#i'm sorry if this is all over the place but then again i think i am always all over the place lol

[prael]

Day 3: Reciprocation

Itzy Yeji x male reader smut

words: 6,714 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist

If there's one thing you've learned dealing with the rich, the famous and the devious, it's that there's always a deal to be made.

-

"Not often that I see a girl like you in a place like this."

"Well, you're an incredibly difficult man to track down."

It's the girl who's supposed to be on the main page of your site starting tomorrow morning. You gesture for Yeji to sit by your side, and while there are more than enough empty seats around you, she prefers to stand. What is this, a fucking power move?

"Well, you could have just called my office and made yourself an appointment."

It doesn't amuse her. She simply brings her hands up to rest on her hips as she looks at you.

"Look, let's get to the point. You can't post the article." There is something rather endearing in watching how she talks to you. Her hips are cocked and her face bears a look of determination, but she lacks confidence. You're not sure she even believes herself. Maybe she's just hoping that you'll cave.

You meet her eyes and hold her gaze for a few moments, searching for a crack in her armour. It's hard to say for certain when the only lighting in this club is what little neon they have on display, but there seems to be something else hiding behind her stare. A nervous energy, perhaps. So, you correct her, "I can post the article."

"Look— I, I have money." She takes a single stride towards you, with her long slender legs of which only part of her thigh is covered by the bottom of her dress. That thing clings to them like it does every other inch of her body. One hell of a figure.

"I'm well aware."

"Okay then, how much money will it take for you to drop the article?"

"Money doesn't compare to an article like this one—you know that. Come on," you lean forward a bit. "You should be smarter than that."

"How much?!" Yeji says again. There's an edge to her voice now and a stern look in her eyes. She must feel that you're not taking her seriously—honestly, you aren't. You can't count the number of times an agency has tried to block an article by simply throwing money your way. The novelty has worn off. 

"Listen, Miss Hwang, I appreciate the effort you have gone through to manufacture a meeting with me, however, just like I told your PR team, I'm not for sale. Should you want to avoid this sort of thing, then I'd recommend being a little more discreet the next time you want to fuck around." You glance at the door leading out. The exit sign above is blinking erratically, but it serves its intended purpose nonetheless. "I'll see you in tomorrow morning's news."

"No."

"No?" You raise an eyebrow. She may be a star and she may make people go crazy in more ways than one, but if you've learned something about yourself over the years, it's that you aren't as easily swayed by beauty alone, nor impressed by fame.

Yeji remains silent, her eyes looking down to the table in front of you and your mind instantly starts conjuring up scenarios where the girl goes into a screaming fit or starts throwing a tantrum until security drags her sorry ass out the door.

Her head snaps up again. "Fine." Yeji turns sideways and steps around the small table. It becomes apparent that she plans on sitting by your side, after all. She isn't exactly looking at you as she plops herself onto the cushioned bench. "You said 'next time', right?" She begins quietly.

In spite of yourself, a smile appears on your face when you see the wheels turn inside of Yeji's head. "I don't think I understand."

"Yes, you do," Yeji replies dryly. And with the certainty now back in her voice, it appears you've misjudged her.

When you remain silent for a few moments, Yeji eventually gives in and takes a quick, inconspicuous breath before looking up again. Her face is but inches from your own. "Have sex with me tonight."

It takes effort not to burst into laughter in response to such an absurd offer, and as a result, the amusement is probably pretty damn clear in the tone of your reply. "You're cute."

"I'm serious."

You look the girl in the eyes once more, leaning backwards. "You know how much trouble you could get into for trying something like this, right?"

Yeji's jaw clenches momentarily. "Yeah."

You gaze down along her body again. The skin on her thighs seems smooth and silky; definitely worth a closer inspection, and you would be lying if you said the knowledge of her dirty hook-ups didn't have your mind wondering about all the ways she might be willing to work her body in an attempt to sway you. You wonder if she likes it rough; likes having someone grab hold of those black locks of hers and yank her head back. Likes having a cock slammed down her throat. Your thoughts quickly go into a tailspin which has you imagining Yeji crawling towards you dressed up in nothing but skimpy lingerie, a hungry smile plastered across her face and a yearning desire to find out what sort of mess you could turn her into.

"So," you begin quietly. "I don't release an article about the K-pop star who keeps sneaking out into hotels to get herself fucked—and in exchange, I get to sleep with the K-pop star who keeps sneaking out into hotels to get herself fucked. Do I have that right?"

You see the embarrassment cross Yeji's features briefly, yet she still manages to bite out her reply with certainty: "Yes."

For some reason, even though she's been found out and forced into making such an absurd deal, she refuses to lower her gaze away from yours, almost daring you to judge her. You've seen her music videos online—goddamnit, everyone has—and she's sexy as hell. No one would deny that, and she looks stunning in that black dress of hers. It really compliments her figure. Legs go on for days, a toned physique and looking down the front of her dress as she leans into you, a pretty little pair of tits hidden somewhere in there as well.

"I've been propositioned before, you know, but usually that's to get their face on the front page, not off it." You cock your head at her. "How badly do you want this dropped, anyway?"

"What are you trying to say?"

You lean back slowly, deliberately, resting your shoulders against the seat as you feel Yeji's eyes study your every move. Despite the terrible lighting, you can tell she's biting her lip nervously. She's so close that the scent coming off her fills the air around you. It's a pleasant smell. One you wouldn't mind having all over your bed.

"I'll be blunt." Your eyes fall to her chest and you take note of how Yeji squirms under your stare. A tiny smile appears on your lips. "I'd love to fuck you. Hell, anyone in their right mind would love to fuck you. You're a very attractive girl, after all." You nod in her direction. "So, that part will happen if I agree to this deal of yours, however, there's one thing you haven't accounted for."

Yeji meets your stare. Her voice is low, yet resolute. "Which is?"

"You have no idea of whether or not I'm actually going to uphold my end of the bargain."

She pauses in silence and then moves her hand across the table, scooping up your drink and raising it to her full lips. As she knocks back the remainder, the way her slender neck stretches makes you wish you could wrap your hands around it.

The glass hits the table and Yeji licks her lips softly. The sight has you licking your own and for just a second, the both of you simply gaze at each other in silence, almost sizing each other up. Yeji finally shifts closer to you until she's right by your side. Her breasts press up against your shoulder and you feel her warmth on your arm.

One of her delicate hands lands gently in your lap and slides upwards onto your thigh where she starts to draw small circles with her fingertips. You wonder if she notices the slight hitch in your breath as she touches you. "We can go to your office. Sign a document. Legally binding. Non-disclosure. And agree to write a favourable piece about me. You can send out the request to your best columnist there and then. And then you can take me right there." Her words come out in soft whispers and her eyes dart over your face, trying to read your reaction.

Yeji is young and beautiful and she's clearly horny enough to get herself into this kind of mess. It doesn't come as too much of a surprise to you, then, when you feel a delicate fingertip trace over your crotch. "Take you?"

"On your desk. Over your desk," she elaborates shamelessly and with a hint of cheek in her voice. There's a smug expression on her face. She's enjoying herself but also relieved to be getting through to you. "However you want me."

"So, it's an exchange? A dirty deal done in the darkness?"

Yeji smirks. "I prefer to call it reciprocation."

-

Friday night in the office and it still has the passive hum of life, though not much of it. Cutting through the air is the loud clack of Yeji's high heels as she follows you silently past empty room after empty room. The interns putting in the long hours are all on the lower floors, giving you just enough discretion.

You glance back briefly at her before rounding the corner. Just like you had imagined, she seems rather timid now. Head held slightly down and glancing around the place, almost like she's embarrassed to be here with you.

Finally, you reach your private office near the far wall of the floor and wave Yeji inside. As you step up to your desk and turn, Yeji closes the door behind herself and watches you intently. The soft light in here gives you a much better opportunity to appreciate her.

"Come." You gesture her over while simultaneously logging into your PC.

It only takes a few simple clicks to bring up a basic confidentiality agreement which you proceed to edit. "As requested," you begin. "This agreement prohibits me from writing anything related to your numerous encounters with nameless men and women in various hotels throughout Seoul. Failure to abide by these terms enables you to take legal action against me and my firm to any extent deemed necessary."

She places her palms on the desk as you turn the monitor to show her. She reads it. You read here. Leaning forward has the front of her dress hang open a bit further. It's the first glance you get of her red bra underneath and the swell of her chest, just big enough for handfuls. She sees your wandering eyes, yet continues to scan the terms of the contract. It makes you curious if the idea of being looked at like some cheap slut turns her on. Maybe you should try referring to her as such. Would she object? Or encourage?

Yeji nods in approval and you click 'print'. She looks past you, watching it emerge from the machine.

"That's all we need," you say, never looking away from her. There's something mesmerising about her eyes. They're large, they're dark and they tend to draw you in. "Now I can't expose your whorish tendencies."

She looks offended momentarily. "Whorish?"

"Two months. Forty-two hotel visits were recorded. Thirty-five different partners." The chair rolls away as you push it back and stand up, towering over her frame. "Yes, you're fucking whorish, Yeji. Our research was thorough."

"I'm just having fun." She stops leaning on the desk. You both take a step in unison, beginning to round the desk while staring each other down. The moment feels tense. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"Oh, I agree completely."

Another step. Another inch towards each other.

"There's no shame in being a bit of a slut. An incredibly beautiful slut."

A third.

You're face to face. Those heels make her almost as tall as you, and you glance at Yeji's lips as the tip of her tongue suddenly darts out over them. The only sound between the two of you is your shared breathing. Yeji tilts her head back slightly and gazes into your eyes, waiting expectantly for you to act upon your desire. Waiting for you to throw her onto the desk and fuck the living shit out of her, just as she asked for.

You wait.

Her lower lip disappears beneath the bite of her teeth.

Wait.

A sudden flush rises up onto Yeji's cheeks, undoubtedly born from her frustration, but you don't miss the excitement hiding within it either. Then, Yeji takes another step forward, one which has you taking hold of her waist, pushing yourself hard up against her body.

Almost instantly, the pair of you go from hesitant to frantic, moving without a single word being spoken between either of you.

Your mouths meet in an open-mouthed kiss of heat, passion and impatience. There's a gasp coming from somewhere, a mixture of a moan as the two of you collide. It takes more willpower than expected not to shove your tongue down Yeji's throat as you feel hers slide against yours in an instant. Fingernails dig into your neck; not hard enough to leave marks, yet not soft enough to be mistaken as anything else than a woman showing what she wants. It's exactly what you wanted to do when you first saw her tonight.

She bites on your lip, sucks on it and goes straight back in. You grab hold of her tightly and shuffle her backwards towards the desk. You can barely restrain yourself. A groan rises up in the depths of your stomach when Yeji parts her legs slightly, welcoming your body in between them.

Every part of you tells you to bend her over and start hammering yourself into her, yet there's still one last detail you must attend to. You break free of Yeji's grasp and shove her roughly down onto your desk.

Her hair fans out around her head and her gaze looks darker somehow, more lustrous under this light. You follow her shape, down, over the bumps of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the curve of her hips and then to the hem of her dress, where bare thigh begins again. She shudders under the weight of your stare. Legs falling apart, invitingly.

You feel Yeji tremble under your tender touch as you run your hand up the outside of her thigh and push up the fabric of her dress. The tips of your fingers bump along the rim of her underwear before reaching her hip where you trace shapes absentmindedly. She's smooth and silky everywhere.

"What is it?" Yeji asks breathlessly when you don't move for a few moments. Your attention remains firmly locked on that final detail. The thin lace material covering her cunt.

You look her dead in the eyes and curl your fingers around it. "Just wondering how many different people have had you like this."

The red lace is pulled aside. Yeji stares at you, seemingly taken aback by your bluntness as you lean down a little further and angle her leg to the side, letting cool air hit every inch of her bare sex. And it's a lovely sight, all things considered. Neat, trimmed and glistening wet. Your hand moves across her thigh to hold her in place. "Usually I'm on top," Yeji replies, finally regaining her confidence.

"You'd rather be riding me, huh?"

"Yes." Yeji's answer comes immediately. Your cock is stiffening already at the mere thought of having her small body bouncing in your lap as she rides your length like a bitch in heat.

She runs her own hands up her slender frame, feeling up the sides of her own waist, skirting around those perky tits and letting out the smallest whimper of anticipation as she caresses the side of her neck. Her eyelashes flutter with desire. It seems the girl enjoys being admired just as much as you enjoy admiring.

"Don't worry, you'll get to ride it soon enough." Slowly, you drag your middle finger up between her folds, making sure you put enough pressure down against the sweet little bud of nerves to make her arch her back at the sensation. A deep inhale catches itself in the back of Yeji's throat when you sink your fingertip inside of her, only for it to turn into a disappointed sigh when you withdraw.

She bites her lip in embarrassment, no doubt mortified that she couldn't keep quiet at such a simple action, although that doesn't stop you from repeating the movement, applying more pressure and then sinking further into her. This time you withdraw and then taste your finger curiously. If the sweet scent wafting off her wasn't enough indication, she tastes as good as she looks.

"How are you so wet already?" you ask. "All from thinking about getting railed over my desk, hmm?" You ask teasingly, lowering your mouth down closer to her pussy and holding your breath for a moment. You can feel the warmth coming off her.

"It's exciting."

"What, fucking a stranger?"

"Yes," Yeji says bluntly. She wets her lips. "There's nothing quite like giving yourself up to someone completely random."

Your hand slides down her calf and gently pulls off her heel. As soon as it hits the ground, it's replaced with a slow and tender kiss on the inside of her ankle. The skin is just as smooth and supple as the rest of her. From here you have a much better view of how her delicate little flower pulses in longing.

Your head dips and you suck hard on Yeji's inner thigh. You delight in the surprised yelp leaving her mouth as you rake your teeth over her soft skin, pulling at it before letting go. It leaves behind a lovely purple bruise which you blow cold air over, soothing the irritated skin. It makes you smile, knowing that mark will remain for a week, to be seen by whoever she fucks next.

"Do you get excited thinking about having me join the list of cocks pounding away at you?"

Without allowing Yeji time to think, your tongue finds her clit and starts drawing shapes around it. "Yes!" You hear her hiss. Your left arm reaches under her thigh and keeps her pinned down to the table while your right does the same, only giving your tongue freedom to dance over her wet cunt.

You sample her thoroughly, getting her used to the feeling of your warm tongue running over every part of her. You apply more pressure to your work once you notice Yeji bucking her hips upwards to grind against your mouth.

"Oh shit." Yeji is panting heavily now, gasping for breath whenever you pay special attention to her clit. Her thighs quiver every so often, tensing around your head. "Don't—don't stop."

Yeji has the nicest legs you've ever laid eyes on. The way they wrap tightly around your head, squeezing the air out of you when you suck down on her swollen clit, it feels heavenly.

Suddenly, Yeji's hips thrust forward, throwing your rhythm off momentarily.

"Mmm, oh—fuck," she whimpers as you feel her body shake and quiver underneath your touch. Your pace doesn't slacken even once throughout.

"Fuck," Yeji whines louder this time. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum."

Already?

You put more pressure on her hips, keeping them pinned down as best as possible, whilst your tongue attacks her with fervent desperation, spurred on by Yeji's declaration. As the seconds pass by, Yeji becomes more vocal, though not with her words—with her actions. Her breathing picks up noticeably. Soon it becomes short and ragged. Her chest heaves. Her fingers claw into the surface below her. Her spine curves beautifully and her lips hang open wide, allowing loud cries to escape her.

She practically sings out for you as her nails scratch at your desk, looking for something to hold on to, something to ground her. Her whole body tenses up for several moments.

Then it happens.

Her mouth opens up wide yet no sound comes out, her back arches almost unnaturally and her juices coat your chin. The silence hangs in the air, heavy, palpable as her walls contract in ecstasy. Then it's finally broken with a loud snap. One of her fake nails pops off and flies across the room as she grips too hard on the edge of the desk.

Then she moans. Guttural, wanton, unrestrained, absolutely filthy. It fills the room, reverberating back to you in a delicious chorus of hedonism and pleasure. She lies there limp with her eyes shut. Her mouth open. Panting heavily. Basking in the glow.

"So easily?" you ask quietly. Yeji takes a deep breath, trying to steady her heart rate. Your hands leave her hips, caressing her trembling flesh, sliding upwards, running up her dress and over the curve of her waist until you reach her shoulders. You tug the straps down the length of her arms and lean closer, pushing the soft material down to reveal the top of her matching red lingerie. Your hand cups the back of her head. She instinctively knows to lift it.

You lower your lips down to her collarbone as you reach behind her to unzip her dress. The sensation of your kisses against her neck draws another moan out of Yeji. A quiet one this time, however. Gentle. Contended.

You kiss upwards, planting several against the underside of her jaw and the corners of her lips. "I can't stop myself," she whispers, opening her eyes just in time for you to press your lips against hers, tasting the lingering sweetness in your mouth. She smiles.

"Let's get you out of that dress," you say and she nods in agreement. "Up," you order softly and Yeji complies, lifting herself high enough for you to pull the material down her waist and over the length of her thighs. It falls to the ground in a heap at her feet. All that remains is the expensive-looking red underwear set she chose for this occasion.

The two of you exchange looks. She bites her lip. She can see the burning lust raging within your eyes. You don't care if it gives the game away.

There's an absolutely wicked smile that draws across her lips as you start to unbutton your shirt. Her voice is all sultry seduction when she says, "I've been meaning to ask you, are you always swayed so easily?"

"Honestly? Not really," you respond calmly, watching how her eyes eagerly take in your torso as you shrug off your clothing. "Maybe there is something about you that's just..." you trail off, unsure of how to end the sentence.

Yeji sits up on the edge of the desk and throws her arms around your neck, dragging you in closer so that your bodies connect. You feel her lips press against your chest in soft kisses. A finger trails over your abdomen, drawing patterns over your skin before moving downwards. "Yes?"

"Different." Your belt is quickly undone and dropped alongside her dress. Nimble fingers begin unbuttoning your trousers. You run your hands through her hair, appreciating how silky it feels running through your fingers.

Yeji has her gaze focused between your bodies, on her hands as they push your jeans down to the floor and you notice the change in her breathing the moment she wraps her hand around your cock.

She kisses her way up to your neck where her lips tickle your skin as she mumbles: "In a good way?"

Yeji presses the flat of her palm against the base of your erection, rubbing slowly. Your head tilts backwards slightly and you allow yourself a low groan. There's a warm puff of air as she giggles quietly against your neck.

"In a great way," you answer.

"Good," she purrs, suddenly tightening her grip on you and giving you several deliberate strokes. You watch intently as Yeji runs her thumb over the tip of your dick, circling it a few times before continuing with her motions. She leans closer, wrapping her legs around your body and placing her mouth by your ear. "I know what I said earlier about loving to ride a cock and all that," her voice is filled with lust. Pure, unbridled desire. "But honestly? I'd do just about anything right now to have you fuck me against this desk."

And that does it for you.

All semblance of control vanishes entirely in a heartbeat.

You drag her from her perch, only to turn her around and push her right back against the desk. Yeji bends over the edge and places both her palms flat atop it. You watch her toned legs move apart as she spreads them invitingly. Your hand reaches out to rest on her ass.

Soft. Round. Supple. Just begging to be fucked. Your dick rests comfortably between her cheeks, which are covered by the flimsiest piece of lace you've ever seen. The pair of you groan together in anticipation at the sensation of feeling each other so intimately. The anticipation of what is soon to come.

"You want me to fuck you, huh?" you ask.

Yeji turns her head to look at you, dark strands of black hair hanging before her beautiful, desperate eyes. "Please."

She waits expectantly as you move back just enough to hook your fingers into her underwear and pull them down slowly, revealing the pretty little cunt you had tasted earlier. The desk is ever so slightly too tall for her, and her long legs stretch to rest on her tiptoes.

You run your hand down between Yeji's pert cheeks, delighting in the gasp of relief leaving her mouth as you cup her heat. Your fingers slip through her slick, coating themselves with her natural arousal before one sinks inside effortlessly. You push it deep, drawing a content sigh from her lips as your digit bottoms out.

A second follows shortly after and she clenches hard around the pair of them.

"Your cock," Yeji demands. You curl your fingers inside of her, delighted by how she struggles to speak when you graze her weak spots. "Want it..."

"But this is fun," you state simply, continuing to explore every inch of her, learning which places cause the biggest reactions and relishing in her quiet hums of satisfaction every time you stimulate them. You'd be lying if you said it didn't make your cock pulse with the need to be inside her. That warm wetness wrapped snugly around your fingers would feel downright amazing around you.

Yeji wriggles her body, pressing her ass against you and whimpering as your digits push inside again. "Please... your cock." Your eyes drop from the beauty bent over in front of you and focus instead on the sight of your fingers disappearing repeatedly between those gorgeous legs. How her muscles clench and her toes curl against the carpet with each and every motion of your digits inside her. She looks ready. She feels ready.

"Well, seeing as you're asking so nicely—"

You slip your fingers out. The whine of loss from Yeji barely has time to fade as you grab hold of her ass with both hands, spread it out, line yourself up with her cunt and sink inside without hesitation. Fuck it. Why go slow?

"Oh god," Yeji moans as your hips meet. Her knuckles turn white as she claws at the surface of the desk in an effort to cope with the feeling of fullness that she's clearly experiencing right now. Her eyes widen and she bites hard into the back of her lip as her cunt stretches around you, accommodating you perfectly. She exhales deeply.

It's all worth it—the workplace compromise. This moment right here where your thick cock rests deep inside of Hwang Yeji's warm, wet cunt. Finally. And holy fucking hell—it's everything you could've ever asked for.

"I knew you'd feel so fucking good," you murmur, trailing your hands up Yeji's slender figure, feeling her back tense slightly when she lets out a small moan of agreement. Your fingers tangle into her long hair, wrap it around your fist, give a harsh tug to pull her head backwards, earning a sharp intake of air—and then you start rutting your hips into hers. Long, forceful strokes fill the air with repeated claps of skin slapping against skin.

The choked moans which tumble from Yeji's lips are music to your ears, encouraging you to keep her pinned down against your desk with a strong hand on the small of her back. Your fingertips press into her flawless skin hard enough to bruise, yet neither of you cares—not when there are far more important matters to attend to. Namely, pounding Yeji's brains out and filling her tight little pussy with ropes of hot cum.

So, you pick up your pace, quickening the tempo and making sure each thrust of your hips goes harder than the previous. Her mouth hangs open in a silent scream with each movement of your body against hers. Every slap of your hips against her ass elicits a reaction.

You're already addicted to her. Everything about Yeji makes you want to hold nothing back, and as you pull yourself out only to slam back inside her depths, you can't help but notice the absolute debauchery dripping from her words when she begs: "Harder. Fuck me harder."

And who are you to refuse her request? She looks incredible anyway, but seeing her eyes screw shut in bliss while a strand of saliva escapes past her open mouth? Nothing would convince you to let up now.

The constant clatter of objects rattling and shifting across the surface of your desk adds a nice soundtrack to the experience. So do the increasingly frequent moans spilling freely from Yeji's lips, each one higher-pitched than the last. They spur you on. Give you the incentive to chase after her pleasure.

And then you feel the telltale clamping down of her walls around you. Your cock is held tightly in her warmth, refusing to relinquish its grasp on you until you've filled her with cum. Until you've pumped your load deep inside of her wanting cunt. You know it's coming and you adjust accordingly. Forcing yourself to maintain rhythm as you pound her pussy into submission.

You yank on her hair and tug her upwards, forcing her back to crash against your torso. You bring your other hand to her chest, sliding beneath the fabric of her bra to cup at her tit. Her hands desperately search for but fail to find, purchase on the desk. She's helplessly suspended between your grasp and your cock as she cums. Helpless to do anything except take it. Take what she's given.

An indecent series of shrieks and wails erupts from somewhere deep within her chest as Yeji's body seizes up and convulses violently against yours. It sets you off. You bury yourself hilt-deep inside of her and explode. Your vision goes blurry, your toes curl, your jaw clenches shut and your teeth grind painfully together.

It takes everything within you not to collapse forwards on top of the girl you're filling to the brim, instead relying solely on the strength of your grip to stay upright as your cock jerks erratically inside of her, pulsating again and again, releasing stream after stream of creamy spunk deep into her.

As soon as the world stops spinning and the fog starts clearing from your mind, you're met with the sight of Hwang Yeji trying desperately to regain any semblance of control over her own body as well. She's slumped atop your desk, panting heavily, her body twitching occasionally.

You lean down, peppering a gentle trail of kisses down the side of her neck, stopping briefly at the space just below her ear where you whisper, "You look stunning like this."

It takes Yeji several seconds before she manages a reply. She eventually opens her eyes halfway and gives you an exhausted smile. "Like what?"

"Sweaty. Thoroughly used. Filled to the fucking brim."

Your comment draws a faint giggle from her which ends abruptly the moment you drag yourself backwards, slipping your softening cock out of her cunt along with the rush of semen that spills from her and trickles onto your desk.

"Oh god," Yeji mutters as the mess slips from between her legs. She pushes herself up from her prone position and lifts herself off your table, leaving behind a lovely sticky patch where her crotch had rested. You stumble towards your chair and plop down on it, resting your back against the cool leather whilst admiring Yeji's flushed features.

"I still haven't gotten to ride your cock yet."

"I don't know if I—"

Yeji drops to her knees in front of you and grabs the base of your shaft without a second thought, squeezing it lightly and causing it to stiffen slightly. "Well I do," she declares.

She leans closer.

You catch sight of your reflection in her dark brown eyes just before Yeji extends her tongue, running it carefully over the sensitive skin of your cock before planting a wet kiss against the tip. Then she does it again. And again. The movements become a pattern until, suddenly, you're enveloped by the heat of Yeji's mouth.

"Ah," you gasp as she takes you. So sensitive to the touch of her tongue as it swirls around you. She hums approvingly at your reaction and slides deeper, taking your semi-erect cock further into her mouth as she continues to suck you off. Her head bobs slowly up and down, gradually coaxing you back to life until she slips you out from between her lips with a pop.

"That got you hard fast enough." Yeji grins. She stands up straight, and then your jaw falls open slightly at the sight of Yeji reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra. It falls to the ground in slow motion. Delicate pale skin stretches beautifully over perky breasts topped with cute pink nipples. God damn.

Yeji straddles your lap, trapping your body underneath hers. It doesn't take much to push you inside. To have her slide down the length of your shaft once again. She sits still for a few seconds, grinding her hips subtly against yours whilst biting on her lower lip. "Fuck, this feels good." She rotates her hips in little circles. "Feel that? I'm still full of your cum."

The pace is slower now. You're content to sit back, listen to the sounds of wet, sloppy sex filling the office air, and watch how her beautiful features contort with pleasure when your cock scrapes against a weak spot. There's something incredibly arousing about having such a famous idol sitting in your lap, fucking herself silly on your dick alone. She uses it like a toy to chase after her own pleasure.

One of her hands laces itself into your hair, tugging on it harshly. You retaliate with equal ferocity by sinking your fingers into Yeji's plump ass. It earns you a wonderful hiss of approval which comes accompanied by a tight squeeze around your shaft as her free hand moves down between your bodies and furiously rubs at her clit.

It's not long before you realise that she's close, and judging by her frantic behaviour, you figure she isn't looking to make it last longer.

Yeji whimpers cutely. Her head falls backwards, exposing her perfect neck. An expanse of unblemished, untouched skin that simply demands to be marked. Claimed. Taken.

And so you lean forwards, place your mouth on the soft skin and start sucking on it, nipping at the supple flesh. You feel her tighten around you instantly.

"Oh god!" She cries out. Yeji tries to bounce in your lap but fails miserably. She's no longer in control of her body. All she can do is quiver, cry out, and gasp in ecstasy as another orgasm surges through her. It's nowhere near as powerful as the previous two. Instead, it's drawn out. Lasting longer and keeping her moaning throughout.

When it's over and done with, you release your hold on her neck. In return, her exhausted head comes to rest against your shoulder. Her hot pants hit your cheek as she lay there limply against your frame.

"Too much?" you tease and Yeji scoffs. You give her a gentle spank and ask, "That's all you've got?"

"Just catching my breath."

She puts action to word immediately and picks herself back up. There's a determination etched all over her face as she brings both arms to rest on your shoulders, locking you in place and supporting herself on top of you. The expression she wears leaves little room for misinterpretation; this one is yours.

Yeji begins riding you again. Slowly at first, letting herself grow accustomed to the sensation of being filled again. Then faster. Harder. Using your cock to fuck herself on. Taking charge once more. You happily allow her to have it. Glad to let the beautiful starlet do whatever the fuck she wants with your body. Relishing the fact that you're balls-deep inside of her and she loves every inch of you.

"I need it," Yeji whines, slamming herself down on top of you again and again, her soft ass smacking against your thighs repeatedly. Her hair billows wildly around her, sticking to her sweaty skin, flying every which way without rhyme or reason, driven mad by her insatiable desire to keep on going. She keeps saying things under her breath, nonsensical at best, unintelligible at worst.

But her efforts get results. As much as you want to prolong the moment forever, your body can only handle so much. Pleasure courses through your veins like electricity, setting alight every nerve ending within your body until finally, you feel that familiar heat rise from somewhere deep within.

Yeji must sense it because she suddenly kicks it up yet another notch, crying out incoherently as she drops down on your shaft once more, twice more—a third time sends you toppling over the edge. You grip her hips tight, digging your fingertips deep into her flesh as your cock pulses powerfully inside of her cunt, painting her walls white.

She drags it out. Uses gravity to force you as deep inside as possible, allowing every single drop to spill inside of her again. Your eyes roll into the back of your skull as you grunt loudly. Any coherent thought becomes impossible as you cum.

Once more, it takes several moments before you come back down from the clouds. When reality sets in again, Yeji is still straddled atop your lap, watching you with an amused grin stretching from ear to ear. You're left with nothing else to do except admire how her flushed cheeks accentuate her gorgeous features even further.

"I know. I know," she says while stroking your cheek. "I'm amazing."

"You're trouble," you correct breathlessly.

She rolls her eyes at your choice of words and then glances downwards. You follow her gaze just in time to see her raise herself off your spent member, allowing several thick strands of cum to dribble from her cunt and onto your leg. You both share a brief laugh at how filthy it looks before Yeji clambers off you and steps away, leaving you completely bare whilst she reaches down to retrieve her panties.

"No," you blurt out immediately. Your interjection catches her attention and she halts mid-motion, quirking an eyebrow curiously.

"No?"

"You can leave them."

She gives you a knowing look but acquiesces anyway, stepping aside and grabbing her dress instead. "Disgusting," she winks with a coy smirk.

[chrisisvbun]

three soldiers. 40s!steve rogers & 40s!bucky barnes x chubby!fem reader x origins!logan howlett.

synopsis: steve, bucky and logan, three soldiers that were hanging out in a bar, lay eyes on a beautiful woman that seems to be their type, and instead of fighting for whoever will have you, they solve things like mature men they are: having a foursome.

cw: foursome, triple penetration (jeez gurl) sweet steve, rough bucky and logan, slight bi!logan, mentions of gay sex, anal, unprotected piv, crempie, oral (both m and f), dom!logan, dom!bucky, dom!steve (mentions of sub Steve tho), chubby reader, slight mention of insecurities, fluff, aftercare.

words: 4k (I'm sorry.)

a ten nsfw chapter series masterlist.

Bucky and Steve's drinks were already empty by the time Logan approached to hang out.

The three of them were soldiers, they shared experiences, people they met, women they slept with, and they found out they shared a taste: plump, chubby women. A girl with flesh to grab, grip, bite. Extra flesh was amazing for the three of them, anywhere in the female (or male) body: tummy, hips, thighs, arms, cheeks, breasts, ass, everything was welcome.

And it's just their luck that you walk in. A gorgeous plump woman, with chubby rolls, fat thighs, broad hips, soft skin, and gorgeous cheeks that made your under eyes wrinkle when you smiled.

As you walked in, the three of them follow your body with their eyes, and where they place their eyes betray them in what they are attracted too. Bucky's eyes were staring al your fat, big thighs, and how you squeeze them together. Steve, ashamed of himself for looking at you so bluntly, was looking straight at your breasts, the cut of your dress showing how big and soft they are. And Logan, Logan was enamored with that tummy of yours, those rolls that press and show in your fat body so beautifully, in such a precious way that had him drooling. He wanted it even fatter with his baby there, but that's just the animalistic instinct talking.

So they had a bit of a chat, trying to figure out which of them was going to approach, and finally, they decided that, why not the three of them? If you backed off, the one that had more chemistry with you could try by himself.

"Hi there." Bucky smirked at you, leaning against the counter with Steve by his side and Logan from behind.

"Add what she has to my tab." Logan said, his eyes still looking down at you while he passed his card to the bartender.

"Are you all by yourself here?" Bucky said again.

"Uhm, yeah..." You said, shyly, which made the three men smirk.

"Lookin' too cute to be by yourself." Logan said from behind you, putting a strand of hair behind your ear. You blushed, you eyes glancing at the three men.

"Guys, we are intimidating her." Steve spoke up, and offered you his hand. You grabbed it shyly, and he kissed your knuckles. "I'm Steve Rogers."

"Bucky Barnes." Bucky gave a tiny bow, removing his hat.

"And that's Logan." Steve nodded at the mentioned, who was still enamored with your figure and your hair.

"Hi." He smiled at you, and his grin widened when you smiled back.

"So, doll, you sure you are alone here? No other men?" Bucky asked, crossing his arms.

You smiled. "Just the three of you."

"Three is a lot, isn't it?" Steve said, smirking at you while his eyes moved all over your body.

"it's not that big a number." You said, starting to get the situation.

"Really? Think you can take three?" Logan's voice was almost in your ear, his hand moved to your broad waist, squeezing it and making you gasp.

"M-maybe... I-" You swallowed, your eyes moving between the three of them. "I won't know until I try."

(...)

Logan said that his apartment was a good place, and it definetly was, he said he had the biggest bed, and the biggest mirror that covered the wall next to the bed.

And during the car ride, Logan was driving with Steve next to him, and Bucky already worked up, all over you. His hands gripped your thighs, kissing your cheek, your neck, your chest, while mumbling sweet praises. "So pretty, so soft..."

You gasped when he sat you on his lap, his hands gripping your ass like his hands where made to be there, and making out with you. His tongue was about to get all hungry inside of your mouth, until he had a taste of your sweet lips, automatically melting on your kiss. Your hands grabbed fists of his brunette hair, Bucky's hands moving under your dress to squeeze the flesh of you backside.

"Love birds." Logan called, you removed your lips from his, your lipstick over Bucky's lips and surroundings, and of course, all over your too. "We are here."

Before you could climb off his lap, Bucky lifted you easily in his broad arm, and like that, he removed all the insecurities you had about your weight, because he closed the door with one arm, while the other was under your thighs.

"Comfortable?" Steve smiled sweetly to you, and almost like he could read your mind, he kissed your sweetly while being held by Bucky. "You are beautiful, my God." He smiled between kisses, and allowing himself to move a hand to one of your big breasts. He moaned and pulled away. "Logan, be quick."

"Relax, pretty boys." Logan opened his apartment door, pushing it open to let the three of you in. "Uh-uh-uh." He stopped Bucky. "My turn."

Bucky rolled his eyes and let you stand on the floor. Before you could miss the touch of Steve and Bucky, Logan's hands were all over you from behind, gripping your waist, your breasts, your thighs, your stomach, while grunting on your ear.

"You are not that innocent, aren'tcha?" He said and kissed the shell of your ear, both of you watching Steve and Bucky removed his jackets and belts. "Takin' three men, three soldiers, you are charming, you are beautiful, this isn't your first rodeo, isn't it?"

You giggled a bit, caressing his big arms. "It isn't, but I never had three." You said, blushing. Logan chuckled, kissing your cheek.

"So sweet, I want to binge on you." He groaned and he began to trail open-mouth kisses over your neck, holding your hair behind. "Boys, let's get the princess ready."

(...)

Logan wasn't lying when he described his bedroom, he was totally right.

You were making out with Steve, he laying between your legs and holding your back to have stability. Bucky was already shirtless, Logan was watching Steve and you making out, on his white tank top and smoking a cigar.

"Steve, let the girl breath." Logan puffed out the smoke.

"Yeah, we are supposed to share." Bucky teased, lying between where Logan was sitting and where you were lying with Steve.

Bucky's hand cupped the back of your neck to kiss you, your hand went to his chest while Steve began to kiss your neck.

The differences between the best friends were clear. Steve was sweet and gentle, his bites and kisses were like cuddles in your skin, while Bucky was rough and desperate, his teeth sank on you lips and neck, trying to make you bleed, everything under Logan's gaze.

Steve's sweet hands pulled off the sleeves of your dress, kissing your shoulders and all the new skin exposed. Bucky hooked a finger on Steve's shirt.

"Take this off, man." He said as he pulled him away from your skin to be the one kissing it.

Steve rolled his eyes and removed his shirt. "You are not joining, Logan?" Steve said.

Logan checked him out a second and smirked. "I'm good watching you three for now, pretty boy, don't worry 'bout me." He winked at him, taking another drag of his cigar.

Steve chuckled, a slight blush on his cheeks. He moved to you again, pulling your dress down to leave you in your white bra and lacy blue underwear.

"Wanna get down?" Now, Steve had pulled Bucky's hair, and consequently, Bucky was removed from your skin.

His bright blue eyes moved to you, looking for your agreement. When you nodded eagerly, he smirked, and quickly began to pull down your panties and get between your legs.

You looked down at him, breathing heavily as he began to lick your slit, his warm tongue on your most sensitive part. You moaned, and your hand moved to press him more against you, a sign that allowed him to begin devouring your cunt.

Your whimpers were silenced but a pair of lips, that tasted like smoke and mint. You quickly recognize Logan's cologne, your hand moved to his hair too, kissing him hungrily while moaning against his lips.

Steve, of course, didn't want to be the four-wheel, so he unhooked your bra. His eyes brightened at the sight of your big breasts, and he started to kiss them both, squeezing them in his broad palms. He moaned against your flesh like he had never seen a pair of tits in his life.

You were overstimulated by this point. If you had to choose, Logan was the best kisser: sweet and rough at the same time, he had that cocky smirk that slipped between kisses every time you moaned. Bucky ate your cunt like it was his favorite meal: messy and hungry, his tongue lapped in your clit and when you started to get used to that, we would fuck you with his tongue, his warm muscle in and out of your tight entrance. And Steve, that sweet mother fucker was worshiping your body like you were a goddess, his hands gripped your flesh, not wanting to let you go ever. And even with his sweet nature, he covered your tits with hickeys and bite marks, he sucked your nipples and pinched them violently.

Bucky's tongue was having his wet dream coming true. A wet, fat cunt like yours, with such a sweet taste, such a responsive body with it. His head was squeezed against your thighs just like he wanted, like he had dreamt the second he layed eyes on you.

"Gonna take turns or is your friend gonna eat her out until we get tired?" Logan asked, obviously rhetorically.

"From my point of view, he looks like he is more into the second one." Steve said, his breathing ragged as he looked down at Bucky, his head squeezed in your big thighs. That mother fucker was having his fantasy coming true.

Logan rolled his eyes but his harsh look softened when he found your face: a pleasure pout, puffy red face, lips parted, heavy breath, and your little whimpers.

"Looks like Bucky is getting the first orgasm of the night." Logan teased.

"Fi-first?" You asked, whiny.

"What? You thought you would have only one orgasm with three men?" Logan raised his eyebrows in a chuckle. "Darlin', you are gonna walk out of here dry, if you can walk once we are done with you."

"What Logan means is that we have a lot of stamina on us, we are gonna take great care of you." Steve said, as he kissed your shoulder gently.

You squeaked when you felt the intrusion of Bucky's fingers inside of you, he smirked up at you as he rubbed your clit with his rough thumb, his face glistering with your slick. "C'mon, doll, lemme have the first." He said while kissing your thigh.

The knot in your tummy snapped in the second he pressed the tip of his fingers in your spongy spot, wetting the blankets under you and Bucky's hand.

"That's it, veery good." Logan soothed you, caressing your hair as you came out of your high.

Bucky removed your legs from his shoulders. "I'll take the ass"

"I'll take the front." Steve said quickly.

Logan rolled his eyes, making you giggle. He sighed dramatically. "Guess I'll have your pretty mouth then." He amirked, you giggled a bit again and he pressed a sweet kiss on your lips.

Steve removed his pants and boxers, sitting against the headboard, and helping you sit on top of him, kissing you sweetly.

"I'll be gentle, 'Kay?" He said with those sweet eyes in yours. You smiled and nodded, kissing you again.

He slowly began to sink you on his long cock, until his balls were pressed against your ass. You squeezed his shoulders, as he kissed your face to soothe you. You heard Bucky chuckle.

"If she is having problems with him, imagine what's gonna do with you." He said to Logan.

"W-what?" You said, looking at them from behind your shoulder.

"Logan is... pretty big, yeah." Bucky chuckled.

"And... and Steve is not?" You tried to understand.

"Oh, no, it's just... I'm definitely not bigger than him." He also chuckled. You almost looked scared. "You are gonna do perfect, sugar." Steve kissed your face again, as he began to rock upwards to you, slow and gentle.

All your worries dissappear once his cock began to kiss your sweet spots, briefly as he rocked against you, grunting under his breath.

"So tight, Jesus..." He threw his head back a second, but instantly moved back to kiss you, this time hungrier and deeper.

His hands grabbed your ass to move you up and down on his length, the clapping sound of his skin against yours filling the whole room.

Riding Steve was like a dream, you felt so loved and treasured, and surely you weren't expecting that in this kind of situation. His eyes looked at you like you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, his hands grabbed you like you were delicate, made of porcelain. He kissed you like you were the woman of his life.

You heard the sound of fabric being removed and turned your head to see Bucky finally removing his pants. And while Steve kissed your neck as you rode him, you gasped at the sight of Bucky's cock. It had the same length as Steve's, which was already long, but it was way fatter, enough to make you doubt if it would fit in your virgin ass.

He spread the lube over his shalft, pumping it a few times before he got behind you.

"Don't you dare to stop." He smacked your ass, kissing the nape of your neck. "Gonna get you ready, and you are gonna keep riding him like a good girl, alright?" You nodded with whiny little sounds. "Very good." He smiled, peppering kisses on your neck as his big finger covered in lube began to sink in your back entrance.

You squealed at the intrusion, but you didn't stop riding Steve. The blonde kissed you, trying to soothe you from the possible pain, but there was not such thing, only raw pleasure.

After you got used to one, Bucky sank another, moving it in a scissors way to stretch you out. He whispered soft praises in your ear, telling you how well you were taking him, how tight and warm you were.

"I need you to relax, doll." He said in your ear, slowly removing his fingers. "Can you take a deep breath for me?" You nodded, inhaling, retaining, and by the second you exhaled, Bucky was already sinking his tip in.

"Oh god!" You moaned, hugging Steve's neck.

Now, you had both friends rocking against you, filling you up, getting you cockdumb with a few thrusts. Steve was hitting your cervix beautifully, while Bucky was using your tight ass, gripping your hips to rock against you harshly.

"Having a good time without me I see." Logan teased, finishing his cigar.

You looked at him, tears filling your eyes at the overwhelming pleasure that you were feeling. He removed his belt and then his tank top. You were drooling, literally, against Steve's neck, between moans, at the sight of his enormous body, that you didn't notice when he pulled off his pants, showing that Bucky and Steve where right.

He was longer than Steve, fatter than Bucky, it had a long, thick vein that started in his happy trail and finished in his tip. You were thanking and blaming God that you didn't have him in your ass or your cunt, because he was definitely gonna rip you open.

He stood in front of you, pressing his tip on your parted lips. You kissed it messily, his tip already covered in your saliva, trying to fit it in your mouth slowly due to the movements of your body. You stayed still, letting Steve jackhammer you while Bucky fucked you from behind, and slowly slid his cock in your mouth, fitting half of it.

"Can't take it?" He mocked you. "Guess I'll have to take your cunt once blondie finishes."

He grunted when your tongue moved around his thickness, pulling your hair to keep your head still, until you began to move it back and forth, gagging as you tried to take more of him

"Fuck sake..." Logan grunted loudly.

"L-language." Steve said between groans.

"Shut up or I'll use your ass as my sex toy." He threatened and laughed when noticed by your reaction that his cock throbbed inside of you at the idea.

Steve rocked against you harder, Bucky hugged your body from behind, both of them trying to get you over the edge.

Your eyes widened when both men hit your spot almost at the same time, making you clench around them as your orgasm snapped, coming all over Steve's cock and dripping into the blankets again.

Weakly, you kept sucking Logan off, your tongue lining that thick vein and giving the tip some kitten licks that made him smile between groans.

A couple of thrusts inside of you and Steve came inside of you, his thick release painting your cunt. Your legs shivered at the warm feeling, and you had to remove Logan's cock from your mouth to take a breath. But his hand moved you to make out with his cock again, showing that he wasn't done with you

Bucky's thrusts began to get irregular and messy, his pace already ruined, and with a shaky moan, he pressed head in your shoulder and his hips against your ass, which was dripping his cum in that very second.

"S-sorry..." He apologized, already sensitive, but the shaky laugh that came out after that showed that he wasn't sorry at all. "I cum a lot." He chuckled, staying inside as you kept sucking off Logan.

You were already exhausted, burnt out, and Logan could see that. He removed your head with a little pop and kissed your cheek.

"Take a breath." He mumbled. "And you two, get off. Gonna show you how it's done." He teased, although there was some truth behind his words.

Bucky removed first, you hissed a bit as clinged to Logan, who helped you lift your hips in order to Steve to roll off. He lied you on the bed, getting between your legs and putting them on his shoulders. He kissed your ankle gently as he slid in.

You moaned weakly, mumbling something like you couldn't take it anymore.

"You sure? Because she seems to be sucking me in." He teased, slowly rocking his hips against you, Steve's cum still dripping from there.

In a second, he gripped your legs and began to fuck himself inside of you, mocking your expressions as you got overwhelmed once again with how he filled you up. You loved riding Steve, it was magical, but missionary with Logan? He hit the right spots with every movement, definetly a winner.

He suddenly stopped, looking behind him to find both young boys with their hands on their cocks, two pairs of eyes on how your tits and rolls bounced.

"You know, boys." He started. "I think there is enough room."

Your eyes darted between Logan and the two friends, slowly understanding the situation. Logan smirked when you clenched around him at the idea. "And someone here seems to like the idea."

You looked at the three men now in front of you, broad and masculine. Steve pressed your left knee in your chest while Bucky did the same with your right one, your abused hole with Logan's dick still inside now in sight.

Slowly, Bucky slid in, you whimpered at the stretch, but still taking it, breathing in and out.

"You look like you are giving birth." Bucky teased, Logan grunted.

"Don't give me ideas."

Steve gently slid half of his length in, with each inch, your moans got louder and louder, you could have come in that second.

Three cocks inside was a lot, too much, of course, but you were taking it so good that it seemed like you did this every single time.

"Such a dirty whore, taking three cocks like a champ." Logan teased, starting to slowly fuck himself inside of you.

Steve did the same, although much slower and gentle. Bucky snapped his hips against you in a quicker pace, watching how his cock disappeared inside of you.

It didn't take long for you to feel that knot in your tummy undoing itself, each thrust a little pull that threatened to snap it.

"I-I..." You babbled, just noticing you were drooling over your chin. "Cum... p-please..." You managed to pronounce.

"Cum, huh?" Bucky smirked, grunting as he kept thrusting.

"Well aren't you pretty?" Logan teased. "She is taking us so well, maybe you deserve to cum." His broad hand moved to knead your breast.

"She does, of course she does." Steve moaned low, and his rough thumb moved to your abused cunt, finding your clit and flicking it in his pad.

"Oh god!" You sobbed, gripping Logan's forearm and the bedsheets.

You threw your head back and simply allowed yourself to let it go. The room was filled with the clapping sound of skins snapping against each other, grunts, groans, growls and moans, whiny airy sounds that sometimes appeared from the men's lips.

Finally, the knot snapped undone and you came, you came a lot, there was a big stain in the bedsheets that was your art piece, and your entrance was dripping a thicker fluid that covered their cocks that, after a few thrusts, began to come, one by one.

Your core and thighs were a mess of slicks, and you, you were a shivering disaster at this point, shaking with overstimulation, your pupils dilated like you were on drugs.

Bucky was the first to cradle you in his arms, holding you against his chest while cuddling your sides.

"Get her clean, I'll change the sheets so we can rest." Logan said once he caught his breath.

Bucky lifted you easily, rocking you as he moved to the bathroom with Steve. The blond caressed your hair and kissed your face while Bucky cleaned you gently, his hands moving over your body with nothing other than affection and care. Once cleaned and dry, Logan put you on some boxers of his and one of his flannels.

"Ready to sleep, beautiful?" He asked, caressing your hair. You smiled lovingly and nodded, making him smile too and he leaned to kiss your nose.

"Here, doll." Bucky handed you a cup of tea. "That throat must hurt." He kissed the top of your head.

"You made me tea?" You asked surprised, your eyes shining at him.

"Of course I did, doll, why so surprised?" He lied in the right side of the bed, with you sitting between Logan's leg and resting your back and head on his chest, his arms around you.

"I didn't expect this, that's all." You said shyly, drinking from your beverage.

"Well, that's the bare minimum, you were so kind letting us do this with you, and you took it great." Steve said softly, kissing your forehead and laying on the other side.

"You three do this often?" You asked curiously.

"Never the three of us, Steve and I have done threesomes, but never with the old machine." Bucky elbowed Logan, who rolled his eyes.

"And it was a great experience, darlin', I must admit." Logan nuzzled against your hair, the two soldiers nodded along.

"Well, I wouldn't mind repeating it other time." You fidgeted with the cup.

"Is that so?" Steve pressed his face in your shoulder, smiling sweetly at you.

Bucky's hand move to caress your thigh. "I wouldn't mind either." He kissed your arm gently.

"Well, everyone seems happy in this situation." Logan sighed. "Guess we will have to share you, because if we do this everytime, we are gonna end up breaking you."

"I'll take the first." Steve said quickly.

"I'll take the second!" Bucky followed alone.

"Don't you think she gets the right to choose, you idiots?" Logan huffed, and you giggled.

"I'll take Logan first." You answered.

"Oh, come on!" Bucky pretended a complain.

"He earned it!" You giggled.

"Yeah, I got the apartment." Logan added along. "And I'm the eldest."

"How old are you?" You asked innocently. The three men got silent.

"You don't wanna know yet, darlin'."

[whambambatfam]

Webs of a Wing

Chapter 1

I am not well versed in DC knowledge. I've read a bunch of the older comics but, honestly, these timelines are too confusing to say I have a firm grasp on what the fuck is happening at any given point.

Anyways, this is my story, I made a tumbler for it. I'll definitely upload again..

When the fly on the wall starts to spin webs of their own, can the bats catch on? Or will they be left to dangle in the web they've tangled?

───── ⋆⋅ 🕸 ⋅⋆ ─────

You're hardly school aged when you wake in a strange place, vague memories of someone patting your head as you fall asleep. Then it was all blurry and you went from cold hard ground, suddenly, to a warm bed worth more than you've ever seen.

Laying still, staring up at the ceiling, you lay dazed until you hear the door starting to creak open. Quickly shutting your eyes you wait for the suspect to peak inside.

When his voice sounds, back on the other side of the door, you perk up, "Who's this? They're kinda cute." A boy, most likely a few years older than you.

When that deep, fear inducing voice reaches for you, you jump out of bed after it. "Apparently, my child." He couldn't possibly be talking about you, right?

You make your way silently to the creaked door. Peeping through to watch them. "Huh? What?? Like seriously???" Hands resting on his hips, a boy of black hair and lean physique gapes.

A tall man with a build as intimidating as his voice, "Yes, I've run a DNA test and everything." His large arms cross over his broad chest.

Mirroring the older man's stance, the boy questions, "So, who's the mom?"

"I'm still working on that.."

"Have you.. asked them?"

There's a heaviness lingering in the hall around them. "We don't know if they'll talk yet, not till they wake up." He doesn't like not having answers, clearly.

"Can they?"

Swinging the door open, you bark out at your own defense, "I knew how'd to talk!"

His shoulder shot up, face blossoming in embarrassment, "Oh, sorry." Sighing, he tries to appear nonchalant. "Well, heyyy.. kid.. My name's Dick.” Placing a hand on your shoulder, he smiles, “Guess I'll be like, your, uh, big brother?"

Eyes widening, you step away from his grasp. Being in a strange place with strange people claiming to be your family was concerning. Even in your young mind, alarm bells rang loud and clear.

Like a light shining through your darkest times, his voice cut through the tension. “This may be all too much for,” A man, much older than either, rests his hand on your back, “the newly young master Wayne.” He ushers you gently back into the room. All gentle pats and kind smiles as he insists on you resting.

You never spoke about who or where you came from. It hurts to try, to think of the cold, the dark, the pain, the fear. Push out all the bad. Make it just go away. You just wanted it to go away. Wanted to take every memory of before and lock it up, never to be found. So, that's what you did, burying every painful memory. After some time, your young mind turned repression into suppression. Now, left with only bits and pieces, you couldn't remember even if you wanted to.

So, you’ll need to fill in the emptiness with this fresh start.

Life in the Wayne house started off joyfully. You found serenity in the solitude of the manor, disconnected from the rest of Gotham. When Alfred wasn't pushing tedious homeschooling work, you explored the massive house you'd be calling home. The quietude of empty ballrooms, winding halls and stodgy gardens was your respite. While it wasn't a place made for children, you felt at peace for the first time. The perfect home for a ghost with plenty of walls for flies and flowers alike.

Coming from unknown origins with no paperwork to speak of left you in a peculiar predicament. As a child was low grasp on the passage of time, you couldn't exactly say how old you were. Let alone when your birth date was. No one has ever bothered to tell you and if they have you certainly weren't going to remember. Infact, at Alfreds insists on a celebration, he comes to find you've never truly experienced a birthday of any kind. He had to correct this at once, give you a proper one with cake, singing and presents. It makes him wonder what sort of childhood you've been plucked from.

“Well, young master.” Alfred takes your hands as you climb the step stool next to him, “It's been a year now since you've joined us at the manor.”

Your hands slap onto the counter when you finally reach it. “Yeah, I like it.” Smiling wide up at the old butler, you babble on, “everything is so big and warm and it smells nice and I like when you cook and I wanna cook too and-” Alfred hushes your ramblings with a hand on your head.

“Yes, that's lovely, my child.” The other hand opens a draw nearby. “And that's what we'll be doing today.”

You tilt your head as the hand on it brushes over it and falls away, “Cooking?” Craning your neck, you try to peek at the cards he flips through.

“Well, baking, but yes.” He confirms, offering you a smile that's warm and sweet like his cookies, “Today was the day you joined the family, it's as good a day as any for a party.”

Your eyes light up, “A party for what?”

“Your birthday, my dear.” He chuckles softly at your look of awe,“Today will be your birthday, and every year I shall make you a cake.”

“Woah, every year?” You gasp as he hafs you the small stack of cards, each a handwritten cake recipe. While you can't read them yet, there are pictures of each cake pasted alongside the words. “That's a lot of cakes.. Can I help?”

“Whichever you like most we'll bake.” You're quick to pick one, waving the card around frantically, “I would be honored to have your help as well, young master.”

Alfred got to work with measurements, letting you pour everything into the bowls. He shows you how to mix, guiding you hand over hand when you struggle. You can't help spilling half of you what you're given, covering the counters. Sliding the pan batter into the oven, Alfred has you assist by wiping away your mess.

As he begins readying ingredients for frosting you ask, “Are those guys gonna join us?”

You're too busy scrubbing batter from your stool to see the way he deflates. “Unfortunately, your father and brother are tied up in something.” He sighs, taking the rag and finishing your job. With a sullen smile he hands you a measuring cup of sugar, “Perhaps next year.”

The night is spent merrily celebrating. When it cools Alfred frosts and decorates your cake. He places a number of candles, It's the first of many birthdays spent with just you and Alfred.

The next years were your first time in true schooling, a prestigious boarding school to boot. You couldn't remember seeing so many other children before. The eyes you received from strangers when given your new last name made your skin crawl. Deciding to forgo it in most encounters. Yet, for some reason to a great number of your fellow classmates, that fact seemed to matter greatly. If you met someone who insisted or withheld their friendship without, then you'd simply roll your eyes, never speaking to them.

You decided friends weren't important, instead making it your goal to not just succeed but to exceed. If this was your shot of a real family, you wanted to show them you were something capable. Worthy. You were hopeful, determined in getting close.

Only to be pushed aside at every opportunity.

“I got’ perfect score!” The words burst from you with such excitement you're bouncing on the balls of your feet.

Bruce doesn't even bother to look at the paper you're frantically waving at him. Simply mumbling as he places his mug in the sink, “Very nice.” Before turning to Dick, “Come on, son. It's time to go.” You thought maybe this was how a father was supposed to be. Cold, distant and hardly ever around for someone so small.

Alfred steps up from behind your slumped form. Plucking the paper from your dejected gaze. He hums softly before you hear a rap on the fridge beside you. “Wonderful job young master.” You smile for him as he pats your head. Happy to have at least someone’s acknowledgement.

From what your classmates say, a big brother will either pick on you or support you. Soon you came to find that living with Dick Grayson didn't guarantee you any of his time. Good or bad.

So, despite the terror that being center stage fills you with, you entered your school's spelling bee. The thought that maybe you could possibly impress them gave you just enough nerve.

“Hey, um, Dickie...” When you catch his sleeve, your teeth skin into your cheeks. He peeks over his shoulder at you, “Here, it's a competition.”

His nose wrinkles slightly before he smiles. “Spelling bee?” Not a real smile, you don't get those. It's a empty, meaningless thing that hardly lifts his lips.

“If you're not busy.” You clasp your fingers together, steeling your nerves.

“Uh, yeah. Maybe.” It’s thinly masked disgust if anything.

Time came to discuss bringing you into the public eye, an official declaration of your relationship with the Wayne's. Just the thought of it was unsettling, like placing a target on your back. The last place you want to be is the spot light.

“I don't wanna go. I won't go.” It was then in that moment, when the words left your lips, you could see it in his eyes.

A wave of relief Dick couldn't quite stifle, lip touching at the corner before turning to Bruce, “Maybe they're just scared of all those new people. With everyone looking at them, seeing them as your..” That uptick in his features falters slightly, “first child, technically.” Back then, you thought he cared. That this was actually for your protection. “It's a lot of pressure, maybe it would be better. For them, to stay safe.”

Bruce crosses his arms, examining his older child before looking back to the younger. “You have a point there, Dick.” You've twisted your fingers into Alfreds pant leg, half hidden behind him. “Fine. I won't force you to do anything you don't want to. It might even be for the better.” Neither of them wanted you there, thinly veiled behind words of care, never quit saying it.

Not once then did you realize. There was nothing you could do, nothing you could say, nothing you could show for. Nothing to make them see you, the real you. You couldn't provide them with anything, that made you useless.

“Very well, Master Bruce.” With a sigh, Alfred guides you away as the two leave. He was always the one in your corner. Before you even know this life would be a battle.

This give on the topic began your gradual slope into obscurity. In the hectic years of adolescence, you'd come to the conclusion that private schools are for snobs. You manage to convince the old butler, with baked goods, to allow a change of schools. Not wanting to slow your studies yet overwhelmed by your known family reputation. Public school seemed viable, no one had to know who you really were. There seemed to be no object, or real acknowledgment of this decision.

You used to believe, despite how they act, this was it, this would be your family and you could be happy. Surely, you thought, it's because you're new to them. It must be hard to connect, you found it quite difficult yourself.

So, you decided, you'll just need to put in more effort. Show them that there is something that you and they can do together. You took up everything you Alfred offered to teach you when he was around. You learned to cook, sew and clean the whole manor faster than the master butler himself.

Of course, he had other priorities, not just as your caretaker. Try as he might to keep you at the top of that list, he still has duties to attend. So, you would take your days, even weeks, alone with stride. A good time to build your skills on your own, finding new ways to utilize them. Hoping for something, anything, to bridge the gap with your new family.

“I'll be home late today, Al.” While you had gotten away from uptight private schooling, Alfred still set into a well funded school.

He gives a light chuckle of disbelief over the phone, “You have plans, young master?” Pinching the device between your shoulder and ear, you fumble through your first ever locker.

“It's just a club, I'll still need you to pick me up after.” With all your free time, you thought you'd use more of your growing skills.

“At your service my dear.”

You took time to catch on, years of peeling away from the background. Picking and pulling apart from the inside out, finding something that could peak their interest. Hoping to think twice, even once to turn their heads back to the lone manner.

That's how you found them, their secrets; and the life that pulled them as taunt in one direction as the other did. Digging for a way that you could connect from beyond the twice eye catching lives they live day and night. You were piled with reasoning when you found that special place in the library they all seemed to love. The idea of passing the security felt out of reach at the time.

Walking along the dark water line, looking out to the misty sky. You don't wish for misfortune, but you wait. When that light flickers on and that familiar symbol reflects on the dark Gotham clouds, your breath catches. Ducking alonge the rocky cliff wall by the large alcove, you listen to the rumble. You brace yourself as something in the shallow cave opens, the rumble growing.

Then you have your answer. The Batmobile comes billowing out of the cave, in its wake you hide. Long after its departure from the property, you emerge from your hiding spot. Slipping through the closing doors and wandering down into the bat cave.

Despite how they see through you most times, you're sure Alfred knows when you sneak in. So, appreciating this to be Alfred throwing his hand up and hiding his eyes for your sake.

It's awe inspiring to say the least, especially knowing you live above it every day. It felt like peeking through the lives of strangers and you couldn't look away. You don't know why he kept it from you but you didn't want to be shut out for knowing. Yet, you couldn't satiate your curiosity with just this visit.

You had told Alfred you had a meeting after a club and that you would be home late. For some strange reason he promised Dick would pick you up.

Water splashes up from a speeding tire as you walk along the misty Gotham streets, “Aw man, come on!” Of course Dick didn't show! Why would he? When has he ever?

Now, in this situation, Alfred would wish for you to call him for assistance.

“Over there! Look, look!” Across the intersection a pair gasps and squeals, fingers pointed up at the Boy Wonder. The last thing on his mind as he leapt through the night sky, was an unwanted sister.

If only Alfead could get everything he's ever wished for, but you're not a fairy.

Following gunshot and bangs you skirt around chaos, nearly avoiding an obvious outbreak of costumed thugs. You watch in ired fascination as they beat down each threat thoroughly. As the moon starts to sit lower again and the bad guys are carted away, you realize how long you've been gone.

You arrive at the gates in tune to be blown past by the Batmobile. Inside, Alfred gives you a look as if he knows every secret you've even kept. Thankfully he doesn't say a word, You're out of your damp clothes by the time the dynamic duo ascend to the manor.

For people of the shadows, they never could seem to see you creeping through them.

It's through this that you managed to learn about Barbra Gordon. The commissioner's daughter was someone you could only catch glimpses of from time to time. It was rare for you to catch her attention. Much too preoccupied with her work for the Bat, your father.

The batgirl's skill inspired your own delve into tech. Hacking, coding and even trying your hand at tinkering with new devices. Creations that you've jerry-rigged and hoped against hope that she would even glance at.

She's coming over today, you overheard dick say so. You've poked your head over the banister as you wait to spot the red head. Yet, once she's there, you freeze. Dick and Barbara push through the front doors together. Light rain chasing them inside from the sturing storm. Their foot falls followed by light laughter and easy chitchat. If only it was so easy for you.

You watch as your brother scurries off, promising to grab a towel. This is your shot. “Oh, um!” Words are coming from you before you even know what to say. Stumbling over yourself, you bumble over, haltung in front of her. “B-Barbra?”

“Huh, who?” At the ruckus you've made, she whips around. Head on a swivel 'till green eyes locking on you. “Oh! It's you.. uh..” looking you up and down she stumbles as well.

You have to give her your name, again.

“Right, right. Sorry.” Barbra looks off sheepishly, carting a hand through her hair. Hand flicking droplets from the ginger ringlets.

“It's okay..” that's alright, that's normal Even. You don't see each other all that often.. even though you remembered her name just fine. “I just want to ask you about some-” Unfortunately, yet unsurprisingly, she cuts you off before you can pull out what you want to share with her.

“I've actually got to-” Her mouth snaps shut before she thinks better of words, “Well, um, talk with Bruce.” She finishes with an awkward chuckle and mumbled “Y'know how it is. Always something with the Wayne's.”

No, “Yeah..” You didn't know.

You've never shared more than a last name with the Wayne's.

Patting your head she smiles, “Sorry again, hun. Maybe later?” turning away down the hall Dick had disappeared to. Even to the all seeing eye you were nothing but a mere fly on the wall.

Gothams streets were dark, dangerous, and the only place you could see them for more than a minute. You loved nights like this, when you could slip from the manor. Undetected by the inattentive gazes that should have kept a preteen like you home.

With this habit of bird watching, you found yourself looking more into your subpar self defense. Living in Gotham has given you a natural caution but all too often you've wound up in tight situations. All because you couldn't keep your eyes off them. Maybe if you show them you could do that, fight back, they might see you.

You put yourself out there over and over, “Uh, d-dad?” Alfred insisted you call him that, but it never felt right, “I've been doing, um, I have this..” taking a breath you force it out, “It's martial arts, could you come see me?”

Another paper half glance at before the typical, “I'll see what I can do.”

Apparently, there are some things even Batman can't do.

“H-hey.. I, uh, am doing..” You pull out the flier for your competition. inspecting it over before looking to see him. Half-heartedly glancing up from his comic, Dick gives you a once over before continuing to read, “Gymnastics.”

Finally his eyes hold yours when the word shoots from your mouth. For a second you think this is it. This is when you’ll finally have his attention. Finally make that long awaited connection with your big brother. “I'll see, why don't you ask Bruce?” Dick lays the paper on the living room table in front of him.

“I did... he said the same thing.”

The paper is still there when you come back later.

[papiliotao]

HOME SWEET HOME — neuvillette x reader

content: 13.3k words, lovers to exes to hopefully lovers again, reader goes to jail, mixed feelings (i hope i wrote them decently), murder, poison, lots of investigation

summary: a singular trial is all it takes to tear your world apart. after being framed for an atrocious crime, you're sent to the fortress of meropide by the decree of your own lover. however, as new evidence emerges years down the line, you're offered freedom at last — the only catch being that you must confront the real culprit (and your complicated feelings for the man who broke your heart).

a/n: merry (late?) christmas @https-sourlimes!! i'm your secret santa. i am SO sorry about the wordcount; i got carried away while writing. i really hope you enjoy! <3

Happiness is a fragile ephemerality.

One word is all it takes to set your world ablaze in a frenzy of roaring flames, once-comforting hues of warmth roaring in a final performance of oceanic havoc. A numb horror manifests in subtle shivers that wrack your body, piercing your very soul with its glacial frostbite. Echoes reverberate within your mind.

Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.

According to the judgment of the Oratrice Mechanique D’analyse Cardinale, [name] is guilty.

Neuvillette’s words seem to ring in the air, long overstaying their welcome as they persist in a buzz of illusory ostinatos over a backdrop of stunned silence. No one stirs as the tragic tale of two star-crossed lovers unfolds before them. Instead, they watch with bated breath, never once daring to intervene, allowing every act of fate’s cruel masterpiece to play out in flawless tandem.

Nothing feels real until the moment the guards slip a pair of handcuffs around your wrists. Gradually, a sense of panic envelops your senses, prompting you to desperately turn to where Neuvillette had been standing. Fear begins to well up in the pit of your stomach.

You need his help.

But when your eyes land on the spot where your lover had once been, you find that he is all but gone.

Emptiness is all that remains as you’re escorted down to the depths of Meropide.

“Wriothesley,” you greet the man in front of you politely as you step into his office.

It’s only six in the morning, but you were unceremoniously dragged out of your bed earlier when you were informed that Wriothesley had sent for you. A few years ago, you would have complained about how rude it is to rouse someone from slumber without warning. However, after spending thousands of days in prison, you’ve grown to understand that societal norms have no place within the lifeless metallic walls of Meropide.

Everything runs on incentive alone. Coupons are all that matter within the underground prison, and as such, most inmates spare less than a thought towards moral obligations and frivolous sentiments. It’s a home for some of Fontaine’s most infamous criminals, for crying out loud! Only a fool would expect pleasantries to have any place in this bleak world.

Your train of thought is interrupted as Wriothesley gestures towards a chair in front of his desk.

“Take a seat, [name],” he says, his voice gruff yet comforting.

He’s been your only companion throughout your time in prison, as the other inmates have been a little too uncouth for your taste. Although Wriothesley tries to pretend he simply wants to be your friend, you know he has ulterior motives. You know the reason why he’s always checking up on you so often — why he’s been suspiciously interested in your day-to-day life.

Someone you’d rather not think about put him up to this.

Someone you used to love.

(You still remember the crystal raindrops that kissed your skin mere moments before you were taken underground. You wouldn’t put it past him to watch you from afar.)

“Is something up, Wriothesley?” you inquire.

The more he talks the better, you decide. Right now, anything is better than silence because silence is a harbinger of spiraling thoughts and unpleasant recollections. At the moment, you want nothing more than to drown the mantras gnawing at the edge of your conscience in a sea of cascading words.

“Brace yourself,” Wriothesley warns, “This is gonna be a tough one to stomach.”

You nod hesitantly. Wriothesley usually keeps your conversations lighthearted and casual, so you’re absolutely certain that he’s serious this time. His foreboding preface sends a slight shiver down your spine, but you steel your nerves and meet his gaze. Irises beaming with fading moonlight scan your eyes for any traces of hesitation, scrutinizing every sentiment that graces the windows to your soul.

“I’m ready,” you reassure him.

Although Wriothesley raises an eyebrow when he hears the tremble that unsteadily articulates your growing anxiety, he continues on. One thing about Wriothesley you’ve grown to appreciate is the fact that he never pries into your affairs (at least not openly).

“Alright,” he sighs. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Tension becomes tangible as momentary silence fills the atmosphere; it’s almost deceptively peaceful. Every transient second feels more akin to an eon spent in stagnation as suspense gnaws at your conscience. As much as you hope for the hush to dissipate with every fibre of your being, you also dread the moment your false utopia will shatter.

“Is it really that bad?” you make the mistake of asking Wriothesley.

The grimace that adorns his weary features tells you all you need to know. Before your mind can run through all the possibilities in a frenzied delirium of panicked theories, Wriothesley finally speaks up.

“It’s about him,” he clarifies.

You immediately know who he’s talking about.

It’s funny. A few years ago, you used to speak his name in a hushed tone, filled with admiration and brimming with ardor. Every whisper used to feel adoring, almost reverent, and as such, you had mistakenly believed your love was akin to an all-enduring everblaze, a crimson flame of passion that would burn bright and persevere through all.

The irony is nearly laughable. Dying embers and hollow sentiments are all that remain now. His name has become a taboo, a word that feels all-too-foreign as you attempt to fill in the silence.

“Neuvillette,” you whisper shakily.

An unpleasant ringing seems to manifest in your ears as all the memories you’ve been trying to repress ebb and flow in a wave of aquamarine recollections. You’re aware he’s always been an overwhelming presence, yet it becomes all the more obvious as thoughts of him invade and overload your mind.

Wriothesley confirms your suspicions in the form of a solemn nod. To your surprise, his steely grey eyes soften for what feels like the first time since you’ve met him, a gentle warmth stirring beneath layers of permafrost.

Great, so your situation is so abysmal that even Wriothesley is starting to feel sympathetic.

“What does he want?” you manage to breathe out.

A part of you doesn’t want to face your ex-lover ever again in this lifetime. And yet despite it all, your heart screams for closure, resolving to remain unrelenting in its desires until every loose thread of your tragedy has been tied up neatly. You don’t know what to hope for at this point.

“You remember the poisoning case from a few years ago?” Wriothesley questions you.

It takes all your willpower to resist the urge to scoff.

“Who would forget the murder that changed their life forever?” Your voice comes out wry, bitterness intricately working its way into each inflection. Despite your attempts to exercise restraint, you find that your emotions are beginning to overtake rationality.

“Alright,” Wriothesley says hesitantly, “then I guess there’s no better time to break the news.” The suffering in his drawn-out sigh is palpable. “Suspicious new evidence related to the case has emerged recently. The Marechaussee Phantom is beginning to suspect that there’s more to it than what they initially found,” Wriothesley starts. Before he can continue, you interrupt him.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Right.” With an exasperated click of his tongue, Wriothesley moves on. “That’s where you come in. Since you’re so closely-linked with the events that occurred that day, the Iudex has specifically requested your help in the investigation. I take it the possibility of freedom is incentive enough?”

You huff. “Seriously? He has the audacity to ask for my help after all this time without so much as a word? Not even freedom could convince me to work with that absolute — !”

The stern look that manifests within Wriothesley’s sterling irises is enough to prompt you to pause. Although he doesn’t vocalize his concerns, the diamond-esque glimmers of worry that manifest in his eyes speak volumes. Don’t say something you might regret.

So instead of continuing on, you allow yourself a single sigh — an attempt to alleviate all your frustration in a single exhale.

“What I meant was, I’m not sure I could work with the Iudex in any official capacity,” you say, gritting your teeth lest any unsavory words find a way to slip out of your mouth, “given our… complicated history.”

Wriothesley shakes his head, a subtle showing of his displeasure at being caught up in a lover’s quarrel. You can’t really blame him. Any bystander would feel beyond vexed if they were tasked with piecing together the fading ruby fragments of a once-blissful relationship.

“I thought you might say that,” he responds, raising a hand to massage his temples. At the moment, the bags under his eyes appear more prominent than ever, and you begin to wonder how much grief your personal issues with Neuvillette will cause poor Wriothesley. “That’s why you have a week to decide.”

You narrow your eyes to meet a gaze woven from the essence of dimming moonbeams. Wriothesley stares you back, unflinching in his poise.

“Good luck getting me to change my mind,” you scoff. “I’m not facing him ever again.”

A pause.

Silence threatens to consume all under its weight, and you’re left wondering how nothingness can feel so heavy. Wriothesley’s nonchalance seems to disperse, vanishing in the midst of the tense ambience. Now you’re absolutely sure you’re in for a heartfelt conversation — an anomaly amongst the casual paradigm the two of you have been defining over the past few years.

“I’m not great with all this sentimental stuff,” Wriothesley starts, “I mean, I’m hardly experienced with romantic relationships myself despite my age.” He chuckles, and suddenly you feel as though the mood has lightened ever-so-slightly. “But trust me when I say Monsieur Neuvillette still cares deeply about you.”

Does he? Why would anyone stand by helplessly while the person they supposedly love more than life itself is taken from them forever?

Despite the protests that practically fly to the tip of your tongue, you continue listening attentively. Although you keep telling yourself you no longer care about your former lover, perhaps there’s still a small spark of incandescent hope lying somewhere within your heart — an ember of love awaiting a day where it will burst into brilliant flame once more.

“Think about it,” Wriothesley hums, his casual tone slipping effortlessly back into place as if he never broke character. “It’s been years since your case has been closed, and all the loose ends were supposedly tied up when you were sentenced, which means…” He trails off, waiting for you to piece together fragmented bits of logic within the recesses of your mind.

The muddled pieces of knowledge confound you, yet as you consider the implications of Wriothesley’s statement more carefully, a flicker of ingenuity comes to life in a sporadic burst of aureate sparks.

“Which means he never stopped investigating,” you conclude. “He believed it wasn’t me all along.”

The realization dawns on you in shades of phantasmagoric navy. It’s chilling, akin to the unwelcome touch of icy waters. Likewise, it overwhelms you. Its implications are far too profound to be ignored or pushed aside, and you begin to understand that you won’t be able to run away from the man you once loved for eternity.

“And?” Wriothesley adds.

“And he’s been trying to prove my innocence,” you breathe out, feeling disconnected from the moment.

Everything feels surreal, and the last few seconds feel no less oneiric than the ludicrous dreams you’re pulled into every night. It’s as if your world is twisting and turning upside down. You’ve spent all this time trying to incinerate every ounce of affection held within your heart for Neuvillette, bitterly blocking every memory of him from your mind all while he’s been tirelessly working to reunite with you.

Guilt pierces your entire being, enveloping you in a venomous sort of discomfort. A shiver runs down your spine as you realize how unfairly you’ve been treating the man you were once hopelessly-devoted to. Even back then in your emotional state, you should have known he would never betray you, much less in such a profound manner. Yet a part of you is still bitter that it took him this long to do anything. You can’t find it in your heart to forgive him entirely.

Remorse is a complex sentiment. While it pushes individuals to grow and defy past ordainments, it also drives them to make decisions that become ironically more regrettable later on. You feel as though your situation will fit in the latter category as a desire to reconvene with your past lover blazes to life. You’re still beyond enraged when you think about him, but a small flourish of love still remains in your heart. There’s so much you want to know, so without a further thought, you relay your hasty choice to Wriothesley before you can stop yourself.

“Fine, take me up to the surface. I need to speak to Neuvillette.”

The moment you resurface for the first time in years, an epiphany overcomes your senses. You realize how much you missed all the sights and sounds of the outside world — how much you had taken everything for granted back when you were still free.

Every caress of an aquatic zephyr feels like a gentle luxury, and the sensation of golden sunbeams enveloping you in threads of luminous comfort is something entirely otherworldly. You savour the ephemeral peace and serenity that surrounds you, losing yourself in the salty spray of azure waves and the vast beauty of the divine skies above.

As someone who’s allowed above ground routinely for official business, Wriothesley either doesn’t notice your wonder as he escorts you to your destination, or he chooses not to comment on it. Perhaps the beauty of the overworld has become nothing more than a mundanity to him.

The Palais Mermonia is every bit as grand as you remember. It towers over Fontaine, as if watching over the city and all its affairs. The smooth stone walls and opulent detailings adorning the building serve as a welcome reminder of how magnificent Fontaine’s architecture can be — a nice change of pace after spending countless days locked away within the monochromatic metal walls of the Fortress of Meropide.

As Wriothesley leads you through the intricate doors of the Palais Mermonia, you feel a sense of anticipation swell within your heart. Polychromatic butterflies desperately flutter their wings in the pit of your stomach, manifesting in a swarm of discombobulating chaos. With every step you take towards Neuvillette’s office, you feel your feet grow heavier. By the time you’re standing before the entrance, you feel as if you’re practically glued to the ground. The only things that keep you going are Wriothesley’s watchful stare and careful guidance.

The dark-haired man beside you pushes the door open and motions for you to enter first. As much as you’d rather hide behind Wriothesley, you decide to swallow your nerves and step into the office before him.

Unfortunately for you, the first sight that greets you upon entering the office is the face of a man you’ve been trying to avoid for years now, whether in the waking world or slumber. Against your own will, you note that he appears just as breathtaking as the day you lost him. Every detail of his suit is as pristine as ever, not a single wrinkle in sight, no matter how hard you scrutinize. His hair looks as soft and voluminous as usual, each strand of cerulean a sharp contrast to silken starlight. Simply put it, nothing has changed, and as you look into his eyes, you realize just how accurate your inference is.

Molten tanzanite fills eyes akin to galaxies occupied by subtle glimmers of emotion. Even now, you find that you can read him perfectly. Although he appears serious on the surface, a single examination of Neuvillette’s gaze is all it takes for you to spot the luminous adoration that gleams beneath layers of carefully-crafted defenses.

Damn it. Don’t look at me like that.

It’s a look you’d recognize anywhere — a look you had once loved with all your heart, yet now it feels detestable more than anything. The ironic juxtaposition between your feelings in past and present nearly makes you laugh. It’s a bleak reminder of how greatly circumstances have shifted — how everything is wrong now.

Not a word is spoken as you sit down in a chair across from Neuvillette. Although you had assumed Wriothesley would join you, he stands off to the side before you can even protest. Any attempt to call him back over would definitely make it obvious that you didn’t want to have what was essentially a one-on-one conversation with your ex.

“[Name],” Neuvillette greets you formally, his tone steady and practiced. It feels unnatural after all you’ve been through; in the past, endearment would lace his tone each time he spoke to you, conveying the true depth of his feelings with a single whisper. This stiff rendition of the fantasia that used to be your name falling from his lips is nothing like the soft melody you’d become accustomed to so long ago.

“Neuvillette,” you shoot back, trying your best to keep your voice from reverting to its affectionate default. Although you’re unsure about acting cold towards the man, you’re certain neither of you would be fine with immediately going back to the way you were before the entire disaster unfolded in a matter of mere seconds.

(And besides that, you’re still somewhat angry it took him literal years to find a way to get you out of Meropide.)

“I hope you’ve been well,” Neuvillette says, his tone softening ever-so-subtly. Vulnerability works its way into a slight waver of his voice, a nearly-unnoticeable detail that any average person would miss. However, you are not an average person. You’ve acquainted yourself with every intricacy of Neuevillette’s personality over the years, and even now, every detail is preserved perfectly within the archives of your memory.

“I was as well as I could be in prison, I guess,” you mumble.

Even you’re not quite sure if your passing comment is an attempt at humour or a jab at your previous lover. Fortunately for you, Neuvillette doesn’t attempt to laugh. Instead, he simply nods.

“I see…” he trails off, staring at you intently. Eyes filled with hues of softened lilac and faint periwinkle blue bear into your soul, inspecting you with a gaze woven from twilight. Stardust suspicion seems to glint in Neuvillette’s irises, but he doesn’t pry. “What have you be—”

“Enough small talk. Can we get to the point?” you force out. You’re still not quite sure how you feel about the fact that Neuvillette still cares about you, so you push aside your emotions for the moment to focus on the main issue. As much as you want to ask what your relationship has become, everything feels far too overwhelming now that he’s in front of you again for the first time in years. “What exactly do you want me to do for you?”

Neuvillette pauses for a second, mulling over his next words. He doesn’t try to push the previous topic. Instead, he complies with your request.

“Work alongside me,” he says. “I’m aware that you may not find this to be the ideal arrangement, but ever since your sentencing, your reputation has become…” Neuvillette can’t bring himself to finish his sentence, so you interject.

“Awful? Dismal? Lower than low?” you chuckle bitterly. “I know. I didn’t expect any more when I agreed to come back up to the surface.”

For a second, pity sparkles in Neuvillette’s eyes, a look reminiscent of fragments of sunlight reflecting off sapphire ocean waves. You promptly decide that you hate it.

“Yes. Although I would not put it in such — brazen terms. If you would like an opportunity to clear your name, I would suggest putting serious consideration towards aiding in the second round of investigation. Please do let me know your verdict as soon as possible.”

“Why are you asking me as if I have a choice? It’s either help you or return to prison. Obviously one option is better than the other,” you sigh as a shiver runs down your spine. You know you’ll be in for an awkward few weeks. Spending every second by Neuvillette’s side is a harrowing nightmare come to life, but there’s no better way out of your dilemma. “I’ll join your stupid investigation.”

“Very well then,” Neuvillette responds. “I will show you to your accommodations in due time. Guards will be stationed outside your door around the clock in everyone’s best interest.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Even with contradictory evidence, you’re still going to be treated like a criminal until you’re proven definitively innocent.

“Please note that you will begin assisting me tomorrow.”

With that, Neuvillette turns to Wriothesley, acknowledging him for the first time since the two of you entered the room. “Mr. Wriothesley, thank you for escorting [name] to my office. You may now take your leave.”

A part of you wants to beg Wriothelsey not to leave you alone with Neuvillette, but for once, you decide that you have to start being brave. So with bated breath and a heavy heart, you watch as your sole companion in recent times turns away, heading back to an unreachable world below the surface.

You’re on your own now in a place that has become entirely foreign to you.

The silken covers of the bed you’re provided are surprisingly comfortable. Wrapping each seafoam-coloured blanket around your body feels like being enveloped in a cloud, and sinking into a soft mattress is a luxury you have long forgotten after becoming accustomed to your dorm in the Fortress of Meropide. Needless to say, you find your slumber shockingly restful despite all the turbulent feelings arising within the pit of your stomach, threatening to overtake your rationality and fill you with a cold, chilling panic.

No, the panic only sets in when you’re escorted back to Neuvillette’s office the next morning by the two guards sent to oversee your activities. It’s akin to being plunged into the depths of freezing lapis waters, losing your grip beneath waves forged from midnight essence. A whole day alone together with Neuvillette is going to be a challenge, and unfortunately, your nerves get the better of you.

You hear his voice as cool perspiration forms on the back of your neck, slight shivers running down your spine.

“Good morning,” Neuvillette greets you, as composed and regal as ever.

You envy his ability to behave as though he’s tranquility personified, even in such an awkward situation. His composure is a virtue.

“You let me sleep in,” you note. The sunbeams that filter through Neuvillette’s window in a flurry of faded daffodil shades look nothing like the gilded threads of light that grace Fontaine at sunrise. Besides that, you can already hear a fair amount of chatter outside the office, and you even recall spotting a few passer-bys scurrying about as you were accompanied to the Palais Mermonia.

“Indeed I did,” Neuvillette confirms your suspicions.

You glare at him. “I thought you wanted me up bright and early to help you investigate.”

The man before you sighs. “Based on your behaviour yesterday, I inferred that the past few days have been rather taxing on you emotionally. I wanted to give you ample time to recuperate to ensure that you would be able to think optimally today.”

Neuvillette’s eyes soften, a rare sort of gentleness manifesting in dulled lavender, a hue pulled straight from an evening afterglow.

You recall a passing thought from a time you had watched nightfall overtake the heavens with Neuvillette a few years back. At the time, he had looked at you with the same soft gaze, examining you with an expression that conveyed unspoken understanding and affection. You remember noting the way his irises seemed to reflect the muted iridescent shades above. Back then, everything had been so tranquil, euphoric. A part of you can’t help but desperately wish to go back in time.

“Thank you,” you relent, finally acknowledging Neuvillette’s kindness.

Neuvillette shakes his head. “There is no need to thank me,” he states. “This is beneficial to both of us. After all, I don’t expect you to work effectively with a tired mind.”

Without another word, Neuvillette pulls out a pile of official documents, their worn ivory pages a stark contrast to a second untainted milky white stack he sets on his desk.

“As you may be able to tell, these are the case files from the initial investigation,” Neuvillette points to the first collection of papers, “and these are documents containing new developments.” He points at the pristine new records.

“Can you summarize what exactly made you revisit the case?” you ask Neuvillette. Personally, you don’t feel like spending a full day poring over documents instead of investigating. That’s just inefficiency at its finest. Why do that when you have someone who seems to revel in records to explain everything to you?

Neuvillette allows a light chuckle to slip past his lips, the sound a nostalgic fantasia as it reaches your ears. “I see that you haven’t stopped finding the easiest way to complete your tasks,” he jests, “but very well. This will save us a considerable amount of time.”

You sit with bated breath, suspense filling the atmosphere as you patiently wait to learn the exact evidence that may have altered your fate entirely.

“Firstly, to reiterate, the murder was a poisoning,” Neuvillette starts. “A member of the Marechaussee Phantom was found dead at a banquet with a drink in hand. Its contents were found to be normal for the most part, but when investigated more thoroughly, trace amounts of a toxic substance were found.”

You nod with fervour, every intricate puzzle piece of the case that had dictated your destiny all those years ago still fresh in your mind.

“You were the one who poured the drink.” Perhaps your mind is playing tricks on you because for the first time in your life, you hear Neuvillette’s voice tremble slightly, like a resplendent leaf as it drifts on an autumnal breeze. “There was no way to prove your innocence at the time, and no matter how hard we tried to trace the origins of the poison, all we could discern was that it was fast-acting, which thankfully meant that there were no other casualties. Unfortunately, we were unable to find any compelling leads…” Neuvillette pauses, “until now.”

“Recently, a worker from a drink factory has approached us with reports of suspicious activities within the facility. Although most employees are kept in the front of the building to manage the machines and ensure that the quality of each bottle sufficiently meets company standards, there are a select few allowed in the back to oversee the entire operation.”

“What does this have to do with the case?” you interject. You can feel your interest waning as Neuvillette’s words become tangent-adjacent.

“Not everything is as it seems,” he assures you. “Around a week ago, the worker ventured into the back, desperately searching for one of their superiors. The higher-up in question had assigned them a task, and afterwards, they proceeded to disappear for weeks on end. When looking for their manager, the worker discovered the truth of the facility.”

Your breath hitches in anticipation.

“Put simply, the entire drink production operation is a deception. The company’s real purpose is to produce a rare variety of poison. Fortunately, we managed to procure a sample of it, and when tested, it was found to be identical to the very substance used to assassinate the victim of your case.”

Although you want to correct Neuvillette, you hold your tongue. There’s no point in getting off-track.

“So you want me to help you find out who put the poison in the bottle?” you ask.

Neuvillette nods. “We could have simply paid a visit to the Fortress of Meropide and interrogated you from there, but I thought you would appreciate a little freedom and control over your own destiny. Besides that, I know you’re competent, and the rest of the investigation could greatly benefit from your assistance.”

“Is that really all there is to it? I’m sure lots of people out here were against the idea of letting me roam free for fear of their own safety, so it must have been quite a challenge to get me out in the first place,” you scoff. “If my comfort was the only factor in play, then you would have simply taken the easy way out and questioned me in prison to appease everyone.”

For a moment, Neuvillette hesitates. Transitory silence fills the air before being fragmented into crystalline shards of dissonant revelation that cause goosebumps to grace the surface of your skin.

“Your intuition is as sharp as ever,” he sighs. Suddenly, he looks all too exhausted, and you begin to realize how hard he fought to earn you your temporary freedom. “All the citizens of Fontaine believe that the judgment of the Oratrice Mechanique D’analyse Cardinale is perfect, flawless in its very nature. However, after your sentencing, doubt started to circulate, and I found myself among those who questioned the outcome of the case. It felt as though the full truth had not been revealed to us yet, and your punishment was ordained solely by a hasty collection of shaky facts gathered through a rushed investigation. It was entirely… unjust… the opposite of what Fontaine stands for.”

“There it is. You’re doing this all in the name of what’s right, as usual.”

You’re not sure what you were expecting Neuvillette to say. Perhaps you wanted him to tell you that he would never lose faith in you, his once dearly-beloved. Or maybe you were wishing with every fibre of your being that he would simply say he still cared and wanted you back.

But no, he’s Neuvillette.

Above all, he is fair.

He is justice.

The gazes of everyone in the interrogation room seem to burn with the light of a thousand stars, their pressuring radiance serving as an instrument of truth — a way to seek sincere answers to any questions that are posed. You shrink under their phosphorescence, feeling insignificant as the demands of all the officials in the room coalesce.

Before you stands Neuvillette, a few guards, and a couple members of the Marechaussee Phantom. You recognize the latter two as personal friends of the victim — people with personal stakes in the case.

“Do you remember who gave you the bottle?” a melusine inquires.

You force yourself to take a deep breath in, oxygen feeling like the sweetest ambrosia as you try to calm yourself. It’s funny. The small creature is at most half your size, potentially even less, yet you’re the one who feels intimidation well up in the pit of your stomach like the ebb and flow of an evening tide.

“A man named Gabriel, I think? He handed me the bottle while I was walking around and asked me to pass it around for him because he was busy running other supplies around the party.”

“That seems to line up with the records from the trial,” Neuvillette muses, flipping through his documents, “but when we investigated, we found no trace of such an individual, which leads us to believe that they utilized an alias and a disguise to conceal their true identity.”

You have enough restraint to hold back a groan. Here we go again with all the complexities.

“The bottle was screwed shut and completely full before you poured the victim a glass of juice, correct?” The melusine continues their questioning, meeting your eyes with a gaze composed of molten tourmaline.

“Yes,” you confirm. “Doesn’t that just make me look more guilty though? Clearly the poison couldn’t have been in the drink because the bottle hadn’t been unsealed yet, so the court deemed that the only logical conclusion was that I slipped something into the victim’s drink in the split second where nobody was looking.”

The melusine sighs. “With the emerging evidence, we’ve come up with a new theory. If the person responsible for the murder truly wasn’t you, then perhaps the actual perpetrator had a different means of mixing the toxic substance with the beverage. Keep in mind, the poison manufacturer is also a drink manufacturer.”

You pause for a moment, a frown etching itself into your features. You’re starting to see where this is going, but you don’t quite understand the big picture yet. “Elaborate, please.”

Neuvillette takes over. “If our new running theory is correct, then this is how the timeline of events occurred. The suspect was likely an authority figure at the aforementioned drink company, or at the very least, they were relatively close with someone who had power there. In order to throw off the investigation, they managed to spike the beverage before it was sealed in the factory. By doing this, they falsely led us to believe that the poison was poured into the cup instead of into the bottle, thereby alleviating the manufacturer of any suspicion.”

Oh. Suddenly everything is beginning to make a lot more sense. As each string of evidence begins to fall into place, a tapestry of truth is woven. At long last, an alternate story is starting to replace the false narrative that had been in circulation at the time of the case’s unraveling.

“It worked,” you breathe out. “Nobody even bothered to check the contents of the bottle because they were so focused on who was close enough to sneak something into the victim’s cup in the brief moment between the pouring of the drink and the first sip.”

“And for that I must apologize,” Neuvillette sighs, a thousand unspoken regrets lacing his tone. “Our investigation was not thorough enough, and this time, I do not intend to allow any more injustices to befall you.”

As you peer into Neuvillette’s eyes, you catch sight of sincerity manifesting in their depths, each glint of violaceous luminosity conveying a silent promise to protect you. At that moment, you’re sure that Neuvillette believes you were nothing more than an innocent bystander entangled in a web of schemes. Even if the rest of the world is still against you, at least you have him.

“Thank you. I’ll try my best to help you as much as I can.” You finally relent and decide that perhaps it’s time to adopt a policy of compliance; now that you’re sure your intentions all align, you feel ready to work with Neuvillette without reservations.

“Permission to share what we found out about the bottle?” the melusine from before interrupts your moment with Neuvillette, your transient flash of bliss disappearing within a blink. You can’t blame them, as your main priority right now is getting to the bottom of things.

Neuvillette nods, wordlessly indicating his approval.

“As you may know, we took in all items related to the investigation that day. The bottle of beverage was among them. We recently tested the liquid inside, and as expected, there were traces of poison mixed with the drink. It’s worth noting that the drink itself is the same one produced by the suspicious facility we received a report about recently.”

“So I’ve almost been proven entirely innocent?” You can’t resist the urge to ask, the idea of being pardoned after being assumed guilty for so long a saccharine respite.

“Yes, as long as we can apprehend the real criminals and get them to confess to their crimes, you’ll be free,” the melusine confirms. “Fortunately, the worker and the contents of the bottle have led us to the perfect place to start our second inspection — the factory.”

Not even a day later, you rise bright and early to look into the manufacturer with Neuvillette. As the suspect framed in a murder linked to the factory’s poison, your reappearance above ground is bound to set off some red flags in the minds of those who helped orchestrate the entire ordeal. Consequently, you don an uncomfortable disguise while Neuvillette simply plans on masquerading around the place as himself.

It’s ironic. Neuvillette, the renowned Iudex of Fontaine, can roam without fear of interference as his genuine self. Meanwhile, you, a mere nobody, are forced to adorn yourself with layers of obscurities, masking every aspect of your identity.

The contrast between your situations is almost amusing, but you can’t bring yourself to laugh. Even as silken strands of opulent golden sunlight grace your skin, sending a rush of warmth through your body, you can’t help but tremble. The stakes are high, and the possibility of being discovered is distressing to an extreme.

“Shall I go over the narrative one last time?” Neuvillette asks you as your destination seems to grow larger and larger. The grey stone that the building is forged of is reminiscent of the colour of storm clouds — ominous and foreboding.

“Wouldn’t hurt to,” you mumble, willing yourself to stop shivering immediately. You’ll draw even more attention to yourself if you continue to shake like ultramarine ripples on the surface of a turbulent lake.

“Fontaine’s food and drink products have been suffering a decline in quality lately,” Neuvillette states, “and we are here today to perform a health inspection. Although the Iudex is typically not involved with investigating such trivial matters, the issue has become profound. The lives of several Fontainians have already been jeopardized, so in an attempt to prevent any further tragedies, I have decided to personally step in alongside my assistant.”

You hum absentmindedly, still distracted by your nerves. It feels as though permafrost has infused itself with your soul, as you continue to quiver despite all your attempt to ground yourself. “Compelling,” you manage to force out.

You’re drawn back to reality by Neuvillette’s next actions. To your horror, his familiarity with your emotions due to your shared history is your detriment. Before you can process what’s happening, he takes your hand in his. His gentle grip is soothing, and it serves as a much-needed reminder that you’re in this together.

“No matter what happens, I will be by your side,” he reassures you.

For a second, it feels like you’re back in the past. Everything is fine between you and Neuvillette, and you can still trust him unconditionally. Although your relationship has deteriorated now, you find that his presence still brings you a sense of comfort.

Perhaps some sentiments are simply meant to endure forevermore.

There’s nothing remarkable about the inside of the factory at first glance. As expected, typical assembly lines are present within the vicinity to ensure that every bottle is assembled and packaged in an efficient manner. On the surface, nothing seems out-of-the-ordinary.

Your tour guide is friendly and welcoming, not intimidated in the slightest by Neuvillette’s regal presence. Although his appearance garners a few curious glances from the employees you pass by, no one is outright alarmed.

“So as you can see, our humble facility does indeed live up to all the health and safety regulations mandated by Fontainian law,” your guide concludes as your mundane tour draws to a close.

In all honesty, you’ve learned nothing even remotely useful. However, you refuse to leave empty-handed. As such, you decide to make an impulsive decision — a choice that will perhaps cast suspicion upon you, but if everything goes well, you could obtain crucial evidence pertaining to the case.

“We haven’t seen the back of the factory yet,” you muse. “Is there something you’re trying to hide from us? Mold, perhaps?” you pause for dramatic effect, trying your best to play it up. All you can do is desperately pray that your acting skills are enough to convince the tour guide you’re being genuine. “Or maybe an insect infestation.”

A laugh slips past the tour guide’s lips, piercing the awkward atmosphere with a timbre and articulation far too forced to indicate any sort of amusement. No, the guide is nervous, which means something is definitely off. You just need to gather concrete evidence of the misdemeanours being conducted behind the scenes of a grand diversion — something that means more than a simple vial of poison hailing from an unknown origin brought to you by a worker.

“Oh, my superiors typically prefer privacy,” the guide continues to chuckle, a slight hint of anxiety permeating his tone. “There are lots of important meetings held in the back, and they’re not the most fond of disturbances.”

One scrutinizing glance from Neuvillette is all it takes to send the guard reeling. Eyes swimming with delicate lilac narrow, any hint of gentleness fading like the brilliance of wilting petals.

“But I’m sure they can make an exception for our most honoured guests.” Swiftly, the guide makes his way over to the door leading to the back, pulling it open and gesturing for both you and Neuvillette to pass through.

Yet again, you find that you’re met with a sight that’s mediocre at finest. There’s nothing extremely telling about the meeting rooms you’re led through. However, as you wander through the winding corridors and desolate hallways of the surprisingly large area, you spot it — a sizable wardrobe sitting within what feels like the hundredth meeting room you’ve passed through.

Like everything else in this strange place, there’s nothing off about the furnishing upon initial inspection, but after a few moments of careful consideration, you note that it’s far too sumptuous to be in a place like this. It’s horribly out-of-place, a polished oak eyesore amongst the cool-toned decorations within the room.

As you share a look with Neuvillette, you can see that he’s having similar thoughts. At some point in time, someone moved the wardrobe into the room, likely to conceal something. Taking a closer look is essential, but first you need to find a way to distract the guide.

“Excuse me,” you interrupt the guide’s tangent. “Is there a bathroom anywhere nearby?”

Within a matter of minutes, both you and  Neuvillette are escorted over to the nearest bathroom. You enter the room and lock the door. Although you haven’t had an opportunity to discuss a plan with Neuvillette due to the prying ears stationed right next to the two of you, you know what he’ll do next. You’re sure he understands you well enough to know that what you need at the moment is a diversion.

Sure enough, your silent pleas are answered as Neuvillette walks a few steps away from the bathroom door, his footsteps thrumming against the frigid ground as a percussive background to the eerie soundtrack that seems to flood the entire factory.

“Is that an insect?” he inquires.

You hear a rush of frenzied steps, ones that you can distinctly differentiate from Neuvillette’s. That must be the guide.

“Where?” the guide’s voice rings out.

You hear the soft rustle of clothing as the guide supposedly leans over in order to take a closer look. Then, a loud bang shatters the quietude into jagged shards of chaos. You take it as your sign to open the bathroom door and sneak off quietly.

“Ah, forgive me. I was mistaken,” you hear Neuvillette’s voice fade into the distance.

The labyrinth of passages is difficult to navigate, but thankfully your memory is sufficient enough to guide you back along the route from whence you came. In a matter of minutes, you’re back at the wardrobe, scrambling to unveil every enigmatic secret hiding behind its prosaically plain exterior.

Common sense tells you to simply open it first, and sure enough, you find that the back of the furnishing has been hollowed out in order to form a passageway leading to an unknown location. Although you’re nervous, moving forwards is the only way you’re going to make any progress.

You force yourself to confront the mysterious tunnel, heading into its depths in order to collect the next piece of information you need to fully unravel the identity of the true killer.

This is for justice, you tell yourself. Begrudgingly, you also find thoughts of it’s what Neuvillette would do invading your mind.

When you finally step into a mundane office space, you feel as though you can breathe again. The daze slowly begins to subside, and in its wake, you find rationality once more.

Time is of the essence, so you decide to head over to the singular desk stationed in the room. On its surface is a collection of scattered papers, some frayed and others in mint condition. Immediately, you make a dash for the yellowed pages, scanning each one quickly before setting it down.

The documents seem to detail transactions between the company and those buying from their hidden business in the back. Each one is stamped with a date and a signature from the buyer stating that they will not (under any circumstance) reveal where the product they purchased came from. Perfect — all you have to do is find a file that seems to align with the relative time period where your crime took place.

Fortunately for you, the once-daunting plethora of papers is actually a far more meager pile than you had initially thought. Perhaps not many people know about the nefarious schemes that lie behind the factory’s fabricated façade, or maybe humans are simply sensible enough to avoid purchasing poison.

You search urgently, constantly looking over your shoulder and hoping, praying, to any archon listening to keep your deeds obscured and unwritten. However, through it all, you’re hindered by the fact that you have to actively try not to move things around too much. If someone returns to see that objects have shifted on their own, they’ll surely be on high alert.

After what feels like eons of blindly flipping through anything you could get your hands on, your eyes settle on a splotch of achromatic ink bleeding into canary. It’s a familiar date — around a week before your entire life fell apart. You grab the paper, and with one last scan of the other files, you’re nearly certain that it details the transaction of the very poison that broke down fate’s last defences, landing you in a prison you were never supposed to step foot in.

With haste, you stuff the document into your pocket and set off back to Neuvillette.

“We used to frequent that restaurant often,” Neuvillette muses as you wander the streets together.

Your tour had concluded around half an hour ago, and now you’re on your way back to the Palais Mermonia. Although you assured Neuvillette that you had obtained some useful evidence earlier through words whispered in the secrecy of a hushed voice, you know that you can’t discuss anything openly for fear of nosey bystanders — or worse, the criminals themselves — hearing.

You had taken a long time to find what you needed, so consequently it had been difficult to throw off any lingering doubt harboured by your guide. However, thanks to Neuvillette’s quick thinking, you were able to come up with an alibi.

The whole “bathroom” ruse had simply been a test — a plan to conduct your thorough inspection of the facility in an area typically skipped over, even on the most comprehensive tours. You had chimed in and said that the company passed with flying colours, and at that the guide simply beamed and continued leading you through meeting rooms.

Your reminiscence is interrupted as Neuvillette speaks again.

“Perhaps we should take a detour and visit,” he offers. “You must be famished after a day of hard work.”

You freeze, and your body tenses against your will. Isn’t it more important at the moment that you safely transport your evidence back to Neuvillette’s office? You tilt your head at Neuvillette curiously, as if to pose a question. Why are we wasting time?

“Trust me,” he leans in to whisper. You can feel his breath tickling your ear, yet you don’t flinch. It’s a feeling you had grown accustomed to years ago, and even now, having him close to you feels detestably right. “It will seem more like a casual outing if we make a leisurely stop along the way back. If we’re seen rushing back to the Palais Mermonia with a sense of urgency in our stride, then those around us will surely conclude that something is wrong.”

Neuvillette’s reasoning is sound, so despite your aching feet and your desire to simply get away from the cacophony of symphonic noise surrounding you, you allow him to pull you towards the restaurant. As you walk in, you find that all your senses are enveloped by the familiarity of deja vu. The pleasant lighting and floral arrangements begin to pop up in your memory, and the ornate furnishings that adorn the place are the same as ever.

A part of you finds that you missed this. You missed your simple traditions with Neuvillette.

The two of you are seated the moment you step foot in the restaurant. You can’t seem to recall if the staff had ever been this efficient before, but something tells you this is a special circumstance.

“Monsieur Neuvillette,” a waiter greets the Iudex as you both take your seats. You find that you recognize him. “It’s been a while since you’ve been here with company, much less someone other than [name].”

Right. No one recognizes you because you’re still clad in your stupid disguise.

“Ah, good evening, Pierre,” Neuvillette responds. “My companion here is a newly-hired assistant. They have been working tirelessly all day, so I decided to treat them to a meal. Although they are not [name], I hope you will be able to treat them with the same hospitality.”

A frenzy of nods follows Neuvillette’s words.

“What can I get for you today?” Pierre frantically asks you. As usual, people are eager to please Neuvillette, his position of power ever-pertinent within the recesses of their minds.

You scan the menu, and a rush of nostalgia overwhelms you for what feels like the millionth time in the past few days. There are a variety of dishes listed in neat loopy handwriting, each cursive word causing recollections to ebb and flow within your memory. However, your eyes settle on one menu item in particular — a former personal favourite of yours. Feeling satisfied, you decide to place your order. As you speak, you notice shock dance across the waiter’s visage.

“Is something wrong?” you question Pierre, scrutinizing his dumbfounded expression. If you could, you would dissect the meaning behind every line etched into his features — examine the anatomy of his curious stare.

Pierre shakes his head with fervour. “Nothing’s wrong, per se…” He trails off, the aquamarine lakes that comprise his irises fogging up with a shine unique to someone who’s reminiscing. “It’s just… that dish is one of our least popular, but [name] used to order it all the time. Nowadays, the only person who really consumes it regularly is Monsieur Neuvillette himself.”

Tension begins to materialize within the previously-lighthearted air of the restaurant. Suddenly, the atmosphere feels heavy as the implications of Pierre’s statement sink in. Once upon a time, you had offered Neuvillette a bite of your food when dining here, and although he didn’t mean to insult it, he did say that he understood why it was unpopular. In other words, he indirectly insinuated that he didn’t like the taste of the dish.

Perhaps you’re overly-optimistic, but a part of you begins to speculate that Neuvillette only willingly ordered the menu item regularly because of the memories associated with it. It’s a shockingly sweet revelation. Despite your distance over the years, he’s still tried his best to keep you in his heart.

Bittersweet affection gnaws at your heart, chipping off pieces of garnet in a cataclysmic heartbreak. As if you don’t already feel bad enough about your attempted erasure of his existence from your memory during your time in prison.

You zone out as Neuvillette places his order. All you manage to catch is the fact that he doesn’t ask for a serving of your favourite meal this time around.

So it really was all for you.

As Pierre walks away, you turn to study Neuvillette, your gaze sharp.

“What was that all about?”

For a second, Neuvillette stills, collecting his thoughts. Then, he makes eye contact, a stare composed of crepuscular shades of amethyst.

“I must admit, my heart longed for you throughout the years we spent apart,” Neuvillette confesses.

Darn it. Why can’t he be normal for once?

Your heartbeat, once a steady rhythm, begins to become erratic. It pounds in your ears with an unmatched urgency, as if its ultimate goal is simply to leap out of your chest and retreat back into your ex-lover’s gentle grasp.

“I see,” you mumble, beginning to feel awkward.

Silence envelopes your own personal world with Neuvillette as you wait for the waiter to come back with your food. Neither of you can bring yourselves to keep the conversation going. Any small talk would seem disingenuous at this point, and the mere idea of pressing on with the previous topic is enough to make you shudder.

Thankfully, Pierre is surprisingly quick (although that may have something to do with the fact that you’re dining with the Iudex himself), and you find that you’re able to dig into your meal to distract yourself in no time.

It tastes the same as you remember. In fact, nothing has really changed, even with the passage of time. Out of everything in the entire restaurant, you find that you and Neuvillette have undergone the most profound transformations, your once-loving relationship eroding into a confusing mess of broken trust, dubious betrayals, and yearning.

(At the end of the night, you find that a miniscule ember of love remains alive in your heart — a weak crimson glow beginning to ignite once more.)

The journey back to the Palais Mermonia is tranquil, the night air soothing the anxious thoughts plaguing your mind. Stars beam down at you from above, shedding brilliant silvery light over the entirety of the nation. Likewise, the moon guides your path back to the grand building where you wrap up your investigation for the day.

Upon entering Neuvillette’s office, you immediately beeline for his desk, pulling the document that took you a painstaking amount of effort to obtain out and setting it on the polished wooden surface. Curiously, eyes the shade of dulled anemone petals scan the contents of the page.

Neuvillette reads quickly, taking in all the information contained within the file in no time. After a lifetime of poring over records, he’s become accustomed to processing critical points of knowledge efficiently. However, he freezes as his gaze settles on the signature at the bottom of the page.

“What’s up?” you ask him.

You’ve never seen Neuvillette quite so shaken up, his composure torn away from him momentarily. In the moment, all that matters to you is ensuring that he’s okay. Before you realize it, you find yourself reaching out to him, an evanescent flash back to the past in a present that feels so far-removed. A few days ago, you never would have dreamed of comforting him, much less allowing him to make any sort of contact with you. Now, however, you’re beginning to unwind all the hasty misconceptions you had harboured for years on end.

You’ve come to understand that despite being worlds apart, you were still at the forefront of all Neuvillette’s sentiments throughout the past few years. He’s cared about you from afar beyond simply spying on your life through Wriothesley for all this time. It’s time you finally start treating him right.

To your relief, he doesn’t refuse your hand. Instead, he intertwines your fingers as he continues to gape at midnight upon ivory, reading the buyer’s name over and over. Finally, the calm returns to Neuvillette, his vulnerability dissipating after what feels like eons (in actuality, it’s no more than ten seconds).

“Apologies,” Neuvillette says, his voice as steady as ever. “Seeing the signature of the buyer… confirmed a suspicion of mine. However, this revelation is not necessarily a thrilling one. In fact, I would say that it is rather… disappointing and tragic.”

You tilt your head slightly, wonder swirling through your thoughts in spirals of erratic questions. “Why’s that?”

The sigh that Neuvillette heaves out is perhaps the most dramatically-depressing noise that’s ever left his lips. Creases line his forehead, marring porcelain skin with lines that convey concern and dismay.

“This is the name of one of our current Marechaussee Phantom members,” Neuvillette breathes out. “As a matter of fact, he was the one who assumed the position of the victim after their death. In addition to this, he was the only member who was intentionally not informed of the dealings of the deceptive factory. I withheld information from him because I had my own suspicions. I fear that my judgement was correct. If I had informed him that we were looking into the facility, these records would have been destroyed long before we stepped foot inside the building.”

“Wait a second! That sounds way too suspicious,” you say, your voice coming out slightly more aggressive than you want it to. You flinch as your tone reaches your ears. “Why didn’t anyone look into them or at least suspect them?”

“He was the deceased’s lover.” Your breath hitches as Neuvillette continues his explanation. “His grief after learning of the death was immense, so much so that no one could dare to consider the possibility that…”

“That he was the culprit,” you finish. “No one wanted to believe the lovers could betray each other.” You nearly scoff as you realize the irony of you saying this to your very own ex.

Neuvillette nods as you exhale tiredly. Everything is finally coming together after years. At long last, you’ve found another candidate for the possible murderer — the real deal this time.

“I had my doubts about him,” Neuvillette mumbles. “Although tears serve as an effective distractor, insincerity shines brighter than even the most dramatic of theatrics. I have never revealed this to anyone, but besides his qualifications and honouring the memory of our fallen comrade, one of the reasons I assigned him to his current position was to maintain a close watch over him at all times. Despite the precautions I took… I had hoped with all my heart that I would not be proven right.”

“And yet you were, so what now,” you inquire. “Do we just apprehend him and call it a day?”

“I would be pleased if it were that easy,” Neuvillette smiles wryly, “but there are many who would still be unwilling to trust our claims without further evidence. Think about it — would you really want to believe that a trusted member of the Marechaussee Phantom is a cold-blooded murderer? The very notion is inappropriately ironic.”

As Neuvillette’s reasoning sinks in, you nod along. What he’s saying makes sense, but you’re unsure of how you should proceed from here. To your relief, Neuvillette has a solution, as always.

“Considering the fact that the perpetrator has insider information, he’s already aware that we are currently revisiting the case,” Neuvillette reiterates. “As such, his main priority at the moment is to cement your status as the real culprit behind the crime. All he needs is an ample opportunity.”

This is getting far too complicated for your liking.

“In order to catch him in the act, we’ll organize another banquet. It will be the perfect opportunity for him to frame you for another poisoning.”

Neuvillette’s logic is hard to follow, and as you pause to think about it, every thread of reasoning becomes lost in a jumble of nonsensical speculation.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” you mutter. “He’s not stupid enough to assume that I’d poison someone right after obtaining freedom. That would look too hasty, so foul play would be suspected immediately.”

“And that’s why I think he’ll target you with his poison,” Neuvillette interjects.

Your frown deepens as his claims become more and more bizarre.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Let me explain everything,” Neuvillette starts. “In order to connect the two cases to each other, the perpetrator will likely use the same weapon again. However, this time his target will be you. As you pointed out, if he harms anyone else, it will instantaneously appear as though someone is eager to falsely accuse you of committing crimes. By non-fatally poisoning you, he can claim that you willingly drank your own weapon in an attempt to throw off suspicion. He can point to the similarities in the compositions of the substances used in both cases to frame you as the one true mastermind behind everything.”

The pieces finally begin to coalesce in your mind, forming a shaky plan that hinges on oceans of luck and protection from Celestia above. It’s risky, but it may be your only chance to set things straight.

“Your great plan is just based on endangering me in order to collect a sample of whatever that person is going to give me?”

“I understand that it may be difficult for you to trust me entirely after everything,” Neuvillette sighs, “but if you agree to my proposition, then I promise I will personally ensure that no harm will come to you.”

After the events of the past two days, you know where your heart wants to stand. In spite of this, your mind screams at you to reject Neuvillette’s idea. You’re scared — terrified. The thought of being let down by Neuvillette again induces a fear in you like no other. Despite it all, you understand that you’ll never truly heal if you don’t at least try to give him another chance, so ultimately, you decide to comply.

“Alright, let’s start party planning.”

Weeks of preparation lead up to the big evening, every passing day a countdown to a finale to end all finales. On top of gathering supplies, arranging catering, and decorating, you’re also drilled on how to act when the moment of danger eventually arrives. You train relentlessly to ensure that Neuvillette’s scheme will go off without a hitch.

All your tireless practices pay off. As you walk into the banquet venue, hand-in-hand with Neuvillette, you find that you’re far less nervous than you had been when the idea was initially proposed. The kaleidoscopic butterflies that once fluttered around in the pit of your stomach have stilled, and you’re utterly calm — exactly what you need to pull this off.

Despite assisting in the planning of the party, you still find yourself awed by the extravagance of it all. You’re not quite sure if Neuvillette has come up with an occasion for celebration yet, as he had initially stated that it was a surprise on the invitations he had sent out. However, you’re sure that no matter its grandeur, the sheer opulence of everything around you is more than sufficient.

Aureate accents adorn nearly every item in the room, and the crystal chandeliers above gleam as though they’re catching moonlight from the midnight sky. The music that envelopes you is warm, each melodious note ringing out in a sweet droning of strings. It’s a perfect backtrack for an elegant waltz.

Most noteworthy of all, however, are the guests that surround you. Not a single person is dressed less than exceptionally. Sparkles, gems, and sequins are commonplace here despite being everyday rarities. Shades of seafoam, cobalt, turquoise, and periwinkle surround you as if the fabric of every guest’s clothing is a component of a lavish ocean of luxury.

Everyone around you dons elaborate masks that obscure only a portion of their faces. It’s a masquerade — a way for you to conceal your true identity from innocent civilians without appearing odd.

You’re quickly dragged out of your thoughts as Neuvillette leads you into the crowd. Everyone is swirling around in a series of intricate steps, twirling to the song that’s resonating within the idyllic air of the room. If not for Neuvillette’s tight grasp on your wrist, you fear you would have been swept away by a tide of partygoers.

“Do you recall how to waltz?” he asks, leaning in closer to ensure that you’re able to hear him over the unpleasant discordance surrounding you from all sides.

“Why does it matter?” you shoot back. Although you’ve opened up more and more to Neuvillette with each passing day, you’re not quite sure you want to dance with him just yet. “It’s not like this is necessary.”

“If we simply sit on the sidelines and observe everything, our suspect is bound to notice,” Neuvillette explains, his voice hushed. “Their eyes will be on you all night.”

The words send a shiver down your spine.

“So do your best to enjoy the moment and act as though you’re simply here to rejuvenate yourself.” Neuvillette pulls you closer, yet he leaves enough room to ensure that you’re not outright uneasy. “Is this arrangement sufficiently comfortable?”

You nod shakily as words seem to stick to the sides of your throat. It’s as though saccharine honey is sugar coating everything, its viscous properties slowing both your lips and your mind.

With your consent, Neuvillette guides you through the steps of a graceful dance. Although he moves with tact, practiced sophistication, you’re the absolute antithesis. Throughout your years underground, you never saw the opportunity to waltz, and as such, you’ve forgotten every intricacy of the choreographies you used to run through with Neuvillette. Thankfully, he keeps you in line, correcting every misstep you make with gentle guidance.

You find that the tenderness with which he handles you is something you’ve missed. Even now with contrasting feelings warring in the depths of your conflicted mind, Neuvillette’s arms are comfort manifested in a physical form. At the end of the day, he’s still home to you, and maybe he always will be. No one else will ever be capable of calming you down right before a criminal attempts to poison you.

For once, you decide to take Neuvillette’s advice. You forget all the duress of the current moment, and instead, you allow yourself to savour the warmth of Neuvillette’s embrace. So much for not being sure about dancing with him.

Time becomes an anomaly. Although each moment seems to slow, drawing out in a montage of careful movements, the dance is over before you know it.

Neuvillette leads you over to your table, and you take a seat atop the rose-coloured cushions of a plush chair, allowing a cream tablecloth to drape over your legs. As you sit down, you feel him tap your shoulder. He’s pointing to a man clad in a striped grey suit, his mask adorned with midnight blue stitching and matching feathers.

It’s your culprit, Francis, as you’ve learned. You don’t intend on allowing him to get away this time.

Patiently, you wait for him to approach you and Neuvillette. You already know he’ll walk up to you with the intention of ensnaring you within his trap. However, you’re two steps ahead in this twisted game of chess.

Sure enough, a grating voice rings out behind you before long.

“Hello, Monsieur Neuvillette.” Predictably, you’re met with the face of your prime suspect as you whip your head around. “And [name].” Right. He knows exactly who you are. Perhaps your imagination is weaving deceptions from preconceived notions, but you swear that you can hear a hint of a sneer in Francis’ words.

He spends some time chatting with Neuvillette, his dialogue consisting of flattery and exaggerated compliments. You’re not sure what your suspect believes he’s accomplishing, but a frown dances across your features as you continue listening in on the conversation. Any average person would be able to detect the deceit in his sickly-sweet tone, so the fact that he’s trying to utilize such a tactic on Neuvillette of all people astounds you.

You can’t help but wince as he makes blunder after blunder, your frustration welling with every sentence that comes out of his mouth. Finally, when it all becomes too much for you, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

“Neuvillette, I’m parched,” you complain. “Wanna go get something to drink?” Your own voice makes you cringe. Note to self: learn how to act in a compelling manner if you manage to make it out of this absolute disaster.

“It would be my pleasure to accompany you, but unfortunately I must remain here. Although tonight is a night of leisure, I still have matters to discuss with certain individuals, and they are expecting me here.” You find it fortunate that Neuvillette’s performance is more convincing than your own, his mannerisms and timbre completely natural.

“Oh, don’t worry about them, Monsieur Neuvillette,” Francis says. “Tell you what. I can bring them over to the drinks table for you and give them a few recommendations. I can promise you that I am an expert when it comes to this kind of stuff. My brother owns a drink company.”

This time you’re sure your mind isn’t distorting reality. The smile that he flashes at you is downright devious, assuring you that Neuvillette had been right about his schemes all along.

You take a deep breath before eagerly accepting his offer.

“Sure. Thank you so much for joining me.”

The walk over is silent, Francis’ bright persona dimming the moment you step away from Neuvillette. Instead, fractals of glacial tension seem to settle over the atmosphere, frosting everything over with a hostile air.

When you reach the beverages, you immediately reach for a cup. However, Francis waves you down.

“Allow me. I insist.” He picks up a cup for you, placing it down in front of the selection of drinks. Before you even have the opportunity to voice your preferences, Francis picks up a bottle, inspecting it thoroughly before unscrewing the lid. “This delightful beverage was produced by my brother. You simply must have a taste.”

For a brief second, Francis obscures your vision of the cup with his back. His hand traces a path to the front pocket of his suit. You know what he’s doing, so you don’t bother attempting to sneak a glance. It’s futile.

As he hands you the drink, you thank him politely. You’re careful not to spill a single drop of the liquid as you make your way back to your seat. When you finally sit down next to Neuvillette again, you continue bantering, each second ticking down and burning away into oblivion. The more time you waste the closer you draw to your goal. People are on their way to test the contents of the spiked beverage at this very moment.

Despite your attempts to simply wait it out, a problem arises when Francis begins to pester you.

“Go ahead,” he urges you. “Try the drink and let me know your opinion. I’m eager to take notes for my brother!”

In response, you shake your head with fervour. Sampling poison is just about the last item on your bucket list. As you continuously refuse, Francis begins to become irritated, his words beginning to crescendo in volume.

Neuvillette’s crystalline lilac gaze begins to grow concerned. Subtle moonbeams glint within his irises, reflecting his worry for your wellbeing. However, his eyes continue to hold an unuttered promise — an oath to ensure that no harm befalls you whatsoever.

That’s what comforts you the most when Francis finally snaps, lunging at you as he jabs a finger into your face. As he begins to speak, his tone is accusatory more than anything.

“You set me up, didn’t you?” he snarls. “The two of you,” Francis glances back at Neuvillette, who’s silently watching the entire exchange. “You’re not drinking the beverage because you knew I’d poisoned it all along.”

“Mister Francis, I would advise you to remain silent,” Neuvillette speaks, his tone authoritative. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in court of law.”

Unfortunately for Francis, he doesn’t take Neuvillette’s advice seriously. Instead, he’s hellbent on exacting his revenge. You begin to realize his philosophy is one that entails dragging others down with him when he pulls out an enchantingly-gorgeous translucent vial from his pocket.

It’s deceptively beautiful, its design making it seem as though it should contain nothing less than the finest divine nectar. However, you know how deadly the contents of the glass tube really are, and as such, a sense of panic begins to overtake your senses, overwhelming your head with countless scenarios where everything goes horrendously wrong.

Every diverging path vanishes into nothingness the moment Neuvillette steps in. A swift burst of aquatic energy fills your vision, and a cascade of pristine dewy droplets of water splatters your face as you close your eyes. When it’s over at long last, you glance around to find that Francis is on the ground, drenched and shivering as Neuvillette bends down to collect the vial he had been carrying.

“This will make for good evidence,” he notes, setting it down on the table alongside the drink.

It doesn’t take long for your backup to arrive after Neuvillette knocks Francis out. In fact, the timing of the poison-testers is a little too serendipitous to be organic. You’re starting to think that Neuvillette had planned to provoke Francis all along, but you don’t find an opportunity to ask before the team confiscates the drink and the vial to run experiments.

A crowd of onlookers has already begun to congregate, amalgamating in a curious frenzy. Everyone thinks they’re slick, but you can clearly see the way their eyes wander over to Francis’ unmoving form on the ground every so often.

“Follow me,” Neuvillette tells you as he takes off after the forensic team. Someone carries the samples of liquid that have yet to be tested, and a few others grab Francis and haul him off with you. You lose yourself in the winding hallways of the venue, each twist and turn serving only to further discombobulate your frazzled mind.

It feels like forever before you finally reach your destination. It’s quite ordinary in comparison to the sumptuous party occurring outside its doors — each wall a stark and blinding snow white and the lighting sterile and plain.

Francis is set down, and the forensic team promptly begins their investigation. As they labour, you turn to Neuvillette.

“Was it really necessary for you to use so much force when stopping him?” you reprimand him. “I’m grateful, I really am, but I think we attracted a little more attention than we needed.”

Upon hearing your words, Neuvillette chuckles. The sound of his laughter is a sonorous tune that you’ve missed hearing, no matter how much you want to deny it. Your heart races involuntarily.

“I was not intent on leaving your fate up to chance,” he says, sincerity weaving itself into every syllable he speaks. “Although keeping our operation a secret would have been ideal, I wasn’t planning to compromise anyone’s safety in exchange — especially not yours.”

Sometimes you resent Neuvillette for saying the most romantic things without realizing it. Every single rose-tinted word is like a shot to the heart, ensnaring your feelings in crimson threads of love. It’s as if you fall deeper and deeper into oceanic clutches, drowning — suffocating — as the weight of emotions hailing from both the past and present overwhelm you.

“We’re finished,” a member of the team chirps.

You feel the tension in your shoulders alleviate as both you and Neuvillette rush over to take in the results of the investigation.

“The two poison samples match the exact substance that was used all those years ago,” the analyst confirms, presenting you with the conclusions drafted on a sheet of paper. “With all the eyewitness evidence and the fact that he personally confessed to having connections to the very factory that prompted this investigation in the first place, it’s safe to say he won’t be seeing the light of day for a while.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief that you’ve been holding in for weeks. Your name has finally been cleared, and the real threat has been eliminated.

Above all else, justice has prevailed once more.

To your surprise, Neuvillette leads you to the grand stage at the forefront of all the festivities the moment you re-enter the main hall. Despite the pandemonium that had become the most prominent spectacle of the banquet earlier, people have resumed their lighthearted conversations and elegant dancing, swaying to and fro as if the alarming exchange between the Chief Justice and Francis had never occurred in the first place.

As people begin to notice the diminuendo in music and Neuvillette’s presence at the anterior of the room, the chatter gradually begins to die down, diminishing in a steady waning of volume. Eventually, silence consumes all, and you’re reminded of the sheer gravity of the Iudex’s aura alone.

“Greetings, esteemed guests.” The hall amplifies Neuvillette’s voice, each booming word reverberating and echoing off the opulent walls. “I stand before you today to announce a joyous cause for commemoration as well as to clarify the cause behind the commotion that some of you may have witnessed earlier.”

Whispers permeate the crowd as gossip and speculation begin to circulate. However, Neuvillette shuts everything down as he continues.

“The person here by my side today is [name],” gasps ring out in the silence, fragmenting every semblance of false tranquility that exists in the moment. “Yes, the very same [name] that was sentenced to life in the Fortress of Meropide due to suspected misdemeanours that resulted in an egregious death.”

Protests spread like wildfire through the rambunctious group of people gathered in front of you. Flames of disapproval threaten to engulf your entire being, stinging you with a rutilant aggression as you try to tune out everything.

“Silence,” Neuvillette commands. Thankfully, it’s enough to get everyone to settle down. “I apologize. For the past few weeks, I have concealed the true nature of the situation from you all. A while ago, I personally received a report detailing the suspicious activities of a company producing drinks as a front. Their more sinister schemes laid behind the scenes, as they produced toxins and other deadly substances away from the watchful eyes of the authorities. The composition of the poison they created was identical to that of the weapon used in [name]’s case. With this new evidence, we decided to reopen the investigation.”

Yet again, a shocked reaction is elicited from the crowd, and you begin to wonder how many times they’ll collectively gasp before the end of Neuvillette’s speech.

“When we looked into things more thoroughly, we discovered that the true culprit was Francis, a member of our very own Marechaussee Phantom. At the moment, he has been detained and is currently awaiting trial.”

Relief propagates amongst the crowd, blossoming in a pure flourish of unadulterated solace. A few people look at you with pity, each starlit glint of their eyes conveying their woe on your behalf.

Neuvillette waits this time, allowing the partygoers to mutter amongst themselves. When they begin to settle, he moves on to more positive news.

“I would like to thank each and every one of you for taking the time to listen to my rather mundane explanations,” Neuvillette says. “Now for something more lighthearted.”

He gestures for you to take centre stage, and you reluctantly comply, gazing out at the ocean of people surrounding you.

“[Name] has finally been proven innocent, and as such, they will no longer be required to return to the Fortress of Meropide. This feast has been organized in their honour as a celebration of their return as well as an apology for years spent in isolation.”

Chants of your name begin to flood your ears along with cheers and apologies alike. At long last, you’ve been absolved of the burden wrongfully weighing on your shoulders.

“Welcome back,” Neuvillette whispers to you as he intertwines your fingers to help you off stage. “You’re finally home.”

You hum.

“Thank you.”

No one has the ability to predict the future, and fate’s ordainments are always an enigma to even the most omniscient entities that traverse Teyvat. You have no way of knowing how your relationship with Neuvillette will develop with the passage of time — whether it will mend or fade away as the last spotlight upon the very murder case that brought you back together fizzles out. However, you think you’ll take a chance and revel in his proximity for the time being. He’s proven that he still cares immensely over and over again.

Perhaps with enough patience, your seed of hope will bloom and fill the abyss that had once overtaken your heart, transforming it into a garden of romance reborn.

The weight of Neuvillette’s words begins to settle as you realize that yes, you really are home.

Even after a desolate rain of bitterness and sorrow, the feeling of your hand in his is still home — home sweet home.

thank you so much for reading!! sorry for the long wait riko!

[chlix]

baby, it's cold outside (no seriously it's crazy out there)

bf! chan x gn! reader: your car breaks down in a snowstorm and you have to walk home. chan is there to comfort you and warm you back up

pairing: chan x reader

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff

word count: 4.1k

warnings/tags: snowstorms, car trouble, sickness, a long series of unfortunate events that leave the reader miserable for most of the fic

a/n: this is a request from @caticorn61 who wanted chan being apologetic for not answering his phone after reader's car broke down. this is perhaps more than what u asked for 😅 but i hope you enjoy it anyway!

You are on a historic run of bad days.

You've never considered yourself to be particularly unlucky, but this past week has had you rethinking that orientation. Everything that could go wrong, did go wrong. On Monday your alarm didn't go off, making you late for work. Even worse, there was a meeting you'd forgotten about, so you had to slide awkwardly into the back of the room and pretend you didn't feel everyone's annoyed gazes. Tuesday was grocery shopping day, but you found out they discontinued your favorite brand of chips, and raised the price of an alternative, so you were forced to go home chip-less. Then, when you tried to take the groceries out of the car, one of the bags split open and sent your eggs, cheese, and blueberries crashing to the ground, buried in slush and snow. A total waste. Wednesday you woke up to find your heating had shut off in the night, and you were now shaking fit to break apart. Although maintenance promptly fixed your radiator, you developed an itch in your throat that only grew throughout the day and had developed into a full-blown cough by the next morning.

Which is where you are now on a subzero Thursday morning, ill and irritated and crawling your way towards the end of the week.

Your boyfriend, Chan, talks to you on the phone in soothing tones.

"I'm sorry your week has been so rough, baby," he says, and you can hear the dripping sympathy through the phone. "I know how it feels when little things pile up like that."

"I just don't know if I can take it anymore," you tell him. "It's like I've been cursed. I'm afraid if I walk outside a piano will fall on me and crush me."

You're half-joking when you say that, but Chan can hear that the other half is vaguely on hysterical.

"I don't think anyone is moving pianos in this weather," he says very reasonably. "Just stay away from luxury apartments if you're worried."

You set your bag down and put your face in your hands, taking slow, deep breaths. Your phone is on speaker, and you can hear Chan hum, trying to comfort you even though he's in his own dorm across the city.

"It'll all be okay, Y/n. And I'll see you this weekend, yeah? I'll come over Friday night and you'll have me all to yourself. Just stay strong."

You exhale, long and loud. "You promise?"

"I promise. Be strong for me, babygirl."

You blink the dampness out of your eyes and straighten up. "Okay. I can do that."

"And drink some tea. Your voice sounds kind of rough."

"Don't get me started again, please."

By the time you hang up, you don't feel understood, but you do feel seen. You fill up a thermos with tea, put on your coat, and mentally prepare yourself to leave the apartment.

It's only two more days, you remind yourself. The weekend will fix me. It'll break this curse that's been placed upon me. You force yourself to have a positive outlook. You will not have another bad day. You will be strong.

All day, you force yourself to react to every potentially meltdown-inducing incident with grace and poise. You realize you forgot your lunch and have to eat cheap candy from the vending machine for lunch? That's totally fine. Your boss adds another item to your to list, forcing you to stay later to finish everything and close up? You really don't mind. Your best friend texts you that she's been stalking her ex on Instagram again and you won't believe it but he already has a new girlfriend, y/n, can you fucking believe it, we've only been broken up for like two weeks and he's buying her fucking jewelry, and you respond what an asshole. he has a new gf and he didn't block his ex? while your eye twitches.

By the time you finish all your tasks and close up, your face hurts from holding a smile you don't feel. You're the last one out, so you make sure the building is locked and make your way across the empty parking lot to your car. The forecast predicted snow tonight, and already the ground is littered with white. The flakes are fat and sticky- they're already building up on the undisturbed portions of pavement. You have to quickly brush off your windows and mirrors before you can get into your car, slamming the door behind you.

You made it. You survived. It was a godawful Thursday but you conquered it.

"One more day," you whisper to yourself. "Just one more day."

You lock the door and put the key in the ignition. The dashboard lights up and the engine turns.....and turns....and turns.....

A rock forms in your stomach.

"No," you say. "No no no no no." You twist the key again, but the engine whirs and whirs and whirs...and does not turn over. Your car does not start.

It's not news to you that your car is a piece of shit. You and Chan discuss this almost every night- what to do about this fuckass car. You've been resistant to letting him help you pay for a new one, partially because that's a lot of money and partly because you're sentimentally attached to the old rustbucket. You inherited it from a family member as a birthday gift, and so despite it being less than reliable you're hesitant to seek solutions. It's your first car, after all. It's a part of you now.

In this moment, however, you want to throw all that sentimentally down the drain along with the keys to this absolutely useless fucking rustbucket of a vehicle.

Not to worry, you tell yourself. I'll just call Chan to come get me. We can deal with my car in the morning.

You take out your phone and call him. The call rings out.

You stare at your phone, confused. It's not like him to ignore your calls, especially not at this hour. It's pitch black with winter but it's still arguably early in the night. Chan is likely to still be awake, but it's unlikely he's doing any kind of official task. And it's so late that he would know to answer; you would never call him for something frivolous at this time of night. You call again.

No answer.

Your patience is running thin now. You consider calling your best friend, but she's out of town visiting family. Your other friend, Seohyeon, doesn't have a car, and her boyfriend's car is currently being repaired. The bus you sometimes take is about a fifteen minute walk down the street, but it'll have stopped running this far out by now, so you'd have to walk to a further bus stop and then go to the transportation terminal and connect, which would take over an hour. You could walk to the subway, you think, but you lost your subway card weeks ago and never got around to replacing it, and honestly it just seems like a whole ordeal you can't bring yourself to stomach right now. Chills go down your spine, and you can't tell if it's from the cold or from the increasing precarity of your situation.

You try the engine again. No dice.

You call Chan again. Voicemail again.

You lean your head on the steering wheel and take long, deep breaths. Outside your window, the wind is picking up, making the snow fall at a diagonal instead of straight down. It would be terrible to walk in, especially because the direction you need to go to get home would cause the snow to blow right in your face. Your throat is killing you, but your thermos of tea is long since empty. Maybe you should just go back into the work building and hunker down for the night. Maybe you should sit in the car and turn into an icicle. Your head is a foggy mess, thoughts twisting all around. You're getting hysterical again. You can feel yourself cracking to pieces.

Think, y/n. Who else can you call?

You're all out of people you know personally, but you could call an Uber. It's pricey and arguably unsafe, and you normally wouldn't, but these are extenuating circumstances. It solves the problem of being stranded, and again, you can deal with your car at a later point. And at least when Chan finally calls you back, you'll be safe at home, so he won't have to feel guilty about missing your calls three times.

You lean back in your seat and open the Uber app. Thankfully you still have it installed, and it still has all your info in it from the last time you called someone to take you home. Just as you're about to finish the transaction, your phone freezes. The screen flashes, then goes dark. You press the power button once, then again, frantically.

Your phone is dead.

Immediately, you scramble for your console, searching for a power cable to connect the phone to the car battery. Your cable is gone. You remember, horrified, that you took the cable out of your car because the one in your living room at home had started fraying. You meant to replace it but you never did. You're normally pretty good at leaving the house in the morning with it mostly charged.

But it's nighttime now, and your battery is dead. You have no charging cables, which means you can't call an Uber. You can't call anybody. And you can't even go to the subway now because your debit card is on your phone, so you can't refill your subway card.

A terrible despair fills you.

You have to walk home in a snowstorm.

As soon as the thought materializes, tears start to well in your eyes. This is too much for you to take, would be too much for you even if you'd had a perfectly good day today. This isn't fait. How can this be happening to you? Why is the universe punishing you like this? And when is it going to stop? Again you wish you could just sit in your car and turn into an icicle, let someone else defrost you in the morning. You think having a piano fall on your head would be better than this.

Eventually you manage to get yourself to calm down. Sitting in this car freezing isn't gonna do you any good. It'll only get colder by the hour. You need to walk to the far bus stop and catch another bus before they actually stop running, and you really are stranded instead of just doomed to walk forty minutes in a blizzard.

As if there's a difference, you think bitterly as you put your useless phone into your bag and bundle everything up. You put your gloves back on, and your hat. You step out of your car, slamming the door behind you, and zip up your jacket. Of course, you hadn't thought to wear a scarf today, so your face will just have to freeze. After only 30 seconds you feel your lips cracking.

"Okay," you whisper. "Okay okay okay okay."

You set off in the direction of the bus.

-/-

The journey is long and cold. It's not so much the temperature as the fact that you never have the chance to get used to it because it just keeps getting holder as the night wears on. It takes a ridiculously long time to walk to the bus stop, because you're fighting headwind every step of the way. You want to close your eyes against the snow, but if you do that you'll veer off course or fall into the road or trip on an ice slick and die, so you brave the stinging and push forward. Then you wait at the bus stop so long that your already sore feet start to scream with pain. Your phone is dead, so there's no way for you to track the bus, but you conclude you must have just missed the previous one as it takes a full thirty minutes for it to come again. By the time the bus pulls up in front of you, your feet are almost buried, and when you take your seat, every part of you squelches and slides as the snow melts, drenching your clothes.

The bus is at least warm, and so is the transport center, but the second bus drops you off another twenty-five minute walk from your apartment and you're forced to walk- you guessed it!- uphill. Your calves are screaming from the exertion, and from cold, and from keeping your balance as you trudge through the piling snow. You have a death grip on your keys- if they were to fall out somewhere between work and home you would simply lie down on the ground and let the snow bury you. It would be more than you could take. But your keys stay in your tightly clenched fists, and soon your apartment building becomes visible through the dark and haze. You want to cry tears of relief but your tear ducts are frozen shut.

By the time you traipse up the steps of your apartment, you feel more popsicle than person. You are so cold. Your hands shake so much it takes you a few tries to get the keys from your pocket and stick them in the lock. You step inside, sagging as the heat blasts you in the face. All you want to do is collapse into bed and curl under your blankets where the world can't see you, to get a little bit of sleep before your torture begins anew tomorrow. The thought of going to work on Friday strikes a physical pain in you. You've barely survived today, and yet tomorrow looms terrible just out of reach.

You go to turn on the lights only to realize that the lights are already on. Your heart skips a beat. Did someone break into your apartment? Should you turn around and flee? But you don't have a car, and you certainly aren't walking back to the bus stop. You have nowhere to go.

A figure turns the corner and you flinch back, hands half-raised in some pathetic attempt to defend yourself-

It's Chan. He turns the corner and it's your boyfriend, standing on your tile floor in sweats and a big sweater, eyes bright and twinkling with how excited he is to see you.

"Hey, sweetheart," Chan says. "You're finally back. I saw you called earlier and got worried something was wrong."

You burst into tears. You're crying before you even know it, violent sobs that shake you and make water droplets roll off your soaked hair. Salt burns your frozen tear ducts, and snow is slipping down your collar, but all these small discomforts are overshadowed by the pure and all-consuming relief that your boyfriend is here in the flesh, asking after you and taking care of you, and you can finally stop fighting to keep it together. You can rest.

Chan makes a sound of alarm and rushes forward to grab you as you start to list.

"Baby? Hey, hey, what's wrong? Christ, you look terrible. Are you sick?" He tries to put his hand against your forehead but pulls it away just as fast. "You're cold as ice, y/n."

"I w-walked home," you try to explain. Your tongue is thick in your mouth, and it's hard to get enough air to speak through your sobs. "Car broke down, phone died, b-bus was late."

"Fuck, sweetheart. I'm so fucking sorry. That sounds terrible."

His validation of your misery just makes you cry harder. Chan pulls you into a fierce hug and you bury your face in his shoulder and absolutely lose it. All the stress of the last week crashes down on you at once, your misery overwhelming you. You grab at his clothes with gloved hands, and there's about four layers of clothes between you, and it's not enough, you want to be closer. But at the same time you can't make yourself pull away from Chan's embrace. He whispers soothing words in your ear, rocks you back and forth, presses closed mouth kisses to any part of you he can reach. He doesn't shush you, or try to calm you down. He just lets you have the emotional release he knows you sorely need.

When your cries start to slow, he gives you one final squeeze to catch your attention, and whispers, "We need to get you out of these clothes, hmm? Does that sound okay?"

You swallow the last of your sobs and nod morosely.

"Okay then. Let's take your jacket off. It's soaking wet by now."

You step back from Chan, still holding on to his arm as you stumble and sway. You're so tired. Standing up for even a second longer is too big of an ask.

"Just lean on me. It's okay, I won't let you fall."

Together, you unfasten and take off your heavy winter coat, letting it fall to the floor with the slush you dragged in. Chan is the one who crouches down to untie your shoes, and you lean on him for support as you remove one foot, then the other.

"Good job," he praises, pressing a kiss to your snow-soaked hair. "Let's get you warmed up now."

He leads you to the bathroom and starts the water running in the tub. You listlessly undress, leaning on the counter for support when you need it. While the tub is filling, Chan tries to leave, but you catch him by the shoulder on his way past you, stopping him in his tracks.

"Stay?"

"Of course I'll stay," he says. "I just want to get you a change of clothes."

You hesitantly let go of him, and he flashes you a reassuring smile before he slips out. You sit down on the toilet and wait patiently for his return, watching the water fill the tub slowly and feeling your thoughts move sluggishly in your brain.

The sound of the water stopping jolts you back to the present. Chan is back, in a regular t-shirt this time, leaning over the bathtub to make sure the water is the right temperature. Deeming it good enough, he turns back to you and stretches out a hand to you.

As soon as you sit down in the warm water, you feel about ten times better. The warmth unties some of the tension that coils your muscles, and it quells the shivering that had started up as you were sitting on the toilet waiting to be told what to do. Chan urges you to slide down so you're almost submerged, making sure almost all your body is enveloped in warmth, and starts dumping warm water over your head, soaking your hair and washing out the remnants of grime and slush. He's quiet as he does it, humming a low tune, and you close your eyes and let him do as he wants. When he's done, he taps your shoulder, and you sit up, mourning the loss of warmth as your back and chest are exposed to the bathroom air.

"Do you mind?" he asks. You shake his head, uncaring of what he's referring to. You'd let him do anything to you in this state. It turns out "anything" means washing your back, so you again sit still and let him do as he pleases. The pressure of his hands and the sound of his voice, still humming, gradually soothe your mind and body. You stop shivering and tune back into your surroundings.

He's subtly watching your face, so he sees when you come back to yourself and drops his neutral expression. "Back with me?"

You nod. The floaty feelings from being cold and hysterical are gone, but that just means the exhaustion of your day is hitting you full force. You hold out your hand for the washcloth so you can clean the rest of yourself, and he hands it over, but doesn't move to leave, which you appreciate. Now that you're calmer, you think you might be a little more embarrassed asking him to stay.

"I know you said this morning you were cursed, but I didn't think you meant literally," he tries to joke.

You let out a long breath. "I didn't think I meant literally either."

"Wanna talk about it?"

You shrug as you rub the washcloth along your legs, wincing when you remove your still-freezing toes from the water. "What can I say? It was a shit day at work with a shit ending."

"You said your car broke down."

You squeeze your eyes shut. You are not in the mood for this argument. "It just wouldn't start. I don't know what's wrong with it."

"Y/n..." He doesn't say anything more. He knows as well as you do that you'll get nowhere. It's enough to set you off though, now that your exhaustion is making you irritatble.

"It wouldn't have mattered either way if you'd picked up the phone when I called you," you snap. It's unfair and you know it, but before you can begin to feel remorse, Chan's face turns to one of guilt.

"I know, I'm sorry. I still had it silenced from work and didn't realize. When I saw that you called me I tried to call back but the calls didn't go through."

"My phone died. That's why I didn't call an Uber."

Chan shakes his head. "I would call this comical if it wasn't so clearly stressing you out."

"You can still call it comical. Just not within earshot."

"Surely you think better of me than that."

"I do," you say, completely serious. "Sorry. I'm not mad you didn't answer. It's just been a shitty day."

Chan squeezes your shoulder in understanding. "It's alright. I get it."

"I'm really grateful you're here," you say, and you're getting choked up again, emotions all out of whack. "I've never been so happy to see anyone."

"You called three times. Since I couldn't get a hold of you, I hoped you'd still come home and we could talk here."

"You're too good to me."

"I'm exactly as good as you deserve." He leans down to kiss you, long and loving and warm, and the last of the chill in your bones slides away.

-/-

The next morning, Chan calls you in sick before you even wake up. He has to leave for the morning, but comes back around noon with ingredients to make you soup and tea, and rouses you for lunch with all the care and gentleness in the world.  He curls next to you in bed despite your protests that you'll get him sick, but then, it's not like you protest that hard. You're still feverish and needy, and maybe it's not the most ridiculous thing in the world to want to lie in your boyfriend's arms as you recover from what you're pretty sure is mild hypothermia mixed with the flu.

"We were gonna hang out this weekend," you say morosely. "Now I'm trapped in this bed and you're stuck taking care of me."

"Taking care of you is my favorite form of hanging out," he informs you, cleaning away the mug and bowl to bring back to the kitchen. "And hanging up the phone on your boss is my favorite passtime."

"You did not hang up on them," you gasp, hand over your mouth.

Chan shrugs, unbothered. "They seemed a little too annoyed about my request to not tow your car out of the parking lot. I made it very clear that it better be there when you get back on Monday or else."

"So selfless. You could've let them tow it and finally been victorious."

He turns from the kitchen and sits back down on the bed. "You like that car. I'm not going to keep insisting you get rid of it when it means so much to you. Even if I do blame it for the events of yesterday." You glare and he puts his hands up defensively. "If it's not my fault or your fault then I have to blame the car. Sorry not sorry."

"Blame the cursed spirit following me around," you say, sinking miserably into the blankets. "It possessed the engine of my car just to torment me."

"Even more reason to get rid of it."

You're feverish and tired, but the conversation makes you smile nonetheless. "Ask me again when my fever breaks if you still think I should keep it. Maybe it'll burn away the sentimental attachment."

"Don't get my hopes up."

You close your eyes as Chan kisses your forehead, and you slide easily into pleasant dreams.

[wlwlibrary]

I'm super hyped for this so here's my predictions (totally not biased lol)

sorry if it's a little all over the place... (I was really tired when making the bracket list so excuse my spelling mistakes, namely supercorp with b T-T and 2017 instead of 2018)

So first 8 brackets top left, I don't know a lot about these ships but I do know Bubbline and they're quite popular so my guess is they definitely win at least one if not 2 rounds.

Brackets 8-17 middle left, again, don't know a lot about these ships except Lumity and they are really popular on ao3, top 3 ship actually. They will make it to the semi-finale because they have little competition (see brackets 1-16).

The next brackets are interesting... brackets 17-20 middle left. Korrasami, well known and liked will definitely win their first round BUT no way they will win against Supercorb. Supercorb is top 1 femslash ship on ao3 and one of THE most popular and well known femslash ships in history (along with SwanQueen and Clexa, honorable mention to Xena x Gabrielle bc they were the OGs).

Brackets 21-24 middle left, pretty confident Agathario will win these 2 rounds. Brand new ship that gained a lot of traction pretty fast. Sadly, I don't think they stand a chance against Supercorb either bc Supercorb just has such a long standing history while Agathario has just emerged. And what makes a ship strong imo (i dont mean the dynamic itself but its relationship to fandom) is endurance, like how long does a significant portion of the fandom continue to create fanworks and talk about the ship even after the original source material has ended.

Brackets 25-28 middle left, I could see both XenaGab and Avatrice winning the third round. XenaGab is the OG but it's not as well known and popular as Supercorb or SwanQueen for example. So maybe Avatrice has a chance because I've seen people posting about them.

Well, whoever wins of the aforementioned, SwanQueen will trump them, pretty sure.

Bottom left, I have high hopes for Chaggie because they had a really steep incline on ao3 with the release of Hazbin Hotel. Again, I don't think they'll win against SQ but there is a tiny tiny chance. I guess it all depends on the demographic this shipping contest reaches.

Quarter finals give me a headache bc I just know it's gonna be Supercorb vs. SwanQueen AGAIN. Kinda reminds me of Zimbio March Madness 2018 (just realized I wrote 2017 in the pic whoops). Anyway that's gonna be stressful lol personally I really want SQ to win that round :,)

So in semi-finals on the left we have Lumity against either SQ or Supercorb, so basically ao3 top 3 vs. top 1 or top 2 spots ahhhhh

Moving on to the right side...

Bracket 1-8, top right, Catradora will win it all up quarter finals where they're gonna loose to Gelphie or Caitvi. I don't know a lot of the ships but I'm pretty confident in my prediction.

Brackets 9-16 are really interesting because we have two newcomers or more like revival in Gelphie's case. Both pretty new ships but insanely popular at the moment, literally all over Tumblr. I can't really say who's gonna win between Gelphie and Caitvi, it all depends on who these polls reach. However, I'm leaning towards Caitvi simply because I feel like it's slightly more popular.

Brackets 17-20, it's gonna be a show off between Harlivy and Rhaenicent. Harlivy has a pretty solid fanbase that's been around for quite a few years which gives them an edge, but I wouldn't underestimate Rhaenicent (personal bias? what, no. jk).

Brackets 21-24 I have 0 idea how this is gonna turn out, all ships are pretty equal popularity wise. I guess Sanvers might win and Morgwen but afterwards? No idea.... Harlivy or Rhaenicent will be part of the quarter finals though.

Bottom 8 brackets, Wenclair will win 2 rounds at least. They've been really popular when Wednesday was released but I feel like they have died down a bit since then. I'm quite unsure if Clexa or Farcille would have a chance but just to be sure I put them as possible candidates for the quarter finals. Although the fandom Clexa has been mostly dead for too long (if I'm wrong pls correct me) and Farcille is still too new and unheard of in the entirety of femslash fandom.

My bet is still on either Rhaenicent or Harlivy for semi-finals.

So, semi finals...

I firmly believe that SQ or Supercorp, depending on who's winning quarter finals, will make it to the final. From the right side I'll place my bets on either Caitvi or Geplhie simply for the fact that my feed has been flooded by fanworks of them and because of the sensation of the ships.

Now regarding who will be the final winner... Could be either of the finalist, I really can't say. I'm hoping for SwanQueen but I'm having doubts due to the fact that there are really strong contestants before the final, Supercorp and Lumity, although Supercorp is the bigger threat.

The final itself is basically new vs. old-school ships, no matter who wins on the left haha.

That's it, obviously this is super biased and how this contest turns out is entirely dependant on what fandom spaces are reached but I'm really excited. Like there are possible demographic differences regarding live action vs. animation and eastern vs. western media.

Let me know your thoughts on who's gonna win and who you favor :D

Welcome to the Unofficial Top Femslash Ships Bracket!

Many people on Tumblr might have engaged in the practice of "shipping" in relation to "media". Some, according to legend, even have opinions on these matters.

If the above happens to apply to you, you might be eligible to vote in this bracket! We have pitted the most popular femslash pairings against each other to see who will emerge victorious. Round 1 polls drop on Thursday, December 26th at 4PM PST, and will run for three days.

Check current vote counts here!

FAQ:

How was the bracket made and seeded?

This bracket was made with a combination of centreoftheselights' Ao3 data, the Tumblr 2024 Year in Review list, and a few notes of historical interest, and seeded according to the results of this survey!

What are your stances on voter fraud, campaigning, bribing people with drabbles and/or art, etc?

Enthusiastically in favor! We do, however, ask that you don't DDOS Tumblr, and ideally don't commit any murders that can be traced back to us.

I have an issue with [x] being included in this poll.

This poll is a celebration of fandom and fandom history; we're aware that there are certain issues with some of the listed pairings and sources, but they are a part of that history. Please do not take this as an endorsement of anything included in the bracket, and refrain from harassment.

In general, please remember that this is intended to be a fun time for the wide community which is fandom culture, and treat each other with respect!

Bracket Schedule!

[weepingchronicles]

This may sound bland but can you do Jinx with a darling who has just been recaptured after they escaped a second time tyy

a/n: not bland at all! thank you for waiting and requesting this!

cw: mental breakdown mentions, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome(?), killing mentions, manipulation, yandere behavior, EXTREMELY unhealthy relationship guys, physical violence

❝yandere!jinx x gn!reader getting recaptured❞

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 It doesn't take very long for Jinx to catch you, even if you are thinking you're safe she is simply lurking, watching you until she decides it is time to take you back.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Her initial reaction when you escape is not very good. Full psychotic breakdown is what I'm saying. She will start hearing and seeing things, it's best to be slow and quiet to not risk getting accidentally shot.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 She might even accidentally kidnap others who she mistakes for being you, simply killing them off after she realizes.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 You're all her mind can think about, any other matter or responsibility she has right now is unimportant in her mind. Not that she thinks they were important anyway.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Once she finally finds you she wants to just knock you out and take you back where you belong but she stops herself. Like a feline, she lurks and watches you. Baiting her time to sink her claws into you. How did you manage to escape and what have you been doing since then? Who helped you?

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 If you got help from others or god forbid, start laughing and being all buddy buddy with someone they are gone. Gone, dead, bam. One reason is the impulsivity and her damn possessiveness. It is what makes her pull the trigger to anyone who stands too close to you. Another is to teach you a lesson, a valuable lesson that no matter what you can't escape her. She'll find you in the end and will kill anyone who knew about it.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 A sadistic part of her gleams as you cry all pathetically, it almost makes her angry that you're crying about a bunch of losers who you barely even knew. You should be reaching out to her, crying for her.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 She drags you home anyway, mumbling out a bunch of threats and battling the voices in her own head. If you want to survive without any bullets penetrating your body, it's best to keep quiet and listen.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Getting home isn't any better, the whole place is a mess. More than it was before. It's clear she lost her marbles when you left, from furniture thrown and bullet dents in the walls.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 She'll toss you around, screaming at you for leaving her, pointing her gun just a little too close. She's erratic and there is no stopping her.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 You flinch, ducking your head and shielding your head in a futile attempt of protection. You were scared of her. How could you not be? Jinx takes a pause, looking down at her gun in her trembling hand before throwing it over her shoulder completely.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 She drops to her knees, wailing in tandem with you, perhaps even louder. Jinx clings onto you, grasping at your limbs and clothes like you're deprived oxygen.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, I wouldn't ever hurt you. I'm sorry, please don't leave me!" A part of Powder comes out of her and her desperation eerily resembles a broken child inside. Some piece of you aches despite the pain she's caused you. It isn't entirely her fault she is born this way, what her trauma caused her to be.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 You can't forgive her though, not after all that's been done but.. you can pretend. "Please don't leave me again," and you nod in response.

artist credits: @/iwantmoretime17 on instagram

[hxnbi]

hi!! I love your writing :). I wanted to request an angst to fluff scenario where reader likes the boy and confesses to him but he turns her down, but then he later regrets it and comes back?? and they live happily ever after??? i don’t really have any specific preferences other than that but im such a sucker for rejecting and regretting/she falls first he falls harder scenarios!! im using her/she to refer to the reader rn but i dont have any preference, just not sure how else to write it haha id love if you could include suo, togame, and umemiya but totally up to you :).

hey so thanks sm for your request! i loved writing this and with these boys, tho umemiya's does end on a pretty angsty note with how i was initially drafting it. i hope thats okay ♡

confessions, rejections, and regrets

⸻ °♡⃘ . you confess to the boy you liked, only to be rejected. or so you think, as, unbeknownst to you, he was battling his own feelings, too afraid to admit his love, up until he finally finds the courage to stand before you once again. but this time, it was him who would be begging for your heart.

⸝⸝ 𑅛𑅫 Suo Hayato

Tears. All you could feel dripping from your face and down your cheeks was the salty aftermath of your own tears. And standing before you, the boy who had just rejected you.

"I'm sorry, I just don't see you in that light," Suo, with his hands firmly placed in front of the other, repeated, further breaking your heart into a million pieces.

Pitifully, you laughed—but little humour was found in the dreary quiet of your heart. "I know," you whispered, choking down the ache that was your confession to the person you'd grown to admire and love.

The pain lingered with every thought—that Suo was simply just too good for you, but so did your respect for him. Even if you tried your hardest to do so, you just couldn't find it in yourself to dislike him. 

Suo had always been kind, even as he rejected you.

That was part of why you liked him so much in the first place. Even if it hurt, you couldn't blame him for having such feelings about you that just weren't the same. You couldn't continue to be selfish.

"I know. Just, thank you, for hearing me out," you said, your voice becoming surprisingly steady, slowly accepting what you heard. "That's just the kind of person you are."

And then you walked away. You refused to let him see the fresh tears welling up in your eyes. You respected his choice. If he didn't reciprocate your feelings, you couldn't force it. It had to be mutual—or nothing at all.

Days turned into weeks, and though you still felt the ache of his rejection, like with most things, you had to move on and push forward. You treated Suo the same way you treated everyone else. Although, you couldn't deny that it was rather awkward after Suo saw you well up with tears dripping down your face like a waterfall. And it didn't help that you both were friends with the Furin first years, like Kiryu and Nirei, whom you were very close to.

So, time and time again, you would avoid Suo like the plague; all the while, he seemed to watch from afar, unsure of how to bridge the gap. You were always respectful, never bitter, never clinging. It was difficult, but you refused to let your emotions tarnish your friendship or make things awkward. 

Suo, however, found himself unable to stay away. He'd initially assumed your feelings for him were just surface-level, a kind of shallow attraction to his looks, but that couldn't have been further from the truth. He only realized this when he peeled back the layers of who you were—a kind, genuine individual so far removed from the superficial affection he had imagined. And as time passed, he began to notice more—the way you treated everyone around you with the same kindness and consideration.

But over time, Suo would see you purposely trying to hide from him, all the while pretending everything was okay and nothing changed. It was saddening, in a way, how your laughter grew quieter, your gaze avoiding his, and the fun and games you two once shared together seemed to slip through his fingers like grains of sand.

But you couldn't hide from Suo forever. 

"He just doesn't like me, Nirei.”

Taking a walk around the neighbourhood that evening, following his typical routine, Suo had unknowingly overheard you talking to Nirei. And unlike his straightforward character, he continued to hide behind the wall and listen, his heart aching with every word he caught from your lips.

"It’s not that I don’t care…" you said softly to Nirei, who had asked about what had happened between you and Suo. "He rejected me, and I have to respect that. You can't have a relationship if both sides don't feel the same."

"I see... B-But do you still like him?" Nirei finally asked, twiddling his own thumbs. 

You hesitated for a moment before answering, "I do."

That conversation was what really hit him hard. That you still liked him. That maybe... he wasn't too late to come around.

"Nirei, not knowing what to say to a person who seemingly still had feelings for one of his closest friends, winced, "He'll... he'll come around," not necessarily finding the right words, but you didn't appear to mind it. Rather, you were too distracted with your own feelings.

And Suo, hidden from view, felt his chest tighten. He wasn't sure why he'd been hiding in the first place, but suddenly, he couldn't bear to listen any longer. He shouldn't even be here, listening to your conversation and very obviously intruding on your privacy. 

But just before he could slip away, though, very conveniently, Sakura popped out from behind the corner. "The hell are you doing back here?" loud enough for both you and Nirei to hear and turn your heads to meet the noise—and Suo, right before your very eyes. 

Your eyes went wide in shock as you spotted Suo standing right there, seemingly who had heard everything.

"S-Suo, what are you—"

Back-and-forth looks were exchanged, and so too was the silence. Nirei and Sakura gave brief, knowing glances, and with a single look, Nirei left you two alone, much to your dismay and humiliation. 

You stood frozen, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts, none of which managed to form coherent words to say to the boy who had basically just heard you confess your feelings to him once again. Nervous and fidgeting, you finally let out a sigh. "Hayat– Suo, I'm really sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I promise that I'm not going to bother you anymore. I really—"

But your words and apologies were left on deaf ears—cut off mid-sentence before Suo suddenly reached for you, his hand gently pulling you toward him. Before you could even process what was happening, you found yourself wrapped in his arms, your head resting against his chest.

"I was wrong."

"…H-Huh?"

"I was so, so wrong," he muttered, grasping at the edge of your sleeve even tighter than just a second ago. "I thought you only liked me for shallow reasons, but... I've realized that I like you too. More than I ever let myself admit. And I apologize for making you wait."

You blinked, your brain going haywire, trying to comprehend every word that left his lips, but Suo only held you tighter, his chin resting on the top of your head. When you didn't answer, he went on—whether that was for your or his own reassurance that you wouldn't be the one rejecting him this time was unclear.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to see it, but I don't want to let this go," he murmured. "I don't want to lose you." He regretted every moment of him rejecting you since that day. And if you were to be the one rejecting him this time… 

Your breath hitched at the base of your throat, disbelief seeping into your every thought. Was he serious…? The boy who had rejected you, who had caused you so much heartache, was now confessing to the very feelings you had once longed to hear.

'You make it so unfair…' you muttered. 

Part of you wanted to reject him, to make him feel how you felt after he rejected you. But deep down, you knew you couldn't find it in yourself to throw away this chance. And neither could Suo.

"I… I still like you, too."

Your voice was hardly audible, but Suo heard it loud and clear. He pulled away just enough to meet your eyes, his expression soft and vulnerable. "Then let's start over."

Your lips trembled into a small smile. "Alright."

Suo leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, until Suo suddenly grabbed your hand, making you jump slightly. "Come on," he said, tugging you gently. "Let's go grab something to eat. I know of a good spot that just opened that serves your favourite food."

"W-Wait, Hayato, I thought you were on a diet?" you stammered, completely caught off guard by his change in behaviour. He had always been strict about his routine—always so disciplined, so focused. But now, he seemed different. Lighter, somehow. But that was Suo for you.

He smiled, softer this time, his eyes lovingly meeting yours. "I can't miss this opportunity to spend time with a special someone. You can't keep avoiding me forever," making your face flush crimson as his words sunk in.

⸝⸝ 𑅛𑅫 Togame Jo

Shit… he shouldn't have said that.

Togame's words had slipped out before he could stop them, and the second he did, he knew he had fucked up. He cursed from under his breath, his hands already reaching out toward you as your face crumpled with hurt.

You stood there, staring at him—processing every snide word that left Togame's mouth—your chest rising and falling as if you were struggling even to breathe. He didn't mean it. He knew he didn't mean it, and he was pretty sure you knew that, too. But the damage was done, and he could see it in your eyes, the way he could see the shimmering of unshed tears ready to drip down your flushed cheeks..

"I'm sorry," Togame said immediately, his voice softening as he pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you like a protective barrier. He could feel you stiffen in his hold, your hands pushing weakly against his chest, but he wasn't about to let go, not on that horrible note. 

"Let go, Jo," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "You made your decision. You've... I've already said enough."

But Togame wasn't listening. Not with what he just had done and said that only left him with regrets. He couldn't take it anymore. Not the sadness in your voice, not the way you tried to pull away from him like he was a stranger. No, he wasn't letting you walk away like this, not after everything you had shared. And certainly not after everything he just spat at you.

"I didn't mean it, okay?" His words were rushed, almost desperate. Togame's grip on you only tightened with time, refusing to let go even an inch. "I was stupid. I-I'm sorry, I didn't know what I was saying, but I promise you, I'll fix this. I can't stand seeing you like this."

Your heart hurt at his words. You were utterly torn between wanting to believe him and protecting yourself from further hurt. After all, he had already said plenty… "You don't get just to say something like that and then take it back, Jo. It doesn't work like that..."

Togame's breath hitched as your words sliced the air and, in turn, his heart. His mind and body froze

That wasn't it. Not at all. He liked you. He loved you.

His rejection was but a projection of his own insecurities—that he wouldn’t be the right person for you.

But never did he think that he too didn’t want anyone else in your life, that it made his heart ache just thinking about it, the idea of someone else seeing your smile, hearing your laugh and holding the piece of your heart he so desperately longed for—that he previously had thrown away. 

He hated himself for it—hated that he’d let his fears dictate his actions, that he’d hurt the one person who made his world feel less empty.

But he couldn’t let this end here. Not like this.

"I know. But— fuck…" he said quietly, his voice breaking, cracking into incomprehensible pieces of a heartbroken sentence. His shoulders trembled as he finally loosened his rough grip on you. Although his hands still rested hesitantly on your shoulders. “I know I can’t undo what I said, but I need you to know... I was wrong. I’m so damn wrong, and I’m so sorry.”

Scrunching your face, you shook your head, gaze fixed on the ground as you tried to will away the tears that had long streamed down your face. “Why, Jo?”

Why. A simple explanation as to his stupid, idiotic, impulsive mistake was all that you wanted from him. 

His heart clenched at your words. Pure guilt tore him apart. He wished he could go back and rewind time to the moment before his insecurities took over. But he couldn’t. All he had now was this moment to make things right.

“Because I’m a coward!” 

His confession all tumbled out in a rush, unfiltered. “I’m a fucking coward.” Every word was a weight being lifted from his chest, all in hopes that you might understand might hear him out, even if it wouldn’t completely change things.  “I thought... I thought you deserved someone better. Someone who wouldn’t screw things up like I always do. Someone who could make you happy without dragging you into all my mess.”

Your eyes flickered up to meet his, for once, the honesty in his voice catching you heavily off guard. He appeared to be so unusually vulnerable, completely stripped of the bravado he usually wore like armour on his fists.

“But I can’t stop thinking about you,” he continued, his hands sliding down your arms as if needing a sense of reassurance that you were still with him and by his side and not a figment of his imagination. Hesitant but hopeful. “Every time I tried to push you away, it just made me want you more. And I was a complete idiot for thinking I could ever be okay without you.”

“Togame...”

“And I get it if you hate me for this,” he interrupted, all the words tumbling out of his mouth before he lost his nerve. “But I need you to know... I’m not asking for a second chanc—” he paused his sentence, before he could lose his resolve completely.“I love you. I’ve loved you all along, even when I was too scared to admit it.”

Your chest tightened. You oh-so-wanted to stay angry, to hold onto the pain, but his confession was undoing every wall you had tried to build.

“I'll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. Just... don't walk away from me. Please. Not like this."

“.....”

“...Do you mean that?” 

Your voice was hardly audible as you looked up at him.

“More than anything.” 

Togame cupped your smaller face in his callous hands, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had escaped down your cheek, kissing the pain away.  “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you if that’s what it takes.”

For the slightest moment, neither of you spoke. You could hardly hear a thing other than the sound of your breathing and the beat of his heart pressed tightly against yours. You felt his arms around you, warm and safe, and despite everything, a part of you wanted to stay right there, to believe that things could be okay. 

Then, slowly, you nodded, the smallest of smiles breaking through your tears. “I hate that you’re so good at making me believe you,” you said softly, for the first time all day, a small laugh escaped your lips. And it was heavenly. It was what he loved so much about you. 

Togame’s lips quirked up in a tentative grimace. “Does that mean… I get another shot?”

“Don’t make me regret it,” you murmured, but your voice was warm, filled with the hope that maybe—just maybe—this time things could be different. "I'm not going anywhere," you finally said. "But you have to mean it this time, Jo."

He nodded, his forehead resting against yours. "I do. I promise."

So, just like that, you let it go. Slowly, you relaxed in his arms, letting the weight of your sadness slip away, if only for a moment. Togame didn't let go, and neither did you.

And in that moment, wrapped in his arms, you allowed yourself to believe him. For now, that was enough.

⸝⸝ 𑅛𑅫 Umemiya Hajime

"But we can still be friends!" Umemiya's voice rang out, almost too cheerful for the conversation you'd just had. He flashed you that familiar smile, oblivious to how his words felt like a punch to your chest. 

"Oh! There's actually an event at Furin soon. I know you like a good barbecue. You should join us! It'll be fun!"

You stared at him, nonblinking, and for a brief second, you couldn't believe he was serious. How could he be so, casual? He must be playing you, right...? But no, that was just how Umemiya was, as you've found him for years.

You had just poured your entire heart into him, and in return, he offered you friendship—a friendship that you already had with him for years—as if it were a consolation prize. 

But your heart ached so much, desperate for any kind of connection to him, that even the slightest bit of attention, however hollow, felt like a lifeline. So you nodded, forcing a polite smile across your face. "Yeah... sure, I'll come."

And just like that, you became that of a shadow, a close friend who laughed at his jokes, stayed by his side when he needed someone, and cheered for him during the times when you both would play video games. You were nothing more than a mere member of his Furin family. All the times you would talk and laugh together with them were great,  and even the occasional late-night hangouts. But it wasn't enough. It was never fully enough. 

Staying close to Umemyia only made you want him more, and that fact haunted you. Being so close to him yet knowing you couldn't have him the way you wanted was agony. The more time you spent around him, the more you craved his attention, but not as a friend, no, but as something more. It gnawed at you, that longing, and with each passing day, it became harder and harder to pretend. 

It wasn't just unfair to you—it was unfair to him, too. He deserved someone who wouldn't secretly hope for something more, who wouldn't keep pushing the boundary between friendship and something deeper. You knew this arrangement couldn't go on, not without tearing you apart.

So, one night, after finally gathering the courage, you decided to put an end to it. But unbeknownst to you, Umemiya wasn't doing any better either. 

Before, he never considered you more than a friend—someone who'd been there through all the ups and downs, always supportive, always kind, always you.

He never questioned the ease with which he could talk to you or the way your laughter seemed to brighten the atmosphere of any room you were in. 

So when you finally confessed to him that very day—that your feelings toward him were more than what he thought—he hadn't thought much of it beyond friendship. He didn't think it was deeper than that… not until after he turned you down.

At first, Umemiya was convinced it was the right thing to do. He told himself he didn't feel the same way. But as the days passed, those same thoughts weighed differently on him. The way you still smiled at him, still treated him the same even after his rejection—it gnawed at him. 

He started seeing the little things he hadn't noticed before. The way you always knew exactly what to say to cheer him up after a bad day, the way your eyes lingered on him for just a second too long, the way your laugh sounded like it was just for him. 

And suddenly, it wasn't just about friendship anymore.

At night, alone with his thoughts, he realized he had been wrong. So, so wrong. The feelings he'd dismissed as just a fleeting affection had grown—almost insidiously—into something he couldn't ignore. It became a constant. An ache of longing to be near you, but this time, not just as a friend, but as someone who could hold you, kiss you, call you his own. 

So when you suddenly asked for him to, and you meet up together alone after the barbeque, Umemiya's heart jumped in his chest. This was it. This was his chance to fix everything and correct his mistake, to tell you the truth, to apologize for being so dense. He was ignorant, blatant even, to one of the dearest people in the world to him. 

Tonight, he was going to do it. He was going to make it up to you by apologizing and asking for forgiveness. He was excited, hopeful even, imagining the moment when he'd pour out his heart and beg for your forgiveness. You were kind, after all. You'd understand. You had to.

He could barely contain his nerves as he waited for you, replaying his apology speech over and over in his mind. 

But when you arrived, something felt off. But Umemyia merely brushed it off as mere nerves. But then you spoke.

"I can't do this anymore."

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, Umemiya's heart stopped. He forced a laugh, trying to shake off the unease creeping into his chest. "What do you mean? O-Oh! If you're talking about how Sakura was acting earlier, hah, he doesn't mean it! You know how he is, just messing around."

But you didn't smile. You didn't laugh. Your expression remained serious, and it made his stomach drop. No, it couldn't be, right?

"Umemiya, I can't do this anymore," you repeated once again, your voice breaking, trembling in a way he had never heard before. "I can't just act like nothing happened anymore. I thought that I could continue being your friend. I really tried. But... it hurts too much. Please, I—"

His heart clenched. No, no, no—this wasn't right. This wasn't how tonight was supposed to go. He was supposed to apologize, to tell you how he felt, to fix things. But now, seeing you like this, so hurt, it paralyzed him.

"Don't say it."

"Hajime, please. Don't make this any harder than it has to be."

No, he couldn't let you walk away. Not like this. Not when everything had finally clicked for him. Before he could stop himself, the words spilled out, desperate and unplanned.

"—BUT I LOVE YOU!!"

And he said it.

The moment those words escaped his lips, everything seemed to freeze, and the silence that followed was unbearable. He watched you, waiting for some sign, some reaction that would let him know he wasn't too late. But your eyes... they were filled with so much pain, it made his heart ache even more.

You didn't speak right away, and the longer the silence stretched, the more regret began to claw at him. Why hadn't he seen it sooner? Why did he wait until now, when you were standing here, on the verge of walking away, to realize how much you meant to him? His own foolishness, his blindness—it was too much to bear.

"Why now?" you finally asked. Your voice was soft, barely audible, as if you were afraid of the answer he was giving. It wasn't angry, but it wasn't hopeful either. It was aching, that desperate part of you. "Why... after everything?"

Umemiya couldn’t answer. He didn't have a good reason. He just knew that he loved you now, that he couldn't imagine his life without you in it. But he also knew that might not be enough.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his hands trembling at his sides. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize... I didn't know until it was too late."

The tears in your eyes broke him. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He thought he'd be able to fix things, to make everything right, but now it felt like everything was slipping through his fingers.

And much to his horror, you shook your head slowly, stepping back, the distance between you growing—both physically and emotionally. "It's not fair, Hajime. You can't just say that now... not after everything."

For the first time in his life, Umemiya Hajime didn’t know what to say. He stood there, stunned, the words he wanted to say lodged in his throat because, deep down, he already knew.

He didn’t have the right to ask for more when he had rejected the very thing he now realized he couldn’t live without. He had turned you away, convinced it was for the best, only to understand far too late just how much he had thrown away. His indecision—his cowardice—had led to this moment. And now, it wasn’t just his heart breaking; it was yours, too.

He opened his mouth, tried to reach for you, but his arms fell back to his sides. He couldn’t keep making excuses. He couldn’t selfishly try to pull you back, not when his own fickleness had caused you so much pain.

So he let it happen. Right before his very eyes, he watched you take another step back, your face etched with a hurt he knew he had no way of easing. And when you turned, it felt as though the entire world had slipped out of his grasp.

The streets around him blurred as he stared at the spot where you had just stood, his mind and body going through the realization that he might just never get the chance to fix this.

“Wait...” he whispered hoarsely, hand unconsciously reaching forward, but the word fell into the silence, unheard and unanswered.

And with that, you were gone, leaving him behind—alone, with but the cold remnants of his mistakes.

lol i also noticed how each just gets slowly more bittersweet to straight up angsty in umemiya's

©hxnbi. comments, reblogs and likes are always appreciated ♡

[woozinhos]

hi!!! congrats on 400<3. may i request a make up sex with mingi from ateez with the 12th quote, pls?

merry Christmas anon I decided to choose yours to write for Christmas I hope you enjoy this make up sex with mingi <333

The argument had been intense, the tension between you and Mingi reaching a boiling point.

You'd both said things you didn't mean, the words cutting deep and leaving wounds that felt like they might never heal. But now, as you stand there facing each other, the anger has faded and all that's left is an aching need to be close to one another. Mingi's eyes lock onto yours, his gaze intense as he takes a step closer to you.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "I didn't mean what I said. I was angry and hurt and I lashed out at you."

You feel a lump forming in your throat, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you hear the sincerity in his words.

"I'm sorry too," you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. "I said some awful things as well. I didn't mean them, Mingi. I was just so frustrated."

Mingi takes another step closer, closing the distance between you until there's only a few inches separating your bodies. He reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he looks down at you with a mixture of regret and desire.

"I know," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. "I know you didn't mean it. But I can't stop thinking about what you said. The way you looked at me, the words that came out of your mouth... they've been haunting me all day."

He takes a deep breath, his eyes burning with a desperate need.

"I need to hear you say something else," he says, his voice dropping to a low growl. "I need to hear you scream my name when you cum."

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the desire in his voice sending a shiver down your spine. Mingi's eyes darken with hunger, his hand sliding from your cheek to grip your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

"I want to make you forget everything but my name," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to erase every other thought from your mind until all that's left is me."

Mingi's grip on your chin tightens, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you closer. His body presses against yours, his muscular frame pinning you against the wall behind you. He captures your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue immediately plunging into your mouth as he claims you as his own.

The kiss is fierce and passionate, full of all the pent-up emotions and desire that have been building between you for hours. Mingi's hands roam over your body, his touch possessive and hungry as he claims every inch of you. He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing down your jawline and along your neck, leaving a trail of searing kisses in their wake.

He nips at your skin, leaving behind marks that are sure to linger for days, marking you as his. Mingi's anger and frustration from the argument come out in the way he touches you, his movements rough and desperate. He bites down hard on your collarbone, making you gasp in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

"You're mine," he growls against your skin, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he grinds against you. "And I'm going to make sure you never forget that again."

Mingi's mouth continues to explore your body, his lips and teeth marking you in all the places he knows are most sensitive. He reaches for the hem of your shirt, yanking it up and over your head in one swift motion. He takes a step back, his eyes raking over your exposed skin as he takes in the sight of you.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, his gaze darkening with desire. "And all mine."

Mingi lifts you up with ease, his strong arms wrapping around your body as he carries you towards the bedroom. He lays you down on the bed, his body hovering over yours as he gazes down at you with a possessive glint in his eyes.

"You're so perfect like this," he murmurs, his hands trailing up your thighs and under your skirt. "Spread out beneath me, waiting for me to take what's mine."

Mingi looks down at you, his eyes burning with a primal need.

"Can we skip the foreplay?" he asks, his voice rough with desire. "I need you, now. I need to feel you around me, I need to be inside you."

Mingi lets out a low growl at your nod, his eyes darkening with satisfaction.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his hands immediately going to the waistband of your skirt.

He pulls it off in one swift motion, leaving you completely bare beneath him. Mingi's eyes rake over your body, his gaze devouring every inch of your skin.

"So beautiful," he repeats, his voice thick with desire. "So perfect for me."

He runs his hands up your thighs, his fingers tracing the outline of your hips before moving to grip your waist.

"I'm going to make you scream," he promises, his thumbs digging into your skin. "I'm going to make you beg for more."

Mingi quickly sheds his own clothes, his body exposed to your hungry gaze.

He stands at the edge of the bed, towering over you with an air of dominance and control. His muscles ripple as he moves, the sight of him completely naked and aroused making your heart race with anticipation. Mingi looks down at you, his eyes locking onto yours as he asks the question.

"Can we skip the condom this time?" he asks, his voice low and serious. "I want to feel all of you, I want to fill you up and claim you in every way possible."

Mingi grins at your nod, a mix of relief and excitement crossing his face.

"Good," he murmurs, his hands roaming over your body once more. "I've been dreaming of this for so long."

He moves onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs as he gazes down at you with a predatory glint in his eyes. Mingi enters you in one smooth thrust, his body slotting perfectly against yours as he fills you completely. He lets out a low groan, his eyes rolling back in pleasure as he savors the feeling of being inside you without a barrier.

"God, you feel amazing," he breathes, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he holds himself still for a moment.

Mingi takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he adjusts to the sensation of being inside you.

"So tight," he murmurs, his voice strained with desire. "You're so tight and hot around me, it's driving me crazy."

He slowly pulls out, before thrusting back in again, burying himself deep inside you with a guttural moan.

Mingi sets a punishing pace, his hips snapping against yours as he begins to move with increasing intensity. He pounds into you relentlessly, each thrust hard and deep, hitting all the right spots and making you see stars. His hands roam over your body, gripping and squeezing your flesh as he claims you as his own. Mingi grabs your hips, flipping you over onto your hands and knees with a growl.

He positions himself behind you, his chest pressing against your back as he covers your body with his own. He grips your hair, tugging your head back and exposing your neck to him as he continues to pound into you from behind. Mingi's anger from the argument comes out in every snap of his hips, his body driving into you with a brutal intensity that makes you cry out.

He grips your hips tightly, pulling you back against him with each thrust as he buries himself deep inside you over and over again. His teeth graze the sensitive skin of your neck, nipping and biting at your flesh as he marks you as his in every way possible. Mingi's breath is hot against your ear as he speaks, his voice low and rough with desire.

"You're mine," he growls, his hips slamming against yours with each word. "You're mine, and I'm never letting you go."

He lets go of your hair, his hand trailing down your body to find your clit.

He begins to rub it in time with his thrusts, his fingers expertly working your sensitive flesh as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. The added stimulation of his fingers on your clit makes you moan loudly, your body arching back against his as pleasure courses through you. Mingi grins against your skin, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear.

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice filled with satisfaction. "Let me hear you. Let everyone hear how good I'm making you feel."

You gasp out his name, the word a breathless moan on your lips.

"Mingi... please..." you whimper, your body trembling beneath his touch as you feel yourself nearing the edge.

Mingi's grin widens at the sound of his name on your lips, his pace becoming even more frantic as he drives you closer and closer to your release.

"Please what, baby?" he teases, his fingers continuing to work your clit with a relentless rhythm. "Tell me what you want."

"Come for me," he growls, his own climax drawing near as he feels your body tightening around him.

He quickens his pace even further, his hips snapping against yours with a desperate urgency as he chases both of your releases. With a few more thrusts, Mingi finally sends you over the edge, your body convulsing beneath him as your orgasm crashes over you. He lets out a guttural moan as he feels you clenching around him, his own release following closely behind as he spills himself deep inside you.

He collapses on top of you, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he holds you close. Mingi nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, his breathing slowly returning to normal as he comes down from his high. He presses soft kisses to your skin, his voice filled with a mix of exhaustion and tenderness as he speaks.

"Promise me," he murmurs, his arms tightening around you. "Promise me we'll never fight like that again."

[catierambles]

Rook and Teia were talking about...something but Lucanis was having a hard time paying attention, what with Spite throwing a tantrum again.

I want. To talk. To Rook!

Let. Me talk. To Rook!

Maker, he was like a lovesick teenager.

Could demons get crushes? It was a vaguely horrifying notion that he didn't want to dwell too much on. Or maybe the demon was picking up on his own...affections for her and was feeding off of it. Something he didn't want to think too much about either.

Rook laughed at something Teia said, a sultry laugh that nearly made him groan, but made Spite growl in frustration.

I want. To talk. To her. Now!

A flash of pain and he felt the warmth under his nose, the taste of copper.

"Lucanis!" Rook exclaimed, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." He said, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping at the blood under his nose before it dried in his mustache. "I'm fine. He's throwing another tantrum. He's like a child who doesn't like being told no."

Now!

Another flash of pain and he held the handkerchief to his nose to stem the flow of blood.

"Spite!" Rook snapped, "Stop it! You're hurting him!"

"I'm fine, Rook." The vein in his temple was starting to throb, a migraine forming behind his left eye. "He doesn't listen, you know that."

Let me. Talk to--

"Maker, fine!" Lucanis snapped, cutting the demon off. "You want to talk to her so fucking much, then talk to her! But watch your words!" His eyes closed and he felt the demon slip into his skin, a feeling like circulation returning to a limb crawling over his mind and making him grimace.

"Better." It was his voice but not his voice.

"Maker." Teia whispered, seeing how the violet fire filled his eyes.

"He always ignores. Never lets me talk. Keeps me locked away."

"Spite?" Rook asked, "Who--who did you want to talk to so badly?"

"Rook." Spite said, almost purred, his lips pulling back in a toothy grin.

"M-me? Why me?"

"He denies. Rejects. Lies. Doesn't want to admit it. To himself. To others. But I know. I know!"

"Know what?" Teia asked.

"How he feels about Rook. How we feel about Rook." Spite said and she and Teia shared a look.

"Spite, should you be--you know Lucanis wouldn't like it if--"

"No. No!" Spite growled, "Not just him! Doesn't want to know! Doesn't want to feel!"

"Spite, I--"

"Pushes me away! Keeps me away! Want to see Rook. At night. But he never sleeps! Keeps. Me. Away! From Rook!"

"Spite..."

"Thinks I'll hurt her. But won't. Wouldn't. Couldn't. Reminds me of what I was. What I used to be. Before that place. Before they twisted and tortured."

"Spite." Rook said, stepping towards him and reaching out, touching the side of his face gently. "I'm sorry, I didn't know--"

"Rook makes it not hurt anymore. Dulls the edges of their knives. Blunts the claws in our mind." His hand came up to cover hers, holding it to his cheek. "Rook makes it better. But he won't. Admit it!" He suddenly pulled her against him, driving a gasp from her lips even as he buried his face in her neck, holding her tightly. "Rook makes it better. Rook makes us better."

"Oh, Spite." She breathed, returning his embrace, "Oh, Lucanis."

"Makes us better." He said again and suddenly stiffened.

"Rook?" It was Lucanis and he was frozen still, like a deer in a hunters' sights. "Why am I--what did he--"

"It's okay, Lucanis." Rook said, tracing her fingers through the back of his hair. "It's okay."

Told her. Told her what you refused. Refused to admit. Refused to say. Refused to feel.

"Rook, I--I'm sorry." Lucanis said, taking his face out of her neck to look at her, "Spite, he--" The words died in his throat at the look in her eyes. It wasn't pity, or disgust, or loathing, it was...something that made his heart pound in his chest.

"It's okay, Lucanis." She said, "Really. It's all right."

"No. No, it's not." He said, shaking his head and pulling away from her. "I need--I need to be alone."

No! No! No!

"I'll be at the Lighthouse when you're finished here." With that he turned and walked away, heading for the Eluvian, Spite roaring in his mind.

[urfavfakeblonde]

ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴛᴏᴛᴀʟʟʏ ᴡʀᴏɴɢ, ʀɪɢʜᴛ?

step-brother rafe cameron x step- sister fem!reader

warnings: step-cast, fingering (fem!rec), masturbation (fem!)

Taking a shaky breath, I slip two of my nimble fingers into my sopping panties, fingers cold in comparison to the heat of my pussy. I bite my lip, closing my eyes, as my fingers dance through my wet folds, mind playing visions of it being Rafe's fingers and not mine. It was fucked up, I knew that. Thinking of my insanely hot step-brothers fingers getting me off, but when no one was home and the house was all quiet, I couldn't help myself.

no one has to know.

So, with that, I just barely slipped them in, just enough to tease and become wetter with anticipation. Impatiently, I curl them all the way in, immediately hitting that spongy spot inside me. I whimper quietly, you never know who could enter Tannyhill at any moment. Although come to think of it, my mom and Ward went on a business trip with Wheezie, and Sarah hasn't been home in months. But as for Rafe? He was unpredictable. He could be anywhere: a party, the beach, the country club, in my room--shit!

I open my eyes at the sound of a chuckle at my door. Sitting up, my face flushes with embarrassment as I lock eyes with Rafe. "So, this is what you do when they go on a business trip," he says cooly, entering my room. He picks up my cherry piggy bank, studying it closely. "Bet you love when they hit the town, huh?" He says as he places it back down on the dresser, stalking closer. "What, are ya 'fraid they'll catch you?" He teases, sitting on the edge of my bed. "What do you want?" I whisper quietly, staring down at my baby tee. He eyes me up in down--the wet patch on my white lace panties growing by the minute while his tongue pokes out for a moment as to wet his lips. "Was gonna ask if you wanted to take the boat out for a ride but you seem preoccupied," he chuckles, his lips curving up into his signature grin. My face flushes into a bright pink, my hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Sorry," I whisper, eyes retreating his piercing gaze. It stays silent for a moment as if he is contemplating his next move. "Tell ya what," he finally says, playing with one of the rings on his finger. "I'll help you, then you'll get on that white bikini that I like, and we'll go for a ride, yeah?" My eyes shot up to finally meet his gaze. "What?" I say just above a whisper. "No, no, no, no. No." He watches me frantically try to move off the bed, turning around to look at him while doing so. He's giving me that shit-eating grin again and I feel my legs start to tremble. "No!" I try to say, but he just leans over to grab my arm. Pulling me back down on the bed, he rolls on top of me, playing with the strap of my bra under my shirt. "This is...no. This is wrong Rafe, stop," I start, biting my lip, begging for my body to stop loving this so much. He just hums, kissing my neck softly. "I'm just helpin' my little step-sis out, it's not that serious," he mumbles, now pulling at my panties. He tugs them down and off my legs, stuffing them in his back pocket. Suddenly, two of his rough fingers find my pussy, swirling them around my sensitive bud. "Fuck Rafe!" I moan, throwing my head back against my soft pillows. "Feels good, yeah?" He smirks, kissing my jaw. My legs move to circle his waist as he pushes his fingers into my tight cunt. "So fucking wet," he mutters, looking down to see his fingers disappearing into his step-sister.

"Gonna have so much fun with you," he groans, plush lips meeting mine. I'm totally getting fucked.

[vengefultakeover]

A Dance of Life and Death

I was never a dancer. I was tall, wide, and chubby. I could barely walk let alone perform the dance moves I had seen some of these performers. I took care of the campus, making sure the rooms were well kept, the equipment returned after rehearsals, and the trash didn't overflow with half eaten granola bars and pre-made salads.

I was watching one of the rehearsal one day, my arms crossed and my eyes following the movements of the dancers as they made sure their movements were crisp in the long mirror. There was one man in particular that always caught my eye and he would catch me looking at him in the mirror. I never said anything to him, thinking he would definitely say no. I was about his age so why couldn't we go out on a date? Rehearsal ended and I was going to say something to him, but decided against it. Unfortunately, he caught me before I could leave.

"Why do you always stare at me?" He was much more aggressive than I thought he was going to me.

"Sorry, you all are just so good at what you do." I said with a smile, meeting him with kindness.

"Well stop. You always distract me. Do whatever it is your good at." He crushed a plastic water bottle and tossed it on the ground. He shoved himself past me and I watched him walk away while my face flushed hot.

"That was rude." I heard a voice say.

"Right?" I responded. When I turned to see who it was I found that I was alone with the crushed bottle on the ground. I thought nothing of it, to distracted by the fact that this man was so cruel. I don't know why I expected any less.

The following day it was business as usual except I made sure I wasn't in view when i was watching them rehearse. I peered around the window and watched as the pre-recorded piano filled the studio. I didn't think he would notice, but somehow he did. Over the next few days i was finding things that had never been there before, knocked over equipment, garbage bins that had been tipped over, even writing in the bathroom specifically calling me out for being a creep. I didn't know what to do except talk to him.

So, rehearsal finished on the day I had enough and I walked right up to him. The room cleared quickly and we were left alone. He was shirtless except for a pair of black shorts cut to leave nothing to the imagination. He smirked when I stopped in front of him.

"What did I do to you?" I asked.

"You're just creepy." He rolled his eyes and started walking away from me.

"Don't walk away when I'm talking to you." I pulled his arm. I regretted it immediately. I wasn't sure what came over me.

"Don't fucking touch me. You're nothing and you always will be." He spit on the ground. "Now clean that up." My face got so hot that I thought steam would come out of my ears or my eyes would burst inside their sockets, but instead everything went black. When I finally came to I was looking at the dancer on the ground with blank eyes. I didn't know what happened, but from what I could tell I must have pushed him too hard and he knocked out.

I checked for a pulse. Nothing.

"Fuck fuck fuck!" I made sure no one had seen anything before I tried making a plan. Do I call the police? I could say he fell. But he's a dancer, he's supposed to have excellent balance. They would never believe me.

While I was panicking, his body started to move behind me. His chest puffed up and his mouth opened and snapped shut. His fingers curled just as his arms would twist and I finally turned around to him standing up.

"Holy shit are you okay?" I was reaching out to him, but he just gasped as he looked down at himself. Was he admiring his body? Maybe he had a concussion.

"It feels so good to be alive again." He went from checking himself out to doing stretches. Arms extending across his body, legs jumping and finally a roll of his neck. Something popped back into place just as he locked eyes with me.

"What's happening?" I was confused. Still panicking because of the assault charges that might come my way. Maybe he didn't remember?

"I'm sorry about the way he treated you. You didn't deserve that all." He reached his hand out and gently caressed my arm.

"He? What do you mean?"

"Oh. That little burst of anger was super helpful. When he knocked out it gave me full access to his body. You see, I've been watching you for a while now. I'm an old dance instructor here. Years ago now. Too many. I always thought dancing was for everyone no matter how you looked." He was standing oddly close and this sudden change in attitude was alarming albeit much more flattering.

"I think you may have hit your head a little hard. I'll call someone." I said, turning away. I felt him grab my hand and then pull me towards him.

"It's been so long since I've felt another person. I love a man with some meat on his bones." He was staring into my eyes as I looked down at him and I was definitely starting to tent my work pants.

"What's happening?"

"I'm dead! Well not anymore thanks to you. That's what I've been trying to say. He died and I took his place. Honestly it works out for all of us. You don't go to jail for murder, I get a new body, and the world no longer has an asshole running around. Especially packing a weapon like this." He had pulled open his shorts and was now staring inside.

"I think maybe I should go." I said. I wasn't confused anymore, maybe a little frightened.

"I think you should get to use this body just like I am going to. A nice reward for putting up with his shit. He really treated you like dirt." He looked down again, distracted momentarily by his bouncing pecs. His eyes darted to my hands and he reached out and grabbed them, cupping his bulge with my fingers. I didn't pull away, I was too enthralled with this new person.

"I think I'd like that." I said, my fingers squeezing. He enjoyed that.

"Maybe we can hang around each other. Like I said. I love a man with some meat." He reached down and grabbed my cock, but I knew he just meant me. I stumbled backwards when he pushed into me, my back hitting the mirrors. We were suddenly swept up in touching each other, his hands sliding up my shirt while my hands slide along his body. We were both admiring each other, something he probably wouldn't have done without this new entity controlling him. I definitely didn't mind, especially when his hand slipped into my pants and started squeezing my cock.

"Are you two okay?" The voice came from the door, it was a stage manager. I pushed him off the moment I heard her.

"Yeah, just clearing things up." I said. This seemed to appease her because she squinted with her thick black binder and disappeared out the door. I sighed in relief and looked at the dancer.

"What even is your name?" I asked.

"I used to be called Franklin. Last name Frick. From what I can tell my new name is Peter. I kind of like it." He flexed again.

"Well, I'm Mitch. Nice to meet you." I held out my hand. I wasn't sure why but it felt like a proper greeting.

"Oh I know. I've been watching you since you started here. I'm happy I finally get the chance to get to know you." He grabbed my hand and started pulling me out of the building. I noticed on the way way out the name of the founder of the studio, his name flashing in bold as we passed it. Franklin Frick.

[watarfallar]

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate! *holds out this post*

Grian, grinning: I have a knife! Scar: Put it down, Grian. Grian: Make me! sprints away

Grian: What's the most illegal thing you can do with one dollar? Scar: Exchange it for a hundred pennies, put them all in a sock, and then beat someone to death with it.

Scar: Can you be serious for five minutes? Grian: My record is four, but I think I can do it.

Scar: Are you an F5 key? Because that ass is refreshing. Grian: Are you a software update? because not right now.

Grian: Hey, can you do me a favor? Scar: Sorry, I have to go do literally anything other than this. Grian: You don’t even have a legitimate reason? Scar: Oh, no, I do. Grian: Well, what is it? Scar: You see, I simply don’t give a fuck.

Grian, holding a box of Lunchables: Ah, I loved these when I was your age… fine dining. Scar: Fix yourself.

Scar: Okay, help me, please! Grian: Got two words for you. Scar: I bet they won't be helpful. Grian: Your problem. Scar: I was right.

Grian: Can I borrow five dollars? Scar: If you’re only borrowing it, does that mean you’ll pay me back? Grian: Of course. Grian: Not directly, but with my love and affection. Scar: So that’s a no.

Grian: Wow, did you hear that voice crack? Scar: That wasn't a voice crack, that was a whole voice meth.

Scar: …My man Grian just killed a goldfish. Grian: licking their lips Yup. Delicious.

Scar: I just got the best idea I've ever had in my entire life! Later Grian, to Scar: That was the worst idea you’ve ever had in your entire life.

Scar: Grian, you need to calm down. Grian, slamming their fists on the table: BUT HOW CAN IT BE "BIRTHDAY CAKE" FLAVOR IF A BIRTHDAY CAKE CAN BE ANY FLAVOR?!

Scar: I’m proud to say I’ve come over my fear of ghosts! Grian: Eyy, that’s the spirit! Scar: gasps whErE???!!!??

Scar: So you're looking for information on this thing, huh? Well, I feel like it must be from far away. Grian: What makes you say that? Scar: If it's something even I don't know about, then I'm sure nobody else must have a clue. So it's gotta be from some faraway place. Impeccable reasoning, isn't it? Grian: Scar… You don't have a clue about this thing, do you? Scar: screams in anger

Grian: Scar, you look deep in thought. What’s wrong? Scar: Did you know you can look at any object and know what it’s like to lick it? Even if you’ve never touched it before? Grian: I’m never asking you anything ever again.

Grian, looking at their reflection: Now, that's rubbish. Who's that supposed to be? Scar: Well, that's you. Grian: Me?! Is that what I look like? Scar: You don't know? Grian: Busy day.

Grian: Good morning! Scar: Is it? Is it really?

Grian: Urrrgh…I’ve never felt so sick in my entire life… Scar: Ouch. Shit sucks, man. Grian: I feel like I’m dying… Whyyyy… Scar, under their breath: Because I want to go back to some peace and quiet in this house. Grian:,/b> …DID YOU FUCKING POISON ME-

Scar: Pick a card, any card. Grian: Fine. Scar: Wait, that's my credit card! Grian: You said any card.

Scar: I’m going to get so much done today. Grian: I’ll hold you to that. 8 hours later Grian: So how much did you get done? Scar: One thing. Grian: Well, that’s one more than usual.

Scar: I wouldn’t put it in those words exactly. Grian: Why not? Scar: Because I don't know what they mean.

Scar: When did you become a hero? Grian: Um… the moment I saved you from getting killed. Scar: You’re the last person on earth I wanted to rescue me. Grian: Well… sucks to be you, don’t it.

Grian: You’re a horrible person! Scar: Maybe. But I’m rich and I’m pretty, so it doesn’t really matter.

Grian: Pulls a glass a water from out of nowhere Scar: Where did you get that? Grian: My pocket. Scar: How do you keep a glass of water in your pocket? Grian: Skills.

Scar with a gun to Grian's head: What happens if I pull this trigger? Heaven? Grian: Bold of you to assume I'll go to Heaven.

Scar: That sounds super! Doesn’t that sound super, Grian? Grian: No. Scar: I think I speak for Grian when I say it sounds really super.

Scar: Are pigeons drones? Grian: What? No, I'm trying to sleep. Scar: Think about it. How come you've never seen a baby pigeon? And why do you never actually see a pigeon nest? Because they're DRONES! Grian: Crying Please let me sleep…

[midnight-mourning]

He’s a Little Confused but He's Got the Holiday Spirit

Hello! As the title implies, it's time for this to become a fic, for those that don't know, I wrote a prompt response that's basically a christmas au of confused spirit (curtosey of @divinit3a) and it was so good that I decided to make a full fic for it. this post contains the basic info of the fic, some lovely designs brought to life by Pom and will include links to each chapter as it posts ^_^

There's also a little poll at the end to vote on the title if you'd like to participate~

The Plot:

You're a blacksmith/animatronic technican in a small, mountain village, known far and wide across the kingdom for it's holiday decorations and delight. So much so that the royal family themselves visit yearly to partake in the festivities.

However, due to some recent threats and strange has happenings, there's much more security this year, and among that security is two royal guards who seem keenly interested in keeping you from investigating too far into the matter. And you, they're also interested in you.

The Characters:

Y/N - You! With the same personality, motivations, and goals as Y/N from Confused Spirit, and with a similar job as well. You run a shop in town with a small team of smithies, tinkerers, and inventors at your side. (I don't have a design currently but imagine a the most androgynous blacksmith/medival peasent outfit ever <33)

Sun & Moon - The two guards that have been meddling in your affairs. Though, given they've been a surprising help with your siblings, you can't say much. Also with the same personalities, and characteristics as Confused Spirit. However, they're motivations and goals are different and do not reflect their CS counterparts. Meaning, anything discovered about these two does not apply to or justify any actions taken by them in CS. Designs below are by Pom who brought my vision to life <3333

The Shop Crew - the parts & infastructure team from CS! with an adjustment here or there :)

Melissa & Gabriel - Your siblings. Still adorable. And still a menace.

All others - You'll just have to see :) There is some overlap from CS, such as Abby as some already know, among many more

Where to read:

I'll be posting these to tumblr & ao3! Tumblr first/only (until I can think up a title) but then I'll also have it on ao3 for better reading bc these will be long chapters.

Speaking of, there will be seven chapters total, including the one I've already posted!

Timeline:

Honestly want to tell y'all i'll be sharing a chapter every day or so, but after the disaster that was me last week with feeling unwell and getting behind, I'll just say, she'll be posted completely hopefully before my break is over 😅

Title (and tagging):

While I admit it WOULD be funny to just name it Holiday Spirit, I'm gonna let y'all decide for sure. I'll leave the poll up for a week since I'm not in a rush to post to ao3 (and I unfortunately doubt I'll have it done in a week lmao) everything related to it though will be tagged with #HS! au as the au is called Holiday Spirit, this is just for fun pretty much

Links will be posted here once I start uploading! Should start tomorrow hopefully ^-^

EDIT: messed up the poll, so sorry >_< if you already voted and it said 1 day pls vote again shkjdf

Tag list for the usuals (if you would like added, see this post for more info):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8

@luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @amarynthian-chronicles

@robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva

@juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml

[the-teufort-nine]

Okay so I don’t know if you do part 2 requests…but if you do, an aftermath thing of the respawn fic would be sooo good.

I’m thinking it could be something w the ride home, or the few days after everyone gets home or maybe just the months after? And how the mercs treat the Chemist until everything is “normal” again?

If you don’t do part 2 requests that’s just fine!

The story is soooo good omg!!!

The Chemist Reader is back! This is part 2... OF THREE! That's right, I'm doing one more gn!Chem reader fic to finish off this little series. For now though, enjoy just over 9000 words of BLU Chemist and their attempt to get home!

Mercs x GN!Reader | Respawn Malfunction PART 2: The Long Way Home

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ Hurt/Comfort, Team Bonding | SFW, but it veers into talking about NSFW topics near the middle-ish to end| Cw: starvation, temp character death (yes, again!), vomiting, mentions of graphic death, mention of attempted date rape (nothing happens!!), self deprecation ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Featuring:

Everyone! Even Miss Pauling is here! Plus, a familiar, friendly(?) face at the end...

Scenario: After getting rescued from their unfortunate Respawn spot, the BLU Chemist embarks on a road trip back to New Mexico with their team. Everyone wants their attention it seems, but are they really worth all this fuss?

The smell of Engineer’s truck was very similar to that of his workshop; leather, oil, and coffee permeated the air, settling over you like a well-loved blanket. It was a stark contrast from the bitter, sterile cold air of the base you’d ended up in, which was far behind you now. You’d woken up a short time ago, content to simply look out the window in comfortable silence while Engineer drove. You lifted your head from its place on your seatbelt as you felt the vehicle begin to slow, arching a sleepy brow at Engineer. The Texan lifted up his goggles and gave you a comforting smile as he continued to park his truck.

“We’re makin’ a rest stop. You up fer some McDonalds?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

Predictably, you perked up, blanket slipping off your shoulders as you sat up straighter. Fast food had become a rare treat during your time working for Mann Co., and you weren’t about to pass on this opportunity. Engineer chuckled at your reaction and reached over to pat your leg.

“That’s what ah’ thought. Now, you stay right there, and ah’ll go ‘n grab ‘ya somethin’ tah eat.” Engineer said, before opening his door and stepping out into the darkness of the early morning.

As you busied yourself with readjusting your blanket, the door opened again, but it wasn’t Engineer slipping into the seat this time.

“Morning, sunshine!” Soldier greeted, pushing up his helmet slightly to look at you, “The grease monkey has tasked me with guarding you while the others retrieve breakfast!”

“Yeah? Well, I feel safer already.” You replied kindly, before yawning, “No one is dumb enough to mess with you, Sol.”

The man grinned and cracked his knuckles. “If you were not so weak, I would welcome the challenge! I have the strength of a thousand eagles coursing through my veins!”

You glanced down at your arms, missing the muscle that used to be there. You could barely hold the thermos Sniper had given you, let alone any sort of weapon. “Heh, yeah… guess I’m not going to be very useful for a while, huh?”

Soldier’s grin fell as he picked up on your despondent tone. Though he was far from being the smartest man on the team, even he could see that you were feeling upset. He looked at you, really looked at you, and realized that you were even frailer than he’d thought. You looked as though you were one strong breeze away from toppling over, and a surge of protectiveness shot through him. He’d failed you once, but he’d be damned if he allowed you to be hurt again.

“Wipe that sorry look off your face, maggot!” He lightly tapped you on the head, exercising more restraint than he ever had before, “We are a TEAM, and that means that we look out for one another! We will cover for your weaknesses until you have all your glorious strength returned to you, and you WILL get strong again!”

Soldier pushed a finger into your chest lightly, the pressure barely noticeable through your blanket and uniform. “You stared God in the face and then kicked him in the nuts! You clawed your way back from death and made Respawn spit you back out! The RED team will be crapping in their pants at the mere sight of you! Sun Tzu himself would be proud of you, son, and I am proud to call you my friend and teammate!”

Your vision went blurry as fat tears started to form in the corners of your eyes, but you were smiling as you wiped them away. That was probably the nicest thing anyone had ever said to you, even if it was more shouted than said.

“Thanks, Solly.” You sniffed, giving your friend the best smile you could manage, which prompted him to shuffle closer and throw an arm around you, drawing you into his side.

You let your head rest on the space just above his breast, turning slightly so your cheek was pressed against his jacket. He shifted his hold, letting his arm curl around your midsection as you made yourself comfortable. Soldier reached up and took his helmet off, setting it aside for now. Normally, he’d be loathe to leave himself so vulnerable, but he needed to prioritize your safety, which meant insuring that he had the best possible range of vision. What if some communist bastard, or, God forbid, a member of the RED team tried to sneak up on you two? He needed to be prepared!

It was just a little hard to give his surroundings his full attention, though, when he had you resting on his chest. Normally, any kind of touch he got was rough, even if it was a friendly shove or tight, squeezing side hug. This, however, was different; soft and warm and different in a good way. You were totally relaxed, letting your eyes slowly shut as you sighed contently, grateful for the extra warmth. You felt very small in his hold, and that fact made Soldier's stomach flip flop about. On one hand, it was pleasing to know that you felt comfortable enough to fall asleep next to him while you were like this, trusting that he would keep you safe. On the other hand, it was almost terrifying to realize how vulnerable you were in that moment, how easily he could feel bone, where there had once been a healthy amount of fat and muscle. He was used to seeing you as a strong, capable fighter, and while he was sure you could still whip up one of your crazy little mixtures that made people’s faces melt off, you wouldn’t have the strength to use it.

Well, he supposed he’d just have to throw it for you.

Lost in thought, he missed Engineer’s approach, and startled when the driver side door suddenly opened. He cocked his free arm back instinctively, but just as quickly lowered it when he saw Engineer, who was holding an armful of drinks, fries, and hamburgers. The goggle-wearing man chuckled quietly when he saw the situation his normally gruff teammate was in.

You were halfway wrapped around him, cuddling up close in your sleep. Soldier had allowed you to position yourself how you wanted, and you had all but put yourself in his lap, tucking yourself beneath his chin and nuzzling against the collar of his uniform. He awkwardly lifted you up, shuffling into the passenger seat as Engineer slid into the truck next to him, setting down the food wherever there was free space.

“Looks like someone found a comfortable spot, huh?” He joked, unwrapping a cheeseburger and handing it to Soldier, who bit into it hungrily, “Can’t exactly blame ‘em for wantin’ a warm place to sleep, ‘specially after what they’ve been through.”

Soldier hummed in agreement as he swallowed. “I want to let them sleep, but I also want them to eat. They're… worse than I realized.”

Engineer frowned. “Ah know what ‘ya mean, Solly, but the Doc says we gotta be real careful about how much we let ‘em eat at first.”

“What? Why?”

“ ‘Parently their body is gonna need time to readjust to havin’ food in it, and if they eat too much, they'll just throw it right back up.” Engineer explained, “Really, we should be givin’ em a protein shake or somethin’, but ah think they'd choke me out if ah told ‘em they were gettin’ McDonald's, and then didn't give it to ‘em.”

Soldier snorted at the mental image of you grappling with the Texan, but froze up when you groaned and shifted, eyes blinking open. You yawned and rubbed at your eyes, before freezing right alongside your friend when you realized the position you were in. You blushed and leapt back as far as you could go, cursing when the back of your head smacked against the windshield. 

“SHIT!” You yelped, grabbing onto your aching skull as your vision faded in and out. A rush of nausea started tumbling up from your guts, and you all but vaulted yourself out of the car as coffee and hot bile splashed up out of your throat and onto the dusty parking lot ground below.

You gagged and spat, wavering in place as you fought to stay upright. Hands were suddenly on your back, steadying you and at the same time soothing you. The rough voice of your only Australian teammate reached your ears over the sound of your vomiting, and you instinctively leaned into his touch, grateful for the support.

“There ‘ya go mate, get it all out.” Sniper said softly, rubbing the space between your shoulder blades. “I'm surprised ‘ya made it this long without sickin’ up.”

“They alright?!” Engineer called from behind you, a tinge of panic in his voice.

“Yeah, just got a bit of an upset stomach!” Sniper called back, wrapping an arm around you as you finally finished getting everything out of your system. “Come on then, let's getcha’ lyin’ down, yeah?”

“But I'm hungry.” You whined, feeling your stomach growl at the loss of what little sustenance your coffee had provided.

“I know, Roo. I know.” Sniper said sympathetically, “But if ‘ya eat somethin’ now, yer just gonna yack it back up again.”

You grumbled and wiped at your mouth, straightening up as best you could as Sniper led you to his van. By this point, the others had returned from their journey to the holy golden arches, and had realized something was wrong. Scout, who was midway through his second hamburger, almost dropped the damn thing as he rushed over to your side.

“Woah, what the hell happened? I thought they was takin' a nap?” He frowned, before reaching over to fix a part of your uniform that had become uncomfortably tucked, “Yo, Chem, not to be rude or nothin’, but you seriously look like crap. You feelin’ alright?”

“Clearly not, garçon stupide.” Spy suddenly materialized from the darkness of the early morning, a cigarette in his mouth and a sneer on his face, “And I'm sure your incessant yapping isn't helping.”

“Your bloody second hand smoke ain't doin’ wonders either, Spook, so shut yer mouth.” Sniper growled, both to defend his friend and to piss off his teammate. 

“Chemist, would you like to come and ride in style for a while? I assure you that it will be more comfortable than the laborer’s rusted box on wheels.” Spy asked you, pointedly ignoring both Sniper's statement and Engineer's affronted yell.

You thought for a moment, considering your options. You were probably less likely to make a fool of yourself in Spy's presence, especially since you were sure the man wouldn't tolerate your strangely intense need to be close to someone, but on the other hand…

“Can I eat my McDonald's in the car?” You asked finally. Spy wrinkled his nose.

“That disgusting American grease slop? Absolutely not.”

“I'm going with Sniper.” You said immediately, allowing yourself to be led away by the marksman, who was grinning in a borderline feral way at the stunned Frenchman. 

Sniper showed him a very specific, very unkind hand gesture as he helped you up into his camper van. Heavy was sitting in the passenger seat, munching on a box of fries that you would kill a man to have right now. Demo was lounging on one of the kitchen chairs, but sat up when he saw you and Sniper approach. 

“Finally managed to steal ‘em away from Engie and Solly, eh Snipes?” Demo greeted, though his face fell a bit when he saw how heavily you were relying on Sniper. “Ack, what's wrong, Chem? Not feelin' too well?”

“Something like that.” You murmured, head lolling slightly. Now that a bed was in sight, another nap really didn't sound too bad.

“Here ya go mate.” Sniper gently lowered you down, making sure not to jostle you too much, “Now, I know you want yer Macca’s, but I've got some Vegemite an’ toast and some hot lemon with Manuka honey that you can have in a bit, and it'll stay down much easier, I promise. Me mum used ta give me that when I was sick, and it did wonders fer me.”

“Sounds good.” You replied, not even really taking in what he said. He was talking about giving you food, and that was all your sleepy brain needed to know.

A woolen blanket was pulled over you, and a warm, calloused hand ran itself through your hair before slowly lifting your protective goggles off your head, setting them aside somewhere. The hand returned for a moment, gently pressing against your forehead, lingering there for just a heartbeat longer than maybe it needed to, before slowly retracting. You frowned at the sudden lack of touch, but there was little you could do to call it back.

Admitting you needed it was a weakness you weren't quite ready to voice yet.

“Come on now, laddie, time to wake up. Yer breakfast is ready.”

You groaned and cracked an eye open, blinking slowly at Demo, who was sitting on the bed. You pushed yourself up, eyes gravitating towards the tray your teammate was holding. There was a plate with two warm, buttered slices of toast topped with a thin layer of Vegemite spread, cut into four individual triangles, and a mug of what smelled like lemon and honey, just as Sniper had promised.

“Can I please eat that?” You begged, uncaring of how desperate it made you sound.

“Well, it ain't for ye to look at.” Demo joked, startling slightly as you snatched a piece of toast and practically all shoved it into your mouth. “Jesus! Slow down there, Chem! You'll make yerself sick again.”

You growled at the demolition expert, baring your teeth when he moved to try and reach for your hand. You hadn't eaten in nearly two days, your body had been robbed of anything it could feed off of, and Demo wanted you to slow down?

Hah, fat chance.

The Scot held his hands up in surrender, knowing a post cause when he saw one. Also, he didn't feel like losing a hand, not when Medic was riding in a different car.

You scarfed down the Vegemite toast, your body rejoicing as precious, precious salt finally entered your mouth. Normally, you'd turn your nose up at the salty spread, but at that moment, that piece of toast may as well have been a gift from God himself.

If you threw this up, you were actually going to cry.

With that thought in mind, you slowed down, taking the time to carefully chew your mouthful before swallowing. You let what you ate settle before you dared to try and ingest anything else. When your stomach didn't turn, you reached for the mug, blowing lightly on the liquid before taking a tentative sip.

It was very warm, but not so hot that you couldn't drink it. The lemon washed away the awful taste of vomit that lingered in your mouth, and the honey soothed your dry throat like nothing else. You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to bask in the warmth and comfort.

“Holy shit,” you croaked, setting the mug down as you turned to face Demo, “that tasted so good. We need to have Sniper make dinner more often or something, because he clearly knows what he's doing.”

“He said his mum taught him how to make it, and mums always know how to make somethin’ that makes ‘ya feel better.” Demo said, handing you another slice, “Now, slowly this time. I mean it! ‘Ya looked like a bloody wild dog just now.”

“Cut me some slack, D, I'm literally starving over here.” You said as you bit into the toast, “I think I'm allowed to have some bad table manners, yeah?”

“Aye, I suppose ‘ya got me there.” Demo conceded, though he still looked concerned, “ ‘m just worried about ye throwing it up before yer body can digest it.”

You nodded, chewing and swallowing what was in your mouth before replying.

“I know. I don't wanna puke again either. It's just-” You took in a breath, ignoring how even that simple action was harder than usual, “I'm so fucking hungry. I feel like my stomach is going to burn right through my abdomen, but I know I can't eat too much too quickly, or I'll just be sick again.”

Demo patted your shoulder, giving you a pitying look. “It'll be alright, Chem. The hard part’s already over. Ye survived the impossible and made it back to us, now it's our turn to help ya get back to yer old self.”

“Yeah.” You said quietly, looking at your reflection in the mug’s liquid. A gaunt, pale mockery of your face stared back. You could hardly even recognize yourself, and a small, dark part of yourself wondered if you ever would again.

“My old self.”

The next time you all stopped, it was well into mid morning. Sniper had pulled into the parking lot of a motel, Spy and Engineer following after him. Apparently, the only people with valid driver's licenses were you, Sniper, Engineer, Spy, and Miss Pauling, and you were all either exhausted or in no condition to be driving. Therefore, you were booking rooms at this dinky little motel so that they could rest and not kill all of you by falling asleep at the wheel.

It was Heavy that led you into the building, letting you lean against him for support. He’d offered to carry you, but you wanted to preserve some sense of dignity, if you could help it. Also, you figured it might upset your team further if they thought you couldn’t even walk. Pyro already looked ready to pounce everytime you wobbled, and you weren’t oblivious to the concerned looks Engineer and Spy were giving you.

“маленький химик will be staying with Doktor. He wants to do check up, to make sure there is not any hidden problems.” Heavy explained, before lowering his voice, “Heavy knows you are tired, but please go along with it. Doktor is very worried, even if he does not say it.”

“Don’t worry, Heavy, I’ll behave.” You promised, “I could do with sleeping a little less anyway. 

Heavy nodded and led you to your room, handing you the key for it. You unlocked the door and pushed it open, smiling at Medic, who was unpacking various syringes and pills from a bag and placing them next to his Medigun.

“Ah, Heavy, Chemist, right on time!” he greeted, walking over to you two. 

Quick as a whip, he pulled up your sleeve and injected you with a clear liquid. You yipped in surprise, rubbing the sore area as he withdrew the needle. “Ouch! What the hell was that?!”

“Magnesium Sulfate!” he replied cheerily. “I also have a shot of Thiamine and Potassium I need to administer before I give jou more vitamin tablets.”

“Couldn’t I just have taken a magnesium tablet?” You questioned in a deadpan voice, unnamused with your colleague’s method of getting you to take your vitamins. Heavy patted your shoulder one more time before leaving the room, likely to go and find his own.

“Ja, but zhis is much quicker, und I know it vill actually stay in jour body.” Medic waved one hand animatedly, the other one reaching for another syringe, “Herr Sniper told me jou vomited earlier, und that jou didn’t finish your breakfast.”

“I couldn’t. I felt full after two slices of toast and a couple of sips of my drink.” You groaned, flopping down onto your bed, “I didn’t even get to have my cheeseburger. It’ll be all cold and gross now.”

“I’m sure jou vill have another chance to get one.” Medic comforted as he jabbed your arm with another needle. You winced, but said nothing. “Ve are still about 10 hours away from zhe base.”

“We are?” You asked, sitting up abruptly, “Jesus, how far out was I?”

“The base jou respawned in was in Montana. Currently, ve’re somewhere in Wyoming.” Medic rubbed his chin, thinking, “To be honest, I have no idea how or vhy jou ended up so far away. Jou should have respawned in a much closer location, or not at all!”

“Yeah, it doesn’t make much sense to me, either.” You said, rolling up your other sleeve as Medic produced the final shot, “Maybe that one was the last one that was activated? Are there… are there other RED and BLU teams that use them?”

Medic paused, considering.

“I… am not sure.” he said finally, gently taking your offered arm into his hands as he pressed the needle into your skin, “I haven’t heard of any other teams, but I suppose it's possible. It's as good an explanation as any.”

“Well, I’m glad it brought me back.” You said, glancing up at Medic, “I gotta admit, I was shocked to see you guys. I can’t believe you all drove to Montana just for me, especially Miss Pauling.”

“Vell, vhy vouldn’t ve? Jou vould do the same for any of us, ja?” Medic asked, putting a bandage over your injection sites.

“Well, yeah, of course.” You replied quickly, “But, wouldn’t it have been easier to just… get a new Chemist?”

Your eyes had flicked towards the floor, so you didn’t see the way Medic tensed up. The German curled his hands into fists for a few seconds as he took a deep, calming breath. “Vhat do you mean?”

“Well, there’s not really anything special about me. I mean, Scout can run faster than anyone, Soldier is completely fearless, Heavy is, like, the strongest guy ever, Sniper could shoot a bat out of the night sky, Pyro makes even the toughest men afraid just by breathing near them, Demo can make crazy explosives, Engie can make anything, Spy can be anyone, and you can successfully play God on a daily basis!” You said, listing off everyone’s skills, “And then there’s… me. I mix chemicals and throw them at people. Pretty much anyone could do my job.”

“Jou believe jourself to be disposable.”

You cringed slightly at Medic’s cold tone. “I guess. I might have said it in a nicer way, though.”

You watched as Medic took a deep breath in, said something quietly under his breath in German, and then walked over to his bag and retrieved a few vitamins before striding back over to you.

“Take zhese, und don’t move. I vill be back.” he said, before exiting the room.

You tilted your head and frowned as Medic closed the door behind him. You felt as though you had upset your teammate, but you weren’t exactly sure how. Nothing you said had been untrue, after all.

Popping the tablets into your mouth, you made yourself comfortable, positioning your pillows so they supported your back as you lay down. The covers of the bed were cheap and scratchy, but the room was slowly warming up, and you could deal with a little discomfort. After an embarrassing amount of time and effort, you managed to wiggle your way under the blankets. A TV sat on the dresser on the other side of the room, but you couldn’t see the remote for it anywhere. You’d have to ask Medic if he’d seen it when he came back from wherever it was he’d wandered off to.

About 10 minutes passed, and you were, annoyingly, beginning to nod off again, when suddenly your door opened once more. You leaned forward, eyes widening when you realized that everyone was walking into your room. 

Soldier and Demo came in first, making themselves at home at the foot of your bed. Scout, a very tired Miss Pauling, and Pyro came in next. Scout was quick to drape himself across the middle of your bed like a cat, while Pyro flopped down next to you.

Apparently, your bed was the best seat in the house to your teammates.

Sniper and Spy followed after them, both exhausted men scowling at each other but refusing to disperse too far into the room, both of them determined to stay near you. Engineer, who was holding a cup of shitty motel coffee, claimed one of the plush, cigarette-scented seats that sat in the room’s corners after he walked in. Finally, Heavy and Medic entered, with Heavy moving over to sit on his companion’s bed. The large man shot you a questioning look, but all you could offer him was an equally confused shrug. You didn’t know what was going on.

“Docteur, I assume you have a reason for interrupting our rest so early into our stay?” Spy groused, reaching for his cigarettes.

“Of course, Herr Spy.” Medic replied, before turning to Miss Pauling, “Fräulein Pauling, vhy did you go to retrieve our Chemist?”

Everyone in the room turned to look at Medic with a look of confusion. Why would the doctor ask such a thing?

“Wh- because they needed help?” the raven haired woman waved her hands around, “Why wouldn’t I go get them?”

“Vould it not simply be easier for us to let zhem die und replace zhem?” Medic asked, and you winced slightly, hearing your own question spoken in such a way. You hadn’t used the word ‘die,’ but it had been implied.

At Medic’s words, the room erupted into noise, your team wasting no time in jumping to your defense.

“Yo, Doc, what da hell?!” Scout shouted, pushing himself up. He quickly turned towards you, holding his hands up, “Don’t listen to that guy, Chem. He must’a taken too much of his own stock.”

“Now where the hell is this comin’ from?” Engineer spat, roughly slamming down his coffee. “We would never just- just replace Chem! ‘Specially not when we knew they were alive!”

The other mercenaries shouted out various forms of agreement, some of them looking just about ready to jump the man.

“Doktor spent many nights contemplating shredding application forms for new Chemist.” Heavy added, sending his friend a questioning yet stern look, “You should explain yourself, старый друг.”

“I vas simply asking questions zhat our Chemist asked me only a few moments ago.” Medic replied calmly, clasping his hands behind his back. “It seems as zhough they believe zhemself to be disposable, zhat zhey did not deserve to be saved, because zhey believe zhat ve could replace zhem easily.”

The eyes that had been on Medic shifted to look towards you, and you shrank down as much as possible. You would have felt more comfortable if they’d pointed a loaded gun at your head.

“Chemist,” Miss Pauling started, “do you know why the Administrator sent me to recruit you?”

You shook your head.

“Well, the first reason is because the DNA sample I took from you proved that you were Respawn compatible.” she started, pressing her hands together, “The second reason is because when you saw some guy trying to roofie me in a bar, you stole his drink, spiked it with a specialized mixture that you created, and then you convinced him to chug it by betting him five bucks that he couldn’t. Do you remember what happened next?”

“He went to the bathroom because he didn’t feel good.” You recalled with a smile, “Then he melted.”

“Yeah, because you spiked his drink with something that, upon contact with stomach acid, turned into fluoroantimonic acid!” Miss Pauling exclaimed, “A regular person could never do that! Hell, even an experienced chemist couldn’t do half the things you do!”

“Jesus Lord Almighty!” Engineer chuckled, pushing up his goggles to look you in the eye, “Remind me to never make you angry.”

“Point is,” Miss Pauling drew your attention back to her, “You are not disposable. It would be easier to clone you then it would be to replace you, because you are smart, talented, and just as batshit insane as the rest of these bloodthirsty lunatics. No offence, guys.”

Your team nodded along with her words, giving you reassuring looks.

“She’s right! Yer absolutely cracked, but yer one of us!” Demo crowed, lifting his Scrumpy bottle to toast you.

“HUDAH HUDAH HUDAH!” Pyro cheered, wrapping you up in a warm, tight hug. You grinned and shoved your face into their shoulder, tears wetting your eyes as you nuzzled the blue material.

“Congratulations, you have learned what everyone here already knew.” Spy said, patting you lightly on the back as you lifted your head to peek back at him, “I will be taking my leave now. Do not wake me again unless zhe building is on fire.”

“I hate to agree with Spoi, but, yeah,” Sniper nodded, reaching over to ruffle your hair, “I’m about to drop ‘mself. I’ll see you all at dinnah.”

“Ah’ll see m’self out as well.” Engineer said, getting to his feet, “Get some rest, darl’. We’ll get you somethin’ decent fer dinner.”

“Any chance we can have a sleepovah, Doc?” Scout asked, breaking out the puppy dog eyes.

“Nein.” Medic said firmly, planting his hands on his hips. 

“Worth a shot.” Scout sighed, giving you a fistbump as he slid off the bed. “Ey, Chem, no more talkin’ crap about my best friend, or I’m gonna have to lay down the hurt, understand?”

“YES!” Soldier agreed loudly, “IF I HEAR YOU PUTTING YOURSELF DOWN AGAIN, I WILL BEAT THE CRAP OUTTA YOU! DO YOU UNDERSTAND!”

“Yes sir.” You replied, giving him a salute as Pyro reluctantly pulled away. They reached into one of their pockets and withdrew a box of matches that had been decorated with crayon. Pyro tucked it into your hands and pressed their gasmask against your head in an almost kiss-like way.

The rest of the team and Miss Pauling shuffled out of the room one by one, each of them waving goodbye or acknowledging you in some way before they left. Medic fixed you with a kind, if mildly smug look as the last of your team left.

“Do jou still see jourself as disposable, mein Chemiker?”

You didn’t quite understand what his last words had been, but you managed to infer that he was saying your name, so you nodded, smiling. “No. Not at all.”

Medic matched your grin with one of his own, though the doctor’s showed far more teeth. “Wunderbar! Now, let’s get zhe rest of zhose vitamins in jou! Ve have so many to get zhrough!”

By the time dinner had rolled around and your team had started to wake up, Medic had given you enough vitamins and nutrient boosters to kill an elephant. He’d also done a thorough examination of your insides, which included him setting the Medigun to low, switching it to automatic mode, and cutting you open from collarbone to pelvis. He had been quite happy to inform you that your organs had not been affected by your turbulent trip through Respawn.

Thank God you’d insisted on laying in the bathtub.

Engineer had knocked on your door as you were finishing getting dressed, and when you opened it, the Southerner revealed that he had gone out and found you something that you could both eat and that wouldn’t taste like garbage.

“It ain’t smoked brisket ‘n biscuits,” he commented as he set down a banana smoothie and a small fillet of salmon, “but I reckon it’ll do.”

“Engie, I could kiss you right now.” You warbled, close to crying.

The man flushed scarlet and rubbed at the back of his neck, but you were too focused on the food to notice. Engineer and Medic stepped out to get their own dinners, leaving you to enjoy yours. 

The salmon was still warm, seasoned with a pinch of salt and a squeeze of lemon, and it yielded easily to your plastic fork. It went down easily and, more importantly, stayed down, even when you started to tentatively sip the banana smoothie. The smoothie was cold, smooth, and probably loaded in things that were good for you.

“I see zhat zhe laborer has finally managed to procure you a decent meal.”

You jumped slightly, scrambling to catch your drink as it slipped from your grip. Spy leaned against your doorway, arms crossed in a casual way as he watched you eat. He looked much more rested, the bags around his eyes having retreated.

“Do you feel sick at all?” he asked, arching a brow.

You shook your head. “Nah, Medic loaded me up with some stuff that's supposed to help me keep food down. You’d have to ask him exactly what it was, though.”

“Perhaps I shall.” Spy replied, “Come, mon féroce petit scorpion, you can finish your drink in zhe car.”

“But I thought I wasn’t allowed to have food in your car?” You questioned, wiggling forward towards the edge of your bed.

“I will make an allowance, just zhis once.” The masked man said, offering you his arm.

“Don’t want Sniper to scoop me up again?” You teased.

Spy’s nose wrinkled in displeasure. “Non. Zhe bushman does not look as zhough he got an adequate amount of sleep, and I will not risk your safety when we just got you back.”

“Awww,” you cooed, causing Spy to jerk his head away in embarrassment, “you big softie. I knew you loved me.”

“Dieu, sauve-moi de ma grande gueule et de mon cœur faible.” Spy muttered, pressing his free hand to his head.

“No idea what you just said there, pal.”

“Zhat is zhe point.” The Frenchman replied.

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. I’ll just get Scout to translate for me later.”

Spy shot you a confused look as you stepped outside. “Scout? Please, zhat illiterate cretin doesn’t speak French! He barely speaks English.”

“That’s what you think.” You insisted, raising your eyebrows, “I’ve heard him singing in French sometimes. Sounded to me like he knew exactly what he was saying.”

Spy’s brow furrowed, and the two of you fell into silence as he helped you to his car. 

The interior of Spy’s car was just as luxurious as you imagined. Black leather seats were warm beneath your touch, and it was kept immaculately clean. You felt kinda bad even sitting in it, let alone bringing any kind of food or drink inside, but Spy had insisted, so you took your offered seat, which was the passenger seat.

“What kind of car is this?” You asked, carefully laying the blanket Spy had brought over your lap, just in case some of your smoothie somehow managed to leak.

“She is a Bizzarrini 5300 GT Strada.” Spy replied, reverently running a hand over the wheel as you whistled, “Gorgeous, non?”

“Absolutely.” You agreed, “I feel like I shouldn’t even be in this thing, it’s so nice.”

“You cannot possibly be a worse passenger than Scout.” Spy said, a hint of humour in his tone, “I can tell you are being careful. Relax, mon ami.”

You nodded, smiling shly.

Suddenly, the back doors opened, and Pauling, Medic, and Pyro all piled into the back.

“Herr Spy,” Medic started, “If jou wish to avoid a confrontation with Herr Sniper und Herr Engineer, I suggest jou start driving. Now. Zhey are not pleased zhat you whisked zhe Chemist away.”

“Well, zhey can, as Scout so often says,” Spy grinned sharply as the two aforementioned men burst out of the motel, yelling in the direction of the expensive car, “‘suck my dick.’”

You whooped in delight as Spy peeled out of the parking lot, laughing as a rush of wind blew against your face. Through your delighted giggles, you managed to buckle yourself in, grinning so wide your jaw ached as you saw both Sniper’s van and Engineer’s truck fly out onto the dusty road after you. Pyro laughed right alongside you, while Miss Pauling and Medic struggled to right themselves after gravity smushed the small woman into the doctor’s side.

“I didn’t know you were a speed demon!” You cheered, shouting to be heard over the wind.

“I do not often get to indulge, but,” Spy’s eyes twinkled with excitement, “yes, I do enjoy using zhe power my vehicle affords me.”

He adjusted the mirror, the orange light of the setting sun glinting in its reflection. “But even more so do I enjoy zhe thrill of a chase.”

Sure enough, both of the other vehicles were steadily gaining, and if you squinted, you could see both Sniper and Engineer gritting their teeth and glaring at Spy’s car.

“Why are they chasing us?” You questioned, confused.

“Because I have something zhey want.” Spy replied, shooting you a sideways glance, “Or, rather, someone.”

Your face suddenly felt very warm.

Maybe you had been wrong before. Maybe you really could have asked Sniper to keep his hand on your head. Maybe you didn’t have to leap off of Soldier’s lap, automatically assuming he was uncomfortable.

Maybe your teammates would be just fine with you desperately seeking their attention, their touch.

‘WOAH THERE NELLY!’ Your internal thoughts threw up a great big STOP sign, whacking you on the head with it, ‘Let’s change THAT line of thinking right now!’

Jesus Christ you needed to reread the dictionary definition of a ‘professional workplace relationship’ because clearly you had forgotten what it meant!

Quiet, ashamed, and unwillingly thinking about calloused hands brushing against your skin like some Victorian-era harlot, you returned to sipping your banana smoothie.

It was still very good. Just like the salmon Engineer had gone well out of his way to get specifically for you.

Stop stop stop stop.

Or like the blanket Spy had picked out and bought for you because he knew you would be cold, or like the hot lemon with special honey Sniper had made you, because he thought it would make you feel better.

STOP STOP STOP STOP!

‘They’re racing for you.’ A silky, pleased part of yourself whispered, ‘They’ve been fighting over your attention since you joined them, it’s just become much more obvious now. You could go right up to any of them, and they’d be more than happy to give you some attention.’

S H U T   U P

Suddenly, the car swerved, jerking you out of your inner torment. Your straw, which was still inside your mouth, jabbed into the back of your throat. You gagged on reflex, slapping a hand over your mouth as the urge to vomit washed over you. You grimaced, winced from the pain, and breathed slowly in through your nose as Spy swore out the window.

“Espèce de chauve-souris stupide et aveugle! Quittez la route avant que je décide de vous y forcer!” he snarled at a vehicle that had veered into the wrong lane, huffing as he leaned back. He glanced over at you quickly, his expression becoming more concerned when he saw the look on your face. “Y/N? Are you alright?”

You swallowed, and sighed in relief when your stomach settled again. “I’m okay. Just got a bit jostled.”

“Do you need me to stop?”

You waved Spy off. “No, I’m fine, really. Just, maybe slow down a bit? Just until we’re back in the country.”

Spy nodded and eased off the gas, Sniper and Engineer following suit.

“Zhat is probably for zhe best. Zhe last zhing we need is to start a police chase.” Spy conceded.

“Yeah, that wouldn’t be good.” You frowned, “I think at least half of us probably have warrants out for our arrest somewhere.”

“More than half.” Both Medic and Miss Pauling chimed in from the back.

You nodded, leaning back in your seat. You thought about that; about who might be wanted for what. It was a decent distraction from your previous thoughts, and you welcomed it. Turning to look out the window, you watched as the sunsetting twilight changed into a beautiful, starry night sky. Come morning, as long as things stayed on track, you’d be home.

Spoiler alert: things did not stay on track.

You had been making your way through Colorado when it happened. You and Spy had been listening to a local radio station while Pyro, Miss Pauling, and Medic snoozed in the back. You would have been asleep too, but something about the clouds that had rolled in made you nervous. Just as Spy had been reaching to change the station, a sharp, piercing alarm sounded out from the radio.

“Alert! A tornado warning is being issued for the Limon area! All residents are urged to seek shelter immediately! Please gather up all children and pets and make your way to a basement or interior room! Avoid all windows and objects that may prove hazardous if they fall! If you are in a mobile home, in a vehicle, or are outside, please make your way to the nearest secure building!”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me!” Spy gaped, looking frantically at the sky. The darkness brought an extra level of danger, and you felt your heart leap up into your throat.

“Is there even anywhere to shelter out here?!” You asked, your eyes darting about as you stuck your head out of the window. All that you could see was a flat expanse of fields that stretched out forever into the dark.

“Whuz goin’ on?” Miss Pauling groaned, rubbing at her eyes.

“Oh, nothing much.” You laughed nervously, “Just, uh, a tornado.”

“Was? Ein Tornado?” Medic said blearily, sitting up.

“Oui.” Spy confirmed grimly. He reached over to the radio and tuned it to a very specific frequency. “Bushman, laborer, I assume you have received zhe same warning?”

“Yeah mate.”

“Same here.”

“I suggest we make a break for zhe nearest town. It is only about a mile away.” Spy offered, pressing down on the gas pedal.

“Not like we got many options. We’re sittin’ ducks out here.” Engineer’s voice crackled through the car speakers. “You lead, we’ll follow.”

You put your window up and tightened your seatbelt, glancing back at the backseat passengers. “Can you guys wake Py up? We’ll wanna be ready to go once we stop.”

“Jawohl.” Medic agreed, reaching an arm behind Miss Pauling to gently nudge the firebug.

Spy treated the dark road like it was a professional racetrack, the engine of his car growling like a wild beast as he shot across the asphalt. You kept your eyes trained on the sky, cringing when a flash of lightning revealed a green sky. 

“Man, we really have just the worst luck, huh?” You muttered.

“It is starting to seem that way.” Spy growled, his gaze anxiously flicking between the road and the ever worsening sky.

“What do we do if we get to town and there’s nowhere to hide?” You asked.

“We keep driving and pray we can get ahead of the storm.”

You gulped audibly.

Soon, the silhouettes of buildings came into view. As you passed the town sign, hail started to pour down. The little pellets of ice crashed against the car, bouncing off the windshield and tumbling down the road as the wind swept them away. You peered out into the storm, searching for a suitable hiding place.

“There!” You exclaimed, pointing towards a small, rundown mechanic shop. The sign was in pieces and graffiti covered the garage door, but the building itself looked stable.

“It will have to do.” Spy said, pulling off the road.

You hopped out of the car once it came to a stop, grunting when a powerful blast of wind pushed you against the vehicle. Strong hands suddenly gripped you, and you found yourself pulled against Miss Pauling, who was going her best to dig her heels into the ground. Medic and Spy came up on either side of you, helping to buffer the wind as Pyro ran to the side door, axe in hand.

Your little group of four made it to the door just as Pyro managed to break the lock. The arsonist let you in, holding the door as the rest of your team made a run for safety. The inside of the mechanic shop was dark and dusty, but the thick concrete and steel was a source of comfort. 

“Is everyone alright?” Engineer asked, dusting hail off his shoulders.

Everyone made various noises of affirmation, fixing their own outfits and looking around the place. Scout skittered over to you and Pauling as a loud thunderclap rumbled outside, the runner not so subtly positioning himself next to you.

“Jeeze, you sure this place’ll hold up?” He asked, nervousness leaking into his voice.

“It’s better than being exposed outside.” Miss Pauling replied, before gently taking your hand, “Come on, Chem, let’s find somewhere to sit.”

You followed dutifully, Scout trailing along behind you. Miss Pauling managed to find some milk crates after many minutes of blindly feeling around in almost complete darkness before you remembered that you had been gifted a box of matches, and the three of you set them up in the middle of the room. You took off your blanket and shucked off your lab coat, laying them across the crates to act as a cushion. You could feel the chill of the shop creeping into your bones, but you ignored it, settling down in between Demo and Heavy. 

“We’ve got some absolutely shite luck, lads.” Demo frowned, glancing towards the barricaded side door, “We could’a been near home by mornin’ if this damn tornado hadn’t come outta bloody nowhere!”

“My thoughts exactly.” You murmured, “Hopefully it blows over soon. We don’t exactly have any supplies prepared.”

“Hrr yuh filn righh?” Pyro asked.

“Yeah, Py, I’m okay. I can’t eat for another few hours anyways.” You reassured the arsonist.

“You gonna be warm enough in here? It’s kinda chilly.” Scout said, shuffling a bit closer to Pyro, who was always a good source of heat. The pyromaniac let the runner lean on them, amusing themself by lighting matches that they kept producing from God only know where.

“I’ll be fine. I can suck it up for a bit.” You replied.

Medic tsked from somewhere to your right, and, after a few moments of shuffling, you felt something warm being draped over your shoulders. It was kind of heavy, and when Pyro lit another match, you caught a glimpse of Medic’s Class symbol on the arm.

“Thanks, Doc.” You smiled softly, slippin the coat on.

“Zhink nothing of it. Jou are lacking jour usual body fat, and thus require additional help to keep jourself warm.” Medic said matter of factly.

“Hey Chem, I can think’a somethin’ that’d help warm you up real fast.” Scout called in a teasing, flirtatious tone, the Bostonian laughing before someone’s elbow made its way into his gut at a rapid pace.

“Thanks for the offer, but I think I’d like to be fucked for longer than 30 seconds.” You shot back, smirking when a chorus of ‘Ooooohs’ sounded out from your teammates.

Scout made a ‘pshh!’ sound and crossed his arms. “Uh, first of all, it wouldn’t be ‘30 seconds’, prick, second; whaddya mean you “think” you’d wanna be fucked longer than that? You a virgin or somethin’?”

“Scout,” Spy hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “use what few brain cells you possess and display a modicum of decorum, please.”

Your face turned a lovely shade of pink as you laughed awkwardly. “Well, uh…”

“Y’ don’t have to answer him, Chem. Lord only knows that boy needs to learn to stop runnin’ his damn mouth.” Engineer added, shooting a pointed look at Scout, who threw his hands up, exasperated.

“No, it’s fine.” You rubbed at the back of your head, feeling sheepish, “I am. A virgin, I mean. People didn’t exactly want to bang the weirdo who spent most of their time putting bugs in formaldehyde and playing with a kids chemistry kit, and then I started working with you guys, soooo… yeah.”

The room fell into a tense, awkward silence, broken only by the sound of the howling wind outside.

“I would.” Soldier said suddenly.

10 heads turned towards the helmet wearing man.

“What?” he asked, not a trace of shame in his voice. “The Chemist is a brave, capable, AMERICAN teammate who I have personally witnessed melt THREE RED bastards at once! The only way they could be more attractive is if they were the Statue of Liberty itself!”

Spy started to say something, but Demo cut him off.

“I gotta agree with Solly there, lads.” He nodded sagely, “Not about the statue bit, but yer a bonnie sight, Chem.”

“Too right.” Sniper piped up, his blush almost invisible in the infrequent matchlight Pyro provided.

“Sacrebleu, are you all truly going to salivate over our Chemist like a pack of wild dogs right in front of zhem?!” Spy yelled, gesturing towards you.

You were doing your very best impression of a well cooked lobster while trying to process what was happening at the moment, and thus did not really take in his statement.

“Now Spy,” Engineer teased, pushing up his goggles slightly to fix the masked man with a knowing look, “don’t go acting like you’re any better than these boys. You’ve either been struttin’ around like a peacock or poutin’ like a kicked puppy ever since we picked Chem up, and don’t think we haven’t noticed you always makin’ sure their spice cabinet and bakin’ ingredients never get too low.”

“Zhat is because sending zhem to Teufort is a death sentence and you know it!” Spy hissed back, “Besides, are you just going to sit zhere and pretend zhat you don’t invite zhem to dinner in your sacred domain just so you can show off all your little toys?”

“Both Spy and Engineer act like school girls with first crush.” Heavy said abruptly in a flat tone. “Is embarrassing. Please stop.”

“Nein! Please continue!” Medic clapped his hands, giddy, “Jour conflict is like eine Seifenoper!”

Heavy arched a brow at the German. “Doktor is worse than them! Is always circling Chemist like shark, waiting to take bite!”

“Augh! Zhat is not true!”

The team dissolved into arguing around you, leaving you and Miss Pauling as the lone outliers. The petite woman stealthily nudged her way through the group of arguing men and Pyro and made her way over to you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“You, uh, you alright?” she asked in a low voice.

“I-” You started in a hoarse whisper, running your hand through your hair, gripping the strands, “I could have been getting fucked this whole time.”

“What?”

You put your head in your hands and let your head smack against your knees. “I have been living on a base with nine mercenaries who have been, apparently, thirsting after me and I didn’t notice. I am a fool, P, a blind, horny fool.”

Miss Pauling awkwardly patted you on the head. “There… there?”

“I’m so stupid!” You bemoaned, “How could this day possibly get any worse?”

CRRRRRACK-BOOM!

Everyone jumped as something slammed against the side door. The top of a utility pole lodged itself inside the doorway, live power lines lashing about like angry snakes as powerful winds surged inside, throwing the wires around. One of the wires was blown towards you and Miss Pauling, and you shoved her back on instinct, eyes widening in terror as a flash of white filled your vision. A sharp, burning sensation rocketed through your body, a metallic taste filling your mouth, before everything went dark.

The world came back to you in a burst of dull blue and gray hues.

A gentle pulse filled your ears, vibrating in your chest until it slowly waned, leaving you sprawled on a concrete floor. You gagged as your stomach turned violently, and you had to push yourself up onto your forearms to avoid choking on your own vomit. You spat, face curling into a disgusted sneer. 

Respawn never had left you feeling very good, but these last two times were really starting to make you yearn for a more gentle return to life.

Slowly, through sheer willpower and what little energy you had left, you managed to get to your feet. The air here was much warmer than your previous Respawn location, and it smelled faintly of… apples?

Confused, but determined to find a phone, you hugged the walls for support as you once again navigated an unfamiliar building, hand trailing across the blue corrugated metal. You weren’t afraid this time around, just pissed off. You had died again? Seriously?! You had been so close to home! You could have been getting boned in a few hours!

Okay, well, maybe not that last one, but still!

As you passed a window, something caught your attention. You stopped for a moment, looking out into the, thankfully, clear night. It was still dark, obviously, but you could hear the sound of birds chirping. Morning was approaching, but that wasn’t what was on your mind.

There were lights on somewhere in the distance.

If you were standing in a BLU base, then…

Gritting your teeth, you picked up the pace, making a mental note to thank Medic for giving you all of those shots and vitamins. If he hadn’t, you likely wouldn’t have even been able to walk.

A cool night breeze caressed your face as you stumbled outside, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, missing your blanket. It took a while, but you eventually made your way over to a homely-looking farmstead, adorned in a colour you usually hated to see. Taking as deep a breath as you could manage, you walked up the porch steps and approached the door, pulling open the outer screen door to knock on the solid wood interior door.

You stepped back a fraction as the sound of footsteps approached, your eyes drooping with exhaustion as the adrenaline that came with returning to life began to fade, leaving you with a mix of a pins and needles-esque numbness and an encroaching headache.

The door swung open, and you found yourself looking down the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun.

“Who the hell are-!” the voice of the RED Engineer held the same southern drawl as your Engineer, and his eyes widened in the same adorable way when he was caught off guard.

“Morning, friend.” You greeted, giving the man the best smile you could muster at the moment, “Do you have a phone I could borrow?”

[wilhelminyard]

compilation of nice/sweet things the foxes said to neil because even though they're a bunch of assholes who insult anyone in their vicinity they all just love him so damn much - except aaron - (part 3) :

ANDREW :

"I said I would keep you alive this year. you make it infinitely more difficult for me when you actively try to get yourself killed."

"the next time someone comes from you, stand down and let me deal with it. do you understand?"

"you were supposed to be a side effect of the drugs" "I'm not a hallucination" "you are a pipe dream."

"what would you give me?" "don't ask questions you already know the answer to"

"this isn't yes. this is a nervous breakdown. I know the difference even if you don't. I won't be like them. I won't let you let me be."

"I've never understood why he likes knives" "he will lose his taste when he has one in his gut"

"kevin is a fool whose style is numbers and angles. formulas and statistics, trial and error, repetition and insanity. all he cares about is finding the perfect game. a junkie like you can't be that cold."

"last summer you made me a promise. I'm asking you to break it." "no." "you said you'd stick with me if I kept kevin south, but kevin doesn't need me anymore. he chose us over the ravens because as a whole we're finally worth his time. there's nothing else I can give you in exchange for your protection." "I will think of something."

"spring break's coming. we could go someplace" "where and why?" "anywhere. anywhere at least three hours from campus. there's no point in going someplace closer than that. it won't feel like a vacation. the only trick is figuring out how to pry kevin away from the court" "I have knives"

"no one's said a word to them since they said we couldn't see you"

"if you tell me to leave I'll go" "you aren't going anywhere"

"I have to go. I don't trust them to give you back."

"ready?" "waiting on you"

"can I really be neil again?" "I told neil to stay. leave nathaniel buried in baltimore with his father."

"andrew could break our deal and let me go or break things off with neil" "he chose neil over you?"

"your close calls are getting old. I thought you knew how to run" "I thought you told me to stop running" "survival tip: no one likes a smart mouth" "except you"

WYMACK :

"I can't believe you trusted david to patch you up" "I was careful with him"

"you're a hundred times better now than you were in may. don't sell yourself short."

"go easy for a few days, would you?"

"are you okay?"

"neil asked us to leave the authorities out of this. I respect him enough to allow that"

"didn't I tell you not to worry about it?"

"I'm making you vice-captain next year"

"didn't you notice? they're uniting around and behind you. that's something special. you're something special."

"look me in the eye and tell me if you think I care who you used to be. hm? I care about who you are right now and who you can be going forward. I'm not asking you to forget your past, but I am telling you to overcome it."

"neil. talk to me. what do you want?"

"giving up on neil now goes against everything we are."

"I'm sorry. I should've told you but I couldn't" "don't worry about that right now."

"we'll wait for you, all right? as long as it takes, neil"

"I should be thanking you. you told us last night you intended to end the year dead or in federal custody. you could have shut everyone and everything out and worried about yourself this year. instead you agreed to help dan fix this team. you're saving the two I thought we couldn't reach, and you're a living example for kevin to follow. he never used to watch you but he's had eyes on you since december trying to figure out how you stand your ground."

"they told me to call them as soon as you returned. have you returned?"

"neil is a critical member of my team. you can ask any person on my line-up and they will all agree : we would not be where we are today if he wasn't here with us."

MATT :

"I want to break his face in six places. if he ever comes within a thousand yards of you again-"

"you okay?" "I'm fine" "for the record, I don't believe you"

"neil? we're here when you want to talk about it"

"neil? you good?"

"we're all legal adults here. we've made our decision. unless he wants to stay with you, you'd better bring neil back to us when you're done with all your questions

"hey, coach made us promise to leave you alone but are you okay?"

"they will get rid of me" "you're not serious"

"things could have gone much worse. I'm glad they didn't. you want anything, you need anything, you let us know. okay?" "okay" "I mean it" "I know. I'm done lying to you, matt. I promise."

"did andrew really choke kevin?" "took three of us to pull him off"

"we can't replace you"

DAN :

"neil? if you want to talk about any of it, or anything, or... you know we're here for you, right? whatever you need."

"kevin knew about this didn't he? he knew what riko was going to do to you and he let you go anyway. the next time I see him-"

"don't do this to us. don't sit here and lie to our faces. we're your friends. we deserve better than that."

"you told the truth. it's not your fault they don't like it."

"are you sure you're okay, neil?"

"go. but come back to us as soon as they're done with you, okay? we'll figure this out as a team."

"you're not playing. you think coach will let you on the court when you look like that? I'll sub in for you, neil. renee can help allison out one more time, right? trust us to hold the line. you focus on healing so we can use you in semifinals."

KEVIN :

"kevin called me yesterday morning when he couldn't get a hold of you. he wanted to make sure you were okay."

NICKY :

"don't you dare tell me you're fine. I can't hear that from you today, okay?"

"you can't have neil. he belongs with us"

"neil isn't a real person. it's just a cover that let nathaniel evade authorities. it's past time to let him go." "neil or nathaniel or whoever. he's ours, and we're not letting him go. you want us to vote on it or something? bet you it'll be unanimous."

"don't worry. andrew will protect you."

"hey, you good?"

ALLISON :

"it would have neen better if you'd come to the store with us. it doesn't matter. I bought out the entire row."

"I'm sorry" "shut up. no you're not. you're not. have you forgotten who has to paint you back together every morning? if you'd let them steamroll you yesterday after all this I would hate you"

"it is not safe for [neil] here anymore and it sure as hell isn't safe for you. it is better for everyone if he disappears." "what part of 'go to hell' do you need us to explain to you?"

RENEE :

"so those knives he brings everywhere are yours?" "were mine. he was right; I don't need them anymore. if you need them, he will give them to you, and I will teach you how to use them"

"if you want to talk more later, you know where to find me"

"will you be all right here?"

"kevin is very analytical whereas you're passionate."

"what do you need from us, neil?"

"I can do it." "I know you can. but perhaps it's easier if someone helps you."

ABBY :

"sometimes I think this job is going to kill me. seeing what people have done, what people continue to do, to my foxes. I wish I could protect you but I'm always too late. all I can do is patch you up afterward and hope for the best. I'm sorry, neil. we should have been there for you"

"let me take a look at you"

"it's over. it's over. you're going to be okay. we've got you."

"I dropped my gear in new york" "andrew found it while he was looking for you"