#keep march away from me

[beelinx]

sadly i wholeheartedly believe whoever you romance in stardew valley / fields of mistria says everything about you as a person

[iheartfurrympreg]

The Harbinger Of Death

watch out gem and joel

close ups under cut and analysis in tags ->

[marigoldbaker]

you are my flower

sooooooooo what if as an experiment i posted 10k words of fic under the cut. here. just to see how it felt. a few things here and there might not mesh perfectly with all that sapphic old woman mystery fic when it's done, but i loved this so dearly when i wrote it and i want to start setting some of my backlog of writing free, if only here! i have been talking for so long about things without any context so maybe it is time to provide a BIT more :) as such: the story behind how thea acquired marigold. (warnings for blood + implied violence + a bit of murder. unsurprisingly, probably.)

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Of course it started to fucking storm at midnight. Thea woke up with the rain hitting her face and let out a long, frustrated sigh, rolling onto her back. She was seriously considering just stopping the adventuring outright.

It wasn’t half the worry it had been once, leaving the girls at home alone, but traipsing aimlessly through the woodlands wasn’t half the joy she remembered it being. She missed her little ones. Norie, fierce little spider, hated thunderstorms but refused to admit it; she would despise this weather and cuddle close under some complicated pretense that Thea would have happily indulged. Rosie loved any sort of big weather; she said that it was like the sky was trying to give them a bath, or share all the water in the world with them, or some other such nonsense that Thea would remember better with her here and dancing dangerously through the thunder and lightning.

Lianne had woken up too. She was shaking Chester awake; he grunted unhappily and put a hand over his face to cover it, then said, “Turn off the fucking water, Annie.”

“It’s not water,” said Lianne, in a put-upon sort of voice that Thea had to try not to laugh at. Didn’t work too well. “It’s storming. We need to find better shelter.”

Thea pulled out the parchment. Fucking thing was waterproof, of course. No new messages from Jaheira, outside of the old one: if you are in the area, there is a secluded grove some distance west of the rumored treasure. Mention my name there in case of emergency.

Meddling old hen. Thea wrote, WE’RE FINE. FUCK OFF, mostly because Jaheira had better things to do than check up on her every ten seconds whenever she went out of town. She pocketed the parchment again.

“Writing the wife?” said Fawn, sweetly.

“Oh, fuck off,” said Thea. Fawn laughed. “Annie’s right; we need to find a better camp. Think there was a bit of a path through the woods, yeah?”

“We don’t know what sort of people live in these woods,” said Lianne uncomfortably.

Gods, these fucking kids. Thea sent a look to Fawn, who made a bit of a sorry-about-them face, which, all right, yeah, she’d take it. Were their positions reversed, she’d have wanted her girls given a little leeway. “Pack your kits up,” she instructed, “we’re moving. Annie, if the people in the woods aren’t the nice sort, I’ll bash their faces in. That help?”

“…Um!” said Lianne, wincing.

“Teachable moment, kiddos!” said Fawn brightly. “You’ll have to get used to all sorts of violence if you’re interested in becoming an adventurer. Some party members, like Thea here,” she gestured with a little flair towards Thea, who would have really liked for them to get fucking going, actually, “may be much more comfortable with physical solutions to disputes, rather than tactical ones, which I know you two often prefer.”

Not for the first time during this journey, Thea debated just telling them all outright that the kids were not fucking suited for the adventurers’ life. But Fawn was an old friend, and she’d called in a favor, and it was the sort of favor that adventurer-Thea would have made a face at, which meant that mum-Thea had to actually fucking consider it. Course, the whole notion of serving as adventuring guide to a few green kids was horrible. When she’d explained it to Jaheira, Jaheira had looked at her for a few very astonished minutes before saying, “Is this some sort of situation where the mother is dying? Or do all of your friends simply call in life-debts solely to aid and abet phenomenally absurd situations?”

(Gods, she loved that woman.)

“I just think that there are ways to resolve situations without blood!” Chester suggested, in one of those voices that could really only come from a kid who was old enough to come up with thoughts but too young to realize people had already had those thoughts before them. “So unless it’s really necessary—”

“Teachable moment, kiddos,” said Thea tightly, “it is fucking thunder and lightning out here. Move your arses.”

The kids set to packing up their soaked-through bedrolls. Thea reached over and tucked some of Fawn’s hair behind her ears. “You’re getting too old for this,” she said.

“Which is why I brought you, High Hammer!” said Fawn, and grinned.

“Call me that again and I’ll start killing shit in front of your kids,” Thea threatened. “Scar them for life.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t mind that; they’d get sick of the road and we’d all get to go home,” said Fawn. “I’m giving them the authentic experience.”

“Mum tricks?”

“Mum tricks.”

They smiled at each other. Hysterically, Lianne called, “MUM! There’s a frog drowning in the rain!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” said Thea. Fawn hurried over to help.

Lianne tucked the frog into her pack, which was the sort of thing that Ros would do, which made Thea miss Ros all over again. Gods, she really wasn’t fucking cut out for this; she’d have to ask Jaheira how she managed when she got home. She had, of course, packed her shit up much quicker than the kids; Chester seemed to be trying to wring out his bedroll in the rain, which was ridiculous. “IT’S ALL GOING TO GET WET,” she shouted over the thunder, shepherding the kids forward. “KEEP MOVING!”

There was a bit of a path through the forest, which Thea had noticed before and hadn’t intended to take. Path looked man-made but ill-used—it had been cut out near a decade ago, if she had to guess, but it was starting to grow over, which usually meant a cabin with a rotting hermit corpse inside, and she wasn’t actually trying to scar Fawn’s kids for life. Still, needs must in a situation like this, so Thea ushered Fawn and the kids forward.

Lightning struck too fucking near them. Thea kept her calm. When she was Norie’s age, she’d been scared half to death of thunderstorms just the same, and Faenor Glorie, who’d done most of the job raising her, had told her what she told Norie at home: the thunder and lightning were the gods saying that today was an important day, somewhere, a day that you needed to pay attention to—electric fingers from the heavens, pointing the way. Thea had always thought it was a bit stupid, mind, but so had Norie, and Norie always liked saying that things were stupid, and thinking about Norie was enough to get anyone through any storm. Her wonderful, dreadful girl.

Lightning struck again. Lianne shrieked and grabbed for her mother. Chester, trying valiantly to look the part of a man rather than a boy with only half a patchy beard, steeled himself dramatically against the storm. Thea squinted forward, trying to see what lay ahead. She thought she could make something out—

There was a coppery taste to the air. That wasn’t right. Thea knew the electricity, knew the rain, but there was something else about this night that felt unsettling. She was a battle cleric; she knew in her blood and bones when something was wrong up ahead. “Fawn, I’m going ahead,” she said, leaning in, shouting anyway because the rain was getting that fucking bad. “You keep the kids back.”

“What?!” said Fawn. “Thea, it’s storming!”

“Fucking really?” said Thea. “I hadn’t noticed!”

She didn’t provide any further details, mostly because she didn’t know them—just pressed ahead, faster now, moving towards the end of the path and a dilapidated little house with the door hanging open. It was dark, but the house was lit, and the light streaming out of the front room—

Oh, fuck, thought Thea, her blood running cold, and she knew now she could not let Fawn and the kids go towards that home. She desperately scanned the area for something, anything she could lead them towards instead, and saw with a dizzy rush of relief that there was a barn just adjacent to the house. Wind in her face, rain streaming down, she sprinted back towards Fawn and the kids.

Fawn had seen it. Thea could tell. Her face had gone white and she wasn’t saying anything about how Thea was being ridiculous anymore. “Barn up ahead,” said Thea. “You take the kids there.”

There was her sensible adventuring girl: Fawn nodded, tightly, just as she had all those years ago, and bundled her kids towards the barn, angling them away from the house.

Thea didn’t wait to see where they went. She charged back up that path and towards the house. The door. The little girl.

The girl had been carved open. It didn’t look like a ritual; Thea knew the signs of a ritual, and the cuts, while sometimes just as violent, were usually accompanied by some sort of sigils or candles or something. Took place indoors, too, usually, and the way she was lying looked like she’d been flung half out of doors. Her hair was soft and red and she was the smallest thing Thea had ever seen—smaller even than Norie, somehow, all stick limbs and ill-fitting clothing.

Had she been living here by herself? No. Someone else had done this to her. She hadn’t fought back—no blood under her fingernails, no bruises, nothing but the carved-open chest.

“Oh, Lady of the Fray, show us mercy,” Thea whispered, her heart hammering, hurting. It had been easy, once, seeing kids like this, when she didn’t have kids of her own. She’d said a prayer, she’d moved on, end of story, but now—gods, who had done this? They were in the middle of the fucking woods, what was the purpose to brutalizing a girl like this?

And it was so fucking stupid, but she did it anyway, never mind the blood and the pulpy mess: she checked the girl’s pulse.

It was nothing. Next to nothing. A single jump under her fingertips, followed by the awful and familiar stillness. The girl’s eyes were glazed and open, lips parted. She had died that very second. And that meant—

Thea acted without thinking. Gathered the girl up into her arms, never mind the blood all over her armor; it had seen worse, anyway. Cradled the fragile little bones close and sent that call forward like a pulse: you come back, now. You come home.

She felt the girl stir, felt—oh, gods, the hunger, the immediate trust in response to a single tender touch! The girl’s face turned towards her without hesitation, curling into her arms, barely alive but alive enough to cling, never mind that surely the last thing she remembered was being stabbed to death.

She was still bleeding. Near dying. Thea fumbled in her satchel for a healing potion, forcing it past the girl’s lips. The girl blinked—golden eyes, bright and sweet as the summer sun—and sipped obediently.

She didn’t seem half aware of where she was, who Thea was, and her eyes were already slipping shut again, but the color was returning to her cheeks, so Thea wouldn’t begrudge her a bit of a nap. Scooping the little one into her arms, she stood, making her way carefully over to Fawn in the barn.

The children exclaimed when they saw Thea. There was an odd ringing in Thea’s ears, though, so she couldn’t half make out what Fawn was saying, only knew that she would not let anyone else touch this girl. Fawn was a fighter, not a healer, and the kids didn’t know shit, and the girl was on the very fucking brink of death, and here they were in the middle of fucking nowhere—

“—Jaheira,” Fawn was saying. “She said something about a, a grove—”

Thea let out a sobbing gasp and sat down hard on the ground.

“Oh, lovey,” said Fawn, all shaky, “it’s okay! She’s stable, isn’t she? We can move her. Here, we—I won’t touch her, just—just put her down, all right? See how those potions are helping. Doesn’t look like she’s bleeding as much.”

The girl’s flesh was knitting back together—badly scarred, Thea realized, because she’d gone for a fucking healing potion instead of her divine fucking magic, gods take her, she was fucking useless in a crisis. Her eyes were closed, her breathing raspy, but she was breathing, which was the best fucking news Thea’d gotten all day.

She reached out and touched the girl’s face. The girl mumbled something incoherent and almost smiled, rubbing her cheek against Thea’s gauntleted hand. Didn’t even make half the fuss Norie and Rosie did about the cold, prickly metal—it was enough for her to just be touched.

“Thea,” Fawn was saying. “Thea, Jaheira’s sent a—”

Thea reached for the parchment and realized Fawn must have taken it. She would have felt angry if the world was working the right way. With bloodstained hands, she gripped the parchment, staring down at Jaheira’s anxious script, clearly in response to whatever Fawn had told her: That does not at all sound like Althea. Is she all right? Give her over to me.

Thea wrote, Grive directins, distantly aware that things were being misspelled.

Althea, what has happened?

Thea couldn’t tell her; it was too awful. Help, she wrote instead, which she knew would worry Jaheira, but fuck if she didn’t need it right now. The girl was going to fucking die in front of them.

Jaheira didn’t respond. Fawn said, “We do have the grove directions already. We’ll wait out the storm—”

“No,” said Thea.

“Thea, you need to think critically,” Fawn pressed. “We can stabilize her here to the best of our abilities—”

“I have to do it,” said Thea, “or someone else who knows how, and I’m already fucking it up; I can’t cast like this. I c-can’t focus like this.” She touched the girl’s face again, heart steadying when the girl repeated that sweet little motion—reached up, this time, to brush her fingers sleepily against Thea’s own in return. Oh, the sweet little thing! “She needs to be at that grove now, Fawn.”

“You can’t just—”

Thea wasn’t listening. She picked the girl up again and moved past Fawn and the kids, which wasn’t too hard; they weren’t expecting her to really leave, because she was their guide, she was sensible, she kept a cool head in a crisis. Well, this went far past crisis and well into cataclysmic. Suppose Faenor Glorie had been right about thunder and lightning, all along.

The girl was mumbling in her sleep—something about animals, or angels. Thea smoothed wet hair away from her face. Her horrible little dress was muddied and bloodied; Thea resolved to get the girl a hundred new dresses as soon as they reached Baldur’s Gate. As soon as she was well again. She knew it in her bones, knew like she’d known Norie, Rosie, Jaheira: this girl was one of hers.

“…sorry,” the girl shivered. “Sorry s-sorry sorry.”

If Thea wasn’t wearing the stupid fucking armor, she’d be able to hold the girl close, keep her warmer. She tried not to think about that. She pressed forward.

The path went sideways into the forest, so Thea followed. Hard to navigate when the world spun with rage and grief, but she was doing her best. She knew which way was westward, anyway, and as soon as she got the girl settled she’d have it in her to go back for Fawn and the kids, so that was a plan. She was planning. It was fine.

Her foot caught on something. With a warrior’s training, she steadied herself and the girl, squinting in the rain and the low light to see what she’d almost tripped over.

Another fucking body. What a fucking day. No, that wasn’t right, Thea had tripped over a root—and it looked like whoever had fallen had done the same thing, tumbling down at exactly the right angle to half crack her head open on a tree. She was forcing herself to her elbows, the rain on her face, the blood coming down with it. So white she looked like a ghost, with long, limp black hair that could have been pretty, once.

Her eyes were unfocused. She didn’t look right. Instinctively, Thea drew the girl closer.

The movement caught the woman’s attention. Her eyes landed on the girl, bloodied, and she looked back up at Thea like Thea was judge, jury, and executioner. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. There was blood under her fingernails, on her beautiful dress, blood that even the rain hadn’t washed out.

For the first time in a very long time, Thea wanted to kill someone. She was a battle cleric, yeah, but that had never meant she was the sort to savor death, to go out of her way looking for an excuse to bring her hammer down. She did it for the good of whatever battle she was trying to win, not—not because this woman had blood on her dress, and was staring at Thea with horror—and, crucially, without guilt. She was unhappy to be caught.

Thea said, voice shaking, “Who’s this girl to you?”

The woman didn’t answer. She said, “Mari? Marigold. Marigold, you’re being a tad dramatic, don’t you think?” and at this point, Thea realized that the woman was dying. “Marigold,” said the woman, “you look at me when I’m talking to you. You look at me. You’re burdening our guest. I have—” She coughed up blood of her own. It trickled down her mouth. “I have set the table with the silver tea set,” said the woman. “I have the ribbons in my hair, the ribbons from my youth, I—I am a lady, I am Lady Olympia Northaven, I have waited so long for a fair stranger to come and—and rescue me—from my drudgery—”

“This your daughter?” said Thea.

The woman’s eyes flashed and she said, “She is a mistake.”

Only the thing was—Thea was realizing this—if she stood here any longer, her little girl would die. She could put Mari down, smash the woman’s brains in against the tree, feel the fucking wonder and the righteousness of it, but Marigold would die. And, gods, she’d never wanted to kill someone more, never, but standing here in the rain was wasting seconds she did not fucking have. She bundled Marigold into her arms and kept moving.

“Mari?” the woman called. “Mari! No, you’re not here for her, you’re here for me! You’re here for me!” She was screaming it, loud enough to near drown out the rain, hysterical, dying. “I’ve waited! I’ve waited!”

Thea walked past Lady Olympia Northaven and brought to mind all the best things in the world, the calming things: Norie’s rare, wicked smile, and Ros scrambling over like an eager puppy to hug her whenever she came home, and Jaheira, who would hear this story, weeks from now, and somehow know the rightest, wisest thing to say about it.

Marigold’s fingers curled against the metal of Thea’s armor. Against her heart.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The grove was fucking five minutes away. Felt ridiculous to have worried so much about it. Thea forced Jaheira’s name out of her lips—not that she’d much needed to throw it round; the druids saw the girl and didn’t even bother asking any questions. One of them tried to scoop Marigold away and Thea held on tight, and another one said, “We only wish to help your daughter, saer, I promise,” at which point Thea realized in full what she’d gotten herself into and her legs gave way. So then the druids were fussing over them both, for some reason.

Marigold was in the same room as her. The druids were willing to compromise on that. Thea watched her like a hawk, shaking, terrified that at any moment the potion and the spell would prove themselves too weak a tether to keep the little one alive, and then she’d be gone, and Thea wouldn’t have even fucking killed the monster who did this to her. Her own armor was removed; she was looked over, and healed, though she didn’t need it. It didn’t help. She watched Marigold.

One of the druids asked, “Was there anyone else in your party?”

“Fawn,” said Thea. “Lianne. Chester.”

“And what happened to them?”

“Barn,” said Thea. “They’re—sheltering, I—they weren’t hurt.” It was an immense effort to string together a sentence. She was halfway to another one when her eyes landed on—a druid. A druid with silver hair, feline grace, and a drawn, terrified expression, hurtling up to her and—

“Althea, you imbecile!” said Jaheira, and pulled her into a shockingly tight hug. She was soaked to the bone, just like Thea, which probably meant she’d been out in the rain too.

Thea let her cheek fall exhaustedly against Jaheira’s shoulder. “Got here fast,” she said weakly. Usually she would have argued with Jaheira about her being there when she’d a thousand more important things to do, and gods only knew how she’d gotten to the grove as fast as she had, but just having her there was—she didn’t have the words for it.

“You wrote help!” said Jaheira. “You never do that!” She pulled back to get a better look at Thea’s face. Thea realized that she’d stopped looking at Marigold and looked past Jaheira, who followed her gaze. “What…?” Jaheira breathed.

“Her mum killed her,” said Thea, and then again, hysterically, “her mum killed her.”

Jaheira raised a nervous hand halfway to Thea’s face, let it sort of hang in midair, and said, shakily, “And have you not seen worse in your time on the road? What has happened? Really?”

“No, I’m done,” said Thea fiercely. “I’m fucking done. I fucking hate it out here; I want to go back and see my girls. She’s so little, she’s—” Gods, was she crying? Who fucking gave one? It was the night for it. That little girl had died under her hands. “You���d never,” she said, grabbing Jaheira’s hands in her own. “You would never.”

“Of course I would never,” Jaheira whispered. “No mother would.”

“How do you do it?” forced out Thea. “How did it not—you love your kids, I know you do, and they love you. How can you keep doing this without going fucking mad?”

Jaheira’s mouth trembled and her fingers laced with Thea’s. She said, “I am sustained by the love and the grief of my friends. They hold what I cannot. And you—you hold so much in your heart that you are spilling over.” She tugged a hand free, swiping a tear away from Thea’s cheek with her thumb. “I must insist that you stop adventuring,” she said. “You will see worse if you continue. This is…” She looked truly worried. “I have never seen you like this.”

“I’d half stopped already,” said Thea raggedly, “I just—thought, I don’t know, showing Fawn and her kids the ropes could be—and she asked, and I do owe her, and—”

“This sort of thing is hardly a usual occurrence,” Jaheira pointed out. She removed her hand from Thea’s face, pulling out a soaking wet handkerchief, and dabbed very awkwardly at Thea’s cheeks.

“What,” said Thea, “trying to make it worse?”

Jaheira let out a startled bark of laughter that knocked a laugh out of Thea as well. The smile on Jaheira’s face—oh, it did settle her. Brought the world back into focus, at least a bit.

“The route you chose was sensible, uneventful, and you assumed reasonably that it would be relatively unpopulated,” Jaheira observed, in the tone she used for Harper briefings, continuing to stubbornly dab at Thea’s face with the wet handkerchief. Thea tried to wriggle away and found herself held fast. “There was no possible way you could have predicted stumbling upon whatever the hells this was.”

Thea swallowed. She said, “Ran into her mum.”

“Oh?” said Jaheira, dangerously. The handkerchief paused.

“Probably dead now,” said Thea. She added belatedly, “I didn’t kill her.”

Jaheira’s eyes flicked over towards Marigold and back again. She said, “I think that I would have.”

Thea felt a rush of feeling too big to be contained. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said, breathlessly. “I did need you, Jaheira, I’m—I’m so glad you came.”

Jaheira’s face trembled like she’d been waiting to hear something like that for a lot longer than just her showing up at the grove that night. “Hethtalos, I will always come when you ask,” she said. “You are my constant.”

“Gods,” said Thea, smiling miserably, “I’m too fucking tired to figure out how to make you regret saying that.”

Jaheira let out a wet laugh and squeezed Thea’s shoulder. “I will talk to the rest of the druids. You keep an eye on your daughter.”

Bless her girl. She always knew the shape these things took.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Marigold ached. She wasn’t where she last remembered being; it was softer and warmer than anywhere she could remember, at least recently, and someone was singing to her. Something about flowers.

There was a hand in her hair. Couldn’t be mum, then. There was something about mum that she needed to remember, but she didn’t need to now, so she let it go. She felt scrubbed clean, and the fabric against her skin was soft, and there was a hand in her hair. The voice was low and a bit croaky and it shook sometimes, in places.

Someone said, “I will—I will have to leave, you know, I was in the middle of—”

The singing stopped. The low voice said, “Even half a second of you’s enough to put the world to rights. You go where you’re needed next, Commander; I have this well in hand.”

A soft noise. A rustle. The hand in Marigold’s hair left, for a moment, before returning. The song resumed. Marigold tried to listen to the lyrics, but they felt as though they were coming from underwater.

Thank you, she wanted to say, but she was ever so tired, so she reached for the hand in her hair and held it and hoped that that would be good enough. It didn’t feel like mum’s soft hand; it was rough and broad and the fingers shook when they closed round hers, like they’d never been touched nicely before now. Marigold hung on tighter.

“Marigold,” breathed the voice. She’d never heard her name said like that before. She wanted to hear it again, forever.

It was so, so hard to speak. She tried anyway. Whisper-soft, she murmured, “Can you—sing? More?”

The voice started up again. Shook a bit more, this time. Marigold held onto the hand until she’d fallen asleep again.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Marigold woke up slowly. It hurt. The world around her felt lit with a soft glow, warmer than the cold barn and the rain, and she had the distinct sense that she was forgetting something important. She felt a hand stroke her face, which she wasn't used to; it felt like a hungry gash of teeth was opening up in her at just the touch. She pressed her face into the hand.

“There's a good girl,” said a voice she didn't know, or half-knew; it sounded like a voice she might have dreamt, maybe. It couldn't be familiar when she only knew Elodie and Reverie and mum—her thoughts did a funny stutter-stop, refusing to dwell on their names. She tried to open her eyes all the way.

“No, you get your rest, don't start pushing yourself,” said the voice, but Marigold knew that no one really meant that when they said it; it was a snare trap meant to get you to close your eyes so they'd tell you later how lazy and useless you were. She forced her eyes open.

The hand on her face belonged to a woman—smaller and stockier than mum, and a lot older, with a lined, scarred face that looked like it should have been angrier than it was. Her eyes were as soft as the little animals Marigold saw in the forest sometimes. She was looking at Marigold like Marigold was someone she knew. She said, again, “Get sleep, why don't you? It's been a day and change. You need your rest.”

Marigold wanted to say something, but the words stuck in her throat. Words could warrant a knife to the chest. (She didn't know why she'd thought that.) She stared at the woman, unmoving, because if she didn't move, the woman wouldn't take her hand away, probably, and they could stay like this forever.

The woman's hand moved from Marigold's cheek to her shoulder. She said, “You going to lie down, then, or just stare?”

Marigold squeezed her eyes tightly shut, just in case staring was wrong and she hadn't realized.

“Oh, Mari, it's all right, you can look,” coaxed the woman.

Marigold's eyes flew open. How do you know my name? she wanted to ask, but that meant speaking, and she wasn't sure she could do that. She always seemed to say much too much when people gave her room to speak, and she didn't want to ruin whatever this was with her mile-a-minute mouth. 

The woman tilted her head at Marigold, smiled, and said, “Well, your name couldn't be anything but Marigold, could it? That hair of yours…”

Marigold hated her hair. It was red and curly and ugly and it wasn't anything like her family's. It wasn't Northaven hair, it was elf hair. Rotten hair. Wrong.

The woman seemed to see the shadow crossing Marigold's face. “What's wrong?” she asked, gently, in the same tone of voice mum used when Reverie or Elodie was hurt.

Tears sprung immediately to Marigold's eyes. She tucked her head forward. The ache in her chest was spreading and it felt enough to bleed and kill. 

The woman caught Marigold's face in her hands again and pressed their foreheads together, briefly, which wasn't the sort of thing anyone had done to Marigold before. The ache worsened. “Budge up,” said the woman, and shifted onto the soft bed next to Marigold, tucking her into her side. She was a bit smaller than Marigold, but she felt bigger, somehow. “Now, what sort of stories do you like?”

Marigold didn't like that question. It made her think about sitting on the barn roof and staring in at mum in between Reverie and Elodie in bed, telling them stories with the window half-open like she knew Marigold was listening, only she'd caught Marigold up there once and threatened to push her off herself if she caught Marigold up there again. She had only heard some of the stories, and they'd all been sweet enough to make her chest hurt, lords and ladies and princesses. She would have loved those stories if she'd been allowed in the room for them.

She didn't want to be here. She didn't know why she was here. She didn't want to be anywhere.

“Easy, bunny,” breathed the woman, and Marigold realized she was shaking, which was hardly respectful of how nice this woman was being to her for no apparent reason. “Nothing too scary, then? All right. Why don't I tell you...ah, fuck,” she muttered, and Marigold looked up at her, delightedly scandalized. “I've not got a single story without blood in it.”

Marigold wanted to say something, now, so badly, and if the words would stick together long enough to make a sentence she would do it. She wanted to say, please, please, please tell me a bloody story, because that wasn't one mum would have ever told to Evie and Ella, proper ladies in the making. She stared eagerly at this suddenly very interesting woman who said rude words in front of children and couldn't think of good bedtime stories for little girls.

The woman took in Marigold's expression with surprise, at first, and then it gave way to a somehow even warmer look. She moved forward and pinched Marigold's cheek. “Little ghoul,” she said, but words that would have stung from mum didn't sting, here, at all. “You're the sort who likes a good battle, then?”

Marigold nodded and nodded, curls bouncing.

The woman's eyes went all soft and she said, “Brave little warrior girl.” She pulled Marigold in close and settled them both against the pillows. “When I was a girl—much older than you, I suppose, but forty to dwarves is still barely grown—there was a woman who they called the Whisper-Dagger, on account of the way she could kill with just her words. Not a wizard, mind, she just knew the way the world worked, and who made it work, and how, and those paying enough attention to do that can wrap the world round their little finger if they like.”

That sounded interesting. Marigold hoped that the Whisper-Dagger was the hero of this story.

“She was…” The woman turned a funny color, and said delicately, “a friend of mine, at the time. She was second in line to inherit her family's title, but she didn't mind all that; her sister could be the face of the family and she could do what she wanted on the side. Only one day, her sister turned up dead in the middle of family dinner, and because she and I were, were friends, she asked me to look into it, investigate.

“Well, I did, and what I found was fucking awful. The sister had been a good sort, but she'd had a lover before her husband, and the lover hadn't taken kindly to her marrying someone else. He had ties to the worst parts of the under-city, so there wasn't a court in the world that would touch him—no chance he'd end up jailed for what he'd done, no matter what it was. And that was a good girl he'd killed, all because he couldn't have her.”

Marigold shivered. The woman tucked her hair behind her ear and asked, “Too much for you, bunny?”

She shook her head. She didn't care what was being said if it was being said to her, for her to listen to.

“Well,” said the woman, “I was angry as the hells and twice as ready to burn the bastard down. The Whisper-Dagger couldn't do what she'd used to without putting the whole family at risk, now that she was the head of it and people were paying attention to her, so it fell on me to handle the thing, and handle it I did. Marched right into that fucker's office and challenged him to a fight at dawn—and I was young, and small, and didn't have half the muscles and scars I did now.” With her free arm, she flexed, surprising a whispering laugh out of Marigold. Her eyes shone with delight.

“So of course he said yes. Bastard thought it'd be an easy fight. But I brought my hammer when he was ready for a sword. I remember,” the woman smiled fondly, “he started laughing when he saw me, said gods, of course the dwarf would bring a hammer to a duel! But that's the thing, bunny,” she tapped Marigold's nose, “I said fight, he heard duel. Duels mean you have rules. Fights mean you don't. I ran in, broke his knees, pummeled him half to death, and that—” She stopped, searching Marigold's face. “You're sure you're all right hearing this?”

Marigold nodded with infuriated eagerness. They could hardly stop now!

“That,” continued the woman, “was when he started begging for his life. Started saying oh, please, please, Thea, it was a crime of passion, I was just so angry, I'll never do it again—” She smiled grimly. “And I didn't say anything back, because that was the Whisper-Dagger's sister. She was a good girl who'd done nothing but love, and love truly. Made the mistake of loving wrong once, but she hadn't done it again. She'd deserved life. He'd taken it away. Laughed in my face when I told him he should see justice for what he'd done. Second chances are for people who know they've done wrong.”

Marigold imagined mum under Thea’s hammer for half a moment, then flinched away. She didn't want to think about that.

Thea’s expression twisted nervously. She pulled back a little and said, “Sorry. That's—” and then Marigold realized that maybe Thea thought she'd said something wrong, which wasn't right at all, so she moved forward and wrapped her arms tightly round Thea’s neck. Thea made a muffled noise of surprise, then reached up to hold her, and said, “Bunny,” in that tone of voice you used when you were going to keep something forever, come hell or high water.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The High Harper was soaking wet in their kitchen. The only unusual bit about this sentence was the soaking wet bit, not really the High Harper bit or the kitchen bit; Jaheira in their kitchen was really just every other week, usually. Norie took this in, then went to go get the towels from upstairs, which meant it was Ros's job to sort out the hows and the whys of this whole situation.

“Everyone all right?” she asked carefully. She knew Thea wasn't dead, because if Thea was dead, Jaheira would have looked twelve times worse. But something had happened, because it wasn't even misting outside. “Fall in a canal?”

Jaheira sat down heavily at the kitchen table. She massaged her temples. “Your mother will be a few days late returning,” she said. “She asked me to let you know as soon as possible.” 

“O…kay,” said Ros slowly. “Still doesn't explain why you're drenched.”

“It was raining,” said Jaheira.

Ros turned slowly to look at the bright, sunny sky out the window.

“Not here,” said Jaheira. “There. Where your mother is.”

“Sorry,” said Ros, eyes widening, “you were with her?”

“Now is not the time,” said Jaheira shortly. She raised her head to look at Ros, with those steely eyes that meant she was about to say something really fucking important. “She is bringing back a little girl,” she said. “Fifteen. A year older than Lenora, but much smaller. Delicate. You and Lenora need to be prepared.”

Norie, who had been coming back in with the towels, stopped with a very pensive look on her face, which Ros understood completely. Thea didn't just go around picking up kids willy-nilly, and Jaheira didn't just drop everything she was doing to go check up on Thea—well, all right, Jaheira did do that, but usually not long-distance, and definitely not unless Thea asked her to do it, which in and of itself was a pretty fucking rare occurrence.

“What's this girl like, then?” Ros asked lightly, testing the waters.

Jaheira said, “Her mother stabbed her to death.”

Ros flinched back. So did Norie. Jaheira looked at them as if to say see? “She is an incredibly fragile sort,” she continued, “and she is not likely to respond well to…exuberance.”

Well, that one was clearly for Ros.

“Or antipathy.”

That one was clearly for Norie.

“Be gentle,” concluded Jaheira. “Both of you. As much as you can. With her, and…” She wavered. “And with your mother. She was badly shaken when I arrived.”

Ah, hells. “Is she okay?” Ros asked anxiously. “Should we—I don't know, go and visit her too?"”

“It is a bit of a ways away,” said Jaheira, smiling wryly, “and my means of transportation was very much emergencies-only. Your mother asked that I assure you both she is doing better now, which I can corroborate.”

“How are you?” Norie asked. It was the first thing she'd said since coming back with the towels.

Jaheira's face softened and she said something in Elven that Ros didn't know, but that made Norie blush a little and smile awkwardly. In Common, she said, “I am fine, spider. Thank you.”

Norie leaned down to drape the towel round Jaheira's shoulders, tucking it in place. Ros said, “Look, stay a bit, why don't you? We'll make you something nice.”

“I…” Jaheira wavered.

“You're dead on your feet, Commander,” Ros pressed. “Stay.”

She didn't bring out Commander often. It was part of the reason she tossed round stepmummy like she did, because when she did call Jaheira Commander, Jaheira looked startled, then touched, then gave in without very much arguing, which was what happened now. “…I could do with some of Lenora's hot chocolate,” she conceded, “if it is not too much trouble. The rain was quite cold.”

“Spiked?” Norie offered.

"You are fourteen; you are not supposed to know how to do that," said Jaheira severely.

“Spiked?” Norie repeated, as if Jaheira hadn't spoken.

“Hmph!” said Jaheira.

“We both know that's not a no. I'm putting alcohol in,” said Norie, and headed towards the cupboards. Jaheira smiled with annoyed appreciation and drew the towel a bit closer round her.

Ros followed Norie. As quietly as she could manage, she whispered, “Hey, Norie, what'd she say to you?”

“The translation is a bit ambiguous,” said Lenora. “The word can mean either busy-body or meddling daughter.” She smiled sweetly. “I like to think it's busy-body.”

“It isn't,” said Jaheira.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Marigold was a lovely name, of course, but Thea had landed on bunny and it was hard to stop after she'd started. The girl was twitchy, soft, wide-eyed, and she had a way of tilting her head that was a bit rabbitish in nature. She trembled when touched, but she didn't move away, just stared and stared with golden eyes that held the warmth and brightness of twin stars. She would smile on occasion, a barely-there little twitch of the mouth, and Thea always felt like she'd won a thousand medals of valor, bringing that smile forward. 

She ate sparingly. It was hard to convince her to eat at all, and harder still to find out why, but Thea thought it might have to do with that stick-thin woman in the woods who looked like she hadn't eaten a day herself. 

“I own a bakery in the city, you know,” she said. “Baldur's Gate. Bit of a distance from here, but the things we make! Breads, pastries, hot chocolate, fruit juice when the fruit's in season. You like fruit juice, bunny?”

This earned her only a blankly curious expression. 

“You ever had fruit juice?”

The red curls shook no.

“Oh, now, that can't be abided by,” Thea gently teased. “When we get home, we'll see what we can do.”

Marigold froze. She looked more frightened than Thea had ever seen her. The red curls shook no, again and again, no, no, no, no, no.

“Bunny,” Thea breathed, catching her gently by the shoulders. Marigold tried to squirm away. “Bunny, bunny, look at me. Look at me. What's wrong?”

Marigold shook her head. 

“You don't want to come home with me?”

Marigold's hands moved to her chest. The scar. The—

“Oh, fuck no, I'm not taking you back to her,” said Thea furiously, which stilled Marigold immediately into shaky relief. “I'd rather fucking kill myself. I say home and I mean my home, Mari, not your home. I want to take you to Baldur's Gate.” She hesitated. “It is a bit of a distance,” she said slowly, “so if you—want—to stay here, in the grove—”

Marigold let out a hiccupping sob. Her hands moved up and over Thea's hands on her shoulders like she couldn't half believe they were there. Held Thea fast, where she was.

“Do you want to stay?” Thea asked. 

Marigold shook her head, not half so urgently this time.

Heart pounding, Thea asked, “Do you want to come back to the bakery with me?”

Nodding, emphatically, so hard the little girl was shaking in place all over again.

Thea cupped Marigold's face in her hands. She said, a wet laugh in her voice, “We'll make a baker of you yet,” and Marigold smiled brightly enough to rival the sun.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Heading homeward. 

Jaheira traced the lines with her finger before responding. How is Marigold?

I'll give the quill over.

A long pause, followed by a few curious, swirling scribbles—then, charmingly, meticulously, Thea's own words mimicked in a wobbly hand, letter by letter. I'll give the quill over.

Clever girl! Jaheira wrote, enchanted. Should I assume she has not written before?

Clever girl! echoed the quill, still in that unsteady handwriting. Should I assume she has not written before?

Then, in Thea's print, Never, I think, but she's fucking obsessed with the parchment. You mind writing some things she can copy?

Jaheira considered. She wrote Marigold, and watched the quill repeat it, then write it four more times with increasing excitement; clearly Thea had explained what the word was. She wrote Thea, and after a long pause, this one was picked up and written all over the parchment, everywhere, every corner, scribbled frantically and delightedly and with too much love for one piece of parchment to contain. 

When the writing had faded away, Jaheira considered, then, testing out a suspicion, drew a perfect heart.

Another pause—not as long—and then: 

Marigold ♥ Thea

Marigold ♥ Thea

Marigold ♥ Thea

Thea ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ Thea Thea Thea

This seemed as though it might be going on for quite a while. Jaheira set the parchment aside. When she picked it up again, Thea had written, Fuck you; I nearly started fucking crying in front of her and that's your fucking fault. Go fuck yourself.

Jaheira ♥ Thea, Jaheira wrote back. Satisfyingly, Thea did not seem to have a response to this.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Roslin, Marigold wrote. Lenora. Thea. Marigold. Marigold. Jaheira. Marigold. Roslin. Thea. Thea. Thea. Lenora. Roslin. Thea. Marigold. Jaheira. Some of the names meant things to her and others were only abstract ideas. She wanted to ask Thea how to write bunny, but she'd need more words for that, and she still didn't have them yet. 

It was nice, too, that Thea didn't ask her to talk, or—well, do anything, really. Mum usually had something to say about what Marigold was or wasn't doing, but all Thea seemed to want to do was spend time with her, which was usually warm and cozy and involved Marigold listening to lots of different stories about all the things Thea had done. She was old—older than mum, even, who was the oldest of the people Marigold had known—and she'd done a lot of traveling, gone everywhere, but she said her favorite part was her girls at home, which did make Marigold a bit nervous. She'd been part of a family, a mum and two girls, and that hadn't gone well, so maybe this wouldn't either. What if she got there and the girls didn't like her? What if the girls not liking her made Thea stop liking her too?

Roslin, she wrote. Lenora. She tried to imagine them. Reverie and Elodie had names that sounded almost the same, but they couldn't have been more different. Lenora, Thea had said, was a human, but Roslin was a tiefling, and growing up in the woods with mum and her sisters meant that Marigold hadn't ever met a tiefling before. Or a dwarf, before Thea. She'd decided that she loved dwarves, based largely on the fact that one of them was Thea.

Tieflings had horns. Thea tried to draw one on the parchment, and then the parchment drew a better tiefling than Thea, and Thea wrote fuck off on the parchment, which Marigold had started to recognize by sight by now. She didn't exactly remember Jaheira, but apparently Jaheira had been there when Marigold had been healing. There were still parts of this that didn't make sense, but she didn't quite know how to ask about them. She almost didn't want to. She was afraid that asking would make it all fall apart.

The ride back to the city was long, and Marigold spent most of the road-time writing on the parchment to Jaheira, who would give her words to copy. Balance. Sunlight. Tree. Grass. Sky. Flower. Marigold was a kind of flower, so she wrote Marigold and flower next to each other, and Jaheira drew a little heart, which Thea had said meant love, so Marigold decided that she loved Jaheira too. Marigold ♥ Jaheira, she wrote, and Jaheira didn't write any more words for a few minutes, which made Thea laugh and laugh and laugh. “It's not on you, bunny,” she managed. “She's not used to people saying they love her. Doesn't always know how to say it back.”

Well, Marigold would make her used to it. She wrote Marigold ♥ Jaheira until it covered the paper, at which point Thea said that it'd probably take more than just one day to get the message across, and didn't Marigold want to learn a few more new words? Then she wrote something on the paper that Marigold didn't yet know how to read, but that got Jaheira to start writing long sentences back. 

The times they weren't on the road, they were in cities, with Thea getting food for her and for Marigold and having long conversations with people about how much money was too much money for food. Marigold tried honey and liked it so much that Thea bought her seven jars, and said that they couldn't eat it while they traveled but they could bring it home and she could have more there. “On bread,” she said. “Can't just eat sugar.”

Which mum had said to Reverie and Elodie before, but not the way Thea said it to Marigold—a loving reminder, not an indictment. Marigold ate four slices of bread with honey and no one said she was stuffing her face. Thea said she was so glad to see Marigold eating.

Thea wrote bread, honey, city, Baldur's Gate. Thea wrote fruit, apples, berries. She got them a sunmelon when they were three days from the city and chopped it with an axe, which Marigold hadn't even known women were allowed to do; mum had always said the knives and the axes weren't for girls. But Thea was strong and wore armor and chopped sunmelons, and the chopping was the best, because it meant Marigold could sink her teeth into the red, watery insides and let the juice run down her mouth.

Jaheira wrote green, red, brown, silver. Jaheira wrote blue, purple, pink, green. She wrote green a few times, like she was trying to make sure Marigold remembered it. Thea said, “Jaheira's a druid who lives in the city and it's hard on her sometimes,” which made Marigold wonder what kind of city Baldur's Gate was. They'd been to a few cities now and Marigold liked them so much more than nature, where there was no one around. Cities, everyone was there, and everyone had things to say. They'd say get out of the way, they'd say five silver pieces for a butter roll, they'd say a dress for the little one, saer? And Marigold got to watch Thea say YOU get out of the fucking way, fucker, or five silver for some moldy bread? You're fucking kidding me, or make it seven dresses, which was probably the best thing she could have ever said. Marigold got to change out of the clothes the druids had made her and into a dress that was yellow and green.

Thea said, “Norie might steal that when you get home, you know,” and off of Marigold's nervous expression, hastened to say, “Oh, you'll still keep it! Norie likes to embroider. She'll add some pretty flowers to the dress, give it back to you, it's just she doesn't usually ask before she adds things.”

Marigold didn't really see the point in asking to add flowers to someone's dress. Dresses were unilaterally better with flowers. Lenora sounded like she was just being smart about it.

Jaheira wrote, Scornubel, Triel, Elturel, Candlekeep. Rivington. Baldur's Gate.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Thea came back on a big old cart with fruits and breads piled high in the back. She jumped down and ran over and hugged Roslin and Lenora like she hadn't seen them in years, then pulled back to look at them, smiling all wobbly. “I'm not leaving,” she said. “I'm done.”

“Wow,” said Roslin, “this latest trip must have been really fucking terrible if you're all done making trips out of the city—”

“Missed you girls too much,” said Thea, which shut Roslin up. Lenora's heart swelled. “How's it been, spider?”

“Oh, you know,” said Lenora. “There was a wet Jaheira in the kitchen a few days ago.”

“So basically, yeah, you really do need to be home more,” said Roslin, which made Thea go crimson.

Lenora shoved Roslin sideways. She fell over laughing. 

There was a rustle of movement from the cart, like someone was trying to hide behind some of the fruits. Thea turned, her face softening. “Going to have to coax her down,” she said. “Give us a minute.”

Roslin and Lenora watched as Thea moved back up towards the cart. The girl really was little, Lenora thought; she looked closer to eight or nine than fifteen, which seemed a lot like Jaheira's daughter Rion, who had grown up slower on account of the half-elf thing. She was indeed a bit thinner than what seemed healthy. She stumbled a bit getting out of the cart, and gripped Thea's shoulder.

“Oh my gods,” said Roslin. “Oh my gods. Norie, I know Jaheira said no exuberance, but she's literally the cutest thing I've ever seen. I thought we were getting, like, another you or something?! But she's a baby?!”

No antipathy would not be half as hard a directive to follow. Lenora knew exactly what Roslin was talking about. The girl was barely taller than Thea and clung to her side as though the rest of the world was all shadow-monsters. 

“Mari,” Thea coaxed, “this is Ros, and that's Norie. Ros, Norie, you want to introduce—?”

“I'M ROS!” said Roslin very loudly, then clapped her hands over her mouth. “Fuck!” she said, mouth covered. “Sorry! You're just so tiny! Anyone ever told you how tiny you are? You're the littlest thing I've ever seen! You're—”

“Stop that,” said Lenora. “You're embarrassing yourself.”

Marigold's nervous expression was giving way to one of fascinated curiosity. Her eyes lingered on Roslin's horns. Jealously, Lenora wished she had horns, if it meant the little one would pay attention to her.

“Norie?” Thea prompted.

Lenora tried for a smile. It came out more of a nervous grimace. “I'm…Lenora," she supplied. “I like your dress.”

Marigold waved at them both, frantically and still a bit apprehensively. Her free hand tightened on Thea's shoulder. 

“You'll warm up to each other,” said Thea, mostly to Marigold. “They're good girls. Ros's just a bit overexcited; she's the older-sisterly type, and she always likes taking care of girls younger than her. And Norie…” She smiled, and said, “Norie's scary, isn't she?”

Marigold took this in. A small, sweet grin illuminated her face as her eyes flicked towards Lenora. She shook her head.

Lenora was now certain that she would burn down a thousand cities for that little girl.

“No?” said Thea, mock-surprised. “Well, should have known that someone as brave as you wouldn't be felled by our Norie.”

Marigold fidgeted. She rummaged in her satchel. Thea said, “Oh, she's been working on something for you! Wouldn't show it to me, even, so it'll be a surprise for all of us,” and then she stopped, mouth trembling, as Marigold held the drawing up.

Carefully and shakily rendered in black ink: a tiefling, a human-ish figure, a slightly small and curly-haired girl, and a dwarf of about her size, all holding hands. The drawing had been captioned Hello! I'm Marigold! every letter formed inexpertly but with clear effort.

Roslin burst into tears. Lenora didn't even make fun of her for it. She knelt down in front of Marigold and said, “You got my hair just right,” softly, running her finger along the black ink of the drawing. 

Marigold smiled very shyly.

Lenora tried to imagine anyone stabbing this girl to death, and couldn't. It was Ilmater, wasn't it, who watched over those that suffered the most? Who eased their suffering, one way or another, and ensured that it ended? Ilmater, then, must have saved this girl, because imagining a world where Thea had never reached her in the single minute that could be used to revive her was a sickening fucking thought. She would leave an offering. She would become a cleric, maybe. Absolutely. She would be a cleric of Ilmater.

Tongue between her teeth, Marigold reached out to absently touch Lenora's hair, then jerked her hand back as if expecting a reprimand. Lenora said, “It's fine, Mari, Ros does worse to my hair all the time. Don't you, Ros?”

“I style it,” said Roslin, who was fighting to maintain composure.

“She turned it into a birds' nest last year,” said Lenora. “A literal birds' nest. Put fake birds in it. She never does this to her hair, just to mine—”

“Um, if I do it to my hair, you'll make fun of me,” Roslin countered. “If it's done to your hair, you get to complain to everyone about how annoying I am, which I know you like.”

“Shut up, I'm bonding with Marigold.”

“I'm bonding with Marigold! Marigold likes me better!” Roslin scrambled forward. “Mari, who do you like better, me or Norie?”

“Don't crowd her!!” said an outraged Lenora, elbowing Roslin away.

Marigold was watching them both with that adorable little half-smile. She turned the parchment over and was immediately handed a quill by Thea. She turned away from them all, scribbling on the back of her drawing, and held up the paper again.

Marigold ♥ Thea !!

“Oh, that's not even fair,” said Roslin. “She has an edge! She literally just spent the last three days buying you dresses and fruit and things. Well, I have money, Marigold, I can buy you even better dresses and fruit and things—”

“Thea's all our favorites,” said Lenora to Marigold, deciding to ignore Roslin. “We have that in common; that's nice, isn't it?”

Marigold nodded so emphatically that her curls shook. Lenora decided to visit the temple of Ilmater in two days' time and ask about what it would look like to be a cleric.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Jaheira came to visit the next day with a bouquet of wildflowers: mostly marigolds, but there were quite a few daisies and violets in as well, and some sweet-smelling herbs. It was a visual cacophony. Thea was entirely unsurprised when Marigold lit up, hugged the bouquet, set the bouquet down, hugged Jaheira, hugged the bouquet again, gave the bouquet to Thea, and hugged Jaheira one more time.

“What was it you are calling her?” said Jaheira. “Bunny?” Her hand rested atop Marigold's head. “Seems apt.”

Marigold butted her forehead against Jaheira's hand. She let go and ran off into the kitchen.

Jaheira lowered her voice. “Althea, how—how are you? When we last spoke—”

“I can't half think about that night,” said Thea. She swallowed. “She is the sweetest little girl I've ever known. Loves easy as breathing. Trusts me with her life, and I can't say I'd do the same in her position—”

“You can't say you'd do the same?” Jaheira echoed skeptically. “Not even after you—?”

“We're not talking about it,” said Thea shortly, “I don't know how much she remembers, and I'm not dragging it up unless she mentions it first.”

Her eyes were still halfway following Marigold, who was running round the kitchen between Roslin and Lenora, standing on tiptoe to try and see what they were doing. Roslin caught her on one of her sprints and lifted her up to the counter, which made Marigold squeak and laugh in a way that at first seemed halfway frightened, then quickly became all the way joyful. Roslin called, “MUMMA COME IN HERE, WE'RE MAKING SCONES!”

Thea smiled wryly at Jaheira. “Duty calls.”

“The Lady of the Fray's strongest soldier,” said Jaheira. She squeezed Thea's shoulder. “You grow good things here.”

[electric-plants]

i got so blindsided and offended when i hit the spiral abyss levels that required two teams in genshin anyway you’ll never guess what just happened to me with the forgotten hall in hsr

[sunstainedpages]

WE GOT AN EP ANNOUNCEMENT!!!

[the-rat-eatery]

Do I care that I am currently in an echo chamber of how fun Hazbin is? NO!

I AM A SAD TEENAGE GIRL MY MIND WAS CREATED TO PING PONG AROUND ECHO CHAMBERS

[midsummersmorn]

My mum saying it’ll be alright to me and my sister when she’s all the way over in another country just gets me like 😐

[nirambles]

hey hey hey

is it bad to plan to ruin someone's career if they objectively and obviously suck at their job (repeatedly proven) (very real)

[tearlessrain]

please help me- i used to be pretty smart but i’m having so much trouble grasping the concept of diegetic vs non-diegetic bdsm!

gfkjldghfd okay first of all I'm sorry for the confusion, if you're not finding anything on the phrase it's because I made it up and absolutely nobody but me ever uses it, but I haven't found a better way to express what I'm trying to say so I keep using it. but now you've given me an excuse to ramble on about some shit that is only relevant to me and my deeply inefficient way of talking and by god I'm going to take it.

SO. the way diegetic and non-diegetic are normally used is to talk about music and sound design in movies/tv shows. in case you aren't familiar with that concept, here's a rundown:

diegetic sound is sound that happens within the world of the movie/show and can be acknowledged by the characters, like a song playing on the stereo during a driving scene, or sung on stage in Phantom of the Opera. it's also most other sounds that happen in a movie, like the sounds of traffic in a city scene, or a thunderclap, or a marching band passing by. or one of the three stock horse sounds they use in every movie with a horse in it even though horses don't really vocalize much in real life, but that's beside the point, the horse is supposed to be actually making that noise within the movie's world and the characters can hear it whinnying.

non-diegetic sound is any sound that doesn't exist in the world of the movie/show and can't be perceived by the characters. this includes things like laugh tracks and most soundtrack music. when Duel of Fates plays in Star Wars during the lightsaber fight for dramatic effect, that's non-diegetic. it exists to the audience, but the characters don't know their fight is being backed by sick ass music and, sadly, can't hear it.

the lines can get blurry between the two, you've probably seen the film trope where the clearly non-diegetic music in the title sequence fades out to the same music, now diegetic and playing from the character's car stereo. and then there are things like Phantom of the Opera as mentioned above, where the soundtrack is also part of the plot, but Phantom of the Opera does also have segments of non-diegetic music: the Phantom probably does not have an entire orchestra and some guy with an electric guitar hiding down in his sewer just waiting for someone to break into song, but both of those show up in the songs they sing down there.

now, on to how I apply this to bdsm in fiction.

if I'm referring to diegetic bdsm what I mean is that the bdsm is acknowledged for what it is in-world. the characters themselves are roleplaying whatever scenarios their scenes involve and are operating with knowledge of real life rules/safety practices. if there's cnc depicted, it will be apparent at some point, usually right away, that both characters actually are fully consenting and it's all just a planned scene, and you'll often see on-screen negotiation and aftercare, and elements of the story may involve the kink community wherever the characters are. Love and Leashes is a great example of this, 50 Shades and Bonding are terrible examples of this, but they all feature characters that know they're doing bdsm and are intentional about it.

if I'm talking about non-diegetic bdsm, I'm referring to a story that portrays certain kinks without the direct acknowledgement that the characters are doing bdsm. this would be something like Captive Prince, or Phantom of the Opera again, or the vast majority of bodice ripper type stories where an innocent woman is kidnapped by a pirate king or something and totally doesn't want to be ravished but then it turns out he's so cool and sexy and good at ravishing that she decides she's into it and becomes his pirate consort or whatever it is that happens at the end of those books. the characters don't know they're playing out a cnc or D/s fantasy, and in-universe it's often straight up noncon or dubcon rather than cnc at all. the thing about entirely non-diegetic bdsm is that it's almost always Problematic™ in some way if you're not willing to meet the story where it's at, but as long as you're not judging it by the standards of diegetic bdsm, it's just providing the reader the same thing that a partner in a scene would: the illusion of whatever risk or taboo floats your boat, sometimes to extremes that can't be replicated in real life due to safety, practicality, physics, the law, vampires not being real, etc. it's consensual by default because it's already pretend; the characters are vehicles for the story and not actually people who can be hurt, and the reader chose to pick up the book and is aware that nothing in it is real, so it's all good.

this difference is where people tend to get hung up in the discourse, from what I've observed. which is why I started using this phrasing, because I think it's very crucial to be able to differentiate which one you're talking about if you try to have a conversation with someone about the portrayal of bdsm in media. it would also, frankly, be useful for tagging, because sometimes when you're in the mood for non-diegetic bodice ripper shit you'd call the police over in real life, it can get really annoying to read paragraphs of negotiation and check-ins that break the illusion of the scene and so on, and the opposite can be jarring too.

it's very possible to blur these together the same way Phantom of the Opera blurs its diegetic and non-diegetic music as well. this leaves you even more open to being misunderstood by people reading in bad faith, but it can also be really fun to play with. @not-poignant writes fantastic fanfic, novels, and original serials on ao3 that pull this off really well, if you're okay with some dark shit in your fiction I would highly recommend their work. some of it does get really fucking dark in places though, just like. be advised. read the tags and all that.

but yeah, spontaneous writer plug aside, that's what I mean.

[syluss-littlecrow]

release

<Caleb x fem!reader>

where both you and Caleb end up doing more than butt heads about his given curfew for you.

genre/warnings: smut, pwp, mutual pinning, mutual obsession & possession, jealous!Caleb breeding kink, multiple orgasms, a lot of cum..., perverted!MC, friends to lovers?, squirting, unprotected sex, morning sex, pure Caleb brain rot, it gets pretty nasty

a/n: Caleb, Caleb, CALEB XIA YIZHOU 😭😭 the way I've been giggling over Caleb while watching his story and going back to my home screen with Sylus looking at me with his arms crossed.... Anyway, enjoy this Caleb brain rot 🥹🩷 I'll do one with Caleb's military air force uniform when I can 😔🫡

I JUST SAW THE NEW BANNER DROP IM NOT OK IF ANYONES WONDERING.

w/c: 3.5K

Effortless. That is what Caleb feels like when his affections come to you. It bubbles and boils over when he thinks he's able to put a lid over it, and it overflows instead. It leaves him so defenseless. Yet, he can't seem to stop. It's the only thing that keeps him going in this hell. 

The only thing he feels is the metallic necklace barely weighing on his chest. It almost feels like you're here with him. 

And if you are, he wants to keep you here with him. Forever.

His eyes slowly open. His eyes focus on the hologram clock hovering at the side. 

You're supposed to be back already. 

Caleb contemplated on driving out to find you since he has your location pinging on his phone.

Since when did you have that many friends in Skyhaven? Why doesn't he know about them?

He checks the messages he's sent you, all unread. 

Caleb has to remind himself to stop clenching his jaw and biting his tongue. 

His stare towards the door grows anxious by the minute. Then he strengthens his resolve and marches towards the door, ready to leave and look for you. 

The second he pulls down the door handle, the jingle of the door unlocking from the outside sounds and the door swings open, making you and Caleb jump when he catches you in his arms from bumping into each other.

“Caleb!” You squeal, flustered at the way you completely ran into him. His warmth is radiating over to your skin. “Are you okay? Where were you gonna go?”

You watch a small pout form on his lips. He truly looks like a puppy when he does that, you can't help but think. 

“Look for you”, he curtly replies, making sure you've regained your balance before he releases your arms.

You straighten your posture, and sheepishly touch the nape of your neck, immediately avoiding his gaze. 

“Ah, right. Well, I got carried away with chatting with my friends and all…” 

Caleb crosses his arms. His pout turns into a frown, and his eyebrows are scrunched. 

Shit. He looks mad.

You inch closer to him, your fingers grazing over his knuckles. 

“I'm sorry, Caleb. Don't be mad okay? I'm home now, safe and sound, in the flesh, aren't I?”

Caleb breathes steadily, keeping his expression the same, but when you take his palm and nuzzle your cheek against it, Caleb feels the anxiety and frustration dissolve. He wants to reprimand you about the curfew, and why he implemented it in the first place. If you’ve stayed missing for a second longer, he would have completely lost it. But the moment his palm nearly touches your lips, it all dissipates, as if it never existed. 

Caleb exhales a sigh of defeat, letting it go just this time, alongside the countless times he did. 

“Go shower. I left the heater on for you.” 

You respond with a cheeky smile that makes something in Caleb’s chest bloom, and he lets you go, watching you disappear into your room. 

Caleb hears a knock on his door. He walks over and opens it, watching you coming into view. 

“Is there something you need, pipsqueak?”

You squeeze through the crack of the partially opened door and occupy his bed. 

“I'm just bored.”

Even though Caleb cocks his eyebrow, he still sprouts his smile, walking over to join you on his bed.

“Not because you're trying to make it up to me for coming back past curfew?”

Shit. 

Your smile playfully drops to a pout. “I got carried away yapping with my friends. You know I didn't mean to…” 

Caleb crosses his arms again.

“I could tell. My messages were all left unread.”

You curl your fingers to your lips when you realise you've been caught.

Caleb seems upset but you still see the softness beneath. 

He sighs. 

“I'm doing this for your own good, pipsqueak. I don't like you getting caught up in this.”

Caleb likes to think that it is that way, but he knows that it's more than just that. 

“As you can tell–” you’re showing off your body–your arms first then your legs, then your abdomen. But what Caleb didn't expect you to do was lift up your shirt slightly, your skin exposed, and have your shorts hike up your thighs, just to prove your point. “Nothing! You can check me for tracking devices too if you want to.” 

Something snaps in him.

“So do you let your friends inspect your body like that?” 

He crawls onto the bed, watching the smile slowly drop from your face. 

Caleb’s fingers trace your bare skin, drawing goosebumps from how ghostly the touches feel. His fingers slide from the top of your knees, and towards your thighs.

“Do you know how worried I was when you didn't answer my messages?”

You’re about to part your lips to respond, but he cuts you off. 

“I was wondering what conversations you were having that you ignored me.” 

“Caleb–”

He’s completely trapped you against the headboard of his bed. He's trapped you with his stare. 

Caleb inches closer, until he's close enough. His eyes glance down to your lips for a split second before his gaze meets yours again. 

Your breath is shaky when he leans in closer. 

Then he turns away. 

What the fuck? 

You watch in disbelief as he pulls away, your breath still caught in your throat from the tension.

Caleb’s signature smile returns and you feel his palm stroke the back of your head. 

“You should go back to bed. It's late.” 

He turns to open his door for you to leave. 

“Maybe I should start coming home later too.” 

He pauses in his steps. 

“I don't think that's a bright idea, pipsqueak.”

You slide off his bed and walk towards his door. 

“Maybe not. But I have brighter ones that consist of escaping your curfew.” 

You’re ready to leave the room with your victory, that is, until the door before you completely shuts. You see his shadow tower over you from behind. 

You turn to face Caleb, your arms are crossed. 

“Didn’t you ask me to go to bed?” 

“Changed my mind. I wanna make sure you're thoroughly inspected.”

You’re facing Caleb, back on his bed again. He starts with your face, but he lets his fingers linger around your lips, brushing across your bottom lip. You turn away, and his fingers catch your chin, forcing you to face Caleb.

“No looking away.”

His eyes are devouring every patch of skin that exists on your body. Even though you're clothed, you feel naked when he has his eyes on you this intensely. His fingertips trace back to your lips and he slides it down painfully slowly–past your chin, down your neck, through your sternum, past your stomach, and stops right above the elastic of your shorts. 

You want to shift, but you realise you can't–your body suddenly feels weighed down to the bed, and that's when you realise Caleb has you held down with his Evol.

The softness in Caleb’s eyes disappears, and something else replaces it. You watch him tug your shorts off you, and all you can do is watch helplessly. 

His kisses tickle from your ankle, and he builds them upwards at an agonising pace, each kiss feeling warmer as he travels up your thigh. 

Your heartbeat only accelerates from there, watching Caleb inch closer and closer to your cunt. Your thighs tense up from the sensitivity, the warmth of his lips spreading over your skin when you feel his tongue come in contact with your skin. 

“That tickles”, your voice is soft, as if the defiance in your tone before never existed.

Caleb’s lips press against your clothed pussy. Despite the fact that you’re trembling slightly, you've completely soaked your panties, and Caleb is more than happy to soak them even more. 

He buries his tongue, wetting the fabric even further. The pleasure draws soft moans, but evidently, it's not enough. 

“Caleb… Could you lighten your Evol?” You plead. You want to feel him so bad. 

Your body instantly lightens, and you almost think you're gonna fall off the bed. 

Something else holds you down this time, and it's Caleb. 

He tilts your chin up to have your lips meet his, now his kisses melting off the thoughts in your brain. Warmth burns through your skin. It takes you seconds to realise Caleb is lifting your shirt off you.

The clothing article is the next victim tossed somewhere else on the bed. 

You take his cheeks to your palms.

“I really need you now, Caleb.”

The softness returns to his eyes momentarily. 

“Are you sure you're okay with this?”

“I'll hop off right now and head straight to bed if you don't”, you huff. Fuck, the anticipation is just clawing through your insides, begging for Caleb to do something.

He playfully scoffs. 

“We both know you wouldn't.” 

Caleb tugs your panties to the side, and lines himself to your hole.

He thrusts into you in one swift motion, and you feel it all the way in. It knocks your breath out of you. Caleb watches you helplessly gasp for air and adjust to his size. He’s just filled you so full. 

He’s still supporting you so you don't fucking pass out. He feels you scratch all over his back from the pressure but he stays still, at least, until you've adjusted. 

“Shit. You're so fuckin’ warm for me”, he hisses into your neck, trying his best not to thrust into you. You feel so tight for him, he feels so good just staying there.

He stretches you open for him–your pussy fluttering at the feeling of him filling you up. The pressure slowly fades and you quickly adjust to his size.

Your vision blurs when he thrusts into you from below–the sensation so overwhelming that it's making you tear up. 

“So good”, you sigh, struggling to keep your eyes open–almost impossible when his cock is hitting your g-spot over and over again. Sparks burst into your eyelids whenever he hits the spot and it's evident that he knows he’s able to unravel you just like that, so easily. 

“Caleb…”, you moan. Caleb’s still fucking you, feeling the way you're just squeezing him, watching the way your fingers have gone clawing his back to his bedsheets, the way your tits are bouncing from fucking you, the way your eyes practically form hearts when he knows he's hit your sensitive spots.

“Faster, please. You feel so fucking good.”

He knows you shouldn't have said that. You're the only person who can rile him up like this. How the hell are you making him break his resolve when he's supposed to be upset with you?

He leans in, practically hovering over you. His fingers cup your cheek and he forces you to meet his violet eyes. 

In your fucked out haze, you blink, confused when he slows down. He pulls out completely, and you're about to complain until he rolls your soiled panties off your legs, tossing it to somewhere on the bed. 

You gasp when you feel his thumb graze over your wet and throbbing clit. 

“I'm gonna make you wonder what the fuck wrong with your body”, Caleb’s voice reaches your ears. His words sends a shiver down your spine.

“Your little pussy is gonna throb every time you think of me.”

That's all the warning he gives before his arms tower over you, holding your wrists down above your head. 

He fucks you into an orbit and you're practically helpless–forced to take his thrusts over and over. But fuck, it feels so good. It feels like fucking heaven. 

You like how dizzy it makes you feel. You like how he's not stopping, no matter how much tears stream down your face, and how pathetic you sound crying and moaning his name. 

“Fuck! Caleb, it's too much–” you whimper, the strange feeling building up in your stomach. It feels like it's about to snap any second. 

He acknowledges your words, but he doesn't bother slowing down. 

“Didn’t you promise me to be a good girl and take all of it?” 

“Caleb–!”

Your voice sounds so heavenly when you call his name.

The fluids fountains out of you, soaking everything near it's vincity–including the both of you. Your orgasm continues to wash over you and more fluids spray out.

Caleb watches you squirm and jolt while you make a mess all over him. 

He lets go of your wrists, the slight redness forming onto your skin, and his thumb caresses your bottom lip. 

Despite your arms feeling sore from resisting against his hold, you wrap them around his neck, pulling him close to catch his lips. He's taken back for a split second, but he returns the kiss, letting his soft moans drown into your lips while you clench around him.

When you both pull back, it's Caleb’s turn to have his eyes glazed and his cheeks dusted a soft shade of pink. 

“y/n, if you keep doin’ that–fuck”, Caleb groans, his fingers closing into a fist against the sheets. His breath is shaky. The euphoria is threatening to spill over–the fact that you're trapping him in like this with you, just the two of you solely existing together right now–he could get high off this feeling. He doesn't need anything else. 

“I'm so close. Shit.” You watch the bead of sweat trickle down his temple, down to his cheek, to his chin, and then it disappears into the mess the both of you made below. 

Caleb’s voice makes you refocus on him. 

His palm presses against your cheek again, his thumb brushing lightly on the corner of your lips. 

“You're gonna take all of it like a good girl, yeah?” 

You nod, almost too eagerly. Caleb can't help but think that your face after being fucked looks breathtakingly beautiful. It makes him want to hide you further. The world doesn't deserve someone like you. 

He crashes his lips with yours, melting into the kiss while he pumps you full with his thick cum–making sure he has himself seated deep inside so nothing spills out. At least, not until he pulls out.

The high slowly descends, and the both of you are left panting, getting lost in each other’s eyes just for that moment before Caleb slowly pulls out. 

Caleb then reaches for the glass of water perched on his nightstand to offer you. You take a good few sips of water, and hand it back to Caleb, who takes a couple of sips as well. He notices the way your cheeks are still flushed and that you're blinking more. He plants the empty glass onto the nightstand, ready to carry you to wash up and probably change the sheets after.

In a daze, you notice Caleb’s cum seeping out of your hole in small loads. You wet two fingers and slide them to your pussy–and you push the thick fluids back in, your body jolting in pleasure while you're pretty much fingering your pussy with Caleb’s cum.

Caleb swallows hard while he watches you pleasure yourself. He’s about to say something but you cut him off.

“Your cum keeps leaking out”, you point out, giving him the full view of your cum-soaked pussy. You look up at him with an innocent, poison-soaked gaze–your lashes wet and your thighs trembling from each time you feel his cum leak out of you.

“It’d be such a waste–”, you mutter, shivering one more time when your fingers fuck you again, the room only filled with your voice and the wet squelching sounds from your pussy.

“–if it doesn't stay inside.” 

You barely have time to process what happens next. The next thing you knew, Caleb has your hands pinned above your head with one hand, and the other on your cheeks. His legs stop you from closing yours, and you feel his wet thickness hard once more, resting on your pubic bone.

“You know, pipsqueak”, his voice drops an octave lower. His voice is clear, and he makes sure you hear him. “It's okay to just ask for more.” His eyes reflect such a gorgeous shade of wild you've never seen before, and it looks fucking good on him.

No warnings–your cunt is just wet and sopping that Caleb stuffs you to fullness once more–you give up trying to keep your eyelids open, your mind only processing the way he’s fucking so deep into you again and again.

“You know I'll always give it to you.” 

The way his fingers are cupping your cheeks stops you from answering. Well, he doesn't need a verbal response, especially not when you’re clenching him so fucking tight when your orgasm hits you for the…how many times was it now?

You feel stings that slowly dull around your shoulders and chest. The bites Caleb’s given you are as red as the ruby on his apple necklace. 

The night is drowned with sounds and sensations of both you competing to send each other to the heavens. 

What day is it now? 

Caleb blinks his heavy eyelids open. He soaks in the atmosphere around him, and it doesn't take him long to realise that you're lying on his arm.

Thankfully, it's not numb. Your hair tickles his cheeks. 

He notices the light peeking through his curtains. It's probably daytime. 

Caleb presses his lips against the back of your head, while he pulls you closer. He almost jolts when he hears a soft moan coming from you.

For some reason, something feels funny. 

He attempts to shift slightly, and realises the predicament–his dick is still hard as fuck, and he’s still nestled so fucking deep in you. Fuck. Did the both of you fall asleep mid-sex? The feeling bleeds into him again. 

Are you even awake to realise this? 

Caleb bites his inner cheek, the hardness only builds. Shit. Even after all of that, you're still this warm and tight? 

He watches your breathing steadily. 

He hooks your leg over his arm almost too easily, giving himself easier access to fuck you deeper. Your sleepiness is slowly dissipating, overtaken so fucking quick by the burning desire once more.

His thrusts bear slight friction at first, but somehow that only adds to the pleasure–the rawness, the fact that he's left a mess in you and kept that way, and that he gets to do it all over again in the morning. 

“Ca…Caleb..!” You squeal, uselessly fisting the pillows while Caleb rails you from below. 

“So perfectly warm for me, y/n”, his morning voice dousing you. He takes advantage to litter more bites to the back of your neck and shoulders, and spoils you with his strained moans when he reflects the way you whimper whenever he hits your sensitive spots. 

You sheepishly bury your teary face into the pillows, and Caleb pushes himself impossibly deeper, forcing you to face him when you jolt in surprise. His violet eyes are eating you up. You hear his voice ring in your ears.

“Wanna make you cry more like this. You're so pretty when you cry when I'm splittin’ you open like this.” 

More tears stream down your cheeks whenever your g-spot gets abused over and over. Caleb forces you to meet his gaze. His thrusts are slower, but harder. 

“Shit, you're really gonna milk me dry, yeah?” Caleb hisses when he feels you flutter around him. Your cum is mixed with his, and drips down his cock, to his balls. 

Caleb pulls you tighter, deepening the kiss one last time while he breeds you full over and over for nth time since the last night, devouring your whimpers when the words you muttered to him last night comes into memory. You're so dizzy with pleasure, and Caleb has stolen all of your breaths. 

He finally pulls out, his cum endlessly drizzling out of your abused hole, and it almost sets him off again. 

Nonetheless, he forces himself to get out of bed so he can get a towel and clean you up.

Another loving kiss he presses onto your temple.

“I'm gonna get a towel, pipsqueak.” His husky whispers send shivers down your body, and the warmth of his touch lingers on your thighs for a lot longer than you realise.

He leaves the bed for the bathroom. 

You nuzzle into the pillows Caleb was just lying on, drowning yourself with his scent. The wetness that sticks between your legs–you can't tell if it's your fresh arousal or if it's his cum anymore.  

Not that it mattered since steadying your breath when you realised he was still in you when you stirred before him to see what he'd do next, gave you such a big reward. 

And you'd do it all over again. You would say things to get under his skin, just to get a rise out of him, just to keep his attention on you, always. 

You wanted to keep his strained voice when he called your name, the way he looks at you with so much desperation when he breeds you full, in a bottle and store it for your perverted indulgence. 

No one else needs to know that this part of Caleb exists, because he belongs to you. 

The dim light catches your attention underneath the thick sheets. You take the device, unlocking the phone with your fingerprint. 

6 missed calls. 

You swipe them away. You shut off his phone.

He doesn't need to know.

He doesn't need to remember.

At least, not when he's with you. 

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Far Cry Cradle.

Pairing: Yandere!Lilia x Reader (TWST).

Word Count: 4.1k.

TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Somnophilia, Kidnapping, Slight Breeding Kink, Infantilization/Dehumanization, and Implied Pregnancy. Slight Spoilers for Book Seven.

Humans were skittish creatures.

Lilia knew that better than most, but even if he hadn’t, it would’ve been plain to see. Their soldiers required battle cries and marching songs to keep their nerve on the field, their royalty barricaded themselves behind gates of iron and castles of brick, and even the lowliest among them fell back on rumor and superstition to vent their anxiety, telling each other tales of heroes and villains and treachery and valiance as to best root a bit of bravery in one another where they’d failed to plant it in themselves. It was an admirable effort – albeit, a misplaced one. There were things in the world worth being afraid of. Trying to forget that was as foolish as succumbing to it.

You were a skittish creature, certainly. Your condition was no worse than that of the state he found you in, and yet, your trembling had only grown more violent, your muffled noises quickly becoming too pitiful to ignore. It’d been a struggle just to get you back to his cottage, and you’d scrambled into the smallest, darkest possible corner as soon as he’d let you go. It was a miracle you didn’t make a break for the door. At least he knew that, whatever you thought he was going to do to you, it couldn’t have been worse than whatever you’d encountered in the for—

“Please don’t eat me.”

Your voice, cracked and hoarse, brought his attention back to you. He sighed, pushing himself away from the wall and ebbing closer until he stood in front of you. Despite your brazenness, you shied away, sinking that much deeper into your corner. He wondered how long you’d stay there. Any more than a few hours, and he might start to worry.

“I’m going to… eat you?”

A sharp inhale, followed quickly by a shaky nod. “I—In my village, they used to say nocturnal fae considered human flesh to be a delicacy,” you managed, in time. Lilia had to bite back a laugh. “I don’t want to be eaten. If you have to kill me, I’d understand, but I don’t want to be—”

“Relax.” It was more of an order than he meant it to be. Instantly, you went rigid, pulling your knees into your chest and staring at him, doe eyed.

With your panic momentarily thrown into paralysis, he took a moment to evaluate you. You really were in bad shape. Fresh bruises and cuts lined your bare arms and legs, and your clothing had been torn, mended, then torn again. You carried no supplies, but judging from the defensive edge to your posture, the extent of your distress, you’d been fending for yourself for quite a while. Most worryingly, you were barefoot. Wandering through unfamiliar terrain, hungry and cold, was unpleasant. Wandering through unfamiliar terrain, hungry and cold and forced out of comfort so suddenly, you didn’t have time to grab even the most obvious of essentials, was significantly more unpleasant.

He cleared his throat, then fell into a crouch, lowering himself to your height. “Why are you in Briar Valley?”

Your answer came quickly, reflexively. “I was lost.”

“Alright, what were you doing when you got lost?”

This time, your response was less easily provided. “.. picking berries?”

Perfect. You didn’t have nerve to meet his eyes, but lying to his face didn’t seem to cause you so much strife.

Surprisingly, you spoke up without prompting, uncurling slightly. “Are you going to let me go?”

Lilia grit his teeth. Letting you go would be a bad idea, not only because it was the dead of winter and travelling just about anywhere in your state was a death sentence. You were fickle, and nervous, and more than a little disoriented, but you were human, too, and he was in sore need of one of those.

“No,” and then, rolling his eyes as you let out another keening whimper, “For two reasons. Firstly, it’s winter, you’re injured, and if I let you go back out there, you’d only get yourself killed. Secondly, I need—”

As if rehearsed, an ear-piercing cry broke through the cottage’s quiet, immediately replacing any semblance of peace with a misery that outmatched yours ten-fold. Lilia, as exhausted as he’d ever been on the battlefield, let his head fall, forcing himself to take a deep breath before soldiering on. “I have a son,” he said, only just managing to speak over the child’s wailing. “You’ll be taking care of him, during your time here.”

In retrospect, he could’ve been nicer about it – less brisk, more accommodating, leaning more towards a suggestion than a command. But, it wasn’t in his nature to ask questions where he could dull out orders, and if the idea of childrearing was as aversive to you as that of admitting where you hailed from, you did a decent job of masking it. If anything, your expression seemed to soften, your eyes darting in the direction of Silver’s nursery. For the first time since he’d found you, you managed to say something half-way rational.

“…can I meet him?”

Lilia considered it. Waiting until tomorrow morning may have been wiser. You’d have a chance to gather yourself, and he could tend to Silver on his own in the meantime, ready the child to meet someone other than Malleus and himself. It was probably the more considerate thing to do, the smarter thing to do, but the wailing grew louder, and your eyes caught the dim moonlight in a way that almost made you seem eager, and with a rasped sigh, he stood to his full height, signaling for you to do the same. “For a minute or so. He ought to be asleep, by now.”

He turned away from you, and without a word, you scrambled to your feet, tripping over yourself to follow after him.

~

Humans were sentimental things.

Strangely so. Inexplicably so. Silver had warmed to him immediately, sure, but he’d been a newborn at the time, willing to love anyone who could coo his name and make lights in pretty colors dance on their fingertips. Adults had fewer excuses. Baur’s new son-in-law was rumored to have fallen in love with his now-wife the first time he laid eyes on her, and you…

You could’ve loved a dried patch of thistle, so long as it needed your help.

Lilia made a habit of watching you, generally speaking, but he made sure to hover a little closer whenever you had Silver in your arms – which you almost always did, these days. It was clear that your experience was limited, but you took to childrearing like a fish took to water; dedicating yourself to tending to Silver’s needs as you would’ve your own flesh and blood. Currently, you were sitting by the fire in an age-old rocking chair, bouncing him on one knee and balancing an open book on the other, doing your best to read out some nonsensical fairytale to an unruly audience of one. Or, two, he supposed. He was catching more of it than he’d like to.

When you got to the part about the princess being woken up from an eternal sleep by true love’s kiss, he cut in. “If those are the kind of stories you’ll be telling the boy, it might be better not to speak to him at all.”

Your fear of him seemed to fade more and more with every passing sunrise. Now, you only responded to his chiding with a chime of a laugh, a quick shake of your head. “Talking to children is important. It doesn’t matter what you say, so long as they hear your voice.” You paused, leaning just a little closer to Silver. “Plus, it means you’re going to love me way more than your dad when you’re older. By then, you’ll already know he’s no fun.”

By way of reply, Silver clapped merrily and curled a tiny first around your sleeve. You shot Lilia a triumphant smirk. “See? He’s already playing favorites.”

Lilia pursed his lips. “He never seemed to mind being along with me.”

“Only because he didn’t know any better. You were trying to nurse him on wine, and—”

“Fruit juice,” he corrected.

“Fermented fruit juice. In other words, wine.” Almost protectively, you gathered Silver in your arms, propping him against your shoulder. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to say his name more, either. You should get into the habit while he’s still too young to remember being called ‘the boy’.”

At that, Lilia turned away entirely, huffing. He knew you were right. He’d known that when he named Silver, when he decided he was fit to raise a child with a face he still saw in his darkest dreams. Still, to love a child unconditionally and to be a father were two very different things. He was currently stumbling through the latter, but accomplishing the former was proving more difficult than he would ever care to admit aloud.

With a sigh, he edged closer to you, perching himself on the arm of your chair. “May I hold him?”

You feigned reluctance, but didn’t put up a fight. Silver was passed from one pair of hands to another, and Lilia held the child in his lap. “Silver,” he muttered, bringing up a hand to pinch his cheek gently. Good-tempered as always, Silver stared at him wide-eyed, as if in anticipation. “My first son was much more durable. Then again, he did have the decency to hatch from an egg.”

“That actually explains a lot about Malleus.” You straightened abruptly, clapping your hands together. “Oh, and we’re running low on powdered milk. You should ask him to pick some up, if he plans on visiting this week.”

 It was Lilia’s turn to laugh, now – not at anything you’d said, but at his own early misconception. He’d been too embarrassed to say anything after your hasty correction, but now, the confession came more easily, more naturally. “Honestly, I thought that’d be less of a problem with you here. I suppose I was under the impression that humans can make their own.”

A beat passed, then another. When he glanced toward you, he found your head bowed, a prominent flush spread over most of your face. It was cute, in a vulnerable sort of way. Lilia took longer than he should’ve to look away. “…some humans can. Only after they’ve had, uh, a child of their own first, though.” You shrugged. “There are a lot of conditions that have to be met before it’s something you really have to worry about, I guess.

“And you haven’t met those conditions, yet?”

Your blush darkened. “No, I haven’t.”

Ah.

On second thought, you weren’t very doe-like after all. Even a deer would’ve had more talent when it came to hiding its expression.

You were quick to divert your attention, pushing yourself to your feet and smoothing over your skirt. “The sun is setting and I’m getting hungry. Could you watch Silver while I start dinner?”

“I was actually thinking I could—”

“I’d rather starve.”

~

Humans were confounding things.

Emotional, irrational, ineffective. Pleasure and comfort were put above survival in almost every circumstance, hierarchy was treated as more of suggestion than a rule, and attachments could be formed to anything your unknowable minds deemed worth pitying. The weather grew warmer, the snowstorms fewer and further between, and yet, the idea of you leaving was never revisited. He wasn’t especially eager to broach the topic either, but Lilia had a good reason to want to keep you nearby, to make sure Silver had another set of eyes to watch over him. The same couldn’t be said for you.

“Mind if I join you?”

He glanced up and, of course, found the source of his misery. The picture was perfect; the set that of his cottage painted in the colors of dusk, the focus you dressed in the simple dress and apron gifted to you by Malleus. There was a low huff, a shallow nod, and you crossed the shallow stream, setting yourself next to him where he kneeled. “Silver just fell asleep,” you explained. “I’d give it a good hour or so before he so much as stirs. That kid could sleep through a war if he wanted to.”

“I think he might’ve,” Lilia muttered. You only laughed, leaning into his side.

“So,” you started, peering into the steam, empty save for the occasional chunk of ice drifting on the current. “What are we looking at?”  

“Lost in thought, that’s all. There won’t be anything worth looking at until Spring.” He sighed. “I suppose you’ll have returned to your proper home, by then.”

To your credit, you only faltered for a fraction of a moment – catching yourself before you let so much as your sweet, simpering smile fall away. A lesser man may not have noticed it, but Lilia was not a lesser man.

“Do you want me to leave?”

No. He’d give an arm and leg to keep you here. He’d let it snow through Spring, Summer and Fall. He’d teach Silver how to cry whenever you so much as thought about a home outside of his cottage. There were few things he wouldn’t do, if it meant you never left.

“I might be old, but I’m not delusional.” He forced himself to chuckle, the loud airy and only somewhat strained. “There’s some place you belong, some place you came from, and I don’t think it’s in this valley. It’d be selfish of me to keep you any longer than you ought to stay.”

He made a point of not looking at you, his gaze focused on the lining the streambed. There was a long exhale, then a hollow thud as you fell back – collapsing to the half-frozen ground. Just barely above a whisper, you admitted, “I like it here, Lilia.”

“Surely there are things from your own world that you miss.”

“Not as many as you’d think.”

“Comforts, then. I’ve heard wonderful things about electricity.”

“I’m plenty comfortable already. More than I ever was back home.”

“There has to be someone you miss, (Y/n).”

He heard the grass rustle as you rolled onto your side. When he stole a glance in your direction, he saw that you’d left your back to him. “Yeah.” And then, after a long moment, “I guess there should be.”

In an act of either sympathy or cowardice, he gave you time, allowed you space. Long seconds passed before you pulled yourself upright, letting your hands fall into your lap with a weary sigh. “I’ll leave on the first day of Spring,” you decided. “Before you forget how to take care of Silver on your own.”

“He’s still my son, you know.”

“Sure.” And just like that, you were back to beaming. This time, Lilia couldn’t stand to tear his eyes away from you.

“But I’m always going to behis favorite.”

~

Humans were softened things.

You, more so than most. Your skin felt like milkweed and velvet where his calloused fingers grazed over it, growing softer the farther up he travelled. There was still a winter chill in the air, but the weather was warming steadily, and at some point during the night, you’d kicked your quilts and blankets to the side, leaving you sheltered by only a cloth sleeping gown with sleeves prone to slipping down your shoulders and a skirt eager to pool around your waist. Any other night, Lilia might’ve rolled his eyes, lit the hearth in your bedroom, and left you to your own devices. Another other night, but not tonight.

It was strange, the way he loved you. He’d loved Maleanor, and a part of him always would, but that’d been different. To love Maleanor had been to love a force of nature; a storm as untouchable as it was destructive. He was never going to have her, and in a certain way, he’d always known that. You were different. You weren’t Maleanor. You weren’t distant, or untouchable, or destructive. He already had you.

All he had to do was make sure you couldn’t get away.

He’d expected there to be more guilt, more resignation. Instead, there was only relief as he propped a knee on the edge of your bed, rested a hand next to your sleeping face, allowed himself to ebb and sway closer to you until he was positioned in the space between your legs, his chest nearly pressing into yours. His gaze never left your expression; panicked and contorted, not completely unlike the face you’d worn when he first brought you home. Poor thing. You were having a nightmare.

Removing your dress came first. You were a fitful sleeper, prone to waking at the slightest disturbance, but he wasn’t green to delicate work. You whimpered as he dragged a pointed talon from your collar to your navel, but didn’t stir, didn’t shift, didn’t do anything that might’ve stopped him from bringing his mouth to your collarbone and pressing a feather-soft kiss into the base of your throat, the curve of your chest, the last blue-ringed bruise you carried from the night you met. A selfish, territorial part of him hoped it would never fade, that you’d always carry a mark connecting back to him. A more optimistic, more reasonable faction reminded him that he could simply make more.

His mouth wandered in time with his thoughts. He was careful, cautious as he curled his hands around your thighs, kneading with as much force as he could risk. You were beautiful in your obedience; spreading your legs reflexively, letting out a soft, breathy noise as Lilia settled into the now-open space. The thin fabric of your panties gave away as easily as your gown had, and Lilia’s patience reached its breaking point. Weary of his fangs, he bowed his head and—

Ah.

Humans were sweet, too.

And reactive. Even unconscious, you responded to each hasty swipe and drag of his tongue with a moan, a whine, a mewl so pitiful and so heartbreaking, the idea of ever letting you travel beyond his sight suddenly seemed irresponsible, cruel, unfair to a creature so delicate, it could hardly stand imagine itself to be unwanted. He sighed, letting his hands drift to your waist as he lapped over your clit, as eager to pleasure you as he was to drink in the fruits of his labor. It wasn’t long before your sleep turned restless, your body shifting underneath him in an attempt to escape unfamiliar stimulation. When he refused to let you go so easily, you reacted on instinct; snapping your thighs shut around his head and drawing out a low, reverberating grown from your willing victim.

More. That was what you must’ve wanted – more. He buried himself that much deeper in his task, nuzzling into the inside of your thigh as his tongue spread you open, curling against the walls of your cunt, seeking out anything sensitive, anything vulnerable, anything to make your hips buck into his mouth and your thighs shake where they were still trapped in his hands. He let his teeth scrape over the tender junctions between your thighs, and when that wasn’t enough, ground the bridge of his nose into your clit. Admittedly, it was messy effort; too hasty for your first time. He was tempted to chide himself for being so overly enthusiastic, but the awareness that this was only the first time of countless was enough of a comfort to spur him on.

It wasn’t long before he felt you tense underneath him, sucking in a harsh breath as your cunt clenched around his tongue. He nursed you through your climax (your first ever climax, he chose to believe) until your little whines had turned to near-pained whimpers, until he could no longer stand to limit himself to simply rutting against cold, lifeless bedding. With one more fleeting kiss to the apex of your hip, he pushed himself onto his knees and took to aligning the leaking head of his cock with your entrance, now dripping with arousal and spit. His gaze fixed on your peaceful expression, he thrust into you, no longer patient enough to be quite so gentle.

It was in a state of unparalleled bliss that the watched your eyes snap open, immediately finding him. Your lips parted, a scream already rising in your throat, but he forced his hand over your mouth before it could surface. It wouldn’t do to wake Silver, not at a time like this.

“Easy, love, easy,” he cooed. Your only response was a wince, a twist, a ragged sob reverberating against his palm. He might’ve been offended, had he not been able to feel you growing warmer, growing tighter around his length. “I apologize if there’s any pain. Can you try and relax for me?”

Apparently not. Your hands found their way to his chest, clawing frantically thought the thin material of his tunic. You tried to move his legs, too, but he was quick to put a stop to that, leaning his weight against you and pinning you to the bed. A bit selfishly, he took the opportunity to press his chest to yours, his hips to yours, to root himself that much deeper into you. It was paradise, the way you clung to him. He could only wonder why he didn’t realize how precious you were sooner.

“Easy,” he repeated, more breathlessly. “Would you rather I restrain you?”

The clawing stopped immediately. After a moment, he felt you shake your head.

“And you don’t want to end up hurting yourself, now, do you?”

Another shake, this one more trepid than the first.

“Then listen to me.” He rested his chin on your shoulder, careful not to raise his voice. “Make all the noise you want, but don’t scream. I’m not afraid of seeking out more permanent solutions.”

That was enough to get you to stop moving entirely. He held you close for a second, then another, before pulling away. True to your word (or lack thereof), you kept quiet, catching your bottom lip in your teeth and shutting your eyes so tightly, he could almost believe you no longer cared to look at him. With an airy laugh, he rested a hand next to your head and started to move.

It was your first time. It had to be. If you’d had any experience at all, you wouldn’t have responded to every slow, sentimental thrust with such adorable squeaking, wouldn’t have clung to the sheets with such a heartbreaking desperation. With your compliance ensured, he tried to be delicate, to give you time to adjust, but you made it difficult not to seek out the reactions you seemed so ready to provide. You made it hard not to use more force than he should’ve, not to root himself deeper than he should’ve, not to grind and rut and fuck like some drooling animal, caught up in its own heat. He could tell you were trying to ignore him, but even that had to break, eventually; your hands shooting to his shoulders as he lost his pace, your nails digging into his skin as he found something more substantial, something bordering on rabid. This time, he welcomed your violence. It was the least he could do, to help ground his distraught little love.

“You’re going to stay here.” He didn’t realize he’d meant to say anything aloud until he heard his own voice, low and drawn-out, playing just above your miserable whines and pleasured moans. “You’ll never have to leave. You’ll belong here. You already belong with me.”

“I don’t—”

“You won’t have a choice,” he assured, the comfort in his voice thick and prone to clotting. “Not after tonight.”

He watched horror flash across your expression, then something else, something he couldn’t quite name. It didn’t matter. His lips were already crashing into yours, dragging you into a kiss put off for far, far too long. Light flashed behind his eyes, and some unnamable tether drawn taut inside of him finally snapped. With his hips pressed flush to yours, he stilled and came undone. You followed a moment later, milking him for all he had.

For minutes, it was all he could do to stay trapped there; your warm body pressed into his, your stifled crying the only sound filling the empty space. When he did break from his trance, it was with an airy laugh, a brush of his cheek against yours before he dipped lower, taking shelter in the crook of your neck. Whether or not you could hear him was irrelevant. You’d have plenty of time to listen, from now on.

“You’re going to be a perfect mother.”

[laserbobcat]

A WIP i'll never finish, i tried! I started this before march and will never finish it properly. I'm glad I had the energy to at least clean the last panels enough. I was trying a new style/process and it doesn't stick. Anyway, I'll just tell the rest of the story since I (probably) won't draw it, and maybe some of you like to read:

Nari turns into a god again, to his surprise. Turns out it's because the Lamb fucked up a new age reversing ritual they're trying out, and turned themselves into a baby. Too weak of a vessel, so the crown had to jump ships back to him. Narinder enjoys this IMMENSELY. Makes a dramatic evil laugh and give some kind of speech about how the Lamb is stupid and he's the boss now. He tells Aym and Baal to babysit the Lamb until they're old enough to be trained like they both were and "Maybe this time around they will learn obedience" and exits- also dramatically. The cultists start to panic, what the hell is that giant god, what do you mean it's Narinder are you kidding me? The tsundere Lamb's friend? The grumpy fisherman? Oh no what are we gonna do without the Lamb etc etc... Until Leshy laughs out loud and says "Just ignore him and wait a day or two, he's gonna get tired of bossing people around and miss his precious Lamb. He'll find a solution." Aym deadpan says five, Leshy says five days seems too long he'll cave in sooner than that, but Baal says "No we mean five minutes." And BAM the temple's door open again and Narinder is here yelling MORTALS I need you to remember EXACTLY the words they made you chant, I need it to reverse the ritual!

He quickly realized that this Lamb will not be HIS Lamb, HIS lamb is gone for good if he doesn't cook some good magic real quick. And that's the start of a period of time where Nari has to bust his ass trying to undo the Lamb's failed magic. I had bunch of stuff in mind, including: -Lambie being the worst and most insufferable baby ever. No one sleeps on their watch, and no one gets to be distracted for a second otherwise they start eating rocks. their yell is the loudest noise ever heard. The goat is a joke next to them. Everyone has the tired parent trait now. -Narinder smashing people to death when they're annoying and distracting him from his research. He adds their name to "the resurrection list" for the Lamb to deal with later. The followers somehow get used to it. -Morgan trying his best to keep Leshy away from his irritated brother, despite his intense need to annoy him at the worst time possible. -Narinder yelling "Fetch me my thinking Lamb!" and then squishing the baby between two fingers like a squeaky toy to help him focus (the baby enjoys that) -Saleos and Irene forcing a huge ass exhausted and irritable 19 feet god to take a rest, maybe go fishing to get some air. -Narinder accidentally hitting his head on the door frame of the temple. A lot. -Narinder reluctantly having to officiate the important rituals "I don't care about your damn crops but let's get this over with- NO we're not having an exhibitionist dance go back to work!" -Thena having to read most of the Lamb's writing for him because they write in cursive that is so pretty it's unreadable -Thena making him realize how much work the Lamb is doing everyday. Narinder keeps in mind that he will have to make him rest later. The end would be Narinder finally managing to reverse the ritual, and a butt naked, befuddled adult Lamb appearing on the floor of the temple. Narinder takes the crown off of his head and throws it at their face, and yells at them while changing back into his mortal form and stomping out of the temple: "You IDIOT baby god trying to CREATE new magics when you're not even able to master the old ones completely I CAN'T BELIEVE you would try something so stupid do you even realize how much of a pain in the ass it was to understand your weird logic and clean your mess I SWEAR if you ever do something like that I'll let you rot in whatever pit you dig for yourself AND DON'T YOU DARE SAY ANYTHING ABOUT THE RESURRECTION LIST-" And slams the door on his way out, leaving the lamb astounded.

Cut to Narinder getting back to his house in his tree, and flopping on his bed, exhausted. He massages his arms, visibly relieved to have them back to normal, without the pain. He sighs with a little smile, stretches, curls into a ball and falls asleep.

That's how the lamb finds him later when they carefully come to talk to him after hearing about all of what happened. Except the black cat loaf on the bed changed into a baby.

Rinse and repeat.

[solxamber]

"Let's Break Up" with: Cater, Floyd, Silver

and we're done with this series!

Other parts: Housewardens ; Vice-Housewardens + Ruggie ; First Years

Cater Diamond

“Let’s break up.”

Cater just nods.

No protest. No flinch. Just a quiet, almost too-casual nod, like you’d asked him what he wanted for dinner and he was still deciding.

It stings. Deeply. You wait—hoping he’ll say something, joke about how that’s the worst line in your whole relationship, call you dramatic, ask if it's a trend—but nothing comes.

So you turn, jaw clenched and heart aching, and begin walking toward the door. Fine. If that’s all it meant to him, then—

You glance back. Just once. Just to be sure. Just to prove to yourself that you’re not walking away from someone who cares.

And that’s when you see it.

Cater’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his sleeves pulled up, his face buried in the crook of his elbow. His shoulders are trembling, so violently you’re surprised you didn’t hear him before. He’s trying to keep quiet. Trying not to make a scene. But the sobs are still escaping, muffled and broken.

Your chest caves in.

“Cater.” Your voice wobbles. You’re already crossing the room. “Cater—wait—I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it, I’m sorry—”

He doesn’t look up, doesn’t stop shaking. You reach out and gently pull his arm down so you can see him. His eyes are red, the tears still falling. You’ve never seen him cry like this. Not even close.

“You could’ve stopped me,” you whisper. “You could’ve said something.”

“I…” He struggles to get the words out, throat raw. “I didn’t think I had the right to.”

Your breath catches. “What?”

Cater laughs, humorless. “I thought maybe… maybe I pushed you too far. I always do that, right? So when you said it, I just… thought, maybe I deserve it.”

You shake your head furiously. “No. No, that’s not true. I was angry. I was stupid. I didn’t mean it, not really. I just… I didn’t know how else to make you listen.”

His lip trembles. You pull him into your arms and he collapses into the embrace like a lifeline. His face buries into your neck, arms locking around you so tightly you think he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he loosens his grip for even a second.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur into his hair. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” he whispers, voice shaking. “I should’ve fought for us.”

You both stay like that—clinging, crying, holding—until the weight of the argument fades and only the desperate ache of love remains.

Floyd Leech

“Let’s just break up.”

The words drop into the room like a stone into water—fast, thoughtless, and instantly irreversible.

Floyd blinks at you.

Then he laughs. Loud, grating. It's not his fun laugh—it's sharper, higher, the kind that makes your chest hurt. “Eh? That’s how it is, Shrimpy? We’re breaking up now?” He grins wide, all teeth, like it’s a game. Like he’s daring you to say it again.

You don't.

And that’s when it hits.

The grin falls like a mask. His shoulders drop, the light in his eyes flickers. “...Wait. You’re serious?” His voice is flat now, too calm. “You’re actually serious.”

“Floyd—”

“No, no no no, I got it.” He waves his hand like he’s brushing it off, but there’s a sharpness to his movements. “It’s cool! It’s totally fine! Who cares, right? You can just say that kind of stuff, super easy—snap—like it don’t mean anything!”

He laughs again, bitter and pacing now, hands tugging at the edge of his hoodie like he’s trying to keep himself from breaking something—or maybe breaking you.

“Floyd, please—”

He whirls back around on you, eyes wide and glassy now, voice trembling with fury and something underneath it you don’t want to name. “Don’t ‘please’ me, Shrimpy. You don’t get to look at me like that and still say that crap. You promised you’d stay.”

You take a shaky breath. “I didn’t mean it. I was angry. I’m sorry—”

He’s already marching over.

“You didn’t mean it?” he repeats, voice mocking, almost a whisper. “You didn’t mean it?” He reaches you fast and grabs your face with both hands—not rough, but not gentle either. “Then say it. Right now. Take it back, or I swear I’ll lose my mind.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I take it back. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it.”

He stares at you, breathing hard. The fury in him twists suddenly, flips into something wounded. His thumbs brush your cheeks. His mouth twitches like he’s trying to smile, but it won’t stay.

“I hate you,” he mumbles. “I hate that you can make me feel like this.”

He presses his forehead to yours, shutting his eyes tight. “I was gonna go feral, Shrimpy. I was this close to losing it—throwing things, storming out, squeezing someone until they popped. But I didn’t. ‘Cause it was you.”

Your fingers wrap around his wrists. “I’m sorry,” you whisper again. “I shouldn't have said that.”

He exhales shakily and pulls you in, crushing you to his chest. He’s all muscle and desperation and twitching emotion. “Don’t do that again,” he mutters into your hair. “Don’t say stuff like that. You can hit me, yell at me, bite me back if you want—but don’t leave me.”

You nod against him. “I won’t.”

Floyd grumbles, half a whine, “You’re such a pain, Shrimpy… makin’ my chest all twisty.” He nuzzles against you, softer now, his voice small and muffled. “But you’re my pain, okay? Mine.”

And you just stay there, wrapped in the arms of a boy who doesn’t always know how to say I love you—but means it with every wild, aching part of him.

Silver Vanrouge

“Let’s… break up.”

The words are barely out before Silver is in front of you, his hands trembling as they gently wrap around yours. He lifts them, slowly, carefully—guiding your palms to rest against his cheeks. His skin is warm, a little damp, and his eyes—gods, his eyes are wide and shining with hurt he doesn’t know how to hide.

“Do you really mean that?” he asks, voice hoarse, like the thought alone is enough to choke him.

Your heart twists painfully at the crack in his voice, the way his breathing stutters, the way his fingers shake as they hold onto you like you're already fading.

“No,” you whisper, immediately. “No, I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry, Silver, I didn’t mean it.”

A deep, shuddering sigh escapes him, and his whole body seems to unravel. He slumps forward, resting his head against your shoulder, and you catch him instinctively, holding him up as though he might fall apart otherwise.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, voice barely audible, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize… I didn’t see how far I was pushing you. I thought we were okay. I thought…”

“We are,” you say softly, running a hand through his hair. “We will be. I was just overwhelmed—I didn’t mean it. I shouldn’t have said it.”

His arms wrap around you, slow and tight, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you in his arms. “We’ll fix it,” he says quietly. “We can fix it. I’ll do better. We both will.”

You nod, your fingers curling against his back. “Together.”

And for a long while, neither of you say anything else. You just stay like that—wrapped around each other, silent and steady, hearts slowly calming in the space where love remains.

Masterlist

tags: @staplertwst

[urmum-lovesme]

Bunny (P12)

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reader

summary: Struggling to keep her and JJ’s home afloat, Y/N turns to the only option that guarantees fast cash- stripping at a club on the Cut. But when Rafe Cameron catches her in the act, he sees the perfect opportunity to tighten his grip around her life.

a/n: well bazinga. here we are- I'm loving you guys all fangirling over rafe and bunny cause they're such cutie patooties. But happiness is not for free, so I'm really really sorry about this one- I hope ya'll can forgive me. (and rafe) (idk if I can)

warnings: angst :(, alcohol, smoking, weed, violence, fights, drunkenness, rafe being a little bitch

(P1) (P2) (P3) (P4) (P5) (P6) (P7) (P8) (P9) (P10) (P11) (P12) (P13)

The air is heavy with the lingering warmth of the day, the sky streaked with dying gold and violet as Y/N steps out the back exit of the country club. The low hum of insects fills the silence, broken only by the soft scrape of her boots against the pavement. Her shoulders are tired, the strap of her bag crumpled in one hand, and she taps her phone screen with the other, the glow casting light across her features, a new message flashing on the screen.

JJ : Lost my charger again

JJ. : Its okay tho cuz I took yours

JJ : I'll give it back

JJ : (I won't)

A laugh spills quietly from her lips, soft and genuine. That familiar feeling of warmth spreads through her chest at his messages. It'd been a few weeks since she'd come back from Charleston- since JJ had finally got a job. And she had to admit he was trying, really trying, so now their long awkward conversation which ended with deafening silence had eased in to sweet and stupid messages and playful banter which filled the walls of their bedrooms once more. Her fingers typed out a reply—

Y/N : u better u loser

She places the phone into her pocket and glances up- and then stops dead in her tracks. Her car’s parked at the far end of the staff lot, right where she left it but what she didn’t leave, was the sleek black Range Rover sitting beside it, the glossy paint catching the orange hues of the setting sun. She stiffens immediately, scanning the lot, no one around and her steps towards her car quicken. The driver’s side door opens, and Rafe steps out, tall and unbothered, his hands in the pockets of his dark jacket, and there’s that stupid smirk playing on his lips. Her heart jumps straight into her throat. “Rafe—” she hisses under her breath, marching toward him with panic in her eyes.

“What the hell are you doing here?!”

He lifts a shoulder in a casual shrug, voice low and smooth, “What? I can’t come see you?”

“Not in the staff parking lot,” she snaps in a hushed whisper, “Do you want someone to see you? What if someone from inside walks out—”

“Relax”

He says gently, stepping forward and before she can argue more, his hands are at her hips, warm and familiar, tugging her closer until her body is brushing against his in the narrow space between the cars. The proximity knocks the air from her lungs. Her hands instinctively rest against his chest, palms flat over the material of his t-shirt where she can feel his heartbeat, steady and calm beneath her fingers.

Hers? Not so much.

“There’s no one around...”

He murmurs, head tilted down as he looks at her, his voice softer now, velvety and coaxing and her breath catches. She should push him away. She should tell him this is reckless, stupid, dangerous. But his scent- musky and alluring- clouds her thoughts. And his touch, just the lightest press of fingertips against the small of her back— is so familiar now, so comforting in its own twisted way. And she hates that it’s comforting. Her fingers twitch against his chest. She finally manages a whisper her words stubborn,

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know,” he says, and there’s the smallest hint of a smile in his voice as he leans in just a fraction closer, breath ghosting against her temple.

“But I wanted to be.”

She rolls her eyes with a long, exaggerated sigh, but her lips betray her- tugging upward at the corners, betraying the way he’s already wormed his way into her mood.

“We’re gonna get caught”

She mutters under her breath, glancing toward the dark stretch of the staff lot like someone might materialise from the shadows. The words barely leave her lips, soft and hurried, like they know better than to draw attention. Rafe just smirks, tilting his head down slightly, his chin angling toward her as he closes the few inches left between them.

“Not if you kiss me quick”

He says, voice low and roughened with amusement. Her eyes squint in a playful glare, head pulling back a fraction.

“You’re so annoying.”

But her body leans in all the same.

Her fingers find the soft t-shirt, curling into the fabric without even thinking. She rises onto the balls of her feet, just barely, and presses a kiss to his lips. It’s quick and light—barely a brush. Just a flicker of warmth, like a secret passed between two people in the dark. As she pulls away, his face follows hers- like his lips are trying to chase the kiss she’s already taken back. He doesn’t even think about it, just dips forward slightly, a greedy edge in his movement. She breathes out a small laugh, pushing against his chest with a single finger. “Nope,” she says, her smile widening.

“I'm hungry.”

"Yeah well so am I"

He lets his hands slip from her hips with a groan that’s more for show than anything, head rolling back as he leans against the hood of his car. She just shrugs, the inuendo lost on her ears as she adjusts the bag on her shoulder.

“You’re such a tease Bunny”

He drawls and she snorts, already turning on her heel to head toward the trunk of her car.

“I don’t know what you mean Cameron.”

Her fingers make quick work of the car key, popping the trunk. She grabs the rolled-up apron resting on top her bag and tosses it in alongside her worn-out tote bag, the whole thing collapsing into a pile on top of an old hoodie and a dented water bottle. The sound of the trunk slamming shut echoes across the empty lot. Spinning back around to face him, she crosses her arms and leans her weight into one hip, chin tilted up with that same little smile that drives him crazy.

“You really wanna get caught by one of your little Kook friends out here with me?” she teases, cocking a brow. “Have to explain why you’ve been slumming it with a Pogue?”

His smirk twitches- just a smidge. For the briefest moment, his expression shifts and something softer creeps into it. Something a little more sincere. His gaze lingers on her face longer than it should and then flickers back down to her lips before returning back up again.

“Wouldn’t care if they did”

He says simply, a quiet shrug rolling off his shoulders as if he means it, as if it's the simplest answer in the world. It catches her off guard- freezes her for a beat. Her mouth opens, then closes again but she recovers quick, brushing it off with a scoff and a roll of her eyes.

“You’re so full of shit.”

But even as the words leave her lips, there’s a faint flicker of something else behind her voice- something almost moved. Something she doesn’t want to name because it’s been a few weeks since that night.

A few weeks since she tilted her milkshake to her lips and he wiped the sweet drip from her skin with his thumb like it meant nothing. Since he kissed her like he’d been holding back for months and she melted into it like her body had been waiting on that exact moment to exhale. And since then? It’s been a series of late-night meet ups that feel like a secret thread connecting them. Not the kind that spun in lies—but the kind too delicate to speak aloud. The kind you carry with careful hands and quiet hearts in fear of it snapping. Every night, after her shift ends and the world turns quiet, she finds him waiting. Always parked in the back corner of some parking lot—headlights off, music low and she slips into the passenger seat without a word, throws her bag in the back, kicks off her shoes, and leans over to kiss him like she’s been holding her breath all day.

The kisses are slow at first. Always. A shared pause. But then they tip into something deeper, heavier—like they’re trying to memorise each other without crossing any lines they haven’t drawn out loud- but it never goes further than that. His hands stay respectful, if not reverent- one cupping her jaw, the other braced on the back of her seat or tangled gently on her waist, on her hip, in her hair. Her fingers clutch the hem of his shirt like a tether, holding on but not pulling him in any closer than he already is.

There’s a quiet fire, always simmering, but neither of them dare feed it too much. Neither of them dare ask what they are. It’s easier this way. Safer. They stay pressed into the quiet hum of those car rides, the warmth of shared fries, the heat of stolen kisses in the dark, and the steady, unspoken beat of something they’ve both grown addicted to but don’t yet understand.

Rafe leaned against the top of her car, forearms braced over the roof like he had all the time in the world. The late golden hour sun dipped low, casting long shadows over the near-empty staff lot behind the country club. His eyes squinted slightly from the light, jaw sharp as ever, that casual grin tugging at the corner of his mouth “What’s your hurry today, huh?” he drawled lazily, peering down at her with a teasing glint.

“You extra hungry or what?”

Y/N huffed, already halfway into the driver’s seat of her little beat-up car, one leg in, one out, “No asshole- I just don’t want anyone to spot us, okay?”

Rafe chuckled under his breath, the sound low and unbothered. He shrugged one shoulder and pushed off the car just enough to stretch lazily.

“It’s not a big deal.”

She snapped her head up to look at him, her tone sharper now, “Yeah, actually Rafe—it is a big deal. Because if JJ finds out—”

“I know”

He cut in, dragging a hand over his jaw, irritation flashing in his eyes. “If JJ finds out, he’ll be mad. Whatever. I get it, okay? No need to tell me again.”

The words hung between them for a second, heavier than either wanted them to be. The silence wasn’t angry- but it was tense. The same argument they hadn’t quite had, bubbling beneath their stolen moments. He stood there now by her open car door, his figure blocking some of the sunlight, casting a soft shadow over her where she sat inside the car. From where she was, her eye level landed right at his belt. Her gaze softened a bit, guilt tugging at her gut. Then her hand came up, absent-minded and almost sheepish, her fingers catching on the loop of his jeans. She played with it lightly, tugging once. A peace offering. His eyes flicked down to her hand, then to her face, jaw still tight. She asked quietly, tilting her head up at him with a playful sort of pout, brows lifted just a touch.

“You mad..?”

“No,” he replied, voice low. “Why would I be mad?”

She shrugged, still toying with the denim loop, “I dunno. I thought—” she cut herself off, shaking her head a little, “Doesn’t matter.”

Rafe didn’t press. He let it hang, then gave a soft hum, looking around the lot- empty still, save for their two cars and the rustle of wind through the nearby trees. “So,” he drawled, rocking back slightly on his heels.

“We going to get something to eat or what?”

Y/N brightened a little, grateful for the pivot. “I’m feelingggg…” she stretched the word dramatically, “Chinese?”

He smiled at that slightly, nodding, “Chinese sounds good.”

“Cool,” she said, pulling her legs fully into the car now, “I’ll meet you there then?”

He gave a small nod, “Yeah… yeah.”

But she could tell- by the way he paused before turning away, by the way his fingers twitched at his side- that he was still holding onto a bit of a grudge. He hadn’t gotten his kiss, not a real one. And that wounded pride was showing, even if he tried to hide it behind his nonchalant façade. She rolled her eyes with a soft exhale- who would have thought Rafe Cameron was so needy?

Reaching up, she curled her fingers into the front of his T-shirt, tugging him gently back down toward her, guiding him until he bent slightly, face now level with hers. His breath hitched, eyelashes fluttering as he leaned into her touch. She kissed him then- firm, but warm. Just enough to melt that sulking tension in his brow. His lips moved against hers with a soft hum, his hand bracing on the edge of her door as he leaned in a fraction more, savouring it. When she pulled back, his eyes were still half-lidded, lips parted like he wanted to chase her mouth again.

“You done now, you baby?”

She murmured with a crooked smile, eyes teasing but fond. Rafe’s smirk returned, slow and smug. “Yeah,” he murmured, straightening up,

“I’m done now.”

And with that, he backed away from the car, hands in his jacket pockets like he hadn’t just been melting under her touch. She watched him retreat toward his car, her heart doing that dumb little flutter it always did lately, it lingered in her chest. Just as his door swung open, he looked back over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.

“Don’t forget the egg rolls.”

She rolled her eyes and started her car.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The quiet hum of the radio filled the space between them, the soft crackle of music soothing after a long day. They sat there in the dim light of the car, the smell of Chinese food mingling with the fresh evening air that drafted in through the slightly cracked window. Y/N leaned back against the seat, her legs tucked up beneath her as she dug into her takeout container. Rafe sat beside her, elbow propped up on the door, his free hand reaching for his food, the sound of plastic utensils scraping against the containers faint in the otherwise still air. Rafe asked, his voice low as he finally broke the silence, his eyes flicking over to her as he stuffed a piece of chicken in his mouth.

“How was work?”

“It was… okay”

Y/N muttered, chewing before she continued, eyes shifting away from him for a moment, “Had this asshole customer... one of your friends actually.”

“One of my friends? Who?”

Rafe’s brow furrowed, his gaze narrowing slightly in curiosity as he put his food down. Y/N rolled her eyes as she leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest, her expression calm despite the frustration in her voice.

“That guy Brett? The one you hang out with sometimes. Total jerk.”

“Why, what did he do?”

Her expression tightened as she recounted the experience, “he kept clicking his fingers in my face like I was some kind of dog, and whenever I went over to his table, he called me ‘waitress’ like I’m not even good to have a name? God he was so patronising.”

“He really did that?”

He asked, disbelief creeping into his tone, jaw clenched. Y/N tilted her head toward him, not missing the change in his expression. 

“Yeah, why? You don’t believe me?”

“No” He muttered, his voice hardening a little as he picked up his food again, his hand gripping the chopsticks tighter than necessary.

“I believe you.”

He took a bite, chewing slowly as he fought the frustration that was rising inside him. A small silence settled between them, the only sound the soft clinking of their chopsticks against the takeout containers. Rafe didn’t like that she had to deal with people like that, didn’t like it one bit.

“What’re you doing tomorrow?”

He asked, his voice casual, but something unreadable flickered in his eyes. Y/N turned her head slowly toward him, her expression soft but guarded as she mumbled,

“Working.”

Rafe blinked raising an eyebrow, “It’s Saturday…?”

“Yeah, and?” She shrugged, taking another bite of her food, her voice low and almost dismissive. “I’m broke, Rafe. I’m always working.”

His eyes darkened again as he placed his food down with a soft clink, his fingers tapping against the lid of the container. He wasn’t about to let this go- he hated it, and they both knew it. He took a sip of his drink, the cold liquid hitting his throat like a jolt, but it did nothing to cool the fire that was building in him. He put the cup back in the cup holder with a sigh, his voice quieter but still firm.

“I don’t see why you can’t just take a break. You don’t always have to work.”

“We’re not having this conversation again Rafe.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered over to him, her face hardening slightly as she gave him a pointed look. He frowned, the words heavy in the air.

“Look, I get that maybe you think it’s embarrassing to accept my—”

“If you keep talking about this,” she interrupted, her tone sharper now, “I’m getting out of your car.”

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her, taking in the shift in her expression- the quiet defensiveness there, the exhaustion she was trying to hide. He didn’t want to push her too hard, but he couldn’t stop himself from trying. He paused, the weight of her words sinking in, then gave a short, almost defeated nod, like he was choosing to back off of the subject for now. Y/N didn’t say anything in response, her eyes softening as she turned back to her food, the brief tension hanging in the air like smoke. She had already given him her answer. She had already drawn the line before, and Rafe knew he’d have to respect it—for now. The silence that settled between them wasn’t heavy but it wasn’t uncomfortable either. Just... quiet. Their takeout containers were nearly empty now, the scent of soy and spice lingering faintly in the car, blending with the low hum of music still playing in the background. Y/N had reclined her seat a bit, one leg tucked up under the other, the other stretched out, socked foot resting against the dashboard. Her shoes sat forgotten on the floor, and a soft breeze drifted in through the cracked window, brushing gently against her skin.

Rafe glanced over at her, his arm draped over the back of her seat, thumb idly brushing the seam of the leather. She looked content, even if a little tired- hair slightly messy from the day, lashes casting soft shadows across her cheekbones as she stared out at nothing in particular. He liked seeing her like this, unfiltered.

“There’s a party tomorrow night”

He said suddenly, voice quiet but breaking the lull between them. He reached forward, placing his empty cup in the holder before leaning back again, tapping a slow rhythm on his thigh. She turned her head lazily, brows knitting together slightly.

“A party?”

He nodded, “One of the beach houses on Figure Eight. Bunch of people’ll be there.” He paused, then looked over at her, expression unreadable.

“You should come.”

“Me?”

Her head lifted a little more now, blinking at him like she wasn’t sure she’d heard that right. “Yeah.” He gave a slow shrug, feigning casual, but his eyes were locked on hers, watching closely.

“I’m gonna be there...”

“Since when do you want me showing up to a Kook party?”

Y/N sat up slightly in her seat, feet slipping from the dashboard and landing softly on the floor. He smirked lightly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Since now.”

There was a beat of silence, then another. Her gaze searched his face, trying to find the catch—but there wasn’t one. Just Rafe, looking at her like he didn’t care if the whole island had something to say about her. She asked, voice lower now, almost testing him.

“You serious?”

“Yeah- I am.”

He leaned a little closer, one arm still draped along the back of her seat. Y/N pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, watching him, chewing over the offer in her mind. The idea of being in that world with no responsibilities- even just for a night- felt risky. Foreign. But something in the way he was looking at her made it hard to say no.

“I don't know Rafe... I’d stick out like a sore thumb besides people will talk-”

"-people always talk”

He shot back cutting her off slightly, amused as she frowned slightly, arms crossing tighter as she shook her head a little.

“This is different. You know it is.”

Rafe tilted his head thinking deeply, but didn’t press her just yet, “Your friend’s gonna be there,” he said instead, voice smooth as ever.

“My—what? Who?”

“Sofia, right?”

He squinted slightly and Y/N straightened a little, her mouth dropping open at the mention of the girls name.

“Sofia’s going?”

“Yeah.” He was smirking now. “That guy she’s been seeing? The new Kook on the island? He’s the one throwing it.”

“She hasn’t told me that,” Y/N muttered, staring at him.

“Well.” He turned more toward her, resting his elbow against the console and tapping the edge of her thigh with his fingers playfully.

“Looks like you’re not the only one with a dirty little secret.”

She let out a shocked laugh, eyes widening at the words passing his lips before narrowing her gaze at him as she shoved his shoulder back, playful but not gentle,

“You’re such a dick, Cameron.”

He only grinned, letting her shove him- indulging in the feeling of her touch even if momentary. Y/N gave a little scoff and turned away, but her smile lingered. A beat of silence passed over them before she spoke out, “Fine,” she said, like it pained her to admit it.

“I guess I can… think about it.”

“Think about it?” Rafe echoed with mock offense, sitting up straighter, “Seriously?”

“Mhm.”

She didn’t look at him this time, just smirked and reached down to close her container, the sound of clicking plastic filling the car. She then bent over placing it down on the floor, and as she sat back up Rafe leaned in closer again, slower this time, the tip of his nose brushing her jaw before his lips followed. He kissed the curve beneath her ear, then slowly worked his lips down the side of her neck.

"Maybe I can persuade you to come hmm...?"

“You’re such a perv”

She mumbled through a grin, her hand finding his chest and giving him a half-hearted push. He pulled back slightly, lips acting from her skin as he muttered,

“So… still a no?”

“Fine... I’ll come.”

She rolled her eyes, biting back a smile that betrayed her. Rafe sat back accomplished as he spoke out, “Knew you'd give in.”

“But,” she added, wagging a finger at him. “You’re not glued to me all night, okay? Or people will notice.”

“Relax. We’ll keep it lowkey.”

He gave her that cocky, lopsided grin again and before she could snark back another smart-assed comment, he hit the button on the side of his seat. With a low mechanical whir, his chair reclined all the way back, and he stretched out like a king- arms behind his head, t-shirt rising just enough to show a sliver of his toned stomach. Then he patted his thigh, smirking.

“So… where were we?”

Y/N shook her head, heat prickling her cheeks as she shifted toward him again, “You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, but her knees were already crawling across the seat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun had long dipped below the tree line now, and the soft golden wash of string lights gave the Chateau its usual hazy, warm glow. A lazy summer night settled in with the gentle hum of cicadas in the distance and the low bass of music crackling from the old speaker propped up on a makeshift crate. Everyone was sprawled out in their usual places- Cleo had her legs kicked up on the railing, passing a blunt between her fingers, while Pope leaned back in one of the rickety lawn chairs, letting the smoke curl from his mouth toward the night sky. JJ was stretched across the hammock, shirtless of course, balancing a beer on his chest while making some offhand joke that had Kiara snorting into her drink. John B sat on the edge of the porch, Sarah curled comfortably in his lap, her fingers absentmindedly threading through his messy hair as she hummed along to the music. Then, like she suddenly remembered something juicy, Sarah’s voice piped up.

“Oh! I almost forgot to tell you guys.”

Everyone’s eyes flicked toward her lazily, half-baked or halfway drunk. JJ raised an eyebrow, already skeptical. “There’s this party tomorrow night. One of the beach houses on Figure Eight — some rich kid’s throwing it. But I got the invite,” she emphasized with a little smirk, twirling a lock of her blonde hair,

“which means you guys can come too!”

There was a collective beat of silence, then came the chaos.

“A kook party?” Pope made a face. “Nah, I’m good.”

“Hard pass”

Kiara chimed in, swirling what was left in her cup. JJ sat up a bit in the hammock, giving Sarah a look of exaggerated offence, “Sarah — my best friend’s dearest girlfriend — why the hell would I willingly put myself in a room full of kooks with their Vineyard Vines shirts and trust funds?”

“Kook fest? I don't think so- rude boy's got a point."

Cleo added, completely unfazed. Sarah groaned dramatically, tossing her head back against John B’s shoulder, “Guys, everyone on the island’s been invited. Literally everyone. You want to miss the one time we can sneak in and drink their expensive-ass booze and pretend to be civilised?”

John B scratched the back of his neck, “I mean… Sare, are you sure this is a good idea? These things usually end in someone getting arrested or beat up.”

“That’s what makes it fun,” she shot back smiling up at him, “Come on, baby...”

JJ shook his head with a mock sigh, “I do love chaos, but I also love not getting decked by some pastel-wearing rich boy with a superiority complex.”

“C’monnn,” Sarah pleaded, eyes bouncing between them all. “Free booze. Loud music. Rich kids being embarrassing. You telling me you wanna miss that?” JJ glanced around, took a swig of his beer, then shrugged like he was warming up to the idea.

“Free booze, huh?”

“Like actually free”

Sarah said, perking up as she nodded her head. Kiara sighed before adding to the ongoing debate. “Okay I guess if we go in a group, it’s not like they can kick us all out.”

Pope laughed, “That’s comforting.”

“So it’s decided then?”

Sarah asked, clapping her hands and JJ leaned back with a smirk.

“Eh why the hell not. 

The chatter faded back into that familiar haze- the music a little louder now, the clinking of glass bottles, occasional bursts of laughter echoing under the soft glow of the porch lights. JJ had flopped dramatically back into the hammock, tossing a peanut at Pope, who swatted it away with a sharp “cut that out”, but he was grinning as he said it. Kiara and Cleo were side by side, passing the blunt like it was a baton in the slowest relay race known to man, and Sarah was still curled into John B, nose buried in his neck as she murmured something that made him laugh under his breath. Then the crunch of gravel under tires caught their ears- a car rolling up toward the end of the drive, headlights slicing through the trees. Everyone instinctively turned to look, and when the engine cut and the door swung open, a familiar silhouette stepped out.

“Y/N!”

Sarah called out instantly, lifting her hand in a wave. JJ was already in motion. He practically leapt out of the hammock with a lopsided grin on his face, his movements loose and full of that buzzed joy that lived in him when he was around his people. He jogged toward her, arms wide like he was about to tackle her. Y/N had barely rounded her door when JJ crashed into her, arms circling tight around her waist and lifting her a few inches off the ground in a twirling hug. She let out a breathless laugh, one arm instinctively hooking around his shoulder.

“Jay, are you drunk?”

“Yes ma’am”

He said proudly, nuzzling his nose against her cheek like a sleepy golden retriever. John B called out from the porch, raising his beer in salute.

“And high!”

“Wow what a responsible crowd I’ve joined.”

She looked past JJ and shook her head smiling, JJ grinned and still half-latched to her side laced his fingers between hers and started tugging her toward the group.

“Welcome, my dear sister, to the finest motive on the island.”

“Yeah, it looks so lit”

Y/N snorted as she said dryly, eyeing the half-deflated pool float on the lawn and Kiara using a stick to fish a beer bottle cap out of the fire pit. Pope looked up and offered her a beer, cracking open another one.

“You want?”

“Nah, I’m driving.”

She shook her head, raising a hand politely. JJ was still practically glued to her back, and now his chin came to rest on her shoulder, his head leaning sleepily against hers like gravity had chosen her specifically. She glanced sideways, her voice softening.

“You okay, mister?”

“Right as rain”

He murmured, words muffled against the collar of her white work polo. Y/N smiled to herself and brought one hand up to gently pat his cheek, a small fondness in her eyes. She dropped down onto the worn-out quilt Pope had stretched across the grass, tucking her legs beneath her and setting her keys in a little pile beside the cooler. The smell of bonfire smoke and salty air clung to everything, and the mellow strum of a guitar looped in the background from someone’s Bluetooth speaker. The Chateau felt hazy with summer warmth and low buzzed laughter, like time didn’t really exist here.

“Y'missed blondie trying to backflip off the porch railing”

Cleo said, raising her eyebrows at the girl, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth as she handed her a cold bottle of water. Pope snorted from where he sat beside her,

“More like he tripped, flailed, and then landed face-first into the lawn chair. Truly a work of art.”

“Sounds about right.”

Y/N laughed, tilting her head back slightly as she wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. “Y/N!” Sarah suddenly perked up from where she was comfortably curled up on John B’s lap, her legs stretched out across the blanket and her fingers idly threading through his curls.

“I almost forgot to tell you- we’re all going to a party tomorrow night. You have to come”

“Oh—uh…”

Y/N hesitated for a split second. Shit. Rafe had already invited her out tomorrow- there was no way she could show up two places at the same time. She furrowed her brows thinking of a quick excuse, “I don’t think I can,” she said slowly.

“Sofia asked me to cover her shift tomorrow night. Late shift.”

The groans came instantly.

“Noooo” Kiara moaned out in disappointment. “Again?” Cleo frowned as she spoke, “Girl, you’re always working.” JJ leaned up, pulling a dramatic face as he sat up behind her, one hand propped on the ground and the other pointing accusingly.

“Y/N- my sweet, overachieving sister. You never go out.”

“I do go out!”

“When?!” JJ countered, hand waving wildly, “Name one time that we went out that didn’t involve grocery shopping or pretending not to cry while pumping gas for my bike cause you can't afford it.”

“JJ, please,” she groaned, rubbing at her forehead the others watching the small sibling quarrel, “Sofia never gets nights off. I have to fill in for her.”

But even as she said it, her mind was moving. What if I go to Rafe’s first? Just for a bit. Then come late, no one would know, they're on different sides of the island. She knew it was risky but- it was worth the risk if it meant getting her brother off her back. She sighed, trying to keep it casual.

“Where is it anyway... maybe I can stop by before it ends.”

Sarah perked up instantly at the question, “New guy just moved into this insane house on Figure 8- I’m technically on the guest list, so by extension, that means all of you get to come.”

Y/N froze.

Her stomach sank, it’s the same party. Her chest tightened like a fist was forming right behind her ribs. The same one Rafe is going to and now… JJ would be there. All of them would be there. She forced a tight smile, heart beating a little faster and her throat closed up slightly. She can’t go. She can’t risk it—JJ seeing her with Rafe? No. Absolutely not. That would ruin everything. He’d lose it. He’d probably have a fit and if he didn’t, the look in his eyes would be worse. She felt herself retreat inward for a split second- like her body was still sitting there on the blanket, but her mind was miles away, spiralling in panic. Then- she forced it back. Forced her lips into a smile, stretched just wide enough to pass as real. She said, voice smooth,

“I’ll see if I can make it”

“Yeah?”

JJ looked over at her, suspiciously squinting, she nodded without hesitation.

“Maybe just for a bit.”

Even as the lie came out of her mouth, her brain was already racing. Y/N cleared her throat softly, still gripping the now half-empty water bottle in her hand. Her eyes swept across the group lounging lazily on the worn blankets and cushions sprawled out on the overgrown lawn.

“I actually think I’m gonna head back now”

She said, standing up slowly and brushing the bits of grass and twigs from her shorts, “Just came to check up on you guys.”

JJ looked up from where he was sitting cross-legged now on a faded beach towel, lips wrapped around the neck of his beer bottle, and gave her a lazy, crooked smile. He winked, blonde hair a windswept mess.

“Mission accomplished sis.”

She rolled her eyes at him, amusement flickering behind her lashes, and bent to grab her keys from the little crate they’d been using as a table.

“You coming back or staying the night?”

She asked, giving him a look as she nodded toward the house, her tone light but a little pointed the role of big sister coming naturally. Before JJ could even open his mouth to respond, John B was already groaning dramatically from the other side of the blanket. “Take him,” he said, flopping his head back against the tree behind him.

“Please. I don’t want him here. He eats everything and he talks in his sleep.”

Sarah burst into laughter in his lap, her whole body shaking with it as she nearly spilled the beer in her hand. “He really does! The other night he mumbled something about raccoons with spatulas.”

“That was one time!”

JJ threw his hands up like he was being framed for a crime. Y/N just bit back a laugh, fighting back a grin watching the chaos unfold with fondness. JJ tilted his head, smirking toward her. “And just because of that,” he said smug as hell,

“I shall be staying the night here. With Mr. John Booker Routledge.”

A round of exaggerated groans erupted from the rest of the group. Y/N laughed under her breath, her fingers still gripping her keys as she shook her head fondly at them. “Alright, alright,” she said,

“Have fun then... don’t get too smashed.”

“No promises!” Kiara called out with a wide smile, raising her can in salute.

“Speak for yourself,” Pope muttered. “I have dignity unlike some.”

That earned another laugh from the group.

Y/N smiled again, softer this time, eyes briefly flicking back to her brother. He caught her gaze and shot her a lopsided grin, one that still looked more boyish than he probably intended. It made something ache a little in her chest- an affection threaded with worry she’d never admit out loud.

“Night Jay”

She murmured before reaching over to ruffle his hair messily. He smiled her lazily before flopping back onto the blanket like a man who had no thoughts, no responsibilities, and no idea that his sister was walking a tightrope he couldn’t see. Y/N turned, the noise behind her fading into the hum of summer insects and music humming from the portable speaker, and walked back to her car,

The car door creaked softly as Y/N pulled it open, the familiar weight of it grounding her just a little. She slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door behind her with a muted thunk, the quiet inside the car swallowing up the laughter still drifting from the Chateau. The engine wasn’t running yet, and the warm evening air clung to her skin like a second layer. It smelled like sun-warmed leather and pine needles.

For a moment, she just sat there. Her fingers hovered over her bag before she reached in and pulled out her phone, the screen lighting up as soon as her thumb brushed the side. No new messages. Just the same old wallpaper of a blurry sunset and the faint glint of her own reflection staring back. She hesitated and her thumb hovered over the screen for another beat- then tapped into her messages.

Rafe

The name alone made her chest tighten a little. She bit down on her lower lip, chewing at the soft skin absently. Her other hand reached up to pull her hair away from her face, then fell limply against her lap. The inside of the car felt like it was shrinking. “Shit,” she muttered under her breath, a sharp whisper into the quiet. She tapped the messages open. Leaning her head back, she let it fall gently against the headrest, eyes blinking up at the roof of the car as she let out a long, tired sigh. Her fingers rested against the phone in her lap, before tapping her fingers against the screen.

She started typing. Hey, change of plans. I might not— Backspace. No. Too vague so she tried again. Something came up— Backspace. Her heart thudded in her chest, slow and heavy. Then she typed with more finality this time:

Bunny : I'm sorry but I can't do tmr

She stared at it. Read it once. Then twice. Then, with a small exhale that she couldn’t quite tell was relief or regret, she hit send. The text shot off into the thread, disappearing into that blue bubble like a stone dropped into deep water. She locked her phone again, let her head fall back against the seat, eyes fluttering closed. Her lips pressed into a line. Maybe that’s for the best, she told herself. Maybe-

Buzz.

Her eyes snapped open. The screen lit up and she unlocked it quickly, thumb tapping into the thread without thinking.

Rafe : what why not

Short and blunt. Her stomach twisted, that anxious little knot curling a bit tighter as her thumbs moved again.

Bunny : Your sister’s going to be there which means JJ’s gonna be there

She sat there, holding her breath like it’d keep her heart from thudding so hard. The typing bubble appeared instantly, three dots bouncing like they knew what they were about to say was going to matter more than it should.

Rafe : so what?

Of course, she thought bitterly, jaw tightening. But before she could respond, another message popped up. She blinked, stunned by how he could sound so calm about something that made her whole chest tighten.

Rafe : Why is that a problem

Bunny : It’s a problem cause he’ll see us

Her fingers tapped harder this time and her hand trembled slightly as she held the phone. She hated this—how tense it made her. How she had to think of all the possible consequences when Rafe didn’t even seem to care.

Rafe : are you serious

Bunny : Yes I’m serious wtf do u mean???

Her reply came before she could even second-guess herself but then… nothing. No bubble, no typing dots and her eyes flicked to the corner of the screen at the bottom. Read. That was it? He read it and then disappeared. A dry laugh escaped her lips, more disbelieving than amused. She pushed her palm against her forehead, trying to will away the creeping frustration crawling beneath her skin.

Rafe : You’re really gonna let your brother control us

Bunny : He’s not controlling us

Rafe : Well he’s controlling this.

Her teeth sunk into her lip again, harder this time as the message made her fingers still. She stared at the words, something bitter blooming behind her ribs. Then she typed, slowly, like the question had been sitting on her tongue for a while- because it had.

Bunny : What is this

Bunny : What even is 'this' Rafe?

Read

The air in the car felt heavy now. Thick with silence and words that would never be spoken aloud. She watched the screen for a beat. Then two. Then five. The beats turned into a minute but still there was no response from him so her fingers moved again of their own accord.

Bunny : seriously

Bunny : Leaving me on read are you being for real

Bunny : Hello?

Still.

No answer.

Her mouth twisted into a scoff, this one sharper. Less disbelief and more hurt. She leaned her head back against the seat, her knuckles white where she clutched the phone. She could feel it bubbling now- not anger, not really. Just… disappointment. That familiar ache that curled into her chest when something started to crack and she knew she couldn’t fix it. Her lips pressed into a thin line and she typed one last time.

Bunny : Grow up Rafe

Then she dropped the phone into the empty cup holder with a soft clack and her hands came up, pressing into her face, covering her eyes. She let out a breath- long and slow and quiet. She didn’t even know what this was anymore, or what she wanted it to be.

All she knew was that it hurt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bass was thumping hard enough to make the floorboards vibrate. Music roared from massive speakers set up on the back patio of the mansion, spilling into every corner of the sprawling beach house like a pulse. The crowd was thick—Kooks and Pogues alike stood packed shoulder to shoulder, laughing, grinding, shouting over the noise. Red solo cups littered the deck, the grass, the kitchen counters. Half-empty bottles of liquor sat abandoned on tables, the scent of alcohol and sweat clinging to the humid air. Inside, the lighting was low and tinted gold, shadows dancing as bodies moved through the house, more people flooded through the front door- new arrivals, drawn in by the promise of booze and the thrill of recklessness that always hung thick in the air.

Rafe was in the middle of it, standing near the table on the backyard patio where a lineup of liquor bottles had turned into a makeshift bar. His button-down was half undone, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, collar a little askew. He reached for another shot, his fingers curled tight around the glass rim as he knocked it back, throat bobbing as the burn slid down. “Bro,” Kelce said, squinting as he leaned forward, voice slurred with the edge of tipsy concern.

“I never do this but- maybe slow down a little”

“That’s like, your seventh” Topper added from where he was slouched against the couch, a beer dangling between his fingers.

“You good man?”

“I’m fine”

Rafe muttered, his voice low, gruff, and not even remotely convincing. His jaw flexed as he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his damp forehead. He didn’t look at either of them as he spoke but he wasn’t fine. Not even close. His head was heavy, the alcohol catching up to him in a sluggish crawl through his limbs. He could feel it in his slow, unsteady blink. In the weight of his shoulders, in the way the music felt a little too loud, a little too sharp.

She wasn’t here- Y/N wasn’t here.

And he hated that it mattered. Hated that he kept glancing toward the front door every time someone new walked in- just in case she'd changed her mind. Hated that he could hear her voice in the back of his mind. “I can’t go, your sister’s going to be there” ... “JJ will be there” ... “He’ll see us.” His jaw tightened as he swallowed hard, the burn of the liquor lingering in his chest. She was always so damn concerned about JJ, about keeping him in the dark- about keeping them in the dark.

Like this is all some secret she needs to protect.

Topper was saying something again, laughing about a girl he’d hooked up with last weekend, but Rafe didn’t hear it. He was staring at the countertop, where drops of clear liquor beaded on the marble surface. His hand was still fisted around the empty shot glass. He looked like a storm waiting to happen- cheeks a little flushed, eyes shadowed and distant, lip twitching at the corner in a scowl. But under it all, he was sulking. Quietly. Bitterly. Like a kid who didn’t get what he wanted.

And all he wanted was her.

The rumble of the Twinkie pulling up was swallowed by the thump of music echoing off the walls of the massive house. Lights flashing inside spilled through the tall windows in bursts that lit up the manicured lawn and the stretch of cars already jammed up along the curb. The Pogues piled out- John B leading the charge in his usual messy curls with Sarah right on his heels, her blonde hair catching the light like a halo. JJ slammed the passenger door shut with his hip, shoving his hands into the pockets of his loose cargo shorts, eyes flicking over the crowd on the lawn before following- Pope, Kiara and Cleo weren’t far behind.

The house was huge. Open floor plan, high ceilings, the kind of kitchen you only saw on cooking shows. People were everywhere—on the stairs, pressed against walls, spilling onto balconies. It smelled like weed and citrus vodka, and someone in the hallway was definitely already throwing up. “Damn,” John B muttered as they walked in, eyebrows raised.

“This place is nice.”

“No shit”

Pope said, already eyeing the built-in speakers in the ceiling. Cleo let out a low whistle and made a beeline for the massive kitchen island, where liquor bottles and mixers lined the counters like a buffet. She said with a grin, snatching a bottle of rum and starting to pour,

“The free alcohol is even nicer”

“Now this is why I dragged you guys here..’.”

Sarah laughed, reaching over to help herself to a half-mixed drink and Kiara grabbed a couple of plastic cups, handing them around. The music rattled the cabinets, the floor under their shoes vibrating faintly in time with the beat. People were dancing in the next room, someone yelling something about beer pong from the backyard, but the Pogues took a moment to regroup in the kitchen. JJ stood a bit apart from the group, back braced against the counter, swirling whatever was in his cup without really drinking it. His hat was pulled low, hair curling beneath the brim, and there was a little pinch between his brows that hadn’t faded since they arrived. Kiara noticed first. She nudged him gently with her elbow, tilting her head toward him.

“She’s not coming then?”

JJ blinked, not catching the question right away over the music.

“Huh?”

“Y/N- she’s not coming?”

Sarah repeated, louder this time, looking up from her drink. JJ’s expression tightened for a split second, and he looked down into his cup like it suddenly had answers. “Nah,” he said, voice clipped.

“She’s not.”

There was something in the way he said it in a short and flat tone, a little irritated like he didn’t want to care, but he did. Kiara gave a small nod and didn’t press. Instead, she reached out, rubbed his arm gently with her hand before stepping away to help Pope crack open a bottle of something suspiciously blue. No one said anything else. But in the middle of the crowd, under the flashing lights and the pounding bass, JJ stood a little stiller than the rest. Eyes drifting toward the front door they'd came through like maybe- just maybe- she’d still show.

Rafe shoved his way through the backyard, the lights and thumping music cutting through the cool air like a heavy pulse. He could feel the tension in his chest, the tightness that hadn’t loosened since their texts earlier... "What is this"... That question had been eating at him ever since because he didn't know what it was. But that didn't change the fact that his mind kept circling back to her. The way she made him feel, how easy it was to talk to her, how easy it was to just be around her- it wasn’t like anything he'd ever experienced. And it scared him. Because he wasn’t the kind of guy to get tangled up in feelings, he didn’t do that. But Y/N, she was different- it unsettled him. He couldn’t admit that to her, though. Couldn’t let her know that she was getting under his skin, into his bloodstream like a drug, that she was getting too close.

By the time he made it through the crowd and into the kitchen, he was ready for another drink, maybe more than one. The sound of glass bottles clinking and people chatting loudly barely registered in his mind as he reached the counter, eyes scanning the chaos for what he needed. He was almost there, his hand reaching for the first bottle of vodka, when he collided with someone.

Thud

He didn’t even flinch, just kept moving forward until he heard a sharp, annoyed voice.

“Excuse me?”

Rafe’s shoulder had shoved into Sarah, causing her to stumble back just a little. She glared up at him, her eyes narrowing with irritation. He didn’t care and he certainly wasn’t in the mood for small talk with her.

“You’re excused”

He muttered back, not even bothering to meet her eyes as he grabbed the bottle and twisted the cap off.

“Asshole”

Sarah muttered under her breath, clearly unamused, but Rafe wasn’t listening. He poured the liquor into his cup with a steady hand, watching the clear liquid slosh into the glass. The burn in his throat might’ve been the only thing that could numb the frustration gnawing at him. He downed it in one go, feeling it course through his body. Rafe stood near the edge of the kitchen, the alcohol still burning in his stomach as he surveyed the crowd. The noise was becoming a dull roar in the background, a blur of laughter and shouting, but his mind was still running on autopilot. He tried to focus on his drink, twisting the glass in his hand, but then something caught his ear.

JJ

He was talking to John B, and it didn’t take long for Rafe to hear the frustration in his voice. JJ’s words carried across the room, loud enough for Rafe to pick up on.

“I don’t get it bro”

JJ was saying, his voice edged with something close to bitterness already lightly slurred from the alcohol he consumed since they arrived, “Y/N’s always working. Always dude. It’s like- I literally got a job so she could work less? And she still can’t make time for anything. Not for me. Not for us. She's always got some lame ass excuse.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened at the sound of JJ’s voice, and he instinctively stepped closer to the conversation, the growing frustration in his chest gnawing at him. He watched as JJ’s face twisted, anger bubbling up in his expression.

“She’s never around anymore. Like, she’s always somewhere else, doing something else. It’s like she doesn't care- You know what? Maybe it’s just me she doesn’t want to spend time with maybe I’m just a fucking inconvenience to her.”

John B shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable, but he didn’t know how to respond. He just nodded slowly, not really agreeing or disagreeing as he brought his beer bottle to his lips. Rafe’s pulse spiked. His chest felt tight, and for a moment, the room seemed to narrow around him. His fingers tightened around the glass until his knuckles went white.

He was angry.

No, he was beyond angry.

He could feel the heat rising in his body, but it wasn’t just because of JJ’s words. It was the way he was talking about Y/N, so dismissively, so coldly. The kitchen was still a chaotic blend of chatter and clinking glass, the music vibrating through the floor, and the air thick with alcohol. But his mind wasn’t on the drink anymore. It was on her—on Y/N. On the way she would slave away all day in her shitty job only to go home to a brother who wasn't even grateful? He could hear JJ’s voice cutting through the noise of the house, loud and full of venom. Rafe turned, just in time to catch the words.

“Acting like she’s such a good fuckin’ sister,” JJ spat, his words as he gestured around. “When she can’t even take the time out of her day to talk to me. It’s a fuckin’ jok, man..”

John B was still next to him, leaning against the counter, his eyes tired, clearly not wanting to get involved in the growing tension. But he let out a soft sigh and said,

“Come on, man. You’re being a little harsh she does a lot for you-”

��-No. I’m not,”

But JJ wasn’t having it. His face twisted into a mix of frustration and bitterness. “She doesn't give a damn about anyone but herself," he snapped, his voice louder now.

"She’s a shitty fuckin’ sister.”

Rafe could feel the anger bubbling up in his chest. He was barely holding it together at this point. His hand clenched around his glass, and without thinking, he pushed himself away from where he was and made his way towards the blonde haired pogue,“Hey-” Rafe’s voice was rough, his jaw tightening,

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth.”

JJ didn’t even hesitate as his brow furrowed, his head snapping toward Rafe, his eyes narrowing. The smirk on his face was all cocky arrogance, like he wasn’t the least bit intimidated. Rafe stood in front of JJ, his fists clenched so tightly around the edge of the counter that his knuckles were turning white. His chest rose and fell with each breath, the alcohol in his system only amplifying the frustration that had been simmering for hours.

"You really think you know your sister?"

Rafe's voice cut through the tension like a blade, each word laced with disbelief and a deepening anger. His gaze was intense, narrowing as he stared down at JJ, his stance aggressive and unsteady from the booze. JJ didn’t flinch, instead, he scoffed, the sound dripping with disdain.

“Yeah, well, what the fuck do you know about her?”

The words were laced with spite, his eyes flashing as he shot back, barely holding back his irritation. He was drunk, way too much to back down. The space between them was closing, both of them leaning in slightly, their bodies tense as if they were about to collide. Rafe’s jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line as his eyes flickered between JJ’s face and the rest of the room. John B was already sighing, rubbing his hand over his face, clearly feeling the impending collision. His tone was a little exasperated.

“Alright, guys... let's not do this tonight.”

But his words were barely a whisper in the whirlwind of tension between JJ and Rafe. They didn't take their eyes off each other. Rafe stood his ground, every inch of his body radiating the anger and frustration he’d been holding back all night. His expression twisted into something cold, nasty, as his voice came out low, almost a growl.

"A lot more than you"

He spat, the words dripping with contempt. JJ’s eyes flared with fury, and before anyone fully processed the insult, his body reacted. Without thinking, he shoved Rafe, a rough, sudden motion that sent the air between them crackling.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

His words were sharp, cutting through the already tense atmosphere like a knife. The crowd around them seemed to gather and the only thing that mattered now seemed to be this confrontation, the two of them standing face to face, inches away from an explosion. Rafe’s jaw clenched, his teeth gritting as he stumbled back just a half-step from the shove. But he didn’t let it slide, his eyes burned with rage, and with a brutal shove of his own, he sent JJ stumbling back.

“Get off me, you dirty fucking pogue”

He snarled, his voice a low rasp. John B and Pope, sensing the situation spiraling, rushed in to intervene, but their voices only seemed to intensify the already-fueled fire.

“Hey, hey—alright JJ stop."

“C’mon man”

John B called out, his tone a mix of frustration and concern, his hand on JJ’s arm trying to pull him back. But JJ, his face red with anger, ignored them, shoving them off as if they were nothing. His eyes were locked on Rafe, his fists trembling with barely contained rage. Sarah, standing nearby, caught sight of the escalating tension and turned to Rafe with an incredulous expression.

“What is your problem?”

She spoke out her voice sharp as he brows drew down into a concerned frown, but Rafe didn’t even glance at her. His attention was fully on JJ, the hate between them palpable. The room seemed to hold its breath, the entire kitchen watching in stunned interest as the two guys stood their postures defiant, aggressive. JJ, unable to take the weight of the situation anymore, spun on his heel and began to turn away, his anger boiling over, his fists still clenched with popes hand on his arm leading him away. But Rafe’s voice, cutting through the tense silence, sliced through the air like a final verdict.

“I pity her for having a brother like you”

He said, the words slow and deliberate, aimed to sting. The room went deathly quiet apart from a few low mutters, and for a split second and the words hung in the air like a curse. JJ froze, his back to Rafe, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. His body went rigid, the hurt flashing in his eyes as he clenched his jaw tighter. Kiara’s voice came through softly, but it was too late.

“JJ don’t”

She pleaded, but JJ had already turned and with a motion of pure, unfiltered anger, he threw a punch, his fist flying straight at Rafe’s face with all the pent-up rage he’d been holding back. The force behind it was hard enough to knock Rafe off balance, and in that moment, the air around them seemed to explode. Everything that had been building up, the tension, the anger, the frustration- finally came to a head.

And just like that, the fight erupted.

The air was thick with the sounds of punches landing, grunts of pain, and the occasional slap of skin against skin. People's previous murmuring had turned to excited yells and cheers, phones being raised as they recorded the ordeal. JJ’s vision was red, every inch of his body screamed as he threw wild punches, each one landing with force, but Rafe was no slouch- he met every hit with a violent shove or a retaliatory strike of his own. JJ's jaw was clenched tight as he pushed against Rafe, throwing a punch that caught him square in the ribs, causing the other man to grunt in pain. Rafe staggered but didn’t fall, instead grabbing JJ’s shirt and yanking him forward with a growl. Their faces were inches apart, both of them breathing heavily, sweat and blood mixing, the scent of alcohol clouding the air. Rafe’s eyes were wild, his face contorted with anger as he bit out the words through gritted teeth, each syllable harsh and slurred.

“If you love your sister so much, why is she always running to me when she’s got problems, huh?”

His grip tightened on JJ’s shirt, pulling him in closer, their faces just inches from one another. His words were cold, bitter. JJ blinked, his mind struggling to process what Rafe just said. His nostrils flared as his nose dripped blood, a line of crimson streaking down his face. JJ’s voice was a low growl, disoriented, the anger still there but replaced by confusion.

“What?”

“That’s what I thought”

Rafe sneered, a harsh laugh falling from his lips, his bloodshot eyes alight with a murderous glint. JJ’s fury surged again, his face lit with rage as his eyes narrowed, locking onto Rafe’s smug expression. Without warning, he launched himself forward, his head connecting with Rafe’s face in a brutal headbutt. The impact was sickening- Rafe’s head snapped back violently, and a grunt escaped him. He staggered back a step, dazed, blood oozing from his busted lip.

Rafe didn’t back down, he shoved JJ with both hands, sending him stumbling back a few steps. The two of them were back at it in an instant, their bodies crashing together, fists flying in every direction. JJ’s elbow connected with Rafe’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Rafe faltered this time, falling backward, his balance compromised. He hit the ground hard, the floor beneath him rattling. For a split second, the fight paused. Rafe lay there, stunned, his chest rising and falling rapidly, trying to catch his breath. But JJ was already on him, a feral grunt escaping his throat as he scrambled to pin Rafe down. He grabbed Rafe’s polo top, yanking him up to his face, his grip like iron. His chest was heaving, his breath coming out in harsh, ragged gasps as he leaned in close, his face twisted in disgust.

“Don’t fucking talk about my sister like you know her- you don't know anything about her- you don't know her like I do.”

JJ snarled, his voice low and seething. His words were laced with every ounce of hurt, frustration, and protective anger he could muster. Rafe’s head lolled back for a moment, his eyes glazed and unfocused from the blows. He let out a drunken, mocking scoff, a bitter chuckle escaping from his busted lips. His mouth was smeared with blood, but the sneer on his face was unmistakable, even through the haze of intoxication. He muttered so only the blonde boy could hear, the words sharp, but somehow quieter than before.

“You didn’t even know she was pregnant”

The entire world seemed to stop in that instant.

JJ's grip slackened, his fingers loosening around Rafe’s shirt and his chest tightened as the words hit him like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him in an instant. John B and Pope, who had been trying to pull the two apart for the last few moments, finally managed to tear JJ off Rafe. JJ didn’t resist this time, his body felt stiff like stone, his mind struggling to catch up with what he just heard. Rafe lay on the floor, barely able to lift his head, but his voice, now quieter and almost hollow, drifted through the space between them. “Yeah,” he said, his words slow and deliberate,

“She didn’t tell you, JJ. She came to me.”

taglist: @xoxosblogsblog @moonywhisp3rs @i-love-gvf @my-name-is-baby@ltristessedureratoujours @stoned-writer @mariamadison6-blog@rafesgurl@rafecameronswhoore @lovelytoomusic @mysticbby2009 @vanessa-rafesgirl@silkenthusiasts @partygirl14 @amterasuu @xoxo-ada @icaqttt@ivysprophecy @mauvesmax @larema121 @ggraycelynn @emeloyy @pluviophilis@slut-4-gojo @willowpains @wtfisastiles @rafecqmeronslove @pleasstory@lolasangelz @beau-dabomb @psychocitylights @constantsadness @rhianthebest@emmiesummers @sfotiegiuls @ggraycelynn @larema121 @emeloyy @pluviophilis@urgoldens @insominagirlss @urfavoritebrunette007 @mauvesmax @miniiminie@kythefangirl25 @niyalovests @scream4mami @aizawawify @prettybabyyyy@barbiefan14 @keennerdslover @rafeysslut @rafeysworldim19@jennieonline@hannieskzzz@sugak00kie03@gabrielaperez11@simonejacpbsen @bambigirl10 @prettycoochieee

[maruflix]

CAVE CANEM #oneshot #squidgame #thefrontman

Cave canem. Beware of dogs. In the ruthless games, there are countless hounds looking for prey. Oh Young-Il promises to be your shield, your shepherd, your guardian angel— but you soon find out that it’s often the unassuming ones who are the most dangerous.

feat. the frontman / hwang in-ho / oh young-il　　⎯⎯　wc. 2.5k

cw: female reader, yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, manipulation, squid game spoilers, i’ll use all of his names & nicknames here so don’t get confused, i do not condone yanderes irl, no beta we die like all 455 players in season 1

I.

It’s funny how tragedy brings people together.

It has only been twenty two hours since you entered the twisted battle royale with 45.6 billion won dangled on top of you, but you’ve found companionship in fellow participants: Player 456 Seong Gi-hun, Player 388 Kang Dae-ho, Player 390 Park Jung-bae, and Player 001.

Oh, Player 001.

“How are your wounds?”

You look up to see Player 001 — or, as he introduced himself to you, Oh Young-il. His eyes gleam in worry as he takes in your appearance: hair disheveled, knee bruised, sleeves rolled up to reveal the scratches littering your hands.

You’re just glad you didn’t get killed during the Red Light, Green Light stampede.

“This is nothing,” you assured him with a genuine smile, “thank you for helping me.”

Young-il pauses. Then, as if remembering something, he reaches into his pockets and hands you a small carton of milk. “Here. You must be dehydrated.” He watches as you gratefully take it, instantly drinking the contents, “Don’t worry about the next game. We’ll get through it together.”

Tears are brimming in your eyes at the kind man’s encouragement. You let him take your hand and nod at him, smiling. “Thank you, Young-il-ssi.”

Young-il gives you one last smile before climbing back down to rejoin the rest of the group. His movements alerts Jung-bae, who mindlessly throws a glance his way.

Jung-bae instantly pauses. He knew from the start that Player 001 is not a simple man, but the expression on Young-il’s face is nothing short of terrifying, like a tiger eyeing its’ prey. He follows Young-il’s line of sight and finds you, curled on one of the beds.

A chill runs down his spine.

II.

You don’t know how you got through the Six-Legged Pentathlon, but you did.

Chosen as the one to play ddakji — it’s not like you sucked at it, but you were scared you would be a burden to your teammates — your hands couldn’t stop trembling.

The squares of ddakji felt like rocks in your hand, your shoulders heavy by the fear of dragging everyone down. Their encouragement and cheers merely heightened your anxiety.

That was, until a hand gently clasps your own. “Don’t think too much about it. You said you won more times than the ddakji guy, didn’t you?” Young-il’s eyes twinkle, his shoulders lax, as if he’s not currently playing for his life, “Well, you won’t receive slaps if you fail, so go wild.” It’s amazing how he manages to silence all your fears.

You flipped the ddakji on your first try.

III.

In-ho knew it from the start, but the reality of it still disgusts him. Humans are selfish creatures, blinded by greed, driven by instincts.

He sighs, looking at the results of the vote— 139 for ‘O’ and 116 for ‘X’. One hundred and thirty nine people marching to their own deaths like brainless maggots.

He sneaks a glance your way and sees that you’re shuddering. His heart drops to the pits of his stomach. Slipping away from Gi-hun, he makes his way to you. He keeps on surprising himself: joining Player 456 in the games, cheering with the others during the pentathlon, and now comforting you?

But In-ho is not one to ruminate over his actions too much. He knows what he wants, he gets what he wants, and right now all he wants is to hold you in his arms.

“Young-il,” your eyes instantly land on his and he wonders how it will feel to hear you call him by his real name, “I’m scared. I’m so scared, I don’t want to die!”

He’s beside you the next second, catching you before you can fall to the ground, strong arms wrapped securely on your waist. In-ho falters for a fraction of a second, but his hand quickly shoots up to caress your hair.

Receiving the kindest act for the first time in many years, you can’t help but to cry in his warm embrace, letting out all your frustration and fear. His touches are so tender, so serene, and being enveloped in his tall figure makes you feel protected.

In-ho calms your sobs with gentle shushes, rubbing circles on your back. He was unsure then, but his heart is determined now— he wants you, he’s got to have you, and there’s nothing under the seven heavens that will stop him.

He shudders at the thought of having you all to himself. In-ho can barely control himself right now, when you fit so good in his arms, your skin brushing against his. What would it feel like? To have you next to him every second of every day? He’d shower you with all of him— all his riches, all his affection, all his time.

First, the two of you will have to exit the game safely.

His grip on you tightens as he lifts his gaze from your trembling figure to the several pink guards stationed near the door. In the distance, they straighten their posture in alarm.

Even among the many faces of the players, they can locate their boss in a heartbeat — the Front Man is still the Front Man, even if he’s amusing himself by playing dress up. The way he carries himself is so telling, they have no idea how the players are none the wiser to the wolf hiding amongst the sheep.

... And right now, their superior’s glare speaks volumes about what he’s conveying.

A warning.

IV.

‘One more game,’ they said, ‘it’ll be fun,’ they said.

The rotating stage under your feet is spinning at a controlled pace, yet you feel like you’re going to throw up. The light feels blinding, the gasps from the participants making your head spin even more.

Amidst all the chaos, Young-il’s hand clasping yours serves as an anchor.

“You okay?” His voice is as gentle as ever, unworried.

Even Gi-hun, the former winner of the games, is not exempt to the anxiety and apprehension that shadows the rest of them, but Young-il has never showed any signs of stress— like he has a safety net... or like he’s very sure of his own abilities.

You nod, grateful that he’s allowed you to stick by him like glue all this time. He squeezes your hand in encouragement, smiling.

“Two.” The woman’s voice announces cheerily. In an instant, the crowd erupts in disarray.

Young-il looks around. “Stick close to me,” he murmurs before pulling you with him towards one of the rooms. Not wanting to be a burden to him, you quickly fall in line, matching his steps. His back is very comforting as he cleverly navigates the chaotic hall, avoiding the other players.

Just when the two of you reached the door, a player appears, crashing into the two of you and sending you tumbling away from Young-il. Your world spins as you struggle to pick yourself up, searching for him.

Thankfully, you locate him almost immediately. A few steps away from the door, Young-il is strangling your attacker. “Get in! I’ll be right behind you!”

Fueled by adrenaline, you nod frantically, moving to enter the room. But there’s already another person inside.

True to his word, Young-il quickly scrambles to the room, slamming the door behind him. He immediately takes note of the anomaly, his expression dark.

“I-I was here first!” The stranger sputtered, shuffling away from Young-il.

There are loud bangs coming from the other side of the door and you quickly hold onto the lock, tears now falling from your eyes. “Sorry!” You yell, ”Sorry!”

“Five. Four. Three.” The countdown continues mercilessly.

You look back, “The other guy—!” but your words are caught in your throat.

Young-il has the man in a chokehold. For a moment you had no idea why he’s handling the guy so aggressively when it’s obvious that he’s more scared of the two of you than the two of you are of him.

“Two.”

“Young-il!”

“One.”

CRACK!

You scream. The man slips from Young-il’s hold, limp.

Lifeless.

Young-il’s gaze meets yours. There’s an emotion you can’t quite place on them, but it’s quickly replaced by that of horror. “I-I had to do it.” Tears start to brim on the corner of his eyes, his hands visibly shaking, “I had to-” he desperately crawls away from the dead man as he covers his face in terror, “I’m a monster, I-”

Crying, you kneel next to him, pulling him into an embrace, “No, you’re not,” assuring him in between sobs, “it’s this game, it’s the game’s doing, it’s not your fault!”

Breath haggard, In-ho rubs your head comfortingly. You didn’t even realize that he has long since stopped crying. He covers your ears, knowing by now that the sound of gunshots horrifies you, and glances at the body of the man he just killed.

You watched him kill one guy and you get this rattled? He sighs quietly.

For you, he would kill a thousand more.

V, PART ONE.

“Hey girl,” a voice booms from behind you, catching you by surprise.

You let go of your hand that’s holding Young-il’s, turning your head to address the stranger.

“Saw you from afar and I can’t believe I didn’t talk to you sooner.” The purple haired man wastes no time getting into your space, running a hand through his hair. “D’ya know who I am? Because I wanna know who you are.”

You stiffen up. Of course you know him. Who didn’t? The number one ambassador of the ‘O’ team, aka the people who wish to continue the games, the outspoken menace, Thanos.

Thanos catches sight of something behind you and wavers before looking back at you. “A-anyway. I’ll see you around. Team’s always open, baby!” He exclaims, but it’s obvious that he’s trying to hide his nervousness.

You look back to see Young-il smiling at you. “Wonder what that’s about.”

The people here freaks you out. You sigh. “I know, right?”

In-ho hums, his finger treading along the sharp edges of the fork.

V, PART TWO.

The bathroom is a mess— team ‘O’ and team ‘X’, warring against each other, fueled by the actions of a junkie who’s high out of his mind.

In the middle of it all, Hwang In-ho calmly makes his way to a purple haired man who is slumped on the ground, yelling at his friend.

“Get him, get that sucker! He tried to kill me, man!”

A dark shadow looms over Thanos, and he looks up in terror, recognizing In-ho immediately. “W-what are you-?”

In-ho eyes him coldly before swinging down.

The cold gleam of a fork is the last thing Thanos sees before it penetrates his neck.

VI.

The fire of revolution burns bright behind all of you. Your hands may tremble, but your rifle is secure in your arms. All those first person shooter games are finally coming in handy as you manage to actually shoot down several guards.

“You okay?!” Young-il questions in panic, “You’re doing a good job! It’s gonna get more dangerous afterwards, but I can’t leave you behind!”

You nod, reassuring him, following him up the stairs with two other men in tow. Right now, you are brother-in-arms, comrades, fighting for your freedom.

Young-il halts, sensing the presence of a guard, before speaking into the comm, “Gi-hun-ssi, we found it.” he holds out an arm in front of you like a shield, “Start attacking and draw their attention. Then we’ll hit them from behind.”

Your knees tremble in fear and anticipation. Somehow, with Young-il on your side, you feel like this ragtag team of freedom fighters can actually succeed.

“Okay, got it!” Gi-hun’s invigorated reply came from the other side.

Young-il pockets the comm, nodding to the two men. They nod back in response and move forward. He quickly moves in front of you, signaling you to stay behind him.

Just when you thought about how reliable he is, two sharp gunshots resonates in the air.

Is it over?

You peek from behind Young-il’s back only to be met by the horrific sight of Player 015 and Player 047 sprawled on the ground, choking on their own blood.

Young-il’s rifle is still pointed at the two of them, his eyes cold.

Who is this person? You scramble to get away from him, alarm bells ringing in your head. Did he miss his shot? Did I see wrong? Is there a guard in front of him?

“Young-il-ssi, what’s going on?” came Gi-hun’s distressed voice from the comm, “Are you shooting?”

You watch in horror as Young-il calmly reloads his rifle before squatting down and glancing your way. “Gi-hun-ssi, I’m sorry.” Like a seasoned actor, the unscathed Young-il puts on a strained voice, “It’s all over. They got us too.”

Gi-hun’s voice is blurred as you fall to your knees, finally coming into terms with the betrayal of the person you’ve come to trust the most.

Young-il momentarily looks away from you to shoot the two men one more time. Cold, unfeeling, his fingers steady like he’s done this countless times before.

This is not the Young-il you know.

When it’s all over, several pink guards march up to him, a coat and a black mask in tow. Young-il (?) lifts a hand up to stop them, turning to finally address you.

Your breath gets caught in your throat, your fingers desperately trying to locate the trigger on your rifle, but the man in front of you is much quicker. He yanks the rifle from your trembling hands, unloading the bullets and kicking the weapon away as you back away to the wall, shivering in fear.

He sighs, taking the coat from one of the guards before kneeling down to your height. “I won’t hurt you. You know that, right?”

Confused, you can only gape at him. “W-who are you..?”

“Hwang In-ho. My real name.” he offers, tenderly wiping a tear from your cheek, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to lie to you. I’ll explain everything, if you’ll just give me a chance..?”

In one swift motion, he wraps his coat around your shoulders. You look at his eyes, as tender and unchanging as ever— then it dawns on you: he has always been this way.

“Mr. Front Man, sir, everything is ready.”

You let In-ho pull you to your feet, his touch as comforting as ever as the two of you pass by countless guards. They make way for the two of you, the hierarchy crystal clear when not one of them dare to step out of line.

You’ve been such a fool. All the signs were there, the reason why Player 001 carries himself with such grace as if he’s untouchable. How the guards say things about ‘not tolerating actions that will disrupt the votes’ and yet kept quiet when it’s Player 001’s turn to speak his mind. The way they would shuffle away from him slightly whenever he walks—

In-ho turns to look at you, his eyes kind, “Do you trust me?”

Yet, you can’t bring yourself to say no.

note: i know i appeared on the dash absolutely losing it over the recruiter/the salesman/ddakji guy (he’ll get his own fic after this don’t worry) but i took one look at this man with his hair down and i fell into a SPIRAL. this is totally a passion project. front man ftw 🙆‍♀️

[yearoftheotpevent]

hello fan creators!

Year of the OTP is officially back for 2025 with a new set of prompts!

we've switched some of the prompt categories around in an effort to make the event more inclusive of all kinds of fanworks. we've also included song prompts this year! the playlist is on spotify here.

we want to give a huge thank you to everyone who participated in the last event - it grew so much larger than we ever expected and it's truly amazing how you all took our last set of prompts and made so many wonderful things. keep it up!

a couple housekeeping notes: we will not be reblogging every entry this year. mods will keep an eye on the blog if you have any questions, but the reblogs were too much last time. thank you for your understanding!

we will be closing the 2023 collection on December 31. thank you for your continued participation, but it's time to look forward!

the link for the new collection will be posted here January 1.

we're looking forward to seeing what you create this year!

alt text below the cut.

Year of the OTP 2025

The Rules: the Ao3 collection accepts any /-ship works inspired by a prompt from this sheet The Challenge: make 12 works for one ship in one year, using prompts from each month

*you do not need to do the challenge to post to the AO3 collection, as long as you follow the rules*

January first kiss ♦ “may I have this dance” ♦ sharing clothes ♦ BDSM AU ♦ stockholm syndrome ♦ Strong – One Direction

February Valentine’s Day ♦ “it made me think of you” ♦ bed sharing ♦ multiple penetration ♦ mind control/mind break ♦ Like Real People Do – Hozier

March fresh starts ♦ “what are you doing with that”♦ florist/tattoo artist ♦ phone sex ♦ major character death ♦ Take Care – Drake

April pranks ♦ “right in front of my salad” ♦ running away together ♦ dom bottom/sub top ♦ raised to be a killer ♦ Drops of Jupiter – Train

May hanahaki ♦ “we’re dating? since when?” ♦ body swap ♦ magical sex toys ♦ stalking ♦ Paper Rings – Taylor Swift

June pride ♦ “I can’t get you out of my mind” ♦ relationship reveal ♦ unconventional sex positions ♦ paying a debt with your body ♦ Good Looking – Dixon Dallas

July vacation together ♦ “I like my _ how I like my coffee” ♦ kidfic ♦ mutual masturbation ♦ dehumanization ♦ You May Be Right – Billy Joel

August Sports AU ♦ “you’re thinking too much”♦ cooking together ♦ object insertion/ penetration ♦ becoming a monster ♦ You Shook Me All Night Long – AC/DC

September high school/college sweethearts ♦ “come here” ♦ date night gone wrong ♦ semi-public sex ♦ abduction ♦ Thinking Bout You – Frank Ocean

October costumes ♦ “boo” ♦ online dating ♦ shibari ♦ mutual non-con ♦ Mr. Brightside – The Killers

November camping ♦ “are you sure” ♦ touch-starved ♦ cockwarming ♦ abusive relationship ♦ A Thousand Years – Christina Perri

December holiday traditions ♦ “where are you taking me” ♦ bathing together ♦ food play ♦ tortured for information ♦ Everything Is Alright – Laura Shigihara