#if there was someone who’d be willing to go half’s on this shit it’d make things way easier

[lizclipse]

i’m tired and frustrated and grumpy and things around me really aren’t helping. i do miss having my own place a lot but fucking hell the prices of house and the interest rates mean that even if i could get a mortgage id be getting shafted each month and have no idea how long id be able to keep it up

[kstewdeux]

@inuvember

In Honor of 25 years...

For what seemed like the one hundredth time, Inuyasha felt his soul wither up in an attempt to die as that stupid, offensively normal human boy tried to take away the one and only good thing that ever happened in the half-demon’s miserable life. Today the suitor came with yet another expensive gift that Inuyasha himself would never be able to afford. Oozing that happy carefree charm that clearly came from having a happy carefree life. This boy was apparently desirable too. Half the girls at that school - and some of the boys for that matter - were obsessed with him.

But the only girl this allegedly perfect boy wanted was Kagome. Inuyasha had to give the boy credit for having good taste.

Inuyasha begrudgingly had other reasons to give the boy credit too. Inuyasha had no doubt that boy would treat Kagome with all the love and adoration she deserved. Love and adoration that anyone with eyes natrually felt for the young miko.

It’s just...

It was just...

Well, it just wasn’t a fair fight. Some people just….didn’t know how to express feelings like that because they were worthless pieces of shit and had issues that might take years or even decades to wade through. Some people were terrified of what these feelings meant and the knowledge that one person had the power to destroy them. Some people resorted to anger and insults to protect themselves. Some people were afraid of letting go of the familiar and taking a leap of faith into the unknown. Some people couldn’t afford to take risks.

Those people tried though. Tried bring the operative word and Inuyasha would admit he knew that his half-assed efforts fell short. Kagome deserved gifts and complements and…and transparency. Whenever someone said something nice she bloomed like a flower and the resulting smile could blind you. She deserved someone who could make her smile like that all the time.

Setting his jaw, Inuyasha continued watching the sickening display from the rooftop of the nearby building. All things considered, it’d be okay to lose to this jackass. Not that Inuyasha wanted to lose to that scrawny weak person or that the thought didn’t make him feel like his organs shriveled up and died. But in this time period - a time where Kagome actually belonged and wanted to be - being weak was okay. Here this boy could both provide and protect in ways a half-demon from the past simply couldn’t.

Inuyasha let out a soft defeated sigh as the boy continued explaining the gift he’d gotten her.

“I know you’ve been ill recently but when you’re feeling better, I’d very much like to take you to…”

“No.”

Inuyasha blinked once and his ears perked up. Did she…did she actually just reject the boy? 

This was new.

“N-no?”

“I’m sorry Hojo but I’m not interested in you that way. I never have been,” Kagome continued sweetly and Inuyasha’s ears strained to pick up every tonal inflection, “I have a boyfriend.”

Clearing his throat, Inuyasha made a mental note of the term as butterflies erupted in his stomach. Had Kagome really just admitted she knew how he felt about her? Did she know? If so, life suddenly seemed infinitely easier and better in every way. What was once a risk was suddenly a safety net.

Maybe he could take that leap of faith after all.

“Who cheats on you and is violent and hurts you,” Hojo countered knowingly and Inuyasha’s heart plummeted faster than it had soared. The only way the boy would think that was If Kagome had told him that. Kagome had been…

She’d been…

The leap Inuyasha had been considering suddenly seemed suicidal.

“It’s complicated,” Kagome countered evasively as she handed back the present, “So thanks but no thanks.”

“Well from everything I’ve heard it seems very clear that he doesn’t love you,” Hojo huffed - clearly refusing to let the issue go, “You deserve someone who’d be willing to die for you not someone who treats you like you’re expendable.”

‘Please don’t agree,’ Inuyasha breathed despairingly as his ears plastered against his head. There were a lot of things he could handle but hearing her say she thought he believed she was expendable was not one of them. She might not believe he loved her but if she thought for even one second that he would let her…

“I can say with absolute certainty my boyfriend would die for me,” Kagome sighed awkwardly before adding more to herself, “Oftentimes for no reason but that’s not the point. Even if he didn’t I wouldn’t be interested in you that way. I’m sorry.”

The boy shifted his weight and scowled.

“So why take my gifts?”

“Because I think this is the longest conversation we’ve ever had. Usually you just give me something and run,” Kagome pointed out sweetly but Inuyasha knew her well enough to hear the underlying agitation.

Despite the fact that Kagome had been telling people how awful she believed he was, hope began blooming in his chest as he tried reasoning away the rumors existence. After all, there’d been no context - probably - when she said those things to her friends here. Besides, even though what Kagome was apparently saying hurt deeply, he’d forgiven people for worse things. None of what she said would matter if she said she loved him.

That’s all she had to say.

‘Please say it…’

���Higuarshi. You don’t have to put up with abuse. I’m not giving up on you. I care about you far too much to let this go,” Hojo announced with conviction and Inuyasha let out a soft miserable groan. If this boy turned out to be persistent that would pose a problem. Given enough time, this asshole…

“Well then I feel sorry for you because I’m not interested in you that way,” Kagome huffed and Inuyasha’s silent self-lashing ground to a shocked halt. That…that was…

Well, okay, impulsive insulting outbursts weren’t unsurprising coming from her but that level of brutal honesty definitely seemed a little out of character.

“But you are interested in someone who doesn’t love you? Who has another girlfriend? You’re joking.”

Still struggling to breathe in light of the ongoing assault on his character, Inuyasha made a quick mental note about the correct corresponding terminology used in this time period. Sure, it was increasingly unlikely he’d ever need to use it but you know…maybe one day…if he got his head out of his ass...

“Like I said it’s complicated and frankly none of your business,” Kagome snapped, “Besides…”

The little flicker of hope that still remained fluttered painfully in his chest.

“Higuarshi, no one has ever even seen this guy. You don’t have to lie to everyone and…”

Inuyasha could smell the rage and offense radiating off Kagome. While he wasn’t normally merciful, he felt the need to save the poor boy from himself. That’s what he told himself anyway. Reality was that Inuyasha was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. The set up wasn’t ideal but this could be his opportunity to both save Kagome and finally let her know how he felt.

Time for that suicidal leap of faith. Inuyasha could only pray that Kagome would catch him before he hit the cold, hard ground.

Letting out a controlled exhale, Inuyasha quickly scaled down the side of the building before giving himself a quick pat down and causally turning the corner.

“Kagome!” he exclaimed a little too excitedly - unable to hide the nervousness on his face or in his voice, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Oh the boy’s face was priceless but still skeptical. On the other hand, Kagome looked like she was about to die and needed someone to come to her rescue. Inuyasha resigned himself to fixing both issues and solving one of his problems as well.

Because that’s what heroes do.

“Inu…”

“And just how is my g-girlfriend doing?” Inuyasha added shakily as he continued heading toward them, “Good I hope.”

‘What are you doing?’ a mortified and red Kagome mouthed silently. Her reaction wasn’t the one he was watching, however. Like a true predator, he enjoyed watching his prey realize the end was near and as a man, his ego definitely got a boost when he saw the boy size him up with an almost horrified look. Yes, Inuyasha was increasingly confident he could pull this…

“Are those dog ears?”

Shit.

“He’s into cosplay,” Kagome blurted before clearing her throat, “You need to leave Hojo.”

The weakling’s terrified gaze continued raking over an impossibly more uncomfortable Inuyasha who was very close to giving into his impulse to shield his body away from the prying eyes.

“Kagome is he human?”

For the span of two seconds, the situation was silent and tense before Kagome grabbed Inuyasha by the arm and began dragging him back towards the shrine without another word.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Kagome hissed once she was sure they were out of hearing range and the fear in her tone sent him spiraling into despair. If there was one emotion he knew how to hide, it was despair.

He needed to take control of what he could through any means necessary.

“Oh what I’ve done, huh? What about you?! Why have you been talking shit about me behind my back? Did you honestly think I wouldn’t find out?” Inuyasha hissed back and the miko dropped his arm like it burned.

“How long were you there?”

The question posed was flat. Her expression neutral.

“Long enough to hear him say you’re telling everyone I abuse you,” Inuyasha snapped desperately, “Long enough to realize you’ll bitch to anyone who’ll listen that I’m an asshole for a situation they’d never understand. You want them to think I’m the bad guy so you don’t look bad.”

Kagome paled slightly while her eyes wavered like she was having a hard time maintaining eye contact.

“Kikyo got murdered Kagome. She got murdered and then her corpse got desecrated,” Inuyasha added before scowling when the miko’s eyes widened at his use of a ‘big word’, “I’m not stupid or evil or abusive for trying to help her.”

“No one is saying you can’t be upset over losing Kikyo,” Kagome attempted to defend herself lamely and Inuyasha set his jaw.

“Everyone is saying I can’t be upset. Everyone,” Inuyasha hissed as he gestured at nothing with one hand and drug his claws over his scalp with the other, “I can’t even mention her without everyone acting like I just teamed up with Naraku. Which she’s done. No one asked me how I felt about that. No one’s ever asked how I feel about any of this. Put yourself in my situation and tell me how you’d feel if I treated you the way you’ve been treating me. Look me in the eye and tell me you’d be fine with it.”

Unable to take the broken look in Kagome’s eye, Inuayasha averted his eyes and shook his head.

“Tell me you know I’m someone who’d be able to walk away if something happened to you. If you were being hurt or possessed. Even if you told me to leave you alone,” Inuyasha continued miserably - the pain he’d clearly been keeping inside lacing every word, “You all act like you don’t even know me. Or maybe you do and you…I don’t even know.”

“Inuyasha I do know…” Kagome tried hoarsely before trailing off at the utterly devastated look he gave her - like it finally dawned on him that everything he’d believed about their friendship rang false.

“You should know me by now. You should know how I feel about you. If you suddenly tried to up and to kill me, I’d know something was wrong and don’t you dare say I wouldn’t. If you got murdered and brought back, I wouldn’t be wandering around with other people! Hell itself wouldn’t be enough to drag me away from you. If that piece of shit well closes off, they’ll find my bones beside it where I died waiting for you to come back! You think I’m bad about Kikyo? You just wait,” Inuyasha swallowed thickly as he once again averted his eyes and cringed, “Or don’t wait actually. I don’t know why I said that.”

As Inuyasha continued struggling and failing to keep himself in check, Kagome’s hand moved to cover her mouth so she didn’t scream. After all this time, she’d been too stupid and blind to see what was right in front of her. Looking back…

If he really wanted to go with Kikyo, he could have instead of staying with their group. Instead he chose not to and only sought the woman out when she made it clear she wanted to see him. All the screams and worrying over her and nearly dying and apparently he stalked her even when she didn’t know he was watching…

Kagome let out a choked sob and Inuyasha finally seemed to realize what he’d done. What he’d admitted. For whatever reason, once the words started flowing, he lost all control and in his anger, he’d just made the worst mistake of his life.

As the full ramifications of his actions sunk in, the world around him burst into suffocating flames and he suddenly found it hard to breathe. This, right here, was why using words was bad and yet he needed to use more words to climb out of the grave he’d dug himself.

Dammit.

“Look I…” he tried to claw back his confession as two frightened amber eyes rose to gauge her expression, “I just…”

What he saw stole whatever oxygen he had left straight from his lungs. This wasn’t what he wanted. This wasn’t what he wanted at all. She looked like he’d just torn her heart out and ate it in front of her.

He’d just laid his heart out there - albeit unintentionally- and she…

As always, the one thing he should have said was ‘I love you.’ That’s all he had to say. Instead he…

“Kagome I…I just…”Inuyasha swallowed and decided he might as well go down with his sinking ship since was drowning anyway,” Look. I was…I just was trying to say…you should know by now that…that I love…”

“C-can we g-go back h-home?” the miko interrupted in mild panic, “T-talk t-there?”

“Why can’t we talk here?” Inuyasha snapped much harsher than he intended - trying his best to stomp down his growing fear that he’d finally succeeded in driving her away. Here he was literally trying to put himself out there and she wouldn’t even…

Inuyasha subtly withdrew into himself as realization dawned. She didn’t want him to say it…

She didn’t feel the same way.

“I just…it’s l-late and…and I thought…” Kagome mumbled miserably as she wrapped her arms around her stomach and looked a hair away from crying, “I just want to go home.”

For a moment, Inuyasha continued struggling to keep his breathing even.

“If we go, we’ll actually talk right?” he asked nervously - his frightened eyes trying to read her expression, “You…You won’t force me down the well or something?”

Seemingly more encouraged that he was actually willing to have a conversation but also seeming to dread what was coming, Kagome gave him a single jerky nod for a response.

Letting out a shuddering breath, Inuyasha nodded once himself before kneeling down and looking at the nasty cement sidewalk while he waited for her to climb on. Normally this was one of his favorite experiences. The feel of her pressed against his back. Her breath pleasantly tickling his neck. Being able to feel her bare flesh beneath his palms in an innocent but wonderful way. Now it was an experience he was dreading. Probably the last time he’d ever be granted this privilege.

She didn’t love him back. And now she knew how…

She knew. That’s all there was to it.

She knew and she didn’t love him back.

Stretching his jaw a few times in an attempt to keep it from trembling, Inuyasha closed his eyes and tried to memorize the sensation as she mounted him. Attempted to burn her scent into his mind and mentally record the sound of her heartbeat so he could listen to it later.

But instead of her holding onto his shoulders, her arms snaked around his torso and she held him against her while her lips gently pressed against the back of his neck causing a shiver to run down his spine.

“I love you too, you know,” she whispered tearfully before placing another long, lingering kiss against his skin, “I’m sorry if I ever hurt you or made you think I didn’t.”

A moment passed by then two.

“Can you say that again?” Inuyasha breathed hoarsely and he felt Kagome flinch against his back.

“I’m sorry.”

Inuyasha let out a shaky laugh and shook his head. Of course her mind jumped to the worst case scenario.

“Not that idiot. When you said you loved me…”

[whump-only]

intro -- golden (vamp whump)

Ok so I have a vampire whump addiction now..... (thanks @deluxewhump + @ashintheairlikesnow). NEW WIP NEW OCs eeeeee

tw: broken bones, reference to gore (removal of teeth), captivity, restraint, it/its as pronouns, physical abuse/manhandling, non-sexual nudity, manipulative/abusive relationship, referenced death / murder

----

“Come on. Just let me just show it to you.” Hyde phrased it as though it was a request, but he stood blocking the front door. Daring Pollen to refuse him.

“No. Find someone else. I’m leaving,” Pollen said, but they both knew that wouldn’t happen. Pollen really, really regretted agreeing to housesit, For a whole month? On Hyde’s turf? Idiot! But he didn’t think Hyde would spring this on him. 

Hyde stepped forward and took Pollen by the elbow. “I’ll protect you…” he said cheekily, pulling Pollen towards the basement door. 

“Fuck you.” Pollen planted his feet firmly. To think Pollen would agree to living with a vampire… 

“Fuck! I said just look at it. How is that hard?” Hyde snapped with that ferociousness he was capable of. It’s why he was a top tier vampire hunter, but it startled Pollen when it came out like that. 

But just like that, the flash of anger was smoothed away, and Hyde was soft, coaxing. “Listen… if you actually look at it and still think it’s dangerous, then I’ll kill it before I go? Okay?”

Pollen was baffled. Did Hyde really think this was reasonable? Knowing what vampires did to his life, to his family? “…You’re serious?”

Hyde grinned before leading the way. That smile of assured victory that everyone swooned over. That Pollen used to want to kiss. Pollen clenched his teeth. 

Hyde opened the door to the pitch black basement and already everything in Pollen wanted to say, Close the door, get the fuck out! Leave it down there! That’s what any sensible human would do. 

Hyde flicked on a pale yellow light and padded down the steps. Pollen stopped at the threshold of the door, his heartbeat hammering in his ears. Run. Run! Those last words of his mother echoed in his head, the memory of that night wrapping itself around his neck, like a snake. Run! 

Hyde looked up at him, raised his eyebrows mockingly. Scared?

Pollen reasoned that if the thing somehow got loose it could kill Hyde first and give Pollen time to run away. Or something. And so, he forced himself to step down, one creaky, labored step after another. The smell of rotting, horrible something hit him so hard it triggered a coughing fit. “Ugh, god. You never crack a window down here?” Pollen called. 

Hyde was already out of sight, somewhere down there. “No windows.”

Pollen’s eyes watered and he could barely see anything in the yellow glow of the overhead light. Hyde was near the far wall, and Pollen urgently scanned the bare room for the monster. With a shock he realized it must be the figure at Hyde’s feet, curled under a blanket. 

With the clink of chains, the thing suddenly shifted and let out a whimper and Pollen’s heart leapt into his throat. 

Hyde kneeled down next to it and Pollen braced himself for it to leap up and rip open Hyde’s face.

But instead Hyde lifted it clean off the floor and held it up. Its blanket fell away and it was naked, so thin that it looked like its every bone was visible through its grey skin, making it all the more inhuman. It looked like an eerily accurate mannequin, utterly plastic and lifeless, yet still detailed in its rendering. The chain that dropped down from its neck looked heavier than its body. The thing remained limp in Hyde’s arms, its head drooped down to its chest, its bound wrists hung loosely. Its mop of black hair covered the top half of its face and the bottom was obscured with a muzzle. Its legs dangled a full foot off the ground. There was no way it was full grown, Pollen realized. 

It did not paint an intimidating picture. But Pollen still flinched when it growled suddenly. 

Hyde didn’t seem to register the sound at all, even though he was holding it against his body. He switched to holding it up with one arm. “Look at its eyes.” With the other hand he moved its matted hair out of the way and pulled up one of its eyelids. The iris was a deep, almost golden, yellow. “Such a pretty color.” 

The vampire’s eye seemed to fix on Pollen, its pupil growing small in an instant. Pollen turned away, finding himself overwhelmed. Those eyes. Just like—

“Want to touch it?” Hyde said, almost reverently. 

“No,” Pollen said firmly. “Just stop.”

“Suit yourself.” Hyde dropped the vampire so suddenly that Pollen jerked in surprise as it hit the floor and cried out.  

Hyde stepped over the cowering creature and with a gleam in his eyes. “See? Didn’t I tell you?”

Pollen stepped back, momentarily forgetting the vampire, but nonetheless terrified. Hyde was alive now, glowing with excitement. At any moment his energy could be redirected by a swift turn of anger into a quick bone cracking punch or the instant unsheathing of his knife. In this basement, Hyde could get away with anything, Pollen thought. 

But Hyde was in good spirits, seemingly assured that his presentation had been thoroughly convincing. So he was now onto logistics, “The freezer upstairs is filled with cow blood. Give the vamp a block every day or so. That’ll keep it alive but it won’t get strong enough to give you trouble. You can always lower the portion if it’s getting too energetic.”

Pollen’s head was still spinning from the slow realization of what he’d gotten backed into doing. “And what, take off its muzzle? What if it bites me?”

Hyde grinned with chaotic glee. “I took out its fangs! And the rest of the front ones too.”

Pollen unconsciously raised his hand to cover his mouth. 

Hyde continued. “Still gotta be wary of the things growing back of course. You can use the pitchfork to pin it down, but trust me, it doesn’t move around much anyway. It’s pretty easy.”

Pollen tried to relax his clenched mouth. “Right. Cow blood. Got it.”

Hyde tapped his chin. “Other than that, I just dump a bucket of water or two every few days, to wash down the piss an everything to the drain there.”

Literally mopping shit. Unbelievable that Hyde would take him for granted like this, Pollen sulked. “I hate you. You’re a bad friend.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” Hyde said tenderly. He reached for Pollen’s hand and teasingly wrapped his index finger around Pollen’s pinkie. With the other hand he gave Pollen’s butt a little squeeze. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Ridiculous. Did Hyde think he was so good that sex would make up for this?, Pollen wondered. Pollen wasn’t that desperate. 

And now Pollen was insulted. “Hey. I never say I’d do it. Chained up or not, toothless or whatever, I’m not going to be able to sleep knowing there’s a vampire under me. That’s a risk you’re willing to live with. But not me. What if it gets away and comes upstairs to kill me?”

Hyde sighed. “You really think that thing is any threat to you? Be serious.” 

“Yes!” Pollen insisted. 

Hyde’s eyes narrowed and he smirked coldly. “So sad. But I get it. Can’t be too careful with vamps. They killed your folks right?”

Pollen already knew Hyde wasn’t just giving up. But Pollen didn’t know how to stop him. How to not walk into the trap. So Pollen yielded, “Yes. And my siblings. I had two sisters.”

“That’s too bad...” Hyde turned to the vampire that had somehow managed to silently twist most of itself back under the blanket. “Hey, Goldie. Mr. Pollen doesn’t trust you…”

Hyde walked purposefully toward a metal baseball bat that Pollen hadn’t noticed before. Pollen didn’t think he imagined the dark staining on it. 

Hyde glanced over, trying to catch Pollen’s gaze. “…What can we do about that?”

Pollen felt very cold in his stomach, remembering Hyde’s promise to kill it if Pollen thought it was dangerous. “Hey, come on Hyde. Hyde! Don’t do that,” Pollen said, but he wasn’t sure. The vampire couldn’t be released back to the outside to terrorize people, they both knew that. 

The vampire too, must’ve sensed the lurch toward danger, because it broke out of its stupor. As Hyde loomed over it, it struggled and whined, tried to scrabble against the concrete, pull itself away. But Hyde firmly stepped down on a part of it, pinning it.

“Stop! No!” Pollen shouted, but Hyde raised the tool above his head—

Pollen turned away and covered his ears to block the piercing cry of the creature. With every new breath it screamed into its muzzle and seemed to choke on its own voice before screaming again.  Pollen panted in horror, unable to look up. 

“One broken leg,” Hyde reported, loudly, over the thing’s cries. “Or if we’re really being more exact, it’s probably shattered from the knee down. Still think vampy can get away?”

Pollen shook his head. “Hyde. I can’t…”

“What do you think, Goldie? Can you still crawl up the stairs and kill Mr. Pollen?” Hyde addressed it with a tone that approached tenderness. But he still held that bat, weighing it in his hand. Pollen realized Hyde never intended to kill it. 

Pollen wished he could jump up and snatch away the bat. But his body wouldn’t move. “Hyde. Hyde, please stop. Just stop.”

Hyde looked right at Pollen with dark eyes as he raised the bat again. “Sorry, Goldie. One leg to go.” 

Pollen finally unfroze and raced up the stairs two at a time, tripped once, bashing his chin into a stair, but it didn’t slow him down until he was back in the kitchen. He felt dizzy so he sank to the floor and clapped his hands over his ears as the creature wailed. 

The stairs creaked as Hyde climbed them. He softly closed the basement door, muting the sounds of pain. 

The ringing finally subsided in Pollen’s head. “Why the fuck did you do that?” Pollen demanded. 

“You know I’m the last person on earth who’d underestimate a vampire. I wouldn’t leave you in a situation where you could get hurt,” Hyde said sweetly. 

You knew it’d make me guilty, Pollen thought. To get back at me for resisting you, right? But Pollen said nothing, and took the hand Hyde offered. 

Hyde pulled Pollen to his feet. “I know it’s scary. Especially for you. But you can do this.”

Pollen rested his head on Hyde’s shoulder, pretending that this Hyde, the soft one, couldn’t switch back if he was hugging Pollen. The broken moans of the thing could still be heard through the door. This whole exercise seemed so cruel now, so unnecessary. Pollen mumbled into Hyde’s shirt. “Why can’t you just kill it?”

Hyde wrapped his arms around Pollen. “This is a rare opportunity. I’ll take it around to fairs and things, earn a little cash showing people something they’ve never seen before. It’ll be something to do between my hunting trips. Maybe I can even travel less, if the money’s good… I’m not getting younger, you know?”

The creature’s pitiful sobs echoed in Pollen’s skull. Pollen gripped Hyde’s shirt tighter. “Mhm.” 

Hyde approvingly pecked a kiss onto Pollen’s forehead. “Thank you.”

Pollen cursed the fluttery feeling it gave him. He broke out of the hug. “You’re welcome, asshole.”

Hyde began to shuttle around the house, scanning for things he might’ve forgotten to pack. The vampire had gone quiet. 

Finally Hyde stood at the door, ready to leave. 

Pollen joined him to see him off. “Have a nice trip. Kills lots of vampires for me.”

“That I will.” Hyde gave a salut and marched off. 

Pollen closed the door and slumped down to the floor. “Fuck!”

[give-grian-rights]

Bets Against The Void Ch3

Well. it’s HERE. sorry it’s a bit short, if I fit in the next events then it would well succeed a reasonable amount of words. about 1500, a few words off.  Reblogs fuel me 1000% more than likes. please enjoy and comment any typos ‘n stuff

my askbox is also temporarily turned back on, for this!! after a few days they’re closed, and i’ll hopefully go back to queuing up a bunch...

This is crossposted on AO3

and for Chapter 1, head here

Chapter 4 is HERE!

and @petrichormeraki Hope you didn’t forget about your Whitelist AU :)

Now that they were settled in their boats, Tommy was given a moment to realize where exactly it was he was going. And, oh shit. The builds he could see were bigger than any one solid, finished structure he’s seen on the Dream SMP.

Pockets of strange, purple clumps of spores poked out by the shore, in contrast to the rest of the island. A portion of hte island, too, was covered in the crimson netherrack. It was absolutely insane- Tommy didn’t think he’d ever seen buildings quite like them.

“...Holy...Fuck..” He voiced, breathless.

The brunnette woman in the boat beside his frowned, peering over her and Grian’s own boat. “We’re not exactly a PG server, but I think we’d all appreciate it if you tried to keep your language just a smidge cleaner,” She’d passively comment, eyes narrowing on the blond boy who turned to glare at her.

“Stress, they’re teenagers.” Grian would laugh, before the blond would be given a chance to respond. “I’ve heard Doc’s drunk ranting. We’re definitely not clean.”

She turned, raising a brow at the dirty blond. “Grian, I haven’t heard you say a naughty word, even once!” She chuckled, tilting her head.

“Sure,” he remarked agreeably, “but I was a teenager.”  Giving a small, sharp smile, he turned his head back out to sea.

Tommy, huffing with effort as he continued rowing his and Tubbo’s boat, felt the fight sizzle out. His defenses dropped, too busy looking at the buildings cluttering the island. Masses of structures, all of varying sizes and designs, were impossible to look away from.

As if remembering suddenly of Tubbo’s lack of perpetual vision, he turned, nudging their arm.

Tubbo practically jumped, almost tipping out of the boat. They pulled their arm out of the water, where they’d been contently dragging their arm along, and tilted their head towards their friend. “Huh? Uh- hey! Sorry. I was spacing out. Are we there?”

“Nope,” Tommy shook his head. “But this island looks insane! Seriously, what the hell? How many of you people are there! What the FUCK is this place!” He gawked, turning back towards the Hermits. Considering Stress only gave an exasperated smile, he didn’t feel too bad with his language.

“Our Cowmercial district! Mind the, uh, terrain. We’re in the middle of handling a.. Disagreement.” Grian chuckled, a wolfish grin sprawling across their face. “Just for the principle, y’know?” 

Tommy stared blankly at the back of Grian’s head, the older Brit unphased.

“..Sure, right. But no! What the fuck! I’ve never seen, like, half of those blocks before in my life! What are those buildings?” He gawked.

The strange, shadowery mansion- intricate patterns and overheads marking each wall, with scales on top. A giant chest! With..Eyes? It was twice the size of the community house! He could see four separate beacon lights! At least!

“Tubbo! There’s a- a huge ass chest with eyes! And a fuckin’ mansion, and it’s all dark and shit! Is- is that a cloud made out of glass, up there? What the fuck!” The boat was practically rocking as he cried out.

“Tommy, we’re gonna fall in, Big Man!” They chuckled nervously, grasping at the wooden walls of the boat. “Are all the buildings huge? I bet they are! I heard Hermitcraft servers always have huge builds!”

“Yes, and there’s SO FUCKING MANY! WHAT THE HELL!”

“You’ll be able to see them in time, don’t worry!” Grian chuckled, drawing his boat into the shore. “We have a lot of builds, we’re almost a year into this world. These are just our shops! You’re more than welcomed to pick up something if you need it.” He explained breezily, throwing his legs over the sides as he pulled himself to land.

“We’re sure you don’t plan on staying long, and we can’t blame’ya,” Stress added on, as Grian helped pull her out of the spruce boat. “But we’re sure there’s some necessities you’ll need.”

Grian beside her nodded, pulling up his Tablet. “I have shirts and hoodies that should fit you guys, and some other Hermits would happily pitch in. We have more than enough resources to house you two.”

Tommy, who’d already pulled himself and Tubbo out of the boat, slumped, rolling his eyes. “We’re fine. Thanks.” He tackled the last word on half-hazardly, his lips drawn down into a scowl.

“Mate, whenever your server’s ready, we’re happy to get you back. Or get in contact with your Server Admin now, even. You just need to say the word to X, and he’ll take care of it.” Stress looked over the two, her brows pinched as she looked over them.

What in the Sun’s name is happening over there to leave these two so roughed up? She thought idly, noting it in the back of her mind to bring them potions later.

“C’mon, we can get you more situated later, if that’s fine with you two. You both need to eat, asap.” 

Food. Right. That’s a thing, Tommy pulled his stares away from the towering structures, naturally slipping his hand back into Tubbo’s.

The two Hermits led their way at a slow and even pace, the two teenagers trailing behind. Tommy and Tubbo both were quietly thankful for this. They were less quiet when it came to Tommy’s rambling, incoherent rants from his attempts of describing the District to his friend.

Whatever works to get them on their way, the pair of Hermits agreed, sharing a look.

It was a struggle all of itself, getting them both on track to the bakery. Tommy had poked his head in every building they crossed, with Tubbo going at an increasingly slow pace, trying to allow their Communicator to describe the complex surroundings.

They made it in decent time to the bakery, all things considered.. Tommy’s jaw dropped at the size of it, bright blue eyes surveying the large, detailed replica of a cake.

“What the fuck! There’s- there’s so many blocks! It looks crumblin’ and bitten! What shit! Tubbo! Tubbo the bakery is a giant fucking cake! It looks so realistic! Holy fucking Prime-”

“It smells so good in here, too! Wow! Does this place just sell cake? Is there enough demand, for that?”

“Wh- are those shulker boxes! What! That’s- that’s like, seven shulker boxes! Is that all just for the shit for sale??? What!”

Both of the teens were incomprehensible. Neither Stress, nor Grian, could get a word in.

“Hey! Guys, both of you, it’s alright, yeah? We have plenty of shulkers. Also, Keralis is..Yeah, probably the richest Hermit, so shulkers for his shop isn’t out of the ordinary at all.

All of us have a buncha shulkers. I’ll clear out some of mine, too, for you to have. It’d make setting up a base much easier, I’m sure.”

...Everyone has shulkers. And he’d be willing to let Tommy and Tubbo just..Have some? No way. Tommy gave a look towards Tubbo, and he could tell the other was as perplexed at the notion as he.

“You guys just.. Just have shulkers- I. Yeah. sure. Rooms with diamond armor and fuckin’ elytras lying around..Right.” Tommy took a breath, fist clenched beside him for a moment.

Tubbo, with their hand holding his arm, above his elbow, gave him a reassuring smile before turning generally towards the Hermits direction. “Thank you, like- so much?” They chuckled, sheepishly. “We really don’t need, like, anything like that. We- we should be getting back to our world soon. Hopefully- uh, probably.”

Grian frowned, humming. “Sure, but I think any Hermit that went even twenty-four hours without working on something, would lose their mind. When you go home, you could give them back. Even if you took them home, I promise that it wouldn’t be a big deal.”

The two teens shared a look. The older brit’s word may sound sincere, but they both knew better than to blindly believe someone, other than each other. Tommy shot a glare to the man, eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, whatever you say.” He scoffed. The dirty blond met his stare, unphased. A relaxed, easy smile remained on their face. Tommy didn’t trust it for a second.

Stress had begun opening some of the shulker boxes, exposing the sweets and goods inside to the starved teens. “C’mon, now.  If you two want to work on some of that later, you can do that. But you’re with us, right now, and it’s time to eat. Grab whatever you’d like, Loves.”

The brunette teen gasped, tugging at the blond boy’s arm. “C’mon Tommy, do you smell that! Oh Void, this place must be lovely! Thank you for bringing us, uh, ma’am! ‘N sir!” Tubbo beams, their smile lopsided.

Tommy glanced around, towards the candy-and-sweets themed furniture in the dining area. Right. Sure. I can deal with this, for Tubbo.

[songfell-ut]

Merry Xmas toooo

Hey @venelona remember when I was talking about that Beauty & the Beast thing in your server

Well, I copied myself, ‘cause Sans is still not good at following through on getting a human soul, and a stray bit of paper drives the plot once more.

This is nowhere near finished because it’s me. I’ll polish it up and put it on AO3 once my other gift is done for tomorrow (she said famous-last-words-ly). 

Prepare yourself for a shock: I wrote something long. Indents, meh. Warning, Sans is stupid.

Today was not a good day: it was cold, he had to get married, and now there was a human in his garden.

           This was problematic for many reasons. For one thing, as the literal lord of all he surveyed, Sans always found it hard to get any alone time, much less a chance to nap. He’d started coming outside each night after dinner to doze off for a few precious minutes, at least until the wind whistled through his sockets one time too many or his brother started yelling at him over the wall. On this particular evening, though, after his chat with Toriel, his sole aim was to avoid seeing anyone; luckily, he’d already forbidden the others from coming into the garden, and he was prepared to stay out here forever if he had to, weather and Papyrus be damned.

Sans was not prepared to take a shortcut to his favorite bench by the nightshades and sit down, only to catch sight of someone hunched behind a bush at the end of the row. The skeleton scrambled to his feet in sudden panic, readying his magic to defend himself. Who or what the hell was that? No one should be here—this was his place! Had Toriel told him all that crap to trick him into going out alone, then sent someone after him? But how?

His instinct was to attack first, but for all Sans knew, this was some kind of trap; instead, he watched and listened, waiting for the thing to make its move. His soul thrummed like a harpstring, ready to summon bones to skewer the intruder, or teleport away—

But nothing happened. As the seconds ticked by, Sans gradually realized that the small, dark-clothed figure wasn’t crouched to spring at him or lying in wait, just bending down to examine the flowers. He couldn’t sense any malicious intent whatsoever; in fact, it didn’t seem to know he was there, or that he was coming closer for a better look.

Well, no wonder: it was wearing a cloak with a deep hood that blocked its peripheral vision, and it was facing into the wind, where it couldn’t hear or smell anyone sneaking up from behind. That meant the intruder was either very confident or really fucking stupid.

Maybe it was just Monster Kid or one of the others screwing with him? After all, no matter how often Sans told them to stay the hell out of his garden, and no matter how strongly his subjects were compelled to obey him, he kept finding rocks, bits of bone, and other junk the little bastards had tossed over the wall. Things had gotten better since Papyrus started patrolling the outer courtyard, happy to combine his favorite pastimes of keeping things tidy and beating the shit out of people, but…

           But no, this wasn’t a kid who’d found a loophole in his orders, or an adult monster strong enough to defy him. Sans took a couple of quick shortcuts at different angles to appraise the intruder, confirming that it wasn’t sized or shaped like anyone he knew; it also failed to react when he stepped through an arch of greenery just a few feet away. No shift of attention, no magic gathering to attack or defend itself—who could possibly be that dumb? None of the surviving monsters would ever dream of dropping their guard like this, not even the kids!

The wind shifted, and Sans’ nasal ridge twitched as an unfamiliar stench hit him. He recognized the scent of leather from its clothes, but there were strong hints of…some kind of hair, and…bodily fluids? There was something missing, too, so basic that it took Sans a minute to pinpoint it: the trespasser had no magic whatsoever.

That was the most confusing thing of all. No matter how fishy or perfumed or otherwise gross they might be, everyone had that dry, slightly spicy smell. Had someone dressed up an animal and released it into the garden as a prank? A thrill of fear raced through him again—did Toriel’s curse include female animals? It’d be just like her to dump that on him and then make sure he ran into a bear or a deer or something!

           Suddenly, the intruder sighed heavily, straightened up, and shook its hood off. To Sans’ shock, it wasn’t an animal or a monster: the thing standing in his garden was a human. It turned its back to the wind, squinting down at the white-stoned path and up at the surrounding wall, the smooth black marble shining rose-gold in the twilight.

           What the hell was a human doing here? At least it was a male; Sans relaxed a little, then shook himself and edged forward.

Humans were legendary for their cruelty and cunning, but this particular specimen didn’t seem very dangerous. Beneath its dusty travel clothes and heavy cloak, it was almost as short at Sans, with a wrinkly face and gray streaks in its hair. Did all humans get like that after only…what, fifty years? Granted, Sans was just twenty-five, a baby by monster standards, but he wouldn’t be this twitchy or feeble when he reached the human’s age. And he wouldn’t be dumb enough to wander into someone else’s territory after sundown!

           The man had started walking again, still oblivious to Sans’ presence, and paused at a fork in the path. Sans silently willed him to turn right, and he’d been obeyed by everyone he knew for so long that it was a surprise to see the human go left instead. The skeleton watched in irritation, then disbelief, as his uninvited guest sat down on a low wall and pulled a map out of his pocket.

           That had to be the stupidest thing Sans had ever seen. Did human maps of the area include HAUNTED CASTLE ON FORBIDDEN MOUNTAIN? He doubted it. Besides, there was a village at the foot of the mountain, straight down through the forest; even if he couldn’t find the main path, all this moron had to do was walk downhill, back the…way he’d…

Wait. How had he even gotten in here?

           Quick as thought, Sans zipped over to the massive iron gates that stood between the castle and the outside world. Sure enough, the ivy growing between the bars had been disturbed at one end where the man had squeezed through. Sans extended one bony finger very, very slowly toward the gate, and as his phalange approached the nearest bar, the air filled with a warning hum, his bones prickling with alarm till he stepped away.

The barrier was still working, then. What had the King said before they dusted him? Anything could get in, but nothing could get out…except a monster in possession of a human soul. But there were no—

           The skeleton monster’s sockets widened again, this time in excitement. He grinned hugely, then took a shortcut back to the human, who was trying to fold up the map. Just in case, Sans peered at the human’s chest, gauging how much effort this would take.

           His elation immediately vanished, disgust welling up in its place. Of all the humans who could’ve wandered up here, it had to be one with a pathetically weak, almost sickly little soul—and why did it have to be green? Fucking Kindness! Talk about shitty luck!

           Not that he was going to pass up the opportunity, of course. Absorbing any human soul, no matter how crappy, would give him power greater than every other monster who’d ever lived, combined. He could finally pass through the gates, descend on the human village like a force of nature, grab as many souls as he wanted, and come back here to destroy the ga—no, he’d wreck the whole fucking castle! The others would finally be free, too, though he wouldn’t be stupid enough to share any souls with them. Maybe Pap could have a few, just enough to fulfill his dream of tearing Undyne to pieces, and to help eliminate Toriel; then they’d be untouchable in a world where “kill or be killed” was the only rule!

Sans was jerked back to the present by the human making a horribly wet noise and pulling a square of cloth from his pocket. Why was this disgusting sack of flesh even here, anyway? As far as Sans knew, no one had come near the castle for decades; even the local wildlife stayed far away. Yet here he was, an ordinary-looking human who had come all the way up the mountain in the approaching dark.

The man had finally sensed something wrong and was looking around uneasily. “Hello?” he called. Sans stayed where he was, silent and contemptuous; sure enough, the human’s gaze swept right past him. “Odd,” he murmured, lowering the map and folding it in half.

           Sans knew he should go ahead and kill the guy now, but the wind chose that moment to pick back up, rustling through the flowers and nearly yanking the map out of the human’s hands; the man swore and fumbled at the stiff parchment, fighting to keep hold of it.

The skeleton chuckled, almost pityingly. As lord of the castle, he decided he could be magnanimous and let this moron finish putting the map away. Besides, it was funny as hell to watch him lose to a piece of paper.

           Eventually, the man gave up and tried instead to stuff the half-folded map into his pocket, pulling a few things out to make room. Enough of this, thought Sans, his amusement fading. The skeleton took a few steps forward, letting his magic swell to a darkly feverish pitch and drift off him like red smoke. He was probably scary enough as it was, but anything worth doing was worth overdoing, especially when it’d make the human’s reaction that much funnier.

           Besides, this idiot had trespassed on Sans’ land and his solitude at exactly the wrong time. A quick, clean death was too good for him, but it couldn’t be helped: Sans had to get his soul out in one piece and reach the village before daybreak. Ha, maybe he’d put his hood up and pretend to be the Reaper the humans feared so much—wasn’t that why they had exterminated every single skeleton monster but him and Pap? He’d give the fuckers something to be afraid of!

It was time, all right. The human had finally sensed someone at his back, and began to turn around. “Excuse me, I—”

           Another gust of wind suddenly came howling through the garden and tore the map out of the human’s grip. It landed with a thk and skidded along the white-stoned path; with it went a couple of envelopes he’d set on his lap, and another, much smaller piece of paper, which blew straight into the nearest flowerbed.

           The human’s demeanor changed in an instant from annoyance to panic. “No!” He flailed at the air, then stumbled over the wall, charging through the flowers. “Come back here!” he yelled, as if the wind or the paper could understand him.

           Sans froze, feeling his magic go still as the blossoms answered—or, rather, echoed: “Come back here!” What the hell was the guy doing tromping around like that? Those were echo flowers, not daisies! One of them was worth twenty of this dumbfuck!

The wind was still blowing, but after a few clumsy grabs, the human threw himself full-length onto the ground, trapping the paper amongst the squished flowers. He sighed gustily – ha – and stood up, smiling. “There you are,” he murmured, his voice clear as the wind dropped to a light breeze.

The skeleton couldn’t see what the human was looking at so fondly. In his irate curiosity, he hesitated another moment too long: “Hm,” the man said to himself. “Yes, that’ll do.” He crouched again, grabbed a blossom at random, and plucked it clean out of the ground.

           “What the fuck?”

           Sans’ roar shattered the air like a rock through a stained-glass window. He was too angry to enjoy the human’s shriek of terror, or his attempt to turn and run; the skeleton jerked his hand up and sideways, yanking the man off his feet and hurling him onto the path. “Who the fuck d’you think you are?” snarled Sans. His magic flared up again as he advanced, staining the footpath red. “Huh?”

           The human was trembling violently, staring up at him. “Are you deaf or somethin’?” the monster demanded. He grabbed the man by the collar, hauling him to his feet. “Answer me, or I’ll rip yer fuckin’ head off!”

           The human gulped. “I…” He squeezed his eyes shut, sweat rolling off his face. “P-P-Please forgive me, my lord! I-I was being pursued by bandits, and they didn’t stop until I reached this place! I needed shelter, someone to point the way home—” He peeked up at Sans again, almost hiccuping in fear. “I-If you’ll permit me to leave, I swear I’ll never trouble you again!”

           Sans glanced up at a nearby lantern hanging on an iron post, and it obligingly lit itself. “That’s for damn sure,” said the skeleton. His wrath faded a little as his prisoner gaped at him in the clearer light. Now he understood the expression “bug-eyed,” not to mention “slack-jawed”; it was one of the funniest things he’d ever seen. Still… “You expect me to believe ya just wandered in here outta nowhere?” Sans jerked his head at the castle looming behind him, though the moon hadn’t risen to provide a properly spooky silhouette. “Didja think you could sneak in, grab somethin’, an’ get out before anybody noticed? ‘Cause I fuckin’ noticed!” He stabbed a finger at the echo flower in the human’s hand. “That shit doesn’t grow just anywhere!”

           The man blinked stupidly at the flower, as if surprised to see it. His eyes darted back and forth, his other hand sneaking toward his pocket. “I…I can explain, my l—”

           “Uh-uh.” Sans waggled his finger, and the human cried out as his hand was yanked straight over his head, the little slip of paper fluttering to the ground. Ignoring his protests, Sans made a couple more gestures to open the man’s coat and run a thread of magic through the pockets, then the lining. He frowned as he found several coins, letters, a comb, a pipe…but no weapons.

Huh. If the human hadn’t been going for a knife or something, then what the hell was he doing? Was he just trying to put the paper away? How goddamn stupid could he—

           “Please!” the man almost shrieked, and Sans was startled into releasing him. He watched the human stumble back, dropping the echo flower in his haste to run after the slip of paper again. Luckily for him, it blew against the corner of another bench, where he could easily stoop to retrieve it. The map lay nearby, but the human didn’t even look at it; he sighed in relief, and started to turn around.

           Sans was directly in front of him, grinning at his strangled squeak. “Whatcha got there?” The skeleton didn’t wait for an answer, just reached for it.

           “No!” To his astonishment, the man flailed at him, backing away till his shins hit the bench. “I-It’s nothing!” the human babbled. “Nothing at all! Just a picture that I didn’t want to lose! You can leave it!”

           Later, Sans would try to blame himself for not being more careful. But he had every right to be curious, and no reason to be thinking of Toriel right then; it was only natural for him to use his magic to grab the paper and hold it up to see what was so fucking important. So, he did.

           The human was right: it was a delicate ink drawing. Sans felt the smirk slide right off his face, and he took the picture in both hands, peering so intently that he didn’t even notice the man grabbing his sleeve. “Who’s this?” the skeleton inquired, trying to sound careless. “Yer wife?”

           “My daughter!” The guy was actually jumping to try to grab it, like a frantic kid. “As I said, it’s worth nothing to you! Please give it back!”

Sans absently pushed the human off with his elbow, raising the paper to the light. “Knock it off,” he grunted as the man came right back.

The human’s sheeplike face contorted. “Has milord never seen a woman before? Give it ba—”

Skeletal fingers shot out and locked around his throat. To Sans’ surprise, when he glared down at the human, the man glared right back, even as he clawed at Sans’ radius. “Why d’you want it so bad? Is she dead or somethin’?” the monster asked in sudden hope.

The human’s eyes bulged wider, and he struggled to speak until Sans loosened his grip. After a bit of coughing and puffing, the man rasped, “How dare you? She’s my child, you wretched beast!” He dashed Sans’ hopes with a jerky shake of the head. “I’ve been away from her for over a month, and I was only hours from home when I was attacked! That’s all I’ve had of her! If I’m going to die at your hand, the very least you can do is let me see it one more time!”

           Sans’ jaw clenched so hard that his single golden tooth creaked under the pressure. He shut his sockets, aware that he had to think very carefully before he spoke. “I got some questions for ya,” he snarled. “Tell me the truth, an’ you might leave in one piece.” He opened his sockets, his ruby eyelights pulsing across the human’s face. “Got it?”

           The wind shrieked past them again, but Sans held both the human and the slip of paper steady. The man stared at him in clear distrust; Sans wasn’t sure if he was being brave, or stupid, or what, but he wasn’t cowering anymore. As a slight token of respect, the skeleton opened his hand, letting the human jerk away. “Yes, milord,” the latter whispered, massaging his throat. “Whatever you wish.”

           Sans snorted, and snuck another glance at the portrait. “What’s your family name? What were you doin’ away from home fer so long?”

           The man’s brow wrinkled further. “My name is Proust, milord. I’m a merchant, so I travel frequently. I’ve been investigating a business opportunity in the capital.”

           A merchant? That was hard to believe. The coins in the human’s pockets consisted solely of pennies and a few silver pieces that Sans didn’t recognize; Proust was dressed fairly well, but on closer inspection, the fur trim of his cloak was patchy, while his leather coat was shiny with age. Either he was a cheapskate, or he hadn’t made any real money in a long time. “How’d it go?” Sans asked sardonically.

           “Poorly, milord,” the man snapped. “I promised Frisk I’d bring her something from the city, but then I could barely afford to pay my way home.” He looked down at the echo flower, which lay on the stones between them. “She likes gardening, so…”

           Sans knew he should make another fuss about the theft, but he had a bigger problem. “‘Frisk’?” he repeated. “Is that a nickname or somethin’?”

           “No,” Proust said stiffly. “What else would my lord care to know?”

           Sans gave him another glare, and though the man flinched, he didn’t look away. “Heh,” the skeleton murmured. “She your only kid?”

           “Yes, my lord. My wife died in childbirth. Frisk…” His voice caught. “She’s all I have left.”

The monster grimaced. He almost would’ve preferred an aggressive human to a sappy one. “How old is she?” The paper trembled. It wasn’t the wind: his hands were shaking. “Did you leave her home alone, or with ‘er husband, or…?”

           The human eyed him in rightful suspicion. “She’s twenty-two, my lord. We live with my brother’s family. She’s unwed—I’ve had several offers for her hand, but she refused them all.”

“Why?” Sans asked bluntly.

Proust blinked a few times. “She didn’t love them. She didn’t even like most of them, and the one she might have accepted left because my brother wouldn’t give her a dowry. Why do you—”

“A dowry?” Sans repeated. “The hell is that?”

This was obviously a sensitive question: the human’s face turned a weird color, and something pulsed near his eyebrow—a vein? Was that what it was called? Sans turned his head in disgust, studying the portrait again. If she had veins, he couldn’t see any.

The human cleared his throat. “It’s a gift of money or other goods that a woman brings to a marriage. Many young women in our social class have a difficult time finding a husband without one, and…”

“An’ you don’t have enough cash to sell her off?” Sans waved a hand as Proust swelled with rage again. “Never mind. Whatever stupid shit humans get up to, I don’ care.” He was quiet for a moment. “Just seems pathetic that you’ve gotta pay someone to take ‘er.”

“Was milord listening?” the human demanded. “I’ve had six other gentlemen ask to marry her, and four were willing to forego any dowry at all! She was good enough!”

It was Sans’ turn to twitch. “Why? What’s so great about ‘er?”

Proust made a noise like an angry frog. “May I humbly entreat milord to explain his gracious interest in my family?”

           Sans toyed with the idea of telling him the truth, and shrugged. “Just curious. So, I’m guessin’ you wanna see her again?”

           “Yes, milord, absolutely,” the man said in a rush. “I’d do anything—you have no idea how much she means to me!” He looked longingly at the paper in Sans’ hand, still held up to the lamplight. “She drew that herself,” he added.

           Sans started. “Really?” he asked before he could stop himself.

           “Yes, indeed,” the human said proudly.

           The skeleton scowled at the picture. It was a perfect rendition of a young woman seated at a table, wearing an old-fashioned gown; her dark hair was twisted up into a bun, showing a small earring, a pearl necklace, and a graceful curve of neck and shoulder. Now that Proust mentioned it, she did seem to be drawing herself in the mirror, one hand holding a pencil and the other steadying the paper, her head tilted to look up at Sans.

           For a moment, he was so angry that he couldn’t breathe. This was bullshit! Why should he pass up his chance at unlimited power because of a girl who probably wasn’t even that pretty in real life? He should just rip the stupid picture in half, rip the human in half, grab his shitty green soul, and get things started!

           But the longer he stared at the paper, the less he wanted to rip it in half, kill the human, become godlike, etc. etc. It just seemed…boring? Unnecessary?

Tch. This was all Toriel’s fault! She’d called him to her room that evening in an absolute fit of laughter and told him exactly what was going to happen, and the old bitch knew he’d come down here afterward and—

           And he couldn’t stay mad about it. Instead, something weird was happening behind his sternum, a sticky kind of warmth spreading like an infection through his ribcage and down his limbs. No matter how hard he tried to dwell on being jerked around, or why it had to be some squishy human with a dumb father and a weird name, Sans couldn’t look away from the portrait, caught by the girl’s clear, bright eyes. No one had ever smiled at him like that…

           He came down here every night to get away from everyone, but what if…what if he had someone he didn’t want to get away from? Unbidden, a thought crept up: what would the garden look like with this human in it, helping water the flowers or sitting with him to watch the sun set? What would it be like to always have someone to talk to about stuff bothering him, help with all the day-to-day crap of running the household…smile at him, keep him warm at night—

Shit! Had Toriel laughed at him because she knew he’d actually want this to happen?

           “Hello?” Proust was asking. “Milord? Is something wrong?”

           Sans shook himself. “Fine, she can draw. Does she know how ta do anything?” That’d be a perfect excuse to forget about her. If he wanted to keep something cute and useless around, he could just put a collar on one of the kids and make it do tricks!

           The human actually laughed at him. “We went to stay with my brother, milord, when Frisk was fourteen years old. He was a widower, so she took it upon herself to be the lady of the house. Within a few months, she was managing his servants, balancing his accounts, organizing his social affairs—clear up till he remarried last year.” His narrow chest puffed out. “It’s a large part of the reason she’s been sought after. Any man would be lucky to have her.”

           The monster’s hands were trembling again, a strange sensation burning him from the inside out. “Is—” It was a childish question, but he couldn’t help it: “Is she nice?”

           Proust looked at him strangely. “Yes, milord. She is.” He flinched as Sans’ grip on the drawing tightened. “Forgive me,” the man quavered, “but why do you—”

“Gimme your hand,” growled the skeleton. He gestured, keeping the paper suspended in midair as he lowered his own hands. “Take the glove off.”

           Proust swallowed once or twice, then obeyed. Sans didn’t hide his distaste as he took hold of Proust’s wrist, the human’s pulse twitching against his thumb. For a second, he didn’t know if he could go through with it; then he glanced at the portrait, and said, “Don’t move.” Before he could lose his nerve, the monster lifted a skull-shaped pendant from beneath his shirt, positioned the human’s finger between its tiny jaws, and willed them to snap shut.

           Proust yelped as the pendant latched onto his finger. “What in God’s name is that thing?” he cried, trying to shake it off.

“Magic,” Sans said pleasantly. The poor skull didn’t seem to like it any more than the human did: its jaws sprang right back open, and he could’ve sworn he saw it make a face at him.

Proust was staring at his hand in disbelief, searching for signs of any blood or puncture wounds—nothing. “What…?”

“Here’s what’s gonna happen.” Sans tucked the pendant back under his shirt. “There’s a spot over by the gates where you can sleep. No one’s allowed in here, so you oughta be safe till morning. When you leave, jus’ head straight down the mountain. Pretty much any of the paths will take you to Ebott. I’d send ya there now, but my magic can’t get through the barrier on the gate.” He sighed. “Need ta pull some strings to get you back out at all.”

           The human was torn between intense relief and distrust. “Thank you, my lord. May I—”

           “Nope. Just be happy that’s all I did.” Sans indicated the man’s finger as Proust pulled his glove back on. “I’ll even let ya bring ‘er the flower. Nice, eh?”

           The man swallowed hard. “Yes, milord. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. But…may I please ask why?”

The shadows seemed to creep in, darkening the lamplight. The human shrank back as the skeleton’s grin broadened. “Wanna hear somethin’ funny?” Sans reached up to run a finger along the portrait’s bottom edge. “I’m the boss around here, but there’s a lady hangin’ around I can’t get rid of, and she knows stuff. Guess what she told me ‘fore I came out here. Go on, guess!”

Proust looked nearly sick. “I…I don’t know, my lord. What did she—”

“She said, ‘Congratulations!’ An’ I said, ‘On what?’ And she said, ‘On your upcoming marriage!’ So a’course, I said, ‘The fuck are you talkin’ about?’ An’ she said I was gonna meet my wife real soon.”

It was subtle, but Proust’s eyes flicked to Sans’ pelvis. The skeleton’s amusement vanished. Just like a human—didn’t he know how magic worked? “Yeah, my wife,” he growled. “Funny part is, she was right.” The monster took Frisk’s drawing in one hand and tapped the side of his skull with it. “Wanna know who Toriel said it’d be?”

The man didn’t move, except to make a noise vaguely resembling “Who?”

Sans chuckled. “The first woman I saw once I left the room.”

A beat of silence. Sans was wondering if he’d have to spell it out when Proust howled, “No!” and made a credible attempt to tackle Sans and grab his daughter’s picture. “You can’t—”

The skeleton sent him sprawling with one push. “Sorry, Dad,” he drawled. “I left the room, an’ I saw ‘er. That’s that.” He laughed harshly at the man’s expression. “What? She’s gonna get her own damn castle, lotsa nice stuff—I won’t even make you pay for ‘er!”

“You—” Sans watched, bemused, as the human sprang to his feet, fists clenched. “Tear me limb from limb if you want, but I am not giving my daughter to a thing like you!”

“Yeah, about that.” The skeleton raised a finger. “Y’know that little nibble ya got just now? ’s a great trick. Lemme show you how it works.” Hmm…what to do? Better not get carried away, or the guy would have a nervous breakdown before he could get his daughter up here. “Grab the echo flower and say, ‘I’m a stupid doo-doo butt.’”

Before Proust could protest, his body turned, stooped, and picked up the blue flower. He brought it to his lips, and said, very solemnly, “I’m a stupid doo-doo butt.” Then his head jerked up. “What in the—”

Sans hooted with laughter, fighting the urge to slap his future father-in-law on the back and accidentally break his spine. “See? When I say you’re gonna do somethin’, you don’t have a choice, do ya?” He sobered in an instant. “So, yer gonna go home an’ fetch ‘er for me. Got it?”

“It doesn’t matter what you’ve done to me,” Proust said defiantly. “You said it yourself. Once I pass your gates, your magic won’t have any effect.”

“Good thing it ain’t my magic, then. It’s yours.” He got a blank stare, and sighed in exasperation. This was getting old: it was chilly out here, and he had a lot of planning to do. “I don’ have time fer a whole magic lesson. What it boils down to is, yer a part’a this place now. The magic’s with you wherever you go. Even when ya get back home—”

Proust chose that moment to make a break for it. Sans watched him race toward the gates, then reappeared directly in front of the bars, forcing the human to stop short. “Listen,” he said coldly, forestalling Proust’s attempt to cover his ears. “Three days from now, you’re gonna bring Frisk here. Yer gonna tell ‘er whatever you need to make ‘er stay. Then you’re gonna shut up and leave, and you won’t come back.”

The human’s face was crumpling in a way that suggested something wet was about to happen. “You can’t be serious, milord! Please spare her! Kill me instead!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, quit bein’ dramatic!” Sans jerked his thumb at the castle. “Like I said, she’s gonna have everythin’ a lady could ever want. Almost everyone’s dead now, so there’s a bunch of neat stuff left. Hell, we got a whole room with nothin’ but jewelry in it.”

For some reason, this didn’t seem to reassure the human. “Frisk does not want things, and even if she could be bought off like that, a wonderful young woman like her has no business being entrapped by a loathsome abomination like y—”

“Shut your fucking mouth. Right. Fucking. Now.”

Proust’s teeth clicked shut as the air around Sans roiled with crimson magic. “Just for that,” the skeleton hissed. He stepped forward, jabbing the human’s shoulder with one pointed phalange, almost a claw. “Just for that, you’re not allowed ta make stuff up about her goin’ to school or marryin’ a human or somethin’. You’re gonna tell the truth: you fucked up an’ trespassed on my property, and you only get to live ‘cause you had somethin’ worth tradin’.” Another poke. “Let ‘er know that you’ve got three days from now—” Sans glanced at the rising moon. “—an’ if you’re not here by then, she gets ta watch her dad rot from the inside out.”

Another long moment of silence passed as the human stared up at Sans, hopelessness dawning as he searched in vain for any sign of mercy. There was no telling what he would have said if another sound hadn’t made them both jump: “SANS!” It came from over the marble wall, advancing rapidly. “YOU HAVE HAD EXACTLY AS MUCH LEISURE AS YOU DESERVE, LORD BROTHER! I HOPE YOUR TIME HAS BEEN RESTFUL, BECAUSE YOU HAVE FIFTEEN MISCREANTS TO DISCIPLINE AND A JAM SHORTAGE TO ADDRESS BEFORE YOU CAN RETIRE FOR THE NIGHT.” A stiff click-click of heeled boots. “I WILL BE WAITING IN YOUR SITTING ROOM. YOU ARE HUMBLY REQUESTED TO BE THERE WITHIN TEN MINUTES OR ELSE FACE SEVERE CONSEQUENCES!”

Sans mumbled a long stream of curse words as Papyrus’ footsteps strutted away. That reminded him of something. “Don’t even think about killin’ yerself or breakin’ a leg or somethin’ ta get out of this,” the skeleton said, still facing the garden wall. “I’ll say it one more time: go home, get ‘er packed up, an’ bring her back here on time. No tricks, no cute little loopholes, nothin’. Don’t bring anybody else with you, or I’ll kill ‘em. Got it?”

The human shuddered. “How—” His voice cracked. “How can you do this? You don’t have to do this! This is your castle, your land—surely there are enough women of your own kind to choose from? You don’t have to steal my daughter!”

The skeleton shifted to look at him. “Nope,” he said, and made to step around the human.

“Wait!” Proust fell to his knees, fists clasped in supplication. “One thing, my lord, I beg of you! Please don’t harm her!”

Sans could’ve cheerfully punted the man across the garden. “The fuck?” the monster snarled down at him. “Why the hell would I hurt my own wife? What am I, a goddamn human?”

There was no answer, only a ragged sob. “Good night,” the skeleton muttered. Proust tried to say something else, but Sans paid him no mind: he had things to do, and to look forward to.

~

           Her father was hiding something.

           That seemed impossible, and not just because he was a terrible liar: almost the moment he stumbled over the threshold of her uncle’s house in a filthy, sobbing heap, he had started babbling about a monster stealing his Frisk. Once he’d been cleaned up, fed, and tucked into bed, he’d stayed awake long enough to relate a horrible, fantastical tale of stumbling across the castle from local legend and running afoul of its hideous master. And they’d believed it, because…well, she loved her father, but he had the most wretched luck imaginable.

           At least her aunt had been asleep when all the commotion started, so there was nothing to stop Uncle Raph from assuring his brother that they would look into the matter as quickly and thoroughly as possible. Servants were dispatched to fetch books from the library and summon the nearest mage from his cottage outside the village; by the time Aunt Kay woke up, her maid could report to her that her brother-in-law had come home bearing a “geas,” a type of curse far too powerful for humans to break, and would lose his daughter in less than three days.

           Frisk had to give her aunt credit: she said all the correct things about being so very sorry and hoping that there was a way to save her poor niece from having to live with literal monsters, possibly for the rest of her life! And when it became apparent that there was nothing anyone could do, she was the first to embrace Frisk – as much as she could around her enormous belly, of course – and assure her that if any young woman could handle such a bizarre fate, it was her. She’d packed a bag of sentimental items for Frisk to take with her in case she got homesick, with only the slightest hint of glee at having sole dominion over the house now.

           Her father had come home with a cold brewing, because of course he had; knowing she was going to leave and having so little warning had caused chaos among the servants, and Frisk was too busy making arrangements to do more than check in on her father every few hours. He spent most of his time either asleep or staring at the beautiful blue flower he’d brought her.

           That was the last bit of proof anyone needed to believe his story. Echo flowers only grew in intensely magical surroundings, and there was so little magic left nowadays that they were thought to be extinct. But here it was, a thick-stemmed, six-petaled blossom that repeated anything spoken nearby. Frisk would’ve been more excited about it under different circumstances, but…well, maybe her new employer would let her have a few of her own.

           The whole thing was strange, all the more so because of the way her father had told that part when they were gathered to listen to his story. He’d said he was bound to do what the creature commanded him, which was to bring his daughter up to the castle within three days’ time. The most logical supposition was that Frisk was going to get eaten, but her father had hastened to assure them that the beast seemed angry at the very idea of hurting Frisk. He just wanted…

           There was that little hitch in his voice when he said the beast wanted Frisk to perform all the functions of a housekeeper, and that she would be well rewarded—why hadn’t he just said “The monster needs a housekeeper”? And why had he clutched his chest like that afterward? Was the geas hurting him for saying the wrong thing?

           Frisk had kept herself too busy to think about it very hard, to believe that she was really going to be thrown out of another home and into the clutches of monsters from myth and legend; on some level, she could convince herself that her father had exaggerated or made some kind of mistake, and it wasn’t going to be so bad. But now, nearing sunset on the third day after her father’s misadventure, they were most of the way up the mountain, and fear was starting to creep through her veins like frost. Her father could be naïve, even simple-minded, but he wasn’t crazy. She really was going to be left alone in a strange place full of strange creatures, expected to take care of them, answering to a walking, talking skeleton—this couldn’t be happening!

A couple of the younger manservants had insisted on accompanying them part of the way. The mage had warned them that they could only get so close to the castle before the horses refused to go any further; sure enough, about a mile from the castle gates, the men had to help them dismount before the animals grew frightened enough to turn and bolt. Frisk gave each man a quick hug – at least her aunt wasn’t there to scold her – and they reluctantly headed back down the mountain to wait with the terrified horses, ready to escort her father home.

           The latter was growing more and more agitated as they approached the castle on foot. He could barely speak with his throat raw from coughing, but the way he kept glancing at her, clearing his throat and sighing heavily— “What is it, Father?” Frisk finally asked.

           “I…” He swallowed. “I haven’t been entirely truthful, dear.” She stiffened, shifting her bundle to her other shoulder as he coughed into his handkerchief. “The creature didn’t order me to say the exact words in just the right order, and I didn’t want to humiliate you in front of everyone by telling the full story—”

           “What story?” The lump in her throat grew heavier as the trees started thinning out, the ground sloping sharply upward. “Is it really true that I have to stay with the monsters and keep house for them?”

           “It’s true, love, but…” Another maddening pause. “Er. He is a skeleton, so I believe you’ll be spared…some things, but running the household is included in your role as—”

           The wind rose from nothing to a scream of frigid air, nearly throwing them to the ground. Frisk lowered her arm, and to her dismay… “We’re here,” her father croaked.

           In the dying light, a huge wall loomed over them, black marble framing a set of gates over thirty feet tall. The bars were nearly obscured by climbing ivy; despite her fear, Frisk found herself drifting closer in sheer curiosity, reaching to pull the ivy aside.

           “Frisk!” her father croaked. He was almost unrecognizable, pulling her back and giving her a little shake. “I…” She watched him struggle with himself, and lose. “Stay here, and be good,” he said jerkily. His lips formed a few frantic words, but she couldn’t catch them before he crushed her to him in a sudden, fierce embrace. “Be careful,” he whispered. “I love y—”

           The sun had disappeared over the horizen. Before she could hug him back, Frisk felt something coursing through her father’s body, forcing his arms to drop and his legs to carry him back a step. He struggled to get more words out, but it was too late—what had his last orders been? “Shut up and leave”? Charming, and succinct…and effective.

This was it. Frisk had had plenty of practice at smiling, and did her best. “Goodbye, Father,” she said helplessly. “I love you, too.” Then she turned and plunged through the ivy before he could hurt himself resisting any further.

           When she stepped free of the bars and brushed the leaves from her face, Frisk almost forgot her sorrow and despair in sheer wonder. Lamps on iron posts lit up a garden arranged in long, orderly, but breathtakingly lovely rows of bushes, flowerbeds, statuary—she’d never seen anything like it. Letting her bundle hang from one wrist, Frisk turned to look at the gates and the massive walls, wondering how big the grounds must be if this was just a private garden. Granted, it belonged to the lord of the castle, and he obviously cared enough to keep it in good order…

           And had terrorized her father into forcing her out of her home to come play housekeeper amongst total strangers for…how long? If the problem was just that monsters couldn’t cook or clean up after themselves, maybe she could stay long enough to teach them and then go back. Surely they didn’t expect her to do it all on her own forever, not when they had magic to help them do everything? But if they could do it with magic, then why bring her here at all?

           Frisk shook her head, scanning the garden for signs of life. She could hear a fountain burbling in the near distance, just out of sight; the wind was freezing, but carried the smell of flowers, helping calm the human down a little. It was enough to let her take a step forward, then a few more, wandering into the first stand of rosebushes and a patch of black irises. Their petals didn’t reflect light, but shone like velvet, tempting her to reach out—no, she thought hastily, snatching her hand away. Touching flowers without permission was what got her poor, well-meaning, hapless father into this mess!

           No one seemed to be coming to meet her, but then, it wasn’t completely dark yet. If she had a few minutes to herself, then Frisk figured she could spend it in peace and calm before she met her fate, whatever that might be, whatever her father had been trying to tell her… So the young woman stood up and set off down the path, taking her time examining the rows of irises, snapdragons, and several flowers that had no business blooming at this time of year.

She didn’t see a shadow step out from behind a lamppost. Nor did she notice when it hesitated, then vanished, reappearing behind another lamppost, and another, and another, till it was just a few steps away.

Frisk thought she felt someone watching her, but when she turned around, there was nothing there. Shivering, she drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders, squinting up at a faint outline against the darkening sky. The castle wasn’t exactly hard to find, but that didn’t mean she knew how to get there; the garden was so huge that she couldn’t tell which path led out of it. Maybe she should—

“h u m a n~”

Raw terror flooded her senses, and her brain screamed so many conflicting orders that nothing got through; Frisk could only stand stock-still, clutching her bundle till she summoned the courage to whirl around.

Nothing was there. Was her mind playing tricks on her? No, she couldn’t have imagined such an awful voice, deep and rough as—

A delicate tap, tap on her shoulder.

Frisk shrieked and twisted around, landing on her rear with an ungentle thmp. “What are you doing?” she yelled. “Who’s—”

The air went still, her lungs shriveling and her heart stopping at the sight of a skeleton – this must be the skeleton – looming over her. The smooth bone of its skull had a dull, velvety sheen like the iris’ petals, and dots of red hellfire glinted in its empty sockets. Its teeth – no, fangs – were bared in a cruel grin, hands buried in the pockets of its black coat; beneath it, the creature’s shirt was a surprisingly bright red—satin? The tidy, domestic corner of her mind wondered how expensive that had been, and how difficult it was to keep clean; as a matter of fact, the skeleton was more richly dressed than her father had been at the peak of his wealth, right down to a frankly garish gold tooth. This had to be the lord of the castle, beyond a doubt.

But his wealth was less important than the fact that a skeleton was staring down at her. It didn’t speak, or grab her, or do anything but stand there, its face unreadable. Surely it could talk, after the way it had cursed her father?

Anger surged through her, propelling her to her feet. “Greetings, my lord,” Frisk said coolly, stepping back to discreetly brush herself off and drop into a deep curtsey. One of them had to be civilized about this! “My name is Frisk. I am here by your command.”

The skeleton blinked, the bone of its sockets somehow closing just like a human’s eyelids. Frisk was almost too fascinated to be angry—almost. It silently shifted its weight. Was it a “he”? The monster was dressed like a male, and had sounded like it. Why wasn’t he saying anything else?

A light gust of wind flapped her hood against her neck. Shivering, she broke eye contact to hitch her bundle back over her shoulder and reach to pull the hood up. “I hope I’m not too late to—”

Quicker than she could blink, the creature was right in front of her, inches away. Frisk tried not to cringe as his bony fingers plucked the hood from her grasp, letting it drop against her back. “What…?” Stupidly, she reached up again, and the skeleton’s brows drew together. His fingers pushed her hand away and, to her shock, rose to brush her hair off her cheek.

That did it: she was willing to come here to save her father’s life, not to be scared out of her mind, stared down, kept freezing, and all but propositioned by the thing that had done this to them! Who did he think he was?! “I beg your pardon!” she snarled, and the skeleton’s sockets widened as she smacked his hand away. “You will not touch me without my permission, milord! And if I am not allowed to wear this—” Frisk waggled her hood. “—then you will please take me somewhere out of the wind!” She tried not to sniffle, and hoped he’d attribute it to the cold. Without thinking, she scratched her cheek, trying to erase the unwanted feeling of those smooth, warmish fingers on her skin. “Lead the way!”

To her alarm, the red light in his sockets vanished, as if she’d blown out a candle. “Yes, m’lady,” growled a voice from somewhere deep in its chest. Frisk gripped her bundle as the skeleton turned on its heel. “Come along.”

Frisk tried not to gulp too loud, and hoped it – he – couldn’t hear her heart pounding as she followed him across the garden. With the anger ebbing away, fear was reclaiming her, dulling the wind’s bite and the ache building in her feet from the walk here; her aunt had insisted she wear a respectable dress and heeled slippers to meet her new master, never mind how impractical they were for traveling, and Frisk could feel a blister forming.

The skeleton’s shoulders were hunched, his hands in his pockets as his boots scuffed the white stones. It was a distinctly un-noble posture, almost sullen. Was he really the lord of the castle? He wasn’t carrying himself with much confidence, and though she’d obviously irritated him, he hadn’t bothered to correct her. Maybe monsters were nicer than humans overall, no matter what the stories said; maybe, she thought as they exited the garden through a wicker gate and started across a courtyard, humans were entirely wrong about them. She might just be a—

“Dumbass!”

The skeleton stopped so fast that she nearly walked into him. A moment later, something flew across their path, followed closely by a small yellow body. “The ball’s a dumbass,” it said helpfully in passing, with the snide, high-pitched tone of a child almost breaking the rules.

Frisk’s escort made a low noise and suddenly whipped his hand up and around. She barely had time to process what was happening before the little monster was jerked into the air, flipping upside down and hanging in a scarlet cloud. “Ya think you’re smart?” the lord demanded, gesturing to silence the…child, she supposed. “Don’t answer that!”

The lizard-like monster didn’t have arms to gesture with, but kicked his feet and snapped his teeth more than expressively enough. “Knock it off,” the skeleton warned him.

The child obediently stopped kicking, and started mouthing obscenities instead. To Frisk’s dismay, the cloud of magic dropped him onto the ground head-first and, before he could recover, picked him back up; the lizard stuck his tongue out in defiance, at which the red cloud rose several feet higher before dropping him again. This time, when it picked him up—

“Stop it!” Frisk protested. They both glared at her, and she shook her head. “He’s just being a child! He’s not hurting anyone!”

The skeleton snorted. Frisk felt her face flushing again as the magic dropped the young monster once more; the child gave her one sneering glance before scuttling off. Then the lord turned to glare at Frisk, who was trembling with fear and rage. “I could say a lot of stuff right now, but you just got here,” he said with dangerous patience, “so I’m gonna cut you some slack.” He started walking again. “C’mon. Everyone should be in the Great Hall by now, ‘cept that little fucker, but that’s fine. He’ll hear it, too.”

Frisk wanted to ask what he meant, and object to his language, but she was tired, and cold, and sore, and hungry, and now keenly aware of what the monster could do to her if he chose. She followed him meekly across the courtyard and through several more winding paths, most too dimly lit to see more than the skeleton’s broad back; he wasn’t much taller than her, but he was powerfully built, even without his hellish magic. He didn’t look sullen anymore, just angry. Frisk wasn’t one for self-pity, but…what had she done to deserve this?

He eventually stopped in front of a door so small and unassuming that she went right in after him, blinking in the sudden light, expecting to see a kitchen or servants’ entrance; instead, when her vision cleared, it revealed a dazzling array of…red carpets, stairs, dozens of voices, thousands of candles—her senses were too overloaded to take it all in. This must be the Great Hall, she thought muzzily, barely aware that the skeleton had turned to watch her.

She did notice when he took her hand, fingers tightening as she reflexively pulled away. “This way,” he muttered.

Frisk couldn’t help scowling. For someone who had spent so much time and cruel effort getting her here, he didn’t seem at all happy to have her. At least his hand gave her something to focus on as he led her through the columns at the back of the room and into the center of the red carpet. As she’d thought when he touched her face in the garden – which she still resented – his bones were as warm as human fingers, with a strange consistency, smooth and slightly pliant. He was probably strong enough to crush her fingers like brittle leaves, but he held them just firmly enough that she couldn’t get away. How nice of him, she thought irritably.

Suddenly, the skeleton paused and turned to face the room. “Hey,” he said, almost conversationally. “Shut up.”

The human thought he was talking to her until the hall grew very quiet, making her ears itch. A tug on her hand turned her to face the same way he was, and her eyes widened.

The room was full of monsters—the ones she’d heard about as a child, and with whom she’d be living and working now. There were creatures made of ice, one built almost entirely out of razor-sharp teeth, several fire spirits, some with fur or scales, or both…there was another, much taller skeleton, and…

Hm. She was good at making quick estimates, and there were barely a hundred monsters in the hall. Surely this couldn’t be all of them?

“So,” said the lord. With his free hand, he dug beneath his shirt and pulled out a pendant shaped like a miniature skull, elongated like a deerhound and sporting far too many fangs for Frisk’s taste. The skeleton raised the pendant to eye level: in an instant, Frisk sensed a shift in the atmosphere from mild disdain to wary, almost fearful anticipation. “Here she is,” proclaimed the lord of the castle. “Meet…Frisk.”

No one reacted, except for a few scoffs and an extremely half-hearted “Hurrah” from the back of the hall, more insulting than no response at all. Frisk hoped she wasn’t expected to introduce herself, or say literally anything else.

Luckily, the skeleton was already speaking again. “So,” he intoned, and as one, the monsters flinched. “First off, no one’s allowed to hurt her—directly, indirectly, on purpose, sort of on purpose, tricking her into it, trickin’ someone else into it, I don’t fucking care. Humans are weaklings, remember? If any of you assholes so much as breathes on ‘er too hard, I’m gonna take you apart mote by mote and burn yer dust in front’a everyone.”

Judging by the monsters’ shocked faces and low murmurs, this was quite the threat. The skeleton lord’s hand was holding hers a little more tightly—was he shaking? At the front of the crowd, the other skeleton had uncrossed his arms and seemed ready to—

“Second!” Everyone twitched. “You do what she says, when she says, unless I tell you different.” He paused, as if weighing his options. “No lyin’ to her. If she wants ta know somethin’, you gotta give ‘er a good answer.”

More murmurs of surprise and resentment. Frisk could feel little pulses through her contact with the skeleton—his pendant was doing something magic-related as he spoke. With a start, she remembered her father’s description of the skull that bit him and inflicted the curse of obedience; this must be the same thing, in a way that let him use it on every monster at once.

Regardless of how he was doing it, Frisk wished she understood why. He clearly did want her here, but how terrible could things be for him to go to these lengths for her? The first tiny prickling of unease began skittering around the back of her mind. What had her father been trying to tell her? Something he’d been hiding that would have destroyed her reputation among her family and friends, with worse duties than arranging parties and checking whether the maids were stealing anything …and the monster being a skeleton was relevant. What could possibly—

Someone had asked a question. “No, not yet,” the skeleton said, to groans of disappointment. “Party’s tomorrow. We’ll hold off for tonight and let her get settled.”

A loud, rude snort made everyone turn to the back of the crowd. “Well, ain’t that sweet?” It was a tall, armor-clad figure holding a faintly glowing spear. The voice was female, but almost as rough as the skeleton’s. “I know if I was her, I’d want you to hold off for tonight!”

The monsters erupted into jeering laughter. Frisk’s face burned as the implication sank in, and she gave the skeleton a disbelieving glance as that sense of disquiet prodded her again. What kind of party was he talking about? Would he really go to this much trouble to procure a normal housekeeper, much less protect her like this and celebrate her coming?

To her bemusement, the skeleton seemed as embarrassed as she was, and several times angrier. “Fuck off, Undyne!” His magic pulsed again so strongly that Frisk’s palm tingled. The woman in armor made a faint sound and staggered back against the wall. “If you’ve got time to say stupid shit, maybe it’s time you—”

“That’s enough,” said someone above them.

Frisk felt the air in the room shift again; this time, it felt like a classroom where the teacher had walked in and just looked at everyone. Every monster in the Great Hall – even Undyne – sank to one knee; the skeleton’s hands dropped to his sides as Frisk turned to watch another monster descend the staircase. “Tori,” he mumbled.

The white-furred monster glared at him. She resembled a giant goat, but seemed far more predatory, perhaps because of her golden eyes; they reminded Frisk too much of her uncle’s captive hawks, which always looked ready to eat someone. “How strange,” the goat-woman murmured. “I could have sworn that we’ve met before and you know how to properly address me.” Like magic, she was now smiling brilliantly at Frisk. “Welcome to our humble abode, my dearest girl. May I be the first to congratulate you on your conquest of Sans’ affections?”

The human’s polite smile was fixed in place, the one she used at parties when trapped in conversation with people she wasn’t allowed to run away from. “You certainly may, Lady…?”

“Toriel, my child. I am the former Queen of this place, now a silly old lady enjoying my twilight years in retirement.” The goat monster inclined her head, and suddenly raised her voice. “Thank you all for coming. I believe dinner should be ready soon?”

That was the monsters’ cue to scatter, no compulsion necessary. “Well,” said Toriel as the room emptied. Her smile twisted in utter contempt. “You seem surprised, my dear. Was Sans incompetent enough to allow your father to lie about your purpose here?”

The skeleton – Sans – gritted his teeth. Frisk would’ve felt sorry for him if…no, wait, she wouldn’t, ever. “Well,” she said, echoing Toriel, “when my father told everyone at my uncle’s house what happened, he said the monsters wanted someone to ‘perform the functions of a housekeeper.’ He never came out and said I’d be marrying anyone.” Frisk gave Sans as poisonous a look as she could, and his sockets went blank. It was unnerving, but she was too angry to care. “On the way up here, he tried to talk more about it, but then he had to leave.”

Toriel cackled, raising the hairs on the back of Frisk’s neck. “Of course he didn’t tell the rest of your family you’d be sharing your bed with a skeleton! You’d be the laughingstock of the village—no, the whole country!”

“Tori,” muttered Sans. Somehow, his entire skull was turning a dull crimson; he’d shrunk in on himself, looking much smaller and curiously vulnerable. Good.

The goat monster must have agreed; she smirked, and fully turned her back on him. “I hope you can understand your father’s intentions, my dear child,” Toriel said. Frisk would have given anything to make her stop smiling. “Parents tell these little fibs every so often to protect their children’s feelings.” She patted Frisk’s shoulder with a soft, heavy white paw. “I’m sure you’ll understand once you start having them.”

Frisk’s skin crawled—whether it was Toriel’s touch or the thought of that with Sans, she couldn’t say. Probably both. “I wish he had given me some forewarning, Lady Toriel, but I understand his reasons. He was also very sick when he reached the village, and likely still is, so we didn’t have many chances to talk privately.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Toriel murmured. “But it was to be expected after a night outside without food or drink, and then a walk down the mountain without provisions.”

“A what?” Frisk rounded on her would-be husband, who was sweating profusely. How the hell did—no, never mind. “You didn’t give him anything at all? And you made him sleep outside?” she demanded.

Sans’ eyes sparked red again. “He trespassed on my land and fucked up my garden! What was I s’posed ta do? Give ‘im a cookie and his own private room?”

“Anything but keep him outside like a dog!” Frisk was so angry that her eyes were filling with tears. She swiped them as discreetly as she could. “I am overtired, Lord Sans! May I be shown my room for the night? Or would you prefer I sleep in the garden?!”

“Fine!” he bellowed. For a horrible moment, Frisk thought he was really going to lock her outside—no, he was grabbing the pendant: “Panne! Lapis! Get your asses down here, now!”

“I’m afraid you have your work cut out for you, my child,” Toriel said kindly to Frisk, who was seething so hard that it took a moment to realize someone was speaking. “If you want any help, dear, you need only ask.”

“Thank you, Lady Toriel,” the human replied. “I’ve dealt with bullies before, but they usually don’t have magic on their side.”

Toriel cackled again as Sans’ eyes went blank. “Well said, my dearest Frisk! Very well said. Our lord is accustomed to getting what he wants, but a bit of reality may be what he needs.”

“Y’know what?” The skeleton’s voice was high and loud with indignation. “You’re right. Forget it. Fuckin’ forget about this whole thing! We’ll do the ceremony, make it so yer creepy-ass curse worked, an’ then she can go back to her dumbass family. How’s that sound?”

Frisk’s heart leapt…until Toriel gave a gentle sigh. “Yes, Lady Toriel?” the human asked warily.

“Yeah, what?” Sans snapped.

“Several things, children. For one, Sans, you already came crawling to me for help in getting Frisk’s father through the barrier—to be honest, I’m surprised we were able to do it at all. I absolutely do not have the resources left to move another human through the gates safely.”

Frisk could have cried, but as it turned out, that was the least of her problems: “And if you think you’ll be man and wife after a few words and a slice of cake, you’re sorely mistaken. A true marriage is built on time, trust, and communication.” Toriel nodded benignly. “And sex.”

“What?!” It came out in perfect tandem between the skeleton and human.

The goat monster didn’t bother to hide her glee. “I never said you’d find a wife in name only, you pathetic sack of bones! What are you thinking, trying to get rid of her? Why go to all the trouble of snaring such a lovely thing if you were just going to shoo her off? I’ve never seen you so excited, having your room prepared and planning what to eat for—”

“There they are,” Sans said sharply, looking and sounding ready for death as two rabbit monsters approached. “You! Get her fed, bath, sleep, whatever! I’m goin’ to bed, good night!”

Toriel’s grin was the most evil thing Frisk had ever seen. “Good night, my lord? It’s only—oh, dear. There he goes.” She examined the tips of her claws, and gave Frisk a look that made the human shudder. “Was it something I said?”

 ~

             “REALLY, BROTHER, I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU EXPECTED.”

           Sans tried to think of something witty, but it was easier to bash his head against the wall some more. So—

           “WILL YOU KINDLY STOP THAT FOOLISH NOISE! IF IDIOCY COULD BE REMOVED THAT WAY, I WOULD GLADLY CRACK YOUR EXALTED SKULL OPEN. BUT NO, YOUR LORDSHIP’S STUPIDITY WOULD REMAIN INTACT NO MATTER WHAT MEASURES WERE TAKEN.”

           For the millionth time, Sans found himself reaching for his pendant, the key to the spell encompassing the castle and its grounds. All he had to do was concentrate on Papyrus and command him to shut up for ten goddamn minutes. His life would be easier, and quieter—

           —and complete shit, because Pap wouldn’t be his brother anymore. Sans rolled his skull sideways along his bedroom wall, glaring at the taller skeleton. “Get yer ass off my bed.”

           Papyrus snorted. “WHY? IT IS APPARENT THAT YOU WILL BE THE ONLY ONE USING IT FOR THE FORESEEABLE FUTURE.”

           “Oh, not you, too!” Sans grabbed a book at random from the shelf and chunked it at his brother, who easily caught it and tossed it to the floor. “What, you wanna be more like Undyne?”

           “PATHETIC AS SHE IS, IT WOULD STILL BE PREFERABLE TO OTHER PERSONS OF MY ACQUAINTANCE, BY WHICH I OF COURSE MEAN YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE TERRIBLE.” Papyrus did get up, though, and Sans tensed as his brother approached the mirror. “WHY DO YOU STILL KEEP THIS?” To Sans’ indignation, Pap took the ink drawing from where Sans had stuck it in the mirror’s frame, holding it up for a closer inspection. “SURELY, NOW THAT YOU HAVE CAPTURED THE HUMAN IT DEPICTS—”

           “Put it back,” Sans snapped.

           Papyrus tutted under his breath. “AS MY IDIOTIC LORD WISHES.” Unwilling to make a mess of any kind, the younger skeleton tucked the picture very gently back into the frame, smoothing down the creased edges. “IT WILL BE RUINED IF YOU DON’T STOP CARRYING IT EVERYWHERE.”

           “Yeah, I know,” the elder skeleton grumbled. He let the back of his skull thump into the wall again, earning another sharp look. “You can leave now.”

           Pap’s boots tapped impatiently on the stone floor. Several rolled-up rugs were stacked at the other end of the room, but Sans had made several excuses to leave them there, unable to admit his fear of picking something she didn’t like. Of course, now he would kill for that to be his biggest problem. “WILL YOU BE ALL RIGHT, BROTHER? SHALL I BRING THE MANUAL? THE SECTION ON WOOING A KIDNAPPED BRIDE IS PITIFULLY SHORT, BUT—”

           “I’m good, bro,” lied Sans. “Go to bed.”

           It wasn’t a command, and they both knew it. “I DIDN’T GET A CLOSE LOOK AT MY NEW SISTER,” Papyrus remarked. His gloved finger tapped the edge of the portrait. “IS THIS ACCURATE?”

           “No,” Sans said sharply. “Don’t touch it.”

           “HMPH!” Only Pap could make that a complete sentence. “I SEE. THE ARTIST SEEMS SKILLED ENOUGH, BUT IT MUST BE ANOTHER HUMAN LIE. IT IS A SHAME, BECAUSE THE FEMALE IN THIS PICTURE IS NOT NEARLY AS HIDEOUS AS MOST OF HER—”

           “Get the fuck outta my room!”

           Eventually, Papyrus complied, leaving Sans with only his stupid, stupid thoughts for company. There weren’t enough permutations of “fuuuuck” to express what he was feeling, so he settled on staring at the windows and letting his head hit the wall some more.

           He hadn’t lied to Papyrus. The picture wasn’t accurate: it didn’t show that her eyes were gray, or the way her nose scrunched when she was mad, or how her cheeks turned pink when he touched them. Looking at it always made him want to hold her, but it didn’t have her light, sweet scent or feel so damn soft that he forgot he wasn’t supposed to touch—

           Fuuuuuck. She was here, but this was still bullshit! He’d felt a twinge in the spell framework and realized that someone was trying to get around one of his orders – probably by a lie through omission – but how was he supposed to know it was Proust? He never expected that whinging, craven little shit would avoid telling Frisk she was going to be married. She hadn’t had time to get used to the idea, weigh the pros and cons, maybe move past him threatening to kill her daddy as leverage…

           Oh, who the hell was he kidding? Even if Sans had gone about this as honorably as he could, and even if she’d had a year to think it over, she never would have accepted him on her own. No matter what anyone said, he was still a monster, and she was still…

           His mind veered off yet again to when he’d followed her through the garden. He’d been so thrilled that she was really here, but so terrified that the ideal he’d built up from one picture would fall short of reality; maybe he’d made an ass of himself, getting everyone to clean stuff up and get things out and plan it all down to the second for someone who’d drawn herself to look better than she really was. Maybe her dad was just being a dad and he’d actually spoiled her rotten, letting her take the credit for some actual housekeeper’s work. Maybe she wasn’t really that nice. Maybe this was a mistake.

           So, faced with possible perfection, what did he do? He snuck up close enough to smell her, weirded her out, and then tried to play it off as a joke, which scared her even worse. And…

           No, the picture wasn’t accurate. He’d been so stunned that he just stood there like a complete moron, not apologizing or helping her up or introducing himself, because she was so beautiful that he forgot to breathe. Of course she got scared and mad at him, and he didn’t know how to handle it because he didn’t know how to handle anything, so he just acted like himself, and—

           He was going to kill Toriel if it was the last goddamn thing he did!

           The wind was howling again. Sans wondered if it was keeping Frisk awake, assuming she could sleep at all after discovering she was going to marry him.

He looked at his bed, which had never had anyone but him in it, thank you, Papyrus—he’d enjoyed modest success in his sex life before that stupid fucking day with Asgore, but ever since, he found that being able to make people do anything he wanted was a massive turnoff. It felt creepy and pathetic and, well, wrong, even if he didn’t actually order anyone into the sack, or to do anything in it.

           Now that he was going to have an actual wife – who thought he was a bully, hated and feared him – would that be any better? Maybe if he courted her well enough, let her see that he’d loved her before they ever even met, refrained from using magic to change her mind…

           If that was the best he could do, then no, it wouldn’t be any better. Sans gave himself one last bang on the wall, kicked his boots off, and climbed onto the bed. “G’night,” he said out loud, and closed his sockets to wait for morning.

[butmakeitgayblog]

“ I hope you like the new chapter “?? You kidding right

Cuzzz believe me dude.. we will read it with PLeasUrE! I mean come on Demon!lexa???

God i’m so excited, and I’m excited more that you said it will be a LONG chapter! Awesome.

Anyway i’m waiting the pain and pleasure in this story that i lovvee.

Ps : you promised us for 😆sneak peek 😆just a reminder don’t say I didn’t remember 🏃🏻‍♀️

Oh yeah you're totally right. And yeah it's now over 11k and I still have probably at least, at 👏 the 👏 least 👏, another 6k to go. But I'm betting more like 8k. Heyo ok anyway, happy last day of pride! Cheers to us queers 🍾🥂🏳️‍🌈

Snippet for chapter 8 demon au, forgive mistakes it's unedited and might change a bit between now and posting

Also go give love to sassymajesty it's her birthday today

/////////////

"Oh my God."

"You're very bad, Ms. Griffin."

She could only whine in agreement. 

"Look at you. You're not supposed to be enjoying this this much."

Clarke clenched down at the loud slap to her ass. She hissed at the sting of it, rocking her hips on the silicon that pumped into her from behind. 

Hands gripped at her waist and pulled her back into each rapid jog of hips, the clap of skin on skin ringing in her ears. Forehead pressed to the cool plastic of an industrial copier, she groaned and shook when the punishing rhythm quieted enough for her to breathe as sharp snaps of the strap slowed to deep, rolling thrusts. 

Clarke arched at the feel of a hand smoothing up her spine to wind into the sweat sodden hair clinging to her neck. At a gentle tug, Clarke moaned and let herself be guided up, using the palms of her hands to support the weight of a warm body draping against her.

"Still good?"

Half delirious with a laugh and wiggling to get back the friction she had lost, Clarke felt herself dripping at the warm breath in her ear. "Mhm. Just fuck me, Lex."

"I think you mean 'Ms. D'Angelo," Lexa whispered, nipping at the fleshy skin of her lobe. "Remember, now. We keep things professional at the office..."

Clarke smiled to herself, biting her lip as she envisioned herself being pushed face-down back onto the copier. She checked her watch and glanced at the door, tapping her foot alongside the whirs of its rhythmic back and forth blinding neon light.

She thought of exactly how good Lexa's ass looked bound in buckles and strips of leather. How the harness they'd gotten the week prior sat in just the right way that it accentuated the lovely bubble-esque quality that made it all the more kissable. 

Or biteable. 

It really just depended on her mood. 

A few solid raps sounded through the door as Clarke leaned back on the table beside the copier, a satisfied grin stretching across her face as she chirped a bright, 'Come in.'

The door opened and then slammed shut in a flurry of motion as a wild wave of chestnut slungshot into the room. Clarke let out a surprised yelp of laughter as the small space was crossed in two giant strides and hands cupped her face, pulling her into a messy kiss. 

Lexa's groan was loud enough that Clarke worried for a moment that someone might hear. But the thought fell away just as quickly when fingers trailed to Clarke's hips, squeezing tightly and lifting her onto the table. 

Clarke wrapped her legs around the waist that pressed into her, thanking last night's self for selecting such a forgiving dress.

"You… are driving... me crazy," Lexa breathed between kisses, pulling away just often enough to let fresh oxygen into Clarke's lungs. "What are you doing in here?"

"Making copies," Clarke smartly shrugged as dark eyes glistened in the low light. 

"I am with a client," Lexa said with a needy sigh, resting her head against Clarke's as her hands mindlessly caressed thighs, hips, and chest. "A client and his father."

Clarke burst out in a poorly stiffled laugh. "Oh shit. My bad."

"Fuck, gorgeous," Lexa breathed, pulling Clarke's hips to the edge of the table and rocking onto her. "You are so bad."

A low moan rumbled through Clarke's chest as the words sparked fresh visions of her deviant daydream. 

"What?" Lexa asked with dark eyes and an excited hum. 

"Just something I was thinking about before," Clarke said, brushing a few curls from Lexa's face before letting her arms rest over her shoulders. 

"And what were you thinking about?"

"You."

"Well that's certainly a relief," Lexa smirked as she peppered kisses across the dip of Clarke's chest. "It'd be awful for my ego if you were in here making me wet while thinking about someone else."

Clarke just grinned, sifting her fingers through the fine hairs that sat on the nape of Lexa's neck. "I thought that might get your attention."

"What has gotten into you today?"

"Boring day. Kept looking at those pictures you sent the other week. Wanted to kiss... Wanted to see you in this shirt again. Take your pick," Clarke said as she pulled Lexa back onto her lips. She swallowed Lexa's sigh and licked into her mouth only to have Lexa twist away with a wet pop. 

"I have a client sitting in my office waiting to sign a contract."

"I can be quick."

"I don't want quick," Lexa shook her head as she grabbed Clarke's wandering hand that had been snaking its way under the belt of her skirt. "Let me finish this and we can take lunch right after. Go back to my place--"

"You have court at 1," Clarke sighed, deflating on the spot on the table. 

"Fuck." Lexa hissed the curse as her eyes screwed moment for a minute, biting her lips as they popped back open a second later. Her breath picked up as she looked hungrily over the expanse of Clarke's body, hands squeezing once more at the swell of Clarke's thighs. "Okay… Okay. Come with me."

"What?" Clarke asked as Lexa took her hand and quite literally dragged her off the table. 

Lexa leaned around her and grabbed a fresh pen from a box at random before tugging them toward the door. "Come with me to my office. We can pick this up when they leave. I'll just say I need a witness for the signing or something."

Clarke frowned as Lexa dropped her hand and flung the door open. "Uh. But you don't."

"Well they don't know that," Lexa whispered as she waved for Clarke to keep up with her pace toward her office. 

"You're serious?"

"Yes. You stand there and look… God," Lexa swallowed as they pulled to a stop just outside her office door, eyes dipping down to the hint of cleavage that peeked out of Clarke's dress, "just like that. And then you conveniently remind me I have court in ten minutes so I can get them the hell out."

Before Clarke put up any sort of protest, Lexa turned the knob and glided back into her office with a flourish. 

"Here we go," she announced, holding up the new pen in one hand and ushering Clarke inside by the small of her back with the other. "This is Ms. Griffin, a legal secretary here in the office and she'll be helping us today."

"I just wanna get this over with."

"Don't we all," Lexa sighed with a strained smile as she walked around her desk, leaving Clarke to stand awkwardly in the center of the room. "Now, you just sign these, and then Ms. Griffin and I will handle the rest. Sound good?"

A grunt was Lexa's only answer as she handed the pen over and pushed the stack of papers under his nose, Clarke reigning in a grin at the roll of her eyes. But still, Clarke waited patiently, hands idly picking at the hem of her blazer as she took in the pair sat in front of her. 

A boy no older than possibly 17 sat hunched over and small to her left. Sandy hair buzzed in a high and tight cut and clothes starched to within an inch of their life, he looked as though he'd be more at home in a military school than in the confines of their humble law office. He didn't move, barely breathed through the scratching sound of his father's writing as Clarke watched him all but sink through the seat of his chair. 

"You better thank your lucky stars this lady is willing to do this for you."

The low growl of words had Clarke frowning, shifting her eyes to the older man scribbling furiously through the stack of papers. His shoulders flexed with each rough flip of a page, his muscular body broad and tall enough Clarke wondered if he'd fit through the door without ducking. 

"The pleasure's all mine," Lexa waved him off when the boy tipped his head lower and stayed quiet. "He's a good kid. Just at the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Well that's the fuckin' problem, now isn't it," the man snapped as his head swiveled around to stare at his son.

And Clarke's stomach bottomed out at the sight.

The man from the street. 

The temperature of the air inched upward as Clarke's eyes shot to Lexa, only to find her already looking back. A pleased smile played at her lips as a perfectly trimmed brow flicked upward. Clarke worked to control her breathing, jaw locked and hands balling full of the hem of her blazer as she tried to parcel out exactly what the hell Lexa was up to. 

She knew Lexa always had her reasonings for doing what she did. 

Always had a plan.

But fuck all if Clarke hadn't realized she was going to be a part of it. A damn courtesy heads up would've been nice. 

"-- which is exactly the problem with you, boy," the man kept going through Clarke's silent freakout. "You don't get it. You can't seem to get a single thing through that thick, useless lump you use a goddamn hat rack."

And with no warning, he reached out a hand and slapped the boy over the back of his head. 

"Mr. Trikru."

Lexa's voice echoed through the office, sharp and simmering with a quiet rage as they cut off his tirade. 

Clarke halted in place from where she'd taken a few stumbling steps forward, dropping her hands that'd whipped forward as though to forcefully pull him away from the child who'd barely flinched at the blow.

Lexa's hand was steady as she plucked her phone from its base. "Finish signing the papers. Now." Her tone left no room for argument, eye dark and glued to the man who threw a final glare at his son and went back to writing. 

A moment passed as Lexa murmured softly into her phone, holding up a finger when the last page was flipped and the pen tossed aside, before hanging up and folding her hands expectantly on her desk top. Clarke felt her chest rise and fall with a kind of confused and indignant rage because seriously what the hell was Lexa playing at?

Clarke nearly jumped at the tiny knock against the door, whirling around to see Raven's head pop through the opening. 

"We all done in here?" Raven asked, her mask of professionalism firmly in place. 

"Yes, we are. But I need to speak to Mr. Trikru for a moment alone," Lexa said with an easy smile, up and around the edge of her desk in just a few fluid steps. "Why don't you take this young man to the break room. Get him a snack or something."

Lexa all but yanked the kid up by his arm, ignoring how he tried to glance back at his father as she shuffled him toward the door. She coo'd a few pleasantries and assurances that it'd just take a moment, telling him to go crazy as she shoved a small fold of ones into Raven's hand and passed him off to her. 

Clarke took a measured step back when the hulking man rose from his seat as Lexa shut the door and flipped the lock. 

"What the hell are you doin'?" he thundered and crossed the office. 

He stopped short when Lexa turned on her heel, eyes black and lips stretched in that increasingly familiar sinister smile. 

"Teaching you some manners."

The sickly crack of her knuckles against his jaw made Clarke's stomach roll. She watched in stunned, horrified silence as Lexa punched him hard enough to send him reeling back. His knees buckled and he hit the ground with a dazed shake of his head. 

A fist wrapped in the collar of his shirt before glassy eyes could stop rolling in his head. Another punch split his lip. Another caused his head to whip painfully sideways. 

Lexa yanked him up by his shirt, slamming him into the wall beside the door. A growl vibrated through the thick air as her fingers wrapped around his neck and squeezed. 

"Lexa," Clarke exhaled, her entire body shaking so badly she wasn't sure if she could walk. 

But then she watched the hand clamped over his airway flex and lift him upward. His feet kicked uselessly and his eyes bulged from their sockets, his hands grasping and scrabbling at the locked arm holding him up.

Clarke's mind jumped into gear as his face became redder, his gasping more sporadic, his movements turning jerky and less desperate. She lurched forward, staring at the side of Lexa's face.

"Lex, let him go."

The growling only deepened. 

"Lexa, let go of him," she snapped, raising her chin when black eyes turned to her with a snarl. 

She licked her lips and steadied her breathing and said the exact first thing that popped into her head.

"You hate cleaning up messes at work."

The growling stuttered as Lexa's eyebrows furrowed together, her head tilting in obvious confusion. 

"You told me you hate cleaning up messes at the office," Clarke rushed out, grabbing onto the one thing that Lexa had ever really complained about and riding the thought process to hell and back. "If you kill him right now, think about what you're going to have to deal with. There's gonna be an upset kid. Everyone's gonna freak out. Ambulances, witness statements. A literal dead body in your goddamn office. Think about it."

Lexa stared at her for a long moment, her jaw ticking in annoyance though, thankfully, the growling had stopped. And then without pause, Lexa loosened her hold and let him drop.

He crumpled to the floor in front of them, hacking coughs racking his body and his hands moved to massage his neck. Lexa squatted down, elbows resting on her knees as she leaned into his face.

"I think you should thank your lucky stars this lady was willing to do this for you, Mr. Trikru," Lexa spat in a harsh whisper. "But make no mistake... I will be seeing you again."

/////////////

[clearsky]

My Top Comfort Characters/Kins and My Main HCs For Them

(Note, not all my kins/comfort characters are on here, just the ones I have more than 5 hcs for)

CW: Korekiyo Shinguji (DRV3), Himiko Yumeno (DRV3), Shinsou Hitoshi (BNHA), Kyoko Kirigiri (THH), Tsuyu Asui (BNHA), Entrapta (Spop), Ibuki Mioda (SDR2), Celestia Ludenberg (THH), Funtime Foxy (FNAF), Peril (WOF)

Korekiyo Shinguji (DRV3)

Nonbinary

He/They pronouns

Autistic

Chains and loose accessories are for stimming

Likes the feeling of silk and cotton

Can't stand the feeling of anything rough or bumpy

He likes collecting small trinkets and the bones of small mammals

Can't stand anything salty. He'll eat it but he certainly won't enjoy it

Dating Rantaro

Can flirt, but only if he doesn't try

Petnames are a hell yea

Gets sunburnt really easily

Group dates with Celesnaegiri and Ikuzono

Can't cook for s h i t

Had a scene kid phase in middle school

Went to the same middle school as Celeste and Maki

Knew them when Celeste went through her "I'm not like other girls" phase and Maki was a Band Kid™

Himiko Yumeno (DRV3)

Female

She/Her pronouns

Lesbian

Can force herself to fall asleep within seconds regardless of where she is

100% forces herself to fall asleep when she doesn't wanna listen/talk to someone

Himiko/Angie/Tenko relationship. I'm calling them the Traffic Light Trio

She likes taking naps in the forest

She prefers enclosed/tight spaces more than open ones

Has several hundred stress balls and squishies laying around

She overheats easy

Shinsou Hitoshi (BNHA)

Questioning his gender, but goes by any pronouns

Knows he's Asexual, at least

Has no clue what his romantic orientation is though

The kind of person to carry treats in his pocket just in case he runs into a cat

Will stop to pet literally every cat he comes across

Great at reading people

Doesn't talk unless it's 100% needed

Hangs with Tokoyami, Jirou, and Denki most often

Aizawa has 100% unofficially adopted him

Fosters kittens

Not a big fan of physical touch

He is 100% in the bakusquad. Anyone who says he's in the Dekusquad is a c o w a r d

He and Tsuyu vibe

Knows a bunch of random facts

Dark humour? Dark humour

*skates backwards into his therapist's room slowly sipping from an absurdly huge cup of coffee* Candice you're not gonna BELIEVE the shit I just went through

In case I forgot to mention it, he skates

Kyoko Kirigiri (THH)

Mtf

She/Her

Bi with female preference

Burns go up to her shoulders/collarbone/chest

Prefers to just listen as opposed to saying anything

Knows a ton of random trivia about everyone else in her class

She keeps a notebook she fills with all the trivia

Doesn't celebrate her birthday. She just doesn't see the point of it

Doesn't hate sugar/sweets, but if given the choice she would choose literally everything else

Cuts her own hair

A cat person

Permanent dark circles

T-Tall 😳

Like,,, 6'1 at LEAST

Only person taller than her is Yasuhiro (6'3)

Canon no longer exist

Ahahaha healthy life habits? What are those?

Can't handle horror games

She's the kind of person you'd go to if you needed to rant but didn't want any advice

Polyamourous yo

Celeste/Kyoko/Makoto

She's a dom yall are just scared to admit it

Tsuyu Asui (BNHA)

They go by They/Them

Lesbian

They and Ochaco are dating

They like to hang with Shinsou

Which mainly just means the two sitting in one of their dorms in near total silence doing whatever

Can speak English and French as well as Japanese

Learned English from cartoons

Picked up French bc they thought it'd be fun

Prefers to stay neutral in the whole Bakusquad / Dekusquad thing

They're invited to all outings/events by/for both squads

They like puns

They're a dumbass but willingly, and for fun

Like "someone says they like dark humour and they'll turn off the lights before telling a joke" kind dumbass for fun

Great at poker

Likes Disney Movies

Very touchy once you get close enough

Not in a sexual way, just likes physical contact

Especially fond of piggyback rides and cuddles

Extreme fear of needles

Entrapta (She-Ra)

She/Her or It/Its

Doesn't bother trying to figure out whether she's cis, trans, nonbinary, or what

Was AMAB though

Short as fuck (4'7)

Strong as fuck though

Cuddle game strong

Physical touch is a fuck yes

Cuddles

Piggyback rides

Hugs

Anything where she's touching someone is wonderful in her book

As long as she's the one that initiates it

Anyone else touching her without her permission makes her freak

Prefers being high up

Makes it harder for anyone to sneak up on her

An ace at video games

When it comes to sexuality she just says she's Questioning

Ibuki Mioda (SDR2)

Any pronouns + Pup/Pupself + It/Its

No idea what their gender is otherwise

Biromantic Asexual

Just likes sexual jokes

Gets distracted easily

Has severe hearing problems

She's plays her instruments as loud as possible, with the amp right next to her, without ANY ear protection

It's caused some damage

She talks so loud bc she has no idea how loud is considered acceptable

Wears hearings aids most of the time

Several piercings and tattoos

Likes hearing things jingle

She has a bracelet with a few bells hanging from it

She'll shake it whenever she's bored

LOVES hair accessories

Ribbons are a particular favourite

Occasionally she'll hang little charms from her hair "horns"

The kind of person who never takes any pills/medicine bc she keeps forgetting she has to

Frequently uses emojis

Skates everywhere but she isn't very good at it

She keeps crashing into everything

Has broken every bone in her body at least 3 times

Most of which was bc she keeps trying to kick in doors and skating down the stairs

Celestia Ludenberg (THH)

Nonbinary

Any pronouns, mainly goes by She/They

Bi, 70:30

Collects mini hand sanitizers and can tabs

Has single handedly gotten Mario Kart, Mario Party, Monopoly, Uno, and Clue banned a grand total of 17 times (and counting)

The kind of person to purposefully target someone regardless of what game was being played

Favourite victim is Byakuya (bc he gets so upset about it and she finds that hilarious)

Mains Waluigi

Celeste/Kyoko/Makoto

Has several banned Twitter accounts bc whenever she's bored she'll start discourse on purpose

Hangs with Korekiyo, Ibuki, Byakuya, Yasuhiro, and Leon most often

It's a weird friend group but everyone's sorta gotten used to it

She and Byakuya gamble together occasionally

She tries to avoid it bc he'll willingly blow his entire fortune in an attempt to beat her

Autustic

Can't stand the feeling of water

Mainly bc she can't swim for shit

Horror movies? Hates them

Gets flustered super easily

Taka is her twin brother

Kotoko, Kokichi, and Gundham are their half siblings (Same father)

Peko and Toko are their cousins

She sucks ass at go fish

Fuck canon she's 4'11 now

C h u b b y

Freckles

Once she gets comfortable enough with herself she dyes her hair in the peekaboo style

Either black and red or black and blonde

Haven't decided yet

I'll be doing Celesnaegiri hcs as a seperate post but I just feel it's important for you to know that she expresses her affection verbally and is a very touchy person

Went to middle school with Maki and Korekiyo

Has horrible eyesight

She wears contacts most of the time but she always puts off buying more

After the 5th or so time she ended up blindly stumbling around a week after her contacts ran out Kyoko convinced her to buy glasses as well

Religious accessories yo

Like chokers and dangly earrings with crosses and pentagrams and shit

Likes wearing wacky earrings

Can run and do all sorts of tricks in heels

She and Mukuro are exes yo

Keeps her hair short so it's easier to manage

Hair never gets longer than her shoulders if she can help it

She seems like the kind of person who'd keep her bangs grown past her eyes regardless of how frustrating or inconvenient it is

She's a sub yall just don't wanna admit it

Funtime Foxy (FNAF)

I'm going on the record to say this

Funtime Foxy is genderfluid and that is that

Goes by Funtime

Any pronouns, They/Them most commonly

Plays music (keyboard and guitar mainly)

They and Funtime Freddy (Freds) mainly play with the kids

Freds mainly tells stories with Bonbon while Funtime more so plays one-on-one

Has nicknames for everyone

Circus Baby - Ringleader

Ballora - Bells

Funtime Freddy - Partner

Bon Bon - Bun

Peril (WOF)

I like both Nonbinary She/They Peril and Mtf She/Her Peril

They're both such good concepts

She's a lesbian, Harold

She only had a crush on Clay bc he was pretty much everything she was supposed to like in a guy

Gimme a moment while I force all my mental disorders onto this poor child

Autistic, Anxiety (Social anxiety, mainly, but she has most types), Adhd, PTSD

I'd like to reiterate yet again that She's a lesbian

Sunny and Glory were her gay awakening

Peril in Book 1: Damn, Sunny and Glory sure are pretty. Anyone would be lucky to date them. Clay would probably go for them over me. He would be stupid if he didn't. I myself would willingly date them over someone like me. They're just so pretty :(

Peril waking up in a cold sweat in the middle of arc 2: WAIT-

Rarepair alert but Peril/Sora

Peril meeting Sora: "Hmmm She's attractive. I would love to date her. Too bad I'm straight and in love with her brother lmao :P"

Peril, a mere month later, waiting for Ruby to leave Jade Mountain, pacing in her cave, running face first into a wall: WAIT-

I remember reading this one amazing story where Sora taught Peril to read/write and Peril found out she set off the bomb and comforted her/convinced her her run so that's canon now

Btw if anyone can remember what that story was called/what platform it was on and could tell me I'd appreciate it very much

I'd even be willing to draw a character of your's or make you an icon or something

I usually don't accept requests bc I get burnt out easy but this is a special case

She runs into Sora again sometime between the beginning of TOP and the end

I like to imagine she just goes wandering around

Anyway she confesses like a mere few minutes after running into her again bc Peril is just subtle like that

The actual confession takes 15 minutes and the entire time Sora is just sitting here like "👁👄👁 sure"

Bam Peril/Sora

Peril plans to keep it a secret for a little while longer but she spends 3 seconds around Clay and pretty much blurts it out

Clay, who wasn't even aware that Peril was a lesbian, is just "👁👄👁"

I wanna say Clay doesn't know what a lesbian is but in my canon Sunny is a lesbian so Starflight has already told him

Anyway he's super supportive

From that point Peril is sorta open about her sexuality?

Like, she gives Clay permission to tell the rest of the D.O.D bc she isn't about to risk being in front of them when they hear the news

(When Sunny starts actively seeking her out as a hang out buddy and Tsunami, Glory, and Starflight appear to tolerate her presence just a bit more afterwards she pretends she isn't confused by the change)

She's pink, white, and blue bc I said so

If you look at a certain angle in the right lighting her eyes, mouth, fire, and under her scales all look purple

But her fire is normally white and blue bc I said so

Also she pale as fuck bc in my canon their fire just sorta burns their colour away

You know how you leave something outside for too long and it gets sunbleached? Where it gets all washed out?

Like that but more extreme

By the age of 10-12 firescale dragons are just white with pale eyes

That's right not even the eyes are safe

Ram horns :P

I'm also fond of Peril/Sunny

Or maybe Peril/Sora/Sunny

But Peril/Sora is the main thing

On the topic of that bringing in my hc that if one sib in a sib group is fire resistant all of them are

She,,, She can change her scale colour

But only slightly and only if her emotions are strong enough

Bc I don't give a fuck about Darkstalker's scroll we were robbed of hybrid Peril

Unfortunately all of Peril's emotions are strong

Rainwing ruff along her head and neck

It's like a hood

It's mainly smoothed to her sides but when she's startled it flares out

RAINWING PUPILS

Y'all will know what those look like as soon as I get off my ass :P

She,,, She can mimic bird cries

Hates the summer

She has more than enough body heat already and the outside is just hot enough to add on and make her feel sick

She can somewhat control her heat but most of the time it's based on her emotions

It can go from standing-in-the-middle-of-a-burning-building-cant-see-your-nose-smoke-is-so-thick heat (Strong emotion) to Hey-thats-a-nice-cozy-campfire heat (Calm/"weak" emotion/Sleeping)

I'm just gonna make a different post with all my Peril hcs cuz there isnt enough room for all of them here

[neon-junkie]

Mrs. Hernández

Summary: Whilst finally being reunited with your sweetheart, Flaco calls you something that he’s never called you before, and you love it.

Pairing: Flaco Hernández x f!Reader

Word Count: 1874

Rating: SFW

Tags: Colter, Established relationship, Proposal/marriage, Fluff, Happy tears.

Notes: I just think about this a LOT and wanted to write it ;-;

Flaco hasn't heard from you in weeks, not a peep, not even a letter to inform him of your current whereabouts. He's always known about the gang you trail with, and they're aware that you disappear for days at a time to work for yourself so you can put food in your belly and buy luxuries that you enjoy. Of course, the gang gets their share and in return, they provide you with comfort and sanity, along with friendship, something you hadn't received in a long time. The only person you were close to before joining the gang was Flaco, your sweetheart, your partner, whatever you wanted to call him. You'd stumbled into his cabin over a year ago and did the odd job for him ever since, growing fond of the legendary gunslinger. Your heart ached every time he mentioned how lonely he is, and he found himself talking to you more and more just so you had an excuse to stay a little longer in his cabin. Eventually, Flaco had invited you to stay awhile after a mission. A few drinks were shared and before you knew it, Flaco had you pinned up against the wall, his lips finally meeting yours. The two of you had felt the tension since day one, your cheeks turning vibrant red when he called you "pretty" after seconds of meeting you. He continued to call you sweet names, eventually quite openly flirting with you. His eyes went wide when you finally spoke for the first time, flirting back with him with a grin plastered across your face.

After that, you'd spend days with Flaco, enjoying each other's company before returning to the gang. He told you to "be careful" when you mentioned that the gang had recently moved to Blackwater, telling you how he ended up becoming wanted down there. That was the last known location of you, and no matter how many times his men scouted the area, there was no sign of you. But one of his men stormed into his cabin one day, informing him that they'd seen someone that looked exactly like you nearby. Flaco told them to go and have another look, to be certain that it was you. He couldn't risk going out in the open, even if the strangers nearby weren't Pinkertons. He has more than just the law after his ass, but he's willing to risk everything if it actually is you. "It is her. Flaco, it's her," the same man had confirmed after returning later that day. Flaco was straight to his feet, shoving the knife that he was playing with into its holster and whistling for his horse as he left his cabin for the first time in weeks. He'd been so depressed without hearing from you, refusing to leave the barely standing shack, personally paying his men to fetch him food as he just didn't have the energy to go out and hunt by himself. Flaco told his men to stay nearby but hidden, just in case. You felt awful that you hadn't had the chance to walk over that hill and visit Flaco, but you were needed here, tending to the injured and pulling your weight. Any time that you did have spare, you'd spend practically passed out in bed from exhaustion. You'd told Dutch that you needed an afternoon to go and see your partner, to inform him that you were safe, and Dutch understood and had arranged a time for you to do so, though it was still another couple of days away. The gang was aware that you had a sweetheart, though you'd refused to tell them who he is, not wanting to risk anything that might lead to the law finding his whereabouts. A handful of them thought you were lying, that you were single but just refusing to admit it. Uncle had joked that you were crazily obsessed with a man who didn't even know you existed, but you laughed and assured him that you were definitely not that crazy. Even if you did tell them, they wouldn't believe you. If you were honest and told them that your other half was Flaco Hernández himself, legendary gunslinger, a man wanted in 8 states, and the Terror of the Grizzlies, then they would obviously laugh and think that you were joking. And even if you pushed and told them it was true, they still wouldn't believe you. Why would they? Although, they wouldn't be surprised if that legend had managed to snatch himself a much younger woman, a trophy wife as some would call it. A part of you wishes you did tell them, just to see their expressions of "oh shit, she wasn't joking," after what happened today. Javier was on guard duty, as always. He seemed to be taking up those shifts a lot, wanting to keep himself useful and busy in this frozen wasteland. He'd spotted the stranger as he rode around the back of the stables, practically jumping off his horse as he entered the camp, leaving his horse unhitched and free to roam. "You, stop right there!" Javier had called out, though the man twice the size of him barely paid any attention to him. "Where is she, huh? I know she's here," Flaco had half-asked him, half-called out to you. Javiers shouting had attracted the attention of a few camp members nearby, exiting their cabins to freeze in shock at the sight of the Flaco Hernández storming into camp. "Come on. One of you be useful and tell me. Where is she?" Flaco shouts again, scouting around the strangers but still not seeing your face. You'd noticed a few people moving but hadn't caught on to anything else, too focused on your current chore. Your ears suddenly perked up to a far-too-familiar voice calling your name outside, demanding to know where you are. Was that... Flaco? He shouts again and you're quick to your feet, rushing over to the door to be reunited with your sweetheart. You stop in your tracks when Flaco calls you something he's never said before. "Where is my wife?" Flaco calls out, making your stomach turn and your chest go warm. There's already a smile on your lips as you push past the people at the door, who are already staring at you, but that smile grows even more as you see Flaco stood there, staring around the camp. His eyes meet yours and a smile crosses his face. "Flaco!" you sigh, attempting to run through the snow, meeting Flaco halfway as he strides through the thick blanket to finally be reunited with you. "There she is," Flaco says with a laugh, easily picking you up as he clings onto you, spinning you around in a loving embrace. "There's my wife," Flaco says as he puts you back down, cupping your jawline with both hands as he steals a much-needed kiss from you before you can question your new name. The array of onlookers begin to trail back into the cabins, every single one of them confused on how you were apparently now married to this legend. He was clearly a good few years older than you, something that would creep most people out, and he wasn't as handsome as he seemed to be in his younger days. Maybe he was just as good with other things as he was with his guns, or maybe he was secretly paying you for your time and affection. You were definitely going to be bombarded with questions the second he left. But for now, Flaco continues to kiss you, eventually breaking the kiss just so he can gaze at you again as he tells you "I was worried, chica. I hadn't heard from you in so long, I feared for the worst." You open your mouth to reply to his comment but quickly shut it again, making Flaco tilt his head slightly in confusion. All you can ask is "your wife?" Flacos smile quickly disappears, a worried look covering his face instead. "You don't like that?" he asks, genuine heartbreak to his voice. "What? No.... I mean, yes? I love it!" you tell him, quickly reassuring him that you were definitely more than fond of the new name. "Mrs. Hernández suits me, don't you think?" you say with a smile, making Flaco grin from ear to ear. "Mrs. Hernández. I love it. You're mine, my wife, Flaco's wife. I knew I was going to wife you up someday the second you trailed into my cabin," Flaco says with a deep laugh coming straight from his chest. He places a few playful kisses on your cheek, making you giggle as you steal a few kisses from him in return. Flaco then pulls you against his chest, giving you a long-awaited bear hug. He places a gentle kiss on the top of your head before unwrapping one arm from around your waist, dipping it into his pocket. Flaco gently pulls you away from him so he can speak to you. "I got a little too eager, huh? Calling you Mrs. Hernández before I've even asked for your hand," he says as he shakes his head disapprovingly, scolding himself. "But I want you to call me that," you reassure him. Flaco can't help but smile; if he had a tail, it'd be wagging faster than a racehorse. "If you want me to call you that then you won't mind wearing this, hm?" Flaco asks as he opens his palm, revealing a pair of wedding rings, one much larger than the other. "I may or may not have tried it on you already when you last saw me. You were sound asleep and I just wanted to make sure it'd fit before asking you," Flaco confesses with a small shrug. "Who'd you steal these off?" you joke. "Nobody!" Flaco grumbles. "I ordered them and sent one of my men to collect them a while ago. You deserve only the finest, no stolen rubbish for my esposa," Flaco tells you. You slip off your glove and place your hand out, tears strolling down your cheeks as Flaco slips the ring onto your finger. Flaco urges you to do the same with his, placing his ring just above where his fingerless gloves cut off. A tender kiss is shared, along with a few tears from both of you. As the kiss breaks, Flaco holds you in his arms, muttering the words "mine" and "my wife" over and over, making you laugh against his chest. The gang isn't surprised when they check outside on you to see that you're gone, along with your horse. Hell, you deserve it after how hard you've worked these past few days since arriving in Colter. They're still surprised about who your sweetheart is, even more so when you correct them. "He's my husband, not just my sweetheart," you say with a smile as you flash the ring on your finger, eventually telling them how he'd married you on the spot before whisking you away to spend some time together. Whilst you're here, Flaco is only over the hill, and you manage to sneak away every night to spend time with him. Your husband. 

[straw-of-the-hat]

A Lillian x Katsuki soulmate au???? I'm sorry but soulmate au's are a hole i have fallen far into.

Lillian x Katsuki: soulmate edition

(Not edited! Expect typos!!!!)

These headcanons belong to this fic.

-Soulmates are rare. So terribly rare, in fact, that few still believe they exist. They're more of a legend these days— a myth, if you will. Despite this, everyone seems to know what they are. And deep down, everyone wants one.

-Katsuki's parents aren't soulmates. His grandparents aren't either. His aunt and uncle aren't soulmates in the least. In fact, they'd gotten a divorce last June and has left one another on rather nasty terms last he heard.

-His mom used to tell him stories. Stories about meeting your fated other and becoming so indescribably complete that you'd wonder how you even functioned before. It was the few times his mother would go from loud and rambunctious to serene and soft. Her change in demeanor was how he knew, growing up, that she was telling the truth..

-Of course, he wouldn't tell anyone he thought they were true. Or that he daydreamed about finding one.

-Katsuki felt he was missing something. It made him mad that it wasn't there. Something in him was empty and gnawing. He wasn't sure why. He had a powerful quirk and was praised by those around him for such. He made good grades. He even had a couple extras to follow him around.

-A soulmate was what he was missing, he deduced for what had to be the millionth time. Not that he'd tell anyone.

-Becoming the number one hero was his chance. The only way he'd ever hunt them down! He'd be known worldwide, and somewhere, someday, they'd know.

-That, and he'd be the strongest hero ever. Which was just the sprinkles on top really.

-He joined UA, angry and not willing to make friends. He noticed someone rather quick. He had never dated or really had his eye on anyone. If he was going to be with anyone, it would be his soulmate.

-So why on God's green motherfucking earth did Lillian Faust draw his attention?

-He didn't know. He had no idea! He tried to talk to her, but she was honestly pathetic. Short, scrawny, shy. He dwelled on her constantly. Constantly! He'd stare at her, doodle her in his notebook absentmindedly, try to count the freckles on her face and arms. It was just this constant nagging feeling that drove him nuts.

-He decided she was an extra. An irritating one.

-She kicked ass at the USJ shortly thereafter. He rescended his decision that she was a nobody.

-There was something up with Lillian. Lillian, who'd stopped using her last name. She walked home with friends, so he didn't get the chance to confront her anymore. The blonde one would bark at him. Literally. Like a dog. Fucking pathetic.

-Things were hard after that. Lillian, Lillian, Lillian. His parents started to ask what the fuck was wrong. Why was he so quiet? Did he need help? Was he depressed? Why was his search history all UA's digital yearbook? Was he looking at his student photo?

-He was looking at Lillian's, actually. Like he'd tell them that.

-Strangely enough, he wasn't embarrassed about this... Whatever this was. He didn't being it up because he's get teased, but it didn't bother him like it should've. He was irritated and confused because he couldn't figure this out, but not... Not annoyed with her, or disgusted.

-He thought long and hard. He was shit with feelings. Complete, utter shit. He went over the facts one at a time.

-Lillian was strong. With her quirk, she could stop him in his tracks. There was no a way to stop someone who could blink and freeze you in place without you even knowing she'd done it until after the fact. This should've angered him, but it didn't. It made him... Want to laugh.

-She had long black hair and was covered in freckles. Her hair was always messy and he found it endearing. He wanted to count and trace her freckles. There were so many, and he could almost map out constellations with them the more he looked.

-Katsuki's favorite color had been red his whole life. Lillian's eyes were aqua blue. Subsequently enough, his favorite color had switched to that exact shade of blue shortly after he joined UA. Odd. Probably not a coincidence, he begrudgingly admitted.

-He would not mind hugging her. He sort of wanted to. The more he thought about it, the more okay it seemed. That wouldn't be that odd if he hasn't blown up Kaminari yesterday after he'd accidentally brushed shoulders with him.

-A bit of google searching had him at a simple yet horrifying conclusion. This was, without a doubt, a crush.

-They next few days had his head spinning. He'd never had a crush before, so why now? Where had he gone wrong? What had triggered it? Could he make it go away?

-He practically drilled holes in her head in the days leading up to the sports festival. He may as well have been drooling. He deduced that his crush was going nowhere.

-He almost ran into her in the hall just before the festival, in fact. She was dressed in shorts and a shirt that said "Team Eraserhead" on it, and had her hair up in a ponytail that was falling apart. She was sweaty and breathless, and clearly in some sort of pain, but she... Well, she smiled.

-He was gone. Done for, really. Something was amiss, and he didn't know how to make it stop. Lillian has hooked him, and boy was he sinking right now. What was going on?

-She won the race with her two friends in the first round, and one piece clicked into place. Nothing enough to give him any sort of full picture, but it was... something. Something deeper than a crush.

-She dominated in the second round with ease and surprising confidence. He felt annoyed watching her laugh with Shoto Todoroki. Jealous, even. Another piece clicked.

-She asked him to join some sort of fucking protection squad. She was kind and genuine. He couldn't say no. It was another piece.

-Talking to her made him less angry. He felt calm and more like himself than he had... well, ever really. He was collected, and just... happy. He could laugh, and smile, and roll his eyes in a teasing way. This was another piece. One to a nearly full picture. One he could almost make out.

-The last piece fell into place during the final portion of the sports festival. Before it started, they had all the contestants come out and shake hands with one another. It was sort of a show of good faith. One he didn't want to participate in.

-But then it was time to shake Lillian's hand. And the stadium's roar fell on deaf ears, and everyone else ceased to exist. The cameras zoomed in on them, and Present Mic made some witty remark about opposites colliding. But Katsuki couldn't look away from Lillian, and neither could she.

-Their hands collided. And everything seemed to change in an instant.

-Her hand was small and warm in his, and it sent a shockwave rippling out. It was powerful and physical. Not something he'd imagined based on how silent the stadium got. His world brightened, and he couldn't believe how full it'd been before. Lillian's eyes were so much... Fuller than he'd realized. Full of blues he hadn't realized existed.

-There was silence. He didn't let go. She didn't either. They just stood there in the eerie silence, staring at one another in shock. And Bakugo realized he didn't feel so empty anymore.

-He told her in a quiet voice that carried through the entire stadium that she was his soulmate. That she was what had been missing.

-Her brilliant smile and the roar of the crowd told him he wasn't wrong.

More:

-Scientists contact them and want to study their bond, but they refuse.

-Being apart makes Katsuki antsy. It doesn't feel right when she's not there.

-Aizawa despises him

-So does Mic but in a more passive aggressive manner.

-Lillian can feel Katsuki very vividly and knows when he's in any sort of emotional turmoil.

-Hitoshi and Neito are very, very weary of him and he's constantly under a microscope when they're around. Of course he doesn't give a shit

-The world now knows there's soulmates. Everyone in that stadium felt that wave, and the camera literally picked it up. There's a new frenzy of people trying to find their other half

-A few actually do. But only a few.

-Mitsuki and Masaru don't believe it. When their son comes home, he's just as rude as he's always been.

-But then Lillian shows up, cleaned up after the festival. And she wraps their son in a hug, and Katsuki is smiling and laughing in a way they've never seen

-They love Lillian for giving him that

-Katsuki can feel Lillian's nerves and knows how to calm them

-The class is hyper-aware of everything they do. Every glance Katsuki throws her is met with a wolf whistle and every whisper exchanged us observed with curious eyes

-Lillian and Katsuki learn not to mind

-They fit together so naturally. Lillian couldn't even imagine being anxious around him, and she doesn't know why. She's just... not.

-When they first kiss it feels natural and a lot like coming home

-They're a fairly private and subtle couple. 1-A almost doesn't think they're together until the dorms come into play.

-It's the way Lillian throws her legs over Katsuki's when they're sitting on the couch, and the manner in which Bakugo puts an arm over her shoulders and leans into her to look at something on her phone that tells them.

-He's softer with her. Still himself, but kinder in a way. It's so... Normal. It makes sense without making any at all at the exact same time. The way they talk to each other is simply how it's meant to be, they guess

-They're pitted against each other in hero training one day by drawing lots. It's completely by chance, and supposed to be just simple hand to hand combat

-They just stand there and stare at one another. And when Aizawa asks what the hold up is, they just blink. They simply... don't. They can't. It's not possible. It makes zero sense in their minds. The idea couldn't even occur to them, even for training purposes.

-So, they're not put against one another anymore. They find it's for the best.

-Anytime one of them is hurt, the other had a very obvious reaction. Lillian falls and scrapes up her knee quite nastily, and Katsuki is already turning around with wide eyes. He looks like he's seem a ghost. The same thing happens to Lillian, whether the injury is big or small.

-They're practicing working in teams and get paired together. All Might and Aizawa have never once in their lives seen a more efficient team. Their quirks are stronger and more durable when they're together, they realize.

-Katsuki tells Lillian he loves her. It's stated in a very matter-of-fact way, as though it's obvious.

-And it is. Lillian loves him too. She tells him as such.

-Overall, they're just two peas in a pod. And everything just... Fits.

[livesincerely]

invisible strings (tying you to me)

Also on Ao3. Rated E. 

Disclaimer, this is an A/B/O fic, which I recognize is not everyone’s cup of tea, so skip over this one if that’s not something you’re a fan of. <3

00000

It’s the smell that catches Jack’s attention first⁠—a citrusy sweet scent that drifts into Newsies Square with the morning breeze. Jack tilts his head, glancing up and down the street for the source, wondering if he can afford to spare a few cents for a morning pastry because he needs a bite of whatever that is, can already feel his mouth watering in anticipation… and then he sees Les and Davey break through the crowd. 

Les is oddly subdued, staying close to his brother’s side, and Davey looks off, somehow, in a way that Jack can’t quite but his finger on, his mouth pursed and his eyes bright with irritation and… and…

There’s another gust of wind and that delicious smell hits again, even stronger this time, and holy shit, that’s Davey.

The hair on the back of Jack’s neck stands on end.

“Hi, Jack,” Les greets quickly, before peeling off to go join the littles in their daily pre-work game of marbles.

“Hey, bud,” Jack responds, a few seconds too late for Les to hear him, his eyes fixed unerringly on Davey. Now that he’s closer Jack can see how flushed he is⁠—his eyes a touch glassy and his face and neck shaded pink with fever⁠—which is far more distracting than it has any right to be. “Uh, Dave? You doin’ alright?”

“If that’s your way of asking if I’m in pre-heat,” Davey says, and the edge of sarcasm in his voice does nothing to dull the way those words hit Jack like a punch to the gut. “Then, yes, I’m in pre-heat.”

“And that’s… okay?” Jack says, trying to find a delicate way to ask if it’s good idea for Davey to be out and about in this state.

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” Davey says, in a tone that indicates that he’s already had this conversation a few times this morning. “Just because my cycle’s coming up doesn’t mean I’m gonna lose my mind trying to get any Alpha I come across to—” He cuts off abruptly, nostrils flaring, but Jack hears the rest of that sentence loud and clear: Doesn’t mean I’m gonna lose my mind trying to get any Alpha I come across to knot me. 

Which is an image that Jack really didn’t need put in his head.

“I know it doesn’t,” Jack says carefully, dragging his wandering mind back to the present. “I’m not sayin’ anythin’ of the sort. But Racer gets cramps like you wouldn’t believe and Blink’s nose gets so sensitive he can’t hardly stand to be out in the city, let alone hawk papes all day. I guess I’m jus’ sayin’...” He pauses, searching for a way to put this into words without invoking any more of Davey’s ire. “I jus’ wanted to check, ya know? Check and...”

Davey looks at him, and then the defensive set of his shoulders relaxes slightly. 

“...You just wanted to make sure,” Davey finishes softly. “Of course you did, you’re Jack, you don’t know how to be anything but stupidly overprotective.” He shakes his head and sighs, then continues, “Sorry, I don’t mean to snap at you, but it’s already been a rough morning and I’m a little on edge. But I’m okay, honestly, just feeling a bit achy and, well, irritable, as you can see.”

“Fair enough,” Jack says. “I hadta ask, but if ya say it’s fine, then I believe ya. I mean, you’re the one that’d know, right?”

Jack feels like he’s working with only half of his brain, just standing there stating the obvious like a goddamn moron and trying not to breathe too deeply lest the cloud of Davey scent send him into a complete tailspin, but Davey smiles at him like he’s said something incredible.

“Right,” Davey agrees, his scent cresting even sweeter as his expression lifts. “Exactly.” 

They stare at each other, the moment stretching on and on. 

Davey takes a step back and clears his throat, blinking rapidly. “Well, we should probably get going.” 

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Jack agrees, giving himself a little shake⁠—like that might clear some of Davey’s scent from his nose. It doesn’t, of course, but a fella can hope. “Sure, of course. “

“So, um, how many more days do you think you’ll be able to work?” Jack asks as they get in line for their papes⁠—not wanting to push but needing to know what he’s in for. “Before it, uh, hits for real?”

“My cycles tend to be pretty mild, so maybe another couple of days at least?” Davey says, nonchalant, and Jack’s brain stutters like an engine misfiring. “I can’t really afford to miss too many days of work, so I’m going to try and wait it out for as long as I can. But I’ll play it by ear.”

Jack swallows heavily. Davey already smells goddamn delicious, like spiced citrus and orange blossoms, all surrounded by a heady honey-sweetness, and it’s only going to get stronger. If this is what counts as mild, then Jack’s not sure he’ll survive for another two days.

“Oh,” he says weakly. “Sure, that makes sense.”

They move steadily up the line. Jack knows that Davey is talking to him but he’s having a hard time paying attention⁠ to the conversation—even harder than usual. Everything about Davey seems especially enticing today: Jack finds his gaze lingering on the swell of his lower lip, plump and pink, on the gentle flutter of his lashes, perfectly framed around those big blue eyes, on the long, lean line of his throat, and of course, there’s still that intoxicating scent. 

Jack realizes that Davey’s asked him a question and has been waiting several seconds for an answer, quickly stammering out, “Uh, yeah, definitely.”

Davey frowns. Jack panics.

“Hey, Kelly, Jacobs,” Morris DeLancey calls, annoyed, and Jack’s never been grateful for a DeLancey in his life, but apparently there’s a first for everything. “Are ya buyin’ your papes or what? You’re holdin’ us up.”

Jack fishes in his pockets with fumbling hands, hurriedly handing over the money while Davey collects the papes.

“Hey, Oscar,” Davey says after thumbing through the stack, passing them to Jack once he’s through counting them. “We’re one short.”

DeLancey shrugs⁠—like he couldn’t care less about cheating them out of a pape⁠, the bastard—and goes to hand Davey another one, but then he pauses, head cocked and nose twitching as he catches a scent. He snatches the pape back just as Davey reaches for it. 

“Sure you wanna be hittin’ the streets there, Jacobs?” he says with a smirk, a dark glint in his eye. “You’re smellin’ a little… ripe for the takin’, if ya know what I mean. Might wanna⁠—”

Davey’s scent goes pungently bitter⁠—to the point that Jack staggers back a little at the strength of it. He pins DeLancey with a glare so withering that he falters mid word.

“Give me my fucking newspaper,” Davey bites out, his voice absolutely dripping with contempt.

There’s a distinct note of fear threading through the air as DeLancey holds the pape out again. Davey rips it from his hand so violently that the thing nearly tears in half, then stalks away, fuming.

“You really don’t got a single lick of sense, do ya, DeLancey?” Jack says with a sneer, then hurries after him.

“That fucking asshole,” Davey spits out when Jack catches up to him, almost too furious to speak. “Fucking DeLancey and his alpha posturing bullshit.”

“You wanna go back over there and punch him?” Jack offers, and he keeps his tone light but he’s deadly serious. “I’ll hold his arms for ya.”

Davey takes in a breath, then lets it out slowly, visibly straining for calm. 

“No,” he eventually grits out. “No, it’s not worth it.”

“Do ya need a second?”

“I just want to get this day over with,” Davey admits, expression torn between frustration and weariness.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Jack promises. He can’t pull Davey into a hug the way he wants to⁠—that will put his nose a little too close to Davey’s neck and he doesn’t trust himself not to just press his face against Davey’s scent gland and inhale⁠—so he settles for a simple pat on the back. “Let’s grab Les and shake a leg.”

For a second it feels like Davey sways on his feet, leaning ever so slightly into the contact, but the moment passes so quickly that Jack can’t be sure it ain’t just wishful thinking on his part. They start heading over to Les, but then a sudden thought occurs to him.

“Jackie?” Davey questions, when he notices that Jack’s stopped walking.

“One sec,” Jack says, turning back towards the distribution line. “I wanna see if one of the fellas can come with us today.”

He tries to say this as casually as possible, but of course Davey sees right through him, hitting Jack with a look—the one that says he thinks Jack’s being ridiculous.

“We don’t need a chaperone, Jackie,” he says firmly, like even just offering the possibility is absurd. “You’re nothing like Oscar DeLancey, you’re not going to hurt me.”

Something in Jack preens at this statement, impossibly pleased at Davey’s faith in him. But this isn’t something Jack’s willing to budge on.

“It’d make me feel better to have someone else watchin’ your back. Someone that for sure won’t get caught up in any ‘alpha posturing bullshit,’” he says, mimicking Davey’s tone from before.

“Fine,” Davey says, rolling his eyes even as a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “If that’s what you want. But I really don’t think that would’ve been an issue.”

Jack thinks that Davey’s giving him far too much credit, or is just drastically underestimating how good he smells. But he doesn’t say any of that, instead continuing to scan through the throng of Newsies that haven’t set off yet, searching for someone who’d be down to accompany them.

“Hey, Racer,” Jack calls when he spots him, waving to get his attention. “Come sellin’ with us?”

Racetrack wanders over, glances between Jack and Davey and then back to Jack, and catches onto the crux of the matter immediately. “Yeah, sure,” he agrees. “No such thing as too much back up.”

“Race, you’re supposed to be on my side,” Davey says, “helping me team up against Jack, not the other way around. Where’s the omega solidarity?”

“Ain’t you the one always tellin’ me to stop taking stupid risks?” Racer asks, somewhat absently, looking over Davey with a critical eye. “Hey, Davey, can I give you a hug? You look like ya need one.”

Davey opens his arms immediately. “Oh my god, yes, please.”

Racer is several inches shorter, but he makes a valiant attempt at wrapping Davey up in his arms. A rush of seething jealousy hits Jack like a wave breaking against the rocks, but he fights it down as best he can because he knows he’s being an idiot.

Jack doesn’t need to step between them, doesn’t need to tear Davey from Race’s grasp, doesn’t need to bare his teeth at him for daring to put his hands on Jack’s— 

Jack doesn’t need to do any of that. Jack doesn’t need to do anything at all, except find a nice dark hole to drop himself into, or maybe run headlong into a brick wall and spend the rest of Davey’s heat blissfully unconscious, because he doesn’t know how else he’s gonna make it through.

Race curls his fingers around the nape of Davey’s neck, Davey let out a soft, contented noise, sinking further into the embrace, and Jack has to stuff his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching out for him.

He is so fucked.

00000

It’s ain’t the worst morning Jack’s ever had, but it’s damn sure up there. He’d spent the walk out talking with Les⁠—or, really, letting Les chatter at him a mile-a-minute and very carefully not looking at where Racetrack and Davey are walking arm in arm, heads tipped together as they whisper and laugh.

But it’s when they actually start working that things really take a turn for the worse. Jack’s only putting the barest bit of effort into sellin’ his papes, most of his attention focused on where Race and Davey are selling just down the street. Davey seems like he’s doing okay to begin with, but as the morning rush continues, Jack notices that he’s getting a lot of... unwanted attention, to say the least. He and Race look like they have it well in hand, but by midday Davey is visibly tense, shoulders hunched up around his ears and looking like he might beat the next person that so much as looks at him wrong bloody with a rolled up newspaper.

Jack foists one last pape off to a random passerby, barely even waiting long enough to take their coin, then makes his way over. As he approaches, he sees Race and Davey exchange a few words, with Davey disappearing into a nearby alley for what looks like a well-deserved breather. 

“How is he?” Jack asks quietly, nodding his head towards where Davey is pacing and muttering to himself, incensed.

“He could be doin’ better,” Race admits, running a hand through his hair, brow furrowed with concern. “It feels like every other person that passes has got somethin’ smart to say. Asshole customers ain’t nothin’ new, but he’s gettin’ harassed pretty bad and he ain’t in any kinda mindset to put up with it.”

“You think someone’s gonna try somethin’?” Jack asks seriously, crossing his arms over his chest. “I know they ain’t exactly the same, but you can usually make it to at least your second day of pre-heat before anyone gets handsy.”

“I ain’t worried about that, his scent ain’t anywhere close to peaking,” Race says, shaking his head. “Though, I guess anythin’s possible. I’m more worried that the next person that sniffs too hard is gonna get their lights punched out.”

Jack considers this. Pre-heat can come with a variety of symptoms, and different omegas are prone to different ones. Racetrack tends to get horribly painful cramps and turns into an absolute cuddle monster, crawling all over anyone who will sit still and pet his hair for a few minutes. Blink’s senses get super sensitive, usually sending him into the safety of a nest for several days, refusing to let anyone touch him unless they’ve washed the stink of the streets from their skin. Davey, it seems, is the type that runs hot, both his fever and his temper, which is such a departure from his usual disposition that it’s almost comical. 

Because Davey is normally as steady as an oak tree, impossibly patient and put together. His anger is like water in a dam⁠—carefully contained and difficult to surmount, but with a hard limit nonetheless. But now with his heat coming on, that dam seems like it’s dangerously close to bursting.

“Let’s try and keep it from gettin’ that far,” Jack says with a wince. “The last thing Davey needs is to get arrested for murder.”

“So you’re gonna talk him into goin’ home?” Race asks, looking relieved at the prospect. 

“I’m gonna try.”

Jack steps over to where Davey is pacing up and down the alley. His hands are balled into fists at his sides, his knuckles showing white through the skin, and his citrusy-sweet scent gone almost acidic with aggression. 

“Hey, Davey,” Jack says gently as he approaches. “Maybe you should just go ahead and call it quits for the day.”

Davey whirls around, eyes on fire. “I am just fine—!”

“You are not fine,” Jack says calmly. “And I’m not even talking about your heat, though I’m sure that ain’t making things any easier on you.” 

He steps forward, running a hand soothingly along Davey’s arm, then catching his wrist in his palm and squeezing it lightly. “Querido, you smell like you’re two seconds from kicking someone’s teeth in, and that’s from a block and a half away. You’re fucking miserable.”

Davey deflates, his head hanging low. “I could keep selling,” he says, but it’s a weak protest. “I could.”

I know you could, if ya had to,” Jack assures him. “But ya don’t have to. You don’t got nothin’ to prove to nobody, you hear me? People are dicks, that ain’t your fault.”

“Newsies code: if you’re walking, you’re working,” Davey counters stubbornly, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the pavement. “I’m walking, so I should be working.”

“I never shoulda told ya about that stupid code,” Jack says softly, shaking his head. “All ya do is use it as a excuse to work yourself into the ground.” He steps closer, tapping at Davey’s chin with his forefinger until he meets his eyes. “Davey, it’s okay to need a day. All of us need a day every now and then⁠⁠—this ain’t no different than those times when Crutchie needs a break to rest his leg or last month when Albert had that bad cold that knocked him on his ass. It happens. So stop bein’ so hard headed and take care of yourself for once, yeah?”

Davey huffs out a laugh. “You’re one to talk about being hard headed, Jackie,” he says, deflecting, and maybe some other time Jack would let him shrug his concerns aside, but not this time.

“Dave, I’m serious,” Jack says. “We got your back, okay? We’ll keep an eye on Les, split up your usual share of papes between the lot of us, and sell as many as we can. It’ll all work out⁠; just let us help you, alright?”

“Alright,” Davey finally agrees. 

“Thank you, Dave,” Jack says, and he pulls him into a hug.

Davey comes easily into the embrace, hooking his chin over Jack’s shoulder and leaning into him with a soft sigh. Then he lets out a tiny, startled noise and all but collapses against Jack’s chest.

“Dave!” Jack yelps, hands flying to Davey’s waist to steady him. He’s gone completely limp, his knees buckling out from under him, eyes glazed over. “Davey, what⁠—?”

And then Jack smells it. 

Jesus Christ does he smell it.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

“I thought you said ya had a couple more days before it hit?” Jack exclaims, shifting Davey around until he can cradle him against his chest. He can feel the heat pouring off of Davey even through his layers of clothes, sweat starting to bead fresh at his temple.

“I do,” Davey says, but it comes out as more of a moan, tucking his nose right against Jack’s scent gland and inhaling shakily. Jack’s fingers tighten around his waist of their own accord. “I… It never hits early, it always comes… exactly… on time.”

But it’s undeniable. Davey’s blown right through the early stages and is revving up into a full-blown heat: right here, right now. 

Davey’s hands find the front of Jack’s shirt, clenching the fabric tight between his fists, his breaths coming in short, desperate pants. His scent has kicked up tenfold, saturating the air with citrus-sugar-honey-spice, and Jack can feel himself starting to lose it, his own scent spiking as he starts to spiral. 

Jack wants him. Wants to pin him up against the nearest flat surface and lick him all over. Wants to press his teeth against all that pretty, perfect skin until he’s covered in Jack’s scent and Jack’s marks. Wants to claim. Wants to make Davey his.

“Race!” Jack calls out. He tries to focus, tries breathing through his mouth instead, but it does absolute fuck all to help⁠—now he can taste Davey on his tongue. “Racetrack!”

Race comes running, skidding to a stop just inside the mouth of the alley, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. “What the fuck happened?” he asks, alarmed.

“Help,” Jack pleads, struggling to think rationally under the onslaught of Davey, but it’s like walking against the tide. His hands sit heavy on Davey’s hips, just barely resisting the urge to pull him closer, but also unable to push him away. He’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to hold out. “Tony, help.”

Racetrack takes a cautious step forward.

“Okay, Jack, how about we just⁠—” Racetrack puts his hand on Jack’s arm, trying to coax him into letting go, and Davey fucking growls, his lip curling back in a full-on snarl, an unmistakable declaration of back the fuck off, which is possibly the hottest thing Jack’s ever seen in his life. 

“Or not!” Race yelps, quickly backing away, both hands raised in surrender. “Not is fine too, holy shit.”

“Fuck, Race, I’m so sorry,” Davey says, groaning in embarrassment, head falling against Jack’s chest. “I didn’t mean to⁠— What is wrong with me?”

“You’re in heat,” Race says, like that isn’t obvious at this point. “Your instincts are takin’ over.”

“But it’s never…” Davey struggles to find the words, starting to succumb to the heat haze once again. “It’s never like this.”

Race inches forward once again, this time moving towards Davey; Davey stiffens at his approach but manages to keep his head, standing stock still in the circle of Jack’s arms.

“Let go of Jack, Davey,” Race murmurs, tugging lightly at the bottom of Davey’s vest. Davey’s hands fist even tighter in the fabric of Jack’s shirt, a low whine building steadily somewhere in the back of his throat. It takes everything Jack has not to react to the sound of it, to keep his grip open and loose instead of pulling Davey in tight like every fiber of his being is screaming at him to. “You gotta let him go.” 

Davey trembles, his scent souring with distress, and that’s even worse somehow⁠—like a shot straight to the heart. Jack clenches his jaw, biting his lip so hard he tastes blood, but he doesn’t move.

Racetrack says, “Davey, let go.”

There’s an infinitely long pause. Then, with a pained whimper, Davey’s hands drop back to his sides. Jack forces himself take a step back, and then another, and then another⁠—until Davey is safely out of arm’s reach⁠.

“Take him home,” Jack pants out, because if he doesn’t say it now he’s not sure he’ll be able to get the words out at all. It feels like someone’s sent an electric current up his spine⁠, liquid fire spreading through his veins: scorchingly hot and and almost painfully strong. “Racetrack, get him home.”

Racetrack cups a hand around Davey’s elbow, helping him lean against a stack of shipping pallets. Then he looks back over at Jack.

“Go get Les,” Race instructs him. “Tell him what’s going on. Then swing by West Avenue and find Specs, he should be closest, and send him this way.”

“Okay,” Jack says, but he doesn’t move. He’s still staring at Davey, at the furrow between his brow and the tense line of his shoulders, at the sweat beading across his forehead and unhappy set of his mouth. Every inch of him is screaming hurtdangerprotecthelpfix to Jack frazzled instincts.

Jack wants to have him, hold him, comfort him, protect him. He needs to protect him, needs to with a sort of all-encompassing intensity that makes his fucking bones ache. Just the thought of leaving him feels like tearing his own heart out of his chest.

“Jack,” Racetrack insists. “You need to go, okay? You being here is only gonna make it worse.”

But the first thing he needs protection from is Jack, and that understanding is what finally gives Jack the strength to stagger away, to put one foot in front of the other and walk away from Davey. 

“Jack?” Davey whimpers, and Jack can’t. He can’t. He can’t leave him, he can’t leave him here, Davey needs him, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t. “Jack.”

But somehow, Jack does.

00000

Jack is absolutely impossible to live with for the next couple of days, and even though he knows it, recognizes that he’s stalking around the Lodging House like a particularly pissed off bear, he can’t make himself stop.

All he can think about is Davey⁠: the look on his face, the bright blue of his eyes, the way he felt in Jack’s arms, and that unforgettable scent. 

Jack’s not an idiot, he knows what Davey’s doing right now⁠. Imagines the long expanse of flushed, sweaty skin, spread deliciously across his bed. Eyes closed and lips parted, head thrown back. Muscles flexing, fingers clenching, hips working.

Jack presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, like that might stop the endless stream of images flickering through his mind, trying to will away his erection before it can fully form because if he has to jack it any more today his dick might actually fall off.

He shouldn’t be thinking about Davey like this. It’s rude and demeaning and perverted all kinds of other adjectives that basically add up to this: Davey is his best friend and Jack is a fucking asshole, no better than any other knot-head alpha on the street, completely losing control of himself like some sort of animal. 

He doesn’t have any claim to Davey, he doesn’t⁠—not that his heart or his instincts are willing to accept the truth of that fact. Davey deserves better, deserves to be treated with all the respect and care in the world, deserves someone that will be able to keep up with that sharp mind and sharper tongue, someone that can give him stability and comfort and a good life.

Someone better than Jack.

But even just thinking about Davey with some hypothetical somebody sets Jack’s teeth on edge, makes his eyes flash red and a growl rumble through his chest. He throws himself back against the rooftop with a groan, angry and embarrassed and aroused and guilty. God—fucking⁠—damn it.

There’s a knock on the rooftop door, and then Crutchie’s head peeks out.

“Hey, Jack,” he says, voice gentle the way all of the Newsies’ voices have been the last couple of days, Jack’s fluctuating scent putting everyone on edge. Another wave of guilt rises up in him but Jack works to choke it back, trying not to let anything seep out. No one else should have to deal with Jack’s issues. “Uh, don’t freak out, but Sarah’s downstairs. She says she needs to talk to you, and it sounds like it’s serious.”

Jack jolts to his feet, heart in his throat. Because he knows, he knows, that this is about Davey.

Something’s wrong, a voice whispers in Jack’s ear, wronghurthelpwherefix. 

Someone, maybe Racer or Finch, has lead Sarah to the side room just off the main hall. She smells agitated, her long hair thrown up in a messy bun and her nails bitten down to the quick, fiddling with a loose string on her blouse. She looks up when she hears them enter and her eyes are shaded dark with worry; Jack’s heart kicks into double time.

“I’ll give you the room,” Crutchie says, going to leave.

“Actually, Crutchie,” Sarah interjects, biting her lip. “Would you mind staying? I think that would probably be for the best.”

Jack goes stiff. He doesn’t like the implications of that request⁠—that whatever she’s about to tell him is so bad that she thinks he’ll need Crutchie for support.

“Jack,” Crutchie says, rubbing at his nose. “At least let her talk before you start freakin’ out.”

Jack nods and makes a concerted effort to tamp down his scent, knowing that the crazy, distressed alpha pheromones he’s putting out aren’t pleasant for anyone. 

He’ll let Sarah talk. He’ll be calm. It’ll be okay.

“What’s wrong?” Jack blurts out. “What’s⁠— Is it Davey? Is he okay?”

“He’s… not doing great,” Sarah quietly admits, and a spike of fear hits Jack so strongly that he goes dizzy with it.

“What’s going on?” he demands.

“This heat hit him really hard,” Sarah says, and there’s a tiniest hint of a tremor in her voice, which for Sarah might as well be a wave of tears. “I’ve never seen him like this. He can’t sleep, can’t keep any food or water down, and he’s burning hot and nothing we try can get the fever to break. We asked the nurse who lives downstairs to come look at him, and she thinks it’s the result of some kind of incomplete scent bond⁠—that Davey’s body thinks he has an alpha, has found his mate, and the heat won’t be soothed without them.”

“Okay,” Jack says, raking a hand through his hair, feeling a little like he might shake out of his skin. “Okay, well, does Davey know who he’s scent bonded to? A scent bond only happens ‘cause of a courtship, right? So he must know who it is.”

Jack’s stomach churns. He can’t imagine how he’s missed the signs of a courtship, or why Davey wouldn’t have told him about it. 

Unless, Jack realizes, heart sinking, unless he figured it out. Unless he found out about Jack’s feelings and chose not to tell him about his suitor. About the person he actually wants. The person he wants to mat⁠—

Jack staggers to the nearest wall and leans against it. “Who is it?” he grits out. “Who…?”

Sarah and Crutchie exchange a glance, one full of shared understanding. Jack has a brief moment of betrayal, outraged that Crutchie knows who Davey’s been courting with too, that maybe it’s some kind of shared secret that everyone else knows about but Jack⁠—

“It’s you,” Sarah says. “Jack, it’s you.”

“What?” Jack breathes.

“It’s you,” Sarah repeats. “Of course it’s you. Jack, who else would it be?”

Jack blinks, then blinks again. He’s hearing her words but it’s like he can’t internalize what she’s saying, the information hitting his ears, then bouncing away without sticking.

“....Me?”

“Yes,” Sarah says, the tone of her voice starting to edge towards exasperated. “Davey’s instincts think you’re his mate, that’s why his heat flared up early when he was with you and why it’s been so bad.”

But that’s impossible, Jack thinks, and he tells her as much. “We ain’t even courting, there can’t be a scent bond.”

“Maybe you haven’t said the words, ‘hey, can I court you?’” Sarah disagrees, shaking her head. “But you’ve definitely been treating him like he’s an omega you’re courting.”

Jack stares at her. Sarah heaves a massive sigh.

“Jack, the two of you are so mated it’s disgusting,” she informs him. “You practically live in each other’s pockets, scenting each other, sharing food and clothes, super protective and possessive of each other. The only surprising part about all this is that you’re not mated already.”

“You look at Davey like he’s the center of your world, Jack,” Crutchie chimes in. “He’s the only one that’s always able to calm you down, the only one that’s always allowed into your space. We’ve all been waiting for you to get together for ages.”

Jack’s thoughts whirl and whirl. 

“Okay, fine,” he eventually says, raking a hand through his hair. “It’s no big secret that I’m in love with Davey, but are you sure I’m the one he’s scent bonded to? Just ‘cause I want him doesn’t mean he wants me back⁠⁠—maybe he’s got some kinda private courtship thing goin’ on that he jus’ hasn’t told us about⁠⁠.”

“It’s you,” Sarah says flatly.

“Okay, then are ya sure that it’s a mating thing?” Jack asks. “Because yeah, I’m enough of an lovestruck idiot that I’ll buy that I was accidentally courting Davey⁠—” He can feel the back of his neck heating up in mortification even as he says it. “—but are you sure Davey actually wants this, that it ain’t just his heat talking? Maybe he didn’t mean to… reciprocate or whatever, and the scent bond was an accident. Maybe he don’t actually want me⁠—”

Sarah reaches out and slaps him over the head. “Ow, Sarah, what⁠—?”

“Stupid, overprotective alphas,” she says with a scoff. “Always thinking they know best. Davey’s asking for you, okay? He wants you. If you’re not ready to take the next step, not brave enough to admit how you feel then, fine, whatever, but at least have the guts to come out and say it instead of pretending like Davey doesn’t know what he wants just because he’s in heat⁠—”

“Wait,” Jack interrupts, dumbfounded, because there’s no way he just heard Sarah say what he thinks she said. “He actually said he wanted me? He asked for me, specifically?”

“Davey’s in love with you,” Sarah says, with the strong implication of ‘you goddamn moron’ underneath. “Of course he asked for you.”

The ground shifts and spins beneath Jack’s feet. Oh.

Sarah seems to take Jack’s stunned silence for hesitation. 

“Look, if you’re really that against it⁠—if it’s making you uncomfortable⁠—then you don’t have to help,” she says, starting to worry the edge of her sleeve between her fingers. “But, the nurse told us that if the alpha he’s bonded to can’t help him, then the only other option is to take him to a heat clinic.”

Jack’s vision blurs red. He must lose a few seconds because the next thing he’s aware of is Sarah’s furrowed brow, her eyes darting worriedly between Jack and Crutchie, who’s startled away. Jack doesn’t have to look at him to know that Crutchie has covered his nose and mouth with his hand in a futile attempt to block out Jack’s scent, which has gone absolutely acrid in response to this statement.

Sarah’s nose wrinkles, and then she sneezes twice in quick succession. “I’m guessing you’d rather not let that happen?” she delicately asks.

“No,” Jack says, his voice rumbling somewhere low in his chest. “No, not if he’s… Not if he really…” He stares at Sarah again, expression hard. “You swear this is what he asked for?” he demands. “You’re sure he wants me?”

“I’m sure,” Sarah says, gently, like she knows how important it is for Jack to hear it. “Jack, he’s been asking for you since his heat started. He begged for me to come get you. I’m sure.”

Jack swallows, then lets out a slow, shaky breath. “Okay.”

00000

“Wait here,” Sarah says. Jack blinks, then realizes that between one moment and the next they’ve made it all the way to the Jacobs’ building. “It’s just Mama and Davey upstairs, but I’ll tell them you’re here.”

Jack gives a jerky nod and Sarah disappears inside, returning some twenty minutes later with Mrs. Jacobs and a suitcase.

“How’s he doin’?’” Jack asks, skin tight with worry and anticipation.

Sarah shakes her head. “Not great,” she says. “It’s a good thing you came, I don’t think he could’ve handled much more of this.”

“Hello, Jack,” Mrs. Jacobs says, and she looks exhausted but her scent is tinged with relief. “Did Sarah tell you everything?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jack says. “I⁠—”

Jack tenses, nostrils flaring, and he whips around just as a third person exits the Jacobs’ building. Jack manages to keep from growling at the unfamiliar person but only just barely, and it’s a good thing he does. Because this alpha is older, at least fifteen or twenty years older than Davey’s mother, and is so obviously not any kind of romantic competition that Jack feels more than a bit stupid for letting his senses get away from him.

As if she knows exactly what he’s thinking, the other Alpha lets out a dismissive snort, pinning him with a look that’s thoroughly unimpressed, and Jack feels something inside him stand at attention. She might not be competition, but Jack has no doubt that she could still lay him out on the concrete if she wanted to.

“This is the one?” she barks out.

“Yes, Mrs. Lansdon, this is Jack,” Mrs. Jacobs confirms with a nod. “He’s the boy Davey’s bonded to.”

“And what on Earth possessed you to court and scent bond with an omega, only to abandon him when he needs you most?” Mrs. Lansdon asks him, raising an eyebrow. 

Jack forces himself not to rise to this bait. “I didn’t know that’s what I was doin’,” he grits out, in a voice he hopes is at least approaching calm. “I didn’t realize what’d happened until just a while ago, when Sarah told me.”

“You’re saying you accidentally scent bonded to an omega?” Her tone of voice tells Jack exactly what she thinks of this idea. 

“Yes.”

“Hmmm…” Mrs. Lansdon turns back to Davey’s mother. “Esther, far be it from me it insert myself in all of this, but are you sure this is wise? It’s not too late to make an appointment with the heat clinic. I’ll escort you myself if that’s what you’re concerned about…” She trails off mid-sentence, both eyebrows shooting up high on her wrinkled forehead⁠—no doubt in response to the distressed, frantic alpha scent that’s rolling off of Jack in waves.

“No,” Jack chokes out, his whole body clenching up at the thought. “Not if Davey’s asking for me. Not if this is still what he wants.”

“I thought you said it was an accident?”

“It was, but⁠—” Jack pauses, struggling to articulate himself in the face of this unexpected scrutiny, his every instinct urging him to just shoulder his way up the stairs and find Davey. “—But that don’t mean this ain’t important to me, that Davey ain’t important to me. Because he is. He’s everythin’ to me.”

Mrs. Lansdon hits him with a shrewd, evaluating look, then her expression seems to soften ever so slightly.

“I suppose it’s not a crime to be young and foolish,” she concedes. “You aren’t the first alpha to have his instincts gallop off with his heart and you won’t be the last.” She turns back to Mrs. Jacobs and says, “Your boy will be perfectly safe, Esther, don’t you worry. All of the other tenants are betas, and if I see any strange alphas roaming around, chasing after a scent knot-first, I’ll shoot them.” 

She says all of this very mildly, as if simply commenting on the weather. Sarah’s brow furrows and Mrs. Jacobs gives a nervous smile, like neither are sure if this is a joke or not, but Jack is under no such delusions. Mrs. Lansdon is utterly serious.

“Thank you,” Jack says, truly meaning it. 

Mrs. Lansdon looks at him again, and that judgmental exterior thaws out even further. “Well, you just get on up there and take care of your omega,” she says gruffly. “It won’t do to keep him waiting. Let us sort out all the rest of it.”

“I will,” he promises, to Mrs. Lansdon, to Mrs. Jacobs, to Sarah, and to himself. “I’ll take care of him.”

“There’s bread and turkey in the kitchen for sandwiches,” Sarah tells him. “Plus a bag of apples and a good supply of water. We just did laundry, so there are plenty of linens and clean clothes in the wardrobe.”

“Make sure you keep him hydrated,” Mrs. Jacobs says, hefting her purse more securely over her shoulder. “And see if you can get him to eat something. We’re staying just up the road with another family from our synagogue, I left the number for you in case there’s an emergency.”

“Just follow your instincts and you’ll be fine,” Mrs. Lansdon advises. 

“Oh, and Jack,” Mrs. Jacobs says, just before he goes to head inside, her expression serious. “There’s a package of alpha sheathes on the kitchen table. I expect you to use them.”

Jack feels his face turn red. “Right,” he squeaks out. “Right, of course. Understood, ma’am.”

He hurries inside, rushing up the stairs two and three at a time.

Jack can smell Davey the moment he reaches the floor for his apartment, a hint of sweetness in the air that makes Jack’s mouth water before he even gets the front door open. He finds the sheathes right where Mrs. Jacobs said he would, and though he’s mortified at the thought of her or Davey’s father going out and buying them, he’s also grateful for their foresight. A pregnancy is the last thing either Jack or Davey needs.

The further he walks into the apartment, the stronger that incredible scent becomes. It’s already doing things to him⁠—making his brain cloudy and his heart race, his dick starting to strain against the front of his pants⁠—growing stronger and stronger until all Jack can smell is Davey.

He pauses just outside of Davey’s bedroom, grasping the doorknob in unsteady hands; that spiced-sugar-citrus smell is so heavy in the air that if feels like it’s coating the inside of his mouth. He pushes open the door.

Jack’s eyes go wide, his brain skidding to a screeching halt. The sheathes fall from his suddenly slackened grip, hitting the floor and bouncing away, but that’s not important right now. Nothing’s more important than what’s in front of him.

Davey is draped across his bed, gloriously naked with a thin sheen of sweat coating his body, and the sight and smell of him is like nothing Jack’s ever dreamed. His hair, usually combed neatly across his forehead, is sticking up in every direction and his eyes are glassy with fevered desire. His hips are moving in tight, tiny circles, but he’s rocking into open air⁠—not an active attempt to get off, but like he just can’t help himself⁠—and his chest is heaving, all that bare skin flushed and rosy from his heat. 

He tips his head back, giving Jack an unobstructed view of the long, lovely line of his unmarked throat, then turns to face him. As their eyes meet something in Jack’s chest stills and centers, some baser instinct prowling in the back of his mind whispering, ‘Oh. Oh, that’s mine.’

“Jack,” Davey moans, and the sound of it is like a siren’s call. Jack’s stripped off his shirt and vest before he realizes that he’s moved. “Jack.”

“Jesus Christ, Davey,” Jack growls, fumbling for his fly, stepping out of his pants as he moves closer. “Do you have any idea what you look like right now?”

“Where have you been?” Davey demands, nonsensically, and Jack’s just found out about all this, came almost immediately once he understood what was going on, but somewhere in the back of his mind he’s wondering the same thing. Where has he been?

“I’m here, now, sweetheart,” Jack says, climbing onto the bed and settling between Davey’s legs, right where he’s supposed to be. “I’m here, I’ve got you.”

Jack runs a soothing hand along Davey’s stomach and hips, then spreads his cheeks nice and wide, uncovering the perfect, rosy furl of Davey’s hole. He’s slick with need, all glossy and pink, but nowhere near as stretched as Jack had expected him to be after nearly two days of heat.

“Haven’t you been…?” Jack asks as he runs a finger through the delicious mess of slick glistening around Davey’s entrance, because he can’t imagine Davey getting to this point⁠—all strung out and panting and aching with it⁠—and not doing anything to quell the fire.

But Davey shakes his head. “I tried at first…” he whines, unspeakably frustrated, canting his hips up into Jack’s touch and letting his thighs fall open that much more, beckoning Jack to explore further. “But it wasn’t helping, it wasn’t ever enough, and that was worse than not touching myself at all.”

Jack nips possessively at Davey’s inner thigh, watching the skin there bloom red under his ministrations, then lowers himself down, pressing his nose right to where that intoxicating scent is strongest. He lingers there for a moment, just basking in the heady scent of Davey, and perfect, and mine, mine, mine, then licks him right where he’s wettest, lapping up every last drop of that thick, honey-sweetness. It’s absolutely incredible⁠—the taste of him is better than anything Jack could’ve ever imagined⁠—and he can’t help but groan, the sound of it rumbling low in his chest.

“Oh, fuck,” Davey gasps, and his hands go tight in Jack’s hair, pulling him closer. Jack doesn’t need to be told twice, pressing his tongue deep inside, working him open with every swirl and flick and thrust. Davey is hot, searingly hot under his hands and on his lips, and Jack understands why the Jacobs’ were so worried, because there’s no way this is a regular heat. But the thought slips away as quickly as it arrived because this is everything, this is where Jack belongs⁠—eating Davey out until he’s trembling and desperate for it, just as wet from Jack’s tongue as he is from his slick.

“Jack,” Davey begs, nails digging into Jack’s scalp. “Jackie, please, I need more.”

“You’re not ready yet,” Jack says. He pulls off Davey’s hole just enough so that he can slide two fingers into him, and Davey cries out, a throaty, guttural noise that sends a bolt of want shooting straight to Jack’s dick.

“Jackie⁠—”

“I said, you’re not ready yet,” Jack growls, adding another finger and crooking them up, and Davey moans, back arching up off the bed. “You gotta trust me, sweetheart. You gotta let me help you.”

Davey quivers beneath his hands. “I can’t,” he sobs. “It’s not enough⁠— I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, cielito,” Jack murmurs, working his fingers even deeper. Davey tears at his sheets, scrabbling for some kind of anchor, then one of his hands comes up to wrap around his cock, jacking it hard and fast in his fist. “That’s it, Dave, c’mon. I wanna see you. I wanna watch you come on my fingers.”

“Jack,” Davey mewls, and he’s soaking, dripping all over Jack’s hand, pretty and perfect and so, so close. “Jack, I need… I want… Jack.”

“Give it up for me, David,” Jack commands. He twists his hand, scissors his fingers, finds that little spot inside and presses it hard, over and over again. “Let go for me, sweetheart.”

Davey’s voice breaks on a scream, his body locking up and his muscles clamping down around Jack’s fingers like a vice. His eyes are glazed over with pleasure, come striping his belly as he twitches in Jack’s arms, and it’s like something reaches into Jack’s chest and pulls, shifting the landscape of his heart around until Jack can barely breathe around the discovery of Davey, Davey, always Davey that ripples through him in time with his pulse.

“God, Davey, you are fucking gorgeous like this,” Jack says, eyes raking greedily over Davey’s form. “Tan bonito, tan guapo, y es todo para mi.” 

Jack leans over him, biting and kissing at every bit of skin he can get at as he works his way up the long lines of Davey’s body. Davey’s even prettier in this moment just after: that edge of burning desire bordering on pain soothed away, leaving only sweet satisfaction behind… and with a plea for more simmering just underneath. Jack can’t do anything except oblige.

“Jack,” Davey moans when Jack’s lips find one of his nipples, his hands threading through Jack’s hair once again. “Oh my… mnh.”

“Tell me what you need, Davey,” Jack rasps against that fever-hot skin, moving over to give the other nipple the same attention, swirling his tongue around it until it pebbles in his mouth. “Let me give you what you need.”

“You, Jackie,” Davey says, arching up into Jack’s mouth with a breathy sigh, his knees coming up to bracket Jack’s hips. “Just you. Always you.”

“No,” Jack says, pulling away and bracing himself with his hands on either side of Davey’s head, forcing Davey to hold his gaze. “Tell me, David. I need you to tell me.”

Davey looks utterly debauched lying underneath him, mouth open and panting, pupils blown wide and eyelashes fluttering against the rosy flush of his cheekbones, but his voice is steady and serious when he says, “I need you, Jackie. I need you to fuck me, I need your knot. Please, alpha.”

Jack’s whole body shudders at these words, his heartbeat a deafening roar in his ears. “You have me,” he breathes. “I’ll give it to you, you’ll have me, omega.” Then he closes that whisper of space between them and kisses him.

It’s hot and deep and a little frantic. Davey groans, his lips parting eagerly to his own, and then Jack’s licking into his mouth, needing to lay claim to every inch of him. Because Davey is his, that lush mouth and those bright eyes are Jack’s, those soft little keens of pleasure and the spike of sugar sweetness in the air are all for Jack, only for Jack. He takes Davey’s lower lip between his teeth and sucks, swallows down Davey’s answering moan and keeps on kissing him, starving for more of him, and it’s only then that Jack realizes that he’s growling, actually growling into Davey’s mouth, the vibrations rumbling through the both of them from where they’re pressed together. 

Davey looks stunned, just absolutely amazed and overwhelmed, and he reaches up with trembling hands to cup around either side of Jack’s face, thumbs sweeping gently over Jack’s cheekbones. “Jack?” he asks, voice hushed with reverence. 

“I know, Davey,” Jack replies, nuzzling at Davey’s neck as he tries to regain some semblance of control. “I’m right there with you.”

Because he’d understood the explanation, he’d known, distantly, what a scent bond meant, but that’s nothing compared to this⁠—this feeling of perfectly matched pieces finally slotting into place, of home and right and mate. Of yours and mine, and mine, but yours.

Davey squirms in Jack’s hold, his eyes starting to smolder and his scent surging with a fresh wave of arousal, and Jack latches onto it, uses it to ground himself. Davey needs him, that’s what matters. Everything else can wait. 

Jack kisses him again, then leans over to grab a sheath from where he dropped them on the floor, rolling it on with shaky hands. 

“This still what you want?” Jack asks.

“Yes, but⁠,” Davey bites his lip, pushing himself up on his elbows. “I want⁠ to⁠... Can we⁠...?”

Davey flips over onto his stomach, lifts up on his hands and knees, and presents, just like that. Jack inhales sharply, feeling his eyes bleed red. 

He’s only human. And Davey is everything.

Jack’s instincts take over. He kneels behind Davey, curls his hands around his hips and tilts his pelvis up, gets a perfect view of shiny, slick-covered thighs and a dripping wet hole, then lines himself up and pushes in, pressing forward until his hips are seated right against Davey’s ass.

Hot, scorchingly hot, hot enough to burn Jack from the inside out, and devastatingly tight. Jack can’t breathe, can’t think, his spine stiff as he fights against the urge to just take and take and take. Davey makes a noise that’s all startled pleasure, spreads his knees even wider, then tries to fuck himself on Jack’s dick, desperate and clumsy with it. Jack tightens his grip on Davey’s hips⁠—an unspoken command to settle, to let Jack lead⁠—and then takes over, fucking into him in long, powerful strokes.

It’s a rush of sensations. Jack feels completely in control and two seconds from losing it, pulled out to sea by the rip current of Davey, of how Davey feels, a tight silken paradise clenching around him, of how he sounds, the little gasps and grunts that tear out of his throat punctuated by the slap of skin against skin, of how Davey smells, that heady sweetness tempered by Jack’s own scent blending and melding with it.

Jack grinds in deep, pulls out slow, then picks up the pace, driven by some primal need to claim, to wreck Davey like no one ever has before, to possess everything Davey can give him and then give himself right back in return, until they’re so tangled together that they can’t be torn apart. Mine, but yours.

Davey is fucking gorgeous beneath Jack’s hands, head hanging down and his back bowed in beautiful submission, clutching at the sheets as he mewls and sobs. Jack presses a hand to the nape of his neck, then works an arm underneath him and hauls him upright so that they’re pressed together, back to chest, and the change in angle makes them both cry out. 

“Fuck, Jack,” Davey whimpers. “Oh, god, right there.”

It’s so good and yet not enough. Jack can feel his knot starting to swell, catching on Davey’s rim each time he pulls out, and the hot, wet sound of it is driving the possessive, alpha side of him absolutely crazy. He’s distantly aware of mouthing at Davey’s throat, lapping up the salt and sugar there and murmuring a stream of praise against his pulse: some in English, some in Spanish, and some that just comes out as indistinct growls, their meaning lost to a rush of primal instinct. 

Because Davey might be the one in heat but Jack feels like he’s about to shatter right along with him, every thrust of his hips dragging him closer and closer to his breaking point. It’s push and pull, give and take, each brush of skin and wisp of breath shared between them stitching them together: two halves of a whole. That’s what they are now, or maybe that’s what they’ve always been, and now that Jack’s found it, now that he’s figured it out, there’s no chance in hell he’s letting it go. Yours and mine and ours.

Jack’s not going to last much longer, his knot starting to fill out in earnest. From the sounds he’s making, Davey can’t be far behind. Jack presses in hard, then rolls his hips into his next several thrusts, trying to give Davey that last push over the edge. His hand slides down to sit low on Davey’s stomach, as if he could somehow pull him closer, somehow take him deeper, and he works a mark into the space behind Davey’s ear, thrilling in the wrecked little moan that leaves his lips as Jack stakes his claim.

Jack nips and bites his way down Davey’s throat, setting his teeth right against that perfect spot where Davey’s neck meets his shoulder, and Davey lets out a noise of pure want and tilts his head to the side, baring even more of his throat to him.

“Alpha,” Davey begs. “Yes, Jack, please, bite me, Alpha, bite me, pleaseohfuckyes⁠—”

It’s with the last fraying thread of his control that Jack manages not to follow through with this request.

“David,” he grits out, fingers digging into Davey’s hips to the point that he has to be leaving bruises. “Dave, are you sure? You gotta be sure, sweetheart, ‘cause we can’t come back from this.”

“We already can’t come back from this,” Davey says, and it’s true. They’re already changed. “I want this, Jackie, please. Please.”

“Mine,” Jack growls, grinding in one last time as his knot fully pops. “My omega. Mine.” He places one last kiss to Davey’s neck, then bites down, hard, and comes.

Davey locks down around him like a vice, his body jerking and twitching as he rides out his own orgasm, panting through the sharp pleasure-pain of Jack’s teeth breaking skin. It feels like nothing else, this moment of togetherness and completion⁠—like he’s found a piece of himself that he hadn’t realized was missing until it fit itself neatly back into place. 

Davey. Mate. Forever.

When Jack comes back to himself, it’s like floating back into his body after the most incredible dream. There’s the decadent warmth of skin pressed all along his front, the steady thump of Davey’s heartbeat against his chest, the comforting weight of him in Jack’s arms. He shifts them around so they can lay on their sides, careful to keep from jostling Davey too much with the motion, hands settling securely around his waist. He swipes his tongue along the rapidly healing mating mark, then tucks his nose into the space behind Davey’s ear and inhales, something settling smugly in his chest when all he scents is deep satisfaction and a blossom of happiness⁠—no undercurrent of pain or discomfort. 

He feels Davey curl back into him with a quiet, contented noise, limbs heavy with exhaustion and relief. Jack opens his mouth to ask him how he feels, if he needs anything, if he’s okay. What he actually says is, in a raspy whisper right next to Davey’s ear, “I love you.”

Davey shivers. He lifts one of Jack’s hand up and kisses his palm, then weaves their fingers together, their hands clasped right over Davey’s heart. 

He says “I know you do, Jackie. You wouldn’t’ve come if you didn’t.” Another kiss, this one to Jack’s knuckles. “I love you, too.”

“You’re mine now,” Jack says, half amazement, half promise, drawing Davey more tightly against the curve of his body. “All mine.”

Jack feels more than hears Davey’s answering smile. 

“Oh, Jackie, love,” he says tenderly, perfectly relaxed in Jack’s embrace. “I was already yours.”

[gerberbabey]

cocaine | kiara carrera

madison bailey rlly met her gf ON TIKTOK, thats wild and now i see that my chances arent as low as i believe. anyways love that for them.

writing this made me so damn depressed. like if anyone would like to fall in love w me, im just here...chillin.

masterlist | cocain series: 2 | 3 

summary: Kiara falls in love with someone who isn’t willing to love anymore (story inspired by the mentioned song and this scene).

warnings: that gay shit, cursing, angst, underage drug use, underage drinking, mentions of dying, unrequited love?

♫ Cocaine by Pink Sweat$ ♫

Kooks could talk as much shit as they wanted but it didn’t exactly stop them from showing up at the boneyard for a kegger. They whined and complained about Pogues but still came around to the other side of the island because they knew they would have a good time.

“It’s like watching National Geographic,” Kie winced and you sputtered out a laugh, stumbling back as you tried to keep the water from dripping onto your clothes. There was a pocket of Kooks jumping around to the music, moving in a weird sort of unison that was both stiff and awkward.

“Ew,” Kie laughed as you leaned forward to spit out the water that you had been trying to drink. To be honest it wasn’t that funny of a comment but you were also high of your ass so everything was hilarious.

“I can’t breathe,” you huffed out and Kie had to hold you steady when you stumbled into her. You were laughing so hard that it was at that point where you weren’t even making any noise. She couldn’t stop herself from laughing because of how hard you were laughing.

“Oh my god (Y/N) it wasn’t even that funny!”

“Then why are you laughing?!”

“Because you’re laughing!”

The two of you burst out into another fit of giggles as you wrapped your arms around the girl, resting your head on her chest as she wrapped her arms around you and struggled to keep the two of you standing.

“Are you two ok?” Pope walked up to the two of you just as you stumbled into the sand in a laughing heap. You let out one giggled and took in a deep breath as you stared up at Pope, your head hazy and heavy.

“Chillin dude,” you drawled out and Pope shook his head before he helped the two of you up. Kia brushed off the sand from her curls and you gave an aggressive shake of your head as you brushed out the sand from hair at the same time. Kie let out a noise and Pope stepped back to avoid any sand flying at him.

When you stopped you stumbled to straighten up. Everything around you was moving fast and yet slow at the same time and you let out a laugh.

Kie couldn’t help but look at you with a dopey look on her face. She wished she could tell you just how much she loved you. The day Kie had realized she was in love with her best friend was a bit of a stressful one. Kie was a firm believer of the “No Pogue on Pogue macking rule”. Not only did she believe it would change everything if broken, she also didn’t want to have a reason to be tied down to the Outer Banks. She loved her friends, her family, and her life on the island but she knew she was capable of so much more. Deep down in her heart she knew that she was meant to travel the world. That the best way for her to succeed was to get out of the Outer Banks and into the world.

But then one day she looked into your eyes and knew she loved you. That she was in love with you.

You were friends with the Pogues before she’d joined the group but you were the first one she met. You met the rest of the Pogues through JJ, and then had integrated Kie into the group after you started working at The Wreck.

After the betrayal of Sarah Cameron and the pain she went through being ostracized by her entire school, meeting you and then the boys had been her saving grace. Sure you weren’t jumping to your feet to try and help baby sea turtles into the ocean, but you always listened to her. You understood her.

“I mean everyone’s freaking out about plastic straws but the cups are like...more plastic,” you added to her rant and she nodded enthusiastically.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying!”

She was pretty much convinced the two of you were soulmates the day you had played her a playlist that you made just for her.

Yet even though she was so head over heels in love there was too many reasons why she couldn’t tell you.

One of the biggest reasons was your lack of faith in love and relationships. Convincing you that falling in love and being in love was a good thing proved to be a difficult feat. You’d been hurt so much by the concept of love that you’d moved past the point of thinking you’d ever fall in love. You left it behind and believed wholeheartedly that it wasn’t something meant for you. You didn’t believe in marriage and didn’t believe that you would ever find that person. You’d stopped looking and that meant that you couldn’t and wouldn’t see Kie in the way she wished you would.

“Yo (Y/N)!”

You and your friends turned at that and Kie watched you grin as you ran up to the boy who called you. You jumped into his arms and Kie bit her lip.

“Dude! What the fuck is up?!” You yelled as the boy laughed and let you down. You were jumping around excitedly, “Yo when did you get home?”

“Yesterday.”

“Who’s that?” Kie asked JJ and the boy turned to look at what she was talking about.

“Huh? Oh that’s Quincy, he graduated last year I think? Went to the Navy or something, him and (Y/N) were really close.”

“Oh.”

Kie wondered why she never heard about Quincy.

“Kie!!!” You waved her over and Kie pushed down that weird feeling that was rising up and hid it with a smile. She moved to stand by you and tried not preen when you took her hand in yours, intertwining your fingers and holding on tight. She hoped that Quincy would conclude that she was yours. (You may not have been hers, but she was wholeheartedly yours).

“Kie this Quincy. He was my fuckin plug before he left,” you laughed and Quincy crossed his arms and gave you a look. Kie felt a little relieved but then thought about this.

“Didn’t you start smoking when you were like...in middle school?” Kie asked and Quincy laughed while you shrugged.

“Yeah, can you imagine how I felt seeing this 12 year old asking me if I sold?”

Kie tried not to cringe. You’d been smoking for way longer than she’d known you. Your tolerance surpassed JJ, likely because of your lack of tolerance breaks. Kie could argue that at least you’d only smoked weed and hadn’t dove into other, harder drugs. The one time you had, Kie nearly had a heart attack and the boys almost killed a boy for urging you to take it.

You’d told her once that you just really liked how being high made you feel. The strain you smoked made you feel relaxed. It eased your mind and your body.

You told her that you started smoking after your parents separated. They’d fallen out of love and decided that rather than being adults and dealing with their issues themselves, they’d put the weight and stress of their problems onto your shoulders. A year later you had decided you were going to quit because you’d fallen in love with your boyfriend of a year and a half. You nearly did stop getting high, but then your boyfriend broke up with you, didn’t tell you you why, and then ghosted you.

3 days later he’d posted about his new girlfriend (he’d reassured you nothing was going on between them when you were together. The time stamp of the filtered picture told you and everyone else otherwise).

Kie wanted to spite the people who’d led to the walls you built around your heart.

You had guided Kie and Quincy back over to the other Pogues and Kie couldn’t help but cling to you that night. She didn’t like Quincy’s familiarity with you. It was kind of childish really but it’d been a while since you’d looked eager to interact with anybody who weren’t the Pogues. Kie’s heart skipped a beat when she realized how absolutely ok you were with her holding and touching you.

“Hey...(Y/N)?”

“Hmm..?”

The two of you were laying in her bed. The kegger had ended some time ago and though the two of you would’ve usually stayed at the Chateau with the boys, she’d decided she wanted to spend the rest of her night alone with you. She’d appreciated Quincy taking the two of you to her house.

“You really don’t think you’re going to get married?” she questioned quietly and she watched you open your eyes and look into her own.

“Hm...Yeah. Probably not,” you told her honestly.

“Why not?”

“...I don’t know. I don’t think I’d want to commit to someone that much. Plus...I don’t think anyone would wanna commit to being with me either.”

Kie would.

“But what if someone loves you...so so much, but you just won’t open yourself up to them? Would you really risk losing that before you even know it?”

You stayed silent at that. This was something that constantly went through your mind. sometimes you thought about those “what if” moments constantly. What if you’d given that boy a chance? Would you be in love with him now? Would the two of you be happy?

Yet you also thought: but maybe the two of you would be miserable instead. Maybe it would just lead to more pain.

“I don’t know if I could deal with being hurt because of love again.”

“...Ok...”

The two of you eventually drifted off to sleep. Kie’s chest hurt but she dreamt about kissing you.

Kie sometimes wished that she could be the one to bring your heart out of its hiding place. She wanted to be the person that you were willing to finally love. She wanted you to toss aside the risk of getting hurt because she’d make it clear to you that she would never hurt you.

JJ had gotten too high once, and had told her that you and him sometimes went to the dock and just sat there in silence. That the two of you would allow your worries to ease just by being beside one another and that you both knew that even without talking, or venting, or even smoking, you understood how JJ felt and JJ understood how you felt.

Kie wanted that.

She wished she didn’t have to push so hard for you to feel comfort in her, but she would continue pushing nonetheless. Despite how close the two of you were as friends, vulnerable moments were rare with you. 

“Kie, I need you to leave this alone ok? It’s seriously not any of your business,” you’d tried to shake her off and she only became angrier. The boys had shuffled out of the room the moment you’d walked in with Kie yelling at you.

She had went to pick you up and caught you snorting a line of...something, in your room.

“None of my business!? I can’t just let you hurt yourself like this (Y/N)!”

“Kie you smoke with me! Fucking weed is killing me just as much as any other drug would! If you cared so much then don’t cherry pick what you decide to care about!”

“Don’t ever tell me how I feel!”

“God you’re not my fucking mom Kie, just stop!”

“No (Y/N)!”

You’d stormed off after that argument. Out of all the people in your life you thought Kie would be the last person the chastise you for anything you did. You thought she understood. Kie felt terrible when you didn’t come around to the Chateau or even talk to her and the Pogues for the rest of the day. Kie’s heart was in your hands and you were squeezing.

The next day, Kie had bursted into your room crying.

“You can’t be mad at me for just wanting you to be ok...” she sobbed and you held her tight to you. 

“I know Kie, I know. I’m sorry,” you mumbled into her hair before you gave her a kiss on the forehead. She pulled back to look at you and she took in the worried expression on your face. She was hyper aware of the feeling of your thumbs stroking her cheek. Kie shut her eyes and leaned forward to press her lips onto yours.

Her heart broke into a million pieces when you gasped and backed away.

“Oh my god...” Kie sobbed and stood from where the two of you had clung to each other on your bed, “I’m sorry-I just..I’m gonna go-” 

You couldn’t say a word as you watched Kie rush out of your room.

“Fuck!” she yelled before the door slammed shut.

part 2...?

[ad1thi]

Bruised, Not Broken - CHP 2

...i may have forgotten to cross-post on here again, so im rectifying that!! the next chapter will be out in a couple of days!! (as long as i don’t forget)

//

chapter 2/? || also on ao3

//

She wakes up a couple hours after they’ve checked into the motel.

It’d been interesting checking in: James pillowing her head in the crook of his neck and carrying her out of the truck bridal style to the motel reception; and trying his best to convince the pimple-faced teenager who’d drawn the unlikely straw for the night shift that she was his girlfriend and James simply didn’t want to wake her. His normal guy wasn't behind the register, and it made the whole thing more complicated than it needed to be.

There was a minute when James wondered if it was easier to just shoot the kid and be done with it, but then the keys were slid across the desk and he turned back to his phone, apparently no longer interested in what James was doing with an unconscious woman in his hands.

The room they’ve been given is a couple floors above the reception, and ordinarily James would prefer a room on the ground floor, because they were easier to both enter and escape from; but this particular room overlooks the parking lot and the entrance to the motel, so he’s still got a couple of good vantage points if he needs them.

He’s left the woman on the bed, rearranging her and draping the thread-bare blanket over her body before slowly easing her out of his jacket. He doesn’t like leaving her alone, especially when she’s not even in a state to look after herself should she need to - but James needs to go back to the truck and grab his stuff.

He also needs to make a trip to the nearest shops, because he hasn’t packed for more than a day’s trip. He’s okay with wearing the same clothes over and over, but he needs to grab a couple pairs of briefs and boxers if he’s going to get through this trip. He leaves one of his guns on the bedside table; loaded but with the safety on and locks the door on his way out, to make sure that nobody can get in without his say so.

He knows that she’s awake when he gets back, because he unlocks the door to see her sitting up, blankets pooled loosely around her waist, and the t-shirt she’s got on doing nothing to hide the way that she’s shivering.

Old instincts die hard though, because the first thing that James notices isn’t that she’s awake, or the stiff way she’s holding herself, likely from all her injuries.

The first thing James notices is the gun that she’s holding; pointed directly at him.

The key jingles lightly where it’s nestled in the lock as James slowly puts the bags he’s holding down on the floor, and then straightens himself just as slowly. He’s been around victims before, and Rule Number 1 is always the same: No sudden movements.

He lifts his hands up near his shoulders, palms facing her, in a facsimile of surrender, and once he’s sure that she’s recognised the move for what it is, asks in a low voice, “You want to put that gun down, doll? You could hurt someone with it.”

Her grip on the gun loosens imperceptibly, but she doesn’t lower it.

“That’s the plan,” she shoots back, and oh, she’s got a pretty voice, “Unless you can give me some sort of reason why I shouldn’t.”

James shrugs, “You’re in a strange place, barely clothed, and I’m a strange man who just let myself into this room. You’ve got no reason not to shoot me doll.”

Her eyes narrow at that, “You’re not helping yourself here.”

“Can I step in? I don’t want to get the cold air in. You’re shivering enough that I’m worried you’re going to collapse if it gets any colder here.”

She gestures with the gun, and James takes a couple of steps forward, nudging his bags with his feet and fishing the key out of the lock before kicking the door shut with his heel.

“I’m not trying to help myself here,” he continues, “I’m trying to help you. You got no reason to trust me. From the looks of it, you got no reason to trust anybody for a real long time. I can tell you that you can trust me, but me and you both know that my words mean nothing to you. My actions on the other hand, well I’m hoping those might convince you.”

“You want to take that gun and run? I’m gonna let you do that. Hell, I’ll give you the keys to my truck too, make things easier on you. But I’ve got a job; and that’s keeping you alive until your piece of shit husband’s arrested. I’m gonna do that job with or without your trust, because I don’t need your trust to keep you alive.”

“So no,” he runs his hands through his hair, “I’m not trying to help myself here. I’m trying to help you. And helping you means telling you the truth, no matter what.”

For a couple of minutes, she’s silent, staring at him down the barrel of the gun.

If he wanted to, James could rip it out of her hand and have her on her back in seconds, completely defenceless. He could pull out the gun he’s got resting in the small of his back and fire a warning shot, not close enough to injure anything but something that’ll make her flinch. Given the way her hands are shaking, it’s entirely likely that James could just duck and she’d miss him entirely.

Pointing the gun at him isn’t about her having the upper hand. She doesn’t have the upper hand, not with his training, his years in combat, his expertise. From the moment James stepped into the motel room, he’s had the upper hand.

No, pointing the gun at him is about her thinking she has the upper hand; about her taking back control of her life, having some semblance of independence and security. James left the gun on the bedside table for that very reason.

Granted, he didn’t expect her to wake up in the time that he was gone, nor did he expect that he’d been on the business end of the gun, but the end result is the same: she’s in a position where she thinks she can defend herself, where she feels like she’s the powerful one for once.

James is willing to risk getting shot for that.

Eventually, she sets down the gun, resting it on her lap but not letting her grip on it fully lax. Almost as if she’s coming down from an adrenaline high, she realises how cold she is, and pulls the blanket to cover her chest and shoulders, shifting her hips down the bed to make herself more comfortable.

James waits for a beat to see if she’s going to say anything, before picking up his bags and making his way across the room. He sets his duffel bag on the desk, testing it lightly to make sure it’ll hold the weight of his bag when it creaks, and then sets down his shopping on the floor right next to it.

He squats down to his knees, and fishes out the brown paper bag, tossing it onto the bed. She eyes it warily, before a hand sticks out of the blanket to grab it.

“It’s a cheese-burger and fries,” he offers, and her eyes widen slightly, “It’s a bit cold now, but I figured you’d be hungry whenever you woke up.”

“You’re his friend, aren’t you?” she says between bites of fries, stuffing her mouth with them like she’s never seen them before. Given her stick figure, James would put money on the fact that it has in fact been ages since she’s indulged in anything other than a salad, “The one he told me about. You’re that retired assassin.”

James frowns, “Friend might be stretching it. But yeah, I’m the one he told you about. James.”

He settles on the edge of the bed, for no other reason than there’s nowhere else to sit but the bed, and when he sticks his hand out; she covers it with her own.

“Toni,” she swallows around a couple of fries, “I don’t know what he told me about you, but my name’s Toni.”

“He didn’t tell me anything about you doll,” James huffs, “Didn’t even tell me you were a person. I just got a call in the dead of the night telling me that I had cargo to move. ‘Bout lost my shit when I found out my cargo was you, thought I was meant to kill you.”

“Why didn’t you?” Toni asks curiously, and James has to consciously stop himself from gripping the bed sheets hard enough to tear because nobody should sound so cavalier about their own death.

“I don’t do that stuff anymore. I only got into it because there’s not much jobs for a banged up vet and I needed something to pay the bills, but the minute I earned enough to keep me comfortable? I got out of that life. Didn’t like killing people when I was in the Army, and I didn’t like killing people when I was out of it.”

Toni’s moved onto the cheeseburger, and she hums around it, “He said you were like that.”

“Like what?”

“Honourable,” she licks at her lips to catch the crumbs, “He said you were honourable.”

At that, James smiles, “I’m a lot of things doll, honourable ain’t one of them.”

“You just helped a girl you don’t even know escape halfway across the country. You put a gun on my bedside table, because you wanted me to be able to defend myself, and you didn’t even flinch when I turned it on you.” She waves her half eaten cheeseburger, “You went out and got me food, on the off-chance that I might be hungry.”

“Dishonourable men don’t do that. Trust me, I would know.”

James swallows thickly, around the lump that’s built up in his throat. It’s been a long time since someone called him honourable, had a kind word to say about him - and then there’s Toni.

“I got you some clothes,” he says in lieu of an actual response, “I don’t know what your size is, so if something doesn’t fit right, just let me know and I’ll go get something new. But I figured you’d want to change into something more than..” he trails off, gesturing at her to convey what he means.

“We're not going to be here for long, no more than a night, but the shower’s yours if you want to use it. I’ll shower in the morning before we head out.”

Toni nods, clearly nonplussed by the sudden topic change, but she slips out of bed and walks over to where James is pointing at a plastic bag of clothes, rummaging through them till she pulls out a pair of trousers and a long sleeved t-shirt.

“I couldn’t find any good jacket, but there’s a thrift store a couple miles from here that I figured we could stop at tomorrow. Until then, you’re welcome to use mine.”

“I’m just gonna - “ Toni gestures behind her at the bathroom, and James averts his eyes as she walks past him to go in. Now that she’s conscious, he’s suddenly much more aware of her state of undress; and he’s not about to ruin all the progress he’s just made for her.

He keeps his eyes trained on the floor until he hears the water turn on; then pulls out his phone to start looking up the quickest way to get to Natasha’s place.

tbc

tagging a few people who were interested in this: @favreaus, @lovelyanthony, @the-pasta-monster, @warmachinesocks

[citizen-l]

03. Dinner

Despite everything being white, the food was delicious. Apparently it was tradition that every weekend, if there were no other engagements, they would all gather in one of their places, usually it was Chen and Minseok's apartment since it was away from campus. 

"Why does it have to be outside campus?" Chanyeol asked while biting into white asparagus. 

"Baek, you wanna explain?" Minseok laughed.

"Loud music," Baekhyun said quickly and took a sip of water. The music in the background was some mild trap beats, pretty chill.

"You mean loud moaning," Jongin mumbled from the side and Baekhyun choked on water, which earned Jongin an upside on the head.

"Let's not make our new guest think we're savages!" exclaimed Poe's wife, Chanyeol couldn't remember her name. 

"Well, now that you've mentioned, it'd be more awkward if we didn't explain it," Chen laughed. 

"We tend to go a little wild, Chanyeol," Poe said. "Especially after a sufficient amount of drinks."

"I need a drink for this," Baekhyun sighed and got up. 

"Have some wine," another ghost smirked. 

"Not that," Baekhyun said, going into the kitchen and grabbing a beer from the fridge. 

"It was probably our second or third gathering, and back then we had some...entertaining ideas," Chen explained. 

"We thought it'd be fun to have a BDSM themed party," Minseok said bluntly. "And someone had the brilliant idea to get me drunk."

"How were we supposed to know you could down a keg without feeling tipsy?" Chen whined. 

"Long story short, everyone ended up drunk except Minseok, and we took our theme a bit too seriously...in Baekhyun's apartment."

"Wait," Chanyeol didn't know if he wanted to laugh or be horrified. "Where was Sehun?"

Baekhyun was still in the kitchen with his back to everyone, his ears redder than his pink hair. 

"The roommate?" Chen asked. "Probably at some party. It was during Halloween, I think."

"Aren't you gonna tell him the worst part?" Baekhyun returned with his beer. "How the neighbors called the cops and we had to explain why we were dressed in harness and handcuffs?"

Chanyeol choked on the potato. 

"It was Halloween," Chen said innocently. 

"Or why someone was bound to the bed," Minseok raised a brow at Chen. 

"Role play."

"Yeah, it didn't end well, and I'm never going through that again," Baekhyun said. "You wanna have your sexcapades, you can have it in your own apartment."

"If I remember correctly," Chen started, but was soon silenced with a kick under the table by Baekhyun.

Well, that was...interesting.

“Don’t worry, we try not to go overboard after that incident,” Chen reassured Chanyeol.

“Sure,” Jongin grumbled, and everyone laughed.

“Oh, that was all your fault,” Poe said. “Jongin’s initiation was legendary.”

“Initiation?” Chanyeol was confused, they sounded like a cult.

“Yeah, Jongin wasn’t part of our original friend circle,” Minseok explained. “Some of them left after the first few parties, but we loved this, so we thought why not invite more people who’d like this.”

“And,” Chen added. “We just wanted to make more friends who are like us.”

“I was nothing like you lot,” Jongin said in the most dramatic way possible, which only proved Chen’s point.

“Well, we thought differently,” Baekhyun said. “And he was already friends with us in class so he was the perfect candidate.”

“It feels like you wanted him to join your cult,” Chanyeol said and Baekhyun’s cheeks lit up with a smile.

“That’s exactly what it was!” Jongin said exasperatedly. “They lured me in, invited me to a party telling me they wanted to get to know me more, and I thought I was this special guy who caught the eyes of his seniors.”

“Jongin, you are a special guy!” Chen lifted his glass.

“Well, turns out,” Jongin ignored the interruption. “They thought it’d be fun to have a horror themed party, for a guy who can’t even tolerate the idea of ghosts.”

“Oh man, I still remember your screams,” Medusa laughed.

“And remember how he thought Taemin was a real ghost because of his long hair and make up,” the brunette, Soyeon, wiped a tear.

“I was kinda proud of that performance,” Lucifer, Taemin, smiled. “I just wish we recorded it all.”

“Thank god, nobody thought of it,” Jongin gulped down his wine.

They went on with their banters and laughter, Chanyeol honestly felt special that they were willing to share this with him. He genuinely enjoyed being there among this eccentric group of people. None of his other friends were like this, this wasn’t the usual crowd he hung out with. His usual friends were music people, and they were usually busy mixing tapes, participating in recitals, or playing a gig at some quaint bar on weekends. He occasionally saw them at parties on campus outside of class, or at times when they had group projects. None as close enough to call them up for a weekend get together.

Or maybe Chanyeol wasn’t the type of person who got close to people.

It wasn’t a lie that he usually avoided people and large gatherings. Sehun usually took matters into his own hands to get Chanyeol out of his room and into the world. But lately, Sehun was too preoccupied with Junmyeon to have time for his best friend. And it wasn’t that Chanyeol minded, per se. It was just that, he now realized he never felt like he actually enjoyed the company of others as much as he was enjoying this dinner party.

“Alright, time for cake,” Baekhyun said.

“I’ll get them,” Chanyeol said before Baekhyun got up. The cakes were heavy after all the decorating was done. And even though Baekhyun made sure to hide his bandage under the frills of his shirt, Chanyeol hadn’t forgotten.

“I’ll help,” Chen said and came with Chanyeol to the kitchen. “You having fun?”

Chanyeol at first didn’t realize Chen was talking to him until he saw Peter Pan waiting for him to answer. “Oh yeah, not what I was expecting when I was invited, but this is really nice.”

“I’m glad,” Chen brought out small plates.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Chanyeol waited as Chen started to cut the cakes. “Why did you guys invite me?”

“Why do you ask?” Chen laughed.

“Well, because, from what I gathered, you guys don’t invite just anyone on a whim to this party,” Chanyeol said. “This is, I think, very important to all of you. And I’m a stranger, practically.”

“The fact that you understand is reason enough to think inviting you was a great decision,” Chen said. “Yes, this is important. But we’re not a cult, despite how we might act sometimes. And we like making new friends.”

Chanyeol can understand that, but it still felt like a weak explanation.

“There is also the fact that you saved Baek, and he wouldn’t shut up about you,” Chen laughed.

Chanyeol stopped and stared. Okay?

“Half of us actually thought he was making shit up after what happened yesterday,” Chen said. “So when you showed up, we just couldn’t contain our curiosity about you, I guess.”

“What happened yesterday? You mean me showing up at Baekhyun’s place and scaring him half to death which led to everything else?” Chanyeol said while gathering the plates and forks.

“Uh, yeah, crazy chain of events,” Chen laughed after a while. “Let’s go.”

“You didn’t think it was going to be over so soon, did you?” 

Of course he did. Chanyeol didn’t think this dinner party would be anything more than a dinner party. Apparently, he was wrong.

They got on their coats and decided to walk a few blocks down to another place. Chanyeol kind of enjoyed the procession, people staring while trying to be discreet about it but failing. A group of people in white clothes, white coats, walking down the sidewalk without a care, laughing and talking as if nobody else is on the street. Chanyeol was somewhat jealous, that kinda confidence only came with being surrounded by supportive and like-minded people.

“You okay? Enjoying yourself?” Baekhyun lightly jabbed an elbow to his side.

“Yeah, you?” Chanyeol asked. “How’s your hand?”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s fine. I hope my friends didn’t scare you or anything. They can be a bit much sometimes.”

“Nah, they’re pretty amazing people. You have cool friends,” Chanyeol said and watched Baekhyun’s cheeks redden as he smiled. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Baekhyun laughed. “Wait till the night is over, I’d feel lucky if you don’t run away embarrassed.”

“Why would I be embarrassed?” 

The place they arrived at was some kind of a club. Rainbow lights hung under an open space, the bar at one end seemed too well stocked and overcrowded. Chanyeol didn’t know what this was, but he loved it. The music was upbeat, but not too loud or annoying, he appreciated good music. People danced, some sat in garden chairs around small tables. This felt like a backyard turned into a nightclub, but Chanyeol loved the relaxed vibe.

“Hey! How was the party?” The bartender asked before Soyeon practically jumped over the bar to kiss him.

“Ugh get a room,” Jongin scrunched his nose and moved over to the dance floor.

There was definitely something in his voice, Chanyeol would have to be deaf to not notice.

“They used to date,” Baekhyun whispered beside him. “Jongin and Lay, didn’t work out.”

Judging by the blissed out smile Lay the bartender was giving Soyeon, he was pretty okay with things not working out with Jongin. Jongin, evidently, was not. But he didn’t linger, laughing and pulling the Medusa, Jessi, into a spin towards the dance floor. Jessi in turn grabbed Baekhyun and before Chanyeol knew it, he was sitting with Poe and his bride at a table nursing a beer and watching people laugh and dance in all their white glory.

“So, how did you like our party?” Poe’s wife, Lisa, asked in conversation.

“Not what I expected,” Chanyeol said. “But it was very enjoyable, thank you for having me.”

“I was a bit skeptical about you, not gonna lie,” Poe asked, Chanyeol couldn’t remember his name, he wasn’t at the rehearsal earlier that day. “The last time Baekhyun brought someone, it was a bit of a disaster.”

“We don’t talk about it,” Lisa joked. “And after Baekhyun told us what happened with you last night, we were sort of too eager to know who you were. Minseok legit thought Baek made you up.”

“Yeah, he does that a lot,” Poe said. “Bit of a drama queen. So how long have you two been dating?”

Chanyeol spat out his beer, coughing ridiculously. He genuinely did not see that coming.

“Uh, we’re not, we’re not together, or dating, or anything like that,” Chanyeol said once he drank some water from the bottle Lisa gave him.

“But, you were at his place, I thought…”

“No, nothing like that,” Chanyeol said. “His roommate is my friend, Sehun, he’s dating my roommate. And...yeah.”

How to say you got kicked out of your own place because two people wanted to bang without being embarrassed? You couldn’t. Chanyeol hoped he didn’t have to elaborate further.

“Oh! So that’s why Baek said he got scared when you showed up out of the blue,” Lisa laughed. “We just thought you surprised him after your date tomorrow.”

“Nah, I wasn’t his date. I was told he would be out so I would spend the night alone in Sehun’s room. Didn’t think he’d be home.”

Poe and Lisa exchanged some worried glances but they didn’t say anything further. Chanyeol sipped his beer and tried not to be too obvious about watching two Victorian ghosts dancing with Medusa.

“You don’t dance?” Baekhyun asked as he sat down beside Chanyeol.

“Not if I can help it,” Chanyeol said.

“Alright, Darcy,” Baekhyun laughed.

“Who?”

“So what have you been doing sitting here all alone?”

It had been a while since Poe and Lisa went on to dance, asking Chanyeol to join a few times but leaving eventually when he wasn’t budging.

“Just enjoying the scene, vibing. This place is pretty cool, I like the music,” Chanyeol said.

“Yeah, Lay makes music like you, he’s older though, maybe two years your senior. He’d have joined the dinner if he didn’t have to take up an emergency shift tonight.”

“So how many are part of the cult?” Chanyeol asked jokingly, getting a giggle out of Baekhyun. Worth it.

“There’s me, Minseok, and Jongdae, I mean Chen. We’re the originals,” Baekhyun giggled again. “Then Jessi, Lisa, Taemin, Lay. We brought in Jongin, Lisa brought in her boyfriend Justin. And Lay invited Soyeon.”

“And you invited me,” Chanyeol said.

“Yeah. There were a few more, they didn’t quite vibe with us much, left after a while.”

“Justin said you brought someone else long ago,” Chanyeol said before he could stop himself. He really didn’t plan to ask, he didn’t want to overstep, especially after Lisa said they don’t talk about it. But he couldn’t help it. And judging by the stiffness of Baekhyun’s shoulders, he made a mistake. He tried to lessen the damage. “Did they leave as well?”

“Uh, yeah, we didn’t really have...he had a falling out with us. So we sort of stopped interacting.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be, he was a little bitch.”

Baekhyun didn’t say anything afterward, so Chanyeol decided to change the subject.

“So, you guys come here every week?”

“No, not really. Depends. If we decide to drink too much, we usually stay over and don’t go out. If there is something special going on, like the carnival a few weeks back, we usually go for a visit. Tonight was a special occasion, your initiation, and also, Lay missed the dinner, so Minseok wanted to bring him some food and cake.”

“My initiation,” the words finally registered. “Does that mean I’m part of the cult now?”

“It’s not a cult, don’t be dramatic,” Baekhyun laughed. “But yes, you’re part of it, which means you’ll be invited to all future dinners, unless you don’t want to be a participant, which is cool too. No pressure. But if you do decide to join, you might want to be more serious about the themes. Chen said Minseok is planning something big for the winter solstice, maybe a Greek Mythology theme. Dibs on Apollo, if that happens.”

“Okay.”

“You think we’re crazy.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Chanyeol said honestly. Eccentric, yes. Not crazy, though. It was actually kinda interesting, fun too. And every one of these people that Chanyeol got to talk to seemed very intelligent so far. They had arguments about Euripides and Bernard Shaw while eating cake, and Chanyeol enjoyed it even though he couldn’t understand one bit what was going on.

“It’s a getaway,” Baekhyun asked as he watched his friends dance and laugh and make fun of each other. “This started as a sort of intervention, a gathering to talk out problems and be civil about it, have dinner, talk things out, have fun. And now it’s like we’re committed. I missed maybe two dinners since we started this last year, and both times I felt like crap afterwards. It’s become a confort.”

It reminded Chanyeol of family brunches on weekends, except there usually weren’t much comfort these days. But he understood the sentiment. And to be invited to be a part of it was a huge deal. To be invited by Baekhyun at that, who has not invited anyone except him and one other person, that person turning out to be not the friend they hoped for, Chanyeol felt some pressure about making a good impression just so Baekhyun won’t have a hard time with his friends.

“I hope you friends didn’t dislike me,” Chanyeol said.

“Oh, trust me, they liked you,” Baekhyun said. “They threatened to not let me in without you next time. It’s an empty threat, don’t worry. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Right. Well, now, Chanyeol sort of wanted to attend dinner next week. Maybe he can bring some of his famous savory dishes.

It should alarm Chanyeol that he was thinking about cooking for a dozen people just to attend a dinner so Baekhyun didn’t look bad to his friends. It should alarm him, but he liked spending time with them, with Baekhyun. Enough to dress up again and cook food.

Either something was definitely wrong with him, or that one kiss was getting to his head.

Ask him, a voice in his head screamed at him. Ask him!

But what would Baekhyun answer? 

It was just to thank him for taking care of Baekhyun?

The kiss wasn’t that heated, if Chanyeol was being honest with himself. A chaste goodbye kiss. That tasted like strawberries.

“Chanyeol?” Baekhyun asked, and it looked like he’d been calling his name for a while now. “How much did you drink?” He laughed.

“Not much,” Chanyeol said.

“Your face looks pretty red, you sure you’re not drunk?”

“I’m sure,” Chanyeol wasn’t even tipsy. He’d just been daydreaming about a stupid kiss.

“Well, it’s pretty late. Everyone else is staying over so they’ll probably be here another hour or so. Do you want to stay?”

“Are you leaving?” Chanyeol asked and Baekhyun nodded. “You’re not staying over. Because of me?”

“No, I just like my bed,” Baekhyun said. “I can drop you off if you don’t want to stay here anymore.”

“Okay.”

Maybe Chanyeol was a tiny bit tipsy, that was the only reason he could come up with to explain why he was thinking about Baekhyun’s bed.

“Are you sure you’re sober enough to drive though?” Chanyeol asked when he could think straight again.

“Yeah, don’t worry, I just had one beer tonight, I don’t drink much. Lightweight.”

They said their goodbyes and walked over to the apartment to get the car. They were on the road when Chanyeol got a text from Sehun. 

“Stay over at my place, Baek will let you in.”

For some reason, the text made Chanyeol incredibly angry. The nerve! Sehun barely responded to any of Chanyeol’s texts or calls the whole day, and then, he had the nerve to tell Chanyeol that he couldn’t stay at his own home because… 

“Uh, not to sound rude, but would it be okay if I stayed over at your place tonight?”

“Your roommate and Sehun at it again?” Baekhyun laughed.

Chanyeol just sighed. He was getting too tired of Junmyeon and Sehun acting like teenagers. If they wanted to spend every night together, they might as well move in together and leave Chanyeol his meager place.

“Don’t worry, you can stay over.”

Chanyeol sighed again, for a different reason.

[chocoholicannanymous]

(Take) These Broken Wings (Glee) 8/?

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, and you couldn’t pay me enough to take responsibility for it.

Post BIOTA: For someone who’d claimed to be his friend Blaine’s behavior sure left a lot to wish for. Hurt and angry Kurt begins to question his situation – and what he can do to change it.

POV: Kurt Hummel. Pairings: kurtofsky, blainchel. Slightly shady relationship-consent. Not Blaine friendly (no suprise at all).

So, not only do you get another chapter already (I know, what happened?) but it’s a long one. You’re welcome. Here’s hoping I can keep this up!

Previous: Part 7, Part 6, Part 5, Part 4, Part 3,  Part 2b, Part 2a, Part 1

8/?

“Mr Schue? Before we get started I have an announcement I'd like to share.”

While most of the New Directions grumbled Rachel ignored them and stood up. Kurt on his part was looking sharply at her, because something was off. Not only had Rachel not mentioned having a song, she hadn't left the seats to stand by the piano.

Yeah, something was up.

“Blaine and I have broken up. I listened to what you were saying, and I have been thinking hard about it, and the truth is that being in rival show choirs was just too big of a stressor on our relationship as was the fact that us being a couple made it so that you all couldn't trust me. It was a hard decision, but I couldn't do anything else. We're going to try and be friends still, of course, but that's all.

“Thank you for listening to me, and for showing me understanding in these trying times.”

With that she sat down, looking demure, and Kurt shook his head a little – a move he got away with only by sitting in the back row.

The only surprising thing here – besides Rachel not taking the opportunity to perform – was how long the breakup had taken. There had even been a betting pool, and “blainchel” (which really, it sounded like a venereal disease) had surpassed every single bet.

Even Santana, who Kurt felt should have been the most supportive in regards to bisexuality, had put them down at two weeks at the most.

He hadn't participated himself, for a number of reason, and in the end was probably the least surprised one.

Yes, Blaine and Rachel had been a very bad fit, but they'd also had a lot of reasons to stay together. Rachel hadn't exactly been subtle in her attempts to rub her new boyfriend in Finn's face, and Blaine... Well, Blaine had had something to prove hadn't he? After all Kurt, had basically called his attempt at dating Rachel a sham and Blaine had not liked that.

There was also Blaine's hints to Burt Hummel that his own dad had tried to make him straight.

Blaine definitely had something to gain from a continued relationship with a girl.

Oh, Rachel probably hadn't been the best choice for that, seeing as the two were not all that compatible. They were just too similar, equally eager for the spotlight, equally needy for attention.

Even if Blaine had decided he was attracted to girls- and Kurt still wasn't sure that was the case – Rachel would always be too occupied with her own need to be admired to give Blaine what he needed.

Case in point? It had taken one week for Rachel to announce a breakup after having being told off for Blaine being a risk for the New Directions. One. Week. She'd spent their entire relationship telling everyone who would stand still – and quite possibly a few that wouldn't – that her relationship with Blaine was all but written in the stars, as would their names be in the future. Together, of course, as they were just such a suited couple, both with the same dreams and ambitions and goals.

And yet as soon as Rachel thought said relationship was risking her solos Blaine was gone. In a fit of cruelty Kurt thought that they both had been looking more for a “biggest fan” than a partner.

Regardless, they were over now and Kurt hoped that it meant he wouldn't have to be subjected to Blaine again.

He cleared his mind of them both – such a waste of valuable seconds – and instead switched from pretending to listen to Mr Schue to actually doing so as the man described the latest development in their quest to not fuck up at Nationals. Oh, he didn't it call it that, but Kurt was fairly adept at translating Mr Scue-isms to reality by now.

Things are about to become interesting...

Kurt perked up and watched Rachel like a hawk. It would be very telling how she reacted to what Mr Schue was about to say – or at least, what Kurt believed the man was about to say based.

“So! To that end I've recruited some more members. Now, they won't be here until next week since I wanted to give you guys a heads up first, and I hope you'll welcome them.”

Eight Cheerios, two of them guys. Five Titans. Exactly the kind of people who never would have signed up on their own, and who most of the Glee kids would never want to sign up.

Everyone turned to stare at Rachel and when she stayed quiet – though, Kurt thought, not without a fight – they looked at him instead.

“What? Are you waiting for me to protest or what, faint in fear or something? We need the numbers, and it's not like we've done that great a job at recruiting on our own. I've worked with the Cheerios and while I can't speak for their singing each and everyone of them mean we can kick our choreography up another notch.

“As for the guys from the Titans... Well. I am going to trust that they're smart enough to not just follow directions – which they clearly managed during the halftime show – but also leave any ideas of bullying outside this room. After all, McKinley's supposed to be free from that now.”

“But, but, Karofsky's one of them!”

Which Kurt already knew. Dave had told him both about being approached and about considering it – It'll look good on college applications. Make me “well rounded” or some shit like that – and Kurt hadn't seen a problem with it. The opposite in fact. After all, Glee had helped turn Finn and Puck around (in varying degrees) and Kurt liked to think that it'd help do the same for more jocks.

“So? I'm sorry, Mercedes, but I am not seeing a problem here. Dave Karofsky has apologized to me. He has made promises to not just me, but to this school, and so far he's kept them. He has been part of my escort around school ever since I came back, and not once has he given me reason to fear him.

“If any of you want to have an issue with him, or any one of the others, joining us that's your right. Just don't expect to use me as a weapon in that fight. Because to be frank? Right now Dave Karofsky has done more to balance his scales than at least half the people in this room.”

And that shut them all down, just as Kurt had know it would.

Curiously, Rachel didn't say a word the entire time.

Another week and a half went by before the other shoe dropped.

It did so in the form of a phone call.

It wasn't a number from his contact list, but Kurt had thought it familiar so he answered anyway. He regretted it immediately.

“Kurt, hello.”

“Blaine.” Why? What did I do to deserve this?

“I was hoping we'd be able to meet up tomorrow, say at the coffee shop two blocks from Dalton? Would 2 o'clock suit you?”

Kurt had to struggle to make his voice work. Not only was Blaine calling him, but he wanted to meet? Was he asleep? Was this a nightmare brought on as punishment for having had a second slice of cheesecake after dinner? He pinched himself, and no, that hurt.

No such luck then.

“I'm sorry, but I have other plans tomorrow. Besides, I can't see what we would have to say to each other.” I definitely said everything I was willing to last time I saw you.

“Come on, Kurt. Don't be like that. Just come tomorrow.”

“Did you not hear me? I have other plans. I'd say sorry, but I'm actually not. Goodbye Blaine.”

When the doorbell rang shortly after 10 the next morning Kurt considered not opening. Somehow he wouldn't be surprised to find out that Blaine had called Rachel to complain about Kurt being mean, or unreasonable, and that she'd come to lecture him about kicking someone who was already down. The problem was that if it was Rachel then not opening would lead to either her ringing the bell again and again until Finn woke up and came to open or her being a bitch in school.

Neither was appealing, so he sighed and went to open.

Pro: It wasn't Rachel. Con: It was Blaine.

“Good morning Kurt.”

“What are you doing here? I told you I have plans.”

“Well, I knew you weren't being honest about that. Mercedes is at Rachel's, having some girl-time.”

Kurt waited for something more, anything, but nothing came.

“So what, you think I have no one to spend time except those two? Nice. I'm sure you'll be happy to find out that's not true. Also, there is such a thing that having plans on your own.”

“But if you're just doing something on your own then surely that can wait, and you can spend some time with me instead.”

“I suppose it could,” and Blaine's smile practically radiated superiority, “if I was doing something on my own, and if I wanted to spend time with you.”

The smile vanished.

“Kurt.”

It was just his name, but Kurt could hear so many things in it. “I'm disappointed in you.” “You're being ridiculous.” Too bad for Blaine that Kurt's done listening to those silent rebukes.

“I don't understand why you're pushing this. The last time I saw you at Dalton we hadn't spoken in weeks. Because you didn't want to.”

“You hurt me!”

“And I have apologized for that. Publicly even. After, I might add, trying to do so repeatedly. I didn't mean to hurt you, or make you feel like I was some kind of phobic, hateful person.

“You on the other hand meant for the other Warblers to shut me out, didn't you? So I guess we're even. I hurt you, you hurt me.”

“See? That means we can start over!”

“No, it doesn't. That's not something I want in my life, Blaine, that balance of payback. That's not healthy, and it doesn't end. After all, what happened was I said something stupid, which I said because I was hurt and angry, and that then made you hurt and angry, which made you act in a way that made me – again – hurt and angry.

“It's a vicious circle, and not one I want or need in my life.”

“Are you saying we can't be friends again? That we couldn't be...more?”

And wow, that came out of left field. It did explain a few things though, like why Blaine had gone so far as to go to Kurt's home though.

Huh.

Blaine was asking him out? Not that long ago that would have made Kurt deliriously happy, and he would have said yes before Blaine even finished the sentence. Now however, now was...different.

When Blaine had fallen head over heels for Jeremiah he’d serenaded the older boy and talked about marriage – all based on a few coffee dates, that Jeremiah hadn’t even seemed to think of as dates.

When Blaine had dated Rachel he’d done so based on drunken kisses and duets. He’d showed up at McKinley at least twice a week, to take her out for lunch or coffee, and always took her to the movies and Breadstix during the weekends. He’d sung to her as well, both in the choir room and backed up by the Warblers out in the quad.

And Kurt? Kurt got an offer for coffee in Westerville after weeks of silence, which wasn't even presented as a possible date. Only a question if they couldn't be something more than friends – and that much only after Kurt pushed. And there hadn't been even a hint of an apology for Blaine's behavior.

“Really? That's where you're going now? You and Rachel broke up, what? A week and a half, two weeks ago? And now you want to date me?”

“Why? Why now, when you weren't the least bit interested before?”

Blaine opened his mouth, probably to protest, which, no. Not acceptable.

“Don't. Back at Dalton everyone knew I liked you. Hell, you knew I liked you – I told you. But you weren’t interested in me. And that’s okay, really. Not liking someone is your prerogative. Just as everything else you’ve done. Sure, you could have changed your mind, that happens, but why now? You didn’t see me as a potential boyfriend until I left Dalton and moved on.

“So I really have to ask why? Especially since you haven't apologized for a single thing you said and did before I left. In fact, you came here still pushing that I hurt you.

“To be brutally honest, it feels as if you’re trying to guilt me into dating you. I said some things that were hurtful and rude, but I did apologize. You don’t get to hold that over my head for the rest of my life, okay? That’s just not how things work.”

Kurt took a deep breath, trying to reign in his emotions.

“We both messed up. Sure, it’s not a competition, but that’s just the way it is.”

Wait...

The coffee shop Blaine had suggested was one Kurt had been curious to try, and he had hinted at going there several times. Blaine had never wanted to go there though, but now he'd suggested it. Maybe he'd done so to please Kurt, and a couple of months ago that would have made Kurt ecstatic. Now it just made him angry. Also very suspicious. Me thinks there's something rotten in the state of Lima...

“Wait. If you were angling for a date, why make me drive all the way to Westerville? We both live here, and I know you don't usually stay at Dalton during the weekends. So why not ask me to meet up at the Lima Bean? The cinema here is a lot better than you'd think, so why not suggest a movie? Or you could have really signaled that you intended it to be a date and made reservations for dinner at Breadstix. I know you are capable of that.

“You had so many options, and instead you want to go to a coffee shop you dissed repeatedly while we were still on speaking terms and insisted we go to the Lima Bean instead. Why?”

Quiet.

“Tell me, or leave.”

Blaine pouted a little at being questioned, but broke down quickly.

“It wouldn't be fair to Rachel to go on dates here. I just can't do that to her. You know what people are like, what they say to her. What do you think they'd say if her boyfriend went from dating her to seeing another guy?”

Kurt hated to admit it, but Blaine did have a point. He could imagine exactly what people would say much to well. Understanding that didn't mean accepting being given only crumbles though.

“So you're saying...what? That protecting Rachel from possible fallout is more important than making me feel valued? At what point would your breakup be far enough in the past for a date that doesn't mean leaving town? At what point would you stop treating me like your dirty secret?”

Kurt looked at the boy he'd thought was Prince Charming and felt empty. Even as he was asking Kurt out Blaine was putting Rachel's comfort and reputation over his. And apparently that meant he wasn’t going to openly date another boy in Lima. Or was that “openly date Kurt in Lima”? Whichever it was, it still hurt.

“You matter” his dad voice whispered in his head, yet Kurt couldn’t help but feel that he didn’t. Not to Blaine. Because if he did, then surely Blaine wouldn’t act ashamed of him?

All this, after having been strung along and rejected for over six months before finally saying enough.

The sad part, the horrible part? Blaine seemed certain it’d work. Not that Kurt didn’t see why – he had, after all, been absolutely pathetic when it came to begging for Blaine’s attention.

Kurt wasn’t sure what was most pathetic now though: the fact that a part of him still wanted to say yes, just to have a boyfriend, or that the only thing holding him back was the boy who’d bullied him, and who’d sent him running towards Blaine in the first place.

He could see himself accepting Blaine’s proposition, could see himself going out with the other boy, pitifully thankful for someone actually asking him out, and just ignoring all the reasons why he shouldn’t. Sure, he was sort of doing the same when it came to Dave, but there was a difference: Dave wasn’t angling to be his boyfriend. Also, with Dave he had an easy way out. There wouldn’t be one with Blaine – not for him.

He looked at Blaine and shook his head. This was pointless.

“Don't bother answering. I am not going to go out with you regardless. Thanks but no thanks, I guess.”

Blaine's blush increased and he started spluttering out a protest of some kind (at least that's what Kurt interpreted it as.)

“Look. I'd like you to leave now. I have, as I've said repeatedly, plans. I don't want to be late because of you.”

“Late? Are you actually meeting someone? Who?”

“Nice to know you think so low about my ability to find people to socialize with. Not that it's really any of your business, but after everything that had been happening I decided I wanted to try and meet more LGBT youth. I had no idea there were so many people I could connect with around here.”

It had been heady, finding all of these teenagers that could relate to what he had gone through growing up, and who were willing to accept him as he was. Not all of them were out, but that meant less to him these days. Besides, when the lion's part of communication and socializing happened online “out” became a completely different thing.

Of course, he wasn't actually meeting any of them now, but Blaine didn't need – or deserve – to know that he was meeting Dave.

“Really? That's great! I could go with you, it'd be great.”

Sigh. There apparently was no way getting through to Blaine that didn't include a verbal version of a 2 by 4.

“No. I have plans. You are not invited. And quite frankly, I can't imagine anyone of my new acquaintances appreciating someone else tagging along without warning. You see, I learned something really important from you. It was something I already knew, but didn't really get. So, I guess thank you for driving the lesson home.”

“And what lesson was that?” Blaine looked a little cautious, which indicated that yes, he actually had a functioning brain.

“You don't out people. Goodbye Blaine.”

And he closed the door, without slamming it – he was tempted, yes, but the way his luck was running he'd crack it or something.

Kurt waited 15 minutes before leaving, just in case Blaine was standing outside waiting to ambush him. Still, as he pulled out of the driveway he kept an eye out for Blaine's car. And there it was.

It was just so Blaine. He had been told, explicitly, that he wasn't welcome to join Kurt and whoever he was meeting – a person Kurt had hinted pretty heavily wasn't out. And Blaine had just decided none of that mattered because he wanted differently. Selfish bastard. He was going to deserve everything Kurt was planning on raining down on him.

Going to the garage was a detour, and not one Kurt really wanted to spend time on, but it was his best bet when it came to getting away.

It being a Saturday meant that Hummel Tires & Lube was running on a minimal staff, for planned jobs and emergencies only. That meant there was plenty of space for Kurt to pull into the fenced yard and park behind the garage. Next he walked through the building, waving at his dad, and peeked through the window. Yup, there he is. Blaine had parked so that he'd be able to see if Kurt left – or so he thought.

“What are you doing here, buddy? I thought you were meeting up with some of your internet friends?”

“Yeah, I am. Only it seems I picked up a stalker.”

Burt looked at him, sharp and worried.

“Mhm. Blaine – from Dalton, remember? – showed up at the house, and for some reason he thought I should agree to go out with him.”

“I thought you said he wasn't interested like that.”

“Yeah, that's what I thought too. After all, not only did I not even try to be subtle, but in the end I straight out told him. His response to that was – more or less – to start dating Rachel. I haven't really spoken to him since he called me a bully for not being supportive enough of that.

“He froze me out completely after that, even though I tried to apologize so many times, and that didn't change after I left.

“Only now he and Rachel broke up, and apparently Blaine thinks I'm still waiting around for him to notice me. I don't know why, because I'm not that much of a doormat, but he sure seems to think so.”

Burt gave him another sharp look.

“You sure about that? Because to me it looks like you were willing to put up with a lot – not just from him either – to get a boyfriend.”

Kurt blushed. He was well aware of his mistakes. Falling at Blaine's feet again was not going to be one of them though.

“Damned sure, dad. If Blaine hadn't insisted on dating Rachel first, then I probably would have agreed. But now? After being passed over not once, but twice? No thank you. Yes, I want a boyfriend. But I deserve someone who will look at me first, not as a backup once all other options have been explored.”

Because that was how Blaine made him feel. Like he was the living version of “two last people on earth”, and damnit if he didn't matter more than that.

“Okay. That's fair. I'm proud of you for sticking up for yourself. Now, what about stalking?”

“Well, when I told him that not only did I not want to go out with him but I also had plans – which I had told him when he called yesterday – he tried to invite himself along. Then he followed me here. After I told him he wasn't invited to come along, and that I had no intention of outing the person I was meeting.”

Kurt watched his dad's face turn red, and felt a bit guilty. His dad's heart attack wasn't too far back, after all. But. Needs must.

“Want me to talk to him?”

“Would you? I would be so grateful. And if you'd let me go out through the back I'd be even more so.”

Because that was why he had gone there, in the hopes of using the locked back gate few people thought about. Blaine would most likely never guess to its existence, and even if he did Kurt would be able to leave while Burt Hummel gave “the prep school stalker” a piece of his mind.

As Kurt drove off he kept thinking about Blaine's actions over the past 24 hours. It made no sense. Blaine really had treated him like the last resort. The faithful dog that would come crawling back for petting even after being kicked. And that really wasn't Kurt. Except...

He'd thought Blaine and Rachel a bad match because they both wanted to be the center of attention, something neither of them would get from the other. Kurt however had always been so happy to admire Blaine that he'd constituted a fanclub all on his own. And that, right there, held what Kurt saw as the possible explanation as to why Blaine was now looking to date him instead of one of Dalton's mythological gay or bi boys.

Kurt would have – before the shunning – been happy to make Blaine the most important thing in his life. And as he'd been shown over and over again, most people would never have looked at Kurt when Blaine was there.

Thirty minutes later, stretched out on a picknick blanket with a deliciously heavy body pressed against him Kurt smiled into kisses because Dave? Dave would never look at Blaine if Kurt was around.

Monday mornings were always a downer – coming from freedom and peace to McKinley was never fun, not even with the lessened bullying. This Monday however was in the running for most annoying of the year. In one word: Rachel.

She was laying in wait for him at his locker and started her attack as soon as he was within hearing.

“Kurt? Blaine told me he asked you out, and you turned him down? Why would you do something like that? Surely he must have misunderstood you?”

Blaine again. Kurt was beginning to wish for a time machine so he could go back and tell himself to stay as far away from Blaine as possible at all times.

“I was asking myself that same question for a bit, but if he's saying I turned him down then apparently he did get the message.”

She frowned, obviously not pleased.

“Look, Kurt, I know you have all these ideas about love at first sight and all that, but honestly? You have to be realistic. So it took Blaine some time to get to the point of asking you out – but do you really think it’s fair to punish him for that? You should give him a chance. After all, this is Lima – who else is going to–”

“What? ‘Who else is going to go out with me’, was that what you were going to say?”

And why wouldn’t she? This was Rachel Berry. Tact wasn’t one of her strengths – maybe not one of her character traits at all – and neither was empathy. This is Lima, remember? Remember what Dave said about you being his only option?

“Honestly? I know that this is Lima, and I know what that means. Hell, I was sure I’d have to wait until college to get a boyfriend, and you know what? I’m okay with that. I have more respect for myself than to go out with someone just because they ask” or at least I want to have “and I definitely have too much self-respect to go out with a guy that acts like I’m something to be hidden away and he’s only asking me because he’s out of options. You might not care about me and my happiness, Rachel, but I do.

“Yes, I turned Blaine down. Yes, I meant it. And no, I’m not regretting it.

“And frankly? It's more than a little pathetic for Blaine to have his ex try and sell him to someone new – even disregarding everything. It's also not at all attractive.”

The problem with Rachel Berry – be honest, Kurt, one of many problems – was that she was a lot more dangerous than she looked, and she didn't care about casualties as long as she got what she wanted. Well, he was not going to let one of those casualties be Finn.

“No, Quinn isn't cheating on you. I don't care what Rachel says, because unlike her I actually know what's happening. Yes, Quinn is doing something that she's not telling you about. No, that something isn't making out with her ex-boyfriend.”

“Then why isn't she being honest with me about what she's up to?”

“Because it's not her secret to tell. It's not mine either, so don't look at me like that. We all know you have a problem with keeping secrets. Not because you're a gossip, or untrustworthy, but because sometimes you forget who is and who isn't in on something. So, do you think you can trust me when I say that I know what's going on, Rachel's completely wrong, and you have nothing to worry about? Because I promise you, if Quinn was cheating on you I would tell you.

“Rachel's just stirring up shit, hoping that you'll dump Quinn and come back to her now that she and Blaine's over.”

“You promise?”

And Kurt's heart hurt as he looked at the boy that'd become his brother. Finn had believed Rachel's trash-talk because he was so used to being cheated on – and cheating himself – that he didn't know how to expect anything else.

“I promise. Now, want to help me finish up dinner?”

Crisis adverted. Hopefully.

Of course it wasn't that easy. Finn refusing to go along hadn't stopped Rachel – if anything it'd made her even more determined to dig up some kind of dirt. And in her wake had come Jacob ben Israel and his damned camera and pictures in the fucking Muckraker. He liked Sue Sylvester more than most students, and felt he owed her to a degree, but this was crossing a line he wasn't going to forgive in the first place.

Not from anyone involved.

And of course it all came to blows in Glee. Even worse? The newly recruited members were there to witness.

He'd been happy to see their numbers increase, but now he found himself wishing that Mr Schue had been as ineffectual as usual so that there hadn't been quite as large an audience to Sam's humiliation.

“No. Sam, you don't owe them an explanation. You don't owe anyone anything. Rachel's inability to keep her nose out of other people's business did this, not you or I. McKinely isn't safe for LGBT students and she knows it. She also knows that it doesn't matter if someone's actually LGBT or not, just what people believe. What Jacob ben Israel posted could have landed you in the hospital or worse, and Rachel was the one who led him there.

“Won't your dads be proud of you, Rachel, knowing what you've done?”

“I haven't done anything wrong! Quinn was the one sneaking around on Finn–”

“Shut up, Rachel. She wasn't doing anything wrong – she was being a good person. Remember what that is?”

Rachel wasn't the only one whose mouth fell open as Finn spoke. Quinn looked happy as she sent him a soft smile, and Kurt, Kurt was so damned proud of his brother.

“Finn!”

“No. Look, what I did to Sam–”

“We.”

“Fine, what we did to Sam was shitty. Yet somehow he and Quinn managed to keep some level of trust and friendship, and that's just... Awesome. And I am not enough of an asshole to get in the middle of that. I trust Quinn, and I trust Sam, and you don't get to say otherwise.

“As for Kurt, yeah, you don't get to say shit about that either. Sam's never been anything but cool with Kurt, unlike the rest of us, and I thought you of all people should know better than this.”

And wow, Finn had really worked on his “disappointed in you” look. It was quite frankly amazing. The others seemed to think so too, judging from how they reacted as Finn slowly turned to meet everyone's eyes.

“I hope I don't have to explain to anyone exactly how not at all acceptable it is to spread this shit around the school. I know I'd hate to end up in detention for fighting with a team mate, or for getting into it with a girl.” “That doesn't mean I won't” hung in the air, just as loud as if Finn had actually said it out loud.

“Mr Schue? Could we get back to what we're supposed to be doing here?”

And of course since it was Finn asking that was exactly what happened.

Kurt spent the rest of practice seething.

Rachel was waiting for him by the Nav after Glee, which meant she'd put on some really impressive speed to beat him there.

“Kurt. You have to listen to me. Finn doesn't understand how dangerous it can be, being LGBT in a town like this, but you and I, we do. You know how much danger Sam will be in if people think you are seeing him.

“There are already people whispering about you turning him gay, or worse. You remember what it was like before. Do you realize how bad this is for Sam? He could get hurt – someone could hurt him, because of this. Because of you. Do you really want that for him?”

“Of course I don't, but–”

It was like speaking to a wall, except less effective.

“I just...I think you should try and distance yourself from whatever it is that you think that the two of you have going on. You should get a boyfriend.”

And there it was. Find a boyfriend. Next she’d be pushing Blaine on him again.

Anyone else, Mercedes or Tina or Brittany or yes, even Santana, and he’d have been willing to think they were looking out for him, and Sam. But this was Rachel, and he knew her too well for that.

Maybe Rachel really did care about Sam, but, Kurt knew, for Rachel Berry it was always about her in the end. Apparently once her romantic relationship with Blaine was over they’d  allowed it to morph into some strange symbiotic friendship – which Kurt felt was probably less than healthy.

Blaine wanted Kurt to go out with him, and that meant Rachel wanted it too, meaning it should happen. After all, not getting what they wanted lessened the duos’ focus on being stars, or something like that.

Also – and okay, he had no proof for that part except for experience, but that was valuable enough – if Kurt wasn’t around Sam Rachel could focus on the fact that Quinn was, could try again to drive a wedge between the blonde and Finn, hopefully leaving Finn free for the taking.

Too bad Kurt wasn’t going to cooperate then.

“Look, Rachel, even if I did find a boyfriend it wouldn’t stop me from being friends with Sam, from spending time with him. In fact, any boyfriend worth the trouble would never try to stop me from that. And it’s not like something as simple as me staying away or the truth is going to stop the gossiping jerks of McKinley. It never has before.”

They'd both been subjected to enough gossip to know that, after all.

“Also, seriously Rachel? This is only a problem because of you. You had no business sneaking around and spying, and you most definitely had no right spreading those rumors. If someone hurts Sam because of that it won’t be my fault, it’ll be yours and Jacob ben Israel's. After all, we kept a low profile for a reason. No one would know about us being friends outside of the choir room if not for you and your big mouth and your damned stalking.”

“Then you need to do something about it! We'll find a girl to go out on a couple of dates with Sam – I'm sure Mercedes would be willing. And Blaine is still interested in you, all you have to do is stop playing hard to catch. This isn't the time to let your hurt feelings run the show, Kurt, this is when you need to be better than that.”

And wow, really? Did she crack completely while I wasn't looking?

“Thanks for that suggestion, Rachel. Now would you mind moving, I would like to get out of here.”

Except he couldn't stop thinking about everything. It all went round and round in his head, until the pieces started falling together in a very ugly pattern.

Twenty minutes after leaving Rachel behind in the parking lot Kurt rang the doorbell at the Berrys.

“Kurt! I knew you'd come to your senses! I have the perfect suggestion for you to–”

“Did you do it on purpose?”

“What?”

“Did. You. Do. It. On. Purpose? Did you lead Jacob there on purpose? Did you plan this, Rachel?”

The words were coming out louder and louder, dripping with bitterness, until he was practically shouting.

Hiram Berry came running in to the hallway, took one look at his daughter backed up against a wall and the furious Kurt, and started trying to defuse the situation. Kurt wasn't having it though.

“I'm not leaving without an answer, Rachel. I also don't have a problem with airing this in front of your dad, so if you thought him being here would save you, think again.”

“What's the matter, Kurt? Whatever it is I'm sure we can fix it.”

“Right. Well, see, Mr Berry, I really doubt that. Unless of course you have a time machine hidden away somewhere.

“See, once Rachel and her boyfriend broke up – supposedly because having to keep the New Directions' setlist secret from him was just so hard – she started trying to talk my brother into dumping his girlfriend by claiming she was cheating on him. When that didn't help Rachel decided to keep stalking Quinn in the hopes to take pictures that'd make Finn leave Quinn and come running back to Rachel – or so I assume, since it's not exactly common for her to do things like this without personal gain.

“Now, maybe I would have let Rachel get away with this normally, because she didn't stand a chance of getting what she wanted, but thanks to her actions a good friend of mine is actually in danger right now.”

“I had nothing to do with those photos! And if you're so worried about Sam you should stay away from him and–” Rachel snapped her mouth shut, possibly realizing she was close to saying something that would only give Kurt more ammunition.

“You didn't take those photos, no, but there is no way Jacob ben Israel would have found Sam there without you. You already know he stalks you on a regular basis, so why would you believe he isn't now, knowing that you're single again?”

“I'm sorry, but would you mind telling me what you're talking about?”

Rachel tried to serve her version, but Kurt just talked right over her and informed Mr Berry about exactly what had happened.

“That is horrible, and we are going to come back to that later, but for now I'd like to know why you were asking if Rachel planned this.”

“Because I know her?

“No, sorry. First of all there's Finn. She went to him first, but he refused to listen to her, choosing instead to trust his girlfriend. It would be very much Rachel's style to believe that spreading the information would make Finn change his mind.

“Second, when people started asking Sam if he was involved with me in some way Rachel suggested that I could protect Sam from being called gay – and subjected to the same treatment I get – by abandoning my friend and start dating her ex-boyfriend. That I have no interest in doing so, and have in fact turned him down already, wasn't a concern for her.”

Mr Berry frowned and gave Rachel an appraising look. She soon began to blush, leading Mr Berry to frown even harder.

“I'm really disappointed in you right now, Rachel. I suggest you go to your room and think about what you've done, and we'll talk about this when your dad comes home. Kurt, would you mind answering a few more questions for me?”

It ended up being more than a few questions, but seeing as the result was Mr Berry leaving to talk with both Jacob and his parents Kurt was fine with it.

He was even more fine with it the next day when he found out the results. Jacob had lost his camera and his channel was gone. The Muckraker had been disbanded and that everyone involved had been forced to apologize to everyone they'd trashed – including Sue. And the Evans family had gotten some proper help, both with their living situation and looking for jobs. Mr and Mr Berry did not play around.

The fact that Rachel was subdued and refused to even look at Kurt was just the cherry on top.

~TBC ~

[ladyfl4me]

Hi please yell about boyd and stern in TCOS and TMWCIFTC :D!

Anon, THANK YOU for enabling me, you have my fucking life in your hands

I’ll preface all of this by saying that everything in this post is related to my long-form Amnesty works, The Moth who Came In from the Cold and The Children of Sylvain. If you haven’t read those, then you’ll be pretty damn confused, so I guess now is as good of a time to plug them - and the series - as any. A heads up: I started it back in 2018, and everything in TCOS is just… very VERY loosely associated with Amnesty canon at this point. Same root premise, same characters, but back in 2018 even I couldn’t predict where arcs 4 and 5 ended up going. TMWCIFTC was written as the logical progression, in my head, of an alternate arc 4, and everything that happened in TCOS is based off of that progression. It’s got almost no connection to the actual canon at this point. I’ll be recapping some of the more important plot points for context, though.

Here’s hoping the read-more works. This was 7 pages long in the google doc I prepared this in, so I apologize in advance to everyone on my dash if this got fucked up. Spoilers for TMWCIFTC ahead, as well as general vague spoilers for Amnesty.

So everything’s coming up roses. Fantastic. Let’s start with the biggest thing: how the characters of Agent Stern and Boyd Mosche have changed from canon to this AU.

Boyd’s Changes:

We’ll start with Boyd, because this motherfucker is UNRECOGNIZABLE from canon. On god, that is all Griffin’s fault. Pretty much all of Boyd’s character was concentrated in arc 4 of Amnesty, and honestly? He was a fantastic character there. Loved him as a counterpart to Ned. He gave off an air of “the ends justify the means” in almost everything he did - especially how he was willing to do anything, including blackmail Ned to hell and back, to get back to England - which I’ve grafted into my version of him. The angst-loving part of my brain seized on the tragic possibilities of his relationship with Ned and was bumping “No Children” by the Mountain Goats every time they interacted. Great stuff, interesting complexity, was genuinely surprised when he kicked it.

All that happened after I introduced him as a character in TMWCIFTC. My version of him retains the smooth-talking Britishness of him, with the aforementioned “ends justify the means” logic for everything; I’d probably sort him as a chaotic neutral, with basically all of his points in wisdom, charisma and strength with very few in intelligence. I tried to work with that for the start. We knew nothing about Boyd at the time I was writing TMWCIFTC, so my brain wanted to fill in that blank for jokes and giggles and haha funny’s and was like, “Yo what if Boyd was a Sylph this entire time? Wouldn’t that be fucking hilarious?” 

And that’s what I did. What happened to make this version of Boyd was a bit of a random “perfect storm” of influences and choices, which really only got sharpened because of my one-shot The Devil Went Down To Georgia. That one’s the main source of all Boyd lore, even though I barely reference it these days because he’s gone so far off the rails it’s a miracle I can keep him straight. 

I’ve talked about The Devil Went Down To Georgia a lot in relation to Boyd on here. TL;DR, I decided to make him two things: a violinist and a Sylph/cryptid, specifically the Jersey Devil. Yes, he is still British. I chalk it up lore-wise to a few things: the original Jersey Devil is more of a distant relative, Boyd crossed over from Sylvain and ended up in Britain sometime after that, and just willingly chose to keep up the British persona Bastard. I don’t think about it too much. He’s been a criminal from the very beginning; he’d been in prison on Sylvain, went through some shit there that made him steal a crystal and book it, and he continued to do crime on Earth to survive.

The violin thing is mostly me desperately wanting a character to have that background, because I played for seven goddamn years and want to put that knowledge and catharsis somewhere. Boyd probably either picked up a Sylvan instrument that was similar, or learned it in the early 20th century when he came to Earth, and just held onto it. He held onto the skills and got good - good enough that he could have gone professional, and tried in 2007, but that didn’t go super well, as anyone who’s read TMWCIFTC can attest. 

In terms of the type of cryptid he is, I’ve made the Jersey Devils a subspecies on Sylvain that takes cervids (deer, moose, etc.) or bovines (goats, antelopes, cows, etc.), as well as canines/felines of any shape and size, puts them into a gashapon machine with pterodactyl-style wings, awful teeth, and a snake’s tail, and calls it a day. You can get a tiny Jersey Devil that’s a combo of a tiny cat and a dik-dik; you can get a jacked nine-foot-tall terrifying amalgam of a lion and a moose, with a fucked-up mouth of multiple rows of teeth and huge claws.

That last one is Boyd. Don’t call me a monsterfucker for this, I have no defense.

So where does that leave him in relation to the Lodge? Back in 2018, before I started developing the lore that factors into TCOS about Sylph communities outside the Lodge (namely the Manhattan Sylphs that Leo worked with when he was a Chosen One), I figured that it’d be funny if every single cryptid kinda just… knew each other, or hung out near the Lodge. As you know if you’ve read TMWCIFTC, he got into some trouble in 1967, which Barclay, Indrid and Mama “bailed him out of.”

Once they found out he was a fellow Sylvan, though, it became less about “report this guy to the authorities” and more about “we have to make sure we keep an eye on this guy so he doesn’t get himself, or other Sylphs, in trouble” thing. He basically became Mama’s mostly-socialized half-feral cat, slinking through the halls of Amnesty Lodge, eating random food, falling asleep wherever, sitting in rooms where people are doing interesting things and just watching them. And everyone... kind of likes him. Sure, he doesn’t have a sleep schedule, and they have to get soundproof panels installed in his room at the Lodge because he’ll stress-practice violin at 3 in the morning, and he keeps shoplifting stuff from local stores to give to people like a cat bringing back dead mice. But he’s a good man. And he’s getting better every day.

Then he got got by the Ashminder in ‘98. He bolted, completely forgot everything about the Lodge but had the address of a former Lodge resident on his body after his memory was wiped, found a still-alive but memory-wiped fellow Lodge dweller, and fled to that address. Boyd lived there for years, trying to clean up his act and try to anchor himself a bit. Then in 2007, something on his path went wrong, and the stress break he went through after that made him run from that place. That’s when he met Ned, and they had a few years together before Boyd ended up in jail.

Then, once they killed the Ashminder and the memories it had eaten came back, Voidfish-style, Boyd remembered everything: the people who’d taken care of him, the friends he’d made, the love he’d found, the time and effort he’d put into getting better, the rewards he’d reaped because of it. He remembered fighting monsters and defending them. He got hit with it all at once, and missed them. His parole date was coming up; he could bide his time until he was released, and run down there.

But then, at the start of TCOS, Something Happens that makes all Sylvan disguises and spells shit the fucking bed; his disguise spell, which has been hiding a nine foot-tall jacked demon out of hell, flickers, and the invisibility spell that had been put on his disguise item to hide it failed. Boyd knew he was fucked if the jail folks found out he was a Sylph, so he decided to fucking Kool-aid Man out of there, becoming a wanted man in the entire state of West Virginia and getting a bit roughed up in the process.

But hey. Whatever it takes to get home, right? 

Stern’s Changes:

Stern’s changed too, though, and here’s how. It was relatively simple to tweak him, because so much of him was a blank slate to begin with. First: that name. Garfield Kent Stern is his full name: Garfield for the cat/Deals Warlock, Kent after Kent Mansley, the irritating dipshit FBI agent antagonist from the classic animated movie The Iron Giant. Poor bastard. He started as a walking meme who I was going to kill off; I came up with that name long before we got his real name in canon, and didn’t want to retcon it out. 

I’m a sucker for secret connections and familial ties, too, and back in 2018 the headcanon gashapon gave me “what if Stern was a cousin of Duck’s, but there was family drama that made their parts of the family split when they were kids, so now 30 years later they don’t remember each other?” 

And that’s exactly what I did. Gary is Duck’s first cousin on Duck’s mom’s side; their mothers are sisters. Gary’s uncle Arnie was a Secret Service agent who tangled with an Indrid trying to stop the Kennedy Assassination once, and he keeps telling that story at Christmas, much to everyone’s chagrin. Gary remembered those stories, and even received Indrid’s old disguise glasses - knocked off his face during his uncle Arnie’s chase - and carried them with him for a long time.

He didn’t start off as a baby cop, though; he was more interested in hitting the books, finding out the logic and doing the research to figure things out. I have him become a history major, getting a PhD with a few bits and bobs here and there that I haven’t worked out yet. Whatever the case, he spent a LONG time in academia, from undergrad starting in 1996 to graduation in about 2005. 

Things weren’t as peachy as he thought they’d be, though. Gary wrote and published his thesis, like a good little PhD candidate, but someone was watching him. In his thesis, he’d been trying to cobble together various cryptid-related legends across the word and making connections between them, among other things. He’d managed to link up and explain something that Unexplained Phenomena had been trying to figure out themselves. They immediately intercepted his thesis, kept it from being disseminated anywhere else, erased all copies of it after graduation, and reached out to Gary independently to bring him on.

Make no mistake: he went willingly. Despite the whole thesis coverup, Agent Gary Stern wasn’t coerced into being a government stooge, and he wasn’t blackmailed - he was given an offer to work with the cryptid cops, and he enthusiastically took it. Government benefits were decent, he’d heard; post-grad options were looking slim, especially going into the recession. In his mind, there was a bit of allure to it all, too. A secret government organization looking into suspicious and possibly supernatural things all over the nation? Fantastic. More opportunities to do research. He was in. Gary accepted their offer and started basic FBI training in 2007 - the same year Boyd had that mental break and went AWOL, returning to his life of crime and meeting Ned.

Biggest mistake he’d ever made. But then again, if he didn’t take them up on that, he wouldn’t be here, would he?

So he joins UP, goes up the ranks. They had him researching and charting the Bigfoot case for a while, and he was the only one who was willing to work on it at all because… well, Bigfoot sightings weren’t as sophisticated as some of the other projects that were out there for UP. (See: Area 51. We don’t talk about Area 51. Nobody talks about Area 51. Definitely nothing shady and unethical going on in there, no experiments on anyone or anything, no sir.) 

Gary’s diligent, though, and doesn’t like to back down from a challenge. That’s all hunting Bigfoot was: a challenge. No personal stake, no empathy. It was a job to get done, even though an entire person’s life was at stake.

And he got so caught up in this challenge that, when he went to Kepler, he EASILY got attacked by the Ashminder and destroyed within an inch of his life. He got the very memory of his job and intent in Kepler torn out of his head; once the Ashminder died, and those memories came back, they didn’t feel like his anymore, or like they’d been part of his life plan to begin with. Overcome with confusion and guilt, he decided to clean up his act and try to work against the FBI, with Mama’s blessing. 

His goal? Quit the FBI, get them off the Lodge’s back, and then see what happens next. Maybe he’d go back to academia, or teach, or something - just get as far away from the FBI as possible, as far away as he can be from hurting people. But he’s got to bide his time, because if he bolts now, they’re going to get suspicious and put the Lodge in even more danger. And that’s where he is now.

So why have they changed?

Simple answer? I don’t want to rewrite them to fit with canon. I just don’t. I don’t want to make Boyd human; I don’t want to change Gary’s name to Joseph and make him a Bigfoot groupie. I don’t want to rewrite hundreds of thousands of words of work to fit last-minute decisions made in the end times of Amnesty’s canon. My fic has diverged so much from canon that the canon versions of the characters don’t belong here anymore. Besides, Stern was such a background character in arcs 3 and 4 that he barely mattered, making his reappearance in arc 5 a bit of a clumsy follow-through, and Boyd was a one-act wonder. A little expansion couldn’t hurt. Making Gary something other than a direct antagonist made the narrative load a little easier, too, at least on my end. I hate giving a cop screen time, but it’s easier to justify his existence by rewriting his backstory and making him slog through the hell of a redemption arc. He’s had that coming. 

This leads us to TCOS, though, where the arcs of our player characters turn a bit more towards the plot, as opposed to the emotional fulfillment they got in TMWCIFTC. Characters like Gary, Mama, Boyd, and Alexandra take center stage for emotional and backstory development, while the original player characters take a temporary backseat. Alexandra’s a key linchpin of the story as a whole, both emotionally and narratively; Mama gets lore expansions and has personal things to settle; and Gary and Boyd are… here. So:

How do these two work with each other in TCOS?

It’s great. It’s fantastic. These two are my favorite to write in TCOS because their conflict is just so fucking FUN. On the one hand, you have an almost-ex-FBI agent who’s been taken in by the Lodge, is related to a Pine Guard member, is trying to keep his coworkers off the Lodge’s back as sneakily as possible without drawing suspicion, and is desperate not to screw up this second chance he doesn’t think he deserves. On the other hand, you have an ex-con who got a second chance from the Lodge, sees them as his last best option to be safe as long as nobody reports them, and wants to keep them safe out of a sense of familial obligation he’s reluctant to admit to, even to himself.

That’s two people with questionable morals, with a semi-familial attachment to a place that gave them second chances, each seeing the actions of the other as a threat to their - and everyone else’s - safety. Claws come out almost immediately.

At the start, Boyd and Gary go together like apple juice and toothpaste. Boyd sees a narc who’s threatening the one safe place he has left; Gary sees an impulsive, selfish threat, a domino that - if it falls - threatens, you guessed it, the one safe place he (and other people, sure) has left. Boyd breaking out of jail means the entire state of West Virginia, and probably the whole East Coast, is on high alert looking for him, and if that attention comes anywhere near the Lodge? They’re fucked.

Neither of them believe that the other is capable of change or anything but selfish, malicious harm. Boyd has more of an argument than Gary because Gary is still actively reporting things to the FBI, but in Gary’s defense, the moment that he stops reporting anything to them, they’re going to suspect things and might end up sending more people to the Lodge. The Pine Guard can’t afford that, so Gary has to play by the rules until he’s in a position where he can quit. I’ll pull a specific argument they have from TCOS that I feel really exemplifies this:

"I don't want you to get caught."

Boyd scoffed. "Something tells me you're not worried about me."

"I'm not."

"Well, thanks."

"I'm worried," Gary went on, "about someone seeing you, and connecting you to the Lodge. You just used the hot springs as your personal landing strip, in broad daylight. We're on the upper half of the mountain. And I don't know how big your Sylvan form is, but -"

Boyd grinned. It looked more like a snarl. "Oh, plenty big enough," he said.

Gary ignored that. "Big enough for someone to see you from down the mountain?" he challenged. Boyd's lip curled, and he looked away. "Yeah, that's what I thought. I'm just thinking ahead. What if someone came beating down our door looking for you? What if it was a cryptid hunter? What if it was the cops?”

"Yes, yes, fine, alright," Boyd snapped. He threw his hands up. His eyes were hard and cold. "It'd put us in danger. I get it. But you're still here. I think the damage is already done."

A knot of cold rage formed in Gary's stomach. "I'm trying to keep this place safe, Mr. Mosche," he spat. "I've got a responsibility to keep."

Boyd scoffed. "Oh, you have a responsibility? To Amnesty Lodge? That's fucking rich."

"You've got one, too! It’s about time you started keeping it!"

They’re both very, very set in their ways and their ideologies, and they take a long time to get to middle ground. 

One of my friends described it as middle child syndrome in overdrive. Gary thinks Boyd’s the Lodge golden child, come to replace him in the Lodge inner circle. Boyd thinks Gary’s the Lodge’s new redemption-arc fixer-upper, come to replace him. And both of them feel thrown off by that, because they both thought that the Lodge was accepting them completely into the inner circle. It’s unfamiliar, it’s confusing, and when the Lodge as a whole regards them both with suspicion/unease (Gary) and polite detachment due to the passage of time (Boyd), it makes them both feel on the outside.

And when you’re in the same shitty canoe, you’ve gotta row it or sink. So that’s exactly what they do. 

Ultimately, they get faced down with bigger and worse foes that snap them out of their spat, because their common interest is “keeping the Lodge safe” and uniting will help them get there. When they do start to have each other’s backs, though, that’s when they reluctantly start to get to know each other. Gary feels like something’s off about Boyd and eventually suspects - thanks to some comments from Haynes and some digging of his own - that Boyd had something to do with the fire that burned down Aubrey’s house, but it remains to be seen what he’ll do with that information. (The Gary of November 2018 would have turned Boyd in to the FBI. The Gary of almost six months later, though… a different story. It’ll be interesting.)

The kicker is, they’re both really similar, at the heart of it. Both of them were the Lodge’s fix-em-up pet projects, brought into the fold in an emergency and protected/cared for as long as they swore to clean up their act. They see each other and feel a bit out-of-place, though - something contributed to by the way the Lodge treats them.

Gary’s still held at a distance by many, despite being Duck’s cousin and a mostly-valuable member of the team, because the stench of the FBI is still on him - how he dresses, how he walks and talks, how he acts. And Boyd has just swanned back to the Lodge after 20 years gone, with all his memories of the Lodge from back in ‘98 driven back into his mind - and part of him is expecting the Lodge to be the exact same way it was when he left. But it’s not. You can’t go home again. The Lodge has moved on without him, which he never expected, and coming back to them is… awkward.

It’s simple. They don’t know what to do with a version of Boyd who’s missed the past 20 years of their lives; Boyd doesn’t know what to do with people who have changed from the folks he knew 20 years ago. He’s lost, floating, and alienated, like going to a high school reunion after not having spoken to a living soul since graduation. It sucks for him. And the only wholly unfamiliar face there, other than the main Pine Guard - who he’s mostly fine with, except for Ned - is Gary, and he can’t help but be irritated with him. That changes, though.

What I essentially want to do is set these versions of the characters up as foils. Similar characters, similar pasts, similar situations that got them to this point. All that’s different is how far in their respective arcs they are. So I’m going to have them be friends. Give each other a chance in the face of a bigger threat, open up a little more, have conversations, talk about things with each other because they’re the only ones around to listen. The Lodge gave them second chances when they needed them most. Maybe they can do that for each other.

This is also to say, I would be a massive fucking liar if I say I haven’t considered having that unfold into a rivals-to-lovers arc. Yeah, I said it. I’ve considered it, at length and in serious detail, since I started drafting the arcs for TCOS. In fact, that’s what I’m probably going to do. I’ve gotten too hooked by the possibility to give it up. I outlined hypothetical futures for the whole cast after the final battle in Sylvain and, given the things I want to happen in that battle and the messy post-war fallout, it makes sense that these two would gravitate towards each other.

It makes a lot more sense in context, believe me. They’ve got a long row to hoe before they trust each other enough to become friends, or even push the envelope towards a romantic relationship - they’d have months and even YEARS to wait to pull that off. Whatever I end up doing with them, they are easily my favorite part of TCOS to unravel, mostly because I  - and, honestly, everyone else - probably never saw it coming.

Thanks for the ask, anon. This made my week. So sorry for the long response, but I have so many thoughts on what I’m doing with these idiots, and putting them down on paper was really fun. Any other questions or comments about this? Fire away, I’d be more than willing to answer! 

[dine-on-darling]

Feral

Remember how I said Beel would never willingly/knowingly use fear play? Well, that still holds true, he’d never want to hurt Darling. But when he falls prey to a malicious spell, it ain’t about what he wants. 

Fear play, mentions of digestion, and some blood, but it’s still soft and safe.

Oh, and very angsty.

Might write a part two for comfort if y’all want.

---------

Demons, like anyone else, are capable of being extremely petty. They might even be more susceptible to giving into it than any other being. So unless you’ve got power on your side, it’s best not to upset one, or else you will certainly face the consequences.

Although, if a demons feeling real petty, then not even the fear of the sins can deter them from seeking revenge.

---

Most days in the Devildom felt the same. There wasn’t sunlight like on earth, no clouds to roll across the sky and cast shadows, no gusts of wind to ruffle leaves and clothes; still, Darling had come to enjoy the atmosphere anyway, and the predictability was nice for planning outings, such as a day out with only herself and one of her favorite demons. The atmosphere of the Devildom was fine, but it became even more pleasant with good company.

Beelzebub sat next to her on the secluded bench, tucked away in the little forest of trees. They weren’t far from civilization by any means, but it still felt they were thousands of miles away from anyone else, the trees like a bubble of silence stretching all around them.

Beel had wanted to go for a midday run and had convinced Darling to go with him as his jogging partner, although less than halfway to their current spot they’d realized quickly that she had no hope of keeping pace with the much longer legged Beel, so jogging had turned into getting a piggy back ride. She’d been embarrassed by her lack of stamina, but he’d only joked and told her she was helping him now by providing some extra weight to run with, plus she had the very important job of holding the snacks in her schoolbag!

They’d been running for quite a while when he decided it was time for a break and set her down, and now here she sat, munching on her own meager snack while Beel wolfed down enough food to feed a family and still call it a “snack”. Ridiculous as his eating habits were, she couldn’t help but smile fondly at him.

Darling closed her eyes, content to sit there and enjoy the moment, breathing out a soft sigh. Her back ached a little, and she winced when her clothes brushed against the still tender skin. Yesterday, she’d gotten her first ever tattoo. Not any normal tattoo, either, this one was a special sigil engraved into her back. Infusing the magic into it had made it hurt like a bitch, more than even a regular tattoo, apparently. This particular charm was meant to be a permanent version of the protection spell the brothers put on her whenever they ate her, since at this point it happened so frequently they figured they might as well. Also since there had been one or two incidents where one of them had been a little too eager and almost forgot the spell, so better to be safe than sorry. They were supposed to wait until the tattoo was fully healed for her to be devoured again by any of them, since a spell like this needed time to sink into her fully. As it was currently, it only had about half the effect.  

Meanwhile Beel still wasn’t satisfied with what he’d eaten so far, and dug into the bag in search of more food. He only paused for the briefest of seconds to examine what he pulled out. It looked like some kind of candy bar wrapped in foil, plain and simple. He knew they hadn’t packed it for the jog, so that must mean it belonged to Darling. He should put it back, he thought, since she might be upset with him for eating something of hers, but… his stomach let out a pitiful little whine. Oh well, he could buy her a new one later as an apology.

Darling opened her eyes again in time to see the demon stuffing the last of the bar into his mouth, the packaging crinkled in his hands. She blinked for a second, recognizing it. “Beel, was that the candy I had buried in my bag?”

He blushed at being caught so quick, he’d kind of hoped she wouldn’t notice until later. “Yeah, sorry, I can replace it though. Running always makes me so hungry.” He rubbed his stomach as it made another noise.

Darling rolled her eyes with a smile. “Okay, first of all, everything makes you hungry. Second of all, I’m not mad, but…”

“What is it?”

“Well, I hadn’t actually bought that candy bar myself. Yesterday, after school, I opened up my bag to get a book out and it was simply sitting there, nestled in between all my other stuff.”

“So someone gave it to you?”

“I guess, but I have no idea who. If it was one of you guys, then you wouldn’t have bothered being sneaky about, and I can’t imagine any of the other friends I’ve made doing that either. It kind of bugged me, so I decided not to touch it and put it back in my bag. I was planning to ask anyway if any of you guys knew where it’d come from, but I hadn’t gotten around to it and forgot it was even there until now.”

“Hm.” Beel opened his palm to look at the crumpled wrapped. Now that he took a minute, something seemed odd about it. He brought it to his face, sniffing it. It mostly smelled of chocolate for sure, but there was something else coiled in there. Running his tongue along his teeth, he now picked up that same presence, something bitter.

There was a stab of pain in his gut, and Beelzebub doubled over with a grunt.

“Ah, Beel!” Darling quickly moved closer, putting a hand on his back and shoulder. His face was contorted in a grimace, his hands pressing into the flesh over his stomach. A loud, almost angry growl rose up from the depths. He could feel something twisting up through him, clawing into his mind, settling into his bones, a dark magic wrapping it’s hold around him. He tried to open his mouth to warn Darling, but another stab of pain had him biting his tongue.

The girl herself had no idea what was happening to her dear friend. He had the most iron clad stomach of any being she knew, so what in the worlds could be upsetting his stomach this much?

“Beelzebub, what’s going on?” She begged. He tried to lean away from her, but the pain had him slumping heavily against her.

“R… Ru…”

“What?”

“Run…”

Energy crackled over Beelzebub’s skin, and Darling was only barely able to push herself back, landing in the dirt, before the avatar of gluttony burst out of his human form.

She’d seen his demon form on multiple occasions now, but this time felt distinctly different. When he opened his eyes, there wasn’t a trace of the warmth she’d come to know, replaced by cold, feral hunger. And all of that was focused on her.

“Beel…” She started, cautiously.

He barred his dagger sharp fangs and growled.

Darling could be called a lot of things, stubborn amongst them. More than once this had caused her to get into trouble when some of the lower level demons around the school would harass her. She never started the fights, but damn if she wasn’t willing to finish them. Usually, one of the brothers would interrupt pretty quick, and she never knew whether or not to be thankful for that. Of all the things she could be called, she knew she wasn’t an idiot. She knew the demons were all physically so much stronger than her, but the thought of them thinking she was nothing more than simple human with no teeth made blood boil. That’s why she always stood her ground in the face of their threats.

This time was different though. She wasn’t starring into the face of someone with rational thought in their head, this wasn’t someone she cherished right then, this was a beast. And she was alone with it.

She could count on one hand the number of times she’d run from a fight in the Devildom, but pure instinct washed over her and she bolted as fast as a deer who’d seen a mountain lion about to pounce.

The avatar of gluttony roared behind her, and she could feel the ground shake with each of his thundering steps. Her mind flashed back to how easy it had been for him to outrun her at a simple jogging pace, but if she could somehow use the trees to her advantage, if she could keep out of his reach until she got back to the House of Lamentation-

Darling screamed as she was knocked hard into the ground from behind, dirt spraying up around them. She could feel his growled breathing at her ear, so close to her throat.

She thrashed about as best as she could, the task made near impossibly by how heavy the demon was. Especially in is demon form, he was so much bigger than she was; there’d never been a chance of her escaping him.

“Beel! Beelzebub, please, get off!” She screamed, pleaded, did whatever she could to try and get through to him, to no effect. His clawed hands tightened their grasp on her arm, digging into her and causing pinpricks of blood. His mouth opened, his hot breath fanning out over the back of her neck.

Fear coursed through her, and in desperation she managed to twist her body enough to bring her free arm up and jab her fingers roughly into his eyes.

He roared, pulling back to cover his eyes. She used this to wriggle out from under him, pushing herself into a crouch ready to take off running again; but as soon as the thought that she might be able to get away appeared, it was squashed by his hand closing around her ankle, dragging her right back down.

She was flipped onto her back, and still she tried her hardest to kick out of Beel’s grasp. She really wasn’t looking to hurt him, but she had no other choice right now. Of course, her struggles did nothing to deter the giant wall of power and muscle towering over her. Is mouth opened again, revealing the row of sharp teeth and the powerful throat beyond them, and stuffed her feet first in.

Shit! Shit shit shit!  

He wasn’t in his right mind to put any sort of protection on her right now, and the sigil on her back still wasn’t in full effect. If he ate her now, then maybe the spell would buy her some time, but it wouldn’t hold. He’d digest her.

“Beel, stop!” There was nothing nearby for her to grab onto, and she knew from experience how fast his throat worked. And true to that, as soon as her feet reach the back of his throat, he swallowed, dragging her roughly through the dirt. Where normally he was so careful not to injure her with his teeth, she could feel them scrape against her legs as they went past, not quite hard enough to break the skin, but enough so that the danger was real.

That one swallow had already brought her in up to her hips, his demon form even better suited to taking in a meal than his usual form. He lifted her up off the ground, his head tilting back to hold her up and help her slide. This was so familiar to her, they’d done this dozens of times, and she’d never been truly afraid before. Fear had never gripped her the way it did now, as she struggled in this monsters hold. He still paid her no mind, only growling around her form. He swallowed again, and it was only her arms outside of his lips. But even those were slurped up eagerly.

What had Belphie once told her? “Here, you are a human in a demon’s world, remember.” Yea, that was achingly clear.

She barely spent any time in his throat before it dumped her into his waiting belly, which gurgled and pressed in around her. The remnants of his snack from earlier were still in there, but they were already mush that lapped at her sides, pushed around by the hard working walls around her. She gasped in the heat, had it always felt this suffocating in here? No, she was sure it hadn’t. It wasn’t even the fault of his demon form; he’d eaten her with it before. She’d never known exactly how the properly working protection spell had affected her experience, it seemed. Her body tingled as the stomach began to knead gastric juices into her. Not painful, not yet.

She screamed his name again and again, using every ounce of her strength to push and stretch out the space, clawing and kicking up a fierce storm. But his stomach only treated her like a petulant child, contracting around her and balling her back up again. She had no talons; her nails did nothing to him. She’d hoped that maybe some pain would snap him back, but she couldn’t even cause any. Her breathing came fast and shallow, panic gripping her though she tried to stay level headed.

Her prison jostled as the avatar of gluttony rose to his feet, his stomach not even big enough to throw off his balance despite her wild thrashing. She could feel him walking, but it seemed to be more of a mindless wandering. His growls and heavy breaths echoed all around her. With each moment, she could feel the acids building up around her, only barely held off by the incomplete protection spell. She had to think fast before it became too much, there had to be something she could do to get through to him!

A mark on her body pulsed with heat, and she gasped. Their pact! She’d been so scared earlier that she’d forgotten about it. With it, she might be able to command him to let her out.

Darling closed her eyes, forcing herself to take a few slow, steady breaths, focusing only on the pact mark engraved in her, on the bond she could feel humming through it. It was muddied and difficult to grasp through whatever spell had turned Beel feral, but she pushed through with all her mental might. “Beelzebub.” She said.

The body around her shuddered, the giant demon halting in his steps.

“Beelzebub, I know you can hear me. Please, whatever is happening to you right now, you have to fight through it, you have to come back to me. Please, Beel, come back.”

The demon growled, hunching over his stomach. Darling bit back a yelp as his stomach began to thrash about her more violently than before, but she refused to let her concentration waver; she knew if she did that she’d lose her grip on him and might not be able to get it back.

Darling let out her own growl of rage, she was going to find whoever did this and beat them to a pulp for doing this to her Beel. She gathered what power she had in her little body, feeling it rise in her chest, and she poured all of it into their bond. “Beelzebub, I command you to return to your senses!”

He howled, arching his back enough to squish Darling even further, and crashed to his knees. His claws dug into the dirt, and his body heaved with shuddering, heavy pants. The tingling was beginning to burn.

She worried that it hadn’t been enough; he remained motionless besides his breathing. Her whole body shook with the anxious anticipation thrumming through her. Before she could call out to him again, though, he spoke first. “Dar… ling…”

“Beel! Beel, is it really you?” She held her breath, waiting for him to catch his enough to respond.

“Yeah, yeah it’s me… Darling, what have I done? I hurt you…”

His stomach clenched, and she hissed at the acids that rubbed into her. “Beel, it’s fine, I’m fine.”

“I can taste blood, though. You’re blood, Darling.”

“I got a little scrapped up is all, it’s fine. But I won’t be if you keep me in here much longer, please spit me back out now.”

“Right.” His mind seemed to be clearing through the fog, catching up to the situation. The walls around Darling moved again, but differently this time. It squeezed her up back into his throat, though he had enough control to leave most of the food much still inside. She spilled out into his waiting arms, dragging in a deep breath of fresh air. She blinked up into the face hovering above her, into the eyes that were no longer hunger, only sad and worried.

“Beel…” she smiled despite the absolute terror she’d felt mere moments ago. “You’re really you again.”

His frown only deepened, eyebrows scrunching up. “Are you alright?”

She nodded, shivering in the cold air. “A little tender, but I’m fine.” She chuckled, trying to lighten the mood somewhat. Her body betrayed her nonchalant attitude, though; he could feel her trembling in his grasp, trying to calm itself from all the anxiety it’s had pumped through it. Beel’s eyes swept over her, becoming sadder with each scrape he saw and all the dirt still clinging to her from their struggle.

“Do you remember anything of what happened?” She asked.

Slowly, he nodded his head, not meeting her gaze. “I do.”

“Then you have to remember that you weren’t think straight. Look, I have no idea what caused that, but-“

“It was the chocolate.”

“Huh?”

“The chocolate.” He still wouldn’t look at her. “I only noticed there was something wrong with it after I ate it. If I had actually paused to look at it and not immediately stuffed my face then… then I wouldn’t have…” Darling had never seen Beel cry before, but now little beads of water formed at the corners of his eyes. “I could have killed you, Darling.”

Darling reached up to gently grab Beel’s head and guide it to her. She held him there, doing her best ro wrap her arms around him in the most comforting hug she could. He was still in his demon form and was still so much larger than her, but he curled around Darling like a child desperate for comfort. He wasn’t sobbing, but his body would shake every now and then as he clung to her and soaked in the fact that she was safe. For her part, Darling only carded her fingers through his hair, her other hand rubbing small circles into his back.

She almost found it funny, only a little bit ago she’d been scared out of her mind, and she was still coming off of that, but here she was doing her best to be the one doing the comforting. Because it was sweet Beel.

They stayed like that for a long time, not saying anything and simply trying to find comfort after that whole experience. Eventually, they both stopped shaking and could breathe evenly. Darling pulled back slightly to look at Beel, but he still tried to avoid her. She refused to let him, though, and used her hand to make him look at her. “Let’s go home, okay, Beel?”

He nodded mutely, standing up with her still in his arms. Mid-standing, he finally released his demonic form, shrinking back to his human size. He held her tightly as they started walking.

---

Evidently, the other brothers had started to grow concerned as it took much longer than it should have for the pair to return home, but they weren’t actually worried until they saw a solemn Beel carrying the still dirty Darling through the door. Beel hadn’t let any of them get close to her as he brought her to the bathroom to get cleaned up, and he explained everything that had happened while they were out.

He’d insisted on retrieving their stuff before heading back, specifically the candy bar wrapper. Satan was able to do some research on the residual magic that still clung to it and tracked down the spell. Apparently, it had a different effect based on who ingested it. For a demon, it filled them with rage and blocked off their inhibitions, causing them to go feral. Destructive and not a pleasant feeling, but something that would eventually fade away on its own before long. In a human, though, it was a destructive poison. If Darling had been the one to eat it like intended, then it certainly would have killed her.

The brothers continued to investigate into who could have gotten their hands on a spell like that, and who would have it out for Darling, and eventually found the culprit in one of the students at R.A.D. A demon who’d been particularly vocal about his dislike with the exchange program and who Darling had had more than one run in with.

He was called into the student council’s office, and the next day failed to show up to school. In fact, no other students saw him after that. Darling elected not to ask what they did to him.

The brothers continued to be a little extra gentle with her following the event but what drove her mad was the eggshells Beel was walking on around her. He’d held her so tightly right after, but now it was like he no longer trusted himself to be around her. She missed her friend, missed how it used to be so easy around him; and while the others said to give him time, Darling knew she had to take matters into her own hands to fix things.

…