#or at the end instead of link dealing the final blow he gets thrown off and zelda does it instead. breaks it with her claws or teeth

[three-bunnies-in-a-trenchcoat]

I wish Zelda-dragon had a bigger role in the fight :(

[lilypadlys]

Taming of the Brat

“You bratted all day. Made yourself such a pain in my ass and you think you deserve a treat.” Swiss tsked, shaking his head. “You take what I give you and you be grateful for it.”

Dew’s bottom lip quivered and he looked so pathetic Swiss had to bite back a laugh. “O-okay.”

Summary: Dew spends all day bratting. Swiss makes sure he gets what's coming to him.

Ship: Dewdrop/Swiss

Word Count: 2,400

Rating: Mature

Tags: Dom/Sub, teasing, orgasm delay/denial, blow jobs, hair pulling, masturbation, cum eating, Dewdrop is a little shit

AO3 Link

Dew woke up in a mood and he decided to make it Swiss’ problem. It started at breakfast and had been going on ever since, getting progressively worse as the day continued.

Swiss had stumbled downstairs and trudged sleepily into the hotel breakfast nook. He’d been attempting to grab a cup of coffee, requiring the caffeine to live at this point in the tour. Out of nowhere, Dew hip checked him, sending his fortunately empty paper cup flying to bean poor Rain in the head.

Both Swiss and Rain whirled around, the former angry and the latter confused. Dew was already skirting away out of range for retaliation. Swiss grumbled but waved it off, stomping over to grab a fresh cup and make himself coffee. Swiss ignored Dew when he tried to trip him on his way into the seating area. He ignored Dew when he started waving at Swiss to sit with him. He especially ignored Dew’s pout as he sat himself down across the room, as far away as possible. Dew would not be getting Swiss’ sympathy today.

Swiss listened much more intently than usual to Copia’s daily speech of announcements, venue location, ETA, and the like, despite Dew’s attempts to distract him. Dew got as far as accidentally knocking over a full cup of orange juice onto the hotel's expensive looking carpet before a stern look from Copia made him back off.

When they finally boarded the buses, Swiss sat on the opposite end of the bus from the rampaging fire ghoul. Dew, cowed for the moment, just rolled his eyes, stuck out his tongue, and proceeded to go bother Rain instead.

The ride was mostly quiet. As quiet as they ever were anyway. Eight caffeine charged hell beasts crammed into a confined space for hours at a time isn’t the best recipe for a peaceful commute. After the band stopped for lunch, terrorizing a handful of McDonald's employees in the process, Swiss decided to nap. It was another couple hours till they reached the venue so a nap would pass the time quite well.

He scrunched down in his seat as best as he could and rested his head on the window pane. He let the steady rumble of the bus rock him to sleep.

His nap was quite nice actually. This is, until he began to dream that he was being repeatedly beaned in the face with guitar picks thrown by his band mates. A particularly hard smack jolted him out of sleep.

The smacking feeling didn’t stop now that he was awake. Swiss looked over to find Dew perched on his haunches in the neighboring seat, smacking him in the face with the spade of his tail. He wore a shit eating grin.

“Heyyyy Swiss.”

“What?” Swiss grumbled exasperatedly.

“I’m bored.”

“And? Why should I care?”

Dew just shrugged. Then he went flying into the aisle as Swiss shoved him away.

“Go. Away. Go be someone else’s problem for a while.”

“Well,” Dew mused from the floor. “I tried to bother Rain but he said to fuck off or else. And the girls already told me to leave them alone too or else they’d throw me off the bus.”

“What about Aether and Mountain. I’m sure they’d love to deal with you.”

“Are you insane?! That sounds like a one way trip back to the pit.” Dew sounded completely serious.

Swiss exhaled through gritted teeth. “You’re worried about bothering Aeth and Mount but I’m fair game? Get out of my sight before I throw you off the bus myself.”

Dew had the audacity to smirk in a make me kinda way. He quickly retreated though when Swiss started to stand up.

“Alright alright.” Dew relented, hands up and palms facing out. “We get to the venue in about twenty by the way.”

“Thanks.” Swiss sighed. No time to finish his nap then. He slumped back down and spent the rest of the ride staring out the window and grumbling to himself.

As the buses entered the venue parking lot, Copia stood up from his place at the front of the bus and began his pre-ritual speech. Don’t break things, be in costume and backstage by x time, do not make out with fans we are not having a repeat of the incident, make sure your instruments are set up and ready; the usual.

Swiss nodded along and as soon as Copia finished he was off the bus like a shot.

“Swiss? Are you okay?” Copia called after him.

Dew trotted by next. “I dunno what’s gotten into him.” He shrugged, already making to follow after.

Copia gave him a suspicious look and sighed. “Behave Dewdrop.”

“Yeah yeah.” Dew waved before slinking off.

Swiss got about five minutes of peace in the green rooms before the rest of the band came in noisily, chatting and laughing.

From that point on, Dew was constantly underfoot. Swiss couldn’t escape him. In the dressing rooms, backstage; the little shit even followed him to the bathroom. Dew couldn’t do much to cause actual problems; Copia was watching him like a hawk. But he was always there. Even during the show.

Whenever possible, Dew planted himself right in front of Swiss’ platform, only moving when his blocking required it. He would quickly return, ensuring he was in Swiss’ field of view but always just out of arm's length.

It was driving Swiss insane. The fire ghoul was asking for it. Had been all day, but Swiss couldn’t do anything about it. Not until after the show was over and they were back at the hotel.

Well, maybe not quite that long, Swiss mused. It wouldn’t hurt to get things started sooner. Swiss glued himself to Dew’s side during bows, watching him out of the corner of his eye. The second the band filed backstage, Swiss grabbed Dew by the scruff before he could sneak away.

“You're rooming with me tonight, Droplet.”

Dew could see that from the look in Swiss’ eyes that he meant business. Still he toed the line. “But I wanna room with Rain tonight.” He whined. “I already talked to him and-”

“It wasn’t a question Dewy.” Swiss snarled. “You don’t get a choice. Unless…” Swiss tutted. “If you can’t handle it, I guess I’ll have to room with Mountain instead.”

“No no! It’s fine. I’ll let Rain know.”

“You do that.” Swiss stomped away already knowing Dew would be following close behind.

When Swiss boarded the bus, he went back to purposefully ignoring Dew. It was about a thirty minute trip to the hotel but he pretended to fall asleep all the same. In truth he was watching Dew through barely opened lids. He reveled in watching Dew squirm.

They reached the hotel and Swiss was the first on his feet, causing Dew to flinch in surprise. He laid a hand on the fire ghoul’s shoulder and smiled cheerfully. Only his tight grip betrayed his true intentions. “Let's head inside.”

Dew attempted a nonchalant shrug but his voice came out as a squeak. “O-kay.”

Swiss steered him outside, only letting go long enough for both of them to grab their stuff from the baggage compartments. They entered the hotel lobby to find Copia thanking the receptionist and taking a stack of room keys.

“Dew is gonna room with me tonight.” Swiss announced.

Copia looked between the two ghouls, Dew with a slightly tense expression, and Swiss with an amused one. He shrugged, handing over two keycards. “Make sure he can still walk in the morning alright?”

Swiss gave a mock salute while Dew gaped. Then in one fluid motion, Swiss scooped Dew up, threw him over his shoulder, and hauled him to the room kicking and squirming.

Swiss opened the door to their room, a task made awkward when balancing a feisty fire ghoul and both of their overnight bags. Still he managed and slipped into the room.

Closing the door with his foot, Swiss dropped the bags by the entryway. He strode over to the bed where he deposited Dew roughly, not unlike their luggage.

He tipped Dew’s chin up with a finger so that they made eye contact. “If you need me to stop, you know the safe word. Now strip and kneel on the floor. Face the bed. Now.”

Dew picked himself up as haughtily as he could and stripped, rolling his eyes the whole time. That earned him a sharp open palmed smack across the cheek.

“Hurry it up. You're just making it worse for yourself.”

Dew flushed violet to match the mark on his face but hurried up. He tossed his discarded clothes to the side and kneeled. He dropped his glamour as well, revealing his horns and tail. He looked up at Swiss as if to say, now what?

Swiss unlaced his own mask and tossed it aside and dropped his own glamour, before staring down at Dew. He nodded in approval but his tail whipped back and forth in a predatory fashion. He sharply grabbed Dew’s chin and pulled him into a messy kiss.

Swiss bit at Dew’s bottom lip with his fangs not caring if he drew blood. He controlled the kiss, shoving his tongue down Dew’s throat not caring if he choked. Only when he felt Dew’s hands tangle in his hair did Swiss pull away.

“Ah ah. Hands on your thighs. Keep them there.”

Dew risked a cheeky tug on Swiss’ hair before removing his hands and placing them on either leg.

Swiss grabbed Dew’s chin again. “Now are you going to be a good boy?”

Dew went to shrug until Swiss dug his claws in. Instead he nodded.

“Words Dewy.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Good.” Swiss cooed, rubbing his thumb over Dew’s lips. He pulled him into a soft, chaste kiss before exploring Dew’s body with his hands and tongue.

Swiss left purple marks everywhere, Dew’s neck, his pecs, his ribs, his thighs. He rolled a pierced nipple in one hand while sucking at and nipping the other to revel in the choked out noises of pleasure that he wrung from the fire ghoul.

Swiss touched and mouthed over every part of Dew’s body except for the place he wanted it most. Needed it, even. Dew had begun to whine and his cock was flushed a deep purple.

“Hmm, I bet that hurts.” Swiss teased.

Dew nodded frantically. “Yes. Please?”

“Please what. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you want.”

“Please touch me.”

Swiss pulled a confused expression. “I have been.”

“No, I mean-”

“No? I’m quite sure I have. If you want me to stop though.” Swiss smirked as he saw the desperate look in the fire ghoul’s eyes.

“Please touch my cock. Let me cum please.”

“There we go.” Swiss cooed. “So polite even. Hmm, you think you deserve to cum?”

“Please.”

“You bratted all day. Made yourself such a pain in my ass and you think you deserve a treat.” Swiss tsked, shaking his head. “You take what I give you and you be grateful for it.”

Dew’s bottom lip quivered and he looked so pathetic Swiss had to bite back a laugh. “O-okay.”

Swiss did laugh then at the crack in Dew’s voice. He unzipped his pants and freed his cock, swollen with arousal at Dew’s display. He sat down on the edge of the bed and shoved his crotch in Dew’s face. “Make yourself useful.”

Dew latched on with fervor, bravely attempting to take Swiss’s whole length down right off the bat. When he began to gag, he pulled off, kitten licking the whole way back to the tip. He looked up at the multi ghoul.

Swiss boredly waved his hand in a motion to continue. He didn’t thrust into Dew’s mouth to abuse his throat, just basked in the pleasure as the fire ghoul worked. In truth the disinterest was only feigned and Swiss had to fight to keep his features neutral. Dew was amazing at this and Swiss tried to get him to do it whenever he could.

Dew was well aware of this and he watched for the subtle signs of Swiss falling apart above him. He could ignore his own desire for a little longer, fueled by a need to break Swiss’ facade. He felt a burst of triumph when he licked over his slit, and Swiss couldn’t stop the hiss of pleasure he let out. Dew took him down again, more successfully this time and he felt the multi ghoul’s thighs begin to quiver.

Swiss felt his end coming and fought to regain control over the situation. He pulled out of Dew’s hot wet mouth just in time to cum all over his face and bare chest. Swiss stroked himself through it, until the last rope of cum dribbled out to paint the fire ghoul at his feet.

The pleading look returned to Dew’s eyes then. “Did I do good?”

“Yes droplet. Very.” Swiss said, stroking Dew’s head, genuine satisfaction in his voice.

“Then can I-”

The ice was back in Swiss’s voice. He yanked on Dew’s hair, hard. “You’re still going on about that? If you want to cum so bad, do it yourself.”

Permission granted, Dew’s hands flew from his legs to his cock, stroking himself furiously. It didn’t take long before Dew’s cum added to the mess on the floor.

Swiss thanked Satan for the hardwood flooring. No cleaning bill and lecture for soiling expensive carpet. It also gave him an idea.

“I’m going to go shower. You are going to stay here and clean up your mess.” Swiss turned and strode towards the bathroom. Then he stopped and called over his shoulder, “I mean it. Every drop. If the floor isn’t spotless by the time I come back, I’m making you go on stage tomorrow with a plug up your ass.”

Swiss shut himself in the bathroom as Dew began to lap at the floor with his tongue, swiping up the pools of drying cum.

Swiss wouldn’t actually shower. He’d wait ten minutes before returning to check on Dew and praise him for being good. He’d help the fucked out fire ghoul into the shower and get him cleaned up. Then they would curl up in bed, Swiss rubbing Dew’s back and scratching his head until he fell asleep.

First though, one last punishment to get his point across.

[scaramouche-bully]

can i req fem!sub / if you want gender neutral is ok, about being brat on the bed? and (seperate) kaeya, diluc ,xiao &childe respond on it?

— ☆ Bratty Sub headcanons 

Includes: Kaeya, Diluc, Xiao, and Childe

[ Sub ] Gender-neutral reader

Contains: Bratty sub, riding, dacryphilia, humiliation, rough sex, switching, coming untouched, dirty talk, degradation, choking, slut shaming, stomach bulge, masocism, minor blood, drooling + dumfication. 

— ☆ Wrecking headcanons - Childe 🐏 [ Female ]

[ masterlist ]

Apologies for the long delay. It’s been busy. 

I’ve updated my rules to limit requests to two or fewer characters as to not overwhelm myself. But since this request was before the change, I will write all four. For future requesters, please stick to two characters. 

— ☆ Kaeya

As soon as you talk back to him, he gives you most amused but pitiful look you’ve ever seen. He takes a moment to chuckle under his breath before he’s hoisting you up onto his lap, leaning his cheek on his hand, and gestures for you to continue. 

You must think you’re so cute right now. Suddenly thinking that you’re in charge? Alright, if you want to be on top then go. He won’t do anything. Let’s see how long it’ll take for you to start whining. 

He loves the flustered look you get when he suddenly gives into your demands. The brave face you try and put on as you slowly ease onto his thick cock and the frustrated whimpers you try and hide. 

It’s only when you start apologizing that he disapprovingly sighs as he grips your hips, so hard that bruises will appear the next day, and slams you down on his cock. 

“Talking back to me when you can’t even fuck yourself on my cock properly. What am I going to do with you?” he grunts out as your walls tighten around him and you scrabble to hold onto him, “You’re going to take every drop of my cum until your hole is stuffed got it? Aren’t I kind? Go on, thank me.” 

“T-Thank..mm! Yo-You -ahh! More, ah! ” you stammer out as you claw at Kaeya’s back as he forcefully lifts you and drops you on his cock. The heavy drag of his dick against your sensitive spots is maddening that muddle your head. Every time Kaeya thrusts in you feel the breath get punched out of your lungs, the skin of your abdomen stretch and burn as you try and make room for his cock. You don’t realize that you’re crying out to him as you sob into his shoulder. 

“Look at you, does that hurt? Too bad. Maybe if you didn’t act like such  a brat I would be a lot nicer,” he laughs as he viciously grabs your hair and lifts your tear stained face up “Maybe I should take a picture so I can show everyone in Mondstadt what a slut you are?”

He drops your face harshly as he grips your wrists and pulls your hands behind you before he flips you both over so he’s on top of you. Your arms are at an awkward angle that strain them but when he suddenly starts pounding into you with the new leverage, whatever complaints you have are quickly replaced with moans. You mewl at the idea, your friends and family seeing how much of a wreck Kaeya can make you. It makes you burn in humiliation at the idea and you know that Kaeya would do it in a heartbeat. It’s that thought that has you cumming as Kaeya curses and buries himself as deep as he can go, painting your insides with his cum. While you’re catching your breath, Kaeya swipes at the cum that leaked out of your hole as he brings his cum stained fingers to your mouth.

“Open up,” he says, his voice sweet even as he pry’s your mouth open for you. You, naturally, bite his fingers but also lick him clean. It makes his star pupils dilate as he takes in the image before shoving his fingers into the back of your throat so you choke, “You’re so cute. It seems I have a lot to teach you about manners brat.”

— ☆ Diluc

Diluc has to deal with too many problematic issues given to him by incompetent people. It’s weeks like these when his patience runs extremely thin, even when he tries to suppress his temper. 

Naturally, these are your favourite weeks to irk the man. To see just how much you can get away with and how far you can push his limits. From walking around with barely any clothes to flirting with the Knights that attend Angel Share.

Diluc is used to your...mannerisms. That is until Kaeya appears and he’s already glaring at you before you can make a move. Don’t you dare even try it unless you don’t want to walk the next day. 

It takes one touch on your waist from Kaeya for Diluc to snap. He’s closing the bar early and even the drunkards can tell Diluc is pissed. Kaeya blows you a kiss and a wave over the shoulder to Diluc as he locks the door behind him. 

Diluc manhandles you to the bar counter until you’re bent over with your wrists pinned behind your back. You can feel the anger radiate off Diluc as you peer over your shoulder at him. While he has a calm face, his eyes are feral as he adjusts his glove. That’s the only warning you get before he slips his hand to the front of your neck and squeezes with a vice grip. 

“D-Dil-” you cough out before you’re cut with a yelp by Diluc forcefully shoving your pants down as he shoves his fingers in, gloves still on, and stretch's your hole out. 

“Pathetic, you’re already this wet and I haven’t even done anything. Are you going to make a mess over my floors? You know what’ll happen if you do,” Diluc sneers as he arches your back and brings your face next to his, “Do you like being choked? Is that it? You filthy whore getting off on being used like this.”

“Hah..haha...Ka-Kaeya is nn-- oh is rough-er!” you manage to wheeze out as you stick your tongue out at Diluc. He still wears that same neutral expression but you can see something dark swirl in his eyes. He mumbles out, is that so? Before he slams you back down onto the counter top. You’re a bit dazed from the impact that you don’t hear the rustle of clothes, a belt unbuckling, before you’re being rammed into by Diluc’s cock. Your hands are scrabbling onto the countertop for some type of purchase as Diluc wastes no time and abuses your sensitive walls. 

“You’re. Mine.” Each word is punctuated by a deep thrust into you, “No one can fuck you like I can. Not those useless knights. Not Kaeya. Not anyone. Got it?”

You’re dumb on the pleasure of his cock rearranging your insides that you don’t respond that Diluc clicks his tongue, bends down, and sinks his teeth into your neck. An area he knows you can’t hide with your clothes and it’s too hot to be wearing a scarf without making it obvious to what’s happening now. The burst of pain is enough to send you over the edge and orgasm on his cock. Diluc curses under his breath at your walls tightening around him as he cum inside you as he catches his breath. 

“Answer me when I ask you a question.”

“Y-Yes sir...you’re the only one. Only you. Always you...” 

Your words manage to sooth him a little bit but it irks him that you’re drooling all over his countertop that he just cleaned. It’s fine, he thinks, he can make you lick it up later. 

— ☆ Xiao

He's a puppy that wants to impress you, but everyone has a breaking point. The constant taunting of how, despite being a powerful adepti, he can’t even pleasure a mortal in bed sends something feral inside him ablaze. 

He doesn’t want to hurt you so he focuses his efforts into fucking you so good that you end up babbling praises instead. It makes him feel so warm inside when he sees your normally smug face turn dumb as you tell him he’s doing so well. 

It’s the only time you can ask Xiao to be more rough with you without him worrying about breaking you. It’s so cute to you that he tries so hard that you can’t help but tease him a bit. 

“Good boy Xiao. You’re doing so well,” you whisper against Xiao’s lips as you softy kiss him. You’re finally seated on his cock with his fingers are digging into your sides, strong enough to leave marks. It took a bit of coaxing from you to get Xiao to release the death grip he had on the sheets and to move his hands to your waist. If you didn’t see hand prints or bruises the next day, you were going to make this man cry. You slowly rock back and forth as you softly moan at the feeling of his cock inside you as you make small bounces. 

“Don’t you feel good?” you ask as you take one of his hands off your waist and lead his fingers to your hole where you’re both connected. Lacing your fingers together as you force him to jerk off the small length of his cock that appears every bonce you make, “Come on. Go faster. Show me what an adeptus can do.”

“A-Are you sure?” Xiao stammers out as he looks up at you worried. His grip on your body slackens considerably as you sigh before cupping his cheeks. 

“Xiao. Are you saying you can’t? Is it too much for someone of the adepti? What a let down you are, if you can’t do it then I’ll go find someone that cAN-!” you choke on your words as Xiao suddenly slams you on your back and drives his cock to the hilt. This time he’s taking your hand in his as he places your linked hands onto your stomach so you can feel his cock wrecking your insides through your stomach. 

“W-Wait! Xiao! Ah-!”

He pulls out harshly only to slam back in desperately as he rutts against you. His cock is practically gushing pre-come as he slowly loses his sense of rhythm. A deep feral part inside him relishes in the fact that it’s his cock that makes you like this. Pupils blown wide, head thrown back, tongue lolling out. As much as it makes your entire body tremble at the onslaught of pleasure, you can’t help but let a small delirious smile appear on your face. You reach out and cling onto him, digging your nails in so deep that he bleeds, and tell him to fuck you stupid. That he’s doing such a good job and to not stop. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you” he chants as he grinds his cock into you as he cums inside and fills you with his cum. The rush of warmth has you orgasming with him. Your linked hands still on your stomach where his cum paints your walls. 

— ☆ Childe

He really likes switching half way during your fucking. As soon as you’ve had your fill being on top, he’s switching the roles. He might have been crying and begging you to let him cum a few seconds ago but now it’s his time to payback. 

Due to the abrupt switch, you’re still high on your ride and refuse to let his child take control. He loves how feral you both get in your attempts to dominate the other. 

When he finally manages to pin you down, the blood of the scratches and bite marks are still stinging but the pain get’s him rock hard. It’s like any other fight and the feeling of victory gives him a rush. 

He wastes no time in pounding into you, watching you scream as you curse him out as him laughing, leaning over to kiss you as he proceeds to rail you.  

He knows as soon as he kisses you, you’re biting his lips raw. The taste of blood makes him smirk against your own mouth and he feels your exasperated sigh at his kinks. It’s a small moment of respite as you both make out without trying to claw each other’s eyes out. When you finally separate for air, there’s a red line of saliva linking your mouths together that breaks when Childe sits up and wipes his mouth. 

“A bit eager are we?” he taunts as his fingers run over your skin, covered in his hand prints as marks, before settling on your hip. He doesn’t need to look to know his body isn’t any different. He better hope that he doesn’t need to change his shirt in front of the anyone or else they’ll suspect he went and fought a bear again. A cruel laugh escapes you as you reach up and drag him back down to your level as you whisper in his ear.

“It’s a pity fuck Tartaglia.” 

There’s a pause as Childe registers what you said before a switch flips off in his head. He lets out a low growl as he flips you onto your stomach and rams his cock into you. He relishes in the wail you let out as he grips your neck to pin your head onto the bed as he rails you into the mattress. You’re so tight around him that he has to forcefully drag his cock out just to thrust back in. He doesn’t understand how you can stay so tight even after all the rounds you both had previously. 

“You, ngh--ah! b...hah...bastard!” you gasp out and you claw at the sheets as his cock fucks you so well. He slams in so deep that has you spasming with each and every thrust. 

“Behave now,” he hisses out as he bites down on the back of neck as he muffles his moans as he cums inside you. Feeling him spill inside you sends a shudder of pleasure through your body that has your withering on his cock as you cum alongside him. When you’ve both caught your breath is when you elbow him in the stomach and knock him backwards so you’re back on top. He can tell you’re pissed and he’s never felt more excited. 

[imjeralee]

can you maybe write for Childe, Zhongli, Link, and Human!Revali where theyre immortal or live for a very long time, and one day their s/o gets hurt and dies in their arms? then years later they stumble across them again, theyre a different person but they have the same soul. yet.. they dont remember them right away...but then they fall in love again? im feeling angsty, apologies

Hi anon! thanks for the ask and sorry for the delay!! I’m afraid I wasn’t able to write a Link and Human!Revali headcanon for the time being (I will write and post Link and Revali HCs later, sorry!!!!!) but I was able to write something for Childe and Zhongli for now so here goes.

PS they’re really long so it’s below the cut. I might as well have written some fanfics on this since they’re pretty much stories XD

Childe: 

WARNINGS for violence/blood here -

When he’s dispatched the last of your attackers, he rushes back to your side and finds you lying on the ground. At first he thinks you’re playing as you usually tease each other, and so he drops beside you with a hefty sigh before he scoops you up and into his arms.

“Hey, you good? Don’t tell me those guys gave you a run for your money,” he says, grinning. He’s out of breath, sweating slightly.

When you don’t reply, however, at first he thinks you’re still teasing but it’s quickly replaced with concern. He knows something is wrong. You let out a pained moan and close your eyes, murmuring his name weakly. His playful, jovial attitude dissolves into panic. Childe sits up properly with you in his arms, giving you a little shake and asking what’s wrong.

As he turns you round in his arms, he notices you’re bleeding profusely from a grievous wound. No longer smiling, panic takes ahold of him. “What happened? No, no, no, this can’t be. This can’t be happening. Stay with me Y/N, stay with me.” Planting his hands on the sides of your face, making you look at him. “Look at me. That’s it. Just keep looking at me. You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” He keeps chanting that over and over again as he glances around the area frantically before he attempts to lift you off the ground but you stop him. It’s too late.

Instead, you merely hold his hand firmly and he entwines your fingers together and you see the fear and despair in his eyes. You tell him you’re not going to make it but he shakes his head. 

“Everything’s gonna be okay, you hear? Teucer’s waiting for you to take him to the seaside, remember? We were…we were meant to go to the seaside together.” 

As he speaks, he holds you tightly and he feels your laborious breathing against his chest and he keeps talking until you go still and quiet in his arms and he stops. At first, he can’t bear to bring himself to look at you and holds you firmly against his chest, resting his chin atop your head, closing his eyes. 

Then he begins to weep.

A broken man, Childe vows revenge, swearing vengeance on your killers. In a blind rage, he spends countless of years hunting them down one by one. It’s not hard to achieve considering he has all the time in the world. His most recent excursion leads him to the final ringleader who lives in a citadel. Childe kills all the guards and everyone else who stands in his way until he reaches his target. At first, the man fights him but Childe overpowers him easily.

“Who the hell are you?” the man screams.

Childe rips off his mask to reveal his face. “Remember me?” He snarls.

The man goes wide-eyed and tries to run away with Childe in pursuit, but before Childe can reach him, the man has grabbed a random person in his way and thrown them onto Childe’s path as a human shield.

“Father!?” Childe hears the person exclaiming in shock as they’re roughly shoved towards Childe’s direction. Childe realises the man has grabbed their kid to use as the human shield. 

Disgusted, Childe is about to deal the finishing blow until he catches them mid fall and their gazes meet; those eyes. They remind him of….you

And something deep inside him screams STOP! And Childe is briefly brought to a halt in his rampage. He doesn’t recognise them, but he feels your soul within.

What the frick? You had reincarnated into this bastard’s kid??? He’s shocked for a brief moment and a few guards who are still alive manage to sneak up on him. Childe returns to action mode and fights off his attackers, grabs you, and whilst he doesn’t get the chance to kill his target, he escapes the citadel with you in his clutches and you’re left screaming for help.

You’ve been abducted by Childe and he’s taken you to the forest where he pins you against the tree and forces you to look at him, left and right, up and down. Whilst you plead and beg for mercy with your eyes squeezed shut and knees quaking, he lets go of you harshly. He doesn’t want to believe it’s you, but there’s no doubt about it. He senses your soul within. He recognises your eyes. You’ve reincarnated. 

“Show me.” He demands.

“…What?”

“Your birthmark. The one on your shoulder?”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have any-”

“Don’t lie to me.”

He turns you round and pulls on your shirt to expose the back of your shoulder where your birthmark is. Whilst you wonder how the hell he knows you have a mark, he lets go of you then and you quickly pull your clothes back on properly, face red. What the hell!!! 

Childe just staring at you in brief shock. 

“It’s you. It’s really you.”

A lot of emotions are going through him right now; he’s relived and so damn happy, at the same time he’s like confused and angry by the whole situation

But the first thing he does is hug you tightly.

And the first thing you do is grab the nearest rock and bludgeon his head with it.

He’s taken aback and lets go of you, stumbling backwards with a bleeding head but he easily shakes off your assault and throws the rock to the side and you’re terrified, inching away as he goes, “Did you think that would kill me? I’ll let you in a little secret; I’m immortal.” 

Not really sure who/what you’re dealing with, you flee but you hear him yelling, “You can run but you can’t hide!”

And as you toss a glance over your shoulder, he’s still standing there for a split second before he promptly vanishes from his spot. This weird cat and mouse game ensues with Childe stalking you through the forest and you’re either trying to run or hide until he finally catches you and pins you against the ground. You can’t escape.

“Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmurs, but you don’t believe him. “Just…stay with me for a few days, okay?”

It doesn’t matter; over the next few days, you’re effectively Childe’s prisoner and he seems to enjoy teasing you; he tried to talk to you but you refused and ignored him. It was quite difficult to do so especially when its time for dinner and he’s cooking grilled tiger fish - which is actually your favourite food - and although you’re salivating, he looks at you and grins and waves the grilled tiger fish on a stick in front of you, going, “Hungry?”

You turn away with a frown and he shrugs, “Suit yourself. But I know it’s your favourite.”

You’re confused and about to ask him, but you hear him eating and throw a glance at him to see he’s chomping down and your stomach rumbles. You choose to sleep instead to ignore the hunger but you wake up during the night, starving.

“Eat this,” says a voice, and a grilled tiger fish is plopped down in front of you and Childe is there, crouching by your side. He leaves you alone so you can eat.

You’re surprised by your captor’s behaviour and you initially hate him for what he’s done however he doesn’t harm you in any way. He doesn’t keep you tied up or anything and he’s quite entertained should you ever try to run away because he’ll always just catch up to you and just pick you up and throw you over his shoulder or something and carry you back. 

Your travels with Childe continues but you don’t get the feeling that he hates you or wants to hurt you in anyway. In fact, he keeps surprising you by providing you with your favourite food, favourite drinks and other stuff. It confuses you and though you want to ask him, you’re a little too afraid as to what he might just tell you. Some days you even come across him looking at you a little forlornly but just when you notice, he changes in a split second and will grin at you. Even when it’s nighttime and you’re meant to take a bath, he won’t perv on you. When you arrive at the next village, he asks for a nice room for the two of you and allows you to take the bed, eat as much as you want etc etc. In fact, he’s….taking care of you. He even starts buying you things and whilst you turn down everything he offers, you see his expression crumble and you don’t know what he’s trying to do.

One night he sleeps in the open and you grab a knife, about to drive it in his throat although you’re not sure how much good that’ll do but then you hear him murmur, “You don’t know it…but I’ve been looking for you forever…and I’ve been waiting for you for such a long time… and you end up being the kid of that bastard…the one who killed you, the one who took you away from me….the one who started all this in the first place…”

Confused by what you had just heard, you watch him in steely silence before you slowly lower your hand and put away the knife. The next day he goes “I know what you were trying to do last night. Why didn’t you do it?” 

“I didn’t want to. I’m not a killer like you.” You quip back, but he merely laughs. 

The days continue but the dynamic seems to have changed; when Childe gets you something, you start thanking him and he goes red in the face and you also begin to feel weird around him. Before long, you’re both having food together, having some conversations and you’re accustomed to travelling around with him. He’ll always keep you safe and make sure you have a warm bed each night too. Sometimes when he looks at you, you don’t look away either.

Before long, your father’s men finally catches up; they begin to hunt you and Childe down and you’re stunned when you realised you’re about to get rescued. Something terrible flickers in your mind - maybe you don’t want to be rescued and you want to stay with Childe? After all, he’s taken you to so many places and you’ve seen so many things. Your father kept you cooped up in the citadel for years and this is really the first time you’ve experienced freedom.

Also, you don’t want Childe to get caught. You want him to run away. But he won’t run away without you. And when you question this, he goes, “I can’t afford to lose you again!!”

During the chase, a bunch of arrows are fired towards your direction and you’re worried about Childe, but when the arrows are about to hit you, you squeeze your eyes shut but nothing happens. Reopening your eyes, you see Childe has shield you with his body.

You’re surrounded and as Childe falls, collapsing into your arms, he’s quickly captured and you are returned home. But everything feels boring and dull now, and your father seems more occupied in torturing Childe than checking to see if you’re alright. You ask your father what happened between him and Childe and he tells you he killed his lover many years ago and now Childe has been seeking revenge. When you ask him why he killed Childe’s lover, your father just laughs and says there was no reason.

You’re conflicted. What is this? Why do you feel pity for Childe, and anger towards your father? Why do you feel you are more on Childe’s side now?

I’m in love with him, you realise -- much to your shock. 

Your father announces Childe will be executed by dawn and you hastily rush to where they’re holding him, hoping not to be seen. When you find Childe, he’s badly beaten but still alive and you quickly unshackle him and as he sees you freeing him, he smiles at you; when the last of his shackle is unlocked, he falls forwards but you catch him and your gazes meet.

“Go,” you whisper.

“Not without you. Come with me.” He murmurs, placing a hand to your cheek. “I can’t lose you again.”

You don’t even need to think twice, nodding.

Zhongli

He didn’t think you would ever die... and in his arms no less. He found you after the battle and when he saw that you were grievously wounded, he could not believe his eyes. He was too late and unable to save you, so he merely held you in his arms as you told him with weak breaths that this was the end. He promises that he’ll find you again and holds you tightly as he feels your warmth slowly disappearing, the life escaping from your eyes and then you were simply…gone

For a while, he merely sat with you in the ashen field, cradling you tightly to his chest before he picked you up and retreated silently. No one would see him for several centuries following that but it was rumoured he went to the mountains to bury you. He was in mourning.

Zhongli never forgot you and his love for you never went away so he’s comforted by the fact that your soul will be reincarnated albeit into a different vessel and as he promised, begins to search for your whereabouts when it’s finally time.

He roams the world to no end and many decades pass. Eventually he gets tired and one day he even passes out from exhaustion, reverting to a dragon form to recuperate.

And you’re walking home from the mountains and you come across this huge dragon resting on a rock and you’re like oh my archon. But it looks like he’s sick so as you approach nervously and poke at his body gently with a stick (no response), and also press your ear against his scaly belly (he’s breathing and you can hear a heartbeat), you’re aware the dragon is still alive. You quickly rush home to grab some makeshift medicine made from herbs and return to the sick dragon

Zhongli too weary to open his eyes or lift his head, and as he drifts in and out of consciousness, he thinks he hears your voice and he’s comforted by the familiarity and as you sit with him, stroking his horns and mane, he kind of inches towards you and into your arms. As the day progresses, the sun is particularly harsh so you set up little parasols and pull huge leaves over his head to provide as much shade as possible. Occasionally the dragon has nightmares but you’re able to calm him down by petting him 

When it gets dark, you need to head home but you’re a little reluctant, so you leave behind some food for him and drape a blanket over his body (though this doesn’t cover him much). However, during the night, it’s thunder and lightning and you get worried for the dragon so you rush back out and you find the dragon being battered by the rain whilst curled up into a tight ball and shivering under the blanket so you quickly try to move him but oh lawd he heavy and suddenly the blanket gets blown away by the wind when he lifts a claw so you race after it and end up almost falling off a cliff - to your surprise, the dragon swoops down to save you and you faint but before you black out, you think you see a young man in the dragon’s place, staring at you with much intrigue

He has the same eyes as the dragon

That night, you have strange dreams of that man. He acts as if he knows you, calls you by a different name and you are also his lover. The dream is long, but ends with your demise - which forces you to wake up in a panic

You’re surrounded by the coiled up dragon who has gotten better from your care but when he wakes up, he’s cautious and observes you for a few moments. 

You and this dragon staring at each other until you slowly reach a hand to touch him 

Your hand lands over his snout and you’re surprised he’s allowing you to pat him, but whatever, you’re super happy at his recovery and you can go home now. It’s time to part ways and as you head towards the direction of your home, you throw glances over your shoulder to see the dragon watching you silently

On the way, you think about the dragon and the strange dreams and attract the attention of a group of treasure hoarders who are wandering around the wilderness. However, to your surprise, you are saved by a young man - and it’s the very man from your dreams! He manages to defeat the bandits but you see he’s hurt and he almost collapses if you weren’t there to catch him. The moment he landed in your arms and that same sense of familiarity swept over you. You’re quick enough to react and sweep those thoughts away and bring the poor man home, lugging his polearm over your back along with your basket

You look after this young man and nurse him back to health. During this time, he looks at you strangely and when he’s sleeping, his calls out the name you were called in the dream. When you think he’s having a nightmare and you go over to check if he’s ok, giving him a little shake on the arm, he throws his arms around you and holds you close, begging you not to leave him and that he had spent eons looking for you. When you tell him he’s got the wrong person…it’s as though he comes to his senses and he quickly releases you, apologising for his behaviour and thanking you for his hospitality

He tells you his name is Zhongli and because he’s injured, you give him the spare room in the back and take care of him. During this period of interaction, at first it’s quite strange and maybe a little awkward, because hell he is an insanely attractive man (he can’t be single, no way) and you’re bustling around the house, doing chores/cleaning up or tending to your garden and he watches you the entire time and this goes on for a few days before he joins in to help when you’re hanging up the laundry though you don’t want him to help because he’s injured but he assures you he wants to do his part. 

So Zhongli becomes a part of your everyday life where during the day and you both have breakfast together before you head to the market together to buy groceries and later, he accompanies you to pick herbs in the mountain. 

One day you’re tired so he sits with you and massages your leg and you’re so embarrassed but at the same time, your heart is beating like crazy. He even carries you down the steep path all the way home. 

At night time and you sit together on the front porch watching fireflies and chatting idly for hours. 

He ends up staying for a long time and one day, when it’s time to redress his wound, you notice he’s completely healed - and it looks like he actually healed up a while ago. You blink in confusion before turning to him and he looks at you before he reaches for your hand and holds it firmly, smoothing his thumb over the back of your hand

A distant memory, more like deja vu, flickers through your mind and you realise Zhongli has held your hand like this before and you run out of the room, confused. Zhongli worried he scared you off so he doesn’t pursue you

When it’s night, you dream again but it’s becoming so vivid you end up confused the next morning, waking up in an unfamiliar house and in an unfamiliar body and screaming for Zhongli. As you calm down, he holds you in his arms and it reminds you of the dream you had when you died in his embrace. You briefly forget yourself for a moment before murmuring Zhongli’s name - and it reminds him of how you used to say his name eons ago and he gets sentimental, giving in because he knows you are the reincarnation of his lover and when you kiss, that’s when everything floods back and you remember everything 

Finally reunited with your lover, you share an embrace, determined not to be separated ever again

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

Witcher of Surprise Part 7

(Previous) (Masterpost) (Next)

Summary: On a contract for a chort, Geralt finds a fiend instead. Jaskier gets a crash course in wound care.

Rating: M

Warnings: major character injury

AO3 link in masterpost!

One of the first things newly made witchers were taught at Kaer Morhen was to never take villagers’ word when it came to the identity of the monster you were hunting.

“They’ll hire you to deal with a rusalka and then you’ll get there and it’ll be a fucking kikimore,” Varin said in one of his rare moments of mostly sober wisdom. “Because the farmer who stumbled across it hasn’t gotten his dick wet in so long he looked at a waterlogged monster and saw a beautiful maiden.”

You would think, Geralt thinks as he’s thrown against a tree with bone-rattling force, that children in places like Velen would be taught how to identify monsters along with their letters and basic arithmetic. Or would at the very least be taught to judge sizes so they wouldn’t tell him that the monster he was hunting was no bigger than an elk, only for him to show up and find a fiend roughly the size of a barn.

If he survives this, he’ll need to find out what kind of elk they have in Velen.

The fiend roars and lunges at him again, its teeth shiny with the blood of the bear Geralt found it eating. Geralt casts Yrden to slow it down, giving himself enough time to draw one of Lambert’s bombs, light it with Igni, and hurl it at the beast. The bomb hits the fiend in the chest and explodes, causing it to stumble back, but it recovers and hurls itself at Geralt.

“Fuck,” he growls and casts Igni to drive it back.

He came here expecting a chort, which is far from an easy fight, but at least would be smaller and wouldn’t have a hypnotizing third eye. Geralt knows that the fiend’s third eye is fixed on him right now, waiting for him to slip up and look it in the face. He keeps his gaze resolutely on the beast’s massive torso as it swings at him. Cursing, he rolls to avoid the blow. He could use another Thunderbolt, but he’s taken every combat potion he has in his pouch and he can already feel the haze of toxicity descending.

He thinks of Jaskier, camped not a mile away from here, right outside of town. The village’s single inn wouldn’t let a room to a witcher, so Geralt has no choice but to leave Jaskier, Roach, and Pegasus alone in the woods. Jaskier is probably sitting cross-legged on the ground with his lute in his lap, humming to himself as he composes. If Geralt dies here, he’ll leave an angry, injured fiend roaming the woods, and a lone bard would be easy pickings.

Gods damn it, he should have made Jaskier stay at the inn without him.

The thought is a distraction that Geralt can’t afford, because the next thing he knows, the fiend’s enormous paw catches him in the torso, its claws slicing through his armor and digging into his flesh. Geralt goes sailing through the air, landing against a tree with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs. His silver sword goes flying.

The forest floor trembles as the fiend charges at him.

This is it. The thought isn’t accompanied by a great deal of alarm. Geralt’s not naive. He always knew how this would go in the end. His first year on the Path quelled any hope he ever had of a peaceful retirement someday.

But then he pictures Jaskier, sitting on the ground with his lute and looking up to see a fiend galloping towards him. The way he would look around for Geralt and realize that there was no witcher there to save him.

Geralt draws his steel sword and springs to meet the fiend, whose head is bent low as it prepares to snatch him up in its jaws. He lands on its face, driving his steel sword deep into its third eye. Steel does the trick well enough when driven into a creature’s brain and the fiend dies instantly. Geralt lies on top of the corpse for a long moment, breathing heavily, his hand still clenching the sword. Finally, he rolls off the beast and takes stock of his injuries.

The fiend’s claws cut deep, leaving three slashes traveling from his sternum to just over his belly button. They’re bleeding heavily; if he were a human, he’d already be dead. As it is, he knows he needs potions. A healer wouldn’t hurt either, but he doubts there’s one of those to be found around here. He reaches into the pouch he keeps at his side and draws out a Swallow and a White Raffard’s, downing them both in quick succession.

He’s not sure how long he lies there, staring up at the gray sky above and wondering if he’s going to be able to stand up to walk back to the campsite, or if he’ll lie here uselessly until something else comes along to eat him. It’s the thought of the other things that most likely lurk in the woods that finally has him pushing himself slowly and painfully to his feet. Jaskier shouldn’t be left alone for long; the bard will only get himself into trouble.

Every motion agony, Geralt makes his slow way back to the camp.

***

Jaskier has a song stuck in his head, a common ailment for a bard. It’s ‘Toss a Coin,’ which he hasn’t played even once since he and Geralt started traveling together. This peace he has with Geralt is too tentative; Jaskier doesn’t want to ruin it by performing a song that he knows the witcher despises. But he finds his fingers dancing over the familiar cords, singing softly to himself as he goes. There’s no one here to appreciate his artistic talents, save for Roach and Pegasus, and they’re too busy eating grass to pay him any mind.

Geralt has been gone for a long time. Jaskier hasn’t yet learned to judge how long is too long yet. The little the witcher told Jaskier about chorts made his skin crawl and he finds himself looking around nervously, expecting to see glowing eyes staring back at him.

Roach lifts her head, ears pricking.

“What is it, girl?” Jaskier asks with false lightness. “Did a bush rustle half a mile away?”

But Roach doesn't react to his voice, looking somewhere in the distance. Pegasus stamps his hooves nervously.

A chill crawls up Jaskier’s spine and he stands up, holding his lute between himself and the direction the horses are staring. It’s a gray, dreary day and the heavy canopy of trees blocks out most of the little sunlight there is to be had, leaving the woods around him almost as dark as if it were nightfall. Jaskier struggles to make out the difference between the shadows cast by trees and a bloodthirsty monster looking to have a bard for an early supper.

Something lurches out of the trees. Jaskier shrieks and stumbles backwards.

“Jaskier, it’s me.”

Jaskier’s panic clears enough that he can actually look at the intruder. It’s Geralt, he realizes with a jolt, but the witcher looks ghastly. His face is smeared with blood, his skin leeched of color, his eyes black with dark veins spiderwebbing out from them. The black eyes would be an intriguing look, Jaskier thinks, if it weren’t for the three gashes traveling from Geralt’s chest to his belly and the blood drenching his armor.

“What happened?” Jaskier puts down his lute and hurries towards the witcher. “Oh, fuck, Geralt, are you—”

Geralt answers the unspoken “are you okay?” which in retrospect, was a monumentally stupid question, by collapsing.

“Fuck.” Jaskier drops down next to the witcher. With effort, he turns him over. The creature’s claws cut right through his armor to his flesh, but at least Jaskier doesn’t see any innards or any bone. Hand shaking, he presses his fingers to the side of Geralt’s neck. When he doesn’t immediately feel a pulse, his heart plummets.

“Geralt?” he whispers.

Geralt’s eyes flutter open. “Need White Honey.”

“Which one is that?” Jaskier asks, but Geralt’s eyes are already closing. “Fuck, Geralt, I’m going to need you to tell me what to do here. I am far from a trained healer.”

Geralt doesn’t respond.

“Fucking cock.” Jaskier scrambles for the saddlebags. He’s never touched the bag that holds Geralt’s potions; the witcher has told him in explicit detail what would happen to any human stupid enough to try and drink one. But now he frantically searches through the collection of glass bottles, wincing as they clink together.

“Would it kill you to label your shit?” he demands of his unconscious friend.

He finds two potions that look likely; they’re both honey-like in their coloring. He pours the darker one down Geralt’s throat, careful not to let any touch his own skin, then the second one. He hopes that they won’t counteract each other, but he’s not sure. When this is done, he’s going to sit Geralt down and force the taciturn bastard to tell him everything about each one of these potions and what they do.

Once he’s gotten Geralt to drink the potions, he forces himself to look at the wounds on the witcher’s torso. There are three of them, slicing from Geralt’s sternum to his belly button. Jaskier shudders, remembering the ruin of Agnes’ belly after the griffin mauled her, but Geralt’s wounds don’t seem to be quite so serious. Letting out a sigh of relief, Jaskier peels off the witcher’s ruined armor and shirt, casting it aside, and then goes to get alcohol, water, and bandages.

Geralt makes a soft noise of protest as Jaskier pours vodka over the wounds to clean them, but doesn’t wake. “I know it’s not pleasant, love,” Jaskier tells him softly. “But having your insides rot away would be significantly more unpleasant, I can promise you that. Can witchers even get infections? You’ve never said.”

He’s as gentle as he can be while cleaning and bandaging the wound. He considers stitches, but he’s never stitched up anything more complicated than a doublet before and he’s sure he would fuck it up somehow. Another thing that Geralt is going to have to show him, once Geralt is alright.

Jaskier brushes away the thought that Geralt might not be alright, because he can’t even consider that possibility.

When Geralt’s wounds are tended to and there’s nothing else he can do, Jaskier washes the blood from his hands the best he can and sits back.

“I hope you’re going to be okay,” he tells Geralt. “Because I’m not sure what you and I are doing. I’m not sure if we’re friends. I’m not sure if this is anywhere close to a real marriage. I’m not sure if you even like me. But whatever it is, I’m not ready for it to be over yet.”

Geralt doesn’t respond.

“I also really hope the chort is dead, because you’re in no condition to protect us and I’m more likely to stab myself than any monster that attacks us.” Jaskier scans the trees for any sign of threat, but no beastie comes crawling out of the woods.

Geralt doesn’t wake, but eventually the red stains on his bandages stop spreading and the black veins around his eyes recede. His breathing remains slow and even. Jaskier sits next to him for a long time, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. Jaskier’s own heartbeat is still hammering madly, adrenaline thrumming through him as he tries not to think of what would have happened if Geralt had been alone. How long would the witcher have lain here, bleeding and overwhelmed by potions?

He’s so deep in thought that he doesn’t notice the storm clouds gathering until the first raindrop splatters against his forehead. Only then does he look up to see the dark gray clouds blocking out the sky. Cursing, he scrambles to his feet and throws a blanket over Geralt’s torso. He doesn’t remember much about wound care, but he remembers how adamant Geralt was that Jaskier not get the bite mark on his thigh wet, lest it get infected. Jaskier doesn’t want to find out if witchers can get infections the hard way.

He packs up their camp as quickly as he can, then goes to kneel down beside Geralt, shaking the witcher gently. “Geralt, we need to go.”

To his relief, when Geralt opens his eyes, they’re yellow and irritated. He doesn’t say anything, just stares.

“It’s raining,” Jaskier tells him.

Geralt closes his eyes again. “You going to melt, bard?”

“No, but we can’t get your wound wet,” Jaskier says. “Can you walk?”

“Where would I walk to? There are no rooms for witchers around here.”

“We’ll find you one. Just come on. I need to get you inside.”

Geralt grumbles and sits up, wincing. “Yeah, I can walk. No problem.”

That turns out to be a bit of an exaggeration, since Geralt can only walk when he’s leaning his entire body weight against Jaskier. While Jaskier is no wilting flower, he feels like his legs are going to buckle with every step. He has no choice but to leave their belongings and the horses, giving Roach strict instructions to bite anyone who tries to steal anything. Wheezing with the effort, Jaskier begins the very slow walk back to town.

***

Geralt fades in and out of awareness as they walk, trying to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. It’s tempting to just sink down onto the ground and go to sleep, but it’s pouring now and he knows Jaskier is right about getting him out of the rain. Besides, they’re safer indoors. Geralt can’t protect Jaskier from any threat—man or monster—when he’s like this.

When they reach the tavern that doubles as the town’s inn, if the two rooms it has to offer can be considered an inn, the barkeep seems as displeased to see them as he was earlier. “Already told you,” he growls. “There aren’t any rooms for his kind here.”

“My good sir.” Jaskier’s voice is strained with the effort of holding Geralt upright. He smells of sour fear and sweat. “As you can see, my companion was injured while slaying your town’s beast. Surely you can find it in your heart to at least give him a place to rest while he heals.”

“Get that fucking mutant out of my inn, boy.”

Geralt doesn’t have the energy to raise his head. It’s taking everything in him to stay conscious. He hears Jaskier’s heart rate pick up.

“This mutant just nearly died taking on the beast that killed eight of your people,” the bard says through gritted teeth. “Show a little respect.”

“I’ll show it respect once it’s out of my fucking tavern. Now get it out of here. It’s not fit to be around decent folk.”

Jaskier is silent for a long moment and Geralt braces himself for an explosion. He can feel eyes on him and hear the heartbeats of the people around them. If this turns ugly, he won’t be able to do a damn thing to stop Jaskier from getting the shit kicked out of him. He’s about to tell Jaskier that they should leave when the bard bursts into laughter.

That was not what Geralt was expecting. It clearly isn’t what the barkeep was expecting either; the man’s jaw drops in surprise and outrage.

“Please,” Jaskier says, chortling. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of an injured man who just had his insides ripped out.”

The man bristles. “Not afraid.”

“How odd. I can’t see any other reason you would deny aid to a grievously injured traveler. Look at him.” Jaskier looks around at the assembled patrons, smiling in a “can you believe this asshole?” sort of way. This is just another performance, Geralt realizes. “He couldn’t fight a kitten right now, never mind a brawny gentleman such as yourself. It would take a true coward to turn him away.”

The barkeep’s face turns very red. Geralt tries to look sufficiently harmless.

“Just two days ago, I saw this man nearly bested by an ewe that had escaped from her pasture.” Jaskier pats Geralt on the chest. “She had him running around in circles. But yes, he’s a fearsome mutant. Lock up your babes, ladies and gentlemen, lest they too outsmart the ferocious witcher.”

That gets a chuckle out of a few of the assembled drinkers and the young woman wiping down the tables.

“Unless you think you’re less mighty than a little lamb?” Jaskier asks the barkeep, words dripping with false innocence.

“For fuck’s sake, Simon, let them a room,” one of the men at the bar barks. “That beast in the woods took both my sister’s boys. Least you can do is put the witcher up for a night.”

Somehow, Simon’s face turns even redder. Geralt hopes he’s not going to burst a blood vessel. “I don’t want that mutant sleeping under the same roof as my wife.”

A group of women in the corner all burst into laughter. “Your wife left you months ago!” one of them calls. “She’s been staying with her mother in Gors Velen.”

“And given what a piece of work her mother is, you must have really fucked up,” one of her companions adds, eliciting another howl of laughter from the group.

Geralt feels something warm kindle in his chest. These people aren’t doing this because they give a damn what happens to him, he knows, or even because Jaskier’s speech was overly rousing. It seems that their distaste for Simon the barkeep outweighs any fear or hatred they might feel for a witcher. But still, it’s a nice change to have a group of humans who seem to be on his side instead of wanting to chase him out of town.

“It’s not human!” Simon protests.

“Well, thank Melitele for that,” the first man at the bar who spoke up says. “Any human would be dead after taking on the beast in the woods.”

A handful more patrons chime in, with the consensus seeming to be that Simon should stop being a prick.

“Fine.” Simon throws his hands up in defeat. “Thirty crowns.”

It’s a ridiculous price for what is sure to be a shit room, but Geralt only has what feels like moments of consciousness left, so he isn’t going to argue with it.

The man at the bar snorts. “That closet upstairs is hardly worth fifteen.”

“You shut your trap, or you can find somewhere else to drink!” Simon barks.

“And what a shame that would be,” another man pipes up. “Where else we going to find ale this shitty?”

Geralt must zone out for a moment, because when he comes back to himself, people are filing up to the bar and leaving a crown or two on it. It doesn’t take long before they have more than enough to pay for the room.

“Will that suffice?” Jaskier asks sweetly, jerking his chin at the pile of coins

Simon scowls. “You want to eat, it will be another five crowns each.”

“You know, I think we’d be better off having the dead chort for supper. Have a lovely evening, everyone! I will write a song of your generosity, though I fear I won't be singing it here!”

Geralt just manages to make it up the stairs and into the room— which is indeed no better than a closet— before he collapses onto the straw mattress and sinks into blissful unconsciousness.

***

Jaskier sleeps fitfully that night, sleeping on his bedroll to give Geralt room to stretch out on the narrow straw mattress. He jerks awake whenever he hears the rustle of Geralt moving around or a small, pained groan from the witcher. In his sleep, Geralt’s chest rises and falls with painful slowness and there are several terrifying moments where Jaskier thinks his friend has stopped breathing. It’s nearly dawn when Jaskier is so exhausted that he can’t help but slip into a deep, dreamless sleep.

He’s awoken by a loud, long groan. He jerks awake to find Geralt sitting up on the pallet, twisting around gingerly as if to test his own range of motion.

“Sorry,” the witcher grunts. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” Jaskier lies shamelessly, blinking away the haziness of sleep. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone who got torn open by a fiend yesterday.”

Jaskier winces at that mental image. “Not a chort?”

Geralt snorts. “Easy mistake to make, if you somehow miss that the creature tearing people apart is the size of a fucking barn.”

Jaskier makes a mental note to figure out later what the difference is between a chort and a fiend. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Geralt looks taken aback. “Sorry.”

“No, you don’t need to be sorry.” Jaskier shakes his head. “Well, maybe you need to be sorry about being so vague about what your potions do, because I had no idea which one was White Honey. I gave you two and I hope one was the right one because—”

“I’m fine, Jaskier,” Geralt says. “The only thing damaged was my flesh. Organs were untouched. There was no way that wound was going to kill me. I’ll be fine within a day.”

“I didn’t know that.” There’s a definite whine to Jaskier’s voice, so he clears his throat. “I mean, I’m glad you’re okay.”

“You did good.” Geralt gestures to his bandaged torso.

Jaskier feels his own face flush. “Thanks. I really had no idea what I was doing.”

“Hm.” Geralt’s studying him with a thoughtful expression. “I can teach you about the potions later, if you want to learn.”

Jaskier can’t stop himself from grinning stupidly. “I’d like that.”

“You say that now, but they’re boring to learn about. I would know.”

“I’m sure you’re an engaging enough lecturer to make the subject matter interesting.”

Geralt shakes his head, but his lips curl into a small smile. “And you did the right thing with the innkeeper. I was worried you were going to start a brawl, but embarrassing him was smart.”

Jaskier doesn’t admit that the only thing that stopped him from trying to strangle the fucker is that he would have had to drop Geralt to do it. “If it would have gotten you a room, I would have started a brawl.”

“Would have just gotten your ass kicked.”

Jaskier shrugs. “Good thing it wasn’t necessary then.”

Geralt is still watching him with that strange expression. “If we find somewhere to camp tonight, I should be up to travel by the morning.”

“You shouldn’t push yourself.”

“Not pushing myself,” Geralt says. “Anyway, we need to get you to Cidaris. We’re already losing a day of travel.”

Jaskier blinks. He’d completely forgotten about the Midsummer Festival. Suddenly, the thought of parting from Geralt, even if only for a few days, seems unbearable. “Of course. Cidaris.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you there on time.” Geralt cocks his brow in what can only be called a shit-eating expression. “Can’t wait to drop you off and make you Cidaris’ problem for a week or two.”

Jaskier gasps in mock outrage and bounces to his feet. “Just for that, witcher, I’m going to go try and get some breakfast and I’m not going to get you a single bite to eat.”

It should not be possible for a man of Geralt’s size to master puppy dog eyes, but he manages.

Jaskier makes a show of sighing gustily as he pulls his breeches on. “Fine, I’m sure I can scrounge up some cold, lumpy porridge for you.”

“Given how much you pissed off Simon last night, you should feel lucky if you get anything better than pig slop.”

“Ah, I’m hoping to run into his lovely niece, Annabel. Charming girl and not too fond of her taskmaster uncle. She’s saving up to go to Gors Velen to become a scribe, you know.”

Geralt grunts.

Jaskier bends down to pull on his boots, then turns to the door. “I’ll go check on the horses, get us some breakfast, and be back before you—”

“Jaskier.”

“Yes, Geralt?” Jaskier pauses in the doorway, looking over his shoulder.

“Thank you.” Geralt smiles at him. It’s a real smile, with teeth and everything, sweet and shy and a little unsure of himself, like his facial muscles aren’t quite used to such an expression. Jaskier is going to sing songs about the smile. He’s fairly sure he would wage a war for it.

“It was no trouble at all.” Jaskier’s voice comes out breathier than it should. “I was happy to— well, not exactly happy, since you were bleeding to death, but you know what I mean.”

He and Geralt stare at each other for a beat.

“Breakfast!” Jaskier exclaims. “I was getting breakfast. I’ll be back in a jif.”

He closes the door behind him and stands in the hallway, pressing his hand to his chest to try to still the pounding of his heart. He doesn’t want Geralt to hear it.

“Ah, cock,” he whispers.

***

Next time: Geralt tries to leave Jaskier in Cidaris, if only for a few days. Destiny has other plans.

Note: Just a head's up that updates on this fic may be few and far between for the next month or so. I have both a lot of writing projects and a lot of real life things going on. Don't worry, this fic will not be abandoned.

Tag List: (please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed)

@kueble @maya-the-yellow-bee @pinkkaktus @armory-rasa @trissmarrygoals @justjess94 @rinkashirikitateku (sorry @legion-of-queer and @sweetiepieplum, Tumblr won’t let me tag you)

[bluejayblueskies]

the before, the after, the in-between

Chapter Six: mixed reunions Words: 4.2k

Relationships: Jon & Daisy, Jon/Martin, Daisy & Basira Tags: Post-Canon, Scottish Safehouse, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mute Jon, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies

Work Summary:

There was no knife, no blood, and Jon was not dead. And when he heard a strangled noise from beside him and looked over to see Martin standing in the doorway of the safehouse, flung open and letting in the frigid bite of near-winter and sunlight, there was sunlight, he felt such a dizzying, intense wave of relief that he could hardly breathe around it.

Then, he opened his mouth to say Martin’s name, and nothing came out, and all of the relief fell away in an instant.

.

Jon wakes up in the safehouse in October of 2018, alive and well but without the Eye and without his voice. In the days that follow, he finds himself confronted with a world that has reset itself in space and in time, a version of himself that is no longer the Archivist, and the fact that death during the end of the world had not been so permanent as it had seemed.

Chapter Summary:

Basira seems happy to see you, Jon writes.

Daisy exhales slowly. “Yeah. She does.”

Jon waits for her to elaborate. When she doesn’t, he sighs, taps his pen on the paper a few times, and writes, And is that a good thing or a bad thing?

Daisy stares at the page a long while. Just when Jon thinks she’s not going to answer him at all, she says, “It’s… good. Just odd. Feels… like she shouldn’t be.”

Read on Ao3 (link in source)

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven

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(cw for mentions of gun and knife violence, mentions of death/murder, mentions of blood)

Stars are just beginning to fill the sky when there comes a knock at the door—two crisp taps, unhurried, but with a heavy insistence that has Martin standing from the couch quickly, mumbling, “I’ll get it,” and crossing the room while Daisy and Jon watch from where they’re still sat on the couch.

“Hel—oh, yes, come in,” Martin says as he opens the door and Basira immediately pushes past, her eyes scanning the room in front of her with a firm intensity. “Nice to see you too,” he mutters as Basira’s eyes find Daisy, and a wide-eyed expression crosses her face so quickly Jon can’t pin down what it’s meant to be.

“Daisy,” Basira says, and then she’s across the room and standing in front of Daisy, hand halfway outstretched towards her. “It’s… it’s really you?”

Daisy’s hand twitches where it’s clasped in Jon’s. He gives it a subtle, reassuring squeeze. “It’s really me,” she says quietly.

Basira’s eyes scan Daisy’s face, the outline of her body, as if searching for imperfections. After a moment, her eyes find Daisy’s again and she nods, as if confirming something for herself. “Right,” she says, retracting her hand and dropping it to her side. Next to him, Jon can feel Daisy tense slightly, though her face remains carefully calm. Basira takes in a deep breath, lets it out, then steps forward and wraps her arms around Daisy’s shoulders, bending down at an awkward angle to do so.

Daisy goes rigid for a moment before softening. Her hand slips out of Jon’s as she tentatively returns the hug, her hands ghosting across Basira’s shoulder blades and her fingers tracing the hem of Basira’s hijab. Basira exhales again sharply, gripping Daisy a little tighter as she does so, and says, “I thought you were gone.” Her voice is even, but there’s a layer of desperation underneath it that makes it sound choked at the edges. Jon suddenly feels very out of place, and he tries to subtly shift towards the other end of the couch to give them space.

“I was,” Daisy says, voice muffled by the fabric of Basira’s hijab. “But now I’m not.”

Basira laughs a bit unsteadily. “Right,” she says again. “I… I wondered if you were back. Didn’t want to think about it too hard, though. Just in case.”

Daisy is quiet for a moment. Then, so quietly Jon almost doesn’t hear, she says, “I’m sorry, Basira.”

Basira grips her tightly for a moment more, then pulls back so she can study Daisy’s face. “Don’t be. You didn’t force me to do anything. I made you a promise, and I kept it. That’s just how it was.” She exhales slowly. “Besides, none of that matters now. You’re back, and that’s a good thing. God knows there’s enough that’s wrong in the world right now.”

Daisy sits very still, a strange sort of tension keeping her rigid. “You’re… not angry?”

Basira frowns. “No. It was hard, but it wasn’t… it wasn’t you, Daisy. You were trying to be better, before, but you did what you had to, and so did I. It’s just how it was; no point in being upset about it.”

Daisy looks down at a point just beneath Basira’s eyes. “Yeah. No point,” she echoes. After a moment, she says, “You’ve been… okay, then?”

Basira’s lips purse. “I’ve been managing. Finding my own way. Dealing with…” She waves her hand in the air, an encompassing gesture, and Jon doesn’t miss the way her eyes flick over to him. He’s not particularly fond of it, though he fights back the scowl. “It’s been a mess.”

“You said it’s been bad,” Martin says, coming up behind the couch with four mugs of tea carefully balanced in his hands. He passes the first one to Jon with a thin-lipped smile, then to Daisy and Basira in turn. “What does that mean?”

Basira sighs and blows across the surface of her tea in an attempt to cool it. “Well, after you… reset the world? Which we’re going to have a long conversation about, by the way.” She looks pointedly at Jon, who looks pointedly back and takes a sip of his tea to hide his glower. He’s still a bit irritated about the whole… group decision situation. Maybe more than a bit. “I woke up in the Institute, still sitting at the same bloody desk I’d been working at when everything went to hell. I knew something was off straight away, because that feeling of being watched? It just wasn’t there. Didn’t matter how, didn’t matter why—it just wasn’t. So I assumed that the plan worked and the Fears were gone, but I didn’t know yet that we’d been thrown back in time or whatever. Got up and started looking around, trying to figure out where Georgie and Melanie went. Yeah, it was weird that everything looked the same, but I’d seen weirder.”

Basira takes a long sip of her tea. Out of the corner of his eye, Jon sees Daisy shift, setting her still-full mug on the side table and tapping her fingers on her thigh in a rhythmic pattern. He thinks, for a moment, about reaching out, but instead, he just curls his fingers tighter around his own mug. “The place was pretty empty,” Basira says finally. “Before the change, the blood and stuff was all cleaned up about a week after that last attack on the Institute, and then it was just me and a few others. Rosie, a couple of people from Artefact Storage. The people who’d survived and who weren’t smart enough to just… stay away. Rosie was still at her desk. She looked like she’d seen… well. She looked like she’d seen what the rest of us had seen. And…”

Basira exhales slowly, and for the first time, she looks… hesitant. Like she’s not sure she should continue. After a moment, Martin says, “And what, Basira?”

Basira looks down into her tea, her jaw set. “And him. Elias. Jonah. Whatever. Just… sitting behind his desk when I opened the door to his office. Like nothing had even fucking happened.”

A shock of something simultaneously icy cold and red-hot laces up Jon’s spine, and he nearly drops his mug. He looks at Basira with wide eyes, even as he thinks that it makes sense, of course it makes sense, everyone who died while the world was wrong came back, of course he would too, why would it be any different. He remembers the sensation of the knife tearing its way through Jonah’s throat, the heat of the blood as it had dripped down his hands and wrists, tries to juxtapose the image of Jonah lying dead on the Panopticon floor with the image of him sitting alive and well and breathing behind his desk once again, and feels sick. He doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath until the exhalation rips its way harshly out of his throat like it’s been punched out of him. He barely feels Daisy’s hand as it wraps around his, barely feels it as she takes the mug of tea from him and settles it on the floor so it won’t spill. He registers the brush of another hand against his arm, and he hears Martin’s voice from beside him, saying with concern, “Jon? Breathe, love. It’s all right, just breathe.” Then, to Basira: “Christ. He’s alive?”

“Was alive,” Basira corrects, and just like that, all of the air crashes back into Jon’s lungs and he takes a deep, rattling breath, his eyes focusing on her face as it twists into something that might be called a smile if one were being generous with the definition. “I… I didn’t really think. Just pulled my gun and pointed it at him. No Eye, no contract. No reason not to kill him. I wasn’t planning to shoot him, not really, but then he started rambling about- about apotheosis and failure and second chances, trying to convince me that there was no need to be hasty, that we could work something out. Called me Detective again. Just the same slimy bullshit, but without all the bravado and without the collateral.” Basira sighs and looks up from her tea, glancing at Jon with something unreadable on her face. “Melanie was pissed that I didn’t let her stab him.”

Jon makes a choked noise that he thinks, after a moment, might be a laugh. It’s devoid of any amusement, though, and might be bordering on hysterical. Beside him, Martin says quietly, “Shit. Well, uh. That’s… that’s good, at least?”

Basira grimaces. “Sure. It’s great that the bastard’s dead—again, I guess, assuming that you did kill him before everything went back to normal—but things are still a disaster back in London. I’ve been trying to keep them from tearing down the whole Institute, though don’t ask me why I even care about the place after all this. People are angry.” Basira taps her fingers on her thigh in thought. “It’s… probably for the best that you guys ended up out here, actually. Things haven’t been good for the people in charge of domains. They got ahold of Simon Fairchild, and it… it wasn’t pretty. There’s been some chatter about leniency towards the less actively malicious former avatars—I think that came up after they found Callum, actually, which… yeah, that’s a whole thing—but…”

Basira shrugs. But people wouldn’t be so forgiving towards the person who ended the world, Jon thinks with a wry, twisting feeling in his stomach. He fiddles with the notebook where it sits on his lap, but he doesn’t open it. After a moment, Basira continues, “So that’s the state of things, basically. Even though everything’s technically fixed, there’s still a lot of damage, and Georgie, Melanie, and I have been handling it as best we can. Though I think Melanie’s of the opinion that we should just let the entire Institute burn. She’s probably right, but…” Basira shrugs. “It’s just a building full of scary stories now. Might be able to make some use out of it.”

“Right,” Martin says with a sigh. “That’s… a lot.”

“Yeah,” Basira says, sounding weary. “It’s… it’s nice to have a break. To just appreciate the fact that everything’s better now, you know?”

Better for us, Jon thinks bitterly, and he can feel the edges of his mouth twitching into a scowl that he forcibly represses. He doesn’t think pointing out that they’ve condemned an infinity of other worlds to suffering for their own peace of mind would be beneficial, given they’ve already driven that argument into the ground and then some. Besides, he thinks as he rubs his thumb over the spine of the notebook, that would require him to open the notebook and writing it down, and Basira doesn’t know about his voice yet. He’s too tired to hear whatever surface-level pity she might be able to conjure up for him.

“I’ve missed you, Daisy,” Basira says, an increased vigor in her voice as she turns to face Daisy. She looks like she wants to reach a hand out towards her, but she doesn’t. “It’s been… hard. Being alone with all of this. I’ve had Melanie and Georgie, but I… I could use my partner.”

Daisy stares at her for a long moment. When she speaks, her voice is slightly more hoarse than usual. “You want me to come back to London with you.”

Basira nods, a slight frown forming on her face. “Do you… not want to?”

Daisy is quiet for a long moment. Her eyes stare down at the floor, focusing on nothing at all. “I don’t know,” she says finally, the words tense and choked, like the honesty of them pains her. “I… I need to think.”

Basira watches her for a few seconds, something stiff and rigid on her face. “All right,” she says at length, a touch of surprise and resignation lacing her voice. “That’s fine. I can’t stay past tomorrow, though—I have to get back and deal with what’s going on back in London. If you don’t want to…” Basira’s mouth flattens into a line. “It’s fine. I’ll understand.”

“It’s not—” Daisy cuts off with a frustrated noise, almost a growl. “I just need to think.”

“All right,” Basira says again, more placating this time. “I… won’t rush you.”

It’s quiet in the room for a long moment. Finally, as if at a loss for anything else to say and falling back on instinct, Martin offers a tentative, “Would… anybody like something to eat? You’ve been traveling all day, Basira, I don’t know if you’re… er, hungry or not.”

Basira stares at Daisy a moment more. Then, she sighs and says, “Sure, why not.”

“Great!” Martin says, sounding relieved. “Let me just… I’ll see what we’ve got that’s quick.”

He stands, and Basira stands in tandem with him. “I’ll help,” she says. “I’ve got some… things I want to talk to you about. And then after we eat, we’re going to discuss…” She gestures in the general vicinity of Jon and Martin. “Everything.”

Jon curls in on himself slightly. Martin just sighs and says, “Come on, then.” They disappear into the kitchen, and then Jon is left with Daisy on the couch, the faint clatter of cupboards opening and dishes rattling settling into the background.

Now that they’re alone, Jon reaches over and bumps his hand against Daisy’s, a silent question. When she turns her hand over, he takes it in his, threading their fingers together and squeezing firmly. With his other hand, he awkwardly flips the notebook open, ignoring Daisy’s sound of amusement as he clumsily takes his pen in hand and balances the notebook at the same time, and writes, Are you okay?

Daisy pauses for a few seconds before responding. “Yeah,” she says simply.

Jon waits for her to elaborate. When it becomes clear that she’s not going to, he writes, Basira seems happy to see you.

Daisy exhales slowly. “Yeah. She does.”

Again, Jon waits for her to elaborate. When she doesn’t, he sighs, taps his pen on the paper a few times, and writes, And is that a good thing or a bad thing?

Daisy stares at the page a long while. Just when Jon thinks she’s not going to answer him at all, she says, “It’s… good. Just odd. Feels… like she shouldn’t be.”

Jon raises an eyebrow and gives her hand another gentle squeeze. After a moment, Daisy continues, “Even after the coffin, there had been this… weight, between us. I knew she was glad I was back, but I could also tell she was disappointed. She tried to hide it but, heh, she’s always been easy to read for me. She wanted the person I was before, and I knew that, deep down, she was frustrated that I wasn’t that person anymore. I was never… angry with her about it. I understood. Basira’s practical, always likes to have the upper hand. And me choosing to ignore the Hunt… it wasn’t practical. Not for her. She was happy to see me, but she also wished it was a different me. It just… feels weird that it’s not the same now. I’m different, and Basira doesn’t like different. She doesn’t like change.”

There’s been a lot of change lately, Jon writes. Then, while Daisy’s reading his words, he continues, She went through a lot after you were gone. With everything that’s happened, the world the way it is, I

Jon pauses, and Daisy waits as he taps the pen on the paper, leaving little half-formed dots of ink where it makes contact. After a moment, he sighs and finishes, I think she’s just glad that you’re back. Whatever version of yourself that may be.

Daisy looks towards the kitchen. There’s the gentle murmur of voices, too quiet to make out any words above the sound of things sizzling in pots and pans. “Maybe. I… don’t know.” There’s a pause, and then she says, quieter, “Maybe she’s just glad that I’m not a monster anymore.”

When Jon goes to write, she squeezes the hand of his she’s still holding tighter, shaking her head. “Don’t. It’s… complicated.” She’s quiet for a long moment, looking away from Jon and focusing on the faint light streaming in from the kitchen. “The parts of me that she valued the most,” she says at length, “the ones that made me a good partner, that made me strong—they were all that was left by the time she found me after the change. They were all Hunt. And I knew when she looked at me, when she pointed her gun at me, that she saw me. Not the Hunt, not some… monster. Me. But I don’t… know if she believes that it was really me.”

Daisy grimaces, like she’s not happy with the words. Carefully, giving Daisy time to stop him if she wants, Jon writes, You don’t know if she accepts that all the worst parts of yourself are still yours.

Daisy is quiet for a moment. “Something like that,” she says finally. “She… she said it wasn’t me. That the person she hunted through the apocalypse wasn’t me. And I don’t know how I’m supposed to tell her that it was. That it is. It feels like…” Daisy blows out a breath. “Basira’s good at compartmentalizing. It makes her a good partner, a good… hunter. But if I go with her to London, and she just… puts everything that happened during the change behind us, I don’t think things are going to last.” Daisy huffs out a laugh. “She’s stubborn. I like that about her. Can also make things… difficult.”

Jon laughs through his nose and writes, Yeah, Martin’s like that too sometimes. He hesitates, then continues, So what do you want to do?

Daisy studies his face for a moment. “What do you want me to do?” At his look of surprise, she continues, “I can see it on your face. You have an opinion, so just… spit it out. Write it down. Whatever.”

Jon scowls. I do not, he begins to write, before his hand stills, leaving the sentence incomplete. He takes a deep breath, exhales, and scratches the words out with a bit more force than is strictly necessary. Next to them, he writes in thick, dark lines, I want you to stay. Then, quickly after: But you should go with Basira.

Daisy reads the words and hums. “Why?”

Because she’s your partner, Jon writes, irritation and a strange sort of sadness mixing in him and twisting his lips into a grimace, and because she needs

“I meant,” Daisy says, bumping her knee against Jon’s to cut him off, “why do you want me to stay?”

Jon blinks at her, surprised. He looks down at the paper, holds the pen tightly for a moment, and then writes in careful, neat letters, Because I like you. Does there have to be another reason?

Daisy hums and, after a moment, shakes her head. “No. I guess not.” She bumps her knee against Jon’s again, a bit firmer this time. “Thanks. But you’re wrong, you know. About Basira.” Daisy looks at the kitchen again, where the sizzling has stopped and there’s the faint clattering of dishes. “She doesn’t need me. She’d be fine without me. Always has been.” She sighs. “And so would you.”

Jon nods and squeezes her hand. I know, he writes.

Daisy sighs again, leans her head back against the couch. “I think,” she says after a moment, “that… I have to do what’s right for me. Not me and Basira, just… just me.”

Jon is about to ask what that entails when Martin’s voice floats over from the kitchen, telling them that the food’s ready. Daisy doesn’t say anything more as she stands, snorting softly as her maintained grip on Jon’s hand pulls him to his feet as well, and together, they head into the kitchen.

The first half of the meal is spent in relative quiet. Basira keeps shooting looks at Martin, who returns her gaze with something firm and unyielding. Jon shifts in his chair and nibbles on his cheese toastie, trying very hard not to grab his pen and start tapping it on the table just to fill the tense, awkward silence between them all. Finally, Basira finishes her sandwich, looks at Martin again, sighs, and says, “Martin filled me in on what happened.” Then, at Martin’s glare: “What? I’m not talking about it. I’m just… acknowledging it.”

“Good,” Martin says, pinching his toastie just a bit too firmly between his fingers. “Because there’s not much to talk about. Which is why we agreed not to talk about it.”

Irritation washes over Jon, and he tries to squash it down. He can’t help the way his knee starts bouncing under the table though, and he takes a sullen bite of his toastie. Not much to talk about. Sure. For a moment, he entertains the thought of dropping the sandwich unceremoniously, grabbing his notebook, and scribbling out, Thanks for asking for my input before telling Basira your version of events and saying that there’s nothing to talk about, but he pushes the thought away and takes another, bigger bite to distract himself. It’s fine. Martin’s… Martin’s right, it’s not the time.

(He’s still upset that he didn’t even get the slightest say in the matter. It’s fine.)

Rationally, Jon knows that Martin is just trying to avoid what would probably turn out to be a long, spiraling, extremely upsetting conversation-turned-argument. Irrationally, he wants to push the words we’ve condemned a thousand realities to hell; are you happy now? into Basira’s face and watch her try to defend herself. Was it worth it? he wants to ask. Was it fucking worth it, just so you can have your happy ending?

He doesn’t ask. He knows what her answer will be, and he doesn’t want to hear it right now.

It’s fine.

“So,” Basira says, not so much breaking through his thoughts as driving a battering ram through them, “the Fears are gone. For good. And they took your voice with them.”

“Basira,” Martin hisses.

“Just making sure I’ve got all of my bases covered,” Basira says defensively.

Jon glares at his plate. He sets his sandwich down, suddenly no longer hungry. He takes a deep breath, looks up at Basira, and nods. His fingers itch towards his notebook; he keeps them still.

“Hm.” Basira taps a single finger on the edge of her plate. “That… that makes sense, I guess. What with Annabelle’s whole… thing.”

Jon’s stomach squeezes. Throat tight, he nods again, looking away. His eyes land on Daisy, who’s sitting beside him and watching Basira with something unreadable on her face. Her toastie is sitting on her plate in front of her, completely untouched. Then, stiffly, as if preparing herself for a difficult truth, Daisy says, “I... know a little bit of BSL. Picked it up back when I was still a PC. It’s not much, but… it’s something.”

Basira looks at Daisy, her finger stilling on the side of her plate. When she speaks again, it’s quiet, and she doesn’t sound surprised. “You’re not coming with me, then.”

“Sorry,” Daisy says roughly. “Just… need a bit of time. Soon, I promise, just…”

“… just not now,” Basira finishes. “It’s… all right. I understand. Honestly, with things the way that they are out there right now, it… it might be for the best. Just until things settle down.”

“Yeah.” Daisy picks at the edge of her toastie. “You’ll… be safe, though?”

Basira takes a deep breath, and when she lets it out, her lips settle into a smile, thin and bordering on humorless but still warm in its own way. “Always am.”

Daisy laughs a little, just an exhalation of air through her nose. “Right.”

It becomes clear that none of them plan to eat more, so Martin and Jon clear the plates and stack them in the sink while Daisy and Basira sit at the table. Basira says some things to Daisy in hushed tones, and Daisy responds under her breath, and Jon takes wet dishes from Martin and wipes them down with a towel and stares out the window into the darkened sky and focuses on the sensation of cloth under his fingertips so he doesn’t lose himself in the inky black swirling thoughts that are threatening to drag him down.

“Hey,” Martin says quietly by his side, letting their fingers brush as he hands him another dish. “You all right?”

No is probably the honest answer. Jon is sure that Martin can see it on his face even as he nods and busies himself drying the plate in his hands. To his eternal gratitude, Martin doesn’t push, even as his mouth flattens and he continues scrubbing the dishes in the sink with careful, methodical motions. Jon is sure that, at some point, something will crack and Martin will push. Push until it all breaks and shatters and crumbles into a million tiny, sharp pieces. But for now, Jon dries dishes and scratches his thoughts into the back pages of his notebook where they’ve begun to pile up into messy tangles of words and emotions and focuses on the fact that, when Basira leaves in the morning, Daisy will still be here.

That, for now, he thinks, will have to be enough.

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

Out of the House

Series summary: Ever the paranormal enthusiast Remus is excited when he finds an abandoned house creepy enough to have ghosts in it with no chance of being caught trespassing. He quickly finds himself in over his head however when his fantasies come true, fighting to solve a mystery with the only possible outcome being losing someone he comes to love.

Platonic dukexiety focus

This series was created for dukexiety week 2021. I’m posting after but here is the list of prompts!

Chapter 1: I’ll be Here by Day

Chapter Summary: When Remus gets them kicked out of the library, he takes Logan and Janus with him to an old, abandoned house as a new study location. This don’t go to plan as Remus is confronted with something he didn’t think was possible.

Pairings: Platonic Dukexiety (Remus & Virgil), background Lociet (Logan x Janus)

Day 1 Prompt: Myths/Supernatural

Warnings: mild swearing, mild sexual innuendos, injury mention, paranormal events. If there are others please let me know!

WC: 2873

AO3 link

Main masterlist

“Do you mind?” Remus grinned as his platforms were slowly but surely nudged off the chair, Logan's nose scrunched in disgust as ze examined the dirt on zir pencil. “Highly unsanitary.”

“It’ll help your immune system.” Long fingers reached over to flick at the pages of whatever book Logan had had zir nose buried in for the better part of an hour. He snapped them back with a yelp however as his knuckles were rapped hard with the pointy end of the No. 2.

“That's if you eat it Remus, and such sentiments are usually reserved for children to placate parents when they can’t keep their spawn from shoving every little thing into their mouths-”

“Well if you wanted to lick my boots Logan you just had to ask.” Remus waggled tiks eyebrows suggestively, grinning wide as the other turned beat red.

“I AM NOT-”

“Logan, honey, volume. And Remus stop being gross we invited you here to study not air our desperation.” Janus’ quiet drawl diffused the situation immediately as both parties screwed their mouths to the side and looked away. Remus heard the librarian huff and stalk away with furious clicks of his heels, no doubt miffed at the missed chance to kick them out for the third time that week.

“Jannie Jan. J-anus. Jan-ass. Jan-assist me with this b-”

“Afternoon Remus. New piercing already?”

Nodding excitedly, Remus leaned over Logan’s books, ignoring the put upon sigh behind him and staring at the redhead with wide eyes. Janus smirked as he watched the other’s eyebrows jump up and down, the fluorescent bulbs of the library catching the two studs placed right at the end of the left brow that morning.

“Looks nice. I like the green.”

“Remus if you keep doing those yourself you’re going to get an infection. Please, I’ve told you so many times I know the tattoo artist down the street, I can get you discount piercings.” 

Remus craned his neck nearly all the way around, a manic grin thrown over tiks shoulder as Logan stared at him in horror. “Awe you like meeeeee.” 

Shooting Janus the “it’s your turn look” while being bumped repeatedly in the shoulder by Remus’ swaying hips Logan pressed zir mouth into a thin line as the return eyebrow raise of “you owe me for last time” was shot right back. Rolling zir eyes Logan shoved back with zir shoulder sending Remus right back in the chair.

“You.” Logan hissed. “Are going to get us kicked out again. I quite enjoy this library, so take this and for the love of god stay relatively quiet!”

So saying a silicone sword on a string was pressed into Remus’ hands, who inspected the obnoxiously green object for a moment before shrugging and shoving it into his mouth. “Long and thick, I like it.”

The undignified snort Janus didn’t quite manage to cover followed by a shriek as his shins were kicked from under the table was enough to teleport the librarian over to them. Glaring down his nose at the two properly chastised of the group and the one currently grinning like an idiot he pointed aggressively towards the door in a way that dared them to argue.

“Out.”

“Yes ma’am.” Logan and Janus muttered as they collected their things. Remus jumped up with a salute that received an icy glare stern enough to freeze if Remus had actually been paying attention- as it was tik merely swung his pack up and over tiks shoulder nearly hitting the man in the process. A final self satisfied huff and a slammed door later found all three of them kicking pebbles on the sidewalk, put out and annoyed but certainly not surprised.

“Remus, I care for you a great deal but at the moment I would like to yeet you into the road.” Logan turned to Janus slightly. “Usage?”

Ignoring Remus’ giggling, Janus nodded. “It’s correct.”

“We could go to your flat?” Logan asked hopefully, wilting as Janus shook his head.

“Roommates are having their own study session and between Remus’...” Janus paused and watched as the other tried to snap a bug into his book, nearly snapping his nose as tik tripped in the process. “...Remus and my more distracting noises I don’t think we’d be welcome back just yet.”

“They could just wear headphones.” Logan muttered, clearly annoyed.

“Yes well, not everyone understands vocal stims and I don’t want to get into another argument with them about it. I rather enjoy my flat and if I could continue to live in it that would be lovely.”

“I know a place!” Remus jumped suddenly between them. “I found it last week looking for-”

“Remus we are not studying in a graveyard or a morgue or a house you think is haunted. I understand your love of ghosts but-”

“This one’s really nice I promise!” Remus interrupted, giving Logan puppy eyes that had zir rolling zir eyes yet again. “It’s in that weird in between of broken down enough that no one wants it but not enough that the government or whatever wants to step in yet...so I think technically no one owns it?”

“Is that how that works?” Janus turned to Logan curiously.

Logan opened zir mouth to argue, finger already in the “in fact it isn’t” position before pausing to consider. “I- I’d like to say no but I don’t know enough about property rights in this state to argue.”

“In this state?” Janus’ question was ignored in favor of Logan blocking Remus’ book from slamming into zir nose.

“It’s safe?” Janus asked instead.

“Yeah! Well-” Remus mumbled around tiks chewelry, tugging the book out of Logan’s grip and stuffing it uncaringly into tiks bag. “Just don’t go on the second floor I guess...stairs look a bit not great. But! It doesn’t have a basement so the first floor is safe! And most of the windows are broken so it doesn’t smell or anything.”

“....and we’re taking those as good points and moving on. Logan?”

Pinching the bridge of zir nose and pushing zir blue tinted hair out of zir face, Logan eyed the man currently bouncing up and down in excitement and nearly jostling the papers out of tiks open backpack. Smiling fondly ze shrugged. “If it's quiet I don’t see why-”

“Yes! Come on, I know a shortcut!”  

Janus and Logan watched as Remus took off at a sprint, using the momentum to throw his pack over the fence and picking up half the papers that flew out of it before hopping it tikself. Scooping most of his things back up he continued running across the residentials backyards and turning out of sight around the far corner.

Holding his hand out Janus smiled wryly. “I know which house he’s talking about, it isn’t far. Sidewalk or yards?”

“The sidewalk is better- I can’t hold your hand trying to hop a fence.” So saying Logan slipped zir hand into the others’, but not before smugly observing his reddening cheeks.

“Sap.”

“No, a flirt?” Holding in his laughter, Janus tugged Logan along, walking faster than normal in the hopes that the wind would cool his face. 

-----

“Ta-da!” Remus twirled in the entryway, flinging his bag to the side of the hall as tik did. Sneezing in the resulting dust he quickly shuffled back further into the house. The space had probably been a living room before the previous owners moved, though as it stood now it seemed even the house had forgotten what it once was. Old, warped floorboards held only water damage as memories, groaning and giving slightly when anyone stepped on them. As it was they protested heavily as Remus uncaringly rocked back and forth on his heels, waiting for the others to actually step inside. 

“You’re sure this is safe?” Logan cautioned as ze stepped gingerly around a pile of plaster that had long since crumbled off the wall by the door.

“Oh absolutely! Nothing’s fallen on me yet that wasn't already on the floor when I got here.” Tik paused as tik glanced towards the stairs- rickety, broken things that looked like blowing a fan in their direction would collapse them- and winced. “Just...don’t use the stairs. I put my foot through the first one by accident trying to explore the other day.”

“Of course you did.” Janus sniffed, looking them up and down before he stopped to squint at the top. It looked like they led to a hallway that turned a corner to the rest of the second floor, a small window letting in a meager amount of sunlight through the dirty glass. The hallway and resulting corner was shrouded in half shadow that made shapes dance around the edges and goosebumps race up and down his arms. Only half paying attention to whatever Remus and Logan were currently arguing about, he took a step closer to the staircase, back tensing even if he couldn’t make anything out that could be triggering such a response. 

Squinting harder he tilted his head trying to get a better angle from his vantage point at the very bottom of the steps. The shadows seemed to shift every so slightly right at the turn of the wall that would lead into the hallway, making him blink and step back in surprise. Hackles raised in earnest now he frantically searched up and down the stairway and everywhere he could see of the upper landing but there was no more movement in any direction. The top of the steps however was brighter now, as if the dirty panes had only been a trick of dust in his eyes. Now it was simply slightly smeared glass- nevertheless letting sunlight through cheerily and letting it shine halfway down the steps- hardly a trace of shadow to be found in what he could have sworn was a dingy landing only moments before. 

“Hey Jannie Jan you good? You look like you saw a ghost.”

“...Remus, you’re sure this house is empty? You never heard anything or saw any- I don’t know empty wrappers or anything?” Stepping fully away from the stairs Janus turned towards Remus and gripped the straps of his backpack tight enough to bruise his fingers.

“No, why? I mean- no one else is here. I’ve spent a few days exploring this place and hanging out, there’s just the first floor which is pretty clean other than well,” he gestured around at the wallpaper, plaster and dust littering the floor, along with the broken glass shoved carefully back underneath the windows. “And the second floor I already said I couldn’t get to and I doubt anyone else could even if they wanted to. I never heard anything other than what I think is a mouse or squirrel or something in the wall over there.”

“That doesn’t completely eradicate the possibility of squatters in the building but considering the state of the place I’d say it’s very unlikely.” Logan nodded at Remus before turning back to peer at Janus curiously. “I would assume that was what you were implying, Janus. Are you alright?”

Janus screwed his mouth to the side, considering just dropping the subject or lying to save face somewhat. Just as he was about to snark out something about watching too many of Remus’ cheesy ghost hunting shows, a wave of dread so solid it left him breathless slammed into him. Ice filled his veins and his legs tensed as every reflex in his body told him in no uncertain terms to run before it was too late. 

“I want to leave.”

“What, why?” Remus quickly jogged over to where Janus was reaching for the door handle, Logan hot on his heels.

“I don’t want to get arrested for trespassing! And this place-” He turned around and glanced to the stairs again. “It doesn’t feel right. I’d rather brave my roommates.”

“Are you scared?” Remus asked incredulously.

“No!” Whirling around the other man locked eyes with Logan. “You agree with me right?”

Logan twisted h=zir fingers for a moment, not looking at either of them. “It does feel odd I suppose.” 

“Then that’s that then! Stay in your creepy house if you want Remus, we’re leaving.” So saying Janus grabbed up Logan’s hand and bag, practically dragging zir out the door. 

Remus stood inside the doorway for a moment before tiks shoulders slumped and tik turned back inside. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy to fix them getting kicked out of the library...again. The house was creepy sure but it had been abandoned for who knows how long and was falling in on itself, what had they expected?

Idly he kicked at a loose nail and sent it skittering across the floor towards the stairs. Tik hadn’t ever felt scared in this house- not even when his weight snapped the first step and he thought he’d be stuck in the house until tiks body rotted through the hole he’d made. A less favorable thought sure but not one tik wasn’t familiar enough with to hold it against the house. Huffing he flopped down against the far wall and drug tiks bag over to tik, fishing around for his phone so he could apologize to Janus and Logan and hope they weren’t too mad at tik...again.

He nearly dropped his phone when something bounced off the back of it, clattering to the floor between tiks feet. He leaned forward to see...a nail? Raising his eyebrow tik looked up to the stairs while flicking the nail towards them, searching for the one he had kicked but seeing nothing other than dust. The one tik flicked bounced off the bottom step and spun for a minute before stopping suddenly just a few inches away. Remus slowly lowered his phone and watched it curiously, the hairs on his arms standing in alarm but refusing to eat tikself actually be scared. It was a nail- an old rusty one at that- and the house was old with its windows smashed through. The air currents were probably playing around with-

There was a slight pain in his outer ear and tik flinched to the side to see what bug had bit him. Instead he saw a nail embedded into the wall, still quivering slightly with the force it had apparently been shot with. Swallowing nervously tik glanced back to the stairs searching frantically for the one he had seen not five seconds ago only to see nothing but dust once again. 

“Okay.” He exhaled shakily and stood up, pocketing his phone and grabbing up tiks bag. “Yeah, okay. So- ghost right? Listen, I love being nailed as much as the next person but-”

He was cut off with small, unassuming jingling sounds, almost sounding like hail hitting the outside of a window. The sun was still shining brightly however, despite the rapidly declining temperature inside and he began to look around in earnest to make out what the sound was. Tik had always told himself that if tik ever had an experience like this he’d be sure to catch it in camera- and none of the shaky handed blurry footage shit everyone else tried to pass off thank you very much Logan- but at the moment his phone was forgotten in a white-knuckled grip. He watched as bits of glass slid over the worn floors with enough force to gouge the wood, jingling merrily on their way to a rapidly darkening staircase with shadows dripping like black mold from the second floor above.

Tik could do nothing but stand frozen even as every instinct and shred of common sense he had ever had screamed at tik to turn and run while he still could. The glass whirled around a shape in the middle of the stairs, a ball of shadow descending step by step that seemed to stare through him though tik couldn’t see any indication the thing had eyes. His vision tunneled and distantly he was aware tiks breathing had picked up- mildly concerning considering the microscopic pieces of glass ripping through the air- everything narrowing down to this one moment. This one entity that without a shred of doubt in Remus’ mind he knew wanted him dead. 

“G̸̮̗̘͔͔̖̕E̴̛͚̣͖͇̗͙̺̭̔̈́̂̀̈́̔̕͠͝͝T̵̨̜̹̲̬̦͕͇͒̓͒̀͑ ̵͕͖̳̱͎͕̝̥̐̉͗̃Ǒ̵̡͎̥̣̳̙̜̜͓̠̲͍̿̐͐̎́̓̽̊͘͘͜͝͠Ṷ̶̢̟̠͙̯̱̝̠̹̪͚̠̽̇̄́͌̔̀̌͠͝T̸͎͐̆̐!̵͉́̅̋̑͑̈̀̈́̄!̷̰̈́̀̑̾͌̊” 

The force of the distorted voice rattled the walls and sent plaster raining down onto Remus, who finally felt his legs twitch just as tik felt the first pinpricks of glass against his face. Wasting not a second more he turned on tiks heel and tripped tiks way through the entry hall and out the door, hearing it slam shut behind him as he hopped the fence and took off down the road faster than tik had ever run in his life. Shocked gasps rushed past his lips as tik just kept pumping his legs and let tikself be led on autopilot all the way to his apartment, bursting through the door and slamming it behind him. Heavy breaths filled the short hall and he slumped to the floor, mildly surprised when his phone thunked to the floor in front of tik. 

“Holy shit.” He whispered, tiks head thumping heavily into the door behind him.

“Holy fucking shit.”

Next

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[cupcakemolotov]

Fall With You

I ended up pinch hitting for the exchange! It was fun, if slightly wild 48 hours to put this together. Written for the lovely @queencarolinemikaelson​. I’m really glad you enjoyed it since it ended up being a fluff fest of roommate co-hab. Also a big thank you to @bellemorte180​ for putting this graphic together!

I put the first but under a cut, bit under a cut, but the full story is almost 9K, so the link to the story is at the bottom. :)

Summary: When life throws her a curve ball in the form of her good looking, yet moody roommate, Caroline takes it in stride as best she can. Her living situation was a favor, after all, and rent is anything but cheap in NYC. Its the part where she actually starts to like him that she can't quiet figure out how to manage. Lust was one thing, but feelings? 

Warnings: Alternate Universe; Alternate; Universe - Human; Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates; Minor Character Death; not otp; Family Drama; Family Dynamics; Fluff and Humor; Domestic Fluff; Tooth-Rotting Fluff; Mild Smut; Human Caroline Forbes; Human Klaus Mikaelson; Living Room Picnics; Wine; Dates That Aren't Dates; They Could Really Get Their Shit Together Faster; but not really; Making Out; Some petting; NSFW just to be safe            

It was almost three am, her feet were killing her, and her key was stuck in her front door.

Seriously, what was with her luck today? The door had always been finicky, but until earlier this week the lock had been behaving itself. It’d gone from not wanting to turn properly to straight up mutiny in four days. It was an easy fix, unlike the door, but it also required a trip to the store and she just hadn’t had time. Amazon could have delivered the powdered graphite, but she was on a budget and believed in shopping local.

Her two year savings plan to finish her degree would not manifest itself if she bought things simply because they were convenient.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Caroline seriously considered just leaning up against the door jam and spending the night outside. It was early summer, and the air had cooled to a balmy sixty-five degrees, leaving the usually stifling hallway almost comfortable. If only she didn’t smell so heavily of beer. Shifting her weight, she winced as her shoes squelched, a reminder of the truly spectacular ending to her night. Her eight hour shift had almost doubled when the night shift manager had called in sick. Usually that wouldn’t have been a problem, but the only other person with keys was out of town leaving Caroline holding the bag to close.

She knew from experience that she had about an hour before she crashed, the rush from kicking out the lingering guests who had been clearly on an epic brawl crawl having mostly faded after the hour long subway ride home. Right then, the only thing keeping her upright was the fact that she was starving, her dinner had been rushed and only half eaten, and the knowledge that if she made it into her apartment she had the next two days off. Tomorrow she could sleep in, and if she was really lucky, her roommate’s night had gone well enough he could be coaxed into making pancakes.

Cheered by the thought, Caroline dug out her cell phone from the backpack she’d slung over her shoulder and checked it for a response. She hadn’t been sure if Klaus had beaten her home or if he was still out celebrating, but either way, he hadn’t bothered to respond yet. Her lips compressed into a thin line.

Usually, she could depend on Klaus to be awake when she finished a night shift, her roommates' hours were only reliable on how sporadic they were and depending on her schedule, hers weren’t much better. But with his big event tonight, she had no idea what he had decided to do. Honestly, would it kill the man to respond to her texts?

She’d expected him to ignore her rapidly typed apology and well wishes she’d sent in-between bites of food. Klaus wasn’t particularly good at handling sentiment of any kind and supremely anti-emoji, and she’d made a point to send several of them. She’d hoped it’d give him something to be annoyed about that wasn’t his evening plans. He needed to schmooze, and a scowl-y Klaus would not accomplish that at all.

He could be charming, when he wanted to be. She’d seen it. He just didn’t deploy full dimples unless he wanted something. Her reminders the night before that he needed to earn his half of the rent without getting carpal tunnel hadn't impressed him.

Too bad. She’d been right, and he’d known it.

He had mentioned a couple of his friends were trying to talk him into drinks afterwards, back when she had thought she might be able to join him. Usually, she would be thrilled that he was getting out and actually seeing people instead of trying to live off granola bars and tea. But right then she really wanted him to be home and grumpy so he could unlock the door. She wondered if texting Marcel with an S.O.S would be rude?

Things were a lot less complicated when she only liked Klaus for the rent he helped cover. Wanting him home, even just for a lock-related emergency wasn’t a thought she would have had even six months ago. Klaus was not what one would label as a comfortable roommate for most of the time. He was far too prickly for that, and he could be snarly in the mornings. Which fair, so could she, but the moodiness. Caroline hadn’t been one to spend much time around the art scene, either at Uni or in high school, but she’d spent the last year learning that there was a lot to be said about artistic temperaments, most of it unflattering.

She was fairly certain Klaus had been born a contrary grump, his winning personality had nothing to do with his chosen profession, she could certainly see how he’d been drawn to the lifestyle, talent aside. Most people immediately laughed off his acerbic tongue once they learned he was an artist, his behavior brushed aside as temperamental. His goods certainly helped his cause, and his accent added a layer of charm that otherwise might not have existed.

She was not so forgiving.

The first few months of their co-hab had not been easy. Klaus was messy, absent minded, and had ruined three of her towels with paint splatter before she’d blown her lid. The apartment was small enough that avoiding each other was nearly impossible, and her preferred kind of stress relief had to be timed for when she was alone, and so they’d been forced to deal with their annoyances. To Klaus’ credit, while he’d been snappish in return, he’d somehow managed to keep a lid on the worst of his temper.

They’d argued, multiple times, they were both stubborn and used to being right, but they’d eventually found some kind of middle ground. Snapping had softened into bickering, and Caroline had stopped nitpicking him about his notebooks being spread across the house and the incorrect way he rolled his toothpaste, and he stopped leaving towels on the floor and made a point to contain his absentminded mess to his room.

And then they started to talk, sometimes about work, sometimes about art, and she’d realized she kind of liked him as a person. She’d started dragging him to her group lunches on her days off, much to Rebekah’s despair, and they might have become something like friends. Except for the part where every so often, she’d look at him and something about the way he stood, the angle of his jaw or the line of his throat left her wanting to jump his bones.

It was really frustrating, when her existence didn’t even seem to phase him.

So she’d done her best to ignore whatever that little spark was between them when it flared up, and not upset the status quo. Because the past year had been better than she could have imagined. Before her mom had died, she would never have considered the life she found herself living now as a good one.

She’d just wrapped her third year at NYU, had exactly 24 hours of classes left before graduation, and had managed to wrangle her schedule so that her final semester would be a cake walk of classes. The cherry on top had been the kick ass internship she’d lined up for the summer. Her five year plan was perfectly on track, her excellent grades gave her a shot at graduating with honors, and she couldn’t wait to show her mom around New York City from the eyes of a local. She’d spent three years putting together a binder, collecting menus from her favorite places to eat and brochures from all the museums and the jam packed tourists locations to offer her mom some variety.

Then she’d gotten that phone call that had thrown everything into a tale spin.

Blowing out a breath, Caroline bounced on her toes and debated best her course of action. She could probably get her key out of the lock if she was very careful, though the past twenty minutes said her luck wasn’t great, Forbes women were nothing if not stubborn, but there was also a chance she would break the key off in the lock and she could already see the little smirk on Klaus’ face if she did. Her hand tightened on the strap of her backpack. He still hadn’t forgiven her for being far more comfortable with power tools than he was and her perfectly reasonable gloating probably hadn’t helped much, if she was honest.

She kind of didn’t regret it. Poking Klaus sizable ego was a favorite past time of hers, and he seemed to enjoy their back and forth as much as she did. Her mental tally had her up two points this month, and she wanted to keep her lead.

Unfortunately, things weren’t really going in her favor just then. Sighing, Caroline tucked her phone back into her bag and admitted defeat. She’d have to figure this one out herself. Either Klaus’ event had run long and he had actually taken her advice to schmooze people or he was home and had drunk enough that he was sleeping like the dead.

Either of those options would not help her now.

Her best bet now was to go and eat a giant piece of pie, drink her weight in caffeine, and trudge her way to the little mom and pop shop that sold a little of everything, including graphite, once it became a reasonable hour. She’d fix her lock and then crash for the following eight hours of hopefully uninterrupted sleep, and leave a very pointed sticky note on the coffee pot so Klaus knew not to disturb her.

Satisfied with the makings of her plan, she shifted her backpack to her other shoulder, mentally reviewing the pie menu, and paused when the elevator dinged from behind her. Sliding her teeth between her lip, Caroline turned and blew out a breath when she recognized the tumble of ruffled curls stepping into the hall. The hallway was dimly lit, so it took a moment for her brain to really understand what else she was seeing.

Klaus was wearing a tux.

Logically, she’d known he was going to be wearing one. His event that night had been important, his work had finally made it into a gallery tonight and it was a Big Deal. His first real show outside of the fancy art school he had attended, and he had spent months fretting over his work and brooding silently in his room as nothing met his incredibly exacting standards. Klaus had even brought home a couple of canvas to work in the questionable light of his bedroom instead of the small studio space he and five other artists pooled their money to share.

Much to her annoyance.

No amount of febreeze really removed the scent of acrylics and turpentine, and she’d been worried if she tried to burn her stash of scented candles something would catch on fire. She’d held her tongue though, because Klaus was never nervous. He was in fact annoyingly difficult to rattle even in the most ridiculous of situations, the man had absolutely no shame, and the way he’d almost jittered had been weird and kind of enduring. Since he’d seen her in numerous states of frantic and alarmed, it was nice for things to end up on a little more even ground for once. She’d done her best to force him to eat something that looked like actual food every so often, and tried to stay quiet when she knew he was working in his bedroom.

She’d even helped him pick out the tuxedo from the catalogue he’d brought home from the store he had planned to rent from. There was a fancy evening gown that she’d rented hanging in her closet that Caroline had planned to wear to go with him before work had made that impossible. But knowing all that, and actually seeing him in that tux were not nearly the same thing.

Caroline blinked rapidly. Her paint speckled roommate, with his surly attitude and annoying dimples, was wearing a tux. And he looked really, really good. He’d undone his tie so it hung loosely around his neck, and his jacket was loose and unbuttoned around his waist, his curls still somewhat tamed along his forehead. Something very much like arousal jolted through her as he looked up, the low light highlighting the scruff along his jaw and the length of his neck. For a moment, he just stared at her, as surprised as she and then his head tipped and his brow arched, lips tugging up at the corners.

“Waiting on me?”

The rest can be found here: A03

[groovybaybee]

Greener - II

Greener - I

(4.2k)

cw: mentions of abuse (not this chapter and nothing too intense but better safe than sorry) also alcohol consumption

There are moments in life that conjure up intense emotion any time you think about them. Happy or sad, whenever your mind flicks through its rolodex of memories and lands on it, you feel that moment come to life. You brain must have logged every detail of that time and packed it away in the back of your brain for you to stumble upon later down the road. Your mind takes you back to that moment and brings your senses along with it. My mother always reaches for these moments in times of strife, dipping her hand into a lucky dip of ‘happy places’ and allowing the sensation to wash over her. Her favourite is a family holiday to Spain, sipping ice-cold drinks as we swung our legs in the chilly waters of the pool below us.

 Not all the moments I remember are so positive, but I feel them just as strongly. Instead, I created my own ‘happy place’ to escape to whenever I felt overwhelmed.

 I stand, waist-deep, in warm water. Waves lap around me, hugging and kissing my naked skin as I breathe gently under the moonlight. The sky above me is clear and an audience of stars shine down on me. I bare my soul to the universe and feel love and appreciation in return. The night sky watches over me as I let my eyes close, leaning my head back, chin high. My shoulders relax more than they ever have as a warm but refreshing breeze wraps around me, hugging me tightly. I hear trees rustle somewhere behind me, whispering sweet sentences to one another as the sand beneath my feet reaches my ankles, anchoring me securely to the world, grounding and protecting me from floating away.

 I let my eyes open and I am back in my kitchen. No gentle breezes or salty air. Just my kitchen, with its colourful, mismatching crockery and photographs blu-tacked to the wall. However, there is a clear change in the room since the time I shut my eyes tightly, my chest feels looser, my throat no longer feels as though it is closing, and my breathing has slowed drastically.

 Raising my phone from my side, I return to the source of my sudden panic.

A news article, forwarded from my manager, Jim, a simple ‘Didn’t know you were dating’ preceded the link to the website. Of course, he was joking, not realising the stress I was about to feel.

 Quickly clicking the link, I remind myself to breathe deep and slow as I am redirected to a webpage.

 BACK ON THE HORSE? HARRY STYLES SPOTTED GETTING CLOSE WITH MYSTERY WOMAN

Hunky heartthrob, Harry Styles, caught canoodling outside hot Los Angeles restaurant, Spago. Despite reportedly having only split with model ex-girlfriend, Camille Rowe, a mere two months ago, the pop sensation was witnessed cosying up to a new woman.

 I am skim-reading at this point, desperate to get to the end with some shred of mental stability. My eyes land on the articles singular piece of ‘evidence’, a video taken from across the street. It begins with Harry and I talking and laughing outside the restaurant, follows us as we migrate closer to one another, my head thrown back in laughter before we are nearly pressed together. I had not realised quite how close we had gotten. The video ends when Harry and I are blocked from view, Harry’s car obstructing the camera’s line of sight. No one would be able to tell we did not kiss. My stomach squeezes uncomfortably as I read the video’s caption.

 Keep it in your pants guys!

 It is all a little dramatic. A small part of me wants to laugh at the way this has all been exaggerated and made into a big deal. That amusement fizzles as I continue to read the article, pausing after reading the final line.

 All this has us wondering, has Harry really moved on so quickly?

 Good question.

 Quickly replying to my manager, I send the words ‘Blind date’, before glancing at the comments beneath the article.

 Big mistake.

 Despite the article not naming me directly, not something I am shocked or offended by as Harry is clearly the more famous of the two of us, the comment section of the webpage has not mirrored the same unawareness. Almost every comment mentions me by name, the majority questioning how we even know each other.

 I allow myself to be sucked into the vortex of curiosity, taking in every opinion possible. Many of the replies to the news make it clear that they do not know who I am, and therefore that is reason enough for me to be nowhere near Harry. A lot of comments debate whether or not Harry has fully dealt with his breakup, suggesting that this was a PR move to make his ex-girlfriend jealous. I make the mistake of googling her.

 Well I don’t think the jealousy tactic is likely to be effective.

 She is stunning. A French model. Could I be more of a cliched parallel to her? I try not to compare the two of us, however, a few comments bring attention to the bloat of my stomach and it becomes very difficult not to feel vulnerable after that. It was a blind date. Harry and I were set up. That is the only reason he would ever look at me twice.

 But he wants to see me again.

 I cling to that thought and close the webpage on my phone, pocketing it and deciding fresh air is what I need. Stepping through the patio doors of my house, I peek out into the sunshine, letting the warm rays soak into me instantly. The small house is built on a hill, the garden demonstrating this the most as it is split into two grassy tiers. I walk up the concrete steps until I reach the patio furniture at the top. Sitting myself on one of the wooden chairs, I take a second to appreciate the view; the back of my house shaded by the incline of the hill which allows me to peer over the top of my roof and look out at the hills. As a kid, I had pictured living somewhere warm enough for palm trees, now I am able to watch them arc in the wind.

 I did this, and this is far more important than a few words. I am alive, I am good, and I am kind.

 Pressing my toes into the soft, cool grass beneath me, I slip my phone out of my pocket and compose a text.

 Sat in my garden and I reckon the view would be fun to paint, fancy it?

 The soft yellowy horizon gives me a sense of security as the evening creeps in. There is so much beauty in the world and I am glad I took the time to sit out here rather than obsessing over some meaningless gossip. It will all blow over and people will either forget about us or realise that we are not actually together. A small smirk tugs at my lips as I imagine pinning this on Lucy and using it as an excuse to get a free drink out of her.

 My phone vibrates twice against the wooden table.

 I love that idea. Tomorrow work? (I’ll bring wine) – Harry

 I cannot help but grin at the small screen, quickly typing a reply.

 4pm? Catch the last of the sun that way. Also you don’t have to keep signing off!

 Only a few seconds after placing my phone back down on the table, I have to pick it back up to read his latest message.

 Sounds perfect. It’s harder to stop than you’d think – Harry

 Giggling at him, I lock my phone and set it down, excitement pooling in the bottom of my stomach. This time tomorrow Harry will be sat beside me, paint-covered and maybe a little bit tipsy. I make a quick mental note to go shopping for food to line our stomachs, not wanting to let him be exposed to my drunken self just yet.

 I spend the next day getting my house presentable, or at least as tidy as possible despite the numerous large, brown boxes which clutter my living room. I also spend the day doing errands, shopping for food and drinks Harry might like (probably going a bit overboard and buying enough options for five people rather than two), and picking up some art supplies for the two of us.

 Once home, I unpack the groceries, setting some of them out on plates and dishes, making an attempt at a charcuterie board I had seen on Pinterest the night before. Setting up the area we would be spending the most time in, I move the two small canvases I purchased earlier outside, along with paints and brushes and cups of water for rinsing. It seems a little bit amateur, but I do not have time to dwell as Harry texts me that he is just leaving his house and will be here in half an hour.

 Dashing back inside, I take the speediest shower of my life just to freshen up and rinse the day away. Chastising myself for my lack of planning ahead, I smear on a touch of makeup and quickly style my hair. I am still pulling on a pair of dungarees, clipping the straps into place, when I open the front door.

 “Hi,” I greet breathlessly.

 Harry is already smiling when I meet his gaze, looking down at me with an infectious grin. I allow myself a second to drink him in. Obviously, he is dressed more casually than two days ago, dressed in a simple but figure-hugging black t-shirt, a golden chain peeking out from underneath. Alongside them, he is wearing a pair of brown, straight-leg corduroy trousers. He looks good. It should not surprise me, but it does anyway.

 “Hi,” he offers brightly.

 Stepping aside to let him enter, I try not to check him out, mentally telling myself that I am still not certain where he stands re us kissing each other’s faces off. Probably for the best to err on the side of caution.

 Closing the door behind him, I walk us through the living room and to the adjoining kitchen, feeling a tad embarrassed by my decorating style. Splashes of colour litter the house, the walls are mostly covered in photographs, interesting drawings and potted plants.

 “When did you move in?” Harry asks, noticing the stack of boxes. My heart pangs slightly at the question but I try not to let the dread within shine through.

 “Few months now, I’m just terrible at unpacking,” It is not a total lie, so I do not feel totally bad about it. There is, however, a small part of me that resents not being completely honest with him about why a certain box remains closed and sealed. “I might have gone overboard with snacks, so please eat anything you want,” I tell him when we reach the kitchen and he sees the spread I had laid out.

 Suddenly, it all feels like too much and heat prickles my cheeks in embarrassment as I watch Harry eye the full countertops. I had bought far too much and probably seem incredibly eager. Bread touched three types of meat, touched three types of cheese, touched olives, touched sundried tomatoes. There was another plate full of fruit, washed and sliced and displayed daintily in concentric circles. Then there was the bags of crisps, pretzels, biscuits, and chocolate buttons. This was enough for a family picnic, not a light grazing, and definitely too much for a second date. If that is even what I could call this.

 “This is amazing,” Harry utters quietly, and I almost do not hear him, my internal monologue reprimanding me so severely it almost overpowers him. He turns back towards me, gazing at me softly, his face a beautiful light pink. “Feel bad for contributing so little now,” he says, a gentle teasing lilt to his voice which makes me smile, a breathy and grateful laugh falling from my lips.

 “Trust me, your contribution is the most valuable,” I say, stretching up into a cupboard to grab two wine glasses.

 We manage to carry a disproportionate amount of food outside, giggling as we stacked our arms high until I could barely see over the top of my pile. Once outside, we settle on the wooden chairs and Harry pours us each a glass of merlot.

 “Matches your hair,” he muses, smirking as he hands the glass to me.

 “Never heard that one before,” I tease, trying to ignore the voice in my head questioning if he thinks the colour is ugly.

 Harry settles back in his chair, looking out across the hills and valleys before speaking again, “This was a good idea,”

 “Yeah, the view is the main reason I bought the house to be honest,” I mumble into my wine glass.

 There are a few moments of silence. It is not particularly uncomfortable, but I decide that we could use some music. I dash inside to grab a speaker and connect my phone to it.

 “Can I leave it up to you?” I ask, holding out my unlocked phone for him to take, “I’m indecisive.”

 He lets out a chuckle, muttering a soft, “Sure.”

 Taking the phone from my hand, our fingers brush momentarily, and I have to remind myself that I am not in the middle of a romcom. I feel my cheeks redden at the interaction and quickly turn to my canvas. Placing the wooden end of my paintbrush in my mouth as I scan over the paints in between the two of us. The soft opening notes of The Chain begin to play, mingling with the warm breeze that swirls lightly around the garden.

 “Listen to the wind blow,” I sing under my breath, unable to hold myself back.

 From the corner of my eye, I see Harry picking up his own brush, dipping into a little bit of blue paint and brushing across his own canvas. I dip my brush back into the yellowy orange colour I had been mixing and paint the outline of my house. It is messy and a little childlike, but I am having a good time. Harry and I both begin to relax as we paint, singing along, and doing embarrassingly enthusiastic seated dance moves when the guitar solo plays.

 “I love Fleetwood Mac so so much,” I admit gleefully, catching my breath as I giggle and take a sip of my wine.

 “Me too,” Harry replies, a bright smile pairing with beautifully pinkened cheeks.

 “What’s your favourite song?” I ask happily, popping a raspberry into my mouth.

 Harry pauses for a moment, lowering his brush and giving the question some good thought. He makes it impossible not to admire him, watching as his brows furrow ever so slightly, lips puckering temporarily as his brain ticks over.

 “I always come back to Songbird,” he tells me, looking up at me and nodding to himself. His eyes look so bright when they catch the light, reflecting into mine. I almost have to look away.

 “It’s a beautiful song,” I admit softly, my voice quieter than either of us had expected, suddenly nervous again to be in his presence and having a conversation which means so much to me.

 “What’s yours?” Harry asks, his gaze not wavering for even a second. He is undeniably intimidating, not even due to his status in the world, but simply being beside him feels as though I have won some sort of contest. There is something in his general being that makes me feel both small and powerful all at once. Simultaneously, I cannot believe that he is here in my garden when he could be anywhere else with anyone else, nor can I believe the way he is looking at me, observing me with such delicate looks that it appears he is afraid of scaring me away.

 “Storms,” I blurt out. Taking a second to collect my thoughts, I explain, “Skies the Limit is my go-to, but Storms made me feel when I felt numb.”

 Realising that I have most definitely overshared, I quickly dip my brush in the nearest colour and spread it across the top of my canvas, accidentally painting the sky pink.

 “I think that’s really special,” Harry utters softly, his gaze still on me as I pretend to be focused on my painting and not the spectacular man beside me, or the way his eyes feel on the side of my face. “I want to make music like that, you know?” he says, turning back to the view ahead of us and finishing off his own skyline.

 “I think you have,” I confess, feeling his eyes back on me in an instant. I force myself to turn to meet his gaze, urging some sense of bravery to course through my veins. When our eyes meet, he is looking at me like water in the desert, some sort of miracle before him that his brain does not fully believe. His mouth opens, pauses, then closes again. A second later, a smile pulls at his lips.

 “I like your pink sky,” he tells me, grinning brightly, not breaking away to look at the canvas in front of me.

 I laugh, “Started as a mistake but I think I prefer it like this,” I admit, pursing my lips as I take a long look at my painting.  

 “I like the way your mind works,” Harry says, smirking when I turn to him with knitted eyebrows, “I feel like you’re so bright and full of joy. Just walking through your house felt like I’ve known you years… I don’t know if that sounds mental.”

 He looks at me cautiously, afraid he has revealed too much, and maybe he has, but I enjoy it more than I could even tell him. I like his perception of me. No matter what happens, how much he comes to learn and dislike about me, at this moment he likes me. And, oh boy, do I like him.

 The thought of kissing him pops into my head, bold and illuminated in neon. I let it pass, determined not to ruin the moment. Instead, I look at him, and he looks right back. We share a brief period of peace, the sun on our faces with a light wind blowing between us.

 “Oh!” We both exclaim enthusiastically as What Makes You Think You’re the One plays on the shuffle. Smirking at our joint reaction, we turn back to our paintings.

 For the next hour or so we fully relax into our little world, grooving along as we paint. There is a real sense of calm throughout the space, even the birds in the trees seem to chirp softer, almost as though they were part of our garden party.

 The only moment in which there is a break in the bubble of tranquillity is when Harry desperately reaches for a strawberry, stopping himself whenever his hand, covered in a rainbow of paints, gets close. Impossible to tear my eyes away, I watch him for a moment, a delicate smirk on my lips as he attempts to approach the task from a multitude of angles. He lets out a small sigh and I decide that it is my duty to intervene.

 “Need a hand there?” I ask, failing to hold back a giggle as I pluck a strawberry from the plate with paint-free fingers.

 “Thanks. Can you-- You could… Thanks,” Harry stammers while I hesitate as I raise the fruit to his face, temporarily feeling awkward about feeding a man I barely know.

 I quickly get over myself and lift the berry to his lips, already somewhat parted. Taking the fruit into his mouth whole, his lips graze my fingertips ever so lightly. Our eyes lock the second it happens.

 Things start to move slowly. My hand lowers into my lap. Harry chews the fruit and swallows, his tongue poking out to catch a stray bead of juice that had escaped from his lips to the corner of his mouth.

 No way are you letting yourself be turned on by this. So cliché.

 Despite the mental chastisement, I find myself drawn to Harry. The need to feel his lips on my own is overwhelming me. Every second spent not knowing whether he is a good kisser feels like torture, my mind in agony.

 It appears that he feels the same way, gaze hesitating over my parted lips, hopefully not focusing on my clear breathlessness. Our bodies seem to be migrating towards one another, some unknown gravitational pull guiding our chests together until out faces are almost touching. I feel his breath on my cheek and quickly I worry that mine does not smell as good.

 Why did you eat that slice of manchego?

 Surely, he won’t want to kiss me anymore. He must not have noticed yet. But he will, and I will be humiliated. Better to stop now, while for some reason he actually is not appalled by the thought of kissing you. Why does he want to kiss me anyway? He could kiss anyone he wanted. He could have anyone he wanted. It is probably the wine.

 The wine has probably stained your teeth as well. God you’re a mess.

 I stop dead in my tracks. Swiftly, I pull away from him. It is harder than I had expected, his cologne sucking me in so that it feels like I have to stop breathing in order to separate from him.

 “Sorry,” I mumble.

 I cannot look at him. Unable to face the reality of the situation and see his bemused, beautiful face. I would only want to kiss him if I did look up at him, so instead I fidget with the hem of my sleeve, nails picking away at the firm stitching.

 “I’m sorry,” Harry says, his voice is so quiet that it hurts my heart to hear him so small and dejected, especially since I was the cause.

 We sit in silence for what feels like an eternity. I can feel his gaze on me, soft and apologetic, but I am still unable to bring myself to make eye contact.

 “I’d be happy just being your friend,” I tell him.

 It is a lie. Partially, anyway. Of course, I would love to be his friend, but I also want to kiss him all over and have heart-to-hearts in the early hours of the morning. I want to hear about his first kiss, find out his favourite sweets and his happy place. I wonder if he is there now, desperately trying to escape the awkward bubble of tension surrounding us.

 “Yeah, I shouldn’t have assumed… I’m sorry.” Is all he says.

 “No,” I pipe up, a well of guilt forming in my stomach as I regard his sunken features, “It’s not you...”

 “It’s not you, it’s me?” Harry says with a quirk of a smile.

 I let out a breathy chuckle and we finally meet each other’s eyes and understand. It’s all alright.

 We keep painting. By the time the sun starts to set and the water for our brushes turns a murky grey, I have finished mine and sit teasing Harry as he adds the finishing touches to his own.

 “Rome wasn’t built in a day,” Harry counters with a grin as he adds a sweep of dark red to his canvas.

 “Better be some painting,” I mutter into my wine glass.

 “Okay!” Harry exclaims excitedly, “She’s done. Ready for the reveal?”

 “Yes,” I laugh at his question, as if I have not been waiting to share for twenty minutes.

 Harry had insisted that our final products should be a surprise for the other, so for the last hour we painted in secrecy, occasionally peering out from behind our canvases to try and sneak a peek at the other’s.

 When we angle our paintings towards one another, the difference in our styles is clear. Mine is bright with exaggerated shapes, almost cartoonish. Meanwhile Harry’s painting is more true to life, a meta portrayal of the view, two little figures of him and me seen from behind at the bottom of the canvas.

 “I love it,” I tell him, the picture bringing a grin to my face as I observed the tiny version of myself; a little blob of shoulders and messy hair.

 “I’m calling it ‘Friendzone’.” he tells me, a wicked smirk on his lips.

 “Hey!” I whine with a gently nudge to his arm, however, the bout of laughter he has elicited really weakens my protest.

 Harry helps me clear up the garden before he leaves, carefully carrying his precious painting out with him. After bidding me a sweet goodnight, leaving no doubt in my mind that he had a nice time today, I finish cleaning up. As I am washing the two wine glasses, I peer over at my painting, smiling as I remembered Harry’s comments about my pink sky. Maybe being just his friend would be easy after all.

masterlist

[skinsharpenedteeth]

Kinktober 1

AN: No lie, y’all, there’s no way I’ll write 31 fics for October. Too many birthdays in my family for that noise. So I’m going to work on writing as many fics as it takes to explore 31 different kinks instead. Fewer fics, just as much kink. LOL. Here’s the first fic. It’s the finished version of the WIP I posted on Wednesday. It’s not quiet 10k, but it’s damn close. Enjoy!

Feel free to read it on AO3!

.

              Alex was having a lazy Thursday evening. He and Michael had been together for a little over a year (one year, three months, two days but who was counting?) and while it had been bumpy at first, they’d done the hard emotional growth to make it work. Part of that had been to stop denying what their incredible physical connection could do for them. It had been slowly teaching each of them to open up and state their desires without fear of humiliation or dismissal. It had also taught them to listen to what the other was saying and to clarify if something was unclear. That open communication in the bedroom had bled over into other parts of their life and they’d gotten to a place where they could live together in more or less harmony. They still argued, but it didn’t have the slap of rejection that it once would’ve had. Their arguments now were more like lively disagreements. Alex laid on the couch in their living room and ruminated on that as he watched one of the many serial dramas on television.

“Alex,” Michael’s voice called from the back of the house. “Come back here for a minute.”

              Pushing himself up off the couch, Alex padded down the hall of his their house, eyes scanning the open doors to the bathroom and guest bedroom as he went to make sure Michael was in their bed room. He poked his head past the doorway of the master searching for Michael in the room and spotted him sitting on the foot of their bed, legs locked in front of him to keep him from sliding onto the floor. When Michael saw Alex in the doorway, his face lit up with a smile and he held his arms open in obvious invitation. Alex walked slowly over until he was standing between Michael’s legs looking down at him and he raised an eyebrow in question. Michael continued to smile up at him and wrapped his open arms around Alex far enough to link his hands behind Alex’s lower back.

              “Yes? Did you need something?” Alex asked, still amused at Michael’s antics and leaning back slightly against Michael’s hands behind him.

              “Can’t a guy just call his boyfriend back into their bedroom because he’s lonely?” Michael asked as he bent his arms to tug Alex’s body closer to his. There’d only been about a foot between them and after the tug there was half that.

              “I don’t know, can he? Are you feeling lonely?” Alex asked, giving in to the temptation to rest his arms over Michael’s shoulders and play with the loose curls on the back of his head. Michael always made him feel like the strong one, but occasionally he did something, and Alex just felt himself melt inside. He became the softest little chinchilla in his heart and let his ever-vigilant guard dog have a nap.

              “Were you in the room? No? Then I was feeling lonely,” Michael teased as he canted his head back to nudge against Alex’s hands, encouraging him to dig his hands deeper into Michael’s hair.

              “Oh, we’re feeling needy tonight, are we?” Alex joked back, sliding his feet forward the last few inches between them until Michael could press his face against Alex’s shirt covered chest. Alex let the moment hold there, letting Michael breathe him in through his shirt the way he liked, before Alex tightened the hand in Michael’s hair and tugged down until Michael rested his chin over Alex’s sternum and looked up at him. “Are you feeling needy tonight, Michael?”

              Michael nodded, eyes closing in apparent ecstasy as Alex kept Michael’s hair in a firm grip with one hand while the other softly combed back the curls that still hung around his face. Alex allowed himself a moment to just look at Michael, enjoying the warmth of their bodies pressed against each other and how Michael’s hands had come to grip the back of his thighs above his knees. He loved the calm that seemed to take over Michael’s face when he was pressed against Alex’s body.

              “What do you need tonight?” Alex asked him quietly, letting the hand at the back of Michael’s head loosen and slide out of his hair to rest on the back of his neck. He had a good idea what Michael might want, but he needed to hear him vocalize it. The other hand paused against Michael’s cheek, waiting for him to speak. Michael tell him what he wanted exactly so Alex could figure out how best to take care of him, that was part of the deal.

              “I need to my brain to go quiet. I need you to scene with me, dominate me. I don’t want to make any decisions,” Michael replied, eyes opening slowly as he exhaled at the end of his confession. Alex nodded and urged Michael to press his head against Alex’s chest. He did so and Alex wrapped his arms around Michael, using his body as a shield against the outside world while they discussed their plan for the evening.

              “Do you want to be restrained?” Alex asked, starting to form plans for the night. Michael nodded his head. “Use words, Michael.”

              “Yes I want to be restrained,” Michael huffed out a little petulantly though with an obvious smile in his voice.

              “Good. Do you want to edged?”

              “Yes,” Michael sighed the word against Alex’s shirt. He could feel the heat of his breath warm the cotton against his skin.

              “Do you want to get fucked?”

              “So much, please,” Michael moaned, and his voice sounded so pleading. Alex paused to think about his options and what he could do for Michael. Michael let him think in silence, but his thumbs had started to brush back and forth over the outside of Alex’s thighs.

              “Okay. How would you feel about putting on my favorite pair of red panties that you own? I’ll get some of the soft, red cotton rope and we’ll bind up your chest and arms. Then we’ll get you nice and hard and use that cock ring we bought with the prostate stimulator so you can blow me and tease yourself at the same time. Obviously, no coming unless I give you permission. Then finally I’ll fuck you nice and hard and if you’re very, very good, I’ll let you come. Does that sound okay?” Alex offered, petting Michael’s hair again as he spoke. His own skin was starting to heat up at his idea, his stomach stirring with arousal as he pictured each piece of his plan while describing it to Michael. Michael remained quiet against him, but Alex could see him working it through in his mind.

              “Yes. I want all of that. Please,” he added to the end, looking up into Alex’s eyes as he said it.  

              “Please….” Alex prompted in the way they’d agreed on previous occasions to ask Michael if he was ready to start the scene.

              “Please, sir,” Michael answered promptly, expectation and excitement expanding the simple meaning of the words between them.

              “Good boy,” Alex praised, enjoying the rush of heat he felt when Michael called him ‘sir’ and gave him obvious, almost tangible power over him. “Safeword?”

              “Max,” Michael responded, grinning up at him over the old joke. Nothing could get either of them out of the mood father than thinking about Max Evans.

              “Right, and I’ve got the bell for when your mouth is otherwise occupied,” Alex reminded him. Michael nodded again before catching himself.

              “Yes, sir,” he corrected himself.

              “Now go get clean and dressed for me while I get out the toys,” Alex commanded lightly, stepping out from between Michael’s legs. He whined, but pushed himself off the bed and started towards the bathroom. Alex caught his arm and pulled him back against him.

              “Give me a kiss before you go,” Alex said, meeting his eyes and waiting for his response. Michael smiled sweetly and bent forward, giving Alex a light peck on the lips before starting to draw back.

              “Michael…” Alex said his name this time with a warning. “I thought you wanted to come tonight. Kiss me the way I like.”

              This time Michael pushed into Alex’s body and claimed his mouth, lips open and tongue slipping wetly against Alex’s. It was one of those never-ending kisses that made your head go light from oxygen deprivation. When Michael finally pulled back, Alex pressed their foreheads together so they could catch a breath.

              “Good boy,” he praised in a low voice. “Now go do what I asked, please.”

              Michael smirked and backed away again before sauntering towards the bathroom. Alex licked his lips and followed him to lean against the open doorway. He could feel his anticipation growing as he watched Michael’s jeans drop to the floor of the bathroom with his underwear. He watched his shirt follow shortly and then saw him bend over to pull his socks off. When he did, Alex could see that perfect little pucker that he’d have stretched out on his cock by the end of the night.

              As soon as he saw Michael slip behind the curtain into the shower, Alex turned and went to the chest they kept under one of the bedroom windows. He made sure the blinds were drawn down and the curtains closed before he opened the chest and looked at all the paraphernalia they kept within. They’d amounted quite the collection of toys since beginning to work on their communication. He grabbed the red cotton rope, the cock ring he’d mentioned, some of their thick lube for prolonged anal play, the red lace, wide-banded jock strap style panties he’d found for Michael at a sex shop in Germany, and a few things for himself. He set the rope, lube, and cock ring on the edge of the bed and took the panties into the bathroom.

              “I’m putting your panties on the counter,” Alex called towards the steaming shower before returning to the bedroom. He didn’t wait for Michael to answer him, instead he turned back into the bedroom and headed towards the chair they kept in the corner by the closet. It was an antique club chair in rose gold velvet that he and Michael had found on the side of the road early one morning on their way to breakfast at the Crashdown. They’d thrown it into the back of the truck, taken it home, cleaned it up, and it promptly became Alex’s dressing chair in their bedroom. He tossed the items he’d grabbed for himself out of the chest over the arm of the chair before shrugging off his shirt and throwing it towards the laundry hamper. Next, he unbuckled his jeans and pushed them down to midthigh before sitting down into his chair to work them the rest of the way off. He released the catch for his prosthetic and slipped it out from his jean leg before pushing his jeans and undies all the way off, tossing them towards the hamper after his shirt. Naked, he took a deep breath and began his own mental transformation into the dominant partner Michael needed him to be for the night.

              Alex picked up the first piece he’d chosen for himself that evening. It was an X-strap style leather harness with silver metal detailing. He held it over his head and slid it down onto his chest and back, instantly feeling more in control and sexually confident as the leather whispered and creaked with his movements. The other piece he’d chosen for himself that evening was a pair of black leather briefs with a zipper that ran front to back. He slipped them up over his legs and thighs and tugged them up over his ass. His workouts had been given him a bit of a bubble butt, so he found himself having to tug just about everything a little to get past the swell of his muscles. He looked down the length of his own body and smiled at the picture he made. He loved how he looked in leather gear. He had a full outfit, but he and Michael hadn’t made it to Sante Fe to any of the clubs there for him to show it off. Alex didn’t mind; he was just as happy to wear it at home with how Michael tended to react to him in it. He heard the shower turn off and his smile grew wider.

              A few minutes later Michael came into the room, hands behind his back, red lace screaming against his skin and skin pink from the heat of the water and his scrubbing. He knelt on the floor a few feet in front of where Alex lounged in his chair and Alex watched him settle. Alex had seen him dart a few glances up at him as he’d walked into the room and if the bulge in his underwear was anything to go by, Michael liked what he saw.

              “Michael,” Alex started, his voice low. He’d already made the transition in his mind from loving boyfriend to Dom who expected his orders to be followed. “Crawl over here, baby. Let me see you in your pretty panties.”

              Michael rocked forward onto his hands and crawled the few feet so that he was sitting on his feet between Alex’s legs. Alex reached down and placed a finger under Michael’s chin to tilt his head up so he could look at him. Alex leaned forward and made a show of making Michael lean his upper body back until he had to place his hands on the carpet behind him to keep himself from falling. The arch showed off the long, lean muscles of his stomach and chest, the curly unkempt hair that led from his pecs down past the red lace band. Alex let his fingers trail down the Michael’s body until he hooked two fingers under the elastic band and stretched it slightly before letting it snap back against Michael’s lower stomach. Michael sucked in a breath above him in surprise, but when Alex looked up to catch his eyes he could see that Michael was already chewing on his bottom lip and his eyes had gone dark with lust.

              “Why don’t you turn over and show me your hole, baby. I wanna see how good you did in the shower cleaning up for me,” Alex commanded, leaning back into the chair to give Michael room to move. While Michael shuffled around so he was facing away from Alex, Alex grabbed his prosthetic from where he’d laid it next to the chair and clicked it back on. He stood and made sure it was fully engaged before striding over to the bed to grab the lube, cock ring, and rope he’d laid out. He brought them back over to his chair and caught Michael watching him. He’d positioned himself so that his cheek was laid flat against the carpet, ass high in the air behind him with his hands clutching at his cheeks to spread them wide for Alex’s inspection. Alex smiled indulgently at him as he past him and set down his things on the chair arm before sitting back down. He took his time getting settled, ignoring the way Michael had started to shift a little on the floor. When a whine past his lips, Alex smacked a hand against one of his ass cheeks in a quick, stinging slap. Pink bloomed on Michael’s skin were Alex had reprimanded him.

              “You know better, Michael. Be patient or all you’ll get is edged tonight and for the rest of the week until you learn patience,” Alex warned, voice stern.

              “Sorry, sir,” he heard Michael pout into the carpet. Alex decided to take pity on him and turned his attention fully to Michael and his spread cheeks. He could see the slight sheen of leftover lube on Michael’s pink pucker. Alex spread his hands wide over the skin that Michael wasn’t clutching and let them rub back and forth. He scooted forward on the chair until his thighs were spread wide around Michael’s body, his thighs pressed against the back of Michael’s. He ran his hands upwards over Michael’s lower back and then down, letting them hook onto his hips do he could drag Michael’s hips the inch or two back until he was only a hairsbreadth away from pressing against Alex’s leather covered crotch. Michael moaned beneath him, hands leaving his ass cheeks and grasping onto Alex’s calves behind his knees. Alex smiled, trying to decide whether to punish Michael for letting go of his cheeks without permission or to ignore it. He couldn’t just ignore it, that’s not what Michael wanted from him.

              “Now Michael,” he started in a chiding tone. He kept one of his hand on Michael’s hip while the other came back towards his hole. Alex pressed his thumb firmly against the tight furl of muscles and was pleased when it opened to him easily, letting him sink the digit past the rim and tug. “Did I say you would stop holding yourself open for me?”

              Michael whined underneath him as Alex slowly started to push his thumb in a little further before drawing it back out. There wasn’t enough lube for him to do much more without hurting Michael, but he knew Michael craved the burn of a mostly dry finger sometimes. He felt Michael’s hands flex behind his knees and then start to pull away.

              “You can keep them there, Michael. But you should’ve asked for permission. Why don’t you practice by asking me nicely to lube you up so we can make sure you’re ready for your toy?” Alex suggested, noticing the red flush starting to tint Michael’s shoulders as he continued to work his thumb around Michael’s rim slowly in a series of shallow thrusts and pulls.

              “Ah! Will… Will you please… fuck, please… lube me up so you can… fuck! AH! Put my toy in me… please, sir?” Michael stuttered through the questions, breaking for short gasps. He was starting to tremble under Alex’s hand and he found himself shushing and petting him, pausing with his thumb pushed as deep as it would go while Michael took a few deep breaths to calm himself.

              “You’re doing so good tonight, baby. I’ll give you what you need, okay?” Alex praised as he continued to pet Michael’s back while he whimpered. Alex gently pulled his thumb out of Michael and removed his hand from his back. “Why don’t you sit up and turn around? I need you to pull your panties down for me so we can put your cock ring on and fill your hungry hole until I’m ready for it.”

              Michael scrambled to obey and Alex chuckled darkly as he watched him hook his thumbs into the sides of his underwear and drag them down to his knees. His cock was already hard and leaking from Alex’s attentions and it made Alex’s mouth water to see him so turned on. Instead of just throwing him onto his back on the floor and sucking him off like he wanted to, Alex busied himself with uncapping the tub of lube.

              “Sir?�� Michael asked softly from in front of him. Alex hummed to let him know he’d heard him. “Will you kiss me, please?”

Alex shot him a look and grinned at him. He loved Michael’s simple requests for affection, loved when he wanted that almost more than for Alex to wring the pleasure out of him.

              “Of course, you can, baby,” Alex replied and leaned into Michael’s space. He cradled the back of Michael’s head in his hands and found himself pressing a wet, open mouthed kiss onto Michael’s lips. Michael responded by immediately opening his mouth to Alex’s advances and Alex plundered him, taking his tongue and lips as his own. Michael made low, pleasured hums as they kissed, and it made Alex’s skin feel too tight with how much he wanted Michael to just keep making those noises forever. He finally pulled back from the kiss, nipping Michael’s bottom lip affectionately before sitting back. Michael looked flushed and dazed, his lips swollen and red, shiny with spit, and Alex felt another hunger letting itself be known.

              “Stand up for me and spread your legs a little for me,” Alex requested softly. Michael did as he was told, and Alex swallowed back the mouthful of saliva that had come flooding in the second he was within a foot of Michael’s cock. God, it was a beautiful thing. It was average length, but thick and uncircumcised. Alex’s mind helpfully supplied flesh memories of how good it felt when Michael was fucking him, and the foreskin supplied a delightful secondary tug against Alex’s hole when Michael pulled back. Alex made a mental note to get Michael to fuck him later if he was up to it. Alex kissed Michael’s hip and indulged himself, moving over to Michael’s cock and sucking the head into his mouth. His lips pushed down the foreskin while his tongue laved over the sticky slit streaming precome. Alex moaned at the taste, loving Michael’s salty sweat pre and how his hard flesh felt in against his tongue.

              Scooping out some of the lube onto two fingers, Alex began warming it with his thumb. He reached past Michael’s cock and balls and followed his taint until he was back at Michael’s entrance. He pushed his two fingers past the rim without any more preamble and twisted them, smearing the thick lube around. Testing the coverage, he pumped his fingers a few times earning himself a desperate groan and trembling thigh from Michael. He gave Michael’s cock a final hard suck before pulling off with a pop. He withdrew his fingers and loaded just a little more lube onto them before picking up the cock ring and coating the prostate stimulating probe that was connected to it. He looked up to check on Michael and saw him watching him with hungry eyes, chest flushed and heaving. Alex gave him a feral grin in return and slipped the first part of the cock ring over Michael’s shaft. He positioned it at the base and then moved the second ring around Michael’s balls. The last part, the prostate stimulator, he slowly pressed past the slick ring of muscles. Michael immediately started breathing thought his mouth like he was trying not to moan and Alex teased him by pushing and pulling at the probe a few times before letting it settle against Michael’s prostate. When he looked at Michael’s cock again, he could see a new bead of precome glistening against his slit and he swiped his clean thumb over it and popped it into his mouth.

              “How does it feel?” Alex asked a little breathlessly. He reached a hand between his own legs and massaged at his cock, giving himself a little relief rom the tension that was building in him from playing with Michael.

              “It feels so good, sir. Thank you,” Michael replied, shifting his weight a little before freezing, stomach and face tensing as the probe shifted within him. “Fuck. So good.”

              “I’m glad. You deserve to feel good,” Alex replied with a smile, bringing his still slicked hand up to Michael’s cock. He used a light grip, more tease than pressure, and stroked Michael while he leant forward and mouthed at his balls. He could feel Michael fighting to stay still, his muscles rigid with control. “You can move a little, Michael. I want to you to get to the edge edge once before we start tying you up.”

              Michael moaned softly above him at his words and immediately Alex tightened his hand for Michael to thrust in to. Alex sat back up straight so he could watch Michael’s body. He ran his unoccupied hand over Michael’s flushed chest and tweaked at each of his nipples. Just a quick pinch and twist before pulling off and doing the same to the other. Michael cried out at the quick flash of pain and his hands immediately braced themselves on Alex’s shoulders, so he didn’t lose his balance, his hips working furiously as he pumped through Alex’s fist. Michael’s head was thrown back as lost himself in the pleasure of Alex’s attentive care. His cock flushed red between Alex’s fingers and the foreskin was drawn back to expose Michael’s thick, leaking tip. Alex trailed his fingers down to gently pull at Michael’s balls which had drawn up in anticipation of something he didn’t get to do just yet. Alex let his fingers slide behind them to press meaningfully against Michael’s taint, putting more pressure on his prostate than what he was getting from the stimulator.

              “Ah… I’m.. I’m close, sir,” Michael gasped out, his hips still pumping into Alex’s fist even as he started to lose coordination.

              “Then I suggest you stop,” Alex said with a warning, even though he didn’t take his hands away. Michael screwed his eyes shut and bit his lip, stilling his hips with obvious effort. His legs were shaking, and he was breathing heavily in and out through his nose as he tried to calm his body back down. Alex waited, unmoving, for Michael to give him the signal he could move his hands.

              “You were so close, weren’t you, Michael?” Alex asked softly. Michael nodded quickly, eyes still shut but he released his abused lower lip from his teeth.

              “Yeah... yes, sir. Just give me a sec, please,” he breathed above him. Alex looked at the cock in his hands and marveled at how angry and flushed with blood it was. All he wanted to do was take Michael in his mouth and let him cum hot and thick over his tongue. The cock ring would keep him hard, Alex reasoned, and they could continue their play…. But, no. Michael wanted to be edged and they’d agreed on a plan.

              “Okay. I’m… I’m okay. Thank you for waiting on me, sir,” Michael finally said, his voice sounding much more even than it had a minute ago. Alex uncurled his fingers from around Michael’s shaft and pulled his other hand away from between Michael’s legs. He rested both on the outside of Michael’s thighs, petting him while he gave him another moment to breathe.

              “You’re welcome, Michael. You did so good letting me know you were close because you know I would’ve had to punish you if you’d come without permission. Who owns your orgasm, Michael?” Alex asked, voice calm and soothing.

              “You do, sir,” Michael replied easily.

              “Who owns your cock?”

              “You do, sir,” this time he confessed it on a sigh of contentment.

              “Who gets to decide when you come?”

              “Only you, sir. Only you.” Michael sounded adoring and reverent as he said the last words and Alex’s heart swelled with pride. He loved that Michael loved this, loved that Michael trusted Alex enough to give him control of his body.

              “Good boy. Let’s get these panties back on so we can get you tied up like we discussed,” Alex said with affection as he let his hands grasp the edged of the lace and pull them back up Michael’s legs. He settled the lace around Michael’s hips and covered his erection with the material, smiling at how good it looked stretched over his engorged cock. “Now go stand over there by the mirror for me.”

              Michael turned and walked the few short steps to the area Alex had indicated. They had a tall mirror leaned against the wall next to their dresser that Alex had more than once indulged in making Michael fuck him in front of. He loved the way Michael looked behind him, concentrating so hard on making him feel good and getting lost in his own pleasure. He also loved the way he looked being split open on Michael’s cock, impact shocks rippling through his muscles as Michael drove into him hard from behind. The mirror was one of Alex’s favorite purchases for their place.

              Alex shook himself out of his daydream and grabbed the rope from the chair arm before standing up and walking over to where Michael was patiently waiting on him. He’d decided earlier that he was going to do a fairly simply chest harness since they’d be using the cock ring. He stood behind Michael’s back and after placing a couple brief kisses to his shoulder, started his work. He looped a couple lengths of rope over the top of Michael’s chest and around his back before going over his shoulders to create the harness straps. He worked quickly and methodically, checking the tautness of the rope and positioning before creating his locks. When he was satisfied with the harness, he brought Michael’s arms behind his backs, placing his wrists together before doing a single column tie to bind them. He finished with a square knot and checked in.

              “How does this feel? Is this okay?” he asked, running his fingers under the ropes and checking the security and placement. Michael moved his body and strained against the ropes for a moment before relaxing into their grip.

              “Yeah, it feels good,” he answered a little dreamily. Alex checked his eyes and could see that he’d dropped a little while Alex had been tying him up.

              “Turn around. I want you to see how good you look right now in the mirror,” Alex commanded, letting his fingers pinch Michael’s nipples before pushing gently as his shoulder to make him turn around. Michael shifted and turned, eyes looking over his reflection. Smiling to himself, Alex reached over to their dresser and grabbed the little porcelain bell he’d found at some estate sale Isobel had dragged them to. He pressed it into one of Michael’s hands, watching as he worked a finger inside the bell to keep the clapper still unless he needed it. Then Alex hooked his chin over Michael’s shoulder and looked with him for a moment before sliding his hands over his arms to his shoulders and pressing down. Michael got the hint and slowly lowered himself onto his knees. Alex combed his fingers through his curls, pulling gently and making Michael look up at him. His body had to arch due to the angle Alex held him at and he could tell when the prostate stimulator had started to press unrelentingly inside Michael because he gasped and his eyes fluttered before he could focus on Alex’s face.

              “You’re so fucking hot, Michael. I can’t wait to get your mouth on me,” Alex murmured, hands sliding down Michael’s chest, over the harness, and down to his nipples. He rubbed the pads of his fingers back and forth over them lightly at first and then with more pressure. Curling his fingers, he let his nails catch the blood flushed nubs as he lowered his face to claim Michael’s mouth in a searing kiss. The angle was wrong for anything more serious than the briefest touch of tongues, but when he backed off, Michael was breathing had picked up. Alex let him relax back to a neutral position, neck and back straight as he balanced on his knees.

              “How are you feeling, baby?” Alex asked, addressing Michael through the mirror.

              “Really good,” Michael replied, shifting a little and hips jumping at the movement which just made them jump again.

              “Anything hurt?” Alex asked next, waiting patiently for Michael to catalogue through what his body was feeling.

              “Nope. Everything’s good. I feel good. Just a little impatient,” Michael admitted, grinning at him cheekily.

              “Impatient?” Alex asked, raising an eyebrow and smirking at him.

              “Yeah, I thought you said you were going to gag me with your dick?” Michael replied, chuckling a little when Alex gave him a mock stern expression.

              “You are so impertinent. Maybe I should just go grab a ball gag and leave you here while I go jack off in the shower. Manners like that will get you nowhere with me,” Alex threatened. It was an empty threat. He might not let Michael come, but he wouldn’t leave him unattended while tied up and gagged with a cock ring on.

              “Noooo. I’m sorry, sir. I’m sorry. Please, fuck my face. I want to you to feed me your cock so bad, I just let my dick speak instead of my brain. Forgive me? Please?” Michael said, pouting at the threat of Alex not giving him what he wanted.

              “Shhh,” Alex hushed him, walking around to stand in front of Michael’s body. Alex had gone a little soft while tying Michael up, which was just to be expected when he was wholly concentrating on keeping his sub safe from any ill-placed or too tight rope, but he was still half hard in anticipation of what was coming next. He cupped his hands over Michael’s jaw and looked down at Michael’s face, beautiful and tan, and with a look of such need on it that Alex smiled softly.  “I want you to use your mouth to unzip me.”

              One of Michael’s eyebrows shot up and he grinned up at Alex before turning and kissing at Alex’s wrist. Alex moved his hands away from Michael’s jaw, but kept them near his shoulders so he didn’t topple if he got too enthusiastic. He watched Michael lean forward and kiss the tongue of the zipper, sucking it between his lips before latching onto it with his front teeth. He looked up through his half dry curls and caught Alex’s eyes, keeping contact while he tugged the zipped down and away from Alex’s body slowly. Alex felt blood rushing back into his cock from the sight and licked his lips in anticipation. When Michael had pulled the zipped as far as he could, he broke eye contact with Alex so he could look at the opening of Alex’s briefs. He moved and nosed the flaps of either side further away and attached his lips to the root of Alex’s cock.

              “That’s good, baby. Think you can get me out without help?” Alex asked, lust surging through him as he watched Michael start to lick his way up what he could get to of Alex’s length. If Michael’s cock was average length and girthy, Alex’s was slightly longer than average and curved. Michael moved his head, trying to push at the leather trapping the end of Alex’s cock against his hip, but the fabric was too stiff, the briefs too tight for much give. Alex let him try though, enjoying the building frustration on his face as he used his teeth to try to tug the fabric away from Alex’s body enough for his cock to be freed. Finally, sitting back on his heels Michael looked up at him with an irritated pout on his lips.

              “Yes, sir. Can you please help me?” he asked, tone bratty and petulant. Alex chuckled at the scowl on Michael’s face as he stared at Alex’s uncooperative briefs. Obligingly, Alex pushed at the leather on his hips, letting the briefs fall to his feet before carefully stepping out of them. Michael scowled down at the piece at Alex’s feet, showing pure irritation, but when he turned back to Alex, now naked and hard in front of him, his face transformed back into something like hunger.

              “Open up for me, Michael,” Alex directed as he gripped himself and positioned himself in front of Michael’s lips. Michael dropped his mouth open immediately, tongue sticking far enough out to cover his teeth as he waited for Alex to give him his cock. Alex pushed his hips forward, letting the tip glide onto Michael’s tongue. He watched Michael’s eyes close and what could only be described as an ecstatic expression transform his face as he wrapped his lips over Alex’s cock head and sucked. The heat and pressure of Michael’s mouth always made Alex’s knees weak and he had to give himself a minute to adjust to how good it felt every time he let Michael have him that way. Michael knew how much it affected Alex too and when Alex finally opened his eyes to look back down at Michael with his heavenly lips wrapped tightly around him, he caught the knowing look and twitch of his lips which meant Michael was mentally preening over the effect he had.

              “Remember, ring the bell if you need me to back off. Understood?” Alex checked, voice already tight with the need to feel the back of Michael’s throat. Michael nodded solemnly, keeping eye contact with him to let Alex know he understood, and then without further preamble, pushed forward and sank his mouth further down Alex’s cock. Alex moaned appreciatively, one hand reflexively going to the back of Michael’s head, fingers sinking into the curls. At first, he was just happy to let Michael do the work, sinking down on him over and over, lips tight with suction and tongue swirling around him. Soon, though, it wasn’t enough and he tightened his hand in Michael’s hair and began to guide his movements as he gave shallow thrusts forward into Michael’s mouth. Michael jaw slackened immediately as he relaxed to let Alex take the reins from him and happily, Alex deepened his thrusts.

              “Fuck, Michael, your mouth is goddamn miracle. You’re so good at this, baby,” Alex praised, holding Michael’s head close to feel him swallowing reflexively round him. He let him slide back, loving the drool that had started to push past his lips and the tears that gathered in his lashes. He was sloppy and beautiful and Alex had to give himself a sharp pinch to keep from blowing his load all over Michael’s face. Michael flushed under the praise, chest reddening with the effort of controlling his gag reflex and the blush of hearing Alex compliment him. Alex let him have a few breaths before starting to move him over his cock again, shallowly again so he could keep catching his breath. He sneaked a peek down Michael’s body and saw the dark spreading stain of precome on Michael’s panties. He was trying to keep his hips still as Alex moved him over his cock, but he could see the small hitches where the stimulator inside him rubbed him when he moved. Alex held Michael’s shoulder and withdrew from his mouth. Michael took in small gasps of air when Alex pulled back, but his eyes stayed on Alex’s cock, hunger and yearning on his features.

              “Stand up, Michael,” Alex commanded, helping Michael with his balance as he unsteadily got to his feet. Alex grabbed his chin to hold him still and he licked over Michael’s lips with a broad, flat tongue. He could taste himself and could feel the heat and blood in lips from being used by him. Then he kissed him, forcing his way in with tongue and teeth. Michael grunted and responded with the same fervor. Alex pushed his hand past the lace waistband of Michael’s panties and got his fish around Michael’s tortured cock. It was hot and sticky with precome and when Alex started stroking him, Michael made a sound somewhere on that wire’s edge between pleasure and pain. Alex let him go and moved his hands to his backside. He grabbed, squeezed, and spread Michael’s cheeks and pressed their bodies tight together, knowing it would rub Michael’s overly sensitive cock against the lace and his own stomach.

              “P-please!” Michael cried out, breaking the kiss in a harsh gasp. Alex stilled their bodies against each other, but his hands kept massaging Michael’s ass as he waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, merely groaned at Alex’s hands, he prompted him.

              “Please, what? What do you need, baby?” Alex asked, even though he felt like he knew. He moved one of hands into the space between Michael’s ass cheeks and pressed gently on the end of the prostate stimulator. A dry, choked sob escaped from Michael and Alex could feel him clenching and trembling against him.

              “I’m… so close right now,” Michael gasped, resting his head on Alex’s shoulder as he sucked in air.

              “Again?” Alex asked, not hiding the delight in his voice. Michael nodded wordlessly against him and Alex drew back his hand, bringing it up to rub soothingly against Michael’s lower back.

              “Ready for me to take off your cock ring and fuck you stupid?” Alex asked softly, kissing Michael’s neck and shoulder gently as he spoke. Michael let out a long, shuddering breath before responding.

              “Yes, please, sir,” he responded, voice pleading.

              “Do you want to stay tied up too or do I need to release you?” Alex asked, rubbing his hands over Michael’s forearms as he spoke. Michael took a moment and then shook his head.

              “You sure, baby? It’s okay if you don’t want it,” Alex assured him, kissing his ear and jaw as he backed off so he could catch Michael’s eye. Michael looked at him and shook his head again.

              “No, sir. Leave it on, please,” Michael asked. He looked so earnest that Alex took his word for it. He kissed his mouth in the same soft way he’d kissed his neck and jaw.

              “Okay, baby. I’ll leave them on. Think I can take the cock ring off now without you coming?” Alex asked, glancing down at Michael’s red, leaking cock between them.

              “Yes, sir. I think I’m okay now. Thank you.”

              Alex stepped back and bent over to push the panties all the way down Michael’s legs. Michael stepped out of them and let his legs spread so Alex could have access to him. Gently Alex took the cock ring off in the reverse order in which he’d put it on. He gently pulled out the prostate stimulator, noting Michael’s keening whine as he did. Then he stretched the ring around his balls and gently worked it off before doing the same with the ring around Michael’s cock. Michael was breathing heavily through his mouth again, eyes dark and body tight as he fought to control himself.

              “I’ll be right back,” Alex said, pressing his palm to Michael’s cheek and kissing his lips gently when his breathing had calmed again. Michael’s head canted into his palm and Alex kissed him again before withdrawing and going into the bathroom. He tossed the cock ring into the sink and grabbed Michael’s towel from earlier. He came back to where Michael was standing and laid the towel on the floor at his feet. Michael watched him curiously as he went and grabbed the small back pillow he used in his dressing chair and then grabbed the tub of lube from earlier.

              “I want to fuck you in front of the mirror, Michael. Are you okay with that?” Alex asked after placing the items on the floor next to the towel. Michael grinned at him and kneeled down onto the towel. He started to push forward to rest his weight on his shoulder like he’d done earlier, but Alex stopped him with a hand. “Not yet, love. I’ll put you where I want you.”

              Michael swallowed and nodded, letting his body relax as Alex leaned on the edge of the bed and took off his prosthetic. His leg was starting to bother him a little after all the standing he’d been doing plus the full day of wearing it so he placed it to the side and went ahead and took off the socks and liners for it. He did a quick per functionary check of his residual limb to make sure it wasn’t in need of any immediate attention from him. Satisfied, he slid down to the ground and crawled over to where Michael was waiting for him. He positioned his body behind Michael’s and wrapped his arms around his torso, pulling their bodies together. He caught Michael’s eye in the mirror and smiled.

              “We look so fucking good together,” Alex commented. He’d situated them to there they were in profile instead of looking at the mirror head on. He wanted Michael to be able to watch as he fucked him and with his arms tied it was too much of a risk to get him to try to look straight ahead while he pounded him from behind. Michael hummed his agreement while looking at them. Alex grabbed the tub of lube and scooped out some with his fingers. He bent and kissed Michael’s shoulder while he moved his fingers to his hole.

              “I know you’ve had something in you already, but I wanna make sure you’re stretched enough for me,” Alex explained. Michael hummed and tilted his hips, pushing them back against the gentle pressure of Alex’s fingers. Alex pushed in, glad he’d checked because Michael had tightened up a little. The prostate stimulator wasn’t huge like a plug, so it was only right that Michael’s muscles had regained their normal elasticity. Michael groaned at the feeling of being stretched again and Alex reached around his body to stroke his manhood as he fingerfucked him slowly. He backed off and added a third finger, pushing his way into Michael’s body slowly before flexing and shifting his fingers inside of him. Michael ground his hips down on Alex’s fingers and let out the smallest sigh of what sounded like relief.

              “Okay. Go ahead and lean forward. I’m going to put the pillow under your head so you don’t get carpet burn on your cheek,” Alex instructed. He watched Michael get into position and Alex slid the pillow under Michael’s head. When Michael was settled, Alex grab a little more of the lube and coated himself with it before shuffling forward and lined himself up with Michael’s hole. He rubbed his cock across it, teasing, putting pressure against his reddened pucker and then backing off. Michael whined and Alex met his eyes in the mirror with a silent warning. “Do you want to come, Michael?”

              “Yes, please,” Michael answered, arching his back and pushing his hips towards Alex.

              “Then be good for me,” Alex said evenly as he continued to tease Michael’s hole. He started to push forward with purpose, letting the head of his cock sink in a little past the rim before backing off. He did it again, pushing a little further before backing off again. The next slow thrust had his head popping fully inside the tight ring of muscle which Michael squeezed lightly as he panted and moaned against the pillow under his cheek. Alex decided to torture him a little. He left his cock where it was with only the tip inside the hot clutch of Michael’s body and then he used one hand on Michael’s lower back to hold his body steady while the other came up to start stroking along the length he’d left outside.

              “What if I just did this, Michael? Just kept you still and filled you with my come, but didn’t fuck you? What do you think of that idea?” Alex asked, watching Michael’s expression grow tortured as he watched Alex’s hand work himself while Michael remained unfilled. The idea was one that Alex actually found hot, his body flushing with the idea of filling Michael with load after load of come and just plugging him up. He could do it a few times throughout the day until Michael was desperate to feel him buried to his balls inside of him.

              “Please, sir. I need your cock in me. Please,” Michael begged, face flushed with need as his eyes remained glued on Alex’s hand.

              “My cock is in you, Michael. Isn’t this what you wanted?” Alex teased before drawing back and fucking back in just as shallowly as before. Michael hiccupped a dry sob and he finally looked into Alex’s eyes through the mirror.

              “It’s so good, sir. You feel so good, but it’s not enough. Please, sir, I wanna feel…” his breath caught in his throat and Alex watched him swallow thickly before continuing,”… I wanna feel your balls pounding against my taint, sir. I wanna feel you all day tomorrow, feel where you were deep inside me… Please, sir. Please fuck me like that.”

              “Oh, baby,” Alex responded indulgently. He leaned over Michael’s back and pushed himself fully inside Michael in one long, slow thrust. When he felt his balls brushing Michael’s perineum, he stilled. “How can I deny a request like that?”

              Michael’s eyes were closed, and his mouth was open in a silent ‘O’. He looked like he was in the best kind of pain. Alex started to pull back and Michael’s face changed again, still that ecstatic mix of need and fulfillment, and it made Alex feel reckless knowing he’d done that to him. Alex began to build a hard, deep rhythm as he pulled almost all the way out and then pushed his way back into Michael’s willing body. The slapping of their skin filled the room, bright over the chorus of their intermingled gasps and moans. Alex could see Michael’s weeping cock swaying from between his legs in the mirror. Alex grasped at Michael’s hips and tilted them, changing the angle just enough for him to start brushing over his already sensitive prostate.

              “Alex!” Michael shouted, his body pushing back into the new angle as Alex started to thrust into Michael harder and quicker. He could see the concentration in Michael’s face and knew he must be close to coming again.

              “You can come when you need to, baby. It’s okay to let go,” Alex huffed through his exertions, feeling his own end quickly approaching. Something in Michael relaxed and Alex could see that he wasn’t fighting his body anymore, but letting sensation take whatever toll it wanted. Alex shortened his thrusts, but kept them sharp as he reached around to get his hand around Michael’s cock. It didn’t take too many pulls before Michael’s body was tensing around him, almost painfully tight, and Michael was shooting onto the towel beneath his body. Alex kept rocking into him, knowing that as many times as he’d been edged Michael’s orgasm was likely to last a little longer than normal. Alex milked him through it, kissing his arms and shoulders as he felt Michael melt beneath him. When he relaxed, almost boneless under Alex’s weight, Alex drew back and began to pull out of him, intending to jerk himself off to finish with his load striped over Michael’s well used hole, but a needy whine from Michael stopped him.

              “Please, sir… I want you to finish inside me. I can take it,” he said, eyes glassy and dreamy. With slow movements, he raised his body back into position for Alex to keep going at him.

              “You sure?” Alex asked, petting Michael’s flank as he looked him in the eyes. Michael swallowed and nodded.

              “Yes, I’m sure. Please, daddy, I want you to,” Michael moaned, once again pushing his hips back begging for Alex to fuck him. Alex didn’t know why, but Michael’s soft ‘daddy’ made all remaining blood in his body shoot straight to his cock. It was his turn to swallow as he tried to calm down enough not to bust on his first thrust.

              “Okay, baby. I got you,” he managed finally. He started up a new rhythm. He kept it fluid with more of a roll in his hips as he pistoned in and out of Michael’s body. He could hear Michael’s deep moans of pleasure, but he didn’t see the expression on his face. Alex’s eyes had fluttered shut as he chased his own orgasm, body tightening and speeding its way along. He thought about how Michael had looked gagged on his cock, how his panties had been practically soaked with precome, how he’d begged and squirmed for his cock, and then the soft ‘daddy’ he’d let out when he begged him to keep going, to empty himself inside Michael’s body. It took Michael tightened around him again, apparently rocked by another small orgasm as Alex had sought to lose himself, for his body to tumble over and let go. He shook against Michael’s back, sensation blinding him for a minute, before he came back to himself.

              He reached forward and undid the knotted ropes. His biggest concern was getting Michael’s arms free first while he calmed his body down. He unwrapped his wrists slowly and helped Michael maneuver them from behind his back. He looked down between them at where he was still buried in Michael’s body, slowly softening inside of him. Regretfully, he pulled out with a slight hiss. He’d loved to have just stayed in, falling asleep spooned against Michael’s back on the floor of their bedroom, but the rope harness needed to be untied and discarded.

              “Think you can sit up? I’m going to get the rest of this harness off you and then we can get into bed and cuddle for a while. Sound good?” Alex asked, rubbing his hands up and down Michael’s back with gentle pressure. Michael hummed out a sound that seemed like approval and then using his newly freed arms, pushed himself to sit back on his heels. Alex immediately wrapped his arms around him and held him against his chest.  

“You did so good, Michael. You were amazing. I’m so proud of you,” Alex whispered against his neck, hugging him close. Michael’s hands wrapped around his wrists and he sighed happily at the attention. After a minute or two, Alex pulled back and started unwinding the rest of the harness. When he was done, he tossed the rope up onto the dresser and then wrapped Michael in his arms again.

“Do you wanna move up to the bed with me?” Alex asked, differentially. Michael sighed and looked up at the bed longingly.

“Yeah, let’s get up there,” Michael answered, squeezing Alex’s arms reassuringly. They untangled themselves and Alex moved to the dresser to pull himself into a standing position. Michael handed him his crutches and then moved to crawl onto the bed, laying on his stomach and cuddling his pillow. Alex followed him, grabbing a throw from the end of the bed, before climbing on and snuggling up behind Michael, spreading the blanket over them. Michael turned and buried his head into Alex’s chest, legs intertwining with Alex’s under the blanket and arms wrapping around him.

“Do you feel less noisy now?” Alex asked, combing his fingers through Michael’s curls and kissing the crown of his head. Michael hummed appreciatively and kissed Alex’s chest.

“So quiet now. Thank you,” he mumbled, snuggling his body infinitesimally closer.

“Good. You want to take a nap for a little bit before clean up?” Alex asked, his hands rubbing over Michael’s arms and back as if he trying to keep him warm.

“Yeah. Naps good. Love you,” Michael said, body already halfway to sleep.

“Love you too, baby.” Alex whispered, not sure Michael heard him, but sure that he knew how Alex felt.

[emaspin]

Sankta Anastasia

@grishaversebigbang

Materialki

@luvidlovearts

https://luvidlovearts.tumblr.com/post/628438192931110912/piece-i-did-for-the-grishaversebigbang-for-the

@lady-ekatherina-de-mika

https://lady-ekatherina-de-mika.tumblr.com/post/628551127583064064/galena-for-the-grishaversebigbang-our-dear

@sammiemai 

https://sammiemai.tumblr.com/post/628419233060126720/some-more-grishaversebigbang-content-these-are

Corporalki

@booklovingturtle

The story behind Sankta Anastasia has been forgotten over the years. Like many Saints she has slipped into folklore. Here is the story of the love and revenge that led Sankta Anastasia’s life. 

Chapter 1 Galena placed the dried herbs into little tin boxes. She was proud of the new little system she had come up with. It was much better than her mother’s old messy cabinets. Galena liked to think that she did everything just a little bit better than her mother. Her mother worked hard but Galena worked with talent, maybe that was the difference. Galena kept up her organization for most of the afternoon, she was lost in sorting the dried herbs when a single knock sounded at her front door. Feliks walked in without announcing himself, he knew that he was always welcome. He admired her system for a minute without a word. She kept sorting. 

“Have you been working on this all day? Feliks held one of the little tins up to his eye level. Feliks was always tinkering with things. He liked to know how people used all sorts of tools, he was known around the town for being able to fix a farmers plow faster than everyone else. It was a skill the Galena knew would serve them well when they had their own little business, although repair shops and healing shops didn’t normally go together she saw something almost poetic in the notion of repair of body and equipment. At the end of the day they were the same, she knew that they would be very happy together once he realized that he loved her. 

“Basically, I slept in a little bit but other than that this is all I’ve done.” 

“Impressive, I couldn’t sit in one place that long.” he fidgeted with the tin box that he was still holding. 

“Careful, you’re going to spill the rosemary in there.” Feliks put the tin down. 

“Oh,” his face lit up like he had just remembered something, “have you heard about the family that just moved in?”  

“No. Who are they?” 

“The Kravtsovs. They have a teenage daughter. I think she's a year older than you.” he nodded his chin in her direction, “I’ve heard that Mr.Kravtsov makes his money mining, so he’s away a lot. Maybe we’ll see them at church?” Galena hoped she would, there wasn’t anybody in the whole town that she didn’t know. She wasn’t about to let the new people ruin that. 

Galena and Feliks spent the rest of the afternoon talking and sorting dried medicine ingredients. Galena adored the easy conversation they fell into. She loved the perfect famileraty she felt when she was with Feliks, Feliks was the main constant in her world. Everything she did was a step towards their future. Galena looked up at him, she sun filtered through his dirty blonde hair and hit his light eyelashes in a stunning array of shading. His caramel colored freckles were growing like an infestation across his cheeks and nose. She could look at him in the hazy sunlight forever. She knew that someday she would get to glimpse him with messy hair and sleep still in his eyes. Someday she might get to gaze on a baby that had his big brown eyes and her own warm chestnut hair. Someday, someday soon. He looked up and his eyes met hers. 

“What?” It wasn’t a declaration of love but she could wait.

“You have dirt on your cheek.” she shook her hard as she stood and dunked a washcloth in the tepid water sitting in the sink. Galena tossed it to Feliks. “Has that been on your face all day? What were you doing this morning?” 

He furrowed his brow, “fixing an old wagon.” She rolled her eyes skyward. 

“You're like a toddler, you would be completely lost without me.” he looked like he wanted to argue in his own defence but she put her hands on her hips and gave him a look that told him not to bother. Something glazed in his eyes. He seemed to struggle not to say something for a second, then he stood.  

“Church is starting in about an hour, I’m going home to eat.” he left before she could ask if the invitation extended to her. He must be tired, some time to himself would probably do him well. Galena decided to look extra pretty for the service this evening. She picked out the flowy pale blue dress and braided her hair into a crown around her head, letting small sections hang down to frame her face. She felt pretty. She pinched her cheeks to add some colour. She made food for her mother and herself as her mother quickly bathed and dressed. Galena packed a small jar of berries to share with Feliks when she got there. She was excited for tonight, things were changing. Galena could sense it humming in the air like an incoming storm. 

Chapter 2  Galena held the jar of berries with two spoons and scanned the crowd for Feliks. When she finally spotted him she waved. He didn’t notice her, he was talking with a girl who had long raven black hair, it fell to her waist in soft curls, Galena’s own hair only fell to her mid back. The girl's blush pink dress matched the shade of pink growing across her cheeks as she made conversation with Feliks, Feliks grinned brilliantly at something she had said and her pink blush turned to a much deeper red. Galena’s gut twisted, who was this girl? Didn’t she know that Feliks was hers? She must have been the girl who just moved because Galena didn’t recognize her. Galena elbowed her way through the people talking before the service started. She stood right next to Feliks and linked her arm with his. 

“Hi Feliks!” Her greeting was loud and she had interrupted the new girl mid sentence. She could barely stifel her smirk.

“Galena,” Feliks' voice was strange and it almost seemed like he had cringed when she had linked their arms, “This is Anastasia. She just moved here.”

“Hi.” Anastasia said with a stunning smile. Galena didn’t like her. 

“How long have you two known each other?” Galena addressed both of them but the only person that she actually wanted to hear from was Feliks. 

“Oh, we just met. Feliks was kind enough to come and talk with me. He was helping me avoid looking like the weird new girl with no friends.” Anastasia was animated when she talked, it annoyed Galena how engaging she was. Feliks was quiet. 

“Yeah, Feliks is so nice like that.” Her voice was colder than she had intended. Anastasia blinked, confused, then she smiled again and the look made Galena’s stomach curtle.

 Galena smiled back and was relieved to hear the preacher calling everyone to their seats. Galena led Feliks away before Anastasia could ask to sit with them, Galena saw her walking with who she guessed was her mother. She offered Feliks some of her berries but he denied her offer. She was annoyed with how he was acting. What had him so weird, he seemed fine when he was talking with Anastasia. The sermon passed quickly while Galena contemplated what could possibly be wrong with Feliks. She had decided that he was probably tired. They bowed their heads when the preacher said the prayers, they prayed mostly for the Plague that was bringing havoc to neighboring towns. The prayer ended and Galena turned to Feliks

“You should go home and sleep, you’ve seemed weird all day. You must be tired.” Feliks looked annoyed.

“I’m not a child, I’d know if I were tired. I don’t need you to tell me what to do or how to feel.” he turned away. Wow, he was really grouchy.

Galena turned to go home, her mother had left during the service to attend to a woman who was giving birth and she would meet Galena at home. Galena decided to talk the long way home, the walk would take her by the river and seeing the water shine in the setting sun was always beautiful. She walked for about fifteen minutes and was finally near the river. She had stopped to take off her shoes and dip her feet in the water. She sat there for a little while, daydreaming about a future with Feliks when she heard laughter coming down the trail behind her. It took her a second to recognize Feliks’ voice. When she did she snached up her shoes and shoved them on to her still wet feet. She ran into the bushes surrounding the path as quickly and quietly as she could. Crouching down so they couldn’t see her as she listened. 

“So Galena, she seems like fun.” Galena couldn’t tell if it were her own dislike but she couldn’t bring herself to see anything good in Anastasia’s tone. 

“Yeah, she’s a joy.” Galena could all but see Felik’s eyes roll. She chewed on her cheek in an effort to keep quiet. “She’s a little bit controlling, but she’s my closest friend so what can you do?” What did that mean? Before she could puzzle out what Feliks was trying to say Anastasia spoke.

“You know you don’t have to let her boss you around.” a small plunk sounded and Galena couldn’t tell which one of them had thrown a stone into the river. 

“She doesn't always pick up on the subtler hints I throw her.” were they only here to insult her character? Galena picked at her nails and retreated into her thoughts for a minute, she zoned back into their conversation when she heard their laughs. She gritted her teeth, she wasn’t going to sit here for their whole conversation, but she couldn’t get up without revealing that she had heard the whole thing. They seemed deep enough in conversation for her to go unnoticed if she crawled through the bush and came out further up the path. Once she had emerged from the bramble she felt tempted to go back down the path and push Anastasia into the river. Instead she walked back towards the church and went home. She wasn’t sure what had happened with Feliks but she knew one thing, he was hers, he would always be hers. She would deal with it in the morning. Right now she had twigs in her hair and dirt all over her knees. Only she knew of the blow her dignity took tonight but she still felt embarrassed. She crashed into bed as soon as she got home. Galena was asleep before her head hit the pillow. 

Chapter 3 Galena was confused by the conversation she had overheard the other night, it had churned over and over in her mind all day. It taunted her and she couldn’t find a solution that made sense. It put her on edge. She had still been thinking about the whole dreadful ordeal when Feliks walked into her house. 

“Hey, how has your day been? Healed anyone?” Feliks question was so shockingly casual it caught Galena off guard. She glared at him, did he take her for an idiot? His friendliness dropped and nervous energy overtook him. “What do you know?” his question proved that he hadn’t spotted her in the bushes last night. 

“Why were you talking to the new girl about me?” Galena crossed her arms over her chest. 

“I was just getting to know her, how did you even know I was talking to her after the service?”

“I’m not stupid Feliks.”

“I never said you were.” his shoulders were tense and he looked exhausted. Galena had no idea why he was exhausted. She was the one dealing with a stupid teenaged boy. 

“What do you even see in her anyway? What makes her worth your time?” 

“Are you listening to yourself? She's a person ,Galena. She deserves some basic respect. I’m sorry if I was being too nice to her when she's new and knows nobody.” Feliks snapped. Galena had rarely heard him raise his voice like this. She had always assumed that he never really got mad. Maybe he was more passionate than she had given him credit for. 

“You’re being unreasonable.” something flashed in Felik’s eyes and it made Galena’s blood run cold, she would regret saying that. 

“Don’t just dismiss me, don’t just dismiss how I feel.” Feliks looked at her and she could tell she had made a hugely personal mistake. “I’m entitled to feel things, Galena, I’m entitled to feel things that you haven't assigned to me.” Galena was struck hard by that. She did not assign him emotions. Maybe she had a plan for her life that involved him but it wasn’t like he had any other options. In her mind they were soulmates, destined by fate to be together, all of her plans for her future revolved around them, together. She had a plan, but that wasn’t telling him what to feel. So what the hell was he going on about? Galena clenched her fist and looke Feliks dead in the eyes.

“Feliks, we are meant to be together. It just hurts me to see you with her.” Feliks let out a dry laugh and Galena knew he didn’t actually find anything remotely funny. His reaction stung like a wasp bite. She could almost feel the venom leaching away at her hope. 

“You don’t get to decide that for me.” his galre felt like a sharp shard of shattered glass cutting open her skin. She expected herself to cry but instead anger bubbled up her throat. She choked on it and could barely form a coherent thought. “I like Anastasia. I don’t really care how you feel about it because it's my life. I get to live it.” he didn’t look away from her when he delivered this blow. It was cold and vicious and all she wanted to do was cross the room and slap him. Simply to get some power, some control, back into her grasp. She was used to holding all the power in  their friendship and it was jarring to see how easily he had taken it. Like he had let her hold it in the past, like he could have taken it at any moment. Her heart hurt, but more than that she felt rage. It burned her skin and vision until she couldn’t hold it back anymore. She crossed the room and picked up the teapot on the counter. Galena threw it on the floor as hard as she could. It shattered across the kitchen. She was about to turn to Feliks when she heard him speak.

“I’m not staying here and watching you throw a tantrum. Get it together Galena.” Then he turned and left. The rage boiled over again and Galena had destroyed four more plates before she could think rationally. She stood in the kitchen surrounded by shattered glass gulping down breaths. 

She recounted the whole argument while she swept the floor. She hadn't said anything she didn’t truly believe. Galena wasn’t sure what had come over Feliks but she was sure it had something to do with Anastasia. He had said that he liked her. Galena was sure that he meant in a romantic sense. Fine, if he needed to have a relationship with her before he accepted that he and Galena were made for eachother then so be it. She could wait, but it still stung like a poisonous nettle. Galena didn’t like taking hits to her pride and this definitely was one. She was so angry at Feliks. She was completely astounded at the way he was acting. This was a direct attack on her plans. This was a direct attack on her. Galena could hardly breathe as another wave a rage crashed over her. Did he even understand what he had said to her? Did he understand all that he had thrown away? Thrown in her face. He had thrown her plans in her face. He taunted her with her perfect plan, then ripped it away. She hated him, yet Galena knew that she would do anything, absolutely anything to get him back. It would let her get her life plan back. Her direction was entirely pinned on Feliks. There was no way she was giving that up, there was no way in hell she was surrendering that direction to Anastasia. She hated Anastasia more than she hated Feliks. Galena turned and slammed the door with the beginnings of a new plan on her mind. 

Chapter 4 Galena’s steps smacked hard on the ground as she made her way to the river. She knew that Feliks and Anastasia would be there. She wasn’t sure if she would be able to hold her temper and avoid pushing Anastasia into the river this time. If she were lucky Anastasia would get dragged in by a under current and drown. One could wish, maybe she should get a big stick to hit Anastasia upside the head just to be sure. Galena’s thoughts of murder filtered away as she got closer to the river. She knew that hoping for Anastasia’s death was awful and at this point she had settled on worming her way into their alone time together and making it awkward for both of them. 

Galena heard their voices, Laughing and joking. Anastasia’s giggle was nauseating. She clenched her fists and her jaw, nearly biting into her cheek. She kicked a rock down the path and it went rolling down the river bank. Feliks noticed her then. 

“Galena, what can I help you with?” his voice was cold. There was less emotion than there had been when they had fought. She still trembled with the rage from that argument and it was disconcerting how quickly he got over it. Or maybe he wasn't over it. She still had hope that he cared. Maybe the laughing she had heard was faked for Anastasia’s sake. The smile on Anastasia’s face made her doubt that. 

“I just came to spend some time with you two.” Galena felt sure that Feliks hadn’t told Anastasia about their fight, it would paint him in a bad light and afterall, if he liked her he would want to seem his best in front of her. 

The annoyance in Feliks eyes was piercing but Galena had thicker skin than most people would give her credit for. She glared right back. Then to add insult to injury she smiled coldly at Anastasia. Anastasia looked confused, she chewed on her lower lip with nerves. Galena thought that was the stupidest thing she had ever seen. Who has a habit of chewing their lips? Was she flirting with Feliks that shamelessly? Was she making it extra obvious because Galena was here? Galena set her resolve higher, she would push Anastasia in the river if she had to, but she could be sneaker, more clever, more underhanded than that. She didn’t need to resort to obvious violence. She smiled when she sat down, she made sure to sit closer to Feliks than she sat to Anastasia and the subtle annoyance that showed on Anastasia’s face for just a moment let Galena know that it was working. Anastasia wasn’t perfect after all. If she could just push enough of her buttons she could expose a ugly, spiteful girl to Feliks and he wouldn’t be interested anymore. Hopefully he wouldn't see the spite in her own actions, but everything she was doing was for them, it was all for him. They were made for eachother and all she was doing was pulling out a weed in his life while it still had shallow roots. This would be good for him in the end. Galena was confident that he would see that reason. She felt confident that he would come back and apologize for his hurtful words once he realized that what she was doing was for his best interest. She loved him, it was all for him. For their future. 

“I didn’t know you kept tabs on him so tightly.” The comment from Anastasia was so unexpected that it took Galena a second to even process that she had said it at all. Apparently Anastasia wasn’t here to play around either. Galena almost missed Feliks subtle smile. 

“Well it's a good thing I do.” Galena had the chance to not say what she was about to say, but she desperately wanted to put Anastasia in her place. “The two of you sneaking off to the woods alone, people talk in this town. You have no idea what kind of rumors might spread.” she prayed that Feliks had missed the underhanded threat. She knew that Anastasia would hear it. 

“Would you really do that to Feliks? You know how much that would hurt him, how much it would hurt anyone. I’m trying to see good in you Galena, but you can’t even joke about starting a rumor like that. Lies like that start bigger issues than you can imagine.” Anastasia spoke passionately. Angry disbelief  blazed in her eyes.

Galena almost thought that she had gotten away with her threat without Feliks noticing when she saw Anastasia’s words register on his face. Oh no. He turned to her, appalled. 

“Galena, you wouldn’t.” 

“I would,” she snarled before she could stop herself. “I could spin all sorts of tales that wouldn’t even put you at risk.”

“Please, if you ruined my reputation nobody but you would ever consider me worthy of talking to ever again. That's what you want isn't it?” Feliks spat the words at her with pure disgust.

Galena took half a second too long to answer. She expected Feliks to be livid, and he was. What she hadn't expected was Anastasia's rage. Anastasia curled her fist then threw her hand to the ground. 

“People would believe anything about you, nobody knows you!” she knew she had made a huge mistake as soon as the words came out of her mouth. She had never seen Feliks look so angry. He jumped up and tackled her to the ground. Only, as he did this Galena’s foot slipped on the wet earth and they both fell into the river. 

The cold water hit like a stone and Galena plunged deep into the river. It didn’t help that they had fallen into the deepest, fastest, most unpredictable part of the river. Galena trashed but she couldn't find up. The current was strong. And an undercurrent pulled her down. She desperately pushed up but it was useless. Her boot caught on a rock at the bottom of the river. No, she couldn’t be this deep already. Her lungs screamed. Her head pounded. The current started to pull her back. Galena wanted to scream, but then the current was pulling her upwards. She could feel herself getting closer and closer to the surface. She broke the surface and coughed out water while at the same time she took the deepest breath of her life. How? That was all her delirious brain could fit together. Feliks was clinging to the river bank in a much shallower part of the river. He was shivering and looked badly shaken. Galena didn’t think that she looked much better. How? How was it possible for both of them to survive? Galena looked up and got her answer. Anastasia was redirecting the current around her so she could safely swim to shore. Anastasia looked exhausted, no doubt holding back a current that strong took a lot of effort. Galena didn’t wish to challenge luck again, she swam to the shallows with Feliks as fast as she could. They dredged themselves out of the water together. Anastasia ran to meet them. Her skin was glowing, she looked bright and luminescent and the look that Feliks was giving her made Galena want to throw a rock at her head, even if Anastasia had just saved her life.  

“Oh my goodness! Are you okay? Are you guys hurt?” Anastasia’s panic was tangible. Her eyes were wide and fear was choking out of her. “Please tell me you’re okay.” Anastasia was crying. Galena felt awful. It was what she had said that got them into this situation. It was her jealousy and actions. Before her guilt could borrow any further she realized with a start that Anastasia could manipulate water. Galena now knew someone else with supernatural gifts beside herself. Shocked, she stood and gaped up at her. Feliks barely reacted and Galena questioned if she had already told him about her abilities. His grateful smile confirmed her suspicions. Galena looked at Anastasia again. Abilities like this would have her hunted down and killed for witchcraft. There was no way that, if Galena was in Anastasia’s shoes, she would have exposed herself like Anastasia just did. Maybe that made Anastasia a better person than her. Galena had always been grateful for her gift, it was easy to keep hidden and whenever she used it to heal people she knew they wouldn’t go running to the church. For half a second the thought crossed Galena’s mind, she could expose Anastasia to the church. She knew that Feliks would never love her if she did that. So she discarded it as a plan. Galena had been so lost in thought she hadn’t noticed that Feliks and Anastasia had been talking for a while now. 

“Its okay, nobody saw, and nobody will find out.” Feliks had his hands on Anastasisa’s shoulders. “Right?” he added as he turned to her. 

“Right.” she nodded dumbly. Anastasia looked panicked. 

“Are you absolutely sure that nobody saw?” her face was pale and her hands trembled slightly. Galena couldn’t bring herself to feel any pity for her, she hadn’t been the one to take a plunge into the deep end of the river. 

“Yes, if anyone saw Galena and I fall in they would be yelling, nobody in their right mind would sit back and quietly wait to see what you would do.” Anastasia giggled nervously at that. Galena was shocked to see how hard Feliks was working to calm her down. He had never bothered to take such personal stock in her emotions. Galena clenched her fists. 

“You do understand why you can’t tell anybody right?” Anastasia had turned to her and Galena would have been offended by the question if not for the raw emotion in Anastasia’s voice. It caught her off guard and delayed her response. “I need you to keep this to yourself, I could get accused of witchcraft, I know you don’t care about me all that much, but if you told someone you would be putting yourself in danger too. I’m not one hundred percent sure how people would react, but worst case scenario you could be in trouble too.”Galena’s blood went cold. She knew how badly this would affect Anastasia but she hadn’t considered that it would have impacts on herself too. Feliks looked at her and she knew how badly it would hurt him if she betrayed Anastasia. She wouldn’t tell anyone about today. It made a difference though, a big difference. Galena now held something over Anastasia, something that Anastasia had foolishly handed to her. She could hardly imagine what she could hold over Anastasia with this turn of events. 

Chapter 5 Galena knew that the man her mother had dragged into the kitchen of their home was dying. He wasn’t dead quite yet but there was very little chance for him. It had been three days since Galena’s encounter with Anastasia and Feliks at the river. She hadn’t seen either of them since. Galena was glad for the distraction the man on their table held. Her thought had centered around Anastasia and Feliks every waking minute since the fight. Galena stood gathering towles and bandages for the man. Her bathroom had buckets of boiling water that made the space stuffy and humid. She heard her door open and footsteps come in. Galena’s mother was far too busy working to notice that someone had walked in. Galena paid little attention until she looked up and saw Feliks standing in the doorway.

“We need to talk.” Feliks looked her in the face, he wore little expression and that startled Galena.

“What makes you like her so much? What does she have that I don’t?” Pleading and anger were spilling out of Galena as she stood in the cramped and stuffy bathroom clutching the bloody towels to her chest. She didn't care if the blood got on her, hell, it already was all over her. Her mother was desperately attending to the bleeding man on their kitchen table and Galena was supposed to be getting more water and bandages. Instead she was fighting with Feliks. 

“Anastasia is smart, she’s beautiful, and she’s powerful. She’ll be a living saint one day.” Feliks looked like he wanted to continue but rage tore through Galena and she couldn't hold back her words. 

“Oh so just because she can manipulate water she’s suddenly a saint. I’m not normal either Feliks.”

“Galena you’re just a healer. You bandage the injured. That's not anywhere near what Anastasia can do.” she thought her anger had been at its limit but it bubbled like a pot of water boiling over. Power rippled through her and she turned out of the bathroom. Feliks followed. She pushed open the door to the kitchen and her mother looked up at her. Galena shoved her aside, she glared at Feliks with pure and undiluted rage and slammed her palms down on top of the knife wound in the man's chest. His flesh began to knit together from the inside out. The chambers of his heart reunited and it started to beat. The tissue slowly closed and he was left with a long scar across his chest. He was still asleep on the table. Galena’s mother was gawking at her in shock and awe. Of course she knew about Galena’s gift, and so had Feliks but they hadn't known the extent of it. They had seen Galena heal small cuts and bruises. If Galena was being honest she wasn't sure she could have saved that man without her anger as a crutch. She looked up at Feliks and was shocked to find that his expression had not changed. 

“Anastasia doesn't use her power to prove a point.” He turned and walked out. Galena was exhausted, emotionally and physically. She turned and ran to her room. Hardly getting past the door frame before the tears came. She changed out of her blood soaked dress and into a light blue one. Her hair had been braided away from her face and secured in a tight knot at the nape of her neck. She took out the pins keeping it in place and undid the braids around her face. She was still crying, although the tears came less forcefully. Her eyes were puffy and her nose was running. She ran her fingers along her sore, swollen eyes and they returned to normal. She wiped her nose on her sleeve, it itched for a minute and then stopped running.

Everything had been concrete her whole life. She had been in love with her best friend and simply waiting for him to feel the same. All that had changed when Anastasia Kravtsov had moved to town. Galena hated how quickly everything had changed. She loathed how fragile her relationship with Feliks had been. She didn’t believe they were soulmates anymore. Galena wasn’t sure she believed in soulmates now. She did still believe in power. Galena knew that no matter what changed in the world, power would always be attractive. If Feliks wanted a saint, then Galena would give him a saint. Galena was out the door a moment later and had walked into the town's marketplace blindly. An old, weary looking man was sitting in the shade. He was coughing when Galena approached him. Without a word she placed her hands on his shoulders. Her palms were warm as she called forward her healing abilities. The man had stopped coughing but his eyes held panic. 

“What did you do?” his voice was raspy, as if he hadn’t used it in days. His eyes were wide as he stared up at her.

“You are healed. Spread the word, tell everyone that the world strongest healer lives in this very village.” she hoped that sounded saintly enough for Feliks. The man stared at her incredulously. 

Galena spread her palms outward and turned to the gathering crowd. A small boy had a scraped knee and Galena made her way towards him. She was almost to him when an older boy stepped in front of him, a brother maybe? He pushed his arms in front of himself to add distance between the little boy and Galena. 

“We don’t want any of your witchcraft.” his snarl was jarring. Galena had never thought anybody  would view her gift like that. In anger she clenched her fists at her side. The older boy's face went pale in panic. He grasped at his throat, desperately clawing with wide, anxious eyes. Galena didn’t even realize that she was collapsing his windpipe until a woman cried out,

“She’s strangling him!” 

“Witch!” another man cried as a small stone hit her shoulder. 

Galena unclenched her fist and the boy took a deep, shuddering breath. The panic was still in his gaze. 

“What’s your name?” his voice was trembling but still held a bite. 

Galena hesitated for a moment. An idea sparked in her head, it was a long shot but she had spoken before she could reconsider. “Anastasia, my name is Anastasia Kravtsov.” The immediate guilt that clawed at her stomach made the lie harder to accept as a thing that she had actually done. The boy looked her in the eye and she knew she had just sentenced Anastasia to death. 

Chapter 6 Galena had sprinted into the woods in an attempt to get away. She had cautiously followed the sound of angry yelling to the town square. What she found shocked her. Everyone was gathered in the town square, around a wooden box on which stood Anastasia. The real Anastasia, not Galena, who had been the one who had gotten her into this deadly situation. Anastasia had tears running down her face. Galena’s gut twisted as guilt burned her throat. She had made a mess that she couldn’t fix. The yelling had been refined into a single chant, over and over again it rang like a bell in Galena’s ears. 

“Burn. The. Witch. Burn. The. Witch. Burn. The. Witch.” Galena was surprised to find herself crying. It was getting harder and harder to breathe properly. Her hands were shaking.  Her breaths were thin when a hand landed on her shoulder. She jumped, certain that she was about to be thrown into the crowd and put to death. Instead she turned and faced Feliks. 

“What did you do?” his voice was cold but livid fury flashed in his eyes. 

“I-” Galena started but had to force down a deep breath before she could get any words out. “I made a mistake.” 

“A mistake? And that's why Anastasia, the healer, is getting put to death?” so he had heard about what she had done. 

“I wasn’t thinking, Feliks, don't be upset.” she was reaching out her hand to touch his arm but he snached her wrist midair and held it tightly. 

“I have every right to be upset, but I’ll keep it together long enough to help Anastasia, and so will you.” Galena knew now that there was nothing she could do to fix how badly she had broken her relationship with Feliks. Even friendship was off the table now. Galena was hurt by the way he was looking at her, but the panic of the situation she had put them in masked it. 

They hurried across the edges of the crowd and watched as Anastasia was bound and thrown into the back of a wagon. The men who were driving it down the worn path weren't paying much attention as Galena and Feliks took the only chance they would get. They rushed forward as soon as the cart was out of town. The men had stopped to move a log that had fallen across the path. Feliks cut the rope tying Anastasia down and Galena helped her out of the ropes holding her wrists behind her back. They ran into the woods and Feliks guided them back to his house. These moments came in quick flashes of focused energy. Galena’s panic brought her attention to only freeing Anastasia. Feliks’ large family made their living farming, he found a wagon easily. It was packed with the most basic supplies and tools within minutes. With a small goodbye he and Anastasia were off into the night. Feliks hadn’t told her where they were going, Galena wasn’t sure he even knew. He was doing the right thing, leaving was smart. But Galena couldn’t help feel that they had abandoned her.

Her head buzzed with the same thoughts that had been plaguing her for the past week. Her mother wasn’t there when she walked into the house. Galena couldn’t bring herself to care where she might be. She hadn’t noticed that she was packing until she was nearly done. Almost as if she were in a trance she finished stuffing all that she would need in bags and found herself on the road. Galena had managed to talk a farmer delivering stock to a nearby town into giving her a ride. She didn't sleep as she stared out at the road ahead. Wondering where Feliks and Anastasia would be.Galena wished she was in Anastasia’s place, horrific as it might be seeing as her own actions had nearly gotten Anastasia killed. At least Anastasia had Feliks. They stopped in the next town. Galena had healed three people before she realized that she was leaving a trail for people to find. She didn’t care, at least she was leading Witch Hunters away from Feliks and Anastasia. She owed them that much. 

Chapter 7 Galena hadn’t been in that town long before she moved on to the next. She was at that one an even shorter time. She went on traveling, healing in each town. Weeks blurred together and in what felt like a blink, time slipped through her fingertips. It had been nearly two months since the night she ran, she hadn’t stopped running and the constant movement left her hollow and alone. Galena’s reputation grew and the number of people asking for healing grew with each town she passed through. The irony that she was occasionally called a saint wasn’t lost on her. 

She mostly healed people who were sick with the highly contagious plague. She had gotten even better with her gift as she continued to work on the illness. She was familiar with how it worked now. With that experience had grown fame. People traveled while in the worst of the plague just to see her. They said she was the only one capable of healing it. Galena hoped that Feliks and Anastasia heard about the healings and knew it was her. That petty thought grew stronger and stronger at each town she stopped in. She hoped they regretted everything that had happened, how they had pushed her to act. She had felt guilty that first night but as the weeks passed the guilt twisted and contorted into anger. They had abandoned her. Anastasia had stolen Feliks from her and then they both left her. She didn’t feel guilty anymore.  

Galena had just healed the last plague victim, a young boy with sunny blonde hair, and was about to set out on the road again when she saw seven large and heavily armed men talking with heads bent in the shade of a building. 

“Sankta!” a young woman to her left called out as Galena passed. The praise would have made Galena smile if one of the men hadn’t snapped his gaze up to stare at her. A deep chill flooded Galena’s blood. She desperately shushed the woman but she was preoccupied with chattering about Galena’s power. The man who had looked up at her was working his way towards her through the crowded streets and Galena snapped the woman’s vocal cords shut with a pinch of her fingers. The woman gasped and held her hand to her throat, the same panic that had flooded the boy she had stopped the heart of filtered into her gaze. The tall man was walking toward her even faster now. As if she had just confirmed his suspicions. Galena knew that this wouldn’t be an easy situation to get out of. She ran. Her feet hit the road hard and the crowd that had gathered to watch her heal got in her way at every turn. She swept her arms out, palms open. Forcing the crowd to part. Outraged cries echoed behind her. 

I can use my powers to heal the plague infested, but the second I use them to keep myself safe everyone is offended? Galena thought bitterly. She glanced behind her, she was losing the man who had originally moved towards her, just as she was starting to feel proud of herself she noticed another man coming from her left. She turned right, as fast as she could, into an ally. Galena barely kept her bag from flying off of her shoulder. The ally was dark and shadowed and she didn’t notice the man until she had run into him. His hands gripped her shoulders then quickly pulled her hands behind her back before she could even think to stop his heart. Rage boiled deep in Galena. They had herded her right into this ally. She tried to stomp on his foot but he spun and pushed her, face first against the brick wall.

“Don’t try anything foolish, witch” He spat the word witch with so much hatred that Galena shuddered. “Don’t talk either, I’ll slit your throat before I’ll let you talk your way to freedom.” he knew what he was doing, he had probably hunted others gifted like her. A weak, desperate plan was stirring in her head.  She knew it was a long shot, and if he figured out what she was doing he very well would slit her throat but she didn’t have any other options. His grip on her wrists didn’t restraign her fingers. With a twitch she sent a muscle in his calf spasming. He reached down to grab his leg, a grimace on his face. Galena snached her hands away from him and before he could react, stopped his heart. He paled and fell to the ground. Galena didn’t allow herself to stop, she had to keep moving. She sprained out of the ally the same way she had come in. She moved through the crowd without parting them, she blended in much better than she had before and was able to avoid the rest of the men by keeping her head down. She was on the outskirts of the town within minutes and was able to find a merchant that had come to see her who was willing to give her a ride to the next town. She cried that night. She hadn’t realized the danger she was in, she hadn’t known she was being hunted. She wondered now, how long until they caught up with her again. The man who she was traveling with informed her that there was only one town in the area. She was stuck with an extremely traceable path. Galena resolved herself to stay a couple days in that town, if she were lucky the hunters would assume that nobody was stupid enough to stay in a town they knew she would be in and move on ahead of her. She didn’t know what she would do after that, or what she would do if they found her. Galena didn’t sleep that night. Everytime she started to drift off she felt herself run into the man in the alley again, she felt his cold words again, she felt his heart stop at her hand again. She stared blankly behind the carriage the whole night. 

Chapter 8 Galena had arrived in Arkesk almost two days ago, she had healed too many people to count. She had slept and dined on the generosity of people who called her Sankta and gazed at her with wide, adoring eyes. She felt the creeping sense that someone was following her all of the time. Constantly looking over her shoulder to find nothing, the feeling only grew as time went on.

The anxiety that had been flooding her was at an all time high when she heard about the wedding. The first time the wedding was mentioned an old woman had suggested that she attend and bless the couple. Galena had dismissed the idea, not caring about a couple she didn’t know. Then she heard the bride’s name, Anastasia. She knew then that she had stumbled into the town where Feliks and Anastasia fled to. There was of course the chance that it was just another young woman named Anastasia but her luck was never that good. She had decided at that moment that she would go to the wedding. She had to stay in Arkesk for three more days to attend the wedding. Her anxiety had dissipated as soon as she learned that it was Feliks’ and Anastasia’s wedding.

The next three days passed in a blur. Galena spent most of the time healing others. The plague, which had been especially bad in Arkesk, had almost disappeared due to her tireless work. People were more appreciative here as well, it boosted her confidence and the whispers of worship that followed her brought a pleased pride to her spirit. She was sure that Feliks and Anastasia had heard of the Sankta healer; she figured that they were avoiding her. The town was small and it wouldn’t have been that unlikely to run into them. Galena wondered if they would be surprised to see her at their wedding, she thought it would have shocked her if she were in Anastasia’s place but Anastasia had always seemed to have a better grasp on what Galena was doing than Galena did on her. She shouldn’t care, she should have moved on past both of them. Galena had renown and followers. They called her the healing saint, cries of “Sankta” followed her from town to town. People knew who she was. Nobody, or at least nobody outside of this small town knew who Anastasia and Feliks were. She still wanted Feliks though. And that thought that Anastasia had taken him from her was inferating. They were engaged to be married, but the wedding hadn’t come yet, she still had a chance to steal him back.

When the day of the wedding finally came Galena marched to the church with furious determination. There was nothing and no one who would stop her from taking back what rightfully belonged to her; Feliks. She was seated alone in a pew against the back wall of the church. Alone, staring straight at the altar, with her arms crossed and her anger boiling she went surprisingly unnoticed. She expected that she would have made more of a stir, with the whole, ridding the town of the plague thing. Once again Anastasia overshadowed her. The thought made her anger pitch even hotter. Her anger only raised more as the wedding party made their way down the aisle. Feliks stood at the front of the church, grinning, it made Galena want to hurl. The music changed and Anastasia was floating down the aisle like an angel. That made Galena want to hurl even more. It also made her want to stand up and tear the stunning white gown off of Anastasia. She didn’t. Her anger cemented her to her seat. Anastasia took her place at the front and smiled a wide, radiant smile at Feliks. Galena’s hands curled into fists at her sides. They started their vows. Galena tuned them out. Lost in her own thoughts, until she saw the first of the tears slip from Feliks eyes. She was shocked. Galena had known Feliks for years and she had never once seen him cry. He had seemed to feel life in an apathetic way, never reacting very strongly to anything. In the time he had met Anastasia she had seen that change in him. She knew for certain that Anastasia had somehow taught him that it was okay to free his feelings. Galena had only ever taught him to lock them up. That small realization acted like a key, opening a locked door full of truths that she didn’t want to face. Before she had even realized it was happening her anger slipped away. Galena watched, entranced as tears flowed freely from Feliks. He held Anastasia’s hands like they were sacred jewels. Anastasia herself was smiling the most beautiful, all encompassing, joyful smile Galena had ever seen. She was glowing, glowing with pure undiluted happiness. Galena realized then that Anastasia gave Feliks something that she had never given him. Anastasia was home for Feliks, and he was home for Anastasia. Galena’s heart hurt, in part because of the pain that Feliks would never look at her the way he was gazing at Anastasia, but mostly because she had caused Feliks pain for so many years and had never even realized it. She hadn't noticed her own tears until a fat drop rolled down her cheek. Feliks was saying his vows in a wobbly emotional voice. He was gazing at Anastasia like she was a brilliant sun set. Galena knew then that she had been wrong. Wrong on so many occasions. Feliks and Anastasia belonged together. It was time for her to stop interfering. She didn’t have the slightest idea what to do now, she just knew she needed to stay long enough to apologize to both of them.

Galena was in a similar awe-like state the rest of the ceremony. Feliks and Anastasia shared a joyful glow that lit the whole room. Galena stumbled along with the crowd of guests as they made their way into the church’s basement for the dinner. Feliks and Anastasia joined them a moment later. A short girl with dark hair and eyes who was bouncing with excitement chattered to the room about Anastasia and Feliks. Galena was standing against the back wall. The girl’s bubbly monologue was fumbled as her attention caught on a tall man who was whispering something to Feliks. The look on Feliks face made Galena’s stomach drop. Then she heard it for herself, the crisp military voices echoing from the top floor of the church. Witch Hunters.

Chapter 9 Panic was flooding Galena’s blood. The Witch Hunters were her for her no doubt, but if they knew about Anastasia they would take her too. Judging from the tall man and short girls concerned expressions they thought that it was possible the hunter were here for Anastasia. 

Well, a very sidetracked part of Galena’s mind mused, it’s good that Anastasia and Feliks have made close friends since moving. The sudden and sharp sound of footsteps on the stairs yanked Galena’s attention back to the matter at hand. The small girl was now pushing through the crowd in the way only the very short could, Anastasia and Feliks trailing behind her with the tall man at their backs. Galena followed their movements without thinking. She was almost stopped in her tracks when she saw one of the men who had herded her like cattle in one of the last villages. 

“I’m looking for the bride,” his voice boomed with authority, “I’m looking for the girl named Anastasia.” it took Galena a moment to wrap her head around the statement. His band of Hunters had been looking for her last she knew, they had followed her from her own home town if she guessed correctly. Then it struck her, a memory painful like a slap to the face. She had given Anastasia’s name. These men were hunting Anastasia as surely as they were hunting her. 

By the time they reached the small door that led off to a side room the wedding guests were stampeding for the door. Galena slipped inside after Anastasia and Feliks. The short girl and tall man were gone with the crowd. It was just Galena, Feliks, and Anastasia in the room. Feliks had his head half in the fireplace that took up one wall of the small room. 

“Galena?” Anastasia’s voice was shocked. Had she really not realized that Galena was in attendance?

“Hello Anastasia, Feliks.” she nodded to Feliks who had turned from the fireplace very suddenly. “I’m going to help you escape,” she added when neither of them spoke. 

She heard the footsteps on the other side of the door and without thinking whirled and, gazing through the window curled her hand into a fist. She saw the man tumble to the ground.  Anastasia gawked at her. Galena’s mind was spinning. If the Hunters broke the door down and saw Anastasia in her wedding dress they would kill her as well as Galena.

Feliks gasped and pulled Anastasia toward the fireplace. 

“We can climb up the fireplace. It's the only way out.” he was urgently ushering her into the fireplace. Anastasia tried twice to climb into it but her skirts were too full to fit in the narrow passage. The idea came to Galena, 

“Trade dressed with me,” Galena said. Anastasia looked at her for a moment before the panic cleared and she understood. Anastasia nodded. She turned to Feliks. 

“Go, please, climb up first and I’ll meet you at the top.” he shook his head fiercely.

“I won't leave you.” 

“Don’t be stupid. You’d be wasting time, we're wasting time even now.” This seemed to convince him. He was already climbing the chimney as Galena and Anastasia traded clothing. As Galena pulled off her dress and handed it to Anastasia. 

“I’m sorry, Oh Anastasia, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.” Anastasia shook her head but she didn’t know the extent of Galena’s betrayal. She didn’t know that Galena had named her as a witch and caused all of these problems to begin with. “It is, all of it. I’m sorry. I could say it everyday for the rest of my life and it wouldn’t be enough.”  Anastasia was helping her button up the back now. “He really loves you, I’ve never seen him love anyone or anything so much. You are his whole world. Please cherish him. I know he will always cherish you.” Anastasia was crying, silent tears and nodding. Galena knew that Anastasia was well aware of what she planned to do. Galena whirled away from her then. “Go, please. I can't open the door until you’re climbing up.” 

“Thank you” that was all Anastasia said before she turned and started climbing up the chimney. 

It took Galena a moment to work up the courage to open the door. There were men in the basement of the church. They had been searching the rooms and it had been by pure luck that they hadn’t checked the room she had just come from. Well, at least one of them had. Maybe the only luck she had was that he hadn’t screamed when she stopped his heart. One of the men whirled to look at her. Before she could think he was sprinting to her. Viciously grabbing her wrists and yanking them behind her back. The other hunters were on her too. They marched her up the stairs, Anastasia was taller than Galena and she kept tripping on the skirts. To her luck they didn’t pay much mind to her wardrobe malfunction. She was shoved to her knees outside of the church. People had gathered around. Cries and chants of “witch, witch, witch” echoed in the town. It was funny to her, Galena thought as the hunters tied her hands very tightly, that one day she was Sankta, and the next she was Witch. The hunter had tied her hands very thoroughly. Going as far as to tie her palms together so she couldn’t use her power. He tied her ankles next, then threw her into a wagon. She was too tired to fight. Too exhausted and humiliated and hurt by her own actions to make herself stand up. She could do nothing but hope that Anastasia and Feliks had made their way out of the town. She bounced in the back of the wagon, tied up like a hog for hours. She was almost asleep when she heard the yipping and snarling. She suspected wolves. The snarling and howling were getting closer. She finally let herself scream. 

Chapter 10 Anastasia stood at the steps of the church and looked lovingly at her husband as he ran down the steps after the clumsy, chubby cheeked toddler. Their clumsy, chubby cheeked toddler. Feliks and Anastasia had been married seven years ago. Every anniversary they made their way to a church to remember Galena. She had been sanctified three years after her death. They called her Sankta Anastasia, which always made Anastasia cringe. She wished more than almost anything in the world that Galena was remembered in her own name. The only two things that soothed this was that Feliks remembered Galena, and that the image painted and crafted in stained glass windows was entirely Galena. It held her image, kind and merciful, with serene wisdom on her face. That was not how Anastasia had known Galena for most of the time they had been acquainted but it perfectly encompassed how she had been right before she died. Anastasia was grateful every moment of everyday for Galena’s sacrifice. If she hadn’t made her sacrifices Feliks and Ananstasia could have never been as they were now. Anastasia looked down at their son again, he was only here because of Galena’s sacrifice. 

It was Anastasia’s goal as a mother to raise her son into a man that Galena would have been proud to die for. The wise mature Galena who had made a decision so hard that Anastasia doubted she herself would have been able to make the same one.  

“Gotcha!” Feliks grabbed their son and swung him up onto his shoulders. Anastasia beamed. Anastasia had caught up to the boys and slipped her hand into Feliks. “I love you Ana.” He said as he brushed a kiss to her temple. He had called her Ana almost the whole time he had known her. The only other person who had ever called her Ana was her mother. 

“I love you too Feliks.” He had loved her, every moment they had been together, just as Galena had said he would. An all encompassing love, as if nobody else in the world mattered more than her. At least, until their son was born. 

Anastasia ran her hand over her round belly. She was about seven months along with her second baby and it was their biggest source of excitement nowadays. The baby, another miracle that they could thank Galena for. Anastasia knew that she would spend the rest of her life counting things she could thank Galena for, her children, eventually her grandchildren, to be able to see Feliks’ hair slowly pepper into grey, to be able to hold her son when he told her of falling in love with a girl, to gather flowers for her children’s weddings. So many moments, big and small, that she would only have Galena to thank for. She turned to look at the church again, the stained glass image of Galena caught the setting sun and she glowed a soft gold. 

Thank you, thank you for all of it. Anastasia turned her gaze to Feliks. Thank you for him most of all. 

[thebiasrekkers]

Make It Right [BTS Mafia!AU]

Plot: “It’s always darkest before the dawn…” It’s a dog-eat-dog world in Seoul, South Korea. One has to dwell in the shadows in order to reach for the light. What are you willing to sacrifice in order to feel the sunlight on your face? What will it take to drag you back into darkness? How long will the journey be to make it right?

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Genre: Series | Mafia!AU | Crime!AU | Angst | Romance/Fluff | Smut

Pairings: Jin x OC | Taehyung/Hoseok x OC | Yoongi/Jungkook x OC

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Heavy Language, Angst, Slow Burn, Smut

Additional Warnings: Teasing, Fingering, Spanking, just Jin being a dirty little lover (LOL)

Previous Chapters: Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || Admin E’s WP || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 3,795

Tag List: @prisczero​, @pinkpjmin​, @btsaudge​, @flowerwrites06​, @unoriginal-username15432, @halussali​

Chapter 37: Awake

“It’s not that I believe it, but that I want to try holding out...”

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

The rain fell in heavy torrents outside. Seokjin sat at his desk, elbows resting on the surface with his fingers pressing together. If anyone happened to enter his office at that moment, they quickly vacated the room without disturbing him. He was usually kind, impressionable, and full of answers to the many questions that were thrown at him. He had a gentle smile or soft reprimand prepared for any situation.

Kim Seokjin’s current expression, however, would have frightened anyone who dared to look upon it.

His eyes, normally bright, were exceptionally dark and fierce. Full lips were pressed together in a semi-thin line as brows furrowed harshly over his eyes. The only sound resonating through the room was the steady ticking of the clock hanging over his bookshelf. A pin could drop in the room and it would have sounded like a gunshot fired off.

Why?

It was a single question that continued to bounce around inside of Seokjin’s head for days. No, weeks. He knew that there would be unrest in the criminal underworld upon their departure. It was a given. Gangnam and Yongsan were not small territories. All the other district heads were salivating at the idea that Golden Jackal turf was up for auction – metaphorically speaking. There would be no bidding for those areas. It would be an all-out war.

What disturbed Seokjin the most, the nagging concern that continued to plague his waking hours, was why no one seemed bothered into making a move. None of them. Not even Dongwook turned his head in the direction of those two territories. Something was brewing under the surface, far below the sight of the normal world. The underground was horrifying without all the clichés. It was dirty and festering like a wound that had been allowed to become infected.

His eyes narrowed slightly. …why isn’t anyone moving?

Seokjin’s calculations were normally spot on – perfect to the point of it being eerie. His call to hold off opening the hotel to timing down when, exactly, the others would need to pull out of the game. Namjoon and he spent many late nights figuring all the ins and outs to the tiniest of details. The Golden Jackals were able to succeed up to this point thanks to them both combining their efforts to see through every move and calculate all countermeasures.

However, it was clear the Jade Fangs were preparing for things far in advance. He recalled Namjoon’s face after the encounter he’d had with Shownu. As far back as Seokjin could remember, he’d never seen Namjoon reveal such an expression. There was anger, of course, but something akin to uncertainty that, had any of the others been privy to it, would have lost all motivation to continue down the path they were currently on. They hadn’t made a mistake. Seeing either Hoseok, Namjoon, or even himself waver would have made all their work disintegrate into a puff of smoke.

They couldn’t let that happen.

The shrill sound of the phone shattered Seokjin’s thought process. He cut his eyes toward it, watching the red light flash with each ring. Reaching out, he picked it up from the receiver.

“This is Kim Seokjin,” he answered calmly.

“Oh, Hyung,” Jimin said on the other line. There was a tone-shift that Seokjin instantly recognized. Jimin was uncomfortable with something, but he was unsure of whether or not to tell Seokjin about it.

Seokjin sighed. “What is it, Jimin-ah?”

Jimin hesitated, as if trying to piece together the situation he was dealing with at that exact moment. “You, uh…you have a guest?”

It was a question. Seokjin frowned, his eyes lowering to his cell phone to see that he’d received a text from Anastasia. He’d given her the day off and now he was regretting it. She would have chased this person off the premises, of that he was most certain. He sighed, unable to stave off the grin at the little kitty emoji she’d sent him, along with the words “Fighting” at the end.

“Who is it?”

“…it’s Wonho Hyung.”

He blinked, his gaze lifting to the doors to his office. No. It was a good thing that Anastasia wasn’t in the office now. Seokjin recalled the look on Wonho’s face when he’d first laid eyes on his financial advisor.

Dissolved or not, The Ice Claw of the Golden Jackals would not stand for it.

“Send him in,” Seokjin said finally. He could hear Jimin beginning to protest but he silenced him with a harsh click of his tongue. “Send him in, Jimin-ah.” He hung up the phone, promptly ending the conversation.

Rising from his seat, Seokjin made his way toward the side bar in his office. He didn’t bother turning his head as the doors opened and closed. Instead, he focused on preparing the drinks for both himself and his “guest”. As he poured the gin into the glass, he heard a familiar chuckle to his right.

“You remembered,” gruffed Wonho, his shadow casting itself just over Seokjin’s shoulder, “I’m impressed.”

Turning slightly, he met Wonho’s gaze – the man grinning easily as his lip piercing glinted from the fluorescent lighting of the room. Seokjin held the glass of gin out to him, waiting for it to leave his fingers before returning his attention to the liquor decanters. Dropping two cubes of ice into a tumbler, he let the amber liquid fall into the container – the distinct smell of scotch filling his nares.

“Who could forget your horrible choice of booze, Wonho-yah?” Seokjin turned back to Wonho and the two of them clinked their glasses together.

He gestured to the lounge area of his office where they had a clear view of the city from a large set of bay windows. Seokjin pressed a button on the wall, allowing the curtains to part so the lights of the city could fill the space between them. They both leaned along the frame, their bodies opposite of each other, not really paying their drinks any real mind. Or the city.

Seoul bustled with life below them. Cars zoomed past; pedestrians milled about – heading to unknown destinations. But the noise of the city never reached them.

There was only the sound of the clock ticking away.

Seokjin lifted his drink up to his lips, taking a slow sip to savor the smooth burn that slid down his throat. He didn’t have to look up to know that Wonho was sizing him up. But like always, Seokjin’s body gave nothing away.

“You’re not even going to ask me why I’m here, Jin Hyung,” Wonho said, amusement clear in his tone. It wasn’t a question.

The corner of Seokjin’s mouth lifted in a half grin as he continued to stare out across the cityscape. “Should I?”

“You’re not the least bit curious.”

This time, he let his gaze shift to meet Wonho’s. “Again, should I?”

Wonho’s grin widened, causing the chain connecting his lip ring to his earring to move. “It’s because you already know why.”

Seokjin shrugged. “This is becoming a one-sided conversation rather quickly, don’t you think?” He narrowed his eyes to Wonho ever so slightly. “So, why don’t you do us both a favor and get to the point of this little visit already, hm?”

For a while, neither of them said a word. All they did was smile at each other. Then Wonho began to chuckle; a low and rumbling sound. Seokjin followed suit with a slow building laugh of his own. Finally, both men were laughing loudly, their shoulders practically vibrating from the gesture.

He felt the movement before seeing it. The two men dropped their drinks, the shattering of glass lost to them as their bodies seemed to move of their own accord. Seokjin’s body shifted to the right just as Wonho’s arm thrust out to land a hit to his shoulder. Jerking his elbow up, he knocked into Wonho’s forearm and took a step forward at the same time he did. Seokjin’s arm shot out, his hand immediately clamping over Wonho’s throat seconds after he felt the blow to his ribs. The muscles in his biceps flexed, forcing Wonho’s weight to the left until the other man’s head was pressed against the glass window.

Seokjin winced at the pain blossoming at his core, causing the other man to chuckle, albeit strained from the hold the older man had on him.

“Y-You’ve gotten a little slower, J-Jin Hyung.” Wonho was in obvious discomfort, but still felt like cracking jokes.

Grinning, he dug his fingers into Wonho’s flesh just a bit more, silencing the noises coming from him. “Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I know.” Seokjin felt Wonho grab at his wrist, attempting to loosen the hold he had on his neck. “Falling in love has made you weak.”

The smirk fell from Seokjin’s face, as if Wonho slapped it away. Replacing the momentary look of shock was absolute rage. He squeezed harder, watching the other man’s face change to a concerning shade of red. Seokjin took a step forward, his chest just barely pressing up against Wonho’s.

“Come again?” Wonho coughed against his grasp but Seokjin showed no signs of easing up. “You wanna run that by me one more time, Lee Wonho?”

Instead of answering, the younger man simply laughed. That simple action was enough for Seokjin as realization washed over him like a bucket of ice water. After everything he’d heard from the others, he’d allowed his guard to slip for even a second. And Seokjin was infuriated at the victorious expression painting Wonho’s features.

Goddammit, he thought, the vein at his neck pulsing in time with his ire. He glared at Wonho, wanting in that moment to give into impulse and smash him through the window. Fucking Jack Rabbit…

Taking a step back, he watched as Wonho began to cough and massage his neck. There was a distinct crunch of glass under them as they shuffled over the broken shards. Neither of them paid it any mind. Not when it was obvious that the trap, small as it was, had been sprung.

“It’s just like I thought,” the other man finally managed to croak out, a strained chuckle tacked on the end of his words, “and I told Changkyun-ah what would happen.”

Seokjin pressed a hand to his side, unable to ignore the ache of pain there any longer. “Whatever game you think you’re playing, you need to stop.”

Again, Wonho laughed. “If you weren’t going to finish the game, you never should have started playing in the first place.”

“What’d you say?”

“Did you forget, Jin Hyung? When you first showed up in Seoul all those years ago? Before the Golden Jackals even came around?” Wonho was smiling, but his tone was full of barbs. “You all turned down the offer to become a Jade Fang. One of Changkyun’s people. After getting an in and obtaining all the knowledge you needed, you spat in our faces and left to form your own group.”

Seokjin didn’t know whether to be outraged or laugh. He chose a mixture of both. “Did you think we were going to become Im Changkyun’s lackeys? ” he asked, his brows raising slightly. “Have you lost your mind?”

“We offered you a place at our table—”

“And we didn’t want it, Wonho,” Seokjin cut in, not sure of what to make of this conversation now, “we never did.”

“That’s fine,” he said easily, strolling past Seokjin, “and since Hoseok clearly doesn’t want to join hands with Changkyun, then there’s nothing else for us to really talk about.”

Seokjin turned around just as he saw Wonho heading for the door.

“Ya, Lee Wonho!”

The younger man paused, his fingers resting on the door handle. Wonho glanced over his shoulder to meet Seokjin’s gaze, his smile remaining.

“You better know where the line is.” Seokjin’s eyes narrowed severely. “Don’t even dream of crossing it.”

Instead of replying, Wonho’s grin grew, and then he exited the office – leaving Seokjin alone to feel suffocated by the silence.

…it’s almost time.

He didn’t wait for Anastasia to greet him with her warm, bubbly smile like she so often did when he came to see her. He wouldn’t let her take his coat or offer him a drink. He hadn’t bothered with teasing remarks like he usually did when they were behind closed doors.

Completely ignoring the house slippers, he kicked his shoes off in the entryway and hoisted Anastasia into his arms. She flailed, her hands pressing into his shoulders as she made every attempt to get him to slow down. In ten seconds, he already had her back pressed against the window of her apartment – his arms taking comfort in the cold emitting from the surface. The deep desire was building in Seokjin’s lips, completely overtaking her own.

Tasting her was a sin he willingly committed every chance he could get.

Whatever words Anastasia had were gone and Seokjin didn’t want to talk. He wanted to feel everything; feel her. If she wanted to talk, he would simply rob her of the ability to speak until he was ready for any kind of conversation.

“S-Seokjin,” she managed to puff out when he’d released her mouth, “w-wait a minute.”

Her mewl of protest halted him momentarily, his dark eyes boring into her deep seas of green. Anastasia looked like a deer caught in headlights and he bit back a grin. Instead, his thumb slowly traced the line of her brow all the way to her lips. Tucking the tip of it between the rosy buds, now swollen from his affection, he leaned in to further crowd her space.

“Y-You haven’t eaten yet,” Anastasia stammered, her back pressing further into the window as he, too, took a step into her bubble. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“I am.” His answer came out huskier than he’d intended, causing her cheeks to flush further.

She tried to push against him, but he didn’t move a single inch.

“T-Then let me cook already!”

Seokjin shook his head, leaning down so that his lips were barely brushing across hers. “Dinner can wait.”

Before she could protest, he was already dipping his hands under her baggy sweatshirt – his cold hands instantly warmed by her soft skin nestled beneath. She yelped from his touch and he leaned forward, whispering apologies before sealing his mouth over hers in a heated kiss. Caressing her stomach, he slid his hands around her back until his knuckles brushed over the waistband of her flannel pajama pants. He dipped them beneath, grabbing handfuls of her ass in his palms and lifting her up and against him.

She wrapped her legs around his waist without having to be asked and Seokjin grinned, giving her a good squeeze as he moved – legs slowly ascending the stairs leading to her bedroom loft. When his knees knocked against the edge of the bed, he held Anastasia against him as he leaned back, his hands moving to pull her sweatshirt completely off her torso. Goosebumps immediately peppered across her skin and he began to kiss her collar, his tongue sliding across to her shoulder until he was able to bite into the meat of the muscle there.

Groaning softly, he gently lowered her body down. Just before she was about to reach the bed, however, Seokjin pinched at the back of her calves, causing her grip to release him as she unceremoniously flopped onto the mattress. Her face screwed up in obvious displeasure, but Seokjin didn’t allow her time to issue a complaint. His hands were already at work, gripping onto the waist of her pants and yanking them off in one clean motion. Anastasia’s eyes widened and she attempted to scramble up the bed, away from him, but he was fine with that.

He preferred the hunt.

Seokjin shed his jacket and blazer with little effort on his part, leaning down to remove his socks while maintaining his gaze with the beautiful woman he’d become attached to more and more with every passing day they spent together. Even when they weren’t together, he was enraptured with her and there was an angry imp inside of him cursing Wonho for seeing it clearly when Seokjin, himself, had not bothered to give it a voice.

Love.

“Are you running from me?” he asked while slowly removing his tie. “Huh, Anastasia?”

She looked gob smacked by his question – as if she truly couldn’t believe what was coming out of his mouth. To be fair, he couldn’t blame her. He’d hardly been this aggressive. Ever.

Seokjin snatched her by her ankle, yanking her roughly toward him. There was a half cry, half laugh that exploded from Anastasia. He loved her laugh and he loved knowing that he was the reason for it. Once her legs were dangling on either side of him, he quickly unbuttoned his dress shirt and tossed it to the floor without a second glance. His bare torso was exposed and he could feel the chill running through the air. He pouted slightly while Anastasia seemed almost lost at looking at his body, as if appreciating it for the first time.

“You’re not poor, you know?” He watched her blink up at him, like she’d been knocked out of a trance. He slid his belt off and it, too, hit the floor. “Why do you keep being cheap about the heat?”

Anastasia’s face contorted into child-like outrage. “Ya, Kim Seokjin!”

Seokjin let his hand sail down to her underwear, his palm cupping the warmth that cropped there. He let a middle finger press into the fabric, feeling the nub that was starting to throb and grow wet under his touch. Whatever rebuttals she had were silenced as he rubbed slow, agonizing circles around her clit over the surface of her panties. He could smell her, wanting nothing more than to cover his entire body in that scent.

As he continued to rub circles around her nub, distracting her, his other hand reached down and pulled her underwear completely off her hips. She gasped, her warmth exposed to the frigid air. Seokjin dropped his trousers and groaned at the ache in his loins – his erection fighting against the confines of his boxer briefs. Anastasia reached out to grasp his forearms, unsure of what he was going to do next but silently letting him know that she was ready.

Grabbing for her waist, he flipped her over until her ass bounced in the air – watching her honey wheat locks escape from the updo she’d tied it in and spill over her back. His cold hands slid along the curve of her spine until his fingers flicked over the clasp of her bra – releasing the latch and watching the article flutter to the bed.

He watched her body shudder as she attempted to keep herself up on all fours, admiring the way her folds glistened. Her pale skin flushed and Seokjin already knew that she was becoming self-conscious. Tsking under his breath, he reached out to firmly smack her ass – watching it grow red where his hand was. Anastasia choked out a gasp, and he grinned as her fingers curled into the blankets.

“Are you acting shy? Hm?”

Anastasia whined. He knew she was unable to voice her tantrum to his outrageous question. He smacked her other ass cheek for good measure, eliciting soft, whining mewls from her.

“I’ve told you a million times already,” Seokjin whispered, his fingers sweeping down over her folds to catch the juices from her, “that you’re beautiful.”

He lifted his hand to his lips, swirling his tongue over the digits, making sure that she was watching. There was a hint of a smirk on her lips and Seokjin leaned forward, pressing his chest against her backside and feeling her velvet heat along his stomach. Shimmying out of his underwear, his erection sprung forward, rock hard and aching with desire that he knew only she could satisfy.

She knew it too.

Pressing his hand against her back, he forced her chest to rest along the bed so that her ass was up just a little bit higher. He curled inward, pressing his lips against her spine to trail kisses all the way down until he pressed his lips on both red marks on her ass. Soothing balms for the punishment he’d given her. Seokjin saw her reaching as far as she could towards the headboard, her hands finding the pillow and digging into the soft plush until her knuckles were ghostly white.

Grasping onto her hips with bruising force, Seokjin slid into her fully in one thrust – the world falling to a raw tilt that had his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Anastasia cried out in both pain and pleasure, his name falling from her lips like a litany to a deity that no longer existed but was desperately being summoned. He took his time sliding out of her, his tip just scarcely brushing along her folds, before pushing all the way in. The cadence was slow, deliberate, until he couldn’t take it anymore. The climb was harsh, nails raking along her pale skin as she continued to clutch with ferocity into the sheets and pillows – her voice muffled in the cotton while taking him every single time.

And when he couldn’t handle the pacing he was dragging them both through, when he knew she couldn’t handle it anymore, Seokjin increased speed – thrusting like a piston with precision. The spot that felt the best, the part that satisfied him, was finally within reach. He could feel her walls closing in around him, gripping with a need to keep him there – to continue hitting that spot.

So, he did.

Over.

And over.

And over again.

His chest fell across her back, their cries intermingling as their climax was reached together. Sweat soaked their bodies and the hot, musky scent of their sex filled the small space. Grasping onto her shoulders, Seokjin pulled them both to land on their sides. He stayed inside of her, the soft throb of her heat holding him there; tethering him in a way that he was in no rush to free himself from. Anastasia’s breathing eased out as he brushed her bangs away from her forehead affectionately, his other hand wrapping around her from underneath so he could keep his palm pressed between the cleft of her breasts – to feel her heartbeat.

When he was confident that she’d fallen into a light sleep, Seokjin pressed a kiss to her neck and then let his lips linger near the shell of her ear.

“…I love you.”

[deans-baby-momma]

The Padackles Link-Ch 61

The sun reflects off the water, making the day seem brighter and the rays warming our skin. After cruising across Lake Austin for most of the morning, playing games with the kids and making sure none of them leaned over the side too far, we decide to head back to shore for lunch.

Jensen and Jared keep the older kids occupied with a game of tag while Gen and I set up a blanket in a semi-shaded area and bring the baskets and coolers from the truck. Jackson sits in his carseat, happily laughing and babbling while watching his dad and sister running around playing with his uncle and cousins.

As soon as the food is prepared, I call everyone over. “Grub’s on. Come eat!”

The five of them sprint over, their eyes lighten up at the array of goodies displayed. I position JJ to sit in between Tom and Shep on the blanket and go about filling their plates with the PB&J squares I had prepared, along with some peeled apple slices, grapes and carrot and celery sticks. Balancing the three individual plates in my hands, I carefully walk them over and pass one to each kid. 

Turning around, I notice the guys have already began to dig into their food and Gen is making her own plate. I reach into the cooler and bring out three bottles of apple juice and after opening them up, I place one beside each kid then go to get my plate and fill it full of scrumptious food.

Once my plate is to my liking, I take a seat between Jay and the carseat, coming in on the end of a conversation between the two men. 

“….yea we can do that, if you want. I’ll call Clif and see if he’s available.” Jensen says.

“Available for what?” I ask as I bite into the chicken salad sandwich I had picked up.

“Golfing. Jared and I are discussing getting a few holes in next week, weather permitting,” Jay answers as he looks down at me. Smirking he reaches out and swipes his thumb across my upper lip and licking the chicken salad that was there off his digit.

I smile up at him. “My hero,” I joke, earning laughs from our friends. 

“Shut up,” Jay mumbles bashfully and picks up his own sandwich and finishing it off. We all sit and enjoy the warm day while the kids continue eating before being ready for dessert. Gen sits her plate to the side and goes to get up but I notice she is still eating so I quickly jump into action and pass out the bags of animal crackers I had thrown in at the last minute. “You eat,” I tell her. “I got them.” 

When Jackson starts to whimper I turn and unbuckle him and lift him out of his seat. “Little man hungry too?” I grab his blanket and throw it over my shoulder, effectively covering myself and him. I reach under and pull my bikini top down and help him to latch on to my breast. 

“Daya. I done,” JJ says, trying to get up but having trouble untangling her legs from the position she had been in but finally succeeding. She stands up and I notice the crumbs from the cookies stuck to her damp body.

“Okay, baby girl. I’m feeding brother but come here and let me clean you off.” Using my free hand, I lightly brush the food particles from her. “Go sit with Daddy until he gets done and then maybe he and Uncle Jared will take you and the boys to the park, okay?”

“Kay.” I watch as she toddles over to Jensen and plops down next to him, in my old spot and sit quietly while he is still talking to Jared and Gen.

One by one, the boys get done with their snacks and instead of going to their mother to be cleaned up they take turns coming to me and I dust them off and send them to their parents. As I get done feeding Jackson and getting ready to transfer him to the other side, I look up at Gen and notice she is watching me. I smile at her and she returns it. 

When the sun begins to lower in the sky and all three of the older kids begin to get whiny and cranky, we decide to call it a day and start to load up the vehicles. Once everyone is buckled in safe in their seats, I turn to Gen and hug her. 

“Thanks for this morning,” I say. “I don’t know how you did it. I didn’t realize that she would be so cruel about us wanting to spend time with Justice.”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Gen replies. “She needs to chill and realize that she’s lucky. Jensen wants to spend time with his daughter. Some men don’t.”

“Yea,” I say, not really knowing what else to add to that. Gen is absolutely correct. I saw it many times when I was in the system. A couple would have a child and then something would happen and the man would deny his kid. It was heartbreaking and tragic. Thank goodness Jensen wasn’t like that. He loves his daughter as much as he loves our son. 

As soon as we are on the road towards home, I look back and see that JJ has passed out in her seat and from where I can see Jackson is also.

“Looks like we wore them out today,” I tell Jensen with a grin. “I bet they’ll sleep good tonight.”

“I hope so because I got a surprise for you later,” he chuckles and I look at him, curious.

“Oh really? And what would that be?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” he says, linking out fingers together and bringing our hands up to his mouth to kiss my knuckles. I watch as he does and he looks over at me and wiggles his eyebrows and then winks.

“Ooo. Is it a sexy surprise?” I goad, hoping he will give in and tell me but knowing when Jensen Ackles sets his sights on something, he is going to do whatever it takes to make it happen. Even if that is leaving me in the dark about his plans.

“Maybe,” he says. “I’ll drop you off with Jackson and you can get him bedded down while I take JJ home. Take care of yourself too and look in the third drawer of the chest in the closet.”

“Oh-kay.”

When Jensen pulls into the garage he turns the ignition off and opens the door to help me get the baby and the picnic supplies into the house. Once everything is inside, he pulls me into his arms and kisses me, taking my breath away.

“Thank you for today, baby. It’s just what I needed. You are so good to me. You take such great care of us, not only me and Jackson but JJ too. I was missing her something terrible.”

“I know, Jay. I knew you were. That’s why I bore the brunt of Dani's hostility to make it happen.”

“I love you Drea,” he says, with another peck on my lips. “Now go get little man settled down and do whatever you need to do. I’ll be back shortly.”

I watch as he leaves and heads back to the garage. Jackson is still sleeping comfortably in his seat but I know with the sunscreen on his skin and the grime on him from the water when we went wading, he definitely needs a bath.

Knowing he is going to be pissed that I am interrupting his rest, I gently unbuckle and lift Jackson out of his seat tenderly as not to jostle him. He begins squirming and whimpering, his complaints about the disruption being made clear.

“I know baby boy. I know,” I coo to him. “But we have to get you cleaned up. You don’t want to go to bed all dirty and sweaty.” I walk into the bathroom, turning the lights on low so as it doesn’t blind either of us. Settling my whimpering son into the crook of my arm, I bend over and turn the faucet on, grabbing his tub and sitting it into the bottom of the porcelain cask to let it fill up. 

I turn my attention back to Jackson and begin to undress him, blowing raspberries on body parts that I uncover in the process, causing him to giggle.

Jensen pulls into the driveway of the place he used to call home. Things have changed so much in such a short time. When he and Danneel had moved to Austin after they got married, they had immediately found and fell in love with the dwelling and after a few adjustments and remodeling, it had become their dream house. Now he is an outsider. 

He looks over his shoulder at his little princess, Justice Jay, asleep in her seat. Drea knew exactly how to surprise him and had somehow managed to bring his baby girl along. He fell in love with Drea more every day for the little things she did. She took care of not only him, but their son and their home and she could perceive when he was sad and upset and missing JJ. 

 As quietly as he could he exits the vehicle and walks around to open the back passenger door. Carefully unblocking the sleeping little girl, he lifted her up and settled her on his side,  her head laying on his shoulder. Jensen grabs JJ's bag and heads toward the front door.

Dannel must have heard him pull up or had been watching because as soon as he made it to the front of the house, she jerks the door open.

"Is she asleep?" she demands, annoyance in her tone. "My god Jensen! Are you insane?! Now I'm never going to get her to sleep easy tonight."

"Calm down Dee," Jensen sighs. "She's only been out for about 30 minutes."

"Don't tell me to calm down! God, every time she spends time with you she always comes back and acts out. It's getting to be a problem."

Anger and fury runs through Jensen's body. How dare Danneel blame their visits for any bad behavior JJ demonstrates!

"Let me put her down and then we'll discuss it," Jensen implores as he heads toward his daughter's bedroom.

He cautiously places his daughter on her bed, kissing her forehead and pulling the blanket over her body. He knows that he is about to walk out there and argue with the child's mother, but he will do it just for the knowledge that he got to spend the day with his little girl. 

Danneel is in the kitchen when he comes back from JJ's room, a glass of red wine in her hand. 

"Really Dani? I literally just brought JJ home and you're drinking?!"

"It's just one glass Jay," Danneel defends. "It doesn't affect my ability to raise our daughter. I do it all the time."

"And that makes me want to reconsider this arrangement ," Jensen states. "Maybe Justice needs to come live with Drea and me while you get your priorities straight."

"Don't you dare," Dannell retorts in a huff, slamming the wineglass down. The wine sloshes over the top and puddles on the counter. "Don't you fucking dare threaten me! I manage my daughter just fine! One glass of red does not make me a bad parent or incapable of taking care of her needs."

"Do you even hear yourself? You can manage her? D, she's not something to manage. She is our daughter and if I think it's in her best interest, as her father, I will take her out of here."

"And let your whore raise her? Damn Jay! Your little slut is almost as young as JJ. I'd rather not allow a child to raise my daughter. You never know what could happen if she turned her back. She probably would not pay any attention to JJ anyway. She's got her own kid to maintain," Danneel alleges. "I mean, are you even sure your son is being taken care of when you're not around?"

The more accusations and name-calling Danneel spat, the angrier Jensen got until he yelled. "STOP! JUST SHUT UP!" He paced the length of the kitchen, trying to calm down. "Goddamn, Dee. Do you even hear yourself? How can you possibly think that? You know Drea loves JJ like she was her own. You know this, you've seen this!"

"No, I don't know this Jensen! As far as I'm concerned she only loves the fame that comes with being with you. Maybe she loves your dick, because it is a good dick, but as far as her loving JJ like her own. Nah, I don't see it."

Jensen scoffs as he turns to make another lap along the bar. "This dick couldn't keep you faithful so who exactly is the whore here?"

"How dare you!" Danneel screams as she picks  up her wineglass and throws it at Jensen, barely missing his shoulder. The glass hits the wall behind him and shatters. "GET. OUT! Get the fuck out of my house you asshole!"

Jensen looks over his shoulder at the wine running down the wall and to the shards of glass scattered across the floor. "Clean that before JJ wakes up and comes in here and gets cut," he demands. "Or I'll sue you for wanton endangerment of a minor."

He walks out of the room toward the front door, leaving a fuming Danneel behind. "Oh, and that's not a threat.  It's a promise." He closes the door after he walks out and stops to take a breather. How dare Danneel even suggest that Drea is anything but loving and caring to JJ. She would put her own life on the line to keep either kid, the Padalecki boys included, safe.

As he is pulling away, he sees Dr. Josh arriving. "Buddy boy, you got your hands full with that one," Jensen says to no one in particular, in the privacy of the truck cab. Instead of heading home and back to Drea and Jackson, Jensen turns the opposite way and hit the gas. He needs to clear his head and calm down before he goes home. He is livid! How dare Danneel insinuate that he nor Drea have JJ’s best interest in mind. Drea loves  that little girl almost as much as she loves Jackson. Jensen has seen it firsthand; just today when she made sure that JJ was involved in their family outing and not being left out or feeling neglected. 

He knows he needs to just let it go, everything Danneel had said but he just can’t. From the moment she began complaining about JJ being asleep to the second she called Drea a whore and slut, he was stunned. At one time Drea and Dani were like two peas in a pod. When you saw one, the other wasn’t too far behind. A little over a year ago, JJ had innocently and mistakenly called Drea “Mom” which had caused Drea to flip out and worry that her taking care of JJ was confusing to the toddler. Add to the fact that that is around the same time Jensen and Drea began their affair she had legitimate reasons to fret but even back then Jensen had explained it to her; the time she spent caring for and loving on the little blonde it was just a knee-jerk reaction. If JJ had accidentally called Jared ‘Daddy”, Jensen knew it was just a child’s simple mistake. So for Danneel to so blatantly accuse Drea of not loving JJ, it completely pissed Jensen off.

Before Jensen even realizes it, he is pulling into the parking lot of an establishment he had been known to frequent in his younger days, before Danneel and before he became famous, Bob’s Beer and Burger Joint. He decides to go in and have one quick drink and say hello to Bob before heading home. One beer wouldn’t hurt, would it?

Padalecki Home (Later that Night)

Genevieve eyes Jared as he enters their bedroom after making his nightly check of the door and windows and ensuring the security system is set.

She has a crazy, bizarre idea floating around in her head and is trying to come up with a way to approach the subject with her husband. 

Jared smiles at her as he passes by her and heads to the ensuite to finish his bedtime routine. Gen hears the water turn on and the battery-operated toothbrush her husband swears by. She isn't sure if Jared will be in agreement with what she wants to do or just outright reject it. It made Gen nervous because she wanted this, badly, but if Jared was opposed to it she knew it would never happen. 

Jared comes out of the bathroom in his boxers and climbs into bed beside his wife, pulling to quilt over his legs and hips.

"Jare?" Gen urges nervously.

"Yea doll?"

"I want another baby."

Gen looks up at her husband through her thick dark lashes to gauge his reaction. She watches as he mulls over her words. He looks at his wife in bewilderment. 

"Gen, didn't the doctors say that was impossible after the 'procedure'." Gen rolls her eyes listening to Jared still call the partial hysterectomy a procedure. After almost 2 years he still refers to it like it was something as simple as getting a tooth pulled. 

"They did," Gen confirms,  sitting up against the headboard. "I can no longer get pregnant or carry another life inside me."

"So, how do you suppose we…"

"A surrogate Jare," Gen suggests. "And I know the perfect one,  Drea."

@lostinaseaoffictionalbliss @carryonmywaywardcaptain  @darlingpeanut @sunskittlex @sis-tafics  @sea040561 @pretty-fortune @squirrelnotsam  @death-unbecomes-you @sandlee44  @internationalmusicteacher @kricketc28@natura1phenomenon @mannls  @nickie-amore @spn-tw-37@frozenhuntress67 @blacktithe7 @supernaturallymarvellous @thetardishasaquidditchpitch @sirod-30  @heyitscam99 @smoothdogsgirl  @i-just-wanna-run-hell @paintballkid711@closetspngirl @starfirerules@vickiq9761  @rainflowermoon  @spnbaby-67 @drakelover78 @jessieray98​ @81mysteriouslyme​ @travelingriversideblues-x​@akshi8278​ @keymology​ @topthis808​ @lilulo-12​ @onethirstyunicorn​ @i-love-superhero​ @tftumblin​ @markofdean79​ @thevelvetseries​

[inspector-montoya-fox]

let’s talk about the themes of the Sly games

Sly Cooper and the Thievius Raccoonus (2002):

Paris: this might not be the game’s main theme but it’s the theme that is most omnipresent. Paris is the glue that connects everything together. it immediately has such an impact on the player, even though it’s just the tutorial and the gang’s base of operations. Sly being a thief but also living in Paris just sounds so right, like it’s the way it should be. it fits. 

The Thievius Raccoonus: this is the main theme and what provides the game with its premise. it’s the book that needs to be glued back together and its importance is highlighted throughout. almost every level has a page included so we’re constantly reminded of its significance. the skills we earn by retrieving the main ancestors’ pages elevate the gameplay and force the player to respect it. other than that it’s a clever way to spotlight the ancestors and establish that Sly does come from a long line of thieves.

Family: this doesn’t need much explaining but i’ll do it anyway. we start off with Sly’s parents getting killed and him landing at an orphanage where he creates a new family for himself with Bentley and Murray. you’ve got 3 different types of family: (A) Connor and Sly’s mom getting murdered and Sly’s aim to avenge them, (B) Bentley and Murray being true brothers when Sly was left with no one (i’m tearing up), and (C) the ancestors, which are explored more in-depth through the theme of The Thievius Raccoonus. Family as a theme explores Sly’s motivations and drive, even though Connor’s role is minor, especially in comparison to his role in Sly 3

Morality: Sly 1 is rudimental in its gameplay. it was a little game with a big promise at the time it was released, hoping to serve Sony and the Playstation 2 with a worthy mascot and an even worthier title. but right off the bat the player is bombarded with a shit-ton of lore about the world Sly lives in and how he operates. we immediately find out he’s an antihero, an honourable thief who has a code of conduct. this comes into stark contrast with the game’s villains who are basically filthy crooks. thief takes down thieves and the theme of Morality is SP’s attempt to make the player distinguish between good criminal and bad criminal. Morality as a theme is spotlighted immensely in Cold Heart of Hate when Sly saves Carmelita because he truly is the good guy, but also when it’s revealed that what’s been keeping Clockwerk alive all these years is the lack of morals and the hatred. the game establishes Morality as the outlining theme of the entire series, placing Sly on a pedestal because he’s honourable. morals trump hatred, so fuck off Clockwerk (even though ‘perfection has no age’ might be one of the coolest lines in the game lol)

Sly 2: Band of Thieves (2004):

Paris: this is the theme from the first game but on steroids. like make it x10. when you take the plot of Sly 2 and boil down to its core, it turns out to be a full-on race against time to save Paris. it provides both a nod to the first game and a sense of closure at the end: the game begins in Paris and ends in Paris. It’s both a setting and a catalyst, and it is absolutely brilliant in the game. you spend most of the game globetrotting, away from home but as soon as you find out ClockLa is on her way to unleash her psychotic brain waves and turn the city evil, you find yourself at the edge of your seat, caring more about Paris than anything else. it’s omnipresent and powerful and i don’t know why but i love it.

Spice: if you wanna be my lover. here’s an amazing replacement for drug trafficking as a plot device in a children’s game: spice. the spice trail is what pushes the narrative forward but also gives the gang something to face before the pieces fall into place and the larger scale of things is revealed. before ClockLa steals the show, spice is the main antagonist in the game. it brings the villains together, leads the gang from one location to another, provides some memorable missions and obstacles (Spice in the Sky and a raged, spice-infused Murray). but it’s not to say that it fades away in the long-run. Spice is actually the subtle thread that connects the episodes together but also is significant to the final master plan of hypnotising Paris.

Deception: obvious one here. Neyla pretending to be an ally is the major example. we’ve got the Contessa pretending to be loyal to Interpol, we’ve got Arpeggio seemingly being the mastermind behind everything (which he kinda was until he wasn’t), we’ve got the whole evil plot reveal on the spice, we’ve got Neyla ripping off Arpeggio on her journey to become the most well-written villain in video-game history. lots going on here. overall great theme. on a wider scale (and i’ve touched on this before in some recent posts) we’ve got SP deceiving the player into thinking the plot is all laid out at Rajan’s ball until it all turns to shit and nothing goes as expected. Appearance V Reality is a sub-theme that pops up when Bentley fights Jean Bison and Bison constantly underestimates Bentley until the turtle fucking blows his lights out. it’s not an instance of Deception per se, but it’s worth mentioning

The Past: Clockwerk’s return makes this a theme instead of a motif. before ‘saving Paris’ becomes the main objective, it’s Sly’s determination to prevent Clockwerk’s revamping that kicks off the game’s events. the events of Sly 1 play a pivotal role here as they lay the groundwork for the plot of Sly 2. it’s not just Sly 2: The Sequel. with its own set of characters and an intricate story it becomes its very own thing. but Clockwerk is the link that connects everything.

Morality: this one sneaks up on you in the game’s second half and just bites you right in the ass when you least expect it. Contessa, who until her boss-fight seems to be just another selfish spider bitch witch, manifests into this advocate for Sly’s inner demons through simple dialogue. fucking brilliant. ‘You’re an ignorant child playing dress-up in his father’s legacy’ (in my opinion, the best line in the entire series) kicks it all off. and then the theme becomes obviously present throughout. it explores the fine line that Sly walks between robin hood and scumbag thief, it shows how the villains are down-right criminals who want to benefit from their crimes, it cracks black and white into a million pieces because in a single game there are like a million layers of good and evil: Barkley at the very top as the authoritarian white, Carmelita as a sympathetic cop who tries to grasp onto her own code of ethics while occasionally running with the thieves, Sly and the gang as antiheroes, the villains as... villains, and Neyla as the embodiment of satan. it’s a scale and the game spotlights this. i had a different bullet point for Justice but i think it falls under Morality. basically, Carmelita’s story arc in Sly 2 deals with blurring her views a bit and re-defining justice

Sly 3: Honour Among Thieves (2005):

Ancestry (Cooper Vault): this is what the game is all about, or at least the premise. after stitching the cottdamn book back together by the end of the first game, Sly 2 doesn’t give any attention to the Thievius Raccoonus. in fact, Sly 2 exists on a completely different plane, using its amazing plot to elevate itself away from the lore of the first game. ancestry is rarely mentioned. flashforward to Sly 3, where SP takes us back to the mythos for a new caper involving a new reveal: the Cooper Vault. what we thought we knew about the ancestors is thrown out the window to pave the way for this mystical place where the Coopers buried their secrets and their loot. i’d like to point out that the theme of Ancestry is great and all but SP does a shitty job in spreading it throughout the game. whilst recruiting the new gang members we often forget why we’re doing so and it’s not until the last episode of the game that we get the fulfilment of the theme’s promise. it’s also worth mentioning that the theme pops up in A Cold Alliance when Tsao is comparing himself to Sly and he speaks of his ancestors but we somehow get the feeling that his ancestors were all colossal jerks like him and had absolutely 0 honour

Family: this is not the same as Ancestry. the new gang members could have very well been distant with each other if not for the adventures that made them bond. Bentley’s fascination with the Guru, Murray being the Guru’s apprentice, Bentley falling for Penelope, Penelope and Panda King helping Murray with the van, Panda King and Sly working alongside each other to kill vampire mantises and the Crusher. these are all moments that helped sell the ‘group of thieves’ aspect of the game. but Family also explores the bond of the original trio and how, even when they face their differences (Bentley and Murray living in the shadow of Sly), they can still make it through, even stronger than before. other references here might include: Panda King and Jing King, Dimitri and the Lousteau diving legacy, Dr. M and McSweeney being Conner’s “sidekicks”

Honour: this replaces the theme of Morality from the previous two games as the situations the characters face allude to honour (doing what’s right for the greater good) rather than morality (black and white, good vs evil). what i mean by that is SP making an effort to distinguish why Sly is a different thief and ultimately an antihero. this was sorta explored in the previous games by having Sly put an end to the villains’ various operations but the overall plot overshadowed those instances. Sly 3 on the other hand fully explores the theme of Honour by including the word in the title and having the gang save the day in every episode. stopping harm to the environment (polluting the Venice canals, destroying the Australian outback), helping Penelope come to terms with her inner demons by encouraging her to drop the facade of the Black Baron, saving Jing King from forced marriage, etc. the theme also ties into the theme of Redemption (below) but what i’d really like to point out is that Carmelita gets in on it as well. i can’t think of a more honourable moment than when she finally, after 3 games, puts the petty cop bullshit aside and comes to Kaine Island with her squad to save Sly from Dr. M. she makes Sly’s battle her own and doesn’t give up, showing up at the very end to save him from Dr. M’s horrific boss-fight (ugh)

Deception: although not as major as in Sly 2, i’ve said this time and time again: Flight of Fancy perfectly encapsulates the theme of Deception. Penelope dressing up as the Black Baron is not the only instance of deception. you’ve got Bentley and Penelope blowing their online avatars out of proportion, you’ve got Dimitri who was initially a villain finally turning sides, you’ve got an episode card full of sunshine and bright blue and gold fonts for a hub that’s all gloomy rainclouds. beyond Flight of Fancy, i can think of a few more instances: some Shakespearian shenanigans when Carmelita disguises herself as Jing King, or when the gang doesn’t reveal their Dead Men Tell No Tales plan to the player and we’re left thinking that Sly is going to get eaten by sharks

Redemption (Choices): speaks for itself, really. this one ties in with Honour and is a sub-theme, maybe a motif. we’ve got Murray’s desire to redeem himself for feeling guilty over Bentley’s accident. we’ve got Dimitri and the Panda King joining the gang after previously being villains in the series, and eventually redeeming themselves through helping with the heist. we’ve got Penelope redeeming herself as the Black Baron by joining the gang. i also named it Choices because these characters chose to redeem themselves. Choices are all over the game, whether its the lack of free will or the sacrifice characters make: Jing King isn’t in a position to choose whether or not she gets married during her capture, Sly sacrifices his cane at the very beginning of the game to save Bentley and then jumps in front of Dr. M’s shot to save Carmelita (!!!)

Closure: or the lack of, smh. SP’s trilogy comes to a close and therefore the theme has to exist even if the game doesn’t provide the player with mass satisfaction. Sly finally gets together with Carmelita, Bentley finally gets over his fear and self-doubt and lives the good life (with Penelope), Murray kicks off his racing career, and we get happy-ever-afters for the rest of the gang as well

[ncityislove]

More

➳Genre: smut

➳Pairing: Stoner!Mark x Reader

➳Word Count: 4k+

You meet Mark at one of your parents’ boring dinner parties and when Mark shows you his stash of weed things get heated in more ways than one.

Requested? lol naw but y’all nasties wanted it anyways

Your heels echoed on the wooden floors of the over-sized dining room as you sauntered over to the open bar, ordering a shot of Hennessy. Your parents dragged you to yet another one of their friends' gathering to "make more connections" as they had put it. You were out of school on summer break but you wished you had taken up those extra classes because then you'd have an excuse not to be here.

The bartender placed your glass in front of you and you downed it in the blink of an eye, ordering another just as your mom approached you.

"Ah, there you are! Come along, dear, I want to introduce you to someone," she said, grabbing your wrist.

As if there was someone here you hadn't already introduced me to, you thought, rolling your eyes. Your mom lead you across the crowded room to a secluded area where your father was standing in his freshly ironed blue button down and matching tie, his jacket draped over his arm.

"Oh! Speaking of the devil--this is my daughter, y/n!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

You forced a smile, avoiding eye contact with the small family standing before you.

"Oh, she's gorgeous! Isn't she gorgeous, honey?" asked a woman wearing too much makeup.

"She sure is. The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree!" the man next to her boomed and everyone burst into laughter.

"Stop it, Todd! I'm married!" your mom giggled. "And so are you!" Everyone laughed again and you tried not to gag. It was obvious your mom didn't want to be here just as much as you and it was shameful how badly you wanted to laugh. Your mom was never very good at pretending and it showed now more than ever.

"Hey, Mom? The maid said you wanted to see me," said a young looking man dressed in grey sweats and a t-shirt. His voice matched his face perfectly, soft yet deep at the same time.

Suddenly, the night had become much more interesting.

His parents seemed repulsed by his attire but you, on the other hand, thought it suited him very well. His joggers hung low on his hips and his baggy t-shirt was loose but not loose enough that you couldn't see his toned figure underneath. His hair was a mess but it surprisingly didn't make him look any less handsome. You couldn't help but imagine how soft the tufts of hair would feel between fingers as you tugged at the strands begging him for more.

"Mark, sweetheart, you couldn't have put something nice on before you came down?!" his mom shrieked.

"Oh, sorry," he apologized although he seemed like he didn't really mean it.

"It's alright, Beverly. My son, Doyoung, is the exact same way," your father chuckled.

You sighed, wishing it was your brother who was standing here instead of you but unfortunately he had a better excuse than you for not being able to make it. He was in Paris "studying" for his law degree for another year but you knew he was probably just messing around with some French girl in that big fancy penthouse your father bought him.

"Then you must understand how embarrassing this is," his father sighed. "Well, this is my son, Mark. He's in college right now but he came back home for an internship at the company! Isn't that right, son?"

Mark nodded, chewing his bottom lip, his eyes meeting yours briefly then flitting away, his ears turning red.

"Now that I think about it, you two are the same age!" said Beverly. "Isn't that wonderful?"

Mark looked up at you in surprise, his big amber eyes looking even larger as he gaped at you. You smiled at him, eyeing him from head to toe as you licked your lips. You didn't mean to be so obvious but you couldn't deny how cute he looked when he blushed.

"Oh that is!" your mom cheered. "Maybe they'll become good friends!"

"That would be great! It's too bad Mark's got so much work to do right now," said Tom.

"Yes, it truly is a shame," you agreed, everyone turning to look at you.

"R-really?" your mom stuttered, surprised at you for showing interest in the conversation for once. "I mean—it really is a shame."

Mark cleared his throat. "Well, I can take a break and stay a while...that is if you'd like me to," he trailed off, glancing at you.

"I'd like that," you said, grinning innocently as filthy thoughts ran through your mind.

This was exactly what you needed. A cute boy to toy with until you can go home and finally finish the last season of The Vampire Diaries. The show was cheesy and the characters got on your nerves but you wouldn't be able to sleep at night if you never finished it.

"Is that okay?" he asked his dad who looked hesitant.

"If it's only for a bit then what harm could it do?" he said waving his glass of wine in the air.

"I'll just go change then," Mark said stepping back.

"Marvelous!" his mother remarked, as she took a polite sip from her glass.

Your dad patted you on the shoulder, showing his gratitude towards your sudden act of kindness towards him but what he didn't know was you weren't doing this for him, it was for you. If your parents were going to force you to go to every boring party for the next three months you needed something to entertain yourself. Or rather someone.

Mark came down the elegant spiraled staircase in a crisp black button-down tucked into his slacks with a rather expensive-looking watch adorning his wrist. His hair looked tamed this time, slicked back in a way that resembled his father's. Although he looked absolutely drool-worthy all dressed up, you much preferred him messy-haired and wearing sweats.

You met him at the bottom of the steps, not even trying to hide the fact that you were checking him out.

"I never got your name," he said, offering his arm out to you.

"Y/n," you replied, linking your elbow to his. "Let's head to the bar, I need a drink."

Mark nodded, as he escorted you to the open bar at the end of the corridor.

"Two shots of vodka, please," you called out.

"Ah, none for me, sir. I don't drink," interjected Mark.

You raised your eyebrows at him. "I'm sorry?"

Mark smiled. "I'm not much of a drinker. I always regret it in the morning and it tastes awful."

You laughed at his explanation, finding it cute. Mark was different than all of the other kids you met through your parents. Most of them jumped at the opportunity to get wasted at these boring affairs and you were one of them.

"I'll still take those two shots," you said.

The bartender nodded, setting two shot glasses in front of you and you threw your head back, finishing them in seconds. Mark watched you with amusement in his eyes as you gently placed the glasses back onto the counter.

"So if you don't drink," you began. "then what the hell do you to deal with...all of this?"

"All of this?" he questioned.

"You know...everything. These parties, the fancy suits and all that."

"I know what you meant," Mark chuckled. "I don't have to be intoxicated to have fun."

You squinted your eyes at him. "I'm not buying that."

Mark smirked, looking down then back at you, a mysterious glint in his eyes. "Yeah, I didn't think you would."

You propped a knee onto the bar stool, leaning closer to him, not caring that you were wearing a dress. "Then what do you do?"

Mark cocked his head to the side, a smile playing on his lips. "Why don't I show you?"

You blinked at the large hand being offered to you, curiosity getting the best of you as you placed your palm on top of his. Mark look satisfied as he laced his fingers between yours, leading you up the stairs to his room.

His house was big but not as big as yours. The hallway was spacious, decorated with art pieces that must've cost thousands. The band music faded more and more until the only sound left was the click-clack of your heels.

His room was just as impressive as the rest of the house. It was black and white themed with a modern renaissance inspired wallpaper with just as much art hanging on it as in the hall. His desk was the only part of the room that looked messy, papers and folders thrown everywhere, even some littering the floor around it. But the bed. The bed was what really made the room so beautiful. It was huge. The bedposts were made out of a beautiful oak wood and almost as high as the ceiling! The comforter was draped beautifully over the bed and with perfectly fluffed pillows placed on top.

"Nice room," you said, sitting on the chair by the bookshelf.

"Thanks," said Mark as he opened his closet door, disappearing for a few moments.

You got up, wandering around his room, pausing at the wall of trophies and medals next to the fireplace. Most of them were from years ago, but there were a few a golfing trophies with this year's date on them.

"Ready to have some fun?" Mark asked, startling you as he emerged from the closet.

"Sure, why not," you retorted, walking to his bed where he was sitting with a small wooden box in his lap.

"You're not gonna pull out a gun on me are you?" you asked, eyeing the box.

"Just sit down and watch," Mark said half-chuckling.

You plopped down next to him on the bed, peering over his shoulder as he opened the lid of the box, revealing something you hadn't been expecting at all.

"Weed?"

"Yep. Weed," he said pulling out a lighter from the bottom of the box.

"You don't look like the stoner kind," you said, scooting further back on the bed.

"I'll take that as a compliment," he said, lighting up a blunt.

You hummed, watching as he put the object to his lips, inhaling then blowing out a puff of white. Mark let out a content sigh before offering the blunt to you.

You took it from him, taking a hit then passing it back.

"Shouldn't you open a window or something?" You asked, already beginning to feel lighter.

"Nah, my parents already know." Mark took another hit, holding his breath for a beat before exhaling.

"My parents would lose their shit if they found out their precious daughter was up here smoking pot with you."

"I bet your parents probably smoke too," Mark mused.

You let out a surprised laugh. The idea of your parents getting high on marijuana out of all things was absolutely hilarious to you.

"Please, they won't even have more than three glasses of wine."

"That's what they want you to think," Mark sing-songed and you giggled.

Mark laid down next to you, giving you a lazy smile.

"What?" You asked, a cloud of smoke escaping your lips.

"You're just really pretty, that's all," he said, his voice sounding confident but the blush on his cheeks evident as he looked away.

"You're really pretty too, Mark," you said, trying not to smile as you took another hit from the blunt.

Mark crinkled his nose at you, snatching the brown object from your fingers. "You're totally high right now."

You looked shocked as you snatched it right back, your lips turned downwards. He was way off base—there was no way your tolerance was that low. And if it was? It was none of his business how much weed you could smoke, anyways.

"What? No way, I'm not high yet."

Mark shook his head, a teasing smile on his face. "If you say so."

You scoffed, shoving his shoulder. "I do say so."

"Oh yeah?" Mark stood up, towering over you with a smug grin, blowing out a white cloud of smoke at your face. "And I say, you're much better at handling your liquor than a measly blunt. I mean, you've only had like three hits? It's barely halfway done yet."

You wanted to smack that grin right off of his face right then and there. Nothing irked you more than a man who challenged you. What you say is law and if you say you're not high (although you may have been a teensy bit) then you weren't.

To other people, it might seem like you were over-reacting but who could blame you? You always got what you wanted, when you wanted, and how you wanted it. No limits. No one to tell you 'no' when you really needed to hear it the most.

"I don't like to be teased, Mark."

"Really? Because I think you look cute when you get all worked up."

You squinted your eyes at him. The poor boy. He didn't realize what he was in for. "Where was that shy, blushing boy I met earlier? I wanna talk to him."

Mark's eyebrows raised at your comment. "I don't know what you're talking about, love, but I'm all ears to listen to whatever you have to say."

You stared at him for a second, sitting completely still and Mark grew uneasy. "Um, was that too much? Sorry, if I got the wrong vibe but I just figured—"

"Kiss me," you said, your voice calm.

Mark's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "W-what?"

You tugged at the sleeve of his shirt, dragging his body down to level your faces. "Kiss me, Mark."

Mark looked at you with wild eyes, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. You brought your hands up to his face, cupping his cheeks, encouraging him as he slowly inched forward, finally, his lips meeting yours. It was awkward at first, your lips moving at different paces but you didn't mind. In fact, it was kind of...endearing.

His nose brushed yours as he deepened the kiss, your legs wrapping around him on their own as Mark emitted a soft groan. Your hands moved from his face down to the expensive belt on his pants, undoing it with haste.

Mark broke the kiss, startled by your urgent hands. "What are you doing?" he asked, his chest heaving as if he were trying to catch his breath.

"Is this not okay?" you asked, your fingers pausing at the latch of the belt.

"N-no—I mean yes! Yes!" Mark stuttered, his cheeks glowing red again.

The tingling that surged through your body at the sight of the flushing boy before you took you by surprise. Every time Mark blushed it made you want to do things to him. You craved to see those naive big brown eyes of his rolling to the back of his head from pleasure. You wanted to hear him pleading for you. Begging you to make him feel good after he couldn't take your teasing any longer.

Once you successfully removed his belt, you wrapped it around his wrists, careful not to irritate his skin.

"What's this?" Mark asked, looking uncertain.

You brought your lips back to his briefly for a chaste kiss. "Teaching you a lesson. The first thing to know about me is I don't do well with any kind of disagreements."

Mark looked down at his bound wrists before glancing back up at you. "Are you doing this because I was teasing you?" he asked, his tone too playful for your liking. "You know I'm right."

You grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pulling him down with you in the bed, your leg lifting over his body so that you were sitting right over his crotch, roughly braying your hips. Mark cursed under his breath.

You leaned over him, pressing your lips to the shell of his ear, "If you keep up this tough guy act of yours, this won't end well for you,"

Mark shuddered underneath you as your cool breath caressed his ears. You took the forgotten blunt, which was shrinking in size by the second, from the ashtray next to the bed, putting it up to his lips. Mark's eyes didn't waver from yours as he filled his lungs to its capacity, the butt of the blunt glowing a dangerous red. Your lips connected to his as he blew the smoke into your mouth. You released the white clouds from your mouth, making sure to blow it back into his face as he did earlier.

"You're gonna be good for me now, won't you, Mark?"

Mark nodded, his eyes wide.

"Why do you look so nervous," you giggled, your mind starting to feel hazy.

Mark's lips parted, his eyes adverting yours abashedly. "I just...I never did anything like this before."

You pulled his arms over his head so that you could lay on top of him without his hands sitting between your bodies awkwardly. "If you start to feel uncomfortable just say so and I'll stop. Although, I didn't think you'd turn out to be so vanilla."

"Hey! I'm not vanil—"

"That's enough, Mark," you cut him off by stuffing the blunt between his lips. "Good boys don't talk back.

Mark could only blink at you, unable to respond without the blunt falling out and burning a hole in his expensive sheets.

"Perfect," you said, unbuttoning his shirt, revealing the smooth skin underneath. You began your assault on his neck, nipping and sucking without caring if it left any marks behind. Mark groaned, extending his neck to you as your hand slipped under his half-undone shirt, your fingers dancing over the firm muscle. His body responded to your touch, his back lifting off of the mattress slightly, chasing your fleeting hands.

"Patience," you muttered as you sat up on the back of your legs. You unfastened the hatch of his slacks, pulling the loose clothing down to his ankles. Mark looked down at you, trying his best to take a hit from the blunt without dropping it. You chuckled, helping him take a drag from it before putting it out in the ashtray, discarding it for now. Mark whined, protesting your actions and you rolled your eyes covering his mouth with the palm of your hands.

"Didn't I tell you good boys don't talk?" You asked, your other hand reaching down to palm him through his boxers, his cock hardening immediately. Mark's eyes closed as he let out a soft grunt from underneath your hand, lighting a spark in your core.

You licked your lips, humming as you teased his member, squeezing him through the thin material. Mark let out a muffled noise you couldn't make out.

"What is it, baby?" you asked, removing your hand.

"Please..." he begged.

You cocked your head curiously at him. "Please...what? Tell me and I might give it to you,"

Mark's tongue peeked out to wet his bottom lip, his cheeks rosy. "Your mouth--your hands--anything. Please, I don't think I can wait, I need you."

You core reacted, clenching around nothing. "Is that what you really want?" you asked, your lips ghosting across his jaw. Mark said yes, trying his best to keep his composure. "I'm afraid I can't do that. Not yet, baby."

Mark huffed, his chest dejecting with a small pout in his lips as he struggled against his restraints. "Undo this so I can fuck you, goddamnit."

"Bad boy," You clicked your tongue as you hiked up the hem of your dress, bunching it at your hips. Mark ogled at the newly revealed skin, a look of longing imprinted on his face.

You peeled off your panties, balling them up and stuffing them inside his mouth, shivering as the cold air hit your slick core. Mark looked absolutely helpless as he grunted, staring at your exposed heat, his eyes dark as the night sky just outside of the window. Your hands returned back to his boxers, sliding underneath the waistband this time. His dick jumped in your hands as you teased the head, smearing his arousal as a lubricant. You gave him a squeeze for good measure and Mark jolted in response.

You bit your lip, pumping his dick slowly, deciding to torture him a little more. You knew what you were doing was unfair but he was just so fun to play with, you couldn't help yourself. Mark's fist clenched and unclenched as he tried to stop himself from bucking up into your hands, knowing you would take your hands away altogether.

"Does that feel good? Do you want me to go faster?"

Mark nodded his head vigorously and you complied, feeling a little guilty for teasing him too long. You pulled down his boxers, his cock springing free and hitting his stomach. Maybe you were super horny but it may just have been the prettiest sight you've ever seen in your entire life.

Your face hovered over his writhing member, your breath tickling his skin as a silver pool of liquid fell from your mouth into your hand. Mark's breathing picked up as you massaged your hand over his length in a single twisting motion. You watched intently as his expression morphed into one of pleasure, his eyebrows scrunching cutely.

Your tongue swiped over your teeth as an idea popped into your head.

"I wonder...should I untie you?"

Mark nodded again.

"I don't know..." you said, pretending to think about it.

Mark mumbled something unintelligible as he waved his restrained hands at you, whining.

"I don't think you deserve it. I'm afraid you might do something and then I'll have to punish you."

Mark huffed, giving you a pleading look as he wiggled his fingers at you.

"Okay, okay," you laughed, unbuckling the belt.

The first thing Mark did once his hands were free was reach under your dress and grab your ass. You gasped in shock, slapping his hands off of you.

"Did I give you permission to touch me?" you asked but received no response, as his mouth was still full of your underwear.

"I thought you would've taken that out first," you mused, pulling the lace from his mouth.

Mark licked his dry lips as you brought your face close to his.

"So tell me," you whispered. "Isn't this much better than those lame ass vanilla girls?"

His lips parted to respond but he couldn't find his voice to speak so he nodded instead.

"I bet they just laid down and made you do all the work, didn't they?" Your hands trailed down his stomach. "That's no fun, is it? Hmm?"

"No," Mark answered, his breath hitching in the back of his throat when your slick folds rubbed against his length.

You nipped your teeth at his collarbone receiving a hiss from Mark. "Unzip me," you commanded.

You could've sworn you heard him say 'thank you' as he yanked your zipper down your back, eagerly ripping it off of your body so that you were only left in your bra. You told him to unhook your bra next as you sank down on him, filling yourself up to the brim. Mark complied with fumbling fingers and after a few failed attempts he finally got off, his hands flying to your chest as soon as the garment was discarded.

You decided to let the action slide, the feeling of his hands on you better than you ever imagined. You raised up your hips only to slam yourself back down on him, a moan escaping your lips. You repeated the movement again and again until you built up a steady rhythm.

Mark pushed your back down so that you were face to face and encased your lips with his, his tongue sliding into your mouth for a heated kiss. He let out a broken moan, his mouth parting from yours briefly before kissing you again.

"Faster," Mark groaned, his lips swollen from kissing.

"Manners," You hissed, biting down harshly on his jaw.

"P-please?" He begged, his face flushing again. "Please, I'm so close."

You slammed hips down harder, ignoring the stinging in your thighs. Mark's moans mingled with yours as you pushed each other towards your climaxes.

"F-fuck," he husked, his hips meeting yours as he thrust up into you. Your hands clutched his shoulders, the skin turning white under your fingers. You squeezed your eyes shut at the overwhelming amount of pleasure washing over your body, your legs turning to jelly.

You called out his name as you came, Mark gripping your hips as he continued to fuck you through your high, chasing his own in the process. Mark rubbed his thumb on your clit in tight circles causing you to cry out as you threw you head into the crew of his neck, your fingernails raking down his chest. Mark cursed when you clenched around him, his hips snapping up into yours with vigor as he neared his climax. His skin smacked against the bottom of your ass, a loud slapping noise filling the room.

You came again, letting out a strangled moan of ecstasy pulling Mark over the edge with you as spurts of warm cum filled you up. The two of you stayed there for a few moments to catch your breath, basking in your post-orgasm state.

You were the first one to move, rolling off of him after carefully pulling out his softening member.

"I never told you, you could cum inside me," you complained.

Mark turned to you, pulling you into his arms with a chuckle. "I'm sorry, I should've asked."

"Do you always cum inside girls' without permission?"

"I've always used a condom so I never really needed it," he responded, lips resting on the back of your shoulder.

"Well, I'm glad to know there won't be any chances of me catching any STD's from you," you laughed.

Mark traced circles on your hip with the pad of his thumb. "Haha. Very funny. Shouldn't we get back to the party before our parents notice we're gone?"

You sat up, with a grunt. "Yeah, you're probably right." The two of you got cleaned up and dressed as quickly as possible which took longer than it normally would considering you both were as high as a kite and your legs kept giving out every five seconds.

"Can I get a kiss, before we go back?" Mark asked, grabbing onto your elbow.

You smirked, bringing his face to yours. "What's the magic word?"

Mark never failed to blush at your requests but nonetheless played along. "Please?"

You barely gave him time to finish before your lips crashed onto his, your fingers gripping at the strands of hair at the nape of his neck. His hands rested on your lower back, pushing you further into him.

When you pulled away, his lips chased after yours and you found yourself smiling at how adorable he was.

"Should I get more weed for next time?" he asked, his forehead pressed against yours.

"Next time?" You repeated.

"Oh, don't tell me there won't be a next time," he pouted, his hands sliding down to grip your ass.

"I'll think about it," was the last thing you said before pulling away to go downstairs, only for Mark to follow behind you on the back of your heels like a lost puppy.

[bellsybuilds]

[Part 2 of the Truck Stops and Tribulations series (link)]

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The way home - chapter 2 (T rating and warnings will change)

Din Djarin, Paz Viz(s)la, Baby Yoda, Jack “Agent Whiskey” Daniels, Agent Ginger Ale (modern AU, all human, road trips, found family, family reunions)

---

Din just wants to keep this kid safe, but the effort is taking him cross-country and he's loathe to admit he can't do it alone. Paz is the trucker who rescues them one night, and is strangely happy to keep on helping them. Jack is the estranged, obnoxious brother Din likes to pretend he doesn't have, but beggars can't be choosers.

And Poppy is the up-and-coming drug mogul who will make them all reconsider their life choices.

Set pre-Kingsman: the Golden Circle.

Din expects a medical wing. A sterile clinic, at least. What he gets instead is a conference room.

He frowns at his brother, but Jack has been on the phone since meeting them at the boundary of Statesman’s grounds and waving them to follow through the side door of the imposing oaken gate.

It’s not that he distrusts his brother. He can hear Jack negotiating with someone for medical equipment and murmuring about discretion.

No, it’s Statesman itself.

The air of this organisation has always set him on edge: the estate is thickly steeped in a disingenuous veneer of Southern charm, glossy and flawless as the dark wood polish of every surface now gleaming back at them. Din can see how this place has clawed a foothold in his brother from the way Jack walks and talks. Even the way he smiles, mouth curving crooked when he doesn’t think others are watching but it’s snide, superior, and calculating.

Careful, Jack. Your colours are showing.

Jack didn’t always pass so easily as a Southern-born and bred son.

The chill of a memory slows Din in his step-- cold damp of a concrete bunker, gun heavy in hand.

“Only one of you can be chosen,” the voice had crackled with static over the speaker. “And only you three can decide who that will be.”

He closes his eyes, shivering hard. The memory slips like a damp shroud from his shoulders, bundled and thrown to the darker corners of his mind; too well-used over the years.

At least in the air force, they were upfront about who they were and what they were doing. Being an agent for Statesman would have required more subterfuge than Din was prepared to deal with. By contrast, Jack had embraced the opportunity to remake himself.

Once the conference room door clicks shut behind them, the child squirms on his back in its carrier, whining softly.

“Okay,” he hushes, swinging the pack off.

Jack has led them to a reception building that looks designed to receive visiting sponsors and exec reps. Din’s hackles rise. How is this supposed to help them and the kid?

A broad table dominates the conference room, leather chairs flanking its long sides. The moment Din sets the kid down on its polished surface, the little one rolls onto his belly, pulls up on stubby legs, eyes bright with mischief, and takes off running.

Din flinches, tense. “Catch him--!”

At the table's other end, Jack glances down from the call on his cell and offers a cautionary hand. He nods, tone distracted with the person on the other end of the line. “Yeah, I took them to meeting room three.”

The kid barrels into Jack's waiting arm with a happy squeal at the table’s edge.

Din huffs in relief.

Jack wheels him about and the kid sets off in a beeline back to Din, soft sneakers smacking the wood. Din receives him with a weary oomph-- not because the little one’s impact even registers (the kid is so small it’s like catching a bean bag), but when he sways with an exaggerated wince--

The kid gurgles with laughter, simple, unbridled joy. Small hands tug on the ends of his jacket. He looks up and up into Din’s face with an exhilarated giggle, smile impossibly wide, and Din is abruptly stung by the notion of a world where that smile is gone or the kid doesn’t instinctively run into his arms at the sight of him.

Blinking, his vision swims with an overlay of the child’s face slack with fear, eyes wide in confusion. Heavy doors closing on the sight.

Din’s chest tightens, rejecting the notion. Swallowing tightly, he pinches one of those round, dimpled cheeks and allows himself to smile. It’s going to be okay.

But wasn’t the kid whining from exhaustion a few short minutes ago? Maybe it was just the prospect of freedom. This is the most they let the child run in the last week. They haven’t enjoyed the luxury of too many truck stops or long walks.

Paz hovers by the closed door, large hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, mouth pursed in a tense line. Their eyes meet. Paz draws in a slow, heavy breath, and Din nods at the look in his eye. Hopefully this was the right choice.

Hopefully they can rest soon.

A careful knock raps on the door.

Jack hangs up his call, nodding at Paz to let them through. “That’s Ginger.”

The woman they find waiting on the other side of the door looks more like a doctor than a secret agent.

“Oh,” she breathes, eyes comically wide at the sight of Paz damn near filling the doorframe with his shoulders alone. She stumbles a half step back, hand rising to her throat. “J-Jack?”

Paz scans the length of her white lab coat and frowns at the steel clipboard clutched in her arms. “And what are you supposed to be?”

“Hell. Teach your guy some manners, Din.” Jack breezes past him and waves Paz back from the woman all but cowering on the threshold. “Quit hulking and admit my colleague, Vizla. Speed and discretion are of the essence. For the kid’s sake.”

The woman, Ginger, looks at Jack with alarm. “Kid?”

She is so petite Paz could likely blow her over with a growl. Din watches him study her with the same critical appraisal Jack had endured, searching for threats and opportunities, forming a summary in his mind. Din wonders if they arrive at a similar conclusion: scientist. Analyst, maybe. Unlikely to be a field agent.

“You didn’t say anything about a kid,” Ginger mutters at Jack, shoulders tense.

As if perking up at the subject of discussion, the kid coos in Din’s arms, legs kicking with delight. All that tired energy and nowhere to go. Din winces gently and narrowly avoids a tiny, flailing fist to the chin.

Ginger finally sees them. The moment her gaze settles on the toddler, her dark eyes grow large and round. Some of the tension leaves her shoulders. “O-oh.” Her voice has fallen soft. Her eyes lift to Din and she visibly startles. “Oh!” She squints, staring at him hard. “Wait.” She gapes at Jack, then Din, and to Jack again. A slim hand points at Din in accusation. “A brother? A twin brother? How did I not know this?”

Din catches the meaningful look Paz turns on him. It feels kind of judgy. Din spreads his hands in question.

What?

“You two really don’t talk about each other,” the tall man muses under his breath.

Din shrugs, head cocked. What was the big deal? Hadn’t they ever seen twins before?

Jack, meanwhile, is sweeping an arm out to usher Ginger quickly inside. “Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me, honey. So much more to learn.” He grins, wide and shameless. Jack always thought he was so charming.

It’s testament to how well this woman must know him that her eyes roll hard with a thin groan, tugging a silver steel trolley after her. Paz pushes the glossy, oaken doors shut behind her.

“Just tell me you didn’t get his personality either. I can only deal with one of him,” Ginger says.

It takes a moment for Din to realise she’s addressing him. “Oh. I, uh… no, he’s….” He shakes himself out of the fog and inclines his head. “I’m Din.”

Ginger returns the gesture, a perfunctory smile finding her lips and disappearing just as swiftly. “Din Daniels?”

“Djarin,” he corrects. “Just call me ‘Din’.”

He’s not sure what it is about that statement that lights up her face with soft relief, but at least she doesn’t question why they don’t share a surname. Din is tired of telling the story. “Agent Ginger Ale. Call me ‘Ginger’. At your service.”

“Daniels says you all have experience with blood trackers,” Paz says.

Ginger twists around and regards the man studying the tools on her cart. She throws a hand out as though to ward off any risk of him touching her instruments. “And you are?” She looks less intimidated now; more bemused.

“Vizla,” he says, meeting her eye briefly. “Paz Vizla. I’m with him.”

Ginger follows his nod back to Din. “I see. Your bodyguard?”

“His ride,” Paz supplies, rounding her to get a better look at the tools.

On the cart’s other side, Jack snorts a laugh under his breath. For a moment, Din wonders why. When it clicks, he wishes it hadn’t. His brother will never grow up.

“Is that a temperature scanner?” Paz points at a device that looks like a barcode reader beside a series of electronic tablets and other items Din doesn’t recognise. Medical care was never his strong suit.

Ginger nods and they follow when she brings the cart to the end of the conference table. “Among other things. I understand someone is being traced, and... you want to get it out.”

“The kid,” Din gestures with him tucked against his chest, balanced in the curve of his elbow. The kid cranes back to peer at his face with a quizzical sound, a small hand reaching for the thin stubble on his chin. “They put a tracker in his blood. Not something just anyone can remove.”

Ginger glances between him and the child, gaze soft. “Who’s tracking him?”

“No one good,” Din says, eyeing the trolley critically. “Anything on there really up for the job?”

Ginger looks to Jack as though for permission. Whatever she’s seeking doesn’t come and she sighs, treating Din with a careful smile, almost apologetic. “That sounds… complicated.”

Hands deep in the pockets of his thick blue jacket, Jack closes the distance with that slow strut of his, expression thoughtful. The kid hums under the hypnotic brush of Jack’s fingers over his brow, back and forth. The kid’s large, dark eyes blink, eyelids growing heavy.

Din will need to learn that trick.

“Yeah.” Jack holds Ginger’s eye, an entire conversation passing between them. “It might be.”

Din waits for one of them to share. He doesn’t like the idea that Jack could be withholding anything where the child’s concerned.

“We’ll try our best.” Ginger offers a slender, gloved hand for the little one. “All right, Baby, let’s take a look at you.”

“Din.” Jack nods for him to follow to the room’s end, lifting a tablet from Ginger’s trolley. “Let’s make sure you’re not being tracked.”

“We’re not,” he says.

Jack stops and holds his gaze, eyes narrowing. “How do you know?”

“I’m sure,” Din asserts. “Just the kid.”

“All right.” Jack neither sounds nor looks convinced, but he doesn’t press the point, glancing at his tablet in hand with that condescending air that always made Din’s blood boil within a second. “Let’s check your devices then.”

Statesman has access to resources they don't. It would be foolish not to take advantage.

Huffing with a glance over his shoulder, Din catches Paz’s eye. He gestures to the kid. “Could you…. ?”

Paz nods, arms unweaving to take the child. The kid looks absolutely miniscule when it tucks into his elbow, head pillowing on his chest. The little one’s sleepy, curious expression lights up with dopey joy at the familiar face he now finds above him.

Paz smiles back, warm and amused.

“Din.”

He blinks, coming back to himself.

At the head of the table, Jack raises an eyebrow expectantly.

“Actually--” They all look to him, waiting. Din nods at Paz. “Yours, too. We should check.”

He sympathises with Paz’s uncertain frown, but eventually the man digs into his back pocket with his free hand and slaps the phone into Din’s waiting palm.

"I'd appreciate you not going where you don't need to," Paz says.

When Din reaches Jack at the room’s other end, his brother plugs Paz’s in first. A new dialogue pops up on the tablet before them and Din watches the file names and system messages stream past.

“I already checked. It’s clean,” Din says.

Jack hums in that sing-song patronising way of his; what other tune would he know? “Never hurt to be thorough.”

A heartbreaking cry splits the air, freezing Din’s blood in his veins. He whirls, looking for the source of danger. He finds only Ginger glancing helplessly between Paz and the little one desperately scrambling to curl into a tight ball, all but clawing at Paz in his attempt to climb under his jacket and the shelter of his arm.

Paz yelps, adjusting to save the child from dropping out of his hold.

"I haven't even touched him yet!" Ginger protests, expression contrite. "Oh, I'm sorry, baby... I don't like needles, either. But it's not that bad. I promise."

Despite the squirming protests, Paz shuffles the little one higher in his arms. The kid whimpers, shaking, hiding his face in his thick shoulder.

Din almost goes to him.

“Here. Let me,” Paz says, and Din stares as Ginger hands him the cannula.

Paz hums a strange, nonsense song, his touch dancing over the kid's exposed arms and legs to lightly poke and pinch with the cannula's blunt end, reducing the device to a toy, just another part in his game. He sways on the spot in a soothing rhythm. As they watch, the kid's whimpers fade to soft sniffles. His round face eventually surfaces from Paz’s shoulder, pout severe. Paz bops him on the forehead, then his nose. The kid’s face scrunches in a helpless giggle. He squirms, laughing, when Paz tickles his belly.

Paz has that look on his face: the one that makes his features soften and glow and, honestly, Din can relate. There’s nothing like being the sole focus of that child's smile.

With his distraction, Ginger successfully slides the cannula into the child’s arm held immobile and starts withdrawing blood samples for her tests.

Paz has done this before.

"So, what are you doing keeping a married man from his family?"

Din frowns at his brother, unsure he heard him right. What is Jack talking about?

"I saw his wedding ring," Jack keeps his voice low and even. A conspiratorial smirk curls his mouth. "Finally come down off your high horse?"

Din blinks, bewildered. Off his--?

"You slept with him yet?"

A disgusted bleat of offence escapes Din's throat before he can throttle it. His jaw clenches. "It's not like that."

Why is his brother so punchable? Not everyone tries to prove their prowess by seducing someone away from their partner.

Jack shrugs, appraising the big man holding the squirming kid still for Ginger's examination. "I mean, if you're not moving in on that--"

"You know, you don't have to fuck with every person you meet," Din rolls his eyes. "What about that medic of yours? You slept with her, too?"

Jack pulls an affronted face, shaking his head. "Ginger? She's ground support." A thoughtful look lights his eye and he catches Din with a suggestive leer. He leans in, elbowing his arm. "Might be just your type!"

Din all but shoves him off. His brother is infuriating. But this is not the time nor the place. No matter how bad a situation, Jack could always make it worse.

"Not everyone's looking for that," he snarls, snatching his phone back once he sees the progress bar of the scan complete.

Not everyone needs constant companionship. Jack would probably die if he didn't have staff to harass and someone new to warm his bed every week.

The two things weren't always mutually exclusive, either. Jack thrives on controlled chaos, but to Din from the outside, the whole thing is a stressful HR nightmare waiting to implode. He doesn't want any part of his brother's circus. He's known since they were quite young that they want different things in life.

Maybe one day Jack will accept that Din doesn't want or need a companion. Some people aren't meant for relationships.

They're just different, he and his brother.

Jack snickers and shakes his head. "Spiky as always, Din'ika."

Din glares at him, but despite his best efforts, his brother's words linger. Din has seen the wedding ring, too. And he has wondered who waits for Paz. Where is home. He's wondered why Paz hasn't agreed to offload Din and the kid at the next available opportunity so he can go back to them.

They have traveled together for a week. Din never sees him call anyone.

Din may not believe in relationships for himself, but he won't be the reason someone compromises their own.

It's occurred to him that maybe not all is well for Paz on the home front. Maybe Din and the kid are a convenient diversion for a time. And while Din isn't going to break up a home, he won't tell a stranger how to live their life, either.

They're grown men. They're all free to make their own mistakes.

///

“I’ll need some time to get the results,” Ginger had apologised, writing on small, white labels and carefully wrapping them round the vials before treating the kid with a gentle smile. “You did so well, sweetheart.”

The little one just pouted at her from the cradle of Paz’s elbow, the bright white cotton ball taped down over the needle site comically large in proportion to the arm it was bound to.

Jack glanced between Din and Paz, nodding. “All right. Might as well get you two settled for the night. Follow me.”

Once shown to their rooms, Jack had promised to come back after a few quick words with Ginger, so Din is surprised when he answers the knock at his door and finds Paz instead.

With hands in his pockets, ear bent like he'd been listening for the latch, Paz meets Din's eyes and smiles, rocking on his heels.

"Hey." Din frowns, searching him for a hint of his intentions.

"Hey,” Paz’s voice is quiet and his body language is… hesitant? What is he nervous about? “Thought I'd offer to look the room down. If you want."

Din blinks at him. “Really?”

Does Paz think they’re less safe behind these walls with their automated security and stationed patrols? Less safe than in his truck?

The man shrugs and his large shoulders crowd as though apologising for all the space he’s occupying. He spares a glance down the short, carpeted hall, warm lanterns in the walls. "I know it's your brother's place. But just. After the last week." Paz looks the closest to sheepish Din has seen in their time together. "Habit, you know."

It’s true. Din has noticed his nightly ritual of pacing the length of the truck. Din assumed it was to check for wear or damage as much as anything suspicious.

He didn’t expect that habit to follow them onto Statesman grounds. He is not sure how to deal with Paz like this and he feels at a loss. But if Din invites him in, does it mean Din himself distrusts Statesman that much? More importantly, does he have so little faith in Jack to keep them safe?

Glancing back into the room, a mischievous giggle draws his eye to the kid wriggling down into the pillows on the bed.

Maybe Paz just wants to say good night to the kid.

“I--” Din stalls and the absurdity of the offer must be starting to sink in because Paz kicks his heel at the carpet, and Din watches a shutter close behind his eyes.

"If you wanted. But. It's stupid. Never mind. G’night, Din." He starts to back up. Something about the way he ducks his head goodbye makes Din falter.

He’s not sure how or why the next words leave his mouth: “You want to come in? Say good night to him?”

It’s like watching that shutter pull back when Paz smiles, bashful and pleased. He doesn’t need to be so embarrassed about wanting to say good night, Din thinks, stepping back to let him past. The kid just has this effect on people. At least, the ones not shooting at them.

The door clicks shut and he hears Paz call, “Hey, kiddo, ready for bed?” but when he turns back, Paz is running his hands the length of the windowsill and then finding it has little risk of breach because it lacks a means to open, anyway. It’s not that kind of guest quarters.

Paz’s expression turns pensive in the dark reflection of the glass and he presses his palm flat, studying his knuckles. Din thinks he has little reason to worry. If only he knew that glass was bulletproof, as it was through most of Statesman. Paz heads into the bathroom to inspect further anyway.

“So, why does a distillery for one of the country’s biggest brands have advanced medical technology?” he calls, voice echoing on tile.

Sighing, Din reclines on the bed, careful not to lean too heavily on the pillow nest. Ankles crossing at the knee, he pulls out his phone and starts scanning the news.

“There are some questions we shouldn’t ask,” he says.

“We? I think you know the answer or we wouldn’t be here.” Paz emerges from the bathroom and clicks the lights off. His tone is skeptical. “But if you don’t want to share. That’s up to you.”

Din just frowns at his phone. No, he doesn’t.

To his credit, Paz drops it. His curiosity must be satisfied because he instead leans over the bed and burrows deep into the pillows beside him. Din grunts, jostled by the movement, and doesn’t bother looking up when Paz emerges with an armful of squealing child, crowing triumphantly.

Din snorts under his breath as the kid shrieks with laughter, held high overhead before he’s brought down and Paz blows a loud raspberry into his stomach. Din stares at the far wall and suffers in silence.

“Okay!” Paz declares in that exaggerated commander voice that for some reason delights the kid. “Lights out, no snacks after midnight, and be good for Din.”

“It’s nine o’clock,” Din says, swiping through the all points bulletin feed on his phone.

“No snacks after nine!”

“Don’t get him excited. He was just getting sleepy again.”

“Understood. Want me to put him down?”

Din sighs, finally looking up to find Paz dangling the kid upside down by his ankles over the pillow. It’s a hold more fit for game than precious cargo, but both Paz and the kid are watching, waiting with matching grins, and the kid beams at him with its tufty thick afro sticking out every which way.

He shrugs and shakes his head in resignation. “Sure.”

As Paz settles the kid with its blankets and bottle, a thought occurs to Din. “Are we still on schedule for your job?”

When Paz had rescued them outside that diner, he’d been on his own way to make a delivery. They’d spent the last week routing circles through the states to keep the hunters off their tail, but Din’s guilt insisted Paz not derail his life for them. The man had done him a favour, and he had a job to keep. Coincidentally, leading them straight to Kentucky. Reaching out to Jack had seemed like the natural next step.

“Drop off’s less than two hours away and max delivery time isn’t for another few days. We got time.”

Din frowns, lowering his phone to consider Paz’s back, bent over the baby seat. “But--”

“We got time,” Paz says, firm but gentle.

Din inwardly huffs, grinding his jaw. It's not his problem.

Paz brings the kid and its makeshift cradle over. Bundled in a nest of blankets, he settles him securely on the bed beside Din and borders him with pillows. Least likely place to fall. Safe and close. “You got the rest?”

“Yeah, I'm on it,” Din says, already opening the music app on his phone. They both glance in at the kid when the rush of wind and storms fills the air and, with a heavy blink, the little one looks over at Din. A small, pudgy arm lifts and Din takes the tiny hand that reaches for him, rubbing gently. He feels a smile tug at his mouth and glances at the cotton ball still taped to the kid’s forearm, evidence of his bravery. “You did good today, kid.”

“Beh.” The little one hangs onto his fingers even as his eyelids grow heavy.

“Sleep now, kid,” Din reassures him.

You’re safe here.

Din has to give it up to Paz for this trick with the soundtrack of rain and storms. Bedtime had only been a concept before he found them.

“I hope these people can help him,” Paz says, once the kid’s head has drooped to his pillow and his eyes have slid shut.

“Yeah,” Din sighs, studying that round face softened in sleep. “Me, too.”

He lets the thunderstorm continue to play, it was always safest to continue at least half an hour to ensure the kid was well and truly asleep.

At the next boom of thunder, Din realises Paz hasn’t moved from his place by the bedside. Looking up from the baby seat, Din meets his eye only to find Paz already watching him, expression thoughtful.

He frowns at that look. “Was there something else?”

Paz blinks, as though coming back to himself. “No. No, place looks--” He glances round the room. “Good.”

He’s still standing there, unmoving.

Din glances to the door; Paz seems to need the hint. “Jack will be back any minute.”

And finally, Paz is motivated into action. “Yeah, I’ll-- I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night, Din.”

Din turns back to his phone and the bulletin feed. He doesn’t watch Paz go, he needs to make sure the authorities haven’t been given any reason to look for them either.

“Lock it behind you,” Din calls after him when the man is at the door.

He only looks up once he hears the click of the latch close. Alone at last. Grunting under his breath, he glances back at the sleeping child.

“Yeah, he’s a strange one.”

///

“Hey.”

Standing before the door to his own room, Paz stops, key card at the lock. He raises an eyebrow as Jack strolls to an easy halt, sound of his steps swallowed by the copper-tinted carpet. The cowboy points to his brother’s door.

“You just come from here?”

Something about his tone chafes.

Paz glances between the light wood and Jack’s disapproving frown. “That a problem?”

Jack’s arm drops and swings at his side like a pendulum weighed by his disappointment. He shakes his head.

Does he think Paz would care about his opinion? Because he doesn’t.

Paz turns to face him straight on, hands finding his hips, head cocked. “You got something you want to say, I prefer we talk straight.”

“And are you?”

“What?”

Jack throws a hand up, gesturing at the length of him. “Straight?”

Paz blinks at him in disbelief. Well that’s just fucking rude. “And here I thought you Southerners were renowned for your manners.”

“You heard right.” Jack’s smile is cheshire smug and just as sharp. His eyes burn dark beneath the brim of his hat. “But that’s my little brother you’re messing with. My last remaining family. I’d be well pleased to show you the limits of our hospitality, if I learn you so much as think about crossing him.”

Well, that’s a surprise. Wouldn’t it be nice if this turned out a genuine display of concern?

Paz’s mouth shrugs and he keys his door open. It beeps affirmatively, light flashing green, and he pushes it open, greeted by darkness on the other side.

“That’s funny,” he mutters and flicks on the lights.

“What did you say?” Jack says, voice rising.

Pausing in the doorway, Paz smirks at him, lazy and wide. “From what I heard... only one you should be protecting him from -- is you.”

He shuts the door on the satisfying sight of Jack’s face darkening with anger, and chuckles quietly to himself. Paz didn’t even start swinging.

His aunt would be so proud.

Paz stops up short, the warm mirth at Jack’s expense fizzling down to a hushed ember at the thought of her. His aunt.

Staring at the dark face of the cellphone in his hand, Paz sighs. Double checks the door is locked behind him before he makes the call. Sinking down on the impeccably made bed, Paz palms his knee and waits, swallowing moisture down his throat.

With each ring, his chest tightens further, hot and difficult. The fifth ring is interrupted mid-tone and his heart leaps to his throat.

“Yes,” she answers, calm and controlled, with all the weight of the authority that used to inspire him with so little effort. Her voice, projected through great halls, could make every head turn and hail a reverent silence. When she spoke, Paz did not only hear her but all the voices that had come before and infused her with their wisdom.

She still has that effect on him. But now, instead of drawing his shoulders back with pride, Paz sweats at a single word.

“It’s me,” he says, glancing to the shuttered windows.

It’s stupid. He already checked them. Swept this entire room twice for surveillance, surprised to actually find none. Statesman were unexpectedly trusting of their guests. Jack was apparently the exception.

“Yes,” his aunt’s tone is unaffected. “I know.”

Paz takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly. “I’ve set the plant. They can start the trace now.”

“They have already begun.”

Of course. They would have been ready. They had been waiting far longer than Paz promised they would need to.

It hadn’t been easy to steer Din here.

“Good,” he says. “Let me know what you find.”

“And how are you? Still confident in your plan?”

His palm closes over his knee, kneading sweat into the worn denim. His eyes lift to the wall dividing his room from them - Din and that sweet kid on the other side.

Gaze dropping to his boots, his voice is steady. “I am. But I need a favour.”

She grunts in amusement. “Bold of you.”

He knows she’s right. He shouldn’t ask. He has no right to ask after the way he left. They are already doing him this favour, but they will also gain from his efforts. If everything goes as planned. Years of patience at last rewarded.

“Yes,” he says. “And maybe fortune will favour us once more.”

He can hear the smirk of approval in her voice, and it’s like the release of a vice around his chest when she agrees, “This is the way.”

“This is the way.”

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