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wakebymoonsleepbysun · 1 year ago

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Untitled Roxy x Reader fic (hurt/comfort)

EDIT: A more polished version is now up on ao3. If you're re-reading it or sending it to someone, then the ao3 version is preferred, but it's not changed enough that I would necessarily suggest re-reading it again if you weren't already going to. <3

For some reason, last night, I decided that it was imperative I write and release a Roxy x Reader oneshot before Ruin. (ETA: To be clear I mean I wrote this before Ruin released, therefore it contains NO SPOILERS. <3) It's an idea I've had for awhile and was going to do as a comic but decided to expand it and write it out instead. I may post a more polished version to ao3 at a later date.

Fun fact: Roxy was my first FNAF crush, before SB even came out. So Ruin will have many chances to break my heart.

Word count: ~3200

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When the Pizzaplex burned down, none of your colleagues had seemed particularly interested in returning to the ruins. You could understand…some of the techs arriving for the morning shift had been caught in the blaze, and while there were no casualties, there had been some injuries. Yourself included.

After a few weeks in the hospital, the burn mark across your face was just an angry red scar, and the singed hair you’d had to cut off had regrown enough for you to wear a slightly uneven pixie cut.

The other techs said you were crazy to want to go back. The future of Fazbear Inc was uncertain, and the animatronics themselves were just that. Animatronics. Machines. Not worth putting yourself in danger for.

But you’d come to consider Roxy a friend. Sometimes you thought she considered you one, too. She didn’t seem like she would readily admit such a thing even if it were true.

She had at least liked you as a tech, if not as a person. You were the only one who could do her pre-show checks and weekly maintenance without ruining her hair, at least according to her. According to the other techs, Roxanne’s hair was always fine.

You quickly learned that to Roxy, “fine” was equivalent to a reprehensible failure. A disaster. A complete horrific mess.

You didn’t think your experience with costuming (specifically wigs) in your college’s theater club would ever be something you used after you graduated, but life is full of surprises.

You wander through the corridors of your ruined, burned out workplace, flashlight in hand. You have a few guesses as to where Roxy might be. You desperately hope she’s okay. The structure is mostly intact, but there are a few collapsed portions and fallen bits of decor. You think as long as Roxy had been able to avoid the worst of the heat, she’d be mostly alright.

You make your way to Rockstar Row, your workboots crunching on the debris as you walk.

As you approach Roxy’s room, you hear something that makes you freeze.

Crying.

For a moment you wonder if another tech, or perhaps some urban explorer or rubbernecker is in here with you. Then you recognize the voice behind the sobs.

Roxanne is crying? You’re more surprised than you probably should be. But you’d seen behind her mask a couple times. Behind the vanity, haughtiness, and borderline entitlement, you had occasionally glimpsed a profound insecurity. Beneath it all, you don’t think Roxy actually likes herself very much.

You swipe your badge on the door, and it actually dings and slides open. Or tries to. Something jams it halfway and you have to wedge yourself into the doorframe and push the door open the rest of the way.

Roxy, who had been sitting at her vanity, head in her hands, perks up. Her ears twitch as she glances around. “Who’s there?” she calls out.

You open your mouth to speak, only to leave it hanging open in surprise as you see how badly she’s damaged. So much of her exoskeleton is missing, exposing the endoskeleton underneath. Her hair is a tangled, singed mess and her tail isn’t much better. But most horrifying, her eyes are completely gone.

“Who’s there?!” Roxy repeats, a growl in her voice as she stands up and starts stalking towards you. You can hear the servos and joints in her body creak in protest as she moves.

“R-Roxy, it’s me!” you say before hastily blurting out your name.

She stops, her ears twitching and her claws grasping at the air. At first you think she’s baring her teeth at you, but you quickly realize her broken faceplate has put one side of her mouth in a permanent snarl.

She huffs, turning away. She skulks back to her vanity, plopping down in her chair and burning her broken face in her shattered hands. “What do you want?” she mutters.

You tense, taken aback. “Wh-What do you think I want, Roxy?” you ask incredulously, slowly moving towards her. “I-I wanted to know you were okay. I wanted to help you. I was…terrified you’d…been destroyed,” you say quietly, putting a hand on her shoulder.

She pulls away with a growl. “I have been destroyed! Just--Just look at me!” The rage in her voice doesn’t fully mask her despair, nor does it completely hide her fear. Fear of what? Of what could have happened? Of how close she came to being permanently deactivated?

Her command was clearly rhetorical, for she lowers her head further, digging her claws into what remains of her scalp.

“Roxy…all this can be fixed…” you say gently.

“No it can’t!” she snaps. “I already checked. Parts and Services is a pile of rubble now.”

“Well…what about the loading docks? Maybe we can at least find some new eyes for you…”

She scoffs. “Oh good. Then I can see myself. Because feeling all this isn’t bad enough,” she sneers, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Roxy--”

“FINE!” she growls, pushing back from her vanity abruptly. If the chair weren’t screwed into the floor she surely would have toppled it over. “Fine. Let’s just go.”

You flinch nervously, nodding. Remembering her blindness, you quickly say, “Okay. Here,” you say gently putting a hand on her arm.

“Don’t touch me!” she snaps, though she sounds somewhat less defensive and a bit…nervous? Embarrassed? With a huff, she adds, “I’ll just follow your footsteps.”

You bite back a sigh. “Alright,” you say patiently.

You lead the way out of her green room towards the long stairway down to the loading docks. You’re not about to risk trying to take the elevator.

“Here, careful on the stairs,” you say, gently taking her arm again. This time she allows it, albeit with some reluctance as she gives you what probably would have been a withering look if her faceplate had been intact.

It’s a long way down and neither of you want to rush. The sound of your softer footfalls and her heavier ones as you both pick your way down the stairs echoes through the stairwell.

Thud. Clunk. Thud. Clunk. Thud. Clunk.

You watch her carefully. She seems too focused on making it down the stairs to be too sulky for the moment. Small blessings, you suppose. Still, the silence is only stretching out your descent.

“It sounds like one of your knees is out of alignment,” you say eventually.

“The left one,” she confirms a bit gruffly. “I can manage.”

“I can see that,” you say gently. “It took me awhile to notice something was even wrong. You carry yourself well,” you say, smiling a bit.

Roxy grunts in acknowledgement, but doesn’t preen even a little at the praise. That’s unusual for her…compliments usually cheer her up.

“Maybe I can find a new hinge while we’re--”

“Why are you doing this?” she cuts you off.

“W-What do you mean?” you ask, stopping in the middle of the flight of stairs.

“Don’t play dumb. You know what I mean,” she says. Before you can speak, she continues, “This whole place is finished. Nobody’s coming back to rebuild. What’s the point of you patching me up?”

“I told you, Roxy…I was worried…” you start as you resume your climb down the stairs.

“Why?”

“Because I care about you!” you say, exasperated as you reach the bottom of the stairs. You keep your hand on her arm as you make your way down the corridor, and she doesn’t protest.

She snorts. “You care about a pile of scrap?”

You wish she could see the glare you give her at that. “You are NOT a pile of scrap! You’re just a little scuffed.”

“More than a little,” she huffs.

You sigh. “Okay, maybe a little more than a little,” you admit. You force a smile. “But hey…I’m the perfect tech, remember? If anyone can get you fixed up, it’s me, isn’t it?”

You weren’t normally any kind of braggart. Roxy had been the only one to ever call you the perfect tech, though you feel like that was almost more a point of pride for herself rather than for you. As if she were praising herself for being deserving of the best tech more than she’s praising you for being the best tech. But you still liked hearing it…and sometimes it really did seem like she was directing the praise at you.

Roxy turns her head towards you, her ears swiveling forward. It’s hard to read her expression with her broken faceplate, but eventually one side of her mouth ticks up into a small smile. “...Yeah…” she admits softly.

You squeeze her arm gently, careful to not touch any of the sharper broken off bits.

Once you get to the loading dock, you guide her to sit down on a crate while you look through some of the recent part shipments.

The fire had somehow spared much of this place, but the collapse of P & S had rippled partially through the area and several patches of ceiling had fallen, knocking over piles of crates and leaving the whole place in disarray.

Eventually you find a crate that has the P & S stamp on the wooden slats, and figure that’s a promising place to start. You grab a crowbar and begin trying to pry it open in any way you can.

Roxy’s ears perk and she turns towards you. “What are you doing?”

“Trying--urg--to get this crate open,” you grunt.

She stands and walks towards you. “Let me,” she says. She reaches towards you, trying to determine your position.

You take her hand, your fingers weaving in hers for a moment before you guide her hand to the crate.

“Thanks,” you say, stepping aside.

“Well…pretty silly to make a human do all the heavy lifting,” she says, digging her claws into one of the planks. The wood splinters and creaks and is readily ripped free.

You smile weakly. “You’re right…these arms would never have a fraction of your strength,” you say. Jokingly, you lift your arm and flex…only to realize Roxy won’t be able to see it.

Probably for the best. It was a dumb joke anyway.

She snorts, actually preening a bit as she pulls another board free. “Even busted…” she agrees softly. Her tone is slightly melancholy…as if she doesn’t fully believe it.

She pulls another board free, and you put a hand on her shoulder. “I think that’s enough for now,” you say, guiding her back to the crate she had been sitting on before.

You begin pulling the smaller boxes from the shipping crate, cutting them open and rummaging through them, looking for anything usable.

Once again, the silence stretches on.

After finding nothing useful in the first two boxes, you glance back at Roxanne. Her hand is over her face, her middle finger slowly tracing the cracks near where her eyes had been. The quiet isn’t doing her any favors.

You shove the box you were looking through aside and pull out another, cutting it open. “Roxy?” you break the silence.

“Mm?” she grunts, still more focused on her faceplate than you.

“You…d’you um…remember that time we ran out of driver bots and that angry dad yelled at me?”

She pauses briefly, turning her head towards you. “What about it?” she asks before going back to feeling her faceplate.

“You remember what you said to me?”

“I called you an idiot.” Was that a touch of guilt you detect in her tone?

You laugh weakly, nodding. “Yes. But you remember why?”

“For letting a loser like that get under your skin,” she says plainly.

“Right,” you say, smiling. “I think about that a lot, you know.”

Roxy scoffs. “Really? Freddy said I was too rude,” she says. If she had eyes she would have rolled them.

You let out a gentle chuckle. “Well…maybe a bit,” you admit, earning a slightly sulky huff from her. “But there was truth to it, y’know? And I think about it a lot. It uh…it’s…helped me. Deal with people like him.”

She cants her head, one ear flicking curiously. It’s a cute expression even with her broken faceplate. “It…did?”

“Yeah,” you say, pulling out another box and opening it. “I-I mean…you were right. I knew he was a loser but I still told myself his opinion meant something. But it doesn’t, y’know?”

“Yeah,” she agrees quietly.

The conversation lapses again, and you try to resist the urge to slow your search in order to come up with a new topic. Luckily, it is Roxy who picks the next topic.

“You remember that time a birthday party ran long, and I was late getting back to the recharge station?”

You freeze. Oh you do remember. You remember that evening well. The animatronics tend to get a little quirky when their battery dips below five percent. Something about a power save mode cutting power to random systems. Usually mobility, but somehow, their…inhibitions, for lack of a better term, also seemed to go by the wayside. As far as you know nobody ever quite understood why, but it was a little like getting loopy from lack of sleep, or even a bit tipsy.

Roxy smirks, hearing your stunned silence. “You do.”

“Y-Yeah…I…I wasn’t sure if you did, though.”

“I remember the important parts.” Before you can start to wonder what the “important parts” are in her mind, she continues, “You’d finally used that salon voucher I gave you for your birthday. Gotten your hair done. Actually wore it down. I never understand why you hide such long pretty hair up that bun.”

You fluster a bit. “Th-The dress code--”

“Oh, you do it without the dress code,” she scoffs, flicking a hand dismissively.

You clear your throat awkwardly, pausing to rub at your cheeks as if you can wipe the blush away. “W-What’s your battery at, by the way?”

She snorts. “Just an idle wondering?” she smirks. “It’s twenty-two percent.”

So it’s not her low battery talking…

Roxy continues, “You know…if you can find a set of replacement eyes…I wouldn’t mind seeing your hair down again,” she says, actually sounding wistful, of all things. You don’t know if you’ve ever heard her sound wistful.

You sigh softly, running a hand over your chopped off hair. “Y-Yeah…” you say, noncommittally.

She glances at you questioningly, sensing something in your tone. But before she can comment, you cut open another box, and find it has the spare eyes you’ve been looking for.

“Found the eyes!” you say. Some of the happiness in your tone is genuine. You grab two amber ones, going over to her. “They’re just standard optics, so you won’t see as well as you’re used to, but…it’ll do for now,” you say, guiding her to lay on the floor.

Her smile fades slightly and she nods, reality setting back in. Despite your claims that you could repair her, she wasn’t convinced she’d ever be as good as she was before. “Guess it’ll have to,” she mumbles.

You put a flashlight in her hand and position her arm to shine it down on her faceplate, giving you light to work with. Your toolkit is beside you, with some extra lengths of wire and soldering iron to work with. As you cut away the burned wires, murmuring apologies whenever Roxy flinches, your mind drifts back to that evening.

Her power had been at one percent when you finally coaxed her into her recharge station. Before you did, though, she had leaned down and pressed her lips to yours. You think she had been trying to nuzzle your cheek. Even “drunk” you don’t think she wanted to kiss you like that.

Neither of you had ever spoken of that night again, until today. She must not remember the kiss, you decide. She wouldn’t bring up that night at all if she did.

The truth is you’ve carried a small flame for her ever since then. Or perhaps a little longer, if you were more honest with yourself. Nothing you couldn’t ignore most of the time, of course…but something that had occasionally managed to put a bit of warmth in your heart when you allowed it to.

But none of those silly little what-ifs you’d allowed yourself to daydream of would ever come to pass now.

You wire in the eyes, then carefully fit them into their sockets. As they come online, the attached eyelids blink shut against the light.

You quickly turn away, keeping your back to her as you pack up your toolkit. “Th-They working okay?” you ask. It’s silly to turn away like this. You can’t possibly delay her seeing your scar for more than a couple minutes. Why even bother trying?

She moves the flashlight out of her eyes and sits up, looking around. “Yes,” she says. She pauses. “...Better than I thought. I forgot the standard optics still have night vision.”

You laugh weakly. “Another thing you have over me, then,” you say in what you had meant to be a good natured tone, but you couldn’t quite keep the melancholy from your voice.

Roxy catches it and glances at you curiously. She stands up, then reaches down a hand to help you up.

Well. No more putting it off.

You bow your head slightly as you turn to take her hand, letting her pull you to your feet. When you stand before her, you finally lift your head to look into her eyes, giving a small, tentative smile that borders on apologetic.

Roxy stares down at you, her mouth opening slightly in surprise. “Wh-What…happened…?”

You sigh, glancing away slightly. “I-I…got to work early, and…I was upstairs when the fire started. It…spread so fast I…had to cut through some pretty bad areas. I-I mean. I guess, something like that…I-I don’t really remember…” you say, your voice starting to shake.

Roxy’s hand is on your cheek, turning your face back towards her as she examines your scar.

You feel your face growing warm. “I-I don’t know how I got the scar, really…The EMTs found me passed out in the employee parking lot.”

Roxy smiles sadly. “You were strong enough to save yourself.”

You blush deeply at the compliment, lowering your gaze. “I-I guess so…”

She runs her thumb over the scar, tracing the ridges of the shiny, discolored skin. “Can it be repaired?” she asks, her tone more gentle than you’ve ever heard from her.

You shake your head, resisting the urge to nuzzle into her palm as you do. “Not…really. My hair will grow back and the scar will probably fade a bit, eventually, but…it’ll…probably be pretty noticeable for the rest of my life…” You feel tears brimming at your eyes and force out a weak laugh. “C-Can’t really…uh…s-switch faceplates on a human…y-y’know?” you say in a wavering tone.

Roxy hums quietly, bringing her other hand up to cup your other cheek. “No need,” she says, lowering her head and gently nosing at your scar.

Your breath stills at her words, your eyes widening in surprise. You’re almost not sure you heard right.

She pulls back, smiling down at you tenderly. “You’re still beautiful,” she murmurs, leaning down and pressing her lips to yours.

#fnaf #fnaf roxy #fnaf roxanne #roxanne wolf #roxy x reader #roxy x y/n #fnaf security breach #my writing #apologies to everyone waiting on the next chapter of stereo souls #my brain just does this sometimes #i can only focus on the third item in my todo list #sometimes i can glitch tasks into third place to work on them but other times i just start a random new project

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 1 month ago

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Snowbound | Sebastian Sallow x OC #14

Summary: Evangeline and Sebastian return to Hogwarts for the second term of Sixth Year. Evangeline finds her courtship with Lysander increasingly stressful, causing her to find comfort in Sebastian. One night, in an attempt to get her mind off things, Sebastian convinces her to explore an abandoned mine shaft with him.

Words: 11,238

Tags: Slow Burn, Unspoken Feelings, Friends To Lovers, Jealousy, Romantic Tension, Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Trapped Together, Adventure, Winter Storm

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

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The Gryffindor table in the Great Hall was alive with chatter that evening as students swapped stories about their holidays and tucked into dinner. Evangeline sat quietly among them, half-listening to her friends as she idly pushed her roasted potatoes around her plate.

Garreth and Cressida were locked in a spirited debate about the best way to charm treacle tart to sing, while Natty and Leander exchanged exaggerated accounts of their holiday adventures—Leander claimed he’d wrestled a rogue gnome off his grandmother’s prized herb garden, while Natty, rolling her eyes, recounted a much more grounded tale of helping her family restore a neighbours cottage after a storm.

To Evangeline, the hum of the Great Hall felt oddly distant. Her mind kept slipping back to the Floo in Feldcroft where Sebastian had seen her off earlier that day. “Back to the grind, Sterling,” he had teased, brushing a bit of snow from her shoulder.

Her holiday with Sebastian had been so full—of laughter, mischief, and moments that felt impossibly fleeting. The thought of returning to separate routines, of putting distance back where it didn’t belong, left her feeling untethered. She told herself it was normal to feel a little off after the break, especially with the unusual secret they now shared. No one could know they’d spent Christmas together in Feldcroft, least of all Lysander. So they'd returned to school separately, with her taking a carriage and him the Floo, careful not to raise suspicion.

It all felt so vivid, so tangible, even now hours later. It was jarring, sitting here with her housemates, trying to reintegrate herself into the world of Gryffindor when part of her was still caught in the snow-dusted quiet of their holiday together.

“Evie!” Garreth’s voice snapped her from her thoughts. “What about you? Did you do anything interesting over the break?”

She blinked, her fork clattering lightly against her plate as she looked up. “Oh, um... nothing too exciting,” she said quickly, her voice betraying none of the actual thrill her holiday had held. “Just... stayed cozy. You know how it is.”

Cressida smiled, raising a brow. “That's all? I expected you to have stories about hunting down Goblins or exploring the highlands.”

Evangeline forced a chuckle, lifting her goblet as if to hide her discomfort. “Even I need a bit of quiet now and then.”

A faint warmth crept up her neck as she felt a familiar gaze on her. She risked a glance toward the Slytherin table, her breath hitching slightly when she caught Sebastian watching her. He was leaned back casually, his dark eyes gleaming with a knowing look. When their gazes met, the corner of his mouth curved into a smirk, so fleeting it might have been imagined.

Her heart stuttered, and she quickly looked away, though the faintest smile tugged at her lips before she could stop it.

“What’s that grin about?” Cressida asked, leaning in with a teasing glint in her eye. “Got some secret we should know about?”

“Not at all,” Evangeline replied smoothly, though she hoped her flushed cheeks weren’t betraying her. She turned back to her plate, praying the conversation would move on before anyone pressed further.

The reprieve didn’t last long. A figure approached from behind, and when she looked up, her heart sank slightly. Lysander stood beside her, his ever-polished demeanor intact as he greeted her with a warm smile.

“Evangeline.”

The sound of his voice made her stiffen, though she quickly masked the reaction with a smile. He looked the same as ever, polished and composed, his blond hair neatly combed and his robes impeccable. His family’s pure-blood prestige seemed to radiate from him, effortlessly commanding attention without trying.

“Lysander,” she greeted warmly, setting her mug down as he took a seat beside her. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you,” he replied, his tone perfectly measured. “How was your holiday?”

“It was nice,” she said, careful to keep her answer vague. “Quiet, mostly. And yours?”

“Busy,” he admitted, leaning back with an air of practiced ease. “My parents had me meeting half the Wizengamot at our family gathering. Apparently, they think it’s never too early to build connections.”

Evangeline offered a polite laugh, though the thought of spending her break surrounded by such stifling formality made her chest tighten. “Sounds... productive.”

“It was,” he agreed, smiling as though pleased with himself. “But I missed you. Your letters were the highlight of my holiday.”

Her smile faltered slightly, though she quickly recovered, nodding as she picked up her mug of cocoa to avoid his gaze. She’d written to him dutifully, of course, careful to keep the tone warm and affectionate. But each letter had felt more like a performance than a genuine expression of herself, her words chosen carefully to meet the expectations she imagined he had.

“And yours were lovely to read,” she said, the response automatic. She felt his hand rest lightly on hers, and though the gesture was meant to be reassuring, it only reminded her of how different it felt from the warmth she’d come to associate with Sebastian.

“You look... well,” he said, his tone softening as his gaze flicked over her. “I was worried you might be overworking yourself again.”

Her grip on the mug tightened slightly. She knew what he meant, though he hadn’t said it outright. Evie was well aware that her robes were fitting a bit more snuggly after the holiday, and though Lysander didn’t seem unkind about it, the subtle shift in his expression made her stomach tighten into a knot.

“I made plenty of time to relax,” she said lightly, though the comment left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“That’s good to hear,” Lysander said, squeezing her hand gently. “You’ll need your energy for this term. I’m sure it will be a busy one for both of us.”

She nodded, offering another polite smile as her gaze flicked past him toward the where Sebastian was seated. He was laughing at something Ominis had said, his grin wide and unguarded in a way that made her heart ache. He caught her eye for the briefest moment, and the corner of his mouth twitched in a smirk that felt like a secret just for her.

“Evangeline?” Lysander’s voice pulled her back, and she turned her attention to him, schooling her expression into one of polite interest.

“Sorry, what were you saying?”

“I was just asking if you’d like to study together this week,” he said, his tone as steady and composed as ever. “I thought maybe you'd like some help with that Potions project you have... Professor Sharp’s grading is always brutal.”

“Of course,” she said quickly, nodding. “That sounds like a good idea.”

Lysander smiled, his grip on her hand relaxing as he leaned back in his chair. But as he launched into a discussion about their coursework, Evangeline found herself nodding absently, her thoughts drifting once more to the boy who sat just out of reach, his laughter still echoing faintly in her mind.

The weeks following the winter break passed in a steady rhythm of classes, study sessions, and Quidditch practices, but a quiet tension had begun to creep into Evangeline’s life—a slow-building unease that became harder to ignore.

At the heart of it was her courtship with Lysander. His world was one of structure and expectation, a life polished and pristine, steeped in the traditions of pure-blood society. At first, she’d tried to meet these moments with grace. During their study sessions, when he spoke of his family’s plans or their potential future with quiet optimism, she’d nodded along, offering the responses she thought he wanted to hear. Yet, the more time they spent together, the more she felt the weight of his unspoken expectations pressing down on her.

Every glance from him seemed to carry a standard she couldn’t quite define but felt compelled to meet. His words, though kind, hinted at a future that felt predetermined, a path carefully paved for her to follow. With him, she felt like a guest in someone else’s story, always mindful of where to step, never certain if she truly belonged.

Her unease deepened during her invitations to the Clearwater family estate for Sunday dinner. The grandeur of the manor, the lavish meals, and the formal conversations left her feeling overwhelmed, like she was being carefully measured against a set of unspoken rules. At the Solstice Ball, the Clearwaters had been welcoming—warm, even—making her feel, at least briefly, like she could fit into their world. But now, that warmth had cooled into polite formality.

Mrs. Clearwater’s questions about her future plans seemed harmless on the surface but carried an undercurrent of scrutiny that made Evangeline’s stomach twist. “And have you given much thought to what comes after Hogwarts?” Mrs. Clearwater had asked during one such dinner, her voice perfectly measured but her eyes sharp.

“I’ve been considering curse-breaking,” Evangeline had replied carefully, keeping her tone steady. “Or maybe becoming an Auror.”

The room had grown quiet, the flicker of the candlelight reflecting in the silverware as Mrs. Clearwater raised a brow. “How… adventurous,” she’d said, her smile tight. “I imagine such pursuits are not without their dangers.”

“That’s part of the appeal,” Evangeline had said with a small, polite smile, though the edge of defiance in her tone hadn’t been entirely disguised.

“Indeed,” Mr. Clearwater had interjected, swirling his wine lazily. “Our family has always valued pursuits that contribute to stability and legacy. Aurors do important work, of course, but such a path can be… turbulent.”

Lysander, seated beside her, had smiled faintly but said nothing, leaving her to carry the weight of the conversation. Each visit to the estate made her feel more like a piece on a chessboard, maneuvered to fit into a strategy she didn’t fully understand.

And then there was her weight.

It was only now, after months of regaining her appetite that her body had returned to its natural shape, with the holiday indulgences only helping her reclaim what she had lost during the previous summer. She had spent those months grieving, barely eating, and losing herself in a way that had left her drained and hollow. She’d felt like a ghost of herself then, struggling to piece together her shattered world. Now, after the warmth of the Christmas holiday and the comfort of being around Sebastian, she felt like herself again—stronger, healthier.

But not everyone saw it that way.

Though Lysander never addressed it directly, the quiet tension in his gaze when he looked at her lingered. She felt it in the way his arm would tighten around her waist, or in the beat of hesitation before he offered his hand. At the Clearwater estate, the scrutiny felt even sharper, every glance from Mrs. Clearwater making her hyper-aware of her appearance. Though no one said anything outright, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her natural size, her curves that had returned with her health, were quietly disapproved of.

So Evangeline caught herself pulling away, retreating into the safety of her friends whenever the pressure became too much. More often than not, that solace came in the form of Sebastian.

With him, there were no carefully crafted conversations, no delicate negotiations or expectations. His teasing remarks and unguarded grins reminded her of a simpler kind of companionship, one that didn’t feel so heavy. With him, she could laugh freely, let her guard down, and simply be.

But even that escape was complicated. Since their return to Hogwarts, Sebastian had grown bolder. His tactile nature had always been part of who he was, but now there was something different—an ease in the way he touched her, as if whatever boundaries had existed between them before the holiday had melted away entirely.

He had developed a habit of slipping up behind her during study sessions, his hands resting on the back of her chair as he leaned in close to murmur something teasing in her ear. His voice, low and warm, never failed to send a shiver up her spine, and his scent seemed to wrap around her like a second skin. She found herself leaning into his presence without meaning to, her pulse quickening whenever his proximity became too much.

And then there was his new favorite habit—resting his chin on the crown of her head. The first time it had happened, over breakfast in the Great Hall, she’d been so startled she’d nearly spilled her tea. He’d leaned over, so casually, to murmur something about the honeyed toast, his chin brushing against her hair as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Now, he did it without a second thought, whether they were studying in the library, practicing spells in the Undercroft, or simply walking across the grounds. Their friends noticed, of course, though most of them seemed more amused than anything else.

“You two are insufferable,” Garreth had muttered one afternoon as they sat in the Undercroft, books spread out around them. He’d watched with raised brows as Sebastian, mid-conversation, had leaned over and settled his chin on Evangeline’s head. “It’s like watching an old married couple.”

Sebastian smirked, entirely unfazed. “Jealous, Weasley?”

“Hardly,” Garreth shot back, tossing a crumpled scrap of parchment at him. “Just wondering when Lysander’s going to notice and hex you.”

Evangeline’s cheeks had burned as she ducked her head, pretending to be engrossed in her notes. But she couldn’t ignore the way her heart raced, the way Sebastian’s presence had begun to feel so natural, so… right.

And that was the problem. His gestures—so casual, so comfortable—blurred the lines she was desperate to keep clear. She wasn’t supposed to feel this way about Sebastian, not while she was still tied to Lysander. But as the days passed, the weight of her courtship and the comfort of Sebastian’s presence became harder to reconcile.

“You alright?” Sebastian’s voice was soft, his hand brushing lightly against her shoulder as he straightened, his gaze steady and searching.

“Fine,” she said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just trying to focus.”

He watched her for a moment longer, as if debating whether to press, before leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated groan. “Alright, I’ll stop distracting you,” he said, though the grin tugging at his lips suggested otherwise.

She tried to focus on her notes, tried to ignore the flutter in her chest, but the truth was, Sebastian’s proximity had become its own kind of distraction. And she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to escape it.

One evening, after enduring yet another perfectly, unbearably polite dinner with Lysander in the Great Hall, Evangeline felt the weight of his conversation pressing on her. Every word had been measured, every gesture deliberate, as if their interaction had been rehearsed and refined long before they sat down. It wasn’t unpleasant, exactly—Lysander was always courteous, always composed—but it left her feeling as though she were walking a tightrope.

When the meal ended and Lysander excused himself to speak with one of his Ravenclaw friends, Evangeline offered a faint smile and murmured her own goodnight. She didn’t head to the Gryffindor common room or the library, as she might have on another evening. Instead, her feet carried her in a familiar direction, her steps quickening as the need for solitude—or perhaps something else entirely—tugged at her.

She didn’t even think twice about where she was going. Her mind was already set before she’d even left the hall.

The path to the Undercroft was etched into her memory now, a route she could take blindfolded. The air grew cooler as she descended the narrow staircase, the faint hum of the castle above fading into silence. Her fingers brushed against the stone wall as she reached the entrance, her hand pausing briefly over the hidden mechanism that unlocked the door. She hesitated—not because she doubted herself, but because she already knew who she’d find inside.

The heavy door creaked open, revealing the familiar, dimly lit space. The sight of him was like a balm she hadn’t realized she needed. His hair was slightly disheveled, his shirt sleeves rolled up, as he sprawled on one of the couches, twirling his wand idly in his hand as he stared up at the ceiling. He didn’t seem surprised when she entered, though his grin widened as he sat up. “Couldn’t stay away, could you?”

“Shut it, Sallow,” she muttered, though her lips twitched with a smile as she dropped her bag onto the floor.

“Trouble in paradise?” he asked, his tone light but his eyes sharp with curiosity. He scooted over, patting the space beside him.

She hesitated for only a moment before sitting, her hands twisting in her lap. “I just… needed some air,” she said vaguely.

Sebastian raised a brow but didn’t press. Instead, he leaned back, his shoulder brushing hers in a way that felt entirely too familiar. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. The Undercroft has the best ‘air’ in all of Hogwarts. Stale, musty, a bit damp."

His teasing pulled a reluctant laugh from her, and she glanced at him, her shoulders loosening just slightly. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he said, though his smirk softened. “What’s really bothering you?”

She hesitated, her gaze dropping to her hands. “I don’t know… it’s just… everything feels so heavy lately.”

Sebastian’s expression shifted, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced with something quieter. "What do you mean?"

She didn’t answer right away, and the silence stretched between them. Then, finally, she sighed, glancing sideways at him. "You promise you won't give me an 'I told you so' speech if I tell you?" she asked, her voice soft, hesitant.

Sebastian tilted his head, the corner of his mouth twitching with restrained amusement. “I make no promises,” he said, his tone light but his gaze steady. “But I’ll try to resist. Scout’s honour.”

Evangeline huffed a soft laugh, rolling her eyes. “You were never a Scout. But I'm serious Sebastian, if I tell you, you can't make a big fuss."

He sobered slightly, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze steady and focused on her. “Alright, no ‘I told you so.’ Now, what’s on your mind?”

Evangeline stared at her hands for a long moment, as if the answer might appear there. “I feel like… like I’m constantly walking on eggshells,” she admitted finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sebastian’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

“It’s not just Lysander,” she went on, her voice gaining a little strength. “It’s his world. His family. The way they look at me like I’m a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m just… not enough.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and raw, and Sebastian’s heart twisted at the vulnerability in her voice. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say, his usual arsenal of wit and sarcasm feeling woefully inadequate. So instead, he shifted closer, his shoulder pressing against hers in quiet solidarity. "You shouldn't need to be anything except yourself."

“That’s easy for you to say,” she replied, her tone sharper than she intended. “You’re not the one who has to meet his family’s expectations, who has to look a certain way or act a certain way just to fit in.”

Sebastian was silent for a moment, his jaw tightening as he watched her. “Is that really how he makes you feel?” he asked quietly.

Evangeline bit her lip, the weight of his gaze making it harder to keep her emotions in check. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s... everything about his life feels so… polished. Like there’s no room for someone like me.”

“Someone like you?” Sebastian repeated, his tone incredulous. “Evie, you’re better than polished. If he can’t see that, then he’s a bloody idiot.”

She glanced at him, startled by the vehemence in his voice. “It’s not that simple,” she murmured, “He’s not a bad person, Sebastian. He’s just… different from me.”

“Different?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

Evangeline hesitated, searching for the right words. “He’s… perfect,” she said finally, her voice tinged with frustration. “Polished and poised, like he’s never put a foot wrong in his life. I feel like I’m always trying to measure up. Be enough. Be... who he expects me to be.”

Sebastian was quiet for a moment, his gaze steady as he watched her. Then, with a faint smirk, he leaned closer, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin lightly on the crown of her head. The gesture was so familiar now, so undeniably him, that she couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh, the sound muffled against the weight of his presence.

“I hate to break it to you, but you’re terrible at being perfect,” he murmured, his voice warm and teasing. “Wouldn’t suit you at all, anyway.”

Evangeline huffed a laugh, shaking her head. "Wow, thanks."

Sebastian chuckled, his arms tightening around her ever so slightly as if to ground her in the moment. "I mean it," he said softly, his teasing lilt giving way to something more genuine. "You’re not perfect, Evie. And that’s what makes you… well, you. You’re stubborn, reckless, you’ve got this knack for getting yourself into trouble. But you’re also kind, brave, and more loyal than anyone I’ve ever met. That’s what matters—not whatever nonsense Lysander or his family thinks you need to be."

His words settled over her, warm and disarming. She wanted to brush them off, to keep herself guarded, but the sincerity in his tone left her defenseless. Evangeline tilted her head back slightly, her hazel eyes meeting his. "Can you go on over there and tell them that for me?"

Sebastian’s smirk widened, his eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and something softer. “I could, but I’m not sure they’d appreciate my… unique approach to persuasion.” Then his tone shifted, softening as he continued, “And I don't think changing their minds is the solution. Maybe it’s that you’re wasting your time trying to meet expectations that aren’t worth meeting.”

She blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of his statement. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean,” he said, leaning back slightly, though his gaze never left hers, “why bother bending over backward to fit into their perfect little box? If they can’t see how amazing you are as you are, that’s on them. Not you.”

Evangeline’s brow furrowed as she looked away, her fingers twisting in her lap. “If I don’t at least try—if I don’t meet their expectations—then what’s the point of this whole courtship?”

“Maybe there isn’t a point,” he said lightly, though his words carried an edge. When she glanced at him sharply, he held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, maybe that’s too harsh. What I’m trying to say is, you shouldn’t have to force yourself to be someone you’re not just to make them happy. You deserve better than that.”

Her chest tightened at his words, the sincerity in his voice cutting through her defenses. For a moment, she didn’t know how to respond, the weight of her doubts and guilt tangling with the quiet hope his words stirred in her.

Sebastian, sensing her hesitation, let the moment linger before breaking the tension with a crooked grin. “You know what I think you need?” he asked, his voice dipping into a teasing lilt.

“What?” she asked warily, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Mischief,” he said with a grin, his tone playful but his eyes warm. “Nothing gets your mind off things like a bit of trouble.”

Evangeline groaned, rolling her eyes even as the corners of her lips tugged upward. “Oh, brilliant. Because what I really need right now is to land in detention.”

“I’m serious,” Sebastian said, nudging her shoulder with his. “Well, mostly. You’ve been wound up tighter than Ominis during exams. You need to let loose. Just for a little while.”

“And you think your idea of letting loose is the solution?” she asked, arching a brow.

“It’s a solution,” Sebastian quipped, his tone light as he leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head like he didn’t have a care in the world. “Come on, what’s the worst that could happen? You get detention, and I have someone to keep me company next time I’m stuck scrubbing cauldrons.”

She huffed, rolling her eyes. “You’re so selfless. Truly.” She groaned, already questioning her decision, but the spark of excitement in his expression was contagious. “What exactly do you have in mind?” she asked warily.

“Well,” he began, tapping his chin in mock thought, “I did overhear someone mentioning something about an old mine shaft near Brocburrow that’s rumored to be cursed. Apparently, no one’s been able to keep a light spell lit in there for more than a few seconds.”

Evangeline crossed her arms, staring at him incredulously. “A cursed mine shaft, Sebastian? Are you trying to get us killed?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, the picture of unbothered confidence. “You’ve faced worse than a bit of dodgy magic. Ancient goblin relics, angry trolls, even Ominis when he hasn’t had his morning tea.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at her lips. “And here I thought you’d suggest sneaking into Honeydukes or some harmless bit of mischief, not leading me into some potentially haunted death trap.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he quipped, standing and offering her his hand. “Come on, Sterling. What’s life without a little danger?”

She stared at his outstretched hand, her expression torn between exasperation and reluctant amusement.

Evangeline let out a long, suffering sigh, but her smile gave her away. “If we get caught or cursed, I’m blaming you. Forever.”

“Noted,” Sebastian said with a grin, pulling her to her feet. “Now, let’s go before you start having second thoughts.”

The Defense Against the Dark Arts Tower was quiet as they slipped out of the Undercroft. Evangeline followed Sebastian’s lead, her footsteps soft against the cold stone.

After sneakily grabbing their coats and gloves from their dorms, they met up by a small alcove that housed one of the less conspicuous Floo stations. Sebastian turned to her, his expression a mix of mischief and excitement. “Ladies first?”

She huffed, stepping into the fireplace with an exaggerated sigh. “If I end up in some stranger’s sitting room, I’m hexing you.”

“You won't,” he reassured her with a chuckle, handing her a small pouch of Floo powder. “Brocburrow, southern clearing. Don’t forget to enunciate.”

Evangeline shot him a mock glare before tossing the powder into the hearth. The flames roared to life, swirling green as she stepped into them. “Brocburrow, southern clearing,” she said clearly, the magic pulling her forward in a rush of heat and spinning light.

When she landed, the crisp night air hit her immediately, a stark contrast to the warmth of the castle. She stumbled slightly, catching herself against a tree as she adjusted to the sudden cold. The forest around her was quiet, the faint rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl the only sounds breaking the stillness.

Moments later, Sebastian appeared beside her, stepping gracefully out of the Floo as though he’d done it a hundred times before—which, she supposed, he probably had.

“Welcome to Brocburrow,” he said, brushing off his robes with a dramatic flourish.

Evangeline raised a brow, shivering slightly as she pulled her cloak tighter around her. “Lead the way, oh fearless leader.”

Sebastian grinned, holding up his wand for light. The path was uneven, the snow crunching under their boots as they navigated the rugged terrain. His wand cast a warm glow, the light reflecting off the frost-covered trees.

“Alright,” she said after a few minutes of silence, glancing at him. “Tell me more about this cursed mine shaft. Why hasn’t anyone been able to keep a light spell going?”

“No idea,” Sebastian admitted, his tone far too casual. “That’s what we’re here to find out.”

Evangeline stopped, planting her hands on her hips. “You mean to tell me you dragged me out here past curfew and you don’t know what we’re walking into?”

“It wouldn't be the first time,” he replied with a smirk, nudging her forward. “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

She narrowed her eyes at him but resumed walking, muttering under her breath.

As they climbed higher into the mountains, the forest began to thin, the dense trees giving way to jagged rocks and patches of frozen ground. The air grew colder, biting at her cheeks and nose, and Evangeline found herself walking closer to Sebastian, drawn instinctively toward his warmth. Shivering slightly, Evangeline plunged her hands into her pockets, searching for a bit of warmth. Her fingers brushed against something soft, and she froze, pulling it out slowly.

A scarf.

Not just any scarf—it was Sebastian’s. The dark green wool was unmistakable, fraying slightly at the edges in a way that gave it a lived-in charm. She recognized it instantly as the one she’d borrowed during Christmas in Feldcroft. Her cheeks warmed at the memory.

“What’s that?” Sebastian’s voice broke through her thoughts, his tone curious. He’d stopped a few steps ahead, his wand casting a soft glow over his face as he turned to look at her.

Evangeline hesitated, glancing down at the scarf in her hands. Then, without answering, she looped the scarf around her neck. The wool was warm, a faint cedar-and-parchment scent clinging to the fabric.

Sebastian’s lips curved into a slow smirk as he watched her. “Is that mine?”

“It’s warm,” she said defensively, lifting her chin as if daring him to comment further.

"You trying to collect one from every house or something?" he asked, his tone light and teasing, though there was a faint edge beneath it. His gaze flicked to the dark green scarf wrapped snugly around her neck, "You’ve got Gryffindor and Ravenclaw covered, clearly. Now Slytherin. What’s next? Planning to nick a Hufflepuff scarf too?”

"Ravenclaw?" Evangeline echoed in confusion, her brows knitting together as she glanced at him. “What are you talking about?”

Sebastian arched a brow, “Clearwater. Don’t tell me he hasn’t showered you with perfectly folded scarves or pristine handkerchiefs."

Evangeline blinked, caught off guard by the remark. She opened her mouth to reply, then closed it, shaking her head, "No, I... I don't have anything like that of his."

Sebastian’s expression shifted, the teasing edge fading for a moment as he studied her. “Oh,” he said softly, almost as if the admission surprised him. He glanced away, his breath visible in the crisp night air. “Well then I suppose Lysander isn’t the sentimental type.”

Evangeline hesitated, unsure how to respond. “It’s not like that,” she said finally, her voice quiet. “He’s… thoughtful in his own way.”

Sebastian hummed, a noncommittal sound, as he fell into step beside her. His gaze flicked to the scarf around her neck again, and his lips quirked into a small, almost wistful smile. “So, what you’re saying is, I’m the only one whose things you hold onto.”

She rolled her eyes, her cheeks warming under his scrutiny. “I didn’t hold onto it. I forgot to give it back after the holiday.”

“Right,” he drawled, the smirk returning to his face. "It's just an accident it was in your pocket this whole time."

“I didn’t mean to keep it,” she retorted, pulling the scarf tighter around her neck in defiance. “It’s just… comfortable.”

“And warm,” he added helpfully, his tone laced with amusement.

“And warm,” she echoed, her tone pointed as she shot him a glare.

Sebastian chuckled, clearly enjoying himself as he nudged her shoulder lightly. “Relax, Sterling. I’m not asking for it back. Honestly, it suits you better than it ever suited me.”

The comment caught her off guard, and for a moment, she faltered, her steps slowing. There was no teasing in his voice this time, only a quiet sincerity that left her feeling strangely unsteady. “Thanks,” she murmured, her gaze fixed on the snow-dusted path ahead of them.

Sebastian said nothing for a while, letting the silence settle between them. Then, with a mischievous grin, he added, “But seriously, if I see you with a Hufflepuff scarf next, we’re going to have a problem.”

Evangeline huffed a laugh, shaking her head. "Alright, Sallow."

By now, they were high into the rocky terrain, and the air had grown sharper, colder, while a light snowfall began to drift from the darkened sky, decreasing their visibility with every step.

The wind picked up, carrying with it a faint howl that echoed off the jagged cliffs. She squinted into the swirling snow ahead, her steps slowing. “Do you think we’re close?” Evangeline asked, her voice slightly muffled by the scarf.

Sebastian stopped just ahead of her, his wand raised to cast a soft glow over their path. He scanned the area, his brow furrowing as he peered through the falling snow. “Should be… there.” He pointed, his voice confident despite the uncertain terrain.

Evangeline followed his gaze, and sure enough, the dark, jagged mouth of a cave loomed just ahead, half-hidden behind a rocky outcrop. The snowfall made it look almost spectral, the entrance yawning wide like the gaping maw of some forgotten creature.

“Well,” she said, her voice light in an attempt to mask her unease. “That definitely looks… welcoming.”

Evangeline hesitated as they reached the mouth of the cave, the air inside still and heavy. The wind whistled faintly through the entrance, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and something faintly metallic.

Sebastian turned to her, his expression a mix of excitement and mischief. “Ready?”

She glanced at the darkened cavern, then back at him, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Define ‘ready.’”

“Too late to back out now,” he said, a teasing lilt in his voice as he stepped forward, his wand lighting the way. The faint crunch of his boots on the stone floor echoed softly as he moved deeper inside.

Evangeline took a deep breath, steeling herself before following. The cave swallowed her in its shadowed embrace, the sounds of the outside world quickly muffled by the enclosing stone. She tightened her grip on her wand, her light mingling with Sebastian’s ahead as they ventured deeper into the mine.

The walls glistened faintly in places, streaked with frost that caught the light like shards of glass. Evangeline’s footsteps echoed against the stone, and she shivered, more from the strange, oppressive air than the cold. “So, what exactly are we looking for?” she asked, her voice hushed as though speaking too loudly might disturb whatever lay within. “Ghostly miners? Cursed tools? A giant, man-eating spider?”

“Hopefully all three,” Sebastian quipped, glancing back at her with a smirk. “Wouldn’t want this trip to be boring.”

She rolled her eyes, but a faint smile tugged at her lips despite the unease curling in her chest. Before she could reply, though, the light from Sebastian's wand flickered once, twice, before sputtering out completely, plunging them into sudden darkness. The silence was suffocating, the oppressive blackness swallowing everything in its wake.

"Sebastian..." Evangeline instinctively reached for him, her hand finding his bicep as as the darkness pressed in around them. Her voice was taut, edged with unease, and the slight tremor in her grip betrayed her composure.

“It’s alright,” Sebastian said quickly, his voice steady but lower than usual, as though wary of disturbing the silence. “Hang on. Let me get it back.” He shifted slightly, and she could hear him fumbling with his wand. “Lumos!”

Nothing.

Sebastian swore under his breath, his calm demeanor slipping just enough for Evangeline to catch it. “Lumos!” he tried again, his voice sharper, but the wand remained stubbornly dark.

Evangeline swallowed hard, her other hand instinctively gripping her own wand. “Lumos Maxima,” she murmured, willing the spell to work, but her wand only flickered faintly before going dark again.

“Well, I guess the rumors are true,” Sebastian muttered, his tone attempting levity but falling short.

“Apparently” Evangeline hissed, her heart pounding as her grip on his arm tightened. The darkness was absolute, an oppressive void that made it impossible to discern up from down. It felt alive, pulsing faintly around them, and it was all she could do not to imagine something lurking just out of reach.

Evangeline inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself. Her fingers brushed against the satchel slung across her body, the familiar leather strap grounding her. And then she remembered.

“The lantern,” she said, her voice cutting through the silence with a hint of hope.

“What?” Sebastian’s head turned toward her, though she couldn’t see him in the suffocating dark.

“The lantern,” she repeated, her hands moving quickly to open the satchel. “I put one in the satchel you gave me for Christmas. If the satchel's charm still works, then we'll just need some sparks can light it.”

Sebastian let out a low, impressed hum, his tone tinged with relief. “Leave it to you to come prepared. I knew that satchel would come in handy.”

“Thank Merlin for Christmas presents,” she muttered, relieved as she dug her hand into the bag, quickly finding and pulling the lantern free.

Sebastian shifted beside her, close enough now that she could feel the faint warmth of him. “What do you need from me?”

“Sparks,” Evangeline said, her voice steadier now. “Just enough to catch the wick. But no setting me on fire.”

Sebastian chuckled, and she could hear the grin in his voice. “You act like I’m not a professional. Fire is my specialty.”

Evangeline knelt carefully, balancing the lantern on the uneven ground between them. She adjusted the wick with deliberate precision, tilting the lantern slightly to make it easier for the flame to take hold. “Alright,” she murmured. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Sebastian crouched beside her, and she felt the faint brush of his hand near hers as he aimed his wand.

Sebastian muttered Incendio his breath, his wand tip sparking faintly for a brief moment—then nothing. The darkness swallowed the effort almost instantly, leaving them once again in stifling black.

“Well, that’s… annoying,” Sebastian muttered, his tone laced with frustration. He adjusted his grip on his wand, aiming again. “Hold tight. Let me try that again.”

Evangeline held her breath, steadying the lantern with both hands as he crouched lower beside her. Sebastian's arm brushed against hers as he shifted, and she could feel the faint warmth of him despite the damp chill of the cave. With a determined flick of his wrist, he muttered the spell again. This time, the sparks were brighter, more numerous, and one landed perfectly on the lantern's wick.

A sudden, warm glow flared to life, spilling golden light over the space around them. Evangeline adjusted the lantern carefully, steadying the flame as its glow chased the oppressive blackness into retreat. Relief coursed through her, loosening the tight knot of tension in her chest.

Sebastian leaned back on his heels, letting out a low chuckle. “Told you I’d get it."

Evangeline rolled her eyes then lifted the lantern higher, the light reaching farther into the cavern. “Now, let’s see what we’re dea—”

Her words faltered, her voice catching in her throat as the light revealed what lay just ahead. Barely a yard or two away from where they knelt, the ground gave way to an enormous, gaping pit. The edges were jagged and uneven, the faint gleam of frost along the stone casting an almost surreal glow in the lantern’s light. The air around it felt heavier, thicker, as though the darkness itself were alive and waiting to pull them in.

Taking a hesitant step forward, Evangeline held the lantern out over the abyss, the faint light from the lantern revealing the extent of the vast expanse, the bottom shrouded in shadow. A faint hum seemed to emanate from the depths, low and unsettling, like a heartbeat echoing in the cavern.

"Holy fuck," She muttered.

Sebastian’s head snapped toward her, his brow arching in mild surprise despite the tension in the air. “Well, now I know it’s bad,” he said, his voice a mix of grim humour and seriousness. “You only break out the Muggle swearing when things are really dire.”

Evangeline shot him a sharp look, her knuckles still white around the lantern’s handle. “I think this qualifies,” she said, her tone brittle. Her hazel eyes remained fixed on the pit, the lantern’s flickering light barely making a dent in the oppressive void below.

Sebastian’s grin faded instantly as his gaze followed hers, his expression hardening into something sharp and alert. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, rising slowly to his feet. His eyes remained fixed on the pit, and for a moment, neither of them spoke, the weight of the discovery settling over them like a physical thing.

Evangeline clutched the lantern so tightly that her fingers ached. Her pulse raced as she took an involuntary step back, her breath shallow. “If we hadn’t lit the lantern…” she began, her voice barely audible, but the rest of the sentence refused to form. She didn’t need to say it—both of them knew how close they’d come to stepping over the edge.

Sebastian’s expression darkened, his usual easy confidence replaced by something more wary. “It's a trap,” he muttered, “The darkness, the way the pit’s hidden—it’s meant to lure people in. To keep them from seeing what’s right in front of them.”

She shivered, and not just from the cold. The air near the pit felt heavier, charged with an unseen energy that made her skin prickle. “Why would someone set a trap like this?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sebastian’s gaze remained fixed on the pit, his wand clutched tightly in his hand. “Could be a lot of reasons,” he said, his tone edged with tension. “To guard something. To get rid of unwanted visitors. Or maybe…” He hesitated, his voice trailing off as his eyes narrowed.

“Maybe what?” Evangeline pressed, her heart thudding painfully against her ribs.

He glanced at her, his brown eyes serious. “Maybe it’s not meant to keep people out. Maybe it’s meant to keep something in.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and ominous, and Evangeline’s breath hitched as her gaze darted back to the pit. The faint hum emanating from its depths seemed louder now, more insistent, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching them.

He turned his head toward Evangeline, his eyes meeting hers. The unspoken understanding passed between them, as tangible as the heavy air in the cavern: this was far beyond what they’d expected. This wasn’t just a bit of mischief, a simple late-night adventure—it was something far darker, far more dangerous.

“This is…” Evangeline began, her voice trailing off as she struggled to put her thoughts into words.

“More than we signed up for,” Sebastian finished, his tone grim but steady. His usual bravado was replaced by a quiet seriousness that made her chest tighten. He glanced back at the pit, the faint hum from its depths resonating in the silence. “We’re not prepared for this. Not tonight.”

Evangeline nodded, relief and unease battling within her. “We need a plan. Supplies. Something more than…” She gestured vaguely to the lantern and their wands. “...this.”

Sebastian straightened, stepping away from the edge with deliberate care. “Agreed. Let’s get out of here before whatever’s down there decides it’s had enough waiting.”

Evangeline tightened her grip on the lantern, her pulse still racing as she followed him toward the entrance. The faint glow from the lantern illuminated their path, the oppressive darkness receding reluctantly as if reluctant to let them go.

As they neared the mouth of the cavern, the sound of the wind outside grew louder, a low, eerie howl that sent a chill down her spine. When they finally reached the opening, they stopped short, their breath catching at the sight before them.

The gentle snowfall from earlier had transformed into a full-blown blizzard. Snow whipped violently through the air, the howling wind carrying icy daggers that stung their skin even from within the shelter of the cave. The world outside was a swirling vortex of white, visibility reduced to mere feet.

Sebastian cursed under his breath, peering into the storm. “Brilliant.”

Evangeline huddled closer to the lantern, the cold biting through her coat. “We can’t walk back in that,” she said, her voice trembling slightly—not from fear, but from the sheer intensity of the storm. “We’ll get lost.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened, his sharp mind clearly working through their options. “We’ll have to wait it out,” he said finally, his tone reluctant but resolute. He glanced around the cavern, his eyes narrowing as he assessed their surroundings. “At least we’ve got shelter. It’s better than freezing to death out there.”

Evangeline frowned, shifting her weight uneasily. The idea of staying in the cavern—so close to the pit, with its ominous hum and oppressive energy—was far from comforting. But she couldn’t deny the reality of their situation. “How long do you think it’ll last?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

“Hard to say,” Sebastian admitted, his gaze flicking back to the storm outside. “Blizzards like this can blow over in a few hours… or last the whole night.”

Evangeline nodded, drawing the scarf tighter around her neck as the lantern’s light flickered between them. "Alright well... we should be far enough away to use some spells again. Might as well try and set up some sort of... camp."

Sebastian gave a short nod, already pulling out his wand. The warm glow of the lantern illuminated his face, revealing the subtle tension in his jaw and the calculating glint in his eyes. “Good idea,” he said, his voice steady as he assessed the uneven ground, “Let’s find a spot that's not so... jagged."

Evangeline glanced around the cavern, her eyes flitting uneasily toward the pit before snapping back to Sebastian. “Over there,” she suggested, pointing toward a slightly raised section of stone near the cavern wall. It was flat enough to sit on, and far enough from the pit that she could almost convince herself it wasn’t there. Almost.

Sebastian followed her gaze and nodded, already moving toward it. The soft crunch of his boots echoed faintly as he stepped into the lantern’s expanding circle of light. “This’ll do,” he muttered, crouching down to inspect the area. With a flick of his wand, he muttered a warming charm, and a faint shimmer rippled over the stone, pushing back some of the damp chill.

“It’s not exactly cozy,” he said, glancing back at her with a faint smirk, “but it beats hypothermia.”

Evangeline followed him, clutching the lantern tightly as she approached. The light cast flickering shadows along the rough stone walls, but the oppressive hum of the pit remained a constant reminder of their proximity to something they didn’t fully understand. She knelt beside Sebastian, placing the lantern down carefully before opening her satchel to search for anything useful.

Her fingers brushed against the blanket she’d packed, and she pulled it out, spreading it across the stone. “At least this is better than sitting on bare rock,” she said, trying to inject some normalcy into her voice.

Sebastian’s brow arched as he watched her. “A blanket, too? What else do you have in there? A full tea set?”

She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Unlike some people, I actually plan ahead.”

“Well, aren’t I lucky to have such a prepared companion,” Sebastian quipped, settling down on the blanket beside her. His shoulder brushed hers, and even through the layers of fabric, his warmth was reassuring.

They sat in silence for quite some time, the quiet broken only by the faint crackle of the lantern’s flame and the relentless howling of the wind outside. Time seemed to stretch in the dim light, the minutes crawling by as the oppressive chill of the cavern seeped into their bones. The hum from the pit had faded to a distant vibration, but it lingered in the back of Evangeline’s mind like a faint, unwelcome whisper.

Sebastian leaned back against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him, his wand loosely balanced in his hand. His gaze was distant, the faint crease between his brows betraying the thoughts running through his head. Evangeline sat beside him, her knees pulled to her chest beneath the blanket as she tried to fend off the creeping cold.

The wind outside roared with renewed ferocity, a sharp, unrelenting sound that made her flinch. She glanced toward the mouth of the cavern, but the storm outside was impenetrable, a swirling wall of white that showed no signs of letting up.

“This storm is worse than we thought,” she murmured eventually, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

Sebastian turned his head toward her, his eyes meeting hers in the flickering light. “Yeah,” he agreed softly, his tone serious. “It’s not letting up anytime soon.”

Evangeline sighed, resting her chin on her knees as she stared at the lantern’s flame. She was tired—bone-deep tired—but the cold seemed to sink its claws into her, keeping her from relaxing. Her fingers curled tightly around the edge of the blanket, her knuckles white.

“We’re going to have to stay here, aren’t we?” she asked after a long silence. The words felt heavy, almost reluctant, as though saying them out loud would solidify the reality.

Sebastian didn’t respond immediately. His gaze shifted toward the cavern’s entrance, his jaw tightening as the wind howled louder, rattling faintly against the stone walls. “Yeah,” he said finally, his voice low.

Evangeline closed her eyes for a moment, drawing in a slow breath. It wasn’t as though they hadn’t fallen asleep near each other before—the Undercroft had hosted its fair share of late nights when exhaustion overtook them mid-conversation. But this was different. The cavern was freezing, the storm relentless, and she knew they wouldn’t be able to keep warm without sharing the blanket. Without being close.

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian said suddenly, his voice softer now. “I didn’t think it’d get this bad. If I’d known—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted, opening her eyes to look at him. “You couldn’t have known. And even if you did, I was the one who chose to come along.”

Sebastian tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable in the dim light. “Still,” he murmured. "It was my idea."

His words carried an unexpected weight, and Evangeline found herself searching his face for a moment longer before looking away. She pulled the blanket tighter around her, the movement more for comfort than warmth. “We’ve been through worse, Sallow,” she teased quietly, more to reassure herself than him.

The silence stretched again, and this time it was heavier, the reality of their situation settling over them like a second layer of frost. Evangeline’s teeth chattered faintly, and she cursed the chill that seemed to sink into her very bones. She shifted closer to Sebastian without thinking, drawn instinctively to his warmth. At the contact, Sebastian flinched.

“Merlin's beard, you’re freezing,” he said, his gaze flicking to her. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Evangeline shook her head. “I’m fine,” she lied, her voice trembling slightly.

Sebastian frowned, clearly unconvinced. Without a word, he shifted closer, pulling the blanket around them both as he draped an arm over her shoulders. “You’re terrible at lying,” he muttered, his tone exasperated but soft.

Evangeline stiffened for a moment, her heart pounding at the sudden proximity. But the warmth of him was undeniable, and her body relaxed almost instinctively against his. “I didn’t want to complain,” she admitted quietly.

“Complaining is allowed,” Sebastian said firmly, his tone laced with a faint hint of teasing. “Especially when it’s this bloody cold.”

A soft laugh escaped her, the sound muffled as she let her head rest lightly against his shoulder. “Well, then consider this my official complaint,” she murmured.

Sebastian didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he adjusted his wand, muttering a warming charm under his breath. A faint shimmer rippled through the air around them, and Evangeline felt a brief surge of heat settle over her skin, chasing away the worst of the cold.

For a moment, she sighed in relief, leaning slightly closer to the newfound warmth. But just as quickly, the warmth began to wane, the charm’s effects dulling like a candle losing its flame. The air remained thick and heavy, pressing in on them with a strange, unyielding energy.

Sebastian let out a frustrated sigh, his brow furrowing as his gaze flicked toward his wand then back to the direction of the pit, shrouded in darkness further down the cavern. “This bloody cave," he muttered, “It’s messing with everything.”

His gaze shifted back to Evangeline, her frame still trembling faintly beneath the blanket despite their shared warmth. The sight of her like this—cold, exhausted, and trying so hard not to show it—made something twist painfully in his chest. He tightened his arm around her shoulders, his tone soft but insistent as he said, “Lie down.”

She blinked, her head tilting slightly to look up at him. “What?”

“You’re freezing,” he said firmly, not leaving any room for argument. “And sitting like this isn’t helping. If we’re stuck here, you need to rest, properly. Lie down.”

Evangeline hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly. The idea of lying down, of letting herself be vulnerable here, with him, felt… complicated. But the chill had sunk so deeply into her that the prospect of staying upright felt unbearable.

“Where?” she asked quietly, glancing around the uneven ground.

Sebastian shifted, guiding her gently as he adjusted his position. “Here,” he murmured, lying back and settling against the stone. He stretched out his arm, patting the crook of it with a faint smirk. “Come on, Sterling. I’m not letting you use the rock as a pillow.”

She stared at him for a moment, her heart pounding as she debated. The intimacy of the moment, the cold pressing them together, the heavy silence of the cavern around them… it felt charged in a way that made her hesitant.

But the cold won out. With a quiet sigh, she shifted closer, carefully lowering herself until her head rested against his arm.

Sebastian adjusted the blanket over them both, pulling it snug before wrapping his other arm around her, resting his hand lightly on her side. The motion was careful, deliberate, as though he were trying not to startle her. He could feel her stiffness, the faint tension in her body as she settled against him.

“You’re like a block of ice,” he muttered, his voice soft and laced with concern. “Relax, Evie. I’m not going to let you freeze.”

She didn’t respond immediately, her body still rigid against him, but Sebastian was still keenly aware of every point of contact between them—the way her back pressed against his chest, the soft brush of her hair against his jaw, the faint rise and fall of her breathing. Her warmth was intoxicating, seeping into him and chasing away the worst of the cold. And her scent… Merlin, her scent was wrapping around him like a spell.

He tried to force his thoughts back to the present, to the storm, to their precarious situation. But it was impossible to ignore the way her presence filled every inch of the space around him. He’d imagined moments like this before, fleeting daydreams he’d always pushed aside as impossible. Now that it was real, it was almost overwhelming how easily he could press his lips to her hair or murmur something he’d regret in the quiet of the cavern.

Eventually, Evangeline’s breathing began to slow, the tension in her body easing as the shared warmth between them seeped into her bones. The cold had dulled her reluctance, and she allowed herself to relax, letting her head rest more fully against his arm.

“Better?” he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost afraid to break the fragile stillness between them.

Evangeline murmured something unintelligible, her tone drowsy. Her head shifted slightly against his arm, her hair brushing against his skin in a way that sent a faint shiver down his spine. “Mm-hmm,” she managed finally, her voice softer now. “Better.”

Sebastian let out a quiet breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Good,” he said, though his voice was rougher than he intended. He tightened his arm around her ever so slightly, his hand brushing against her side in a gesture that was meant to be comforting but felt far too intimate in the stillness of the cavern.

Sebastian woke slowly, the heavy stillness of the cavern pressing down on him like a weight. For a moment, he couldn’t quite remember where he was—the air was too cold, the ground too hard beneath him. Then the faint hum in the distance brought everything back: the cave, the pit, the blizzard outside.

And Evangeline.

His breath caught as he realized she was still curled into him, her body warm and soft against his. At some point in the night, she must have shifted; her face was now turned toward him, her breath warm against his neck. One of her hands rested lightly on his chest, her fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his coat as if anchoring herself to him.

Sebastian’s heart thudded in his chest, the sound almost deafening in the quiet. He didn’t dare move, every nerve in his body hyper-aware of her proximity. Her hair tickled his chin, and he could feel the faint rise and fall of her breathing against him, slow and even in her sleep.

For a fleeting moment, he let himself just… exist in the moment. It wasn’t real—not the way he wanted it to be, with the threat of a storm and whatever darkness loomed behind them hanging over their heads. But the warmth of her against him, the quiet, steady rhythm of her breathing, was enough to soothe the worst of his doubts.

Her face was so close to his that he could see the faint freckles dusting her cheeks, illuminated by the dim, flickering light of the lantern they’d left burning through the night. Her lashes fluttered slightly, and her lips parted just enough for him to catch the soft rhythm of her breaths.

Get a grip, Sallow, he scolded himself silently, tearing his gaze away and staring up at the uneven stone ceiling above them. And yet, his body betrayed him. The warmth of her, the way she seemed to fit perfectly against him, the trust she showed in letting herself rest so completely in his arms—it all made him feel like a drowning man grasping for air.

The wind outside had died down, the storm finally easing into a quiet calm. But Sebastian couldn’t bring himself to feel relief, not when he knew this moment—this fragile, perfect moment—would end the second she opened her eyes.

And when she did, when those hazel eyes blinked open and she realized how close they were, what would she see in him? Could he hide the storm raging inside him, the feelings he couldn’t name but couldn’t deny?

He didn't have to wait long to find out.

Evangeline stirred, a soft sigh escaping her lips as her lashes fluttered against her cheeks. Sebastian’s breath hitched, his entire body tensing as she slowly woke. For a fleeting moment, she remained still, her brows furrowing slightly as though still caught in the haze of sleep.

Then her eyes opened, hazel irises unfocused at first before they slowly sharpened—and widened.

The realization was immediate. She froze, her gaze darting to his, and Sebastian was struck by the sudden clarity in her expression. Her hand, still resting on his chest, twitched as if she might pull it away, but she didn’t. Instead, she stared at him, her lips parting as though she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

“Morning,” Sebastian said, his voice quieter than he intended. He offered a faint, crooked smile, desperately hoping to mask the rush of emotions threatening to spill over.

Evangeline blinked, her face coloring faintly as she processed their position—the warmth of his arm still around her, the blanket cocooning them both, her breath still brushing against his collarbone. “Morning,” she murmured, her voice soft, almost uncertain.

They stayed like that for a moment, the silence between them thick with unspoken tension. Sebastian searched her face for a hint of what she might be feeling—embarrassment, maybe, or discomfort—but her expression was unreadable.

“I—” she started, her voice catching as her gaze flickered between his eyes and the space where her hand still rested against his chest. “I didn’t mean to… I must’ve—”

“You were cold,” Sebastian interrupted gently, his voice steady despite the rapid beat of his heart. He didn’t move, didn’t dare to, afraid of shattering whatever delicate thread held them in this moment. “And you needed rest. That’s all.”

Evangeline’s brows knit together, her lips pressing into a faint line as she considered his words. Slowly, she pulled her hand back, curling it against her chest as though unsure what to do with it. “I... yeah,” she said quietly, "Well. Thank you. For… everything.”

Sebastian nodded, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “Of course,” he said, his tone light despite the weight in his chest. “What kind of friend would I be if I let you freeze to death in a cave?”

The word friend hung heavily between them, and Sebastian felt the sharp pang it always brought. But Evangeline didn’t flinch. Instead, she simply gave him a small, tentative smile before, sitting up as she glanced toward the cavern’s entrance.

“It sounds like the storm’s letting up,” she said, her voice rough with sleep.

Sebastian sat up as well, his movements deliberate as he adjusted the blanket. “Looks like it,” he agreed, his tone casual even as his chest ached with the loss of her warmth. “We should check to see if it’s safe to leave.”

Evangeline nodded, standing and moving toward the lantern. She picked it up, holding it close as she glanced back at him. "Looks like we have another secret to keep from Lysander."

Sebastian’s lips twitched into a faint smirk at her comment, though the mention of Lysander sent a sharp pang through him. He forced himself to focus on the teasing lilt in her voice rather than the knot tightening in his chest. “Right,” he said, his voice careful, steady. “Wouldn’t want to complicate things for you.”

Evangeline glanced at him, her brow furrowing slightly at his tone. “I just meant…” She trailed off, biting her lip as her gaze flickered toward the cavern entrance. "It probably wouldn't go over well."

Sebastian gave a short, humorless chuckle, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “I’m sure he’d have plenty to say about us being stuck in a cave together, blanket-sharing and all.” His tone was light, teasing even, but there was an edge to it that he couldn’t quite hide.

Evangeline’s frown deepened, her hazel eyes searching his face as if trying to piece together his sudden shift in demeanor. “Sebastian, this... doesn’t need to be a big deal, right?” she said, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “I mean, it was just survival. Nothing more.”

Sebastian’s chest tightened at her words, though he masked it with an easy shrug as he leaned against the cavern wall. “It’s fine, Evie. Really. Let’s just focus on getting out of here before the storm decides to trap us for another night.”

But it wasn’t fine. Not even close. The word Lysander hung between them, a bitter reminder of the line he wasn’t supposed to cross, the feelings he wasn’t allowed to have. And yet, here he was, standing in the aftermath of a night that had brought him closer to her than he’d ever dared imagine—and it still wasn’t enough.

Evangeline sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly as she turned back toward the cavern entrance. “Alright,” she murmured, her voice quieter now. She adjusted the lantern in her hands, the flickering light casting shadows across the jagged stone walls as she moved forward. “Let’s see if the path is clear.”

Sebastian followed her, his steps slow and deliberate as they emerged into the icy morning. The cold bit sharply at his cheeks, but the air felt lighter out here, freer. He glanced at Evangeline, watching the way she tightened his scarf against the chill, her movements purposeful and determined.

“You’re not going to let me hear the end of this, are you?” she asked suddenly, her voice breaking the silence as they trudged through the snow.

Sebastian grinned, “Oh, absolutely not. I’ve got at least a month’s worth of teasing material. Maybe two.”

Evangeline rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Of course you do.”

He stepped past her with an easy smile, leading the way down the mountain as the weight of everything unsaid pressed heavily against his chest. He let their conversation drift into the easy banter that came naturally to them, but for all his bravado, for all his teasing and charm, Sebastian Sallow knew one thing for certain: wanting Evangeline Sterling and being the person she chose were two very different things.

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

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suzukiblu · 10 months ago

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hello out of curiosity do you have any idea/ plan for how long the sugar daddy fic is going to be?

cause I was rereading it on ao3 and noticed you said you'd written the first 50k and were polishing it into chapter shaped pieces, and then were gonna write more, and the ao3 fic is nearly 50k, so I was wondering if you're about through with what you'd initially written, and what percent of the total plan it was

(I would not be surprised if this ended up being several hundred thousand words, or even a million... Tim's overthinking probably helps to increase the wordcount for any given event)

I've posted just about all of what I wrote for NaNo; the stuff I haven't is from later in the fic and still needs stitched together.

I honestly thought 50k would cover WAY more of the outline than it actually ended up covering, sooooo uh . . . no idea how long the finished fic is gonna be, hahaha. I MIGHT be a third of the way through now. Or . . . possibly a fourth. It's gonna be a long one for sure, put it that way.

#nonbinary-octopus #rintalk

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morerandombullshit · 7 months ago

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Tinted Blue Rating: 18+ (MDNI if you don't want trauma) Summary: Someone's been a prick, and they've had just about enough with it Word Count: 2495 CW: Alcohol mention, murder, antifreeze poisoning, cruelty (I didn't expect to be so cruel holy shit), angst, suicidal ideation, self-harm mentions, subtle mutual trauma dump, guy being a prick, graphic descriptions Note: I had to do this because it was an idea but like, I made it to be a self-insert? Idfk this is my therapy for dealing with Luke for the last 9-10 months, enjoy the...whatever this is

Ao3 version i had to orphan this one bc someone might find it but that's a story for another time

(Image by me due to a Canva speedrun)

There's always something so satisfying about handing someone poison without them knowing it's poison, and that's what Ash had done, though no one would ever know. They'd gotten their friend Layla to do the dirty work because they both share a mutual hate for him, but...yeah, Ash still did it. There's always something so humorous about poisoning someone and them being stupid enough to drink antifreeze, of all things. But then again, Luke's always been stupid. He was stupid when they were freshmen, and he's just as stupid now.

Ash takes their phone out of their pocket and checks their texts, snorting at the "Bottle given" message from Layla. How long do I have for this period left, again? they think, going onto Tumblr now. Their homepage pops up, and they consider adding to their blog for a moment, but ultimately decide to add to their blog later. They do have a couple fics to finish up, but they might get to it. Maybe.

But it'll be really funny to see Luke stumbling in fourth period. Probably means Ash is a bit of a psycho, but come on, seeing Luke being stupid is the highlight of their day sometimes.

-0_^_0-

Have the lights always been this bright? is Luke's first thought once he's done changing into his gym uniform. The girls' class is on the other side of the gym as usual, but he only really pays attention to one. Thick, dirty blond hair tied back into a messy bun is all he can see right now, but it doesn't really matter to him. She's still an enigma to him, despite what Josh has said about her so far.

That girl's a mystery to him, but he knows that she's definitely got some sort of attitude. The only words she utters in his presence are particularly vulgar curses and words that are foreign to him, maybe a mumbled "Fucking deal with it" once. Either way, Luke's always some shade of frustrated when he thinks of that goddamn...whatever the hell that girl thinks she is. And every time he tries to talk to her, something stops him.

Cold. Mysterious. And entirely too appealing.

Christ, what was in that water bottle?

-0_^_0-

Ash puts an earbud in as they walk to the gym's main doors, the earbud playing Breaking Benjamin's Dance With The Devil, but no. Life has them bump into an increasingly swaying and giggly Luke's back. My tolerance for this guy is less than zero, they think to themself as they step back and wait for him to move. Good thing he's gonna be gone soon.

The bastard doesn't move, and their patience has always worn thin all too quickly. "Kurwa mać." they grumble, the Polish curse flowing off their tongue like venomous honey. They're a bit of a polyglot, and Polish is their first language, so the accent comes naturally to them. So does the aggression—one of the reasons why their mind goes to Polish curses most often is the inherent aggressiveness in them. Maybe they shouldn't have used one that's so common to hear, but it's the first that pops into their mind. "Fucking move, princess."

The "princess" slips out as a way to insult his masculinity, but let's be honest—that was a long time in the fucking making. Luke's dumb ass still doesn't fucking move, and they want to push him, but they'd attract attention. And the last thing they'd want to do with their anxiety is attract attention of any kind. They're also sick and tired of this whole ordeal, and they know they've got to raise their voice. "Hey." They raise their voice so he can hear them. "Did you hear me? Or are you too invested with fucking your friends in the ass?"

Somehow, that catches his attention. Brown eyes that look like the darkest pits of hell blankly look into their soul, but they hold his gaze. They won't flinch, not when that'd mean weakness. Ash rolls their own eyes, mumbling a few languages under their breath and pushing Luke out of their way. They haven't had any Red Bull or alcohol today, and they won't take shit when they're the most anxious fucker to exist right now.

They rush out, swallowing the panic rising in them, heading for the door to leave. They've had enough of this, and the school's always put them on edge, so they can't stay for long. They put their other earbud in and go on their phone to find a good song, before sighing and deciding on Bury the Light, letting the pure motivation start playing.

I am the storm that is approaching...

They don't realize it, but they're humming along as they walk. Ash stops when they feel like something's off, though. Like someone's watching them, maybe—but they aren't sure. All they know is that the feeling skittering across their skin right now is less than pleasant. If I had some rum...

Rum sounds like something they can have when they get home. They look over their shoulder, and there's Luke, still drunk-looking. Their brows knit together as they take an earbud out. "Something up, princess? You're looking pretty intoxicated."

They know why he looks like that, of course, but they won't let him know that. Their tone is its usual cold and sharp flatness, but they hear a little smugness in there—they know he's too retarded to tell. And the "princess" is an automatic thing at this point—they can't stop it. They can't stop the blood-freezing panic that overtakes them, either. Only difference is that they can take that panic and make it their strength.

He stares at them for a moment longer, before saying, "What did you do?"

"Be more specific." Ash has an idea of what Luke means, but they want to hear it for themself, confirm it. They're ready to leave if they have to, ready to do anything if things go south. Their lighter presses into their hand, thumb rolling the gears but not lighting it fully. He looks at them, brows furrowing—a look they've never seen on him before. "That...that story. The one the principal showed me a while back, like ninth grade while back. Did you write it?"

So that's what this is about? Laughable how he's bringing it up now, when he's going to die in...less than 24 hours, if he's lucky. "So what if I did?"

"I read the whole thing." He swallows. "You're one sick bitch."

Ash laughs. God, why is that so funny? "Thank you." they say, not wiping all the amusement from their voice but being too far into their laugh attack to care. But even in their temporary amusement, they know he's hiding something else. Something they never want to know, because if it's what they think it is...Luke looks at them weirdly before stepping closer, which has them tensing and almost lighting the lighter in their hand. It'd be so easy to burn him right now...

"You are." He stops a couple inches in front of them and that blood-freezing panic in their veins turns into red-hot anger and pure disgust. "But that doesn't stop me from being curious."

"It should." Why does everything sound muted now? Why can't they move?

He smirks a bit, and their hand tightens on their lighter. "I don't even know why I am. You're not that hot anyway."

They laugh again. Why's Luke talking when he looks like an accident, especially with the buzz cut? "Ironic." they quip. "But irony doesn't save you from death, princess. When your time to go comes" —Which will be in about eighteen hours, they think— "No one will be there to honor you as your corpse gets put in the ground. You wanna know why?

"It's because you're a prick who thinks he's the shit, when he's clearly got nothing but words to back him up. You're clearly another insignificant, insecure high school boy who can't find himself and instead picks at people who're doing better than he is, just because he wants to stop crying himself to sleep. I'd bet money you cut yourself, too. Not my issue—we all have our own—but by the look in your eyes, you haven't wanted to be here for a long time now."

Silence suffocates the air as Ash watches their words hit their mark, one at a time. They've never been so cruel in their life, but this? It gives them a rush, spitting words out that once would've been a fever dream to them. Something within reach, but unattainable. They watch Luke's face crumple with apathy, and he takes a deep breath. "You got me. I've wanted to kill myself since the day I first saw you."

Huh. Is this supposed to be an insult, or...

"You were just so you, even with that tired, done-with-life look in your eyes." He smiles bitterly. "Defiant, mysterious, not giving a shit about what others said about you. Sure in yourself, even if you were constantly anxious. I'll admit, I wanted you, but I also wanted to be you. To experience what being sure in myself would feel like. I wanted you to teach me the ways to be that carefree. To toss such unpredictability into the world without a single consequence."

"You don't understand. There were consequences. But it doesn't matter now." Ash's hand tightens on their lighter some more. "You'll never get what you want, princess. I hope you understand that."

And so they leave Luke there, walking as fast as they can and just wanting to go home. His problems aren't theirs, they'd separated themself from any emotion involving him three years ago. Deemed it too much of a risk to keep it, and it seems they were right.

Bury the light deep within..! Cast aside there's no coming home! We're burning chaos in the wind! Drifting in the ocean all alone!

-0_^_0-

He ends up puking into his garbage can, the vomit ending up with a blue tint as well. He groans in pain, his vision blurring as his heart rate speeds into just-had-ten-Red-Bulls territory.

Oh God. Is he going to die? It sure seems like he's going to die...

-0_^_0-

"You ready?" Ash asks as they slip gloves on, side-glancing Layla again. She nods, slipping her own gloves on. They cast a glance in the dark to Luke's body. They hadn't expected him to die so fast, but maybe that's because they tossed quite a bit of antifreeze into the water bottle of bourbon they'd prepared. They get in through the window and look down at his corpse. This had once been a problem in their life, like a parasite, kind of.

They feel tension lifting from their shoulders, leaving their mouth in a soft exhale. He's gone. They grunt and pick his body up, keeping quiet, even if he's about six feet and they're five nine, they carry him well. They pass the corpse to Layla and she tosses it into a body bag before Ash grabs it and they both dash like mad.

The duo end up driving out to Muskoka region—oh, the irony—and Ash stops the car in a forest. They side-glance Layla before getting out and getting the body bag. "Do we have the evidence?" they ask. She nods and pulls it out. They nod back. "Good. Set it down, we'll burn it when we're done with the body."

"Okay." she mutters, putting it down and helping Ash with getting nitric acid, opening the body bag and watching what used to be Luke disintegrate to his bones. They dig up a shallow grave under a bush, a stroke of luck being there's already a dead coyote pup there. They place the bones, fill it back up and step back, tossing the shovel and nitric acid into the pile. "Rest in hell." they say before turning their back and helping Layla burn the evidence until it's only ashes on the wind.

-0_^_0-

Luke wakes up in a startle, looking around him. Dark palace, magma surrounding him like a volcano. A man lounges on a throne, yawning. "So you're another unlucky soul, are you?" he asks, the British accent surprising him. "God. What'd you do to die so young?"

"I don't..." he swallows. "I drank something, I...felt like shit when I got home from school. Puked and then everything faded."

The man laughs, getting up and brushing his spotless, expensive suit. "Ah. I know why you're here." Black eyes with burning red embers bore into him, making him shiver. "Ash killed you. Their plan was bloody brilliant, I will admit."

"Ash?"

And then it hits him. Every withering glare...the girl was Ash? And they? What the fuck is this man saying? "Yes, Ash." the man smirks. "Poor boy. Well, since you're in Hell now...let me entertain your worst memory."

"Worst—"

Luke gets cut off when he gets transported to when he had been getting smothered with cruelty by Ash’s words. Hard to believe it was just before he'd died, but...it hurts. He's trapped in a prison of his own making, his guilt, his desires, his own foolish mindset.

And for the first time in his life—well, afterlife, he supposes—he screams bloody murder.

LetmeoutletmeoutletmeoutLETMEOUT—

Even if he knows there's no escape for the rest of eternity.

-0_^_0-

It’s scary, but it’s sort of gratifying. Gratifying that they’d gotten rid of some major issues. They keep their face straight as they walk, but for some reason, Luke’s spat-out confession before he’d died comes into their mind.

You were just so you, even with that tired, done-with-life look in your eyes. Defiant, mysterious, not giving a shit about what others said about you. Sure in yourself, even if you were constantly anxious. I'll admit, I wanted you, but I also wanted to be you. To experience what being sure in myself would feel like. I wanted you to teach me the ways to be that carefree. To toss such unpredictability into the world without a single consequence.

They don’t regret anything, but those words have been haunting their limited sleep lately. But when they hear a scream somehow cut through their earbuds playing Swimming Pools (Drank) by Kendrick Lamar at full blast, their feet are on the move.

Ash subtly pushes their way to the front of the crowd, and unlike their classmates’ pale, ashen faces, theirs is blank. They’ve seen gore on-screen before, so it isn’t as jarring as it should’ve been.

The body is almost unidentifiable, but by the stature…well, they know of only one guy who’s about 5’4. Oliver.

He’s been a pain in their ass, but there were moments where he was a genuine friend.

But now…

Who killed him? Ash wonders to themself as the other students whisper and look nauseous.

#ashs bullshit #writing

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delta-pavonis · 1 year ago

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July Kinkfest Days 12, 13, and 14

The Sandman (human A/B/O AU) || Dreamling (Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling) || Rated E || 5.6k words

Warnings (in addition to the prompts above): (check the AO3 tags)

Author's Notes: This is in the same AU as this kinkfest fill. It explores how alpha Hob and omega Dream got together.

Excerpt below. Read all of Chapter 1 on AO3.

“Hello, gorgeous. Heard you begging to be fucked… any chance I can take you up on that offer?”

Morpheus is consumed by gently inquiring brown eyes. The entire party fades into the background as warmth suffuses through his body. Even the ropes that have him suspended from the ceiling feel like tender caresses when he is looking into those brown eyes.

This is an alpha, of that Morpheus has no doubt. He cannot scent him, not with the smell of sweat and semen and lube and blood all around him here on this stage, but he knows, in the way that he knows that he has lungs and a heart – it resonates within him.

“Yes.” He whispers, as if he speaks any louder the man in front of him will prove himself a dream.

His smile is a dawn, something bright and new. “Good. Can I touch you?”

“If you can fuck me without touching me I will be really impressed.” A laugh, warm and rolling and so real. Morpheus can’t help but smirk. “Yes, you can touch me.”

He expects a fist in his hair, or a tug on the ropes. Instead, calloused fingers run over Morpheus’ lips, his cheekbone. “Gorgeous and smart.” Fingertips tilt his chin up. “Oh, I am taking you back to a room. I want this all to myself.”

Morpheus thrills at the possessiveness, wants to moan Yes, please, and take those fingers into his mouth. Instead, he pouts and whines. “But I like an audience.”

The alpha leans forward to whisper in his ear. “Liar.” His voice is heavy enough to cause the omega to shudder in his bonds. “Everyone already knows you are a needy little whore.” A gasp catches in Morpheus’ throat. “But if I take you away, just you and me? Then they all will know you are my needy little whore. And that’s what you really want, isn’t it?”

Fuck. Morpheus can feel himself getting wet at that, he might even be dripping onto the floor. Christ. “Yes. I want that.” He tilts his head in to subtly nuzzle at the other man’s jaw. “Sir.”

The alpha growls in pleasure and Morpheus does moan out loud then, can’t help himself, every instinct in him screaming that he should prostrate himself at the feet of this stranger. Then, in a rush of displaced air, the other man is gone.

Luckily, he is speaking before Morpheus can cry out looking for him. “Drop him, gently now. I’m taking over this one.” There is an audible chorus of disappointed sounds from people around them, more than Morpheus thought were there, at least before this man showed up. “Jess, get my usual room ready, would you, love?” The clip-clacking sound of high heels fades into the distance. Who is this guy?

“Hey now, I had him first.” That’s the voice of the guy who was flogging him, who tied him up, who put this collar on him. Great hand at shibari, less at the domming.

An aggressive snarl permeates the air again and Morpheus hears himself whine. There is the faintest rustle of fabric and then murmurs from the crowd.

There is a tack-thud of the flogger hitting the polished floorboards. “S-s-sorry, Mr. Gadling, uh, Sir. Yeah. I. Ah. Have to. Leave.”

Morpheus can barely hear the thud-thud-thud of boots running away over the rush of blood in his ears. Gadling. Robert Gadling. The Knight. Consigliere of the Cortesi Family.

Fuck. This man is here to kill him. Pull him into a private room and either ransom him in pieces to his father or just murder him outright to send a message to the Endless.

Well, joke's on him because Khronos couldn't give two shits about what happens to his pathetic omega son. Gadling is going to send Morpheus' ear by courier and Khronos will send the poor messenger back with a wad of cash and a request to finish the job. Oh, and a note: please return that ruby necklace, it is a family heirloom.

The next few minutes pass in a blur as Morpheus is untied and his limbs rubbed back to normal function. Gadling does it all himself, with careful deliberation that, in any other circumstance, would make Morpheus' knees weak.

"Hey, darling, what's wrong?" A silken robe has been draped over Morpheus' shoulders and Gadling is holding him up by the biceps. "I don't take unwilling partners, so if you have changed your mind, I won’t take offense…"

"Cut the act." Morpheus whispers, monotone, keeping this between them as he threads his arms into the robe. "I know you are here for me. So what is it going to be? Ransom or just plain murder?" His voice is probably more bladed than it needs to be, but he is also furious with himself for not catching it sooner. Epthumia is right, Morpheus is fucking useless.

Gadling looks genuinely confused. "I am sorry, what? Am I supposed to know you? Like, outside of my wildest fantasies?"

Morpheus tamps down the amused snort that wants to come out – now is not the time to be charmed – crosses his arms over his chest and stares at the man in front of him. He finds nothing but warmth and sincerity. With narrowed eyes he turns slightly and lets the robe drop to reveal the bump of the top of his spine. There, in only about an inch square, is an hourglass with a frame shaped like a Mobius strip.

What Morpheus doesn't expect is to be grabbed by the wrist and dragged down a hallway, up a flight of stairs, down another hallway he didn't even know existed in this building, and into a luxuriously appointed private room. The door slams, making Morpheus flinch, and he hears the deadbolt lock into place.

"You are one of Khronos’ kids, aren’t you?" Gadling spins him around so they are facing each other, hands on Morpheus' upper arms again. “If you know me, then you know I know Death and Destiny, just by virtue of our positions in our respective organizations. I know that he has more children.”

"Morpheus is what my father named me." He keeps his gaze as even as his tone.

He can see Gadling doing the math. Khronos has a hard-on for Ancient Greece, thinks it the pinnacle of human civilization, so it pays for anyone who interacts with him to know a bit about it too, even his enemies. So deep is his adoration that each of his children has a name right out of some Ancient Greek dictionary, then a nickname to go with it that matches the meaning of the Greek word. The latter is because their mother realized that no one could pronounce any of the given names and she was going to be spending the rest of her natural-born life correcting people when she could actually be drinking more wine. She was the one who came up with the cute alliteration scheme. The biggest rub is that Morpheus had it on good authority that Khronos had named himself, that his whole story of their hereditary line was bullshit, and that the name on that motherfucker’s birth certificate is Tim.

“Okay, you got me. I can’t come up with a word that starts with D-E that means sleep. So what’s your…” Morpheus just keeps staring while Gadling trails off. “You don’t have one. Holy shit, he does have an omega son he is hiding.”

He rolls his eyes. “Hiding is a strong word. More like a lie of omission.” Gadling just blinks at him, some unnamable emotion flittering across those beautiful eyes. “Now are you going to fuck me or what?”

#Dreamling #Dreamling AU #Mafia AU #A/B/O AU #alpha Hob #omega Dream #julykinkfest2023 #Pavonis writes

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mslanna · 11 months ago

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Unforgiven II

Chapter 25 of Be My Guest now up on AO3

In which Raphael suffers.

I should have stopped them.

The thought is now part of the inventory of his mind. It doesn't matter what Raphael sets his thoughts to, sooner or later, he is back here: I should have stopped them.

But he hadn't. The fire of rejection burnt so high and hot in that moment, the moment Tav tore down the whole home he had built with a few words. The rage rearing its head had been overpowering, the animal urge to grab and slash and hurt.

So Raphael had not moved. Had not grasped the slim wrist and made Tav stay until they understood. Until he understood. There was no understanding in the maelstrom of utter betrayal. He had planned their future out perfectly. Together. Forever.

And Tav rejected it. Rejected him. A feeling he knew too well. Something he would not let stand. He would not be denied. Certainly not by a mortal hopelessly in love with him! They said it, there and then, said they wanted to be his. Tav threw those words at him and left.

Left him.

Without looking back once. Why? He had already seen their tears and the lip bit bloody. Tav hadn't wanted to go. But they had gone anyway. An unforgivable insult. Raphael pretended that only his pride was hurt, told himself over and over that no mere mortal had such power over him. Lies in the face of truth.

It worked, if only a little. If Tav truly held no power over him, his thoughts would not circle the hole they left in his life like hungry predators. But they do. Daily. Hourly. The lack of something in his life is ever-present. He hates it. He hates that Tav is gone. He hates that he cares.

Some days he can convince himself that he doesn't care. Days spent completely engrossed in the task of bringing his hells to heel. Yet, even at the end of those days, the temptation beckons - to retreat, to rest, to yield to the care of somebody who is no longer there.

Of course, he can always ask Haarlep to step up. The little shit is living their best life and always ready to indulge in a professed weakness of their former master. Their price might even be acceptable. Yet Raphael cannot bring himself to ask. Not just due to the humiliation. It feels wrong. He hates it. He abides by it anyway.

Because it won't be long, can't be long, until Tav returns. There is certainty in the thought, a belief built on thin air. The alternative is unthinkable, so Raphael does not think it. Tav is his. One way or another. It is his truth, held up by hope he doesn't admit to and lies.

They'll come back.

Tav loves him. It is the truth. It cannot be denied. It is a pillar the realms rest on. And because Tav loves him, they will be back. Days and days go by during which Raphael is certainly not waiting for Tav to return. He doesn't expect them to grovel or even an apology.

They are beyond that. Tav will return with an explanation. And Raphael will have his words practised and polishes. They will talk. They will set things right. And Tav will stay because they love him and it is the right thing to do.

But Tav doesn't return.

Certainly, they'd come for some of their things. Raphael doesn't spend much time in their suite. It's a hall of empty memories. He slips in still, weak for past comforts. For a while the sheets and pillow smell faintly of his little mouse. After a while the scent wears off. He bunches up the pillow in anger, shoves it back on the insultingly pristine bed.

But all of Tav's things are there. So he puts the blasted contract where they have to find it. On top of their collection of favourite things in the topmost desk drawer. When Tav breaks in, sneaks in as they did before – for Mol's contract, for the Orphic hammer that once again sits in the place of honour in the archives – when Tav comes to steal from him once more, they must find it.

They will understand. Maybe they will just take it for now. But that is an invitation Raphael can follow up on after some time.

But Tav doesn't break in. Every time Raphael ventures into the coldness of his former home, the top drawer is undisturbed. The Helldusk armour in its stand, mimicking Tav's small form perfectly, is still there. Everything is exactly the way Tav left it behind, untouched, slowly dusting over.

So he takes his time to reel Karlach in, a difficult and delicate task. The tiefling is suspicious of devils and rightfully so.

But Karlach has one thing, one thing she desires above all else. And he, Archdevil of Five Hells, can provide it. For a price, of course, always for a price. And if the price may be deemed to low for the service he provides – well, the devil is in the details. Karlach may speak to exactly one person about the price she paid.

Karlach leaves with her heart repaired and nothing but a request as payment. Surely, this good turn will catch Tav's attention. They have no chance but to recognise his goodwill. Raphael has his words prepared, the feast hall polished, the reception planned to the t.

But Tav doesn't arrive at his doorstep. Even when he knows for certain Karlach has reached them, talked to them. He is an arch devil. His eyes, his ears, are everywhere. But Tav keeps on adventuring as if nothing has changed.

Raphael changes his approach. He gets more forward, a little help here and there. Saving their life. But Tav stays silent. Not even an "I didn't ask for this". Tav doesn't acknowledge his interference.

So he decides to go himself. Let things play out like they do in plays and novels with eyes meeting across the distance and budding understanding that dawns in its wake. But when their eyes meet, there is only pain.

Tav turns their head away as if he didn't see the thin line of their lips, the darkness clouding their eyes. It makes no sense. Has he asked for something in return? Never! He stands, reaching out and reaching out and grasping nothing. He crosses his arms, calms the tapping foot, keeps his eyes on them.

The silence is deadening. Tav shakes their head and that does it. Raphael retreats. If the direct approach does not work, he needs something else. But Tav's companions are granite. They do not talk to him, answer no questions, offer no insight.

It's Astarion who finally breaks. But he only offers six words: They told us what you did. No judgement, no tirade nor rage. A simple fact. And behind it the truth: we stand with them to the end. Tav is not alone and they are right.

Raphael stews over those six words for days. Tav is not right. They have no right to burden his thoughts the way they do. Who ever heard of such a thing? An arch devil humiliating himself for a mere mortal. He should- and there his train of thought stops. There are many things the Archdevil of Five Hells should do to Tav. None are appealing to him.

There are many things Raphael wants to do to Tav, but they rejected those. It is a discrepancy he cannot solve. If he cannot have his little mouse – not like a possession. The words sear down sharply. Tav's words. Not a possession. Well, it is obvious that he doesn't own them. Owns their soul, but at what cost?

The damned contract lies untouched in the topmost desk drawer. Tav never comes to claim it – or anything else from the life they shared. Not a single possession. Raphael keeps his eyes and ears on Tav anyway. To make sure they survive, keep them where they are if that is what makes them happy.

He will see Tav soon enough – Tav, who doesn't want to be in his House of Hope. He can't stand the thought. So he will keep them alive and away. A purely selfish act, of course.

Still word gets around somehow, that the Archdevil of Five Hells is trying to lure one very specific human down to him.

Offers to facilitate Tav's demise crop up more and more often in deal negotiations. Rejecting them turns tedious. Raphael doesn't want his mouse dead. He just wants them. A concept the desperate souls seeking him out seem to have trouble grasping.

It should delight him that the human life is short. Nothing but the blink of an eye in the world of devils. Soon Tav must return. Raphael remembers teasing them for believing he preferred their presence in his home to their soul in his possession.

The House of Hope is full of fiends and empty of home. Tav made clear that they do not want to return and will hate every moment once they have to. Raphael doesn't call it defeat, doesn't even call it acceptance. It is a tactical retreat, a break to regroup and consider his options. Even if every day makes it more and more clear that Tav will not return.

I should have stopped them.

#bg3 #bg3 raphael #raphael x tav #bg3 fanfiction #be my guest #chapter 25 #i hope you like pain #sleazy second-hand car dealer

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songbirdsanctuary · 3 months ago

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Whispers of Loss, pt. 3

I'm somewhat turning this into a series so, I'll post the order they go in later when I have more, but this > 🐑

is the fic that started this and although it'll be later in the series you can read it whenever. Don't go looking for part 1 and 2 on my tumblr, for those you need to go to my Ao3 account, SongBirdSheep, and find it.

Warnings: Starvation? Kind of?

Word count: 3,507

Impulse walked through the shopping district with Zedaph by his side. Normally, Zedaph was a ball of energy, always chatting about his latest wild invention or some random curiosity that had caught his attention. But lately, something felt... off. Zedaph’s usual exuberance had dimmed, like a light bulb slowly flickering out, and it didn’t sit well with Impulse. Zedaph seemed quieter, more withdrawn. Even now, as they walked past colorful market stalls and bustling shoppers, Zedaph kept his head down, avoiding eye contact, offering only the occasional half-hearted response to Impulse's attempts at conversation.

Impulse noticed how Zed’s hands fidgeted with the edges of his shirt, a nervous habit that wasn’t normally there. They had finished their shopping trip much quicker than usual. Normally, Zedaph would insist on stopping at every stand, marveling over gadgets and trinkets, but today, it was as if he was eager to get it over with. As they reached the end of the district, Zedaph cast a quick glance back toward the stalls before turning to Impulse with a weak smile. "It was fun hanging out with you, but I should probably head back," Zed said, his tone light, but his words rushed, like he was trying to escape. "Lots of work to do, you know…"

Zedaph turned, his steps quickening as if he couldn’t wait to be alone. But Impulse wasn’t ready to let him go just yet. He stepped forward, closing the gap between them. "Hey," Impulse called softly, careful not to sound too concerned. "How about I come over for a bit? It’s been a while since we hung out properly."

Zed froze for a second, glancing over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. Impulse could feel the unease in the air, the way Zedaph was trying to put distance between them. He didn’t want to push too hard, but something in the pit of Impulse’s stomach told him that leaving Zedaph alone right now wasn’t the best idea. Impulse had known for a while that Zedaph struggled with self-worth issues, and he’d heard enough about the body dysmorphia that sometimes distorted Zed’s view of himself. Zed had always been good at masking it with jokes and endless curiosity, but lately, the cracks in that facade had been showing more and more.

Impulse didn’t want to outright say he was concerned, but it was hard not to be. He couldn’t just ignore the way Zedaph had been withdrawing, retreating into himself more often. "We don’t have to do anything crazy," Impulse added quickly, trying to keep his tone casual. "I just thought maybe we could hang out, maybe watch something, no pressure." He knew Zedaph didn’t always respond well to being fussed over, but Impulse hoped that offering company without too much expectation might help ease whatever weight Zed was carrying today.

“I... Sure!” Zedaph said, his voice shaky but carrying a hint of relief. Impulse smiled softly, and the two began their walk to Zedaph’s lab. The walk was quiet, with Impulse sneaking glances at Zedaph every now and then. Zedaph kept his eyes forward, lost in his own thoughts. Impulse wasn’t sure if he should try to start a conversation or just let the silence stretch. Sometimes Zedaph needed space, and Impulse didn’t want to push too hard.

When they finally arrived at the lab, they were greeted by the familiar sight of Cotton Candy, Zedaph’s pet sheep. The pink-and-yellow dyed wool gave the sheep a bright, cheery appearance, but even Cotton Candy’s usual antics didn’t bring the usual smile to Zedaph’s face. The sheep trotted over to them, its hooves clicking loudly on the polished floor. Impulse chuckled as the sheep nudged Zedaph’s leg, but Zedaph barely reacted, simply bending down to give Cotton Candy an absent-minded pat on the head.

As they stepped further into the lab, Impulse's shoes made soft, muffled sounds on the smooth marble floor, but Zedaph’s hooves were louder, the clicks echoing slightly in the open space. The sound was comforting in a way—it was part of the normal rhythm of their visits, something familiar in the quiet tension.

“So... what do you wanna do...?” Zedaph asked after a moment, his voice unsure as he tugged at the hem of his shirt. He looked up briefly, his eyes darting toward Impulse before quickly looking away. “I-I can make us something to eat and we could watch a movie? How about that?”

Zedaph’s suggestion hung in the air for a moment, but Impulse could see the uncertainty written all over his friend’s face. Zedaph’s hands fidgeted more, pulling and twisting at his shirt, and his eyes stayed glued to the floor, avoiding any further eye contact. Impulse could tell Zed was struggling, trying to be hospitable even though he clearly wasn’t up to it.

"I’m not that hungry..." Zedaph mumbled after a beat, still not meeting Impulse’s eyes. His voice was soft, almost defeated. "Make yourself something, though. I’ll, uh... find a movie or something."

Impulse watched him carefully, concern deepening as Zed retreated further into himself. The way Zedaph’s shoulders slumped, the way his voice wavered—it was all adding up, and Impulse could feel the weight of it. Zed wasn’t okay, and it wasn’t just about being hungry or tired.

“Alright,” Impulse said gently, trying not to sound too worried. He didn’t want to overwhelm Zedaph, but he also didn’t want to leave him alone in his thoughts. “I’ll whip up something quick, nothing fancy.” Impulse hesitated for a moment before continuing. “If you change your mind, there’ll be plenty. You know I always make too much.”

Zedaph gave a small, almost imperceptible nod as he moved toward the couch, his steps slow and heavy. Impulse could see the tension in his friend’s movements, the way Zed’s hands were still trembling slightly as he grabbed the remote and started flipping through the options on screen. Impulse turned toward the small kitchenette area, but his mind was still on Zedaph.

As Impulse started pulling out a few ingredients to make a quick snack, he glanced over at Zedaph. The flickering light from the screen illuminated his friend's face, highlighting the exhaustion that Impulse had been noticing for a while now. Zedaph looked drained, like he was carrying something too heavy for him to handle alone.

After the movie, Impulse glanced over and realized Zedaph had fallen asleep. His head was tilted back against the couch, mouth slightly open, breathing softly. The movie’s soft glow flickered across Zedaph’s peaceful face, a stark contrast to the tension he’d been carrying earlier. Impulse felt a wave of relief wash over him—at least Zedaph was getting some rest. Quietly, Impulse reached for the remote, turning off the TV so the room was dim, leaving only the gentle hum of the lab’s equipment in the background.

Impulse stood up slowly, careful not to wake Zedaph as he approached him. He bent down to gently lift Zedaph up, intending to carry him to bed so he could sleep more comfortably. But the moment Impulse wrapped his arms around Zed’s torso, he froze.

Zedaph was light—far too light. As he lifted him, Impulse felt the startling realization of just how much weight his friend had lost. Zed’s body felt fragile, like he could easily snap in half. His clothes hung loosely, and when Impulse’s hand brushed against Zedaph’s midsection, he could feel his ribs through the thin fabric of his jacket and wool. The sensation stopped him in his tracks. He could feel the hard bones underneath, too prominent, too sharp.

A deep frown formed on Impulse’s face. That wasn’t good. How long had Zedaph been like this? Has he been eating at all?

Impulse slowly adjusted his hold on Zedaph, cradling him carefully as he carried him toward the small bedroom at the back of the lab. As he walked, Impulse’s mind raced with concern. How hadn’t he noticed this sooner? Zedaph had always been a bit on the thinner side, but this was different. This was alarming. He couldn’t help but wonder if Zed had been skipping meals, too focused on work, or worse—if he had stopped caring about himself altogether.

Impulse carefully laid Zedaph down on the bed, pulling the blankets up over him. Zed didn’t stir, his breathing steady and calm, but Impulse couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at him. He glanced down at Zedaph, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath the covers. His friend looked so small, so vulnerable.

Sighing softly, Impulse tucked the blankets in around Zedaph, making sure he was warm. He sat at the edge of the bed for a moment, just watching him sleep. The quiet room seemed to amplify Impulse’s worries, thoughts swirling as he tried to figure out what to do next. He couldn’t just leave things like this, not when it was clear that Zedaph wasn’t taking care of himself. Something had to change.

"I'll come back in the morning," Impulse murmured softly, more to himself than to Zedaph. He gave one last look at his friend, then stood up and quietly left the room..

Impulse flew gracefully, his dragon wings slicing through the sky with ease as the wind rushed past him. The sun had barely begun to rise, casting soft hues of orange and pink across the landscape as he glided toward Zedaph’s lab. The early morning air was crisp, and Impulse found comfort in the rhythmic beat of his wings, but his mind was far from at ease. Zedaph had been on his mind ever since he left him the previous night, and Impulse knew he couldn’t ignore the growing concern gnawing at him.

As he descended, his wings flared to slow his landing, touching down softly just outside Zedaph’s lab. The sleek, polished building stood quiet, the faint hum of machinery inside the only sign of life. Impulse folded his wings back and approached the door, raising his hand to knock.

He rapped on the glass gently at first, not wanting to startle Zedaph. Through the window, he caught a glimpse of movement—a shadow passing quickly out of view. Impulse waited a moment, but there was no other sign of activity. No response. He knocked again, a little louder this time, leaning closer to the door.

“Zed?” Impulse called out, his voice steady but filled with an edge of concern.

Another long pause followed, and Impulse's heart sank a little. He debated whether he should just let himself in, but before he could decide, he heard the faint click of the door unlocking. The door creaked open slowly, and Zedaph peeked out, his face only partially visible through the small crack. His eyes were downcast, and his usually bright expression was replaced with something duller, more worn out.

“Need something?” Zedaph’s voice was quiet, almost hoarse, as if he hadn’t spoken in hours. There was something off about the way he spoke—something flat and lifeless. Impulse had never seen Zedaph like this before.

“I just wanted to see you,” Impulse said softly, offering a warm, disarming smile, trying to coax Zedaph out of his shell. He didn’t want to push too hard, but the last thing he wanted was for Zedaph to retreat further into himself. “I figured we could hang out, maybe grab breakfast?”

Zedaph hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly on the edge of the door as he considered Impulse’s words. He opened the door a little wider, enough for Impulse to get a better look at him. Zed’s eyes were red and tired, dark circles smudging beneath them, and his clothes looked like they hadn’t been changed since the night before. He was still wearing the same jacket, and it hung even looser on him now, emphasizing how thin he had become.

“I’m… not really hungry,” Zedaph mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. He kept his gaze firmly fixed on the floor, avoiding Impulse’s eyes.

Impulse’s chest tightened. Zedaph had always been on the quirky side, sometimes lost in his own world, but this was different. There was an air of isolation around him now, a heavy sadness that Impulse couldn’t ignore. He had been worried before, but seeing Zedaph like this made it all the more real.

Impulse watched Zedaph hesitate at the door, his heart sinking at how exhausted his friend looked. He couldn’t just let this slide. Zedaph had admitted he wasn’t hungry, but Impulse could see how much his body was struggling, how thin he had gotten. It wasn’t just about being tired anymore—it was about making sure Zedaph was taking care of himself.

“I get it, Zed,” Impulse said softly, stepping forward and gently placing a hand on Zedaph’s shoulder. “But you’ve gotta eat something. Even if it’s just a little bit. You’re looking really worn out, and I’m worried about you.” His voice was steady but filled with care, trying to strike the balance between being concerned and not overwhelming Zed.

Zedaph tensed slightly at the contact, still avoiding Impulse’s gaze. “I’m really not hungry, Impulse,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. He tried to shrug off the suggestion, but there was no real conviction behind his words. It was more of a reflex, a defense mechanism.

Impulse didn’t back down. “Zed, you need to eat,” he said, firmer this time but still gentle. “Even if you don’t feel like it. I know you’re probably not thinking about it, but I can tell you haven’t been eating enough. Let me make something small—just toast or a smoothie. Something easy.”

Zedaph shifted uncomfortably, his hand still gripping the doorframe as if it were his anchor. He looked like he was about to argue again, but Impulse kept his eyes locked on him, his expression soft but unwavering.

“Please, Zed,” Impulse said, his voice quieter now but full of emotion. “Just let me help. I won’t leave until you’ve had something. It doesn’t have to be much, but it’s important. You can’t keep going like this.”

For a moment, there was only silence. Zedaph stared at the floor, his jaw clenched, as if he was trying to fight back some internal struggle. Finally, he sighed heavily, the fight leaving him as his shoulders slumped even more.

“Fine,” Zedaph muttered, almost resigned. “But just something small.”

Impulse felt a wave of relief wash over him. He didn’t want to push Zedaph too hard, but he also couldn’t sit by and do nothing. “That’s all I’m asking,” Impulse said, smiling warmly. He stepped inside the lab, placing a reassuring hand on Zedaph’s back as they made their way toward the small kitchen area.

“I’ll whip up something quick,” Impulse said as he glanced through the pantry, grabbing a few simple ingredients. He pulled out some bread and fruit, deciding to make toast with a bit of jam and a smoothie—nothing too heavy, but enough to get something in Zed’s system.

As Impulse worked, he kept an eye on Zedaph, who had slumped down into one of the kitchen chairs, looking even smaller and more fragile than he had the night before. The silence between them wasn’t awkward, but it was heavy with unspoken concern. Impulse wanted to ask what had been going on, why Zedaph had let things get so bad, but he knew he needed to take things slow.

He placed the toast and smoothie down in front of Zedaph. “Here. Just a little bit, like we talked about.”

Zedaph stared at the food for a moment, as if gathering the energy to eat, before finally picking up a piece of toast. Impulse watched him carefully, feeling a small sense of accomplishment as Zedaph took his first bite. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

“Zed… If you don’t mind telling me… Why haven’t you been eating?” Impulse asked, his voice soft but filled with concern as he sat down across from Zedaph. He watched his friend closely, searching his face for any hint of an answer. Zedaph froze, his body going still for a moment, and Impulse could see the internal battle taking place behind his tired eyes. Zedaph shook his head quickly, his hand trembling slightly as he placed the half-eaten toast back onto the plate.

“I-it’s not important,” Zedaph mumbled, his voice barely audible. He looked away, avoiding Impulse’s gaze, but the words hit Impulse like a punch to the chest.

Not important? How could he say that? Impulse felt his heart drop, frustration and fear bubbling up inside him. Zedaph had been wasting away right in front of him, and now he was trying to downplay it like it didn’t matter.

“But it is!” Impulse’s voice came out sharper than he intended, and he could feel the edge of panic creeping into his tone. He leaned forward, his hands gripping the table tightly. “If I never noticed, would you have starved yourself to death!? Is that what you were planning to do?”

The sudden intensity of his words hung in the air like a heavy weight. Impulse hadn’t meant to yell, but the thought of Zedaph quietly suffering, slowly slipping away without anyone knowing, filled him with a surge of fear and helplessness. His mind raced, trying to comprehend how bad things had gotten without him noticing sooner.

Zedaph’s eyes widened in shock, and he stared at Impulse as if he had never seen him like this before. It wasn’t often that Impulse raised his voice in a way that wasn’t part of their playful banter or casual joking around. This was different—Impulse’s voice was laced with real emotion, raw and unfiltered, and it made Zedaph flinch.

“I… I…” Zedaph moved his mouth as if he were trying to respond, but no words came out. His lips trembled, and his breath hitched slightly. Impulse could see the wall that Zedaph had built around himself cracking, and before he could say anything else, he noticed the tears. They were slow at first, welling up in Zedaph’s eyes, but as the silence stretched between them, they began to spill over, trailing down his cheeks.

“Zed, I-I didn’t mean—” Impulse’s voice softened immediately, the anger and frustration melting away as he realized how much he had hurt his friend with his outburst. “Please don’t cry… I just— I’m worried about you, that’s all.”

Impulse reached out, his hand moving toward Zedaph’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort, but the moment his fingers brushed Zedaph’s jacket, Zedaph flinched hard, pulling away from his touch. He shrank back into his chair, curling into himself as if trying to make himself smaller, his body trembling slightly.

Impulse’s heart shattered at the sight. He hadn’t meant to scare Zedaph, hadn’t meant to push him like this. Seeing his friend so vulnerable, so broken, made him feel helpless. The silence that followed felt suffocating, thick with unspoken pain and confusion.

Zedaph hugged his arms around his chest, his breathing uneven as he tried to control the sobs threatening to break free. “I’m sorry,” Zedaph whispered, his voice cracking. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to make you worry. I’m just… I don’t know anymore.” His voice wavered, and he wiped at his tears, but they kept coming. “It’s just… everything feels so heavy. I don’t know how to make it stop.”

Impulse’s chest tightened, hearing the brokenness in Zedaph’s words. He could see now how deep this went, how much Zedaph had been carrying on his own, and how badly it was affecting him. Impulse cursed himself for not noticing sooner, for letting Zedaph get to this point without realizing just how bad things were.

“You don’t have to do it alone, Zed,” Impulse said softly, his voice filled with compassion. He kept his distance now, not wanting to make Zedaph more uncomfortable, but his heart ached to reach out and hold his friend close, to let him know he wasn’t alone in this. “I’m here. I’ve always been here. You don’t have to carry all this by yourself.”

Zedaph didn’t respond right away. He just sat there, trembling, his arms still wrapped tightly around himself as if he were trying to hold himself together. Impulse could see how much pain he was in, and it broke his heart to think of Zedaph feeling like this for so long without reaching out for help.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Zedaph spoke again, his voice so small it was almost a whisper. “I don’t know how to stop feeling like this, Impulse. I don’t know how to… make it better.”

Impulse’s eyes softened, and he nodded, understanding the weight of what Zedaph was saying. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now,” he said gently. “But you can start by letting me help. We’ll figure it out together, okay? One step at a time. You don’t have to fix everything by yourself.”

Zedaph sniffled, wiping at his eyes again, his breathing still shaky. He didn’t say anything for a few moment.

Zedaph shook his head and resumed eating.

#hermitcraft fanfic #hermitfic #hermitblr #hermitcraft #zedaph #impulsesv

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edupunkn00b · 2 years ago

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The Uses of Adversity, Ch. 13: Two Days Later

Prev - Two Days Later - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Two weeks and two days later is Star Wars Day, May the Fourth. Logan's Birthday. Guaranteed to be a day to remember.

When we, spoke we, knew it wasn't over When I, spoke I, know it tortured us both Two days later, two days later and calm - Two Days Later, by Fink

Logan’s very obvious panic attack seemed to have awoken some sort of friendly protectiveness in Roman and he’d reached out every day since it had happened. Even during his week-long trip back to London, Roman hadn't let a day go by without reaching out in some way.

Typically, it was simple texts in the morning, Logan's morning. But sometimes, well after dinner but before Logan was asleep, Roman would call, as well. Logan knew it wasn’t necessary, he was fine but… he found it impossible to force himself to discourage the calls and messages. He was now more sure than ever that his earlier musings on what Roman might have been about to say that lovely evening was nothing like he’d thought. Hoped for? Still, Logan couldn't help but look forward to starting his day with their little chats over his morning coffee.

Good morning, Lo! May the Fourth be with you!

Setting down his mug, Logan chuckled and typed back.

And also with you. 🌟

He paused for a moment, thumb hovering over the send button. Finally, he quickly tapped out another line and sent the message before he could think too much about it.

Do you have any plans tonight? Virgil and Remy came down and we’re going to have a Star Wars Marathon. We’d love it if you joined us.

Three little bubbles popped on the screen for a long time and Logan took a slow draw of his coffee, bracing himself for a thoughtful, gentle rejection. He shook his head, frowning at his own thoughts. It wouldn’t be a rejection, he’d simply asked a friend to join him and his sons for a movie night. It wasn’t a… a date.

I’m sorry, I have plans. Maybe next time? 🤞

The phone didn’t at all tremble in his hands as he tapped out a response. He merely typed too quickly to hold it steady.

Yes, of course. I did not intend to put you on the spot. Another time would be wonderful.

Logan waited, sipping his coffee, but though his message flipped to ‘read’ immediately, Roman didn’t respond. The cold certainty that he’d made a mistake crackled, blooming in his belly and growing through his chest with each tick of the kitchen clock. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You don’t invite people to a social gathering the morning of. Let alone on a Friday night! What, you seriously thought Roman Prince didn't have a date and would just be sitting at home waiting for you to— Logan took a deep, shaky breath and slowly let it out. He would do better. Roman was forgiving. Desperate not to end their conversation on such an awkward note, he finally tapped out another message.

I hope you have a great day!

He locked the screen to stop himself from staring and waiting for a response that wasn’t coming. Slow steps shuffled down the stairs and he shoved the phone into his pocket and refilled his coffee. Remy entered the kitchen, still in pajamas and tapping at his own phone. He and Virgil had gotten in late last night and it looked like he’d had trouble falling asleep after the adrenaline of a long drive. “Good morning, Remy,” he called and Remy stood still, thumbs bouncing against his phone. “Would you like some coffee?” Finally, he stopped and looked at him.

“Morning, Dad! Happy Birthday!” He pocketed his phone and nodded before hugging him. “Yes, please! I'll always say yes to coffee!”

~~~

At the sound of footsteps down the carpeted hall, Janus frowned at the clock, then looked up from his desk. He should have had at least another hour before the office grew to its usual frenzied pace, starting the never-ending stream of people at his door. His frown softened when he caught sight of carefully polished shoes and razor-sharp creased pants.

“Logan?” Said shoes froze mid-stride outside his office door and Logan turned to face him. “Would you come in here, please?”

“Oh, J—Janus,” he sputtered, clutching a thick redwell of case files close to his chest. “I—I did—didn’t realize you were in yet.” He adjusted his glasses. “I—I mean, n—not to say—”

“It’s alright, Logan.” Janus attempted a smile. The man’s nervousness was contagious and recent… developments had left Janus doubting his assumptions about him. “It’s safe to admit your observation that I’m typically not the first one in the office each day. Leadership has its privileges, after all,” he deadpanned. Logan didn't crack a smile.

Janus gestured toward the chairs across from his desk. “Please, Logan, sit down.”

Nodding once, Logan stepped inside, spine straight and face carefully masked with his all-too-familiar ‘approach the bench’ expression. “At ease, Logan,” he said, closing the folder in front of him and steepling his hands as he sat back in his chair. He waited until Logan sat down, hands folded primly over the casefiles in his lap.

“You are correct that I’m breaking character a bit here,” Janus began. “Devin’s recent… behavior—”

“You mean assault?” Logan raised an eyebrow, still sitting arrow-straight even as he frowned back at his boss.

Janus fought a smile. There’s the lawyer. He nodded, “Devin’s assault showed me I have had a few blindspots around here.” Janus fucking hated admitting he was wrong but he had to concede to himself, if no-one else, that Logan had tried to warn him, had advised him to pay more attention to Devin’s actions.

After everything he’d learned, fucker had been right to take the deal.

Licking dry lips, Janus fished around in his pockets for mints and reached for his water. He rapped his fingers against the bottle, relishing the cold burn of the water and peppermint down his throat. It wasn’t what he really wanted. But it helped.

“I’ve spent the past three months reviewing everyone’s caseload and docket history.”

“Everyone’s cases?” Logan asked. His expression didn’t change but his eyes jumped down to the stack of files on Janus' desk.

“Everyone’s,” he confirmed. “Both for paying clients and pro bono cases.” Janus frowned. The deafening silence pouring in from Devin’s empty office on his left and Marge’s empty office on the right had grown distracting over the weeks and months since he’d introduced Roman and Devin, ever since his former best friend had revealed just how slimy he really was. Their emptied offices were a constant reminder of how easy it had been to let ‘just a little’ favoritism snowball into blinding him to their poor performance, as well.

Logan’s eyes followed his gaze but he didn’t ask for details on his former colleagues' sudden—and vocal—departures. He’d been the only one in the office who hadn’t. He’d just kept his head down and picked up more than his fair share of their abandoned cases. “The rumors are true,” Janus confirmed. “I’ve let several people go.”

He waited, but Logan only nodded, still listening. Janus sighed. He almost wished he’d smirk, say ‘I told you so,’ dance on their graves, anything… human. He just sat there like the fucking robot Devin—

Janus blew out a sharp breath, stamping out the thought before it could fully bloom. “When I was reviewing your docket, I came across the old petition records of that anti-equality initiative.” Logan nodded, brow furrowed. “A name leapt off the page.” He blinked again, lips twitching at the corners like he was forcing himself not to speak. They both knew Logan knew exactly which name he was referring to. “Your old last name,” he finally said. Janus crossed his arms, a flash of his original anger seeping out.

He’d been fucking livid when he’d spotted Kelly Jessica Croft signed in big, looping letters on the first page of the signature list. Fortunately, he’d been alone in the office, so no-one had overheard when he’d called his husband to complain.

“I can’t fucking believe it!” He’d paced the office, Remus on speaker phone so he wouldn’t shout into his ear. “I just can’t fucking believe it! This motherfucker simps and nods, all respectful with his fucking creased pants and he turned around and had his own wife run a goddamned petition against the law! Our law!”

Remus didn’t speak, and the only sound coming over the phone was the ratatatat of his brushes beating against the side of his easel.

“I can’t figure out what his angle was. Why fight his own fucking law? He wrote the damn thing! Was it the money?” Fuck knows they’d all had to pull overtime when the Save Our Families initiative had gathered enough signatures to be taken seriously. Ultimately they’d prevailed, but…

“It just doesn’t make any sense. He’s named as the primary author of the legislation. He didn’t need to fuck around. If he’d wanted more money, more attention, a better office, he could just write his own goddamn check! There were firms across the country battering down the door to meet with him. He didn’t need to do this he—Oh!” Janus' voice dropped to a whisper. “Oh, fuck.”

He stopped pacing, both hands coming up to his temples. Yep, that was a migraine coming on. He fumbled in his pocket and popped three Altoids into his mouth and crunched hard. “You don’t think he was feeding information to the Eyman group, do you?”

“Okay, Jannie,” Remus finally said, and the little shk shk of his mustache brushing against the mouthpiece yanked Janus’ attention back to the present. “Take a breath. Let’s think this through, together, okay?”

He waited, probably with that infuriatingly adorable smirk, until Janus took three slow breaths.

“Okay. When the law passed, he coulda strut around that office, right? Gotten any new title he wanted and just rode those laurels until it was time to retire, couldn’t he?” Remus’ voice was low and quiet, and Janus deflated, sinking down into an armchair near the window. He nodded silently and Remus continued as if he saw him.

“But he didn’t do any of that, did he?”

Janus sighed. “No,” he said, still frowning.

“What did he do?”

Scoffing, Janus got up and checked the 2012 docket list. “After the initiative was struck down, he requested three new pro bono D.V. cases, claiming with Marriage Equality complete, he had time to pick up ‘his slack.’” He swallowed against the sour taste in his throat and popped another handful of peppermints into his mouth.

“Jannie,” Remus cooed. He felt like he was the one being cross-examined, the noose slowly tightening.

He sat back in his chair, eyes falling shut. “What, Muse?” The throbbing in his head slowly eased.

“So his wife’s name—now ex-wife’s name—was on the petition…”

“Her name’s on the fucking presentation page." He sat up again, rage energizing him. "She had to be one of the organizers. The whole thing was probably bankrolled with his Q-Law salary!” Janus sat up, stabbing a finger down the hall toward Logan’s office. “He probably signed it, too!”

“And how long did you spend pouring over the old paper documents searching for his name before you gave up?”

“Two—”

He could practically hear his husband’s eyebrow raise over the phone.

“Two and three quarter hours,” Janus murmured.

“And had he signed it?”

“No. But I might’ve missed something.”

“Jannie…” Remus purred and Janus leaned back against his chair, arms crossed in front of his chest. He knew he looked like a petulant child but he was too angry to give a fuck. “So, if all signs are pointing to him not signing the damn thing, and when he could, he didn’t take an easy opportunity to gain fame and wealth and, frankly, a fucking target on his back…” Silence poured over the phone line.

“So why didn’t he?” Remus asked, gentler than he probably deserved.

Janus picked up the file. He’d spent hours re-reading Logan’s case notes, checking the filings… there was nothing suspicious save for his fucking wife’s name on the petition. Had Logan had some grand scheme? Had Janus somehow stopped him from taking the next steps in whatever the fuck he was trying to accomplish here? Or was Logan completely incompetent and couldn’t recognize when to strike?

“Maybe it's the other way around.” Remus’ voice cut through his wandering thoughts.

“What do you mean, ‘other way?’”

“So this guy used to be married to some Karen—”

“Kelly,” Janus smirked.

“Even better,” Remus cackled, the unexpected sound pulling a chuckle from Janus, as well. “So he’s married to this bitch Kelly who runs a campaign against her own husband’s work…” Janus dumped the last of his mints in his palm and popped them into his mouth. “The same ex-wife who watched over him like a fucking warden at the Q-Law parties, right?”

“The few he’d bothered to attend,” Janus had muttered. Something itched at the back of his mind but he couldn’t quite scratch it.

“Maybe ask him about it before you accuse him of legal espionage, huh?”

It had taken Janus three days to calm down enough to decide what to do. And another three days to call him in to discuss it. He hadn't been delaying the conversation, he’d… he’d just had a very busy calendar.

Finally sitting across from Logan in his office, he watched the man's guarded eyes, the way they bounced back and forth from the case files and his face. Anxiety sizzled through every movement. Worry. Maybe even a little fear in there.

But no guilt.

“What can you tell me about this?” he asked, setting down the file, open to his ex-wife’s signature. Janus spun it around so he could read. “You were still married when she signed this.” Logan touched her signature and for one sickening moment, Janus thought he might cry. “Did you sign it, too?”

“No, of course not!” Logan looked up at him, mouth hanging open in shock. It only lasted a second and was quickly papered over with a more controlled expression. “Janus, I—” He sat up a little straighter, lips pressed together into a thin, shaky line. “D—did you c—call me in here to fire me, as well?”

“Should I have?” Janus challenged, leaning over his desk and staring into Logan’s eyes.

Logan gripped the case files in his lap before straightening his glasses. “If you can’t trust me enough to believe I wouldn’t sabotage my own work, then perhaps you should.”

Balls of fucking steel. The wobble in his chin and the wetness he couldn’t really hide behind his glasses told Janus he was probably going to go cry as soon as he left the office, but that still didn’t stop the guy from standing up to him.

Janus nodded once. “Actually, I called you in here to offer you the office next to mine,” he looked pointedly at the wall to his right.

“Wh—what?” He almost dropped the files as he scooted closer in his chair. “But tha—that’s the office for the Assistant Attorney in Charge.”

Unflappable my ass. “Exactly.” Janus couldn’t hold back a little smirk. “You want it?”

~~~

The office slowly came to life around them as they discussed—negotiated—Logan’s new salary and a 30-60-90-day plan. Janus listened when he leapt up and taped sheets of legal paper to the wall, sketching out a plan to coordinate with firms across the country to battle the flurry of anti-trans and anti-LGBTQ laws popcorning up in even moderately purple regions. Janus laughed when Logan grabbed a highlighter from his desk without asking, but quickly sobered when he drew lines between them, noting which states were also in the middle of proposing bans on no-fault divorce and obliterating reproductive rights. It wasn’t something they’d been watching very closely at the firm, but the commonalities revealed a chilling strategy.

Again, there was that little itch at the back of Janus’ mind but he shook it away.

“Draft this up,” he nodded, clapping Logan on the shoulder. “Let’s see if it has wings.”

“Thank you, Janus,” Logan smiled. It was small, and shaky and didn’t quite wipe out the worry in his eyes every time he looked over the boxes and arrows he’d mapped out, but it wasn’t that papier mâché grimace of his, either.

Beatrice chose that moment to slip into the office, towering over both of them. “Oh, good, Logan, you’re in here. You have a flower delivery at reception.”

“Oh?” he blinked. Janus could’ve sworn he was blushing as he followed her out to the lobby.

“Go, on,” Janus nodded. “It’s time for a coffee break, anyway. C’mon," he said, grabbing his blazer from behind the door. "My treat.”

“Yes, silly,” Beatrice patted Logan’s cheek as he passed. “Why didn’t you tell us it’s your birthday?”

Plastering on a grin, Janus crossed his arms and tried not to think about how, just a couple hours ago, he’d let Logan think he’d been about to fire him on his fucking birthday.

A delivery guy stood in front of Beatrice’s desk, arm wrapped around a giant vase filled with pansies and baby breath. An enormous heart-shaped balloon emblazoned with ‘Happy Birthday, Logan’ floated above it. He held a beat-up clipboard in his other arm. Yeah, Logan was definitely blushing.

“Are you Logan Sanders?” the delivery guy asked, holding out the flowers.

“Yes,” he smiled, accepting the bouquet.

“Sign here, please,” he said, watching as Logan signed. He took back the clipboard and left a manila folder in his hand. “You’ve been served.”

Logan looked up at him, brow furrowed in confusion as he held a bouquet in one hand and a thick envelope in the other. “It’s really your birthday?” the guy asked, a twinge of guilt passing over his features. Logan nodded silently and turned over the envelope. He paled at the name of the firm on the front. “Sorry, man,” he shrugged and hurried down the stairs. He didn’t bother to wait for the elevator.

Beatrice nudged Janus forward with a pointed look, then moved down the hall, shooing away the little knot of interns who’d heard the word ‘birthday’ and had gathered to watch. Janus held out his hands. “Would you like me to take those?” he asked, leaving open which he’d prefer Janus held for him.

Logan nodded and passed him the flowers. “Is there a card?” he asked without looking up from the envelope. Hands shaking, he tore off the sealed tab and pulled out a blue-backed petition.

Janus found the card and turned it around to read. A little growl bubbled up from the back of his throat and Logan looked up at him.

“What does it say?” he asked, defeated.

“Happy Birthday,” Janus answered, only half-lying.

Apparently Logan’s bullshit detector was just as finely tuned as his and he reached for the card to read it for himself. “Happy Birthday. Pansy.”

Gritting his teeth, he shoved the card into the envelope and took the flowers, dropping the bouquet of pink and yellow pansies into the trash.

“I think I could use that coffee, Janus, if you’re still offering,” he said, jaw set despite his shaking hands.

“You bet your ass I am.”

~~~

Together, Logan and Janus read through Kelly’s petition to the court. His boss’ muttered curses grew louder with each page.

“What fucking century does she think this is?” he finally spat, shaking his head and signaling a server for another refill. “Dammit, Logan, this is…”

“I have to fight this,” Logan whispered, staring at her proposed parenting plan. Full custody of Patton with no requirement to stay within the school district or even within the state. Monthly, supervised visitation with Logan. A continued residential requirement attached to any future college payments for any of the boys after they turned eighteen.

“Of course you have to fight this,” Janus insisted, looking up from where he jotted notes in the margin. “Fuck that, we have to fight this.” Logan stared at him, the blend of shock and hope on his face twisting uncomfortably in Janus' gut. “Hey, I thought you were smart," he said, trying to deflect. "A man who represents himself is a fool.”

"A man who is his own lawyer has a fool for a client," he corrected automatically, the barest hint of a smile softening his face. “Are you seriously offering to represent me in this? It’s… it’s a personal matter.”

Janus shrugged and smiled over his coffee. “You can get me back when Remus sues me for custody of our lemurs.”

“You have pet lemurs?”

“That’s the part you find unbelievable, Sanders?”

Logan bit back a chuckle and, by the look in Janus’ eyes, that had been the point. “I have zero doubts about the longevity of you and your husband’s relationship,” he bowed his head, clinking their newly refilled coffees together. “I… I appreciate your help. I…” He blew out a sharp breath and straightened his eyeglasses, an embarrassing lump growing in his throat. “I—I don’t know what I’d do if she took my boys from me.”

Janus clinked back and smiled. “You won’t ever have to find out.”

After drafting their plan of attack, Logan crossed out the section marked The respondent forfeits his or her right to contest and signed the petition with a flourish. Janus would first enter himself as attorney of record representing him in the proceedings, file a stay, and then submit a claim for discovery. “That’ll take a while, so in the meantime, I’ll need to deposition you. I need all the facts.”

Nodding, Logan looked away. “Yes, of course.”

Janus patted his hand. “Attorney client privilege will be in effect. I won’t share what you tell me with anyone you don’t wish.”

“Of—of course, Janus. I trust you and your integrity. I…” Janus seemed to misunderstand his hesitation and gripped his shoulder.

“I think you’ve probably had enough for one day, let alone your birthday. Take the afternoon off.” Logan opened his mouth to protest but Janus was quicker. “I insist. I’ll draft the papers and we’ll start the deposition… is Monday too soon?”

“Monday would be good,” Logan nodded. Get it over with.

“Monday, then,” he smiled. “Now, I will take all of this back to the office.” Janus picked up his case files, their notes, and the petition from Kelly’s attorney. “You will go home and enjoy your birthday.”

—-

Taglist: @crossiantgay

Ask and ye shall be added

#The Uses of Adversity #ts logan #ts janus #Logan Sanders #Janus Pater #ts remy #Remy Sanders #ts roman #Roman Prince #ts remus #Remus Prince #Patton and Virgil mentioned

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solitaire-sol · 1 year ago

Text

05: North

For: @prongsfoot-microfic

Month: August 2023

AO3: Link

Notes: A bit more than the usual 500 words; the actual microfic is 500, but there are some short 'extras' in the form of two endings I couldn't choose between, so I went with a third one and included the extras in case anyone still wanted to read them.

In their third year, fresh from the holidays, Sirius was in the middle of unpacking, eager to put his time away behind him, when James threw himself on Sirius' bed and shoved a small package in his face. Sirius accepted automatically, if suspiciously: James was grinning broadly, his “I know something you don't” grin, and Sirius liked to think that James didn't keep secrets from him.

“Go on,” James urged. “Open it!”

“Alright, don't nag,” Sirius retorted, but tore it open regardless, revealing a box of the kind that typically held jewelry. Something contracted within him, taut with a strange anticipation that Sirius didn't know what to do with, so he forced it aside and tipped a small, gray-black ring into his palm. It looked like ore, polished to a mirror's sheen, but it seemed utterly mundane. Sirius looked back to James with a quirked brow.

“Oh, give it here,” James said, bouncing up to take the ring in one hand and Sirius' hand in the other. Sirius had a moment to wonder why this made him a little breathless, or why he felt strangely warm when James (slightly clumsily, but with great enthusiasm) slid the ring onto the proper finger.

“Now, think about me!” James instructed, as if Sirius needed to be told.

“James,” Sirius said, his tone carrying a slight warning – stop making me feel things with no explanation – but he paused at a faint pulse of warmth from the ring. It felt like sunlight on a cold day, like a shared scarf on a snowy walk, like James, just a few seconds ago, holding Sirius' hand.

It felt like James, and when Sirius turned to James, mouth slightly open but not quite sure which words to say, the warmth increased as if to indicate the shift in direction.

“It works, right?” James crowed, pleased with himself in the way that Sirius always found endearing. “I just about destroyed Dad's workshop, trying to make the charms stick, but this way-- I mean, we can't get you owls,” James explained, his words bumping into each other the way they did when he was flustered. “And when we come back, you're always a little--”

James glanced away. “It's so you don't forget. About me, or... Because we're best friends, right, even if I'm not... where you are.”

It was a bit much to ask of a thirteen-year-old, explaining feelings that were only just beginning to be known, so it was a relief when Sirius flung an arm around James' neck and asked if he was 'going all soppy on him,' and the ensuing scuffle excused both the color in James' cheeks and the irregular beat of Sirius' heart. Really, there was never any danger of Sirius forgetting James, but he still kept the ring through Hogwarts and beyond; it lacked the utility of the two-way mirrors, but there was something to be said for having a little piece of James in his hand, whenever he wanted, wherever he might be.

BONUS?

Years later, when those halcyon Hogwarts days are already lost to the past and Sirius' world has fallen apart, he finds himself shivering through a prematurely cold November, frost riming the surfaces in the semi-abandoned basement he's temporarily taken refuge in, because Merlin knows he can't go back to the Order-- Not with what he knows, not with what he plans to do. Sirius clings to the rage, to the sense of betrayal, and he occupies himself with the many myriad ways he's going to take Peter apart; little Peter, poor, easily-impressed Wormtail, who admired James so greatly and had sent him to his death. Sirius prefers his murderous thoughts to any of the others that crowd around him in that damp, unpleasant space, because he'd rather focus on the prospect of violence than on the life he might have to lead now, the knowledge that one of their best friends betrayed them after all, the guilt of pressing James to change their Secret Keeper, the idea that he'll have to live without--

Sirius' hand goes to that ring, one of many, now, but infinitely more precious because it was the first: Silver-black in the light that drips through boarded-up windows, humble in appearance, Sirius clings to it like a talisman, still unwilling to take it off even though he knows that its purpose has likely come and gone. He knows where James is, after all, or what's left of James, he saw the fallen body and the wide-open eyes devoid of the light and the life that Sirius has loved for so long. Even so.

Even so...

Sirius, back against the wet-slick wall behind him, lifts his hand to his lips and presses a kiss to the ice-cold ring, barely noticing the tremor that passes through him. James, he thinks, James, James, James--

Not the body back in Godric's Hollow, not the man with the shadows under his eyes that Sirius had last seen through the mirror, but James as he lives in Sirius' best memories: The boy that Sirius met on the train, the boy he grew up with, the boy he loved, who grew into the man who Sirius wants, more than anything, to see again. One last time, if never again, he wants to feel that warmth, that sunlight, please--

Alternate Ending 01: Half-Full

Faint but undeniable, that familiar warmth pulses from the ring; the basement remains unchanged, but to Sirius, it's as if the mildew-streaked walls have been suddenly bathed in golden light. The whisper of James' magic, imbued into the ring what feels like a lifetime ago, ripples faintly, like James murmuring in his sleep; for a moment, Sirius can almost feel James' hand in his.

The moment passes, the magic goes dormant, but that's all right. Sirius' eyes close, his breath puffing into mist as he exhales shakily, and he presses the hand wearing the ring against his chest as if trying to draw the remnants of that warmth into his heart. James is gone, but not really. Not in the way that Sirius feared.

Now that he knows this, now that he's sure, Sirius knows what he has to do.

Alternate Ending 02: Half-Empty

... Nothing. There is no stirring of familiar magic, no sought-after warmth; the ring is just a ring, now, as empty as the man who made it, a reminder that nothing lasts forever and the promises of children mean nothing in the face of what men do. Sirius knows this, has known it, but he had hoped, he had stupidly, desperately hoped to be proven wrong.

He tries again, regardless, and again, and again, until he's forgotten why he was thinking of James at all, because it's been so natural for him to do so and now he can never think of James without the reminder that James is gone. It almost makes Sirius want to discard the ring entirely, to rip it from his hand and hurl it into the streets and let it lie there, forgotten, to be buried under the snow. He does not, because even a painful reminder of James is better than nothing, and now painful reminders are all that he has. James is gone, and wherever he might be, if he still exists at all, lies far beyond Sirius' reach.

Now that he knows this, now that he's sure, Sirius knows what he has to do.

#prongsfoot microfic #prongsfoot #bambibelle #starbucks #james potter #sirius black #james potter x sirius black #sirius black x james potter #playing catch up with myself #i honestly set out to write fluff i swear #i'll try to be less canon-compliant next time #no promises tho #it was supposed to be like a “he is my true north” thing #not sure i pulled it off #fics by sol

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erenspussy420 · 1 year ago

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Take Me With You- Wishing Well

This is a male disney princesses x oc fanfic. Crossposted on Wattpad/Quotev/AO3

Warning: Please be advised as this fic will later on contain mature themes, such as violence and sexual mature themes later on. This is crossposted on AO3 under BurningLaurelLeaves130.

Chapter 1: Wishing Well -Snow White

She fell.

It felt endless. The world had turned dark, with the faint glimmer of a rainbow's lights peeking through.The pull of her skin as the suction of the tunnel takes her farther into its world- Victoria was afraid if the fall doesn't kill her the cutting of the wind just might.

As it felt like this fall will never end- there! A prick of light at the end of this endless abyss, it came closer and closer and soon she passed the edges of the tunnel and fell briefly into a ring of light. It wasn't daylight but the full dawn in its falsehood. In the small space of freedom she appeared in, she caught the glimpse of a courtyard of an old fashioned castle, dusty with crooked trees littered with vines.

And then Victoria had plunged into the well.

She screamed as she submerged into the water, a large splash spooking the owls in their perches . Instincts kicked in and she kicked up to the surface of the well. Coughing out the water she swallowed, Victoria breathed in sharply, shivering as the water was cold. Victoria clings to the sharp edges of the stones that jutted out, trying to relax her nerves.

“Fucking shit, where am I?” Victoria gasps, she pushes her hair thick back, trying to get her nerves together.

The game.

She's in the fucking game.

Amos didn’t beta check the game.

"No, no no no," Victoria groans. Looking up for a way out, she only sees a pulley with a bucket that’s far out of her reach. Patting herself, she feels her bag drag in the water. Good. She still had her purse with her, but its strap wasn't long enough to throw, and she knows she didn't pack an emergency rope. She grimaces seeing how high the bar was.

It was still dark out, with only the tint of blue light edging towards dawn. She's not even sure if anyone was awake- or if anyone even lived here. Regardless, Victoria is not waiting for someone to get her.

Victoria reaches out testing the stones, finding something to grip as she tries to find her footing and starts to climb. Victoria had barely made it a couple of inches, before her feet slipped scratching her knees as she slipped back into the water. Spitting out water, she tries again, and again…

There was no point climbing, the rocks were too slippery. Her bag for all its multi-space, she had nothing that could help her come out of the well, a sword wouldn’t be helpful either if the walls were too small. Ruffling through her bag hoping to find her emergency kit—only to realize she gave it to Amara. Pushing down the rising panic she hugs her purse close, Victoria hums to herself, thinking and thinking. Tapping her fingers against stone, her blue nail polish chips.

Victoria leans against the slippery stones.

”I’m so screwed.”

“Nopel!” the head house maid called into the kitchen. The old stout woman, who’s hair is gray as weathered rocks on the river's edge, bustles down the stairs, her dull green dress rustling as she does. Her wrinkled face twists, seeing not the young man she’s searching for, but the other servants who hurried past her. ‘Where could the boy be’, she wonders, her tongue clicking,' ts ts,he must be out by now before the king awakens.’

The head house maid, known as Hilda, one of the oldest veterans of the castle staff when Queen Ingrid once sat in her throne as a princess, before she wedded her first husband, and later King Grimhilde. Hilda, who had been just a lowly maid at the time, with a child at home with her mother as her husband was long gone, was put in charge to care for the young prince of the castle, till she was no longer needed as a nanny but as his retainer—-as long as King Grimehilde see’s fit.

“Nopel!” Hilda calls down the halls, with no answer. Maybe he was outside in stables? He always seemed to be fond of animals, as they were of him. The stable boys who passed by, their breakfast in hand, told her Nopel had already fed the horses on his own. As per orders. Hilda stress lines grew.

The prince, so sweet and gentle like his father. Hair dark like a raven’s feathers, glossy and smooth, skin pale as the freshly fallen snow…

“Nopel where could you have run off too?" Hilda rubs her temple. There was no sign of the missing young man, he must be somewhere in the castle’s many towers.

“Miss Hilda!” cries a young maid from behind, waving to her frantic," Miss Hilda! The Huntsmen have returned! The butchers are arguing with them about the game they brought back, ohhhh Miss Hilda what do we do! They're making such a fuss with Sir Johann, his majesty would hear of it!"

Another headache.

Hilda breathes in sharply, feeling her stress rise. Nopel. She could find him later. For now, she'll entrust that he could stay away from his majesty for today was an important day. Turning to the maid, Hilda marches back towards the kitchen, the maid scurrying after her.

“If you see Nopel, send him to me in the kitchen, I must speak to him!” Hilda ordered, bustling down the hall.

“Yes, head maid!”

“Guide,” Victoria commanded.

Nothing.

“Settings! Inventory!” she called out again, with nothing to pop out for her. Victoria groans, slapping the water. After another failed attempt to climb out, she ran into several problems. Where the stones were jagged below, became smooth as it rose– so no hand holds. And while she is tall, enough to put her back and feet against to shuffle atop, the well became narrow where only her shoulders had enough space to elbow in; she'd be wedged stuck. Now, Victoria’s been calling out every control menu option that V.R.D games usually had. When nothing appeared, she tried for manual settings, with only her voice echoing back at her as a result. She’s been stuck here for what felt like hours now, with only the sun’s light seeping into the well to tell time. “Oi dios mio, anyone up there!” she yells up to open space.

So far she couldn’t hear anything from the castle, but little sounds of life from far off gave her some hope. Horses, there are horses, and if their owners were anything like her uncle’s back in Puebla, then there are people who love them, meaning someone should be around at the least to water them! So far no luck. Her only company were the doves who perched on the wooden bar. They like to sing, which she did find comforting, at first but now Victoria wishes she could fly out of this well.

From the merry group of doves, a small bird came down to the well at the sound of all the yelling. The owls said a human had been trapped in the well. Surely one wasn’t silly enough to tumble in! Peeking down, the bird squeaks in surprise to see a drowned looking woman in the well. The small little brown bird dances on the edge of the ring, looking down at her, trying to get her attention. She sings, as sweetly as the ripe red berries, as no human would ignore her!

It chirps, dancing on its little feet, cocking its head at her. When Victoria didn’t see, the bird tried again.It flaps its wings at her chirping like it would talk, loud sharp ‘fweets!’ at her. Perking up, Victoria looks at the bird, who flaps its wings rapidly at her. Staring at it, Victoria's eyes widened at a sudden idea. Pressing her lips together in thought, crazy it sounds crazy but she’s done crazier things before.

Work life rarely ended on a normal note.

Cults usually were her starting point, then everything fell into place after. Talking to a bird for help? Not that crazy at all with everything she’s seen. Since this is a fairytale, it should work, she hopes.

She has to try!

“Jaja, hey pretty birdy–,” Victoria said, whistling at the bird,”--can you find anyone to get me out of here? I’ve been stuck here for a while, and this girl really needs to get warm, can you help me? I’ll bake you the sweetest bread for you, topped with delicious seeds!”

The bird chirps, bouncing on its little feet. With a loud, ‘tweet!” it flies away leaving Victoria bobbing in place,”All the seeds you want!” She calls out to it desperately, watching it fly off,” please let it come back..”

Nopel rushes past the other servants in the kitchen, gathering the rags and buckets he needed for cleaning the grand entrance. There were many things to do that needed to be done by supper’s time. He has already polished his stepfather’s crown, leaving no speck in sight, he changed the pots with fresh flowers that came to bloom early, and he fed the horses hay, leaving their water untouched for now as it was still full. He ducks past the entrance, with a soft ‘excuse me’ to the maids whose arms were full of trays of food with the butler sending them to their stations. Not missing a beat, the maids entered with hurried steps so as to not mess up the routine.

His stepfather must be eating by now.

Nopel waves to the butler who only spared him a stiff nod, as he passed by. Nopel brightens at that, it’s more than a glance like before. The young man sets off towards the courtyard, one of the many on his daily chores. This one hadn’t been cleaned as it was further away from the castle, closer to the forest as not many servants like to venture so close to. Nopel liked this spot in particular, as it was quiet and warm. Where he could sing to his heart's content with no judging looks. With the spring season, it’s ripe with flowers and his friends have returned to the garden. Ones that didn’t mind his clothes with tears and patches, and did not mind his presence.

The castle could be rather loney, as not many seem to speak to him, much less look at him for a moment. It's been this way since he could remember, long enough, even the newest of faces avoid him. When voices were cheerful, became quiet as he came near them. He had no friend , like him or a person, in this castle to call his own. His steps faltered at the reminder.

Passing the open balcony, a soft breeze caresses him as he walks towards the heavy wooden doors, a smile curling the tips of his mouth. “Oh, how nice the wind feels,” he says to himself, he steps out feeling the sun on his skin,”will my friends be here today I hope?”

A loud ‘tweet’ soon answered him. Sweeping down to the raven haired boy, the small pipit pulls at Nopel’s sleeve, batting its wings urgently. Surprised, Nopel pulled away for a second,” What’s wrong little one? Is something wrong?”

The bird lets out a distressed song, pulling at Nopel’s shirt hard enough, a few strands have snapped. “Wait! I’ll follow you, little bird! Show me what’s wrong, and I’ll do my best to help!” Nopel promises, he follows the little bird as it takes off towards the well, circling around it.

A flock of doves surrounded the edge of the well, coo’ing peering down into it. His heart lurched in concern, did a dove fall in? Hurrying, Nopel tossed his things aside and looked down into the well. “Oh no, little do–huch!” a gasp left Nopel.

It wasn’t a bird!

“Hey! Thrown down the rope!” shouted from below, a drowned woman who waves up at him frantically, the faint light that touched her he could see her tanned hand reach to him. The water splashing around her,”I’ve been trapped down here all day, get me out of here, please!”

“Just hold on, miss! I’ll get you out– hold on!” Nopel says, panicking. He looks over at the birds for some aid, nervous as to what to do, a soft "ach" left him. Of course the rope! His hands reached to untangle the ropes that held the bucket in place, he tossed it down to the woman with a warning,” careful! Grab on and I’ll pull you out!”

He couldn't see her clearly, but Nopel was sure he could help pull her out. Just for good measure he ties the looser parts at the base of the wooden poles. The rope tugged taut, as the woman tested its strength. “It’s alright, I can pull myself out!” she shouts up at him,”Wait for me and watch, alright? Okay, here I go!”

Nopel watches with trepidation as he hears the mysterious woman climb, half afraid the rope would snap and another part amazed that she was able to climb out so quickly. The doves scattered away as she approached, and soon Nopel was able to see her dark hair. Suddenly, her arms shot out towards the ledge grabbing onto it with a loud shriek, scaring Nopel. Scrambling over the wall, in a terrifying display of strength as she drags half of herself onto the ledge.

He was finally able to see her.

Wet, and soaked to the bone, a mass of dark thick hair covered her face, a strange bag at her side and a shockingly short blue dress that showed so much skin! Her entire legs were exposed as were her shoulders and cutting close to her chest.

Nopel felt his cheeks heat up at the sight.

“Hey, grab me!” She told him, she spat out a lock of her hair that strayed too close to her mouth,” Just grab me under the arms, okay, just hold onto me tight and help me out. I’ve been in that well way too long, dude, I can’t feel my legs at this point.”

'Dude?', his brows furrowed in thought. He wanted to ask what a ‘dude’ was, but that didn’t matter right now. Carefully, Nopel puts his entire being into focus, trying not to pay attention that he was pressing too close to the woman. The strangely dressed woman lets out a relieved sigh, wrapping her arms around Nopel's neck, murmuring a soft 'thank you' against his cheek. A soft warmth spreads in his chest at the touch.

He reaches around her waist, pulling her close to him, as he braces his feet against the stones and pulls. The woman tightened her arms around his neck, and soon with her own pushing, she was out of the well.

“Yes!” she cheered, till her foot caught the edge of the well and they both tumbled to the ground. Nopel felt the air leave his lungs, and two palms slap the sides of his head to stop the woman from completely crushing him.

"Oh fuck! Are you ok?" The woman above him asks. Nopel couldn't see her face as it was still blocked by all her hair,"I'm so sorry!"

"I-I think so?," he winces, the woman scrambles off of him before, turning to help him to sit up," aua, thank you."

"Don't thank me," the woman told him, she sat back down beside him, tucking her legs benether her, as a puddle of water formed around her," if anything I should thank you, sweetie."

Sweetie?

Before Nopel could say more, his voice dying at his lips when in a smooth motion, the woman arched her back, her chest becoming more prominent – she turned her head brushing her hair back as she did so, gathering her long hair and straining it of all the water. Nopel should've turned away, something felt so indecent to watch, but it roused a temptation to look. So he did.

She's tall. So much taller than him, Nopel realized with some reflection that even sitting beside her he didn't reach her eyes. Her skin was a warm brown tone, smooth and soft, he noticed a dark dot under her left eye. Her eyes, Nopal drew in a sharp breath at the sight of them. Those hooded eyes were the color of sweet honey, the golden warmth of a summer day that left your skin feeling loved and a promise that left you grasping. In contrast to that warmth, her hair was long, dark as the night, and currently fighting her attempts to tame it, drawing a scowl from her lips.

"Ahh, yeah that's really knotted," she sighs, deeming it as a lost cause. She looks at Nopel with a wide smile that makes him smile back, she raises two fingers to him in the shape of a 'V', and introduces herself."My name's Victoria and let me say I have never been so happy to see another face till now. I hope you don't mind me asking your name?"

'What a strange getsure'. Hesitant, Nopel raises his own two fingers, mimicking the sign back at her. From the way she lit up, he must have done it right.

"My name is Nopel, it's a pleasure to meet you, Victoria." Nopel said.

She cocked her head at him,"Nopal?"

"Nop-el," he corrected. She shot him a look, thinking it over before trying again.

"Nopel," she says, repeating it to herself, the little furrow of her brow,"Nopel." Nopel liked the way she said it.

Her clothes however, took Nopel by surprise. He'd never saw a woman wearing…so little. A thought struck him, as he looked over her concern for the woman. Was she robbed? It would explain how she came to be in the well! Her stockings were torn and she wore no shoes either. But what really took him by surprise was her dress. A shockingly short dress that rode up her thighs, clung to her like a second skin, a shimmery soft blue–like the sky was plucked to dress her, it showed off her curves and those long smooth– immediately Nopel shot his gaze away.

The tips of his ears felt hot. 'What are you doing! Don't stare too long!' Nopel scolded himself,'she must've been so cold! It's good luck that I came here today, if it wasn't for today's chores, no one would have passed by.'

What a scary thought.

"You must be cold from being in there so long," Nopel said to her," please let me take you inside, Mrs. Hilda would be able to get you dressed and warm."

She looks over to the castle doors and then to him. Her smile now replaced with a look Nopel had seen many times before from other fellow servants that came to meet him. Wariness. Though it was not directed at him, Nopal still felt ashamed.

"I don't mean to pressure you," Nopel spoke quietly," it's just that you're soaked to the bone and you're hurt. And Mrs. Hilda is very nice! I'm sure- no I know she can help you after what happened to you."

"What happened to me?"

Nopal gestures to her clothes. "You were robbed, yes?"

"Hm,...yes."

A beat of silence between them. The bird's quiet chatter was the only sound that existed. Victoria hums, tapping her fingers against her thighs as she thinks over his words. At the corner of her eyes she glances at the rickety windows watching them before looking over Nopel, dragging her gaze over the state of his clothes.

"I don't want you to get in trouble because of me," Victoria said at last, she leaned close to him, close enough that Nopel could see the faint sheen of gold caught in her hair ," but what about you?"

Nopel points to himself," Me?".

"You look cold," she said gently. Even when she was the one who was wet and dripping, she was worried about him being cold. Nopel becomes aware of the tattered state of his pants. "Would they really mind helping me, when you're cold as well?"

Nopel didn't know what to say to that. Seeing that, the strange woman shakes her head. Carefully, she touched Nopel's shoulder with a faint brush of her fingers. Warm.

"Hey, I'm sorry I shouldn't have been saying that when you're trying to help me," she apologized, "I'm grateful you came. I tried everything and even asked a bird for help."

At this, Nopel shot up onto his feet." Yes! Pipit was the one who brought me to you! I almost forgot!"

Now she looks surprised. "No way…Wait it worked? It actually worked!" She slaps her leg, laughing. Wobbly, she stands up looking around, her height becoming more apparent now as she stands next to him. "Holy! That's amazing! Where is that bird? I owe them bread!"

Nopel cupped his hands,"Pipit! Pipit!"

Shooting off from its perch from a nearby tree, a familiar bird comes diving towards the two humans. Flapping its wings, the bird lands on the outstretched hand Nopel offered to it. It sings its song of greeting. Victoria leaned down to look at her hope, a delightful smile curling her mouth.

"So you really did come in for me, birdy," a grateful look in her eyes, as she pets the pipits back, breathless laugh that it had actually worked," bread. I am going to make you soooo much bread with every seed I can get my hands on."

Pipit cheerfully chirps at this.

"Though it's going to take me a while to get bread, so how about some snacks?" she turns to Nopel, with a bright smile. It's a rather pretty smile that made him smile back at her." And of course for you too, mi heroe."

"Hero? Oh no, Pipit is the hero, all I did was throw down the rope." Nopel shook his hand at her. Heroes were brave, fearless, and much like the princes who went off to save people who needed them.He wasn't a hero, Nopel was…

Was….

The tall woman frowned at that. Inwardly, Nopal panicked, did he say the wrong thing again?

"Now how can I not be grateful? Saving someone from a well, you didn't just throw me a rope and left me alone. You stayed with me and helped pull me out." she looked at Nopel, fully looking at him with those eyes that made it hard to think.

Nopel felt his breath get caught in his throat. Pipit hops onto his shoulder to peck the star struck prince. Nope nothing.

"Something pretty hero-like," she leans back, smiling at him," I can't just let you say that's nothing. Now before you take me with you inside, let's sit down for a bit, the sun feels really nice right now and we can have something to snack on before they toss me into the dungeon." She pats her purse with a wet smack." Those robbers didn't take everything from me, jaja, thank God for that!"

He couldn't help but laugh at that "They won't throw you in there!"

Leading them to the stairs to sit, she lets out a cackle."So there are dungeons in there! I knew it! I wonder if there are dragons here too."

"You're really strange," he says, sitting next to her. She was strange, but not in a bad way. It's not every day you meet someone from a well. Or have bright colored eyes like hers and she was nice." We don't have dragons, they're far far away!"

"What about ogres? I heard they can be really moody about their land."

"Ah! I heard the huntsmen…"

They two chatted, as the woman shared her odd snacks from 'far far away'. Pipit snacked on some sweet raisins as the two humans shared stories. Odd, how quickly they became friends, Pipit however didn't mind as long as they kept giving her some of those sweet raisins.

Although….

Nopel burst into a fit of giggles, leaning in closer to the woman who in turn knocked their knees together.

Pipit felt like the third footed crow between these two.

While Nopel studied the flimsy pink sponch wrapper, asking how it was so glossy and bright— Victoria's brain went into overdrive. Everything here looks awfully familiar, very soft and whimsical very much like a watercolor painting– nothing like back home where everything was bright, vivid and sensual. The courtyard was covered in flowers and vines with trees that were lush with leaves. Now that she was outside of that well, it's a pretty gorgeous place to sit and have tea parties.

Victoria inhaled and almost chokes on the clean unpolluted air. The air tastes pure. Subtly rubbing her chest, she let out a few coughs. Nopel sent her a worried glance but she waves it off, it's not so bad. Just…different.

"These sponch smell so sweet! Are you sure it's okay for me to eat them?" Nopel looks up at her with those brown eyes, that reminds her of caramel, that sweetness that would make your mouth curl up. He offered some to her," Please eat some with me, you must be hungry."

'Ay, que lindo,' Victoria thinks.

"Go ahead, sweetie, they're pretty popular back home," Victoria popped one into her mouth. There was a comforting taste of home. Even if there is no love in it. She didn't notice the flustered look her new friend had, as her brain began to connect the red string.

The birds here can understand her, and at least that's what it looks like. No, not like the parrots or her dad's macaw, they're not like the imps that disguise themselves like creatures, but very close to it. Dragons are real as the ones back home were, but those weren't the fairytale type, no she really hopes they're nothing like the ones back home.

Ogres are real and Victoria is very much tempted to go to a swamp.

Victoria rested back on the steps soaking on the sun. Talking with Nopal was informative and Victoria had a feeling for what story she was in.

Nopal– Nopel , is freaking beautiful.

Like that rare delicate beauty that would have Amara and her rip their hair out and the women in Midsummer Eve to die for. Even now, it still shines as he was covered in dirt, and dressed in rags.

(Victoria pressed her lips tightly at that.)

She can almost hear that infamous line in her head.

"Lips red as the rose, hair black as ebony, skin white as snow" describing Princess Snow White.

Who was now very much a completely gorgeous guy.

Although, 'the snow' part was a bit much, she glanced over to the rosy cheeked prince who looked enraptured by the sweet mix of soft graham cracker and the marshmallows. Just watching him look so happy over it made Victoria's mood lift. Sitting back up, Victoria smooths down her dress as it happens to ride up....again. As much as she loves this dress, she is not eager to flash people right now.

Getting Nopel's attention, Victoria, now feeling somewhat ready to face those doors, grabs her purse. "Okay Nopel, I think I'm ready."

Nopel beamed, getting up, his bucket from earlier was beside him, rags not that different from the ones on his clothes were balled up in it. "I'll take you to the kitchens, she should be there right now. Mrs. Hilda is really kind and—"

A loud bang erupted Nopel, Victoria pushed him behind her as she faced the large wooden doors, her bag gripped tightly in her hand. There stood an old woman dressed in a green dress, with a stark white apron tied around her waist. Her hair was like weathered river stones tied into a tight bun, her dress covered her feet and her face—.

Victoria winces already knowing that look. She's seen it on her own mama's face before she makes a run for it. Like a shark sensing the flailing of a fish, the woman snapped to where they stood, her eyes shot comically wide in horror.

"Nopel, quick get away from that lady of the night!"

An: Okay this took me so freaking long to finish but here we go! How does one link a picture to a fic? If anyone wants to know how Victoria looks like I have a pic of her! Please leave a comment on what you think.

#disney #disney princesses #snow white #male snow white #original character #latina oc #snow white and the seven dwarves #oc stuff #mod 420 #original female character #I'm writing the most self indulgent stuff

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red-the-dragon-writes · 7 months ago

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Sevens-Spit Luck

Summary:

Adyr, freshly orphaned - as far as she's aware, anyway - plans to hitch a ride on a pirate ship to get the hell out of this stupid country and discovers abruptly that she might want to sail the high seas instead. Only, there's a few problems with that, like how she doesn't have any experience, and obviously the only way onto the ship she wants a place on is to stow away. She probably could've thought this one through better. Oh, well. If they don't kill her, there's always next time. Or something.

On Ao3 here.

Hope was a funny thing, Adyr thought, holding the knife between her teeth and clinging to the rope with every ounce of force she had in her entire body. This was a really, really Sevens-spit stupid idea and there was no way in any hell it was ever going to work, but she’d let her starry eye blind her until well past the point of no return. The acid sting on the side of her face throbbed in time to her heartbeat, still healing.

The furthest reaches of the horizon began to glow a ruddy violet-crimson. Surely when the sun was up she’d be discovered, if she hadn’t fallen. But until the light of day revealed her, she should have been able to keep herself up here without detection. If it weren’t for the rope…

The Midnight King was a gorgeous capturesail brigantine, with two towering jet-black masts and translucent sails and a narrow arrow-shaped body. It put Adyr, on the shore in the light of day hours ago, in mind of a wasp, though she couldn’t put her finger on why. She was here to see if she couldn’t land herself a ticket to one, just to cross the ocean, but suddenly she had found herself seized with a desire to find herself a place on that ship instead. To be part of that.

Besides, the capturesails were glorious. They didn’t live in the real world, where everyone else did - they were free from all laws but the high seas, beholden to no one but themselves, and they moved around so fast they couldn’t be caught. If everyone Adyr cared about had been sailing a capturesail, then -

Wasn’t worth finishing, was what that thought was. Dead was dead was wasn’t anymore a person and so wasn’t worth thinking about. But she’d set her eye on the Midnight King and set herself on its mast about twelve minutes later. She’d find out what she needed to know later when she found herself a spot, and if it didn’t work out and they threw her overboard she could probably sink the entire ship along with her before the great monsters living in the Lanjjikk could get around to drowning her and then maybe she’d lose but at least she’d take them all down with her, which -

- which wasn’t worth thinking about either. Because it was going to be fine. And it wasn’t going have time to be a problem anyway, because they were still docked, and this stupid, Adyr thought, feeling her fingers slipping as the fibers snapped beneath her, this stupid Sevens-spit rope was going to snap, and then she’d be caught and it would all be for -

“Hey,” someone said.

Startled, Adyr jumped into her Secondform - about twice as heavy and five times as long as she was in smallform, and she wasn’t even fully-grown - and the rope did snap, sending her plummeting straight to the deck. Not instinct’s greatest moment, but at least it also made her snap her wings out, and so the sixty-or-so foot drop wasn’t so bad. She tried her best not to hiss up at whoever’d just climbed up the mast to meet her as she picked herself up from the smooth-polished wooden deck.

“Hey!” they yelled again, fainter now that they weren't right below her. “Who are you?”

Adyr did hiss at that, not really sure how to respond. “I’m not leaving!” she yelled up instead of answering.

“Not what I asked,” whoever it was up there replied, starting to climb down the mast rather quickly, as far as Adyr was concerned. That wasn’t ideal, even if it was still a long, long way. “Who are you? Did Sandar send you over?”

Well, they didn’t sound angry, now that Adyr’s startled spines were starting to settle and she could think a little clearer. “No one sent me,” she called up. “I, um… I want to be part of your ship.”

“It’s not my ship,” the stranger said, climbing closer down the rope ladder like some sort of spider, or something. Adyr eyed the distance between herself and dry land; not far. But she wanted to be on this ship. The others didn’t cut a figure like this one. But if she had to make a break for it, now would probably be the time. Obliviously, the stranger went on, “If you want to sign on, you’re gonna have to talk to our captain.”

“The captain,” Adyr repeated, thrown for a loop. “Just like that?”

“We-elllll…” the stranger said, hopping to the deck. In the low light Adyr could just barely make out a low-cut white shirt, a long sword at her side. A dragon? No, her eyes were too dark, no light in them without the sun. But Adyr had never seen a human carry a sword before. Too alien for them here, or something. Adyr had an odd feeling about this. Almost positive. Which was weird, because she’d just gotten caught, so this was bad. Right?

“…well?” Adyr echoed.

“I’m Zahra,” the stranger said, instead of explaining. “What’s your name?”

Adyr shifted back to smallform, pulling her snapped-apart tunic back over her chest with one hand. “Uh. Adyr.”

“Ad-der,” Zahra echoed. “Ad- Ad-dir?”

“Adyr,” Adyr repeated, and then, because she was still curious, “don’t worry about it. I want a place on your ship. I have to talk to your captain, and that’s it? That’s all?”

“I wouldn’t know, really,” Zahra said. “Not my ship, remember? But I like the Captain, he’s a good guy. And he was talking about wanting someone who can, you know, do the fire thing.”

“I can do ice too,” Adyr said, because she could and she was proud of that. “Not as flashy, but I can still do it.”

“Huh,” Zahra said. “Well. You’re going to have to fix my spot, if you stay.”

Adyr blinked at her. “What?”

Zahra pointed up at the mast, shrugging. “My rope. You snapped it. I need that.”

No wonder someone had caught her, if she was in someone else’s spot. That was something to know, at least. “Sorry. I’ll fix it if I get to stay.”

“Guess I need you to stay, then,” Zahra said, offering a hand to Adyr. Adyr took it, and Zahra pulled her up until she was standing on her own two feet. “Here. Follow me, I’ll show you who to talk to.”

Adyr nodded, trailing along. Maybe the Sevens weren’t spitting on her at all this time.

#oc #original fiction #adder #nazarel #my writing #short story #fantasy #closerverse

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castershellwrites · 1 year ago

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💢💯🗑️

Mwahahaha, revenge!

Of course you ask this when all my WIPs are hush-hush for fandom bangs and such XD I'll answer as best I can, lol

💢The hardest to write... was chapter 4. I felt like I was focusing too much on action and not the characters' feelings. I like to write close 3rd person and I was afraid I was falling out of it. Also chapter 6 because ANGST. It was so painful.

💯Chapter 1 and the epilogue. Chapter 1 because it just flowed so nicely. There's a good logical flow and the emotion was easy and the characters play off each other so nicely. The epilogue because we were talking about how the fic was getting a bit angsty and I was humming to myself about what a happy epilogue would look like. Then the fluff ending came to me and haunted me until I wrote it. It was nice and short too, so easy to roll around in my mind until it seemed right.

🗑️Nope! No can do because this is for a bang so all details are hush hush hush! But ... Howsabout an except from my EnHoEn Shark Week fics I'm polishing up before putting on AO3? I'd say no pants counts as embarrassing or unsavory ;)

Enji silently swore to keelhaul whoever had thrown All Might a rope. All Might, as he was now known, had been Toshinori Yagi when he was human, before One For All sank at the hands of All For One. Now he was the only other great white shark shifter Enji knew, and constant thorn in his side because of it; that and his insistence that he and Enji should be the best of friends because of their sharked shark forms granted by the ocean goddess. “Play nice love, he did save our asses back there,” Hawks whispered and clung to his captain’s arm. Then he ensured good behavior with a promise licked into Enji’s ear. “If you’re a good boy I’ll give you a special reward later.” Enji huffed and prepared to play nice. “Toshinori, my friend, would you like some tea? Perhaps some pants?”

#writing #my fanfiction #ask meme #writing meme #ask game #ask response

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ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 2 years ago

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𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍: Sweat Kink w/ Daryl Dixon

a/n: i think this one turned out better than i thought it would. i kind of didn't know what i wanted to write but had a loose idea, and i decided i might as well throw in husband!daryl because why not?

masterlist | kinktober masterlist | AO3

When it came to the apocalypse, you would undoubtedly be covered head to toe in sweat a majority of the time, but there was no reason to be now; as you lived in Alexandria where there were showers and other foreign luxuries such as that. Yes, if you had been given an outdoor job, then of course you would be, but you weren't forced to sit in it as if you were still on the road, and it just felt like Daryl hadn't gotten the memo.

It wasn't like you were complaining, seeing your husband sweat while working on the bike that Aaron had graciously gifted him to work on had arousal pooling in your underwear as you watched him. Maybe the domesticity of it all was what set you off, or maybe it was the fact that you were able to walk out into your garage, steaming cup of coffee in your hand as you watched your lover tinkering with the thing early in the morning, greeting you with a very oily surprise.

It was strange that you had become so family oriented in such a short amount of time, the thought of being married had never been one of your main concerns back when the world was normal, but after meeting Daryl at the quarry and an impromptu wedding at the prison later, it was as though all you wanted was to be around him all the time. You began to think of what it would be like to have children with him, what kind of dad would he be?

So yeah, you were most definitely craving Daryl in a way where you wanted to have his kids.

Another morning, another day of watching him polishing his precious bike, garage door closed as it allowed him to work with just a plain black under shirt that helped him handle the humidity. You ate him up with your eyes, devouring the poor man like blood in shark infested waters. You willingly sat in the hot box that was his workshop, watching him closely, staring at his muscly arms as they strained under the work he was putting in.

“How am I supposed’ta focus when ya keep starin’ at me.” You heard him grumble. “I’m sorry, you're just like—” You blew out a whistle. “You know?” He flushed, his face becoming increasingly redder to the point where you knew it wasn't just the heat. “Stop.” You got up from the little stool he setup for you, getting down on the floor with him as you tugged his chin close to your face.

“You are just so gorgeous, hun.” You complimented him. Bringing your lips together in a heated kiss, your hands buried themselves in his damp locs, Daryl's hands settling on your face as he tugged you closer to him. You pushed him back as you forced yourself to catch your breath, quickly having a seat on his extended legs that were once crossed.

Your make out session didn't cease as you grinded down on him, a heavy groan left him as you tugged his head back so that you could pursue his neck, licking a long stripe from his neck up to the shell of his ear. You could've sworn the man almost whimpered as you placed a peck there.

Your skin stuck together like glue as you dry humped each other before your hands fell to the button of his pants where eagerly undid it, pulling down the fly of them with sudden urgency as you tugged him out of his underwear. Lifting yourself up onto your knees, you hiked up your sundress, pulling your underwear to the side so that you could sink down on him.

You both moaned in sync, your head falling back as Daryl nibbled on your neck as well, sharing the same kind of attention that you gave him. The pain was quick to subside as you moved, your ecstasy falling on deaf ears as you took what you wanted for Daryl. It had been so long, too long, so you knew you weren't going to last, and Daryl seemed to be in the same boat as you.

“Yer so tight, shit!” He exclaimed as he fucked into you, your walls clenching down on him at the praise. “Daryl, you're so big, please.” You breathed, desperately following his erratic rhythm as you pulled him into a sloppy kiss. Tongues buried inside each other's mouths, your teeth clashed and saliva dripped down your chins in a messy waterfall.

When it came to sex with Daryl, it was never this messy. He always made sure that you were comfortable, that the atmosphere was loving and sensual as he praised your body. Now, he used you as he pleased and you would be lying if you said your body didn't preen at the feeling, the noises coming out of you similar to a purr.

“Inside,” You heaved onto his lips, “Inside me, please.” He quietly obliged, brain fogged by the pure need for his release. As he pulsed, a shiver racked your body before a loud moan falling suit, triggering your orgasm, which triggered his, like a domino affect.

Pulling away from him, you gingerly wiped a droplet of sweat from his brow.

“We really need a shower.” You couldn't help but laugh.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02

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web-archives · 2 years ago

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Cool Nails Bro | Hunter Sylvester x Gender Neutral Reader

warnings: swearing

summary: "Wait.." He starts again. You grimace rolling off the chair onto the floor staring at his ceiling begging for mercy as he starts back towards you. "Is this why you confessed?!"

"Well.." You replied, somewhat weakly squinting up at him while he stood over you.

OR: you paint Hunter's nails

posted to my ao3 as well word count: 980

Rolling over on Hunter's bed you sighed. He was across the room pacing, which he's been doing, for over 30 minutes ranting about Kevin. And you were sympathetic, you tried to be anyway, it was kind of hard to keep on being sympathetic after the first 10 minutes. It's not really his fault, his best friend getting a girlfriend, his best friend getting his first girlfriend.

He had mostly gotten over his qualms about Emily after Battle of the bands. It was obvious he was still getting used to the idea that Kevin wouldn't have been able to hang whenever Hunter wanted.

That was okay for the most part, except for the fact that you are so fucking bored. You had come over to hang out maybe watch him play guitar for a little not to listen to him rant about Kevin for what felt like years. Years of your life wasting away. Didn't he know that you were here cause you were also his friend?

You roll back over on your right side watching him worry himself into a frenzy over his two friends. Because he did care about Emily, he was just always nervous opening up to new people. He just didn't want to lose them both now. You take pity on the boy.

Pulling yourself up you lean back on your hands and cross your legs infront of you. Hunter, still pacing around the room decided chewing on his nails was more productive than ranting.

The silence was worse you decided.

"You know.." You start, catching his attention he stopped moving glancing at you, "I could repaint your nails if you want?"

Hunter scoffs, brushing his hands down his jeans walking over to his snake. (Ozzy the ball python, he let you hold her a couple of times.) He started moving the papers that were next to her enclosure to the other side of the room while responding, "You? Paint my nails?"

Okay. Ouch.

"Yeah dickhead I paint nails," you responded rolling your eyes.

"I know you paint nails," he replies crossing his arms, raising an eyebrow he continues, "that's also how I know you're shit at it."

You laugh also crossing your arms, smiling up at him, you couldn't keep the amusement out of your voice when you said "I'm going to paint them hot pink," no room for argument.

"That's the least metal thing I've ever heard in my entire life!"

Maybe a little room for argument.

"Fine," you drawl standing up cracking your knuckles while walking over to your backpack, an idea hits you, he just watches as you pick out your black and white polish. Turning to him you smile holding out your hands to present the bottles. "How about skulls?"

He uncrosses his arms and just gestures to his desk, you pull up an extra chair and you both sit down next to each other.

Fuck yeah.

15 minutes later and you were currently trying not to panic. Hunter was right, you had no idea what you were doing. One hand and a half later, minus the frantic YouTube tutorial video, you were done with the two fingers on his right hand and sweating. He wanted skulls on his middle finger an homage to his band's old name (SkullFucker, Skull on the Middle Finger.)

And now it was time for you to do the Skull. Yay. You looked at Hunter studying him, he was strangely quiet throughout the whole ordeal minus the snickering you received when you pulled out your phone. He was pointedly looking not at you, the tips of his ears pink. It was moments like these that made you think he might like you back. You put the brush back in the bottle clearing your throat.

Might as well right?

He startled looking at you, swallowing you notice how close you got had gotten, facing each other in the chairs the desk in front of you both, your guy's legs knocking into each other. Practically holding hands.

"What?" He almost whispers, a tad bit defensive, a small bit soft.

You shift your hold on his hands, lacing your fingers together, taking a moment you gather your confidence you start.

"Hunter?" You question, the flush on his ears darkening doesn't escape your notice. "I know this is out of nowhere but-" he tenses squeezing your hand. "I like you," you finish.

It's quiet for a moment, you started to sweat a little bit, watching Hunter you could see when he finally started to digest the information. He was nervous too, you rubbed you thumb back and forth over the back of his hand waiting for a response.

"I like you too," Looking up at him you smile, as he removes his left hand from yours he smiles back at you somewhat nervously and goes to tuck his hair behind his ear.

Before he can finish though suddenly you freeze.

"Oh my God!" Hunter busts out laughing. Your face starts to burn, groaning you rub at your eyes.

"It's not that bad!" You protest. He throws his finished left hand in your face, standing up.

"Not that bad?" He asks incredulous.

You see, after your first attempt at a Skull on his middle finger on his left hand, it went so badly you prayed a YouTube tutorial would fix it. Sadly the only thing it managed to do was-

"You painted a cock on my middle finger!" He shouts. Walking across the room gesturing. If only the ground would open up and swallow you whole. He was never going to let you live this down.

"Wait.." He starts again. You grimace rolling off the chair onto the floor staring at his ceiling begging for mercy as he starts back towards you. "Is this why you confessed?!"

"Well.." You replied, somewhat weakly squinting up at him while he stood over you.

"Dude!"

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venusthepirate · 2 years ago

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like any unloved thing part one : tangerines and hotel rooms

part one / part two / part three

taglist : @avocado-writing @little-sunflower-bug

ao3 ; masterlist

Fawn is lounging on her bed when the phone starts vibrating with an oncoming call. She lets it ring for a few more moments, closing her eyes, before snatching it from the nightstand and swiping her thumb across the screen to accept the call.

“ Yes ? ” She asks. She doesn’t bother asking who it is. She already knows. Come to think of it, she already knows what the call is going to be about.

“One of your regulars just called”, a woman’s voice says.

It’s her handler from the agency, who takes care of the whole booking appointment thing. No client likes booking directly from her, or others in her same line of job. They like the pretense that it isn’t just a transaction, that some of it is real. They don’t like discussing rates and availabilities with her, it would simply ruin their illusions.

Fawn can’t help but raise an eyebrow, even though her handler can’t really see it. One of your regulars can mean anything. She has no shortage of them.

“Which one ? ” She asks, picking disinterestedly at her nails. The nail polish is starting to chip.

“Gave another name than the last time. Goes by Tangerine now, apparently.”

She snorts. Right, now she knows who it is. Only one regular switches names every time he calls, and he is the only one to use completely random, ridiculously names. The last time he’d told her to call him Blue. She had snorted, taking in his blue eyes and dark navy suit, but had chosen not to comment it. He’d been Sparrow before that, and before that Percival, and Orion.

Yeah, their arrangement had been going on for a while. Fawn wonders, sometimes, if the code names are uniquely for her. She doesn’t think they are, he doesn’t seem the type. Some men do use other names, for privacy reasons. Most are ashamed, fearful things, terrified that anyone might learn of what they do.

Most of them are married, but she’s never seen a wedding ring on him, not even a tan on his fingers.

That’s not it, though. He is not that kind of man. Come to think of it, she isn’t sure she has ever met someone like him.

“He asked if you were available in two hours”, the woman continues.

Two hours. It’s already nine in the evening. She sighs, thinking about the book she had planned on finishing tonight. Well, whatever, she can just bring it with her and finish it there.

She can always say no. Money isn’t really a problem, so it’s not like she is obligated to accept every appointment. Sometimes she does refuse, if she’s busy or simply doesn’t feel like it. But she can never quite say no to him. For one, he might be one of her regulars, but there is no pattern in the appointments he takes. He seems to pop up and out randomly. Sometimes she doesn’t hear from him for months. But he always reappears, somehow. However, she doesn’t take the risk saying no when he calls ; she doesn’t know when he’ll reach out again.

The truth is, Fawn is intrigued.

She wonders what he does for a living. She’s not sure if she wants to know.

“Sure”, she tells her handler. “Did he say where?”

“Same hotel as last time, room 15.”

Fawn hangs up, the arm holding up the phone against her ear flopping back down on the bed. She remains there for a moment, staring at the ceiling. Two hours, then. Plenty of time for her to get ready. Not that it takes her much time, but she likes to have the possibility.

She eats a little, takes a shower, brushes her teeth and puts on a tiny bit of makeup. She doesn’t bother doing what she would usually do with her other clients. That is not why he hired her, after all. A hour later, she heads out of her apartment, shrugging her leather jacket on, putting some earphones in and checking her reflection in the mirror at the entrance one more time. She debates taking a cab, but she likes walking at night, and she’s early anyway. There’s a switchblade in her shoulder bag, just in case.

The cold air outside feels heavenly against her skin. She strolls slowly towards the hotel, swipes a bit aimlessly through the music on her phone, before deciding on some Lana Del Rey playlist the app suggests. Her songs are perfect for slow, dreamy nights. It puts her in a weird but comfortable headspace, and, as she walks, she feels like she’s all alone in the world. The fact that the streets are completely empty only adds to the feeling. Without music, she would have felt uneasy.

She gets to the hotel eventually. It’s still early, so she stands outside, lights herself a cigarette, and watches the lights behind the large windows. She tries to guess which one’s Tangerine’s room, imagines what he’s doing while waiting for her.

A couple passes by her and goes inside. She takes a drag of her cigarette, slowly exhaling as she watches them. The smoke whirls around in the air, dissipating in tendrils. The woman is wearing a long, elegant dress, and a fur coat over it. She’s holding the man’s arm, who’s wearing an equally smart suit.

Fawn would have felt criminally underdressed, in her long leather jacket, black shirt, denim skirt and platform boots, but it’s been a long time since she’s felt over conscious of herself in places like this. She’s used to the glances and the murmurs, now, especially from fancy people like this. She’s been to this hotel many times.

She finishes her cigarette, crushing the end in one of the ashtrays outside. She takes her earphones off, sticks them in her bag, before finally heading inside. The hall is, mercifully, empty, save for a young woman behind the reception desk, who seems like she’s rather bored. She does brighten up when Fawn walks towards her.

“Hi”, she tells her. “Someone must have left a card for me ? For room number 15.”

She lets the girl check her registration, turning a bit and letting her eyes wander around the immaculate walls, the plushy chairs and glass coffee tables.

“ Oh ! Yes, here’s your card ! You’ll find the room on the second floor, right to your left after exiting the elevator”, the receptionist says with a large smile. She hands her the card. “I hope you’ll enjoy your stay here ! ”

Fawn gives her a smile back, turning away towards the said elevator. Once inside, she presses the second-floor button, and waits until the doors slide open. The corridor is as quiet as the entrance hall. She stops in front of the little “15” in golden on one of the doors, swiping the card inside the lock. It makes a small beeping sound, and she comes inside.

The room is large. It’s more of a suite, really, with a huge living-room, large windows and all the likes. She takes of her shoes, drapes her jacket and bag on one of the couches, and pads further inside. The carpet feels very soft beneath her feet. There is a light coming from one of the rooms, so she follows it.

She finds him in the bathroom, lounging in the tub.

She watches him for a moment, leaning against the doorway. He’s a handsome man, she’s always thought as much. He’s the kind that knows it, and is not shy about it.

His hair is swept back, wet and slightly curling at the ends, his face relaxed back, eyes closed. Her eyes swipe down, to his strong shoulders and his arms, which are resting on the edges of the tub. She spies the drops of water cascading down, and tattoos on his skin. She has a few of her own, perhaps more than him, but hers are thinner, more delicate looking. She’s never been fond of the maximalist style, but she has to admit that they do suit him. The bulldog is a bit ridiculous, though.

There’s a golden pendant, glinting around his neck. She’s never seen him without it. Even when he sleeps, he keeps it hanging around his throat. Fawn did not ask, and he did not tell her, even when she brushed a curious hand against it .

Tangerine finally opens his eyes, perhaps sensing her presence, or just the weight of her stare on him. He doesn’t startle, though, and she wonders briefly if he had heard her come inside.

He doesn’t speak, and neither does she. His eyes merely flick up and down her body, in a lazy way.

Taking that as authorization for her to get closer, she does just that, circling the tub to stand behind him. She rests her hands on his shoulders. The muscles feel tense beneath her fingers, but well, he’s always tense, like he’s expecting someone to try to kill him at any moment. Maybe it’s the case, looking at the scars littering his body. She never asks about them, but it doesn’t take too much thinking to figure out they’re not simply accidental.

He relaxes against her touch, almost leaning into it. She lets her fingers trail up his throat and neck, and she holds his jaw and side of his face gently, thumb swiping against his temple. He watches her beneath long eyelashes. She’s, once again, startled by the blue of his eyes. She’s never seen someone with eyes this blue.

They fall close again, and she buries her hand in his hair, lightly rubbing at his scalp. He sighs deeply. She has half a mind to press a hand to his chest, just to hear it rumbling beneath her palm.

Instead, she dips a hand into the warm water in the tub. She takes one of the bottles of shampoo that are sitting on the edge of the tub, scoops a bit into her palm, before winding it into his hair. He doesn’t say anything, so she keeps going, massaging it into his curls, pressing both her thumbs against the base of his skull, just above his neck, up to the back of his head. His eyes stay closed, and she wonders if he’s fallen asleep.

She rinses his hair when she’s done, careful not to get any shampoo into his eyes, swiping his hair back from his face. She leans down, presses a light kiss against his temple, and he hums , relaxing even more. His skin is very warm against her s.

She leaves him alone while he dries himself and puts on some clothes. She walks idly in the suite, watches the city through the large windows. She decides to make herself some tea, rummaging through the small kitchenette. There are two mugs and a few sachets of tea. She chooses chamomile, puts the kettle on, and drops one sachet in each mug.

When Tangerine finally emerges from the bathroom – he does take a very long time – she’s sitting on the large, comfy bed, her mug on the bedside table, reading the book she had brought. She looks up at him when he comes in. He’s wearing sweatpants, hung low around his waist. His hair seems a bit damp still, reduced to a mess of very soft-looking and fluffy curls. He looks… Soft. There’s no other word to describe him right now.

“I made tea, if you want”, she tells him, nodding towards the second mug on the other bedside table.

“Thanks”, he replies, laying down on the bed. He pressed his face against her hip.

“So, Tangerine, now, is it ? ” She asks. She can’t help but smile a bit, turning a page of her book. She adjusts her grip on it so she can hold it with one hand, and lowers the other to pet gently through his hair.

He lets out a groan. “Yeah, just… Don’t ask”.

She snorts. “ Is it because it’s the season ? You know, it’s fall. It’s the season of tangerines and clementines and all the likes.”

“ Sure ”, he says, which is not an answer at all, but Fawn decides not to press it. She isn’t paid to do so, after all. “What are you reading ? ”

“ Pride and Prejudice.”

This time, it’s his turn to snort turning his head to look at her.

“Didn’t take you for a romantic .”

“What, because I’m a hooker ? ” Fawn asks.

He rolls his eyes at her, brow furrowing.

“No, you just don’t seem the type”, he tells her.

“Just messing with you”, she reassures him, patting his head, before resuming the head rub. She doesn’t make a habit of teasing her clients. Some like it, but others just want a submissive thing, a diligent and docile arm candy. Tangerine, though, doesn’t seem to be among them. From what she has gathered from their previous meetings, h e has a very short temper, so she doesn’t push him too much, but he doesn’t seem to mind the occasional teasing. “Have you read it, then ? ”

He sniffs.

“ Of course I’ve read it. It’s a classic.”

“But did you like it ? ”

He hides his face back against her side, which is enough an answer in itself.

“Yes”, he mutters, almost begrudgingly, voice muffled. Fawn grins, delighted.

“Didn’t take you for a romantic”, she parrots, scratching lightly at his head. He huffs .

“I’m not . I just … like romance books, or whatever. Doesn’t mean I’m fuckin’ romantic. ”

She simply hums, giving him another scratch, and he leans his head even further into her hand, almost nuzzling against it.

He’s so touch-starved, almost purring and melting at the slight touch of affection she gives him. He’d been cagey at first, not quite shy, but not exactly willing to allow himself to be vulnerable in her presence, even if it was the reason why he was paying her. He’d been tense under her hands. She had worried he would almost break or something.

Maybe he had. Something had, at the very least, because then he’d practically melted against her.

She closes her book, folding the corner of the page for later, and placed it on the bedside table, leaning to shut off the light. The room is plunged in the dark, saved from the light from the city outside.

She lays down, scooting so that she’s almost at his height, wrapped her arms around him. He buries his face against the hollow of her throat. His mustache tickles a bit against her skin, but not unpleasantly.

She brushes her fingers to the back of his neck, trailing them slightly up and down to the top of his spine and against his nape, to the soft curls of his hair. He lets out a choked-up sound, and then inhales deeply, pressing closer against her.

“ Okay ? ” She asks, quietly.

He nods slightly, even though she can’t see his face. She feels the motion of his head against her. His body is so warm against her, his skin smooth and heated. She doesn’t know how he can sleep without a shirt on, without waking up in the night freezing, but he seems to radiate off heat.

She closes her eyes, already feeling herself dozing off. It’s late, and the comfiness of the soft mattress beneath her is making her sleepy. Usually, she doesn’t like falling asleep with clients. She doesn’t like sleeping next to others at all : she’s always liked her own personal space. Plus, he doesn’t exactly trust them, and it’s pretty much impossible to fall asleep in a place where you don’t feel safe. She tries to leave directly after letting them fuck her, but some like her to stay for the night, and she has to humor them, pretend to be something else than the hooker they just paid to have sex with.

Mostly she just pretends to fall asleep until she’s sure they are asleep, and then she just scrolls down on her phone and plays game on it until she can finally leave.

It’s not the same with Tangerine ; she doesn’t mind it as much. Maybe because they don’t have sex. Maybe it’s because he’s so warm.

When Fawn wakes up , Tangerine’s side of the bed empty. She finds him sitting at the end of the mattress, his back to her, hunched over his phone.

She yawns, rolling on her back and stretching so that he’s aware that she’s awake, and then remains laying on the sheets a bit longer, lazily observing her surroundings. The sun is already up outside, casting its light into the room through the large windows. There are yellow flecks of light on the ceiling, probably from the sun reflecting through a window.

She glances back at Tangerine’s form. He’s still shirtless. She stares at the muscles in his back, the strong line of his shoulders, the scars littering his skin. They’re all faded, already healed. She wonders, absently, how he got them.

He mutters a curse, and she sits up, scooting over to him. She touches the tense line of his shoulders gently, setting them on him, thumb rubbing against his nape.

“Everything okay ?” She asks.

He lets out a sigh, groaning a bit as she di gs her fingers harder against his back.

“Yeah, just my brother getting on my fucking tits”, he mutters, sounding annoyed, eyes not leaving the screen of his phone as he types something furiously on it. Fawn watches his profile, a bit surprised. He never mentioned a brother until now. He’s never volunteered any kind of personal information, actually. Nor professional, for that matter.

“Didn’t know you had a brother”, she replies, toying slightly with the curls at his nape.

He huffs. “He’s a fucking prick sometimes.”

She resists the urge to snort, and presses her thumbs between his shoulder blades. He sags a bit forward against her touch, as she works at a knot.

“I could give you a proper massage, if you want”, she suggests.

He lets out another groan, sounding almost pained, and shakes his head.

“That sounds like heaven, love, but I need to get going”, he says, apologetic. He sounds extremely disappointed. It makes her smile. He’s touch-starved like a little kid, and he sulks like one. “Got a plane to catch.”

Fawn raises an eyebrow.

“ Oh ? Going somewhere interesting, I hope ? ”

He checks something on his phone before answering. “Yeah, Bolivia, apparently.”

She lets him go as he gets up, looks at him as he rakes a hand through his hair. The soft light of the sun outsides paints his body in warm hues.

“Your payment is on the coffee table in the living-room”, he tells her, grabbing his shirt from where he had hung it in one of the closets. He shrugs it on, buttons it up quickly. “The room is booked until six, so you can stay here until then, if you want.”

She nods, and he disappears in the bathroom. When he emerges a few minutes later, he’s put on some dress pants and his rings are back on his fingers.

She watches him get ready. It’s fascinating, the way he seems to put on a disguise. He transforms from the touch-starved, soft man that almost begs for her affection , to something completely other, someone proper, slick, professional.

Everyone does it. Everyone shows a different personality depending on their surroundings, but some do it better than others. Moreover, those personalities are often close.

Tangerine, though. It’s a drastic change. It’s like the instant he puts on the suit, he transforms, shapes himself to fill it. Becomes the sort of man people are expecting him to be. Confident, assured. Nothing like what he is when he’s alone with her.

“Alright”, he finally says, now fully-dressed. He adjusts his cufflinks, glances up at her briefly. “Until next time, then, love.”

“Sure thing”, she replies easily, smiling a bit. He flashes her a quick grin back, and then he’s turning away, leaving the bedroom. A few seconds later, she hears the entrance door shut close.

She wraps herself in the duvet and pads over to the large windows. Down in the street, just in front of the hotel, she spies a car waiting. A few minutes later, Tangerine exits the hotel, jogs down the flight of stairs and gets into the passenger seat of the car. It drives off, disappearing.

She goes back towards the bed, grabs her phone from the nightstand and checks the time. It’s barely eleven in the morning, meaning she can enjoy the lavish suite for seven more hours. She’s not going to pass up this opportunity.

She runs herself a bath, takes her time looking through the arrangement of soaps and shampoos. She chooses one that smells like orange blossom and almond, according to the label. It does smell good, though, when she pours a bit into the warm water.

She relaxes in the bath for a n hour, scrolling on her phone without purpose. She watches cat videos until it bores her, and then just elects to lounge in the warm water with some music, but it eventually stops being relaxing as the fumes from the bath starts getting to her head.

There’s a huge fluffy bathrobe hanging from a wall. She wraps herself in it. The feeling of the fabric against her skin is heavenly. She feels like she’s been swallowed by a cloud.

Her money is in the living-room, in an envelope on the coffee table, just like Tangerine told her. She opens it to find a wad of cash inside. She counts it quickly, thumbing through the bills. It’s more than what they had agreed upon. She isn’t going to complain about it, though. Money is money, after all.

She orders herself room service and eats it on the luxurious, comfy couch, still wrapped in the bathrobe, flicking through the channels .

She wonders what business Tangerine can have in Bolivia of all places. Maybe he’s a businessman of some kind, she muses, but the scars on his body don’t really add up. Besides, she is used to businessmen and their antics, and he is definitely not one of them. There’s something too… dangerous, unrestrained about him, despite the expensive suits and lavish hotel rooms.

Fawn knows what dangerous men look like. It’s not difficult, in her line of work. Some are nice, some can be a bit weird. Some are downright dangerous, and she’s learned to stir clear of them, in time.

And she knows this one is dangerous. She has yet to really see this side of him, and she truly hopes she never will. But it’s… Not quite the same. Maybe it’s the way he crumbles against her hands, the way the slight touch peels a layer of the armor he’s put on . The way he seems so… Vulnerable, with her. He doesn’t allow himself to be, except with her. There’s some sort of gratification from it.

It’s five when she finally leaves the room, her handbag heavy with the weight of the money. She gives the card back to the girl behind the reception desk. Outside, she fumbles with her earphones, slipping them inside her ears, and lights herself another cigarette. The air is a bit cold, as the sun begins to set, but the cigarette keeps her warm. She watches as the sky darkens gradually.

On her way home, she passes in front of a small grocery shop. There are clementines and tangerines on the front shelves on the outside. Unable to resist, she stops and picks one up. She wonders if he likes them, if it’s why he chose to give her the name Tangerine. The simple image of him busying himself with peeling off the skin makes her grin to herself.

What a strange man.

here we go ! I hope you enjoyed the first part, please tell me what you thought ! part two will be there soon ^^

#tangerine bullet train #tangerine #tangerine x reader #bullet train #bullet train 2022 #tangerine x oc #lemon bullet train #lemon and tangerine #bullet train fic

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