#rather than the room temperature water from last night

[luna-the-cretar]

It’s weird. I don’t normally cuddle with my other plushies (despite having 20 of ‘em) after the first day or so, even when I’m sick or hurt to the point where i basically have to be on bed rest, and yet. For some reason cuddling the ouaw plushes make me feel better. These little guys did not leave my arms when I was sick, and I keep alternating between Frost and Torbek right now (if not both, depending on my position and how I’m feeling)

I mean, they don’t make the pain go away, but they make it a bit more bearable. Until my grandma comes back with my pain meds, at least

[ms0milk]

when you suddenly catch a nasty cold

gn!reader ft. todo, bkg, kiri, and (hearts in my eyes) shinsou

i am so ill and these are so silly, indulge me :,) 600ish words ea.

Todoroki starts to cry when you joke about dying.

He’s bought more flowers than can fit into your little apartment, picked up your prescriptions, tissues, juice, a heating pad, cleaned your kitchen, tucked you in– he paged the fucking family physician– but watching you shiver under a heavy duvet, surrounded by all the things that are supposed to help you get better, ignites a fear he didn’t know that he had. They aren’t working. You’re still sick because of course you are, and he can’t bring himself to move more than an arm’s length away from you because what if– if he leaves and–

“Shoto?”

“Yes,” his response is immediate when you pull him from the ether. Always is.

I’m not going anywhere,” you croak, too conscious of how strange your voice sounds, “so you don’t have to stay with me all day.”

“I don’t mind.”

Todoroki is a wonderful boyfriend but when was the last time he went to the bathroom?

“You must be bored.”

He leans over you from his spot at the side of your bed and runs a blessedly too-cold hand across your forehead. Bored? Like he could calm down enough for that. “I can’t relax when you’re like this.”

You’d roll your eyes if they ached less, at your beautiful boyfriend and his cluelessly shoujo declarations of love framed by no fewer than two whole flower shops worth of camellias. He turns his hand over to palm your cheeks and wipe the water from your puffy eyes.

“Would you like me to leave?”

You shake your head, smiling under the weight of an overkill of blankets and the heavy dip from his butt at the edge of your mattress. You’re inclined to reach a hand out to grab it, but you don’t have the energy to raise your head let alone fondle your boyfriend.

“There’s no one I’d rather be with in my final hours,” you rasp, joking, obviously joking.

This cold is something evil, chills, aches, snot– the works. But you couldn’t ask for a better nurse. A gentle, thoughtful, sexy, temperature controlled man, a man you would raze the city for, whose hand fits so perfectly in yours and who– whose trembling? You blink back up.

Todoroki’s features don’t shift or soften, his lip doesn’t quiver, but a tear does slip down his cheeks from those pool cool eyes– one after the next until his jaw is lined with them all patiently waiting to fall from his chin.

“Why, why why?” You panic and try to sit up but he comes to you. Todoroki cups your hand tightly in a hot and cold grip and bows over his own lap to rest his head in yours.

“You’re not going to die.”

“What?”

“I promise.”

“Sho, what– no of course I’m not. What’s wrong, baby?”

Your voice is so weak that he has no other choice than to sit back up and reach for the cold compress. He wipes his eyes with renewed determination when he turns back around, “I’ve got you.”

“I’ve got you, Sho. ’m not going anywhere, promise.”

And when the Todoroki family doctor lets himself in, he does consider coming back another time at the sight of you, finally comfortable under a mountain of fabric, and your love curled around you asleep on top of the blankets.

———

It’s not until you genuinely collapse that Bakugou realizes something is wrong. He didn’t even hit you that hard.

“You’re wide open today!” The restless pro looms across the arena, grinning. You both come to the agency’s underground ring on Saturdays to train and he’s blasted you clear across the room like he’s actually working for a paycheck.

There wasn’t any amount of money you would have accepted to get out of bed this morning but Bakugou, a less than casual hookup from work, accidentally spent the night and the surprisingly sleep soft rumble of his voice, the gentle kneed of palms as he pulled you back against his body under dawn light– was, persuasive.

The sooner we finish, the sooner I can go home and nurse this headache.

Headache. Naive self-convincing circles your head as you pull yourself to your feet like spinning stars from a goddamned cartoon. This is not a headache. Standing was fine a second ago, and the floor was fine a second ago, but the move from floor to feet fills your sinuses with sudden pressure and immediately the arena starts to swirl.

“C’mon twinkle toes, you’re– Y/n– shit–”

You’re not interested in where that sentence ends today and you blessedly don’t have to hear it because your ears have filled with cotton and you’re sinking back down to your knees. You’ve been congested like this before– it’ll pass in a minute or two, you know how it goes and you’re only embarrassed by the fact you were down so bad for your teammate this morning that you didn’t realize how your body had started to feel.

The vertigo eases somewhat when you rest your head on the ground, but Bakugou has cleared the empty room and already has his domineering hands all over you. “Y/n? Y/n– do not close your eyes.”

“‘m not concussed, Kats.” But you know the explosive hero’s first fear isn’t exactly a head trauma. “You didn’t hurt me,” you add.

“Doesn’t narrow it down shitforbrains,” the aggressive tone doesn’t match his anxious hold though, and you melt a little when he kneels and pulls you into his lap, “if I didn’t hurt you then what’s wrong?”

Bakugou definitely doesn’t like the way your head seems too heavy for your neck and tilts himself back just enough for you to lean it against his chest. You look so fucking uncomfortable, scowling, eyes pinched closed. “What hurts?” He rasps as he moves to feel your temperature but his palms are sweating hard from a few quirk ignitions so he stalls, and lowers his forehead to yours instead. You’re soft where he touches you, warm in his hands.

You just need to sit, you don't need the #2 hero to cradle you in his arms like a corpse on the battlefield. Your eyes squeeze shut harder as a tiny wave rocks you in the dark and then suddenly one ear releases. “Think I’m getting sick,” you breathe. Carmel in and relief out. “It’s my head–”

“Head hurts?”

“I’m just stuffed up, I–” the other ear releases, “— just dizzy.”

Bakugou sits on his heels, perched. Should he pick you up? It’s terrifying to watch– you, his teammate, a capable hero, suddenly unable to stand.

But as the pressure behind your eyes levels out you can lift your head without discomfort. You can bring your arms up around Bakugou’s shoulders and settle your fingers in his hair. Bring him back down from where he’s tried to pull away.

Your foreheads bump again, “I’m okay.”

He growls, “I don’t believe you.”

So the hero takes you home. He makes sure you’re horizontal and goddamned tucked in before he slips from your front door and scares the shit out of you an hour later with a vice grip on some grocery bags and your apartment keys slipped around his middle finger. It’s almost romantic, the way he snaps at you to hold still while he dabs antiseptic on your scratches from sparring, or glares venom from behind the stove when you hobble to the kitchen to see what smells so good.

———

When Kirishima lets himself in and you’re asleep on the kitchen floor, worry overrides his confusion.

You won’t pick up his calls, but he’s never missed a movie night and he’s not about to start today. He throws your front door open with his copy of your apartment key and kicks off his gym crocs as loudly as he can manage so you might hear him come in. The last thing he wants is to startle you.

But you’re the one who nearly kills him when he slips through the genkan, arms full of snacks and catches sight of your slippered foot stretched out on the ground around the corner.

He’s on his hands and knees faster than he can even take a full step, dropping bottles and soft melon bread from his arms as he scrambles to where you must be lying lifeless on the other side of the entrance.

“Y/n–! Ah, huh.”

And you are, in a way, lifeless on the ground, but you’re breathing. And smiling? Curled up on the white tiles in front of the sink cabinet.

“Y/n?” Kirishima doesn’t wait to ponder, instead placing a hand on the side of your head to check for concussion, wound, vertebral injury—But you coo, something completely unintelligible, and you’re much too warm. You tilt your face into his palm and every inch of you is hotter, damper than the next.

“Y/n? C’mon on back to me Y/n, gotta tell me what’s wrong.”

Maybe it’s the chill of the floor or the addition of his other hand cupping your cheek, but your lashes heft apart just enough to register who it is trying to resuscitate you in the kitchen.

“Ei?”

Kirishima, always handy in a fire, has every hospital route an EMT could ever need memorized from all his volunteer work with the fire department and mentally tracks each one as you try to form a sentence.

“shouldn’t be here, Eiji, m’sick.”

“What?”

“flu,” you murmur and pull your hands to your side to try and rise. Kirishima doesn’t register anything not directly related to whether or not you’re suffering from blunt force trauma– except for the fact he could recall the exact date and time your dream drowsy smile falls and perks back up again tonight for the next fifty years.

“–tried to text you,” you manage as the redhead helps you sit up. The sentence comes out in gasps instead of coughs as you try to spare the air of any extra germs, “I can’t watch the movie tonight."

He laughs with pent up anxiety and simultaneous relief– he’s taken that charming fireman’s knee at your side and you wish in your flu-addled state that you’d stayed unconscious long enough for him to hoist you into his arms. Instead, Kirishima places both of his big soft hands back around your face to brush away the dust and crumbs.

“Why are you on the floor?”

“got hungry,” you admit because you know it’ll make him smile, and with his face this close to yours you’ll be able to watch the skin around his eyes crinkle up too. “Then tired, little dizzy. I just needed to sit for a bit.”

His eyes do crinkle up. And his teeth bit at his lip like he’s trying not to be amused.

“Y/n, you are very sick. And very sweaty.” And the sweetheart, the biggest crush you’ve ever had, your closest friend, the man you dreamed of on the kitchen floor, asks if he can carry you to the bath.

———

Why are you breathing so hard? Shinsou is the only pro in the office that you can’t hide a fucking thing from. Maybe it’s because he works primarily in the underground– observant– that it’s obvious, the way you wobble on your feet when your eyes are closed too long, or the sudden effort it takes you just to climb the stairs.

How can he focus on paperwork with you trying to subtly catch your breath in every hallway? None of your sidekicks are brave enough to ask why you wore a mask to work today, but it’s summer and the air pollution gets bad enough that some of them have to too. Are they really all that stupid? Has he done the worst hiring job of any pro in the city?

“Shinsou,” you murmur across the now-empty end of day office and he whips around because god knows how many times you’ve tried to get his attention while he’s been off in space.

“Yeah boss?”

Your voice is rough with sick when you reply and it would be so fucking sexy if it didn’t remind him to be so anxious about your wellbeing. “I’ve told you not to call me that, haven’t been my sidekick for years,” and then you’re smiling even as you hold back a cough, “makes me feel old.”

“You are older than me.”

“By a year!” you sputter and then your lungs take over, heaving and hacking so hard you have to double over your desk to steady your forehead against something. Shinsou’s on his feet immediately, navigating the office in sweats and his capture gear.

What happened? This morning it was just a tickle at the top of your throat but the aches sank from your head, down your spine, and flooded through your body just as quickly as the sun’s shadow crawls across a stone. Which is to say, all day long and all too slowly to realize you probably should have called in sick.

“Here.” A cool hand materializes on the back of your neck and you roll your head to the side to check what exactly has arrived for you. With his free hand Shinsou presses a paper water cup forward, which you’d love to take if you had the energy to pull your mask down.

“went to school together n’ everything,” you breathe.

“Boss, you should go home for the night, I’ll– I can finish this paperwork.”

By now the dark-eyed hero has sunk slowly into a crouch beside your chair and keeps a careful hand on your back to ensure you don’t slip to the floor sideways one way or the other. Thank god he sent the rookies home because stupid or otherwise, you'd have to be braindead not to notice this adoration that he can’t seem to get a handle on.

“Shinsou,” you murmur again, just as sexily as last time and he feels just as much if not more shame at how lovely it is to hear you call to him sweet and low, “I can’t get up.”

“What?”

That’s it though. There’s no trick or test. Shinsou has a fucked up sleep schedule from all his overnight patrols so he always stays in the office late, but you? You’ve been trying to rally for the last two hours and now you’ve used all your energy teasing a man whose eyes go bright every time you say his name. It serves you right, collapsing at your desk after using the last of your strength to squeeze as many Shinsous as you could into an evening.

“call me a taxi?”

He rises to his feet, “Will you even be able to get up your front steps?”

“sure hope so.”

“Do you feel nauseous?” He’s shuffling around the room now, plucking keys from hooks, and you watch him sideways with your head still resting in the day’s paperwork. “You gonna aspirate if I let you go home alone?”

“if god’s feeling extra silly”

He scoffs to hide the smile. Shinsou returns to your side to lay his faded denim jacket over your shoulders and then crouches again at eye level.

“Y/n,” he urges, and rests a hand to the back of your head to get your attention, “If I carry you downstairs, will you be able to hold onto me?”

Downstairs is a bluff. With you snug and mostly unconscious between his jacket and his back, Shinsou carries you home. Face full of your clothes, hair, quirk, whatever’s getting in his eyes, under the stars, and down back streets to avoid any publicity, the hero tries to walk gently enough that you don’t whimper from the impact of his steps.

“Thank you Toshi,” you whisper just when he thinks you’ve finally fallen asleep and the big bad underground pro almost stumbles hard enough to fly.

[t-horn-n]

— waterstrider

pairing: simon “ghost” riley x reader (female) 

genre: fluff ?

summary: watching you and ghost become you and ghost.

word count: 1 158

There is a certain inconsistency with you that Ghost is able to sense but not quite place when you first join the task force.  You’re the sort that wears her heart upon her sleeve.  You like to fill the room with your jokes and anecdotes and quips.  You spill your guts to the point that Ghost knows more about you and your idiot brother and how your parents have just retired) in the first six months following your arrival than he knew about the Captain in the first three years of knowing him.  On the internet, they would call you one of those people who can’t be mysterious because you yap too much.

Still, there is something that sets you apart from just any old civi.  And it is not simply that you’re good at staying calm in stressful situations, nor that you’re not half bad at military strategy.  Rather, it’s that you’ve compartmentalised yourself into the part that you offer to people (your brother, your parents’ retirement) and the part that you keep tucked into your chest, hidden beneath your ribs.  It’s an illusion, you see, that sense of complete transparency that you project.  

It was years ago, now.   When the scent of high school still clung to you and you were marginally more stupid than you are now.  You got yourself ensnared with the wrong, mean, borderline sociopathic sort of people so quickly that it was a real life example of the snowball effect.  Initially, it was just one time you brushed off your last period class to go around town with these guys you met at the convenience store to get back at your brother who, at the time, had a habit of being overprotective.  

Long story short, the whole situation ended with fingerprints around your neck and your head held down in the river behind the grocery mart that everyone was sure was a mafia front.  You remember being hauled out of that river with astonishing accuracy.  You remember the temperature of the water and the exact thoughts that raced through your mind.

Of course, over the years you recovered, squeezed the silty water from your lungs and learned some common sense.  But events like that are somewhat sticky.  

One of your motivations to join the military was to find the self-confidence to never feel like you did coughing up water and dirt, after all.  

You were wary—cat-like—when you first joined Ghost and the rest of the 141, but that’s just how it is in the military most of the time.  And after a few weeks you were bantering with them like you had known them for years.  Truly, it seemed as though you were the most normal one out of them.

What they don’t know is that you don’t like showers.  Or at least, you don’t like the sensation of the water beating on your face.  It feels like you’ll just forget how to breathe and the water will fill your lungs again.  So instead you’ll stand at the edge of the shower, wetting a soapy washcloth every evening after training.  

You’ll never go swimming, of course.   You won’t take the chance.  Even when you can see the bottom, an irrational, bone-deep paralysis traps you in this space where your thoughts are very loud and your body feels very far away.  It’s fine, though.   There isn't a great deal of demand for aquatic soldiers.  

You don’t like sleeping under a lot of covers either, but you’re a cold sleeper and you don’t have control over the temperature on base, so you layer hoodie over hoodie at night.  Inevitably, you look like a mass of sentient fabric if you ever  encounter one of your  peers in the kitchen late at night.  

Talking is how your little dance with Ghost started, though, late night encounters aside.  Sometimes, you would open with a joke on the way back to base from the training grounds and he would reply with his own and you would both feel a special sense of connection that is a little different than that most often found in  military task forces.  It wasn’t brotherhood, like what linked Ghost to Soap and Price and Gaz.  

On other occasions, you all would be at a bar on the weekend, making the cheap beer taste better with each other’s company.  You and Ghost would be perched on your barstools and he would be telling you about some stunt Soap pulled years ago while the other three men kept each other entertained.  You two would still be there after Price, Soap, and Gaz sobered up in the late night air on the way to the bus stop that took them back to the base.  You would blink and then it was midnight and you were on the bus with all of the other witching hour vagrants that got on after spending too much time staring at the bottom of a glass, but you wouldn’t even see them because you were too busy listening to Simon and his wonderfully deep, tired voice.  You would be pressed shoulder to shoulder, each staring at your feet or your hands.  

There are very special times, too.  The kind that you will remember the sensation of—the moment’s taste, its colors, its imprint on your mind—even after you’ve forgotten the time and place and the words said.  Like when Ghost becomes Simon.  Like when he tells you about his mother and the man she was married to.  Like when he presses his lips to your neck and instead of feeling cold and wet and gross like you expect it to, he just sighs, warmly, in a way that makes you feel like you’ve been filled with helium.

Then, when that dance you were doing becomes more confident, when you start pulling and twisting each other about the dance floor rather than just hoping you’ll brush the other’s hand as you glide aimlessly around, those compartments that you have successfully preserved for the last decade shift, somewhat.  They don’t break, by any means.  Simply, they are rearranged.

Simon runs hot.  Especially when he sleeps, which means that when he crashes in your quarters you de-layer and tuck your cold feet between his calves.  Simon is also a big man, though.  So when he rolls over on to your chest in the middle of the night, you are startled awake.  You remember the pressure as the air in your lungs was replaced by something denser.  While he sleeps—deeply, as he always does in your quarters—you stare at the ceiling, watching the fuzzy darkness undulate over and around itself.

Eventually, you will tell him why you can’t tolerate your face being covered while you sleep.  You’ll divulge the contents of your nightmares.  Someday, his past and yours will be murmured into existence whether on a late-night bus back from town or in his bathroom as you brush your teeth together on some random Thursday night.

— m. list

[kitashousewife]

sakusa yawns as he opens the front door to your shared home. he’s been gone for five days. five days of games, practices, clinics, trainings, and travel. he hasn’t had a second to himself and he hasn’t slept well at all.

“welcome home kiyoomi,” you smile with your arms out wide, and he comes crashing into you. he holds you close, ignoring the scattering of his belongings on the floor for now.

“did you have fun?” you mumble into his chest and he shakes his head.

“too long,” he yawns once more and you chuckle.

sakusa has decided he cannot live without you.

“is that so?” you pull away and ignore his rather emphasized pout, opting to grab his bags instead. “do you want something to eat?”

“m’good,” his words are mumbled as he slips off his jacket and shoes. “ate on the plane.”

you nod and shut the lights off in the kitchen while sakusa locks the door. he then begins to follow you as you walk through the house like a puppy. shuffling behind you while you set the thermostat, padding down the hallway while you separate his clothes into the laundry piles for the next day, and stopping once he finally enters the bedroom.

“do you want any tea?”

“not thirsty,” he grabs some pajamas from the closet gently as his limbs are feeling heavier by the minute.

to someone on the outside, sakusa would seem cold and distant in moments like these. but you know better than anyone that he’s exhausted. normally after short trips, sakusa can hardly get a breath in as he tells you everything he did while he was gone. this trip in particular was especially grueling though, and his body is feeling the effects.

you can tell in the look in his eyes, how he pulls you close and strokes your back, how he follows you around without a word just to be close to you that he loves you more than word could say right now.

“i’m sure you’re sore, i could run you a bath? i just got more of those bath salts at the store today that you like,” you grab a towel for him and hop up on the kitchen counter. he comes to stand in between your legs, resting his head on your shoulders.

“not tonight, too tired. a shower would be good,” his eyes are closed as he speaks, messy curls falling every which way over his forehead. you brush them back before planting a kiss to his lips and slip off the counter.

“you’re in luck, i picked up that body wash we liked from the store today. it was finally in stock,” the shower flicks on and you adjust the temperature for him, just how he likes.

“oh, thank you,” he throws his laundry into the hamper. and slips inside the shower just as steam fills the bathroom in warm embrace.

you leave him to it and fill your time with things to make his night a little easier. you plug in his charger for him, set his freshly cleaned and filled up water bottle on his nightstand, and put his bags away. by the time you slip into bed, sakusa walks out of the bathroom with pajamas on, hair dripping wet, and very tired eyes.

“god i missed our bed,” sakusa sighs as he nestles in behind you and pulls you close. “thanks for putting everything away,” he kisses your head. you turn around to face him and wrap yourself around his torso. he chuckles. “someone miss me?”

“a little,” your cheek is pressed up against his chest while your arms wrap around his torso, legs intertwined. “sounds like a rough trip.”

sakusa scoffs. “absolutely ridiculous. nothing professional about any aspect of it,” he huffs, and even though the room is pitch black you can sense his eyeroll. “i’ll tell you more about it in the morning though, i’m so tired i can’t think straight,”

“get some sleep omi,” your voice is a whisper as your body finds comfort in your lovers embrace at last. his eyes are heavy and his breathing becomes deeper in a matter of seconds.

typically, sakusa tells you multiple times how much he loves you before the two of you even shut your eyes, and once or twice more as he begins to fall asleep. but tonight there wasn’t a peep between either of you.

the two of you fall asleep, tangled together under the blankets and immersed in the safety of each other after five long days.

[sweatyracoon]

Tell Me

A/n: Sorry it's been so long. I'll try to be more active, but enjoy this in the mean time.

Warnings: suggestive, vampire boy, angst, fluff? Part two

You had known Felix for a while, but you felt like you didn't know him at the moment.

A few weeks ago he left the shared apartment to visit a few friends at the theater. He came back feeling a little sick.

It had lasted a few days. You stayed home from work trying to help him feel better. It seemed like the flu or a head cold.

He got better, but he was still extremely pale, making his freckles brighter than they had ever been.

His eyes seemed brighter, but darkened when he became upset. He started avoiding you a bit more each passing day, confusing you.

He left the house more often, more during the evening. He felt cold anytime you tried reaching for him, flinching at the temperature of his skin. What was going on with him? Was he still sick?

You asked him once, but he claimed to be fine. It made you sad knowing that your friend didn't feel he could confine in you.

He was wearing more sleeved shirts despite it being summer.

You had finally had enough, not knowing where he was at the late hours if the night.

You decided to stay up in the living room to wait. It was nearly four before you finally heard the door handle unlock.

You stuttered, close to sleep before you heard him. You quickly turned on the light, making him wince in surprise.

He turned to face you, making your jaw drop slightly.

You hadn't seen him face to face in a long while. Just a side glance in passing.

His features had changed drastically.

His blonde hair was black due to tonight's antics, and his freckles had paled, but still leave the highlights to his pale face. His eyes larger somehow, with a red tint. His lips plump and wet, his canines poking out from his top lip.

His adams apple bobbed as he swallowed, looking straight into your eyes.

"Where have you been?" You asked quietly.

"Out," he responded, pocketing his keys. The light jingle of the chain filled the silence.

"But where, Felix? I hardly see you anymore, and you've changed." You plead with him suddenly,missing your best friend.

"I haven't changed, y/n. I've just been busy, is all." He sighed, walking to the island in the kitchen, grabbing a glass to fill with water.

"Your hair is black, Felix," You deadpan, not letting it go.

"Just a dumb decision one of the guys suggested. You like it?" He grinned, sipping from the glass.

You couldn't tell him no, because boy, did the color do him justice. His long hair framed his face, and since it was dark, it went really well with his pale features. You gulped.

"Yes, but-" he interrupted.

"So? I'm alright, y/n. Nothing's wrong," he washed his cup, hoping you'd quiet about the subject. "Why are you awake, anyway? It's nearly time for you to go to work."

"I took the day off. I was hoping we could hang out like we used to? We haven't done that since you've gotten sick," you say, hoping to get to him. Not necessarily guilt tripping, but guilt tripping.

He paused, swallowing nervously.

"I work today," he said quickly, confirming your suspicion.

"Felix, you don't have a job," you sigh, suddenly feeling defeat.

It seemed like your best friend didn't want to spend time with you. Which was fine. You just wish he'd admit it rather than tip toeing around you.

"I just don't think it'd be a good idea is all, y/n," He sighed, coming over to stand a few feet from where you sat. "It's not you, honey. I just have some things going on,"

"Like what, Felix?" You stood suddenly, making his eyes widen. "What's so important that you don't even want to see me? You avoid me like the plague, and it makes sad. We used to do everything together. What happened to you?"

At this point you were nearly yelling, and Felix took a few steps back in shock. You were known for your patience.

"I-"

"And don't give me that nothing bullcrap. Something is obviously going on. Do you have a girlfriend? Is that it?" You were close to tears in frustration.

Felix stopped, looking at you like you had just slapped him.

"Girlfriend? No! I told you I was hanging with the guys! Bangchan and Hyunjin, the ones I introduced you to. Listen, I'm just going through something is all. It's not you," Felix tries calming you down, but it only gets you more worked up.

"What is it? What are you going through that we can't go through together? We always did,"

His eyes softened at your words, coming closer to you.

"I'm just going through some changes. I'm still getting used to them. I'm sure you've noticed a few," he tilted his head at you, waiting for you to follow.

It was then when you caught the light bouncing from his bottom lip. They were still moist, and his top canines poked through, leaving small indents on his lower lip.

"Did you sharpen your teeth? And you are more pale...other than that and the hair, I don't see much of a difference."

It was a lie. You noticed everything. How he changed how he dressed slightly, showcasing his tiny figure. How his hands seemed more pronounced, as if he had suddenly hit puberty, the hunger in his gaze. Not lustful, but a yearning for someone to understand whatever it was that he was going through.

"No, I didn't. It's natural...kinda." he smiled lightly. "It's kinda hard to explain."

"Just try," you begged, grasping at his hands, making him freeze.

"why are you so cold? Do you want me to turn on the heat?" You asked, brings his hands up to your neck hoping to heat them up.

"Uhh, no. I'm okay."

He couldn't breathe all of the sudden. He felt the pulse under your skin, the artery that laid just underneath his palm.

"Just look, okay? Don't freak out?" He looked at you, and you nodded.

He gently twisted his neck to the side, showing his neck. You were confused about what he wanted you to see. Until you saw them.

Two marks on the soft skin of his neck where it met his shoulder. Dots. Resembling the same marks as the ones on tv. Vampire bite marks.

"Is this a joke?" You ask, your voice void of any emotion. You let your hands loosen around felixs', his hands dropping back to his sides.

"No," His eyes glowed with confusion. He did what you asked. "I told you-"

He silenced quickly when you brought two rough fingers up to his neck, rubbing a lot harder than you meant to. You wanted to run the makeup off his neck.

"Ow!" He jerked away from you.

That area of his neck was slightly red, but the bite mark remainder as bright as ever.

"Why isn't it rubbing off?" You ask hesitantly.

"Because it's real, damnit!" He scoffed, massaging the irritated area gently.

"How? All that junk isnt real, Felix. This is a terrible excuse to-"

You couldn't even finish, Felix suddenly snapping, pushing you against the wall. You were pinned, your breath quickening at the sight of your friend.

His eyes blazed a wicked red while his teeth seemed to grow. He scowled, showcasing the pearly whites that framed his wet tongue. His hair suddenly disheveled, his breathing heavy.

"I said, it's real! Just listen to me. Your the one that told me to spill what was wrong!" He all but growled at you, making you cower.

"What are you, Felix?" You whisper, surprised you didn't feel any fear. If anything, you could have sworn you were slightly aroused. But you weren't going to think about that right now.

"I'm still me. Nothing more, nothing less, okay?" His gaze softened as well as his tone, lowering his arms from the makeshift cage he had put you in.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

You cut him off with a hug, smiling, feeling relieved at knowing your best friend still wanted you.

"It's okay. It might be a side effect? I'll let it slide. Just don't let it happen often," you grin, seeing the weight fall from his shoulders.

"Can we still hang out tomorrow?" He grinned back, holding your hand.

"Yes. Now let's go to sleep." You said, yawning. You felt the tiredness crumble onto you.

"Oh...I can't sleep."

You groaned, leaving him to stand in the living room giggling.

[pawnshopbleus]

These Are the Days

Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader High School AU

One - The Hallway

For the summary, warnings, and more please visit here

Previous Chapter

The human body is extraordinary. It does so many things like waking you up two hours before your alarm is set. It’s five o’clock in the morning and the last thing you want to be is up. This gives you way too much time to overthink your first day of school. 

The outfit you planned out the night before is thrown over your desk chair. It’s something simple and plain. You don’t want to draw too much attention to yourself. Your usual wardrobe would cause you to stick out like a sore thumb. 

You close your eyes and pray that your body lets you go back to sleep but after ten minutes of tossing and turning you knew that it was a lost cause. You reach over and turn on the lamp on your night stand. It takes your eyes a few seconds to adjust to the change in lighting but when they finally do, you sigh. Of course this had to happen to you. Your usual ten hours of sleep is reduced to eight. 

You can hear the rustle of your parents getting ready for work. They are usually out of the house before you wake up and back home long after you’ve gone to sleep. When you were little, you only saw them for a split second in the day when they came to pick you up from school. In middle school they gave you a bike and expected you to learn how to ride it on your own. It’s been just you and your bike ever since. 

You kill time by watching a movie on your laptop. It’s some new romcom that recently came out. Rom Coms are some of your favorite movies to watch because they move something within you. They make up for the lack of love and support in your life. 

Before you know it, two hours have passed by and your alarm goes off. You rub your tired eyes and finally leave the comfort of your bed. Your new room has a bathroom in it. The cold tile floors shock your bare feet but they soon get used to the temperature. 

You observe yourself in the mirror. Your tired eyes and tangled hair are just a reflection of how you feel inside. It’s only the first day but you are already want to give up. You can already feel the monotony tiring you out. 

Maybe you can join a club or two and make some new friends. It seems like everyone back home already forgot about you even though you left a week ago. Your best friend of six years left you on delivered for two days before making up an excuse as to why she didn’t respond fast enough. 

You splash your face with some cold water and try to think about something else. There was no use in thinking about that right now when there’s another pressing issue at hand. 

Lakeview high school is about a twenty minute walk and a six minute bike ride away from your house. The crisp morning air nips at your skin as you zip through your neighborhood. It’s a beautiful morning but you’d rather a car hit you than admit it. 

Jeeps, Teslas, Toyotas, Subarus, BMWs, Ford trucks, and one Honda fill up the parking lot. Those cars confirm your fears; this is a rich kid school. Your parents are very well off so you’ve grown up around rich kids. From your experience, they’re all spoiled little brats who whine when things don’t go their way. Thankfully, you’re parents never really gave a fuck so they didn’t spoil you. That allowed you to appreciate the things you have. 

You dismount your bike and lock it up. 

Lakeview looks like the school from the Breakfast Club. Everything is inside. Growing up in California, you got used to going to outside schools. No lockers, no roofs in the hallways, and wide open spaces greeted you every time you went to school. Everything inside of one big building? Now that, that was different. 

Blue and yellow lockers line the walls of the hallway. Students lean on them as they chat with their friends, no doubt talking about what they got up to over the summer. People fist bump each other as they walked down the hallway and couples suck on eachothers faces with no shame. You ogle at the people walking with the confidence you wished you had right now. It looked like a scene out of some cult classic high school movie. 

You take out the folded up paper that has your schedule on it and glare at it. Homeroom: Room 702. It would have been lovely to know where room 702 is but with multiple staircases going all over the place and no signs in sight, this started to feel less like public school and more like an agoraphobic person's personal hell. 

You take a deep breath and walk up to the nearest person. Their blue shirt catches your eye. It’s one of the colors that doesn’t hurt your eyes. You tap them on the shoulder and when they turn around, they look at you as if you just sprouted two heads.

“Hi, umm, sorry to bother you but do you know where Room 702 is?” you ask, your voice shaking slightly. 

The person points in front of them and then walks away. You gulp and stare in front of you, confused. No one has ever told you that you come off intimidating so that person's demeanor really confuses you. 

“What the fuck?” you mutter under your breath and lean against the wall of lockers. You close your eyes and hold the bridge of your nose. You feel exhausted and you haven’t even done anything really strenuous. 

“Excuse me,” someone says, “you’re leaning against my locker.”

You open your eyes and catapult yourself off the wall. “I’m so sorry,” you apologize. 

The person in front of you looks eerily familiar. Her honey blonde hair is thrown up in a pony tail but you remember it flowing beautifully in the summer breeze. This time you have a chance to make out the color of her eyes. Her blue eyes remind you of the ocean. They remind you of home. 

“Hey, aren’t you new?” she asks, her hand reaching out to shake yours.

You nod and accept the handshake. “Yeah. I just moved here from California.” 

“Cool. I could tell by your accent. It’s very…valley girl! I’m Abby, by the way.” And then she tilts her head and scrunches her eyebrows together, “are you a senior?” 

You nod again and introduce yourself. Your name flows through her mouth like honey. Only then do you realize that the two of you are still shaking hands. You break the handshake and chuckle a bit. 

“Sorry, I’m a little nervous. I don’t know where my homeroom is and some kid in a blue shirt looked at me like I just grew two heads.” 

Abby takes a look at your schedule. “I’m headed towards Room 702 if you want me to walk you over.”

“Please,” you practically beg her. Your body relaxes when she offers to walk you to class. 

The two of you walk side by side down the hallways and up the stairs. A few twists and turns around the school and you’re standing in front of Room 702. The door is open and you can see that there’s only one more seat left, yours.

You turn to Abby and thank her, sincerity laced in your voice. 

“It’s no problem really. If you ever need anything, stop by the softball pitch. That’s where I am most of the time. It’s nice meeting you,” she says before she turns and walks down the hallway. 

You walk into the class and sit down in the only available seat. The two people beside you were engaged in conversation before you sat down so you felt bad about breaking them up. You chew on your lip, ready for them to scoff or curse you out, but it never comes.

“Are you new?” the girl next to you asks. 

“Yeah, I am. Sorry, by the way, for interrupting your conversation.”

“Oh, please. You did nothing of the sort. I got tired of him a while ago. I’m Dina and the guy next to you is Jesse.” She flashes a million dollar smile and all of a sudden, you don’t feel scared anymore. You are going to be okay.

“How did you know I was new?”

“It's a pretty small school. Everyone has pretty much gone to the same school since elementary. It’s pretty rare that we get new kids,” Jesse says. 

“And because you’re wearing shorts in September. No one here wears shorts unless it’s the middle of July,” Dina adds. 

So much for ‘fitting in,’ you think to yourself. 

Dina can sense your discomfort. “Don’t worry. It’s bold! I like bold.”

After the teacher, Miss. Woods, introduced herself as a first year teacher, you felt good knowing that you weren’t the only new person here. She sat down at her desk and said that for the rest of the class they could just talk about anything. 

You learned that Dina was the co-captain on the cheerleading team and Jesse was on the wrestling team. They both did phenomenal in school on top of being able to manage athletics, clubs, and partying. Everyone you’ve met so far has been kind and gratuitous so maybe the universe wasn’t out to get you. 

At lunch, Dina and Jesse invite you to sit with them. They are joined by Dina’s girlfriend, Ellie, also a member of the softball team. 

“So, wait. You left California and came here?” Ellie asked, perplexed at how someone would leave the dream state. 

“I didn’t have much of a choice but I guess Washington is cool. Temperature wise at least.” You mutter the last part under your breath.

“Well, you’ve met the right people because some kids at this school can be total assholes,” Ellie looks up, “speaking of.”

You follow Ellie’s line of sight and see Abby joined by the guy that was driving the truck. His varsity jacket is thrown over his shoulder in some display of faux coolness as he holds Abby’s hand. Something inside of you twitches with distaste. They don’t look right together, but who are you to judge? You’ve only had one conversation with her. It’s not like you know them or their relationship.

Abby and the guy sit down at the now silent table. He looks you up and down and asks, “who’s the new kid?”

You introduce yourself but this time it’s with a lot less enthusiasm than when you introduced yourself to Ellie, Dina, Jesse, and Abby. 

“I’m Owen, captain of the football team and the coach's son. Pretty sure you’ve heard of me already.” 

You nod your head, not wanting to embarrass him. The truth is that you haven’t heard of him from anyone. You can tell from this very short interaction that he exudes arrogance and everything that you hate. Not to mention the fact that he smells like dirt and cigarettes. 

Lunch flys by, thankfully and now you’re sitting at a table in your history class. History is by far one of your favorite subjects. It’s not too hard but the material is complex enough to keep your brain satisfied and occupied. 

You sit there, clicking your pen mindlessly as you wait for someone to sit next to you. The warning bell rings and the chair next to you scrapes against the tiled floor. Abby flops down in the seat and sighs. 

“I had to run here from the parking lot. Owen made me go get something from his car,” Abby says out of breath. 

“Why didn’t you tell him to do it himself?” “Enough about him,” Abby dismisses any further questions about her boyfriend and redirects the conversation, “how’s your first day been so far.” 

You can manage a “Pretty go-” before you’re cut off by the sound of the final bell. 

The teacher walks in and closes the door behind him. He’s tall, taller than the average man and he’s wearing a blue and white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The black watch on his wrist beeps and his thick fingers go to turn it off. Something about him makes you feel safe and protected, like you can trust him with anything. 

He walks to the front of the class to introduce himself. “Good afternoon, seniors. Welcome to your last first day of public school. My name is Mr. Miller and I’ll be your history teacher for the next year.” 

He takes out a stack of papers from his black leather messenger bag and begins to pass them out. “This is the syllabus. Look over it with your parents and make sure to get their signature. If you turn it back in to me by Friday you can receive extra credit.” 

You’ve become a master at forging your parents signature so you can have it back to him by the end of the day if he isn’t a narc. 

Before you know it, your first day at Lakeview is over and you're back on your bike riding down the streets of your neighborhood. It’s more lively today than it was when you got here. There are dogs barking, joggers running past you, cars honking at you to get out of the way, and children playing in their front yards. 

You come to a halt when you realize that there’s been a car following you ever since you left school. The window rolls down and you are met with the smell of dirt and cigarettes. “Need a ride?” Owen lifts his eyebrow.

“No thanks. I live right here.” You curse yourself for basically doxing yourself to someone you definitely don’t want knowing where you live.

“Oh, nice house. I live down the street so if you ever need anything don’t be afraid to ask. Any friend of Abby’s is a friend of mine.” He winks and then drives off. 

You scrunch up your face in disgust and drop your bike off in the driveway. No one’s going to steal your bike because everyone around here has enough money to buy ten. 

You're greeted by the sound of silence when you enter your house. You hang your backpack and keys up by the door and flop down on the couch. Your parents haven’t gone grocery shopping yet so you order a large pizza for yourself and watch TV until you fall asleep on the couch.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @soupycloud

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Thank you all for reading. 🌻

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 24)

TW: Kinda Gross.

It took awhile for the new “Doorman Family.” To adjust to their new living situation, Uzi had begun to pack up her old room, and a few boxes of stuff had already been packed in and sat on the kitchen counter. Tera was spending the day with Khan and Uzi.

While N was doing something… rather unpleasant.

Despite the container Uzi had made him lasting a long time, it did still need to be refilled once a week, and he'd already been out for two days. He just… hadn't felt like going out and getting more, it had been so comfortable to not worry about it for over a week.

But with his internal temperature beginning to pass the double digits and into the triple, he couldn't put it off any longer, he needed to go out again.

And while he could head to the nursery and ask for some, with the amount he would need every week he felt as if he would be taking oil from the mom's and babies who needed it. It was the same reason he never touched Uzi's stash, she needed it, and she needed more when she was the one filtering it for Tera as well.

So instead, he was going to the only other place in the bunker where there was a surplus of oil nobody would miss.

Doll's room.

He didn't entirely love that idea, but Doll hadn't been seen for months, and her room had been completely untouched for that time too, unless V had snuck in for a snack.

Plus, he didn't want to leave the bunker if he didn't have to, his family was here, and trying to go out, find a corpse to siphon from (which wouldn't even fill half his bottle) and trying to be back by morning was going to be a tight squeeze, and he didn't feel like going back to risking his neck every night when he had someone waiting for him to get back.

Heh, someone waiting for him.

Even though he was one of the most dangerous things in the bunker, or even on Copper-9 he still felt nervous to go back there, his footfalls feeling heavy and hesitant as he drew closer to the hallway it was located. The air around him was full of tension, even if the rest of the drones were going about their normal day.

When the door swooped open, the lights were off, concealing what was truly in the room, and he made sure it was closed behind him before he took a deep breath to steady himself. Other drones didn't need to see this, he didn't want to see it, but he had a task at hand, and well, he was already here.

And he turned on the light.

The first thing his eyes landed on was the braided chains hanging from the ceiling, coated in coagulatied oil, various limbs stuffed between the chain links awkwardly, bent horribly as they were forced through without care if they fit or not.

He really didn't like being in here, somehow it was more eerie then the spire, not just because he was used to it, the corpses that made it up were cleaned out and empty, nothing but burned out servos and warped metal. Drained of every livegiving drop of oil long ago.

The ones here still seemed to move. Each coated in it's own oil that had semi-hardened with time, glistening, dripping rhythmicly like a long forgotten sink. Doll was essentially practicing bloodletting, letting oil drip from their wounds and settle into buckets placed below the chains, helped by gravity.

She'd been methodical in her work, she didn't have fangs, so every wound that was inflicted “post mortem” was small, calculated and near perfect, maximized for draining every drop of oil into the buckets below, a part of him was impressed, even J hadn't been this efficient when she was feeding.

He let out a shaky breath, trying not to linger here any longer than required to get this done. He went over to the closest full bucket, the smell (oh why did his creator give him a sense of smell?) was nearly overpowering, so sickly sweet it made his mouth water, and his eyes burn, a conflict between his morality and his knawing hunger.

He pulled out his container and began to gingerly pour out the buckets contents into it, trying to ignore the constant skittering of the robo-roaches above him, clinging to the bodies that were closest to the ceiling.

“Come on, come on, come on.” He whispered to himself, feeling the jitters crawl up his back with every moment he lingered. He felt as though someone or something was watching him

Maybe it was the pungent smell, or the lighting that was somehow bathed the room in red, but he could almost hear… whispers, spoken by the bodies around him, begging him to help them, to save them.

Or to join them.

Finally, his container was full, but by then his hands were trembling and he didn't put the bucket back down gracefully, it clattered to the ground, breaking the relative silence in the room, suddenly all the skittering stopped, as did the whispers.

He froze for a moment, halfway expecting something to jump him for daring to make so much noise. He gulped, glancing to both of his sides before she sighed, he was just being paranoid. Doll wasn't here, no one was-

There was a clatter from the bedroom.

His head and his stinger both whipped in that direction, all his sensors snapping into fight mode, he grabbed his container and held it close to him, an instinctual growl escaping him.

His desire to make sure it was nothing, to make sure it wasn't a threat to his family, drove him forward. His legs pushed him even through his apprehension, and the silence was genuinely deafening, every sensor, every ounce of processing power was being used to take in every single detail. His eyes disappeared, replaced by the iconic “X” that disassembly drones were known for.

As he creeped into the bedroom and flicked on the light, he found, for starters, that it was a completely normal bedroom, it was clean, tidy, and thankfully distant from the oppressive carnage present in the rest of the apartment.

He roamed all seven of his eyes all over the room, finding that nothing was out of place as far as he could tell, but… he knew he heard something, he didn't imagine it.

He took a step farther into the room, before he tripped, his body lurching forward and slamming into the carpet, he yelped, the fall taking the “X” off his face, and a hiss of pain as his visor smacked the floor, producing a very shallow crack.

“Agh…” He groaned, lifting himself up slowly, his nanites already fixing the hairline fracture before he'd even noticed he'd hurt himself.

He stood up and looked back at the doorway, where he felt his core jump up into his throat.

On the floor was something slick, black, and pulsing as if it was alive, he felt his breath hitch as he immediately brought out a sword, ready to fight whatever being it was connected to.

But it only continued to lie there, still aside from the rhythmic pulses as if it had a heart that was beating. His eyes trailed along the… tentacle… vein? to see where it lead, only for it to seem to dissappear underneath the bed.

He'd seen this before, attached to centipede J. But this one seemed… inert. He slowly moved towards it, his sword still drawn from his hand as he brought the tip of it closer.

He poked it, and watched as it flinched away from the sharp tip but didn't move, the pulsing growing more frantic at the contact.

He didn't know wether he wanted to scream like a bitch and run away, or vomit. What the heck was this? This growth in Doll's room that should be attached to something organic, that was just… on the floor.

He poked it again, it flinched again, but still made no moves to well… move.

He wasn't sure what to do, this wasn't normal, what if this thing got out? Was it just deciding not to move or was it stuck there? What was it attached to?

He took another deep breath, this was freaky… but he didn't seem to be actively in danger, so he put his sword away, replacing it with his hand, and leaned down next to the king sized bed, lifting up the covers to peer underneath it.

He found that the vein wasn't attached to anything accept to the underside of the bed, where it was held there by a strange red… mass that resembled moss, if moss smelled of iron, and seemed to squirm, carrying the same pulses the vein was making, a heartbeat, or breathing.

Small black veins ran through the moss, much like the circulatory system in something that was organic and much larger. N gulped before deciding that he wanted to see if this too, was stationary, and unsheathed his sword to prod at the mass.

It too flinched, but it had the added lovely bonus of beginning to seep and thick red liquid, almost oil but… not as thick. He smelled iron, and as he pulled the sword away the tip glimered crimson. Somehow it was familiar to him, and he touched the tip of the blade, smearing the tips of his fingers together.

Blood.

How he knew that, he didn't quite know.

He pulled back, creepiness reaching a fever pitch. He decided it was time to leave, and lock this… thing. Inside this apartment, and he wouldn't ever come back in here, nope, weird creepy flesh moss could have this room, thank you.

He hurriedly made his way back to his apartment with a full canister of oil, and a core full of fear…

Next ->

[dracowars]

astraphobia | rafe cameron

pairing: rafe x reader

word count: 1,5k

summary: where y/n is scared of thunder

a/n: my first ever rafe cameron fic, omg!!! i truly hope you like it 🤍 reblogging and feedback is always appreciated!! fun fact, which is more just a fact and not so much fun: i’m indeed scared of thunders & my parents always wanted to watch the lightning with me.. welp, guess i'm traumatized now lmao

warnings: angst, astraphobia

universe: outer banks

An incredibly loud bang rips through your bones, ripples through your entire body and you startle, your eyes widening and your heart racing. It takes a moment before you realize where you are and what you just woke up to. A heavy storm is raging outside and the masses of water falling from the dark sky are pattering against the window panes, breaking through the previous silence.

Trying to calm yourself down, you breathe in and out slowly and evenly, pulling the covers up to your chin even though the hot summer's day temperature has not cooled down in the night at all. You regain control of your body after a few seconds and all your muscles relax again. That is until the room brightly lights up before your eyes and the same loud, if not even louder and deafening than before, bang sounds immediately afterwards.

The thunderstorm must be right above you.

Anxious, you cling to the soft duvet, your body tense from top to bottom, but you do not dare to move a single muscle. Your gaze wanders through the all too familiar room that lies in front of you in the dark. You know you are safe here. After all, you are inside a house, or rather in Tannyhill - in other words: there really is no better place in the entire Outer Banks to be when a severe thunderstorm is raging outside. And even though you also know very well that nothing will happen to you, you can't help but be afraid. Incredibly afraid.

Even as a child you were abnormally afraid of thunderstorms and lightning in general and apparently this fear has only deepened over the years, still accompanying you. Back then, your father always wanted to watch the lightning with you that bathed the sky in such a bright blue light, but you immediately broke into a crying fit that lasted for hours and did not get better. At least it gives you a peace of mind knowing you are not alone in today's storm.

Well, at least not entirely.

A soft snoring sounds - only audible with great effort due to the loud rain - from next to you and knowing that your boyfriend is right beside you, with you, calms you down a bit. Once another bang rings through the room, you slide fully under the heated covers to hide, bumping your legs into Rafe's accidentally, but he does not budge. This thunderstorm does not seem to bother him at all anyway.

Tears well up in your eyes and your body is already shaking slightly while so much fear pours through you, pumping through your veins at the thoughts of what could happen.

What if lightning strikes? And the lightning rod does not work?

Freaking out on the inside, you try to tame your bad thoughts and instead think about something positive, literally anything else than rain or storm or lightning. And when that does not work, you just try to focus on Rafe's regular breathing, blocking out the world around you. At first, this method actually works quite well and your heart rate drops, but unfortunately it only lasts until the next thunder rumbles over your head, the room turning bright as daylight for a few seconds.

This time, your whole body jerks up and you end up covering your ears with your hands, but even that does not calm you down now. More unconsciously than you want to, you cuddle up to your boyfriend, whose body radiates a pleasant warmth as you come closer. Rafe is on his stomach, one of his arms hanging over the edge of the bed while the other, which he used to hold your hand tightly when you fell asleep, is next to your pillow. You snuggle up against him carefully, trying not to wake him, although, deep down, you kind of hope for him to do so.

You know Rafe would want you to wake him up if you were feeling down or needed help. But you swore to yourself you would not wake him. He has had a busy week and once again had to endure a heavy, undeserved lecture from his father today. You spent the whole evening comforting him until he finally fell asleep in your arms, and so did you, although you must have missed the storm warning.

Your panic and fear of thunderstorms suddenly take the initiative without you being able to stop yourself. You need him.

"Rafe", you whisper softly and barely audible as you put your hand on his bare shoulder and shake him lightly. "Babe?"

No reaction and the storm continues to wreak havoc outside.

"Rafe? Babe, please wake up", you almost beg him, on the verge of crying now, and you are about to give up and just get through the night when he suddenly shows signs of stirring. His shoulders tense under your hand as he takes a deep breath until you shake him again. "Please."

Apparently he has finally noticed you and slowly turns to face you, running his hand through his already disheveled hair. He looks at you with tired, half-closed eyes, but you are not sure if he is actually awake.

"Hm? What's wrong, baby?”, comes out of his mouth softly, his voice hoarse and groasy from sleep as he runs his hand over his face, confused. "What time is it?"

"Rafe, I'm scared", you admit, and your words seem to flip a switch inside of him, instantly activating his protective instincts that overlook even his sleepiness.

"What? What's going on?”, he asks you, worried but still not quite sane, his mind still caught in a dream world. He narrows his eyes tightly so that he can even make you - or rather your outline - out in the dark room in front of him. Before you can explain why you woke him up in the dead of night, however, your entire body gives a violent start again as a loud rumble of thunder resounds directly overhead. After that, it does not take words for Rafe to understand what is going on.

"Are you serious?", Rafe chuckles lightly to himself, as if he can't believe this is the reason you robbed him of his precious sleep. His words hurt you deeply and make you realize that you really shouldn not have woken him up.

"I'm sorry, I-", you start to apologize, but are promptly interrupted by a lightning strike that was probably very close by. The loud bang makes the walls shake and the rain falling from the sky intensifies. You huddle in fear, your head down, clutching the covers tightly.

"Oh, come here", Rafe chuckles, pulling you into his arms, his warmth welcoming your tense body. He gently lays your head on his chest so he can wrap his arms around you and hug you tight, giving you the protection you so desperately sought. As he stares at the ceiling and you just wait for another shock to go through your body, he draws patterns on your back, which is still hidden under the covers, with the tips of his fingers. How you can still lie under the covers at these temperatures remains a mystery to him.

"You are trembling, darling. Are you cold?", Rafe asks you softly, pressing his lips against the top of your head, gently tugging you closer and readjusting the blanket on top of you.

With a slight shake of your head you deny this, although you are not even sure if it is true. Your body is so tenee and your nervous system on fire that you can't tell whether you are warm or cold right now. But what you do know is that Rafe's closeness and mental presence somehow makes it better. The storm outside is not getting better by any means, but your heartbeat slows down a bit now as you focus on the patterns Rafe is still drawing on your back.

His other hand wanders over your lower body and finally slips under your shirt, which is way to big for you as you borrowed it from him to sleep in. His hand splayed across your stomach feels warm and you close your eyes for a moment, until the next thunder rumbles and makes you flinch.

"Shh, calm down. I'm with you. Nothing can happen to you here", Rafe whispers to you carefully, kissing the top of your head again and again while you listen to his regular heartbeat. "Not in my arms anyway."

"I know but.. Please, if it is okay with you, just hold me like this until the storm has passed", you ask him, cuddling up to and squeezing him even tighter, putting one leg over his waist.

"Of course, Baby. You don't have to ask me", he smiles softly and also hugs you tighter so that you face the raging storm outside together, almost forgetting the loud thunder as you listen to each other's breathing until you finally drift off into a deep and well-deserved slumber.

[francesminos-tt]

Lucemond time travel fix-it au with a twist where a 11-year-old Aemond and his 30-year-old self switches bodies.

Older!Aemond is happily married to Lucerys. They have three children and Lucerys is nursing their youngest.

Youger!Aemond just got his eye gauged out. Poor boy.

It all starts at that fateful night on Driftmark. Aemond claimed Vaghar but lost an eye. The pain is too intense, the hurt too deep, the humiliation too intolerable, and most importantly, the indifference in his father’s eyes is too much to bear. As the maester is sewing his flesh back together, Aemond blacks out for a bit.

When he wakes up next, he finds himself in a strange place. He’s lying on a massive bed; the unique ocean scent tells him that he’s still on Driftmark, but the surrounding is completely different from mere seconds ago. Did he pass out longer than he thought? Did his mother put him to rest? Why is his face not hurting? What is the warmth on his left?

Aemond doesn’t have to wonder any longer, because the warmth shifts and Aemond hears a small yawn as he feels hot breath on his neck.

“Why are you up, Aemond?” A mop of brown curls emerges from Aemond’s blind side. It’s a boy, no, young man with soft features and sleepy eyes the color of honey wine.

Aemond doesn’t know him. Seven, he never sleeps in the same bed with anyone else. And he certainly doesn’t cuddle.

“Who are you? I demand you to get off my bed and identify yourself.” Aemond says, his voice deep and resonating, nothing like the voice Aemond is accustomed to.

This is NOT his voice.

The young man frowns, sleep disappearing from his eyes. He studies Aemond for a while before slips off the bed. The young man fishes an oversized tunic from the floor and throws it on. The tunic comes down all the way to the middle of his thigh, and Aemond belatedly realizes his companion is completely naked. So is Aemond.

“Did Aegon give you something nasty again? I am going to cut off his balls.” The young man spits, pacing around the room to light the candles.

Aegon, right, that’s a familiar name. His older brother is constantly horny and drunk which annoys Aemond to the core, but now he would die to see a familiar face again.

“Here. Drink some water. Does your head hurt? Do you feel like vomiting? I can have the maester prepare some tonic for you, or do you prefer some warm soup?” The young man returns to the bed with a goblet in hand. He offers the goblet to Aemond before leans down, pressing their forehead together to feel Aemond’s temperature.

Aemond’s breath catches in his throat. Never is someone so caring to him. Not even his own mother. Alicent is always civil and aloof. She is more Queen than mother to him. Aemond can’t remember the last time someone showed such affection and devotion to him.

“How do you feel? Talk to me, Aemond, beloved, you are scaring me.” The young man brushes a strand of silver hair from Aemond’s forehead, his touch so tender that Aemond doesn’t want him to stop.

“Who are you?” Aemond asks again, this time barely a whisper. This is a dream, Aemond is sure of it. Maybe the maester gives him too much milk of the poppy. That’s why he would have this strange but incredibly vivid and addicting dream. He is afraid if he asks the wrong question, the caring stranger would disappear and he will be left alone with pain again.

The stranger chuckles, as if Aemond just did something silly but endearing.

“I can’t believe you are so hang-over that you forget your own husband.” The stranger says. His eyes twinkle, small beads of sweat gives his skin an inviting sheen, and Aemond could see red bite marks scattered all over his chest, especially around his nipples.

“Husband?” Aemond repeats, rather stupidly.

“That’s right. I am your husband, Lucerys.” The young man kisses Aemond on the lips as he reveals the truth.

Aemond’s whole world starts to spin. No. It cannot be. This is merely a milk of the poppy induced dream. There is no way he would marry Lucerys of all people. The boy who just took his eye.

But, come to think of it, Aemond now sees a pair of big doe eyes, unruly curls, plush lips, full cheeks, and a cute button nose. All those features scream Lucerys to him.

“What year is it?” Aemond mutters.

“Are you sure you are all right, love? It’s 140 AC.”

And just like that, a 11-year-old Aemond somehow transfers into the body of his older self almost 20 years later.

Bonus:

121 AC, Driftmark

Aemond (turns to the maester): Can you look at my husband Lucy, eh, I mean my nephew Lucerys? I think his nose is still bleeding.

Everyone looks shocked except for Lucerys.

Lucerys (sniffles): Are you hurting too much uncle?

Aemond: It’s not too bad. Come here, you can kiss it better.

Lucerys (stumbles toward Aemond)

[cybervesna]

One hundred-four degrees Fahrenheit

Type: One-shot (Dogtown Nights) Rating: Mature Relationship: Kurt Hansen/OC, Kurt Hansen/Wiosna Blazkowicz

Idk if someone's gonna read it, if so I hope you enjoy it.

Heavy smoke from his cigarette covered his view as he exhaled the substance from his lungs. Despite temporary blindness, his eyes were still focused on one place or rather a person. 

Right in front of him lies the object of his interest. Wires all over, allowing her to get lost in the depths of cyberspace. The netrunner most likely had no idea that she was being watched. Her boss was like an eagle preying on her defenseless body. 

But he doesn't want to hurt her, no. He's admiring and mesmerizing every inch of her. He's making sure that the movement of her cleavage caused by heavy breathing isn't out of order, and that the drops of sweat forming on her forehead evaporate as soon as they appear. 

He inhaled the deadly substance again and kept it in his lungs as he checked her vitals on his HUD. 

One hundred two degrees Fahrenheit. 

It wasn't alarming, yet a little too high for his liking. Two degrees more and an emergency cooling will freeze her. 

This time the smoke escaped through his nostrils, making him look like a dragon whose fire was responsible for the increased body temperature of his prey.

One hundred degrees Fahrenheit. 

Good, he thought. She either moved to lighter tasks or is about to dive out from the cybernetic void.

He observed her, carefully. The steady breathing was like a lullaby to his nerves. Calming, and reassuring nothing will happen, and he's just paranoid for having all the bad scenarios forming in his head.

One hundred four degrees Fahrenheit. 

***

It's hard to describe something that the human mind can't comprehend. Yet, somehow Wiosna could see everything in a simplified way, trying to make sense of the data around her. 

First was the darkness, and from it came light. No. The light was her. Or maybe she was the darkness? 

Lines of code disintegrated with every passing second, yet can she even measure time in such a place? And why is she staring right at herself? There are no mirrors in cyberspace. 

“Interesting. Emotions truly can be transferred into data.” 

She heard her own voice, but it wasn't her who said it. 

“You should vocalize your concerns.” Wiosna’s reflection insisted. 

“You already know what I'm going to say.” 

The vision fractionated into a glitchy matrix of data as it transformed itself into a red mist filling the void around the woman. There was something familiar about it, like an image she had seen before. The red mixed itself with the darkness in a way that resembled the northern lights. 

The entity inside her becomes stronger with every jump beyond the Blackwall. Grows like a parasite inside Wiosna's inner world. If it can take her form now, what else is it capable of doing? 

Being a menace to her for sure.

Wiosna felt how the rogue AI manipulated her code to cause some chaos. Nothing serious, just a few short circuits, and an overheat deamon. In Wiosna's opinion, it was meant to piss her off, rather than cause actual damage.

That's enough. Was the last thing echoing around them before the netrunner went back to the mortal realm. 

***

“Wiosna, for fucks sake, wake up!” Kurt screamed into Wiosna's face as he shook her shoulders. 

All the systems around them turned into an orchestra of alarms, loud enough that he didn't know if she could even hear him in this mess despite being inches away. 

Kurt held her cold, lifeless body in his arms. The drops of water on her face turned into frost because of emergency cooling. He knew that the purple shade of her skin was a result of preventing her from overheating, as most of the electronics in the room burned one by one. Regardless of all the logic, it planted in his head a scary question. 

What if she's already dead? Does life have any meaning without her?

He knows better than that. He's a soldier. There's no time for grieving in his life. 

Put yourself together, Hansen! 

Allowing himself to panic, even for a minute was unacceptable. But those intrusive thoughts were louder and louder in his head, as the mind tried to make a plan for every possible outcome of this situation.

Is that how Wiosna feels all the time?

Kurt remembered how Wiosna tried to describe to him what was in her head. Of course, he read all the reports on her state, but doing it in her own words felt more intimate. He wished she would describe him more. 

She has to, when she wakes up, right? 

His hands cupped her face and he took a moment to look at her once more. The only thing in the world that he cares more about than himself. She can't be dead. Kurt gently kissed her forehead and felt how his warm lips melted the frost it touched. 

“Hm... That made me warm inside.” 

He wasn't sure if he heard it, or if it was just his imagination. Kurt moved his head to look at Wiosna again. Her blue eyes were wide open, staring at him with sparkles between the ocean of blue. And of course a smirk on her face.

This fucking woman…

“I see you missed m-” 

But Wiosna never finished whatever she wanted to say, as Kurt's lips silenced her. At least for a second until she pulled him away. 

“Fuu! You just smoked!” She screamed in disgust. 

“You almost fucking died!” 

“What? I had everything under control.” 

Kurt dropped her face as relief on his face disappeared. 

“Control? Where? Where was your fucking control when your body hit one hundred six degrees!” 

“Please, like it's the first time…” Wiosna waved her hand as if she was casting a spell that silenced all the alarms.

Kurt observed as she sat on her chair and pulled out the plug from her deep dive port. He felt anger build up inside of him, yet at the same time, he couldn't be angry at her. 

“Do I mommy you whenever you go out for a mission? You think I don't worry you will get a bullet to the head? I do, but I'm not stopping you from doing your job. So don't stop me from doing mine.” 

“This is different.” He growled. 

“How so?” 

“I can't fucking protect you there.” Kurt's voice became deeper. Every other Bargest soldier would start praying for their life at the sound of it.

But Wiosna instead just rolled her eyes at him. “So you don't trust me that I can take care of myself?” 

“The fuck? I didn't say that!” Kurt touched the bridge of his nose as he thought about how to explain what he meant. The Colonel reached for the hand of his lover. It was still cold, as if she spent this whole time walking through Siberian snow without gloves. “I guess, I meant that three minutes ago I was freaking out, you're dead and all I could do was just hold your body. So I started to consider if I should kill myself too… It felt like I failed you.” 

Kurt hated that. Those moments of weakness when emotions take over logic. He hated how it only happened with her. Wiosna made him soft. She made him weak. And yet… He never felt better. Never felt stronger than with her by his side. 

He stared into her eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of the emotions behind them. But instead of that, he felt as her hand gently left his grasp. His eyes instantly looked at the place where it left a freezing sensation on his cyberware that he already missed. But he felt it again, this time on his cheek, as her palm guided Kurt to look at her once more. 

Nothing. Wiosna's emotions were encrypted better than the data she worked with. 

Kurt leaned into her touch, kissing the inside of her palm without breaking eye contact. It's when he noticed something. Wiosna's brows slightly went up, and her lips parted as a result of his action. And before he could do anything more, her cold lips were glued to his. 

Wiosna always kissed him as her life depended on it. Kurt learned by now, that maybe the face doesn't show much, but her kisses are a testimony of everything she feels. A language of passion, that she calls “talking without words”. He had to admit, as many lovers as he had, no one saw it that way. But he gets it. Wiosna's kisses are to die for. 

Even now freezing as she is, Wiosna spreads her fire on Kurt, burning everything on its way. And he doesn't want to fight it. Like flames dancing around each other, consuming everything on their way until there's no air. 

“You just complained I smoked!” Kurt gasped in between his heavy breaths. 

“Don't fucking remind me and enjoy this.” 

[philaet0s]

Celebrity/Social Media AU - Part 7

Previous Part (Part 6)

Next Part (Part 8)

I wasn’t planning on posting the bits that weren’t on twitter/texting but I also didn’t expect anyone would actually read that AU here! So I *am* posting some of the POVs aha

Here’s one :) Just under the cut :)

Simon

“Your stupid social media addiction ruined my surprise,” Baz mumbles as I crush him into a hug.

“You came home for my birthday,” I murmur, more moved than I probably should be. I can feel tear burning in my eyes.

I’ve only seen him on Facetime for months. I’m allowed to be a little emotional.

“Of course I did. You really thought I wouldn’t?”

I shrug. “You’re so busy with your tour…”

“Not busy enough to miss your birthday, love.”

Gently, he strokes the side of my face with the back of his fingers.

I hold him a little tighter.

“I’m glad you came. I missed you so much. This is getting harder and harder.”

“Yes, I feel that way too… During the European leg of the tour, I could fly you out on the weekends if you like.”

I shake my head, then bury it against Baz’s shoulder. He smells like sweat. Maybe I could draw him a bath.

“Nah. I’d feel bad taking a plane every weekend. But I’ll come when you play in London. As always.”

…

He’s only here for two nights. His first night back home isn’t very thrilling.

I do draw him a bath, while he sits on the couch and relaxes. I turn on the hanging lights over the bathroom counter, which cast a warm, orange glow on the room rather than the harsh, white ceiling lamp. A bit of soft lighting will probably feel better on his eyes. I noticed that he kept his sunglasses inside. He never loved the aggressively bright and fast-changing lights required to offer his audience a good show at his concerts.

I even light a bunch of candles, the ones that smell like clean clothes –Baz’s favourite, for some reason.

I check the water temperature, which is too hot for me so perfect for Baz.

The room looks nice, smells nice, and the water should feel nice.

I head back to the living room. He still hasn’t taken his sunglasses off, and if I had to guess, I’d say he also closed his eyes, but he’s not asleep. He reaches out blindly, knowing I’ll take the hand he’s holding out for me. I kiss his knuckles.

“Your bath is ready, darling.”

His lips quirk up in a smile. “Hm, I love it when you call me darling.”

“I know.” I tug on his hand gently. “Come on, get up.”

“My body weighs a ton, give me a minute.”

“I can help you up if you like,” I say, as I move my hand to have a better grip on him.

I pull him towards me when he pushes himself up, but one of us uses too much strength and he ends up pressed against my chest. My arms automatically close around him.

“This is nice,” he murmurs.

“Very nice. But so will be your bath. At this rate, the water is going to be cold before you get there,” I say, amusement in my voice.

“The water’s probably scalding. It’ll be fine. Give me a hug.”

Well, I can’t say no to that, can I?”

The hug lasts much longer than it needs to. I have time to trace the familiar lines of his body with my hands, from the dip at his lower back to the curve of his shoulders; with my lips, from the crooked part of his nose to the angle of his jaw. His body weight rests almost entirely on me, it’s soothing. How good it feels to feel so much of him after only seeing him on a phone screen for weeks and weeks.

“Ok, bathtime now,” he whispers, while making no effort to move away from me.

Since I’m the brave one in this relationship, I step back and turn around. I take one of his hands in mine and lead him to the bathroom.

I help him out of his clothes, revelling in the sight of more and more brown skin. The last item I take off is his sunglasses. He has dark circles under his eyes, and his eyelids cover about half of his irises.

“You look tired.”

“Tour. Jet lag,” he answers, flatly.

I stroke his arms. “Love, you really shouldn’t have come if it’s too hard on you.”

“Like hell. I wasn’t going to miss your birthday. I’m glad I came. I just… I might not be a lot of fun tonight. We’re definitely not going out tonight,” he says, before he gets in the tub.

He lets out a long, pleased sigh when his body is fully submerged in the hot water. He closes his eyes and leans his head against the edge of the tub.

“I had no expectation of going out, don’t worry.”

“Are you going to stay with me while I take a bath?” he asks, half-teasingly, half-serious.

“No. But I was thinking I could wash your hair.”

“Hm, that’s a nice offer. You remember which bottle is shampoo and which bottle is conditioner?”

I don’t dignify those words with an answer.

I take both bottles from the cabinets where Baz’s things are stored away while he’s not home and bring them by the tub. I kneel behind the part of the tub where Baz’s head is, open the shampoo, and pour some on his hair. I massage his scalp, loving the little sounds he makes. Knowing I make him feel good, even in such a small way, fills my chest with warmth.

God, it’s been a while since I’ve properly had a chance to take care of him.

[moonlightazriel]

Runaway /// Eris X F!Reader

Summary: “I’ve read some of your Eris fics before and I thought they were sooo good. I was wondering if you could make a short story of the reader running away from the spring court at night time and Eris finds them injured and passed out in a cave and when he finds them he feels the bond snap in place? Or something like that? Hope that made sense 😅”

Warnings: Mentions of blood and death

Word Count: 951

Notes: This was so funny to do! Thanks for the request darling. Love Eris ❤️

Main Masterlist

Something crawled behind her, the thing crushing leaves underneath it as it rushed to get her, her chest moved up and down as she ran, her muscles burned and she felt like giving up, her body begging her to stop. Her abdomen bled, and the makeshift bandage was covered in the red liquid and water as the rain kept pouring on her, she was left alone to fight for her life.

The entry of the cave was rather small and if she wasn’t paying attention she wouldn’t even see it, she crawled inside, making sure to walk all the way inside, the darkness surrounded her and she blinked, trying, with no success, to see something before she passed out.

“Fuck!” Eris cursed under his breath, his clothes and boots soaked in water, he was hunting with his brothers when the storm began, the temperature dropping significantly as the night took place, something told him he had to seek shelter before he froze to death, something he wasn’t willing to let happen.

The small cave was dark at first, it was almost unnoticeable, something tugged at his chest, forcing him inside. Eris let a sparkle of flames burn in his hand, he could see that he would be protected, the small entry prevented the water from coming in, so everything was pretty much dry as he explored it, it had a curve to the left that led to the end of the cave.

His boots hit the floor as he walked the path, to make sure nothing would surprise him from the darkness, he was feeling particularly angry at the moment and having to fight wouldn’t make him feel any better. A soft snore echoed in the cave walls, and he raised an eyebrow, hand grabbing the handle of his sword, but as he approached the end of the cave, he saw a female in a pool of blood.

She was still breathing, but he didn’t know for how long, she had some cuts and bruises on her face, her delicate features, the soft cheeks and pink lips, she wasn’t from Autumn, and by the faint smell of flowers, she could only be from Spring. He lifted her up, and she frowned, her eyes still closed. He had to take her back to the Forest House, her face was as white as a ghost and her chest moved scarily slow, like she was about to breath for the last time any minute. He pulled her closer, carefully holding her, so she wouldn’t get even more hurt, and then he winnowed away.

Everything smelled like burned wood as he stepped out of the fire, inside the Forest House, yelling for help as he moved to his room, servants followed him, and he gently placed her on his bed, without a care in the world about getting his sheets dirty, he had to save her. A healer was brought and started to work on her, stitching and cleaning her wounds. The princeling didn’t left her side as they worked.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

She could hear the screams around her village, the houses burning down, people running, trying to escape, a tall male stepped in front of her, a devilish smile across his blood stained face, the looting and murders in the villages near the border wasn’t something new, but Y/N didn’t expect they would reach even the smallest ones, like her hometown.

She was working at the inn, serving costumers, talking to people she knew when they came, bringing death and despair with their swords, Spring wasn’t a safe place anymore, not since the High Lord abandoned his people, he should be protecting them, stopping this carnage. She tried to block the door, but the males were stronger than her, so she ran.

The man looked at her like he wanted to devour her soul, making her shiver as she didn’t see a way out, that devilish smile as he cut her belly open, she held her organs inside, screaming in pain as she used her apron, foolishly trying to stop the blood.

That bloodlust look on his face was the only thing she saw looming in the dark.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“All those years ago I was a coward, mother, leaving Morrigan to die at the border.” Eris paced around, his mother looked at her gently, grabbing his hand to stop him.

“You protected her, your father was going to kill her. Maybe you should hide this female, Mother knows what he’ll do to her.” Her voice was kind as she pulled her son closer, kissing his forehead.

“He’ll have to kill me before i let him put his hands on her.” This was his chance of redemption, he could save her, he would fight with his father if he needed to but he wouldn’t let her die, he wouldn’t be a coward anymore.

The scream pierced the air, making the Autumn heir turn around in his heels, rushing through the house to get to his room. The door was cracked open, some servants tried to calm the female down, she was in the corner, holding a knife, swinging it in the direction of whoever dared to step closer.

“We’re here to help!” He said, hands in the air as he started to walk closer.

“Where am i?” She looked at him in the eyes, he could see his whole future there, the love he craved and a chance of a better life, a life he wouldn’t be obligated to blindly follow his father’s orders, a life he would actually make a difference for his people, he could see hope, as the burning thread attached him to the female, for the rest of his immortal life.

“You’re home.”

[builtbybrokenbells]

Gold Dust Woman | ix

Broken hearts and bruised feelings make for an ugly pairing.

Read part eight here

Pairing: jake kiszka x f!reader, sam kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 16.4K

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex (wrap it), fingering, oral (m&f receiving), exhibitionism, public sex, impact play, spit play, temperature play, dom/sub, touch of bratty sub, praise, degradation, soft sex, angst, fighting, mentions of alcoholism/alcoholic tendencies, drinking, swearing, crying, v emotional chapter, sorry if i miss any!

heres chapter nine a little early, just cause I feel so bad for being horrible at posting 😁 also I am living for the speculation on the story; you all have very intriguing ideas to share. as always, enjoy, be kind, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes! (cause there’s def lots, this is incredibly lightly edited)

Music boomed in your ears and your chest burned with heat from your last shot. Dylan and Riley were fighting against their disgust for the tequila, nursing a lime wedge in their mouths as their eyes watered with regret. You placed your own wedge in the shot glass, barely wincing as the alcohol moved to your stomach. You had become accustomed to the sensation, and it was no different than the scratch of cigarette smoke on the back of your throat. If anything, the otherworldly ache from substance was much easier to digest than the permanent pain that settled in your heart. But, to you, another night of drowning out the sorrow was infinitely better than speaking the trouble into existence, even if you knew you would wake up feeling worse than the morning before.

Days had passed since your first show in Atlanta. It had gone without a hitch; the only thing you wished to change was the length of time you were allowed to spend on stage. Performing was your new purpose, your driving force for getting out of bed and surviving the day. It was something you had been searching for since you moved to Nashville, and you had finally found the feeling outside of another human being. The world seemed perfect if you were an outsider looking in, but perfect was subject, and your life was far from it. You had your dream job, more money than you ever dreamed of as a child, and more love pouring in than ever before, but you were still miserable. So miserable that drinking away the day served as more comfort than sobriety, lately.

Gold Dust Woman had become you; the name fitting better than it ever had. Elusive and empty, always searching for a thrill in a bottle, and seemingly unable to find a purpose. You felt like you were walking aimlessly, showing up to venues solely for the sake of entertaining. When the hotel doors closed and you found yourself alone again, any sense of self was gone without a trace. Mirrors had become the enemy, always seeming to showcase the emptiness you held behind your eyes, taunting you with unfamiliarities that you did not have the energy to change. You were lost within the mess of the rockstar lifestyle, and the blame was only on you.

You had turned volatile and distant, a shell of who you used to be. Unfortunately, it was not the pressure of the music industry, nor the lack of rules and enhanced freedom that you had gained. In truth, that was very low on your list of reasons for feeling so poorly. The reality was that your dance with the devil had finally caught up to you. The brothers had moved in for the kill, successful in their strike. Entertaining love from both of them had always been tiresome, but now you were exhausted. It was not loving them that was difficult, rather the fact that you loved them so much, and so equally. Now, there was no chance of escaping them, even just for a moment. You lived with them, travelled with them, and worked with them every minute of the day. Most of the time, your closed hotel door room did not even stop them from invading your life.

Sam was persistent, always around in attempt to win your heart for good. Jake, on the other hand, was absent once more. This separation was not at his hands, though. You had refused any further contact after the debacle of the nameless bimbo at the Atlanta venue. You had no way to express it, but the pain you were holding from that interaction was debilitating, and it was only worsened when you looked at him. You understood that his intent was to hurt you in the same way he was hurting, but he struck nerves that you didn’t even realize existed. You weren’t official with either boy, but had always been under the pretence of at least being committed. Perhaps your jealousy and anger was misplaced, but even if it was, it was still very present in your mind.

You were certain he knew the affect of his actions, and you were sure he felt remorseful about it. However, you had never allowed him the chance to express his apologies even if he did want to make amends. Every conversation he initiated was quickly shot down, every touch was evaded, and every longing glance was not returned. You tried to appear uncaring, but the truth was you cared too much. You weren’t sure if this stood for the ending of your relationship with Jake, but it was certainly a bump in the road that threw you violently off course.

Your hurt lied within the fact that Jake and Sam both knew the truth about the situation; they continued to try and win you over while knowing that you were seeing both of them at the same time. You, however, were not under the impression that the brothers would be entertaining anyone else. If Jake had flirted with another girl in good faith, maybe you would have been more likely to forgive and forget. Instead, he only used the woman to bother you. She was a weapon meant to shatter your ego, and it did exactly that. His childish endeavour was harmless in theory, mostly because you knew he did not take her home that night. Even if he did spend the entire evening immersed in her, it ended as soon as you both walked out of the door of the venue. The issue was not the innocent flirting; it was the fact he had done it solely to hurt you, and hurt you he did.

Seeing him entertaining advances from another person reminded you of where you sat all those months ago, pining after Sam while he had girls tripping over themselves to get his attention. It put you directly back into the state you were in when you were desperate for Sam’s attention, crying and hurting every night over someone who refused to acknowledge your existence in any way other than friendly. It made you feel small, insignificant and shattered your entire self worth. Perhaps he was trying to make you see things through his eyes, but he had no idea it would burn you as bad as it truly did. Being second to someone else was normal for you, but having gone so long without feeling that way, you seemed to have forgotten how much it sucked. Outwardly, you were furious, but deep down, all of the anger was nothing short of an act to cover the sound of your own breaking heart.

You missed him terribly, but not enough to give in so easily. You were determined to reach a lesson, and so far it had been working well. Although both of you were nearly unbearable to be around, the message was definitely portrayed in the way you intended, and that was enough to keep you in moderately good spirits. “Another one, please.” You told the bartender, closing your eyes for a moment to regain your senses. Thinking about Jake for too long seemed to heighten your blood pressure and prompt a migraine. You loved him, but in the same way a dog stays loyal to the owner who inflicts pain on it. You had one hell of a knack for self punishment, and you almost seemed desperate to be hurt by him. Instead of cutting it off completely, you continued to string each other along in the most painful way possible.

Loving him from a distance was excruciating, but loving him fully was even worse. Your feelings for Jake were so intense that it was hard to comprehend, but you seemed to be angry at each other more than you were happy with each other. You couldn’t help but appreciate how simple things had been with Sam, and even when you were annoyed with each other, it never seemed quite as catastrophic. Comparing the two brothers in any sense was something you had sworn not to do, but at the end of each day that passed, it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep them separate.

“Here you go, sweetheart.” He said, placing the shot in front of you. The term of endearment sent a shiver down your spine, immediately reminding you of the boy who you were desperate to forget about. He was an addiction, one that you knew was killing you, but you couldn’t figure out how to give him up. It was selfish, but on the list of sins you had committed over the course of your relationships with the boys, greed one of the lesser injustices.

“Thank you,” you placed the cool glass to your lips, tilting your head back and swallowing the liquid. Without as much as a wince, you sat the glass back on the table and popped the lime in your mouth to satiate the burn. “Can I get a double rum and coke, too?” You had been drinking since before the show, but you were yet to feel even a buzz. You opted to pick up the pace, hoping if it wouldn’t wipe your memory clean, it would at least lull you to sleep later.

“Do you think I’m strong enough to carry you home?” Dylan asked, giving you an incredulous look at the sound of your order.

“No, but it would be funny to watch you try.” You chuckled, slipping your fingers around your drink and bringing the straw to your lips.

“You’ve been drinking since this morning. How are you still standing?” Riley asked, joining the conversation.

“Talent.” You smiled, looking to the booth that held the rest of your company. “I’m going to play pool.” You announced, not waiting for them to follow before moving towards the crowded area. You picked a cue off the wall, scanning the tables in hopes of finding a group that was looking for an extra. Better yet, your gaze landed upon a vacant table that was up for grabs. You moved towards it, setting your drink on the corner and arranging the balls.

You shot the cue ball, breaking the rack of the other balls. They scattered across the green surface of the table, one landing in the corner pocket and the rest slowing to a stop before they could reach.

You made a move to line up another shot, focusing on the ball and sinking it effortlessly. You straightened up, scanning for your next target, when you felt a body present itself at the end of the table. “Nice shot,” without any deeper analysis, you could tell that the compliment was laced with deeper meaning. The conversation starter was not because of your drunken talent, rather because he was desperate for you to speak to him. You did not acknowledge him, opting to brush past him and shoot at another ball. At your rejection, you thought he might head back to the booth to sulk, but you were never lucky, especially when it came to Jake. “I’d love to join. You know, if you don’t want to keep playing yourself.” He offered.

You made a move back to your drink, refusing to even look him in the eye. Instead, you shot another ball into a corner pocket, the slam of the cue against the ball exaggerating your feeling of distaste for his company. He watched, unsure of what to say to make things better. He knew he had done wrong, and it was haunting him. His moment of gratification from your shock was not worth losing you for good, and if he could take back the pain he caused, he would without hesitation. Despite his regret, he was beginning to get fed up with your lack of communication. His hot-headed nature was quickly surfacing, and he could only keep his composure for so long.

“Come on, y/n. Cut the shit.” He snapped, finally losing the temper he’d been so desperate to keep hold of. At the sound of his tone, your head shot up in anger, pupils clouded with a flame of rage. “You can’t ignore me forever.”

“You have no idea what I’m capable of, Jake.” You snipped, knuckles turning white from the tight grip you had around the wooden cue.

“Oh, I know, Gold Dust Woman.” He said, never breaking your gaze. Your heart was erratic in your chest and the alcohol in your system was not particularly intoxicating you, but it was definitely worsening your emotional state.

“That’s your problem, Jake. You know everything, don’t you?” You sneered. “You’ve got it all figured out, and we just live in this world that Jacob created and we have to be happy about it because he thinks he’s fucking god.” You slammed the cue back on the rack, finished with your lighthearted game and finding yourself overdue for a departure.

“So you want to fight?” He chuckled, peering down at you with a hint of curiosity in his face. “Let’s fight, sweetheart. I’ve got all night.”

“I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to speak to you at all, but you can’t seem to take the fucking hint.” You picked up your drink and began walking away, done with the conversation before it ever really started. You were in no state of mind to hash out your thoughts or settle the matter, and you weren’t willing to channel the energy to get there.

“I want to talk, y/n. That’s the point. You can’t have it your way all of the time, even if you’re so used to getting it.” You chugged back the last of the liquid in your cup, sitting the glass on the counter as you signalled the bartender towards you. “The world has more than just you in it.”

“Another double, please.” You said, disregarding Jake’s words completely. “And I’d like to close out, if I can.” He gave a nod, compliant with your request.

“I’ll get it.” Jake announced, brushing you to the side as the bartender sat the debit machine in front of you. He was mad, but it did not forego his feelings for you, nor his need to take care of you. “And mine, too.”

“Fuck off, Jake.” You warned, reaching to grab it before he could. He looked to you, eyes all but red with anger, clearly showcasing that he was more than done with your tyrant.

“Behave,” he muttered, just low enough for you to hear. Even as upset as you were, his words prompted a rush of arousal straight through you. Jake being an asshole somehow equated to sexual desire in your mind, and despite your contempt, you would have been willing to let him have his way with you right then and there. You watched as he paid, turned on but careful to not be forgetful of the fire in your heart. “Let’s go.” He turned to you, eyeing the drink in your hand as a silent order to finish it quickly.

“I’m not going home with you.” You let out a laugh, shaking your head at his ridiculous request. You sipped through the straw, watching as the theoretical smoke began pouring from his ears at your disobedience. You may have been intrigued at his dominance, but not enough to push your feelings to the side. By having sex with him, you would only allow the painful debacle to continue without any repercussions. “I don’t even want to talk to you. Do you really think I want to fuck you?” Something snapped deep inside him, like the fuse to the bomb had finally whittled away to the end.

“I’m not asking, y/n. Finish your fucking drink and get outside.” There was no hidden implications within his message this time; he wasn’t using your high emotion as leverage for a night long session. He wanted to fight, too, even if he tried to pass it off as a mature discussion. You shot him a glare, but chugged down the carbonated beverage like it was holy water, knowing that it would be the night’s only salvation. You sat the cup on the counter and turned without another word.

Back at the booth, Dylan and Danny were watching with fear settled deep in their spines, worried that when they made their return back to the hotel, there would be no building left to sleep in. Jakes need for control and your fiery temper was not a good mix, and that was true without the added effects of the liquor you both had been gorging yourselves on. Danny was certain that Jake’s antics with the nameless woman at the venue would cause nothing but trouble, and Dylan was there to pick up the pieces after the devastation struck. They knew how catastrophic the situation could be, and they weren’t sure how to stop the inevitable.

“They’re going back together, aren’t they?” Josh asked, tipsy and almost laughing at the thought. He wasn’t even facing the door, but he didn’t need to see you to know what you were up to.

“Yeah, how’d you know?” Danny chuckled.

“It’s Jake,” he rolled his eyes, as if it were obvious. “I can feel how angry he is all the way over here. He’s not going to let her go home without him.” The three settled into a shared laugh at the thought.

“Use your twin telepathy every now and then and tell me how they’re doing, okay?” Dylan asked, laughing but still worried about the scene that might unfold. Josh peeked over his shoulder in just enough time to catch Jake swing the door open for you, his grip nearly breaking the wooden panel as he held it. The emotion radiating from the both of you was heavy enough to fill the entire room, leaving no empty space for any questions or concerns.

“They’ll either never speak to each other again, or they’ll be back to normal by tomorrow.” Josh deducted, knowing no better way to explain his thoughts. Dylan heaved a heavy sigh, slinking back into the booth and closing her eyes. Danny snaked an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his side in hopes to ease her worry, but all three of them were praying for the best possible outcome.

The night was cold on your exposed skin; the flimsy fabric of your tattered shirt sprawled with a worn band logo was not enough to insulate any heat. Your jeans were littered with rips and holes, leaving your legs vulnerable, too. The alcohol coursing through you was doing nothing to aid your temperature, and your teeth were chattering as soon as the bar door shut behind you. Wordlessly, Jake followed you as you stormed away. He never let you get too far, but kept a respectable distance from you. He didn’t want you running off, or for anyone to intercept the two of you. His arms-length distance was suitable for his comfort, but he didn’t want to crowd you, either. Even in his anger, he was always mindful of your safety and comfortability.

“Take my jacket, y/n.” He said, watching your draw your arms across your chest to preserve any body heat left in you.

“I don’t want your stupid jacket.” You replied, picking up the pace as you trundled down the sidewalk.

“Not asking,” he reminded, slipping it off his shoulders as he followed.

“Stop trying to take care of me!” You exploded, turning to him quicker than he could comprehend. He halted his movement in attempt to stop himself from running into you, still processing the sudden change when you started to speak again. “It’s not your job, Jake! I never asked you to, and I don’t want you to!” His scowl was heavy, unsettling and so unlike anything you’d seen from him before.

“I don’t care.” He said, looking down at you with little fear of your outburst. “I don’t care if you want me to, y/n. Don’t care if you asked, don’t care if it’s my job. I’m always going to do it, because I care about you. Now take the fucking jacket, and keep walking. You can yell at me all you want when we get inside.” You found yourself caught in a staring contest with him, both fuming but neither willing to give in. He raised an eyebrow, moving his arm to shove the jacket a little closer to you. With a clenched jaw, you snatched it from his hand and draped it over your shoulders. He didn’t think to utter a thanks, and you didn’t stay long enough to notice if he did.

The hotel lobby was vacant when you tumbled through the doors in disarray. The clerk at the front desk seemed like they were eager to greet you, but decided not to once they saw the expression you adorned. You rushed to the elevator, pressing the button as many times as your hand would allow. When the doors opened, you bustled inside and clicked the button to your floor, hoping the doors would close in his face. When they began to slide together, Jake caught up to you in enough time to stick his hand between them and send them flying open again. You rolled your eyes as he made his presence known, wondering why he felt the need to stand so close to you. In truth, he was all the way across the elevator, yet your intoxication and annoyance made it seem like he was nose to nose with you.

When a ding rang through the air signaling your arrival on the top floor, you couldn’t seem to get away fast enough. He stayed close behind, knowing that if he let you get to your room and close the door, you would never let him in. His inkling was not incorrect, as that was your exact plan. You thought if you could gain some distance, you would be able to lock the door and sulk in peace. You flashed your key card against the reader, twisting the knob and pushing inward in one swift motion. You opened the door so fast that you almost fell in and onto the floor, but kept your footing just to get the satisfaction of slamming the door in his face. When you turned to close the door, you were joyous when you didn’t see Jake immediately behind you. You thought you were in the clear, but just before you could bridge the gap, he stuck his foot between the frame and the door itself.

“Take a hint,” you huffed, out of breath from his pursuit.

“Would you give it up?” He snapped. “Let me in. I’m not leaving things like this. I’m not leaving you like this.” He refused to move out of the way, his foot planted firmly on the ground so you couldn’t lock him out.

“Then you can sit out there all night.” You challenged, sending another shove on the handle. He let out a hiss of pain as his foot was jammed in the opening, making the foolish decision to withdraw. Seizing the opportunity, you managed to latch the door shut without any further struggle. Jake felt a wave of frustration wash over him, letting his forehead fall flat against the solid door, sending the thumping sound through your room. You felt a sob rising in your throat, disgusted with yourself and the situation you found yourself in. You, too let your head fall against the door; both of you assumed the position, wishing you were leaning on each other to feel the warmth of comfort. Instead, stubborn and determined to be right, you left your hand on the knob with no intent to open it again. The yearning was so strong that you could both feel it clearly even through the blockage of oak wood.

“I know you’re mad at me, y/n, and I know why.” His words were muffled, but you could hear him clear as day. When it came to the sweet tone of his voice, you would strain to listen until you were left deaf and defeated. “Let me fix it, please.” You didn’t answer, instead felt the tears slip down your cheeks as you pictured the lingering pain he was holding in his features. He hurt you, and you were hurting him. It was an evil thing to entertain a relationship when you were both bound to destroy each other. Love was an ugly motivator, and it had left you both feeling alone much more often than it ever left you happy.

“I don’t want to fix it, Jake. I just want it to stop.” Perhaps your poor mood was clouding the level of drunkenness you were experiencing; now that the rage had settled into a dull ache, your head was swimming with intoxication. You weren’t sure what you were thinking, or feeling. All you knew was that it hurt, and it hurt unbearably bad. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“If you’re ending this, at least do it to my face.” The crack in his voice was unmistakable, his fear louder than any other emotion shared that night. “Please, Gold Dust Woman. Don’t end things like this.” You cheeks were already streaked with mascara, your skin damp with the physical remains of your mistakes. You wanted it to stop hurting, but you didn’t know how to put an end to it. Walking away was tempting, but the emptiness in your heart prompted from the thought alone was enough to make you stay. “Let me in. You can yell, or scream, or break things. I don’t care, just let me in.”

“I can’t let you in, Jake. Don’t you get that?” You clamped your teeth down on your bottom lip, holding back the urge to cry out. “Every time I do, it hurts. It shouldn’t be painful to love you.” You were both too caught up in your breaking hearts to notice the declaration of love that you had let slip. “You said intimacy isn’t easy, and I know that, but it shouldn’t hurt this bad.”

“Open the fucking door,” he pleaded, jiggling the handle as he begged for your cooperation. “Y/n, I will break this door down if I have to.” His desperation was evident, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t bear the thought of you being in tears and him not being there to hold you. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, despite his previous promises of being a good sport if the situation turned on him. Love had crazed him, and he was too weak to fight it anymore.

You took a step away, looking to the whiskey bottle decorating your nightstand like a trophy of despair. If heartbreak were a competition, you would be in the lead. You reached for it, taking a long drink to satisfy the ache in your heart. You were so lost within suffering that you weren’t even certain what you were hurting over anymore. Yes, Jake had shattered you with his careless flirting, but it had grown far beyond his mistakes. Months of hurting from being stuck between the brothers was breaking you down, leaving nothing left but a mess of guilt and sorrow. You were on the brink of insanity, and you weren’t sure how much more you could take before inevitably spiralling out of control. You had no idea who you were, nor where you were going. Time was blur and you were just a pawn within the game, floating through while life happened around you. When he wiggled the handle one more time, the guilt from pushing him away became too much. You took two long strides to the door, using a single finger to pull down the handle, just enough to set the latch free. It took him a moment to process your action, but once he did, he swung the door open like it was the gate to hell.

Sandalwood filled the room, and it’s cold hands reached out for you with a mask of invitation. When you gave in to it, showing signs of weakness, the fingers clasped around your neck in a violent hold. It was enough to bring you to your knees, enough to make you beg for more, even while knowing it would eventually be the very thing that would take your life. You looked to meet his eyes, but neither of you were ready to run to each other in apology. You took a seat on the edge of the bed, bottle in hand with a heavy heart. “Start talking.” He kicked the door shut behind him, but did not move any closer to you.

“You don’t get to come in here and start barking orders.” You shook your head, chuckling as you raised your hand to wipe your cheeks clean of any painful evidence.

“Would you rather have it your way? I can stand in the hallway and wait. Maybe by the morning you’ll sober up enough to talk to me.” He tried his best to keep cool, but he had never felt so much emotion course through his veins at once. Every possible worry was swimming in his head, leaving him desperate for some sort of relief.

“You’re such a self-righteous prick.” You scoffed, slamming the bottle down on the table. “It’s okay when you get pissed off at me and ignore me for three days, but when I do it, it’s the end of the world?” You looked up, finally catching sight of his face. “Sorry, I forgot you’re the only person in the world who’s allowed to feel things.”

“No, I’m sorry, sweetheart. I think you might have things a little mixed up. I dont go around picking fights at the bar in front of everyone. I’m not the one locking you out in the hallway and making you look like an idiot.” He cocked his head to the side, the look in his eye dangerous. You were both volatile, barely needing to be provoked to explode.

“Oh, so it’s an appearance thing! God forbid Jake looks a little silly, I forgot it’s not good for his image when somebody calls him on his shit.” You seethed. “Sorry I ruined your mystical elusive bullshit, or that I made you admit you can feel something deeper than sexual. It’s about time that I realize that it’s part of the rockstar charm to make someone fall for you and then keep them guessing if you feel the same way.”

“Guessing?” He fumed, taking a step towards you. “You really have to guess if I care about you or not?” You stood, just as willing to challenge him.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t letting random bimbo’s feel you up at concerts.” You snapped. “Or is that your backup plan? Love some brotherly competition but not when it gets too tough?”

“You know that’s not true, y/n.” He warned, pointing his finger at you to solidify his truth. “I fucked up. I get it, and I feel like shit about it. I’ll say I’m sorry a million times if I have to, but you don’t get to accuse me of that.”

“I don’t get to?” You reiterated, trying to understand his words. “You deliberately went out of your way to make me jealous. You stood there, dangling her off your arm like a shiny trophy for what? Leverage? A way of telling me that I’m easily replaceable? Or as a way to tell me that you don’t think I’m good enough?” You tried to fight the wavering tone, tears threatening to make another appearance and ruin your moment of power. “You don’t get to be mad, Jake. You don’t get to be upset over something you started. I understand that this whole thing hasn’t been sunshine and rainbows, but you started it! You got me into bed that night knowing I loved him, and you didn’t care about any repercussions! I can’t keep feeling like shit over an outcome you knew would happen!”

“I get to be mad!” He boomed, moving even closer. “I get to be upset, I’m allowed to hurt, I’m allowed to feel everything that you feel, because I’m a fucking person, too!” You were both yelling, uncaring of the late hour or the neighbouring rooms likely filled with sleeping people. “I get to fuck up, and I get to say sorry, just like you do! Just because I signed up for the pain doesn’t mean it feels nice to see you in his arms!”

“Why doesn’t it feel nice, Jake?” You hissed. “Is it because you love me, or is it just because you don’t want him to have me?” He gave you a bewildered look, stunned by your question. It caught him so off guard that the malice temporarily fled him.

“What?”

“You keep acting like you’re innocent, that this whole thing started because you were so enamoured with me, but it’s just not true, is it?” You raised an eyebrow, watching the flood of disdain wash over his face. “That baggage is awfully heavy, Jacob, even if you think you’re carrying it well. This pissing contest with Sam is way bigger than just me. You let me wallow in the guilt and feel like the worst person in the world because I fell for both of you, but you get off on it, don’t you? The thrill of taking something from your brother?” He straightened up, watching you with a fervour. His expression was deadly, eyes dangerous and warning you to stop before you took it too far.

“Y/n,” his voice was low, the tone calm but covering a mountain of red. He was vibrating at the accusation, and was pleading with you to yield. Their history was always left unspoken, and you voicing it back to him did nothing but bring up years worth of pain he’d been desperately trying to forget.

“Do you like passing girls back and fourth? Stealing them right from each others bed and ruining them, just so you two can make up and hug it out later?” He took a step towards you, silent but deadly. “Is it fun? Do you get a good thrill from it? Do you think you can do it forever, or that you’ll always get away with it, and you and Sam can live happily in your little fucked up world?”

“Stop talking, sweetheart,” he said, looking down at you and hoping you would see reason. You were chest to chest, the tension too high to withstand.

“Just answer the fucking question. Do you love me, or do you just love the idea of him not having me?” He didn’t respond, nor did he move an inch. You were yelling in his face, crazed for the truth, but it didn’t seem to bother him at all. “Tell me, Jake! Because I can’t take this anymore! I can’t keep running back and fourth. It never mattered if I made a decision or not, because you two will never fucking stop! I care about you so much, but it just feels like you both only care about beating each other in your twisted little game. I can’t keep falling without knowing someone is going to be there to catch me, because it’s killing me! This is killing me, and it’s never seemed to bother either of you-“ you were cut off by his hand raising and his fingers gently clasping around your neck, silencing any further thoughts.

“You talk a lot, Gold Dust Woman.” He noted, jaw hard set and nostrils flared with rage as he tried to keep it buried under the surface. “If you would shut the fuck up for a minute, maybe I could answer your ridiculous questions.” You watched him, angry but having no fear of him or that he would hurt you. You gave him a slow blink, showing him that you were willing to listen if he was ready to say something meaningful. “If I let go, are you going to behave?” You blinked again, answering his question sufficiently. He slowly released his hold, studying your face for any sign you would start your tyranny again.

“You really think that I like watching him love you? That it’s fun to know you’re tangled in his sheets, with his name painted across your lips?” You didn’t respond, giving him his own moment to voice his feelings. “It’s worse than torture, y/n. Sitting at home at night, or in my hotel room, knowing that I don’t get to hold you, or tell you exactly how I feel about you. You don’t get to tell me if I’m allowed to hurt, and you don’t get to put words into my mouth to make it sound like I’m a piece of shit. You have never been a game to me. What I feel for you has never been anything but true. Sure, maybe I don’t know how to show it all of the time, and maybe I should learn how to talk about my feelings, but you have no right to say that I don’t fucking care about you.” You felt a flash of regret as he spoke, seeing the sincerity underneath the hard exterior. It was so profound that it made your chest ache just hearing it. You couldn’t imagine the pain he was feeling while professing it.

“You think you’re forgettable? Or that you’re not good enough for me? Like I’m trying to find someone to take your spot once I move on?” His face was hovering over your own, tone condescending and filled with accusatory undertones. You wanted to be angry, but you knew that you had done the exact same thing to him. “Fucking answer me.” He barked, eyes burning into you.

“I… I did, yeah. That’s how it made me feel.” You whispered, voice cracking at the thought of his arm around another girl. “It killed me, Jake, and I had to get up on stage and pretend that you hadn’t just ripped my heart out of my chest.”

“Forgetting you has never been an option for me. I’ve been trying since the day I met you, and even more so after I saw the stars dancing in your eyes every single time you looked at him.” Him. Jake didn’t have to say the name for you to know who he was referring to. Jake had been struggling with inferiority long before you’d ever graced him with your touch, and he was finally reaching a breaking point. Every time he saw you and Sam together, it was like a stab to an already open wound. “I don’t know who made you feel like you weren’t good enough, or why they would ever make you feel like that, but you are more than enough for me. So good that it fucking kills me. You’re worse than any addiction I can imagine, and there is nothing after you, y/n. No girls lined up or anything like it, none that even catch my eye, because it’s all you, and it always has been. You are everything to me.” He tried to keep his stern demeanour, but his strength was wavering at the thought of his own love for you.

“I’m not going to stand here and talk down about him, because I don’t know how he feels or what he’s thinking. All I know is that I have been crazy about you since the first time I laid eyes on you, and I still am. I don’t know how to show you, but I have been trying in any way I know how. Yeah, I started this, and sometimes I wish I didn’t, but it has never been because I don’t want you.”

“If we care so much, why is this so fucking hard all of the time!” You exploded, unable to process everything he was saying to you. “If we like being together, why are we always mad at each other!” Your words were not particularly posed as a question, but rather a statement. “At first it was exciting, and the passion kept things interesting, but now it’s fucking exhausting.”

“Because that’s what happens when people care about each other, y/n! You fight, you feel things you don’t normally feel, and everything is a million times harder, especially when you can’t have each other!” He was frustrated, and that was clear. You still weren’t sure how you felt, or if the anger had dissipated enough for you to move on. You knew you were still upset, but there was a small voice in your head begging for you to reach out and hold him, that it would solve all of your problems and you would wake up in the morning without any more pain as long as you woke up next to him.

“Is that your way of asking?”

“Asking what?” He snapped, tired of the back and fourth.

“To love me.” You clarified, your heart erratic as the words left your mouth. He seemed to stop breathing for a moment, shocked at your words. “Because if it is, it fucking sucks.”

“I have been asking you that every single day, y/n.” He corrected. “In everything I do, and everything I say, but you won’t let me.”

“Because it’s not supposed to be this hard, Jake. The yelling, the ignoring, the jealousy and the pushing each other away. It’s not supposed to be like this.”

“Then leave.” He snapped. “Or tell me to leave! If you don’t think this is right, or if you don’t want me, stop pretending you do.” You managed to shake your head at his outburst, terrified that he would step closer, and even more terrified that he would step back. You wanted to tell him everything, but you couldn’t seem to let the words pass through your lips. It was tantalizing to love him so deeply but have no idea how to express it.

“I can’t.”

“What’s stopping you?” He scowled. “Why are you so scared to say it? It’s a four letter word, y/n. It won’t hurt you, and I’m sure it’ll feel so much better to get it out.”

“Oh, fuck you.” You hissed, placing your palm on his chest and pushing him backwards. You stepped away, making a move towards the bottle of whiskey on your nightstand. He stepped towards it, too, cutting you off and grabbing it before you could lay your hands on it. You turned your head, shooting him a glare that was piercing enough to disturb his soul.

“Or do you think you’re some kind of martyr?” He hummed, a smirk breaking out on his lips. “You’re so worked up because you’re projecting, aren’t you? Mad at us for playing with you, but you’ve been been the biggest con artist of all.” A rush of fear ran through you, your palms sweaty and your blood cold. “Who told you about Sam and I?” He pressed, finally calling out the most crucial piece to the puzzle.

“It doesn’t matter,” you reached for the alcohol, but he moved his hand so you couldn’t grab it from him.

“Maybe we aren’t the only ones who’ve been up to no good, hmm?” He raised an eyebrow, placing the bottle to his lips and taking a slow drink of the amber liquid. “Have you been trying to teach us a lesson, Gold Dust Woman?” He asked, the bottle barely free from his lips before he spoke again. You averted your gaze, nervous that he’d picked up on your plan so easily. “You’re not innocent either, sweetheart.” He picked up on your expression easily, his question answered without any further confirmation needed. “Tell me, baby. Lying won’t help you now.” His smirk turned into a twisted little smile, thrilled that he finally managed to figure you out.

“You can’t outdo the master,” you muttered, knowing that you had learned that lesson long before that moment. “So it never really mattered, anyway.”

“We all lost, angel. There was never going to be a winner, and you know that.”

“So why are you still trying?” You shot, fed up with his game and ready to retire.

“Why are you?” He responded, stalemating you once more. You stared at him, no words surfacing in your brain that seemed fitting for an answer. “Seems like that little four letter word would solve all of the problems once again. It may even be the answer to all of our questions, too.” You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, knowing that he was right; if you could admit to what you both were feeling, perhaps the pain would be obsolete.

“Give me the bottle, Jake.” You diverted the conversation again, reaching out with annoyance. He pulled his hand away again, shaking his head. You didn’t like the mischievous glint in his eye. It was very clearly telling you that he was no longer interested in talking things over. The demeanour shifted, and the tension in the air quickly turned sexual. He wanted to solve the problems in the best way he knew how, and you were never one to deny him of a wish.

“Now, why would I do that?” He smirked. “Bad girls don’t get what they want, and you’ve been nothing but bad.” He noted, taking a step closer to you. “I love discovering your secrets, Gold Dust Woman. They’re always so much fun.” His tone dropped and he took a step towards you, backing you up onto the bed. When the backs of your knees collided with the mattress, you sat down and looked up at him. Your stomach was burning with desire; your anger still lingering, but almost completely overtaken by hunger for him. It did not take much for Jake to turn you into a mess for him, and seemed like it was his favourite thing to do.

“We can’t use sex to try and fix everything, Jake.” You fought it, but your retaliation was weak. You knew that sex with him could cure even the worst of ailments. It could turn dust into gold and even water into wine. Jake’s trade was sex, and he was the master of it. If you had doubt about anything, it surely wasn’t that. Worst of all, it was completely irresistible.

“I’m not trying to fix anything with sex, angel. I am fixing it, and I’m starting with your shitty attitude.” He explained, already expecting you to know that. “You’ve been sneaky, running around and trying to teach us something that we already know all about. You think this is fun for us? That we enjoy it?”

“N-no,” you shook your head, mouth practically watering at the idea of him. It had been so long since you had a moment alone with him that you almost forgot how enchanting he was.

“You really think that I’m doing this because it’s exciting, or because I get a thrill from stealing you from him?” You didn’t respond, because both of you knew that you had been feeling exactly that. “Am I really going to have to show you how much I care about you?” He mumbled to himself, admiring your face despite his distaste for your actions. “Before anything, I think I might need to remind you of who’s in charge, here. Seems like you forgot that you don’t get to speak to me like that.” With his free hand, he undid the buckle of his belt, smiling at the sight your face. He slowly slipped the leather from the loops of his jeans, carefully sitting it on the bed beside you, hoping to remind you of his love for using it. “Does that sound okay to you, sweetheart?”

“Yes, sir.” You said, willing to submit to him as an apology for your earlier actions. In your anger, you had thrown some hurtful accusations his way, one’s that weren’t anywhere near the truth. You were willing to stay in line as long as he didn’t push you too far.

“Good girl,” the small praise sent a rush of arousal through you. “You want some?” He questioned, lifting the bottle of whiskey into your line of vision. Almost as soon as the flame died down, he reignited it worse than it burned before.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a fucking dog,” you snapped, your expression of excitement quickly twisting into a scowl. Unfortunately for you, Jake’s favourite pastime was pushing your buttons, but he wasn’t willing to stand the backtalk. He took his free hand and clasped your cheeks between his fingers, holding your mouth shut in a way much less than gentle.

“I can talk to you however I want, sweetheart.” He warned, eyes hard and lacking any sympathy. “I asked you a question. Do you want some of this?” He tried again, his words slow and impactful. Your gaze flickered from his face to the bottle, teeth grinding together in anger as you nodded your head. “Then open your fucking mouth.” He relaxed his grip on your face, allowing you to obey his command. With little hesitation, you slackened your jaw and parted your lips, expecting him to pour the liquid straight into your mouth. Instead, he brought the bottle to his own mouth, taking a sip and setting it down on the table again.

His lips upturned into a small smile when he looked down and saw your shocked expression. Despite not expecting it, you were intrigued by his intentions. He let his fingers slide down to your chin, tilting your head upwards and holding you in place. He leaned forward, close enough so he wouldn’t miss his target, but distant enough to deprive you of any other touch. Slowly, he let the liquid trickle from his lips into your mouth, neither of you moving until all of the whiskey was dancing around your own tongue. He closed your mouth for you, leaning down a bit further so his lips were ghosting over your own.

“Swallow,” he hummed, encouraging you a little. You did as he asked, feeling the warmth spread through your chest and settle in your stomach. “That’s my girl.” He spoke as his eyes fluttered closed. In appreciation for your obedience, he pulled you in for a kiss. The liquor was still potent on his skin, adding to the intoxicating feeling of kissing him. After all, Jake would not be so familiar if he lacked the scent of sandalwood laced with whiskey, and he would not be so familiar if you did not find yourself drunk off a single kiss. He pulled away, almost unwilling to part with you, but straightened up despite his dismay. “Stand up.”

You rose to your feet, head still spinning with the previous events and a growing ache between your legs that only he knew how to satiate. He cupped your cheek in his hand, drawing you into another kiss. As he did so, he slipped his jacket from your shoulders and discarded it on the floor. He let his hands rest on your hips just below the hem of your shirt, both of you growing more desperate with every second that passed. When he broke away, he took little time to pull your shirt over your head. The air was cool on your skin, but you knew it wouldn’t take long for him to warm you up again. With expert precision, he unbuttoned your jeans and allowed you to slide out of them.

He took a moment to admire you while you stood nearly fully exposed before him. “On the bed,” he ordered, fighting the urge to reach out and touch you. As much as you felt like you couldn’t resist him, he felt it for you a million times more. Jake was such a fool for you that his love for dominance meant little to nothing to him, and he would give it up in a heartbeat if he knew he could please you by doing so. You quickly turned, shuffling into the mattress with your back to him and got on your hands and knees. You knew him well enough to know how he wanted you, and he did not have the patience for you to ask him, anyway. He took a few steps towards you, his palm landing on your lower back in a sweet touch. He let his fingers drift over your skin, savouring the feeling of having you so intimately. His touch eventually landed on your ass, giving it a gentle squeeze before beginning his own tyrant.

“So, what is it, baby? What’s got you so worked up?” He asked, voice low and feigning concern. “Was it the girl at the concert?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, not sure why he was bringing her up, now. You thought you had made your point abundantly clear.

“You were jealous,” he noted, an air of cockiness in his voice. His hands were still dancing over your exposed skin, as if he was trying to familiarize himself with you again. “Right?”

“Yes,” you sighed, hating yourself for being so worked up over the incident.

“Because you thought she would get to have me like this?” His question seemed sincere, like he was genuinely trying to get to the bottom of the issue. “That I would treat her the same way I treat you?”

“I… yeah, I guess.” You admitted, feeling defeated and knowing there was no way out of this situation without explaining yourself. The whole reason you didn’t want to talk to him was not because you enjoyed being without him, but because you were terrible at explaining your feelings. You had no idea how to express your distaste for his actions, and you didn’t want to look like a fool trying to do so.

“Tell me how you feel, angel. I want to know.” He was coaxing the answer from you with sweetness, and when he had you in such a position, it wasn’t hard to do.

“Hurt,” you answered, but you both already knew that. It was the nights main topic. “It hurt seeing someone else touching you. It sucked seeing you touch someone else.”

“Mmm,” he urged you to keep going, thankful that you were finally able to speak without anger in your tone. “Because you want me all to yourself, don’t you?” He asked, slowly moving his hand between your legs.

“F-fuck, yes.” You stuttered, feeling his fingers locate your clit through the fabric of your underwear. “I do, Jake. I don’t want anyone else to have you.” At the delightful confession, he added a bit more pressure to his touch.

“See? It’s not so hard to say that, is it?” He hummed, pleased at your obedience.

“No,” you sighed, eyes fluttering closed as you spoke. “It’s scary, sometimes, trying to tell you how I feel.”

“Why, baby?”

“Because I care about you a lot.” The weight on your chest was lifting with every word you said. Jake knew how to get exactly what he wanted from you; all it took was a promise of his hands, and you would tell him the secrets of the universe. Sex with Jake had always been a motivator, but in this case, it had little impact on the overall discussion. You were exhausted from keeping everything locked up in your brain, and you wanted to tell him more than you wanted to keep it hidden. His touch was just encouragement, aiding you in your confession.

“You know I’d never touch anyone else like this.” He reminded. “I’d never treat anyone as good as I treat you.”

“I know,” you breathed, hoping that he would give you more than what he was already offering.

“So why accuse me of not caring, angel?” Your eyes opened, expression dropping as your stomach burned with anxiety. He wasn’t into the sweet confessional; he wanted you to repent for the hurtful words you said, and he wanted to punish you for even thinking them. “Do you think it’s fun to be a brat?” He furthered his question, tone growing stronger as he continued on. “That you can speak to me like that get away with it?”

“I’m sorry, Jake.” You did not feel the need to defend yourself; you had made your bed, and now it was time to lay in it. Your only hope was that he would find mercy for you if you showed enough remorse for your actions.

“You’re not sorry, sweetheart. You’d do it again if you had the chance, and that’s why I can’t let you get away with it.” You could hear the smile in his voice as he reached for the belt on the bed beside you. The metallic cling of the buckle sent a shiver of fear through your body, but you kept your position and bargained with the pleasure that was bound to come after the pain. “What was it that you called me?” He pretended to ponder, letting the cool leather dance over your skin to taunt you. “Remind me, again.”

“A self righteous prick.” You mumbled, eyes closed as you braced for impact.

“Right,” he nodded his head, as if it took great effort to recall your insults. “A self righteous prick who thinks he’s god, that cares too much about his image and only wants sex.” He listed off, showcasing that he remembered your words exceptionally well. “Does that sound familiar, or am I missing something?”

“No, that sounds right.” The shame in your voice was astounding, filling the room and weighing you both down.

“Still feel that way, angel?”

“No, sir.” You shook your head. The leather had now warmed to the same temperature as your skin after sitting idle for so long.

“I don’t think I believe you.” He tried to sound sympathetic, but he couldn’t hide the sadistic tone he so often used with you. He was enjoying watching you struggle, and he was going to enjoy everything that came after.

“I’m sorry, Jake.” You tried again, but it was futile.

“That was four insults, if I’m counting correctly.” You could hear the smirk in his voice. “So… two for each, and two more just because you pissed me off. Ten… I think that’s fair. Do you, sweetheart?” You were in a predicament of fighting and risking further punishment, or agreeing and suffering without trying to defend yourself. “Does that sound okay?”

“Yes, sir.” You tried to hide your annoyance, but he could read you like a book, even if he was blinded and deafened.

“Remember your colours?”

“Yes.” You nodded, comforted by the thought of being able to stop if it became too much.

“I always loved the colour red on you.” He crooned, letting his hand run over the thin red lace concealing you. Your stomach settled at the gentle touch, wondering if he was going to be kind to you and change his mind. Just when you let your fears settle, the sharp sting of the belt sounded through the room. You let in a sharp gasp, the feeling catching you off guard and the pain quickly fizzling away. In his own way, he was being kind to you. The strength in which he hit you was nowhere near what he was capable of, and you knew that. He did not get off to the thought of you getting hurt, just to the idea of making you suffer a little bit.

You barely recovered from the pain before he lifted his hand and brought the leather down for another time. You held back a groan, not wanting to show any emotion at all until the punishment was through. “One down,” he said, encouraging you to keep going. His focus was on your ass, which was unfortunate for you to receive so many blows to the same place, but he was doing it for good reason. He didn’t want to risk any marks being visible in any stage clothes, and was aiming to keep your bedroom escapades away from the public eye to save you from any uncomfortable situations. It was thoughtful, but brutal all the same.

He wanted to draw out the experience, but the thought of leaving you without comfort for so long was nearly painful for him. He brought the belt down once more, the force more than he intended. You let out a hiss, flinching away from the contact in hopes to ease the sting. He brought his hand to your skin, letting his fingers drift over the red mark left behind. It was soothing, but barely, mostly because you knew he did not have enough sympathy for you to stop there. In truth, you did not expect him to. You were mean, and what you had said to him was not fair. Jake cared about you, and that was never something you should have questioned. Your emotions got the best of you, convincing you that you were less than what he truly thought you were worth.

When you showed signs of recovery, he wasted no time in striking again. The fourth was much gentler, but on top of the already irritated skin, seemed much more violent than it truly was. By the fifth one, your teeth were grinding together to keep yourself silent. By the sixth, tears were pooling in your eyes. You did not have faith in yourself to make it to the end, but you were not one to give up so easily. When he struck for the seventh time, it knocked the breath from your lungs and left your legs quivering. When the sting subsided, you let out a whimper of relief. The sound settled in his chest, prompting a feeling of guilt. “Have you had enough, or do you still feel that way?”

“N-no, I don’t. I’m sorry.” You rasped, tears rolling down your face. “M’so sorry, Jake.” The sincerity of your voice nearly brought him to his knees and he had to shake himself out of his thoughts to keep himself in character. With a clenched jaw, he raised his arm and brought the belt down to your skin once more. You let a raw cry out at the impact, the pain intense and the only thing you could focus on. He let the belt drop to the floor, finished with his mission and worried he pushed you too far. He moved to lay a hand on your skin again, hoping to soothe the ache. When you shied away from his touch, a wave of terror washed over him.

“Are you okay, baby?” He asked, his hand opting to find your hip rather than the red skin on your ass. You took in a shaky breath, propping yourself on your elbow as you tried to catch your breath.

“That was only eight.” You reminded. He cocked his head to the side, processing the statement with confusion. “You said ten.” He let out a small laugh, one filled with disbelief at your words.

“You want two more?” He asked, clarifying before moving on.

“No! I just… you said ten, and… yeah.” You trailed off, finally able to gather your thoughts as the ache began to fade.

“I think I’ve made my point.” He explained, prompting you to straighten up so you could look at him. “You did so well that I don’t believe you need two more.” He hid the truth, which was that he did not have the heart for two more. He thought he pushed you far enough, and the idea of giving you any type of lasting injury greater than superficial was sickening to him. “Come here,” he beckoned you towards him, guiding you into his lap. With great ease, he lifted you and settled you into his arms. You let your legs find home on either side of him, melting into the touch and almost forgetting the pain he had inflicted on you moments before. He let his hands settle on your hips, pulling you down just a little further in search of relief from the erection strained against his jeans. “I knew you could be good for me,” he mumbled, distracted by the closeness of your face and the friction of you against him. “It wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“No,” you replied, also lost in his features. With him so close to you, nothing else existed. If it did, it was completely unimportant to you. He leaned forward, capturing you in a kiss too sweet to match the nights intensity. You brought a hand to his cheek, holding him to you as your other found his arm to keep yourself steady. Truthfully, it was just another excuse to touch him. With his hands on you, you had no fear of falling. Even if you doubted it, deep down you knew Jake would always be there to catch you.

He moved his hands to your back, unclasping your bra with ease. You loosened your grip on him so he could take it off. When it was discarded on the floor, he ran his thumb over your nipple. The sensation sent a jolt of electricity through you, prompting you to grind your hips against him. He let out a low groan against your lips, parting with you to suck in a sharp breath. To cover his own desperation, he brought his lips back to you, peppering kissing down your cheek to your jaw and settling on your neck. He let his lips dance over the sensitive skin, careful not to leave behind any marks amidst his passionate endeavour. When he found that sweet spot he was searching for, you let out a shaky sigh as your arm wrapped around his neck. You let your fingers dance in his hair, uncaring of the unusual sweetness of the moment.

You let out a gasp, hips moving down on him again as he continued his work on your neck. In an automatic response, a growl sounded from him, showing his appreciation for your enthusiasm. He moved his fingers, forgoing his previous gentleness, and pinched your nipple between his fingers. A whimper fell from your lips, lighting a fire in him at the sound. His hand dropped from your breast, falling to your hip as his fingers dipped under the elastic of your underwear. Faster than you could comprehend, he gave a sharp pull and the lace easily broke away from your skin.

“Jake-“ you made a move to voice your discontent with his action, but he was already in motion, shifting to lay you down on the bed and settle between your legs.

“Shut up. I’ll buy you whatever you want to replace it.” He huffed, using his hand again to break the other side free. You were so eager for him to touch you that you couldn’t find the will to care about the fabric he had destroyed. The skin that he had wounded was stinging in reaction to the fabric of the blankets, but the pain was easily forgotten as he discarded the remains of your underwear on the floor and moved downward between your legs. He hooked his arms beneath your thighs and pulled you down on him, his mouth connecting with your cunt as he disregarded any more discussion.

You let out a moan, overwhelmed by the sudden change. His tongue moved quickly and with intent; he wasn’t eager to tease and was desperate to give you an orgasm, partially because he loved pleasing you, but mostly due to his desire to fuck you. Your hands found his hair, already needy enough to pull on the strands as encouragement for him to keep going. He hummed against you, almost smiling at your crazed reaction. He knew what he did to you, and he was intending to prove a point.

“Fuck, Jake.” You whimpered, almost unsure of what to do with yourself. The pleasure from his simple work was unexplainable, and you were on the brink of insanity from his tongue alone. Just the same as the first night, you had yourself convinced that Jake was a simple reincarnation of the devil. Put on this earth in a mortal body to inflict suffering on others, but most specifically you. It was hard to feel remorseful about your entanglement when a simple touch from him alone could outshine any other existing thing in the universe. Evil was coursing through his veins, and you were the prey he chose to take for his own. Even so, it was hard to feel like prey when every touch he graced you with was blissful, and it was hard to recognize you were dying when the descent was so pleasant.

Sinful was not a powerful enough word for what Jake was doing to you; it was godless, and you feared that a human being could not house power over another like he had on you. As a whole, he was iniquitous. His advantage over others was unfair, and he chose to use it for evil. But, you were in no position to point a finger, because your enjoyment left you just as criminal as him. You could shame Jake for his unrighteous acts, but you knew that you were no better simply for allowing it to continue.

You had become the boy who cried wolf, denouncing him for placing you amidst the painful battle, but you were no better for allowing him access to you despite its disastrous effects. It was no longer believable that he was causing you any harm because you were so willing to accept his invitations.

He added his fingers to you, driving you closer to a climax instantly. Your hips moved in search for more, and every time you thought he was unable to provide, he managed with ease. Your abdomen ached from your tensed muscles and your stomach was burning in hopes for a release. “Oh god, Jake, I’m gonna cum.” You warned, forehead glistening with sweat from the intensity of the feeling. You noticed his hips grinding into the mattress as he worked, desperate for relief, too. The knowledge of his enjoyment from giving you pleasure was a driving force, sending your already exhausted body into a frenzy. He couldn’t verbally encourage you, so he hoped his focus was enough to let you know that it was okay, and that it was exactly what he needed from you.

The orgasm washed over you like a storm of emotion, the relief alone enough to bring you to tears again. Your muscles were tense, your lungs depraved of oxygen as you cried his name. He didn’t slow until he was certain he had given you the absolute most he could. When your legs relaxed and your body fell limp onto the mattress again, he tapered his movements until he eventually pulled away from you completely.

He caught his breath, wiping away the remnants of your orgasm from his chin. His eyes studied your face, trying to memorize every detail so he could relive the moment later. In a soft touch, his hands drifted over your thighs and all the way up to your stomach, the featherlight sensation sending a shiver down your spine. He moved back up your body, unable to resist the urge to kiss you again. You drew him closer to you, hoping that you could hold him there and exist in the blissful cloud forever. He revelled in the touch only for a moment before rising to his feet again. His eyes drifted over the table on your bedside, taking note of all the items on the surface. He adjusted himself in his jeans as he reached out for one.

Your initial thought was the whiskey, but when his hand surpassed the bottle, you pulled yourself from the euphoria in attempt to comprehend his thoughts. His fingers settled on the keycard to your room, in which he picked up and slid between his fingers, flashing it in your line of sight so you could see what he had grabbed. You sat up, fear striking you similar to the first night you shared with him. “You’re leaving?” You asked, worry evident in your tone.

“Oh, now you want me to stay?” He teased, a smirk playing on the corner of his lips. “I’ll be back, Gold Dust Woman.” He assured you, but did not lean forward for any further touch. “I want you exactly like this when I get back. Do you understand?” You managed a small nod, wondering when his return would be. Knowing Jake, he could have meant five minutes, or five hours. His air of mystery was constant, and he did not like disturbing it.

“Yes, sir.” You said, eyes never leaving him. At your confirmation, he stepped towards the exit of the room. You opened your mouth to stop him, but no words came out. Instead, you watched him slip through the doorway and into the hall without any further explanation. The lock clicked shut behind him, and he disappeared as if he never existed in the first place. The deafening silence in the room was too much to bear, and the lack of company was crushing. The only reminder of his presence was the lingering tingle on your skin from the ghost of your orgasm.

You watched the door, the seconds passing by slowly, and your hope fizzling away with each minute that went by. You looked around the room, noticing only his jacket and belt on the floor, but no other reminders of him. There was nothing worth coming back for, aside from you. You had to find faith that you were worth the return, and it proved to be a struggle. You weren’t bound to the bed, nor the room. You could freely dress yourself and wander after him to discover where he was headed to. The idea was tempting, but there was a prickling fear of him coming back to find you away from the spot he was so keen on you staying in. Knowing Jake, you thought it best to stay and hope he was being genuine.

By minute five, the unsettling feeling was taking over. You could feel it in your bones, the fear of him returning to his room and going to bed. Although horrible, you did feel like the treatment would not be unwarranted. You had put him through hell that night, and you were unsure if you would ever be able to make up for it. When all hope was lost and the minute counter reached double digits, you collapsed onto the pillows in a heap of regret for your actions. Your chest ached with remorse and your heart was breaking at the memory of his pain stricken features. Before you descended too far into your own despair, the electronic click of the lock sounded, and the door opened once more.

Jake stepped inside, a styrofoam cup in his hand and a smile on his face. “Hi, angel.” He greeted you as if he had not left you in a complete state of disarray. He immediately noticed the relief on your face, finding his ego return at the knowledge that you wanted his company. “What’s wrong? Did you really think I’d leave you here like this?” He asked, tone dripping with fake concern.

“You? Never.” You managed a smile and a small laugh. He got a chuckle out of your comment too, ensuring that the door was shut tightly before returning to the bedside. Your eyes landed on the cup, curious as to what he felt was so important that he had to leave to retrieve.

“You knew I’d come back, sweetheart. Still have a point to prove, remember?” He reminded, looking down at you as he spoke. His eyes drifted over your naked body, the sight almost sending him feral. His composure was hanging by a thread, and you didn’t even have to do anything to worsen it. He sat the cup on the table alongside the keycard, but instead of climbing into bed with you again, he pulled his shirt over his head. You let out an audible sigh of satisfaction, thankful that he still had some kindness left in his heart for you. You peered inside the styrofoam, noticing nothing but ice. You looked back to him, dumbfounded only for a moment before realizing why he had left. The ice was not to chill any refreshments; it was just another thing for him to terrorize you with.

When he freed himself from the rest of his clothes, he dipped his fingers into the cup and pulled out a single ice cube. You settled back on the mattress, inviting him in. He took to the bed, finding himself back in his earlier position with ease. He gently laid the ice cube on your stomach, looking up at you with a smile. “Are you starting to remember how much I care, angel?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, focused mostly on the frigid feeling on your skin. He let out a low chuckle at your response. Instead of replying, he lowered his mouth to your stomach, just above where the ice was slowly beginning to melt from the heat of your body. He brought his tongue to the droplets, slowly running it over the skin to rid you of the water. You took in a sharp breath, the feeling of warmth from his mouth offsetting the chill from the ice almost immediately.

With ease, he slowly ran the ice up your torso. The cold was a shock, but quickly soothed with his tongue. When he reached just below your chest, he scooped the ice into his mouth and brought his lips to your nipple. He pulled it into his mouth, letting the ice sit on you before he made any further moves. The chill sent your back arching off the bed, an involuntary reflex that was prompted by the sensation. Once your nipple was hard, he began moving his tongue. A whine sounded from your throat as he continued, the feeling completely new and exciting. He continued on until the ice was a distant memory and your skin was warm once more.

When he pulled back, a shaky breath left your lips. He looked up, pleased at your expression. He gave you a smile, happy that you seemed to enjoy the change in pace. “Did you like that, beautiful?” Such a sweet name send your morals crashing down, no further care about your fight before finding yourselves in the position. You never seemed to catch any softness from Jake during sex, and when you did, it was earth shattering. The high energy and excitement was fantastic, but when you saw love dancing in his eyes, it reminded you of a whole different side of Jake you wished you could know.

“Yeah,” you said, but your focus was not on his words. You both seemed to be caught in a staring contest, clinging to the adoration in each others gaze in hopes to discover what had been so often left unsaid. “Can I try?” He laughed at your question, suddenly overtaken by the soft spot he held for you.

“If you want to.” The glimmer in his eye was so different than what you had seen from him before. It was one that was begging you to let him keep you like this for the rest of his life, and it was beautiful. Jake was not trying to prove he cared for you through rough sex and orders; he was doing the opposite, something you least expected of him. He was showing you himself to you completely, in the most intimate way possible.

“Okay, lay down.” You giggled, playfully shoving him off of you. He dramatically fell to the side of you, collapsing on the bed in a heap of laughter as he did. Dominance was natural to him, but vulnerability wasn’t. It was his last opportunity to show you how much you truly meant to him, and he was going to do whatever it took to make you understand. He assumed your position, nestled in the pillows and watching you experiment with him.

You grabbed your own ice cube, placing it between your lips as you watched him. Instead of bringing it to his body, you approached him for kiss. With surprise, he accepted the offer and snaked his hand to your hip, guiding you towards him. It was messy, both of you passing the melting ice back and fourth with little grace, but it was right. It felt right to be so careless with him, not needing to worry if he thought you were making a fool of yourself, and not worrying if he was enjoying himself. Both of you were having a grand time, and it was solely because you were in each other’s company. When the ice landed back in your mouth, almost melted but still hanging on, you moved away from him. He almost seemed disappointed at the loss of contact, but the drunken haze of desire in his eyes told you he was excited for your next move, too.

You sank down on the mattress, laying on your stomach between his legs while giving him a sweet smile. The breath caught in his throat, hoping that you were going to do what he thought you were. You lowered your head, bringing your hand to him as you brought your mouth to his cock. He let out a shaky breath, unfamiliar with the feeling of letting someone else be in control. You brought the ice to the tip of your tongue and ran it from the base of his cock to the tip, slow and steady with your pace. His eyes fluttered closed, the sensation completely foreign yet enjoyable, mostly because it was you that was doing it. You repeated the action a few times until the ice has melted completely. Once it did, you brought your mouth to the tip and slowly began bobbing your head down on him. You kept your focus there for a moment, attempting to show him that slow could sometimes be better. He would never admit it, but in that moment he would have agreed with you.

He let out a sigh, his small way of telling you that he thought you were doing a great job. Once the feeling of him in your mouth became familiar again, you picked up the pace a bit. To him, the speed was still agonizingly slow compared to what he was used to, but he was willing to allow you to lead the way. He reached down and gathered your hair in his hand, keeping it away from your face as you worked at him. As you relaxed your jaw and took him further, your eyes fluttered up to meet his. The eye contact was almost too much for him; he thought he might finish at the sight alone. In fear of the moment ending, he closed his eyes and let his head fall back on the pillow to stop the impending orgasm. He tightened his grip on your hair, thrusting his hips upwards gently to meet the time of your mouth.

You focused on steadying your breathing, and then made your attempt to take his full length. When the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, he let out a groan, one that was surely the most heavenly sound you had ever heard in your entire life. You felt him twitch in your mouth, an obvious sign that he was close. If it were up to you, you would have let him finish, but he used his hand in your hair to pull you off of him. “Is that your way of saying sorry?” His chest heaved for breath as he asked the question. You looked to him, fearful that he was not enjoying the moment as much as you were. When he saw the fear dancing in your eyes, he was quick to speak again. “Because it’s working.” He added, settling your anxiety. “Come here.” He released the hold on your hair, beckoning you towards him. You moved upwards, straddling him again. He held your hips up as he shuffled upwards too, resting his back against the headboard of the bed. “You never fail to amaze me, Gold Dust Woman.” He hummed, raising a hand to your cheek in a soft embrace. You leaned into the touch, reaching down to line him up with you.

“Sometimes I feel like I exist just to please you.” You admitted, sinking down on him as a soft moan left your lips.

“If you do, you’re doing a fantastic job.” He assured you, pulling your upper half down towards him. You rested your forehead on his as you began to rock your hips. “But you exist for far more than that, angel.” He didn’t even care about the slow pace, nor the lack of control. He was so focused on loving you that he could almost forget that he was fucking you. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, letting his eyes drift over the soft details of your face. “You have no idea how important you are, y/n. This world exists just so you can live in it.” Normally, the profound emotions he was displaying would have sent you running, terrified of intimacy and vulnerability. Deep down, you knew that running was not a question anymore. You were in this until the end, and any ideas of having a fair shot at control was just not true. Jake and Sam were always in charge, running the show how they pleased and with little care. Even so, all the pain no longer mattered, because you were in love. So deeply and unconditionally in love with them that it was almost impossible to comprehend. So in love that it was impossible to communicate it, because words did not amount to anything close to what you were feeling.

“Do you see it, yet?” He asked, helping you move your hips. “Do you feel how much I care for you?”

“I do, Jake.” You nodded against him, the verbal confirmation not seeming like it was enough. “I’m sorry for questioning it. I never should have doubted you.” You said, feeling like your heart was going to explode. “I hope you can see that I feel the same way.”

“Say it, Gold Dust Woman.” He pleaded, fingers digging into the skin of your hips. “I need to hear it.”

“Jake,” you warned, knowing that you were both treading dangerous waters.

“Please, y/n. I can’t be the one to say it first, because it won’t mean anything if I do.” You had never seen or heard Jake so desperate for anything in your entire time of knowing him. “If you feel it, just say it. We’ve already said it a million different ways, just not like this. It’s not as scary as it seems, and I swear to you that I’ll keep it safe.” Your heart felt like it was breaking, yet mending all at the same time. He was right, you had said it in every way except for direct, and you were scared of something you had been feeling since the beginning.

“I love you, Jake.” You whispered, opening your eyes to look at him. He looked up at you, gaze clouded with an unfamiliar emotion. If you looked close enough, you would have noticed the gloss of tears shining under the adoration. “I love you.” You said it again, stronger than the last. “I love you so much that it hurts. I don’t know how to love someone, or what it even means, but I know that I feel it for you, and I have for a long time.”

“I love you, Gold Dust Woman.” You both opted to ignore the shaking of his voice. He moved forward, slinking his arms around you as he pulled you into a hug. You wrapped your own around his neck, holding on to him with the same fervour. He moved so he could lay you down on the mattress, shifting so he was between your legs again. It was his favourite place to be, and even more so now that the weight of the confession had been lifted off your chests. As if he’d turned feral once again, he guided your leg around him and took over control once more. He thrusted into you with more power than before, the feeling eliciting a moan from your lips.

He only continued on his pace for a few moments before his attention was drawn elsewhere. His eyes scanned the room, shining with mischief as they settled on the sliding door to the balcony. “Do you trust me?” He looked back to you with a wicked smile.

“Of course I do,” you gasped, feeling the tip of his cock brush against your cervix.

“I have an idea,” he announced, slowing his hips to a stop. You let out a groan at that loss of movement, unsure if you were willing to go along with his plan if it meant you had to stop. “Come on,” he said, drawing back from you and making a move to stand. You watched him in confusion, but sat up and slid off the bed anyway.

“What are we doing?” You asked as he helped you stand.

“You told me you loved me, Gold Dust Woman.” He reminded. “I think that calls for a celebration.” He guided you towards the doors, using his free hand to slide it open.

“Jacob, absolutely not.” You recoiled, staring at the dark balcony with wide eyes.

“Oh come on, angel. Where’s your sense of adventure?” He smirked.

“What if someone sees us?” Your voice was shrill, terrified at the thought of being caught.

“Just means I get to show the world how much I love you.” He said, the smirk growing into a smile. You watched him in disbelief, unsure if he was even being serious. “Get out there, sweetheart.” He ordered, the flash of dominance returning to his lust clouded pupils.

“I don’t want to get caught.” You shook your head, but still found yourself admiring his beauty in the dimly lit room. You were certain that he had the power to convince you to jump from a cliff if he looked at you for long enough.

“Then you better keep quiet and cum fast.” He was no longer willing to debate the topic, watching you with expecting eyes. You knew the softness would not last long, but you had no idea that it was turn into a show of exhibitionism. He gave you a look of warning, to which you couldn’t deny. You stuck your head out of the door, noticing that none of the other patios seemed to be occupied. Next, you looked to the ground, noticing the minimal movement below. The world was quiet, and there was no better time to explore pleasure like such. With a deep breath and an air of blind confidence, you stepped out into the night, the cool air stinging your warm skin.

He followed, seeming barely concerned about your surroundings. He let his hands slip to your hips, giving you a small comfort in knowing that if you were going to be caught, he would have to take the fall with you. “See? You’re okay.” He assured you, mouth hovering over your ear. You gave a small nod, allowing him to guide your upper half down and pull your hips back towards him. You gripped the rail of the balcony with your hands to keep yourself steady, feeling himself line himself up with you. “If you want to stop, just tell me.”

“Okay,” you agreed, feeling a bit more comfortable than you were when you first emerged. With a hand on your shoulder, he pulled you back on him, letting out a small sigh of relief. Once he knew you were steady in your position, he brought both hands to your hips to hold you in place as he began thrusting. Your eyes were begging to close, lulled by the ecstasy of feeling him inside you, but your mind would not allow it. You were on edge, nervous about someone seeing you, but the more he fucked into you, the less you cared.

You let a moan slip past your lips, quickly silencing yourself with hope that it went unnoticed. “That’s my girl,” he purred, ecstatic at your enjoyment. “Do you like being a little whore for me?” His voice was low, but it was loud and clear to you. It settled deep in your stomach, the beginning of the tightening knot.

“God, yes.” You whispered, the anxiety fleeing you indefinitely.

“Feel so fucking good, angel.” He took a sharp intake of breath, likely cutting off his own sounds of pleasure. He slipped his hand around to the front of you, quickly finding your clit with his fingers. The added stimulation from the circles he was tracing were means of torture. He knew that it would be impossible to stay silent, and he was being an asshole on purpose. He sped his hips, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the empty air. If there was anyone below, it would not be difficult to imagine what was happening above. He increased the pressure of his touch, hoping that he would either coax an orgasm from you, or at least pry another moan out of you.

You clenched your jaw, holding back as much as you could, but every so often a noise too strong to hold back would surface and cut through the silence. He felt you clench around him, a sure sign that you were close, and he wasn’t one to miss an opportunity. He slammed his hips into you, quickening the movement of his fingers. You were lightheaded, mind swirling with plenty of thoughts but none that made any sense. “Cum on my cock, baby.” He muttered, encouraging you to let go. You didn’t need the help, because the knot in your belly had let go. You legs were shaking and you could barely hold yourself up. He used his hand to cover your mouth, ensuring that you could ride out your orgasm without worry. When you began to descend from the euphoria, you expected him to slow, too. Instead, he continued on his brutal pace, not ready to end the night just yet. “Give me one more, sweetheart.”

“I can’t, Jake.” You whimpered, trying to keep yourself silent. The more he moved, the less control you had over yourself.

“You can,” he promised. The irritating sensation from his fingers was overtaking every other feeling in your body, the overstimulation begging to break your psyche. “Be good for me,” he continued with his gentle words, knowing that if you didn’t let go soon, he wouldn’t be able to hold back. Your body was on fire with everything he had put you through that night, and his wish was not hard to comply with. Even though the feeling of his fingers seemed like too much, you couldn’t deny the pull of pleasure underneath the discomfort.

“Fuck,” you croaked, the insatiable sting finally overwhelming your body in a moment of weakness.

“That’s it, sweet girl.” He sighed, feeling you descend into another climax. He was most concerned with holding your body upright, so he had to forgo silencing you with his palm. You were too far gone to care about keeping yourself quiet, the fear obsolete next to the pleasure he was giving you. In a mess of curses and sweaty bodies, you came down from the high with stars dancing in your eyes. When he felt you relax against him, he finally allowed himself to let go, spilling into you as he echoed your name into the night. He fucked his release into you a few times before pulling away, just as a final note to end the night with. He heaved a sigh, coming back to reality and realizing the obscene display you were in. “Come on, angel. Let’s get you inside.”

You let him lead you back into the hotel room, body and mind exhausted from the high energy the night held. You both cleaned up, minds begging for sleep, but found that your hearts were aching just a little less than before. Jake pulled on his boxers, lazily throwing his shirt to you while he did so. “Are you staying?” You looked up at him, hope gleaming through the exhaustion.

“Of course I am, baby.” He said as if the question were blasphemous. You slid under the covers, making room for him to get in beside you. Once he was settled, he pulled you into his arms.

“I’m sorry, Jake. I never should have said that stuff.”

“I am, too.” The apologies were minimal, but stronger than they appeared. You closed your eyes, settling your head on his chest and listening to the lull of his heartbeat. “Can you say it again?” He asked, voice quiet and barely breaking through the night.

“That I’m sorry?” You asked, wondering what he meant.

“No,” he mumbled. When you realized what he wanted to hear, your heart warmed at the thought of him wanting to hear it again. All of your fears of rejection, the fear of intimacy and vulnerability was no longer important. From the sound of his voice alone, you knew that his need to know you cared was far more important than your attempts at protecting yourself.

“I love you, Jake.”

And there it was; the statement so heavy that it had tantalized you for months, slipping past your lips like the easiest thing you had ever said. It was true, and it was so exhilarating to finally speak aloud.

But even so, as exciting as the proclamation was, it did not hinder you from falling into the same patterns as you had before. If anything, it did nothing but make it all the more painful.

You better put your kingdom up for sale

TAGLIST: @itsdannysworld @gretavansara @jaketlove @laneygvf @freefallthoughts @psychedelicsprinkles @idontwannabeherenow @joshysgirl @sanguinebats @objectsinspvce @klarxtr @sinarainbows @jakesmustache @gvfpal

[laxmiree]

[CN] MLQC Season 2 Chapter 59 Translation [Lucien’s Route (2/3)]

⚠️  SPOILER ALERT  ⚠️

This post contains a VERY HEAVY SPOILER for the chapter that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

"Perhaps we won't be able to see each other tomorrow"... could he have already foreseen tonight's situation?

I will never allow anyone to hurt Lucien.

Translation under the cut!

[Previous Part-> Click Here]

—[Lucien's Route - 6: Crimson Stained Pool]—

Baldhead: Hey, you've all seen it, right? Tonight, we're going to kill that uncle!

As soon as night falls, Baldhead eagerly states his intention. We follow him towards the older man's room, but Mousy looks a bit confused.

Mousy: Why... is there something wrong with that uncle?

Baldhead: How can you be so dumb! That old man is indeed very active in discussions, and just like X said, it seems like he wants to have some control over the conversation.

Baldhead: But later, he didn't raise his hand immediately. Didn't you find that strange?

MC: Mm... it seems like he's a seer who isn't good at hiding his identity, subconsciously excluding himself from the "people who need to be verified.”

Baldhead: Not bad. MC gets it.

Baldhead: That old man is too unfamiliar with the game. He doesn't realize that we are watching every move he makes. Got it?

Under Baldhead's forceful words, Mousy only dares to nod timidly and follows our steps forward.

Tonight's operation was very successful. Everything goes smoothly, from opening the door to throwing the uncle into the pool.

Sweeping away the strange events of last night, the three of us werewolves see a look of satisfaction on each other's faces.

The clear water surface is dyed red again, and the pool emits that inexplicable light before dimming. I look at my two teammates.

MC: Today, I was the first to raise my hand. The others probably won't suspect me too much. So I plan to…

MC: ...take the uncle's place and act as the seer.

✂———————–

The next morning, there's a knock on the door again. I open it and effortlessly slip into the embrace of the person standing there.

MC: Hmm, I feel like my headache has eased... Is Professor Lucien still acting as the alarm clock in the game?

Lucien rubs my head and, seeing that I am indeed much better than yesterday, sighs softly and holds me even tighter.

Lucien: [chuckles softly] Yes. It's a hidden feature that's only available to a certain little lady who worries me.

I smile and bury my face in his chest. His shirt presses against my cheek, and his warm body temperature melts away all my stress.

Whenever I embrace Lucien, it seems I can break free from my werewolf role and reconnect with the real world.

At this moment, I only wish this moment could last a little longer.

✂———————–

When the butler knocks on the door for the third time, I reluctantly pull Lucien out of bed.

[....is 'doing it' possible in VR. anw man really sneak out so early to sleep together with her hjdfjhdfjdf-]

MC: Alas, it's time to go to the banquet hall for another "meeting" again~

MC: Such a magnificent banquet hall. It would be so nice just to eat and drink inside, but it's always a war of words every time.

Lucien straightens my crooked collar, unable to hold back a smile as he takes over the conversation.

Lucien: [chuckles] Indeed, it seems that in this villa, being the "butler" is much happier than being the "guest.”

Lucien: They neither "lose their life" nor miss the chance to enjoy the sea view every day.

As we pass the uncle's room, I see his name has already been crossed off the door plate. Lucien and I don't stop; we head straight to the banquet hall.

After the luncheon begins, I take a deep breath and stand up.

MC: Everyone, I am actually... a seer.

I say these words rather haltingly. Although I don't look at Lucien, I can feel his scrutinizing gaze.

.......This is really nerve-wracking; I'm so anxious.

Almost everyone present holds their breath, watching me and waiting for my words. I compose my expression, speaking in a serious tone.

MC: On the first night, I checked White Angel. She is a good person, so I didn't rush to reveal my identity.

MC: And yesterday, the uncle was very active but didn't raise his hand immediately, so I found him suspicious.

MC: I checked him last night, and the result showed he was human. I planned to clear his name today but didn't expect him to become the werewolves' target.

MC: Although I haven't identified a werewolf yet, I'm afraid that if I don't reveal my identity today, I might be replaced by a werewolf…

Baldhead: Wait a minute, you say you're the seer? Who knows if it's true or not!

Baldhead: Is there another seer here? If so, speak up!

Baldhead questioned me as I planned to solidify my identity. Sure enough, no one else steps forward.

.......We bet correctly! The uncle really was the true seer!

I try to control my racing heartbeat and calmly observe the reactions of the others.

Angel: If MC were lying, the actual seer would have come forward. There's no mistake. She is the seer.

White Angel is a petite girl. After speaking, she looks at me with a smile, her eyes showing evident affection and trust.

I smile back at her, barely able to contain the overwhelming joy inside me.

Let's let it unfold this way. Now that there's no one to contradict it, no one can expose this "lie" that has become an established fact!

Joker: Anyone could be a wolf, and everyone could be lying.

Joker speaks coldly, pouring cold water on my overwhelming joy without mercy.

Joker: To place all your trust in an unverifiable statement is the height of foolishness.

MC: …..

I secretly grit my teeth. I know that he wouldn't let me off the hook so easily!

I hold back my anger and calmly return a smile at him, but suddenly, a long-haired man on my right side stands up.

Long-haired man: My intuition tells me that MC is lying. We should vote her out!

MC: …..?

Long-haired man: When she mentioned the inspection results, it was as smooth as if she had rehearsed it. Her emotions were clearly acted out!

His eyes are filled with conviction, and his tone is rhythmic and compelling…

If only his rousing words weren't directed at me.

I nervously organize my rebuttal, and even my breathing becomes messy.

How come so many people in this game seem to have mind-reading abilities? How are we ordinary people supposed to keep playing?!

Lucien: Can you listen to my thoughts first?

At that moment, Lucien suddenly breaks the stalemate, standing between me and the long-haired man like a fair and just judge.

Lucien: Voting for execution is the only way to punish the wolf in the game. You can't make a decision based solely on revealed roles or doubts.

Lucien: However, the associated risks cannot be ignored. So, for this vote, please consider which person would benefit the current human faction more.

His words are neither biased nor include his judgment; he simply organizes everyone's thoughts.

I look at Lucien; his gaze is as clear as ever, without any unnecessary emotions.

Because of my prolonged gaze, he even tilts his head slightly as if asking me what's wrong.

I force a smile at him, trying my best to ignore the strange feeling in my heart.

Lucien... he must be secretly speaking up for me, right?

After all, under his guidance, the focus of the discussion has shifted from whether my role as a seer is real or fake to whether the long-haired man or I should be voted for.

The long-haired man clearly did not expect to become a suspect himself, and his voice is filled with frustration.

Long-haired man: I've been a stage actor; you shouldn't doubt my professional judgment! Do you think I can't tell the difference between acting and reality?

After a moment of silence in the room, Zhao Jianqiang, whose nameplate read “Strongman” ("Qiang Lai Le"), cautiously glanced at me and spoke.

[T/N: so……… how do I explain this joke? "Qiang Lai Le" comes from the phrase "你的强来了" (nǐ de qiáng láile), which literally means "Your strength is here." It's a buzzword that roughly translates to "I'm here to support you." This perfectly coincides with Zhao Jianqiang stepping in to support the MC right on time~]

Zhao Jianqiang: But if you're an actor, shouldn't your acting skills be better? According to what you're saying, you yourself seem more suspicious…

Angel: The person that she checked last night died this morning, and she still needs to disclose their identity. If it were me, I would also need to prepare a statement in advance.

Granmeow: Reality isn't a script. It's natural for people to get nervous when they're suspected.

The man with long hair's face turns extremely unpleasant. No matter how much he argues, others only become more firm in their thoughts.

The final outcome is beyond doubt; he becomes today's victim.

This time, people left the banquet hall early, one after another. After all, no one wants to see such cruel scenes again.

I turn around and take a glance. The man with long hair has already disappeared into the pool. I then turn back and walk towards Lucien.

Lucien doesn't mention the "bloodbath" at the banquet. He simply raises his arm, inviting me to join him.

Lucien: There's still some time until nightfall. Do you want to explore the mansion together?

MC: Of course!

I loop my arm through his, deciding to cast aside the worries in my heart and savor the rare moment of being together with Lucien.

Outside the window, the clouds press lower and lower, blending the sky and the sea into one in the mist.

✂———————–

—[Lucien's Route - 7: Unspoken Feelings]—

Lucien and I walk along the intricately decorated corridors of the mansion, occasionally encountering other players who are also searching.

When we run into Zhao Jianqiang, I notice his complexion is a bit pale.

MC: [worriedly] Why do you look so pale? Do you need to rest?

Zhao Jianqiang: I'm fine, boss, just a bit of a headache…

MC: .......I also feel a headache, "Carnival Night" is quite a brain teaser to play.

I make sure he doesn't have any other symptoms for the time being and reluctantly feel a bit relieved. After asking the butler to help him rest, I continue on my way.

Although the mansion covers a vast area, there isn't much valuable information to be found.

Lucien and I stroll to the master's room. The tightly closed door is pushed open, and the heavy, wet sound echoes for a long time.

We both instinctively hold our breath and stand still.

In the pure white space, all that can be seen are clear waters. Rather than a bedroom, this place resembles an abandoned swimming pool.

The pool water gently ripples as if whispering or subtly warning, exuding an indescribable sense of cold and desolate beauty.

The snow-white walls and the bottom of the pool reflect a cool-toned light, and the space ahead seems like an endless liminal space.

Standing at the pool's edge, I suddenly feel an inexplicable attraction and deep fear, almost uncontrollably wanting to step into the water.

A hand wraps around my waist from behind, lifting me slightly off the ground. My toes trace a light circle in the air before I return to the floor.

MC: ….!

It is only then that I come to my senses and look at Lucien.

His gaze falls on the calm and mysterious blue pool water, then he looks at me and blinks somewhat pitifully.

Lucien: Does this lady want to explore alone and not take me with her?

Whenever Lucien speaks to me in this tone, my heart becomes completely soft.

So, I quickly dip my hand into the pool and sprinkle some water near Lucien.

MC: How could I not? Of course, I have to bring our Mr. Hunter along!

MC: I always feel like this mansion is so mysterious... Maybe there are some secrets hidden deep in this room as well.

MC: Will you go into the water with me to take a look?

Lucien and I intertwine our fingers together, and we slowly step into the pool, letting the cool water surround our ankles.

Step by step, we move forward. The pool water gradually rises to our knees, then our waists, gently pushing against our bodies as if guiding us to go deeper.

Lucien: Be careful, there are steps here.

After stepping over the underwater steps, the water reaches just below my chest. This is nearly the lowest point of the room, and my foot suddenly hits something hard.

Lucien reaches out and retrieves it. It's a metal box filled with yellowed pages that seem out of place in this mansion.

What is even more surprising is that the pages are completely dry, and they recorded some legends about an ancient underwater god and some incomprehensible ancient rituals.

A secluded mansion built by the seaside, with water visible everywhere inside, had an execution method of throwing people into the pool…

A series of clues appeared in my mind, and although they seem all related to my personal mission, they still leave me a little puzzled.

I hide my thoughts and cautiously phrase my question to Lucien.

MC: I don't quite fully understand all this information. Could this mansion be related to some kind of water ritual?

In the boundless pool, cool-toned light dances around us. The surroundings are so silent that only our faint breathing and the rippling of the water can be heard.

Lucien spreads out his hands and reaches into the pool water as if feeling this calm yet eerie expanse.

Lucien: These texts describe an ancient water ritual, and the design of the water channels in this mansion is also related to it.

He gently scoops up a handful of water and lets it fall back down, causing the light and shadows in the water to shift accordingly.

Lucien: I guess that with each person pushed into the water, a part of the ritual is completed.

MC: ...No wonder, when those people fell into the water, it was as if they were swallowed up by something, and the water emitted light!

Lucien: Hmm. So as long as we can draw the design of all the water channels connected in this mansion, we might be able to understand some things.

A meaningful smile appears on his lips, making me unable to resist asking further questions.

MC: Understand what?

Lucien: The truth behind the ongoing werewolf killings in this villa, the consequences of completing the ritual, and…

Lucien: The reason why the mansion's owner has yet to appear.

I am listening intently to his deductions while secretly plotting how to sacrifice everyone in the ritual.

But upon hearing the last sentence, I suddenly feel so guilty that I almost buckle and fall into the water. Quickly, I lower my head and change the subject.

MC: T-this is so dangerous! Let's quickly map out the pool structures in all the rooms and have everyone look for patterns together.

Lucien, who is standing in front of me, says nothing. When I look up, I realize he is silently gazing at me, his expression stern and cold.

Lucien: There is another possibility; perhaps we won't be able to see each other tomorrow.

MC: ….

I understand what Lucien means. Given his role as a hunter and outstanding performance over the past few days, tonight, he will likely be the werewolves' target.

I look at his faint, acquiescent expression, and suddenly, a heaviness settles in my heart.

I know that Lucien must have noticed my unusual behavior long ago.

I have never been good at lying in front of him. He must have already discovered the nights I secretly hid and the moments I was startled by my own cruelty.

I don't know how to respond to him. I should appear worried, but I want to tell him that the vicious "werewolf" never intended to kill him.

I also don't know whether I should continue enduring alone and playing this slightly strange role or be honest with him about everything.

Various possibilities tug at my mind, leaving me frozen in place. I don't know what expression is on my face, but it must be very odd.

A moist finger touches my cheek, and I tremble. I see that Lucien has already come to stand before me at some point.

Immediately after, he opens his arms and envelops me in a hug, covering up the response that I can't weave.

Lucien: [softly sighs, then whispers gently to comfort] Don't be afraid, we will make it to the end.

Amid the hallucinatory light reflections of the water, I am entranced, silently confiding all my anxieties and worries to Lucien through the long embrace.

✂———————–

["Perhaps we won't be able to see each other tomorrow." MAN 🤧🤧🤧 In addition to trying to probe her again, just like when he asked if she would lie to him, he predicted that other werewolves would definitely pressure MC. The outcome of this night would give him some kind of answer, and he couldn't help but secretly feel unease and grievance, which ultimately turned into a soft sigh as he comforted her again. No matter what, he will still respect her choice.]

✂———————–

—[Lucien's Route - 8: Heart Cleansing Cold Spring]—

Baldhead: Why are you thinking about killing Joker again? Did you forget that he was already guarded before? It's all for nothing!

As night falls, Baldhead and I engage in a heated debate over tonight's target for execution.

MC: I revealed myself as a seer during the day, so tonight, the guardian will protect me. Joker is too dangerous, he can't stay.

Baldhead: Then why not kill X? He's so clever. If we leave him till later, it's us werewolves who'll be the victims!

Baldhead: With so many people left, even if X takes someone out with a gunshot before he dies, it might not necessarily be us.

I endure the headache and listen silently, but suddenly, I recall the words Lucien said to me during the day.

"Perhaps we won't be able to see each other tomorrow"... could he have already foreseen tonight's situation?

I will never allow anyone to hurt Lucien.

From the beginning of the game, I've been very clear about my purpose in choosing this game.

Regardless of our roles, winning or losing this game doesn't matter. I want to walk through this game with him until the end.

I take a deep breath, trying to make my voice sound as calm as possible.

MC: You must have noticed that X and Joker have a distinctly different attitude towards me.

MC: Joker always shifts the suspicion onto me, while X often speaks up for me. It should be clear who should stay and who should go, right?

As soon as I finish speaking, Baldhead glances at me sideways, pulling a contemptuous smile.

Baldhead: You’re dressing your selfish motives with such grandiose words. Don't think I don't know—you and X know each other, right?

Baldhead: Every time you explore, you two are always together like conjoined twins, never separate. You just want to ensure he can be in the game for a few more days.

I instantly get angry and can't help but clench my fists. Because of self-righteous people like this, I've been having such a hard time playing!

As the atmosphere grows tense, Mousy weakly raises his hand.

Mousy: Um, how about we give up on these two and target someone we are sure to succeed with? After all, reducing the number of humans is our main goal…

We remain at an impasse for a long time, and in the end, we reluctantly draw lots from the remaining candidates and target the inconspicuous Granmeow.

Before we part, Baldhead stands before me and laughs mockingly without a care.

Baldhead: Now, let's see how the “fake seer" will come up with a story tomorrow!

✂———————–

Back in my room, I can't help but angrily pound the bed to vent my frustration.

MC: Damn it, it turns out that he looks down on me!

I toss and turn in anger, but there's nothing I can do because that person is my teammate. It’s only just before dawn that I finally manage to get some sleep.

However, I hadn't slept for long when the door was knocked on. I got up, still sleepy, and found that it was only 6:30 AM.

As soon as I open the door, Lucien walks in, opens his arms, and hugs me.

I initially want to say something, but when he holds me, the exhaustion and headache seem no longer need to be expressed with words.

I can't help but nuzzle his shoulder and mumble as I start to speak.

MC: Why is Professor Lucien the alarm clock going off so early today?

His chest is pressed close to mine and trembles like a resonating violin. Lucien's voice carries an unconcealed note of laughter.

[a fox wagging his tail happily when he finds out in the morning that his wife still wants to play with him.jpg. still, in addition to happiness, he is even more worried about her because it must be hard for her to protect him🤧]

Lucien: When I woke up this morning and found I was still alive, I felt that the little lady might have some troubles.

Remembering the argument with my teammate last night, I have the illusion of being completely seen through by him. So, I look up and poke the smile at the corner of his lips with my fingertip.

MC: It seems Professor Lucien is very happy?

Lucien shakes his head, his long fingers running through my hair, bringing a feeling of comfort to my heart.

Lucien: [in a gentle tone] Although I'm very happy, I'm more worried about you. How are you? Does your head still hurt?

Seeing me nod, he gently presses my forehead, the pressure so comforting it touches my heart. I lie quietly on him, unable to help but sigh.

MC: It's much better now, but... this game is more challenging than I thought. I don't know who I'll have to check next.

Lucien speaks softly by my ear.

Lucien: [whispers softly] Sometimes, to achieve a goal, it is necessary to sacrifice an unstable presence.

Upon hearing his whisper, my relaxed body feels as if it's been jolted by cold water, bringing me to full alertness.

An unstable presence...? This phrase sounds like a subtle hint, making me feel that Lucien truly knows something.

I can't help but look at him, and in those always captivating eyes, there is now only a gentle yet turbulent undercurrent reflected.

Outside the window, raindrops hit the glass, leaving behind glistening trails. After days of cloudy weather, the rain finally fell on the island.

✂———————–

The thunderous sound of waves crashing against the rocks comes from all directions, shaking the entire villa as if it were about to swallow the isolated island whole.

In the banquet hall, I stand up amidst the heavy and terrifying sound of ocean waves.

MC: Last night, I checked the Ferocious and Superior Baldhead. Unfortunately, he is a werewolf.

My accusation sparks a heated discussion, and I stand firmly amidst the flurry of voices.

Just as Lucien said, sacrifice is necessary, especially if it means sacrificing a "bad person.”

Baldhead: Nonsense!

Baldhead's face is full of disbelief as he pushes back his chair and stands up, his chest heaving violently.

Baldhead: This is a setup! I've always been human! How can you say that? You are the wolf!

I know, but so what? Aren't you curious about how I, the "fake seer," will perform today? This is my answer.

I look at him expressionlessly, my tone cold.

MC: As a seer, I'm merely stating the results of my checks.

Baldhead: You!

In the thunderstorm, the flickering cold light covers Baldhead's face, making his expression appear even more ferocious.

A twinge of fear arises in my heart, and I hear Lucien beside me start to speak thoughtfully with his calm voice.

Lucien: Hmm... I see.

Lucien: In the previous rounds of voting, he seemed to use emotional statements to guide the situation but quickly withdrew, avoiding decisive comments.

Lucien: His votes were also decisive, without any hesitation.

Lucien: This way of disrupting the situation without leaving any evidence does indeed seem like…

Lucien swallows the unfinished end of his sentence, and this pause clearly gives people more room for imagination. The others look at Baldhead with increasing conviction in their eyes.

Zhao Jianqiang: He... is the werewolf, isn't he?

Angel: There's no mistake. I trust MC.

More and more people believe that he is the wolf, the evil wolf mingling among the good people.

Baldman’s face is flushed red with anger, and I can even see his teeth gritting through his gaze.

Joker: Even if he is the wolf, you are not necessarily the seer.

Joker suddenly speaks, standing up while leaning on the back of the chair. His emotionless tone clearly conveys his distrust.

Joker: There is also a third possibility.

The Joker squints his eyes, his gaze circles between Baldhead and me, and finally returns to me.

Joker: It’s a dog-eat-dog* situation, a wolf kills another wolf.

[T/N: while 狗咬狗 literally mean “dog-bite-dog”, it's more of a metaphor for the struggle and fighting between bad guys]

MC: ….?

Joker: All of you subconsciously ignored a possibility. The real seer might have already died, and she is a fake.

Joker: If you later find out that the seer you firmly believed in is actually a wolf, there will be no turning back.

On the surface, I smile disdainfully, but in reality, I feel exhausted. He has guessed everything correctly.

Joker really should have been dealt with earlier! He will be executed tonight!

I don't dare let his words go unchallenged for fear that the people present might turn their suspicion towards me, so I can only speak up with “righteous indignation”.

MC: ....After saying so much, where is the evidence? It can't all be your subjective conjecture, right?

MC: Since I revealed my identity as a seer, no one has ever tried to "compete" with me for this identity.

MC: And Baldhead has never made any notable speeches; even if there were a vote, it would never come to him-

I take a deep breath, desperately and silently think of my words, then say them out loud with conviction.

MC: If we are all wolves, as you say, we should be biding our time and hiding our strength even more——

MC: Instead of throwing mud at each other at this moment, causing unnecessary losses to our own faction, right?

I speak convincingly, while Joker remains aloof, indifferently throwing a word.

Joker: Whatever.

In the end, those who were initially hesitant still tend to trust me.

The attendant drags the constantly struggling Baldhead toward the pool. Until the moment he falls into the water, he stubbornly looks at me, his eyes filled with hatred.

I do not respond to his gaze; I simply watch as the clear pool water is once again stained bright red.

✂———————–

—[Lucien's Route - 9: Lectures About "Dreams” (Non-story/a.k.a Stage part)]—

The closest dream represents the most distant thing.

✂———————–

[Next Part-> Click Here]

[hesawifebeaterdanusethegun]

Being With Herr König Part 4:

Part 3

Okay guys, here's part 4, I'm not sure how long this will go, I guess I'll just write until I get to the ending I'm planning. As always, likes and comments are greatly appreciated, you don't know how excited it makes me to get a comment on something I've written or drawn!

Neither of you knew, though you could have guessed, the other had a stressful, sleepless night. You both gave up on even trying to sleep tonight after your encounter. It was already getting light out anyway. You were on your third cup of black coffee when you saw the sun peeking out from behind the thick trees outside the back of your apartment building. You busied yourself doing the dishes, washing your coffee mug and the few other miscellaneous dishes you hadn't deemed worthy of immediate attention the night before.

Your mind was still reeling from König's visit the night before. He'd told you about the creatures he lovingly called his "cuckoos" because of the way they reproduced, he'd explained that he was a part of a small group of those with the resources to conduct large scale breeding experimentation, an elite group that went back hundreds of years at least. He'd said that just telling you this information without express permission could endanger the entire project, but he wanted no secrets between you.

Your mind wandered back to the kiss you'd shared last night just before things got complicated. His lips had been soft, his kiss a bit prickly with facial hair, and he was so gentle, holding you as if you might break if handled too roughly. You found that you much preferred reliving this moment in your head rather than that which came after it.

You decided to take a long hot shower. The shower was one of the places you went to think, it relaxed you and helped you think rationally. You gathered your towel and robe and headed to the bathroom. Hanging the towel and robe on hooks inside the door, you shed your pajamas and set the shower temperature as hot as you could stand before climbing in. The steam instantly cleared your sinuses and relaxed your muscles.

You stayed in the shower until the water ran cold before shutting it off and stepping out of the tub, toweling yourself dry and donning your robe. Making your way to your room you walked through the living room and just for a second and very faintly, you thought you heard a screeching coming from outside, but somewhere far away. You went to your room to get dressed.

Remembering what Herr König had said last night during his unexpected visit, you donned a pair of straight cut jeans, a pair of combat boots, a t-shirt, and an old leather jacket you'd picked up thrifting back home in the U.S. many years ago. You thought that should be warm enough for a forest walk at night this time of year.

He'd told you he would be here at dusk, giving you plenty of time to wrestle with all the thoughts racing through your head since his departure. You made yourself another cup of coffee and took your usual seat at the kitchen table. You thought of these creatures he'd spoken of, these fascinating almost-human creatures. You thought of what König was doing here with his resort and found that you were more amazed and curious than anything else. Any disgust you felt at the ethical violations pushed to the back of your mind, you thought only of König's love and reverence for these animals, and your love and reverence for him.

As you mulled over the events of the past 24 hours, your mind inevitably wandered back to the kiss the two of you had shared last night. You imagined you could still taste him on your lips if you concentrated hard enough. You prayed that it wouldn't be the last time you kissed him, you couldn't bear that.

Just as you noticed the sun had started to set, you heard a car pull up outside. You heard the door open and slam shut and a few moments later someone knocked on your door forcefully, three times. You smiled, knowing exactly who it was just from the knock, getting up from the table and heading from your small kitchen to the door.

Undoing both locks, you pulled the door open revealing a much more put-together Herr König, not a hair out of place as usual. He wore a deep purple button up shirt and brown slacks. Uncharacteristically, he wore very nondescript hiking boots instead of his usual dress shoes or loafers.

"Hi," you smiled at him, a little unsure how to act now that things had changed so much and so rapidly between you.

"Guten abend, mein abendstern," He took your hand, kissing your knuckles and releasing it again. "Shall we?" he gestured out the door and waited for you to pass ahead of him and pull the door shut behind you, locking it as you always did (and would pay extra care to do so from now on) before he started walking next to you to the passenger seat of his car. Ever the gentleman, he opened the door for you to get in, shutting it behind you before heading to his side of the vehicle and climbing inside, starting the engine.

"Are you ready for this? You don't have to do this," he told you. "I understand if it's too much for you to handle."

"No, I want to. I want to know, I want to see and understand this thing that means so much to you. No matter how I feel about it, I know how I feel about you."

He smiled softly, his eyes shining as he looked into yours. He took your hand. "Thank you." he whispered. You smiled back.

He let go of your hand and placed it on the steering wheel before reaching down and pulling the car into gear and leaving your apartment parking lot, headed for the resort. The sun had already sunk below the mountains, casting everything in a dark blue light.

Part 5

[ivanttakethis]

Post Season 39 - Cassio’s Log

————————————————————

Cassio had been dodging calls and messages from Alien Stage production since they left the complex to go to the hospital with Tov.

It was a struggle to simply decline the calls and swipe away the messages rather than tell them all to fuck off, especially when Tov coded again in the emergency room.

But they were just delaying the inevitable.

Production wanted a meeting, and Cassio knew it would be about Tov.

The only thing they hadn’t anticipated was that members of the production team would commandeer a conference room in the hospital and mandate a meeting so late at night.

No matter.

Cassio didn’t need to prepare.

As they made their way to the conference room, Wren’s words about Tov echoed through their mind.

“All you can do is be there for her now.”

I plan to. They thought. That much I can promise.

Cassio pushed open the double doors and all eyes turned to them. Some they recognized well, others they’d only seen in passing.

Enok, the lead producer, sat at the head of the table, with three underlings flanking him on each side. Six in total.

A seven to one fight, if things got ugly.

He smiled at them with all three rows of his teeth, cheap and plastic. “Cassio, thank you for joining us on such short notice. Please have a seat.”

Enok’s insincerity was almost as potent as his cologne.

Cassio swallowed a gag.

The only open chair was at the other end, opposite him, forcing eye contact.

An intimidation tactic, no doubt.

“Good evening, Enok. Everyone.” They said with a nod, taking the seat without hesitation. “So, what is this meeting all about? The message you sent was marked as urgent.”

The six underlings looked to Enok, expectant.

He sighed and stippled his hands, “Well, there’s no easy way to say this, Cassio, but you need to pull the plug on that pet of yours.”

Cassio kept their face placidly neutral, tilting their head slightly to one side, “And why would I do that, exactly?”

“It damages the brand and reputation of Alien Stage as a competition.” He said. “There can only be one winner each season.”

One survivor, is what he meant.

“Tov didn’t win. Her medical emergency during Round 30 disqualified her.”

“Round 30 was over at the time of her… event.” Enok said, because he was too much of a coward to call it what it actually was.

“The round isn’t over until the loser is shot dead. That’s not what happened here.” Cassio countered. “Besides, it’s rather hard to pull the plug on someone breathing on their own.”

What they wouldn’t have given to take a picture of Enok’s beady eyes wide with surprise and confusion as his plan unraveled, “S-She’s awake? So soon?”

A drop of blood in the water.

Cassio grinned, canines flashing, almost predatory.

“Yes, Tov is still very much alive. Her prognosis is very positive. The only way to kill her now would be euthanasia, and that’d cause quite the controversy. Wouldn’t you agree?” They asked. “I’m sure the pet-human rights activists will take that kind of news well.”

And by “well”, Cassio meant they would firebomb anything and everything tangentially related to Alien Stage.

Truthfully, they couldn’t care either way.

Watching Tov grow more and more devastated with every loss over the course of Season 39 had radicalized them, for lack of a better word.

As much as they still loved their job as head costume designer, a new sense of resentment toward the machine behind it was metastasizing.

The condition was likely terminal.

Enok quickly composed himself, plastering on a smile that was somehow even faker than the last one.

“Oh, come on Cassio. Her recovery doesn’t have to make it to the news.” He said, his drawl slick like oil. “We can just say that your pet was checked out of the hospital so she could pass peacefully with you at your home.”

We? They almost laughed.

The fact that this cretin thought Cassio was going to do anything he suggested was hilarious.

“I’m afraid that won’t be happening.”

Enok’s face fell, as did the temperature in the room. “And why is that?”

Because fuck you, that’s why.

“I have big plans for my human.” Cassio said instead.

“Big plans?” He chucked humorlessly. “Your pet is a loser, regardless. And once Season 40 starts, she’ll fade into obscurity just like the rest of the losers did. She is of no value to you.”

No value? Cassio bit back a sneer.

Enok was practically begging for a fight.

But he wouldn’t get one.

Not yet, at least.

“As Tov’s sole guardian, I am the one who decides when she is no longer of value.” They said, as measured as they could manage. “And that day hasn’t come yet.”

They pushed away from the table and rose to their feet, “Now, if we’re done here, I have a comeback to plan for.”

Without waiting for a reply, Cassio pushed open the doors and strode out of the room.

Vultures and cowards, the lot of them.

I don’t need their support or approval for Tov to live.

Against all odds, she’s still here.

As long as she’s alive and fighting, I’ll fight for her too.

We’re not going anywhere.

And if Alien Stage wants to get in our way, then so be it.

————————————————————

“Cassio: That's right motherfuckers that's right you bitches my fucking competitor is still alive you cant defeat me the house of cassio and tov is impenetrable to the forces of the shifting tides

The Alien Stage PR team currently panic damage controlling in the wake of S39: shut the fuck up” — a summary by @lookatmysillies

Basically, Cassio has had enough.

It’s been building over the course of the season, but Alien Stage production telling them to kill Tov to protect the competition was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

They’re about to learn why you should never get between Cassio and their human.

The impenetrable House of Cassiopeia will not be taking this lightly lol

Tagging: @starry-skiez @rockwgooglyeyes @chevalperd @apple8ees (if you want to be tagged/removed from the tag list lmk!)