#i might clean up some of the longer ones and put them on ao3
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so high school
Pairing(s): Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader
Summary: Growing up, you could never understand how people your age were so romantically interested in other people. You begin to understand for the first time, however, when you encounter a certain Sokovian during your first semester of university.
Warnings: mentions of underage drinking, college!au, friends (?) to lovers, college au, making out, slight angst (but not really)
Word Count: 4.0k
Author's Note: everyone say thank you taylor swift for the spontaneous new fic! also this is lightly proofread, so edits might be made later oops
Main Masterlist | ao3 | Wattpad
...
Growing up, you never truly dated anyone. Sure, you had crushes on fictional characters in the media you consumed, and you allotted arguably too much time to admiring celebrities online; but, you never saw anyone in your personal life in such a light. At various hangouts and sleepovers over the years, you noticed just how much your friends discussed their love lives. Hushed whispers and sighs of the same phrase, âI really like them,â flooded your ears in the hallways at school. You had originally tried to join in on the conversations, not wanting to be excluded, but you simply couldn't engage in them wholeheartedly; eventually, the inability to relate began to upset you. You naturally boiled it down to something that must have been wrong with you â how could it possibly be normal to be like this when everyone else around you seemed to share these romantic sentiments?
Thankfully, you became completely preoccupied, both mentally and physically, by the prospect of university. By the time your junior year of high school had started, your love life â or lack thereof â no longer held too much importance to you. Instead of keeping whimsical love letters on your desk like others your age did, you opted to pile various books. From Camus to Aristotle, you discovered a deep fascination and affinity to the field of philosophy and the metaphysical discussions it posed. Therefore, when your senior year had arrived, you threw yourself head first into your studies, determined to build up your application in order to get into a top university.
After accepting your offer into one of the best philosophy programs in the nation, you anticipated your time at university, daydreaming about all of the things you would study and all of the people you would meet there.
But never could you have anticipated someone like Wanda Maximoff.
You had met her during one of your introductory courses in your first semester. Wanda was the type of person that, upon first glance, you would be scared. Not just because she was undeniably pretty, but she also had this stone cold exterior to her. Her lips were permanently etched into a slight frown, and she never really showed too much expression while she spoke during class. To put it simply, she intimidated you; so, you settled on admiring the brunette from afar (two seats up, one to the left â if you were to be specific).
Your plans changed, however, after the two of you got assigned to be partners for a class project. It was just a presentation, but it required you both to meet outside of class to work on it. You would be a liar if you said your heart didn't skip a beat at the thought of seeing Wanda outside of these four walls of your classroom, even if it was just to work on this assignment.
Seemingly unbothered by it all, she gave you her number for you to set up a date and time to meet. Her messages were all business, but they still made you feel like a dopey teenager every time her name showed up on your screen.
The day quickly came for you both to work on the presentation. Ultimately, you had settled on the two of you meeting in your dorm, which you made sure to deep clean before she came. You were not necessarily messy by any means, but the idea of Wanda, the most daunting person you could imagine, stepping into the safe space of your room made your blood run cold for some reason.
As Wanda knocked on your door, you rushed to open it. The two of you stood face to face for a moment, divided only by the doorframe. She still had her typical frown, but you noticed it shift into the slight uptick of a smirk. After a moment had passed, she finally broke the silence. "Are you gonna let me in, or...?" she asked, teasing you and your awkward nature.
Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment as you stepped aside for her to enter, "Oh, right... Sorry."
You led her to your side of the room, where she stood for a moment analyzing all of your possessions. You felt small as she did so, like a tiny insect under a bright, unsettling microscope.
She suddenly turned to face you, dropping her bag on the floor, "So, are we gonna work on this or not?"
That is how you found yourself on the floor, her laying on her back and you on your stomach. You had your computer in front of you, typing furiously as she provided you the words and ideas. You glanced over at her every now and then, especially if she was being awfully silent.
Most times, she would just be looking up at the ceiling in thought, her brown hair sprawled in random patterns underneath her; however, after a particularly long bought of silence, you looked over at her to find her gaze directly on you. You quickly returned your eyes to the screen of your computer and began typing whatever came to your mind. You hoped she did not notice the blush rise to your face.
She did.
She sighed, turning her body to lay completely facing you. "You're very quiet, you know," she stated, closely observing your reactions highlighted by the light of your screen.
Unsure of how to respond, you simply say, "So I've been told."
"Oh," she exclaimed, her smirk from earlier returns. "She has jokes."
You hum in agreement, "Just a few, unfortunately."
With the project now finished, the two of you abandoned it in favor of simply talking to each other. Never would you have guessed that Wanda could be this... warm. Unlike what you had witnessed in the classroom, she was very friendly and sarcastic in the privacy of your dorm.
You discovered a lot of information about the brunette during this conversation, such as how she loved coffee but only if its iced, how she never loved texting (preferring to call or talk in-person) but will do so if she must, how she immigrated with her twin brother from Sokovia when they were children. As she recounted her memories from Sokovia, you could hear the accent she once had poking through the surface; although, you did not point it out, afraid it was an insecurity of hers. Maybe you would tell her another time how nice it sounded, but for now, you bonded with her about collecting CDs and vinyl records from various artists.
While the two of you casually spoke, all you could think about was her â how pretty she was under the dimmed lighting of your dorm, how every joke she told was the epitome of humor, how much you wanted to stay in this moment with her. She was perfect.
Is this what people were talking about in high school?
As the night came to an inevitable end, you found yourself feeling quite sad, for you no longer had an excuse to hang out with Wanda. Though she had her number, you did not have the confidence to use it and ask if she wanted to meet up again.
You did not have to worry too much about it. As she packed her belongings back into her bag, swinging it over her shoulder, she spoke, "You know, you're pretty cool, Y/N."
You tried to hide the shock caused by her words, "Thank you, I think?"
She chuckled lowly, "My friends are having this thing at my place this weekend, if you wanted to join?"
Your head perked up, eyes blinking rapidly in shock. Unable to deny her offer, you nodded, "Yeah, sure... okay."
âGreat,â she replied, walking toward your door. You followed behind her and reached around to open for her. She smiled at the gesture before speaking again, âIâll text you later with the details and everything. See you in class.â
âYeah, see you,â you returned. As you closed door behind her, you feel your mind finally catch up to reality: you, the stereotype of a nerd with very few friends, are going to hang out with Wanda and her friends.
You close your eyes, leaning your head onto the back of the door. âOh, shit,â you whisper aloud into the open air. What have you just gotten yourself into?
Decoding your own thoughts and feelings about the Sokovian in the days leading up to your next class had revealed just how infatuated you had become; yet, you didn't even know how to act upon them. For years, you had only observed romantic behaviors from the outside looking in, whether it be through your friends' dating experiences or the words on a page from whichever sapphic novel you had picked to read. Now that you finally found yourself in the loop, what were you supposed to do?
Should you message her about whatever? No, that would come across as needy and overbearing.
What if you found her after class and ask to hang out again? No, that's even more overbearing than the text message.
The internal war waged on, resulting in your mind and body being paralyzed out of anxiety. For now, you have settled on simply waiting for her message regarding this weekend and presenting your assignment with her this week during class.
Days later, you walked into the class, practically shaking from your nerves about the presentation and the girl that you had to present with (who had just so happened to become your first teenage crush over the span of weeks).
You sat down in your unofficially assigned seat. Being so focused on the way your leg bounced repeatedly, you failed to notice the familiar brunette enter the classroom. Instead of sitting in her typical seat, however, she dropped her bag on the floor by the seat directly next to you.
Wanda instantly noted your nervous demeanor. While she had her own anxieties regarding the presentation and such, hers remained within her mind. She never showed such things outwardly, unless she was with someone with who she felt undeniably comfortable expressing those thoughts.
She slid into the seat and reached over to place her hand on your bouncing leg. Immediately, you noticed the feeling of someone's hand, breaking the chain of your anxious thoughts; upon glancing to your side, you discovered the culprit: Wanda.
"Hey," she started. "Everything is going to be fine, I promise."
Unable to find the words currently, you opted to remain silent, but you provide her with a uncertain nod in return. With a squeeze of her hand as a final attempt at reassurance, she placed her hand back within her lap and waited for the class to begin.
As always, Wanda was right. Your presentation went well; there were a few instances of stumbling words on your part, but otherwise it went great.
When the two of you returned to your seats, she leaned over and muttered under her breath for you to hear, "Told you so."
As you began to do your typical nighttime routine that evening, you heard your phone go off. Unsuspecting to who it was, you tapped on the screen under the assumption that it was just another email added to your overflowing inbox. You were wrong yet again.
Wanda: hey y/n !! are you still able to make it to the thing this weekend?? its gonna be on saturday at my place... lmk !!
You stared at the message for a moment before confirming you would still be in attendance, of course. Was it normal for your heart rate to speed up this much from mere words on a screen?
Saturday night rolled around quicker than you had anticipated. It was almost time to leave, yet you were currently standing still in your pajamas, surrounded by the miscellaneous clothing items you had thrown around. Ultimately, you had settled on the outfit you had first chosen, resulting in a bunch of unnecessary cleaning afterwards.
When you arrived to her place, you promptly knocked on the door. A moment passed before the door creaked open to reveal the Sokovian. Her outfit was considerably more casual than others you had seen her wear around campus. She stood in front of you, adorned with an oversized band tee and jeans; her fingers were still littered with her usual assortment of rings. However, the thing that surprised you the most was her lack of makeup. Not that she needed it, of course; in fact, it was quite the opposite. Tonight she seemed to have abandoned her typical heavy eyeliner and rose-colored shade of lipstick, choosing to only use her mascara and some chapstick.
"Sorry for the jumpscare," Wanda joked, her nose scrunched in amusement from your reaction. She continued to explain, "I know I'm dressed down compared to class. I just don't like putting in the effort to get ready sometimes, especially to just hang out with friends."
"No!" you exclaimed, quickly trying to backtrack the way she took your shocked expression. "No, you're fine. You're beautiful, actually, I just- I was just surprised to see you without the eyeliner and all."
Her cheeks became flushed at the compliment, but you seemed to miss it being overly concerned with your own response. She chuckled at your awkwardness, "Thanks. Oh, you can come in, by the way. I think everyone is here now."
She introduced you to each friend, after which you gave an insecure wave in return.
As the night progressed, you gradually loosened up. Whether it was time or the alcohol in your bloodstream, it frankly did not matter to you. You were not drunk by any means but definitely buzzed enough to not worry about every single decision you made. You even talked to one of Wanda's friends, Natasha, for awhile without the Sokovian present (given that she had left to use the restroom, but it still counts in your mind).
Suddenly, you were sat on the floor, playing childish party games with the others. It was fun, you couldn't lie... until it wasn't. You had already survived Truth or Dare, but someone (Tony) had suggested Spin the Bottle. With no romantic history, it was practically a given that you subsequently had not kissed anyone yet. For your first kiss to be during a stupid game of Spin the Bottle would be depressing; but, you didn't want to be the loser who said no to playing because the reason would be too humiliating to explain.
So, you elected to power through the hesitation, hoping the bottle just would not land on you.
At first, you were confident. The game was now three rounds in, and you remained lucky.
Eventually, the group had noted your lack of participation and had chosen to give you a "free spin." You silently prayed it would at least land on someone with whom you had become somewhat acquainted. With a shaky hand, you reached forward, spinning the emptied beer bottle. In the moment, it felt like the bottle would never stop spinning, but, once it did, it felt like time froze altogether.
It landed on Wanda.
Though you liked the brunette, you truly did not want your first kiss to be this way, especially with her.
She instantly noticed your apprehension. Turning to where Tony sat in the circle, she offered, "Hey, what if we did a hybrid of this and Seven Minutes in Heaven?"
Your eyes widened at the question, feeling unsure about all of this.
With a smirk on his face, Tony agreed, "I like the way you think, Maximoff. Alright, new girl, go follow Maximoff, and don't have too much fun while you're gone."
Before walking off with Wanda to the nearest bathroom, she briefly turned around to aim her middle finger at the boy. Though you were extremely overcome with anxiety about what was about to occur in the bathroom, you released a chuckle at her response.
She pulled you into the bathroom, flipping the lights on. As the door clicked shut, you faced her with your back against the wall.
"So, um, what are we supposed to do?" you asked.
"We don't have to do anything, Y/N," she replied, leaning against the bathroom counter. "I just noticed you weren't very comfortable with the idea of kissing me out there, so I improvised a little bit."
"Oh, okay," you breathed out. "Just for the record, it was not the idea of kissing you that made me uncomfortable. You- You're cool, so, it's fine."
Wanda tilted her head in curiosity, clearly not expecting that response. "Oh?" she questioned. "What was it then? Because I could clearly tell you were not very comfortable in there... I mean, you were visibly stiff."
"It's not you, I just..." you looked away, unable to meet her gaze.
"'It's not you, it's me'?" she joked, narrowing her eyes.
"Yes! No! I mean..." you exhaled. "It's not that the idea of kissing you makes me uncomfortable because, believe me, it very much doesn't. I just- I've never done this before."
The blood rushed to your cheeks during your admission. You felt utterly embarrassed, wishing you could just be back in your dorm in this moment.
"Y/N," she called softly. Despite every ounce of your body screaming at you to not do so, you returned your gaze to the Sokovian. "Do you want to kiss me?"
You couldn't read her tone. A part of you was nervous, maybe this was all some sick joke between her and her friends; yet, the other part of you was thrilled by the proposition alone.
"I wouldn't oppose," you muttered, automatically employing humor as your defense mechanism.
Wanda rolled her eyes at your antics, "Ok, then, let's play a new game." She looked down at her phone, checking the time. "We have less than four minutes in here."
Confused by the sudden change, you acquiesced in her request, "Okay?"
She stepped closer to you, standing a foot away.
Her tongue escaped her mouth, briefly licking her lips, before she proposed, "Are you going to marry, kiss, or kill me?"
Your eyes widened at the unexpected question, but you attempted to recover in order to return her playful energy, "Can I choose all three?"
Her eyebrow had risen, the infamous smirk forming on her lips. Slowly, she inched closer and closer to you until you could feel her breath on your skin. One hand found refuge on your hip, while the other she brought to the side of your face. She used her fingers to tuck a few loose strands of hair behind your ear then cradled your face. You licked your own lips and closed your eyes in anticipation.
Then, you felt it. Her lips brushed against yours, softly and slowly as if she were testing the waters. It was only a peck, but you swear your heart burst from the experience.
A moment passed before she pulled away enough for her to speak.
"Was that okay?" she inquired, ensuring you were still interested in this.
"More than," you affirmed.
She smiled, "Good, because we still have a few minutes left, and I intend to use them."
Without another second, she connected your lips once again. This time was different, however; there was a newfound fervor behind it. Her kisses started slow like the initial pace, gradually becoming quicker and deeper. Uncertain about what to exactly do, you continue to follow her lead. You felt her slide her tongue across your lips, asking for entrance. How could you ever deny her that? As her tongue began to clumsily caress with yours, a familiar feeling settled in the pit of your stomach, but you ignored it and kept kissing her.
A knock at the door pulled you both back into reality.
"Time's up, lovebirds," the voice called. "Clothes better be on and straightened when you leave."
Wanda chuckled at her friend's words and bit her lip. For the first time, you think you see her outwardly nervous. She swallowed as she shifted her gaze from your lips to meet your eyes, "Hey, I um- I hope this wasn't a one time thing."
You sighed in relief, "With you? Never."
She leaned forward once more, placing a final peck on your lips before grabbing your hand to return to the circle. Instead of your prior placements on the floor, in which she sat on the other end, Wanda refused to let go of your hand, instead pulling you to where she had been sitting.
Thankfully, no one mentioned how your cheeks were now incredibly plagued with a pink hue, allowing the game to continue onward.
After the group decided to finish playing games and turn on a movie, you followed Wanda to the couch in order to sit next to her. As soon as you found your place at the end of the sofa, she gravitated closer, leaning into your side. Her head rested on your shoulder as if you both had been close for years.
The movie American Pie started playing, all of her friends too engrossed in it to note how the two of you were cuddled up together. She picked her head up from its place on your shoulder. You didn't think too much of it, imagining her neck must have simply gotten uncomfortable in that position.
However, she turned her head to face you, taking in the sight of you and her friends all hanging out and watching a movie. Unable to resist herself any longer, she leaned in closer, her breath hitting your ear as she whispered to you, "I can't focus on the movie. All I can think about is kissing you right now."
You rotated your head to face her, biting your lip at her words. "Shush, your friends are here," you quietly argued, but you were secretly enjoying her antics. You peered over her shoulder, observing her friends who sat quietly with their attentions fully focused on the film.
Wanda pressed a soft kiss to the base of your neck prior to returning to its original position on your shoulder. You sighed at the feeling of her affection, wondering if it would linger forever.
Soon enough, the movie ended, and it was time to go home for the night. Her friends had left moments ago, but not without saying how you should "come around more often." Honestly, you were deeply excited that you received their approval, especially after the recent developments with Wanda.
You stayed behind for a little, attempting to garner as much alone time with Wanda as you could without being interrupted.
With the others now gone, you allowed Wanda to be more affectionate; or rather, you allowed her to give in to her desires and kiss you again, and again, and again.
After the final peck, you pulled away with the cheesiest smile and swollen lips. She loved seeing you this way: giddy and carefree.
"I really like you, Wanda," you proclaimed with a sigh, effectively breaking the comfortable silence between the two of you. "Like, a lot."
"I really like you, too," she replied. "You know, in case it got lost in translation with the kissing and everything."
You playfully slapped the side of her arm. "I'm serious," you started. "You make me feel so... high school."
She raised her brow, gesturing for you to continue.
You resumed, "I never felt like this, especially during high school. For a while, I actually thought something was wrong with me." Her lips formed a slight pout at your past conflict. "I was always so... jealous of others my age, having all of these teenage experiences with crushes and romance. Since I never did, I just assumed that it was my fault, that something was wrong with me. It was isolating; it felt like some inside joke that everyone else knew about except me. But, I'm happy I waited, truthfully, because now I can experience all of those high school feelings with you."
End.
#limarieb#wanda maximoff#elizabeth olsen#wanda maximoff x reader#elizabeth olsen x reader#wanda maximoff x female reader#marvel imagines#limarieb wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff fluff
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You Can Read Me Anything Part 2
*ELMO ON FIRE GIF* so that took longer than anticipated but you know. HERE YOU GO. (thank you for all the wonderful comments on Part 1)!
***
Druidic Tav grew up in a nomadic clan that recorded their history through spoken word and song rather than written text. As such, she's illiterate, and one charming-ish vampire offers to help her with reading lessons and a whole lot more. Out of the goodness of his heart, of course.
Then one night, she unwittingly brings him smut for their lesson.
Rating: E Word Count: 5100 words Content: illiterate Tav, Astarion being a shit, but also being cute, innocent Tav, suggestive dialogue, blood drinking, biting kink, first time oral, cunnilingus, fellatio, PIV sex, Astarion playing himself
AO3 Link
Astarion cradles her head, palm gently pressed to her cheek as she leans into it. She sighs and it tickles his ear, sending a dissipating wave of gooseflesh down the length of his back.
âAre you done yet?â Tav asks, voice breathy.
He hums and detaches from her neck, admiring the clean pair of fang marks he left there. His tongue swipes his bottom lip so he doesnât waste a single drop of her blood. He releases her and takes a step back.
âYouâŚâ he says with a lazy smile as he reaches out with a finger to boop her nose. â... are so delicious.â
âHa, ha,â she says with an affectionate eyeroll. She spreads her hand over the bite mark and calls on her connection to nature, using it to knit the flesh back together and restore her blood supply. âGlad to help.â
âIâll bet you are,â he drawls at her with a wink. âThank you for the appetizer. Iâd best go find myself a full meal now.â
As he starts to saunter off deeper into the woods, Tav clicks her fingers and lightly bonks herself on the head. âOh, almost forgot.â After him, she calls the Elvish phrase Shadowheart taught her.
For the first time since she met him at the site of the nautilus crash, she watches Astarion trip over his own feet.
He catches himself quickly, spine unusually straight as he puts his hands on his waist and takes a few more steps like heâd meant to do that the whole time. When he turns around to look at her, her smile fades when she notices his wide-eyed expression. The tips of his ears have gone very pink.
âWha-â His voice cracks and he clears his throat and tries again, tone painfully casual. âWhat did you say?â
Tav grimaces. âShit, did I get the middle part wrong? It was tricky when Shadowheart had me practice.â
Astarion leans forward a bit and gives a shaky laugh. âAh. Right. I mustâve misunderstood. What were you trying to say?â
âShe told me it meant, âIâm pleased to have provided you a good meal,ââ Tav says, reaching up to pull some of her hair over her shoulder and fiddle with it.
âI see,â he says as he comes closer, his eyes searching her face. âCould you say it again? So I can correct your enunciation.â
âOh, okay.â Tav gives a soft cough into her hand and repeats the phrase.
Astarion is close enough now that she sees his pupils dilate the tiniest bit. The flush at the tips of his ears spreads down the edges. Do they always do that after he feeds? They must.
He reaches delicate fingers up to cup her chin and draw her jaw down, parting her lips. His eyes are trained on her mouth and that makes her feel all too warm.
âLoosen your tongue,â he says softly. âOnce more.â
She tries one more time and watches his eyelids flutter, inches from her own.
âThere we go,â he whispers.
His gaze shifts to her neck again and he leans down toward it. She nearly stops him, but then she feels the draw of his tongue over the spot where he bit. He punctuates it with a soft, barely-perceptible press of his lips. A kiss, she might think, if she were a silly little girl. Which she certainly is not.
Then heâs standing straight again, releasing her face and putting space between them.
âMissed a smudge. Canât let it go to waste.â His eyes rove over her face. âItâs so very precious.â
Then he walks off and sheâs left standing there, cheeks hot and chest uncomfortably tight. Tav continues to run her fingers nervously through her hair as she turns and walks back toward their camp.
Astarion counts out fifty paces before he ducks behind a tree and leans his back heavily against it, letting out a shivery breath. He puts his cool fingers to his ears and tries to rub the heat out of them.
âStop it,â he whispers to himself. âStop it, stop it.â
---
Near the crumbling wreckage of a stone alter, Shadowheart kneels in prayer seeking guidance and direction from her Lady. The darkness, the loss, the silence⌠they are vast and answerless. She opens her eyes and takes a deep breath in and out. Clenches her right hand, glancing at the ever-present wound there.
If only she could remember⌠anything useful. No matter. For now, itâs whatever path will take her back to Baldurâs Gate.
She gathers her components and packs them away, standing to walk back down the path toward camp. Thereâs a trio of crumbling walls that clearly used to be some sort of holy building and she walks along one, trailing her fingers over the soft moss overgrowth.
Then she turns round the corner of the broken temple to find a bristling, broody vampire leaned up against the wall with his arms folded, glaring at her with a tic in his jaw. He raises an accusatory finger.
"You," he says, the word hard on his tongue. "Are an arsehole."
She gives him a smug smile and arches her brow. "You're a bigger arsehole."
He refolds his arm and narrows his eyes at her. âReally think youâre clever, donât you.â
The cleric shrugs and cuts off to the side to walk back to the path. âThe goal was to make you lose your cool. Seems like it worked.â
Silently and suddenly heâs walking at her side, lip curling in disdain. âCongratulations to you, you managed to annoy me. Donât do it again.â
âOh, heâs testy tonight,â she says, putting a hand to her cheek in a mockery of shock. âMaybe youâd feel less the fool if you hadnât been teaching her to talk dirty.â
âWe canât all be ice queens, dear,â he sneers. âSome of us are queens with needs.â
Shadowheart rolls her eyes and her entire head along with it. âYou should be thanking me, then. I gave you your opening.â
Astarion stops and she keeps on walking.
âTo what?â he says.
âTo have your âneedsâ met,â she calls over her shoulder. âIâm not the one who was teaching her to invite me betwixt her thighs. Have a frustrating night.â
Astarion makes an affronted noise after her, pouts a moment, and then calls back, âYour bangs are wretched, by the way.â
She throws a rude gesture up at him and continues onward.
---
He plots and flirts for three days straight before he decides to make his move. Tavâs guard is down, her shy little moments are increasing in frequency, and he can literally hear her heartbeat quicken when heâs near. If thatâs not all signs pointing to yes, he doesnât know what is.
All he has to do is, you know. Make the move. Which heâll do. Soon.
Because she still makes the most sense. The others all adore her, listen to her. Sheâs the perfect choice of protector should his vampirism prove a problem to anyone. Sheâll say yes. Of course sheâll say yes.
âŚÂ of course sheâll say yes. No one denies him. It doesnât happen.
⌠it rarely happens. Not as if heâd care if it did, this time.
Astarion rocks his weight onto his back leg, flicking his gaze up to see Tav kneeling near the campfire and giving the dog a generous belly rub. Before she stops, he goes back to his extremely casual reading. Standing posed outside his tent. Holding a book with the title facing out. Very normal.
After what feels like an hour, his ears pick up approaching footsteps and he skims the page heâs on, waiting.
âIs that a new one?â Tav asks timidly.
He closes the book and looks up to meet her. His close-lipped smile feels almost natural. Almost.
âThere you are,â he says, dropping his register a fraction. âI was just thinking about you.â
Not a lie, actually.
She tucks her hair behind one ear. âOh? Do I owe you something?â
He laughs and sets his book aside. âOnly a bit of your time. I do enjoy it so very much.â
Tav quirks her mouth up on one side. âYeah? Youâre pretty okay, too.â
âBetter than okay, I should hope.â He closely examines his thumbnail. âIâm⌠growing to enjoy the whole package, honestly.â
She doesnât immediately respond and he chances a look up at her.
âDeer in the magicked lightâ is what one might call the expression on her face. She blinks rapidly and gives her head a small shake before she looks to the side, color rising prettily in her cheeks.
âIs that so?â she says, giving a tight laugh.
His smile starts to go a little toothy and he dials it back. âIâve been thinking an awful lot about our last reading lessons,â he lilts at her, peering up through his lashes. âAnd our language lessons. Iâve been pondering over what other sorts of lessons I could offer.â
Tavâs cheeks go pink to red.
He leans in to speak softly, making her lean in closer to be able to hear him. âI like you,â he says. âAnd I think you like me, too. So?â
âSo, what?â she blurts, immediately grimacing at her own outburst.
A giggle bubbles up out of him before he can stop it and he puts a hand up in front of his mouth to hide his smile. When he regains control, he lowers his hand. âSo, I thought you might like to indulge in certain curiosities with me.â
I want to go down on you.
Astarion blinks the thought away as soon as it appears in his head, briefly letting his smile slip before he snatches it back.
Tav is blushing furiously, but she leans in closer to him nonetheless to whisper, âLike what, exactly?â
Elvish, rising like the language of his dreams:Â I want to drink of your fountain.
He gives his head a light shake, playing it off with a mirthful huff as he says lowly, âLike sex, sweet thing. Whatever kind you might beâŚÂ interested in.â
Tav nods rapidly and hums, slowly leaning back and standing at her full height again, not quite meeting his eye. âI was pretty sure thatâs what you meant, but you know. Better safe than sorry? Is that a thing people say?â
Astarion reaches out to gently guide her chin toward him until sheâs looking at him. âThink about it. If youâre amicable, youâll find me later at the clearing where you last offered me a bite after the others are asleep.â He chucks her under the chin. âIâll be waiting.â
She nods once more, expression unchanged. âYeah. Yep. Okay. Iâm going to⌠see you later. Maybe.â Then she turns on her heel and walks away.
âSee you later,â he says. âLover.â
When she disappears into the dark, he blows out a breath, subtly shaking his hands out. That was a yes.
Right?
âOf course it was,â he snipes at his own brain.
---
Hours later, Astarion paces the moonlit clearing, fiddling with the cuffed sleeve of his shirt. The others must be asleep by now. He pulls at the sleeve. It feels too tight.
Should he take the shirt off? He should just take the shirt off.
He does.
Astarion glances around the clearing once more, noting the blanket he spread on the ground nearby. Not a bed, but you know. Heâs okay with that, actually.
He clenches and unclenches his fists, rolling his hands at the wrists. Cracking his neck. Rolling out his shoulders. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to be still. Controlled. Practiced. This is an act heâs performed thousands of times. This is no different.
Itâs not.
Sheâs going to come out of those bushes any moment and-
The bushes heâs looking at actually rustle and he jumps, whispering âoh, shitâ before he can stop himself. He manages to put a smile back on his face just as the leaves part and a small doe takes two hops into the clearing and freezes when it spots him.
Astarion doesnât move. He doesnât even breathe. The doe relaxes very slightly, flicking an ear.
Itâs one of the little black-tailed deer native to the area. Heâs made a meal of more than one of them in recent days. Her coat is smooth and healthy, her eyes brown and clear.
The doe blinks at him and takes a step closer.
He gives a relieved chuckle and says, âThere you are, Tav.â
âOh, you heard me? Damn,â says a voice from behind him.
âAh-â he yells. He tries to cut off the sound, but itâs too late. The doe spooks and bounds off into the underbrush once again.
âApologies,â he says, regaining his composure and rolling his eyes to the stars above. âShe was such a pretty little thing that I assumed it was you.â He starts to turn. âBut Iâm glad you made it. I was starting to worry youâd gotten lost andâŚâ He finally sets eyes on her and loses his smile immediately. â... and youâre already naked.â
Tav stands before him without a stitch on, her long hair hanging over her rounded breasts and everything from the waist down on full display. He spots her clothing and staff in a neat stack nearby. Her whole body is flushed.
Astarion swallows. Heâs seen untold numbers of people in states of full undress. This is routine. She caught him off-guard, is all.
âI⌠was I not supposed to be?â Tav says, hands going up to run nervously through her draping hair. âSorry, I thought⌠you said sex? And then I saw that you had your shirt off, soâŚâ
He holds up a hand and ticks up his brows. âNo, no, itâs fine. Itâs fine! I like it.â He finds the mask, the posture, like muscle memory. Slips back into the person in control. âYouâre just full of surprises, beautiful.â
Tav rewards him with a bashful smile, continuing to comb her hands through her hair.
Astarion huffs a laugh. He canât help himself. He approaches her with slow, intentional steps. âI had a whole catalog of poetic nothings to whisper in your ear, but looks like I neednât bother, which is fine by me.â He stops in front of her, smiling his charmerâs smile. âSo long as you still want to be tasted.â
Heâs starting to notice itâs a good sign when the apples of her cheeks turn red. She nods. âIâd like to try the tongue thing, yes, please.â
âGood,â he purrs, reaching for her hips.
He pulls her in for a sweet, well-executed stage kiss. Most people needed about that much before they got to what they were really with him for. He pulls back and gives her a tight-lipped smile.
Tav looks into his eyes, her lips parted. Sheâs not moving, and oh gods, heâs going to have to lead completely, isnât he? Ah well. Such is life.
But then she tucks her chin, her gaze going heated. The pupils of her eyes flicker, changing shape ever so slightly, and Astarion hardly has time to drop his pretenderâs smile and ask before she surges forward and kisses him back, throwing her arms around his neck.
Astarion gives a surprised âmmmn!â as he stumbles slightly under her vigor, but he corrects quickly, wrapping his arms around her ribcage and lifting her against his body. Her tongue runs along his mouth and sheâs nipping, nipping, and-
Thereâs a sharp sting on his bottom lip and he releases her right as she pulls back from him, hands to her mouth and eyes wide as saucers. He reaches up to touch his lip and when he looks at his fingers, they show a smeared drop of blood. He blinks down at it, astounded.
He feels a snap deep inside him as the monster in him, the hunter, stirs at the sight and scent of blood.
âIâm so sorry,â Tav says, dropping her hands. âItâs a druid thing, we can get a little wild, Iâm really sorry, I wonât do it again.â
Astarion licks at the cut on his lip and stares at her face, his breath heavy and his shoulders ever so slightly hunched. He can see the smallest bit of his blood at the corner of her mouth.
âDo it again,â he says with a voice like gravel as he scoops her bodily up and goes to his knees so he can set her on the ground.
He lays his body on top of hers and she gasps as his mouth covers hers, exploring and hungry. It doesnât take long for her to return it in kind, arms wrapped around his shoulders and tangled in his hair. He canât even bring himself to care when sheâs making it look like.
Murkily, his brain reminds him why heâs actually here.
Astarion forces himself away from her mouth and she whines at him, a sound far more animalistic than humanoid, but he doesnât stop trailing his lips down her body until he gets to her hips. He rolls himself up onto his knees and runs his palms up the tops of her legs from knee to thigh, coaxing them open so he can position himself between.
He looks at her face to find her gaze far less âstartled doeâ and far more âshe-wolf in heat.â Her tongue darts out, licking her lip before she says, âPeople really like to do this?â Then, âYou like to do this?â
Astarion positively grins, his pointed teeth showing through.
"Yes. Though itâs a pity this is your first experience," he says through his feral smile. "Because no one will ever best what I'm about to do to you."
âO-okay,â she stammers, clutching her fists close to her sides.
He purrs deep in his throat and puts his mouth to the inside of her knee, the tip of his tongue tracing a sensual line down her thigh, toward her center. He holds her eye the entire time and delights when her leg twitches.
When he nears the crease of her hip, he gives her a sharp nip and she growls at him, bucking her hips. He runs his tongue up along the crease until he reaches her hipbone, to which he gives a firm suck. As she attempts to roll her hips toward him, he spreads a palm over her hips and applies pressure to hold her down.
âShall we check to see how youâve kept your garden?â he says, looking at her from under his brows as he speaks.
In response, Tav giggles and slaps a hand over her mouth. Then nods.
She drops her hand to the ground and shakes her head, murmuring, âIt canât be that different, Iâm sure itâs just likeâŚâ She shudders in a breath. â... just likeâŚâ
Astarion parts his lips and huffs out his breath against the slick skin at her core, already shining with want and anticipation. The sensation is a warming one.
Tav continues muttering to herself. âBooks are full of all kinds of nonsense, Iâm sure itâs-â
He flicks his tongue right over her clit.
âAh,â she yelps, trying to buck her hips again. He doesnât let her.
But he does flick again.
âWha-â she says, thighs jerking on either side of Astarionâs head. âWhy is-â
Astarion presses the flat of his tongue firmly at her entrance and draws it slowly all the way to the hood, teasing with the tip before he curls his tongue in slightly and dips back down to better open her inner labia.
âHoly hells,â Tav groans out, her chest arching up and the hands clawing the ground at either side of her growing actual claws.
He gives her another lap before pulling back to smolder at her. âAnd here Iâve only just started,â he says, voice silky.
âHoly hells,â Tav shouts to the sky this time.
Astarion huffs a laugh against her and goes back down, playing her with highly practiced skill. Full, long licks paired alongside firm draws over the swelling pearl at her center. She continues to buck ever now and again, but mostly sheâs gone near boneless above him, head lolling lazily to either side and fingers weakly gripping the grass on either side of her.
When her breathing begins to stutter and he feels the flutter of her getting close, he finally moves his hand from her belly back down until he can get the angle right. He places the tips of his two middle fingers at her entrance so he doesnât surprise her and glances up to see her eyes flutter open. She stares down at him from between the mounds of her breasts, pupils blown wide.
She licks her bottom lip.
She nods.
Astarion slides his fingers inside her and begins to pump in time with the movements of his mouth. Tav goes wild, both literally and figuratively. The pupils of the eyes watching him go slitted like a catâs, gradually dilating back as her teeth go sharp and a random patterning of fur shivers down the length of her body before turning back to skin.
He takes that as a good sign and curls his fingers inside of her until he finds what heâs looking for.
Tav bark-mewl-roar-calls into the air above the clearing, her hips grinding into his mouth and hand now that she can move them again.
âWhy does thatâŚâ she gasps. âFeel⌠soâŚÂ good?â The last word comes out a growl.
Heâd answer, but his mouth is preoccupied and he dare not let it leave its task.
With his free hand, he pushes her thigh up and guides it higher until she can wrap her leg round his shoulders and he can go deeper. He feels the swell of her under his tongue, going harder beneath his touch, and he begins to trace circles around it as he continues to pump his fingers into her.
Tavâs entire body rolls, trying to get closer, to get more, to get-
She howls as the tension finally snaps. Literally howls, from the very bottom of her chest.
Astarion slows but doesnât stop, continuing to fuck her through it as he feels her release in the palm of his hand. Heâs gentle, taking a touch of pity on her as he gives her a few more soft licks before he leaves her, drawing his fingers from her at the same time. Theyâre a mess, as is his face. He sits back on his knees and looks her over with lidded eyes, a self-satisfied half-grin on his face. Then he reaches into his pocket to produce a soft cloth to clean up.
Heâs not much of a planner, but he plans enough for things like this.
Tav lolls on the ground, her body fully returned back to humanoid form. All except her pupils, which continue to occasionally flicker across the animal kingdom.
âOh, that was good,â Astarion says, brows raised and grin on his face as he wipes his hand down. âEven for me, that was good. Youâre welcome.â
She throws one arm out to her side, then the other, and slowly pushes herself up onto her elbows, trying to focus on him. âWhy doesnât⌠everybody do that? Oh my gods.â She flops back onto the ground.
Oh, sheâs very good for his pride. He gives a pleased wiggle.
âYou tell me,â he says. âOr call upon your old lovers and ask.â
Tav weakly waves her hand through the air. âThey were bad. Iâve realized. Just now. They were bad at sex.â
âPoor thing,â Astarion croons. âAll better now.â
âYeah.â She rolls onto her side and sits up. Shakes out her head. And starts to crawl toward him.
He instinctively leans back as she comes closer, breasts swaying as she moves. âWhat are you doing?â he says.
She blinks at him. âIâm going to do it back.â
He blinks at her. âWhat?â
Tav draws her knees closer and matches his kneeling posture. âIâm going to put my mouth on you back.â She waits a beat. âIf you want me to.â
âUh,â Astarion breathes before he shakes himself and gets his wits back about him. âI would like that very much,â he says. He tries to purr it, but slightly lower in pitch is the best he can do.
Itâs been years since heâs been with anyone who even bothered to ask. Probably decades.
Tav beams at him, a bright smile thatâs so sunshiny it nearly betrays what theyâve just done. She rolls up onto her knees and pulls him by the wrists to do the same so she can reach the laces that hold his trousers on. His arousal pulses near her hands.
Astarion blinks. Heâs⌠more into this than he usually is.
He blinks again.
Heâs very into it, actually.
His fingers go to join hers and together they make quick work of his pants and underthings. Gently, she guides him back to kneeling again as she curls forward. Without thinking too much about it, he reaches out so he can hold her hair up out of her face. Sheâs at eye level with his cock, inspecting it with the eye of someone all too familiar with all the things nature has to offer and completely unashamed for it.
Astarion swallows back the wanting sound that tries to claw its way out of him.
âHave you done this before?â he asks softly.
Tav peers up at him from her position below and bends her legs at the knees, kicking her feet slowly through the air. She shakes her head ânoâ and something frozen inside him melts. Best ignore that. Thatâs a future-him problem.
âYou are adorable,â he breathes. He finds he means it in the affectionate way rather than the condescending one, which is alarming. Thatâs another future-him problem.
Astarion clears his throat. âSame general practice applies here, really,â he says lightly.
Tav licks her lips and reaches out to touch him. Her fingers on him give him a little jolt to the solar plexus and he curls toward her on instinct before he catches himself.
âTell me if thereâs something I could do better,â she says, simply.
Then she licks along the underside of his cock and puffs her breath out across it, much in the same way he did to her.
He curls in toward her again and tightens the hand in her hair.
She puts her mouth over the head of him and heâs enveloped in warmth and oh, yes, he remembers this. This feels good. This feels very good.
Tav doesnât get down very far before she backs up again. When she pulls off, he reaches a hand down to cup her jaw and draw it down, parting her lips.
âLoosen your tongue,â he whispers. âOnce more.â
She does. She descends on him again, relaxing her jaw and loosening her tongue, taking him down deeper and deeper with each pass. Astarion means to watch and guide her, he does, but instead his head lolls back, eyes falling closed, and he smiles. A real smile.
It feels so bloody good. It feels good and he doesnât have to⌠he can just beâŚ
Tav hums a little with him mostly inside her mouth and he gasps from it, blinking back to the surface.
Oh, thatâs too good.
He lets her go a few seconds more before he tightens the fingers in her hair once more to still her and gently guide her back. His chest heaves as her mouth leaves him, a string of saliva connecting them, and Astarion shudders forward.
âWhatâs wrong?â Tav asks, her eyes wide and concerned.
She canât look at him like that. Thatâs not fair.
He lifts her beneath her arms and pulls her up toward him, her face to his, and kisses her again. She happily responds, catching his lower lip between hers and nipping once more.
Astarion groans.
Hands on her face, he breaks their kiss and tries to collect his scattered thoughts. Itâs all hazed over with want. There was a reason for this, they were supposed to⌠he was supposed toâŚ
âWhy donât weâŚâ He loses the thought and swallows. Tries again. âLetâs find our mutualâŚâ
Words, words, words, where are his words?
Astarion hisses through his teeth. âOh, just⌠sex. Letâs have sex.â
âOh,â Tav breathes, lips swollen and cheeks ruddy. âOkay.â
Whatever he had planned, which was not much, goes completely sideways as she simply climbs up onto his lap, reaches between them, and holds him steady so she can sink down onto him.
Heâs so wholly unprepared for the suddenness and initiative of it that his eyes nearly roll back in his head before his mind catches up and he grips her hip with his hand, guiding her as he rolls up to meet her, his hips rhythmic, until their hips meet and he bottoms out.
Tav throws her arms around his shoulders and immediately begins to rock against him, her eyes closed and her joyous grin on her face. Astarion is doing his absolute best not to completely lose himself in her heat, her closeness, her scent.
Her pulse, oh, gods.
Astarion rocks himself up into her with steady rolls of his hips, tilting in to press his open lips to her neck with a moan.
âYou can,â she gasps as she rides him. âYou can bite, if you want.â
Heâs not sure if the words he makes are language, but he does know heâs biting her and her blood washes over his tongue and he drinks lazily, sipping as he fucks into her at the same time. His mind is so unbelievably, blissfully bare of anything except how good, how hot, how much, how full, how winding winding winding-
Astarion pulls off her neck with a gasp almost on the edge of his orgasm. Automatically, he reaches between them and uses all the wiles of a skilled lockpick to send her spiraling over her ledge a second time before he furrows his brow, slams his eyes shut, and yells out as he climaxes, his spend spilling where heâs still buried deep.
âOh, fuck,â he blurts before he can stop himself, nearly collapsing onto his side with Tav along for the ride. He slips out of her on the way down and immediately feels the mess theyâve just made.
Another future-him problem.
Tav casts a very half-hearted create water spell that at least rinses them off. She drapes herself over his chest, dopey smile plastered on her face. âYou win,â she says. âI see what all the fuss is about now.â
âI bet you do,â he says breathily.
Heâs grateful sheâs not looking at his face as he struggles to hide the worry pulling at his expression. Itâs future-him time, and future-him is having a moment.
He just had the best sex he can remember having in⌠that he can remember. With someone who will still be alive in the morning. And he likes her.
Oh, hells.
He likes her.
#astarion#astarion bg3#astarion smut#astarion x tav#astarion x female tav#astarion x f!tav#bg3#kitten writes#lol idk I'm so sleepy please enjoy
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bite the hand
the killer & the sound - chapter 3
summary: you hadn't expected joel to put such an abrupt end to... whatever it is you two had. or, what you thought you had, anyway. you write and perform a new song on the second night of the tour about it, and the consequences aren't quite what you expected them to be. how could something that seemed so simple at first have become so complicated?
warnings: 18+, smut, no outbreak au, no use of y/n, rockstar!joel, aspiring rockstar!reader, d/s dynamics, pretty major daddy kink, age gap (reader is early-mid 20âs, joel is early-mid 50âs), pet names (sweetheart, darlin', baby, babygirl, songbird(!!), etc), big time angst, daddy/mommy issues, religious shame, degradation (joel calls you a whore), spanking, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, manhandling, one (1) kiss, spitting, smoking (reader & other characters), drinking (reader & other characters), getting walked in on, characters who need therapy sooooo badly, lots of internal monologue, let me know if i missed any!!
word count: 13.2k
a/n: as always, thank you so much for your patience and sticking around to see what i put our pookies through this time. these chapters just keep getting longer and longer but it's not my fault they have a lot to say!!!!! if you'd like an idea of what reader's lil diss track sounds like, i very much imagined gibson girl by ethel cain when i wrote it. thank you as always to my best babygirl kiers i love u to death. i hope you like this one, nice comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoyed!!
series masterlist
read this chapter on ao3
divider by @saradika-graphics
Jesus Christ, what the hell is he doing?
Joel has been in the shower for at least thirty minutes now, and heâs spent more than half of that time just letting the scalding water pound against his back as his vision goes blurry from the steam. He finished his ârinse offâ within five minutes of stepping inside the bathroom, and now heâs just stalling, wondering how the fuck heâs supposed to go back out there and get in bed with you.
If it werenât for the decadesâ worth of tattoos that he can see when he looks down at his bare body, he wouldnât be able to recognize himself right now. Heâs always been one to hit it and quit it, love âem and leave âem, or whatever little figure of speech you want to use for just being a fucking playboy. Since when has he ever cleaned a girl up, given her his clothes to wear, let her sleep over after he fucks her? Though, he has to give himself some credit, itâs not like he was planning on letting you stay. He was just trying to preserve some of your dignity, but then, when did he even decide to start caring about shit like that?Â
Fuck.
When the tour bus jerks to life as the driver begins the trip to the next city, the loss of balance is enough to finally snap Joel out of the uncharacteristic morality spiral heâs now found himself in. He rubs his hands across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and cursing under his breath, knowing that he canât hide in here and avoid you forever. Besides, heâs getting old, and he has to sleep at some point if he wants to be at least a little functional tomorrow. And what is he so fucking scared of, anyway?Â
Joel turns off the water, and the knob screeches in protest as the dull roar of the shower fades into silence. He steps out of the stall and hardly makes any effort to dry himself off, solely focused on getting out of there before the fog evaporates from the mirror and heâs forced to confront his own reflection. He shakes out his hair and pulls on a clean pair of briefs, then sends out a silent prayer to whoever the fuck might be listening, begging for help in making it through the night without having to address whatever it is thatâs gnawing at his conscience. He didnât even think he had one of those anymore.
Joel enters the bedroom quietly, hoping that youâd be exhausted enough to have fallen asleep by the time he returned. When you donât even twitch as he shuts the door behind him and climbs under the covers, he lets out the breath heâd been holding, and lays himself down as close to the edge of the mattress as he can without falling off the damn thing. If he can put as much distance between the two of you as possible tonight, maybe he can make it out the other side unscathed.
Just when he thinks heâs in the clear, having settled himself down with his back to you and situated his silk sheets and pillows to his liking, he feels you roll over in your sleep as you let out some dreamy little whine. Joel likes to keep it cold on the bus, and your shivering form must feel the heat still radiating off of him from his shower, because then youâre wrapping your little arms around his bicep and pulling him close. He wants to shake you loose, to put some extra pillows in between your bodies just for good measure, but he canât be so cruel. Not when you look like such a goddamn angel, sleeping so peacefully with your hair spread out around you like a halo, long lashes fluttering against your cheeks. He wonders what youâre dreaming about.Â
Joel isnât sure when exactly it happened, but somewhere in between that very first rehearsal and right now, the lines started to blur between a fun little fling he wasnât going to think twice about letting go of once the tour ended, and something that he wants to sink his claws into and claim as his own. He has to face it now, whether he wants to or notâhe canât get himself to push you away, to growl at you not to touch him and to stay on your own side of the bed, because he doesnât want to. What he wants is to tattoo his fucking name right underneath that shitty moth on your upper thigh, and therein lies the problem.
He has a history of breaking things, of being too controlling and rough and mean when he plays with his toys, until they fight back and tear themselves apart as they escape his clutches. But you seem like something that canât be broken, that would glue itself back together just to get played with again the next day, and that sets off some alarms he didnât know he was capable of hearing. Maybe he does still have a conscience, after all.
At first, Joel had liked how eager and willing and naive you were, how easily he could push and pull you this way and that because you didnât seem to realize what this was. Or at least, what it was intended to be. Whether you were smart to his intentions or not was never really his concern before, but now⌠Youâre nuzzling your face into his arm, breathing in his scent and letting it soothe you as it coats your senses, and itâs awakening something protective, possessive, in him. Joel has never been good at romance or love or relationships, and he had resigned himself a long time ago to the fact that heâd never be able to settle down. The life he lives canât sustain something steady or healthy like that anyway, what with the touring and the groupies and the sex and the alcohol.Â
But now here you are, this fragile and yet unbreakable thing in his bed who he worries wouldnât run away no matter how much he growled and bared his teeth. And god dammit, that scares him. Joel had thought he was done being scared, that he had left that feeling behind before you were even born, probably. And yet, here it is creeping up on him again, grabbing him by the throat and suffocating him. Youâve got real talent and beauty, with a promising future and blossoming career ahead of you, and youâd probably give it all up and follow him into the darkness if he promised to call you a good girl once you did.
Joel has never been a very good man, but something about you makes him really have to stare down the barrel of it now. He canât do this to you, he canât let you in, and he knows that. Heâd poison you, if he hasnât already. And he canât give to you what you seem to think this is, what it could be, if he wasnât so fucking damaged. So he decides it then, as he doesnât stop his hand from brushing a stray strand of your halo out of your delicate face, that he has to put a stop to this first thing in the morning. And he has to be cold and concise about it, so that youâre perfectly clear on what the two of you are going to be from now on, even if it hurts you. Youâre a big girl, and he trusts that youâll get over it somehow, because letting this continue would hurt you a hell of a lot worse, in the end.
And you seemed to have taken it well, all things considered. He didnât tell you the whole truth, the real reason why he decided to yank the arrow out of your heart when he was the one who shot it in there in the first place. Because then youâd know that heâs a broken man who also breaks things, and he can only shatter so many of your illusions about him in one morning. He knows this is his fault, and he was at least man enough to take the blame, he can give himself that. He had decided to paint himself as an actually respectable person who knows when heâs taken something too far, who definitely does have a conscience. Maybe youâre the one who lured it out of the dark cave it was hiding in, but he still canât risk anything, on the off chance that he still is the same mangled man he always was and the one he will continue to be. So he lies to you, just a little bit, because what you donât know wonât hurt you, and he canât let you come any closer for fear of causing even more pain than he already has.Â
Joel watched as your bare legs carried you out of the living area and off of his bus, the tops of your thighs just barely concealed by his shirt he had lent you the night before. He didnât react when you slammed the door on your way out, he had expected you to do as much. But he did half-expect you to turn around and spit a fuck you, Joel at him the way he would have deserved. It might have hurt less if you did, that way you would have left a sour taste in his mouth to replace the still-lingering flavor of your pussy mixed with the cum he had spilled inside you last night.Â
God, he is so fucked.
â
You had made sure to thank the audio technicians before you disappeared from the venue after your sound check, but otherwise avoided looking at or speaking to anyone on your way out. Especially him. You had held Angel close as you swiftly made your way back to your bus before Deathâs Head had a chance to take the stage for their turn, not wanting to hear any more of Joelâs voice than youâve had to today. Besides, itâs already been looping like a skipping record in your mind since this morning, refusing to let up no matter how hard you try to drown it out.Â
Mistake, respect, and professional are the choice words that are chanting themselves over and over again, so many times that they almost donât sound real anymore, just a random sequence of letters and noises that you canât make sense of. What happened last night didnât feel like a mistake to you, especially not when he was so gentle in cleaning you up afterwards, when he brought you a glass of water, when he let you curl up against him in his bed, wearing his clothes. He sure as hell had plenty of time to decide that you were worthy of respect before he had you act like a whore on stage in front of tens of thousands of people for his own sick pleasure. (And apparently yours, but thatâs not the point.) And now youâre supposed to believe that he suddenly had a change of heart overnight, that splitting you open on his cock and using your body to get what he wanted made him finally develop a moral compass and decide that he wants to start acting like a professional? Damn, maybe you are more powerful than you thought.Â
You just canât believe you were stupid enough to let yourself feel something for him. He was just playing you like his guitar this entire fucking time, a pretty instrument that he can pluck and strum and draw pretty noises from, then put away without a second thought. Heâs a celebrity, a rockstar, for fuckâs sake. Half of his songs are about sex, and if the rumors are true, he recorded the original intro to Kiss it Better while he was hooking up with some groupie in a bathroom. Just like you, he had probably used her to get what he wanted, then dropped her like it was nothing. Of course he never fucking cared about you.Â
You should burn the clothes that he sent you scurrying back to your bus wearing this morning. Theyâre currently shoved into the bottom of your plain-looking laundry bag in the corner of your room, though youâre half tempted to just toss the whole thing into the dumpster behind the venue and set it ablaze. But you know he doesnât care about material things as much as he does his ego, and itâs going to be much more satisfying to set that on fire than some worn-out pieces of clothing, anyway. Destroying them also wouldnât do anything about the way you keep catching an inhale of his cologne every once in a while, the masculine smell of it wafting from his t-shirt and carving out an undesired space for itself in your brain. You try to ignore the way your cunt flutters against your will at the scent, at the memories it conjures, and hope that she doesnât develop a habit of betraying you like this when it comes to him. She almost gets the better of you, tempting you to second guess your plan to perform your scathing new song at the end of your set tonight.
Almost.
Youâre feeling good about what you wrote, and youâd be even more upset with yourself if you backed out now, if you gave in to Joel once again, without him even knowing it this time. He seems to think that he knows you better than you know yourself, that he can make decisions for you and that he always knows just what to say to get you to do as he asks. For once, you want him to be fucking wrong about you.
The show starts in just under an hour, and youâre dedicating your last bit of quiet solitude to solidifying the new words and the motions of your fingers in your memory. While you were scribbling in your notepad earlier today, you had tried to ride the fine line between calling him out so blatantly and using descriptions that were too clichĂŠd, and youâre happy with the in-between that you landed on. The song could be about anyone, but it isnât, and if the shoe fits when he tries it on, oh fucking well. Plenty of men wear the same size, and if he wants to make yet another thing about himself, thatâs not your problem.
Ideally, you had wanted to include the song in your sound check so that your band would be prepared for tonight, until you had let your eyes drift to the side of the stage and saw Joel observing in the darkness, just like he had done while you were performing the night before. You suppose it wouldnât be very professional of him to avoid you like the plague the way youâre trying to do with him, but still. You had averted your eyes as quickly as you had spotted him, and decided that the song was just going to have to be a surprise for everyone, not just Joel. Your band members are smart enough guys, youâre sure theyâll be able to catch on and back you up when itâs time to unveil what you had been working on all day. But if they donât, youâre prepared for it to just be you and Angel up there, the same way it has been for as long as youâve been making music. Until recently, at least.
Youâve opted to get yourself dressed and ready in the safety of your bus, attempting to avoid a repeat of last nightâs pre-show interactions with Joel by minimizing the amount of time you actually have to spend inside the venue. You doubt heâll try anything, but considering how unafraid he was to volunteer himself as a witness to your sound check, youâd rather not risk it. So, you do your best to keep your distance as you make your way off the bus and to the side of the stage with Angel in tow, hoping that your viscous aura alone will be enough to keep him away.Â
Your band members are already waiting for you in the wings when you get there, and you tuck yourself safely behind the group of them as you wait for the lights to go down. You ghost your fingers along Angelâs strings one last time, just to make sure that your muscle memory is securely locked into placeâit is, because youâre fucking good at this. You donât need Joelâs whispered praises and soothing touches to know that youâre a star, and you donât want them. You donât. You fucking killed it last night, and you knew it before he told you so, because your ears were still ringing long after the audience had finished applauding and screaming for you. For your own performance, not for the on-stage degradation you endured because of a dumb teenage crush you couldnât seem to shake off.
If your timing is right, you shouldâve gone on a few minutes ago now. Each passing minute has you gnawing at your bottom lip and picking at your nails with increasing intensity as you and the audience both become more restless. You arenât sure what the hold up is, but you just want to get out there and safely away from the possibility of Joel before you make one of your goddamn fingers bleed. Youâre so consumed in your destructive self-soothing that you donât hear the sound of jingling chains and creaking leather approaching you where you stand, followed by a clearing throat and the last voice you want to fucking hear right now.
âTommy told me theyâre jusâ tryinâ to fix a light or somethinâ. Shouldnât be too much longer now,â Joel says, and you stiffen as he speaks. He sounds earnest in the way he addresses the group of you, but the feeling of his gaze lingering on your skin tells you his true intentions.
Your bandmates hum in acknowledgement as they maintain their casual demeanors, while you shift your jaw and remain steadfast in your stoicism. Your face is calm and concentrated, but your fidgeting hands tell a different story, and the telltale habit is most of what prompted Joel to come over here against his better judgment. He so badly wants to take your hands in his so that youâll stop tearing at your skin, to massage the worry right out of your palms and tell you thereâs nothing to be nervous about, just like he did last night. Though, youâd probably bite his goddamn fingers clean off if he even so much as reached out a hand in your direction, and he wouldnât entirely blame you if you did, considering that heâs more than likely the reason for your agitation.
Instead, he settles for asking, in as neutral of a tone as possible, âYou okay, darlinâ?â
Your gaze remains focused on the stage, on the mic you should be standing behind right now, if it werenât for some stupid fucking light. After a pointed beat, you answer him with a short, âIâm fine.â
You can see in your peripheral vision that Joel nods and shifts his weight, moving a little further behind your band and closer to you. He lets a matching bit of silence pass, for some reason not using the opportunity to just turn around and walk away, before speaking again. âQuit messinâ with your fingers.â
âDonât tell me what to do,â you snap, whipping your head to finally face him. You peer up at Joel from under your eyebrows, putting on a stony face and doing your best to look intimidating even as he towers over you. Despite your efforts, your heart still flutters for just a second when your eyes meet, before he drops his own gaze to the floor and takes a step back from you.
âThat how this is gonna be?â Joel asks, and you could swear he sounds a little defeated.
âYeah, it is.â
You turn yourself back to the stage again, and he takes a deep breath, like heâs trying to steady himself and suppress a reaction to your attitude that he might regret.
âLook, can weââ he starts, but a sudden burst of screams and hollers cuts him off as the venue lights finally dim. You push past your bandmates and stomp your way towards the stage, feeling volatile and as determined as youâve ever fucking been to give a killer performance tonight. You couldâve spit some real fire at him, told him to leave you the fuck alone like you had been so tempted to, but you didnât want to scare him off. You donât even need to check to know that heâs still standing exactly where you left him, and that heâll probably stay there and watch you the whole time because he doesnât know what the fuck he wants, apparently. Maybe you should bring him onstage for his public humiliation the same way he did to you, see how he likes it. But you have a little more humanity than he does, and if it all works out, heâll have to watch you tear him down surrounded by his own bandmates and brother, and thatâs gratifying enough for you.
When you and your band have all taken your places, you introduce yourself to tonightâs crowd with a newfound vigor, and begin your set with a chord so resonant it vibrates your bones. The sound surrounds you, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking loose the wallflower version of you who performed these same songs just last night. It feels like a metamorphosis, like the moths that adorn the strap slung around your body and the one etched into your skin finally belong to you instead of him.
â
You sail through your set, never stumbling over a chord or missing a lyric, even in your anticipation to reach the end. While you thank the crowd and wait for their roaring cheers to die down, you finally chance a look at the side of the stage. Just as you had predicted before you went on, Joelâs silver-tipped boots are still planted in the same place they were thirty minutes ago. Perfect.
âYâall have been amazing tonight, this was so much fun,â you pant into the mic. âI, uh⌠I actually have one more song before I go, if thatâs alright. Just wrote it this morning.â
Another wave of whistles and applause engulfs you as you turn to check on your bandmates, who all wear confused expressions as expected. You step back from the mic to tell each of the guys the key and tempo of what you wrote, and ask if they can maintain something steady and follow along while you carry the melody. When theyâve all gotten the plan, they look at each other and wordlessly communicate a final decision, seeming to be up to the challenge.Â
You resume your place at the front of the stage, taking one last look at your victim before beginning to strum the songâs now-familiar echoing intro. The tone is a little Western, and you wrote it that way on purpose, just as an extra hidden jab toward the obnoxious midnight cowboy persona Joel had first lured you in with. Your haunting voice comes in a few measures later, singing lyrics that are unlike anything youâve written before. Theyâre darker, more graphic, and they tell the story of a girl and a cold-blooded man covered in leather and tattoos, who got her alone one night and ripped her clothes off and whispered things he didnât mean while he fucked her. And after everything was said and done, the girl had lied to herself, replaying everything that had happened between her and the cold-blooded man that night, convincing herself that because it felt good, because he was good to her, that it had meant something. She had bared her body and soul to him, only to find out that he had also been lying to her that night, playing with her like a doll who didnât know any better, who was just happy to get looked at and touched and praised by someone she had once held on such a high pedestal. You let the lights embrace you and warm your skin as you bare yourself once again, trusting this time that it wonât end in shame or hurt or tears.Â
When the buildup of your lyrics and chords finally culminate in the songâs cathartic crash, the first thing you feel is relief, like a crushing weight has been lifted off your heart. The crowdâs enthusiastic response to your creation surrounds you, filling your ears and infiltrating your soul, and you canât help but laugh at the overwhelming feeling. You gesture behind you for your band to meet you at the front of the stage, and you all bow together to another round of raucous cheering before making your way offstage. This time, you do remember to leave Angel behind, satisfied in what the two of you accomplished tonight.
Youâre still reveling in the rush of your performance by the time youâre shrouded in the backstage darkness once again, so caught up in the feeling that you nearly forget what your moment of spontaneity was for in the first place. Or rather, who it was for. You didnât have enough wherewithal to check if Joel would still be lying in wait once you exited the stage, mostly assuming that his ego would get the best of him and heâd just huff his way out to the buses for a smoke once he realized what you were doing.
You assumed wrong.
Before your eyes even have a chance to adjust to the change in lighting, a calloused hand is gripped tight onto your upper arm, dragging you deeper backstage as you exclaim in protest and try to snatch your arm out of the iron hold that traps it.
âWhat theâJoel?! Get the fuck off me! What are youââ
âWill you fuckinâ quiet down?â Joel hisses next to your ear. âQuit makinâ a goddamn scene, already made enough of one as it is.â
Despite your struggle against him, his size and strength overpower you, and before you know it youâre being shoved into a dressing room, the door getting slammed shut and locked behind you in a second.
âWhat the fuck, Joel?â you shout up at him as he backs you into the door, finally letting go of your arm to loom over you and brace one of his hands next to your head.
âI can ask you the same goddamn thing. What the fuck was that out there, hm?â He spits back at you.
You massage the aching finger-shaped marks on your skin where he had gripped you, eyeing him with an annoyed expression. âIt was just a song, what is your fucking problem?â
He scoffs, rolling his neck as his brows twitch in disbelief. âJust a song, right. Everybody knew that shit was about me.â
Your heart hammers in your chest, both from the anxiety of being confronted like this and the aggravation caused by his egomaniacal tendencies. âYou are so fucking self-centered, itâs insane. It couldâve been about anyoneââ
âBut it wasnât, huh?â Joel interrupts. âWho else do they know that has a filthy title inked into his hand, as you put it. Gimme a break, sweetheart. As if that same title didnât have you soakinâ your fuckinâ panties for me last night.â
You hate that you can feel your cunt flutter in response to his words. âWhatever, will you just let me go? This isnât very professional of you, locking me in your goddamn dressing room just so you can throw a fit,â you retort.
Realization flashes across his face as he steps back from you, breathing a heavy sigh. âProfessionalâŚâ he speaks quietly, testing out the word, searching for the meaning behind why you had used it so pointedly. âJesus Christ, is that what this is about? You are such a goddamn child, you know that?â
Now itâs your turn to laugh, crossing your arms now that heâs given you the room to do so. âDidnât seem to think of me that way last night. Iâm a big girl, I can do what I want, why do you care so much if I wrote a stupid song about you?â
Joel shuts his eyes, scrunching up his face like heâs fighting against what he wants to say next. âBecause, fuckâThis ainât what I wanted, okay? Said I wanted to keep it professional between us, not that I wanted you to make a goddamn fool outta me in frontâa God and everybody.â
âWell, what do you want?â You push, stepping into his space as your blood begins to boil over. âBecause I thought you fucking cared about me, and then you just told me to get lost this morning, like none of it meant anything to youââ
âOf course it fuckinâ meant somethinâ to me, Jesus Christ.â Joel says, so breathlessly itâs like the words escape his mouth before he can catch them. âDid this for your own goddamn goodââ
âOh, for my own good?â
âYes, for your own good. Because I know what you want this to be, and I canât give that to you, I canât.â
âWhy not?â
Joel doesnât answer, but he shifts his jaw like he considers it, and lets your angered breathing fill the silence.
âHuh?â You provoke, hitting your palms against his broad chest once. Your push hardly does anything to knock him off his balance, but you swear it makes his eyes darken. âWhy not?â You demand a second time.
You can tell he wants to bite back, but he suppresses the instinct, instead backing away from you as he shakes his head in disbelief. âYâ know what, I ainât gonna do this with you right now. We can talk about this later.â
Joel makes for the exit, but you dart in front of the door handle, feet planted firmly on the ground as you block his only way out. You grit your teeth as you stare up at him, daring him to either do something about it or finish what he started.
He takes another steadying breath. âReally ainât helpinâ your case much right about now. I suggest you move, sweetheart.â His voice registers a somewhat eerie calm, the kind that a storm usually follows.
âYou donât get to back out of this.â
âAinât backinâ out. Said weâre gonna talk about it later. Move.â
You stare at each other in strained silence for a few moments, neither of you in the mood to give in to the other. You doubt that youâre about to bear witness to the first time Joel has ever submitted to someone else, so you slide away from the door, making a vow to yourself to find him after the show and force him to make good on his word.
ââS what I thought,â he huffs, unlocking the door and slinking out into the hallway. He holds his head a little too high for someone too scared to tell you how he feels, like itâll eat him alive if he admits to anyone that he really does have a heart.
You step out of the room and watch him walk, waiting until he gets a few paces away from you to grumble under your breath, âSelf-centered and a fucking coward.â
Either Joel wasnât as far out of earshot as you had thought, or the angry thudding of your pulse inside your head had made it difficult to tell just how loud you had said your little dig. He stops in his tracks, giving you a second to sweat before turning around to face you. âWhat was that?â he asks, but you already know he had heard you loud and clear. He begins to stalk towards you, and that predatory sway of his shoulders has you suddenly feeling meek.
âN-nothing,â you lie, backing into the dressing room as he continues his prowl.
âNah, go ahead. You wanna do this right now, weâll do it right now. Whatâd you say, baby? Câmon.â Joelâs movement forces you backward until the base of your spine hits the edge of the vanity table in the room. You wince at the impact and the sound of the door slamming shut again, and then heâs bracing both of his hands on either side of your hips, caging you in. Joelâs hot breath ghosts against your face as his eyes seem to glow a fiery shade youâve never seen before. âSay it again.â
You swallow hard, nervous eyes flitting around his face, unsure of the safest place to land, or if there even is one. âCalled you a cowardâŚâ you admit softly, voice trembling.
âYeah? Iâm a fuckinâ coward? What else, hm? Why donât you use your big girl words and say to my face what you really wanted to say about me out there instead oâ that bullshit lilâ poem you wrote.â Heâs just being mean now, lashing out because you hit him where it hurts. But god fucking dammit, thereâs something about the way heâs standing over you, how heâs using his size to intimidate you and how the smell of his cologne mingles with the fading aroma of his last cigarette, that begins to cloud your judgment. You canât help the way a dampness begins to bloom between your thighs as a result of his demeaning words and close proximity.
You figure you donât have much of a reason to hold anything back anymore, already having pissed him off by threatening his ego twice in one night. âI hate you,â you rasp, which is pretty much what the lyrics of your song boil down to. You do hate him, for saying all the right things and touching you all the right ways to make you think he wanted the two of you to be something, only to throw your naivety in your face, tell you that youâre acting like a child when heâs the one who tried to give up and walk out when something became more complicated than he could handle.
âYeah, I bet you do. Think you can do better than that, though, huh? Sure had plenty to say earlier, donât get all shy on me now, sweetheart.â He spits the pet name at you like itâs an insult, coated in the venom dripping from his sharp canines.
âFuck you,â you snap, eyes welling up and threatening to spill over despite yourself.
Joel spins you around as soon as the words leave your lips, pinning your wrists behind your back with just one of his hands, using the other one to grip your jaw and make you face your own reflection in the vanity mirror. You shut your eyes tightly, not wanting to confront what heâs reduced you to, and he allows you to keep them that way for now.
âYou want me to? That why youâre all fired up, âcause you need Daddy to fuck this bratty ass attitude outta you?â Joel rumbles next to your ear.
You struggle to shake your head in his hold, mumbling, âNo, I donât.â
âNo? So if I reach my hand under this lilâ dress, I ainât gonna feel that pretty pussy drippinâ for me?â
You arenât sure why you bother lying to him again, humming an mm-mm that sounds more like a whimper.
âHmm, letâs see about that, then,â Joel muses, releasing your face from his hold to bend you forward and flip up the skirt of your dress. âWould you look at that⌠panties are âbout fuckinâ soaked through, ainât they?â You whine as he begins to rub your folds over your underwear, pulling back the crotch of them and letting it go so that you can feel the damp snap of the fabric against your sensitive skin. âThought you were such a good girl⌠you like it a lilâ mean, hm? âS that why you pulled that stunt tonight, to get Daddy all worked up so heâd treat you the way you really been wantinâ?â
You feel a stinging smack on your ass before youâve even finished muttering a complete No. Joelâs rough hand does nothing to soothe the burn as he rubs it around your smarted flesh, squeezing at the plush of your ass with a possessive grip. âHad just about enough of you lyinâ to me tonight. Why donât you tell me the goddamn truth and Iâll give you what you want, hm? Gonna ask one more time. You want Daddy to beat up this lilâ brat pussy?â He asks, moving his hand back to the wet fabric of your panties, circling your clit over the material with the pad of his finger.
You canât help but moan at his crude language, releasing another pulse of wetness in response. âMmh, yes, pleaseââ you mewl.
âOpen your fuckinâ eyes,â Joel barks, and it startles you into obedience. âYes, who?â he challenges, making eye contact with your reflection in the mirror.
He continues his ministrations over your covered clit, and you force your brain to work through the distraction, to give him what he wants and not earn yourself another spank.
âY-yes, Daddy, I want it,â you admit, your voice drenched in a pathetic need.Â
Joel swiftly yanks your panties to the side, practically tearing them clean off your body with one hand in an effort to expose your swollen core to him, not daring to release your aching wrists from the other oneâs hold. He circles your dripping entrance with the rough tips of two of his fingers, not pushing all the way inside just yet.
âThink you owe me a goddamn apology first, hm?â he taunts, using his fingers to smear your ashamed slick around your entrance.
âSorry, âm sorryââ you whine, pushing back into him impatiently.
Smack. âFor what, baby? Whatâre you sorry for?â Joel presses, his harsh spank telling you to stay fuckinâ still.Â
âFor⌠for writing that song⌠for calling you a c-coward⌠âm sorry, Daddy, Iâm sorryââ you cry. He shoves both of his thick fingers inside you as your reward, carving out space for them inside your little hole as he starts up a bruising pace, the obscene wet sounds of his movements filling the room and mingling with your broken little wails. It shouldnât feel as good as it does, getting ordered around and talked down to and used like this by someone you said you hated only a few minutes ago, but you donât really care to unpack that right now. Or ever. Maybe you were naive and immature in thinking that this thing youâve gotten yourself into could ever pan out like what youâve seen in the movies, but you think you could learn to be content with what he is willing to offer youâpraise doled out as easily as he deprives you of it, a firm hand and fingers that can strum along your clit as expertly as he does the strings of his guitar, and a cock that makes you feel like someone else entirely, that can send you somewhere far away and bring you back down to earth at the same time. You let him use his fingers to pound all that angst and fire and attitude out of you as your eyelids flutter shut again, losing yourself in the feeling of him.
âHow many times I gotta tell you, huh? Keep âem open, look, baby,â Joel commands, letting go of your wrists to deliver a light smack to the side of your face. You fall forward at the sudden release of his hold, catching yourself on the vanity table and digging your nails into the hard surface to ground yourself. His punishing hand forces your gaze straight ahead with a claw-like grip on your jaw, and your eyelids still feel so heavy, everything moving slowly as you look at yourself in the mirror. Your parted lips, smeared mascara, and unfocused gaze paint a debauched version of yourself that you donât recognize, blurred by the sleepy submissive state he seems to be able to plunge you into so easily. âTake a good goddamn look in the mirror, at what Iâm doinâ to you, and you tell me if you really want this.â
Every sharp thrust of his hand against your cunt knocks loose more and more of your ability to think, let alone speak. But you know by now that if Joel demands a response from you, heâll get one, coherent or not. He seems to like it when your words come out a ruined mess of whines and slurred syllables, anyway, getting off on how hard and fast he can knock down those walls you attempt to put up and turn you into something so servile and saccharine.
âWant it, please, Daddy,â you beg, struggling to hold yourself up as his fingers get you closer and closer to your release.
âYou sure about that? âCause this is what youâre gonna get, sweetheart,â Joel grunts, the exaggerated word punctuated by the stretch of a third finger joining the other two inside your already fucked-out cunt.
âD-donât care, just want youâahââ youâre cut off by the sudden stroking of Joelâs curled fingers against a particularly tender and unfamiliar spot inside you. You begin to unravel at the overwhelming feeling, letting out little wanton pleases and Daddys as you continue to soak his tattooed hand.
âFuck, gonna be the goddamn death oâ me, lilâ songbird, you know that? Tried to stop this shit before it could get started, tried to keep you away from me, but I just canât seem to fuckinâ help myself, can I? Weâd be nothinâ but bad for each other, butâshitâbeen thinkinâ âbout this tight cunt all goddamn day, couldnât get the taste oâ you outta my mouth. Reckon I never will⌠In factââ Joel pulls his fingers out of you in an instant, and you cry out from the sudden loss as you watch him suck them clean in the mirror. You feel dizzy, letting him manhandle you as he spins you around to face him and hoists you on top of the vanity table with little effort. He groans as he crouches, pulling your drenched panties down your legs and tossing them somewhere behind him. With your raw-looking cunt now fully exposed to him, he spreads your legs wide and curses under his breath, âShouldâa done this shit last night, fuckââ before diving in between your thighs and licking a long stripe from your entrance to your swollen clit. He latches onto the sensitive nub, closing his eyes and sucking hard as his large hands force your legs to stay open. You let your upper back rest against the mirror as he works you over, and the cool glass sends a shiver down your spine as your hips tilt upward, allowing him better access.
He drinks from you as if you taste like his favorite top-shelf whiskey, growling into your flesh as heâs surely leaving fingertip-shaped bruises on the softness of your thighs. He alternates between swirling his tongue around your clit and fucking it in and out of your hole, beckoning you to spill yourself into his mouth. He savors every wave of slick that pours from you, each of your little cries and whimpers making his cock strain harder against the confines of his jeans.Â
You canât help but let one of your hands drift to his hair, and he doesnât stop you from grabbing onto his messy curls as you buck pathetically against his tongue.Â
âSuch a sweet lilâ cunt, got me fuckinâ addicted to it, I swearâŚâ Joel half-whispers, rubbing his thumb in circles around your clit to make up for the absence of his tongue as he speaks, your hips still desperately chasing after his movements. He spits onto your folds once, watching it drip between the curves of them for a moment before lapping up your combined juices and picking up where he left off. Your eyes are shut tight, brows peaked with need as you beg him to keep going, please, Daddy, gonna come.
Joel pulls away again just enough to tease, âAlways come for me so easily, donât you? Sing for me, songbird, câmon.â A few more rough strums of his thumb and pulses of his tongue have you crying out, shaking where you sit on the table as you gush into his waiting mouth. Joel works you through it as you practically ride his face, your hips twitching with each overstimulating flick of his tongue over your sensitive clit.
He doesnât wait very long for you to come back into yourself, the impatient bastard that he is, before heâs commanding you to open and using his strong fingers to yank your jaw downward. Your eyes blink open just in time to watch him spit a mouthful of your own release onto your waiting tongue, and then heâs pressing his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss, tongues twisting around each other as he forces you to taste yourself. So immersed in the distraction of finally feeling his lips against your own, you donât notice when he loosens his grip on your face to grab one of your hands instead, placing it on his still-clothed bulge and growling into your mouth as you massage the hard shape of him.
âFeel what you do to me, babygirl?â Joel breaks the kiss to ask, voice low and eyes dark. âEven if I kept you away from me, wouldnât fuckinâ matter. Still have to take care oâ myself one way or another, would just be pretendinâ it was your perfect cunt squeezinâ me instead oâ my hand, anyway. Might as well stick to the real thing, yeah?â
âYeah,â you agree, lashes fluttering at his filthy words.
âYeah? You want it? Want Daddy to split you open again?â
Your skin is burning hot, every one of your nerve endings on fire with need, and you donât care how pitiful you sound when you answer with, âPlease, Daddy.â
âGood girl,â Joel praises. He makes quick work of ridding himself of his belt, tossing it aside to join your discarded panties on the floor with a metallic thud before freeing his leaking cock from his jeans. He prods the thick head at your entrance, still so wet and stretched out from the earlier efforts of his fingers and tongue that he slides inside with hardly any resistance. âGreedy thingâŚâ he hisses, holding onto your hips as he watches his thick length begin to slide in and out of you. A flash of silver catches his attention from the edge of his vision, and he focuses there instead, on the cross shaped charm dangling from your neck and resting between your breasts. He picks it up between his large thumb and forefinger, rubbing the pads of them along the smooth metal. âProbably shouldnât be wearinâ such a thing anymore, hm? Now that I know how much of a whore you really are.â
âNot⌠âm not a whore,â you counter, but itâs so futile, meaning nothing at all when you really take a look at where you are now, how it all began, and how your voice cracks in your poor attempt to prove him wrong.
âYâ are, though, songbird. âS okay that you are. Only for me though, huh? Jusâ Daddyâs whore? All mine?â Joel drops the cross in favor of cradling your cheek, hurrying his pace as he taunts you. Thereâs no use in denying it, not when his degrading words prompt your cunt to squeeze around him and provide more slick aid for his quickening thrusts, an involuntary whine escaping your throat. Youâre seeing such a different side to him now than the one he showed you the night before, and you begin to wonder which one is the real Joel, or if either of them are, or if both of them are, somehow. Or if he even knows. Youâre willing to take whichever one he decides to let you have, you think.
âY-your whore, Daddy⌠wanna be yours, please,â you babble, his cock hitting you deep and hard as you let him fuck you so dumb you allow yourself to just give in and agree to whatever he says you are, whatever he wants you to be, just the way he likes.
âFuck,â Joel curses through gritted teeth, removing his hand from your face and to grip onto the plush of your hip again. Your pliant state and filthy admission combined with that sinful symbol around your neck spur him on, and he uses his hold on your skin to fuck into you with abandon. âReally would just let me ruin you, huh? Tried to be a decent man for once in my goddamn life, but you just had to be a fuckinâ brat about it and start some shit, didnât you? If you donât want me decent, thaâs fine by me, baby. But lemme make somethinâ real goddamn clear to you,â he rambles, each slam of his hips into yours getting you closer to release for the second time. He delivers another sharp slap to your cheek with a You listeninâ? and you nod to the best of your ability, finding it impossible to focus your eyes on him as that knot in your stomach begins to tighten.
âYou want this, you wanna be mine, you can be mine, babygirl. Lord knows Iâd find my way right back inside this sinful lilâ cunt, anyway. But this ainât gonna be a fuckinâ relationship, you understand? Take it or leave it, songbird.â He slows his thrusts as he spells out his ultimatum, but they still make you ache, all the same. His fiery gaze bores a hole straight through your skull as he awaits your response.
âTake it, w-wanna take it, Daddy.â The desperation in your voice and painted across your expression have him returning to his punitive pace, grunting and swearing into the warm skin of your neck as your hands scramble across his back, pulling yourself into him and burying your face into his shoulder. His thick leather jacket helps to muffle your cries as he loses all control, using your body to chase after his own high.
âCourse youâre gonna take it, filthy thing. Made to fuckinâ take it, Christ,â Joel rambles, your vocalizations increasing in pitch as you squeeze around him, whole body tensing as your sore pussy prepares to drench him one more time. âSo goddamn desperate⌠Just take whatever I give you, however I wanna give it to you, always have you cominâ on my cock just the same, huh? Go on, babygirl, come for Daddy again, thaâs rightâŚâ
With his permission, and a few more just-right strokes of his tip against that sweet spot deep inside your walls, youâre spasming in his hold, whining that filthy title you had just used against him less than an hour ago. He spills his release into you at the same time, and despite the way heâs treated you and the words heâs spat at you tonight, it makes you feel whole again.
You breathe heavily against each other for a few minutes, neither of you wanting to let go as you both struggle to process what the hell just happened, what it will mean for the remainder of the tour.Â
A sudden knock at the door quickly yanks you out of your thoughts, offering a taste of what the future may hold much earlier than you were expecting.
âJoel? You in there?â a voice asks from outside the dressing room.
âHuhâŚ? Yeah, just gimme aââ
The door opens before Joel can finish answering, and you can see clear as day over his shoulder that itâs Jesse.
He claps his hand over his eyes when he notices you, but you can still see how his cheeks burn red under his fingers as he shifts where he stands, undoubtedly trying to come up with the least mortifying way to get himself out of this situation.
âJesus, kidââ Joel grumbles, finally pulling out of you and shoving his still-slick cock back into his briefs. He zips himself up as you tug the skirt of your dress back down to cover yourself, still feeling much more exposed than youâd like as you eye your forgotten panties laying just a few feet from where Jesse stands.
âSorry! Sorry, Joel. Itâs just, uhââ
Joel turns to face him as he finishes adjusting himself, and youâre thankful that he doesnât walk away from you completely, using his broad form to provide you with what little modesty he can afford under the circumstances. âWhat, Jess?â he barks, exasperated.
âUm⌠The guys asked me to come find you, weâre on in like a minuteââÂ
âWell, tell âem to hold their fuckinâ horses. Iâm comin,â Joel orders.
âA-alright, I will, man. Iâll, uh⌠Iâll see you out there.âÂ
Jesse leaves the room as hurriedly as he had entered, nervously fumbling with the handle as he shuts the door on his way out. âThat kid ever learn how to fuckinâ knock?â Joel mutters to himself, picking his belt up off the floor and looping it back around his waist. He retrieves your ruined panties when heâs done and casually tosses them over to you, a stark contrast from the attentive aftercare he had provided last night. You slide off the vanity table and tug them back on over your legs, shivering at the feeling of the cool, damp fabric against where youâre so sensitive and sore, still leaking Joelâs spend. You fidget with the hem of your dress and try to ignore the way your heart sinks into your stomach, wondering what Jesse must think of you now. You havenât really spoken to him at all since this whole thing started, and you doubt you ever will after what happened tonight. Of course, heâd had a front row seat to your obscene little performance during Kiss it Better, but it was all just an act, as far as he knew. But he has more than enough confirmation now to know that it very much wasnât, and the humiliation of it all makes your anxious imagination begin to run wild. Your bottom lip quivers at the thought of Jesse running straight back to the guys with a shit-eating look on his face, eager to tell them all about how he just saw their opening act with her legs spread for Joel in his dressing room. Images flash through your mind of the band youâve looked up to for so long now shooting you dirty looks backstage and whispering about you amongst themselves, sharing their doubts about if you really deserve to be touring with them at all. Maybe theyâd call you easy, say that youâre just another dumb slut who gave it up for the first rockstar who asked, that your career will be doomed unless you grow up and learn to respect yourself a little more. And maybe theyâd be right.
You canât stop a few hot tears from rolling down your cheek at your catastrophizing, but you wipe them away quickly. This is what you asked for, isnât it? Joel had given you an opportunity to leave this where he had ended it, and you were the one who had begged to be his, even after he showed you what it would look like, and told you explicitly what it would never be. You pull your shoulders back and make an effort to stand up a little straighter as he addresses you again, not wanting to look like some pathetic, defeated thing.
âYou good? Need anythinâ?â Joel asks, and it would be kind of sweet if he werenât halfway out the door already.Â
You sniffle a little, but try to feign nonchalance as you shake your head and reply, âNo, âm fine.â
You must not do a very good job of it, because heâs craning his neck to look down the hallway as soon as you finish your sentence, like he knows exactly whatâs on your mind. âDonât worry âbout him,â Joel says to you, giving an annoyed shake of his head. âIf he knows whatâs good for him heâll go to his grave swearinâ he didnât see anything. Kid knows better,â he reassures, and it does help to slow the unspooling of your thoughts some.Â
âOkay,â is all you offer, along with a small smile.
Joel nods curtly, âOkay.â And after another beat and a rake of his eyes along your form, âIâll see ya, songbird.â
Heâs gone before you can reply, and you let the sound of the door closing ring out in your ears until youâre left in total silence, save for the sound of your own unsteady breathing. More than anything else, you just want to head back to your bus and scrub yourself clean of him, to put on unstained clothes and remove your ruined makeup so that you have a better chance of recognizing yourself in the mirror if youâre unfortunate enough to catch a glimpse of your reflection. Maybe if you hurry the pace of your walk of shame, you can outrun the feeling altogether, you think, swinging the dressing room door open and letting it slam behind you as you make a swift exit, heading straight for the one place that even slightly resembles a home to you right now. You keep your head low as you wander the unfamiliar backstage halls, and hold the skirt of your dress down against the breeze that threatens to expose you yet again when you push open the venueâs back door. More tears begin to fall as your boots carry you up the steps of your bus and lead you to your private little room in the back, and you donât wipe them away this time, although you canât put your finger on why they stream down your skin so impatiently, one stinging droplet after another.
You sit down heavily on the edge of your bed, although you have a strange urge to kneel at the foot of it instead. Your fingers find their way to your crucifix as you contemplate the idea, and it hits you all at once how very lost you feel. You miss⌠something. Your mother? Perhaps not, but maybe the idea of having a caregiver, someone to turn to when you feel the way you do now, to help you sort through the tangled knot of emotions unraveling itself in your heart and attempt to make some kind of sense of it. She wasnât the perfect mother, by any means, but she tried, and it was her first time being a woman too, after all. You are following in her footsteps, as many daughters aspire to do with their mothers, but you donât think she would be very proud of the particular path of hers youâve begun to find yourself stumbling downâthe one that leads you to a man who wonât change himself, who canât, but who youâve somehow convinced yourself that you deserve, because youâve never known a man whoâs told you otherwise.Â
And now here you sit, alone, in the dark cave of your too-big bus on the second night of a career-changing national tour, crying girlish tears and missing something you canât place but that you know you canât go back to, wishing someone could just wipe your mind clean and tell you that youâre good and that youâre not a disappointment to your mother and God even though you donât really care what they think of you anymore, anyway. You need someone to tell you who you are, and Joel seems to know the answerâa good girl, a whore, his songbird. You shift at the memories of when those names for you have spilled from his mouth, and youâre reminded of the wet fabric still pressed against your core. It feels good when he tells you who you are, after all, when he slots himself inside of you and makes you feel like something he owns, when he makes you feel perfect and floaty and beautiful and like he knows you better than youâve ever known yourself.
And how could something that feels so good ever be bad for you?
â
The whiskey burns as it slides down the back of Joelâs throat, but it still isnât strong enough. All it does is remind him of the igniting spark that led to the blaze now engulfing himâwhen youâd both had a few glasses of the stuff swimming around in your blood streams in the green room of last nightâs venue, when heâd lured you onto his lap and teased the wet spot on your panties and asked if youâd let him touch you. He knew you were going to say yes, but it was still the respectable thing to do, and he had liked hearing you beg for it all pretty and polite. He fears thatâs the last he may have seen of that version of you, that what he did this morning had stomped out the little delicate, glimmering light that had drawn him to you in the first place. And if it wasnât snuffed out then, itâs surely nothing but a wisp of smoke now.
Joel had recognized when everything had started to become too real too fast, in the dark of his bus last night when even in your sleep, you had seemed to consider him as something warm and comforting and safe, instead of the beast that he knows himself to be, with too sharp of claws and too loud of a roar. He had tried to do the right thing for once in his goddamn life by finally thinking about someone other than himself, so why didnât you take the opportunity to get out of this while you had the chance? What is it that you see in him that he knows for a fact isnât there, has never been there? You had retaliated because you had wanted this to work, because he had hurt you when he shoved you away, but he canât possibly fathom why youâve chosen to fight so hard for this. And heâd only gone and proved himself right when he responded to your reprisal the only way he knows how, especially when youâd used that word against him that heâs always been avoidant to admit about himselfâcoward.
And you were right, werenât you? Joel is a fucking coward. He does everything in his power to pretend otherwise, to show his fans and the world a version of himself whoâs never for a second thought of himself as anything less than God incarnate. And maybe except for Tommy, no one has ever been the wiser to his ruse, until you. And it scares him, to be seen so clearly. Because then he might actually have to try to understand where all these defense mechanisms came from in the first place, and he canât have that.Â
Coward.
Joel tosses back the last of the amber liquid in his glass, releasing his white-knuckled grip on it and slamming it back down onto the green roomâs bar cart. He knows that his band and about twenty thousand people are waiting for him to buck up and emerge from yet another hiding place, and he realizes that this is becoming a pattern with youâyou awaken some long-dormant feeling from deep inside of him, it makes him feel threatened, and he retreats until it goes away and he remembers how to paint his mask back on. And the one time you didnât allow him to run away, he lashed out like a caged animal and undoubtedly gave you a pretty solid idea of what he meant by âfor your own goodâ. And yet, you were so desperate to be allowed any part of him at all that even in his most volatile and beastly state, with his talons out and his teeth bared, you didnât run away. You didnât even try. You didnât want to. You took everything he had given you like it was a privilege to do so, and he doesnât think heâll ever understand why.Â
Joel shakes himself out, hitting a solid hand against his cheek once in order to bring himself back from the depths of another unwanted episode of introspection and self-loathing, and lets the burn of the whiskey dissipate as he makes his way to where the rest of Deathâs Head is waiting for him. He can feel their eyes on him without even needing to look, and snaps out a defensive I donât wanna hear it before any of the guys get a chance to say anything.Â
Tommy shrugs, stepping up to Joel with his arms crossed. âWasnât gonna say nothinâ.âÂ
Joel finally turns to face the group, giving each member a scrutinizing once-over in an attempt to read their body language, to suss out if theyâre just pissed because he left them waiting, or if Jesse ran his mouth while he was gone. When Joelâs examining eyes land on the dark-haired guitarist, Jesseâs quick to shake his head, mouthing the words they donât know. Satisfied, Joel nods once in understanding, adjusting his jacket and cracking his neck before turning toward the stage again.
âYâall ready, or what?â he mutters rhetorically, not bothering to wait for an answer before he marches his way into the spotlights and allows them to enshroud him, burning up what remains of that cowardly version of him, if only for the remainder of the night. Joel picks up his guitar, swinging the strap around his chest before fiddling with his mic stand as the deafening sound of the crowd reminds him of who the fuck he is, or at least, who they think he is. Who he pretends to be. And he gets to believe it for the next two hours. If he plays the part well enough, maybe he can lose himself in it entirely. But then, hasnât he been trying to do that for the past couple of decades? It hasnât seemed to work yet, but it doesnât hurt to keep trying.Â
Or maybe it does.
â
You feel a little better now, more at ease, now that youâve had some time to focus on taking care of yourself. Itâs easy to forget the wonders that a hot shower can do for a girl, especially when you have to fight against your own brain just to get up and take the ten or so steps towards the bathroom, when youâd much rather stay curled up in the same position on your bed until your skin adheres to the sheets. Now having scrubbed away the tears and the sweat and the tacky dampness between your thighs, you emerge from a cloud of rose-scented humidity as someone you think you understand a little better now, who deserves to be taken care of instead of reprimanded for only doing her best with what sheâs been given.
With clean hair and skin and a comfortable change of sleep-ready attire, you decide to finally make some efforts to unpack your suitcase and make your little room feel more like a home. You hang your dresses up on the rack, set your shoes into a somewhat orderly line on the carpet below them, and place your jewelry neatly onto the antique tray you had carefully packed away to bring along with you. You had found it in a little thrift store downtown, when you had first left home and decided you needed something that was only yours, something pretty and special that you could look at everyday and know that it was the very first step in building the life that you had always wanted for yourself. The brass needs a little polishing, but itâs still one of the most beautiful objects youâve ever seen, and the way the ceiling lights glint off the metal brightens up your space just enough that it feels a little more familiar to you now.Â
Your earrings and other necklaces fill the blank space in the center of the neatly carved filigree, and you make the decision to add your crucifix to the pile of silver studs and chains. Itâs strange how such a simple charm can make things feel so complicated. You havenât taken it off in so long that you fear the guilt that might come with removing it, but you figure it will still be there for you if you ever feel like clipping it around your neck again. And if that feeling never comes, then youâll deal with that then, too.
For now, you breathe a little deeper without the weight of the thing resting against your chest, and smile to yourself when you hear a small group of excitable-sounding male voices approaching your bus. Your bandmates file through the door a second later, though youâre suddenly shy to greet them as you emerge from your bedroom, worried that they might be pissed at you for what you sprung on them earlier in the night. You lean against the doorframe as they each collapse onto the living area couches, cracking open beers from the minifridge and passing them around to each other.
âHey, you,â greets your floppy-haired drummer, Max, patting the cushion next to him. If any of the guys were to be easy going about what you put them through tonight, it would be him. Youâre happy to see that he doesnât seem to hold any animosity towards you. âYou want me to crack one open for you?â he offers.
âUm⌠sure,â you agree, approaching the group and relaxing into the open seat next to him as he hands you a bottle. You take a few swigs while the guys begin to talk amongst themselves, waiting for an opportune lull in their conversation for you to chime in.
It comes about halfway through your beer. âSo, listen,â you start, setting the sweating bottle on the table in front of you as you feel their gazes shift in your direction. âIâm sorry for pulling that on you guys tonight. This whole thing is just as big for yâall as it is for me and⌠I guess I forgot about that, for a second,â you say, although the end of your sentence kind of sounds like a question. âI really appreciate how you backed me up out there, thatâs all.â
Itâs rare that the four of you get sincere with each other like this, and your apology lingers in the air for a moment before someone else speaks up.Â
âItâs alright, kid.â The comforting voice comes from Scott, your quiet and kind-eyed bassist. âWeâre all professionals here, yeah? Weâd be some sad fuckinâ musicians if we couldnât improvise every once in a while.â You laugh at that, and his lopsided smile warms you when you meet his soft expression.
âI mean, I kinda fucked up a little bit,â says Joey, your rhythm guitarist, ever-reliable for lightening the mood. âYou sounded badass though, so whatever. Nothinâ you need to apologize for.â When you turn your head to look at him, he looks slightly uncomfortable with the way Max has him pressed up against the wall, but his gaze is sincere. âYou wanna talk about it, though? Some pretty heavy shit you wrote.â
You do consider it, but shake your head, having reflected on it quite enough for one night. âNot right now,â you reply, and he gives you a sympathetic smile in return. âOne of you have a smoke, though? Think Iâm just gonna get some air and call it a night.âÂ
âNow, how are you gonna âget some airâ with all that smoke in your lungs?â Scott jests, and you give him a look before standing up and holding your palm out flat to him, making a hand it over gesture with your fingers.Â
âDonât give me shit, dude, I know you have one. Thatâs why I asked.â
Despite his protest, he digs the pack out of his pocket and slides one out, playfully holding it hostage against his chest. âStill shouldnât smoke âem, though. Gonna ruin your voice one of these days.â
You roll your eyes at him, but laugh, anyway. âFine, tonightâs my last one, I promise. Just gimme.â
Scott extends his hand out to you, and you snatch the cigarette out of his hold. âLight, too?â he asks, and you nod, leaning down to him with it in your mouth already.
You make a quick exit when the tobacco begins to burn, trying to fill the bus with as little smoke as possible, but not before making your appreciation known to the guys one last time. When you step out into the chilly night air, you wish youâd brought a sweater to wrap around you, but figure the flame between your lips will warm you up soon enough.Â
The Deathâs Head bus is parked just up ahead, and you can make out Jesseâs silhouette in the moonlight, his back leaned against the idling vehicle as he puffs his own cloud into the sky. The sound of your busâs door shutting behind you draws his attention your way, and you give each other a friendly nod as you each burn through your cigarettes.
âCan I join you?â he asks, having to shout in order for his voice to reach you over the rumbling engines.
The fears you were ruminating on a few hours ago all come rushing back to you in an instant, but his inquiry seems casual enough for you to let your guard back down a little. It would be rude of you to decline, and it might be nice to get to know him a bit more if heâs offering, you suppose.
âYeah, okay,â you reply, nodding for good measure in case your voice didnât come out loud enough. His long legs close the short distance between you in just a few seconds, and you shove your unoccupied hand into your pocket in an effort to come across more relaxed than you feel. Youâve never been great at small talk, or meeting new people, especially ones whoâve walked in on you after having just been fucked by the lead singer of his band.Â
Youâre grateful that Jesse decides to break the silence first. âSo, uh⌠you two, huh?â
âMhm,â is all you offer, kicking a rock around the asphalt with the toe of your shoe.
âYeah⌠Well, I donât want you to feel weird around me, or anything. We can just forget it ever happened.â
You canât help but release a puff of smoke through an awkward giggle. âSounds good to me.â
âAnd I didnât tell the other two, just so you know.â
His admission makes you pause, trapping the rock underneath your shoe as you peer up at him. âYou didnât? So⌠they donât know?â
Jesse shakes his head. âDonât think so. Well, Tommy might, just âcause he knows Joel better than anybody, but Eugeneâs probably clueless. Theyâre all good guys, they wonât give you shit for it even if they do find out⌠I might, though, just for fun.â He nudges your shoulder with his as he jokes, and it makes you laugh a little more earnestly this time. âJust⌠be careful, thatâs all. And I want you to know you have a friend in me, if you ever feel like you need one.â
His kindness is nearly enough to bring you to tears. You feel so relieved that everything the worst parts of your brain had conjured up had all been a lie, that Jesse isnât who you feared heâd be, and that heâs offering you his friendship, even after heâd seen you in such an embarrassing and compromising state tonight.Â
âJess!â Joel yells from the doorway of his bus, and the harsh gravel voice startles both of you out of the moment youâd been sharing. âFinish up, kid. Takinâ off in a few.â
Jesse nods, raising the end of his cigarette in acknowledgement before stomping it out on the pavement. âIt was nice talking to you. Remember what I said, okay?âÂ
âOkay,â you nod, and heâs handsome and boyish when he smiles back at you before following his orders and jogging back to his own bus, sliding through the door past Joelâs broad form.
Joelâs expression is hard, but otherwise unreadable as he juts his chin at you, wordlessly suggesting the same direction heâd just barked at Jesse. He shuts the door behind him as he steps inside, and you think on Jesseâs words as you finish puffing your smoke down to a nub. Be careful, heâd cautioned, and itâs like he had been waiting outside for you to make sure he had a chance to tell you that. Remember what I said, like it was important to him that you took his words to heart. You finally toss the end of your own cigarette onto the ground, letting it sizzle out before heading back inside and carefully passing the now-occupied bunks as you make your way to your own little sanctuary.Â
Youâre still buzzing from the tobacco as you close yourself into your room and crawl into bed, and you canât decide if the emptiness of it makes you feel comforted or afraid. You donât necessarily wish you had Joelâs heavy, lumbering form tucked in beside you, but you hadnât anticipated how having a bed to yourself would leave you with only the company of your own thoughts. You try not to dwell too much on Jesseâs warning, instead trying to snuff it out like the smoldering end of your cigarette so that it doesnât prevent you from getting some much needed rest.
Even for being a bed inside of a tour bus, you have to admit that itâs one of the most comfortable, luxurious things youâve ever slept on, especially compared to the lumpy double bed from back in your apartment. You donât fight it when sleep begins to pull heavily on your eyelids, the incoming wave of it washing away any lingering anxieties as you allow yourself to relax into the plush mattress.
You hardly rouse even as the bus heaves forward on its trip out of the parking lot, leaving everything that happened tonight exactly where you left it, the ghost of it now left to wander the halls of the venue instead of haunting you as you travel to the next one. And thereâs something comforting in that, you think, in the idea that nothing on this tour is permanent, that your life begins anew every 24 hours in a city youâve never been to that doesnât know your name yet.Â
And maybe thatâs how youâll figure this whole thing out, by taking it one day at a time, fluttering as close to the flame as possible without touching it, because you kind of like feeling the heat on your wings. As long as youâre careful when you dance around the fire, then thereâs really nothing to be afraid of.
But only time will tell.
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#my writing#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller smut#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x you#the last of us fanfiction#tlou fanfiction#rockstar!joel#tk&ts
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Bared Teeth
Pairing: Dave York x f!Reader
Summary: Biting the hand that feeds you OR Dave doesnât know how to accept domesticity and care.
Warnings: Softness and affection, stark descriptions of domesticity, food, brief reference to past injuries, arguments, me fucking with canon, nonsexual slapping, weird smut. WC: 2.1k
A/N: Thank you endlessly to @atinylittlepain, @pr0ximamidnight, @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin, and @beskarandblasters for reading this, for hyping me up, and for generally being amazing human beings. This is the first thing Iâve written in like two months and Iâm decently proud of it. Plus, I missed these two a lot. Theyâre my favorites (donât tell AGOY!Dieter, heâll cry).Â
Dave York Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi
His back is pressed against your front, your arm wrapped around his torso, leg between his legs. He holds your hand against his chest, pressed over his heart. You press a kiss to the back of his neck, just under where his too long hair curls against it. You feel him wake up, his body shifting against yours. He presses a kiss to your knuckles before extricating himself from your tangled limbs.Â
He goes to the bathroom, takes a piss, brushes his teeth. You watch him through the open door. He goes to the kitchen and puts the kettle on. As he waits for the water to boil he rummages in the cabinet for a tea bag and the jar of honey. He makes your tea and sets it on the table. You get out of bed, take the tea off the table, and take a sip through a smile. He makes it just the way you like it.Â
You slot two pieces of bread in the toaster, crack eggs into a pan and scramble them, dish everything up onto two plates. You eat in comfortable silence, sip your perfect tea, watch Dave shovel eggs into his mouth.Â
He clears the table, hand washes the plates while you gather your clothes for a shower. You go to the bathroom, strip your clothes off and toss them in the hamper, turn on the water in your shower. He slips in behind you just as you get your hair wet. His ribs are no longer bruised, but some of his movements are still halting. You trace a finger over his scar and he backs away from the tender touch.Â
You squirt shampoo into your hand and reach for him, burying your hands in his thick hair. You massage the shampoo into his scalp, work it through his hair just starting to curl at the ends. You like it long, like having something to grasp. You tug hard at the back of his head, just to keep him from getting skittish.Â
He shies away from soft touches, too used to hard ones. He seems to lean into your hands anyway. You run your fingers through his hair as the soap washes out and down the drain, press your lips into the hollow of his throat, let him wash your body with a softness he doesnât himself deserve.Â
You have to go to the grocery store. Dave has to stay hidden in your apartment, away from anyone who might be looking for him. He isnât comfortable sitting still since his body has mostly healed. He strips your bed and carries everything down to the laundry. Back in your apartment, he puts your clean clothes away. He gets furniture polish and an old rag and dusts your dresser, your nightstands, your kitchen table. He puts away the now dry dishes from this morning. He goes back downstairs and switches your bedding over to the dryer. He sweeps and mops your floor, scrubs the toilet, wipes down all the counters, scrubs the grout in your shower. He retrieves your bedding and makes the bed army style.Â
He has never, even with Carol, done anything so domestic as clean an entire apartment for someone. He feels awkward sitting in your clean apartment, waiting for you to come home with groceries he will help you put away, help you turn into meals. He doesnât know if he can do this anymore.
You carry the bags into the kitchen and set them down on the table. You put away all the cold stuff while Dave stands stiffly behind you in the archway. You hand him a bag and he asks you whatâs in it. Heâs doing your chores and youâre buying him things at the grocery store and itâs all a little bit too much.Â
âWhat is this?â
âWell I know you prefer coffee to tea and all I had was that shitty instant coffee.â
âDonât do that. Donât buy things for me.â
âWhy not?â
âJust donât.â
His whole body is taut with tension, a coiled spring that will either snap or lash out under this much pressure. You snatch the bag from him and pull out the body wash and shampoo you bought him, carrying them to the bathroom and setting them next to yours.Â
âWhat is that?â
âI thought you might want to stop smelling like flowers? I got you sandalwood. I hope thatâs okay.â
âItâs not okay. Why are you doing this? Why are you buying me shit? You donât need to buy me shit. Itâs not like I live here.â
âThen what is it weâre doing Dave? You sleep in my bed and you eat my food and youâre doing fucking chores. Your toothbrush is in my goddamn bathroom for fuckâs sake. What exactly are we doing here?â
âI donât know, okay! I donât know what the fuck Iâm doing. Iâm not staying. This isnât that.â
He grabs his still unpacked duffel bag, pulls his shoes on, and leaves, slamming the door behind him. You throw it open and chase him into the hall.Â
âDavid.â
He turns and pushes you back through the threshold of your apartment. He stalks off down the hallway and you watch him go.Â
The reason heâs been holed up in your apartment is not because he wants to play house, not because he even wants you necessarily. The entire reason, the only reason, heâs stashed himself in your apartment is because no one knows about you. Itâs too dangerous for him to go anywhere, the risk of being seen too great. He killed Mac, meaning Mac knew who and what he was. There would be others.Â
Before he came back to you broken, nearly dead really, it had been an abstract concept that he could get seriously hurt. That he could die. Now, though, youâve seen him nearly dead and you canât bear the thought of him being gone.Â
You stand in your doorway for a long time, willing him to come back to you. Finally, you close the door and slip into your bed. You hardly leave it for days, needing to have eyes on the door heâd eventually walk through. He has to come back, he will come back.Â
He pounds on the door. You open the door a crack and he shoves it open. You stumble backwards with the force of it and he snatches your arm and kicks the door shut behind him.Â
âWhat the fuck is wrong with you?â he growls.
âWhatâs wrong with me?â Your voice high pitched and breaking on the last syllable. You yank your arm back from him and shove him in the chest. âWhat the fuck is wrong with you, Dave?â You shove him again, and his back hits the wall. âYou fucking left! You were gone for days.â You wrap your hands into his shirt, pulling him toward you and shoving him away over and over. âI didnât know where the fuck you were. Do you not fucking get it? Do you not understand how it feels for me when you walk out that door? I never know if youâre coming back. If Iâll ever get to see you again. You canât just fucking leave like that.âÂ
âWhy the fuck not?â Dave shoves you away from him and you hit the ground. You look up at him, tears pooling in your waterline. Chest heaving, hackles raised, eye wide and locked with yours â heâs like a prey animal about to meet its death. Heâs terrified.Â
âBecause I love you.â He recoils at that.
âNo you donât,â he whispers before stalking further into your apartment, away from you. You scramble to your feet and chase him into the kitchen.Â
âYes I fucking do, David. Maybe you arenât capable of love. Maybe you have too much blood on your hands or youâre too fucked up inside and full of shame too feel anything else. Maybe youâre a disgusting, dirty, defiled person who doesnât deserve to love or be loved.â You cage him against the counter, one hand on either side of him, body trembling with rage. âYou were always going to lose everything because you never deserved to have it in the first place,â you spit at him.Â
He slaps you then, hard, a stinging hot pain blossoming across your cheek. You slap him back, just as hard, watch his head snap to the side with it. You grab his cheeks in your hands.Â
âBut Iâm a terrible person too, David. I must be. Because I love you so much, itâs like Iâm caving in on myself. I feel this fucking rot in my chest, this dark thing that is slowly consuming me and itâs you. I love you and itâs fucking killing me because you wonât ever let me have you â not really. You wonât ever stay.âÂ
He hangs his head and it looks like shame, his shoulders slumped like your love is a weight he can barely carry. You snag the curls at the back of his head in your hand and drag his face up to look at you.Â
âWhen you arenât here, all I can think about is losing you. When you arenât here, my whole body trembles and my chest aches. I canât work or eat or sleep. Do you understand me? I am so afraid of losing you..â He squeezes his eye shut, face scrunching up in something like pain.
âNo,â he whispers.Â
âThe only thing that could destroy me is never touching you again, do you understand me?â He shakes his head. You kiss him then, soft at first but quickly devolving into more teeth than tongue. He bites your lip and you jerk his head back so far he starts sinking to the floor with it. You follow him down, straddle him as he sinks against your kitchen cabinets.Â
He pulls you as snugly against him as you can get, savoring the feeling of your body pressed against him. He slides his hands under your shirt and lifts it off of you before shoving you off of him. You land sprawled out on your kitchen floor. He dives forward and rips your shorts and underwear off of you in one go. You sit up and tug his pants down, his hard cock springing out and bobbing against his stomach.Â
You want to tear him apart, but you need him inside you. You grab his shirt and pull him down on top of you, slamming your mouths together again. He thrusts his hips against your core, the head of his cock catching your clit.Â
You growl and reach between your bodies, guiding him inside you. You hook a leg around his hips and pull him close to you, bury him inside yourself. He sets a brutal pace, your back sliding on the floor. You brace a hand on the cabinets and drive your hips up to meet his. He fucks you fast and hard and it hurts. Heâs tearing you open and making room for himself inside you. You drag his shirt off, needing to feel his skin. He doesnât even slow down. Your nails sink into his shoulders. You feel the powerful muscles shifting beneath his skin.Â
He grabs your right leg and throws it over his shoulder, leaning forward enough that you feel the stretch as he pounds into you. It almost hurts, the way your muscles pull, and you dig your nails in deeper. You can feel his skin gathering under your fingernails. You pull your leg back and kick him in the chest. He sprawls on the floor much like you had earlier. You dive for him, crawling onto his lap and settling him deep inside you again.Â
You lean forward until your face is over his. He plants his feet on the floor and fucks you just as hard and fast as before. You grab his jaw, forcing his mouth open, and spit onto his tongue.Â
âMine,â you snarl. You let go of his jaw and he swallows.Â
Whatever reservations he had before are gone, at least for the moment. As you clench around him again and again, your eyes rolling back into your head and your body going limp on top of him, he realizes he is completely and utterly yours.Â
He marks you as such, coming deep inside you, fucking you until his cock goes soft. In the aftermath, you lay with your head on his chest. He traces soft lines up and down your spine, his lips pressed against your hair. .Â
âWill you stay?â
âFor now.â
#Dave York#Dave York fics#Dave York fanfiction#Dave York x reader#Dave York x f!reader#Dave York x you#Equalizer 2 fanfiction#pedrostories
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What are you doing here? 05
Ominis Gaunt x f!MC Word count: 5491, properly tagged on AO3
Chapter summary: Time heals all wounds, but some things help speed up the process.
a/n: Sorry this took me much longer than I said it would, (I should just stop making promises about when Iâll update this thing) but this is a chapter that I actually really like and feel good about, so I hope youâll enjoy! And this chapter was beta read by the very sweet and lovely ladyelisabeth from AO3, who did an absolutely amazing job â¤ď¸
Warnings: mentions of nausea and throwing up, no detailed descriptions but I thought Iâd mention it.
Chapter 04 || Masterlist || Chapter 06
Chapter 05 - End of the night
Ominis made the remaining few steps to the common room in a daze.
He gave the door the password- it didnât open. Then he realised heâd said it in Parseltongue. He couldnât remember the last time his mind had been so addled.
Inside, he made his way past the table where heâd done his homework mere hours earlier, but now it felt like a different lifetime, and a different person. Haphazardly, he ran his hand across the surface- his mess was gone, someone must have cleaned it up. A prefect, probably.Â
Oh, but if they hadnât, he would have dragged his fingers through a sea of ink. Would he have cared?
Near the window, someone laughed, someone else joined in, briefly drowning out the calm tunes of the piano. And Ominis stood there, in the middle of it, not willing to believe that heâd made it back into a world where there could be laughter, or music, or anything good at all.
The nausea came back, and he dragged himself off towards the dormitories to spare his housemates the sight of him throwing up.
A few steps up the stairs, then through the corridor and the door to the room he shared with Sebastian.
Sebastian. Where was he?
Ominis opened the trunk at the end of his bed, carelessly throwing out his belongings, until he found it, the wooden box he always kept safe but never opened. Now he did, for the first time in years, with shaking hands. He felt the letters, the pin in the shape of the Gaunt family crest- heâd never wear it but couldnât bring himself to get rid of it either- and underneath, there it was, the small stuffed animal, the only one he ever had.Â
Given to him by Aunt Noctua, like all the other things heâd locked inside that box after sheâd disappeared. Too afraid that touching them again would be too painful, but it didnât matter now. He could hardly imagine feeling worse than he already did.
Ominis sat on his bed, clutching the stuffed animal to his chest, feeling the little face, the small beaded eyes. Noctua had told him it was a Kneazle when she first put it into his tiny, eager hands. It had felt so much bigger then. Heâd never been sure how much it resembled an actual Kneazle, as he never had the opportunity or the urge to pet a real one, but heâd loved it all the same.
His parents only ever gave their children toys that would challenge their mind, or kept them occupied at least. They saw no value in something that was meant to be loved, to provide comfort. But Noctua did. She was the only one whoâd gift him something like this, and he couldnât ever bring himself to part with it, even after all the happy memories faded.Â
Ominis squeezed it so tightly he feared he might accidentally dig holes in it with his fingers, and then the tears finally fell. It was too much. Aunt Noctua was gone- yes, heâd known, heâd known, but he never had to face it, not like today.
Sheâd be gone too. His new almost-friend. Not from this world, but from a future where they would be more than strangers sharing a friend.
And Sebastian-Â
Ominis let himself fall on his side, face smushed into his pillow, hugging his Kneazle and his knees tightly to his chest.
Sebastian did it because he had to. Because he had to, not because he wanted it- but he had to want it. And it had been too easy. That disturbed him more than anything else.
He didnât know how long heâd spent curled up on his bed, quietly sobbing, until he had no more tears left. Now he just felt exhausted, like heâd aged a hundred years in a matter of hours.
The door opened slowly but he didnât bother getting up, there was only one person it could be.Â
âAre you asleep?â Sebastian asked cautiously.Â
Ominis considered pretending, just for a moment. âNo, Iâm not.â His voice sounded hoarse from all the crying, but if Sebastian noticed it, he kept it to himself. At least he didnât insult him by asking if he was all right- his swollen eyes and blotchy face were probably all the answer Sebastian needed anyway.  Â
âAh.â
Silence. Should he ask where Sebastian had been, since they split up outside the common room? Did he want to know? He heard Sebastian sit down on his bed.
âWill you tell Anne?â Ominis asked numbly.Â
He waited several moments, until he was about to repeat the question, assuming Sebastian hadnât heard him.
âNo, I donât think so,â it finally came from the other bed. âWill you?â
âNo. She has enough troubles, I think.âÂ
There was a time when theyâd told each other everything.Â
âDo you think sheâs all right?â Sebastian asked after another long pause, and with so much hesitation, Ominis wasnât sure if he really wanted to hear the answer.
It was obvious they were no longer talking about Anne.
The honest answer was no- sheâd only suffered the curse once, and it likely wasnât as strong as it could have been, given Sebastianâs inexperience. Like his own back then. His father had called it weak, but the screams of his victim suggested otherwise. So no, he did not think she could possibly be all right, but as much as Sebastian should feel the weight of what heâd done, he knew what it was like to live with that guilt.
âDonât worry too much about her.â Ominis said softly.
Ominis heard the rustling of fabric and thought Sebastian was changing into his nightclothes, but after several long moments realised he must be fidgeting with his bedsheets, or the curtains.
âShe wasnât quite herself, was she? When she left. Quieter.â
âYou would know better than me.â It was a lie.
The realisation of it came suddenly, digging into his heart with iron claws. Heâd gotten so used to it, her being a constant guest in some corner of his mind, always so close but out of reach, behind the wall heâd put up between them.Â
And heâd subconsciously tried to make up for it by remembering every single one of her unique little habits and peculiarities, learned to decipher her mood by the subtle way it tinted her voice instead of asking how she was, let her smell tell him where sheâd been instead of simply talking to her.
âŚhe could have simply talked to her.
He could have.
Not anymore.
Sebastianâs fidgeting had turned into him nervously tapping against his bedpost. It was starting to wear on Ominisâ already frayed nerves. âSebastian, sheâs better off with the other Hufflepuffs. They wonât ignore it if sheâs still in pain.â
âPain?â Sebastian audibly jolted out of his bed. âIn the book, it said the pain only lasts until the curse is lifted. Why would she-â
Something in Ominis snapped.
âYouâre unbelievable.â Ominis sat upright, letting go of his stuffed animal, and faced Sebastian with a cold look, which he hoped was very noticeable. âHas it ever occurred to you that I would know better than your bloody book?âÂ
âI⌠well, itâs not something you ever-â
âObviously, did you think Iâd want to relive the experience over and over again?â Ominisâ hands were shaking. âYou thought the book was going to tell you? That someone who writes instructions on how to cast an unforgivable would have compassion for its victims?â
âSheâs not a victim, she agreed to it,â Sebastian said quietly.Â
âDid she know what she agreed to? Truly?â Ominis turned his back to Sebastian and threw himself down on his bed again. Now he regretted not pretending to be asleep when heâd heard his friend come in.
âI⌠fine, Iâll go- Iâll make sure sheâs alright, if she needs anything-â Sebastian had already half crossed the room before Ominis could reply.
âDonât. What do you expect her to need from you? If you regret what youâve done, deal with it on your own. Leave her alone.âÂ
Ominis heard Sebastian shuffling around uncertainly, then the distinct sound of something being kicked- a stack of books, probably- followed by him storming out of the room and slamming the door shut.
Ominis squeezed his eyes shut. He felt the beginnings of another wave of nausea, the shiver from his hands now ran throughout his whole body. He felt so cold, but it wasnât because of the never ending chill of the dungeons. It didnât help, though.Â
It was too similar.
He wrapped his blankets tighter around himself. At least the Hufflepuff common room would be nice and warm. Bright and comforting. Not at all like the scriptorium, perhaps that helped. He hoped it did.
Hopefully sheâd find some sleep tonight. He knew he wouldnât.
He had no sense of time as he laid in bed, not knowing whether heâd rather fall asleep to stop the never ending waves of regret and self-loathing or spare himself the nightmares. The little Kneazle laid somewhere on the floor, where it must have fallen at some point during his argument with Sebastian. Â
Seconds turned into minutes and then hours.
Sebastian returned eventually, in the middle of the night, wordlessly changing into his pyjamas and going to bed, but the lack of his usual soft snores told Ominis that sleep didnât come easy to him either.
Ominis drifted in and out of consciousness, though he couldnât tell if he was ever fully asleep. Sounds and slivers of their conversations came together in his mind to form a dissonant mess, incomprehensible, but they made his airway close up and his chest painfully tight. Then he thought for a moment of true horror that he felt human bones scraping against his fingertips.
He woke up shaking and covered in sweat, barely making it to the bathroom before he finally threw up. Hands clenched tightly at the edges of the sink, sweat soaked strands of his hair sticking against his forehead, he stood there, retching for another few minutes even as his stomach was long empty.
It hadnât been the first time theyâd tortured Muggles for sport, and it wouldnât be the last. Theyâd usually wipe their memories clean and throw them out on the street, not knowing what had happened to them, only that it was something unspeakable, something unnatural they couldnât explain. But that time had been different, that time it had a purpose, to teach him a lesson, to make him understand.
They told Ominis theyâd make it stop for them, once heâd manage to use the curse. In his childâs mind, he hadnât understood what that had meant.
The walk back to his bed seemed to take forever and yet felt too short at the same time. When he finally laid back down, he couldnât fall asleep again, not that he wanted to.
After an eternity, he heard Sebastian get up. The patter of his sluggish steps on the way to the bathroom. The sounds of running water, the wardrobe opening and closing, clothes rustling and falling to the floor. A familiar symphony signalling the start of yet another school day.Â
Ominis stayed in bed, clutching the sheets.
Footsteps getting closer to the door, then they paused.
âOminisâŚâ Sebastian hesitated. âIf you still want to get breakfast before classes, you need to get up now.â
Ominis curled up tighter. âI donât feel well. Would you please let the Professors know?â he said hoarsely.
Uncertain shuffling. âAll right. âCourse I will. Want me to bring you something from the Great Hall?â
âNo, thank you, Sebastian.â
âAre you sure? Itâs no problem, I have time.â
âNo, itâs fine.â
âIâll check on you between classes.â
âDonât bother.â
âWhen I see her, should I say something?â
Ominis flinched. âNo.â
âIâll let her know youâre worried-â
âPlease donât. Please.â
Silence.
âGet well soon, then,â Sebastian said, and while both of them knew fully well that Ominis hadnât suddenly fallen ill last night, Ominis could tell his friend was happy to go along with the lie. He was probably glad to keep his distance as well, to make it easier to pretend nothing happened, and truly- who could blame him.
The door closed, and for a moment, he felt relieved. It didnât last. The dread crept back in, all the questions and uncertainties that had wracked his brain all throughout the night. And being completely and utterly sleep deprived didnât help in sorting them out, so they just sat there, stewing and festering.Â
How concerned should he be about Sebastian, being so adept at using the dark arts that he could flawlessly cast an unforgivable on his first try? What was he going to find in that spellbook- Ominis had been too out of it to pay it much mind yesterday, but now he wished heâd been able to pay more attention when the two of them talked about it.
How was he ever going to face her again?
If he hadnât tried to approach her under false pretences-Â because what else could one call it? She hadnât known what heâd done, what he was capable of-Â
But she had. Ominis frowned.
âSebastian told me a little of what happened when you were youngâ
Even at that moment, it had stung. That, more than anything else, should have been his choice to tell her. And Sebastian had taken that away from him too.
When? After theyâd met in the library, or before?
And how much had Sebastian downplayed and justified Ominisâ actions, if sheâd still been willing to follow him into the scriptorium, despite knowing?
Well, she knew now, the full extent of it, in a way that even Sebastian or Anne couldnât ever comprehend. Ominis groaned, pulling the sheets over his head only to throw them off again, because he had enough trouble breathing already.
Keeping track of time was difficult in the Slytherin dormitories. He only knew that another hour had passed whenever there was a change in the ambient chatter coming through from the common room, signalling the start or end of someoneâs free period or the lunch break.Â
Was she able to keep food down by now?Â
Did she even go to classes today?
Did Sebastian talk to her after all- and would it be obvious to him that she thought Ominis was the last person who had any right to feel unwell?
The day slipped into its afternoon, and the weight heâd felt all day grew heavier. Sebastian would be back soon enough, and even if he drew the curtains, pretended to be asleep, heâd have to leave his bed for some reason eventually.Â
Ominis couldnât do it anymore, he had to go- somewhere else, anywhere else, because he didnât think heâd survive the night if he kept laying there, trapped in his own mind and barely able to breathe. He forced himself out of bed with a groan. His limbs felt leaden and numb, and his eyes burned from crying and lack of sleep. Treacherous, useless things.
Ominis put a reasonable amount of effort into washing up and making himself look presentable. Not as much as he probably should have, considering heâd spent the last day in a grimy, almost thousand year old dungeon corridor and his sweaty bed, but enough not to gather unwanted attention from passersby.
He sluggishly made his way to the Defence Against the Dark Arts Tower. Walking past chatter and laughter, groups of friends who had a free period and spent the time sharing jokes or lamenting their woes.
Someone told his friends they sent Duncan Hobhouse a howler for making a mess in their dormitory, and any other time it would have made Ominis grin like a madman. More silly little tales for his collection, to add to the ones heâd filed away in his mind, thinking perhaps he might one day share them with her.
What a pointless endeavour.
And she still had Noctuaâs letters, but Ominis was no longer sure he wanted them.
He should consider himself lucky if she could ever stand to be in the same room as him again, if they could at least go back to being polite strangers.Â
Why did it have to turn out so wrong? For a while, it hadnât been so bad, it even felt like perhaps their jaunt into the scriptorium could bring them all closer together.
She didnât even mind him being a Parselmouth.
âI wish I could speak to snakesâ
âIâd like to see one somedayâ
Ah, right. Heâd known she was curious about snakes, Ashwinders at least, sheâd told him in the library. Heâd completely forgotten by the time they went to the scriptorium. Why did he remember it only now, when it didnât matter anymore?
If heâd remembered before, he could have- what, offered to accompany her on her trips around the Highlands, looking for Ashwinders with her?
Ominis ended up at his favourite spot next to the Serpentine Beast window, on the floor. The hall wasnât as seasonally decorated as most other parts of the castle, but the faint smell of pumpkins and fallen autumn leaves came through every now and then, whenever a lone straggler would open the door leading to the Transfiguration Courtyard.Â
Heâd made it just in time for his favourite part of the day, when the rays of the afternoon sun came streaming through the stained glass window heâd never see, flooding the hall and gently warming his neck. It wouldnât last, but it gave him some solace, a brief respite. For the first time in hours, though it certainly felt longer, he didnât feel like he was suffocating. It became hard to keep his eyes open.Â
He dozed off, unable to fight the exhaustion any longer.
He was woken up again- he didnât know if it was seconds or minutes later, only that he wished heâd been granted more time, why wasnât he ever allowed more time? And for the first few seconds after his eyes flew open, he didnât know why he felt a crushing wave of dread, more powerful than before, until he recognized them.
Her footsteps, drawing closer towards him.
Heâd expected something like this. She was entirely too kind, too considerate to ignore him and carry on as if they were strangers, of course sheâd do him the courtesy of telling him in person-
That it would be for the best if there never was a second attempt at a study session in the library.
Ominis had known heâd have to face her eventually, but heâd hoped that it would be after he had time to sort out his thoughts, or at least get a few more hours of sleep.
âHello, Ominis.âÂ
He choked on the trepidation in her voice.Â
Of course she was nervous, she was about to tell him that sheâd like him to keep his distance, that what he and Sebastian had put her through wasnât what sheâd come to Hogwarts for, that his secrets and sins weighed entirely too heavy on her conscience, that she-
âDo you mind if I sit down?â
His voice failed him, he fought the urge to get up and flee, because there was nothing sheâd say which he hadnât already heard her tell him in his mind, over and over again, all night. But he hardly had the right, so he straightened his back and moved his legs out of the way, a silent invitation.
She sat down at his right, not touching him, but closer than she should.
She smelled like Wiggenweld potion again, although Ominis was sure she couldnât possibly have been outside in her state- she must have tried to use it to alleviate the echoes of pain from the curse, not knowing it wouldnât help.Â
âI came to apologise.â
He couldnât have heard her right.
âIâm truly sorry, Ominis, I mean it. I never wanted to hurt you,â she said softly.
Ominis screwed up his face in disbelief. âHurt me?â
â... in a way.â
âYou were the one who- I should be the one to apologise.â His voice broke.
âWhat for? You didnât know it would turn out like this.â
âOf course not, if I did, Iâd never-â
âThen what are you apologising for? You were the only one of us who didnât want to go. Iâm the one who talked you into it.â
âBut I let you. I should have known better. Sebastian should have known better.â
She huffed, as if she was offended. âDonât blame Sebastian, please. Iâm the one who offered to talk to you, and just between you and me, I think he was slightly offended that it worked.â
âNow youâll share? You wouldnât tell me when I practically begged.â
She was right. Ominis could always tell when she was lying, but she sounded the same as she always did, as if she wasnât- how could it be that the two of them were talking as if nothing happened?
âHowâŚâ his voice broke again. He forced himself to breathe, mustering up the courage to ask what he should have from the start. âHow are you feeling?â
She tensed up. âNot well, to be honest. I suppose thereâs no point in trying to hide it from you. Itâs⌠I can still feel it. I wanted to go to the Hospital Wing last night, but I didnât know what to say, and I didnât know if the nurse could tell somehow. I didnât want Sebastian to get into trouble.â
Ominis had the sudden urge to reach out to her, to hold her hand and tell her it was going to be all right, to tell her- âItâs not real.â He turned his head towards her, to make sure she could see that he was being sincere, in case she was looking at him. âAunt Noctua explained it to me, she said- she said it was my mind, not understanding why itâs painful even though my body wasnât damaged, or ill. But itâs not real.â
âOh.â She sounded so relieved.
âI was hoping it wouldnât be this difficult for you. Iâm sorry.â
âNo, itâs all right. As long as thereâs nothing wrong. Thank you, Ominis. I guess Iâll just have to wait it out, then.â
No, she didnât have to, he just remembered. âThere is something that might help. You could ask Nurse Blainey for a Calming Draught.âÂ
âDo they just hand these out to students?â she asked doubtfully.
âNot usually, unless itâs time for exams. But between the dragon attack and trying to catch up with the rest of us, I doubt anyone would question it if you said you needed some.â Merlin, why didnât he think of it sooner? He should have told her yesterday. âWe could go now if youâd like, Iâll show you-â
âPerhaps later. I donât think anyone suspected anything during classes, and I wouldnât want to start rumours. Or cause anyone to worry.â
Anyone?
Ominis frowned. âHas Sebastian asked how you were?â
âOf course he did. I told him it was nothing to worry about.â
âWhy?â
She took her time to answer. âBecause I didnât want him to regret it forever.â
âI shouldnât have told you that. Iâm sorry, IâŚâ
âStop apologising,â she said softly. âAnd please donât blame Sebastian, I wouldnât have left him a choice either way.â
Ominis was confused, only for a moment. Then the fog lifted and his heart broke into a million pieces, as he finally understood. âYou decided it would be you. Even before you asked me, youâŚâ He dug his fingers into his knees. âYou werenât asking me to curse Sebastian.â
âOf course,â she answered, matter-of-factly, as if they were discussing an article in the Daily Prophet over breakfast. âIâm the one who got us trapped there in the first place, it was the least I could do.â She groaned, showing the first obvious sign of discomfort since theyâd started talking.
Ominis didnât know what to say, but she seemed to know what went through his mind anyway.Â
âItâs all right. I think it was for the best, the way we settled it- this way, you could stay out of it, and I think you wouldnât have forgiven me if I hurt Sebastian, I know how much you care for each other,â she paused, before carrying on, more hesitantly than before, âI wouldnât blame you if you wonât forgive me anyway.â
âThatâs- of course I do, and you donât need my forgiveness, the two of you didnât have a choice.âÂ
âI thought one always had a choice.â
Was she grinning? Surely not- no she definitely was, he could hear her trying to stifle a chuckle, probably at his open-mouthed, dumbfounded expression. â... are you trying to pick a fight?â
âAm I?â she asked innocently.
âCould you please be serious?â
âWould that help?â It didnât come out quite as lighthearted as she probably intended, followed by another groan.
Ominis turned towards her, frowning again. âLetâs go to the Hospital Wing. Please.â
âItâs fine- no really, it is. I canât go now, Iâll miss flying class.â
It took him a second to register what sheâd said, then he was beginning to question her sanity. â... thereâs no way youâre going to flying class like this, you must be out of your mind.â
âItâll be fine, itâs not that bad anymore. I promise.â
âThatâs not- why do you even need flying classes? I know youâve beaten Imelda in one of her trials, you canât be that inept on a broom.â
She snorted. âThank you, but Iâm not sure that would impress Madam Kogawa. She cares about flying responsibly and safely- so I guess Iâll make her very happy today.â
That wasnât very reassuring, and he knew she could see it on his face. âIâll go to the nurse later, if itâs not better by then, I promise.â
âFine.â He wasnât entirely convinced, but he wasnât likely to win this argument either, so he let it go. With a bit of luck, Madam Kogawa would send her to Nurse Blainey as soon as sheâd notice the first signs of pain, or at least sheâd be attentive enough to catch her if she fell.
A slightly awkward silence settled between them after that.Â
There was one more thing weighing on his mind, and Ominis hesitated to bring it up, but he didnât know if or when heâd have the opportunity to ask her about it again. And he wasnât sure how much time they had left until her class was starting, probably not much if it wasnât enough to make it to the hospital wing for a potion. âMay I ask you one more thing?â
âOf course. Anything.â
âWhy did you want to learn the Cruciatus curse?â
âAh, that.â She shifted, stretching her legs, knocking their knees together for a moment. âI didnât. Not really.âÂ
âThen whyâŚ?âÂ
She sighed. âI suppose I wanted Sebastian to know that I donât think less of him for knowing the curse, but in a way that wouldnât make it harder for him to use it on me. I admit it wasnât very well thought out.â
âSo you wonât ever use it?â
âOf course not, I canât imagine ever putting someone else through that, now that I know how it feels.â
Ominis knew she hadnât said it to hurt him, but it still felt like a knife twisting in his chest. He turned away from her. No need to make her feel worse with the stricken expression he couldnât keep off his face, and wasnât it about time she left, if thatâs how she felt?
âOminis, I didnât mean it like that. I meant now- in the scriptorium, I would have done anything to make it stop.â
âNot anything.â
âYes, anything. I would have cursed you, Sebastian or anyone else, I couldnât have gone through it again. Believe me.â
He did. And suddenly, the weight was gone, the wall was gone. He drew a shaky breath, and tears welled up in his eyes again.
âUhm, may I ask you something as well?â she asked quietly.
Ominis cleared his throat, but his voice still came out strained. âYes, of course.â
She leaned over, pressing their knees together, making his breath hitch in his throat.Â
âWould it be possible for us to still be friends?â
Merlin, he should have just said yes, but at that moment he forgot words existed. When he remembered, after what seemed like an eternity, he said the first thing that came to mind. âWhy?â
âWhy?â she laughed nervously. âThatâs an intriguing question. Would it be enough if I said âbecause I want toâ?â
âYou do?â
âOf course. Ominis, I never meant to come between you and Sebastian, Iâd never want to do anything to hurt your friendship, I just⌠I was hoping I could be a part of it.â
âOf course you can.â The words came out without him even thinking about it, as natural as breathing. âI would like that. Iâm sure Sebastian would too.â
And then he felt her hand on his own, still on his knees. It was so much smaller than heâd ever expected, so warm, sending a tingling sensation through his arm that reminded him of the first time he held his wand.
âThank you.â She used him as leverage, pressing her hand into his own as she pushed herself off the floor. And then she took it away, and he had the mad urge to reach out and hold on to her.
âWell, I better get going or Madam Kogawa is going to make me polish all the broom handles for being late. Iâll see you tomorrow, Ominis.â
âYes,â he replied, still in a trance, âyes, you will.â
He stayed until the last rays of the afternoon sun stopped warming his back, trying to hold on to the something that she left behind, that made the air easier to breathe and his body feel wonderfully light.
Perhaps he was secretly hoping sheâd come back after flying class, but even though she didnât, he wasnât disappointed. Heâd meet her in class the next morning, and then he could ask her where sheâd been, or if she was feeling better, and he wouldnât have to dread the answer.
His feet carried him the way back to the Slytherin common room, past the Great Hall and the ruckus of several dozen Hogwarts students enjoying their dinner. Thatâs probably where she was. Heâd find the strength to join them tomorrow morning, for now all he wanted was his comfortable bed- which he didnât dread anymore either.
âOminis! There you are.â Sebastian jumped to his feet as soon as Ominis opened the door, knocking over his chair and picking it up under a softly muttered string of curses.
Ominis couldnât help but smile. âWhy, did you miss me?â He tried to give the question a healthy dose of sarcasm, but the relief in Sebastianâs voice made him fail utterly.
âI was worried, you moonmind.â Sebastian huffed indignantly. âSo are you feeling better now? Where were you?â
Ominis crossed the distance to his bed, using the seconds it afforded him to think of how to answer. âI went on a walk, to clear my head.â
Which wasnât entirely untrue.
âAnd yes, I am feeling much better.âÂ
Which was entirely the truth.
He sat down on his bed- actually, he sat down on a small stuffed Kneazle, which had somehow found its way back onto his bed- and noticed the wonderful, mouthwatering smell of biscuits faintly wafting through the air. He leaned over to find them sitting in a tin on his bedside table.
They were the most delicious thing heâd ever tasted.
âYouâre getting crumbs all over your bed.âÂ
âI truly donât care,â Ominis replied, with as much dignity as he could through a mouth full of biscuits. â...and thank you,â he added, once he swallowed.
âI would have brought you an apple tart, but my robes arenât hungry today.â
Ominis snorted. âI almost forgot about that.â
âYou might have, but I still have a tart shaped stain here that never quite came out.â
Ominis rather doubted that, given the efficiency and diligence of the Hogwarts house elves, but he decided not to retort by way of flinging a biscuit Sebastianâs way, tempting though it was.
âSo,â Sebastian started, more subdued than before, âdo you need anything else?â
âNo,â Ominis replied, letting himself fall back, kicking his shoes off and barely managing to keep his eyes open. â...just want to sleep.â
âAt least brush your teeth.â
Ominis had his pyjamas thrown at him, managed to put them on somehow, and dragged himself off to the bathroom.
Exhaustion took him soon after, and the nightmares came again- they would for a long while. But when he woke that night, he felt the ghost of her touch lingering on his hand, lulling him back to sleep.
a/n: This is finally the end of the pre-friendship part of this fic, next up weâll see how the two of them navigate their first awkward days of new friendship, and if I can manage, weâll have a nice Halloween themed chapter right before Halloween. At some point I genuinely thought Iâd start this a/n with âsorry this is a short oneâ but it somehow ended up being over 5k words again, whoops. I hope you like the longer chapters, and maybe this makes up for the long wait. Itâs been so long since this fic was anything but angsty, and I think this is the first time since chapter one that Iâve written any significant amount of dialogue for MC (that wasnât taken straight from the game). I was almost a bit scared Iâd forgotten how to write her, but starting a new playthrough and hearing all the early game dialogue again helped. Thank you so much for reading, and please let me know what you think!
#hogwarts legacy fanfiction#ominis gaunt#hogwarts legacy mc#ominis x mc#ominis gaunt x mc#hogwarts legacy#hogwarts legacy fandom#mallow tries to write#WAYDH
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Bedtime - A @tmnt-write-fightWrite Fight Attack
mwahaha get attacked @yellowhollyhock
check out the fic on ao3!!
Bedtime in the Hamato household was anâŚordeal to say the very least. Attempting to wrestle four hyperactive toddlers into their beds was itself a struggle. But keeping them there? All his training, all the years in the Battle Nexus, nothing could have prepared Splinter for that challenge. But, over the years he'd developed strategies, routines, and a fair amount of tricks to assist him. On good nights, the boys would get the rest they needed. And if he was very, very lucky, he might even get a few hours of sleep himself.Â
Tonight was not one of those nights.
The chaos, as always, had started not too long after dinner. Though they offered protection and; maybe best of all, were free, the sewers did little in helping the boys stay clean. So, to keep them from smelling so bad that even their brothers started to notice, daily baths were a must.
Unfortunately, baths took much longer than any of them wanted them to. It was nice that after fighting for hours to get Purple to eat his dinner, he was more than happy to get into the tub. Red and Blue were too, though it was clear that neither of them liked water as much as Purple did. Splinter assumed it had something to do with their turtle species. Heâd done some research in the early days to try and figure out what kind of turtles theyâd all been before they were mutated. Purple, Blue, and Red were all semi to fully aquatic. Orange was a different story.
No matter how fresh and warm the water was, or how many bubbles and toys Splinter would fill the tub with, Orange would kick and scream like he was being murdered the moment water touched him. On several occasions Splinter had attempted to explain to his youngest that the baths wouldnât take half as long if heâd just stop struggling, but little Orange didnât seem to care one bit.Â
This particular night had been one of the worst ever. After a particularly long and tiring day, Splinter had hoped that Orange would be too tired to put up much of a fight. Oh how wrong heâd been. After being splashed with so much water it looked like heâd been the one taking the bath, Orange had been wrapped up in a towel and sat in front of the space heater that Purple had built months ago.Â
âOkay, boys,â he said, patting his face dry with a towel. âBedtime.â
Blue was first. There was absolutely, positively no way that heâd be the first to fall asleep, but over the years Splinter had learned that it was better to start the cycle of him waking up and complaining that he couldnât sleep as soon as possible, and hopefully get it over with at the beginning of the night.
Luckily, Blue allowed his father to tuck him into his racecar bed without much of a fuss, and after bidding his family goodnight (all individually, as he always insisted on doing), he allowed his dad to shut off the lights and continue into the next room.
Next was Orange. In addition to getting Blueâs complaints out of the way early on, sending him to bed also helped get Orange to sleep. Orange absolutely hated the idea that he was being left out of anything. So going to sleep first had always infuriated him. But if there was one thing that would override his insistence on being included, it was copying his brother. To Orange, anything Blue did was the coolest thing ever, even going to sleep early. But, of course, that trick didnât seem to work tonight.
âIâm not sleepy,â Orange insisted. It was a lie. He hadnât been able to stop yawning and rubbing his eyes since dinner. And with how fussy heâd gotten, it was clear that Orange was completely drained from the day.
âJust lay down for a bit,â Splinter insisted, tucking another stuffed animal into bed beside him in hopes that it would bribe him into staying put.
âIâm not sleepy,â Orange repeated. âI want to stay up and play with Raph and Donnie.â
âTheyâre going to sleep right after this,â Splinter explained with as soft of a tone as he could manage. No matter how many times he went over this, Orange always seemed to think that after he was tucked in, the rest of his family would scamper off to go play some fun gameÂ
Splinter sighed. âWhat would make you tired, Orange?âÂ
He considered this for a moment, his tiny eyebrows scrunching together. âA cookie?â
âSugar would make you tired?â
âSo sleepy,â Orange said, grinning and nodding his head.
Splinter sighed again, rubbing the bridge of his nose. âFine.â
A cookie, a glass of milk, and a second tuck-in for Blue later, Orange finally allowed himself to be put to bed.
Of all of his sons, Purple was by far the easiest. He didnât even need to be tucked in. Splinter would just guide him to his room and knew that heâd climb into bed and turn off the lights all by himself. Which was good. Because around this time was Blueâs second appearance.
âStill canât sleep,â he informed his dad helpfully.
âHave you tried?â
Blue stuck out his tongue.
âTry again.â
As easy as Red was to put up with during the day, night time was a different story. It was clear that his oldest had some problems with worry. Whether it was from being the oldest, or just something that was a part of him, Red seemed to fear that everything could hurt his brothers. And often, if it didnât spill over during the day first, he would wait until bedtime to voice all of those fears to his father.
âMikey is really little,â he said quietly.
âWell, he is three,â Splinter responded, pulling the Ghost Bear comforter up to his sonâs chin.
âIf there was quicksand, heâd fall into it really fast,â he said, voice breaking. His eyes began to water.
âThere isnât any quicksand in the sewers,â Splinter assured him.
âAnd he wiggles around so much too,â Red said. âIt would just take a second and heâd be gone!â
âWeâd pull him right back out.â
âBut what if we were stuck too,â Red said.
Splinter sighed. This was shaping up to be a long night.
Finally, after assuming Red that each of his brothers would be safe if the Lair were to suddenly flood with quicksand, water, or (for some reason) venomous snakes, he managed to pull himself away and shut the door behind him.
It was still way too early to go to sleep himself, and despite how tired he was, Splinter refused to return to his room just yet. Instead, he returned to the TV room and turned on a telenovela.
A few minutes later, during a particularly dramatic scene, Splinter heard a tiny gasp from beside him. Turning down to look, he saw Blueâs tiny face illuminated by the TV.
âWhat are you doing up?â Splinter asked.
âI. Couldnât. Sleep.â he said, clearly just as tired of answering the question as Splinter was of asking it. His eyes flicked back to the TV screen as the main character delivered a slap across her mother-in-lawâs face. âCan I watch?â he asked.
Defeated, Splinter pulled him up onto his lap. âYou can listen, while you try to sleep,â he said. âNow close your eyes.â
An episode and a half later, Blue had finally drifted off. Splinterâs hand absent-mindedly rubbed the back of his sonâs shell as he looked down at his sleeping form.Â
It was true that bedtime wasâŚa struggle. But, if they went to sleep as easily as he sometimes wished they would, they wouldn't get to spend nearly as much time together. And they wouldnât have moments like this. Moments with just one of his sons. Moments where he thought maybe he was doing an okay job being a dad.
Things would get stressful again tomorrow, they always did. But chaos was a part of his family. And he wouldnât trade that for anything.
#tmnt#rottmnt#teenage mutant ninja turtles#rise of the tmnt#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#rottmnt fic#turtle tots#tmnt write fight#rise splinter#hamato yoshi#rise leo#rise mikey#rise donnie#rise raph#rottmnt leo#rottmnt mikey#rottmnt donnie#rottmnt raph
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Waiting for Connection 15 / Ghost x Soap
Ghost is retired and plays milsim videogame. Soap is still in the force and sometimes plays that same videogame...
AN: It's a short chapter, but... just think of the exciting things to come from this!
Previous chapter | AO3
Ghost was right, of course. When they do the rematch, he gets his ass handed to him. First, Alejandro and Rudy flush him out of his hiding spot with outstanding teamwork. They donât discover him, but itâs a close call. While relocating, Ghost runs into Roach, whoâs been waiting and ready, and thereâs nothing close about that encounter. Itâs a quick and clean vendetta.
All the while, Soap takes out some AI enemies and gets to the holding cells. By the time Roach is putting a bullet into Ghost, John is well on his way to the RV. It wasnât entirely fair since itâs been basically four-to-one, but Ghost did his best to make it harder. The truth is, heâs not sure he would be able to win this round even with Gaz, so itâs a well-deserved victory.
Just like the last time, they reunite after the match, and predictably, the mood is much lighter. Thereâs not much for Ghost to comment on as to future improvements; they really did well this time. Apparently the most challenging part was to get the AI-controlled VIPs to RV since they sometimes got stuck or the follow command stopped working.
âI swear I almost wanted to shoot them myself,â Soap says as he tells them of his little jungle adventure.
âThen the mission would fail. In any case, it couldnât have been worse than escorting civilians for real,â Ghost replies, earning a hum of agreement from Alejandro. It seems heâs had his fair share of experience. Not that it surprises Ghost. He might not know what Alejandro did prior to joining the task force, but that doesnât mean Ghost doesnât have at least some idea. The man is clearly skilled, well-trained and experienced, and that, paired with the accent and some off-handed mentions here and there, paints an interesting picture. Special forces, most likely, and from that part of the world? That says a lot. Ghost had some joint operations in South and Central America. In Mexico, too, of course, but he would rather not go down that particular memory lane. In any case, he always respected his counterparts.
They talk about the mission a little longer before Rudy changes the topic. âI was thinking⌠Itâs my birthday next month, and we wanted to hit the pub and have a few drinks. Wanna join us, Ghost?â
Simon sits back in his chair, thinking hard. He appreciates the offer. Itâs just that it sounds like a lot of people at once.
âCome on, Ghost, last time I went to visit you, itâs time you returned the favour!â Soap joins in with a very low-blow argument. Technically speaking, it was Johnâs idea to visit him in the first place, but Simon happily agreed.
âI⌠Iâll think about it,â Ghost relents eventually because he has to give them some answer. Itâs noncommittal; he can always refuse later.
âGreat, weâll hold a spot for you in any case. Just let me know if you want me to arrange a room on the base for you, it shouldnât be a problem, but Iâll need a little heads-up,â Soap's voice betrays a smile. He wants Ghost to come, and Simon would be lying if he said he didnât want to see him again.
They say their goodbyes and good nights, Simon takes off the headset and sighs. Sergeant appears out of nowhere, jumping onto his lap with an inquisitive meow. Simon scratches the cat on the neck, letting it sit. âWhat do you think, should I go?â
Stripey starts to purr, closing the big green eyes as his human continues with scratching.
âSome help you are,â Simon inclines his head but smiles softly at the creature. He should really start thinking about what heâs hoping to achieve with all of this.
#Simon Riley - master of rhetorical questions#call of duty#john soap mactavish#simon ghost riley#ghostsoap#soapghost#ghost x soap#ghoap#ghost mw2#soap mw2
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á° đ¤đđ đ¨ đđ đđ đ¨ á°
MINOR DNI! 18+ ONLY Pairing: Aizawa x f! Reader
Word Count: 2.5k+ CW: Spanking, Biting, Making up, Sexual Tension, Angry make out, Smut with feelings, light BDSM, some breeding. Summary: What's better than talking out your feelings with your ex-boyfriend Aizawa when you can just show him how much you missed him? A/N: I was so into this that I started to write a fanfic of reunited lovers. Making reader an OC. Will upload soon here! :) (Also it's on my ao3/wattpad account already)
You set down your empty cup on the table as you lolled back your head and closed your eyes. You havenât slept since the night one of your top students was kidnapped and the press conference was adding more stress on you. It annoyed you even more than ever. Wanting to just hide from them and find him yourself. You slightly hear your name, but decide to ignore it.Â
âHELLO! ANYONE IN THERE?!â You open your eyes and see Nemuri, the Rated X Pro-Herp Midnight, waving her hand over your face. You growled as you sat back straight trying to regain your thoughts again. You had completely lost yourself in the drink that youâve just ordered, forgetting that you were at the bar.Â
âDonât beat yourself up my cutie! That kid will be back before you know it!â You gave her a small smile and your turn around seeing your other two colleagues that had joined the both of you.Â
Toshinori, the Symbol of Hope, All Might in his human form. To his side was Shota, the Eraser hero, EraserHead. Both of them were right across from both of you, seemed to be in their own world talking about who knows what. You havenât seen Shota all cleaned up since the days you both were students at U.A. You couldnât help it but you kept your eyes on him a bit longer than you should have, because the second you realized you were staring too long you both made eye contact. Warmth spreads quickly all over your face. You quickly turn to Nemuri trying to brush it off but at your surprise you see the woman beaming with a smile at you. Well shit.
âNot a word.â you grinned your teeth as you started to get up from your seat with your empty cup. Seeking for it to be refilled. She grabs your wrist to stop you, âCome on, you canât drink away this pain. You need to find another healthier way to release that anger you have.â she gives you a sly smile as she looks towards the man.Â
âUgh Nemuri, Iâm fine.â you shake her off from you, as you make your way to the bartender for your refill. You were looking down, busy brushing down your black sheath dress until you bumped into the wall. You looked up and noticed it was actually Shota looking down on you with his stern look as always. You stared back at him angrily, but deep inside of you the butterflies were going crazy in your stomach. The height difference between the both of you always gave it an extra kick. Unsure what was making you feel so warm all of a sudden. The alcohol or the way his dark eyes were preying on you.Â
âThatâs enough.â he says in his deep voice as he brings up your hand with the cup and takes it away from you, keeping his hand on your wrist. You inspect the way his whole hand covers your whole wrist, and your imagination starts to quickly flow of where else you would like the hand to be next. It wasnât the first time you had these sexual thoughts of him. Youâve been tempted for a while to feel his lips against your skin once more. You quickly shake your head and take a step back from him.
âI donât need your pity Aizawa. I know what I am doing and I donât need you breathing down my neck as if Iâm a child.â You bite the inside of your cheek trying to stop the tears from forming. Ugh maybe it is time to stop drinking.
âNo matter how prepared we were, we couldnât have prevented this.â
âYou liar!â you shouted at him as others from the bar turned around to see what was happening. âIf you hadn't interfered, they could have taken me instead, but no. You made me stay put!âÂ
You clench your fist as you keep looking up towards Shota. He doesnât remove his eyes from you, and neither do you.
âCome on, I think itâs time to go home.â Toshinori tries to gently pull you away from him.Â
âYouâre such a brat. I honestly still donât understand why you even came back to work at UA despite your previous reputation you had -â you didnât let him finish that sentence as the palm of your hand slapped him across the face. You were full of emotions, but the one that was taking over your broken heart was betrayal. Betrayed from the person who was meant to have your back since day one. Your first friend, classmate, and first love. You grabbed your purse from your chair and walked out of the bar leaving behind Toshinori and Nemuri with their jaws on their floor.Â
âAizawaâ Toshinori whispers angrily. He knew he had taken it too far and deserved that slap from you. All he wanted to do was to protect you, but instead he kept hurting you. Shota sighs as he relaxes his shoulders and grabs his coat that was on his chair. He puts it on as he brushes the strain of hair that felt out from the slap behind his ear. He walks out of the bar attempting to catch up to you.
âI swear if those two donât fix the sexual tension between them, we will all remain miserable.â Nemuriâs comment made Toshinori fluster and scolded her to not talk about the both of you like that, as she laughed at him.
You were walking down the street in the dark back to your house. You were covering your arms with your hands from the cold. You look up the empty street. For once it was quiet. No cars, no people, just your heels echoing. It felt relaxing just seeing the street light guiding you through the street. The wind picked up, making you start to shiver. Suddenly you felt a coat laying on your shoulders. You turn to your side and see Shota looking straight forward, avoiding your gaze contact. You grasp on to the coat and look down. You both continue to walk in silence. You turn the corner and you arrive at your house. You take out your keys to unlock the front door, but you leave the key hanging on the lock.
âYou can leave me alone. I donât need you as a babysitter, Aizawa.âÂ
âI didnât come to apologize.âÂ
Your heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach and you felt a knot developing in your throat.Â
You turn around meeting his familiar dark look. You examine his eyes starting to get red from the sleepless nights he has had. His hair bun slowly falling apart. Everything about him was slowly coming apart, except for his scent. His cologne is starting to fill your nostrils, making your heart race. You just couldnât get enough. You both were a mess and you just wanted it to be messier.Â
âThen why are you even here? Why did you follow me? To keep belittling me? To remind me I will never be good enough!?â
âThis whole situation is not even about you. Get a grip on yourself!â
âBut my feelings are still valid! Ever since I came back all you ever done is brush me off like nothing ever happened between us.âÂ
Shotaâs face softens and for the first time since you have arrived. You see the same person that you fell in love with years ago. He brings your hand to your cheek and wipes away a tear that you didnât notice that escaped.Â
âYou think it was easy for me to see you on campus for the first time after many years without any contact from you? You think itâs easy for me to see you everyday smiling and laughing, knowing I am not the person who is behind it?! One day youâre calling me Shota and the next day you're just referring to me as Aizawa and it fucking hurts me.â Your back is touching the door and there is no space between you and Shota as he moves his head down to be at eye level with you. His hand was next to your face almost caging you in. Your chest is rising up and down against his.Â
âI hate you.â You said clenching your teeth.
âAnd I hate you too.âÂ
He clashes his lips with yours with hunger and you return it back. It wasnât the first time you have kissed him, but it was the first time you wanted to savor him. Your tongues meet as one of his hands starts to wrap around your waist. A soft moan escapes from your mouth and his other hand takes the keys from you to unlock the front door. You both entered the house kicking your shoes off while still tasting each other. You grab onto his tie guiding him down the hall to your room as he unzips your dress from the back.
Once you arrived in your room, you gave a small whine as you felt his lips disappear. You look up to him and his pupils are enlarged. Full of hunger and lust. You take a step back and you slowly remove your dress, while his eyes are watching it fall to the floor. Leaving you with just your panties on. Your breasts are exposed, flashing your hard, much needed attention nipples.He slowly examines your body, making a mental note of all the parts he wants to kiss, taste, and mark. The way the moon light was shining on your body made you look more beautiful than any other goddess in history.Â
He takes a step forward removing all the space between the both of you. He tilts your chin up with his finger, looking deep into your lustful eyes.
âDonât ever leave me again.â he says in a husky voice.
âOnly if you show it to me.âÂ
Your lips meet again. Shotaâs hands wander from your waist, making their way down to your ass. He slaps it, making you break the kiss and lolling your head back, exposing your neck. He starts licking your neck and biting it softly. He lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, grinding into his dent. He groans at your movement as he carries you towards your bed, dropping you softly in the middle of it.Â
You give him a passionate kiss while your hands go to unbuckle his belt. Shota grabs both your hands with one hand and pins them above your head.Â
âYou told me to show you, and that is exactly what Iâm about to do.â he whispers into your ear, making you moan.Â
He takes off his tie and uses it to tie both of your wrists on your bed headboard. You gasped as he tightened it, making you rub your thighs together.Â
âTell me you want me.â He demands, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. Both of your pupils are enlarged, full of darkness and desire.Â
Shota pulls one of your legs over his hip, giving you a good slap on your ass. You lolled your head back.
âDo I need to repeat myself?âÂ
You shake your head.Â
âI-I-want you.âÂ
Your tongues meet again, fighting to get down on each other's throats. He moves to kissing you down your jaw, biting the side of your neck. Making you hiss in pain, but then soothing it over his tongue; leaving a mark stating that youâre his.Â
He starts sucking on one of your breasts as he starts kneading the other.Â
You moan in pleasure, feeling your panties getting wet.Â
He bites down on your nipple and a sudden pleasure scream escapes your mouth.
He hums in approval and switches over to the other breast as he continues to grin on to your soaking clothing. Your legs are thrown over his shoulder giving you access to your wet core.
Shota licks you down, kissing all your battle scars that you had from fighting. The traveling stops at your abdomen looking up to you. He is so damn lucky to have you under him. Your hair stuck to your face from the sweat, your gorgeous breasts raising up and down quickly, and panting out the beautiful moans that were music to his ears.Â
He gets on his knees to see a better look at you. He rolls up his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing his muscular, veiny forearms. He gets back down and slowly pulls down your panties as he keeps eye contact with you. He breathes on to your needy cunt, sending an electric wave up your spine. Gasping trying to form words, but your mind is just fogged up with him.
Shota licks you from the bottom up, humming in satisfaction. He digs his tongue between your dripping folds and starts devouring you like a man who has been starving for days. No. Weeks.Â
He inserts two fingers inside of you, making him tilt his head a bit down and hit your clit with his nose all at the same time.
You scream out a moan out from the shockness, trying to hide your face under your arms from embarrassment. Even though it is not your first time having sex, no one has ever made you scream that loud, let alone scream.Â
You take a look and you are greeted with his onyx eyes looking at you.Â
âLet me hear your beautiful voice againâ. Shota starts sucking on your clit. The knot inside of you is about to be undone, and your eyes are starting to roll back from the pleasure this man has been giving you.Â
âPlease,â you moan out, âIâm..Iâm..going to cumâ, you drop your head back on your pillow. Shota picks up his speed, hooking his fingers inside of you. You scream again, rolling your eyes back to your head, feeling on cloud 9.Â
You open your eyes, trying to catch your breath, and you see Shota wiping your cum off his face, as heâs taking off his shirt. You needed a break, but you knew well enough your break was about to get cut very short.Â
 You get mesmerized admiring his beautiful sculpted body. You wanted to lick his strong muscles and leave marks on him. A mental photo of him wonât be good enough. You need a picture of him like this. You were so stuck in your dirty little slutty thoughts that you didnât realize he was fully naked, aligning himself between your legs.Â
âAre you ready?â he asked you.
âFor you. Always.â He leans down to give you a deep kiss. You gasp as you feel him slowly entering you. You arch your back and Shota bites down your shoulder trying to cover his grunt.Â
âYouâre taking me so well, fuckâ he says against your soft skin.Â
You keep feeling him enter you and youâre starting to wonder if you can actually take him fully.
Next thing you know he shoves the rest of him inside of you making you choke on your moan.Â
âThere you go. Such a good girl taking my cock in your tight little pussy of yours.â His praise made you feel that knot develop once again. Shota starts to pick up his pace. Your breasts bounce and the slaps of your skins start to echo through your room. He licks his thumb and starts circling your clit.Â
âShota..pleaseâ You plead him with your doe eyes. He comes to a pause, because the way you moan out his name was about to make him finish right then and there. He looks at you and gives you one more deep kiss.
âI want it..pleaseâŚI want it all.â you whisper on to his lips. Your legs are resting on his chest in a mating position and he starts jamming you fast. You feel him so deep in you, that you know you will not be able to walk the next day. You loved the feeling he was making you feel.Â
You both moan each other's name. Shota finishes inside of you and you end up squirting on him. The both of you are not patting, trying to catch your breath.
Shota leaves to your bathroom thatâs inside your room and you hear the bathtub water running. Youâre about to fall asleep, until he comes back to untie. He picks you and carries you in a bridal position to the steamy bathroom, setting you between his legs inside the bathtub filled with warm water. Your head leans on to his chest and he tilts your face towards him. Resting his forehead on yours.
âStay with me pleaseâ he says in a low voice.
âAnything for you.â Â
#bnha#aizawa x reader#aizawa shouta#boku no hero academia#aizawa sensei#one shot#smut#fanfiction#ao3#ao3 fanfic#wattpad#bdsmplay#pillow princess#shouta aizawa x reader#bnha shouta aizawa#self insert#breeding k1nk#submisive and breedable#fanfic#archive of our own#mha x reader#my hero academia#mha anime#mha#sleep deprived af#sleep deprived thoughts#i wrote this#I love him so much omg#lemon#barking
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wrote another Sun/Moon fic again!
Another fic, for the Sun/Moon stories I keep writing. This one a little peek into their relationship before they became an item. This part is gonna be more Angst heavy and chapter 2 will be more Fluff heavy promise
The last straw
Word count: 2,368
Chapter 1/2 ( in progress)
Summary
The switchback was sudden. He landed on the patted floor with a loud thud. Had he been on the wire? With groans and tired squeaks, he felt around his face.
His fingers hurt. One of his lower rays got bent a little in his fall. He looked at his arms more dents and scratches than the last time he was awake.
How long had he been out? The generators should keep Moon from showing up. He stood on wobbly legs as his gyroscope had finally reset itself. And took a look around the daycare.
Or
Sun wakes up after an unknown amount of time. Their body aching, and Moon still spouting hurtful nonsense. The stress, the pain, the insults. It's all becoming a bit too much. Can he still be there for his friend?
--link here to AO3--
or continue below the read more line
The switchback was sudden. He landed on the patted floor with a loud thud. Had he been on the wire? With groans and tired squeaks, he felt around his face.
His fingers hurt. One of his lower rays got bent a little in his fall. He looked at his arms more dents and scratches than the last time he was awake.
How long had he been out? The generators should keep Moon from showing up. He stood on wobbly legs as his gyroscope had finally reset itself. And took a look around the daycare.
And he let out a tired sigh. Toys and balls were lying everywhere. There seemed to be some new holes in the netting around the daycare.
He turned on his communication with a mix of anger and trepidation.
âMoon!? what did you do!?â
He screamed through his inner communication system, and a familiar cackle reached him.
âPunished the naughty Children, it was past their bedtimeâ
He sighed harder. There weren't any children around. His clock told him it was three o'clock at night. No way a child had sneaked in. They had already scrapped naptime. If things kept going as they were. The daycare might get closed down for good.
Another high cackle echoed in his head.
âIs the stupid Sun trying to think? He should stop before he hurts himself â
He shut down the internal Communication without a word to his counterpart. The personal digs had increased the longer Moon wasn't allowed out. Especially with naptime now gone.
He missed his friend. The one that he had just started to get to know. The gentle snarky bot. That had sung the lullabies to the younger kids. The one that kept the older kids entertained with his snark and humour. The one that asked him about his day. And did his best to clean up to his standards.
Now the only thing left âcleanâ were the stacked barrels. Whatever was wrong with Moon. It was taking him away a bit at the time. He wanted to believe his friend was still there. But it was getting harder and harder each day.
Cause every time he woke back up. Or even tried to talk there would be another insult. Or nonsensical statements with the early cackle. Their body hurt and dented as if Moon had thrown them against every surface image able. Trying to switch out when the lights even as much as dimmed.
Fighting for control and putting him back into a forced sleep.
He made so many requests for someone, anyone to help his counterpart. But instead of getting upgraded. Generators were being placed in the play structures to keep the lights on. The daycare hours were reduced. And fewer children came to visit. As they grew afraid of Moon and by extension him.
He shuffled around the daycare, his protocols not letting him go and rest before the mess was dealt with. So he slowly put the toys back in the cubicles. Put the balls back into the ballpit. Crawled through the structures to check for any damages or swears of marker or pen. Cleaned the tables of stains.
It took a little over an hour. And by then he was just left at twenty percent charge. And called the cable to fly up to their room.
His back ached when the wire attached. He was ready to fall into the nest they called their bed and call it a day. But stopped once he stepped past the curtain.
The room was an absolute mess. There were deep gashes in the walls. A string of fairy lights broken and shattered on the floor. Several pillows and blankets were torn to shreds. But what really made his processor throb were the torn-down drawings. Some had been slashed. Others crumbled. A few even ripped to pieces. All that hard work of their little stars lay on the floor in broken pieces
And a new stab of pain filled him as he noticed that if the ones destroyed and slashed contained himself.
He felt so very numb as he jumped down the ladder and peered through the tunnel further into their room. More drawings, more scratches. Also there seemed to be a broken staff bot shoved all the way in the back.
He started shaking as anger began to overwhelm him. It hadn't been the first time Moon destroyed their space. But he had left the drawings alone. It mostly looked like he had found something, dragged it up here then destroyed it.
Not this utter destruction of their space. They had so little already and now he was actively destroying it. The pain, the exhaustion, the stress. It was all too much and he had enough.
He turned the connection back on with a snarl. Barking out loud into the empty room knowing his counterpart would hear it
âWhat the actual hell Moon, what is this?â
His question only got an evil laugh in response. He had never been able to see his counterpart in his mindscape. But he could always feel it. It used to feel warm and present.
Now it felt looming and taunting. Like Moon was high up on the wire floating in front of his face with a large grin.
âDonât like my little present~?â
His rays shook in their frames
âPresent?! You destroyed our room! Our stuff, our gifts. Why would you do that!â
His rays rattled trying to shove back inside as his faceplate spun. Moon trying to take over their body again. He struggled back getting more into the light and accidentally slammed into the wall as he stepped on a light bulb.
âOur gifts?! Your gifts! Itâs always you! Always keeping me in the dark! If I get nothing. Then so do you!â
He shook his head. Still fighting with Moon. Falling to the floor landing awkwardly on his skyhook. Sending a shock of pain through their frame. And both of them let out a loud screech. He scrambled up.
He wasnât able to cry. But if he could he was sure the tears would be dripping down his face. He had enough.
âThatâs it! No more nights! We are gonna keep the lights ON. I NEVER wanna hear you again. You are not my Moon anymoreâ
He shut down the communication. His frame was still rattling as they kept fighting. He struggled for a couple of minutes twitching and scrambling against the floor. Until he got to the centre of the room where the light from the main daycare shined through the open door. Making Moon finally still.
He sat up heaving against the wall. Tired fingers grabbing the loose cord near the outlet. One of his charging cables. That above all luck wasnât broken, and he plucked himself in. As the fight with his counterpart had dropped him to below ten percent.
At first, he just let out heaving breaths, but eventually, he brought his knees up and buried his head in them. His whole body ached, but it didnât hurt as much as his emotional matrix burned. He sobbed without tears. His face was still stuck in its eternal grin. Rays retracted as he continued to heave and sob.
He hadnât wanted to accept it. But he must have lost his friend long ago. He had held out hope, but this was the last straw. Never would he hear that soothing voice again. Just the high statics growls and laughter. Never hearing him sing, never feel his happiness again as he cared for the kids. Never feel safe again with the lights off.
He never even got to see him. Really see him. He sat there for several long minutes crying. Making the already slow charging even slower. Eventually, he gathered himself enough to look over his knees and saw the papers everywhere.
He checked his percentage and decided to temporarily unplug so he could gather the drawings. And then look for a place to hide them. Somewhere Moon wouldnât get to hopefully. First, he just collected what was right in front of him. Then he slowly went to the dimmer-lit areas but Moon didnât fight for control again.
Eventually, he had everything in a pile. He sat back against the wall, plugging back in and began to sort the papers Into salvageable and unsalvageable piles. It half took his mind off everything. The aches, the loss of his friend.
But it always quickly came back with a stab, with drawings of both of them. Playing with kids, hearts all around them. Starry nights, and clear skies. He remembered joking with Moon once about getting outside. Now he doesnât think heâll ever be allowed to leave the daycare anymore.
Suddenly he came across a paper that surprised him. It had no drawings, just text. His name was at the top. And with a start, he realised that it was Moonâs handwriting, if not a bit shakier than he was used to.
The anger came back, and he angrily shoved the paper on top of the discard pile. Not looking at it. Looking at the next few papers. And as he went to put another one on top. To put it out of his mind for good. He noticed another word
âSorryâ
It made him freeze. He shouldnât look.
He really shouldnât.
Moon was gone. The fact that this had happened was proof of it. But even as he kept telling himself he shouldnât. He picked it back up, straightening out the wrinkles. And read it.
âSun,
I know I am hurting you, and I am sorry. I seem to have contracted a virus and I am doing all I can to fight it. Please, I beg of you to keep the little stars safe from me. I can feel your pain, it feels like it has been years since I last talked to you. And I might never be able to again
So just in case.
Thank you for being my best friend. I couldnât have asked for a better person to share my body with. And I will keep fighting this thing inside us so it never touches you and you stay safe- â
The writing seemed to get shakier as the letter moved on, his own hands trembling.
âTell the little stars that I loved them. You will always be my most Treasured friend. And I wish I could have told you that in person.
Iâm sorry again. Good luck Sun, Iâll miss you, Moon
He stared at the letter. Reading the words over and over again. A virusâŚMoony had a virus. He was hurting and fighting and Fazzbear was doing nothing. They should know he has it right, They have gone to parts and servers a lot since this started.
Were they really just letting Moon suffer like that?! His fingers trembled, right now he was a little glad he couldnât cry. So no tears were dripping on the page and ruining it. He hugged it close to his chest.
Moon was still hereâŚsomewhere. Still fighting. Otherwise, he would be feeling the effects of the virus. Moon was still keeping him safe ... .Moon wasâŚ
His head shot up. He just told Moon that he never wanted to talk to him again. But what ifâŚwhat if Moon had heard?! What if he was losing faith because he had given up? But he hadnât known. He had been so so so tired. AndâŚ
He looked around in a frenzy. And shoved the pile of drawings under a loose floorboard for now together with Moonâs letter. And stood up opening the connection
âMoon!â
He heard a high-pitched crackle
âI know you couldnât keep your word, Always such a weak-willed Bot.â
He ignored him, trying to stare at the space he could feel him and said evenly
âYou are my best friend. And Iâll always be here for you!â
It was quiet for a few seconds and it seemed like he had taken Moon by surprise. But then cackling and laughing started again. Mocking him, saying he didnât care. That he was nothing. But he knew it wasnât true. Moonâs letter is a shining beacon of hope.
His body was still tired. And with some difficulty, he got himself up to the platform of the daycare. He didnât wanna risk the lights turning off as he sat down. He placed his hand against his chest. Trying to stir the music box that wasnât his to use. But he didnât manage.
He hoped that under the virus, under the sneering and name-calling. Moon could still hear him. So he began to sing. A song that he had heard from one of the kids. A soft lullaby-like song, about how the moon rises, and summer is ending.
All the while Moon kept berating his singing, That he could never get the kids to sleep. But he kept going. Until the song was done. And then went to a sad ballad. One of the parents had shared it after her husband had died.
It was a guy who kept talking to the moon. Like the person wasnât gone. Maybe it was more literal in his sense. Moon didnât stop his taunting. But he kept going, singing those two songs over and over. Until his voice box burned from overuse.
He sends a request to parts and serves for the damages caused by Moon to their body as he kept singing. Deciding to keep going until either his battery went out. Or one of the maintenance workers came to get him.
He heard Moon calling his name, sneeringly, with increasing volume as he kept going. But he wouldn't stop. He tried not to think of how lonely Moon was. How far out of reach of him. It would cause him to cry more
Moon was calling his name again. But it sounded different, he ignored it and kept singing. Even as his systems started to slow.
âSun!â
His eyes shot open. And he looked up into two worried scarlet eyes. Holding him by the shoulders. As he realised there were tears streaming down his face.
âSunâŚâ
He shot forward hugging his Moony, and burst out crying.
#noffy's writing#sunxmoon#sun/moon#sun/moon fanfic#fanfic#fnaf#fnaf sun#fnaf moon#fnaf sun x moon#dca#fnaf daycare attended#fnaf daycare attendant#fnaf dca#fnaf sb#fnaf security breach#fnaf fanfic
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Home (2)
When Astrid goes missing after a patrol, all seems hopeless for her return. That is, until an unexpected ally appears with a âtoken of goodwillâ. Astrid!Whump
Ao3 | FF.net
It took hours. Maybe it was as painful as the torture had been. But this time, she was afforded breaks to gather her strength when it became too much. Hiccup hoped that she would pass out at some point and he could work without hurting her more, but she was just too tough.Â
It spoke volumes to him that she didnât need to be held down. She occasionally moved a limb, just a twitch, but she mostly stayed still on her own.Â
She was simply too weak to fight.Â
Once finished with the front, he very carefully worked on turning her over. Her back was ripped open, raw and split.Â
Hiccup stood frozen, staring at the massive wound, just trying to figure out where to start. It was too big to stitch and unfair to cauterize. Thankfully, it wasnât bleeding the worst, and the edges were scabbed over.Â
He carefully washed the wound. âHoney,â the tender nickname rolled out without thought, âthis might hurtâŚâÂ
âLike the rest hasnât?â She sobbed.Â
âI know, I knowâŚbut Iâm going to clean this and then put a salve on it. Then itâs just going to get bandaged, unfortunately.âÂ
âI trust you,â she squeaked.Â
And that almost made it worse. Because she trusted him, he wanted to make it as painless as possible, but it just wasnât going to happen.Â
From the med kit, he mixed up a new batch of astringent made up of honey, garlic, and some mead that had been fermented longer than usual, the kind that was really strong, but didnât taste good. This mixture was the kind Hiccup went to whenever he had to dress wounds. It provided good results, so he was at least half confident in it.Â
Being the viking with the missing leg and accident prone often made him default healer for wounds. Fishlegs was the one with a knowledge of teas and remedies for illnesses.Â
At times like this, Hiccup wished he had apprenticed under Gothi instead of Gobber.Â
He crushed the garlic up with a mortar and pestle and added it to the sticky liquid.Â
âAt least it smells good,â Astrid said weakly. âCan I have a sip of that mead?âÂ
âIt doesnât taste good,â he reminded.Â
âI donât really care.âÂ
Hiccup slid an arm under her, by her upper waist. Then he pulled her to lean against him so she could drink.Â
She took a long gulp, exhaling harshly with a hiss. âThatâll help.âÂ
He hummed. âIâm sure it will.âÂ
Once done, he took the mead from her and eased her back to lay on her stomach.Â
âAlrightâŚâ he dipped a rag in the tonic. âHere we goâŚâÂ
At first, Astrid just whimpered. But once Hiccup saw bubbles, he knew it was going to get worse.Â
Astrid buried her face in his pillow and started screaming.Â
The sound made Hiccup pause as his heart broke.Â
âKeep going!â She sobbed. âJust do it and get it over with!âÂ
So Hiccup bit his lip and kept going, dabbing a generous amount of the medicine into the wound. He worked as quickly as possible without rushing it.Â
She had been doing so well. So strong, so brave, but now, when her strength was failing, she dissolved into violent, heart wrenching wails.Â
âIâm sorry,â he sniffed, saturating the rag. âIâm so sorry.â
âHiccup!â She screamed. âYou owe me for this!âÂ
âI know.âÂ
Once finished with that wound, Hiccup set the tools aside and attempted to comfort her as best he could, only really able to pet her hair and kiss her temple.Â
âIâm sorry, I know that had to hurt but I couldnât let itââÂ
âI know,â she squeaked, still wincing from the burning, stinging pain.Â
âIâm almost done, I think. Iâm not confident in my abilities with broken bones, so unfortunately your leg is going to have to wait for Gothi.âÂ
âMyâŚlegsâŚâÂ
âYes, I know it hurts. But Fishlegs can make you some pain reliveââÂ
âNo,â she sobbed. âMy legs, the back of them! Look!âÂ
Hiccup had left the wool blanket on her lower half while he worked on the wound on her back, to keep her warm and to give her a sense of privacy. He hadnât looked. Hadnât thought it was appropriate to look at her butt. But now, he realized he should have.
He swallowed thickly as he pulled the blanket all the way off and studied the gore.Â
The same horrible, split, raw, oozing skin was present. Well, lack of skin. Her butt, thighs, and all the way down her calves were just like her back.Â
âAstridâŚâ he felt the tears spring to his eyes. âWhaâŚhowâŚ?â He wasnât sure we wanted to know.Â
âWhipping,â she whispered. âWith a cane. It was their favorite. They started at my backâŚâÂ
Now that she said it, he did realize that the farther down, the wounds got fresher.Â
âThey know how long to hit, where, how oftenâŚto keep you from dying, and make you suffer the most.âÂ
He took the wet rag and gently started to clean, but the wound was already sticky from her blood trying to clot.Â
âDamnit,â he growled. âI donâtâI canâtââÂ
He had to put more of the astringent on, but the pain it caused herâŚ
âDo it,â she demanded, pounding her fist on the table. âJustâŚitâll hurt, but itâll make me better, right?âÂ
âYeah,â he breathed. Then he breathed again, and again.Â
Why was he steeling himself? He wasnât the one being slathered in liquid fire. ButâŚ
This was Astrid, and he was hurting her.Â
âShit,â he growled. Then he grabbed the bowl and saturated a new cloth.Â
As he started dabbing on her rear, she flexed and winced in pain, but didnât scream. She obviously handled it better there than on her back.Â
Then, he touched her thigh. This sent the worst scream heâd ever heard in his life through his skull.Â
âStop! Stop please!â She wailed. âI donât know anything, please!âÂ
Hiccup instantly pulled the rag away. Instead, he took the water skin and dribbled some cold water where he had applied the salve, hoping to dilute it.Â
Astrid breathed a rattling breath for a long time, not speaking, not being able to.Â
âHiccup?â Fishlegs asked from the door. âIs sheâŚ?â
âSheâll be okay. The salve isâŚcausing her some discomfort.âÂ
He hummed from the door, not convinced, but not pushing. âIâm working on a pain reliever. And then Iâm going to make dinner.âÂ
âSheâll need it, thank you.âÂ
âF-Fishy?â Astrid whispered. âIs that you? I canât see youâŚâÂ
âIâm in the doorway, Astrid,â he said calmly. âKinda down by your feet.âÂ
âYouâre making me something? Some tea? I love your teaâŚâÂ
Fishlegs swallowed hard. Astrid had always gratefully taken tea when he made it, as did most of the riders. But she never said she loved it.Â
âOh, yeahâŚIâm making a special one. Just for you. It might not taste good, but it should make you feel better.âÂ
âThatâs so niceâŚâÂ
Fishlegs cleared his throat and attempted to leave but Hiccup stopped him. âWaitâŚâ
âYeah?âÂ
âI hate to ask this butâŚâÂ
Fishlegs guessed where this was going. âYou need me to hold her down?âÂ
âHer legs. Especially the broken one. We canât let her make it worse. This is the last bit I have to treat, but because of its location, sheâs not taking the alcohol well. I think infection might be setting in.âÂ
Fishlegs whimpered.Â
âIf thereâs anyone sheâd trust to hold her still, itâs you.âÂ
âOhhh donât put that on me!â He cried. Still, he fully entered the hut and came and stood at the foot of the bed. âBut I know youâre right.âÂ
Hiccup gave him a smile, then brushed his fingers over Astridâs waist. âAstrid, do you need something to bite down on? Would that help?â
She whimpered an affirmative.Â
From his scrap drawer, he found a small piece of leather and brought it up to her mouth. She bit down, anticipation already thrumming through her veins.Â
âAlright,â he took the salve soaked rag again. âLetâs do this and get it over with. Astrid, youâve got this. Itâs nothing compared to what youâve been through.â He started slathering the medicine on and felt her trembling underneath him, even with Fishlegs holding her legs. âRemember when you and Snotlout collided in mid-air and you dislocated your arm? The only screaming you did then was at Snotlout. You even tried to hit him with your bad arm, like it was a new weapon for you.âÂ
Astrid let out a scream, though muffled, as he hit a particularly nasty spot. She beat her fist on the table.Â
âYouâve taken plenty of hits. This? This is nothing.â He was trying to reassure her, though he knew it had to be horribly painful. âYouâre tougher than dragon hide. Youâre going to be just fine.âÂ
She made a noise that made the tears he was holding back fall.Â
âJust fine.âÂ
By the end of it, Hiccup was drenched in her blood. The table had a small puddle that had dripped down onto the floor. The wood was stained red.Â
âAnd that should be the last of it,â Hiccup declared, pulling taut the last stitch on the bottom of her foot.Â
Astrid whimpered, now the pins and needles and lightheadedness of blood loss setting in.Â
âThanks for your help, Fishlegs.âÂ
âN-no problem,â Fish responded, desperately trying to wipe the tears from his face. He had silently sobbed through the whole thing, his tender heart feeling Astridâs sobs as his own. âAlways happy to help.âÂ
âIâll get her bandaged up. If you could finish that pain relieverâŚâÂ
âYou donât have to tell me twice,â he chuckled humorlessly. He took Astridâs hand and squeezed it once. âYouâre going to be fine, Astrid. That might have hurt, but it would have been so much worse if we didnât do that.âÂ
âUh huhâŚâ she murmured.Â
Fishlegs gave Hiccup a look, concerned, but opted to leave and get back to work on his medicine.Â
âNow,â Hiccup said softly, âI have to figure out how to bandage you up. It also wonât be a pleasant experience.âÂ
Astrid didnât respond.
âAstrid?â He touched her hair. âSweetheart?â What was with these affectionate nicknames? It was like seeing her so fragile made him want to address her as gently as possible.Â
âI heard you,â she breathed. âIâm awake.âÂ
He sighed in relief. âOkay, justâŚjust checking.âÂ
He looked over the collection of bandages Snotlout had left. There was a lot, but Hiccup feared it wouldnât be enough.
He went to his clothing chest and picked through the tunics he had. Most of them had Toothlessâ saliva stains in them. While he often had Toothless drool in the twins or Snotloutâs medicine when they were ill, he actually didnât know if it was wise to have dragon spit on an open wound.Â
Then he found his nice white silk tunic. Only used for special occasions, it was clean and folded neatly at the bottom of the chest.Â
And perfect for what he needed.Â
He took a pair of shears and cut it into several pieces. The torso into two pieces to cover her back and buttock, and the sleeves into long pieces for her thighs. Then, as he remembered from months of wound care on his own leg, he dipped the silk in salt water, rung it out, and laid it on top of the wounds.Â
She winced again, but not as harshly. Either because the honey made a barrier, or she was in so much pain, it didnât really make a difference.Â
Then he started wrapping her up. Legs first, because he could lift them on his own. Then he helped her onto her knees so he could wrap around her hips. Then finally, he helped her sit up and he wrapped her torso. Though sitting, she leaned forward and hung her head, swaying as he worked.Â
âThere, all wrapped.â He tied the last bit of bandage up. âWell, for now. Weâll probably have to redo all of this when Gothi gets here.âÂ
Astrid nodded, then started to list forward.
Hiccup caught her around the waist. âDonât move,â he soothed. âLet me take care of you.âÂ
âIâŚI feel so weak,â she cried.Â
âIâm sure.â He took her mostly stained blanket and draped it over a chair by his wash basin. Then he scooped her up and brought her over to sit. âIâll make this quick, but Iâm sure youâd like to get cleaned up.âÂ
She nodded mutely, leaning back against the chair.Â
He worked quickly but carefully, scrubbing her skin of the dried blood that clung. Once cleaned, he dried her, and then carried her up to his bed.Â
âH-Hiccup,â she grabbed at him.Â
âItâs okay, itâs okay.âÂ
âDonât leave me.âÂ
He pulled the clean covers up and over her prone form. âI was just going to go see if theyâve made any food. You really need to eat something.âÂ
Her lip trembled.Â
âNow donât look at me like that,â he cooed, running his thumb over her cheek. âYouâre totally safe.âÂ
âIâŚI donât want to be alone.âÂ
Hiccup gnawed at his cheek, torn between what was good for her, and what she wanted. He snapped his fingers. âI got it! Iâll be back in just a second. Iâm not even leaving the hut.âÂ
He hurried down the stairs and then whistled for Toothless out the door. He didnât even need to, since the dragon was right there, waiting patiently.Â
âCan you go get one of the others? Preferably Fishlegs?âÂ
Toothlessâ tongue lolled out out his mouth before he bounded off to fetch one of the riders.
âThere,â Hiccup declared, climbing the stairs. âThose dunderheads can make themselves useful for once.âÂ
Astrid just continued to look at him, her lip quivering. âDidâŚI do that?â She pointed at him.Â
He looked down, noticing from chest to knees, he was covered in blood. Her blood.Â
âWhoa. UhâŚwell, I think it looks worse than it is.âÂ
Fishlegs appeared around the corner, peeking through the open door. He called up to the loft, âHiccup? Did you need something?âÂ
Hiccup stood at the edge, revealing the huge red stain on his clothes. âYeah, have you had the chance to make dinner? I think Astrid is ready for something.âÂ
Fishlegs swallowed as he noticed all the blood, but he gave a shaky smile. âOh sheâs all stitched up? How is she?âÂ
Hiccup looked back to Astrid, who had half-lidded eyes, but looked loads better than when he first saw her. âTired, dizzy, drained. But better.âÂ
âGood! GoodâŚIâll um, Iâll just go get that soup then.â He pointed awkwardly towards the clubhouse before disappearing.Â
Hiccup took the opportunity to change out of the bloody clothes and into something clean. He may be able to clean or re-stain the leather, but the shirt and pants underneath were a lost cause. He peeled the crusty clothes off, only to find light blood stains all the way down to his skin. Maybe it was just as bad as it looked.Â
Astrid watched him, with droopy eyes. âYouâre hot.â She blurted, her voice slurred.Â
Hiccup didnât even realize she was watching him. âUh, thanks?â He hurried to throw on clean pants and a shirt, and then went to kneel at her bedside. He rested a hand on her forehead, easily able to tell she had a fever. It wasnât surprising, seeing the infections he had tried to clean up.Â
âThat feels niceâŚâ she breathed, closing her eyes slowly.Â
âAnd the rest of you is cold?âÂ
âMmmmhmm.âÂ
He nodded in understanding. Going back to his chest, he found an old tunic that had softened from time. It would be too big for her, but that would probably be best with the wounds. He brought it over for her, bunching it up so it was easier to put on.Â
âHere,â he stated. âPut this on.âÂ
Weakly, she pushed herself up to sit. Hiccup lifted her up with a hand between her shoulders. The blanket she wore fell off of her and exposed her. His eyes flicked down, an instinct for a man, but he wasnât particularly excited about what he saw. The deep cuts and bruises around her ribs that he could see between the bandages made him feel guilty. Guilty he couldn't find her sooner. Guilty that she had waited for him. Guilty that his decisions had allowed this to happen to her.Â
He eased her arms into the sleeves and then pulled the shirt down over her head.Â
âHmmm,â she whispered. âSmells like Hiccup.âÂ
âGood smell?â
âSmells like home.âÂ
His breath hitched in his chest. She had said something like that earlier. When Viggo told her that she was home, she immediately asked for him.Â
Well, he had been a constant in her life for many years now. It was rare they went a day without seeing each other. And if anything Viggo said was true, Astrid had a high opinion of him. He was an accessory to the familiar, a part of the thing that she called home.Â
He tucked the blanket around her legs. âLet me get you another blanket from downstairs, and maybe some more pillows to prop you up so you arenât laying on your back.â He placed a hand on the bed to push up, but Astrid grabbed his wrist.Â
âPleaseâŚdonât leave.âÂ
âIâm not, Iâm just going down the steps.âÂ
Tears gathered in her eyes, as she shuttered with a sob.Â
âAstridâŚâ he settled to kneel again. âItâs okay.âÂ
The tears fell freely as her grip tightened. It still wasnât very strong, but it kept Hiccup solidly in place. âIâŚI canâtâŚâ She reached both of her hands up and touched his face. Once hand drifted over the stubble on his jaw, the other pet his fluffy bangs from his forehead. âI-I-I canâtâŚnot one more minute.âÂ
He frowned, confused. âYou canât what? Iâm afraid Iâm not following.âÂ
âI canât be apart from you. Not anymore. Not for another moment.â Her tears rolled faster now. âI just want to be home.âÂ
âYou are home,â he insisted.Â
She nodded, frantic. âWith you!â
It clicked then. How he had been so stupid to not understand it earlier, heâd never know. Viggo was fairly obvious, and he still hadnât gotten it.Â
But he didnât want to have this revelation with her now, not while she was feverish and panicking. She wouldnât want that.Â
âI see,â he said softly. He took her hand that rested on his cheek and raised it to his lips to kiss her callus palm. Holding her hand, he could now tell some of her fingers were broken, though not as bad as her leg. He kissed each one. âIâll stay right here.âÂ
Fishlegs returned a moment later, a tray with a fresh waterskin, bowls, and a canister of soup. âHere we are!âÂ
âFishlegsâŚâ Astrid said, her voice full of warmth.Â
âHi AstridâŚyou are looking better.â He brought the tray over to the bedside table.Â
âYou should go hold her hand,â Hiccup said quietly. âSheâŚneeds grounding. If she can touch you, she knows youâre real.âÂ
Fishlegs understood the assignment as he knelt by Astridâs side. He took her hand in both of his and very gently rubbed the back of her hand. âItâs good to have you home.âÂ
Astrid let a few tears fall. âI missed you, Fishlegs. It was so quiet thereâŚI missed hearing you fill the silence with all sorts of fun things.âÂ
âIâm going to take that as a compliment instead of the insinuation that I talk too much.â He chuckled. âIt wasnât until you were gone that I really realized it was only you and Hiccup that listened to meâŚand Hiccup was pretty withdrawn, so it was lonely.âÂ
âWithdrawn?â She whispered, small and sad.Â
âYeah,â Fishlegs glanced at Hiccup, who didnât indicate to shut up. âHe was pretty devastated. He spent most of his time caring for Stormfly.âÂ
Her eyes widened, and she gripped both of the boys as hard as possible. âStormfly? My Stormfly is okay? Sheâs here?â
âYeah!â Fishlegs cheered. âAnd she looks great!âÂ
âSheâs still grounded,â Hiccup insisted. âAs are you, Missy. Until I say so.âÂ
âIâm not going anywhere.â Astrid shook her head. âI canât even walk. Even if my leg wasnât broken.âÂ
âAww, youâll be up soon!â Fishlegs argued. âRight Hiccup?âÂ
âDefinitely. Hobbling around on crutches within the week.âÂ
She smiled at him. âThatâs a sweet thoughtâŚbut I donât think so.âÂ
It made Hiccup sad that she didnât seem determined to get up and at it like she used to. But he didnât let it show as he turned to the tray of food. âAre you hungry?âÂ
âNot reallyâŚâÂ
âToo bad. Youâre going to eat some soup. Even if itâs just some broth.â
After her taxing ordeal getting her wounds treated, Astrid was a model patient, in a way she had never been before. Many a time, she would get hurt and Hiccup would ground her, with no success. She would protest and bicker with him until whatever threat had caused her injury was taken care of. Then she would relax for at least a little while.Â
The exception was when they had been out doing drills in the forest and Snotlout had Hookfang ram her and Stormfly, knocking them out of the air. The collision caused a sprained ankle and some bruising. Hiccup was going to demand she rest until the sprain healed, but instead, killed two birds with one stone and had Snotlout carry Astrid around. On day one, Snotlout complained about it, and even started throwing Astrid over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. But then the next day, he announced he was treating it like strength training, and carried her piggyback for two weeks. She had gone along with Hiccupâs wishes at the time, because she felt punishing Snotlout was more important. She even developed a healthier bond with Snotlout.Â
But Hiccup wondered if sheâd even be excited to get out of bed this time.Â
He had her drink all the broth in the stew, plus a few carrots and a piece of beef. Then she determined she was full, nauseous even.Â
Hiccup would have his own serving in a moment, but asked Fishlegs, âcould you stay with her for a little bit?âÂ
Astridâs eyes went wide as she dug her nails into Hiccupâs flesh.Â
âHey,â he soothed. âI know, you donât want to be away from me. But I gotta use the bathroom and feed Toothless.âÂ
Her mouth trembled.Â
âThen Iâll come back, and stay with you all night. Honestly, Iâd glue myself to you if I could, but I have to have a few minutes here and there to take care of things so I can better focus on you. Is that fair?âÂ
Astrid glanced away, clearly mulling it over. She bit her lip as her eyes watered.Â
âFishlegs will be with you until I get back. You wonât be alone. Youâll never be alone.âÂ
She looked back at him. âWould youâŚkiss me before you go?âÂ
His eyes blew wide in shock. âUuuhhhâŚâÂ
âPlease?â She whispered, practically begging. âIt will make being away from you easier.âÂ
He certainly didnât know what to say to that. She was probably right. He did want to kiss her. Heâd wanted to for years, even before she kissed him.Â
And speaking of thatâŚ
âOkay,â he whispered back. Gently, as not to hurt her, he knocked his knuckles against her shoulder. A soft tap, really. âThatâs for having me worried sick.âÂ
A weak smile began to form on her lips.Â
He leaned in and pressed a soothing kiss to her chapped lips. It was more than a peck, lasting several seconds. Then he pulled away and said, âthatâs for hanging on long enough to come home.âÂ
âThank you.âÂ
Hiccup heard a gleeful squeak and flicked his gaze to Fishlegs, who had been so quiet he forgot he was there. Fishlegs was grinning madly, blushing, and held his cheeks.Â
âThat was so cute!âÂ
âOh hush.â Hiccup rolled his eyes.Â
Astrid let go of Hiccupâs arm, though it looked like it was almost painful to do so.Â
âJust a few minutes,â he insisted. âI promise.â And he hurriedly left so he could return.Â
His face still burned and his lips tingled. He had always pictured his first real kiss with Astrid to be perfect. Maybe at sunset, maybe in the rainâŚnever while she was clinging to life. He couldnât blame her though. If what she said about being home with him was trueâŚ
Then she needed every bit of him she could get.Â
He was thankful for the kiss though. He was prepared to spend his time in the outhouse sobbing uncontrollably as everything hit him, but because of the soft touch of her lips, he walked out with a smile.
Hiccup did his business, and then made his way to the clubhouse to check in with the others. Just a quick chat to make sure everyone was on the same page, then it was off to the storehouse to gather fish for Toothless.Â
âHey,â he called, entering the clubhouse.Â
Snotlout, Viggo, and the twins were there, all very quiet. They looked at him in surprise.Â
âWhoa, didnât expect to see you away from Astrid for another week,â said Tuff. âHow is she? Snotlout said itâs really bad.âÂ
âIt is pretty bad,â Hiccup admitted. âYou guys are welcome to come see her if you want. SheâsâŚas stable as she can be, I suppose. Gothi will know more when she gets here. Sheâs awake, but very weak. Sheâs acting a lot different than youâll remember. Sheâs very soft and afraid.â
âWhat about you?â Ruff asked. âHow are you holding up?â
He actually managed a tiny smile. âIâll be fine. Now that Astridâs home, Iâm feeling a lot like my old self again.â Â
Viggo didnât say anything, choosing to wait until spoken to.Â
âDid you get medical attention?â Hiccup asked him.Â
âNo,â Viggo replied. âThough, my wounds were not as grievous or numerous as Astridâs. I was willing to wait for help until she was taken care of.âÂ
âWell,â Hiccup stretched his back slightly. âSheâs having a hard time being away from me. But if youâre willing to come back to my hut, Iâll see what I can do.âÂ
Viggo stood. âI would appreciate it.âÂ
âMeet me up there. Iâm going to get some dinner for Toothless.âÂ
â
When Hiccup returned, everyone was there. Fishlegs had given up his seat to Ruffnut, who was oddly doing Astridâs nails. Tuffnut sat at the end of the bed, massaging Astridâs feet. Snotlout sat next to him, resigned and trying not to stare at Astrid.Â
Viggo sat in a chair next to where Hiccup had been.Â
âAnd you wanna know what I said to him? I told him he was full of Yak dung. Thatâs what!â Ruffnut bragged.Â
âI still beat your stupid boar race,â Snotlout muttered.Â
Hiccup ascended the stairs, only to catch Astridâs attention. She reached for him. âHiccupâŚâÂ
âIâm back!â He smiled before taking his seat. âThat wasnât too long, was it?â He held her hand and kissed her palm.Â
Tears formed in her eyes. âPlease donât go againâŚâÂ
âIâm not. Iâm all yours.âÂ
Astrid sighed in relief.
âButâŚViggo needs medical attention. Iâll be right here, but turned away, alright?âÂ
Astrid simply nodded and took hold of his shirt instead. She twisted the hem around in her fingers until she had a tight hold on him.Â
âSnotlout, can you bring the med kit up here, please?âÂ
âWith pleasure!â Snotlout bounded down the stairs, only to return a moment later, looking even more sick. âYou didnât warn me about the tableâŚâÂ
âYeah,â Hiccup winced. âI might need to get a new one.âÂ
Viggo scooted his chair closer and turned so his empty arm socket was facing him. âThis is my worst wound. I donât know if you can do anything, but it would be appreciated.âÂ
Hiccup winced as he removed the bandages. The wrap around it wasnât much, but the actual wound had been stuffed with a rag. He took the forceps out and started pulling. The rag was saturated with dried, hard blood, making it stick to Viggoâs skin.Â
Hiccup grit his teeth and went for a pair of shears. âThis is going to be unpleasant.âÂ
Snotlout looked green. âIs there anything I can do that would take me out of this room?âÂ
âIn factâŚI need more honey and garlic for my astringent. Can you or Fishlegs gather some?âÂ
âYes! Yes I can do that! Come on, Fishface, letâs go get some honey and onions!âÂ
âGarlic, Snotlout!â Fishlegs shouted back.Â
âYou two staying?â Hiccup glanced at the twins.Â
âDefinitely. This is way cool! Hey, if you see his ribs, you should carve your initials into one. Or my initials. Or both! T.T. and H.H.!â
âWhy?â Viggo asked, grimacing in pain and disgust.Â
âI always thought it would be cool to have my initials on someoneâs ribs. Like, no one else would have that, right?âÂ
âIâm not going to carve anyoneâs initials on Viggoâs ribs,â Hiccup said sternly.Â
Astrid let out a tiny laugh.
âSee? Astrid thinks you should do it. It would be funny.âÂ
âI fail to see the humor you are trying to present,â Viggo said, then hissed as Hiccup cut away a piece of infected flesh.Â
âSorry Viggo.â Sorry Viggo. What a short, but bizarre sentence.
Eventually, Hiccup worked the rag free and the wound started oozing blood again. He uncapped the mead and doused a cloth in it, then started dabbing the wound.Â
Viggo cried out in pain and swore.Â
âWhoa, you kiss your mother with that mouth?â Tuff asked.Â
âMy mother is dead, you twit!â
âAwesome, background lore unlocked! Very nice!â Â
Because of the way the wound had been packed, Viggo was lucky to have his skin stretched enough to be stitched.Â
As he was halfway done, Fishlegs returned with the garlic, honey, and a bundle of yellow flowers. âHiccup! I just remembered I had âBalm of the Warriors Woundâ growing in my spice garden. Iâm going to ground it up for you.âÂ
âGreat, whereâs Snotlout?âÂ
âHeâs making some more into tea, I collected a bunch of herbs to help with inflammation.âÂ
âGreat, thanks.âÂ
âIâve used Balm of the Warriors Wound before. Works wonders,â said Viggo. âSmells like pine. Tastes like soap.âÂ
âWell, you might not be drinking it.âÂ
Maybe an hour later, Hiccup finished with Viggoâs shoulder, and began to apply the astringent over top.Â
âOh I see. You wonât put my initials on his ribs, but youâll put yours on his armpit?âÂ
Hiccup looked at Tuff strangely, then at Viggoâs wound. âWhat are you talking about? Thatâs clearly an âXâ.âÂ
âI donât know. I think itâs a rather shapely H, if you ask me.âÂ
âWhat?â Asked Ruff. âThatâs clearly the Greek letter âchiâ.âÂ
âWhich is also an âXâ,â added Hiccup, with a sigh. âWhatâs next, Viggo?âÂ
âNothing else that needs your attention, Iâm afraid.â He smiled. âBut if you could spare some of that tonic and some bandages, I think I can get the rest.âÂ
âWith one arm?âÂ
âIâve gotten pretty good at it already. Youâd be surprised.âÂ
âReally. Good for you.â Hiccup packed up the kit and gave it over. âAnd trust me on this, the mead in there? Doesnât taste good.âÂ
âDid you get curious?â
âSnotlout did, and then proceeded to trick all of us into tasting it.âÂ
Viggo gathered up the kit in his arm and stood, slowly, weakly. âYou all seem to have a lot of fun around here. Iâm a little jealous.âÂ
âOh yeah, weâre a ton of fun. Hiccupâs a total killjoy though. He enjoys ruining peopleâs fun, actually. Really gets his rocks off.âÂ
âI do not!âÂ
âDo to! You always take Boar Pit rights away!âÂ
âBecause you guys get distracted from work!âÂ
âSee?â Tuff turned to Viggo, and thumbed at Hiccup. âTotal killjoy.âÂ
Viggo let out a short laugh. âIs there a place I can go to treat my wounds in private? I assume Snotlout is cowering from the gore in the clubhouse.âÂ
Hiccup hesitated for a moment, then offered, âyou can use Astridâs hut, right?âÂ
Astrid was still ever so slightly awake, just hanging onto Hiccup with her eyes closed. â...yes.â She murmured.Â
Almost daily, Hiccup would go into Astridâs hut and just stand there. It was close to feeling her presence, even though there was still so much missing. Over time, her smell faded, only to be replaced by stale air and dust.Â
Eventually, Hiccup had cleaned it up. Dusting and putting everything away. He tidied it up so that everything would be in perfect order for when she came back.Â
So Viggo wouldnât disrupt anything sacred or stumble onto Astridâs secrets, but Hiccup had still wanted Astrid to be the first one back in there.Â
No, it didnât matter anymore. Because Astrid was here, in his bed, holding onto him. Asking him to stay, asking him to hold her, asking him to kiss her.Â
After Viggo departed, the Twins werenât far behind. They left with suggestive hand gestures in Hiccupâs direction, but he knew they only meant well.Â
His door shut, and they were alone again.Â
âHiccupâŚâ Astrid whined.
âYeah?â He leaned over her.Â
âYou didnât eat your dinner.âÂ
He smirked. âNo, I suppose I didnât.âÂ
âYou should.âÂ
âI will. Do you want more?âÂ
She shook her head. âMy stomach hurts.âÂ
Hiccup frowned, and then felt her face. She was still burning hot to the touch.Â
What else could he do? What medicines could he fetch? What treatment, what ritual chants, what god did he pray to?Â
Astrid lay still, her breath rattling in her chest.Â
She wasnât getting any better.Â
A sob tore out of Hiccupâs throat as he hung his head, pressing it to her chest. âIâm so sorry.âÂ
The hand that held his shirt tightened, making him sit up to look at her.
âIâm not gonna die,â she croaked, more of a whisper than a voice. âSo you arenât rid of me yet, got it?âÂ
Hiccup wiped his face. âOf course. I should know better.âÂ
âButâŚwhat comes after ânot dyingââŚwell, that I donât know.âÂ
âLike I said; wherever you want to be. Iâll be with you, Iâll take care of you.âÂ
ââŚeven back to Berk?âÂ
âAbsolutely back to Berk.âÂ
âWhat aboutâŚa secluded island?âÂ
âYou got it. Point to it on the map.âÂ
She smirked at him. âGot you. Youâre going to be chief of Berk one day.âÂ
âIâll give the chiefdom to Snotlout. Heâs been dying for it for years.âÂ
She chuckled weakly. âNow I know youâre messing with me.âÂ
He held her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. âIâll build you a little house, perched up on the cliffs by the Great Hall. Itâll have a great big porch for Stormfly to come and go from. Youâll have a loft, just like here, and your bed will look over the sea. Youâll be able to watch every sunset and then fall asleep when it goes dark. And Iâll build a little roll out cot so I can sleep nearby.âÂ
Astrid frowned. âWhy not just make a big bed that we can share?âÂ
âTh-that is doableâŚI justâŚdidnât know if I should be the one to suggest it.âÂ
She sighed a horrible breath that wheezed as it came out.
Hiccup leaned in again, searching her face for any sign of pain as now was instinct when he heard that noise.Â
There was a knock at the door. âHiccup? I brought tea!â Said Fishlegs.Â
âCome on up!âÂ
Fishlegs had a kettle with him, billowing steam into the dark room. âI hope it tastes good. Itâs got a lot of different herbs in it. Some of them donât pair too well.âÂ
Hiccup slid his arm under Astrid and helped her sit up against the headboard while Fishlegs filled a cup and brought it over to her.Â
Astrid wrapped her hands around the cup, but Fishlegs didnât let go, so she didnât spill. She drank the hot mixture down, letting the warmth spread through her feverish body. The taste was intense, and lingered on the tongue. So many flavors like mint, anise, soap, and something burnt.Â
âFeel okay?â Hiccup asked, hand still around her back.Â
âIâŚitâs hard to tell. My stomach doesnât hurt as much.âÂ
âAnother?â Fishlegs gestured to the cup.Â
She nodded.Â
She gulped down another cup of the strange tea, and then winced. âUgh, now I feel bloated.âÂ
âThatâs okay, it should go away,â Hiccup comforted. âNow you should just rest.â She opened her mouth and he hushed her. âAnd yes, I will stay. Iâm not going anywhere.âÂ
Wordlessly, Fishlegs got up and fetched another pillow and blanket and brought them over for them.Â
âThanks.âÂ
âNo problem, uhâŚdo you need anything else?âÂ
Hiccup glanced at Astrid to answer.Â
âNo,â she looked back at Hiccup. âI have everything I need.âÂ
Hiccup blushed as Fishlegs let out a squeal of delight.Â
âDonât latch the door on the way out,â Hiccup told him. âThat way Toothless can come and goâŚand fetch one of you if we need something.âÂ
âOkay Hiccup, I get it,â Fishlegs stood and gathered the bowls and cups. âI can tell when someone wants alone time.âÂ
âThatâs notâ!âÂ
âKidding! Iâm kidding!â He smiled as he started towards the stairs. âIâm just happy for you guys. Happy Astridâs home.âÂ
âIâm happy too, Fishy.â Astrid sighed.Â
Once Fishlegs left, Hiccup helped Astrid lay down, and turn on her side so she wasnât straining her wounds. He laid beside her, exhausted.Â
â...hold me?â She squeaked.Â
He nodded, and readjusted to slide against her. He wriggled his arm under her neck and gently pulled her close. âHowâs that?âÂ
She breathed a soft sigh across his chest as her hand rested on his tummy. âItâs perfect.â
âHowâs your other arm?â
She wiggled her fingers down by their thighs, showing it was trapped between them. ââSfine,â she yawned.Â
âOkay,â he yawned back. âThen weâll just rest here, like this. Let me know if you need anything, okay?âÂ
Astridâs soft snores were his reward. She was comfortable enough to fall asleep.
She was here, alive, curled up beside him.Â
Hiccup leaned in and pressed a kiss to her hair. She smelled bad. Unbathed for months, skin seeped in old blood, sweat, infection, and whatever filth she was forced to wallow in.Â
But he didnât care. She was Astrid, and she was here.
#fanfiction#httyd#how to train your dragon#hiccup#hiccstrid#astrid hofferson#hiccup haddock#home#whump#hurt/comfort
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everything stays unsaid
Buddie | 1.5k | general | 7x4 coda
After Tommy leaves his apartment, all Buck wants to do is talk to Eddie. He wants to apologize for making Eddie collateral damage to his stupid crisis. But he feels like he's broken some unspoken agreement between them or betrayed Eddie by feeling something other for Tommy. It doesnât make sense because itâs Eddie, but he doesnât feel like he can trust his gut feelings right now.
read the rest on ao3 or under the cut
After Tommy shuts the door gently behind him, all Buck wants to do is tell someone why he has been such an asshole.
But when Buck thinks about calling Eddie, the person heâs hurt most, he doesnât know how he would even begin.
Hey, remember how I body-slammed you into the pavement and sprained your ankle? Itâs apparently because I wanted Tommy to kiss me and I didnât know that until he did. So sorry about that. Iâll bring you takeout next time we hang out.
No, of course he can't do that. He has to prepare for this conversation, right? He has to figure out what heâs feeling, put a label on it so itâs wrapped neatly in a bow when he finally tells his friends and his family.
Heâs seen movies where nerves are haywire and difficult sit-down conversations lead to teary-eyed pride and general⌠emotions. Heâs supposed to say the term and let a few seconds of silence worry him before the people he loves remind him they love him back, whether heâs into men or not.
âIâmââ he begins to say into his now empty apartment. Heâs not sure what to follow it up with.
âGay?â He tests. He thinks about how Abbyâs soft voice made his skin simmer, how chasing Taylor had sent thrills up and down his spine, the instant connection he had with Nathalia. No, he doesnât think heâs gay.
âStraight?â He tries. The thought of Tommyâs lips on his, the gentle power behind the fingers on his face, the scruff on their chins velcroing together. The heat that catapults straight to his stomach tells him he can never call himself that ever again.
He knows there are other words. Bisexual, pansexual, demisexual⌠But he doesnât want to dwell any longer on what he might be, not when who he has been over the last few days has been so awful.
The last thing Tommy asked before he left was for Buck to call Eddie and thatâs all Buck wants to do.
But he still isnât exactly sure what to say.
Iâm sorry I put you in the hospital. Iâm sorry Iâve been such a possessive asshole. Iâm sorry I put you in the middle of whatever my feelings were doing. Iâm sorry you became collateral damage when all Iâve ever wanted was to make sure our relationship never changed no matter what.
Luckilyâor unluckily, heâs not quite sureâhis phone is ringing before he can talk himself out of finally reaching out. His entire body freezes when he sees Eddieâs name flash across his screen, but it relaxes almost instantly when his picture comes into view.
A few months ago, Christopher decided he was too old to be the background of his dadâs contact, especially now that he has his own phone. When Buck left his phone on the dining room table to clean up dishes, Christopher took it upon himself to snap some pictures of Buck and Eddie at the sink. Theyâre hip to hip, almost like one of them pushed the other in jest, and Eddieâs smiling over his shoulder like heâs caught Christopher in the act.
Usually, seeing the picture sends a warmth through him at the friendship heâs created and cultivated throughout the years. One of domesticity and care that almost no other relationship in his life can match.
Today, the picture ties his stomach in a knotâlike heâs broken some unspoken agreement between them or betrayed Eddie by feeling something other for Tommy. It doesnât make sense because itâs Eddie, but he doesnât feel like he can trust his gut feelings right now.
He canât really trust any part of himself, not until he clears the air with Eddie and figures out where the Hell things are going with Tommy.
Caught in his spiraling mind, Buck almost misses the call and answers abruptly with a choked-out, âH-Hey!â
âHi, Buck.â Eddieâs words exhaled like he wasnât convinced Buck was going to answer. âIâm sorry to call so late, but Tommy calledââ Buckâs heart leaps into his throat before dropping into a pit in his stomachâ âand said that heâd been there to see you and that he told you to call but he wasnât sure if youâd actually do it. He said you guys talked and you seemed worried that he was replacing you in my life?â Buck didnât have time to breathe, let alone speak before Eddie continues. âYou have to know thatâs not true, Buck. Tommy could never replace you. You have a permanent place in my life and you always will. Tommy canât even begin to change thatââ
âI kissed someone!â Buck blurts out.
Buck didnât know what he was going to say to Eddie, but it sure as hell wasnât that. Eddie is very aware of the fact that Buck has kissed people before.
There are a few moments of silence, and Buck can hear Eddie pull the phone away from his ear like he has to check the caller ID to make sure itâs Buck heâs called.
Eddie clears his throat before he asks, âAm I supposed to be surprised, orâŚ?â
âIââ Buck inhales deeply and lets out a shaky breath. He figures diving headfirst into this is the best way to go. âIt was a guy,â Buck says as steadily as he can. He doesnât say Tommyâs name. Heâs new to this whole sexuality thing but heâs pretty sure that outing someone is a big no.
Thereâs more silence. Itâs not unusual, really. Eddieâs never been one to jump to words before thinking them through. That was typically Buckâs job. But that doesnât make it any easier for Buck to wait it out.
Thereâs something about the pause that makes Buckâs insides feel like tinder just waiting for a spark to ignite him from the inside out.
âAnd how do you feel about that?â Eddie asks slowly.
âSurprisingly normal,â Buck answers.
âCongratulations?â Eddie sounds unsure, but honestly, Buck is pretty unsure of most everything himself so he can relate.
âI was going to wait to tell you, figure out what this thing between Tommy and I is butââ Fuck.
âTommy? My Tommy?â
Buck ignores the way his heart stings at Eddieâs choice of words which makes no sense because all theyâd done is kiss. He shouldnât be so easily soured at the mere thought of someone else having Tommy. Unease settles somewhere between his heart and his stomach like his mind has decided he canât unpack all his feelings in one night.
âYour Tommy?â Buck tastes the bitterness on his tongue like heâs got a mouthful of Eddieâs too-hoppy beer that refuses to settle in his stomach.
âI just meantââ Eddie cuts himself off as if he knows itâs too late for excuses. âI didnât think you guys were that close.â
âWe ended up real close,â Buck jokes, an attempt at pushing down the awkwardness in the conversation. He swears he hears Eddie inhale sharply like thereâs something painful in the words. âIâm sorry, I just⌠I donât know what to do with this feeling, and all I wanted to do was tell you.â
Buck doesnât know what he expects. For Eddie to have the answers, for Eddie to know him better than he knows himself like he always does, for Eddie to tell him that heâs always known or that nothing is going to change.
Then Eddie says, âIâm glad you told me.â
The sentence holds more weight in Buckâs heart than it should. Itâs everything Buck imagined and, Iâm glad you trust me with this part of you and Iâm here for whatever you need to do next, just like I always am.
So why does Buck still feel like it says so much more?
âIâm sorry I knocked you down and sprained your ankle because I was having some sort of crisis,â Buck tries again to make Eddie laugh and this time, it works.
âIâm sorry you felt like you had to injure me to get my atteââ Eddie trails off, and Buckâs heard this sentence before. He heard it right before Tommyâs lips connected with his.
Whose attention had Buck truly been trying to get?
Why is it so hard for him to answer that question when the answer should be so⌠obvious?
âNext time, can you knock me over on grass or into some water? Itâd be a lot easier for you to forgive yourself if I could walk away if this crisis of yours keeps going.â
Eddieâs joking, and Buck laughs. Eddieâs joking, but thereâs something else there. Thereâs something underneath Eddieâs words that feels like hope. It canât be hope that Buck hurts him again or hope that Buck continues to plunge deeper into crisis. Itâs like an acknowledgment that Buck is going to continue to hurt him, but heâs okay with it as long as Buck cushions the blow this time.
He doesnât know what it all means, what unspoken conversation they're having that feels half-finished but barely begun. But he does know that if heâs going to figure anything out, itâs going to be later.
For now, he revels in the feeling of Eddieâs forgiveness and the excitement of whatever is to come.
#911 on abc#911 spoilers#buddie#evan buckley#eddie diaz#911 coda fic#7x4 fic#i feel like i never write from bucks pov#this fic started because i feel like im cheating on eddie#when in reality#he'll catch up eventually#and we'll all be happy again#my writing
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So. ABOUT THAT FIC I PROMISED-
In my defence I got invited to a social function with people I want to be around, so what else was I supposed to do-
minor setbacks.
uhhh @justletmereadmycomics @fanatess @theosb0rnway you guys usually like this stuff?? Here ya go lol
This is part of my Cardinal Rules series, but you don't have to read it to make sense of this! Barely. If you want to get caught up on it, it is over here on Ao3!
Fic link on Ao3: Here
----
The Housing Situation
Mikeyâs POV
Mikey had recently concluded that living off warm, half-melted food in a tank was not optimal sustenance.
Donât get him wrong, Mikey was overjoyed to have any food, given that the entire kitchen was barren, but only so much could be done with fruit snacks, pop tarts, and granola bars. He had a sinking feeling that with another meal, somebody might puke, and he wouldnât blame them. Meals were always after training, anyway.
âWhatâs on the menu tânight, Miguel?â Leo asked, sheathing his twin katana and stretching on his tiptoes.
âIf you say anything involving fruit snacks for the next month, I swearââ Casey Senior growled.
âWell, we donât not have fruit snacks?â
Casey Senior grumbled, and Donnieâs mouth became a line.
âIâm getting fast food!â April decided and stuck her bat into her bag, zipping it up and slinging one strap over her shoulder.
âYay, April!â Leo cheered and raised an arm, still holding one of his swords, into the air.
âAnyone got a request?â
âAnywhere but Wendyâs,â Donnie grumbled.
âStarbucks.â
âWeâre not getting JUST Starbucks!â April groaned. âIâll just raid Fred Meyers. Text me if you want anything specific.â
âNo cold stuff unless you can buy a cooler!â Splinter reminded her.
April gave a thumbs-up as she stuck her phone in her pocket. âBe back in forty-five minutes, tops. If Iâm not, then Iâm probably dying.â
âApril!â
âItâs a joke!â she reassured as she ascended the stairs to the outside world.
----
By April's return, Donnie was konked out on the couch, battle shell discarded on the ground next to him.
The small spines on his shell were finally uncompressed and puffed out a bit, no longer flattened to the rest of his shell. Soft snores occasionally came from the vicinity, face twitching slightly as Mikey undid his mask, removed his goggles, and set them aside.
âYeah, baby!â Mikey cheered quietly with a giant grin as he saw Aprilâs bags.
âEveryone say âThank you, April,ââ Splinter instructed them from where he was rifling through what little they did have.
A chorus of âthank you Aprilâs rang around the room, and she put the bags down on the remnants of a broken table with a soft thud.
âYo, Dee! Donnie. Wake up, bro,â Leo muttered, poking their purple brother insistently until the soft snores turned to a singular grunt.
âNardo.â
âApril brought food.â
âFinally! Some good news!â
âYouâre welcome, Dee!â April called, cupping a hand around her mouth.
âYes, yes, thank you, and such,â Donnie muttered, not quietly as he stood, and April could tell that he noticed his apparent lack of accessories but decided to let it be in the meantime.
The group leaned in to inspect Aprilâs relatively simple wares and, save for microwaveable pizzas and breakfast burritos, much of the âgrab-and-goâ variety. But, such was life.
âReluctant sigh. Who knew that carbonated beverages could taste so good,â Donnie hummed as he downed one, in a move that Mikey thought was highly uncharacteristic for him.
âI did,â Leo retorted. âAnd so did anyone with taste, bro.â
Donnie gave him a sharp glare and bonked him on the head with the can before dropping it into a haphazardly labeled âreciclingâ bag.
âThis bag says âresi-cleanâ. Recycling is spelled with a âyâ, dumdums.â
Raph gave Donnie a light glare in return, and with a black marker, crossed out the offending phrase, and wrote ârycliclingâ.
âWhat? No! Instead of the âiâ, not the âeâ!â
âOh, come on! You gotta give Raph something to work with, Dee!â Raph explained, and Mkey couldnât help but giggle as he crossed out ârycliclingâ, replacing it with âreciclyngâ.
âTHE OTHER âIâ!â
âTHEN YOU GOTTA TELL RAPH THAT!â Raph shouted back, sweat pooling on his forehead.
âUNLESS SPECIFIED, ITâS ALWAYS THE FIRST LETTER!â
Donnie and Raph gave each other equal looks of frustration and desperation, and Raph finally crossed it out, writing ârecycling.â
âOh, thank Pizza Supreme in the Sky.â
Ignoring his brothers, Mikey rifled through Aprilâs bags, which, aside from real food, included three air mattresses, Pez dispensers, and parts of a bed set. Mikey took some paper plates from another of Aprilâs bags.
âProtein bars and dried fruit, as the world intended!â
Mikey smiled to himself and arranged a relatively nutritious plate for each of them. Or as nutritious as one could get with protein bars and dried fruit. Contrary to Aprilâs apparent beliefs, they were not as the world intended.
Though, he realized it might be safer for Casey Junior. The guy sometimes could have taken better to actual food as he did to non-perishables like beans or butter. Mikey had no idea how half a stick of butter was less toxic for his stomach than an excellent old-fashioned PB&J., And Mikey was pretty sure he wasnât allergic either!
âSay, whatâs with the air mattresses in the other bags, Apes?â Leo asked conversationally, and April carefully chewed her dried banana slice before answering.
âFigured that since Mike and Junior still donât have rooms, they might need somewhere to sleep. You feel me?â
âTouche. Alright, letâs think. Who do we have to house?â Leo asked.
âThereâs us four, plus dad, thatâs five. I havenât had time to forge documents for Junior yet, so six,â Donnie rattled off.
âIâm moving back in with my mom until my campus is back on dorms,â April said.
âI am still in my human apartment above you,â Draxum supplied.
âI donât have a permanent residence,â Casey Senior admitted.
âWell,â April began. âKnow whatâs great about the apocalypse?â Without waiting for a reply, she continued. âThe housing market opens up like movie theaters in summer, and prices are about as much as I paid for all this! Thereâs an apartment a few doors down from me that Iâm pretty sure you could get your paws on.â
âYouâve got papers, right?â Donnie asked the ex-Foot General.
âI was born legally if thatâs what you mean. The Foot legally gave each recruit an apartment room.â
âFirst legal thing they ever did, huh? Regardless, that will do.â
Splinter managed to look pensive while eating a bag of Cheetos. âSo the six of us remain, yes?â
Donnie nodded. âAnd with four rooms between us.â
âWell, whoâs got the biggest rooms?â Raph asked, and Donnie typed on his wrist computer as he munched on a protein bar.
âThe three of us have rooms about the same size,â Donnie explained, gesturing to himself, Raph, and Leo. âWe havenât unpacked everything, so most places are fair game.â
âEither of you got a preference?â Leo asked, and Casey Junior shrugged.
âI can just set one up in the living room; you donât have toââ he began but was cut off.
âNope, nope, nope, nope. We are not couch surfers in this house, Future Boy,â Splinter shook his head adamantly, and Casey put his hands up in defense.
âOoh! Can I room with you, Dee?â Mikey asked, jumping at the opportunity.
âI suppose so, Angelo.â
âOuch,â Leo smirked, and Mikey stuck his tongue out.
âI still love you, Leo!â
âYeah, yeah, ditto.â Turning to Junior, he asked, âYou got a preference between me and Raph?â
âI donât mind,â the human said, if not a little sheepishly.
âCool. Iâm stealing you, in that case. You good with that, Raph?â
Raph gave a thumbs-up. âRaphâs all good!â
âHow much sleep are any of them going to be getting?â April asked Casey Senior in a hushed tone.
âBy the looks of them? Very little.â
âI take offense to that!â Mikey called, and April chuckled.
âYouâll survive, Mike. Eat your canned peaches.â
Leoâs POV
Leo watched Cassandra and Baron Draxum as they watched April as she nearly submerged herself in a duffle bag. She seemingly found what she had been looking for and straightened her glasses.
âAll that for a measly shoe?â Baron Draxum inquired, and April nodded.
âItâs a good shoe! Donât you two have any packing up to do?â
âWe do not live here.â
âHuh. Guess not! Well, letâs go! Grab those bags?â
Cassandra shrugged and took two plastic bags, regaining her footing as April nearly dragged her like a corpse down the corridor.
Meanwhile, Leo made a mental note: blowing up two air mattresses should be done after taking them into any room â particularly a room with a narrow doorway.
Well. Better late than never.
âOkay, turn them the long way⌠Back up⌠And run at âem!â
Mikey and Casey Junior took off at a sprint.
âWe can just portal them in,â Leo said, throwing his hands up in disbelief.
âYeah, but this is still better!â Mikey said as he and Casey rammed their mattresses; they passed the threshold. âYeah, baby! Thatâs how we do!â
âWell, you did something, thatâs for sure,â Leo muttered and helped Casey up.
âSomething cool!â Mikey corrected.
âSure, Mike.â
As it happened, both mattresses had made it around halfway to the unoccupied area of the car.
âHey, if it works, it works!â April said, and Leo turned to her. The human looked amused, and a bag slung over her shoulder. Cassandra stood next to her with a few old store bags.
âAre you guys heading out?â
âYeah, weâll be back tomorrow. Try not to drive each other crazy?â
âNo promises!â
As Leo returned to his room, Casey successfully pushed the mattress to the open part of his room.
âYeah, we should have inflated those after getting them in the room,â he said, more to himself than to Casey.
âIs here okay?â Casey asked, and Leo looked up.
Heâd gotten the tall, thin side of the mattress on the ground, with enough space between it and Leoâs more defined space that there was a decent walkway.
âStamp of approval!â
Casey lowered the mattress down and put his mask on it. Leo looked at the barren area pensively.
âWe should probably decorate, yâknow?â
âHuh?â
âYouâre living here, yeah? Decorate your space, make it a place you want to be in; you feel me?â
âUh⌠Sort of?â
âYouâll get it eventually. Weâll grab and work off the stuff you saved from your other room. Dadâs always got a spare Lou Jitsu poster or action figure here or there.â
Casey frowned like it was a never-before-considered novelty to him. Which, Leo remembered as he half dragged the guy out, it probably was.
Caseyâs pile of things, stuffed in a bag marked with his name (which had been crossed out at least three times. Raph was many things, but he was not a good speller) was much smaller than the others, containing a few things blankets, some spare clothes that April had dug up for him a few weeks after the invasion, and some books that Donnie had given him as a âhousewarming gift.â
âTake this, and sort out where you want your stuff. You know Lou Jitsu, right?â
âWasnât he Master Splinter?â
âMore like Dad was him. But yeah. Iâm pretty sure Cassandraâs a fan, too. Iâll dig up some old merchandise, and weâll stick it up, mâkay?â
ââMerchâ?â
Leo gave him a look of shock. âMerch. Memorabilia. Posters and stuff?â No reaction. Leo groaned and rubbed the area where his nose would have been if he had been a human. âWhen you like a book, TV show, video game, movie, or whatever, you get stuff from that thing. Iâll show you.â
He led Casey back to their room and pointed at his âMad Dogsâ flag and Jupiter Jim figure. âThis stuff! Thatâs merch. Mikey and Donnie made our awesome Mad Dogs flag, and we definitely didnât scam a guy at JJ Con to let us get JJ figures for cheap!â
âCool,â Casey breathed and studied them from a distance with interest as Leo perused a spare box.
âCâmon, I swear we head one in here,â he muttered, before pulling something out of it. âHere we go!â He handed two flags to Casey. âYour very own Hamato and Mad Dogs flags!â
He accepted the flags and unfolded them. One was the same flag that Leo had pointed out to him, and the other had a black backdrop with the green Hamato symbol emblazoned on it.
âWoah⌠Thank you!â Casey exclaimed, and Leo grinned, eyebrows raising at his tone shift.
âCool, huh? Come on, weâll hang them up.â
Even after the invasion, Leo wasnât too sure where Casey fit into their gaggle of weirdos, and he was fairly sure it was a mutual feeling. But dammit if he wouldnât try to make it work.
It would work out â a bit of Mikeyâs undying optimism, his own devil-may-care commentary, Raphâs worrying, Donnieâs weirdly helpful cynicism, and whatever the others had, and there was no way it wouldnât.
It had only taken a half-meal and what Mikey would have called a âbonding momentâ with Casey to get Leo feeling like he could have fought the entire Battle Nexus again, and win.
So, walking alongside the newest addition to their family, as if he had read Leoâs thoughts, (and maybe he had, it wouldnât have surprised Leo in the slightest) Casey smiled wearily, and determinedly looked at the wall as he held out a fist.
âWell, would you look at that?â Leo smirked. âWeâre making progress with you!â He met the gesture, bumping his fist against Caseyâs, and blew it into an open palm.
Casey made a soft, exaggerated explosion noise, and Leo could only chuckle.
----
A/N: I finished this not 10 minutes ago... Avid I promise your angst is on its way, I have a Bingo Card to fill up and a handful on generally happy turtles >:>
#rottmnt fanfic#rottmnt#moth's fics#cardinal rules#cardinal rules au#rottmnt mikey#rottmnt leo#rottmnt april#rottmnt casey jones#rottmnt cassandra jones#rottmnt casey junior#rottmnt casey jr#rottmnt donnie#rottmnt raph#rottmnt splinter#rottmnt baron draxum#fanfiction#fanfic#ao3 fanfic
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Mafia Book #2 - PART II - The Withered Rose - Chapter 3 - Pure Morning
Story masterlist - please consult it for the summary of the story, trigger warnings etc.
General masterlist
PART I - The Black Iris
---
Wattpad | AO3
Chapter 2 | Chapter 4
---
PART II - The Withered Rose
Chapter 3 - Pure Morning
chapter word count: ~6.2k words
~almost 4 years ago~
~Emiliaâs POV~
âYou will go out and dig a grave for me⌠and if he ever asksâŚâ I force the words out of my throat, but speaking about this is hard, and it hurts, and I want nothing more than to run back to Chris once Felix wakes up, and let him apologise and forgive him for everything, but how can I do that?
I canât.
I canât do that.
I have to be strong and leave.
I donât want to leave.
But I canât stay here anymore.
Will Felix even wake up?
It doesn't matter.
I have to leave.
I look at Jeongin way too pleadingly for my linking. I was never one to plead for anything, but ever since Hyo stabbed me, it feels like all Iâve done was pleading.
For Chris to listen to me.
For Jeongin to dig me a grave.
For everyone else to believe me because they trust me, not because Felix confirms my side of the story.
Actually, everyone else doesnât even matter. I just wanted Chris to believe me⌠That wouldâve been enough.
But he didnât.
â⌠I understand. And I promise you that I will do just as you asked me.â Jeongin looks back at me with focused determination in his sharp eyes, that now have a burning in them I havenât noticed before.
âThank you, Innie. Truly. Youâre the only one I can still trust.â
âEmi⌠how about this? Weâll wait for a few more days until you are a bit better, you lost so much blood⌠and after that, letâs leave this shithole behind, together. Letâs run far away for good.â He says with resolution and grabs my face, âIâll make you forget all about him.â, then presses his lips against mine.
I let him kiss me.
Why not?
Heâs gonna be heartbroken enough anyway once I leave.
Let this be⌠the last time we see each other, Innie.
âWhere should we go once you feel better, hm?â He smiles and caresses my cheek, and itâs all so unfair to me and especially to him.
Why couldnât it be you, Innie?
Why does my heart ache so bad after the man who trampled over it like it was nothing?
âI donât know. Somewhere far, far away from here.â
âThat goes without saying.â He chuckles and grabs my left hand, squeezing it tightly. âIâve already brought some money. Not much, since I feel Minhoâs eyes are still on me, but Iâll keep bringing some more little by little for the next week and then we can make some fake passports. I know a guy.â
âGreat.â I smile and squeeze his hand back in return.
âI donât know if I can come every day, but Iâll try. If youâre hungry, you can call the front desk anytime. The owner is an old friend of mine.â
So, youâre having your eyes on me?
âGot it.â
âYou probably wonât have a 5-course meal at this shitty motel but hey, itâs better than nothing.â
âItâs fine, Innie, really. Iâll be okay even if youâre not here.â I smile assuringly, but it only makes Jeongin frown harder.
âBe careful when you stand up. The stitches might split apart if youâre not careful enough. If that happens, make sure you put on a clean bandage and call reception immediately to tell my friend to reach out to me, okay?â
âYes, Innie. Donât worry. Iâve been hurt before.â
âI just⌠please just take it easy, Emilia. I donât want anything to happen to you. God knows youâve been through enough already.â As he says this, he moves his hands back on my cheeks and grazes them with his thumbs again. âYour complexion looks pretty good.â
âThanks to you.â I chuckle.
âI wish I could stay here longerâŚâ
âThe others will get suspicious if youâre away for too long, wonât they?â
âMhm. Probably.â
âThank you for everything, Jeongin.â I say sincerely. When I told him so many months ago that he can repay the favour when the time comes, I hoped the time would never come.
And yet, it did, and he saved my life, and I donât know if I should be grateful or upset about it. I donât feel like wanting to be alive right now, but no matter what Iâve been through, my urge to live has always been strong. Itâs always been like a survival instinct. Like that last bit of pointless struggle that fights with your will to die when you hang yourself or keep your head underwater for long enough to let your lungs fill with liquid.
Your brain knows you want to die, but your instincts just donât let you. You still struggle and wiggle your hands desperately. How laughable this is. I am the same way.
He just nods and stands up, making his way towards the door.
âIâll see you soon, okay?â
I nod back with a smile, and I hate myself for lying to him, but I donât want to be selfish and take advantage just to use him. He deserves way better than that. Way more than someone who canât love him back the way he wants.
Jeongin doesnât say goodbye, and I donât say it either. This fits us, parting our ways unexpectedly, just as we met in that mansion so many years ago.
After he leaves, I make sure to call reception and request some food. If I want to get out of here without anyone knowing, I need to make it obvious enough that Iâm not planning on going anywhere, so as soon as the dude brings me food (consisting of a sad looking sandwich that I barely manage to swallow), I start chit-chatting with him.
I complain about how badly my abdomen hurts, he tells me how much of a hassle it was when Jeongin brought me covered in blood a few days ago. I tell him I can barely get out of bed, and he sympathises.
The bread is dry and the ham in it has a weird flavour.
We continue talking while I eat the sandwich and then I hand him back the plate. Itâs chipped around the margins, and I think that says a lot about the man in front of me as well, but I donât dwell on it. I am happy enough to have completed my achievement, which consisted in making this dude believe I am unable to get up without struggling.
He wouldnât be wrong; he just doesnât know that Iâm persistent enough to push myself no matter how much it hurts.
I thank the man for the food and let him know that Iâm planning to go to sleep and rest some more until tomorrow, and he wishes me a speedy recovery.
All according to plan.
~
A few hours later, I reluctantly get out of bed and the pain in my lower stomach is so bad, I feel like I might pass out.
Jeongin left some painkillers on the table, so I grab a fistful and drown myself in them, hoping it would at least make this pain a bit more bearable. I grab a piece of paper from the little notebook in the room and scribble down a pointless apology to Jeongin with my red lipstick. When the note is written, I put the lipstick in my pocket, next to the picture of San I took from my old home and next to the golden greenhouse key I shouldâve returned to Hyunjin after finishing the mission.
It's horrible, really, how I hold onto these items of my past life. It suddenly occurs to me that besides the golden key, thereâs nothing else from the moments with Stray Kids I can put in my pocket; no pictures to help me reminisce about the good times with them. The only thing I have is heartbreak and a painful wound, proof only of aching memories.
The wind gushing outside is quite strong, I notice, as I open the window to observe my surroundings. Thankfully Iâm on the ground floor and itâs easy enough to jump out, carrying the small bag of cash Jeongin left. Iâm pleasantly surprised to find a gun and some bullets inside as well, so I take it out and place it steadily in my pocket, and walk away from the motel, praying that no one saw me.
Fuck, this place really is in the middle of nowhere.
I want to curse out loud, but I keep silent and make my way towards the road as quietly as I can. Itâs hard to walk, and I fear my stitches have torn from the small jump, but still, I push forward and just focus on putting one leg in front of the other.
Yes, thatâs it. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot.
No cars come.
Right foot. Left foot. Right foot.
Thereâs a faint light ahead.
Left foot. Right foot. Left foot.
Is that a car?
I raise my hand in the air and signal that I want to hitchhike, and thankfully, the car stops. A woman rolls down her window and looks at me, concern in her eyes.
She seems innocent.
âOh my God, are you okay? Why are you here?â
âHello! God, Iâm so happy someone stopped!â I put on my best act and start sobbing. âI had no idea what to do! I had a fight with my boyfriend and he dropped me here! I donât even know where I am! Iâve been walking for hours!â
âNo way! In the middle of the night?!â
âYes! That prick!â
âOh my God, I canât believe it!â She exclaims. âWhere do you wanna go?â
âIâm going back to my parents, fuck that bastard!â
âYeah, girl! Thatâs the attitude! Where do they live?â
I vaguely tell her a cityâs name that must be hundreds of kilometres away, and she urges me to come in her car. She doesnât seem to pay any mind to my bag, and Iâm glad she doesnât ask whatâs in it.
Oh, you know, just a million dollars. I think how the conversation would play out, but refrain from laughing at the absurdity.
She also tells me where sheâs headed, and apologises that she canât drop me off that far away, but weâll definitely find a bus stop or train station in the next city over, âthatâs like, just two-three hours aheadâ, as per her words.
I sit in the back, carefully watching the womanâs every move. She is talkative and naĂŻve, but I no longer trust anyone and am not sure if her intentions are pure or if she will try and rob me the first chance she gets, so I keep my hand in my pocket, on my gun, and hang onto the bag to dear life.
Itâs all Iâve got.
~
About two hours later, the woman stops the car at a gas station. Iâm still quite far from where I want to go, but thank her anyway for getting me as close as she could.
She insists she could still drop me off directly at a bus stop, but Iâm just thankful I didnât have to use the gun, so I simply shake my head and tell her that Iâve got it.
The wound hurts.
Perhaps it wouldâve been easier to steal her car or threaten her to drive further away, or even accept her offer of dropping me off in the city instead of on the outskirts, but I canât risk the police finding out about any of this, so I just smile politely, thank her again, and start walking.
Ugh.
This is so hard.
Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot.
Iâm able to find a bus stop quite easily, which I take until the train station, where I buy a ticket to the only city I can go to, the only place far enough from all this mafia bullshit, where I know somebody who might just help me after a bit of convincing.
I arrive about 7 hours later and hop off the train. The first light of dawn is breaking as I keep going and going and going.
Right foot. Left foot.
The pain is back stronger than ever, as well as a numbing fever, and each time I place my hand on my lower stomach, it hurts worse.
Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot
Iâm cold.
Fuck.
Is this blood?
Am I bleeding?
I put my hand on my bandage again and it feels wet, but itâs still too dark out to see anything.
After some more walking, I reach a forest and walk clumsily in it, over the fallen branches. Leaves are crunching under my weight, and itâs getting harder and harder to see, even if the dawn is breaking.
Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot.
Please be here.
Please still be here.
Please.
I walk, and walk, and walk, and I feel sick, and just when I think I canât walk anymore, I finally see it: a small, familiar wooden cottage with its porch light lit up.
I go up the stairs and knock on the door, and after a few knocks, someone answers.
âShade?â He asks unimpressed.
âWooyoung. You have no idea how glad I am to see you.â I say, truly relieved. Iâve been betting everything on him being here, and he is.
Thank heavens heâs here.
âI thought you were dead.â He replies, his brows furrowed.
âYeah, well, Iâm not. Surprise!â I counter weakly. He doesn't seem happy to see me.
âAnd to think I celebrated for nothing. What the fuck are you doing here?â He hisses.
âI know you probably donât want to see me, but-â
âProbably?â He scoffs. âDefinitely. Leave.â
âWooyung, please-â
âI said leave. I never want to see you again, you bitch.â He curses.
âIâm bleeding. I need your help. Please.â
Here I am, pleading again.
âYouâre better off dead. You can die for all I care. Thatâs what you deserve after abandoning San in that building. Fucking-â He spits out, and with that, he shuts the door in my face.
Defeated, I simply sit down on the porch. I canât move anymore. It hurts too badly, and I ran out of pills a few many kilometres ago.
Itâs almost morning now, and the light filters beautifully through the trees, sun rays piercing through the branches devoid of leaves in this cold end of winter.
At least itâs beautiful.
âYou wouldâve liked this.â I whisper weakly, taking out Sanâs picture out of my pocket. We look so happy in it, itâs sick and twisted that he is no more, and Iâm dying on his best friendâs porch. âWooyoung is right to hate me, but⌠I also wanted you to live. If only you told me where you were at that time⌠we couldâve lived together somewhere, or who knows⌠die together, at least.â
Tears prick my eyes as all the remaining energy I had leaves my body.
It hurtsâŚ
All of a sudden, Wooyoung opens the door forcefully and steps towards me in anger.
âYou pathetic bitch. Look at you hugging that picture. Are you planning to die here? Be an even bigger inconvenience to me? Do you know how hard it is to dig a grave? And you might stain my porch with your dirty blood.â
I chuckle. This is so like him.
âCome inside.â
âI canât⌠stand up⌠anymoreâŚâ
âLazy.â He rolls his eyes and bends down, helping me up.
His house is warm, the vague smell of fire lingering in the air.
âThere you go.â He says with a sigh, helping me in a chair. âLet me just put something on the sofa, I donât want you to get it dirty. Blood is hard to get rid of.â
âYou know it.â I wink.
âKeep a hand on your abdomen. What the fuck happened to you?â
âI got stabbed, then someone stitched it, but I jumped from a window, and I think itâs all ripped now.â
âYouâre pretty dumb.â He chuckles then comes back to me to put me on the sofa. I lay down and raise my blood-stained blouse, and Wooyoung examines the wound.
âNo, not dumb, just cautious. Someoneâs out to get me.â
âPoor stitches⌠they look pretty. Whoever did them knows what theyâre doing.â He observes carefully.
âYeah. Shit-â I hiss in pain when he starts applying disinfectant.
âDonât be such a pussy, youâve had worse.â
âNot my fault it hurts like hell- fucking-â I curse again when the needle pierces my skin. The burning is so bad, I feel like passing out.
âStop whining.â
âGive me something for the pain, anything!â
âOh my God, Shade, fucking calm down. Did you take anything?â
âYeah, about a bottle of painkillers. Not sure what it was, but it did the trick.â
âAÂ bottle?! Hell no, Iâm not giving you anything else, you addict.â
âThen distract me somehow, you know better, youâre the doctor-Â FUCKâ
âOh hell, are you seriously crying? Thatâs a new one!â
âIt really hurts, asshole!â
âMaybe I shouldâve let you die after all. Less of a hassle than dealing with your screaming.â He rolls his eyes. âSo, whoâs out to get you?â
âStray Kids.â I say, and he stops and looks at me.
âSeriously?!â
âNo, Iâm just messing with you.â
âOh, okay, thatâs good-â
âIâm not. Itâs true. Their boss is my ex-lover, and he wants to kill me because he thinks I shot one of the other members.â
âShade! Why the fuck did you come here, then? You know I barely got away after San died! Now youâre coming here to bring me trouble?!â
âNo, fuck, Iâm going to leave, I promise. I came here because youâre the only doctor I know, and I was dying. No one will even know Iâm here! They hopefully think Iâm dead!â
âWhat is it with you and pretending to die? I thought Stray Kids killed you years ago when Boss gave you that mission.â
âThey offered me a deal â joining hands with them to kill our Boss and then freedom.â
âLook how much freedom you have-â He chuckles. â- running away. Did Boss die?â
âI donât even know for sure⌠I think so. But wait, you left so long ago, how did you know I was dead?â
âI keep in touch with some of the others sometimesâŚâ
âYou Ateez people have always been risk takers.â I say, and Wooyoung chuckles.
âTheyâre my brothers after all. The ones that are left.â
âIf Boss really died, you could reunite and-â
âNo.â He shakes his head. âAll of them have already left and are scattered all throughout the world. No one wants to come back.â
âReally? Wow. ThatâsâŚâ
âIâm the only one left here. I wanted to leave too, but I quite enjoy the cabin life.â
âYou cottage core whore.â I say, and he bursts out laughing.
âThere, youâre all done. For the next few days, you have to eat a lot of meat and vegetables. Bye!â
âBye? Hell no, Iâm staying here. Take care of me.â
âYouâre not staying here. What if Stray Kids finds us?! Theyâre gonna kill both of us.â
âI told you, they wonât find us! And even if they somehow would, theyâd only kill me. They never go for innocent people.â
âYeah, because Iâm sooooo innocent. What a joke.â He laughs drily.
âYou are, look at your princess face.â
âShade, Iâm serious.â
âIâm serious too. Nurse me back to health and then Iâll be gone and weâre never going to see each other again, okay?â
I ask, but he doesnât say anything in return.
âPlease.â I insist.
â⌠fine. But only until youâre better. Then you walk out that door, and weâre done.â
âPromise.â
~
Days with Wooyoung are really tranquil. Despite his apprehension regarding Stray Kids and the aversion he had towards me in the beginning, he is now quite friendly. We spend a lot of time chatting, and he is mostly curious about my time with SKZ.
I answer all of his questions, because thereâs no point in hiding anything anymore. Not from Wooyoung, one of the only two people I still trust in the world.
Unfortunately, I had to leave the other one thousands of kilometres behind because he is in love with me. Such is life.
Wooyoung takes good care of me. He feeds me and checks on the wound as often as he needs to, and the day when he needs to remove the stitches approaches quickly.
âSo, where do you plan to go next?â He asks as he clips each thread.
âHmm, I donât know. Do you know anyone who makes fake passports?â
âYeah, she lives a couple of cities over. How much money do you have?â
âEnough, probably. Iâll manage. Donât know how to smuggle it to another country, though.â
âThe girl also makes credit cards and statements to make it look genuine. Damn Shade, I fed you too well the past few weeks, havenât I?â
âWhy?â
âYour stomach got a bit rounder. You owe me some money for giving you all this food.â
âDonât be ridiculous.â I roll my eyes at him. âSo, when will you take me to the passport girl?â
âSheâs usually only working on Sundays, so we could go see her a week from now, and the passport and card should take about⌠a few weeks? A month, maybe?â
~
âOld face!â The girl grins behind the desk. âAnd a new bird. Welcome, welcome, how may I help you on this beautiful day?â She asks cheerfully, and I canât help but glance out the window, to the merciless rain.
âHi Dahyun. We need passports and some cards.â
âStraight to the point, as usual! Come on Wooyoung, weâve been friends for a long time. Whoâs she, by the way?â
âShe is Shade.â I intervene, a bit annoyed that she didnât address me directly.
âShade? Hmm⌠where did I hear this name?â She contemplates for a second. âWere you in Scarlet Rose?â
âYup.â
âI swear I heard you died. Oh, well, youâre as dead as I am, I guess.â She shrugs and laughs loudly. I smile back.
âAnyway, Dahyun. How much will it take for you to make us some passports and credit cards?â
âHmm⌠Iâm actually swamped with work, believe it or not, so I think⌠the earliest would be in about two months from now.â
âTwo months?!â Wooyoungâs mouth almost falls to the floor. âYou used to do them in less than two weeks, what happened?â
âOne of my men got caught and it really slowed down the process.â She sighs. âSay, donât you two wanna come work for me?â
âNo way.â Wooyoung shakes his head and Dahyun starts laughing.
âI thought so. Then, two months? Is that okay?â
âYeah, that works.â
âFor both of you?â
âYes. And donât forget about the cards.â Wooyoung replies and I instantly turn my head to look at him. He avoids my gaze.
âThatâs gonna be 50k. 25k up front, 25k at delivery. Deal?â
âDeal.â
~
âWhy do you need a fake passport and a card?â I raise my brow questioningly, but Wooyoung just shrugs.
âBetter be prepared just in case. Besides, it wouldnât hurt to visit my friends from time to time.â
âThatâs true. But two months? Ugh, I guess weâre stuck together for a bit longer.â
âLucky me.â Wooyoung chuckles.
âDo we have some lemons or something at home?â
âHavenât gone to the store yet, but there might still be one or two left. Why?â
âI donât know, I feel really nauseous all of a sudden.â
âYou might be car sick.â
âYou think?â
âDahyunâs office is quite far away.â
âEven so, Iâve never been car sick before.â
âWho knows, maybe you didnât sleep well or ate something bad.â
~
The nausea continued for the next couple of days, reaching its peak with frequent vomiting. It got to a point where it was so bad, even the smell of food cooked by Wooyoung made me rush to the bathroom and empty my bowels.
âI donât get it.â I whine from the sofa loudly. âWhy am I so sick? Are you poisoning me?â
âDonât be ridiculous. I wouldâve given you a high enough dose to kill you since day one if that was the case.â
âTrue.â I lay my head down on one of the cushions and try to distract my mind from the queasiness.
âAny chance you might be pregnant?â Wooyoung asks, and I feel the whole world stop.
âDonât even joke about that.â I reply after a few too many seconds of silence.
âIâm not joking⌠but the symptoms match upâŚâ He says quietly, and I stand up.
âNo way. No.â I shake my head. âIâve been on birth control for as long as I can remember.â
âWhat birth control? Pills?â
âYeah.â
âYou said it yourself; youâve been really stressed the past few weeks before your last mission⌠what if you⌠missed a day, or a few?â
âN-no.â I shake my head unsure. Wooyoung is right, it was a stressful time with days full of training and plans and nights full of Chris, and weâve never used condoms, but-
âWhen did you last have your period?â
Huh?
I tried to think about it, but I couldnât remember. I just shake my head.
âIâm going shopping tomorrow, so Iâll grab a few tests, just to check. If itâs not that, Iâm taking you for some bloodwork to see what the heck is wrong with you.â
âMhm. Okay. That sounds good.â
I wait impatiently for the day to be over, and I barely get any sleep during the night. When morning finally comes, I anxiously watch Wooyoung grab his coat and drive away in his truck, and I fidget the whole time heâs gone.
What if Iâm really pregnant?
Should I get an abortion?
Do I keep it?
Fuck, I wonât be a good mom. I canât⌠I canât be a mom.
I keep fidgeting nervously, trying to pierce my memories back together. Did I really miss taking the pills?
I might have.
I barely remember the few days before the mission.
The anxiety bubbling in my stomach makes me more nauseous, and I find myself hunched against the toilet three times before Wooyoung comes back.
As soon as I hear his truck driving next to the house, my eyes stay stuck on the front door. It feels like heâs moving excruciatingly slow.
âYo, Iâm back.â He waves as he watches me.
âWhat took you so long?â I snap at him, and he sighs.
âSorry, there was a bit of trafficâŚâ
âNo⌠I just⌠fuck.â I keep looking down at my feet and try to summon more words. âDid you get the- uhm, how was your shopping trip?â I ask and force out a smile, which is nearly impossible. I donât want to show how anxious I am, but I must be trembling, because Wooyoung soon comes and places his hands on top of mine in a comforting manner.
âYes, I got you a couple of tests. Calm down and go take one.â
I yank my hands back and rummage through the shopping bags on the floor to find the box containing the holy grail, and I run straight to the toilet.
The few minutes until Iâm supposed to look at the test pass agonisingly slowly, and I even throw up again from anxiety. Again.
When I finally look at the test, I want to gauge my eyes out.
Two red lines are staring back at me.
How?
How did this happen?
I throw the test away in the bin and I hug myself.
Certainly, Iâve seen it wrong.
Yes. It was just a line, and Iâve been so anxious Iâve seen two.
I get up and open the trash can, grabbing the test. Looking at it again, itâs quite obvious that Iâve read it right the first time around.
Sure enough, it displays two red lines, which meansâŚ
âShade, are you okay in there?â Wooyoung knocks on the door, making me jolt. âDid you take the test?â
I stand up and open the door, and as soon as he sees me, Wooyoungâs expression falls. He shakes his head.
âReally?â he whispers, and I burst out crying.
I havenât cried since the night Chris slapped me, so the moment I feel the first tears in the corners of my eyes, I canât stop them from falling anymore.
Wooyoung hugs me tightly and Iâm grateful heâs not his usual self that would mock me for getting in this situation. He shows me a compassionate side I havenât seen since San was alive, and that makes me cry even more.
âShh, itâs gonna be alright.â
âHow? How is it going to be alright, hm?! Not only have I been running away from him, now I have to hide a baby as well?!â
âYouâre strong.â
âNo, Iâm not.â
âYes, you are. Youâre strong. Look at you, surviving two cold-blooded mafia bosses that have been hunting you down for years. You can do anything.â
I just hug him tighter and try not to think for a little while. When Iâm done crying, I go to sleep, and when I wake up, Wooyoung and I talk about something else.
~
Time passes, and we donât mention the pregnancy at all, besides the times when Wooyoung takes me to the doctor to get checked up. With every passing day, I get more and more used to the idea of having a baby. I even get excited when it starts kicking, and Wooyoung shares my excitement.
Eventually, two months go by and Wooyoung leaves to pick up the passports and cards from Dahyun. I choose not to go with him, as Iâm still experiencing some morning sickness. I just watch TV and pet my belly, which seems to grow bigger and bigger with every week.
Iâm feeling happy and safe, but as always, the tranquillity has to be interrupted by something.
It always goes like this. Whenever I allow myself to feel relaxed, something happens. I always make the mistake of getting used to the calm before the storm, and the thunder always takes me by surprise when it inevitably comes.
The thunder this time was brought by Wooyoung running into the house quickly, as if stressed out.
âHey, youâre back?â I ask, concerned.
âYes. We need to pack. Now.â
âWhat?â I look at him with confusion. âWhy?â
âTheyâre here for you, fuck.â He says while rummaging through a closet and pulling out big bags.
âWho?â
âI donât know, Shade! Possibly Stray Kids! Dahyun told me someoneâs asked for you because he fucking saw you on a security camera going into her office. Fuck!â
âHow⌠how could this be?!â
âRight?! The fucker mustâve looked through HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS of hours of footage to find you there!â
âDid Dahyun tell him anythingâŚ?â
âNo, but sheâs been threatened by that dude, so sheâs making arrangements to leave as we speak. We need to go.â
âWhere would we even go?â
âSomewhere⌠as far away as possible. Fucking hell. Where do we go?â
â⌠Italy?! They have a lot of remote towns⌠But waitâŚÂ we?â I ask, and he pauses.
I watch as he opens and closes his mouth a few times, but as no words come out, I decide to speak again.
âAre you coming with me?â
â⌠yes.â
âOkay.â
âOkay?â
âOkay. But⌠why? I thought you wanted to get rid of me.â I whisper, and he quickly glances at me, and then at my stomach.
âItâs not you⌠donât get me wrong, I donât give two shits about you, but⌠The baby.â
âThe baby?â
âMhm.â
âOkay.â I nod. âLetâs pack.â
~
~Present day~
âSo, someone found you there⌠but who?â Minho asks deep in thought.
âI donât know. We assumed it was Stray Kids. I thought you guys found out that Jeongin lied and that you came for me. Fuck, Iâve even lived my life fearing the day youâd come for my head.â I say and Minho pauses temporarily.
âNo one except Jeongin knew you were alive. Was it him?â He tilts his head and I shrug.
âI donât know⌠maybe. But why⌠why would he try to find me?â
âMaybe heâs still in love with you. Love makes you do crazy things.â
âBut if Chris were to find out⌠what would he even do?â I ask, almost in a whisper, and then instantly regret it. I shouldnât be thinking about Chris again.
âI donât even know âŚâ
âAnyway, Wooyoung and I both moved to Italy and thatâs how I ended up here.â
âFucking hellâŚâ Minho replies.
âI hope you understand why I canât come back with you, Minho. Iâm sorry.â
âNo, Emilia, Iâm the one whoâs sorry. I know you probably hate Chris. Hell, you probably hate me, and everyone else, but-â
âYes, youâre right. I fucking loathe all of you.â
âSome tea?â Wooyoung comes into the room with another tray full of teacups.
âWhat, are you some sort of fucking housewife?â I mock, and he gives me a look.
âYou and that rotten mouth of yours. What if Ivy hears you?â
âIris, youâre awake!â Minho suddenly sits up from his chair and runs up to his wife. âHow are you feeling?â
âIâm fine⌠my head hurts a bit⌠what happened?â
âEmilia hit you.â He sighs.
âSorry âbout that!â I chuckle slightly and raise my teacup in the air.
âWait, Emilia, as in-â
âChanâs lover.â Minho clarifies, and I cringe.
âAm I that popular? Nice to meet you, Minhoâs wife.â
âI have a name.â The woman stands up and comes to me, handing her hand out for a shake. âIris.â
âEmilia, but oh well, you know that already.â
âI do. So, this is where you were hiding.â
What?
I feel everything around me freeze, and I look at Minho, whose gaze dropped as well.
âWhat do you mean?â I ask quietly.
âI mean â I was really wondering where you were, after I found out that the pretty grave Jeongin dug for you is empty.â
âIris⌠what are you talking about?â Minho asks, as if hoping he heard his wife wrong. âDid you⌠know about this?â
âI found out when we left for Italy and was planning to tell you about this as soon as our honeymoon was over-â
âAre you fucking kidding me? Fuck the honeymoon, this is the type of shit you should be telling me about immediately.â
âDid Jeongin tell you?â I stand up as well and ask in a whisper. âDoes⌠does Chris also know?â
My words are suffocating me. Faced with the prospect that Chris could actually know about me being alive makes me as anxious as I was when I first heard Minhoâs voice earlier.
Fuck.
Iâm scared.
âNo. Heâs kept your secret, no matter how much it fucked him up.â
âDonât you dare judge me for it. It was a life and death decision for me, and you wouldâve done the same thing given the circumstances. Chris canât know about this. He canât. I canât see him. I donât want to-â
âEmilia, calm down.â Wooyoung puts his hands on my shoulders, making me sit back down, and I try to breathe in for a second.
Itâs hard.
Itâs hard to breathe, and the room is spinning.
âHow the fuck can I be calm, Wooyoung?! If Chan finds out-â
âHeâll come for you.â Iris cuts me off, and I look at her surprised.
What did she just say?
How much⌠does she know?
âNo. He canât. Minho, please-â
âIâm sorry, Emilia, but ever since you died, Chris has been a fucking messâŚâ Minho starts. âYouâre the only one who can make him be⌠his old self.â
âFuck that. Fuck Chris. Fuck YOU!â
âYou have to come back with us.â
âNo. Not in a million years. I will never come back.â
âYou have his child.â Iris insists. Itâs hard to contain my laugh when sheâs being so cynical.
âSo what? Does he deserve a chance at parenting? Ivy baby, look, this is your daddy. He almost killed mommy and he stepped on her heart repeatedly, but thatâs okay, because he feels bad about it!â
âIâm sorry, but itâs just the way it will be.â
âFuck your fake-ass compassion.â I laugh again, and when I look at Minho, I notice that heâs pointing his gun at me again. âAre you seriously threatening me right now? After ruining everything? I canât believe you two.â
âI donât want to threaten you. We were the ones who were wrong. But if you donât come back willingly⌠You leave me no choice.â
âSo, shoot me, then! Fucking shoot me and end this already, Minho! Iâm not coming with you!â
âNo⌠I wonât take you with us if you donât want it, Emilia. Iâm just saying that⌠if you wonât come, weâre gonna stay here just like this while Iris goes to the other room and grabs your daughter. Sheâs gonna take her to Chris and explain everything, and thatâs it.â
He wants to take Ivy away from me?
NoâŚ
NoâŚ
This canât be happening.
âYou wouldnât.â I shake my head.
âTry me.â
âFuck you.â
âIâm sorry.â
âFuck you!â I shout and feel myself on the verge of crying. Why did I invite him into my house in the first place? I shouldâve told Wooyoung to poison him somehow. I shouldâve run away again.
âSo, will you come with us?â Minho asks again.
âWooyoung⌠what in the worldâŚâ
âI think we have to go with them, unfortunatelyâŚâ
âButâŚâ
âYou donât want to? Would you let them take Ivy?â Wooyoung whispers.
âFuck, no. Ivy is my baby. Sheâs mine. Minho, come on. You canât do this. You seriously canât.â
I watch as Minhoâs face contorts; he looks like heâs in pain, and I get the sense that this isnât easy for him either. Still, I canât accept it. I donât want Ivy to meet Chris.
IÂ donât want to meet Chris.
Iâm not ready.
âIâm not ready.â I let out, and Minho closes his eyes again.
âIâm sorry.â
I tense up and curse over and over again. Wooyoung tries to touch my shoulder and I smack his hand away, and I get an overwhelming sense to scream and shout and curse the world.
I ran away for so long, only to have my wrists tied by the same ropes of the past.
No matter how far I tried to run, no matter what I did to hide, and even without specifically wanting to, someone from Stray Kids found me.
It wasnât Jeongin. If it were, I mightâve been able to reason with him.
Hell, if it were anyone else besides Minho, I mightâve just been able to get away.
But itâs not.
Itâs Minho, who is as ruthless, if not more, than Chris. Who would never leave me alone and forget heâs ever met me here. Whoâs seen my daughter, Chanâs child, and would never ignore the fact that I ran away with his bossâ baby.
Faced with all this information, I know there is no choice but to swallow the lump in my throat and go with him. Itâs the only way to ensure I can protect Ivy on this path weâre forced to take.
~
Chapter 2 | Chapter 4
#stray kids#straykids#stray kids smut#stray kids masterlist#stray kids mafia#stray kids fanfiction#stray kids imagines#bang chan#bang chan smut#bang chan imagines#bang chan fluff#stray kids angst#stray kids scenarios#skz stay#stay#lee know#changbin#skz#hyunjin#felix#han jisung#seungmin#jeongin#san ateez#momo twice#wattpad#ao3#ao3 writer#fanfiction#fanfic
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Just a Little While Longer
Whumptober Day 12: Starvation â âjust a little moreâ
Contrary to what most might believe, Wild isnât wild about being the sole person responsible for feeding nine hungry adventurers. He especially doesnât like being the party chef in situations like this. The group has been trapped in this Hyrule for days, and while the forest is beautiful, it is bereft of ingredients.
Ao3 Link
Contrary to what most might believe, Wild isnât wild about being the sole person responsible for feeding nine hungry adventurers. There are different diets to consider, as well as preferences. He hasnât made anything with Goron spice for weeks now and he misses the burning heat, but the others were all sick after the last time he made his spicy meat and rice bowls.
He especially doesnât like being the party chef in situations like this. The group has been trapped in this Hyrule for days, and while the forest is beautiful, it is bereft of ingredients. No mushrooms clustered around the base of trees. No bird eggs hidden in nests. No deer or goats or boar to hunt. Not even a fish in the creek they waded through earlier.
None of the others have noticed the lack of food around them, only remarking on the beautiful flowers underfoot or the squirrels running through branches. Wild considers them for a moment. Itâs not like squirrels arenât completely off the menu. He doesnât know if the others will be okay with it though.
When they make camp for the night in a low clearing Wild peruses his slate. Theyâre down to the bare bones of his inventory now. Heâs got a handful of mushrooms, some apples, some bird meat and fish, and one slab of gourmet prime meat. Enough to get them through tonight and tomorrow, if he stretches it a little, but not much further.
Unless he gives up his portion. Itâs not like Wild hasnât gone without before. He spent weeks learning what is edible and what isnât when he woke in the Shrine of Resurrection. Sometimes on the road he would go days without eating when it wasnât safe enough to make camp and cook. An apple will tide him over for a while. If he gives up his portion and shuffles things around a little, he can probably make what they have last three days. Enough to hopefully get them out of this Hyrule and into another, preferably one where he can forage.
Wild settles in to make a stew. Hearty and filling and easily masking what little they have left. He gets to work chopping the few remaining veggies while listening to Warriors regale the others with a story about a mythic battle from his Hyrule. The rhythm of cooking takes over, and Wild lets his mind wander. Or he does until Hyrule settles down next to him.
âCan I help?â asks Hyrule.
Hyrule asks to help with dinner every other night. Itâs done nothing to improve his culinary skills, but Wild lets him anyway. Wild puts down the knife to sign.
âSure. Can you cut the meat into bite-size pieces?â
âYou can count on me!â
Hyrule takes the gourmet prime meat and begins slicing carefully, tongue peeking out from the corner of his mouth in concentration. At least with just the meat he canât somehow turn it into a chuchu or an inedible mess.
The stew comes together quickly with Hyruleâs help, and Wild is able to get things mostly cleaned up while it simmers and night falls around the camp. By the time itâs ready the stars are twinkling overhead in constellations Wildâs never seen before. He fills eight bowls with the contents of the pot and hands them out to everyone gathered around the fire and soon the air is full of contented hums and the sound of spoons clattering. Wild tucks himself a little ways off from the fire. He stares into the embers, mulling over the situation. When Twilight sits himself down next to him Wild almost jumps.
âDelicious stew,â says Twilight. Wild gives him a nod in thanks. âTime sayâs youâre on second watch by the way.â
Wild nods again. âThanks for letting me know.â
Twilight settles into the spot more, then blinks at Wild.
âWhereâs your bowl?â
Wild sends him a questioning glance, hoping he doesnât look too guilty.
âWhereâs your bowl? You had dinner, right?â
âStop fussing, I ate most of my dinner as I made it,â signs Wild. He rolls his eyes too for good measure.
Twilight raises his hands in defeat, shaggy pelt creeping towards his ears. âAlright, alright. I had to ask.â
Wild sticks his tongue out at him and smiles. He got away with it. They are on track to not starve for the next few days. Something settles in his chest. Relief, and hope that he can pull this off.
What Wild doesnât see is Hyrule staring at him across the fire, suspicion in his eyes.
In the morning Wild makes apples glazed in his last stores of honey. Something to give them all energy for the day. Wind scarfs down his portion so quickly Wild swears he only blinked and it was gone. He knows Wind is hungry. Heâs the only one still growing out of the lot of them. So Wild takes one slice for himself and gives Wind the rest of his smaller portion, to much delight.
As they walk Wild tries to ignore the cramping in his stomach. Heâs gotten too used to regular meals travelling with the group. While his stomach rumbles its anger Wild instead tries to focus on the snide comments Legend makes, or Sky telling them about all the things he wants to make sure go to the surface from Skyloft.
âOf course, the market will eventually move to the surface, but itâll take some time. Zelda wants to make sure that we allow everyone the time they need to process the change,â says Sky.
âBut whatâs most important to you?â asks Four. âIf you could have one thing appear in both places what would it be?â
Sky hums, a finger tapping his chin.
âProbably his bed,â mutters Legend.
Warriors gives him a half-hearted grin but doesnât outright laugh at the comment. Sky ignores the both of them, a practise heâs become well adept at.
âIf I could make something from Skyloft appear everywhere it would be the Lumpy Pumpkin. Their soup is the best. Thick, creamy, just a little hint of cinnamon,â Sky trails off dreamily.
Wildâs stomach clenches with want. Why did Sky have to start describing food? He glowers at the ground in front of him. Why did he have to be the only one with enough culinary skills to keep them all alive beyond trail rations. The slate burns against his hip where it sits empty of food, reminding him with every step that heâs about to become worthless.
âThat sounds delicious,â says Twilight. âHey Wild, think you could whip up something like that tonight?â
Seven pairs and one lone eye turn to Wild. He freezes mid-step under the weight of their gaze. He can feel his cheeks starting to burn as he pats his slate and shakes his head.
âAll out of pumpkin, sorry.â
Twilight pouts a little, and Skyâs expression falls.
âDonât worry about it. Iâm sure whatever you make will be just as good,â says Time to keep the peace.
The conversation then turns to discussing the black-blooded monsters and where they could be hiding in this world, and if they are even present. Wild lets it wash over him, trying to tell his stomach to hold out just a little bit longer.
Their dinner that night is salt-roasted fish cooked on spits right over the fire. Thereâs a variety, and most are big enough Wild can cut them into two portions. Thank Hylia, because he only has four fish. The others are happy enough with the choice of menu, but even so, they have been walking all day. One of them alone could probably eat all four fish.
So Wild portions them out without leaving one for himself. He can go longer without food. He can tough it out. As the others dig in, Wild excuses himself to go patrol the perimeter of their camp. Again he misses Hyrule watching him go.
When morning comes with its bright and cheerful dawn Wild wakes feeling absolutely awful. He is tired. All his joints seem to ache and his stomach feels hollow in a way he hasnât felt in months. With a groan he levers himself out of bed and sets about making mushroom skewers for breakfast.
Wildâs hands shake as he tries to skewer the mushrooms onto sticks. Every third attempt he ends up stabbing one of his fingers instead, but by the time the rest of the camp wakes up he has the skewers over the fire and the smell is wafting around the camp. The others wake up hungry and immediately get to devouring the skewers.
While the others are eating Wild double checks his inventory in case he has anything else tucked away in it that will make a meal. If not heâll have to say something soon. Maybe the others still have trail rations, even if Wild hasnât seen anyone eat them in weeks. Heâs so wrapped up in his thoughts he doesnât notice when Hyrule sidles up next to him, only when a half-eaten mushroom skewer is thrust under his nose.
âIâm getting full, do you want any?â asks Hyrule.
Wild shakes his head, long hair falling over his shoulder. The skewer doesn��t move from its place. Hyruleâs eyes are wide enough to stare into his soul, and Wild wants to shy away from him.
âYou sure?â
Wild nods.
Hyrule sighs, and slowly takes the skewer back. Wild returns to his inventory, and by the time he looks up the skewer is gone. Someone else must have polished it off.
Soon enough they are packed and on their way. The path is gentle and their pace ambling, yet Wild still falls behind. He canât get his feet to do anything more than shuffle along fifteen feet behind the group. He doesnât even look around or explore. Instead, all his concentration goes to remaining upright and walking without falling on his face. Exhaustion pulls at his eyelids and he zones out until he bumps into Twilight and realizes theyâve stopped to camp.
Wild stumbles back, spitting out wolf hair as Twilight laughs.
âLost in a daydream?â asks Twilight with a grin.
Wild shrugs and is caught about the shoulders by one of Twilightâs arms. The atmosphere around him is jovial and bright, so different than what Wild is feeling. He carefully extricates himself from Twilight as Warriors joins in the tussle and scuttles away to set up his cook pot.
A few taps of the slate and the last of Wildâs supplies appear in a flash of blue light. Bird meat with a few token mushrooms on the side. At least he still has some Hyrule herbs to flavour it all with. It comes together quickly for the lack of ingredients.
The smell alone makes Wildâs stomach cramp. Itâs been long enough that it both makes him hungrier and nauseous all at the same time. It isnât hard to skip over himself with his stomach complaining. Instead he piles just a little more into Wind and Timeâs bowls.
As he sits back to watch the rest eat, Wild feels dread building in his gut. He has to tell Time about their supplies. Heâll do it tomorrow, when they can at least try and do something. Thereâs nothing any of them can do in the dark.
âYouâre not eating.â
Hyrule plops down beside him with his bowl of chicken. Wild presses a hand to his stomach in hopes that the pressure will make it stop feeling everything else.
âIâm eating. I nibble while I cook,â Wild signs one handed.
âNo youâre not,â Hyrule frowns at him. âAre you sick? You were hanging back today, and youâre kind of pale.â
âIâm fine.â
âDonât lie to me. And eat some of this,â says Hyrule shoves the bowl at him.
Wild eyes it but makes no move to grab the bowl from Hyruleâs hands. Hyrule will need the food more, especially if thereâs nothing to come in the next however long Hylia keeps them here for.
âIâm not leaving until you eat something.â
So Wild takes the absolute smallest piece of bird meat he can and swallows it down. Immediately his stomach clamours for more.
âThere, Iâve eaten something.â
âIâm so close to saying that doesnât count but I know how stubborn you are,â says Hyrule.
Wild sticks his tongue out at him. Hyrule sticks his out right back.
âWill you tell me whatâs wrong, at least?â asks Hyrule.
Itâs hard to say no to Hyruleâs sweet face but Wild shakes his head anyway. Heâll find out in the morning. For tonight let him eat without worry. His stomach aches with hunger but he ignores it. He can go a little while longer. He must.
#linked universe#lu#wild#wild linked universe#whumptober2024#fanfic#fanfiction#hyrule linked universe
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Lonely Hearts Club - 4
MDNI. Nothing I do is kid friendly.
The DAVINSHER fic continues with some sweet sweet aftercare I didn't know needed to happen but here we are? Honestly, I feel like I'm just reading this fic as I type it. These characters are going to do what they do and I looooooove putting them in situations!!
David/Gavin/Asher
on ao3 to read it from the start. <3
tags: coffee shop au, non-magical au, casual sex that's not nearly as casual as everyone is pretending, aftercare
Lonely Hearts Club - 4
Asher was shaky and wrung out in a way he hadnât been in years. Maybe ever. His head wasâŚquiet, and that energy that seemed to always be bundled inside of him, bouncing his knee or strumming his fingers, was spent. He was still face down on the big bed. He knew he needed to get up, roll off the damn bed and find the bathroom to clean up, but he couldnât quite convince his limbs.
The mattress dipped when Gavin came back. Asher opened his eyes, surprised how close heâd been to passing out. He wasnât the sort of person who fell asleep after sex. He wasnât the sort of person who fell asleep easily anytime. Fuck. He had to get up. He laughed at himself and just this whole amazing situation. Gavin was perfect. Even more reason he needed to leave on a good note so he didnât make this awkward.
A hand he had become very familiar with touched his back, the perfect amount of pressure before sliding up his spine. His whole body shivered when he grabbed the back of his neck briefly before sliding his fingers into Asherâs hair and tugging lightly, turning his head to get a look at him.
âIâm going. Iâm going,â Asher said with a smile.
âI think I preferred when you were yelling, Iâm coming, Iâm comingâŚâ Gavin used his fingers to comb Asherâs hair back. He thought he was just playing with it at first and then he realized the other man was gently collecting the mess of strands into a tie again.
His arms shook when he pushed himself up. His whole body still felt twitchy and unsteady.
âI thought you said you didnât need to be anywhere tonight?â Gavin asked, a note of worry thereânot irritated or offended, just worried like he might have misunderstood the plan.
Asher shook his head. âI donât. But if I stay down much longer I might fall asleep.â He huffed a laugh, still a little alarmed at how shaky his legs were. He wasnât a hundred percent sure he could stand and walk to the bathroom yet. âThat was fucking amazing.â
Gavin smiled, hands on his back and his shoulders. âSo, fall asleep. Iâll clean you up.â His voice was so dark and smooth.
Asher froze. Clean him up? Heâd done plenty of casual hookups and a handful of serious relationships. No one had ever offered to take care of him after.
-
Gavin stilled, his hands lifting off of Asherâs body like heâd said his safe word.
They didnât have a safe word. He didnât always have them with his partners just because some of them seemed to take some personal pride in not using it even when they needed it, and most forget them anyway when they wanted out. He preferred to check in and just ask. He liked being in control and he trusted himself to do thatâto pay attention to his partners. He had always been good at reading people and in the bedroom, it was where he got most of his enjoyment.
âWe didnât talk about aftercare,â he said, realizing it as he spoke. Theyâd flirted with so many ideas and tonight had been a lot of talking about what they liked. Asher had been fucking amazing. His stamina was insane and he was somehow even more erotic in person than heâd been on the phone playing with fantasies.
Heâd tensed up when Gavin suggested he take it easy. Was it because he said he could sleep here or because he offered to take care of him? Was it too much? Too close to a relationship? Gavin wasnât sure what Asher was used to in casual sex but considering his allergy to admitting to his own lines, he didnât imagine it was particularly nurturing. But heâd been in long term relationships too⌠Maybe he thought this was too serious?
âIs this too touchy for you after? Obviously, you can do whatever you want, sugar, but after everything we justâŚâ He exhaled a breath caught perfectly between confidence and insecurity. He knew exactly how to take care of his partners after a session, but he didnât know how Asher liked things in the wake of sex. "I usually take care of my partners after. Especially after something that intense.â The last thing he wanted was to scare Asher off thinking he was trying to get serious on him when theyâd agreed this was a friendship.
Asher hesitated. His arms and legs were shaking and Gavin was more than ready to get off the bed if he really did try to get up right now. âReally?â He sounded surprised, looking back at him over one shoulder.
Gavin stared back at him, for a second not sure what he was asking. Did he doubt that Gavin was really offering? No. He was surprised that Gavin did this for his partners. âFuck, sugar⌠Yes.â He touched him, stroking his back and gently guiding him back down onto the bed. âDid you really think Iâd push you out the door after?â
Asher sighed, the muscles in his thighs jumping. âI donât want to stay too long and make it awkward for youâŚâ
Gavin rolled his eyes and grabbed one of the towels heâd come back from the bathroom with before Asher tried to bolt. It was warm and wet. âNot to sound full of myself⌠but I donât think you could walk out of here right now even if you wanted to.â
Asher snorted and then inhaled sharply when Gavin pressed the warm washcloth against his skin and then stroked it up his thigh. He exhaled in a slow sigh, his eyelids dragging shut. âFuckâŚâ He practically purred. âWell, as someone who was recently full of youâŚâ
Gavin grinned, his own dick twitching at the memory and turn of phrase even though he was spent.
âI think you might be right,â Asher confirmed.
âI usually am.â Gavin made slow and thorough work of wiping him down. âJust relax. If you fall asleep, thatâs fine.â
âYou really do this after?â Asher asked, voice low and easy, eyelids still shut but a small crease in his brow. He really was too goodâthinking this was anything.
Gavin tossed one washcloth off the side of the bed and grabbed another, gently wiping his neck and then his face. âItâs called aftercareâŚâ He really hated that he didnât seem to know any of this. Asher had proclivities that suggested he liked to sub and definitely had before. This shouldnât be new. âI think weâre going to have to have a conversation about expectations before we set you loose on strangersâŚâ
Asher hummed. âYes. Give me the sex talkâŚâ
Gavin laughed at the easy, almost flirtatious joke the other man had made out of this. He tossed the second washcloth away. âWhen someone asks what youâre into,â he said, because the joke might be the best chance to really talk about this. âYouâve got a praise kink.â
Asherâs eyes flew open and he sat up. âWhat? No I donât,â he almost stuttered out the words. âI donât have a kink.â
Gavin really did laugh then. âEveryone has kinks! And you definitely have a praise kink! You literally busted when I told you what a good boy youâd been for me.â
Color flushed the other manâs face. âI-I⌠was just.. anyone wouldâŚâ
Gavin straddled his thighs and cupped his face in his hands. âHey. Thereâs nothing wrong with it. No one is going to say there is and thatâs definitely not why Iâm saying it. Iâm just telling you what words to use to get what you want.â He watched some of that initial panic ease out of Asherâs expression, his thumbs stroking his cheeks. âYouâre a soft domâs dream, sugar. I promise. You were fucking amazing.â
Asherâs breath caught and Gavin had to bite back pointing how the proof of what he was trying to say.
âThe problem is, this thing where youâre afraid to draw lines and upset the person youâre with would also make you the dream of a lot of other kinds of partnersâŚâ
Asher flopped back onto the bed, looking up at Gavin still naked on his lap. âAre you worried about me?â he asked like it was a joke.
âYeah, kinda.â
Asher laughed. âDude, I literally work security. You donât need to worry about it. I can leave whenever I want to.â
Gavin felt a pain somewhere in his chest. He really wasnât sure that was true. Just the bits heâd gleaned about Asherâs ex seemed like heâd stayed through a lot of stuff he shouldnât have. âYou could, but Iâm not sure you wouldâŚâ
Asher tensed, smile gone.
Gavin rolled off of him and onto his feet, not wanting to feel like he was trapping the other man under him. Not like this anyway. He could have just left it like that. He could changed the subject. He was sure Asher would go with it and find a good mood again, and it would feel safer for Gavin too. He liked sex and partners and people in general, but he didnât usually hand too much of himself away. âI just donât want to see you get hurt,â he explained, pulling a drawer open and finding some clean sweats.
-
Asher watched Gavin get dressed.
He wasnât sure what to make of what he was telling him. He understood, of course he did, but for some reason he struggled to believe it. It wasnât that he doubted Gavin. So, what did that say about him?
âSo, should I get a sticker?â Asher asked.
Gavin turned to blink at him.
Asher held back a smirk. âLike a âslut for praiseâ sticker? Something to let people know?â
Gavin laughed, the sound rich and bursting out of him. His hand went to his mouth like he could catch it.
Asher grinned. He loved that sound and that reaction. âThank you,â he added quietly.
Gavin nodded and tossed another pair of sweats to him.
Asher caught them and blinked. His jeans werenât dirty.
âDo you want to hang out? We can order food.â
Asher felt himself beam before he could keep his cool. âYeah! I mean, yeah, I could eat.â
Gavinâs smile turned sly. âOh, I know you can, sugar.â
Getting out of bed, he pulled on the pants. There was something about wearing Gavinâs clothes that made his heart beat faster.
âAre you kidding?â
Asher looked up, suddenly afraid heâd been caught, but Gavin was looking at his phone. Before he could decide if he should be giving him privacy, Gavin closed the distance and put them shoulder to shoulder. His phone had a text conversation open.
It was just one message.
Hey. Itâs David.
Asher blinked, at first not sure who it was or whyââNo fucking way!â he grabbed Gavinâs hand with the phone.
Gavin laughed. âI gave him my number and said if he was interested in the Lonely Hearts Club and going to the club with us this weekend to get in touch, and if not then weâd take the hint and stop bringing it up.â
Asher nodded, still staring at the message. He had actually texted them. Asher wasnât really surprised because who could resist Gavin? But also, David had been resisting Gavin. âAre you going to reply?â
Gavin laughed, bumping their hips together. âGrab your fucking phone and letâs move this party to the living room. Weâre going to start a group chat!â
#coffee shop au#non-magical au#fanfic#DAVINSHER#david/gavin/asher#mdni#dominimoonbeam#<3#casual sex that isn't as casual as everyone is pretending it is#aftercare#softness
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Chapter 60: Take Care
The Sun, the Moon, and All Our Stars
Summary and DetailsâŚ
Previous Chapter Recap/Context: Sebastian is in a great mood after hearing back from his friend Ruby, who wrote that she wanted to meet to catch up and share some information with him about Anne. Kate, never having connected the dots previously, finally realized that Ruby was the "Hero of Hogwarts" - the girl who had mysteriously arrived at Hogwarts as a fifth year in 1890. Later, Kate reveals some exciting news - when she met with Matilda Weasley, she posed the idea of having Sebastian help her with library work over a summer weekend, and the deputy headmistress had agreed. Sebastian and Kate both get a little hot and bothered, imagining all of the things they could do in the unoccupied castle, but before things get too heavy, Seb realizes that Kate is supposed to be on her monthly cycle. She admits rather worriedly that she hasn't bled, and the two of them panic, wondering if she is pregnant. This chapter picks up on the evening of the following day.
Pairing:Â 25-year-old, post-Azkaban Sebastian Sallow x 24-year-old Kate Mayflower (my OC), the assistant librarian at Hogwarts
Content warnings:Â In general, this is rated 18+, so minors should not read or interact with this story. In this chapter, there's a big focus on a woman's monthly cycle. Also featured is panic over parental disapproval and worrying about a dangerous job.
The full chapter is available below the cut; it can also be found on AO3 (link is posted below). Please leave some feedback if possible, especially if you like what you read! đĽ°
Chapter 60: Take Care
âSeb, Seb!â Kate cries, sprinting outside the moment she sees him apparate near the gate.
He looks her way in both confusion and adoration, unsure if her tone is one of romance or one of concern. He closes the gate behind him and his girlfriend barrels into his arms. He wraps his arms around her, picking her up.
âHello, sunshine,â he murmurs, embracing her tightly. He kisses her, and then puts her back down on solid ground.
âI got it!â Kate tells him breathlessly.Â
âGot what?â he asks, and a beat later, it dawns upon him. His eyebrows raise in hope.
âMy monthly courses,â she replies. âI bled. Iâm not pregnant!âÂ
Sebastian lifts her back up and twirls her around, pressing his lips to hers enthusiastically. âOh, thank the gods. Thank bloody Merlin!â
She chuckles, poking his chest. âI guess I was just a bit late. We didnât have to worry after all.â
Kate takes his hand, leading him inside. He drops his satchel by the door, then unlaces and removes his shoes with a sigh. Next, he loosens his tie and unfastens the top buttons of his collared shirt, untucking it from his pants. âItâs been a hell of a long day. I hope you donât mind.â
âNot at all,â she answers with an amused smile. âYouâre home. You get to be comfortable here.â
Dinner is simple but delicious - aged cheddar cheese toasties with a roasted tomato soup. Sebastian wolfs down two helpings with cider and gratefully accepts her dessert - a warm cinnamon apple cake with vanilla ice cream. He regales Kate with stories about his long day, finally asking about hers.
âOh, nothing all that exciting happened,â she murmurs. âJust did some chores around the cottage. I worked in the garden most of the afternoon, then did some cleaning and laundry. I also wrote some letters.â
âSounds like you were busy,â he replies, taking the last sip of his cider. âTo whom did you write?â
She inhales deeply and hesitates for a moment. âAfter all the worrying with my lack of⌠well, bleeding⌠and knowing youâre going to be miserable for a couple of days working with the Kelpies, I figured I might as well get something tough out of the way for myself. I wrote to my family, requesting a luncheon together next week on Thursday. I donât think I can avoid my mum much longer now that she knows Iâm dating someone.â She sighs. âItâs⌠time for me to tell them about you.â
Sebastianâs eyebrows raise. âI didnât realize you felt ready. I thought that might take a while.â
âYeah, but with what could have happened, Iâd rather they at least know who you are in case anything serious really does happen,â Kate explains. âItâs for the best, my love.â
He nods in response, but his eyes betray his obvious internal anxiety. Heâs quiet for a moment, but then once he starts talking, it devolves quickly into blabbering. âAnd⌠What if they forbid you to see me? What if they say theyâll never approve of our relationship? What if they hate me? What if they think Iâm just⌠a thug? Or see me as someone trying to take advantage of you? What if they try to separate us?â
Kate listens, then silences him with a kiss. When she pulls away, she murmurs, âSeb, I obviously want this to all go well, but if it doesnât⌠I donât care. Iâm an adult. Weâre adults. We make our own choices. I love you. Youâre my soulmate. They canât separate us. And I wonât ever abandon you.â
Sebastian studies her face for any sign of doubt, even though sheâs previously reassured him of these same fears many times now. She stares back confidently at him, and he relaxes a bit.
âYouâre the only man Iâll love for the rest of my life,â she whispers while intertwining her fingers with his. âWe were born to be together. Youâre the moon to my sun.â She kisses his cheek. âIf they donât understand at first, it isnât the end of the world. Someday, theyâll see the strength of our love, our connection⌠and imagining me with anyone else will be impossible.â She presses her lips to his, tasting sweet apples. âI love you, Seb. Iâll love you forever.â
He takes a shaky breath. âI love you, too, Kate. I just get nervous⌠and I know - I bloody well know - itâs my mind playing tricks on me, but I canât help it. I still feel like everything that has happened with you is⌠too good to be true, and the rug is about to be swept out from under me⌠by your family, no less. It terrifies me because I love you so much. I love you so much it hurts.â
Almost as if on cue, Kate suddenly doubles over. âOoooofâŚâ
Sebastianâs eyes widen, concerned, and he reaches out a hand. âWhoa - sweetheart, whatâs wrong?â
âOoooh,â she moans, her eyes shut tight. She attempts to sit up. âJust⌠cramping.â
His eyes flicker with understanding. âOh, Iâm so sorry.â He places his hand delicately on her abdomen and gently rubs in a circle. âBefore Anne was cursed, she would complain a lot about her monthly cycle, so I know how uncomfortable it can be.â
Kate nods, trying to put on a smile even with her voice strained. âItâs alright. I manage.â
âLet me help you tonight,â he offers sincerely. âYou deserve to be taken care of after all youâve done for me. Come on, nowâŚâ
Sebastian walks her to the bedroom, where he helps her to undress and put on a soft nightgown. He lays her on the bed and minutes later returns with a book, warm green tea, and a particularly warm pillow, which he places over her abdomen. She accepts it all gratefully, amazed at the lengths to which he is willing to go. He disappears again, and soon, she can hear the bathtub running. When he comes back once more, he returns with peppermint oil, which he massages into her feet.Â
âThank you,â she whispers, sighing in relief. âThat feels so good.â
Later, he scoops her into his arms, carrying her towards the bathroom. She smiles as she takes in the sight - a steamy bubble bath - and then her smile grows even bigger when she detects the calming scent of lavender and chamomile.Â
âJust for you,â he murmurs. âIt might help you fall asleep.â
Sebastian gives Kate some privacy, and when she is finished in the bathroom, she feels like she could melt into a puddle of relaxation. Back in the bedroom, he sets a warming charm on her side of the bed, lights a candle, and offers her a piece of sweet chocolate. She settles under the blankets and he follows, coming close to her.Â
A kiss is pressed to her forehead. âI love you, sweetheart.â
âLove you, Seb,â she murmurs sleepily.
He softly rubs her abdomen. Her eyes close, and soon, her rhythmic breathing becomes a soft snore. He chuckles to himself, blows out the candle, and spoons her. Taking care of her has allowed Sebastian to completely ignore the dread of what he might experience with the Kelpies over the next two days, and he falls into a deep sleep.
The hormones from Kateâs monthly cycle certainly donât make Wednesday morning any easier.
Tears stream down her face. âPlease donât go. Convince the Ministry to take you out of the field. Please.â
He closes his eyes, pained by her plea. âI canât do that, Kate. You know I canât.â He pulls her close, wrapping his arms around her. âI love you. You know I would do anything to come home to you safely. And you know that if thereâs something Iâm good at, itâs surviving.â He pauses, tilting her chin up. âI will think of you every moment, think of what you might do in any situation I find myself in. Youâre my motivation. My inspiration. My reason for living.â
âI love you, Seb,â she replies softly, wiping away a fresh fallen tear, âbut Iâm afraid. What if you donât come back?â
Heâs quiet for a moment, trying to determine the best way to soothe her. âThen⌠I probably am delayed⌠or fighting my way back to you. And even if things are going well, I still may not come home around dinner time. Itâs unpredictable in the field. I hope I will return home before you go to bed tomorrow night. But donât wait up all night for me just in case I get stuck. That happens sometimes. I donât want you to worry. Iâll be alright.â
âBut what if you arenât?â she whispers, afraid to say it louder - to make it more real.
He gazes into her eyes. âListen to me. I am going to be fine. But if something ever happens to me, I want you to know that I love you more than I love my own life. In just over a month, you gave me hope and purpose⌠and Iâm happier than Iâve ever been. If I donât come back, itâs not because I didnât try. It means that there was no way to. And if I⌠if I die, it was in an attempt to make the world a better place - to make the world safer for you. I think I would feel⌠redeemed for all Iâve done if I passed in service to the good people of the wizarding community.â He takes her hand, kissing it. âBut that isnât going to happen. I need you to be strong, sweetheart. I need you to be strong for me.â
She swallows, trying like hell to toughen up. Falling apart will only make this worse. âBe safe, Sebastian. Come back to me.â
âI will. I promise I will,â he assures her.Â
âI trust you. I love you. Please take care of yourselfâ
Sebastian kisses Kate tenderly, lingering, memorizing the feel of her lips against his. âI love you, sunshine.â
And within moments, he is gone.
#hogwarts legacy fanfic#hogwarts legacy sebastian#sebastian sallow x oc#post azkaban sebastian#hufflepuff x slytherin#aged up sebastian sallow#hogwarts legacy oc#hl oc#hl sebastian#hogwarts legacy romance#sebastian sallow#hogwarts legacy original character
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