#i might clean up some of the longer ones and put them on ao3

[mackiebeth]

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, “I really like them,” 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 — 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 — or lack thereof — 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 — 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 — 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."

“Great,” 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, “I’ll text you later with the details and everything. See you in class.”

“Yeah, see you,” 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. “Oh, shit,” 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.

[kittenintheden]

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.

“Are you done yet?” 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 doesn’t waste a single drop of her blood. He releases her and takes a step back.

“You…” he says with a lazy smile as he reaches out with a finger to boop her nose. “... are so delicious.”

“Ha, ha,” 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. “Glad to help.”

“I’ll bet you are,” he drawls at her with a wink. “Thank you for the appetizer. I’d best go find myself a full meal now.”

As he starts to saunter off deeper into the woods, Tav clicks her fingers and lightly bonks herself on the head. “Oh, almost forgot.” 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 he’d 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.

“Wha-” His voice cracks and he clears his throat and tries again, tone painfully casual. “What did you say?”

Tav grimaces. “Shit, did I get the middle part wrong? It was tricky when Shadowheart had me practice.”

Astarion leans forward a bit and gives a shaky laugh. “Ah. Right. I must’ve misunderstood. What were you trying to say?”

“She told me it meant, ‘I’m pleased to have provided you a good meal,’” Tav says, reaching up to pull some of her hair over her shoulder and fiddle with it.

“I see,” he says as he comes closer, his eyes searching her face. “Could you say it again? So I can correct your enunciation.”

“Oh, okay.” 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.

“Loosen your tongue,” he says softly. “Once more.”

She tries one more time and watches his eyelids flutter, inches from her own.

“There we go,” 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 he’s standing straight again, releasing her face and putting space between them.

“Missed a smudge. Can’t let it go to waste.” His eyes rove over her face. “It’s so very precious.”

Then he walks off and she’s 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.

“Stop it,” he whispers to himself. “Stop it, stop it.”

---

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, it’s whatever path will take her back to Baldur’s Gate.

She gathers her components and packs them away, standing to walk back down the path toward camp. There’s 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. “Really think you’re clever, don’t you.”

The cleric shrugs and cuts off to the side to walk back to the path. “The goal was to make you lose your cool. Seems like it worked.”

Silently and suddenly he’s walking at her side, lip curling in disdain. “Congratulations to you, you managed to annoy me. Don’t do it again.”

“Oh, he’s testy tonight,” she says, putting a hand to her cheek in a mockery of shock. “Maybe you’d feel less the fool if you hadn’t been teaching her to talk dirty.”

“We can’t all be ice queens, dear,” he sneers. “Some of us are queens with needs.”

Shadowheart rolls her eyes and her entire head along with it. “You should be thanking me, then. I gave you your opening.”

Astarion stops and she keeps on walking.

“To what?” he says.

“To have your ‘needs’ met,” she calls over her shoulder. “I’m not the one who was teaching her to invite me betwixt her thighs. Have a frustrating night.”

Astarion makes an affronted noise after her, pouts a moment, and then calls back, “Your bangs are wretched, by the way.”

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. Tav’s guard is down, her shy little moments are increasing in frequency, and he can literally hear her heartbeat quicken when he’s near. If that’s not all signs pointing to yes, he doesn’t know what is.

All he has to do is, you know. Make the move. Which he’ll do. Soon.

Because she still makes the most sense. The others all adore her, listen to her. She’s the perfect choice of protector should his vampirism prove a problem to anyone. She’ll say yes. Of course she’ll say yes.

… of course she’ll say yes. No one denies him. It doesn’t happen.

… it rarely happens. Not as if he’d 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 he’s on, waiting.

“Is that a new one?” Tav asks timidly.

He closes the book and looks up to meet her. His close-lipped smile feels almost natural. Almost.

“There you are,” he says, dropping his register a fraction. “I was just thinking about you.”

Not a lie, actually.

She tucks her hair behind one ear. “Oh? Do I owe you something?”

He laughs and sets his book aside. “Only a bit of your time. I do enjoy it so very much.”

Tav quirks her mouth up on one side. “Yeah? You’re pretty okay, too.”

“Better than okay, I should hope.” He closely examines his thumbnail. “I’m… growing to enjoy the whole package, honestly.”

She doesn’t immediately respond and he chances a look up at her.

“Deer in the magicked light” 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.

“Is that so?” she says, giving a tight laugh.

His smile starts to go a little toothy and he dials it back. “I’ve been thinking an awful lot about our last reading lessons,” he lilts at her, peering up through his lashes. “And our language lessons. I’ve been pondering over what other sorts of lessons I could offer.”

Tav’s cheeks go pink to red.

He leans in to speak softly, making her lean in closer to be able to hear him. “I like you,” he says. “And I think you like me, too. So?”

“So, what?” 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. “So, I thought you might like to indulge in certain curiosities with me.”

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, “Like what, exactly?”

Elvish, rising like the language of his dreams: 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, “Like sex, sweet thing. Whatever kind you might be… interested in.”

Tav nods rapidly and hums, slowly leaning back and standing at her full height again, not quite meeting his eye. “I was pretty sure that’s what you meant, but you know. Better safe than sorry? Is that a thing people say?”

Astarion reaches out to gently guide her chin toward him until she’s looking at him. “Think about it. If you’re amicable, you’ll find me later at the clearing where you last offered me a bite after the others are asleep.” He chucks her under the chin. “I’ll be waiting.”

She nods once more, expression unchanged. “Yeah. Yep. Okay. I’m going to… see you later. Maybe.” Then she turns on her heel and walks away.

“See you later,” he says. “Lover.”

When she disappears into the dark, he blows out a breath, subtly shaking his hands out. That was a yes.

Right?

“Of course it was,” 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. He’s 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 he’s performed thousands of times. This is no different.

It’s not.

She’s going to come out of those bushes any moment and-

The bushes he’s looking at actually rustle and he jumps, whispering “oh, shit” 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 doesn’t move. He doesn’t even breathe. The doe relaxes very slightly, flicking an ear.

It’s one of the little black-tailed deer native to the area. He’s 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, “There you are, Tav.”

“Oh, you heard me? Damn,” says a voice from behind him.

“Ah-” he yells. He tries to cut off the sound, but it’s too late. The doe spooks and bounds off into the underbrush once again.

“Apologies,” he says, regaining his composure and rolling his eyes to the stars above. “She was such a pretty little thing that I assumed it was you.” He starts to turn. “But I’m glad you made it. I was starting to worry you’d gotten lost and…” He finally sets eyes on her and loses his smile immediately. “... and you’re already naked.”

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. He’s seen untold numbers of people in states of full undress. This is routine. She caught him off-guard, is all.

“I… was I not supposed to be?” Tav says, hands going up to run nervously through her draping hair. “Sorry, I thought… you said sex? And then I saw that you had your shirt off, so…”

He holds up a hand and ticks up his brows. “No, no, it’s fine. It’s fine! I like it.” He finds the mask, the posture, like muscle memory. Slips back into the person in control. “You’re just full of surprises, beautiful.”

Tav rewards him with a bashful smile, continuing to comb her hands through her hair.

Astarion huffs a laugh. He can’t help himself. He approaches her with slow, intentional steps. “I had a whole catalog of poetic nothings to whisper in your ear, but looks like I needn’t bother, which is fine by me.” He stops in front of her, smiling his charmer’s smile. “So long as you still want to be tasted.”

He’s starting to notice it’s a good sign when the apples of her cheeks turn red. She nods. “I’d like to try the tongue thing, yes, please.”

“Good,” 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. She’s not moving, and oh gods, he’s going to have to lead completely, isn’t 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 pretender’s smile and ask before she surges forward and kisses him back, throwing her arms around his neck.

Astarion gives a surprised “mmmn!” 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 she’s nipping, nipping, and-

There’s 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.

“I’m so sorry,” Tav says, dropping her hands. “It’s a druid thing, we can get a little wild, I’m really sorry, I won’t do it again.”

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.

“Do it again,” 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 doesn’t take long for her to return it in kind, arms wrapped around his shoulders and tangled in his hair. He can’t even bring himself to care when she’s making it look like.

Murkily, his brain reminds him why he’s actually here.

Astarion forces himself away from her mouth and she whines at him, a sound far more animalistic than humanoid, but he doesn’t 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 “startled doe” and far more “she-wolf in heat.” Her tongue darts out, licking her lip before she says, “People really like to do this?” Then, “You like to do this?”

Astarion positively grins, his pointed teeth showing through.

"Yes. Though it’s 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."

“O-okay,” 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.

“Shall we check to see how you’ve kept your garden?” 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, “It can’t be that different, I’m sure it’s just like…” She shudders in a breath. “... just like…”

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. “Books are full of all kinds of nonsense, I’m sure it’s-”

He flicks his tongue right over her clit.

“Ah,” she yelps, trying to buck her hips again. He doesn’t let her.

But he does flick again.

“Wha-” she says, thighs jerking on either side of Astarion’s head. “Why is-”

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.

“Holy hells,” 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. “And here I’ve only just started,” he says, voice silky.

“Holy hells,” 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 she’s 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 doesn’t 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 cat’s, 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 he’s 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.

“Why does that…” she gasps. “Feel… so… good?” The last word comes out a growl.

He’d 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.

Tav’s 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 doesn’t stop, continuing to fuck her through it as he feels her release in the palm of his hand. He’s 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. They’re 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.

He’s 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.

“Oh, that was good,” Astarion says, brows raised and grin on his face as he wipes his hand down. “Even for me, that was good. You’re welcome.”

She throws one arm out to her side, then the other, and slowly pushes herself up onto her elbows, trying to focus on him. “Why doesn’t… everybody do that? Oh my gods.” She flops back onto the ground.

Oh, she’s very good for his pride. He gives a pleased wiggle.

“You tell me,” he says. “Or call upon your old lovers and ask.”

Tav weakly waves her hand through the air. “They were bad. I’ve realized. Just now. They were bad at sex.”

“Poor thing,” Astarion croons. “All better now.”

“Yeah.” 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. “What are you doing?” he says.

She blinks at him. “I’m going to do it back.”

He blinks at her. “What?”

Tav draws her knees closer and matches his kneeling posture. “I’m going to put my mouth on you back.” She waits a beat. “If you want me to.”

“Uh,” Astarion breathes before he shakes himself and gets his wits back about him. “I would like that very much,” he says. He tries to purr it, but slightly lower in pitch is the best he can do.

It’s been years since he’s been with anyone who even bothered to ask. Probably decades.

Tav beams at him, a bright smile that’s so sunshiny it nearly betrays what they’ve 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. He’s… more into this than he usually is.

He blinks again.

He’s 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. She’s 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.

“Have you done this before?” 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 “no” and something frozen inside him melts. Best ignore that. That’s a future-him problem.

“You are adorable,” he breathes. He finds he means it in the affectionate way rather than the condescending one, which is alarming. That’s another future-him problem.

Astarion clears his throat. “Same general practice applies here, really,” 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.

“Tell me if there’s something I could do better,” 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 he’s enveloped in warmth and oh, yes, he remembers this. This feels good. This feels very good.

Tav doesn’t 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.

“Loosen your tongue,” he whispers. “Once more.”

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 doesn’t have to… he can just be…

Tav hums a little with him mostly inside her mouth and he gasps from it, blinking back to the surface.

Oh, that’s 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.

“What’s wrong?” Tav asks, her eyes wide and concerned.

She can’t look at him like that. That’s 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. It’s all hazed over with want. There was a reason for this, they were supposed to… he was supposed to…

“Why don’t we…” He loses the thought and swallows. Tries again. “Let’s find our mutual…”

Words, words, words, where are his words?

Astarion hisses through his teeth. “Oh, just… sex. Let’s have sex.”

“Oh,” Tav breathes, lips swollen and cheeks ruddy. “Okay.”

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.

He’s 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.

“You can,” she gasps as she rides him. “You can bite, if you want.”

He’s not sure if the words he makes are language, but he does know he’s 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 he’s still buried deep.

“Oh, fuck,” 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 they’ve 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. “You win,” she says. “I see what all the fuss is about now.”

“I bet you do,” he says breathily.

He’s grateful she’s not looking at his face as he struggles to hide the worry pulling at his expression. It’s 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.

[anabdaniels]

Local God

A Secret Santa gift to @papipascaaaal.

Huge thanks to @pedrostories for this marvelous event.

Paring: Marcus Acacius x Female reader

Summary: It was supposed to be the best work of your life analyzing the general's statue, you just didn't expected the statue to turn into the general himself.

Word counting: 7.6k

Rating: +18

Warnings: Major spoilers of Gladiator II, descriptions of damaged mental health, heavy angst.

A/N: This ain't 100% historically accurate for the sake of convenience, but nothing too serious. I created Acacius' full name based on this post by @elflutter.

Divider from: @saradika-graphics

Masterlist || AO3 Link

You couldn’t contain yourself.

And actually, you weren’t the only one, after all, it wasn't every day that a statue from 210 AD showed up so well preserved, especially after the failed attempt of a damnatio memoriae. You spent your whole day in the museum room where the statue was placed, walking around it as you took notes about what you already knew and what remained an incognita, fascinated about all the information you had and wondering about the things you might never find the answer to.

You were about to roll your eyes and dismiss whoever was knocking at your door and interrupting your line of thought, but you promptly smiled sympathetically as you saw the kind old man who worked on the museum's cleaning team.

“We’re closing, Dr.” the senior man warned in his usual sympathetic tone, refusing to let go to address you by your academic title even after the many times you asked him to.

“Already?” you stated surprised and checked the hours on your computer, surprised by how you didn’t see it passing “I fear I’ll stay a little longer.”

“New boyfriend?” The man joked while opening the door slightly more to take a better look at the statue “I don’t know how you’re not afraid of being locked with these things.”

“Yeah, the big boy is keeping me occupied.” You joked back while patting the statue “You get used to them with the passing time.”

“I’m fine being away from them.” He laughed and shook his head “Good night, dear.”

“Good night.” You turned back to your notes when the man closed the door, recovering your line of thoughts and inevitably getting lost in them, wondering about so many things. You had spent most of your life studying ancient civilizations, especially Egyptians and Romans, and some events always got you thinking if the ancient rulers were truly that full of themselves or were simply dumb.

That statue in front of you was one of those cases.

You looked at the inscription on the marble plinth, a few bronze letters have fallen, but the dented gaps where they used to be had the shape of the letters, keeping the phrase complete and readable: ACACIVS VICTOR AFRICAE. Being face to face with such an opulent statue you wondered how crazy or stupid Geta and Caracalla were to think that the people would be amused with what and how they did to Acacius after they had converted him into Rome's greatest hero.

“You must have lived a hell of a life, hum, general?” you chuckled and shook your head, putting down your notebook on the nearest table and walking to the coffee machine on the opposite corner of the room, pulling your phone from your pocket while you waited for your espresso to be ready.

After the first shot of caffeine of the night, you hopped to get your brain to work faster, especially having drunk it while watching that sequence of short videos, remembering your psychologist explaining to you how they were probably the biggest cause of your troubles to fall asleep quickly. As you put your phone down and took back your papers, you were just about to write down what the next subjects you needed to check about the statue, until the noises of the street cats distracted you, making you involuntarily look towards the window.

And that simple action made any thought you could have shut down completely.

You blinked once, twice, rubbed your eyes, looked both sides, and still couldn’t gather a single logical thing in your mind, after all, wasn’t every day that an almost 6ft tall statue simply disappeared from its plinth. By the morning when it was brought to the Capitoline Museum and you got in charge of studying it, you thought that could only be a dream while seeing that it seemed to have evaporated, you prayed to all and any gods for it to be a dream, but your hope to be living a nightmare was crashed at the very second you heard a noise among the shelves near the door accompanied by a huge shadow; definitely wasn’t a mouse trying to gnaw old papers.

“Who’s there? This ain’t funny.” You felt like a stupid character from a low-budget horror movie while taking a few steps closer to the origin of the noise, but it wasn’t even a conscious move. You froze completely as the figure came out of the dark, not knowing if you wanted to run away or get closer.

“I apologize, ma’am. I mean you no harm.” The man spoke calmly, his deep voice echoing in the room.

“How did you… There’s no… You were just…” you still were incapable of making any coherent statement while facing a Roman general alive and right in front of you.

“I do not know how I am here either, ma’am.” Acacius explained himself while raising his hands at the level of his shoulders, wanting to guarantee you didn’t see him as a threat.

“This can’t be fucking real. You were a pile of bronze just two minutes ago.” You shook your head, rubbing your face one last time to make sure you were awake. “How could you just pop in here, Acacius?” The man seemed a bit surprised by your crude lingo, but what caught his attention wasn’t that.

“You know me?” he asked in a genuine mix of surprise and doubt.

“Of course, any dumbass that heard about ancient Rome knows the great General Marcus Acacius Justus Sacratus.” You said as if it was obvious, still shocked by the absurd situation.

“Ancient Rome?” he asked cluelessly, raising one eyebrow.

“Yeah, I mean, you lived on 210 AD and we are now on 2024 AD.” At that point you were sounding more casual, still not believing such circumstances, but holding yourself to the idea that you simply didn’t remember falling asleep and were having the craziest dream. Acacius digested the information with a frown, seeming to simply accept your statement.

“And what did you call me?”

“Acacius Justus Sacratus. They gave you the Sacratus agnomen after the chaos people made in Rome when the emperors tried to erase you.” You were quite surprised as you saw the shadow of a smile forming on his lips “Whatever, this is all kinda unbelievable. You weren’t supposed to be here. Oh my god, how I’m gonna explain to the director that a whole ass statue simply disappeared under my watch? I’m so fucked up, it would be our biggest exposition this year. I’m gonna be fired.” You had a small outburst of despair when the whole scene finally got solid in your imagination, after all, saying that one of the most searched historical objects had simply converted into its human form wouldn’t convince anyone.

“I deeply apologize for any inconvenience I might be causing you; I will leave immediately if it could help you.” Acacius’ sincere tone hit straight on your nerves, making you unsure if you were mad or sentimental about it.

“Leave where? The Rome you knew has fallen long ago and everything has changed. The empire you used to know and serve is now no more than a bunch of ruins spread across the whole Italy. Let aside the fact that you wouldn’t adapt to this new world by yourself and no one would believe your story. In no time you’d turn into an indigent or end up locked in a mental hospital because everyone would be convinced that you’re schizophrenic or something similar. And don’t get me started with your festive dress.” You said referring to his armor with the golden head of Medusa on the chest and the pompous red cape around his shoulders. “I can’t let you go, Acacius.” You sighed frustrated, all of that becoming too much. Acacius was lowkey confused about a few things you said, but also your temper was starting to annoy him.

“Well, since you know everything, tell me the way back home.” He rolled his eyes halfway, bothered about how you were speaking as if he wasn’t in a difficult situation either or had chosen to be there.

“Don’t start with that, I’ve dedicated a great part of my life to studying yours. I know your sassy temper.” You rolled your eyes, for a second lowkey forgetting that his personality was your smaller problem. Acacius had an answer ready, but your declaration got him unprepared.

“You studied my life?” he questioned, raising one eyebrow.

“Of course I did. You turned into the military version of Julius Caesar in terms of popularity, one of the most mentioned names when the subject is ancient Rome.” You sighed heavily, looking away from him “And I never got over what they did to you.” Acacius wondered for a moment what you were referring to, but he imagined you meant the whole situation in the coliseum.

“I remember all that.” He started in a contemplative tone “I remember being there, the exhaustion, the despair of my dear Lucilla, the pain of the first arrows, then I woke up somewhere else and remained there until today.” He sighed and shook his head “Do you have any idea of what happened?”

“No. Despite all the theories about time traveling and supernatural events, there’s nothing concrete about it that could explain you coming back to life.” You passed one hand over your hair, taking a deep breath. “Well, since I’m already screwed up with all this, can you answer a few things I always wanted to know?”

“Go ahead, it is not as if I have anything else to do.” Acacius agreed while taking a couple of steps to approach you by your desk, looking curious at your notes written on those peculiarly connected letters.

“Are the theories that you were trained by Maximus himself true?” you looked at him expectantly, feeling like your life would finally make sense with that answer.

“Yes, I had the honor of having him as a mentor.” He confirmed while curiously nudging the mouse of your computer, looking abruptly back at you when you slapped the wooden surface.

“I fucking knew it.” You sounded like an excited child “The behavioral pattern in matters of war is so obvious and explains your ties with the royal family. I know I wasn’t crazy!” you got slightly self-conscious as you realized Acacius’ confusedly staring at you, surprised that such a simple thing seemed to be such a big deal to you. “Now you probably think I’m crazy.”

“Not much shocks me after Geta and Caracalla. You look very normal to me.” He affirmed casually, taking a genuine laugh at you with how he seemed so casual about everything.

“Speaking about our crazy boys, the urban legend that you laughed when they threatened you with a damnatio memoriae it’s true either?” Once again you saw yourself breathing slowly to not miss a thing of the answer.

“Sincerely, I am not proud of it, but yes.” He shrugged with a discreet grin “But how do you know such a thing?”

“Well, we believe that it started as a rumor among the Pretorians that spread like fire on the straw due to people’s compassion for your history.” You looked away as your phone screen turned on with some random notification, but what got your attention was Acacius’ suspicious gaze toward the object. “Don’t be amazed so quickly, there’s a lot of weirdest technologies nowadays.”

“Everything seems quite familiar to me.” He said while looking around the room.

“We’re in the middle of the Capitoline Museum, what did you expect?”

“Capitoline?” he ignored your sarcastic remark, more interested in the familiar name.

“Come with me.” Before he could agree, you already had grabbed him by the arm, pulling him to the hallway.

“But this is...”

“Yes, the imperial palace.” You finished his statement as the two of you walked through the hallway full of statues.

“But you said more than a millennium has passed since my time. This place did not change at all.” You sighed and rolled your eyes, stopping a few steps away from the staircase, pissed at yourself for assuming Acacius would magically guess what happened in the last 1814 years.

“This is a museum now; the idea is precisely to keep all of this the most intact possible. Look at that.” You pointed to The Dying Gaul behind Acacius “This is from around 60-40 BC, approximately 150 years older than you and still perfectly preserved, just like everything else here. That’s why your statue was brought here, to be studied, cataloged, and exposed to the public, while we made sure it was kept safe and intact.” Acacius attentively listened to your explanation, actually surprised that those things were from his time or even before since they looked very much like they used to in their time.

“Now it makes sense to me.” He took another look around the hallway and then back to you “What do you want to show me?”

“C’mon, general.” You passed your arm on his while going downstairs, laughing at his expression mixed with confusion and surprise. You got out of the building, getting to the courtyard and leading to the front door, you hesitated for a second before opening it. “Please don’t lose your mind.” You sighed quietly when he nodded and opened the door in front of you.

Acacius took a first hesitant step, at first not seeing anything so different, but then he paid more attention; the equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius showing the signs of time with the marks on the bronze, if only he knew that wasn’t even the original one, the pavement also didn’t pass unnoticed by him, definitely that wasn’t there the last time he saw the place. Afraid with which other changes he could find, but unable to hold back himself, he walked closer to the edge of the square, taking a full view of the city, unable to identify what he was feeling while seeing a completely new city, despite still being able to see the Rome he used to know on those ruins. Acacius leaned against the plinth of one of the two enormous statues at the entrance of the Capitoline square, only then seeming to completely understand how much has happened in the world since his death.

“Are you alright?” you asked, approaching him, noticing his distress.

“Yes.” He answered while looking again at the city for a moment, then back at you “I just did not expect all this.”

“You’ll get used to it.” You said casually, not wanting to make the situation worse. “C’mon, we can’t stay here for too long, it’s almost 6 am, soon the team will be here to prepare the guided tour.” Acacius just followed you while still looking around, less shocked, but still not totally believing in what he was seeing.

“What is this?” he questioned as you opened that unknown metallic device.

“It's nowadays carriages.” You answered with one arm lying on the car door “Get in, general. I’ll take you home.”

“You are quite an odd lady.” He said unable to suppress a chuckle.

“I’m not the one wearing a dress and a crown of golden laurels.” You rolled your eyes with a quiet laugh as he got into the car the best someone from his time could. You closed the door and walked around, getting into the vehicle and looking at Acacius, smiling at his childish curiosity at the screen showing the GPS.

“Is this a map?” he asked while recognizing the image.

“Yes, and this little dot there moves simultaneously as we move.” You mentioned starting the car and moving on the street.

“Fascinating!” Acacius’ enthusiasm was obvious “This would have been so useful to navigations.”

“You would love to be a general nowadays.” You kept looking at the street in front of you but could see Acacius’ head turning to every side it could.

Your way back home at these hours used to be boring, but not when you had your favorite historical figure asking you tons of questions: “What happened to the coliseum walls? What are those red and green lights? How does the map dot know where we are going? How did those strange street torches extinguish themselves?” Most times you’d be annoyed with so many questions, but the way he sounded so fascinated and curious kind of warmed your heart, making your brain occasionally click; you’d never give any of your male coworkers a ride to the next street corner, yet you felt completely at ease near to an ancient roman general you only knew through the tons of history books you read over your life, truly feeling like some kind of good aura came from him.

And the same was true for him. Despite the little harsh moments you had earlier, he trusted completely his judgment about people, and you definitely were on the trustworthy side for him, after all, he understood you would be in trouble with whoever was your superior, yet you refused to let him at his luck.

Finally, at your house, Acacius’ fascinations with the modern world didn’t cease, some of them quite comprehensible, like his shock when your Alexa turned on all the lights on the house, and some others funnier like his interest in your thermal cup and how it was able to preserve temperature.

“Slow down, I still do not understand how people get inside this thing.” Acacius said in complete confusion while pointing to the TV in your bedroom.

“They don’t.” you laughed and sat next to him at the edge of your bed “What we see is that thing called video that I told you about.”

“Sincerely still confusing, but I think I understand.” He admitted while exploratory pressing the buttons on the remote, shocked with how many things existed inside that illuminated box “I know this.”  You turned to look at the same spot he was, realizing he was talking about some random movie with the Roman legions on the cover.

“Oh yeah, there’s quite a bunch of movies about y’all and your fancy battle clothes.” You mentioned while looking into the grocery store bag you just found next to your bed, not remembering when that got lost there.

“But how do they have video from that time?” you couldn’t hold a genuine laugh at his adorable confusion.

“It’s not from your time, Acacius. It’s all acting as they did in Roman theaters, but now instead of only doing it in real-time, they record it so we can watch it multiple times, at any time we want.”

“How many amazing things exist in this time?” he questioned with an amused frown.

“A lot to be fair.” You found a bag of chips among your lost groceries “Lemme show you modern food.” You said as you opened the package and held it to him, with no second thoughts Acacius took a potato from the bag, savoring it as if it was a fine delicacy.

“This is what you eat every day?” He was already grabbing another chip from the package.

“Not ideally, but sometimes it happens.” You chuckled and grabbed the remote “Let’s watch this. Nothing like a real Roman general to tell me how accurate it is.” You settled better and played the movie.

You were surely amazed at his observations about the movie, sometimes perplexed with something absurdly inaccurate or highly excited with the facts that matched the reality while gladly savoring the potato chips. The most entertained you were, it was almost 8 am on Saturday and you’ve been awake since 6 am on Friday, so you didn’t even realize you started to melt on the bed, until you ended up fully asleep in an awkward position. When he stopped to listen to your opinions about his comments, Acacius looked at you, smiling discreetly as he saw you knocked out with one arm hanging out of the bed. Careful to not wake you, Acacius placed your asleep body the rest more comfortably and laid down on the other side of the bed, turning his gaze at you after looking around the whole room, still processing how amazing those modern things were and how you could be such a pleasing company despite your occasional rude manners.

"Acacius, I'm back." You said by the front door while taking off your coat. Not much later he showed up with a dishcloth in hand, taking a smile from you. "Hope you didn't make any mess in my kitchen." You joked despite knowing he hadn't.

"Can you trust me at least a bit?" He raised both eyebrows "I was just dealing with that plate cleaner thing." He said referring to your dishwasher, making you chuckle and shake your head. A week has passed and you were shocked by how good of a roommate Acacius was. He quickly understood how things worked nowadays to keep a house in order, accepting easily that no one would be around organizing the place and bringing him food as it used to be in his time, and he seemed to be quite fine with getting some tasks done, feeling useful and entertained while you were at work.

"I need to teach you how to use the vacuum cleaner." You chuckled and fell on the couch, pressing your temples and closing your eyes.

"Is everything alright?" Acacius moved to sit by your side, noticing your tension.

"They want to open the exposition next week." You said with a heavy breath "I don't know what I'm gonna do."

"Oh, my dear, I feel so sorry for causing you all this situation." He reached to touch your hand, looking at you with a guilty face.

"It's not your fault." You looked at him and smiled "And at the end, if I have to get stuck with any historical figure, I'm happy it's you." you hesitated for a moment, but surrendered to your desperate need for some comfort, tucking yourself between his arms and resting your head near the medusa figure of his armor he refused to take off. "Damn, you're probably the best man I ever met." It all got Acacius unprepared. You had exchanged some casual physical contact, especially because the two of you ended up falling asleep together every night while you showed him some new modern thing or asked him about how accurate the information you knew about his time was, he even occasionally woke up with your head resting on his arms a couple times, but nothing like that.

“I am really sorry to have met you in such complicated circumstances.” He started while wrapping his arms around you “But I have to agree with you about it, I wouldn’t choose another awkward sorceress to get stuck with.” He mentioned that in that casual sassy manner, making you look at him with a frown despite the silly smile on your face.

“I’m not a sorceress, it’s just technology. The awkward part, you might be right.” You shook your head while your fingers brushed against the medusa on his chest.

“It fits your beauty.” He said it with no flourishes, making your brain freeze for a moment, that was the last thing you expected to hear. Aware that your current situation couldn’t be worse, you stopped fighting against your rational thoughts and leaned forward, pressing your lips on his, not knowing what to expect from it, but being gladly surprised by the warm big hand rubbing your back as Acacius instinctively pulled you closer to him.

And everything became a blur. Nothing else mattered. For a moment you forgot that your job was at risk, that you had no idea why Acacius was there and for how long he’d stay, that was completely insane to fall in love with a man who could disappear in the blink of an eye just like he showed up, but you couldn’t do anything about it. Even before knowing him in person your affection towards him was a thing, since you never accepted how fate could’ve been so cruel to a good man, and after spending a whole week with him, feeling more at home and happy than ever, that feeling could only grow. To your luck, it wasn’t a one-sided thing. Acacius’ mind was a complete chaos on the first day, cursing the gods for having done such a thing with him, making him live once more with the vivid memory of his tragedy, but after spending some time with you, he started to consider it a gift from the gods; the chance of live again while having the company of such a peculiar figure like you, while having the unique experience of see by himself how the world evolved after Rome.

“I’m sorry.” Your whisper cut the line of thought of both of you as you leaned lightly backward “I shouldn’t have…” you were silenced by the thumb softly pressing your lips.

“Do not worry. I have finally known how the most spectacular thing from this time feels, I could not be more blessed by the gods.” You were incapable of thinking about an answer and he didn’t give you the time to do such a thing, pressing another kiss on your lips.

“Please, Mr. Bianchi, I promise you this is the last extra time I ask you.” You begged with all your might, unable to decipher your boss’ expression.

“Dear, I know your amazing work and for me, you could have a whole year with that statue, but it doesn’t depend solely on my wish as you know very well.” The old man spoke while aligning the pile of papers on his desk.

“Another week is all I ask.” You tried your chances, twisting your keys between your fingers.

“Impossible. The best I can do for you is a couple of days.”

“I understand.” You nodded, trying to keep yourself together, and got up, leaving the room after a weak goodbye.

You crossed the building of the museum faster than you ever had, glad that the visits were already closed, so you didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing the tears of despair rolling down your face. As you got out at the Capitoline Square, you walked around a couple of times in complete confusion. What would you do when they searched for the statue and only found the empty plinth? How would you convince anyone that your new roommate and lover was the lost statue? You certainly would go to jail accused of robbing the historical piece. Your academic career would be dead and buried and Acacius would be completely alone. Damn, you couldn’t bear the idea of him not knowing why you didn’t come back home or worse, thinking you had abandoned him voluntarily. The only way your life could not end in a disaster was if Acacius became a statue again, but that you could never wish for. Not only because your feelings towards him were almost unhealthily growing with each passing day or because you couldn’t imagine sleeping without his warmth again, but also because he seemed to be so happy and living such a light life, the life he deserved of all the misfortune he experienced before.

Standing in the middle of the empty Capitoline square, you stared at the replica of the equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius, feeling your rage on the verge of getting out of control.

“Your stupid bastard. Couldn’t you have kept your damn dream of Rome to yourself? Couldn’t you have changed the fucking Roman rules and let your damn daughter assume the empire so she would’ve never involved Acacius in all of this? Your dumb old man.” You angrily shouted at the bronze figure of Marcus Aurelius as if he could hear you and as if Geta and Caracalla’s cruelty towards Acacius was his fault either.

Not wanting to bear your thoughts any longer, you ran to your car and drove like crazy back home, aware that you would probably receive some notes from the transit department, and not caring about anything else but hiding yourself in Acacius’ arms and pretending nothing of that was true and that you were just a simple roman peasant that got lucky enough to catch the attention of the empire’s greatest general.

“Acacius?” you called passing by the front door, your heartbeat getting wilder when he didn’t show up like every day until then “Acacius?” you called louder while starting to look around the house. You heard some noises from your backyard and headed there, sighing relieved as you saw your general there, safe and sound. Then your attention moved to the whole scene and you finally understood Acacius’ unending questions about modern table setting and the specific things he asked from the grocery after going into your grandma’s recipe book. “What is all of this?” you asked with a wide smile, observing the picnic towel in the middle of your patio filled with most of the recipes of your grandma that you told Acacius were your favorites.

“You have been so good to me and you’re one of the best hosts I ever met. I thought it would be the minimum to try to reciprocate it.” He explained while stopping in front of you, placing his golden laurels on your head with a playful smile then held out one hand to you. You were anesthetized while holding his hand, your mind going blank of all worries and concerns. How could he become better at any passing second? You would never know.

Your heart felt light as a feather on the wind while you two shared that meal under the starry sky and your body was almost in a trance, making you unable to do better than nod with a silly smile at every word that fell from Acacius’ lips, fully convinced that if the afterlife paradise existed, it must be like that: sit on the grass and be fed on the mouth by a gold-hearted man while using his laurels crown.

“You look distracted.” Acacius observed while fiddling with a lock of your hair.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that all of this seems better than any good dream I ever had.” You moved to sit sideways on his lap; after two complete weeks and five days of living together, that already had become a casual move between the two of you.

“I am glad you enjoyed it.” He smiled warmly, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing your forehead “And be warned that I intend to do it again.”

“You won’t hear a single complaint from me, general.” You chuckled and passed your hand through his graying hair, laying forward to rest your face against the curve of his neck.

“I am not sure if your personality would allow you such a thing, but I will have faith in you.” Acacius pressed a soft kiss on your temple and remained like that, enjoying the warm feel of you all nestled on his lap, not knowing when was the last time he felt so at peace, not even the annoying cold on his arm being able to disturb him at that moment.

 Having spent most of his life in the Roman wars, the feeling of being at home wasn’t a familiar sensation to him, but Acacius knew very well that being tangled at you in the middle of your patio with your breath tickling his neck was certainly his new definition of home, even in that strange period with its mechanisms that looked very much like some kind of wizard work and the memories of his first life haunting him, he still was unbothered by any of it.

“Are you tired?” he asked softly as your eyelids fell closed, caressing your face.

“No, I’m just too comfortable here.” You shifted slightly to look at him, smiling when he aligned the laurels on your head.

“Very well then, this was the goal.” He playfully pinched your cheek, making you chuckle and shrug.

“Damn, your hand is freezing.” You straightened yourself on his lap, rubbing his biceps to confirm that he was cold. “You’ll need a long-sleeved tunic to survive the winter.” You laughed and gave him a soft peck on the lips before leaning a bit backward, frowning as you felt a weird nudge on your back. You turned to look at what it was and immediately wished you had never done it, feeling the tears promptly forming in your eyes as you tried to deny the horrible truth, refusing to believe that Acacius’ whole right forearm was turning back into bronze. His gaze followed yours and he could only sigh exasperated when he saw it; despite imagining that the gods may not let him stay forever, he hoped it’d happen later. “No!” you shook your head in complete denial “This can’t be true.” You hugged him tight, hoping that was just a nightmare, but at the same time, you could feel his warmth fading away and his skin becoming as cold as the metal of his armor.

“Darling,” he cupped your face with his left hand, unable to move the other one “we both knew this might happen. Do not cry, everything will be alright, you will not have any trouble explaining my disappearance now.” It broke your heart how calmly he told you that, reminding you that he was the same man who surrendered in the coliseum to spare his stepson’s life, of course, he would only be happy and relieved that you would have a statue to present to your superior.

“It isn’t worth anything to me if I have to come back to my empty house every day. How am I supposed to go back to my old life now, Acacius? Who’ll make me explain to them that the singers aren’t trapped inside the radio?” you were already sobbing, holding onto his red cape for dear life.

“Ease yourself, dear. You are a very clever lady; I am sure you will be alright without me.” Acacius smiled tenderly, his eyes watery.

“I’ll not. This is not fair. I’ve dreamt my whole life about meeting you, and now that I did, you’ll leave me.” You clung to him like a scared child, feeling heartbroken with the idea of him coming back to be just a pile of bronze.

“Little dove, we both know this is not my place, no matter how much I loved every second spent with you. Furthermore, you’ll be close to me every day at the museum. It will be okay.” His voice was calm despite the crying tone. You still were in complete denial, but the rest of his arm also turning back into bronze was harshly bringing you back to reality.

“We should take you back to the museum, then.” That was the last thing you wanted to do, but there was no other choice.

The ride to the museum was dead silent, just like many authors said it happened at the coliseum the day Geta ordered Acacius’ assassination, and then you understood why the sepulchral silence was always mentioned in every work about the event, it was indeed a horrible thing to experience.

The way into the Capitoline Museum wasn’t the easiest, Acacius’ mobility was getting reduced and you could only curse Michelangelo for having put those huge ass stairs when he designed the place in the 16th century. Finally, at the Gallery floor of the Palazzo Nuovo, you entered the room you were designated to work in when Acacius’ statue arrived, feeling even more heartbroken when an invisible force seemed to put him back on top of the marble plinth and position his body exactly as it was the first time you saw it, the process of turn back to bronze seemed to be faster.

“Do you think we’ll ever see each other again?” you asked, sitting by the floor, desolated resting against the cold marble.

“Maybe not in this life, but I am sure we will meet again someday.” Acacius answered in a weak voice, just the upper part of his torso still in its human form.

“This is too much time.” You whined completely miserable, feeling like you didn’t have any more tears left.

“I am sure my clever lady will find a way to spend this time.” That warm affectionate smile was the last thing you saw before the rest of him turned back into bronze and his face recovered that serious imposing expression that made you so happy when the statue was found, and now would forever haunt your nightmares.

You grabbed the laurels crown that still was in your head holding it tight against your chest, wanting to protect the only tangible memory of him you had, but of course, fate wouldn’t be so generous, taking your last hope away when the golden crown unmade itself, just to show up again at the head of the statue that just a half hour ago was your companion, then you couldn’t hold it back anymore, screaming and crying while holding into the cold metal legs of the sculpture, feeling your stomach twist and your heart ache, sobbing until your whole head was hurting and you had no more forces to stand on your feet.

You had no idea of how you made your way back home that night when you woke up on your couch, you didn’t dare to lay on your bed, fearing that Acacius’ scent might no be gone from your bedsheets and already certain you would never have the courage of wash them. You spend the whole day walking around the house like a zombie, also not daring to look at your backyard, aware that you didn’t have the strength to revive that final happy memory with him. You ignored the 20 lost calls of your boss, only calling him back by the end of the day to ask for a few days off, claiming that you were sick and your voice hoarse from your uninterrupted cry made the excuse very convincing.

A couple of days later you heard that the opening exhibition of Acacius’ statue was a success, and that would be all your contact with it. You wouldn’t dream of showing up there, you didn’t even know if you’d be able to ever enter the museum again, especially when you found out that after the first week, it would probably go to the same room as The Dying Gaul, so every day when you got up the staircase you would face it, wanting you or not.

That whole next week passed like a confused mess in your memory, you never knew when was the last time you had slept, eaten, or taken a shower. All you knew was your computer screen and the pile of papers and snack packages forming around it, wasn’t an unusual scenario, since a lot of your work required research, however, the difference this time was the content. You always valued facts with reliable bibliographical sources, yet there you were, reading articles written by people that in any other scenario, you would completely despise the work and refuse to read, but in desperate times, desperate measures are called for. You started with serious stuff such as Einstein's theory of gravity, but it didn’t lead you to any positive answer about time traveling or anything that could bring Acacius back, so you started to dive into dubious corners of the internet and searched all the roman mythology book you had to see if there was any legend that could give you any clue of what to do, but of course all that lead to nothing, you would even had searched about it on the dark web if that tutorial you followed had worked.

After days of non-stop research and at the edge of burnout, your logical thought finally seemed to be back, making you come to your senses for a second and realize that all that was bullshit. What happened to you and Acacius was probably an isolated situation that never could be replicated. Overthinking everything and having a manic episode, you saw yourself finally having the strength to deep clean the nasty place your house had become while talking to yourself about how ridiculous that was.

The only thing that you didn’t foresee was that brand new wave of sadness when you saw yourself standing in the middle of your perfectly clean and silent house, hoping that at any moment you would see Acacius showing up with a random electronic device asking you how it worked.

But he wouldn’t do it, never again.

The unique nature of your relationship that a few hours earlier served as a consolation, turned into your new nightmare. It had been an exceptional occasion, supposing that the gods existed, they probably just had accidentally messed up with some timeline and put you and Acacius together. Of course, it had to be an accident, there was no way your relationship would be manageable, at least not in 2024, if you were the one mistakenly showing up in ancient Rome, maybe it could work, but it wasn’t like that.

You entered another spiral of insanity, repeating to yourself that there was no chance of it ever happening again while you sobbed curled up on the side of the bed Acacius used to sleep, confirming that his scent indeed was still there. As you planned originally, you didn’t wash the bedsheets or the dishcloth he last touched, just like the dress you were wearing the night he turned into bronze again, preserving every crumb of his smell you could, and also going into some more serious business, taking a tone of pregnancy tests as you realized your period was late and praying to every force above for a positive result, hoping to have a part of Acacius with you, and feeling like the world was ending when after all the negatives, your period showed up.

Despite feeling like your life was over, after two weeks, you had to go back to the museum, looking away or closing your eyes every damn time you had to pass in front of the Sala del Gladiatore where now Acacius’ statue was, facing the Dying Gaul sculpture and the door, making it harder to ignore, especially if added the fact that the Gaul was your favorite statue of the museum, certainly a cruel joke of the destiny.

On that random ordinary afternoon, you were unworriedly turning off the hallway lights, after so much time working there, you managed to walk among the statues in the dim light without being terrified. You were ready to go downstairs, but saw that someone did you the favor of forgetting to turn off the light in that room you avoided for so long, for a moment you considered just letting it be, but you knew that was a risky move that could even start a fire, so you built the courage to walk in, planning to quickly turn off the light and leave, but you failed even before trying, passing through the switch near the door with no second thoughts.

You smiled as you stopped in front of the Dying Gaul, only then realizing you had missed him too; you used to pass there almost every day to look at him, but since they brought the general’s statue to the room two months before, you never entered there again. For a moment you wondered if it was just your confused mind or if the Gaul and Acacius looked a lot like each other.

After building the courage, you turned around to face Acacius, feeling that familiar sting in your heart. Indulging your search for some comfort, you sit by the floor, resting your back against the wall, just staying there for a moment.

“I have to admit you were right. I found a way to spend time. I adopted a dog, you know, a Pitbull mix, the cutest little guy. I named him Justino if you catch my drift.” You chuckled and looked at the other statues in the room. “Y’all stop judging me, I had to share with someone.” You looked up at Acacius, smiling widely as you briefly recalled the night when he became human. “I miss you, general, and sometimes I rewatch that horrible movie about the Roman army you found amazing. I hope you know I haven’t stopped thinking about you, I just needed time to put myself together. I’ll probably never stop thinking about our time together, and probably will show up here every day from now on.” You sighed and got up, looking at him with a sad smile “I cursed your gods a lot, but now I can only thank them for having messed up with whatever cable that controls the timelines of the world.” You reached one arm up, managing to touch one of his hands, relaxing with the familiar form, even with the warmth absent. “You’ll always hold a place in my heart.” You closed your eyes and allowed your head to fall forward, resting your forehead against the bronze surface. “Ubi tu gaius, ego gaia.” You mumbled quietly, taking a moment there before building the courage to walk away, turning off the light, and getting downstairs, wondering if would be a good idea to try to convince Mr. Bianchi to allow pets at the museum, at least for one day, so you could take Justino to meet Acacius and finally see the man you told him so much about and named him after.

[wintrwinchestr]

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 20’s, joel is early-mid 50’s), 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 he’s 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 “rinse off” within five minutes of stepping inside the bathroom, and now he’s just stalling, wondering how the fuck he’s supposed to go back out there and get in bed with you.

If it weren’t for the decades’ worth of tattoos that he can see when he looks down at his bare body, he wouldn’t be able to recognize himself right now. He’s always been one to hit it and quit it, love ‘em and leave ‘em, 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, it’s 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? 

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 he’s 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 can’t hide in here and avoid you forever. Besides, he’s 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? 

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 he’s 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 that’s gnawing at his conscience. He didn’t even think he had one of those anymore.

Joel enters the bedroom quietly, hoping that you’d be exhausted enough to have fallen asleep by the time he returned. When you don’t even twitch as he shuts the door behind him and climbs under the covers, he lets out the breath he’d 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 he’s 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 you’re 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 can’t 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 you’re dreaming about. 

Joel isn’t 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 wasn’t 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 not—he can’t 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 doesn’t 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 can’t be broken, that would glue itself back together just to get played with again the next day, and that sets off some alarms he didn’t 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 didn’t 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… You’re nuzzling your face into his arm, breathing in his scent and letting it soothe you as it coats your senses, and it’s 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 he’d never be able to settle down. The life he lives can’t sustain something steady or healthy like that anyway, what with the touring and the groupies and the sex and the alcohol. 

But now here you are, this fragile and yet unbreakable thing in his bed who he worries wouldn’t 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. You’ve got real talent and beauty, with a promising future and blossoming career ahead of you, and you’d 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 can’t do this to you, he can’t let you in, and he knows that. He’d poison you, if he hasn’t already. And he can’t give to you what you seem to think this is, what it could be, if he wasn’t so fucking damaged. So he decides it then, as he doesn’t 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 you’re perfectly clear on what the two of you are going to be from now on, even if it hurts you. You’re a big girl, and he trusts that you’ll 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 didn’t 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 you’d know that he’s 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 he’s taken something too far, who definitely does have a conscience. Maybe you’re the one who lured it out of the dark cave it was hiding in, but he still can’t 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 don’t know won’t hurt you, and he can’t let you come any closer for fear of causing even more pain than he already has. 

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 didn’t 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. 

God, he is so fucked.

—

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 Death’s Head had a chance to take the stage for their turn, not wanting to hear any more of Joel’s voice than you’ve had to today. Besides, it’s 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. 

Mistake, respect, and professional are the choice words that are chanting themselves over and over again, so many times that they almost don’t sound real anymore, just a random sequence of letters and noises that you can’t make sense of. What happened last night didn’t 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 that’s not the point.) And now you’re 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. 

You just can’t 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. He’s a celebrity, a rockstar, for fuck’s 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. 

You should burn the clothes that he sent you scurrying back to your bus wearing this morning. They’re currently shoved into the bottom of your plain-looking laundry bag in the corner of your room, though you’re half tempted to just toss the whole thing into the dumpster behind the venue and set it ablaze. But you know he doesn’t care about material things as much as he does his ego, and it’s going to be much more satisfying to set that on fire than some worn-out pieces of clothing, anyway. Destroying them also wouldn’t 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 doesn’t 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.

You’re feeling good about what you wrote, and you’d 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 you’re 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 clichéd, and you’re happy with the in-between that you landed on. The song could be about anyone, but it isn’t, 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, that’s 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 wouldn’t be very professional of him to avoid you like the plague the way you’re 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, you’re sure they’ll be able to catch on and back you up when it’s time to unveil what you had been working on all day. But if they don’t, you’re prepared for it to just be you and Angel up there, the same way it has been for as long as you’ve been making music. Until recently, at least.

You’ve opted to get yourself dressed and ready in the safety of your bus, attempting to avoid a repeat of last night’s pre-show interactions with Joel by minimizing the amount of time you actually have to spend inside the venue. You doubt he’ll try anything, but considering how unafraid he was to volunteer himself as a witness to your sound check, you’d 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. 

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 Angel’s strings one last time, just to make sure that your muscle memory is securely locked into place—it is, because you’re fucking good at this. You don’t need Joel’s whispered praises and soothing touches to know that you’re a star, and you don’t want them. You don’t. 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 couldn’t seem to shake off.

If your timing is right, you should’ve 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 aren’t 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. You’re so consumed in your destructive self-soothing that you don’t 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.

“Tommy told me they’re jus’ tryin’ to fix a light or somethin’. Shouldn’t be too much longer now,” 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 you’ll stop tearing at your skin, to massage the worry right out of your palms and tell you there’s nothing to be nervous about, just like he did last night. Though, you’d probably bite his goddamn fingers clean off if he even so much as reached out a hand in your direction, and he wouldn’t entirely blame you if you did, considering that he’s more than likely the reason for your agitation.

Instead, he settles for asking, in as neutral of a tone as possible, “You okay, darlin’?”

Your gaze remains focused on the stage, on the mic you should be standing behind right now, if it weren’t for some stupid fucking light. After a pointed beat, you answer him with a short, “I’m fine.”

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. “Quit messin’ with your fingers.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” 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.

“That how this is gonna be?” Joel asks, and you could swear he sounds a little defeated.

“Yeah, it is.”

You turn yourself back to the stage again, and he takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to steady himself and suppress a reaction to your attitude that he might regret.

“Look, can we–” 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 you’ve ever fucking been to give a killer performance tonight. You could’ve spit some real fire at him, told him to leave you the fuck alone like you had been so tempted to, but you didn’t want to scare him off. You don’t even need to check to know that he’s still standing exactly where you left him, and that he’ll probably stay there and watch you the whole time because he doesn’t 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, he’ll have to watch you tear him down surrounded by his own bandmates and brother, and that’s gratifying enough for you.

When you and your band have all taken your places, you introduce yourself to tonight’s 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.

—

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, Joel’s silver-tipped boots are still planted in the same place they were thirty minutes ago. Perfect.

“Y’all have been amazing tonight, this was so much fun,” you pant into the mic. “I, uh… I actually have one more song before I go, if that’s alright. Just wrote it this morning.”

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 they’ve all gotten the plan, they look at each other and wordlessly communicate a final decision, seeming to be up to the challenge. 

You resume your place at the front of the stage, taking one last look at your victim before beginning to strum the song’s 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 you’ve written before. They’re 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 didn’t 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 didn’t 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 won’t end in shame or hurt or tears. 

When the buildup of your lyrics and chords finally culminate in the song’s cathartic crash, the first thing you feel is relief, like a crushing weight has been lifted off your heart. The crowd’s enthusiastic response to your creation surrounds you, filling your ears and infiltrating your soul, and you can’t 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.

You’re still reveling in the rush of your performance by the time you’re 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 didn’t 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 he’d 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.

“What the—Joel?! Get the fuck off me! What are you–”

“Will you fuckin’ quiet down?” Joel hisses next to your ear. “Quit makin’ a goddamn scene, already made enough of one as it is.”

Despite your struggle against him, his size and strength overpower you, and before you know it you’re being shoved into a dressing room, the door getting slammed shut and locked behind you in a second.

“What the fuck, Joel?” 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.

“I can ask you the same goddamn thing. What the fuck was that out there, hm?” 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. “It was just a song, what is your fucking problem?”

He scoffs, rolling his neck as his brows twitch in disbelief. “Just a song, right. Everybody knew that shit was about me.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, both from the anxiety of being confronted like this and the aggravation caused by his egomaniacal tendencies. “You are so fucking self-centered, it’s insane. It could’ve been about anyone—”

“But it wasn’t, huh?” Joel interrupts. “Who 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 didn’t have you soakin’ your fuckin’ panties for me last night.”

You hate that you can feel your cunt flutter in response to his words. “Whatever, will you just let me go? This isn’t very professional of you, locking me in your goddamn dressing room just so you can throw a fit,” you retort.

Realization flashes across his face as he steps back from you, breathing a heavy sigh. “Professional…” he speaks quietly, testing out the word, searching for the meaning behind why you had used it so pointedly. “Jesus Christ, is that what this is about? You are such a goddamn child, you know that?”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, crossing your arms now that he’s given you the room to do so. “Didn’t seem to think of me that way last night. I’m a big girl, I can do what I want, why do you care so much if I wrote a stupid song about you?”

Joel shuts his eyes, scrunching up his face like he’s fighting against what he wants to say next. “Because, fuck—This ain’t 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 front’a God and everybody.”

“Well, what do you want?” You push, stepping into his space as your blood begins to boil over. “Because 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 you—”

“Of course it fuckin’ meant somethin’ to me, Jesus Christ.” Joel says, so breathlessly it’s like the words escape his mouth before he can catch them. “Did this for your own goddamn good—”

“Oh, for my own good?”

“Yes, for your own good. Because I know what you want this to be, and I can’t give that to you, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Joel doesn’t answer, but he shifts his jaw like he considers it, and lets your angered breathing fill the silence.

“Huh?” 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. “Why not?” 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. “Y’ know what, I ain’t gonna do this with you right now. We can talk about this later.”

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. “Really ain’t helpin’ your case much right about now. I suggest you move, sweetheart.” His voice registers a somewhat eerie calm, the kind that a storm usually follows.

“You don’t get to back out of this.”

“Ain’t backin’ out. Said we’re gonna talk about it later. Move.”

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 you’re 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.

“‘S what I thought,” 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 it’ll 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, “Self-centered and a fucking coward.”

Either Joel wasn’t 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. “What was that?” 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.

“N-nothing,” you lie, backing into the dressing room as he continues his prowl.

“Nah, go ahead. You wanna do this right now, we’ll do it right now. What’d you say, baby? C’mon.” Joel’s 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 he’s bracing both of his hands on either side of your hips, caging you in. Joel’s hot breath ghosts against your face as his eyes seem to glow a fiery shade you’ve never seen before. “Say it again.”

You swallow hard, nervous eyes flitting around his face, unsure of the safest place to land, or if there even is one. “Called you a coward…” you admit softly, voice trembling.

“Yeah? I’m a fuckin’ coward? What else, hm? Why don’t you use your big girl words and say to my face what you really wanted to say about me out there instead o’ that bullshit lil’ poem you wrote.” He’s just being mean now, lashing out because you hit him where it hurts. But god fucking dammit, there’s something about the way he’s standing over you, how he’s 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 can’t help the way a dampness begins to bloom between your thighs as a result of his demeaning words and close proximity.

You figure you don’t have much of a reason to hold anything back anymore, already having pissed him off by threatening his ego twice in one night. “I hate you,” 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 you’re acting like a child when he’s the one who tried to give up and walk out when something became more complicated than he could handle.

“Yeah, I bet you do. Think you can do better than that, though, huh? Sure had plenty to say earlier, don’t get all shy on me now, sweetheart.” He spits the pet name at you like it’s an insult, coated in the venom dripping from his sharp canines.

“Fuck you,” 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 he’s reduced you to, and he allows you to keep them that way for now.

“You want me to? That why you’re all fired up, ‘cause you need Daddy to fuck this bratty ass attitude outta you?” Joel rumbles next to your ear.

You struggle to shake your head in his hold, mumbling, “No, I don’t.”

“No? So if I reach my hand under this lil’ dress, I ain’t gonna feel that pretty pussy drippin’ for me?”

You aren’t sure why you bother lying to him again, humming an mm-mm that sounds more like a whimper.

“Hmm, let’s see about that, then,” Joel muses, releasing your face from his hold to bend you forward and flip up the skirt of your dress. “Would you look at that… panties are ‘bout fuckin’ soaked through, ain’t they?” 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. “Thought you were such a good girl… you like it a lil’ mean, hm? ‘S that why you pulled that stunt tonight, to get Daddy all worked up so he’d treat you the way you really been wantin’?”

You feel a stinging smack on your ass before you’ve even finished muttering a complete No. Joel’s 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. “Had just about enough of you lyin’ to me tonight. Why don’t you tell me the goddamn truth and I’ll give you what you want, hm? Gonna ask one more time. You want Daddy to beat up this lil’ brat pussy?” 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 can’t help but moan at his crude language, releasing another pulse of wetness in response. “Mmh, yes, please—” you mewl.

“Open your fuckin’ eyes,” Joel barks, and it startles you into obedience. “Yes, who?” 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.

“Y-yes, Daddy, I want it,” you admit, your voice drenched in a pathetic need. 

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 one’s hold. He circles your dripping entrance with the rough tips of two of his fingers, not pushing all the way inside just yet.

“Think you owe me a goddamn apology first, hm?” he taunts, using his fingers to smear your ashamed slick around your entrance.

“Sorry, ‘m sorry–” you whine, pushing back into him impatiently.

Smack. “For what, baby? What’re you sorry for?” Joel presses, his harsh spank telling you to stay fuckin’ still. 

“For… for writing that song… for calling you a c-coward… ‘m sorry, Daddy, I’m sorry–” 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 shouldn’t 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 don’t really care to unpack that right now. Or ever. Maybe you were naive and immature in thinking that this thing you’ve gotten yourself into could ever pan out like what you’ve seen in the movies, but you think you could learn to be content with what he is willing to offer you—praise 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.

“How many times I gotta tell you, huh? Keep ‘em open, look, baby,” 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 don’t recognize, blurred by the sleepy submissive state he seems to be able to plunge you into so easily. “Take a good goddamn look in the mirror, at what I’m doin’ to you, and you tell me if you really want this.”

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, he’ll 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.

“Want it, please, Daddy,” you beg, struggling to hold yourself up as his fingers get you closer and closer to your release.

“You sure about that? ‘Cause this is what you’re gonna get, sweetheart,” Joel grunts, the exaggerated word punctuated by the stretch of a third finger joining the other two inside your already fucked-out cunt.

“D-don’t care, just want you—ah—” you’re cut off by the sudden stroking of Joel’s 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.

“Fuck, gonna be the goddamn death o’ me, lil’ songbird, you know that? Tried to stop this shit before it could get started, tried to keep you away from me, but I just can’t seem to fuckin’ help myself, can I? We’d be nothin’ but bad for each other, but—shit—been thinkin’ ‘bout this tight cunt all goddamn day, couldn’t get the taste o’ you outta my mouth. Reckon I never will… In fact—” 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, “Should’a done this shit last night, fuck—” 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 he’s 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. 

You can’t help but let one of your hands drift to his hair, and he doesn’t stop you from grabbing onto his messy curls as you buck pathetically against his tongue. 

“Such a sweet lil’ cunt, got me fuckin’ addicted to it, I swear…” 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, “Always come for me so easily, don’t you? Sing for me, songbird, c’mon.” 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 doesn’t wait very long for you to come back into yourself, the impatient bastard that he is, before he’s 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 he’s 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 don’t 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.

“Feel what you do to me, babygirl?” Joel breaks the kiss to ask, voice low and eyes dark. “Even if I kept you away from me, wouldn’t fuckin’ matter. Still have to take care o’ myself one way or another, would just be pretendin’ it was your perfect cunt squeezin’ me instead o’ my hand, anyway. Might as well stick to the real thing, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree, lashes fluttering at his filthy words.

“Yeah? You want it? Want Daddy to split you open again?”

Your skin is burning hot, every one of your nerve endings on fire with need, and you don’t care how pitiful you sound when you answer with, “Please, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” 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. “Greedy thing…” 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. “Probably shouldn’t be wearin’ such a thing anymore, hm? Now that I know how much of a whore you really are.”

“Not… ‘m not a whore,” you counter, but it’s 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.

“Y’ are, though, songbird. ‘S okay that you are. Only for me though, huh? Jus’ Daddy’s whore? All mine?” Joel drops the cross in favor of cradling your cheek, hurrying his pace as he taunts you. There’s 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. You’re 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. You’re willing to take whichever one he decides to let you have, you think.

“Y-your whore, Daddy… wanna be yours, please,” 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.

“Fuck,” 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. “Really 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 fuckin’ brat about it and start some shit, didn’t you? If you don’t want me decent, tha’s fine by me, baby. But lemme make somethin’ real goddamn clear to you,” 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 listenin’? 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.

“You want this, you wanna be mine, you can be mine, babygirl. Lord knows I’d find my way right back inside this sinful lil’ cunt, anyway. But this ain’t gonna be a fuckin’ relationship, you understand? Take it or leave it, songbird.” 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.

“Take it, w-wanna take it, Daddy.” 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.

“Course you’re gonna take it, filthy thing. Made to fuckin’ take it, Christ,” 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. “So goddamn desperate… Just take whatever I give you, however I wanna give it to you, always have you comin’ on my cock just the same, huh? Go on, babygirl, come for Daddy again, tha’s right…”

With his permission, and a few more just-right strokes of his tip against that sweet spot deep inside your walls, you’re 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 he’s treated you and the words he’s 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. 

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.

“Joel? You in there?” a voice asks from outside the dressing room.

“Huh…? Yeah, just gimme a–”

The door opens before Joel can finish answering, and you can see clear as day over his shoulder that it’s 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.

“Jesus, kid–” 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 you’d like as you eye your forgotten panties laying just a few feet from where Jesse stands.

“Sorry! Sorry, Joel. It’s just, uh—”

Joel turns to face him as he finishes adjusting himself, and you’re thankful that he doesn’t walk away from you completely, using his broad form to provide you with what little modesty he can afford under the circumstances. “What, Jess?” he barks, exasperated.

“Um… The guys asked me to come find you, we’re on in like a minute—” 

“Well, tell ‘em to hold their fuckin’ horses. I’m comin,” Joel orders.

“A-alright, I will, man. I’ll, uh… I’ll see you out there.” 

Jesse leaves the room as hurriedly as he had entered, nervously fumbling with the handle as he shuts the door on his way out. “That kid ever learn how to fuckin’ knock?” Joel mutters to himself, picking his belt up off the floor and looping it back around his waist. He retrieves your ruined panties when he’s 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 you’re so sensitive and sore, still leaking Joel’s 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 haven’t really spoken to him at all since this whole thing started, and you doubt you ever will after what happened tonight. Of course, he’d 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 wasn’t, 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 you’ve 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 they’d call you easy, say that you’re 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 they’d be right.

You can’t 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, isn’t 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.

“You good? Need anythin’?” Joel asks, and it would be kind of sweet if he weren’t halfway out the door already. 

You sniffle a little, but try to feign nonchalance as you shake your head and reply, “No, ‘m fine.”

You must not do a very good job of it, because he’s craning his neck to look down the hallway as soon as you finish your sentence, like he knows exactly what’s on your mind. “Don’t worry ‘bout him,” Joel says to you, giving an annoyed shake of his head. “If he knows what’s good for him he’ll go to his grave swearin’ he didn’t see anything. Kid knows better,” he reassures, and it does help to slow the unspooling of your thoughts some. 

“Okay,” is all you offer, along with a small smile.

Joel nods curtly, “Okay.” And after another beat and a rake of his eyes along your form, “I’ll see ya, songbird.”

He’s gone before you can reply, and you let the sound of the door closing ring out in your ears until you’re 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 you’re 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 venue’s 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 don’t wipe them away this time, although you can’t 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 wasn’t 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 don’t think she would be very proud of the particular path of hers you’ve begun to find yourself stumbling down—the one that leads you to a man who won’t change himself, who can’t, but who you’ve somehow convinced yourself that you deserve, because you’ve never known a man who’s told you otherwise. 

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 can’t place but that you know you can’t go back to, wishing someone could just wipe your mind clean and tell you that you’re good and that you’re not a disappointment to your mother and God even though you don’t really care what they think of you anymore, anyway. You need someone to tell you who you are, and Joel seems to know the answer—a good girl, a whore, his songbird. You shift at the memories of when those names for you have spilled from his mouth, and you’re 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 you’ve ever known yourself.

And how could something that feels so good ever be bad for you?

—

The whiskey burns as it slides down the back of Joel’s throat, but it still isn’t strong enough. All it does is remind him of the igniting spark that led to the blaze now engulfing him—when you’d both had a few glasses of the stuff swimming around in your blood streams in the green room of last night’s venue, when he’d lured you onto his lap and teased the wet spot on your panties and asked if you’d 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 that’s 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 wasn’t snuffed out then, it’s 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 didn’t 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 isn’t 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 can’t possibly fathom why you’ve chosen to fight so hard for this. And he’d only gone and proved himself right when he responded to your reprisal the only way he knows how, especially when you’d used that word against him that he’s always been avoidant to admit about himself—coward.

And you were right, weren’t 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 who’s 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 can’t have that. 

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 room’s 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 you—you 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 didn’t 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 “for your own good”. 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 didn’t run away. You didn’t even try. You didn’t want to. You took everything he had given you like it was a privilege to do so, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever understand why. 

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 Death’s Head is waiting for him. He can feel their eyes on him without even needing to look, and snaps out a defensive I don’t wanna hear it before any of the guys get a chance to say anything. 

Tommy shrugs, stepping up to Joel with his arms crossed. “Wasn’t gonna say nothin’.” 

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 they’re just pissed because he left them waiting, or if Jesse ran his mouth while he was gone. When Joel’s examining eyes land on the dark-haired guitarist, Jesse’s quick to shake his head, mouthing the words they don’t know. Satisfied, Joel nods once in understanding, adjusting his jacket and cracking his neck before turning toward the stage again.

“Y’all ready, or what?” 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, hasn’t he been trying to do that for the past couple of decades? It hasn’t seemed to work yet, but it doesn’t hurt to keep trying. 

Or maybe it does.

—

You feel a little better now, more at ease, now that you’ve had some time to focus on taking care of yourself. It’s 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 you’d 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 she’s 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 it’s still one of the most beautiful objects you’ve 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. 

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. It’s strange how such a simple charm can make things feel so complicated. You haven’t 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 you’ll 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 you’re 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.

“Hey, you,” 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. You’re happy to see that he doesn’t seem to hold any animosity towards you. “You want me to crack one open for you?” he offers.

“Um… sure,” 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. “So, listen,” you start, setting the sweating bottle on the table in front of you as you feel their gazes shift in your direction. “I’m sorry for pulling that on you guys tonight. This whole thing is just as big for y’all as it is for me and… I guess I forgot about that, for a second,” you say, although the end of your sentence kind of sounds like a question. “I really appreciate how you backed me up out there, that’s all.”

It’s 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. 

“It’s alright, kid.” The comforting voice comes from Scott, your quiet and kind-eyed bassist. “We’re all professionals here, yeah? We’d be some sad fuckin’ musicians if we couldn’t improvise every once in a while.” You laugh at that, and his lopsided smile warms you when you meet his soft expression.

“I mean, I kinda fucked up a little bit,” says Joey, your rhythm guitarist, ever-reliable for lightening the mood. “You sounded badass though, so whatever. Nothin’ you need to apologize for.” 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. “You wanna talk about it, though? Some pretty heavy shit you wrote.”

You do consider it, but shake your head, having reflected on it quite enough for one night. “Not right now,” you reply, and he gives you a sympathetic smile in return. “One of you have a smoke, though? Think I’m just gonna get some air and call it a night.” 

“Now, how are you gonna ‘get some air’ with all that smoke in your lungs?” 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. 

“Don’t give me shit, dude, I know you have one. That’s why I asked.”

Despite his protest, he digs the pack out of his pocket and slides one out, playfully holding it hostage against his chest. “Still shouldn’t smoke ‘em, though. Gonna ruin your voice one of these days.”

You roll your eyes at him, but laugh, anyway. “Fine, tonight’s my last one, I promise. Just gimme.”

Scott extends his hand out to you, and you snatch the cigarette out of his hold. “Light, too?” 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 you’d brought a sweater to wrap around you, but figure the flame between your lips will warm you up soon enough. 

The Death’s Head bus is parked just up ahead, and you can make out Jesse’s silhouette in the moonlight, his back leaned against the idling vehicle as he puffs his own cloud into the sky. The sound of your bus’s door shutting behind you draws his attention your way, and you give each other a friendly nod as you each burn through your cigarettes.

“Can I join you?” 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 he’s offering, you suppose.

“Yeah, okay,” you reply, nodding for good measure in case your voice didn’t 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. You’ve never been great at small talk, or meeting new people, especially ones who’ve walked in on you after having just been fucked by the lead singer of his band. 

You’re grateful that Jesse decides to break the silence first. “So, uh… you two, huh?”

“Mhm,” is all you offer, kicking a rock around the asphalt with the toe of your shoe.

“Yeah… Well, I don’t want you to feel weird around me, or anything. We can just forget it ever happened.”

You can’t help but release a puff of smoke through an awkward giggle. “Sounds good to me.”

“And I didn’t tell the other two, just so you know.”

His admission makes you pause, trapping the rock underneath your shoe as you peer up at him. “You didn’t? So… they don’t know?”

Jesse shakes his head. “Don’t think so. Well, Tommy might, just ‘cause he knows Joel better than anybody, but Eugene’s probably clueless. They’re all good guys, they won’t give you shit for it even if they do find out… I might, though, just for fun.” He nudges your shoulder with his as he jokes, and it makes you laugh a little more earnestly this time. “Just… be careful, that’s all. And I want you to know you have a friend in me, if you ever feel like you need one.”

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 isn’t who you feared he’d be, and that he’s offering you his friendship, even after he’d seen you in such an embarrassing and compromising state tonight. 

“Jess!” Joel yells from the doorway of his bus, and the harsh gravel voice startles both of you out of the moment you’d been sharing. “Finish up, kid. Takin’ off in a few.”

Jesse nods, raising the end of his cigarette in acknowledgement before stomping it out on the pavement. “It was nice talking to you. Remember what I said, okay?” 

“Okay,” you nod, and he’s 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 Joel’s broad form.

Joel’s expression is hard, but otherwise unreadable as he juts his chin at you, wordlessly suggesting the same direction he’d just barked at Jesse. He shuts the door behind him as he steps inside, and you think on Jesse’s words as you finish puffing your smoke down to a nub. Be careful, he’d cautioned, and it’s 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. 

You’re still buzzing from the tobacco as you close yourself into your room and crawl into bed, and you can’t decide if the emptiness of it makes you feel comforted or afraid. You don’t necessarily wish you had Joel’s heavy, lumbering form tucked in beside you, but you hadn’t 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 Jesse’s warning, instead trying to snuff it out like the smoldering end of your cigarette so that it doesn’t prevent you from getting some much needed rest.

Even for being a bed inside of a tour bus, you have to admit that it’s one of the most comfortable, luxurious things you’ve ever slept on, especially compared to the lumpy double bed from back in your apartment. You don’t 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 there’s 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 you’ve never been to that doesn’t know your name yet. 

And maybe that’s how you’ll 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 you’re careful when you dance around the fire, then there’s really nothing to be afraid of.

But only time will tell.

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[mikeyisbrooklyn]

Huh, this is gonna be my first chapter of Why We Can’t Have Nice Things that I didn’t already post on Tumblr before I started uploading onto AO3.

Well that just won’t do… hmm it won’t be as organized as the other three but I may as well spoil the Tumblr peeps before I officially post it.

(Warning: this is the final rough draft before the actual final draft that gets posted on AO3 in a few hours.)

Why We Can’t Have Nice Things (4)

Price regretted vocalizing how much he missed paperwork. He knew he would be behind upon his return, but as he limped into his office, he had two stacks of papers so high it swayed in response to any nearby movement. And this was apparently the leftovers after Simon tried to keep it from building up in his absence.

“Glad to ‘ave you back.” Simon grunted, as he held Price’s office door open for him. The warmth in Simon’s voice would be imperceptible to anyone else, but Price caught it. “Don’t croak anytime soon, I don’t want to even think about all this red tape you work with again, let alone handle it.”

“Not so easy being Captain, is it?” Price joked back as he went to sit in his chair slowly.

“That’s why they pay you the big bucks.”

Price let out a single rueful chuckle, knowing how untrue that was—at least, compared with all the shit he had to clean up. Speaking of, he had work to do…

He managed to be both the last to arrive and the first to exit the small party celebrating his return from leave. No one, except McTavish, was thick enough to try to keep him longer—but even the Scot let him slide away after seeing the look of pure exhaustion in Price’s eyes. He didn’t even get half of what he wanted to get done and Price knew that with each day back the more would pile on. That was the nature of the job, even if he couldn’t hit the field, the fight never ends. Price half-heartedly shambled to his room for the first time since getting back to base—not even having entered the room upon arriving with Gaz offering to take his things there for him—and laid down in his bed without even disrobing in a paltry attempt to sleep.

Though being fully clothed didn’t help, the real ailment that kept his eyes was the nagging voice in the back of his head. The one telling him how far behind he already was and would continue to be if he didn’t shape up. It didn’t matter that it was only his first day back, it didn’t matter that if it were any of the 141 or anyone else he would call them mad for thinking they could fill a two month gap in a day, it didn’t matter that he was specifically put on desk duty to not exert himself. All Price could hear in his head was how everyone’s tone with him since his injury had skated on caution, and all he could see were the carefully formed faces of professional soldiers that he could still clock as worried when they didn’t think he was looking.

*Liability*

Price shot up in bed so fast he thought he might get nauseous. Again. That’s been happening too much. He shook his head and ignored the brief pain of getting up on his leg too fast. Price knew he ought to get some rest, but he also hated being behind more than he hated being tired; despite his better judgment, Price slunk back to his office as the dusk turned to twilight.

The rising sun tried and failed to shine a light into Price’s office, as it was blocked from window entry by his drawn curtains. Price sprung up from his desk with a shout at the knock from his door; and if the top sheet from a stack of paperwork was stuck to his face as he did, then that was between him and his maker.

“John?” Nik’s smooth baritone seeped through the door and its vivacity made its way into Price’s very being even with the distance. Or, it tried to anyway, as when the warmth started coursing through him, it was as quickly flushed out by…guilt? Embarrassment? “Mishka, I know you’re in there. Are you alright?”

Damn it all to Hell, there was that cursed worry in Nik’s voice. Price hadn’t even done anything. Had he? He mumbled a half-hearted affirmation that he was coming.

The moment the door was open wide enough, Nik’s arms were around Price. Price stiffened and quickly forced himself to relax, but Nik noticed all the same.

“Mishka?” Deep brown eyes analyzed him, and then, “you did not sleep last night.”

It wasn’t a question. He just knew, Nik always knew when Price wasn’t taking good care of himself. And he was always there to rectify that. When the captain skipped a meal in favor of picking apart intel, Nik conveniently brought servings for two when he came around. Many a night would Price be found with a blanket and neck pillow whilst he slept on his desk if not for the Russian guard dog waiting patiently nearby. The crick in Price’s neck right this instant tells him he would’ve appreciated that act more than ever last night, but Nik was on a mission. In fact…

“Nik. What happened to Amsterdam?” Price deflected. There was no point in lying to Nik, but that didn’t mean Price had to acknowledge his dissecting gaze.

“Nothing. This is simply pit stop.” Nik retorted. “I wanted to see you. I’ve done this many times.” There was a tension in his voice. Not quite arguing, but very much so challenging Price to misstep. Price knew that, yet again, Nik was right. The pilot had made it a habit to visit the base mid-mission and Price never complained about the company. He wasn’t now either, but even he caught the edge in his own voice; as if he was trying to rush Nik off or…or didn’t want Nik there.

Fuck. That’s—that’s not true. Right?

“John?”

Fuck. Price was spiraling again. “Ah, yea, ‘m sorry.” He grabbed the back of his neck and futilely started on the crick in his neck. He stood still for a second—two, three—too long before moving aside. “Come in.”

Nik hesitated and eyed him. Then he eased his stance, something that almost looked casual—if Price couldn’t see just how clinical and forced it was. “Hm, I was hoping to share breakfast, while I have time away from mission. Off the base, of course. I’m sure you have not fed yourself, da?”

Price frowned and crossed his arms. So was this what they were doing? Relaxed stance or not, Price knew this was a standoff—not even mentioning the subtle dig at his ability to take care of himself. He’d had dinner, and a quick glance to the clock showed that it was hardly past 0800, so it wasn’t absurd that he hadn’t had breakfast yet. He wasn’t a lia—*urk*, he fought what felt like rising bile at the bottom of his throat and internally shook it off. The point was, he could feed his damn self. But if he said as much, it’d definitely come across as petulant whining. No, no he would not play into Nik’s hand so easily. Instead,

“Nah, ‘aven’t but it’s cause I was gonna eat with the boys. Planned to make an appearance at the caf, ya know, keep morale up.” He lied through his teeth. Price would stay in his office for days on end if no one came to grab his arse. And Nik knew that too, showing as much with his singular raised eyebrow.

“Oh? Then I can join you.”

“Sure you wanna spend however little time ya got eating the slop they call food ‘ere?”

“You forget who you speak to, rodnoy. I have lived off of nothing but the grubs from the earth, I handle ‘slop’ just fine.” With that, Nik looped his arm around Price’s waist and suddenly and swiftly pulled the man out of the office doorway and against Nik’s side.

Though a small part of Price enjoyed being manhandled just a little, he could tell it was also a way to end the conversation. He was familiar with Nik’s tricks after so long—the way the Russian would use his strength and suavity to poke at each of Price’s weak points with the precision of a sniper. Normally, Price took the usage of those tricks as a sign he needed to relax—trusting Nik’s judgment above all else, but right this instant something ugly flared inside him and caused him to pull away from Nik. The moment he did it felt like something not only in his core but something in the center of the earth ***broke***. As if the very balance of the universe was thrown off. It crushed more than that damned rubble.

In response, Nik froze and several dozen emotions ran across his features. A twitch downward from where his lips meet his right cheek, a scrunching of the space between his eyebrows, and his eyes—God, it was *always* his eyes wasn’t it—taking on a fire deep in their brown like embers in a forest moments from going ablaze. “Wh—“

Price forcefully aborts whatever Nik is about to say by grabbing his hand and moving back into the pilot’s space—though not as close as before. “Sorry, sorry, still waking up. Los’ my balance.” It was some of his worst work to date, but it felt impossible to lie to Nik. It’s why he couldn’t meet his eyes when the fib left his mouth, instead busying himself with closing his office door behind him. “Lessgo.” He grunted, pulling Nik along the hallway without another word. Thankfully, Nik didn’t give him a taste of his medicine and pull back; the holes being drilled in the back of Price’s head could be ignored for now.

To Nik’s credit, his eyes never left Price, even through the attempted conversation—if you could count Nik not-so-subtly probing Price for what was wrong under the guise of causal interest and Price’s increasingly brusque, noncommittal grunts in response as *conversation*. Those eyes were so sharp and scrutinizing that Price was starting to feel like he was about to get sick, ruining his appetite, but something else—something that felt just like that flare from moments ago—started festering, too. Was it indignation? Enmity? Rancor? No, no it couldn’t be, he’d never feel that way at or about Nik. He just wished those damn eyes would stop studying him. Stop waiting for him to—to what? Prove him right, was that it? Price wasn’t stupid, he knew Nik didn’t want him to be in such a hurry to get off leave. He knew Nik had all but begged Price to take it as an opportunity to take a “much needed break”. He remembered the arguments that ended in soft cuddling and quiet assurances, and it’s in his memory he recalls that this *feeling* at the pit of his stomach stuck with him even after the heated debates died. ‘Cause this wasn’t a fluke, this was a developing pattern. Price would try to maintain or regain some sense of normalcy and Nik would swoop in and take the reins. It was never malicious, more like a father keeping his son from touching a hot stove, but Price wasn’t a damn child. He wasn’t a damn liab—

Price thanked a god he didn’t pray to that a few sergeants came over to bother him as he felt bile slowly rising to the middle of his throat. In fact, he used them as an excuse to cut breakfast short, much to Nik’s chagrin.

“But you are not finished!” The Russian stood up as Price was already walking his tray to a nearby trash can.

“Sorry, the boys need me. I’ll make it up to you later. Good luck on the rest of yer mission.” And Price didn’t even give Nik a chance to respond as he left him standing there without so much as a look back, which caused him to miss the slightest quiver in Nik’s bottom lip.

The following weeks were more or less uneventful, at least, relatively. On desk duty, Price didn’t get to live out the eventful days, he only got to read about them in the paperwork he was about ready to go mental over. Every pile he managed to get done, another two would appear. Luckily, he was able to at least lead trainings and spars, even if he couldn’t participate.

There was also the constant, nagging, sick feeling at the pit of his stomach, getting worse with each time he blew Nik off. Truly, if whatever the hell this feeling was didn’t kill Price, the increasing guilt might. Nik certainly didn’t spend his every waking moment on base with the 141, typically only there for a safe and familiar place to do repairs or the occasional invite or visit, but it seemed like lately every chance the pilot had away from Chimera or any other dealings saw him present. And more importantly, looking to spend time with Price.

Surprise gym sessions. Nice romantic dinners. Invites out to private, scenic walks or long drives. Even a planned helo trip as a “spontaneous adventure that doubled as a relaxing holiday”. All of which Price found excuse after excuse to turn down or bail out of part way through. At first, he made an attempt to seem deeply conflicted but as time went on his excuses got limper and his defenses more meek.

The truth was, Price *was* conflicted just not in a way he could genuinely express. It was as if every waking moment Nik and those piercing eyes, analyzing his every step, made him anxious and frayed his nerves. And John Price doesn’t ***do*** anxious. Watching Nik watch him like a hawk was worse than being pinned down with heavy fire and nothing but your bare hands—at least then Price knows no matter he does he’s got to fight his way out or die trying. But this? Nik threw Price off his rhythm, he made Price a kind of vulnerable and open he had made extra sure to never be. And at the onset of the relationship—their *romantic* relationship, Price knew it meant opening up more and Nik was a patient man. More so than Price deserved, he knew that much. Slowly and surely, Nik was able to peel back the layers and break down the walls and Price was actually relieved to have something with someone where he didn’t feel this incessant need to *be* anything. Or to perform or have it all together. It was just him and Nik and it was simple and now…now it’s not.

Because Nik thinks Price fragile—knows he’s breakable, because Nik can tell Price is slowing down and getting himself hurt in stupid ways he should be better than. That’s why Price knows Nik is really always around now to keep a close eye on him, covering it with a saccharine veneer of romance and chivalry—not that Nik didn’t do those thoughtful things all the time but…but this is different. Price knows it is, it’s what the feeling in the pit of his stomach tells him. It’s what the bile slowly climbing to the top of his throat assures him. It’s not Nik’s fault, he’s just trying to protect Price’s dumbass from getting himself hurt again. Nik’s just trying to be the fixer he always has been, the fixer Price could always rely on, the fixer Price now needed. But Price knows that he’s the one thing Nik can’t fix, because he’s not a problem that’s solvable; Price is a liability, plain and simple.

And telling himself that over and over doesn’t make it any easier to get off his knees in front the toilet one night while the moon reaches its peak, nor does launching what little food he’s eaten recently into it ease the bile that’s burning his esophagus.

Price is pretending he didn’t spend far too many hours sobbing, clutched to a shitter like a teen who just reached the worst part of his first binge, the next morning while watching gaggles of rookies do laps when his luck—if one could call it that—runs out.

“Jonathan.” Normally, when the Russian man said his name, it was with mirth or some degree of panic considering the circumstances of their employment. But right now, Nik’s voice carried a gruffness only matched by Price himself, sounding all the more imposing thanks to his size.

Price turned to see Nik walking towards him with a determined glare and steady swagger. A spike of cold rushed down Price’s spine as he not-so-subtly looked for a way out. It was too late to pretend he hadn’t heard his approaching partner, he had already turned in his direction. He couldn’t conjure up some “incredibly important” captain’s business as he had just admitted to the now preoccupied rookies that he was free if needed; he had the feeling Nik heard that. And if he outright ran away, he wasn’t actually sure Nik wouldn’t just chase him down.

That final thought had heat pooling in his gut. Dammit, now isn’t the time for his dick to make his internal conflict worse.

In all of Price’s catastrophzing, Nik had gotten closer and closer, until finally being a breath away from him. Somehow, in this open field, he felt more trapped than when he was under that rubble.

“What is wrong?” Nik sounded like a man trying to keep the worry out of his voice, far too clinical to be believably neutral. “Are you hurt and do not want me to see? Is there something I have done? Something I have not?”

“Not sure what the hell you’re talking about.” Price, unfortunately, also did a terrible job at acting indifferent. There couldn’t be a clearer sign that they ought to simply speak plainly, but John Price never did simple when it came to matters of the heart.

“Jonathan.” Nik all but growled, more desperate than angry.

“Stop saying my name like you’re my bloody father.”

Nik frowned in confusion and exasperation. “Why will you not answer the question? I know something is wrong.”

Price dragged a hand down his face and let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he turned towards the dying grass. “Nik, just drop it.”

“Nyet. You have been…” Nik seemed to weigh the words in his mouth before continuing, “off for weeks now, Jonathan. I have waited for you to tell me what ails you in your own time, but the more time goes by, the more… the more you pull away.”

Price did all he could not to freeze as if caught with his hand in a cookie jar. He would not admit how he failed at this. “Nik…Nik, I—no, I’m just still playing catch up. And even then, I’m always busy.” He hardly finished speaking before Nik cursed in Russian, something Price vaguely recognized as an exclamation of disbelief. Bullshit.

“Are you so busy, Captain,” Nik continued, something like venom at the back of his throat upon using Price’s title. “That you cannot spare a glance at meals, or even attend them—or anything I plan to do with you—at all? That you have not spoke more than a single sentence to me beyond niceties?”

Price knew he was wrong, hell, he knew in Nik’s shoes he might even have been twice as vindictive about it. But still, that feeling in the pit of his gut turned into some awful beast inside him—the bile reaching the top of his throat and coming out in form of words he didn’t mean. “Are you daft? Go ask any of my men, if it’s not training or op prep or bullshit paperwork, it’s damn near impossible to get a second in with me. Think you’re meant to be special?” Price regretted those cruel words as soon as they left his mouth. It only got worse when he watched Nik’s face shift; gone was the frustrated but desperate look of a man reaching out—throwing a Hail Mary, now what sat on the larger man’s face was pure detachment.

“Yes, that is what most men think when they share a bed. My apologies, Captain,” The words left Nik’s mouth colder than a tundra. “ I will leave you to your busy schedule.” With that, Nik turned and left. Catching up to him wouldn’t be hard. Screaming his name, or even an apology would be easier.

But Price instead stood there, speechless, hating himself more than he had ever before. He promised himself he would do better, that he wouldn’t *ruin Nik*. That’s what he was doing, right? So why…why did it feel like he couldn’t have gotten it more wrong?

[holdmymallowsweet]

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 I’ll update this thing) but this is a chapter that I actually really like and feel good about, so I hope you’ll enjoy! And this chapter was beta read by the very sweet and lovely ladyelisabeth from AO3, who did an absolutely amazing job ❤️

Warnings: mentions of nausea and throwing up, no detailed descriptions but I thought I’d 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 didn’t open. Then he realised he’d said it in Parseltongue. He couldn’t remember the last time his mind had been so addled.

Inside, he made his way past the table where he’d 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. 

Oh, but if they hadn’t, 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 he’d 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- he’d never wear it but couldn’t bring himself to get rid of it either- and underneath, there it was, the small stuffed animal, the only one he ever had. 

Given to him by Aunt Noctua, like all the other things he’d locked inside that box after she’d disappeared. Too afraid that touching them again would be too painful, but it didn’t 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. He’d 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 he’d 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 who’d gift him something like this, and he couldn’t ever bring himself to part with it, even after all the happy memories faded. 

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, he’d known, he’d known, but he never had to face it, not like today.

She’d 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- 

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 didn’t know how long he’d spent curled up on his bed, quietly sobbing, until he had no more tears left. Now he just felt exhausted, like he’d aged a hundred years in a matter of hours.

The door opened slowly but he didn’t bother getting up, there was only one person it could be. 

“Are you asleep?” Sebastian asked cautiously. 

Ominis considered pretending, just for a moment. “No, I’m not.” His voice sounded hoarse from all the crying, but if Sebastian noticed it, he kept it to himself. At least he didn’t insult him by asking if he was all right- his swollen eyes and blotchy face were probably all the answer Sebastian needed anyway.   

“Ah.”

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.

“Will you tell Anne?” Ominis asked numbly. 

He waited several moments, until he was about to repeat the question, assuming Sebastian hadn’t heard him.

“No, I don’t think so,” it finally came from the other bed. “Will you?”

“No. She has enough troubles, I think.” 

There was a time when they’d told each other everything. 

“Do you think she’s all right?” Sebastian asked after another long pause, and with so much hesitation, Ominis wasn’t sure if he really wanted to hear the answer.

It was obvious they were no longer talking about Anne.

The honest answer was no- she’d only suffered the curse once, and it likely wasn’t as strong as it could have been, given Sebastian’s 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 he’d done, he knew what it was like to live with that guilt.

“Don’t worry too much about her.” 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.

“She wasn’t quite herself, was she? When she left. Quieter.”

“You would know better than me.” It was a lie.

The realisation of it came suddenly, digging into his heart with iron claws. He’d 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 he’d put up between them. 

And he’d 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 she’d been instead of simply talking to her.

…he could have simply talked to her.

He could have.

Not anymore.

Sebastian’s fidgeting had turned into him nervously tapping against his bedpost. It was starting to wear on Ominis’ already frayed nerves. “Sebastian, she’s better off with the other Hufflepuffs. They won’t ignore it if she’s still in pain.”

“Pain?” Sebastian audibly jolted out of his bed. “In the book, it said the pain only lasts until the curse is lifted. Why would she-“

Something in Ominis snapped.

“You’re unbelievable.” Ominis sat upright, letting go of his stuffed animal, and faced Sebastian with a cold look, which he hoped was very noticeable. “Has it ever occurred to you that I would know better than your bloody book?” 

“I… well, it’s not something you ever-”

“Obviously, did you think I’d want to relive the experience over and over again?” Ominis’ hands were shaking. “You 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?”

“She’s not a victim, she agreed to it,” Sebastian said quietly. 

“Did she know what she agreed to? Truly?” Ominis turned his back to Sebastian and threw himself down on his bed again. Now he regretted not pretending to be asleep when he’d heard his friend come in.

“I… fine, I’ll go- I’ll make sure she’s alright, if she needs anything-“ Sebastian had already half crossed the room before Ominis could reply.

“Don’t. What do you expect her to need from you? If you regret what you’ve done, deal with it on your own. Leave her alone.” 

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 wasn’t because of the never ending chill of the dungeons. It didn’t help, though. 

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 she’d find some sleep tonight. He knew he wouldn’t.

He had no sense of time as he laid in bed, not knowing whether he’d 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.  

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 didn’t come easy to him either.

Ominis drifted in and out of consciousness, though he couldn’t 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 hadn’t been the first time they’d tortured Muggles for sport, and it wouldn’t be the last. They’d 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 couldn’t 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 they’d make it stop for them, once he’d manage to use the curse. In his child’s mind, he hadn’t 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 couldn’t 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. 

Ominis stayed in bed, clutching the sheets.

Footsteps getting closer to the door, then they paused.

“Ominis…” Sebastian hesitated. “If you still want to get breakfast before classes, you need to get up now.”

Ominis curled up tighter. “I don’t feel well. Would you please let the Professors know?” he said hoarsely.

Uncertain shuffling. “All right. ‘Course I will. Want me to bring you something from the Great Hall?”

“No, thank you, Sebastian.”

“Are you sure? It’s no problem, I have time.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“I’ll check on you between classes.”

“Don’t bother.”

“When I see her, should I say something?”

Ominis flinched. “No.”

“I’ll let her know you’re worried-”

“Please don’t. Please.”

Silence.

“Get well soon, then,” Sebastian said, and while both of them knew fully well that Ominis hadn’t 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 didn’t 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 didn’t help in sorting them out, so they just sat there, stewing and festering. 

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 he’d 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 hadn’t tried to approach her under false pretences-  because what else could one call it? She hadn’t known what he’d done, what he was capable of- 

But she had. Ominis frowned.

“Sebastian told me a little of what happened when you were young”

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 they’d met in the library, or before?

And how much had Sebastian downplayed and justified Ominis’ actions, if she’d 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 couldn’t 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 someone’s free period or the lunch break. 

Was she able to keep food down by now? 

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 he’d felt all day grew heavier. Sebastian would be back soon enough, and even if he drew the curtains, pretended to be asleep, he’d have to leave his bed for some reason eventually. 

Ominis couldn’t do it anymore, he had to go- somewhere else, anywhere else, because he didn’t think he’d 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 he’d 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 he’d filed away in his mind, thinking perhaps he might one day share them with her.

What a pointless endeavour.

And she still had Noctua’s 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. 

Why did it have to turn out so wrong? For a while, it hadn’t been so bad, it even felt like perhaps their jaunt into the scriptorium could bring them all closer together.

She didn’t even mind him being a Parselmouth.

“I wish I could speak to snakes”

“I’d like to see one someday”

Ah, right. He’d known she was curious about snakes, Ashwinders at least, she’d told him in the library. He’d completely forgotten by the time they went to the scriptorium. Why did he remember it only now, when it didn’t matter anymore?

If he’d 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 wasn’t 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. 

He’d 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 he’d never see, flooding the hall and gently warming his neck. It wouldn’t last, but it gave him some solace, a brief respite. For the first time in hours, though it certainly felt longer, he didn’t feel like he was suffocating. It became hard to keep his eyes open. 

He dozed off, unable to fight the exhaustion any longer.

He was woken up again- he didn’t know if it was seconds or minutes later, only that he wished he’d been granted more time, why wasn’t he ever allowed more time? And for the first few seconds after his eyes flew open, he didn’t know why he felt a crushing wave of dread, more powerful than before, until he recognized them.

Her footsteps, drawing closer towards him.

He’d expected something like this. She was entirely too kind, too considerate to ignore him and carry on as if they were strangers, of course she’d 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 he’d have to face her eventually, but he’d hoped that it would be after he had time to sort out his thoughts, or at least get a few more hours of sleep.

“Hello, Ominis.” 

He choked on the trepidation in her voice. 

Of course she was nervous, she was about to tell him that she’d like him to keep his distance, that what he and Sebastian had put her through wasn’t what she’d come to Hogwarts for, that his secrets and sins weighed entirely too heavy on her conscience, that she-

“Do you mind if I sit down?”

His voice failed him, he fought the urge to get up and flee, because there was nothing she’d say which he hadn’t 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 couldn’t 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 wouldn’t help. 

“I came to apologise.”

He couldn’t have heard her right.

“I’m truly sorry, Ominis, I mean it. I never wanted to hurt you,” she said softly.

Ominis screwed up his face in disbelief. “Hurt me?”

“... in a way.”

“You were the one who- I should be the one to apologise.” His voice broke.

“What for? You didn’t know it would turn out like this.”

“Of course not, if I did, I’d never-”

“Then what are you apologising for? You were the only one of us who didn’t want to go. I’m the one who talked you into it.”

“But I let you. I should have known better. Sebastian should have known better.”

She huffed, as if she was offended. “Don’t blame Sebastian, please. I’m the one who offered to talk to you, and just between you and me, I think he was slightly offended that it worked.”

‘Now you’ll share? You wouldn’t tell me when I practically begged.’

She was right. Ominis could always tell when she was lying, but she sounded the same as she always did, as if she wasn’t- how could it be that the two of them were talking as if nothing happened?

“How…” his voice broke again. He forced himself to breathe, mustering up the courage to ask what he should have from the start. “How are you feeling?”

She tensed up. “Not well, to be honest. I suppose there’s no point in trying to hide it from you. It’s… I can still feel it. I wanted to go to the Hospital Wing last night, but I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t know if the nurse could tell somehow. I didn’t want Sebastian to get into trouble.”

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- “It’s not real.” He turned his head towards her, to make sure she could see that he was being sincere, in case she was looking at him. “Aunt Noctua explained it to me, she said- she said it was my mind, not understanding why it’s painful even though my body wasn’t damaged, or ill. But it’s not real.”

“Oh.” She sounded so relieved.

“I was hoping it wouldn’t be this difficult for you. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s all right. As long as there’s nothing wrong. Thank you, Ominis. I guess I’ll just have to wait it out, then.”

No, she didn’t have to, he just remembered. “There is something that might help. You could ask Nurse Blainey for a Calming Draught.” 

“Do they just hand these out to students?” she asked doubtfully.

“Not usually, unless it’s 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.” Merlin, why didn’t he think of it sooner? He should have told her yesterday. “We could go now if you’d like, I’ll show you-”

“Perhaps later. I don’t think anyone suspected anything during classes, and I wouldn’t want to start rumours. Or cause anyone to worry.”

Anyone?

Ominis frowned. “Has Sebastian asked how you were?”

“Of course he did. I told him it was nothing to worry about.”

“Why?”

She took her time to answer. “Because I didn’t want him to regret it forever.”

“I shouldn’t have told you that. I’m sorry, I…”

“Stop apologising,” she said softly. “And please don’t blame Sebastian, I wouldn’t have left him a choice either way.”

Ominis was confused, only for a moment. Then the fog lifted and his heart broke into a million pieces, as he finally understood. “You decided it would be you. Even before you asked me, you…” He dug his fingers into his knees. “You weren’t asking me to curse Sebastian.”

“Of course,” she answered, matter-of-factly, as if they were discussing an article in the Daily Prophet over breakfast. “I’m the one who got us trapped there in the first place, it was the least I could do.” She groaned, showing the first obvious sign of discomfort since they’d started talking.

Ominis didn’t know what to say, but she seemed to know what went through his mind anyway. 

“It’s 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 wouldn’t have forgiven me if I hurt Sebastian, I know how much you care for each other,” she paused, before carrying on, more hesitantly than before, “I wouldn’t blame you if you won’t forgive me anyway.”

“That’s- of course I do, and you don’t need my forgiveness, the two of you didn’t have a choice.” 

“I thought one always had a choice.”

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. “... are you trying to pick a fight?”

“Am I?” she asked innocently.

“Could you please be serious?”

“Would that help?” It didn’t come out quite as lighthearted as she probably intended, followed by another groan.

Ominis turned towards her, frowning again. “Let’s go to the Hospital Wing. Please.”

“It’s fine- no really, it is. I can’t go now, I’ll miss flying class.”

It took him a second to register what she’d said, then he was beginning to question her sanity. “... there’s no way you’re going to flying class like this, you must be out of your mind.”

“It’ll be fine, it’s not that bad anymore. I promise.”

“That’s not- why do you even need flying classes? I know you’ve beaten Imelda in one of her trials, you can’t be that inept on a broom.”

She snorted. “Thank you, but I’m not sure that would impress Madam Kogawa. She cares about flying responsibly and safely- so I guess I’ll make her very happy today.”

That wasn’t very reassuring, and he knew she could see it on his face. “I’ll go to the nurse later, if it’s not better by then, I promise.”

“Fine.” He wasn’t entirely convinced, but he wasn’t 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 she’d notice the first signs of pain, or at least she’d be attentive enough to catch her if she fell.

A slightly awkward silence settled between them after that. 

There was one more thing weighing on his mind, and Ominis hesitated to bring it up, but he didn’t know if or when he’d have the opportunity to ask her about it again. And he wasn’t sure how much time they had left until her class was starting, probably not much if it wasn’t enough to make it to the hospital wing for a potion. “May I ask you one more thing?”

“Of course. Anything.”

“Why did you want to learn the Cruciatus curse?”

“Ah, that.” She shifted, stretching her legs, knocking their knees together for a moment. “I didn’t. Not really.” 

“Then why…?” 

She sighed. “I suppose I wanted Sebastian to know that I don’t think less of him for knowing the curse, but in a way that wouldn’t make it harder for him to use it on me. I admit it wasn’t very well thought out.”

“So you won’t ever use it?”

“Of course not, I can’t imagine ever putting someone else through that, now that I know how it feels.”

Ominis knew she hadn’t 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 couldn’t keep off his face, and wasn’t it about time she left, if that’s how she felt?

“Ominis, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant now- in the scriptorium, I would have done anything to make it stop.”

“Not anything.”

“Yes, anything. I would have cursed you, Sebastian or anyone else, I couldn’t have gone through it again. Believe me.”

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.

“Uhm, may I ask you something as well?” she asked quietly.

Ominis cleared his throat, but his voice still came out strained. “Yes, of course.”

She leaned over, pressing their knees together, making his breath hitch in his throat. 

“Would it be possible for us to still be friends?”

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. “Why?”

“Why?” she laughed nervously. “That’s an intriguing question. Would it be enough if I said ‘because I want to’?”

“You do?”

“Of course. Ominis, I never meant to come between you and Sebastian, I’d never want to do anything to hurt your friendship, I just… I was hoping I could be a part of it.”

“Of course you can.” The words came out without him even thinking about it, as natural as breathing. “I would like that. I’m sure Sebastian would too.”

And then he felt her hand on his own, still on his knees. It was so much smaller than he’d ever expected, so warm, sending a tingling sensation through his arm that reminded him of the first time he held his wand.

“Thank you.” 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.

“Well, I better get going or Madam Kogawa is going to make me polish all the broom handles for being late. I’ll see you tomorrow, Ominis.”

“Yes,” he replied, still in a trance, “yes, you will.”

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 she’d come back after flying class, but even though she didn’t, he wasn’t disappointed. He’d meet her in class the next morning, and then he could ask her where she’d been, or if she was feeling better, and he wouldn’t 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. That’s probably where she was. He’d find the strength to join them tomorrow morning, for now all he wanted was his comfortable bed- which he didn’t dread anymore either.

“Ominis! There you are.” 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 couldn’t help but smile. “Why, did you miss me?” He tried to give the question a healthy dose of sarcasm, but the relief in Sebastian’s voice made him fail utterly.

“I was worried, you moonmind.” Sebastian huffed indignantly. “So are you feeling better now? Where were you?”

Ominis crossed the distance to his bed, using the seconds it afforded him to think of how to answer. “I went on a walk, to clear my head.”

Which wasn’t entirely untrue.

“And yes, I am feeling much better.” 

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 he’d ever tasted.

“You’re getting crumbs all over your bed.” 

“I truly don’t care,” Ominis replied, with as much dignity as he could through a mouth full of biscuits. “...and thank you,” he added, once he swallowed.

“I would have brought you an apple tart, but my robes aren’t hungry today.”

Ominis snorted. “I almost forgot about that.”

“You might have, but I still have a tart shaped stain here that never quite came out.”

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 Sebastian’s way, tempting though it was.

“So,” Sebastian started, more subdued than before, “do you need anything else?”

“No,” Ominis replied, letting himself fall back, kicking his shoes off and barely managing to keep his eyes open. “...just want to sleep.”

“At least brush your teeth.”

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 we’ll see how the two of them navigate their first awkward days of new friendship, and if I can manage, we’ll have a nice Halloween themed chapter right before Halloween. At some point I genuinely thought I’d start this a/n with “sorry this is a short one” 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. It’s been so long since this fic was anything but angsty, and I think this is the first time since chapter one that I’ve written any significant amount of dialogue for MC (that wasn’t taken straight from the game). I was almost a bit scared I’d 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!

[wannab-urs]

Bared Teeth

Pairing: Dave York x f!Reader

Summary: Biting the hand that feeds you OR Dave doesn’t 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 I’ve written in like two months and I’m decently proud of it. Plus, I missed these two a lot. They’re my favorites (don’t tell AGOY!Dieter, he’ll cry). 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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 doesn’t himself deserve. 

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 isn’t 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. 

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 doesn’t 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 what’s in it. He’s doing your chores and you’re buying him things at the grocery store and it’s all a little bit too much. 

“What is this?”

“Well I know you prefer coffee to tea and all I had was that shitty instant coffee.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t buy things for me.”

“Why not?”

“Just don’t.”

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. 

“What is that?”

“I thought you might want to stop smelling like flowers? I got you sandalwood. I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. Why are you doing this? Why are you buying me shit? You don’t need to buy me shit. It’s not like I live here.”

“Then what is it we’re doing Dave? You sleep in my bed and you eat my food and you’re doing fucking chores. Your toothbrush is in my goddamn bathroom for fuck’s sake. What exactly are we doing here?”

“I don’t know, okay! I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I’m not staying. This isn’t that.”

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. 

“David.”

He turns and pushes you back through the threshold of your apartment. He stalks off down the hallway and you watch him go. 

The reason he’s 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, he’s stashed himself in your apartment is because no one knows about you. It’s 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. 

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, you’ve seen him nearly dead and you can’t bear the thought of him being gone. 

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 he’d eventually walk through. He has to come back, he will come back. 

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. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he growls.

“What’s wrong with me?” Your voice high pitched and breaking on the last syllable. You yank your arm back from him and shove him in the chest. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Dave?” You shove him again, and his back hits the wall. “You fucking left! You were gone for days.” You wrap your hands into his shirt, pulling him toward you and shoving him away over and over. “I didn’t 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 you’re coming back. If I’ll ever get to see you again. You can’t just fucking leave like that.” 

“Why the fuck not?” 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 – he’s like a prey animal about to meet its death. He’s terrified. 

“Because I love you.” He recoils at that.

“No you don’t,” he whispers before stalking further into your apartment, away from you. You scramble to your feet and chase him into the kitchen. 

“Yes I fucking do, David. Maybe you aren’t capable of love. Maybe you have too much blood on your hands or you’re too fucked up inside and full of shame too feel anything else. Maybe you’re a disgusting, dirty, defiled person who doesn’t deserve to love or be loved.” You cage him against the counter, one hand on either side of him, body trembling with rage. “You were always going to lose everything because you never deserved to have it in the first place,” you spit at him. 

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. 

“But I’m a terrible person too, David. I must be. Because I love you so much, it’s like I’m caving in on myself. I feel this fucking rot in my chest, this dark thing that is slowly consuming me and it’s you. I love you and it’s fucking killing me because you won’t ever let me have you – not really. You won’t ever stay.” 

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. 

“When you aren’t here, all I can think about is losing you. When you aren’t here, my whole body trembles and my chest aches. I can’t work or eat or sleep. Do you understand me? I am so afraid of losing you..” He squeezes his eye shut, face scrunching up in something like pain.

“No,” he whispers. 

“The only thing that could destroy me is never touching you again, do you understand me?” 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. 

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. 

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. 

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. He’s tearing you open and making room for himself inside you. You drag his shirt off, needing to feel his skin. He doesn’t even slow down. Your nails sink into his shoulders. You feel the powerful muscles shifting beneath his skin. 

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. 

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. 

“Mine,” you snarl. You let go of his jaw and he swallows. 

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. 

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. . 

“Will you stay?”

“For now.”

[inquisitornocturn]

NSFW alphabet no.11 - Maximillian Strauss

Okay, I'll admit, Strauss' brain was hardest to tune into so far, but I think I cracked that egg open~

Dear Regent was requested by a darling @makethemworse <33

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Assuming you are close to Strauss and not just a simple tryst that serves some sort of higher purpose, Strauss will make sure that you are alright afterwards. He’s not a cuddler, so do not expect that, but pampering an exhausted partner is not a lost art to him. So you will be given blood, made comfortable and taken care of before he departs. He’s not the one to stick around for longer than necessary, but Strauss is a gentleman and won’t leave you stranded to fend for yourself.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Strauss’ favorite body part is definitely his hands. You think he wears gloves as a fashion statement? That’s only partially true. He also protects them for the things he can do with them. From using blood magic, to exquisitely pleasuring his partner, the Tremere Regent finds many uses for his hands and fingers, therefore guaranteeing you a truly expert touch. On his partner, he highly appreciates legs. A classic look of them in red heels (clearly his favorite color) is a true weakness to Strauss and the most obvious one to any person who has access to him on the intimate degree.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

In truth, Strauss does not care either way. Whether to come in you or not, he will do as you ask. And he doesn’t have a particular fetish about you swallowing or playing with it. For him it’s just something that happens naturally, and no more worth mentioning than the weather.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

It will take a lot of effort, trust and time to get Strauss to admit that he’s much into blood play. Why such shame? Because he carries himself as above basic kindred “depravities”, citing blood as too precious to waste for activities like sex. However, he’s very much into it. Blood as lube is not just an AO3 tag for him~

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Very experienced because no matter how he presents himself now, an Elder and a Primogen, Strauss had his wild days and learned a lot during them. Showing that experience might be tricky, as mentioned above with his dirty secret, some layers of trust are mandatory to be peeled before he starts revealing just how exactly experienced he is. But once that happens, hold onto your ankles, it’s a ride you won’t ever forget.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Absolutely cowgirl, in bed where he can lie down and watch you bounce on it. It’s not that he’s lazy, not at all. Seeing your body move is one of the greatest pleasures for Strauss and he won’t ever pass the chance to pull you on top of him. Worry not, if you start getting tired he will help you out by holding your hips and fucking you upwards until you are too spent, reached your climax or are good to continue for longer.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Strauss is actually quite funny when he gets to unwind and drop the serious mask for once, so you can expect him to create an easy-going, very relaxed atmosphere when engaging in sexual activities. He’s not the one to mock or ridicule you, but he will comment if you get tired too fast or can’t handle a session. In a playful kind of manner, of course.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Very confidently Strauss does match carpet to the drapes. To put it clearly – he shaves. It’s a habit he picked up long ago and now can’t really go back on it. In life he was never the hairiest man so the nightly task is not too difficult, but he insists on doing it almost religiously. He also showers, perfumes himself and wears clean clothes every night even if he doesn’t really have to. For him – tidiness of one’s person means a certain status among others and he uses anything he can to show his.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

You are his focus when having sex. His research is forgotten, Tremere plights put on hold, Camarilla can definitely wait. Nothing matters but you. While not the biggest romantic, Strauss will still find his way to make you feel appreciated and loved without needing to recite Shakespearean sonnets. Even with small things like attention to your comfort, a word of encouragement or praise, a softer touch where he might suspect you’re hurting. In these small ways the Regent will show you that currently you are truly the only thing on his mind.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

A fan of touching himself, but not more than touching you. However, Strauss got a habit of masturbating during long nights when he was a younger kindred, especially during early studies of clan’s magic when he would spend a lot of time in isolation. He still has the same habit even if he does it less, but Strauss treats it as a way to relax, a pleasant pause during grueling studies and he takes his time to slowly stroke himself. Not exactly edging, but not hurrying to spill himself either, it’s one of the “finer” things that he enjoys without shame or hurry.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Bondage. And that means him being the one bound. Blindfold him, tie his hands, fuck him. While Strauss likes to see you riding him, there’s even more pleasure in suspense of what you will do to him. He does have his preferences, of course, but he’s confident and curious enough to agree to a variety of things and not knowing what you might’ve come up this time is part of the pleasure and excitement.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Tremere Chantry and to be even more specific – main ritual room. While he would deny it to anyone else that he has such desire to “corrupt” the room and the furniture there, that’s part of the reason why he keeps it locked for most of the time. Not only it gives him an extremely private location to have sex in, but also the thrill of combining sex with blood magic is something that gets him going quite easily.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

And speaking of blood magic, Strauss gets turned on not by what you show him or what you say him, but the idea of what he can do to you. Specifically, what magic he can use or even invent to elevate your sessions to the next level. He’s a very skilled Cainite, a powerful one too, so you might get surprised more than once with what he can come up with. Just don’t tell anyone else that Strauss is creating spells just for sex, not a good idea.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He won’t approach a potential sex partner first. If you show interest in him, that’s a good start, but if you wait around until Strauss makes the first step – you will wait until the world ends. And while he does pick up on hints, both subtle and not so much, he still won’t act upon them until you show open interest in him. Which goes same for bedroom for the most part. If you are not the one to suggest something different, he will rely on good old missionary. That’s not to say that he’s not interested per se, Maximillian simply has no time for guessing games and prefers if you communicate clearly. Once he knows that, you can expect him too to start suggesting ideas.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Equally enjoys getting and giving. While you suck him off, Strauss will let you lead and only comment if you do something he does not like, contrary to what he expects from you, wanting you to tell him exactly what you like. In his mind – he’s permitting you some mistakes, while he permits himself none. But, to your relief, you don’t need to instruct him much, because he sure knows what he’s doing when your legs are on his shoulders.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Maximillian is a connoisseur of slow and sensual. Why rush the good thing, right? Especially when his generally busy schedule prevents him from spending as much time as he would like with you. So expect long sessions full of sensuality, touches and experimentation.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Finding quickies unsatisfactory to the highest degree, Strauss will abstain from partaking in them even if you ask him really really nicely. No, the Regent won’t “lower” himself to a quick fuck, finding the act of sex a refined activity that must be done well and with proper attention. So if you’re looking for a quick relief, you better off doing it yourself.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s definitely open to experimentation of almost any kind. He will also take dangerous risks, such as involving blood spells, to elevate the experience even further. While there have been some very close calls in the past, Maximillian won’t lie about that and will tell you exactly what such activities and games might entail. To him – fully informed consent is the sexiest thing of all.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Knowing how to preserve his energy and stamina, Strauss won’t run “out of breath” any time soon, but he won’t waste time or effort if his pleasure is not maximized. However, if it is, you are in for a long ride. Several hours not being out of the question and he knows how to take breaks and let you recuperate, but if he’s really having a good time, then there will be several such intense session, sometimes lasting all night.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He owns some, but not too many. Despite that, he wields them like a professional and you won’t be disappointed. Strauss is also completely open to have toys used on him, no matter the kind. It’s all about pleasure and experiencing it fully for him, so he won’t deny a potential exciting avenue. But, obviously, won’t repeat it if the benefits weren’t worth it.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Maximillian is not the teasing kind, but that only means outside of the bedroom. Behind closed doors – he is very much the type. Teasing with words or actions until you’re sweating, begging and shaking is what he strives for and will happily indulge you when he suspects that you’re reaching your limit. Yet every session will test that limit further and further. He will research your body like he would research an ancient spell tome – with full concentration, attention and expertise.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

No matter how loud Strauss is, he will make sure you’re louder. But generally he won’t be too shy to express himself through moans and groans, especially when you’re taking charge of the act. Whether you’re sucking him off, fucking him in his favorite position or simply experimenting on him, you will hear when he likes something and you will hear it clearly.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Very fond of orgies. The more the merrier, but usually these types of affairs are very superficial. He’s there to enjoy himself physically and to experience something new, but no deeper connections are made. If you participate with him, you will notice that Maximillian pays attention mostly to you even if he lets others to experience his body, becoming quite passive. Experimentation, specifically of the sexual nature, is reserved for you alone.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Pretty average in length, but thicker. Definitely pale, quite veiny, the head is smaller than the shaft but very sensitive. Curved fairly noticeably and Strauss works that to his advantage.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Decent sex drive but he doesn’t show any of it unless he finds a partner he truly can be himself with. Which means that he trusts you to a high degree, if not fully and completely. The longer you stay with Maximillian, the more he will begin thinking about spending time with you in a sexual way and the more you will find him yearning for your attention. How long that might take though is hard to say, might be years, might be decades. Persistence, so to speak, is key.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Strauss only rests when necessary and you will often even find him awake during daytime, even though he is extremely sluggish and groggy on those occasions. So you will be the first one to fall into the day-sleep and he may or may not join you in that. Most nights, when you wake up, you won’t find Maximillian by your side, but he will always leave you a note, telling you where to find him.

[thisbarbiereallylikesbirds]

Bedtime - A @tmnt-write-fightWrite Fight Attack

mwahaha get attacked @yellowhollyhock

check out the fic on ao3!!

Bedtime in the Hamato household was an…ordeal 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. 

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. He’d done some research in the early days to try and figure out what kind of turtles they’d 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 wouldn’t take half as long if he’d just stop struggling, but little Orange didn’t seem to care one bit. 

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 he’d been. After being splashed with so much water it looked like he’d 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. 

“Okay, boys,” he said, patting his face dry with a towel. “Bedtime.”

Blue was first. There was absolutely, positively no way that he’d 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 couldn’t 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 Blue’s 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 didn’t seem to work tonight.

“I’m not sleepy,” Orange insisted. It was a lie. He hadn’t been able to stop yawning and rubbing his eyes since dinner. And with how fussy he’d gotten, it was clear that Orange was completely drained from the day.

“Just lay down for a bit,” Splinter insisted, tucking another stuffed animal into bed beside him in hopes that it would bribe him into staying put.

“I’m not sleepy,” Orange repeated. “I want to stay up and play with Raph and Donnie.”

“They’re going to sleep right after this,” 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 game 

Splinter sighed. “What would make you tired, Orange?” 

He considered this for a moment, his tiny eyebrows scrunching together. “A cookie?”

“Sugar would make you tired?”

“So sleepy,” Orange said, grinning and nodding his head.

Splinter sighed again, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Fine.”

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 didn’t even need to be tucked in. Splinter would just guide him to his room and knew that he’d climb into bed and turn off the lights all by himself. Which was good. Because around this time was Blue’s second appearance.

“Still can’t sleep,” he informed his dad helpfully.

“Have you tried?”

Blue stuck out his tongue.

“Try again.”

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 didn’t spill over during the day first, he would wait until bedtime to voice all of those fears to his father.

“Mikey is really little,” he said quietly.

“Well, he is three,” Splinter responded, pulling the Ghost Bear comforter up to his son’s chin.

“If there was quicksand, he’d fall into it really fast,” he said, voice breaking. His eyes began to water.

“There isn’t any quicksand in the sewers,” Splinter assured him.

“And he wiggles around so much too,” Red said. “It would just take a second and he’d be gone!”

“We’d pull him right back out.”

“But what if we were stuck too,” 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 Blue’s tiny face illuminated by the TV.

“What are you doing up?” Splinter asked.

“I. Couldn’t. Sleep.” 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-law’s face. “Can I watch?” he asked.

Defeated, Splinter pulled him up onto his lap. “You can listen, while you try to sleep,” he said. “Now close your eyes.”

An episode and a half later, Blue had finally drifted off. Splinter’s hand absent-mindedly rubbed the back of his son’s shell as he looked down at his sleeping form. 

It was true that bedtime was…a 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 wouldn’t 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 wouldn’t trade that for anything.

[mikhailwrites]

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 don’t discover him, but it’s a close call. While relocating, Ghost runs into Roach, who’s been waiting and ready, and there’s nothing close about that encounter. It’s 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 wasn’t entirely fair since it’s been basically four-to-one, but Ghost did his best to make it harder. The truth is, he’s not sure he would be able to win this round even with Gaz, so it’s a well-deserved victory.

Just like the last time, they reunite after the match, and predictably, the mood is much lighter. There’s 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.

“I swear I almost wanted to shoot them myself,” Soap says as he tells them of his little jungle adventure.

“Then the mission would fail. In any case, it couldn’t have been worse than escorting civilians for real,” Ghost replies, earning a hum of agreement from Alejandro. It seems he’s 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 doesn’t mean Ghost doesn’t 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. “I was thinking… It’s my birthday next month, and we wanted to hit the pub and have a few drinks. Wanna join us, Ghost?”

Simon sits back in his chair, thinking hard. He appreciates the offer. It’s just that it sounds like a lot of people at once.

“Come on, Ghost, last time I went to visit you, it’s time you returned the favour!” Soap joins in with a very low-blow argument. Technically speaking, it was John’s idea to visit him in the first place, but Simon happily agreed.

“I… I’ll think about it,” Ghost relents eventually because he has to give them some answer. It’s noncommittal; he can always refuse later.

“Great, we’ll 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 shouldn’t be a problem, but I’ll need a little heads-up,” Soap's voice betrays a smile. He wants Ghost to come, and Simon would be lying if he said he didn’t 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. “What do you think, should I go?”

Stripey starts to purr, closing the big green eyes as his human continues with scratching.

“Some help you are,” Simon inclines his head but smiles softly at the creature. He should really start thinking about what he’s hoping to achieve with all of this.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Almost There

I am obsessed with your hurt/comfort fics for Leon, especially the ones with Gwaine in them as well. Would you be willing to write more of them, please? <3 – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none

Pairings: gwaine/leon can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 1671

"Come, now," Gwaine's voice comes low in his ear, just audible over the creak of broken armor and the wheeze of air through battered lungs, "we're almost there."

The rain has yet to let up. The trees frown and wail in the harsh winds as they inch their way down the path towards Camelot's gates. Gwaine's arm holds him fast, his knees ache with the strain of battle. The warped metal presses into his injured side and he struggles to breathe.

"I know, I know." The arm readjusts, the hand wrapping around his. "You're doing so well. We're almost there. Are you sure you wouldn't rather me carry you?"

He shakes his head, mud splattering across his cheeks. The rain stings as it pelts his face. His armor grows icier. His feet protest every step but still they press on. He feels his lips become wet and hopes it isn't blood. Gwaine doesn't argue any further, simply adjusting his grip and encouraging him onward.

He doesn't register making it through the gate, nor the stunned faces of passers-by as they muddle through the streets, only that the rain no longer hits his face as they make it into the safety of the citadel. Gwaine murmurs something else, low and soothing, but not clear enough for him to hear over the roar of blood in his ears. He only lets out a breath that emerges as a despondent groan.

Warm. Warm. He needs to be warm.

He's stopped moving. He blinks, realizing that at some point in the past few moments, he's been set carefully down onto a low table. There are hands on him still, on his face, his arms, in his own, but then they leave. He blinks again, forcing the world to coalesce into some form of order in front of his weary gaze, only to catch little more than a few bright points of light and a shuffle of movement. In another moment, there is a dark blur in front of him.

"Leon. Leon, can you hear me?"

"I hear you." His throat is gravel. "I hear you."

"That's good. Worried I'd lost you there for a second." Gwaine, yes, that's Gwaine. "I'm going to get you out of your armor, alright?"

"Armor…" Yes, that's right. He needs to get out of his armor. Cold armor can be an effective killer just as any sword or disease. He sluggishly lifts his arms to try and fumble out of it, only for his hands to be caught again. "What…?"

"Hold still." Is he mistaken, or is there a touch of amusement in Gwaine's words? "Let me. I promise, no funny business."

He's forced to sit there, all but useless, as Gwaine carefully maneuvers him out of his armor. He supposes he shouldn't be surprised that he's actually quite dexterous with it. Not in the least because of his…reputation, but he is a knight as well. It makes sense that he's used to putting on and taking off most of his own armor. He loses himself in the soft clink of the metal being pried from his body and set down to be cleaned and repaired, instead only able to snatch moments of focus where Gwaine's warm hands brush his frigid skin. His aches and pains quickly make themselves apparent, however, and soon he's biting back groans and whimpers as Gwaine works.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, letting his hand rest a moment on Leon's shoulder. "I'm trying to be a gentle as I can. We're almost done, yeah?"

"'S alright." His words slur. "'S what you h've t' do."

Something might flicker across Gwaine's expression, but it's not evident in his voice when he promises again to hurry. The moment he tries to lift his arms, however, pain lances sharp and sure across his side and the words snaps into terrifying focus.

"Hey, hey. It's alright, I'm sorry, I won't do that again. Shh, settle, settle, it's alright."

Part of Leon may object to being soothed like a frightened animal, but the majority of him is, well, soothed. Gwaine's hand remains on his face for a while longer, thumb stroking the flush over his cheek, before he carefully pulls away. This time, the pain is dulled, locked behind the careful way Gwaine keeps telling him what he's doing, hands strong and sure as they deftly pull the bits of broken armor from him, pressing firmly against him when he lists too far to one side or the other. He loses himself in it willingly.

"Leon? Leon?"

He blinks. Gwaine's holding him by the shoulders. "Yes?"

"Alright, just checking you were still here. Lost you again for a moment. There's a bath ready for you, but I'd like to try and get a look at some of your injuries first. Is that alright?"

"Gaius?"

"I've been given the authority to tend to you myself first. If I think something's out of my area of knowledge, I'll get him or Merlin. Yeah?"

"Yeah." Leon swallows. "Can I—water?"

"I'll do you one better." He presses a warm cup into Leon's hand, helping him lift it to his mouth. "Merlin's favorite toddy for post-battle knights. Should help with everything."

The drink is warm, honeyed, slightly spiced, and does wonders to quell the worst of the shivers coming from deep in his chest. Gwaine helps him hold it until he's had about half the cup, lowering it back to the table and looking him over. There's a few sore spots on his chest and shoulders that will bloom into harsh bruises over the next few days, a scratch on his face that was hidden under his hair, and the bloodied gash on his side.

"I need to try and clean this up first, just so I can see how it looks. How far can you raise your arm?" The answer turns out to be: not that far. "Alright. I'm going to be as quick about this as I can. You're doing so well."

"Is this how you treat all your injured brothers-in-arms?"

"Only my favorites." Still, Gwaine's hand is nothing less than a comfort on his stomach as he stabilizes himself. "Don't worry, I promise out of all of them, you're my very favorite."

"I bet you say that to all of them."

"No, I really don't." He stands tall again. "Alright. It looks worse than it is, my guess is you got it near the beginning of the fight and it bled over the course of the way back. You're safe to get in the bath now."

Leon warily eyes the tub more than a few paces away. "I might need help."

"Getting out of the rest of your clothes, or getting to the tub?"

"Both, I'm afraid."

But Gwaine doesn't tease, doesn't smirk. He only nods and regretfully informs Leon that if he can't raise his arm that far, he may need to be cut out of his tunics. Given that the thing is ripped and splattered with the mess of battle, it's not too much of a loss for Leon to lament. Once again, Gwaine is nothing but gentle as he takes a pair of shears and snips up the tunic's side seam, pulling at the sodden mess until it comes free. The warm air is a balm on shaking skin as his boots and socks come free. Fingers hook gently into the waistband of his trousers, coaxing his hips up just enough that Gwaine can pull those free as well, leaving him bare on the table.

"Alright. Come on, it's not far."

He barely registers the short hobble across the floor, or the ungainly splash as Gwaine tries to lower a full-grown man into the tub as he would a babe. Only the steam wafting up from the water, the immediate relief from the warmth of it. A mortifying noise leaves his throat, chased away by a gentle chuckle as Gwaine draws a stool alongside the bath and lifts a hand to card it through his muddy hair.

"Let me help," he coaxes, leaning him back to rest against the side of the tub. "There's nothing else for you to do tonight except recover. Let me help."

Leon dares any person, man, woman, or otherwise, to deny Gwaine when he looks at them so softly and murmurs let me help. As it stands, he's powerless to do anything but close his eyes, hear the quiet splash as Gwaine lifts handfuls of water and spills them over his shoulders. There's an aching tenderness behind it, as though moving too much would disturb whatever delicate balance suspends them here in the steam, lit by candles and the flickering torchlight from under the door. He drifts, carried along by the water as Gwaine's fingers card through muddied hair and along scraped skin.

"You're going to put me to sleep," he mumbles.

"Hopefully not before I get you into bed," comes Gwaine's response, "I'm almost done."

"You just put me in here."

A pause, then damp hands on his aching shoulders. "Leon, you've been in here for quite a while. Look at your fingers."

Sure enough, when he lifts his hand from the water, his fingers have shriveled. He stares at them for a moment before letting his hand fall back into the water. "Ah."

"You're exhausted," Gwaine says softly, "it's alright. Come, let's get you dried off and into bed."

"What about you?"

"Well, I had a very capable warrior who seemed intent on preventing any harm reaching me or the rest of my brothers," Gwaine remarks with no small irony in his words, "so I am relatively uninjured."

"I do hope you're not expecting me to apologize."

"You? I'd have a better chance of getting Merlin to apologize. Now hush, you ridiculous man, it's time for you to rest."

Rest…yes, rest sounds…good.

[princesssukuna]

ᰔ 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕨 𝕞𝕖 𝕙𝕠𝕨 ᰔ

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 haven’t 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. 

“HELLO! ANYONE IN THERE?!” 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 you’ve just ordered, forgetting that you were at the bar. 

“Don’t beat yourself up my cutie! That kid will be back before you know it!” You gave her a small smile and your turn around seeing your other two colleagues that had joined the both of you. 

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 haven’t seen Shota all cleaned up since the days you both were students at U.A. You couldn’t 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.

“Not a word.” 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, “Come on, you can’t drink away this pain. You need to find another healthier way to release that anger you have.” she gives you a sly smile as she looks towards the man. 

“Ugh Nemuri, I’m fine.” 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. 

“That’s enough.” 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 wasn’t the first time you had these sexual thoughts of him. You’ve 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.

“I don’t need your pity Aizawa. I know what I am doing and I don’t need you breathing down my neck as if I’m a child.” You bite the inside of your cheek trying to stop the tears from forming. Ugh maybe it is time to stop drinking.

“No matter how prepared we were, we couldn’t have prevented this.”

“You liar!” you shouted at him as others from the bar turned around to see what was happening. “If you hadn't interfered, they could have taken me instead, but no. You made me stay put!” 

You clench your fist as you keep looking up towards Shota. He doesn’t remove his eyes from you, and neither do you.

“Come on, I think it’s time to go home.” Toshinori tries to gently pull you away from him. 

“You’re such a brat. I honestly still don’t understand why you even came back to work at UA despite your previous reputation you had -” you didn’t 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. 

“Aizawa” 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.

“I swear if those two don’t fix the sexual tension between them, we will all remain miserable.” Nemuri’s 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.

“You can leave me alone. I don’t need you as a babysitter, Aizawa.” 

“I didn’t come to apologize.” 

Your heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach and you felt a knot developing in your throat. 

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 couldn’t get enough. You both were a mess and you just wanted it to be messier. 

“Then why are you even here? Why did you follow me? To keep belittling me? To remind me I will never be good enough!?”

“This whole situation is not even about you. Get a grip on yourself!”

“But my feelings are still valid! Ever since I came back all you ever done is brush me off like nothing ever happened between us.” 

Shota’s 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 didn’t notice that escaped. 

“You 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 it’s easy for me to see you everyday smiling and laughing, knowing I am not the person who is behind it?! One day you’re calling me Shota and the next day you're just referring to me as Aizawa and it fucking hurts me.” 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. 

“I hate you.” You said clenching your teeth.

“And I hate you too.” 

He clashes his lips with yours with hunger and you return it back. It wasn’t 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. 

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.

“Don’t ever leave me again.” he says in a husky voice.

“Only if you show it to me.” 

Your lips meet again. Shota’s 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. 

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. 

“You told me to show you, and that is exactly what I’m about to do.” he whispers into your ear, making you moan. 

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. 

“Tell me you want me.” He demands, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. Both of your pupils are enlarged, full of darkness and desire. 

Shota pulls one of your legs over his hip, giving you a good slap on your ass. You lolled your head back.

“Do I need to repeat myself?” 

You shake your head. 

“I-I-want you.” 

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 you’re his. 

He starts sucking on one of your breasts as he starts kneading the other. 

You moan in pleasure, feeling your panties getting wet. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

You take a look and you are greeted with his onyx eyes looking at you. 

“Let me hear your beautiful voice again”. 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. 

“Please,” you moan out, “I’m..I’m..going to cum”, 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. 

You open your eyes, trying to catch your breath, and you see Shota wiping your cum off his face, as he’s taking off his shirt. You needed a break, but you knew well enough your break was about to get cut very short. 

 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 won’t be good enough. You need a picture of him like this. You were so stuck in your dirty little slutty thoughts that you didn’t realize he was fully naked, aligning himself between your legs. 

“Are you ready?” he asked you.

“For you. Always.” 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. 

“You’re taking me so well, fuck” he says against your soft skin. 

You keep feeling him enter you and you’re 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. 

“There you go. Such a good girl taking my cock in your tight little pussy of yours.” 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. 

“Shota..please” 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.

“I want it..please…I want it all.” 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. 

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 that’s inside your room and you hear the bathtub water running. You’re 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.

“Stay with me please” he says in a low voice.

“Anything for you.”  

[noffy96]

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.

‘Moon!? what did you do!?’

He screamed through his inner communication system, and a familiar cackle reached him.

‘Punished the naughty Children, it was past their bedtime’

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.

‘Is the stupid Sun trying to think? He should stop before he hurts himself ‘

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 ‘clean’ 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

“What the actual hell Moon, what is this?”

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.

“Don’t like my little present~?”

His rays shook in their frames

“Present?! You destroyed our room! Our stuff, our gifts. Why would you do that!”

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.

“Our gifts?! Your gifts! It’s always you! Always keeping me in the dark! If I get nothing. Then so do you!”

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 wasn’t able to cry. But if he could he was sure the tears would be dripping down his face. He had enough.

“That’s it! No more nights! We are gonna keep the lights ON. I NEVER wanna hear you again. You are not my Moon anymore”

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 wasn’t 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 didn’t 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 hadn’t 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 wouldn’t 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 didn’t 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 doesn’t think he’ll 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 Moon’s 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

‘Sorry’

It made him freeze. He shouldn’t look.

He really shouldn’t.

Moon was gone. The fact that this had happened was proof of it. But even as he kept telling himself he shouldn’t. He picked it back up, straightening out the wrinkles. And read it.

‘Sun,

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 couldn’t 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- ‘

The writing seemed to get shakier as the letter moved on, his own hands trembling.

‘Tell 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.

I’m sorry again. Good luck Sun, I’ll miss you, Moon

He stared at the letter. Reading the words over and over again. A virus…Moony 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 couldn’t cry. So no tears were dripping on the page and ruining it. He hugged it close to his chest.

Moon was still here…somewhere. Still fighting. Otherwise, he would be feeling the effects of the virus. Moon was still keeping him safe ... .Moon was…

His head shot up. He just told Moon that he never wanted to talk to him again. But what if…what if Moon had heard?! What if he was losing faith because he had given up? But he hadn’t known. He had been so so so tired. And…

He looked around in a frenzy. And shoved the pile of drawings under a loose floorboard for now together with Moon’s letter. And stood up opening the connection

“Moon!”

He heard a high-pitched crackle

“I know you couldn’t keep your word, Always such a weak-willed Bot.”

He ignored him, trying to stare at the space he could feel him and said evenly

“You are my best friend. And I’ll always be here for you!”

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 didn’t care. That he was nothing. But he knew it wasn’t true. Moon’s 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 didn’t wanna risk the lights turning off as he sat down. He placed his hand against his chest. Trying to stir the music box that wasn’t his to use. But he didn’t 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 wasn’t gone. Maybe it was more literal in his sense. Moon didn’t 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.

“Sun!”

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.

“Sun…”

He shot forward hugging his Moony, and burst out crying.

[p-artsypants]

Home (2)

When Astrid goes missing after a patrol, all seems hopeless for her return. That is, until an unexpected ally appears with a ‘token of goodwill’. 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. 

It spoke volumes to him that she didn’t need to be held down. She occasionally moved a limb, just a twitch, but she mostly stayed still on her own. 

She was simply too weak to fight. 

Once finished with the front, he very carefully worked on turning her over. Her back was ripped open, raw and split. 

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 wasn’t bleeding the worst, and the edges were scabbed over. 

He carefully washed the wound. “Honey,” the tender nickname rolled out without thought, “this might hurt…” 

“Like the rest hasn’t?” She sobbed. 

“I know, I know…but I’m going to clean this and then put a salve on it. Then it’s just going to get bandaged, unfortunately.” 

“I trust you,” she squeaked. 

And that almost made it worse. Because she trusted him, he wanted to make it as painless as possible, but it just wasn’t going to happen. 

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 didn’t 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. 

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. 

At times like this, Hiccup wished he had apprenticed under Gothi instead of Gobber. 

He crushed the garlic up with a mortar and pestle and added it to the sticky liquid. 

“At least it smells good,” Astrid said weakly. “Can I have a sip of that mead?” 

“It doesn’t taste good,” he reminded. 

“I don’t really care.” 

Hiccup slid an arm under her, by her upper waist. Then he pulled her to lean against him so she could drink. 

She took a long gulp, exhaling harshly with a hiss. “That’ll help.” 

He hummed. “I’m sure it will.” 

Once done, he took the mead from her and eased her back to lay on her stomach. 

“Alright…” he dipped a rag in the tonic. “Here we go…” 

At first, Astrid just whimpered. But once Hiccup saw bubbles, he knew it was going to get worse. 

Astrid buried her face in his pillow and started screaming. 

The sound made Hiccup pause as his heart broke. 

“Keep going!” She sobbed. “Just do it and get it over with!” 

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. 

She had been doing so well. So strong, so brave, but now, when her strength was failing, she dissolved into violent, heart wrenching wails. 

“I’m sorry,” he sniffed, saturating the rag. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hiccup!” She screamed. “You owe me for this!” 

“I know.” 

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. 

“I’m sorry, I know that had to hurt but I couldn’t let it—“ 

“I know,” she squeaked, still wincing from the burning, stinging pain. 

“I’m almost done, I think. I’m not confident in my abilities with broken bones, so unfortunately your leg is going to have to wait for Gothi.” 

“My…legs…” 

“Yes, I know it hurts. But Fishlegs can make you some pain relive—“ 

“No,” she sobbed. “My legs, the back of them! Look!” 

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 hadn’t looked. Hadn’t 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. 

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. 

“Astrid…” he felt the tears spring to his eyes. “Wha…how…?” He wasn’t sure we wanted to know. 

“Whipping,” she whispered. “With a cane. It was their favorite. They started at my back…” 

Now that she said it, he did realize that the farther down, the wounds got fresher. 

“They know how long to hit, where, how often…to keep you from dying, and make you suffer the most.” 

He took the wet rag and gently started to clean, but the wound was already sticky from her blood trying to clot. 

“Damnit,” he growled. “I don’t—I can’t—“ 

He had to put more of the astringent on, but the pain it caused her…

“Do it,” she demanded, pounding her fist on the table. “Just…it’ll hurt, but it’ll make me better, right?” 

“Yeah,” he breathed. Then he breathed again, and again. 

Why was he steeling himself? He wasn’t the one being slathered in liquid fire. But…

This was Astrid, and he was hurting her. 

“Shit,” he growled. Then he grabbed the bowl and saturated a new cloth. 

As he started dabbing on her rear, she flexed and winced in pain, but didn’t scream. She obviously handled it better there than on her back. 

Then, he touched her thigh. This sent the worst scream he’d ever heard in his life through his skull. 

“Stop! Stop please!” She wailed. “I don’t know anything, please!” 

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. 

Astrid breathed a rattling breath for a long time, not speaking, not being able to. 

“Hiccup?” Fishlegs asked from the door. “Is she…?”

“She’ll be okay. The salve is…causing her some discomfort.” 

He hummed from the door, not convinced, but not pushing. “I’m working on a pain reliever. And then I’m going to make dinner.” 

“She’ll need it, thank you.” 

“F-Fishy?” Astrid whispered. “Is that you? I can’t see you…” 

“I’m in the doorway, Astrid,” he said calmly. “Kinda down by your feet.” 

“You’re making me something? Some tea? I love your tea…” 

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. 

“Oh, yeah…I’m making a special one. Just for you. It might not taste good, but it should make you feel better.” 

“That’s so nice…” 

Fishlegs cleared his throat and attempted to leave but Hiccup stopped him. “Wait…”

“Yeah?” 

“I hate to ask this but…” 

Fishlegs guessed where this was going. “You need me to hold her down?” 

“Her legs. Especially the broken one. We can’t let her make it worse. This is the last bit I have to treat, but because of its location, she’s not taking the alcohol well. I think infection might be setting in.” 

Fishlegs whimpered. 

“If there’s anyone she’d trust to hold her still, it’s you.” 

“Ohhh don’t put that on me!” He cried. Still, he fully entered the hut and came and stood at the foot of the bed. “But I know you’re right.” 

Hiccup gave him a smile, then brushed his fingers over Astrid’s waist. “Astrid, do you need something to bite down on? Would that help?”

She whimpered an affirmative. 

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. 

“Alright,” he took the salve soaked rag again. “Let’s do this and get it over with. Astrid, you’ve got this. It’s nothing compared to what you’ve been through.” He started slathering the medicine on and felt her trembling underneath him, even with Fishlegs holding her legs. “Remember 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.” 

Astrid let out a scream, though muffled, as he hit a particularly nasty spot. She beat her fist on the table. 

“You’ve taken plenty of hits. This? This is nothing.” He was trying to reassure her, though he knew it had to be horribly painful. “You’re tougher than dragon hide. You’re going to be just fine.” 

She made a noise that made the tears he was holding back fall. 

“Just fine.” 

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. 

“And that should be the last of it,” Hiccup declared, pulling taut the last stitch on the bottom of her foot. 

Astrid whimpered, now the pins and needles and lightheadedness of blood loss setting in. 

“Thanks for your help, Fishlegs.” 

“N-no problem,” Fish responded, desperately trying to wipe the tears from his face. He had silently sobbed through the whole thing, his tender heart feeling Astrid’s sobs as his own. “Always happy to help.” 

“I’ll get her bandaged up. If you could finish that pain reliever…” 

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he chuckled humorlessly. He took Astrid’s hand and squeezed it once. “You’re going to be fine, Astrid. That might have hurt, but it would have been so much worse if we didn’t do that.” 

“Uh huh…” she murmured. 

Fishlegs gave Hiccup a look, concerned, but opted to leave and get back to work on his medicine. 

“Now,” Hiccup said softly, “I have to figure out how to bandage you up. It also won’t be a pleasant experience.” 

Astrid didn’t respond.

“Astrid?” He touched her hair. “Sweetheart?” What was with these affectionate nicknames? It was like seeing her so fragile made him want to address her as gently as possible. 

“I heard you,” she breathed. “I’m awake.” 

He sighed in relief. “Okay, just…just checking.” 

He looked over the collection of bandages Snotlout had left. There was a lot, but Hiccup feared it wouldn’t be enough.

He went to his clothing chest and picked through the tunics he had. Most of them had Toothless’ saliva stains in them. While he often had Toothless drool in the twins or Snotlout’s medicine when they were ill, he actually didn’t know if it was wise to have dragon spit on an open wound. 

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. 

And perfect for what he needed. 

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. 

She winced again, but not as harshly. Either because the honey made a barrier, or she was in so much pain, it didn’t really make a difference. 

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. 

“There, all wrapped.” He tied the last bit of bandage up. “Well, for now. We’ll probably have to redo all of this when Gothi gets here.” 

Astrid nodded, then started to list forward.

Hiccup caught her around the waist. “Don’t move,” he soothed. “Let me take care of you.” 

“I…I feel so weak,” she cried. 

“I’m sure.” 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. “I’ll make this quick, but I’m sure you’d like to get cleaned up.” 

She nodded mutely, leaning back against the chair. 

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. 

“H-Hiccup,” she grabbed at him. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” 

“Don’t leave me.” 

He pulled the clean covers up and over her prone form. “I was just going to go see if they’ve made any food. You really need to eat something.” 

Her lip trembled. 

“Now don’t look at me like that,” he cooed, running his thumb over her cheek. “You’re totally safe.” 

“I…I don’t want to be alone.” 

Hiccup gnawed at his cheek, torn between what was good for her, and what she wanted. He snapped his fingers. “I got it! I’ll be back in just a second. I’m not even leaving the hut.” 

He hurried down the stairs and then whistled for Toothless out the door. He didn’t even need to, since the dragon was right there, waiting patiently. 

“Can you go get one of the others? Preferably Fishlegs?” 

Toothless’ tongue lolled out out his mouth before he bounded off to fetch one of the riders.

“There,” Hiccup declared, climbing the stairs. “Those dunderheads can make themselves useful for once.” 

Astrid just continued to look at him, her lip quivering. “Did…I do that?” She pointed at him. 

He looked down, noticing from chest to knees, he was covered in blood. Her blood. 

“Whoa. Uh…well, I think it looks worse than it is.” 

Fishlegs appeared around the corner, peeking through the open door. He called up to the loft, “Hiccup? Did you need something?” 

Hiccup stood at the edge, revealing the huge red stain on his clothes. “Yeah, have you had the chance to make dinner? I think Astrid is ready for something.” 

Fishlegs swallowed as he noticed all the blood, but he gave a shaky smile. “Oh she’s all stitched up? How is she?” 

Hiccup looked back to Astrid, who had half-lidded eyes, but looked loads better than when he first saw her. “Tired, dizzy, drained. But better.” 

“Good! Good…I’ll um, I’ll just go get that soup then.” He pointed awkwardly towards the clubhouse before disappearing. 

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. 

Astrid watched him, with droopy eyes. “You’re hot.” She blurted, her voice slurred. 

Hiccup didn’t even realize she was watching him. “Uh, thanks?” 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 wasn’t surprising, seeing the infections he had tried to clean up. 

“That feels nice…” she breathed, closing her eyes slowly. 

“And the rest of you is cold?” 

“Mmmmhmm.” 

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. 

“Here,” he stated. “Put this on.” 

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 wasn’t 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. 

He eased her arms into the sleeves and then pulled the shirt down over her head. 

“Hmmm,” she whispered. “Smells like Hiccup.” 

“Good smell?”

“Smells like home.” 

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. 

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. 

He tucked the blanket around her legs. “Let me get you another blanket from downstairs, and maybe some more pillows to prop you up so you aren’t laying on your back.” He placed a hand on the bed to push up, but Astrid grabbed his wrist. 

“Please…don’t leave.” 

“I’m not, I’m just going down the steps.” 

Tears gathered in her eyes, as she shuttered with a sob. 

“Astrid…” he settled to kneel again. “It’s okay.” 

The tears fell freely as her grip tightened. It still wasn’t very strong, but it kept Hiccup solidly in place. “I…I can’t…” 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. “I-I-I can’t…not one more minute.” 

He frowned, confused. “You can’t what? I’m afraid I’m not following.” 

“I can’t be apart from you. Not anymore. Not for another moment.” Her tears rolled faster now. “I just want to be home.” 

“You are home,” he insisted. 

She nodded, frantic. “With you!”

It clicked then. How he had been so stupid to not understand it earlier, he’d never know. Viggo was fairly obvious, and he still hadn’t gotten it. 

But he didn’t want to have this revelation with her now, not while she was feverish and panicking. She wouldn’t want that. 

“I see,” 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. “I’ll stay right here.” 

Fishlegs returned a moment later, a tray with a fresh waterskin, bowls, and a canister of soup. “Here we are!” 

“Fishlegs…” Astrid said, her voice full of warmth. 

“Hi Astrid…you are looking better.” He brought the tray over to the bedside table. 

“You should go hold her hand,” Hiccup said quietly. “She…needs grounding. If she can touch you, she knows you’re real.” 

Fishlegs understood the assignment as he knelt by Astrid’s side. He took her hand in both of his and very gently rubbed the back of her hand. “It’s good to have you home.” 

Astrid let a few tears fall. “I missed you, Fishlegs. It was so quiet there…I missed hearing you fill the silence with all sorts of fun things.” 

“I’m going to take that as a compliment instead of the insinuation that I talk too much.” He chuckled. “It wasn’t until you were gone that I really realized it was only you and Hiccup that listened to me…and Hiccup was pretty withdrawn, so it was lonely.” 

“Withdrawn?” She whispered, small and sad. 

“Yeah,” Fishlegs glanced at Hiccup, who didn’t indicate to shut up. “He was pretty devastated. He spent most of his time caring for Stormfly.” 

Her eyes widened, and she gripped both of the boys as hard as possible. “Stormfly? My Stormfly is okay? She’s here?”

“Yeah!” Fishlegs cheered. “And she looks great!” 

“She’s still grounded,” Hiccup insisted. “As are you, Missy. Until I say so.” 

“I’m not going anywhere.” Astrid shook her head. “I can’t even walk. Even if my leg wasn’t broken.” 

“Aww, you’ll be up soon!” Fishlegs argued. “Right Hiccup?” 

“Definitely. Hobbling around on crutches within the week.” 

She smiled at him. “That’s a sweet thought…but I don’t think so.” 

It made Hiccup sad that she didn’t seem determined to get up and at it like she used to. But he didn’t let it show as he turned to the tray of food. “Are you hungry?” 

“Not really…” 

“Too bad. You’re going to eat some soup. Even if it’s just some broth.”

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. 

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 Hiccup’s wishes at the time, because she felt punishing Snotlout was more important. She even developed a healthier bond with Snotlout. 

But Hiccup wondered if she’d even be excited to get out of bed this time. 

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. 

Hiccup would have his own serving in a moment, but asked Fishlegs, “could you stay with her for a little bit?” 

Astrid’s eyes went wide as she dug her nails into Hiccup’s flesh. 

“Hey,” he soothed. “I know, you don’t want to be away from me. But I gotta use the bathroom and feed Toothless.” 

Her mouth trembled. 

“Then I’ll come back, and stay with you all night. Honestly, I’d 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?” 

Astrid glanced away, clearly mulling it over. She bit her lip as her eyes watered. 

“Fishlegs will be with you until I get back. You won’t be alone. You’ll never be alone.” 

She looked back at him. “Would you…kiss me before you go?” 

His eyes blew wide in shock. “Uuuhhh…” 

“Please?” She whispered, practically begging. “It will make being away from you easier.” 

He certainly didn’t know what to say to that. She was probably right. He did want to kiss her. He’d wanted to for years, even before she kissed him. 

And speaking of that…

“Okay,” he whispered back. Gently, as not to hurt her, he knocked his knuckles against her shoulder. A soft tap, really. “That’s for having me worried sick.” 

A weak smile began to form on her lips. 

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, “that’s for hanging on long enough to come home.” 

“Thank you.” 

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. 

“That was so cute!” 

“Oh hush.” Hiccup rolled his eyes. 

Astrid let go of Hiccup’s arm, though it looked like it was almost painful to do so. 

“Just a few minutes,” he insisted. “I promise.” And he hurriedly left so he could return. 

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 rain…never while she was clinging to life. He couldn’t blame her though. If what she said about being home with him was true…

Then she needed every bit of him she could get. 

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. 

“Hey,” he called, entering the clubhouse. 

Snotlout, Viggo, and the twins were there, all very quiet. They looked at him in surprise. 

“Whoa, didn’t expect to see you away from Astrid for another week,” said Tuff. “How is she? Snotlout said it’s really bad.” 

“It is pretty bad,” Hiccup admitted. “You guys are welcome to come see her if you want. She’s…as stable as she can be, I suppose. Gothi will know more when she gets here. She’s awake, but very weak. She’s acting a lot different than you’ll remember. She’s very soft and afraid.”

“What about you?” Ruff asked. “How are you holding up?”

He actually managed a tiny smile. “I’ll be fine. Now that Astrid’s home, I’m feeling a lot like my old self again.”  

Viggo didn’t say anything, choosing to wait until spoken to. 

“Did you get medical attention?” Hiccup asked him. 

“No,” Viggo replied. “Though, my wounds were not as grievous or numerous as Astrid’s. I was willing to wait for help until she was taken care of.” 

“Well,” Hiccup stretched his back slightly. “She’s having a hard time being away from me. But if you’re willing to come back to my hut, I’ll see what I can do.” 

Viggo stood. “I would appreciate it.” 

“Meet me up there. I’m going to get some dinner for Toothless.” 

—

When Hiccup returned, everyone was there. Fishlegs had given up his seat to Ruffnut, who was oddly doing Astrid’s nails. Tuffnut sat at the end of the bed, massaging Astrid’s feet. Snotlout sat next to him, resigned and trying not to stare at Astrid. 

Viggo sat in a chair next to where Hiccup had been. 

“And you wanna know what I said to him? I told him he was full of Yak dung. That’s what!” Ruffnut bragged. 

“I still beat your stupid boar race,” Snotlout muttered. 

Hiccup ascended the stairs, only to catch Astrid’s attention. She reached for him. “Hiccup…” 

“I’m back!” He smiled before taking his seat. “That wasn’t too long, was it?” He held her hand and kissed her palm. 

Tears formed in her eyes. “Please don’t go again…” 

“I’m not. I’m all yours.” 

Astrid sighed in relief.

“But…Viggo needs medical attention. I’ll be right here, but turned away, alright?” 

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. 

“Snotlout, can you bring the med kit up here, please?” 

“With pleasure!” Snotlout bounded down the stairs, only to return a moment later, looking even more sick. “You didn’t warn me about the table…” 

“Yeah,” Hiccup winced. “I might need to get a new one.” 

Viggo scooted his chair closer and turned so his empty arm socket was facing him. “This is my worst wound. I don’t know if you can do anything, but it would be appreciated.” 

Hiccup winced as he removed the bandages. The wrap around it wasn’t 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 Viggo’s skin. 

Hiccup grit his teeth and went for a pair of shears. “This is going to be unpleasant.” 

Snotlout looked green. “Is there anything I can do that would take me out of this room?” 

“In fact…I need more honey and garlic for my astringent. Can you or Fishlegs gather some?” 

“Yes! Yes I can do that! Come on, Fishface, let’s go get some honey and onions!” 

“Garlic, Snotlout!” Fishlegs shouted back. 

“You two staying?” Hiccup glanced at the twins. 

“Definitely. 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.!”

“Why?” Viggo asked, grimacing in pain and disgust. 

“I always thought it would be cool to have my initials on someone’s ribs. Like, no one else would have that, right?” 

“I’m not going to carve anyone’s initials on Viggo’s ribs,” Hiccup said sternly. 

Astrid let out a tiny laugh.

“See? Astrid thinks you should do it. It would be funny.” 

“I fail to see the humor you are trying to present,” Viggo said, then hissed as Hiccup cut away a piece of infected flesh. 

“Sorry Viggo.” 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. 

Viggo cried out in pain and swore. 

“Whoa, you kiss your mother with that mouth?” Tuff asked. 

“My mother is dead, you twit!”

“Awesome, background lore unlocked! Very nice!”  

Because of the way the wound had been packed, Viggo was lucky to have his skin stretched enough to be stitched. 

As he was halfway done, Fishlegs returned with the garlic, honey, and a bundle of yellow flowers. “Hiccup! I just remembered I had ‘Balm of the Warriors Wound’ growing in my spice garden. I’m going to ground it up for you.” 

“Great, where’s Snotlout?” 

“He’s making some more into tea, I collected a bunch of herbs to help with inflammation.” 

“Great, thanks.” 

“I’ve used Balm of the Warriors Wound before. Works wonders,” said Viggo. “Smells like pine. Tastes like soap.” 

“Well, you might not be drinking it.” 

Maybe an hour later, Hiccup finished with Viggo’s shoulder, and began to apply the astringent over top. 

“Oh I see. You won’t put my initials on his ribs, but you’ll put yours on his armpit?” 

Hiccup looked at Tuff strangely, then at Viggo’s wound. “What are you talking about? That’s clearly an ‘X’.” 

“I don’t know. I think it’s a rather shapely H, if you ask me.” 

“What?” Asked Ruff. “That’s clearly the Greek letter ‘chi’.” 

“Which is also an ‘X’,” added Hiccup, with a sigh. “What’s next, Viggo?” 

“Nothing else that needs your attention, I’m afraid.” He smiled. “But if you could spare some of that tonic and some bandages, I think I can get the rest.” 

“With one arm?” 

“I’ve gotten pretty good at it already. You’d be surprised.” 

“Really. Good for you.” Hiccup packed up the kit and gave it over. “And trust me on this, the mead in there? Doesn’t taste good.” 

“Did you get curious?”

“Snotlout did, and then proceeded to trick all of us into tasting it.” 

Viggo gathered up the kit in his arm and stood, slowly, weakly. “You all seem to have a lot of fun around here. I’m a little jealous.” 

“Oh yeah, we’re a ton of fun. Hiccup’s a total killjoy though. He enjoys ruining people’s fun, actually. Really gets his rocks off.” 

“I do not!” 

“Do to! You always take Boar Pit rights away!” 

“Because you guys get distracted from work!” 

“See?” Tuff turned to Viggo, and thumbed at Hiccup. “Total killjoy.” 

Viggo let out a short laugh. “Is there a place I can go to treat my wounds in private? I assume Snotlout is cowering from the gore in the clubhouse.” 

Hiccup hesitated for a moment, then offered, “you can use Astrid’s hut, right?” 

Astrid was still ever so slightly awake, just hanging onto Hiccup with her eyes closed. “...yes.” She murmured. 

Almost daily, Hiccup would go into Astrid’s 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. 

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. 

So Viggo wouldn’t disrupt anything sacred or stumble onto Astrid’s secrets, but Hiccup had still wanted Astrid to be the first one back in there. 

No, it didn’t 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. 

After Viggo departed, the Twins weren’t far behind. They left with suggestive hand gestures in Hiccup’s direction, but he knew they only meant well. 

His door shut, and they were alone again. 

“Hiccup…” Astrid whined.

“Yeah?” He leaned over her. 

“You didn’t eat your dinner.” 

He smirked. “No, I suppose I didn’t.” 

“You should.” 

“I will. Do you want more?” 

She shook her head. “My stomach hurts.” 

Hiccup frowned, and then felt her face. She was still burning hot to the touch. 

What else could he do? What medicines could he fetch? What treatment, what ritual chants, what god did he pray to? 

Astrid lay still, her breath rattling in her chest. 

She wasn’t getting any better. 

A sob tore out of Hiccup’s throat as he hung his head, pressing it to her chest. “I’m so sorry.” 

The hand that held his shirt tightened, making him sit up to look at her.

“I’m not gonna die,” she croaked, more of a whisper than a voice. “So you aren’t rid of me yet, got it?” 

Hiccup wiped his face. “Of course. I should know better.” 

“But…what comes after ‘not dying’…well, that I don’t know.” 

“Like I said; wherever you want to be. I’ll be with you, I’ll take care of you.” 

“…even back to Berk?” 

“Absolutely back to Berk.” 

“What about…a secluded island?” 

“You got it. Point to it on the map.” 

She smirked at him. “Got you. You’re going to be chief of Berk one day.” 

“I’ll give the chiefdom to Snotlout. He’s been dying for it for years.” 

She chuckled weakly. “Now I know you’re messing with me.” 

He held her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. “I’ll build you a little house, perched up on the cliffs by the Great Hall. It’ll have a great big porch for Stormfly to come and go from. You’ll have a loft, just like here, and your bed will look over the sea. You’ll be able to watch every sunset and then fall asleep when it goes dark. And I’ll build a little roll out cot so I can sleep nearby.” 

Astrid frowned. “Why not just make a big bed that we can share?” 

“Th-that is doable…I just…didn’t know if I should be the one to suggest it.” 

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. 

There was a knock at the door. “Hiccup? I brought tea!” Said Fishlegs. 

“Come on up!” 

Fishlegs had a kettle with him, billowing steam into the dark room. “I hope it tastes good. It’s got a lot of different herbs in it. Some of them don’t pair too well.” 

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. 

Astrid wrapped her hands around the cup, but Fishlegs didn’t let go, so she didn’t 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. 

“Feel okay?” Hiccup asked, hand still around her back. 

“I…it’s hard to tell. My stomach doesn’t hurt as much.” 

“Another?” Fishlegs gestured to the cup. 

She nodded. 

She gulped down another cup of the strange tea, and then winced. “Ugh, now I feel bloated.” 

“That’s okay, it should go away,” Hiccup comforted. “Now you should just rest.” She opened her mouth and he hushed her. “And yes, I will stay. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Wordlessly, Fishlegs got up and fetched another pillow and blanket and brought them over for them. 

“Thanks.” 

“No problem, uh…do you need anything else?” 

Hiccup glanced at Astrid to answer. 

“No,” she looked back at Hiccup. “I have everything I need.” 

Hiccup blushed as Fishlegs let out a squeal of delight. 

“Don’t latch the door on the way out,” Hiccup told him. “That way Toothless can come and go…and fetch one of you if we need something.” 

“Okay Hiccup, I get it,” Fishlegs stood and gathered the bowls and cups. “I can tell when someone wants alone time.” 

“That’s not—!” 

“Kidding! I’m kidding!” He smiled as he started towards the stairs. “I’m just happy for you guys. Happy Astrid’s home.” 

“I’m happy too, Fishy.” Astrid sighed. 

Once Fishlegs left, Hiccup helped Astrid lay down, and turn on her side so she wasn’t straining her wounds. He laid beside her, exhausted. 

“...hold me?” She squeaked. 

He nodded, and readjusted to slide against her. He wriggled his arm under her neck and gently pulled her close. “How’s that?” 

She breathed a soft sigh across his chest as her hand rested on his tummy. “It’s perfect.”

“How’s your other arm?”

She wiggled her fingers down by their thighs, showing it was trapped between them. “‘Sfine,” she yawned. 

“Okay,” he yawned back. “Then we’ll just rest here, like this. Let me know if you need anything, okay?” 

Astrid’s soft snores were his reward. She was comfortable enough to fall asleep.

She was here, alive, curled up beside him. 

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. 

But he didn’t care. She was Astrid, and she was here.

[half-bakedboy]

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 doesn’t make sense because it’s Eddie, but he doesn’t 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 he’s hurt most, he doesn’t know how he would even begin.

Hey, remember how I body-slammed you into the pavement and sprained your ankle? It’s apparently because I wanted Tommy to kiss me and I didn’t know that until he did. So sorry about that. I’ll 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 he’s feeling, put a label on it so it’s wrapped neatly in a bow when he finally tells his friends and his family.

He’s seen movies where nerves are haywire and difficult sit-down conversations lead to teary-eyed pride and general… emotions. He’s 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 he’s into men or not.

“I’m—” he begins to say into his now empty apartment. He’s not sure what to follow it up with.

“Gay?” He tests. He thinks about how Abby’s 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 doesn’t think he’s gay.

“Straight?” He tries. The thought of Tommy’s 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 doesn’t 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 that’s all Buck wants to do.

But he still isn’t exactly sure what to say.

I’m sorry I put you in the hospital. I’m sorry I’ve been such a possessive asshole. I’m sorry I put you in the middle of whatever my feelings were doing. I’m sorry you became collateral damage when all I’ve ever wanted was to make sure our relationship never changed no matter what.

Luckily—or unluckily, he’s not quite sure—his phone is ringing before he can talk himself out of finally reaching out. His entire body freezes when he sees Eddie’s 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 dad’s 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. They’re hip to hip, almost like one of them pushed the other in jest, and Eddie’s smiling over his shoulder like he’s caught Christopher in the act.

Usually, seeing the picture sends a warmth through him at the friendship he’s 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 knot—like he’s broken some unspoken agreement between them or betrayed Eddie by feeling something other for Tommy. It doesn’t make sense because it’s Eddie, but he doesn’t feel like he can trust his gut feelings right now.

He can’t 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, “H-Hey!”

“Hi, Buck.” Eddie’s words exhaled like he wasn’t convinced Buck was going to answer. “I’m sorry to call so late, but Tommy called—” Buck’s heart leaps into his throat before dropping into a pit in his stomach— “and said that he’d been there to see you and that he told you to call but he wasn’t sure if you’d actually do it. He said you guys talked and you seemed worried that he was replacing you in my life?” Buck didn’t have time to breathe, let alone speak before Eddie continues. “You have to know that’s not true, Buck. Tommy could never replace you. You have a permanent place in my life and you always will. Tommy can’t even begin to change that—”

“I kissed someone!” Buck blurts out.

Buck didn’t know what he was going to say to Eddie, but it sure as hell wasn’t 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 it’s Buck he’s called.

Eddie clears his throat before he asks, “Am I supposed to be surprised, or…?”

“I—” Buck inhales deeply and lets out a shaky breath. He figures diving headfirst into this is the best way to go. “It was a guy,” Buck says as steadily as he can. He doesn’t say Tommy’s name. He’s new to this whole sexuality thing but he’s pretty sure that outing someone is a big no.

There’s more silence. It’s not unusual, really. Eddie’s never been one to jump to words before thinking them through. That was typically Buck’s job. But that doesn’t make it any easier for Buck to wait it out.

There’s something about the pause that makes Buck’s insides feel like tinder just waiting for a spark to ignite him from the inside out.

“And how do you feel about that?” Eddie asks slowly.

“Surprisingly normal,” Buck answers.

“Congratulations?” Eddie sounds unsure, but honestly, Buck is pretty unsure of most everything himself so he can relate.

“I was going to wait to tell you, figure out what this thing between Tommy and I is but—” Fuck.

“Tommy? My Tommy?”

Buck ignores the way his heart stings at Eddie’s choice of words which makes no sense because all they’d done is kiss. He shouldn’t 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 can’t unpack all his feelings in one night.

“Your Tommy?” Buck tastes the bitterness on his tongue like he’s got a mouthful of Eddie’s too-hoppy beer that refuses to settle in his stomach.

“I just meant—” Eddie cuts himself off as if he knows it’s too late for excuses. “I didn’t think you guys were that close.”

“We ended up real close,” Buck jokes, an attempt at pushing down the awkwardness in the conversation. He swears he hears Eddie inhale sharply like there’s something painful in the words. “I’m sorry, I just… I don’t know what to do with this feeling, and all I wanted to do was tell you.”

Buck doesn’t 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 he’s always known or that nothing is going to change.

Then Eddie says, “I’m glad you told me.”

The sentence holds more weight in Buck’s heart than it should. It’s everything Buck imagined and, I’m glad you trust me with this part of you and I’m 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?

“I’m sorry I knocked you down and sprained your ankle because I was having some sort of crisis,” Buck tries again to make Eddie laugh and this time, it works.

“I’m sorry you felt like you had to injure me to get my atte—” Eddie trails off, and Buck’s heard this sentence before. He heard it right before Tommy’s 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?

“Next time, can you knock me over on grass or into some water? It’d be a lot easier for you to forgive yourself if I could walk away if this crisis of yours keeps going.”

Eddie’s joking, and Buck laughs. Eddie’s joking, but there’s something else there. There’s something underneath Eddie’s words that feels like hope. It can’t be hope that Buck hurts him again or hope that Buck continues to plunge deeper into crisis. It’s like an acknowledgment that Buck is going to continue to hurt him, but he’s okay with it as long as Buck cushions the blow this time.

He doesn’t know what it all means, what unspoken conversation they're having that feels half-finished but barely begun. But he does know that if he’s going to figure anything out, it’s going to be later.

For now, he revels in the feeling of Eddie’s forgiveness and the excitement of whatever is to come.

[not-krys]

WIP Wednesday: Second Glance Part 5

I still haven't given up on this despite it being... over two years since the last chapter upload. I want to finish it. I have an outline for it. I have a vague idea of how I want to finish it.

Just getting myself to put in the leg work to do it has proven to be the most challenging thing. Doubts and deep insecurities are pretty rampant with this work as a whole, most of them pretty silly if I think on them for more than a few minutes, but still, two years is a long time to leave a fic hanging.

I think... for a new years resolution for next year, I'll try to finish this chapter in between doing 100 Themes. To get over those doubts and insecurities and put out something I'm proud of. No promises on when the chapters after it will come out, but I want to finish this chapter at least.

So, here's what I've got thus far. Some things might change between this and the final version (I'm still in an internal self debate of where I want to put Mitsunari in this chapter so where he is now might change in the future.) Having fun with the Nobu twins banter and Mitsuhide being Mitsuhide tho.

Raw, unedited writing down below. Little warning about Hideyoshi *ahem* waking up to a surprise (there's a reason this work is rated mature on ao3), some crude language from the Nobu twins, Mitsuhide flirting as always, there's a little random paragraph about Masamune that I meant to incorporate better, but it's just sitting there for now, might be moved to next chapter but I'm not sure.

And also, previous four chapters are up on ao3!

-----

Hideyoshi had awoken before dawn, the sky still clinging to the darkness of the night. The room had grown colder in his fitful sleep, a light plume of heat escaping his lips as he rubbed his eyes.

He'd barely slept that night, a common enough occurrence as of late, but the chill of the room helped to calm the heat coursing through him. Feeling a dampness against his thigh, however, he sighed defeated.

"You're acting like a kid with his first crush." He mumbled as his brows furrowed. "After a single kiss? Really?"

He roughly rubbed his face and hair, trying to wake himself up more.

"I'm not that bad for her."

Hideyoshi grumbled a bit more, cleaning himself off with his handkerchief and went in search of his ward. He wandered down the hall, dawn's early light just peeking over the horizon. His toes felt the chill of the early morning, everything quiet and still.

He paused in front of one doorway, feeling heat escaping through the slightly open screen.

He frowned and slid the door open further, spying your sleeping figure with two little intruders curled up by your sides. One was a tiny monkey that must've escaped her cage during the night (he must've been dead asleep for her to escape unheard he thought), the other a silky grey cat whose ears twitched at his approach, training their purple eyes on him when he got close enough.

The sigh that was on his lips quickly died away when he saw you sprawled on the futon, extra kimonos and blankets thrown askew. An innocent enough display, you got too warm and had unconsciously tried to remedy the situation.

He then started at the sight of your kimono in disarray, the sash barely keeping the garment closed. You were turned to your side, thankfully, but he couldn't help but stare at your barely covered breasts, your legs mimicking a large step with your butt fully on display, and the quiet groans that made his mouth dry.

He did not need this so early in the morning.

Holding his breath, trying his best to not make a sound, he pulled one of the strewn kimonos over you, tucking it in gingerly. Though the room was still warm thanks to brazier in the corner, the thought of someone else finding you in that state made his skin crawl. Something he should not be experiencing, but he was, nonetheless.

He checked you over, to be sure you were decently covered, finding his hand lingering longer on your swollen stomach than anything else. To his surprise, he felt movement against his hand once again, making him sigh.

"Not too much longer," he whispered. "You'll be so spoiled rotten once you're born."

He then turned towards you, still asleep.

"And, sorry, [Name], that I can't love you in the way you deserve."

He gingerly brushed your hair out of your face, placing a chaste kiss on your temple.

"You'll be the greatest mother. I know you will be. Just promise you won't hate me too much, down the line."

With a final tuck, he closed his eyes and stood up, giving you one more glance before exiting the room, closing the door behind him.

He pushed the hair out of eyes again before he heard frantic footsteps.

"Lord Hideyoshi!" Mitsunari called out.

Hideyoshi froze, putting his finger to his lips.

"[Name] is still sleeping," he said quietly, "And what have I told you about run-"

"Forgive me, Lord Hideyoshi," Mitsunari said quieter, "but Oda banners were spotted on the horizon. Along with at least 100 soldiers."

Hideyoshi's eyes widened, then he muttered a curse.

"Go find Mitsuhide and alert the guards." He paused, "and send a few here to guard this room."

Mitsunari nodded and headed off with his orders. Hideyoshi spared another glance back, seeing Uri and Kitty peeking through the door crack.

"Watch over them, both of you."

He then turned his back and headed back to his room, looking at his armor with a frown.

[end scene transition]

---------

"Who said you could bring a battalion with you?!" Nobutaka glared at his brother while the other picked in his ear.

"Best to be prepared." Nobukatsu replied, flicking off the wax from his ear, his breaths coming out in puffs.

"And spending the night traveling to Azuchi was a great plan! I'm freezing!"

"The sun's coming up now. You'll be warm soon enough."

Nobutaka shivered, pulling his furs closer.

"I knew bringing you along was a mistake."

"We've made good time, so shut your hole."

"We traveled ALL night long. In the middle of the spring thaw."

"Good eye. Anything else you want to point out?"

"I'm killing you if I lose any extremities because of this."

"What, you gonna throw your frozen balls at me? They might shatter mid-flight! No chance of killing me that way. You'll have to try harder, dumbass."

Nobutaka growled, but held his tongue. He wasn't about to let his brother's barbs get to him.

"Remember, we're here just to scout."

"I know."

"So you stay with your battalion while I try to figure out that monkey's goals."

"Sounds boring."

"We're not here for a fight. I've told you that multiple times."

"And you keep on repeating as if it'll stick in my head."

"No fighting until I say so. I'll send for you if things turn sour."

Now, Nobukatsu glared.

"Fine. But I won't wait forever."

"You'll wait for as long as I need you to."

"Or what? I just wait until the butt monkey comes to find me with your head on a pike?"

"He wouldn't be that moronic. Either of our heads on a pike means the Oda wages war on him."

"Heh, if only. Makes me want him to pike you."

"You would."

"It'd make my day."

"I'm sure it would."

Both brothers looked ahead, spying the tower of the castle in the distance. Nobukatsu shielded his eyes from the morning light, smirking.

[end transition scene]

------ Mitsuhide moved his head side to side, trying to relieve his stiff neck. No rest for the wicked, he thought with a grumble.

He then spotted Hideyoshi up ahead, staring into the distance, his hand on his sword. Mitsuhide approached quietly, his only sound being his own sword and rifle clinking together.

"It was bound to happen sooner or later." Mitsuhide said, his gaze also looking off into the distance.

"I know," Hideyoshi responded, looking lost. "I didn't think it'd happen this soon."

"Hmm."

Mitsuhide then turned to look at Hideyoshi, sharp golden eyes searching through Hideyoshi's softer tawny eyes.

"So, what are we going to do?"

"Make sure the townspeople are safe, then confront them. See what they want."

"We both know they want you. Your head, more specifically. The assassins made that clear."

"Not me, really. Just the things I'm holding onto. Lord Nobunaga's legacy."

"Hmph, you sell yourself short, Hideyoshi. As always."

"Not in the mood, Mitsuhide."

"You do have the worst talent of calling attention to yourself, you know."

Hideyoshi growled while the other chuckled, shrugging quietly.

"I'll send my men to look after [Name] while we see what the boys are demanding this time."

"I already have guards on standby for her."

"Think of it as making sure she's doubly safe. Lord Nobutaka is cunning while his brother is impulsive and short-tempered. We shouldn't underestimate either of them."

"…Right."

Birds chirped nearby, both men turning and seeing a nest in the nearby tree, a mother with a worm in her beak landing on the holding branch.

"Have you given anymore thought," Mitsuhide mused aloud, "as to what you're going to do with [Name] and her child?"

"That's up to her."

"An Oda son will put an end to all of this squabbling."

"I know."

"And an Oda daughter will be vulnerable without her father. A true game of chance on our hands."

"I know," Hideyoshi repeated. "[Name] will hate me, either way."

"Why?"

"For using her son to stop the noble squabbles over Azuchi… or failing to protect her daughter from being taken into the wrong hands."

-----

"I heard Masamune was making the trip from Oshu as he wanted to meet first with [Name] in time to meet the little bundle."

"Perfect timing if we need his help, but he's still a month early."

"You always harped on him on his magical ability to always arrive late. Maybe he took the message to heart."

"He also promised to drag Ieyasu out of Mikawa with him."

"That'll take him even longer."