced. Your hair falls right back into place, teasing him with how flawless it looks despite your movements. He gulps hard, his throat dry even though his mouth waters at the sight of you.

“I was going to tell you she’s over there, but looks like you found her already,” Mingyu scoffs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Told you she was hot.”

Jungkook shakes his head in disbelief, “No kidding.”

Mingyu leans in, his lips hovering close to Jungkook’s ear. “I’d let her fuck me with a racket.”

Jungkook lets out a low snicker, rolling his eyes. Crude words like that were normal from Mingyu, but even so, it never failed to make him laugh. He’d heard worse over the years.

From across the court, you’re blissfully unaware of the way the two boys are watching you — like lost puppies, completely captivated. To anyone else, they probably look ridiculous, just standing there with wide eyes. In fact, a group of girls lounging on the cushion chairs by the side of the court had already noticed their ridiculous fixation, shooting you dirty looks, their jealousy plain as day. They’d been hoping to catch the boys’ attention, maybe even snag their numbers, but their plan had backfired since you already caught their eye.

The song fades, and you're left breathless, cheeks flushed as you tell your friends you’re going to grab a drink. They nod, barely hearing you over the music.

Jungkook watches you cross the court, eyes following your every step as you approach the drink table. He feels the weight of the moment — this is his chance. He nudges Mingyu, almost nervously.

“Should we go talk to her?” he asks, his voice low as you pick up your drink, unaware of their plotting.

Mingyu doesn’t even respond to Jungkook’s question — he just heads straight toward you. Without thinking, Jungkook follows, legs moving before he can process it. Approaching girls has never been his strong suit, and a jittery feeling builds in his stomach as nerves rise. But there’s no way he’s going to let Mingyu have you all to himself.

“Hey,” Mingyu says confidently, and your eyes flicker to him. Jungkook steps up beside him almost instantly.

“Hi,” he blurts out awkwardly.

You pull your lips off the straw, leaving a red lipstick stain behind, and Jungkook cringes internally. He feels like an idiot, convinced you must think he and Mingyu are embarrassing themselves.

“Hello,” you greet, your tone light as you swirl the straw around in your drink.

“I’m Mingyu, and this is Jungkook. We just wanted to wish you good luck for tomorrow,” Mingyu says smoothly.

“Thanks,” you giggle, clearly amused. “You two gonna be there?”

Mingyu’s eyes glint mischievously. “If I say no, will you invite us yourself?”

You raise a brow, a smirk playing on your lips. “Depends. Are you coming to watch tennis or just to watch me?”

Before Mingyu can come up with something overly flirty and blow their chance, Jungkook jumps in, his voice steady despite his nerves. “Mingyu and I have been playing since we were kids. And from what I’ve heard, you’re pretty good. We’re coming to watch some good tennis.”

Your gaze shifts to Jungkook, studying him for a moment. Mingyu, feeling the shift in attention, begins to grow envious, trying to think of a way to steer it back toward himself.

“You being pretty is just a bonus,” Mingyu adds quickly, trying to regain control of the conversation. “That’s twice the enjoyment.”

You snicker, amused by the playful banter.

Before you can respond, a friend calls out your name from across the court. “Join us when you’re done. We’re going to take Polaroids!”

You give a quick nod. “Okay, I’ll be there in a second.”

As she walks off, you turn your attention back to the two boys. “Make sure you’re there before the game starts. I’ll see you both then.”

Mingyu’s lips curl into a grin. “You don’t wanna ditch your friends and have a drink with us by the beach instead?”

You let out a playful laugh, already walking away. “Come to my match first, then maybe ask me out on a date, Mingyu.” You glance over your shoulder, throwing a teasing wave. “Bye, Jungkook.” You punctuate it with a wink before turning away fully.

Jungkook raises his hand in a dazed wave, completely spellbound, still processing the fact that you winked at him. His eyes stay glued to you as you walk toward your friends, even when you’ve blended into the group, laughing and chatting.

“Fucking hell,” Mingyu mutters under his breath, still staring at you.

Jungkook finally snaps out of his trance and turns to Mingyu. “Let me have this one?”

Mingyu shoots him a look, his voice dripping with competitiveness. “In your fucking dreams.”

“If it isn’t Thing 1 and Thing 2,” you tease as you walk up to them, a playful smirk on your lips.

It was almost amusing how obedient they were, like two loyal dogs waiting eagerly for your next command. They’d arrived before your game, just as you’d requested — 15 minutes earlier than necessary, clearly hoping to steal some extra time with you before the match.

“Little red,” Mingyu greets with a playful smirk.

You smile, warmth flickering in your chest at the nickname. “Cute,” you respond, letting the moment settle in.

Before you can say more, Jungkook cuts in, his voice hurried and a little flustered. “Just came to wish you good luck before your game,” he says, his tone soft yet sincere, eyes full of warmth.

“No, no — he came to wish you good luck,” Mingyu teases, flashing you his trademark confident grin. “I came to see what you’re doing after this,” he adds, his words dripping with flirtation.

Turning to Jungkook, you raise a brow, amused. “Does he flirt with every girl like this?”

Jungkook chuckles, shaking his head. “Pretty much.”

Mingyu places a hand on his chest in mock offense, letting out an exaggerated scoff. “I’m offended.”

You laugh softly, eyes still sparkling with mischief. “I’m just messing with you. I wasn’t actually planning on doing anything after.”

Mingyu’s eyes light up, clapping his hands together. “Perfect! How about you come to our dorm later tonight? We’ve got beer.”

The offer still lingers as you mull it over, your expression thoughtful.

Jungkook glances at Mingyu, brows furrowed. It’s not that he didn’t want you there — he did, desperately — but he worried Mingyu might push too hard and ruin it for both of them.

“Hate to break it to you, Mingyu, but whether I come or not depends on my mood — and if I win or not.”

“Oh, so you’re coming tonight,” Mingyu grins.

“Confident in me, huh?” you ask, eyebrows raised.

“Been watching you play for a while now,” Mingyu replies smoothly. “Whoever you’re up against today is going home with tears and a broken racket.”

You smile, clearly flattered. “You sure you’re inviting me over just to drink beer, stalker?”

“Guess it’ll depend on your mood after the game,” Mingyu says, mirroring your playful tone.

You pause for a second, then ask, “What’s the room number?”

“97,” Mingyu says quickly, excitement flashing in his eyes. “Be there by 8?”

"I'll think about it," you reply with a smirk, locking eyes with Mingyu in a silent exchange of flirtation. The tension between you two is thick, like neither of you is holding back, completely ignoring the fact that Jungkook is still standing there, feeling more and more like a third wheel.

Jungkook shifts awkwardly, unsure what to say, as he watches you and Mingyu practically undress each other with your eyes.

Then, someone across the court calls your name, reminding you it’s time for warm-ups.

“Duty calls,” you say, giving them both a final look. “Lucky you two — front row seats. Be my little cheerleaders.”

As you walk off, Mingyu can't help but call after you, "Be there by 8!"

Jungkook, desperate to contribute something, shouts, "Break a leg!"

You blow a playful kiss toward Jungkook, and he swears his heart drops straight to his stomach, nearly falling out of his body altogether. Both boys watch as you walk away, eyes glued to your every step until you’re completely out of sight. Then, as if waking from a daze, Jungkook snaps out of it and smacks Mingyu on the arm.

“Ow!” Mingyu yelps, rubbing the spot where he was hit.

“Why would you do that?” Jungkook hisses, his face a mix of frustration and panic.

“Do what?” Mingyu asks, genuinely confused.

“You made it sound like we wanna fuck her in the dorm!” Jungkook blurts out, voice low but sharp.

Mingyu raises an eyebrow, his tone casual. “We do wanna fuck her in the dorm.”

Jungkook stammers, “Well yeah, but… I don’t want her to think we only want her for sex.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes, clearly unfazed by Jungkook's concern. “Dude, you’re overthinking. If she didn’t want it, she wouldn’t have entertained the idea.”

“She didn’t say yes,” Jungkook mutters, more to himself than to Mingyu.

“‘I’ll think about it’ is basically a yes,” Mingyu grins, clapping Jungkook on the back. “In my book, at least.”

Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek, unsure. Mingyu’s confidence might be contagious, but Jungkook wasn’t sure he liked the way things were being assumed. He wanted more with you — he just didn’t know if Mingyu understood that.

Just then, the bleachers start to fill, and the boys claim their front-row seats, buzzing with excitement. The crowd is a colorful mix — older spectators, middle-aged parents bringing along their younger children, and students around Mingyu and Jungkook’s age, all eager to catch the match.

Mingyu has watched you play many times, making frequent trips to the courts at the university ever since that first day he saw you. But for Jungkook, this is his first real glimpse of your talent.

“Is she actually good, or were you just saying that to get in her pants?” Jungkook asks, a teasing grin on his face.

Mingyu leans back, a smirk creeping onto his lips. “When I saw that backhand, I couldn’t leave the bleachers until my dick got soft again.”

Jungkook chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. Just as he’s about to respond, the referee’s voice booms through the speakers, introducing you to the crowd.

That’s when you walk out onto the court. 

Everyone erupts into a fit of cheers, but not all of them are supportive. A group of boys a few seats away is particularly aggravating, barking and whistling in a blatant display of disrespect. Mingyu feels the urge to tell them to shut the hell up — not just for your sake but for the rest of the crowd, too — but he holds back, wanting to keep the focus on you.

Red skirt, red shoes — your signature look. Just like Jungkook loves to wear everything black, you embody confidence in your vibrant red ensemble.

As you step onto the court, you give the crowd a wave, and your eyes meet Jungkook’s. You shoot him a sly wink, and his stomach flutters with that familiar tingle, the same one from last night. He straightens his back, suddenly aware that he’s sitting there with his mouth agape like a total idiot. He quickly clears his throat, trying to regain some composure.

You head toward the chairs to set your duffle bag down, the wind catching your skirt and making it flutter. The crowd cheers again, particularly loud from that group of boys. Mingyu shoots them a dirty glare, wishing they’d show some respect.

Once you and your opponent, Camila Cane, take your positions, the energy shifts. Everyone knows Camila — she’s notorious for her brash attitude and over the top confidence, thanks to her wealth. And then there’s her infamous botched lip filler, which has become a running joke among the students.

If Jungkook wasn’t excited before, he certainly is now. Not only does he want to see if you’re as good as Mingyu claimed, but he’s also eager to witness Camila get humbled. He remembers the time he accidentally bumped into her, politely apologizing, only to be met with her disdainful scoff. To which she just scoffed in disgust and told him, ‘Watch where the fuck you’re going.’

Mingyu sits beside Jungkook, his eyes glinting with mischief as he watches his best friend shift anxiously, perched at the edge of his seat. He can’t help but snicker quietly to himself, eagerly anticipating Jungkook’s reaction as the match unfolds.

“First set, Cane to serve. Ready? Play.”

The ball moves fluidly from one end of the court to the other, back and forth in an exhilarating dance. You swing your racket with precision and grace, darting around the court, keeping track of the ball’s every movement. The crowd’s heads pan side to side, captivated by the game, but Jungkook’s gaze remains fixed solely on you.

It’s as if time has frozen, echoing the enchanting moment from last night when you danced, effortlessly catching his attention. He can’t look away. In a sea of spectators, it feels like it’s just you and him, and he’s watching you in your element. It’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen.

You play with everything — mind, body, soul. The intensity is palpable, almost intimate, and Jungkook can’t shake the feeling that he’s witnessing something deeply personal. It’s an erotic kind of magic that makes his heart race. He knows he should look away, that he shouldn’t be so mesmerized, but he’s too captivated by the way you move, the way you feel the game. There’s a strange pleasure in watching you find pleasure in your sport.

Just as Camila lunges to hit the ball, it bounces out of her reach and rolls lazily to the wall.

“Fifteen, love!” the referee calls out.

The crowd cheers.

As you quickly redeem yourself after losing the toss, Camila’s irritation grows palpable. Jungkook can’t stand sore losers; he appreciates a player who knows how to keep fighting instead of sulking about a loss. It adds to the thrill of the game, the excitement of watching someone pour their heart and soul into every point.

You’re fully concentrated now — eyebrows knitted in determination, your form impeccable as you prepare for the next serve. Jungkook can’t help but think how attractive you look at this moment. You’ve always been beautiful — your pretty face, that captivating smile, the way your laughter dances in the air. But watching you play tennis? That’s something else entirely.

The competitiveness radiates off you. It’s not just about the game; it’s about your fierce determination to win, that fiery desire to conquer whatever challenge lies ahead. The way you move, how you chase after each shot, it all sends his heart racing. There’s something undeniably magnetic about you in this element, a raw intensity that makes him feel alive.

As he watches you — focused, relentless, and unyielding — Jungkook realizes that he might just be falling in love.

You won.

Obviously.

Just as Mingyu predicted, Camila Cane left the court with a broken racket and a trail of code violations for her verbal tirades. The victory cheers echoed in your ears as you basked in the glow of your triumph, adrenaline still coursing through your veins. 

After the tournament, you were swarmed with congratulations and eager fans, so you didn’t get a chance to seek out Mingyu or Jungkook immediately. But Mingyu had every intention of congratulating you later that night. Jungkook, however, was skeptical, his mind racing with doubt over whether you’d actually show up at their door.

“Dude, she’s not coming,” Jungkook said, rubbing in his facial oil. He had already changed into his comfortable white t-shirt and blue plaid pajama bottoms, his hair pushed back with a headband, ready to call it a night.

While Jungkook settled into the routine of getting ready for bed, Mingyu remained fixed in front of the door, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. He was the picture of unwavering confidence, convinced you’d come to celebrate your victory with them.

“She won her fucking match,” Mingyu mumbled against the cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he stared at the door, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “What better way to celebrate that than getting laid later in the night? Times two!”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, glancing over at Mingyu. “You’re really set on this, huh?”

“Hell yeah, I am. You saw the way she looked at us earlier. She’s interested.” Mingyu’s voice was full of conviction. “And besides, who wouldn’t want to celebrate with two guys like us?”

“And if she’s not that type of girl, what do you think is gonna happen if she chooses one?” Jungkook asked, leaning against the bathroom door frame, arms crossed. “She’s in here getting piped by one of us while the other sits on the other side of the door listening and waiting?”

“If it came down to that, then yeah,” Mingyu replied, his confidence unshaken. He took another drag from his cigarette, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Jungkook threw his head back, shutting his eyes in frustration. “She’s not fucking coming, Mingyu!”

Just then, a sound echoed through the apartment — knock, knock, knock.

The two boys exchanged wide-eyed glances, their earlier banter abruptly silenced.

A few seconds passed, the tension hanging thick in the air. 

Knock, knock, knock. 

“Shit!”

“Fuck!”

Mingyu scrambled to extinguish his cigarette, the last puff of smoke escaping his lips as he hurriedly tossed it into the nearby trash can. His eyes darted around the room, landing on the clothes he had carelessly thrown on the floor. In a flurry, he began scooping them up, trying to make the place look somewhat presentable.

Meanwhile, Jungkook ripped the headband from his hair, running his fingers through the mess to tame it. He hastily tidies up the bathroom counter, determined to avoid looking like a slob. Out of the two, Jungkook is the cleaner one; that’s why his side of the dorm is in decent shape.

On the other side of the door, you pressed your ear against the wood, curious about why they were taking so long. You could hear muffled voices and shuffling, the anticipation building within you. 

Abruptly, the door swung open, and there you were, face to face with the two boys. They wore wide, welcoming smiles, the kind that made your heart skip a beat.

“You came!” Jungkook exclaims, surprised because he honestly didn’t think you would.

“I did,” you reply, crossing your arms playfully. “Are we gonna chat out here or are you gonna let me in?”

“Right, sorry.” Mingyu mutters, stepping aside to open the door wider.

As soon as you step inside, the lingering scent of Mingyu’s cigarette greets you. Surprisingly, it doesn’t smell as bad as many other male dorms you’ve visited; seriously, are most guys in their early twenties this messy?

You take a moment to observe the room. On the left, everything is neat and organized — posters hung up in an orderly fashion, a bed perfectly made, and even the floor is spotless. The right side, however, is a different story. The bedspread is a mess, half the blanket hanging off, with clothes and random items clearly shoved under the bed in a poor attempt to hide the clutter. The wall is barren, almost as if its occupant couldn’t be bothered to put in any effort.

Once you finish your silent judgment of the chaotic side of the room, you turn your attention to the boys. They stand there, watching you with expressions that blend hope and anticipation, like patient little puppies waiting for their owner to issue commands. Jungkook leans casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, though there’s a flicker of nervousness in his eyes. Mingyu, on the other hand, bounces slightly on his heels, clearly eager for your approval — or maybe just hoping for a laugh at the mess he calls his side.

“Well,” you exhale, letting the tension dissipate with a playful grin, “this is definitely… a room.”

Jungkook snorts, while Mingyu lets out a relieved chuckle. “We honestly weren’t expecting you to show up,” Jungkook admits, his eyes scanning your face for a reaction.

You shrug nonchalantly, “I did say I’d come if I won. And I did whoop Camila Cane’s ass, didn’t I?”

They both chuckle, the tension breaking further as the playful banter kicks in.

“So…” you draw out, raising an eyebrow. “I was promised beer.”

After a brief back-and-forth over seating arrangements, you three finally settled on the floor. You’d quickly discovered that Mingyu’s bed was the one on the right side of the room — the less organized side, which explained the state of it. No way you were sitting there; you had no idea when those sheets had last seen a wash. Meanwhile, Jungkook’s bed on the left, neat and perfectly made, was off-limits because of his germaphobia to ‘outside clothes.’

To your mild surprise, the promise of beer wasn’t just an excuse. Mingyu reached into the mini-fridge and pulled out the last two bottles, cracking them open with ease.

Settling in with them was surprisingly easy. They couldn’t seem to stop talking — about everything and nothing at the same time — and for that, you were grateful. It was fascinating getting to know them better, simply by how they interacted.

“So,” you ask, accepting the cold bottle from Mingyu, “how did you guys meet?”

“Well, we were neighbors at first,” Mingyu replies, settling comfortably as he recalls their past. “We played outside almost every day, and we’ve been attached at the hip ever since.”

His casual tone holds a hint of nostalgia, but you're curious now, intrigued by their dynamic. “So, you two share everything?” you ask, raising an eyebrow and leaning in slightly. Your voice is teasing, but there's a playful challenge behind it.

Mingyu’s grin widens, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Basically, yeah,” he answers without missing a beat.

You pause, letting your gaze flick between the two of them before the next question leaves your lips, a bit more daring this time. “Even the same girls?”

The atmosphere shifts instantly. The room, once filled with light banter, falls into a brief silence. Both boys glance at each other, then down at the floor. You notice the slight twitch in Jungkook’s jaw, the way Mingyu runs a hand through his hair, as if buying time to formulate an answer.

Jungkook clears his throat, looking slightly uncomfortable. “It… it actually doesn’t happen as often as you think,” he stammers, his voice quieter, almost hesitant.

You smirk, sensing the awkward tension. “Really?” you press, wanting to know more.

Mingyu steps in, his voice confident as ever, trying to regain the playful mood. “Jungkook and I don’t usually have the same type,” he says, his tone light but firm.

You can’t resist pushing further, the teasing smile still playing on your lips. “And me?”

Mingyu falls silent, his confident demeanor faltering for a moment. He looks at Jungkook, almost like he's seeking backup, his uncertainty clear in the shift of his posture.

“Well… aren’t you everyone’s type?” Jungkook finally blurts out, his voice soft but laced with hesitation, clearly hoping to diffuse the moment.

Mingyu smirks, a slow, knowing grin spreading across his face. Jungkook, on the other hand, offers something entirely different — his sultry smile, the kind that’s both charming and unsettling in its intensity. His gaze lingers on you, the way his doe eyes shimmer under the dim light making the room feel suddenly smaller and charged with tension.

You feel your cheeks flush, a smile blooming on your lips as you return his gaze, caught up in the moment.

“So, I assume you guys have never had a threesome,” you say, shifting your longing gaze to Mingyu, relishing the way their expressions shift.

The sight in front of you is downright amusing. They both look like deers caught in headlights, eyes wide and mouths slightly agape. You tilt your head, savoring the anticipation as you wait for a response.

“I- uh-” Mingyu stammers, clearly flustered. “It- it was never really something we thought about…”

You let the silence hang in the air for a moment, then ask, “So should I just go then?” You can’t help but tease them, enjoying the power you have in this playful game.

“No!” they shout in unison, their voices rising in a mix of panic and urgency.

You giggle softly, thoroughly entertained by how flustered they seem. Their awkward chuckles only add to your amusement as the energy in the room shifts. The quietness that the room falls into isn’t just a pause — it’s a promise of something about to unfold, and you can feel their nervous energy as they settle into the moment.

Without breaking eye contact, you tap the two spots next to you, silently beckoning them. The gesture is casual, but the meaning behind it carries weight. Your voice softens, yet commands attention as you murmur,

“Come.”

They exchange a quick glance, a silent message passing between them. Then, almost in unison, they move quickly, Jungkook taking the spot on your right, and Mingyu settling on your left.

Though their movements were swift, the atmosphere between you all slows as soon as they sit. Jungkook's leg gently grazes yours, a subtle touch that sends a ripple of awareness through you. Mingyu shifts closer, his presence more assertive, his body angled toward you. The warmth from both of them is impossible to ignore, their proximity pressing in, heavy and undeniable.

There was no denying that the two of them were incredibly attractive — after all, you wouldn’t be here hinting at a potential threesome if they weren’t. Jungkook, with his quiet, almost bashful demeanor, had a certain charm that pulled you in. His shyness only added to his appeal, making you want to peel back his layers and see the side he rarely showed to others. And, of course, there was the added bonus of his tattooed arm, ink swirling across his skin in intricate designs, and the lip piercings that gave him an edgy twist (though he always took them out before tennis matches). That mix of boyish charm and rebellious edge was impossible to resist.

Then there was Mingyu — tall, confident, and utterly captivating. He had the kind of self-assured presence that drew your attention immediately. His confidence wasn’t just attractive — it was the kind that made every girl weak in the knees, leaving them hanging on his every word. While Jungkook’s quiet intensity worked its way under your skin slowly, Mingyu’s bold, magnetic charm hit you all at once.

You glance over at Jungkook, noticing how his eyes are fixed on his lap, his fingers nervously fidgeting in his hands. His uncertainty is almost endearing. Then you shift your attention to Mingyu, who is the complete opposite — bold and unapologetic, staring directly at you, his face just inches away, body almost pressed into yours. He’s clearly used to getting what he wants, but you’ve never been drawn to arrogance. Mingyu would have to wait his turn.

You turn your focus back to Jungkook, your hand moving slowly under his chin, gently lifting his face until his eyes meet yours. His surprise is obvious, but he doesn’t pull away. His gaze drops to your lips for a brief moment before flicking back to your eyes, and just as he’s about to react, his eyes close instinctively at the feel of your lips softly pressing against his.

As Jungkook leans into the kiss, you feel him slowly relax, his body softening against yours. Your fingers tangle in his hair, gentle but firm, deepening the connection between you. His hand hesitates for only a moment before settling on your waist, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

On your left, Mingyu remains silent, his usual bravado replaced with something quieter, though not passive. His eyes flicker with jealousy, but there’s admiration there too, a sort of begrudging respect for the moment unfolding in front of him. It’s strange seeing him so quiet, especially after all the confidence he’d shown.

As you pull away from Jungkook, a soft, almost disappointed sound escapes his lips, and his pout deepens, the swell of his pink lips and furrowed brows betraying his desire for more. You can’t help but smile at his expression, brushing your thumb tenderly across his bottom lip as if to comfort him. His hand slides reluctantly off your waist, making way for Mingyu, who wastes no time in taking over.

Mingyu’s large hand rests confidently on your thigh, his touch firm and sure, a stark contrast to Jungkook's more tentative approach. The difference between them is palpable — Jungkook’s gentle uncertainty versus Mingyu’s bold, unspoken demand. It was a clear reflection of their personalities. You feel the heat from Mingyu’s palm spread across your skin, his presence suddenly more imposing.

Mingyu’s lips crash against yours with a fierce urgency, leaving no room for hesitation. His grip on your neck is firm, pulling you into him as if he can’t get close enough. His kiss is demanding, rougher than Jungkook’s soft, tentative approach, and it has a wetness starting to pool in your panties. You feel the intensity of his desire in every movement — the way his lips devour yours, his hand clutching at your neck like he’s afraid to let go.

There’s a stark difference in how Mingyu claims you, his kiss full of hunger, no patience, no softness. It’s intoxicating, a whirlwind compared to the gentle warmth of Jungkook's touch. Mingyu's presence dominates the space around you, making everything else fade as he pulls you deeper into his embrace.

You press your hand firmly against Mingyu's chest, pushing him back with just enough force to break the kiss. His grip loosens reluctantly, and though his dark eyes are still heavy with want, he lets go. You sit back, catching your breath, the room now filled with nothing but the sound of you and Mingyu trying to steady yourselves.

Jungkook shifts across from you, and you don’t miss the way his breath has quickened, his pants tightening as he grows more eager for another chance. His eyes flick between you and Mingyu, a mix of anticipation and impatience building up inside him.

“Take your pants off,” you command, unzipping your sweater. “Both of you.”

Mingyu falters, his usual confidence wavering as uncertainty crosses his face. For the first time, he's hesitant, not wanting to cross any lines with Jungkook, who’s been like a brother to him. But the moment Jungkook starts sliding his pajama pants off without a second thought, letting out a soft moan of relief, Mingyu relaxes a little. He watches Jungkook, and with that unspoken permission, he begins to unbutton his own jeans.

Jungkook's chest rises and falls rapidly as he palms himself through his boxers, his eyes fluttering shut as he lets out silent gasps. His brows furrow, and his parted lips move with barely audible moans. You notice, and with a playful smirk, you tilt your head toward him.

“Take those off, Koo,” you say, your voice teasing as you pull off your shorts. “Show me how you touch yourself.”

It’s surprising, especially from someone like Jungkook, but with little hesitation, he slips off his boxers and wraps his hand around himself, starting with slow, deliberate strokes. His tip, flushed a deep shade of pink, matches the color of his soft, pouty lips, and the sight of his length is impressive. There’s truth to the saying that the quiet ones pack the most. The way his hand moves, his chest rising and falling in sync, makes it impossible to look away.

Mingyu watches, a mix of shock and intrigue flickering across his face as Jungkook unfolds before him, completely at ease in this intimate moment. Sure, he’s seen Jungkook’s dick before — they’ve been best friends for years, comfortable enough to brush off the awkwardness of locker rooms or casual nudity. But this… this is different.

Mingyu has always been the one to take the lead in their more adventurous escapades, steering the dynamic with his bold confidence. But now, as he sees Jungkook so focused and vulnerable, he realizes… his best friend’s got it bad for you. 

Feeling a surge of confidence, Mingyu follows suit, sliding his jeans and boxers off in one smooth motion. He mirrors Jungkook’s actions, his own hand wrapping around his length, joining in the intimate display.

While Jungkook's cock stood impressive in length, Mingyu's wasn’t too far off, though thicker, more girth to it. His cock was a deeper brownish-pink compared to Jungkook's softer, lighter shade. The contrast between them was striking, each appealing in their own way, both undeniably captivating. Their eyes flickered between each other and back to you, tension building as they stroked themselves, the sight enough to make your pulse quicken.

Clad in nothing but a matching white lacy set, your bottom lip gets caught between your teeth as you take in the sight before you. Jungkook and Mingyu, completely entranced, their hands stroking their lengths as their gazes hungrily trace every curve of your body. The heat in their eyes ignites a rush of confidence through you, sending a wave of satisfaction at the way they're both coming undone with just the sight of you. You relish in the power you hold over them, knowing that your mere presence is enough to leave them breathless and wanting.

Moving closer on your knees, you snake each arm around the back of their necks, pulling them in. Their hands continue stroking themselves, but their eyes flicker with confusion, unsure of your next move. Then, without warning, you lean in and pull them both toward you, initiating a heated three-way kiss. Their lips crash into yours and each other's, hesitant at first, but soon they melt into the moment, the taste of you and the shared heat between the three of you intensifying everything.

The intensity between you all builds, the space around you shrinking as things get more heated. Jungkook seizes your lips, deepening the kiss, your tongues moving together in a heated rhythm. Mingyu, on the other hand, doesn't seem to mind. His focus shifts, and you feel his fingers fumbling with the latch of your bra, finally managing to unhook it. The fabric slides away, and in no time, his large hand cups your breast, squeezing the soft flesh as he picks up the pace, stroking himself faster, more eagerly now.

As your lips are locked in a heated kiss with Jungkook, you reach for Mingyu's hand on your chest, guiding him downward with a firm grip. He follows your lead, sliding his hand into your panties without hesitation. The moment his fingers brush against your sopping pussy, you can feel the shudder that runs through him. His breath hitches, and the words spill from him in a low, husky tone.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he groans, the arousal thick in his voice. “Feel her, Kook.”

Jungkook, eager to take control, pulls his lips away from you, his breath ragged as he swiftly replaces Mingyu's hand with his own. The instant he makes contact, he lets out an audible moan, the sound vibrating between you. His middle finger moves up and down your slit, exploring you with slow, deliberate strokes, as if savoring every moment.

But the teasing touch drives you wild — their fingers are too light, too gentle. A whimper escapes your lips, your body trembling with need. You're much too sensitive for this kind of play, desperate to be touched properly. Every slow pass of Jungkook's finger sends ripples of frustration through you, heightening your arousal yet leaving you wanting more.

"Do you usually get this wet?" he asks, his finger lazily teasing your entrance, the pressure maddeningly light.

"J- just touch me more, please," you whine, your body arching toward his hand, desperate for more.

"Answer me first," he demands, his voice low and commanding, leaving no room for negotiation.

Jungkook was much different in moments like these, a sharp contrast to his usual self. Outside the bedroom, he was shy, even gentle, but when it came to intimacy, he transformed — his assertiveness both thrilling and intimidating, making your pulse quicken under the weight of his dominance.

"Yes!" you exclaim, practically begging. "Yes, I do!"

Both guys chuckle at your outburst, their amusement adding a teasing edge to the already charged atmosphere. Jungkook finally relents, slipping two wet fingers inside your dripping pussy with a slow, deliberate thrust, making you gasp sharply. Your back arches, head thrown back in a mix of pleasure and relief, while your fist tightens around Mingyu's shirt — the one that frustratingly still clung to his body. Mingyu smirks as he pulls away the last barrier between you and them, tossing your soaked panties to the side, now completely ruined with your slick. 

Wanting to give you just as much pleasure as Jungkook was, Mingyu’s hand finds its way to your clit, his fingers rubbing slow, deliberate circles that send sparks of heat through your core. The dual sensations make your body tremble, your mind barely able to keep up with the overwhelming pleasure as both men touch you, their combined attention making you feel utterly claimed.

In perfect sync, not even a millisecond behind or ahead, both of them reach for your neck, their lips pressing gentle kisses against your skin. Jungkook's kisses quickly turn into soft, teasing bites, his teeth grazing your sensitive flesh as he leaves a trail of red marks that bloom beneath his touch. The slight sting only adds to the heat swirling inside you, each bite more possessive than the last. Meanwhile, Mingyu's kisses travel upward, brushing against your jaw before he finds your cheek, his lips warm and soft. He bites down lightly on your bottom lip, tugging it between his teeth with a playful edge, his breath mingling with yours as he watches your reaction, the two of them in perfect harmony, each claiming you in their own way.

You moan into Mingyu's mouth, your voice shaky as you whisper, "'M so close."

Mingyu only hums in response, his lips still pressed against yours, the vibration of his deep voice sending a shiver through you. His hand is busy, stroking his cock with a steady rhythm, each movement becoming more desperate as his own release builds. He's close too, his breath growing heavier, but his focus never strays from you. Jungkook, though just as turned on, remains focused on your pleasure. His fingers plunge in and out of you at a quicker pace now, curling inside you with precision, hitting that perfect spot with every thrust. Your moans grow louder, the room thick with the sounds of pleasure as both men work in sync, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

A few more seconds, a few more kisses, and a few more strokes — then it happens. It’s like fireworks exploding all at once as the three of you reach your peaks in perfect unison. Your body seizes up, pleasure crashing through you like a tidal wave. Your moans, raw and uninhibited, sound almost pornographic, echoing through the room as you ride the high of your orgasm. Jungkook groans deeply, his voice rough and strained, the sound of his release vibrating in the air as he watches you fall apart beneath his touch. Mingyu, however, is quite literally growling as he cums, his body tensing beside you, chest heaving. The three of you, tangled together, create a symphony of raw pleasure, each sound feeding into the intensity of the moment as your bodies give in to the overwhelming ecstasy.

Completely spent, your body falls limp as you lean onto Mingyu, who instinctively wraps a strong arm around you, holding you close to his chest. The warmth of his skin against yours is comforting, grounding you in the aftermath of the intensity. Jungkook, equally exhausted, leans his head against your shoulder, his damp hair sticking slightly to your skin as beads of sweat drop from his brow. You don’t mind at all. Instead, you reach up and run your fingers through his raven hair, gently combing through the soft strands as the three of you bask in the quiet, intimate aftermath, your breathing slowly syncing as the room fades into a peaceful lull.

"Think you'll share the same girl again?" you tease, a playful smirk tugging at your lips.

For a moment, there's silence before all three of you erupt into a fit of snickers and chuckles, the tension melting away. Mingyu shakes his head, still catching his breath, while Jungkook leans in closer, a lazy grin spreading across his face. The laughter fills the room, light and carefree, as the intensity from moments before dissolves into something more familiar, more comfortable. The air is filled with an easy camaraderie, the teasing making it clear that despite the heat, there's still room for laughter.

Suddenly feeling as if the room has grown too intimate, you gently push Jungkook off you and rise from Mingyu’s side, creating a little distance. 

“Well, you two have a match tomorrow. Get some rest,” you say, glancing around until your eyes land on your soaked underwear. You pick them up and put them back on, the wet fabric uncomfortably clinging to your skin as you do.

“Where’re you going?” Mingyu asks, his eyes roaming your naked figure, a mix of admiration and longing on his face.

“To my dorm?” you laugh, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, trying to keep the mood light despite the heaviness of the moment.

“W- will we do this again?” Jungkook stutters, his voice a mix of hope and uncertainty.

You hook your bra behind your back, chuckling softly at his eagerness. “I don’t think I’ll be coming back here again.”

“Didn’t you have fun?” he asks again, his tone turning whiney, as if he’s desperately trying to hold onto the moment.

You exhale slowly, a hint of regret in your voice. “Yes, but I don’t do throuples.”

Jungkook sighs, his gaze dropping to the floor, disappointment washing over him. Meanwhile, Mingyu looks up at you with a spark of hope in his eyes, clearly not ready to give up just yet.

“Alright,” you finally concede, a playful grin creeping onto your face. “I will be watching your match tomorrow. Whoever wins… we can do it again. Alone.”

Mingyu’s face brightens instantly, a wide smile breaking through, but Jungkook just looks even more defeated, the weight of competition resting heavily on his shoulders.

“You can beat him, Jungkook. I know you’ve got it in you,” you encourage, trying to lift his spirits.

“Are you saying you want me to?” he asks, his voice laced with both challenge and eagerness.

“I’m saying you can beat him,” you reply, a teasing smile on your lips.

“But what do you want?” he presses, his gaze searching yours for the answer.

“I want to watch. Some good. Fucking. Tennis,” you say, emphasizing each word with a playful wink.

Gathering the last of your things, you leave the room with a smile, the laughter and teasing lingering in the air as you step back into the hallway, leaving behind a charged atmosphere filled with possibilities.

“Let me win?” Jungkook asks, turning to his friend with wide, pleading eyes that could melt anyone’s resolve.

“Don’t look at me like that when your dick is out, bro,” he replies, a look of disgust written all over his features, unable to suppress a smirk.

Jungkook rolls his eyes, kissing his teeth in annoyance. “Come on, you always win!”

Mingyu raises an eyebrow, considering it for a moment. “Fine, I’ll let you win if you let me shower first.”

“For real?” Jungkook’s face lights up, a grin stretching ear to ear as he processes Mingyu's words, excitement bubbling in his chest.

Mingyu nods, getting up and grabbing a towel, making his way toward the bathroom. Once the door is locked behind him, a playful grin spreads across his face as he calls out,

“I was fucking with you, stupid ass!”

© voyter 2024, all rights reserved.

[leiatalon]

DEMO UPDATE AND PROGRESS REPORT:

Can you believe it’s already the end of January? As promised, the public demo of The Eternal Library has been updated to include all of chapter three (now over 65,000 words).

I’m nearly finished with the first draft of chapter four, which will go out to Patreon subscribers for early access once I’ve had a chance to do a read-through and polish it up a bit. I’m hoping to have that ready in a week or so.

I’ve been feeling the ebb and flow of energy this month. As we get into the deep winter up here in Canada, my body craves extra sleep. My days are full and my family is my priority, so some days I have time for writing and other days I do not. I have to give myself permission to rest, recharge, and get outside for walks with my dog. Down time helps provide the kind of inspiration and endurance it takes to write a project like this.

My guess is chapter four will be around 25k words (currently 23k). That would take the WIP to 90,000 words, and I feel like I’ve barely started telling the story. It’s possible this might be my longest IF novel yet. Their Majesties’ Pleasure is over 225k words and Ink and Intrigue is over 350k.

I started working on this project less than four months ago and the WIP is already nearing 90k words. I’m pretty impressed with that! As the story and variables get more complicated progress may be a bit slower, but I’ll keep marching steadily onward.

A week or so ago it occurred to me that I’m going to have to write two versions of chapter five. There will be a major branch split at the end of chapter four, offering one adventure or another before the storyline comes back together in chapter six. I’m both excited and apprehensive about how much work it will involve, but I’m quite sure it will be worth it!

Play the demo of The Eternal Library for free!

[sarawritestories]

Unwavering Presence Chapter 1

Cassian X Archeron Sister (Reader)

A/N: Hi, I am so excited to share this first part with you! I wanted to point out that I am following major plot points in the books, however, this is in the Reader's perspective so some of the interactions may not line up with the text exactly but the major plot points will be there.

Content warnings: Nightmares, Grief, mentions of death, mentions of trauma,

Summary: Y/N accompanies her twin sister to the Nigh Court after Rhysand crashed Feyre's wedding. Where the reader finds herself lost in the memories of under the mountain and finds herself in the company of a Hazel eyed stranger

Word Count: 3.1k

tags: @hellodarling1357

If you want to be added to the tag list for this series let me know!

“Hello, Feyre, Darling.”

My head whipped toward the end of the aisle; the High Lord of the Night Court was flicking an invisible piece of lint from his dark lined suit. My gaze moved to my sister who before his arrival, had looked like she was ready to bolt from Tamlin. Lucien’s casually stepped closer Feyre as the Violet Eyes meet my own, “Y/N.” His gaze lingered on my long sleeve pink tulle gown, “You look healthy.”

I straightened my posture and tried to hold the arrogant air that would make Nesta proud, “Rhysand,” His gaze lingered on my long sleeve pink tulle gown I responded, trying to move toward my sister, a firm hand keeps me in place causing me to still completely.

Tamlin’s voice roared in my ear, “What the fuck do you want, Rhysand?” The High Lord of the Spring gripped my arm too tightly and I clenched my jaw to prevent a wince.

Rhysand did not miss the little action and tucks his hand in his pockets, “I am here to collect Feyre and Y/N. Unless Feyre Darling wants to go back on her end on the bargain.

I grimace as the memory of Feyre making that bargain:

I couldn’t keep my body from trembling, I knew I had a fever and Feyre was trying to bring my temperature down by putting a soaked piece of her shirt and pressing it on her forehead. Amarantha had split up the challenges between the two of us.  Taking the first challenge, The Middengard Wyrm was more challenging than I had originally anticipated. When we were living in the human lands, I would occasionally go out hunting with her and she would teach me a few things and those skills came in handy when going up against the Wyrm and was able to slay the beast.

  It wasn’t until we were back in our cell that I was aware that I had the gaping wound. It only took a few days for the infection to seep into the wound and my fever spiking.  “You must hang on just a little bit, Lucien will come and help. You just have to hold it out for a little bit longer.”

Steps could be heard down the hall from our cell and the grating of our cell door creaked open and Rhysand stepped in. Feyre covered me with her small frame, “What do you want?”

The Violet eyed male simply ignored her question and made is way to my side. I was to weak to cower away his presence alone was intimidating. He reached out his hand about to touch my wound when it was whacked away by Feyre, “Do not touch her,” she said through gritted teeth. The High Lord gave my twin a playful smirk in response.

A groan of pain escaped my lips as a violent tremor tore through my body both Rhysand and Feyre gazes meet mine, “I’m only here to help.” Rhysand says.

“We don’t need your help.” Feyre spat, tucking me closer to my chest always the protector.

Rhysand’s face began to blur in and out of focus but in a brief moment of clarity I saw his face hold a cool indifference as he met my stare. “Would your sister agree with you, Feyre?” In a fever haze it sounded as though he said her name like a prayer. “She will die if you don’t act quickly. Make a bargain with me and she will be safe.”

Feyre took her bottom lip between her teeth as her eyes met mine, I gave her what I hoped was a smile but was probably more of a grimace as a coughing fit erupted from chest. Feyre’s grip on me tightened as tears welled in her eyes. She looked up at Rhysand, “We were told not to make bargains with fae.”

I closed my eyes listening to his voice, “And yet you still made one with Amarantha. If it wasn’t clear she’s dying.”

Feyre shook her head, “Lucien will be here, and he can help us, I trust Tamlin.”

Rhysand sighed and I opened my eyes, my lids feeling heavy, and I used most of my energy to keep them on the former High Lord. “Lucien could get here tomorrow, or five days from now,

I gripped my sister’s hand and gave it a weak squeeze, “Feyre,” My voice cracked my throat and my mouth extremely dry from dehydration. “I trust him.” My gaze met Rhysand’s and I could have sworn there was a flicker of stars in his gaze I reached out my hand to him, he quirked his brow, but my hand met with Calloused ones. “I trust you,” A fit of coughing took over and there was a brief squeeze of my hand from his almost comforting.

 “What do you want?” Panic laced Feyre’s voice as my eyes began to flutter shut, loosening my grip on the High Lord’s hand. Rhy’s grips may have tightened but my mind was in a haze.

“I heal her, and you come and spend two weeks in the Night Court with me.”

“No,” Feyre said her voice strained. “I won’t do it.”

My eyes creak open slightly, as the feeling of soothing circles are brushed against my wrist. “Well, that’s a shame,” Rhysand released the grip on my wrist and rose.

Feyre shrieked and amplified my already pulsing headache. “No wait!” Feyre’s eyes meet my gaze tears are brimming, “Five days. I will give you five days, but my sister has to be with me.”

Rhysand scoffs, “Bargaining?” There was a pause, “10 days.”

Feyre countered, “one week.”

Rhysand hummed for a moment, “One week it is. You have a bargain.”

There was a flash and I slipped unconscious.

I met the stare of the High Lord of the Night Court, and he looked as though he was recalling that memory as well. As Tamlin snarled, “You cannot take them,” His grip on me tightening to the point of eliciting a small whimper that caused Lucien’s head whipping over to mine. A scolding look to his friend caused Tamlin to release me as I moved swiftly to my sister as I lace my fingers with hers.

“You want to wage a war on interfering with a bargain that Feyre willingly agreed to than by all means Tamlin be my guest.” He approached my twin and I and held out both of his hands with the palm. “Ladies, if you don’t mind.”

Feyre looked at me, fear extended to her features I gave her hand a comforting squeeze and a nod of my head that seemed to put her at ease. She reached out her free hand and I followed suit. Rhysand grips our hands and before Tamlin can make a beeline toward us, we were consumed by darkness and landed on a balcony and Rhysand ushered us inside to a large dining room area with dark red and black décor.

I looked back at the balcony ignoring Feyre’s bantering with the High Lord. Where we were, was on the side of the mountain and the scenery was breathtaking, the sun glinting off the snow on the mountain. The sun is beginning to set in the sky turning to hues of pink and purples painting the sky. I wish Feyre would take in the scene in the hopes that she would find inspiration to paint again.

Rhysand yelp of pain pulled me from the beautiful seen to see that he was rubbing the back of his head. Feyre has her second slipper in her hand, “Don’t you-“Rhysand growled as she threw the second slipper at him and the High Lord catches the slipper and smirks.

Feyre just scoffs, “Just take us to our room.” Tapping her now foot impatiently the way she crossed her arms I could have almost mistaken her for our eldest sister.

Rhysand’s lips formed a tight line. Crossing his arms in answer to hers, and I had to cough to cover up my laugh. The High Lord’s eyes twinkled with amusement and in a blink, it was back to normal, and he was scowling at my sister. “Follow me.”

Rhysand walked away not waiting to see if we were following him, I began to follow him and a small hand gripped mine. I paused and looked at Feyre her eyes were sunken, and her face had thinned since we came out of Under the Mountain, “I don’t like this.” Feyre whispered, “When we get home, I’m going to see if Tamlin can break the bargain.

I gave her a comforting squeeze giving her a warm smile fighting the disgust at her calling the Spring Court home. “Keep an open mind, Fey.” You paused, “He did save my life,” I looped my arm into hers, “Come on.” I dragged my sister into the hall and rushed to catch up to the High Lord who was leaning against a set of double doors.

“I figured the two of you would want to share a room.” Rhysand smiled and pushed off the door, “Does that work for you?”

I was shocked as I thought back to when we were taken to the manor in the spring court.

Feyre and I had our hands intertwined, the only thing preventing them from shaking, as we followed the High Lord of the Spring court through his manor. Tamlin, as we found out his name, was on our journey to the fae lands. The blonde fae male paused at one of the doors and opened them, “This is where room for either of you. Which one is up to you, of course.”

Feyre and I exchanged a look of pure panic, Feyre was the one to speak first, “Can’t we stay in the same room?”

Tamlin bristled, “You have spent the last few years in a room sharing a bed with your two other sisters and you still want to share a room?”

I glowered, “Well maybe, we’re in a strange place, with strangers and strange creatures, and maybe we seek comfort in each other’s company.”

Tamlin returned my glare and through gritted teeth, “You have two separate rooms, use them or don’t, I don’t care.” Tamlin walked past the two of us purposely bumping into my shoulder. “Dinner will be ready in a couple hours. Feel free to join.”

“Prick.” You muttered. As you and Feyre walked into one of the bedrooms.

“Y/N?” Feyre’s voice pulled me from my thoughts, bringing you back to the hall, Rhysand’s brows furrowed in what looked like concern. “Are you alright?”

I nod and give a smile, “I’m fine, are you okay with us staying together? I know that our ‘arrangement’ is different back in Spring.”

“You can call it home,” Feyre straightened, as if she realized who was standing and listening, “I’m fine with sharing a room.” She once again gripped my hand and dragged me to the room and slammed the door, not even muttering a goodnight to our host.

“My home is the cottage in the human lands, Feyre, considering,” I tuck my hair to reveal my round ear, “By their standards, I shouldn’t be here.  The only reason I’m here and tolerated is because of you.” Feyre flinched at the confession. I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Look, I don’t want to fight. You asked me to stay with you and I will, but please let me adjust at my own pace.”

Feyre nodded and, in a flash, she grabbed you and embraced you in a hug, “I love you, Y/N,” you wrap her arms around your sister and squeeze. “Thank you, for everything.”

“Of course,” you pull away and flick her nose, “Alright let’s get you out of this hideous dress.” She laughed and nodded. As if on que the doors of the wardrobe opened and there were two-night outfits. One was in a beautiful violet that looked too small for me and one in a ruby red.  “Well, that’s convenient.” I mutter as I pull out the red shirt and pants, running the cool silk through my fingers. “I have to say,” Feyre blue eyes, met mine, “The Night Court has style.”

We changed into night outfits, and I grumbled over my exposed mid-drift and how they accentuated my curves but overall, they were comfortable. I took a glance at Feyre and my heart ached. I could see her ribs protruding, I knew she was having a hard time, but every time I would ask her about it, she would brush off my concern, tell me that others had it worse under the mountain. Tamlin could barely look at me most of the time, so I was never able to bring it up to her betrothed.  Lucien made himself scarce ever since Ianthe came to stay on the property, so no one was there to help me help her. Feyre smiled at me, “Shall we get some rest? It’s been a long day.”

I nodded and we crawled into bed and cuddled close together and fell asleep.

Tears were falling down my cheeks as I watched Amarantha raise my sister’s body off the ground and throw her down like a rag doll. I was ready to run up to her, but Lucien pinned me to his chest concealing me from Amarantha’s sight. Feyre’s mouth moved and the rage on the red haired fae’s flared in her eyes. Amarantha smirked, “Well you figured it out, but you failed to be specific of when I free you.” Rhysand lunged at Amarantha and with a flick of a wrist he was flung against the wall.

Crack

The tether to my other half had snapped, and Lucien gripped me tighter as I screamed, my sobs uncontrollable. Lucien was whispering in my ear, but I couldn’t discern what he was saying, past my screams. I didn’t even notice how he stilled as the power shifted, and Tamlin unleashing his full power on Amarantha. “Feyre,” you whimpered as Lucien returns to consoling you as Amarantha was torn to shreds. Lucien let me go as I crawled to my sister; her limp body unresponsive. “Feyre, wake up, please wake up.” I sobbed leaning over body sobbing into her should, “Come back to me. Please I can’t do this without you.”

I jolted awake from the nightmare of a memory that plagued me every night these past three months. Sweat coated hair clung to my forehead as I turned to find my sister sleeping peacefully beside me her now pointed ears, proof that she was alive. It should have been me. I thought to myself. I shook the thought, knowing I had to be brave for her. Knowing she needed me to be strong enough to help her through this. I silently slid off the bed and snuck out of the room, knowing full well I would not be able to fall back asleep I figured I would explore our home for the next week.

My feet pad across the carpet and wander through the hall, as far as décor goes the halls are bare. Though the walls are dark the fae lights create a comforting ambiance. A door creaks open that catches my gaze, and I press myself against the wall hoping the shadows conceal me though no one ever came out. Deeming it safe to peel myself from the wall I walked toward the open door and my eyes widened. I stepped into the room and was mesmerized by the books lining the walls and the fireplace sending warmth down my spine. A window showcased the night sky, the room was breathtaking, and I began tracing the tomes with my fingers.

Nesta and Elain sometimes would pull me aside and teach me how to read when we had spare time. Though I could never read books at the same rate they do. Some words were still hard, and my understanding of the words sometimes went amiss so by the time we lost our fortune I had given up on it entirely.  Though I always loved the idea of reading to get lost in a story and transported to far off places.

“Someone having a hard time sleeping?” The deep voice that could cause anyone’s toes to curl, caused me to jump and I spun to find the source of that voice. My eyes met Hazel ones and I came face to face with the most beautiful male I had ever encountered.

The male was tall my head barely met his chest, dark raven hair the same as Rhysand’s fell to his shoulders his face was one blessed by ancient gods his chiseled jaw line and sultry lips. He wore red jewels on his chest and atop his hands and I gaped as I noticed his wings were tucked tight to his body as he leaned against the door frame. His face showed concern. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” He spoke again. “Are you Feyre?”

I shook my head words lost on me, I shook my head and continued, “Afraid not, though I am her sister.” I picked up the book that was in my hands and put it back on the shelf, “I’m so sorry, I just couldn’t sleep and the door kind of opened on its own I was curious.”

The male raised his hand, “Rhys wants you both to feel comfortable while you’re here. You are more than welcome to be here.” He walks in deeper and faux whispers, “I technically shouldn’t be talking to you right now?”

You take a tentative step closer to him and faux whisper back “How come?”

He gives a wolfish grin, “He doesn’t want us to scare you away.”

I quirk a brow at him, since he made his presence known I’ve only felt this overwhelming comfort. “Are you someone I should be scared of?” I asked.

His hazel eyes glance at my night ware and it’s then that I notice that the color matches his rubies, interesting. His eyes linger on my exposed stomach that I wrap an arm around feigning a chill. His eyes meet mine noticing the shift and gives me a full smile showing his teeth, “Here? No. On the battlefield? Absolutely.”

I laugh, a sound I haven’t heard out of my mouth in a while. “I don’t think I’ll be on the battlefield anytime soon, so I’ll have to take your word for it.” You noticed how eyes are bright, “Well, it’s late and I don’t want to deter you from whatever it was you were doing.” I walk around him as he straightened, “It was nice meeting you.”

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” He asked right as I reached the door. He turned to face me.

I shrug, “What keeps anyone from sleeping? Nightmares.” I give him a small nod, “Goodnight…”

“Cassian, my name is Cassian.”

“I’m Y/N. Sweet Dreams, Cassian.”

I leave and I could have sworn before I did, I heard a soft, “Sweet Dreams, Princess.” Before bolting back to my room to my twin.

Chapter 2

[piracytheorist]

In Life, And in Death (1/11)

Fandom: Spy x Family Word count: 4.1k for this chapter | 32.4k in total Rating: T Warnings: Temporary character death, graphic violence, horror imagery, body horror, mild gore, whump, language Cover art by @buf309

Summary: Anya is kidnapped, and Twilight is thrown into the horrors of a mysterious, deadly village. Forced and then choosing to survive its trials - physical and mental - he's brought to figure out who he truly is. (A Resident Evil Village fusion)

AO3

~

Author's Note: Probably my most insane fanfic project yet. After I successfully probed SOMEONE, aka @spencer-is-someone, into watching a Resident Evil Village gameplay, they fell in love with Ethan Winters but felt he went through too much in the game, prompting the idea "What if Loid went through all that stuff instead". And well, 32 thousand words later, here I am, inflicting this literal horror upon y'all.

I made a post about it, and the absolutely wonderful @buf309 went and made this amazing cover art, and I literally couldn't be more thankful for that. I was so amazed when I saw the first draft sketch that I went like I'M GONNA WAIT TILL IT'S READY TO POST THE FIC. Seriously, words cannot describe how grateful I am, I sincerely hope the fic feels satisfying enough for the work you've done <3

If you know how the Resident Evil Village story goes, this is pretty much the same... yes, in all of its "parts-in-jars" glory (if you know you know, if you don't you will soon), just with Twilight taking the place of Ethan Winters. There will be a few changes from the original story to fit Twilight's character, some to facilitate the adaptation from game narrative to fanfic narrative, some to fit my own tastes, and an actually hopeful ending because we were all left heartbroken after the ending of RE Village so might as well pour some healing juice to put our hearts back together same way Ethan puts his limbs back together and hope for the best.

Do take note of the warnings, please. There is one part of the story I actually had chills while writing (yes, that part for those of you who know, it will be slightly changed but the essence will be the same) and it is based on the story of a horror/survival game, so make sure you're okay to read something as intense as this.

The story is written in full, though I'm still doing small bits of editing here and there. I don't have a posting schedule, but I'm thinking of updating twice a week, or once if I see the editing is taking longer. Chapter titles are taken from track titles of the game's original soundtrack.

So yeah, long intro over, take not of the warnings, I hope you enjoy if you read on!

~

Chapter 1: Bloodthirsty

~

“Anya, don’t sit so close to the TV,” Loid said, not looking up from the counter.

Unsurprisingly, there was no response. He wouldn’t doubt that she hadn’t even heard him, let alone acknowledged his request.

He picked up a handful of minced meat to mould into a burger steak, deciding to give her another reminder in two minutes from now. Yor had just left to walk Bond, so it was only his direction she had to follow – and she was starting to make clear whose directions she preferred to follow nowadays.

He placed the burger on the pan as his body tensed. A split second later, the door burst open.

He jumped through the opening between the kitchen and the living room, but even that seemed a pointless blessing as thick smoke quickly covered the apartment.

He rushed through it to grab Anya, who trembled against him, but he didn’t have the time to move away from the shots.

Two silenced shots, piercing through his clothes and reaching into the skin of his back.

No blood. But they were pinching his skin, and he immediately felt groggy…

He dropped to his side, unable to move as figures approached him. One of them took Anya.

“PAPA!” she screamed at him.

He feebly raised his hand. “Wait,” was the only thing he could say, before his hand dropped.

More figures approached him, and then his vision went dark.

~

Focus, Twilight.

Don’t open your eyes yet. Don’t alert the enemy yet.

He held his breath for a moment.

He was somewhere cold, outside.

He could feel something soft but freezing underneath him. Snow?

His hair didn’t feel wet, so he mustn’t have been lying there long.

It was quiet. He could only hear distant sounds of wind and crows flying somewhere close.

He couldn’t feel anyone’s presence, so he decided to open one single eye to check.

But then both his eyes shot wide open.

In front of him stood a magnificent gothic mansion. It could be a mansion, or it could be a damn castle. It was surrounded by a thick wall, like a fortress.

He sat up. He was indeed lying on the snow, but it was the least of his concerns right now.

He had apparently been placed on the castle’s garden. Right in the middle of the winter, it was only decorated by a few naked trees as well as three scarecrows.

Those didn’t seem to do their job well enough, he thought, as crows still flew around, some even sitting on them.

He got up, checking himself for injuries. He couldn’t feel any pain or any indication of pierced skin. How had they drugged him?

It was then he realized he was now wearing his jacket.

Had they dressed him for the cold? While taking off his apron and the gloves he wore while preparing food?

What the hell?

Where even was this place?

Why was he brought here?

Where was Anya?

His attention was drawn back to the apparently useless scarecrows, and a chill ran down his spine – unrelated to the cold – when he noticed something eerie about them.

Carefully, he took a few steps towards them.

His breath caught in his throat when he was close enough to notice.

Those weren’t plain scarecrows.

Those were actual, human bodies hanging on wooden crosses.

His breath finally came out shaky, forming a cloud.

What the hell was this place?

Unable to quell his curiosity, he stepped closer, trying to notice for any details on the bodies, in case he recognized them.

All three seemed to be men, of ages between thirty and fifty, and they couldn’t have been dead for longer than a week or so. The cold might have preserved their bodies, but exposure to the outside would do as much more damage.

He couldn’t recognize any of their faces – or what was left of them.

Well, he didn’t even know where he was, how far away from Berlint or even in Ostania for that matter.

He clenched his hands into fists and turned around, looking around the walls surrounding the castle.

There was a huge metal door blocking the path outside. No climbing the wall; it was too smooth and covered in even more slippery ice. Climbing the trees wouldn’t give him enough height to swing himself out.

Which meant, his only way of getting answers was through the castle.

He must have been placed there for a reason, after all, and if they’d wanted to kill him they would have already done so.

He reached the entrance, and the door swung open easily.

The entrance hall was as luxuriously decorated as the outside hinted at. A lush burgundy carpet went up the few steps, leading to a wall where a painting of three young women hung.

The door closed behind him, and he didn’t miss the definitive clang as metal bars started descending right in front of it.

He turned, and for a few seconds he weighed his options.

He could break the door quickly enough before the bars descended too low, and slip outside.

But then again, they obviously wanted him in there, and again, it didn’t seem that killing him was their priority.

He faced forward, ignoring the sound of the bars trapping him in there.

He might as well play their game.

He walked to the painting. Underneath it was an inscription that wrote “Bela, Daniela, and Cassandra.”

Which one was which?

The women on the painting didn’t seem too different from each other. The painting itself didn’t seem all too enlightening, either; it looked like any common Romantic-style oil painting.

Well, it wasn’t going to give him any answers, would it?

He turned around, walking down a corridor and out into another, larger hall. He noticed how warm the whole building was, despite the freezing weather outside and the apparently old construction of the place.

This hall had hanging, lit candles all over the walls, though they couldn’t be the source of the heating. The lighting was low, but lucky for him, he’d been trained enough in low lighting for that not to be an issue.

He jerked back at the sound of a swarm of flies coming his way, then he sensed someone’s presence.

Flies, he could handle.

But then the flies started gathering together, and within seconds they morphed into three women, dressed in black hooded cloaks.

“Wha—?” he whispered.

“Looking for Anya?” a voice said, and he assumed it’d come from one of the women. Who had just formed from flies.

The absurdity of his situation almost made him forget that she had just mentioned Anya.

Which meant they probably knew where she was.

However, he was too shocked by the sight that he couldn’t move when one of the women, all of whom were cackling, approached him and pushed him backwards.

She swung the scythe she held in her hand, and he pulled his legs away just before she could bury it in his calf.

“Oh, he’s feisty!” the woman said with a wide smile.

Her arm then almost zapped through the air, and his left leg was exploding in pain before he could even register the movement.

He yelped in pain as she leaned closer to him and took a long sniff.

Her mouth and jaw were covered in blood, though her blond hair looked pristine clean.

“Mmm, man-blood,” she said.

She then leaned back and started dragging him, by the scythe embedded in his leg, as he still lay helplessly on the ground.

She was too fast. He flailed around, trying to grab at anything they passed by to make her stop, even though that would mean the scythe would rip his entire leg open, but then another woman reached his other side and buried her scythe in his right leg.

He threw his head back, biting down another yell of pain.

Could he just have one moment?!

The women dragged him down another corridor and into what he quickly realized was a bedroom. They removed their scythes, and he quickly reached to assess the damage, when he heard the blond woman say “Mother, I bring you fresh prey,” as she pointed at him with her hand.

“You are so kind to me, daughters,” came a voice of a woman who sounded older than them.

Older, and bigger.

She was sitting on a massive chair, holding an equally massive glass of red wine. She took a sip from it, then stood up and turned to him, saying, “Now, lets take a look at him.”

He raised his head to look at her.

And then raised it higher.

She had the build of a muscular woman, with curves proportionate to her height, which must have been about three meters tall. She wore a black wide-brimmed hat over her chin-length black hair, and a long white dress that reached down to her feet, though she moved comfortably in it.

“Well, well. Loid Forger,” she said. “Came looking for your daughter, I presume?”

He sat there, frozen.

They knew who he was – or at least pretended to be? And they knew Anya was also taken?

She walked closer to him, smiling as she put her hands on her hips. “For you to think you can waltz right in here—let’s see how special you are,” she nearly purred.

She threw her hands up in a sign for something, and two of the younger women said “Yes, mother,” as they grabbed his arms and pulled him up.

His first thought was that he was standing up surprisingly well for just having had two scythes ran through his legs.

His second thought was terror as one woman grabbed his hand, and the other produced a very sharp-looking knife.

Before he could jerk back, she sliced his palm open.

He bit back a grunt; it wasn’t a deep cut, but it would be annoying…

His last thought trailed off as the tall woman reached down, grabbed his hand, brought it to her lips… and started sucking.

Now he really was frozen in terror.

What the hell was this nightmare?

The woman pulled her head back, licking at her lips with a blood-soaked tongue.

She threw his hand away. “Hmm,” she said. “Still fresh, but only barely.”

He wrapped his hand into a fist, keeping it close to his chest.

“Then let’s devour his man-flesh quickly, mother!” one of the women said, handing a handkerchief to her.

“But I’m the one who captured him!” the blond woman protested.

“Now, now, daughters,” the tall woman said, patting at her lips with the handkerchief. “First, I must inform Mother Miranda. But later, well, there will be enough for everyone.” She threw the handkerchief aside, smiling down at him. “Put him up!”

The young women surrounded him, and though he struggled, they were too strong for him as they put heavy manacles on his wrists.

A thick build, but he could break out of them with little effort.

But then, they secured a chain to them, and the chain started going up. He was lifted off his feet, and started grunting as the full force of his weight fell on his wrists.

Don’t say anything. Don’t let them take a hold of any weaknesses.

He clenched his jaw, keeping his voice from making any sounds as they headed out of the room. The tall woman had to bend to get through that door, and one of the young women – the second one who had stabbed his leg – bent down and picked up the discarded handkerchief, smelling the blood on it and laughing, as she followed them.

Breathing hard, he looked up at the manacles.

The pain was intense but manageable, though he already felt the tingling of numbness in his fingers. By his calculations, he had about fifteen or so minutes before cut blood circulation would start causing permanent damage.

Escape, first. Then you can freak out.

He grabbed the chain and dragged his body up. Though his legs were still bleeding, he brought them up so he could hold the chain between his feet.

He was gasping by the time he managed that, but at least he had less pain on his hands and a better view of the manacles.

They were old and rusty, but seemed to have a fairly standard locking mechanism. Bringing his body closer, he fished the lockpick out from a hidden pocket of his jacket.

Biting his lip, he worked through the lock of the right manacle. Just as it opened, his feet slipped from the chain and dropped down, causing all of his weight to drop onto his injured left hand.

The pain knocked the air out of his lungs.

Think! Think! Pull yourself together!

Taking in a laboured breath, he looked back up.

The lockpick had slipped from his hand and was now too far down for him to get it. His right hand was free, but he didn’t have any other options left.

Reaching up, he wrapped his free hand around his left thumb, and with a sharp pull, he dislocated it.

As his other hand was coated in blood from the cut, his wrist slipped through the manacle as soon as his thumb wasn’t in the way.

He dropped to the ground clumsily, not managing to balance his landing.

Wheezing, he looked at his left hand.

Bleeding, and a dislocated thumb.

He gave himself ten seconds.

Ten seconds to wonder where the hell he had gotten himself into, what that tall woman even was, standing at three meters tall and drinking blood, and what her “daughters” were, emerging from flies and also participating in… blood drinking? Cannibalism?

Ten seconds, and he was back to himself.

Focus, Twilight.

He looked at his legs – they were still bleeding, but he felt confident he could stand on them. Though those scythes looked sharp, they must have split a tendon or two apart.

At the corner of the room stood a vanity table, and on top of it, along with various cosmetics, lay a small green bottle with a cross on the label.

He stood up carefully, glad that his legs weren’t trembling. He picked up the bottle, carefully reading the label.

Medical alcohol.

Not one to trust this place that much, he opened the lid, and sure enough, it smelled like ethyl alcohol.

He sat down with a grunt, pulling his right trouser up. He didn’t have any clean gauze, so his only option was to pour liquid right over the wound.

He braced himself for the sting of pain, but instead, the liquid brought a cool, numbing sensation.

And then, right in front of his eyes, his wound closed then disappeared completely.

He stared at it.

Ten more seconds.

What the hell.

He looked at the bottle again. Medical alcohol, it said. It smelled like it too.

He looked back at his leg, raising his other trouser where the other wound still stood.

What the hell?!

Uncertain, he poured a little less liquid over that wound.

The wound immediately stopped bleeding as new skin seemed to form, though it didn’t heal completely.

He let out a breath. If he were honest with himself, this wasn’t really the weirdest thing to happen in the last few minutes, was it?

He turned to his mangled hand. Just how much could that liquid heal?

He poured an equal dosage to it, and was still surprised to see his thumb painlessly slide into its place, as well as the cut close completely.

Well, at least it could be useful.

He didn’t have time to worry over the supernatural. He had to get out of there, and find out where Anya was.

He took the path of unlocked doors, as he didn’t want to waste time and noise trying to break the lock of every locked door he found. Breaking the windows wouldn’t lead him anywhere – each one was sealed shut, and though he wasn’t averse to turning into a hooligan for the sake of escaping, the entire castle seemed to be surrounded by that wall.

He needed to get to a higher floor, but the safest and most silent path led him to the basement, where he found himself walking along piles and piles of dead bodies.

He had to hold his breath as he passed them by; apparently the occupants of the castle had the habit of feasting on the blood of humans, and did it so often that the amount of bodies was too big to act as decoration for their garden.

It was all men, however. As young as twenty-three, from what he could gather with a quick look.

The fly-women seemed to be confident enough in their hunting that they didn’t take away the handgun from one of the more fresh bodies. Twilight couldn’t tell if that was a police officer, a soldier, or a man aware of what he’d been dealing with, but it didn’t matter to him. He undid the holster, as gently as he could out of respect of the deceased man, and he put it on under his jacket.

He checked the magazine. Ten bullets out of sixteen.

He looked at the man. Had he shot those first six bullets right before he was killed?

The man had a shoulder bag on him, and inside was a box of bullets, a total of forty. He slid that too over his own shoulder.

He kept the safety on the gun on, but held it in his hand. He picked up a hunting knife from one of the other bodies and walked on.

As the bodies thinned out, he found a lone skeletal figure draped in a plain canvas cloak. The limbs stood out, bare, emaciated, and rotting. While other bodies were in a similar state of decomposition, they were fully clothed, at most with a few rips in their clothes. This one was the only one so bare.

And it was holding a scythe in its hand, old and rusty in comparison to the women’s scythes, but still sharp enough to do harm.

He approached it carefully, keeping both hands on the gun.

He thanked his training for that, as the figure moved when he passed right by it.

He yelped in shock, moving away from it and raising his gun at it.

“Stop!” he said. “Don’t move!”

The creature, whatever that was, didn’t seem like it listened let alone register his words. It stood up, hunched over, then lunged at him with the scythe.

Not finding any alternatives, he shot right at its head.

The creature jerked back as a screech left its mouth.

Twilight held his breath.

His blood froze when he saw it still stand on its legs and try to swing at him again.

He shot again. He was perfectly certain the bullet got through its head.

Yet the creature moved again.

And he shot again.

Only now did the creature finally drop to its knees, but it was still screeching and growling.

Desperate, Twilight took the knife and drove it through the creature’s skull, three times, until he felt it stop moving.

It collapsed on the floor.

Hell knew if it would rise again. It was supposed to be dead already, wasn’t it?

He turned around and ran.

There were more creatures on the way. Some he slashed at with the knife, some he shot at, some he simply ran away from. A few managed to nick him with their scythes, and if he were honest, he was more worried about infections than the injuries themselves.

As he found a quiet corner, he pulled out the alcohol – or whatever that was. It seemed to work on the nicks too, making them close quickly and painlessly.

He supported himself on the wall, forcing his breath to calm down.

He had to get out. Now.

Holding the gun tight to his hand, he moved to leave, but then a buzzing and a voice sounded from behind him.

“Hmm. Warm, bright, red blood.”

He didn’t turn to look at her. He knew it was the blond woman.

He made a run for it as flies swarmed around him, until he found a staircase going up, reaching into what looked like a kitchen area.

“Where are you going, little one?”

The woman appeared right in front of him, cutting off his path. She was smiling at him, surrounded by flies, her face still stained with blood.

“I just want to find Anya,” he managed.

“Aw,” she said. She then pushed him back and he fell on the ground. She lay over him, reaching at his neck and biting.

Yelling, he took the gun and fired twice at her stomach.

She reached up, laughing as fresh blood ran from her lips.

He shot at her head.

“Your bullets cannot harm m—”

Her voice cut off when another of his shots passed through her and hit the window behind her.

The glass cracked, and it quickly shattered as a cold gust of wind blew into the room.

The gust threw the woman’s hood off her head. Twilight tightened his hold on the gun when he spotted a massive, fleshy scar on her temple, a bald spot from her long hair.

The woman shrieked, then growled. Her skin, already pale as it was, seemed to start cracking and turn grey. She looked at her hands, still gasping in pain, and then turned to him, yelling, “You stupid man-thing!”

His mind finally picked up the pace. The cold made her weak?

He stood up, raising his gun at her.

“How dare you bare your teeth at us!” she shouted, then lunged at him with her scythe.

He managed to block her attack, pushing her back, and he shot at her face.

She groaned, still standing, but she said, “What? My body—it’s breaking…”

He kept his gun up. “Just let me go,” he said.

A wild rumble came from her mouth as she turned to attack him again. She reached him, and he could only block her at the last moment, his arms taking the full blow of her scythe. “Give up!” she said, reaching back for another swing of her weapon.

He shot twice at her head, and she yelled again.

The flies seemed to drop in numbers, and her skin cracked more and more. He barely managed to avoid two more of her attacks, and then she fell on him, ready to bite his head off, he supposed in the split second it took him to kick her off of him.

He shot two more times.

“This can’t be,” she said, weakly now, her body swaying.

“Let me go!” he repeated, taking two steps back.

She screamed and reached back with her scythe, and he shot again.

And then a sizzling sound came from her body, as she started swinging wildly, not reaching anything. She groaned and groaned, and her body transformed.

It seemed to calcify into gravel, as she slowly stopped moving, her hand still up in a pose of attack.

And then it broke down.

Whatever it was, it cracked into small pieces, and what started as the form of a woman was now a pile of something on the ground.

Breathing hard, he leaned his back on the wall behind him and slid down to the floor.

His hands were trembling, his feet felt like water.

What the hell was all that?

Were was he?

Why was he brought here?

And where was Anya?

What were those creatures…?

He closed his eyes. Ten seconds. Just ten seconds to freak out.

He just had to get out. Find Anya and…

He opened his eyes, his throat tensing.

Did he really have to find her?

As far as he was concerned, right now she was a liability to him. He had to prioritize his safety first.

It wasn’t like there were piles of bodies of dead girls around, was it?

Letting out a deep sigh, he stood back up. The woman had managed to hurt him a little, but the healing liquid was in short supply and he could handle those injuries up to a point.

The woman. Who was now a pile of ash.

Calm down, Twilight. Get yourself in order and find a way out.

The castle proved massive, and he couldn’t find any viable exit paths even as he seemed to reach what looked like hallways reaching into bedrooms.

Then, a mournful scream sounded from a floor below.

“What have you done to my daughter?!”

His blood chilled. If the “daughter” had been that vicious, he didn’t want to face whatever her mother had in store for him.

[dumbbitchenergy17]

Where the Wild Things Are - Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve: My Enemy I Love

Plot: Wild men or monstrous infected creatures, the world is wild and ravaged by Cordecyps but some are raised in it and flourish becoming a wild thing.

Word Count: 2.8K

Pairing: Joel Miller x Platonic!Teen!Reader, Ellie Williams x Platonic!Reader

Warnings: canon-typical fighting/violence, injuries, harsh language, tw: TORTURE (BURNS), ANXIETY ATTACKS/RESPONSE, trauma from abusive mother, description of child neglect/abuse, GROSS MEN ALERT!

—————

Pourquoi ton prénom me blesse. Quand il se cache juste là dans l'espace? C'est quelle émotion, la haine ou la douceur, quand j'entends ton prénom?

It’s a bit harder braiding Lila’s hair with the cut healing on your palm but you made do. You sat on the couch while she sat on the floor between your legs playing with some toys given to her by members of the community.

“Then we took turns counting. I got to sixty-two!” She says and you smile tying the end of the one long braid with a band.

“Woah that’s pretty high,” You say smoothing out any stray hairs and she giggles at the tickling sensation.

“How high can you count?” She asks turning to face you and you smile swiping away the leftover crumbs on her puffy cheeks.

“Definitely not that high,” You say before helping her stand, “Alright all done!” You say and she runs over to the mirror in the hallway and you hear a squeal of excitement.

“I love it!” She runs back into the living room where you’re cleaning up and she crashes into you with a hug, “I love you Y/n,” It’s so innocent and you grow quiet as you hold her. You feel something churning in your stomach it was different when your mother said it with an emptiness to it that you’re used to but with Lila, it’s so genuine it feels wrong. Her small face scrunches as she reaches her hand up.

“You got an ouchie,” Her finger points at her mouth and your hand covers the partial split lip you have.

“It’s alright just an accident I was clumsy,” You say giving a smile that causes pain stretching your lips. “Come on let’s get you to meet up with your friends. Can’t keep them waiting,” Lila accepting the reason bounds to the door bouncing on her feet as you grab your pack slinging it over your shoulder. The second the door opens she’s bounding down the steps to the street excited to meet the kids she’s become friends with.

“Don’t run!” You say as she stops looking back at you following her before continuing her quick speed-walk skipping through the street. A soft smile creeps on your face, despite everything going on in this fucked up world few still saw the good, and truly the innocent still live like the world never ended. The small playground was built for the children beside the Tipsy Bison comes into view along with the sound of kids and Lila squeals rushing ahead and you let her. Reaching the fence that separates the playground from the street leaning against it watching the kids play. You catch flashes of Lila running amongst the kids playing games, a wide grin and laughter spilling freely from her. For a moment she trips landing on the mulch and you almost hop the fences but she takes the fall with stride quickly getting up and laughing it off running off to join the group. You settle back though still keeping an eye on her.

“Woah girl!” A familiar voice calls out and you see people move quickly out of the way of the quickly approaching horse to the playground. You smile seeing Red ignore her rider stopping before you letting a huff of air frustrated by your absence.

“Hi Red,” You hold out the back of your palm and she sniffs it before letting you pet her.

“She’s been extra grumpy since you’ve left the stables,” Joel calls out from atop her he also takes note of the split lip that is crusted over. You nod retrieving an apple from your pack that was meant to be your lunch and feeding it to Red who happily accepts. The sound of two other horses appear and you see it’s Tommy and Ellie on their mounts.

“Joel what the! Oh, that’s where she was heading,” Tommy trails off noticing you are there. It’s a bit awkward while you spoke to Joel since the big blowout you haven’t conversated with Tommy and especially Maria. The moment is broken by Lila’s little feet pattering over to the fence practically climbing up it.

“Horsies! Y/n it’s horsies!” She jumps on the fence and you reach over the railing pulling her up to sit on top of it.

“Lila this is Red,” You introduce your sister to the large creature, and Lila shrinks away a bit especially being this close. “It’s okay she’s not going to hurt you. She’s a big sweetheart,” You hold out Lila’s hand palm out and Red slowly leans forward sniffing her hand before pushing her snout further into it.

“See she likes you.” You smile down at Lila who shakes in excitement softly stroking her nose. Joel has a soft smile at the moment you share with your sister. He isn’t sure he’s ever seen you this soft-spoken and gentle with anyone before. While you still looked drained being around Lila brought a hint of life back into you. Joel glances at his brother and surrogate daughter seeing the similar looks that he too shared.

“I’m sure if you came back to working at the stables Lila would love to meet all the horses,” Tommy mentions and you look over at him surprised by the offer. Part of you wants to say yes, to have a reason to be out of that horse, a moment of peace of quiet.

“Please Y/n! I wanna meet all the horsies!” Lila begs shaking your arm and you steady her so she doesn’t fall off the railing.

“I don’t know…” You say rubbing the back of your neck. You would have time for yourself self but if you were gone then who would watch after Lila when your parents were home? There was never a moment when Lila was alone with your parents always being in the house. Too many fears of what could happen if you left them be, you saw how she was before they came to Jackson scruffy and dirty but here she was being taken care of…she was protected.

“Y/n!” The sharp shout sends you on alert and even the horses sense the change in atmosphere as Red gets a bit antsy until Joel calms her down pulling away. They're coming down the street is your parents. “We come back from our job and you leave the house in complete disarray?” Your mother says and you know she’s trying to embarrass you but it hurts even more that she’s lying straight through her teeth. Her sharp gaze moves to her other daughter who is held on the railing.

“Why is Lila dressed like that are you trying to get her sick, it’s way too cold to be out like this!” She scolds you practically ripping Lila from your arms.

“It’s not even cold she’s be running around—” “I don’t wanna hear it!” She spats and you can smell the liquor off her breath. She’s drunk and that only meant one thing. You were fucked when you got home.

“Let’s go.” Your father grabs you and Red makes an agitated noise. You try shrugging his tight grip on your shoulder but he only pushes you forward to move and you almost trip. It’s sudden and out of nowhere Joel coming and shoving your father away from you.

“Don’t touch her like that.” Joel growls and Tommy is immediately off his horse holding his brother back.

“Don’t tell me how to handle my kid.” Your father spits back the two men getting face to face and you know sooner or later punches will be thrown.

“Joel stop it! Let’s just take a step back!” Tommy tries defusing the situation and you shove yourself between the two men pushing Joel away and he stumbles a bit back. He has a shocked expression on his face and is almost a bit hurt.

“Joel stop,” You say shakily, “Please just don’t.” He can see what reads on your face, ‘You’ll only make it worse’. It seemed like it was pretty out in the air the relationship with your parents. There was no point trying to hide what goes on behind closed doors but they couldn’t do much if you didn’t want their help. Joel feels his anger rise again seeing the snarky look your father sends him.

“Learn to mind your business Joel,” He says before forcing you to walk away leaving Joel, Tommy, and Ellie to watch the dysfunctional and highly harmful environment you and Lila were in take you away.

“We can’t just let them leave.” Joel hisses and Tommy has to keep a hand on his shoulder as they watch you disappear down the street.

“Joel we can’t just take them,” Tommy says weakly and his brother whips around to face him.

“You know what they do to her!” Joel shoves a finger into his chest, “And you just want me to sit aside and act blind?!”

“I’m not saying that Joel!” Tommy retorts, “I care about her as much as you do…just give me time to figure something out.”

“We don’t have time,” Joel responds and his brother knows they are right. The longer they wait the possibility of the more harm you’ll end up in increases. Tommy sighs rubbing his face.

“Just give me tonight okay,” He offers and Joel bristles even having to wait that long, “Then you can go all rescue.” Joel huffs in agreement crossing his arms.

“You have until sundown.”

The door to the house slams open as your mother carrying Lila heads to her bedroom, your father shoves you into the spotless living room and you send a glare over your shoulder. He moves lean against the doorway as you hear the sound of your mother coming down the stairs. She stalks in silently an unclear look on her face.

“Mom why would you li—” Your head snaps to the right, a loud crack when her palm makes contact with your cheek. Your skin burns from it, tears well up from the contact and you can feel your split lip reopen.

“Don’t you ever backtalk to me you understand me you little shit?!” She spats flecks of spit landing on your face and you recoil back, “Who the fuck do you think you are embarrassing me in front of them. Do you know how to raise my child better?” She shoves you back and you stumble your back digs into the fireplace mantle cringing at the pressure. That’ll bruise. The rational part of you curls your hands into fists to defend yourself, but the part of your mind still wrapped around your mother’s finger tells you just to take your punishment. She notices your balled-up hands and the flash of irritation.

“You wanna hit me huh?” She goads you holding her arms out, “You wanna hit your mother come it do it. Hit me!” You shake your hands your fist still curled your nails digging into your palm, the cut on your palm screaming in pain.

“I’m not going to hit you.” You say and she scoffs.

“Oh so I’m a horrible mother who hits their children is that it!” She asks and you shake your head feeling the tears of frustration.

“I’m not saying that,” “Shut up!” She explodes and it’s silent between you two. You briefly glance at your father who stands there his arms cross not interfering. Is this what you wanted from your father, to just stand aside and let your mother harass you? Why couldn’t he be more like Joel, standing in to defend you?

“You are a fucking disappointment you know that.” She says and your throat tightens up and you shake your head making her laugh, “You don’t think that? You think you are the best there is. I should’ve let you fucking starve as a child.” You shrink into yourself at her jabs.

“Why do you think I had Lila? To replace what a horrible daughter I was burdened with.” She spats and you don’t know why that hit much worse than any insult she’s thrown at you. “Really tears you think I'll pity you?” You are shaking like a leaf, tears pour down your face and you desperately wipe it away.

“You know what...I think you haven’t learned,” She says and you can sense the malice in her tone. A shiver of fear of what she is capable of. She moves out of the living room and you see her open a drawer pulling out something, “I know something that’ll make you understand.”

You see the small box with a faded label, though it’s not something you recognize when she opens it a cold rush of water runs through you when you spot the tiny sticks. You sprint trying to get to the door when a hand snatches at your hair ripping you back. A scream rips from your throat but you are slammed against the corner of the wall and your vision goes dark.

Instant pain rushes through you and a scream tears through your throat though muffled by a rag stuffed in your mouth. The sound of the stick being pressed against your flesh and the sizzling sound and smell of burnt flesh as you thrash in what you notice as restraints. Another scream rips through you trying to arch away from the stick being pressed and held for a few seconds onto your stomach. Tears blur your vision and you're hyperventilating unable to catch your breath.

“Stop squirming!” Your mother hisses. Above you see your father sending you a sickening smile and you almost hurl seeing him palms his crotch over his jeans.

“Do you think when you’re done I can get a moment with her,” Your father says and you cry when he strokes your hair, “Call it father/daughter bonding time.”

“I don’t give a fuck she isn’t yours.” Your mother hisses and your eyes widen at the confession. She notices your reaction and smiles, “What you really thought he’s your father? God, you really are an idiot for believing that.” You thrash in your restraints another scream rips from you as the stick is pressed down against this time for up to ten seconds and you’re sure your vision went white. Your vision returns and you are gasping for air between sobs. A harsh knocks come from the door and your mother pauses and goes open the door, you use the chance to take in your surroundings. It looks like a basement with one window high on the wall that looks like the outside but low on the ground.

“The others are ready when you are.” Someone says before they speak again, “What are you going to do with her?”

“Just prepping her for tonight,” Your mother says and you’re confused about what she means by that. She reenters your field of vision, “You know I was surprised when they described the ‘wild woman from the cabin’ I had to know who they were.” Your eyes widen dramatically at that name. Only the Raiders knew of that title but—

“Understanding it now? You know when they got the jump on you that winter storm until Joel and Tommy showed up. I mean you did kill Derek’s brother and I was going to finish you off but then I realized who you were and decided on an even better idea.” She says with a wicked grin and you look at the now dangerous look of the man you thought was your father or Derek gives you, “Let you get comfortable then find a reason to allow us inside Jackson and learn everything we need to know about it. I didn’t think Tommy would let a group of strangers in but you just so happen to have Lila and all it took was one word from you and we were in.”

You thrash in your restraints snarling and she presses another stick to your flesh releasing another scream, “So now we’re going to kill everyone and then kill you.” She says before stepping back.

“I wanna thank you. The only time you’ve done some good for me daughter,” She says reaching under the table and producing a pistol cocking it back, and also grabbing a shotgun and tossing it over at Derek. “I’ll be sure to send Joel your regards before he dies. I’m sure he’d like to know his daughter in his final moments.” You freeze at the bomb just dropped. Joel…Joel Miller the man who you’ve been at odds with since the beginning was your father. It was an overload of information as every interaction, every conversation, everything was with your father… Why didn’t you notice the similarity? Did the others notice it?

‘You know she kinda reminds me of you. Not sure if that’s a good thing, you are a pain in my ass.’ You remember Tommy saying that to Joel but none of you took it seriously.

“Get comfortable Y/n,” Your mother says as they head to the door, “Get your final thoughts in order before we come back.” The room is bathed in darkness as the door slams closed. You had to get out here and warn everyone. You need to save Maria, Tommy, and Liam, protect Ellie, you had to keep Lila alive from your horrible mother, you need to warn Joel…your father.

Where the Wild Things Are Tags

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[orcasoul]

The Lesser of Two Evils

Chapter summery: Condemned to a life of forced servitude by your own people, every monotonous day is a never ending cycle of despair and humiliation. But one day a mysterious Roman is brought to your village...

Warnings: Swearing, smut (eventual), threats of rape, sexual harassment, violence, gore, detailed injuries, angst, enemies(ish) to lovers, protective Marcus Acacius, age gap, OFC/reader

A/N: While daydreaming of this tale I envisioned it happening in Germania (thanks to the first Gladiator movie) so Alia/reader is Germanic. She's mid 30's, has long hair and is smaller than Marcus Acacius. I have done a bit of research of the ancient Germans as well as Ancient Romans but there will, no doubt be a lot of historical inaccuracies but hey, it's fan fiction baby, so anything goes! I hope you all enjoy...

Word count: 5,173

Chapter 1 The General

The chaos is unrelenting, spreading like the roots of a weed, destroying everything it touches. The deafening clanging of steel against steel, the anguished screams of men in their last moments, the earth turning red; it's brutal and harrowing and raw, but it's necessary. It's for the glory of Rome. That truth alone is enough to drive Marcus Acacius in his rage fuelled onslaught. Body after body falls as his sword meets enemy flesh, every man put down means one less adversary for Rome.

With adrenaline and purpose flowing through him, he advances beside his men, slowly but surely, the goal seemingly just within reach. Impossible to tell if the sludgy ground beneath his feet is saturated with rain or blood. Impossible to tell the difference between the roars and wails of his brothers in arms and that of his foes. The carnage intensifies with every heaving breath, the sickening stench of iron assaulting his senses as he mercilessly ends yet another life, the heat from his victims blood steaming against the frigid air as it drips from his Gladius (sword).

A quick glance at his surroundings reveals a much more devastating encounter than Marcus had anticipated. The Gutones are a savage and ignorant people but they are cleary also very formidable. It will make the conquest all the more glorious for Rome. So, Marcus thunders on, meeting combatant after combatant in a gruelling test of strength and endurance. After dispatching his latest victim - some foolish man-child who believed he could take on a seasoned general, of all people - he turns to check over his shoulder just as a very large brute swings at his head with an axe. Marcus ducks at the last second, grinning at the now enraged man as he prepares for another swing.

Marcus counters the blow, holding his sword horizontally above his head. He throws the axe to the side, the momentum taking his attacker with it, causing him to stumble. Marcus, seizing the opportunity granted to him, spins to face the man, sword poised to deliver the final blow. In a split second Marcus is on his knees, a hot stabbing pain shooting across the back of his right thigh. Despite the throbbing and spasming in his leg, Marcus tries to stand but it's futile; all strength in his leg is gone. Looking up he's met with a sadistic and victorious smile from his assailant as he raises the axe above his head, ready to strike.

This is it! This is how it ends. In these last precious seconds of his life, Marcus becomes overwhelmed with a myriad of emotions and thoughts; what will become of his men? Will whomever succeeds him as general be worthy and commited to Rome? Will he be remembered and honoured for his steadfast dedication to expanding the empire? Marcus refuses to close his eyes for this moment; he will look his death defiantly in his cold blue eyes, refusing to show even an ounce of the crippling fear he feels right now.

Just as the object of his death swings towards him, a deep voice booms from behind him. "Alive! We need him alive!" The man before him stops mid swing, looking furiously in the voices' direction. However, before Marcus can look back the big brute flips his axe. The last thing Marcus sees is the thick, blunt handle, thrust towards his face before the world turns black.

Cold, dark, wet. That's what Marcus Acacius opens his eyes to. This is not Elysium. There's no warm sunshine, no cooling west wind, no lush green meadows with brooks of water and wine. In place of tranquillity and bliss there is only pain and suffering. Did he not lead a virtuous life? Why does Elysium not embrace him? He fights against the pull of his eyelids, rolling onto his back as his foggy mind struggles to make sense of his surroundings. It's the sudden and intense surge of pain in his leg that startles him back into reality. He's very much alive.

Wide eyed and groaning, Marcus reaches down to feel the afflicted area, fingers finding a damp and crudely applied strip of cloth. His instincts abruptly return, willing him to rise, to fight and survive. But instinct and will alone cannot overcome physicality. His vision darkens in the subdued torchlight as he tries - and fails - to push himself up, limbs aching and head throbbing furiously. He falls, landing face down on the muddy ground. Rolling over, he wipes the cold mud from his eyes and mouth, anger and frustration quickly building. His blurry vision clears only to reveal what looks like thick and rough wooden bars.

A cage! He's locked up like some worthless dog. The shame of it! Death would have been the favourable option, not this. Never this! "Well, look who's finally awake," a mocking voice jeered as the cage door swung open. Marcus gathered what remained of his strength and pushed himself up sit up, back resting against the cage bars and chest heaving from exertion. A man about his build and height wearing animal hyde and simple trousers strode over to Marcus, looking down on him like he was nothing more than horse shit. Marcus returned the sentiment by fixing him with a glare of pure revulsion.

"Who do you think you are staring at, slave!" The man literally spat at Marcus' feet. "Get in here!" he yelled impatiently while keeping eye contact with Marcus, no doubt to try and intimidate him. Marcus sat in confusion for a moment until movement behind the man caught his attention. You were quite small in stature compared to the lout barking orders at you, but that could also be due to the fact you had your head lowered and shoulders tucked into yourself, an unmistakable defensive posture. "Clean him up," his big meaty hand shoved you forward, nearly causing you to spill the fresh water from the jug you're carrying.

You managed to find your footing just before you almost fell into the prisoner. You dare not look at his face; the face of a monster. Never have you had to face a Roman before. You've heard countless stories about the "Red Demons" who consume the world, leaving death and destruction in their wake, and now you stand before one. You're not sure what to expect. Despite your best effort to remain collected, your hands begin to shake in fear. "Make sure he lives if you know what's good for you. He's no use to us dead."

Dread licks up your spine at the threat. With a lingering sneer thrown at the general, the man began to walk away, but stopped by the gate. "Careful around around that savage." You could hear the smirk in his mock warning. "Men like that always take what they like from women. It would be a shame if he defiled you, being the animal that he is." The sudden slam of the gate made you jump, the sound of the lock clicking into place causing your stomach to churn. You're trapped! Fear has you rooted to the spot.

Unsure of your next move you force yourself to at least look upon his face. His scowl send a cold shiver to every part of your being, his eyes slowly raking over your whole body and his lip curling as if the mere sight of you disgusts him. No change there then; it's how you've been viewed your whole life. His eyes, burning with hatred, settle on yours and you gulp. He says nothing; but he doesn't need to. The intensity of his glare says it all. Taking a steadying breath, you will yourself to sound more confident than you feel. "I, uh... need to clean your wound."

He remains motionless, staring you down. One uncertain step towards him is all it takes for his anger to burst forth. "Dont. Touch. Me!" he seeths as he awkwardly shuffles away from you, fighting against the ropes that bind his hands and feet. It's evident he's trying to mask the pain caused by moving. "Please...I won't hurt you." You suddenly feel ridiculous for stating the bleeding obvious. Of course you won't hurt him; couldn't if you tried. You can tell just by looking at him this man could snap you like a twig if he so desired, restraints or not. "No, leave me. I'd rather die than be a captive.'' "You don't understand," you begin to plead, stepping a bit closer. "If you die they'll blame me. They'll do terrible thi-" "I don't fucking care!" he spat, silencing you.

You know there's no point arguing; a cornered animal will always lash out. Anxiety pools in your gut. You just know you'll get hell for this. "Wigmar?" you call while you wait by the door. "Wigmar!" you shout this time. A minute later the man - Wigmar - returns looking annoyed. "What?!" he barks. "Uh... I can't... I mean... he won't let me come near," you say with a little shrug. "Please, it's not my fault." Wigmar looks at the prisoner then at you. "Useless cunt," he sneers and storms off. "Wait! You can't leave me here!" You slam your fist against the bars. You're thundering heartbeat fills your ears. Is he really going to leave me in here with him?! The thought makes you feel sick.

You open your mouth to call for Wigmar again but stop when you hear multiple footsteps approaching. He's returned with two more men. He unlocks the door and shoulders you out of the way, making straight for the general with the other two men. Grunts and snarls fill the air as the general is thrown face down and restrained. "Get on with it!" Wigmar shouts at you. For a moment you just stare, shocked at the brutal struggle taking place. "Now!" Wigmar's booming voice snaps you from your shock. Dropping to your knees beside the men, you quickly get to work, cleaning the stab wound, applying a mixture of honey, grease and herbs and wrapping a clean, dry dressing over the area. All the while the prisoner fought and thrashed on the ground.

As soon as you'd finished you packed all your supplies away, emptying the red tinted water from the jug and leapt to your feet, eager to distance yourself, even in this tiny space. The men, however, laughed the whole time, jeering and taunting the furious Roman. "Fucking animal," one of the men spat at the general as he now lay on his back, catching his breath. Visibly trembling with rage, Marcus forced himself to sit up, his eyes boring into every one of these bastards who had dared to put their hands on him. The disgraceful indignity these barbarians had just bestowed upon him only intensified the fury he was trying to contain. He has to keep a level head right now.

His focus shifted to you and he was taken aback when Wigmar viciously grabbed a fist full of your hair, yanking your head back so forcefully you couldn't do anything but yelp. Gods above. Is this how they treat their own people? "Next time handle this yourself," a red haired man stood in front of you and growled in your face. Marcus watched as you attempted to beg for release, only to have your words literally slapped from your mouth, the sound of a palm striking flesh louder than should have been possible. You continue to cry out in terror as you are bent over and dragged roughly by your hair from the cage. The gate slammed shut, locked once again, the encroaching night making it difficult for Marcus to see your retreating forms; all that remained were your desperate cries, piercing the otherwise still evening.

You couldn't get home quick enough. Not that you'd really considered this your "home" - just some dug out structure with a poorly maintained roof, once used for storage. Now said storage has a better residence than you. All that furnishes this place is a bed with a few fur blankets, a small table with a rickety stool and a few shelves that holds your clothes and very few personal items you have. The last of your tears had dried, leaving a stickyness to your cheeks, but your scalp is still burning.

This time you had lost a small clump of hair. Still, it could have been worse. With fatigue beginning to creep up on you, you take a seat on the low stool, pour some water from your waterskin into a bowl and begin cleaning the rags you had used on the prisoner when the door to your hut opened and a chill swept over you - but not from the night air. "Alia..." came a sickly sweet voice that instantly made your muscles size all over. Wincing internally you stand and turn to face your unwelcome guest. The tall intimidating figure filling your doorway slowly saunters over to where you stand. Just before he reaches you, you turn your back to him defiantly and sit down to continue with your task.

"What do you want, Bardulf?" you sigh, irritably. Bardulf grips your shouders, pulling you to your feet and spinning you to face him. "I want you to look at me when I'm talking to you!" he snarled, his stale breath invading your nostrils. You release a long breath and look up to meet his eyes. "That's better," Bardulf smirks. "Heard you were causing trouble tonight." "No," you shake your head. "The Roman... he wouldn't allow me to approach. I had to get help. What else was I supposed to do?"

Bardulf, still holding you in his iron grip looked you over and snickered, "Why didn't you just use your... influence on him and finally be of some use to us." Rolling your eyes, you shake yourself free of his hands and step backwards almost tripping over your stool. "You and I both know that's a load of horse shit. If I were a seeress, don't you think I would have saved myself from this hellhole before now?" "Careful..." Bardulf stood in your personal space now looking down at you with hate twisting his features. "One would think you're ungrateful of our hospitality." Adrenaline pumps through your body, making your hands shake. You clench your fists, trying to hide your fear. You want to scream at him, tell him exactly what you think of this so called "hospitality."

If being enslaved, beaten, humiliated and hated by your own people is "hospitality" then you have it in abundance. "Maybe..." Bardulf slowly ran his hands down your arms, his slimy touch like poison on your skin, "you'd prefer a different kind of hospitality." Disgusted, you open your mouth to protest but Bardluf's hands slip behind you, one on your back and one grabbing your arse. He slams you roughly against his body. You freeze in horror when you feel something hard press into your lower stomach. "Y... you wouldn't dare," you stammer, while trying to push him away. "Your father would have your balls!"

Bardulf grips your face with one hand so tightly, you hear your jaw click. His thin, pockmarked face is now an inch from yours and for a moment you fear he might actually make good on his threat. "My father won't be around much longer," he warned. "And I don't fear you like he does. Enjoy your protection for now, you little whore. When he's gone..." he turns your face and licks your cheek, repulsion and shock making you cringe as you swallow the bile rising up your throat, "you're all mine." Pain bursts in your knees as he throws you to the floor and walks away, chuckling proudly to himself. You sit in disbelief, staring at the door he'd just walked through, his ominous threat still ringing in your ears, You're all mine.

Surely when his elder brother succeeds their ailing father as chief he would still enforce his fathers rule. The only good thing to come from everyones fear of you was a command that no man shall ever wed, bed and breed you, lest you produce more of your "kind". But Bardulf had seemed so sure of his words, his intentions, and it fills your veins with icy cold dread. At a loss in this hopeless moment, all you can do is pull your scuffed knees to your chest, wrapping your arms protectively around yourself while silent tears of despair begin to fall.

The sound of dogs barking jolted Marcus from a fitful sleep. A sharp jab shoots through his skull as he sits bolt upright - momentarily confused by his surroundings. The hot sting in his thigh returns and he hisses through his teeth. Then it all comes back to him; the battle, the voice demanding his live capture, waking in this cage and... the fearful looking woman who'd treated his wound and was then dragged away, screaming. Marcus propped himself against the bars of his new abode, let his head fall back and sighed. How could he have let this happen?

It would have been better to die honourably in battle. This is his greatest shame. The barking is suddenly joined by the voices of several children nearby. Marcus watches the children playing with the dogs by some huts. It's looks so... normal; people going about their daily tasks. For the most part he is ignored, save for a few curious kids who decided to push their luck with him, only to run away in fear when he greeted them with a glower. Alone once again, Marcus' thoughts retrace the events that lead to his capture.

Could he have done anything different? Did he become to complacent on the battlefield? But the most pressing issue now is how will he get out of here. He's valuable to these people; that much is obvious otherwise his head would not still be attached to his body. But what do they want from him? If it's information, they can fuck themselves. No amount of torture would ever bring him to betray his soldiers. He'll die before that happens! But maybe neither has to happen.

If he can just find a weakness in this crude looking prison. Upon further inspection it appears to have been constructed in haste. Marcus rises to his knees, swallowing down the groan as his injured leg protests his movements with waves of pain and cramping. He tests every beam, every bar, hoping to discover a weakness somewhere. To his dismay, he finds none. Even the gate is secure. Marcus slumps down, dropping his head into his hands in frustration. A noise at the gate catches his attention. He recognises you as the same woman from last night, accompanied by the same man unlocking the gate.

As soon as you enter, he slams it shut, locks it and walks away. Yet again, you both stare at each other for what feels like an eternity before you clear your throat. "I brought you some food," you say, cautiously, setting down a bowl of stew in the centre of the cage. "I also need to change your bandage," you point to his leg after setting down a jug of water. He makes no attempt to move, to speak ... or to do anything, which you find peculiar. You decide on another approach, sitting on bent legs to seem less imposing.

You take off your bag and pull out your waterskin. "You must be thirsty," you coax gently, tossing the bottle to land at his feet. Marcus looks at the bottle, then at you before grabbing it and gulping it's contents. "You need to eat." You pick up the bowl, offering it in a gesture of goodwill. Again, silence. "You have to keep your strength up if you're going to heal." "What does it matter?" he finally speaks in a hoarse voice, narrowing his eyes at you. "If you die it will be my fault. The consequences would be... awful." You fear to think of what punishment would await you.

"You are not my responsibility, girl," the hostile man before you glowers. "But you're mine," you stressed, placing the bowl back down. "It's in your best interest to obey them. Trust me, resisting never ends well. You remember what happened last night." It wasn't a question, but a warning. Marcus can tell from your grave expression that you've suffered the ramifications of disobedience in the past. "Why?" You blink at him, confused. "Why... what?" "Why do they treat their own so abhorrently? You are one of them, are you not?"

You were not expecting him to ask questions of a personal nature. You've never considered yourself to be one of them, not since... that day. "I was born to this land and this tribe, yes..." is the best answer you can give. "So why would your own people-" "These are not my people!" you declared, indignation wrapped in your words. A flash of confusion crosses his face. "So you're a slave?" "Essentially," you respond, flatly. "What's your name, girl?" he asks after a few moments of silence. His frown softens somewhat as you search his deep brown eyes. "Why do you want to know my name?" you ask, unsure of where this conversation is heading.

"Just don't want to keep having to call you girl." After a moment of uncertainty you answer "Alia. What's yours?" "Marcus Acacius, General of the Armies of the north." You nod, pursing your lips. "Well Marcus Acacius, are you going to tear my throat out if I come any closer to tend to your leg?" Marcus rolls his eyes and huffs, "Do what you have to do." He clumsily slumps to his side, still bound at his hands and feet. You edge closer, bag in hand, still weary of the man in front of you. If the stories are true these monsters cannot be trusted. Marcus inhales sharply as you carefully unwrap the bandage and begin to cleanse the deep laceration at the back of his thigh.

The silence between you both is tense and charged. What only took a few minutes to clean and redress felt like aeons. The sooner you can get away from him, the better. Marcus shuffles onto his backside as you pack your bag. As you sand to leave Marcus breaks the awkward silence. "Why do they keep me alive?" "I don't know," you shrug. "Your life is clearly of value right now... but whatever the reason, it can't be good." Marcus' jaw visibly ticks as your words sink in. "Hmmm," he nods. You walk to the gate and call for Wigmar. Grunting, he comes over to let you out. Before exiting the cage you risk a glance over your shoulder and meet Marcus' eyes. It's Almost like he is studying you and it makes you shiver.

The day drags slowly for Marcus. Exhaustion still afflicts his body and mind, resulting in him drifting off every now and then, only to wake with a jolt each time. The damp ground on which he lays serves as a reminder of his newfound situation. He lays on his left side to keep his injury dry and clean. Half asleep he's suddenly startled by a yelp close by. His vision is blurry as he tries to focus, blinking heavily to clear his head. Then he sees you - about 20 feet away - caked in mud and struggling to get to your feet. A group of young women laugh and hurl insults at you, their laughter becoming hysterical as you slip and slide in your futile attempt to regain your footing and your dignity.

Marcus assumes you had just said something to them as you stood - he's too far away to make out your words - because a blond, who seems to be their leader, is now sneering in your face. He watches the whole interaction with puzzlement and also... pity? A part of him feels slighted on your behalf. You rush away, in obvious haste to put distance between you and your tormentors, eyes landing on Marcus' as he observes from between the bars. He can see, even from this distance, the redness around your eyes as you struggle to withhold the tears that threaten to spill. You quickly disappear down the bank and into a small, shabby hut as the women walk away giggling.

The fading warmth of the low sun spills across Marcus' face, the brightness intolerable even through closed eyelids. Shielding his eyes with his hand, he slowly pulls himself up to a sitting position, leaning against the bars. Footsteps once again catch his attention, his whole body instinctually on high alert. The cage door opens and three men file in, heading straight for him. He tries to fight them but it's hopeless. Two men force Marcus to his feet, both holding him up under each arm while the third holds the gate wide open. Determined to not go easily, Marcus thrashes and struggles as he's paraded through the village towards a long, rectangular building.

Marcus takes in the environment he now stands in; multiple beds with fur blankets line both walls, the wooden walls adorned with sconces, shields and various woven tapestries. Shelves in a corner at the far end hold pottery of different sizes and a large roaring firepit crackles in the centre of the room. Across from the firepit, sat in a large wooden chair draped in furs is an imposing but aged looking man wearing a dark green tunic, cinched at the waist by a thick leather belt. A fur pelt covers his shoulders and a gold band sits on his wrist. Marcus stares impassively at the man he can only assume is the chief.

Despite being in terrible pain, Marcus forces himself to stand tall, shoulders pulled back in a show of confidence and pride. The chief makes a show of giving Marcus a full once over, then with a mocking tone, says, "The General of Rome." Snide laughter arises from several men also present. "And you are...?" Marcus responds with a curl of his lip. "I am Adhelm, chief of the Gutones," the old man replied with an air of superiority. Marcus scoffed at the display of this mans self importance and for that he received a backhander from one of the men who brought him here. "Show some respect to your superiors!" he ordered in a low tone. Marcus turn his head forward, spitting blood onto the floor. "What do you want with me?"

Adhelm rose from his seat and stood face to face with Marcus, his eyes blazing with hate. "I will look into the eyes of my greatest enemy before he dies." Marcus returned the look of contempt but remained silent. "You and your scourge have bled the world dry! You have murdered, enslaved, defiled and brutalized us for so long. Now I shall have my vengeance." Adhelm returned to his chair with satisfaction written all over his weathered face. "So you spared my life just to take it?" Marcus huffed. "Exactly," Adhelm smirked. "Alia!" he barked while picking up the goblet from the arm of his chair. Marcus hadn't even noticed you tucked into the shadows by the wall.

His eyes followed as you hurried over and began filling the chiefs cup with wine, then slunk off with your head down. Adhelm continued, "Your death will send a message to your army and to Rome. At the next battle you will be presented to your men and then I will take great pleasure of relieving you of your head and limbs." Marcus felt the blood drain from his face, his stomach churning with both dread and anger. To be slain like a beast in front of his own men is unthinkable! His mere presence amongst his troops gives both inspiration and hope, so for them to have to witness the demise of their commander will significantly impact them.

But of course, that's the whole point; to crush moral and instil fear in your enemy. This piece of horse shit knows what he's doing. Marcus spat at he feet of the chief, screwing his face up in revulsion. "You're all nothing more than a bunch of barbaric heathens! You are mistaken if you believe my death will bring you victory. All you will do is bring the wrath of Rome upon you and your people to the likes of which have never been seen!" Adhelm raised his nose in the air, a pleased smile tugging at his lips. "We shall see, general. Take him back." With a wave of the chiefs hand Marcus is escorted out of the building and back to his prison.

All through the heated exchange you kept your head down, feigning disinterest while listening intently to every venomous word thrown back and forth by the two men. The silver lining to being practically invisible to these people meant you'd often overheard sensitive conversations regarding war stratagies, problems within the community, and even issues of a more intimate nature. You were never considered to be of any significance or even a threat, which is why you are now present while Adhelm dismissed all of his men to talk privately to his sons. "Kuno, Bardulf..." the chief began as he slouched back in his chair, trying to, but failing to stifle a deep, rattling cough, which resulted in him bringing up a bit of blood.

After a moment he continued, " You must both be made aware that this next battle will likely be my last." At that your head tipped up involuntarily, cautiously observing the conversation. "Father, you can't-" Adhelm raised a hand to silence Kuno. "I have accepted that I shall die soon. Either from battle or from what ails me. The future of our people, our way of life will depend on you, Kuno. You are strong and capable." Adhelm then looked to his second born. "Bardulf, I expect you to aid and council your chief accordingly. He will need all the support he can garner." "Of course, father," Bardulf bowed his head, reverently, "We will not fail you." Adhelm stood, walked over to his sons and clasped them both on their shoulders. "I am proud of you both."

You couldn't help but scoff quietly, rolling your eyes. Proud? Of what? Raising two arseholes. The second one being the cause of most of your misery for years. Maybe your reaction hadn't been as quiet as you'd thought because Bardulf is now glaring at you with pure detestation. You freeze, gulping down the lump in your throat while trying to remain calm. While Adhelm and Kuno continue to talk Bardulfs wrathful expression slowly dissolves into a sickening grin, his icy blue eyes dragging along your body, making your skin crawl. Unable to stand his gaze any longer, you drop your head down, willing the knot in your stomach to unclench. You're sure this isn't the end of it, judging by that maniacal grin; a promise that you won't get off that easily.

Series Masterlist Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Ch 4

@myownwholewildworld @imherefordeanandbones @picketniffler @h0w-1-wanna-l1v3 @chrissy-forfucksakes-wakeup @meetmeatyourworst @yorksgirl @joeldjarin @echo-ethe @whirlwindrider29

[strayrockette]

My Sunshine Girl: The Celebration

Next Chapter

Note: I’m finally giving in and writing this Benny fic my brain won’t stop rehashing. Enjoy 😊

Super Note: Listen, guys, gals, peeps...I really really really tried to keep this short but it ended up a lot longer than I intended. I even split it into two separate parts and it's STILL SOOO LONG IM SORRY! Also please excuse incorrect grammar. I tried to edit as much as I could but I'm sure I still missed something. My Masterlist

Summary: The birthday girl doesn’t want the night to end and a handsome stranger gives her an invitation.

Inspired by: (Today I Met) The Boy I’m Gonna Marry by Darlene Love, He’s Mine by the Platters, and @storiesfromafan.

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Harold’s Diner was one of many to be open late at night. Where the others were dim and had few occupants, Harold’s Diner was packed with more than usual.

Half were regulars all grouped together on the far left. They held familiarity as they conversed and joked around. Laughter and chatter were loud and hard to escape in the mom-and-pop diner.

You fluttered from table to table, smiling wide, excitement and happiness oozing from your body. It had been a pleasant surprise to walk into your uncle's diner and find a couple of friends and family waiting for you.

Your best friend Nat had organized a small get-together for your birthday. Your Uncle Harold had allowed her to use his diner for the event, "it'll be good for business and it'll make her happy" He had shrugged his shoulders as if saying yes was the only answer. With his answer, Nat had taken it upon herself to decorate the diner in anticipation of the night.

While the diner was technically open to other customers, you didn't mind one bit. The small community you lived in was tight-knit and most customers were from nearby. Few and far between were out-of-towners who were just making a pitstop. But that didn't disturb you one bit.

Customers came and went as the night went on. Many wished you a happy birthday as you and your friends idled joyfully in the corner of the diner. You beamed with each happy birthday.

By the time your friends were ready to leave and retire for the night you pouted, the night was only beginning and you were too excited to see what the cool air and starry sky had to offer.

You’d tried to convince Nat to stay out later but her boyfriend wouldn’t budge. She grasped your shoulders softly, “We can hang out some other time hun, Mikey doesn’t like it when I stay out late”

You’d rolled your eyes and mumbled a passive goodnight. Waving her off with a small and placid smile. Uncle Harold had practically shooed you out of the diner so he could clean in peace. He’d ushered out a goodnight and a see you at home, before closing the diner doors to prevent another customer from coming in.

All too suddenly you were left alone staring up at the sky and wondering exactly what you would do next. Your feet ached in the black wedges Nat had bought you. And you really wished you could sit down somewhere.

You walked along the sidewalk, taking in the dimly lit path, you wondered if you should have taken Nat's offer to drop you off at home. But you didn't like Mikey, so you politely declined.

You continued to wander, your feet aching as you tried to think of where else you could go. Who else could you visit before retiring to your cold empty bed. Lost in thought you barely noticed soft hands moving to grasp your wrists “Y/N?”

You blinked, your eyes focusing on the person in front of you. Short hair and wide eyes, “Kathy?”

A smile broke out, “Oh my gosh! How are you?”

Kathy’s brown eyes twinkled, “Been better. Since when were you back?”

“About a month ago” you responded happily. “I didn’t think I’d run into you”

She fixed her purse over her shoulder, “Talk about perfect timing. Do you remember Alice? Well, she asked me to come to spot her at this bar, but I don’t want to go in alone.”

Her question was unsaid but you were too excited to keep the night going to even think about saying no. You hooked an arm around hers and practically dragged her into the bar. You weren’t prepared for what kind of club you were walking into. But if you learned anything from living in New York City for the last 4 years, it was always best to walk as if you belonged and barrel through bodies who got in your way.

You did just that, Kathy squeezing herself closer to you, your skirt rode up with each stride, the lime green plaid skirt catching more than a few eyes. But you were always prepared for a night of fun, dolling yourself up in the cutest skirts or dresses.

Your legs were covered in nude stockings a pair of dark shorts over ‘em, like hell I’d make it easier for scummy eyes and hands to slip into my “honey pot” the thought almost made you sneer outwardly but you attempted to keep the joyful smile on your face.

You pushed through, shouldering men bigger than you, slapping hands that tried to grab your waist and smiling sweetly when they insisted, “Not for you sweetheart”

Your confidence and boldness had men parting a path for you as you tugged Kathy behind you. Your eyes searching for a familiar blonde, green eyed girl you used to tease for the gap in her teeth.

Alice’s head popped up over the crowd, her hands waving enthusiastically in the air as she caught sight of your dark brown hair and smiling face, “Y/N??OH MY GOD YOU’RE BACK”

She screeched over the loud music and voices, completely comfortable in the bar filled with greasy old and young men alike.

You rushed through the last stretch of the crowd, breaking through to rush around her table, gathering Alice into a hug you giggled and swayed together, “I missed you, you chatterbox”

You teased her as you pulled away. Your eyes roamed her face. “Well, someone’s changed”

Her green eyes looked you over a smirk on her lips, “I could say the same for you, little miss, barreling through those men like you own the place,” she leaned forward whispering in your ear, “Good job”

You laughed, patting her shoulder you pulled a seat out and sat down. Kathy was already seated, her fingers digging into the purse she clutched to her chest. Pulling money from the bottom of her purse she slid it over to Alice, “Here take it”

Alice grinned, “Awe, thanks hun, you’re the best”

Kathy looked around her gaze warily taking in the rowdy men, their greasy appearance, and tattooed bodies, “Uh huh, I gotta go”

Alice frowned, “Awe come on, you just got here and Y/N here, the fun’s just got started”

Kathy shook her head, her discomfort growing, “No way, we can get together another day”

She stressed over the word day. You bumped her shoulder, “Oh come on Pumpkin, I could use a dance with you”

She turned her head to you, her discomfort and excitement warring with each other, “No can do sweets, I hate it here”

Alice snorted, “You hate anywhere that isn’t your home, anyways” She motions to the other end of the table, “over here is cockroach”

You followed, Alice’s gesture, noticing his rough appearance-much like many of the men here, but his eyes were gentle and warm, he’s a harmless bug you thought.

You gave him a nod of acknowledgment and a hello around the same time Kathy paused her jittery movements to say “What?”

She gave him a confused and disbelieving look. He nodded, seemingly used to the confused and odd looks, “They call me cockroach,“ he repeated.

Kathy scoffed her eyes once again looking around cautiously, “And why they call you a stupid name like that?” She asked.

You leaned forward, your elbows resting on the table, “Is it cuz cockroaches are indestructible?”

You were curious about his name and what meaning it had to him. Based on the group of men he hung with you assumed there would be plenty of weird names to learn. He grinned at you, “cuz I like to eat bugs, you know, like a gag but also cuz I just like to eat em”

You laughed amused by his statement. Kathy looked disgusted and she voiced as much, “That’s disgusting. Look, I gotta go, you comin’ with me?”

She turned to you at the end of her sentence. Her eyes pleading with you to leave the bar with her. You pouted, “Sorry, pumpkin, I think I’m gonna stick around a lil longer”

Alice sighed, “Ay, they’re not that bad,” she reached across the table, patted Kathy's hand, and smiled reassuringly, “Just sit here for a bit, okay?”

Kathy huffed as Alice slipped from her seat to go to the bar, her eyes glancing around nervously. You leaned in, whispering in her ear, “It’s best to pretend you belong than to act like you don’t, pumpkin.”

She turned once more her jitteriness increasing the longer she stayed, “And why in the hell would I do that?”

You sighed and shook your head, “to lessen the stares you’re gettin, duh”

She rolled her eyes, “they’d stare no matter what.” She concluded irately.

Alice slips back into her seat, handing you and Kathy a pop to drink.

Before you could respond to reassure Kathy, two men walked up to your table, one is shorter than the other, neither are bad looking but the grease on their skin and the scent of cigarette smoke hanging around them makes them undesirable to most women. At least, the women living the prim and proper lifestyle.

Kathy avoids making eye contact but you do it freely, unbothered and curious at what they’ve got to say.

The shorter one of the two leans forward his dark eyes roaming from Kathy to you, “Hey there.” His voice is raspy and not too deep nor high. It’s rather pleasant, you think passively. “Either of you wanna come live with me?”

It’s almost a tease and a genuine question, the other jumps in eagerly, he’s tall and bare-chested, and he’s wearing a jean vest that all the men in this bar are wearing, “What about me? Wanna go out with me” his eyes look to you, they’re a soft brown and you can tell he’s a sweetheart deep down. But with all the men gathered at this bar, kindness, and sweetness are buried beneath their manly-esque appearance.

Kathy utters, “No, thank you” with a shake of her head and her eyes downcast. But you stare up at them and simply say, “No”

You’re leaning back in your chair, hands calmly placed over your thigh, your legs crossed. You have no worries or cares and you’re not at all intimidated by these men. Kathy goes on to make excuses for why she said no. She looks around the table “Oh, I have a date”

The tall one hums, “A date huh?” He nods his head at you, “What about you?”

You tease them, "If I did have a date, it isn't either of you."

The tall one laughs hollering over his shoulder, "We've got a sassy one over here."

The short on places a hand on his heart, "I'm hurt sunshine"

You laugh enjoying the light banter and tease.

Kathy nudges you, her eyes wide and warning. You stick your tongue out a silent message for her to loosen up.

She pinches your side and then says unconvincingly, “Well, I’ve got a date. 12 o’clock," She nods to herself, " I-I have to get home. She's coming with me.”

Kathy insists on whisking you away from here, she's seen the looks these men give you and bless your heart. Kathy isn't sure if you're unaware or unbothered, she refuses to leave you behind. You were the one good girlfriend she had ever had, even if you had disappeared for 4 years.

The shorter one lifts his cigarette to his mouth and inhales, “You hear that cockroach”

He points his cigarette in Kathy’s direction, “Cinderella’s got a date" He points to you, "And Sunshine waitin' for her man”

Kathy sinks into her seat and you wonder if she would bolt for the door. But with the two men blocking their path, she remains rooted in her seat.

The tall one echos, “Yeah, Cinderelli’s got a date, and Sunshine’s waitin' for her man to find her”

Cockroach chuckles and shakes his head. The two men slip away from the table, the shorter one going on to say, “Cinderella’s gonna turn into a pumpkin or somethin’”

Another man hollers, "Wonder who the lucky man is, Sunshine"

You giggle to yourself, the men reminded you of another group you'd known in New York. It wasn't too bad once you found your bearings amongst them.

You glanced at Kathy, seeing her eying someone with suspicious eyes.

You followed her gaze, seeing an older man calmly sitting with his back to the wall and his legs propped up on a chair. He was eyeing you gals with soft eyes, he gave you two a nod as another man leaned down to whisper in his ear.

Your eyes lingered for a few moments trying to grasp what exactly was being said, with no luck you looked over to the group of men, two of them being the ones who had attempted to pick you and Kathy up, stood near the Jukebox. They lazed around, heads bent speaking to each other, one of them glanced up to look over at the table you sat in.

Kathy shook her head, her voice wavering, “Look at them whisperin and plannin’ somethin, oh I gotta go”

Kathy had reached for your hand, already pulling you up from the seat. Your feet nearly stumbling as you righted yourself to walk behind her. You tugged lightly, turning her around, “If you’re gonna drag me around like ole times, Pumpkin, give me a sec to get my bearings.”

She sighed and nodded. Her right hand clutching her purse tighter as she stood and waited.

You fixed your skirt and bent down to grab your purse that hung loosely over your chair, swinging it over your shoulder, you stood and got ready to leave.

You gave the bar one last sweep with your eyes, stopping when you saw him. Blonde windswept hair and baby blue eyes. Toned arms littered with tattoos, and grease sticking to his skin, you assumed it was motor oil and some other form of grease from tinkering away at bikes.

Your head tilted and a growing feeling of intrigue and curiosity overwhelmed you. Forgetting about Kathy, you plopped onto the chair and clumsily tapped Alice’s arm to get her attention. Your bag knocked against the table nearly falling off your shoulder and hitting the ground but you tucked it on your lap and leaned closer to Alice, “Hey Alice, who is that looker over by the pool table”

Alice looked to where your eyes hovered, catching on to whom you were asking about, “No, girl just no”

You turned, giving her a frown, “What?”

“Thats Benny, you don’t want to go there” She insisted.

Kathy slid into the seat next to you, her shoulder brushing yours, “Don’t tell me you’re eyeing one of these greasy fuckers”

You jabbed her with your elbow, “Be nice,”

Passing her a pleading look. Kathy sighed and leaned onto the table, her escape plan on hold.

You pleaded with Alice to tell you more, “Come on, spill! You never hold back, what’s the deal?”

Alice gave you an unimpressed look and shook her head.

"Just fill my curiosity meter, sweets," You shook her arm as if it would help make her spill.

Alice snorted, “You’re never just curious, Sunny”

Kathy hummed, “Agreed. You rarely give anyone the time of day, why are you askin' about this one”

That's a story that would be too long to spill, you sigh, "I'll tell yah later"

“Look, no one wants to date Benny, he’s trouble. Every time he gets on his bike he gets into an accident” she looked around conspiratorially, “and he’s got a temper on him, he won’t hurt no lady but put a man in front of him and he’ll swing any which way he pleases”

She tried to stress his flaws but you couldn’t quite let go of the curiosity in you. You didn’t have his name before, you’d wondered where he slipped off to after your uncle's diner. He’d shown up out of the blue in the early afternoon. His hair freshly ruffled from the wind, a cigarette hanging from his lips, his long fingers fixing his jacket, and his long jean-clad legs striving through the diner doors with grace and confidence. For a rebel against society's norms, he was handsome. Too handsome. You couldn’t believe he didn’t have a line of girls wanting to get with him.

But then again, most of them probably steered clear to avoid angering their families. Lucky for you, you had no such concerns.

You remembered how your uncle was about to throw him out of your diner, refusing to serve “vandal scum” in his family friendly diner. But you had swooped in, bouncing over before any hands could fly and faces bruised. You’d smiled blithely, gently reminding your uncle it was your birthday and you had no need or want for a fight to break out and break the mood that had settled into the diner’s atmosphere.

People were coming in and out, most were family and friends visiting to say hi and spend time with you for your birthday. Some were customers but even they stopped for a few to talk to you. Reminiscing over younger you who had greeted each of them one time or another at the diner.

You’d turned to the handsome stranger, your hair swirling around you in waves, a playful finger wagging in his direction, “This is a family friendly diner, handsome, I’m afraid you can’t smoke in here”

You had expected him to argue but he merely put out his cigarette, handing it to your outstretched palm. You discarded it in the trash behind the hostess stand and grabbed a menu for him. You glanced to your uncle and then to the stranger, “You can eat here as long as you behave. and you will, right?” You asked sweetly.

The handsome stranger merely nodded, giving you a half smile. His blue eyes staring intently into your own dark brown that glittered with a hint of gold and red in the setting sun that glowed through the windows.

You had waved your hands in the air, “See didi, there’s no trouble here. Just a handsome man wanting to eat your delicious food”

You had defused the situation so quickly it nearly gave everyone a whiplash but that was something everyone had missed. Your ability to lighten an atmosphere.

After getting the stranger seated you went back to your previous activities nearly forgetting the blue eyes that lingered on you throughout his stay.

You had almost forgotten, until now.

Alice shook her head, grasping your hand, “Don’t say I didn’t warn yah”

She glanced at Kathy, “If you wanna leave that bad, let’s get you to a phone to call for a ride mkay”

Kathy sighed in relief, “thank you, you’re the best”

They left you to your thoughts. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, thinking over what Alice said and remembering the brief meeting from earlier in the day. You contemplated going up to him, just to ask if had enjoyed the food. He had wiped his plate clean so you know he did. But perhaps you could also ask him why your uncle couldn’t stand the sight of him. Maybe that’s too personal you thought idly.

You would have sunk deeper and deeper into your thoughts if it weren’t for a figure slipping into a chair next to you. His arms hugging the back of the chair, his body leaning over to stare at you.

You almost choked on air realizing who was seated next to you. His eyes peered into yours, soft and gentle. His beard was a golden blonde like his hair, it framed his face nicely, his cheekbones and jaw were sculpted to perfection and you wondered if you ever laid eyes on someone who was casually perfect. “Hey”

Your eyes traced his face, “Hello handsome, I didn't think I'd see yah again"

He nodded giving you a half smile, so similar to the one you had received when you had helped him get a table at your uncles diner, “I’m Benny”

You noticed his voice was a deep honeyed rasp. Somehow smooth and bumpy. You wanted to listen to him talk all night, but based on your previous and current encounters; you didn’t think he’d do much talking.

You tilted your head to the side humming in reply, “I’m Y/N”

Silence fell, a bubbly giddy feeling in your chest almost had you giggling nervously. You’d never had a man stare at you so intensely without a crude or rude comment hanging from their lips. But Benny simply watched. His eyes trailing over your face, mapping out the curve of your nose and lips, the laugh lines in your face, the dimples resting at the top of your cheeks and the way your honey brown eyes watched him in return.

He wanted to reach out to touch your cheek wondering if they felt as warm as the redness in them implied.

You swallowed the giggle by biting your bottom lip, you seemed to be doing that a lot tonight. You hoped you wouldn’t bruise it with how much you had repeated this action. “You gonna stare at me all night, Benny”

You whispered his name and it felt scandalous. As if it was the most intimate pet name you had ever come up with prior to knowing his true name.

He smiled, rubbing a hand over his chin then through his hair, he adjusted his position, “Yeah, I guess”

He made no other comment. Not once bothering to fill the growing silence between you. Perhaps there wasn’t much to be said because his eyes said it all. He was interested, you gathered.

His eyes inviting, patiently waiting on you to confirm…something. You weren’t sure.

And as much as you wanted to do or say anything you simply went with, “I-Uh-I’m with my girls”

You stuttered, what a terrible flirt. You wanted to slam your head into the table, to sink into the floor and disappear. That wasn’t what you wanted to say but it was the only thing you could think of.

“Oh” he looked down at his arms then slowly looked back up to you, “okay”

His eyes were softer and a little sad. More silence. Your heart was beating so fast with adrenaline. You swore you would never forgive yourself for being an idiot. You hoped he would say something, ask you anything. Maybe give you something other than his contemplative silence. But no, he only lifted his hands up, “You’re with your girls”

He had shrugged as he said it, gracefully getting up to leave you alone. You could feel his eyes leaving you and he left you to a different kind of silence. You couldn’t believe how idiotic you had been. As if the invitation wasn’t clear enough you had shut him down. Leave it to you to blow off the only man who had ever made you feel anything other than disgust under their gaze.

Kathy slid into the chair to your right, her mouth parting ready to ask you if you would be leaving with her, but another figure slipped into a seat at the other side of the table.

You recognized him from earlier, the man who watched you and Kathy from his corner of the bar. He gave you girls a quirk of his lip and a nod, “What are your names, girls”

Kathy leaned back and sighed, “What is this? A rotary buffet?”

You could tell she was getting tired of all the men who were coming up to you gals. “I’m Kathy, this is Y/N”

The man nodded once more, “I’m uh Johnny, I’m the president of this club.”

You hummed, “Nice to meet yah”

Kathy rolled her eyes but gave him a nod of acknowledgement. He continued to speak, “Just want the two of yous to know that..you don’t have to worry”

Your brow raised surprised by his statement but knowing where he was going.

“Worry about what?” Kathy questioned with rising suspicion.

Johnny shook his head, “Nothin, that’s all. The guys just wanna have some fun…”

He nodded his eyes trailing to the group of men by the Jukebox, “I won’t let nothin happen to yah”

His grey eyes scanned the two of you.

Kathy quirked a challenging eye brow, “Oh yeah? And what’s gonna happen to us?”

You placed a hand on her arm, trying to calm her growing agitation, “Nothin” Johnny responded.

This didn’t appease Kathy at all, she rolled her eyes and sarcastically laughed, “haha, thanks for that, we gots to go now. Nice to meet yah. Adios. Bye”

You gripped your bag over your shoulder allowing her to drag you out of the bar. When you noticed the men leering and getting closer to her, you tugged her back and took the lead, shoving them aside with strength that once again surprised them. You got out relatively untouched. But you knew that there would be some grease stains on your skirt and stockings. Kathy didn’t seem too happy about the prints on her ass though.

You would have laughed if it weren’t for the enraged look on her face. “What animals”

She hissed. Trying to swipe away the grease but the damage was done.

“Alright, sunny, I called a cab and it should be here any minute. You gonna hop in?”

You sighed and hummed, after blowing off the Benny guy you wanted nothin but to go home and wallow in your failure.

Her lips smirked, “Gonna wallow in self pity for rejectin’ that biker guy?”

Her comment released a wave of groans from your lips, “My gosh Kathy! I blew it!”

You hooked your right arm though her left and followed her across the street, “I was THIS close” you lifted your thumb and pointer finger and squeezed them together, “to maybe going on a date or somethin’”

She laughed, “Oh honey, you’ve never even bothered to flirt nor talk to a man that wasn’t family or close friends. Of course you’d blow it”

Her tease left you pouting, throwing your head back you groaned and stomped your feet playfully, “If I had a second chance I think I could get it right”

Your eyes traced the Big Dipper, wishing for another chance. But for what? You didn’t even think you had it in you. Sure you could be confident and happy. Bulldozing your way through life. Making others smile and laugh. Getting others to feel comfortable and welcoming.

But flirting? Dating? Talking to an insanely handsome man?

An impossible task you really wanted to try.

A few minutes went by before Kathy started to nudge your side. You turned your head to stare at her, one brow raised in question. Her eyes flitted across the street and you followed.

He was walking across the street, cigarette on his lips and a lighter hovering in front of him as he lit it. His hand shoved the lighter back into his pocket and he nonchalantly walked up to his sleek black bike. Swinging his long legs over the bike, he jumped to start it, his bike roaring to life.

He sat down, fixed his jacket, and gave you a look over his shoulder. His eyes were obscured by shadows but with the slight incline of his head, you figured he was silently telling you to get on.

Kathy pushed you towards him, your feet stumbling over the pavement. You righted yourself and shot her a glare. She wiggled her fingers at you, shooing you in response.

You slowly took a step forward. Then two. Then three. And before you could turn around and run away you were standing next to him.

He plucked his cigarette from his lips and gave you a look. His eyes scanned you from head to toe. Amused to see you standing near him. Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your skirt.

You were just about to ask him if you could get on. But rowdy men spilled out of the bar. Hooting loudly at seeing you next to Benny. Urging you to get on. Some commenting about your pretty skirt riding up your thigh. And some praising Benny for reining you in.

“Get on girl, it’s gonna be a fun ride” one of them laughed out.

Benny gave no indication he was listening to them. And he gave no indication of what he wanted you to do. You suppose he had already given you a hint earlier. You sighed and got on.

Once seated you tried to tug your skirt down the best you could. Silently thankful that you had prepared for the worst-case scenario. Your black shorts peeked from beneath your skirt. Your thighs resting comfortably over the bike.

More of the men hollered, “We’ve got a smart one”

“Ay suppose only Benny can take a peek underneath her skirt”

You blushed at the comment. You would like to deny it but saying anything would only fuel their provocative statements.

You turned to take a quick peek at Kathy, finding her getting on one of the men’s bikes. Having been herded by the others to take a ride. She had obviously given in to get them to leave her alone. She shot you a look. Her eyes flickered between you and Benny. She gave you a wry smile. She was excited for you. But not that pleased with her own situation. However, she’d pull through if you were experiencing it with her.

Your hands were loosely gripping onto Benny’s side, unsure of where to place them.

One of Benny’s hands reached around, grabbing yours to tightly wrap it around his midsection. You laced your fingers together and held on tightly. Trying to ignore the way your body pressed into his.

Someone shouted for him to take off and let him know that they would meet up with him on the expressway. With a jolt of the bike, you lurched forward. Your thighs squeezing Benny's legs and your grip getting tighter.

After that, you were a goner. The night sped past you in a blaze of light. The stars glittering and the town lights fading into the darkness. The wind swept your hair, tossing your neatly primed waves into a knotted mess.

You squealed, pressing your face into his back. Your eyes followed the passing scenery falling in love with the speed and the freedom that swelled up inside you.

You felt him chuckle at your reaction, you tore your gaze away and leaned at an angle to see the side of his face, you could tell he was smiling.

You were in trouble. All the warnings Alice had given you had been discarded. Your heart was a fool and your mind had been made. And you wondered where exactly this night would lead.

A/N: If you made it this far down, I applaud you 👏part 2 is already written and is currently being edited. If you want quick updates, comment for a tag! Thank you so much for sticking around to read this long fic!

[nerdallwritey]

About to Strike (Part 1)

***IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ: ONCE AGAIN I've yapped too much and this chapter became longer than tumblr likes, so I've split it into two posts. It's the same drill as Cheeks All Flushed: The smut is in the other part if you'd rather skip shenanigans and Get To Business. And that's valid! Part 2 is here and also linked down below. Apologies! It IS all in one place on AO3 if you'd prefer that!

Summary: Before Astarion could protest more, you took a sip of the drink.  He gasped. “Darling, what do you think you’re doing?” “Building trust,” you said, smiling at Jaheira. Her features echoed your own and she took a sip as well.  “Ah, what the hells,” Karlach said. “Bottoms up!” She downed her own goblet. “You’re all idiots and I hope you die,” Astarion crossed his arms.  OR The gang finally makes their way into the Shadow Cursed Lands.

Pairing: Astarion x f!reader Rating: 18+ Word count: 21.3k (This particular part is 10.7k) CW: smut, reader is new to sex, piv sex, oral (male receiving), hand job, vaginal fingering, mentions of Astarion's past trauma, blood drinking, mild angst, protective Astarion, soft Astarion, whimpering Astarion, porn with feelings, reader is an idiot (and a bard), so is Astarion (not a bard, just an idiot), lots of party banter, AND JAHEIRA!! Spoilers: Minor spoilers for Act 1 and 2 (in-game dialogue, plot points, etc.), as well as Astarion's plotline Also posted to: AO3 FAIR WARNING: This is PART 6 in my series, "Beauty and the Bard." Find the masterlist here.

a/n: SURPRISE! Part 6 is COMPLETE and she's A LOT. The back half is mainly smut and feelings and Astarion processing emotions a little which we LOVE to see. I hope to the gods that you guys find this to be a good followup to Worth the Peril, but I'm excited to FINALLY be in Act 2 and get into the big romantic scenes that happen there. Thank you all so much for sticking around and loving this goofy version of Astarion and his favorite bard :) You guys are the best and I adore and appreciate every single one of you! Please enjoy these silly little vignettes from the end of Act 1 and the start of Act 2! (Thank you as always to my beta @kermitwazowski for reading!) As a reminder, last time you got Mega Hurt in a fight and Astarion kind of took that personally.

Taglist: Moved to the comment section, since tumblr hates sharing fun with friends - please let me know if you'd like to be added to the list!

“Would you relax?” you whispered sharply to the vampire currently brooding to your right.

“How can I be when this… ancient woman just tried to murder you?” Astarion threw a dramatic hand forward, gesturing to Jaheira, who was walking in front of you towards the Last Light Inn. You all had just arrived at the well lit sanctuary in the Shadow Cursed Lands, only to be interrogated by the High Harper, and vouched for by Mol, who’d managed to find her way here as well.

“I handled it,” you hissed. “It’s going to be okay.”

“While I admire your optimism, darling, I still don’t trust her.”

Karlach buzzed behind you, clearly in disbelief. “Mate, you must be joking. That’s the Jaheira!”

Astarion slowed his pace a bit to meet Karlach’s eye. “And, I take it, you know the old crone?”

“Astarion!” Wyll sounded surprised. “You’ve lived in Baldur’s Gate longer than I have! And you don’t know the tales they tell of Jaheira and her party of adventurers?”

Your crew of seven came to a halt in front of a moss covered fountain to gawk at the elf.

He clicked his tongue. “Mmm… that’d be a no.”

“He’s lying,” Shadowheart rolled her eyes.

“I am not!”

Gale lifted a quizzical eyebrow. “Come now, Astarion, surely you’ve heard passing tales of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate? Or perhaps read a book of their exploits?”

Lae’zel narrowed her eyes. “I do not know of this ‘Jah-hee-rah’ person. Her heroics must not be that impressive if I have never heard of her.”

“Nor I,” Halsin cut in.

“Yes, well, being freakish outsiders from the Astral Plane and the middle of the forest will deprive you of basic history lessons.” Astarion crossed his arms.

You snorted. “So what’s your excuse?” The others snickered. 

Astarion placed an annoyed hand on his hip. “Did you all forget that I was kept as a slave for two hundred years of pure misery and torture?”

The group remained silent for a moment before you stepped forward to kiss his cheek. “You’re still not over that?” 

He smirked. “Would you believe it’s taking me a little longer than one might expect?”

“Shame,” you pouted. Then you looked at Karlach who was angling her head around the fountain to track where Jaheira had gone. “You want to enlighten these three, Karlach?”

Karlach looked back at you all and her eyes lit up with glee. “Oh, yes please!” She rolled her shoulders and bounced on her feet as if she were preparing for battle, rather than recounting basic Baldur’s Gate history. She cleared her throat before she spoke. “Years ago - over a century-”

You turned to Astarion and caught his eye. A century! your expression seemed to say.

Astarion shrugged his shoulders up to his ears and unwrapped one of his crossed arms to hold dramatically in front of himself. So what?

You rolled your eyes. So you should have been there!

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. I don’t know what to tell you.

You huffed some hair out of your eyes and tuned back in to what Karlach was saying.

“-Jaheira was part of a group that saved Baldur’s Gate from Seravok - a Bhaalspawn trying to plunge the city into war.”

Once again, you caught Astarion’s eye. “And you don’t recall any of this?”

He pursed his lips as the others turned to look at him. “Now that you mention it, I vaguely recall tensions being rather high around the city all those years ago.”

“Liar,” Shadowheart accused again. “It had to be more apparent than that. Why don’t you just admit you know who Jaheira is?”

Astarion’s response was venomous: “I was kept on a very tight leash, thank you, so apologies for not getting the names of the heroes who ‘saved’ the city that kept me enslaved for another hundred years.” 

You approached him quietly and took his hand. He scowled at Shadowheart but wrenched his gaze away to look at you. His expression softened mildly.

“It’s okay,” you said gently. “I’m sure she would have come for you and your siblings had she known.”

“Yes, probably come to kill us for being abominations,” he muttered, but squeezed your hand anyway.

“Ah, don’t be like that, Astarion,” Wyll said cheerfully. “I’m sure she would have helped you! You’re quite fun once you get past all the prickly bits.”

“Gee, thanks,” Astarion said flatly. 

Karlach took the awkward silence that followed as an opportunity to keep fangirling. “My mum used to tell us stories all about them - the legends who protected the city from evil. She said Jaheira was a powerful druid. Adamant. Tough.”

“Probably a good ally to have on our side,” you said. Your companions nodded in agreement.

“I’ve told myself those stories thousands of times since,” Karlach continued. “I never thought I’d meet Jaheira. She’s a hero, and I was always… some Outer City kid.”

“Well, excellent news, Karlach,” Gale said. “Given our circumstances and the path we currently find ourselves on, it’s quite possible that we might be considered heroes one day.”

“Chk,” Lae’zel scoffed. “We don’t even know what we’re up against yet. It is likely some of you will perish before we are able to slay this unknown enemy.”

Shadowheart rolled her eyes. “Charming as always, Lae’zel.”

“I am not charming. I am merely stating fact.”

Halsin cleared his throat. “Another druid you say, Karlach?”

Karlach grinned and nodded. “She’s the best! Can’t believe she wants to talk to us about working together. What a day!”

And what a day it had been. 

Or, tenday, more like.

~~~~~

The day after you’d told Astarion’s sleeping form that you loved him, he’d been nothing but clingy. 

You awoke to find him still curled tightly into your side, but now he was fully awake, his eyes wide and unblinking. It was unnerving.

“Can I help you?” you asked.

He blinked rapidly before an easy grin rested on his lips. “Just making sure you still have a pulse, darling.”

You snorted. “Checking on your food supply, I see.”

Astarion angled his head to nuzzle his nose along your throat before kissing your pulse point. “What can I say,” he murmured against your skin, “we vampires have two instincts, as we learned from that book yesterday: ‘feed and make little vampires.’” He scrunched his face into a silent roar, baring his fangs and forming one of his hands into a claw. He slashed it through the air playfully.

“Yes well, the latter probably won’t be happening for a little while,” you said, shifting to sit up, but wincing in pain over the wound in your torso. 

Astarion was rolling off the pillows within seconds and coming around to help you sit up. His eyes were concerned, but he pouted and his voice was teasingly whiny when he said, “Pity.” He rested his forehead against your temple. “I do so miss being inside of you.”

You nearly choked on your own spit, which had him pulling away from you and laughing. 

“Whatever,” you muttered, watching as Astarion pulled his shirt over his head. 

“Hungry, my sweet?” he asked, still smiling.

“You’re really freaking me out,” you said, giving him a sideways look, “with how nice you’re being.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Fine. Starve.” With that, he exited your tent with a theatrical swoosh of the flaps that acted as a door.

You exhaled a disbelieving laugh, watching as the flaps swished back and forth before settling back into their closed position.

“SHE’S WHAT?!” you heard Karlach shriek, followed by loud, bounding footsteps approaching your tent. 

Astarion called after her in annoyance, “Don’t bother her!”

“Soldier!” Karlach’s head and shoulders popped their way into your tent. “So happy you’re awake!”

“Hi Karlach,” you laughed. “I’d get up but-”

Karlach shook her head. “Don’t move a muscle. I’m sure Shadowheart and Halsin will want to change your bandages and pump you full of potions but… I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Me too,” you said. “Thank you for helping while I was unconscious.”

“You’d do the same for any of us,” she said earnestly, still on her hands and knees in the entrance of your tent. 

You heard a dull thump outside that had Karlach yelping in surprise. 

“Out,” came Astarion’s sour tone, his tongue putting extra emphasis on the “t.”

Karlach looked back over her shoulder and then over to you. “He kicked my boot, the bastard! Proper hard, too!”

“I’d do a lot worse if you weren’t a walking furnace.” Another thump informed you that he kicked Karlach’s boot again.

Rather than retreat, however, Karlach settled her elbows into the dirt and rested her head in her hands. “Ask nicely.” She met your eye with a mischievous grin. 

You heard Astarion squawk incredulously. “Darling, tell her to move!”

Clearing your throat to keep from laughing, you said firmly, “Astarion. Be nice. That’s my dear friend, Karlach, you’re kicking.”

He muttered something you couldn’t make out, followed by a loud groan. 

Through gritted teeth, he said, “Dear, sweet, Karlach-” 

“Liking the sound of this,” Karlach nodded.

“-would you be so kind as to remove your humongous form from the entrance of my lovely bard’s tent?” It sounded as if the words were causing him physical pain.

Karlach looked back at you. “What do you think, Soldier?”

“He could probably do better,” you said with a smirk. But it was then that your stomach decided to growl loudly. 

“Woof,” Karlach said.

You could practically hear Astarion’s eye roll. “You know, if you let me in, I could remedy that little problem you’re experiencing.”

Karlach slanted her mouth to the side. “He’s probably right, Gale left behind a bunch of-” she waggled her fingers, “-magic-y warm food for you before he, Shadowheart, Lae’zel, and Wyll headed out this morning.”

You cocked your head to the side. “And you didn’t go with them?”

“Are you kidding?” she asked. “And miss you possibly waking up?”

You smiled at her fondly. “That’s very sweet of you.”

“Besides, I don’t trust myself around all the explodey mushrooms down here.”

Astarion cleared his throat loudly.

“Alright, Fangs, don’t get your panties in a twist.” Karlach looked over her shoulder at him before looking back at you once more. “Let me know if you need anything. You know where to find me.” She pointed to her temple, referring to the tadpole connection, and winked. She crawled backwards on her hands and knees, purposely taking her time, before she fully exited the tent. 

Astarion took her place instantly, crawling into the space with a plate of steaming scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, bread, and a pair of healing potions. He placed the entire thing on your lap, along with a fork, before settling onto the ground next to you. 

You blinked at him. “Breakfast in bed?” 

He scoffed. “It isn’t as if you can join us at the breakfast table.”

Smiling softly, you reached out a hand to cup his cheek. “Thank you, my love. This is very kind of you.”

He still scowled, but his face softened when he took your hand from his cheek and kissed your palm. “I expect the same kind of pampering in return if I’m ever to practically die as foolishly as you.”

You laughed before picking up the fork and stabbing some egg. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

~~~~~

And for the first few days, it did feel like pampering: Astarion staying by your side at all times - reading to you, laying with you, changing your bandages… He only ever left to feed himself. He refused your blood, citing that you needed it more than him, even though your bleeding had slowed to a halt by the third day. 

It all felt very nice.

Until you felt well enough to get back on your feet.

The others had dutifully been wrapping things up in the Underdark; defeating monsters, freeing deep gnomes from their drow and duergar slavers, rescuing the halfling woman’s husband, and exploring an abandoned wizard’s tower and the temple to Shar, to name a few. Lae’zel had even gifted you a new longsword she’d found, Phalar Aluve - a sword with the ability to sing or shriek - claiming that this weapon would not have allowed you to be wounded as fatally, had you had it during the duergar battle in the decrepit village.

On the day they raided the Zhentarim cache Astarion had mentioned all those days ago, he’d remained dutifully by your side, much to your dismay and protests that you’d be fine without him for a few hours.

“Absolutely not,” he’d said, looking down his nose at you. “As if Halsin or Shadowheart could care for you as properly as I have.”

“You forget,” you’d responded, mildly annoyed, “that they’re the ones who taught you how to care for me.”

“And I’m the one who shall continue to care for you,” he huffed, finishing changing your bandages once again. By this time, you could sit up on your own with mild to no pain at all. You were perfectly capable of changing your own bandages, but Astarion had insisted on continuing to help you. 

You supposed it was nice that he wanted to take care of you, given how much he usually hated being responsible for anything, but he was taking the job a bit too seriously.

Luckily, Karlach and Lae’zel had lugged some chests they’d been unable to open at the Zhentarim storeroom back to camp, allowing your beloved rogue to take part in the raid, despite not attending himself, and thus allowing you a moment of peace to roll off your pillows and put on fresh clothes without his help.

You emerged from your tent to look at the spoils from the storeroom, standing up straight and walking on your own. Astarion hadn’t noticed at first, too busy fiddling with the lock of a particularly large chest, but the commotion created by your companions forced him to look in your direction. 

“You’re up!” Wyll exclaimed.

“Do you need any help?” Gale snapped the book he was reading closed.

“Give her some space,” Shadowheart said, assessing you with her eyes from a few feet away.

Astarion got up and hurried over to you. “What do you think you’re doing?”

You smiled at him reassuringly. “I promise I feel well enough to be out here. I just wanted some fresh, Underdark air.” You looked over his shoulder at one of the open chests. “Find anything good?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Nothing worth you getting out of bed for.” He looked you up and down and noticed your change of clothes. He sighed. “I could have helped-”

“I’m fine,” you maintained, placing your hands on his shoulders and looking him directly in the eyes.

Halsin approached the two of you and nodded approvingly. “It is good for her to be up and moving around. It’ll stretch the healing muscles and allow her to join the fray again much more quickly than if she stays in bed all day.” 

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Oh, what do you know?”

“Astarion,” Shadowheart said in warning. “If she says she’s okay, let’s believe her. I’m sure she’ll tell you if something’s wrong this time around, right?” She made pointed eye contact with you. 

You held up your hand as if swearing an oath. “I promise.”

He watched you closely, narrowing his eyes and sniffing pompously. “Fine.” 

He made no move to leave your side.

You rolled your eyes and walked over to the chest he’d been working on, the thieves’ tools still stuck inside the lock. You patted the top of the chest and said, “Don’t let me interrupt you.”

Astarion watched you carefully before he made his way back to the chest and sunk to his knees. 

Not far off, Lae’zel was polishing her greatsword. “Does this mean you are well enough to accompany us to the crèche?”

“Well, I-”

“No,” said every other person at camp at once.

“Chk,” Lae’zel thrust her greatsword into the dirt in front of her. “Heal faster.”

“Trying my best,” you said with a shrug. 

Lae’zel rolled her eyes and returned to assessing her greatsword.

“If you’re going to be up and about,” Shadowheart said, “you should probably start packing up your belongings for when we need to enter the Mountain Pass.”

“Augh!” you exclaimed loudly, clutching your side. Astarion was up immediately and you leaned your weight on him, throwing your arms around his neck for support. “So sorry, Shadowheart,” you said in a fake strained tone, “my wound… it prevents me… from hard labor…” You flopped fully into Astarion’s side, closing your eyes and sticking out your tongue as if you’d just perished on the spot.

“Oh good,” Astarion said blandly, “she’s finally dead and I can get on with my life.”

You kicked him.

“Uh huh,” Shadowheart crossed her arms. “Such a shame she’ll never be able to annoy us again.”

“I’ll haunt you forever…” you murmured, wobbling your voice like a ghost.

 Shadowheart stepped forward and patted your arm. “I’ll ask for blessings from Lady Shar on behalf of your passing.”

“Thank you…” you murmured again.

Astarion bumped his hip into yours forcefully. “Would you get off of me?”

You pulled back and smiled at him. “See? I’m fine.”

He humphed and returned to unlocking the big chest, only to find it full of more thieves' tools. He sighed heavily and rested his forehead on the edge of the chest. You peered inside and laughed.

“Aw,” you said sympathetically and patted his shoulder. “I’m going to get some food.”

“Let me-” 

“No,” you said firmly. “Keep going through your useless chests, my love. I’ll be right over here.” You walked over to the makeshift kitchen area Gale had set up. 

Astarion watched you go, and you felt his protective eyes remain on you for the remainder of the night. 

~~~~~

It was like that now: Astarion trying to do things for you while you insisted you could do them on your own. 

It had bewildered you when he actually helped you pack for your trip back to the surface. He had little to pack of his own, given that he’d more or less lived in your tent throughout your stay in the Underdark. He was relentlessly cautious with you, insisting that Gale cast Fly on you so that you didn’t have to ascend the impossibly long ladder back up into the Goblin camp. And he rarely let you out of his sight, even when safely surrounded by your other companions. 

The Mountain Pass was beautiful: bathed in what seemed like permanently golden light that had Astarion blooming in the sun’s glow once again. When your group accidentally stumbled into a hostile party of undead while looking for a place to camp, Astarion had taken your hand and pulled you behind him to shield you with his body. 

“I can help!” you’d pleaded, watching your friends sling spells and swords at the skeletons.

“Let us handle this,” Astarion had growled, slashing his daggers through a ghoul that came a little too close to you for comfort. He kept you both to the outskirts of the fight.

Try as you might to help, Astarion held you back, glaring at you for drawing the attention of a ghast when you cast Thunder Wave in its direction. You gave him an apologetic smile before he fatally stabbed the ghast in the chest. 

Bloodied and burnt out, you and your companions finally found a decent place to camp, close to the monastery that Lae’zel was sure housed the crèche. She took the lead on making a plan to enter the building and find the cure that had been promised to her all her life. You sat by the fire, listening idly to her plans, knowing full well that no one - except maybe Lae’zel herself - wanted you fighting so soon after your injury. You also knew that, should the cure be legitimate, your friends would happily accompany you back into the crèche where you could have the tadpole removed. You chose not to linger on the thought of your adventure possibly coming to an end so soon.

Unsurprisingly, Astarion sat by your side, mending a pair of pants. His knee was pressed lightly into your upper thigh as he hunched over the fabric to see his thread better. 

“You could be doing that in my tent, you know,” you said quietly, watching his fingers nimbly weave the fabric back together with needle and thread. “It’s probably easier to see what you’re doing surrounded by candles from all sides than just this fire. I don’t want you to burn yourself.”

“I’m quite skilled at seeing in darkness, thank you,” he said, not looking over at you.

You exhaled softly and leaned your head on his shoulder, effectively stretching your right side, which housed your wound. He paused momentarily, then kept going. 

“I’m okay,” you said softly, barely audible above the roaring fire and the heated discussion of possible battle strategy amongst your companions a few feet away. “I’m not going to get hurt like that again.”

Astarion sighed and halted his work on the pants. “You can’t promise that,” he said, sounding annoyed. He spoke his next words quickly, equal parts irritated and vulnerable: “You have no idea what’s coming and neither do I or any of us and I know you’re capable of protecting yourself but the least I can do right now is make sure you heal properly and don’t get hurt again because if I lost you… I wouldn’t know what to do.” He cleared his throat and looked back down at the fabric in his lap. “Or… whatever.” 

You smiled softly and lifted your head from his shoulder to kiss his cheek. “I adore you.”

He exhaled an amused breath through his nose. “You’re fine, too.” 

“Thank you for looking out for me.”

He sighed dramatically. “It’s been dreadful.”

You laughed. “I can’t even begin to imagine the sacrifices you’ve made.”

He brought his hands up to count on his fingers. “I’ve barely slept, I’ve been drinking animal plonk as opposed to your delicious vintage, I’ve hardly killed anything in the last few days, and I haven’t been able to sleep with you for just as long, if not longer.”

You were glad he wasn’t looking right at you, otherwise he’d surely see the flush on your cheeks. “You’ve been sleeping with me nearly every night.”

He nudged your unwounded side with his elbow. “You know what I mean.”

You smirked. “I miss you too,” you said. “And I’m sorry. You don’t need to be giving up all of that for me.”

He leaned his head on top of yours which had found its way back to his shoulder. “Just… heal, would you? You wretched thing.”

You reached your hand to rest on top of his knee. “You must be starving.”

“In more ways than one,” he growled teasingly in your ear. 

“I’m serious.”

“As am I. But your blood stays off limits until I’m sure you’re done bleeding.”

You made a frustrated noise. “I haven’t bled in days, you stubborn leech. And you nearly killed me the first time you drank from me, so really, what’s the difference?”

“Yes, but we weren’t us back then. You were just some bard that I crash landed on a horrid beach with.” 

“Hmm,” you hummed through pursed lips.

Now Astarion bent to kiss your cheek. “I’m just being extra careful, my sweet.” He moved his mouth to your ear. “And… it’ll be all the more exquisite when I finally taste you again.”

“Ah,” you said. “So you’re edging yourself.”

Astarion sputtered, “That’s not-” Then he smirked. “And what would you know about edging?”

You swallowed thickly. “Enough.”

He chuckled darkly. “Noted.”

It was quieter now, as your companions had dispersed to their own tents to prepare for tomorrow’s journey to the crèche. 

Still, Astarion kept his voice down. “I have an important question for you though, my darling.”

“And what would that be?”

“Whose belongings should we peruse first tomorrow while everyone’s gone?”

~~~~~

The only interesting items you’d found while snooping around camp the next day were cheap erotic novels hidden among both Shadowheart’s and Wyll’s possessions. 

Everyone, minus Halsin, who was sticking around the edge of camp planning a way through the Shadow Cursed Lands, had made their way to the crèche only a few hours before. 

“‘The Salty Mermaid,’” you’d said, waggling your eyebrows at Astarion who was rifling through Wyll’s tent. 

“You’ll never believe this, darling.” He turned to show you the same book, its illustrated cover even more worn than the copy you’d found in one of Shadowheart’s bags. 

“Shut up,” you said, leaning forward to snatch the book from his hand and holding the copies side by side. Both depicted a shirtless man gazing into the eyes of a beautiful, topless mermaid, her torso turned tastefully away from view. Their mouths were parted slightly in anticipation of a steaming kiss, ocean mist spraying over them and the rock they were perched on in the middle of the ocean. Wyll’s copy looked as though it had been read dozens of times over the span of many years, while Shadowheart’s was newer and gave the impression that it had been opened frequently, given the way the cover refused to rest against the first page.

“This is outrageous,” Astarion said, sitting behind you and resting his chin on your shoulder to look at both books. 

You turned your head to look at him. “Didn’t take those two for naughty book lovers?”

“What? Oh, no, everyone in this camp is a deeply sad, depraved creature, that’s not it.”

You snorted. “Okay, so what-”

“It’s that they didn’t think to include us in their little book club!” His hand gestured wildly between the covers. “You and I read all the time!”

“We don’t know they’re reading them together,” you pointed out. “Maybe it’s a coincidence.”

Astarion looked at you skeptically. “Do you really believe that?”

You thought for a moment. Honestly, you weren’t sure. Your nights had been occupied spending time with the man currently wrapped delicately around your midsection. You couldn’t be sure that your companions hadn’t started a book club without you. It brought a small smile to your face, imagining your friends bonding with each other without your help.

Astarion didn’t wait for you to answer. “Let’s at least see what all the fuss is about.” He leaned forward slightly, careful not to jostle your right side and took Wyll’s book from your hand. He flipped open to a random page as you set Shadowheart’s book on your lap. You leaned your head against his, which was still resting on your shoulder, and read along with him. He tilted his head slightly to read slowly and seductively in your ear. 

“Fabian ran his calloused fingers along Allura’s scales. Her tail quivered in response.” He held out the “s,” as if hissing, and nipped at your ear.

You flinched in surprise and smacked him gently on the side of the head. 

He chuckled and continued. “‘Taste me,’ Allura pleaded. Fabian smashed his lips against hers and their tongues twisted together like two eels in the Sword Sea.”

You barely withheld a laugh. “Trying to seduce me with eels again, I see.” 

Astarion narrowed his eyes, rereading the passage in disbelief. “Oh, gods dammit.”

You nuzzled the side of his head with your own. “It’s working better this time,” you admitted.

“Oh?” Astarion pulled back and met you with a wicked grin. 

You nodded and watched his mouth as he leaned in to kiss you before pulling back just out of his reach. He opened his eyes and gave you a puzzled expression. 

“I didn’t say it worked completely.” You pushed his nose lightly to turn his face away from yours and back to the book in his hands. 

“Why you-” He dropped the book unceremoniously and brought both his hands to your cheeks to kiss you firmly. You laughed against his mouth before giving in and opening up for him.

“Astarion,” came Halsin’s voice from a few yards away. 

Astarion immediately disconnected the kiss and shot a deadly glare at the bear. 

Halsin hadn’t been looking. Instead he’d been focusing down at what he was holding - a half carved piece of wood, something that was beginning to look like a rabbit. When he finally looked up, he halted in his tracks. 

“My apologies,” he said, holding his hands up in a showing of peace, “I merely wanted to ask Astarion for a better knife. It appears my proper carving tools are lost somewhere within our wares.”

“Hi Halsin,” you said nonchalantly. 

Halsin chuckled. “I didn’t mean to disturb your fun.”

“Fun? What fun? We never have fun.” You nudged Astarion who was still staring daggers at Halsin. 

Astarion sighed and settled his chin back on your shoulder. “Relax, darling, I’m sure Halsin knows all about the kind of fun we have together.” 

Halsin nodded. “Far be it from me to interrupt a spry couple preparing to partake in one of nature’s greatest gifts.”

“Ugh,” Astarion groaned in disgust and you felt your cheeks go red. “You make it sound awful.”

“It’s only natural-”

“Did you check our Traveler’s Chest for your carving tools?” you desperately tried to change the subject. “It’s possible one of us packed them in there by mistake.”

Halsin snapped his fingers. “Of course! And the Traveler’s Chest would be…”

You pointed in the direction of the chest, which was thankfully on the other side of camp. 

Halsin followed your gaze and nodded again. “I shall investigate the chest. Sorry once again.” He started to leave the two of you but turned back around.  “Remember to be careful of your wound.” He gestured to your right side and you absently held your hand to the tender area. “Nothing worse than an injury worsened in the throes of passion.”

“Goodbye, Halsin,” Astarion waved him off. 

Halsin chuckled once more, then left the area. You and Astarion remained silent for a moment, watching him go. 

You looked over at him. “Moment over?”

“So incredibly over,” Astarion lifted his chin from your shoulder and crawled around to sit next to you. “But the druid’s right. You’re still hurt.”

You huffed some hair out of your face. “And you’re still a drama queen.”

Astarion gasped and held a hand to his chest dramatically. “How dare you.”

“I’m fine!” you insisted. “Watch this!” 

You stood and leaned your body to the left, stretching your right side and lifting your right arm over your head.

“See?”

Astarion cocked his head to the side. “Impressive. Now stretch the other way.”

You remained upright and ramrod straight. “I don’t want to.”

“Because…?”

“Because…” You rolled your eyes. “Oh, fuck you! You know why.”

“Because you’re still sore-”

“Yes, because I’m still sore.” You sat beside him again and muttered, “killjoy.”

Astarion stood and reached for your hands, holding them in both of his own. “Call me whatever names you like, it won’t change my mind.” He leaned forward and kissed you softly. 

You frowned at him. “Asshole.”

Kiss. “Darling.” 

“Bat brain.”

Kiss. “Beautiful.” 

“Priss.”

Kiss. “My- hey.” He pulled himself back to look down his nose at you. “I’m not a priss,  I’m simply surrounded by frumps. And Shadowheart.”

You scoffed and reached up to brush your hand through his curls, mussing them ever so slightly. 

“Hey!” he exclaimed, pushing you away and reaching up to fix his hair. 

You crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow at him. 

He glared back and rolled his eyes. “Did I not just call you ‘beautiful?’”

“One of your frequent pet names,” you waved him off playfully and went to pick up Shadowheart and Wyll’s discarded books. “It means next to nothing.”

Astarion turned to watch you. “That’s not true.”

You laughed. “You call everyone ‘darling.’” 

“That’s different.” 

“How so?”

If he were still alive, you’d be able to feel his body heat as he stepped closer to you. He looked up towards the sky and moved his hands around as if searching for the correct words. 

“‘Darling’ has always been a lovely blanket term of endearment for victims whose names I didn’t bother to learn but needed to entice.”

You stiffened, thrown off by his honest answer. “Oh.”

He met your eye. “People like feeling seen, and ‘darling’ does the job quite nicely. Call it a habit now, I suppose.”

You smirked at him. “You know my name, right?”

He smiled sideways in return. “Who are you again?”

“Good answer.”

“Honestly though, darling,” he said, before shaking his head and saying your name instead. “‘Darling’ isn’t anything special to me, that’s true,” he placed his hands firmly on your upper arms, just below your shoulders, “but you are.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, trying but failing not to shrink under his intense gaze. “Another good answer.” 

Astarion rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue. “Look at me, please.” 

You met his eye again and saw his features soften. 

“I’ve never called someone ‘beautiful’ and not meant it.”

You raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Really. In all the times you had to seduce people, you never called someone you weren’t attracted to ‘beautiful’ just to make things go faster?”

Astarion rubbed absent minded circles into your arms with his thumbs. “In those instances, I preferred referring to them as, ‘striking.’”

You snorted. “You can’t be serious.”

“I could say ‘dead serious,’ but that would be atrocious, so I won’t.”

“‘Striking,’” you repeated, laughing a little at the vagueness of it. “I guess that could mean anything.”

Astarion nodded. “Exactly.” He shifted his hands up to your shoulders. “But you, my sweet, are exquisite.” 

You smiled shyly. “I could say ‘aw shucks,’ but then you’d kill me, so I won’t.”

He pushed himself away from you again. “You are infuriating.”

Dropping the books once more, you reached for his wrist as he backed away. “No, no, I’m sorry,” you said as you brought his hand to your mouth to kiss his knuckles. “Tell me more about how beautiful I am.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically before his features settled into a seductive grin. He reached forward and pulled you closer by the waist. His voice was low and flirtatious when he said, “I told you on that first night I had my way with you that you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.” He shifted his head to nip at your ear, “I meant that.”

A shiver went through your body and you closed your eyes. “Really?”

Astarion scoffed. “I wouldn’t willingly attach myself to just anyone, darling.” He kissed your neck. “For one thing, there’s this gorgeous neck of yours.”

You let out an amused sigh. “Go on…”

“Your eyes,” he said, shifting up to bear his crimson gaze into yours, “they sparkle like anything. I can’t say I’ve ever seen eyes more lovely.” You blinked at him, unsure of what to say. He continued, “Especially when you’re laughing. Preferably at something clever I’ve said.”

That made you laugh. “You’re not always as clever as you think.”

He smiled back at you. “So long as I keep seeing that dazzling smile, I shall make a fool of myself.” After a beat, he clarified, “But only for you.”

If you weren’t careful, you might cry. “You sweet, stupid man.”

“Speaking of that smile; that mouth of yours. I could eat you right up.” 

He bent to kiss you deeply but you pulled away to giggle. “And you have!”

“And I have,” he agreed, succeeding in kissing you this time. 

Your mouth moved against his slowly, keeping in time with him, and you brought your arms up to wrap around his neck. As the kiss became more intense, his tongue licking into your mouth, your heart picked up speed, which sent Astarion groaning against your lips.

“That delicious heartbeat,” he said dreamily, breaking the kiss. “It’s as sweet as any song you’ve ever played, my love.”

Your eyes shot open as he brought his face down to your throat again to kiss your pulse point. Based on his body language and the sensual way he continually kissed your neck, you had a feeling he didn’t realize what he’d said. He kept talking.

“Your heartbeat means you're alive,” he placed a kiss on your collarbone. “And that you’re here,” a kiss to your chest. “With me,” a kiss atop your clothed left breast, above your pounding heart. “Not to mention it’s the source of my favorite meal,” he pulled back to look at you with a goofy grin that he quickly morphed into one of seduction. When he saw your bewildered expression, his face fell into one of concern. “What is it?”

You shook your head and blinked rapidly, attempting to keep your composure. “Astarion,” you said, your voice full of adoration, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

“What’s wrong?” His tone was instantly serious and stern. “Did something happen?” He inspected your right side as if you may have started bleeding again. 

Laughter bubbled out of your chest at his sudden shift in demeanor. This man cared for you so deeply it almost hurt. And it was so blatantly obvious to everyone but himself.

“There’s nothing wrong, dummy,” you said, tapping the tip of his nose to bring his attention back to you. 

He looked at you questioningly and saw nothing but affection in your eyes. “Then…” he leaned in closer, drawn in by the softness of your features, “what is it?”

You leaned in as well, watching his mouth and subconsciously wetting your lips in preparation for what you were about to say. “I…” you eyes began to close, “lo-”

“Tsk'va!”

You and Astarion froze, your mouths inches apart. 

“That wasn’t you, was it?” he muttered. 

You narrowed your eyes at him, swatting his cheek lightly and pulling away.

Lae’zel was standing not too far off, covered in blood, staring at the two of you with an intense ire that had you both nearly jumping away from each other. “You feeble wretches are delighting in intercourse whilst the Lich Queen lies to her kin about purification and I nearly lose my life as a result.”

Astarion straightened and looked at his nails, bored. “Oh, is that all?”

You gave him a look before stepping forward to offer comfort. “What happened?”

Lae’zel looked between you and Astarion before furrowing her brows and marching off to her tent. “She may yet purify me!” she called angrily, sounding like she was trying to convince herself more than anyone.

The rest of your party stumbled into camp not far behind. They, too, were drenched in blood and looking worse for wear. You approached them immediately, Astarion reluctantly on your heels. 

“Is everyone okay?” you quickly looked over everyone and didn’t note any major injuries.

“We’re alright,” Wyll assured and nodded to Shadowheart, “no thanks to Shadowheart.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she groaned. “Let’s see if we survive the night.” She gestured towards Lae’zel who was angrily shedding her armor and shrieking frustratedly with each discarded piece.

You looked back at the others and repeated, “What happened?”

“Our little dream visitor had some rather enlightening news for our githyanki friend,” Gale sighed, wiping his brow. 

“Well hang on now,” Karlach said. “Her people, or rather, some random doctor lady, tried to kill her first!”

Wyll nodded solemnly. “Not to mention that fearsome god of hers threatened our lives.”

You inhaled sharply. Even Astarion looked surprised. “What?”

“Why do the gods favor you people?” Astarion crossed his arms. “They never answered me when I called.”

“Now, now, Astarion,” Gale said, “this was not a meeting on the most benevolent of terms.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “So were you able to kill her or something? Is that why you’re all drenched in what smells like an absurd amount of gith blood?”

“Kill a god?” Wyll laughed lightly. “Be serious, Astarion.”

The vampire shrugged. “I don’t know what you lot are capable of, we just met.”

“‘Just met?!’” Shadowheart scoffed incredulously. “And you think you could have taken on a god? You and what? Those sharp teeth of yours?”

“If you’d like to see what they’re capable of, darling, you need only ask.” He flashed her a malicious grin. 

“Astarion,” you caught his eye and shook your head slightly. 

“If killing that overgrown creep were an option, I gladly would have taken it,” Karlach punched at her open palm. “I can’t stand bullies.”

Halsin now entered the fray. “Peace,” he said calmly. “Everyone should get cleaned up and inspected for injuries, then we can discuss the events of the créche.”

You turned to look for Lae’zel, but her tent was empty. You assumed she’d gotten a jumpstart on the cleaning process. 

“Why is my book in the dirt?!” Shadowheart exclaimed. “Astarion!”

“I think it’s time I go for a hunt,” Astarion kissed you swiftly. “You can handle this, can’t you darling?” Then he took off at a brisk pace down the side of the mountain. 

~~~~~

After Lae’zel and the others had cleaned themselves up and bandaged their shallow wounds, you’d all sat around the fire to discuss what had occurred at the crèche and what the dream visitor had told Lae’zel of Vlaakith’s deception towards the purification process.

That night, Kith’rak Voss and his group of rebel githyanki warriors had visited you and your companions, telling you all that the Astral Prism held the key to Vlaakith’s undoing. He’d also promised to explain more and provide help once you reached Baldur’s Gate. 

“Why must they always be so cryptic,” Astarion had muttered to you from where you stood behind Lae’zel, allowing her to take the lead on this. “If the Prism is a source of unnamed power, then I think we have a right to know about it.” He pouted and you elbowed him lightly. 

As you were preparing to leave for the Shadow Cursed Lands the next day, Elminster appeared, bearing a message for Gale from Mystra. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you’d steamed after the old wizard left, “you’re not blowing yourself up, Gale. I won’t let you.”

“She’s right,” Astarion agreed. You turned and gave him a surprised look. He shrugged. “Sacrificing Gale to the Absolute is a waste of a perfectly good cult we could be controlling.” When you rolled your eyes, he amended, “And a waste of a perfectly good Gale, I suppose.”

“I am touched, Astarion,” Gale said before turning his attention back on you. “Let’s save such certainty about my fate for the moment such a decision is upon us. You may feel differently, once we know what we’re truly up against.” 

Thus your party kept packing up in preparation to leave for the Shadow Cursed Lands, which Halsin had discovered an entrance to, not far from your camp. 

Upon entering, the suffocating nature of the dark hit you instantly, and you felt a shift in your party the more you shuffled into the area. 

Astarion held out an arm to stop you from going any further, away from the lit fire you’d found near the entrance. “Can you feel that?” 

“You mean the impending sense of doom?” Karlach asked. “Yeah, I feel it.”

Astarion ignored her. “The dark, it’s… hungry. Best watch the shadows.”

Lae’zel scoffed. “How can darkness feel anything, let alone require sustenance?”

“That’s not-” Astarion sighed. “Oh, nevermind. Just… stay close to the light.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Wyll said, grabbing a torch from the lit fire near the entrance. 

Shadowheart gazed into the distance, straining her eyes to see into the dark. “This place… there’s power in these shadows, I can sense it.”

Astarion snorted. “Shadowheart feeling one with the shadows. A little on the nose there, darling.”

Shadowheart shot him a deathly glare that had him look over at you for protection. You patted his shoulder in response.

“She’s right, though,” Gale agreed. “I’ve never seen such a concentration of shadow magic. We must forge on, but carefully. It will corrupt any who lack the power to control it.”

“Best get a move on, then,” Halsin siad, grabbing a torch in one hand and your party’s ox cart with the other. 

Wyll took the lead with his torch, while the rest of you grabbed your own. You and Astarion brought up the rear as you all made your way through the darkness. He was uncharacteristically quiet as you went. 

“Everything okay?” you asked him quietly, making sure the others wouldn’t be able to hear you. 

Astarion’s eyes were darting around, on high alert, but he looked over at you when you reached for his free hand with your own. “It feels like we’re being watched,” he said, returning his eyes to scanning your surroundings. “Hunted, even. But there’s nothing out there,” he looked in your direction but was focusing on the darkness behind you, “only more darkness.”

You nodded, and joined him in scanning the surrounding area. 

“I much prefer it when I’m the one prowling in the shadows, about to strike.”

“Ooh,” you said, shaking your voice as if telling a scary story, “scaaaary.”

Astarion looked at you with a scowl that you could see was concealing a laugh. “Sorry, did you want something?” He stepped closer to you, bringing his face inches away from yours. “Or just looking for a distraction?” He looked down at your lips. 

“I-” you looked at his lips as well and watched as his mouth formed into a grin. 

“Look alive, lovebirds,” Karlach turned back to face you two. “Movement up ahead.”

Instinctively, Astarion pulled you to him, shielding your right side with his body from possible attacks.

It was then that your party came across a group of Absolute worshippers, seeking passage across the Shadow Cursed Lands to Moonrise Towers with the help of a drider named Kar’niss, who brandished a magical lantern of some kind. You all played along, brandishing your True Soul statuses in order to gain favor and join the cultists on their journey deeper into the shadows. You even offered to play the Spider's Lyre, which Wyll had found and given to you in the Underdark, in order to summon the drider. 

Astarion made it a point of keeping you close, despite the cultists giving you no trouble.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, bumping his hip with your own.

He scoffed. “Oh, so you trust the arachnid is totally sane and won’t turn on us at any given moment?”

“Well-” He made a good point. While Kar’niss had done nothing to prove he was an imminent danger to you, his words were erratic and he’d snapped at you earlier for offering to carry his lantern.

“Wait…” Kar’niss hissed suddenly, holding his lantern aloft in front of what appeared to be a long abandoned house. “Something’s wrong, Majesty.”

“He’s right,” Astarion said quietly, drawing his daggers, “I can sense blood pumping in that building.”

“Should we do something?” Wyll asked.

“Shhh,” Shadowheart hushed. “We don’t know where they are, exactly. Do you want them to spring out at us while they still have the element of surprise?”

“Not particularly,” said Wyll, just as Lae’zel said “Yes,” and drew her greatsword from her back.

“Who’s there?” Kar’niss called. “Show yourself!”

From within the house came a male voice, shouting, “Harpers, attack!” 

“Harpers?” Karlach repeated.

The man continued yelling orders. “Kill the cultists… and get that lantern!”

“HERETICS!” Kar’niss shrieked. “VILLAINS IN THE DARK!”

“Soldier,” Karlach turned to you, a frantic look in her eyes, “Those are Harpers!”

Your own eyes widened. Harpers were known for protecting the innocent from evils across the realms. It made sense why they would want to attack cultists of the Absolute. 

“Wait!” you shouted and ran forward as Astarion called your name, trying to stop you. “We can help!” You spoke to the man leading this gang of Harpers.

The man looked you up and down as Astarion approached you with his knives still drawn, ready to pounce. “Hurt her, and you die,” he growled, dropping into a low stance.

You exhaled. “Sorry about the guard dog.”

“Careful,” Astarion said lowly, “I bite.” He gnashed his teeth at the group of Harpers surveying you closely. 

A woman with long curly hair stepped forward. “Prove we can trust you.”

You nodded and took your lute off your back, strumming a quick tune that had the deep purple magic of Shatter sparking at your fingertips. You turned back towards the cultists, who were now sandwiched between the Harpers and your party. You friends took the hint and drew their own weapons. 

“What are they doing?” Kar’niss eclaimed. “We thought they were True Souls! Traitors! Heathens!”

“Darling, are you sure about this?” Astarion asked, watching you carefully, checking for any signs that you weren’t ready to fight. 

You looked over at him and winked, casting a powerful Shatter that sent the cultists flying in every direction. 

The battle that followed was thankfully not as bad as it could have been, thanks to the help from the Harpers. Astarion had remained by your side the whole time, maneuvering the two of you out of the way whenever an attack landed closeby. He dutifully shielded your right side, stabbing the hobgoblin rather brutally when he lunged at you. 

When the battle ended and it was clear that no one had been injured too severely, you approached Kar’niss’ lantern and picked it up. Its chilly glow appeared to protect you all far better from the Shadow Curse than your long since discarded torches. 

The male Harper who you’d pleaded to at the start of the battle now approached you. “Incredible magic,” he said, indicating the lantern. “I can feel the light lifting the shadows - even those within me.”

Astarion laughed quietly at his remark, and you kicked the vampire in the shin. 

“Find us at the Last Light Inn,” the Harper said, pulling out a map and pointing to a small building by the river. 

“Thank you,” you said, marking the location on your own map.

“Be safe,” he said with a nod. “And be brave. We expect no less. Thank you for your help.” With that, he and his other Harpers made their way deeper into the shadows, accompanied by their own torches. 

“Could we not have gone with them?” Karlach asked.

“Probably had other Harperly duties to take care of,” Gale reasoned. 

“We should probably start heading that way anyway,” you said. “My magic’s depleted and I could use some sleep.”

“Agreed,” Halsin said, stretching his arms above his head and grabbing the ox cart once again. “It will be a relief to rest these weary bones upon a mattress for once.”

“Hmm,” Shadowheart mused, “is grass not cutting it for you anymore?”

“Far from it,” Halsin said. “But even I can appreciate the pleasures of a warm bed every once in a while.”

~~~~~

“Unfortunately, there is only one room available,” Jaheira said flatly when you all entered the inn and approached her at her desk.

Astarion scoffed. “Didn’t you just say outside that there were beds, plural, if we needed rest?” 

“It would seem I lied,” she said, looking through a book that you assumed showed current room assignments. “Oops.” She didn’t sound remorseful. “Looks like you’ll have to decide amongst yourselves who gets the room. The rest of you can make camp in the back. There’s plenty of room under Isobel’s light to keep you sheltered from the Curse.”

“Thank you, Jaheira!” Karlach said excitedly.

Jaheira smiled at Karlach’s enthusiasm and held out a goblet of wine to her. “Please,” she said, her tone suddenly very kind, “be welcome.” She handed a goblet to you as well. “Have a drink.”

“Oh my gods,” Karlach muttered, sharing an excited look with you. 

“To your very good health,” Jaheira said, raising her own cup towards all of you. 

Karlach was practically vibrating with excitement next to you. 

“You’ll have to excuse my friend, Karlach,” you said with a smile. “She’s very excited to meet you.”

She giggled, embarrassed. “Tsh. Yeah.” Her face fell just then, as if realizing she wasn’t being formal enough with her hero. She stooped into a low bow. “I mean… It's an honor. M’lady.”

“I will gladly drink to your health as well, Karlach.” Jaheira’s eyes sparkled with amusement. 

You raised your goblet to mimic Jaheira’s and went to take a sip, but were instead met with the back of Astarion’s hand. Your mouth crushed against his skin.

“You did not seriously just take a sip from a drink given to you by a stranger,” he said in horrified disbelief. 

“I was trying to,” you offered Jaheira an apologetic smile. “I wasn’t expecting to kiss the back of your hand,” you said through clenched teeth. 

Astarion took the goblet from you. “Give me that.”

Karlach had been just about to take a sip, but thought better of it and watched Astarion. 

He sniffed the contents of the goblet. “Klauthgrass,” he said with a wrinkle of his nose. 

“It doesn’t spoil the taste,” Jaheira offered, “if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Astarion rolled his eyes and shoved the goblet back into your hand, training his own hands above his sheathed daggers. “She’s trying to feed you a truth serum.”

“Astarion,” you said calmly, as if soothing a startled animal, “it’s okay.” You set the goblet down and reached for both of his hands, pulling them away from his daggers. “She just wants to protect her people. You can respect that, can’t you, my love?”

“Ah,” Jaheira nodded. “‘My love.’ It is admirable that the cub wants to protect his mate.” 

“She’s not-” Astarion sputtered. “We’re just-” He groaned loudly. “I don’t trust you,” he pointed an accusatory finger at the Harper. 

“Oh no,” her tone was flat again. “How ever shall I sleep tonight.”

Before Astarion could protest more, you took a sip of the drink. 

He gasped. “Darling, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Building trust,” you said, smiling at Jaheira.

Her features echoed your own and she took a sip as well. 

“Ah, what the hells,” Karlach said. “Bottoms up!” She downed her own goblet.

“You’re all idiots and I hope you die,” Astarion crossed his arms. 

Shadowheart laughed. “Isn’t the whole reason you’re being so dramatic because your mate almost died?”

“Watch yourself, cleric,” his words were icy, but Shadowheart couldn’t contain her snort.

Jaheira took another sip. “Well over a century old and yet it hasn’t lost a hint of its flavor.”

“Let’s have a taste, then,” Wyll pushed his way forward and took the goblet from you.

“I must see for myself if Astarion’s suspicions are warranted,” Lae’zel took Karlach’s goblet, “and if the wine is as good as this woman says.”

“No, no,” Astarion said sarcastically, “let’s all partake in the poison! Shadowheart? Gale? Halsin? What’s stopping you?”

Shadowheart crossed her arms. “I’ve packed my own wine that I don’t plan on sharing with you all, thank you very much.”

Gale, meanwhile, appeared to be reading a book he’d found discarded somewhere in the bar. “Pardon? Is something the matter?”

Astarion rolled his eyes and turned to Halsin who held up his hands in surrender.

“I rarely imbibe, the stuff goes right to my head. I doubt anyone wants to see that.”

“Mmm, yes, save it.” Astarion turned back to you and the others. “So we’re all going to tell the truth now, that’s great. Go ahead, Jaheira, ask away.”

“There’s an air about you,” she said, addressing you instead of the seething vampire to your right. “Something… alien.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Astarion muttered.

“Answer me true and do not lie,” she didn’t flinch when Astarion scoffed, and pressed on. “The parasite is changing you, isn’t it?”

You could feel the effects of the serum willing your mouth to form a truthful answer. You let it. “It’s trying to change me. To win me over. But I’m resisting its temptations.”

Jaheira looked you up and down. “And you’re certain you will continue to resist?” 

You nodded. “Yes.” The truth.

“Good,” you saw Jaheira’s shoulders relax. “I will take your word for it. And hold you to it, too.”

You looked over at Astarion, whose arms were still crossed. He scowled at Jaheira who turned to address him this time.

“I have every reason to be cautious.” She exhaled a frustrated sigh. “I’ve traced people like you.”

“Oh, have you.” Astarion rolled his eyes for what was likely the tenth time this evening.

Jaheira tilted her head. “People with parasites in their brains. All the way here from Baldur’s Gate.”

“A long journey, indeed,” Gale said.

Astarion laughed humorlessly. “Good of you to finally join us, Gale.”

Wyll cleared his throat. “And what of the city?” 

Jaheira turned to him this time. “The cult of the Absolute is spreading through the Gate. Quietly, quickly, and with unsettling deliberation.” 

“Gods…” Wyll breathed. “My father…” Gale patted his arm reassuringly.

“We tracked them to this ancient village,” Jaheira looked down at a map in front of her displaying the entirety of the Shadow Cursed Lands, and pointed to a village not far off, “only to be faced with a man we killed and buried over a century ago.” 

“Who was - is - he?” you asked, furrowing your brow. 

Jaheira paused briefly when she saw Karlach yawn. “General Ketheric Thorm. Remember that name. He’s the leader of the Absolutists.”

“How can we help?” you stepped forward, determined.

“Ugh,” Astarion pinched the bridge of his nose. “Really, my sweet, is now the time to be playing hero?”

“The vampire is right,” said Jaheira. “We can save this discussion for the morning.”

“Vampire?” Astarion repeated, laughing lightly. “What do you- I’m not-” He slumped. “What gave it away?”

She smirked. “Nearly everything about you. And I have experience with your kind.”

You and your companions snickered, and Astarion shot you all death glares. 

“Yes well… it’s been such a delight chatting with you, Jaheira, but I think now’s the time to discuss the room situation.” Astarion turned around so that his back faced Jaheira, effectively cutting her out of the conversation. 

She laughed. “When you decide who gets the room, it’s next to the bar, on the right.” Just as she was about to leave and take care of other matters, she turned back. “Do keep it down if it’s you two who get the room,” she gestured to you and Astarion. “The walls aren’t as thick here as you think they are. Those sitting around the bar will hear you and tell me all about it and I’d… prefer to remain in the dark if it’s all the same to you.”

“Jaheira!” Astarion scoffed. “What do you think of me?”

“Prove me wrong, vampling,” she winked at you and went on her way.

Shadowheart placed her hands on her hips. “Go on, Astarion. Make a case for why the two of you are in desperate need of the room.”

Astarion looked at his nails. “Well, darling, it’s just that we’ve had such little time to ourselves-”

Halsin interrupted. “I’m… going to set up camp outside. I yield my claim to the room and will gladly sleep under the stars. Or… I suppose there are no stars here. Regardless-” he turned on his heel and walked out the front door to reunite with your ox cart full of camp supplies.

“I’ll join him,” said Wyll.

“Right behind you,” Karlach agreed.

“Okay,” Gale looked around at those remaining. “That leaves four of us, considering you two as a unit.” He pointed between you and Astarion, the latter of which looked offended, but you grabbed his hand and squeezed it before he had a chance to argue.

Lae’zel adjusted her greatsword in her arms. “It is tradition among githyanki that those who performed best in battle should have the most comfortable sleeping chambers.”

Gale furrowed his brow. “Is that true? I’ve yet to read anything about that in my extended research on the githyanki people.”

Lae’zel shrugged.

Shadowheart spoke next. “It’s just that I drained so much of my magic healing everyone on the battlefield today. I think I deserve to sleep in comfort to replenish my power since we have no clue what tomorrow brings.” Then she quickly added, “Since we’re in her domain, I’d say it’s as if Lady Shar herself wills it.”

Astarion snorted. “Like hells she does.” He turned to Gale. “And what’s your excuse?”

“The knees,” Gale said, bending his knees for you all to hear an audible crack. “Too many nights on the ground will do no favors for one’s aching joints.”

You could see where this was going. There would be a constant back and forth until a loud argument inevitably broke out in the middle of the inn. You knew it was a bit devious, but you decided to get the jumpstart on ending the argument. 

You took Astarion’s hand. “Come on, Astarion,” you said with a sigh, “we can rough it outside for another night.”

He didn’t budge. “You can’t be serious, darling.”

“I am serious- Oh.” you paused in trying to get Astarion to follow you and reached for your right side. “Ow,” you said slowly.

Astarion said your name, his voice laced with worry.

“Oh gods,” you blinked your eyes several times, tears filling your vision.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Astarion brushed hair out of your face and placed his hands on your cheeks. 

“I don’t know,” you said shakily. “I suddenly got a sharp pain in my side. I think my wound may have opened again.” 

“Oh for gods’ sakes,” Shadowheart rolled her eyes and held out her hand to scan you for injuries with her magic. “You know what, if it’s that important to you, you can have it.” With that, she left after the others.

“Are you alright?” Gale asked. 

“I know what would make her feel better,” Astarion said, catching on to your ruse. 

“Do not say the room,” Lae’zel glowered at him.

“The room,” Astarion said anyway. 

“Chk,” she spat. “Fine. Have your precious alone time. But when they kick you out for pleasuring each other too loudly, I get the room in your stead.”

“Uh… if that’s the case, she can have it after you two.” Gale smiled painfully. “I shall concede as well. If only so I can grab some shut eye without your loud-”

“Ooowww,” you moaned.

“Good gods, man!” Astarion exclaimed, clutching you to his chest as if you were made of glass. “How can you think of sex at a time like this! My precious treasure is wounded!”

“I mean, Lae’zel alluded to it first-” Gale pointed to where Lae’zel had been standing, only to see that she had already left. “Ah. I guess I’ll take my leave as well.”

“Ow! Gods, it hurts!” you wailed.

“Get out of here!” Astarion practically yelled at the wizard.

Gale sighed. “Goodnight you two.”

“Goodnight Gale!” you called after him sweetly.

When he turned back to look at you, you were limp in Astarion’s arms, one of your own arms thrown dramatically over your eyes.

“Now look what you’ve done!” It was Astarion’s turn to wail. 

“Alright!” Gale turned and held up his hands in frustration. “I’m going!”

When he was finally gone, Astarion pulled you into him for a long, passionate kiss. “You are the perfect woman,” he breathed, resting his forehead against yours. 

“I’ll have to remind you of that the next time I annoy you,” you laughed and took his hand, leading him to the room.

Jaheira’s voice sounded from the second floor, “I would appreciate it if you did not yell while my Harpers and our guests are trying to sleep.” Despite her stern tone, her expression revealed mild amusement. 

“Sorry, Jaheira,” you whispered loud enough for her to hear you from the railing she bent over. 

“Good night, cubs.” She waved her hand and left you and Astarion to settle into your room.

~~~~~

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Unfortunately tumblr thought this piece was too long (WHOOPS!) so I had to split it into two parts. The second part can be found here.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Series Synopsis: A series of (mostly) unrelated one shots, featuring Oliver Aiku somehow getting involved with the love lives of various Blue Lock characters — whether he wants to or not.

Chapter Synopsis: After being yelled at one too many times by their strict Ubers teammate, Oliver Aiku enlists Ikki Niko in helping him get Shoei Barou a girlfriend, hoping beyond hope that that’s enough to get the guy to chill out a bit.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Barou x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 10.8k

Content Warnings: crack fic, barou is also my awkward goat, love at first sight, oliver aiku is such a bitch but he’s funny so it’s kind of okay, reader is kind of an npc in this icl 😓, this is really dumb please don’t judge my writing off of it, everyone is 100% ooc don’t come at me i KNOWWW, split perspectives (it makes sense in the story), everyone gets slandered (mostly by aiku), god bless niko for being chronically online

A/N: there were a decent amt of people who wanted barou’s version plus i felt like writing it so he’s up next!! LMAO it kind of got a bit long just like the sae version and somehow it’s even sillier so…but yeah anyways this is the second entry in “oliver aiku’s guide to getting girls” i hope you all stick around for the rest 🤩‼️

Barou is yelling at them again. Aiku’s not sure what the big deal is this time — so what if Lorenzo spilled spaghetti sauce on the floor? He’s Italian, that’s part of his culture — but if he dares to speak up, Barou will single him out specifically, and then he’ll be treated like a little kid in timeout, which doesn’t sound like an ideal way to spend a Friday night.

It’s the four of them in the doghouse as usual — himself, Niko, Aryu, and Sendou, that is. The most ridiculous thing is that Lorenzo isn’t even there, though he’s the true target of Barou’s rage; unfortunately for his teammates, though, Lorenzo’s off getting his teeth polished or counting his money while cackling or whatever else it is that he does in his free time.

Honestly, none of them are really taking the theatrics seriously. Aryu’s fiddling with the ends of his hair, Niko’s standing there, staring at Barou with large, watery eyes, and Sendou’s glaring back at Barou with his arms folded over his chest. Aiku sighs, because that means an argument between the two is most likely impending, but unfortunately for him, he sighs a bit too loudly, and Barou whips around, jabbing a finger at him.

“What’s so exasperating, huh?” Barou says. “I bet you won’t be sighing when we have an insect infestation because none of you can be bothered to clean up that damn tomato shit that Lorenzo’s obsessed with!”

“It’s marinara,” Niko pipes up meekly. They all look at him with varying degrees of incredulity; he shrugs, adjusting the headphones around his neck self-consciously. “Lorenzo’s trying to teach me how to make it. Supposedly a typical spaghetti sauce has meat and vegetables added, but a good marinara is the base, so — um, anyways.”

Barou’s upper lip is curled into a sneer, and Aiku’s just about to thank Niko for taking the fall and turning Barou’s rage to him when he remembers that that’s markedly not how Barou operates. He’s too meticulous to forget the former recipient of his ire, not so quickly, and indeed, Barou is pointing at them both when he speaks next.

“That stain better be gone the next time I come in this room,” he says. He doesn’t say what will happen if it’s not, but given his authoritative voice and enormous physique, he usually doesn’t have to resort to making threats in order to be obeyed.

“Thank goodness,” Aryu says once Barou has left to complete his evening meditations. “Seems like Barou appreciated our elegant silence, Sendou. We’ve escaped reproach this time.”

“Yup,” Sendou says. Whistling nonchalantly, he sidles out of the room, and with a fluttering wave, Aryu follows suit. Aiku can’t even blame them, considering it’s what he would’ve done if he were in their place.

Glancing at Niko, who is now his greatest friend due to convenience alone, Aiku shakes his head, wondering what choice he made in life that led to his weekend plans amounting to cleaning sauce stains from a carpet with a little boy instead of partying or something.

“You got the bleach?” he asks. Niko nods miserably.

“Yeah, I got it. You’re good with scrubbing?” he says. Aiku’s shoulders cramp preemptively at the mere thought, but he doesn’t protest aloud.

“No other choice, right?” he says. “Off to work we go, then.” 

Your best friend has been begging you for days to try this new restaurant with her, and it’s only now that it’s Friday that you can’t come up with any more excuses to avoid it. The truth is that you don’t really have a reason to refuse her as many times as you have, but the thought of summoning up the wherewithal to get ready and go out for dinner instead of throwing on your pajamas and eating something on the couch with a movie in the background is excruciating. Besides, you know her tastes. She always takes you to insanely fancy locations where anything less than your best will be embarrassing, and the only saving grace is that your outings always end up being insanely cheap, as she refuses to spend more than the bare minimum no matter what.

“You’re serious?” she affirms, standing in front of your closet and sifting through your clothes. You’re sitting on your bed, legs crossed and your laptop on your lap as you try to finish up the essay you have due Monday before getting ready. “You’ll really go with me?”

“I just told you I would, didn’t I?” you say. “I wouldn’t let you go through my closet if I wasn’t being serious. Actually, I wouldn’t have let you into my house at all.”

“Your parents would’ve opened the door for me,” she says dismissively. “They love me.”

It’s true, they do love her as much if not more than they love you, so you have no rebuttal. She grins at you, tossing a shirt in your general direction. It hits the back of your laptop, landing in a heap on the floor, and you’re too busy to pick it up, so you just leave it there, too lost in thought to care. Just the conclusion, if I can finish that then I can do something fun without anything on my mind—

“Hurry up and get ready! We want to get a table, don’t we?” she says. It’s a pair of pants she flings your way this time, and her aim is far more superior, for they smack into your face, temporarily blinding you.

“If you don’t let me finish this essay, I won’t go with you,” you say, and she knows you mean it literally, so she immediately pretends to zip her lips, saluting at you.

“Finish away!” 

“Barou’s totally got a stick up his ass, don’t you think?” Aiku says after thirty minutes have passed and the stain is no smaller than before. 

“I don’t think I’d phrase it like that,” Niko says, pouring another cup of bleach on the carpet. Neither of them really know much about cleaning, so this is the best they’ve got, even though Aiku’s pretty sure Barou would pass out if he saw their method. “But yeah, he can be kind of uptight at times.”

“He’s pretty nice otherwise, though,” Aiku says thoughtfully. “It’s kind of a shame. I bet if he loosened up a bit, he’d be a downright enjoyable teammate. Besides the cleaning and all, he’s a cool guy.”

“I do like training with him,” Niko says. “When he’s not yelling at us, it’s fun. Following his regimen has made me a lot stronger.”

“Agreed,” Aiku says. That’s the one thing he’ll give Barou — the guy is a master with the training equipment. He’s introduced Aiku to machines he didn’t even know existed. “You know what he needs?”

“What?” Niko says. He’s scrubbing at the floor while Aiku’s sipping on a soda; theoretically, they’re supposed to be switching off, but Niko hasn’t complained yet, so Aiku’s not about to remind him that it’s well beyond time for his turn.

“Some pu—” Aiku cuts himself off when he remembers that he is talking to a child. Niko’s like twelve or something, so maybe phrasing it in that way isn’t the most appropriate thing to do. “—I mean, a beautiful and loving girlfriend.”

Niko tilts his chin up at him, which means he’s probably looking at him; it’s hard to tell with his overgrown bangs falling in his face. Aiku makes a mental note to suggest cutting Niko’s hair during the next team bonding night that Snuffy forces them into.

“I guess having someone like that would make anyone happier, even Barou,” he says.

“That’s what I’m getting at! I bet he’s just constantly stressed out, so he takes it out on us instead of finding a healthy outlet. Maybe dating someone will fix that and give him something to do besides soccer,” Aiku says.

“Is that your secret to always being so calm?” Niko says. Aiku nods.

“The more girls you have, the less you can worry about things like training. You’re too focused on making sure they’re all happy,” Aiku says.

“Woah,” Niko says. “That’s a really great way of looking at things.”

“Right?” Aiku says. “With Barou, though, we might be lucky if we can find even one girl willing to put up with him. He’s a bit of a work in progress, you know?”

“Totally,” Niko says. “What if he yells at her the way he yells at us?”

Aiku has a vision of some poor, innocent girl on the verge of tears as Barou rants about how she didn’t fold her laundry the right way or something. For some reason, she looks kind of like Niko — oh, that’s probably because Barou just yelled at Niko for that exact reason — but the image is enough for him to balk.

“She can come to us for comfort,” Aiku says decisively before once again remembering that Niko probably only popped out of the womb a scant few months prior. He needs to be more careful — this isn’t Sendou, who would’ve made at least ten innuendos even worse than his own by this point. “I mean, me.”

“That’s a good plan,” Niko says. “You’re really good with the whole advising and comforting thing. I bet you’d make her feel better for sure.”

Yeah, I’d make her feel better alright. This time Aiku manages to keep it to himself, only coughing slightly and nodding towards the bottle of bleach as an explanation.

“The only question is where in Blue Lock are we going to find a girl, let alone one willing to date Barou?” Aiku says.

“Well, Bastard München is playing PXG this weekend, and Manshine City is playing Barcha, so we’re technically off,” Niko says. “I think if we ask Snuffy, we can probably have a day out.”

“What if Ego gets mad?” Aiku says, although the idea is sound enough that he’s just jealous he didn’t come up with it himself. Niko hums, giving careful consideration to the notion.

“We can just blame it on Snuffy. What’s Ego going to do, fire him?” he says. 

A grin breaks out on Aiku’s face.

“Niko, kiddo—”

“I’m fifteen.”

“—you’re totally a genius. Let’s go!”

“What about the stain?” Niko says. Aiku glances at the still marinara-colored splotch on the carpet, and then he waves it off dismissively.

“If we can find Snuffy before Barou gets back, then it’s no longer our problem,” he says.

Niko looks unconvinced, but he’s sensible as well as genius-material, so he only follows after Aiku — albeit not without a final worried glance at the section of carpet which still smells suspiciously of tomatoes. 

“So what cuisine does this place have, anyways?” you say. You’ve finally finished and submitted your essay, and now you’re taking a shower. Your best friend has closed the lid of the toilet and is sitting on it while playing on her phone, apparently because she wants to be able to talk to you even while you’re showering, and since you have a curtain you don’t mind.

“No idea,” she says.

“No idea?” you say, squeezing shampoo into your palm. “Why do you want to go, then?”

“My dad’s Facebook friends have been raving about it,” she says. “His ex-boss said that it’s the best value-for-money in the entire city!”

“We’re going to dinner based on recommendations from your dad’s Facebook friends,” you repeat dryly. “Wow.”

“Look, he may have chronically underpaid my dad, but the ex-boss has great taste in food!” your best friend defends. “Apparently they fill up super fast, though, so we have to get there right when they open for dinner, or else we’re out of luck.”

“Is this you subtly trying to pressure me to shower faster?” you say.

“It’s not subtle,” she says. You scoff.

“I hope you know I’ll take even longer now,” you say.

“You better not!” 

Snuffy is obviously confused when the two of them approach him — Aiku’s not sure if it’s the question that has their coach confounded, though, or if it’s the admittedly odd combination that’s approached him.

“You guys want a night out of the facility?” Snuffy checks.

“Yes,” Aiku says.

“And…you want Barou to come?” Snuffy says. That could be another reason for the incredulity — ‘Barou’ and ‘fun’ are two words rarely if ever seen in the same sentence, unless your name is Yoichi Isagi, in which case just being on the same field as Barou is your idea of ‘fun.’ For normal people — i.e. those with names such as Oliver Aiku and Ikki Niko — those concepts don’t generally align, however, so Aiku can’t blame Snuffy for the weird face he’s making.

“Yes,” Niko says.

Snuffy stares at them for a moment longer, and then, to make things even stranger, he chuckles in a way that’s almost fond.

“It’ll be good for him to get out of here for a bit,” he says. “You two are great teammates for thinking of him; I’m sure he’ll appreciate it one day, if not necessarily tonight. Go on, then, and have fun if you’d like.”

Aiku waits for the other shoe to drop, but Snuffy just returns to making a cup of coffee. It’s a little odd, given the later hour, but still, Aiku’s not one to count his blessings, so he motions for Niko to follow him, and with Snuffy’s official permission, the two of them march towards where Barou is probably doing his daily “fuck Yoichi Isagi” affirmations. They have that kind of weird relationship, after all. It’s unnecessarily complicated, but Aiku has observed during his time in Blue Lock that almost every single relationship between the members of the program follows such a mold. He’s given up on trying to figure any of it out, knowing it’s well beyond him.

“Are you ready?” Aiku says when they reached the closed door to the training room. Niko rolls his shoulders.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Niko says. Aiku decides he likes him, and that he should try to spend more time with the pipsqueak. Maybe he can be a mentor figure or a true role model for the younger player. He’d definitely do better at the job than, say, Aryu. Or Lorenzo, which is a more relevant concern, since apparently the two are cooking buddies, as per Niko’s marinara interlude during Barou’s earlier tantrum.

With a grim nod at Niko, Aiku swings open the door. Schooling his expression into a cheery grin, he calls out in a sing-song that really doesn’t spell anything but trouble:

“Oh, Barou!” 

You’ve made your best friend drive, since she’s the one who’s insisted on taking you out, which leaves you to play music and accomplish other such passenger-esque duties. You take full advantage of your freedom to be distracted, shuffling through playlists whenever you’re bored and scrolling through your best friend’s crush-of-the-week’s social media.

“He’s kind of ugly,” you say. She clicks her tongue.

“In a cute way, though, right?” she says. When you’re silent, she gasps. “Right?”

“Uh…” you trail off, zooming in on one of the photos. Something about him is reminiscent of a gerbil, and you can tell he’s short even before you swipe and see him in a photo with one of his friends, barely coming up to his shoulder. “There’s someone out there for everyone, I suppose.”

“That means you think he’s repulsive!” she accuses you.

“Repulsive’s a strong word,” you say. 

“Hideous?” she says.

“I can get behind that,” you say. “He reminds me of Tinkerbell.”

“Like the fairy, or our third grade teacher’s gerbil?” she says.

“The latter,” you say. “I’m glad you remembered her. That wouldn’t have been as funny if you didn’t.”

“I didn’t find it funny regardless,” she says, pulling into the parking lot and slowing the car to a crawl as she hunts for a space to pull in.

“Hm,” you say. “I did.”

“You know what? You’re not allowed to slander him until you find someone better for yourself. Girls in glass houses should not be throwing stones, and considering some of your exes, you’re in no position to talk,” she says.

“Low blow,” you say.

“No response? That’s what I thought,” she says. You scowl.

“Just park the car, you dumbass. 

“What the hell is going on?” Barou says, for probably the third or fourth time. Unfortunately, their attempt at kidnapping him didn’t go as planned, for neither Aiku nor Niko could lift Barou for any length of time, so now they were stuck with a supremely irritated striker following after them as they marched towards where the Blue Lock official parking was. 

Snuffy had given them the keys to his car, so at least they had a ride — if he weren’t such a good coach, Aiku would seriously question the man’s judgment. Niko ushers Barou into the backseat, claiming he already “called shotgun,” and then he dives into the passenger seat beside Aiku, fastening his seatbelt with a serious expression on his delicate face.

“We wanted to have a fun night out!” Aiku says, turning the child lock on so Barou can’t escape before reversing out of the garage.

“Huh?” Barou says. “There’s so many things wrong with that statement, I don’t even know where to begin. Also, why are we in Snuffy’s car?”

“He gave us the keys,” Niko says, like it’s obvious. In all fairness, it kind of is.

“He gave you two the keys,” Barou says. Aiku’s a responsible driver, so he doesn’t glance back at Barou, but he’s pretty sure that if he did, he’d be met with the kind of fearsome glare that made medieval-era peasants believe in the existence of creatures like trolls and dragons.

“Yes, he did,” Aiku says. “Told us to enjoy ourselves while we were at it.”

Barou sighs. “Say I believe that—”

“We’re telling the truth!” Aiku says.

“—uh-huh, sure. Anyways, where are we even going?” he says.

“Oh, I can answer that!” Niko says. “It’s this restaurant that my dad’s obsessed with. He’s been posting all over his Facebook about it. According to him, it’s the best value-for-money in the entire city.”

“At least you two are being frugal,” Barou says with a small ‘hmph.’ “How far is it?”

“Not too far,” Niko says. 

“Just sit back and relax, man! It’s a couple of friends going out for a meal. Totally normal!” Aiku says.

“Friends don’t kidnap one another to hang out,” Barou says.

“We didn’t kidnap you. Are you saying we’re friends, then?” Aiku says.

“I’m saying we’re not. You turned the child lock on, so that basically constitutes an abduction,” Barou says.

“I did that for Niko!” Aiku says, mentally patting himself on the back for the quick thinking.

“What? I’m fifteen, not five!” 

By the time your best friend finds somewhere to park, it’s already dark, and the spot is at the very edge of the lot, so then the two of you have to walk for another five minutes. She’s antsy by this point, but she does an admirable job of hiding it, only picking at her nails behind her back where she thinks you won’t see. 

“It’ll be alright,” you say as you reach the door to the restaurant. “I’m sure they’ll have space for two people, at least. Nowhere can be that busy, right?”

“I hope so,” she says, chewing on her lower lip.

You’re proven wrong almost as soon as you both walk into the establishment. Every single table has people sitting at it, and there’s a small crowd of people in the waiting area. Still, you and your best friend push past to where the hostess is standing. 

“Excuse me,” you say. “How long is the wait?”

“At least an hour,” the hostess says, her face wan.

“An hour?” your best friend says. “There’s nothing you can do?”

Of course, both of you know there isn’t, but it’s still disappointing when the hostess shakes her head regretfully.

“Would you like me to put your names down?” she says.

“Give us a minute,” you say. She nods, and you and your best friend walk a ways away. As soon as you’re out of the hostess’s earshot, you frown. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it would genuinely be this busy.”

“It’s okay, I wasn’t expecting it either,” she says, exhaling heavily. “I would’ve been way more serious about being on time if I had.”

“What should we do now? I don’t mind waiting,” you say.

“It’s okay. I’m a little hungry, so we can go somewhere else and come back here another day,” she says.

“Are you sure?” you say.

“Yeah, I am. Let’s go,” she says. 

You’re heading towards the door when a robust voice stops you. At first, neither of you are sure if the speaker is referring to you, but when it becomes obvious he is, you turn around in confusion.

“Where are you guys going?” he says. It’s a man with dark hair and eyes like mismatched marbles, and he’s sitting at a table with two others. There’s a couple of empty seats, and he motions towards them. “We’ve been waiting for you two for forever!”

“Oh, you’re in their party?” the hostess says. You glance at your best friend, who mouths why not? at you, and then you smile at the hostess.

“Yes, we are,” you say.

“You should’ve said so from the start,” she says, shaking her head. “Right this way, please.”

You and your best friend follow after her, both of you more than a little lost at the turn of events, but who are you to turn down the offer? Sure, you don’t know any of the three, but at least this way you two didn’t drive out for no reason, and the restaurant’s crowded enough that if they have nefarious intentions, you should be able to get help relatively quickly.

As you sit down and the hostess offers you menus, you can’t help but glance at the three boys, wondering what exactly it is they want from you. Is this some elaborate scam? An effort to get you to pay for their dinner? You can’t tell. They’re unreadable, and all you can do is hope that the meal still goes as well as you had originally planned — otherwise, you’ll be really mad that you’re not at home instead. 

When Niko had first suggested calling ahead to make reservations, Aiku had privately considered him to be a nerd, and one of the idiotic variety, no less. A lethal combo. But outwardly he had nodded along and told him to go right ahead, mostly because it seemed like the kind of thing Barou would appreciate. Now, though, he’s glad that Niko had that kind of foresight, because the place is completely packed.

“Where’s the rest of your party?” the hostess says when they walk in and give her Barou’s name. Aiku doesn’t really know why Niko made reservations under Barou’s name, nor what the hostess means by the ‘rest of their party’, but she’s pretty, so he gives her a charming smile. She’s working now, so he can’t exactly push Barou towards her, but if he’s talking about himself…

She blushes and ducks her head, although the moment is ruined by Niko speaking up. 

“What do you mean, the rest of our party?” he says.

“You made a reservation for five, didn’t you?” she says, leading them to the table. Aiku exchanges looks with Barou, mostly because the two of them tower over the others, so it’s convenient, but Barou seems as confused as Aiku is. Both of them clearly heard Niko making the reservation for only three people, so how in the world had the hostess written down five?

“Uh,” Niko says, and then for some reason he’s turning towards Aiku for help? Aiku’s kind of distracted, though, both with celebrating the moment he just had with Barou and with discerning the color of lipstick the hostess is wearing (red or pink?), so when she directs her question to him, he admittedly panics a bit.

“Will the rest of them be arriving later?” she says.

“Yes,” Aiku says. Coral! That’s the shade he was looking for.

“No worries,” the hostess says. “Although you might want to tell them to hurry up, just in case.”

“Wait, what—?” Aiku begins, but she’s already dropping menus in front of them and racing off to take care of the next group of customers.

“You fucking donkey,” Barou said. “Who else is coming to this?”

“Nobody that I know of,” Niko says. “I only made a reservation for three. She must’ve gotten confused and written down five or something like that, but why’d you go along with it, Aiku?”

“Um,” Aiku says.

“What unparalleled eloquence,” Barou says. 

Aiku’s mind is racing. Firstly, he’s accidentally confused this poor hostess into expecting two more people, and secondly, how are he and Niko supposed to set Barou up with a girl in this kind of situation? The food may be great, but the ambiance isn’t exactly what they’re looking for.

Somehow, these two lines of thought get muddled into one solution, the catalyst of which is when he sees two girls heading towards the door, obviously disheartened by the long wait time for those idiots who didn’t make reservations.

Wait. If those two are girls, and two plus three is five, then Barou might just end this night no longer single!

Another quick recovery by Oliver Aiku. He’s getting better and better by the minute. 

“Hi,” the man who called you over says. “I’m Oliver Aiku.”

“Hi,” you say. The five-person table is a circle, and Aiku’s across from you; since it’s your fault that you’re sitting with these random guys instead of by yourselves, you squeeze between your best friend and the more intimidating-looking one, leaving her to be on the right side of the youngest boy in the group. “Y/N L/N.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says.

“Likewise,” you say.

“I’m Niko,” the younger boy says. He has dark hair falling into a heart-shaped face, and you can’t fully see his eyes, but you think they might be some shade of bluish green. Idly, you wonder how his vision isn’t horrible given how overgrown his bangs are, but he doesn’t seem to be having any problems, so you suppose he must have some kind of method around it. “And that’s Barou.”

“I can introduce myself,” the one at your side snaps. He’s by far the most handsome of the trio, although you’re sure your best friend would disagree — she has bad taste, though, so that’s irrelevant — with a regal face and sharp eyes. His dark hair is spiky and his eyes are a vivid crimson, narrowed with irritation while his mouth tugs into a perfect frown. “My name is Barou.”

“It’s a pleasure, Barou,” you say.

“Yeah,” he says. “Same here.”

More than being a pleasure, it’s a little tense, so you return to reading your menu, not knowing what else to say, hoping someone else says something soon and rescues you from the ensuing silence. 

This is bad. Almost as bad as Japan’s performance in the last U-20 World Cup, which occurred right before Aiku moved up and joined the team. Almost as bad as that stain Lorenzo’s marinara left on the carpet. It’s that level of catastrophic, because clearly, Barou will take a lot more encouragement than originally anticipated. Kicking Niko under the table, Aiku nods meaningfully at Barou, who is also reading his menu, sitting next to the girl who’s doing the same.

It’s the perfect opportunity for small talk. Occasionally, the girl will peek at him over the top of his menu, so she’s clearly not affronted by him — either that, or she’s deathly afraid that Barou will kill her and is making sure he doesn’t do that when she’s distracted. If the latter is the case, well, it’s not entirely unfounded.

Solving the conundrum which has presented itself is even more difficult than their game against PXG was. How is Aiku supposed to flirt with someone for Barou? She’ll just end up liking him, which is rather counterintuitive, given that the end goal is to get Barou a girlfriend. 

If only Barou weren’t so stubborn! Aiku’s put him in the perfect spot, but instead of just reaching out his hand and snatching the opportunity up with both metaphorical hands, he’s sitting there, utterly absorbed by the intricacies of the restaurant’s entrees, which Aiku surmises are no doubt fascinating to people with such sensibilities.

It’s the girl, Y/N, who breaks the silence again. Clearing her throat and setting the menu aside, her eyes dart around the table before settling on Aiku. A natural consequence, given his dashing looks and genial personality, but not the one they’re hoping for at the moment, not in the slightest.

“We don’t know you, right?” she says.

“I don’t think so,” Aiku says. Has he gone out with her before? He’s pretty sure he’d have remembered if he had, but you can never be careful these days.

“Then why’d you invite us to sit with you?” she says.

Aiku’s in desperate need of an assist, and there’s only one person who’ll reliably send him one. Besides, the kid owes him a favor, so he doesn’t even feel guilty when he makes a face at Niko, as if indicating that he should be the one to answer the query.

“It was Barou’s idea!” Niko says.

“Excuse me?” Barou says.

“What?” Aiku says. 

“Yeah, it was. He felt bad that you guys were going to leave without eating, and we accidentally booked a table for five instead of three, like we originally planned, so he told Aiku to stop you guys before you were gone,” Niko explains.

“Oh, that was very sweet of you!” Y/N says. “Thank you so much. We both really appreciate it.”

Under the table, Aiku gives Niko a thumbs-up. Niko returns the gesture in kind, though neither of them let their true emotions show on their faces, which must be carefully schooled into blankness so that nobody else catches on to their scheming. 

“You’re welcome,” Barou says before freezing as he realizes that he’s somehow fallen for Niko’s lie, despite being there to witness the truth of the events. “Wait, no, it wasn’t—”

“Barou’s super considerate,” Niko continues, cutting Barou’s correction off. Aiku could just about cry. Niko’s a natural-born talent! He could never have predicted the younger boy’s sheer skill at this kind of thing. “Do you watch soccer?”

“Not really,” Y/N says thoughtfully. “I’ve never understood it well enough to become an avid fan, and my father prefers baseball, so it’s not something my family is into. I think it’s really cool, though!”

“Barou plays,” Niko says.

“So do you guys,” Barou says.

“Yeah, but you’re sitting next to her,” Niko says. “And you’re the king, right? Who better than you to explain the sport?”

“She didn’t ask for that,” Barou says, glowering at Niko and Aiku alike. “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t mind,” Y/N says, even going so far as to smile at Barou. With a final suspicious glare at the two of them, Barou begins to explain the rules of the game to her, and Aiku takes advantage of his distraction to high-five Niko.

“You’re amazing,” he whispers. “Where’d you learn this shit?”

“I watch a lot of anime,” Niko whispers back. “This is a classic set up for a twelve-episode romance that teaches the viewers about friendship, love, and what it means to grow up.”

“That’s not what I was expecting,” Aiku says after digesting this latest revelation, finding that it makes a surprising amount of sense. “But hey, whatever works!”

“Exactly,” Niko says. “Do you think it’s weird if I order chicken fingers from the children’s menu?”

“Order whatever you want, kid,” Aiku says. “You deserve it. I’ll even pay.”

“Yay!” Niko says. “Chicken fingers it is.”

Aiku doesn’t even mind treating him. If this is successful, then he’ll buy Niko all of the chicken fingers in the world in thanks. 

You’re more than a little grateful that Niko has given you something to talk to Barou about. Your best friend is busy texting her crush, the gerbil-looking one, who has apparently responded to her story, so you would’ve had to sit there in silence until she finished up or someone took pity on your helpless self. In this way, though, it’s much more natural, and even if it really was just an example of Niko feeling bad for you, it didn’t come across as such.

“You really scored a goal against the Japanese U-20 team?” you say after Barou has finished a long-winded explanation on the rules of soccer and some of the highlights of his career in the sport. In truth, you mostly tuned out the more technical details, but you have to admit that some of the things he’s mentioned about himself are rather interesting.

“Yes,” he says. 

“Wow,” you say. “You must be good, then.”

He shrugs in acknowledgement. “I’m good.”

It doesn’t feel like he’s bragging or anything like that. He’s just acknowledging an inevitable truth. He’s good. The way he says it, no one can deny it — not that you would’ve. Based on his build alone, you’d have expected him to have talent as an athlete; the things he’s mentioned have only been confirmation of that initial prediction, rather than blowing your mind in any significant way.

“Hi!” Your waitress’s arrival with a tray full of drinks cuts your conversation with Barou short, which you’re surprised to find you’re a little put-out by, at least until the grumble of your stomach reminds you of why you came to the restaurant in the first place. “Are you all ready to order?”

“I want the chicken fingers,” Niko says.

“The chicken fingers from the twelve and under menu? How old are you?” she says.

“Twelve,” Niko says. You frown, leaning closer to Barou in order to murmur in his ear.

“Is he actually?” 

Barou shakes his head ever so slightly. “No, but if that’s the only way he can get chicken fingers…”

“That’s a fair point,” you say. The waitress seems to share your doubts, but then Aiku flashes her a warm grin.

“My little brother’s heard so much about your entrees, and he can’t wait to try the, er, chicken fingers. Yes. The chicken fingers. He’s been talking about them all week,” he explains.

“Are they—?” you begin.

“They met like a month ago,” Barou says, rolling his eyes. “No relation whatsoever.”

“I see,” you say. You almost have to admire the lengths they’re willing to go to, as well as how natural they are with it. “Huh. I guess if it works, it works.”

“One order of chicken fingers, then!” the waitress says, jotting it down on her notepad, returning Aiku’s grin with her own. He has that kind of enviable charisma that lets him get away with a lot more than he should, and you’re more than a little jealous. “And the rest of you?”

You all give her your orders, and she promises she’ll be back quickly before running back to the kitchen. Once again, you’re left to your own devices, and given that your best friend is still texting that guy, you decide you’ll try and talk to the others at your table.

“Barou told me you guys are all in some program called Blue Lock together,” you say. “What’s that like? It sounded super intense.”

“It is,” Aiku scoffs. “I don’t even know if we’re supposed to be here at the moment.”

“We got permission from our coach,” Niko says. “But the guy who runs the program is kind of…what’s the word?”

“Freaky?” Aiku says.

“That works,” Niko says.

“I didn’t realize we were dining with rebels,” you say. 

“For the record, I was dragged into coming by those two,” Barou says.

“We didn’t actually drag him,” Aiku reassures you. “I mean, we tried, but he’s super heavy.”

“Too much training,” Niko says. “Barou, you should flex for Y/N — I mean, for everyone.”

“Hell no,” Barou says. “In public? Don’t be shameless.”

“So you’ll do it in private, then?” Aiku says. 

“That’s — that’s not what I meant!” Barou sputters. “I won’t do it at all!”

“Y/N, if you get a subscription to Blue Lock TV, then forget about asking Barou to flex. You can just watch him work out. He does it shirtless,” Aiku says. You choke on your water.

“What are you, some kind of salesman?” you say, coughing to dislodge the droplets of liquid scratching at your throat. “Was inviting us to sit with you a kindness or an advertisement?”

“Can’t it be both?” Aiku says.

“No, it cannot, you fucking donkey!” Barou says. “Please ignore him. I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

“You do train without a shirt on, though,” Niko says. “Quite often. Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, there’s a lot of shirtless content on Blue Lock TV…Chris Prince stripped at one point, I’m pretty sure, and more than one of the Bastard München boys have had locker room features. I guess PXG is the only team without any fan service, since Barcha has Lavinho as a coach, and we all know how he is.”

“Good for them. You gotta give credit where it’s due,” Aiku says. 

“Agreed,” Niko says. “Hey, Barou, didn’t you take your shirt off after scoring in the game against the U-20s, too? Is it like an established habit or something?”

“Enough about my shirt,” Barou says through gritted teeth.

“Or lack thereof,” Aiku adds. There’s a baleful aura emanating off of Barou, and he doesn’t even need to say anything before Aiku winces like he’s been cowed. “Sorry. The opportunity presented itself.”

“Both of you are on thin ice. First you abducted me, and now you’re going on about this dumbass subject? And that’s not to mention the sauce stain from earlier. I bet neither of you cleaned it up,” Barou says. 

Aiku and Niko both look like they have been caught committing some crime. Barou’s about to snap, it’s very obvious, but you find his friends’ antics to be so amusing that you hesitantly pat him on the shoulder.

“Ah, I think they’re just teasing you. It’s common amongst people who are close to one another! I always make fun of my best friend for her taste in men,” you say.

“And I make fun of yours right back,” your best friend says, not even looking up from her phone. You roll your eyes at this.

“See? It’s really alright,” you say. “At the least, if you’re upset because we’re here, then don’t be. Neither of us mind. I mean, she’s not even paying attention to us. Too busy texting that Meriones unguiculatus of a man she deems crush-worthy.”

“Fuck you,” your best friend says. She ordinarily would have no idea what Meriones unguiculatus means, but given the context, you’re sure she’s figured it out.

“Don’t be mad because I’m right,” you say. “Anyways, like I was saying, it’s all good.”

There’s a strained moment where none of you know what Barou will do, but then he nods, crossing his arms and sticking his nose in the air.

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll let it slide, just this once. But the two of you better behave from now on, you got it?”

Aiku and Niko both seem to be so amazed that it’s a wonder they don’t salute at Barou’s barked-out order. Shaking your head and laughing, you decide it might be for the best if you try to talk to Barou yourself and leave his slightly problematic companions out of the conversation.

“So,” you say, to him and only him. “What’s the story behind the sauce stain?” 

“Holy shit,” Aiku says.

“I know,” Niko says.

“She’s a genius. A god. A fucking Barou whisperer,” he says.

“I know,” Niko says.

“What are the odds that we managed to find the exact girl that could put up with his bullshit?” Aiku says.

“Pretty high!” a new voice chimes in. It’s Y/N’s friend; she never introduced herself, and it doesn’t seem like she’s inclined to, but she inconspicuously slides her chair closer to where he and Niko are talking. “You guys are trying to set your friend up with Y/N, huh? Good luck. She only likes ugly dudes.”

“Barou’s…kind of ugly?” Niko tries. Aiku snorts.

“Let’s keep it honest here,” he says. “Anyways, what were you talking about earlier? Barou’s a nutcase. It’s, like, a miracle that Y/N’s managing to have a conversation with him.”

“Maybe he’s like that with you, but to me, he seems to be the type that’s totally respectful to women,” Y/N’s friend says, brandishing her index finger in the air as if she’s making a particularly salient point. “The bigger the muscles, the bigger the heart, isn’t that ”

“Is that a real saying?” Niko says.

“No, I just made it up,” Y/N’s friend says. “But it kind of fits in this instance, don’t you think?”

“You’re not wrong,” Aiku says. “But do you mean to say Barou would be this nice to any girl?”

“It’s not like I know him personally. Shouldn’t you be able to answer that better than me?” Y/N’s friend says.

“There aren���t any girls in Blue Lock,” Niko says. “This is the first time we’ve seen him interact with one, so we actually have no idea.”

“Ah,” she says. “That explains a lot. Anyways, yeah, if I had to guess, he would be.”

“Hm,” Aiku says. This throws a definite wrench in their plans — up until this point, he had been convinced that there were sparks flying between Y/N and Barou, mostly because he had never seen Barou so gentle and quick to calm down in his life. Yet, if Y/N’s friend is telling the truth, and he has no reason to think she isn’t, then this is actually just his true personality.

On the one hand, it’s comforting to know that Barou isn’t constantly on the verge of an aneurysm, and indeed can even be persuaded towards kindness in his day-to-day life. On the other, it doesn’t solve their problem, which is getting him to calm down when he’s interacting with his fellow Ubers teammates.

Aiku comes to a decision relatively quickly. It’s his experience as a captain which lends him that swiftness; on the field, split-second decisions are the only way to go. He’s good at taking information and rapidly synthesizing it to come up with workable solutions, and though this isn’t a soccer match, the stakes are almost just as high.

The facts of the situation are as follows: Y/N does not seem to mind talking to Barou, and given that they’ve been engaged in conversation almost this entire time, the inverse is also likely true. Furthermore, she’s proven able to persuade him not to freak out at himself and Niko when they were pushing his buttons, which is something no one has ever managed before and is somewhat the end goal of the outing. Of course, she apparently only likes ugly guys, and Barou’s far from ugly — as a fellow member of the non-ugly community, Aiku is confident in saying this — but things like that are subjective, so he decides he shouldn’t worry too much about that aspect.

Then there are the theories, namely Y/N’s best friend’s one about how any girl might have a similar effect on Barou. This could be true, or it could also not be, but Aiku only has one data point and a limited amount of time to work with, so despite the likely veracity, he has to set it aside as false for the time being. It’s not like there’s an endless supply of girls just hanging around for him to test out Barou’s reactions with, so in this moment, he’s deeming Y/N L/N as a special case, an outlier, and this can only lead to one conclusion:

Barou is totally into her. 

“Two younger sisters, really?” you say. While your best friend has been talking to Aiku and Niko in hushed tones, you’ve been preoccupied with Barou, who’s proven himself to be nothing like his first impression. You had expected him to be fussy and rude and intimidating, and while the latter adjective certainly still applies, he’s kind instead of spiteful and almost shy instead of brash.

“Yeah,” he says, and there’s a smile in his voice, although his face does not shift in the slightest. “They’re much smaller, so I look after them a lot — when I’m home, anyways. Obviously, I haven’t seen them since I’ve been at Blue Lock.”

“How sweet of you,” you say. “I bet your mother appreciates you a lot.”

“I try to help her whenever I can,” he says.

You’re about to internally swoon, but then you stop yourself. So what if he’s athletic, helps his mother, is tall, handsome, kind, muscular, and supposedly good with kids? That doesn’t mean anything. He probably has a girlfriend, anyways, given all of these positive attributes—

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you say, standing up. Your best friend looks over at you in concern, for she knows of your distaste for public restrooms, and then she, too, stands.

“Want me to come?” she says.

“Yes,” you say, striding off without further explanation. As soon as the two of you are far enough from the table, you give her a distressed look. “I need help.”

“What’s up?” she says.

“I think—”

“Are you into Barou?” she asks, cutting you off. You blink at her.

“How did you know?” you say.

“You’ve spent almost the entire time talking only to him. It’s a little obvious,” she says.

“Oh, no,” you say. “He’s definitely caught on, then!”

“It’s not a big deal. According to Aiku and Niko, he’s single, so that’s one thing you don’t have to worry about, and besides, if that’s the case, then he’s fair game, isn’t he? There’s nothing wrong with being interested in someone,” she says. 

“He’s single? How?” you say. “You’re telling me no one’s been interested in him yet? That’s impossible.”

“There is the whole ‘locked away in a facility with zero girls’ aspect to be considered…” she says.

“Well, that’s true,” you say, feeling dumb for having forgotten that. “Do you think he’s interested in me?”

“He’s been talking to you back, right? That’s a good sign, especially since he’s been ignoring his friends to do so,” she says. “There’s a decent chance. If anything, does he seem like the kind of guy that would be mean about rejecting you? You should just ask him for his number when we get back.”

“Me? Ask for his number?” you say.

“I’ve heard girls have high success rates when they approach guys that they’re into. What’s the worst that can happen? Either way, the three of them are heading back to some weird facility after tonight, so we can just leave and never see them again if it’s awkward,” she says.

You mull this over. Nothing she’s saying is wrong, and anyways, it’s been a while since you dated someone. Besides, you’ll probably not meet someone like Barou again for a long, long time, and when you really think about it, you’d rather live with a rejection than a what-if scenario floating around in your mind for the rest of your life.

“Alright,” you say. “I’ll do it, but that means you have to dump the gerbil dude and move on.”

“Did that earlier. I couldn’t stop thinking of Tinkerbell the gerbil whenever I saw his profile picture; it totally killed the mood. Thanks a lot,” she says.

“It’s my pleasure,” you say. “Now, let’s go back. I have a number to get!”

“Um, hold on,” she says. “I do actually have to pee, and the bathroom doesn’t seem too dirty.”

You sigh, because now that you’re this pumped up, you don’t want to delay any longer, but you’re not about to abandon her, so you nod towards the door.

“I’ll wait here, then. Be quick!” 

“Well, well, well,” Aiku says. “Who would’ve thought we’d get to see the day?”

“What are you talking about?” Barou says when he notices that both Aiku and Niko are looking at him.

“What aren’t we talking about?” Aiku says. 

“It’s Y/N,” Niko says, defusing the volatile atmosphere rather efficiently. Aiku hands him a French fry off of his plate as a form of praise; accepting it happily, Niko chews and swallows before continuing. “You like her, right?”

“What? No,” Barou says quickly — too quickly, which means the answer is the opposite of what he’s just said. Aiku steeples his fingers together, because he couldn’t have imagined things going any better, and he feels like he’s entitled to a villainous pose or two every now and again. 

“You’ve been talking to her the entire time we’ve been eating, and you didn’t yell at her when she told you to calm down,” Aiku says.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Barou says.

“I guess it’s for the better,” Niko says. “Her friend told us she has a boyfriend.”

Aiku’s about to reprimand him for making things up, but before he can, he sees out of the corner of his eye that the tips of Barou’s ears have turned a surprisingly light and rosy pink, and then he can only shake his head in amazement. Niko’s really fucking good at this. Aiku almost wonders if he should ask the kid for anime recommendations or something.

“Really?” Barou says. 

“Really,” Niko says.

“That’s — I mean, it’s none of my business, so why are you telling me?” Barou says.

“You’re awfully upset if that’s the case,” Aiku points out.

“I’m not upset!” Barou says. “Just…I wasn’t expecting her not to be single, that’s all.”

“Expecting, or hoping?” Aiku says. Barou glares at him but does not respond, which tells Aiku all he needs to know. “It’s okay for you to have a crush on her. She seems nice enough.”

“Yeah,” Niko says. “If you guys get along, then there’s no harm in just asking her out. We’re going back to Blue Lock after dinner anyways, so it’s not like you’ll see her in the future if you don’t want to. Can you live with yourself if you don’t give it a shot?”

“Aren’t you a king?” Aiku urges. “What kind of king doesn’t put his best foot forward at all times?”

“The kind of king that respects other people’s relationships, you chewed up wad of spearmint gum,” Barou says.

“Oh, I was just making that up,” Niko says. “I wanted to see how you’d react. She’s definitely single.”

“You—!”

Aiku and Niko are saved from another one of Barou’s tirades by the arrival of Y/N and her friend. With a final malevolent sneer, Barou continues to talk to Y/N, who seems eager to pick up where they left off. Aiku high-fives Niko under the table.

“You’re a genius, buddy,” he says.

“Does this mean you’ll buy me dessert, too?” Niko says.

“If you’ll share with me, then sure.”

“Deal.” 

“When should I ask him for his number? It’ll be awkward if I do it in front of everyone, I think,” you say.

“Why would it be awkward?” she says. “I’m not about to judge you. I already know you’re going to do it.”

“I was talking about Aiku and Niko,” you say, though you’re specifically referring to Aiku — there’s a sense of naïveté to Niko, so the thought of being so bold in front of him doesn’t make you squeamish, but it’s a difference case with his counterpart. Oliver Aiku has a sort of suaveness to him that makes you feel as though he’s not been rejected once in his life, and that’s more than a little terrifying. What might such a master say about your feeble attempts at flirting? You don’t want to imagine it. The mere beginnings of the thought are preemptively giving you hives, so having the thought fully formed, or heaven forbid the actual event occurring…you shudder at the plethora of side effects you’ll no doubt undergo.

“That’s fair,” she says. “I can distract them, if you want. While we’re getting dessert, I’ll tell Aiku I’m having car trouble and ask if he can take a look. He seems like the kind of guy that would fall for that. I don’t know what to do about Niko, though…”

“He’ll probably go with Aiku, but even if he doesn’t, I think it’ll be fine if it’s just him there,” you say. “He’s pretty harmless.”

“You better not wimp out, then! If I have to embarrass myself by pretending to know nothing about cars, then the least you can do is actually ask for his number,” she says.

“I’ll do it!” you say. She obviously doesn’t believe you, so you pout. “Promise I will.”

“Fine,” she says. 

“Fine,” you say.

“Fine!” she says again. “Just give me a second before we go back, then. I need to think of what kinds of issues my car will be having…” 

“Hey, Aiku,” Y/N’s friend says. The entire table falls silent, including Aiku himself — he’s more than a little confused about what she could want with him. After all, he’s not done anything that would seem like he’s trying to pursue her, so there’s no reason for her to believe he’s interested, and it’s not like they’re close enough for her to be talking to him in specific.

“What’s up?” he says.

“My car is making a weird sound when it starts. I was going to wait to ask my dad when I got home, but if you know anything about cars, could you maybe…?” she says.

Aiku knows nothing about cars, and he’s about to tell her as much, but then Niko of all people is answering. He hasn’t heard the boy talk this much since they met, which means he’s really getting into this.

“Sure, we can both take a look while we wait for dessert to come,” he says. It’s suspicious, because if Aiku knows nothing about cars, then Niko’s understanding has to be in the negatives. The kid doesn’t even have his driver’s license yet, so how would he be of any help? Unless this is another skill he’s picked up from watching anime, in which case it seems like that’s another hobby Aiku needs to take up.

“Thanks,” Y/N’s friend says, clearly relieved. “Y/N, do you mind staying back so no one takes our table?”

“Barou, keep her company,” Niko says. “We don’t want them thinking we’re the dine-and-dash type.”

“It’s okay with me,” Y/N says before Barou can argue, which effectively shuts Barou up. Aiku’s beloved teammate only grunts in agreement, watching the trio out of the corner of his eyes as they scurry out of the restaurant and begin to wander about aimlessly in the parking lot.

“Can you, uh, describe this noise to me?” Aiku says. It’s not like that knowledge will really change much for him, but he thinks that it might be better if he at least pretends to put forth some effort into assisting the girl. After all, it’d be bad for business if he gets flamed as the rude, unhelpful type.

“Huh? Oh, I made that up,” she says.

“As I expected,” Niko says.

“What? Why would you do that?” Aiku says. Then he comes to a realization, and it’s like a bucket of ice water has been poured over his head. “Hold on just a second, I’m not the one looking for—”

“That was a great method of leaving Y/N and Barou alone,” Niko says, cutting Aiku off before he can continue to embarrass himself. “Now they can figure things out between themselves.”

“Right?” Y/N’s friend says. “There’s only so much they can do when we’re all sitting there.”

“Yeah, awesome idea,” Aiku says, relieved to hear that she’s on their side. Girls take their friends’ opinions seriously. If Y/N’s best friend approves of Barou, then that’s a plus in Barou’s favor, and given Barou’s uniqueness, he needs all of the pluses he can get.

“And just so you know, you’re not my type, so don’t take any of this in a weird way. I just want Y/N to be happy,” she continues.

“Duly noted,” Aiku says. 

“Sorry I wasn’t faster in cutting you off,” Niko whispers when Y/N’s friend pulls out her phone and begins to play on it again. Aiku shrugs.

“No worries. Nobody’s perfect,” he says. “Although, honestly? If this night ends up the way we want it to, then I’d say you’re pretty damn close regardless.” 

“I’m really sorry,” Barou says as soon as your best friend, Aiku, and Niko have exited the building. 

“For what?” you say. The crowd is dwindling, for the restaurant is nearing its closing time, but it’s still busy enough that you have to stay close to him in order to be able to hear what he’s saying. Or maybe that’s an excuse you’ve made for yourself; either way, he doesn’t pull back, so you remain in the comfortable space between you both.

“Aiku,” he says. “Also Niko, but mostly Aiku.”

“Why? He’s not done anything too horrible,” you say. “He’s pretty funny. And Niko seems like a nice boy.”

“They have this idea in their mind,” he says. “It’s totally stupid, but that’s why they’re acting like this. They’re not usually quite as idiotic.”

“What do you mean?” you say. You almost want to tell him to hurry up so you can ask for his number before the others come back and your best friend gets upset with you, but you’d rather listen to him talk, and anyways once you ask him for his number there’s a chance things will go wrong, so you want to soak in these last few seconds before that happens.

“I mean, you know,” he says, and then he’s turning a color you never would’ve expected from someone as reputedly tough as him. “Just that they think I like you.”

“Like me?” you say.

“Yeah,” he says. “Like I’m into you or something.”

You had hoped for it, but not seriously considered it — although, the teasing and whatnot do make a little more sense now that he’s added this context to it. If Aiku and Niko think he might be into you…you know you shouldn’t be fanciful, that it’ll eventually lead to disappointment, but you want to. You really want to, so when you next speak it’s tentative but optimistic.

“If you are,” you begin, nervous more than anything, though you’re certain the only cure is getting this over with, “I am, too. Into you, I mean.”

Barou’s lips are still parted as if he’s about to say something, but no words escape him. He just sits there and stares at you, as if you’ve said something profound or shocking or both. Probably both. You giggle, shifting in your seat and adjusting your position, because seeing him like this is endearing as much as it is uncomfortable.

“If you’re not, it’s alright, but my friend told me I should ask you for your number or something, so I don’t have any regrets when we leave,” you say. “She’s right, too. I’d have felt horrible forever if I never said anything.”

He’s still silent. You question if you’ve somehow caused him to malfunction, so you nudge his foot with your own under the table. This does nothing to break him out of his daze, and then you realize he’s probably trying to figure out how to best reject you, so you sigh.

“It’s okay to say no. There’s no expectation on my part. I just wanted to get it out there,” you say.

“No!” he says.

“Well, I mean, you didn’t have to be exuberant about it,” you mutter to yourself before smiling. “That’s okay, though! Thank you for listening and talking to me—”

“I mean, yes. No. I don’t know which question I’m supposed to be answering!” he says. “I do like you. That’s what I’m trying to say, but you just said so many things that I didn’t know what to respond to.”

“You like me?” you say. You had never in your wildest fantasies imagined someone like Barou being into you. It was the kind of thing that just didn’t happen, and yet, somehow, it had. Barou liked you. 

“I guess so,” he says. “That’s how Aiku would phrase it, I think. I enjoy talking to you, and you have nice table manners. You kept your hands and surroundings clean, and you didn’t spill anything, which is more than can be said about a lot of people. I really appreciate that kind of trait in a person.”

“Uh, thanks?” you say, because you’ve not really been complimented on your table manners before, but it’s kind of sweet. “Yeah, thanks. I’d compliment you back, but there’s so many things to say that I wouldn’t know where to start…”

“How about with your phone number?” he says. You’re pretty sure that that’s uncharacteristically bold of him, because his eyes widen as soon as he comprehends what he’s said, but he doesn’t take it back. Instead, he waits, his hands folded carefully in his lap as he watches you, probably wondering what you’ll say in response to the request.

Smiling at him, you pull out your phone and open your hand, waiting for him to give you his. 

“You got her number?” Aiku says as they’re driving home. Niko’s in the backseat this time, mostly because he offhandedly mentioned feeling nauseous after eating and Aiku has no interest in getting vomit all over him. “Way to go, man.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Barou says, gazing out of the window mysteriously. “I can’t exactly take her on dates or anything while I’m stuck in Blue Lock.”

“If you get Snuffy’s permission, you could,” Aiku says.

“We probably shouldn’t abuse that,” Niko says. “Otherwise, Ego will come up with some insane punishment for all of us. The guy’s a super-freak. I’m sure he’s got some crazy stuff stored away.”

“Very true,” Aiku says. “Don’t worry too much, though, Barou. If she’s the one, she won’t mind waiting.”

“How can I know if she’s the one when we’ve only met once? You’re delusional,” Barou says.

“It’s pretty simple,” Aiku says. “Do you want her to be?”

The moonlight hits Barou in a particularly elegant way at that moment. Aiku’s suddenly not surprised that Niko’s anime intelligence worked so well — Barou seems straight out of a girlish romance novel or TV show or something along those lines just then.

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

“Then that’s that!” Aiku says, pulling into the garage and putting Snuffy’s car in park. “Trust me, there was major chemistry there, so I’m sure she’s of the same opinion.”

“It’ll work out,” Niko agrees. He’s clearly feeling much better now that they’re not in the car, his steps light and bouncy, his lips curving upwards at the corners. “You’re a great guy, Barou. We were talking about it earlier.”

Barou scoffs. “Of course I am.”

“Classic Barou,” Aiku says, throwing his arm around Barou’s shoulder. “So humble.”

“Get off of me,” Barou grumbles, shoving Aiku away, though there’s a marked gentleness to it that tells Aiku their plan worked. He’s excited to see the long-term effects — if only one dinner with Y/N was enough for Barou to relax this much, then the duration of their relationship might be akin to a vacation for the rest of the Ubers.

That night, Aiku and Niko are brushing their teeth in the bathrooms together, since nobody else is up and there’s a certain camaraderie built between them after their adventure.

“We did good today, Niko,” Aiku says after spitting his toothpaste into the sink. 

“Agreed,” Niko says.

The door slams open right after he does, which is horribly ironic timing, because it reveals a furious Barou. He’s already enormous, but his fury causes him to swell until his proportions are vaguely Hulk-like and entirely terrifying. Both Aiku and Niko glance at him in confusion, because he should have no reason to be upset, and then, right before he can start yelling, it hits them like a truck.

“Hey, you donkeys,” Barou hisses. “Did you think you could distract me by taking me to dinner? That stain is still there. Can neither of you do anything for yourselves? I’m going to kill you both, mark my words!”

Aiku groans. Niko face-palms.

Fuck. 

[luna-loveboop]

Ok ok so Time and Winds relationship

If you look at their progression of interactions through the comic, their relationship has a very distinct storyline/character arc and it's really really cool ok

So starting at the beginning (their first and early interactions).

Time likes Wind (I mean who doesn't) they have the hero connection, and there's a lot for Time to see himself in him.

Time doesn't underestimate Wind like some of the others, he knows perfectly well what's it's like to be a young hero (way too young like geez) and still be perfectly capable.

And then everyone splits up. They enter their new timeline/era thing through the portal and they separate into groups to try and find information, and Time and Wind go together. (why is that? Maybe Wind went with who he knew wouldn't underestimate him, and maybe Time wanted to get to know him a little more. Many possibilities.)

With the group split they end up fighting a bunch of monsters (of course). And the scene after the battle is just... Time takes Wind’s sword and compliments it, the art is so soft, it's just... it's the start of them have a really caring connection

ALSO- TIME QUOTING SHADE TO WIND TIME QUOTING SHADE TO WIND

Look of a hero, discipline with the blade... those were phrases used in twilight princess by Hero's Shade (Time's skeleton ghost thingy?) when he’s teaching Twilight how to fight and become the hero he needs to be. And the fact that Time is quoting that to be Wind's mentor and guide him as a young hero is so cool. (So. Cool.)

And at the end, after the battle, Wind asks him that question, “I was wondering... about your original journey” And Time actually answers Wind's question. He tells him about his journey, and this starts a whole new chapter in their relationship. Because guess who went into detective mode? Wind.

He starts theorizing, and actually tries to get a chance to bring it up at first (“speaking of history-”), but eventually finds (makes) a moment to explain his findings.

And Time's skeptical, of course he is.

There's a few reasons why, but here's the main one: Twilight. In this scene where Wind is explaining why he believes he is the hero after Time, his descendant, Twilight, makes two appearances.

But Twilight is not part of the conversation. He's sitting a distance away, and we have no indication that he even knows they’re talking. Yet Time still looks over to him, because Twilight is his descendant. He KNOWS Twilight is his successor, but in this conversation they puzzle out a bit more of the timeline split.

And Time realizes... he has two hero's that came after him. Twilight in the main path, the one that Time previously believed was the only timeline, but there's actually more...

And at the end of that section, Time’s a little overwhelmed (who wouldn't be when you're figuring out you broke the flow of time...)

But, this is the start of Time and Wind’s relationship with Time knowing Wind's one of his successors

Yet even though he's overwhelmed, he touches Wind and acknowledges the facts he's puzzled out (and it's so so sweet)

Buuuuuut this starts a whole new chapter in their relationship. For the section where they’re puzzling out the timeline, and the next, look at their faces. You can see it in those conversations, they're uncertain. Time is trying to reshape his understanding of the world (he’s shaken and looks pretty tired, probably because he found out he left a whole timeline without a hero whoopsies)- but he also cares about Wind and wants to be there for him as well. And Wind looks very nervous around Time. He's excited that he knows he's the hero he heard about before him, but he's nervous about getting closer to him like he wants to.

Then Time goes into detective mode.

And there’s one thing Time really starts wondering: how the hell did Wind’s hyrule get flooded? It was not, in fact, a giant ocean when he left that timeline. So he asks, and Wind answers, but they don’t really start timeline talk with the rest of the group yet.

And I would like to point out that apparently Time and Wind have like. Half the brain cells of the entire group. Because we see literally no one else (at this point) has had whole sections where they’re puzzling out the timeline, but these two are over here obsessing over it lol.

After they have those talks about timelines and kingdoms, they don’t have all the answers yet, but what they have established is this: in Wind’s timeline, he is Time’s successor, and they both want to be close because of that.

And then Time just like!! Adopts Wind :)

With all this build up and conversations, we now see Time and Wind spending so much more time together.

In the group they start ending up walking near each other more often, and they start fighting closer together in battles a bit more

But it’s not one sided- we see Time keeping an eye on and watching out for Wind during battle, as well as Wind defending Time when a skeleton was like. Falling on them. And they’re just working and fighting for each other and it’s awesome.

And it’s cool because through the storyline we see the progression: Time’s the hero dad for everybody, but then he and Wind fight together, and start talking about their journeys to each other, then puzzling out the timeline, then acknowledging that Wind is a successor to Time, and asking questions, and then we see them get so much closer throughout the storyline.

(And Time is still so close to Twilight obviously, he’s his descendant and they have such a special bond but then he’s also developed this unique relationship with Wind too and it’s great)

And so it’s just evolved into a really sweet relationship because Wind looks up to Time, and Time is kind of his mentor, but at the same time he respects Wind’s strength.

And the fact that in the first place Time was willing to tell Wind about his journey simply because he asked, leading to all these discussions and getting closer… well. They care for each other, and it shows.

:)