#so if there's a surge of content on my part blame that

[livetogether--diealone]

I just think that this

[thesunisatangerine]

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part eleven

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: explicit sexual content, mentions of death, scars

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 11.4k

Early Tuesday morning, you opened the door to Alexia who–to your surprise, but not really–had on a pair of training shorts, a plain jersey under an unzipped hoodie, a New Era cap on, her hair left down while a pair of sunglasses completed her look. And just like the other time she came to visit, she had you in her arms the moment she was close enough, pulling you into her for a kiss on your temple and then your lips.

“Hello, you.” You said as you pecked her cheek, smelling the familiar sharpness of sunscreen on her skin. Then you held her at arm’s length so you could look at her better before you asked, “Did you just come from training? I thought you won’t be back until Saturday?” 

Alexia chuckled, clearly amused, raising her brows at you for your shameless display at checking her out. But who could blame you, really, with her looking so damn good in a training jersey. She replied, “No, I’m actually–”

She halted, tilting her head to the side to look over you, and then she switched to English when she spoke again, taking her sunglasses off to place them on top of her cap as she grinned, “Hola, chiquita, you ready?”

When you looked over your shoulder you saw Elisa framed by the archway and the open door that led to the backfield, standing in her favourite Alexia jersey and Barça shorts, cheeks tinted red while her forehead shone with sweat, a football between her hands. 

“Hi, Alexia!” Elisa’s hand fluttered in an eager wave, her grin a brilliant beam, before she began to take off her sneakers and zoomed right up the stairs, shouting over her shoulders. “I’m ready! Lemme just grab my stuff!” 

Ah, now it made sense. 

You wondered why Elisa couldn’t sit still last night and even during the day, she practically buzzed with excitement. Initially, you associated the surge in energy from the promise of another day spent with Alexia, but now you understood that whatever the two of them had planned involved football and that was the reason why Elisa’s enthusiasm for today had increased twofold. 

As if Alexia was your mirror, you found her reflecting your expression when you turned back to her; she had an appraising gaze fixed on Elisa accompanied by an amused smile, and your heart filled with the urge to kiss her so you did. You kept your arms loose around her neck when you parted so you could look into those eyes you found yourself missing every minute that you were apart.

“When did you guys plan this?” You asked as you toyed with the ends of her hair.

“When we were at the Barça store. Elisa asked me for some tips and I offered to train her for the day.” Alexia hummed, fiddling with the hoops of your jeans. Then the inner corners of her brows quirked up, bashful when she asked, “I hope that’s okay?” 

Touched by her thoughtfulness, you traced the line of her brow as you spoke, “More than okay as long as it’s alright with you. And I should be thanking you.”

“It is, don’t worry. I get to spend time with the both of you and play football at the same time. Win-win.” Alexia said in a matter-of-fact tone and flashed you a radiant half-smile, and it made your chest and cheeks warm, obviously charmed by her, and the lightness in her eyes made those words all the more earnest to you. So you cupped her cheek and pressed a soft kiss against her jaw in gratitude. 

Then you whispered, “Thank you.”

Alexia pulled up at a deserted football pitch, the morning still early enough that the dew had not entirely dissipated from the grass when you got out of the car. The sound of the doors closing echoed from the emptiness of the space, Alexia’s call over the roof of the car sounding louder than it actually was. 

“Chiquita, I’m gonna need your help unloading the equipment at the back.”

Elisa stuck a thumbs up into the air as an answer. 

As you made up your mind that you’d just watch them do their thing, you tinkered with your camera around your neck, following them to the trunk but after Alexia popped it open, the sight both surprised and amused you. When Alexia said equipment, you’d envisioned a bag of balls, several cones, and the like but what you hadn’t considered–when in fact you really should’ve–was Alexia’s disposition for coming prepared, the scene in front of you a testament against your blatant underestimation of her ability. You watched them haul bags upon bags from the trunk–ranging from pop-up goals, agility poles and ladders, rebound boards, and other football paraphernalia–and as you spied the growing pile of things by the side of the car, you snapped a photo before laughter escaped your lips.

Two pairs of eyes darted your way with equal confusion, stopping their busy hands for a moment. You pointed at the pile, “Do you always keep these back here?”

“Why, of course, darling. All the time.” Despite the dryness of her tone, the term of endearment set your cheeks aflame. Then Alexia raised her brows at Elisa, “Elisa, could you please tell your mom to stop being mean and help us?”

“Yeah, Mom, stop laughing at us and come help, please.” Elisa giggled, gladly playing along before she eventually returned back to her task.

You scoffed with no real sting to it, grabbing the water bottle rack and slinging a bag over your shoulder as you whined, “I can’t believe you’re ganging up on me.”

At that, Alexia only scrunched her nose at you, smiling, before she closed the trunk–all the equipment were out finally!–then the three of you began lugging everything to the empty field, happy to follow their lead. After setting down the things you took where Alexia and Elisa were, you went to the sidelines, unfolding the chairs Alexia brought along. When you turned back to the scene, Elisa was already doing some stretches–as per Alexia’s instructions probably–while Alexia set up and, once done, she joined Elisa to warm up as well. But before she started, she waved you over as she called out, “Come join us!”

The desire to join them wasn’t lost to you but so was the weight of your omission to Alexia about what happened while you were gone–what would you say when you pass out from exertion if you joined them?–so you gave her a dismissive wave, lifting your camera as an excuse. Relief filled you when, with a shrug of her shoulders as if to say it was your loss, Alexia patted Elisa’s back before she pointed to the opposite goal line, taking off in a jog right after, their strides in time with each other. You put your camera over your eye and took a photo of them, but even though you busied your hands with the lever and buttons of your camera, your mind remained occupied with another matter.

The past few days were spent in a state of bliss; the ease by which you and Alexia had slipped back into each other’s lives was more than a surprise to you, pleasant in its own right but it was beginning to dim the longer you kept your story to yourself. It wasn’t a deliberate omission. You just hadn’t found the right time to breach the topic because, after all, how could one easily part with such a fact to a lover when even you dare not step to that precipice and stare into that void? But you knew you at least owe Alexia that much; to enlighten her about what she was truly signing up for. 

Today. 

You promised yourself you were going to talk to her about it today.

Returning back to yourself, you regarded the scene before you, took photos, and shouted encouragement every now and then. It continued on for a couple more hours: Alexia, who had occupied the role of the trainer, stood a vigilant watch over her novitiate, guiding Elisa with instructions you couldn’t quite hear but the complementing gestures she made gave you a semblance of what they were, as she exclaimed and clapped her hands to compliment and motivate; and Elisa followed with apt diligence, serious and attentive to every line, every move. By the time their feet had stopped disturbing the grass, the sun neared its highest peak, its warmth and the promise of a good day had already invited more than a handful of people to occupy other parts of the field. 

After they’d finished cooling down, you watched Elisa run off to the restrooms while Alexia trudged her way over to you, bags of equipment on her which she deposited on another growing pile on the sideline, taking a water bottle in hand. She brushed her hand over the nape of your neck for a second before she dropped to the chair next to you with an audible huff, and you patted her knee in response to her apparent exhaustion while she drank from her bottle, just a little out of breath. 

“Damn. Sorry, I forgot to bring the umbrella.” Alexia said as she shielded her eyes to look at you, one eye squinted from the harsh light. She softly grazed a knuckle over your cheek, “Did you put sunblock on?”

You replied in the affirmative as you leaned into her touch, and Alexia nodded in approval before she took her hand away, taking another sip of water. In the silence that followed, you thought, ‘Should I tell her now?’

“Alexia, I–”

Alexia’s lips crinkled around a mouthful of water, raising her brows at you before she jutted her chin forward. Confused, you looked to where she indicated and found Elisa surrounded by a group of kids, some of them taller and looked to be slightly older, who now occupied the once empty space that Elisa and Alexia had just been training on and in a blink of an eye, a small game of football had commenced. Shouts and laughter filled the air as they continued, passing, tackling, shooting; Elisa flew untethered along with her peers, face free from any worries and filled with glee. 

The two of you were a fair distance away from the youngsters that they hadn’t noticed nor recognised that Alexia watched over them with a proud–if not a bit sombre–countenance for the sight, probably, to her, was a validation–proof–of how far women had cemented their place in football compared to when she was of their age. These kids, boys and girls alike, now had their own paragons of light to follow, the names and numbers of their guiding stars shining bold on their backs–the names of women… Alexia’s including. You regarded the woman next to you, chest welling up at the soft gaze you saw there aimed towards the children, a thought clear in your mind that you longed to speak, ‘This is the fruit of your labour, what you and the others had fought–and still fighting–for.’

Alexia’s eyes flitted to meet yours as if magnetised by your volition, the colour of them almost green against the backdrop of the field.

“If Elisa was given the chance to play for Barçelona’s youth team, what would you do?”

You blinked as the question caught you off guard. There was no doubt what you would do but the abruptness by which it was brought up made you squint your eyes at her. Why would she bring that up unless she knew something? Unless she was about to do or already had done something? But as you regarded her with a careful eye, you found nothing in her features that betrayed answers to your questions, her face a blank canvas–perhaps a bit too neutral.

“Alexia, did you do something?”

Alexia shrugged, pulling the corners of her mouth down for good measure before it settled to a smile, then she answered in the negative, “Nothing. It was a question. Purely hypothetical.” 

Her answer did little to convince you but you answered in truth anyway. “Move here, of course.” 

At that, Alexia only hummed but a light twinkled in her eye–one not dissimilar to the one you found in them the night you met–a light that told you she knew something you didn’t. She brushed her thumb over her chin before she tore her gaze away, focusing her attention back to the match in front of her. And before you could question her further, excited screams filled the air and, when Alexia stood right after, you knew she’d been found.

You stood aside as the kids flocked towards Alexia and you captured the scene with a smile while Alexia conversed with the kids, bumping their fists and posing with them when they asked for a photo. You felt a presence beside you and, upon turning your head, saw Elisa with a look of admiration on her face, a mirrored expression among the children there. It went on for a bit and another game of football commenced but now with Alexia in the mix, but half an hour later, you were all packed up with everything back in Alexia’s trunk, and the three of you were off. 

On the way back after lunch, Elisa and Alexia chatted, discussing things about football with equal enthusiasm. The sound of their amusement filled the car, and with the day ending on such a high note, you felt compelled not to say anything about what you planned to tell Alexia as you didn’t have the heart to bring it down. 

And as you laughed at one of Alexia’s dry jokes, you resigned your promise.

Tomorrow. 

You would talk to her about it tomorrow. 

Unlike the day before, Alexia came by early–early enough that Elisa was still asleep while you, yourself, only woke up just about half an hour ago–but that was no surprise. It was rare for Alexia to sleep in; the rigorous conditioning her body had borne throughout the years made her circadian rhythm almost permanent, something that you’d teased her about from your time before–something that you teased her about just then.

“I don’t hear you complaining about it.” She muttered against your ear and, though you couldn’t see it for she had her front pressed against your back with her hands gentle on your hips as you made two sets of coffee, you could practically hear the pout in her voice. 

“I’m not! It’s actually kinda cute.” You laughed before you added, “You’re cute.”

“I’m really not,” Alexia practically whined, hiding her face in the crook of your neck and the feel of her there tickled you, so you tried to angle yourself away but she clung to you as you felt her laugh against your skin.

“Alexia! You’re going to make me spill the coffee!” 

When the both of you finally made it to the couch with no drop of coffee spilt, you tucked in by Alexia’s side, her arm over your shoulder as the both of you revelled in each other’s company, sipping at your beverage, you broached the news to her. 

“Your brother’s coming here?” She asked with surprise and with both brows raised.

At how she posed the question, you couldn’t help but giggle. “I love the way you made it sound like he’s not the one who owns this house. But yes, later today, probably around evening or earlier, depending on when he’ll finish his meeting in Madrid this morning.” 

Alexia blew a puff of air, a bit petulant, as she muttered low–although still deliberately loud enough for you to hear, “It’s kinda easy to forget when he’s never here.”

The both of you broke out laughing. Then a pensive look took over her demeanour, her fingers fiddled with the ends of her hair, something that you noticed she did whenever she felt at peace or whenever she was worrying about something. You had a feeling it was the latter with the way her brows were slightly creased in the middle, but the question that left her lips, which was spoken in a soft tongue, confirmed your inkling to be true.

“What’s he like?”

Ah. 

Seeing Alexia unsure about herself was a rare occurrence, even more than seeing her vulnerable which was saying a lot. So you laid a hand on the nape of her neck, chest warming when she leaned back to seek more of your touch, and you ran your thumb over the skin just below her ear to keep her at ease. 

“He’s… my best friend and the best brother I could ever ask for. He’s funny;  likes to tease me a lot, but he’s protective.” At the mention of the word, Alexia’s frown deepened before you could even finish what you wanted to say, “And trust me when I tell you, he’ll definitely like you.”

But your reassurance seemed to have gone out the other ear for the movement of her finger didn’t cease and her eyes remained clouded with something akin to worry. You allowed her another moment more with her thoughts before you booped her nose and watched as her eyes fluttered, the light of her presence returning in them as she regarded you. And so, with light amusement, you said in the hopes that Alexia would finally listen, “Just give him the same attitude you gave me a minute ago, you’ll get along really well.” 

At that, Alexia let out a small chuckle and, as it trailed off, the smile that graced her lips lingered; what you said hadn’t fully expelled the doubt from her eyes but the fact it was lessened made you feel better. 

Alexia sighed after another lapse in silence. “I just want to make a good impression, you know? And thank him.”

“Thank him for what?”

She shifted so her face was angled more to you and held a gentle finger on your chin to keep you looking into her eyes, soft and earnest.

“For intertwining your fate with mine,” she said, each syllable spoken with the gentlest of air.

Your heart stuttered at her confession, the gravity of it heavier with Alexia’s belief in fate, and words eluded you so you could do nothing but take her hand to reveal her palm, and kissed her there.

Then after another brief pause, Alexia asked, “Does he know about us?”

“I think so. I haven’t told him anything directly but I think he’s put two and two together.” You pushed the memory of how your heart monitor betrayed you back from the forefront of your mind, but your cheeks heated up anyway. As you massaged the spot between Alexia’s brows with your thumb in the hopes of soothing her frown away, you added, “Please, don’t worry about it too much. He’s Derek; as long as I’m happy, he’s happy.”

“And are you? Happy?” The vulnerability that you found in her eyes made you ache, not unpleasant, just a sense of fullness that longed to break free. You pressed a kiss on her temple, then to the corner of her lips.

“More than I could ever put into words. You make me so happy, Alexia. You really do.”

Later that day, just around late afternoon after spending most of the day training–you, of course, only a spectator–the three of you found yourselves walking along the beach after a late lunch. It was a bit further on when, as you conversed with each other, an exclamation made you stop and look over your shoulders.

“Oh, my god.”

Standing a few paces behind you was a young man, tall in frame, cheeks still round with traces of his youth, the stubble along his jaw and chin a direct contrast, making it known to you that he’d probably just recently entered his early twenties. The first thing you noted was the camera that dangled from his neck–you recognised the model, vintage–and you barely schooled your features from showing your surprise; he was a photographer not only for leisure but if he was, well, that was one expensive camera for a hobbyist. 

Habit made you step aside–you’d been out in public with Alexia a handful of times now to know how this would go–but as you did, the young man’s eyes followed you, intent, and that confounded you. 

“I’m sorry, did I interrupt you?” His brown eyes flitted between you, Alexia, then Elisa, his small smile apologetic as the paleness of his cheeks turned rosy.

Alexia waved a careless hand in the air as she spoke in English, “No, you’re okay.”

“How can we help you?” You asked, smiling at him politely. 

The man stepped forward as he patted the pouch of his shirt, then he dug his hands into his jean pockets, then you watched him procure a marker, his hands shaking as he handed it to you. 

“I can’t believe it’s you. I wish I had your book with me but I don’t–I, I’m sorry, can I get a photo and your signature?”

You couldn’t prevent the surprise from showing on your face even if you had the time to try. Your eyes drifted to Alexia, and the question that was clear in your mind that you knew Alexia could probably read on your face. What was happening?

The action of yourself nodding preceded the intention and you watched, still in a state of confusion, as the man handed his phone over to Alexia so she could take a photo of you both. As you posed and looked at Alexia behind the camera, you found a familiar light in her eyes and from the slight upturn of her brows, you knew Alexia was more than slightly amused at the role reversal. When Alexia began to count down, you smiled at the person taking the photo more than for the image itself, and once done, she handed the lad his phone back.

You signed the back of a used plane ticket–the only paper of decent quality, as per his words, that he could find on his person that could house your signature–and after handing it back to him, you said, smiling, “I’m sorry if I looked more than a little confused. This doesn’t happen often, I only ever get asked for photos at events, and it’s usually the other way around!” 

“No, please, don’t be sorry. I–I just truly admire your photojournalistic work,” he stuttered as he tucked the plane ticket in his shirt pocket. “I read your book about your most recent conflict coverage and that photoset… It chilled me to the bone the first time I saw it. I’m sorry you had to see that in person.”

Images tore their way out from the shadows of your mind, their teeth bare and gnashing: vacant eyes from where souls were ripped away, crooked fingers accusatory, and the stench–

You shut your eyes as a malignant chill crept over you, crawling under your skin that left your muscles weak, and even beneath the Barcelona summer sun, you trembled. And the memories flooded back: Elisa with her mother, the shots, and now the scars on your body burnt anew. You took a deep breath and took careful note of where you were: there was a baby crying a few paces away, a large wave just arrived home to the shore, there was a call of a seagull overhead, someone with coffee walked past you, and… there was the familiar warmth and weight of Alexia’s hand on your back.

The moment you opened your eyes, the man was looking at you with concern and regret while, when you turned your head to the side, Alexia and Elisa were obviously distressed.

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

You held a hand up before the man could hurt himself. “It’s alright. They come back to me sometimes without being reminded so you don’t need to apologise. And thank you for your concern.”

More than willing to change the topic, you jutted your chin at his camera, “Are you a photojournalist, too?”

“That’s the plan. I’m only working freelance at the moment and I’m not really sure which branch to pursue. I can hear conflict photojournalism calling to me, though.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck. In his answer, you sensed a ‘but’ so you asked as much.

He casted his eyes down for a moment before he regarded you again, gaze wary. “But… I’m scared I won’t be able to handle seeing those things in person. And I’m scared of being hurt, of being killed. Just like what you saw and what… what happened to you. I don’t know if I could survive it.”

From the corner of your eyes, you could see and feel the weight of Alexia’s stare–a burning question that branded you–and you clenched your fist as guilt flooded your veins. Foolish! You should’ve told her yesterday. She deserved more than hearing about it like this. But no matter what was done was done–the moment had passed–and the only thing you could do now was to tell her after this. 

Despite your inner turmoil, you focused on the man, and smiled at him softly for you understood what he was going through, the same place you once stood before you answered the call of that very wind.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s a difficult choice to make. The camera cannot shield you from the danger and the violence and, well, death, but it can bear witness, and can show the world what’s happening. You have your whole life ahead of you, you don’t need to jump in just yet. And if you hear that call again a bit later and find yourself ready, then, why not?”

At that, the young man’s demeanour brightened. Then his brows scrunched up, now seemingly worried, his question spoken with a light, enquiring air, “You mentioned in your book that this was the closest you’d ever come to dying, do you think you’ll ever get back into conflict photography?”

With the uncouth way it was posed, the question made you flinch with its directness. You had half a mind to reprimand but you recognised this–the journalistic instinct to question, to uncover, even if certain situations shouldn’t warrant such intrusions–so you let it pass because as was the case for every learned skill, interviewing demanded the same amount of practice to develop. He was young, he still had so much to learn and time, as was the case for everything, would be his teacher. 

A shuffling sound drew your attention to Elisa who was standing close to Alexia, clutching your lover’s hand with both of hers in a firm grip, her wide eyes fixed on you upon hearing what the man said, a sombre question reflected in her eyes, ‘Are you going to leave me, too?’ 

Although the call was very much there–the need to be the echo chamber for those who’d lost their voice still strong in your soul–you found yourself now tethered: to love and responsibility, so you shook your head, more so for Elisa’s sake than the man’s.

“It’s selfish, I know, but I have so much more to lose now. But, as I said, the call will always be there and I can’t control what the future brings, so who knows, really?” You shrugged, smiling at the man.

Satisfied, the man retreated but not before you gave him a business card for you and Derek’s firm; with a little bit of guidance and experience, he had potential to do good–although you did warn him that a spot for him wasn’t guaranteed, but he still accepted it gratefully. Once the man finally left, Elisa approached you, her shirt bunched up at the hem from the firm grip of her fists, eyes wide as she gazed up at you.

“Are you okay, Mom?”

You cupped her cheek and brushed a thumb under a glassy eye–Elisa was upset.“I’m alright, honey. How are you feeling?”

Elisa’s chin quivered and a tear ran down her cheek, and when she spoke, her words were whispered in haste. “Are you going to leave? Please, don’t, I don’t want you to get hurt again, I don’t want you to die. I–” 

Oh, Elisa.

Immediately you took her into your arms in the hopes that you could ease her distress and when she clutched at your shirt as her tears soaked through the fabric, your heart began to ache and your eyes burnt as well. 

“I’m not leaving, ladybug. I’m not. I won’t leave you behind, I promise.”

The ride to the house was a silent affair; even the short walk that led up to Alexia’s car was suffused with silence. After getting in the car and putting her seatbelt on Elisa immediately dozed off–from the emotional toll on top of the physical strain she’d endured during the day–and it was relieving. Alexia on the other hand…

Ever since she’d heard the words from Ben–the photojournalist–she completely receded and everything she did, seemed to you, were performed on autopilot; her every movement mechanical, stiff. Her face remained stoic: her brows formed a flat line, the light in her eyes so ineffably dim made it known to you she was somewhere far away; the way that her hands shook as she gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles told you which plane Alexia had found herself in–a hellscape. 

It hurt seeing Alexia like this and you felt like you had to say something but you bit your tongue and instead, you placed a gentle hand on her right knee and applied just enough pressure to hopefully pull her back from her thoughts. It seemed to work for when she glanced at you, her mask of passivity cracked with the way her gaze softened, her lips now pressed into a thin line, almost quivering. The moment only lasted seconds but it left a profound mark in your heart, made all the more indelible when Alexia took your hand in hers–even with the heat from Barcelona’s summer evening, you felt her palm cold as ice–and intertwined your fingers in a firm grip while the other remained to steer the car until you reached the house.

By the time you arrived, the last vestiges of the sun tinged the skies in its sombre purple and pink, the tangerine glow from within the house a stark contrast to the growing darkness. When Alexia parked the car, the front door opened and more of that warm light spilled out and a shadow stretched long in its wake, and at the end of it, the familiar, large frame of Derek.

While Elisa immediately jumped out of the car to greet her uncle, Alexia’s hands remained on the wheel despite the lack of engine, now gripping for a different reason, her eyes trained on the imposing figure of your brother. To be fair, who wouldn’t? With the top of his head nearly grazing the doorframe and the width of his shoulders, just by looking at his stature alone, most wouldn’t even consider the words ‘soft’ and ‘sentimental’ to describe him. So the reflection of anxiety in her eyes was not new to you, but this was different because this was Alexia.

You placed a hand over one of hers on the wheel, coaxing her attention by squeezing her hand. “Alexia?”

She looked at you, blinked. Then a strained, “Yeah?”

“You’re going to be fine.”

Alexia looked at Derek again before she whispered through her teeth, “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes. Hey,” you brushed your thumb over her cheek before you tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, Alexia’s eyes flicked back to you. Then you took her hand, pressed your lips on the back of it. “Alexia, breathe. You can do this, and I’ll be right here with you.”

True to your words, the moment Alexia gathered the courage to walk up the porch, Derek’s face broke into a grin that thawed the ever-present ice in his demeanour, enveloping Alexia in a hug. Despite Alexia’s tall frame, she looked almost like a child next to Derek, needing to crane her neck to look up when it was usually the other way around with you, as they chatted.

Then Derek finally took note of Alexia’s demeanour now that she was past Derek’s defences, and he voiced with concern, “Are you okay, Alexia? You look a bit pale. Do you need to stay over?” 

The reminder almost made Alexia a ghostly apparition by how much more her colour drained out from her. She pressed her lips in a thin line, dug her hands into her short pockets, while the muscles in her back coiled so much that you could see the planes of her muscles through her jersey. She replied tersely, “I’m alright and no, I’d rather not disturb you.” 

At what she said, you knew what you needed to do. You went to Derek and said in a voice enough for only him to hear.

“Derek, could you help Elisa start packing her things? I need to do something.”

“Okay.” A question was clear in his eyes but like the many times he did before, he didn’t press you for any information, only nodded, squeezed your shoulder, before he went back inside but not before he enveloped Alexia in a farewell hug and told her to get some rest. Then you walked back to where Alexia stood, still as tense as you left her, and you pulled at her arm gently, coaxing her towards her car–to the passenger seat.

“Alexia, give me your keys.”

Alexia looked at you, still pale but her eyes now held confusion, and maybe a hint of defiance, in them. “Why?”

“I’m not about to let you drive home by yourself like this.”

“No. I’m well capable of–”

You fixed her with a stern eye. “Give me your keys. Now.” 

Alexia regarded you with a wary eye but she sighed, finally relenting, and dropped her keys in your open palm. She sat in the passenger seat, an elbow up against the window and chin propped up on her knuckles, quiet apart from the occasional direction to the way to her apartment. The silence was heavy, but you found yourself not entirely too bothered by it for it gave you a chance to gather your own thoughts–to try and find the words to explain–but you couldn’t help but take furtive glances at Alexia, who was looking more and more dejected by the minute as the streetlights casted shadows on her face and made her demeanour excessively morose, the sheen in her eyes prominent in darkness. 

You arrived and Alexia let you in, dropping her keys in a little dish on a cabinet by the door, the air still and silent apart from the clink of metal against porcelain and the soft breath of clothes rustling as the two of you padded into Alexia’s apartment. Briefly, you allowed your eyes to explore the space but as you entered the living room, your palms began to sweat as the nerves began to set in. 

Alexia was hiding behind her stoicism again, sitting on the couch seeming as calm as ever, fixing you with a look that betrayed the placidness of her demeanour. You sat too, opting for the space by Alexia’s side as opposed to the lone loveseat as you knew that the nature of what you were about to reveal required the lost distance between your bodies; for her sake and yours.

For a long moment, you couldn’t speak; you opened your mouth a number of times but you stopped short for fear that the words would fail you. Alexia waited patiently and only when she took your hand in the space between hers did you find the courage to begin, placing your other hand over hers; she was with you, you were with her.

And so, you told her.

From the night you left, when you were about to tell her what you were going to get yourself into, to your arrival and the conflict you needed to cover. About being caught in the middle of fire, about the nature by which you met Elisa. And then, finally, you told her about what happened to you: the shots, the hospital, and your recovery. You watched, as this enfolded, the way Alexia became increasingly tense, she’d taken your hand in a grip at one point, and you felt the warmth in her hand dissipate into cold sweat, could feel the way she trembled. By the end of it, Alexia looked paler than you’d ever seen her before, wide eyes red and glassy; fragile in all sense of the word.

The silence that followed was like a fog, heavy and suffocating, and the words that bounced against the walls made the fog even thicker that your chest began to ache.

“When were you planning to tell me?” Came the even question.

“Yesterday, but I changed my mind. I should’ve just told you.” 

Another pause, her demeanour remained the same. And then, “How bad was it?”

You considered lying; considered telling her that it wasn’t that bad to appease her, to protect her from that knowledge but there was a plea that shone in her eyes that stopped you. So, with a shaky breath, you whispered, “I… they said that my heart stopped. Twice.”

Alexia inhaled sharply and you winced when her next words were spoken in a broken tongue, a lone tear running down her cheek.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Alexia whispered. 

“I didn’t know how to bring it up. I didn’t know how you’d take it.”

“You nearly died!” Alexia shouted as she stood up suddenly, eyes wide and frantic, while she threw her hands in the air before she dug her fingers into her hair. She must’ve realised how loud her voice was because she spoke her next words in a lower tone but it was restrained all the same, tight and thin as a string on the brink of breaking. 

“There was no other way I’d take it! What if I’d lost you and I didn’t even know?” Then her eyes widened even further, realisation clear in them, and then her breath caught, words coming out in a sob. “No, I did lose you, didn’t I? Your heart stopped! Your heart–”

Alexia’s knees buckled beneath her and you barely caught her in time. The weight of her against you brought the both of you down to the ground, the softness of the rug doing little to lessen the fall, and it left you cradling Alexia’s head in your arms, her ear against your chest, as you tried, to no avail, to ease her pain.

Alexia had always seemed like an immovable mountain to most people, strong and collected in the face of adversities, especially so to her supporters who’d only ever truly seen her display an air of vulnerability a handful of times, so to witness her so broken like this–prone and weak on her knees, spine contorting in an anguished arch under the heaviness that you put in her chest, the weight too much for her to bear–and knowing that it was you who caused her to feel this much misery… Oh, how the pain seared through you like a burning lance! 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” You whispered this litany of lamentations against her ear, your voice thick with tears. But, in your mind, you were apologising for more than that; for all the mistakes you’d made, for leaving, for almost leaving into that endless night.

Alexia twisted your shirt in a grip, the fabric now soaked with her tears, gnashing her teeth in a fierce display of guilt. “And I wasn’t even there for you. Fuck, I wasn’t even there. I–”

“You cannot blame yourself for this, darling. I won’t let you.” You said, voice firm despite the gentleness of it. And you proceeded, “And you think you weren’t there but you were, Alexia. You saved me.”

It was the truth that Alexia needed–that you needed her–to hear. She was your light in that darkness: in that sleep and the haze that came after it, and even more so now than ever. You tightened your grip around her, kissed the top of her head, and brushed her tears away.

“You were there, Alexia, always. You just didn’t know it.”

You were drying your hair with a towel on the bed when Alexia entered the bedroom, hair still dripping from her shower that left dark spots around the collar of her grey shirt, the skin around her eyes remained rosy but now faint, her short shorts barely appearing beneath the hem of her shirt, and–

“Is that…?”

Alexia followed your gaze and looked down at the string around her left ankle, the silver of the charm glinting in the low light. “Yes.”

“You kept it…” You whispered as emotions caught in your throat. 

“Of course, I did. It…” Alexia bit her lip, casted her gaze to the side for a moment, before she met your eyes again, eyes so openly sincere you longed to kiss her right then. “It makes me feel more at ease while playing. It makes me feel safe.”

At that, you grazed your thumb over the string around your wrist. “I know the feeling.”

A silence fell over you as Alexia stood just a few paces away from the foot of her bed, feet shifting beneath her as she gnawed on her lower lip. She looked so small like that, so young and unsure. So you shifted your weight, and made space for her as you said softly, “Ale, come here. Let me dry your hair.”

That seemed to be what Alexia was waiting for because she finally shuffled forward, and sat down between your legs with her back turned to you. Gently, you began to dry her hair, loving the way she craned her neck back as you did so. Once it was only damp enough now, you ran your fingers through her hair, carefully untangling the knots between the strands, before you moved your hand lower, to the nape of her neck first then to her shoulders, putting just enough pressure there with the intent to release the tension in her muscles.

Alexia sighed deeply, tilting her head sideways so you could move your hands more freely. And a moment after, she turned and looked up at you, eyes lidded and shining with vulnerability and… something else that you couldn’t quite decipher but your heart ached all the same from the depth of it, and then slowly, she rose, and then the warmth of her breath caressed your cheek, her lips on yours. The kiss was tender and sweet in its lightness and before you knew it, you were eased down to the bed, her warmth washing over you as if her body was the sun and you were the earth being graced by her light.

You cupped her cheek, feeling the line of her jaw, savouring her lips when a wetness burnt against the skin below your eye, tasted salt on your tongue, and felt the stutter in Alexia’s breath. Soon, Alexia broke the kiss entirely, sinking into the crook of your neck where she wept silently, and you could do nothing but wrap your arms around her frame to shelter her, to assure her that you were still here and that, truly, the worst had passed. You held her there until sweet repose, at last, eased her into a place without pain and you waited for sleep to come, while regarding her countenance and relishing the soft caress of her breath on your skin, when not a moment later, you joined Alexia in slumber; your heart finally beating in time with hers.

It was still dark when you woke several hours later with a comforting warmth pressed against your back and the weight of Alexia’s arms around your waist, her breath warm against the nape of your neck. You shifted closer to the source of your comfort and placed your hand over hers. From the way her hold on you tightened, you knew she was awake.

“Can I confess something?” Alexia whispered, voice raw.

“What is it?”

She took a deep breath. 

“I waited for you.” A pause. “Until I saw you at the Olympics, I was still waiting for you. I knew the odds of you coming back to me were against me, but I hoped you’d come back.”

“Thank you for waiting.” You murmured.

“Thank you for coming back.” Alexia choked out, arms tightening around your waist. “Thank you for coming back to me.”

You needed to see her, so you peeled her hands from your waist, turned, and wrapped your arms around her waist.

“I’m here, Alexia. I’m right here with you.” You caressed her cheek, wiping the tear in the corner of her eyes before you whispered against her lips, “If I have to spend my whole life thanking you, so be it.”

Saying goodbye was a difficult affair for everyone–well, except for Derek, of course. Despite Alexia’s offer to drop you, Derek, and Elisa to the airport, you declined, reminding Alexia she needed rest for tomorrow, chuckling lightly at the pout she gave you when you said it, which made you inclined to kiss it away. 

(You ignored Derek’s smirk; you spied him over Alexia’s shoulder looking all too smug for his own good.)

And Elisa, after spending the past few days in Alexia’s company, clung to her waist, lips quivering and eyes glassy with unshed tears, while Alexia tried to appease her. It seemed that Alexia’s celebrity factor had diminished for Elisa and now it dimmed to a newfound word: a friend. You smiled as you watched them chat for a bit longer, before Elisa went inside the car.

When it was your turn to hug Alexia, you sank into her arms, and she in yours, as your heart already longed for her at the thought that in a few minutes, you two would be parted again. It was difficult but you managed to pull away, kissing Alexia on her cheek, then her lips. 

It was your last kiss but as your Uber took you away and as Alexia’s figure shrank in the rearview mirror from the growing distance, this kiss, you felt, held the promise of a future; of something more.

And that, to you, was everything.

You took the call immediately after you saw Alexia’s name on your screen. 

“Alexia, what did you do?”

It was currently late October, over two months since the last time you’d seen her in person, but the both of you–and occasionally Elisa would join the both of you if she was able to catch you after her practice–remained in contact be it through messages, calls, or video calls. So to say that you missed her was more than an understatement and you found that the calls that used to relieve you of your longing for her–although they still very much did–now only served to deepen the growing cavern in your heart that resembled the woman who it belonged to; it was no longer enough, you wanted Alexia. 

But that was not to be the topic of your conversation right now. 

Alexia’s chuckle met your ears, brows crunching up in amusement. She was in a loose shirt, half of her face glazed over in a low, warm glow. “Is this about Elisa’s trial?” 

“Please, Alexia, if you had something to do with Elisa getting scouted, tell me now.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Alexia said, even and light with laughter, but she enunciated the words with an air of seriousness. “I didn’t do anything. Although I admit I did a little digging that day I went to La Masia when you guys were here, remember? I heard Jona say her name in passing and when I checked the list, Elisa’s name was one of the best candidates. Your daughter has talent and a promising dedication to the club, the scout saw that.”

And as her word sank in–as you believed in your bones that Alexia was speaking truthfully–you let out a sigh, sagging into your open palm. 

“Okay, I believe you. I’m sorry, babe… I just had to make sure.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Alexia waved a dismissive hand, and then, “So, what happened?”

“Well, I picked Elisa up today and her coach handed me a brochure and started talking about Elisa’s eligibility for a trial to get into Barça’s youth team.”

“And how did Elisa take it?”

“She’s unusually calm about all of it and that’s exactly the reason why I wanted to call you.” You sighed, “I’m worried she believes she didn’t get in because she did well and that she got in because of her connection to you.”

A pause and you watched as a pensive look passed over Alexia’s face. “Do you mind if I talk to her?” 

“No, not at all. I think that’s a good idea. Hold on.” 

You muted the call and then padded your way to Elisa’s bedroom, then knocked on her door. 

“Ladybug, Alexia is on the phone.”

A moment later the door opened slightly, and Elisa looked through the tiny gap, her brow scrunched up in confusion before she widened the gap enough that she could step out. 

“Alexia?”

You tucked a strand behind her ear. “Yes, honey. She wants to talk to you, only if you want to.”

Elisa gnawed her bottom lip, casted her gaze down for a moment, before she finally nodded. You gave her your phone, watched her close the door, before you made your way down to the kitchen to check on the food you were cooking. It was nearly half an hour later that Elisa joined you, phone in hand, eyes only just a bit raw, which she handed to you after giving you a hug. And when she pulled back, the smile she gave you was small but radiant, and you felt relief as you let her slip back into her room but not before you reminded her that the food was nearly ready. 

“I don’t know what you said to her, but she looks better. Thank you” 

“She just needed a little pep talk.” Alexia smiled at you, soft, “And anytime, my love.”

Two months later, Elisa’s club topped their respective league, won a major regional and national tournament, and Elisa… Elisa passed the trial.

Elisa was going to Barcelona.

‘Come over when you’re done for the day?’

The message was sent about an hour ago. You ran your fingers through your still damp hair, wiping your clammy palms on the fabric of your jeans, as you sent, ‘I’m coming up.’

Two days after Elisa received the news from Barça, you flew by yourself to Barcelona to sort out some paperworks. Derek already offered for the both of you to remain at his place–insisted even, so you wouldn’t get stressed out, which was sweet of him–and you accepted, but you promised you’d find someplace else after you and Elisa settled into your new routine. Alexia knew about all of this, of course, her schedule was filled today so she wasn’t able to be with you. Well… until now.

Now faced with Alexia’s apartment door, to say that you were nervous would be an understatement; you hadn’t seen your lover in the flesh for months, how could your heart not be in danger of leaping out of your chest at the promise of seeing her again soon?

You knocked on the door and only seconds passed between the moment you saw a shadow through the peephole and the door being flung open, and before you could fully comprehend what was happening, you were being pulled inside by the collar of your cardigan and slammed against the door as warm lips pressed on yours, hungry and full of ardour. 

You moaned at the heat of Alexia’s tongue searing the skin of your lower lip, her teeth napping and pulling, before her tongue swept over the same spot, to soothe and salve and sear all over again. Standing on your toes, you wrapped your arms around her neck while you pushed your chest up, seeking her warmth, and you loved the way Alexia’s arms tightened their hold around your waist, pressing you further into the firmness of her body. Then her hands ventured downwards, setting your skin afire in their wake, and you gasped into her mouth the moment she took your ass in her grip and squeezed, the pleasure turning your blood into an entity of potent desire. 

To your surprise, Alexia suddenly pulled away from the kiss and she ripped her hands away from your body, planting them instead on the door to hold her weight. And you had never hated distance more than the mere centimetres that separated your bodies just then.

Alexia looked down at you with lidded eyes, pupils blown so wide that the hazel in them were covered in black, while her breath came out stuttered.

“Wait–I’m sorry, I know we’re taking it slow but I just missed you so much and I–” 

You let out a sound that was between a moan and a groan as you pulled the collar of her hoodie down, swallowing her next words in a deep kiss. Your hand crept under the fabric of her hoodie, her stomach deliciously taught beneath your fingers and you didn’t fight the urge to drag your nails over her smooth skin to make your intentions clear–an action that made her swear against your lips. You took her lower lip between your teeth and pulled slightly, the sound she made–obscene in every sense of the word–and the curse she let out sent scorching heat straight to your core; nothing turned you on more than the proof of Alexia’s ever-present composure slipping. 

It mattered not how the both of you arrived at the bed; one second you were pressed up against the door, the next you were surrounded by soft sheets with Alexia on top of you, nipping and licking along the column of your neck, while the room filled with pants and gasps that came from either of you. She pressed her knee against the juncture of your thighs and the pressure made you keen Alexia’s name in a wanton cry, which Alexia responded to with an approving hum that you felt on your lips. 

Her teasing continued on until the fabric of your underwear clung to you like a second skin from the slickness of your core but when you felt her fingers playing with the hem of your shirt, you surged up and gently pushed Alexia to the side, laying her down on the bed with a deep kiss while you moved to straddle her stomach. 

Then you leant back after a moment to look at her, and the sight you beheld took the breath from you. 

There, she lied: with her light brown hair fanned out wildly on the sheets, a stark contrast against the lightness of the linen; her skin glowed from the incandescent light from her lamp; her hazel eyes beautifully dark and lidded with need; her cheeks graced with a rosy tint of the same shade as her supple lips which were slightly parted; the strong column of her neck, her broad shoulders, her large but gentle hands… there, while she lied and gazed at you, you basked in the radiance of her earthly beauty–her character even more resplendent in nature. And there, your chest crowded with emotions–lust, desire, wonder, amity–but a resonant call from your heart encompassed the immensity of this singular truth. 

You loved Alexia. 

Oh, how you loved her so. 

With reverent hands and eyes that bore the zeal of your affection, you kept your gaze on hers while you dragged your fingers over her clothed ribs down to the firmness of her stomach, admiring the way the strength in them yielded into a softness so inherently familiar, adoring the way her lips parted further, the way her brows rose ever so slightly as the depth in her eyes seemed to stretch into a vastness that called to you. 

She was beautiful. 

So, so beautiful.

All of her exalted you to no end: the sound that she made when you kissed the valley between her breasts after you’d helped her undress; the feel of her skin on your tongue, from her collarbone, to her rib, to her hip, and her thigh; the taste–finally, again–of her need, her pleasure, and her ecstasy. Everything that she was revived you; she stoked the embers of your mortal flame into a star that shone for her, and only her. Every breath, every word, every look… these were the things that–in their divine simplicity–endeared her even more to you; the divine simplicity of her state of being was more than enough to move you, to make you fall deeper into your love for her.

As she came undone beneath your touch, the echoes of your heart longed to be heard, filling your throat with the words of a confession. But instead you whispered, in a cadence similar to that of a litany, that she was beautiful. 

Soon after she came back to herself, she sat up and in a second, Alexia had you in her tender and appraising arms as you remained on her bare lap, kissing along your jaw as her large hands roamed over your still clothed body, her touch both gentle and fervid. But when she grazed the hem of your shirt again, you stilled.

Alexia pulled away, eyes lidded but concern reflected brighter in the darkness of her eyes.

“What is it, darling?” She asked as she brushed a strand behind your ear, gaze intent, searching your countenance for an answer.

Instinctively, you crossed your arms over your chest. You opened your mouth a few times as you tried to find the right words to say, and then finally, you admitted quietly, “My body… it–I’m not like how you remembered.”

“Darling, your body will always be beautiful. You don’t need to hide yourself from me.” Alexia took one of your hands and pressed a kiss on your knuckles, earnest in the way she spoke and looked at you. Your heart ached.

“I know, it’s just… I don’t think I’m ready,” you trailed off, “And I’m worried you’re not, too.”

“You don’t have to worry about me.” Alexia squeezed your hand, encouraging.“I’m ready when you are.”

Unbidden, the image of Alexia in anguish after you told her about what you went through flashed through your mind and the same vulnerability–that thinly veiled fear–you’d seen then, you could see now reflected in her eyes. It was one thing to hear the words of injury, and it was another to see the physical proof of it; if the words had profoundly affected her so, how much more would bearing witness to the tangible mark of your narrow escape from death would cause her?

“Alexia…” 

You began to sigh, ready to offer a rejection, but Alexia cupped your cheeks into her palms, making you look into her eyes. Then she whispered, “Please, let me see you. I want to… I want you.”

There was much desire and tenderness in her voice, and you found yourself calming down knowing that you could trust Alexia with this. So you nodded. 

Alexia smiled at you softly before she whispered, “Thank you. Just let me know when you want to stop.”

You nodded again and then, Alexia’s lips were back on yours, sweet and light as her hands returned to your waist. She was gentle, murmuring words of reassurance on your temple, your jaw, your collarbone, as she eased your cardigan off your shoulders. She placed one light kiss on the column of your neck before she laid you down on the sheets, her hair cascading over you like a silk curtain. 

Alexia journeyed down your body, placing butterfly kisses over your clothed sternum, her breath breaching the thin barrier between your skin and heated your blood into a gentle simmer. Then she stopped, her lips on your stomach, and when you looked down at your body she was gazing up at you with imploring eyes, fingers playing at the button of your jeans, a question clear in her eyes. 

Your lips parted at the sight of Alexia’s lips made red from kissing, her blown pupils dark with ardour, her brows tilted up in silent affection. Your heart, for all of its beating, was tranquil under the weight of Alexia’s hands and eyes, and so, you nodded.

Alexia gave you a smile and then she kissed your navel as her fingers unbuttoned your jeans, taking it off slowly. Then her hands skimmed over the newly exposed skin of your thighs, leaving goosebumps and heat in their wake, and you gasped when you felt her lips ghosting above your core over the fabric of your underwear. You anticipated more, canting your hips upwards, but Alexia had already moved away by then, a gentle squeeze on your thigh, you perceived, was her form of apology. 

And then her fingers were drawing circles on the exposed skin of your navel, just below the hem of your shirt, as she bent down, capturing your lips in hers, before she rested her forehead against yours.

“Are you ready? Just say the word and I’ll stop.” Alexia whispered on your lips.

You inched away so you could cup Alexia’s face in your palm, grazing your thumb over her cheek, as you replied with absolute certainty. “I’m ready. I trust you, Alexia.” 

She caught your hand in hers as you began to take it back, pressing her cheek into your palm as she said, “Thank you.”

Slowly, Alexia began to take your shirt off and, once it was tossed aside, you waited with bated breath for her reaction upon seeing your scars. Would she turn away just as you tended to do sometimes whenever you saw yourself in the mirror? Would she touch you still–would you sicken her? You probably would, wouldn’t you? You–

A choking sound tore you away from your spiralling thoughts, your vision focusing on Alexia’s face contorting. A part of you screamed, ‘Look how you’ve appalled her!’, but clarity came over you and you recognised then that it was pain that marred her face. Alexia’s lips quivered as she took you in, eyes drifting around the more prominent scars on the right side of your torso–one on the top of your shoulder, on the skin just below your ribcage, and finally, the one just beside your breast–and her brows creased, and when she met your gaze, her eyes had reddened and now held in them, along with the desire–albeit now dimmer from the intensity of the other emotions on her face–a mixture of relief, regret, and agony. 

Then she gathered you in her arms as she leant down, her arms wounding their way around your ribs, her nose brushing against your collarbone, her fingers delicate in the way they splayed on the skin of your shoulder blades, while the strength of her body draped over you and the softness of her breasts–her warmth–offered, even without words, shelter and healing. And you basked in it, arching your back to further feel the press of Alexia’s body, wrapping your arms around her neck and in response, Alexia’s hold on you tightened as she whispered your name in a tone fit for a rhapsody.

Alexia lifted her head and looked into your eyes. You wiped the trail of a tear that ran down her cheek, tucked a loose hair behind her ear, traced the line of her brow, and then the bow of her lips which trembled at your touch.

“You’re here and you’re mine.” She stated softly although the intonation in the end made her sound unsure, as if she didn’t–or couldn’t–believe that the both of you were there together, skin on skin, flesh against flesh, breathing the same air in the same moment in time; alive. 

“I’m with you and I’m yours, Alexia.” You whispered with conviction. “Take me.” 

As you said this, you reached behind you to grab one of her hands so you could kiss her knuckles, watching her as she watched you, before you took her first two fingers into your mouth. You relished the way her lips parted with a gasp while you guided her fingers down to your core, pushing the fabric of your soaked underwear aside so you could press Alexia’s wet fingers against you, sighing when you finally felt her there while Alexia moaned out her desire.

And so, she took you. With one last fervid kiss on your lips that took your breath away, Alexia ventured downwards, brushing her thumb over your clit as she did, while she nipped on the expanse of skin you offered her. And then her lips were on you and you were lost–and found again.

She moved with an air of divinity; with each touch from her supple lips, you felt as though you were closer to grace; and with each swipe of her tongue and thrust of her fingers, you could feel a warm radiance washing over you, simultaneously stripping the strength away from your bones and restoring you to a wholeness you never knew you could feel.

You gathered enough strength to open your eyes to peer down your body and when you did, the sight that greeted you nearly pushed you over the edge. There between your legs, Alexia was looking at you with lidded eyes as she worked on you, catching a glimpse of her tongue every now and then, and the sheen of wetness on her lips and chin. And her eyes… Oh, her eyes had the power to unravel you with one look.

The need to feel her close rose in you as you felt your peak creeping closer. You had meant to say, ‘Come here’, but the words were lost on the way to your mouth and what came out was Alexia’s name. But Alexia understood enough it seemed for she–without so much as losing the pace of her fingers–moved up your body and kissed you, your wetness fresh on her lips and chin, your taste heavy on her tongue.

She kissed your cheek, then your temple, and then you felt her warm breath on your ear. Then she whispered low and dark as sin, “You look so beautiful like this… feel so good. Love the way you’re so wet for me.”

“Ale… Alexia…” You moaned at her words, dragging your nails over her back as you found yourself losing purchase; the edge of euphoria, you could feel, only just a breath away. 

“That’s it. Come for me, darling. Let me feel you come.”

The heat of it all–Alexia’s words and the warmth of her breath, that hot friction from her fingers, and her safe, sheltering weight on you–finally lit the fuse and ecstasy set every nerve in your body afire, and a sense of fullness filled your chest–a state of grace–that called to the woman before you. 

And so, you didn’t stop the words. 

You sighed against her ear, “I love you.” 

Alexia tensed but she didn’t stop until you’d finished, until your cheek was pressed against the sheets, eyes closed from the sheer pleasure that she blessed you with. When she dragged out her fingers from you, you whimpered.

And then you felt her palm on your temple, wiped the sweat away there, before she eased your head away from the pillow as she whispered your name. You opened your eyes to her doting countenance, her brows graced by a hopeful tilt.

“Do you mean it? Truly?” Alexia asked softly.

You felt no fear when you replied in the same soft cadence. “I do.” 

Her breath stuttered, her next words were so light you barely caught them. “Say it again. Please.”

You smoothed her hair, traced the tail of her brow, before you looked deeply into her eyes.

“I love you, Alexia.” 

Her face broke into a small, reverent smile that bore all the warmth in the world before she caught your lips in a kiss so tender you nearly cried.

Then you parted, but Alexia’s forehead remained against yours.

And with tears in her eyes, she whispered. 

“I love you, too.”

[kasdeyalilith]

Midnight Rain (Part II)

Warning/s: Angst and Fluff

Character/s: Scaramouche x Reader

Synopsis: Scaramouche finds himself traveling with the traveler following his defeat in the Sumeru war. He hopes to meet you along during the journey and earn your trust again.

Note: I didn't follow some canon scenes from the battle between the Balladeer and Traveler from the first part so some things are changed. As requested I sprinkled some fluff in here but there's some angst ofc. I managed to squeeze every sweetness in my bones just to come up with the ending. Hope yall enjoy and forgive me with the angsts.

"Ah you've seen my affection for her. If you were in my position, I think you'd feel the same way"

He frowns as he recalls what he said to you, shaking his head at the emerging memory. What a fool he is to treat you that way, knowing you're the only one who actually cares about him. He becomes so blinded by your constant love for him that he thinks dismissing your feelings will not cause you to leave, because you'll still fall for him and stay, only this time you're already falling before he can even catch you.

Scaramouche, who now calls himself "the Wanderer," journeys Teyvat with the traveler in the hopes of meeting you along the way. He offers to tag along on their adventures after the war in Sumeru, promising to make amends for his past actions even if they are forgotten by most. The traveler was hesitant at first, but Nahida convinces him to do it. He warns him that if he does something bad, he won't hesitate to feed him to Paimon.

The Wanderer spends his days doing meaningless things, like working on different commissions with the Traveler. Even though it's tiring and boring, he's never felt so at peace, which is something he can only feel with you.

He pushed those thoughts away as he cast a glimpse at the rising statue of Barbatos, which was gleaming beneath the sun's blaze. The last thing he needs to find you is for that piercing sting inside him where his heart is supposed to be.

The nation of the Anemo Archon proved to be a safe haven for explorers like him as all are welcome within its walled borders. A foreign feeling churns inside him; a sincere reception from strangers who do not immediately condemn him is an unusual occurrence for the Wanderer. After years of only you accepting and treating him as a normal being, it's a strange emotion to feel when a bard hands him an apple as a welcome gesture.

He imagines every situation and every word he'll say once he finds you, but all preparations are tossed out the window the moment he sees you. You who’s as perfect and beautiful as he remembered, even the grease that stains your skin from repairing a machine can’t lessen your beauty as you laughed at him, him who’s hair white as chalk and posture still as a doll. The Wanderer refuses himself the sudden surge of jealousy, he doesn’t have the right now as he stares at you longingly.

He felt his entire body freeze the minute your eyes locked on him, waiting with bated breath for the storm to strike. Your gaze, however, quickly shifts to the side as if you were unaware that he was standing there.

Did you absolutely despise him? He can't blame you if you do, but it doesn't make the pain that crawls and scratches him back any less painful. He can only blame himself for causing you so much hurt that you decide to ignore him entirely.

He isolates himself from the traveler, preferring to rest under Windrise's great oak tree. His hand wipes any daring tear that dares to fall, and even though he is no longer the frail puppet he once was, he still easily tears up. He is unsure if your rejection or avoidance of him causes him more pain, as both equally rip him apart. It hurts much more that you no longer care about him and he has no way to bring you back into his life, even if he drowns himself in sorrow and endures a thousand stab wounds.

He chases after those memories of you both being content and happy, and for a moment, he allows himself to get lost in them.

He eventually drifts off to sleep under the cooling shade of Vennessa's Tree, lulled by the Archon's breeze and the melody sung by the lyre coming above from one of the branches.

The Wanderer was painfully jolted out of his dreams of you when he felt something tap his shoulder; he frowned as he faced the intruder but stopped when he saw you smiling at him. He pinches and rubs his eyes awake to check if he's dreaming again.

You kneeled in front of him and offered him a bottle of water, which he accepted dumbfoundedly. His violet eyes are watching you intently as if Aranaras were dancing on the top of your head. You smiled awkwardly at him, overwhelmed by his focused attention, and cleared your throat, ready to ask him the question you had thought for hours.

He stills his beating heart, afraid that it’ll drown out your words as he awaits anxiously for you to speak.

“You must be parched, here’s some water I got from Sara awhile ago. Don’t worry it’s freshly taken from a clean spring. Anyway, I uhm saw you earlier while I was at the crafting table and I-”

"Wait before you say anything else" He rushes in front of you, grasping your hand while looking down at the ground and saying, "I'm sorry for everything I've done. Although I had my reasons for causing you pain, it does not make it right. I will do anything to regain your forgiveness. I will persevere even if it takes years or more. I love you. I know I'm a disappointment to you most of the time but you still constantly care for me, even when I act and make hasty decisions. Amidst my past and painful memories and mistakes, you are the first thing that has ever felt right. I'll always love you even if you turn me away"

Even if it is wrong to hope for your forgiveness instantly, he still clings to it while he looks at you. His face painted in sincerity, as he waits for your response.

“I uh- I’m so sorry to say this but I only saw you today? I asked for your whereabouts and followed you because well you seemed familiar to me and when I saw you staring earlier, I’m reminded of the locket I used to have and how you resemble the person in the picture but I can’t remember why I have it and who you are in my life”

“Wha-what do you mean?”

His entire world was put in chaos as he repeats your word over and over. Forgotten? All those memories gone? He want to latch at you and scream and cry but he can only stare, hand at his chest as it beats too hard and painful for him to even breathe.

“I’m really sorry uh traveler? But guessing from your actions and words we must’ve been linked at some point in the past. I don’t know how I’ve forgotten someone important to me but I’m willing to make new ones with you. How does that sound-?”

He fell silent, even if all the memories you both once shared are gone, taken away when the Greater Lord was forgotten and passed away, along with the memories of the Balladeer, he'll take anything as long as he can stay by your side.

“Kuni, call me Kuni”

"Okay Kuni, how about we start over?" You dusted down your skirt as you stood up and offered your hand to him, “I’m Y/n, researcher of the Knights of Favonious at your service”

You cheerfully saluted him, laughing at your own actions.

“I’m Kuni the Wanderer”

Finally, in the midst of the darkness that has surrounded him all of his life, you shone like the brightest star in his sky, as your light pours through the appearing cracks, chasing after the storm as it breaks through the barrier and free him from his cage.

“The Wanderer huh? So you like to just wander off?”

“Shut up”

“Should’ve called you The Grumpiest”

“Archons…. You’re lucky I love you”

[lowkeychenle]

the hardest part [ZCL] (M) fic teaser

Description: You, Chenle, and Jay have been best friends since before you could even remember. After moving away to pursue your dreams, you don't talk to them as often as you should. One day, you get a call notifying you of Jay's passing. When you go back to your hometown, you find everything is different except for one person--Chenle.

Genre: Smut/Fluff/Angst (please see content warnings)

Content Warnings: death of a close friend, survivor's guilt, lots of what-if scenarios, navigating life without someone you've always had around, mental break downs, panic attacks (not vividly described AS panic attacks), two people coming together to heal from grief, explicit sexual content (unprotected sex, oral sex, mentions of sex, etc. although it's not super crazy so do with that what you will)

Release Date: 6.5.2024

Expected Word Count: 15-20k (maybe less?)

Teaser Word Count: 796

Taglist: Open!! Please let me know if you'd like to be added.

Permanent Taglist: @sunnybutcloudy @neozon3nha @waffleuvs

Pairing: Zhong Chenle x fem!reader (featuring OC by the name of Jay)

Juliet's Masterlist | Tell me what you think? :)

When nightfall comes, you and Chenle go to your separate rooms. He bids you goodnight, and you close your door. You sit on the edge of the bed and take in the room around you. Everything has changed immensely since the last time you were in your hometown. Your best friend bought a house, and you’d barely even thought or heard about it. Pride in him surges through you, but for a moment, you think it may be misplaced.

You don’t deserve to be proud of someone you’ve failed to talk to as often as you should have. Losing Jay has torn your world apart, and you still don’t truly believe it. You change into your tank top and shorts, and then grab your toothbrush and toothpaste from your bag.

You’re on your way to the bathroom when you find Chenle in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and bringing a glass of water up to his lips. He gives you a tired nod.

“You’re still up?”

“Sleep on a day like this?” He lets out a sarcastic laugh. “I’ll probably have some crazy ass dream or something.”

You forget your adventure to his bathroom and approach the kitchen island. Without a word between the two of you, he goes into the cupboard to get you a cup as well. He fills it with water and slides it across the countertop.

“Thanks,” you say.

He nods once and crosses his arms over his chest. “How’s life going, though? Current events aside.”

“Life is a constant revolving door of work,” you tell him. “Working my way up the corporate ladder and all that bullshit they spew.”

“You look good. As long as you’re getting all the things you wanted, I’m good, too.” He closes his eyes and tilts his head back.

“Kind of debating if it was worth it at this point.” You sigh. “I’m proud of you, by the way. Buying a house on your own is a big deal.”

“Family business money.”

“You work. You earned it.”

“I guess that’s true. Thanks.” He pauses. “I’m glad you’re here. I don’t think I’d be okay if you weren’t.”

“Like I’d ever leave you to deal with something like this alone.” You tap your fingers against the granite, admiring the swirls of color deep in the design.

“Regardless, I needed you.” Chenle gulps, glancing at his feet. “I still do. Now more than ever with Jay gone.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t come?” you ask.

He wets his lips and takes the bottom one between his teeth. “It’s not that I thought that, necessarily, but I did wonder if you were. I didn’t hear from you, so I kind of just hoped.”

Guilt takes another stab at your heart. “Chenle, I—”

“Don’t apologize again,” he replies sternly. “Life is life. There’s no way any of us could’ve predicted this, okay? Sometimes, shit happens. Not being around a lot isn’t the end of the world.”

“It was for Jay.”

“You were not the end of the world. You didn’t kill him, for fuck’s sake. There’s nothing any of us could’ve done. And reminiscing on it like this and placing unplaceable blame on ourselves is going to make things harder.” He sets his cup in the sink.

“I know. I know that, but for some reason, my head keeps—”

“Let’s watch a movie,” he offers. “Maybe it’ll distract you a little bit.”

You agree, and go into the bathroom to brush your teeth before you follow him into his room. It’s so innately Chenle in there, you immediately feel relaxed. Some things never change, and you’re glad he’s one of those things.

“Sorry, I don’t have a TV in the living room,” he says as he pulls his covers back.

“Just roll me off if I fall asleep,” you reply, climbing onto the untouched side.

Eventually, he’s next to you, and you rest your head on his chest while he finds something to watch. He selects some random comedy movie and then shuffles to put his arm around you.

His scent is familiar, too. The world calms around you when you’re with Chenle. One out of two of your safe places has left the Earth, but luckily for you, Chenle is more than ready to play both roles.

The movie does, indeed, successfully distract you from the impending doom of everything outside. You’re able to forget, even if it’s just for a couple hours, and sink into the familiarity of your best friend.

His chest rumbles when he laughs at the screen, and the feeling has you drifting faster than you’d care to admit.

Until finally, your eyes flutter shut and stay that way, and just like that, you have the best night of sleep you’ve had all week.

[sorchathered]

Sacred New Beginnings

Chapter 3

Pairing- Jake Seresin x Reader (oc Stormy), Bradley Bradshaw x reader (oc Stormy)

Warnings- language, drinking, suggestive sexual content

Summary- It’s Mav and Penny’s wedding day, you and Jake talk about last night’s revelations and you decide to meet with Bradley.

Song inspo- Butterflies- Kacey Musgraves, Feather- Sabrina Carpenter, Too Well- Reneé Rapp,

Present day

The only bad thing about waking up in San Diego was your internal clock was so off. What you’d thought was 7 am was actually 5 and you groaned as you checked your phone, realizing you were wide awake. The best part of being back in San Diego? The wall of muscle and strong arms wrapped around your body, Jake’s deep breathing against your neck caused your heart to flutter at the possibility of this being a regular thing. Last night had been an absolute shit show with one bomb dropping after another, and you knew you would need to unpack all of it and speak to Rooster but for now you wanted nothing more than to explore whatever this was with Jake.

You could feel him stirring and he kissed your neck, so you turned in his arms to look at him. If you’d thought he was perfection on a regular day, you’d been completely mistaken; hair a mess and warm flushed skin with a five o’clock shadow…He was like a fantasy. You craned your neck a little so you could press kisses to his cheek, and he sighed as he pulled you tighter to his chest. He cracked one eye open and groaned as he realized it was still dark outside, mumbling something the likes of you’re trying to kill me woman and you just laughed. How did it feel this easy? There should be an awkward morning after feeling settled over the two of you, no you hadn’t had sex but you’d definitely crossed a line and you wouldn’t have blamed him for feeling uncomfortable. He was running his hands all over your body now, legs still tangled together and he finally opened his eyes to look at you. Dark green orbs settled on you and he shined that 1000 watt smile, running the tip of his nose along yours and you all but melted into him.

“Thought you might’ve been a dream, but I don’t think I could have conjured up how beautiful you look in my arms Stormy girl, a man could get used to this.”

He gently gripped your chin to tilt your face to his, wanting to make sure that you hadn’t changed your mind and you surged forward to press your lips to his. He was barely holding it together if he was honest, you felt so good and he’d be lying if he hadn’t dreamed this up a million times, nothing ever coming close to reality as you hitched your leg over his hip and moaned into his mouth. Jake was pretty sure he had died and gone to heaven. And then he was immediately hit with a level head and realized what he was doing, he needed to stop; he couldn’t just jump into this with you yet you had so much that still needed to be figured out and he’d be damned if he ended up a rebound. So he gently kissed your lips once, then twice and rolled over on to his back, mentally reciting the first paragraph of the NATOPS manual for his super hornet as he tried to come back to earth.

You leaned back on your elbow to look at him now, worry etched in your features and he could beat his own ass for making you feel unwanted.

“What’s wrong?” You whispered, “ did I do something?”

God he was doomed, he needed to get his shit together before he gave in and fucked you senseless just to make sure you knew how insanely sexy you were.

“Baby you couldn’t do anything wrong to me if you tried, and trust me I want you more than I can put into words, but I want your mind clear before we start this. I don’t want to be second choice Y/n, if we do this I want everything with you. I know that’s a lot and I don’t want to run you off sweetheart but if I’m honest this whole thing scares the shit out of me. I’ve never been this guy, I’m a one night stand, maybe a few dates at best; but I want a lifetime and I want it with you. So until you’re ready for that we gotta cool off sugar, just for a little while ok?”

You blinked back tears and a sob hiccuped from your chest, how the hell was he even real?! This was hallmark movie levels of romance, this shit didn’t happen to normal people did it?

You kissed him again, just sweet and gentle not to take it too far and laid your hand on his chest.

“I want this Jake, I don’t know how we are going to do it but I do; I want all of that with you.”

You’d followed him to the kitchen after your declaration, both of you still in a haze and you hoped coffee and some breakfast could bring some clarity. You worked together easily in the kitchen to make French toast and bacon, dancing around to the songs on his playlist flowing through the room. It felt so good, just being here with him like this and you felt lighter than you’d felt in months.

Around 7 you were cuddled up on the couch with your third cup of coffee, surfing through channels when you got a text message on your phone. You knew it was probably Phoenix just letting you know to be ready at a certain time for hair and makeup but when you unlocked the screen it wasn’t Natasha on your screen; it was Bradley. You knew it was coming, he’d been drunk last night and your blood was boiling at the audacity he’d had to try and get you back knowing what you knew now. Did he really think you were that stupid? Or did he honestly just think he could cover his tracks enough to reel you back in, hoping the history you had would be enough to convince you to start over? Either way he was sorely mistaken; he’d fucked you over and cheated on you it was over the minute he chose his career over your relationship.

Jake had noticed the shift in you, you were still staring at your phone with a glazed look but your hands were trembling. He leaned over and plucked the device from your lap and his heart sank. Rooster. It was bound to happen today, there’s no way he’d make it through the wedding without trying to talk to you again but Jake had hoped you’d have a little more time in your happy bubble together. He took your hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze,

“What are you thinking y/n? Do you want to meet up with him? Do you need me to come with?”

You shook your head, you wanted to scream over the stupidity of it all. But you knew what you had to do so you took your phone back and texted Bradley.

“I’m gonna meet him for lunch, please don’t worry about me. I can handle it, I promise. I’ll have Phoenix come pick me up afterwards to get ready and meet you at the venue.”

He hated this. He didn’t like the idea of you going alone and he knew Rooster could be persistent. You two had a lot of history despite how much shit he’d put you through but Jake knew the only way was to let you handle this, he had to trust your judgment.

“I’ll do whatever you want baby, like I said I’m all in.”

You’d done minimal makeup, thrown on a button up of Jake’s and some cutoffs and taken an Uber to the restaurant. Jake had wanted to drop you off but you didn’t want to start off arguing with Bradley, you didn’t even know where to start to be honest. You’d talked to Fanboy on the way over, he was less than thrilled that Jake had spilled the beans but he understood that you needed to know. He had always been kind to you but he was Bradley’s friend first, so you expected he would always have his back first even if his friend was compromising his future. You tried your best to stay level headed as you exited the car, clocking the blue bronco parked on the back lot and going over what you had to say. The feel of Jake’s shirt and the smell of his cologne grounded you as you entered the restaurant, catching Bradley’s honey brown eyes as you scanned the room. This was going to be hell.

He was nervous, he knew he’d fucked up last night; got so caught up in his buzz and the emotions but it had felt good to hold you again. He’d made a mess of everything with you, and then continued to burn his world down after you left by hooking up with Mirage again. He was lonely and there was no excuse, Mav pulled no punches when he confronted him on his behavior after finding out how he’d stolen the mission assignment from you and Jake and had nearly grounded him for it. His mother would’ve been so disappointed in him, he couldn’t even begin to think what she would say if she was here and could see what he’d done. Mav and Penny made him seek out a therapist and over the past few months he’d been doing so well, working on his anger management and drinking a lot less…well at least until this past week. He’d let the thought of you coming back get under his skin and he felt like he’d tanked all of his progress in one night. He wanted desperately to apologize, he knew he didn’t deserve to hope he could get you back but if he could at least have you back in his life he’d take whatever you were willing to give. As you walked towards his table now he was overwhelmed with just how pretty you always were, just effortlessly beautiful and he felt a lump catch in his throat, he had to fix this.

You came to a stop in front of him and he gave you a small smile, gesturing for you to sit. The awkwardness of it all made your skin crawl, it had never been hard to get along with him, he was all big personality and fun energy seemed to ooze out of him. None of that seemed to be present now, he looked almost timid in his actions as he cleared his throat, and you braced yourself for whatever he had to say.

“Y/n I was out of line last night, I never should have let it get that far. I know I fucked everything up, hell I keep doing it. I can’t make any excuses, you deserved so much more from me than that.”

“Bradley we are both somewhat to blame for what happened last night. Honestly it was an emotional night and we’d both had too much to drink. I do appreciate the apology though, it’s nice to know you can actually hold yourself accountable sometimes.” You had an edge to your voice that was almost unrecognizable to him, he’d never been on the receiving end of your sharp tongue and it caused him to wince.

“I can’t change what I did Stormy, I made a huge mistake-”

“A mistake is accidentally breaking a glass, or rear ending someone in a parking lot, you attempted to tank my career to lift up your own, that was a choice Bradshaw, not a mistake.”

He was looking at the table not willing to look at you, he knew this would be hard and that you would go for the jugular, letting you say what you needed was important no matter how much it hurt because he did in fact deserve it.

You swiped at your eyes to keep the tears at bay, you knew you’d get emotional and you always seemed to cry when you were angry; that was part of why they called you Storm, you could be a force to reckon with when you were backed into a wall yet right now you felt more clear than you had in your life. You knew what you wanted to get out, and it was time for him to know you knew the full extent of his betrayal.

“Baby, please don’t cry- I don’t expect anything to come from this. I truly want you to know I’m not asking anything of you, I’ve been seeing a therapist for the past 6 months and he agreed that it was important for me to try and apologize if you’d let me. You have every right to say or feel whatever you want. I just want you to know I’m sorry. For all of it.”

You let out a dark chuckle at that, did he really think he could continue this and never admit what else he’d done? You wondered if his therapist even knew the full extent of what he’d done? Did Mav? A sinking feeling hits your gut at the thought that your mentor may also be in the wrong, God you hoped he didn’t know.

“All of it huh?” You mused, looking him over and willing him to look you in the eye, you wouldn’t be ignored for this part. “So just the near destruction of my career? Or the fact that you cheated on me right after you did it? Ooh oh or the fact that you continued your little affair after I left?! Tell me Roo, which part are you most sorry for?”

He looked like you had slapped him, and honestly you wished you had. You were shaking now, you needed to wrap this up and get out of here as soon as possible, you looked down at the phone in your lap and typed out to Phoenix that you were ready to leave as you let it sink in to Bradley just how much you truly knew.

“What?! How?-“

“Let me guess, right about now you’re wondering how I know considering you swore Mickey to secrecy?”

“Son of a bitch”

“Well Roo looks like he’s as loyal to you as you were to me. Funny how that works out huh?”

Your phone dinged, Phe was already waiting for you outside. So you grasped your purse and slammed a twenty on the table.

“Apology not accepted Rooster, don’t contact me again.”

You felt like you were gasping for air as you made it outside, Phoenix was perched on the hood of her car and jumped off to rush to you, tears pouring from your eyes as she guided you into your seat.

“What the hell happened, Stormy?”

“Did you know?”

“What do you-“

“NATASHA! Did you know?! That he was sleeping with Mirage while we were together. DID YOU KNOW?!”

She jerked back her hand like you’d burned her, you could see the wheels turning in her head and she slammed her fists on the steering wheel.

“That son of a bitch, he told me that they started seeing each other after you left, I told him that shit was too soon but no, no! Stormy I would have told you if I had known. FUCK! I can’t believe this shit.”

She was crying along with you now, and you reached across the console to hug her as she pulled you both out of the lot.

You two had finally calmed down when you made it to the venue Penny and Amelia were waiting for you at; anger still simmered at the surface for Natasha but she would be damned if she let anything ruin this day. You pulled your phone out to text Jake, letting him know you’d made it to the venue and your phone rang immediately. You knew he’d probably been staring at his phone this whole time waiting for you to call, so you told Nat to go ahead and answered.

“Are you ok? Do you need me to come down there?”

You could hear the worry in his voice and you almost told him yes, please come, hold me and make me feel better but you bit down on your lip and took a steady breath; you’d see him soon and that would get you through the afternoon.

“I’m ok, it was awful but it’s done. He knows I know everything now and I don’t have anything else to say to him. And don’t tempt me Seresin, I’ve been away from you less than two hours and I already miss you.” The admission had your cheeks heating up and you couldn’t stop the stupid smile plastered on your face if you tried.

He laughed and it made your smile impossibly wider, you were falling hard and there was no point in denying it.

“I miss you all the time, so tell me you gonna be my date tonight? Officially? I look pretty damn good in my suit I have to say.”

He was going to be the death of you, you were certain of it.

“I think we could make that happen, I’ll see you tonight Casanova.”

Spending time with the girls had been good for your heart, it had been too long since you’d seen Halo, and Amelia seemed to have grown a whole foot in the 6 months you’d been gone. Penny looked like an angel in her gorgeous white dress, Mav was one lucky son of a bitch to have finally convinced her to marry him. You couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when she walked down the aisle, it had been a long time coming but they had been soulmates from the beginning.

Afternoon crept into evening and before you knew it the time had come for everyone to take their seats for the ceremony. You stepped out of the suite and ran directly into someone’s firm chest. You looked up quick to apologize and there he was, Jake Seresin dressed to the nines in his fancy tux. You couldn’t deny he was right, he did look damn good. He looked almost dazed as he took you in, your black dress had a flowy skirt and a thigh slit, hair in a loose updo and just the right amount of sparkly makeup (which Amelia had insisted on).

“I never thought I’d see the day that Hangman was rendered speechless” you whispered softly as you looked up at him, and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning down to kiss you.

“I think the problem is I have too much I want to say, but I don’t want to scare you off. You look beautiful, Stormy girl, so damn beautiful.”

The door swung open behind you and you both turned to make room, Phoenix and Amelia peeking out the door with a mischievous look on their faces.

“So are you two like a thing now? Because I can totally see it. He’s totally hot y/n” Amelia said as she pointed finger guns at you and rushing back into the room giggles pouring through the doorway.

You facepalmed and Jake laughed, Phoenix inspected the both of you with her ever watchful eye, she could see it too; something had changed between the two of you. She didn’t push, knowing you would tell her when you were ready, simply shooing you both down the hall so the three of you could find your seats.

The ceremony had been beautiful, Mav and Penny had written their own vows and there wasn’t a dry eye in the building by the time they were done, decades of love poured into the words they promised each other. You had noticed Bradley trying to catch your gaze several times but refused to give him the attention he so clearly wanted, you’d given him enough of your time today and that was more than he’d deserved.

The reception was a beautiful affair, tables on the beach underneath torches and twinkle lights as the band played, people taking to the makeshift dance floor that had been set up on the sand. You watched as your friends danced and mingled between each other, Payback and his husband, Nat and her girlfriend, Bob and his very pregnant wife (you still couldn’t believe the shy WSO had a whole brood of children with his high school sweetheart, barely in their thirties and already on their fourth baby), you had missed them all so much it hurt. You felt someone touch your shoulder and looked up to find Mickey Garcia, you gestured for him to sit as he put a beer down in front of you which you were grateful for.

“I should have said something a long time ago Stormy, what happened with Rooster-“

“Mickey, stop. I understand the guilt you are feeling but what happened isn’t your fault or responsibility. And tonight isn’t a night for this kind of talk, you and I are cool so let’s just enjoy our evening ok bubs?” You ruffled his hair and he gave you a tight hug as he ventured back into the crowd, no doubt to convince Halo for a dance.

Jake was talking with Mav and Coyote near the bar, jacket long forgotten and sleeves rolled up on his nice white button down. You couldn’t help but stare, all this time of the two of you being platonic had kept you from truly seeing him and now that you knew what it felt like to kiss him, be held in his arms, hear him declare his love? It was like a drug and you wanted more.

He could feel your gaze, his eyes flicked over to you as he watched you drink your beer, you had the audacity to look shy as he watched the blush creep across your cheeks from being caught. He quickly excused himself, catching a knowing glance from Javy, he knew he’d weasel it out of him later but right now all his thoughts were focused on getting his hands on you. He came up behind you leaning in to whisper in your ear, and you couldn’t get up fast enough, grabbing his jacket and your purse as he led you away from the beach and back towards his truck.

“Do you think they’ll be mad we’re leaving?” You said a little breathlessly as you hopped back into your heels and tried to keep up, Jake all but hauling you to the door. Instead of opening it to let you in he pressed you to the cool metal, caging you in.

“I think if they knew that we were making up for lost time they’d understand, because looking at you in this dress is driving me crazy and I might die if I don’t kiss you.”

You yanked him down to you, licking into his mouth and tasting the beer on his tongue. He was delicious and warm, running his hand up your thigh through the slit in your gown and groping your chest with the other, a high pitched whine leaving you as he teased the side of your lace thong, and you gripped his hair in a harsh tug that had him groaning into your mouth. He knew he needed to stop, anyone could see the two of you out here and he wasn’t the sharing type, so he smoothed his hands over the satiny fabric of your dress and stepped back, the look of you enough to make him second guess his choice to take you home instead of fucking you senseless in his truck. Your hair was messy, falling out of your updo with swollen lips and your pretty pink lipstick smeared, one strap from your dress hung loosely at your shoulder and God he needed you. Your eyes were glazed over, still trying to process that he’d pulled away and you gave him what he considered the cutest pout he’d ever seen in his life.

“Why’d you stop?” You fussed, curling your fingers through his belt loops in an attempt to pull him closer.

He kissed the pout off your lips and pulled you into his chest, opening the truck door to slide you into the passenger seat.

“Because if I’m gonna make love to you like I want it’s not gonna be in the parking lot during Mav’s wedding darlin’, now be a good girl and let me get you home so I can take my time with you.”

You giggled and peppered kisses along his cheek and neck as he buckled you in, anticipation thrumming through you.

What you didn’t see as the two of you drove off was your ex, hands balled up into fists at the sight he’d just witnessed.

Jake Seresin Masterlist

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@dizzybee03

@the-aspiring-fanfic-writer

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

I Choose You

Gale x Single Mom!Tav, Gale x OC, Gale x Gwen, Gale POV, Hurt/Comfort, Light Smut

Summary: Gale knows the end is coming, sooner rather than later. The only question now is, whose will is stronger? A goddess or the woman laying in his arms.

Based on prompt from @kaldurcalm: “forever mine” kisses

Warning: Thoughts about Death, Nudity, brief descriptions of PiV Sex

A/N: This kinda got away from me. It’s a little spicer than my usual fair, but hopefully you all still like it. If you want the run down on Gwen, I’ve got the basics here.

Word Count: 1.5K

Gale couldn’t sleep. Nobody would blame him. The specter of death would keep any man staring at the ceiling. A second unconscious sacrificed a second of one’s sight, smell, speech, even the simple awareness of every intake and outtake of breath which felt so precious to him now.

He was luckier than most in that regard. He at least had someone other than himself to place all these weighted attentions on.

Gwen laid sound asleep in his arms, her head resting peacefully against his chest. He took the time to just look at her, taking everything in from the curve of her cheek to the sporadic strands of white peeking through her dark red hair. Laugh lines touched the corners of her mouth. There were just the hints of freckles across her nose. She had a small bump just below the tip of her left ear. He suppressed the urge to kiss that ear, contenting himself to simply take it in, cataloging every detail.

If they had the time, he’d conduct a more thorough examination. Their time in the field had been a start, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. It had been so long since he had been with someone wholly in his own body, he had forgotten all the detailed sensations the material plane could provide.

The taste of her skin was addicting, made more potent with every bead of sweat he worked down her body. Her breasts fit perfectly in his hands. She had a scar on her right knee and was slightly ticklish around the waist. She wasn’t loud when she came, but the breathy moan of his name whispered warm and real against his ear was a sound he could spend the rest of his life chasing. Of course, that really wasn’t saying much these days.

“You should be sleeping.”

He blinked, his fingers pausing in their absent minded pacing up and down her bare back. Gwen only smiled, her eyes clearly tired but still crinkled at the edges in genuine amusement.

“Sorry,” he said, softly. “Did I wake you?”

“Clearly, but I’ve woken to worse.”

She shifted forward then, pressing a breath of a kiss to his jaw line.

Even that simple touch was enough to remind him of his own naked state and how perfectly their limbs were already wrapped together.

He hand moved up, curling into the thick strands of her hair, tilting her head back to allow for a proper kiss. She smiled against his mouth, her nails scraping deliciously against his skin. Without even thinking he grabbed the back of her thigh pulling her closer so she was straddling his hips. He wasn’t as young as he once was, but he’d be damned to all nine hells if he wasn’t going to savor every moment he had left to have this woman in any way she’d let him.

She pulled away, bracing her hands on his chest. Her lips were beautifully full, wet and swollen from his kisses. He let his hands wander, moving up and down her thighs, across her belly and to the swell of her breasts.

Every part of her was so soft and inviting. Her eyes closed, a small hum of pleasure coming from her chest as he continued to touch her.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It was as close to a purr he’d ever gotten from her, save for the odd wild magic surge.

“Thank you,” he whispered, unable to keep it inside him any longer.

She looked down at him, her expression caught between surprise and the daze of pleasure.

Her eyes were green, the purest green he’d ever seen. No hints of brown or gold. Simply a difference in shading, forest green around the edges before fading to something paler towards the center. Although, that black of her pupils were much wider now.

“For what?” she asked.

“For being with me.” His hands moved up her body, allowing his thumb to brush against her nipple before moving further to caress her neck. “For letting me touch you like this.” Her breath hitched, her hips rolling instinctually against him. He could feel his cock harden against her sex. She was the single most intoxicating creature he’d ever beheld.

“I could never have dreamed my last nights would be spent like this,” he confessed.

She stopped then, her body becoming still as her eyes blinked clear. His hands were still on her, but she paid them no mind. Her attentions were solely on him.

“No,” she said, so plainly it took him aback.

“No?”

“No,” she repeated. “These aren’t your last night.”

It wasn’t a statement one was meant to argue with. He couldn’t imagine most people would. It was how she had found herself as the leader of their party. Her will would be done. This time, however, another’s will came above hers.

“Gwen—“

“And don’t “Gwen” me,” she said sternly. She leaned forward, bracing herself on the bed as her other hand cupped his cheek to ensure he didn’t look away. “You’re not dying. We’re going to find another way.”

Gods above, as if he couldn’t love her more. She spoke with such clarity of purpose, he almost believed it was true.

“I’m open to ideas,” he said.

Her expression remained firm, but her silence was telling. It was a valiant effort.

He leaned into her touch, placing his hand over hers.

“I want to live,” he assured, gently. “Believe me, I want to live, but my life cannot be more valued than the countless that will lose theirs to the Absolute.”

“That’s assuming Mystra is right,” she countered. “Are you going to look me in the eye and tell me the gods are infallible?”

His lips parted to speak, but he fell short. Even the most diametrically opposed religious scholars could agree the gods, every god, had their flaws. He was certainly aware of Mystra’s, perhaps more than many could boast, even if he had been blind to them for so long. The fact of it made him falter. Just how much had his worship blinded him?

Gwen’s eyes softened, as her nose brushed against his.

“You told me you were in love with me,” she said, her voice gentle. “Were you telling me the truth?”

His grip tightened around her, a sudden twist of guilt settling in his stomach. “If I’ve made you doubt that for even a second, clearly I’ve been doing something wrong,” he said, firmly.

“And would you let me sacrifice myself on the word of a god?”

He shook his head. “That’s different.”

“How?”

Again he found himself at a loss. There are so many things he could say. There were the logical reasons: the fact she was a mother with a daughter relying on her, her position as the leader of their merry band, her prowess as a caster which would be too useful to lose in the coming battles. None of these sprang to his mind. His only thought was his own selfish desires. He loved her. He didn’t want her to go.

She seemed to understand, as her thumb traced soft reassuring circles against his skin.

“I’m no goddess. I can’t claim to know every possible outcome to every possible scenario. I only know that I love you. And I’m not letting you go, not for anything. You’re not going to die.”

She kissed him then, her touch just as true as her words. He was hers and nothing, not even the will of a god, could take him from her.

He sank into the kiss, surrendering to her without a thought of protest. This was so much more than the possessive nature of a goddess. It held a desperation only mortals could feel, a need that acted as a drug in his veins. Her time on this earth had a limit and she chose to spend those precious seconds with him.

She loved him.

He pressed her tighter against him before flipping them both over so she laid beneath him.

He couldn’t wait another moment. Taking his cock in his hand he guided himself into her tight heat. Pure pleasure and a sense of rightness pulsed through his veins as he sunk deeper, pressing hungry opened mouthed kisses against her lips.

“Gale,” she gasped. Her legs wrapped tight around his waist, her fingers tangling in his hair and nails digging into his back.

Fuck, he needed this. He needed her.

Without another word he set a hard pace, pushing a strangled moan from her throat. He didn’t stop. Nothing short of her command could make him.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I’m yours. I’m all yours.”

It was the only thing he could say. Those three sentences repeated again and again in different orders, all declared in shaking breaths against her skin. Only when she brought his lips to hers did he finally fall silent.

“Then don’t leave me,” she pleaded. “Love me. Don’t stop.”

He didn’t have the words. All of them became lost as he kissed her with a passion that would defy the gods.

Of all the people in the world to love, she chose him. And Mystra be damned, he chose her. He would always choose her.

[thefanficsideblog]

Moonlight And The Break Of Dawn - Astarion (Part 1/5)

Content Warnings: Mentions And Reference To Abuse, Trauma and Consent Issues. Canon Compliant Trauma, Violence and Threat. Canon Divergent Powers. No Use Of Y/N, Tav Supplemented. Gendered Pronouns Used (she/her). Not Beta/Proof Read.

This was written for a friend and myself but I thought I might aswell share it here.

Behind every exquisite thing that existed there was something tragic – Oscar Wilde

No grave can hold my body down, – I’ll crawl home to her – Hozier

Your presence will be sun in winter – Alfred Lord Tennyson

The road is long and the path is winding, you had never really given it any thought before but the days under your feet that put distance between you and the crash, are both exhaustingly long to comprehend and not far enough. Though you wonder if any distance could be far enough. Your head is throbbing, an irritating repeating painful pulse that surges through your mind between steps. You wish you could blame the pain on the tadpole swimming around in your cerebellum but you know the much more likely truth- you're dehydrated. And more than that, you're lacking a decent amount of blood in your system to compensate for that. You let your eyes shift to your left where Astarion walks a few strides ahead of you, he is walking with such energy and a strange type of confidence, even for him. You wonder if he knows what you do, you wonder if he has the slightest clue that he hasn't fooled you, not for a moment, not even the smallest amount. He thinks he has everything laid out, this perfect little plan, he thinks he is playing you like a fiddle. But you're smarter than that, smarter... but not wiser. You can read his manipulation like a favourite book, because in some ways that's exactly what it is. You've done this before. You recognize this. In it's twisted way, it feels like coming home. He is using you, and you're letting him.

You want to feel guilty about it, you want to be mad at yourself for not falling for his facade but actively walking directly into this trap of his. But you cannot bring yourself to be. Because for all the planning and scheming. For everything he is trying to achieve with you, you know one more thing, one thing that maybe he doesn't even know yet. You know why.

His hands flex in the sunlight and you know he is pretending it's not stunning him, but it has been a lifetime since he got to be in sunlight, you don't blame him for basking in it. It’s almost enough to keep him from complaining about the bugs as you navigate the wetlands.

Astarion swats away a bug with his hand and mutters a few curses under his breath. “I cannot wait to be free of these bug infested woods,” he says, as if it was everyone else’s responsibility to make that happen.

“Used to fancier environments are you fancy boy?” Karlach asks.

“Most certainly, it’s not hard to have higher standards than somewhere where these little cretins bite you for taking a step,” Astarion points out. “I know the better places in Baldur’s Gate, no nasty little buzzing critters guaranteed.”

“Blood suckers,” Shadowheart muses at the mosquitos. “You think you would have more sympathy for them Astarion.”

The look he shoots her way is a smile, but it’s so full of malice that it is much more of a grimace, “Oh so you can make jokes?” he asks. “Not forbidden to laugh under your false god?”

“Let’s not,” Karlach laughs, clapping her hands together, “let’s not start anything that I will have to finish.”

“I say let them have it out, fighting will only make us stronger,” Lae’zel offers up, swiping at a vine that leans too close to her body for her comfort.

“Let’s keep the fighting for the enemy, if we start fighting amongst ourselves, then we are truly fucked,” you point out, walking faster to put yourself as a social shield between Astarion and Shadowheart, who look equally likely to attempt to draw blood.

“Sunshine to the rescue,” Astarion teases. If you weren’t too busy trying to decipher if he is genuinely irritated with your interference, you might pay more attention to the way he calls you that: Sunshine. You might be able to see the layers within it, read all the implications in such a simple word. Sunshine: something he has been denied for years, something he never thought he would get to have again, something he didn’t know he missed until it wasn’t able to access it. Something he is scared of losing again. But you notice none of that, not while you’re trying to read past the gentle slumping of his body against a nearby tree, the way he cocks his head to the side, watching you. The tiny curve in the corner of his mouth that might be all that slips through in an attempt not to smile. He leans back like a bored rake eyeing up his next conquest, something that on anyone else would be unflattering, but on him it’s ungodly elegant, and you have to look away.

“Hello,” comes a voice from the rocks. The whole party glances up to see a man moving in a hurried manor down to greet you. His hair is long and his movements determined, but he still meets your gaze with an attempt of a smile.

“Hello?” you echo back at him.

Astarion eyes the man with reproach which you admit it’s new for him, everyone is either someone worth charming or someone he would rather not be bothered by, this man certainly seems to be the latter. “Must we stop and speak with every wayward walker?” he huffs.

“I won’t take up too much of your time,” the man assures you, eyes flitting to Astarion, “I’m Gandrel-,”

“Oh, you are Gur,” Astarion says, stopping his slacking, and standing up really straight, arms crossed neatly cover the cotton of his black shirt. “Monster hunter, come to cast some type of curse?”

You elbow Astarion and he looks genuinely confused as he complains at the almost violent interaction. Gandrel laughs it off, looking not half as inconvenienced as you would have expected. “And every other thing people think my kind can do, honestly I wish I could do half of it,” he says, “but alas, we are mere mortals.”

“Brave words for men who hunt monsters,” Shadowheart says, looking almost apprehensive at the man in front of them. “So what are you hunting?”

“Let me guess,” Astarion says, moving his hands around as he speaks, all theatre and brimming with a strange type of enthusiasm. You’d almost think he was nervous, but you haven’t seen him nervous before, why would he start now? “Wendigo? Or better yet some winged horror?”

“Nothing that exciting I am afraid,” Gandrel states, his smile is welcoming, “some vampire spawn.”

If Astarion could get any paler, he would in his moment, his muscles stiff and his words threatening to falter, you sense his panic without as much as a glance. “A vampire spawn?” you ask, hints of laughter in your voice. “Not even a full vampire, how is that worth your time?”

Astarion glares at you, but he knows what you’re doing so he holds in a pout before adding. “I don’t know, spawn can be quite a handful, powerful things,” he says.

“Your friend is unfortunately right, and this spawn… he is particularly dangerous,” you don’t take your eyes off Gandrel, afraid if you look at Astarion you might see him smirking, “I was wondering if maybe you’ve seen anything.”

“What do you know about this spawn?” you ask, scorning yourself mentally for not coming off more subtle.

“His name is Astarion,” he starts, and you don’t hear much more after that, he begins to explain why he is hunting him, and what he has done, but the words just blend into the wind, and you are doing everything you can to try and act calm. You hear the words dangerous and volatile and in some deep met instinct you step back and in front of Astarion, leaning into him, you look afraid. You look like the man’s stories are bringing you concern, like you’re seeking comfort. But you’ve learned enough from wolves to know how to play this game. Astarion doesn’t know how to respond to your sudden proximity and just stands idle, listening to the man talk.

“Well I…” you look for the right words, the right approach to take.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Gandrel assures you. You feel sick to your stomach, this man is trying to be kind, his concern is genuine, and you know as well as the others that Astarion is not a saint, he is no pinnacle of good, he has done things. He has done unthinkable things. But he was surviving, and you cannot think you would do any different. Not that he ever had a choice in those awful things, Astarion has not had a choice in anything in two hundred years. “But you should be careful.”

“It sounds like this is a real threat,” you manage.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Astarion asks, “maybe we should… do something about the threat?”

“What would you do, if you found him, kill him?” Shadowheart asks, taking a little too much joy in this situation.

“No, I am on orders to bring him back alive,” Gandrel explains. The fear rolls off Astarion in waves, somehow that is worse, somehow that is so much worse. You’ve not doubted for a moment, since he told you, since you found out what he is and how he became it, Astarion would rather die than go back to Cazador, and he really doesn’t want to die.

“We shall keep a close eye out,” you say. You feel Astarion’s discomfort. He does to express something, annoyance perhaps but you look up at him, and he can hear you in his head, clear as that first moment when he saw your memories from the crash.

‘Trust me, I am not letting him find you, just trust me.’

And it takes all his effort, fighting every instinct he has, but he does. The others start to continue moving, and you watch Gandrel setting up camp. “I’ll be right with you,” you tell the others, letting yourself fall behind.

Gandrel is a good man from all you’ve seen. You know Astarion wants him dead. You can understand why he would feel that way, because as far as the eye can see it’s the way to keep Astarion safest. But you have another idea, a long shot, probably will end up the same way, but you’re going to try it anyway idea. And it has your hands shaking.

“Can I help you?” Gandrel asks, looking up at you from where he is laying out his bedroll. You cannot do this with his eyes on you, so you force yourself to do something you’re not very good at. You think on your feet.

“Strange question but you don’t happen to have any… wispweed do you?” you ask, eyeing his bag. “I have some payment, I just am running low.”

He gives you a smile and your heart plummets into your stomach. “Let me look,” he says, turning to reach into his bag.

You reach forward as fast your can a hand either side of his temple and you blood all of your power into freezing his muscles, you wait a short moment, checking that it has worked, but when all you can hear is the slow beat of his heart you move with more conviction. You haven’t done this in a long time, and you’ve got to get it right. You’re navigating his mind, looking for the right place, the right centre to alter, finding the pulses and the pathways. When you find them you can feel your own nerves starting to burn, this is not easy magic, this is not careful magic, it is unstable and you need it over quickly. “You don’t know anything about Astarion, you are not looking for him, and you will not find him,” you start saying, feeling the magic changing the pathways as you command it to, “even if you found him, you could not see him, you could not hear him, you would not know who or what he was, and you can never learn,” you feel sick but you know the last thing, the other thing and it tumbles from your lips before you have time to reconsider, “and if you were to be at risk of causing him harm, you would slit your own throat before putting him in danger.” You step back and your mind is swimming, the tadpole is feeding off the energy and you take no comfort in that.

Gandrel pauses before resuming what he was doing, he turns to you, empty handed. “Sorry,” he shrugs, “no luck.”

“No worries,” you say, voice shaking, “I will keep looking,” you turn on your heels, “Gandrel?”

“Yes?” he asks.

“Good luck on your hunt,” you pause, “what are you hunting again?”

He is quiet for the longest time, “A… hag?” he sounds unsure, “must be, that’s what I know is in this area.”

“Keep yourself safe,” you tell him. He tells you to do the same as you disappear to catch up with the group.

“Smart move that,” Karlach is saying to Astarion, “she has quite the head on her shoulders.”

“What?” Astarion asks, he hadn’t been paying attention, trying to listen at a distance to what you were saying and failing.

“Tav,” Karlach says, “pulling the whole wolf bit.”

“What in the gods are you talking about?” Astarion asks. Karlach eyes him, surprised that he missed it.

“When she stood in front of you,” Karlach says, like it is obvious. “Playing scared, it’s a wolf trick. When a wolf is being threatened their female mate often cowers underneath, hiding close, it looks like she’s afraid but really she is protecting the softest and most exposed part that the enemy could attack, the throat,” as Karlach explains it becomes painfully obvious that was exactly what you had been doing, you’d stepped into him, to put yourself between him and the threat, you’d been acting scared to protect him, “so when she-,”

“She was shielding me,” Astarion muses, “how thoughtful, and entirely unnecessary.”

“Sure buddy,” Karlach says laughing. “Because you weren’t scared shitless.”

“I am not dignifying that with a response,” Astarion states.

You catch up to Astarion and Karlach’s stride and Karlach starts that excited gushing she does, talking about something you wish you knew more about, but are happy to listen. “He won’t be a problem,” you whisper to him as Karlach talks. He doesn’t respond, but you can see in his eyes that he is trying to process your words. “I didn’t kill him,” you manage, quick and quiet, “but he would die before he sets eyes on you again. You don’t need to be looking over your shoulder, at least not for him.” You don’t miss the way Astarion is watching you, almost like he is hungry.

You’re setting up to settle down for the night when he beckons you over, he has barely said a thing since Gandrel and you weren’t sure if you’d upset him somehow. “Can we have a word?” he asks. You nod and follow him as he walks a distance from the campfire, leaving the others in the low amber light. “What you did,” he starts, but you’re already shrugging it off.

“He was a threat to you, I couldn’t let that be the case,” you say. He is flickering his eyes over yours, searching for something.

“That pesky little moral code of yours, you couldn’t kill him,” he says.

“I didn’t kill him,” you echo your earlier sentiments. “But I neutralised the problem… permanently.”

“You used mind magic,” he realises, you try again to shrug it off like it is nothing, but his is smiling, and it’s so coy and mischievous.

“I did not expect that to give you an ego boost,” you admit.

“That’s not easy magic darling, and you went to all that effort for little old me?” He is leaning in, grinning, his fangs unabashedly on display. Your knees feel weak at the sight of him, and you know he knows it.

“I wouldn’t let him hurt you Astarion,” you tell him, “I promised you that much. What I said when I found out what you were, I meant it. I am going to do everything in my power to make sure you get your freedom back, I mean that.”

He steps forward and you step back, and your back presses into a tree. He leans, one hand resting against the bark of the tree, just above your shoulder, almost pinning you in, as his other hand reaches up to brush a few loose strands of hair from your face. “Well, I suppose a thank you is in order,” he says, holding your chin between finger and thumb. “A reward for your protection.” He kisses you, it’s heated and fast, you can feel the way he presses against you and it steals almost every thought you have. You want this, of course you want this, you don’t remember a time you didn’t want this. But something about it makes your heart sink. Maybe it was the look in his eyes as he leaned for you, like it was so rehearsed, like he was playing this role, or maybe you can just feel something wrong, something insincere. You pull away and Astarion is nothing short of stunned.

“Is there a problem,” he asks, leaning in again, trying to regather is bearings, but you just turn your head away.

"Astarion- stop," you tell him. His whole body goes rigid, completely lost in confusion.

“I guess I misunderstood,” Astarion says, and you swear he sounds hurt. It’s his fear, the rejection, you realise so quickly, like a match being lit, what he thinks is happening. He thinks you don’t want him to kiss you, he thinks you don’t want him. He couldn’t be more wrong.

"No, it's not that, gods it's not that," you assure him. "I'd take being side by side with you, not even close enough for shoulders to brush, than... anything with anyone else. That's not it."

He blinks and his voice comes out more bitter than you would like it to be as he speaks, “then what the hells is it?” He is curious, confounded, completely unsure of where this is going. He has not been rejected, not for a long time. How could anyone turn him down? He knows he is beautiful, everyone tells him as much, he is charming and this routine always works, and yet you pull away.

"Astarion, I don't want you doing this because you think you have to," you say. Astarion isn’t sure he has heard you right. He thinks the words must be in the wrong order, or that they came out wrong.

“What?” he asks, voice devoid of any tone.

“Astarion I don’t want you to… do this, whatever this is, unless you want to,” you tell him. He is slow to register your words and you can see that on his face.

“Don’t you want me?” he asks. You feel like you could snap, the need in his voice, the desperation to be loved, wanted, desired. In spite of everything, he still craves that.

“Astarion, I want that, of course, but I only want it if you want it,” you try to explain. “I don’t want anything you don’t want, I don’t want you to do this because you think you owe me. I protected you because I care, because I wanted to, I didn’t do it so you would reward me.”

Everything he has been doing was instinct, it was taught behaviour, it is exactly what he has been doing for hundreds of years to survive, but now it was different because he wasn’t doing it for Cazador, he was doing it from himself, to protect himself from Cazador, so in it’s own way nothing has changed. It was a simple plan, sweet talk, seduce, bed, create a sense of bonding and then know that there was someone in his corner, someone who wouldn’t turn on him, someone to protect him, fight with him and for him. But you were doing all the work, you were willing to fight for him, and you weren’t asking for anything in return, and more jarringly you weren’t expecting anything in return.

"How did you know?" He asks, not able to meet your eye.

"Because our wounds might be different but our scars match just fine," you tell him. "Not being able to say no, and feeling like you cannot say no are close siblings in pain."

He is watching you now, closer, like he is seeing you anew, or maybe just truly seeing you for the first time. He had thought that you were easy to manipulate, that it would be straightforward, and in ways it was, it had been, it was easy, natural even. But he hadn’t considered how strange and natural it was to you. How you looked at him with such knowing, such understanding, but never once asked for the truth when you knew what he said was lies.

He watches you look away, turning from the light, as if you’re scared of all the things it might illuminate, suddenly lay bare.

"But you want me?" He asks.

"I don't want anything you don't," you tell him. He sighs, raking a hand over his neck, a little agitated that you're not hearing what he is asking.

"That's not what I mean, you would want me," he says, more of a statement now than a question, but his eyes still beg for an answer.

"Yes," you tell him, "I don't know how well that might go, or what that would look like but yes, I want you, and I would want to, or I want to want to... it's complicated."

"I know," he says and you know he does. "When you stepped back from Karlach," he says slowly.

"I struggle with... contact sometimes," you admit. You'd known Karlach wasn't going to touch you, that she couldn't touch you but you'd flinched anyway and it haunted you. You can feel Astarion looking at your neck now and you pinch the edges of your collar to pull it down and give him better access but he doesn't move.

"Why do you let me?" He asks.

"You need it," you say. "And I want to help."

"So, after all this you're going to start keeping things from me now?" He asks, almost coy. "Come on darling, tell me the truth."

"You need it, and I want to be needed, if I can offer you this, knowing the others can't, I know you're less likely to run from me," you say, staring at the ground, "you're not the only one looking for protection. You wanted it from the world, I wanted it from being left behind."

“You are protecting yourself,” he whispers. His eyes dance over you, taking all of you in, and he cannot help but wonder, how you could reduce yourself to thinking your only worth the blood pulsing through your veins. He catches himself, and wonders how he could let you feel that way. Or worse yet, if he made you feel that way. His plan was so easy, so simple, and it felt like you were falling for it, like he could make you fall for him, the guise, the mask, the charisma, like it was second nature. But that’s what he had been wrong about, you had fallen for him, it was obvious in those eyes that were staring right back at him. He had you at this point, this moment in time, where you would leave the entire world behind for him. But not the him he meant for you to feel this way about, the act, the rake, the smooth talker with the smile like a devil. It was the part of him that he buried under that, the man behind the vampire, that was the Astarion you were so desperate to help, to hold onto. He can not understand this care you have for him, or the feeling in his chest that is blooming from it. He doesn’t know how to do this right, not when he is known, when he is seen, when he is wanted in all the ways he had long forgotten you could want a person. Before Cazador and the betrayal and the sex and the death. The way you can want a person exactly as they are, no conditions, and no strings. You look at him and everything you do not say with words is written clearer than daylight on your face: ‘show me your sharp edges, show me your thorns, show me the most dangerous, unlovable parts of you, and I will show you my hands, open, waiting, willing to bleed.’

“You give up parts of yourself in the name of protection,” Astarion says, ringing his hands together, trying to look less fidgety, but the more he watches you, the more he understands the more this warmth spreads up his neck, this strange flush in his chest. It feels as if by some strange miracle of existence, his heart is trying to beat.

“But I am telling you,” you insist, “you do not need to do that for me, I am here, I will stand by you Astarion, hells or high waters, so you don’t need to pretend, you don’t need to do something because you think it is what I would want from you.”

“I am not pretending,” he says, a little more honest than he expected from his own mouth. “My attraction to you is genuine, my connection with you is…” he pauses, unable to find a way to make it make sense, “confusing. But I am not pretending.”

“You were pretending, you were manipulating me,” you point out.

“And you were letting me,” he says. You shrug.

“I am not stupid enough to imagine I was more than useful Astarion, which is why I want to continue being useful, we can have each others backs, and no one is left without someone in their corner, but you do not need to try and… you don’t need to make yourself uncomfortable on my behalf.”

Never in his life has Astarion wished he could hold someone without that feeling of disgust and guilt, never has he wanted to kiss someone more than in this moment. But he knows what follows, he knows how Cazador has seeped into everything, and tainted it all. Ruined it all. He doesn’t even know where to begin to undo that damage, he doesn’t know if there is a way to undo that damage. But never has he wanted more to try. He looks at you now, and he wants to kiss you, to kiss you without it being this strange twisted regret that it always becomes. He want to be real, he wants to kiss you and mean it, and let it be only what it is and not a reminder of everything that has happened to him. But he doesn’t know how to do that.

“I do care about you, you know, and I wish, I wish I knew how to be different,” he says, “but I haven’t had the time to figure that out.”

You shrug. “You’ve got all the time in the world to figure out whatever you need to figure out for yourself Astarion, and I am doing everything I can to keep that true, so we need to keep moving, and get these nasty little fuckers out of our heads, and separate Cazador from his, and everything else, we can figure out after.”

“You truly do just want to help me, don’t you?” he asks. True, selfless love, that wanting for another person, not for what it mean to you, but just so they can get what they deserve and be happy. If he asked you to stay, you would, you would drop everything to stay, and if he asked you to go, you would do the same, because you only want what is best for him. Astarion has never known a feeling like that, and he is chasing it, clawing at it, trying with both hands to get a good grip so it doesn’t slip through his fingers and run out of his grasp. He doesn’t think he could find this again, he doesn’t think he would want to. He just knowns he can’t lose this, this feeling like a beating heart in his chest when he looks at you.

“I do,” you say. “So, are we going to do this?”

“I think so Sunshine,” he says, letting that smile return, even if it is just to disguise this nervousness that is pounding at his skull.

“Okay good, then take what you need and we can get on with things,” you say, pulling your collar aside so he has best access to your neck. He looks at you and lets his eyes wander to the slope of your neck, he places a hand on your side pulling you closer and you let yourself be calm, let him do this. He leans down for the bite, lips pressed against the pulse point, and you wait for the soft pain, the dizzying feeling, but it doesn’t come. His lips brush soft and cold against that pulsation and then they pull away, leaving you with nothing but a ghost of a kiss where teeth marks should be.

“You’re worth more than that to me Sunshine,” he whispers, close enough to your ear that you can feel his words against your neck. “So much more,” and he pulls away, not giving as much as a glance as he walks back towards the others, leaving you puzzled with your heart thundering in your chest.

“Oh Star,” you whisper, to the wind more than to anything or anyone. “You are never going to be able to be unloved by me.”

[dilfhos]

BEST PAL.

SHIGARAKI TOMURA x READER

CC: dubc0n, virginity loss, cucking, unprotected s*x, inexperienced sex, pwp

+scummy bf makes you help out his friend >.< [old drabble repost! ]

Dabi being such a good sport to help out his virgin friend, Shigaraki. What a pal offering up his girlfriend to take the guy’s precious innocence.

“C’mon don’t be like that. I thought Shigaraki was cool people!”

“Dabi you don’t even like him,” You protested.

“Not true babe.” He lied. In all honesty, he couldn’t care less if the ashy bastard got his dick wet in his lifetime or not.

But watching how inexperienced Shigaraki was when he tried to stick his tongue down your throat made him hard like none other. Especially when you were trying to be a good sport and take it. It was cute when you’d try to whimper for him to take it easy amidst Shigraki’s frantic yanking of your pesky clothing but Dabi knew his friend; He didn’t do ‘easy’.

Dabi watched quietly from the corner, making sure not to interrupt him as he had his way with you, only speaking up when Shigarki would begrudgingly ask if this or that was right.

“Yeah, grip her tits. She likes that,” Per demand, he does so, crimson eyes sparking up when you arch your back under his touches. Apparently you liked it when he teethed on your nipples a bit too—you were pulling his hair, muffling your squeal in the back of your hand.

“Be sure to tap her clit too, feel how tight she gets?”

Shigaraki would nod excitedly as he felt your walls clench around his dick. Wow, chicks really did dig it when you roughed ‘em up a little too. His grip on your neck had your eyes rolling as you bit back the urge the scream. Despite his inexperience, Shigraki could recognize pleasure from a mile away, thankful for the plethora of women in his desktop. His skinny, newly fucked dick was actually doing something to you.

And Dabi, man as irritating as he was to him all the time, he wasn’t all bad, Shigaraki deduced.

After all he was actually letting him fuck his girlfriend.

You didn’t really know what to feel really. Not with Dabi’s really weird friend humping your pussy like that. Not as he stared you in the eyes like a man crazed as he canted his bony hips against yours, every now and then hitting that delicious spot inside but mostly missing it. But the wild look in his eyes as he desperately rutted you like a dog, his other hands moving carelessly to grope your body made you bothered and wanted. It was cute in a way.

However in the span of six minutes, his face distorted and his hips stuttered. He didn’t even really get into it before his breath was hitching up and his body felt a surge of heat radiating through his veins from the start of his heavy balls.

“Fuck! Cumming! I’m-shit!” His movements spasmed to a halt. And you whimpered as you tried to writhe from under him but he held you in place. For someone as scrawny and paper-thin as he seemed, Shigaraki’s grip was steel. He wanted to move, really he did but the way your gummy walls were constricting him like a fucking vice, he just couldn’t help it. You couldn’t blame him, it’s his first time after all.

Your lips parted as your brows furrowed, staring him straight into his half-lidded eyes as you felt his essence jet into your unprotected little cunt, filling you up with a seemingly never-ending load. He leaned down, sweaty forehead pressed against yours, mouth parted to fan his warm breath across your face.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, you looked over for reprieve but instead found your boyfriend looking every bit as excited as you felt disgusted.

Dabi had a sickening smile on his face as he drunk in the contempt in your eyes, hand lazily pumping his leaking cock. “I gotta teach you how to eat a woman out man.”

DILFOS. DO NOT PLAGIARIZE OR REUPLOAD MY CONTENT—CURRENT OR ARCHIVAL.

[beyonddmythoughtssworld]

take it out on me | rafe cameron x reader

Summary: Growing tired of your attitude, Rafe surprises you by asking you to take control of him.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: 18+ content, pure filth, slightly dom!reader, slightly sub!rafe, dom!rafe, slapping, spanking, choking, handcuffs, a tiny tiny smidge of dumbification

You drop your bag on the kitchen table frustratedly, going over to the fridge and swinging it open to grab a water. After a few sips, you toss the water back in the fridge without a care.

You walk over to the couch, sitting down and not even bothering to turn on the TV. You just lean against the back of it and bring your legs up to your chest as you rub your temples to try to massage away the impending headache.

This week has been added onto the list of weeks you've grown tired of your job. You love working there, but your new boss was an absolute dick who doesn't know his ass from his elbow. The most frustrating part: when he makes a mistake, you get blamed.

He went out of his way to humiliate you today because he was too embarrassed to admit he made a mistake. And he'd been doing it for weeks.

At first, you ignored it, not the type to lose your temper or let things get to you. But at this point it's been a month under this new management, and you don't know how much longer you can take. You don't know how much more Rafe can take.

You know you've been the biggest bitch to your boyfriend for the last couple of weeks, but honestly you've been in such a bad mood you can't even bring yourself to care. Part of you is envious of the blonde. He does amazing at Cameron Development, and here you are being treated like an absolute idiot at your job.

Speaking of your boyfriend, he must've heard your frustrated movements around the condo because he walks into the living room, pausing his movements when he sees your position on the couch. You hear him sigh, and you can't help the surge of anger that comes across you at the sound.

You know he's not sighing like he's fucking stressed.

“We need to talk.”

He sits across from you on the coffee table, leaning forward on his elbows and trying to get your attention. You must really be annoyed today, because any other time the shirtless sight of your boyfriend would be enough to ease it a little.

You roll your eyes, bringing your fingers to the bridge of your nose in annoyance, “Can we do this later?”

“No, now,” He demanded, voice growing hard. At his tone, your gaze snaps to his as you fix him with a glare so hard your eyes start to strain. On a normal occasion, Rafe would never let this slide.

But something must've clicked based on the look on your face, and his eyes soften as he mutters, “You’re really stressed, aren’t you?”

You don't say anything, just continue to look at him.

He sighs as he uses his hands to push himself off the table, standing over you and holding out his hand, “Come here.”

•••

“Rafe, I don’t know about this,” You state nervously as you play with your fingers. You'd been looking down at the floor since Rafe told you his intentions with bringing you back to the bedroom.

You assumed when he brought you back that he would be doing what he does best, making you shake and cry in pleasure as he makes you take whatever he gives you. Imagine your shock when he instead told you what he wanted you to take control of him.

“You’ve never let me…” You trailed off, not needing to. He knows why you're hesitant. The last time you tricked him into handcuffs and used him to get off while he threatened you, he made good on his promise that you wouldn't be able to walk for a week.

“Look at me.”

His raspy voice is laced with desire, and you bring your eyes up to him. He walks closer to you, cupping your cheeks and leaning your head back until it rests on the door of the bedroom, coming down to place a lingering kiss on your lips.

“I want you to use me,” He mumbles against your lips, biting it. “I want you to use my fingers.. my tongue.. and my cock. I want you to get yourself off on me.”

“Are you sure?” You whisper, looking up at him doe-eyed.

“Yes, baby,” He promises, trying to assure you the best he can that this isn't a trick. “You let me use you anytime I want. It’s your turn to take your anger out on me.”

Your thighs clench, the thought of using Rafe sounding extremely appealing. But you can't shake your nerves at the thought of being the one in control.

“What’s wrong? Are you scared?” Rafe questioned, his words sweet but his tone was teasing. “Is that what it is, you’re scared you're gonna hurt me?”

He fake pouts, leaning down to bite harshly on your lip and pulling back, letting go when you whimpered, “Baby, there’s nothing you can fucking do to hurt me. Come on. What do you want?”

You know what the answer is. He wants you tell him you want to use him. But you're so fainthearted that your mind goes blank at the question. Rafe recognizes this, jaw clenching as he brings his hand down to wrap around your throat.

“Answer my fucking question,” He states through clenched teeth, squeezing harder on your throat. “What do you want? Or are you too stupid to know-”

You shove at his chest, your eyes narrowing in anger. He knows that your boss has been treating you as nothing less than the gum on his shoes. He knows he's hitting a nerve by calling you that, and that alone sparks the anger inside of you again.

He stumbles a little, laughing at you as he tilts his head.

“That pissed you off, didn’t it?” He steps closer, trapping you against the door as he leans down to brush his lips against yours, “Come on. What do you want me to do for you?”

“I wanna ride your face,” You respond, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Yeah? Are you asking or telling me?” He takes a fist of your hair, pulling your head back. You bring your hands to his side, digging your nails into the skin as he hisses. “That’s right, tell me.”

“Get on the bed,” You ordered, and he grinned at you as his eyes darkened. He pushes himself off from the wall so he's no longer trapping you against it, taking a couple steps back, “Yes, ma’am.”

His words cause another rush of desire to run through you. He goes over to the bed, taking off his sweats and boxers before laying on his back and raising his eyebrows at you. You take off your shirt and pants slowly, not breaking eye contact with him.

He bites his lip as he runs his eyes over your figure, settling back on your chest when you take your bra off. Not even bothering to take off your panties, you make your way over to him, climbing on top of him until you straddle his waist.

His hands automatically come up to rest against your ass as you lean down to capture his lips in a heated kiss. He snaps the waistband of your panties against you, making you gasp at the sting. He uses this opportunity to push his tongue into your mouth, letting you take control of the kiss for once.

You moan as you grind against him, his hand slapping your ass hard. You whimper, but you're reminded of what you're supposed to be doing. You pull back, moving up his body until your pussy rested just above his face.

He leans his head up, but you're quick to grab his hair and force his head back down. He sends you a glare, but his eyes fall down when you move your panties to the side so he has a view of your glistening folds. He makes a noise between a growl and a groan, and you put both of you out of your misery.

You lower your hips, Rafe not wasting any time and shoving his tongue inside of you as he rested his hands against your thigh to hold you there. You gasp a moan, hands still in his hair as let him do as he pleases. He drags his tongue from your entrance to your clit, wrapping his lips around the nub and sucking.

He starts to make out with your pussy, going back and forth between that and sucking on your clit. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he shakes his head back and forth, shoving his face more into your pussy as he begins to move his tongue faster.

“Baby, can I-" You start to whimper out, stopping when he slaps his hand on your thigh roughly.

“Don’t ask me. Tell me,” He doesn't move from between your legs, talking into your pussy making it clench at the vibrations. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

You take a couple of breaths as he slows down, gathering up the courage, “Keep eating my pussy so I can come.”

He makes a noise of approval, moving his mouth against you hotly. You let out a moan, grinding your hips down harder on his face. He groans, “Fuck, that’s it. Grind on my face.”

“Shut up,” You snap, growing a little more confident. He makes another groan in approval, sending the vibrations through you and triggering your climax. You let yourself grind on him however you want, Rafe's hand loosening around your thighs to let you.

All of the stress you felt today leaves your body as you throw your head back in ecstasy, riding out your orgasm. Your movements slow, and Rafe trails his mouth from your center to your thighs.

“You liked that?” He asks as he bites down on where your thigh meets your center, licking it to soothe the skin. He mimics the movement on the other side, looking up at you, “What do you want now?”

“I want your cock,” You answer immediately, moving from your position over his face to rest against his stomach again. You grind against him, his eyes darkening in lust as he feels the evidence of your orgasm through the lace of your panties.

“Yeah? Go ahead, baby. It’s nice and hard for you," He bucks his hips, letting you feel the hardness of his length against the small of your back. You bite your lip as you lift your hips up to hover over his cock, eyes settling between you two as you move your panties to the side. You're about to move down when he interrupts, “Get on my cock.”

Your head snaps back up, your fierce eyes meeting his as he smirks at you, “You want me to shut up?”

You nod at him, but he grits out a response, "No, fuck you. What're you gonna do about it? Make me-”

You move up, bringing your hand to his mouth and covering it. His eyebrows raise again, opening his mouth and biting down on your hand hard. You pull it back quickly, rubbing the skin as your jaw clenched in anger.

“That’s all you got?” He pokes fun at you, and you feel your face grow hot in anger. Such a fucking asshole. He laughs at you again.

“You wanna slap me, don’t you?” He asks, and you look him up and down. He bites at his lip, nodding his head at you, “Go ahead. Slap me.”

Your palm comes up to slap him across the face, his head moving only slightly at the movements. When he brings his eyes back to you, his jaw clenches.

“You call that a slap?” He spoke through gritted teeth. Your head snaps to the side as he slaps you, the sound echoing as your cheek grows hot at the stinging sensation. “That. That’s a fucking slap. Now, try it again. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Your eyes move back to his as he talks, anger filling you as he continues to goad you on. This time, when you slap him his head cracks the side, the sound of the palm of your hand hitting him echoing the room. He nods in approval as he looks back at you.

“Do it again,” He demanded, lust seeping further into his tone. You slap him again, this time harder than the last. He groans, “You better get on my cock. Now.”

“I’m so fucking hard,” He continues as you move back to your position of hovering over him. His voice comes out in a whine, and you gush at the sound, “Come on, baby. Fuck me.”

He lets out another groan as you slide down onto his cock, a breathless moan leaving you at the sensation of him stretching you out. You start to grind against him once he’s fully inside of you, getting used to the feeling.

Wanting him closer, you lean down until your chest presses against his. You kiss him roughly, biting his bottom lip before licking it. He opens his mouth to let you slide your tongue in, the both of you moaning into each other.

He brings his hands to rest on your hips as he pulls back, his gaze hot on you, “Use my cock.”

You start to bounce on his impressive length, bringing your head down to push your face into his neck as you move faster against him. He kisses the side of your head as he rasps, “It’s yours. Do what you want.”

You whimper, but it’s cut off when he lifts one of his hands up to smack your ass hard. You take your face from his neck, slowing your movements as you look at him. He has the same teasing glint in his eyes, and he pouts at you again mockingly.

“What’s wrong?” He mocks, “You don’t like that?”

When you shake your head, he leans up to brush his lips against your ear, whispering, “Do something about it.”

You grab his hair, forcing his head back down as he growls. Lifting off of his cock, you ignore the feeling of emptiness as you lean over to the reach into the bedside dresser.

Opening the drawer, you pull out the familiar handcuffs. Coming back to rest against his stomach, you involuntarily whimper when he clenches his abs. You glare, slapping him again before grabbing his hand and putting one of the cuffs on. You roughly grab the other, cuffing it and pushing his arms up.

You rest his hands above his head, leaning down to kiss him hard. He gives a small moan, chasing your lips as you pull back but you grab the front of his hair, pushing him back onto the pillow. You glare down at him, “Don’t fucking move.”

He wets his bottom lip as he looks at you through hooded eyes, and you bask in the look of longing on his face. You wonder if this is how he feels when you look at him like that. This powerful.

You put his cock back inside you, not wasting any time and moving up and down roughly. His head tilts back as you ride him, not stopping any groans from coming out of his mouth as he keeps his hands where you told him.

You’re shocked at how easily he submits to you, and you wonder if this can be a regular occurrence. Not often; you love letting Rafe take absolute control of you in the bedroom. But you’ve never seen him so.. vulnerable. So desperate.

You grind against him, and when he bucks his hips you stop your movements. He looks at you, eyes begging as a plea leaves his mouth, and you laugh at him like he’s been doing to you all night. Once he begs again, you start to move against him, the erotic sight bringing you close.

“Make me come inside you,” He orders, his eyes fluttering as you clench down on him. “Fuck, your pussy’s so good.”

You start to slow down, wanting to tease him. His eyes glare up at you, jaw tightening as he catches on to what you’re doing.

"Can you do anything right?" He insults, trying to use your anger again. "Or does my cock make you so dumb you can't follow simple directions?”

“Shut up,” You snap at him, falling for the bait and moving faster up and down his cock. You feel it twitch inside of you, and you have to actively stop your head from throwing back.

“What’re you gonna do to make me?” He goads, and you slap him again. He’s about to say something else, but you bring your hand to his throat without thinking. For the first time of the night, he falters in his teasing.

“Fuck, baby...” He mutters, His dark blue irises rests on you as you tighten your hold against his neck. His hands twitch in the cuffs, and you know he’s stopping himself from touching you.

You swivel your hips over him, tightening up around him and relishing in the strangled groan that leaves his lips. His eyes scan you before settling down on where the two of you meet, and he growls at the puddle you’re creating.

The squelching of your pussy on his cock plays throughout the room, mixing into the sounds of your breathless moans and his broken ones.

“Let me come inside you,” He breathes out, and you bite down on your lips before leaning down. You’ve always wanted to do this, the excitement of doing what Rafe’s done to you motivating you to move against him harder.

“Beg for it,” Your lips brush his, and he lets out a small breathless laugh as he nods in approval.

“There you go,” He praises, loving how you caught on to being in control. He pecks your lips, looking up at you with begging eyes now as he plays his part. “Please, baby. Please let me come inside you. I’m so fucking close.”

You whimper, loving the sound of him begging for it. You move faster, choking him as his begs grow more desperate until you kiss his cheek, “Come inside me. Be a good boy and come inside.”

His head throws back as a loud groan leaves him, and you loosen the hold you have on his throat. He starts to come, the feeling of him filling you up triggering your own orgasm as you moan loudly.

He plants his feet on the bed, pounding up into you as you grind down on him, only settling back down once your orgasm starts to slow. You move against him for a little longer, before stopping.

You make no movements to pull him out of you, both of you breathing hard as you come to rest against his chest. You don’t know how long the two of you are laying there, but his voice calls out.

“Baby,” he mumbled, and you came to your senses. Lifting up, you pull him out as he grunts. Once you remove the handcuffs and put them on the nightstand, a small noise leaves you when Rafe grabs you to pull you on the bed until you’re the one laying on your back.

He hovers over you, kissing you as he tells you how good of a job you did. When he pulls back, he’s still not able to catch his breath, he pecks your lips once more, “Feel better?”

You hum, nodding your head as you look up at him affectionately, “Yeah. Thank you.”

“Don’t get used to it,” He teased, leaning down to kiss your neck. Your hand comes up to rest against the back of his head, playing with his hair as he marks you. He moves his head down, kissing the swell of your chest.

“Now it’s my turn.”

[galebrainrot2024]

Gale x Tav Enemies to Lovers Part 15

Tav's POV - with a slow build, comes the promise of a massive, angsty pay off. Shout out to @thelittlepinkwitchblog and @stuffforthestash for helping me in the brain room and with the lore! Getting back into the rhythm after being away for a week. Had a little block because I'm excited to get to the meat, and in order to enjoy we must savor the build. Enjoy! Content Warning: death/suicide

“Farewell, my friend,” Elminster said, the seriousness in his eyes unmistakable. Tav’s eyes jolted back and forth between the two, heat pricking her cheeks. She felt dizzy, unbalanced by what Elminster was asking - what Mystra, their Goddess was asking. 

Had Tav not been studied in magic perhaps the news would have felt less jarring. To use Magic and to be studied in the art was to know lMystra. To be an extension of her. Seeing this knowledge dropped on Gale like his life was frivolous and replaceable repulsed her. It made Tav’s stomach rot. It made her feel the slow creep of a gag at the back of her throat. 

Tav looked Gale up and down as he bid his friend, “Fairwell, Elminster. I’m glad she chose you.” 

Tav stood, dumbfounded. Just like that - Gale was sending him on his way. As if the message wasn’t what it was from his ex-lover. 

Ex-lover. Even the idea of it made her skin creep, it felt like she was covered in black tentacles. She wasn’t naive - it wasn’t unheard of for Gods to have sexual affairs with their devotees. But Gale spoke of his relationship with her as if it was mutual, as if she could see him in the way he saw her, with the same reverence and appreciation. 

Thinking about the imbalance of power made Tav grow tight at her seams. Was his naivety invisible to him? Why did Gale give so much of himself to Mystra when she would never do the same? Would never see him as he seemed to need her to. 

Tav wondered if Gale had ever felt superior, to have bedded a Goddess. The emotion that broiled within her felt quite the opposite. It felt cold, and lonely.

Tav felt her muscles twitch as the adrenaline surged in full force. Her hair stood on edge. They’d been so vested in finding a cure - in getting to the heart of the Absolute - Tav realized she understood very little about how complicated his relationship with Magic must be. 

When he explained his folly about the orb, he had a heavy air about him. A weight that seemed to suffocate him underneath the lie of being unworthy. Tav felt guilt wrap her, remembering how her initial thought was thinking he deserved such a punishment for thinking he knew better than a God. Gale was reaching for an impossible goal. Instead of looking on solid ground he looked above for escape. 

Tav couldn’t blame him for that. 

In all of their lectures of Gods of course she learned they had dealings with mortals - blessing their chosen with extended life, clerical abilities and that to harness unique powers. Gods taking on mortals as lovers, though was thoroughly glossed over. 

Tav finally understood what her father had been saying from the moment she discovered her abilities. He had no magic in his blood, as far as she they knew, so her abilities were a surprise to them both. He rarely spoke about her mother but he didn’t indicate she was gifted. 

He told Tav humans were puppets to the Gods. Trifles. Children’s amusements. That if she were to study magic to stay grounded in everything that made her mortal lest she lose herself in the process. 

The Gods had no vested interest in individual mortals. Tav had seen it already: Shar and Vlaakith proved as much with Shadowheart and Lae’zel. It was one thing to read about in textbooks, it was another thing entirely to experience. The Gods had as much a vested interest in mortals as the people Wyll tried to polity flirt with along their journey. 

Mystra was asking - expecting - Gale to end his life like he was nothing. Tav needed to lie down.

The feelings hit her and splintered through her core like icicles. It made her skin clammy and cold. Often Tav felt it - unworthiness, the same self-deprecation she recognized in Gale. No Wizard in the realms would touch her after her final Blackstaff demonstration, a wound that still wept on occasion. It was so mortifying that Tav sought refuge in anonymity.

Tav gritted her teeth. To Gale, Mystra had been and was everything. Would be everything until his last breath. Even if Mystra the Goddess was nothing to him, Mystra was the Weave, and they were inextricable. Tav began tapping the tips of her fingers together and realized she was standing where the conversation had just been taking place, now alone. Shadowheart and Astarion were whispering, their bodies tilted towards Tav and their eyes shooting away from her when they caught her staring. 

“You can’t seriously be considering what he just said?” Tav ignored them and approached Gale, not quite able to match his pace as he started to walk away as if avoiding her and she clasped his arm.

Gale stopped and turned, his eyes dropping to where her fingers gripped, and she felt his muscles tense. “For Mystra to have sent him, the severity of her bidding could not be clearer or weigh more heavily on me.” Gale put a hand on his hip, the other running across his jaw and mouth. “Time seems so infinite when you’re young. A month is an age. A year is a lifetime… it is a strange feeling to realize how little of it one might have left.” He paused for what felt like eternity. “Of course I have to consider it.” Tav felt his body pull closer to hers as he whispered this, his tone laced with solemn regret. “She’s offered the clearest solution to our problem. All I have to do is find the right place and time, close my eyes and let go.” Tav searched Gale’s eyes and they did not meet hers. They seemed to focus beyond on and yet into her all at once. His eyes traced her lips, her hair, but not to meet hers. “The slate will be clean. Wrongs will be righted. The Absolute will be gone.” Tav shuddered, “And I along with it.” 

Tav’s breath stuck like glue in her throat and her knees buckled. Sure, she’d be annoyed, angry with Gale even at times.. yet, the possibility of the world no longer including him felt incomprehensible. “We’ll find another way - I’m not going to let you blow yourself up. She can’t ask you to do this - it’s insane!” 

Gale’s nostrils flared and he tilted his head to the side and when his gaze met Tav’s she sank into his pupil’s black abyss and saw herself reflected in their severity. “Let’s save such certainties for later. I need time - to process. To think. Excuse me…” Gale sighed and lifted his hand as if to touch her and dropped it as abruptly and turned to walk to his tent. 

** 

As they sat around the fire, midday turned to late afternoon and soon the sun dusted the horizon with streaks of mellow purple. They were restless, no one yet confident enough to broach the glaring bulette in the room.

Tav was standing off to the side, chewing on her lip and pulling her amulet back and forth. Tav jumped when she felt the fingers tap her shoulders. “I know that Gale just received some difficult news..” Shadowheart began her long fingers resting delicately on Tav’s shoulder. “We were wondering if we should set up camp. It feels unwise to travel much farther late as it is and I’m afraid we’ve all had quite a bit of wine between us.”

The rest of the companions waved a bit dramatically as Tav glanced over. Ah. They must have nominated Shadowheart to ask for the plan. Tav knew they didn’t have an infinite amount of time. Every hour they wasted was a moment closer to becoming a mindflayer.  

“I think it’d be best if we camped for the night. Maybe ask Wyll if he can make dinner… practice for his future dates.” Tav tried to force a smile that didn’t come, her joke landing flat. Shadowheart flipped her hair with a nod, Tav assumed she was glad to escape cooking duty again. 

Gale did not emerge from his tent for dinner. Tav didn’t know if she should leave him or check on him. For the rest of the companions the choice would have been easy. With him she questioned every word, every action, mulled it over like an overly complex problem. 

Despite the fire before her, Tav shook. Shadowheart leaned forward on her knees, holding her hands up to the heat. Her eyes danced beneath her dark curtains. “I can’t believe Mystra actually expects Gale to just sacrifice himself like that. It seems like a waste of a fine mind if you ask me.” 

Murmurs of agreement swept through them and Karlach paced behind those seated, swinging her axe. “Mystra asking Gale to end his life… I mean this is a lot to take in. What do you think he’s going to do?” 

Karlach looked expectantly at Tav and Tav shook her head and shrugged quickly, looking away. “Oh… I don’t know. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s of two minds.”

Karlach groaned and swung her axe into the dirt. It landed with a thud and she pulled it out like a knife into cake. “Well, tell him to pick the right one.” Tav felt her cheeks redden. 

“He won’t listen to me.” Tav said, pulling at her fingers. 

“He doesn’t listen to anyone,” Astation tossed, only mildly interested in the conversation. 

“Fine, I’ll do it.” Karlach said, “Fucking wizard’s, man they always need help picking the simple, obvious option. If Mystra can’t think of another way to stop the absolute other than sacrificing Gale, she is no God worth worshipping. I’ll say that to Gale in, you know, gentle terms. Lae’zel, you’re one of our resident experts - what do you think?” 

Lae’zel stepped away from sharpening her sword, even she compelled by the visitor in their camp and news to Gale. “Even the Githyanki have heard tell of the sage of Shadowdale. Some of his works have been translated to tir’su.” Lae’zel came to sit by the fire and Shadowheart bristled. “That doesn’t mean his every word carries wisdom. Near as I can tell, Mystra demands Gale’s faith but holds no faith in him.” 

“That’s what I’m saying!” Karlach waved her arms towards Lae’zel, her eyes widening as if to say ‘see?’ 

Lae’zel continued, “Why else would she demand Gale sacrifice himself and  perhaps so many others? Does she not think he can destroy the Absolute with his own immense talents?” 

“Well I wouldn’t call them immense…” Astarion mumbled under his breath and Tav shot him a nasty look that made even him wither. 

“Does she not know the mighty company he keeps?” Lae’zel said, undeterred, “Demanding as Vlaakith may be, she acts for the good of the Gythanki people. Mystra is concerned only for herself. Perhaps he can find forgiveness in a fiery death… but I cannot help but wonder why he’d want it at all.” 

Everyone was silent for a moment and Tav stared into the fire as if scrying. “To suffer on the Wall of the Faithless is no fate anyone should want.” Her voice was a whistle that brushed through them. “It’s cruel to ask it of him because she knows he’ll say yes. It’s wicked.” 

“I can’t believe Mystra is asking Gale to sacrifice himself,” Astarion agreed, scooting closer to Tav and putting a hand on her knee. She flinched but did not pull away. “It’s just a perfectly good waste of a cult we could be controlling!” Before Tav could scoot away she felt him lurch, Shadowheart nudging him. “And a perfectly good Gale, I suppose.” He said the final part with poorly disguised ambivalence. 

Anger simmered in her and Wyll’s calming voice placated her, if marginally. “Listen, I might invoke the triade from time to time and appeal to Helm, but I’m no man of faith. Not like Gale.” Wyll looked at the fire, tossing a stick into it. “I don’t know what drives a man to consider his own death to be an appropriate exchange for his goddesses forgiveness. To me, it all sounds like nonsense.” 

“To some of us it’s important.” Shadowheart interjected but Wyll shrugged. 

“The faith that matters most is that which you hold in yourself and the ones that most matter to you.” Wyll pointed to his chest and stood, “Big bomb be damned. He’s got everything he needs to defeat the Absolute already. Nerve, and powerful allies at his side. I hope he’ll come to his senses and see that.” 

Tav wondered if Gale heard how they spoke of him, how the others seemed to revere him - would they be able to convince him to spare his life even if she could not? The heaviest weight was one of knowing a future she began to see unfold might never come. One that built over years and was reignited by the parasites. Like a planet and moon, destined to be within one another's orbit.

She looked towards Gale's tent and saw him in the darkness, looking directly at her. If she hadn't been looking for him he would have blended into the night. When she spotted him, he held up a hand and offered a half-hearted smile. Although it had yet to pass, she knew then the waters of their relationship threatened to surge violently if they continued to be unaddressed. 

[praetorqueenreyna]

My last ACOTAR gift exchange fic is for @copypastus, my favorite degenerate villain lover! She started the Hytam revolution, so it's only fair of me to continue my Hytam fic for her.

Click here to read on AO3 or continue reading below:

The king of Hybern picked his way through the remains of Rosehall. The once proud manor was now dilapidated and overgrown with weeds. The front doors had been ripped off their hinges, and part of the ceiling in the foyer had caved in and allowed debris from the outside to invade and pile up on the floor. He made his way unerringly to the throne room. An enormous beast lay prone in front of the dais. Its wolf-like jaw rested on its paws, green eyes staring vacantly at the wall. One of the antlers that adorned its head had snapped off.

“Look what they’ve done to you,” he murmured. The beast didn’t move. “You fought me, every step of the way, out of some misplaced sense of honor. And what do you have to show for it?”

Slowly, painfully, the beast raised its head to look at him. The king fought back a smile. The situation was delicate, and the High Lord was still powerful. He continued speaking, his voice a soothing melody. “They’ve all betrayed you, haven’t they? For hundreds of years, they’ve used your loyalty against you and then left. The Lord of Night slaughtered your family and then waged war on your land. That human woman lied to you in order to destabilize your rule and steal your secrets. Even your faithful emissary has left you.”

The beast's eyes blazed at the mention of the Autumn Court brat. A matching surge of fury swelled in the king’s breast, and he fought it down. This was no time for petty emotions like jealousy. He was so close to success.

“Don’t you tire of these outdated notions of good and evil?” the king crooned. “Nobody else in this wretched kingdom adheres to them. You’ve fought for them long enough. Isn’t it time to fight for yourself? To seek vengeance against those who have deceived you?”

The king held his breath. This was the vital moment, where he found out if he had gone too far and ruined his entire plan before it had even begun. The beast unfolded its legs and rose to its feet. It approached the king, its mouth full of sharp teeth perfectly level with his throat. The metallic tang of magic filled the air, and the beasts form puddled and shifted into a bowed blonde man dressed in rags. The High Lord of Spring turned his gaunt face up to the king.

“Yes,” he said, voice hoarse from disuse. “Tell me how.”

Finally, the king allowed himself to grin. He tenderly cupped Tamlin’s cheek in his hand, thumb brushing against the perfect golden skin. “I already have.”

These things take time, Cesare reminded himself. Impatience was the enemy. He could wait. He had waited for five centuries for his chance to conquer Prythian once again. Still, he grew exasperated with Tamlin. The Spring lord vacillated between his desire for revenge and his stubbornly persistent sense of morality. Cesare coaxed Tamlin out of his depression, as one would cajole an injured animal into a trap. Tamlin stopped shifting into a beast to punish himself. He cleaned himself up and changed his clothes. Slowly, the manor around him began to repair itself, matching the lord’s improving mood.

It wasn’t enough. The king of Hybern didn’t want Tamlin content. He wanted Tamlin to fight. He reminded Tamlin of the wrongs committed against him, how those he had carefully cultivated relationships with turned their backs on him. Unfortunately, Tamlin was far more inclined towards self-flagellation than righteous anger. He blamed himself, over and over again, for his current state of being. Cesare began to despair that Tamlin would never rouse himself enough to participate in his plan. That Tamlin would never be his.

Then they found the assassin.

Cesare had carefully negotiated allowing a bare bones contingent of his soldiers into Spring. They wouldn’t attack or harm anybody, they were simply there to protect Tamlin’s unguarded borders. One of them sprinted into the manor, panting. They had apprehended an intruder, he explained, several miles from the border. If the Hybern soldiers hadn’t been patrolling, he would have made it to Rosehall completely unnoticed. At Cesare’s command, they brought their captive to the throne room, which still lay in ruins. Tamlin sat at the pile of rubble that used to be his throne. Cesare stood to his right, slightly in front of him.

The intruder was a pixie dressed in plain black clothing. He had midnight blue skin and pitch black eyes that glistened like wet tar. His fingers were long and narrow, tipped with wickedly sharp claws. His transparent veiny wings were hidden away under a beetle-like carapace. Cesare recognized the type immediately. These lesser fae crawled through the underground tunnels of the Night Court, infesting and reproducing like cockroaches. One on its own wasn’t particularly dangerous, but when they swarmed they could easily overwhelm much more powerful fae.

“We found this on him.” one of Cesare’s soldiers tossed a small vial through the air. Cesare caught it and opened it, his upper lip curling at the distinctive scent. It was hydrophid, a toxin about a thousand times more powerful than faebane. Even the fumes from the miniscule amount in the vial were enough to make Cesare lightheaded, and he quickly capped the container. He passed it to Tamlin, who also sniffed the vial’s contents. His brow furrowed; he knew as well as Cesare did that hydrophid came from a reptile that only inhabited the mountains of the Night Court.

“What’s your name, pixie?” a gentle voice behind Cesare caught him by surprise. Tamlin was leaning forward, staring intently at the pixie.

“Nehp,” he answered sullenly. “No use asking me nothing. I’m not gonna talk.”

“I think you will.” Tamlin rose from his seat until he stood in front of Nehp. A few weeks of taking care of himself had made a marked difference. No longer did his joints creak from disuse, no longer did he sway from malnutrition. He was strong and muscular, moving with the feral grace of a leopard. Cesare couldn’t take his eyes off him. He watched, discreetly signaling for his soldiers not to interfere.

“Who sent you?” Tamlin towered over Nehp, an implicit threat in his tone. The pixie gulped but didn’t answer. Tamlin cocked his head to one side and waited. Without warning, Nehp began to scream.

Cesare started, instinctively rising to his feet. Tamlin hadn’t touched the pixie, hadn’t so much as moved. But Nehp was shrieking as if he had been caught on fire. He lifted up his hands, and for a second it appeared that he was now wearing a pair of red gloves. Cesare’s vision focused and he realized that the skin on Nehp’s hands had peeled back, revealing muscle and tendons and bone. The screams changed pitch as Nehp’s head began to bubble with grotesque boils. Each boil exploded outward to reveal a bloodshot eye. All of a sudden Nehp gagged. A brief glimpse through his open mouth revealed that an eyeball had grown on the tip of his tongue.

“I can do this all day,” Tamlin said coldly. He was doing this, Cesare finally realized. He had known about the High Lord’s shapeshifting ability, and that he was able to change other beings with it. Up until now, the skill had been so underutilized that Cesare had forgotten about it. He hadn’t understood the full potential of the power that Tamlin contained. He wondered if Tamlin refrained from using his power because he feared what he could truly accomplish with it. There wasn’t a drop of sweat on Tamlin, no indication that he was exerting himself as he contorted the pixie’s form.

“I’ll talk,” Nehp choked out. “Please…stop.”

In a flash, he reverted back to normal. He collapsed on the ground, tears streaming down his face from his two remaining eyes. Coughing, he glared hatefully at Tamlin.

“Who sent you to kill me?”

“The Shadowsinger.” The pixie didn’t even try to deny what his goal had been. “On the Night Lord’s orders.”

Something in Tamlin cracked. In front of Cesare’s eyes he wilted, shoulders drooping and head hung low. He walked out of the throne room past Nehp, who cringed away from the High Lord. With a flick of his hand, Cesare indicated to his soldiers that they could take care of the pixie once and for all. One of them pulled out his sword and ran Nehp through. He died without another sound.

Cesare found Tamlin standing on the manor’s front steps. Tamlin was staring across his land with unseeing eyes.

“I haven’t done anything.” Tamlin’s voice was hoarse, as if he had been shouting. “I’ve stayed here, even when they disrespect my borders and have secret meetings on my land. I risked my life in your camp and exposed myself to save them. I even brought him back to life.” Cesare was silent, letting the full weight of the Night Court’s crimes against Tamlin sink in. Although his primary interest in the Spring Lord was power, even he was insulted on Tamlin’s behalf. The Lords of Prythian had taken advantage of Tamlin’s kindness long enough. They didn’t deserve it.

“He tried to kill me.” Tamlin spoke the words softly, as if he couldn’t quite believe them.

“He underestimated you.” Cesare stepped up beside Tamlin. “You’ve let them walk all over you. Let them believe you are weak.”

“I am weak.”

“No.” Cesare roughly grabbed Tamlin’s chin in his hand, forcing the other male to look at him. “You’ve only made yourself think you’re weak. You’ve held yourself back out of some archaic sense of morality. What I saw of you today was incredible. You hold more power in your little finger than the rest of the High Lord’s have in their whole bodies. Including Rhysand. That’s why he needs to get rid of you. He knows how much you threaten him.” Cesare practically burned with desire, both for Tamlin himself and the potential he represented.

“That wasn’t me.”

“It can be.” He pulled Tamlin in for a rough kiss. He expected the High Lord to struggle and pull away; instead, clawed hands wrapped around his neck, slicing through the collar of his tunic. Cesare didn’t care. The pure strength radiating off of Tamlin, the cruelty he had shown, made him dizzy with lust. Tamlin could reach into his chest and rip out his heart, and the king of Hybern would thank him.

“We’re going to kill them all,” Cesare murmured when he had to pull back for a breath.

Tamlin smiled against his lips. “Good.”

[redinahedge]

I want to talk about IDW Sonic

Mainly, his characterization.

IDW is canon. There's no getting around that. It takes place directly after Sonic Forces and because of that, Sonic's characterization is pretty important. Soo, how about we explain Sonic's character in the games? Sonic is a free spirit. He doesn't care whether what he does is right or wrong, he simply does things his own way. Always off to go on another adventure and have fun. He's snarky and has a big ego, but loves his friends and cares about the world around him, always willing to do the right thing. Freedom is his game, and he can't stand when it's restricted by anyone. He's a shonen protagonist in every sense of the word, but he has this flair to him that makes him so much fun to watch. So why do people hate his depiction in IDW? everything seems in order-

...he's stupid. He's fought this guy for so many years, knows he won't accept, but he offers? When has Sonic ever tried to reason with his enemies? Sonic isn't some Christ-like "I forgive you," figure, he's supposed to be living his own way! Not bound down by a moral code! ...Except no. Sure, it's on full display in IDW but this has always been a part of Sonic's character. Need I remind you of a very iconic scene, one where metal is IN it?

When you think about it, the same thing is happening in both scenes. Sonic is reaching out, trying to get humanity out of the robot until... he slaps his hand away, and departs. One melting into lava, and the other to his master. Sure, the Sonic OVA isn't canon. I know that. But it's also an early example of what his character was like before Sonic Adventure. Sonic has a tendency to befriend old rivals after them turning around. Knuckles, Shadow, Gemerl, etcetera. He even asks metal later why he can't be like the other robots -

And I saw a post that says this goes against when he said to honor his decision. Not only is this kind of hypocritical given that the main point of contention is how forgiving he is, it's also completely ignoring the fact that he realized because he was so merciful, all of this happened. He blames Starline for putting Eggman back on the path, he blames Metal, hell, he even blames Tails at one point he's stressed, he's slowly becoming a zombot, the world is borderline ending and... it's all his fault. He's not used to that, so of course he's going to put blame on those who he let go. To be fair, a similar thing happened in Lost World as well, Sonic kicked the Conch out of Eggman's hand and let the Zeti take over his fleet, letting them proceed to misuse the Energy Drainer Eggman had made. In my opinion, these are too different situations. In one, he's undoubtedly in the wrong. There's no one else he can blame. What, is he going to blame the air for kicking it out? In IDW, yes he's at fault, but there's many more factors. Starline's hypnotherapy, Metal's return, etc. In Sonic's eyes, he didn't do anything wrong by letting him be free, but the circumstances made it a mistake. Does that make him putting the blame on others right? No. But that's not what I'm getting at, my point is that it's not out of character. If anything, his character flaws here making him more interesting to watch in my opinion.

Ah yes, Sonic morally grandstanding to Surge So out of character Sonic would never do this. I'll concede that this is very wordy and a bit pretentious. But is it truly out of character for him? If we look at what he's saying itself, and his entire philosophy, everything kind of falls into place and explains itself. Cut down it's essentially: "Hey, I enjoy life. I want you to as well. That's why I don't want to fight. Wanna start over?" This has happened so many times. Same as last time, he's done this same song and dance so many times. This is even more similar to his past encounters than the situation with Metal was! "Sonic isn't a pacifist" Is a big argument I see about this as well. While I don't consider him a complete pacifist either, I believe he wouldn't unless he absolutely has to. In Black Knight, he understood there was no other way, and slayed the king. Every other time, there has been another way, and thus he had taken it. I'd even be willing to bet it's IDW itself that made him reevaluate how much he resorts to violence. Meeting Mr. Tinker caught him off guard, and he had to think about it before deciding to let him go.

He reevaluated his stance that day. That's why he's so much of a "pacifist" now compared to earlier. This experience is the reason. He's seen the good in Eggman now. He's seen that they can change and do the right thing. He wants to see them go down that path, and the world is making him pay for it every day. I actually really like this direction for Sonic. I understand not liking it, it is different, but I think it works well. IDW is honestly probably one of my favorite interpretations of the character. Idk how to close this so

sonic is cool i like the comics k byee

[whumping-valentine]

🦌 Fawn and Hunter - Part 8 🦌

"Fawn's Punishment"

Content: Restraints, belts, intended non-sexual spanking, defiant whumpee, unearthed childhood trauma, slight nsfw warning (or full nsfw warning idk where y'all would draw that line. Basically whumpee accidentally finds out they have a kink. This is the only time the series will get nsfw.)

1,600 words

Hey, part 8! Who's ready for our little Fawn to finally get put in their place? I know I am! :)

Sorry for my absence recently. A few weeks ago my brother and his friend dragged me out to chaperone a concert 2 hours away when I was starting to feel sick, and I'm disabled and couldn't sit the entire time unless it was on the floor, then I got the full on FLU, then while sick I started my period, and I haven't been able to do anything for over a week. I couldn't focus and was angry and depressed about it and how sick I felt but whatever. In all honesty it was awful. And then my pet turtle died and my brother got into a car accident (he's fine).

It's been stressful, though now I'm finally ready to get back in the swing of things. I'm not too happy with this part but I blame the aforementioned reasons for it. It feels choppy and weird but whatever. I'm just gonna hit post and get it done with.

Anyways, yeah, hope you like it!! 💕

       Fawn was once again tied to the bed upstairs. Though rather than being able to lay on it, their hands were bound behind their back, tied to the bedpost as they sat on their knees. They’d spent hours trying to desperately break free, though it was all for naught. All that they were left with were sore, bruised wrists, embedded with rope marks. Not to mention how bad their knees hurt, unable to switch positions.

       They were so sick and tired of everything. Of being angry, scared, fatigued, and hurt. Constantly fighting between their beating, anxiety-ridden heart and their uncaring anger. They were more mad at Hunter than anything, but their stupid disorder fought against them. It made them afraid. Afraid when they didn't want to be. If they didn't have anxiety, life would be so much easier.

       No being fearful of anything unnecessary. No feeling like you're running a marathon while sitting at home in bed. No nausea or sensation of vomiting. No aches and pains and panic attacks. No fear.

       Yet here they were, feeling like they were about to have a heart attack, hands shaking, almost a sensation like they were being set on fire. Like they could feel the blood surging down their arms to their hands. Fear and anger were their least favorite emotions, yet they were the only ones they could feel. They weren't normally so feisty and vulgar. Though despite how much of it they threw at Hunter, they saw right through them.

       They saw how soft they really were. How small, fragile, and pathetic. They hated all of it. Being perceived as both mean and feeble. Their fighting was their coping mechanism, the swears, the kicks, the biting back. They hated being perceived as weak.

       Soft, yes. But that doesn't mean weak.

       Most people don't get that.

      Though now, they were tired of being strong. In this moment, they were weak. They loathed it. They wanted to fight back, and cry, but nothing ever changes when they do because to Hunter it means nothing. Now here they were, on their knees in a dark cold room waiting for Hunter to do God knows what to them.

       Fawn was a lot like Hunter in the sense that they just wanted to be left alone. Fawn wanted to go back to their new old home, back to the animal shelter, back to working a simple daylight job at the gas station. Keeping to themself, nature, and animals. Not being perceived at all.

       Unfortunately, that was merely just a wish. The door to a room creaked open, light entering from the hall as Hunter stood in the doorway. Fawn refused to look at them. A tense moment was held in the air as neither made a sound, Hunter just standing there while Fawn kept their head down. After a while, Hunter stepped into the room.

       “So,” they said, “you think you can rummage through my things and destroy them? Tear them to shreds?”

       “They weren’t your things. They were missing posters.” Fawn grumbled in discontent, still keeping their head down. Hunter grabbed their hair and forced them to look up, smacking them harshly across the face with their other hand.

       “You are in no place to be talking black to me, especially not right now! You wanna destroy my fucking things? Then I’ll destroy you right back.” They said, a growl to their tone. They untied the rope from the bed post and yanked them to their feet, grabbing onto their arms.

       "Grrr, let go of me!" Fawn yelled and kicked as Hunter tightened the grip on their fragile arms, pushing them out of the room as they hopelessly fought.

       “No, you need to be taught a lesson.”

       "No! No I don't! Fuck you!"

       “Yeah, yeah. Keep yelling. That’ll help.”

       Hunter dragged them to a chair, roughly throwing them down on it, almost knocking it backwards from the force.

       "Every other time I've hurt you, it's because I've needed to help you out of something you caused. You stepped into my trap, so I took you into my home and fixed your leg. You break my window, so I pick out the pisces and give you stitches. You get sick because you’re a weak little baby, so I take care of you out of the kindness of my heart.” They said semi-sarcastically, “But now I'm afraid it's time for you to face some true consequences."

       “Oh yeah, like fucking what?” Fawn growled, “Do your fucking worst, I don’t care. Fucking shoot me. Kill me like hunters are supposed to do with their prey. Fucking end me, you coward.”

       “Oh, darling little fawn, we’re in far too deep for me to do that now. No, I’ve grown to quite like you. It gets lonely all the way out here, and I find you to be entertaining. You aren't going anywhere, I’m afraid. But you are going to listen to me. My cabin, my rules.”

       Hunter took off their belt, folding it, the leather wearing and peeling off of it. Fawn glared at them, their eyes slowly widening.

       "Hm, what's going through that pretty little head of yours? Relax, if I wanted to do that to you, I would've done it already." Hunter said, approaching them, proceeding to slap them across the face with it. "Besides, I wouldn't want to fuck something that acts like a bratty child."

       "If being a bratty child is the only thing keeping your creepy hands off me, I'll gladly keep it up." Fawn said, not even reacting to the slap.

       “Keep my hands off you, yes. But not my belt.” They hit them again.

       “You know what I meant.” Fawn grumbled, then kicked them in the legs. “Get away from me.”

       “You’re in no position to be making demands at me.”

       “Or fucking what? You’ll smack me with the belt again? Yeah, yeah. Been there, done that a thousand times. You’re supposed to be some serial killer, aren’t you? You're really fucking shitty at it.”

      Hunter pulled their hair, "You wanna act like a brat? Then you can get punished like a brat. Is that the game you want to play? You wanna play that game? Because I can.”

       “Oh, yeah, sure, spank me like a child, why don’t you. That’ll teach me a lesson.”

       “I don’t appreciate your sarcasm.”

       “Yeah well I don’t appreciate being tied up and held hostage by some strange feral person in the middle of the woods, so I guess we’re even.”

       Hunter yanked them up on their feet and threw them over the table so fast and unexpectedly that Fawn yelped. Just as quickly as that happened, they felt their pants get yanked down, and a belt roughly lashed against their bare skin.

        "Ah! What— what are you doing?"

        "What do you think I'm doing? Act like a child and I'll spank you like one." They brought the belt down again.

       Fawn's face blushed red in embarrassment. This was humiliating. It wasn't a sexual spanking, rather they were being spanked like they were a misbehaving kid. It felt like their childhood all over again. Being hit and spanked by their parents for the most trivial of things.

       They'd just finally gotten away from it.

       Now they were right back where they ran away from.

       “What’s the matter? I thought you said this would be like nothing, didn’t you?” Hunter taunted.

       “Y-you— you can’t just spank another adult and have it not be weird!”

       “Hey, you’re the only one making it weird. Why? Do you like being spanked?” Hunter teased, and brought the belt down harder. Fawn jerked and let out a surprised squeal. Hunter chuckled darkly. "I think you do."

"Shut the hell up." Fawn nearly cried. The tone was cracked and scared, not angry. "Stop it. Stop it! I'm not a child, stop it, I'm not— you shouldn't— you can't punish me!"

"Then stop acting like one. That's the point. Because you're a child. It's not my fault you're a freak who likes being hit."

"I do not like it!"

"Yeah, sure. Maybe not by me, but you do. You're clearly humiliated though, which was the goal. So it works."

       Fawn shut their mouth and stayed quiet as Hunter talked and hit them. As if they couldn't make their embarrassment any worse, their brain, throat, and tongue plotted against them, as they involuntarily pleaded, "Mom, stop."

       "Aww, am I reminding you of mommy? Were you spanked as a kid? How sad." They condescended, hitting them harder. “Childhood traumas that turn into adulthood kinks, how unfortunate for you.”

       “No… you... you don’t remind me of my mother.” Fawn said sadly, “You’re far too nice for that.”

       Hunter was about to bring the belt down again, but the statement surprised them, causing them to hesitate, bringing it down in a light tap, rather than a spank.

       Hunter grumbled to themself under their breath, then said, "Fine. You're done. For now." They untied their hands and threw them onto the floor, "Now pull up your pants and get out of my sight. I think you should spend some time alone, be sure to think of me in the process, though."

"Fuck you. Pervert." Fawn spat, and Hunter left.

       They were so mad at themself. How that turned them on. They knew it wasn't their fault, it was just a bodily reaction, but still. They were being spanked by their captor, just like their mother used to do. That shouldn't turn them on!

       They were frustrated in more ways than one, and wanted to rip their hair out. It wasn't supposed to be sexual. Yet here they were, feeling assaulted and ashamed.

       This was not their fucking fault. This was not the consequences of their actions. They wouldn't let Hunter manipulate them with their bullshit. Won’t let them groom them into thinking they’re some kind of authority figure.

       They’d sooner wish for the apocalypse then to be subservient to them.

You're all gonna see a turning point for Hunter the next few chapters, so I hope you're ready for some focus on them. Also this part wasn't originally supposed to get a bit sexual, but that's just where it ended up when I wrote it. Hope it's okay, it's my first time ever putting out anything nsfw so I'm a little bit nervous 😅

Taglist: @parasitebunny @whumpy-wyrms

Lmk in the comments if you want added or removed !

Thank you for reading ! 💕🦌

[crusherthedoctor]

It's really sad how people keep going after your group just because you defend yourselves

Apparently, the statements "I'm generally content with the quality of my personal stories" and "I spot many issues with this comic" justify getting spammed with graphic death threats and ableist insults

Yet it's insisted that you're the ones who are too harsh? It's straight up unfair.

Who would have thought that a group of people might occasionally get upset after being crucified and ridiculed by countless strangers?

Funny how they NEVER have a justification beyond "well shut up no one wants to hear you"

Somehow, it's always YOUR fault that a part of the fandom goes rabid whenever someone doesn't conform to the current "right" opinion, and YOU'RE to blame for THEIR ungodly behavior. That doesn't make any sense, does it?

This fandom is vain and abhorrent to the nth degree and y'all deserve better. That's all I wanted to say.

Par for the course, innit. They'll lash out at us. They'll hand out death threats. They'll make disgusting ableist comments about my autism, and similarly terrible comments towards my friends. They'll threaten to bomb SEGA HQ and stick Iizuka's head on a pike, among other wild declarations of violence. But don't you dare make a goofy meme about Surge not living up to her hype. And whatever you do, don't even think about criticising the unprofessional antics of the IDW crew. What are you, a monster?

They dismiss us as insignificant one minute, then fearmonger so hard that they see fit to give us a boogeyman-esque moniker the next. I'd be surprised if they could walk in a straight line without contradicting themselves.

As for "You talk so much about your fics!" ...No shit. I'm a guy with a blog. This isn't a movie production with a budget, I don't have a team or advertisements backing me up. And unlike fanartists, I don't have my own art to catch people's attention. I kind of have to talk about my writing in order to get it out there and inform people of its existence, and while I try not to sound too much like an unskippable YouTube ad, what else am I supposed to do? Upload them silently and then never refer to them again? How is showing passion for my work any different from official creators showing passion for theirs? Just because fanfic tends to get less attention on here than fanart doesn't mean it's not worth sharing, do they want fandom to flourish or not?

When I compare my work to a certain comic, I do it to highlight the dissonance. If fanfic writers - plural, not just myself - can understand the importance of keeping the characters recognizable, and making the universe faithful despite any necessary differences, then what excuse do official writers who have been involved with the series for over a decade have? If someone who doesn't even love Sonic that much compared to other characters, finds him annoying and unfunny half the time (no, not just in the Pontaff games, in general), and even finds it a pain in the ass to write for him at times and has more fun writing other characters because of this, can still attempt to write what made him appeal to fans... why do writers who supposedly love him so much keep fumbling so hard with him?

I compare for the sake of highlighting why these off-kilter portrayals are so easy to spot. If Sonic Twitter only gets "He's just stroking his own dick" from all of that, then they haven't been paying attention.

The most ironic thing about it all is that they've only gotten more vitriolic as most of us have mostly moved on from the height of IDW discourse (cause the comic goes in circles at this point, and is very likely to be running on fumes due to IDW's financial troubles, so there's no point). Yeah, I'll still criticise it now and then, and make a meme on occasion, but I rarely make lengthy ted talks about it or participate in ongoing Lanolin Is A Bitch/Silver Is Uwu-ified/Whisper Is Trauma Bait/etc back and forths anymore, because it's just tiring now. And since most current Sonic stuff has been putting me off in general, combined with growing fatigue and frustration at not being able to criticise certain games without people waving the finger at me (especially SA2, since the Year of Shadow has made it the center of attention yet again...), I've took a step back from intense Sonic discussion to focus on Stellar, as well as other fandom projects, like my recent brainstorming for Paper Mario or: How I Learned To Insert Eggman and Love The Vivian™.

In no way can you say I've been up in their faces as of recent. Yet they continue to cry otherwise, because they want people like me gone completely.

[buckyssoldat]

Chapter 55: Secrets and surprises

Warnings: mature themes, alcohol consumption, sexual content, mentions of grief and loss, strong language

A/N: This is part of my series, Forsaken - The Fallen Soldier. If you wanna be tagged in this, just send me an ask or a message. Feedback is always appreciated, don’t be shy to share your thoughts on this :)

Friday night beneath the stars

In a field behind your yard

You and I are painting pictures in the sky

Sometimes we don't say a thing

Just listen to the crickets sing

Everything I need is right here by my side

It’s no secret that Natasha and Alice share a bond that transcends the ordinary. One evening, when Steve was out at his support group meeting, Alice went to visit Nat at the compound. They settled themselves into comfortable chairs on the rooftop of the compound, lying underneath the stars. The night was clear, the air was cool, a perfect setting for a heart-to-heart conversation. They had been catching up on their lives, sharing stories, and reminiscing about old times.

As they settled into their conversation, Alice reached into a cooler beside her, pulling out two cold beers. She handed one to Natasha with a grin.

“You know,” Natasha began, her gaze fixed on the twinkling stars above, “It’s funny how we ended up here, talking about everything and nothing at the same time.”

Alice smiled, turning her head to look at Natasha. “Yeah, it’s like the universe wanted us to have this moment, just to remind us that we’re still here.”

Natasha sighed contentedly. “I’m glad you’re here, Alice. It almost feels like the old times.

Alice nodded, her expression turning serious. “Me too, Nat. It’s been a rough couple of years, but moments like this help us keep going.”

Natasha shifted slightly, propping herself up on one elbow to face Alice. “Speaking of rough times, how are you holding up? Since everything happened…”

Alice’s smiled faltered for a moment, and she took a deep breath. “It was hard, Nat. It still is. But I’ve been trying to move on, you know? It’s always gonna be Bucky, just as it’s always gonna be Peggy for Steve, but we are trying to find some normalcy in the middle of all this.”

Natasha reached out, squeezing Alice’s hand in a gesture of comfort. “I understand. And I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

Alice smiled gratefully, feeling a surge of warmth at Natasha’s words. “Thanks, Nat. It means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me.”

There was a brief silence as they both stared up at the sky, lost in their thoughts. Then, Natasha’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “So, Alice, there’s something I’ve been dying to ask you.”

Alice raised an eyebrow, curious. “Oh? What’s that?”

Natasha grinned, a playful glint in her eyes. “How’s Steve in bed?”

Alice’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but she couldn’t help but laugh. “Nat!”

“What?” Natasha said, pretending innocence. “Come on, you can’t blame a girl for being curious.”

Alice sighed, knowing there was no way out of this. Natasha was an accomplished spy – if she wanted information, she would get it. “Fine, if you must know…”

Natasha’s eyes widened with anticipation, and she scooted closer, eager to hear the details. “Yes, I need to know. I need all the juicy details. Spill it, Alice.”

Alice sighed, knowing Natasha wouldn’t let it go. She glanced around, ensuring their privacy, before finally giving in. “Alright, fine. But you have to promise not to tell anyone.”

Natasha’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Scout’s honour,” she vowed, raising her hand in a mock salute.

Alice took a deep breath, trying to collect her thoughts. “Well, where do I even start? Steve is…intense. He’s so attentive and… considerate. He always makes sure I’m comfortable and enjoying myself.”

Natasha’s grin widened. “I knew it! Captain America, always the gentleman.”

“Yeah, but he can also be… surprisingly dominant,” Alice continued, her cheeks flushing at the memory of the previous nights. “He knows what he wants and he’s not afraid to take control. It’s exhilarating, honestly.”

Natasha nodded, her interest piqued. “Go on.”

Alice hesitated for a moment before deciding to spill everything. “The other night, for example, he really let loose. He pinned me against the wall and told me I’d been a bad girl for teasing him. And then he… he spanked me.”

Natasha’s eyes widened in surprise and intrigue. “Really? That doesn’t seem like Steve at all.”

“I know,” Alice admitted, a small smile playing on her lips. “But it was… amazing. He knew exactly how to balance the pleasure and the pain, and it drove me wild. And after, he was so sweet, making sure I was okay. It’s like he can switch between these two sides of him so effortlessly.”

Natasha chuckled, shaking her head in disbelief. “I had no idea Cap had it in him. That’s… impressive.”

Alice leaned in closer, lowering her voice. “And you know what else? I think he likes it when I call him ‘Cap’ in bed.”

Natasha burst into laughter, nearly spilling her beer. “No way! Captain America really is a kinky guy!”

Alice grinned. “Yeah, he is. But don’t you dare tell him I told you any of this.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Natasha promised, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “But seriously, Alice, thanks for sharing. It’s nice to know that Steve is not the goody two-shoes he appears to be.”

Alice smiled, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders. “Anytime, Nat. It’s good to have to talk to about these things.”

Natahsa raised her beer in a toast. “To secrets and surprises.”

Alice clinked her bottle against Natasha’s. “To secrets and surprises.”

As they lay back, gazing up at the stars, the weight of the world seemed to lift just a little. For that night, at least, they had each other, their friendship, and the comforting presence of the stars above.

Alcie took a sip of her beer, feeling more at ease. Natasha’s mischievous expression returned, and Alice could see another question brewing behind her eyes. She braced herself, knowing that Natasha wasn’t done probing yet.

Natasha leaned in closer. “Okay, one more question.”

Alice groaned playfully. “You don’t give up, do you? Alright, shoot.”

Natasha grinned. “Did you take Steve’s virginity?”

Alice’s eyes widened in surprise, and she burst into laughter. “Natasha!”

“What? It’s a legitimate question!” Natasha defended herself, though she was clearly enjoying Alice’s reaction.

Alice shook her head, still chuckling. “You really don’t hold back, do you?”

“Nope,” Natasha replied with a wink. “So, what’s the answer?”

Alice took a deep breath, considering her words carefully. “Honestly, Nat, I don’t know. Steve’s never talked about his past in that much detail. I’ve never asked him, and he hasn’t brought it up either.”

Natasha tilted her head, intrigued. “Really? I always thought he’d be the kind of guy to wait for the right person.”

Alice nodded. “That’s what I think too. But he’s also had a lot of time and a lot of life before… we got together. I mean, he was on ice for decades, and before that, he was dealing with the war. It’s hard to say what his life was like during those times.”

Natasha leaned back, contemplating. “I guess we all have our secrets, don’t we?”

Alice smiled softly. “Yeah, we do.”

The night was still young, and the stars above seemed to twinkle in agreement as Alice and Natasha clinked their beer together once more.

Natasha, ever the instigator, grinned mischievously at Alice. “You know what we should do?”

Alice raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What?”

“Play a little game,” Natasha suggester, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “How about ‘Never Have I Ever’?”

Alice laughed, feeling a bit youthful enthusiasm at the idea. “Alright, I’m game. But remember, you started this.”

Natasha chuckled. “Oh, I remember. Okay, I’ll go first…” She took a sip of her beer, settling back into her chair. “Never have I ever… got drunk during a mission.”

Alice smiled, raising her beer and taking a sip. “You got me there.”

Natasha smirked. “Your turn.”

Alice thought for a moment before grinning. “Never have I ever… dyed my hair a crazy colour.”

Natasha laughed, taking a sip of her beer. “Okay, you got me. Black Widow needs to blend in sometimes.” She paused, then added, “Alright, never have I ever… met someone famous.”

Alice shook her head, not taking a sip. “Nope, never met someone famous. But I always wanted to meet Metallica.”

Natasha nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe in another life. Your turn.”

Alice looked up at the stars, thinking. “Never have I ever… piloted a plane.”

Natasha took a sip, winking at Alice. “Advantages of SHIELD training.” She leaned forward, ready for the next round. “Never have I ever… kissed a fellow Avenger.”

Alice couldn’t help but laugh as she took a sip. “Okay, you got me there. But you should drink too.”

Natasha grinned unapologetically before she drank. “Guilty as charged.”

Alice shook her head, still smiling. “Alright, let’s see… Never have I ever… gone on a secret mission.”

Natasha raised her beer and took a long sip. “Well, that’s just part of the job. You drink too, cheater!”

They both laughed, the game breaking down the barriers of their everyday lives and allowing them to share in a rare moment of pure, unadulterated fun.

Natasha, feeling a bit more daring, decided to up the ante. “Never have I ever… had sex in a public place.”

Alice blushed deeply, her laughter bubbling up uncontrollably as she took a sip. “You’re really trying to get me to spill all the beans tonight, aren’t you?”

Natasha chuckled, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “I need some gossip in my life. You need to tell me now!”

Alice took a deep breath, realizing she was about to share something she hadn’t told anyone. “Alright, you win. I’ve got a story for you. It was late one night after one of my shifts at the café. He came to pick me up, and we were both frustrated and tired, and we just needed to blow off some steam.”

Natasha leaned in closer, eager for the details. “Go on.”

Alice glanced around, making sure no one else was around to overhear, even though the compound was empty. “So, we were driving back home, and Steve pulled over into this secluded spot. We were in one of Shield’s old SUV, so there was a bit of room. One thing led to another, and, well, things got heated pretty quickly.”

Natasha’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “In the car? I never would have pegged Steve for the spontaneous type.”

Alice laughed softly. “Me neither, but he surprised me. It was actually pretty incredible. The adrenaline, the risk of getting caught… it made everything more intense. At one point, he had me up against the window, and it was just… wow.”

Natasha shook her head in disbelief, a grin spreading across her face. “Captain America, getting frisky in an SUV. That’s definitely one for the books.”

Alice nodded, still smiling at the memory. “Yeah, but you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone. Steve would die of embarrassment if he knew I told you.”

Natasha raised her hand. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Alice shook her head, still smiling. “My turn. Never have I ever… slept with a target.”

Natasha smirked and took a sip. “You know me too well.”

The game continued, each round bringing them even closer as they shared more about their lives, their secrets, and their adventures.

Alice glanced at her watch. “It’s getting late. Steve will be back soon.”

Natasha nodded. “Yeah, we should probably call it a night.”

They stood up, gathering their things. Alice looked at Natasha, feeling a surge of gratitude for her friend. “Thanks for tonight, Nat. I really needed this.”

Natasha smiled warmly. “Anytime, Alice. I’m always here for you.”

As they descended the stairs from the rooftop, a comfortable silence settled between them. Finally, Alice broke the silence, her tone turning serious.

“Nat, can I ask you something?”

Natasha glanced over, sensing the shift in Alice’s mood. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”

Alice took a deep breath, her voice tinged with sadness. “Do you think we’ll ever get over them? Do you think everything’s gonna go back to normal eventually?"

Natasha’s steps slowed, and she looked down, her expression contemplative. “I don’t know, Alice. It’s been so hard without them. The world has changed so much, and we’re left trying to find our place in it.”

Alice nodded, her eyes reflecting the pain they both felt. “I miss him every day…. It’s like there’s this hole nothing and no one can fill.”

Natasha reached out, placing a comforting hand on Alice’s shoulder. “I feel the same way. It’s like a part of us was ripped away. But I also believe that we have to keep living, not just for ourselves, but for them too. They wouldn’t want us to give up.”

Alice smiled faintly, finding solace in Natasha’s words. “You’re right. We owe it to them.”

Natasha nodded, her resolves strengthening. “Exactly. And we have each other, Alice. We’re not alone in this.”

They continued walking, the weight of their conversation mingling with the quiet determination in their hearts. As they reached the door to the main part of the compound, Alice stopped and turned to Natasha. “Thank you, Nat. For everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Natasha smiled, a warmth in her eyes that spoke volumes. “We’re in this together, Alice. Always.”

As they stepped inside the briefing room, a familiar rumble echoed through the hallway. Alice glanced towards the entrance, a smile tugging at her lips as she recognized the sound. Moments later, Steve pulled up on his bike, the engine purring as he parked it.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on her face as he approached them. “Ah, there he is.”

“Hey, Natasha,” Steve greeted her.

Steve grinned, a twinkle in her eyes as she turned to Alice. “I think someone here prefers a more spacious mode of transportation.”

Alice rolled her eyes, swatting at Natasha’s arm. “You’re terrible, Nat.”

Steve laughed, shaking his head fondly at their banter. “Alright, enough teasing. How was your evening?”

Alice smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her at the sight of Steve. “It was wonderful. Nat and I had a heart-to-heart on the rooftop.”

Natasha smirked, shooting Steve a knowing look. “Oh, we did more than just talk. Alice spilled some very interesting secrets.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “Is that so?”

Natasha nodded, her grin widening. “Let’s just say, Captain America has some surprising talents.”

Steve was amused and confused at the same time. “Oh, really? And what might those be?”

Natasha smiled, her gaze dancing between Alice and Steve. “I’ll let her tell you herself.”

Steve chuckled, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “I look forward to it.”

tags: ​​​​​​​​​​​​​​@capswife

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masterlist

[theplanetprince]

Schrodinger's Adolescent || CH. 25

Fic: AO3 || FNN

Fandom: Danny Phantom

Rating: Teens and Up

Word Count as of update: 175k~

Relationships: Dash Baxter/Danny Fenton, Sam Manson/Tucker Foley, Ember Mcclain/Ghostwriter

Characters: Danny Fenton, Dash Baxter, Sam Manson, Tucked Foley, Cujo, Johnny 13, Ghostwriter, Sidney Poindexter, Mr Lancer  

Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Slow to Update, Canon Rewrite, Post-Reality Trip, High School Setting, Fake Dating (Kinda), Unrequited Love, It's requited but they're dumbasses, one-sided attraction, fluff, I know the content warning is extensive, but I promise there's fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, Danny Fenton has PTSD  

Content Warnings: Body Horror, Assault, Breaking + Entering

Author's note: We're at half-time now. -Voorhees

Credits: I have to extend the biggest thank you to @cicadahaze for providing the fantastic artwork used in the Ao3 version of the fic! We had kicked around the idea of a collaboration since the first invisobang, and I'm happy to show it off!! And another standing ovation for @/galaxy-beast and @/the-storming-sea. Without them, my work may never actually be pushed to the finish line.

Reblogs > Likes... thx

"Dash what're you—?" Paulina was speaking so hurriedly, "Quien está contigo? ¿Lo que está sucediendo? Should I call the po—"

Abruptly, the device greeted him with a flash of its dead battery screen. The service provider logo followed the tell-tale dying whoosh sound—

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

Goddamn, Orion mobile.

Unsure if it was fear or anger, Dash chucked his phone away, landing somewhere in the garden beds.

Even if he could understand what she was saying— Paulina's voice couldn't compete with the pulse hammering through his head, reverberating through his body like pangs off of steel rods.

Everything felt so loud.

It didn't matter that he had his phone plugged in and resting on his desk before she called. He should have had a full battery, but that fact didn't help him now. His phone was dead, and thereby extension, so was he.

Baxter only stood there, shaking, trembling. A part of him still wanted to blame this one on whatever psychosis was emerging from the depth of his mind—but no.

Because when he looked at his house. Every single light was flickering. The high brights rivaled the moon and stars, and the lows mirrored an abyss.

Several dull pops of lightbulbs bursting and releasing gas—wiring crackling as their circuits broke.

Then, all at once, the house was draped in pitch-black darkness like a grand crescendo in an orchestral piece. And, suddenly, it no longer felt like his home. Not like any home he would ever want to return to.

He thought if… when he squinted. Dash thought he saw someone in his kitchen still standing there. Standing there… waiting for him to come back.

Paralyzed in its absolute form. His shoulders hunched, and he began to crumple in on himself. Waves of nausea came with the shutdown, and bile bit at the back of his throat. He clutched his stomach and swallowed on nothing.

Thoughts came at him in surging insurmountable waves, threatening to pour out from his eyes, giving away how truly powerless he was. A single word projected against the backs of his eyelids—

Run.

Run.

Run.

Yet all he could do was keep himself right there. Attempting to keep his eyes open, as open as they could allow.

The imposing townhouse only loomed over him, offering no answers, glowering down at its occupant with some disdain.

Pookie began to bark in opposition, excited for a challenge, as if there was no danger at all—the dog leapt and climbed the stairs with no trepidation to speak of.

Stumbling—Dash fell to his knees in an endeavor to catch his dog. He had slipped on the damp grass, landing on his chest. The quarterback punched the mud, "Seriously?!"

Using his head, the chihuahua nudged open the gap in the sliding glass door and continued to bark at the darkness.

The sky split open with a bolt of lightning that splintered across the clouds.

One.

Two.

Three.

A rolling crack of thunder followed three seconds at least behind the flash. Dash fumbled to stand before he felt water hitting his neck—

Rain. A heavy downpour hit the ground. What was once a comforting presence was now only further noise and chaos.

"SERIOUSLY?!" Dash shrieked, face streaked with mud. He wrenched his head around to see the fading blooms of lightning in the clouds.

As if in reply, the night lit up once more with a fracture of electricity that radiated the air… the boom echoing across the sleepy residence.

It's official. I'm cursed.

Wiping his sweat and mud-covered hands against his jeans, he produced his lighter from his front pocket.

He would have to crawl under the deck to start the backup generator. Nothing suggested he would be safer in the light, but he had to try.

Convincing himself to move was another feat entirely.

Dash had to live; maybe one day he'd want to. Maybe he could live one day without this fear and loathing constantly wrapped around his neck like a noose—

The barking stopped.

Snapping his head forward, Baxter realized he was wasting time. Armed with his lighter, he hurried— sliding through the mud bubbling up from the rapidly flooding yard. He nearly took another spill when he approached the opening under the deck but grabbed ahold of a broken piece of lattice. Making sure his feet were under him, he dove his hands in first, striking his cheap neon green gas station lighter frustratedly. Dash nearly tore the skin off his thumbs by continuing to strike the spark wheel. The flame was reluctant, but it allowed the quarterback to get a better look at what he was doing. Lowering himself, Dash moved forward, his arm brushing against the poorly maintained fretwork.

He remembered trying to talk his father out of installing the backup sometime last year before ghost attacks became the new norm that Amity Parkers had to set their watch by. Dash believed he called it a worst-case scenario with a million and one odds, like being struck by lightning while holding the winning lottery ticket.

He insisted that all the box would do was sit there idly and rot, awaiting a disaster that would never come.

It was several months in the making, but Dash finally defied all odds.

Letting go of the lighter fork, he was thrust back into darkness backlit by the storm, but the crystal clear image of the red block of metal and engine parts seemed to sear itself into his brain. Brief images of the salesman demoing it and schematics from the instruction manual plagued his mind with thunder, overdubbing the critical parts. For some reason, the word carburetor stuck out, but Dash couldn't identify it within the mass of gears and buttons.

Dash was sixteen and gay. How was he supposed to know what the hell a carburetor was?!

"I'm supposed to… flip this twisty thing for the fuel… valve, then—" He didn't notice it, but he began to mutter to himself.

With trembling, sweat-soaked hands, Dash blindly pawed at the machine— following a piece of tubing back until it made contact with the main engine block. Upon feeling a knob, he turned it, and the fuel line began to hiss—

The young man flinched, but upon realizing he didn't explode, he figured he must have been doing something right.

"Th-then there's…" Dash swallowed; the smell of diesel was thick in the air already. He was getting gulps of it— that's when he remembered, "The choke."

He coughed and forced the lever over.

Nothing.

The air under the deck was only getting more saturated with the stench of gasoline—

Taking the small choke lever on top of the block, he flipped it from side to side more aggressively. He prayed he was loosening whatever rust or gravel jammed up the machine and not damaging it further.

BOOM!

Another stroke of lightning nearly right behind him— it must have landed in a neighbor's yard or the telephone pole by the road downhill from the backyard— Illuminated the situation very clearly.

The generator had a ripcord.

Bracing his foot against the engine's base, the quarterback mustered his strength and grabbed a hold of the plastic handle. He pulled. Pulled until his shoulder threatened to pop from the socket.

By God, that deep hum and roll of the mechanism turning over—The relief was immeasurable; it was priceless with the porch light returning to life and flooding through the gaps in the deck.

If Dash was going to do this, he would do this terrified the whole way.

He slid out from under the crawl space, flicking cobwebs from his hair and shaking the mud from his bare soles. He traced his hand around the deck like a tether to him and the light until he stopped at the arm rail for the stairs. Rounding the corner, he snuck up the steps, sticking to the shadows of covered furniture.

As he assessed the situation inside… Dash realized it would be a good time for a weapon.

The jock didn't have to look too far. Sports equipment was loose over the back deck, one of the tables holding it having been blown over in the wind.

An aluminum bat with black tape around the handle caught the light and his attention. Dash picked it up. He didn't feel more confident about his chances. It weighed lighter than he expected but still felt heavy.

It was familiar to him, like an extension of himself. The only thing weighing it down was his intentions.

If there were something like a knife or a gun… it would have been too foreign and ultimately cumbersome.

He didn't want to use it. He hoped he didn't have to.

Dash just… he just wanted to scare them away. That's what he did; that's what he was good at. He scared people away. If they couldn't be close to them, then he'd make sure they never want to. Dash never wanted to hurt anyone— he didn't have it in him to kill someone…

Closing the sliding glass door behind him until it clicked in place near silently… Dash, in his left hand, used the bat to pin it against his arm. He did not want to be heard until he was absolutely prepared for it.

The backup generator managed to get the kitchen lights working and some of the ones upstairs. The connections must have been weak somewhere. Something told him he wouldn't get the opportunity to check them out.

"Pookie!" Dash hissed out a whisper.

Yet he still needs an answer as to where his dog was.

When he stole his glance up from his feet, after plotting out his next few steps, he saw a shape sitting on the kitchen island stool. It slumped forward as if getting ready to attack—

Without hesitation, Dash gripped the bat with a second hand, winding it up over his head, but before he could swing, he got a good look at the intruder.

It was a gigantic stuffed white teddy bear. It was large enough to be mistaken for a person in a costume. One of those oversized ones you could win at the arcade at the mall. Its face had just fallen onto the counter. It was so big it was spilling out of the stool it was sitting on and kicking it out slightly—pushing the chair legs against the tile, creating this insufferable squeaking.

Pookie had latched onto one of its legs and attempted to take down the bear.

…

Dash wasn't just confused. Bewildered, perplexed, flummoxed, disoriented— whatever word there was to describe the utter disbelief and sickness he felt— there was no equivalent in this language or any of the others he had a passing knowledge of.

Approaching the bear slowly, a card was attached to the bow tied around its neck.

With one hand still white-knuckled on a weapon, Dash unfolded the card. Within the single page was a scrawled message that read—I'm bear-y sorry.

Was this a joke?

The bat fell slack and bounced against his calf.

"Uh, hey…" That almost whisper, almost voice, had returned, "You got a little something… on your… face."

Dash didn't imagine it at all.

Lethally, he scanned his surroundings before finding the darkened entryway. There was a closet that hid the water heater. The blackness blocked the front door and the living's only means of escape.

The closet door from the shadows moved, and a figure in the darkness had stepped out.

"I-I didn't mean to… uh, interrupt your call." It seemed apologetic, "Ghosts… ghosts cause fluctuations in the electromagnetic field. Dropped calls, cold spots, flickering lights—" with a pop of the tongue, it emphasized, "The works."

Baxter was stunned. He was certain this wasn't a nightmare. It wasn't one he remembered having. It wasn't any of the usual suspects. It was all too logical, too coherent. Yet… he couldn't be too sure. He was still deciding.

To fill in the lull in the conversation, the figure struggled, "The girl… the girl, the one you were talking with. She—She seems nice."

At the mention of Paulina, Dash's blood ran cold, and a rage began to stir and pull at his chest.

The figure in the dark then shut the cleaning closet, "You two been friends for a long time?"

"Show me your hands, and step toward the light." With a level voice, the quarterback brought the bat up and gently rested it at an angle on the counter.

The ghost startled in place but laughed it off, "Th-that's not really necessary, is it?"

"Hands. Up."

Taking a few creaky, hesitant steps forward, it was him— the Amity Park Phantom with his gloved hands raised and palms open.

"You caught me… your friendly neighborhood ghost… guy." The Phantom's trademark smile faltered for a moment under the weight of the quarterback's scrutiny, "Tadaa…"

Dash was speechless.

With his chin, the Phantom gestured to the teddy bear at the kitchen counter, "Um… th-that's for you."

The ghost boy cleared his throat, "It's—uh… it's… I noticed you didn't have any white ones… so—heh…"

He explained with his eyes darting to his shoes, "That, uh, Fenton kid said I-I should come back and apologize."

The Phantom wanted to fidget, to scratch his cheek, but hesitated— "It's too much, right?"

The silence was chilling.

Taking a step forward, the Phantom continued to speak as if compelled to, "You're not really—"

Jumping and startling in place, Dash fumbled a step back, wanting to maintain the distance between them.

"...saying anything." The Phantom's expression fell, disappointedly.

Was Dash supposed to say something? He gathered this was the part where he was killed. He's supposed to scream, and no one comes to save him. He wanted to scream but couldn't. There were plenty of things he wanted to say but had the presence of mind not to. Even when he was blindingly angry, he knew it was a fight he couldn't win.

It's a ghost town; it's best to let them have their way.

The Phantom stared ahead, eyes darting between places, around corners, attempting to start a dialog. Searching for something to say, looking everywhere except at Dash, "I think you're right… y'know? About you… you being haunted?"

Incredulously, the living teen looked the ghost boy up and down before mumbling, "That so?"

"I didn't notice it before, but there is definitely something…" As the ghost boy fumbled his wording, he took another step closer, as if he didn't want to let other parties hear him, "—attached—to this place."

The thought finally dawned on Dash, "You… were watching me?"

"Oh—No, no, wait, I… I know how that sounds." The Phantom's eyes widened before pointing to the bear, "But I-I swear, I only wanted to drop that off."

"Was that what you were doing the last time?" Using his shoulder, Dash wiped off some of the mud rapidly drying to his cheek, "Just—just… how many times have you done this?"

"It's not like that!" The Phantom laughed at the accusation. It was a troubled laugh, like the kind a coyote makes when caught. He asserted, "If you just let me explain—"

"Explain?" Dash cocked his head, smacking the aluminum bat on the counter. He erupted, "What's there to explain?!"

A flash of lightning burst into the kitchen.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five…

The thunder finally replied. It was growing further away.

Shrinking at the jock's raised voice, the Phantom tried to argue, "I…"

But nothing further came of it. Just his throat straining to make smooth, frictionless logic out of the noise.

"Wh-what do you want from me?" with his face still dirty, patience thoroughly burnt, and eyes stinging with pinpricks of tears that refused to spill, Dash's tone reverted to a soft severity.

"Just tell me what it is— what you want from me… and just…" Dash was bracing himself like a little kid at the doctor's, Yet there was no illusion that this was for his benefit at all. He winced, "Get it over with."

Dash had very little left to give, so why not give the last pieces of himself to the Phantom? Perhaps he would put it to better use.

The ghost only stared at him with a complete lack of understanding. It was as if Dash was suddenly speaking in tongues.

It pissed him off.

There was the Phantom— this… thing just staring at him with those heinous hell-like eyes, with nothing connecting behind them. Utterly alien, the way he studied the living's face like it was the first time the Phantom had been in proximity to this emotion.

How can something look so human yet be so unrecognizable?

His skin was flawless, yes, but unnaturally pale, almost greying. A slight blue glow lingered as an analog for capillaries. It was not dissimilar to the glow of a TV left on in the middle of the night.

Thin, but not in any delicate or frail definition— Thin like starving. Thin, like his body didn't make any sense.

The way the air around him seemed to bend and crackle, just like now, just like during a turbulent storm.

Dust particles seemed to ignite and then burn around him.

His teeth didn't seem to resemble the other ghosts. They weren't pointed and sharpened like a predator. No. They were… off.

These slight differences didn't make him seem very ghost-like either.

The Phantom of Amity Park was something else entirely…

His boots squelched against the boundary of the kitchen. Hands reaching out—

One.

Two—

"Keep your hands where I can see them…!" Dash ordered, praying that he sounded more authoritative than he looked.

Gingerly, The Phantom raised his hands back to their position but still took another step forward, "I feel like you're the one giving this situation a kind of 'home invasion' vibe, with the stick an' everything."

Unable to really come up with a response, Dash only narrowed his eyes.

"That's a joke—" the ghost boy chuckled anxiously and clarified, "You're supposed to laugh."

Dash remained stoic.

The Phantom's expression didn't change from its rigid pleasantness—It flickered briefly, the ceiling light in tandem. He winced at the harshness in the young man's face. The apparition closed his eyes and breathed, his chest flush before exhaling through his nose. His tight-lipped cocky smile gradually wilted.

The light above them shuddered at the subtlest gesture. The buzzing unstable bulb only highlighted the glow of the Phantom's being.

Finally, the ghost said, "... I don't think I've made the best impression."

Clearly—Dash wanted to say but thankfully had enough presence of mind to restrain himself.

"See, I wanted to apologize for that thing a few days ago." The ghost boy couldn't bring himself to be more specific about what he was sorry about, "That wasn't… th-that wasn't me. That wasn't like me at all…"

Shaking in fear and rage, Dash couldn't bring himself to believe it.

Before the living teen could even respond, the Phantom began to ramble.

Words kept falling from his mouth, pooling to the floor and sinking further. His speech was heavy, yet frantic, "I—I wish I could say that… it wasn't like me, but it is. I did that, and I—I just… I get really… really angry sometimes, and I…"

The Phantom's hands balled together and rested against his head, lowering his gaze once again, unable to meet Dash's stare, "I-I can't always control it."

The quarterback's mind was somewhere else entirely. He was focusing on the door just behind the ghost's shoulder. It was so close. Dash hesitantly inched his foot to his right, thinking if he could somehow circle around the island, he would have a clean break for the front door. He had to escape—

Then the apparition said something that completely caught Dash off guard, "You understand that, right?"

Snapping his head up, the Phantom never looked more like a lost child than in this moment. His hair, moving like a mist, rippling like a field of grain under a gust of wind, fell just above his eyes and obscured them slightly, "You believe me, right?"

Before Dash could even have the opportunity to register the plea—

"You know what it's like. You, more than anyone, know what this is like."

It was an accusation, an assumption. The ghost was trying to read him, attempting to toy with him. To worm its way into his head— Dash resisted and held firm. His aluminum bat was still creating the fragile distance between them.

"You just take it out on those Fenton kids—"

"Screw you." In all his defiance, Dash managed to find the words soaked in gasoline but needed the spark, he hissed. He wanted to close his eyes, and when he opened them, he would be dozing off in the library or at the Fentons' kitchen table. He wanted to close his eyes but couldn't.

Sweat broke out across his skin and palms in waves— heart thundering—

Stifling a chuckle, the ghost murmured, "Why are you always…?"

The Phantom's hands unfurled against his wild and untamed white hair. He rustled and ran his fingers through it before pushing his bangs back, his hands then falling to his sides.

The contract was now compromised.

"You're always like this." He repeated cryptically like he was scolding Dash.

Something of an idea returned the grin to his pearly face, "Here's something… I'll take a step toward you for every word you say."

One.

"Screw."

Two.

"You."

Upon losing ground, Dash shuffled back—

"That's okay." The Phantom said, "You can move. Only when I move— So…" He sighed, "I guess you'll have to talk to me."

"Wh-what?"

"Now, see, I'm not sure how to quantify that." The ghost boy shrugged, "Is that technically one word or two? Or Half…?"

The ghost inched forward—

Dash scrambled to find the balance against the counter, knocking down the stool, and it took the bear to the floor.

The dog seemed indifferent to the confrontation overhead and chased after the toy.

"You don't have to be afraid of me—"

"Stay back," The jock warned, jostling the bat between his hands. His arms aching from holding it aloft.

One.

Two.

"I just… what you saw—I get it. It's weird. And your wall—I didn't think I threw it that hard—!'

Then Baxter took two steps back. It didn't take a genius to understand he was going to corner himself against the glass door. He was running out of room—

"Will you just look at me? Please?"

Flitting his eyes back up to his approaching death, Dash exhaled, "Please… go."

He lowered his weapon.

One…

Two…

The ghost boy's legs evaporated through the downed chair as he moved. It was like he shimmered through it as if the chair didn't even exist. Not even hesitant or bothered by the obstacle. Like the tide, The Phantom glittered in the light and encompassed everything.

Dash backed up and felt the cold glass seep through his shirt, chilling him to the bone. The back of his skull connected, and he went flat. Despite sweat rivering down his face, the living steeled his nerves, "Leave me alone!"

He cried out before swinging. He took the metal bat and swung—cleaving a line clean through the Phantom.

Dash didn't miss. No.

The hit definitely connected. He felt the bat impact the cloud of vapor where the Phantom's jaw should have been.

The bat carved up the ghost's neck and head, creating a distinct line of severance in his face.

Yet the Phantom remained… undeterred.

It rippled through him like a drop in a puddle.

Another bolt of light crashed from the heavens, illuminating the backyard in a glowing web— The thunderclap, the tree branches splitting from the trunk, and the harsh wind whipping past the windows caught within it was deafening.

The sight of the Amity Park Phantom's eyes being blown out with white brilliance, mirroring that light— as if his body was rejecting it—This was the last face Dash was going to see.

The aluminum bat clattered to the tile, rolling under the kitchen island. That was the last thing Dash registered as he sprinted to his front door. His body landed and bounced off the frame in his desperation to escape. Manically, the living scratched at his door, hands grasping the knob but unable to turn it.

The deadbolt. The realization hit him cold.

The deadbolt.

The door was still locked. Dash kept repeating this futile thought in his head. The words blurred together in one uninterrupted mass but didn't lose their meaning. He knew the door was locked— but he couldn't breathe— he couldn't think. His hands uselessly twisting at a knob for a door he had locked himself earlier that day.

This house had a state-of-the-art security system of locks on top of locks and alarms that sat dormant and indifferent to his struggle.

Slamming the door with his palms, Dash swore under his breath before retreating to the stairs.

Though just as quickly, he felt his mistake claw at the back of his mind.

It's like he was screaming—Hey, come kill me, Mr. Ghostface!

Darwinism at work— that's what people would say when they read about his death in the papers. Not killed by a ghost, Dash was bested by a standard-issue lock.

Breathlessly, he berated himself as he scrambled to the upper floor, "Why'd I do that? Upstairs? Seriously!?"

"Dammit, Dash! Come back!"

The quarterback yelped before darting into his room, his foot almost catching on the running throw rug that stretched along the hall. He shut his door behind him, using his body as a barricade instead of anything else within reach.

Wait—The reasonable part of Dash's brain had a chance to speak between hyperventilating and movement— What am I doing? Ghosts don't need fucking doors!

Hitting the back of his head on his door, Dash seethed, "Dumbass."

There was a knock behind him. Soft.

Clapping a hand over his mouth, Dash attempted to stifle his breathing. His lungs burned. He worried that wouldn't be enough. He worried his heart would give him away. When pushed to its absolute limits, the body tells you. It's the innate tug, the skipped beat. It's the tiniest fluctuation and deviation from that norm. Your heart keeps you alive.

Now, it was going to get him killed.

"I know you're in there." The Phantom said through the door, "You're making this a lot harder than it needs to be, y'know?"

"...Dash, if I wanted to hurt you, I would have. I didn't." there was the sound of his fist brushing against the door as if wanting to knock again but unable to, "That has to mean something."

How is that supposed to make it better?!— Dash wanted to yell back, but he couldn't. There was this lump in his throat. It made even breathing impossible.

"I wouldn't really be a good hero if my weaknesses were doors and blunt objects, would I?" By his voice, you could tell he was smirking.

"Not. My. Hero." Dash managed to spit out.

There was a brief pause, a moment of silence that seemed to stretch for an eternity. Dash strained his ears, waiting for any sign that the Phantom had left. But instead, he heard a soft chuckle, the sound cutting through the silence like a razor.

"That… that actually hurts my feelings. Wow." The Phantom sighed, "Wow."

The intruder was solemn now, "I-I thought if anyone would be my number one, it would be you. I could've sworn—"

"Drop. Dead."

Clicking his tongue, the ghost boy rested his head on the door, "...I'll get right on that."

…

"Y'know you could have just gone out the front way?"

Hitting his head on the door again, Dash groaned, "Go away!"

"I-I can't. Trust me, I wish I could, but I can't. I don't want to leave it like this."

There was silence. There was no further reasoning.

"...Are you okay?" The apparition muttered, "I thought I saw you trip up the stairs."

How could he be okay in a situation like this? But at the same time, there was a sliver of relief that the Phantom seemed to care, even if it was just a fleeting concern.

"…Yes?" Dash's voice wavered, uncertain of his answer. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "No—I-I dunno—"

He stammered, struggling to articulate his feelings—a horrid unease, frustration, in some twisted moment of vulnerability.

Was I really feeling embarrassed?

Dash clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white, as he fought to control his breathing. His heart pounded in his ears, drowning out all other sounds. He knew he had to stay calm; he had to stay smart to find a way out. But fear, raw and overpowering, threatened to consume him whole.

This wasn't the first time he felt fear like this, but he never got used to it. Dozens of times, he looked down at a ghost, and he ran. That's what he did. That's all he ever did. That's what he did at the drive-in. That's what he did when he could have helped. That's what he did when Danny needed him.

Dash was sick of being afraid.

He wanted nothing more than to rip the door open and accept whatever punishment fit him, whether it be holding up the earth for the rest of time or at the mercy of vultures.

He's had too many close calls, and his luck had to run out eventually—

"I just want to keep you..." It almost seemed unintentional how it slipped out, blending with the house settling and the storm howling outside in a voice pained with longing. He was sure it was the Phantom.

...

Dash wondered what the end of the statement was. If it even had a conclusion.

Maybe it was something else he didn't fully understand. Maybe it was an excuse, or a confession, or… a promise.

He didn't want to overthink it. He didn't want to allow room for empathy.

"Can I keep you?"

Swallowing on the growing lump in his throat, Baxter felt his gaze stick to the window in front of him at the end of his room. Then it fell to his ajar nightstand drawer.

If Dash died tonight—Danny would say his best quality was his persistence.

'Like a cockroach.' I believe his were exact words—Dash felt a smile crack into his cheek while his pained breath hitched. It was a smile entirely at the blame of Danny Fenton, equal parts defeated and wistful. If that was the last thing Danny ever thought about him, then he could probably exit on that note— but one thing he decided: he wasn't going to run anymore. He's a bit too tired for it.

He took a deep; shuddery inhale like he was about to step off a bridge with nothing but choppy water to cushion his fall. Pushing himself from the door, Dash spun on his heel and kept his eyes pinned to that spot.

As Dash shuffled back, he barely cleared his closet doors; right as he brushed his hand against his desk chair— for a split second— the jock looked over his shoulder to see how far he had left to go. Then, as soon as he turned back, the Phantom was there.

The apparition emerged from the shadow of the doorway, extending no effort to open it.

He definitely could hear how loud Dash's heart was beating. The Phantom's feet left the ground as he peered around his hostage from his new height advantage, "You're running out of room."

"So you, either talk to me, or I have to catch you from a thirty-foot drop."

Dash only glared up at him, blowing a strand of hair that had fallen between his eyes.

As the living teen took steps backward to his nightstand, his ankle rolled. It was such a simple mistake. It was two seconds, and the room whipped around him. He had forgotten about the cleaning supplies he had laid out earlier and accidentally stepped into a bucket.

Landing on his bed hard on his elbows, Dash struggled for a moment with gravity and the sheets— He struggled to keep his eyes on the Phantom.

In a moment, the Phantom closed the distance between them. The ghost stood over him, gazing at him in ambivalence like he did back then. Not caring at all for the living's comfort.

Only it was closer. It was all so much closer than Dash ever wanted it to be. Intimate, almost within a breath's distance. He smelled cold, like how the asphalt smells during the rain. A strange, sterile smell, a clean kind of scent, a medicinal antiseptic undertone.

On his back, and as helpless as he was the day he was born, the living demanded, "G—get off—! Off of me!"

It was gentle and… cold. Gradual, like sweet nothings offered by hypothermia.

The ghost boy had placed his knee on the mattress. What stuck out was that the springs didn't creak or shift; the Phantom was utterly weightless. His knee was right in the center of Dash's legs, with every intention of going further. Whatever that meant.

"This isn't going to hurt, I promise, okay? I'm not going to hurt you."

If Dash could fight back, he would have. He would thrash, kick, and claw— if he knew it would work. He reached for his nightstand drawer, and his arm flailed uselessly—just a fingertip away—

How could you fight what was inevitable?

The Phantom moved faster than Dash could even parse. And that's when Dash could see him to begin with!

He was hushed, "I just want to show you something."

The living teen could only perceive the paper-thin voice before him and the rain. The rain hitting the window… that's all he could focus on. Even if he could scream, who would hear him?

As Dash braced his hand against the Phantom's shoulder—one last meager protest— the Phantom took hold of it.

He held onto Dash's hand, tangling their fingers together. The spaces between fit perfectly, as if all humans were made in halves as if we were all put onto this planet to chase that elusive feeling of closure.

Finality.

Completion.

And even death would not stop such a search.

"When I was a kid, my Mom tried to explain to me that because we are all made up of atoms… we… we don't really touch anything. I… I always found that kind of… depressing."

"It's something about how the particles break down because all matter is made up of some electrons that just naturally…" Each word that left the apparition's pale blue lips felt so soft yet heavy. Deceptively heavy… somewhere between a dream and a dying star.

"–Repel," He murmured.

Those green eyes flitted to their hands— Dash blinked, and the Phantom's hand disappeared. But it wasn't… Dash could feel that he was still holding it. It wasn't gone. Dash felt the texture of the Phantom's leather glove glide down his hand, palm, then his wrist…it was reminiscent of how wax beaded off of a candle.

And then something extraordinary happened.

That chill that clung to the Phantom… it changed somehow. Dash didn't just feel it on his skin anymore. It was in his muscle, through his sinew… it felt like his veins were freezing in place. Dash's right hand had this—this… pins and needles sensation like it had gone numb.

The Phantom had sunk into Dash's flesh.

Faintly, the living teen could see the shimmer of the apparition's fingers sticking through his palm, effectively penetrating it through layers of skin and bone.

It almost didn't seem real. Like an elaborate magic trick. Something in the light, an illusion in the angle.

It defied explanation, yet with the Phantom's great ease, it seemed as natural as breathing.

It was somewhere between the intersection of being horrified and mesmerized. Dash realized he could no longer flex his fingers or move his hand. The extra bones piercing through his hands were the likely culprits.

Taking control, ensnaring his fist around the living's arm, The apparition steered Dash's hand, swaying it. The creature was playing with him at this point. Snickering quietly, the ghost was too satisfied by their position.

Dash leaned his head back, not even wanting to grant the Phantom the encouragement of a darting glance.

Then, abruptly— that chill grew. It progressed up his arm and deepened.

Dash thought if he were to regain his strength and jerk away suddenly, he would shatter his hand in the resulting conflict.

That's when he felt it.

Bump.

…

Bump.

…

Bump.

Something was throbbing in his hand.

The texture made the living squirm. His stomach flipped; it nearly drove him to gag.

Dash thrashed his head forward.

His hand was submerged in the Phantom's chest. Clear as day, the young man could see it. Like the Phantom suddenly made his ribcage from glass, Dash could see his hand between the ribs.

If you had asked Dash Baxter what color he thought a ghost's heart was— He would have never in a million years said white.

The Phantom's heart looked like the moon, with minor flecks and imperfections on the surface tissue.

Those blue veins that lined the muscle like cracks in a ceramic piece. Like rivers, they flowed, tracing the curves, but it didn't make sense.

Ghosts don't bleed.

There wasn't a need for an organ to funnel and filter something that didn't need blood.

The organ still had an iridescent sheen, as if it were still wet. And it had heft within his hand. Its existence required no justification.

Dash held the Phantom's heart.

"Right now, we're closer than atoms."

"Isn't that amazing?"

It felt like every nerve and cell in his body was crying out for help.

The Phantom's heart pulsed through him, the rhythm sending shivers down Dash's spine. It burned his hands, yet it didn't hurt. It was like plunging his hands deep in a fresh snowfall. There was something horrifically serene about it all.

The world around him faded into a haze, leaving only that pulse, and the faint whispers of the apparition above him echoed in his head.

It was as if he had become a conduit, a vessel for the Phantom. Nothing more than a husk. He ceased to be a person anymore like he lost that right somehow.

The sensation was overwhelming...

Dash's eyes burned as he blinked away tears, his breath quickening. It left every hair on his body standing on end. He felt it everywhere.

He fully believed he would pass out—

In this moment, Dash felt a connection to something greater than himself, something beyond the realm of understanding. Each pulse filled him with a sense of both awe and terror.

And then, just as abruptly as it had begun, the surge of energy subsided. The heart's pulsations waned, fading into a faint echo. The apparition's hand withdrew its grip on Dash's arm. Leaving Dash strangely hollow, aching for something he couldn't grasp.

As the world around him snapped back into focus, Dash found himself gasping for breath, his hand trembling. He glanced down at his palm, half-expecting to see remnants of the ghostly heart, but there was nothing. Only the faint imprint of a cold memory etched into his skin.

He was shaking uncontrollably…

He was unclean in a way that would only be solved by burning.

The room was dyed in cherry and blue lights.

There was a siren outside.

Blood spurted out of Dash's nose—he coughed.

"...Are you okay?"

Before the answer could manifest itself, the Phantom barred an arm across his chest in a bid of sudden insecurity, still standing over his victim, "Are we… okay?"

It was the sound of indistinct voices shouting in the street that made the quarterback realize…

Paulina called the cops.