#i wanted him back in 4k high resolution

[heavenlymorals]

Guess what, guys 😃

I DON'T fuck with fem!Cyrax and fem!Sektor 😃😃😃

*gets booed and has tomatoes thrown at*

[muletia]

MULETIA

GIVE ME OBSESSED! KNOCK OUT AND MY LIFE IS YOURS

[ btw it's perfectly fine if you don't 👍 I just think it'd be neat and I thought this would be funny ]

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐦

obsessed!knockout x human!reader

very mild 18+ content

summary: a relationship between individuals of two species in which one species obtains food or other benefits from the other without either harming or benefiting the latter

cw: obsession, yandere themes, possessiveness, suggestive, dub-con (not nsfw), clinginess, very messy relationship, knockout sends you spike pics lmao, reader's pov to knockout's pov

word count: 1400

an: i don't normally name my fics because i'm terrible at it, but I had a divine vision with this one,,

You’re awakened from an unusually pleasant and long nap by the buzzing of your phone. You groan in displeasure, honestly preferring just a few more minutes of sleep, which, in your groggy, half-asleep state, feels like the best idea ever. You roll onto your other side and cocoon yourself tightly in your warm blanket, ready to welcome sleep back.

Your phone interrupts you again, but you’re determined not to give in. Pulling the blanket up to your ears, taking advantage of your partial awakening, and trying to fall asleep once more. That is until another vibration triggers a small earthquake on the coffee table. Whoever it is must have an extremely urgent matter to be this insistent. Finally, you give up. Reaching for the phone, you unlock the screen. What you see in the notification panel instantly banishes the last remnants of sleep from your body.

“Jesus Christ,” you whisper.

A hundred and thirty-four messages. From none other than the Decepticon lunatic who, some time ago, forced his way into your life. Before you can even move, another message pops up.

You rub your forehead, unwilling to even think about the implications of such a message count. You have a general idea of what he’s after—this kind of behavior is standard in your… relationship—but you still want to know what exactly prompted him to send so many texts.

Most of them are just spam repeating your name, differing only in the number of exclamation marks at the end. Others threaten that if you don’t respond within thirty seconds, he’ll personally show up at your doorstep and demonstrate the consequences of ignoring his majesty. Occasionally, he mentions that he misses you, even though you just saw him yesterday. However, such sweet sentiments are rare. Much more often, he bombards you with seductive longing, praising your (exceptional for a human) skills in the art of interfacing and expressing how badly he wants you by his side to “refresh his memory” on the matter. As proof of his misery, he’s sent you pictures of himself in very suggestive poses, one high-resolution 4k photo of his swollen and leaking spike, and a video you don’t even dare to open.

The last shreds of your sanity, combined with a reluctance to spend money, stop you from tossing your phone into the microwave.

You don’t need more proof of him being a freak. In fact, don’t need anything from him at all, having been accidentally dragged into matters far larger—literally—than yourself. You never secretly dreamed of an alien who’d make it his goal to torment you simply because he’d taken a liking to you. And certainly didn’t ask your creator to have alien dick-pics pics sent to you.

You want to reply and tell him to kiss your ass and leave you in peace, but the last time you tried that tactic, Knockout didn’t contact you for the most blissful two days of your life. After that, though, his sulk ended. When his majesty decided to visit you, he didn’t leave your side for a week, demanding attention and constant physical contact. For someone who cared about maintaining his image, he looked particularly miserable back then—especially while begging for your “pathetic, fleshy, and frail” body.

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Massaging your face, wondering how much time you have to pull yourself together before Knockout shows up at your house, demanding attention. As it turns out, you have practically none, because even from inside, you hear something—or rather, someone—pulling into a driveway, revving an engine as if impatiently calling out to you. You don’t feel like testing the limits of his patience to see how long it takes before he punches a hole through a wall. And you’re absolutely certain that’s what would happen.

Before stepping out of your cozy home for who knows how long, a stream of colorful curses escapes your lips. However, even that doesn’t clear your mind enough to prepare you for the show your unwelcome companion is sure to deliver.

His desire to drag you out of your sanctuary grows with every click, because you should’ve joined him by now. Oh, what an ungrateful, pitiful little human you were. Hadn’t he drilled it into your head by now that such games weren’t part of his repertoire? That he hated being made to wait? Not to mention the audacity of ignoring him for a torturous two Earth hours without responding to his romantic messages. And on his day off, no less. The nerve.

Hidden servos itch to transform and barge through your door. To pull you close and extinguish his longing, to fulfill needs so intense they scared even him. Because during those two hours of separation, he genuinely felt like he was dying—though he’d rather deny it than fully accept the power of his affection. Signals, hints—those were fine. But never an open display of softer, warmer emotions. You didn’t need to know about them. No one did. As long as he had consistent access to you, as long as he knew you were nearby, existing in the same world as him, his true feelings remained locked away.

When you open the door, he immediately notices your displeasure. Had prepared for this sight; knew you wouldn’t be happy, but the lack of any enthusiasm stings his ego. He wanted to see a smile, hear praise. A sign that you weren’t doing this out of obligation, even though he knew the truth.

Plans to show how deeply offended he is, even as your presence excites him more than he’d anticipated. Without regard for being seen, he transforms instantly, mass-shifting as he pins you to the front door. Your sweet scent envelops him, teasing his senses. Stimulating places hidden from the eye.

He needs you. Your attention and touch. The taste of human skin he once found repulsive but now can’t get enough of.

“Someone will see you, idiot,” you hiss. A warning, but it’s already too late for reason to reach him.

He kisses your neck hungrily, greedily, drinking in your closeness. Reclaims familiar territory, leaving his mark again to remind you, just in case it slipped your mind, that you belong to him. Despite his greed, trying to be romantic. He doesn’t torture your skin, keeping a rhythm. It’s the least you deserve - he hasn’t taken that away from you yet.

“I don’t care,” he growls between kisses. Draws closer to your lips, pausing briefly. “Why did you ignore me?”

Resumes his ministrations, wanting to see how you’ll handle him this time. How you’ll manage to rein him in, always appreciating your fighting spirit. You matched his ferocity and determination, completing him. A spark and an extinguisher. Fire and ocean.

“Because I was sleeping,” you reply as if your absence hadn’t driven his processor to ruin. To the point of risking exposure just because he couldn’t control his desire. Your indifference sometimes infuriates him.

He huffs; that’s no explanation.

He’s not ready to pull away just yet. Truthfully, if it were up to him, he could shower you with affection endlessly, and even that wouldn’t satisfy his appetite. Leaves kisses at the corners of your mouth until finally claiming the cherry on top.

“Knockout,” you interrupt sharply, “someone’s going to see you.”

Reluctantly, he pulls back, fighting the flickers bursting in his spark and the wave of heat enveloping his body when his name escapes your lips. He shifts back to his original size and transforms, already opening the car door for you.

“Careful, doll,” he purrs as you settle inside. “Say my name again, and this will end with more than just kisses.”

Ignores your groan of frustration as he speeds off, leaving a cloud of dust behind.

“Do you even care about me?” you ask, scanning the scenery outside the window, breaking a silence that had lasted a while.

He’s silent for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Or maybe too proud to admit it aloud? To let you into his spark and show you the chaos you’ve caused there? To shed thousands of layers and reveal his most intimate self?

No. He won’t give you that satisfaction just yet.

The seatbelt tightens around you slightly.

You smile, but he can’t quite discern what emotion you’re trying to convey.

[scribeofmorpheus]

Veilguard Review: Doom Upon the World

Warnings: Spoilers for Veilguard, very political review (considers race, gender, religion and choice consequences centred around established Thedas).

Another long post: 4k words

In my first review (Love, Wisdom and Pride), I focused on the relationships most pivotal to Solas’ arc reaching resolution: Inquisitor and Mythal (though heavily Solavellan inspired, I tried to be aware of how the Inquisitor’s role as a rival/friend outside of romance was still considered as an important relationship in his story). This review, on the other hand, will focus on the worldstate and what we lost [x], as well as my speculations on which story beats/companions/advisors I feel should have been integrated into the story for a deeper emotional payoff for past Dragon Age players (and overall story cohesion).  

EDIT: Why Dragon Age Veilguard isn't a "Cathedral" thread (very important tet-a-tet about understanding game development politics--especially what was happening in Bioware)

N.B: This review is definitely a critique of something I love, born from love, because—yes, I had expectations; yes, they were high; no, I don’t think that’s a problem; no, I do not hate the game we got, but I mourn for what the devs clearly were building towards with the last 3 games in the series, and from what we know from the internal struggles with Bioware under EA’s helm (as evidence from the development time, layoffs, staff’s disappointment, and the differences between the final game and the concept art) the only thing getting in the way of a truly epic game was corporate meddling and greed.

Spoilers below the cut.

Without further ado, the primary criticism I have is that Varric should not have been our advisor! I read a post somewhere that succinctly surmised the that Varric was chosen as our Advisor so that:

Solas would make an “irredeemable” mistake for all the Solas haters to use as an excuse to simply view him as an antagonist, simplifying the goal of the game to: stop the elf from bringing down the Veil.

Varric was used for marketing purposes rather than story depth choices; he’s popular, beloved and an easy carrot for the EA stick to dangle in front of loyal fans.

His writer has literally been trying to kill him off for the last 2 games! Varric was supposed to die in Inquisition! (lol) [EDIT: Just want to clear up one mistake I wrote here--I say Mary Kirby (Varric's Author) was trying to kill him off since D2, but I meant the scrapped Exalted March DLC helmed by Gaider, and then someone else wanted to kill him off in Inquisition (Mary, I'm sorry I accidentally passed a fib about you!)]

I firmly believe he should have been holding the blight back in Kirkwall, and that his position as Viscount of Kirkwall should have affected the outcome of the blight spreading in the South!

Advisors in the North

Right off the bat, the two best choices for advisor, (excluding the Inquisitor out of favouritism) should have been Dorian and Morrigan.

Dorian: because we’re in the North, the Shadow Dragons are by far the more “grassroots organisation against imperial power” kind of organised body the Inquisition started out as. Since we don’t have a calling to fight against like the Wardens in Origins or a family to try and keep together in a city on the brink of implosion like Hawke, or a pseudo religious-political body to inspire Hope in the faithful like the Inquisitor, Valour, Love and Hope cannot be at the heart of this story. It has to be JUSTICE [x].

Justice for the culmination of Anders’ story; for Merril and everything she endured to repair the eluvian; for Fenris, the origin of his lyrium tattoos (which according to GhilDirthalen’s post, there was a plot point linked to elves whose lyrium bodies did not possess latent magical prowess) and the slaves in Tevinter; for the rebelling elves that should have formed factions as the Dread Wolf’s Agents like the Trespasser epilogue hinted at; for misunderstood spirits hurt by mages like Cole; for the ancient elves like Abelas; for the templars who saw the corruption in their ranks but had no way out because of lyrium addiction like Sampson; for those corrupted by red lyrium that was spreading throughout Thedas with no cause or cure; for the dwarves like Branka, obsessed with the answers held in the Anvil of the Void, or Harding, or Shaper Valta who saw a Titan and witnessed the death of the Legion of the Dead; for Sandal’s prophecy!; for the qunari oppressed by the Qun, turned talvashoth, searabas, hisraad like Bull! Justice for two decades worth of worldbuilding on the part of the writers and the devs who loved telling these stories.  

Morrigan: is self-explanatory to the story they were crafting between Solas and Mythal. And what would have been even better is if they actually just explained away the Well of Sorrows’ choice unaffecting the Inquisitor because Morrigan eventually had to assimilate the essence from the well to keep the Inquisitor from going mad—like the anchor had to be tempered by Solas in Trespasser. Easy as that!

The best part is that pitting Morrigan and Dorian as foils of each other further allows the game to have greater stakes and tension because Morrigan (changed by Mythal’s righteous anger and need for justice for what was done to her by the Evanuris) could champion making choices more detrimental to Thedas but ultimately in line with Solas’ plans. And Dorian could make choices that put the safety of Thedas’ citizens at the forefront by sacrificing headway in stopping Solas and his Agents from advancing with their plans!

Best yet, we could have had a hardened vs softened Dorian depending on whether you recruited him in Inquisition, and/or did his quest.

[Inquisitor concept art by Matt Rhodes]

Favouritism Bonus Round: The Inquisitor (or alternatively Morrigan) should have been the voice to champion Rook to seek out the wolf statues, and they should have been present when discussing the memories, as it would have given them more gravitas when uncovering the literal story of "Solas is Andrastian God creating the Veil" or "the Dalish Dread Wolf is being proven to be a saviour" or "Elves originally being spirits in the beginning", or "Titans were at war with the elves" beyond comments like: “Oh, Solas regrets this” or “They were doing it”. (This is the issue with having a “couch setting” for a “war room”—discussions feel less intellectual, factions don’t necessarily bring their own unique viewpoint into the interpretation of Solas’ decisions/Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain’s presence, etc.) Everyone is not digesting the material given like it’s a clue to stopping the world from ending but rather like gossip. With the Inquisitor, as either a friend to Solas, a rival or a romanced Lavellan, finally finding the Dread Wolf’s Achilles Heel after vowing to stop him would have rung true, closed the loop.

Sigh.

This is also why I feel the Inquisitor should have been the one in Varric’s place—like literally. I mean recovering from an injury after failing to catch up to Solas in ACT 1, possibly dispatched by Agents of Fen'Harel! Because they could then be forced to pass the mantle to hunt down Solas to “Rook”. Not dead. Or a blood magic illusion. Just, Inquisitor, wounded, making small talk, sometimes bringing up plot points from Inquisition—your Hawke on the battlements in DA:I or Alistair in the gardens with Morrigan and Keiran.

It would also make more sense for the Inquisitor to be able to use the eluvian to travel between Skyhold and the Lighthouse, allowing for believable absences during plot points where their lack of action inspite of their presence wouldn’t make sense. Not to mention more gut-wrenching if we heard about the South from Inky rather than reading 4 letters!

Previously, I stated how the Inquisitor’s presence needed more weight in the non-Solavellan endings! Some people’s Inquisitor befriended Solas, some hated him, either way, the Inquisitor should have been present for the final showdown beyond a passive observer! If the Inquisitor ended up being the last friend/former love that Solas destroys (in a bad worldstate end where you don’t collect Mythal’s essence), which then prompts Rook to fight him because Solas’ last tie to empathy failed to redeem him, that would have added so many layers! The Inquisitor falling is the last straw for Solas too, whether friend, lover or foe, he fought beside them, stopped Corypheus with them! The Inquisitor was partially his making of a hero; his first “good” mistake! It would then make sense for him to snap, choosing to be a villain in the hopes of being stopped because he can’t stop himself, he’s come too far! Rather than the ‘I am a God’ ending they gave us.

Agency of a “Rook” on an Empty Chess Set (Factions and Backstory)

Personally, from both a writing and a viewer’s perspective, I think our protagonist should have always been linked to the Shadow Dragons (and the factions choices shouldn’t have been incorporated). This is more because, framing one’s backstory as being a member of a faction—not a people with established political positions in Tevinter—siphons the narrative of personal stakes. Imagine being a mage who could have begun with higher approval in Tevinter but lower elsewhere, maybe they’d be saved from the Venatori’s thrall that was linked to Neve’s companion story—again linked to Ashur and the Dragons. Or an elf mage could begin a storyline like that of the city elf in da:o but focused on the Shadow Dragons’ tackling slavery’s presence in Tevinter. A Qunari origin could explore being a refugee aided by the Shadow Dragons as they flee the Qun because they don’t fit in the dogmatic religion. A warden could be a criminal in Tevinter, showing us what is considered ‘rules for criminality’ in a city that corrupt and extremist.

Overall, the factions don’t add much diversity to Rook’s background, backstory, dialogue tree or influence on the world state beyond a last name that doesn’t really matter. With a Shadow Dragons’ background, the very ethos of “Rook” would have been about overcoming oppression, and then the nickname makes sense too, a name to stay concealed, to keep loved ones safe while DAV’s protagonist battles politics, blood mages and blighted gods. It would have been even more meaningful if the nickname “Rook” paralleled “Dread Wolf”, in that it was bestowed by your origin-based backstory antagonist and then used as a call to freedom (we wouldn’t even need a cutscene, this could have been revealed in part of their banter/dialogue). This simple choice would have allowed us to focus on Treviso and the Antaam’s occupation and Tevinter and the Venatori’s rise to power on a more personal level. It would also place our Rook in a position to be a foil to Solas’ “do what is necessary for the greater good” vs “be better than those that came before” plot lines. Building off this, the hardened companion status between Neve and Lucanis should have formed a parallel, with one tilting towards understanding Solas’ extreme efforts to stop the Gods, whereas the non-hardened character should have taken the role of foil. Both of whom would add balance to the tension when discussing Solas’ memories or even in exploration banter during missions (one the “devil” on your shoulder, the other your “angel” depending on where Solas’ actions stand for you since Inquisition).

Finally, the Shadow Dragons' should have been linked to Dorian more directly, potentially created with backing/support from the Inquisition’s advisors/Inquisitor directly (since their default attire is the Shadow Dragon apparel).

Companions: Cole for Compassion; Briala for Rebellion and Revenge

Cole

In my review Love, Widsom and Pride, I briefly touched on the fact Cole (whether recruited, not recruited, kept spirit or changed human) was absolutely necessary as a companion. Because it doesn’t matter which version was present in the world (RIP the tapestry), every iteration of Cole works synergistically with appealing to Solas’ spirit side:

If he wasn’t recruited in Inquisition, he could simply have his default origins as a compassion spirit that ‘follows’ the greatest pain in the Fade that yearns to be healed, giving a compassionate viewpoint to Solas’ folly.

Recruited-to-the-Inquisition Spirit Cole could have a greater connection to Solas than even Varric, seeing as Cole was most likely a literal representation of Solas rewriting his own history of corruption by preventing a spirit from becoming something against its nature.

Human Cole would have a deeper connection to the world of Thedas, and could have been a great tool to prove how change was inevitable, not always a bad thing, and inevitably out of even Solas’ control. And he could still offer insight into Solas' mind via 'remnants' of the time he was more spirit.

Briala

What I enjoy about this companion head canon is that Briala is literally Solas’ direct parallel story-wise:

She’s in love with Celene, the ‘best’ choice for ruler in Orlais even though she burned Briala’s alienage. They share a great power imbalance, with Celene able to affect the fate of all elves in Orlais, yet is unwilling to free them, return the Dales, or concede power even though she claims to love Briala, too. Briala is a rebellion upstart, raised by Felassan for crying out loud. She controlled the eluvians and knew how to get around the crossroads, she has more of a bone to pick with Solas than any other NPC not close to the Inquisitor! (Celene and Mythal share many similarities as well, with Celene seen as the more benevolent of rules when compared to Gaspard the Warmonger; and if Gaspard is in power but controlled by Briala, imagine her being dethroned from her seat of power by Agents of Fen’Harel after she lost access to the eluvians, that would have been a great story arc to explore).

Sidenote on DAV's Romance, Companions and Choice Consequence

Building off having either Cole or Briala as a companion, I do think it would have been nice to have them as non-romanceable too. Don’t get me wrong, I know it's great to have options, but I do feel making everyone “pansexual” wasn’t the right way to go for all the companions. It takes away character choice, personality, taste and individualism from the companions. Dorian’s story would not be nearly as impactful if he could have been romanced regardless of gender. Solas being unwilling to romance any race/gender besides female elf (though a direct correlation to the developers being afraid of the ‘evil bisexual’ trope that was popular in the 2010s) also adds to his story; where he’s reluctant to see the world as real, to accept non-elven people as having agency, because that would mean he wasn’t walking through a see of Tranquil, but instead, he was the Forgotten One out of time.

I also firmly believe that a possible reason Cole wasn’t a companion despite there being plans in place that he’d return (Trespasser epilogue slide, I remember you), is because I can 100% see an EA big-wig being like: “He’s unfuckable. Give us someone hot and brooding and slap a demon in them and you’ve got fuckable-Cole” and then we got Lucanis.

I like Lucanis. I’m not crazy about him, but I enjoy the Machiavllian family drama. Very Renaissance Medici story beats. I adore Mary Kirby as a writer, too, but I feel the introduction to the Crows of Antiva should have been Zevran’s mantle, or he should have at least haunted the narrative and missions related to the Crow factions (of which there should definitely have been factions within the Crows). Considering the fact I romanced Lucanis, I couldn’t shake the fact that a lot of his “acceptance for being bound to Spite” beats paralleled a Human Cole having been ‘cured’ from Compassion.

The romances seem less… memorable to me than past games. The importance of choice means you have to accept the story unfolding based on the consequences of your choices; and gender-locking at least one companion would show the cause and effect of beginner choice. Taash is actually written to prefer women over men, which is vital to their arc around gender dysphoria and being non-binary, they would have been a perfect candidate! I imagine their story would also be a great way to explore how being one race attempting to romance another could have a slower progression rate (again, because of Taash’s multi-cultural background, and their complex feelings at having been raised by a mother so tied to the Qun, them being cagier around a qunari Rook romance would also have added layers!) But with everyone available to be romanced, and having no initial repercussion for early game choices despite which character model would have bruises or cuts (Neve or Harding), genuinely roleplaying as Rook, and not as someone using Rook as a stand-in for ourselves, is more disconnected than previous games. This is why the romances feel off to me. Doing the romanceable companions’ storylines seem like I’m the one trying to date them, not Rook. Maybe it’s because Rook’s established personality is the direct repercussion of a sanitized worldstate!  

Foibles of being ‘Unproblematic’: A Sanitised World

The issue with trying to make a game that won’t touch on difficult topics, is that, when you make that game a sequel to a series that was literally built on the backs of tackling real world politics, it makes a lot of the world seem plastic. A poor imitation perhaps.

The World of Thedas book actually tells us that Thedas is a fantasy setting that uses the real world as its backdrop for conflict and world building. Andraste is Joan of Arc. Andrastian faith is Christianity founded by a woman. Orlais is the French bourgeois era. Fereldan is more Highlands/Celtics region if it never had a chance to expand because of the blight. Elves are the disenfranchised (and a direct parallel to popular elven cultures that were often portrayed as the pinnacle of advanced magic/civilisation). City elves live in alienages (literal ghettos). Dalish elves (native to the land) are being run out of their homes, the Orlesian’s are trying to claim the territory for their Empire, and their numbers are dwindling, their culture and language a poor imitation of what it had been, barely surviving colonialisation! Dwarves have a caste system that determines everyone’s future! Dagna had to leave her home! Harding grew up on the surface. Varric’s whole plot thread anchoring him in act 1 of DA2 is helping his brother discover Deep Roads riches so they can get their family’s title again.

And through all 3 games prior to Veilguard, we’re told the Ventaori are monsters, the Imperium is crueller to its elves/slaves than any place in the South! The best option beyond turning Feynriel tranquil in DA2 (one of the few Dream Walker mages) is to send him to Tevinter. What becomes of a half-Dalish mage in Tevinter? Neve, our first companion beside Harding, is determined to make Dock Town a place worth living! So, to walk into Veilguard and have no slavery storylines in a place called the fucking TEVINTER IMPERIUM (modelled after the fucking Roman Empire close to collapse) is so jarring. So unbelievable. What injustice is Neve battling? What woes has Dorian been dealing with in the Magisterium?

The closest we get to seeing the darkness that exists in the world (besides the hanging corpses lining the streets of Dock Town if you save Treviso) is the side quest where a father makes a deal with a demon to keep his child alive by sacrificing so many innocents.

And then there's Tevinter's "savage" neighbours, the Invading forces of the Qun! Frightening, right? But from the blasé manner the Qun's rigidity is discussed, it is framed as though anyone can simply up and leave the Qun if they so wished it, according to Taash’s mom. Yes, Taash is being hunted, and their mom is taken prisoner, but it was all in service to a tablet that discussed fire-breathing, not about returning to the Qun. Iron Bull being deemed talvashoth holds less severity when the consequences of leaving a subjugating, dogmatic, religious-political society are simply... nothing. There's no anchor to Taash being raised in Rivain for safety reasons beyond keeping their fire-breathing secret. And what of all the elves that commit to the Qun? Why are there no elf converts among the Antaam? What about the fucked-up stuff the Dwarves of Kal-Sharok were doing before Veilguard? Kal-Sharok dwarves apparently were changed by the First Blight, and are supposed to have a ‘tainted’ appearance according to the World of Thedas concept art book. Why are they just... normal dudes in booby armour (lol)?

[Imshael! A demon/spirit of choice & Calpernia as potential companions is insanity>>!]

I possibly wouldn’t have these strong opinions if the games gave the companions more… just more ‘controversial’ stories with harder choices! Veilguard in a way feels like playing a game with child-lock on. Yes, what happens to Tevinter or Treviso looks awful when you see it, but the side-quests, companion stories, NPC dialogues and world around the ‘mise-en-scene’ don’t reflect this--it's like set dressing. The “I can’t believe the Venatori are evil” side comments by Rook in Tevinter when the Venatori takes over become whiny, child-like and “hopes and prayers” coded. Do something then, Rook. You are the hero of this story, are you not?

I am forever grateful that Lucanis is actually hardened and removed as a romance interest if you sacrifice Treviso (finally, good old dragon age consequences).

Now onto good criticism of our companions!

Companions: The Good, the Balanced and the Essential

Good: Neve and Davrin.

Neve is our eyes and heart to Dock Town, our humanising presence for the Tevinter Imperium. She is also written in a way that I find her to have the best agency as a non-romanced character than most.

Davrin is a breath of fresh air for the reputation of the Grey Wardens, he’s the genuine article. Him owning up to being young and foolhardy when he rejected the Dalish ways in search of adventure, only to be battle-hardened and then become more appreciative of the fact he was taught to live in harmony before he was exposed to the discord of the Deep Roads is such a good character growth moment.  

Balanced: Harding. Harding grows into a much more invaluable story piece when she unlocks the Stone Sense and uncovers her people’s history. It’s a rather short-sighted choice to have her be one of the Ultimate Sacrifice characters because what becomes of the story of the Stone? Who hears the song? Who will speak of the Titans to other dwarves if she is chosen to go on the final mission?

Essential: Antoine and Evka! No notes, they should have been conditional companions in a side quest! They’re fleshed out so well, and their relationship is real and built into their character, but it’s not all they are! Antoine is smart, hopeful and also tortured by the new blight. Evka is powerful, pragmatic and also caring.

The Red Herring that should have been: Bellara as an Agent of Fen’Harel! Her storyline would have worked with the concept of being found ‘suspicious’ by players if the Agents of Fen’Harel were an active group. A Veil Jumper in Arlathan whose brother got entabgled with a Forgotten One? Someone who is an outright believer in the elven pantheon? O, Bellara, the power you would have had as a possible double-agent in our midst, only for us to have been wrong in doubting her and having it be someone else! Race and position to power should have inforced so many story beats in this game, man!

Finally: Religion, Where?

I’m a little exhausted, so I’ll wrap this part a little quickly. Religion is paramount to understanding the decisions and states of mind of so many characters in Thedas. Leliana’s arc alone is one of the most intimate insights into Andrastian faith! The Inquisitor is literally responsible for appointing the Divine! The Divine can call for an Exalted March! The Black Divine is a huge plot point when discussing the differences between the Southern and Northern iterations of the Chant. Tevinter’s Old Gods (Archdemons) are blighted dragons linked to the Evanuris that whisper the will of their masters to humans. Archdemons are responsible for the Blight, our first “save the world kiddo” moment in da:o! So where is the disbelief in the streets that Elven Gods exist? Why is it always “Our Gods” are back? What about city elves who believe in the Chant of Light? Where is the Black Divine? Why is everyone okay remaining Andrastian when the fact Solas made the Veil is revealed? Where is the politics and religious civil war in the streets between NPCs?! Between companions? Why isn’t there a cultish, zealous group of extreme Andrastians following Solas around? Why isn’t there another version thinking of Solas and all elves as the second coming of Maferath? How are city elves fairing compared to Dalish elves at the reveal it’s their pantheon gunning to end the world? Again! RACE AND POLITICS MATTER! They always mattered in Thedas before, yet here they are anecdotal at best.

The Veil Should Have Come Down

It’s apparent to me, and numerous others, that Veilguard was stunted by its attempts to be an entry piece that wasn’t alienating to new players of the RPG game format, but it was also haunted deeply by it’s very EPIC tapestry mechanic (choices mattered!). Ironically, Veilguard served to be a soft re-boot of the series. This, I think, was the grandest mistake. If they meant to reboot the series for future instalments, we should have fundamentally changed the physics and rules of Thedas completely to allow the next instalment to start from the literal ground up. By bringing down the Veil, we’d finally free the Titans, introduce the concept of Dwarves with magic, awaken the Forgotten Ones and maybe allow for new species/lore/concepts to shape the future. And to work around the tapestry, they could have simply set the next sequel 200 years later. Sent our heroes to rest. Ended with a new canvas.

It should have concluded with the very ending that was prophesied by Sandal in DA2:

“One day the magic will come back. All of it. Everyone will be just like they were. The shadows will part, the skies will open wide. When he rises everyone will see.”

Bonus: Anaris should have been a DLC boss with Fenris involved!

Why, you ask? Just this data-mined codex entry still present in the game:

Truth be told, like they did with Corypheus in the Origins DLC, I think they could very well bring him back as the big bad of DA5—which I think should have always been about fleshing out the war between the Titans / the Forgotten Ones / Evanuris!

Anaris and a waking Titan?! That would have been beyond amazing!

Which… again, is why the Veil should have COME DOWN!

P.S.: I know a lot of these criticisms seem like unhappy nitpicks, but I did enjoy Veilguard, I got an ending I could live with. BUT I am so angry by how many roadblocks are placed before game devs with a clear story in mind--as is obvious with the concept art book. Obvious threads were leading to Veilguard having always been the end of the Dragon AGE! We kill the last Archdemon! The last dragon linked to the Gods and the blight! The game developers have even alluded to having fought tooth and nail with EA's suits, but could only manage to give us the game we got. And I'm beyond grateful. But MAN does it hurt!

Remember to say thank you to the writers/artists/voice actors on their socials, they deserve a little love too.

Fin!

[loquarocoeur]

Lestappen Masterlist

All the fic links with shortened summaries, please check full summaries and tags on ao3

Yours Verse

All independent fics with the top Charles, bottom Max dynamic . They can, but don't have to be read as the same universe

Yours (54k words)

Read the tags for kinks

Charles looks much too satisfied as Max leans back against the door, one eyebrow tugging up as he asks, “Do you want to fight?”

“Of course I want to fight.”

Charles only looks slightly amused. “Then fight.”

"Stop fucking telling me what to do!" Max yells.

Charles cocks his head. "What, because it turns you on?"

Alternatively:

Max doesn't want to like Charles, but Charles makes that really fucking difficult sometimes

Love Languages:

En Français (5k words)

Max secretly starts learning French and Charles catches him doing a Duolingo lesson and has a bit of a crisis about how Max sounds speaking French

In het Nederlands: (9k words)

Charles makes it his life's mission to learn Dutch, butchering Max's native language and breaking his eardrums in the process, but then Charles calls him schatje and Max can't handle it even a little bit

Il Calore: (7k words)

Max is melting in the Italian summer heat and Charles' way of cooling him down is to get him hot and bothered.

Down Deep (11k words)

I don't even know honestly

Settle Down (11k words)

Sometimes Max just needs a little help to calm down.

Pretty (6k words)

Charles makes sure Max knows that he is very pretty

Resolutions (8k words)

One time Max is mad, one time Charles is mad, one time they're both mad, and one time nobody was actually mad, they just needed to fuck

Sweet (7k words)

Max is an absolute brat and gets what he deserves

Red Yellow Green (7k words)

Safewords are used, feelings are had, they get through it as usual

Pushing Buttons (14.5k words)

Charles gets them a remote controlled vibrator

Vincere (10k words)

Charles wins in Monza. There are two religions in Italy, but nobody worships Charles Leclerc quite like Max Verstappen

Easy Access (15k words)

Charles fucks Max in a skirt

Fluff:

Puppy Eyes (6k words)

Leo and Charles are carbon copies of each other who team up to weasel anything their hearts desire out of Max. But turns out puppy eyes work on Charles too.

Black Cat Behaviour (5k words)

Max has no idea just how much he behaves like his cats

High Maintenance (5k words)

Charles is really high maintenance. Max is less annoyed about it than he pretends to be

Wisdom (2.5k words)

Charles definitely says some things when he wakes up from wisdom teeth surgery

The Art of Seeking Attention (6.5 k words)

Max being forced to ask for attention and hating every minute of it

The Domestication of Max Verstappen (4k words)

Charles having the girlfriend effect on Max

I Love You's (9.5k words)

Max is very bad at saying 'I love you', but he actually tells Charles he loves him all the time in his own ways

Our Dog (5k words)

Max Verstappen and the dog he said he didn't want

That random oneshot I wrote:

The Cat Conspiracy (5k words)

Charles comes over one time and the cats decide they like him better than Max and then he keeps coming over and being all cute with them and calling them baby and Max can't decide whether he's more jealous of Charles or of the cats.

[writer-in-theory]

Meet Me At Skull Rock — steddie.

For: @skjachukson as a part of the @steddieholidayexchange

Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Rating: T

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: N/A

Tags: childhood best friends, love confessions, first love, friends to enemies to lovers, season 4, canon divergence

Summary:

One petal he loves me, one petal he does not.

When Steve finds out that his childhood best friend is accused of murder, old feelings resurface.

Read on Ao3

One petal he loves me, one petal he loves me not. 

Steve’s little fingers shook as they plucked away at the wildflower in his hand, willing it to leave behind one solitary petal just as it had for the girl in the movie he’d watched last weekend. The loose petals gathered on his lap and in the grass around him, one errant petal clinging to his left sock. 

“Whatcha doin’?” a familiar voice called loudly directly into his ear as the person practically leaped onto Steve’s back, sending him reeling forward in his attempt to remain upright where he sat. Eddie’s hands pulled at Steve’s shoulder so he could get a better look at what had taken his best friend’s attention, face scrunching up at the sight of the blue flower in his hands. “Why’s the flower look so sad?”

His eyes drifted to the small stack of petals sitting on Steve’s knee, torn at one edge from where Steve had plucked it from the center of the flower. “Why’re you hurtin’ the flower, Stevie?”

“I’m not hurting it,” Steve huffed, setting the flower down on the ground in front of him for safekeeping. He turned around in his spot in the dirt so he could face Eddie. “I’m doing magic on it.”

“Magic?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, eyes lighting up bright at the mention of the word. “Carol said flowers tell if the person you like like feels the same way.”

“What’s the flower saying now?” Eddie asked, leaning his head forward over Steve’s shoulder to get a closer look. 

“I dunno,” Steve said with a tiny shrug. Normally he wanted to share everything with his best friend, but even now he could feel himself wanting to tuck the flower closer to his chest as if to protect it from view. “Didn’t finish the magic. Do you think it really works?”

“You can’t lie about magic, Stevie,” Eddie said back, relaxing into a spot on the ground beside him. “That’s the rules, so it’s gotta really work. Same as how Skull Rock has to stay a secret hideout.”

“I guess.” Steve sat the flower down on the first rock to make up Skull Rock, ready to put it out of his mind until he could ask Carol more about the magic behind it all. “We should get back to your Uncle Wayne’s, it’s almost sundown.”

“Aww, c’mon, we can stay five more minutes,” Eddie protested, though was already standing up and brushing the dirt off of his jeans. “Maybe we can get Uncle Wayne to order us pizza.”

“Race you back!”

“Hey, wait up, no fair!”

As they ran off toward the treeline of the woods, a flower lay left behind among the rocks, three lone petals hanging onto the center.

“He just disapp—Are you even listening, Steve? This is important!”

It had been years since Steve let himself feel anything for Eddie Munson. It was easier to pretend that the other man didn’t exist than to remember all of the fun they’d had as kids, or the night that his father had firmly and resolutely demanded an end to their friendship. For years Eddie Munson was nothing more than the outcast of Hawkins High who had at one time been Steve’s very best friend, back when his shoulders weren’t yet weighed down by the family name and the expectation of popularity. Even when the nerd pack had started to talk about him, it was easier for Steve to pretend that he didn’t know Eddie at all. 

In truth, maybe he really didn’t know Eddie, at least not now. Because Dustin and Max were there to find him and Steve didn’t have a single clue where to start looking. At one time in their lives, Steve would have been the person Eddie came to if the entire town was looking for him, but now Steve couldn’t name a single place Eddie considered safe. They had no leads except the vague mention of a dealer Eddie had once worked with.

When had they drifted so far apart that even the local dealer knew Eddie better than Steve did?

“Are you really sure Munson would go there? I mean, any guy named Reefer Rick can’t be that trustworthy,” Steve spoke up once Dustin called him out. 

“No one would check there,” Robin pointed out, already grabbing the keys to the Family Video doors. “It’s the perfect place for an accused murderer to hide.”

“He didn’t murder anyone!”

“I didn’t say he did, mini-dingus, I said he was accused of doing it. I can’t see Eddie Munson actually killing anyone.”

“No, I can’t either,” Steve sighed, following the kids as they rushed out to his car. At one time, he would have yelled at them for even daring to get near the thing, but one bad breakup and a half dozen demodogs later and it was weirder to see the car without them arguing in the backseat. “Calm down, Henderson, we’ll find him.”

Steve’s hands were tight on the steering wheel the entire ride to the lakehouse, mind racing as fast as his heartbeat despite all of his attempts to calm himself down. This was it, the inevitable meeting that he’d done his best to avoid for years. Eddie Munson needed him now and there was no hiding from it, not when the kid in the backseat of his car would be devastated by Steve doing anything but help.

Steve couldn’t say the broken bottle to his neck wasn’t deserved, given everything that had happened between him and the man holding it. He could see the fear in Eddie’s eyes that said everything—he was expecting Steve to turn him in or join the manhunt. Only a few years ago and he might’ve (though even the thought alone sent a shiver down the back of Steve’s neck), but somehow Eddie’s biggest fan had worked his way into Steve’s life and that meant that he had no choice but to stand there now ready to hear the real story about what had happened to Chrissy Cunningham in the Munson trailer.

It hurt to see Eddie so afraid, as if the man knew that the rest of the town wouldn’t accept him staying alive after the loss of their star cheerleader. Even after Robin, Dustin, and Max were able to talk him off of the ledge there was an edge of the same feral terror. It was the kind of fear that Steve knew would never completely fade even if they were able to solve this situation—the same that Steve had felt when facing down the demodogs with nothing but a baseball bat a few years earlier. Sometimes, in the middle of the night when the loneliness hit Steve full force, he’d wish that he and Eddie had more in common. He never would have wished it if the universe meant this.

“Steve should stay behind while we check out the trailer,” Robin suggested. “You know, in case anyone else finds this place before we can get back.”

“Huh?” Steve asked, finally tearing his eyes away from Eddie to face the group. “No way, Eddie can handle himself.”

“I hate to say I agree with Harrington, but Eddie can protect himself,” Eddie said. 

“The whole basketball team is out there looking for you, Eddie!” Dustin practically shouted, “you can’t fight off all of them. Steve’s good at this, trust us.”

Already Steve could feel the finality in this decision, but still he had to try to dissuade them from leaving him alone with Eddie. “I’m the only one here with a car. How do you think you’re getting over there?”

“We’re resourceful. The mini-dingus will figure it out for us,” Robin said.

Fifteen minutes later, Steve was left in the boat shed of the lake house with nothing but a baseball bat of nails and the one person he dreaded being alone with. They both sat on the ground against opposite walls of the shed, each clearly trying to avoid the inevitable conversation. Maybe Steve could last this entire time without having to face Eddie, even if it meant this uncomfortably stifling silence continued. 

“So the great Steve Harrington really is a hero,” Eddie spoke to break the silence first. “I didn’t believe Henderson when he told me.”

“I wouldn’t say hero.”

“I don’t know, the way the kids tell it you saved their lives with all your supreme righteousness.”

A sigh slipped from Steve at the bitterness that ran through Eddie’s words. He couldn’t even blame him after what had happened between them, after everything Steve had done.

“Look, man, it’s gonna be a long day if we can’t work together. We can just…pretend we didn’t know each other until today, or something.”

“You’re really great at pretending, aren’t you, Harrington?”

Steve winced, knowing deep down that he deserved the venom in Eddie’s words. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Eddie must have seen something in Steve’s face though, because he suddenly seemed to deflate. His features softened as he finally made eye contact with Steve for the first time since holding a broken bottle to his neck. “We covered interdimensional creatures and weird girls with magic powers…anything else I should know about?”

“The little nerds are great at getting themselves into trouble. Especially Henderson, you really have to watch out for him.”

“Yeah, I’m noticing that,” Eddie laughed. “What kid comes running after a guy accused of murder?”

“A kid who basically worships you. All year it’s been nothing but ‘Eddie this’ and ‘Eddie that’. It gets annoying hearing how great you are all the time,” Steve said with a laugh, hoping Eddie understood his lighthearted intentions.

“Tell me about it. I had to hear about how amazing you are every day. He said it so much he almost had me believing it.”

“Wow, that’s wild coming from you.”

“Is it?” Eddie asked. “I used to be that guy too, telling anyone who’d listen all about you.”

“Feels like forever ago,” Steve admitted. “Anything that happened before I knew about the Upside Down feels like a dream.”

“Damn. That bad, huh?”

“You have no idea. I keep thinking I’ve seen everything and somehow it keeps surprising me.”

“Even more of a reason to get out of Hawkins as soon as I can,” Eddie returned.

The silence that fell over them was less tense then, something a little closer to comfortable. 

Steve had missed talking to Eddie, even though he’d never admit it aloud to anyone. Even Robin didn’t know that they used to be friends, that he used to-

Well, that was all history anyway.

It was just when Steve started to get comfortable that voices began to sound from outside the shed. A few of them, all sounding angry and one of them that he was sure belonged to Jason Carver. Carver had been an asshole even when Steve had still been on the team, but he never once thought the guy would start an actual manhunt for someone in town. It was all too much, everything a terrible byproduct of the Upside Down refusing to leave the town of Hawkins alone.

“We have to get out of here,” Steve whispered, climbing to his feet and looking for a quick exit.

“What happened to protecting me with that?” Eddie asked in the same hushed tone, gesturing to the bat held tightly in Steve’s hands.

“I don’t want to use it if I don’t have too,” Steve answered. “Have any ideas how to get out of here?”

“The boat,” Eddie said, pulling the sheet off of it. “They can’t follow us across the lake.”

It was a decent enough idea, so Steve followed Eddie’s lead into the boat. They tried to row out of the shed as quietly as possible, if only to solidify their lead ahead of Carver and his friends before they noticed where Steve and Eddie had gone. 

Steve really thought it would work, too, until one of Carver’s friends pointed to where they were in the middle of Lover’s Lake. 

“Row faster!” Eddie screamed as the guys took off after them, having no qualms about swimming in the freezing lake in the middle of March. 

“I’m doing the best I can!” Steve shouted back, though sped up his movements until his upper arms burned. “Grab the bat!”

“What? I’m not gonna actually murder someone, Steven!”

“You will if it means not letting them murder us first!” Steve said, too stressed to feel triumphant when Eddie actually picked up the bat.

It all happened too fast for Steve to really process what happened. They got lucky most times they dealt with the Upside Down; no kids had actually gotten seriously hurt until the night Billy Hargrove was killed by the Mind Flayer. Steve had hoped that he’d never have to watch someone get killed in such a brutal way ever again, but then again the universe seemed to love proving Steve wrong time and time again. 

Patrick McKinney had been a good guy, his only fault really being that he subscribed to whatever Jason Carver said was true. He didn’t deserve to go out in such a horrific way. Every crack of his bones made Steve’s chest tighten even more as a wave of nausea built at the thought of Patrick and Chrissy suffering so much at the hands of the Upside Down. They didn’t deserve this, no one did.

He and Eddie were silent the rest of the way to shore, the only sound being that of the oars pulling through the water. 

How many more people have to get hurt before they can put an end to the Upside Down? More than once Steve had wondered if the government was wrong in choosing to keep this a secret from people. Shouldn’t the people of Hawkins deserve to know about the threat to their lives? Maybe it could have prevented this, or at least kept people from assuming Eddie was behind it all. 

One thing was certain: no one would believe that Eddie didn’t do this, after seeing Patrick’s death. 

“Hey, are you coming?” Eddie asked, the words sounding more distant than they should. “Steve, are you okay?”

That shook Steve out of it enough to notice that Eddie was already out of the boat and a few steps toward the tree-line. He looked…worried for Steve.

“I’m fine,” Steve said quickly, getting out of the boat and taking off after Eddie. “Just don’t get used to seeing that.”

“It’s what happened to Chrissy,” Eddie spoke, falling back to walk beside Steve. The moon was only a sliver, leaving them to fumble through the woods. Steve didn’t know where Eddie was leading them, but he was fine to allow someone else to take the lead for once. “One second she was fine, then she was…on the ceiling. I tried to help her but she wouldn’t wake up.”

“There was no way you could’ve stopped it,” Steve told him, though knew if Eddie was anything like him that he’d feel guilty about it for years after. “I don’t know why this is happening, but I do know we have a pretty good track record at stopping the Upside Down. We’ll figure this out and clear your name while we’re at it.”

“Since when is Steve Harrington such an optimist?”

“Since you told me to be,” Steve said before he could think about it. 

The memory was one that still sat in the front of his mind, easily reachable whenever he felt particularly down on his situation in life. They’d been kids then, still in elementary school. Eddie had just moved to Hawkins, though, to move in with his uncle after what happened to his parents. 

‘My momma said when I’m sad to always remember the sun will rise again.’

“Where are we going anyway?” Steve asked, mostly to distract himself from the fond memory. Even now, so far away from it, the thought of having lost that friendship caused an ache in his chest. 

“Skull Rock,” Eddie said, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. “You remember it, right?”

That bitterness threatened to come back like a sharp knife in Steve’s throat. 

‘Skull Rock can be our secret hideout! We gotta swear to never tell anyone about it, Stevie. Pinkie swear!’

“Eddie, I didn’t mean t-“

“You didn’t mean to start taking all of your conquests to my favorite place to get away? Or you didn’t mean to completely ditch your friend and pretend I didn’t exist?”

Now wasn’t the time, and yet with Skull Rock in view Steve knew there was never going to be another time like this. They were alone for the first time in years and vulnerable enough after what had happened on the lake to let everything out.

“You don’t get it,” Steve tried, though that seemed to only make the situation worse.

“You’re right, I don’t get it. I don’t get how you became such a royal dick so goddamn fast. King fucking Steve suddenly remembered to be embarrassed that he was friends with the devil worshipper, huh?” Eddie was yelling now, no care for the fact that the entire town would be looking for him now, after the loss of a second teenager in his presence.

And Steve, well Steve was going to let him do it. Eddie had a nightmarish day and if yelling at him made it better, then dammit Steve could take whatever Eddie had to say to him.

“I was never embarrassed of you,” Steve said, feeling the urgency building in him to correct the mistake. “I didn’t want to stop talking to you.”

“Then what, Steve? What fucking happened? Why are you even here now?” Eddie continued to yell, his movements becoming more frantic as he began pacing in front of Skull Rock. “Don’t tell me you’re here because of Henderson. You don’t risk your entire fucking life for a friend, and you definitely don’t do it for someone you left behind. Just go, alright? I’ll tell Henderson you did a great job as my knight in shining armor, ‘kay?”

”Eddie-“

”You disappeared, Steve. You left and found people who were better for your precious reputation.”

It was like something snapped in Steve. He could feel the band around his chest release, letting everything that he’d shoved down years ago come back up to the surface.

“It wasn’t my choice, Eddie! And I don’t want to see you die for this!” Steve shouted back, stunning Eddie in place. “Is that what you wanna hear? Or that maybe I brought all those girls to Skull Rock hoping I’d have an excuse to talk to you? You don’t get it, Eddie. I’m a Harrington. My dad had expectations for me, and it wasn’t until I almost failed out of high school that he realized I’d never meet them! What else was I supposed to do when he found out th-“

Silence. Steve could feel the pressure of it all around him, making it harder to breathe. It felt like he’d just gone on a run, his chest heaving with the effort to take in one breath after the other. 

“When he found out what, Steve?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

“What did your asshole dad find out about?” Eddie wasn’t going to drop this, not after Steve let the entire secret loose.

There was no escaping from this.

Steve sighed, finding a small crack in the rocks to focus on instead of Eddie.

“I thought everyone felt that way. I was just a kid, I said it so simply because I didn’t understand that not everyone would be nice about it. My dad…even then I knew he was an asshole, but I didn’t know he could be so mad.”

“What happened, Steve?”

“You’re really gonna make me say it.”

“I have to know.” Eddie’s voice was softer now, like he could already tell what was coming.

Steve’s hands shook where they rested at his sides. He felt like his heart might beat right out of his chest at any moment, which might be a more preferable end than whatever Eddie would do when he found out.

“D’you remember that day when I started pulling off all those flower petals?”

“Yeah, you started doing it all the time. I assumed it was for Carol.”

“Carol Perkins? God no, we’re just friends,” Steve laughed, trying to ignore the hurt as his brain corrected himself to were friends. “No I…I was wishing you felt the same way, okay?”

Eddie didn’t answer. Steve stood still, staring at the rock as he braced himself for what was going to happen. But even more time passed and Eddie still wasn’t answering him.

“You gotta say something, Eddie. Anything.” Steve hated pleading with the man, but all of his nerves felt frayed and raw as he stood there in front of his old best friend, the guy he had a crush on for too long.

“What the fuck, Harrington,” Eddie said with a heavy exhale. He didn’t sound angry though, more so in shock.

“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t choose t-“

“No, no, my turn to talk,” Eddie cut him off quickly. “This whole time, this whole time, King Steve Harrington has not only been gay but liked me?”

“Please don’t tell anyone. They wouldn’t g-“

“Is that why you’re suddenly friends with Buckley?”

The talk in the Starcourt bathroom was life-changing for both of them, when Robin admitted that she loved a girl in their class. It was the first time that Steve had felt like someone really understood him, that it would be okay someday, when he finally got out of Hawkins.

“How did you know?”

“We can spot each other from a mile away. I never saw you comin’, though, Steve Harrington.”

“Why do you keep saying my name like that?” Steve had imagined telling someone a thousand times over. He’d imagined telling Eddie even more than that. Each time, though, he’d never imagined a reaction like this. He had no idea what to make of it, had no clear insight into what Eddie was thinking.

“Because I’ve spent the last decade trying to tell myself I was batshit for falling for Steve Harrington, but here you are telling me this whole time you’ve felt the same somehow.” Eddie was smiling now, his voice shaking a little from the shock still lingering in him.

And that-

“You what?”

“You’re really that surprised, Harrington? Everyone at Hawkins High had some kind of feelings for you,” Eddie returned simply.

The next breath Steve took wavered as much as his hands still did, unsure of what to do next. Steve had taken many people here, and yet standing there with Eddie he suddenly forgot everything he’d once learned about being with someone romantically.

How was this possible?

“You know, this is really the worst time to find out you like me,” Steve said with a laugh. “What with the murder accusations and the supernatural…whatever the hell it is.”

“Hey, you’re the one who picked now to confess your undying love for me,” Eddie laughed back, lighter than Steve had seen him since all of this began.

“I don’t think I said it like that.”

“How about this, Harrington. You figure out a way to get me out of all this, and we’ll ride off into the sunset together.”

Steve had tried to picture his future dozens of times, each time coming up more unsure than the last. Now, though, with everything off his chest and the knowledge that Eddie feel the same way for him, he knew there was something to look forward to. 

So he stepped forward, daring himself to be braver than he’d ever been before. The kiss was quick and feather-light, but there all the same. Steve grinned at the look of pure shock and wonder on Eddie’s face when he stepped back. “You have yourself a deal, Munson.”

“Okay, we clearly missed something here.” When Steve turned, he saw Max, Dustin, and Robin standing there in front of them. Robin was grinning mischievously, like she already knew how she would pry the details out of Steve. “We said protect him, Steve, not woo him.”

[themculibrary]

Adam Warlock Masterlist

5 times adam felt something for peter + 1 time peter felt something for adam… (ao3) - JustSomeFanGirling peter/adam N/R, 3k

Summary: As Adam Warlock adjust to his new life on Knowhere and as a member of the Guardians other new feelings out discovered and for a certain team’s captain.

Bucket list (ao3) - uhhh_ghouls peter/adam M, 4k

Summary: Takes place in between the resolution of Vol 3 and when Peter goes back to Earth, the downtime for the Guardians and learning curve for Adam Warlock. He’s sad and down bad. Peter can help him.

Bunch of a-holes (ao3) - von_gikkingen G, 1k

Summary: "Emergency meeting. We need to have a talk," Rocket tells him.

"About what?"

"You."

"I am Groot," announces the other Guardian before  bolting for the door to go get Drax, Kraglin and Cosmo.

"I don't... understand," Adam frowns, feeling quite lost. "Have I done something?"

"This is more about what you could do," Rocket says, watching him expectantly.

"He's trying to offer you a job," Nebula says, appearing at the door. Sounding like she has some serious reservations about that, even before she adds, "Forgetting your people aren't supposed to have those. It might interfere with their ability to stand around looking pretty."

ego season (ao3) - sorryuser peter/adam T, 2k

Summary: an alternate quillock first meeting that leads to a first kiss

for if i'm going down, i guess i'll take you with me (ao3) - gamorasgodslayer (flamebirds)

Summary: One Avatar of Death falls. Another must take his place.

Guardian's Incorporated (ao3) - LordTwigoSama1 thane/adam T, 40k

Summary: After toppling the High Evolutionary, the guardians of the galaxy aim to reform OrgoCorp.

However, they uncover "Counters"—clones of dangerous entities, including Thane, a clone of Thanos. Fearing these creations, the galaxy demands their elimination.

Thane and other Counters flee, igniting a galaxy-wide pursuit. Adam Warlock's new guardian team tries to reconcile the escalating conflict, navigating a universe on the verge of disintegration.

He’s What You Want (I’m What You Need) (ao3) - TRIPTRIP peter/adam M, 2k

Summary: Adam catches Peter masturbating, turns out Adam is a little bit of a slut. Who knew.

If thats what it takes (ao3) - Gay_Smuts peter/adam E, 2k

Summary: In a quest to take rocket for the High Evolutionary, Adam Warlock runs into Star-lord, where he questions him about human pleasure.

Peter agrees to give Adam a blowjob in exchange for rockets life.

i pray the lord my soul to keep (ao3) - quillsmora gamora/peter T, 6k

Summary: She had loved him before, even if she hadn’t known it then; maybe she was always supposed to love him. After all, given what they’d been through these past few weeks the concept of soulmates isn’t quite as ridiculous as Gamora once thought.

or: adam warlock offers gamora a solution, peter quill offers her a bed. she accepts both.

lightning bolt in daytime (ao3) - dreamingphoenix thanos/adam G, 805

Summary: Thanos receives a familiar visitor.

make for me a soft universe (ao3) - gamorasgodslayer (flamebirds) gamora/adam G, 324

Summary: The tip of her boot knocks against the present under the tree and she eyes it with suspicion.

"What", Gamora grunts, "is that supposed to be?"

"I believe the locals call it a 'gift'."

She Knows (ao3) - JustSomeFanGirling peter/adam N/R, 956

Summary: Mantis accidentally finds out about Adam’s super secret crush on her brother, Peter.

the dog days are over (ao3) - myworldoffanfiction T, 17k (WIP)

Summary: The Warlock was designed to be strong. The High Evolutionary wanted a warrior to find him his creation. Adam’s purpose was to defend the Sovereign, and abide The High Evolutionary.

But his mother was killed, and his Sire was defeated. Adam finds himself left with the Guardians of The Galaxy, and unsure what to do with himself next (He can’t quite stop his tears from shedding though, anytime he’s alone)

you believe me like a god, i'll destroy you like i am (ao3) - owlybones gamora/adam G, 1k

Summary: It is not the first time Adam questions the rightfulness of the universe. But now, as he watches her move through the masses in all her deadly beauty, he is confident the universe has never been as wrong as it is now, as he cannot fathom a universe in which he is worshipped rather than her.

[syneilesis]

Unfinished Synfic #1

You Only Live Twice

Haikyuu!! | Miya Atsumu x F!Reader, secret agent, crack, action rom-com

The room is strewn with unconscious men, and you turn to Atsumu and say, with utmost seriousness, “Then does that mean you’re the Bond girl?”

Atsumu tries his best not to pull his hair out and scream.

Notes: In which you are like James Bond and Atsumu is like the Bond Girl. I have, like, an outline of this from start to finish. All that's truly left is to write it. But I'm unable to, for some reason. I still look at my notes from time to time and think to myself, One day. But that day is still not today. In some scenes Atsumu calls reader-chan 'James Bond'; he has a lot of nicknames for reader-chan.

Unbeta'd, understandably. I love to bully pathetic!Atsumu /sorrynotsorry.

“What the fuck,” Atsumu says.

It's like one of those action movies that unfold in tense slow motion, captured in brilliant 4k resolution: as the elevator doors slide open, Atsumu witnesses outside two people locked in a struggle—one middle-aged man and the other a woman around his age. The man is grappling the woman, his arm pressing down her throat, but the woman does some insane moves that have them reversing their position. Then she grabs the man’s head and slams it down the floor. The man ceases moving after that.

It’s silent for a few seconds until the woman looks up to find that the elevator is open, and Atsumu is watching the entire thing with growing horror in his gut. The woman blinks, her hand still on the man’s head.

“What. The. Fuck.”

“Don’t worry,” you reassure him, absurdly polite. “He’s not dead.”

It’s in that moment that Atsumu discovers how high-pitched his scream can get.

+

“Are you all right?” you ask. Politely.

“Yer gonna kill me,” Atsumu says, slowly backing up the elevator wall.

His muscles ache and he desperately longs for a warm bath, and while Atsumu really does think that today is such an unlucky day, it’s not really the type of unlucky day where one encounters a well-dressed shady person trying to kill another well-dressed shady person. His accepted definition of an unlucky day involves stubbing his toe or something, getting late in his training and getting scolded for it.

Not this thing. Certainly not this.

You look at him funny. “What gave you that idea?”

Atsumu pointedly looks at the (dead?!) man and then at you, as if that is answer enough.

“I told you he’s not dead. Just knocked out.” You rise from your position, glancing around as if looking for something, and then nodding, coming to a decision. You step over the body (!!!!) and take another in Atsumu’s direction, giving him a pleasant smile.

All the nerves in Atsumu’s body flare up like it’s Defcon 1. It doesn’t help that he’s inside a claustrophobic box and he has nowhere to escape. Briefly he thinks of fighting back. He’s muscular, and experienced, if he counted all those times he and Osamu scuffled over the things ranging from the serious to the absurd—he can overpower this chick if he played his cards right. But his eyes flit upon the sprawled (dead???!!!!!) body again and then he’s having second thoughts.

As though reading his mind, you say, in the gentlest tone possible, “Don’t panic. Let’s just talk, okay?”

Oh, yes, he’s going to die, all right.

Unbidden, Atsumu blurts, “I’m gonna die. Shit.”

“No, you’re not.” Another step towards him. “I only want to talk.”

“Yer gonna do t’me what ya did t’that man.”

He watches you pause and take a deep breath, like you’re bracing for something. Like attacking him, probably. Atsumu tenses, squeezes his eyes shut, and there it is—a hand landing on his shoulder. But instead of a forcible impact he only feels a light touch.

“I only ask you not to tell this to anybody.”

He opens his eyes, and a polite, pleading stare meets him. Strange, he thinks. His head should be banging against the metal wall right now.

“Ya gonna silence me if I did? Ya not gonna kill me right now?”

An uncomfortable look flits through your expression.

A long time must have passed between you, because the elevator pings and the doors slide shut. But you shoot out a hand to stop them without even looking behind, lightning-quick, which reminds Atsumu all over again how good you are at fighting (and possibly killing). The doors slide open again, and you finally exit to lift the body and hoist it over your shoulder with a grunt.

He’s getting out of this unscathed, Atsumu realizes, as you start to display a lack of interest in offing him like those hitmen in films. Which makes him call out, “Who are you?”

You pause in adjusting the man’s weight from your grip, transfer your gaze to Atsumu, and blink.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you.”

“Is that one of those things that you can’t tell or else you’ll have to kill me?”

You smile, troubled.

[emeren]

such a tease - eren jaeger

👗 anon request <3

pairing: eren jaeger x fem!reader 

word count: 4k

content warnings: 18+, smut, choking, degradation, exhibitionism, unprotected sex, jealousy, possessiveness 

notes: this was an anonymous request and lemme just say, i was SO excited to write this one. i’m unfortunately not super happy with how it turned out, but i’ve been swamped bc school just started back up!

SUMMARY: reader decides to tease eren by wearing a skirt without any underwear for the day, causing her very jealous boyfriend to act out in an unexpected way. 

one look in the mirror was all it took for you to quell your nerves. your fingers ran over the expanse of the pleated skirt, smoothing out any wrinkles and creases. this was bold, even for you, but you knew exactly what you were doing. 

eren had never been particularly shy about his protective nature; he was always making sure people understood you were his girlfriend, wrapping his arm around your waist or glaring at men who stared a little too long. 

you loved that about him, but you loved pushing his buttons even more. he had a bad habit of being an argumentative, hot headed little shit, and teasing him like this was asking for some rough, animalistic gesture. that was exactly what you wanted. 

you’d never neglected to wear underwear in a skirt this short, the fabric stopping just below your ass. you knew you’d have to be careful or you would end up flashing jean or armin, and that would drive eren up a wall. 

you hoped eren wouldn’t notice until you were all out; meaning there would be nothing he could do about it. teasing him was one of your favorite things to do. 

you heard your phone buzz quietly from your bed, picking up the small device and seeing eren’s name at the top. 

lil shit <3: get ur ass out here we’ve been waiting forever 

the eye roll that naturally came to you was strong, giving yourself one final once over in the mirror before heading out of your apartment. you couldn’t help the nervous smile that teased at your lips once you left the building, connie’s beat up minivan sitting at the curb. riding in his car was never the first choice; it was musty and had suspicious stains on the carpeting, but it was the only one that fit all of your friends. 

connie laid on the horn as soon as he saw you, the rest of your friends yelling from inside the vehicle as you approached. you could see jean in the passenger seat, jogging up to the rear door with a knot of nervousness in your stomach. you placed one hand on your thigh to keep the skirt from riding up as you slid the van door open. 

sasha and mikasa were stuffed in the small backseat, armin and eren sitting in the middle row. it was comical to see eren in the spot generally reserved for the smallest passenger, but you had no doubt that he wanted to sit in the middle because of you. he was petty like that - a trait that made teasing him all the more fun. 

“hey guys,” you smiled, sliding into the van as your friends all greeted you at once. your eyes were on connie, who was craning his neck to give you a rather incredulous look. 

you felt eren stiffen as you sat down, reaching for the seatbelt. connie decided to speak up before you had a chance to question it. “dude, come ooooon. what the hell took you so long?” 

“sorry, i was distracted and my phone was on my bed,” you explained, connie resolutely rolling his eyes in response. 

“let’s go already, i’m starving!” sasha wailed from the back, shaking your seat in front of her. you giggled at her desperation, finally turning to your boyfriend as connie sped away from the curb. 

you were surprised to see that eren was already staring at you, a weird glint in his eyes. you gave him a smile, trying to act innocent. “hi.” 

he didn’t say anything, just looked forward and placed his large hand on your bare thigh. it wasn’t that it was unusual for him to do so in front of your friends, in fact it was normal. you just weren’t used to him placing it so high; so high that the tip of his pinky dipped beneath the fabric of your skirt and threatened to inch towards the apex of your leg. 

had he already noticed?

“took you awhile to get ready,” eren commented, his words only being heard by you as everyone else in the car chatted about going bowling. you glanced back up at him, eyes scanning his face. he was wearing a black t-shirt and sweats, the customary ‘i don’t care about anything’ outfit he always seemed to adorn. the cold metal of the ring on his middle finger did little to ease your nerves. 

“yeah, i was just thinking about some stuff and got distracted,” you lied, smiling up at him. he was looking at you from the side of his eyes, jaw clenched. 

“really?” he breathed, his hand shifting ever so slightly up your leg. his smallest finger teased at the crease of your thigh, head leaning down to whisper in your ear. “were you thinking about some stuff or were you forgetting about some stuff?”

your breath hitched, face growing hot as you struggled for something to say. connie, once again, beat you to the punch. “oi! lovebirds! no canoodling in my back seat!”

“we weren’t canoodling,” eren sneered, pulling away and moving his hand to just above your knee. he squeezed the skin generously, your slight embarrassment about eren’s public displays of affection quickly wearing off. “i was just saying, it looks like she forgot a coat.” 

jean snorted from the front seat. “yeah and because you’re a dumbass who doesn’t wear one either, i’m gonna have to give her mine later.” 

jean’s lighthearted words lit a devious lightbulb in your mind, the gears of your plan now in full swing. you leaned forwards, wrapping your arms around the back of the chair and consequently jean’s broad chest. you leaned your head to the side, a grin on your face.

“you really are too sweet to me, jean-jean!” you cooed, the feeling of eren’s grip tightening on your thigh an indication of just how well this was working in your favor. jean chuckled at the familiar nickname, hand coming up to pat your arms wrapped around him. 

you let go and slid back into your spot, eren’s face clearly peeved at your display of affection. for once, you had the upper hand. and you were going to milk it all the way. 

the local bowling alley was a small, dank building that prided itself on its catering towards college students without much else to do. as connie skidded to a stop in his self-designated parking spot, the legacy of the building seemed to live up to its expectations. 

eren hadn’t said anything else on the ride over, just kept his hand protectively (and respectfully) placed on your lower thigh. you were much more careful sliding out of the car this time, hand blatantly coming down to cover your ass. you knew that eren was watching you, as he was quick to follow you from the vehicle and stand behind your brazen figure. 

he wrapped his arms lazily around your waist, resting his chin on the top of your head as you waited for your friends to pile out of the car. you’d grown accustomed to his touchy nature, suddenly deciding to press your ass against his groin. the gesture was small, but you could feel eren’s dick harden within his pants. 

“careful!” he hissed, hopping back in an attempt to shake away his sudden erection. you snickered to yourself, giving him a glance over your shoulder as you followed your friends into the building. 

the interior was the same as it’d always been; drowned out with black lights and the smell of wax. it was the kind of atmosphere that reminded you of your earliest days of childhood; attending large birthday parties and eating way too much cheaply made cake. 

the attendant was a short man named george, one who’d acknowledged connie’s arrival with annoyance. 

“head to our usual lane guys,” connie pointed, a grin on his features. you all made your way towards lane ten, eren in a sulking tow behind you.

as everyone began to sit down, jean motioned for you to sit next to him. “each side will be opposing teams. we’ve gotta be on the same team, per usual.” he called innocently. 

you and jean had dominated your friend group bowling tournaments each time before, and you figured this would be no different. you started towards him, surprised when you felt eren’s hand wrap around your wrist. 

“she’s going to be on my team this time, if you don’t mind,” eren stated in a quipped tone, something that would normally go undetected by jean due to their frenemy behavior. you knew that eren’s words were coming from a place of jealousy, sincerely trying to hide your sadistic grin.

jean scoffed, shaking his head. “yeah, right, jaeger. she’s going to be on connie and i’s team, like always.” 

you nodded your head in agreement, spinning to face your boyfriend. your skirt lifted ever so slightly at the action, eren’s teal eyes snapping to the garment with an annoyed perseverance. “don’t worry, i’ll take it easy on you.” 

he knew what you were doing. he knew that the thought of a part of you - a part specifically reserved for him - nearly on display for anyone who cared enough to pay attention, was enough to fill him with a primal sense of possessiveness. 

eren had never been particularly good at hiding his emotions. in fact, he’d been known to let them consume him in an embarrassingly juvenile way. as you sat down next to jean, your bare leg bumping his, eren couldn’t suppress the annoyance that washed over him. he folded his arms, the thought of your tight little- 

“eren?” armin called out, eren snapping from his lewd thought process. you took notice, leaning down to tie your bowling shoes. “did you hear me? i said here’s your shoes.” 

you listened to eren clear his throat and apologize, deciding to chat with jean and connie as everyone got ready to play. 

the final straw in your plan hadn’t even happened on purpose. it’d come to you itself, as if the powers that be were purposefully trying to get you rammed into oblivion. it came after the first few rounds of bowling, after a few near misses with jean regarding the skirt, each one sinking eren further into his foul mood. it came in the form of a lanky, awkward looking employee. 

he couldn’t have been any older than eighteen, carrying sasha’s order of nacho fries and your coca cola. he’d meant his comment to be nice as you got up to grab your drink. he hadn’t meant to say something that would send your childish boyfriend over the edge. 

“oh, uh, i like your skirt,” he’d commented awkwardly, scratching at the back of his neck. you smiled politely in response, eyes flitting over to eren. and if looks could kill, that awkward teenage boy would’ve been dead on sight. 

eren’s eyebrows were furrowed, jaw clenched tightly. you felt your cheeks heat as he made eye contact with the boy, standing from his seat. eren was tall, looming behind you as he protectively wrapped himself around your figure. 

“thanks,” he said flatly, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. you held your breath at the feeling of eren deeply exhaling against the sensitive skin, large hands squeezing your hips. the boy quickly looked at the ground, nodding before deciding to leave. eren waited until he was gone to remove himself from you, an annoyed twitch in his eye. “fucking little pervert.” 

you rolled your eyes, taking a generous swig from your coke. “he was just being nice.” 

eren glared at you, watching as you started back towards your friends. “nice my ass. i know you’re doing this just to rile me up.” 

“what ever do you mean?” you snickered, purposefully swaying your hips as eren scoffed, plopping back down in his seat. 

you made your way over to your teammates, sitting down and watching armin finish his turn. a couple minutes went by, chugging your coke and getting ready for connie to take his turn. 

“i think i’m gonna go use the bathroom,” you hummed, jean nodding his head in understanding. you waited until connie tossed the bowling ball down the lane, effectively missing all of the pins. you knew you’d drank the soda way too fast, standing from the bench and making your way towards the dimly lit restrooms. 

they were dark inside, with red lighting like something out of a sex club. you pushed the heavy door open, quickly locking it behind you and relieving yourself. 

as you washed your hands in the sink, you thought about just how riled up eren was getting. it was humorous, in more ways than one, but you couldn’t help the slight guilt that crept up the back of your neck about your actions. 

but then again, it wasn’t like eren wasn’t known himself for being a tease. you couldn’t count the number of times where he’d purposefully made you jealous or grabbed your ass in an inopportune moment. so what was the harm in giving him a taste of his own medicine? 

you flattened your hands against the skirt, making sure it was straight before unlocking the door and heaving it open, stepping out into the dark hallway. 

you jumped back at the appearance of a dark figure leaning against the wall, defensively clutching your chest as you stood in front of your slightly amused boyfriend. 

“mind if we chat?” he asked, voice edging an emotion that you knew you couldn’t get into at the moment. your eyes glanced down the end of the hallway, no one in sight. you looked back to him, his pink lips turned upwards, the word ‘gotcha’ written all over his face.

“we should probably head back out there,” you mumbled, trying to ignore the way eren was sizing you up. he just smiled, pushing himself from the wall and taking a step towards you. all of the confidence you’d had in your teasing flew out the window, swallowing at the downfall of your plan.

“don’t worry. i told ‘em my mom was calling,” he purred in response, index finger coming up to gently trace against your jaw. it was his turn to be smug; everyone in your friend group knew that carla’s phone calls were a draw out, lengthy affair. he’d trapped you. 

you held your breath as he stepped forward, slowly tilting your jaw to place a deceivingly sweet kiss to the skin. you felt embarrassed at the way your cunt throbbed at the action, his lips moving to tease the shell of your ear. “but what about me?” 

“what about you?” eren sneered, his voice turning slightly sour, fingers roughly gripping your jaw as he placed a kiss right below your ear. “this is what you were asking for, wasn’t it? now be a good girl and go back into the bathroom for me.” 

you hesitated for a moment, thinking about your friends bowling a mere 100 feet away. eren’s eyes were dark, and the churning you could feel at the pit of your stomach was only making it harder to resist. 

all it took was the thought of eren bending you over the sink, fucking you stupid for you to demurely shift in place, turning to shove the bathroom door open once again. you could feel your neck burning at the thought of how easily you’d just submitted, but you wanted this. more than anything. 

the bathroom was no desirable place; it smelled like generic soap and had discarded pieces of toilet paper on the ground. eren didn’t seem to care, gingerly locking the door behind himself before roughly shoving you forward facing against the cool, knock off linoleum countertop. 

you could feel his hard dick pressing against your ass, your reflections in the dirty mirror lit under the red lightbulbs. he was commanding; aggressively grinding himself into you, your skirt beginning to ride up at the motion.

eren made eye contact with you in the glass, one hand coming forward to tilt your neck to the side. he slowly brought his lips down, peppering the skin till his mouth met the base of your neck. he made sure you were watching as he pressed his tongue flatly against the skin, your breath hitching as you watched him drag the wet muscle up to your jawline. 

“you’re such a tease,” he growled against you, rolling his hips into your ass. you could feel your skirt starting to ride up even more, the cold air uncomfortable. “’s’hot, knowing your pretty little cunt is so exposed.” 

his hand on your jaw slipped around your throat, squeezing lightly in warning as he flipped the edge of your skirt up.

you squeaked as his other hand snaked between your legs, middle two fingers slowly sliding themselves between your already soaking center. he rubbed at your clit, breath hot against your neck as he forced you to watch him through the mirror. 

“look at how pretty you are,” he mumbled as he plunged his two digits inside of you, the sudden sensation causing a gasp to leave your lips. he wasn’t playing nice; roughly digging his fingers all the way to the last knuckle. his other hand squeezed your throat tighter. it hurt, but you couldn’t help the way your cunt clenched around him, chest tightening. “so pretty for me. n’only me.”

he slowed his fingers, pumping in and out of you, the sound of your slick causing him to grow impossibly harder. the feeling of his cock pressed against the flesh of your ass sent another throb to your cunt, eren smirking in response. 

“needy for my cock after teasing all day?” he asked, stuffing his fingers particularly deep, a strangled moan slipping past your lips. you struggled to nod your head against his grasp, the feeling of his fingers sliding in and out of you at such a rhythmic pace causing you to grind your hips against his hand and subsequently his cock. 

he quickly pulled his fingers out from inside of you, hand growing tighter around your throat. “you were such a little whore today. a little whore who needs to learn a thing or two.” 

you could feel tears prickling in your eyes, eren’s hand that was wrapped around your throat coming up to pry your mouth open. you didn’t have a chance to react before he was slipping his sheen coated fingers past your lips, the saccharine flavor hitting your tastebuds. 

“suck for me, pretty girl,” he said lowly, hooded eyes watching you in the mirror. you did as you were told, wrapping your lips around his knuckles and swirling your tongue around his fingers. the taste wasn’t completely pleasant or unpleasant, your mouth releasing with a smack. 

eren pressed down on your tongue with his fingers, saliva filling your mouth before he dragged the two digits down your chin and throat, leaving a shiny trail in their wake. 

he brought his hands down to roughly grope your chest, your own hands pressing against the countertop to keep you steady. eren gripped the hem of your sweater, forcing the fabric up to your midsection. 

“off, take it off.” he demanded, leaning back from you but still keeping his groin pressed against your ass. you were quick to oblige, pulling it over your head. as you did so, you could feel eren palming your ass under the skirt, his dark eyes fixated on the sight of your little skirt riding up on your skin. 

you dropped the sweater to the ground, knowing you’d regret it later, but you couldn’t be bothered. eren didn’t wait, letting go of your ass to unclasp your bra, the undergarment falling into the empty sink. he palmed at your newly exposed breasts, fingers pinching at your hardened nipples. 

he was watching you in the mirror, the sight of you batting your eyelashes with your saliva on your chin only making him more possessive. it sent a twitch to his cock, hands releasing from your chest to shove you against the cold glass. 

“want me to show this pretty cunt who it belongs to, hm?” eren nearly growled, the thought of jean or that employee ever being lucky enough to see you like this pushing him over the edge. 

you tried to nod against the mirror, your breasts pressed against the cold material only aiding the way your center throbbed mercilessly for whatever eren was about to do. his hand came up to fist your hair, the other haphazardly yanking down his sweats and boxers. 

you could see his veiny cock slap against his stomach through the mirror, the tingling in your clit multiplying at the sight of it. eren smirked at your staring. 

“fuck,” he hissed, his gaze drawn to your skirt pooled around your waist, glistening center ready for him to abuse. and he couldn’t wait any longer, rubbing the tip of his cock between your legs. 

a gasp ripped through your throat at just how deeply eren thrusted into you, his hips hitting your ass with a loud smack. it hurt; his brows furrowed as he completely pulled out from you, just to ram himself back inside your tight cunt. 

“what’s wrong?” eren asked breathlessly, pounding into you as hard as he could. you were jerking against the mirror, mouth open as your nose began to tingle; a tell-tale sign of tears. your boyfriend had a sadistic smile on his face, a piece of hair falling from his bun to rest against his forehead. 

“ah- hurts,” you gasped out, the sound of eren pounding into you filling the small space. eren hit you with a particularly deep angled thrust, the tip of his cock brushing your cervix. he tightly fisted your hair, yanking on the follicles as hit other hand gripped your waist for better leverage. it hurt so bad, but so good.  

“look at you, look at you take my cock like this,” he said, voice gravelly as he began to buck his hips faster. you could feel the hot tears rolling down your cheeks, eren’s hand around your waist moving to guide your knee up onto the counter top for better leverage. the pain lessened with his movement, his animalistic thrusts growing pleasurable. “such a good little whore. a little whore who’ll only let me fuck her like this, hm?” 

you moaned out against the glass, eren yanking your hair as an indication for a worded response. “yes-yes. all for you, only you.” 

eren groaned out at your words, his head leaning back as he slammed into you from behind. he was blurry as your breath fogged the glass, but just the image of him bucking his cock deep within your throbbing cunt was enough to have you seeing stars. 

he was filling you up so nice, pressing himself against you as the veins in his arms grew prominent. you could feel him twitching inside of you, your own center clenching around him as he made sure you knew you were his. 

“such a little tease, showing off her pretty little cunt like that,” eren moaned out, shamelessly loud. he buried himself within you, your eyes rolling back in your head as the building anticipation between your legs became too much to bear. 

“eren-” you heaved, him quickening his pace, hitting your cervix over and over. it was enough to make the tears come back, your vision becoming hot white as he bucked his hips once more, stuffing his cock impossibly deep within you. your orgasm didn’t reach its climax until you felt eren’s length twitch, effectively filling you with his cum. 

the high was incredible; the cold mirror a stark contrast to the hot, burning sensation as eren thrusted out his own climax. 

the two of you stood for a moment, mirror foggy and bathroom humid as you recollected your composure. when eren did pull out, he watched his cum slowly drip down your thigh, fingers attempting to stuff it back inside of you. 

“don’t let it drip out,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to your sweaty cheek. you could only roll your eyes, peeling yourself from the glass. he gingerly pulled his pants back up, delivering a swift swat to your ass as he stood straight again. 

“y’know, you should wear skirts more often.” 

“you should get jealous more often.” 

“sounds like a deal to me.” 

<3 <3 <3

[biffhofosho]

Succumbing to Sybaris | Chapter Two

Chapter Word Count: 4k

Cvr | Tr | Pr | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | Ep

Eric and Amber waited in her unmarked Chevy Caprice under the shade of a scraggly birch just around the corner from the coffee shop where chwSUX presumably sat sipping coffee and hoping his 18-year-old date would show any minute. The sun was high and bright through the early afternoon commute haze, and Eric rolled down the window to get some air moving.

The pair had been staking out the entrance to Stumptown Beanery for the better part of an hour, though no one striking had garnered their interest. In truth, nondescript was probably the type of person they should be scouting, some chameleon who could blend in with the crowd, but memories of last night’s chat persisted along with images of a lazy royal with a beautiful mouth, and Amber couldn’t shake the feeling that her suspect was anything but normal.

The possibility of you…

“Hello! Earth to Amber! You never answered me,” Eric said as he tapped on her temple. “What are you doing this weekend?”

“Nothing.”

That should have been painfully obvious.

Eric groaned. “Seriously? Bro, when are you going to start dating again?”

“When there's somebody worth my while.”

“It's been half a year,” her partner reminded, not that she needed the reminder. “Lucas went out on a date last weekend.”

“He did?” Amber hated how high her voice had just picked up, so she returned her full attention to the coffee shop.

“I don’t think you get to be jealous when you broke it off.”

“I’m not jealous, you wad. I’m impressed.”

“Because he’s moving on already?”

“Are you trying to piss me off or is it just a happy accident?” she snapped. “I mean, good for the captain. He needs to get laid. He's too uptight.”

Eric gaped at her. “Oh my God, you are the biggest, fattest pot that ever called a kettle black.”

“Don’t call me fat, Dumbo,” she teased with a flick of his wide ears, but her partner was resolute.

“Have you been with anybody since?”

“Hey, get off my back, would ya? It's not about the quantity but about the quality.”

“So that's a no then,” he translated. “Why don't you come over to my place on Friday? Some of my buddies are coming over for a poker night, and I think you and Mark would—”

“No. No way,” Amber said as her head snapped back. “You are my best friend and the only partner I ever want to have, but I'm not sleeping with a friend of yours.”

Eric narrowed his eyes. “I'm not trying to get you laid. I'm trying to get you a life.”

“I appreciate the effort, but that's not what I'm looking for right now. Right now, I'm looking for a very bad guy I can lock up for eternity.”

“Fine,” Eric pouted, “but don’t get tunnel-vision on this, Bro. Worst thing you can do in police work and life.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks for the tip, Sargent Spoilsport.”

The grind of stop-and-go traffic on Hawthorne, coupled with the zip of bicycles and the howl of train whistles in the distance, created a blue-collar symphony that grounded Amber. She was familiar with grit and grime and toil—it was home for her—but a charming stranger with an air of distinction? That was foreign and threatening.

“I'm telling you, Nam,” she said as she squinted through the coffee shop storefront, “he could be our guy.”

“And you landed on this in the course of one night?” her partner said skeptically.

“No, in minutes! Trust me—”

“How much sleep did you get last night, Bro?”

Amber scowled at his underlying accusation. “Please, we pull all-nighters all the time. Nature of the job, right?”

Eric’s lips pressed together in a firm line. “You didn't sleep at all, did you?”

“I did not.”

“And how long did you spend chatting?”

“With him or in general?”

Eric shook his head. “Jesus, Amber, with him.”

“Almost four hours,” she replied from behind the shelter of her hand.

Her partner gaped at her from the passenger seat. “Four hours? Was this a fishing expedition or a date?”

“We’ve had interrogations that went on longer,” she balked, carefully avoiding Eric’s glare. “Besides, this isn’t about me. This is about a person who could be the key to finding eight women, so game faces, Nam.”

“I see I’m about to be an accessory to this foolishness.”

“I tried to leave you at the station, you know,” Amber reminded as she checked the time.

It was a couple minutes after five, right when chwSUX might expect an 18-year-old girl to show up. Still no one had garnered either detective’s attention, so either Amber had been mistaken this whole time or her suspect had gotten there even earlier than they had.

With a deep breath, she straightened her jacket and double-checked her badge and weapon.

Eric scowled. “Yeah, except I’d know that I left you confronting a potential serial killer without backup. I can’t leave.”

With a punch to his shoulder, Amber said, “You are literally the best partner ever, Eric. Thank you, thank you!”

He sighed and pointed to an empty table in the storefront window. “I’ll be in that seat. If you need me, just use the signal.”

He held up one finger and crooked it in a “come here” motion, and Amber nodded. “Wish me luck. See you in five.”

With that, she exited the car and walked into the coffee shop despite the hammering in her chest. Her fingers tingled and sweat beaded under her collar, but she flicked away her nervous energy with a swish of her ponytail.

Inside, the exposed rafters and concrete floors reminded Amber of visiting her father at the trainyard when she was a kid, though things in here were polished and bright without heavy smears of grease. Upcycled tables and stools dotted the room while a couple of armchairs stole the prime real estate behind the window with a view of a bar and an auto shop. Underneath the aroma of freshly ground beans lingered the tangy reminder of industrial grunge.

The clientele was equally as offbeat: long-haired cyclists with no time for manners, heavily tattooed girls with disdain etched permanently on their faces, and everyone else in flannel. chwSUX could have been anyone, but the detective zeroed in on him at once. He was impossible to miss.

He was as she had always imagined: beautiful and too perfect for reality, and nothing was more dangerous.

Amber had selected this coffee joint as much for the busy crowd as its edge. She had hoped it would put the man’s elegant persona on guard, but despite his expensive suit and equally expensive long haircut, her opponent seemed perfectly relaxed. He sat cross-legged at the table in the darkest corner of the shop with his mug at his lips and his other hand in his lap.

Dark eyes lashed to her in seconds. Even from across the room, they were the most intense Amber had ever seen, and she knew something about unusual eyes. Framed by errant strands of raven hair and anchored by inscrutable eyebrows, they glowed despite their ebony depths.

A man like this would never have escaped her notice over her hour and a half stakeout. How long had he been here? It could have been forever, judging by his cool demeanor, but he didn’t have so much as a newspaper to entertain him.

Amber had no choice but to forgo the pretense of coffee and head to his two-person table tucked in the back. She rested her hand on the back of the chair opposite the lean stranger and raised an eyebrow. “You must be ‘Chuck Woolery SUX’?”

“Chae Hyungwon actually,” he clarified as he presented a flawless white hand with some of the longest fingers she had ever seen. She did not take it, and he dropped it back to his lap. “Please call me Hyungwon.”

Amber regretted coming over the moment his cup dropped from his mouth. As intense as his eyes were, nothing could have prepared her for a mouth like Chae Hyungwon’s. It was impossible to avoid. There was a natural pinkness to it that suggested innocence but promised indecency. The bottom lip was flushed in a permanent pout with a top lip so full that it overhung. Nestled in the belly of that bow was a little fleck of a gingerbread beauty mark, like a crumb waiting to be licked clean. Despite every ounce of control she could muster, Amber wondered what those lips would look like swollen from kissing.

Hyungwon cleared his throat, and instead of drawing her gaze upward, she watched the flex of muscles in his elegant neck. Eventually though, her eyes had no choice but to follow the sound of his gravelly voice back to his mouth.

“I’m afraid I’m at a loss,” said the handsome stranger. “You seem to know me, and yet I don’t know you.”

Grounded at last, she pulled out the opposing chair and sat down, placing her badge on the table for his perusal. “Detective Amber Spiros of the Portland PD.”

One corner of Hyungwon’s mouth twitched, perhaps at first in surprise and then more firmly in amusement. “A detective? You’re not quite what I expected, Honey. I’ve seen a lot of police in my day, but never one like you.”

“Am I a little too old for you?”

Those full lips pulled into an inviting smile. “Not at all. A little too beautiful.”

It was a sin the way they pursed to form that last word.

Amber ground her teeth and stowed her badge, patting the butt of her gun for reassurance. With a more confident voice this time, she said, “I've been looking for you for a while, Mr. Chae.”

“Have you? Lucky me.” There was no hint of sarcasm in his husky tone. “Please, Detective, won’t you join me?”

He had a cool affect to his voice that split the difference between disinterest and amusement and was underscored by the way his index finger stroked the handle of his mug. One eyebrow raised, he asked, “Can I buy you a coffee?”

“No, thank you. I’m actually here to ask you a few questions.”

“By all means.”

Hyungwon leaned back against the wall so Amber had no choice but to appreciate his lithe length. He betrayed no anxiety at her arrival nor any disappointment. In some ways, it seemed as though everything was going better than the man could have expected. It ruffled Amber’s feathers. She felt no triumph at her reveal nor enjoyed any presumption of control.

“What do you do for a living, Mr. Chae?”

“I own a high-end travel agency downtown.”

She nodded and jotted it down in her notepad. “What makes it high-end?”

“We specialize in top-tier locales at top-tier prices, and our client list is exclusive.”

Amber didn't mistake his meaning. This man knew wealthy and powerful people in the city who no doubt trusted him. She wrote that down as a warning to herself and, more carefully, asked, “How did you get into that line of work?”

“Over the years, I've been all over the world, just as I told you last night. Who better than someone like me to plan your trip?”

The reference to their chat last night rattled Amber more than she cared to admit. It was a reminder of a connection he thought they had—and maybe she even worried they had—but she reminded herself that she could use that to her advantage. Her voice a little softer and friendlier now, she said, “Are you from Portland?”

“No, I'm originally from Korea, but it's been ages since I've been back there. Portland is my home.” Hyungwon forked a hand through his ebony bangs, and they tousled so prettily along his eyes that it was unfair. Someone this handsome couldn’t possibly be a monster, could he?

Suddenly, he leaned across the table, his forearms bracing him as he pushed his face as close to hers as he could. Amber’s hand slipped immediately to her holster, but he stopped, his dramatic lips parted in the most sensuous O she had ever seen.

“Forgive me, but I’ve never seen eyes like yours, Detective.”

Her father had once called her “small-town beautiful”—not as an insult but as a compliment. Amber had a face too sweet and approachable, with a high forehead and soft features complemented by milk chocolate hair threaded with walnut. It was a good face for police work. People trusted her easily and let her in, victims and suspects alike.

But her eyes had always been the wrench in her work. Her left eye was blue, favoring more silver than ocean—noticeable, sure, but not arresting—but her right eye was singular. Divided in half on a diagonal, the top was the same silvery blue, but the bottom was a kaleidoscope of caramel, honey, and coffee. It had the troublesome tendency to freak people out, or worse, make her a spectacle. In grade school, her eyes had made her an outcast, and in high school, they made her a sideshow, but by then, Amber had learned how to mask them. Now, she spent most of her career between sunglasses and shadows, and most people never said a word.

Nothing worked against this man.

Her opponent studied her—too keenly, she thought. He seemed to be memorizing and mapping her, and it was as unnerving as it was challenging. Amber was used to people staring, but not like this.

“I didn’t come over here to talk about myself, Mr. Chae,” she clarified. “I came here to talk about you.”

For a moment, he seemed surprised, but he sat back and re-crossed his legs. “Whatever you need, Detective Spiros.”

His gaze returned to hers, still questing but at least restrained now.

“Have you been following the news recently?” she probed.

“I have.”

“Then I assume you’ve heard about the eight women who’ve been reported missing over the last couple months?”

Hyungwon raised an eyebrow, the tiniest chink in his armored façade. “Is that why you’re here? You think I have something to do with it?”

Amber switched to her most reliable smile and tilt of her head, a duo that never failed to soften up her subjects. “I’m simply canvasing people who may have crossed paths with any of the missing women. They’re young and savvy, and they’ve probably used the internet, so we’re exploring the possibility that they may have connected with someone from the area on the worldwide web.”

Hyungwon said nothing, but the corner of those full lips twitched.

The detective put her notebook down and steadied her concentration on his face. “So, why does a successful, good-looking guy like you need to meet girls online?”

Another twitch of his mouth, this time the vaguest flash of disdain. “It’s not girls I’m looking for.”

“Honeymoon was 18. Sounds like a girl to me.”

“Meeting women isn't a problem. Meeting women who fit my specific needs is.”

There was that tickle at the base of her neck, the one that told her she was on to something. “You have specific needs?”

“Don’t we all? Mine are probably more exacting than most,” he admitted, “but chat rooms are like digital roulette wheels. You put down enough bets, you may hit big.”

“And you thought Honeymoon would be your big score? Sorry to disappoint, but you went bust. It was all a script.”

Hyungwon raised an eyebrow. “Interesting, and yet you're almost exactly as I pictured you, minus the patchwork eyes and the badge. I think you gave away more of yourself than you intended. Am I how you pictured me, Honey?”

He definitely wasn't a 50-year-old janitor with a boil. He was tall and slender with a swivel to his head that suggested nobility or the pretense of it. He probably did wear suits in his study while he sipped expensive liquors; she bet he tasted like them. He had the clearest alabaster skin Amber had ever seen, and his lips were exactly as she had imagined, save for the added torture of that tasty freckle.

She shook her head, but he smirked as though he knew it was a lie. To reassert herself, she said, “Please call me Detective Spiros, and I will call you Mr. Chae. That way there’s no more confusion about who we are.”

“As you wish, Detective Spiros.”

It was almost worse hearing her name. She fought the urge to shiver.

“Appearances can be distracting, can’t they?” he continued. “It’s much easier to converse in the anonymity of cyberspace, where nothing matters but what you put of yourself out there.”

Hyungwon tilted his head to let his bangs drape across his face so he had to push them back with another cruel rake of his fingers. It was as if he did every little thing with the sole purpose of throwing Amber off her game.

Refusing to cow before her suspect, the detective flipped to another page in her notebook and said, “How many women would you say you’ve met in real life from these chat rooms, Mr. Chae?”

“You would be the first.”

She almost believed him. “The first one to show up?”

“The first one I ever asked.”

Hyungwon held her gaze as her mind stumbled. His mouth had a way of penning every word with sincerity.

“So if it's not easy sex you're after, what are you looking for?”

“The right one,” he replied as though it was a stupid question.

Amber scoffed. “How can you possibly get all that from a favorite color and book?”

“You tell me, Detective. Isn't that the exact thing you were doing last night?”

Silence settled between them before the whir of a grinder filled the void and startled her. Hyungwon smirked and she growled, though the sound was gobbled up in the coffee cacophony.

“If you’re looking for the right one,” Amber said sharply, “what do you do with the wrong ones?”

“The same thing I suspect you did—move on to greener pastures.”

“And how many right ones have there been, Mr. Chae?”

“There is only one right one,” Hyungwon replied with a smug smile that was as evasive as it was provoking.

Amber could feel in her gut that she was finally on the right track, and, despite the alarm bells, she asked, “What does the right one look like?”

She justified the question as a probe to feel out which of the girls he might still be keeping while, two tables down, the keen-eared Eric shook his head almost imperceptibly. Amber hated when her partner disagreed with her—it always meant she was crossing into dangerous territory, and Eric’s instincts were never wrong about that.

For his part, Hyungwon seemed to relish the question. He leaned back into his seat, his thin legs propped out in front of him while one arm rested atop them as though he sat on a throne, not a coffee house booth.

“It’s not about looks,” he corrected. “It’s about the intensity of our connection. We’re pulled to each other, and that pull’s inescapable. We’ll always come back to each other because it’s the only thing that feels right.”

His dark eyes slipped from hers to her mouth.

We. Dangerous territory indeed.

“Moving on then...” Amber hated how her voice trembled, and she tightened her grip around her pencil until her nails bit into the meat of her palm. “What do you do with your free time besides seducing women online?”

“Did I seduce you, Detective?” he said with a light smirk. She glowered at him and he relented. “I still travel, but when I’m home, I don’t leave the manor much.”

“The manor? Where’s that?”

“In Forest Park. I live there with five of my brothers.”

“You have five brothers? No sisters?”

“Six brothers and no parents,” Hyungwon clarified.

“I'm sorry about that.”

“Don't be,” he said as he took a languid sip and blotted his damp lips together. “It's been ages.”

Amber’s throat was suddenly very dry, and she wished she’d gotten herself a drink after all. She glanced back down at her notes and tapped her next question with her pencil. “How long have you lived in Portland then?”

“Oh, we’ve had family here since the 1800s.”

“You're kidding. That would make you Portland royalty.”

Hyungwon said nothing but stole another drink.

The man was, for all intents and purposes, the same person she’d met online. His answers were still short and evasive, and he volunteered nothing more than what was asked of him, all while she fought for some level of control in the conversation.

“You're awfully quiet, Mr. Chae. I guess the badge has that effect on those with something they don’t want to share.”

“You mistake me, Detective. I prefer silence. I'm a much better listener.”

Amber frowned. “And yet you wouldn't stop with your own interrogation last night.”

“I wanted to know more about you, and you weren't eager to share it either.” Hyungwon leaned across the table again, this time with his chin cradled in the palm of one hand. “Tell me, Detective Spiros, since I now know this was a sting, most of your answers were nonsense, right?”

“They were.”

“And did you already have an answer for the favorite color?”

Something about the question made her itch just as it had last night, so her answer was carefully measured. “I didn’t.”

Hyungwon smiled and leaned back in his seat. “I figured as much. That was when I knew you were special.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s true. It was a color, not the keys to Fort Knox,” Amber asserted, but he shook his head.

“I told you you were different. I suppose I see why now.” He nudged his chin toward her eyes as though that explained anything.

“Let's keep the conversation on you, Mr. Chae.”

With a cool flick of his wrist, he said, “I'm not sure why you're here, Detective. It's not a crime to be on the internet, and you said you were of age anyway, not that I implied anything of a sexual nature.”

Amber mirrored his posture, draping one arm over the back of her chair and slouching against the seat. “Because I got a feeling from you during our chat, and it's been confirmed in person. You're keeping some pretty big secrets, and I think you know something about what happened to those women.”

“If I had chatted with any of them, I wouldn’t have any way of knowing. As you know, we don’t exchange names, and besides, I never met up with anyone else. All this boring interrogation aside, I have always enjoyed our conversation, even this one, and I wouldn’t mind continuing it.”

Amber dropped her voice an octave. “Okay, Mr. Chae, why don't you follow me back to my place?”

“Really?”

Her skin bristled, charged by the electricity in his voice. Her thighs tightened unexpectedly.

“Right now, if you're game,” she managed. Hyungwon nodded once, and the detective echoed it. With a hook of a grin, she added, “Great. The station's just across the river.”

Hyungwon’s sigh came out with the force of a punch.

Amber offered her tried-and-true SBS—her Suspect-Busting Smile, as Eric always called it. It was warm but innocent, with a flash of teeth, a gentle crease at her eyes, and, the nail in the coffin, a subtle head tilt that said the suspect was really just doing her a favor. In the end, Hyungwon was no different than anyone else—he couldn’t help but return it with a small smile of his own.

This was good. Amber needed him relaxed as she shifted her offense to her home turf. The man was too much of a wild card here. It felt like he was controlling the narrative despite the fact that he should have been the one totally out of his element.

She leaned forward onto her elbows just as he had and kept that same soft voice. “I promise to make it quick and informal. Would you mind following us?”

Hyungwon’s smile vanished. “Us?”

“My partner and I,” Amber clarified with a nod toward Eric. The tall man’s attention drifted resentfully over and almost immediately back to her, as though her partner was worth no notice.

“Oh, you did bring a friend. Looks like we were both true to our words. Very well, Detective Spiros. Lead the way.”

[quillandink333]

Scarlet Carnations ~ Part VII

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 4k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

It took me far too long to recover from the discovery I’d made deep beneath the foundation of the Sheikah estate. Who knew how many more had been forced to suffer at the hands of the Yiga over the course of that period? It was high time to end this era of tyranny and grief, and to have anyone but myself take the lead was not an option. Whatever truth was waiting for me at the end of all this, so be it. I had to see it with my own two eyes. I had to see her.

To help set my plan into motion, the only person I had left to turn to was Prosecutor Sigatur, and though she had once held my mother in the utmost respect, she had benevolently volunteered to present my findings to the courts in my stead. As confident as I was in my argument and as desperately as I desired to be there for Link, I couldn’t quite stomach the thought of taking the stand and exposing myself to the discrimination of the public eye again.

And so, as the proceedings went on for the following few days, I spent my time back at the apartment, making myself useful by poring through my mountainous collection of data on the eighteen-year-old incident that I’d amassed over the years and had been keeping in my office until now. Now that I had been let go, my flat was practically overflowing with newspaper clippings, copies of investigation reports, and whatever else not. Every time I would open the door upon arriving home, I’d get hit in the face with the musty stench of dust and old magazines that I had nowhere to properly put away.

Though my collection was indeed vast, it was far more so in physical volume than in information. Most of the documents in it were no more than different accounts of the same basic facts. All the useful info I could glean was that the fire at City Hall had taken the lives of most, if not all, administrative officials who had been there working at the time, and those members of council who may or may not have been killed had never been seen nor heard from again, their bodies left for ash. And according to my sources, Mayor Hyrule had been amongst them.

There was a certain line in her letter to Auntie Impa that had tipped me off to her current whereabouts. “...I have been keeping watch over you from the ashes of the afterlife...” The imagery laced so intricately into those words had struck a nerve. There was only one place in this town that both would’ve been of any significance to her and was covered in ash: the crumbling ruins where the former City Hall had once stood.

Having reached the point of culmination in my plotting, I invited the newly reinstated Constable Fyori over for tea. The two of us meeting in my office would have been preferable, but we’d just have to make do with this for the time being.

“If my hypothesis is correct, then I am about to enter the belly of the beast,” I deliberated. Seated on my settee and restlessly tapping the floor with his heel, Link listened with both eyes and ears as I paced about the room. “Ideally, I’d have some sort of backup at my disposal. Maybe I could phone Urbosa and ask her to lend me a hand, just once more...”

“If I may,” he butted in, “why are you speaking as though you’ll be on your own?”

I hadn’t been nearly as prepared as I probably should have been for such a question. “Well...” I stammered, forcing the shame of admitting that I was too afraid to confront my own mother alone down my throat, “would you happen to know someone who’d be willing to accompany me?”

His mouth gaped at my answer. Then jutting his neck out and laying his palms across his chest, he stood up. “Me!”

I took a step back. “Link, what are you talking about?” If something happened to him as a result of this, which was more likely to occur than not, then his last moments would surely be filled with nothing but fear and regret. Not to mention, I would never forgive myself. “I really shouldn’t have to remind you. She’s the reason your family—”

“I know,” he snapped. His eyes were burning a hole straight through me. It was almost frightening. “Believe me, I’m not about to go forgetting it again any time soon.”

“Then why...?” I half-whispered in the most deathly serious tone I could muster.

“Because I’m tired of hiding.”

A harsh breeze rattled the blinds against the window frame. It took me by surprise, but he wasn’t phased by it in the least.

“I’m tired of turning a blind eye and acting like none of the horrible things she’s done ever happened.” I tried to think of a snappy rebuttal, but none came to mind. He’d said these words as though they’d been burning on the tip of his tongue for an untold number of days. He’d had a lot of time to reflect between his false conviction and his acquittal, so it seemed. He and I were of the same mind, of course, but... “And, because...” He stopped himself. Some of the fire in his gaze had gone out in smoke. I got my hopes up when he broke eye contact for a moment or two, and I could all but sense the resolve in him dying, just a little bit.

But then, emitting a slight sound of frustration, he stepped closer. His hands gripped my shoulders, and he pulled me in with the force of a hurricane.

When his lips made impact with mine, my eyes flew open.

He kissed me with what could only be described as reckless abandon. His mouth scraped across my own, and I could feel every ounce of his aggravation in the way his fingertips bit down on my skin alone. It was rough and clumsy and pressed, as if this were sincerely the last and only chance he would ever have.

All of a sudden, we were seventeen again, and standing in the middle of our secondary school’s greenhouse. The scent of dust was replaced with that of lush flora on all sides of us, and sunlight shining in from above caressed the top of my head with its warmth. This was the very scene that I’d used to daydream about time and time again, wasting more hours of each day than I’d have liked to admit at the time.

Now his fingers clung to the corners of my face like I was made of paper, his lips brushing mine almost imperceptibly as his bated breath fanned out against them. When my eyes opened and met with his, his complexion had turned a delicate rouge, and his faultless aquamarines had been clouded over by doubt. In that moment, all I could think to do was to make that doubt vanish. So I ignored the distant sense of guilt that yet lingered and seized the navy blue tie around his neck. Our forms collided, and a sigh like trees swaying at the mercy of a light breeze in summer grazed my cheek.

With Ms. Sigatur’s aid, the constabulary had been more than willing to cooperate and construct a perimeter of officers around the old City Hall’s charred skeleton. Just the fact that the vicinity wasn’t littered in tarps and rubbish and other evidence of homelessness was proof enough of my theory. And yet, the way the wind howled and that the only signs of life were the crows circling up above filled the pit of my stomach with an unease that I could not ignore.

“You know what to do as soon as you sense any sign of danger, I trust?” Urbosa had both her hands planted firmly on my shoulders, bending down to meet my gaze with that same, old look of worry.

I gave a firm nod, never breaking eye contact. “Of course.”

“And you have Fyori and the others looking out for you, so don’t be afraid to call for them if—”

“I’ll be fine, Urbosa. I—”

“No, you will not.”

All I wanted was to get this over with, but she just had to go and remind me of the risks. No matter what I wished for, it wouldn’t change the fact that this was, in all likelihood, a suicide mission. Which was why I’d been so adamant in refusing to allow Link to come along initially.

Said constable was watching the two of us out of the corner of his eye, ever the vigilante as he stood facing the stronghold a mere half dozen paces away.

I heaved a constricted sigh and looked the prosecutor earnestly in the eye. With a deep breath, “I understand how worried you are for me, but please, don’t try to stop me. I’m aware of the risk and I’m prepared to face the consequences. I wouldn’t be doing this if I weren’t confident in my ability to succeed.”

Her stance softened, if only just slightly. “If Hilda weren’t still alive, her spirit would haunt me for letting any harm come to you.”

“But that won’t happen, because she is alive and she would never try to hurt me.” This much I was certain of, for if she had harboured any such intentions, she would have acted on them already, with how the Organization typically operated.

Urbosa’s lips tightened, and the out of place worry lines permeating her expression faded incrementally. She cast her gaze toward my stubborn guardian in silence, and he offered her a calm, yet resolute, nod of the head.

After a quiet embrace that seemed to go on endlessly, she sent me on my way. I looked over my shoulder as she grew smaller and smaller, then turned my focus ahead of me.

Staring up at the towering columns before me, I fell into an unnatural combination of wonder, nostalgia, and loss. (For whom or what was I still mourning? At this point, I didn’t even know the answer to that.) For the most part, the only parts of the building left standing were those invulnerable to fire, and even a great portion of that had fallen victim to weathering and decay over the years. Many of the brick walls had crumbled, leaving little in the way of places to hide a single person, let alone an entire crime syndicate.

The wind was unrelenting as it whipped and thrashed my hair about my face. Yet somehow, even as we drew nearer, the air remained as deathly still as ever.

As we finally came upon the scorched remnants of the main entrance, a gust from the north sent a whirlwind of ash in my direction. My arms rose to shield my face in the nick of time.

After taking a moment to collect myself, I took my first step since childhood into the domain of my mother’s workplace. Surely when I crossed that threshold, I’d thought, surely that was when havoc would finally be wrought upon us. But I was met yet again with stillness. Was nothing but my own breathing able to break this seemingly impenetrable silence?

Just then, my question was answered.

I felt my soul jump out of the confines of my body when the caw of a crow reverberated throughout the government building. If my heart hadn’t been pounding hard enough already...

I jumped again seconds later, though not nearly to the extent at which I just had, when Link’s hand came to weave itself between my fingers. We locked eyes, and he gave me the kindest of smiles. It made me want to melt right into his arms and to never let go, lest I lose him a third, and very likely final, time.

But a clearing of the throat from one of the other nearby constables reminded me of the ever present need to stay alert.

I elected to have the group split into two: one to search the ground floor of the ruins and one to search the upper floor. It was hard to say for certain how stable they were, but the stairways connecting the two stories were still almost fully intact. The upper floor itself, however, was another matter. Though its foundation hadn’t been constructed from any organic material, much of its structural integrity seemed to have been lost. About a third of it had broken off and landed square in the middle of the ground floor, leaving a vast chasm between the two sections of the upper floor that remained. The police had come prepared and equipped for the traversal of rough and uneven terrain, though there was still the danger of stray pieces of rubble raining down onto our heads from above.

I adjusted the strap of my helmet, which was beginning to chafe at the skin underneath my chin, before making my way around the monstrous hunk of brick flooring lying along the length of the grand foyer. Beyond that, as I’d remembered correctly, was the hallway leading to where her office had once been. But the scene I would discover there was a far cry from what I recalled.

What I found there wasn’t unlike what we’d found in the other offices up until now. Any furniture that had once filled the space had been destroyed. I could only just make out the contorted pieces of an old, blackened writing desk, its legs collapsed and the only thing relaying the tale of its former shape being the lamp lying shattered beside it. This I’d only noticed after hearing the crackling of shattered glass underfoot.

A clipped, nasal exhale sounded from behind me, where Link was taking in the scene with an expression similar to my own set into his face. He’d been clinging to my side since we’d begun searching, whether out of a desire to protect or to be protected, I did not know. A question rang in my ears that he’d posed to me during our meeting at my flat. “What will you do once you find her?” It was a simple question, one that I reasonably should have been able to answer, but the only one that came to mind would have sounded beyond foolish if said aloud. In the midst of such an era of power, what crime boss in their right mind would be swayed by a meagre plea to stop? But if not try to reason with her, there wouldn’t be many other options at my disposal.

This supposition only applied given that my mother would be found. My inspections so far had yielded no signs of Yiga activity, or for that matter, any activity whatsoever. Everything here seemed to have been here since the very incident that had levelled the place. In a way, this only added onto my already existing restlessness. The longer this search went on in vain, the less likely we were to find anything of worth, and the more likely it was for this endeavour to end in yet another failure. The moment I would finally give into my fear and call off the mission was steadily approaching.

A shadow flickered in my peripheral vision, followed by auditory pandemonium.

I just barely withheld my yelp. Link had turned toward the source of the sound with his hand on his holster.

But it had only been a piece of debris coming down from the floor above. I sighed furtively.

Between how Link’s shoulders had tensed up to meet his ears and the way his hand twitched as he lowered it from his hip, it was plain to see that I wasn’t the only one who was shaken up.

There was one more area of the ground floor that I had left to search: the conference hall. If the Yiga were anywhere to be found across these vast burial grounds, it was there.

What was left of the wood flooring creaked underfoot at a much greater volume than I’d been expecting. The ceiling, though just as high as that of the rest of this floor, somehow felt even loftier. Out of all the rooms we’d visited, this one was the most intact. Half of the risers, though scorched, were otherwise undamaged, and even the podium was still standing tall. But of course, being more intact meant giving sharpshooters more places to hide. One misstep and—

Crack

The floor fell out from beneath me. I let out a shriek, feeling the realm of death open its big, black maw and swallow me whole.

Then I landed with a calamitus crash.

If I hadn’t managed to curl my limbs around myself in time, the concrete flooring I seemed to have landed on surely would’ve cracked my head open, or given me a severe concussion at the very least. My whole body ached from the impact, and it felt as though I may have sprained my ankle, for when I tried to stand, it throbbed in the most violent pain I had ever experienced. I fell to my hands and knees, reeling.

The spot in the floor that I’d placed my weight on must have lost much of its hardiness to the fire. In all the times I’d been here as a little girl, it had never once occurred to me that this place had housed a basement.

“Zelda...!”

I looked up to see Link peering down from the hole in the ceiling that I’d made, his expression poised with worry. My body, covered in scrapes and bruises, cringed when I realized he had borne witness to that pathetic spectacle, making the pain tenfold.

“I’m fine,” I whisper-shouted up toward the only source of light in the room, and some of the fear in his face relaxed. He glanced around him, then looked back down in my direction before standing up and disappearing.

I could only hope he’d find his way down sooner rather than later. In the meantime, I shifted into a position I hoped I’d have more luck rising back to standing from, and I did. Though, maimed as I was, I’d still have to find some way to take some of the weight off my right foot.

The first thing I latched onto was rusty and sharp. I winced and pulled my hand back, looking blindly to see if my palm was bleeding or not.

As my eyes adjusted, I was relieved to see that the cut had only just grazed the surface of my skin. I scanned the room, seeing that the thing I’d touched was a piece of an old oil drum. In fact, the room was full of metal scraps resembling it.

A vision flashed before my eyes. Of City Hall being engulfed in flame within seconds, and the criminal mastermind hiding the evidence in a cellar, where no one would ever find it until the better part of two decades later.

The rest of the basement was still a cluttered mess, but somehow it felt a great deal more lived-in than what I’d seen up until this point. There wasn’t a soul to be found in any of the windowless rooms I came across, but the few things I found lying around with the help of my pocket torch, like an unopened pack of cigarettes and a deck of cards left strewn across a small table, gave me the distinct impression that I wasn’t alone. The numerous corners provided by old, metal bookshelves and file cabinets did little to slow my racing heart.

Eventually, I came upon an open doorway, beside which a small sign on the wall read, “Archive A.” Beyond the barrier, unlike the pitch darkness I’d been wandering through for I’d long lost count of just how long, a few threads of light were trickling in from above, presumably through a crack in the flooring above that I’d failed to notice before.

I stepped through the doorway, turned to face the yawning expanse of the former archive, and saw her. Dressed in pale white and standing radiantly in the center of the room.

My mother. The very image of my ever vivid memory of her was right there.

My feet carried me, with newfound purpose and with minds of their own, toward her. I wanted to reach out and feel her next to me. I wanted to ascertain that she was truly there and that I hadn’t actually hit my head and wasn’t now seeing things. I wanted to run at her, arms outstretched, more than anything in the world.

But then my ankle throbbed violently in protest, and my reason for being here came back to me at full force. I swallowed down my longing and stopped in my tracks. Her smile—that warm, glowing, congratulatory smile that held all the hope and light of the sun within its corners—wasn’t making this any less difficult, however. I was reminded of the simpler times, when at the end of each day, there was someone back at home waiting to hold me close and make all my worries melt away.

She held her arms out to me in a gesture that made my eyes well up with the tears of a child. It felt unspeakably wrong, but for what reason I could no longer place. Why shouldn’t I? What harm could it possibly do? It was only natural to want to wrap my arms around her as tightly as I was able, and to never let go again, wasn’t it?

A gunshot ripped through the peace.

Her face turned still as stone. Square between her harmless eyes had appeared an inky black-red orifice—an exit wound—from which a spray of crimson had decorated her visage.

Time slowed almost to a stop as Mother careened forward and fell flat onto the cold, hard floor. A hollow thump echoed throughout the empty space.

Before I’d had time to react, I looked up and met eyes with a painfully familiar pair of icy azures, which thawed in an instant as the owner lowered his weapon. I glanced down at the body, which had landed just two or three paces in front of me, then back at him. Then my own body started to shake.

No matter how I tried, I couldn’t control the violent tremors that had taken hold of me. My knees hit the floor, my bad ankle being wrenched one way in the process. This tore a scream from the depths of my lungs as the tears began waterfalling down in spiteful defiance against my will. I couldn’t bare to look at her—lithe arms strewn out limply at her sides and golden hair scattered in every direction—so I hid like the coward I was behind my stinging palms.

A metallic clack, followed by footsteps pounding the cement one after another as they neared. When his arms cradled my head into the shelter of his chest, I didn’t stop him. Nor did I when his hand began its gentle stroking up and down the curve of my back. He could have said something, anything, but he refrained. Instead, the silence surrounding my cries did nothing but amplify them.

A resounding clatter broke the air.

My vision was fogged up like a window pane in the dead of winter, but as I blinked away the tears, I began to make out the shape of an assault rifle lying on the concrete, at the feet of a person who hadn’t been there before and whose face I was unable to make out from this distance. In the figure’s hand was a bone-white mask, which they turned over in their grasp before dropping it onto the floor as well. It shattered upon landing.

In every corner, assassins were emerging from the shadows, each one of them laying down their weapons and turning to face the cooling corpse resting at the axis point of it all. Somehow, the room seemed even more devoid of daylight than ever before.

[haroldtea]

i wrote something!!

soooo I’m a pathological “i have a fic idea and i’m never going to write it or I write a few pages and then fall off” writer buuuut I had this very cute idea and wrote 4k words of it! I wanted to post it here before ao3 because 1) not sure if I’m a fan of starting a multichapter WIP because I still may abandon it like my other stuff 2) i want feedback before i continue!!

here’s the gist: it’s princess prom except it’s a high school au and princess prom is actually homecoming. Adora is very happy and supportive of Glimmer and Bow running for king/queen. Glimmer is very, very passionate about winning. The problem is they’ve naturally got competition, in the form of Perfuma (who is equally as passionate about winning, for her own reasons) and her new girlfriend Scorpia. In a sitcom-style mishap, Adora sort of accidentally signs up to run as well...with Catra, Scorpia’s best friend who Adora doesn’t not have a crush on. The two decide to go through with it with the intention of getting eliminated from the race as soon as possible. Then, their friends come up with a different plan for them.

so, take a read below at 4k of stupidity and let me know what you think, and if you would be interested to read more :) (fyi there is a lot of swearing lol)

“I’M GONNA BE THE QUEEN!”

Adora shrieks, flailing her arms and almost knocking her lamp over in the process. She whirls around in her desk chair to face the intruder, arms raised in karate chop form (she does not know any martial arts), and finds Glimmer, who has flung her bedroom door open and has that crazed Glimmer look in her eyes that only means trouble.

“Fuck! Glimmer, you can’t just sneak up--wait, how did you get in my house?!”

“Didn’t you hear what I said?! Also, the door was unlocked,” Glimmer replies, kicking off her shoes and launching herself onto Adora’s bed, which she had just painstakingly made.

Adora presses her hand into her face, sighing. “I was kind of busy trying not to piss myself. Haven’t you heard of knocking? What if I was, you know...” she says, gesturing vaguely.

Glimmer rolls her eyes. “Please, Adora. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Anyway--the student council decided to bring back the homecoming pep rally!” she squeals, gleefully kicking her feet in the air.

Adora leans back in her chair, brows furrowed. “Bring back? Didn’t we have one last year?”

“Yes, but after the water balloon thing they weren’t gonna let us have it anymore, but it turns out that one senior who wasn’t gonna graduate did graduate so I guess they figured it would probably be fine, ‘cause like, who’s ever gonna try and top that?”

“Right,” Adora hums, thinking back to last year’s pep rally. Just before homecoming court was announced, a group of rogue seniors had risen from the bleachers, unleashing dozens of water balloons they had stashed in their backpacks. What ensued was a pandemonium Adora could only remember in flashes, resulting in almost the entire student body and the school’s hallways being completely soaked.

The catch was that the seniors had filled the balloons with blue paint. It had taken the janitorial staff weeks to get the gym bleachers, the lockers in the science wing, and the cafeteria ceiling (don’t ask) to look normal again. Classes were cancelled for almost an entire week because the paint had messed up something with the internal plumbing. It was single-handedly the coolest thing Adora had experienced in her living years.

It was all led by the legendary Mara Hart, notorious for sticking it to the man during her K-12 years. The prank had all but gotten her and her friends expelled, but given that she was otherwise an A+ student and no one could technically prove who was behind it (her friends were loyal to each other to the bitter end), she walked at Bright Moon High’s graduation to uproarious applause from her classmates.

Adora knew some of the more grisly details because Mara had been captain of the girls’ lacrosse team last year--effortlessly cool Mara, endlessly caring Mara, definitely part of Adora’s gay awakening Mara--but it had become something of an urban legend at BMHS over the past year.

“Wait, how do you know any of this?” Adora asks, because while she was personally connected to Mara in a small way, she hadn’t been aware that they were going to cancel the pep rally indefinitely.

Glimmer arches an eyebrow. “Um, hello? My mom’s the principal?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“And Mermista totally let it slip when I asked her about it after the student council meeting,” Glimmer adds, then pauses. “Okay, it was more like I didn’t even wanna be there and I wish no one had ever voted for me and I’ll tell you whatever, but still. I’m...” she props her face in her hands and bats her eyelashes, “in the know.”

Adora smirks and rolls her eyes fondly, turning back to her desk to shut her textbook and put her notes away. She can never get anything done when Glimmer’s around. “Okay, so, pep rally’s back--that’s cool,” she says.

“It’s not just cool, Adora,” Glimmer scoffs. “Being homecoming queen is literally all I’ve wanted since I was a kid. I thought my dream had died with Mara’s academic career, but now there’s hope again--it’s meant to be, Adora. It’s destiny.”

Adora had literally never heard Glimmer talk about this, but, “Um, okay.”

Glimmer huffs and dramatically rolls onto her back, flinging her arms out and further messing up Adora’s sheets. Lesson learned, it isn’t worth the effort for Adora to make the bed anymore. “My mom was the homecoming queen like a hundred years ago, and my aunt was the homecoming queen before that. It’s, like, my birthright!”

Adora lifts a shoulder, twisting around in her chair to look at Glimmer. “Okay, then we’ll just get you to be the homecoming queen too. Can’t your mom just...make it happen?”

“Ugh, no,” Glimmer sighs. “I already asked. It’s a student vote.”

“Oh!” Adora brightens. “That’s easy, then. Everyone loves you.”

Glimmer pouts. “I know, but it’s not just a popularity contest--it’s, like, a whole thing. Me and Bow are gonna have to do a talent show, and there’s a relay race, and other stuff that if we don’t do well in we won’t even get to be in the final vote.”

“Wait, what?” Adora doesn’t remember any of that from last year. “What do you mean, Bow? Is...he's running for homecoming queen too?”

“Ha! No,” Glimmer laughs, then her expression darkens, eyes narrowing. “I would crush him.”

“Right...” Adora says. Actually, Bow would make a pretty good homecoming queen. But Adora values her life, so she decidedly does tell Glimmer this.

“No, every queen nominee has to also have someone to run with them as their ‘king,’” Glimmer explains, making air quotes with her fingers. “There’s no boy/girl bullshit, but you do have to be in a pair.”

“I don’t remember any...talent shows, or whatever,” Adora points out. “I don’t think I’ve ever even heard of one of those happening in real life.”

“Well, obviously you never went. It would’ve all been during your lacrosse thingies and you would've been too busy making googly eyes at Mara Hart,” Glimmer replies, wiggling her fingers at Adora.

Adora crosses her arms and blushes a deep red. “I would not. I would’ve been playing lacrosse. And stuff.” Okay, maybe she did make googly eyes at Mara, but only sometimes, as a treat, and Glimmer doesn’t need to know that.

Glimmer flips back over on her stomach and levels Adora with a pout. “Adora, this means a lot to me. We’re gonna need your help to win this.”

Adora has no idea how she could possibly be of any help with this, but hey-- “Of course, Glimmer. Whatever you need. I’m there.”

Glimmer grins, eyes sparkling. “Yaaaaay. Also, my mom’s making meatloaf tonight, you in?”

Adora pumps her fist in the air. “Sweet. Hell, yes.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“This is a joke, right? Like, you’re joking?” Catra says into the receiver as she shoves another handful of popcorn into her mouth.

“I am usually a pretty funny gal, it’s true--but, ah, no. This time I’m serious,” Scorpia replies on the other end.

Catra hoists her phone higher up on her shoulder while she adjusts her grip on her Xbox controller. “Okay, please explain,” she says between chews.

Scorpa sighs, and Catra visualizes her sitting cross-legged on her bedspread, hugging one of her many stuffed animals to her chest. “I know it’s kind of silly, but Perfuma sounded really excited about it, ‘cause I guess if you win, you get to pick what charity the proceeds from the dance ticket sales go to, and...I just couldn’t say no?”

Catra smirks, mashing a series of buttons on her controller as her TV screen lights up in front of her. She’s been trying to get past this level for weeks, but she’ll probably die right before the end again whether she’d answered Scorpia’s call or not. “You are so whipped,” she says.

Scorpia sighs again, but this time Catra can hear a smile in it. “I guess so, kitty cat. Still, it sounds kinda...fun? I mean, it’s more time spent with her, if anything else. She’s talking about writing an original song together for the talent show and incorporating her Tibetan singing bowls into it.”

Catra takes that in and barely suppresses a laugh. Her New Year’s resolution was to make fun of her friends less. Some days are harder than others. “Um, wow,” she says instead. “That’s, uh...that’ll be interesting. Do I have to call you Queen Scorpia if you win?”

“Oh, Perfuma doesn’t believe in gendered royalty,” Scorpia replies. “She wants us to be known as Homecoming Monarchs.”

“Of course she does,” Catra mutters. Perfuma is endlessly kind and patient and makes Scorpia smile, so by default Catra likes her, but otherwise they...don’t exactly share identical values, let’s say. Catra brings her own point home by pressing a button on her controller and chainsawing an alien in half on screen.

“Do you...think it’s a stupid idea? The whole...running for homecoming thing, I mean.”

Catra hears the telltale signs of Scorpia-doubting-herself in her reply, so she pauses the game. “Nah. If it’s something you guys wanna do, you should go for it. Fuck what anyone else thinks.”

“Okay, thanks,” Scorpia says, sounding lighter. “I think it means a lot to Perfuma. It would be cool to win it for her.”

“Well, hey,” Catra continues, un-pausing her game. “If you need any help, let me kn--oh, fuck!”

“Catra?” Panic sets in Scorpia’s tone. “Kitty cat, speak to me--do I need to call 911?!”

“No, no, Scorpia, please don’t do that,” Catra groans, tossing her controller aside. “I just got blown up in my stupid game again, that’s all. I’m never gonna beat this final boss.”

Scorpia sighed in relief. “Aw, don’t give up, kitty cat. One of these days, you’re gonna really give it to--what’s the dude’s name again?”

“Prime something-or-whatever,” Catra grumbled, reaching for her popcorn.

“Yeah, that guy. He’ll never know what hit him.”

Catra snickers into the receiver. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Scorpia.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The lunch period at BMHS is, naturally, chaotic. Being a regional high school, every inch of the place is usually crawling with students, and the cafeteria is no different. The student population is small enough and the cafeteria big enough to condense into one lunch period, although Adora has oftentimes heard Perfuma lament about the ethics and health concerns of overcrowding.

Adora likes chaos. She likes that the overlapping sounds of chairs scraping and garbled chattering combine to form a comforting din that allows her to drown out whatever weird TikTok plans Bow’s making (ok, to be real, she will be asking about them later) and quietly observe the antics happening at tables around them.

She takes another bite of her pudding and her eyes land on the table to their right where Kyle, Lonnie, and Rogelio from her math class always sit together. Lonnie is mechanically chewing her gum as she stares into a compact mirror, examining her eyebrows with fierce concentration. Across from her, Kyle is holding up something on his phone to Rogelio with one hand and gesticulating wildly with the other as he holds a corn dog. Rogelio is nodding along but is staring down fondly at Kyle rather than at the screen Kyle’s pointing to, one arm hanging loose around Kyle’s shoulders. Lonnie slaps her compact shut and shouts something at them, pointing emphatically to her eyebrows. They all pause for a moment before bursting into laughter. Then Kyle drops his corn dog.

Adora pointedly does not observe the table across from theirs. She’ll gladly watch the Star siblings silently and intensely do their homework for the next period, or listen to Mermista fight off Seahawk’s PDA attempts, but nothing could compel her to look at the table straight ahead.

That table was where Catra Weaver and her friends sat.

Including: Perfuma’s new girlfriend, Scorpia Garnet; Entrapta Dryl, who was dating one of the Hordak twins (Adora was ever completely sure which one); the Hordak twins in question, one of which who usually broods silently and one of which who usually stares around smiling at nothing and everything; the stylish and blonde ruler of the theatre kids who has been nicknamed Double Trouble for as long as Adora can remember; and finally: Catra Weaver. Effortlessly cool, effortlessly gorgeous, effortlessly effortless Catra Weaver, leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed, coolly regarding the rest of the cafeteria as she holds court at her table of wonderful misfit toys.

Today’s effortless ensemble: cool jean jacket, a cool crop top, cool black jeans, cool combat boots, she got a haircut recently so--

“Um, Earth to Adora?”

“Huh?” Adora says, jerking her head up.

This is why she avoids looking at Catra Weaver’s table. Or Catra Weaver in general.

“We were talking about homecoming,” Glimmer says from her seat across from Adora, raising an eyebrow. “You were totally spaced out.”

Adora clears her throat, willing herself not to blush. “Sorry,” she replies, digging back into her pudding.

“Glimmer’s trying to convince me not to run for court,” Perfuma continues, crossing her arms.

“What? Why?”

“Because it’s totally lame and stupid and a waste of time,” Mermista answers from beside Perfuma, inspecting her nail polish. She glances up when she senses everyone at the table staring at her. “What?”

“Mermista, you’re on the homecoming committee,” Bow says.

Mermista shrugs. “So? I said what I said.”

“Look, Perfuma,” Glimmer starts, sliding her hand across the table toward Perfuma. “I just don’t want you to be disappointed if you lose. Homecoming’s a really big deal to me, and I really want to win.” She smiles saccharinely, tilting her head at Perfuma, eyes gone wide. Bow and Adora exchange a look.

Perfuma smiles back. “Oh, don’t worry about me, Glimmer! I’m sure our classmates will select the most deserving and talented couple to win,” she says, then goes back to stabbing a fork into her salad.

Glimmer’s eye starts twitching. Bow slowly and gently takes Glimmer’s hand and slides it back to her side of the table. “Glimmer, we’ll do great. The most important thing is to have fun,” he says, patting her hand.

“The most important thing is the charity,” Perfuma mutters.

“That too.”

“Is anybody else we know running?” Adora asks. Glimmer and Perfuma both shake their heads in response, until Mermista sighs dejectedly.

“Unfortunately,” she groans, raising her hand.

“Wait, what?! You just said it was stupid and lame!” Bow squawks.

“It is,” Mermista rolls her eyes. “But the rest of the student council said it would look really bad if I was on the planning committee and didn’t run. I was forced against my will.”

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?” Glimmer asks, gripping her lunch tray so tight Adora wondered if she was going to launch it at Mermista’s head.

“I don’t know? I guess not? I’m planning on getting cut as soon as humanly possible though, so whatever,” Mermista replies, flicking her hair behind her shoulder.

“We won’t win with that attitude, my love!” Seahawk roars, throwing his arm around Mermista’s shoulder and raising a fist triumphantly. “You and I are going to be the greatest King and Queen this school has ever seen!”

“Oh my god, please stop,” Mermista groans, hiding her face in her hands.

“Picture it: you, me, newly crowned, gliding down the science wing--the students stop and stare! Could it really be our King and Queen in the flesh? The teachers stare too! I am going to give them both straight A’s!”

“Please just sit and eat your sandwich,” Mermista begs.

“Never,” Seahawk says, then kisses her on the cheek and acquiesces, taking a big bite of his sandwich. Adora tries to hide her smirk when she sees Mermista blush a deep red. She elbows Glimmer and nods in their direction so she can see.

“Aw, how cute. I’m going to destroy them,” Glimmer whispers in Adora’s ear.

“I know,” Adora whispers back. “But try to at least be nice about it.”

“No promises.”

“Ok, I have to pee,” Adora announces to the table, grabbing her lunch tray as she stands, grinning at Bow’s groan of TMI, Adora!

She makes her way over to the trash cans by the cafeteria exit, waving to her friends on the lacrosse team as she dumps her leftovers in the trash and sets the tray in the dish bin beside it. She should probably go over and check in with them about practice tonight, but she really has to pee, which reminds her that she forgot her water bottle all the way back to the table and needs to refill it before her next class.

“Damn it,” she mutters to herself, still smiling at her lacrosse friends as she whips around to head back--

And crashes right into someone, their heads knocking smack together.

“Ow!” Adora yelps, losing her footing for a moment. She rubs at her stinging forehead, glancing up as she apologizes, “Shit, sorry, sorry, that was totally my fault, I--”

And stares right up at Catra Weaver.

“I...I...I...”

She blinks a few times, but yes, that is Catra Weaver, rubbing at her own forehead and fixing a few strands of hair that had come loose from behind her ears. Catra Weaver, up close and personal, who she hasn’t talked to since...

“Your forehead is fucking hard. And big,” Catra says, holding her tray in one hand as she narrows her eyes up at Adora.

“Oh, um, you too...I mean! Thanks? I grew it myself,” Adora replies spectacularly, and then promptly wants to crawl into a hole and never come out.

Catra raises one eyebrow at her. “How hard did I hit you?”

Adora scrambles to answer. “Oh, not at all! I mean, not hard. It was my fault. Are you, um, are you okay?” This is going amazingly.

“I’m fine, Greyskull,” Catra replies, sending a tingle up Adora’s spine. She goes to deposit her tray. “Just watch where you’re going.”

Adora grins dopily. “Yes. I mean--I will. Sorry. Again.”

Catra glances Adora up and down, eyebrow still raised, and goes to say something else, when they’re interrupted by a foreboding, familiar voice.

“Ah, Adora! I’m so pleased to see you taking an interest in student affairs.”

Adora turns to see Glimmer’s mom looming over them, hands neatly clasped together. Maybe looming isn’t the right word as she’s smiling brightly down on her and Catra, but she’s tall, ok? “Oh, hi Ang--,” Adora starts before remembering they’re at school, “um, Mrs. Moon. What’s up?”

Angella gestures between her and Catra. “I was just observing how wonderful it will be that Glimmer will have a friend to share the homecoming experience with.”

Adora tenses again, remembering that Catra is still standing very close to her. “Oh, haha, yeah, super great. Wait, what?” Sharing?

Then she notices that her and Catra are standing in front of the wall where the Homecoming Court Signup Sheet is hanging. A sparkly pen tied to the clipboard is dangling within Adora’s reach.

“Oh, um, actually, Perfuma’s already--”

“I think this activity will make a fine addition to your college applications, Adora. And you know how Glimmer gets,” Angella leans in conspiratorially, not bothering to lower her voice. “I think it will calm her nerves to have a friend by her side. A bit of friendly competition, even!” she claps her hands together, delighted. “I remember having so much fun with my friends back in my day.”

“But, I’m already on the lacrosse team...” Adora mumbles, scratching the back of her neck. She glances down at the pen.

“Oh, but you know schools these days, always looking for that something that makes a student stand out,” Angella says, waving her hand dismissively. “And don’t worry, I’ll speak to Coach Huntara about any scheduling conflicts. You’ll get to have the best of both worlds!”

Wait, but lacrosse was Adora’s whole thing--does she not stand out enough? Will she seem boring to UEternia? “I...”

“Oh, Ms. Weaver!” Angella says, as if she’s just now noticing Catra. “I didn’t take you for the...school spirit type.”

“I’m not,” Catra replies, crossing her arms. She smiles saccharinely and adds, “ma’am,” for good measure. God, she’s cool.

“Ah,” Angella says, creating an awkward pause before brightening again. “Well, still, here you are. Are you Adora’s running mate?”

So, sometimes Adora panics.

Look, she’s in a high-stress situation. The girl she doesn’t not have an embarrassing crush on bumped into her, talked to her, and then her best friend’s mom swooped in basically saying that lacrosse is boring and dumb and running for homecoming court will get her into UEternia. At least, that’s what Adora got from all that. And then she insinuates that she’ll be doing that with Catra Weaver.

So, she panics. She panics, and she grabs the glittery pen, and she continues to panic.

“Yep! We’re running together!” she says, grinning.

“Say what?” Catra hisses.

“Oh, wonderful!” Angella squeals, clapping her hands together again. “I must say, I think this will turn out to be a very interesting competition. You’ll have to come dress shopping with us, Adora.”

“Haha, yeah...” Adora says, quickly scribbling Adora Greyskull & Catra Weaver on the signup sheet. Oh fuck, oh god.

“Hang on a fu--” Catra starts, then clamps her mouth shut, because the goddamn principal is still talking to them.

“Oh, I wonder what you’ll do for the talent show! I can’t wait...well, I’m off. It was great catching up, girls!” Angella says, and winks, and does weird-mom-finger-guns, and then she’s gliding away as quickly as she came.

Adora continues to grin and wave awkwardly until Angella is out of sight, then she deflates. That was so weird.

Then she turns and sees Catra reach for the pen that’s still in her hand. Adora has half a mind to snatch it away. Or half a brain cell, at least. “Hey!”

“Cross our names out. Right. Now,” Catra growls through gritted teeth, still trying to grab the pen. Adora tries to hold it up out of reach, but it’s still attached to the clipboard, so the best she can do is weave her hand in and out of Catra’s way.

“Um, no? I just told her we were running!”

“Well, we’re not. Give it to me!”

“No!” Adora grunts, yanking the pen away. “You heard her--she’s gonna talk to Coach Huntara. I can’t back out now.”

“Well, I can!” Catra says, grabbing at Adora’s arm, where she has the pen tucked under her armpit. “Find someone else to run with you!”

“I can’t! They’ll want to win!” Adora says, twisting her body away from Catra. She’s having a slight meltdown over Catra touching her so much, but she’s focusing on the pen for now. “No one’s gonna want to run with me anyway.”

Catra mutters something under her breath that Adora doesn’t catch, then she snakes her hand under Adora’s and takes hold of her wrist. Adora stifles a gasp. “Wait, you don’t want to win?” Catra asks, eyebrow quirked.

“Noooo,” Adora furiously shakes her head. “No, no, no. Glimmer would kill me. She wants to win. I just, um, panicked. I guess?” The heat from Catra’s hand is searing into her wrist.

Catra glances down at their hands and back up at Adora. “So, your friend will kill you if you run for homecoming. And you just signed up in front of her mom?”

“Um...” Adora thinks for a second. “Yes?”

Catra huffs out a laugh. “Wow, you’re even more of an idiot than I remember.”

Adora feels her face redden, shocked at Catra’s casual mention of the past, and glances away. “Look, let’s just get eliminated as quickly as possible and then we can forget it ever happened. Deal?”

“Ugh,” Catra lets out a groan, leaning her head back. She tugs at Adora’s wrist a few times, finding that she isn’t budging. “Fine! As quickly as possible.”

“As quickly as possible,” Adora nods, finding herself grinning as Catra loosens her grip and pulls away. “I’m gonna take this pen home, by the way,” she calls out as Catra begins to head back to her table.

“Fuck!”

After Adora finally pees and refills her water bottle, she gingerly sits back down beside Glimmer. Poor, sweet, deadly Glimmer, who’s chattering away excitedly with Seahawk about some new music video or something.

She says, in a very tiny voice, “So, um...I think I’m running for homecoming queen?”

Glimmer whips her head around, nose flaring. She stands up, slamming both hands down on the table with a smack.

“You WHAT?!”

And then the bell rings.

[sevenincubistolemyheart]

Yoongi’s Oneshot

Au: Mafia

Tag List: @xsunnyhoseokx  @wilhelminalucinda  @amiraclerenee @inutiledediscuter

Rating: M

Potential Triggers: I will carefully note the rating has once again turned to M but I’ll be leaving this as the only warning(unless otherwise explicitly asked) given the heavy spoilers saying all the potential triggers could provide. The only explicit triggers I’ll give in advance is involuntary drugging, grieving, and psychological trauma. Everything will also be under the cut. Authors Note at the end!!

Pairing: BTS x Reader/OT7 x reader

Genre: Drama, Crime, Angst, Fluff, Hurt & Comfort

Length: 4k+

You murmured softly in your sleep, tossing and turning as you gradually grew more and more panicked. It’s a miracle you hadn’t had any night terrors after what happened. Your imagination was always quite vivid after all so you supposed you should count your blessings you’d even lasted this long. In either case, all you could see when your eyes finally shot open was white. At first you assumed you were merely adjusting to a bright light...but then it didn’t stop. Including when you moved. And a look down let you know that you were also in the silk white pajamas Yoongi had gifted you last night. All that surrounded you was pure white and you realized abruptly you clearly weren’t dreaming any longer and also had been sleeping on the floor. A quick search of the room ensued, as your eyes flicked around, searching for distinct cameras or a way out and yet...you found nothing. You refused to let yourself panic, putting together that Yoongi must have gifted you these so you’d match with the room.  

You weren’t in enemy captivity, but that didn’t mean you weren’t on edge. Taehyung’s little stunt had reminded you that these people, though often kind to you, had much more sadistic sides to themselves than you typically got to see. You vaguely recalled looking up sensory deprivation as a potential topic for a psychology project, but opted to study dream analysis instead. Lot of good that was gonna do you. You didn’t need any symbolism to know you were merely coping with your grief in your sleep since you still refused to actively show it around the others but now...that info on sensory deprivation sure would’ve been helpful. You tried to wrack your brain for any memories of what you’d looked up, but only vaguely recalled the need to keep your mind active, though you couldn’t fully remember how. Wasn’t that only for long periods of time? 

Where was Yoongi? Why was he putting you through this? You felt your breathing starting to increase, noticed you were beginning to grow paranoid and took several deep breaths, counting to 4 as you inhaled, holding for 8 and then releasing for another 4. It was a breathing technique you recalled your chorus teacher telling you to do back in high school. How was she doing? 

Your breathing finally evened out but you found your eyes were glazed over. You shook off your little stupor, tried to get back on topic. Why were you thinking about your chorus teacher right now? You had more important things to be pondering! Like what Yoongi wanted to see from you so he’d let you out. 

You began to hum absentmindedly. Closing your eyes as you welcomed the now unfamiliar blackness. You aren’t sure for how long they remained so but when next they opened you felt like it was now nighttime. How long had Yoongi left you here for? Was this some kind of punishment? Did you do something wrong? Nothing came to mind. Maybe they just finally realized you were a liability. That you’d never be as good a Nurse as your Mother.

It was then that you saw the door opening inwards and after spotting Yoongi, and blinking several times to adjust to the new colors, you literally rushed him, making him scramble to release the door and hold onto you as you shook violently for reasons you didn’t understand. Tears came spilling from your eyes faster than you could stop them and you barely managed to ask him through your sobs. 

“W-Why did you leave me there for so long!? Did I do something wrong? Please, just tell me and I’ll fix it!! N-Never do that again!” 

Yoongi looked taken aback as he forced you off him far enough away to get a good look at you and his expression morphed from one of bewilderment and shock to analysis. He knelt down, cupping your hands in his cheeks as he saw you frantically looking around at everything, as though scared you’d never see it again. You were acting like some kind of crack addict going through withdrawals. The sound of footsteps made you whip your head around but he refused to let you look, resolutely keeping your head still. 

“Focus on me and stop moving. How long do you think you were in there?”

His voice was a quiet mumble. 

“18 hours, at the least. Maybe even 24. It’s nighttime now isn’t it? Please I want to go see everyone!” 

“Y/N. You were only in there for 8 hours. You shouldn’t be experiencing this so intensely. You didn’t hear or see anything else in there did you? I need you to be completely honest with me.”

You shook your head quickly, even as you bounced on your heels. 

“Mm-mm! No,  I-” 

Before you could even finish your denial he was starting to pull up the short sleeves of your pajamas up past your shoulders and then snarling at you.

“What the fuck did you do to yourself you idiot!?” 

You looked at him in genuine confusion and he growled lowly before brushing his thumb over your bicep causing you to hiss at the sharp rush of pain that greeted you. 

“Ow, Yoongi what the Hell!?”

You looked down and realized you'd dug your nails into your arms, holding yourself during that brief, fitful sleep you'd had so tightly you'd drawn blood and caused wounds. On top of that you'd apparently continued scratching once you'd awoken, irritating the wounds even further.

"Wow that's all it took to break her? Pathetic."

Jungkook's snort made you squirm in Yoongi's grasp to look at him and this time, he let you as he was occupied examining your wounds. 

Yoongi released you with a simple nod to Jungkook before walking off. 

"Watch her."

Once you were out of his grip you hopped over to the built boy, clinging to his arm even as he jolted in surprise that quickly turned to disgust even as a surprised blush stained his cheeks pink. 

"Th-The Hell!? Get off me you freak!"

He began slowly working you off his body but you pouted and resolutely stayed on him like glue. 

"Nuh-uh!! Never thought I'd miss you being an ass but here we are! Suck it up!"

You were so focused on trying to stay attached to Jungkook you didn't hear the footsteps this time and squealed as you were tugged off by Yoongi and into his chest face first who sighed. 

"...Calm down. You're not going back in ever again. I promise. You're gonna be okay. Focus on my heartbeat and count the beats okay? Try to match your breathing to it." 

"The fuck did you do to make her all clingy and weird? You better fix her! If she's fucked in the head for when I train her-" 

"Quiet down. If you don't want to overwhelm her and make things worse I'd suggest keeping your mouth shut."

Just the two bickering was making you start to get squirmy again and Yoongi tightened his grip slightly in response while Jungkook snapped his mouth shut. Your shaking gradually started to subside to the occasional shiver as you did as Yoongi instructed, slowly being soothed by his consistent heart rate. Your breathing also started to even out, and you found yourself surprised at how slow his heartbeat was. 

He had seemed so panicked but moments earlier after all. He must have real control. 

Noticing you slightly beginning to calm, Yoongi gradually released his grip on you to look you in the eyes.

“...Alright. Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to take you over to the infirmary where I’ll hand you off to Hoseok. You won’t be seeing anyone but 2 people at once for at least today and tomorrow. I’m not risking damaging your psyche further by overstimulating you right after depriving you.”

His voice was as monotone as ever but you felt the way his hand trembled slightly as he grabbed your wrist before he abruptly released you, tersely demanding you follow him instead. 

You did so, albeit slowly as you risked a glance around the room for Jungkook, only mildly surprised when you found he’d slipped out silently. 

You were more surprised he’d left quietly more than the fact that he’d abandoned you in such a state. He’d probably gone to tell Taehyung what awful shape you were in so they could laugh about how weak you were. 

Wonderful. 

You almost wished your lucidity wasn’t returning.

Gods, the way you’d clung to him like a child was so embarrassing. You could only pray given his, what you remembered to be, flustered reaction that he’d never mention it again. At least Yoongi mercifully didn’t seem focused on your display though it was mainly because he was probably more distressed by the reaction from a psychological perspective than anything as kind.

Yoongi opened the door to the infirmary for you and let you enter first before following suit. You spotted Hoseok at the large desk overlooking a window to the greenery you’d been lost in not too long ago with Taehyung, sorting different bags of powder. He looked up at your arrival and frowned as he scanned you up and down before his eyes locked on your injured shoulders and then jumped to Yoongi as he rose to his feet and made his way over. 

“The Hell did you do? I thought she was only going in the sensory deprivation room for 8 hours, how did she manage to hurt herself?” 

Yoongi sighed heavily, watching as you hugged Hoseok who recipricorated gently before he led you over to the infirmary bed nearest to you and setting you down gently. 

“She used her nails; it happened when she was sleeping apparently. I watched the whole time, but when she started sleeping I left to eat...I should’ve picked up on the signs and never put her in this situation. I thought it would be a gentle enough way to start building her mental tolerance to torture should the others ever try such a thing. You know EXO’s policy about women.” 

Hoseok grunted in acknowledgment of his words as he pulled over the metal cart with basic medical supplies he hadn't gotten around to fully cleaning since his own training session two days ago. 

“Blaming yourself isn’t going to make her better so knock off the self loathing bullshit going on in your head right now and get me a wet rag and a bucket with soap and water. I need to clean the wounds before they become infected. You may have caused this situation but you can also fix it so move your ass.”

His voice was crisp, cool and nothing like his typically cheerful self making you blink at him in delirious confusion, your alertness seemed to be fading in and out, despite your best efforts to hang onto it. Everything just seemed so overwhelming, and almost new to you. 

Yoongi listened without quarrel however and nodded before he left the room, to do what Hoseok had ordered you had to guess. 

“Alright lovey I need you to keep your eyes on mine okay? I know it’s hard to focus right now but I want to check some things.” 

His voice had changed tones again, now sweet and gentle as you knew him. You liked this version better, you decided as your eyes flicked up to meet his. 

His smile widened a bit, making his eyes crinkle at the corners in amusement. 

“I happen to prefer this side to me too. Unfortunately, I don’t get the chance to let it out very often in my line of work. It’s nice for it to be genuine for once. Now; I want you to talk to me about the day you found out your Mother died. Do you think you can do that for me sweetie?”

You frowned and blearily shook your head in denial, not registering the fact that he was rubbing a wet cloth on the inside of your arm about a third of the way up, nor the fact that the area went numb and tingly. Your whole body felt numb and tingly honestly; what was one more area?

“I don’t wanna talk about that.” 

Your voice had grown small, intrusive images already making themselves known inside your mind as your frown deepened, and his smile only widened. Thanks to your gaze being locked on his you noticed when his eyes flicked to the door suddenly, making you look too in anticipation, expecting Yoongi to perhaps be entering or for someone to be there only to not notice the needle entering your arm on the other side. 

You turned back to him with a pout of confusion but swayed suddenly as the world spun. You would’ve surely fallen had you not been lying down securely in the bed. Why did you feel like you were floating? Was this normal? A part of the side effects of your brief time in the sensory deprivation chamber? 

“How are you feeling now? Ready to tell me about that night?” 

You beamed, suddenly so exhilarated despite the world spinning that you felt giddy; your mind barely comprehending the words Hoseok hit you with or their meaning, just starting to speak without conscious awareness. 

“Mmhmm sure! So, it’s pretty funny actually! I was just coming home from grocery shopping, and I stopped at the craft store before heading home to get Mom some of those adult coloring books since I could tell how anxious she was lately. We used to love doing that together you know? And!” 

You giggled, grinning even at the painful nature of your story. If only it was just a story. 

“She’d promised me we’d spend the whole day together since she was away all the time; now I know she was tending to you. Instead of being home with me, her y’know actual daughter.”

You giggled again, clearly delirious.

“So I finally got home, and when I walked inside I saw her just...bleeding everywhere. She was already dead, or so Namjoon told me later. He’d sent some grunts or something so as soon as I walked in I was being dragged out and to a car before I could even protest. None of you could even bear to clean up the mess you made! You must all be cowards of epic proportions. I mean seriously! You left her body to your grunts? After all she did for you? Real pathetic; lemme tell ya.”  

You shrugged with a beaming smile, feeling a large wave threatening to drag you under as your blinks began to slow.

“At least she’s not anxious anymore though right?” 

Hoseok listened to your story with that kind smile of his never once leaving, nodding in agreement to everything you said so you wouldn’t stop and pet your hair until blissful unconsciousness finally took you and you lost the war to stay conscious with a question of Yoongi’s disappearance being the last words to escape your lips. 

Hoseok’s smile dropped and he turned towards the closet cooly, perceptive gaze narrowing. 

“...You can come out now.” 

Taehyung rolled his eyes as he stepped out. 

“You coddle her too much. You should’ve just given her an interrogation drug instead of a gentle dose like that. We would’ve gotten the information quicker.” 

Hoseok chuckled as he shrugged, uncaring as he took in Taehyung with detached indifference. 

“I got the information didn’t I? And she won’t remember any of this. All the better for our plan. How’s Jungkook? Still distracting Yoongi?” 

Taehyung nodded. 

“Has him held hostage in the kitchen. It’s not like it takes much effort to play the brat on his part.” 

Hoseok nodded, risking a glance at your slumbering form and Taehyung did the same. 

There was a beat of silence and then. 

“...We’re doing the right thing, aren’t we?”

“We’re doing the only thing we can. And that’s enough.” 

Taehyung suddenly flung himself back into the closet with a vengeance and silently rushed to close the door as he heard the infirmary door just beyond the wall burst open; barely managing it in time as Hoseok concealed the needle in his pocket and feigned confused annoyance at Yoongi’s abrupt entrance. 

“Hyung! Quiet down or you’ll wake her! She just finally fell asleep. What the Hell took you so long?!” 

Yoongi panted as he glanced around the room suspiciously and Hoseok briefly caught Jungkook’s vaguely concerned gaze behind him making Hoseok shoot him a dark look. All he’d had to do was give them the heads up he was returning! It could’ve been a single letter! But now there hadn’t been any time and-

“What’s this?”

Yoongi’s voice was quiet, but Hoseok could recognize that deadly tone anywhere. 

His attention quickly shifted to see what he was referring to and his heart dropped although his annoyed expression remained unchanged. 

Fuck.  

The vial he’d used to extract the drug sat in between Yoongi’s fingers and he cursed himself for forgetting such a detail. 

“Did you inject her with this?” 

Yoongi’s eyes were like icy knives, cutting him to the quick and daring him to lie. He needed to play his cards right here or things could go very badly very quickly. Sure, the most secret documents were in his room but the ones in here would be enough to get him at least under suspicion and he just couldn’t have that right now. Not when they were so close.

Yoongi was growing impatient, his eyes narrowing all the more to fine, catlike slits as he strode forward to hiss into Hoseok’s face. 

“Have you gone deaf? I said, ``Did you inject her with this?!”

“I did. I had to. She grew violent and-”

Yoongi grabbed him by the collar and Jungkook entered the room in panic but Hoseok waved his hand quickly to shoo him away, knowing better than to move his eyes when Yoongi was watching him so closely. One wrong move when Yoongi was in analysis mode and he’d blow all of their covers. 

“Don’t fuck with me Jung. She was acting delirious to an extent yes, showing signs of a need for intense affection and physical contact as by isolating her I accidentally triggered her psyche to momentarily put down her walls and ask for the touch she needs since she’s been touch starved for God knows how many years. But she was anything but violent. Try again. And this time if you don’t tell me what I want to hear, I’ll just have to bring this to Namjoon.”

The dark smirk was on his lips before he could stop it, but he used it to his advantage. 

“Like you aren’t going to anyway? You always were his favorite lapdog. Well…” 

A smirk more snarl than smile twisted his expression to something even more ugly. 

“Besides Seokjin that is.”

Yoongi looked stricken just as he’d intended and then he found himself collapsing from the impact of Yoongi’s fist on his cheek, followed swiftly by a kick to his stomach that made him cough as he curled up slightly even as a pained laugh escaped his lips.  

“Oh? Did I hit a nerve-” 

He was cut off with a kick, to the head this time that had him seeing stars. 

“Good thing you’re not the only one with a taste for hitting them eh? Maybe now you can feel how she did when you injected her with that crap.” 

Hoseok dazedly realized he was being turned so his front was open to Yoongi and found himself straddled and then punch after punch was being delivered as Yoongi snarled venomously down at him. 

“You are going to tell me exactly why you injected her and then we’re both going to tell Namjoon what you-”

Now it was Yoongi’s turn to be cut off. 

Hoseok’s eyes widened and he shouted, loudly. 

“NO!” 

The chair met Yoongi’s head with the sound of splintering wood, and he promptly fell to the floor unconscious as Taehyung panted heavily, eyes swirling with panic and adrenaline coursing through his body as he held out his hand to help Hoseok up. 

Seeing the scene coming to an abrupt end Jungkook rushed to close and lock the door behind him; never so thankful for Namjoon soundproofing the medical ward after he screamed his head off having his wound cauterized one too many times. 

Hoseok gritted his teeth in irritation as he smacked Taehyung’s hand aside, brushing the back of his hand over his now bleeding nose and spatting the blood that filled his mouth from his teeth being forced to bite down on his tongue too hard. 

“...Now look what you’ve done. This wasn’t supposed to happen until her training was fully complete and now we’re going to have to move it up.”

Taehyung scoffed, looking offended. 

“What; no thank you for saving you, you ungrateful ass? Yoongi would’ve continued till you were unconscious for that comment you made.”

“Exactly! That’s what I wanted you-!”

Hoseok cut himself off with a sigh and turned to the girl sleeping obliviously in the bed. 

“Nothing we can do about it now. Jungkook, you’ll be the one to clean those wounds and then carry her out when the time comes.They may be superficial but it’ll be a problem if they become infected on the road. I’ll grab the materials from my room and Taehyung; you’re on weapon and surveillance duty. If we so much as miss one tracker or are spotted by one camera...this whole operation is blown. I hope you finished the map in time. We meet back here in 30 minutes. If one of us doesn’t show...we leave without them. Understood?” 

Jungkook nodded, as did Taehyung and Jungkook was quick to grab the water jug, soap and rag that Yoongi brought in and tried to remind himself to go somewhat gently as he soaked the rag and scrubbed the soap into it before he ran it over your damaged shoulders. He made sure to get the entire area, just to be safe. He was pretty sure Hoseok wasn't above actually killing him if he didn’t clean them up to his standards and he still had plenty of things left to do in his life. 

It only took him about 10 minutes to clean your small scrape wounds to his liking and he quickly finished up by wrapping them in bandages just in case before he set about grabbing whatever suitable medical equipment they may need in the meantime. Gods forbid your wound did get infected, or he or one of the others got injured they’d have some way to cope.

Taehyung returned with 10 minutes to spare, just as Jungkook was placing his gathered medical supplies into a non discript black duffel bag. He was carrying his own bag; also black to better blend in with the night and no doubt filled to the brim with weapons and interrogation tools he’d rather not dwell on for long. 

They were both starting to get antsy as only 5 minutes remained as Hoseok finally rejoined them. In the meantime they’d bound both bags together for ease of carrying and Hoseok observed their handiwork with a hum of approval that made Jungkook’s heart swell despite himself. Praise from Hoseok was so hard to come by, it was something that was to be savored. 

Hoseok mumbled an apology, explaining he’d taken the risk to gather some clothes for all of them in addition to the files and other supplies they’d need. They were doing the right thing, he was sure of it. There was no time for second guessing now; not with a bleeding Yoongi on the floor, an unconscious brat and an ever shrinking time limit. They had to go now. 

At Hoseok’s signal, with Taehyung leading the way with map in hand they began to exit; First Taehyung, then Jungkook with girl in tow, and finally Hoseok. He hesitated for just a moment and then shoved open his vial drawer and grabbed several, rushing to read the labels. Just in case she got too rowdy, he told himself, quickly rushing to follow after his partners in arms. 

He paused just one more time before he left and never looked back, eyes locking on Yoongi as a brief expression of pained regret flashed across his face.

‘...’

‘...Forgive me brother. But I did what I had to. You’ll come to understand one day, I hope.’

And then they were gone.

________________________________________________________________

A/N: Welp; that just happened! I hope you all enjoyed this and I want to apologize from the bottom of my heart for my lengthy absence. Depression hit me hardcore with the arrival of Covid and writing became a major struggle.I was only recently able to complete this after much struggle thanks to the darker subject matter and the characters themselves screaming at me what to do. 

I will be participating in Monster Smash 2020 with @ksmutclub​ so look forward to my Scream AU(and do let me know if you have any good titles!) coming soon. 

As for Tainting Purity...I love that series. So much. But this most recent chapter has really killed my motivation. I think I may have unintentionally censored myself to be more socially correct because it was going a certain direction and that bothers me. I just want to warn you guys; I may have to scrap it and start entirely from scratch to let it fully be my own. 

It’s good to be back guys; I hope you’ll forgive me for dropping off planet Earth and welcome me back with your thoughts on the newest chapter. I love all you guys. <3

[mrsbhandari]

wish you were sober

a/n: hey its a random ajay fic no one asked for fjkdlkjf;lskdj;f ANYWAYS im still working on that athlete au cuz its a BITCH but thats fine. i hope you like this one, it turned out way longer than i wanted it to oop--

words: 4k

warnings: underage drinking, swearing, light sexual harassment (brian crandall aka asshole of the year), like kinda suggestive if you squint

summary: ajay getting roped into the bullshit(tm)

tagging: @rulesofthebeneath, @theeccentricbibliophile

#

It was near midnight when she called, voice loud over the speaker of his phone and face lighting up the screen. He blinked blearily, unsure of what was really happening and what he should specifically do about this girl who called him and expected him to...what? Drop everything for her? Race over to Brian’s house and bring her home? 

I hate my fucking life, he thought as he pulled on some jeans and grabbed his keys. She looked crazy over the phone, speech slurring and loud laughs directed at something off screen that he wasn’t sure he really wanted to see. She yelled that he needed to get over there and hung the phone up abruptly, not allowing him to get any words in before she left, making his heart beat at the possibilities of what might happen if he didn’t pick her up. 

When he pulled up to the large mansion overrun with rowdy high schoolers, he couldn’t hold in his sigh. He was really traipsing into the lion’s den, looking for a fellow mouse that liked to wear a predator’s pelt, ignoring the looks of hunger pointed his way by the big dogs of both Hearst and Berry. He figured Skye would be upstairs in her room or sleeping over at someone else’s house, so being saved by her was out. Erin was on a trip with her family and Rory was practicing lines at their house, so he was sure that if Ajay was going to get Bailey, it was going to be by himself. 

He didn’t even know why she was here, and why the hell is he supposed to come get her? She probably tagged along with Casey, so why shouldn’t her own brother get control of her? She doesn’t even like me, he thought, grimacing and ignoring the odd stares at his behavior. He seemed to be doing well at hiding his crush on her in favor of the play, but no one told him how hard it was going to be with her! She smiled so easily, and he was just supposed to act like it didn’t make his hands shake and his heart beat faster and his mind race with thoughts of her lips on his and and and…

I hate my fucking life, he repeated to himself, making his way out to the backyard and the pool, keeping his head down to avoid any unwanted contact with people who could most definitely snap his spine in half if they wanted to. His eyes ran over the different sections of the backyard, focusing on the beer pong table that a certain blonde ponytail was near, making his heart skip a beat. He walked over, silently waiting for her to finish her turn and standing awkwardly until she did. What’s the etiquette for this kind of thing? He didn’t have to worry about it long because she sunk her shot and raised her arms up in a high V, shouting and laughing her elation at almost winning the entire game. He let out a small oomph! when she turned to him and wrapped long arms around his neck, seemingly noticing him for the first time. 

“Oh! Ajay!” Her breath stank of cheap beer, but she was so close to him and her body was so warm that he couldn’t find it within himself to care. “I’m winning!” She drew out the word, yet he hung onto every syllable like it was his lifeline, finding it to be the only thing keeping him from pressing his lips to hers, party be damned. A curse from her beer pong opponent brought him back to reality, making him pull back from her but keep a hand on his waist to ensure she didn’t fall drunkenly. 

“I’m here to take you home, Bailey. You called me?” He had to contain himself when she pouted, finding it to be the cutest expression ever, but she quickly turned away and slammed back the shots in the cups on the table. “Bailey, what the fu--” he began, but she let out a loud, giddy laugh. 

“I haven’t even gone for a swim yet?” She took a few uncertain steps, stripping her shirt off and then shimmying her skirt to the grass. Ajay shot glares at a few Hearst football players who whistled and catcalled her before following her protectively, hiding her body from the group of boys. “Ajay, join me!” She was painfully drunk, stumbling and moving far too loosely to be considered sober or dignified. 

“No, we can swim when you aren’t wasted, c’mon…” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a few girls filming them, so he turned his body towards their camera to hide her again. She had been dressed for it, a cute black bikini accentuating her curves, but there was something inherently sweet yet dirty about how exposed she was. He knew it would sound selfish if he ever said it out loud, but it didn’t sit right with him, the fact that she wasn’t only doing this for him. She was drunk, and she barely even noticed him there, and even if she wasn’t drunk, she would never look at him the way he wanted her to. “Bailey, seriously, let me take you home.” 

“I’ve got laps first!” She walked over to the diving board and carefully stepped onto it, almost losing her balance at its wobble. 

“Hey, this chick is gonna jump drunk!” Brian yelled, laughing cruelly at the crowd of other high schoolers who meandered over to the side of the pool to watch. Ajay wanted to yell at how they should be focused on helping her instead of going viral, but he knew it would fall on deaf ears, the predators too preoccupied with the smell of fresh blood. He turned his attention back to Bailey, who was posing for a dive, which she didn’t quite follow through on as she made her leap from the board. Before he could catch her, she was in the water with a splash, providing lovely entertainment for the top of the food chain guffawing at her jump. 

“Bailey!” he yelled, leaning forward as much as he could without falling in after her. She rose to the surface, but was struggling, splashing the water and taking gulping breaths that never seemed to be enough as she kept slipping under. Shit shit shit! He thought, quickly ripping off his shirt and jacket and dropping his pants, disregarding the suggestive sounds falling out of his classmates’ mouths. Right now, he needed to help Bailey; he would deal with his pending payout from the possibility of a Buzzfeed article later. He threw his glasses on the small pile of his clothes as he jumped.

The sudden feeling of the water enveloping him was a shock, but he ran entirely on adrenaline to get over it quickly and swim over to Bailey, wrapping an arm around her waist and hugging her close in the water. She was still struggling against him, unable to stop the panic that was taking over her heart, but he found the edge of the pool and the ladder next to the diving board, quickly pushing her to sit on one of the metal steps. When her fingers wrapped around the rail, she calmed down quicker than expected, allowing him a moment of relief to catch his breath. 

“Aw, damn, I was hoping I would have to administer some CPR!” Brian whistled, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at the pair in the pool. Suddenly, Ajay was hit with the realization that he was here...with Bailey...at a party...with a shit ton of high schoolers...in his underwear...sopping wet. 

I hate my fucking life. No matter how many times it ran through his head, a gorgeous face would pop up in his mind shortly after, making his features soften and his breathing slow. With a jolt, he felt her moving in front of him and opened his eyes just in time to watch her ass pass directly in front of his face, making him blush and look away. He climbed out after her, the reality of just what he did hitting him as he looked around at the other teenagers, all staring at him and Bailey like they were the only food available for miles. He found a towel on a table and handed it to her, but she offered it back to him with a flirty smile. 

“I think you need this more than me,” she whispered, eyes glancing downward for a split second before meeting his once more. He let out a cough and wrapped the towel around his waist, secretly happy he wore black, not-embarrassing boxers today. Collecting his pile of clothes from the side of the pool, he sneers at Brian when the boy stopped in front of them. 

“You think you can just make a mess at my party and leave without paying an exit fee?” He turned to Bailey, a sickly smile showing too many teeth and only making Ajay hurry to reach for his jacket and wrap it around her shoulders. “A kiss from the party girl?” 

“I think the fuck not,” Ajay said, tone low and threatening as he zipped up the thin layer over Bailey’s half-naked body. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her close to him and willing her to stop shaking at his side. She was suspiciously quiet, but he didn’t have time to worry about her; he needed to get her out of this party. 

“Oh, c’mon--”

“You lay a hand on her and I report you for sexual harassment, which will go down even worse when the cops look at the evidence of underage drinking. I’ll say it one time, and one time only: Fuck. Off.” He hid his satisfaction at the way Brian gaped at him and stepped out of the way. They silently walked off, Ajay’s hands full with his clothes in one hand and a drunk girl that he was secretly pining after in the other. He looked down at her briefly, eyeing her through her thick lashes that nearly closed over a sleepy gaze. Before he stepped back into the house, he looked over his shoulder to see Brian glaring after them. “Take that ‘exit fee’ and shove it up your ass!” With a resolute nod, he made his way through the house and to his car, surrounded by teenagers that he shooed away. 

“‘Jay…” she drawled, the first word she said in the past 5 minutes making him flush. “Where are we going?”

“Well, my house is closer, so I’ll text your brother and call your mom to say you’re staying over at my place.”

“Hm…” was all she hummed, allowing herself to be strapped in by him. He stayed outside the driver’s side to pull his pants on, but stopped with his shirt in his hands when she reached over and rolled the window down. “Leave it off!” She sounded like a child and he wanted to laugh, so bad, to just laugh with her and not worry about what the hell this party was and what the hell was going to happen in the morning and what the hell he was going to do when she was spending the night in his bed. 

But he couldn’t. 

“Sorry, Bailey,” he said, slipping the shirt down and smiling at her pained whines. 

“Such a Debby Downer,” she slurred. She looked back out of her window, pouting and ignoring him when he offered his phone, opened to Spotify for her. 

“I’ll make it up to you. Pick some music.” That seemed to distract her enough for him to get going, flinching at the volume she played WAP at and screamed the lyrics to. There was something intimate about this as well, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of how sweet it felt, wafting over his senses like being down the street from the bakery. You knew that the closer you got, the stronger the smell, and the more at home you felt amidst the warm pastries that lined the window. The closer he drove to his house, the more inevitable being close to her was, and he couldn’t get it out of his head as he switched his attention from the road to her hand movements as she rapped the lewd lyrics, fueled entirely by the alcohol. 

She whined more when he turned down the volume as he turned into his neighborhood, but he managed to convince her to be quiet with a single finger to his lips, something she seemed to focus on for far too long to even be attributed to the alcohol. She luckily kept this behavior up when he ushered her inside and to his room as quickly as possible while still keeping her from falling into several of Mohit’s loud toys and the large furniture that seemed to be ten times as dangerous at night. 

“I felt like I was on Wipeout,” Bailey gasped when he closed the door, voice entirely too loud for the quiet stillness of the room. He was about to scold her, but then she collapsed on the bed, making it creak and add to the genuine noise she brought everywhere she went. His heart decided that he liked the noises that were associated with her before his mind ever caught up, something that was happening a lot more nowadays when he saw her walk into the auditorium, ponytail swinging and smile wide. 

“Uh, here,” he said, offering a large t-shirt and some old pajama pants that were too small for him to her before turning around and covering his eyes. He heard the unzipping of his jacket and the ruffling of clothes, keeping his eyes shut under his hands as he waited for her with bated breath. He hated how his mind wandered to her even when he didn’t want it to, his eyelids seemingly tattooed with her bright eyes and curious gaze, always finding his glances with pinpoint accuracy that left him stuttering and looking away. She was here, in his room, drunk. Just a few feet away and he could reach out his hands to touch her, feel her skin under his palm, run the pads of fingers over her collarbone, the scar on her shoulder, the freckles on her cheek. His touch could linger for as long as he wanted it to, because she’d be looking forward to it as much as he was, and she would pull his face down for a kiss that knocked the breath out of his lungs. 

“You can look now,” was what a tentative voice behind him said, jolting him out of his fantasy and making him turn around. No matter how much mental preparation he could put his mind through, he never could fully be ready for the sight of the sight of his large shirt slipping off her shoulder, revealing the collarbone he had just been thinking about a few seconds before. She sat cross legged on the sheets, making her seem smaller than she really was. 

“You must be tired.”

“I’m not.”

“You looked ready to pass out at Brian’s, don’t bullshit.” He sounded unnecessarily harsh which made him feel even worse than he already did for her as she cast a glance down at her hands. He sighed. “Sorry, I was just worried.”

“About me?” 

“Well, you almost drowned, so yeah. I was worried.” Her gaze was still on her hands and she hummed, too full of thoughts for someone who probably couldn’t keep them straight. 

“Was that the only reason?”

“You talk too much. Aren’t you supposed to be passed out by now? I’ve never dealt with a drunk person before.” He saw her cheeks grow bigger and figured she was smiling; it made him smile, too, an indicator that he was too far gone to ever deny feelings for her that flitted around his mind like cobwebs. He shook them away to force himself to listen to her speak once more.

“I just…” She trailed off but stopped herself from releasing anything else, lips tight and silence awkward. 

“It’s fine.” His voice was too hurried, he sounded too panicked, and he cringed to himself when he got the simple words out. Damage control. “You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to.” She just hummed again, and he hated the way he analyzed it, searching for the hidden meaning as if the vibrations would unlock some new achievement, leaving a letter in his pocket that would lay out all the things felt between the two. The more he thought about it though, the more he realized he would be afraid to read it. “You take the bed.”

“What? Why?” Her voice raised unexpectedly, enough so that even she seemed surprised by the sudden raise in volume that was met with another finger to his lips. 

“It’s polite, I’m not making you sleep on the floor drunk.”

“Just sleep with me.” The alcohol was clouding her mind, letting more pass through her filter without a second thought. 

“I can’t do--”

“Why not?”

The challenging tone made him pause, unsure if she really meant anything by the insistent way she clenched her fists and stared up at him, nose scrunched in an adorable pout that made his heart melt. He could feel his resolve crumbling, which is surprising since he was always seen as one of the most stubborn students in the theatre department. Someone shouldn’t be able to wear him down this much unless they were holding a gun to his head. 

Or maybe they were just looking at him with such a determination in their eyes that it made him stop and consider the options for once. 

“If I do this, you’ll sleep?” 

“Yes,” she sighed more than spoke, scooting backwards on the bed and edging over to leave room for him. He wondered if she could already hear the beating of his heart, loudly rushing into his ears as he tried to calmly walk over to the side of the bed. It all felt domestic, like they were husband and wife, but he felt too loud to be considered casual. His feet pounded the wood below him and his large hands scraped against the sheets. He left a layer under him so as to separate him from Bailey, but it proved unsuccessful as she just climbed (stumbled) back out and then got back in on top of the same layer, getting rid of his barrier and only making him sweatier. He was still in jeans, they noticed at the same time, and she looked up at him expectantly. 

“You can change your pants you know.” She raised an arm to her eyes, closing and covering them. “I won’t look.” 

You can if you want to. 

The sentence was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t find it within himself to say it, opting instead to just silently get up and change, slipping his legs into pants that he only realized matched hers when he climbed back beside her. When he settled with his back against the headboard, he nearly yelped when her hand found his thigh, running her fingers over the soft material. 

“We match.”

“Yeah. Unintentionally, I swear.” He stiffened when she nudged closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder. 

“I don’t mind. I think it’s cute.” 

He never expected that “Bailey Called Something I Did Cute” to be written on his tombstone, but here he was: murdered by the shape of her mouth forming a word like that in reference to him. 

“Can I kiss you?” The question was unhurried and whispered in his ear, but it hit him like a bolt of lightning, sending tingles over his entire body as he flinched away from her. 

“What?” Half of his body was off the bed as she leaned closer to him, cupping his right cheek in one hand. She still smelled like shitty beer and chlorine, a combination that should’ve made him gag, but she managed to make seem like the highest priced perfume. It made him want to lean in right back, slot his lips against her plush ones and just accept that it happened, but he also knew that going back on his word to the rest of the theatre department was an awfully shitty move. 

“I want to kiss you.”

“You’re drunk.”

“What’s the saying? ‘Drunk words are sober thoughts’?”

“You want to kiss me when you’re sober, too?”

“All the time.” His breath hitched; Wasn’t expecting that development. “I wish I didn’t have to kiss Rory in the play. I think they like me and I don’t want to lead them on, but it’s so hard when the kiss is so anticipated. It’s especially hard when I have a crush on my director. ” 

Ah, the kiss, Ajay remembered, slightly ashamed at all the times they’d rehearsed the scene but he would always call for them to stop just before the climax of it. He knew it was kind of pervy, but he really only wanted to watch his crush kiss someone else the minimum amount of times he was required to: the four times they were performing the show, nothing less and absolutely nothing more.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Say you’ll kiss me.” 

“What about the play?”

“It’s your rule. You can decide if you want to break it with me.” She didn’t know he had already decided months ago when he saw her at auditions that if the opportunity ever made itself known, he would break a thousand rules just to feel her skin against his one time. And now he seemed to be giving in, leaning in closer and closer until her breath was hot against his, shared between the two like a secret. 

“I’ll kiss you,” he decided, finally closing the gap between them and kissing her. His lungs and chest felt tight, but any concerns about the play, the party, or the bitter taste of beer on his tongue melted away as she kissed him back fervently. He figured he should be impressed with how good she still was at kissing despite being wasted, but his thoughts were cut off as she pulled back. He was suddenly self-conscious, concerned about how good he was and the line of spit that still connected them. “What--”

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” she breathed, chest heaving with the excitement and the alcohol still in her system. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Ajay.” 

Ajay loved music, but he decided that if he had to give up every single record he owned just to hear his name fall out of her mouth again, he would hand them over in a heartbeat. Despite the way his heart was beating out of his chest, he forced himself to sound casual as he looked down at her. “Oh, yeah?” 

“Yes, you dork.” A drunken smile that stopped his heart and made his mind click trying to story it in his memory slipped onto her face, and she dropped her head back on his shoulder. “A long time,” she repeated softly, and before he could respond, she was asleep. 

He gently lifted her up and laid her down flat on the bed, making sure to keep close to her and her warmth. Just before he turned the light out, he pressed a kiss to her head, savoring the picture of her sleeping so soundly next to him, clutching his arm and one leg thrown over his waist. 

“Me too, Bailey.”

[queenmevesknickers]

One-shots

All my Thronebreaker and The Witcher one-shots

Meve/Reynard

Still Waters

Summary: Even Reynard has a breaking point. What if Gascon went a little too far with his teasing at the Hel'ays revels in Angren? Perhaps Meve might have learnt a little more than just what her second in command thinks of the new ballista…

My very first TB fic :) (2.8k, Meve/Reynard)

Run Deep

Summary: Meve and Reynard have agreed on one night of happiness together - and they intend to make the most of it. Because, sometimes, when there's a war going on and you're in the middle of monster-infested swamps, you need to remind yourself what you're fighting for in the first place.

A follow up to Still Waters - (adult content/sex scene, 3.6k, Meve/Reynard)

An Act of Faith

Summary: There were half a dozen occasions that Reynard could recall in the last few years, when he could have kissed her: late at night after finally resolving a particularly complicated dispute between some of the Rivian nobles, a breathless moment after a dance at a ball at Lyria Castle. There’d even been times when he thought that maybe she’d wanted him to. But every single time, he’d held back. Worried he’d mistaken the look in her eyes, fearful of losing their friendship, reluctant to risk the respect and trust which he treasured so dearly. But now, seeing her so close to despair, he wondered if he could be brave enough to show her just how extraordinary she was, in his eyes at least.

Meve has a moment of doubt; Reynard does what he can to help (2.8k, Meve/Reynard)

Translated into Russian by Agent_Casper here.

For Queen and Country

Summary: This is how it ends. Alone, surrounded by your fallen men, a Nilfgaardian spear buried in your chest. But thank the gods, at least you did your duty.

Reynard’s final moments, from his POV (major character death, 600 words)

Translated into Russian by Agent_Casper here.

The Flint and the Flame

“Reynard,” she says softly, not quite able to take her eyes off his mouth. “What I want to ask of you now – it goes far beyond what I could ever expect out of mere duty. This is not something I wish to command of you; I ask it not as your queen, but as…as a woman…as a friend. Please don’t think that you can’t refuse me, if this is not something you desire.”

“I am yours, Your Majesty. Whatever you would take of me, I will gladly give.”

Meve asks Reynard to brush her hair.

Explicit/borderline PWP (but with so many FEELINGS) (Meve/Reynard, 4k)

The World’s End

Summary: It did not sit well with him; he cursed the fear that had paralysed him, that had prevented him from being the one to see to her safety, from being the one to pull her behind the shelter of the rocky outcrop. But there was nothing that could be done now except to feel gratitude that she had suffered no lasting harm, and to do his utmost to prevent such a thing from happening again.

It has always been Reynard's instinct to throw himself between his queen and danger; he had never dreamed the favour might one day be returned.

(Meve/Reynard, pining, self-sacrifice, 2k)

Sweet Surrender

Summary: That he is as eager to please her in bed as he is in every other way could hardly be a cause for complaint, but she sees how he watches her constantly, his strategic mind always planning his next move; even when he is finally content to give himself over to his own pleasure, it is never with abandon. She has begun to wonder just what it would take to force him to surrender his control for once, to let himself be ruled by nothing but desire.

Meve tries to get out of doing paperwork. She is successful.

(Meve/Reynard, shameless PWP, 3.4k)

The River

He stares resolutely at the dark patch on the canvas before him, determined not to allow his imagination to fan the ever-smouldering embers of his longing into flame. Five onagers, he thinks desperately, casting his mind to the inventory of their catapults, three in good condition, two in need of repairs. Six ballistae, all in excellent condition, but short three men trained to work them. It works well enough, though he loathes the fact that he is required to stoop to such tactics merely to maintain his composure before her. Pull yourself together, man.

(Reynard gets a bit hot and bothered, one-sided Meve/Reynard, 2.3k, pining)

Meve/Reynard/Gascon - OT3

The Messenger

Summary:

“Reynard.” She fought to keep the frustration from her voice. “Are you unwell?”

“Of course not –” The lie was interrupted by a coughing fit, much longer and distinctly wetter-sounding than those before; she realised suddenly he must have been trying to hold it back. “It’s nothing,” he continued, once he’d caught his breath. “Just – just something caught in my throat, Your Grace –”

“That didn’t sound like nothing,” remarked Gascon. “Reynard, you look like a walking corpse.”

Reynard would do anything to win his queen's trust back. When he takes it too far, all three are left to work out where they stand with each other.

Prompt fill for the Bad Things Happen Bingo - ‘worked themselves to exhaustion’ (pre-relationship, light angst, hurt/comfort, 3.8k)

Ciri/Cerys

Sparrowhawk and Swallow

Love is never easy, when witchers are involved - and being a queen certainly doesn't make it any easier, either.

A little slice-of-life/domestic fluff one-shot featuring the Queen of Skellige and her favourite witcher, set immediately before Of Time and Tides - though this story can be read stand-alone (Ciri/Cerys, 2.4k)

Gen

Some Nights

Summary: The Duke of Dogs had no love for royalty, nor loyalty to any cause but his own. But now - he's not so sure.

A particularly bitter night in Mahakam forces Meve, Reynard and Gascon a little closer - literally (Gen/platonic, 2.8k)

A Guide to Courteous Thievery

Summary: A Guide to Courteous Thievery: The Bandit’s Codex - by the Duke of Dogs, Earl of Mutts, High King of Huckleberries, His Trampy Highness, His Sparky Lordship, etc, etc

Gascon Brossard is the most ambitious bandit Lyria’s ever seen - after all, he’s no common cutthroat.

A little peek at what Gascon got up to before his run in with Her Majesty (Gen, 1.6k)

High Stakes

“Hey ho, Reynard. Don’t mind me, I’d hate to interrupt what is no doubt another stimulating evening of staring into your drink like it holds the secrets of th’ universe.”

He glared. “Can I help you?”

“If you’re prepared to cease hostilities – at least for th’ moment – then perhaps, yes...thought I’d see if I could tempt you with a spot of gwent.”

Summary: Her Majesty’s seconds-in-command begin to bond over a game of cards - with unforeseen consequences... (Gascon & Reynard, Gen, 2.5k)

Brother Mine

Summary: "There are times when we must do things which are hard, things which frighten us; sometimes we must find it in ourselves to be brave, even when we don’t feel it – because it is our duty, because it is the right thing to do."Forgive me, brother mine - I hope one day, you understand.

King Villem the First has had to make many difficult decisions in his short reign; decisions that have cost him dearly, that have caused much pain and regret. This may be the hardest yet.

Written for the Bad Things Happen Bingo - Big Brother Instinct prompt.

(Gen, angst, self-sacrifice 2k)

Beneath the Unchanging Sky

Summary: Seasons change, the world turns; battles and wars are won and lost. But stars are constant, the sky ever-present, watching over us as years pass, as surely as the sun rises and sets.

The night sky shine above Meve, Reynard and Gascon at significant points in their lives.

(Gen, one-sided Meve/Reynard, 3.1k, pining)

Fair is Foul, Foul is Fair

There was a palpable tension in the air each day at court until it could be seen what kind of a mood the king was in today; his advisors had taken to withholding intelligence or deferring certain proposals until it was certain that Reginald was in a favourable mood to receive them. Meve would not have raised the subject with him without purpose, and this sort of talk could only lead one way – and Reynard was not sure if he was prepared to let his mind wander that far.

Written for the Bad Things Happen Bingo. Prompt - betrayal. (one-sided Meve/Reynard, angst, regicide, conspiracies, 2.2k)

[soybeantree]

pairing: do kyungsoo x reader genre/warning: fluff word count: 4k description: once upon a time in a quaint little kingdom lived a princess and a dragon. a/n: june installment of our ‘trying to write a kyungsoo story for every month that he is in the service’ series. check out the other’s here.

When you were little, the court minstrels would tell tales about the tower nestled high in the mountains which ring the Royal City. The tower was built when the Royal City was young and before your Grandfather's Grandfather had conquered it and the kingdom which your family now claims as theirs.

An evil wizard had built it after his king had banished him. The tower absorbed the wizard's evil and became cursed. When the wizard died, a dragon claimed it because - as the minstrels said - dragons are cursed beings. The minstrels would always end their tales with a threat that bad boys and girls would be sent to the tower. Never to return.

The threat scared your brother until he was old enough to find the idea of magic and dragons to be folly. The older you grew the more the stories took hold of you. Your brother teased you, calling you a foolish child. You promised him that you would prove him to be the fool. 

In the early hours of the morning before even the roosters have woken, you set off from the palace on foot.  A horse would have aided your journey, but you feared you would alert a hostler if you attempted to remove one, and with even one witness, your plan would unravel. After all, none would allow a princess to embark on so dangerous an adventure. Even if the tower holds no real evil magic or dragon, the mountain is a treacherous place.

This truth scores itself into your hands and knees as you hike up the mountain. Your determination begins to waver as the sun sits directly above you. The palace and the surrounding city are brushstrokes upon a canvas from where you stand. The tower, you believe, lies several more miles ahead, but your map reading skills have always been lacking. Your hope of reaching the tower and returning within the same day dwindle to nothing. If you continue, you will be spending a night in the mountains. If you turn back, you will arrive at the palace in time for dinner. 

With a resolute nod, you continue forward. Your brother will ruthlessly mock you if you return without reaching your goal. 

As you rise higher, a path takes shape before you. Rocks worn smooth and dirt compacted by constant traffic. The ache in your thighs eases as you follow the worn way and lean on the tall pines which march along with you. Beyond the tree line, a brook babbles and birds sing to one another. You breathe deeply, the mountain air chills your lungs and sends a shiver down your spine. Perhaps, you should detour to the brook for a drink of fresh water and a rest for your weary body. 

Before you can alter your course, you catch sight of smooth, cut stone between the trees. Pushing yourself forward, you reach a clearing. The mountain runs flat as far as your sight travels, and without your journey as evidence to the contrary, you would believe you travelled through the royal forest which lay on the yonder of the palace grounds rather than up the mountain. 

The tree line stands back forming a circle around the tower. Grass which reaches your knees claims the ground surrounding it. It waves, a sea of gold in the autumn breeze. The tower sits in the clearing’s center reaching nearly as high as the pines. Once it must have reached above them and been visible for miles, but time has given the trees the advantage of height. They will continue to grow until they eclipse the sun and leave the tower in constant shadow. But for now, the sun glints off the smooth white stone, bathing the meadow in a soft warm light.

Magic must indeed fill this place because you stand beside the pines unable to step forward. Your brother will dismiss your hesitation as proof of magic, and you have yet to find evidence of the dragon. With a deep breath, you raise your foot, stretch it across the trees border, and disturb the golden waves. Your other foot follows, and you continue your journey forward.

Stone stretches from the tower’s base to its roof on, so you circle it in your search for the door. White stone follows you, revealing no opening. Stopping, you place your hands upon your hips and glare at the tower. No entrance must be proof enough of magic, but no proof of a dragon. “Does a dragon live here or not?” You ask the stones because a magic tower must be capable of speech.

“Yes.”

Magic indeed. You smile. “Is the dragon presently at home?”

“No.”

“Do you know when he will return?”

“Now.” The breath of the word brushes against the back of your neck, and you spin reaching for the dagger strapped to your side. You brandish it at the speaker. His gaze travels from the dagger to your eyes, and you stutter out a breath. His eyes are dying coals, needing only a soft breath to ignite. Scales, fading from back to purple, trace the outline of his eyes and run across his temples in a mimicry of glasses. “Have you come to slay the dragon?”

“No.” You return the dagger to its sheath and straighten, throwing your shoulders back and raising your head as your nanny is always instructing you to do. “Are you the dragon?”

“Yes.” He steps around you and heads to the tower, only now do you realize the stack of logs strapped to a contraption on his back and the bag at his side which drips blood and smells of the butcher. You turn, your gaze following his progress. 

He raises a hand - scales cover it from knuckle to wrist, disappearing beneath his tunic – and places it upon the tower. The stone ripples, melting back at his touch until an archway has formed. He steps through, and the stones drip back into place. When your hand rests where he placed his, the stone is solid and unforgiving. Proof of magic and a dragon.

You return to the palace that night. A foolhardy endeavor which leaves you with double the scrapes and bruises as the journey up the mountain, but the return takes half the time. Though your encounter was brief, your mind conjures a perfect image of the dragon, and his image accompanies you the whole way back. 

The repercussions of your adventure amount to more than an aching body. Your mother insists on a lecture to wake you, another when you whimper as your maid attempts to dress you, another after you wolf down a plate of food, and several more throughout that first day and many to follow. Your father insists on a guard at your bedroom door when you sleep, another to accompany you when you walk about the palace, and a whole squadron when you step onto the palace ground. Your brother insists on pestering you when you join the court for breakfast. He asks if you made it to the tower, if you saw the dragon, if you have finally outgrown your foolishness.

You accept your mother’s lecture. You worried her when you left without forewarning or explanation. As far as she knew, you could have been kidnapped or killed. You endure your father’s guards while concocting plans to escape their watch. He wants to protect you, but your only danger is yourself. You ignore your brother’s pestering. He may believe what he wishes, but you have journeyed to the tower and met the dragon who uses magic to enter it. 

During your second trip to the tower, you learn the dragon’s name. You wait until your father goes on his yearly parade around the kingdom. Your brother as Crown Prince must accompany him, but being a princess destined to marry into a royal family in a foreign land, you excuse yourself from the grandiose endeavor. You feign sick once the procession leaves the city and sneak out to the mountains. The journey is easier this time, or perhaps, you are better prepared.

Upon reaching the tower, you sit against the wall which melted at the dragon’s touch and wait. You wait the whole day and into the next. Despite being in the middle of a wild mountain, you sleep with ease within the Tower’s meadow. The grass offers a soft place to rest, and when you wake, you breathe deeply as if this is the first breath you have ever taken. 

Sitting up, you resume your position, but your head passes through emptiness and would have cracked against the tower’s floor without the hand which cradles your cranium. You stare into the dragon’s ember eyes. The scales which ring them reveal more purple than black this close. 

“Thank you.” You smile, lifting your head from his hand. Rising, you brush the dust of your journey from your clothes and smooth their wrinkles. A glance behind him steals your attention. The tower’s inside stretches into impenetrable darkness, a void. Propriety returns to you when he coughs. You sink into the appropriate curtsy for the occasion and introduce yourself. You leave your hand out-stretched, and it dangles between you as he stares at you. “Do dragons not introduce themselves?” you ask as you retract your hand and straighten.

“We do.”

“Is the greeting different?”

“It is.”

“Will you greet me?” As a princess, you have endured a plethora of greetings from those of each and every class. None have refused you a greeting. You wait, your stomach plummeting with each exhale.

He bobs his head. “I am Kyungsoo.” And he walks off. 

You follow after him because you have many more questions about dragons and magic. He answers each question as he forages through the forest. The only time he huffs at you is when you nearly step on a batch of ginseng. By days end, his bag is full as is your notebook. You return to the tower, and as before he places his hand on the wall. The entrance reveals itself, and he is gone. 

The next moment of import happens two years into your friendship with Kyungsoo. Your visits to the tower are fewer than you would like, but you must be careful lest your father place a more stringent guard around you. Your longest trips occur during your father’s tours, but you try for shorter trips whenever possible though your chance to see Kyungsoo decreases.

This trip is a short one. Foreign dignitaries are visiting. Your father and brother are going hunting with them, and the female part of the company occupies your mother’s time. Once again, you fake an illness. Your constant faking has led many to believe that you have some underlying condition which the royal family is keeping a secret. This rumor works well in your favor and has kept many unwanted suitors from making their intentions known.

Sitting at the tower’s base, you remove your ever-growing lists of notes on dragons and their culture and customs. You plan to compose a book. First though, you will need to organize your notes. The tower shudders, and you jump up ready to greet Kyungsoo except it isn’t Kyungsoo. This dragon is taller than Kyungsoo, and his face is smooth tanned skin from top to chin. Kyungsoo has mentioned other dragons, but this is your first-time meeting another. 

You bob your head and introduce yourself. The new dragon introduces himself as Jongin. Kyungsoo emerges as you complete your greetings. 

“Why is Jongin joining you today?” You ask as you fall in step with Kyungsoo. Jongin walks on his other side as the three of you venture into the woods. 

“Jongin can speak for himself.” Kyungsoo says as he crouches beneath a tree to pick mushrooms.

You glance across at Jongin whose lips quiver with an uncertain smile. “I wanted to see the human realm?” He stumbles through the words, transforming them from a statement to a question. 

“Welcome!” You beam. “I have never been to the dragon realm, and as such have no authority to compare the two. However, I do quite enjoy my realm, and Kyungsoo apparently enjoys our plant life.”

“He enjoys cooking.” Jongin offers as Kyungsoo stands and moves along through the woods. You match your pace to Jongin’s and allow Kyungsoo the head of our caravan. “And the plants in our realm,” he pauses his nose scrunching as if sulfur has passed beneath it, “don’t help.”

“Wait. That’s why you collect our plants?” You question Kyungsoo.

“Yes.” 

“Why did you think he collected them?” Jongin asks. 

“I thought he was a scientist or something, and that he was doing some form of research.” You confess as you two continue after Kyungsoo. 

“In a way, I am doing research.” Kyungsoo pauses by a tree. Sap leaks from a tap into a waiting bucket, and he tips the bucket into a vial from his pouch. “I am discovering what plants from your realm are best for cooking.”

You stick out your tongue at the back of his head. The gesture which would horrify your mother and nanny, but Jongin laughs justifying your behavior. 

Jongin shares more freely than Kyungsoo. One question provides you with a litany of information, and during a cascade of information, Jongin says, “but time works differently for us.” He continues past that, but your mind freezes on that statement. 

“What do you mean time works differently?” You stop, and as you have tucked your arm beneath Jongin’s he must as well. 

“I don’t really know how to explain it.”

“Time moves slower for us.” Kyungsoo joins in. “It’s not really what happens, but it’s the easiest way to understand it. That’s why humans believe we live for so long.” Kyungsoo asks Jongin for help with a particularly stubborn root, and with an apology, he leaves your side.

The loss of his body sends a chill across yours. Dragons radiate heat, a pleasant trait on this cold autumn day. They have many foreign traits. This bit about time is only the most recent one you will need to add to your ever-growing list.

You mull the idea over a bit before lowering yourself to a log near the two dragons. “Time moves slower for you.” Kyungsoo nods you through your thought process. “I would say that you have known me for two years, but you would not say the same?”

Brushing aside the last smattering of dirt, Kyungsoo removes the root completely intact. He wraps it carefully in a cloth before placing it in his bag. “Yes. I have only known you a few months by my time.”

“I find that unfair.” You gripe, your face adopting the expression you wore when you were four and your nanny refused to let you read after dark. “I have spent so much time waiting for you and planning to get away, and you come and go as you please without any sense of urgency.”

“I never asked you to come.” 

A chill sweeps through the trees. Jongin coughs as he stands but looks away when you glance at him.

Returning your attention to Kyungsoo whose back is still to you, you raise your chin and throw your shoulders back. “No, I suppose you did not, and as my time is growing late, I should be returning home.” Brushing off your skirt, you stand, and after a bow to them both, you march off through the woods. 

During your two years with Kyungsoo, you had thought your emotions to him were merely platonic, but his comment that day opened a gaping wound in your chest and revealed how deep your feelings had become. You have no shame in admitting your feelings. What you would rather omit was how you acted after that day in the woods. 

For a year of your time, you abstained from journeys to the Tower. Your father went on his tour and dignitaries visited, but you remained within the Royal City. Your father and mother rejoiced believing that the constant tonics the court physicians fed you had cured you of your mysterious illness. 

Bolstered by this supposed success, your mother began the process of match-making. You in turn began the process of deterring suitors and avoiding your mother. Your skill in the first excelled. Noblemen found the subject of dragons and magic far less fascinating than you did and responded to your attempts to coax them into debates with polite disinterest or blatant refusal. Your skill in the second met with mixed success. Often, you could plan your day around hers or alter your course when it intersected hers, but she managed to instigate events which obligation dictated that you attend such as balls.

One such ball, she threw to celebrate the Winter Solstice. When you pointed out that you had never celebrated the solstice before and that this ball fell coincidentally during the ambassadorial visit of your allies to the south, your mother brushed off your comment with a smile and ushered you to the Royal Tailor who outfitted you in a gown worthy of the Winter Queen. However, you doubt she would wear something which so limits her range of movement. 

Standing stiffly in an alcove of the ballroom, you attempt to blend in with the walls which would be easier if the walls were a color other than midnight. Your crystal blue gown shines like a star in the night’s sky, and the ambassador’s son is star gazing. He makes his approach, and you waddle for the doors which lead to the gardens. Your lungs fight for air, and you struggle faster. Feinting would be preferred to your current predicament. 

As you reach the doors, your lungs fail altogether, but blame rests not with your dress but the figure who stands in the shadows leaking from the ballroom. You blink, but the figure remains. The ambassador’s son calls your name, but you refuse to move your gaze. 

“Princess.” The ambassador’s son stands beside you, his hand upon your elbow. 

Turning, you slip from his grasp and offer him a soft smile as you duck your head. “Forgive me, my lord. A dear friend has recently arrived. I hope you will allow me to give my greetings.”

“Of course, your highness.” He bows his head, and you are gone before he raises it.

“Kyungsoo.” You call as you slip into the garden. The dragon has disappeared in the brief moments of your conversation. “Kyungsoo.” You call again and let out a squeak in the same breath when he appears before you. “Warning please.” You gasp, clutching your chest. Your lungs continue to struggle against your dress. 

“Sorry. I forget how dull human hearing is.” From another, you would find insult in the comment, but Kyungsoo speaks with fact not malice. 

Your breathing eases, and you straighten, throwing your shoulders back, but they immediately fall as you exclaim, “Your eyes.” The black and purple scales which surround his eyes are missing, replaced by smooth skin framed by round spectacles. 

“The scales would have drawn attention.”

“But… you can make them go away?”

He nods. “The same as all my other scales.”

“But- Never mind.” You shake your head and cross your arms. “What are you doing here?” 

“You stopped coming to the tower. I wanted to ensure your wellbeing.” 

“You believe the only reason I would stop coming is because I am unwell?”

He pauses, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “It was not my first thought.”

“What was your first?”

“That I had upset you during our last conversation.”

“And if you had?” You shiver as a gust rips through the gardens. Kyungsoo steps close, his heat wafting off him. 

“I would apologize. I understand how what I said sounded differently to you than it did to me.”

“Fact not malice.” You sigh, your shoulders relaxing. Kyungsoo’s thick brows furrow forming a caterpillar across his forehead. You chuckle. “You speak with fact not malice. I notated this about you early on, but it is easier to know something than to believe it.”

“And I know to think before I speak but do not.”

“Dragons are as flawed as humans.” 

He laughs, his lips pulling back to form a heart. “Yes, I think we have more faults, but we’re better at making them appear as virtues. I am sorry, and I promise to do better.”

“I forgive you, and I too promise to do better.”

That day marks a change in your interactions. Kyungsoo speaks more and with depth. Rather than interviews about dragons, you have conversations about each other. You learn about his life and his beliefs, and he learns about yours. You also are no longer the only one traveling. If Kyungsoo came to the tower, and your responsibilities kept you from journeying, he would travel to the city. You would spend the day showing him your people and our customs.

[musedblues]

Always Something There To Remind Me [Part: 2]

summary: Home is where the heart is. You're working on finding yours. After a handful of misfortunes, your old friend Joe helps to unravel life's greatest mystery while adding a bit of extra grief to the mix.

warnings: Another death and a funeral (I'm sorry in advance) general sadness but also a bit of resolution!? He’s here lads.

w/c: 4k

a/n: ❗This time only I'm adding lovely mutuals to my tags, who gave feedback in the first chapter so this one doesn't flop 😳 moving forward I'll make a normal tag list so, let me know if you'd like to be added!

@anincurablefangirl​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @supersonicfreddie​ @ogrogerbattle​ @sonic-volcano​ @tensecondvacation​

Part 3

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The sound of sirens pierced through your head. You thought you were dreaming.

You were home, in New York, in bed. You had been here for two weeks. The last you saw of Wales was the airport, where Tegan dropped you off and promised to ship some of your things to America. Every day you woke up in your childhood home, a new small package would arrive at your front door. You would tote the boxes inside and your mother would remind you to brush your hair, like when you were a kid. But instead of taking you to school, she would take you to therapy.

You tried to drive there on your own once, but you broke into a panic before you could pull out of the driveway. So your mother drove and tried really hard to act like everything was fine. She would play Bruce Springsteen songs on those drives and gush about his music. You used to obsess with her, but your head usually ached too bad to think of anything besides how much it hurt. You knew the headaches would go away if you figured out how to sleep again. But sometimes your daydreams were too nightmarish and you were terrified to fall asleep and let your subconscious take over.

That's why when the faint shriek of sirens grew loud enough to wake you up, you were only frustrated with your imagination. You had finally fallen asleep, for once. But when red and blue lights flooded through your bedroom window, you realized you weren't dreaming. You shot out of bed in a panic and prepared for the worst. A familiar vice tightened around your throat as you crept downstairs to investigate.

Your mother was wearing a vintage silk robe and her hair was frizzy and wild from sleep. She rubbed her eyes and watched you float down the stairs in the same pajamas you'd been living in for some days in a row.

"It's three in the morning. What could possibly-" Your mother wondered, peering past the blinds where the red and blue lights shone brightest. You watched her grow a frown and the vice around your throat tightened ever so slightly.

"What?" You plead to know.

"Mr. Mazzello hasn't been doing so well this month. The ambulance is stopped across the street."

"No." You frowned, scurrying toward the window, hoping you wouldn't see anything but a quiet suburb. But there were indeed cop cars and an ambulance stopped outside your favorite neighbors home. You watched lights turn on inside the living room window, and a sickening regret-filled your stomach.

You had been home for two weeks and hadn't seen the Mazzello family once. You heard Joe's mother stop over one morning and chat with your mother downstairs. You recognized her voice from behind your closed bedroom door, but couldn't bring yourself to leave and face her. So you didn't.

Your mother turned her dusty grey eyes toward you. They were sad and tired.

"Go back to bed. I'm sure things will be alright."

"You shouldn't say things will be alright just because you want them to be." You groaned on your trek up the stairs. Maybe everything would be alright, but it seemed foolish to hope for otherwise, these days.

///

The next morning was worse than the night before. You were the one who opened the front door to a weeping Mrs. Mazzello. She was as beautiful as ever, hair light at the roots, eyes like stars. But you only caught a glimpse of the lady before she threw herself in your arms and proceeded to cry. Of course, you held on to her and tried to unravel your complex feelings- happy to see her again, but terribly afraid of what caused her such grief.

Your own mother appeared and started begging her best friend to explain why she was in such distress. With a deep breath, Mrs. Mazzello shared the news. Her husband didn't make it through the night. After her world started spinning the opposite direction, she was sent home to get some rest. Mrs. Mazzello couldn't imagine going home all on her own and apologized for showing up at your door and causing such a scene. Your mother cried along with her, and try as you might to express the storm inside of your chest, you just couldn't. Joe's father always made sure to invite you to every Halloween party, and every spur of the moment family game night. He was the closest thing you had to a father figure since moving to New York. You never got to tell him hello again, or goodbye. Now, you only sank deeper into the dark pit that had swallowed your heart whole, some weeks ago, searching to claim it once again.

After a cup of tea, and even a few giggle-filled stories, Mrs. Mazzello hugged you again, this time with a smile. You always thought Joe had her smile, the kind that reached his eyes. The kind that made your heart melt a little.

"Sweet girl, I'm so glad you're home." She cooed into your hair as you hugged her back; happy to know she still thought you were sweet, like in high school.

Eventually, you and your mother stood on either side of Mrs. Mazzello and walked her across the street. You helped her inside the old familiar oak front door, and into the living room that hadn't changed much since last time you'd been there. You tried not to look around, strangely afraid of feeling too attached to a home that wasn't yours.

///

You waited in the car of all places, while your mother attended Mr. Mazzello's funeral. Your throat grew tight at the prospect of sitting through a drawn-out goodbye, and even though you were dressed for the occasion, you couldn't move. Your mother wasn't angry. She was almost afraid to leave you alone. But you coxed her inside the funeral while you sat in silence. When folks started leaving, your own self pitty was trumped by regret.

When folks started trickling out of the service, you demanded your mother to follow the procession, instead of taking you home. The cemetery was dusted with snow that melted underfoot. You barely made it onto the greying green before you were reduced to tears of panic. Your mother turned around and suggested you stand and watch from the car, like your own twisted safe zone. You leaned against the cold metal and watched your mother shrink in the distance, to a gathering between to empty branched trees. The late autumn chill reddened your nose and the cold weather became a perfect excuse for the tears you were suppressing and making your eyes all puffy.

The crowd was full of faces you recognized, but couldn't bother contemplating. When the group thinned out you asked your mother to wait while the car heated up, so you could pay your respects in private. There was a cold looking priest and some cemetery workers chatting beyond the freshly dug grave. The headstone was respectable, inscribed with Mr. Mazzello's name. His casket was in your line of sight. Looking at it made your stomach churn, and you wished you would have just stayed home today. You loved Joe's dad, but you weren't ready for another funeral. You were still coping with the last one you'd planned. Your therapist had their work cut out, that was certain.

"I didn't know you were in town."

You knew that voice. It was velvet cutting through the cold. It belonged to Joe. You turned your head toward the sound in near wonder. Joe was there, standing a few feet behind you, sporting a warm looking coat, and red looking eyes.

"Surprise." You barely smiled as you turned to face your old friend all the way. You were bound to see him, but you weren't so sure you recognized the man standing before you. Joe was all grown up, decorated in dark stubble and expensive-looking shoes. Nothing at all like the worn-out pair he ran around in all of senior year.

"You're just a little late." Joe joked. Or... did he? His expression was empty and he made no move to approach you like the friends you once were.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I-I shouldn't have come here." You realized fully, digging your nails into the sides of your coat you'd been gripping. Your old best friend watched you hurry past him and toward your mother's car. You wanted to turn around to see if he was watching you walk away, but your eyes were fogged with tears.

Your mother parked the car in your very own driveway and made a move to cross the street. The Mazzellos were hosting a dinner party and guests were already headed in with pans of food in hand. But you couldn't do it. You raced inside your own home and locked the door, knowing your mother had a key and that anyone else who tried to disturb you, couldn't.

You took a shower and cried for as long as the water was warm. As the sunset, you lit a few candles and called Tegan. You told her all about the funeral and seeing Joe and when she asked how you felt about it, you couldn't quite tell her. She cursed in Welsh and her raspy tone was music to your ears. You giggled and thanked her for listening. She said nothing was the same without you around. She spoke to you for hours. Tegan begged you to call her once a week and you begged her to bump it up to two or three more times.

///

The next day, your mother was preparing to leave to take photos of a couple's engagement. You were sitting at your writing desk, going through the latest box of knickknacks Tegan had shipped over. Last night's conversation with her was better than all the therapy sessions you'd received in the past three weeks. For once, since Kris died, something in you settled.

You heard the front door creak open downstairs and thought it was strange that your mother wasn't leaving through the garage entry, and without shouting goodbye to you. But then you heard muffled voices and you realized someone else was here. Who could have possibly shown up at eight in the morning on a weekday?

Then you heard heavy footsteps taking your staircase two at a time, and before you could worry over what was happening, Joe was standing in your bedroom doorway. He was dressed in joggers and his auburn hair was mused like he'd just woken up and bolted across the street to your door.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Joe asked you, his luminescent eyes were wide below two furrowed brows. The second time you laid eyes on your friend of too many years to count, you still couldn't believe how much he'd changed since last you really truly saw him.

To make matters worse, you really couldn't be sure of exactly what Joe was talking about as you stood from your desk to face him. Was he wondering about your homecoming, or had he found out the reason for it?

"Why didn't I tell you what, Joe? Yesterday didn't seem like the time for twenty questions."

He only responded by rolling his eyes and clenching his jaw all while stepping further into your room. You trade places with Joe, shutting the door as your stomach churned.

"Shit, I'm sorry." You sighed, afraid that bringing up yesterday might be crossing some kind of line. Since when were there boundaries between you and Joe?

"It's okay, it's..." Joe breathed after a moment, casting his eyes around your room that had barely changed since highschool. He'd spent many nights helping you build forts out of the blankets still decorating your bed.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Joe asked one more time. The sorry timbre of his voice was hint enough to what he was really asking.

"I tried." You shrugged, shifting a little closer to your old friend. You'd called Joe the morning after you found out Kris died. You called him before you called your mother. He never returned the missed connection.

Now, Joe's brows were pushed together and the look in his eyes seemed nearly unrecognizable, and that pushed you over the edge.

"I'm sorry about yesterday, and everything else. Can we just like, be friends again?" You plead all of a sudden. You weren't sure you ever stopped being friends in the first place, but you'd certainly drifted far from the bond you once had.

Joe just barely grinned. And then you watched as he seemed to relax completely, you could almost see the weight being lifted from his shoulders as he stepped closer to wrap you in a hug. His embrace was warm and familiar. You hadn't felt such peace in months, maybe years if you were being honest with yourself. Joe was back on your side.

"I'm sorry too. It's been weird." Joe kept his comforting latch on you as he mumbled into your hair.

"I know. You can hang around here, if you want." You reminded as you pulled away. Joe was smiling for the first time since your reunion. It was a real, gentle and genuine expression.

"Are you sure? You can finish whatever you were doing before I came over to yell at you." Joe nodded toward the box on your desk with a little laugh.

"Oh, God no." You glanced toward the shipment of your leftover Welsh memories. Unpacking them fell to the bottom of your to-do list, all of a sudden. "You came here just to yell at me, huh?" You smirked at your friend.

"No. I came over because we have a  lot of time to make up for." Joe handed out a loaded statement. But said so with a little half-smile. So you opened your bedroom door and made a show of gesturing he follow you downstairs. Your mother was slinging her camera bag over her shoulder and sliding into a pair of strappy sandals. Her grey eye's lit up when she noticed you and Joe descending the staircase together.

"Well, I've got to run. I should be home by lunch."

"I'll make something." You shrugged, suggesting a change of pace. You hadn't done much of anything besides sulk since you landed back in the states. And you were seriously craving lentil soup. Your mother shot you a suspicious smile as she reached for her car keys and nodded your way.

"Have a good day, kids." Your mother waved as she hurried off to her job as the best damn wedding (now engagement) photographer in the whole state. Joe gave your mother a pleasant goodbye as she shut the door and left you alone with your best friend for the first time since God knows when.

"Sit,  I'll make some coffee." You pointed Joe toward the living room as you shuffled toward the kitchen. Joe followed orders, and you lingered near the coffee maker, finding clean mugs in the dishwasher and putting some other glasses away while the coffee pot filled up.  You made Joe's coffee the way he always used to like it and started toward the living room to offer him the drink.

You rounded the corner to find Joe comfortable curled up against an old decorative pillow, asleep. He must have been exhausted from all the family business he'd been dealing with. You abandon the mug of coffee on the table near the sofa, for when he woke up. And before you left the living room, you watched Joe laying there, seemingly content, breathing deeply. And for just one moment, you felt fine. You didn't feel like you used to; like a highschool kid. You felt like your boyfriend was dead, and so was Joe's dad, but that it was alright because Joe was still right next to you. The things that we're okay right now balanced out the worry that they wouldn't always be.

Joe stayed just like that for the next couple of hours, so you went about your day like normal. Putting the rest of the dishes away, sipping your coffee, and folding a bit of laundry. You were sat at the kitchen table with a new book in hand when Joe finally woke up.

"Hey, thanks." He noted, walking into the room with his old cup of coffee. Just then the dull thrum of a blasted radio and the sounds of car doors slamming in the distance were unmistakably coming from across the street- Joe's house.

"Should you be over there?" You wondered, shutting your book as Joe moved to put his mug in your microwave.

"It's actually nice to uh, not have to worry about all of that for a minute." Joe cast his eyes around the room and you understood what he meant. Living in Kris's house with the knowledge that he was never coming back through the door again was worse than waiting up when he disappeared for days on end.

"Well, you can hide out here for as long as you want." Everything was normal again. He grinned while the microwave counted down seconds.

"Sorry for falling asleep. What'd I miss?" Joe chuckled lightly.

"Uh..." You let out a breath of a laugh, a thousand memories from the past few years hitting you like a wave. But certainly, that wasn't what Joe was asking, now. "Not much." You responded because everything you'd done while he napped, wasn't worth mentioning.

Your friend with tired eyes seemed to consider your answer, and then the microwave beeped. Joe's mug was steaming as he carried it over to the table. He eased into the seat next to you as you raised your own mug to your lips. Joe had yet to look at you, his jungle toned eyes focused on the patterns of your dining table. But after a quiet moment, Joe raised his eyes to look right at yours.

"What happened?" Joe dared to whisper. You watched his eyes stay glued on yours and felt sorry for letting too much time pass. You knew exactly what Joe wanted to know, so you sat your mug to the side and thought for a moment before speaking up...

"He was drinking and driving." You started easily. You had talked through this with your mother, and Tegan, and therapist. The latter helped you sort out your mourning Kris, but there were still scattered fears of driving cars and falling asleep you had to sort through. But side effects aside, it didn't hurt so much to recount the outlines of what happened. And oddly, you still felt security spilling your guts to Joe. You both kept your focus on each other as you went on filling in blanks

"Things were really bad. I mean before, with Kris and I. It doesn't matter why they just were. He was never home and he was always drinking. Then... he died. So... I guess that's the short version of what happened." You sighed emptily. The fights and the misunderstandings and the late nights, all built up and up until they crashed over a bridge with Kris. Now you were here. Joe cast his troubled gaze back toward the table, while his fingers tightened around his coffee mug handle.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" You wondered. About his dad. About how he was feeling.

"I'm sorry I never called you back." Joe looked up again. Sure, it had been a while, but you were together again, weren't you? These long faces of his were making you a little too sad.

"Why don't you make it up to me by staying for lunch?" You grinned. Joe did too, nodding in agreeance. The two of you spent the next hour scrolling through Pinterest to find the most exciting recipes you had enough ingredients for. Then you made plans to make dessert. It was like once you started you couldn't stop, planing for soup and bread and even an apple fucking pie.

Joe helped you bake, spinning around your kitchen because he already knew where you kept most things. As you stood cutting up apples at the counter, conversation about kitchenware lulled and you couldn't go on any longer without asking what Joe had been up to, all this time.

"What were you working on in London, anyway?" You asked, a little embarrassed to be so far outside of the loop. Your friend was leaning against the counter at your side, watching you work.

"Bohemian Rhapsody." Joe shrugged, stealing a bit of chopped up apple as you went on cutting.

"Like the Queen song?" You wondered, a bit confused.

"Yeah, like the Queen movie, now. I landed a roll in the biopic."

"Joe. Holy shit." You rested your knife and turned to face him head-on. That was a big name drop. He really was living his dream, huh? Joe was holding back a cocky smirk as he stole another bit of apple from the board at your side.

"Starting right now," You chucked as you reached for the knife. "we're telling each other things again." You pointed the utensil near him like you meant business.

"Whoa, I surrender... and agree." Joe laughed, moving out of the way as you reached for a big bowl. Your afternoon faded into a mess of home-baked goods and stories you'd been meaning to tell each other. Yours were silly ones about missing the bus and making friends with a stray cat who showed up at your door every night for a year or two.

But Joe's news was far more enchanting. He simply gushed over his newest castmates, and the members of Queen he was lucky enough to meet. As your apple pie baked, and you started to make soup, you began to realize the extent of Joe's career. He rambled about leaving soon for the premiere of his new movie. You realized he wasn't going to be around like he used to be. Like always. So you listened more intently to what he had to say like maybe this was the big finale of your friendship where you got to tie up all your loose ends and move on. You didn't want to move on. You wanted to move through this shit together. But you knew that was selfish and you knew Joe had a life to get back to, one that didn't include keeping you any sort of company.

Your mother nearly fell to her knees when she came home to find the feast you made, waiting on the stove while you laughed in the living room with Joe. You insisted he tell you everything he'd been up too, genuinely afraid this day was a one-off chance you'd never have with Joe again. You all ate lunch to the tune of his most hilarious stories, and Joe even helped clean up, while your mother complained about her day and the traffic.

"Well, I'm off to London." Joe laughed like he was kidding, but he wasn't. "The U.S premiere is like twelve days away. You know, I can put your name on the list." Joe shrugged as you walked him to the door. The sun was low in the sky, and his flight for the UK premiere was leaving tomorrow afternoon.

You figured he'd just offered out of politeness, as a way to trade thanks for this strange easy going day. But no matter your friend's motive, there was no way you'd be able to prance through the city and mingle with his superstar friends. You barely made it out your front door in weeks.

"Thank you, Joe. But I don't think I'm ready for all that. I hope you have a safe flight and a fun time, though."  You nodded softly, really wishing him well. Joe deserved every good thing.

"I guess I won't be seeing you till Christmas Eve, then." If you hadn't been so caught off guard by his comment, you would have noticed Joe pout a little.

"Christmas Eve?"

"Duh. Same time and place as always. Right across the street." Joe chuckled lightly. "You'll always be invited. I'm just glad your home to finally start showing up, again." Joe shoved his hands in his pockets and bumped his elbow against yours as he joked.

"Yeah, okay... I guess I'll see you across the street on Christmas Eve, then." You smiled softly as Joe reached for the front door. He lingered in the doorway, telling you goodbye one final time, and you stood there watching him jog across the street, spinning around to flash his smile your way. The kind of smile that reached his eyes and melted your heart just a little. You could have easily settled back into spending every waking hour with Joe. Even after spending all day with him, it seemed like you'd hardly caught up at all. Funny how you'd been fully prepared for him to leave with a halfhearted thanks and a vague goodbye until further, distant notice. Christmas was a couple of months away, but now you had a reason to look forward to it.

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