#skip hire staines

[punkshort]

Something Unexpected

Thank you @pasc4lfuzz for this request!

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: It's been ten years since you lived in Texas, and of course the first week back, you run into a familiar face from your past.

Warnings: language, alcohol consumption, mention of OC death (reader's father), romcom vibes (bc of course), meet cute, shy!joel, flirting, sexual tension, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex (reader on BC), sex in public

WC: 4.8K

Dirty Bill's bar was exactly as you remembered.

As the name implied, the place wasn't the cleanest. Even after Bill locked up for the night, your shoes used to stick to the floors and it was almost a guarantee to find a stray lemon or lime somewhere on the bar top.

His definition of clean never matched yours. Hell, it didn't match anyone's, but that didn't stop locals from frequenting the place regularly.

It had been years since you lived in Austin and worked at the bar. At least ten, maybe more. When you tended bar, you actually kept the place relatively clean, but you knew the second you walked in that Bill clearly went back to his old ways once you quit and moved.

To his credit, the place was still packed. You had to stand up on your tiptoes and crane your neck to find your oldest friend, Leah, sitting at the bar nursing a gin and tonic. You grinned and pushed your way through the crowd, doing a double take when you recognized a few poor souls from your bartending days drinking the same bottles of beer.

Some things really never do change.

"Leah!" you cried out excitedly as you approached. She swiveled around on her barstool with a huge grin when she heard your voice. Jumping down, you enveloped her in a huge hug, swaying her back and forth and holding each other as tight as you could. She looked a little older and she gained a bit of weight since she had her kids, but otherwise she was the same. Same bright blue eyes, same wavy blonde hair, same toothy smile.

"Oh, my god! I can't believe it's really you!" she exclaimed, leaning back but still gripping your shoulders so she could get a good look at you. "You look amazing," she added before dropping her hands.

"I was about to say the same to you," you said before sliding onto the barstool next to hers. She scoffed and shook her head.

"Don't bullshit me. After I had Aiden I was never able to lose the extra weight."

"I'm not bullshitting you," you laughed. "You were always too skinny before, I told you that tons of times. You look incredible. I mean it."

She blushed and waved you off. "What're you drinking? They have some specials til nine, that's when the fireworks are supposed to start, but sadly that's also when I'll have to leave," she said with a pout. "Babysitter's got plans. Can you believe the audacity? A twenty year old daring to make plans on the Fourth of July?" she asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. You laughed and took the stained piece of paper she held out for you.

"I can't believe he's doing specials now," you told her while you perused the menu.

"It ain't anything earth shattering. Bud's a buck cheaper and well drinks are two bucks each."

"And here I thought he dreamed up a cocktail menu," you replied with another laugh.

"Oh, honey, you know Bill won't even buy a goddamn blender for daiquiris."

It had been ten years since you left Texas and saw Leah, but just the way good friends do, you fell right back into each other without skipping a beat. Although the topics of conversation that had once centered around boys now focused on her children and work, you still found her so easy to talk to.

"And what about you? Now that you're back, what's the plan for work?"

You winced when you tossed back the rest of your drink and shook your head. "Don't know yet. I gotta get my head around going through all of dad's things and trying to sell that house. Hell, maybe Bill will hire me again," you joked.

"I know you're just kidding but he would in a heartbeat," Leah said before clearing her throat and taking on a more somber tone. "How're you holding up? Dealing with your dad passing 'n everything?"

You shrugged and smiled at the cute bartender who gave you both refills without having to ask. "I'm alright. It was a long time coming, he was sick for so long. I'm just glad he's not in pain anymore, but I miss him. This whole town just reminds me so much of him, you know?" you said, furrowing your brow while you watched your ice swirl in your glass. She nodded sympathetically and put a gentle hand on your arm. "It's so weird being back here now without him. Like I keep waiting for him to walk through the front door. It's why I can't keep the place. Too many memories, it's messing with my head," you said with a dry laugh before taking a sip of your drink.

"I get that. I can come by this weekend and help you for a few hours if you like," she said. You smiled at her and tilted your head to the side, overcome for a moment at how generous she was, knowing full well she had enough to deal with at home.

"Thanks, Leah. I'll let you know."

After another hour, the cute bartender cupped his hands around his mouth like a megaphone and announced last call for drink specials. Leah's face fell and she pushed off the bar with a sigh.

"Guess I oughta get going."

Sadness rippled through your chest at the thought of being alone again, but you tried not to let her see it. She had a family to go home to, a life.

"Thanks again for meeting me, I know it's hard for you and your schedule is so busy now," you said, giving her a hug.

She opened her mouth to reply when the cute bartender you had been eyeing up all evening put a drink in front of you.

"Oh, sorry, thanks, but I'm just about to leave," you told him. He wiped his hands on a towel and tipped his head to the side.

"It's on him."

Your gaze followed the direction in which his head tilted and you could hardly believe your eyes.

"Oh, boy," Leah muttered under her breath.

The man on the other side of the bar lifted his beer bottle to you before stepping away into the crowd. You could see his greying curls making their way through the throngs of people fighting to get one or two more cheap drinks and you felt anger slowly bubbling to the surface.

"Play nice," Leah warned you. You clenched your teeth and shook your head.

"I'm always nice."

She chuckled and gave you a kiss on the cheek. "Call me about this weekend."

"Yeah, okay," you replied distractedly, your heart thudding faster in your chest when the familiar looking man stepped through the crowd and sidled up next to you at the same time Leah disappeared, heading towards the door.

"Hey, darlin'. Hope you don't mind me buyin' you a drink," he said, his southern drawl thicker and slower than you remembered. "I'm Joel," he added, sticking his hand out for you to shake.

You stared at it too long, the alcohol buzzing through your veins and slowing down your train of thought.

"Yeah, I know who you are, Joel," you replied, ignoring his hand to glare up at him. "Do you really not recognize me?"

He swallowed and let his hand fall limp as he scanned your face, the gears in his head working overtime to try and place you, and the fact he didn't remember you hurt your feelings more than you expected.

"I, uh..." he trailed off and scratched his chin nervously. You rolled your eyes and leaned against the bar.

"I used to date your brother. For like, eight fucking months in high school. He stood me up for prom?" you reminded him, your tone turning icy. The realization clicked and his face softened when he quietly murmured your name.

"Oh, shit. Sorry, I didn't... thought you moved outta town."

"I did," you snapped. "I'm back now. Just got here last week."

He nodded and shifted his jaw to the side. It was like you could see the wave wash over him in real time: his memory recalling images of you in his mother's house, probably remembering stories Tommy told him when you weren't around, and finally, the uneasiness settled in when it dawned on him his brother could find out he made a move on his ex girlfriend.

But much to your surprise, Joel didn't come up with some feeble excuse and run off. In fact, he took Leah's abandoned stool and put his beer next to your untouched drink.

"Tommy was an asshole to you, wasn't he?" he asked. And even though it was ages ago, you could feel that wound in your chest slowly begin to open back up.

You shook your head and looked down at your hands.

"He embarrassed me. Dated me the entire school year, went to football games and every single house party together just to bring Jill fucking Parker to prom." You angrily took a long drink from your glass before setting it down a little too loudly on the bar. "Didn't even break up with me. Just... pretended like I didn't exist. Do you have any idea how much that hurt? I showed up an hour late, my hair and makeup all goddamn perfect, just to walk into the gym and see him dancing with her. Kissing her. Fucking dick," you muttered, raking your fingers through your hair.

Joel listened quietly, a sympathetic look on his face while you continued.

"I couldn't stay there. I turned right around and walked home. Cried the whole fucking night in some stupid fucking dress that matched his stupid fucking boutonniere."

Joel winced and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I - I remember some of that but I was too wrapped up in my own shit back then. Had one foot out my parents' door, had a girlfriend and was gettin' started in construction. I remember you at some family dinners but... I don't know, I'm real sorry, sweetheart. Didn't mean to ruin your night."

You sighed and rolled your shoulders. "You didn't, it's fine. It was a long time ago."

"Yeah, but it still hurts you. I can see it," he replied, his soft brown eyes boring into you.

"It shouldn't. I just haven't thought about all that in forever and so far, being back here is only bringing up shitty memories," you said sadly, stirring your drink absentmindedly.

Joel glanced around the bar, noticing it was beginning to clear as patrons filed out to the parking lot to get a good spot for the fireworks show about start in the town park down the street.

"C'mon," he said, abandoning his beer and taking your hand before sliding off the stool. "Let's go make a good memory. Fireworks are 'bout to start."

Your eyelids fluttered in surprise, first at the way he was holding your hand, and second at his proposition.

"Oh, we don't have to. I was going to head home, anyway," you told him. He was nicer than you expected about the whole situation, but it was bordering on pity, and that was something you certainly were not interested in.

"I ain't gonna keep you from leavin', but I could sure use the company," he said, still holding your hand. You chewed your bottom lip as you silently weighed your options. He smiled softly and gave your hand a little tug when he saw your resolve crumbling. "C'mon. I don't wanna watch fireworks alone."

You rolled your eyes and fought back the stupid smile from spreading across your face. "Alright, why not?" you said, hopping off your stool. You allowed him to drag you by the hand through the crowds of people mingling in the parking lot, through clouds of cigarette smoke and boisterous laughter until you reached his truck parked at the very corner of the lot.

Joel dropped your hand so he could unhook the tailgate, then jumped up with a grunt to unfold the pile of blankets he had shoved in the far corner. You took a few steps forward and watched curiously as he fluffed up two pillows, and you wondered if this was some kind of move he often pulled on girls.

"You came prepared," you said, trying to subtly test your theory. He glanced over his shoulder with a grin.

"Got stood up tonight," he replied, and the irony of it was too much. You burst out laughing, clapping your palm over your mouth.

"I'm sorry, it's just... what are the odds?"

He chuckled and, once he was satisfied with the blanket arrangement, extended an arm out to you.

"It was a blind date. Wasn't nearly as bad as bein' stood up for prom, but still stung a bit," he admitted. He clasped your hand in his and pulled you up into the bed of his truck with so much strength, you nearly fell against his chest.

"Oops, sorry," you said shyly when you had caught yourself from falling into his lap just in time. He just gave you another smile that was beginning to make your knees weak and leaned back into the bed of the truck. He readjusted his head on one of the pillows, one arm tucking behind his head with a sigh, and gazed up at the sky.

You looked around nervously, unsure what to do. The setting was a little too intimate to be in with your ex's brother, but no one else was around. The closest car with people in it was fifty yards away. And besides, if someone were to report back to Tommy, they would have already seen you together in the bar.

"So, why'd you move back?" Joel asked, his voice so much deeper now that you weren't surrounded by classic rock and loud conversations. You tucked your legs underneath you and looked down at him all stretched out. His shirt was riding up just an inch, exposing a sliver of tanned skin and a trail of dark curls leading past his waistband. You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced yourself to look away.

"Um, my dad died," you told him. His brows pinched together, giving you that look of pity that you had grown too familiar with.

"I'm sorry," he said, and you could tell he meant it.

"Thanks. He was sick for a long time," you explained, trying to downplay it, but he shook his head.

"Don't matter. Losin' a parent ain't ever easy."

You pursed your lips and nodded, staring down at your fingers twisting together in your lap.

"Suppose that's true."

He allowed you to sit quietly for a moment while you gathered your thoughts, waiting to see if you wanted to talk about it more or let it be.

"A blind date, huh?" you asked him, changing the subject.

"Yep. Blind date," he repeated, eyes flickering briefly down your body. "Don't wanna use no apps or shit. Thought it might be easier to do things the old fashioned way. Guess I was wrong."

"I know what you mean," you said. "It feels like it's impossible to meet anyone organically anymore."

He hummed and took a deep breath. "Like buyin' a girl a drink in a bar?"

You giggled and he grinned, the sound of your laugh sending a rush of adrenaline through his veins.

"Yes, but we already met before," you reminded him.

He nodded, smile still playing at his lips. "You use a lot of them apps?"

You felt your cheeks warm and shrugged. "Not really. I have used them, but not lately."

He bit the inside of his cheek and tried to ignore the nervous flutter in his chest when he asked, "That 'cause you got a boyfriend now, or..."

You laughed again and his nerves immediately calmed at the sound.

"No. No boyfriend."

He felt his hands shake while he struggled to come up with the right thing to say or do next when fate intervened and gave him the perfect answer.

A loud boom echoed from behind you and you jumped in surprise, then grinned when you tilted your chin up to see the fireworks had started. Joel cleared his throat, pulling your attention onto him.

"Gonna pull a muscle in your neck if you keep that up for the next half hour," he said, then patted the empty area next to him. You smiled shyly and it made his stomach flip.

"You're pretty smooth, Joel Miller," you teased before sliding down onto your back next to him so you could look up at the dark sky all lit up above you.

He tapped his chest nervously with the tips of his fingers, hardly paying attention to the fireworks now that you were so close that he could feel the heat from your soft skin and smell the scent of your shampoo burrowing its way into his blankets.

Unsure how to make the next move, he chose to go with a classic. He figured at the very least, you might laugh again.

"Why don't you get closer, darlin'? You look cold."

Sure enough, you did laugh, making his heart soar but to his shock, you also inched closer to him. Nestling into his side, you gently placed one of your hands on his stomach, but he could tell it made you nervous because your shoulders felt stiff and your breath was shallow.

"Is this okay?" he murmured after he wrapped an arm around you, his fingers brushing delicately over your arm.

"Mhmm," you said, feeling your skin prickle under his touch. He felt it, too, and pulled a blanket over you both.

How the hell did you end up in the back of your ex boyfriend's brother's truck, cuddled up under blankets and watching the fireworks? When you were getting ready earlier, your only hope was to find some distraction with an old friend for a couple hours. Whatever this was was a complete and pleasant surprise.

Both of you watched as your hand slowly crept up from his stomach to his chest, your hearts beating fast with anticipation. You tilted your chin up to look at him, those deep brown eyes meeting yours and in that moment, an unspoken understanding passed between you.

You met each other half way at the exact same time, pressing your lips together tentatively at first, then with more desperation. He tasted like stale beer but you loved it. It felt comforting. He was so warm and strong under your touch, his hand so big when it came to rest on the side of your face as he plunged his tongue greedily into your mouth for the first time. Somewhere in the back of your mind you realized what you were doing was probably wrong, that it could very well cause a problem between him and Tommy, but he was a grown man who knew exactly what he was doing when he took your hand in that bar.

You weren't exactly sure how it escalated, but it did. He rolled on top of you, pinning you with his weight while one hand skirted up your side, squeezing your breast before tugging the cup of your bra down underneath your shirt and rolling your nipple between two expert fingers. You moaned into his mouth and arched your back, pressing yourself into him.

"Joel," you whispered when his mouth trailed down your neck and his hips began to rut against yours.

"I know, 'm sorry," he panted, yet he didn't make a move to stop. "This probably ain't a good idea," he added, but just tilted his head so he could suck on the other side of your neck.

You bit your lip and tipped your head back, giving him better access.

"Probably not," you agreed when your hands found his belt. His lips stuttered against your throat when you deftly undid the leather and popped the button on his jeans.

"Shit," you whispered when his hand slid down the front of your shorts, his fingers petting at your sex through your panties.

"You want this, baby?" he asked, nipping at your collarbone. You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded, the fireworks in the sky matching the ones behind your eyelids.

"Say it," he commanded, voice dropping an octave and sending a shiver down your spine.

"I want it," you breathed before palming his erection through his jeans. He groaned and pressed himself further into your hand, encouraging you to rub his cock through the thick denim, your mind spiraling at how hard he was already.

He undid your shorts in record time, helping you shimmy out of them as quickly as possible, each of you panting for air, the excitement overwhelming.

"Joel, what if - shit," you cursed when he yanked your panties down and off, tossing them to get lost amongst the blankets. "What if someone sees?"

"Don't worry, I got you," he said, eagerly pushing his jeans down so they bunched up mid-thigh, then settled between your legs and tugged the blanket back over you both. "Ain't no one gonna see us, they're all lookin' up," he whispered before slotting your lips together once again.

Your brows pinched together and your mouth fell open when he first pressed inside, his impossibly hard cock parting your walls and making room for himself deep within your body. His hand cradled the side of your face, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your cheek when he buried himself inside you with a grunt.

Your fingers found their way to the back of his neck, wrapping around the thick muscle there, threading through some of his hair and holding him close.

Joel bumped his nose against the side of your throat, his own gasps being drowned out by yours as he hid his face against your neck and slowly dragged his cock in and out. Each flex of his hips made you soften under him until you moaned his name into the night air, your voice being muffled by the fireworks overhead and oh, he liked hearing that. His name falling from your lips in ecstasy while he buried himself as deep as he possibly could inside your warmth caused him to think stupid thoughts and feel stupid things.

You wanted to ask him how he did it, how he made you feel so fucking good, how he managed to reach a place inside you that had your mind going numb and your skin tingling with anticipation, but you couldn't find your voice. You could only offer him small whimpers and throaty moans, hoping it would be enough to encourage him.

He panted against your skin, his wet exhale mingling with the humidity of the air, leaving your throat sticky and warm. His hand gripped your thigh, tugging your leg upwards, shifting you around until he found a position that pleased him.

His hips began to move faster when, in the back of his mind, he knew the fireworks would be wrapping up soon. He wished he could take his time with you. He wished you didn't have to hold back those pretty sounds that fell from your even prettier mouth. But fuck, you just looked so beautiful and you felt so good wrapped around him that he couldn't stop himself.

"Oh, god," you whined, fingernails digging into his upper back so hard that he could feel the pinch through the fabric of his shirt. "Right there, Joel, please," you whimpered, and he grinned.

"Y'feel so good, baby," he murmured in your ear, making sure to maintain the same pace within you, not wanting to deny you any pleasure. "So fuckin' good. Wanted you from the second I saw you tonight, y'know that?"

You moaned and continued to claw at his back, your eyes prickling with tears as your climax swelled low in your belly.

"I lied earlier," he admitted, watching your face closely when he said, "didn't sting at all that my date didn't show. Wouldn't've been able to keep my eyes off you the whole time, anyway."

You groaned and cried out his name, your hand slapping over your mouth and once again he grew angry with himself that he didn't just take you home.

"Joel," you whimpered behind your hand, and he yanked it down, uncaring if anyone heard at that point.

"Tell me what you want," he said roughly, hips fucking into you at a steady clip that made beads of sweat form against his hairline.

"Harder," you groaned, biting at his jaw, then latching onto his neck and sucking wet, open mouthed kisses there, hoping to leave a mark. "I'm close, fuck me harder," you repeated, and something primal in him unfurled at the command.

You buried your face against his shoulder when he started to snap his hips into you, his arms caging you in and keeping your body from sliding up the bed of the truck. You wrapped your legs around his waist like an anchor as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge, all the while his mouth dragged up and down your neck, your face, your shoulders... anywhere he could find skin, he left his mark.

Then he felt a familiar tightening around his cock and your body began to tremble underneath him, causing his stomach to tense and his hips to stutter. Your teeth clamped down on his shoulder when you came, your words muffled against his body, your hands scrambling against his back as if you were about to fall.

Maybe you were.

"Where?" he whispered frantically, and when you took too long to respond he grabbed your chin, forcing your eyes to lock. You were all fucked out, your body slack and your breath haggard as you gazed up at him, confused. "Where?" he asked again with more urgency, and finally it clicked.

"Inside," you replied, voice cracking. He shook his head like he was in pain and dropped his hand from your chin back down to your hip, pulling you impossibly closer while he continued to plunge inside of you. "It's fine, it's safe," you clarified for him, and that was all he needed to hear.

His mouth crashed over yours when he came, his kisses sloppy and his throat hoarse from the way his words turned into growls against your lips. He pulled back, breaking the kiss, and cupped your face again. Your noses brushed together and your eyes locked as his hips slowed down but still rocked into you, each surge of his cum punctuated by a soft ah until he finally stilled and collapsed.

"Christ," he grumbled against your shoulder. You gently raked your fingers through his hair while you each caught your breath, his body shivering when your nails scraped his scalp just right. He turned his head and gave you a little smile before tenderly pressing your lips together, then carefully sliding out of you with a grunt.

He rolled onto his back and yanked his jeans back up before searching around the ruffled blankets for your clothes. Right when the big finale began, he handed them back to you.

"Perfect timing," you giggled as you squirmed around under the blanket to put your clothes back on. Joel glanced around, his veins still pumping his body full of dopamine, and confirmed that nobody had been close enough to overhear, let alone see, what happened.

Once the fireworks stopped, the crowds of people in the parking lot clapped and began to head to their cars, headlights and engines turning on all around you.

You sat up and straightened out your shirt, trying to play it cool but internally you were freaking out. Was this a one time thing? It had to have been. Right? Did you want it to be a one time thing?

Then, Joel broke the awkward silence.

"Can I ask you somethin'? And you can be honest, it won't hurt my feelin's none," he said. When you looked over at him, he was looking off in a random direction, unable to look you in the face when he asked, "Was this just to get back at Tommy?"

You raised your eyebrows in surprise.

"N-no, of course not," you stammered. "I haven't even thought about Tommy in years. Besides, I wouldn't do something like that."

He tilted his head back in your direction and grinned.

"That's a relief, 'cause it mighta hurt my feelin's."

You laughed and tossed a pillow at him.

"You liar."

He chuckled and gently tossed the pillow back. You tucked it against your stomach as you stared at one another, each of you trying to work out what happened next.

"I wanna see you again," he said, answering your unspoken question, and you couldn't hide the delight from spreading across your face.

"Me, too," you said, and he smiled. A big smile, one that definitely made your knees weak that time. "But what about Tommy? I don't wanna cause some problem with you two."

Joel shrugged and took a deep breath. "Then maybe it can be our little secret."

A slow, mischievous smile tugged at your lips and you knew in that moment he was going to be trouble.

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[allwaswell16]

A fic rec of One Direction fics where one character hates everyone but the other half of the pairing as requested in this ask. You can find part 1 of this rec here. You can find my other fic recs here. Please leave kudos and comments for the writers! Happy reading!

- Louis / Harry -

❤️ Saving You by Snowy38

(E, 90k, sex work) Harry is being bought by Louis not for the night but for good and his testing ways push Louis to the limit...

❤️ These High Walls by LarryAlways28

(E, 68k, omegaverse) He was the ideal son - until he presented as an Omega. Now, barely a year after his old man dropped dead and running the family company, if he makes a mistake with the Tomlinson and Sons merger and acquisition, it's game over.

❤️ go ahead, rip my heart out if that's what love's all about (series) by wildestdreams / @thelavendrhaze

(E, 40k, small town) Louis is the town troublemaker and everyone hates him except for Harry.

❤️ Hidden Gardens by pinky_heaven19

(M, 41k, friends to lovers) the one where Louis owns a pub and Harry is a photographer who needs his help for a project. Louis is grumpy, Harry is not. Louis has a secret. There is some pining and a lot of fluff.

❤️ You're Not My Type (still I fall) by Imogenlee / @imogenleewriter

(M, 38k, omegaverse) that was the same stubborn attitude that got him here: in his car, in a thunderstorm, on the side of a forsaken lane of some little countryside town in Yorkshire.

❤️ A Road To Something Better by @taggiecb

(E, 25k, small town) Louis Tomlinson, famous romance novelist, has just had the rug pulled out from under his feet when his boyfriend leaves him without notice. What's the most appropriate response to this? Move a thousand miles away and seclude himself in a tiny lake town, of course. 

❤️ Fate Had Other Plans by Snowy38

(E, 25k, Christmas) Louis Tomlinson books into a remote Ski Lodge in Austria to avoid everyone at Christmas. He is looking forward to his bah-humbug lonely Christmas when Harry Styles 'breaks into' his lodge and ruins his plans with his happy, sociable nature...

❤️ Behind Smoke Stained Curtains by @jaerie

(E, 19k, omegaverse) The worlds align when Louis meets an alpha from the road with as many secrets as he holds himself.

❤️ When You Know by @allwaswell16

(E, 17k, assassin Louis) Years of living in the shadows has taken its toll on Louis Tomlinson. When he’s offered a chance to leave behind his life as a hired assassin, he intends to take it.

❤️ Does it Ever Drive You Crazy? (Just How Fast the Night Changes) by xx_soup_xx

(G, 7k, Christmas) Baker Harry Styles takes it upon himself to get his mysterious grumpy customer, Louis Tomlinson, to like Christmas by taking him on a disastrous first date.

❤️ you cured my january blues (yeah you made it all alright) by writtensoul

(NR, 7k, pet store) louis is a lonely old soul with nothing to keep him company but his wild, albeit dry humor - and maybe the pretty boy who works at the pet store down the road. 

❤️ Good-Old Fashioned Lover Boy by not_fitzwilliam / @not-fitzwilliam-darcy

(NR, 5k, omegaverse) When a miscalculated decision leads to an accidental courtship with the sweetest, most gentle alpha, Harry is torn between breaking the alpha's heart and telling the truth. 

❤️ 'Sno(w) joke by SunTomato / @sun-tomato

(NR, 5k, library) The last thing Louis wanted was to get stranded on his birthday. But perhaps it was exactly what he needed.

❤️ i'll breathe your air into my lungs by blizzies

(T, 5k, high school) five phases of their relationship in a world where harry smokes a lot and skips school and hates everyone except his boyfriend and louis is in plays and is loved by everyone and they work even though nobody gets how.

❤️ The Bookshop by Humphrey

(NR, 4k, bookshop) Harry just wants to buy some books. Louis is a very rude bookshop owner.

❤️ Alone and Back Again by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 4k, omegaverse) what does one do when a feral alpha shows up in town ready to be executed?

- Rare Pairs -

❤️ You Should Probably Stay (a Couple More Days) by transteverogers

(E, 8k, Zayn/Liam) Zayn is one of the top richest business owners in London but he's also one of the loneliest at just the age of 27. He's grumpy and serious all of the time at work, but when he get home he's sad and desperate for something or more like someone. 

❤️ Kind of Tough to Tell a Scruff (Stand and Deliver) by sunsetmog / @magicalrocketships

(M, 4k, Louis/Nick Grimshaw) In which Nick moves north and Louis lives next door.

[risingoftime]

home sweet home

⤷ mafia!coriolanus snow x housewife!reader: Coriolanus comes home after a long day at work and needs some tlc.

contains: smut mdni 18+, coriolanus being horny af, blood, unprotected sex, p in v, voyeurism, choking, oral (reader receiving), slight orgasm denial, fingering, possessive behaviour, overstimulation, breeding kink? body worshipping? porn no plot.

a/n: lowkey want to write a modern mafia!au series fic of coriolanus snow x reader.

You had just finished mashing the potatoes in the kitchen when the alarm went off on the cuckoo bird timer on your countertop. It was time to take out the whole chicken cooking in the oven. Grabbing your mitts, you took the perfectly roasted chicken to cool on the rack before you heard your name being yelled from the front foyer.

"Honey, I'm home!" Coriolanus called out. His henchmen stood not too far behind, straight-faced and unfazed by his theatrics.

Coriolanus Snow, the most wanted mafia boss in Panem, is a man of power, feared and respected by all. His name invokes terror, and his empire spans the city. Coriolanus was known for his ruthless tactics and cold-heartedness, a force to be reckoned with. But, hidden beneath his hardened exterior is a deviant soul inexplicably drawn to you. And he wasn't timid about it. Your heart still skipped a beat whenever Coriolanus had returned home safely, given his line of work.

When you walked to the front door, Coriolanus stood in his glory in an impeccably tailored suit. His platinum blonde hair was slicked back with no sign of his curls, giving you a clear view of his blue eyes and face. The white rose pinned to his blazer was stained with crimson red blood splatters that painted his white dress shirt into a deep rustic red, blood that partially dried—the only indication of what his day entailed as Coriolanus smiled brightly at the sight of you. Everything else about him remained clean-cut. He resembled what you would imagine an angel of death in a suit.

"Busy day?" you asked.

"Things got a bit messier than I had anticipated, but nothing that I can't handle," Coriolanus unbuttoned his dress shirt and removed his blazer before handing the items to the hired help. The maid offered him a hot sanitization cloth to wipe his hands, and he gladly accepted. Then he pulled you closer to him into a tight embrace, pushing his muscular frame against yours. Coriolanus's hard cock pressed into your abdomen, making it very apparent what he wanted from you. Goosebumps appeared over your skin, and it became difficult to breathe normally as his hands roamed over your body freely, as if it were his for the taking.

"Coryo, we have company." You whispered urgently, attempting to voice your objections, but his lips silenced you. Coriolanus trailed tender kisses along your jawline and down your neck.

"I can't help it," he murmured between kisses, his voice filled with longing and lust. "I missed you so much." You were barely able to keep yourself steady at this point, with your rapid heartbeat, and he knew. Grabbing your waist, he lifts you off of the ground, and your legs wrap around him instinctively. His hands feel huge, gripping your ass to support your weight.

Your body desperately wanted him to fuck you right then and there, but the embarrassing thought of his henchmen hearing your moans and pleas was enough for you to keep your composure. Although, you wouldn't mind if Coriolanus did it anyway.

Something ignites in Coriolanus's eyes when he looks down at your core pressed against his dick. He watches as his hands push you against his cock, creating friction between you. The movement elicits a lewd moan from your lips, "Coryo, please." Coriolanus's Adam's apple bobs in his throat at the sound. He placed you on top of the entryway table and pushed your legs further apart, exposing your wet panties.

"Coryo, they'll see…" You feigned concern, but the truth is that you like to be watched, and Coriolanus was aware of this. His men stood still at the doorway with their gaze ahead, but one slipped up and made eye contact.

Coriolanus grabs your chin and forces your attention back onto him, "let them," he grumbled, his judgement hazy from your effect on him. His actions were calculated, taking one of your legs over his shoulder as he pushed your underwear to the side. Coriolanus shoved two fingers into you, "Ugh, you're so wet, and I haven't even given you my dick yet." You were practically writhing on his hand like a crutch, hypnotized by his touch. Each time was better than the last. It's intense. His thumb massaged your clit at the same speed as his fingers. You were ready to collapse at the ecstasy he brought you from just using one hand. “Such a pretty pussy, all for me.” Coriolanus got off by pleasing you and seized any opportunity to show how genuinely devoted he was to winning you over and showing others you were only his.

"Hmmm, look at the mess you’re making," Coriolanus cooed.

You watched while he played with your arousal between your folds, gathering more of it for lubrication before pushing his fingers deeper inside your cunt. Guiding his lips back to yours, he bit down on your bottom lip, slightly drawing blood and tasting it with his tongue before enticing yours.

“Fuck you make me feel so good.” you exhaled and relinquished all control to him. “Baby, I’m so close,” moaning softly in his mouth.

“No, not yet. They don't deserve to see you." Coriolanus slowed down his speed. You whimpered from his denial of your release. "That's only for me, you're mine." He picked you up again, taking his fingers out of you, ready to take you to bed. But the darn cuckoo bird clucked from the kitchen once more.

"You cooked dinner already?" Coriolanus asked. You nodded shyly, acutely aware that you were not far from cumming in front of an audience. In your peripheral vision, you could see the henchmen adjust their pants in a failed attempt to hide their erection. “I can’t wait to taste what you made,” he said. Coriolanus looked over his shoulder at them and muttered under his breath, “Perverted fucks.” he continued to carry you towards the kitchen. Having his arms wrapped around you made you feel safe and protected.

Coriolanus placed you on top of the kitchen countertop, hooked his index finger around the band of your underwear and tugged them down.

“what are you doing?” you giggled.

“I told you I can’t wait to taste you,” he stated.

“No, you didn’t,” you replied.

“Didn’t I?” He questioned as he lowered his head between your legs. Coriolanus took his time teasing you, lazily dragging his tongue from your inner thigh and inching closer and closer to your exposed cunt until it met its mark. He lapped up your juices, sucking on your clit and flicking it over and over again with the tip of his tongue. Your eyes fluttered shut, overconsumed by bliss.

"Don't stop," you sighed. Coriolanus ate you out as if it was his last meal. Hungrily, licking and slurping your pussy.

"I wouldn't dare," he swears under his breath and groans. “Fuck, taste so good." Your hands tangled in Coriolanus's hair from tugging him closer while you roll your hips across his face. He'd done this countless times, yet this felt different. On his knees, Coriolanus moaned out your name like a prayer, worshipping your body. He moved with vigour and dedication to add to the tension that grew within you. "Ah, Coryo-" your breath was staggered, and your legs clenched and shaken around his head, trapping him there on the edge of the counter. It was too much as your orgasm rippled throughout your body all at once.

Coriolanus reappeared with your fluids still on his chin and lips. While taking you in a passionate kiss, he wasted no time in unbuckling his trousers. Your arousal still dripping from his tongue as he lined his cock up to your entrance. You bounced up and down on his cock, as Coriolanus grinded his waist up to eagerly meet your movements halfway. "That's it, baby girl, just like that." He’s so hard that it almost hurts. Coriolanus couldn’t get enough of it. His fingers dug into your thighs while he fucks you and watches your breast move with each thrust. Coriolanus was aggressive and needy, and you loved every moment of it.

"I— shit, I'm gonna cum," you could feel Coriolanus’s body tremble against yours. "Give it to me. Every last drop," you moaned. Demanding him to surrender you all his body can offer, you would take whatever he yields to you. Riding his cock until Coriolanus couldn’t keep his eyes open, “Baby s’too much,” he slurred. Wet slapping sounds echoed throughout the house, intermingled with your moans. Cumming together. Coriolanus's hand raised around your neck, applying enough pressure to slightly cut off your circulation as he continued to pound into your pussy relentlessly. "Tell me that this pussy is mine," he growled. "It's yours, Coryo." you cried out. You stuttered out his name as you lost control of your limbs, trembling in bliss, your walls clenched and pulsed around his member. You were at your wit's end, but your body wouldn’t stop, edging yourself closer and closer to orgasm. There was an insatiable urge that remained between the two of you. Even as he pumped his cum deeper and deeper inside of you, it was never enough.

[beelmons]

devil's mark cw: slightly nsfw

The heavy pants and and smooching noises where the only things that could be heard in the dark, tiny, closet at Rossi's house. Not that you minded though, the wet noises of your lips against Reid's was probably your favorite sound in the whole world. It killed you to be the only one who knew what was happening between him and you, if the decision had been yours, even the devil himself would know of your love.

But, in the end, the always worrisome Dr. Reid was not ready for a public commitment, or rather, he feared the teasing and nudging of his coworkers. Things were good as they were, why would you bring people into it? At least that was what he told himself everytime he wanted to hold your hand in public, or kiss you after getting good news, or simply put an end to other agents' flirting, and each time he had to stop himself. It was better this way, he thought.

"Come on, we have to go back." he said even when his hands kept you still pressed against his body, chest to chest, mind you.

"It's still not enough for me." you muttered, your lips attaching to a new area of his neck.

He noticed you didn't add as much tongue as you usually would, or that your lips seemed to linger a little longer than common, and specially that between kisses you pulled apart to be out of his sight, but he didn't make anything out of it, after all, your lips being on whatever part of his body had become his favorite hobby.

"They're gonna find out." he complained.

"They will." you breathed, and you tilted your head upwards to lay a deep but quick kiss to his lips "Eventually."

You hands sneaked in between your bodies to toy with the buttons of his shirt, spreading the collar apart to expose the center area of his chest. Your lips attached to the collarbone section. Pause. Then the pec section, and the mewl he let out was like honey dripping from his mouth.

"Okay." you finally pulled apart "I'm satisfied, for now" you made sure to emphasize your last words.

You took a second to fix his shirt back up, trying to leave no apparent trace that it had been undone in the first place. He stole one last kiss, he himself not being entirely satiated.

"I'll go out first, I've been gone the longest." he proposed and you gave him a hum in agreement.

He subtly left the closet, head turning frentically in search for anyone that could be inside the house before heading back to the yard area. His brows furrowed in confusion, though, when everyone looked at him with startled eyes.

"Reid..." Emily tried to warn him.

"So, where were you, pretty boy?" Derek interrupted, not wanting to skip the opportunity to do some brother-like teasing.

"Just needed to use the bathroom." he explained, doubt still written on his face.

"That's one hell of a service in that bathroom." Penelope blurted out without much thought.

"I do not remember hiring anyone to do that" Rossi added.

"What do you mean?" a very confused Spencer said, annoyance slightly appearing on his tone.

Hotch was the only member kind enough to open his front camera and offer the phone to Reid so he could observe himself. Bright, burgundy lip marks decorated his face, from his cheek to a trail that clearly followed down to at least the top area of his chest. The color that tinted his face didn't fall behind, the stains basically merging with his newfound skin tone. Seconds later, your figure appeared from between the house doors, with a freshly applied lipstick adorning your face.

"Let me guess, burgundy?" Derek pressed the issue, making an observation on your lip shade, and you simply shrugged innocently.

The speed which with Spencer snapped his neck to you could have given him whiplash, but the fact that every action you had taken back in that closet made the outmost sense now had him so bewildered he couldn't have cared.

"We've known for a while, Spence." JJ reasured him.

"For real, kid, is not a big deal." Derek told him when he noticed the embarrassment in his face.

Your hand darted out to grab his, a bright, relentless smile drawing on your lips. He couldn't help but to break into a laugh that everyone joined him in, boy, he would have done that differently, but he felt so free, so finally free.

"Penelope." he turned to Garcia once his breathing calmed down.

"Yes, lollipop." the rest of the girls giggled at her new nickname, and Reid rolled his eyes playfully.

"Please tell me you carry wet wipes."

[valscodblog]

"Murder." (Home part two) Simon Riley Ver

Warnings: MAJOR DEATH, LOTS OF BLOOD, anything and evrything to do with murder (dont do it seek help if you have thoughts like this) and uhmm yeah. just rlly bad. uhm...IF YOUR UNDER FIFTEEN DONT READ!!

tags: @seconds-on-the-clock @skauni @writing-with-moss <333

Simon looked over the paper he had taken from his son. He cracked a grin and shoved it back into his pocket. His wife's exes, huh? Fine. He'd let the kid go and take out his anger on them. After all, too much pent up anger turns you into something of a monster to other people.

He heard his wife getting up and quickly started mopping. She walked into the kitchen and quirked a brow up. "I'm guessing I'll have to go through the drive through for my coffee then?" she joked. Simon forced out a dry chuckle. "yeah, sorry. Came home with mud on my boots. Didn't want you yellin' at me."

His wife laughed softly and tapped his bicep. "Oh, it's fine, Simon. Thanks for cleaning up after yourself." and nodded, his stomach twisting with guilt. He forced a smile onto his face as his wife pulled him down to kiss his cheek before walking in the dry spots and as soon as he heard the door slam shut he dropped the mop.

Kids have school soon. Need to cook. Wake them up and get them out of the house-onto the bus. Watch bus leave. Make sure it's the same driver.

He cleared his throat for no reason and started to clean up the mopping supplies. Washing the mop in the sink-bleaching it so it was still white and not stained that dark red. How did his wife not see it? Fuck-sometimes he felt like he wished his wife wasn't so blind. No fuck-shut up Riley. You love her for her blindness to what you do. If she was any smarter, she'd fine you out, divorce, take the kids, get you in the loony bin-

Ahem.

"Papa? What's on your shirt, papa?" Simon froze. He couldn't think-his brain wouldn't think. He opened his mouth, then shut it. "Papa...why is your shirt-" "Don't worry about it love-I just hot home from work. I forgot to change, Lovie, that's all." and his daughter huffed.

"Why won't you quit, dad? I mean...the local pound shop's hiring." Simon felt better-sort of. He lied to his kid, sure...but he's done that for so long now..."Yeah? Well...your mummy deserves the best-and so do you kids. My job makes me enough money to provide the best. No go get reay for school."

And his daughter groaned and walked away and back upstairs. Simon quickly finished up and went upstairs himself. He walked into his room and hid his bloody shirt and pants into a small bin he had hidden far far away in the closet.

Y/n would never find it. He eldest walked in and mumbled something about no feeling good. Something about his head. "Take yer pills yet, boy?" he asked gruffly, Sam shook his head. "Mum's gonna bring me some at school 'round one. I ran out." and Simon hummed gently. "Well...Right then, you can stay home..." and he lowered his voice, "That excuse is bullshit and you know it, Samuel Austin Riley."

Sam just shrugged and the grinned. "We need a plan, Pop. How else to plan-" Simon slapped a hand over his son's mouth because Y/n walked into the room. "...Love." "Simon...what's going on? The bus just left-"

"Samuel, you skipped the bus?" "Uhm...i don't feel good, Mum. Head's banging and-" Y/n handed him his pills. "Well. Take these then and I'll drive you to schoo-" Simon cleared his throat. "I'll take him to school. We need to talk, me an' him." Y/n frowned. "What did he do this time?"

"Don't talk like that about my son. He's done nothing wrong...I jus'...wanna catch up, is all. As much as I miss you an' the others, I missed my eldest too." heartfelt bullshit. Y/n's one weakness in a man. Y/n smiled and whispered, "Fine...don't keep him too long though." Simon nodded and took the pills from his wife, opened them, and gave two to his son. "Only two for now. You can take the rest later at lunch."

Sam nodded and took the pills. "Yeah, alright, Pop." and he took the pills, no water. Y/n grimaced and Simon just sighed. "Loony, this one." Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm not crazy, Dad. Just a little...prone to chaos." Y/n quirked a brow up. "So trying to make a bomb during science class was you being prone to chaos?" Sam grinned and nodded. "I would've made a damn good one too if Vinnie hadn't told on me!"

Simon sighed softly. "Right, get your pack. We're leaving." Sam huffed and nodded. "Okay...bye Mum. Spaghetti, right?" Y/n nodded. "Yup. Grandma's recipe. Your favorite. Have a nice day, Sammy." And Sam groaned loudly and dramatically.

But now it was dusk and Sam hadn't gone to school. Simon had called and said he caught a stomach bug. Principal said that it was okay that it was best he stay out of school for about a week. Simon said yes, write him out for the week. Sam couldn't have been happier. Ofc Simon told the same thing to Y/n-over the phone. Said the poor kid asked him to pull over and he puked-the pills must've been the wrong kind and Y/n was going back to the doctor's then.

Simon had ended the phone call with that's a good idea Love i'll see you soon, gonna take him to see your sister, she's a medic right? plus were just a street away. and Y/n was non the wiser.

But now, they really were at her sister's. But not for medical reasons. Sam was just going there real quick to get the pills he needed for proper sleep and nothing else-like every other month. Then they would head out onto the highway and locate Y/n's first ex.

Simon let the kid handle his shit himself and when he came back Simon put the car into start and said, "You know where these guys live right?" Sam nodded. "I'll guide you...don't want it in your GPS-the FBI can trace that." Simon barked out a laugh. "You really did plan this out-didn't you?" "A little different but yeah."

They got onto the highway and Sam told him to take the next exit. So. Y/n dated a farmer once? No-not a farmer, a bull rider who was a huge jock back in high school. Simon didn't like him. Simon didn't play sports-wasn't allowed.

Simon parked at an old worn down looking barn. And it was old, water damaged and if the wind blew just right it would fall down. Perfect place to park. Yup. He and Sam got out and Simon couldn't help but feel a little...wrong for this.

"Sam. I-We should go home." Sam stopped dead in his tracks and looked his dad dead in the eyes. "Why?" "I-I just don't think an fucking teenager should be doing this-what if we're found out one day? I'm fine with goin' to jail-but you? Yer jus' a boy..."

Sam laughed. "Dad-I've killed before. You recall a girl called Daisy?" Simon quirked a brow up. "...No?" "My point exactly." and Simon nodded. "Fine. You kept my secret, I'll keep your's...but you owe me now, Boy." "Owe you what?" "...Do all o' me chores." Sam gasped. "Your joking-" "Nope!" "Ugh, fine!"

and Simon laughed softly. "Naw, jus' joking, kiddo. C'mon. I'll let you sever his tendons or somethin'..." and you could see Sam's blue eyes light up. "FUCK YEAH!" Simon huffed and said, "Quiet, son.." "yeah daa..."

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-"Sam-i said gently-not all o' yer strength!" "I'm stronger than i knew i guess, sorry!" Blood was all over the both of them, they'd have to use this guy's shower. Simon sighed before saying, "Fine. It's fine, Son...just...find something to change into and take a shower yeah? I'll clean this up as best as i can."

Sam nodded and ran off to the upstairs of the house.

Simon was then alone, the guy still alive, he could tell. He sighed. "Sorry mate...but you see...gotta teach 'em young...gotta let them get their anger out, y'know? ...Hm, though you did cheat on my wife back in the day...Not one to let that slide."

and poor guy nearly choked out the name, "Si-Simon!?" before he took his final breath. Simon nodded. "That's m'name...Simon mother fuckin' Riley. and Guess what? Now your old ex is Missus Riley. Innit nice, Mate?"

Never beat a dead horse...never beat a dead horse...there's no use in beating a dead..."SAM, GET DOWN HERE!" and Sam ran down-his shirt off but he was back nonetheless. "Take up yer knife and stab him. Keep going until I tell you to stop. Get all your energy out, Boy."

and Simon nearly regretted the words. His son snatched up his knife and went to town. Rose it over his head again and again and again and again. And again. "Sam-" "no. This is fun!" and Simon's heart stopped, turned cold and dropped all the way to his ass.

"Samuel-" "I SAID NO!" ...dear fuck. What had Simon provoked?

Same wasn't Sam. That much was clear. Simon grabbed his son's wrist and said, "...at least let me give you some tips." and Sam nodded. "So err...stab his stomach for a shit ton of spewing blood."

and Sam did. and Blood did indeed spew. Simon nearly puked. He was feeling how he used to around his dad. Scared. Afraid...Sam wasn't a boy anymore. Simon had let him do this...He wasn't like his father no...he was worse. Much worse.

but then it hit him like a sack of bricks.

and it felt good.

It felt so so So good to have someone to share this little hobby with...and even better that it was his son. Father-son bonding time, it could be...huh. Wow. It was twisted and fucked up but then again...what in his life wasn't? He had even sorta corrupted his own Wife at some point...fuck.

He liked this.

Murder.

[m1d-45]

I don't know when, i don't know how, but SOMEBODY has ruined my day by giving me flashbacks of my most embarrassing moments from years ago.

Tongue frozen on the iron bars, check, had to alert the peeps to get the teach to bring hot water and she kept giggling at me.

The first time i tried proper kissing? Fucken awkward.

Accidentally mixing my coca cola glass with dads wine glass, and spurting it out with ews in a FUCKEN BUFFET?! FULL OF PEOPLE?! WHO TURNED TO LOOK AT ME AS MY FAMILY LAUGHED AT MY MISFORTUNE?!

Getting whacked in the head by a ball during gym class when a classmate threw it? AND they had the AUDACITY TO LAUGH AT ME! (And people wondered why i skipped that class-)

But honestly, i want schadenfreude and a creator x a hot guy (you can choose who, i'll take anyone at this point to ease me) with just these scenarios in mind, if you could.

i have found that even forced exposure can help with younghood embarrassment.

-🥘Stew

tongue tied

a/n: maybe this isnt what you wanted. maybe it is. idk i have writers block like you wouldn't believe man.

word count: ~6.5k

→ warnings: none? mention of alcohol and injuries but nothing awful or severe. just nice :]

→ g/n reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me

< masterlist >

diluc is a man with many skills.

he’s led the dawn winery for many years and have taken hundreds of shifts at the angel’s share, every item on the menu practically muscle memory by now. he knew the regulars and their typical orders, he knew the quickest way to strip mint stalks of their leaves, how to stack wine barrels most efficiently and how hot he could make his flames without getting burned, practically every skill he could reasonably need mastered when he was young.

…practically was the operative word, of course.

in business, it was practical to learn how to perfectly sign his signature. it was practical to know how to be diplomatic, practical to know how to properly tie a tie or check if a suit was fitted properly, practical to learn all of the skills he’d need to be the head of the dawn winery when he was young, so that by the time it was him sweeping a heavy coat over his shoulders for a meeting, he’d have every ability necessary to tackle whatever faced him.

but of course, his “training” didn’t cover more… personal things. he was too busy learning dining etiquette to know how to make small talk—that didn’t revolve around one party trying to get something from the other, that is. he knew how to set tables and properly pour wine, but his greetings were industry-approved stiff, responses a standard dialogue that he had nearly memorized. everything he said was mapped out in his head far before he’d say it, neatly laid out in his mind as he guided the conversation where he wanted it to go. efficient for formal meetings, but it left him… he didn’t like the word ‘lost,’ but it was the only one he could reasonably apply.

diluc set down the glass he was cleaning, picking up another to keep his hands busy. yes, there was a formal dishwasher hired, but he didn’t like being idle. he didn’t quite know what to do or where to put his hands, feeling a bit exposed without his coat. the bar provided a wide berth between him and any customers, but he couldn’t quite get a handle on the easy banter charles had with the patrons during his shift. it was like he was locked in an odd limbo between work and rest hours; without his gloves, vest, or other protective layers, all shed to prevent them from being stained in the case that something went awry, but still needing to keep face in front of others. he didn’t have his gloves to pull down, no comforting weight of his coat, his vision on a clip on his belt instead of the knot it usually hung from. everything wasn’t quite where it should be, and he was reminded of that every time he reached or twisted in the right way and the small spikes on top of his vision pressed through his shirt and into his side.

he felt… exposed. lost. and he didn’t know what to do about it.

he looked up as the tavern door opened, whatever expression he had before falling away as he was brought out of his thoughts. relax, he tried to tell himself, but it’s hard to believe that when one of the worst reasons for his confusion just walked in.

you.

archons, diluc was awful when it came to interacting with you. his heart beat too quickly and a shockingly large part of his brain thought that this meant he was in some sort of stressful meeting, all of his words coming out flat. while in its intended environment that would keep him from losing his temper or showing any weakness, in here it just made him feel more weak.

your head dipped. “master diluc, captain kaeya.”

and his brother certainly didn’t help the situation.

kaeya had turned when you entered, and greeting you with a sweeping arm and a cheery call of your name. “i didn’t think i’d see you so late; how kind of the heavens to bless me with your presence once again.”

diluc’s jaw tensed, and he traded glasses again. the pile of dirty cups was quickly dwindling, in no small part due to his own thoughts. he tended to be a bit quicker at the rhythmic movements of washing when he was caught up in his own lackluster abilities.

you laughed, taking the seat next to kaeya at the bar. all at once diluc was hyper aware of every action he made, from the change of towels to wipe off the water lingering on the cup to the smallest twitches in his expression or shifts in his weight.

“got caught up in some last-minute stuff, a coworker needed my help. i do hope you weren’t waiting too long?”

kaeya’s eye flashed, and he downed the rest of his drink before launching into a clearly fake story, talking about how actually, in the half hour or so delay in your appearance, the angel’s share was stormed by hundreds of fatui.

as if either of them would let that happen.

you played along, though, asking questions in the right spots and getting him to spin the story further. diluc exchanged his glasses again, doing a double take at the empty rack once he did.

that was far from ideal.

“-right, diluc?”

he looked up in an instant, eyes flicking about as he assessed the situation. clearly, he’d missed some part of the conversation, but what?

you, blessed you, had noticed his confusion, a smile on your face as you rested your hand on your chin, leaning on the bar. “i don’t know, would you really waste a bottle of dandelion wine like that? surely your claymore would do just fine.”

with a sharp swallow and a quick prayer—not that that would do much, knowing the archon he was praying to—diluc took a chance.

“of course i would. one bottle is worth it to defend mondstat, and it’s quite unwieldy to use a claymore in such a confined space.”

he fought a grimace the second the words left his mouth. his tone was too flat, his words uninteresting, certainly less entertaining than whatever fantastical tale kaeya had spun.

you nodded, and he could thankfully see amusement in your eyes. “how noble, master diluc.”

kaeya cut in, picking up his empty cup. “if you can spare a bottle for the fatui, then you can spare a glass for the cavalry captain, can’t you?”

he took the cup, but added it to the dirty rack alongside the one in his hand, taking a new one and wiping it to remove any water despite the fact that he knew there was none. archons, when had he gotten so…

he pushed away that train of thought, pulling out a bottle as he set the fresh glass down. “certainly not. wine is to be drank and paid for, that bottle was�� an unfortunate accident.”

“my my, you’re no fun.” diluc poured his glass quickly—”not too much, not too little, okay? a little more, a bit… there, that’s good. well done, son.”—and moved it in front of him, pushing the cork back into the bottle with the heel of his palm. he set it back in its place, and noticed kaeya’s eyes on him as he took a sip.

no, not him, on-

“not worth a bottle, but worth a new glass? perhaps i am a hero after all…”

why was he unsurprised he noticed?

“i don’t want it to stain,” he lied, knowing damn well that stained glasses was something he was more than capable of handling. kaeya hummed, swirling his cup once before you prodded him about his day and he was back to his usual self, talking with significantly less grandeur than his tale from before.

diluc tried to pace himself, being extra meticulous in his cleaning, but there was only so many times he could twist a glass before he had to accept that he was done with it. an odd sort of dread settled over him as he reached for the last cup. today was a slower day, and he normally didn’t run out of cups until everybody was too drunk to notice how awkwardly he stood behind the bar. but kaeya was too smart to get properly drunk, you’d just arrived, and the night was far younger than he’d like.

he was cleaning too quickly again. normally, getting everything he needed to done with fast was a good thing, but now it just left him uneasy. charles didn’t have this problem, and he didn’t even clean glasses during the downtime. no, he struck up conversation with every single person that sat at the bar, no matter how downtrodden or celebratory. he was naturally friendly, always knowing exactly what to say despite the fact that diluc would bet serious mora on the fact that he didn’t have the faintest idea what he’d say until the other person was done. if he thought about it… even kaeya had a script of sorts, a certain way to twist the situation back in his favor, but he managed to talk to people just fine. no, that wasn’t the problem.

the clatter of the cup in his hands on the drying rack pulled him from his mind. he shouldn’t be zoning out so much on the job, but what took his attention first was the fact that he was now seriously out of tasks to complete.

…beautiful.

“diluc? is everything alright?”

it’s your voice, surprisingly, that asks for him, and he fixes his expression in the split second it takes to look at you instead of the glasses. his mind reaches, grabbing the familiar sentence that must have left his lips a thousand times.

“everything is as it should be. why do you ask?”

a defense of his position, dismissing any ideas of weakness, and a prompt as to why that line of thinking was in discussion at all. part of him recoiled at the idea of treating you with the same recited lines he did a business partner, but he genuinely didn’t know what else to say. he was distracted, to come up with another acceptable response would make him hesitate, which would set off yours or kaeya’s alarms- or both, if he was particularly clumsy with his speech.

“did the glasses offend you, or something? you’re glaring.”

and yet, despite his prerecorded reliability, he is at a loss once more. genuine inquiries about his well-being were rare in the spaces he typically interacted in, and it didn’t help that he was still stuck in work mode.

“…they have not,” he decides, picking his language carefully. “i am simply thinking about something else.”

horribly vague, and would almost certainly warrant a follow-up question. before you even opened your mouth, he knew what you’d say.

“what are you thinking about? do you need help?”

the second part was a shock, but he blessedly had an answer for the first. “nothing important. it will be handled in due time.”

kaeya raised a brow, and diluc pointedly ignored his questioning look. it wasn’t often that he resorted to diplomatic language in the presence of civilians, but you… he could never quite think right when you were around. he could only hope you never misinterpreted his odd words as mistrust.

you hummed, changing the subject shortly after with a question about the vineyards, something about a particularly bad season for crops you’d heard from sara. he paused for a moment—an acceptable pause, he told himself, as most people did think before speaking—before settling on giving you an update on the winery as a whole. anybody that listened in would only find what they could learn by asking his workers, and no trade secrets were to be found in the fact that his grapevines were regularly checked.

with the slightest twitch of his hand, he realized he was speaking to you like a businessman again.

kaeya’s cup had emptied at some point, and diluc reached for the bottle of dandelion wine without stopping his sentence, a small nod from kaeya the only confirmation he needed to pull off the cork.

“the staff have been doing well, though this is shaping up to be a rather warm summer.” not that you asked, he notes, internally chiding himself as he pulls over kaeya’s glass. he considers swapping it for a new one to give himself something to do, but decides against it. he rattles off a few details about some dahlias that adelinde is trying to grow, how they keep seeming to wilt. he doesn’t stop talking to pour kaeya’s wine, eyes focused on his task as he continues talking nonsense about flowers. flowers. since when did he talk about the hobbies of his staff when asked about the vineyards?

he twisted the bottle as he pulled away—“this way any wine that drips will land on the back label. you don’t want the front to look messy.”—corking the bottle and forcing himself to finish this childish line of speech.

it wasn’t childish, not if you seemed genuinely interested, but any more and kaeya would have too much to leverage against him later. granted, he likely knew more about diluc than he’d like given how irritatingly good he was at reading people, but that was a problem for another day. for now, he let kaeya grab his cup on his own, wiping his hands of nothing as he waited for your response to what had certainly come off as nervous ramble.

your head tilted. “has she asked flora?”

“assumedly, or she had another worker do so for her. it’s not like her to let something rot like that.”

“that’s good to hear. and you?”

“pardon?” his hands had frozen, towel still in his hands, and he turned your words over in his mind. his reply had been instinctual, mostly to buy him time to think.

“how are you doing? don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to hear the winery is well, but you seem nervous.”

kaeya chuckled into his wine, and diluc’s jaw ticked.

“i am well, my apologies if i have worried you.”

“oh, alright… it can be hard to tell sometimes with you, i wanted to be safe.”

he knows. he’d meant his apology, but any sincerity was likely lost in whatever filter was placed between his mind and his mouth.

the air was awkward, and he didn’t know how to fill it. kaeya was looking at him, clearly expecting him to continue whatever tentative conversation was lingering, but he greatly overestimated diluc’s ability to do so.

he hung the towel back in its place, finally meeting his brother’s eyes. “behave.” they flicked to you, and his words were slower coming out. “make sure he doesn’t steal anything.”

you smiled, swearing on it even as the three of you knew kaeya wouldn’t do such a thing. diluc stepped out from behind the bar, grabbing a large serving tray and walking from table to table, collecting empty glasses.

maybe he was a coward for avoiding conversation- scratch that, he definitely was, but what was he to do about it? talk? that was already established to be off the table, and one could not typically make conversation without talking.

diluc shook off the topic, climbing the stairs to the second floor of the bar. all he could do was hope you didn’t hold it against him, or archons forbid think it were somehow your fault. hopefully you wouldn’t hate him by the time he managed to get his words in line with his thoughts.

diluc stared at the empty page in front of him, twisting the pen in his hand.

another skill he didn’t have. informal letter writing.

letters to merchants, fine, letters to buyers, he had a standard template for. letters to and from employees, informing him of upcoming leave or similar work related matters, all of this he was prepared for.

but this…

he sighed, watching as ink dripped onto the page, setting down his pen.

what did he say? what did he want to say? what was appropriate to say? you were rather close to his heart but how did he come across? would an inquiry about your well being be too forward? was a letter at all too forward? friends- no, you didn’t consider him a friend, right? or did you? how did people act around their friends? how did you act around your friends?

he tugged at his gloves, fiddling with the hem nervously. he’d finished most of his paperwork and had intended to take a break by writing you a letter, but… was it even a good idea? he- oh archons, he didn’t even know your address-

diluc crumpled up the paper in one hand, throwing it in the trash with the beginnings of an embarrassed blush on his face. writing a letter and not even knowing where you lived- he could count the amount of proper conversations he’d had with you that had progressed past basic small talk on one hand, and he wanted to write you a letter?

he covered his face with his hands, resting his elbows on his desk. papers shifted beneath him but he didn’t pay attention, his thoughts in circles.

he wasn’t an idiot. he knew exactly why his heart picked up when you were around, why he had to default to more familiar speech to not make an utter fool of himself. the entire reason he’d tried to write you a letter was because he wanted to clarify his behavior towards you, to hopefully build a prior relationship with you instead of learning about you by proxy from your conversations with kaeya. yet, in his hurry to fix what probably wasn’t even broken to begin with—he knew of his reputation, in reality you probably weren’t at all surprised at his inability to make small talk—he’d forgotten the most important detail.

on one hand, he probably could ask kaeya, or poke around in other ways, but that felt disingenuous. if he was going to try and… for now he’d call it making a friendship with you, then he wanted to do it right. of course, he didn’t know exactly what ‘doing it right’ entailed, but… he supposed he’d just have to guess.

diluc had learned a considerable amount in his childhood, yet none of his lessons taught him how to pursue a partner.

diluc swept his cloak around his shoulders, fastening the clasp with one hand and reaching for his vision with the other. with practiced movements, he undid the knot tying it in place, attaching it to the back of his other hand. he hooked his mask onto his belt and closed the door of his room behind him, walking down the stairs quickly.

“be safe, master diluc.”

“master kaeya has kindly informed us that the knights have a patrol for the whispering woods, so it would be wise not to stray too far.”

diluc paused at the door, mentally rearranging his patrol route with a nod. “thank you adelinde, elzer. pass on my gratitude, please.”

he pulled open the door to the manor, walking up the familiar trails and into wolvendom. his vision lit his path as his eyes adjusted, free hand affixing his mask to his face as he walked. since he couldn’t head as far north as he’d like, he’d settle for a loop around windrise and then one in wolvendom. not ideal, but it would have to do.

windrise was lighter than expected. a budding camp of hilichurls here, an abyss mage to the east (thankfully hydro, he’d been on a bad streak with pyro mages for a few days now) and a few slimes that got a bit too close to the merchant trails for his liking.

speaking of the trails, those were clean too. he snuck around springvale, keeping the hand with his vision on it tucked into his cloak to mask its light. hilichurls didn’t hang around this part of wolvendom, so unless he wanted to go shoving through wolf hook bushes for the chance to knock out a camp or two…

he looked between the two paths back to the winery. he could go through the gorge, or the typical way taken by his suppliers. the former was mostly guaranteed to have at least one or two monsters picking about, but it would be better if he cleared his trade routes…

it didn’t matter, in the end. he stepped out from the shadow of a tree, boot barely making contact with the dirt before he picked up the sound of another’s footsteps. heavy, quick, rapidly coming his way-

he summoned his claymore, turning north toward the sound, seeing a figure stumble from the bushes of wolvendom. they were wrapped in a too-thin jacket considering the weather, arm pressed to their chest. details were lost in the darkness, but he could see their head twist, how it snapped to him.

the figure waved with a shout to get his attention, and his heart dropped.

you. what were you doing up so late?

you jogged up to him, clearly out of breath, and he could see that you were holding an armful of unripe wolfhooks. “do.. do you know the way to springvale?”

by the archons, abyss, and celestia above-

“what business do you have there? it’s late,” he said, keeping his voice low. his hands trembled slightly in his gloves, eyes searching your figure for any injury. you had a nick or two on your arm, thankfully not bleeding, but everything else was obscured by shadows. you had clearly been running for quite a while, judging by how harshly you breathed, were you running from something? had you ran into trouble?

“i gotta get back to the city,” you explained breathlessly. “i kinda got lost in the forest.”

“lost?” his hand tensed around his claymore, the action reminding him it was still there. he dismissed it, crossing his arms to try and stabilize himself.

“long story, not worth telling.” you waved your hand, and he could see how it shook a bit. whether from adrenaline or exhaustion (both?) he knew he couldn’t point you toward mondstat in good faith. what if something happened to you? what if he’d missed a camp and you were attacked? you were weakened, tired, and his mind raced with all the potential injuries you could sustain just trying to go home-

“uh, stranger?” your hand waved again, this time to get his attention. “you with me?”

“the city’s too far. you’re better off seeking shelter at the dawn winery just up the road.” what was he saying? “besides, you could be injured, and not be feeling the pain due to adrenaline. let me walk you there.”

his heart hammered against his ribs, every single way you could reject him and then some swirling in his head. he was a stranger to you, you were clearly scared by something, and he directed you elsewhere out of what, selfishness? he knew that springvale was likely closer, that someone would be up and willing to help, and yet he was asking to walk you to the winery?

“are you sure? you don’t have to.”

“i’d rather not send you off when i’m not certain of your safety.” your eyes widened slightly, surprised at the care in his voice, and he forced his tone to flatten before you recognized him. “besides, the staff are friendly and willing to help. they’ll understand.”

you hesitated for a moment, then nodded, holding your wolfhooks closer. absently, he wondered if he had any at the winery. probably not, but he could likely ask-…

in barbatos’ name, how was he going to explain this to the staff?

“alright. lead the way.”

he turned before his expression could change, keeping his steps a bit slower than usual so you could keep pace easier. he wanted you inside as quickly as possible, obviously, but you had clearly strained yourself earlier. going quicker would only hurt you more, and it wasn’t as if there was any immediate threat. even if there was, he was confident in his ability to keep you safe. the trees lining the path were large, wide enough to protect you if trouble came up and he needed to use his vision.

he set aside that line of thinking, sparing a glance at you. you’d switched which arms held the wolfhooks, and in the more open light, he could see the small pricks on your skin where the points dug in. you winced when the fruit resettled, moving one away from your inner elbow, and he stopped walking.

“give me those. you’re hurting yourself.”

“it’s fine, don’t worry about it. we’re nearly there, right?”

“wolfhooks aren’t clean, you could get an infection. you’re supposed to harvest them with a basket and gloves, not carrying them bare armed.”

“you don’t have the thickest clothes either, what’s to say you won’t get hurt?”

diluc searched the small area of the path you were on, trying to find a compromise. his first instinct was to use his cloak, but his hair was tucked into the hood, and that with his silhouette would certainly give him away. his eyes caught on a tear in your jacket, just below the shoulder, and he held out his arms.

“use your jacket as a sling. it’s already torn from the forest, so it’s not the worst loss.”

firm solution, reasonable and immediate justification. he was doing it again, no matter how well it disguised itself as casual speech.

you gave in, thankfully, and he didn’t let the minor pain from the wolfhook’s points show on his face as you removed your jacket. it was as thin as it looked, and he found himself frowning as he helped you stow the berries inside.

still, it wasn’t his business. maybe if he were your friend he could suggest that you purchase a heavier coat, but… you were getting a new one anyway since this one was ruined, so that seemed like a null point to bring up.

he settled your stuffed jacket into your waiting arms, hands lingering for a moment to ensure your grip was stable. “better?” you nodded, and he began walking again. “good. and don’t forget to mention your wounds to the staff, the last thing you want is an infection from… why did you need wolfhooks?”

“bennett asked me to get some for him and his friend… i think razor is his name? but with bennett’s luck, he didn’t want to risk going in himself, so he asked me to help.”

diluc frowned. “why does he need wolfhooks?”

you shrugged. “he offered some mora in return, but i mostly accepted because i felt bad. his luck seems to ruin everything for him, the least i could to was try.”

“even at the risk of your own health?”

“the things you do for friends, you know how it is.” his hands twitched at his sides, curling into loose fists. did he? “but what about you? why are you out here?”

he thought over his answer carefully, mixing various bits of his typical sentences to craft a half-truth. it was getting easier, he noticed, but put that thought aside just as quickly as it came. “wandering, doing my part to keep the area safe.”

“that’s noble of you.”

it wasn’t. would you believe the same if you knew how selfish he was in his desires? he kept mondstat safe for himself, so that he could rest knowing he’d done what he could—he patrolled not out of some moral righteousness, but because it made him proud to know that he’d chipped in to the city’s safety, that he was handling threats the knights didn’t, that he could keep his staff, his brother, his life, keep you-

“have you considered joining the knights? i’m certain there’s some night patrols, and it would surely be nice to have backup.”

he almost responded, almost said that he was in the knights, at one point, before he remembered where he was. who he was. to tell you that would be too much, too much information and too much for you to identify him with.

when did he become so loose with his words? normally he was so uptight around you… was it the fact that you didn’t know he was him right now? did.. he seriously operate best under anonymity? archons, how weak was that, to only be able to say what he meant when you didn’t know anything? was he that socially inept? so desperate for a proper conversation that he’d nearly slipped a major part of his life to you, just based on an offhand comment? how pathetic was he?

he forcefully shut down that line of thought and grit his teeth, well aware it had been too long since you’d spoken. “i’ve considered it. it’s not for me.”

not an entire lie, at least.

you were silent, and he knew he’d ruined the atmosphere. crystalflies fluttered in the trees, lazily flapping through the air, but he couldn’t appreciate their beauty like he typically could. the walk all the way down to the manor was spent in silence, and aside from a minor stumble you had on a jutting rock, it was as if he was walking back on his own, as he typically would. he even began to reach for the doorknob, then caught himself and used the knocker instead.

it was weird. he knew the door wasn’t locked, yet he waited for footsteps to approach the door, seeing elder’s worried face greet him. “master diluc, are you-?”

elzer’s eyes found yours, a tiny hint of shock crossing his face before he settled it back into the same polite smile he always used when greeting guests.

“ah, my apologies. i wasn’t expecting visitors at such a late hour.”

diluc bowed his head in what he hoped came off as a thankful action. “my apologies for disturbing you.”

he explained the situation as swiftly as possible, elzer urging you towards adelinde to treat your injuries. the medical supplies were just inside, near to the door for the sake of diluc’s own health.

“and what of you, stranger?” elzer asked, a bit louder than necessary. “will you be staying?”

diluc sees you look up, understanding clicking in an instant. “no, i won’t,” he answers, “but i thank you for your hospitality.”

elzer reached for the coatrack, pulling down two, both his and diluc’s, keeping the door propped open and passing him his where you couldn’t see. “then let me walk you to the edge of the vineyards, in exchange for your chivalry.”

“it’s alright, thank you. have a nice night.”

“the same to you, stranger.”

the door closed, and diluc relaxed, clutching his coat close as he turned away from the manor.

that was too close. he shouldn’t have suggested to bring you here in the first place, and thank the gods that elzer was so quick on his feet. he’d completely forgotten that he would have to return to the manor as diluc at one point in his rush to get you here.

he ducked behind a tree at the edge of the winery, exchanging his cloak for his jacket. he folded it neatly, stowing his mask and gloves inside. he didn’t have his usual clothes on, but… he could make do. he’d lied before, he’d lie again… even to you.

his grip around his cloak tightened. especially to you. you had no business in his shady practices, in what he did in the dark. it was impossible to keep you entirely safe and sheltered, nor was that healthy or his place to do, but he could at least keep his darkness from encroaching upon your light.

by the time diluc returned to the manor, you had already been sent on your way to a guest room. blessedly, neither adelinde nor elzer were in the front room to make a remark to him about it, likely busy with other work or asleep themselves. he locked the door and hung up his coat, heading up to his room after a swift double check of the first of those facts.

he went about his night, changing into sleepwear and setting his boots by his bed, his vision on his nightstand. it was admittedly a little more difficult falling asleep than usual—were you comfortable? did you like the guest room?—but he managed, waking up with the sun. his routine was the same, but when he arrived at the bottom of the stairs, he paused, looking up at the guest rooms. it… was strange, to know you were here. he felt like he should be doing something, whether saying goodbye or good morning or-

he looked away and shook his head. or nothing. he wasn’t as close to you as you were to him, how did he keep forgetting that?

“is there a problem, master diluc?”

he turned, seeing adelinde setting down his breakfast on the table. “nothing at all, and thank you for the food. did you sleep well?”

“i was a bit late in going to bed, a strange guest brought us some worry.”

he smiled at the pointedness to her tone, “really? how odd, to have a visitor so late.”

her mouth opens, but another speaks before she does.

“sorry if i caused any trouble.”

he paused. blinked. took a moment to register the fact that he just heard your voice in his home.

then he turned, attempting a smile. “it’s alright. your being here is unexpected, yes, but not unwelcome.”

you had clearly just gotten up, clothes rumpled and pillow creases along your hands. you nod, stepping closer, and he grasps for any viable threads of conversation.

“is the manor to your liking?”

“it’s beautiful.”

pride bloomed in his chest. “i’m happy to hear it. come sit, have some breakfast.” adelinde excused herself with a bow and he moved to pull out a chair for you, praying the action looked as natural as it felt. you accepted with a smile, and he pushes you in with relief in his when he sits. “she should return shortly with your food, apologies for the delay.”

“it’s fine,” you said, looking around the main room. he tries to find something else to talk about, already feeling the awkward silence set in, but fumbles. the last time he had someone at his table was with the traveller for the weinlesefest, and they and paimon mostly carried the conversation along. he only ever heads business discussions, or staff meetings, or interrogations, and this was certainly none of those.

“are you alright?”

he blinked away his frown, realizing too late he’d been glaring at his cup of grape juice. an instinctual response rose to his tongue, but he hesitated. maybe it was the early morning hour, maybe it was the genuine concern on your face, maybe it was the light of dawn streaming in from the windows that fell across you so delicately, as if it knew how beautiful you were.

he discarded that response, but exchanged it for another. “are you? adelinde told me you were injured.”

a lie. he hadn’t spoken with anybody about your injuries. archons, was this worse?

your smile grows. apparently not? “just a few scrapes,” you say, lifting your arm to show where adelinde bandaged you. “wolfhooks are a lot sharper than they look.”

“wolfhooks?”

you waved a hand. “i needed some for bennett, long story. don’t worry, adelinde gave me a basket for them.”

“that’s good to hear.”

and just like that, the topic was exhausted. did he bring up something else? how much was too much? what was even an appropriate topic? what did the average person talk about? not that you were average, he’d never dare-

he’s talked himself into a corner in his own head. how in teyvat did that happen?

“you’re frowning again.”

“my apologies, i’m lost in thought.” he was quiet for a moment, then continued, “a problem i’ve encountered before is more prevalent now.”

…it wasn’t the most eloquent of phrasing, but it should do.

“do you want to talk about it?”

does he? how would he even put this into words that didn’t make him sound… is pathetic the word?

‘i can’t talk right around you because i’m not used to talking with someone that does so in good faith’? yeah, that’s something a well-adjusted adult says.

“i don’t have the words for it,” he decides. “the words…” he takes a quick glance at you to gauge your reaction but regrets it just as fast, whatever he had to say next vanishing into thin air. it’s unfair, really, how pretty you are, his eyes fixed to yours. “t-they-“

adelinde set your plate down in front of you, blessedly saving him from the situation. “thank you for your patience. please let me know if anything is unsatisfactory.”

diluc grabs his cup as you thank her, turning away to hide behind the grape juice. he can’t even really taste it, focused on how clumsily he had spoken. were he anywhere else he’d surely be laughed out of the room, and he’s certain adelinde’s going to tease him for it later as it is.

“diluc?” he looks over at you again, keeping his gaze quick before he fumbles again.

“what is it?”

too harsh, too cruel, he’s being cold to you again-

“are you busy today?”

he thinks over his schedule. no meetings that he can remember, nor any deadlines. he’d prefer to finish up some forms sooner rather than later, but if you need him for something…

“no, i’ve got time. what do you need?”

“would you like to go to good hunter for dinner later today?”

he can only hope you accept his nod as an answer because between the knowing smile on your face and the bright blush on his, there’s no way he’s getting a word out.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Ok but Dick is so big brother shaped. Plz give the kid a sibling.

The trials of working for a young married couple with a child, Alfred sighed. Some of the things he'd clearly forgotten in the intervening years.

And he wasn't sure what was worse. Walking in on a private conversation or walking in on said married couple in- or about to be in a compromising position. But he did know there was a third worse option that was a mix of both.

Still. At least everyone was still mostly clothed. And he wouldn't need to see if his insurance benefits covered therapy.

Whatever the precipitating factors were didn't matter. He was sure it would all come out eventually. Though he had suspicions.

Bruce had been obnoxiously fussy where you were concerned. Even more than normal.

So either a spat had been resolved or he'd decided you were terminally ill.

He glanced up from getting the stains out of Dick's school uniform and quirked an eyebrow but other wise said nothing as you loaded the washing machine- you perfered to wash your own intimates and he didn't blame you. Even if he wasn't phased. But from his understanding, you'd been doing laundry since you were 8. So- it was probably equal parts it being weird to have someone else washing your undergarments and having some sense of normalcy. Either way it was less work for the staff- something they appreciated.

"You're home early," he observed watching you start folding shirts- he wasn't sure how many jobs you'd worked but he suspected a considerable amount of retail.

"I've been working from upstairs," you tell him. "Working at the office has been making things... distracting for everone."

"Ah yes. The unintended consequences of the lime light."

"I'm not sure why interviews keep going viral-"

"It's not the interviews," Alfred snorted. "People find you fascinating."

When you roll your eyes he smiled just a little. You seemed to have a very inaccurate picture of yourself outside of a courtroom. You were charming. And had enough wits about you to keep up with Bruce- in his public persona or out of it. To the outside you looked like an odd couple. A lawyer with a deadpan biting wit and a reformed playboy... He could see the appeal of you. Why people still fixated on you.

"Well calling my office is rude," you tell him. "Particularly when we can't unlist the number."

"Yes that is annoying I'd imagine; how-"

"I have a secretary filter calls. Interview requests and weirdos get rerouted to wherever all the PR shit goes and Ranga sends me anything important."

He nodded. He'd never considered how you'd managed to get anything done working from home. But it made sense.

"How many socks can this kid run through?" you muse, folding what felt like the 50th pair.

"It is an eternal mystery. How every child I've ever known winds up with so many mismatched socks."

"That's why I just bought socks that it didn't matter if they matched- until I was in law school it was a good day and I was on my A game if they came out of the same pack."

Alfred shuddered reflexively and wondered if you still did that, he'd never paid attention to your socks.

"Alfred where is- Oh hey Y/N," Dick said, "Bruce wants you."

"Why?" you ask, returning his one armed hug when he skipped over.

He shrugged, "Didn't ask."

"Rude."

He grinned, "You piss people off today?"

"Language. And just Gordon- that doesn't count."

"How come?"

"ACAB until they stop beating up civilians and taking bribes, Dickie.""

"Please don't say that in interviews, someone will shoot you," Dick said. "This is like the longest it's bee since someone tried to shoot you. B finally stopped trying to hire bodyguards."

"Pretty sure they could get bribed, baby bird."

"I couldn't-"

"I bribe you all the time," you tell him, ruffling his hair.

"It's not a bribe if you do it before I act up. It's just an incentive," he huffed.

"True enough, finish folding your socks," you tell him swooping down to kiss his cheek before going to find Bruce.

[blackberrywars]

🔀 Aiden/Lambert :)

Well. This song is basically begging for a blue-collar deep dive into Lambert's generational struggle with alcohol, as well as a sillier nod to the long-and-lean Aiden headcanon. She's a tall boy indeed. I'm also making it 70s americana because I personally deserve to imagine butch4butch laiden where Lambert wears nothing but a dirty boiler suit over a gray wifebeater and no bra, and Aiden is head to toe in disco menswear —burgundy flare pants and vest, with an outlandishly patterned green silk shirt unbuttoned to the navel.

Lambert is a mechanic, and has been since before she dropped out of high school, to the dismay of her chemistry teacher. She'd skipped town at 16 without a word to her or anyone else, taking nothing but her tools and her father's last 12-pack for the road —it was the only thing she couldn't leave behind. Everything and everyone else is gone, along with the hair clippings and bloodstains on the bathroom floor. She spends a few days sleeping in her shitbox rust bucket, making loops around the city before she moves on to the next. And the next. It's a good thing every gas station has a beer cooler, the way she drinks and drives her way to the east coast.

She makes it, though, and by the time some old bastard named Vesemir finally hires her after three shops turn her tits down, it's a habit. Ordering an irish coffee at 9am doesn't make the barista bat an eyelid in her neighborhood, and it tides her over until her break. A can there sits just right beside her coworkers', and really, they drink more than she does. No matter Vesemir's tuts, he never stops them, just scolds them for leaving the pop tabs everywhere. She's collected enough to make a curtain with them, hanging instead of her bedroom door.

It's a few years of this and Lambert is...... content. She's good at her job, and the only bruise on her body is from where she dropped a gasket scraper on her foot. If she drinks too much, then at least she has no one to take it out on, and really, she's just fine, really. Beer mellows her out, stops the lava under her skin, and the only drunken fights she's gotten in were well-deserved, in her opinion. She goes to sailor's bars with Eskel and Geralt, and goes to the dyke ones when she's not with them, but she never plays for keeps.

It's this Lambert that Aiden meets when her adorable yellow vespa calls it quits. Garage Morhen has a good word-of-mouth reputation with queers for never turning down a customer for the amount of glitter they put on their bodies. Rumor has it that the owner still vists the leather daddy clubs every now and again. Some other whispers say his second son's wife and boyfriend get along spectacularly. Even more say that the third son is the meanest dyke around.

So Aiden goes in all her glory, pushing her scooter in her five-inch boots, brown leather stained with grime. Looks up after five minutes to find Lambert leaned against her station, tall boy in hand and a scowl on her face. Her hands are dyed black up to the elbow, showing off her thick forearms, and her nipples poke through her wifebeater. Her eyes are a little yellow as they look up up up at Aiden, telling her it won't be a cheap or quick fix. And Aiden just smiles, because she's sure as hell not opposed to hanging around for a while.

EDIT: For anyone not aquainted with them, @whyzowl and @yolki-palki have drawn some GORGEOUS fem!laiden art, and the outfits described above are basically me using their designs like paper dolls. Art linked here, here, here, and here with my screeching commentary.

[ramblingmoon]

Levi funger request 💜

One the first things he did after the festival was buy a motorcycle. Maybe it was a result of the Termina or maybe his being trapped must of his life. But now there was only the open road for him. He didn’t mind though the thought of settling down in some forgotten city or famous town made him spiral out of control.

So he stayed with the road as his home. It was at least better then his past homes but he never knew where he would sleep at night. If he had the coin he could rent a room but more offend that not found himself asleep in a back alleyway with the rats and the rest of his kind.

Each place he visited was always ended up the same. He’d steal for his survival. Work shady people. Look for drugs. Get into fights. Kill sometimes. Always a reason to skip town and move on.

There was also the issue of the maintenance on the motorcycle. Well over the spirit of the mechanic caressed Levi's ear and he knew how to fix it. Strange as those he had to kill during the festival still haunt him. Never in his past did the dead help him like this but he wasn’t going to complain.

Life on the road wasn’t always bad. He could go south for the winter and north when it got hot again. Just freedom to do as he pleased. In all his short life he never had this kind of freedom. He could eat, sleep, and do drugs as he pleased without being beaten.

But there was always the fear that he would get suck in some shit girl and never get out. Being forced to take roots but that idea clashed with what he needed which was freedom. An open road.

How long could he keep this life going? Did he ever have to stop? He thought about what jobs he could do. Maybe he could be a mercenary but the idea was far too close to the military for comfort. Why should he change one prison for another.

The idea of him being serving people like a waiter was laughable to him. Who would even hire him? It would even take the risk? He belonged on the street like the rest of his kind.

At some point he found himself in a rest stop with towering pine trees around him. A massive lake that out stretched beyond the horizon was before him.

Levi sat on a picnic table with the wind brushing his hair away. The smell of the fresh water comforting him. In his hand was a bottle of heroin that he played between his fingers. He wasn’t really looking at it but blankly out to the water.

Part of him knew that this life couldn’t go on forever. He would have stop at some point. But what would that mean for him? It terrified him to have to stay still. The past was catch up to him. And death would be better than that.

A story that he read in a newspaper told of a man that had Levi’s same dependency had overcome the addiction. Same man was a soldier like Levi that had been prescribed heroin due to the war. This person had locked themselves in a hotel room for a week and fought off the withdrawals and faced all the terrors of the past.

Levi thought about doing the same as the man in the newspaper. But he wasn’t quite ready to face that hell.

He could feel another whispering and his ear that damn doctor again. Saying silly things like being healed and moving on. It made Levi angry that he throw the bottle again then table. It broke leaving the drug staining the wood.

Levi grunted, he should have done that. He needed everything bottle he could get his fingers on. But for now the voice of the doctor was silent.

The rest stop had gone on long enough. He got back on the motorcycle. Turning the engine on it roared muting out the sounds of the past and the sounds of the voices. All he could hear was that roar in the need to move.

He could be free for now.

[ladyanaschmidt]

Sicilian Lemon - Clay Beresford +18 IcePlay

I hope you like it, English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

The bar was practically deserted that Tuesday night. The rain had awakened his senses in the face of The Crown's expensive menu, a luxurious night befitting Manhattan, its shiny skyscrapers reflecting their shine from the drops on the glass ceiling, like small diamonds. "I'll have a side of Calamari, and a Martini." As soon as the waiter leaves the table, the dark overcoat is closed, his nails clink on the table, in the same symphony of the blues played in the background by a young man. The afro of his hair is similar to his own, like a lion's mane, the shine of his sweaty skin like a varnish on mahogany wood. Damn, the damn white tank top and leather jacket suited him very well. Looking away again to the window, crossing his legs, he felt the rain intensify, inside and outside the bar. Looking at his Cartier watch, he saw that Clayton was fucking late. The Polaroid camera attached to her neck was immediately brought to her eyes, the clicking gears and the sound of the photograph perfectly capturing the immensity of New York seen from above. Holding the photograph between her fingers, the smell of ink invaded her nostrils, at the same time that her order had arrived. Removing her things from the table, she set the photograph aside, observing the cooked squid and rustic cockroaches, the low, yellowish light shining the Tiffany ring on her right finger. Dating Clayton Beresford seemed like something she would only imagine in her erotic novels, but the silver and diamonds on her ring finger didn't lie about the thousands of dollars it was worth. And neither did the man who placed the jewel on her hand. He not only hired her as a professional photographer for his company, but he also nailed the expensive Baccarat scent to her pulse when he called her to his bed for the first time.

— Eating without me, princess? — Clay's velvety voice invaded your senses, looking up and your gaze met the blue of the most powerful man in New York. — I'm sorry for leaving you… — He walks around the table, his index finger rising from the tip of your right finger, then over your elbow, shoulders and finally chin, raising his gaze even higher to him. — Waiting. He lets go of your face, purposefully scraping his nail on your jaw, testing your reaction. Sitting down in front of you, he removes the scarf, playing with the fabric in his hands, rolling and unrolling it in the palms of his hands. You also bring the squid to your mouth, looking into his eyes as he speaks to a waiter. However, instead of biting into the seafood, you place your tongue inside the circumference of the food, making a circular motion to slurp the sauce. He bites his lip hard, pulling the man's arm and stuffing some bills into his pocket, which the man immediately smiles and bows. She looks back at you, who swallows the food, also teasing him. “Aren’t you going to eat?” You asked, pointing to the almost empty plate. Your metaphor hovers in the air, and Clay stretches his foot towards you, his Oxford shoe scraping against your expensive pantyhose, caressing it. You melt into your chair, relaxing your back, while your left hand is held by his hand, his ring and index fingers fingering your palm, calling, asking. Until he finally answers: “Expensive dishes are eaten in the presidential suite.” Fuck, you could have come just with that sentence, as he brings his Negroni to his lips, his foot hooks on your calf, locking your body. The red liquid fell from the corner of his mouth, staining his jaw, he cleans the red trail with his tongue, spreading it over his white teeth. At the same time you squeeze his hand tightly, he finally laughs mockingly. “I guess we can skip to dessert, right?” You don't know how you got out of that table, you don't know how you got to the rooftop, the place full of yellow lights, drinks and food. The fireplace rising like the excitement that grew inside you. When the door closes, he goes to the fireplace, arranging two shallow glasses of drinks, and cut Sicilian lemons, the bucket full of ice, you remove your coat, shirt, pants, if you could you would tear off your skin so he could touch your veins directly with his fingers, bursting veins and arteries. When he turns around, his gaze was almost adoring, as he unbuttoned the buttons of your shirt, tilting his head to the side, calling you. When he is only in his pants, you approach, your fingers exploring his body, tracing the cut on his toned chest, taking another step, you glued your mouths. He tasted like Negroni, seafood, salt, and, most of all, the flavor of fire. He pushes your body back, just to have the pleasure of taking you in his arms, because he knows you are too weak to stand. His tongue swirls in your mouth, turning your face with his head, while his arms hold your band with a baby, placing you on the counter above the fireplace, on a blanket, right next to the condiments he left there. He gently places your feet locked on his back, the heat of the fire scraping your panties. Scaring you. You bring your hands to the back of his neck, trying to pull his face away from yours. "The fire… you're going to burn us…" He pulls away obediently, but smiles playfully. Getting closer to your ear, removing your bra: "It won't be the fire that will burn you, my princess." He turns his attention to your neck, biting your skin lightly, your hands go to his strands, messing up his silky blond locks, scratching your scalp when he bites your skin, eliciting a louder moan. "Are you okay, princess?" — He stops, resting both his hands on your hip bones, looking worriedly into your eyes. You roll your eyes and beg: — Please, suck me, Clay.

Something breaks inside him, his gaze becomes volatile, he pulls your panties and socks down your legs, letting the heat of the fire touch your feet. He stands up, picking up several pieces of flaky ice, tracing your neck with his mouth and the ice between his teeth. The contrast makes you gasp, your nails scratching his back, the ice melting on your warm skin, at the same time as the flow of your waters begins to wet his fingers as they explore you slowly. Opening your big lips, making sure to make himself heard and listen to your waves. He strums her with the strings of a guitar, extracting the most beautiful sounds from her, until Clay silences her with his lips on yours, you tremble with your mouth frozen due to the cold of the ice cubes. In a moment the blue of his orbs open and he pulls away slightly: "I want to try something, do you think you can handle the ice?" — Your hand stills, your two fingers inside you stop moving inside you, but he curls his digits, touching something inside you that makes you scream. — You certainly melt the ice of any glacier. He kisses you again hungrily, his breath smelling like you. His ambiguous sentence makes you want to cry, after all you didn't know who had melted whose barriers. But you knew that Clay Beresford was yours, completely and entirely yours. Just as you were his, completely and entirely too. He takes a step back, letting go of your face, supporting you better on the fireplace, you can see his chest covered in sweat, as if he was melting, the fire was literally and figuratively between you, and he loved to burn himself. His skillful hand squeezes the Sicilian lemon into the shaker, adding cachaça, lemon slices, honey, and finally closing it and shaking it with measured force, you tremble in your place, your hawk eyes hunting him, analyzing his black pants, marked by your excitement. When he finished, he poured its contents into a Martini glass, placing a dehydrated lemon slice on top. Lifting the drink to his full lips, sipping it, then smiling, he looked into your eyes over the crystal: — It's missing ice… — He leaves the glass on the floor, and approaches again, picking up the bucket of ice, holding some in his hand. — How fast can I make you cum with my mouth?

At that moment you laugh, finally understanding his goals, determined to embark on his idea, you teased: — The ice can't melt… — She holds his face with the tip of her nails, scratching his cheek affectionately. — Show me what you're capable of, that mouth does more than just… — She lowers his head down your torso, watching him put 3 ice cubes in his mouth. — Business. When his mouth touches your pussy, a volcano rises in your senses, and screams erupt. He's not calm, he's not delicate like Clay usually is. And he knows it. His tongue moves, spinning the ice at your entrance, while his nose presses your clitoris hard, almost choking on the ice, but he persists, saliva and water mixing with your juices. His hands, once gentle in caressing you, now grip your thighs fiercely. Keeping you still. When you try to lift yourself towards his lips, he holds you with his arms, intertwining his fingers over the hair on your skin, at the same time pulling you lower, the heat of the fire embracing your perineum.

The room echoed with the moans, the calls. The prayers. The musk of her flavor tempering the frozen stones that were still intact in Clay's mouth. Her nails grip his hair tightly, then her palms caress his abused scalp in a silent apology. He brings his mouth to the glass with the Sicilian lemon caipirinha, his favorite, and he sips the drink in a short gulp, approaching and kissing his hair as he holds the crystal glass.

— Sicilian lemon is undoubtedly a wonderful ingredient… — He licks its residue from your hair and skin, savoring your cum. — But you are the most addictive drink in the world… — He goes between your breasts, resting his hand on your cheek, in complete contrast to the fury he felt sucking you off a few minutes ago. — I'm drunk because of you, damn it. He drinks more of the drink, offering it to you, who shakes her head, scraping her foot against his pants, feeling your excitement. And your laugh rises, as you pick up the phone forgotten by your side. You pull his body towards you, feeling him play with your nipples, laying your head on his sternum. When you dial a number, your hand goes to the back of his neck, keeping him still. — I want the ingredients to make the Spanish drink in suite 501. — He makes a move to get up, but continues kissing your pink bud. — Except for the condensed milk, I… — You look down, and Clay returns your cheeky look, his foot pinching your member, making you bite your tongue and moan. — I already have what I need. — He stands up, holding your face. Glazed like a dog on hunting day. — Thank you. When the call ends, he pulls you into another kiss, the taste of lemon explodes in your mouth, as well as the undeniable taste of Clay. — Are you going to try all the drinks? — He asks, biting your ear slowly, and pulling you to the floor. Holding your body close to his own. — Wait for the sun to come up so you can go… please. — He begs with doe eyes, big and loving. And you simply smile as you say: — I have a tolerance for alcohol, and you Clay? — He smiles cynically, approaching you again. — I have all night.

Lady Ana Schmidt

[medicdoodles]

A mashup of IDW and Seige canon of Ratchet and Deadlock, meet and run his underground asylum.

Based on Dialogue trees you get from Futomimi and Sakagahi, when you do the Aferlife Bell quest in SMT Nocturne.

For Ratchlock day.

(Next Chapter) || (Last Chapter)

There's a stain shaped like a human.

Work hard, do your best, and eventually you'll get somewhere.

When Ratchet transferred from the highest ranked schooling from Vaporex to the political charged state of Iacon, he expected pointed comments. He expected turned up faces. What he didn't know was how much he would be pushed into being an engineer.

Sure he has some skill in the field, many of his professors have left comments on it but never has he imagined being one. However, Ratchet found that his study to become a medic was going nowhere. Everywhere he went all of the classes would refuse his application, but he didn't give up.

If he wasn't going to be an official student he could still go to classes. When other mechs would sneak out or skip lectures he would slip in. Medic trainees would pay him to do their homework and he took it. All this hard work pays off, he gets the top scores, his engineering career is going well too. When his colleagues get hurt he can repair them better than the campus doctors. Then he graduated...

He gets hired to work on ground bridge operations. It doesn't excite him but it was honest work, and he could save enough money to carry equipment for a first aid kit. Once he was shipped off to the outskirts of the Dead End, that's where he finds his calling.

Since all fast travel in the area was decommissioned, Ratchet was forced to drive out to all locations. It wasn't too bad, but since he was the only one willing to do this job he was on his own. That's when he sees in person just how much Cybertron has abandon.

Streets filled with broken mechs and ruined buildings. There's no hope here, and his white paint lights up against the ash filled air, stains the vision of the city. It was silent until a siren went off in the distance. Despite him knowing the police's pensions for brutality, seeing it with his own eyes still frighten him.

"You're going to be okay." He hears a bot the panic in his voice. "Just hang in there, I'm going to get you help. Just hold on." Ratchet makes it to the voice. It was two bots in the middle of the road, both covered in blood. However, one person is down, closer to death.

"I don't think I can...", said bot also coughs up more blood. "Just wait for me to pass on. Then you can scavenge my parts."

"It's not fair." The mech brakes eye contact, looking to the sky. Then he looks towards the siren lights driving away. "They killed the wrong bot..."

"Let me try to help." Ratchet walks up to two mechs. The back mind is yelling at him, he's a ground bridge operator, an engineer, never even picked ot study medic. He can't do this, but he also can't stand here doing nothing. "I can't promise anything, but please I want to help."

They both look at him with a befuddled faces. He knows they shouldn't trust him but something must have broken because they allow him to help. They let him operate, and by the end of it all they thanked him, and for the first time since he left his home village, he felt proud of himself.

That's when Ratchet knew the direction of where is life is going. He would make money fixing and maintaining public works, taking other jobs, and making as much money as he could to build a clinc. He set it up in the center of Dead End, chosen it to give it resistance the fastest access to him. He worked himself tirelessly between these jobs and for the first time in his life. He managed to find success and happiness.

Do you think my life was a success?

Yes

>No

I see... yeah you might be right.

Just when I thought I achieved happiness, my fortune collapsed like a house of cards.

Then the outside world gotten word about it. The Senate at first only saw the healing of Dead End's bots. That they would start to walk around and they would fix the left over peices of the city. Had enough energy to walk around and wanted to start working.

However, Ratchet soon discovered that this was unwanted. That if Dead End successfully pulled itself together and made it possible to be something, then the fundamental ideology of Functionism would be thrown into question. If that where to happen, what other mechs would go against the class systems set forward by them.

It couldn't stand, so they made sure it didn't, and so they set off a bomb. Framed as an accident during transit from the military bases, they had approved of it being set off. Then they approved of some police officers to do a quick sweep of firing rounds to hit what remained. They're mission wasn't to kill anyone but if the managed too, it wasn't seen as a bad thing.

At the time Ratchet was sent off planet to see if he could assist in fixing a space bridge from Lunar-2 to Tyger Pax. Of course when it played on the news he tried to ground bridge there, but couldn't. His first transporters where destroyed, when he did get back, his clinc as well. Then when he made it home, his house was raided too.

Nothing made him feel so powerless than when he was stopped at the front door. A mech had pinned him against the wall of his assigned room and warned him away from returning to Dead End. That if they found out he went back he wouldn't be able to keep his face.

Worse was when the said mech had his hands wonder all over his body, and said next time he gets sent out he has permission to do as he pleases with him. Ratchet also finds all of his funds were frozen out, and when he does get access to them all of the money had disappeared.

You should be careful. You never know what tomorrow may bring...

After all of that, Ratchet still tries to help. He still returns to assist all the mechs of the city. They still look at him with hopefully eyes, but understanding that they could never crawl out by their own strength. Many where mad at him for even letting them entertain the idea. Others where mad for him, after all it was one thing to steal from bots with nothing on them. It was another to kick the bot who tries to give a hand to someone who needs it.

Most bots however, joined the Decepticons. They believed that if the government had been threatened by their peaceful solution then they would coware at their revolution. All of this would lead to their planet dying, not that the blame could be one sided. The Senate and later the Autobots would fight them to standstill.

Ratchet would find himself in the middle of it. At first he tried to stay neutral but the bots of Dead End where quick to bring up the attack. Then it was shaking down his person and finally braking into his home and ransacking his equipment.

Traitor was branded on his door, then on his frame. When Ratchet returned to work with a still orange smelter on his left hip, his friend Wheeljack, help him join the Autobots. For a time he was safe, the squad he joined even allowed him to repair any bot whom he wanted, even Decepticons were allowed to be fixed.

Do you think my life was a success?

>Yes

No

That's what everybody else thought, too.

...until that one day.

That was until a superior officer had came down for a vist. When they saw Ratchet repair two mechs with purple badges, they made it clear to him this would stop. If he gets caught again they would charge him with treason and he would be place on the enemy list. That's when he knew he had to go.

Being a deserter was a lighter charge than being a traitor. With his life on the line again, Ratchet has to go, because he could never leave a bot to die. In his spark he could never leave a mech to die without trying. He gives Wheeljack his coordinates, he trust that mech to only uses it when absolutely necessary.

Or at least he did.

The next time he sees his former colleague the bot had brought in toe a former bailiff turned Assassin. They force Ratchet to hand over everything on his person. The bots he was traveling with where tied down and put into custody of the Prime.

For the first time in my life, I had the urge to kill.

He was left on the ground, one push away from the cliffside. Wheeljack had saved his life but at the freedom of others. That's when he tells him to never find him again. That if he truly is sorry, he would only give that location to mechs who need it. They both promised something that day and that would be the last time he would speak to him, or it seemed.

So much anger,

As the war went on, Ratchet would travel. He would make a portable ground bridge went to the next battlefields and collect both parts and bots left behind to die. Like a Grim Reaper, he walks the path of death. However, he wouldn't take life he would do his best to keep it.

Rumor about his presence as a super natural entity made it easier to avoid authority. Many bots who believed in apparitions would come with him quietly. When he repaired them all of them would stay by him. When two bots of different factions would meet, it was almost always up to him to keep them civil.

Then he ran into Deadlock. The bot he gained feelings for. At first he didn't recognize him, but in private the mech tells him about the time they first met. That he was standing in the middle of the road in his friend's arm about to die. Then he adimts about the time he almost turned him to Megatron.

But the only way he could place Deadlock to the incidents is when he spoke those words to him. "Come on Doc, don't think like that. Everyone has kindness in their hearts."

That's when Ratchet's spark drops. This was the mech who was sent to capture him. Who knew of his habit of helping injured bots and almost trapped him into the Decepticons. Whenever he looks at Deadlock now, all he sees is a bot who has changed course, and doesn't he deserve a chance at it.

Ratchet of course also has a bad habit of letting mechs who hurt him do it again. So they both come to an agreement, he repairs Deadlock and takes him to back. The mech agrees to help him out with his operations.

So that's what they did. Ratchet would travel around and Deadlock would follow in tow. Keeping him safe and holding down bots when their reflexes kicked in. Later when their party had gotten too big to travel around and the building became to full. Deadlock drove off without a word.

Weeks became months and when two years passed by the mech came back. He tells Ratchet that he managed to find a bombed down theater that still had functional power. It was large enough for housing and medical care. When he shows him Ratchet is so relieved that he kisses him on the spot.

Deadlock field goes haywire but he doesn't reject it. Instead he grabs Ratchet's frame and frags him hard and wild, places him on the stage. With his groveling voice yells into Ratchet's microphone pick ups that he can't wait when the crew comes in. That after a long shift of picking up bots and patching up frames they would do this again, and next time they will have an audience to perform for.

That was the only time they had. As most of it was being too exhausted with fixing the building. Making sure that it look destroyed from the outside, having to only fix the bottom floors without collapsing the building from the top proved to be difficult. Even with the mechs he saved helping out, many issuses of resources and planning was still too much to worry about.

So Deadlock planned to search again. He spends his last night just sitting next to Ratchet. Telling him not worry, and he will comm every day just to reassure him of his safety. Ratchet gives him his ground bridge. Tells him to come back immediately after he finds something he thinks will help and that he will pick up his calls even if he can't talk back.

That was the last time they speak together, because once Ratchet was properly situated he update Wheeljack of his location.

There's a stain shaped like a human.

That's when he finds Impactor and things spirals out of control. Between Wheeljack taking Optimus Prime here, their entourage raising tempers and talks about Megatron abuse of the Matrix. Ratchet has to leave.

Many of his mechs encourage him to stay. Prime has no power here and if they want his help he should force the Autobots to promise to leave them alone. He doesn't answer them, he knows Wheeljack has betrayed him before. That the army has force his hands, but something tells him complying is the best option.

He turns to Impactor, tells him to tell the bigger bots to take care of the sick. Ratchet knows that mech has turned himself around and regained his spark. So it comes to a surprise that the mech follows behind him. Defending him from Elita-One and even sacrificing his own frame by pulling his comm out.

They violated him and still Impactor smiles at him, stays with him and gives his life for him. He sees his spark give out, but never sees his new found love of life leave his body.

That mankin died. He died the instant he became human. You see humans cannot exist in the vortex world...

As he boards the Arc, Ratchet gets a call from Deadlock. When he reached to answer the distance is to far.

[talia-rumlow]

Home Sweet Home (AU Brock Rumlow/OFC) Chapter Six

WORD COUNT: 5178

TRIGGERS: Sex talk, heavy emotion, virginity, age gap

HAPPY READING!

CHAPTER SIX - I FEEL THE LOVE!

When Calleigh returned home around 4:30 pm, Brock's truck was not there. She wasn't sure how to react. Part of her wanted to be greeted with a hug and kiss, to prolong the feeling of being an adult. But another part feared that his few hours alone had made him change his mind about this whole thing.

Though they were both betraying Jack, it was harder for Brock. If Jack found out, he could completely cut ties with Brock. But it would be harder for him to turn his back on Calleigh - she was his daughter, and he had to love her no matter what. So if anyone was going to back out, Calleigh thought it was more likely to be Brock. 

As Calleigh maneuvered her car into the garage, she took a moment to admire the meticulously crafted exterior of their home. The house required minimal maintenance, save for the intricate patterns around the windows. The driveway and front lawn were Jack's pride and joy - he loved washing the driveway and mowing the lawn, as it gave him a chance to chat with and get to know the neighbors.

With the recent expansion of their neighborhood and Jack's busy work schedule, tending to the garden had become an excellent way for him to connect with the community. Personally, Calleigh never understood why Jack didn't simply hire someone to handle the yard work. It seemed he was incapable of sitting still, always needing to keep himself occupied. Even their vacations were jam-packed with activities, not that Calleigh disliked the experiences, but sometimes the constant busyness felt a bit excessive. 

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

As the massive garage door closes, Calleigh steals a glance at Jack's Impala. She can't help but take a deep breath, her mind drifting to the memory of Brock standing there - his worn work jeans, the cloth tucked down the side, that sweaty, oil-stained upper body. Calleigh feels a surge of desire; she's more than ready to take their relationship to the next level. But the prospect of confessing her feelings fills her with uncertainty. What if he rejects her? How could she even broach the subject? Should she just be direct and tell him? Or would that be too forward? Calleigh's head spins with these unanswered questions, wondering if her uncertainty will prevent anything from happening at all. 

After a brief internal debate, she decides to take it slow. She recalls spotting flour, yeast, spices, and herbs in the pantry this morning. And she knows the fridge is stocked with milk, cream, eggs, and an assortment of cheeses. Cooking for him seems like a good idea. While she doesn't consider herself a culinary master, her specialty Cheese and Herb Bread, Garlic Bread, and Cheese and Jalapeño Dip are unparalleled - dishes she executed flawlessly every time. Not that she expects her cooking to seduce him, but there may be some truth to the notion that "the way to a man's heart is through his stomach". At least she could try, and see where it gets her. 

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

As Brock completes his final checks in the garage, ensuring everything is secured, his mind drifts to the events of the past weekend. His heart had skipped a beat the moment he laid eyes on her. Brock had always been drawn to blondes, though he couldn't quite explain why. And Calleigh - she was a rare beauty, a once-in-a-lifetime woman. Her skin felt like silk against his touch, her lips soft and warm. The mere memory of her hands on his body sent a tingling sensation down his spine. God, how he wanted her. But she was a virgin, and he was 26 years her senior. Could he really go through with this? 

He remembered the first time he had sex. The whole thing was really awkward. He was 17 years old and had just joined the ROTC program at school. The military uniform he wore seemed to attract girls like a sugary drink attracts ants. 

The girl he had been crushing on, who had never given him the time of day before, suddenly seemed to like him. It didn’t take much to convince him. They fumbled through the experience, both nervous and unsure, but determined to make it work. 

He recalled how his hands shook, the awkward pauses, and the nervous laughter. Now, looking back, he couldn't help but chuckle. It was clumsy and far from perfect, but it was an important, if awkward, moment in his life.

Of course he had way more experience by now. But still; the mere thought of having sex with Calleigh filled him with both lust and a weird sense of responsibility. If anything were to happen, if a real and lasting relationship even could happen. He wanted to; no he needed to be able to tell Jack that he was respectful towards Calleigh from the very beginning. That he put her first in every situation, and that he never pushed.

Even before that last thought was finished, a new even more frightening thought entered. Because what was he doing now? He pushed, just in the opposite direction. He pushed her away. He didn’t lie when he said that he wasn’t ready. But the reason for him not being ready was that he thought that she wasn't ready, that she wasn’t 100% sure about what a step like that really meant. And who could possibly know that, when it was their first time? He should probably talk to her about his thoughts around this; it was just that he didn’t know how to. If this thing they started was ever going to work, he couldn’t come off as a father figure to her. He needed to weigh his words carefully. 

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

After a quick shower, Calleigh starts gathering the supplies for her culinary adventure. A wave of confidence washes over her. This dish was typically reserved for girls' nights with Molly and Jess, and Brock was probably used to more sophisticated fare. But Calleigh felt confident she could pull it off perfectly. If it had been any other guy, she would have called Molly to cook something amazing and then passed it off as her own. But Brock would see right through that. So tonight, he was getting bread and dip. 

Totally caught up in her own mind, fantasizing about Brock praising her food and them eating and having a nice quiet, intimate evening in front of the TV. Maybe even share a kiss or ten, and then; when the day came to an end, they would once again get into her bed together. Or, she hoped they would. 

Brock's voice suddenly rang out, "Wow." Calleigh looked up from the cutting board as he chuckled and gestured to the counter, now overflowing with ingredients. "Did a tornado run through here that I didn't know about?”

"Ha ha, very funny," she replies, brushing a stray hair from her face. A quick glance over the counter confirmed the tornado comment wasn't far-fetched. "Oh," she utters, her tone sheepish. "I may have overreacted a bit," she continues, flashing Brock an innocent smile.

“Home cooked food. I feel honored," he smiles as he walks over to her side of the counter. “What are we having?” He asks, lifting his hand up to caress her face. He smells like garage, mixed with new car smell, and Calleigh can't help but to find that smell safe, like home.

“Bread and dip,” she replies. And then that feeling of inadequacy comes back. What is that? She had never felt anything like this around Brock before. And he was still Brock. That didn't change. “I know it's not a gourmet meal, but-,” she starts, but he cuts her off. 

“It's perfect. I love bread,” he tells her, before he removes the same strain of hair Calleigh removed just a second ago. “You need any help?” He asks, closing the distance between them. 

Calleigh swallows nervously. Should she move closer and make the first move for a kiss? "Yeah, that would be great," she says, her voice tinged with defeat. "I was just about to knead my dough," she continues, betraying her desire to lean in for the kiss she yearns for. "But you should probably wash up first," she adds when she notices his oil-stained hands. "I can't remember seeing motor oil anywhere in the recipe," she quips, mentally chastising herself for her timidity. 

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

When Brock finishes washing up in the downstairs bathroom, Calleigh quickly clears the counter and prepares it for them to knead the dough. Just as she sprinkles flour for both of them, Brock returns. "You can knead that one. It's the cheese and—" Calleigh's sentence is interrupted when Brock suddenly grabs her behind, giving it a gentle squeeze that elicits a happy squeak from her. "Not THAT!" she laughs. 

"Sorry," Brock whispers in her ear from behind. "I couldn't resist. It looked so delicious," he continues, giving her behind another playful squeeze.

"Are we going to make food, or are we gonna play?" Calleigh asks, throwing a handful of flour at him as she emphasizes the last word. Flirting is her forte, but she's unsure of what comes next.

Before she can think of her next move, Brock grabs her by the waist, pulling their bodies closer. "Oh, you asked for it," he chuckles, scooping up flour in his palm and smearing it across her face. It's been ages since he indulged in playful flirting, but he couldn't resist the temptation. The liberating feeling made him happier than he'd been in a long time. Calleigh truly brought out the best in him. “I think I'm winning,” he whispers in her ear. 

Still held in place by Brock's strong grip, Calleigh scoops up flour herself. “Oh, really?” She laughs, before moving her hand behind her, getting flour in both his hair and his face. Everything about this is perfect. The sensation of his strong body against hers, his breath on her skin, in her ear. His deep, husky voice. She wants to turn around and kiss him, but her stupid mind won't let her. 

Brock inhaled deeply, captivated by Calleigh's alluring scent. It evoked the delicate fragrance of a rare flower, though he couldn't quite place it. The subtle, comforting aroma made him feel safe and drew him closer, as if he could stay by her side forever. "Calleigh," he whispered reverently.

Calleigh turned her head at the sound of him uttering her name reverently, almost like a prayer. She couldn't help but smile at the sight of the flour dusting his face and hair. The stark white powder against his dark locks gave the impression of premature graying, which, to Calleigh's surprise, she found rather appealing.

For a minute they just look at each other, eyes filled with love and admiration. Calleigh almost feels like she's in the middle of one of her favorite romance flicks. But she knows from her pounding heart that this is reality. “You are so beautiful,” he says, in a whisper meant only for her. He lifts one of his hands to caress her face, before he leans in for a soft kiss. 

As he breaks the kiss and slowly pulls away, Calleigh's gaze lingers on him. Her eyes likely reveal the emotions she feels, but she doesn't seem to mind. After all, he told her she was beautiful, and in his company, she feels that way. However, the intensity of her feelings suddenly overwhelms her, almost to the point of fear. Desperate to diffuse the loaded silence, she blurts out, "Looks like you got gray hair, Mr. Rumlow" - instantly regretting her ill-chosen words. She just had to say something, anything, to cut through the tension. How foolish she feels. 

Lifting a hand to drag it through his hair, he lets out a hearty laugh at her remark, creating a cloud of flour around them. "It's just snow in June, Princess," he chuckles. Calleigh joins him in laughter, though she's uncertain if it stems from his infectious mirth, her own deep feelings for him, or the nervous anticipation of what's to come. Nonetheless, the shared laughter feels good.

Another deep kiss shared. Brock puts his arms around her, pulling her into him, deepening the feverish kiss further. Calleigh feels like she's floating. It's like she's levitating off the floor into his embrace. Lightheaded and breathless she mumbles “We should get started with the doughs, or else they'll dry out.” She hates herself for being this squeamish. She doesn't understand how her body can tell her one thing, and her head tells her something completely different. What is she so afraid of?

Brock clears his throat. “Yeah,” he mutters. Unsure about what this might have led to if she hadn't stopped it. Unsure if he was moving too fast for her, or for himself. His body was more than ready, with that tingling sensation every time they touched; it was impossible to deny. His head however; that was a different story. He should probably tell her that. But he needed to find the right time for it; and the right words. 

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Calleigh closes the oven door and dusts her hands on her t-shirt, glancing up at Brock through her lashes. "We have about 12 to 15 minutes. Any ideas for activities?" she asks, attempting an innocent yet alluring look, though she's unsure how to pull it off. 

He flashed her a playful, teasing smile. "Oh, I might have a few of those," he said, licking his lips suggestively. Without warning, he grabbed her behind and lifted her off the floor, eliciting a surprised yet delighted scream from her. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, clinging to him. His familiar, comforting scent enveloped her, and she marveled at his strength. Surrounded by his embrace, she felt utterly safe and cared for. Burying her face in his neck, she allowed that secure, protected feeling to wash over her as he carried her to the couch. 

Brock pulls Calleigh close as she straddles him on the couch. This intimate moment is new for her, and the thrill is palpable. Brock gently runs his hands along her back, a soothing motion that eases Calleigh's nerves. Her concerns about their age gap and Brock's commitment fade away. It's evident he cares for her deeply, perhaps even more so now. Calleigh buries her face in his neck, inhaling his spicy, masculine scent that stirs a flutter in her belly. 

He's consumed by an all-consuming desire for her. Every inch of his body burns with need, impossible to contain. Her warm breath on his neck sends his blood racing, pooling with arousal. A shiver runs through him as her lips graze the sensitive skin behind his ear. Breathless, he murmurs "Come here" before their mouths crash together in a desperate, feverish kiss.

Calleigh can't contain the sound that's leaving the back of her throat, as their lips meet. He pulls her even closer, if that's possible at this point. Without realizing that she does, she rolls her hips against his. Pulling a deep groan from him, as his hands come to a rest at her lower back. Is this it? She thinks, a thrilling sensation fills her. Maybe tonight is the night. 

Brock is struggling to hold back his intense desire for her. The temptation to pin her down on the couch and take her is about to overpower him completely. He knows he needs to stop this before it goes any further. If he's going to be intimate with her, he wants it to be a positive experience for her. He needs to let her take the lead and be in control. He wouldn't allow himself to just take her like this. Slowly, he lifts his arms to remove hers from around his neck, his mind racing with what to say to her. How does he explain that he wants her, just not like this - not in the heat of the moment when he might hurt her? What has he gotten himself into?

He closes his eyes, pausing for a moment. "Ca...Calleigh," he breathes, his hands gliding down her arms as they hang limply by her sides. He senses her defeat, even without looking. The last thing he wants is to hurt her, so he knows he must tell her how he truly feels - that this is not the right path. That this isn't the way he wants it to happen.

“I get it, Brock,” she says; moving to get up from his lap. Why doesn't he want to do it with her? What is she doing wrong? Is it because she's so much younger than him? Is it the virgin thing? She prays to God that it's not because of Jack. If her dad is going to become a problem, this will never work, no matter how much they want it. Or well, how much she wants it. Because Brock obviously doesn't. How could she be so stupid as to even entertain the thought of them being together like that?

Brock takes a breath to regain composure. Then he grabs her wrist to stop her from moving away from him. “Hey, Princess. It’s not you,” he says. Perfect, he thinks, being transported back to high school for a moment with the whole ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ deal. Only this time it’s the truth. 

Calleigh let out a sarcastic "Yeah, right," as she plopped down next to him on the couch. "What is it then?" she continued, rolling her eyes at him. Inwardly, she knew she was coming across as a silly teenager, but that's often how she felt. His constant rejections only exacerbated the issue.

He steeled himself, turning towards her. “Okay,” he said, searching her eyes to see if he had her full attention. “If I were to,” No that didn't feel right. He cleared his throat, trying to start the sentence over. “If we were to do that,” he continued, emphasizing that. No, that didn't sound right either. How come the words always failed him whenever there was a serious issue. “If you were to have sex with anyone,” he started again. His voice almost breaks at the word ‘sex’. 

“Let's stick with you,” she told him. Her eyes determined as they looked into his. “I don't want anyone else,” she added, promptly looking away again. 

Again he had to clear his throat. “Okay,” he started again. “If I.. If we.. If I were to sleep with you,” he finally got the words out. Sorta clumsy, but screw that. “I would be entering you,” he continued. 

“I know how it's done, Brock. I'm not an idiot,” she says, obviously annoyed by his childish approach to the subject. 

He lets out a nervous chuckle along with the words “I know that.” Clearing his throat again he continued “That's not what I meant,” he moved his hand nervously letting it rest on her knee, thanking higher Powers when she didn't move away. “What I meant was that you'll be letting me in,” he informed. “Into your body. Literally," he continued. “I… I just want you to be absolutely sure that you want it. That you want ME,” his eyes searching hers for a reaction, vocal or not. 

“I do want you. I don't want anybody else, Brock,” her eyes sparkled, but he didn't know if it was from her feelings for him, or if it was from sadness from his rejection. “It's you,” she continued. “It's you who don't want to,” she finished, sniffling a bit. 

“I want to. God, I want to, Calleigh. You have no idea how much,” he informed. “But I need for it to be a beautiful experience for YOU. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I hurt you in ANY way,” he continued. Taking a deep breath, as to tell his body that he got it out there. That she knows now. He just hopes it's enough.

Calleigh looks at him for a bit, just to make sure he’s really telling the truth, that this isn’t something he’s just saying to comfort her. “Yeah?” she finally asks, swallowing audibly when his hand moves from her knee up to caress her face.

“Yeah,” he replies, nodding carefully to emphasize his words. His thumb gently brushes over her bottom lip. Then he slowly leans in for another tender kiss. Her lips feel like heaven on earth, and his breath hitches as their tongues meet and start to slow dance together. It’s like the whole world disappears. He’s so caught up in the sweet sensation of his tongue wrapped around hers that he doesn’t notice at first the smell of burnt food slowly filling the kitchen and the living room. “Is something burning?” he murmurs into the kiss.

It takes a second for Calleigh to realize what he just said. Sniffing the air, she lets out a startled gasp before jumping up from the couch. “The food!” she yells, sprinting into the kitchen.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Heavy smoke pours out of the oven as Calleigh yanks open the door. “Fuck! Fuck!” she mutters, angrily waving the smoke away. She’s on the verge of crying. Everything seems to be falling apart around her, and now she can’t even get her signature dish right. Was life really supposed to be this hard? “Damnit!” she yells as she slams the tray with the two blackened lumps that were supposed to be Garlic & Cheese and Herb bread onto the counter.

Brock slowly enters the kitchen, unsure how to handle the situation. Though he has minimal experience dealing with angry teenagers or young adults, he knows enough to keep his distance when they are having a tantrum. But this is different—this is someone he loves, someone he wants to take care of and protect. Carefully, he places his hand on her back, then quickly peeks into the oven. “Don’t worry about it, Princess,” he begins in a soothing tone, grabbing the oven mitt to retrieve the cheese and jalapeño dip. “At least the dip survived,” he says, hoping to defuse the tense moment.

“Arrrgh,” Calleigh lets out a frustrated sound before kicking a half-open cabinet door. The door flies open before it closes again with a loud bang. “I can’t do ANYTHING right,” she continues. “Why is this happening to me?” she cries out, her tears streaming freely. She can’t help it. All these new feelings, everything. She had hoped that everything would be like it was before she moved back. But instead, everything has changed, and then there’s Brock, and all these new, unfamiliar feelings. It makes it even harder to keep her secret at bay. To have someone who cares that deeply about her, and that she cares about, makes it so much harder not to open up.

Brock instantly envelops her in his embrace. “Shhh, Princess,” he whispers into her hair, doing his best to comfort her. “Don’t worry about it.” He doesn’t quite understand why two burnt pieces of bread have affected her so deeply, but then again, it’s been ages since he was 20. The world is a vastly different place now, and he has little insight into the struggles young adults face these days. Brock decides against pressing her, hoping she will open up to him when she’s ready.

“Oh God,” Calleigh suddenly blurts out, pulling away from his embrace. “You must think I’m such an idiot,” she continues, drying off her remaining tears. She feels so embarrassed, crying like a spoiled brat in front of him. She recalls one of those stupid gatherings at the golf club when she was younger. There was a family there with their daughter, who was about the same age as Jack, but she behaved like a spoiled brat. Calleigh couldn’t have been more than ten years old when that girl almost cried to her richy-rich dad because her mom, Gen, had sat down in what the girl decided was her seat. Calleigh would never forget that. And now, here she is, behaving in the same exact spoiled, childish manner. God, how mortifying.

Brock gently cups her face, looking into her eyes with a reassuring smile. “You’re not an idiot, Calleigh,” he says softly. “Everyone has moments where things just feel overwhelming. It doesn’t mean you’re spoiled or childish. It just means you care, and sometimes things don’t go as planned. It’s okay.”

Calleigh takes a deep breath, his words slowly sinking in. She nods, feeling a bit more at ease. “Thanks,” she whispers, leaning into his touch. “I guess I just needed to hear that.”

“Anytime, Princess,” Brock replies, kissing her forehead. “Now, how about we salvage what we can and make the best of it? We can always order pizza if we need to.”

She chuckles softly, the tension beginning to melt away. “Pizza sounds good,” she agrees, feeling a bit more like herself.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Since the case he was sure would come to an end today seemed to drag out further, Jack had decided to take his legal team out for a nice dinner, his treat. The choice fell on ‘Ever’, a sophisticated high end restaurant, located in the heart of downtown Chicago. Given his business arrangements and his friendship with the owner, it wasn't hard to get a table last minute. 

The dimly lit restaurant exudes sophistication, with its dark interior, wooden beams separating the tables, and a Michelin-starred chef serving an 8- to 12-course tasting menu. Tonight, Jack had opted for the 10-course experience - a two-and-a-half-hour dinner that would allow him and his team ample time to discuss business over a carefully curated meal and hand-picked wine pairings. 

“Leave it,” Pepper tells Jack, when he reaches into his pocket to retrieve his phone for the hundredth time. “She is twenty years old Jack, and she spent four years in New York. She knows how to handle herself,” she continues. 

Jack slowly drags his hand through his hair. “You,re right. It's just..,” he lets the sentence die out. He's not here to talk about his difficult relationship with his daughter. He's here to find out how they can get fucking Kevin Saunders to leave the business without giving them too much of a headache. 

“You hate to leave her,” Pepper finishes his thought. “I know, my sixteen year old has a game tonight,” she continued. Earning a sympathetic look from Jack. 

“I'm sorry, Peps. I didn't want to have to drag you away from your families,” he tells everyone, not only Pepper. 

“Eh, we all knew what the job required of us when we started,” she replies with a smile. 

“And the pay is really good,” Maria shoots in. The petite brunette always seemed to have a way to turn even the hardest situation into something funny, if she felt the need to do so. 

Jack chuckled as he replied, "You deserve it." Though grateful for Maria's intervention, he couldn't shake the guilt he felt about leaving Calleigh to manage the business alone. After all, she had only been there for three months. Jack knew Calleigh was a quick study who had mastered most of the necessary information, but he still felt it was wrong to thrust her into the role so abruptly.

“Aisha says the office is in good hands,” Clint enters the conversation. He knew that Jack trusted his computer genius receptionist with his life, so if she says everything is in perfect order, that should help Jack to enjoy his dinner. “Your daughter even handled Karen Jessop today,” he continues. In any other business he would never have talked to his boss about family things, but he did work in a family business, and they were a tight-knit group. That was one of his favorite things about working at Rollins Delivery. He had been in the business only a couple of months longer than Jack's daughter, but he had felt at home from day one, and if life wanted it that way, he would never want another job. 

As the first course is served, the diners fall silent, savoring the delectable dish before them.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Brock sat propped against the headboard, the covers draped over his lower abdomen as he watched Calleigh rummage through her closet, searching for clothes for the next day. He was grateful for the covers concealing his lower body, as the sight of Calleigh in only her pink silk Louis Vuitton sleep shorts and bra was having a noticeable effect on him. The tantalizing glimpse of her slightly tanned, bare skin made his fingers twitch with the urge to reach out and touch her, to feel her softness against his own.

She had already decided what to wear, but she wasn’t ready to have the conversation with him about Jack just yet. All night, she had been trying to find the right opportunity to bring it up, but the timing never felt right. With Jack currently in Chicago, everything seemed fine for now. However, she knew he would eventually return, and she couldn’t help but worry about what would happen then. Could they continue seeing each other if he was around? And how could she possibly keep another secret hidden? Her drawer of secrets was already dangerously close to overflowing.

Holding up a white, short-sleeved shirt and one of her black, knee-length skirts—her typical work attire—she turned to Brock and asked, “Is this okay?” The sight of his sculpted, broad-shouldered physique nearly caused her to lose her balance. Brock was a veritable Greek god, and she still couldn’t believe he was there in her bed for the third night in a row.

Brock shifted in the bed, taking in the sight before him. “P…perfect,” he rasped. “You’re perfect,” he added, earning a smile from her. “Wanna… err…,” he continued, “wanna come to bed?” God, why is he talking like a fricking teenager all of a sudden? ‘Wanna come to bed?’ Jesus, how stupid he feels.

She couldn’t help but smile at his clumsy nervousness. It added to the thrilling sensation inside her, knowing that he was also nervous. It gave him a… she couldn’t find the right words for it. Human touch? It showed a vulnerability she almost didn’t think he had. It didn’t help that Jack had portrayed Brock as a hero her whole life—the hero who saved his life, so that he could come home to her. God, she thought, as she made her way over to the bed. How on earth could Jack ever be okay with her and Brock being together?

As she climbed into bed beside him, Brock reached out, pulling her close. His touch was gentle yet firm, a comforting blend of strength and tenderness. “We’ll figure it out,” he whispered, as if reading her mind. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

Calleigh nestled against him, feeling the warmth of his body seep into hers. For now, the future could wait. She was content to be in this moment, wrapped in Brock’s arms, letting the world outside fade away.

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[rainbowmoonstonestories]

Let Your Dreams Be Your Wings | Chapter 3

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: The Sandman (Netflix 2022, minor content from the Comics) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x F!Reader Characters: Dream of the Endless/Morpheus, Lucienne, Matthew the Raven, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Hob Gadling, Death, Rose Walker, The Corinthian, other minor Sandman characters, Original Characters. Warnings: 18+ content (upcoming, minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching, very long chapters to read (you can skip parts if you think it is too much). Summary: You always dreamed of becoming a successful Fashion Designer, sharing your creations with the world and making your father proud. But with him being very ill and so many costs solely weighting on your shoulders, things didn’t go as planned and you had to take a different path instead. An interesting offer led you to the elder Alex Burgess and you were hired as a new housemaid for a very good pay. However, your kindness and outstanding empathy convinced the man to give you an additional task for a doubled compensation; gaining the trust of Dream Of the Endless, held captive into the basement for over a century. Despite the shock of finding such an ethereal entity stripped of all his clothes and contained into a confined space, you had to accept for the sake of your father. But the more you got to speak to the mysterious anthropomorphic personification who didn't utter a single word, the more you were lost into his eyes that, conversely, seemed to contain the entire universe. A deep connection formed between the two of you, separated only by a thick layer of glass.

Little did you know, what started like a simple housemaid job was about to change your life forever.

Credits: The moon dividers were made by firefly-graphics.

Chapter 3

You couldn't dream at all. Or so you thought.

Your first encounter with Dream of the Endless went better than you had foreseen. The apprehension you felt when you walked into the basement had soon faded away, as you came up with your own makeshift plan to do what Mr. Burgess had requested without giving up your honor code. For all you knew, Dream didn’t believe a single word you said, but he didn’t look displeased when you volunteered to offer him your companionship.

Admittedly, there wasn’t much that you knew about him or what his magical presence in the world signified. There were many different stories that portrayed The Sandman in various ways and none of them seemed to be accurate with how they had been transcribed. In 1818, a German author named Ernst Theodor Amadeus Hoffmann created a horrific version that described Dream as a monstrous mythological figure throwing sand in the eyes of children, which would fall out if they couldn’t sleep. On the other hand, there also was a much lighter fairy tale written by Hans Christian Andersen, displaying him as an entity who made the little ones drowsy and sent them off to sleep, only punishing the bad kids with no dreams at all. Modern myths and folklore were crafted to answer any child’s question about why people have grit in their eyes upon waking up.

The beautiful tale you loved as a little girl represented Dream of the Endless as a bringer of stories, maintaining the balance of humanity intact. However, most parents had twisted that concept and turned it into a pretext to keep their kids under control. They wouldn’t act badly if they knew The Sandman could come at night to stain their dreams with darkness and fear.

You hadn’t read that volume in a long time, cherished once and forgotten over the years. The urge of going through those pages again was growing within you, eager for knowledge and a trip down memory lane.

The following day, Mr. McGuire inquired how your meeting with Dream had played out. “It’s quite early to speak about trust,” you told him, “But I can assure you that he listened. I might need a bit of time to get through him properly though.”

For his part, he appeared to be satisfied with the little progress you reported. “Take all the time you need, we do not expect you to succeed in a day.”

The second time you talked to Dream, it was during your lunch break with no guard on duty downstairs. Alex and Paul were expecting their usual guests in the afternoon, so you knew you would end up being too exhausted to pay the Endless a visit after a chaotic day.

As usual, Dream was a sight to behold. The encaged physical entity was very attractive and that could not be denied, but the way his marble-like skin glowed under the dim light of the platform made you feel strangely calm and secure. You perceived an invisible force drawing you to him since the first time you met him, a magnet that was glued to your heart and accelerated it, pulling it out of your chest whenever you got lost into his eyes.

“I wish I knew how it feels like to have dreams.”

He stared at you in silence, but he was considering and processing your words.

“I guess I will find out soon, huh?”

Your smile dropped the moment you saw him clenching his jaw. You mainly wanted to be encouraging, reassure him that sooner or later, one way or another, he would get out of that prison as you promised. To him, those were just volatile words with no real foundation, because you didn’t have any tangible proof to give.

You sighed. You were getting goose bumps from the lower temperature around you, and while you tried to contain your shivering since you arrived, your uneasiness could be well spotted along your arms. As soon as you finished your meal, you rushed down the stairs and into the basement without the sweater you had strategically prepared into your room and the skin along your limbs was once again left unprotected due to your forgetfullness. The tights you were wearing had a thin fabric that could barely warm up your legs, the humidity seeped into your bones, stiffening your muscles and almost giving you a running nose.

Dream moved, unfolding his own lean, yet strong legs and pushing himself up from the sphere floor. You looked away from his body Instinctively, now practically fully exposed in front of you. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed that his right hand was raised in the air, fingers grazing the glass and requiring your attention back.

(gif by aceofwhump)

You quickly glanced at his face, perplexed and inquisitive. Dream waited, looking at you with his beautiful, deep blue orbs. You followed his lead, brushing your fingertips on the cold material of the bowl and meeting his indirect touch. You were captured by the intensity (and intimacy) of the moment, before an incredibly warm sensation washed over you. Your skin returned to its normal state in an instant and, as if by magic, you weren’t cold anymore. The warmth that embraced you was like delicious honey, coating your chest with its remarkable sweetness. Your entire essence melted into that feeling of comfort and relief, the tension in your shoulders was also gone and your bones no longer felt heavy.

You were left speechless. Amazed. The tips of your fingers were on fire, but the kind of fire that didn’t burn. If he could do such a thing without the majority of his powers, you could only imagine the greatness he would be able to achieve without any binding circle blocking his capacities.

But there was more. Your whole hand felt electric and you sensed a connection between your bodies despite the glass separating you. Dream noticed it too, his eyes widening and watering as his breathing came to a halt, it was something so powerful that it travelled farther down to your toes.

Then, the way it came, it stopped abruptly when he jerked his wrist back and your palm was left alone, empty, pressed against the sphere. You didn’t know how to react, what to think of it… and clearly neither could he. All you knew was that Dream noticed your discomfort and somehow he managed to dissipate it.

You were about to thank him, when the indistinguishable hammer sound of a Revolver echoed behind you and made you turn in shock.

“Get away from there, Missy!”

The now familiar guard was pointing his weapon at Dream in a fighting stance, looking up and down between the two of you in alarm. You put your hands up in a placative manner, walking away from the cage and breathing out. “Sir, you can put that gun down. He wasn’t doing anything, I assure you.”

“Didn’t look like that to me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Seriously? He’s locked into a fucking cage! What do you think he’s gonna do?”

The guard hesitated, but he adjusted his grip around the gun. “Don’t care, don’t want to know. Just gotta do my job.”

Your arms dropped along your sides in exasperation. “Yes, you are oh so big and scary, we got the message. I’m asking you again Sir; can you please put that thing down?”

The guard nervously licked his lips and stepped forward. “You should get away from him, this instant.”

“What is it, you’ve been confined to this house for so long that you miss the action?” You inquired. The anger was bursting inside of you, thundering and exploding like a firework. “If you want to pull the trigger that badly, then you’ll get a lot of explaining to do. Because I’m not going anywhere, just so you know.”

You took a step back, grazing the cage with your knuckles. Dream slowly knelt down, you could feel his presence close to your shoulder as he approached the glass once more.

All the blood was rushing to the guard’s face. The man grunted and put his gun back into the holster when you stayed true to your word, standing firmly onto the platform. “Bloody hell.”

You responded with a triumphant smile. Your nails were absently drawing patterns on the sphere, your back against it felt tingly and heated.

The guard's eyes were boring into you.“I’ll have to report this,” he said. “Just so you know.”

Oh, such a bad game he wanted to play. “The cage and the binding circle are fully intact. What is there to even report?”

You could hear the guard growling from the other side. His fingers were twitching in irritation, but he decided not to argue further and bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from responding in kind.

In the end, he tried to get rid of you the easy way. “Shouldn’t you get back to work, Miss?”

As much as you disliked it, you had to admit that he was right. You were only supposed to be there for a few minutes, but you probably already exceeded the time at your disposal.

“Yes, I should,” you confirmed. Turning to Dream, you lowered your voice so that only he could hear you. “Will you be okay alone with that prick?”

Dream nodded at your question, almost imperceptibly.

“I’ll be back soon.”

When you left the platform, you looked at the man taking his usual place next to the table. He was unfolding the daily newspaper, complaining under his breath.

“Try to be a little nicer to him,” You told him, to which he answered with a tight smile that looked more like a twisted grimace.

He didn’t like you, clearly, and the sentiment was mutual.

Dream’s attention was fixated on you as you left and he didn’t look away from the open gate not even when you disappeared behind it.

(gif by stephendorff)

“I want to be a friend for you, if you will allow it.”

The words you said had been lingering in Morpheus’s mind since the night you visited him alone. He wanted to believe you, to trust your promise, for you seemed to be the most sincere and honest human to walk into that hellhole in a century. Still, his doubts about you could not be fully dismissed; it would be so easy for you to betray him, defy him, go back on your word when more profitable opportunities presented themselves. You had all the incentive to keep him where he was, while your reasons for doing as you were told could be understood, trust was definitely a hard thing.

But then you had returned and something unexpected happened.

Just like the night you first met, he could see the coldness you were suffering from on your skin and in the shivers you did your best to hide. As you talked to him about all the little adventures you were living in the Waking World, Morpheus found himself captivated by your stories, considering your narrative skills quite compelling. You spoke with such vividness and humor, the way you described the general hardships you faced and the challenges you overcame was bizarrely entertaining.

You provided a good companionship in the little time you spent in front of his cage, something he was not used to after 106 years of loneliness. A mortal had come to him with kindness and understanding, with no demands and no desire to get something out of him. You were there to do a job, but you simply wanted to talk and he was comforted by it. There was something different in you, he could see your sincerity and the will to stay despite your physical uneasiness.

Morpheus couldn't leave you like that. While his magical tools had been taken by Roderick Burgess the day he was captured, he was still left with a fragment of his power, so he stood into the sphere and reached out to you for the first time. It was surprising that you looked away to respect his state of undress. To him, clothes were just a form of expression, not a way to stay covered or warm. He wasn't concerned about being naked in front of others, but you were, again, the only one showing him a bit of decency.

When your hand met his over the glass, Morpheus could see the relief spreading onto you as the coldness disappeared, but the little contact he enstablished ended up affecting him as well, contrary to what he had predicted. As you closed your eyes and let yourself lull by his warm energy, Morpheus saw through you in a way he didn’t think possible. He had always known everything about any living being, their name, their story, their wishes and their dreams, but the binding circle had prevented him from exploring your background, so you remained a partial mystery from the beginning.

He saw it all and more that day. He searched into your heart and found nothing that would taint it. There was no darkness, no lie, no deceit. He could only see light, a brilliant and beautiful light, that seemed to fill every corner of your being. He saw the gleam forming around your figure, as bright and calming as a shining star in the sky. Your fears became his own and he felt the love that resided in you, a love so strong and so true it felt almost overwhelming. You had the purity and innocence of a Goddess enclosed within your delicate human form.

Morpheus was inspecting his hand now. The tingles in it were dissipating, yet his chest was still burning hot. The guard was watching him from his seat, but Dream’s thoughts kept wandering back to you and the way you glowed, the way you smiled, the way you bravely challenged that man to protect him.

Morpheus came into existence once lifeforms capable of dreaming appeared in the universe. He had seen it all, gained and lost a lot, discovered and learnt everything there was to know about mankind. Never before had he encountered a mortal such as yourself, not even when he got acquainted with Nada, his fragile human lover from a very distant lifetime.

You were undoubtedly speaking the truth about your intentions, your unwavering determination to save your father was undeniable, but you didn't want to do it at the cost of Morpheus's freedom. He couldn't help but believe you.

He was intrigued by your strength and courage, by your gentle spirit that exuded from you. Morpheus wanted to know you, to see more of you, to understand you. You were like a fresh book that he couldn’t wait to leaf through.

Curiosity killed the cat, he knew that proverb very well. But he could not refrain himself from wondering what other marvels you had to show him.

For a very short moment, you made him forget about his captivity and the eagerness he had of being set free.

As it turned out, the guard wasn’t just babbling about and effectively disclosed whatever he thought he had witnessed into the basement. Mr. McGuire came looking for you that same day, curious to hear your version of the story and to make sure your safety with Dream wasn’t compromised. Nor was theirs.

You told him about your haste and distracted mind. You described the way Dream had placated your discomfort, but left out the rest as you wouldn’t even know how to explain it. And you didn’t really want him, nor anybody else, to know how powerful it was and how good it made you feel.

Mr. McGuire blinked a few times, analyzing what you had just said. “That’s it? Is that what he did?”

“Yes, what else? He’s not the monster you all think he is.”

“It’s not that, just… he didn’t try playing tricks with your mind or controlling it, did he?”

“No. If that were the case, I doubt he’d be still locked downstairs.”

With the guests arriving at the mansion, the amount of work on your side had magnified and you had to incessantly run back and forth throughout the evening. Paul’s interruption and interrogation only served to slow you and your tasks down, so you reminded him of the importance of your deal and the fact you couldn’t have him looming over your shoulder whenever the guards felt like reporting every single change in Dream’s demeanor. Thankfully, Mr McGuire agreed with you and he guaranteed that he’d personally have a talk with those two to soften up their rigid attitude. He also highlighted the peculiarity of Dream’s action, or rather spellcast, addressing it as the very first contact he ever had with a human in over a century.

When Alex was young, Dream had tried to break into his mind in a similar fashion. The young boy managed to snap out of that hazy state and regain full control of himself before touching the glass, but he described it as an incredibly strong pull that clouded his judgement, enchanted him to the point he no longer remembered his own name and almost made him fall into Dream’s clutches.

He had the perfect chance to try the same trick with you. Maybe two private encounters were barely enough to define you as his friend, or anything relatively close to that… but you could tell with absolute certainty that he wasn’t concocting any sort of evil plan to harm you. In fact, he did the exact opposite.

In the evening, you poured drinks and brought an unimaginable quantity of food to the guests in the living room, lost in their various conversations with Mr. McGuire and Mr. Burgess who had finally come out of his room. The man didn’t talk much. One would think he would relish the company after so much time spent by himself, but even though he was looking at everyone, it was as if he didn't really see them. He was lost in his own world, listening without catching any of it.

Mr. McGuire was sitting at his side, participating in the random, boring talks taking place. One of the men, sprawled in front of them on the leather couch, raised a glass full of wine and let out a satisfied sigh. You lost count of how many drinks he had since he arrived, saying he looked nasty would be an understatement. “My word Alex, your house never ceases to amaze me. Cheers! Your hospitality is appreciated, my friend.”

Mr. Burgess showed the hint of a smile, but did not respond.

“I was thinking, is it true what they speak about ol’ Roderick? About here? I’ve been hearing a certain rumor for quite a while, you see.”

Your ears pricked up and your motions slowed down. You didn’t like where this was going.

“They say you hold the bloody Devil into your basement, that he is granting your family riches and longevity.”

The empty bottle of Whiskey you were holding slipped from your grip, but you promptly catched it before it could fall and shatter on the floor. Paul’s eyes met yours for a moment and you quickly adverted your gaze, the guest continued with his investigation without paying attention to your mishap. “Tell me, is it really just a rumor or…?”

Mr. McGuire let out a nervous laugh. “I’m afraid that’s all it is, just a rumor. Nothing more.”

The man eyed the couple with a look of barely-concealed contempt. He drank more of his wine and emptied the glass in one fluid movement, like it was some kind of competition. “Ah. That’s a pity."

Mr. Burgess was feeling increasingly uncomfortable, wanting to be anywhere but there. “Miss Y/LN, “ he said. “Can you refill his glass, please?”

The man's eyes lit up at the prospect of more wine and he extended his hand to you. His lack of coordination almost smacked the glass right into your cheekbone and you dodged it in time. “Thank you, thank you!” He exclaimed.

You complied, putting on your mask of innocent and condescending housemaid. “Right away, Sir.”

You were exhausted, more strain on your emotions than on your physical body. You didn’t hate your job, you had grown accustomed to it and you had to admit it was keeping you in shape, which was a benefit you were thankful for. The most draining part was having to listen to the obnoxious speeches of the drunken guests every single week and it was taking its toll on you.

Mr. Burgess and Mr. McGuire were apparently as frustrated as you were. It was astonishing that people could show such a lack of interest and respect in their home and you couldn’t understand why they were so keen to socialize with a bunch of total morons. It was easy to see their intentions when the man mentioned the rumors about Dream; they were only driven by their own opportunism, taking adventage of the Burgess family’s financial abundance, quality drinks and expensive meals. Chances were they also hoped to make a deal with Mr. Devil, gaining power and gold for themselves. You could taste the vitriol on your tongue at the thought of Dream locked into that cage and mistaken for a filthy demon. The Endless deserved better than that.

The night felt as if it would last forever. The mattress beneath you was very soft and comfortable, yet your eyes couldn’t remain shut for more than ten seconds. Your insomnia had kicked in like it did practically every night, leaving you distressed and impatient with your throat getting dry.

You turned on your back, then on the other side. You sat on the edge of the bed and took a walk around the room, careful to not make any noise. Back and forth, left and right. You paced around for a while, the darkness of the night was enveloping your senses and the lack of sleep weighting down on your mind.

You climbed back to bed in a fetal position, same ritual and same result, every damn time.

Eventually, you tired yourself out so much that your eyelids finally started to get droopy. Your breathing became slow and steady, your body slowly sinked further and further into the mattress. You pulled the bedsheets to your neck and let yourself drift off into a dreamless sleep.

Or so you thought.

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Everything was dusty, gloomy, hazy. You were standing in a field of sand, stretched out as far as the eye could see. You had no idea where you were and you felt disoriented. The wind howled around you, blowing into your face. You pushed your hair away as you attempted to look ahead. You made out the shape of something big and white in the distance, it was calling your name, silently and strongly, beckoning you forward.

You walked into the unknown, one hand cupped on your forehead to protect yourself from the sandstorm. The dark fog began to subside, the wind died down and you could see what stood in front of you more clearly. So high and imponent, so beautifully made.

Everything was appearing a little blurry and you had some trouble putting it into focus. You could feel the warmth of the blazing sun rising behind you, but its comforting presence was mixed with thunders reverberating through the menacing clouds. As you stepped close to the large object, your curiosity grew and you noticed it was a stoned barrier. It was the entry of something you were feeling attracted to, but you were not yet allowed to discover it.

You squinted, inspecting every carving that had been masterfully created on those gates. There were complex ornaments, symmetrical sections and birds of prey on both sides, a weird alien-like mask built at the top and reflected like a mirror. But what truly captured your attention was the detail in the faces of someone imprinted into the stone, illustrating what you perceived like a distant memory, a heartbreaking love story. One of the faces was strangely familiar, although your mind was all fuzzy and you could barely think straight.

You reached for one of the two doors, feeling the hardness and roughness of the stony material under your skin. You hoped to see it moving, opening at your touch, but something about that whole situation was somehow completely wrong. You stared at your fingers in utter confusion, as you suddenly counted more digits than you were supposed to have in one hand. It was like watching a glitchy monitor with an out of focus slide where things looked overlapped, your eyes couldn't adjust and your overall awareness had considerably started to fade.

The gates blew away, slipping between your distorted fingers in a handful of grains. The wind picked up again, swirls of sand engulfing you and dragging you into an expanse of pitch black before you woke up.

You opened your eyes and stared at the ceiling, your mind lingering on the images of the mysterious land you had just visited. You tried to remember every detail, but with each passing second the memories dissolved, until all that was left was a sense of wanting and nostalgia. It was all gone and forgotten, sent far away and locked into a remote corner of your brain, never to be recovered.

You didn't have the key to access that again. It was lost, gone, evaporated… and you remembered nothing. To you, it was as if you never dreamed.

You turned from side to side a few times more, fixing the pillow and slowly falling into another restive slumber.

It was a foggy morning and the birds were just starting to sing their songs in the still air. You discended the stairs to the basement, eager to check on Dream again before taking your leave for the day.

The guards snorted when they saw you arriving, but your visit to the Endless would be a brief one, which is why you allowed them to stay without paying too much attention to their mockeries and the derision emanating from their throats.

Somehow you felt more confident now, striding to the platform without any hesitancy in you and focusing on the task ahead.

“Good morning Dream,” you greeted him with a newly formed smile. “How are you holding up?”

Dream’s back straightened as he looked at the guards and you followed the rapid movement of his irises. “I know, poor choice of the personnel right there,” you scoffed.

Dream pouted, his lips so plump and pink, so soft-looking and totally kissable. You stared shamelessly, your teenage attitude bubbling beneath the surface. You gulped it down and touched the glass, your fingers gliding along the smoothness of the sphere.

In that moment, you thought about all the fingerprints that had been etched onto the surface.

“Just hang in there for a little while longer,” you murmored softly. “It’s going to be okay, I promise.”

His staring shifted onto your hand, but he didn’t reach for it this time. A part of you wished he would. You ignored it.

“Take care, Dream. I’m in a hurry right now, I’ll come back to see you again tomorrow.”

Your heart melted when you noticed the slight desperation in his altered posture, looking at you like a pleading child. Not a single word came out of his mouth, but his glistening eyes and stiffen shoulders spoke volumes about the frustration he was feeling.

You wished you could have stayed, but unfortunately you had matters to attend to. The temptation of postponing your plans just to be with him for the entirety of the day was poking your head, but your father was expecting you and so was your friend who you promised to have lunch with.

You gave him an apologetic smile and waved your goodbye. Your boots resounded into the basement with each quick step over the brick floor, you went back up the stairs in a haste, grabbed your bag and scurried out of the silent house, the cab already waiting for you in the morning haze. The sun was just beginning to show its first light over the horizon, the thin rays peeking through the trees and brushing against your cheeks.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the Endless all the way back to town. And even after that.

Upon arriving at your father’s place, the man came running at the door to welcome you inside. The physical boost he was proudly showing off since waking up had the nurse’s hair standing, only 72 hours after the first administration. Doctor Mills happened to be as astonished as you were, watching him dancing and singing in the living room on the notes of Ring of Fire by Johnny Cash. He had calculated between 20 to 30 days of treatment before noticing a proper sign of recovery, but the fatigue had considerably reduced, his appetite was going back to normal and his blood pressure was no longer displaying alarming values. Doctor Mills clarified that three days were purely indicative and a relapse wasn’t feasible to exclude. He preferred to stay with his feet planted on the ground, monitoring the entire progress without feeling overly excited ahead of time. Still, he praised the strong willpower that your father clinged to since the first diagnosis, considering it a huge factor playing in his favor.

Trying to convince him to stop jumping around like a spring and follow the doctor’s guidelines made you feel as if you were handling a disobedient toddler. He was still a little underweight, but the color had returned to his face. You had hoped to see him going back to his old self for a very long time and almost stopped hoping for the failed attempts. None of the medicines he took in the last couple years produced a similar effect before.

The rest of the morning continued wih the two of you catching up and chatting about your everyday lives. The poor man didn’t have a lot to tell beside the summarized plot of his favorite TV shows, so you did most of the talking and carefully avoided anything that could accidentally lead to the basement and what it contained. Your father snorted when you talked about your job, reiterating how disappointing it was to see you wasting your talents for his sake. You couldn’t yet decide to drop your fruitful position for something else, something that you could hardly see happening. And most importantly, you couldn’t abandon the Endless to his fate, a fate that you wanted to change with all your might by giving him the freedom he deserved.

You reached The New Inn to meet a special friend you hadn’t seen in a long time. The place had an antique style, the smell of wood mixed with freshly brewed coffee was always a combination that never failed to inspire you and make your creative juices flow whenever you wanted to work on your Portfolio.

You missed that immensely. Coming back after over a month of absence was refreshing and that sense of familiarity was something you were seriously lacking in Wych Cross (except maybe when you found yourselt in Dream’s presence. Why were you thinking about him again?). Your father was right about one thing; Fawney Rig would never be a place you actually belonged to.

You could already hear clinking glasses and the loud buzz of conversations coming from the door with people entering and leaving. You stepped inside, glancing at the table your friend liked to pick to enjoy some peace and quiet. And there he was, distinguished and composed, bent over a pile of grading papers. He took his teaching job very seriously, always carrying work to do wherever he went.

(gif by seniorinternaut)

You smiled brightly upon seeing him, waving at the waitress and walking past a group of customers cheerfully drinking at the bar. He looked up, meeting your eyes and smiling back with equal excitement. You could barely reach the table before you had his strong arms around your smaller frame, drowning into his cologne as you were pressed against his chest.

You returned the hug tightly, squeezing away the time and distance that had separated the two of you. “Hob! It’s so good to see you!”

You both let go, stepping back to take a good look at each other. “It’s good to see you too, Shortcake! How have you been?”

“All good! Work is keeping me busy though. Sorry for going MIA.”

It’d been far too long since you had the chance to properly talk to Hob. With you now living in Lewes, you were always unable to spare time to meet up despite all the good intentions you had to reconnect. You were determined to make up for lost time now, so you eagerly took a seat in the cozyness of the Inn.

He collected the papers partially marked with notes and grades in red, placing them into his leather bag to make some space.

“Don’t worry about it, I find you well! How’s your new job?”

“It’s average, really. And my insomnia is as bad as it could be. Have you seen my freaking eyebags?”

Hob shrugged. “You look great to me. Even more beautiful than usual.”

“Ever the gentleman!”

He winked at you from the other side of the table. “I hope they are treating you well in there. Did you find out if those rumors were true?”

Here we go again.

“Definitely not. If they had a demon locked somewhere in the house, I would know. I clean that place literally from top to bottom almost every day.”

Hob chuckled, giving your hand a light squeeze. “But they are treating you well, yes?”

You nodded. “Yes, I must say they are.”

When the food arrived, its delicious aroma immediatly filled your lungs and the first bite was even better than you remembered. Hob took your orders while waiting for your arrival, knowing all too well what your favorite meal was. He poured some quality fresh beer into your glasses, taking a quick glance at the entrance with a mournful expression. You saw him kicking down the disappointment and couldn’t really brush it aside.

“Still waiting for that friend of yours?” You asked.

Shaking his head, Hob looked defeated. “I probably won’t see him again.”

“Don’t say that.”

“The last time we were supposed to meet, he stood me up. I’m afraid that what I said back then has offended him greatly. I ruined it.”

“Hob,” you spoke softly. “It would take a lot more than a small fight to destroy a real friendship.”

He sighed. “I’m afraid this ‘real friendship’ as you call it had a completely different meaning to him.”

You put down your fork. “Look, you told me you have seen each other for… how many years again?”

He hesitated. “Too many to count.”

“Even if this guy is a very busy one, he always remembered about you, didn't he? You don’t know what happened, maybe something came up and he couldn’t make it for whatever reason.”

“I do hope you’re right, but even so, I have no way to contact him. To apologize for being a bloody idiot.”

“You don’t have his number?”

“Let’s say he’s not exactly the tech type.”

“Mh.” You resumed your eating. “Wanna bet he’ll come through that door in no time?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn't really bet on that.”

“Okay then. Call it a gut thing.”

“Again?”

“Was it ever wrong?”

“Now that you mention it…”

Your conversation moved to different topics as you consumed your lunch. Hob shared some funny anecdotes about his students, who all seemed to adore him and deeply respect his historical knowledge. It wasn’t surprising, he always knew events and facts that nobody ever taught you in class and you often joked about how he might easily come from a different century. You could listen to his lectures for hours without feeling even remotely bored, he just had a certain way with words, so polite and sometimes old-fashion, that a part of you wished you could be a student again.

When you told him about your father’s unexpected recovery, he was delighted to hear the news. The day Doctor Mills revealed his stomach conditions and general physical failure, your entire world collapsed over your shoulders and Hob was there to sustain you as you gasped for air. He held your hand in his to keep you on your feet, refusing to let you fall into that void of darkness and sorrow. Hob never told you much about his family and personal life, but losing a loved one was something he went through different times. He couldn't allow you to face that anguish alone, gulping down your despair and pretending it wasn't happening in front of him. He was such an incredible friend that, you were sure, nobody would have the balls to let someone as amazing as him slip out of their life.

You were so engrossed in your chat with Hob that you completely lost track of time. Before you knew it, you walked out of the New Inn in the chilly air of the late afternoon, a considerable contrast with the pleasant warmth you got accustomed to inside.

Since you were planning to make a stop at your place before returning to the Burgess mansion, Hob kindly offered to give you a ride, driving down the busy roads, passing trees and houses lit by the fading sunlight. You had to admit you were missing your town and old habits more than you had anticipated. The hustle and bustle of the city life, the bright lights in the night sky, the smell of freshly baked bread from the local bakery. All of those things you had taken for granted and now you were pining for them. Sitting down with your best friend, sharing stories and jokes over lunch and a cup of coffee, simply reminded you of how much you were lacking in favor of your financial benefit.

You knew it was worth it, especially now that you were finally seeing the results you were hoping for.

It was worth it, yes, but your father’s words continued echoing in your head.

“Do you know what else I’ve noticed? That you are so dishearteningly unhappy, my dear. You have dreams and an enviable creative talent that is literally going wasted.”

You never regretted your choice, truly. You’d do the same thing even if God decided to give you a second chance and send you back in time, willing to face the same hardships and give it all up again. But you often found yourself wondering about the life you could have lived if things went differently, imagining an alternative universe, or more planes developing at the same time, with just another You facing multiple outcomes.

Hob pulled over, stopping the car and parking in front of your apartment building. As the gentleman that he was, he stepped out of the vehicle to reach the passenger side and pull the door open for you, holding your hand until you were out of the car and fully standing. You thanked him with a smile and he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear in a fondly way.

You adjusted the bag over your shoulder. “I’m glad we could meet today, I really missed you, you know?” You told him, tears already threatening to form at the thought of departing from him once more.

Dammit.

“Same here, Shortcake. I’m so glad to see you in such a good shape.”

“Thank you for caring. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He grinned. “You would be lost as hell.”

Snickerig, you hit him lighty on the arm. “You’re so full of yourself, Mr. Gadling.”

“Aye, sweetheart,” he puffed out his chest. “Come on, have you seen me?”

Again, you burst out into a wholehearted laugh, so carefree and full of joy. The kind of joy you hadn’t felt in a very long time, the kind of joy you had almost forgotten. The kind of joy you thought you didn’t deserve anymore, the kind of joy you missed tremendously and needed like oxygen in your existence. The kind of joy that twisted into sadness, a sadness you felt expanding from your chest along your entire being.

Hob’s own laugh subsided when he saw your smile fading, narrowing his eyes in confusion. In that moment, your emotions started to run wild, it was as if someone had pressed a switch and flipped you over like day with night, light with dark, hot with cold.

Hob was aghast at your sudden breakdown. “Hey hey, what happened? Why are you crying…?”

Everything you kept buried into you was overflowing, bursting into an outpouring of tears. You tried to stop it, but the moment Hob embraced you and stroked your back with both hands in a soothing manner, you clutched the sides of his jacket and surrendered to your burning pain. The feeling came on gradually, like a wave, starting out small and slowly building until it was overwhelming.

He hugged you tightly, whispering soft words into your hair. “Shhh, it’s all right Buttercup. I’m here.”

Cracking in front of your best friend was definitely not something you had put into account. You wished you could have waited to be in the silent comfort of your private quarters before opening the floodgates, releasing all the vulnerability you didn’t know you had mounting to that extent. The worries, the tiredness, the anger, the piled up frustration… even the feelings you were most certainly developing for Dream. But there also was something else, something amiss from within you that you couldn’t quite decipher. You let all that out, flowing through loud sobs and heavy gasps. The responsibilities crashing onto you were suffocating and the fear of failing the ones who were counting on you, believing in you, had you screaming in agony.

Hob didn’t speak, he let you vent against him, keeping you between his arms until you started to calm down. It felt like an eternity, but eventually the tears slowed down, your chest felt empty and a sense of calm washed over you as your strength and resilience started to come back. You pulled away, drying your soaked cheeks with the heavy sleeves of your coat.

“I’m sorry, Hob. I don’t know what’s gotten into me all of a sudden.”

He smiled, using his thumb to brush away the teardrops at the corner of your eyes. “I hope it’s not a guy. Do I need to break someone’s nose? Because I’ll do that.”

His gentle words caused a new rush of tears, so you took a deep breath and shook your head. “No, it’s not that. The thing is, I’m already lost, Hob. Do you know that feeling of constantly walking on thin ice, as if it could break at any moment and suck you underneath?”

He let out a pained snort. “I may know one thing or two about that, yes.”

“What did you do?” Your voice was shaking.

He let his mind drift, letting the memories of his past come back to him. As he searched his mind, images and thoughts came in. “I’m afraid I don’t have a real answer, Y/N. I just knew I still had a lot to live for, so I endured. And then, it was finally over. “

“Which means, after the rain comes a rainbow?”

“It may not look like it, but it always does.”

You shoved your hands into your pockets. “I don’t know. The past couple years have been a living nightmare. I just want it to be over, I want to live the dream.”

Interesting choice of words you picked there…

“Y/N, If someone can rise of the shitty storm, it’s you.”

You let that sink into your heart, using it as the motivation you seeked to move forward without teetering. You were tempted to tell him everything about the basement in Fawney Rig, about Dream of the Endless, about your intention of setting the entity free. You knew that Hob would never doubt your words and the secret you were carrying with you was consuming your thoughts, growing too big for you to handle on your own. You let it roll on your tongue, seething in anticipation as you were about to spill it, you had it coming closer and closer to the edge, you wanted to say it, you needed to.

But no. In the end, you drew it back with resignation, as you didn’t want to involve anyone else in Mr Burgess’s affairs. It wasn’t the right time, you figured, to reveal something you were still trying to process yourself.

The last rays of sunlight disappeared, painting the world around you with beautiful orange and yellow hues that blended with purples and pinks, creating an ever-shifting canvas of beauty. The birds flew through the sky, their feathers catching the colorful lights. The trees swayed in the gentle breeze blewing through your hair, their leaves rustled and reflected the glowing tones from above. For a moment, all your worries were forgotten, taken away by the sun dipping lower and lower behind the buildings.

“Hob, about that thing you said before, that you still had a lot to live for…”

“What about it?”

You spotted a few twinkling stars, marveling at the artistry of the lively sky shaping into different colors and forms.

Almost like a dream.

“Do you see how beautiful it is?”

Hob looked up as well, the golden tones of sunset were framing his chin and jawline, highlighting their sharpness and masculinity.

“Witnessing things like this with a good friend by your side… these are the moments that I consider worth living for.”

Hob smiled to himself, supportively patting you on the shoulder and keeping you against him with a tight, reassuring grip. It was his way to let you know that he would always be there for more sunsets, more sunrises, more storms and more rainbows forming into your life.

“You’re right. It is beautiful, isn’t it?”

When you crossed the threshold of your apartment, an awful stale smell filled your nostrils and you rushed into opening the windows to let the air flow. The plastic covers you placed over your furniture prevented the dust from forming onto their surfaces, but the amount of dirt you found lying around was too much to bear and it had to go.

You rolled up your sleeves, watered the plants, took broom and mop out of the storage room, washed the floor and dusted everything off with impeccable precision. Your muscles were now accustomed to the physical exertion, allowing you to do more in a shorter amount of time.

You dropped onto the couch, feeling mentally exhausted from the emotional outburst you had earlier. The lingering headache was pressing against your temples, which you gently rubbed with your hands in a circular motion.

Hob made you promise to be more communicative in the future, either through a text or a call every once in a while. You were still trying to figure out what triggered such an exponential reaction in the first place (after an incredibly positive and fun day at that), but you both assumed that the past couple years, along with the most recent events he knew very little about, had put a toll on you and ended up breaking the camel’s back.

You looked around, enjoying the familiarity of your home. You inspected each polished decoration, all the immaculate furnishing you meticously positioned to build the perfect den for yourself. The monthly rent was not on the cheap side, but every cent you were spending for that apartment was solidifying your independence.

The fact you couldn’t spend enough time in there anymore since you moved to your workplace was bothering you to no end.

Your eyes stopped on the bookshelf, filled to the brink with books of different genres. One volume in particular immediatly crossed your mind, but you didn’t see it while dusting the library off. You bolted on your feet, scanning the titles in search of the one you were looking for. Your fingers brushed along the spines of the books as you looked high and low, only to consolidate the fact that it seemed to have vanished.

You thought back to the last time you had seen it. You took all your favorite books with you when you left your father’s house, but you couldn’t remember seeing that one at all when you opened the boxes to unpack. Since you most definitely didn’t put it anywhere else, you concluded that it probably never left your old place, so now you had more than one reason to visit your father again on your next day off.

You gobbled down the disappointment and returned to the couch, using your coat as a blanket to cover up your legs. In the deep, deafening silence of your apartment, the faint sounds of the city outside seemed to be intensified. You could hear the cars honking, music playing in the background, people talking and laughing in the street and the occasional bark of a dog. It was like an orchestra with no conductor and it made you feel a little less alone.

The city was a tapestry of lights, of people and places, of stories and dreams.

Dream…

You could almost feel the energy radiating out of the town, a sort of magnetic draw that pulled you in, as if you were part of something grand and extraordinary.

Dream.

You loved to bury yourself in nature, but you could not deny that the magic of the city was equally extraordinary. As someone who grew up in London, it was hard for you to imagine a life somewhere else. Although you didn’t want to bite the hand that was feeding you, the more time passed, the harder it was to live secluded in Ashdown Forest.

But Dream…

Yes, Dream. The one who occupied the majority of your thoughts now. If you said that you weren’t attracted to him you would be in denial and shirking away from the reality of things would only bring you to a standstill. You were determined to ignore it, to push it away and pretend it wasn’t there. You’d been telling yourself that it was all in your head, that you didn’t feel the spark when he was near, that your heart didn’t beat a little faster, like it was doing now, whenever his face appeared into your mind.

You didn’t know what he effectively did when your hands indirectly touched through the glass. He used his power to relieve you from the coldness, but you felt him delving into your deepest thoughts and fears. His eyes looked past your physical form and into your innermost being, you felt his energy flowing through you as your worries faded away and you felt cared for. He didn’t speak, but his presence alone was louder than words. That touch was a connection that went beyond any explanation, it gave you a sense of peace and belonging you never experienced with any of the men you dated.

From a realistic and objective point of view, the feelings you had for Dream weren’t safe for your heart in the long run, but your inner voice wanted you to pursue with them, to explore them and let them flourish.

You closed your eyes. His perfect, beautiful face was the last thing you saw before succumbing to your weariness.

The air around you was eerie as you awoke on a cold floor. You were surrounded by rubble and scattered pieces of colorful glass, in what looked like a destroyed Cathedral room. You stood up on your feet, but you struggled to keep your balance with your legs feeling weak and unsteady. Your mind was fuzzy, all you felt was confusion and disorientation in a place you did not recognize.

The room was a strange mix of gothic and ancient elements. Stone pillars rose up from the large tiles and they were crowned with Greek busts that seemed to look at each other with deep contemplation. A long and curved staircase, only partially broken in places, led up to an empty throne. It was a seat of power remained vacant over a scene of destruction.

The stained glass windows behind it were in a state of disrepair, but the light streaming in through them (or coming from them, you weren’t sure) was so bright it was almost blinding. The colors that remained were casting their deep blue, vibrant green and fiery orange over the surrounding devastation.

The ceiling was completely missing and the sky above was unlike anything you had seen before. It was dark, almost inky and full of blinking stars. A red nebula was crossing that infinite black expanse, dancing in its own cosmic rythm. When you took a step back to admire its galactic beauty, something cracked loudly under your foot. You looked down, noticing a triangular piece of blue stained glass next to a smaller fragment that you had just accidentally pulverized with your boot. You knelt down to take the fragile chunk in your hand, it was oddly warm to the touch and you saw your face reflected on the smooth material as you turned it over. For a second, you bizarrely saw someone else flashing in it, glowing eyes appearing in place of your original iris hue and going back to normal.

“Who are you?”

Suddenly, you heard a gentle, yet startled voice speaking behind you. You nervously turned to its source with your fingers tightened around the fabric of your shirt, jolting up so fast that you almost fell backward.

A brown-skinned woman with a shaved head and pointy ears was staring at you with a mixture of curiosity and surprise. She had a pair of round glasses perched on her nose and she was wearing an elegant black suit that made her look like a cultured librarian. She wasn’t threatening at all, but she seemed cautious and kept a certain distance from where you were standing.

She was clearly waiting for an answer, but your mind was still hazy and it took you a moment to even remember your name. So you racked your brain, drawing it from the depths of your memory. “I’m Y/N. Y/N Y/LN.”

She tilted her head slightly, her expression softened as she studied you intently from head to toe. “Do you know where you are?”

You thought about it, taking another look at the disheartening wreckage. The world around you was unfamiliar. “No. And I don’t know how I got here, either.”

The woman steeled her nerves and took a step foward, her hands moved from behind her back and crossed to her front. “You are a dreamer.”

Your eyes were drawn to the galaxy above, each star seemed to held a story of its own. “I never dream though.”

“You’re here now, are you not?”

Her voice was soothing, echoing in the vastness of the room.

“Define ‘here’.”

Her lips twisted into a half-smile. “The Dreaming. This is Lord Morpheus’s castle, or rather, what remains of it.”

She gestured to the ruined structure in front of you, the walls crumbled as you heard a distant crunching sound.

“The Dreaming… Lord Morpheus…”

The more you searched for any clue, any piece of information that could help you understand, the more questions you found instead. “I don’t understand… what happened to this place?”

The woman lowered her eyes with a deep sense of distress. She breathed in deeply, her chest rising and falling as she adjusted her glasses. “Lord Morpheus left many years ago. Without him, The Dreaming has started to decay and it continued deteriorating ever since. Even the Waking World is suffering from this change, in a way.”

There were pieces of the palace everywhere you looked, as if the aftermath of a war had been spread across the entire floor. There was no deniying the darkness of it all, yet you could still see the beauty in it. The colorful lights emitted by the windows made your heart swell with hope and even in the chaos you could sense the energy that had been left behind.

“I suppose it cannot be fixed in any way?”

She shook her head. “Without Lord Morpheus, The Dreaming is beyond repair.”

“Will he return?”

“I know he will.”

You carefully placed the glass piece you were still holding back on the ground. “I still don’t know why I’m here…”

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Neither do I. I did not expect to see a dreamer here. Especially not in the palace… and not in the throne room.”

You stayed silent, listening to the far thunders and collapsing noises. Her dark brown eyes shone with kindness and knowledge, giving you a feeling of peace.

And then, everything began to fade, darkening and disappearing. The woman’s features became unclear as she got shrouded in a thin layer of mist, you could barely make out the shape of her lips, moving as she spoke to you. “You are waking up.”

The urge of closing your eyes and let yourself go into the forming void was traveling along your body, but you resisted it. “Wait!” You exclaimed. “I don’t know your name!”

You looked for something to hold on to, as The Dreaming was literally capsizing now. You felt her warm hand grasping yours to hold you there for a moment longer, your head was getting heavy and you couldn’t stand properly anymore.

“It’s Lucienne,” she replied. “Perhaps one day I could show you my library, I am sure you will love it.”

“Lucienne… will I remember you? And this?”

You were now suspended between two different dimensions, the sounds of the city outside your windows was mingling with the echo of her voice. “You may. Or, you may not. Until we meet again.”

You tried to respond, but you no longer felt her touch and the black abyss enveloped you in its nothingness.

Your eyes snapped open and your heart raced as you franctically took your phone from your pocket. You groaned seeing the time, massaging your aching neck and shivering for the cold air of the evening, the sun now completely set.

“Did I just doze off? That’s new.”

You grabbed your coat, took one last look around to make sure that everything was in place and closed the windows, muffling the sounds of the outside world.

You heard the click of the door lock while twisting the key, feeling a pang of sadnass for leaving your home behind yet again. Your comfortable couch, the city skyline that you enjoyed admiring from the living room, the small balcony you had spent so much time sprucing up, the bathtub in which you could relax in in a sea of foam and then your bedroom, transformed into your own personal studio for your creative works.

There was only one thing you were looking forward to: Dream. You wanted to see him; his eyes, his face, his beauty and his comforting energy.

Stepping out of your apartment building, you looked up and down the street. The taxi was already on its way, lights flashing in the darkness and illuminating the empty road. When it halted, the driver opened the back-door and you got in, giving him the address for Wych Cross and letting him take off again.

You glanced out the window, watching a few stars twinkling dimly through the forming clouds in the sky. You took in the sights, the streetlights casting a soft glow on the buildings and the people who hurried along the sidewalks.

An odd feeling was tugging at your heart and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. It was an unexplicable sensation, like you had lost something important and yet you didn’t know what it was.

You had no memory of Lucienne, The Dreaming or the crumbling palace you had seen in your dream - a dream you didn’t know you had.

Thank you for your patience and my apologies for the delay. I struggled a bit with this one because I wanted it to sound just right and I also took some time to do some more research (plus working and irl stuff keeping busy).

For more notes and info, go check the final notes on AO3!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 4 ->

[f1gtre3]

Regulus wonders when the brush of his mother's fingers against his cheeks turned into sharp stings. When the love was twisted and drenched out, stripped to its core, flesh peeled away to reveal the rotting, blackened bones of hate. He also wonders why.

Why, maman? Why must you hurt me? Is it not my fault? Or is it yours? Do you need to hurt me maman? Please, I don't want you to. I miss you, maman.

He bites his tongue before these words can spill out of his mouth like the blood that slowly fills it at the force of his teeth, staining them red. He will return to his dimly lit bedroom and lean over the drawer, pulling his lips up to admire the pomegranate seeds in the mirror. 

Sometimes, Sirius will burst into the room. Oh, lovely Sirius and his grating voice, his unruly hair and slouched back. How Regulus worships him, takes pieces and chunks of him for his own, selfishly and proudly. Sirius never notices Regulus rip these slabs with his grey eyes (eyes which he shares with the victim of them). Regulus puts them in a jar, kept away in some estranged corner of his mind. They will be considered necessary soon enough. Every small everything of everything is sacred to Regulus. His keen eyes and hungry soul do not dare to skip over anything as they study and consume, silent and deadly.

Of course, he is only nine years into his string of a life.

When Sirius will burst in, he will click his tongue disapprovingly, a sound that Regulus relishes. How sweet, his older brother and his concern, rooted deeply from his love, the same scarlet river that flows through both their cold veins. Love is something Regulus will cling on to. 

Sirius will call him foolish, as does everybody else. ‘Fool’ is a common place for the Blacks, as selfishness, guilt and power all are. What makes a fool? Books that he flicks through will whisper their answers to him, what they think of the simple word.

A person who acts unwisely? Regulus is not unwise, per se. He knows exactly what he is doing as he does it. Everything is calculated and precise with the scrawny boy.

A jester, or a clown, especially one retained in a royal or noble household. This, Regulus thinks, is more feasible. Noble. Noble, like the Noble House of Black. He wonders if he is a mere actor, hired to play the role of the dutiful son, all for amusement. He moves on.

Silly. Regulus scoffs and rips the page off. Not even a book gets away with this insult. 

Trick or deceive someone; a dupe. Now, Regulus is smart enough to know that this speaks of a different context entirely. But he grins, a little maniacal. To switch the word around, slap it in their faces. Make them the fool. 

Regulus Black is not a fool, he knows, yet he lets Sirius and his mother chant the word at every chance they get, because it is their way of showing him that he is, as a matter of fact, theirs. It has become his favourite word. Their fool.

Sirius helps Regulus stumble into the bathroom, both of their bare feet pressing against the cool stone beneath them. He presses his fingers into the skin underneath Regulus’ cheeks, forcing his mouth open. Unfazed by the sight, Sirius lets some water flow out of the sink and into his cupped hand, splashing it into Regulus’ mouth without warning. Regulus protests, nostrils flaring and water bubbling in his mouth as tries to twist out of Sirius’ grip, the nails digging into his skin, permanently indenting it, branding it: Sirius’. He reaches for Regulus’ teeth, rubbing continuously, between the small gaps to rid the blood. Regulus will bite at the tip of Sirius’ fingers and Sirius will frown at Regulus as he pokes his tongue out in mockery, like a clown.

This is them: the messes and the patches, and everything in between.

[beikonsims]

With two new babies in the house, John had no excuse from waking up early and helping his wife around. Not that he planned on skipping the morning diaper changing or anything.

Kaylynn wasn't sure if she wanted to work again. She enjoyed cleaning around, but working as a maid brought her nothing but trouble. She also knew very well her reputation at the company has been stained and it's unlikely they would hire her again.

For the time being, John was the sole breadwinner of the household. He's been doing well at work, so he wasn't exactly complaining. But he definitely wished to spend more time with the family, not just in the afternoons or on the weekends.

[autumnalwalker]

ROY G BIV tag

Thank you for the tag, @druidx. This looks like a fun new one.

Passing the (entirely optional) tag to @rickie-the-storyteller, @on-noon, @yourlocalboredprocastinator, @ghost-town-story. @broodparasitism, @itusebastian, @void-botanist, and an open tag for anyone else.

Rules: Search your your writing for the colours of the rainbow and post the excerpt

Red: Empty Names - 14 - Down Low

When Ashan finds her some ten minutes later with a satiated smile on her face and watching the spider pull in their stygian catch from the lake, the cut on Eris’s forehead has already healed.  None of the blood painting her new armor red is hers.

Orange: The Archivist's Journal, Day 78

As long as I’m writing, I suppose I ought to take a moment to describe the landing area.  It was another jutting cliff with an arch on the end, like Siren Overlook and the one we encountered to the west.  Twice could be a coincidence, but three times and I’m convinced the whole formation is artificial, not just the arch, columns, and pool.  It wasn’t nearly so overgrown as the western dock – if anything the columns were in better shape than at Siren Overlook – but whereas Siren Overlook was mostly covered in short grass with the occasional tiny white flower or stubborn shrub this was a veritable field of bright orange flowers broken only by the water lily filled pool running down the center.

Yellow: The Archivist's Journal, Day 60

Doffing my boots and carrying them in one hand, I waded in a short ways as I walked the perimeter of the spring.  It’s curious how unafraid the fish and turtles swimming the shallows were of me.  Most I could practically get within arm’s length before they darted away, and if I stood still for a few minutes, small schools of finger-length yellow fish would congregate in my shadow.

Green: The Archivist's Journal, Day 9

Hurrying to catch up with my young companion I pushed my way through the crooked door only to nearly trip over her.  The morning light had transformed the interior space from a surreal void to an awe-inspiring expanse.  Light filled the central nave.  As green leaf-filtered streams on the high side windows.  As vertical golden rays replacing the prior night’s columns of rain from holes in the roof.  As an iridescent wave coming in from the bare remains of a curved stained glass window backlighting the statue of the Reader.  All this reflected off the broad leaf and moss-filled puddles that stretched across much of the floor, still not evaporated days later.  The side aisles were a tangle of roots from the trees above, quite possibly doing as much to hold the structure up as the pillars separating aisle from nave.

Indigo: Witch's Testament: The Fighter

Weapons are raised and aimed.  The crowd begins to back away.  Someone above cracks a joke about how they should have just skipped to waving guns around if it was going to be this easy to solve the problem.

The crowd only backs off so far though, most that made it through the outer gate are still on the inside of it.  Those still stuck beyond push one another over the wall so some might get a better view.  A lone figure left behind by the receding sea of people remains standing in the middle of the reef of broken and smoking drones, tens of meters from the protesters behind him and the forces before him.  His dark clothes are long and billowing.  His pointed hat is wide brimmed to hide his face.  His serpentine familiar, assembled from scavenged and stolen parts, coils up one arm, over his shoulders, and down the other.

Someone in the line of hired guns makes an incredulous remark under his breath about cosplaying wizards.

The man corrects him to say that he’s a witch and his voice echoes through every loudspeaker, portable device, and auditory implant in the building.

The witch strides forward, his eyes glowing indigo from the shadows beneath his hat and matched by those of his slowly uncoiling familiar.

Someone gives an order to fire and an electrified dart wizzes past the unperturbed witch.  Six more darts miss.  Rubber bullets are loaded and combat implants lock in firing trajectories.

To the eyes of the security personnel, every shot should be a hit but impossibly passes through their target and out the other side.  To the eyes of the protestors the witch is walking through a hail of bullets that are all miraculously going astray.  To the eyes of the witch, every implant-assisted firing solution coming from the soldiers before him is being outlined in indigo and nudged to exactly where he wants it.

The witch has already crossed the security line and is on the steps of the building behind them by the time someone catches on and spins around to aim and fire manually.  His familiar rears up and hisses.  The shot goes wide as the entire security contingent seizes up, spasms, and falls to the ground.

The moment the witch crosses the threshold, every light in the building goes out, every door unlocks save for those to the roof and underground garage, and every camera becomes a witch’s eye.

Violet: A Dream About Purple

We are all too busy watching the game to notice anything wrong until a third team tries to take the field.  Their uniforms are purple and their hair appears to be dyed to match.  All of them wear the same vacant smile that crawled its way out of the uncanny valley and speak with offputting singsong voices. 

It is only then that we all look up and see the storm rolling in, stretching across the horizon with clouds of that same unnaturally vibrant violet.  Eerie music rides the wind ahead of the storm, heralding its imminent arrival.