#it would be wicked rude to dip

[toyourliking]

wh. why wouldn’t you send out confirmation emails

[m-ayo-o]

he wants your hands…

18+ explicit sex // oral // edging everybody 21+ female reader x bleach men

on his abs

Ichigo wants your hands all over his chiseled abs– he’s worked damn hard to get so ripped and you’re gonna show him how much you love his body! Working between those tight muscles and over his toned waist makes him sigh contentedly, feeling your hands going lower.

Your fingers trace over his waistband as your lips attach to his stomach, kissing and licking the hot, hard muscles.

You get his shorts off and continue kissing down, making him let out a surprised moan as you swallow his tip, enjoying feeling him get harder in your mouth.

“y/n!! fuck–” the blood rushes to his cock, some spared for his reddening cheeks, as you take him down.

You suck him, your hands never leaving the sides of his perfectly formed six pack.

bound

Kisuke loves pinning your wrists down or tying you to the bed frame, keeping your hands off him so he can let that pretty mouth of yours stroke his ego instead. He’ll tease and edge you for his amusement, like you’re some kind of toy, not stopping until you let out those beautiful whimpers of his name.

“You know what I need to hear, girl,” he utters, leaning over you as the vibrator attached to your clit buzzes relentlessly, while he slides in a dildo that’s just a little too small for your wet hole.

“Kisuke!!! I– I can’t– can't fucking cum anymoore, nnhhh–” you let out a long, needy moan.

His lips quirk up into a devious smile.

“pleeeeaase Kisukeee—” you squeeze your eyes shut and draw out his name till you’re interrupted by his hard length replacing the dildo, he swears you almost purr with satisfaction.

“all better now, hm?”

massaging him

Byakuya loves feeling your hands on his shoulders and back, preferably in the bath, with oils and lotions. He’s used to being pampered, and you enjoy giving him this luxury. You do it out of love, a selfless act, finding his relaxed and peaceful expression enough of a reward. However, whether you’re expecting it or not, he always returns your kind favours.

“Thank you, petal,” he pats himself dry then takes your hand, guiding you to the bed, “now lay down.” You feel the drip of massage oil over your back, his slender fingers massaging down your spine.

But his hands start to dip further, pushing between your legs, eagerly digging into your wet folds. He fingers you till you’re all wet and gushing, ready for his cock, then slowly slides in, taking you as you lay on your stomach, leaning right over and whispering sweet nothings in your ear as he spreads you open.

in his hair

Renji hates to admit how much he loves your hands in his hair– but when you’re riding him you can tell he wants it. You take his hair down, bouncing on his lap as he sits up, making him sigh with relief. Your fingers rake through his fiery strands, gently at first. Until he starts rutting his hips up, letting you feel him harder, encouraging you to pull and tug, making him let out the hottest groans.

“Harder, y/n–” he moans out, making a wicked smile cross your face.

“Want me to ride you harder?” you ask, feigning confusion.

He grits his teeth, his eyes narrowing. You feel his hand gripping over yours to give his hair another tug.

“words, Abarai.” you mutter with a smirk, your hips grinding up and down.

He releases your hand, his grip returning to your waist, admitting defeat with a hiss.

“pull my fucking hair,” he glares back at you, “‘n say my first name.”

“so rude, baby,” you let out a little tsk, shaking your head, slowing your motions.

He would put up more of a fight, but he’s just getting so close and needy to feel exactly what he wants when he reaches his release.

“fuck, y/n!!” he lets out a shout, his cheeks flushing up nice and rosy, adding to your satisfaction, “please”

Your eyebrow arches.

“pull my hair…” he lets his head fall back, unable to maintain eye contact, “please– fuck–!!” he yells.

Needless to say, you give him what he wants, giving his locks a final teasing stroke before pulling hard, making him shoot his load.

serving him

Shunsui is another man who loves when you take care of him. In his opinion, your hands are best placed around a bottle of sake, serving up and handing him his next drink. He’ll pass you a cup too, so make sure you’ve got a steady hand when you’re pouring.

He’s likely to get handsy once he’s had a few– but you don’t mind. 

Even when he’s bending you over the table and giving your ass a little squeeze while he finishes his drink, you allow him.

He just loves good girls like you. So subservient, taking his cock from behind without batting an eyelid.

[masterlist]

likes, comments + reblogs appreciated!

[dynoguard]

"And we're back." Linda DuPree smiled into the camera, doing her best to appear natural. "With LaBrea... Uh... Is that your first or last name?"

The camera panned over to Linda's "guest." At first glance she appeared human, though the illusion broke down quickly. The size was the immediate tip-off: nine feet tall, with chalk-white skin and half-feline features.

From her short muzzle a pair of dagger like fangs dipped to just under her jaw. She "wore" an evening gown and opera gloves made of viscous liquid tar, the same material that formed an impossible mane upon her head.

The liquid moved and shifted with a life of its own, and a tendril of her floor-length "tresses" was presently dancing behind Linda like an agitated cobra, dripping rivulets of shimmering black oil that flowed along the ground back into her dress.

"Just LaBrea." Her voice carried an odd mix of valley girl inflection and a Hollywood Count Dracula accent, somehow unimpeded by her tusk-like fangs. "Thank you for asking. And Linda, can I just say that I am so thankful that you had little old me on your show, to get to know all the good people at home?"

"Thank, yes, I would like to-" Linda paused, and gathered herself. "I'd like to thank you, very much, LaBrea, for allowing the paramedics to give Sarah and Pauline transfusions."

"They were deliciously boring, dahling." She smiled. "Not like you. So. What do you want to ask me?"

"Well, what are you?" Linda winced. "Was that rude? I-"

"No, Dahling, you're just timid, frightened, like a little mouse. I like you." LaBrea tapped her chin, the slick mass of tar on her head shifted into a raised secretarial bun, a pair of glasses frames forming on her face, evoking a 'thoughtful' look by way of a fashion photo shoot.

"I'm a sabertooth tigress by death, a vampire professionally, an actress by calling and a Fossil Ghoul in general."

"Lets talk about that last one."

"Oh, acting! I don't have representation yet, but you have seen me on the news! And now here! On the hostage episode of The Squadt with Linda, Sarah, Pauline, and the husk formerly known as Darla!" She made an old fashioned 'call me' gesture into the camera with her tar-dripping claws.

"She'll be fine. I mean... not psychologically, but in a few categories I'm sure."

"I meant lets talk about the Fossil Ghouls. What does that mean?"

"Okay, so, like, I'm sure you've heard all kinds of things from the DynoGuard and their little juicebox pals, no offense."

"None taken."

"Wasn't a request. Like I was saying. You've heard that we're some kind of alien species that feeds on fear that's come here to bring an age of suffering and ultimately extinction upon you all. And I just want to let everyone know that couldn't be further from the truth."

"I, for one am glad to hear tha-"

"Yeah, species implies we reproduce and create life like mortals, which is downright offensive. Also, we feed on all forms of evil that you both commit and suffer, not just fear."

"So what are you then?"

"I'm the bones of a sabertooth cat, a whole lot of tar, a mass of your species superstitions, fears, and desires brought to life with a dark heart."

"A Dark Heart... is that metaphorical-?"

LaBrea plunged a hand into the tar at her hip, digging around in it as it were a pocket, before withdrawing a pulsing crystal the size of a cantaloupe. It was shaped like a human heart, carved crudely out of a sickly amber-yellow crystal. Inside, Linda could see a shadow moving around like a bug in a jar.

"This is a dark heart. Made form the ichor of Apothis herself, and holding a poor little soul that was too wicked to get fully digested after the master's last stop." LaBrea turned to the heart and its tiny shadow. "Who wasn't digested? You weren't, you weren't digested were you? You little atrocity you!"

Linda flinched as the shadow slammed itself against the wall of the heart nearest to her. She couldn't remember what it looked like, only that it had many teeth and claws it ought not to have, and was scrabbling furiously at the crystal in a futile attempt at escape. The camera did not pick up the finer details.

"You need a lot of evil, a lot of entroplasm, to make a little monster like this big and strong enough to be a real Fossil Ghoul." LaBrea said. "So you see, by letting us run roughshod over your world, you're actually helping us thrive. Isn't that fun?"

"You mentioned Apothis... That's the meteor that killed the dinosaurs?"

"Oh sweet little mouse! Apothis comes for everyone eventually. As a civilization gets big, and gets smart, its capacity to both inflict and experience evil swells. And when you're ripe, the monster meteor herself comes to feast, leaving a mass extinction in her wake. Before moving to the next star to do it, and the next, coming back around when your world has a new set of annoying talking matter that knows how to scream and mean it."

LaBrea shook herself from her ravings and regained her perky, if uncanny, posture. "Annoying talking matter and you, Linda. We're besties. Obviously!"

"How, how many times has Apothis done this?"

"To Earth? More than a couple by a few, dahling." LaBrea. "The lizards were the only ones to do something about it, and we'll have them dealt with soon."

"Why are you telling us this?" Linda asked.

"Because, dahling, it won't help. Not knowing, not begging, not even worshiping me." She tilted her head and smiled. Both the tilt and smile went farther than they ought. "Not that you shouldn't do all three anyway. They're fun!"

Linda blinked, unsure of how to respond.

"I mean fun for me." LaBrea grinned into the camera, then took a long, low inhale through her nose. As she did, Linda saw tendrils of smoke roiling from the cameras, the audience, and even herself, rushing into the creature's oddly petite nostrils. The smoke was an impossibly dark and deep purple and it smelled of burning decay.

She could taste the wisps flowing out of her mouth. They tasted like her divorce, her broken leg, her father's funeral-

"Don't turn that dial." LaBrea said in a mocking parody of Darla's voice. "Some of us will be right back after a message from these sponsors."

[acapelladitty]

prompt: someone (preferably Bruce) is under Harvey's desk while he deals with some business

Gosh I wish that was me 😫😫😫

Tucked neatly away beneath the hard wood of Harvey's work desk, the warmth from Bruce's cramped, flushed body paired with the heat radiating from Harvey's thick legs to make for a uniquely uncomfortable hiding place.

His vision limited, Bruce could only just peek out to see the open scowl which lay on Harvey's features as he stared down the pair of goons who had knocked on his door; a scowl constructed of such open malice that Bruce doubted either of them would dare to interrupt again.

One of the men spoke, his thick accent and nasal voice carrying across the room with ease.

"Boss! Gerry phoned, says that Sionis' men have been spotted setting up around the fishery down by the western dock."

Bruce's ears perked up at the information even as a wicked idea alit within his mind as his gaze once more flicked ahead to Harvey's painfully-hard cock - the length still slickened by his mouth despite the timely interruption which had forced him into hiding.

"Good. Now I know where the slimy bastard is hiding out."

The hoarseness of Harvey's voice amused Bruce no end and his fingers danced across the strained fabric of the split suit which covered Harvey's knees, slowing travelling up his thick thighs.

"Hey, where's Matches? Did he split?"

The second goon voice entered the fray, his much deeper and brassy.

Smirking, Bruce relished in the tickle of the faux-moustache which remained loyally stuck to his upper lip even through all of the agitation it had endured.

"When it's your damn business, I'll let you know."

Despite the aggression in the tone, the subtle amusement did not go unnoticed as Bruce traced his fingers across the soft, velvety skin of Harvey's exposed cock, enjoying the way that it twitched towards his fingers, begging for more.

Well, it would be rude not to.

Bruce dipped his head forward, wetting a sordid line up Harvey's cock with his tongue, and it was only Bruce's iron-grip on the clothed knees that prevent them from jerking up and striking against the hard wood table.

A strangled cough from above was quickly smothered by a soft noise, almost like a suited forearm pressing itself to lips.

"My plans for Sionis will wait until I've met with Cobblepot." Harvey stated, regaining some composure even as his hips rocked dangerously against Bruce's lips. "Do not move until I've given the signal."

Bruce dropped his lips to the weeping tip of Harvey's cock, tasting the pre-cum there as he teased and took advantage of the unfortunate predicament.

"Fuck." Harvey hissed, slamming a hand against the desk; the force causing the wood to vibrate around Bruce almost as a unspoken threat.

"You okay, boss?" The nasal goon asked.

"Fuck off out of my office." Harvey hissed, "And don't come back until I call you."

[honeyynymphh]

Wip Wednesday

tagged by @sucharide years ago

this is from a new story (one of many) that is very nearly finished. having so much trouble finishing things lately so I’m hoping by posting this into the void I shall be motivated to complete it!

it’s just the beginning so there are no real warnings but it is a little nsfw

Cardinal Copia x FemReader

summary: you’re an abbey maid that has the unfortunate pleasure of having to clean the most infuriating cardinal’s office and personal chambers.

You stare at the books in front of you and sigh, the wooden ladder you stand on groaning a little with the movement. Fuck, how you hated having to clean this damn shelf—well, shelf didn’t really cover it, it was an entire wall full of books and a few odd curiosities. Honestly, cleaning this entire office was exhausting. It took up most of your day, and then you had to move on to the inhabitants’ personal chambers. No wonder nobody else wanted to do it.

All those months ago when Sister Imperator had given out the timetables you’d been ecstatic to see you had fewer rooms to clean than the previous roster. The other maids had given you pitying looks but nobody had offered to swap with you, which you had dismissed as odd. How bad could one person be? You understood why now. It was because this room had to be cleaned thoroughly or you ended up back here, dusting and wiping while the owner of the room sneered out unhelpful and downright rude commentary on your methods.

But you were not going to be cowed by that uptight ass. You didn’t care if Cardinal Copia was nearly as high up as Sister Imperator or the Papas. If the man wanted his study and chambers to be cleaned, he would, at the very least, give you some respect. You were the only one who didn’t find him weirdly offputting—though he very much was that—but cleaning his office and chambers was much more pleasant than having to clean up the Great Hall after one of their decadent feasts or having to clean the rooms of the Papas. You never knew what would be in store for you whenever you entered a space that Papa Terzo had just vacated. And once you were done, it meant you had more free time. It was worth it, especially now that you’d grown used to the Cardinal and his acerbic tongue.

Cardinal Copia was exacting and his manners were non-existent but at least he was predictable. And he rarely made any mess—he certainly didn’t leave cream splattered on the ceiling. At least, you think it had been cream…Papa Terzo had mentioned something about cream pies.

Your eyes focus back on the books in front of you, most are all leather bound and organised neatly. Some have titles in golden lettering along the spines but so few of them are in English. You are nearly finished tidying them back up after having dusted and your eyes scan over them. The Cardinal had such a strange collection of books, and while many you could never read, some had intriguing diagrams and little illustrations in them. As someone not part of the church, just a maid, it was fascinating perusing through the strange old texts. You were sure the one you had leafed through last week had been about summoning actual demons.

One book catches your eye, it’s bound in deep red leather and the spine is decorated in gold embellishments. Your fingers run along the bumps and dips of the spine before you slip it out from the shelf and flip it open at random, your hip pressing against the top of the ladder as you balance yourself. Your eyes widen as you take in the illustration before you. It is…obscene! A woman on her knees in prayer, yet she is naked and bound. And her open mouth is not waiting for the communion wafer but for the cock of the priest standing before her, the rest of the congregation looking on without a care.

You flip to another page. This time, a woman stands upon a small plinth—a rope hangs from the ceiling and suspends her tied hands high above her head. A man stands next to her, ready to strike her bare ass with a wicked-looking birch rod. But there is also another man, on his knees before the other, his mouth clearly wrapped around the other’s cock—his own hard and leaking.

“Intrigued, Signorina?”

[typically-untypical]

Running With Scissors

AU: Futuristic

CW: Mild Injury

WC: 717

Date: 12/2/2023

"Virgil, can you please explain to me why Remus is running around with a rusty pair of scissors," Janus asked, watching one of his boyfriends just about fly around their house with a primitive cutting device that Janus had only seen in history books. When it came to Remus he wasn't really surprised but mostly confused. "Where did he even get those?"

Virgil, helpful as always, just shrugged. The two of them had long since stopped trying to control Remus. Rather, they made sure they were ready when he inevitably did something stupid. "It probably has something to do with the lecture Logan is holding on obsolete adages. Apparently, before the air cutters were developed there was a very popular wisdom about not running with scissors. How Remus got a pair of scissors, especially rusty ones, I don't know, but do you really expect any less of him?"

Janus flopped onto the couch next to Virgil, allowing the floating furniture to dip before returning to its hovering position where it would be out of the way of their automatic vacuum. "Of course I don't, I just wish he understood that old adages had reason behind them, even if they are absolute now."

"Careful, you're starting to sound just like the prof."

"Cherish the thought," Janus whispered, rolling his eyes before leaning against Virgil. "It seems logical that Remus shouldn't be running around with something that has its blade so exposed, that’s why so many things have safety guards now." Virgil leaned into Janus as they curled up together. Both of them knew they couldn't stop Remus, but they could watch and be ready for the moment he needed their assistance. Maybe they could even entice him with a bit of cuddling, but that depended on the day.

"He's full of energy," Janus whispered, rubbing a small circle on Virgil's shoulder. "I doubt he got that from one of Logan's lectures."

Virgil smirked, "You're as perceptive as usual. I know why he's hyper, but I can't tell you. All I can say is that he has a surprise for later, but anything further is completely confidential."

"How rude, keeping secrets from me is completely unacceptable," Janus said as he melted closer to Virgil, leaning up and giving Virgil a soft kiss.

"I know, I'm an absolutely atrocious boyfriend," Virgil responded in a sarcastic tone, kissing Janus back as they settled back into their resting positions. "Besides, it's not a secret. Secrets aren't meant to be shared. This is a surprise." 

Janus snorted, but didn't fight it any further. Instead, the two of them continued to watch Remus. They watched him quietly, relaxing into each other's arms, right up until the point when he tripped, stabbing himself with the scissors.

Janus sighed, "Do you want to get it or should I?"

"I don't know, gravity is crushing me to this chair," Virgil mumbled, causing Janus to roll his eyes with a light smile. Slowly pushing himself up he slid onto the floor. Remus getting injured was a near daily occurrence and they were prepared for any eventuality. Janus walked over to their storage cabinet and pulled out a med sleeve before walking lazily over to Remus.

"Maybe next time you will listen to one of Logan's lectures rather than just taking away the bits that you think are interesting."

Remus cackled as Janus pulled out the scissor blade, wincing and tossing it aside. He then started to fix the sleeve over Remus' wound, knowing everything would be properly cleaned out and sterilized while they waited.

"What's the fun of just listening when I could experiment all on my own. Logan approves of my experiments by the way."

"Of course he does," Janus rolled his eyes, ruffling Remus' hair and pulling him in for a kiss while the med sleeve did its work. He felt the way Remus melted into him and he smiled, gently pulling at his boy friend's hair. "So, Virgil says you have a surprise for me?"

Remus had a wicked grin on his face and a gleam in his eyes. "Why yes I do, but you'll have to wait until after dinner time."

Janus rolled his eyes again but he had a smile on his face. "Very well, I'll wait. I will always wait for you."

[st4rfvckerr]

"Nice try, maze boy."

@mazerunner-rarepairs one out of three done !!

at this point im just picking out random characters and making them hold hands but pre-slash Brenda/Alby in the scorch is real to me !!

prompt: they never meet in canon

~

The sun begins to dip behind the dunes of the scorch and Brenda is dozing off, her head resting over the pile of documents placed onto Jorge’s old wobbly desk. She takes in the semi-rest gratefully, eyes stinging from a lack of sleep she had accumulated over the passing days, drowning in work and effort and responsibilities, that burden only heavier due to the new arrivals. Brenda knows what she has to do and isn't afraid, but the amount of work she now has on her shoulders is tremendously absorbing and exhausting.

Her breath evens out as she rests her forehead inside the crook of her elbow, only for a second. Closing her eyes feels luxurious and she revels in it, the tension headache that had formed around the crown of her head so many days ago finally relieving. The reminder of the pile of work and the camp she has to take care of pulls her attention away from the well earned rest, a constant reminder that she cannot allow herself to take longer breaks.

She's about to get back to work when a sharp knock makes her jump, the loud sound of knuckles rasping against the wooden door pulling her out of her half-asleep state, her back snapping straight. She wipes the sleep out of her eyes and attempts to fix her hair, running her fingers through her limp strands.

“Come in,” she finally mutters, mentally cursing whoever has come to disturb her and bring more tasks for her to complete.

The door squeaks open and a head appears through the opening, a somewhat formal smile painted on a face Brenda takes a few moments to recognize as he leans casually against the doorframe.

Brenda lets out a sigh at the view of what she figures is the last person she would ever want to see.

“Piss off, Albert,” she rudely dismisses him, letting her attention draw back to her work.

Alby’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, clearly taken aback by the fact that Brenda had remembered his name from meeting him earlier, let alone his full name, one he barely used anywhere other than his official records. Brenda smiles to herself, pleased to see she’s still a step ahead.

Alby doesn't budge, much to Brenda’s annoyance, scratching the thinning paint off the door absentmindedly. Brenda attempts to ignore him, eyes skimming over letters she still has to answer. The amount of work she still has exasperates her, her responsibilities seemingly piling up to no end. Letters dance before her eyes, twirling on the page, and Brenda feels dizzy.

Alby clears his throat, and Brenda is seconds away from shouting at him and pushing him out of the door, unceremoniously.

Her resolve breaks. “What do you want ?”

He glares at her, gesturing to the concering sheets spread out on her desk, and Brenda really wants to strangle him. “You should sleep.”

“Nice try, maze boy.”

The words slip out of her mouth before she can think about them and Alby’s eyes widen. He barks out a laugh, crooked teeth peeking out from under his top lip, and Brenda isn't sure why she's staring so intensely. She considers grabbing something from the desk space and aiming it at Alby's chest. She isn't sure why she's having such violent thoughts, either.

Well, maybe she does.

Just when she had thought she couldn't get overwhelmed by any more work, a batch of starving WICKED refugees had practically showed up to her front door, begging for help after spending multiple days out in the scorch. Even that, she could deal with, having handled way worse than a dozen hungry boys, no matter how much they got on Jorge's nerves. They could be useful, anyway. But now one of those boys had the guts to show up in her space and tell her she should sleep when there is still so much work to do, most of which he had single handedly brought onto Brenda ? Somehow, she isn't sure if she wants to punch him, shove her papers down his throat, or have a nervous breakdown in his arms. None of those options really sound that great.

“You really should take a nap,” Alby insists, a scowl forming on his face.

Brenda wonders how someone can inquire about her well-being and yet look like an absolute asshole.

“You really should mind your own business and go look somewhere else to find any fucks I may give,” Brenda growls, her tone a warning.

Sleep deprivation catches up to her and makes her unnecessarily agressive, grumpy and quick to react to the tiniest of taunts. Alby seems to notice this, scratching his chin as he looks around the room thoughtfully. Brenda runs her fingers over the wooden desk, her nails catching into splinters and making her wince. She fiercely holds Alby’s gaze, standing her ground.

“Fine,” Alby finally concedes.

Brenda feels a wave of disappointment washing over her, and isn't sure what to make of it. Was she enjoying their disagreement ?

She attempts to maintain a straight face. “What ?”

“You have a lot of work, I get it.” Alby smiles, the full bastard grin of someone who knows very well what they are doing. “I don't. I'll keep you company.”

“Okay,” she answers dumbly. “Sure.”

As a proof of his intentions, he slides down against the doorway and extends his long legs in front of him, crossing his arms with a smirk, sitting against the wall and clearly not about to move any time soon. Brenda’s mouth opens as she attempts to come up with argument, than closes as she finds nothing. Alby's eyebrows raise in amusement and Brenda’s cheeks feel a little warm. It's been so long since anyone other than Jorge has cared for her, and she isn't sure what to do about it. It feels foreign but nice, a gentle feeling of comfort working itself into her heart.

~

two more to go 💪

[partystoragechest]

A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this chapter, Trevelyan reaps what she has sowed.

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. Next entry. Words: 1,891. Rating: all audiences.)

Chapter 18: Lady Trevelyan's Folly

It was about a half-hour after luncheon that Dagna requested Trevelyan take something to the Commander’s office. Perfect.

Up to the Great Hall she went, straight through the library—good afternoon, Dorian!—and into the great outdoors. The Commander’s tower was merely a stone’s throw away, but her brief excursion was pleasant all the same. The sun was bright and shining, as if it wished to match her mood. A fellow mage passed her by, exchanging a cheery smile. Everything was quite perfect!

She tapped a little melody upon the Commander’s door. A second later, came his invitation:

“Enter.”

Trevelyan did exactly that, and was delighted by what she saw.

He stood behind his desk, his eyes upon the report he held—in one hand. The other brandished a spoon, which he casually dipped into a little baking dish, and pulled from it a sweet bite of apple crumble. Trevelyan smiled as he ate it, and noted happily that half the dish was already empty.

“Good afternoon, Commander.”

His head sprung up, to look in her direction. He desperately tried to finish his mouthful, so that he might say: “Lady—!”

But some crumble must have lingered, as his speech turned to a choke. He coughed and spluttered crumb over his desk, urgently trying to turn away.

“Maker, are you all right?” Trevelyan asked. “Have you a drink?”

But the Commander’s coughs already slowed. The back of his hand pressed firm against his mouth, in an effort to abate them.

“I’m fine,” he croaked, turning to catch sight of his desk. “Maker’s breath.”

There was a nearby rag he snatched up, wiping away flecks of crumb and spittle from his documents. Trevelyan concealed the laughter that dared sneak into her mouth. The poor man was embarrassed enough.

“Good crumble?” she asked.

“Ah—yes, it is”—he glanced to it, then her—“would you… like some?”

Trevelyan smiled. “No, thank you. It is yours. And you seem to be... enjoying it.”

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to make such a fool of myself.”

“Not at all. Besides, I made quite the fool of myself yesterday,” she said, recalling the prior morning with the Baroness. “I am sorry for running off. I didn’t mean to be so rude.”

The Commander stopped, to look at her. Maker, those honey eyes of his, they bore so much solemnity. “It’s all right,” he told her. “I’m… sorry, if I overstepped. I hope I did not cause you any trouble.”

At least he was somewhat self-aware, if only after the fact. “Don’t worry. It has all been levelled out.”

“Good.” He took to cleaning again. “Do the other Ladies speak to you like that often?”

“Goodness, no! The Baroness made a mistake, that’s all. She has since apologised, quite sincerely. She is a good woman; they all are.”

“Ah, I see. Then, forgive me for misinterpreting.”

Oh. What an interesting angle to consider this from. Not only did the Commander think he was protecting her from Touledy, but he thought he was defending her against the Ladies as a whole? Well, at least correcting him on the matter had provided Trevelyan another opportunity to talk them up.

“Forgiven,” she said, watching him continue his cleaning work. His rag ran over the cover of a book, that was perched right at the edge of his desk.

Trevelyan could have sworn she recognised the title from one Lady Erridge had described. ‘His Lady’s Promise’. Sequel to ‘His Lady’s Word’. Apparently, not as good.

“Do you read romances, Commander?”

“Yes—ah, no!” The Commander opened a drawer, and shoved the book inside. Not before Trevelyan had noticed a slip of paper marking a page partway through, however. “Or—well, yes. It was… recommended by a friend.”

His sheepishness pointed to a certain meaning. Perhaps he was looking for advice, amongst those pages? Perhaps Trevelyan’s scheming had worked. Perhaps he cared for one of the Ladies!

Hiding her excitement, Trevelyan asked, “Do you like it?”

“I have… only just started it.”

“Oh? Do you read much?”

He shrugged. “When I have the time.”

“Oh!” Trevelyan laughed to herself. “So, never?”

“Well, I,” he stammered, “sometimes, before bed, I may read.”

“Just reports, or—?”

He laughed. Maker, it was such a terrible laugh. She could not help but find it lovely.

“No,” he said.

Trevelyan raised an eyebrow, for he was, at that moment, glancing down at something on his desk. She crept closer, and snuck a peek. Some Duke sending recruits to the Orlesian frontlines after ceasefire, how intriguing. Almost seemed like… a report?

“And what is this you’re reading?” she asked. He startled to see how close she’d gotten.

“It’s, ah—” he sighed. “Sorry, I… it caught my eye.”

Trevelyan smiled, and noted to herself how full of apology he was. That had to be his fourth this conversation. If he knew what she’d heard him say at the gala… would he be sorry? She couldn’t help but think he might.

“One would hope a man like you would have better focus,” she jested.

The Commander smiled. “Did you come to tease me, Lady Trevelyan, or have you a report yourself?”

Trevelyan giggled. “Why not both?” She produced the envelope given to her by Dagna. “Here. The Arcanist wishes to request usage of the Inquisition’s red lyrium sample. We are almost ready to perform our first tests on the substance itself. We require your approval first.”

The request was more formally, and more verbosely, laid out in the letter which the Commander now read. He straightened, and nodded.

“You have my approval. I’ll have the keys to its chamber sent.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

“Very well. Dismissed.”

Trevelyan blinked. The Commander began to stutter.

“I—I didn’t mean, forgive me, it was, it’s a habit, I…”

Trevelyan laughed. Like the Templars at the Circle would, she stood to attention. “Yes, Commander!” She crossed an arm over her chest, and did a little bow. “I’ll see to it, Commander! Right away, Commander!”

He smiled, though it did not clear his shame. “I am determined to humiliate myself in front of you,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Trevelyan chuckled. “Don’t worry, Commander. It’s endearing.”

He managed to look in her direction, but struggled to find his words. “I, ah…”

“I shall leave you to it, before another incident occurs,” said Trevelyan. “Enjoy your apple crumble, Commander.”

“I shan’t say another word, just in case,” he muttered, before adding: “Farewell.”

Trevelyan curtsied, and turned for the door. As soon as it closed behind her, she heard a grumbling from inside.

It made her smile. There was a little flutter in her chest, which she could not quite explain. Her heart beat as if she’d had some death-defying experience in there, when all it had been was a conversation with the Commander.

Or perhaps it was knowing the success of the apple crumble. Oh, she had to report to Lady Erridge right away! Dagna could wait a few more minutes—she was rather lax about Trevelyan’s attendance anyway, given how easily she had waved off this morning’s absence. Then again, Trevelyan had worked every single day since taking up the role. She was technically owed some break.

So Trevelyan hurried away, into the keep of Skyhold, to locate Lady Erridge. The search was rather easy—Erridge had taken to her room after luncheon, and was, coincidentally, reading romances.

“Come in, come in!” she said excitedly, when Trevelyan appeared at the door.

Her room was much like Trevelyan’s in style, except there were vases of flowers on every available surface, in every available colour. And also, Erridge had a teddy bear sat beside her pillow. Trevelyan assumed the name would be saccharine enough to turn even soured milk sweet.

“Have you seen the Commander?” Erridge asked, as they sat upon her sofa.

“I have,” Trevelyan told her, “and you will be pleased to hear that, when I walked in, he was eating the crumble!”

Lady Erridge gasped. “Truly!?”

“Yes! He said he liked it, and was very much enjoying it. He even offered for me to try some!”

Erridge applauded. Her face was bright and beaming, her cheeks the rosiest they’d ever been. “Oh, how wonderful! I am ever so glad to hear it. Our efforts have been well-rewarded—though I do wish you’d taken some of the credit.”

“No, no!” Trevelyan waved a hand. “It was your idea! And it is better for him to think it was a solitary endeavour.”

“Yes, but—it does sort of feel like lying, and I do dislike lying.”

Trevelyan shook her head. “A white lie, perhaps. But it does no harm to anyone but me, really, and I am fine with it.”

Erridge sighed. “Well, if you are, and if you think he is not deceived, then… all right.” She perked again. “Maker, how much had he eaten?”

“Nearly half!” said Trevelyan. “I do think he might finish it all in one day, he likes it so much!”

“I should find that recipe again, and copy it down for when we are married—for if what you say is true, then it is almost a certainty!”

Trevelyan smiled, but struggled to nod. She could not imagine the Commander marrying Erridge. No, Lady Erridge would be better off with Lady Orroat. The Commander could… marry someone else.

“Will you ask him about it again, Lady Trevelyan?” Erridge begged. “I must know if he finishes it!”

Trevelyan giggled. “Well, if you wish me to, I shall happily find an excuse, and pay him another visit. A few hours should do the trick!”

If she could wait. Trevelyan was quite eager to see the Commander again. But the visit was supposed to be for their scheme’s sake, and so there was little purpose in seeing him right away.

Even if she, for some reason, wanted to.

***

The hours passed by excruciatingly. But finally, the sun began to dip, and Trevelyan took that as her signal. She’d had plenty of time to think of an excuse. She would tell him that she needed more details of the approval he was speaking of, in regards to the red lyrium sample. Easy.

And while there, she could see if there were any crumble left. It was not such a big dish, and he might well have eaten it all. Lady Erridge would be so pleased if that were the case.

Trevelyan made her excuses to Dagna, and slipped away to the Commander’s office once more. The sky had turned cloudy, but it could not dim her mood. There was no-one to greet her on the way, but she smiled to herself all the same.

She knocked melodiously upon the door. And waited.

It took a few seconds longer, this time; she had almost raised her hand to knock again. But then, the call came:

“Yes?”

Trevelyan pushed open the door, and entered. Her face fell.

The Commander sat at his desk, head slumped in his hands. The baking dish was empty, sure, but he—he was pale. Sweating. Something was wrong.

“Commander?”

He lifted his head, slow. His eyelids drooped half-closed. His eyes were glassy, ghostly. He looked to her with even more sadness than before.

And to her call, her answered: “Greagoir isn’t here right now.”

[kittlesandbugs]

Friendly sparring (AO3 Link) Fandom/Pairing: FHR / Argentstep Word Count: 2084 Warnings: Nothing much, just gals being pals and getting a little out of control Summary: Lady Argent invites Sidestep to HQ late one night to do some sparring.  Things heat up pretty quickly in more ways than one.

You're both giggling as Argent leads you by the hand through the dark halls of the Rangers HQ, no trace of resistance at breaking and entering. Is it really breaking in though, if the security system lets you in like old friends at her whim? Legality in the eye of the beholder, as with most things in Los Diablos. 

"You sure about this?" The lights come on automatically with the heavy *thunk* of an industrial breaker as you enter. A quick glance around reveals no windows; you should be safe from prying eyes. 

As safe as you can be with her. 

"Afraid of how bad I'm about to kick your ass?" she asks like she's the mind reader as she pads onto the mat. 

"No!" you say, maybe a little too strongly, as you kick your shoes and socks off and follow her to the center. 

Maybe you're a little afraid, but you aren't admitting that to her, not ever. You're hampered without your armor, even if she's sworn not to use claws. Telepathy hasn't officially been taken off the table, but you can't exactly feign ignorance to her feelings on the matter. Maybe if you stay subtle, you can use it if you need it. She may have other tricks herself. You still don't know the limits to her capabilities. 

She bounces lightly on her feet, the look in her eyes devilish with her sharp grin. She doesn't believe your protest at all; you don't even need to try to see that much. 

A flash of silver is all the warning you get before she's on you. Duck under the punch, your own at her jaw, she deflects, counters with a kick you're a hair too slow stepping back from. It gets you in the side. Not hard, she's pulling her blows. 

Makes sense with her strength, but it still pisses you off like Herald does when he's holding back. You'll show her you're not to be played with, armored or not. 

Looping an arm around her ankle before she can withdraw, you jump back. She goes down hard on her back, breaks the force with a slap on the mat. Her foot flows out of your grasp, and she kips up with a grin. 

"Want to play rough, do you?" 

You cross your arms and glower. "Don't go easy on me just because I'm not armored. Neither of us get better that way."

She rolls her shoulders and arches her back in a stretch. "Ricardo always said you didn't mess around with sparring. Even if he did kick your ass nine times out of ten."

"And who's kicking whose ass now?" 

"You haven't had a rematch yet." She rolls her mercurial eyes. "And kicking Herald's ass all the time is hardly an achievement."

"Who said I was talking about Herald?" 

A wicked grin, teeth sharp enough to cut. "You haven't actually beaten me yet either."

"Maybe. But I can say the same about you."  Your stalemates have cut it very close though. You've been lucky. Probably too lucky. 

"Today's the day, then." 

She lunges for a grab, intent just barely giving you a headstart to counter. You let her make contact and drop your weight as she latches onto your arms, down onto your back, send her flying with a kick and roll back up to find her doing the same. 

"Not bad," she laughs, mind bright with pleased surprise you don't even have to make an effort to read. Did she think this would be too easy without your armor enhancements? Rude. "How about this?" 

A swipe like her claws are out. You duck, counter with a fist to her solar plexus, and that's like punching a wall. She grins and strikes back with a punch that glances off your cheek as you sidestep (hah) and drop to sweep her legs. She jumps back, lunges forward, grabs your collar as you rise. If her claws were out, she'd have shredded it. She dips around behind you, grabbing and pinning one of your arms against your back as her other hand releases your collar and coils around your neck. 

"Gotcha." You can hear the smirk in her voice, lips grazing your ear. 

"That's what you think," you growl, sinking your weight into your feet. Snap your head back into her nose. She swears, grip loosens. Drop, twist and duck into the crook of her arm, check her with your hip to knock her off balance, throw her over your shoulder. 

A normal person would have had their nose broken. You know because you accidentally broke Ortega's once when he snuck up behind you. Her face is perfectly unmarred and unbloodied as she rolls over with a low snarl. She definitely felt that though. Still feeling it, mind rough and sharp and angry, swarming like bees. 

She climbs back to her feet, staring you down as she paces around. You turn with her. No more getting around behind you. A moment where she tenses and then—

Fast!  

You duck and roll and backpedal from another strike. Fuck, she definitely means business now, and without your armor boosting you to keep up, you need an edge. 

You reach with your mind as you make more distance and slide in following an eddie. You don't need to go deep, surface level, just a little twist using the mirror reflection to your left to screw with her perception of where you are, and she manages to stop dead before colliding with it. 

You close the distance when she shakes your illusion loose from her head. 

"Did you just—" She's cut off by your foot in her gut, sending her several stumbling steps back. Caught her before her skin could harden for once. 

"Maybe," you half-admit, because the swarming of her mind knows it. Lying would just piss her off more. 

"Don't think that's going to work again," she growls, sharp teeth bared, eyes unnerving, no longer unmarred silver. 

Twice more she almost gets you and twice more, you squeak an escape. Telepathy doesn't cut it anymore, with her onto your little tricks. You don't want her to know all of them anyway, just in case. She's getting even angrier. Even faster. There's little you can do but stay on the evasive, waiting for an opening. Light glints off her fingertips. Light dies in the six little pupils that emerged after your telepathic stunt.

And then her ankle catches yours and tears it into the air as she crows, "Got you!" 

Your back hits the mat and she's on you, quick as a lightning strike. Hands take yours, pin them above your head as she straddles your chest. Her size always hides her weight advantage, denser than flesh. A cool shifting teases against your wrists as her left changes shape to hold them and her right comes down to rest lightly around your throat. You flex your hands and they're both trapped, tied together, and held easily with her strength. Her claws rasp against your tender skin, not cutting, but not far from it despite promises made to keep them sheathed. 

You haven't exactly played fair either. 

Her lips curl into a Cheshire cat grin as you swallow against her palm, throat suddenly dry as a bone stripped clean. Not a comforting image to have with her. Only one thing in her mind and it's you, flushed and panting and trapped at her mercy. Six little pinpricks bore down into your eyes as she leans her face in close, silver skin picking up your tawny browns and the navy of the mats. 

"Are you finally ready to give up?" 

You nod slowly, carefully. 

"Say it," she hisses, fingers tightening, claws threatening. 

"You win," you say, almost a whisper. You aren't sure if the waver in your voice can be attributed to concern for your tender throat or the fluttering in your chest. You aren't sure you want to dig into how close this is to your fantasies. 

"Good girl," she purrs low, pressing her lips to your cheek, a panther sheathing her claws as her grip relaxes. 

Oh.  

That hits you like a punch to the gut. Heat that was already coiling in your gut slithers its way up to your cheeks as you squirm in her grip, finding no purchase, no escape. 

Who are you kidding exactly? How much do you really want to? 

Her grin turns delighted, a peel of laughter falls from her lips. What's she see that's so— oh fuck, she can see it, the heat working its way through you. You could see it on Ortega through her strange eyes when you peeked in her memories. She can see it in you too, and you doubt she'll let you forget it anytime soon. 

You open your mouth to spit out a denial or deflection or you don't know what, and it stops mattering because her lips meet yours as she slides off your torso to lounge beside you. Between her hand trailing its way down your chest and her tongue tangling with yours, any attempt at coherent thought slips through your bound grasp like mist. 

She lets you come up for air eventually, releases your hands, and her fingers toy with the drawstring of your sweatpants. Her wolfish smirk could put even Ortega to shame. 

You can't find it in you to look away or pull away. Instead you relax, sink into the mats' embrace, and leave your hands where she left them. You know better than to touch uninvited, especially when she's riled up. She draws closer, lips ghosting your jawline as anticipation shivers down your spine. Eyes back to normal, pure liquid silver for now. 

"Ready to switch gears?" she asks, voice honeyed like the sweetest of poisons. 

Just as you start to accept and drink it down, a throat clears in the doorway. Argent's hand darts out from under your waistband like she'd been stung. Both your heads whip around to the door to find Chen leaning against the frame, arms crossed, nonplussed. 

Fuck, how long has he been standing there? He's too quiet, too shielded, for you to pick up without focus. Dangerous. You're getting too sloppy for this. 

"What are you doing here?" Argent demands, as sharp as her teeth. Thoughts teaming to the surface, searching for the trap amidst the chum. No one is supposed to be here this late.  No one was here. When did he arrive? 

"The mayor needed a report expedited."

"We don't answer to her."

"We don't," he agrees with a nod. "But a little favor doesn't hurt relations now and then."

She has nothing to say to that, and it sounds like an argument they've had before. The silence drags on between the three of you, no one moving until he once again breaks spell. 

"So," he not-quite drawls, "what's this, then?" 

"Training." Argent glares, daring him to say otherwise. 

"Ah," he says, and you can see something in his sharp gaze that makes you nervous. "Is this how you plan to deal with Reckoning then?" 

Oh he did not just— don't. Don't fucking react, stay neutral, stay cool. 

"Are you implying something, Chen?" you ask, meeting his stare level and hard, your voice just this side of steady. Also daring him to say otherwise. 

"I wouldn't dream of it." He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "Now get out of here. You both know civilians —" Oh, you can hear the air quotes there. "—aren't allowed in restricted areas."

You pull yourself up off the mat slowly, languidly, like a cat that knows there's no consequences coming. Argent is already on her feet, leading the way as you collect your shoes and slide by him with one last pointed look that he meets. The arch in his eyebrow says he knows. But he hasn't come out and said it. You're almost certain he hasn't told Ortega though. Ortega wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut about it. What is Chen's game? 

A thought for another time. Argent takes your hand as you round the corner out of his sight and breaks into a relieved giggle. It's contagious, though you half choke on yours. It's getting harder and harder to keep up the civilian act in public. Innocence in the eye of the beholder, though "reality" is quite malleable in the hands of a telepath. 

Except when it comes to Ortega. How long until he figures out who you are, too? 

[muraenide]

Tries to touch his dangling earring. It's so mesmerizing...

He dodges the grey face's hand, heterochromatic eyes flashing something close to a warning. "Careful," a single word, though it carried more grace than he would have liked. "It would be rude to touch something without permission."

Given the same situation in the Coral Sea, losing a limb might have been part of his initial plan rather than a warning. The importance of the item in question also played a role, of course. Sturgeon scales were not incredibly expensive accessories to be had, but if Jade ever loses the one he has right now he's unsure if he'd ever find a replacement to match the one remaining on Floyd. More than just earrings they were trophies obtained from a certain victory in his youth. It's an item he considers quite dear to him, and he feels a searing possessiveness over it.

Jade leans up, straightening his back after dipping. He adjusts the fedora on his head and looks over his shoulders, sending a wicked and knowing smile toward the grey face, gaze frigid. Seconds pass, Jade lets out a hum and he says nothing as he turns and resumes his walk down the hallway.

[seekingdandelions]

The Spirit Loft - Short Story

Caelum lit the last candle in the circle and sat back, crossing his legs. The smell of salt drifted through the loft, making the boy’s nose crinkle. He shook his head, as though that might banish the scent. When that didn’t work, he rubbed at his nose, decided to ignore it,  and picked up the stack of paper by his knee. His notes had seen better days. Caelum had roughly torn the pages from his school notebook, blanketed them in scribbles and stamped it with a few coffee stains for good measure. However, the boy seemed undeterred by their condition, as he flipped through the disorganised pages.

Halfway down the first page, blue ink switched to black, and then briefly to red. As he read, Caelum could feel the whispers growing in ferocity, desperate to pull him away from the dusty loft. Caelum pushed them aside, raising his voice.

‘“Circle of salt, thirteen candles, runes of my choosing, clear intentions”… Everything seems in order, wouldn’t you guys agree?’ he called into the empty room. 

Caelum wasn’t sure who he was addressing. The constant murmuring never stopped, but it was rarely clear. It was like being in a city centre on Christmas Eve, trying to hone in on a dozen different conversations.  A single voice, scratchy and teetering on the edge of coherence, rose above the static in Caelum’s ears. ‘Stop,’ it hissed.

Pressing his lips together, the boy folded up his notes and set them on the floor, ignoring the ghost’s plea. His shadow swayed across the slanted wall, projected by the candlelight. Caelum’s mum would be home soon. He wasn’t sure how she would react to his setup. He could imagine that her signature eye twitch would be involved, but it was a complete mystery from there.

Probably best to get on with it.

After clearing his throat, he recited; ‘With this offering of fire and salt, I invite you to my land, providing you abide by my command.’ The individual flames perked up, as though they were listening intently. Caelum noticed, allowing a hint of confidence to seep into his voice. ‘Do not leave this circle of binding salt. Provide me with the knowledge and protection I seek, and in return, I will provide you with compensation. With my intentions set, I summon you, demon.’

The spirits fell silent. Caelum’s grey eyes drifted through the loft. Empty. No demon. He frowned, reaching for his notes. 

Has something gone wrong? Maybe he should have written the incantation himself. The online one had felt a little juvenile...

Without warning, thirteen candles flared with white-hot intensity. Rogue flames consumed the wicks with a crackle, leaving behind thirteen piles of molten red wax. Just as suddenly as they had swelled, the fire faltered and flatlined. Caelum bolted up, disoriented by the sudden eclipse. His notes plummeted to the floor.

Caelum took a shaky step back, eyes twitching through the loft. The boy was hardly an expert in the paranormal, but the goosebumps grabbing at his flesh weren’t a good sign. The sudden presence he could feel wasn’t filling him with hope either. It forced him further back, continuing to overwhelm him once his back was pressed to the slanted wall.

Caelum heard a deep, unravelling sigh, followed by a bang. ‘Ow! Curse these mortals and their low ceilings…’  Something had definitely gone wrong.

The spirits remained silent. Something deep within his gut twisted, sending bile to burn his throat. ‘S-Show yourself!’ he demanded weakly.

A bright blue light sparked in front of him. Caelum shrank back against it, shielding his eyes with a quivering hand. He could feel the floorboards dip as the demon moved closer.

Caelum prised his eyes open, catching a glimpse of the figure. The light had sparked from the demon’s palm, illuminating its features. However, Caelum didn’t know where to look. Should he focus on the skeletal mask or the brash raven wings? Would it be rude to stare at the demon’s long eagle-like legs and talons? The human head and torso were rather odd, but a welcome sight nonetheless. His hair was dark, similar to Caelum’s, but his eyes were hidden. He was tall too, towering over Caelum with ease.

More importantly, he had breezed past his summoning circle.

‘So…’ Caelum muttered. He could feel the flesh around his neck tingling, on edge. ‘I take it the summoning circle was a bust?’

‘Mhm,’ the demon responded. ‘Let me guess: you bought the salt from a supermarket? Cheaped out on the off-brand stuff?’ 

Caelum nodded a little too quickly, eyes trained on the floor. If he focused on it long enough, maybe he would fall through it. ‘The candles were rather pricey, y’see, and one pound seemed too expensive for salt. And there was always the chance that this wouldn’t work, and I don’t add salt to my meals, so I would have half a tub of salt leftover, and-’

‘Stop talking,’ the demon cut in, reaching behind the mask to rub his temples. His voice seemed familiar to Caelum. Was it similar to a celebrity’s voice? Maybe it the demon moonlighted as a celebrity. Or daylighted, perhaps. ‘Listen, kid, I don’t have all day. Some wise guy wrote an article about demon summoning, it got a lot of traction, now we’re working overtime. It’s a real mess. So, if you’ll excuse me…’

The light dimmed in the demon’s palm. His vast wings followed behind him as he turned around. Caelum couldn’t help but stare. Had things gone according to plan? No, the plan was in shambles, there was a mask-wearing bird demon in his loft.

He snapped back to the moment, remembering what he had set out to do. ‘Hey, wait, I didn’t mean to ramble about salt! I had a reason for summoning you. A legitimate reason, I mean.’

The demon turned back to face him, the light highlighting the hollows in his skull mask. ‘Oh?’

‘I had a dream a few weeks ago. In that dream, I saw myself laying out this summoning circle. The visuals were foggy, but… I remember what I felt. I felt like this was my only option. That this,’ he gestured around the loft, ‘was my last chance.’

‘That’s nice. I dreamt I was a whale one time. You don’t see me diving in the ocean! Not with a body like this, anyways. Quit while you’re ahead, kid.’ Caelum was taken aback by how… casual the demon was acting. It was like watching a rottweiler do a tap-dancing routine.  

Still, Caelum was determined to argue his case, even if it ended in an infernal lecture. ‘For as long as I can remember, I’ve been able to hear… strange things.  Screaming, laughing, whispering…’ Distantly, a humming was starting up again. The silence had been nice while it lasted.

Caelum continued, ‘At first, I thought I was going mad. But then I realised it was something else.’ He crossed his arms over his chest. ‘I know it’s ghosts. Figured that much, at least.’

‘Alright, you have some weird psychic stuff going on. And you decided you needed a demon because..?’ 

Desperation took over for a split second, blooming into an outburst. ‘Because I want you to get rid of it! Demons make pacts, right? Fix me. Please.’ 

The demon groaned. ‘Do I look like a priest to you? Making pacts with demons is dangerous. Trust me. It’ll cost you.’

‘Years off my life, right?’ The demon nodded in response and scratched at his wing. One of his feathers fell, landing in one of the wax puddles. They would be annoying to clean, but that was a problem for later. ‘That doesn’t bother me. I’m going to live ‘til I’m eighty-two. I have years to spare.’

The demon stopped mid-scratch. ‘What did you just say?’

‘That I’ll live until I’m eighty-two. I’ll die from a heart attack, I think. Though, I’m not too sure about that. Medical crises are kind of… murky,’ Caelum responded indifferently. ‘I can usually get a sense for that sort of thing. My uncle died a few years ago. I told him not to get on that plane, but he didn’t listen.’ 

A handful of salt leapt forward as the demon rushed back to Caelum. A hand closed around his wrist. Caelum went rigid.

The demon’s voice lost all humour, growing harsh; ‘Seeing death… That’s a demon’s ability, boy.’ His grip tightened, drawing a wince from Caelum. ‘What’s your name?’

‘It’s Caelum.’

‘Caelum Weaver?’

Caelum nodded. 

The demon let go of his arm, took a step back, and wheezed a laugh. Caelum let out a shaky sigh, cradling his wrist. The boy watched with wide eyes as the skull mask was torn from the demon’s face. The blue light hovered to the side of the room, observing the situation. 

The discarded skull mask clattered against the floor. Caelum saw the demon’s features and tried not to choke. ‘Dad?!’

His father, whose face looked exactly the same as it had ten years prior, stretched into an awkward smile. ‘The, uh… the line at the cigarette counter was really long. You’ve certainly grown up, Caelum.’

Caelum blinked. Before he could think up a response, the loft shook violently as the front door opened. His father shot him a quizzical glance.

‘I’m home!’ Caelum’s mother yelled, slamming the door behind her. The loft shuddered once more. Even under blue light, Caelum could see the colour drain from the demon’s face. ​ Caelum mumbled a curse as the onlooking spirits broke into a chorus of tittering laughter.

(Originally posted on https://seekingdandelions.weebly.com/)

[clarklovescarole]

March 1937: Clarcarole

March 1, 1937 – Harrisburg Telegraph

Fred Perry and Ellsworth Vines have the spotlight on them and don’t have it all at the same time. That’s not a tough one to figure out. Here’s the answer – Clark Gable and Carole Lombard catch the spectators’ eyes while they watch the two tennis stars dash in a dither around the court.

March 5, 1937 – Harrisburg Telegraph

The other evening at the tennis matches Carole Lombard sallied in with Clark Gable while everyone blinked and looked again at the cartwheel proportions of the brim on Carole’s shining brown straw hat. It dipped just a bit in front, but was unadorned except for a band since it topped off a tailored spectator’s costume. Her suit of brown wool was made with a semi-fitted three-quarters length coat and her slim skirt must have been close to fourteen inches from the floor.

March 2-9, 1937: Clark’s cougar

March 5, 1937: Dayton Daily News

Clark Gable brings back cougar kitten 

Clark “Bring ‘Em Back Alive” Gable, film star, brought this snarling cougar kitten back from a 10-day hunting trip in Kaibab forest in northern Arizona. He said his chief ideas was to get photographs and not to kill, and that the kitten was captured after films were made of its mother. The animal is now a member of the studio zoo.

March 2, 1937 – The Courier

That 3-month-old cougar Clark Gable brought back from Arizona is so mean he even snapped at Carole Lombard.

March 4, 1937 – Des Moines Tribune

Clark Gable, leading a 60-pound cougar cub around the film lot on a leash Thursday, offered a strip of movie film and the testimony of eye-witness Dr. Franklyn Thorpe, Mary Astor’s former husband, to support “bring ’em back alive” story of the the wild Kaibab forest in Arizona.

The screen star, ardent huntsman, related: “We found a huge female cat with two kittens on Saddle mountain. I got within 15 feet of her and filmed some swell shots. We tried to rope her but she picked up one kitten and ran. Our dogs treed the other cub and roped it. “Our cub broke its chain that night and got loose. Next day we followed the mother’s tracks and lassoed the other kitten – and here it is.” 

Offered the cub as a house cat, Carole Lombard refused with thanks. 

March 9, 1937 – Salt Lake Telegram

Clark Gable’s career as a “bring ’em back alive” hunter suffered a rude setback today. Finding out that the baby mountain lion captured by the star wields a wicked claw and is a lot tougher than was at first supposed, the MGM studio has given Gable 10 days to get rid of it. Pending a permanent disposal, they have impounded the animal in a cage on the lot. 

What alarmed movie executives most was the news that Gable had brought the lion back to Hollywood in the rumble seat of his car and that he carried it to Carole Lombard’s house and to other places in the same manner. Now they have instructed him not to even go near it. So if anyone wants a baby mountain lion that was captured by Clark Gable, just apply to the MGM studio.

March 14, 1937 – Detroit Free Press

Carole Lombard either will have to be amused by somebody else or amuse herself while Clark Gable goes off on a hunting trip. Perhaps she can take an extra vocal lesson a day. She is astonishing everybody by singing gloriously in “Swing High, Swing Low,” her latest picture.

March 19, 1937 – Pittsburgh Sun Telegraph

Carole Lombard now has a fan letter she prizes highly, since it came from Addis Ababa, from the Count Eduardo Bassi Di Allanno, a lieutenant in the One Hundred and Tenth Regiment of the Imperial Guard there. I believe it is a proposal, since he doesn’t seem to have heard that Mr. Gable is head man in those quarters.

March 19, 1937 – Dayton Daily News

Sweetie-Trading Latest of the Hollywood Fads 

If psychologists ever decided to select a Utopian center for the well-balanced mind, Hollywood would never be seriously considered in the voting. To all appearances Hollywood is crazy, as most of the world will agree, but a thorough look behind the cogs of it, its gigantic exploitation machine might disclose that it is only crazy like the fox. 

Almost every move Hollywood makes is carefully planned in advance.  Occasionally someone will go out on a shooting tangent, others will forget starving relatives and still others will keep diaries, but those remote occurrences are never countenanced by the publicity machine. This machine attempts to censor as it operates, but it thrives on eccentricities. … 

But the latest bit of idiosyncrasy to be fed into the machine is more difficult than most to fit into classification. It concerns the growing tendency on the part of name players, particularly the feminine stars, to lend their boy friends to rivals. … 

Only recently Barbara Stanwyck, whose romance with Robert Taylor has been aired in the public prints for more than a year, consented to Bob’s accompanying Jean Harlow to the President’s Ball at Washington. Of course, that was a studio order for a publicity coup, and Barbara got Bob back…. 

About the only going-together stars in Hollywood who haven’t consented to one of these temporary trading propositions are Clark Gable and Carole Lombard. In the first place, both are important enough to draw plenty of publicity without resorting to that sort of thing; secondly, they seem too fond of each other’s company to chance even a brief change of companionship. 

March 20, 1937 – Salt Lake Telegram

Romantic couples in real life are being given their chances as companions in reel life, a survey shows. It has been discovered, film producers say, that motion picture audiences are anxious to watch screen performances of a couple who are known to be in love off the screen as well as on. 

Clark Gable and Carole Lombard, whose romance in real life is at present a favorite subject among film fans, are to be brought together in a film soon, if plans materialize. 

March 21, 1937 – Harrisburg Sunday Courier

Clark Gable will not only star in “Saratoga” but be property man as well. First, he loaded his race horse, Beverly Hills, for the picture. Then the horse trailer Carole Lombard gave him for a birthday present. For good measure, Clark added several horse blankets two saddles, a bridle and other racing equipment. 

“It’s a pleasure, Clark grinned. “At last Beverly Hills is going to win a race. Says so right in the script.” 

March 21, 1937 – Hartford Courant

If Clark Gable and Carole Lombard were at the race track the other day, they doubtless bet on Clarcarole, named after them… 

March 21, 1937: Victoria Advocate

Carole Lombard’s intimates don’t know whether to credit Clark Gable, her boy friend, or Mitchell Leisen, her director, but they all agree that Carole has shown more development as an actress in the last year than any other star in Hollywood. 

March 22, 1937 – The Atlanta Constitution

Clark Gable has been spending his free evenings at the Garden of Allah hotel. There’s a certain lady living there of whom he is quite fond. And her name is not Carole Lombard… 

March 30, 1937 – Pittsburgh Sun Telegraph

Life is just about complete for Carole Lombard… She now has a three-picture-a-year contract and Clark Gable. 

March 31, 1937 – The Sacramento Bee

It is a shame to spoil Clark Gable’s fun, but Carole Lombard is a friend of mine too and I think she should be warned that Clark has just purchased that two-wheeled carriage they used in Parnell. Whenever Gable purchases one of the gags for his personal use it usually turns up in Carole’s swanky front yard with a goat tied to it or something. In fact, I hear Clark is dickering for an old thin nanny right now. 

March 31, 1937 – The St. Louis Star and Times

The Brown Derby was packed. … Clark Gable was whispering in one of Carole Lombard’s pretty ears.

[sarahscribbles]

Kinktober Day Fifteen || Ball Gag

Word count: 1.4k

Pairing: Loki x f!reader

Kinktober Masterlist

Main Loki Masterlist

Please REBLOG if you read

It made you ache in the most enticingly satisfying way.

From the second that Loki had dangled it from the tips of his elegant fingers, you knew it was bigger than any in your current collection. Not uncomfortably so, but enough that your jaw felt wonderfully stretched the minute the soft ball had been placed between your eager lips. This one was the deepest shade of emerald green - of course it was emerald green - and Loki had fastened the straps behind your head tighter than usual, guaranteeing that there was no way for you to push it from between your teeth.

There would be no relief until he granted it. 

“Oh, you do look lovely, my pet,” Loki purred, tracing the side of his index finger slowly down your cheek. “Do you like your new toy?” His eyes blazed as they held yours, inky black pupils blown wide and swirling with palpable desire at your helplessness. 

All you could do was nod mutely, feeling the drool that had already collected behind the gag begin to drip down your chin. Green eyes watched its journey to form a shallow pool in the dip of your collarbone but flicked quickly back to yours when he collected some on his finger to rub teasingly over a peaked nipple. It elicited a stuttered inhale on your part, one that made your chest bounce and the small pool of wetness drip down between your breasts. 

“Then why don’t you thank me?” he continued, a wicked smirk lighting up his face. The sound you made was a garbled, incoherent mess of words, sounding nothing like the “thank you” that you were trying to express. Loki gave a small tut of disappointment. “You’re being rude, pet. I’ll have to spank you for that later.”

A whine sounded from the back of your throat, shrill and desperate, and you yanked against the restraints he had attached to the wall. Again you attempted to speak, attempted a stream of frantic thank yous, but the attempt was futile. With the gag secured tightly between your lips, any effort to speak coherently was doomed to fail, the large, emerald green ball turning your words into nothing but a tangled mess of sounds.

“Those little noises are exquisite, darling, but they don’t change anything,” he taunted, curling a finger beneath your chin. “I expect thanks, at the very least, when I give you a new toy.” He collected more drool that continued to trickle down your chin, only this time smeared it over your lips until your entire mouth was soaked. 

His name left your mouth as nothing but a single, long indecipherable syllable. Your goal had been to plead with him, or maybe it had been to call him an ass, but all you succeeded in doing was covering your chin and chest in a fresh coating of drool. You settled for a sharp, pissed off breath through your nose. 

“Perhaps a spanking will teach you some manners,” Loki continued, pinching a nipple so tightly between his fingers that your eyes squeezed shut. 

The sting of pain lasted barely the space of a heartbeat, and when his touch vanished and you opened your eyes again, he was already half way across the bedroom to the small drawer that contained your toys. Curiosity piqued, you attempted to strain your neck to see past his broad back and get a sense of what he was searching for, but it took less than a minute for him to turn back to face you with the wand held loosely in his right hand. 

Your entire body went still in the restraints. 

“One of your favourites, is it not?” Loki asked, cocking an eyebrow at your silent stare.

Your eyes flicked between the white plastic in his hand and the glint of mischief shining in his eyes trying to discern how the combination of ball gag, restraints, and wand was going to play out for you. With Loki at the helm controlling your pleasure, controlling you, it likely wasn’t going to play out in your favour. 

“Medium or high, pet?” he continued, lazily crossing the room to stand before you again. 

The delicate gold chains that shackled you to the wall tinkled and clinked quietly when you shifted position, besieged by the memory of the delicious torture that Loki had subjected you to the last time he had used the want. You shivered lightly at the thought of the pleasure that divide was capable of, of how it was nearly too much…

You attempted to answer “medium,” but, as expected, all that came out was a garbled mess of noise, something that had the smirk on Loki’s face somehow appear more menacing. 

“High? Oh, good girl,” he praised you, switching the wand on to its highest setting. “I was so hoping you would say that.” The heady combination of his praise and the pleasure that awaited you in his hands had your objection dying on your tongue, and instead, your hips titled towards the noise followed by a deep, desperate groan leaving your lips. 

How badly you ached for him to place the plastic head between your thighs. 

He stopped directly in front of you, glittering eyes running appreciatively over your bound and naked body and making pride bloom in your chest. “Spread your legs,” he said quietly and you easily obeyed. “Can you click your fingers?” he asked, and again you obeyed by clicking them - your safe word when you were gagged. “Good girl.” He pressed a single chaste kiss to your cheek. 

He held the wand half an inch away from your soaked cunt and you tensed waiting to feel the pleasure shoot through you like warm flames on a winter's night.  When they didn’t immediately come, you whined pitifully behind the gag and rocked your hips to where Loki’s hand was still hovering teasingly. His laugh was deep and dripping with amusement. 

“Needy as ever, aren’t you?” he teased, lightly running the fingers of his left hand along your outer thigh. You made some small noise of agreement - you would have done anything for some friction between your thighs - but it seemed to placate him as he pressed the wand firmly against your clit. Instantly, you balked and cried out a fresh jumble of startled sounds at how blindingly intense the vibrations were. It was so much, but it was so good.

“Enjoying yourself, pet?” Loki asked teasingly, pressing the wand firmly against your cunt when you began to grind down on it. A gurgle of agreement bubbled in your throat, your mind already half gone to the pleasure that was rapidly building inside you, the gentle rippling waves quickly turning into an impending tsunami of pleasure. “Would you like to come?”

You nodded eagerly, the frantic action sending a string of drool from the gag to your chest. By now, your stomach was coated in your own saliva, but in the pursuit of your pleasure you barely even noticed. The tsunami was ready to drown you and, for once, Loki was going to allow it to without any games. 

Or so you thought. 

His eyes danced mischievously as they watched you, and his hand titled the wand a small fraction that made your eyes roll in your head. “Then all you have to do is ask me.”

Your eyes shot open, swirling with betrayal when they found his. The size of the gag made speech impossible, something he was very aware of, yet it was the one thing he was making you do to be granted release. 

The predicament he had you in suddenly became very clear. 

Frantically, desperately, you tried to speak around the gag, tried to make even a small portion of “please can I come?” coherent enough for him to show you mercy, but the wicked grin still on his face told you that he had no intention of being merciful. 

“Oh, darling, I’m making it easy for you tonight and you still can’t do as I ask,” he taunted, pulling the vibe away at the very last second before you toppled over into bliss. You whined and pulled against the restraints, tears of frustration already beginning to form in the backs of your eyes. “All you have to do is ask for my permission and I’ll give it.” 

You pleaded with him silently, turning desperate eyes to his in a weak attempt to make him feel sorry for you. It was pointless of course, something that was only confirmed when the glimmer in his eyes only seemed to grow more intense. 

“Perhaps a few edges will encourage you, hmm?” he taunted, switching the wand back on and placing it back between your slick thighs. Despite knowing exactly what was coming, you still jumped when the vibrations hit your cunt. “Because, darling, unless you ask my permission, you won’t be coming tonight.”

Tags: @cake-writes @sineads-art  @thedistractedagglomeration @joyful-enchantress @amethyst-dow @sailorholly @hyperfixating-on-loki   @vickie5446 @el-zef @all-envy-suyu @123forgottherest

[emerald-chaos]

Touchdown

*gif not mine, credit goes to the owner*

I just want to take a moment to say thank you for the love on my last fic! It made my lil ole heart swell to see that peopled enjoyed it enough to leave a like or reblog.

This is just something special I had in my arsenal that I wrote for a friend a few months ago. I touched it up a bit and added a few things here and there. It all started when we were talking about how much we loved when Chris' accent got heavier after he'd been drinking, and well, I couldn't help myself lol. I hope you enjoy the fluff! xoxo

I apologize for any grammatical errors, I tried to proof-read but am also a little exhausted lol.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count: 2844

Warnings: I don't think there's anyway? Mentions of being drunk/drinking alcohol, cursing, and illusions to sexy times, but that's about it.

You hadn’t noticed how furiously your knee was bouncing up and down until the person sitting next to you on the subway got up to move seats once the train squealed to a stop. You sighed and ran your hands down the front of your thighs. Normally being a little late didn’t bother you as much, but tonight you were meeting him.

You flipped your wrist over to check your watch. 8:30pm. In all honesty, it had probably been only thirty seconds later than when you checked it the last time. Another deep sigh escaped from your lips as you started to become hyper aware of the train remaining still at the current stop. What could possibly be taking so long? You knew he wouldn’t care if you were running late, but the time the two of you had together already felt so minuscule. You wanted to capitalize on every second you could.

The train began moving again and you slumped back into your seat, feeling only a small amount of relief. It was becoming painfully apparent that you needed to try and relax. You could feel the sweat building up on your body, the sting on your palms from where your fingernails were pressing in with a vengeance moments ago, and you could hear your heart thumping in your ears. Your hand dug around in your purse for a few moments before finding the small case you were looking for. Opening it, you slipped your headphones into your ears and let your head rest on the window behind you as music intertwined with your thoughts.

Once upon a time, you made fun of people who decided to go to grad school. What kind of a clown would spend thousands of MORE dollars and go BACK to school?? Not to mention the stress of the assignments, the due dates - it was not for you...or so you thought.

Now here you are, a regular booboo the fool.

NYU’s graduate program for design and merchandising wasn’t necessarily part of your 5-year plan, but when the opportunity landed in front of you it was difficult to pass up. NYU was a school you had only dreamt of attending back in high school. When you were a senior in high school you were able to tour the campus and fell in love immediately. Hours upon hours were spent researching grants, scholarships, and all sorts of ways to try to make it happen. However, the dream ended as most teenage dreams do - crushed. There was no way you or your parents could afford the loans that it would surely wrack up to attend the out of state university, and there was no way you could ask your parents take on that kind of debt just so you could go to college. UMass was the way to go - close to home and familiar. Not to mention you were able to obtain several scholarships and grants that helped bring down the cost tremendously. Little did you know, boring ole UMass would bring you one of the most important things in your life.

Applying for graduate school wasn’t an easy decision and one you couldn’t really take all the credit for. A smile crept across your face as you reminisced on the night you nervously brought up the idea to your long-term boyfriend.

“I think you should do it,”

“I know, right?” you scoffed, “it’s insane, why would I do something so stup...wait, what? You do?”

“Of course I do. This is something you love and that you’re passionate about. Do you know how many hours of my life were spent listening to you ramble about NYU?” he questioned with a grin.

“It will open up so many doors for you. We can make things work,” a chuckle escaped from those beautiful lips as he saw your dumbfounded expression. He wrapped his fingers around your waist and pulled you close, “What? Did you expect me to forbid it? Cmon, baby, what kind of guy do you take me for?”

You didn’t have a lot of wins in your life, but you did have Chris.

When you got accepted, he took off a week from work to drive you 3 and a half hours south to help get you settled and moved into your temporary new home. The two of you ate a disgusting amount of pizza, moved a ridiculous amount of heavy furniture in the middle of a summer heat wave, and enjoyed each other’s company before the long-distance thing would set in. Chris spent that week encouraging you every step of the way, talking you off the ledge when you were convinced you had made the wrong decision, and made sure to help you christen every possible surface of your new place in the most deliciously sinful way.

You bit your lip slightly at the thought and a warm feeling spread across your face. Chris was one of the most incredible people you had met in this world. Kind, caring, funny, intelligent, passionate, and god was he sexy. The connection the two of you had was scary at first, but now you just couldn’t imagine spending your life with anyone else.

The robotic voice came over the loud-speaker in the subway car and you were rudely ripped back to reality as it pulled into your stop. You hurriedly scooped up your bag and jogged off the train.

It had been a promise between the two of you when you moved that there would be equal effort when it came to visiting and keeping in contact while having good, open communication. Long distance was hard but the two of you were determined to make it work. FaceTime calls, hours upon hours of texting, and even as far as writing the occasional letter back and forth (because your boyfriend was a hopeless romantic and you loved it so much). This weekend was your turn to come home to visit, and of course your last class had to go longer than anticipated. Fuckin’ Tiffany and her stupid ass questions.

The muscles of your calves burned as you kept up your hurried pace, weaving through the crowds of people gathered on sidewalks outside of various clubs and restaurants. It was a weekend night and the Patriots were playing, which meant the city was more alive than usual. New York was it's own beast, but it was a different type of hustle and bustle. Nights like these made your heart ache for home - the thick Massachusetts accents, the rowdy voices of bar patrons arguing about the game, the hugs shared between family members as they parted after dinner, and the faint smell of nicotine and alcohol that hung in the air.

As the neon sign that hung in the pub window came in to view you felt your heart dip down into your stomach. Last weekend’s visit had to be cancelled due to some stuff coming up with Chris’ work and a surprise assignment for you, so you hadn’t seen your boyfriend in 2 weeks. With a deep breath you swung open the door and scanned the crowd for him. He told you that he would be there promptly at 7:15pm for pregame shenanigans with his friends - which actually translated to how many pitchers of beer could they suck down before kick off.

“Aw, come ON! That is such a bullshit call!”

You heard him before you saw him. Of course. A grin spread across your lips as you shook your head. The thought of leaving to avoid secondhand embarrassment crossed your mind briefly before you picked up your feet and made your way through the crowd toward the sound. A room full of people from New England and you would still recognize that voice anywhere.

Everyone else seemed to fade away as you saw the outline of the tall, dark haired man standing at the bar. The slight freckles that spattered the back of his neck, the Brady jersey that he spent WAY too much money customizing, and the signature backward ball cap were ingrained in your subconscious memory. Not to mention if you didn’t recognize his outline or his voice, you would definitely recognize that ass anywhere.

You loved how passionate he got about sports and the way his Boston accent seemed to get thicker with each beer he consumed. Growing up in the area, you wouldn't think the accent would send a tingle down your spine the way it does, but it was different - it was Chris. Not to mention the sparkle in his eye when he would watch his favorite team or the way he would get in to arguments whenever someone tried to say something negative about them. You loved your big, handsome, over-sized toddler man so damn much.

A light tap on his shoulder made him whip around, his slightly opened mouth from his interrupted conversation curved upwards into a wicked grin as he made the connection of who was finally standing in front of him.

“Hey there, handsome. I don’t see a ring on your finger. You single?” You grinned, feeling your entire body fill with warmth as Chris leaned back and grabbed his chest as he erupted in laughter.

“Nah, nah, nah, unfortunately for you I am taken” he responded as he snaked his arms around your waist, sliding his hands into your back pockets as he pulled you into his figure.

“That is too bad,” you tsk'd, running a finger down his toned bicep, “she’s one lucky girl.”

“I think I’m the lucky one,” he grinned. He leaned down to meet your lips in a kiss. You sighed into it, allowing your body to mold itself so perfectly into his. The taste of beer on his lips and the smell of his cologne was intoxicating - it was home. You immediately allowed him entrance as you felt his tongue glide along your bottom lip. Your body felt small in his strong grip and you couldn’t help but laugh a bit as he gave your ass a firm squeeze. Normally, this type of bold, public display of affection would make you cringe away but at this point you were lost in Chris that you had absolutely no shame. Each time the two of you embraced had always felt like the first. Your heart still fluttered and your knees still got weak, like you were a 16 year old being kissed for the first time.

In the middle of your reunion moment, however, something happened in the game that made the entire bar erupt in boo’s and curses. Chris lifted his lips from yours to look over his shoulder and inspect what he had missed. You laughed and shook your head as you pushed him back towards his friends and took a seat in the bar stool he had been standing behind initially. His large hands found a natural place on your shoulders. While his eyes remained glued on the TV he began applying a moderate amount of pressure to your neck and shoulders. You didn’t realize how much your body craved that touch, his touch, until you immediately melted back into him.

The bartender slid a beer in front of you with a wink and you mouthed your thanks. You felt a twinge in your heart as you looked around, taking in the atmosphere of the bar. This was a typical weekend night for the two of you whenever you were living together. Football, drinks, pub food, and friends. If it wasn’t this pub it was your living room, just a couple blocks away. You didn’t even mind that it was your first night back and you weren’t alone, spending it immediately wrapped up in your satin sheets. The atmosphere, the people - it was so warm and familiar that you really wouldn’t rather be doing anything else. Plus, being wrapped up together in the sheets was sure to follow.

“I missed you,” hummed a pair of lips as they placed a kiss on the shell of your ear. A shiver shot down your spine at the sensation of his warm breath fanning over your neck. You reached up a hand and connected it to the nape of his neck.

“I missed you too,” you replied, turning your head to plant a kiss on his stubbled cheek.

His arms changed position as he wrapped them in front of your shoulders and crossed them, resting his chin on the top of your head. Your hand absentmindedly rubbed his forearms as you nursed your beer and placed your focus onto the game for the first time tonight.

The laughter seemed to escape from your chest naturally and effortlessly the entire night, as it always had a habit of doing when Chris was around. The camaraderie between him and his buddies during a game was something you’d grown to enjoy over the years. Chris’ competitive nature and the way his jaw clenched when something wasn’t going the way he wanted was always kinda...hot. All of his friends were huge assholes, but in the best way. It was always entertaining to hear them jab at each other and do what they could to rile someone up. They were the life of every party you had ever attended and they had a way of making a boring night a lot more interesting.

Thankfully (for the integrity of the bar) the Pats won the game with a surprise touchdown in the last 30 seconds of the game. Chris, being the guy he is, bought a final round for his friends and a nearby group they had been going back and forth with all night. You couldn’t help but laugh as he drunkenly leaned across the counter and slurred his order to the bartender.

“I need a round for m’friends and for these assholes over here who thought Tom Brady was anything but a winner!” the group started yelling in protest and he simply waved them off and started sliding beers down the bar.

The group eventually moved to a bigger round top so everyone could shoot the shit and banter about the outcome of the game. You were tucked into Chris’ side, hands intertwined as he was passionately discussing the importance of Brady’s legacy with a stranger who made the mistake of stopping to talk to him. Your eyes followed the motion of your thumb as it traced small circles onto the back of his. Your other hand under your chin, holding up the weight of your head as your exhaustion started to catch up with you. Chris, although slightly drunk, picked up on your body language and raised your hand to his lips for a kiss.

“Alright, fellas,” he said as he stood up from his seat, pulling you up with him, “the lady and I are gonna call it a night. See you boys next weekend”.

“Chris, we don’t have to go,” you began to protest as he tucked his jacket around your shoulders.

“Mm, ‘course we do,” he replied with a soft smile, “you’re so tired, baby. I can see it in those beautiful eyes”.

You could feel your cheeks turn a light shade of pink as you rolled your eyes at his attempt at laying it on thick. After what felt like a proper 10 minute goodbye session, the group said their final goodbyes, hugs included, and you walked out of the pub hand in hand.

The walk home was filled with the sounds of cars passing by and conversation of what each other had missed in the week prior. Small talk typically felt like such a chore, but with Chris every conversation came naturally. Even when he had absolutely no idea what you were talking about, he would listen intently and ask all the questions as if it was the most interesting conversation in the world.

The lock on the apartment door clicked as you pushed it open and entered. You smiled as you stopped into the middle of the living room, taking in the home you missed so dearly. A soft tapping of toenails against the hardwood made your heart soar as you met the eyes of your sweet pup, Dodger. A squeal left your lips as you squatted down to give love to the sweet boy. Chris always made fun of you when you came home, saying that you always seemed to miss Dodger more than you did him and I mean, he wasn’t entirely wrong about that statement.

Once again lost in your own world, you didn’t even notice Chris leaned up against the wall watching you with a smile.

“Oh my god,” you gushed, standing up, “do you like...like me or something?”

Chris grinned as he crossed the room and caught your belt loop with his finger, pulling you into him slowly.

“Yeah,” his voice had dropped down an octave, “you could say that”.

“Mm,” your tongue swiped across your lower lip and you wrapped your arms around his neck, “care to show me how much?”

The look in his eyes made your core burn. The tension building between you two became too much to handle as you crashed your lips into his. The kisses were messy and you could feel the sense of urgency between you two. His beard scratched against the column of your throat with a delicious burn as he left wet kisses across your jaw and down the side of your neck. Chris’ hands found their way back into the ass pockets of your jeans as he started walking you back towards the direction of the bedroom.

Soon, there was a trail of clothes leading to your bedroom and you felt very sorry for your neighbors. It had been a long time, but Chris always had a way of welcoming you home.

[writingsbychlo]

sun in the shadows (11)

word count; 10,191

summary; you go to dinner with stiles, and things that were once great rapidly go south.

notes; you’re gonna hate me. sorry.

warnings; reference to panic attacks, a lot of yelling, just heart pains, y’know?

There was music vibrating the flooring from the apartment next door to Stiles and Noah’s, and it had taken you a moment to distinguish between the two, considering how often it was that the noise was coming from behind this door instead. Swinging open a second later, your flannel-clad best friend stood behind it, a spark in his gaze and a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes when he greeted you.

“Hey, Sti.”

“Howdy, pretty lady. Come on it.” Stepping back, he swung his arm dramatically for you, and you giggled a little as you walked in, bag swinging by your side and keys rattling in your hand as you clutched them with your phone. “I figured I’d drive, it’s easier than taking two cars.”

“That means I get to drink.” You smirked, hanging your own up on the key hooks next to the door, and slipping your bag down from your shoulder to take up a temporary residence on the coat rack. “Where’s Noah?”

“Loverboy is right there on the couch.” Stiles pointed over your shoulder, your brows furrowing a little at his lack of greeting, and when you turned, you realised why. Now that you could see the headphone sitting on his head, you knew why, and you could pick up the very faint humming that was coming from them, unintelligible with the muffled effect, but clearly loud in his ears.

Crossing the room to him, he was focused on his computer screen before him, typing rapidly up at an essay you weren’t entirely aware of, but it was presumably just a final assignment before the end of the year. Placing your hands gently on his shoulders, he jumped rather violently at the sudden touch, and your chin rested on the top of his head as your hands ran a little further down his chest. Sinking back into the couch once the stiffness from his body faded away, the reflection in the computer screen showed a smile, and one of his hands came up to rest over the top of your left. The other raised up, enough to lower the headphones from his head, and leave them hanging around his neck.

“Hey, sunshine.”

“Hey, starshine.” Sliding around onto the couch, you ignored the slight gagging sound Stiles made from the kitchen, taking a seat beside Noah, and he removed the headphones entirely, twisting to face you a little more. Leaning in, his smile shrunk, something softer but a little more serious as your nose bumped against his, before your lips weer brushing together. Once again timid at first, before he was pushing a little closer to you, confidence behind his actions as he left a sure kiss to your lips, smiling all the while.

One warm but calloused hand came up to sit on your cheek, thumb smoothing over your cheekbone each time he pulled back, only to come back in with another peck and another, until you were grinning too widely to let him press anymore. His cheeks were pink when he pulled back to look at you, something sparkling behind his darker brown eyes as he did, and you leaned a little more into his palm, just before it pulled away.

“You two sicken me, I can’t stand to be in this room right now.” You scowled, turning to look at your best friend, and the blush on Noah’s cheeks only got deeper, turning to face his computer as he’d missed the presence of his brother behind you both entirely. “I’m going to get my coat and my jacket, and we can go.”

“Go?” Noah echoed as Stiles left the room, and you shrugged, collapsing back into the cushions of the couch, even if it would only be for a little while.

“I’m going to dinner with Stiles.”

“Oh.” He hummed, and you smirked a little, head tipping to the side to look at him as he tried to hold his face steady. “Sounds fun.”

“Do you wanna’ come too?” You teased him with the tone of your voice, and his eyes narrowed on you a little as he picked it up, but his smile was breaking through the false frown he wore.

“I would, but I can’t.” Raising a brow at him, you prompted him on further, and his gaze flicked to his screen for just a moment. “I have an online lecture in an hour. Can’t miss it.”

“Shame, it’s always more fun when you’re there.”

“Always?” He grinned, leaning in closer again, until his nose was bumping yours, and he let out a breathy laugh against your lips. “We’ve only ever been out together for dinner with my brother once.”

“Yeah, well, that one time was pretty fun. You opened up a lot, I liked that.”

“I like it when you open up too.” He mused, hand landing on your thigh as he moved to place a kiss to your lips, the innuendo not going unnoticed, and you scoffed, twisting your head as not to muffle your laughter, and he grunted when his lips met your cheek instead.

“You’re awful, you know that?” You shoved at him, grinning all the while as he backed off. “So many bad jokes. And dirty jokes. And bad, dirty jokes. That’s all you are.”

“Yeah, but you like it.” He was too confident in himself, and you rolled your eyes, moving to pick up the headphones that still had noise coming from them, and he only watched as you did.

“So, what are you listening to?”

“Your playlist. Well, I mean, the one I made for you. It reminds me of you.” You placed the headphones over your head, a song you were unfamiliar with but had a catchy tune meeting your ears, and you wicked a little at the volume. Reaching a hand up, Noah adjusted the dial on the side of them, turning it down to an appropriate level, and you couldn’t help the tapping of your foot along with the rhythm. “You like this song?”

“I’ve never heard it before, but it’s pretty good.”

“A little time with me, and I’ll have your music taste expanding considerably.” He smirked a little, switching the song while it was halfway through, and beginning to skip through them, clearly in search of one as his eyes were fixed on the computer screen. Lifting the headphones down from your head, his gaze moved back to you, smile flittering for a second as contentment became questioning. “What?”

“You sure you don’t wanna’ come to dinner? I haven’t seen much of you this week.”

He snorted a little, and you rolled your eyes at him, his hand coming out across the cushions to find yours. Flipping it over, your fingers laced together lightly, and he was still smiling when your gaze dragged up from looking at your connected hands to meet his. “We went for coffee twice, and it’s only Thursday.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I’m clingy.” You mumbled, pouting as you shrunk back into the cushions some more, and he only chuckled at your false mood.

“I like that you’re clingy.” His hand slid further up your arm, griping lightly at your bicep to pull you to sit up again, and his lips moved close enough to your own once again that you could taste the coffee he must’ve had at some point, warm on your tongue when you inhaled. “I’m kinda’ clingy too, but I just meant that we’ve spent a normal amount of time together so far.”

“For what, normal couples?”

“Oh, shut it.” His lips brushed against your own teasingly, sweet kisses that barely touched your lips, and you smiled, pushing up further into him, only to be teased more when he pulled back, just enough to keep your kisses like featherlight dances instead of loving embraces.

“You gonna’ kiss me already? It’s rude to leave a gal waiting, you know.”

“I’m thinkin’ about it.” He whispered, puckering enough that you could finally steal a few simple kisses from his lips, between fleeting smiles and tips of his head, noses bumping each time he pulled back, only to take your chin between his fingers and kiss you again. “Why don’t you stay over tonight? I’ll kiss you plenty more then.”

“Deal.”

“Gross.” Stiles scoffed, and you groaned once again, pulling back reluctantly as you turned to face him. “Tonight is about me, thank you very much. I got problems.”

“You got no sense of timing. What problems could you possibly have?” Noah scoffed, twisted enough to lay his hand over the back of the couch and face his brother.

“That is a topic for me, her,” Stiles pointed at you, your brows raising for a second when Noah’s eyes flicked to your own, and you shrugged, “and a bottle of wine. Let’s go.” Standing from the couch to do as told, you stretched slightly, Noah following and Stiles grabbed his keys from the hook by the door, a hand settling on your lower back, guiding you. “You wanna’ come with us, Noah? I suppose I’ll let you in on all my big secrets. We did share a womb, and all.”

“I can’t, but if you brought me back some food, that would be awesome.” Stiles only nodded, turning away to undo the latch on the door. Grabbing your bag for you, Noah lifted it up and over your shoulder, a barely audible thank from you as he did, and only dipped his head in acknowledgement.

“What do you want us to bring you back?” With your jacket on and your bag retrieved, you were ready to go, Noah’s fingers smoothing the hair back out of your face when you turned to look up at him again.

“You know what I like,-”

“Yeah, you.” Stiles muttered, and you swung your hand out, smacking him roughly on the arm and leaving him to curse and rub it better, turning back to Noah instead. His twin had ignored him, despite the pink hue to his cheeks because of it.

“Just surprise me, I don’t mind.”

“‘Kay.” With eyes flicking to his brother for just a second, Stiles whistled excessively and turned away to the corridor, allowing you just a moment of quiet as he turned away. A few simple kisses, one to your forehead and then to your lips, the latter a little prolonged, before you were being pushed back away towards the door. A soft smile, warm cheeks and then you were leaving, waving goodbye to him before hooking your arm through Stiles’ and letting him guide you away.

Once the front door was closed, the whispering stopped, and a wickedly smirking Stiles turned to you. “So, things between you and my brother are getting intense, huh? When do you both change your Facebook status?”

“Who the hell changes their Facebook status, Sti? What are you, forty?”

“Hey! He flicked at your nose, punching the button for the elevator with his thumb a second later, and as the two of you waited, he turned to face you again. “Seriously, though, what’s the deal?”

“Well, I guess-”

The door pinged, a group of girls that lived down the hall from him stumbling out. They were giggly and drunk, greeting you both warmly with hugs that were weak and smiles that were a little too wide, loudly chatting as they passed you both by. The smell of floral perfume and booze was strong in the elevator, and once the doors closed, you were left in a little shock. “Oh, my God, I feel like I’m choking on perfume. I’m gay, I shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“I’ve used your bathroom after you got ready, I had to fumigate your cologne out of it.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped at your joke, the machine whirring as it began to lower towards the ground floor, and you giggled at the shocked look on his face. “I do not wear that much cologne.”

“Sure, Sti. Tell me again, how much did your industrial-sized bottle cost?”

“I despise you. That was on an offer, and it’s a refill bottle, it saved me so much money.” You only hummed as the doors opened, and you nodded disbelievingly, following him out of the elevator. Holding the door or the parking lot open for you, he scoffed, a scowl on his face but amusement in his eyes. “Fuck you, okay? You can go hungry.”

“I’ll go home if there’s no food.”

“You’ll do no such thing.” He snipped, knowing it was true, and only a second later, he was grinning again, the two of you making your way over to the powder blue jeep. He held the door open for you on the passenger side, bowing dramatically as he bent at the waist, before slamming the door shut once you were clear, a slight skip to his step as he rounded to his side of the vehicle.

Hopping inside himself, the radio sparked to life with a twist of the keys in the engine, a slight spluttering from the vehicle as it came to life, and his fingers messed with the volume dial, turning it down and strapping himself in. “You know, your brother is a mechanic.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my car.”

“Yeah, they are totally supposed to make those sounds.” You teased, and he patted the dashboard, one hand smoothing over the worn leather of the steering wheel.

“Don’t you listen to her, baby. She’s just jealous because her car isn’t as cool.”

“You’re so weird.” The words came out as a laugh, and then the music filled the silence, his attention moving to the roads before you both. It was always comfortable with Stiles, and despite his erratic tapping or the slightly grainy radio that he insisted he was fine, driving with Stiles was like taking a step away from real life. It was disconnecting, just for a moment, and oddly enough, it was one of the few times when he was quiet.

Today, though, was different. Stiles was different. He was a little twitchy, skipping between small talk topics like the weather and the latest movie trailers, like there was too much on his mind for him to contain, but he was trying to distract himself. He was so busy that you barely got a word in between here and the restaurant, just trying to process every piece of nonsense that he was saying. The man barely took a breath until he was falling out of his vehicle and into the parking lot, the evening chill striking into him for a second and forcing him to pause.

“Got a lot on your mind, Stiles?”

“Yeah. Kinda’.” He sighed, biting down on his bottom lip to quiet himself when it looked like nonsensical jumble was going to start pouring from him again, and he shrugged slightly, before choosing to offer his elbow to you for your arm to weave through his own. “I want to hear the specials before we start unpacking all of that.”

“Then we’d better get you inside. The suspense is killing me.”

With a little tug on his elbow, his clumsy footsteps fell into step beside you, lanky legs taking shorter steps as you took strides just to keep up with him, and a gush of warmer air washed over you both once you stepped inside. The smell of mixed spices and warming meals hung in the air, music made of chimes and upbeat notes playing from speakers in the ceiling and low lighting to set the tone for the evening as the sun outside was setting and leaving the city shrouded by dusk.

You were seated, a reservation under his name that was spelt incorrectly on the sheet, and a table in the back corner with plush seats was given over to you both. The table cloth was long, thick white cotton brushing the exposed skin on your thighs as you tucked yourself in. Your waitress disappeared after handing a menu over to both of you and taking a drinks order, leaving you to sit in silence, with an empty glass each, and a jug of iced lemon water, which your friend was quick to pour out.

His foot was tapping agitatedly against the ground as soon as he had sat back down, sipping continually at his water until the glass was half empty, and you took pity on him. Reaching a leg out under the table until your foot could press up to his, the bouncing of his heel stopped, his eyes raising up to meet yours, and his face crumples a little bit.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Sti.”

“I know, I just- I want to talk about it, but it’s really stressing me out. I feel like now that we’re actually here, it’s more real.” He sighed, giving in to his stress and letting his elbows rest on the table so that his chin could fall to his hands, and he was staring at you expectantly, like you had all the answers.

“I can’t help you ‘til you tell me what’s up.”

“You mean to tell me you’re not a psychic?” He smiled, sitting up straighter again when the waitress returned, and he took his pop immediately, lips sealing around the straw as he took a long gulp of it, and she produced her notepad.

You’d barely had a chance to look at the menu, opening it up and flicking your eyes over it, you looked for the safest option, something you already knew, letting Stiles fill the time with chatter to the waitress as he ordered his own meal. Placing your orders and letting her disappear, Stiles watched her walk away, and then glanced around the restaurant for a while, before his gaze finally came back to you.

“Okay, fine. Stop staring into my soul.” The edges of your lips flicked up at the sides, but your amusement didn’t last long, because he barely even reacted to his joke, the frown on his face becoming permanent. “I feel like I’m losing everyone in my life.”

“That’s heavy.” Your breath left you very suddenly, like a punch to the gut as he spoke, and he shrugged, looking vulnerable as he stared at you. “Shit, that’s not what I was expecting.”

“Yeah, well, I need advice, and I figured, that’s what best friends are for, right?”

“I suppose so.” You sighed over-dramatically, a smile forming on your best friend's face as you did. His hand was resting atop the table, scratching lightly at the table cloth. You weren’t even sure he knew he was doing it, fidgeting was just a by-product of his anxiety, and your hand settled over Stiles’ across the table, calming his movements. “Why do you feel like you’re going to lose everyone?”

“Well, you know, you’re whatever it is you and Noah have going on, which is to be expected, I knew you were going to meet someone someday, but sometimes it’s hard when you come over and it’s not to see me. It feels odd.” It was a hard confession to be made right off of the bat, a slight guilt pooling in your lower abdomen, and he shrugged, but wouldn’t meet your eye.

Squeezing his hand lightly, you turned it over, holding it carefully and raising your second to be able to hold it even tighter, his hand squeezing back over yours in response, and a seeking of comfort. “You know, when you first started dating Derek, you had way less time for me, and I had to get used to that. Our Friday movie nights became your and Derek’s date nights, and that hurt at first, but I got used to it. Because it made you happy, and I wanted you to be happy.”

“I forgot about our Friday movie nights.” He gave a small smile, forcing his gaze to rise so his eyes would meet your own, and you gave one in return.

“You’re not gonna’ lose me, Stiles. Haven’t you already got plans to be my maid of honour?”

“I guess it would be a shame for you all to miss me in a fabulous dress.” He tried to seem positive, like his problems were solved, but you could still pick up the fear and hopelessness that he was trying so hard to cover.

“You’re my best friend, Stiles. I don’t know what I’d do without you, and I never want to know. Maybe after college we won’t see as much of one another, and maybe we won’t get to hang out like this as much, but I’ll always be there for you.” He heaved a heavy sigh, sinking more into his seat, but this one felt a little more relieved. “You know, your brother has these same kinds of fears. You should talk to him.”

“He does?”

“Yeah.” You lifted your drink, taking a sip, and he groaned disapprovingly.

“You can’t just leave it at that! I feel like Noah is slipping away too, tell me about him, so I know how he feels.” His tone was begging, and you once again felt that pang of guilt, shaking your head as your glass was lowered back to the table. Despite taking a drink, your throat was dry once again, and you cleared it lightly before speaking.

“I can’t, Stiles.” His face crumpled, a pout forming on his lips, and you mirrored him. “It’s private stuff, things between me, him, and my files. I can’t say anything.”

“You can’t say anything?” He echoed you, eyes narrowing on you slightly, like he was analysing you, and you couldn’t figure out why.

“You should talk to him.” You pushed, ready to question the looks you were receiving, before a plate was landing in front of you. The shock made you jump a little, a plate landing before Stiles too, and you had never even heard the waitress approach with your meals. She was smiling brightly, clearly unaware of the tension between you both and the weight of the conversation looming overhead. She offered you drink refills and sauces, and everything you could possibly need, before she was leaving once again. “Your brother loves you, Stiles, and I know you love him. If you just talk about this, you’ll work it out.”

“Despite the weirdness of you dating my brother, it’s kinda’ comforting. You know us both so well, your advice is specialised.” His brows wiggled, and you rolled your eyes lightly at him. As you picked up your knife and fork, beginning to poke through your food, his own scraped slightly against the plate, a mumbled apology for the wince it caused. Before he was tucking into his food.

“So, do you want to tell me about your problems with Derek?”

His gaze snapped up to yours, shocked and astounded, his vigorous chewing paused as his full cheeks went still, and you pushed a polite forkful of food into your mouth as your gaze stayed locked with his. His chews were slower, and he choked down the large mouthful all in one creating a loud gulping as he did, following it with a large gulp of water. “How the hell did you know that?”

You smiled despite your mouthful, chewing again and swallowing your first bite as he continued to stare. “Well, you know, for starters, if your problems were solely about myself and Noah, you’d have turned to Derek for advice, plus, Derek was not invited to this dinner. You’ve also been having a lot more little disagreements with Derek than usual lately, and lastly, you haven’t spoken about him once yet today. You normally always want to brag about your big beefcake boyfriend.”

“I thought I was the one who wanted to become a criminal profiler.” He teased, cutting up more food on his plate as he took a break from your lingering gaze to stare down it, and thinking about his next words.

“Spill.”

“Pushy.” He teased, taking another bite, and the silence only lasted for a few seconds longer, before taking another mouthful, chewing on one side of his mouth to be able to talk. “It’s not really an issue, it’s more of a disagreement. He wants to jump right into life, right?”

“I’m not seeing an issue.”

“Because there isn’t an issue. Just a difference on when.” Your brows furrowed a little, waiting for him to explain, and he was pushing food around his plate with his fork. “I want to jump into life and all, I do, but I want to take a break. A gap year, or whatever. Maybe travel, maybe stay put, but just take a little break.”

“And Derek doesn’t?”

“No.” Stiles huffed, stabbing slightly too aggressively at the piece of steak on his plate. “He wants us to move in together, he wants to get an apartment on the other side of the country where his family’s law firm works. He doesn’t think we need a gap year, he just wants to go straight into life.”

“What I’m hearing is that you have a loving and devoted boyfriend who misses his family and wants to live with you.”

Stiles stared at you, appalled for a second, before picking up a fry with his fingers and pointing it at you. “Don’t simply my problems when I’ve overthought them all in my head.” He bit the end of the fry aggressively, and you crossed your knife and fork on your plate, the meal half-eaten as your hands came to join in front of you.

“Just because Derek wants to move across the country and start working doesn’t mean you can’t still take a gap year, Stiles.”

“What do you mean?” He was puzzled now, his brows rising and that sweet look of confusion on his features that made him look so young, and he continued to munch through his fries at an almost alarming rate.

“I just mean that it sounds like Derek is trying to build a reliable and secure future for the two of you.” His face softened as he thought about it, before a little guilt was coming in. “You could move in with him, and while he starts working, you could take a gap year. He can take days off, and you can go out and do things together, and you can have your gap year full of wild experiences just like you want. Then, when it’s over, you already have a plan in place.”

“Huh.” He sat back, staring a little beyond you as he spaced out for a second, and you filled the time with your own food, trying not to take too much amusement in the way his face visible flickered with various emotions as he thought about your words. “You know, I may have slightly over-reacted in my last conversation with Derek, then.”

“Well, you’ve never been known to be dramatic before.”

“I will stab you with a fork.” He mumbled, sticking his tongue out at you, and you couldn't stop the burst of laughter that escaped you because of it.

“Thanks for proving my point.” You mocked, and his eyes rolled.

“You suck. Shut up and eat your pasta.” Using his own fork, he reached across, ignoring your protests and making mocking and false threats to stab you with the instrument, before taking several chunks onto his fork, and forcing it into his mouth unattractively. “That's good pasta.”

You cringed as he spoke through his food, watching up swallow it once again, before moving back to his meal.

“That’s what you should get Noah.”

“You think?” Your body buzzed with a subtle spark of excitement just at the mention of the man’s name, and Stiles seemed to pick up on it, smirking as he stared at his plate, picking up more food with his cutlery.

“You guys are, like, really into each other, huh?”

You could only shrug, poking at the remnants of your food, the nerves of a talk you knew was coming but finally being here making your appetite shrink. That didn’t seem to matter though, because the second that you placed down your cutlery to indicate that you were finished, Stiles was reaching across, beginning to pick at your food as he’d finished his own.

“It’s okay. I mean, I know I make a lot of jokes, but you’re good for him.” His words made a smile rise, it was beyond your control, and your hand came up to rest on your cheek, leaning it against the table. “I think he’s pretty good for you, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Stiles smiled, taking all of the dishes and stacking them, moving them away from yourselves to the edge of the table. “He was talking to my dad the other day. I know my dad knows of you, and I mean, I’ve definitely told my dad some stuff about the study and you guys hanging out, but I heard Noah talking to our dad about you yesterday. Pretty sure it’s the first time, he seemed kinda’ flustered.”

“That’s so cute.” You hated how much it made your heart flutter, and a burning wave of heat rush through your body, ducking your head down to hide from Stiles how wide your grin had gotten. “I mean, we haven’t put a label on things, but, that makes me feel secure.”

“I think you bring out the best in each other. It’s nice. You’re brighter with him, and he’s bolder with you.”

“Thanks, Sti. That means a lot.” He grinned, his hand reaching out across the table again, squeezing yours when your palm was pressed to his, and silence fell between you both once again. The restaurant itself was loud, it was busy with the evening rush and the windows to the outside were now black as the night shrouded you in, but there was a bubble formed around the pair of you at this moment.

“So, are we wanting to take a look at dessert menus?”

You jumped, once again caught off-guard by your waitresses silent approach, and you swore she would make an excellent assassin. Or maybe you were just very distracted, but that didn’t matter.

“Uh, absolutely we are. I fuckin’ love the chocolate cake here.”

“Good choice.” She grinned, swiping up the plates and moving away, you were only left alone very briefly, before she was bringing back the one menu for you to look over.

With some persuasion from Stiles about sharing desserts, a request for two spare plates and a fresh set of pasta and some sides to be boxed up for Noah, your waitress was leaving, probably quite happy in the knowledge she’d be getting a very decent tip. Which she did, of course, because she was lovely, she wrapped up your spare food herself and always had a smile, offering refills but never invading your space.

By the time Stiles was paying the check and marking up a tip, you knew it was over 20%, but she’d earned it, and the two of you had become high on laughter and the simplicity of putting everything behind for just a few moments, as you’d giggled and joked like gossiping housewives over dessert.

Your sides were sore from laughter and your cheeks were aching from your smile, and for a while, there wasn’t a single thing in the world to worry about, it was simply you, and your best friend, spending quality time together that lately had been missed, as life had come crashing down.

Stiles was much more cheery as the two of you drove home. He sang to songs on the radio, and he stared out of the window each time you pulled up to a stoplight, and the tension between you both was much lighter. As the two of you got back, there was much more of a pep in his step as you walked back into the building than there had been when you’d left, and you suspected it was due to the weight that had been lifted from his shoulders.

Even if the issues were not entirely solved, Stiles had once been trapped in a maze that seemed like it had no way out, but he had now garnered a clarity, like a light leading the way, a key to the door that trapped him. He just had to build up the bravery to use it. His keys jingled in his hands as he fished them from his pocket once you had stepped from the elevator, along with the rustle of the bag of food swinging by your side each time your leg bumped it gently as you walked.

“We’re back!” You yelled, the door slamming behind you as Stiles closed it, and you jumped a little, sliding your bag down your arm and hanging it up, the paper bag with spare food stored inside rustling in your other hand.

“That was the worst ‘honey, I’m home’ I have ever heard.” Stiles teased, hanging his keys back up on the key rack.

“I don’t know, I thought it was pretty good.” Noah’s slightly deeper, slightly raspier voice appeared around the edge of the doorway, and your attention moved to him. He’d changed, swapped out from his day clothes into his pyjamas. Skinny jeans had become baggy pyjama pants and his jumper had become an old baggy t-shirt, hair a mixture between messy and flattened by the band of his headphones, with a sweet smile on his face as he reached out.

Holding the bag of food out to him, his grin stretched wider, and he stepped forwards, both hands landing on your hips instead, and you couldn't help the growth of your own beam, even as Stiles scoffed beside you. “I literally hate the pair of you, it’s disgusting.”

“Go be bitter somewhere else.” Noah mumbled, stepping a little closer, and Stiles’ shoes squeaked against the floor as he wandered away. Soft and delicate kisses were pressed to your lips, a few sweet pecks. His fingers pressed into your skin more as he held you a little tighter, pulling you a little closer by the grip on your waist, and you hummed against his lips when his head tipped to the side. His tongue dared to poke out, tracing along your lower lip slowly, and you chuckled, pulling back to look at him, your nose bumping his own when he whined a little.

“Easy, tiger. Plenty of time for that.”

“Weren’t you the one who was begging me for kisses before? I’m just holding up my end of a deal.” He teased, your cheeks heating, but he didn’t get a chance to notice before his lips were already moving back in to capture your own in a loving and heated kiss, and you couldn't help but return it. Despite the smile on his face and the matching one on your own, slow kisses were shared between you both, your free hand coming up to tangle in the hairs at the base of his neck. “I laid out some clothes you can wear to sleep in.”

“The comfy green sweatpants?”

“Well, you were so fond of them last time.” His smile became a smirk, the images associated with the night he was talking about flashing behind your eyes, ad the phantom feeling of lips tracing over your skin sent a shake along your spine, goosebumps rising on your skin. It seemed that he knew the effect he had on you, and the care he’d given you afterwards when offering you the clothes the first time. “Was thinkin’ we could watch a movie?”

“Definitely, but I have a little work to do first.”

“That sucks,” He tipped your face up, pressing a few kisses along your jaw, and your knees went a little weak as he did, your hand lightning against the handle of the bag as you gripped it. “You sure? You could leave it ‘til tomorrow.”

“You’re playing dirty.” He only hummed, teeth teasing a little over the skin of your jaw, and your breath was shaky as it came out. Finding a little strength, your hand slipped from his hair to his chest, pushing him backwards, and there was an adorable pout on his face as he looked at you. “Go listen to music, or something. I’ll work for as long as it takes you to eat your food, okay?”

“Fine, but I’m choosing the movie too, and since you’re insisting on being boring, you don’t get a say in it.” He leaned back in, stealing a final peck from your lips as you attempted to complain, noises silenced and he walked away from you with a cheeky grin, back toward the living room. Taking your folder from your bag, the pen and highlighter you’d brought still clipped to the top of it, and you left it out on the kitchen counter, the bag of food that you’d brought following it.

They both sat there, in the few minutes that it took you to slip away to Noah’s room and change, leaving your clothes folded on his desk and your shoes tucked down on the floor beside his chair. When you returned, Stiles was in his comfy clothes too, and he was picking through the bag of food you’d brought home, already unpacking it as his brother sat on the couch.

“You know, that food wasn’t intended for you.”

“Yeah, but, I’m hungry again.” He shrugged, peeling back the folded tinfoil edges and lifting the cardboard off. Swiping the carton out and away from him, you turned your back on him, taking the bag too and turning away from him to face the counters behind yourself. “Please, I’m hungry.”

“You’re greedy. You have snacks. This isn’t for you.”

“When did you become such a mom?” He grouched, reaching past your head and into the cupboards in front of you as he grinned, taking out a couple of bags of chips and a jar of dip from the fridge. When he left your peripherals, you no longer knew what he was doing, instead, focusing on sourcing a plate and beginning to serve up the meal from various cartons. Scraping out the noodles onto the plate, and arranging the dry elements around the source, you were proud of the presentation.

The noise of random reality show TV chatter was filling the background, the crunching of Stiles snacking harmonising with it. Grabbing a set of cutlery from the drawer and balancing them on the edge of the plate, you spun around. Rather than two heads at the couch, there was just one, that of Noah, and Stiles was sitting at the kitchen counter.

Your file was open in front of him, the warm joy filling you changing to cold fear so quickly that a wave of weakening nausea washed over you, and the plate in your hand wobbled, the cutlery dropping away to the floor and clanging loudly against the wooden slats. “Stiles, no!”

“What?”

He jumped, just as much as Noah did as he flinched at the shout and the sharp sound, and you reached out to put the plate down before your grip went so weak that you actually dropped it. “What the hell are you doing?”

Noah was on his feet, and Stiles looked like a deer caught in the headlights, his hunched form straightening out as he went stuff, and his eyes were wide, vulnerable shock on his face as he stared at you. “Well, I mean-” His eyes flicked down to the file, and he gulped as he swallowed. “We talked, about stuff, and you said there were notes in your file but you couldn't tell me, I thought you meant that in an ‘I won’t say it out loud but if you happened to read it then that’s okay, ha ha ha’ sort of thing!”

“What?” You all but hissed the word incredulously, and he shrunk under your stare.

“You didn’t mean that?” Stiles’ voice was a little squeaky now, and as he approached, Noah seemed to realise what he was reading, his own eyes going wider as he snatched the file away from his twin. Silence fell across the room, a pit forming in your stomach as your hands trembled a little, and you wondered just what pages Stiles had read before you’d stopped him, and he twisted in his seat to face Noah. “You have secret anger pent up against me?”

“What?” Noah had a shocked look on his face, one that morphed between fear, to humiliation, to anger, before a fiery gaze was turning to you. “You wrote that?”

“No!” Your heartbeat hard, thudding against the inside of your chest with a force that almost hurt, and you wrung your hands together. “I mean, not in those exact words?”

“Well, then what the fuck did you write?”

“Uh, just that you basically fucking hate your own brother!” Stiles interjected, a hurt look on the younger twins face, and you knew he was doing it on purpose but he was making everything that much worse. “You hate me, you feel like I abandoned you, you feel like I don’t care!”

“That’s not true-”

“It's not? Then why does it feel like everything makes more sense now that it’s out there, huh?” It was Stiles’ turn to yell, your ears ringing from the volume and you were scared by the stare they were both fixing one another with, pure fire burning in both of their eyes as each refused to back down from the other. “I knew something was wrong, I fucking knew it! You never talked to me about this stuff, you never talk to me about anything anymore!”

“I’m the one that doesn’t talk to you?”

“Yeah!” Stiles stood, hands on his hips as Noah’s chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, both of their faces growing a little redder from the heat of anger, and you could barely breathe.

“You never talk to me! You just started your stupid fucking podcast, where you broadcast your feeling out to everyone in the world except for me, and you shut me out!” Noah burst, seemingly regretting his words, and hurt etched its way onto Stiles face for a second, his shoulders, slumping slightly, and his hands fell flat at his sides.

“That’s what you think? That I would rather talk to everyone but you?” Noah shrugged, and a flicker of pain amongst the betrayal and anger on Stiles’ face made your heart break behind your ribs, before yet another blow was delivered from your sarcastic friend. “You think that I’m the one that did this to us, like it wasn't you that created this rift? How could you not tell me about all of these problems you have with me, that I never even knew about?”

“What fucking pages did you read?” He tore open the file still clenched in his hands, sheets becoming warped and crumpled under his grip, and as he stared down at them, eyes flicking over the page, there was a range of emotions travelling so fast across his features you could barely decipher them. Silence hung heavy, and he flicked rapidly between the pages, barely taking in the information but flicking between everything you’d highlighted, everything that seemed important during a fit of rage, and you could barely think of anything but regulating your breathing and slowing your heart, never mind how to stop him.

It all became irrelevant, however, when his gaze came back to find your own.

“How could you?” The anger was turned back to you, furious eyes with a shine that only indicated tears, and you tensed up, feeling stuck in the moment, like you were choking on the breath in your throat. “How could you? You said we were just talking, you said- some of that stuff- you lied! You said it wasn’t for the study!”

“I-I didn’t mean for it to-”

“To what? To ruin everything? You’re a fucking liar, look what you’ve done!” There was venom behind his words, and you knew he was hurting, but it still stung. The look in his eyes wasn’t like anything you’d ever seen before, it wasn’t defensive or anxious, it was pure pain and anger, and you hated that you were the cause of it.

“Don’t fuckin’ yell at her, this isn’t her fault, Noah!”

Whipping back to face his brother, Noah scoffed, rolling his eyes and your arms wrapped loosely around yourself to stop the trembling you felt coming on. “It isn’t her fault? It’s all her fault! None of this would have come to light, none of this would be happening if it wasn’t for her and this stupid study!”

“You have all this rage towards me! Do you think that would have stayed a secret for our entire lives? Do you think that would have just stayed tucked away neatly in a box and wouldn’t have affected us?” Stiles’ arms fell flat to his side, the wild gestures you were so used to seeing simply going limp as his shoulders sagged. “It’s not her fault you feel this way, it was bound to come out at some point.”

The shouting fell quiet, and there was a tension in the room that made you feel like if you even so much as flinched something would shatter and splinter.

“You know, when we were growing up it was the opposite way around.” Stiles’ voice was a little hoarse from, the shouting, and he sniffed back tears, avoiding everybody’s gaze as he stared at the floor. “You were that guy when we were in high school. You were the one everybody thought was cool, do you know that? So many girls asked me about you, nobody ever asked about me. You were that mysterious guy that didn’t talk constantly like his annoying brother, with the fixer-upper bike that made everyone think you were so fucking cool, and the attitude and the tattoos and everything else! You were that guy, and I was the dorky brother.”

“You never told me that, Stiles.”

“Oh, rich of you to talk about honesty now.” You’d rarely ever heard such malice coming from Stiles, he was like a ray of sunshine that was currently encased entirely by shadows, and you could barely breathe for the way it felt to be trapped here right now. “The difference, Noah, is that I never held that against you. I always loved you, and supported you, and I never let the way I felt about myself become anger towards you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Noah was tense again, your fingernails were digging into your palms so hard you swore they might cut right through, and everything was silent.

The first bullet had been fired, the first real shot of the argument had been thrown, and while you could see regret playing on Stiles’ face, there was no way that he could take back what he’d said now. It was out there, for everyone to hear and know, and the way Noah’s face was twisting from guilt to anger again was enough to suggest that he knew exactly what it meant.

“What is that supposed to mean, Stiles?” It was more of a growl now, tension rising once again like a hand around your throat and a stone in your gut that was just getting heavier.

“Shit, Noah! It means that you do this to your damn self, are you happy now?” Noah’s nostrils flared a little, and Stiles ran a hand through his hair, the gelled style he’d done for the evening falling out into an unruly mess. “You have anxiety, I get it, but I wanted to be my own person in college. You were fine in high school, you had your own little group of friends, and you had your bike, and your ego, and you were fine. Then when the loving adorations of stoners and cheerleaders fell away, you caved in, like their validation was all that mattered!”

“That’s not true!”

“That is true!” Stiles fought back, Noah’s jaw hanging like he’d had more to say, but had been cut off. “It is true, and you know it. Why can’t you see what everyone else can? That you’re a fucking great person, Noah, with so much to offer. You’re funny and you’re smart and you’re a great brother, normally, but you can’t see it for yourself. You rely on everyone else to validate you and make you feel special, when you’re special all on your own. You hate me for making you feel less, when you just can’t see how you’re worth so much more. You isolate yourself, and you judge yourself, and you make yourself into an outcast.” You took a deep breath, the kind of revelations you’d never had the strength to even think about finally voiced into the open air, and it felt a little easier to breathe once there was nothing else to be hidden. “Stop hating me because you can’t love yourself.”

“I don’t hate you, Stiles.”

“Yeah? Because right now, it kinda’ feels like you do.”

With that, Stiles was leaving, the slamming of his bedroom door to follow felt like a crack down the middle of the frozen room, and you let out your breath slowly, trying to shake off the feeling you had. It was nauseous, sitting in your stomach and twisting everything up until you practically felt dizzy, but you knew it must be nothing on how Noah felt. Reaching a single hand out, you placed it gently onto his shoulder, his back still to you, tensed from his position, and he jerked away.

When he turned to face you, it was with a deep scowl, and red-rimmed eyes that still shone with unshed tears, and a cold feeling radiated out from the centre of your chest in bursts. “Don’t fuckin’ touch me.”

“Noah..”

“No!” He stepped back, eyes cold as they looked at you and it was enough to make you freeze where you were, once again shocked to the point of immobility. He was trembling, a hint of fear, presumably about losing his brother after the argument they’d just had, but that too was rapidly washed away when he wiped at his face, tears finally shed barely getting a chance before they were gone. “You did this.”

“I didn’t mean to, Noah.”

“You fucking lied to me. None of this is real.” He muttered, letting out a ragged and humourless laugh. “It’s all so fucking fake.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do!” His head was shaking, and there was a feeling you’d never felt before settling into your gut, a horrid combination of heartbreak and fear as you watched him. “You never accepted me for who I was, all you’ve done is try to change me since the day we met. You force me to socialise with people who aren’t really my friends, and to go to places that spike my anxiety and you all it pushing my comfort zones but now I get it, you’re just changing me. You fucking used me for your grade, you used me for fun, you’re so fucking fake.”

“That’s really what you think of me?” It was like stepping into a bath of iced water, a cold feeling that moved from head to toe, electricity in the worst way possible, nothing exciting or new but unsettling familiar and terrifying as it moved all the way to the tips of your fingers in sparks. “You think I’d use you, you think I’m fake?”

“Oh, c’mon,” He waved around, pointing to everything from the clothes on your body to the plate of food going cold on the counter. “This isn’t you. You aren’t warm jumpers on the couch and reheating food, staying in for the night and listening to music. You’re all popularity and prom queen and parties, you’re bullshit. You’re everything I hate.”

“I don’t think you mean that, Noah. I don’t believe it. I think you’re hurting, and-”

“You think I care what you believe? You think I care at all? Stop trying to analyse me, stop trying to manipulate me right now.” He was glaring, heat in his eyes before something like clarity passed over his vision, and you saw the shift in him as he relaxed a little. “You know what? Just stop altogether. Stop trying to change me, stop your fucking study, stop trying to be a part of my life. I don’t want any of it anymore.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” His arms crossed over his chest, and you tried to stand your ground, copying his motions, until the pair of you were simply stuck, staring one another down. “I mean it.”

“I don’t think you do.”

“I don’t care.” That stung a little, and the calmness of his voice as he spoke made your faith shake, the anger that had been replaced by clarity was wearing you down. “Get the fuck out of my apartment, and get the fuck out of my life. I was doing perfectly fine before I met you.”

“You call secret anger to your brother and unresolved issues ‘perfectly fine’?”

He had a flash of anger again, that and a second of vulnerability, shock at your words as you finally threw a blow at him, but he took it strong, tongue clicking inside of his mouth with snark. “Maybe I was a loner, maybe I didn’t have many friends, but I sure as hell didn’t need you to come in here and try to fix me, because I was never broken!”

“I know that, and I never tried to fix you.”

“You tried to change me!” He yelled back, having at least the decency to look a little ashamed of himself when you flinched, but his stance didn’t change.

“I never tried to change you, I just wanted to help you.”

“Well I don’t want your help anymore, I just want you to get out of my life.” He took a deep breath to follow it, and you were left silent, unsure of what to say. “I mean it. This was fun for a while, while the illusion was still up, but now it’s just a problem, so just leave me alone.”

That struck a little deeper, and your arms feel from their locked position over your chest. You could feel the look on your face change from anger to hurt and you couldn’t help it, because you felt hollow and small as he stared at you. The confirmation came, that your relationship had never even been such a thing to him, it had simply been fun, he thought you were using him and figured he might as well gain something from it too.

The feeling you held weren’t reciprocated, the way he felt wasn’t real, and you took a shaky breath as he continued to stare without remorse to follow his words.

No regret, no back-tracking, no changes. He meant it.

And that was a whole lot worse.

“Fine.”

You moved past him, sure to swerve around his body as you ducked into the corridor, his eyes following you and Stiles’ bedroom door opening again when he peered out into the hall, but you didn’t want to see him either, and it was your turn to slam the door shut.

You felt weak, fingers grasping at the covers as you tried not to cry, because once those tears came you knew it would be a long time before they stopped, and you weren’t ready to deal with that just yet. Your clothes from the day were still neatly folded over the back of his desk chair, seconds later thrown haphazardly across his bed as you struggled to strip yourself of the clothes you’d changed into.

You were shaking, the struggle to undo the knot you’d tied at your waist only made pain turn to frustration, one of your nails tearing as you pulled at the threads, finally coming undone. Your throat was stinging raw from choking back how you felt, and with shaking hands, you folded up the jumper and sweats, leaving them out on the desk, and trying to tug on your clothes. There was shouting behind the door again, muffled voices that weren’t nearly as loud or angry as they had been but still holding rage, and everything felt like it was falling apart.

There was a pang of gnawing guilt in your gut, one you knew was illogical because this wasn’t your fault but it was present nonetheless, and it was already starting to feel like something only pints of ice cream and alcohol could fix. As soon as you’d gathered your things, the door was open again, the voices went quiet, two almost identical faces turning to stare at you.

One blank, the other filled with pity, and you didn’t want to see either right now.

“You don’t have to leave, it’s real late, you can take my bed for the night,” Stiles mumbled, taking a step closer and blocking his brother from your vision, and you were forced to look up to him. He was much a reflection of how you felt, red eyes and sore skin and a frown that felt like it would never leave.

“You know, Stiles, I love you, but with all due respect, I cannot imagine anything worse than staying here tonight.”

He shrugged, lips twitching minutely at one edge. “That seems fair. Do you want me to drive you home?”

You still wanted to cry, and your sniffle made that obvious, but you were still trying to be strong. You meant nothing to Noah, that much was clear, and you didn’t want him to know just how much he meant to you at this moment. Wiping at your eyes when it became apparent the tears weren’t going to leave, you sighed, shaking your head at how nice Stiles was still being, despite it all. “No, I don’t. I’ll drive myself, I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be reckless, just because you’re mad.”

You ignored Noah, Stiles turning to shoot him a very fast glare, and you moved beyond the pair of them. Swiping your folder from the table, a few sheets were loose, and you didn’t care for them in that time, you didn’t care for any of it, everything you held becoming creased as you grabbed at them. Your bag was still sitting neatly on the coat rack, and with a slightly harsher pull on the zipper, you yanked it open, shoving the notes inside, before swiping it from the hook and letting it fall to your shoulder.

Patting down the pocket of your bag, you couldn't stop the soft whimper that left you when you couldn't find your keys, even after rooting through the purse. You checked all of your pockets too, and as you failed to find them, you were feeling more and more like you were trapped, a caged animal, frightened and alone and the stress made you snap. “Shit! Where are my fucking keys?”

The tears were there now, your voice cracking as you spoke and you didn’t bother to wipe them away because it was obvious, but that didn’t make you feel any less judged by the two sets of eyes on you. A nimble finger and thumb reached past, plucking them from the key rack that your mind had been too foggy to remember hanging them up on, and dropping them into your palm when you held it up. You wanted to small, a silent thank you to Stiles for helping you, but it felt more like a grimace, and your sob was just as apparent when you took a breath. “You sure you don’t want me to drive, or call you a cab?”

“I’m sure, Stiles.”

“(Y/N)..”

Just the sound of your name from his lips, surrounded by so much pity, made your blood boil. “Don’t!” He jumped a little, one of your fingers pointing at him for a second as you glared, and it was your turn to finally be angry. Despite the shell he was putting on, something you knew to be fake from so long of getting to know him, he dared to look guilty, finally, some remorse showing through, and you shook your head at him. “Just don’t.”

There were tears on your face and you knew you looked a mess, the feel of the water dripping from your jaw, the stinging in your eyes and the way you could barely breathe, but you glared a second longer anyway. Your gaze softened as you moved to Stiles, a silent conversation held, before you were gone.

The hallways felt colder, the slam of the door as you’d left made you feel at least a little proud, and the chill through your veins made it easier to breathe. You were being crushed, torn apart from the inside out by how you felt, but the adrenaline of it all was just enough to keep you walking forwards for now, so you followed your feet, and let them guide you to the elevator, hoping it was enough to get you home.

[mianavs]

the assault

In Lima with You part 4

a/n: this marks the beginning of the end for this story. like previous parts in this story and it’s predecessor, there’s some messed up stuff going on in this part.

tw: non-con, dark content, nsfw, violence

wc: 1.7k+

In Lima with You

You had been scrubbing for a good thirty minutes, yet the bright red from the tomato sauce you’d spilled on your living room carpet was still there.

Glaring at you

Mocking you

Wiping off the beads of sweat that trickled down your brow with the back of your hand, you ran the scrubby through the bucket of soapy water that was now a milky salmon color. After wringing the scrubby of the excess liquid, you went back to scrubbing that spot while ignoring the growing ache in your fingers and the knot in your neck.

It’d been a careless mistake, spilling your spaghetti while your mind had been elsewhere—a common occurrence since the night your fragile world fell apart when Dabi walked out on you.

Almost as careless as the mistake of letting your captor into your heart where he left a mark that spread until it encompassed the entire thing.

A mistake you were now paying the price for, on your hands and knees trying to scrub the mark stain away only to realize it had spread in spite of your efforts.

You fell back on your haunches and threw the scrubby into the bucket. It had been five days since you’d last seen Dabi, and you were starting to lose it.

Every time you heard footsteps outside of your front door, you would rush over and swing it open only to face nothing or a bewildered stranger. The room that had once suffocated you with warmth was now frigid and made it difficult for you to fall asleep in. Your mornings started with you waking from a nightmare that almost always involved Dabi’s death. While at the beginning of his absence you could still go about your day cooking, cleaning, or engaging in a hobby, you eventually spiraled into a depression that made it hard for you to even get out of bed.

Not only was Dabi the death-sentenced protagonist of your nightmares but he was also on your mind all day. His face during your last argument was one that had been burned into your memory. You could still see the blank look that flashed in his cerulean eyes, the twitch of his mutilated mouth, and then the shock that seeped from every pore in his body as he staggered away from your enraged form.

You’d been the one wronged that day, yet Dabi was the one that fled, leaving you with an all-consuming guilt. It didn’t make sense but then again neither did the overwhelming pain festering away in your heart the more time passed without seeing him, touching him, loving him.

Love. It was a ridiculous notion when you thought about it.

Dabi had been the monster that kidnapped you. He’d broken you down physically and mentally to mold you into the obedient darling you now were, but even with the plethora of scars all over your body, you couldn’t help but feel empty without him. Even with the door unlocked and nothing chaining you down to your shared condo, you would leave only to roam around the city for a couple of minutes before a panic seized your entire body; It was that suffocating panic that forced you back home to the comfort of your bed that still smelled of Dabi’s musk and smoke.

You loved Dabi.

You needed Dabi.

So as you dumped the soapy water down the kitchen sink and washed out the bucket, you mulled over your options in tracking Dabi down to tell him how you felt. Then just as you were putting the bucket away, the muffled sound of footsteps captured your attention and you dashed to the front door on impulse.

Where a scarred face with a wicked grin should have greeted you, there was only a red winged man with astonished eyes.

“Y/N,” Keigo breathed. “You’re really here.”

You looked behind him, searching for the man you actually wanted to see. When it was clear he wasn’t there, you turned to your former friend.

“Where else would I be?” You asked before stepping aside to let him in.

“I assumed you’d be with the League,” He answered amusedly, walking in while you shut the door behind him. “But I guess this was a no ex-heroes type of mission.”

“Where’s Dabi?” The question burst from your lips before you could think it through.

Keigo’s smile faltered at your desperate inquiry, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Last I heard they were two cities away wreaking havoc in true League fashion.”

You raised an eyebrow at his mocking tone. “Sounds like you don’t approve of the mission.”

Keigo laughed at that and it left a bitter taste in your mouth. “How about we drop the act, Y/N. It’s just you and me. Dabi isn’t here to punish you.”

His eyes traveled to a fading scar on your forearm before returning to your face. “We both know that what they’re doing is wrong.”

A bitter laugh tore from your throat as you approached him. “So the HPSC selling me for some intel is right? Them drugging me and sending me off to an orphanage is right? How about them trying to sabotage my career? Does all of that seem right to you, Keigo?!”

You were now in front of him, and he had the decency to appear sheepish after your rant. He averted his gaze and said nothing while you let out an exasperated sigh and ran your fingers through your hair.

“Don’t give me that right or wrong crap.” You retorted when your anger simmered. “Hero society deemed me a villain before giving me a chance to prove myself. I won’t stand in the League’s way if they want to bring it down.”

Keigo’s hand shot out and wrapped around your elbow, fingers pressing into one of your scars. You tried shaking him off but Keigo didn’t relent.

“What about the thousands of innocent civilian lives that will be ruined because of them? Will you also stand aside when they’re screaming for their lives?”

His golden eyes bore into yours and memories of a certain mission hit you like a ton of bricks. You remembered the room full of children that you’d saved with Keigo, and for the first time in weeks, you hesitated in defending Dabi and the League’s actions.

“We’re targeting the heroes and the HPSC, not civilians.” You reasoned, wrenching your arm from his grasp.

“We’re?” Keigo sneered, backing you against a wall. “Are you serious?”

At his aggressiveness, the alarms in your head went off but indignation muffled them. You jutted out your chin defiantly. “Yeah, I am. As long as Dabi remains in the League, I will too because... I-I love him and tha—”

Keigo smashed his lips against yours and took hold of your hands before pinning them above your head. Unlike the first kiss he stole from you, this one was harsh and meant to punish. He claimed your mouth with his invading tongue while you wrestled against his bruising grip. It wasn’t until you realized he wouldn’t let up that you bit down on his tongue until he hissed in pain and released you with a curse.

With the metallic taste of Keigo’s blood in your mouth, you tried recovering your breath only to hear a harsh thump that was immediately followed by pulsating pain on the side of your head. You doubled over from the sheer force of Keigo’s blow that left you debilitated and vulnerable.

And that was exactly what Keigo wanted.

In your stupor, you were picked up like a ragdoll and thrown onto your bed, landing face down on a pillow. The sudden motion only worsened what you assumed was a concussion. As a sharp ringing assaulted your ears, all you could do was grip the sheets beneath you in a weak attempt to stop the room from turning.

So when rough hands pulled off your shorts and ripped off your flimsy lace panties, you were too busy burrowing your spinning head in a pillow and swallowing bile to put up a fight. The severity of the situation finally registered with you when you felt the bed dip and rough hands lift your waist until you were on your knees.

By the time your body reacted, it was too late. Keigo pressed you into the mattress with your hands pinned behind your back as he settled between your legs and spread them open with his body.

His cockhead prodded at your entrance a couple of times before he forced it into your dry cunt in one harsh thrust. Horrified and unprepared, you screamed into the pillow that still smelled of Dabi while Keigo violently took you from behind like an animal.

Pain was all you knew throughout Keigo’s assault. It pulsated in your head until it felt like your skull was being split in half. It coursed through your arms that were pushed together and pressed into your back. It ripped through your cunt as Keigo’s cock rammed into you without mercy.

Concussed, restrained, and without your quirk and voice, all you could do was lie there and wait for your body to produce the slick you oh-so desperately needed to ease the ache in your cunt.

Without changing the pace of his hips, Keigo leaned over you and grunted into your ear.

“Don’t you get it, Y/N? I’m doing this because I love you and right now you’re sick. That so-called love you feel for that bastard is a disease. You have Stockholm Syndrome and I’m gonna cure you with each load I shoot up your womb.”

He let out a chuckle and licked the shell of your earlobe, causing bile to surge up your throat. Unable to swallow it down any longer, you used all the strength you could muster to jerk your head over the bed’s edge.

As you regurgitated that day’s lunch, Keigo’s thrusts ceased and he released you with a disgusted grunt.

“Rude bitch,” he growled, pulling you by your hair and pressing his torso against your body. “I tell you I love you and that’s how you react?”

Keigo shoved your face into the mattress and you writhed beneath his weight and grip as your lungs were depleted of oxygen. When your limbs went limp against the bed and black specks stained your vision, the last thing you heard was Keigo’s honeyed words delivering your sentence for falling for your captor.

“Guess I’ll have to take you away from him for you to be cured.”