#if i write enough of these i'm gonna put them up on ao3 as a multichapter

[seventh-district]

wow!!! nothing better than watching your AO3 subscribers stat go down every time you post a new chapter of your current fic!!!

[harrowharkwife]

swear to god if i open a fanfic ONE MORE TIME only to be greeted with an author's note saying "i asked chatgpt to tell me a story about-" i am going to go fucking NUCLEAR

[caffeinatedmunchkin]

La Petite Mort

Emmrich Volkarin x Fem!Rook ✦ Rating: M (MDNI!) ✦ 7.8k words

The moment for discomfiture had come to pass. The obligation of responsibility to quell her suffering too great to ignore, he inspected her as a hunter might a downed prey. One his misplaced strike fell short of fatal, she bleated and wriggled much like a wounded animal. She was in pain. She needed him to put her down. "You poor thing. You are struggling, aren't you..." Spoken softly, more so to himself in observation, than acknowledgement of her plight. Wrought with sympathy. "Please." Holding herself propped up by the elbow, her body stretched out languid and malleable before him. Ripe for his indulgence. "It's just been so long, and I've h-had maybe... a bit too much to drink." The admittance airing on sheepish, she then gave her best purr of seduction. "I'm finding myself... distracted." The rich mocha of his eyes glimmered with something wicked. A shift in the gentleman Watcher, something she had yet to witness. "Allow me, then, my darling, to realign your focus."

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Crossposted to AO3!

*pspspsps at the Emmrich brats* come get tamed!

I told myself I wasn't going to write for Emmrich but I guess that was a big fat lie. Ya'll keep saying how he'd talk you through it, writing this filth was the only way I was gonna exorcise that demon. Writing characters OOC is my worst nightmare, I did my best. Let me know your thoughts on whether I was successful or not. Enjoy 😘

Rook floundered as she regarded her circle of companions, struggling to uplift those around her as her spirit was the lowest of them all. To her credit she wore her bravest face, and commended each and every one of them for their displayed strengths in their respective roles. A reluctant heroine who found leadership ill-suited and cumbrous.

Weisshaupt had yet to retract its claws. Emmrich noticed her energy waning, the tension in her thin shoulders festering. Her posture heavy with fatigue.

They were all on edge, but none shouldered a greater burden than her. The wayward little Watcher that held too much regret in the delicate lines of her young face.

Hazarding just a few glances her way during the meeting, each time displayed the same weariness she failed to hide. He wracked his brain for possible solutions to help ease her strain, but he kept falling short.

He would have known just how obvious his course of action should be, if only he knew where to look.

If he had given proper credence to her coy remarks, and coquettish body language. If he accepted that her freely given touch - nimble fingers grazing his elbow, the small of his back - were held longer with him, than the others.

If he hadn't been so consumed by his strict notions of gallantry, in accordance with his branding of her as the proverbial forbidden fruit. Securely out of reach, it was a pedestal he placed her on before he joined The Veilguard. Well before they had even been formally introduced.

Emmrich had suggested, with enough vagueness to spare himself from too much guilt, that he hadn't remembered seeing her before. To his relief, she corroborated his version of their story in kind.

A delicious discrepancy. A secret they each believed they held over the other.

"Have we really never met around the Necropolis before? Even in passing?"

"I don't remember everything from my scholar days."

Not an outright lie; those days were a blur. Rigorous and all-consuming academics with not much time for herself, except of course for the moments she slipped away, or stole. All instances that were still fresh in her history.

When the sun dropped from the sky, and the lights of the city beckoned her with it's promised anonymity, and its proffered escape. Getting herself into the sort of trouble that was otherwise irresistible to a teenager who felt she didn't belong. Who bore the associated pressures and expectations of a path more or less chosen for her.

Trouble that followed her even into young adulthood.

Scrapes and scuffles on the streets of Nevarra that inexorably found it's way back to the ears of her elders. Awaiting her with exasperated spiels, and stern words. And heftier measures of containing her the next time.

Though she had seen him plenty around the Necropolis. She knew who he was. More so than her flippant dismissal let on.

Professor Volkarin; the tall, handsome academician whose lectures she'd made a habit of crashing. Keeping to the back with one of her friends, one who actually held the right to attend, she'd watch him with a covetous gleam to her eye and a withheld breath. A luxury rarely afforded, her heart whirred like a hummingbird in the cage of her ribs whenever she could sneak off to sit in.

Confident, eloquent, experienced. He'd captured the attention of the entire lecture hall with the flourish he wielded in spell-casts, and final preparations alike. He was impassioned about his work. The full-breadth of his proficiency - and kindness - shining through as he expounded on the necessity of ceremonial tradition, and the importance of regarding the dead with the same reverence one would the living.

And Maker, his hands.

They had never been introduced. Not a word, or glance, exchanged between them in all their shared years. She was certain that she could admire from afar. That he hadn't taken stock of the vivacious, diminutive elven interloper that invited herself to his seminars.

Oh how wrong she was.

The professor was more familiar with Ariadne Ingellvar then he'd ever dare confess.

Catching glimpses of her around the halls. The vibrant little mage that radiated the fertile warmth and liveliness of a dawning springtime, with her rosy cheeks and bright shock of blonde hair. She evoked images of fresh bloomed honey-suckle dotting a verdant meadow, a herald of the seasons approach.

Who crept into his audience, and observed from the cover of shadow, as far back as their discretion would extend.

Like a voyeur, he'd sense her presence amongst his fold of usual suspects, making him feel exposed. The lecture hall too public a setting for the sudden feverish indecency that infected an otherwise appropriate, and strictly educational demonstration.

At times she looked out of place against the backdrop of the Necropolis. A beaming smile with a lot of teeth. An infectious cackle of laughter he had come to recognize as hers, as she maneuvered the halls with a gaggle of peers around her. A distinct bouquet of raspberry, gardenia and amber wafting in her wake. Little, pleasant pockets of fragrance left like breadcrumbs to follow her trail, should he ever be so inclined.

Or so bold.

The smells of the Necropolis were dominant, and familiar. Of myrr, clove, and Bitumen. The bitter cold. Her scent somehow refused to be suffocated by her surroundings. Her reputation, that he was only able to gleam fractions at a time, suggested that she refused to blend in. And in that, she was successful.

He was equally familiar with the whispers and disapproving remarks from colleagues over the years. They shadowed all conversations at which her found her at the center. Where she was mentioned, criticism was sure to follow.

Her raising esteem among the ranks made for all the more intriguing a contrast.

She was restless, it seemed. Headstrong. Spirited. But oh, was she alluring. And lovely.

Lovely enough to both coax his gaze, and forbid him from looking any further. Digging any deeper.

Emmrich was both ecstatic - and slightly sick - to see her traipsing up alongside Bellara when they arrived for his recruitment. It had been some time since he had last seen her flitting through the halls of the Necropolis. Though she had been absent from its structure, her memory very much still haunted his musings.

She didn't look much different from how he remembered. She seemed grounded; sated by the experiences she received in her time away from home. And yet, a flicker of despondency remained. Homesickness, perhaps? Dejection at being sent away?

After the meeting had disbanded, she remained in her seat. Eyes cast downward, as she studied her nails, and twisted her fingers. He found himself pausing, with brows lifted in concern.

In a gentle croon, he maintained the safe distance away from behind the other end of the table. "Rook, dear, are you alright?"

Lifting her chin to gaze up at him, he saw the same lost look he sometimes caught sight of around the Necropolis. He now knew it's origin, of course, or at least a likely theory.

During their jaunt at the memorial gardens, Ariadne revealed that she had been the babe that was found abandoned in the crypt. He hadn't been among the Watchers who recovered her, but he had seen her then. All those years ago when he was a much younger man.

Her impossibly tiny body swaddled and cooing from the crook of Myrna's arm. All pink cheeks and bright eyes. With elongated, pointy ears not yet grown into, even with how new to the world she was.

And then there she stood; an accomplished necromancer, and grown woman. Her ears now as proportionate as the rest of her.

The same grown woman who had caught his eye around the Necropolis, much to his dismay. It took everything in him not to react upon that revelation. Maker willing she hadn't noticed the falter of his tight smile, or the twitch in his left eye.

More reason to keep her at arms length.

Yet there he was. Alone with her. Lingering, like a besotted fool.

"Never better." She lied with a sidelong look, casting away the brief flicker of melancholy just as it breached. "I'm tired, but no more so than anyone else."

"Tremendous pressure often leads to tremendous physical stress on the body." His tone erudite, he straightened to a more erect posture. "I fear you're not heeding the tells of your own."

"I'm fine, really." With an exaggerated simper in effort to make it more believable, she rolled her shoulders as if their tension released with that declaration. "Thank you, Emmrich."

Fearful of coming off too strong, he nodded in surrender and cleared his throat. "I'll see you at dinner, then?"

She rose from her seat, smiling at him from across the table. "Yes." She affirmed. "See you then."

During dinner Ariadne was silent. Poignant as it was uncharacteristic, it was an observation that worsened his concern. She no more than picked at her meal like a bird, flashing brief smiles, or nodding only when appropriate. But the fiery Watcher he knew was miles away from the young woman who sat across from him. Her disassociation betrayed by the sad, brown eyes that had dulled from their radiant luster.

He knew she was in there somewhere, and yearned for her return.

With dinners unceremonious conclusion, he watched as she excused herself from the table without a word, and disappeared into the pantry. Returning after a curious length of time, the stem of a goblet was twisted in her fingers. That same small hand also clutched what he assumed to be a wine bottle by it's neck.

Her eyes darted among those closest to her before proceeding, hoping to avoid potential entanglement with someone who might think to join her.

Or worse, notice the specific vintage she was smuggling.

The only others left in the dining hall now were himself, Taash and Davrin. Too engrossed in a debate over whether or not an axe was more effective than a long sword against a Hurlock, to pay any mind to her suspicious behavior.

It only took him a few lengthened strides to catch up to her. Believing herself to be in the clear, Emmrich noticed how tense her back stiffened upon hearing him advance. She halted, before spinning on a heel to face him, brows quirked and her lips pouting in what could only be describe as anxiousness.

"Rook- I do hope I'll receive your pardon if this comes across as overbearing, but I must caution against such a libation on an empty stomach."

Unable to curve his curiosity before it took the lead, his gaze flickered down to the bottles label. A lump formed in his throat as he read it.

Carnal, 8:69 Blessed.

The good professor was well acquainted. It's sultry description reared from the depths of his psyche, and crashed over him like a sheet of glass.

An Orlesian liqueur for the daring, or those who wish to seem so. Said to enhance sensation.

He clasped his hands in front of him with a soft clatter of his bracelets and bangles. Hoping beyond hope he hadn't played his hand. That she didn't notice the climb his brows made to his hairline upon noting her scandalous choice in drink.

If she did catch his prying, she had the decency not to acknowledge it. Her smile was tired, but genuine all the same.

Emmrich felt her palm slip around his elbow. The young mage was most unrestrained with her expressions through physical touch - it was just her way - and at times he fell prey to the rot of wishful thinking that he received more of it than the rest.

"And I hope it's not too much trouble to ask that you call me Ariadne. Or Ari, if you prefer." The fleeting contact pulled back to then give a dismissive wave, she planted a step behind her, poised to take off. It wasn't like her to look to flee his company with such haste, and that appealed to his morbid intrigue. "And trust me when I say, I only want one drink, just to help me sleep." The melody of her voice lilted in amusement. "Though if you do get worried, I think you know where to find me."

Call me Ariadne. His chest pulled in on itself. Pressing his tongue against his clenched teeth, it felt heavy and cotton thick at the mere thought of addressing her as such. Addressing her by name.

Rook was easy, and safe. Rook was a moniker for the explicit use of her associates. Referring to her that way maintained his professionalism, and staved his guilt.

Swallowing with a weak smile, Emmrich offered an acquiescent bow of his head. Neither indulging, nor denying her request.

She peered up at him in thought for but an extra moment, her exhaustion clouded gaze glimmering with contemplation. Abandoning whatever seemed to hold her attention, she gave him a final, small smile, before exiting the dining hall.

Though if you do get worried, I think you know where to find me.

And worry he did.

The hour was late, and the thought of disturbing her nagged with apprehension. Surely she didn't require his company, nor his consolation, when she had such a treasured, sororal bond with Neve. Yet he found himself taking the long walk down the corridor to her quarters nonetheless.

Perhaps reminiscing of home will offer a welcome distraction, if only for a short while. He assured himself. A comfort that I am uniquely disposed to provide.

All thoughts of Neverran eccentricities and their hopeful nostalgia halted as he arrived at her door. It greeted him with an alarming sound.

Though muffled through the thick, ornamented wood, she cried out his name - weak, and panted - as if in great pain. His chest tightened, seized by the gelidity of dread. It trickled down his lofty figure like he had plunged headfirst into a lake on the cusp of winter.

He pictured the worst. The Lighthouse infiltrated by a Venatori assassin, regardless of how improbable. He saw her crumpled on the ground and sticky with her own sanguine as it pooled beneath her. Her beautiful, flaxen locks turned to ink from coagulation.

That swell of panic was all it took.

Forgetting himself, and all prior etiquette he once held steadfast, Emmrich burst into her room.

His ferocity mirroring the pounding of his heart, he conducted a quick sweep of the space from left to right - intent to find the fabricated, surmised assailant. But none was to be found. Her room was blissfully free of the threat of imminent danger.

No Ventaroi. No blood. No need for his chivalry.

That relief was staggering, though short-lived. Emmrich next sought her out, rounding the lounge at the center, knowing there was no where else left in the space for her to be, except for there.

What he found dried his mouth, and spiked his blood to run frigid in suddenly too-tight of veins all the same.

Ariadne was draped prone on the chaise, in naught but her ivory blouse, and half unbuttoned at that. The loose, silken fabric shifted down her blushed shoulder, flashing him a peak of flesh as she writhed and twisted in pleasure.

Flesh pinched rosy and glistening. And far too much of it, more than he least of all had any right to spy.

The senior necromancer simply stood there aghast, gawping like an un-initiated adolescent - of which, he was neither - unable to come to terms with the fact that what he stumbled upon was indeed transpiring.

And she had moaned his name in her throes. Called out for him to come to her aid.

Swirling iridescence filtered through the glass across from where she laid, bathing her in a luminous, surreal glow. The waters reflection streaked her in vivid hues of chartreuse and turquoise that slithered over her flushed, half-naked body. As if guiding his appreciative leer, leading to where he should aim it next.

It drew his eye to the toned length of bare legs, her petite calves flexed and toes curling. The roll of her pelvis against the furious rubbing of her fingers was hypnotic. A faint, lewd squelch echoed her frustrated whimpers.

He watched tormented as her lithe body arched; shapely hips lifting, the base of her spine bowed in a provocative display, pressing her face down into the fabric, muffling her moans. Attacking herself from a deeper angle, the sinuous dip and curve of her silhouette alone was enough to drop him to his knees.

The bottle sat uncorked on the dresser, while her goblet dangled from her finger-tips, precarious as it hadn't been emptied. It impressed him how she managed not to spill as she then ground down. Humping the hand she pinned between her nethers, and the cushion that cradled her.

He had only ever seen her hair combed back and twisted in a bun, but now it was pulled free and hung loose. Glowing almost silver in the shimmer, a veil of ashen blond that streaked messily over her face. So removed from himself as he stared, it hadn't even occured to him that yes, he was still there watching, until her uncovered eye drifted to him at last. Only then had she realized his intrusion.

The soft hazelnut eye was almost eclipsed in full by her pupils dilatation. Glossy with lust, she peered up at him from beneath a heavy lid. Utterly unabashed at his presence.

If she was even a hint mortified to be discovered by him in such a predicament, nothing about her demeanor suggested it.

"Oh! Professor Volkarin... good." Her tone rich with intoxication, it spread a wide, lazy grin against her colored cheeks. "I-I'm in rather... desperate need of your masterful instruction."

As quiet and still as death itself, Emmrich's entire body locked in place, with a stoicism that presented much more severe than he meant. A strangled mewl forced it's way from her throat, one that lured him back out from his inward retreat.

The moment for discomfiture had come to pass. The obligation of responsibility to quell her suffering too great to ignore, he inspected her as a hunter might a downed prey. One his misplaced strike fell short of fatal, she bleated and wriggled much like a wounded animal. She was in pain. She needed him to put her down.

"You poor thing. You are struggling, aren't you..." Spoken softly, more to himself in observation, than acknowledgement of her plight. Wrought with sympathy.

"Please." She whined, having given up on the erected pearl, rubbed raw and twitching. Holding herself propped up by the elbow, her body stretched out languid and malleable before him. Ripe for his indulgence. "It's just been so long, and I've h-had maybe... a bit too much to drink." The admittance airing on sheepish, she then gave her best purr of seduction. "I'm finding myself... distracted."

The rich mocha of his eyes glimmered with something wicked. A shift in the gentleman Watcher, something she had yet to witness.

"Allow me, then, my darling, to realign your focus."

He stepped towards the chaise with a tall posture, and leisured gait, as if he very much believed propriety could be maintained despite the circumstance. She scrambled to allow him space beside her, curling her knees and swaying in place as she watched him sink into the upholstery.

She brought the goblet back to her lips, relying on that sweet bite of liquid, candied peach to fuel her shamelessness. But it stopped just shy of her pout.

Held in place by a firm hand, her glassy eyes floated over the rim to see Emmrich angling a look of disapproval her way. The lines of his handsome, angular face deepened in exasperation, like an austere parent about to reprimand an unruly brat.

"Dear girl, I should think you have had enough."

Her already wild heart-beat took off at a reckless gallop, at how he managed to wrap the rich velvet of his voice around such sharp scolding. Her weakened fingers broke away from the stem of the goblet with laughably pathetic submission, waiting with bated breath as he discarded it to the credenza behind them.

Settling the length of his tapered frame more comfortably against the cushions, he turned to address her once more. Ensnaring her eye-contact, he refused its release while he pat his thigh. Motioning her to him like he would a skittish kitten.

The cut of his jaw lifted, he stared down the bridge of his nose at her as she crawled the rest of the way towards his lap.

"Face away from me, so your back is flush with my front." The weight of her settling over him, the heat radiating from the naked thighs that then straddled him - sensations that were enough to break him on the spot. A reprehensible fantasy that now spilled into his reality.

He failed to swallow a groan as the curve of her bottom slotted against his groin.

"Good. Are we comfortable?"

The little she-devil that she was, her hips gave a playful wriggle against his bulge. She got more than she bargained for, tripping over her tongue in reply at the imposing mass that greeted her. One not yet swelled to full mast. "O-oh, yes."

Emmrich fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and count. She wasn't going to make this easy.

Sinewy, bejeweled hands slid over the tops of her thighs, the metal of his bracelets clinking and cool and against her feverish skin. Stopping at her knees, he slipped his thumbs between them, and peeled them apart unhurried.

"That's it... spread yourself for me, nice and wide." His smooth palms glided back up the inside, feeling how supple the more delicate, inner muscle quivered to his slow exploration. The skin burned beneath his finger-tips, the heat emanating from her grew the closer to her womanhood he traveled.

Deliberate in avoiding that area, he instead drew up to clutch her about the hips, giving them an encouraging squeeze before he stilled. "We'll want as much room as possible, yes?"

When she drew her legs over his knees to dangle alongside the anterior of his own, a rumbling croon of "good girl" ghosted against the shell of her ear. The whimper he earned for it couldn't have been any sweeter.

"I gather you are most receptive to a hands-on approach?" Unable to give him a verbal response, all she could do was squirm in his lap and nod. An unending wealth of smart remarks, he preened at having already rendered her beyond speech. "Very good. You're going to show me how you touch yourself - exactly as you were before my interruption. We'll see if I can't refine your methods."

With a shaky exhale, she leaned back against him, while her fumbling fingers set to work.

She did well at first, all things considered. The young Watcher was reeling from his closeness; his infectious body-heat, the infuriating steadiness of his breaths. The overwhelming aroma of smoked potash, cedar and oakmoss, and an indistinct floral note layered in between.

He kept her anchored to him by her hips, thumb strokes absent-minded and rhythmic, while he observed her performance. Any time she teased herself just so, and gasped out for him, he'd reward her with a throaty; "stunning", "yes, that's a good girl", "you're doing quite well." Incentivizing her to maintain her pace with his praise.

The final nail in her coffin to it all was the strength of alcohol that coursed through her, pumping her blood so hot it made her feel smothered by her own skin, too tight and confining. Weighing down her limbs with rueful sluggishness that fought against her pursuit of release.

Her head swam laps against the lurching of the room, while his hummed approval only heightened her wooziness. All that kept her steady, were the eyes she held shut, and Emmrich's embrace.

He stared down the front of her body with enraptured attention, feeling himself pulse with a lazy heft against her rear. Knowing she could feel him while he stiffened to attention at her little mewls, and stifled rocking. But he couldn't find it within himself to care. His attentiveness a willing prisoner to the sight of her dainty index finger swirling over her clitoris, as her middle digit strained to edge inside herself.

The little elf would get so close to the release that continued to taunt her. It warped the edges of her bleary vision, and shook the sweat-dampened, tensed thighs that his knees held open. He'd feel her body seize, joints lock, and head snapped back, as she arched in prelude.

And then she'd lose it. Slipping from her trembling fingers, the white-hot, coiling tension ebbed in cruel absence. Like trapped steam set free from beneath the lid of a pot as it roiled. A defeated whine bubbled from her throat, and he swept in to console while easing her back to the precipice.

"Oh, my dear girl." He clicked his tongue, ever punctilious. His silken voice dropped an octave from its depth in his chest. "You need only concentrate."

Ariadne lulled her head back against his shoulder with an infantile huff that matched her pout. "I am."

He chuckled low in tantalization. So low she more felt it against her back than heard it, her blood roaring in her ears as loud as it was.

"Then you're still holding on." He kept his admonishing gentle. "And I need you to let go."

He watched as she twerked her wrist, working herself up and down in a blur of erratic, frantic strokes.

"Slow, slower." He instructed. "I can only imagine how you must ache... quiet your mind. Steady your breaths. Follow my voice." Every syllable pronounced in that assertive baritone had her walls spasm against themselves. "I'll help you, darling girl, if you'll listen."

An unintelligible moan was all the response he received.

She switched to tease her weeping entrance with one hand, while the other busied by hopeless strokes at her clit in irregular, clockwise circles. Her shoulder blades dug into his chest, they tingled against his mused susurration as it thrummed through him.

No doubt poised to deliver constructive criticism, he was nothing if not a stickler for proper form.

"You're much too rough with yourself. Too impatient." He tsked, his own hands kept occupied by massaging the firm swell of her glutes. More than a little sure that her piriformis was screaming at the prolonged tension it was suspended in. "Only to give up just as you're right about to crest."

"I'm not giving up," she insisted, her face screwed in aggravation as she brought herself back, only to then lose it again faster than before. To this loss, she growled. "I can't.. I can't-!"

His tone low, and contemplative, he then interjected in a display of his authority. "Hmm, I see now."

Emmrich fished the the end of his crimson binding from around his waist, and tugged the long end to unravel to a more generous length in his palm.

Bringing it between her legs, he began to wipe away the excess wetness. Tending to her with paternal affection, it made for an obscene contrast against his words. "Pardon my crude tongue, but you're much too wet, dearest. You'll not get the necessary friction otherwise."

Her body shuddered at his words, dripping from the tip of his tongue against the shell of her ear like liquid smoke. His chest was warm and sturdy against her back, a broadness to him that his lank mislead. His sheltering firmness curved around her as he continued to guide her with forbearance.

"P-professor please-," she nearly sobbed, hips stuttering up into his fingers as they rubbed her throbbing cunt through the satin. "I need your touch."

He fought the visceral reactions to the way she mewled his title like some revered perversion, for fear that if she realized its effects on him, she'd become merciless in its exploit.

"But of course, my girl." Voice slinking and sultry, he brought his lips closer to her ear. "I've never been known to shun a pupil in need."

His hands slid over the tops of her thighs to find her fluttered heat, and did so with the practiced ease of a body known to him. She shivered at his finesse, at how assured he was in her handling, though it was the first time they were ever intimate.

Velvet smooth and puffy from her abuse, his touch felt like a salve that granted instant relief to her neglect. A loud, shuddering sigh dragged from her by the trace of his finger-tips over her petals. First with his bare hand, the dainty gold chain that connected the ring of his thumb to the bracelet on his wrist dragged against her folds. While he continued, his ornaments played against one another in a dissonant jingle with each and every purposeful manipulation. Just as they did during his casts.

She wondered if she'd ever be able to hear those otherwise mundane sounds again without becoming aroused.

His gloved hand, equal in dexterity to the one that stroked her bud, joined in to lend additional prowess. Both hands a flurry of expertise betwixt her thighs, Emmrich massaged and rubbed, his glove sticky with her honey as he spread it around her tender lips. Pressing them apart to slot his middle finger between, he began to glide back and forth over her weeping slit with an agonizing pace.

His pressure efficient, yet patient. Only giving her what was needed, refusing to indulge.

Sagging back against his chest, she dared to look down at the sight of his hands splaying her apart, as if in appraisal. She couldn't help but recall one particular demonstration he held for advanced techniques on relieving rigor mortis.

His grace, the fluidity of his manipulation. Long, limber fingers aglow with magic, as they palpated the tissue before him. He narrated his precise movements in the genteel inflection she had come to recognize, and adore.

However as she watched him work, hands gliding over the limbs that melted to desired pliability at the behest of his deft touch, she didn't hear a word of it.

All she could do was stare at those hands, and stew in the blatant envy she felt towards the corpse beneath them.

She was wrenched from the clutches of her reverie by a sharp, yet delicious sting to her cunt.

With his gloved hand and a quick flick of his wrist, Emmrich had demanded her straying attention with slap.

It was solid, but affectionate. No where near harsh enough to be unbearable. Just exacting enough to corral her back in line.

Ariadne yelped, jolting in his grasp as his gloved palm cupped her hurt. Soothing the sting with a gentle pet.

"I'll not tolerate you daydreaming." For all his chiding, it still held the warmth and patience she'd expected from him. "If my instruction is desired in earnest then your complete and undivided attention is expected, Miss Ingellvar."

" 'M sorry! I c-can't help-,"

"You can and you will, young lady." His interjection was laced with amusement despite his steeliness. "Unless of course, you aim to provoke my cruelty."

Professor Emmrich Volkarin cold and cruel. A thought that twisted her insides into a throbbing, tangled mass. Had she not been so helpless to the maddening of an out-of-reach orgasm, one now threatened by his denial, she would have delighted in goading such a side of him.

"I mind you to pay attention. I know you won't take kindly to the consequences if I'm made to repeat myself." The warning dripped from his tongue deliberate and restrained.

A gloved finger turned it's attention to her aching bead, Emmrich worked it in diligent circles. His feathered pressure serving as kindling to the wild fire that raged beneath her skin, the feeling of suffocation returned with a vengeance.

"The tissue here is most sensitive." His explanation cool as it was dignified, his knees continued to hold her legs open as she quivered to his stimulation. "All that's needed is a little leniency, and a light touch."

She could feel the prickling burn simmer at the soles of her feet. The promise of a full-body blaze lapping it's way through her, staring from the bottom, and working it's way up. His index finger continued to circle with rhythmic, borderline merciless insistence.

The more she writhed and arched in his lap, the tighter his circles became. The satin leather pressing down with measured pressure to her swollen sex.

"Do you feel the difference?" He urged, the bridge of his nose brushing at her temple as he nuzzled her, inhaling the combination of her perfume while he had her this close. And the heady musk of her arousal, as it drooled from her to his coaxing. "That pressure in your abdomen, it feels more reliable, does it not?"

He brought her so close, so gloriously close and sooner than she thought possible, given her struggles. Struggles that were worsened by the inebriation she now cursed.

Yet, somewhere through the foggy recesses of her rationale, her core clenched around its emptiness in indignation.

She yearned for his fullness, for the stretch of him to come down around. The raw desperation of her keening plea surprised even her.

"Please, I-I need-,"

"What do you need, my dear?" Emmrich didn't stop nor slow his expert ministrations.

She groaned. "Maker, please! I need you- need you inside me!"

He shut his eyes, drawing a deep, quiet breath to keep himself grounded. The girth in his trousers twitched in compliance, but he ignored it.

"Easy, easy now." He hushed, pushing her slick petals apart with his bare hand to first dip in his gloved middle finger. Almost too long, too much of him to take, and ribbed from his rings. The force in which she clamped around him nearly popped his joint from the socket. A shrill, breathy moan tumbled out of her and into the stifling air.

Allowing her a moment to savor his fullness, he then crooked the slender digit inside her heat, rolling her eyes back, and twitching her ears. "There, does that feel better?"

"Yes, oh yes." She sobbed, the plushness of her sex throbbing around his leather-bound intrusion. "T-thank you, Professor."

"You're most welcome, little darling." Intoned with the same dignified composure as if she were no more than a pupil in his lecture hall, he pumped steadily within her. His free hand toyed with her clit in complimentary persuasion. "Dare I say obedience is rather becoming on you."

The slightest condescension in his praise, it caused the entirety of her body to flush with a heat. Her center tightened in wordless request for more, though he merely chuckled. The deep rumbling brought a vibrant pink to smear the bridge of her nose. The faint striped scar there nearly disappearing in the stain, as it spilled across both cheekbones.

Emmrich had never taken an elven lover before, though he had once come across an excerpt pertaining to a certain weakness of the species. The salacious triviality now at the forefront of his mind.

Ever studious, the professor couldn't resist the temptation of putting the theory to practice.

Dropping his chin, he reached for the blushed tip of her ear with his tongue. Tracing the pink ridge of cartilage, his lips curled in a grin once he had the tine pinched between his teeth in a gentle nip.

A sharp gasp ripped from her as her body rocketed in his lap; tossing her head back hard to his chest while her hips bucked forward. A violence to her fervor, as if her lower half moved independent from the rest of her.

"E-Emmrich!" A hoarse plea, any of the conviction it might have held was stolen along with her breath.

"Miss Ingellvar, am I to assume I've dissolved your decorum, or is that how you address your superiors?"

She couldn't find it within herself to fire back with something witty. Becoming so strict with her in that intimate, hushed crooning had her walls clench against him firmer. A gush of her arousal soaked against his finger, only to leak out over his palm and seep into the cotton of his slacks underneath. A throaty groan sounded from behind her, like the purr of a panther.

"Professor Volkarin," her amendment shaky, she sucked in breath and called on it for strength, "h-how do you expect me to concentrate when you-you-,"

"Are your ears quite sensitive, darling?" His level tone feigned innocence with such a degree of effortless deception that it shocked her. "You'll have to forgive me, I hadn't a clue."

Whether or not that profession was sincere, he swept back in to once more suck the tip between his teeth. Sealing his lips to create suction, he pulled. Harder than her newfound sensitivity could withstand.

Hips stuttering and rutting into his hands like a woman possessed, she felt herself quite literally melt all over him. Painfully aware of just how much of the mess she had made of his groin pinned beneath her splayed legs.

The limber tip of his tongue laved at the point of her ear, growing just as swollen from his attention as the depths of her he continued to penetrate. Offering the gloved heel of his palm so as to not abandon her stinging clit. He seemed unphased by his soiled trouser, his sole attention on drawing out more of her melodic chirps and gasps.

"You're a bastard." For all the strength of such a word, it lacked the necessary bite. More curious still, was the fact that it wasn't spat - but moaned. He tsked through a smirk she couldn't see.

"My my, you've a filthy mouth on you." Her ear released from the heat of his mouth, he pursed his lips to blow against the damp, suckled skin. "Very well. Since there isn't a bar of soap handy, I shall just have to correct your insolence another way."

A shameless giggle bubbled up from her throat and spilled through her lips. Her words tinged with slurring, their softened points still managed to pierce him. "Had they sent me to you for disciplinary action back in those days, I can only imagine how much more insufferable I would have been."

He swallowed a pained groan, furrowing a sharp brow to the sinful, debauched images that notion conjured. "I shudder to think." The hoarseness lurking in his words sparked her to grind back against his roused bulge. "Glutton for punishment, are we?"

She beamed as he choked an another breath at the motion. "Most assuredly for yours, Professor."

His voice plummeted further down to the seat of his chest. His instruction stern, it left no room for negotiation. "Open your mouth."

She did as she was told, only to feel his spidery fingers slip up the velvet flat of her tongue, crowding her small mouth with warm flesh, and the metallic tang of his rings. Able to lift the traces of her own slick against the wet muscle, she curled it around his digits to begin suckling them, his cock perking to her eagerness.

He eased them deeper at a gradual pace, until they were in well over past the first knuckle. A few choked gags had him hushing encouragement into her damp temple.

"Good, very good." His voice then seemed thicker as he intoned. "Breathe through your nose, love. Nice and slow."

Emmrich had only just gotten his hands on her, and she was very nearly reduced to tears. An orgasm still dangled just beyond her reach, the tension coiled to a knot low in her stomach that his thorough, and methodical drilling inside of her only stoked. With two fingers invading her mouth, he thought it only fair to give her swollen sex the same treatment.

Without warning, another of his gloved fingers plunged inside her. Even with her lubrication, her slick walls twitched and stretched to accommodate him. She lifted from his lap as a strangled cry ripped from her, muffled around the fingers that tickled the back of her throat. He locked against the points of his contact and forced her still, hushing against her ear.

"There, there, little one." He regarded her with the utmost patience, and adoration. Crooning into her mussed hair as he dragged them out of her, and then curled them back inside. "You're taking me magnificently, my dear."

She was so desperate to come around them, and give him a show of just how erotic she found those hands of his to be. The smooth, bulbous gems inlaid in his rings added to the stinging pinch of his intrusion, the leather of his glove slick and satiny within her tight confines.

Her arms flew upwards and to wrap around his neck, clumsily clawing at the crisp starch of his collar, knotting at soft hair at his nape. Her feet slid back to hook around his calves. A little slip of a thing captive to violent shimmers, bewitched to the way his expert fingers dissected her need, she coiled around him like a garden snake.

"Relax, darling, don't hold to the tension. It will not serve you now." He purred, feeling her body warring with itself in his lap. Hips stuttering to try and goad him to quicken, while still not yet adjusted to him two-fingers deep inside. "Take a nice, deep breath for me... There you are. Close your eyes. Give yourself to me."

Withdrawing his fingers from her whimpering mouth, slick with saliva, he slipped his hold around her throat. Flexing with benign pressure, he squeezed ever so slightly against her untamed pulse, just beneath her jaw.

Quieting her frenetic mind and choking her to distraction, the act was as tender as it was merciful. He lead her to the edge of consciousness, introducing the intimacy of dipping a toe in each side, just as he began to work his fingers inside her sex. Just as she was about to come for him.

"P-please...Professor Volkarin-," a rasping moan that clued him in to just how close she was indeed. "- let me come."

The insinuation that he, ultimately, controlled her orgasm was not one he took lightly.

"Ariadne." Murmured low in warning, silken and smoky, like vanilla bourbon. Her name on his lips held a slight chastised edge, his habits from being a professor not so easily shirked. The first time he'd ever called her by name.

Every bit as provocative as she'd expected, and even more intimate than she ever could have imagined. "I believe the instruction I provided was quite clear; let go for me."

Her name on his tongue proved to be a trigger, and a powerful one at that. Her walls fluttered in tight pulsations around his digits, sucking them in deeper as a full-body eruption detonated outwards from her molten core.

Tears welling in the corners of her soft, hazelnut eyes, they broke free from the lash lines, and rolled down her flushed cheeks. She rode herself out on the long fingers that continued to knead her plush heat. Soothing her through the wrenching of a long-overdue, and arduous release.

The gradual thrumming outward from the root of his cock ascended to full-fledged throbs, painful in their insistence. He had now familiarized himself with her depths; knew how velvety, and narrow, and oh so very wet.

His heavy sigh fanned against her temple, before he pressed a kiss to the sweat that trickled down the vein.

As he licked his lips, he could then taste the ambrosia that teased him back to his memories of her strutting around the Necropolis, wholly unaware of the older, venerated professor she had beguiled. Frosted berry and white amber. He never wanted to be rid of it.

As if they were amongst of crowd of nobility at a gala, and he was about to impart something truly scandalous meant solely for his lovers ears, he then drawled; "I must express my gratitude for having granted this senior Watcher the pleasure of assisting you in this little death."

His length twitched in retaliation to the confines of his slacks, more than anxious to feel the pinch of her channel as he worked his way inside. To feel those same flutters of release wrapped snug around him, kneading him until he spilled himself inside her.

Yet he possessed more patience than that. She needed time, hit little Watcher.

He had only just begun.

"Now, dear girl, since you're well acquainted with the more... mechanical route, shall I introduce you to my oral technique?"

He shut the door behind him with care, mindful not to jostle the latch. As if trying to keep from waking a babe he had just gotten to sleep.

Creeping back around gave him a start, the color draining from his face.

Davrin, Lucanis, - even Varric, up and out of bed - were gathered just outside her door. The three now looking more startled than he.

Though he had taken the time to right himself before exiting her quarters - leaving her to a much deserved and rigorously earned slumber - the steel locks of his hair, disheveled from their typical neat coif to fall into his eyes, were quick to humble him.

The wild young Watcher hadn't let him slink away from their tryst unscathed.

A beat of awkward silence coalesced between the men. Though coming as a surprise to none, Varric was the first to piece things together, with an amused smirk working it's way crookedly across his face. Emmrich took the initiative to break it, tipping his head in as much politeness as he could muster.

"Gentlemen." The nonchalance of his greeting earned a raised brow and a stifled chortle from Davrin, who otherwise remained quiet.

"We just... heard Rook scream and we...," Lucanis began and then surrendered, clearing his throat.

"Ah, yes..." Emmrich gave a tight-lipped smile, brushing his vest for nonexistent lint, just to busy his hands. The joints now achy and creaking. "Well, there's no need for concern, she's just fine. However I do ask that you leave her undisturbed for the time being, she's... quite spent, you understand."

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

𝘿𝘼𝙔 𝙎𝙄𝙓: Spit-Roasting w/ Spencer Reid [ft. Luke Alvez]

a/n: y'all this one actually FLABBERGASTED me... my mind will never fail to surprise me, and if i'm going to be honest, i listened to metal/heavy metal music the whole time and it helped me to stay focused for the actual hour it took me to write this 😭

masterlist | kinktober masterlist | AO3

A perfect sandwich is what you’d like to call this.

Cradled between the bodies of two of the hottest Agents of your team is a sure fire way to spend your night, and you’re more than pleased.

Spencer’s lying below you, your knees settled on either side of his hips as your lips are met in a heated embrace. You’re as naked as the day you were born and he is too, his hardness barely poking at your full stomach.

You’re bent over him with Luke behind you, a heavy hand pressing down your lower back as he works you open with two big fingers. You’re moaning helplessly into the genius’ mouth, your nails digging into the pillows besides his head.

“Luke!” You pull away with a breathless moan, throwing back your head at particularly hard drag to your g-spot. “‘Feel good, sweetheart?” You can hear the cocky lilt to his voice, his nice, full lips no doubtedly pulled up into that familiar, cheeky smirk.

“Fuck – you’re such an asshole.” You swear and he just chuckles. “Yeah, yeah, say that to me when I’m not knuckle deep inside you, ‘kay?”

You grumble, but nevertheless reconnect your lips with Spencer’s who are pulled taunt in an attempt to hide his amusement. “Don’t –” You choke when Luke begins to draw circles tightly on your clit.

“Don’t encourage him.” Your words trail off in a whine.

“Sorry, baby.” Spencer says, but he doesn’t even sound all that sorry, but you’ll make him. You prop yourself on your right forearm while the other one trails down to grasp at his long cock, up stroking him just to hear that pleasurable sound of the air getting punched out of him.

“Shit!” He swears, his own neck extending back, and you connect your lips to the tanned skin there, nibbling relentlessly.

“So much for no marks, huh?” Luke pokes from behind you. “Don’t act like you didn’t get your turn.” You mumble just loud enough for him to hear.

You make sure that Spencer’s skin is painted red by the time you pull away, your strokes matching each time you roll the delicate skin between your teeth.

“Stop, stop. Not gonna last long.” He removes your hand, and you huff.

“Get back here then, Spence.” Luke sounds. “She’s had a real smart mouth all night, might have to put it to good use, don’t you think?”

Spencer raises a brow at his dominance but agrees, “Alright.”

Your skin heats at the implications of his words, and you’re dragged by your hips, Luke rearranging you so that he can step in front of you. You squeak and your knees burn at the sheets rubbing them, but it makes you shiver.

They settle into their respective places, Spencer’s lithe, long fingers holding your waist deeply contrast the roughness that is Luke Alvez.

Your eyes rest on Luke’s large cock bobbing in front of you, and you raise a brow. “Why hello, big boy.” You murmur with a small smirk. Your eyes flutter upwards to meet his, and he’s looking at you expectantly.

It’s clear you’ve gotten on his nerves, and you can’t help the feeling of sick satisfaction that spreads throughout you. Normally, Luke’s gentle during your encounters together, two men softly worship your body.

But not tonight. Nay, tonight, you wanted it rough, you wanted it mean, you wanted it hard.

“You’re no fun.” You pout but, open your mouth to engulf it over his precum covered tip, digging your tongue into the slit of it. He grunts, large fingers winding themselves through your hair to anchor you to him.

Spencer caresses the skin of your waist all the way down the sides of your thighs before trialing up to spread your ass, watching as his long cock sinks into you.

“God,” He groans, “You feel perfect.” His head is bowed downwards a bit, his eyes screwed shut.

You’re no better, now feverishly licking at the pulsing skin of Luke’s dick, taking him down as far as you can – which sadly isn’t very far considering the sheer girth of the man – but you pick up where you lack by jerking him off.

Luke hisses, eyes practically boring into where your mouth connects to him, and he gives an experimental rock of his hips. You choke for a moment, and you pull off of him, understanding what he needs.

“Fuck my throat please.” It’s a needy mewl, and you retake him into your throat, sinking, sinking, sinking, waiting for him to catch up. “You already know what to do if it’s too much.” You just hum, gripping him by his muscular thighs.

Spencer begins to set a pace, and every time he pulls out, so does Luke, until they’re met up in perfect harmony with one another, using your body as they please. You’re moaning, and the noises that are leaving the three of you are downright sinful. If this was a porno, you’re sure you would make millions.

Tears burn in your eyes and spit foams at the corner of your mouth, but that doesn’t stop you from relaxing your throat to take in more of him. Spencer keeps hitting your g-spot with coordinated ease. He pretty much knows your body like the back of his hand.

You feel the coiling of your gut signaling your end, and your walls flutter around the older male behind you. Your breathing stutters and your nails dig into Luke’s thighs.

He’s pulsing in your mouth, and Spencer’s hips are stuttering, growing less deliberate and uncontrolled as he begins to grind into you. You disconnect from Luke’s cock, your chest heaving. A dribble of spit draws a bridge from your lips to his tip.

“‘M close, fuck, ‘m so close.” You cry out, and your head falls forward to land on the man’s firm stomach. Spencer begins thrusting into you faster.

“I got you, sweet girl. Just a little more.”

You’re jerking Luke off as fast as you can, and your wrist burns, but you pay it no mind as you lean up.

Luke is groaning something guttural, feral, and your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head.

“Cum on my face. Please… I need it.”

“Anything you want.” Is his grunted response.

The three of you are frantic in your movements, desperate to meet your ends.

Luke comes first, cum shooting out and hitting your lips and chin, as well as your eyelashes as he trembles and shakes, the hand on your head holding a death grip of your scalp.

Spencer’s next to follow, and a hand finds itself between the two of you to find your swollen clit, and rubbing, rubbing, rubbing, until you gush all over him with a loud cry that could practically be considered a scream.

It’s silent for a moment and you fall forward, chest heaving and finding solace in the cool feelings of the sheet contrasting with what of Luke’s skin.

“Everyone alright?” Luke is the first to ask.

“Just peachy.” You hum, wiggling to get comfortable as Spencer pulls out of you.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @murdadixon @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @khxna @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus

[randomshyperson]

Lacy - Werewolf!Reader x Wanda Maximoff - Kinktober #07

Summary: This Halloween, Wanda receives a surprise visit from her favorite werewolf. The problem is that it's very difficult to keep a crush hidden during mating season.

Warnings: (+18), mutual pining, semi-public, very vague allusions to omega verse, beefy!reader, power!bottom wanda, a bit rough but they are actually sweet to each other, some praising and dirty talk. | Words: 3.144k

A/N-> First, I know nothing about werewolves. It was never my thing growing up (I’m a witch type of person I suppose) but I know about omegaverse stuff and since it’s wolf-based I tried some references from that lore. Also, I was totally thinking about Wednesday's show (and Wenclair ship tbh) when writing the school but you all be free to image whatever you wish. Also, the name is from Olivia Rodrigo’s song, ‘cause it’s such a friends-to-lovers/mutual pining coded lyrics. Good reading folks! 

General Masterlist | Kinktober Collection | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

The mating season was always the most tiring part of the year.

Even as a child, her days were marked by hard work and running errands - her mother was always very busy with orders, and somehow, the twins were obliged to finish the tasks in record time, so as not to delay the calendars and keep Natalya busy when her customers needed her.

As the largest and most respected apothecary in the country, Natalya Maximoff was also one of the biggest dealers in magical items - and this also included natural suppressants. Her customers wrote to her from all over the world, many famous packs like the Romanoffs or the Howletts only bought her products, and the witch was always very busy at this time of year.

So when their mother told them that she would leave the Maximoff Magical Articles Boutique in their care for two whole days, while she delivered packages around the world, none of them were surprised, as this had been done dozens of times before.

Wanda's indignation stemmed from the fact that her twin brother, as soon as there were no more magical remnants of the portal his mother had conjured to travel through, put on a jacket and told her he was leaving.

"But you can't leave me alone!" Wanda hurried away from the counter. Pietro chuckled, adjusting his hat on his silver hair. Since he had turned 18 last month, he had grown a good few centimeters, and even with her best serious expression, Wanda, who hadn't grown much since she was 15, no longer succeeded in frightening him. That, and well, like his father, Pietro had a bastard heritage of lycanthropy, and with his new skills, he had also gained extreme confidence.

"What, you gonna tell me you're scared of some little wolves?" He sneered, his fangs protruding from his smile. Wanda huffed angrily, her cheeks slightly red. "Don't be silly, Wanda. You're a witch. Nobody's is crazy enough to mess with you."

He tries to pat her on the shoulder, but Wanda pushes a finger against his chest. "I'm not afraid of any wolves, you selfish idiot! Mom says the store is our responsibility. And you're sneaking off to do who knows what! I don't want to spend all night looking after this place on my own. Apart from the season, it's Halloween, and kids go apeshit and-"

"Jesus, Wanda, I'll make it up to you!" He cuts in, already pulling away and ignoring the other girl's protests. "I've got to go, I'm taking Crystal to the movies, then we'll settle up!

"Pietro!" But the call was ignored and the store door was slammed in her face.

Wanda huffed to herself. She could survive a Halloween night, but her brother would owe her a lot if he didn't want to be snitched on. She returned to the counter, texting him another dozen curses before texting to her mother that everything was under control.

And lucky for her, that's how the evening actually went. 

Most of the few customers who showed up were locals, a few sorcerers in need of ingredients, and even a traveling vampire who needed to replenish some reserves for a long trip. Some children also asked for candy, and tired of getting up so often, Wanda decided to leave the jars outside.

It was almost at the end of her shift, when she was ready to close the shop, that a delicious smell wafted into the room. Wanda, who was distracted by the holiday lessons that the institute where she studied always offered when there were short vacations or not, was snapped out of her concentration by the fascinating smell. She looked up just as a figure stumbled into the store, covered by a school uniform hood.

She didn't need you to remove the cap to recognize you, and yet, when your face became visible, Wanda felt her heart unlearn how to beat properly. 

"Good evening?" You looked between the shelves, approaching the cashier, only to hesitate as soon as you saw Wanda. "Oh, h-hi. Uh, is Madame Maximoff around?"

You looked uneasy, adjusting your hair and fiddling with your fingers. Your flushed face must have been due to the walk from the Institute to the store. 

Wanda shook her head as she replied: "She had some orders to place. How can I help you?"

The color of your face deepened, and you couldn't look her in the eye for more than two seconds. "Hmm, I kind of need... suppressants." And it was the turn of Wanda's face to heat up. You continued talking anxiously. "I thought I still had some, but my reservation ran out, and since I'm in the dorm, I wouldn't want to... well, would you have any left? I know it's very short notice but I really need it."

Wanda nodded quickly, equally at a loss for words. You see, if you were any other of her werewolf colleagues, the situation might even be comical. She wasn't like Pietro and didn't make friends very easily, but she shared the same taunting nature. One horny wolf in the store and Wanda would have jokes for the rest of the year. But it was you, her longtime secret crush, emanating a very pleasant scent and in need of something so intimate that Wanda could barely control her own thoughts about what other ways she could help you if there were no other suppressors in the store.

"My mom usually sells everything before the season starts, but I can look in the warehouse to see if we have any leftovers. I'll be right back." She says, smiling softly at your anxious figure.

Wanda has never seen you in heat before; the mating seasons for new wolves begin at the end of puberty, between the ages of sixteen and eighteen, and the vast majority of her werewolf classmates at the Institute return to their packs at this time of year, already matched with their partners in the traditions of the lycanthrope. Wanda only knows about the rituals from her father's family, because each clan, from the Vampires to the witches, is very private about it all. Witches like her mother, who specialize in all kinds of products, are the exceptions.

Wanda tries the storeroom next to the counter, but after a few boxes, she snorts in frustration. Her mother really did sell everything, and she almost reprimanded you for not planning properly. For older, mismatched wolves, being without suppressors could be really dangerous. For you, a new werewolf, it would only be quite painful. It was easier for her to feel sorry. 

And while she tried the last few shelves at the back of the storeroom, you grew even more restless outside. Wanda had no idea how intoxicating the essence of a witch, especially a witch one cared about, was. If you hadn't been so desperate, you would have given up going into the store as soon as you could smell her from around the corner, but then again, your brain wasn't working very rationally right now.

And there was also a scarf on the counter, Wanda's most characteristic item since she had received it as a gift so many years ago. Many of the times you've noticed her, she's worn the item around her neck and it made sense that her scent was so strong in the room, even though she was upstairs.

Your limbs moved by instinct, you didn't have to think much, just let yourself be guided by the urge to exhale that distinctive smell more deeply. 

Your face was pressed against the scarf when Wanda reappeared, and her confused giggle made you jump away mortified.

"Are you all right there?" She ventured, receiving a very quick and embarrassed nod. Wanda chuckled again in amazement, and without caring much about your current condition, she approached. "I looked upstairs, but my mother sold everything, sorry. There's something else you might like to try, maybe a calming potion so you can sleep while... well, this happens to you."

You quickly agree, still embarrassed at being caught. Wanda doesn't mind, if anything, she always found it very entertaining how different you were from the other werewolves she knew; loud and confident to the point of being idiotic. Pietro was a prime example. And if it wasn't for your distinctive stature, she could easily have assumed from your shy and careful personality that you were just an ordinary human, perhaps a mermaid from the way you seemed to bewitch Wanda's attention all to yourself.

"I'm sorry." You mutter suddenly, while she is searching for a sleeping potion on the shelf under the counter. Wanda turns her face up in confusion, but you're looking away. "From the scarf, I know it's... weird. But my body seems to be acting on its own. Just forget about it when we get back to school, okay? I'll be normal when it's over."

"Don't worry, I don't mind." She assured meekly, before finally finding some bottles that could help you and taking them back to the counter. She bit her lip at the way you were panting, and the way your trembling fingers pulled some notes and coins out of your pocket. "You can take these two vials today, and this one in the morning if you're still..."

"Horny'?" You joke, and take Wanda by surprise, but she manages to return the short laugh. Your hands push out the money and she turns away to pack the vials into a small bag. "So, one now and two tomorrow."

Wanda quickly denies it. "No, darling, two now and one tomorrow. Are you... are you sure you're all right? You're sweating-"

"Just give me a minute." You interrupt her with a gasp, the sudden wave of heat catching you completely off guard. The room starts to spin, and for a whole moment, all you can feel is your own arousal and the way you want to touch the witch in front of you. Your body gives way, and your hands force down on the counter, disastrously strong enough for the wood to crack. Wanda jumps in fright, worried, but you grunt quietly. "Shit, I'm really sorry-"

She hurries around the counter, and her soft hands make you jump away. "Hey, it's okay, I just want to help you stand up."

But you gasp in despair, wrenching your body away from her. "Don't touch me, Wanda, for God's sake." You grunt, and if you hadn't sounded so affected, Wanda would have taken offense. Instead, she stands ready to catch you if you lose your balance again, and that's exactly what happens. This time, your weight falls forward, and Wanda's body serves as a barrage. 

Your wolfish weight is almost too much for her, and it doesn't help that your face is buried against her collarbone, and your arms embrace her clumsily. "Hm, so soft." She hears you sigh, as she struggles to drag you over to the reading area of the store's bookshelves, where there's a sofa to put you on. When you fall into the cushions, you look up with dreamy eyes and an easy smile playing on your lips. Wanda gasps softly from exhaustion. 

"Wait here a moment, okay? You feel like you're burning up with a fever. I'll get you some water." She explains, but it doesn't seem like you're listening very much, disconcerting her with the way you're looking at you so discourteously, your pupils dilating. Wanda adjusts a strand of hair, self-conscious under your gaze. "I'll be right back."

She practically runs out of there, and alone, realizing her own hands are trembling as she remembers the sensation of having your body against hers. She shakes her head to push the thought away, you were clearly in a vulnerable moment right now, and Wanda doesn't think she'll survive the shame of being rejected once the heat wears off.

When Wanda returns with the water, she almost drops the glass on the floor. You haven't moved, but you've changed position, limp against the sofa, evidently rubbing yourself down the item as you whimper. 

"Oh, detka, let me help you." Wanda abandons the glass on a shelf, and rushes to your side, kneeling beside the sofa. You gasp in embarrassment, trying to escape her gaze, but Wanda's hands grab your warm face. "Let's go upstairs. I'll make it better." She whispers the invitation, but the thought alone is enough for you to grunt in affection and pull her face towards you. 

It's a hungry kiss, and the position doesn't help. Wanda has to grab your shoulders to keep from falling to the floor and ends up breaking into a giggle when a moment later it's you who's throwing yourself at her, desperately kissing her as if she's going to disappear. 

The lightness disappears quickly. She feels very hot and bothered, especially when your tongue slips into hers as if you already knew exactly how to kiss her, and your hands touch her entire body with determination. Her plea for you to slow down turns into a moan when your knee pushes between her legs.

It's almost primitive the way you seem willing to have her right there on the floor, angrily trying to pull her clothes off while your moans mingle. Wanda's face burns and she struggles to match the kiss, losing that battle all too easily when your palms begin to stimulate her nipples. 

She can feel the wetness begin to bother her through the fabric of her panties, and perhaps, you can smell it too, because you grow more impatient, and begin to murmur disconnected compliments into her skin, your hands reaching down to unzip her pants. Wanda chokes between moans, practically whimpering when your fingers find her so ready. 

You enter her, all at once, without a second thought. You suck on her tongue as she squeezes your fingerprints and soaks your hand. It's dirty and rough, and Wanda couldn't hold back even if she tried. Yet the store door opens, and she has to bite down hard on your shoulder to muffle her own noises.

Whoever the customer is, asking if there's anyone there or if the store is open, Wanda makes sure they don't see her. Her eyes are scarlet, and it's never been harder to do a concealment spell than it is now, with your fingers thrusting inside her as if the world around you hardly mattered. Finally, the customer leaves and her magic plays its part in locking the door before Wanda digs her nails into your back and comes against your fingers.

It's not enough - Nothing seems to be. You continue your movements inside her until Wanda is spasming again, begging for a pause. Your hungry mouth finds its way into her most intimate place then, just to tear more pleasure out of her. She loses count of how many times she comes, on your fingers and tongue, until the whole store smells of sex.

Fuck, she has to move you before Pietro comes back.

It's only when you let her breathe, retreating like a wounded wolf, that Wanda notices the puddle of moisture on your pants. You came at the mere act of watching and touching her. 

"Hey, are you okay, sweetheart?" She coos gently, propping herself up on one elbow now that you're lying on your back, one arm over your face. Your clothes are as torn as theirs, but there are many more marks on her body than on yours. 

You sniffle quietly, and Wanda looks at you with concern. "Why didn't you stop me?" you ask upset, and Wanda stares in shock for a moment. Then, swallowing dryly, she works up the courage:

"You didn't want this?"

But your reaction is to laugh incredulously. "Of course, I wanted it, Wanda! But I'm talking about you. Why didn't you stop me? You're a witch, you could have knocked me down, look at you! You're all purple, and I... God, I can't believe I... hurt you." 

She climbs into your lap before you can despair, ignoring your soft protest and grabbing your crying face. "I haven't stopped you because I've wanted you to since we met." She assures you determinedly, caressing your cheeks. "I'm in love with you, you idiot."

Sniffling softly, you raise hopeful eyes. "Really?"

Wanda smiles, her weight against your chest. "Really." She assures you. "And don't worry about the marks, I... like it rough."

You groan in embarrassment, looking away and amusing her. There's a moment's pause, and then finally: "I like you too."

Wanda bites back a smile. "I got that impression, you know? When you were all whiny on me." 

Your laugh is sincere and shy, and Wanda kisses you as your hands grip her thighs. But before she can deepen it the way she'd like, you break again.

"Thanks for helping with the heat... but I'll take you on a date after this. I promise."

She pulls on your bottom lip with a provocative bite. "I'll charge." She assures you in a naughty whisper, and you sigh contentedly as she presses your hips together. Smooth movements, and you're already seeing stars again. 

Your breathing becomes shorter, and Wanda traces her fingers along your jaw, while her other hand moves down. "I bet you're all warm and tight."

You sigh, closing your eyes and nodding in agreement. Wanda kisses you leisurely, also taking time to slide her fingers into your pants and assess the effects of everything so far. She's not surprised by the immense wetness, but the sensation of sinking into you is overwhelming. She can feel ready for another when she starts to stimulate you and watches you squirm beneath her.

"So good... don't stop..." You moan helplessly, and the grip on her thighs is almost strong enough to hurt. Wanda makes a mental note of how to make you lose control of your strength, before curling her fingers inside you and being rewarded with the sweetest sounds in the world. "W-Wanda!"

She decides she likes it very, very much when you whimper her name like that. She continues her motions a few more times until you come hard on her fingers. Wanda thrusts a few times, before removing them and bringing them to her mouth, sucking them clean while you try to catch a breath. 

Your murmurs are labored, and Wanda kisses your cheek a few times. "Come on upstairs, sweet baby, I'll take care of you." She tries to get up, but your hands steady her on your lap.

It's almost ridiculous how easily you lift the two of you, and Wanda has to hold onto your shoulders, chuckling softly at your uncertain stumbles on the way upstairs. 

She'll have time to look after the store when you fall asleep. Right now, she's more focused on kissing you again.

[nova-is-a-writer-now]

Hidden Embers

Series summary: You return to your home state the summer after graduating college. The relentless Texas heat, the suburban southern bubble and your treacherous relationship with your mom give you the feeling this will be a long summer. That's until Joel Miller enters the picture.

Summary: Your welcome-back party brings a re-encounter with one of your dad’s old friends, one you don’t remember looking so good.

A/N: Hello strangers, haven't seen you in a long long time. This is something that's been on the works for months now. Ideally, I wanted to put this series out when I had a good enough chunk of the story finished since I'm the most undecisive person ever. However, I wanna start posting some chapters on here as I go and then post the full completed thing on AO3. I will warn you though, it is very likely that as I write the story, I will keep on making some changes to previously posted chapters just so in the end it all makes sense and it's cohesive, I will let you guys know whenever there has been a major change. Take this as me asking the tumblr girlies to beta read this series before i publish it over on AO3. In any case, I hope the ones who decide to start reading here instead of waiting for the full thing enjoy it very much, I'm very open to suggestions, opinions and constructive critisism. :)

Warnings: Age-gap (Reader is 22, Joel is 46), Dbf!Joel, mommy issues

It was your first summer back home after graduation. The relentless Texas heat was bringing memories from your childhood that had been buried away until now, some of them felt more like dreams at this point. You had never been too good with the heat, but spending four years in chilly, gloomy New England had certainly birthed a new appreciation for it.

You weren’t sure you wanted to come back and stay for the entire summer, but your southern-to-the-core mother has a knack for getting her way. Something about “You were away for four whole years, I’m sure you can spare us a couple months before you jump right into a job in god knows where. Who knows? Maybe you’ll end up moving back and finding something around here, a nice guy to settle down with and finally get your life going.” 

God forbid. 

Naturally, in true southern fashion, your parents had to make your graduation celebration a neighborhood affair. A big barbeque, with all the nice people your parents grew up with, went to highschool and college with, who married and had kids with each other. People who haven’t, a day in their lives, given a single thought to what might exist outside of their perfect suburban bubbles. 

You weren’t trying to act ungrateful – it was a celebration of one of your most important milestones after all. People were coming together to congratulate you and your achievements. But if it were up to you, none of them would have been invited and you wouldn’t have celebrated it like this. Honestly, you missed the trips you used to take with your dad as a kid, all the way out in the countryside. Just the two of you for a week during the summer, staying in an old cabin that creaked and shook whenever your steps were too heavy. You don't remember why you stopped going, but you wished you still did. It would have been a much nicer celebration.

None of today’s guests knew you as anything other than your parent’s daughter, the shiny new thing your mother was choosing to show off. You knew that’s how it was gonna be the second your mother told you there was no point in attending your college’s graduation party, why would you when they could make you your own celebration back home with all the nice neighborhood people instead of a room full of strangers?

Your dad had good intentions, you knew that… deep, deep down. But it had always just been the three of you, and even when it was blatantly obvious your mother was in the wrong, even when there was no way of justifying her behavior, he still stood behind her, echoing her words. 

And that's how you ended up here, prepping food for your own graduation barbeque, decorating your own garden, cleaning up your own house so it would be squeaky clean for people you hadn’t seen in well over a decade. It’s what a “Do it for me, i’ll make it up to you I promise. The community is just really important to your mom” from your dad gets out of you. 

You had probably been looking at yourself for a good twenty minutes now. Nothing you tried on felt quite right. It was either too formal, too casual, too revealing or too childish. This was a direct consequence of moving out of the south at the ripe age of 10; No one in Virginia taught you how to dress for a neighborhood barbeque. 

Last minute you land on a blue sundress, delicate white flowers scattered around, long enough to cover your knees but not enough to make you look like you just walked out of Sunday school. You took that as a win. 

At the sound of your mother loudly complaining about no one in the house ever helping (a comment undoubtedly directed at you), you decide to drag yourself downstairs. The sooner you get this party started, the sooner you could be done with it.

Rushing down the stairs, distractedly gathering your hair up with a tie, you unexpectedly bump into something – or rather someone.  

"Easy, there. Where's the fire?"

That familiar voice… same old Joel Miller. A few more grays overpowering the darkness of his hair, a couple more wrinkles here and there and a deeper tan painting his skin a more caramel-y shade. But it was still him. 

You knew very little about Joel, just that he was your dad’s best friend for as long as you could remember. The periodic phone calls they filled with hour-long football discussions, the christmas cards exchanged and birthday wishes texted. You remember him being around the house a lot before moving out of Texas, although the specifics of it escape your memory.

Now he’s standing right in front of you, firm hands holding you by your arms to make sure you won't lose your balance, and you’re faced with the fact that twenty-two-year-old you might be seeing Joel Miller through a different lens. 

Your brain isn’t really doing what it’s meant to do, which in this exact moment would be produce an acceptable response for the six-foot-something man with broad shoulders, dark brooding eyes and a musky, woody scent that made you wanna… No. Focus.

“I am so sorry, I didn’t even see you there… I didn’t think anyone would arrive until five.” you finally reply to his expectant stare. 

“No need to be sorry.” He says back, letting go of your arms once he’s sure you’re able to stand on your own. “Well, welcome home. Haven’t seen you since you were running around in mermaid tees” 

Yeah, now seemed like the right time to look for a hole in the ground to crawl into. 

“Oh, that’s not fair, I grew out of my mermaid phase long before we moved.  I was well into boyband territory last time you saw me” you try to joke your way through the conversation, hoping the burning sensation crawling up to your cheeks isn’t as obvious as it feels. 

The embarrassment of the moment would have churned your insides for much longer if Joel's mouth hadn't quirked up in a charming smirk, so captivating it was hard to believe he wasn't aware of its effect. 

That on its own was already causing some conflicting feelings to boil up inside you, but then he had the nerve to let out a small chuckle he seemed to have been trying to hold back. He was chuckling... Texas’ resident grump was chuckling at your joke, which wasn't even that funny if we’re being fully earnest. Why did you like that thought so much?

You were about to say something, anything really, in a shameless attempt to see if you could earn one more of those, when your mother's approaching voice snapped you out of the haze.

“Are you gonna make me drag you in here, or will you do me the courtesy of helping out... Oh, goodness me! Joel! I didn’t hear you come in, you’re here early.” She switched gears faster than a professional racer. Suddenly, she was back to being the neighborhood’s sweetheart, her voice dripping with that sickly sweet drawl.

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry for the intrusion,” Joel replies, slipping back into his usual, almost stiff demeanor. Whatever new side you had seen of him a second ago was quickly gone. “Hank asked me to drop by a bit earlier to bring him the grill. Said mine’s better suited for the amount of meat he’s buying.”

“Oh, how that man refuses to listen. I told him we didn’t need that much meat. I'm making a whole lotta side dishes,” she whines, waving her hand dismissively. “Well, I guess everyone will be taking leftovers home then. Hank went over to the store to grab me some stuff I was missing. He should be back in a heartbeat.” She glances back at you and, in that passive-aggressive tone that almost anybody else would miss, said, “Well, sweetheart, don’t just stand there. Go help Joel unload his grill and show him what a good host you are.” 

It was only your third day back home. Somehow, four years of freedom had made living in this household even more unbearable. 

Smile, turn around, walk away. Choose your peace, choose your peace, choose your peace.

Heavy footsteps echo yours all the way to the garage, where Joel's truck waited. You let him walk past you to unlock the tailgate. “Your mom hasn’t changed one bit, has she?” Joel says distractedly while grabbing some metal pieces that looked like parts of his grill. 

“Oh, if you only knew.” you say back, trying your best to conceal the sharpness of your tone. 

He hands you the cold metal parts, surprisingly lighter than you anticipated. You were convinced he only made you carry them to let you feel useful. “Believe me, I know. Known your mom since way before you were even a thought runnin’ through her mind.” 

Right. Because Joel happens to be your parents’ age and over twice your senior. One of the many reasons why getting distracted by the way his muscles flexed while picking up the grill was so beyond wrong. 

“You uh… you still live a few houses up the street?” You asked, trying your best to redirect your reckless thoughts. 

“Same old house.” He replies with a slightly strained voice from carrying the weight. Once he set it down in the backyard, he turned around to take the pieces you were holding onto. “Renovated some of it, built a new pool out back.” 

“That sounds nice, might have to check it out sometime.” You said it without even thinking much. What compelled you to think it was acceptable to tell a man you haven't seen in over a decade you would like to ‘check out’ his pool, was beyond you.

You thought Joel would chuckle it off or maybe not even acknowledge it, which he would’ve been well within his right to do, but he looked up to you from his leaning position next to the grill and said “Yeah, I think you might.” 

You couldn’t shake off Joel’s words throughout the whole afternoon. 

First chance you got to zone out in between introductions, awkward small talk and getting asked the same thing for the thousandth time, your mind drifted back to Joel’s words. 

He was just being polite, right? He has always been a gentleman after all. Maybe it was just the southern hospitality in him, maybe he didn’t even mean it and was just trying to be nice.

Yeah, I think you might

You were probably just reading too much into it, but the way he said it seemed like a lot more than just being polite. Or, and this is a very big possibility, it’s been way too long since you’ve let anyone take you to bed and you’re latching onto the first man who looks your way. 

You try to distract your brain with the old lady in front of you instead, who’s been chatting you up about her four cats for over fifteen minutes. She’s surprisingly nice but you think you’d be enjoying her chatter a lot more if your mind wasn’t so distracted.

She notices as much.  “You doin’ alright there, sweetheart?” 

You  brush it off as best as you can. “Oh, I'm alright. I just think the trip and the unpacking is finally catching up to me.” You stand up from the lawn chair you’d been lounging on. “I’ll go grab myself a drink, can I grab you anything?” 

She smiles sweetly up at you and replies “No, sweetness, you go ahead.” 

The chatter outside dulls out as you close the glass doors behind you. You don’t bother turning on the kitchen overhead lights, relying only on light seeping in from the back yard.

The chill from the fridge hits your chest as you crack the door open to grab a can of coke. Just as you pop the tab, a shadow leaning against the door frame makes you jump. 

“Jesus, give a girl a warning.” you say bringing your hand to your chest trying to slow your heartbeat back down. 

“Sorry darlin’, didn’t mean to scare you.” Joel's voice comes from the shadow

Darlin’ ? Lord, were you screwed. 

You hoped the dim lighting was doing enough to hide the burning red that was probably staining your cheeks already, especially since Joel was pushing off of the door frame and walking over to you. 

“Needed a break from the crowd too?” you ask softly, cutting through the quiet.

The corner of his lips curves up in one of his killer smirks and you can already tell that’s gonna be one of your favorite things about him. “You readin’ me like a book.” 

You give him a tiny smile and take a sip of your Coke, the cold liquid a welcome distraction. “I thought you’d be manning the grill.”

He grumbles softly, the sound reverberating in his chest. “Hank’s got it covered for now. Figured I’d come check on you.”

You look up at him confused. “Check on me? Why?”

He shrugged, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. “Just wanted to make sure you’re doing alright. This can’t be easy, coming back after all this time.”

More than the charming smirks or the pet names or the indecipherable jabs, this knocked the air out of your chest. You were so used to everyone telling you how lucky you were, how wonderful your parents were and how great it was they could put you through college, how perfect of a life you had and how easy it seemed for you to deal with it all. You get it, that’s how it looked from the outside and you didn’t blame people for thinking that. But the truth was you had just become shockingly skilled at hiding your struggles, pretending you had everything under control and plastering a big, dazzling smile on your face.

Somehow, in the few hours that Joel has been around you, at least in this past decade, he managed to see right through this smoke screen you’ve been building your entire life to keep people from seeing what’s going on inside. 

It leaves you speechless for a second. “Oh, um…” you can’t take your eyes off of him now, far too unconcerned to notice if you’re staring. “It’s been… exhausting and a bit hectic but, you know... I’m alright. Thank you for asking, Joel.” His name slips out of your lips so easily, like you could picture yourself saying it over and over again without ever burning out. 

He looks down, almost like he isn’t used to doing this either, like he’s searching for something else to say. Then his hoarse voice breaks through the silence “Well, if you’re not, you know where to find me.” 

With one last glance, a lingering one at that, Joel turns back and leaves where he came from. Like he didn’t just tip your entire world out of balance. 

And you’re left there in the dark, trying to figure out what the hell this feeling on your chest is and why, on god's green earth, your father’s best friend won’t leave your head. 

[superscourge]

Resurrected AU Ch. 1: Alliance

(read on AO3 here!) Warnings (for the fic in general, not necessarily this chapter): Graphic depictions of violence, strong language, general mature themes Chapter Summary: Scourge breaks into one of Eggman's bases in search of a secret weapon to defeat Sonic with, but what he ends up finding is much stranger and much scarier than he was expecting. Though…he finds a way to get some use out of it. Notes: it really took me like a thousand years to get this started huh. lol. well i wanted to at least get the first chapter out before the sonic au collision event fully started, so im happy to present the first chapter of resurrected au's fic!! god i hope yall like it LOLLL, this au means a whole lot to me.. it's become my favorite baby i wont lie. i will also admit that im a Little nervous to finally start posting my actual writing for sonic stuff; i'm pretty self-conscious abt it actually lmao. but hopefully yall end up enjoying how i write these guys. please be niceys idk how long it'll take me to dish out the rest of the chapters, but hopefully i can find the time and energy to get them out steadily!! thanks in advance for reading and thank u so much for ur support and enthusiasm <3

--

It’s not every day that you get a juicy piece of info that could very well put the odds in your favor. That’s why Scourge was not gonna waste this opportunity.

He’d gotten word thanks to his incredible sleuthing skills [read: eavesdropping on strangers] that Eggman had a new base in the area and had apparently acquired a very powerful “secret weapon” of some sort. That was all he needed to know before deciding it was time to raid a base. After all, if he found that secret weapon? Sonic was toast.

It took a minute to actually find the damn place, but soon enough, Scourge was skidding to a stop at the treeline before what looked to be a large, dome-shaped structure with the patented Eggman symbol on it (or something that looked like it; Scourge figured it was close enough). He smirked, flipping his shades down over his eyes and speeding off towards the entrance.

As expected, badniks littered the area around the main entrance to the base. They looked a little funny, Scourge noted; they seemed a little more…high-tech than he was used to seeing. But, whatever–he figured it wouldn’t be an issue once they were busted to scraps.

… He did have a little trouble with these bots. Just a little. But it was no biggie, since he ended up finding a way inside before he could be overwhelmed. All’s well that ends well, he supposed.

The inside of this place was…confusing. So many twists and turns, rooms that led into other rooms, platforms that moved in weird directions…

“Doesn’t this place have a map?” Scourge grumbled to himself as he ran through the absolute maze of hallways.

After what seemed like forever, he finally came to what was clearly the main, central chamber of the base. There was a very complicated-looking keypad attached to it. Luckily, Scourge was very good at lockpicking.

Stepping back a bit, he hopped up and curled into a spindash before launching himself at the keypad. It took a bit of work, but before long, the whole thing was smashed to bits with sparks flying everywhere. Just as he’d hoped, the door opened once the keypad was destroyed. With a triumphant snicker, he unfurled and landed back on the floor before confidently waltzing into the chamber.

Inside looked pretty much as he expected it to–tubes and gadgets everywhere, lots of high-tech machinery that did Gaia-knows-what, lots of papers littered about several desks that clearly showed the work of an evil mastermind…

Yeah. Deffo an Egg-base.

“Now, where’s that weapon…” Scourge questioned aloud as he strolled through the room. He pulled out some drawers and rummaged around here and there, but he didn’t really find anything interesting so far. Surely this thing wasn’t hidden that well, right?

Just as he was starting to get frustrated, he came across a huge capsule of some kind right in the middle of the room. Pretty obvious, actually. He wasn’t that observant, but whatever. He raised his shades to where they were resting back in their place on his head before he rubbed his hands together with a huge, toothy grin. “That looks promising.”

Making his way to the door of the capsule, he tried to peek inside through the little window on the front of it. He couldn’t make anything out… He decided to just open it to get a look at what was inside, so he searched around for a switch of some kind that would do that for him. It didn’t take long, thankfully, and he quickly pressed the button down that would activate the door.

Smoke spewed out from the door as it opened, making Scourge cough a bit. He waved his hand to clear some of it out of his way as he impatiently waited for it to dissipate enough for him to see what he was in for.

This had to be some sort of cool gun. He knew it was. Some kinda laser shooter or something. Or maybe a bazooka. Oh–a cannon, even! He dearly hoped it was a cannon, actually. The smoke was almost fully cleared, so he leaned in excitedly to see what was inside…!

… It was…a guy. There was a guy in there.

“What the–?” Scourge furrowed his brow once he got a good look at the contents of the capsule. It was obviously a person–a jackal, it looked like? Definitely not a cannon. Who the hell was this? He looked rough, like he’d really been put through the wringer. His drip was cool, Scourge supposed, and the big, gnarly scar on the guy’s chest was pretty intimidating…

Mine’s still cooler, he thought to himself.

Suddenly, alarms sounded throughout the base. Scourge cursed under his breath as he looked over his shoulder. He turned back to the man in the capsule, making a quick decision–he’d snag him and take him with him. He probably had some idea of where the weapon was, so once he woke up, he’d just beat the information out of him if he wouldn’t give it up willingly.

Grabbing the jackal out of the capsule and slinging him over his shoulder, Scourge finally sped out back through the way he came. He was able to dodge any bots that tried to come after him thanks to his speed, and soon enough, he was outside and running through the trees of Mobius once again.

He ran until forest turned to jungle, and before long he was slowing to a stop once again in a small clearing where bits of light showed through the canopy up above. He rested the other man’s body down on a bed of moss near a small pond, figuring that’d be…somewhat comfortable, and he then took a seat on a fallen tree a few feet away.

It was only a matter of seconds before he began to tap his foot. What was he supposed to do now? Just sit there waiting for this guy to wake up? That could take hours… He didn’t have that kind of patience.

Deciding to take the initiative, Scourge stood and started walking over to the jackal, intending to just…lightly kick him until he woke up, or something. However, he didn’t get the chance.

A low, threatening growl could be heard rumbling from the stranger’s throat. Scourge stopped in his tracks once he heard it, then took a few paces back. How long had he been–?

One yellow eye opened to a squint, scanning the area before landing on Scourge. For some reason, the look the man was giving him made his skin crawl… Not that he was going to let him know that, though.

Instead, Scourge popped the collar of his jacket to regain his composure and puffed out his chest. “Took ya long enough,” he teased right off the bat. “I was startin’ to think you were dead.”

The jackal’s gaze lingered on him coldly for a few moments. However, he looked elsewhere when he began to speak. “... I should have been.”

That…wasn’t the response Scourge was expecting. The way he sank a bit betrayed his confusion. “... Wait, what?”

The man sat up, sort of startling Scourge into taking another step back. As he did so, he fully opened both of his eyes so that he could properly take in his surroundings. He was clearly ignoring the hedgehog beside him as he turned his head away, which didn’t really sit right with Scourge.

“Hey!” he barked. “I’m talkin’ to you!”

Giving no indication that he was listening, the man proceeded to rise to his feet, standing at his full height. Scourge sort of…shrank a little once he saw how actually tall this guy was. He knew jackals were generally bigger than hedgehogs, but this guy…

No, no, it was fine. No need to be afraid. He was still in charge here–this guy just didn’t know it!

With an annoyed sneer, Scourge dared to stomp a little closer. “Listen here, pal. If it weren’t for me, you woulda still been stuck in that base. I went outta my way to rescue you, got it? That means you owe me one. So, I’m gonna tell you how this is gonna go down, and you’re gonna–hrk!”

A clawed hand suddenly gripping his neck caused Scourge’s words to get caught in his throat… At least, that was part of it.

The jackal had snapped his head around to glare murderously at him as he grabbed him, which gave Scourge a very clear view of his face. He could see his one piercing yellow eye staring back at him…and he quickly noticed that the other eye had some kind of rock lodged into its socket. It was an eerie sight, and it definitely sent an intense chill up Scourge’s spine.

“You,” spat the jackal, voice deep and commanding, “do not control me.”

Unable to respond, Scourge just kind of…dangled there, hands gripping the other’s wrist as he kicked his legs a little. The expression he wore was enough of a response, though, so he was released after a moment of struggle. Once he was able to breathe and stand on his own again, he gasped for air and rubbed at his throat with an indignant look.

“What the hell?” he managed to say between coughs. “Who do you think you are, grabbin’ me like that?”

Turning away, the taller man didn’t bother to look at him as he replied. “I am Infinite,” he answered simply.

There was a pause as Scourge seemed to wait for him to say something else. When he didn’t, he furrowed his brow a little. “... Like, that’s your name, or…?”

The man–Infinite, apparently–seemed to hesitate, as if he was surprised that Scourge didn’t recognize him. One of his ears flicked.

“... I suppose enough time has passed that my name is no longer common knowledge,” he mused, half to himself. “Pity. I would have liked to think I made a bigger impact than that.”

Scourge watched as Infinite turned to fully face him again, making him subconsciously take a couple steps back. Man, this guy was kinda scary… Not that he couldn’t take him! He was just giving him the creeps, was all… Cyan eyes flicked to Infinite’s hands as he flexed his fingers.

“I will simply have to remind the world what true fear feels like,” he growled lowly, “and I suppose that starts with you.”

The rock embedded in Infinite’s eye began to glow as he summoned its power, and, to Scourge’s bewilderment, he began to lift off the ground and hover there. It was kind of scary, actually. The guy was floating. What the hell?

Then it hit him. The weapon Eggman had been hoarding wasn’t a gun or a cannon or anything like that. It was Infinite. He obviously held some sort of power that Eggman wanted to weaponize, and that must have been why he’d been locked up in that base… Things started clicking.

Despite Scourge expecting him to do… anything, really…Infinite proceeded to seize up in pain and let out an agonized yell. He suddenly collapsed to the ground, falling to his knees as he held himself up with one hand and gripped his head with the other. “W… What…?!” 

Infinite’s hand moved from his head to his chest where the large scar marked him. When he felt nothing but the scar, he had a look of both anger and confusion on his face, which told Scourge that what just happened clearly wasn’t the plan.

… Interesting.

Scourge stood a little straighter once he was confident that this guy wasn’t about to explode or something, sticking his thumbs into his jacket pockets. “Aaaalright, Criss Angel. If you’re done with all that , I think it’s time we get down to business.”

While Infinite knelt there still trying to figure out what was going on, Scourge began to pace around him in a circle, smirking as he did so. “Look. Like I said before, I rescued you from that base, so you kinda owe me one. But–and hear me out on this one–I’m willin’ to come to a compromise.”

Infinite snapped out of his pained daze long enough to shoot another glare at Scourge as he came around to his front again. “Compromise?” he hissed.

Scourge nodded. “Yeah. So, listen–I didn’t get to introduce myself earlier.” He held up a thumb and pointed it at his own chest, teeth bared in some kind of nasty grin. “Name’s Scourge. If ya haven’t hearda me by now, then you’ve been livin’ under a rock.”

Infinite somehow doubted that this brat had left enough of a mark on the world that anybody off the street would know his name. Still, he let him continue.

“I wanna take out Sonic. I assume you know him, right? Well, I think you’re just the guy who can help me out with that. He’s gotten lucky so far, but I think with you backin’ me up, I’ll be able to finally give ‘em his just desserts.”

The name Sonic caused a spark of recognition to flash over Infinite’s good eye. His breathing began to steady. “... Sonic,” he repeated. “Yes, I am familiar with Sonic .”

The way Infinite said his name let Scourge know that there was some beef there, at least. This worked in his favor. “Good,” he said with a nod. “So we’re on the same page, then.”

He turned on his heel before stopping his walk, facing Infinite to speak to him directly. “Like I said, I want you to help me take him down. Easy, right? In exchange, though… I’ll help you out with whatever you want, too. I dunno if you knew this, but I’m basically just as strong and just as fast as that blue bastard. I could give anybody a run for their money if I felt like it.”

Narrowing his eye skeptically, Infinite mulled this over. He seemed to be recovering from the shock from before, and he stood back up onto his feet. It was evident from how long he took to respond that his mind was…elsewhere.

“... I see.” His tail swished behind him as he thought about his next words. “You are offering to aid me in whatever task I ask of you?”

“Cross my heart.”

Infinite gave a huff before crossing his arms. “... Fine. If you intend to uphold your end of this bargain, then I will do the same.”

Scourge smiled widely, his sharklike teeth almost glistening in what little sunlight was managing to poke through the canopy above them. This idiot. He had no idea that he had every intention of double-crossing him the first chance he got.

He held out his hand for a shake to seal the deal. “Glad to have ya aboard, Infinite.”

Infinite glanced down at the other’s hand before reaching forward and taking it, giving it a single shake. His grip was tight. “Let us make the most out of this partnership, shall we?”

… Infinite was not stupid. He instantly knew that Scourge was going to betray him. That overconfident fool was so transparent it almost made him sick.

But…he could also tell that he had some bite to his bark, even if it was just a little. He was seasoned enough as a soldier that he could see that. That meant he could get some use out of him before he pulled his own betrayal.

He no longer had the Phantom Ruby in his chest, and he was alive, and he had no idea why. If this green idiot could help him figure that out…then he’d play along for as long as he had to.

Either way, he was going to get answers. And once that was done? He was going to rip out Sonic’s miserable little throat.

☆

[writingtraumaforever]

Courtship: Chapter 3 (Finale)

Notes: AAAAAAAAAND DONE. This was such a joy to write, guys. I love the movie-verse so, so much, and I'm glad I was motivated enough to write a little fic about our two favorite boys. I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I did, and who know! Maybe if the demand is there, I'll write a little epilogue for our two cuties~

Summary: Shadow meets the Wachowski's. Again.

Chapter Select: Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Link to my AO3!

Start:

Sonic is nothing but nervous energy.

He’s been rushing about the entire morning. He took a bubble bath. He bathed Ozzie in the same bath after. He tidied his room. He put on the coolest pictures of him in the living room and the dopey ones in his dresser drawer to not be found. He combed his quills and brushed his fur. He has prepared in every possible way and still feels like things aren’t near good enough for Shadow to be impressed.

Maddie climbs up the ladder to the attic, gently lifting the door to find Sonic moving his action figures around on his shelf as if to try and find some sort of specifically aesthetic organization.

“No..,” he moves them all around again, “nuh uh,” again, “not it,” again with a frustrated groan, “You know what?? He’ll probably think they’re lame anyway.” And then he’s dumping them all in the upper drawer of his nightstand.

Maddie can’t help but smile at her spazzing son, a sympathetic knit to her brow as she knocks gently on his bedroom floor, “Knock knock?”

Sonic’s attention instantly shift to his peeping mom’s head peering through the attic door, “oh- hey, mom.”

“Hey, kiddo,” she smiles, entering now that he’s granted his approval. She looks at the neat room with raised brows, “Wow.. don’t think I’ve ever seen it so clean in here.”

“Yeah, well. I can’t have a guest thinking I’m a slob.”

“Right. Because that would be misleading,” Maddie says with a playful wink and a hint of sarcasm. Sonic just smiles at this, rolling his eyes before dashing over to his comic books that are stacked next to his bean bag. He begins looking through them, trying to decide which should go on top for viewing.

“You think Batman is cooler or the Flash??”

“Hm.. I think the Flash is pretty cool,” the mother answers as she approaches the hedgehog with a knowing look in her eyes.

“Mm… yeah, but..,” he looks at the Batman comic again before stacking the Flash and then the Batman one on top, “Shadow would probably like Batman more.”

“You’re probably right,” Maddie agrees with a nod, Sonic nodding in return as he turns to his mom again.

“Did you get the hot dogs?”

“Yup,” she assures, “Three whole packs. And the chili is currently in the slow cooker.”

“Sweet,” Sonic grins approvingly, “Shadow is gonna die when he tries your chili dogs. He’ll finally understand that they’re the best thing humans have ever invented.”

“Right,” Maddie snorts with a giggle before she crouches down to eye level with the blue blur, watching how Sonic’s eyes skim around the room looking for something else to perfect. Nerves. Anxious. Excited. Scared..

She knows.

She knows.

“Hey..,” she says softly, catching Sonic’s attention then as she takes his gloved hands into her own, “He already likes you. He wouldn’t be coming here if he didn’t.”

Sonic sighs, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as he squeezes Maddie’s hands, “I know. I know. I just-.. I really want him to think I’m cool.”

“Sonic Wachowski?? Not cool?? That’s an impossible conclusion to come to,” she smirks, Sonic giggling a bit in return.

“I know, but-.. I don’t know..”

Sonic’s ears flatten just slightly, his gaze shifting away sheepishly. And nervously..

Maddie’s smile softens again, squeezing his hands again as she speaks, “Try and relax. If you’re a nervous ball of energy, he likely will feed off that and be one too. Being cool is a nice thing to be, but being welcoming is the more important bit.. You want him to feel safe here.”

“Yeah..,” Sonic breathes with a small smile, looking at his mother earnestly, “..I just want him to want to come back.”

“I’m sure he will,” she assures with a nod, moving to kiss her boy’s spiky forehead before resting hers against it to look him in the eye, “It’ll all go just fine, Sonic. You’re a great kid.”

“I’m seventeen,” Sonic groans with a little eyeroll, but it’s harmless and he’s smiling. He knows good and well no matter how old he is, he’ll always be her baby.

“I’m sorry, you’re a great man,” she corrects with pure confidence, “And you have a big heart. I’m sure he sees that too, and finds comfort in that…”

Sonic’s eyes shut with a sigh, leaning his forehead against his mom’s a bit more before simply moving to slide his arms around her shoulders and give her a big hedgehog hug. 

“Thanks mom..”

She pets her hand along his head and rubs his ear with a smile, hugging him in return tight and warm, “Anytime.”

Sonic stays like that until he feels most of his nerves melt away, pulling back then to look her in the eye with all seriousness, “Dad’s gonna behave, right???”

Maddie hums and looks away as if unsure, “I think so,” she immediately laughs when Sonic’s face shifts to horror and gives his shoulders a playful shake, “Calm down, I’m kidding. We had a talk. And he absolutely is going to behave. As are the other boys.”

Sonic deflates with a breath of relief, “Oh thank God—“

Maddie giggles and stands up again, lightly thumping Sonic’s ear and making it twitch in the process as she turns to exit the attic, “Try and relax a bit. You’re gonna run a hole in the ceiling if you keep at it up here.”

Sonic just scoffs in playful offense, “Is that a fat joke?!”

“It’s a warning,” Maddie says with a pointed look his way as she climbs down the ladder, slowly closing the door on her way down. She playfully points at him in mock threat just before it shuts, leaving Sonic chuckling before moving to his bed.

He sits down carefully on the edge, not wanting to have to make it again. Laying back with a heavy sigh, he stares at his ceiling and tries to ignore the very aggressive butterflies that are multiplying in his stomach..

•••

Shadow has prepared himself appropriately according to his research. 

He anointed himself in his favorite scent: lavender and coffee. He combed his quills neatly. He brushed his chest fur to get any knots out. He’s even wearing an extra article of clothing: a black leather jacket. And to impress Sonic’s parents, he bought two motorcycle helmets to show he cares about safety, wearing one when he shows up at their driveway. 

He read motorcycles are often an alarming sign to most guardians for their children to be associated with, but Sonic once told him that Mr. Wachowski thought they were ‘way past cool’. So he opted to try and impress the man by catering to his interests.

Parking the bike on the street at the end of the driveway, Shadow removes his helmet and rests it on the seat. His crimson eyes stare at the Wachowski residence for a long time. A sick feeling in his stomach.

Maybe he’s ill.

No.. no, lying to himself is pointless. He’s terrified. 

He doesn’t get the luxury of domineering first impressions. He’s already made them long ago, and they weren’t exactly ideal. None of this situation is, honestly. But he has to play the cards he was dealt, and he’s determined to try his damn hardest to win this family over.

He’s watched YouTube tutorials on how to hold conversation, dinner etiquette, appropriate movie watching commentary, manners when meeting parents, common humans topics of conversation..

He’s done his research. Theoretically, this should be a walk in the park.

So why the hell couldn’t he get his feet to move???

He stares at the home. Can see the lights on, humans silhouetted and moving about through the sheer curtains of the windows.. and one blue blur flashing by now and then.

Shadow’s lips purse, his fists tightening at his sides as his stomach aches a bit more uneasily.

Sonic is inside.. Sonic is depending on him to make a good impression. Sonic has done his part in this ritual, now it’s time for Shadow to do his and-…

Nope. No, what is he thinking?? Shadow can’t do this. He doesn’t deserve this. He’s a fraud. He doesn’t deserve redemption or forgiveness. He doesn’t get to just waltz into their home and act as though he’s just some random hedgehog their son brought home. 

He nearly destroyed them.

Picking his helmet back off his motorcycle’s seat, he starts to put it back on with one last glance to the Wachowski home.

The home untouched by a monster. The home he hasn’t destroyed yet. The home that doesn’t need him involved in it..

And ruby finds emerald.

Sonic’s wide, eager eyes are looking out the window in search of his guest’s arrival and find Shadow standing there.

Damnit.

The front door opens in an instant, the blue blur standing there grinning wide and excited and happy. Shadow can see his tail wagging from here.

“Shadow!”

Shadow slowly puts his helmet back on the seat of his bike.

Welp.

No going back now.

Walking around the bike, Shadow offers a small smile to Sonic despite his current need to vomit. Or run. Running sounds more convenient.

”You’re here!” Sonic beams, and Shadow swears he’s never seen the hero so damn giddy.

“I am,” he confirms with a small nod, approaching the steps to the doorway now and stopping right outside the door.

Sonic just stares at him all sunshine and giggles for a long moment, Shadow feeling increasingly weary under his starstruck gaze.

This hedgehog expects far too much of Shadow.. he’s going to end up crushed when he sees him for what he really is eventually. But Shadow will selfishly take whatever attention Sonic will give him for now.

There’s something powerful about it.. a pure-hearted hero like Sonic wanting to court Shadow. The monstrosity. The creature. The thing.

Shadow wonders if Sonic even realizes how much of an impact the way he looks at Shadow has on him..

Sonic’s eyes linger and then look down at Shadow’s attire, “You’re wearing a jacket!”

Shadow shifts a bit on his feet, looking down at his jacket with slight embarrassment now.. maybe it wasn’t the appropriate choice?

“I.. am..?”

“It looks great!” Sonic beams, bouncing on his toes as he bites his lower lip.

“Oh..,” Shadow looks back to Sonic, a shy smile curling on his muzzle, “Thank you.”

“Sure thing,” Sonic replies immediately, going back to just staring at Shadow as if he isn’t real. Like he’s a dream. A vision.

Shadow doesn’t know what to do with that..

“May I—“

“Oh! Yeah, man, sorry—“ Sonic chuckles with a pink tint growing on his cheeks, moving out of the way to allow Shadow inside the home. Shadow steps inside and is immediately met with the smell of peppers and mahogany. He’s guessing it’s the dinner mixed with the natural Wachowski home scent. It’s not unpleasant.

Sonic closes the door behind him, and Shadow looks up to find the Donut Lord and Pretzel Lady themselves looking right back at him.

Oh sweet chaos kill him—

”Hello, Mr. And Mrs. Wachowski,” Shadow greets immediately, nerves making his hands feel a bit shaky but he steels them into hard fists at his sides.

The missus of the home speaks first, “Hello, Shadow.” Her voice is soft and sweet, and her smile looks genuine and welcoming. “We’re so happy to have you here. Welcome to our home!”

“Thank you for allowing my attendance,” Shadow politely nods, swallowing hard as his eyes shift to the man. The father. The leader. The Donut Lord. 

He doesn’t look nearly as genuine as the woman when he smiles. But he is smiling, which is something, at least.

Last Shadow saw this man, he had a foot placed firmly on his neck with a gun pressed to his temple.

Shadow will gladly and gratefully take a damn disingenuous smile.

“Of course,” the man assures, seeming a bit reluctant in his words but Shadow recognizes the effort regardless, “Any friend of Sonic’s is always welcome.”

Even if they blew up half the moon???

Shadow refrains from saying this.

“You have a lovely home, Mrs. Wachowski,” Shadow compliments, trying for some of the training he received from the Internet, “It’s very well decorated.”

“Oh- that’s so sweet,” she smiles, a hand over her heart as if it’s been touched. Shadow is glad this seems to have been the right thing to say.

“Why don’t you let Sonic give you a tour, and I’ll the table set for us to eat out back?”

“Sounds great!” Sonic approves, Shadow looking back to the hedgehog that’s been standing behind him watching the interaction with pins and needles this whole time, “C’mon! We’ll start with the living room.”

Shadow follows Sonic throughout the home, feeling Mr. Wachowski’s lingering gaze now and then when in sight. But Shadow tries not to focus on this and instead on the words Sonic is saying.

“These are our bean bags,” the blue hedgehog points to the line of three large bags, blue, yellow and red, stored against the wall of the living room behind the couch, “We pull them out in front of the tv when we watch a movie or a show. Mine is the blue one— duh. Knuckles’ is red and Tails’ is yellow. Mom and Dad take the couch.”

Shadow nods with a small hum to show he’s paying attention, not having much commentary on the matter. Sonic doesn’t seem to mind this. He makes up by talking enough for the both of them. Always has. This is their dynamic. And the familiarity of it helps Shadow feel a bit more at ease as he continues on with Sonic’s tour.

“This is the dining room where we eat— except we never eat here. We usually just sit in the living room or at the table in the kitchen to eat. We only eat here on special occasions like birthdays or holidays.”

“This is the downstairs bathroom. Always use this bathroom. Knuckles uses it the least.”

“That’s the kitchen, but we’ll stay outta there right now so we don’t get in the way.”

“This is the downstairs office where Dad will do paperwork or Mom will do some vet stuff. Sometimes she brings home animals to foster, and they sleep in here. It’s super cool! Once, she brought home an earth hedgehog. It was super slow.”

“This is the backyard—“

He’s interrupted by instant barking when he opens the door, the family dog having been outside and seemingly waiting at the door for them to join him. Shadow doesn’t like the loud noise, instantly feeling a bit overwhelmed as he takes a small step back with a frown and watches Sonic wrangle the dog by his collar.

“Ozzie! Easy! I know you’re excited we have a guest, but you gotta chill, dawg,” Sonic scolds affectionately, grinning as he tugs the pup away from the door to allow Shadow to step out without being tackled.

Shadow does, eyeing the dog and keeping his distance the entire time.

The dog— Ozzie eventually seems to calm, his barking stopping and being replaced with little whines as he eyes Shadow. His tail is wagging like Sonic’s was when he first got here.

Actually, Sonic’s tail hasn’t stopped wagging, Shadow notes.

His ears perk up from their folded back position once the barking stops, observing the dog silently with an unsure gaze..

Sonic picks up on this, offering a hand out to Shadow as he stays crouched at the dog’s side holding its collar with his opposing hand, “It’s cool. He don’t bite.”

Shadow frowns a bit, looking at Sonic’s hand a bit unsure before looking to the dog again.. then he hesitantly reaches and lets Sonic’s hand guide his own to the dog’s fur. It’s thick. He imagines it’s probably soft without his gloves on, as most well-kept fur is.. 

The dog’s head seems to tilt up into his palm when it touches between his ears, Shadow lightly curling his fingers to scratch there as Ozzie’s tongue hangs happily to the side of his muzzle. Panting and no longer whining now that he’s getting his wanted attention and affection.

Shadow’s frown dissipates slowly, replaced with a content sort of expression. He.. likes petting it. It’s comforting.

Shadow smells the distinct scent of grass on his palm when he retracts it from the dog.

“He’s a good boy,” Sonic smiles, petting the dog under its chin and behind its collar, “He likes you, too! That’s a good sign.”

Shadow’s eyes glint with pride at that, eased that he has passed yet another Wachowski test. 

They go back inside after Sonic shows Shadow the firepit and then picnic table in the back, walking in to find Tom carrying some plates towards the backdoor..

“Dinner is ready to serve,” the sheriff informs with a small smile at the two, seeming a bit more at ease now that “introductions” have been made, “Go get your brothers, huh?”

“On it,” Sonic nods, waving his hand for Shadow to follow— which he does once he’s done holding the door open for Mr. Wachowski.

“Tails’ room is the basement, “Sonic informs as they approach what Shadow had assumed was a coat closet. Instead, he finds there’s a staircase down when Sonic opens it.

“He was in the guest room, but Dad moved him when he kept waking him up at night tinkering. Said he needed more room to work.”

“That was generous of him,” Shadow replies, following Sonic down the stairs.

“Yeah. Dad is pretty supportive of our hobbies,” Sonic shrugs with a little smile, though he seems to hold a new nervousness now..

Once downstairs, Shadow is a bit taken aback by the sight.

The walls are lined with all sorts of tools and gadgets and gizmos, some he recognizes and some he’s never seen before. The room is very much divided by a workspace and an actual bedroom. The workspace being what Shadow would only describe as organized chaos while the bedroom portion is neat and tidy. Clean and almost looking untouched.

It’s intriguing, the contrast.

A personality for each tail, he supposes.

Speaking of— the young kit himself was found seated at a workbench, headphones over pointed ears and fluffy tails winding together then unwinding again behind him repetitively. He seems locked in on whatever he’s fiddling with, his tongue sticking out and his brows furrowed in concentration. Shadow almost hates to interrupt him, but Sonic approaches without a thought.

“Hey Tails,” the hero lightly nudges his shoulder causing the fox to flinch before quickly removing his headphones to turn to Sonic, “dinner’s ready.”

“Oh sweet! I’m starved!” the smaller one grins, “Just let me—“ his smile drops, eyes widening and body stiffening when he sees Shadow.

Shadow swallows, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and trying not to seem too intimidating nor too intimidated.

“Oh,” Tails says, his voice small and his ears drooping back just slightly. His body shifts as if to be a bit more behind Sonic, “hey, Shadow. L-long time no see!.. heh..”

He’s scared. Shadow hates that..

Hates he’s given the kit more than enough reason to be..

He’s actually quite good with kids, contrary to popular belief. He was made to comfort and tend to one after all.. 

His heart would’ve broken to bits had his sister ever looked at him like that..

He clears his throat, glancing around before trying to break the ice with a compliment, “Your.. workspace is impressive,” he looks back at the fox to show he’s earnest, “I haven’t seen many of these tools before.”

“Oh,” Tails’ ears perk up, though a bit hesitantly, “I uh-.. I made most of them myself.”

“You build these things??”

“Yeah! Um.. I can show you some if you want??”

“I’d like that,” Shadow nods.

Sonic listens with a growing smile, watching as Tails stands and slowly begins to show Shadow some of his creations lining the walls and tabletops. He seems pleased this is going well thus far. More than pleased. This is important to him, of course, that much is obvious. But this fox is special to Sonic. He’s protective of him, a guardian of him. He wouldn’t want Shadow to be an object of fear for him.. nor would he want to bring Shadow around if it caused Tails distress, the hybrid is sure.

There’s a soft look in Sonic’s eyes as Tails laughs at something Shadow says, though. It makes Shadow’s stomach do flips. He pretends not to notice.

“I’m actually working on a design for a plane,” Tails explains as he approaches his workbench again, showing Shadow the blueprints, “I kind of got addicted this one time I flew one while fighting Eggman. Wanna make one bigger and better.”

Shadow looks over the blueprints with intrigue, finding the knowledge of this child absolutely baffling as well as simply endearing. His thirst for knowledge is familiar to Shadow..

“The engine design is formidable,” the hybrid observes, “have you considered replacing the transonic truss-braced wings with elliptical ones??”

“I… haven’t..,” Tails hums thoughtfully, tapping his chin as he eyes his blueprints, “that would make it far more aerodynamically efficient—“

“—and produce less drag,” Shadow finishes with a nod, watching as the fox quickly picks up his pencil and makes adjustments to the blueprints

“That’s brilliant! Team Heroes definitely needs this to be fast—“

“Okay you two! Before you start nerding out, we have chili dogs-a-waitin’,” Sonic interrupts, gesturing dramatically to the stairs with a bow.

Shadow and Tails look to him, the fox chuckling sheepishly and putting his pencil back down as he rubs the back of his neck and approaches his older brother, “Sorry. Got carried away.”

“It’s cool, lil’ bro,” Sonic assures with a shrug, waiting for Shadow to walk up the stairs before following behind, “I know you’re a big dork.”

“At least I’m not a big dumb,” Tails retorts with a grin.

“Zing!” Sonic chuckles proudly. Shadow is fairly certain he could’ve thought of a comeback and simply chose to allow the fox the win. It’s cute.

“Alright, let’s go get Knucks because the dawgs are callin’ and I’m staaaarviiiiing~” Sonic sings the last word in a nonsensical way that Shadow has grown accustom to from the hedgehog, smirking slightly as he follows him towards the side door.

Once outside, Shadow notes a large, white shed to the side of the house with its lights on, putting together that that must be where the echidna stays.

As if reading his mind, Sonic narrates, “Knuckles’ room is in the shed. Him and Mom had a lot of fights when he first moved in because he was a bit destructive. After a while, though, we realized this was just because he wasn’t use to sharing his space. He was pretty much a loner before all us, and he likes his independence and to be his own boss. So Mom renovated the shed for him and surprised him with it. I think that’s the first time he hugged her. It was pretty cool,” Sonic reminisces, walking backwards towards the shed so he can keep his eye on Shadow as he speaks.

“She sounds like a very perceptive mother,” Shadow analyzes.

“Oh, she is,” Sonic nods with wide eyes, “It’s scary sometimes how she knows things. It’s like she can read minds or something.”

Shadow’s ears fold back slightly at that, glancing towards the house again and wondering if his mind is currently being invaded..

To his knowledge, humans don’t have this ability, though.

Sonic knocks on the shed door once before opening it right on up. They’re instantly met with loud rap music playing over a speaker, Shadow’s ears once again folding back at the unwelcomed noise.

Sonic seems to notice this, rushing in a dash to switch the music off. This immediately disturbs the echidna who is sitting on a weight bench with a large spear in hand, sharpening the tip with a rock of some sort.

“Hey! Who dares to interrupt my bops?!” the red echidna barks, purple eyes turning to lock on crimson ones.

Oh boy.

The fox was one thing. He feared Shadow, which is something Shadow felt he could change relatively simply with time and trust. But the echidna???

He challenged Shadow.

“Ah! The Utmost Living Being!”

“The Ultimate Lifeform..,” Shadow mumbles the correction with a small frown, trying not to seem annoyed by the guardian’s incompetence. He’s had a lot of practice with Sonic.

“Whatever. You have arrived!” Knuckles continues, standing to approach the two now. Shadow is wary of the spear still in his hand, not even flinching when Knuckles points it directly at him, nearly grazing his chin. The echidna’s voice is deathly serious, gaze firm and menacing like a predator, “What are your intentions with my brother?”

Sonic’s eyes widen with a loud and awkward, “OH-KAY! That’s enough of that, ha-ha!” He’s quickly between the two, shoving the spear away from Shadow’s face with a little glare to his brother. Knuckles ignores it, keeping his eyes locked daringly on Shadow over Sonic’s shoulder. Shadow just looks back unphased before looking back to the nervously laughing Sonic.

“Don’t be weird, Knuckles,” the hedgehog growls under his breath, the echidna scoffing at this as if offended.

“Weird?! I am not being weird! I am merely engaging in conversation with our guest.”

“A weird conversation. And an unnecessarily aggressive one!”

“All aggression is necessary,” Knuckles corrects, finally looking from Shadow to Sonic, “Besides, I am the eldest brother. It is my duty to protect the tribe from newcomers!”

“Dude. Mom and Dad already have it covered. Just— be cool,” Sonic groans, crossing his arms at his brother. 

“The Lady of Pretzels and Lord of Donuts are easily persuaded. I am not,” Knuckles shrugs, looking back to Shadow, “You are welcome to our home! But I will be watching you..”

Shadow just nods at this, “Understandable.”

Sonic groans more at this, seeming annoyed with Knuckles’ typical dramatic antics before he just rubs a hand down his face and shrugs it off, “Whatever. Just— dinner’s ready.”

“Oo sustenance! Is there grapes???” Knuckles’ demeanor shifts from intimidating to giddy like a dime, his eyes wide with hope.

“Yes. She made fruit salad and included grapes. Just for you,” Sonic huffs, turning towards the door to which Shadow promptly follows.

“Superb. She is absolutely a wonderful mother,” Knuckles hums pleased as he follows behind the two, “I am very glad I picked her.”

“Right,” Sonic rolls his eyes, leading the trio across the yard, picking his battles and not arguing with Knuckles on that one.

Shadow can’t help but find the entire interaction amusing. Their dynamic is so different than Sonic and Tails’, but it’s still laced with affection. It’s also endearing. 

Once back inside, the three find that the house is empty and assume the others are already out back waiting in the yard.

Joining them outside, Shadow is immediately met with the appetizing aroma of chili as well as assorted fruits and some sort of meat.

He doesn’t have to eat as much as normal people do, but he certainly doesn’t mind it if it’s a good enough meal.

Tails is sitting with Mrs. Wachowski at the table, fixing his plate with a hot dog and a simple topping of ketchup with a bowl of chili separate on the side. He’s already digging in, not realizing how hungry he was since he had been caught up in his work. 

Mr. Wachowski is squatted by a cooler, filling his cup with ice along with three others that Shadow assumes is for the three who just came outside. Sonic dashes right up to the family, obviously quite eager for their dinner if his wagging tail is anything to go off of. Knuckles follows behind, grabbing himself a paper plate and beginning to stack it up quite messily with anything that seems to be appetizing to his eyes. Topped with a concerning amount of grapes, Shadow notes.

“This food palette looks very balanced and appetizing, Mrs. Wachowski,” Shadow comments, looking at the full picnic table. The vet smiles wide at this, “Thank you, Shadow. That’s very sweet.”

Sonic turns to Shadow, handing him a paper plate with a little smile, “Here ya go.” Shadow looks at the plate a moment and then Sonic, “Thank you.” “Yup! Fix yourself some sides. We got beans, salad, chips– but your dawg?? It’s mine.” Shadow blinks. “I don’t have a dog.”

He notices the way the mother bites her lips together with an amused smile behind Sonic’s shoulder, exchanging knowing glances with the fox who giggles quietly.

“I meant your chili dog,” Sonic clarifies with a head tilt, “I’m gonna fix your first ever chili dog for you.”

“Oh..,” Shadow mumbles, cheeks turning a bit rosy with embarrassment at his incessant habit to take things a bit too literally and not quickly catch onto slang.

“Yeah, so fill your plate and let the master do his thing,” Sonic winks before turning around to get started on building Shadow’s chili dog. And my isn’t it a concoction..

Upon closer examination once placed in front of him, he takes in the ingredients he can curiously, his nose overwhelmed with the complexity of spices he senses.

A hot dog. Chili. Shredded lettuce. Cheese. Ketchup. Mayo. Onion. Tomato. Peppers. And to Shadow’s slight surprise, brown sugar mixed with hot sauce sprinkled on top of it all. 

Interesting.

Shadow’s mouth forms a sideways line as he looks at the intimidating beast of a feast placed before him, looking at Sonic whose chili dog looks identical and is already being devoured by the blue menace. 

Taking a breath, Shadow looks back to his chili dog. He can feel the others watching him. The Wachowskis, Tails, Knuckles.. Sonic even pauses to look at him expectantly, waiting to see his reaction to the ultimate food.

Shadow slowly picks up the chili dog, having to be extra careful not to make a mess of his gloves from all the sloppy contents of the item. He examines it only a moment longer before he opens his mouth and takes a big enough bite to get at least a little of everything.

And as he expected, he’s overwhelmed. There’s too much going on in his mouth for him to properly process it. The flavors are strong, the textures varying with each chew. It makes his spine shiver a bit, slowly chewing it as he keeps his tongue in the back of his mouth like it’ll calm his senses a bit. 

But courting etiquette for humans is to always compliment your host for their meal.

So swallowing his disgust and the bite, Shadow offers a small smile and lies, “It’s delicious.” Sonic snorts at this, immediately bursting into laughter as Knuckles snickers as well. Tails is giggling with the mother and Mr. Wachowski is smiling as if amused.

Shadow just blushes a bit more, shrinking slightly in fear he may have said something wrong. “Oh you poor thing,” Maddie tuts sympathetically, standing to grab another plate and begin fixing a new chili dog, “You don’t have to eat all that. The Sonic Special is very much coded for Sonic.” “Yeah, man,” Sonic snickers, lightly shaking Shadow by his shoulder and then moving his plate from in front of him, sneaking it onto the ground for the dog to devour, “It’s cool. Not everyone can handle so much in one bite.”

Shadow looks at him and then glances up to watch Mrs. Wachowski place a new plate before him. This one looking more like the fox’s. Simple. A hot dog, nothing on it.

“You can add any toppings you like, sweetie,” Maddie smiles, taking her seat again.

“Or you can just have it plain! I only like ketchup on mine,” Tails encourages with a little grin.

“Mine is a mighty volcano,” Knuckles brags, forking another large scarf of the conglomeration down. 

“See? It’s alright to like different stuff,” Sonic winks, nudging Shadow’s side with his elbow before looking back to his own food to continue eating.

Shadow looks around at the others a moment, watching as they all get on with their meals now and not paying him as much mind. Mr. Wachowski’s gaze catches his, though, still watching him with an expression Shadow doesn’t know how to translate. But the officer offers a little smile and nod, to which Shadow returns. He then looks down, and after a moment of hesitation, he tries his simple hot dog.

The rest of dinner goes smoothly. Shadow finishes his plate with ease, quite enjoying the more traditional forms of the food rather than the exaggerated versions his counterparts ate. They all share conversations, the subject often shifting and leaving Shadow a bit lost now and then. But he does his best to keep up, even adding a small input here and there but nothing more.

It’s intriguing.. watching a family. He remembers his time on the ARK with Maria.. How they’d share meals in the cafeteria but often would sneak away to sit on the floor in front of the large window viewing earth to eat together instead. They didn’t have a large family, but they had each other. And that was plenty..

He sees that in these people. Their bond is strong. They’re comfortable with one another. Open and honest and accepting of their differences. It’s..refreshing.

The only time he’s directly addressed is by Mr. Wachowski. “So Shadow,” he starts, swallowing his bite before continuing, “What are you doing these days?”

Shadow pauses. He read about this. The parents of one’s partner will often feel out how successful or motivated one is to see if they’re worthy of taking care of their offspring. 

“Shadow??? He’s doing his own thing, you know. Being cool and–”

“I believe I was talking to Shadow,” Tom cuts Sonic off, though his voice holds no spite and he’s smiling knowingly at Sonic.

Sonic just smiles a bit sheepishly with a quiet “right” before looking to Shadow, not speaking for him this time. Though, Sonic looks a bit nervous, now. Perhaps he fears his father won’t approve of Shadow’s answer.

“I have recently began working with GUN,” Shadow says, looking at Tom now who seems a bit taken aback by this answer if his raised brows are anything to go off of. Next to him, Shadow sees Sonic’s face shift to one of surprise as well.

“You didn’t tell me that..” “It was confidential up until recently,” he explains, looking from Sonic to Tom again, “Nothing is official, but we’re getting close to some sort of work agreement..” “Sounds serious,” Tom replies with an intrigued look, “Didn’t really expect you to want anything to do with GUN..” After my grandfather who was an agent shot your sister goes unsaid, but Shadow hears it nonetheless.

He replies, “I didn’t. Not for some time, at least.” “What changed your mind?”

“Sonic,” Shadow answers bluntly, feeling everyone’s eyes land on him at once, including the said blue hedgehog next to him. 

“..He’s not from here. He’s different. Powerful. And in terms of this planet’s mentality, he’s a threat. That’s what I was seen as,” Shadow explains, eyes staying on Tom’s as to not be intimidated by the many others peering at him, “He was hunted by humanity at first, not seen as a hero but rather a mystery. And humans never take to things they don’t understand well.. But Sonic didn’t let this discourage him. He continued to fight for his freedom and for the freedom of this world from evil-doers like Ivo Robotnik. And with time, he earned their trust. Proved himself. They stopped seeing him as different and saw him as an ally and a hero.. I don’t want to be a hero, but an ally is a good place to start. And while GUN has been corrupted before, I’d say they have good intentions in the long run to protect this world even if often misguided. I plan to be there to help guide them. Make sure what happened on the ARK never happens again..”

He looks to Sonic now, quoting something the blue hero once told him, “I can’t expect change if I just stand still.. I gotta make a move.”

Sonic’s eyes stare back at Shadow, a slow and wide smile forming on his muzzle along with rose tinted cheeks. A look of pride glistening in his eyes.

“That..,” Tom speaks, gaining Shadow’s attention again, “.. is a pretty damn good answer.”

Tom smiles at him. Shadow smiles back.

Dinner ends, and Mrs. Wachowski stands to start gathering up plates to trash, “Okay, Knuckles and Tails. Dishes.”

“What about Sonic?” Knuckles asks, looking distraught that he has to do more work than his brother. Tails is unbothered and already working on gathering up the serving dishes and leftovers to carry inside. 

“He has a guest over,” Tom answers with a pointed look at Knuckles, “So he has to host.”

“So having a guest means you don’t have to do these silly tasks??” Knuckles scoffs as if scandalized by this information, as though he’s been personally targeted.

“Yup. ‘Fraid so, buddy.”

Knuckles huffs at this, snatching a few dishes as he begins making his way back to the house with something along the lines of ‘I must make more friends’ being grumbled from him.

Sonic sticks his tongue out mockingly at the red echidna when he walks by, earning the blue hedgehog a hard punch to the gut. 

“Sonic? Have you shown Shadow your room?” Maddie asks, earning a pointed glare from Mr. Wachowski. Sonic immediately grins and, “Oh! I haven’t! Wanna see??”

Shadow nods at him with a small smile, “Yes, please.”

“Sweet, it’s this way,” he nods his head for Shadow to follow him back inside.

“What the hell was that??” Tom hisses to Maddie once they’re gone, “They don’t need to be alone in his room together–”

“Oh stop,” Maddie rolls her eyes at him with a little grin, “They’ll be fine. Sonic gets antsy just making eye contact with Shadow for too long, and Shadow-... well, I don’t even think Shadow knows how to flirt, let alone make a move.”

Tom groans a little but lets it go, figuring she’s probably right..

Plus, he trusts his boy to make good decisions.

“Here it is!” Sonic announces, climbing up a ladder into the attic, Shadow following behind. It.. isn’t exactly what Shadow was expecting. He was honestly expecting an absolute trainwreck. Clothes everywhere, weird smells, the whole shebang. Instead, he finds a room that so painfully screams Sonic. It’s enchanting in a charismatic sort of way. There’s charming lights lined along the ceilings, multiple road signs that allude to Sonic’s speed. The bed itself resembles a racecar, Shadow finding this immature but endearing. The shelves are lined with trinkets and random objects that must hold enough meaning for Sonic to keep them despite seeming unimportant. A beanbag is sat in the corner with a stack of comic books next to it. Sonic has lended some to Shadow before, and he respects the hero’s infatuation with them. Definitely sees where he gets his heroic antics from.

Shadow looks around the room in wonder. It’s a stark contrast to his own current sleeping arrangements.. Up until a few weeks ago, Shadow had honestly sort of just skipped around from rooftops to caves to trees to sleep. GUN offered him a more permanent place in an apartment in Central City..

It’s very empty. And very unlived in. Sonic’s room?? It’s warm and comforting and feels like a home. A safe space.

Shadow can tell each and every object that’s in here is likely treasured dearly by the blue hedgehog.. Well. except the dirty sock peeking out from under the bed. But Shadow chooses not to acknowledge that for Sonic’s sake.

“Welcome to Casa de Sonic,” the blue hedgehog grins, spreading his arms in showmanship of his space, “Pretty cool, huh??” He seems chill, but Shadow can tell he’s holding onto Shadow’s every move and breath.

Shadow looks at him and then around the room, turning to do a slow 360 look of the place before looking back to Sonic and offering a small smile and approving nod, “Very cool.”

Sonic’s arms drop with a breath of relief, a little chuckle escaping him as he looks at Shadow a moment and then looks towards his bed. In a blur of blue and brief gust of wind, Sonic is plopping onto the bed and then sitting up to look at Shadow, “Mom and Dad set it up for me as a surprise one time. I’ve kinda made it my own since then, but they did a pretty great job of laying down a solid foundation for all my dudeitude.”

“Dudeitude??” Shadow questions, walking over to sit next to Sonic on the bed once Sonic pats the spot next to him. “Yeah, you know, like– dude attitude?” “Oh,” Shadow smiles a bit at this, looking down and discreetly brushing the dirty sock out of sight under the bed with his heel before Sonic can see and be embarrassed, “Yes. Dudeitude is a very accurate word for you, I’d say.”

Sonic snickers at that, smiling all wide as he looks at Shadow. Shadow shyly keeps his eyes away, looking around the room and examining the smaller details like the subtle footprints on the ceiling or the jar with one singular owl feather on the nightstand.

“...So..,” Sonic says after a pause, breathing a quiet sigh before speaking, “What do you think??” “Think?” Shadow questions, finally meeting Sonic’s intense gaze again. “Yeah. Of.. ya’know. My family?” “Oh,” Shadow blinks, a bit thrown off by the question before he offers a soft look and mumbles quietly, “They’re really lovely.”

“They are, aren’t they?” Sonic smirks. “Mm,” Shadow nods, his eyes drifting away from Sonic’s and down to his own lap as he fiddles with the zipper of his jacket, “...What do you think they think?” “Hm?”

“Of me..?”

There’s a long pause of silence, and Shadow isn’t sure if that’s good or bad. But when he brings himself to look back at Sonic, he sees he’s simply thinking his answer over rather than answering immediately.

“I think Mom likes you,” he starts, offering a reassuring smile, “But she’s the easy one to win over, honestly. Tails seems to like talking nerd with you, so that’s totally a good sign! Knuckles is an idiot,” Sonic rolls his eyes and Shadow smirks slightly, “but I think he sees you as strong and formidable which means you have his respect. That’s all you can really ask for of him, honestly. It’s a pretty high honor.”

“And what of your father..?”

Sonic looks at Shadow, tilting his head at him with a sympathetic sort of smile, “..He seems to like you enough to give you a chance. And I think what you said out there about being the change you wanna see in the world definitely won you some brownie points.”

Shadow deflates in relief, some of the tension leaving his rigid spines as he nods and looks down with a mumbled, “Good.. then I’m doing well.” “You’re doing great,” Sonic assures, his hand moving to rest on Shadow’s shoulder and giving it a small squeeze.

Shadow looks back at Sonic at this, not being able to convey it with words but hoping his eyes show how much he appreciates this. All of this. This opportunity and this bond.. 

This chance.

Shadow’s hand moves to rest on Sonic’s knee as his way of trying to show he acknowledges the reassurance, but Sonic’s face does this funny thing and his ears get all pink.

“Okay!” he’s suddenly standing, Shadow’s hand dropping back to his own lap, “Well, we should head back down! I wanna be there when they pick a movie, so Knuckles doesn’t make us watch Planet of the Apes for the billionth time!” His laugh seems a bit shaky, his face flushed.

“Are you okay??”

“Me?? I’m cool. Coolcoolcoolcoolcool–”

“Hey,” Shadow interrupts, standing to shove Sonic’s shoulder, “Bring the dudeitude back.”

Sonic pauses, blinking at Shadow before a little grin forms and be breathes, “Right. Dudeitude.”

Shadow nods with a small smile, not at all realizing the affect he has on this blue hedgehog, but not wanting him to be nervous around him either.

They got back down the ladder to find Tails and Knuckles have finished the dishes and Tom has finished putting away leftovers, leaving Maddie and Ozzie sitting on the couch flipping through Netflix for something to watch.

“Hey you two! You’re just in time to pick a movie,” Maddie greets, “Shadow, you have a preference?” Shadow offers a small shake of his head, “No ma’am, I don’t know many films..”

He was brought up on a space station in the 50s. Movies weren’t exactly on-demand.

“That’s alright. We’ll have to fix that!” she winks, making Shadow’s stomach flip at the idea of them potentially inviting him over for more movie nights in the future, “Sonic, you got a pick??”

“Let’s watch a heartfelt film about a man who loves his dog–,” Sonic begins his answer with zero hesitation, Tom walking into the room to shut that down real quick.

“We’re not watching John Wick,” he grunts as he plops onto the couch next to Maddie, throwing his arm on the back of the couch behind her, “Nothing that isn’t PG.” Sonic groans, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms, “You guys are no fun.” “Yeah, it’s in the dad job description,” Tom coos with a smirk. 

Sonic concedes, shrugging and walking towards the loveseat against the wall diagonal to the couch, “We can sit here, Shads.”

“I thought your spot was in the bean bag??” Shadow’s brow furrows, sitting beside Sonic on the loveseat nonetheless. 

Sonic’s body tenses a bit, blushing as he fumbles, “Uh, well–” “Yeah, Sonic,” Mr. Wachowski teases from the couch, “Why don’t you sit in your bean bag like usual??”

Sonic’s puffs his cheeks with a glare at his dad, Mrs. Wachowski swatting at the snickering man’s shoulder with a huffed, “Leave him alone.” “Yeah! Leave me alone!” Sonic agrees, throwing a pillow at his father’s face.

Tom grunts when it hits him, huffing as he tosses it back at Sonic with an offended face, “Since when was this abuse the father night??” “Since you decided to challenge the world’s best hero,” Sonic smirks proudly.

The banter continues, but Shadow is completely lost on any of what just happened anyway. He just finds the interaction between the family members amusing.

And Sonic does not in fact sit in his bean bag.

Tails and Knuckles join them in the living room, Tails carrying a bucket of popcorn and Knuckles having a bowl of grapes. Shadow doesn’t think he could eat another single thing even if he wanted– which is what he tells Sonic when he asks if Shadow would like any snacks.

They all come to an agreement on a movie called Wreck It Ralph. The plot being something along the lines of a videogame character that somehow has thoughts and feelings and doesn’t want to be the bad guy he was written to be.

It sounds silly in concept, but Shadow can’t take his eyes off the screen the whole time.

It’s not until he feels Sonic shivering a bit beside him that Shadow averts his attention to the blue hedgehog beside him. Shadow has been sitting up straight watching the film this entire time, but Sonic is curled in a small ball leaning against the arm of the chair next to him and watching with tiny shivers now and then. It is chilly in this room, Shadow supposes. But he never gets cold, so..

It doesn’t take but a moment for him to decide to take his jacket off and carefully drape it over Sonic’s curled up form.

“You don’t have to–”

“Hush. The movie is playing,” Shadow mumbles, ignoring how precious Sonic looks all huddled under his coat with only his nose, big eyes, and perked ears peeking above the collar. The way Sonic’s eyes squint in the corners let him know he’s smiling..

Shadow’s attention turns back to the movie, unbeknownst to him his warm gesture was noted by his counterpart’s parents and had Maddie smiling all soft with a silent ‘aw’ as she leans over on her husband who just smiles as well.

The movie’s ending has Shadow feeling certain ways.

Ralph is still the bad guy, but he’s.. happy with that. He knows his purpose, and he knows the candy princess speedster will still accept him despite his destructive tendencies. 

It..perhaps hits him a little close to home, and when he Ralph is chanting the villain support group’s affirmation, he finds himself memorizing it to heart.

‘I’m bad, and that’s good. I will never be good, and that’s not bad. There’s no one I’d rather be than me.’

Shadow gasps when Ralph sacrifices himself for the others in the arcade, eyes wide and glossy on the screen and his heart pounding in his chest. He feels like he can’t swallow. Like his palms are sweating. He’s seeing stars fly past him. Seeing the ARK get further and further away as he falls. Seeing–

He feels a hand rest on his and squeeze tight, flinching at the touch and immediately looking over to find Sonic staring wide eyed at the screen too..

They’re both seeing the same thing..

Shadow squeezes Sonic’s hand in return, finally allowing a deep breath to exhale as he relaxes again and looks back to the screen.

They’re here. Not space. Not the ARK. Here..

And there’s nowhere Shadow would rather be than here.

The movie ends. Maddie moves to carefully and silently step next to the bean bag Tails is laying in, the poor fox having fallen asleep around when Ralph was building Vanellope’s race track. She carries the kit down to his room to tuck him in, Knuckles rising from his own bean bag and stretching his muscles before announcing that he too would be retiring for the night.

He wishes his family goodnight and offers Shadow a simple nod of his head and smirk before heading out to his shed.

Tom looks over to Sonic and Shadow. Sonic is now properly wearing Shadow’s jacket and sitting up again, Shadow next to him looking back to Tom as if awaiting what they’re expected to do next.

“Well, Sonic. I think it’s time to call it a night,” the father announces, Sonic’s ears folding back at this and a small pout forming on his muzzle.

“Aw, but we’re not even tired,” he ironically says just before yawning. Shadow chuckles a bit at this and Tom just smiles and raising a brow at Sonic. Sonic groans and stands up, “Alright..” Shadow stands as well, looking to see Maddie now coming back up from the basement.

“We’ll walk you out, Shadow,” Tom offers, Shadow nodding politely as they all move towards the door.

Once outside, Tom immediately takes notice in Shadow’s bike sitting at the end of the driveway. “Did you ride that here???” 

There it is.

He seems impressed as he looks the bike over the best he can from the doorway, Shadow looking to his bike as well now.

“I did,” the hybrid nods.

“What kind?” “Ducati Panigale V4 SP.”

“The Dark Rider??” “Yes sir.”

“Nice. Helmets?” “Two.” “Very nice,” Tom smirks, nodding approvingly as he looks back to Shadow.

Shadow just smiles small and proud, pleased his plot to impress the Donut Lord with his motorbike came to fruition.

“That mean I can go for a ride on it??” Sonic chimes in.

“No,” Maddie answers instead, the blue hedgehog knitting his brows and looking at Tom in preparation to protest only for Tom to wink at him and subtly nod.

Sonic grins. Shadow hums out a chuckle.

“It was really nice meeting you properly, Shadow,” Maddie says warmly, reaching out her hand to shake Shadow’s. Shadow obliges and shakes hers politely with a nod, “Likewise, Mrs. Wachowski.” “Glad we could see this version of you,” Tom adds, reaching to shake Shadow’s hand now, “Ya’know. The version that isn’t set on destroying the world.”

Shadow is about to get nervous at this, but he sees the playful smirk on Tom’s face. Glad to know where Sonic gets his sarcastic attitude.

“I appreciate the opportunity, sir,” Shadow chuckles breathily, shaking the Donut Lord’s hand.

“I’m sure we’ll be seeing you around more often,” Tom adds with a knowing smile, “So long as you take care of my son, that is.”

Sonic groans audibly, flushing as he rubs a hand down his face.

Shadow just nods seriously at this, seeming to take this task to heart.

They both speak at the same time.

“We’re not like that!” “I will.”

They blink. Each processing the other’s words as wide eyes meet in surprise. Both blushing. Both seeming to try and register what the other just said. 

Maddie and Tom stare with wide eyes too.

“Ooo..,” Tom hisses, “Awkward..” Maddie is quickly grabbing her husband to pull him inside, chuckling awkwardly as she goes, “Well, be safe going home, Shadow.” “Yeah, take care!’

The door shuts.

Sonic and Shadow stand alone on the doorstep, still staring at each other.

Sonic, never being one to stay quiet long, is the one to speak first.

“You will..?” he breathes a little smile at that, looking shy now as he rubs the back of his neck with a blushing muzzle, “What did you mean by you will?”

“I meant I’d take care of you,” Shadow states as though it’s obvious, though he’s starting to fear he has in fact had a very deep and embarrassing misunderstanding of their circumstances. His ears stand extra tall, tensing them up so they don’t droop back in disappointment.

“We.. aren’t like that..? I don’t understand.” “I-... you thought we were like that??” “I thought that’s what all this was,” Shadow says quietly, becoming more and more embarrassed as he reruns all this in his head, “You chasing me. Insisting on being in my life. Always planning to meet again. All the circling and snorting and puffing–”

Sonic deadpans, “the what?” “Hedgehog courting rituals!” Shadow huffs, now getting irritated the more he grows humiliated, “All my research talked about it! It’s clearly stated that everything you were doing to pursue me was as a mate.” Sonic’s eyes widen further at this, ears drooping back and now his entire chest and ears are pink too.

“Mate??..,” his voice is small as realization begins to build.

“And then you invited me over to meet your parents for their approval, yes??” Shadow asks, tilting his head with a knit of his brow as he tries to understand where he misread the signs, “That was the objective??” “Woah, hey. Shadow. The objective was to have their approval on me getting to hang out with you, not–”

He stops, seeing how Shadow’s ears twitch back a bit. How his stance is now a bit more drooped than tall and confident. How his eyes hold confusion and shame..

It breaks Sonic’s heart.

Sonic purses his lips, sighing as he looks away shyly and, “...I guess I kinda did do all that, huh??”

Shadow doesn’t answer, just slowly moves to cross his arms in a defensive sort of manner. His crimson eyes averted towards the ground.

Sonic chews on his lower lip and looks back to Shadow, “I’m a hedgehog. Not an earth hedgehog, though, ya’know?? I don’t even know how my kind of hedgehog would try to initiate a–... what’d you call it??” “Courtship,” Shadow mutters.

“Right. That,” Sonic sighs, frowning at how this night took a sudden turn for the awkward and heavy.

It had been going so well.

“...I’m sorry, Shads–” “Don’t-,” Shadow interrupts, eyes closing as he takes a deep breath to gather himself, finishing with a sighed, “--apologize. I shouldn’t have made so many assumptions. That’s not your fault.” “Well, I feel like it kinda is,” Sonic insists, brows knit at the ebony hedgehog in front of him.

This can’t ruin this. He can’t lose him.

“Look..,” Sonic says after a breath, rubbing a hand back through his own quills before pausing to notice Shadow’s eyes were still shut, “Hey… look at me, Shads.”

Sonic’s hand reaches up to delicately cup Shadow’s cheek, tilting his head up to face him as crimson eyes open to meet emerald.

Sonic offers a soft smile, “I know I’m all about going fast, but...we don’t need to rush this.”

Shadow blinks, staying quiet as he listens to the blue hero speak.

“I.. don’t know what we are,” Sonic admits quietly, “I thought we were just buddies, but.. I’d be kidding myself if I said I didn’t know you were different for me.” Shadow chews on the inside of his cheek, still not saying anything in fear of saying the wrong thing and humiliating himself further.

“..I think.. We can take this slow, huh??” Sonic offers, a small smile as he knits his brows up and tilts his head at his rival, “Learn each other better. Learn ourselves better. Maybe go on some actual dates..?” Sonic chuckles a bit and Shadow can’t help but lean his cheek into Sonic’s palm slightly. 

Sonic rubs his thumb along Shadow’s muzzle.

“We’ll figure this out,” he assures simply as if it’s just a fact of life, “Because I’m not goin’ anywhere. And even if you tried to, I’d find you, Faker.”

Shadow can’t help but smile at that, chuckling at the reference to one of their not-so-friendly first encounters. He looks down between them a moment before lifting his eyes back to Sonic.

“We’ll figure this out,” Shadow agrees with a nod.

“We’ve got plenty of time.” “Plenty.”

Sonic smiles at this, breathing a small sigh of relief through his nose that they’re gonna be okay. This misunderstanding won’t ruin or change anything.

“We just gotta learn how to communicate better, dude,” Sonic chuckles, Shadow humming amusedly as well. 

“Agreed.”

Sonic smirks at this. And maybe he looks at Shadow’s eyes a little too long or lets his hand linger on his cheek a bit longer than needed, but sue him.

He just found out Shadow the Hedgehog wants to court him.

Screw that. He just found out what the heck courting even was.

Sonic needs to get educated, he decides.

Shadow ever so subtly rubs his cheek against Sonic’s palm in a nuzzling sort of manner before he takes a step back, Sonic’s hand falling back to his side. The two smile at one another a moment longer before Shadow just smirks with a “hmph” and turns to walk down the front steps.

Sonic watches with a content little smile, “...Wanna race tomorrow??” Shadow keeps walking, not turning around as he responds, “Arcade or waffle house??”

“Waffle house. I’ve been craving french toast.”

Shadow chuckles, waving a hand up at the hedgehog over his shoulder with a nod.

Sonic just grins at this, biting his lower lip before flinching at the sudden realization–

“Oh! Shadow!”

Shadow turns to face him again as Sonic quickly makes his way down the steps and across the yard to him, moving to take Shadow’s jacket off himself– though Shadow notices the slight look of loss as Sonic removes his arm from the first sleeve.

“You forgot this–” “Keep it,” Shadow interrupts, lifting his hand to halt Sonic.

“..Really??” Sonic’s tail wags behind him, a smile curling back onto his muzzle.

“Looks better on you,” Shadow insists, moving to help Sonic put his arm back in and settle it properly on his shoulders once more. 

Sonic just beams at this, “Agree to disagree, pal,” his gaze softens as Shadow looks him over, “But thanks..”

Shadow just smirks at this, shrugging and turning to his bike, “Don’t mention it.”

Sonic shoves his hands in the jacket’s pockets, crossing his arms so that it’s snug around him.

It smells like lavender.. Like a hug from Shadow.

Shadow straddles his bike, looking back to find Sonic standing there with his eyes shut and his nose buried in the jacket’s collar. He smirks smugly.

“It’s called anointing, by the way.” “Huh??” Sonic jumps slightly, jolting from his daze.

“Covering yourself in your mate’s scent,” Shadow explains, placing the helmet he doesn’t actually use in the bag attached to his bike before finishing, “It’s called anointing.”

Sonic blinks, eyes widening as a blush grows on his cheeks with a sheepish, “oh..”

Shadow just cranks his bike up, revving it to life before looking back to Sonic with a wink, “See you tomorrow, Hedgehog.”

Sonic’s left feeling dumbstruck as Shadow drives off from their home and down the street before eventually disappearing with a roar of the engine.

Sonic may not know it yet, but Shadow knows..

They’re absolutely courting.

[yaut-jaknowit]

Okay lil idea! Don’t force urself to do this I had to write this down before I forget.

Fem reader who has a soothing lullaby voice while also good at singing!, reader lives in a cabin deep in the woods, hunts and build her own tools, she uses a bow and arrow, got that magnificent strong will, stubborn as shit tho, never backs down from a challenge no matter how overpowered her enemy is. Very smart mouth always fights back never fail to step back from a fight.

Fem reader x We'ar-ow

Siren Calls for a Challenge

Pairing: We'ar-ow (female Yautja) x Reader

Word Count: 3913

Summary: Deep in the woods of Alaska, far up north in the state, you have a little hut. It serves it purpose throughout the years and seasons. You live and hunt up there, far from civilization. The best life you've known. As you venture out for a hunt you've planned, there a shimmer in the tree line.

Author Note: I'm gonna be honest, I don't know if I did the smart mouthing right. I had to look up good comebacks and comments as such for this. I tried to make the reader be super sassy... I hope it works! I do love sassy reader who gives no fucks about a Yautja. I should probably write more like that.

Masterlist

Ao3

Deep in the lands of Alaska, was a small little hut that worked perfectly. Just enough space to house one person and the necessities of life. A life of hardships, surviving in world meant for kill or be killed. You enjoyed it. The challenges brought to you almost everyday. The need to hunt for you own food. Even down to creating your own weapons to hunt for said food.

Guns and bullets are useful out here, easier to use against a large predator such as a bear. Yet, to get the ammo and supplies was another thing. It required you to leave the safety of the lands and travel more than fifty miles on foot alone to reach even the nearest civilization. It wasn’t a risk that was worth when arrows are craftable out here. A more renewable source for weapons. Use what the land gives in plenty.

In the confines of your hut, your vocal cords hummed with a tune your parents sung to you while young. Though, it’s original use was to lull you to sleep, now you use to fill in the silence that pierced the air. It was a soft tune that you remembered by heart, letting muscle memory guide you. Both in song and craft

More arrows were needed before the next hunt took place tomorrow morning. The supply was running low after the wind kept knocking them off course a week ago. You still brought down the elk, a smaller one than you meant to. It’s last you the week but supplies were running low. With winter coming as well, you truly needed to stock up on food before the first cold freezes over everything. All the creatures will either hunker down or rarely venture out. You couldn’t do either of those. Your stomach still needed to be filled during that time. Plus, the extra pelts never hurt to be dried and put to good use.

The last arrow had been created and sheathed into your quiver. That was set by the door with your trusty bow. A hunting knife was hung by its sheath next to the bow. Lastly, a machete for anything that tried to be up close and personal with you. This is Alaska. A dangerous land that tried to kill anyone on it, no matter who or what you are.

.

As the sun rose high above the ground, you slipped every piece of gear needed. Hunting knife? Check. Bow and arrows? Check. Machete? Check. Food and water? Also check. Once you deem everything in order, you stepped out into the chilling air. The door creaked closed behind you.

Cool air filled your lungs to the brim and enjoyed the bitting to help you wake up then you exhaled. A short, small white cloud appeared in the air. It immediately disappeared afterwards. Perfect.

A softly smile tugged at the corner of your lips while you began a path towards a known area for elk. A spot where they frequented as of late. You didn’t want to spook them from the area so soon and have to track them down all over again. Always a balance to nature, including this. After this, you would have to find a new spot to hunt before winter fell over the area. Or else, you would be stranded with no easy food source in the dead of winter. That was lesson you once learned the hard way. All it took was that one time.

Hunger wasn’t a fun feeling.

Though, you live within the confines of nature, you enjoyed every moment you were allowed this. A peacefulness that washed over you. As if you were just taking a normal stroll out to wander around. Yes, you were on a mission but it was never wrong to breath in this life you were given. A life you were too stubborn to die from, to give up. Anyone or thing would have to rip it out of your cold, dead hands.

In a peaceful atmosphere, you were still on watch. Lax as your form was, you watched everything around. Anything that could pose a threat to your way of life. May it be a mountain lion or bear growing to comfortably around your territory. You made a mental note inside of your head. Then, later on, a plan would be devised on how best to solve this situation all by your lonesome. There was no backup, no other savior this deep into Alaska. It was just you out here. Just you.

Light, carefully placed steps took you from the cozy little cabin you called home. Deeper into the forest, tracking down prey you needed to eat. With such knowledge, muscle memory guiding you, you reached the known grazing area and stopped just shy of the tree line. The meadows were void of larger life. Only soon-to-be wilting grass filled the open space. You hunkered down in a bush and took a couple sips from your water. It was refreshing over your tongue, cooling down your slightly warmed body. The hike long and helps warm up your body.

In the brush, you pulled your bow free from your torso and notched an arrow. Like the predator you’ve become, you wait as one, never faltering your gaze from the open meadows before you. Today, you were taking home next week’s food.

The day was slightly hotter, not enough to shrug off the jacket pelt that hung off of your shoulders. The sun rose higher in the sky but never crested to hit the peak. The tilt of the earth did not allow for that. It stayed midway through the blue sky the entire time, short in the amount of hours for light.

Soon, light would be a rarity this far north into Alaska.

As your hand reached out to touch the pouch containing water, a shimmer of light your attention. You froze to the spot, breath caught in your throat.

Out on the other side of the meadows, just into the tree line, sunlight reflected off something. You didn’t dare to move, only observing as the shimmered moved closer into the meadow. Nothing instantly came to mind to supply what this could be from. It wasn’t like light reflecting off of a cats eye. It was also too light for that to be. Your muscles grew taunt, ready to spring into action at a moments call.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed movement and had to take your gaze off of the shimmer. Elk. A herd of elk you’ve grown to know pranced into the meadow. A spot known for their grazing. The group bowed their heads and began to snack away at the grass.

The shimmer caught your attention again yet goes unnoticed by the prey animals. Downwind from them, you waited for a single elk to walk just close enough to strike down.

The herd dispersed a little, spreading out and growing closer to your hunkered down. You steeled your nerves despite the disturbance across the field. The bow in hand was held tighter and prepared yourself to pull the string back and fire the notched arrow.

As you prepared for the upcoming kill shot, the shimmer was on the move. Internally, you cursed and prayed to whatever god would listen to you this thing wouldn’t disturb your hunt. Just don’t spook the herd! That’s all you could ask for. It could be weeks before they returned to spot if it scared them badly.

Before you could comprehend the sight unfurling before you, one of the elks laid dead on the meadow. A large axe lodged into his head, nearly splitting the skull into two. The creature officially dead with no chance of escape. Your jaw dropped at that alone.

Then, the air was caught in your throat.

Pink, cream, and purple. A humanoid form stood at the down elk, easily dwarfing it. Adorn in metal armor, a mask covered the entirety of its face; hiding away what hid below. Four long… dreads hung over its shoulder. Then, the rest were tied up behind its elongated head shaped slightly like a dome on top. That was all you could get from the distance away.

All the other elk scattered like the prey they are. Anger flared to a blazing heat behind your sternum. With little care of what this thing was, you marched out into the field like a crazed hunter. Your steps were loud and easily announced your presence to this creature. This damn thing ruined your hunt and made you lose your next week’s food. Worst of all, this probably scared off the herd. They won’t return for some time. A growl rumbled in the back of your throat.

A blank, metal expression snapped up at you. That didn’t deter you in the slightest. You got within twenty feet of it before a bone rattle snarl bore through the rather quiet air. That stopped you in your tracks. A warning. A threat. If you stepped an inch closer, you would end up like its downed prey.

You still set a glare on the unknown, faceless creature. A challenge burning in your heated eyes. “You stole my kill. You ran off the herd. You spooked them! They won’t come back here for weeks,” you accused, knowing this thing couldn’t respond back to you. Humanoid or not. This wasn’t a human. Not with its height or the strange shape of its head. But it messed with your hunt. You weren’t about to let that slide.

Behind its emotionless mask, clicks and hisses sounded. It sounded like it was grumbling to itself. As if you were just some gnat that was annoying it. Your hand tightened on your bow, straining the wood under you palm. “You ruined my hunt,” you spat at it and pointed a finger at the unknown creature.

It snorted, muffled, and leaned down. The hatchet was swiftly pulled from the skull of its kill. The weapon twirled in its fingers. A skilled trick just show you how well it was versed with the axe. Your free hand drifted to the machete latched to your hip, ready to defend yourself.

“I did no such thing.” Soft in its tone yet told you about a chapter in its life of battle. Your grasp on the weapon nearly dropped it to the meadow’s grounds. This humanoid figure that clearly wasn’t human spoke to you.

Your eyes only flinched for a second before the glare was returned in full force. “Yes, you did! I set out this morning and waited in the brush since then for them to return here. They are a herd I follow. I know their pattern. You just scared them off!” Your body was shaking with anger. The comfort of your life had been disturbed by this thing.

The humanoid figure brushed you off by kneeling down. A knife was pulled free from a sheath at its side. With practiced movements, it sliced through the belly and began to clean its kill. This was hunter. It was too precise with the cut, the way it scooped out the guts. Your eyes narrowed on the creature and stepped closer.

An axe stuck out of the ground before your feet. Your gaze snapped down to it, nonchalant about its threatening manner. “You think that scares me?” you mused with a dangerous grin. You knew your prowess and were willing to challenge this creature for its hunt. “I’ve face worse than whatever you are.”

Without taking your eyes off of it, you leaned down and plucked the weapon from the ground. It wasn’t meant for you hand. The size and weight weren’t something even the average human would use. Yet, you still twirled it, testing its weight. “I think this mine now.” An shit eating smirk spread your mouth wide as you looked at the kneeling figure.

The growl it released shook the very ground you stood on. But, that didn’t deter you. Like any other predator who wonders into your territory, you’ll just beat it back until it learns its lesson.

It rose back to a standing position, body tense, ready just like you. You only shifted slightly into a less cocky stance and prepared to fight if it came down to it. This creature easily towered over your form, that much you could tell with the distance between you. That didn’t deter you. Instead, that only pushed more adrenaline into your veins, heart pounding into your ear.

“it’s only fair I keep this. Deny all you want, but you ruined my hunt. I feel like you need to pay for it. Either with me taking this as payment-“ you held up the hatchet- “or possibly with shed blood may sedate me enough.” The long-handled weapon was twirled again, showing off the fact you knew how to handle it.

Behind the mask, it scoffed and rolled its shoulders. “You didn’t have rights over this hunt,” it snarled at you and pulled out another hatchet on its other hip.

“I’d agree with you but then we’d both be wrong,” you snarked dropped your bow onto the ground and used the newly freed hand to grasp at your machete. Both of your hands filled with a weapon. One you were far more knowledgeable then the other.

The soles of your self-crafted shoes dug into the soft earth. Your muscles helped you launch yourself forward, straight at the creature. Instantly, you took up the offensive position. Your moved were swift, bringing down the hatchets blade  to bed itself into the creatures shoulder. An action it caught onto quickly. You weren’t looking to kill, only maim.

This newer weapon was harder wield than your machete, a different fighting style in general. It left you open for attack. The hatchet held high above your head to bring down onto its skin.

It darted backwards and started its own offensive attack. A battle of dance, trading blows and swings. Neither figure willing to back down. There you were, keeping up with this thing. Though, only by the skin of your teeth where you able to skim past without losing a limb.

A slice cut at your side, tearing your shirt open. Fresh, hot blood graced the open sky and dripped down your skin. You snarled, teeth bared in a whole show of unbridle rage. The beast returned the gesture with a bellow that shook your bones. You bared more down on it with a slash that drew its own blood and dipped the tip of your blade with neon green fluids.

The two of you trading dodges and hits the same. You were able to keep up with a beast such as it.

More cuts opened your skin. None of them fatal.

Both of you backed away from each other. Sweat clung to your skin uncomfortably, doing its job in cooling down your overheated body. Your shoulders heaved with panting breathe as you surged for air and studied the beast after a timeless battle. It took panted, chest expanding with each inhale.

“I didn’t expect for you to be able to put your money where your mouth is. If you have one. I’m impressed,” you mused and rolled one of your shoulders. An ache growing in the taunt muscles. “It’s time to leave. I told you; this was my food for the week.”

Either it straight up ignored you or just didn’t bother to care. You were quick to find yourself back into a harrowing battle with it again.

“Whoa, whoa. Hold your horse, there’s-guh! There’s plenty of me to share. Gotta keep some of it for the ladies though,” you jestered. The grin returned to your face. The hatchet’s blade skirted past the spot you once were a second before. “Man, you truly want to break off a piece like a kitkat bar.”

A small pout passed over your features when it didn’t even make a chittering noise. “it’s okay if you don’t like me. I know not everyone has good taste.” The creature only faltered for a second but left you a moment slice along its pink thigh. The creature snarled and whipped its axe towards you. Barely missing your scalp if you didn’t duck just in time.

“Oh, you missed me!” Despite not seeing its facial expressions freely, you read the irritation clear as a sun day. The muscles that lined its forearms flex while it gripped the wooden handle tighter. You thought it was about to cleave your head into two when it had the chance.

Something caught the heel of your foot while dodging a particularly deadly swipe. You gasped and teetered over straight onto your rump with a grunt. This was the end. The dance had ended with you making a fatal mistake.

Instinctively, you brought up your machete to block an knowingly incoming blow. Pain exploded in your  forearm as a weight bared down on it. You choked on spit and fought underneath the tremendous weight, but it was futile.

A blade was pressed to the vulnerable part of your throat. One swipe and everything would be over. You swallowed down the lump building in your throat and looked up at the winner.

Behind its massive head, a halo of light framed it. Like a god or goddess peering down at your injured form. The seconds began to tick on by. The only sound in the air being the two of you panting to regain a balance. Your tongue darted out to wet your dry lips.

It never came for the killing blow.

“If you’re expecting me to beg for my life, might as well finish your cleaning. You won’t get anything from me,” you spat though there was a slight tone of respect in your voice. It fought well again you and became the winner in the end.

More weight was shifted onto your arm as it shuffled above you. The hatchet was pulled away and latched onto its belt. You knew at a moments notice, it could whip it back out and finish the job. Then, it’s stolen weapon was plucked from your smash arm and sheathed all the same. You clenched your teeth together in both the pain and disappointment it got it back from you.

“Can you at least give me the curtsey of knowing who and what you are before you kill me?” you questioned, tone still firm but with less anger in it. You truly wanted to know what this thing was. At least you could take that knowledge with you before it took your life.

Weaponless hands, one pinched your chin and tilted it up so you could face it. The other reached up and pulled at two tubes attached to its head. A small hiss entered the air before it tugged the metal mask free from its spot.

What was revealed wasn’t something you would ever expect. You nearly cringed at the sight. This wasn’t anything known to mankind. As if a crab was turned humanoid with a face like that.

Four mandibles or fangs adorn its completely inhuman features and twitched every once in a while. Hidden behind those were more teeth you didn’t wish to meet at anytime. Then, orange pupils that could possibly glow in the dark peered down at you. A predator look set on your pinned form. This thing screamed predator. A creature born, built for the hunt.

The hand on your chin stayed and forced you to keep looking into its eyes. “You would be dead by now. Your head hanging from my belt. Consider yourself lucky that I spared your life. I see potential in yout skills. I want to help develop those skills. I will not let them go to waste. You need a teacher.” That voice, less muffled this time.

“Wow, sparing my life? I feel so honored.” Even after escaping death, not fully though, you were still being smart mouthed.

It tightened its grip. “I might take back my offer.” The creature leaned down crowded into your space. You flashed your teeth at it with a grin.

“Nah, you wouldn’t. Seems like you already like me too much to do that.” You don’t know how you do it but you act like this was conversation with an old friend. It growled and shoved your head to the side but never made a move to gut you like the elk.

Then, it stood back up, towering over your laying form. You sat up and rubbed at your wrist you knew surely was going to bruise later today. “You still didn’t answer my questions.” If you were going to work with this beast, you would like to a put to its strange face.

At this point, the two of you caught your breaths. Its chest expanded with a deep, heavy breath. The beast turned on its heel to look down at you with a critical eye. “I’m called We’ar-ow. You will learn later what I am once I deem you worthy of the information.” You faked gasped and got up, placing a hand over your heart.

“Oh come on! We just had a battle to a near death,” you whined. “I feel like I’ve earned it.” The machete you once bore was sheathed back into its spot on your hip. Your body now sliced with multiple cuts that will require some medical assistance but not at that very moment.

All the pink beast did was look down at you with a neutral expression. Despite the difference of features, you felt it was universal for the expression to mean the same. “Fine. If you can’t answer me that, can you at least tell me if you’re an alien or not.” Still with cheeky smirk on your face. Yeah, you’ll learned it could if it so wishes. Why not tempt fate while you’re at it?

Its pink back met you, long legs striding away from you. The creature turned its head to look over its shoulder for a second. “Yes.” You jumped up and thrusted a fist in the air.

“Ah-ha! I knew it.” You scrambled after We’ar-ow, not wanting to wander too far from it. “So… what happens now? You said I had potential or something.” You were forced to trot next to the newly friended creature. The steps easily dwarfing three of your own.

We’ar-ow, if you remember correctly, knelt down at the belly of elk it once worked on and returned to cleaning its kill. “You will quiet down and stop asking many questions,” she snapped at you but didn’t even look over at you, focused on cutting out unneeded parts.

“Well, that’s going to a problem. I want to learn, that requires questions.” You had the creature caught then. It grunted underneath its breath and sheathed its blade after wiping it off. “I can carry that if you want.”

Orange eyes glanced over at your smaller frame. Yes, you were muscular for having to survive in a wilderness that was more than happy to kill you. The creature dipped its domed head and stood up.

You walked over to the dead elk and glanced at We’ar-ow. “Watch and learn from the master.” You crouched down onto your haunches, careful of your weight and maneuvered the downed elk onto your shoulders. A single push and you were back to a standing position, proudly looking at We’ar-ow. “Where to master?”

Oh, you were going to have fun with this creature.

[f1-stuff]

Girl dad Carlos please! I miss that fic so much 🥲

Okay. So.

I mustered up the energy to write a little vignette of this AU bc I also miss it and bc I didn't want to leave you two hanging! This is skipping ahead quite a bit to halfway through the season, but I'm still planning on writing and fleshing out that portion. I've just known for a while that this was gonna be an important part of the story and that I could jump into writing it right away!

It will probably be edited and adjusted for when the actual chapter is posted on ao3, but this is the 'rough draft' I guess! (Disclaimer: I know zero French and I haven’t had someone look over that bit yet!)

Anyway, enjoyyyy...

When there’s a knock on his door about two weeks into the summer break, his brain doesn’t compute for a full minute after he’s opened it.

Because why would Charles, his teammate, be here? In Spain? At his apartment? During their summer holiday, when they’re supposed to be ignoring any and all people and things related to F1, recharging their batteries, and remembering there’s more to life than racing cars? He and Charles have barely ever even texted during the summer break, let alone seen one another. So, again, why would Charles be at his front door.

Also, he’s a bit sleep deprived and delirious, so there’s every chance he’s hallucinating this.

“Uh...” he says, rather eloquently.

“Hey,” Charles says. And there’s a tentative smile on his face that Carlos can’t even begin to parse the meaning of. His brain isn’t just one step behind, it’s five steps. “Can...I come in?”

“Oh.” Again. Eloquent, Sainz. “Eh- yeah. Yes. Come in.”

“Sorry to stop by without a warning,” Charles is saying. But Carlos is too busy looking around in barely disguised panic at the absolute trash heap that is his home.

It’s not that he didn’t realize how much of a mess the apartment was before, but he sees it now through Charles’ eyes and feels a little like curling up and dying. There are bowls of half eaten food and dirty dishes piled in and around the sink. Various toys, games, books, and drawings are strewn over almost every surface, along with clothes (mostly socks, so many socks) littering the floor. Boxes and boxes of Lucy’s things that he hasn’t had time to sort through are stacked against the walls and in the corners. One of the only exposed walls by the couch has colorful marker all over it, Ana having done that particular masterpiece when he’d accidentally nodded off during Peppa Pig. (He’d been too tired to even properly get angry about it, which was perhaps a bad precedent to set if he didn’t want a repeat performance.)

It looks like a tornado has swept through his apartment. A tornado named Ana.

Not that Charles is much neater on a good day, and he doesn’t even have a kid as an excuse. But Carlos has a feeling that if this is the current state of his apartment, the state of his own appearance is probably no better. He hasn’t properly showered, shaved, or slept in days, and he doesn’t think he’s looked in the mirror in all that time either. For all he knows, he’s still got remnants of the braids Ana put in his hair yesterday. He certainly can’t remember taking them out...

Charles, on the other hand, looks fresh and groomed and sunkissed - everything Carlos would expect during the summer break.

He smells good, he thinks, unbidden. Then, immediately, Stop it.

Charles takes in the space around them, his eyes eventually settling on Carlos with an amused (and maybe slightly concerned) expression. But just as he’s opening his mouth to speak, there’s the sound of the bathroom door opening down the hall and the smattering of tiny feet running across the floor, before Ana declares in her tiny, yet surprisingly bold voice, “I didn’t have a diarrhea!”

Carlos doesn’t even have enough shame left to be embarrassed by his kid. His first instinct is just relief.

“Stomach virus,” he mumbles to Charles, by way of explanation. Then, to Ana, in Spanish, “That’s great, mi niña! Did you wash your hands?”

“Yeeeees!”

“Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh!”

“Good, because we, eh- we have a guest!”

It’s quiet for a moment, before Ana’s head pokes around the corner slowly. But her face lights up as soon as she sees who it is.

“Cha!” she shouts, but then immediately looks embarrassed by her own show of excitement.

“Coucou, Ana,” Charles says, amused. He kneels down and encourages Ana closer, accepting the tentative hug she gives him.

No matter how much they had bonded last time, it’s still been a while since they’ve seen one another, and some of Ana’s shyness has clearly returned. Still, it’s huge that she’s even initiated a hug, and Carlos feels a telltale twinge in his sternum at the image they both make.

“As-tu été bon pour papa?” Charles asks, cuffing her gently on the chin. Ana grins and nods. “J'ai un cadeau pour toi.”

Charles reaches into a bag that Carlos hadn’t even noticed he’d been carrying until he’d set it down to hug Ana, and he pulls out a pink rectangular thing, that Carlos squints in confusion at for a beat. He realizes what it is simultaneously with Charles’ next words.

“C'est une caméra. Pour que tu prennes des photos de ton papa.”

It’s a pink camera for kids, a unicorn adorning the front where the lens peeks out. Carlos almost rolls his eyes - of course Charles, with his recent photography kick, gifts his kid a camera. But the way Ana’s expression transforms with wonder as Charles demonstrates to her how it works is pretty precious.

Charles hands it over to her and she immediately points it at him. He pulls a silly expression, making her giggle. They both examine the photo, heads bowed close. Ana points it up at Carlos next.

“¡Sonríe, papá!”

He sticks out his tongue and her little finger presses the capture button. The joy on her face as the photo pops up on the screen, tilting it to show them even though it’s upside down, fills Carlos with so much warmth and love that he legitimately almost tears up.

God, he’s so freaking tired.

Ana bounds off to her room to gather her stuffed toys to take a ‘family picture,’ and Charles straightens back up, smile lingering on his cheeks even after Ana has disappeared down the hall.

Carlos wants to kiss him so bad. Becoming a father has turned him into such a sap.

“Ehm,” he clears his throat. “Thank you. That was- a nice gift.”

“No problems.”

“You know, you don’t have to buy her something every time you see her,” he says, humor lacing his words.

“I want to,” Charles insists, simply. They smile awkwardly for an extended beat, listening to the sounds of Ana down the hall in her room, talking to her animals. Charles’ eyes stray to his hair. “You have...something in your hair. Is that a braid-?”

“What are you doing here, Charles?” he asks, choosing to ignore the comment. “I thought you would be in Corsica, or somewhere.”

“I was. But I heard you and Ana had to cancel on the trip to Mallorca and-”

“Heard, how?” Charles looks sheepish, triggering his suspicion. So he repeats it. “Heard, how, Charles?”

“Your mum texted me-” 

He sighs, eyes shutting briefly in frustration. He wishes his mom would just stay out of this whole- thing with Charles. But, clearly, she knew he wouldn’t accept help from anyone else. And that he wouldn’t be able to turn Charles away…

“She didn’t tell me to come,” Charles rushes to say. “She was just worried because you refused to let her stay and help, and that you hadn’t found a sitter, or someone, yet. So I just offered-”

“Charles, please...” He breaks off with another sigh, rubbing his temples to stave off the oncoming headache. But it’s already too late, if the subtle pulsating pain, slowly increasing in intensity, is anything to go by. “You should not have come.”

“Carlos, don’t be stupid,” he scoffs. “Anyway, I am here.” And he supposes that’s true. Nothing can be done about it now. “You look tired.”

He huffs a small laugh, dropping his hands from his temples to meet Charles’ gaze.

“This is what someone looks like when their kid catches a stomach virus and then they catch that same virus from their kid, just when their kid is starting to feel better-”

“Why didn’t you let your mum help-?”

“I’m her dad,” he interrupts, breathing hard. But he softens his voice with his next words. “I can do this on my own. I just wanted to...”

He doesn’t really know how to finish that sentence, though. It sounds stubborn and stupid when he starts to say it out loud. None of this should be about him. It’s about Ana. And if he’d really needed help, he should’ve asked for it. For her.

Charles seems to know that he doesn’t have to say it - that Carlos is already thinking it. So, instead, he just claps a hand to his shoulder and squeezes.

“I think,” he says, “-you should get some rest.”

“Charles-”

“No, I’m serious. Go to your room, Mister Sainz.” A slow grin pulls over his features. And along with the genuine concern in his eyes, it’s almost enough to break through Carlos’ resolve. “You are exhausted. Ana will be fine - I will watch her. Just...rest for a minute. Okay? You don’t look like yourself.”

And he knows that must be true. He knows that he needs a lot more than just a few hours of sleep to feel somewhere close to normal again (a shower would be a good start). But it’s hard to even think of himself when he’s been so worried about Ana for days - researching how to get her fever to die down, trying to get her to drink fluids, watching her fitful face in sleep, his heart in his throat despite how the pediatrician had assured him she’d be fine.

But, then, he’d gotten sick, too. And instead of focusing on his own recovery, he’d had to fit in sessions of retching over the toilet in between caring for his kid and making sure she was properly fed. And the two of them had managed, even if it wasn’t ideal. They’d grown closer, he thought, by virtue of her needing him so much.

He couldn’t keep it together forever, though. Eventually, if he didn’t take a break, he’d fall apart completely.

It takes him a stubborn moment, the urge to argue bubbling up inside despite how glorious resting his head on a pillow sounds. But eventually he nods, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Thank you.”

Charles just looks at him with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. “You are welcome, Carlos. Now, go. You look like you are going to fall over at any moment.”

“I feel like I’m going to fall over at any moment.”

Charles laughs under his breath, pushing Carlos’ shoulder gently to aim him toward the hallway. “Well, fall over into bed, then.”

“I’m going,” he insists, letting his tired limbs and the heavy touch of Charles at his shoulder guide him toward his room.

He can deal with how insane this situation is - Charles showing up here, and what the hell it means that he’d come at all - once he’s had some sleep. For now, he’ll happily take it for granted.

He doesn’t even really remember climbing into bed before the exhaustion takes over, his body surrendering to fatigue now that he knows his kid’s in good hands. Trustworthy hands. Charles’ hands.

He thinks he can hear the faint sounds of their French floating down the hallway. It makes him smile with the last vestiges of energy he has left.

God, he is in so over his head.

----

WIP ask game

Link to fic on ao3 -> (x)

[arc852]

A Sewn Surprise

Summary: Grian and Joel try to teach themselves how to sew, in order to surprise Jimmy with some new clothes. But it isn't going well.

Word Count: 1716

AO3 Link

Yay! A new fic! I'm sorry it's been a couple of weeks but I'm finally writing again, so hopefully there will be more fics posted soon. Oh, and this is my first time writing Cleo, so hopefully she is in character!

I hope you guys enjoy!

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

 “Ow!”

 Grian looked over just in time to see Joel stick his finger in his mouth, a frustrated look on his face. “You okay?” Grian asked, though he was only half asking about the prick Joel got.

 “No, I’m not okay. This is stupid! What were we even thinking?” Joel put his head in his hands and let out a deep, frustrated sigh.

 “We were thinking it would be nice to make Jimmy some new clothes.” Grian said and then let out his own sigh, more defeated than frustrated. “But you’re right, this is going nowhere.”

 They had been at it for three days now, trying to learn and sew Jimmy some new clothes. Ever since he had moved in fully, it was easier to notice the fact that Jimmy only had two outfits. One regular and one specifically made for borrowing, apparently. Though, since Jimmy didn’t borrow anymore, he wore the other pair of clothes more often.

 Still though, only having two pairs of clothes was…kind of sad. It was impressive, for sure, that Jimmy had made the clothes himself but when they had asked him why he hadn’t made more, Jimmy had said he hadn’t had enough supplies. But then continued and reassured them he didn’t need much more than that anyway.

 Grian and Joel, however, begged to differ. So outside of their dorm, where Jimmy couldn’t overhear them, they talked about looking into getting Jimmy some new clothes. Of course, they knew they couldn’t just buy them, doll clothing was stiff and way bigger than Jimmy anyway. But maybe, they could make him some themselves.

 And that’s what led them here, in the sewing club's room. They had graciously allowed them to work on their little project and even use their supplies. But sitting down with a laptop open to a tutorial and trying to figure it all out was not working out for them.

 It had been three days, and they were nowhere close to even a single item of clothing.

 “It’s been days. Sooner or later, Jimmy is gonna get suspicious.” Joel said, lifting his head away from his hands. He stared at the mess of fabrics, needles, and threads and glared at them.

 “We might have to ditch the surprise part of all of this.” Grian suggested as he put his own needle and thread down. It was just so hard to make stitches that small, and that was with previous experience with sewing. For Grian and Joel, who had absolutely no experience, it was next to impossible.

 As they were stewing in their own defeat, someone walked into the room. Grian and Joel barely paid attention, people were walking in and out of here all the time after all. What did catch their attention though, was a sudden familiar voice. “What are you two doing here?”

 Grian and Joel looked up to be met with Cleo, a good friend of theirs. She was looking at them with a surprised look, which was fair. Neither of them had ever brought up wanting to sew before. This was also bad though because, well, what were they supposed to say? They were trying to make tiny clothes for their borrower friend Jimmy? Yeah, no, that would be bad.

 “We’re uh…trying to learn how to sew?” Grian said though it came off more as a question. Which only deepened Cleo’s confusion. 

 “Sew…what, exactly?” Cleo asked, looking over them and at the table to see the mess of tiny fabrics and even tinier stitches. Grian and Joel looked at each other, slightly panicking.

 “Uh, doll clothes!” Joel suddenly exclaimed, laughing nervously. “For Grian’s cousin!”

 Cleo blinked and looked between the two of them. She crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “You two are making doll clothes for Grian’s cousin? Why not just buy them some?”

 “My cousin is…very particular about it?” Grian chimed in, going along with what Joel had said. Though, once again, his sentence came out more as a question.

 Cleo continued to look at the two of them, not seemingly convinced. Thankfully though, she changed the subject, walking along the table to its side and picking up one of the fabric pieces. “Well, this is definitely not where you should be starting if you’re just now trying to learn how to sew.”

 Joel sighed, once again putting his head in his hands. “Yeah, we’ve kind of figured that out already.”

 Cleo hummed, brushing her thumb against the fabric. “Do the two of you care if you're actually the ones to make them or were you just trying to do it yourselves because of your cousin’s ‘particular’ taste?” Cleo asked.

 Grian blinked, a bit surprised by the question. “Uh, well, I guess the second? We would have bought them if anyone made them.”

 Cleo nodded and put the piece of fabric down, moving her hands to rest on her hips. “Well, then the two of you are in luck. I happen to have an opening and I’m sure I can squeeze in making a few clothes for your cousin’s dolls.”

 Grian and Joel’s eyes widened and they both stood up in surprise. “Wait, seriously?” Grian asked.

 “Of course.” Cleo said with a smile. “Just leave it to me.”

  ***

   It was only a day later that Grian and Joel heard a knock at their door. Jimmy ducked behind the lamp on Joel’s nightstand as Grian stood up to answer the door. When he saw that it was Cleo, Joel joined him and they stepped outside for a moment. Cleo gave them a slightly confused look at not being invited in but didn’t say anything about it. Instead, presenting them with a neat handful of folded up outfits.

 “It was a bit tricky but I managed.” Cleo said as Grian took the clothes from her hands. There were three in total. Grian’s thumb brushed over the tiny jeans, in awe at how real they felt. Joel leaned in to try and get a good look himself.

 “Cleo, these are amazing.” Joel said, grabbing one of the shirts and studying it more closely. “It’s like you took regular clothes and shrunk them down.”

 Cleo chuckled. “Well, that is basically what you asked for.”

 Grian looked up and away from the tiny outfits in order to look at Cleo. “How much do we owe you?”

 “Aww, you two don’t owe me anything. Consider it a friend discount.” Cleo said. As Grian and Joel started to argue against not paying her, she held her hands up, stopping them. “I’m the one who offered, so I don’t want to be paid. This time. Now in the future if you happen to need any more outfits, then we’ll talk.” She said with a chuckle.

 Grian nodded. “Absolutely. We’ll definitely be coming back to you for some more.”

 Joel grinned. “Yeah, Jimmy is going to love these.”

 Cleo tilted her head, a smile still present. “Jimmy?”

 Both Grian and Joel froze and looked at each other. Joel looked a lot more panicked though and so Grian was the one who spoke. “My cousin! Jimmy, he’s my cousin.”

 “Hmm, right.” Cleo said, arms crossed with her smile never leaving. For some reason, she still didn’t seem fully convinced. But she moved along, which Grian and Joel sighed in relief at. “Well, I really do hope he likes them. Feel free to come to me if I need to make any adjustments.”

 “Thank you Cleo, really. You’re amazing.” Joel said, after having calmed down from his slip-up.

 “I know.” Cleo said and then turned and left, waving goodbye as she did so. Grian and Joel nodded at each other, grinning.

 “Ready to show Jimmy?” Grian asked.

 “Let’s do it.” Joel said as he handed the shirt he had picked up back to Grian. Grian put his hands together, covering the small outfits as they headed back inside.

 As they closed the door behind them, Jimmy popped his head around the lamp, only fully coming out once he realized it was just Grian and Joel coming back into the room. “Who was that?” Jimmy asked, looking behind them at the door.

 “Just our friend Cleo.” Grian answered. “She stopped by to drop something off.”

 Jimmy blinked in confusion, only because it didn’t appear as though either of them were holding anything. “What did she drop off?”

 Grian and Joel glanced at each other with a grin before Grian knelt down and moved his cupped hands in front of Jimmy. “We’ve got a surprise for you.” And that was all the warning Jimmy got before Grian opened his hand.

 Jimmy came closer and looked to see what Grian was holding, only for his eyes to widen in shock. Jimmy could barely believe it. He slowly reached down and grabbed a shirt, looking and rubbing at the texture. If possible, his eyes widened even more, realizing that not only were these tiny clothes the perfect size for him but they felt exactly like Grian and Joel’s clothes. Soft and comfortable and warm.

 “We tried making them ourselves at first.” Joel’s voice cut through and Jimmy looked up. “But learning to sew is harder than it looks. So then Cleo offered to make them.”

 “But don’t worry.” Grian chimed in before Jimmy could overthink anything. “She just thinks she was making custom doll clothes for my cousin.”

 Jimmy laughed at the same time he could feel some tears start to gather in his eyes. “Do you even have a cousin?” He asked as he wiped away the tears.

 Grian smiled softly. “No, but Cleo doesn’t know that.”

 Jimmy held the shirt close to him. This was one of the nicest things anyone had ever done for him. “Thank you. This is…this is amazing.”

 Joel’s smile was also soft as he reached down and gently brushed his fingertips over Jimmy’s back, cupping his hand around him but not grabbing him. Just offering comfort. “Of course. We wanted to do this for you. You deserve to have more than two pairs of clothes.”

 “Yeah. And we’re glad you like them.” Grian said.

 “I love them.” Jimmy corrected and then started looking at the other articles of clothing, feeling them and holding them up to himself. Grian and Joel just watched, happy their surprise had been a big hit.

[glorious-spoon]

tell me all the things that i wanna hear [9-1-1 | Buck/Tommy; Buck/Eddie | 1/1]

1.3k words | feelings realization | episode tag

about a week ago i wrote this post about an eddie feelings realization at the bachelor party, so naturally after last night's episode i had to write the fic.

tell me all the things that i wanna hear [on AO3]

-

He doesn't remember it right away.

Which is… not surprising, probably. The bachelor party that wasn't marks the drunkest he's been since before Chris was born, possibly the drunkest he's ever been in his life. He wakes up in a bathtub shirtless and so hungover that he wants to die, and then they discover that Chimney is missing, and it's a long, stressful, terrifying fucking day that keeps Eddie way too busy to focus on any of the garbled flashes of memory from last night. Busting down a hotel door and shouting off-key karaoke at Buck and tilting sloppily together while they poured each other shots—stupid party shit that he's honestly too old for. They're definitely going to owe the hotel damage fees out the ass.

But in the end, Chim is okay. Or, if not okay, at least safely ensconced in a hospital bed. Eddie leaves to pick Chris up from Pepa's and he's still there, shooting the shit with his abuela and slowly sipping his fourth Gatorade of the day in the hopes that it'll settle his stomach enough for him to eat dinner, when he gets the text from Buck that the wedding is still on and he needs to get his ass back to the hospital. So he packs Chris in the car, and doesn't fight it when his abuela also insists on coming—Pepa waves them off with an indulgent smile—and doesn't allow himself to be relieved that the short notice means he has an excuse not to mention it to Marisol.

It's a beautiful wedding, in the end. Perfectly imperfect, in the way all the best things in life are. Eddie gets a little teary-eyed when Chim and Maddie slip the rings onto each other's fingers, and he claps with all the rest, and he just happens to glance up in time to see a flash of blue as Buck slips out the door.

For a moment, he considers following, but Karen nearly trips bringing the cake in, so Eddie jumps in to catch her before tonight can turn into any more of a catastrophe than it already is. From there, there's the usual party bustle of divvying up cake and passing out paper plates, and he forgets about Buck for a little while, at least until he tugs Tommy through the door, the both of them beaming like fools and covered in soot in a way that makes it very fucking obvious what Buck just spent the last twenty minutes doing with his mouth.

Eddie doesn't remember it then, either. He snickers while he watches the rest of the room catch on, while Buck introduces Tommy around to the people who don't already know him, and he catches Buck by the arm as he's making his way over to the cake.

"You might want to go wash your face there, bud," he says.

"What?" Buck blinks at him. Then he rubs at his cheek, and looks at his sooty hand, and goes bright red. "Oh. Um. Shit."

"Yeah."

"I was wondering why…" To Eddie's relief, he's laughing. "Well, that's one way to come out to everybody. Right?"

Eddie laughs. "I guess so. You feeling alright about it?"

"Yeah," Buck says. He glances over to where Tommy is talking to Chim and Maddie. Like he sensed it, Tommy glances up and grins brilliantly at him, and Eddie watches something in Buck's expression go soft and warm and pleased. "Yeah. I'm—I'm feeling really, really good about it."

Eddie's heart gives a funny little thump in his chest. He pats Buck's arm, then lets go. "Well, good. Happy for you, man."

"Thanks, Eddie." Just for a moment, Buck turns that soft expression on him. Then he says, "I'm gonna, uh, go wash up. Save me some cake!"

"Sure," Eddie says, but Buck's already gone. He threads through the crowd to Tommy's side, says something in a low voice to him that makes him laugh and Chim put a long-suffering hand over his eyes. Then they're both moving toward the door together, Tommy's hand resting low on Buck's back.

"Dad, can I have another slice of cake?"

He looks down at Chris. "I don't know, mijo, it's kind of…"

"Come on."

"Alright, fine," Eddie says, caving, if only so he doesn't keep looking at the door that Buck and Tommy left through.

They reappear a few minutes later, freshly scrubbed, and Eddie watches Hen hug first Buck, and then Tommy, who looks startled but hugs her back. Then they head through the crowd together toward the cake. Their hands are linked together. Eddie decides that's a good moment to go give Maddie and Chim his congratulations.

He doesn't remember it then, either. It's not until later, when the crowd is finally trickling out ahead of the end of visiting hours and Maddie and Chim take turns hugging a sleepy Jee-Yun before handing her over to Mrs. Lee, that Buck sidles up to him. 

"I'm gonna get going," he says. Then, to Chris, "Hey, Superman. Awesome party, huh?"

Chris shrugs, all studied adolescent indifference like he didn't insist on coming along. "It was okay. The cake was good."

"Actually, we should probably get going pretty soon too," Eddie says. "Abuela, you good?"

She flaps a hand at him and goes back to her conversation with Mr. Lee, and Buck says, "I'm gonna, uh, give Tommy a ride back to the station so he can drop off his gear."

He's blushing again. Eddie quirks an eyebrow at him. "Just to the station, huh?"

"Shut up," Buck mutters, but he looks pleased. He looks happy, the way a smile steals helplessly onto his face when he glances up at Tommy, who's standing by the door with his turnout coat slung over his arm, talking to Karen. Who glances up like he could tell Buck was looking at him, and smiles back.

"I mean it," Eddie says, instead of ribbing him some more. "I'm happy for you."

"Yeah, yeah," Buck mutters, slinging an arm over his shoulders and pulling him into a jostling half-hug. "I love you, man. You know that, right?"

Eddie tilts against him, his nose just bumping the edge of Buck's jaw, and that's when the memory hits him like a bullet, or a lightning bolt, or something equally sudden and devastating.

That couch in the hotel room. Sitting there with Buck's arm around his shoulders and one of Buck's legs flung over his knees—his shirt was gone by then, and Buck had lost his jacket, and Eddie could feel the warmth of his body through the thin tee he had on underneath. He was waving his hands as he spoke, jostling Eddie, and Eddie turned his face toward Buck and bumped his nose against his cheek just like he is now, and thought with perfect, sober clarity, I could kiss him right now. I want to kiss him.

He goes still. Buck must feel it, because he jostles Eddie a little, his warm, stubbled jaw rough against the bridge of Eddie's nose for just an instant before Eddie turns his head away. "Eddie? You good?"

"Yeah," Eddie says. He doesn't look up at Buck. Isn't sure he could stand to see his face, this close: his blue eyes, his soft lips, he was just kissing Tommy, he wants Tommy, not you, and anyway you're not—you don't—you can't— "Yeah, I'm good. Just kinda hoping I never see another shot of tequila as long as I live."

"Oh, tell me about it," Buck says, and finally releases him. "In retrospect, that was so fucking dumb." "Swear jar," Chris remarks, without looking up from his Switch. 

"Put it on my tab," Buck says, ruffling his hair. "See you guys later."

"Yeah, later," Eddie says, a beat too late. Buck doesn't seem to notice, thankfully. He gives Eddie a quick grin and heads back to where Tommy is waiting. Karen hugs him, and then Hen does, and Tommy waves at Eddie, who manages to gather the wherewithal to wave back. And then they're gone.

Eddie rubs his knuckles against his sternum, where a dull ache has taken up residence, then lets his hand and pulls a smile on before anyone can see.

[familyvideostevie]

living high until that fatal day

a/n: i never do this. literally, never. when i'm not here i'm writing stuff that's not x reader for ao3 and this is a fic i posted over there. it's a time loop story about joel and ellie. @bageldaddy told me i had to post it here. without her this fic would not exist. thank you so much, bea. so, here we go. if you read it, thank you. let me know what you think. joel miller & ellie williams gen fic. 7.5k words warnings: Time Loop, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, kind of???, it resolves, Suicide, only in one of the loops!, Canon-Typical Violence, joel gets stuck and has to figure it out, Father-Daughter Relationship, thoughts about sacrifice and love, POV Joel, mostly, this one is kind of intense folks, major character death tag is cause well the loop ends one way or another, gonna diverge at the end, but it ends well!!! i promise, also this is pretty firmly game but hbo folks should be okay!

summary: joel finds himself stuck in a time loop of that day in salt lake city.

Joel lies to her. 

He's got dried blood under his fingernails and his shoulder aches from the kick of the rifle and he's so, so tired. 

But he lies to her. 

If he was a smarter man he'd have thought of something better. Told her that the hospital got raided or they had a FEDRA mole, how the whole thing was a sham from the start. He doesn't know if she was awake for any of it. If the last thing she remembers is him reaching for her and failing to save her. If she remembers what it feels like to drown. 

It's hard to look at her in the mirror but he manages. Just keep driving, hands tight on the wheel. Don't white knuckle, don't spook her. She's in the car. She's safe. He did it. 

"We found the Fireflies," he says. She doesn't look at him. "Turns out there's a...a whole lot more like you, Ellie. People that're immune. It's dozens, actually." 

There's a strange pull in his gut, a pull that he's felt a few times before in the moments before everything went south. When the soldier pointed his gun by the river, when Tess looked at him on her last day, when he fell off the ledge in Colorado. But he ignores it. 

"Ain't done a damn bit of good, either. They've actually st--" Ellie closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. She doesn't look at him. "They've stopped looking for a cure. I'm takin' us home. I'm sorry."

She turns her back to him and the pull becomes a burn, becomes a black hole under his ribcage taking everything with him. He blinks once, twice, wonders if he got shot and didn't notice, if he cracked a rib and it punctured his lung, if --

The road in front of him disappears. 

He can't see a damn thing -- not like the lights went out, like there is nothing to see. There is nothing in front of him at all.

Then, Joel wakes up yesterday. 

___ 

He jolts awake with a strangled yell. Ellie kneels over him, the rifle he taught her to hold slung over her shoulder. It's just past dawn based on the color of the sky and how he can make out most of her face, her withdrawing hand and her unimpressed but slightly concerned frown. 

"You were talking again," Ellie says. "Nightmares?" 

Joel tears his eyes from her and thunks his head back down on his crumpled up jacket. The trees stretch high above him and he tries to get it together so he doesn't spook her. 

They’re camped within sight of the highway. Salt Lake City has been looming for days now and Joel doesn't want to take any chances. The ring-road is almost clear, dotted here and there with cars and a fair amount of supplies, enough that Joel suspects people haven't been here for some time. If this is another Colorado State situation, he's going to have to put Ellie in a car and take them back to Jackson before she does something stupid.

She's fine. Well, no, not quite. Things aren't the same and they never will be but he can tell she's doing her best and he won't ask more than that. Their pace has slowed this week and he's having a hard time figuring out if she's sliding back into some sort of post-Colorado haze or if she's nervous about actually arriving in Salt Lake. 

God knows he's nervous as hell.

But every day she'll walk as far as he tells her to and won't complain. He knows she wants to get there. They have to get there and it has to work -- because he doesn't know what they're going to do otherwise. 

She asked him a question. Nightmares. Joel sits up and drags his hand down his face.

"Somethin' like that."

Ellie shrugs and starts to clean up their camp now that he's awake. He still hates letting her take watch, but she needs to feel in control of things, so they split it most nights. She hums a little bit as she works and he has hopes that today might be a good day.

But that dream... It comes back in flashes: the giraffes, the tunnel. Ellie hanging from the side of the bus because she jumped to save him, her small frame sinking slowly, just out of reach. The crack of her ribs underneath his hands. The hospital. The Fireflies.

Joel gets up, rolls his shoulder at a phantom pain and looks down at his hands. Crusted with dirt and nothing more. 

Jesus Christ. He's losing it. 

They set off. 

The blue hospital sign seems to shine in the spring sun all too soon.

"This is where we get off. Let's go, kiddo."

Joel talks even though he knows she's not listening. He talks to take his mind off of the echo that sits at the base of his neck with every step. Has he told her he'll teach her guitar before? He's been thinking it for months. 

Ellie trails behind him, kicking rocks and half-heartedly searching cars when he asks her to. She heads for a faded blue sedan but he stops her. 

"Blue one won't open, don't bother." 

The look she gives him makes him think about what he just said. "How do you know that?"

He blinks. How does he know that? Before he can explain it, Ellie shrugs and keeps walking. 

The disinterest is new and it doesn't sit well with him. She's been through a lot, more than any kid deserves, and they're almost there. He figures it's worse today because of that. 

"I dreamt about flying the other night."

Joel's stomach twists. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Go on, tell me about it."

She tells him about her dream, about how it felt to fly and then fall, and he is dizzy with deja vu. 

"I've never been on a plane." Ellie looks at him like he can tell her what it means. Like he has any damn answers at all. "Isn't that weird?"

Joel hums and swallows the lump in his throat. The bus terminal. Ellie, drowning. Firefly after Firefly in his path. His hands flex around a gun that isn't there. 

"Well, you know. Dreams are weird." It tastes like a lie in his mouth but he can't figure out why. 

It gets worse when they find the bus station, when she runs off in search of something that's got her smiling. Her small hand reaches for the giraffe, her eyes bright, but Joel feels like he's watching it through a fog. He knows what she's going to say before she says it. 

"So fucking cool."

Joel has seen a lot of weird shit in his life but whatever is happening here is leagues above the rest. It bumps up against something in his brain, like the answer is just out of reach but he can't fucking get there. Always a step behind when it counts. 

Ellie hands him a picture of his dead daughter and something in him comes dangerously close to snapping. Instead of gratitude or sorrow or anything that would make sense, he's terrified. 

He's fucking terrified because this happened. Which means he knows what comes next. 

But there's no time to worry about it. They pick their way through the tunnel, through the runners and the clickers and the fucking bloaters. The pressure on his neck gets heavier, gets almost unbearable. He's strung tighter than he's been in years, like the walls are closing in on him and there's a timer he can't see. 

When they get to the rapids, he waits for Ellie to get to the other side of the bus until he jumps on it but it dislodges. The dam in his head breaks and he yells, screams at her to run, to leave him, but she jumps on the bus anyway. 

She drowns.

Joel doesn't doubt that the Fireflies are coming -- he hears them --  but he doesn't take his eyes off of her, doesn't stop the chest compressions until he's knocked out.

The rest of it is a blur, his sense of reality already warped by his need to get to the operating room. To save her. 

Joel picks them off one by one, floor by floor, hardly taking note of how familiar it all feels. He doesn't even give the surgeon a chance to speak before he's dead, a bullet between the eyes. He knows they'll make it to the elevator. He kills Marlene. He drives them away.

He lies. 

He wakes up yesterday again.

___

It takes a few days before Joel purposely deviates from what he's thinking of as the script. His head feels like it weighs a thousand pounds when he wakes in the clearing, Ellie's eyes on him.

He thinks about it as they pack up camp. Can he get them out of here? Would that be allowed? The rules of this aren't clear to him but he figures it can't hurt to try. They could turn around right now and make it back to Jackson in a week or so. 

He watches Ellie carefully arrange her things in her bag, watches her stop to admire a butterfly in the branches above. He watches her and tries to see her alive and not pale on an operating table. 

"Ellie," he says. "I got a bad feelin' about this."

She loves to tell him he's overreacting but today she crosses her arms and sits back on her heels. "What do you mean?"

Her scream as she falls into the water. Her ribs cracking beneath his hands. The piercing alarm in the hospital, her body warm but limp in his arms.

"What if we waited?" She frowns but he keeps going. "Went back to Jackson, rested up. Took a break. Come back in a few months with a bit of a crew. Tommy'll give us some guys, hell, I bet he'll come with if you want --"

"No," Ellie says sharply. There's an edge to her voice he hasn't heard in a long time. "Joel, shut up."

"Ellie --"

She stands abruptly, takes a few steps back. "I said no."  The look on her face tells Joel he's already lost. "Are you -- are you fucking kidding me? You want to go back? Now?"

He sighs. "Just to rest up. We don't know what we're walking into --"

Ellie throws her hands around in disbelief. Her eyes look wet. Christ, he's made her cry again. He promised himself he wouldn't do that. 

"We don't know if they'll still be there."

"We don't know if they are there."

"And we won't find out if we fucking run away like cowards!"

Joel stands. "I don't want another Colorado State situation, Ellie --" Her face shutters. Mistake. 

"Don't bring up Colorado," she growls. "You don't know what that was like." 

Damn right he doesn't. He knows by now what happened but he'll never know how hard it was for her to survive when he was busy dying on that mattress. But he has to try something or they'll just end up here again tomorrow. Yesterday. Whatever. 

The idea of her suffering makes his hackles rise, makes his blood run cold

. 

"Can I finish a god damned sentence?" he snaps. Ellie is undeterred and snaps back.

"Not if it's going to be about leaving. We-- I -- we're not fucking leaving. Not after everything. We can't."

Joel sighs and drags a hand down his face. This girl. He's trying to save her and she can't see it. There's no way to make her see it and it's his fault. She should know by now that he'd do anything, anything, for her. He lost that battle a long time ago, probably longer ago than he'd like to admit. 

"I know," he tells her. "Just...if you want to give it all up, to go back, we can. We don't have to go through with this."

Ellie's eyes are blazing and her tone is disappointed. It cuts deep. "Yes we do. I thought you'd understand that, Joel."

He follows her this time as she stalks down the highway towards the hospital. No mention of six strings, no dreams about planes. They catch the giraffes but she doesn't stick around to watch them for as long. It's a different kind of loss to be without her smile, her laughter. Joel wishes he'd never opened his god damned mouth. 

"I'm sorry," he says. "For earlier." Ellie pauses on the stairs and half turns to look up at him. "I know it's important to you."

She sighs. "I know you mean well." Joel closes his eyes. He knows what comes next. "But there's no halfway with this. Once we're done, we'll go wherever you want, okay?"

He plays his part for the rest of the day, just to get it over with. 

___

Next time, Joel waits until they're watching the giraffes to try something different. 

"So," he says. "This everything you were hoping for?"

Ellie gives him her half-smile. "It's got its ups and downs, but...you can't deny that view, though."

He seizes his chance. "Wanna go down there?" 

She perks up. "Really? Do you think they'll let us get close?"

"They might. Let's try." 

They manage to backtrack a little bit and end up on the field. It smells like a zoo but Ellie is thrilled to be so close so they post up on the roof of a rusty FEDRA Jeep. Two of the giraffes end up eating out of the tree right above them. Ellie holds her breath. 

"They just...don't care, do they?" she whispers. "How long do you think they've been here?"

She leans into his side and cranes her neck to watch one of them use its tongue. 

"Don't know," he says. "Big ones could've been from before. But the tiny one s'probably younger than you."

"So cool," she says again. "They're from a zoo, right? I wonder if anything else lives in the city."

They've been sitting here long enough that the sun has started to set. Joel allows himself to hope. 

"Might be. What do you say we spend the night here and look on the way to the hospital tomorrow? Daylight'll do us better."

Ellie chews on his suggestion. "I guess," she says. "Are we safe here?"

"Should be." Joel has no idea, frankly. He sure as hell wants them to wake up here in the morning. He wants to make good on this idea, wants to show her something else that'll make her smile. He wants this to be a bizarre, unexplainable day that he'll forget about with time.

"I'll keep watch."

They set up camp crowded against the fence so Joel can see the whole field. The giraffes leave them alone and Ellie falls asleep quickly after they eat.

In the quiet open air the dread in his gut returns full-force and he knows he's wrong. Again.

A branch cracks and he whirls around, rifle in hand to find three men pointing their guns at him through the wire. They might be wearing Firefly jackets but he can't tell. He doesn't care. Joel dares to look at Ellie for a second and sees she's still asleep. 

It's a mistake.

One of them follows his gaze and his eyes widen.

"Holy shit," he whispers. "She looks like who Marlene said --"

"Shut up," the second one hisses. "On the ground, old man."

"How are you gonna get around that fence, hotshot?" he says. "Ellie. Ellie, wake up."

She blinks a few times and sees his stance. scrambling to her feet with her knife in hand.

"Holy shit. What the fuck?"

"Get behind me."

One of the soldiers points his gun at her. 

"Don't move."

It's chaos after that. The guys shout at each other. 

"Don't point it at her! Don't you remember the fucking briefing?"

"You hadn't even joined when we got here, you don't know. We've been looking for her for months --"

"If you shoot her we're all dead --"

Joel locks eyes with Ellie.

"When I say run, you run. Okay?" 

The fear in her eyes turns to determination. Brave girl, he thinks. I'm sorry. He waits for the idiot pointing at her to look away and takes a deep breath. What's one more day?

"Run!"

Joel doesn't check to see if she obeys before firing through the fence. The rifle is incredibly powerful at such a short range and where there was once a head there's only mist. Joel clears the chamber as fast as he can and gets the second one in the shoulder but he's not fast enough for a third and before he realizes it he's on his back in the grass. 

The Firefly's assault rifle litters Joel's chest with bullets but he doesn't feel it until he tries to take a breath and nothing comes. It's like he's underwater.

At least he didn't make her cry this time.

__

Joel isn't much of a believer in anything but he decides fairly quickly that he's in Hell or something close. God knows he deserves it. 

His sins are countless, his ledger dripping with red just like his hands. They will never be clean. What he can't figure out is how he got here. Did he die somewhere in St. Mary's? Is the real world somewhere else beyond his reach, now? If he died then what happened to Ellie?

He tries to make tallies in the bark of a tree on the edge of camp but they disappear every time he wakes up. He makes do with his own slowly unspooling brain. Two, five, ten.

Ellie is much the same every time but somewhere around day twenty she asks him about it. "How do you know where everything is?"

They're in the bus depot before the tunnel. He's taking them quickly around the tents, putting off Ellie handing him a photo of his dead daughter. It's muscle memory at this point. A pair of pliers here, some rags there. A half-empty but uncracked bottle of hooch behind that blood-stained bed, some bullets under that overturned partition. 

"Just payin' attention."

"I pay attention!"

Joel uses the excuse to grin at her. It's hard sometimes to remember that she has no idea what's coming, that he can and should be good to her every chance he gets. The violence has already started to blur together in his mind. Killing everyone in the hospital is by far the easiest part of this fucking loop. These parts are harder. 

"Didn't say you don't."

"I feel like that was a double negative."

She's still energized from the giraffes and he knows she's working up the courage to talk about Sarah, but right now he wants to spend time with her. He spots the Firefly medal tangled in the shattered floodlight and points it out. 

"Ellie," he says. She's at his side in seconds, looking up at him with eyes brighter than he's seen in weeks. "Wanna get that down?"

She gives him her classic why are you like this look. "Are you going to be weird and pick it up?"

Joel shrugs and leans on the rotting tank nearby. "Just want to check your aim."

"My aim is really fucking good and you know it!" Even so, she picks up a brick from her feet and palms it, eyeing the silver circle before winding her arm back and hurling the brick towards it. 

She misses. Maybe three hundred miles and a trail of dead bodies ago she'd have stormed off, embarrassed and pissed. But she just makes a face at the still-swinging medal and then looks at him. "How did I miss that?"

He pushes off the tank and scoops up a glass bottle. "Sun s'probably in your eyes." Joel stands next to her and eyes the target, trying to compensate in his mind for her height. "Stand here." Ellie moves over in front of him and he hovers his arm over her. "Can I?"

She nods. Joel presses the bottle into her hand and she takes it as he maneuvers her with a hand on her elbow until she's got the trajectory he thinks will work. 

"Now?" she asks. "Feels pretty fucking similar to what I was doing."

"Just trust me. Throw a little lighter than last time. And higher."

Ellie sighs, but once he steps back she does as he says and nails the medal hard enough that it drops to the ground. She whoops and turns around, hands high in the air and a wide smile on her face. Joel tries to breathe through how easily she puts her faith in him. 

"Fuck yeah! Did you see that?" She holds both hands out for a high five and he obliges. 

"Sure did. Nice job, kiddo."

When Ellie hands him the picture of Sarah, he pulls her in for a hug. He half expects her to shove him off but instead she allows it, twisting her hands in his shirt as he cups the back of her head. 

"Thank you," Joel says quietly, thickly. 

Later, when he finds her on the operating table, he presses his lips to her forehead for an extra moment before picking her up and heading for the elevator. 

__

He messes with the order of things a little bit. Tries to make their morning last longer, tries to stay watching the giraffes for an hour or so. 

Sometimes it works. 

Sometimes it doesn't. 

Watching Ellie drown over and over fucks with his head more than the hospital does because he can't stop it. At least while he's leaving behind corpse after corpse he knows that she's asleep upstairs, waiting for him. In the tunnel, he knows that the only way out is through, but she has to fucking drown first. 

He gets sloppy. 

He forgets about the runners in the side rooms when he ducks in to avoid a clicker and takes a step too close. Ellie is behind him as always and he shoves her back blindly as three runners slam him against the metal railing of the stairs before he can reach for his gun. He's too surprised to feel anything, but their breath smells like rotting meat and something worse, something that makes his eyes water. 

Joel searches the room for her and finds her -- pale-faced and terrified, already reaching for her knife. He tries to say her name but it comes out as a scream when one of the runners goes for his shoulder, jagged teeth ripping through his shirt in an instant. 

"Ellie -- run, Ellie -- GO --" He begs her to leave him but his voice stops working as his throat is ripped out. The last thing he sees is her horrified face as she raises her pistol.

And then he wakes up yesterday. 

___

It occurs to him on day 30 -- if he's keeping track accurately -- that he's got one of the smartest people he knows at his disposal. Kid's got an encyclopedic knowledge of space as well as science fiction stories. He asks her while they're still on the highway, stalling though he can see the blue H sign from here.

"Y'ever read stuff about time?" No reply. "Ellie?" She's staring at that deer again. "Ellie."

"What?" 

"You read any stories about time back in school?"

"Uh, sure," she says. She tugs her sleeves over her hands and catches up to him, eyes on the ground. "Why?"

"Saw a weird movie 'bout it once. Somethin' reminded me of it this mornin'. Guy gets stuck in a...shit, what did they call it?" Joel peeks inside an RV and smells rot so he leaves it be. "He lives the same day over and over."

"A time loop!" Ellie sounds more excited about this than anything they've talked about for days. "Those are so fucking cool. Scary, though. I feel like I'd go crazy."

Joel drags a hand down his face. "Yeah," he says. "How do you think you get outta one?"

"Well, how did the guy in the movie do it?"

"He stopped bein' an asshole," he says. Ellie laughs. 

"Well, we know that's not possible for you. Guess you're fucked."

"Guess so," he mutters. 

The H sign is close enough that she'll see it any minute. He wishes for the hundredth time that they could just stay out here all day, just talking. If he had a guitar he'd play for her. If he had a fucking car he'd put her in it and turn around, even though it wouldn't do any good. They'd just end up right back here because he can't fucking figure out how to get out of this. 

"I think you just have to change, right?" Ellie says. She's looking at the photo of an airplane on the bus. This time she doesn't tell him about her dream. Is he losing pieces of her, already? "I guess it doesn't have to be about yourself. Maybe something you do, or something you say. It's the universe telling you to make a different choice, right?"

That's the fucking thing. The choice isn't an option. It's not even a choice. 

The one thing he hasn't tried and will not try is leaving the hospital when Marlene tells him to. He'd rather die a thousand times, rather live this shit show over and over for the rest of eternity than let them cut her brain out. They will not touch her while there is still breath in his body. 

He'd do it all over again. He will.

__

Joel tries a hundred things and they don't work. 

After his conversation with Ellie he decides to really fuck with the day. Doesn't matter, right? So long as she's not put in any extra danger he considers it. He begs her to walk away, get on his knees and pleads with her throughout the day. Doesn't work. She just gets pissed at him like that first time and he doesn't push it because he can't bear to see her cry. He lengthens their morning in the clearing, fakes sick or says the rifle is jammed and needs cleaning. That goes south, too, when a pack of runners wanders through the woods and straight into them. They make it to the highway and have to miss the giraffes because they're running. 

One time Joel spends all day zig-zagging them around the city to avoid the tunnel. The Fireflies find them much the same way except they shoot him on sight and grab Ellie right out of his arms as he bleeds out on the cracked asphalt, her screams echoing in his ears. 

Another time, he ties them together in the tunnel with some fraying rope and they both drown. 

Killing Marlene early gets him a bullet in the head and not killing her at all gets him back where he started, no change. 

Joel even begs the doctor to run more tests first, to try blood, to try anything, but it takes too long and the alarm sounds and he's cornered in the operating room before he can grab Ellie and go. 

Nothing fucking works. 

But what is there left to change?

__

His mind starts to fray. He loses count of the loops and it becomes hard to detach himself from the slaughter. Not even the good moments -- Ellie's laughter, the awe in her face when she sees the giraffes, her jokes and her muted but still sharp sarcasm -- keep him afloat. He's lost, adrift in a sea of blood and bullets and it starts to eat away any humanity that was left in him. 

The blood of hundreds, thousands maybe, is on his hands and he feels nothing.

Once and only once does he get there too late. Everything else goes like it always does but maybe he took too long on the first floor, maybe he took too long picking the guys one by one instead of using the assault rifle, maybe maybe maybe. 

When Joel gets to the pediatric ward he knows something is different -- he can hear a buzzing sound, something loud and unnatural. The stale air is thick with something metallic, tinged with death. The buzzing stops and he finds his feet glued to the floor outside the operating room. Voices on the other side of it, murmuring and the clink of metal on a tray. Joel's hand shakes when he reaches for the knob because he knows whatever he finds on the other side is going to kill him. 

But he opens it because he has to. The doctor is at the sink this time, the nurses nowhere to be found. Ellie's body is covered in a sheet, blood seeping through the fabric. Joel looks away. He just stands there, his heartbeat loud in his ears as the world ends. 

The first time his daughter died, Joel thought he could will it not to be so. He held her as long as he could, whispered her name with her blood drying on his hands until Tommy begged him to get moving. 

This time, he knows it's true and he knows there's only one ending. 

He raises his gun at the doctor who is now leaning on the edge of the sink. The door swings open and the nurses return, eyes wide and vibrating with the energy of a job well done. He swings over to them and kills them both with quick headshots. The doctor has barely turned around when he's dead, too.

Joel breathes, ears ringing. He manages one step closer to the operating table but his knees buckle and he goes down hard on the cool tile. His vision is blurry. Is he crying?

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm so fucking sorry, baby." He angles himself so he won't get any blood on her and then presses the barrel of his gun to his temple and pulls the trigger. 

__

If Joel was on the edge of losing his mind before, now he's laser focused. He doesn't pull any more shit. He settles back into the loop, savoring Ellie's laughter with the giraffe and gunning down every sorry motherfucker in his way at the hospital. He will not get there late ever again. 

So when Marlene says something different the next time around and he almost misses it.

Ellie is dead weight in his arms but she's warm and he can see the rise and fall of her chest. The hospital was messier than usual because he rushed this time, cutting down the Fireflies like it was his last stand. There's blood in his hair and crusted under his fingernails and his shirt is beyond ruined. 

"Are you going to tell her what happened here?" Marlene presses her hand into her side, blood leaking from around her crimson palm. "Are you going to tell her what you did?"

He lies to her.

Every time.

It's never occurred to him to try something else. Even though he's changed almost everything about this damn day except that. 

Because Joel knows what happens if he tells the truth. He knows what that will cost him.

And he doesn't know if he'll survive it.

He's afraid. Joel doesn't want to lose her and if that makes him selfish then so be it. He wants to take her back to Jackson and give her a bedroom of her own and as many stupid comics as she wants and three meals a day for the rest of her long, peaceful life. He wants her to grow up and grow old. 

He'd kill a thousand more Fireflies to make it happen.

He'd damn the whole world. 

Because he loves her and it fucking hurts. 

This girl and her puns and her comics and her god damned bravery and her bleeding heart. He doesn't want to lose her. 

But is this, whatever this endless hell is, is it fair to her? 

If it's breakable, if he has the ability to get them to tomorrow, to get them to Jackson, to get them home, shouldn't he? If he loves her shouldn't he give her a life even if he's not in it?

Joel gently arranges Ellie in the backseat and shoots Marlene in the head. 

__

For a few seconds Ellie thinks she's in the car on the way into Pittsburgh. The hum of the old engine, the rocking motion of the truck. But -- wait. She's lying down. The car smells...musty. And she's cold like she's wearing a dress and --

"What the hell am I wearing?"

She flutters her eyes open. Different truck. Backseat. Is she in a...hospital gown? What the fuck? Where is she?

"Just take it easy," Joel says. Okay, so she's with Joel. Something in her chest settles. She must be safe. "Drugs are still wearin' off."

Drugs? Ellie pushes back into her memory and tries to find something, anything that'll give her a clue as to what's going on here. They were in the bus tunnel. The water was rushing, Joel jumped on the bus and it started moving and she...fell into the water? 

It's a blur after that. More of a blank, really. Did they get to the hospital? Did they find the Fireflies? Based on her weird fucking outfit it sure seems like it.

"What happened?"

Joel's eyes flick up in the rearview mirror to look at her. "Let's get you into some clothes, first. Then we'll take a break and I'll tell you everythin'."

He sounds tired. More tired than he's ever sounded, frankly, but she can't imagine why. And he can't seem to stop looking at her like she's going to disappear. Like he hasn't seen her in ages. 

"Okay," she says slowly. "Where the hell are we going to get those?" 

"Your bag is on the floor by your feet." Joel veers off the highway down an exit ramp and Ellie sits up. Her head feels light for a second and then really heavy so she braces her hands on the seat in front of her and takes a few deep breaths. "You okay, kiddo?"

"Yeah. Fucking...drugs, I guess. What'd they do that for?"

"They ran some tests. We'll talk about it."

Normally she'd push him but something feels off. Ellie tries to get a good look at his face but she can't, not from this angle, and not with her head fucking pounding like it is. She's missing so much time. It makes her skin crawl, makes her heart race. Joel is here, she tells herself. He wouldn't let anything bad happen to her. 

He parks them at the edge of a cemetery and gets out of the car to stand guard while she changes out of the gown. Her last pair of jeans, apparently, and a grey t-shirt with a few holes in the collar. She wishes she had a sweatshirt or something to wrap around herself, to pull over her hands and feel covered. But beggars can't be choosers. At least someone put her shoes in her backpack. 

Joel doesn't turn around when she opens the door but she sees him stiffen. 

"I'm done." He looks back at her and she finally sees his face. "Jesus Christ, Joel, what happened to you?"

It's not just the blood. Sure, he's got dried streaks of it on his neck and in his hair. Ellie glances at his hands and sees it crusted under his fingernails, too. But he looks wrecked. Older, somehow. He looks like something terrible happened, the way she remembers his face when he fell from the balcony in Colorado, when he found her in the burning restaurant. But somehow it's worse. 

He's looking at her like he can't believe she's real. 

"Alright." Joel lowers the rifle and ignores her question, clearly. "Didn't see anythin'. Should be fine to sit here for a bit."

"Are you going to tell me what the fuck happened?"

He moves like he's going to drag a hand down his face but thinks better of it. "Yeah," he says. "I am." 

Ellie swings her legs so they're hanging out the door. Joel leans the rifle against the truck and crosses his arms. "You're making me kind of nervous, man."

"Just...promise me you'll hear me out to the end."

Yeah, something is going on. She doesn't like it. 

"Uh, sure."

"What do you remember?" 

Good fucking question. "The tunnel. The bus and -- water. I fell in, right?"

Joel nods, clears his throat. "Jumpin' on the bus was dumb. Don't do that again." 

She snorts. "Yeah, okay. Point taken. But I was afraid you were going to drown!"

"You did." He delivers the news in a flat tone she doesn't like. She drowned?

"Are you serious?"

"I got us out of the water and tried to get you breathin' again." Ellie realizes her chest is sore. She imagines Joel doing compressions like they showered her in school, imagines his panicked face, his hoarse voice calling her name. Fuck.

"Did it work?"

"No," he says. "Fireflies found us first and knocked me out." 

"That doesn't make sense." She frowns. "They knocked you out?"

Joel shrugs. "Just tellin' you what happened."

This isn't how she imagined it would go. She never told Joel, but for weeks she's been thinking about waltzing up to the hospital and telling them who she is. She pictured Joel telling her jokes while she got her blood drawn, pictured him staring down nurses and doctors while they made the cure. She figured it would take a few days, maybe a week, and then they'd be on their way back to Jackson. She had hoped Marlene might be there, too. She has so many questions about her mom. 

"What did they do with me?"

Joel looks troubled. "I...don't exactly know. It was a while before I saw you again."

It makes her skin crawl. He must be able to tell because he keeps talking. "I'm sure they just ran some tests while you were out. They brought you back, made sure you were breathin' okay."

"Tests?"

"I'm gettin' there." She feels like he's having a hard time looking at her. Something close to but not quiet dread sits heavy in her stomach. What happened?

"Joel..."

"I woke up inside the hospital. Marlene was there. Told me they didn't know it was us, that they'd been waiting." He pauses, drags a hand down his face. "You didn't wake up or nothin'? You sure?"

Ellie shakes her head. She doesn't remember anything after the tunnel. 

"Well, she told me they could do it. They had a doctor who could make the cure."

The air rushes out of Ellie all at once. "Are you fucking serious?"

"And then she said..." Joel chews on his words and looks away from her. He looks angry. 

"What did she say?"

"Makin' a vaccine...would've killed you."

The bottom drops out of Ellie's world. It's like a hundred doors in her brain open at once. 

It would have killed her? Are they sure? Did they do enough tests? Were they going to? Why didn't they wake her up? Were they going to ask her? How did they get out?

She swallows them all and manages just one in a broken whisper. "What did you do?"

Joel looks right at her. "I stopped them."

If Ellie wasn’t already sitting down she thinks her legs would give out. She knows that Joel meant what he said to her in Silver Lake. Knows that he'd do anything for her.

But this?

"What do you mean?" He shakes his head. "Joel. What do you mean, you stopped them?"

His shoulders slump. "They told me to leave and I refused. And I made sure no one can follow us to try again."

Static builds in her ears. She can read between the lines. She speaks Joel now. He killed them all, that much is clear to her. He killed them all, Marlene, too, probably, because she was supposed to die to save the world. Hot tears sting her nose and gather at the corner of her eyes. 

"But I -- but we -- I was supposed to...I'm the cure!"

"You're a person. You're a kid. Don't matter what's in your brain, you ain't dyin' for --"

Ellie pushes out of the truck and to her feet. Joel steps back to give her room but she knows he probably wants to touch her, to reassure her. The anger fills her, makes her face hot and her heart race. 

"Who said you get to make that choice? If they said I had to die maybe I should have? Then it would mean something --"

"Your immunity ain't the thing that matters most. You are. So I picked you," Joel yells.

She's really crying now, huge heaving sobs that make it hard to talk, make it hard to convey how angry she is. "Well, you picked wrong, asshole."

"I ain't gonna apologize for it. I'd do it all over again, the exact same way. Every time." Joel's expression is as serious as it gets. He used to look this way all the time. No nonsense, no room for argument. 

She tries to find the words anyway but they don't come.

"Now, you've got some options here," he says. "I think the best one is for us to go back to Jackson. I know Tommy'll take you in, and --

She laughs, or tries to. 

It sounds like something bitter and awful to her own ears. First he tells her she was supposed to die today and now he wants to leave her?

"Are you fucking serious, Joel? You want to leave me again?" 

Joel's brows pinch together. He looks pained. Good. It feels like her chest is caving in, like her lungs aren't working right anymore. This must be what it felt like to drown in the bus terminal, to sink slowly, to fade away entirely. She read once that drowning was supposed to be peaceful. This hurts. 

"I want you to be safe," he says. "Jackson is the best place for that. I don't have to be there if you don't want me there --"

"I didn't fucking say that!" she yells. "I -- Jesus, give me a fucking second, okay?"

He stands by the door as she paces back and forth, tugging her hands through her hair. 

She was supposed to die. But she didn't. There's no cure. And it sure fucking sounds like Joel didn't leave any option to try again. 

He traded saving the world for her. 

It's too much.

"What do you want, Ellie?" Joel sounds like he's been awake for days. Like he's in pain, like he's being hollowed out. He sounds like how she feels. 

She digs the heels of her hands into her eyes. 

"I want none of this to have happened! I want us to go back to this morning and I want us to not have gone into the bus tunnel and I want you to have asked for tests first, I want them to try something else. I want Marlene to tell me why they didn't wake me up. I want to do it again but differently, I want things to be different, I --"

Her words break off into a sob. "Ellie..." She opens her eyes and finds him reaching for her. His shirt is stained with dried blood but she steps into his hold and his arm wraps around her. 

"I don't know what to do, now," she whispers.

Joel exhales a shaky breath. "I know you wish things were different. I wish things were different. But they ain't."

They stand there, his hand dragging up and down her back. She listens to his heartbeat and remembers those nights in the basement when she thought it would stop any minute. 

"Fuck," she whispers, then pulls away. He lets her go. "Fuck, Joel."

He sighs. "Yeah, kiddo. Fuck."

He told her the truth and that means something. It hurts, it hurts so bad, and it doesn't absolve him of anything, but that matters. 

"I'm so angry with you," she says. "I don't know how to forgive you for...for...saving me." 

It sounds stupid as she says it but Joel nods solemnly. 

"That's alright." 

"But I..." She wants to get this part right. "Let's go back. To Jackson. We'll figure it out there. But you...you have to swear to tell me the truth. Just like this. We have to be honest with each other."

Joel meets her gaze without blinking. "I swear."

Ellie takes a deep breath. The anger, the horror, the disbelief at what he's done settle a little bit. She has no clue what comes next, but this is a start. 

"Okay."

__

Joel wakes up. 

His back hurts and his shoulder aches. It's dark, darker than it should be, darker than it's been for hundreds of days.

Ellie is asleep in the backseat of the truck. 

It's tomorrow. 

thank you for reading. let me know what you thought!

[pedal-writes]

Homesick (1)

Summary: What happens when Sam Witwicky's older sister, you, gets wrapped up with the conflict of the autobots and the decepticons coincidentally by visiting your family? Over time, it seems that you and the autobot's leader find out you two have more in common than you initially thought… But it doesn't really mean anything, right?

A/N: Hi everyone! This is gonna be my first actual long fanfic which I'm pretty nervous about (since I always seem to backtrack on the ones I try to write.)

But I recently watched Transformers 2007 and the brainrot is honestly too intense, I had to do something about it so bayverse OP x reader!! It's funny, I've been a transformers fan since 2017 and I've now just got around to watching the movie. I was kinda putting it off since it's not exactly a fan fav among some transformers fans haha. Oh yeah, there are a few scenes from the movie I won't write like the weird bumblebee piss scene and some of the mildly suggestive dialogue considering the other two main characters (besides the reader) are literally like 16 😭. Micheal bay is a freak!!!

Just a heads up, I guess I'm going for a more wattpad-y vibe for this fic considering some of the tropes that I'm using and the fact I'm going directly off of the tf 2007 movie (cause that's like every bayverse op x reader that's on there lolz). Idk Ig I just have a guilty pleasure for corny fics so yeah!!

If y'all want to read this on ao3 or Wattpad, it's in my pinned post :3 Anyways, bye pookies!!

As the moon's reflected light illuminated the dark room, it was quiet besides the occasional shuffling and jolting that came from your sleeping form. Suddenly your eyes shot open. You groaned as you sat up and felt a layer of cold sweat coating your forehead. You shakily got up from the bed and began a walk to the kitchen to get a glass of water. A small creak came from the cabinet and you grabbed a small glass and filled it with tap water, taking a few gulps. After four long years of college, you decided to move away from your hometown and all the way across the country to the east coast. Los Angeles was never your type of city as, in your opinion, it was mainly set up for movie stars and aspiring musicians, not computer scientists. So moving to a completely different city like Philadelphia to pursue your passion sounded like a fantastic idea. But now that you’re here, you’ve felt nothing but homesick.

You’ve always been a family-orientated person, always spending time with your parents and helping Sam, your little brother, with what he needed for school. Although he could be a serious little shit sometimes, the two of you were like peas in a pod, absolute besties! A small smile grows across your face as you think of the times you picked him up from school and took him to the arcade or when you always managed to find tickets to his favorite bands and saw them during the weekends.

A small sigh leaves your lips and you set down your glass on the counter. You walk back into your bedroom and take a look at the calendar hanging on the wall, the month being March. The thought of visiting your family crossed your mind and you could wait a few more months until summer came around but it’s not like you were working at the moment. After you moved, you were working a job as an information security analyst. The pay was definitely above average and it was going alright until an unsavory incident happened with a coworker and you literally couldn’t work there, so you quit.

Alright, I have enough money in my bank account to buy a plane ticket and to sustain me for a few weeks while I’m there. I should probably call mom in the morning and tell her I’m planning on visiting, her and dad will probably be ecstatic. As for Sam…

You opened a drawer on your nightstand and pulled out a piece of jewelry. It was an opal bead necklace you found at the mall one day. It was sort of an impulsive purchase, considering the price, but you thought it would be a nice gift for your little brother because opal was his birthstone after all. You gently placed the necklace back in the drawer and shut it, making your way back to your calendar and writing a few reminders on some of the upcoming days. 

       . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

After all the planning and flying, you were finally back in California. It really was a pain since there somehow weren't any available flights to Los Angeles from Philadelphia so you had to spend the night in an empty airport in Kansas and fly to L.A. in the morning. A yawn falls from your lips as you drive through the familiar neighborhoods leading up to your family's home. You turn on the radio and the latest hit began to play, “Irreplaceable” by Beyonce you thought. It wasn’t really your type of music but it’s Beyonce.

A few minutes passed and you heard your phone ringing. You turned down the radio and grabbed it from the passenger seat, flipping it open and putting it against your ear. “Hello?”

‘Hi honey.’ It was your mom. ‘How far out are you?’

“Oh hi mom. I’m not that far, just give me a few more minutes. You don’t have to call me when you know I'll be there eventually.” You chuckled, gently pressing the brakes as you stopped at a red light.

‘I know, I’m just excited to see you!’ Her voice buzzed excitedly. ‘I’ll be waiting outside for you, see you in a bit.’

“See you in a bit.”

A few moments later the familiar layout of your house came into view and you couldn't help but feel a bit giddy. You saw your mom, Judy, excitedly waving next to the frontdoor, you smiled to yourself. You pulled your car into the driveway and got out of it, Judy pulling you into a tight hug, swaying you from side to side slightly. "I'm so happy to see you, honey!" 

She said sweetly, pulling away while holding both of your hands. "How’s my little genius been?"

Your smile turned into a small frown. "Oh I've been doing... alright for the most part. I had to quit my job recently because of a bad experience I had with a coworker. I’ll tell you about it later but it really sucks, I liked that job." You grimaced slightly at the memories of the not-very-pleasant experience, Judy patting your back in a comforting manner. "Anyway, say, where's dad?" You abruptly changed the subject.

"Oh, your father had to run some errands, but he'll be back soon. He's been so hellbent on making his grass perfect. I think he's starting to go a bit crazy." She said, doing a swirly motion around the side of her head.

You chuckle as you walk back over to your car to retrieve your bag and suitcase. You and Judy walk into the house, an excited mojo greeting you by jumping up and down in that typical chihuahua fashion. "Aw, hi mojo." You cooed, leaning down and petting him near his ears. "I missed you too." Your eyes drifted down to his coller, seeing the jewelry wrapped around his neck.

“Is this your doing, mom?” You laughed.

Judy simply shrugged. “I think it looks cute on him. Oh yeah, Sam's upstairs doing his whole eBay thing, I'm sure he'll tell you all about it when you talk to him." Judy said, walking towards the kitchen and preheating the oven. "Do you need help with your bags?"

"No I'm alright mom, thanks though." You say, walking towards the staircase with your bags in hand.

"Alright honey, make sure to tell Sam I'm making lunch."

"Will do!" You holler from upstairs.

You head towards the rather empty room that used to be yours and set your things down, looking around at the empty walls where posters used to hang and the still neat bed, feeling a little nostalgic. You exit your room and head right to Sam's, ignoring the do not enter sign and opening the door. You see your brother’s hunched over figure messing around on his computer and shake your head, knocking on the door frame to alert him of your presence. Sam jumped, turning around suddenly. "Jesus! You scared the shit outta me. I didn't know you were here yet."

"I can't believe you didn't hear me. Come here, give me a hug dude." You said, spreading your arms in an inviting motion. Sam rolled his eyes and walked over and hugged you. You gave him a small pat on the back and pulled away from him, giving him a small grin. "So how are things? How's school?" You asked.

"It's good, pretty good. I've been trying to get this whole eBay thing running. Oh yeah, and dad made a deal with me and soon I’ll have my own car. I just gotta get an A on this history project coming up." Sam replied, turning around and typing a few more things into his laptop before closing it.

“Wow, that’s awfully generous of him. I’m excited for you though.” You chuckled, leaning against his door frame and crossing your arms. "Anything new with that one girl… What was her name?"

"You mean Mikaela?”

“Yeah Mikaela, The girl you’ve liked since forever and is totally not out of your league.” You said sarcastically.

"What??" Sam exclaimed, whipping his head towards you. "She is not out of my league! She is really gorgeous and stunning in every single way, and she would totally give me a chance. I just gotta… ask her.”

"And when will that be, Casanova?" You laughed.

"Soon! Really really soon. When I get this car next week, and I will get that A, then I’ll have a chance! Any girl loves a guy with a nice car." Sam said, a cocky tone in his voice. 

"Oookay, I hear you... oh yeah! Hold on, I got something for you, give me a second..." You walked into your room and rummaged through your purse, pulling out the necklace. You walk back into Sam’s room and excitedly give him the piece of jewelry. “I found it while I was shopping at the local mall a few months ago. Since Opal is your birthstone, I thought you’d like it. And it’s also not a super girly necklace, you’re welcome by the way.”

Sam took the necklace from your hands and admired the carefully strung together beads in the sunlight of his window, the beads glimmering a variety of colors. “Wow this is really neat. Thank you but y’know, I'm not really much of a jewelry guy." Sam said a bit nervously.

"Oh come on, wear it!" You pat him on the back reassuringly. "Girls love guys who are comfortable with their sexuality, it shows maturity. Besides, you'll look like one of those... surfer guys. You know what I mean? When they wear those small necklaces.”

Sam frowned and gestured to himself. "Do I look like a surfer guy?"

"I’m just trying to be supportive!" You said, making your way out of the room. "By the way, mom's making lunch. Make sure not to get too engrossed in your master plan of getting with Mikaela and actually put some meat on those bones." You commented teasingly.

Sam groaned and waved you off dismissively, sitting down at his desk again. You chuckle and walk into your room, crouching down and pulling a few essentials out of your suitcase. Now that you’re back in Cali, you were excited to see a few of your friends that you’ve been friends with since high-school. Funnily enough, you managed to become friends with the “popular girls” solely because you helped a few of them with their math and science work and now they deemed you besties for life.

Which you didn’t mind honestly.

Most of these girls were rich and actually really nice despite what people stereotype “popular girls” to be. The person that comes to mind is your friend Felicity. She’s probably the one you would call your “top tier bestie”, the girl that constantly came over to your house when you were a teenager (annoying your brother immensely), the girl that called you like every single day you were away to college since you two went to different ones. She was super duper excited when you called her, telling her how you were gonna be in town for a few weeks.

Of course she had plans for you two to go to the spa and then go to the beach and blah blah blah. It would be nice to get out of the house every once in a while to catch up since Sam's gonna be in school most of the time. You put your laptop down on your bed and was about to sit down before you heard your mom yell for you from the kitchen.

“Hey sweetie, can you come down and help me?”

“Oh– Coming Mom!” You quickly got up and left your room, heading downstairs. You couldn’t help but look forward to the next few upcoming weeks, knowing it’ll be the most eventful and actually fun thing you’ve done in months. 

[leighsartworks216]

I Come With Knives Pt2

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Part 1

I am posting this at almost 1am AND I have to get up early tomorrow to do work for class before the actual class haha I plan my time accordingly

I was going to make this chapter longer. I had an idea and I started to write it, but it just wasn't coming out like I wanted it to (bc I'm writing at 12am duh) so I'm gonna put that in another chapter

Warnings: mentions of torture, trauma, hints of paranoia, hints of self-deprecation

Word Count: 1,390

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First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

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After a grueling battle yesterday, you chose to give everyone a day off. It gave them time to rest aching muscles, repair and sharpen weapons, relax. It gave you a chance to bathe.

You didn't neglect your hygiene, but most of the time, once camp was set up, the sun would be dipping below the horizon. On those days, you'd run into the water, scrub the gunk out of your hair and get out, back to the safety of company before the first stars faded in. Now that you had the chance, you weren't going to squander it.

Once you were certain you were alone - an uncomfortable thought soothed only by the sun filtering in through the canopy above - you stripped down and waded into the water. It was cool, but not unpleasantly so. You wasted no time scraping the dirt and blood off your skin.

Once you cleaned your body within an inch of its life, you ducked your head under the water and scrubbed at your hair and scalp. It was disgusting - you could only imagine the smell your companions had put up with this last week. You were just so happy you were clean. Your hair was smooth as water soaked it through, no knots or clumps of blood to be found. As you squeezed out the excess water, you caught your reflection between the ripples. In moments where it stilled enough, you could see the scar on your neck. It was still deep and prominent, but it was beginning to heal. It'd never healed before.

"Enjoying yourself?"

You nearly shrieked when you turned, sinking into the water up to your neck for protection. Astarion chuckled at your reaction.

"Would it kill you to stop sneaking up on me?"

"I was practically stomping like an ogre, dear, it's hardly my fault you weren't paying attention." You shot him a glare, but it was half-hearted. It was your fault you let your guard down. In the day, you were safe from (most) vampires, but there were any number of things ready to attack at any moment. "Mind if I join you?"

You shake your head, but you're already wading to shore to grab your clothes. "No, go ahead. I'm done."

"Leaving already?" You nod, not making eye contact. "I won't look, darling, if that's what's got you so flustered."

You pause mid reach for your shirt as he removes his, placing it haphazardly on a rock by the water's edge. His pants came next and you looked away until you heard the water sloshing around him.

"Though, I don't mind if you look," he teased, sparing one last glance over his shoulder before he got to work cleaning himself.

Gods, if he could hear the way your heart raced... You peek over, just a glance, before you look back at your clothes. But then you're looking again.

An intricate scar of circles, lines, and curved symbols marred his back. You feel your throat close just looking at it. You'd been forced to watch spawn and slaves alike punished by the cracking of a whip. Forced to keep your eyes forward by a hand on your jaw as the leather snapped and tore into their skin. This was worse. This was deliberate.

"Did..." You swallow, forcing your voice not to crack with the sorrow you felt for him. "Did your master do this?"

He hummed, continuing to wash his arms as though you'd asked him about the weather. The only hint it bothered him at all was the way his muscles tensed and the disdain in his voice. "Cazador," he spat. "He considered himself quite the artist and used his slaves as a canvas." His movements slowed to a stop. "He composed and carved that one over the course of a night. He made... a lot of revisions as he went."

You couldn't stop staring. Your mind kept replaying the torture you witnessed, but it replaced their cries with Astarion's voice. You hated to be so lucky. To be so fortunate that your master wanted you to look absolutely perfect and unmarked. You never received physical punishment. You were too precious.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, shakily. "If I could, I'd..." What? Remove the markings forever? Take away his pain and suffering? Go back and change everything so he never had to be a puppet? You couldn't do anything. You can't help. You can't remove that pain. All you can do is witness the aftermath.

He sighed and ducked his head so he could wash his hair. Drops of water slid down his back, only drawing your eyes in further. “It won’t matter when we get to Baldur’s Gate. I’m going to kill that bastard for everything he did to me.”

You know you should leave. Put on your clothes and slink away. But… being around Astarion isn’t entirely unpleasant. You’re still a little scared of him - of what he could do, but you trust him enough to believe he wouldn’t do those things. He probably understood your plight better than anyone else.

So, you slide down into the water until you’re resting on your knees in the silt. It doesn’t quite cover your neck unless you duck deeper in. You want to hide the scar, the damn mark showing everyone else who - or rather, what you belonged to. But it felt wrong to try hiding it when Astarion was fully showing you his.

“I never asked who your master was.” He turns his head slightly, eyes just barely catching sight of you. He did promise he wouldn’t look, after all. “Where she…” He waved a hand noncommittally and scowled. “Rules.”

Her eyes flash in your mind, wicked and burning. You almost flinch just thinking about them. When you speak her name, your voice trembles. “Kir Parthene. I… don’t remember where she lives. It’s been years since I’ve even been outside - I must have forgotten.”

He slowly turns, giving you time to tell him to turn back again, but you don’t. You watch him through a fog of memories. “How long were you enslaved?”

It’s harder to answer than you thought it would be. Time begins to blur when you can’t tell if it’s night or day, when everything is fuzzy and incoherent because you never had enough blood to think straight. Sometimes she’d feed and then leave you for days. Others, she never wanted to stop feeding - drinking from you morning and night before you ever got a chance to recover. You were a slave to her hunger - time never mattered.

“I was… 16 when I was taken.” You wrap your arms around yourself. Safe. “I don’t even remember home. My parents… I’m all alone.”

He’d never heard your voice so small before. You weren’t the most demanding leader, but you could still bark commands when things were getting rough. You even held yourself well in conversation, shutting down lopsided deals or uncomfortable topics with all the authority of a royal guard. It was easier, seeing you like this, to imagine your life in servitude. Meek and quiet.

“That’s not entirely true.” He kneeled in the silt a few feet from you, smirking. “You have us for as long as this adventure lasts, as long as we don’t transform into tentacled Mind Flayers.”

“And then after that?” He shifts uncomfortably at the question. “Everyone will go their separate ways, and when you do I’m a sitting duck. I’ll be captured again. Used again.”

You trail off, but the weight of your words sit heavy. You’ll never be free. You could help everyone else with their quests, help them free themselves from what ties them down, help them get stronger - but the same couldn’t be done for you. Without knowing where your master lives, there’s no way to seek her out and kill her, too.

The water is too cold now. The cool summer breeze only freezes you more. Astarion watches as you get up and slink back over to your clothes. He looks away before he can see anything you wouldn’t want him to. In no time at all, your clothes are back on and you’ve pulled on your boots. But before you walk away, you turn to him. Your eyes are so sad.

“Thank you. For… showing me.” He says nothing. So you head back to camp. Alone.

---

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[rambleonwaywardson]

Salt Water

A Clegan (Buck x Bucky) one-shot

Summary: The boys take a trip to the beach, where Bucky learns that Gale is a little afraid of the ocean.

Word Count: 3020

Author's Note: This idea came to me out of nowhere, and I decided I don't care if it feels accurate or not because I wanted to write fluff about it. I've also never posted a fic on tumblr before, but I'm waiting until I have a larger collection of Clegan one-shots before posting them under a single work on AO3 and wanted to put this out there somehow before that happens. My AO3 is also RambleOnWaywardSon.

—

Gale is perfectly comfortable reclining lazily on a beach towel, book in one hand while he props himself up with the other, when a towering shadow blocks his sun and causes him to glance up through his sunglasses. Bucky, even through the glaringly bright light of a cloudless July day, may be the most beautiful human Gale has ever seen on this planet. Water droplets like glittering crystals cling to the pale skin of his chest and abdomen and drip from salt-water damp curls. Even today, his smile gives the sun a run for its money. 

But he is, in fact, blocking Gale’s actual sun. And Gale had been perfectly happy in the sun, thanks very much. 

“You’re blocking the sun,” he says matter of factly. Even so, he earmarks the corner of his paperback and sets it beside him on his towel, full well knowing that Bucky, giving him this facial expression that somehow manages to mix ‘hurt but hopeful puppy’ with ‘giddy, plotting boyfriend,’ will not be easily deterred.

He would be correct.

“You’ve barely gotten in the water all afternoon. Why the hell did we come to the beach if we’re not gonna swim?” Bucky’s puppy dog smile turns to a pout, and Gale rolls his eyes behind his sunglasses as he glances Bucky up and down.

“You’ve been swimming.” 

“But you haven’t!” Bucky steps closer to Gale and grabs one of his hands, tugging insistently. “Come into the water with me,” Bucky says. 

Gale lets Bucky work for it for a second, but eventually, reluctantly, allows himself to be tugged to his feet. It beats the inevitable alternative where Bucky uses his – extremely slight though not insignificant – size advantage to drag Gale into the sand before throwing him over his shoulder. “Bucky,” he sighs, running a hand through his own dry hair. “I don’t know.”

“Why not?” Bucky whines. He tugs Gale’s hand again, and Gale indulges him until they reach the shallow tide of the ocean, water lapping peacefully at their feet. Gale feels the cool water splash his ankles, the soft and gritty sand nestling between and over his toes. He stops ankle-deep in the clear water, staring at the tiny fish that dart around him as the tide pulls them forward and back.

“See?” Bucky says. “You’re not gonna melt if you get a little water on you.”

Gale looks over at him. Bucky ignores the fact that he knows Gale is rolling his eyes behind those sunglasses. Buck is sassy today. “I walked around in the water with you earlier,” Gale reminds him. “And no, I’m not the wicked witch of the west, thanks so much.”

Bucky ignores the last comment, practically having to physically force himself not to make some poorly executed joke about Gale, apparently, being a witch. A sassy witch. “You’ve been laying in the sun long enough,” he says instead, patting Gale’s cheek. This earns him another eye roll. Bucky doesn’t care. “You’re gonna burn your pretty face like that.”

“I will in the water, too.” Deadpan. Unamused.

“Gale,” Bucky pleads. “I wanna swim in the ocean with you. We don’t get to come to the beach every day, so can we please just make the most of it? For me?”

Gale sighs and looks down at his feet, shifts and presses into them until the sand is almost completely covering them, an anchor. Only when he feels Bucky drop his hand does he look up again, just in time to watch him walk away, without a word, into deeper water. Gale bites his lip and runs his hand through his hair again, trying to tamp down the feeling of abandonment rising between his ribs. This should not be such a big deal. This should not be so hard.

Once Bucky is a good few yards away, the water up to his thighs, he turns around, fully intent on calling Gale out on his bullshit. But he stops short. He doesn’t know what he really expected to see. Gale had been a little off -- difficult, sassy, John doesn’t really know — all day. But he did not expect to see Gale biting at his lip and staring down at the water around his ankles, his arms crossed protectively over his chest. Bucky tilts his head and squints. 

When Gale hears splashing and glances up to see Bucky walking back towards him, wading through the waves, he feels the tight feeling in his chest begin to ebb. He drops his arms to his sides and straightens up, trying to seem nonchalant. Bucky doesn’t buy it. “Hey,” he says. He reaches out and grabs Gale’s hand in his again, this time insistence replaced with a gentleness that wasn’t there before. “It’s okay.” Gale just blinks at him, opens his mouth, closes it, looks down at his feet. “Gale,” Bucky says quietly. With his free hand, he tilts Gale’s chin up again, so he has to look at him. “You’re scared of the ocean?”

Gale shrugs uncomfortably. “Not a whole lot of ocean in Wyoming.” He’d always been a good swimmer, it’s just that he’d never had very positive experiences with the ocean itself – the unknown of it, the unknown in it, the tides, the salt water that tastes awful on his tongue.

Bucky smiles and shakes his head. “No,” he agrees. He lets go of Gale’s chin and brushes his fingers down his check just briefly, a thoughtless touch that's barely there. “Why did we come to the beach if you don’t like the ocean?”

Gale shrugs again. “You like it. Wanted to make you happy.”

Bucky about melts, and he’s not a melting type. At least, he wasn’t before he met Gale Cleven. He squeezes Gale’s hand tight and gently tugs again. Gale takes a step forward, then another. Bucky leads him a few yards out, where he’d been just a moment ago, where the water hits about mid thigh and the waves swell up to just below the waist. It’s here that he feels resistance pulling at his hand. When he turns to look at Gale, the other man is tugging back, his feet firmly planted in the rocky sand. He’s shaking his head. 

“Come on, Buck,” Bucky urges. “Just a little further.”

Gale shakes his head again. “This- This is good.”

Bucky turns a little more so he’s face to face with Gale and steps towards him, so close their noses almost touch. He takes Gale’s free hand in his, so he’s firmly holding both. “It’s okay,” he whispers. He starts slowly stepping backwards, pulling Gale along with him, and is relieved when the other man follows, unsure. Bucky glances behind him at the waves. The water is fairly calm today — Bucky is thankful for that now — but earlier in the day, here and there a wave would catch him by surprise. He doesn’t need any surprises with Gale. They just go slow, so very slow, one step at a time. 

By the time the water is at Gale’s midriff, splashing up towards his chest, he stops and shakes his head definitively. He will not, under any circumstances, go further than this. Bucky decides to take it. He decides that they don’t have to swim today. They can stand, float, whatever. His new task is simply to get Gale comfortable in the ocean that he loves. 

“Look at me, angel,” he says. He holds his breath for a second, worried the nickname will throw Gale off. He never really could figure out what to call Gale other than, well, Gale or Buck. Sometimes the nicknames he came up with were hit or miss — baby depended on the day; princess had earned him radio silence for about an hour, but he’d convinced himself that Gale just didn’t want to admit that he kinda liked it (he is most likely wrong but will not be deterred); darling was acceptable but how fucking boring; and sweetie was a very hard no.  Angel just kind of popped out now because, seriously, Gale looks so goddamn ethereal in the ocean sunlight, the highlights in his blond hair bright and glittering from the sea-spray. 

But Gale does look at him. He looks amused, but John can’t tell if his cheeks are tinged pink from the sun or because he’s blushing. Reaching a hand up to Gale’s face, he pushes the sunglasses up away from his eyes so they’re sitting on top of his head. “There you are,” he says. “Just keep your eyes on me.” He tugs Gale closer, so they’re nearly chest to chest, nose to nose. Bucky can feel Gale’s hair, which has grown just a little too long in the front, tickling his forehead as Gale looks back down at the water rising and falling around them. It’s not so clear anymore; he can no longer see what’s under the surface. “Gale, look at me.” 

Gale obeys, meeting Bucky’s eyes. He’s suddenly very aware of how close they are. “People are gonna look,” he mumbles.

“No one cares what anyone else is doing at the beach.”

“They might…”

“No,” Bucky reaffirms. “And to hell with them if they do. Just keep looking at me, okay? I’ve got you.”

Bucky wouldn’t admit it – it would just scare Gale off – but he secretly loves these little moments where he can be Gale’s safety. He can protect him, reassure him, let him know everything would be alright. Buck Cleven was always so in control, seemingly fearless. Bucky loves that he gets to see this side of him, the one that can be unsure, the one that needs some guidance. He likes that he’s the one Gale looks to for that. 

Bucky guides Gale’s hands up so they’re wrapped around his neck and shoulders. “I’ve got you,” he repeats. “We’re just gonna stand here, okay? You and me.” Then he reaches down behind Gale's legs and picks him up, convinces him to wrap his legs around his waist so now Bucky is fully holding him, lifting him higher out of the water so he doesn’t have to contend with the waves alone. 

“Bucky,” Gale starts to protest, immediately moving to disentangle his legs. He feels silly, a little too dependent. It goes against everything he tries to let the world see of himself, and everything he’s careful to ensure they don’t see.

Bucky holds tight to his waist though, keeping his arms firmly wrapped around Gale’s middle. “Just breathe, Gale. Just stay here with me.”

Gale hesitates, but nods and re-secures his legs around Bucky, leaning back in his firm embrace. The water makes him feel like he’s floating while the arms around his waist anchor him. He tries to focus on the sounds of seagulls soaring overhead, waves breaking over the sand, the distant buzz of a plane engine somewhere up above. The water is cool against his skin, leaving him almost cold where it splashes up and recedes again. Bucky’s body is warm and solid against his. He focuses on Bucky’s face, all warm eyes and a soft, encouraging smile. Gale lets that ground him, almost smiles back. 

But then a larger wave comes and smacks him in the bicep, knocking him off balance and causing his breath to hitch as he tightens his grip on Bucky and shuts his eyes tight. “Bucky!” He’s a little ashamed of how nervous his own voice sounds. 

Bucky just grins at him, though, totally unfazed. “I won’t let you go,” he promises. 

When Gale opens his eyes again and stares straight at Bucky, Bucky’s breath catches in his throat. He feels like a teenager with a crush, the way his stomach flips at having the undivided attention of someone who may very well be the most beautiful man in the world – definitely the most beautiful in Bucky’s world. When they had first allowed their friendship to turn into more, Bucky was terrified that he wasn’t cut out for commitment. He never had been before. He was a low stakes, one night, paint the town red kind of guy. And Gale, well, Gale was not. He deserved so much better than Bucky. Even now, Bucky still beats himself up too much about whether or not he’s good enough, but slowly, slowly, slowly his anxiety over it had started to fade. Now, staring into Gale’s eyes, taking in his beautiful face, his hair, running his hands up and down his slim waist, Bucky is awestruck. Not for the first time, he can’t imagine ever wanting anyone else again. It physically pains him how much he wants to spend his entire life with Gale. 

“What?” Gale asks, smiling a little shyly as he quirks an eyebrow at Bucky. 

“You’re beautiful,” Bucky blurts out. 

Gale’s smile grows. He opens his mouth to speak just as another wave comes and catches them off guard, spraying salt water into his face. He splutters and gags, trying to get the unwelcome taste off his tongue. Bucky can’t help but laugh. 

“‘S not funny,” Gale mumbles. 

Bucky surprises him by pressing their lips together for the briefest of moments, relishing in the taste of salt and sand mixed with Gale. “It’s a little funny.”

Gale rolls his eyes and unwraps one arm from around Bucky’s neck so he can check that his sunglasses are still safe atop his head before clinging on again. Bucky shifts him up an inch or two higher, a silent apology and an attempt to spare him from the bigger waves. 

“Are we done now?” Gale asks impatiently. “Can I go sit on the beach again?”

“No.”

Gale huffs and looks away from Bucky, out to the great ocean and the horizon beyond, even as his fingers play mindlessly with the wet hair at the nape of Bucky’s neck. “It is pretty, I’ll give you that.” When Bucky hums in agreement, Gale frowns. “Of course, I’d rather think that from where I was on the beach.”

Bucky lifts one hand to the side of Gale’s face, runs his fingers down his cheek and then presses his thumb to Gale’s bottom lip, which he’s still been worrying between his teeth. “You’re still nervous.”

“Yes John, I’m fucking nervous,” Gale snaps, and he immediately regrets it. Then he sighs, closes his eyes. The words rattle around in his brain like gunfire. “Sorry.”

Bucky barely reacts, though. He knows Gale doesn’t do well with nerves, or with being looked after, or really anything that shows him to be less in control than he wants everyone to think he is. “You’re doing great,” Bucky says. “Now what was that you were telling me earlier about how stars die? Fusion or something. All those smart things you know so much about.”

Gale glares at him, but there’s no more malice behind it. He looks more like a petulant child who doesn’t want to be coddled anymore. “I know what you’re doing,” he says. 

“And what am I doing?”

“Trying to distract me.”

“So what?” Bucky grins at him, and Gale can’t deny how much he loves that smile. How much he loves feeling their upper bodies pressed against each other as they just float. Or the way Bucky’s hand reassuringly strokes up and down his side as a silent I’m here, I’m with you, I won’t let you go. “Buck?” Bucky bumps their noses together, making Gale scoff. “Tell me about all your nerdy physics facts.”

So Gale does. He tells Bucky all about the life cycle of a star: the fact that the sun is made up of hydrogen and helium, and how hydrogen nuclei collide in a process called nuclear fusion to create helium and release energy, and how eventually the helium will start creating carbon and the star will become unstable, ejecting its outer layers into the cosmos like a fireball. Gale tells Bucky about all the types of stars and how they die in different ways to become different things — No Bucky, the sun will not become a black hole, sorry — and the fact that even the biggest stars eventually stop fusing when they inevitably create iron because they no longer have enough fuel to evade collapse. These are the stars that explode outward in a spectacular encore of literally stellar proportions, a supernova. 

All of this really is over Bucky’s head, but he’ll listen for hours if it means he gets a front row seat to Gale’s unfiltered excitement. The thing that catches his attention though is when Gale smiles at him, brushes his wet hair away from his face. “That’s where everything in the universe comes from, Bucky,” he says. “The Earth, moon, planets, the sun itself. You and me. We’re all made of star stuff.”

Bucky can’t look away from this amazing, beautiful man that he’s holding in his arms. He wants to make some comment about when did you become such a poet, but all that comes out is “That must be why you’re my entire universe.”

Gale’s expression somehow manages to be long-suffering and unamused but somehow so loving. A look that says you’re an idiot but you’re mine and I wouldn’t trade you for the world. 

“You doin' okay?” Bucky asks. 

Gale blinks at him, then looks down at the water again. One arm still around Bucky’s neck, he lets his other hand rest on the water’s surface, bobbing up and down with the waves. He finds the motion somehow satisfying, the physics of it as well as the repetitive rocking, the cooling feeling of water adhering to his skin. He has no idea how long they’ve been out here. “I’m fine,” he concedes.

“Maybe next time we can go out a little further,” Bucky says. “Ride the waves in.” Gale looks skeptical if not a little terrified, and Bucky can’t help but laugh. “Alright, that’s a no for now.”

“I think,” Gale starts softly. He pulls his sunglasses back over his eyes and bows his head, so his forehead is resting on Bucky’s as he tightens his grip on him once again. “I think I’m okay right here.” He feels safe, secure. And he finds he doesn’t mind admitting that. 

Bucky decides he’ll take it. He doesn’t need more right now. After all, he has his entire universe right here in his arms.