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

[limarieb]

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.

[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.

tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75 @luxurychristmaspudding @noisynightmarepoetry @mewantpeepaw @pedritoferg @alex-does-art-things (if your name is crossed out, it won’t let me tag you!!)

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[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.”

[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!

[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.

[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.

[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.

[dluebirb]

So. ABOUT THAT FIC I PROMISED-

In my defence I got invited to a social function with people I want to be around, so what else was I supposed to do-

minor setbacks.

uhhh @justletmereadmycomics @fanatess @theosb0rnway you guys usually like this stuff?? Here ya go lol

This is part of my Cardinal Rules series, but you don't have to read it to make sense of this! Barely. If you want to get caught up on it, it is over here on Ao3!

Fic link on Ao3: Here

----

The Housing Situation

Mikey’s POV

Mikey had recently concluded that living off warm, half-melted food in a tank was not optimal sustenance.

Don’t get him wrong, Mikey was overjoyed to have any food, given that the entire kitchen was barren, but only so much could be done with fruit snacks, pop tarts, and granola bars. He had a sinking feeling that with another meal, somebody might puke, and he wouldn’t blame them. Meals were always after training, anyway.

“What’s on the menu t’night, Miguel?” Leo asked, sheathing his twin katana and stretching on his tiptoes.

“If you say anything involving fruit snacks for the next month, I swear—” Casey Senior growled.

“Well, we don’t not have fruit snacks?”

Casey Senior grumbled, and Donnie’s mouth became a line.

“I’m getting fast food!” April decided and stuck her bat into her bag, zipping it up and slinging one strap over her shoulder.

“Yay, April!” Leo cheered and raised an arm, still holding one of his swords, into the air.

“Anyone got a request?”

“Anywhere but Wendy’s,” Donnie grumbled.

“Starbucks.”

“We’re not getting JUST Starbucks!” April groaned. “I’ll just raid Fred Meyers. Text me if you want anything specific.”

“No cold stuff unless you can buy a cooler!” Splinter reminded her.

April gave a thumbs-up as she stuck her phone in her pocket. “Be back in forty-five minutes, tops. If I’m not, then I’m probably dying.”

“April!”

“It’s a joke!” she reassured as she ascended the stairs to the outside world.

----

By April's return, Donnie was konked out on the couch, battle shell discarded on the ground next to him.

The small spines on his shell were finally uncompressed and puffed out a bit, no longer flattened to the rest of his shell. Soft snores occasionally came from the vicinity, face twitching slightly as Mikey undid his mask, removed his goggles, and set them aside.

“Yeah, baby!” Mikey cheered quietly with a giant grin as he saw April’s bags.

“Everyone say ‘Thank you, April,’” Splinter instructed them from where he was rifling through what little they did have.

A chorus of ‘thank you April’s rang around the room, and she put the bags down on the remnants of a broken table with a soft thud.

“Yo, Dee! Donnie. Wake up, bro,” Leo muttered, poking their purple brother insistently until the soft snores turned to a singular grunt.

“Nardo.”

“April brought food.”

“Finally! Some good news!”

“You’re welcome, Dee!” April called, cupping a hand around her mouth.

“Yes, yes, thank you, and such,” Donnie muttered, not quietly as he stood, and April could tell that he noticed his apparent lack of accessories but decided to let it be in the meantime.

The group leaned in to inspect April’s relatively simple wares and, save for microwaveable pizzas and breakfast burritos, much of the ‘grab-and-go’ variety. But, such was life.

“Reluctant sigh. Who knew that carbonated beverages could taste so good,” Donnie hummed as he downed one, in a move that Mikey thought was highly uncharacteristic for him.

“I did,” Leo retorted. “And so did anyone with taste, bro.”

Donnie gave him a sharp glare and bonked him on the head with the can before dropping it into a haphazardly labeled ‘recicling’ bag.

“This bag says ‘resi-clean’. Recycling is spelled with a ‘y’, dumdums.”

Raph gave Donnie a light glare in return, and with a black marker, crossed out the offending phrase, and wrote ‘ryclicling’.

“What? No! Instead of the ‘i’, not the ‘e’!”

“Oh, come on! You gotta give Raph something to work with, Dee!” Raph explained, and Mkey couldn’t help but giggle as he crossed out ‘ryclicling’, replacing it with ‘reciclyng’.

“THE OTHER ‘I’!”

“THEN YOU GOTTA TELL RAPH THAT!” Raph shouted back, sweat pooling on his forehead.

“UNLESS SPECIFIED, IT’S ALWAYS THE FIRST LETTER!”

Donnie and Raph gave each other equal looks of frustration and desperation, and Raph finally crossed it out, writing ‘recycling.’

“Oh, thank Pizza Supreme in the Sky.”

Ignoring his brothers, Mikey rifled through April’s bags, which, aside from real food, included three air mattresses, Pez dispensers, and parts of a bed set. Mikey took some paper plates from another of April’s bags.

“Protein bars and dried fruit, as the world intended!”

Mikey smiled to himself and arranged a relatively nutritious plate for each of them. Or as nutritious as one could get with protein bars and dried fruit. Contrary to April’s apparent beliefs, they were not as the world intended.

Though, he realized it might be safer for Casey Junior. The guy sometimes could have taken better to actual food as he did to non-perishables like beans or butter. Mikey had no idea how half a stick of butter was less toxic for his stomach than an excellent old-fashioned PB&J., And Mikey was pretty sure he wasn’t allergic either!

“Say, what’s with the air mattresses in the other bags, Apes?” Leo asked conversationally, and April carefully chewed her dried banana slice before answering.

“Figured that since Mike and Junior still don’t have rooms, they might need somewhere to sleep. You feel me?”

“Touche. Alright, let’s think. Who do we have to house?” Leo asked.

“There’s us four, plus dad, that’s five. I haven’t had time to forge documents for Junior yet, so six,” Donnie rattled off.

“I’m moving back in with my mom until my campus is back on dorms,” April said.

“I am still in my human apartment above you,” Draxum supplied.

“I don’t have a permanent residence,” Casey Senior admitted.

“Well,” April began. “Know what’s great about the apocalypse?” Without waiting for a reply, she continued. “The housing market opens up like movie theaters in summer, and prices are about as much as I paid for all this! There’s an apartment a few doors down from me that I’m pretty sure you could get your paws on.”

“You’ve got papers, right?” Donnie asked the ex-Foot General.

“I was born legally if that’s what you mean. The Foot legally gave each recruit an apartment room.”

“First legal thing they ever did, huh? Regardless, that will do.”

Splinter managed to look pensive while eating a bag of Cheetos. “So the six of us remain, yes?”

Donnie nodded. “And with four rooms between us.”

“Well, who’s got the biggest rooms?” Raph asked, and Donnie typed on his wrist computer as he munched on a protein bar.

“The three of us have rooms about the same size,” Donnie explained, gesturing to himself, Raph, and Leo. “We haven’t unpacked everything, so most places are fair game.”

“Either of you got a preference?” Leo asked, and Casey Junior shrugged.

“I can just set one up in the living room; you don’t have to—” he began but was cut off.

“Nope, nope, nope, nope. We are not couch surfers in this house, Future Boy,” Splinter shook his head adamantly, and Casey put his hands up in defense.

“Ooh! Can I room with you, Dee?” Mikey asked, jumping at the opportunity.

“I suppose so, Angelo.”

“Ouch,” Leo smirked, and Mikey stuck his tongue out.

“I still love you, Leo!”

“Yeah, yeah, ditto.” Turning to Junior, he asked, “You got a preference between me and Raph?”

“I don’t mind,” the human said, if not a little sheepishly.

“Cool. I’m stealing you, in that case. You good with that, Raph?”

Raph gave a thumbs-up. “Raph’s all good!”

“How much sleep are any of them going to be getting?” April asked Casey Senior in a hushed tone.

“By the looks of them? Very little.”

“I take offense to that!” Mikey called, and April chuckled.

“You’ll survive, Mike. Eat your canned peaches.”

Leo’s POV

Leo watched Cassandra and Baron Draxum as they watched April as she nearly submerged herself in a duffle bag. She seemingly found what she had been looking for and straightened her glasses.

“All that for a measly shoe?” Baron Draxum inquired, and April nodded.

“It’s a good shoe! Don’t you two have any packing up to do?”

“We do not live here.”

“Huh. Guess not! Well, let’s go! Grab those bags?”

Cassandra shrugged and took two plastic bags, regaining her footing as April nearly dragged her like a corpse down the corridor.

Meanwhile, Leo made a mental note: blowing up two air mattresses should be done after taking them into any room — particularly a room with a narrow doorway.

Well. Better late than never.

“Okay, turn them the long way… Back up… And run at ’em!”

Mikey and Casey Junior took off at a sprint.

“We can just portal them in,” Leo said, throwing his hands up in disbelief.

“Yeah, but this is still better!” Mikey said as he and Casey rammed their mattresses; they passed the threshold. “Yeah, baby! That’s how we do!”

“Well, you did something, that’s for sure,” Leo muttered and helped Casey up.

“Something cool!” Mikey corrected.

“Sure, Mike.”

As it happened, both mattresses had made it around halfway to the unoccupied area of the car.

“Hey, if it works, it works!” April said, and Leo turned to her. The human looked amused, and a bag slung over her shoulder. Cassandra stood next to her with a few old store bags.

“Are you guys heading out?”

“Yeah, we’ll be back tomorrow. Try not to drive each other crazy?”

“No promises!”

As Leo returned to his room, Casey successfully pushed the mattress to the open part of his room.

“Yeah, we should have inflated those after getting them in the room,” he said, more to himself than to Casey.

“Is here okay?” Casey asked, and Leo looked up.

He’d gotten the tall, thin side of the mattress on the ground, with enough space between it and Leo’s more defined space that there was a decent walkway.

“Stamp of approval!”

Casey lowered the mattress down and put his mask on it. Leo looked at the barren area pensively.

“We should probably decorate, y’know?”

“Huh?”

“You’re living here, yeah? Decorate your space, make it a place you want to be in; you feel me?”

“Uh… Sort of?”

“You’ll get it eventually. We’ll grab and work off the stuff you saved from your other room. Dad’s always got a spare Lou Jitsu poster or action figure here or there.”

Casey frowned like it was a never-before-considered novelty to him. Which, Leo remembered as he half dragged the guy out, it probably was.

Casey’s pile of things, stuffed in a bag marked with his name (which had been crossed out at least three times. Raph was many things, but he was not a good speller) was much smaller than the others, containing a few things blankets, some spare clothes that April had dug up for him a few weeks after the invasion, and some books that Donnie had given him as a “housewarming gift.”

“Take this, and sort out where you want your stuff. You know Lou Jitsu, right?”

“Wasn’t he Master Splinter?”

“More like Dad was him. But yeah. I’m pretty sure Cassandra’s a fan, too. I’ll dig up some old merchandise, and we’ll stick it up, m’kay?”

“‘Merch’?”

Leo gave him a look of shock. “Merch. Memorabilia. Posters and stuff?” No reaction. Leo groaned and rubbed the area where his nose would have been if he had been a human. “When you like a book, TV show, video game, movie, or whatever, you get stuff from that thing. I’ll show you.”

He led Casey back to their room and pointed at his ‘Mad Dogs’ flag and Jupiter Jim figure. “This stuff! That’s merch. Mikey and Donnie made our awesome Mad Dogs flag, and we definitely didn’t scam a guy at JJ Con to let us get JJ figures for cheap!”

“Cool,” Casey breathed and studied them from a distance with interest as Leo perused a spare box.

“C’mon, I swear we head one in here,” he muttered, before pulling something out of it. “Here we go!” He handed two flags to Casey. “Your very own Hamato and Mad Dogs flags!”

He accepted the flags and unfolded them. One was the same flag that Leo had pointed out to him, and the other had a black backdrop with the green Hamato symbol emblazoned on it.

“Woah… Thank you!” Casey exclaimed, and Leo grinned, eyebrows raising at his tone shift.

“Cool, huh? Come on, we’ll hang them up.”

Even after the invasion, Leo wasn’t too sure where Casey fit into their gaggle of weirdos, and he was fairly sure it was a mutual feeling. But dammit if he wouldn’t try to make it work.

It would work out — a bit of Mikey’s undying optimism, his own devil-may-care commentary, Raph’s worrying, Donnie’s weirdly helpful cynicism, and whatever the others had, and there was no way it wouldn’t.

It had only taken a half-meal and what Mikey would have called a ‘bonding moment’ with Casey to get Leo feeling like he could have fought the entire Battle Nexus again, and win.

So, walking alongside the newest addition to their family, as if he had read Leo’s thoughts, (and maybe he had, it wouldn’t have surprised Leo in the slightest) Casey smiled wearily, and determinedly looked at the wall as he held out a fist.

“Well, would you look at that?” Leo smirked. “We’re making progress with you!” He met the gesture, bumping his fist against Casey’s, and blew it into an open palm.

Casey made a soft, exaggerated explosion noise, and Leo could only chuckle.

----

A/N: I finished this not 10 minutes ago... Avid I promise your angst is on its way, I have a Bingo Card to fill up and a handful on generally happy turtles >:>

[stardustandash]

Just a Little While Longer

Whumptober Day 12: Starvation – “just a little more”

Contrary to what most might believe, Wild isn’t wild about being the sole person responsible for feeding nine hungry adventurers. He especially doesn’t like being the party chef in situations like this. The group has been trapped in this Hyrule for days, and while the forest is beautiful, it is bereft of ingredients.

Ao3 Link

Contrary to what most might believe, Wild isn’t wild about being the sole person responsible for feeding nine hungry adventurers. There are different diets to consider, as well as preferences. He hasn’t made anything with Goron spice for weeks now and he misses the burning heat, but the others were all sick after the last time he made his spicy meat and rice bowls.

He especially doesn’t like being the party chef in situations like this. The group has been trapped in this Hyrule for days, and while the forest is beautiful, it is bereft of ingredients. No mushrooms clustered around the base of trees. No bird eggs hidden in nests. No deer or goats or boar to hunt. Not even a fish in the creek they waded through earlier.

None of the others have noticed the lack of food around them, only remarking on the beautiful flowers underfoot or the squirrels running through branches. Wild considers them for a moment. It’s not like squirrels aren’t completely off the menu. He doesn’t know if the others will be okay with it though.

When they make camp for the night in a low clearing Wild peruses his slate. They’re down to the bare bones of his inventory now. He’s got a handful of mushrooms, some apples, some bird meat and fish, and one slab of gourmet prime meat. Enough to get them through tonight and tomorrow, if he stretches it a little, but not much further.

Unless he gives up his portion. It’s not like Wild hasn’t gone without before. He spent weeks learning what is edible and what isn’t when he woke in the Shrine of Resurrection. Sometimes on the road he would go days without eating when it wasn’t safe enough to make camp and cook. An apple will tide him over for a while. If he gives up his portion and shuffles things around a little, he can probably make what they have last three days. Enough to hopefully get them out of this Hyrule and into another, preferably one where he can forage.

Wild settles in to make a stew. Hearty and filling and easily masking what little they have left. He gets to work chopping the few remaining veggies while listening to Warriors regale the others with a story about a mythic battle from his Hyrule. The rhythm of cooking takes over, and Wild lets his mind wander. Or he does until Hyrule settles down next to him.

“Can I help?” asks Hyrule.

Hyrule asks to help with dinner every other night. It’s done nothing to improve his culinary skills, but Wild lets him anyway. Wild puts down the knife to sign.

“Sure. Can you cut the meat into bite-size pieces?”

“You can count on me!”

Hyrule takes the gourmet prime meat and begins slicing carefully, tongue peeking out from the corner of his mouth in concentration. At least with just the meat he can’t somehow turn it into a chuchu or an inedible mess.

The stew comes together quickly with Hyrule’s help, and Wild is able to get things mostly cleaned up while it simmers and night falls around the camp. By the time it’s ready the stars are twinkling overhead in constellations Wild’s never seen before. He fills eight bowls with the contents of the pot and hands them out to everyone gathered around the fire and soon the air is full of contented hums and the sound of spoons clattering. Wild tucks himself a little ways off from the fire. He stares into the embers, mulling over the situation. When Twilight sits himself down next to him Wild almost jumps.

“Delicious stew,” says Twilight. Wild gives him a nod in thanks. “Time say’s you’re on second watch by the way.”

Wild nods again. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Twilight settles into the spot more, then blinks at Wild.

“Where’s your bowl?”

Wild sends him a questioning glance, hoping he doesn’t look too guilty.

“Where’s your bowl? You had dinner, right?”

“Stop fussing, I ate most of my dinner as I made it,” signs Wild. He rolls his eyes too for good measure.

Twilight raises his hands in defeat, shaggy pelt creeping towards his ears. “Alright, alright. I had to ask.”

Wild sticks his tongue out at him and smiles. He got away with it. They are on track to not starve for the next few days. Something settles in his chest. Relief, and hope that he can pull this off.

What Wild doesn’t see is Hyrule staring at him across the fire, suspicion in his eyes.

In the morning Wild makes apples glazed in his last stores of honey. Something to give them all energy for the day. Wind scarfs down his portion so quickly Wild swears he only blinked and it was gone. He knows Wind is hungry. He’s the only one still growing out of the lot of them. So Wild takes one slice for himself and gives Wind the rest of his smaller portion, to much delight.

As they walk Wild tries to ignore the cramping in his stomach. He’s gotten too used to regular meals travelling with the group. While his stomach rumbles its anger Wild instead tries to focus on the snide comments Legend makes, or Sky telling them about all the things he wants to make sure go to the surface from Skyloft.

“Of course, the market will eventually move to the surface, but it’ll take some time. Zelda wants to make sure that we allow everyone the time they need to process the change,” says Sky.

“But what’s most important to you?” asks Four. “If you could have one thing appear in both places what would it be?”

Sky hums, a finger tapping his chin.

“Probably his bed,” mutters Legend.

Warriors gives him a half-hearted grin but doesn’t outright laugh at the comment. Sky ignores the both of them, a practise he’s become well adept at.

“If I could make something from Skyloft appear everywhere it would be the Lumpy Pumpkin. Their soup is the best. Thick, creamy, just a little hint of cinnamon,” Sky trails off dreamily.

Wild’s stomach clenches with want. Why did Sky have to start describing food? He glowers at the ground in front of him. Why did he have to be the only one with enough culinary skills to keep them all alive beyond trail rations. The slate burns against his hip where it sits empty of food, reminding him with every step that he’s about to become worthless.

“That sounds delicious,” says Twilight. “Hey Wild, think you could whip up something like that tonight?”

Seven pairs and one lone eye turn to Wild. He freezes mid-step under the weight of their gaze. He can feel his cheeks starting to burn as he pats his slate and shakes his head.

“All out of pumpkin, sorry.”

Twilight pouts a little, and Sky’s expression falls.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure whatever you make will be just as good,” says Time to keep the peace.

The conversation then turns to discussing the black-blooded monsters and where they could be hiding in this world, and if they are even present. Wild lets it wash over him, trying to tell his stomach to hold out just a little bit longer.

Their dinner that night is salt-roasted fish cooked on spits right over the fire. There’s a variety, and most are big enough Wild can cut them into two portions. Thank Hylia, because he only has four fish. The others are happy enough with the choice of menu, but even so, they have been walking all day. One of them alone could probably eat all four fish.

So Wild portions them out without leaving one for himself. He can go longer without food. He can tough it out. As the others dig in, Wild excuses himself to go patrol the perimeter of their camp. Again he misses Hyrule watching him go.

When morning comes with its bright and cheerful dawn Wild wakes feeling absolutely awful. He is tired. All his joints seem to ache and his stomach feels hollow in a way he hasn’t felt in months. With a groan he levers himself out of bed and sets about making mushroom skewers for breakfast.

Wild’s hands shake as he tries to skewer the mushrooms onto sticks. Every third attempt he ends up stabbing one of his fingers instead, but by the time the rest of the camp wakes up he has the skewers over the fire and the smell is wafting around the camp. The others wake up hungry and immediately get to devouring the skewers.

While the others are eating Wild double checks his inventory in case he has anything else tucked away in it that will make a meal. If not he’ll have to say something soon. Maybe the others still have trail rations, even if Wild hasn’t seen anyone eat them in weeks. He’s so wrapped up in his thoughts he doesn’t notice when Hyrule sidles up next to him, only when a half-eaten mushroom skewer is thrust under his nose.

“I’m getting full, do you want any?” asks Hyrule.

Wild shakes his head, long hair falling over his shoulder. The skewer doesn’t move from its place. Hyrule’s eyes are wide enough to stare into his soul, and Wild wants to shy away from him.

“You sure?”

Wild nods.

Hyrule sighs, and slowly takes the skewer back. Wild returns to his inventory, and by the time he looks up the skewer is gone. Someone else must have polished it off.

Soon enough they are packed and on their way. The path is gentle and their pace ambling, yet Wild still falls behind. He can’t get his feet to do anything more than shuffle along fifteen feet behind the group. He doesn’t even look around or explore. Instead, all his concentration goes to remaining upright and walking without falling on his face. Exhaustion pulls at his eyelids and he zones out until he bumps into Twilight and realizes they’ve stopped to camp.

Wild stumbles back, spitting out wolf hair as Twilight laughs.

“Lost in a daydream?” asks Twilight with a grin.

Wild shrugs and is caught about the shoulders by one of Twilight’s arms. The atmosphere around him is jovial and bright, so different than what Wild is feeling. He carefully extricates himself from Twilight as Warriors joins in the tussle and scuttles away to set up his cook pot.

A few taps of the slate and the last of Wild’s supplies appear in a flash of blue light. Bird meat with a few token mushrooms on the side. At least he still has some Hyrule herbs to flavour it all with. It comes together quickly for the lack of ingredients.

The smell alone makes Wild’s stomach cramp. It’s been long enough that it both makes him hungrier and nauseous all at the same time. It isn’t hard to skip over himself with his stomach complaining. Instead he piles just a little more into Wind and Time’s bowls.

As he sits back to watch the rest eat, Wild feels dread building in his gut. He has to tell Time about their supplies. He’ll do it tomorrow, when they can at least try and do something. There’s nothing any of them can do in the dark.

“You’re not eating.”

Hyrule plops down beside him with his bowl of chicken. Wild presses a hand to his stomach in hopes that the pressure will make it stop feeling everything else.

“I’m eating. I nibble while I cook,” Wild signs one handed.

“No you’re not,” Hyrule frowns at him. “Are you sick? You were hanging back today, and you’re kind of pale.”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me. And eat some of this,” says Hyrule shoves the bowl at him.

Wild eyes it but makes no move to grab the bowl from Hyrule’s hands. Hyrule will need the food more, especially if there’s nothing to come in the next however long Hylia keeps them here for.

“I’m not leaving until you eat something.”

So Wild takes the absolute smallest piece of bird meat he can and swallows it down. Immediately his stomach clamours for more.

“There, I’ve eaten something.”

“I’m so close to saying that doesn’t count but I know how stubborn you are,” says Hyrule.

Wild sticks his tongue out at him. Hyrule sticks his out right back.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong, at least?” asks Hyrule.

It’s hard to say no to Hyrule’s sweet face but Wild shakes his head anyway. He’ll find out in the morning. For tonight let him eat without worry. His stomach aches with hunger but he ignores it. He can go a little while longer. He must.

[dominimoonbeam]

Lonely Hearts Club - 4

MDNI. Nothing I do is kid friendly.

The DAVINSHER fic continues with some sweet sweet aftercare I didn't know needed to happen but here we are? Honestly, I feel like I'm just reading this fic as I type it. These characters are going to do what they do and I looooooove putting them in situations!!

David/Gavin/Asher

on ao3 to read it from the start. <3

tags: coffee shop au, non-magical au, casual sex that's not nearly as casual as everyone is pretending, aftercare

Lonely Hearts Club - 4

Asher was shaky and wrung out in a way he hadn’t been in years. Maybe ever. His head was…quiet, and that energy that seemed to always be bundled inside of him, bouncing his knee or strumming his fingers, was spent. He was still face down on the big bed. He knew he needed to get up, roll off the damn bed and find the bathroom to clean up, but he couldn’t quite convince his limbs.

The mattress dipped when Gavin came back. Asher opened his eyes, surprised how close he’d been to passing out. He wasn’t the sort of person who fell asleep after sex. He wasn’t the sort of person who fell asleep easily anytime. Fuck. He had to get up. He laughed at himself and just this whole amazing situation. Gavin was perfect. Even more reason he needed to leave on a good note so he didn’t make this awkward.

A hand he had become very familiar with touched his back, the perfect amount of pressure before sliding up his spine. His whole body shivered when he grabbed the back of his neck briefly before sliding his fingers into Asher’s hair and tugging lightly, turning his head to get a look at him.

“I’m going. I’m going,” Asher said with a smile.

“I think I preferred when you were yelling, I’m coming, I’m coming…” Gavin used his fingers to comb Asher’s hair back. He thought he was just playing with it at first and then he realized the other man was gently collecting the mess of strands into a tie again.

His arms shook when he pushed himself up. His whole body still felt twitchy and unsteady.

“I thought you said you didn’t need to be anywhere tonight?” Gavin asked, a note of worry there—not irritated or offended, just worried like he might have misunderstood the plan.

Asher shook his head. “I don’t. But if I stay down much longer I might fall asleep.” He huffed a laugh, still a little alarmed at how shaky his legs were. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure he could stand and walk to the bathroom yet. “That was fucking amazing.”

Gavin smiled, hands on his back and his shoulders. “So, fall asleep. I’ll clean you up.” His voice was so dark and smooth.

Asher froze. Clean him up? He’d done plenty of casual hookups and a handful of serious relationships. No one had ever offered to take care of him after.

-

Gavin stilled, his hands lifting off of Asher’s body like he’d said his safe word.

They didn’t have a safe word. He didn’t always have them with his partners just because some of them seemed to take some personal pride in not using it even when they needed it, and most forget them anyway when they wanted out. He preferred to check in and just ask. He liked being in control and he trusted himself to do that—to pay attention to his partners. He had always been good at reading people and in the bedroom, it was where he got most of his enjoyment.

“We didn’t talk about aftercare,” he said, realizing it as he spoke. They’d flirted with so many ideas and tonight had been a lot of talking about what they liked. Asher had been fucking amazing. His stamina was insane and he was somehow even more erotic in person than he’d been on the phone playing with fantasies.

He’d tensed up when Gavin suggested he take it easy. Was it because he said he could sleep here or because he offered to take care of him? Was it too much? Too close to a relationship? Gavin wasn’t sure what Asher was used to in casual sex but considering his allergy to admitting to his own lines, he didn’t imagine it was particularly nurturing. But he’d been in long term relationships too… Maybe he thought this was too serious?

“Is this too touchy for you after? Obviously, you can do whatever you want, sugar, but after everything we just…” He exhaled a breath caught perfectly between confidence and insecurity. He knew exactly how to take care of his partners after a session, but he didn’t know how Asher liked things in the wake of sex. "I usually take care of my partners after. Especially after something that intense.” The last thing he wanted was to scare Asher off thinking he was trying to get serious on him when they’d agreed this was a friendship.

Asher hesitated. His arms and legs were shaking and Gavin was more than ready to get off the bed if he really did try to get up right now. “Really?” He sounded surprised, looking back at him over one shoulder.

Gavin stared back at him, for a second not sure what he was asking. Did he doubt that Gavin was really offering? No. He was surprised that Gavin did this for his partners. “Fuck, sugar… Yes.” He touched him, stroking his back and gently guiding him back down onto the bed. “Did you really think I’d push you out the door after?”

Asher sighed, the muscles in his thighs jumping. “I don’t want to stay too long and make it awkward for you…”

Gavin rolled his eyes and grabbed one of the towels he’d come back from the bathroom with before Asher tried to bolt. It was warm and wet. “Not to sound full of myself… but I don’t think you could walk out of here right now even if you wanted to.”

Asher snorted and then inhaled sharply when Gavin pressed the warm washcloth against his skin and then stroked it up his thigh. He exhaled in a slow sigh, his eyelids dragging shut. “Fuck…” He practically purred. “Well, as someone who was recently full of you…”

Gavin grinned, his own dick twitching at the memory and turn of phrase even though he was spent.

“I think you might be right,” Asher confirmed.

“I usually am.” Gavin made slow and thorough work of wiping him down. “Just relax. If you fall asleep, that’s fine.”

“You really do this after?” Asher asked, voice low and easy, eyelids still shut but a small crease in his brow. He really was too good—thinking this was anything.

Gavin tossed one washcloth off the side of the bed and grabbed another, gently wiping his neck and then his face. “It’s called aftercare…” He really hated that he didn’t seem to know any of this. Asher had proclivities that suggested he liked to sub and definitely had before. This shouldn’t be new. “I think we’re going to have to have a conversation about expectations before we set you loose on strangers…”

Asher hummed. “Yes. Give me the sex talk…”

Gavin laughed at the easy, almost flirtatious joke the other man had made out of this. He tossed the second washcloth away. “When someone asks what you’re into,” he said, because the joke might be the best chance to really talk about this. “You’ve got a praise kink.”

Asher’s eyes flew open and he sat up. “What? No I don’t,” he almost stuttered out the words. “I don’t have a kink.”

Gavin really did laugh then. “Everyone has kinks! And you definitely have a praise kink! You literally busted when I told you what a good boy you’d been for me.”

Color flushed the other man’s face. “I-I… was just.. anyone would…”

Gavin straddled his thighs and cupped his face in his hands. “Hey. There’s nothing wrong with it. No one is going to say there is and that’s definitely not why I’m saying it. I’m just telling you what words to use to get what you want.” He watched some of that initial panic ease out of Asher’s expression, his thumbs stroking his cheeks. “You’re a soft dom’s dream, sugar. I promise. You were fucking amazing.”

Asher’s breath caught and Gavin had to bite back pointing how the proof of what he was trying to say.

“The problem is, this thing where you’re afraid to draw lines and upset the person you’re with would also make you the dream of a lot of other kinds of partners…”

Asher flopped back onto the bed, looking up at Gavin still naked on his lap. “Are you worried about me?” he asked like it was a joke.

“Yeah, kinda.”

Asher laughed. “Dude, I literally work security. You don’t need to worry about it. I can leave whenever I want to.”

Gavin felt a pain somewhere in his chest. He really wasn’t sure that was true. Just the bits he’d gleaned about Asher’s ex seemed like he’d stayed through a lot of stuff he shouldn’t have. “You could, but I’m not sure you would…”

Asher tensed, smile gone.

Gavin rolled off of him and onto his feet, not wanting to feel like he was trapping the other man under him. Not like this anyway. He could have just left it like that. He could changed the subject. He was sure Asher would go with it and find a good mood again, and it would feel safer for Gavin too. He liked sex and partners and people in general, but he didn’t usually hand too much of himself away. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” he explained, pulling a drawer open and finding some clean sweats.

-

Asher watched Gavin get dressed.

He wasn’t sure what to make of what he was telling him. He understood, of course he did, but for some reason he struggled to believe it. It wasn’t that he doubted Gavin. So, what did that say about him?

“So, should I get a sticker?” Asher asked.

Gavin turned to blink at him.

Asher held back a smirk. “Like a ‘slut for praise’ sticker? Something to let people know?”

Gavin laughed, the sound rich and bursting out of him. His hand went to his mouth like he could catch it.

Asher grinned. He loved that sound and that reaction. “Thank you,” he added quietly.

Gavin nodded and tossed another pair of sweats to him.

Asher caught them and blinked. His jeans weren’t dirty.

“Do you want to hang out? We can order food.”

Asher felt himself beam before he could keep his cool. “Yeah! I mean, yeah, I could eat.”

Gavin’s smile turned sly. “Oh, I know you can, sugar.”

Getting out of bed, he pulled on the pants. There was something about wearing Gavin’s clothes that made his heart beat faster.

“Are you kidding?”

Asher looked up, suddenly afraid he’d been caught, but Gavin was looking at his phone. Before he could decide if he should be giving him privacy, Gavin closed the distance and put them shoulder to shoulder. His phone had a text conversation open.

It was just one message.

Hey. It’s David.

Asher blinked, at first not sure who it was or why—“No fucking way!” he grabbed Gavin’s hand with the phone.

Gavin laughed. “I gave him my number and said if he was interested in the Lonely Hearts Club and going to the club with us this weekend to get in touch, and if not then we’d take the hint and stop bringing it up.”

Asher nodded, still staring at the message. He had actually texted them. Asher wasn’t really surprised because who could resist Gavin? But also, David had been resisting Gavin. “Are you going to reply?”

Gavin laughed, bumping their hips together. “Grab your fucking phone and let’s move this party to the living room. We’re going to start a group chat!”

[sunnyrealist]

Chapter 60: Take Care

The Sun, the Moon, and All Our Stars

Summary and Details…

Previous Chapter Recap/Context: Sebastian is in a great mood after hearing back from his friend Ruby, who wrote that she wanted to meet to catch up and share some information with him about Anne. Kate, never having connected the dots previously, finally realized that Ruby was the "Hero of Hogwarts" - the girl who had mysteriously arrived at Hogwarts as a fifth year in 1890. Later, Kate reveals some exciting news - when she met with Matilda Weasley, she posed the idea of having Sebastian help her with library work over a summer weekend, and the deputy headmistress had agreed. Sebastian and Kate both get a little hot and bothered, imagining all of the things they could do in the unoccupied castle, but before things get too heavy, Seb realizes that Kate is supposed to be on her monthly cycle. She admits rather worriedly that she hasn't bled, and the two of them panic, wondering if she is pregnant. This chapter picks up on the evening of the following day.

Pairing: 25-year-old, post-Azkaban Sebastian Sallow x 24-year-old Kate Mayflower (my OC), the assistant librarian at Hogwarts

Content warnings: In general, this is rated 18+, so minors should not read or interact with this story. In this chapter, there's a big focus on a woman's monthly cycle. Also featured is panic over parental disapproval and worrying about a dangerous job.

The full chapter is available below the cut; it can also be found on AO3 (link is posted below). Please leave some feedback if possible, especially if you like what you read! 🥰

Chapter 60: Take Care

“Seb, Seb!” Kate cries, sprinting outside the moment she sees him apparate near the gate.

He looks her way in both confusion and adoration, unsure if her tone is one of romance or one of concern. He closes the gate behind him and his girlfriend barrels into his arms. He wraps his arms around her, picking her up.

“Hello, sunshine,” he murmurs, embracing her tightly. He kisses her, and then puts her back down on solid ground.

“I got it!” Kate tells him breathlessly. 

“Got what?” he asks, and a beat later, it dawns upon him. His eyebrows raise in hope.

“My monthly courses,” she replies. “I bled. I’m not pregnant!” 

Sebastian lifts her back up and twirls her around, pressing his lips to hers enthusiastically. “Oh, thank the gods. Thank bloody Merlin!”

She chuckles, poking his chest. “I guess I was just a bit late. We didn’t have to worry after all.”

Kate takes his hand, leading him inside. He drops his satchel by the door, then unlaces and removes his shoes with a sigh. Next, he loosens his tie and unfastens the top buttons of his collared shirt, untucking it from his pants. “It’s been a hell of a long day. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” she answers with an amused smile. “You’re home. You get to be comfortable here.”

Dinner is simple but delicious - aged cheddar cheese toasties with a roasted tomato soup. Sebastian wolfs down two helpings with cider and gratefully accepts her dessert - a warm cinnamon apple cake with vanilla ice cream. He regales Kate with stories about his long day, finally asking about hers.

“Oh, nothing all that exciting happened,” she murmurs. “Just did some chores around the cottage. I worked in the garden most of the afternoon, then did some cleaning and laundry. I also wrote some letters.”

“Sounds like you were busy,” he replies, taking the last sip of his cider. “To whom did you write?”

She inhales deeply and hesitates for a moment. “After all the worrying with my lack of… well, bleeding… and knowing you’re going to be miserable for a couple of days working with the Kelpies, I figured I might as well get something tough out of the way for myself. I wrote to my family, requesting a luncheon together next week on Thursday. I don’t think I can avoid my mum much longer now that she knows I’m dating someone.” She sighs. “It’s… time for me to tell them about you.”

Sebastian’s eyebrows raise. “I didn’t realize you felt ready. I thought that might take a while.”

“Yeah, but with what could have happened, I’d rather they at least know who you are in case anything serious really does happen,” Kate explains. “It’s for the best, my love.”

He nods in response, but his eyes betray his obvious internal anxiety. He’s quiet for a moment, but then once he starts talking, it devolves quickly into blabbering. “And… What if they forbid you to see me? What if they say they’ll never approve of our relationship? What if they hate me? What if they think I’m just… a thug? Or see me as someone trying to take advantage of you? What if they try to separate us?”

Kate listens, then silences him with a kiss. When she pulls away, she murmurs, “Seb, I obviously want this to all go well, but if it doesn’t… I don’t care. I’m an adult. We’re adults. We make our own choices. I love you. You’re my soulmate. They can’t separate us. And I won’t ever abandon you.”

Sebastian studies her face for any sign of doubt, even though she’s previously reassured him of these same fears many times now. She stares back confidently at him, and he relaxes a bit.

“You’re the only man I’ll love for the rest of my life,” she whispers while intertwining her fingers with his. “We were born to be together. You’re the moon to my sun.” She kisses his cheek. “If they don’t understand at first, it isn’t the end of the world. Someday, they’ll see the strength of our love, our connection… and imagining me with anyone else will be impossible.” She presses her lips to his, tasting sweet apples. “I love you, Seb. I’ll love you forever.”

He takes a shaky breath. “I love you, too, Kate. I just get nervous… and I know - I bloody well know - it’s my mind playing tricks on me, but I can’t help it. I still feel like everything that has happened with you is… too good to be true, and the rug is about to be swept out from under me… by your family, no less. It terrifies me because I love you so much. I love you so much it hurts.”

Almost as if on cue, Kate suddenly doubles over. “Ooooof…”

Sebastian’s eyes widen, concerned, and he reaches out a hand. “Whoa - sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“Ooooh,” she moans, her eyes shut tight. She attempts to sit up. “Just… cramping.”

His eyes flicker with understanding. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” He places his hand delicately on her abdomen and gently rubs in a circle. “Before Anne was cursed, she would complain a lot about her monthly cycle, so I know how uncomfortable it can be.”

Kate nods, trying to put on a smile even with her voice strained. “It’s alright. I manage.”

“Let me help you tonight,” he offers sincerely. “You deserve to be taken care of after all you’ve done for me. Come on, now…”

Sebastian walks her to the bedroom, where he helps her to undress and put on a soft nightgown. He lays her on the bed and minutes later returns with a book, warm green tea, and a particularly warm pillow, which he places over her abdomen. She accepts it all gratefully, amazed at the lengths to which he is willing to go. He disappears again, and soon, she can hear the bathtub running. When he comes back once more, he returns with peppermint oil, which he massages into her feet. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, sighing in relief. “That feels so good.”

Later, he scoops her into his arms, carrying her towards the bathroom. She smiles as she takes in the sight - a steamy bubble bath - and then her smile grows even bigger when she detects the calming scent of lavender and chamomile. 

“Just for you,” he murmurs. “It might help you fall asleep.”

Sebastian gives Kate some privacy, and when she is finished in the bathroom, she feels like she could melt into a puddle of relaxation. Back in the bedroom, he sets a warming charm on her side of the bed, lights a candle, and offers her a piece of sweet chocolate. She settles under the blankets and he follows, coming close to her. 

A kiss is pressed to her forehead. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you, Seb,” she murmurs sleepily.

He softly rubs her abdomen. Her eyes close, and soon, her rhythmic breathing becomes a soft snore. He chuckles to himself, blows out the candle, and spoons her. Taking care of her has allowed Sebastian to completely ignore the dread of what he might experience with the Kelpies over the next two days, and he falls into a deep sleep.

The hormones from Kate’s monthly cycle certainly don’t make Wednesday morning any easier.

Tears stream down her face. “Please don’t go. Convince the Ministry to take you out of the field. Please.”

He closes his eyes, pained by her plea. “I can’t do that, Kate. You know I can’t.” He pulls her close, wrapping his arms around her. “I love you. You know I would do anything to come home to you safely. And you know that if there’s something I’m good at, it’s surviving.” He pauses, tilting her chin up. “I will think of you every moment, think of what you might do in any situation I find myself in. You’re my motivation. My inspiration. My reason for living.”

“I love you, Seb,” she replies softly, wiping away a fresh fallen tear, “but I’m afraid. What if you don’t come back?”

He’s quiet for a moment, trying to determine the best way to soothe her. “Then… I probably am delayed… or fighting my way back to you. And even if things are going well, I still may not come home around dinner time. It’s unpredictable in the field. I hope I will return home before you go to bed tomorrow night. But don’t wait up all night for me just in case I get stuck. That happens sometimes. I don’t want you to worry. I’ll be alright.”

“But what if you aren’t?” she whispers, afraid to say it louder - to make it more real.

He gazes into her eyes. “Listen to me. I am going to be fine. But if something ever happens to me, I want you to know that I love you more than I love my own life. In just over a month, you gave me hope and purpose… and I’m happier than I’ve ever been. If I don’t come back, it’s not because I didn’t try. It means that there was no way to. And if I… if I die, it was in an attempt to make the world a better place - to make the world safer for you. I think I would feel… redeemed for all I’ve done if I passed in service to the good people of the wizarding community.” He takes her hand, kissing it. “But that isn’t going to happen. I need you to be strong, sweetheart. I need you to be strong for me.”

She swallows, trying like hell to toughen up. Falling apart will only make this worse. “Be safe, Sebastian. Come back to me.”

“I will. I promise I will,” he assures her. 

“I trust you. I love you. Please take care of yourself”

Sebastian kisses Kate tenderly, lingering, memorizing the feel of her lips against his. “I love you, sunshine.”

And within moments, he is gone.

[skzhocomments]

Mafia Book #2 - PART II - The Withered Rose - Chapter 3 - Pure Morning

Story masterlist - please consult it for the summary of the story, trigger warnings etc.

General masterlist

PART I - The Black Iris

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Wattpad | AO3

Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

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PART II - The Withered Rose

Chapter 3 - Pure Morning

chapter word count: ~6.2k words

~almost 4 years ago~

~Emilia’s POV~

“You will go out and dig a grave for me… and if he ever asks…” I force the words out of my throat, but speaking about this is hard, and it hurts, and I want nothing more than to run back to Chris once Felix wakes up, and let him apologise and forgive him for everything, but how can I do that?

I can’t.

I can’t do that.

I have to be strong and leave.

I don’t want to leave.

But I can’t stay here anymore.

Will Felix even wake up?

It doesn't matter.

I have to leave.

I look at Jeongin way too pleadingly for my linking. I was never one to plead for anything, but ever since Hyo stabbed me, it feels like all I’ve done was pleading.

For Chris to listen to me.

For Jeongin to dig me a grave.

For everyone else to believe me because they trust me, not because Felix confirms my side of the story.

Actually, everyone else doesn’t even matter. I just wanted Chris to believe me… That would’ve been enough.

But he didn’t.

“… I understand. And I promise you that I will do just as you asked me.” Jeongin looks back at me with focused determination in his sharp eyes, that now have a burning in them I haven’t noticed before.

“Thank you, Innie. Truly. You’re the only one I can still trust.”

“Emi… how about this? We’ll wait for a few more days until you are a bit better, you lost so much blood… and after that, let’s leave this shithole behind, together. Let’s run far away for good.” He says with resolution and grabs my face, “I’ll make you forget all about him.”, then presses his lips against mine.

I let him kiss me.

Why not?

He’s gonna be heartbroken enough anyway once I leave.

Let this be… the last time we see each other, Innie.

“Where should we go once you feel better, hm?” He smiles and caresses my cheek, and it’s all so unfair to me and especially to him.

Why couldn’t it be you, Innie?

Why does my heart ache so bad after the man who trampled over it like it was nothing?

“I don’t know. Somewhere far, far away from here.”

“That goes without saying.” He chuckles and grabs my left hand, squeezing it tightly. “I’ve already brought some money. Not much, since I feel Minho’s eyes are still on me, but I’ll keep bringing some more little by little for the next week and then we can make some fake passports. I know a guy.”

“Great.” I smile and squeeze his hand back in return.

“I don’t know if I can come every day, but I’ll try. If you’re hungry, you can call the front desk anytime. The owner is an old friend of mine.”

So, you’re having your eyes on me?

“Got it.”

“You probably won’t have a 5-course meal at this shitty motel but hey, it’s better than nothing.”

“It’s fine, Innie, really. I’ll be okay even if you’re not here.” I smile assuringly, but it only makes Jeongin frown harder.

“Be careful when you stand up. The stitches might split apart if you’re not careful enough. If that happens, make sure you put on a clean bandage and call reception immediately to tell my friend to reach out to me, okay?”

“Yes, Innie. Don’t worry. I’ve been hurt before.”

“I just… please just take it easy, Emilia. I don’t want anything to happen to you. God knows you’ve been through enough already.” As he says this, he moves his hands back on my cheeks and grazes them with his thumbs again. “Your complexion looks pretty good.”

“Thanks to you.” I chuckle.

“I wish I could stay here longer…”

“The others will get suspicious if you’re away for too long, won’t they?”

“Mhm. Probably.”

“Thank you for everything, Jeongin.” I say sincerely. When I told him so many months ago that he can repay the favour when the time comes, I hoped the time would never come.

And yet, it did, and he saved my life, and I don’t know if I should be grateful or upset about it. I don’t feel like wanting to be alive right now, but no matter what I’ve been through, my urge to live has always been strong. It’s always been like a survival instinct. Like that last bit of pointless struggle that fights with your will to die when you hang yourself or keep your head underwater for long enough to let your lungs fill with liquid.

Your brain knows you want to die, but your instincts just don’t let you. You still struggle and wiggle your hands desperately. How laughable this is. I am the same way.

He just nods and stands up, making his way towards the door.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?”

I nod back with a smile, and I hate myself for lying to him, but I don’t want to be selfish and take advantage just to use him. He deserves way better than that. Way more than someone who can’t love him back the way he wants.

Jeongin doesn’t say goodbye, and I don’t say it either. This fits us, parting our ways unexpectedly, just as we met in that mansion so many years ago.

After he leaves, I make sure to call reception and request some food. If I want to get out of here without anyone knowing, I need to make it obvious enough that I’m not planning on going anywhere, so as soon as the dude brings me food (consisting of a sad looking sandwich that I barely manage to swallow), I start chit-chatting with him.

I complain about how badly my abdomen hurts, he tells me how much of a hassle it was when Jeongin brought me covered in blood a few days ago. I tell him I can barely get out of bed, and he sympathises.

The bread is dry and the ham in it has a weird flavour.

We continue talking while I eat the sandwich and then I hand him back the plate. It’s chipped around the margins, and I think that says a lot about the man in front of me as well, but I don’t dwell on it. I am happy enough to have completed my achievement, which consisted in making this dude believe I am unable to get up without struggling.

He wouldn’t be wrong; he just doesn’t know that I’m persistent enough to push myself no matter how much it hurts.

I thank the man for the food and let him know that I’m planning to go to sleep and rest some more until tomorrow, and he wishes me a speedy recovery.

All according to plan.

~

A few hours later, I reluctantly get out of bed and the pain in my lower stomach is so bad, I feel like I might pass out.

Jeongin left some painkillers on the table, so I grab a fistful and drown myself in them, hoping it would at least make this pain a bit more bearable. I grab a piece of paper from the little notebook in the room and scribble down a pointless apology to Jeongin with my red lipstick. When the note is written, I put the lipstick in my pocket, next to the picture of San I took from my old home and next to the golden greenhouse key I should’ve returned to Hyunjin after finishing the mission.

It's horrible, really, how I hold onto these items of my past life. It suddenly occurs to me that besides the golden key, there’s nothing else from the moments with Stray Kids I can put in my pocket; no pictures to help me reminisce about the good times with them. The only thing I have is heartbreak and a painful wound, proof only of aching memories.

The wind gushing outside is quite strong, I notice, as I open the window to observe my surroundings. Thankfully I’m on the ground floor and it’s easy enough to jump out, carrying the small bag of cash Jeongin left. I’m pleasantly surprised to find a gun and some bullets inside as well, so I take it out and place it steadily in my pocket, and walk away from the motel, praying that no one saw me.

Fuck, this place really is in the middle of nowhere.

I want to curse out loud, but I keep silent and make my way towards the road as quietly as I can. It’s hard to walk, and I fear my stitches have torn from the small jump, but still, I push forward and just focus on putting one leg in front of the other.

Yes, that’s it. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot.

No cars come.

Right foot. Left foot. Right foot.

There’s a faint light ahead.

Left foot. Right foot. Left foot.

Is that a car?

I raise my hand in the air and signal that I want to hitchhike, and thankfully, the car stops. A woman rolls down her window and looks at me, concern in her eyes.

She seems innocent.

“Oh my God, are you okay? Why are you here?”

“Hello! God, I’m so happy someone stopped!” I put on my best act and start sobbing. “I had no idea what to do! I had a fight with my boyfriend and he dropped me here! I don’t even know where I am! I’ve been walking for hours!”

“No way! In the middle of the night?!”

“Yes! That prick!”

“Oh my God, I can’t believe it!” She exclaims. “Where do you wanna go?”

“I’m going back to my parents, fuck that bastard!”

“Yeah, girl! That’s the attitude! Where do they live?”

I vaguely tell her a city’s name that must be hundreds of kilometres away, and she urges me to come in her car. She doesn’t seem to pay any mind to my bag, and I’m glad she doesn’t ask what’s in it.

Oh, you know, just a million dollars. I think how the conversation would play out, but refrain from laughing at the absurdity.

She also tells me where she’s headed, and apologises that she can’t drop me off that far away, but we’ll definitely find a bus stop or train station in the next city over, ‘that’s like, just two-three hours ahead’, as per her words.

I sit in the back, carefully watching the woman’s every move. She is talkative and naïve, but I no longer trust anyone and am not sure if her intentions are pure or if she will try and rob me the first chance she gets, so I keep my hand in my pocket, on my gun, and hang onto the bag to dear life.

It’s all I’ve got.

~

About two hours later, the woman stops the car at a gas station. I’m still quite far from where I want to go, but thank her anyway for getting me as close as she could.

She insists she could still drop me off directly at a bus stop, but I’m just thankful I didn’t have to use the gun, so I simply shake my head and tell her that I’ve got it.

The wound hurts.

Perhaps it would’ve been easier to steal her car or threaten her to drive further away, or even accept her offer of dropping me off in the city instead of on the outskirts, but I can’t risk the police finding out about any of this, so I just smile politely, thank her again, and start walking.

Ugh.

This is so hard.

Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot.

I’m able to find a bus stop quite easily, which I take until the train station, where I buy a ticket to the only city I can go to, the only place far enough from all this mafia bullshit, where I know somebody who might just help me after a bit of convincing.

I arrive about 7 hours later and hop off the train. The first light of dawn is breaking as I keep going and going and going.

Right foot. Left foot.

The pain is back stronger than ever, as well as a numbing fever, and each time I place my hand on my lower stomach, it hurts worse.

Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot

I’m cold.

Fuck.

Is this blood?

Am I bleeding?

I put my hand on my bandage again and it feels wet, but it’s still too dark out to see anything.

After some more walking, I reach a forest and walk clumsily in it, over the fallen branches. Leaves are crunching under my weight, and it’s getting harder and harder to see, even if the dawn is breaking.

Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot.

Please be here.

Please still be here.

Please.

I walk, and walk, and walk, and I feel sick, and just when I think I can’t walk anymore, I finally see it: a small, familiar wooden cottage with its porch light lit up.

I go up the stairs and knock on the door, and after a few knocks, someone answers.

“Shade?” He asks unimpressed.

“Wooyoung. You have no idea how glad I am to see you.” I say, truly relieved. I’ve been betting everything on him being here, and he is.

Thank heavens he’s here.

“I thought you were dead.” He replies, his brows furrowed.

“Yeah, well, I’m not. Surprise!” I counter weakly. He doesn't seem happy to see me.

“And to think I celebrated for nothing. What the fuck are you doing here?” He hisses.

“I know you probably don’t want to see me, but-”

“Probably?” He scoffs. “Definitely. Leave.”

“Wooyung, please-”

“I said leave. I never want to see you again, you bitch.” He curses.

“I’m bleeding. I need your help. Please.”

Here I am, pleading again.

“You’re better off dead. You can die for all I care. That’s what you deserve after abandoning San in that building. Fucking-” He spits out, and with that, he shuts the door in my face.

Defeated, I simply sit down on the porch. I can’t move anymore. It hurts too badly, and I ran out of pills a few many kilometres ago.

It’s almost morning now, and the light filters beautifully through the trees, sun rays piercing through the branches devoid of leaves in this cold end of winter.

At least it’s beautiful.

“You would’ve liked this.” I whisper weakly, taking out San’s picture out of my pocket. We look so happy in it, it’s sick and twisted that he is no more, and I’m dying on his best friend’s porch. “Wooyoung is right to hate me, but… I also wanted you to live. If only you told me where you were at that time… we could’ve lived together somewhere, or who knows… die together, at least.”

Tears prick my eyes as all the remaining energy I had leaves my body.

It hurts…

All of a sudden, Wooyoung opens the door forcefully and steps towards me in anger.

“You pathetic bitch. Look at you hugging that picture. Are you planning to die here? Be an even bigger inconvenience to me? Do you know how hard it is to dig a grave? And you might stain my porch with your dirty blood.”

I chuckle. This is so like him.

“Come inside.”

“I can’t… stand up… anymore…”

“Lazy.” He rolls his eyes and bends down, helping me up.

His house is warm, the vague smell of fire lingering in the air.

“There you go.” He says with a sigh, helping me in a chair. “Let me just put something on the sofa, I don’t want you to get it dirty. Blood is hard to get rid of.”

“You know it.” I wink.

“Keep a hand on your abdomen. What the fuck happened to you?”

“I got stabbed, then someone stitched it, but I jumped from a window, and I think it’s all ripped now.”

“You’re pretty dumb.” He chuckles then comes back to me to put me on the sofa. I lay down and raise my blood-stained blouse, and Wooyoung examines the wound.

“No, not dumb, just cautious. Someone’s out to get me.”

“Poor stitches… they look pretty. Whoever did them knows what they’re doing.” He observes carefully.

“Yeah. Shit-” I hiss in pain when he starts applying disinfectant.

“Don’t be such a pussy, you’ve had worse.”

“Not my fault it hurts like hell- fucking-” I curse again when the needle pierces my skin. The burning is so bad, I feel like passing out.

“Stop whining.”

“Give me something for the pain, anything!”

“Oh my God, Shade, fucking calm down. Did you take anything?”

“Yeah, about a bottle of painkillers. Not sure what it was, but it did the trick.”

“A bottle?! Hell no, I’m not giving you anything else, you addict.”

“Then distract me somehow, you know better, you’re the doctor- FUCK”

“Oh hell, are you seriously crying? That’s a new one!”

“It really hurts, asshole!”

“Maybe I should’ve let you die after all. Less of a hassle than dealing with your screaming.” He rolls his eyes. “So, who’s out to get you?”

“Stray Kids.” I say, and he stops and looks at me.

“Seriously?!”

“No, I’m just messing with you.”

“Oh, okay, that’s good-”

“I’m not. It’s true. Their boss is my ex-lover, and he wants to kill me because he thinks I shot one of the other members.”

“Shade! Why the fuck did you come here, then? You know I barely got away after San died! Now you’re coming here to bring me trouble?!”

“No, fuck, I’m going to leave, I promise. I came here because you’re the only doctor I know, and I was dying. No one will even know I’m here! They hopefully think I’m dead!”

“What is it with you and pretending to die? I thought Stray Kids killed you years ago when Boss gave you that mission.”

“They offered me a deal – joining hands with them to kill our Boss and then freedom.”

“Look how much freedom you have-” He chuckles. “- running away. Did Boss die?”

“I don’t even know for sure… I think so. But wait, you left so long ago, how did you know I was dead?”

“I keep in touch with some of the others sometimes…”

“You Ateez people have always been risk takers.” I say, and Wooyoung chuckles.

“They’re my brothers after all. The ones that are left.”

“If Boss really died, you could reunite and-”

“No.” He shakes his head. “All of them have already left and are scattered all throughout the world. No one wants to come back.”

“Really? Wow. That’s…”

“I’m the only one left here. I wanted to leave too, but I quite enjoy the cabin life.”

“You cottage core whore.” I say, and he bursts out laughing.

“There, you’re all done. For the next few days, you have to eat a lot of meat and vegetables. Bye!”

“Bye? Hell no, I’m staying here. Take care of me.”

“You’re not staying here. What if Stray Kids finds us?! They’re gonna kill both of us.”

“I told you, they won’t find us! And even if they somehow would, they’d only kill me. They never go for innocent people.”

“Yeah, because I’m sooooo innocent. What a joke.” He laughs drily.

“You are, look at your princess face.”

“Shade, I’m serious.”

“I’m serious too. Nurse me back to health and then I’ll be gone and we’re never going to see each other again, okay?”

I ask, but he doesn’t say anything in return.

“Please.” I insist.

“… fine. But only until you’re better. Then you walk out that door, and we’re done.”

“Promise.”

~

Days with Wooyoung are really tranquil. Despite his apprehension regarding Stray Kids and the aversion he had towards me in the beginning, he is now quite friendly. We spend a lot of time chatting, and he is mostly curious about my time with SKZ.

I answer all of his questions, because there’s no point in hiding anything anymore. Not from Wooyoung, one of the only two people I still trust in the world.

Unfortunately, I had to leave the other one thousands of kilometres behind because he is in love with me. Such is life.

Wooyoung takes good care of me. He feeds me and checks on the wound as often as he needs to, and the day when he needs to remove the stitches approaches quickly.

“So, where do you plan to go next?” He asks as he clips each thread.

“Hmm, I don’t know. Do you know anyone who makes fake passports?”

“Yeah, she lives a couple of cities over. How much money do you have?”

“Enough, probably. I’ll manage. Don’t know how to smuggle it to another country, though.”

“The girl also makes credit cards and statements to make it look genuine. Damn Shade, I fed you too well the past few weeks, haven’t I?”

“Why?”

“Your stomach got a bit rounder. You owe me some money for giving you all this food.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I roll my eyes at him. “So, when will you take me to the passport girl?”

“She’s usually only working on Sundays, so we could go see her a week from now, and the passport and card should take about… a few weeks? A month, maybe?”

~

“Old face!” The girl grins behind the desk. “And a new bird. Welcome, welcome, how may I help you on this beautiful day?” She asks cheerfully, and I can’t help but glance out the window, to the merciless rain.

“Hi Dahyun. We need passports and some cards.”

“Straight to the point, as usual! Come on Wooyoung, we’ve been friends for a long time. Who’s she, by the way?”

“She is Shade.” I intervene, a bit annoyed that she didn’t address me directly.

“Shade? Hmm… where did I hear this name?” She contemplates for a second. “Were you in Scarlet Rose?”

“Yup.”

“I swear I heard you died. Oh, well, you’re as dead as I am, I guess.” She shrugs and laughs loudly. I smile back.

“Anyway, Dahyun. How much will it take for you to make us some passports and credit cards?”

“Hmm… I’m actually swamped with work, believe it or not, so I think… the earliest would be in about two months from now.”

“Two months?!” Wooyoung’s mouth almost falls to the floor. “You used to do them in less than two weeks, what happened?”

“One of my men got caught and it really slowed down the process.” She sighs. “Say, don’t you two wanna come work for me?”

“No way.” Wooyoung shakes his head and Dahyun starts laughing.

“I thought so. Then, two months? Is that okay?”

“Yeah, that works.”

“For both of you?”

“Yes. And don’t forget about the cards.” Wooyoung replies and I instantly turn my head to look at him. He avoids my gaze.

“That’s gonna be 50k. 25k up front, 25k at delivery. Deal?”

“Deal.”

~

“Why do you need a fake passport and a card?” I raise my brow questioningly, but Wooyoung just shrugs.

“Better be prepared just in case. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to visit my friends from time to time.”

“That’s true. But two months? Ugh, I guess we’re stuck together for a bit longer.”

“Lucky me.” Wooyoung chuckles.

“Do we have some lemons or something at home?”

“Haven’t gone to the store yet, but there might still be one or two left. Why?”

“I don’t know, I feel really nauseous all of a sudden.”

“You might be car sick.”

“You think?”

“Dahyun’s office is quite far away.”

“Even so, I’ve never been car sick before.”

“Who knows, maybe you didn’t sleep well or ate something bad.”

~

The nausea continued for the next couple of days, reaching its peak with frequent vomiting. It got to a point where it was so bad, even the smell of food cooked by Wooyoung made me rush to the bathroom and empty my bowels.

“I don’t get it.” I whine from the sofa loudly. “Why am I so sick? Are you poisoning me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I would’ve given you a high enough dose to kill you since day one if that was the case.”

“True.” I lay my head down on one of the cushions and try to distract my mind from the queasiness.

“Any chance you might be pregnant?” Wooyoung asks, and I feel the whole world stop.

“Don’t even joke about that.” I reply after a few too many seconds of silence.

“I’m not joking… but the symptoms match up…” He says quietly, and I stand up.

“No way. No.” I shake my head. “I’ve been on birth control for as long as I can remember.”

“What birth control? Pills?”

“Yeah.”

“You said it yourself; you’ve been really stressed the past few weeks before your last mission… what if you… missed a day, or a few?”

“N-no.” I shake my head unsure. Wooyoung is right, it was a stressful time with days full of training and plans and nights full of Chris, and we’ve never used condoms, but-

“When did you last have your period?”

Huh?

I tried to think about it, but I couldn’t remember. I just shake my head.

“I’m going shopping tomorrow, so I’ll grab a few tests, just to check. If it’s not that, I’m taking you for some bloodwork to see what the heck is wrong with you.”

“Mhm. Okay. That sounds good.”

I wait impatiently for the day to be over, and I barely get any sleep during the night. When morning finally comes, I anxiously watch Wooyoung grab his coat and drive away in his truck, and I fidget the whole time he’s gone.

What if I’m really pregnant?

Should I get an abortion?

Do I keep it?

Fuck, I won’t be a good mom. I can’t… I can’t be a mom.

I keep fidgeting nervously, trying to pierce my memories back together. Did I really miss taking the pills?

I might have.

I barely remember the few days before the mission.

The anxiety bubbling in my stomach makes me more nauseous, and I find myself hunched against the toilet three times before Wooyoung comes back.

As soon as I hear his truck driving next to the house, my eyes stay stuck on the front door. It feels like he’s moving excruciatingly slow.

“Yo, I’m back.” He waves as he watches me.

“What took you so long?” I snap at him, and he sighs.

“Sorry, there was a bit of traffic…”

“No… I just… fuck.” I keep looking down at my feet and try to summon more words. “Did you get the- uhm, how was your shopping trip?” I ask and force out a smile, which is nearly impossible. I don’t want to show how anxious I am, but I must be trembling, because Wooyoung soon comes and places his hands on top of mine in a comforting manner.

“Yes, I got you a couple of tests. Calm down and go take one.”

I yank my hands back and rummage through the shopping bags on the floor to find the box containing the holy grail, and I run straight to the toilet.

The few minutes until I’m supposed to look at the test pass agonisingly slowly, and I even throw up again from anxiety. Again.

When I finally look at the test, I want to gauge my eyes out.

Two red lines are staring back at me.

How?

How did this happen?

I throw the test away in the bin and I hug myself.

Certainly, I’ve seen it wrong.

Yes. It was just a line, and I’ve been so anxious I’ve seen two.

I get up and open the trash can, grabbing the test. Looking at it again, it’s quite obvious that I’ve read it right the first time around.

Sure enough, it displays two red lines, which means…

“Shade, are you okay in there?” Wooyoung knocks on the door, making me jolt. “Did you take the test?”

I stand up and open the door, and as soon as he sees me, Wooyoung’s expression falls. He shakes his head.

“Really?” he whispers, and I burst out crying.

I haven’t cried since the night Chris slapped me, so the moment I feel the first tears in the corners of my eyes, I can’t stop them from falling anymore.

Wooyoung hugs me tightly and I’m grateful he’s not his usual self that would mock me for getting in this situation. He shows me a compassionate side I haven’t seen since San was alive, and that makes me cry even more.

“Shh, it’s gonna be alright.”

“How? How is it going to be alright, hm?! Not only have I been running away from him, now I have to hide a baby as well?!”

“You’re strong.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. You’re strong. Look at you, surviving two cold-blooded mafia bosses that have been hunting you down for years. You can do anything.”

I just hug him tighter and try not to think for a little while. When I’m done crying, I go to sleep, and when I wake up, Wooyoung and I talk about something else.

~

Time passes, and we don’t mention the pregnancy at all, besides the times when Wooyoung takes me to the doctor to get checked up. With every passing day, I get more and more used to the idea of having a baby. I even get excited when it starts kicking, and Wooyoung shares my excitement.

Eventually, two months go by and Wooyoung leaves to pick up the passports and cards from Dahyun. I choose not to go with him, as I’m still experiencing some morning sickness. I just watch TV and pet my belly, which seems to grow bigger and bigger with every week.

I’m feeling happy and safe, but as always, the tranquillity has to be interrupted by something.

It always goes like this. Whenever I allow myself to feel relaxed, something happens. I always make the mistake of getting used to the calm before the storm, and the thunder always takes me by surprise when it inevitably comes.

The thunder this time was brought by Wooyoung running into the house quickly, as if stressed out.

“Hey, you’re back?” I ask, concerned.

“Yes. We need to pack. Now.”

“What?” I look at him with confusion. “Why?”

“They’re here for you, fuck.” He says while rummaging through a closet and pulling out big bags.

“Who?”

“I don’t know, Shade! Possibly Stray Kids! Dahyun told me someone’s asked for you because he fucking saw you on a security camera going into her office. Fuck!”

“How… how could this be?!”

“Right?! The fucker must’ve looked through HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS of hours of footage to find you there!”

“Did Dahyun tell him anything…?”

“No, but she’s been threatened by that dude, so she’s making arrangements to leave as we speak. We need to go.”

“Where would we even go?”

“Somewhere… as far away as possible. Fucking hell. Where do we go?”

“… Italy?! They have a lot of remote towns… But wait… we?” I ask, and he pauses.

I watch as he opens and closes his mouth a few times, but as no words come out, I decide to speak again.

“Are you coming with me?”

“… yes.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. But… why? I thought you wanted to get rid of me.” I whisper, and he quickly glances at me, and then at my stomach.

“It’s not you… don’t get me wrong, I don’t give two shits about you, but… The baby.”

“The baby?”

“Mhm.”

“Okay.” I nod. “Let’s pack.”

~

~Present day~

“So, someone found you there… but who?” Minho asks deep in thought.

“I don’t know. We assumed it was Stray Kids. I thought you guys found out that Jeongin lied and that you came for me. Fuck, I’ve even lived my life fearing the day you’d come for my head.” I say and Minho pauses temporarily.

“No one except Jeongin knew you were alive. Was it him?” He tilts his head and I shrug.

“I don’t know… maybe. But why… why would he try to find me?”

“Maybe he’s still in love with you. Love makes you do crazy things.”

“But if Chris were to find out… what would he even do?” I ask, almost in a whisper, and then instantly regret it. I shouldn’t be thinking about Chris again.

“I don’t even know …”

“Anyway, Wooyoung and I both moved to Italy and that’s how I ended up here.”

“Fucking hell…” Minho replies.

“I hope you understand why I can’t come back with you, Minho. I’m sorry.”

“No, Emilia, I’m the one who’s sorry. I know you probably hate Chris. Hell, you probably hate me, and everyone else, but-”

“Yes, you’re right. I fucking loathe all of you.”

“Some tea?” Wooyoung comes into the room with another tray full of teacups.

“What, are you some sort of fucking housewife?” I mock, and he gives me a look.

“You and that rotten mouth of yours. What if Ivy hears you?”

“Iris, you’re awake!” Minho suddenly sits up from his chair and runs up to his wife. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine… my head hurts a bit… what happened?”

“Emilia hit you.” He sighs.

“Sorry ‘bout that!” I chuckle slightly and raise my teacup in the air.

“Wait, Emilia, as in-”

“Chan’s lover.” Minho clarifies, and I cringe.

“Am I that popular? Nice to meet you, Minho’s wife.”

“I have a name.” The woman stands up and comes to me, handing her hand out for a shake. “Iris.”

“Emilia, but oh well, you know that already.”

“I do. So, this is where you were hiding.”

What?

I feel everything around me freeze, and I look at Minho, whose gaze dropped as well.

“What do you mean?” I ask quietly.

“I mean – I was really wondering where you were, after I found out that the pretty grave Jeongin dug for you is empty.”

“Iris… what are you talking about?” Minho asks, as if hoping he heard his wife wrong. “Did you… know about this?”

“I found out when we left for Italy and was planning to tell you about this as soon as our honeymoon was over-”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Fuck the honeymoon, this is the type of shit you should be telling me about immediately.”

“Did Jeongin tell you?” I stand up as well and ask in a whisper. “Does… does Chris also know?”

My words are suffocating me. Faced with the prospect that Chris could actually know about me being alive makes me as anxious as I was when I first heard Minho’s voice earlier.

Fuck.

I’m scared.

“No. He’s kept your secret, no matter how much it fucked him up.”

“Don’t you dare judge me for it. It was a life and death decision for me, and you would’ve done the same thing given the circumstances. Chris can’t know about this. He can’t. I can’t see him. I don’t want to-”

“Emilia, calm down.” Wooyoung puts his hands on my shoulders, making me sit back down, and I try to breathe in for a second.

It’s hard.

It’s hard to breathe, and the room is spinning.

“How the fuck can I be calm, Wooyoung?! If Chan finds out-”

“He’ll come for you.” Iris cuts me off, and I look at her surprised.

What did she just say?

How much… does she know?

“No. He can’t. Minho, please-”

“I’m sorry, Emilia, but ever since you died, Chris has been a fucking mess…” Minho starts. “You’re the only one who can make him be… his old self.”

“Fuck that. Fuck Chris. Fuck YOU!”

“You have to come back with us.”

“No. Not in a million years. I will never come back.”

“You have his child.” Iris insists. It’s hard to contain my laugh when she’s being so cynical.

“So what? Does he deserve a chance at parenting? Ivy baby, look, this is your daddy. He almost killed mommy and he stepped on her heart repeatedly, but that’s okay, because he feels bad about it!”

“I’m sorry, but it’s just the way it will be.”

“Fuck your fake-ass compassion.” I laugh again, and when I look at Minho, I notice that he’s pointing his gun at me again. “Are you seriously threatening me right now? After ruining everything? I can’t believe you two.”

“I don’t want to threaten you. We were the ones who were wrong. But if you don’t come back willingly… You leave me no choice.”

“So, shoot me, then! Fucking shoot me and end this already, Minho! I’m not coming with you!”

“No… I won’t take you with us if you don’t want it, Emilia. I’m just saying that… if you won’t come, we’re gonna stay here just like this while Iris goes to the other room and grabs your daughter. She’s gonna take her to Chris and explain everything, and that’s it.”

He wants to take Ivy away from me?

No…

No…

This can’t be happening.

“You wouldn’t.” I shake my head.

“Try me.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Fuck you!” I shout and feel myself on the verge of crying. Why did I invite him into my house in the first place? I should’ve told Wooyoung to poison him somehow. I should’ve run away again.

“So, will you come with us?” Minho asks again.

“Wooyoung… what in the world…”

“I think we have to go with them, unfortunately…”

“But…”

“You don’t want to? Would you let them take Ivy?” Wooyoung whispers.

“Fuck, no. Ivy is my baby. She’s mine. Minho, come on. You can’t do this. You seriously can’t.”

I watch as Minho’s face contorts; he looks like he’s in pain, and I get the sense that this isn’t easy for him either. Still, I can’t accept it. I don’t want Ivy to meet Chris.

I don’t want to meet Chris.

I’m not ready.

“I’m not ready.” I let out, and Minho closes his eyes again.

“I’m sorry.”

I tense up and curse over and over again. Wooyoung tries to touch my shoulder and I smack his hand away, and I get an overwhelming sense to scream and shout and curse the world.

I ran away for so long, only to have my wrists tied by the same ropes of the past.

No matter how far I tried to run, no matter what I did to hide, and even without specifically wanting to, someone from Stray Kids found me.

It wasn’t Jeongin. If it were, I might’ve been able to reason with him.

Hell, if it were anyone else besides Minho, I might’ve just been able to get away.

But it’s not.

It’s Minho, who is as ruthless, if not more, than Chris. Who would never leave me alone and forget he’s ever met me here. Who’s seen my daughter, Chan’s child, and would never ignore the fact that I ran away with his boss’ baby.

Faced with all this information, I know there is no choice but to swallow the lump in my throat and go with him. It’s the only way to ensure I can protect Ivy on this path we’re forced to take.

~

Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

[velidewrites]

To get back what the Cauldron has taken from her, Elain Archeron makes a deal with Prythian’s most dangerous enemy.

Now, a servant of a cruel Death God, Elain must make sure her efforts are not discovered—especially not by someone tied to her darkening heart by a golden thread.

Someone like her mate.

Tags: Post-ACOSF, Canon Compliant, NSFW

Read on AO3 || Chapter 1 || Masterlist

@elucienweekofficial

Chapter 2 - Could You Be The Devil?

Feyre chewed on the tip of her brush, frustration building in her chest with every useless stroke of paint.

She’d barely slept last night, having returned from the human lands too rattled to lie still for any longer than five minutes. Rhys was gone, too, which had made falling asleep all the more difficult—he’d been held back in Windhaven along with Cassian, both males thoroughly displeased with this turn of events. Feyre could only guess the Illyrian warlords—well, one warlord in particular—continued to be less accommodating than anticipated, and from the tired strain in Rhysand’s voice as it slithered into her mind, she figured it might be best to wait with questions until he returned.

Besides, Feyre had too many questions of her own right now to even begin thinking about Devlon.

Another pointless swipe of her brush against the canvas drew a long-suffering groan from her throat, and she might have given up completely had it not been for a quiet chuckle somewhere behind her.

“By the Cauldron, Feyre—that looks terrible.”

She whirled back with a gasp. “Lucien!”

Practically launching from her seat, she reached her friend in two quick strides, throwing her arms around his neck. She only felt him still for a moment—a fact that made her heart clench—before two, strong arms wrapped around her, radiating warmth. “You asshole,” she accused, pulling back to meet his russet-golden stare.

His lips twitched. “Such foul language for a High Lady.”

She pointed a finger at his chest, nail digging lightly into the hard muscle. “I’ve missed you, you know. It’s been…a while.”

Lucien’s smile faded. “I know,” he said, giving her shoulder a small squeeze. “I’m sorry.”

She studied his scarred face—ever-twisted in something she knew he’d been trying to mask, but—at least to her watchful eyes—failed miserably. It was the same thing she’d once seen in the darkened depths of his mind, haunting her to this day. Pain and longing—and endless, infinite sadness.

“What changed?” she asked, motioning for him to sit beside her as she plopped down on the couch.

Lucien opened his mouth—then closed it, seemingly not ready to have that conversation yet. His gaze flickered towards the canvas instead, auburn brows furrowing at the mess of scattered lines and brownish shapes. “So what exactly are you painting?” His head cocked to the side slightly, as if a different angle could perhaps lead him to an explanation. “Looks like your hair, just when you wake up.”

Feyre smacked his arm playfully. “Very funny. If you must know, I’m painting that owl over there,” she gestured toward the window, where the large bird cleaned its feathers blissfully from an apple tree. Feyre frowned. “But for some reason, no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to get it right. I thought…” she considered, musing more to herself now than the male beside her, “I thought it got the colours right—but, as soon as I put them on the canvas, they just don’t look the same.” She huffed, throwing the bird an accusatory look. “It’s almost like the owl doesn’t want to be painted.”

When she turned back to face him, she found Lucien’s brows were now high with amusement. “Losing your touch, Cursebreaker?”

Her eyes narrowed, willing Winter’s hard, piercing ice into her stare.

It only made Lucien chuckle again. “Perhaps you just need to regain your focus.” His expression turned sympathetic. “Has the baby been keeping you up?”

Feyre sighed—it wasn’t Nyx that made her so restless. “No—he sleeps through the night without a sound, really.” A smile tugged at her mouth again. “You have to meet him—he’s still asleep now, but—”

“I will. It will be my pleasure, Feyre, believe me, but—” he hesitated, the muscle in his jaw tight, “You know why I’m here.”

Gods—perhaps she really did need to go to sleep.

“Is she alright?” Feyre asked carefully, unsure how much could’ve possibly changed in the past ten hours.

Lucien shifted in his seat, shoulders rolling back slightly. “I wouldn’t know.” He cleared his throat. “She was asleep when I got back.”

“Oh.”

His eyes sharpened. “Would you like to tell me why, exactly, there are burn marks on Vassa’s hands?”

“How much do you know?” Feyre asked. “I thought Jurian would fill you in after Vassa…well.”

“Jurian, as old as he is, is still a human—which means he does not understand magic in the same way you and I, or even Vassa, do. He told me why you were there—about Beron and Koschei, and the vision, too—but whatever magic was involved, there is no way he could’ve scented it.”

Feyre chewed on her lip. “Elain was burned, too.”

Lucien’s gaze flashed a living flame. “What?”

“I understand as much as you do, Lucien. All I know is that one second, Elain and Vassa were cutting their palms open, and the next, their blood turned into white, liquid fire—I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Lucien looked horrified. “Cutting their palms open?”

“Jurian had a knife on hand.”

A low snarl ripped free from his throat. “Easy,” Feyre told him. “I healed them both right away.”

“Why would either of them even do that?” Lucien asked. “I don’t know much about Seers, but I’ve never heard…” the words died on his tongue as his mind seemed to drift away.

“Elain seemed to think it necessary,” Feyre said, unsure what to make of it herself. “To trigger the vision, that is.”

“I thought you said she had no interest in developing her abilities.”

“She didn’t,” Feyre insisted. “Things have changed—I don’t know what happened, but I know this is a good thing, Lucien. She cannot escape her powers, so to see her try to embrace them is comforting—no matter how strange those powers seem to me.” She added, “Her mental shields are nearly impenetrable. She asked me how to build them a few months ago.”

“You’ve been training her?” Lucien asked.

“No—and neither has Rhys. Elain seemed to want to figure it out on her own.”

Lucien hummed. “Sounds like she’d been doing a good enough job.”

“What happened last night is concerning,” Feyre said, wondering how he felt about all of this. “I’ve never felt magic like this before.”

Lucien ran a hand through his hair until it fell down his back in waves, the auburn like molten flames under the morning sunlight. “Do you think it came from the Cauldron?”

Feyre considered. The Cauldron’s power had been overwhelming to the senses in ways she could not quite describe—its thrumming magic had seemed to call out to her very soul as it hummed its song at the war camp all those months ago. It simmered in Nesta, too, from the moment her sister had stepped out of its black waters—like a living creature fighting to be freed from her veins.

“No,” she finally decided. “The feel of it, the scent…it was different. Rotten,” she scrunched her nose as she recalled the stench, “like slowly decaying earth.”

“That doesn’t sound very reassuring, Feyre.”

“I would’ve thought you’d be more concerned about the fire.”

Lucien shrugged. “A fire can be extinguished,” he said. “There is no reversing the rot.”

Feyre fell back on the cushions with a heavy sigh. “I wish the Bone Carver were still here.”

The look of puzzlement on Lucien’s face almost made her chuckle. “He always seemed to have all the answers. Oh, don’t give me that look,” she said as his expression shifted into silent judgement. “He was Koschei’s brother, besides. Something tells me he would’ve helped.”

“If the Bone Carver had known how to kill Koschei, I don’t think he would’ve spent all those millennia in the Prison,” Lucien pointed out.

Feyre closed her eyes. “I suppose.”

“When was the last time you slept, Feyre?” his smooth voice reached her.

“Don’t make fun of me again,” she grunted.

A soft laugh. “I’m not—I only mean…after everything, you deserve some rest.”

She knew exactly what he meant by everything.

“I’ll rest once I finally manage to figure out what’s going on,” she said. “I need to speak to Rhys about this, but I was thinking of going up to the library at the House of Wind—see if any of the priestesses have studied Seers at any point in time. Perhaps what Elain had done was not as unusual as we might think.”

“That sounds like a good place to start,” Lucien agreed.

“You should come with me,” Feyre offered. “It would be good for you to take this information back since you’re…well.” She tried not to sigh. “I’m assuming you’ll end up crossing paths eventually.”

His tone radiated nothing but indifference. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

Feyre sat up to survey his face. Not a single emotion creased it as expected, though she could’ve sworn his throat bobbed slightly as he evenly returned her gaze.

Perhaps that was why she started softly, “Lucien—”

But Lucien rose then, smoothing out the front of his jacket with a hand. “I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“Lucien,” Feyre pressed on, rising to her feet as well. “Don’t—just stay a little while longer.”

He offered her a sad smile. “I can’t, Feyre. It’s just…it’s not a good idea.” He huffed a bitter laugh. “Though, I supposed, there is no place I could run to in our current, ah…predicament.”

She reached to squeeze his hand—warm and broad even with the chill morning breeze whooshing in through the window. “I know you two will sort this out,” she said in what she could only hope he took as encouragement. “In the meantime, I will visit the House of Wind and try to find some answers.”

Lucien nodded. “How will you know how to start?”

Someone cleared their throat behind them, and they both whirled toward the source that had managed to creep up on two, fully trained High Fae.

Nesta smirked from where she leaned against the doorway. “I know just the right priestess to help.”

———

Ironically, the air at the House of Wind stood completely still.

It hung something heavy over the training ring, though, something that made Feyre’s breaths come thicker as she watched the duel, unable to tear her gaze off the two sparring figures. She didn’t think she’d ever seen Azriel break a sweat, and yet—there it was, beading on his forehead as he shifted into a more defensive stance.

Gwyneth Berdara flashed him a winning grin before she attacked.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this determined, Rhys’s voice slid into her mind, sparkling with a mischief that told her he and Cassian would definitely be bringing this up to their brother later. There was something else hiding in Rhys’s tone, though—a sense of barely repressed joy, as though her mate did not want to get his hopes up entirely—not yet, at least.

A silvery swoosh of a knife was his only warning as Azriel pivoted, dodging the priestess’s weapon by only an inch. Standing beside Feyre, Nesta gave him a mocking smile, even as pride flickered in her icy blue gaze.

The shadowsinger grunted and swung, his sword cutting through the air as Gwyneth twirled to her left, a small laugh escaping her lips. “Too slow,” she teased, making Azriel’s eyes narrow. Feyre had to give her credit, though—she was fast, an advantage he clearly hadn’t taken into account.

“Wrap it up, Berdara!” Nesta shouted from across the ring, making her coppery head snap toward the sound. A pair of teal eyes widened as she realised who, exactly, was standing beside her friend, as she met Rhysand’s stare first, then Feyre’s.

Rhys gave a mental click of his tongue. He’s got her, now.

Are you not cheering for your brother? Feyre teased, a chuckle meeting her in answer.

Oh, no, her mate said. I would love to see him get his ass kicked.

She rolled her eyes. There’s nothing quite like a supportive family.

Cruel, beautiful female, he purred, heat rising in her cheeks at the sound.

Rhys had been right, though—the odds seemed to have shifted, with Gwyneth backing up towards the training ring’s edge as she blocked Azriel’s attacks one after another. He was smiling now, shadows dancing around him, and Feyre could’ve sworn she saw one of them wrap around the priestess’s leg as she nearly tripped over a rock.

He hasn’t been this happy in a while, Rhys remarked.

I wonder, Feyre mused, if this is why Elain left.

Rhys stilled. Feyre—

I do not blame you, she said, thinking back to the memory he’d shown her on that fateful Solstice night. This—whatever she’s doing right now in the human lands—with Vassa, with Lucien…it needs to be resolved before her final choice is made.

Rhys looked at the training ring again. Looks like there may be nothing to resolve.

She followed his gaze, where Gwyneth now stood pinned, a new dagger none of them had seen before now pointed at her throat. Perhaps not.

The duel finished, and Azriel passed by them, giving Nesta, Rhys and herself a brief nod before turning to the priestess again with a shadow of a smile.

“Maybe next time, Berdara.” Her eyes narrowed into slits, glueing to his winged back as she watched him walk away.

Nesta chuckled. “My sister,” she introduced, motioning towards Feyre, “and her mate.”

Rhys smiled. “It’s a true pleasure to meet you, Gwyneth.”

Gwyn’s brows rose in surprise—as though she hadn’t expected a High Lord to be content with the introduction Nesta had given him. Still, she bowed deeply. “My Lady,” Gwyneth said, “My Lord. If you could allow me to freshen up—the library’s main study can be prepared in a few minutes—”

Rhys waved a hand. “There’s no need for such formalities.” And with that, a small table appeared in the shaded corner in the back, along with four heavy, wooden chairs. Gesturing towards them, Rhys added, “Please, take a seat.”

Feyre laced her fingers atop the table as Rhysand took a seat to her right, meeting Gwyneth’s gaze from opposite the table. “We won’t take too much of your time,” she promised.

Gwyneth looked as though the very idea was ridiculous. “I am at your disposal for however long you need me, my Lady.”

“Just Feyre, please. If it’s not too much trouble for you,” she added quickly, unsure how comfortable the priestess would be with such pleasantries.

She loosed a breath then. “Alright,” Gwyneth started carefully, her teal gaze swiping over Nesta, then Rhys, then finally Feyre again. “How can I help you?”

“Tea?” Rhys asked, and, as if unable to help herself, Gwyneth smiled, motioning to her training gear—to the Illyrian leathers hugging her body far too tightly for the spring sun—and said, “I’m alright, but thank you for the offer.”

Beside her, Nesta shrugged. “I’ll have some.”

A set of teas and pastries appeared, both Rhys and Nesta reaching for their cups as Feyre rolled her eyes at the two. “I was wondering if you were aware of any priestesses conducting research on the Seers in the library,” Feyre said, figuring Gwyneth was not the type of female to divulge in unnecessary small talk.

Her brows knitted. “Seers?” A glance at Nesta—she knew what Elain was, then. “Not that I’m aware. The ability to See has been forgotten for quite some time—I’m afraid the only knowledge our library might possess are the old scrolls from the previous millennium, if not more.”

“Ancient scrolls are good,” Feyre said. “Better, actually. What we seek is…” she hesitated, casting Rhys a quick look. 

Her mate picked up smoothly, “We believe the knowledge we’re after stems from a time when Seers were far more common—and therefore, their skills understood in more depth.”

The priestess chewed on the inside of her cheek, as if cataloguing her mind for any information she might have stored there before. “What kind of skills are you interested in, specifically?”

“How they navigated their visions,” Feyre began, “or induced them, even. A more…controlled technique of looking into the future rather than unprompted glimpses.”

Nesta added, “Whatever you can find, Gwyn, really. Anything that lets us learn more about Elain’s magic would get us one step closer to our goal.”

Gwyneth frowned. “Which is?” She blinked quickly as the question left her mouth, a pink blush creeping onto her cheeks. “Forgive me,” she addressed them, “I forget myself.”

Rhys smiled. “It’s quite alright. It is only fair you wish to know our reasons for the knowledge we ask you to find. All I can say, I’m afraid—at least for now—is that we wish to use Elain’s skills to prevent any threats to our lands before they truly come into fruition.”

Gwyneth’s face betrayed that Rhys’s answer had only spurred more questions—but something about the look Nesta gave her friend told Feyre the priestess would be getting the answers later, anyway.

“I see,” she said then. “I will consult the priestesses—Clotho and Merril might be a good start, I think—to see if they’re aware of any existing research. In the meantime, I will look into some research of my own. Is there a timeframe you wish to seem my findings delivered?”

Feyre offered her a tight smile. “As soon as you learn anything. Thank you, Gwyneth.”

She smiled. “Please—just call me Gwyn.”

———

Lucien’s original plan to make a quick stop at Dawn ended up taking his entire day.

He was stalling and he was not too proud to admit it. The idea of returning to the manor filled him with unease running deep enough to keep him occupied for hours—and so he had done exactly that. Nuan—though not without first scolding him for not keeping in touch as often as he’d used to—had invited him into her shop, surprising him with his order being finished a month early. The potion was nowhere near a true antidote, but it was enough—more than he’d hoped for, actually—and it had taken everything in him not to immediately run back to the house to shove it into Vassa’s hands.

He hadn’t known her transformations were painful at first, though looking back at it, it was so obvious that he beat himself over the head for not having guessed it right away. Vassa’s firebird form was at least six times her human size, and there was no ailment for the curse breaking and stretching her bones every morning before she turned.

It doesn’t hurt as much as it used to, she’d once told him after seeing the horror written on his face. It only takes a few seconds—and it’s not like it could ever kill me.

There was a bitterness to her tone as she’d said it, and it had made Lucien winnow to Dawn right away then.

Lucien knew very little about alchemy, but Nuan had patiently listened to every grotesque detail he was giving as he recalled the transformations he had seen. She’d then told him of a similar issue faced by a Lesser Fae shapeshifter—a customer of hers who, though without the time constraints Vassa had to abide to, could not shift into his reptile-like form without the blinding pain of scales cutting through his skin. Nuan had used his cure as a base, working tirelessly for the past four months or so to develop a remedy of sorts—anything to ease the pain of the transformation his friend endured each day.

The day he’d told the Band of Exiles of his commissioned elixir, Lucien and Jurian became friends.

True friends—not just roommates of convenience, as Jurian had initially liked to call them. His apprehension had not returned when Lucien had clarified that there was a good chance the medicine Nuan was curating might not even work given Vassa’s unusual circumstances—Jurian had simply shaken Lucien’s hand and told him they’d have to hope for the best.

It seemed that the best had finally arrived, the small vial flashing a cool blue in Lucien’s palm.

“One drop,” Nuan instructed. “Swallowed the moment she turns back into her human form. She should try to sleep, too—for at least an hour after each dosage to give her body time to absorb it.”

Vassa would not like that—her time as a human was already precious as it was, and another hour taken off that time would only be seen by the queen as a waste. Still, Lucien placed an outrageously heavy satchel of gold marks—far more than she’d expected, from the exasperated gasp that tore free from her lips—on Nuan’s desk and kissed her cheek.

“You’re amazing,” he told her.

She rolled her yes. “That we already knew. Let me know if it works, Lucien.” She angled her head, examining his face—the golden eye carved into it. “And, for Cauldron’s sake, try to stop by more often.”

He should have winnowed back into the house then—but he found himself aimlessly wandering the streets of Dawn’s capital city instead. It was still basked in daylight, which meant that Vassa still had a few more hours until he could pass on the good news. Jurian, too, would be absent for a good while—the general, to Vassa’s quiet surprise, had recently opted to switch into a more nocturnal lifestyle, having slept through most of the day.

And then, of course, there was his guest—one Lucien would rather not think about until his time to stall ran out at last.

Right now, Elain Archeron was probably lurking around the manor with solitude as her only companion—solitude and that sweet, intoxicating scent of hers that put his mind in a daze and set his chest alight.

Lucien hated that scent. It reminded him that this light, bright as golden as it was, would forever be out of his reach as he continued to drown in the darkness.

The greyish veil of dusk had to drape over the sky eventually, though, and, his chest tight with dread, Lucien winnowed back home.

Every last inch of the manor was covered in her scent. The jasmine and honey seeped its roots into the splintered wood and etched itself into the peeling tapestries, that golden thread carrying it weaving itself into the carpets. The place that was meant to be an escape from the bond was now home to the very female it tied him to—for how long, Lucien had no idea.

What are you doing here, Elain?

Jurian’s grim expression—the same one he’d offered Lucien last night upon his return—did not greet him as soon as he reached the stony doorstep, which meant his friend was still asleep somewhere, most probably on the third and highest floor of the house where the guest rooms were located. For reasons unknown to Lucien, Jurian had not opted for a bedroom of his own, instead making his way through the spares day by day in a strange, restless sort of arrangement. It seemed that no matter where he stayed, no matter how spacious the room or how comfortable the mattress, the Mad General would not be able to wedge himself into sleep’s peaceful embrace for a while.

And so, the only familiar presence waiting for Lucien as he entered the manor was the empty silence.

He moved to the back of the house at first, navigating the dark corridors of the first floor and glimpsing a scowl on his face on a nearby mirror. If there was one place she could be, he supposed it would be the gardens—if he could even call the sea of weeds and dug-up earth as such. He smothered a smile quickly as the image of an exasperated Elain, elbows-deep in the soil popped into his mind, not a true memory, not even wishful thinking—but rather, a cruel figment of his imagination, apparently intent on torturing him even within the comforts of his own mind.

But Elain was not in the gardens—nor was she seated in any of the drawing rooms adjoining them. His next guess—and last resort, really since he sure as hell was not going into her bedroom—was the kitchen, shoved into a far-right nook of the house, severely underwhelming in its contents as neither one of the manor’s permanent residents seemed to have an appetite these days. Lucien knew—from stories, of course, because he sure as hell was not getting that information directly from the source herself—that Elain had taken to baking, most of her time before the last Solstice taken up by pastries and pies of infinite kinds. She was a skilled baker, Feyre had claimed so in her letters, at least, not that Lucien would ever find out—not when the consequences of an offering of such kind were neither expected nor desired by either of them.

It wasn’t that Lucien did not like Elain—how could he, when baking and gardening were the only two things he truly knew about her. They weren’t even true attributes he could attune to her—they weren’t things that told him who his mate was, deep in that same place he felt her in his own heart. Was she kind? Was she lost, thwarted by a world unwelcoming to her since the very beginning? Was she drowning in the darkness, the same way Lucien was? Or was she perfectly content, wishing for nothing more from life than for peace and quiet, a life undisturbed by whatever else the world had in store for her?

Yes—Lucien knew nothing about Elain Archeron, and, from the looks of it, he never would.

Perhaps, noticing the almost pathetic silence of the manor, she’d simply decided to sleep through the day, too. Lucien was under the impression that her attempts at triggering a vision of any kind would resume as soon as Vassa returned, both females intent on understanding two problems that seemed to have a common solution. How could they kill Koschei, a Death God with a power perhaps only the Cauldron could tame? Would killing him bring peace to the world as much as to Vassa’s own life? The answers seemed to lie far beyond anyone’s sight, with the only person able to reach them being the female Lucien could not, for the life of him, find.

Deciding she would have to turn up eventually—there was no way Lucien would use the bond to try to locate her whereabouts—he decided to head to bed himself, hoping that an hour of sleep or two could bring forward a clarity Elain’s presence in his house seemed to erase with each passing moment.

His own room was on the second floor, just above the offices beneath, and Lucien made way for the small staircase he knew snaked up straight to his wing. He was stopped in his tracks, though, when he felt a disturbance—a phantom brush against his arm, like a singular blow of a dying wind.

Frowning, Lucien turned around to the window behind him, finding an oval-shaped figure shaded by the fading sun. It flapped its wings again, that same wind grazing his skin—and Lucien sighed, moving to close the window before the bird found its way inside.

“It’s you,” a quiet, if not stunned voice reached him.

Lucien whipped back, the window snapping shut behind him.

Elain Archeron stood at the entrance to one of the private studies, a large tome in her hand.

Fuck—he’d forgotten how beautiful she was. Up close, her beauty seemed even more unreal, like something from a dream—it made his breath catch slightly and his nostrils flared as the fragrant jasmine and honey infused the air between them.

It was then that he recognised another layer to her scent—something different, hidden as though seeking shelter between the thick folds of honey, between the white petals of a blooming flower. He could not quite discern it, the feeling infuriating to no end as he practically tasted the word on the tip of his tongue—something he’d definitely heard of before but could not seem to recall even if it killed him.

Not being able to stand looking at her achingly beautiful face for another moment, Lucien’s gaze flickered to the open doors behind her small frame, then to the tome she gripped in her hands. “What are you doing here?” he asked, the question coming out a touch more offensively than he had intended.

Elain huffed. “Hello to you, too, I suppose.”

Interesting. “I wasn’t aware we were in the habit of exchanging pleasantries, lady,” he said. “My sincerest apologies.”

Her eyes, brown like a fawn’s coat, flashed with annoyance at the sarcasm. “You are not sorry one bit.”

Anger simmered through him, not having anticipated this manner of conversation at all. “Perhaps not,” Lucien said tightly. “You haven’t answered my question,” he added, gesturing toward the study behind her.

Elain followed his hand, shoulders rolling back as she straightened, her frown smoothing out as she seemingly worked to regain her composure. “It’s me who should apologise, actually,” she said politely, though he could have sworn that the angry glint in her eyes remained. “I am only a guest in your home.” Her gaze dipped down, giving him a full view of her long, dark lashes as she added, “Forgive me.”

Had Lucien not been a courtier his entire life, he might have even bought the apology. “Well?” he pressed again, unsure whether he should feel proud or concern at her ability to delay an answer.

Elain’s brow rose an inch.

“Your answer,” Lucien reminded, the fire in his gut stirring impatiently.

“Oh—right,” Elain said, tucking a stray golden-brown curl behind her arched ear, its lengths falling over her shoulder. Lucien’s traitorous eyes trailed the movement for only a moment before darting back to hers again. “It was quiet here, I wanted—well, I thought I could find a book, but I couldn’t seem the find the library.”

“There is no library here.” Had she not frequented this house for months before the War?

This was odd—she was odd, and Lucien was fairly certain it wasn’t Vassa’s panicked voice from last night that spurred his concern. Elain shifted on her feet under his scrutiny. “Last I remember, reading was not a crime in the human lands.”

Lucien smirked. “Ah, so the rose does have its thorns after all.” He angled his head. “Tell me, Elain, when have you grown so…spirited?”

Elain’s eyes narrowed. “Whatever insinuation you are attempting to make, I can assure you I am already quite offended.”

Lucien dismissed the retort. “What book are you reading, then?” he asked, his gaze sliding back to the old, black tome. “The Military Strategies of The Great War?” he barked a laugh. “Since when have you taken up interest in warcraft?”

She gripped the book tighter to her chest. “I’ll have you know I’ve recently been looking into receiving some…defence training.”

To say Lucien did not believe her would be an understatement. She seemed to read as much from his face, adding, “My sisters have done it—I do not see why I couldn’t too.” She angled her head, her luminous hair cascading down her back in immaculate waves. “Unless you believe me ill-fitted for the task?”

It was a challenge—and the sort of bait Lucien did not feel inclined to catch at the moment. She was toying with him, meeting his every question with a strike of her own when it was Lucien who’d spent centuries studying the art. There was no doubt left in his mind that Elain was trying to rattle him—for some strange reason, perhaps thinking getting him agitated enough would make him simply give up and go away.

Lucien found himself not wanting to give up just yet.

He did something he’d only done once before—something he thought he’d never have to do again. Offering his mate a long-suffering sigh he hoped would mislead her, Lucien reached down the bond—down that shimmering, golden thread until he found the rib in her chest it had tied itself to—and tugged.

But, instead of the soft, warm light, darkness flashed in his eyes and overwhelmed his senses—wrapping itself around the thread like a weed growing on a blooming stem. There and gone like the blink of an eye.

Elain staggered back, as though she’d physically felt the intrusion, all the propriety gone from her face as she bared her teeth. “Do not do that again,” she snarled, the sound perhaps the most Fae-like thing he’d ever heard from her. Her hands trembled, her knuckles white against the book’s leathery, black sleeve.

“Everyone pinned you as the quiet gardener,” he hummed as though she hadn’t flashed her fangs at him at all, “But I had a feeling there was more to you than that, Elain Archeron.”

There was only a beat of silence—a glimmer of surprise he felt deep at the end of the bridge between them—before anger quickly replaced it again.

“You know nothing about me,” Elain seethed, the words her only goodbye as she turned away to disappear in the dim, musty corridor.

She was right—Lucien didn’t.

Not yet, at least.

———

Before the starless night took over the sky at last, Elain opened her bedroom window.

She was already late, her heart still racing from the encounter downstairs. She hadn’t expected to see him—had foolishly hoped he would keep away knowing she’d be staying at the manor for the time being—but Lucien was apparently as persistent as he was handsome, which were two more things she could not let become a threat to her plans.

The bond, yet another foolish hope she’d been harbouring, was still there, then. Elain had shoved it so deep inside her for those many months in Lucien’s absence that, eventually, forgetting about its presence—at least partially—seemed to have fuelled her need for ignorance. But the mating bond decidedly remained—now, as Lucien had so eloquently put it, a thorn in her side. Perhaps insisting on staying here had been a bad idea—though, as much thought as she’d given it over the past few weeks, Elain could not think of another option that could get her to her goal any quicker than moving in with the source itself.

She would deal with Lucien later. For now, Elain needed to explain herself.

A quiet sound of wings on the cooling wind made her body stiffen, and her spine straightened as if on instinct as the owl landed on her windowsill. Its dark green eyes fixed immediately on her own, the feeling so deeply unsettling Elain had to fight to keep from flinching.

“It saddens me to see you so frightened, my sweet.”

Elain watched its sharp beak as it spoke, the sight as inconceivable as the first time she’d witnessed it. Still, she kept her eyes on the owl, on its smooth, shadowy voice that was so entirely human she nearly leaned out the window to look for its true origin.

That same voice now sounded with a quiet sigh. “It is no matter. One day, you will see.” It cocked its head, those round eyes narrowing on her slightly as though examining. “You’ve been unsuccessful, then. How thoroughly disappointing.”

Elain swallowed. Hard.

“I shall give you a week. You know what happens if you fail.”

Elain loosed a shuddering breath. A week—she could work with that.

If she only managed to get Lucien out of her way.

Elain looked into the owl’s eyes and nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

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