#the only reason the last two are splash pages is i. cough. wanted to go to sleep before 3 am tonight

[hexxingcode]

i call this one "god damn it jesus christ i was just doing this to wind down from my other comic why did it take like 2 days to finish" and also "therapists don't take style points so i guess this'll do" and also "i cant fucking use the knuckleblaster it makes me mad" and finally: "bowing back to v2 in the first fight is funny so i illustrated it. theres some other stuff in there too i guess."

[childrenofthenightt]

only the black rose (chapter 8)

pairing: jimmy page x layla porter (oc)

warnings: big nsfw warning, drinking, jimmy being himself, fluff

words: 3.6k

summary: in the blink of an eye, it’s 1975 and layla’s suddenly joining led zeppelin for their north american tour. throughout the chaos, the band take a liking to her, she builds friendships with the boys, and love blossoms. but all good things must come to an end.

author’s note: so. layla’s a freak in the... well... not necessarily the sheets, i guess? more stressy hands because they're my weakness, and just... please savour the last bit of happiness you get here. that is all. (two more chappies to go!!!) hope you enjoy :) feedback as always is so very welcome!

masterlist

playlist

chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

———

As she’s checking over the stage, ensuring the lights and speakers are set to do their job, Layla’s thoughts roam. After the chaos at the hotel pool, while everyone was asleep, Layla had been anything but. Her tossing and turning had disturbed Jimmy, who had pulled her further into his arms with a tired grunt. She lay there for another hour, her conversation with Jonesy running through her mind over and over. It was obvious she’d have to go back to her own time, and she missed her friends. She missed her mom. She missed everything.

Layla couldn't help, though, but think that maybe she didn’t want to leave.

 She had made friends that meant the world to her, and… she’d found Jimmy. The guitarist had changed her life, and had shown her what it meant to love. She’s falling for him, and it’s not long before she hits the ground. It’ll be worth it, she thinks, for someone like him. Jimmy Page is a rare gem, precious, and she knows that she would spend her life trying to find her way back to him.

A throat clears from behind her, and, looking over her shoulder, Layla spots Peter Grant standing a few feet away. Soft smile resting upon his lips, he steps closer, placing a large hand on Layla’s shoulder.

“Layla, I trust everything’s going well?”

“Yep! Lights and sound are looking good, and the stage is set up. Anything else you need me to do?”

“No, this is perfect, dear,” Peter shakes his head, smile morphing into a smirk as he continues. “Though, you’ve been requested elsewhere. Follow me, Layla.” Leading her through the venue, Peter stops in front of a closed door, a laminated sign next to it reading, “Dressing Room: Led Zeppelin”. Turning to Layla, he holds out an arm, beckoning her to take it.

“Shall we?”

“We shall, Peter.”

Arm in arm, they walk into the room. Robert, lying elegantly across the comfortable couch pressed against the wall, has his eyes closed. He hasn’t thrown up yet, but his voice is hoarse, and he has a terrible cough. Knowing these boys as well as she does, Layla suspects that nothing will bring them down. The show must go on, after all. Bonzo is next to him, Robert’s feet in his lap. The drummer speaks quietly to the sick man, who answers in the voice of a 20-year smoker. Jonesy speaks in hushed tones to Jimmy, eyebrows pinched in worry. Jimmy, Layla realizes, has his finger in a bowl of what looks to be ice water, if the cubes of ice scattered across the table are anything to go by. From the doorway, Layla can’t hear what’s being said, but by the downwards tilt of Jonesy’s lips, she can assume Jimmy’s stubbornness is on full display again. Her entrance with Peter hadn’t been noticed, until Robert’s eyes open to slits and he sits up, a smile breaking out on his face.

“Peter! Ah, look, if it isn’t my favourite little dove…”

“Hey, Robert. How are you feeling?”

“Better, better,” Robert smiles, and stands up to pull Layla into a hug, hands splayed across her back. “All thanks to you, Layla. Seriously, thank you for taking care of me.”

Layla grins in response, waving at Bonzo as she passes. He lifts up a hand, as if to splash the woman, and her face lights up, a giggle flying out past her lips. Layla walks over to Jonesy, and he gives her an uncertain look, beckoning her closer. Leaning close, he whispers into the woman’s ear, a worried glance at the guitarist beside him following.

“He was in a lot of pain, even with the meds, so he, uh… found a bottle of Jack’s and… Layla, he won’t listen.”

As if on cue, Jimmy takes a pull from the large bottle of whiskey that rested next to him on the table. Layla hadn’t noticed it, walking in, but it stuck out like a sore thumb now.

“Hey, petal,” Jimmy slurs slightly, bottle in hand as he sends the woman a lazy smile. Injured finger in plain view now, Layla can see how the nail is completely black, the skin around it still dyed purple from the force applied to it. Layla shakes her head, eyes downcast, as she walks closer to Jimmy. She grasps the bottle of alcohol in his hand, replacing it with her own, a warm palm meeting his.

“Jimmy… you can’t just…” Layla drifts off, not wanting to argue with him this close to showtime. They can always talk about this later, after all. Jimmy, noticing her internal battle even through his alcohol-fueled haze, pulls her into his lap. Jonesy, confident that Jimmy is in good hands, nods at Layla before giving the couple a moment to themselves. Jimmy brings a finger to the apple of Layla’s cheek, stroking it almost hesitantly, as though she would break under a stronger touch. Layla’s eyes, once meeting his, drift to his plump, pink lips. They shine in the artificial light, as he swipes his tongue across to wet them.

“Layla,” Jimmy starts, snapping her out of her trance. Her eyes meet his, and he smirks at her dilated pupils. She knew he had caught her staring, she wasn’t exactly subtle about it. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“What is the meaning of life? Please, answer seriously. This is important.”

“Jimmy, I didn’t peg you as someone who indulges in drunk philosophical discussions.”

Jimmy huffs a sigh, and leans in closer, pressing a quick kiss against her lips. Pulling back, he looks at their joined hands, before meeting her eye once more.

“Humour me.”

“Well—”

Before she could answer, Peter floats back into the room, telling the boys to follow him backstage. It’s showtime, and Layla doesn’t want her guitarist to leave yet. Jimmy looks at her expectantly, green eyes searching her face as though the answer to his question was written in the curve of her lips.

“It’s okay, Jimmy,” she says, squeezing the hand in hers, passing courage from one to the other. “We can continue this after the show.”

Jimmy nods, and releases her hand slowly, not wanting to break the contact. Layla hops out of his lap, and helps him stand. Her lips meet his in a soft kiss, as she presses their foreheads together. Their eyelashes flutter against each other, and the scent of citrus, tobacco and pine was ever-present, invading all of Layla’s senses. Jimmy pulls away first, and walks to the door, glancing back at her over his shoulder. She smiles at him, adrift in the empty dressing room, and he smiles back, walking out the door.

“Good luck, angel.” Layla whispers, voice swallowed up by the silence of the deserted dressing room.

Making her way to the familiar lip of the backstage area, Layla’s hands wring together, her lips bitten red. Robert hadn’t sounded well at all earlier, and Jimmy… It seemed like he was deteriorating right before her eyes. The mixture of codeine and Jack Daniels killed the pain, sure, but he was no longer the sharp, pragmatic man she was falling for. He was too caught up in the burn of the drink down his throat, a way to forget the agony rushing through his hand like a current. Bringing her attention back to the stage, she spots the boys, who share a loaded glance. Robert takes a deep breath, and launches right in. ‘Rock and Roll’ passes without a hitch, save for some voice cracks. If anything though, they add to the authentic performance, the crowd electric as usual. ‘Sick Again’ stuns, followed by ‘Over the Hills and Far Away’, and all is well, until ‘How Many More Times’ rolls around.

It was small. Insignificant, really. If Layla hadn’t been searching Jimmy’s face, entranced by the way his brow furrowed as he got lost in the music, she wouldn't have noticed. Breaking apart from the rest of the band to complete a complicated lick, Jimmy’s fingers trip up on the fretboard. To the audience, the only consequence is a slight dead note in the midst of heavenly riffs. Gazing over at Jimmy, however, Layla could see the discomfort in the downwards tilt of his lips, and the pain stiffening his shoulders. She could see the anger flaming in his dark eyes. Jimmy recovers well, delivering attack after attack, though his solos, from that point on, tended to go a little off-track. Whether from nerves or self-doubt, Layla didn't know. But she knows him. She knows the guitarist will let it cloud the entire night. She knows he’s gonna pick the show apart, minute after exhilarating minute, looking for the smallest flaw. Layla knows that she’ll be there for him through it all.

No matter what.

----------

With a hoarse thank you and a flourish directed at the audience, Robert finally leads the band off-stage to voltaic cheers. Robert, ecstatic as ever during the concert, seems to deflate the second he gets off. With a nod and a soft smile at Layla, he disappears into the depths of the backstage area. Jonesy and Bonzo pass by with tight-lipped smiles, clapping her on the shoulder as they follow Robert. Jimmy is the last to appear, and the reason for the rhythm section’s warning glances becomes apparent immediately.

Jimmy scowls as he approaches, eyes glassy, as though she were looking into a clear stream. Layla can see herself reflected in them; can see the worry reflected in her own gaze. Slipping a hand around his bicep, she steers Jimmy into a corner. He refuses to look at her, even as her hand tilts his face upwards softly.

“Jimmy, love, that was—”

“Shit.”

“No, not at all,” Layla steps closer, a hand finding the familiar spot on his cheek. “It was a great show. You saw the audience, Jim. They loved you guys!”

“It was shit, and everyone knows it. If I could just—”

“Jimmy, come on…”

“—be good enough, this would have gone differently.”

Layla’s breath catches, eyes as wide as saucers as she steps closer to the guitarist, who turns away. His gaze at the floor never wavers as he paces, muttering to himself.

“Jimmy, look at me,” Layla stops him in his tracks with a hand at his back. His shoulders heave with deep breaths as he tries to calm himself down. “You played a good gig. It doesn’t matter if you missed a note or two. You came to play a great show, and you did.”

“But it isn't enough. These people came here for an extraordinary show and we couldn't deliver. I couldn't deliver, and—”

“Hey—”

“—if my finger wasn’t broken, we would have been as good as we’ve always been. This is my fault.”

“Jimmy, this isn’t on you. You did nothing wrong.”

Jimmy’s hands fly up to land in his hair, as he pulls at it almost unconsciously. Layla grips his cheek lightly, as the other hand comes to rest at a thin wrist, pulling it away from the dark locks it had latched onto. Jimmy averts his eyes from the woman’s earnest gaze and turns his back once more, treading a hole in the wooden floor of the backstage area. Layla’s palm rubs soft circles into the fabric of his cardigan, patches of whispering dandelions catching on her fingers. From her place behind him, she can see the way he’s beating a fist into the palm of his injured hand repeatedly, perhaps a way to atone for a mistake that hasn’t been committed.

“I fucked up this tour. It’s my fault. I can’t do everything I know I can do, and that’s on me. I just…”

“Jimmy…”

“I can’t do this anymore!”

Layla shrinks back slightly at the exclamation form the man, who is shaking like a leaf. His head drops, long hair hiding his face once again. Recovering quickly, she spins him around carefully to face her. Hands cupping his cheeks, she presses her lips to his. His eyes flutter closed and he immediately reciprocates, a hand pressed to Layla's hips; his new favourite spot for them. Jimmy lets out a whine of pleasure, and Layla pulls away, looking into his tired eyes.

“Jimmy, listen to me. You did play well. I am so, so proud of you. Okay?”

“...Okay. I’ll… work on trying to believe you.”

“That’s all I can ask for.”

If Layla sees the sparkle and shine of tears on the man’s cheeks, she doesn't mention it as she grabs his hand, leading him to an empty room, locking the door immediately.

Finally away from prying eyes, Layla unfurls the guitarist’s hands from their clenched position, bringing the injured one up near her mouth. Gazing up at him, eyes shining in the dim light of the room, she presses a chaste kiss to each finger, slowing as she reaches the one painted shades of purple and black and blue. Jimmy nods, exhale shaky, and she presses the softest of kisses to the tip, hoping to cause pleasure rather than pain.

Jimmy’s hands slide lower from their place on her hips to cup her bum lightly, in case she was uncomfortable and wanted to slip out of his grasp. Her lips find his again as he pushes her against the large table in the middle of the room. Layla lets out a whimper, swallowed by the mouth against hers, as Jimmy’s tongue laps at her bottom lip, asking for entrance. He’s always been soft with her, but this new side of the dark-haired guitarist excited her. The kiss was over as soon as it began, Jimmy pulling away to stare at her, close enough still that their noses touched.

“Petal, I… We were gonna take it slow, and we will, but if you're ready…”

“I’m ready.”

Jimmy smiles, crashing his lips against her quickly, passionately. Pulling back once more, Jimmy smirks as Layla chases the high the feel of his lips gave her. Pressing into his space again, she frowns, which makes Jimmy chuckle. Layla’s hand reaches up, twisting in his hair.

“Angel,” Layla starts, a light tug on a mussed ebony ringlet following the nickname. His mossy eyes were dark with desire, and he placed his lips on her neck, kissing a trail down her jaw, stopping at her collarbone. Slipping the sweat-soaked cardigan off his shoulders, she traces a line down his cheek, eyes glued to his blush-red lips. “Can you lie down on the table for me? Please do try not to break any other body parts.”

“Haven’t I told you I’m afraid of heights?”  Jimmy laughs, and with a small smile thrown over his shoulder, he hops up onto the table.

“You overlooked that, love,” Layla says, unbuttoning her blouse ever-so-slowly, surely teasing the guitarist, who leans back on his elbows. His eyes follow her every move as she takes off the rest of her clothing. “Now, I feel like you might have too many clothes on, Jim. We need to be even, after all.”

Slipping his pants and underwear off in record time, he reclines back, already hard. Fully exposed now, Layla climbs up onto the table as well, straddling the man’s lap, before sinking herself onto him. A calloused hand lands on her hips, helping her find the perfect position, until a soft groan rang through the near-empty room. Jimmy’s hands move up to her breasts, toying with the woman’s nipples, much to her delight. Layla grabs onto his chest for support, craning her head back in pure euphoria at the sensation, the hollow of her neck exposed as Jimmy raises up to nip at it. Grinding her hips to the rhythm of the man’s soft groans, she trails hickies up his chest and neck.

“Something to remember me by.” she says, looking at him with dark eyes, a haze of lust filling them. Hand gripping Layla’s ass tightly, he brings her ever-closer, a mumbled “fuck” leaving the woman’s kiss-bitten lips. The guitarist’s face is creased with absolute exhilaration, as he rocks back and forth to the movement of Layla’s body on his. The couple didn’t know where one ended and the other began. Ecstasy fills the room, and whispers of praise flow like music from lips bruised and bitten.

“You did so well today, angel. You’re incredible.”

Jimmy raises up once more to capture her lips in a bruising kiss, a hand raking through the woman’s hair roughly, landing on her throat. Jimmy squeezes it lightly, warningly, and presses his lips to Layla’s once more, swallowing the shriek of pleasure she gasps out.

“You liked that, petal?” Jimmy’s hoarse voice reaches Layla’s ears almost belatedly, too caught up in the pleasure of his hands on her, though she nods as if her life depended on it. Panting hard now, Layla quickens her pace, noises of pleasure growing louder. With the friction of his hand on her, roaming everywhere it could reach, Layla felt divine; heavenly in this embrace. Leaning down for a heavy, passionate kiss, Jimmy’s hand finds her hair again, and he tugs on it hard. The pain elicits a moan from Layla, as she reaches her peak.

With a stuttered breath, Jimmy releases as well, gasps leaving his lips as he looks at Layla reverently. The wetness from her core rushes over him as she lays back down beside him, spent. Back arching as she pants, her head turns to face him, faces painted with bliss.

In a post-coitus haze, Jimmy has his arms wrapped securely around Layla’s shoulders, as her head rests on his chest. Layla giggles tiredly, as her breaths ruffle the dark hair on Jimmy’s chest. Looking up at him, she’s pleased to see him looking right back at her.

“That certainly cheered you up, didn’t it?”

“You’re the best at cheering me up after all. This, of course, was just a bonus.” Jimmy noses at her messy hair, smelling a combination of fresh linen, sweat and her shampoo; hints of strawberry and mango tickling his nose.

“We should get up, the boys are probably looking for us,” Layla says, dragging light fingers across his stomach, watching goosebumps appear on the pale skin. Whether it’s from the sensation or the chill of the table, Layla didn't know, but she’s comfortable in his embrace, in danger of drifting off.

“What if we just… stayed here forever. They can find another guitarist.”

“You’re pretty irreplaceable, Page,” Layla whispers, reaching up to press her lips to his jaw. “I mean, who would the boys chaperone if you were gone?”

“Chaperone? I’m not that bad. I can take care of myself just fine.”

“Right, so Robert was lying about the time you refused to sleep for 5 days out of pure adrenaline? New York, 1973, I believe it was?”

“...”

“That’s what I thought. We need to have a serious talk about your habits, Jimmy.”

With a chuckle from the guitarist, the two lapse into a comfortable silence, as Jimmy presses a kiss to the top of Layla’s head, nuzzling it with his cheek.

“Hey,” Layla shifts to look up at him, eyes filled with adoration. She felt as though she were looking at a star. Beautiful and shining, but out of reach, as much as she wished for the opposite. She knew this couldn’t last, though she’d savour every last minute of it that she could. “I need to… tell you something.”

“What’s wrong, Layla?”

“Nothing’s wrong, really. It’s… kind of the opposite, actually.”

Jimmy tilts his head in confusion, turning on his side to face her. He looked like a puppy, hair wild about his head, and Layla couldn’t help but giggle at the sight.

“S-So,” Layla shifts, nervous all of a sudden. Jimmy grips her hand in his, and nods when their eyes finally meet. “Do you remember what you asked me earlier? About the… meaning of life. You might not remember, you were a little out of it, and—”

“I remember. You’re rambling, petal. What’s going on?”

“Well, it’s… it’s love. The meaning of life is… love. Jimmy, I…um…”

“What is it? You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I’m… I guess... What I’m trying to say is,” Layla says, taking a deep breath as she looks into the eyes that captivate her, and make her smile, and set her on fire. “I’m falling in love with you, and I just… Yeah.”

Jimmy grins brightly, surging forward to capture her lips in a kiss bursting with joy. He laughs into it, as their noses brush together, his finger tracing nonsensical designs across her side.

“Very eloquently put, Porter.”

“Oh my God, I just confessed that I’m falling for you, and you focus on—”

“I’m falling in love with you too. I thought that may have been obvious, considering the state of this poor table.”

“W-Well,” Layla stutters, blushing crimson as Jimmy’s plush lips tilt up in a picture-perfect smirk. “Put your clothes on, Page. The boys are probably waiting for us.”

Jimmy laughs, but redresses in his stage clothes, turning to stare at Layla as she slips her jeans back on. Buttoning up her shirt and flattening her hair, which frizzed up like a halo around her flushed face, she gazes over at Jimmy. Crowding into his space, she put a hand to the back of his neck, up on her tiptoes to peck at his lips once more. He slips a hand to her cheek, and deepens the kiss. Pulling away to glimpse the golden smile that rests on Layla’s lips, he feels like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest. Arm in arm, they walk out of the room, twin smiles nearly splitting their faces. Jimmy glances over at Layla, and can’t believe just how lucky he is.

Screw falling in love, he thinks.

This is love, and he knows it for sure, now.

------

taglist: @jimmys-zeppelin @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 @earthfire-75 @thatiloveyouso (let me know if you want to be added!)

[thewatermelloncat]

The Show Can’t Go On

Summary: With strict parents Rosé is subject to going to theatre rehearsal while sick. Denali thinks it’s a stupid idea and takes matters into her own hands.

Author’s Note: I originally didn’t plan on posting this because I sometimes feel like I write too many sickfics but some lovely people on AO3 encouraged me to write more.

Warnings: None

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Being in the room feels uncomfortable. But Denali knows that no one there is as uncomfortable as Rosé. Which makes sense because it’s uncomfortable because of her.

Not that it’s her fault. The poor girl had taken the day off of school, struck down with a bad cold, only for her parents to bring her in after hours for theatre rehearsal.

There is no doubt that she should still be in bed, where she had texted Denali that she had wanted to stay as she was driven over. But her parents being very influential in the theatre community would have their daughter show up to every rehearsal, regardless of it only being a final read-through of the script – especially seeing that their daughter holds the lead role.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

School rules state that any student on campus should wear their uniform but their teacher hadn’t disciplined her when she’d come in a little late bundled up in hoodie with a jacket thrown over.

Rosé had mumbled a hoarse apology as she made a beeline for a desk at the back of the room. Denali had been a little hurt by her not wanting to sit in the desk she’d saved next to her, but she understood why she’d want to sit alone.

“How are you feeling, Rosé?” Ms Visage had asked her. Rosé’s parents having called to let her know the situation.

“I’ll make it through” she had tried to smile convincingly but it hadn’t worked.

Ms Visage nodded but looked even less convinced than Rosé. Though she said no more on the subject. Rosé’s parents being promenient benefactors of the school’s theatre program, she didn’t find it in her best interest to speak out against their wishes.

From across the room Denali had flicked her what she had hoped to have been a welcoming smile since she hadn’t seen her all day, but it ended up being a tight-lipped smile of sympathy.

Rosé had tried to smile back at her as she pulled out a chair, it was no more convincing than her first. Her eyes sad and tired.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

After Ms Visage had outlined the plan for the afternoon and answered questions, they got straight into it, flipping open the pages of their script.

The majority of the cast had memorised most of their script by now and just had them as a backstop in case they forgot. It was light hearted with people laughing when someone messed up their lines before they were encouraged to try again.

Though no one struggles as much with their lines as Rosé.

The girl who could recite a paragraph back to you after only reading it once wasn’t in the room that day. Denali could tell how out of sorts she was, reading most lines from the script despite having recited them to Denali flawlessly without prompt a couple of lunchtimes prior.

Her voice wasn’t so great either. Cracking and at times barely above a whisper before she cleared it behind a fist before continuing through her lines. Though the cast could understand her well enough if they read along the script as a guide while she said them.

“… that’s nothing to sneeze at” –

“Hmpt’chh!”

A cast member’s line is interrupted as Rosé stifles a sneeze between her thumb and forefinger.

“I’m so sorry” she smiles sheepishly as she sniffles against the back of her hand and the room laughs at the irony.

As the laughing continues, Rosé is passed a box of tissues handed over through the cast from Ms Visage’s desk. She nods appreciatively to the last person who handed them to her before taking a few and blowing her nose softly.

“We all right to continue?” Ms Visage calls out when the room is settled. Mostly directed at Rosé who nods.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Really, she wasn’t all right to continue.

From there it only got harder for her to deliver her lines effectively. Sneezing and congested breaths beginning to interrupt her almost constantly. Denali could tell she was getting frustrated as she was forced to stop her lines midsentence to regain her composure.

“Now that’s a deal that seems worth taking” – Rosé pauses to sniff into the back of her hand. “But I guess… but I guess” she repeats the line before her breath hitches and she turns into her elbow, “hih’chh!”

She sniffs as she turns back to the page, immediately starting to read again. “I’ll leave that up to you” she barely gets the line out before she turns away to sneeze again. “Heh’mph,…” she stays shielded behind an elbow, waiting, before she convulses forward again, “hih’tchh!”

“Do you need a minute, Rosé?” Ms Visage interrupts the read-through, concern in both voice and expression.

Rosé nods quickly before pushing herself out of her chair, muttering out a quiet “thank you” as she swiftly exits the room.

Denali’s stomach twists uncomfortably as the door closes behind her and it’s a few seconds before Ms Visage gets the cast back on track.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Three minutes and Denali’s final line for a while goes by and Rosé still hasn’t come back. Worry starts to sink deeper into Denali’s stomach as she fidgets her fingers while staring at the clock. After watching the second hand tick past another minute her eyes move over to meet Ms Visage’s and she is fixed with a particular look.

Denali nods as she knows it’s her go-ahead to follow after Rosé. Without a word she gets up from her desk and makes her way out the door to the bathroom down the hall where she knows Rosé will be.

“Rosé?” she calls out when she steps into the tiled room.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be out this long. I’ll be back in a minute” Rosé explains quickly, looking away from where she had been staring at her reflection in the mirror.

“Rosie” Denali’s sympathetic tone invalidates Rosé’s sentence as she shakes her head at her.

“Denali” Rosé reflects, turning toward her friend with a helpless expression.

“You’re so sick, Rosie” Denali points out although it’s obvious.

Part of Denali had expected Rosé to shake her head and deny it like her parents had taught her to do. So, it shocks her a little as Rosé shakes her head for an entirely different reason.

“I don’t want to do this” Rosé bites at her lip.

“You shouldn’t have to do this” Denali steps forward as tears well in Rosé’s eyes. She’d seldom seen her friend cry and knows that it’s the illness and exhaustion getting to her.

Rosé sniffles as she steps into Denali’s embrace. “I feel really horrible” she admits quietly next to Denali’s ear.

“I know” Denali runs a hand up and down her back to comfort her. “I know.”

Rosé sniffles again as a tear splashes onto Denali’s shoulder.

“Do you think your parents would pick you up if you called them?” Denali asks then pulls away when she feels Rosé shake her head.

“They have some networking thing over drinks that they’re going to” Rosé explains to Denali’s expression of confusion. “They’re going to pick me up on the way back.”

“Do you have a key?” Denali asks.

Rosé nods, brushing the remaining tears from her eyes.

“I’m going to take you home.”

“Denali, we need to stay and” – Rosé is quickly cut off.

“Rosé, you” Denali makes a point of announcing, “need to be in bed.”

Rosé opens her mouth to argue but instead of her introductory breath turning into words, she turns to sneeze heavily into an elbow. “Hih’ishchew!” it bends her double and sets her immediately coughing into her sleeve.

Denali fails to bite back a quiet moan of sympathy. “That just proves my point.”

Rosé says nothing but sniffles as she walks over to the paper towel dispenser and pulls one out to blow her nose. With it thrown in the bin, she leans both her hands on the counter top, closing her eyes and breathing exhaustedly.

“Come on, we’ll go tell Ms Visage” Denali steps up beside her, taking her by the arms.

Rosé sniffles again, not raising her eyes from the floor, and this time listens to Denali and lets her lead her along.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

They step back into a near empty classroom, the rest of the cast let out for a brief intermission. When the door shuts behind them Ms Visage looks up from her desk and Rosé opens her mouth to speak but coughs behind her wrist instead.

“I’m going to take her home” Denali says before Rosé can try to speak again.

Ms Visage nods acceptingly and eyes Rosé worriedly.

“I’m sorry” Rosé rasps before sniffling, pushing both her hands into her pockets.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. You did well for even trying to come here today” Ms Visage dismisses. “I’ll call your parents and let them know that I sent you home.”

“Thank you” Rosé says appreciatively, knowing that her parents wouldn’t accept her going home for any other reason.

“Go get your things” Ms Visage sends her off.

Rosé nods with a thick swallow before she makes her way to pick up her script and clear the tissues off her desk. Meanwhile Ms Visage talks with Denali about what she needs to go over in the second half of the script, while Denali grabs her own things.

“I’ll see you tomorrow” Denali nods a goodbye, shouldering her bag.

“I’ll see you then” Ms Visage agrees as the two students make their way to the door. “Oh, and Rosé?” she calls out, making them both stop in their tracks. “I’ll give you an extension for the drama assessment next week. Make sure you get some rest.”

Rosé can’t think of any words to say but she smiles appreciatively with a nod before she and Denali step out the door.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“All set?” Denali turns toward Rosé in the passenger seat as she sticks the key in the ignition.

Rosé nods as she clicks her seatbelt in.

“Hold on, look at me” Denali instructs, noticing a growing flush on Rosé’s cheeks.

She does and Denali reaches out to place the backs of her fingers against her forehead. Making a sound of pity at the heat of her skin, “you have a fever.”

Rosé purses her lips in tight smile as she looks away again.

“Are you cold?”

“Little bit, yeah” Rosé says faintly as if she is just realising the fact.

Denali nods and adjusts the heating at the control panel. “I’ll have you home soon.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Here we are” Denali announces as she pulls up against the curb beside Rosé’s driveway.

Rosé inhales deeply, taking her head away from leaning against the window as Denali slows to a stop and activates the handbrake with finality.

“Home sweet home, yeah?” Denali tries to get a smile out of Rosé and it only just manages to work.

Rosé nods tiredly as she unbuckles her seatbelt and slides out of the car, pulling her keys out of her pocket. With a shaky grip it takes a few goes to insert them into the keyhole and by the time she’s done it, Denali has caught up with her from locking the car.

“How long until your parents get back?” Denali asks.

Rosé stops in the doorway, pulling out her phone to check the time. “Maybe an hour?” her last word is choked out in a cough before she covers some more into an elbow.

“Inside” Denali prompts, whether or not Rosé hears her or not. Taking her by the shoulders and guiding her through the entryway into the kitchen.

By the time they reach the bench, Rosé has regained her breath and moves off to fill a glass of water at the sink.

“Are you crashing in your room or on the couch?” Denali asks as Rosé tentatively sips the contents of the glass.

Mid-swallow, Rosé doesn’t verbalise an answer but she nods her head in the direction of the stairs, signalling to her room. As Rosé puts her glass down, her phone buzzes from the bench and she picks it up.

Habitually Denali’s eyes travel towards the sound but she only gets to read Mum before the good angle of the screen is gone. Then her eyes move to study Rosé, her expression dropping further, before she clicks the lock screen and it goes black as she puts the phone down.

“Denali?” Rosé asks hesitantly and Denali already thinks she knows where this is going. “Can you stay with me… just until they get back?”

“They not happy?” Denali doesn’t even have to guess.

Rosé shakes her head in confirmation, averting her eyes away from her.

Denali purses her lips sadly. Rosé’s parents were a strange kind of strict, lovely people but a bit hard on their daughter when they shouldn’t be. Over time they’d found that they were less so when Rosé had friends over, so Denali’s answer is a no brainer.

“Of course,” she accepts and Rosé smiles appreciatively. “Let’s get you to bed.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

She didn’t think they’d be angry, just disappointed, and she isn’t in the mood for a lecture. That is what Rosé had told Denali as she got her settled into bed and tucked beneath the covers. After that it hadn’t been long until she had drifted off to a fitful sleep, waking herself up coughing every now and again. While Denali had settled next to her atop the covers, reading a book that she had found lying at the end of the bed.

True to Rosé’s estimate it was around an hour before the sound of a car pulls into the driveway. At the covers moving beneath her, Denali looks down at Rosé beside her, eyes now open as she shifts nervously.

“It’ll be alright, Rosie” Denali assures her softly. “I’m right here.”

The words of reassurance seem to work as Rosé hums quietly and her eyelids slowly fall closed again. Though they don’t stay closed for long.

A minute later after the sound of footsteps stop climbing the stairs, the door pushes open and more light floods into the dimly lit room.

“Rosé?”

At the sound of her mother’s voice, Rosé opens her eyes and shifts her head to look at her standing in the doorway.

“I know you were worried about your voice not holding out, but you could have stayed to observe” and there is the tone of disappointment Rosé had been expecting.

Before Rosé can even think of a reply, coughs bubble up in her chest and she raises a fist out from her blankets to shield them behind. At her friend sounding so miserable, Denali places a hand comfortingly on her shoulder, tracing small circles with her thumb.

“Oh Denali, didn’t know you were coming over” Denali’s sudden movement is met with a tone of surprise.

“Hi, I’m not staying. Just until you got home” she says brightly before speeling off a partial truth, not taking her hand away from Rosé. “She really isn’t doing well so I wanted to make sure someone stayed with her. I’m surprised it took Ms Visage so long before she sent her home.”

At Denali’s words Rosé’s mother seems to reassess. “Why didn’t you tell us how bad you were feeling?”

“I did” the amount of bite in Rosé’s tone just breaches over subtle.

Her mother cocks a brow at the tone but moves onto address Denali quickly. “Did you want to stay for dinner? It’s a bit late but we’ve brought some back.”

“No, it’s okay” Denali dismisses, shuffling off the bed. “My mums got some waiting for me at home.”

“If you’re sure?”

“I am, but thank you” Denali smiles as she picks up her keys from Rosé’s draws.

“Nali, stay” Rosé begs weakly.

“I don’t want to be a hassle” Denali says hesitantly, but still places her keys back on the draws.

“We wouldn’t offer if we didn’t mean it” Rosé’s mother says and Denali smiles but bites back a laugh, knowing that Rosé would have been about to say the exact same thing.

“Text your mum and I’ll bring something up” the decision is finalised before Denali can speak and Rosé’s mother leaves back down the stairs.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Before Denali knows it, she’s holding a bowl of noodles, sitting cross-legged on the bed, making small talk with Rosé’s mum as she sits at the edge of the mattress. Waiting for the thermometer to beep so Rosé can finally get her dinner which she hadn’t been allowed until her temperature had been taken.

At the shrill tune the thermometer is taken from Rosé’s mouth before she can move and her mother announces “38.2°C.”

“It’s not bad” Rosé notes quietly.

“It’s still a fever, Rosé” her mother warns seriously. Raising a hand to her forehead before Rosé bats it away. “Alright, I’ll leave you alone” she relents before she stands and leaves the room.

“You wanna watch a movie?” Rosé asks Denali, not really in the mood for making conversation.

“Yeah” Denali says, reaching down to pick Rosé’s laptop off the floor beside the bed. “What one?”

“I don’t know, you choose.”

Denali nods as she types in Rosé’s password which she had told her awhile ago and she somehow still remembers. “This one?” she asks, hovering the mouse over a movie that she thinks they’ll both like.

Next to her Rosé nods and Denali presses play.

While the movie plays on the screen Denali has no problem quickly polishing off the rest of her dinner while Rosé slowly chips away at hers. When she’s done, she places her bowl on top of Denali’s on the bedside cabinet before leaning tiredly against Denali’s shoulder. Feeling her friend’s arm wrap around her.

“Sometimes I wonder if people in movies have brains?” Denali mentions after a character makes an obviously bad decision.

“Hmm” Rosé hums as she shifts to pull away from Denali, who won’t let her. “Denali, I’m gonna sneeze” Rosé warns and Denali finally lets her go.

“Hih’akshew, ik’shew... ik’sheww” Rosé directs into a handful of tissues she just had time to pull out from the box beside her. She sniffles congestedly before blowing her nose. “I’m sorry, this is so disgusting.”

“You’re sick, Rosie” Denali says, wrapping her arm back around her. “You can cough and sneeze as many times as you like.”

“Except I don’t like any of it” Rosé sniffles before they settle back into silence.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Should we switch it off, Rosie?” Denali suggests, noticing Rose’s eyes fighting to stay open.

Rosé would have protested because the movie is nearly over but she knows she isn’t going to hold out much longer, so she nods instead.

Wordlessly, Denali stops the film and closes the laptop lid. Then helps Rosé pull the blankets over her shoulder as she settles down before hoping off the bed and grabbing her keys from the draws.

“Thanks for dropping me home, Nali” Rosé mumbles half into her pillow as Denali makes for the door.

“You know it’s not a problem” Denali stops walking for a second. A sympathetic smile appearing on her face as Rosé’s eyes slip closed. “Sleep well my Rosie.”

[robron1609]

Robron Week 2021 - Day 1

Meet-Ugly + "That's not an explanation."

New Beginnings

(ao3 link)

Aaron’s eyelids fluttered like a candle in the wind, the hustle and bustle of the city pecking away at his head with a sledgehammer. The bitter taste of ale, the fruity taste of wine and all the combined spices of every spirit known to man were stagnant on his tongue as he peeled his damp limbs off the leather sofa beneath him.

He let out a dry cough and it felt like someone had shot him in the brain during his sleep. But other than that, he was as right as rain.

It took him longer than he would care to admit to remember that he did, in fact, not own a single item of furniture that had even an inch of leather on it, and he lived in the in the middle of bloody nowhere where the only thing (apart from his mother) that made him shake a leg in the morning was the bellows of Moira’s cows when their troughs were being topped up.

So, there’s that.

His brain caught up and he bolted upright, his whole face moulding into a sculpture of what, where, when, how and why. He took in his brand-spanking-new surroundings; a lavish penthouse overlooking London’s skyline, decked out from head to toe in a fusion of ultra modern and industrial pieces. Not really his style, to put it nicely. It looked like something straight off the front page of one of those overpriced interior design magazines on the top shelf of David’s shop that no one ever bought.

Aaron could only hope that whoever lived here was some bloke he’d pulled in the haze of last night, if it wasn’t then… what the actual fuck was he doing here?

When the room had stopped spinning on all its axis and Aaron was eighty-nine percent sure that he would be able to hold his vomit in if necessary, he braved the hallways in search of other life. He detoured to stand in front of a back-lit mirror that had beckoned him over, and he was introduced to his reflection. It gawked right back at him, dressed in nothing but a pair of neon yellow boxers and a Scottish flag that he was wearing as a cape. The flag was fastened loosely around his neck with a frayed shoelace and there was a big tear down the centre of it.

Jesus fucking shit. Absurd didn’t even begin to cover it.

Sweat dripped down his top lip when he heard a deep voice through the wall. He teetered around the corner until he was close enough to pick up most of the words.

“I won’t be in today.” There was a pause. “Does it fucking matter?” Nice manners, then. “Look, unless you want me hurling all over the new contact, I suggest you grow a pair and attend the meeting without me.”

Aaron gripped the glossed door frame, his clammy hands squeaking on the wood as he snuck a look at who the voice was coming from. The man was stunning. He was all sun-kissed skin, choppy blond hair, and a gorgeous mouth that dipped dramatically in the corner.

“Shit!” With a jolt, the blond dropped his phone and it landed on his face with a mocking smack.

“Sorry-”

“Why are you in my house?!”

“I’m Aaron.” No shit, Aaron.

“That’s not an explanation!”

“Sorry.”

Aaron cringed. All of a sudden he was big on apologies, apparently. Blondie was now sitting up, scratching the fluff on the nape of his neck as he shuffled out of bed and adjusted his duvet accordingly whenever it slipped below his waistline. He just glared at Aaron, waiting to hear something that made sense.

“I was kinda hoping you could tell me,” Aaron said, using all of his self-control to stop his eyes from drifting downwards. “My head’s mashed. I remember being on the train with Adam and Vic, and then-”

“Vic as in my sister Vic?”

Aaron just stood there, catching flies. “I- I dunno, I think so. Sugden?”

“Uh-huh.”

Ohhhh, Robert Sugden. Aaron finally put a name to the face and felt like giving himself a pat on the back.

…..

“Here you go. Extra strong.”

"Ta."

Aaron warmly accepted the cup of coffee, the steam flying off it and dissolving in his pores. He used the piping hot liquid to swamp down some paracetamol before tightening the strap on the dressing gown that Robert had lent him a little earlier with a side-eye and a grumbled, “Make sure you give it back.”

With the current cycle rumbling the machine into the ground, Aaron glanced at the digital timer displayed on the appliance. Just forty-eight minutes until he could grab his screwed up clothes, slap them on, and leg it to the underground with his tail between his legs. The longest forty-eight minutes of his life, no doubt.

Hoping to make a crack in the ice, Robert led Aaron to the scene of last night’s crime. Through the sliding doors, across the patio and up the spiral stairs, secluded in the corner and illuminated by the steady flicker of the firepit. Robert was surprised that it hadn’t burnt out in the early morning under the April showers.

The rooftop terrace was what sold this place for Robert. It was his haven, complete with everything that made his superficial heart weep. This morning, however, it looked how he felt.

He absorbed the aftershocks of his party (shards of glass littering the outdoor table, remains of finger foods welded to the deck, and a pair of nude stilettos abandoned on the bar) and sagged. Turning thirty was dismal enough without having to clean up after his colleagues. Or, as he liked to call them, a bunch of wound up, hoity-toity pen pushers who didn’t even know his middle name—just a sniff of free booze and they were squeezing into a Ralph Laurent polo that still had the label on, and patting him on back with a bout of boisterous laughter as if they were best mates.

Wow, he was in dire need of some proper friends.

Aaron propped himself up on the bar. “Bet you don’t get tired of this,” he said, looking out at the sparkling city.

“It’s a great hangover cure,” Robert said, nursing his Americano and watching the ripples dance over the surface as he lightly blew it. “It can be lonely, though,” he admitted, unsure as to why. This handsome and hungover stranger was just waiting for his ticket out of here, he didn’t want or need to become Robert’s agony uncle to fill the time, that was for sure.

“Why’s that?”

Oh. Perhaps Aaron, for one reason or another, cared. Or he’s got nowhere else he needs to be and Robert’s left him with no choice but to sit and listen because it's the polite thing to do. Aaron looked at Robert all doe-eyed and Robert wanted to stay here until he’d told Aaron every single intricate detail of his life up until this point. But that seemed a little crass.

“Don’t know, really. I just… don’t like to be alone with my thoughts, I suppose. And being up here, well, it’s a whole lot of that.”

“I know what you mean,” Aaron said. “How long have you lived here?”

"Nearly two years on the whole." Robert calculated, Aaron giving him an amicable nod in response. Robert licked the coffee froth off his lips, clearing his throat. "I've lived in London a while, though. Since I left the village, pretty much."

"And you never thought about going back?"

"I couldn't." That would mean looking back. And after the trail of destruction he'd left in his wake, that was never going to happen. They were better off without him. Or at least his Dad and Andy were. Vic and Dianne never stopped reaching out, however, offering their support through texts and unanswered voicemails.

Aaron changed the topic, sensing that Robert's internal trip down memory lane wasn't a smooth ride. "You heard anything from Vic and Adam?"

"They were both flat out in the spare room last time I checked," Robert answered. He'd been less than pleased to find them entwined together on top of the duvet, dead to the world as Adam slobbered away on the satin pillowcase like an excited dog, and Vic let out a mishmash of unconscious sounds from sniffles to whistles, her makeup crusty and her outfit dishevelled by a night's sleep in it.

"Vic had a whole itinerary planned. Some museum, Leicester Square, and then this ridiculous hipster coffee shop near the station," Aaron said with a dreary eye roll. "Even though our train leaves just after two."

"She's just excited. She doesn't come here often."

"'Suppose not."

"Anyway, I recommended that coffee shop so you better not miss it," Robert said. Aaron snorted because of course he did. "Come on."

Robert rose, perking up a bit as he stretched his arms until they clicked with satisfaction. Aaron followed in his footsteps, literally, but they stopped in their tracks, coming face to face with a rumbled Victoria.

She looked dead and alive all at the same time as she swung her phone about. "There they are, the newly engaged couple."

Robert choked on air and Aaron gave him a splash of side-eye before snatching Vic’s phone. "What are you on about?" And Aaron had to check that the digital date displayed in the top left corner of the screen wasn't April the 1st. Nope, it was indeed the 23rd. And under that was a Facebook post on his profile; a blurry, backlit photo of him and Robert flashing the camera with two rings that didn’t even match, accompanied by a slurred caption.

yayy ENGAAAAAGED! whoop whoop!! hears to many many many many many year <3

Aaron groaned, throwing his head back in sheer embarrassment when Vic grabbed a hold of his and Robert’s left hands. Sure enough, the rings were still there. “Oh my God,” she cackled, her voice like a siren in the middle of the night. “This is brilliant. A few more of those cocktails and you’d be halfway to vegas, ey?”

Robert massaged his temples, kneading roughly at his dry skin. “Whatever’s in them is lethal,” he grumbled, peering over Aaron’s shoulder as he watched him scroll through the comments and squeeze his eyes shut in disbelief at each one.

“It’s your bar, mate. You should know what it’s serving,” Aaron said. He had a point. “Let’s just pray we left it at cheap rings.”

(Aaron couldn’t even begin to fathom at what point during the party he and Robert had fled the penthouse and ended up at a jewellers of all places. Who’d thought a proposal was the perfect end to a not-so-perfect night? Who’d taken that photo? And who in their right mind was selling giant fabric flags in the early hours of the morning? It would be a miracle if he becomes sober enough to answer at least one of those questions.)

Robert pouted. “That’s a shame. I’ll cancel the tickets to Vegas, then,” he teased.

“I dunno, I could do with a holiday just to get over the shame.” Robert grinned at the younger man’s flirty tone.

“Cheers,” Robert scoffed. Aaron handed the phone back to Vic who watched the pair with a knowing glint in her eye, her head bouncing back and forth between them.

“Only joking,” Aaron said. “Could be worse.”

Vic pocketed her mobile with a yawn and tightened her ponytail. “Right, I’m gonna drag my lump of a boyfriend out of bed and start gathering our stuff. I’ll leave you two to plan the wedding of the century, shall I?”

Vic left the rooftop, her flats scuffing all the way down the metal staircase. Robert gulped down the remains of his coffee and turned to Aaron with a smirk.

“So, fiancé,”–Aaron shot Robert a fiery glare which, if Robert didn’t know any better, would leave a bruise on his ego–“I know a great place where we can get some brunch. Why don’t we ditch Vic and Adam and I’ll drop you off at King’s Cross after.”

Aaron pulled a face. “ Brunch? I’m not paying £8.99 for a plain scone.”

“My treat.” Robert offered, hoping that would seal the deal.

“Like a date?”

“If you want it to be.” Aaron paused for a beat, not that there was ever much to contemplate.

“Fine.” Robert didn’t miss the bashful smile taking over Aaron’s face. Robert bit the inside of his cheek when Aaron began to descend the stairs. He crammed his hands in his pockets, his heart going into overdrive as he kicked his feet into gear.

[stones-x-bones]

Where Is Your Mind? ||Kyle and Bex (ft. Morgan and Mina)

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @darkh0wl @inbextween @mor-beck-more-problems @drowningisinevitable SUMMARY: The culmination of having each other’s thoughts in their heads for so long brings Bex and Kyle together in a fateful encounter. CONTENT: Domestic abuse mentions (very brief), Blood, Violence, Medical blood (stitches)

He just needed a second to breathe; he just needed to clear his head. Except he couldn’t. Kyle couldn’t still the tightness in his chest or the feeling that he was falling both into and out of himself. Maybe it was a little bit of an overreaction. But he worked nights at the bar and tried to sleep in the day. Bex was awake in the day and had a bad sleeping schedule. There wasn’t a moment, not even in his dreams, where he truly had privacy. It was Mina this and Frank that and bubbling anxiety and classes and worrying about what his--no, what Bex’s--parents thought. To call him irrationally irritated would be an understatement. He was exhausted of Bex’s thoughts and her quiet judgments on his own thoughts. The wolf disrespect was just uncalled for. “I want out of your head, Bex,” he growled, more to himself than her. His head throbbed dully and he pinched the bridge of his nose. Just get through your shift, Kyle. Just finish this work day. He checked the clock for the tenth time in 20 minutes and sighed deeply. He could get through this. 

Just get through your shift rang again in Bex’s head and she pinched the bridge of her nose. How was she supposed to concentrate on this essay with Kyle in her head, thinking about keeping his cool and not overreacting and how he had to be careful the rest of the week for some reason or another. Something else about wolves. She was so tired of hearing about wolves. If she never had to think about them again, it would be too soon. Her pencil was clicking wildly against the paper as she fidgeted with it. The ticking of the clock was increasing her anxiety with each second. This essay was due tomorrow and she only had 3 pages of scribbled rough draft. She’d already missed so much school, she couldn’t afford to flop on this assignment, too. And if she got anything less than an A in this class, her parents would be livid. Not that she’d talked to them at all in the past three weeks. Which also was not good. Just like the last time, the longer she waited, the worse it got. She knew this. She dreaded it. She hated it. She could feel the panic beginning to pump in her chest. No, no, not now, please not now! Hands shaking. Memories trying to force their way into her head. Raised fists, angry nails. The pain in her ribs. Bex squeezed her eyes shut and tried to breathe, just like Morgan taught her. In for three, out for five.

But it wasn’t working. It wasn’t working.

The pain in her ribs. Kyle let a glass drop into the full sink, and soaked the hem of his t-shirt. He braced himself on the edge of the sink, screwing his eyes tightly shut. These weren’t his memories, but they clutched at his chest anyway. He could feel his heartbeat quicken, feel the sweat collect at his collar. In for three, out for five. He needed to step outside, he needed to sit down, he needed to breathe— Kyle’s feet were moving before he had fully registered the motion. He brushed past a few coworkers who no doubt said something to him. All he could hear was the ringing in his ears. He pushed out the back door of the bar and walked out into the poorly lit alley. Once outside, Kyle leaned against the wall, urging himself (or maybe Bex) to calm down. His stomach flipped as he squatted down, trying to ground himself.

Calm down. As if she could just do that on command, as if she didn’t wish she could just do that herself. Bex would have given anything to be able to just calm down. Kyle’s thoughts were echoing in her head, but his thoughts were just her own, mirrored back to her. A perpetuating cycle of panic as she listened to him plea desperately to relax, to calm down, to not change. Not change into what? Bex leapt up from her chair, pacing the room. Her hands were shaking. She could feel her heart beating in her chest, her throat. It felt suffocating. She shook her hands out, paced. The room was too small, it was getting stuffy. She burst from the room and raced down the hallway to the sink. Splashed water on her face. Knuckles white as she gripped the edges of the sink. “It’s okay,” she said out loud and in her head, “it’s okay, it’s okay. I’m sorry, it’s okay. Please, don’t--” whatever was happening, it started with a thought of pain. Kyle what’s happening? She asked, expecting an answer.

It’s okay, it’s okay. Kyle felt water on his face. He reached up to brush it away and realized he was crying. If this weren’t so scary, he could almost laugh at how absurd it was; crying in an alleyway through a panic attack that may or may not have been his. His throat was tight, constricting his breathing to the point that Kyle coughed raggedly, and the pain in his chest doubled. He felt like he was splitting in half right down the middle. What’s happening? How does one even begin to explain the feeling of shifting? If Kyle had words for what was happening—the total unbecoming of himself, only to let out the true self within—he was at a loss now. His nails dug into the detritus lining the alleyway and he snarled. Deep and guttural; a proper snarl. Panting, the only thought that wasn’t about the pain consuming him was I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Sorry? Why was he sorry? What did he mean? The pain he was experiencing-- Bex couldn’t feel it herself, but she didn’t need to. His thoughts were enough for her to make a guess. Kill. Bex’s heart pounded. Hunt. Her head swirled. Blood. She burst from the bathroom and ran out the front door. She’d left her phone behind. It didn’t matter. She knew where he was. Something was wrong. Either someone was going to hurt Kyle or he was going to hurt someone. Either way, she had to stop him. She was the only one that could. This was her fault, after all. She’d connected their minds through her stupid, uncontrollable magic. She’d had a panic attack in the middle of a homework assignment. She had to be the one to protect people this time. She hoped Mina would forgive her for being so stupid.

Her feet pounded the pavement. It was chilling out, having just freshly rained. The streets were wet. The bar was up ahead, and Bex made a bee-line for it. But she didn’t need to get far. Kyle was nearby. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she did. He smelled her. What did that mean? She spun in a circle, looking for the boy. “Kyle!?” she called out. No one answered. Something in the alleyway snarled. “K-Kyle?”

Pain. Kyle pushed himself to his feet, all four of them, and groaned with the effort it took. His nose was overwhelmed by the scents in the alleyway; garbage, booze, cigarette butts, and… Kill. There was someone here. Kyle’s head snapped up as a figure stepped into the mouth of the alley. He breathed in deeper, smelling the figure fully. Blood. He was salivating at the mere thought of sinking his teeth into flesh and ripping them apart. Something within him quivered with anticipation. Hunt. Slowly, Kyle turned to face them. He lowered his head and, step by step, stalked towards them. If they made any sudden moves, it would be over; he would pounce. The figure spoke, but it made no difference. It didn’t slow him. Bite.

Bex stumbled in the alleyway. A wolf. A giant wolf. A giant disfigured wolf. Kyle. It made sense. Suddenly, it all made sense. But she didn’t have time to think on it. The wolf-- no, Kyle-- was pouncing. He was running straight at her. “Kyle!” she cried. “It’s me! Wait! Stop!” But he didn’t. Bex’s eyes grew wide. She ducked behind a dumpster, heard it crash. Kill. A shiver ran through her. Hunt. She scrambled away from the trash can, grabbed whatever her hands could find purchase on and threw it at the wolf. “Kyle, stop! Kyle, it’s me!” Bite. She didn’t know anything about werewolves, she only knew what movies had taught her. She remembered what Dani said. Sometimes they got things right. Don’t get bit. Don’t get bit. Bex tried to remember what Nell had been teaching her. Focus, concentrate. But how was she supposed to do that with a wild animal in her head? It wanted to kill her. He wanted to kill her. 

She sprinted from the alley. She needed to get somewhere safe. The bar. If she just went in-- no, there were people in there. Innocent people. She needed to stop him, but what use was her magic when all she did was mess up like this? The wolf was still coming. She couldn’t stop him.

She couldn’t stop him.

He wanted to kill her. The collision with the dumpster sent Kyle reeling. A fresh wave of pain surged through his shoulder and ribs. Stiffly, he stood again and shook it off, regaining his composure. Wheeling around, he looked for Bex behind the dumpster. Not finding her there, he whipped his head back and forth looking for her. Prey. The sound of her running away finally registered. Kyle spun towards the sound and darted after her; four legs carrying him faster than two could. Momentarily, he skittered to a stop outside the bar, locking Bex in his sights. The streetlight in front of the bar flickered. Kyle’s eyes caught the flickering light and reflected it back. His fur stood on end--his hackles raised. His breath came in deep pants; the night was just cold enough that steam rolled from his mouth. He took one step towards Bex, then another. That low growl was once again coming from deep within his chest. She couldn’t stop him. Kyle broke into a sprint, closing the gap, and leapt towards Bex paws first. 

Prey. Bex was frozen. That’s all she was to him. Prey. Food. Blood. Her heart seized. Hadn’t she told Mina that next time she’d just run? She wouldn’t try and be stupid, she’d just run? So why wasn’t she running? Why couldn’t she run? Heavy paws hit her chest. Her back hit the ground and the world went blank for a moment. Ringing in her ears. Nails dug into her chest. She screamed. Threw up her arms. Heard the cloth of her sweater tearing. Tears clouded her eyes, and even though she could see now, it was all blurry. It hurt. It hurt a lot. The cool air stung the cuts. She was sobbing now. “Kyle, please!” she begged. “Stop it!” Panic shrouded her head, her chest, her throat. He wanted to kill her. Her words turned to gurgles as she sobbed. She didn’t wanna die. She wished she’d said bye to Morgan before she left. She wished she’d gone to sit by the pool one more time with Mina. She wished she’d told Nell how happy she was they met. She wished she’d told her parents she hated them. 

Her heart beat so fast, she wondered if it had just burst from her chest already. Dying certainly felt like a new type of anxiety. She wished someone had told her that first.

If Bex said anything Kyle understood, he didn’t react to it. Claws in her chest, he knew this hurt her. He could almost taste how close he was. This was it. Kyle had caught his prey. Yet, his heart pounded in his chest faster and faster; he could hear his pulse whooshing in his ears. 

Kyle fully intended on killing her, but his mind was ablaze with fear. Fear of death, of dying, of loss—his eyes squeezed shut. The panic that gripped him now was just as intense as what had set him off before, but this time it ground him to a halt. He was a predator, hearing—feeling—all the panicked thoughts of his prey. Like an ouroboros, attacking Bex was attacking himself; the snake eating its own tail. Kyle’s ears flattened against his head, and his tail was tucked. He let up off of Bex, shuffling away from her with a whine. Recognition finally clicked to some extent as the thought of their library interaction crossed Kyle’s mind. Pretty girl. He took another few steps back, then turned to run. He frantically glanced over his shoulder at her, eyes wide.

Bex knew, instantly, that she wasn’t dead. Because there was no way being dead hurt this much. She looked down at her shirt and saw the bloody, torn threads jutting up from her chest. Her tears were mixing with the blood that had splashed onto her face. But the wolf was gone. Retreating. Pretty girl. Bex’s eyes snapped up to where the hulking figure was, hunched over, cowering. She could see his entire body shaking, like a scared puppy. Her fear was his fear. His fear was her fear. Their minds had connected them. Their connection had saved her life. Bex fell back onto the ground, breathing heavily. Her chest hurt so much. So much. She couldn’t ever remember being in this much pain. Maybe she could. But bruises faded, broken bones healed. 

She was still crying when she lifted herself up off the ground. Kyle was still shrinking away, tail between his legs. If he left, he might hurt someone else. What would Mina do? She needed to get help. She was way out of her depth. She needed a safe place to bring Kyle. Please come back. She begged through swirling thoughts. Please, I want to help you. She scrabbled through her pockets for her phone, but it wasn’t there. She’d left it at home. 

Stiffly, she pushed herself to her knees. She had nothing to offer him except her blood and her words. Please. Reached a hand out for him. She needed him, too. She couldn’t walk, her chest hurt too much. Pretty girl, remember? I’ve got beef jerky. If you come with me. It was her last ditch effort. No wolf could deny beef jerky, right?

Kyle wasn’t afraid of Bex. Not really. He was afraid of hurting her or, more specifically, he was hearing all of her thoughts about how much his claws had already hurt her. Her panic attack, or maybe both of their panic attacks, had launched him into fight or flight and he had hurt her. Bex’s thoughts were still too loud in Kyle’s head for him to calm himself enough to hear himself think. He shuddered and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying to shut her out. Except she kept asking him to come with her, and that was off the table. What if he clawed her again? Or worse, what if he bit her? Kyle was proud to be a wolf, but could he justify putting this on someone else? He remembered his first full moon—how scared he was, how he had almost hurt his family, the look in their eyes. If you come with me. Kyle’s thoughts were still a whirlwind of anxiety. He had to get away. He had to get away.

Kyle started running before he fully considered where he was going. He veered sharply into the road, just trying to go anywhere that wasn’t by the bar and Bex. The headlights were almost on top of him before he could fully register the sudden blinding light. The crunch of metal against his body made his ears ring. He was sent careening sideways with a yelp; he slammed into a parked car on the side of the road and slumped against it. Kyle’s chest heaved as he panted. He whined in pain and started to struggle to his feet before slumping against the car again with a groan. Fuck.

Fuck. Kyle was running away and there was nothing Bex could do about it. “No…” she groaned, coughing. Pain ripped through her chest again and she fell back to her knees, her hands, toppled over, clutching her stomach. She was so scared. He was so scared. They were both spiraling. She couldn’t help him, she couldn’t help herself. Tears pooled on the ground beneath her, mixing with her blood. Oh, she needed to do something about that. She didn’t know what to do about it. “Come back,” she croaked at him, but he had already bolted. She heard the crunch of metal, the loud yelp. Someone was shouting. A person. They could help. Please, she thought desperately, please help. But all she heard was a man shouting, a car door slamming, tires screeching away. The night was quiet again. 

Kyle wasn’t moving. Kyle wasn’t thinking. Something was wrong. Something was wrong. “Kyle!?” she croaked again, but nothing. Kyle!? But nothing. But nothing. She had to do something. She had to do something or they would both die right here. Her eyes screwed shut. She didn’t know what she was going to do, but she had to do something. She pooled all of her energy into the pit of her stomach, just like Nell had taught her. She concentrated on one thought-- get help-- just like Nell had taught her. And then she released it all, in one fell swoop, and hoped for the best.

And then she was falling through the sky. No, she was being pulled along the road. No, she was flying towards a house. Everything was going so fast. She blinked and suddenly she was in a room. No-- her room, at Morgan’s. The pain was gone. She looked down at her shirt. It was still torn to shreds, there was still blood, but it didn’t hurt. Why didn’t it hurt? That didn’t matter. She needed to get help. “Morgan!?” she called out, her voice strained. She coughed. Went to take a step-- but instead in another blink she was standing in front of the TV. Grey’s Anatomy was playing. She swerved on her heels. Faced a mortified looking Morgan. “Help me!” she said, rushing forward, stepping through the coffee table. “Morgan! I-- Kyle, and he-he-- I panicked. I’m sorry, I panicked! I went to find him. He got-- hit by a--” By a what? By a what!? Her head hurt. “Car. He got-- and I--” Her head hurt so much. She groaned and put her head in her hands. Sank to her knees, still inside the coffee table. “Help,” she said again. “Please help!”

“What the fuck!” Morgan screamed when she saw the vision of Bex, blood spattered and torn up. She didn’t look like a ghost, and ghosts usually didn’t hold conversations with invisible people. And whoever the hell this Kyle was had to be invisible, or something, because if he was a ghost she would be able to see him too. Which meant this was a whole other kind of supernatural fuckery, and Bex was really in trouble somewhere. “Bex? H-help you with what? Why are you bleeding! How are you even doing this, Bex! And who the hell is Kyle? Is he the one who hurt you? Are you in active danger right--” She stopped. Pinched the bridge of her nose. Too many questions. “I need to know where you are,” she said, getting to her feet and digging up a jacket to put over her house sweats. “Mina!” she called. “Get dressed, we have a situation!”

Bex was trying really hard to concentrate, but something felt like it was pulling at her, yanking her away from where she was. She flickered, like bad TV reception. “He didn’t-- he didn’t mean to. I didn’t know! I didn’t mean to make him change!” she said finally, memories coming back to her head in a jumbled mess. “I had to-- I tried to--” Her chest hurt. She shuddered again, pressing hands against it. They came away red stained. “Blood,” she said. A sign flickered into view behind Morgan’s head. “Stake.” She blinked, concentrating. She needed to concentrate. They were both going to die if she didn’t concentrate. “Amity Road. The Bloody Stake.” She finally managed, turning her gaze back to Morgan. Someone came running down the stairs and Bex turned to look at them. If she’d been in any other way, her face would have lit up. “Mina,” she said, neither surprised nor worried. More pain in her chest made her cry out. She fell back to her knees. Only this time, when she fell, she landed back in the alley. Her face was pressed against the gravel of the sidewalk. She was cold, so cold. Shivering. Her hands felt numb. “Kyle?” she tried again. But no answer. “Morgan? M-Mina?” But no answer. 

She hoped they would come. Hoped they would come soon. She wasn’t sure she could hang on much longer. But maybe just to see them. Just one more time. 

Get dressed, we have a situation were officially Mina’s least favorite words as she’d stumbled down the stairs, pulling shoes on as she went. She wouldn’t have been called to if it wasn’t serious, so that meant it was serious, and she got just a glimpse of how serious as she watched Bex or some version of Bex, covered in blood, fall to her knees and fade out of existence in the middle of the living room. So, it was the worst kind of situation, then. It was the kind of situation that was going to haunt her for forever, then. Mina grabbed the keys and barely waited to see if Morgan was behind her before heading to her car. Morgan’s was bigger, but Mina’s was more equipped to handle things that caused claw marks on people’s skin. So she drove and forgot how to obey traffic laws and gripped the steering wheel so tight that her knuckles turned white, and she just kept repeating the address over and over in her head until she pulled up to the damn bar with the worst name possible (if this was another vampire, then Mina was about to take up a profession in slaying). 

Throwing the door open and jumping out of the car, Mina immediately began looking around frantically for the younger girl. “Bex? Bex!” She didn’t know where she was supposed to be looking, didn’t know what she was supposed to expect. Her chest felt tight, and her heart was stuck somewhere in her throat. “Morgan, do you see-- What’s-- Bex?!”

Morgan didn’t have it in her to snark at Mina for driving so recklessly. Any place that called itself The Bloody Stake couldn’t be good. And what was Bex even doing by a bar? What had this Kyle person changed into? Morgan wasn’t even sure if she should believe Bex that it was her fault. Bex was the sort of person who’d apologize for someone stepping on her. As she followed Mina into the night, she couldn’t help but feel her insides crawl with dread. She could spot some very real fanged faces and shadowy antlers through the windows. They shouldn’t be here. They absolutely, absolutely should not be here. She gripped Mina’s hand tight. “We aren’t going to find them or be any help by freaking out--”

And then her eyes caught the dark sheen of blood under the street lamps, and a trail that led to Bex and a large sleeping wolf. A werewolf. “No,” she whispered, “No-no-no, shit!” She pulled on Mina’s hand and ran toward them. “What happened!” She let go and fell to her knees in front of the girl, gaping with horror at all the blood. “Did he bite you? I need you to be honest, this is important, did he bite you?” But before the girl could answer, Morgan pulled her against her chest in a strong, desperate hug. “We’ve got you. We’ll figure it out, okay?”

Kyle could hear voices somewhere. They sounded distant, like they were coming from the end of a long hallway and he was standing at the opposite end. He didn’t recognize who was talking. It would be so easy to go to sleep now, especially now that his head was quiet. For a moment, he was lulled by the quiet talking and the silence in his head before he jolted out of it, realizing he couldn’t hear Bex. Kyle opened his eyes with some effort, and looked around frantically. Why was he lying in the road? He’d worry about that later. He struggled to get to his feet, fighting against the pain that coursed through his entire left side. He managed to halfway sit up and turned enough to see Bex being cradled by someone he vaguely recognized as Morgan. Was she dead? Had he killed her? He couldn’t quite make out what was being said over the pounding in his head or the ringing in his ears. With a whine, Kyle laid back down, telling himself that he didn’t deserve to shift again--didn’t deserve the wolf connection--if he was going to kill. 

Voices. Noises. Not in her head. Bex felt a pressure on her body, like gloves in warm water. There but not feeling it. Her body lifted from the ground, someone was holding her. She blinked heavily, opened her eyes. Bit. Did he bite you? “Kyle…” Bex managed to mumble, her voice gurgled by the blood in her mouth. She spit it out, looking up at the figure that was holding her. Morgan. “You came…” Her face pulled into one of stress, worry, confusion. “Where’s--” she tried to move, but the pain in her chest was too great and she cried out. “What h-happened? Where is--” breaths coming up in heaves, she reached out, grappling around. “Kyle-- he--” she needed to answer the question. She couldn’t remember. Had he bit her? Had he stopped? Did it matter? “Is he okay? Where is-- no. He didn’t, I d-don’t--” Just claws. She remembered claws. Digging into her chest. That was why it hurt. She managed to move enough to look around. Her eyes fell on another figure crouched next to her. Mina. “No, no-- you shouldn’t-- you can’t--” Bloody hands smeared the ground. “Please help him. Please. It’s my fault. He’s-- because of me.”

Sometimes, Mina still saw her dad in a pool of his own blood. It was only in her dreams, but it was there. His chest was shredded, his throat ripped. He bled out right in front of her. Bex looked like she was bleeding out in front of her. And, actually, it was because of the wolf lying in the road, so, so, close, and Mina saw red. It was baffling, really, how instantaneously furious she was over this as opposed to how she’d felt when she saw her dad. She hadn’t been able to do anything then. Now, she could have killed. She looked down at Bex, not quite seeing her face as she spoke. Can’t. She was going to kill a werewolf. Can’t. She was going to kill a werewolf. Can’t. Mina looked at Morgan and got to her feet. She said, “I have a first aid kit. I’m going to grab it.” She stumbled to her car and got in, opening the boot of the car from the driver’s side. There was a bag with medical supplies, enough for quick fixes or on-the-go medical treatment while out in the middle of nowhere. There was a silver knife, long and wicked. Swallowing, Mina grabbed the medical supplies. She headed back over to Morgan and Bex. She couldn’t go near the wolf. She was trying very, very hard not to kill a werewolf. Her hands were shaking. She looked at Morgan, not knowing what to do.

“Of course I came,” Morgan said, squeezing Bex tighter. “There is nothing you could ever do that would keep me from coming if you asked. We’ll take a look at him, but right now, we need to take care of you first, honey, alright? You’re not okay, and I can’t let you bleed out on the street.” While Mina went for her kit, Morgan took off her jacket and started sopping up as much of the blood on Bex as she could. “You still haven’t told me what happened,” she said softly. “Can you take a few breaths and try?”

Mina returned and Morgan shifted, unfurling her arms to let Mina in. “We’ll work faster doing this together,” she said, giving Mina a meaningful look she hoped would be deciphered as, be thorough, don’t let her get away with leaving anything unattended. “Lucky for you, we are both really good at this. Mina, check on her bones and limbs?” The nix looked panicked, no longer a hunter but a very frightened girl half in a memory. “We’ve got this, okay?”

Take a few breaths. Explain. How could she explain? There was too much to explain. Bex didn’t know where to start. She opened her mouth, but found her voice gone. She was worried. Her head was so quiet. Was Kyle okay? Was he alive? He needed to be okay. She needed to know that he was okay. That she hadn’t gotten him killed. That her stupid magic hadn’t hurt yet another person. “P-please,” she stuttered again, trying to push away from Morgan, “I n-need to know. I need to know i-if he’s a-alive, please.” Her body shook with ragged breath. She needed to know. “I can’t-- I did this. I panicked and I didn’t mean to.” She knew she wasn’t making any sense, but she couldn’t make any sense of her thoughts, either. She wheezed with breath. The world was growing darker. “I did this,” she muttered, sinking back into Morgan’s arms. She looked up at Mina, haloed in streetlight. Her face was so worried, so scared. She’d never seen Mina so scared. Not even when they’d almost toppled off the waterfall, or when the cockatrice had attacked, or when Frank had pointed a knife at her. “I’m s-sorry,” she stuttered, “I t-tried.” 

“He’s alive,” Mina said, not even sparing the wolf a second glance as she managed to focus on unpacking the medkit. He was probably alive. He didn’t deserve to be alive. She looked at him and saw a three legged wolf, snarling and fangs dripping with saliva. She couldn’t understand why Bex was so concerned about the monster that attacked her. She didn’t have time to worry about that, and she pushed her hair out of her eyes and started to check Bex over. Her limbs were fine; as fine as they could be, at least, with all the cuts and bruises.“I don’t think broken bones are the main problem right now, Morgan.” Mina was more worried about the gaping wound in Bex’s chest, and she kept reaching to help before holding herself back, reaching out again. To hell with it. She started helping Morgan clean up the blood. When had iron-rich blood ever stopped her before? “You don’t have to apologize,” she told Bex quietly. She didn’t want her to talk. That wasted air, wasted energy, wasted precious heartbeats, and, if Mina thought about any of that for too long, she might cry. They needed to fix this.

“Shh…” Morgan urged, cupping Bex’s face. “Don’t try to talk too much, honey. Please. Just lean against me and try to keep breathing. Cough if you need to, don’t swallow the blood, just keep breathing…” She pulled her hand away to inspect her head for injuries and her hand came away red. Morgan shivered and looked at the mess dribbling down Bex’s chin, the heavy stains on her shirt, so thick they looked brown, almost black, and bright rivulets coming down the sides. Had she looked like this when she died? Was this what Deirdre had seen? The blood that wouldn’t stop, the holes that went impossibly deep, and a sad, stubborn voice that wouldn’t stop long enough to make anything better? 

Morgan went stiff and trembled at the sight, then she bunched up her jacket and pressed it down over her chest while she felt around her hair. It was clumped together toward the back, which meant a gash somewhere. Morgan couldn’t quite tell where exactly, but she didn’t feel any holes, so maybe her skull was still intact. “Mina, do you have supplies for stitches in there? I think her...I think we need them. I can do it, if you can’t but she needs more than just pressure, i-it’s--I don’t know how deep it is--” She closed her eyes and she was pinned to the street. Her back was so soaked, she felt glued down until Deirdre came and lifted her as far as the pole would let her. She opened her eyes. Bex wasn’t bleeding from both ends. They could save her. “She needs it. Please.”

Just keep breathing. Just keep breathing. Just keep breathing. Bex coughed, spit out more blood, felt it gathering in her throat. Her head throbbed. Her chest throbbed. Everything hurt. She hated this. She didn’t like this at all. She wanted to go home. He’s alive. She felt herself sob with relief. He’s alive. He was alive. She couldn’t hear him anymore-- had she grown used to it? His voice in the back of her mind?-- but he was alive. Mina wouldn’t lie to her. He was alive. “Thank you,” she sobbed, “thank you.” She knew Mina hated those words but she didn’t know what else to say. She wanted to sleep. Took in a shuddering breath, coughed, sputtered. Each breath wheezed on the intake, shaky on the exhale. “I-I’m s-sorry,” she repeated again, looking up at Morgan. Both of them were looking at her with mortified, paled faces. She wanted to stay awake for them, but it was so hard. “Please...don’t l-leave him. P-please.” Managed to sputter a last few words. She looked directly into Mina’s eyes. “Please,” before her arms sagged and she went limp in Morgan’s arms. It was time to sleep now. She just wanted to sleep now.

Pay me back by not dying, Mina thought. Thank me by not dying. Instead of saying that, she reached into her medkit and got out the supplies to start cleaning the wounds, doing sutures. She could see Morgan go stiff out of the corner of her eye. Both of them weren’t doing well with this, were they? “It’s fine. It’s fine. I can do it. It’s fine.” How many times had she given stitches, anyway? She could do this. “Make sure she doesn’t choke. She lost a lot of blood. Do you-- Would the Fae doctor help her? Do you know someone else who can help? Because I can do the stitches, and I can--” Her fingers were growing more and more irritated as she worked, and she really just didn’t care. She needed to stay focused. She would have been grateful that Bex had passed out if she wasn’t so damn worried. She looked Morgan in the eyes. “She needs more than just stitches.” And apparently they needed to do something about the bloody werewolf, as well. Because of course Bex wanted to help the wolf.

“Have you met fae doctors?” Morgan scoffed, her voice rising. “We--no. I don’t even know if she’d understand human anatomy! But we can’t take her to a hospital, they’ll identify her, they’ll know who she is and they’ll call her parents and we’ll never get her back, we can…” Breathe. Her voice was getting stuck in the back of her throat. She needed to breathe. She needed to think. “Nell! Nell knows some healing, and I can coerce someone stronger with her, if we have to. We’ll call Nell and she can meet us and take care of things at the house.” She gripped Bex a little tighter, watched her chest rise and fall and rise. “Take her to the car, stay with her, make sure she’s on her side, don’t let her choke on her blood, she shouldn’t have to do that. I’ll get the wolf and drive us back and we can put him in the basement until he wakes up as himself.” Her hands held onto Bex even after she passed her into Mina’s arms. When they were on their way, trudging up the alley toward the car, she got to her feet and approached the wolf. It was dark, but she could tell from the sheen on his fur that he had some injuries too. She took some gauze and cotton from the abandoned med kit and wrapped it around the animal where he looked the most matted and damp. Then she hauled him over her shoulders, med kit in tow, and followed Mina into the night.

The first thing Kyle became aware of was someone touching his side. It hurt and it startled him. He bared his teeth weakly in the direction of his medic as his eyes cracked open. It took his eyes a moment to adjust, but he relaxed slightly when he recognized Morgan. He’d seen her before through Bex’s thoughts. He knew she could be trusted; not that he had any other options. The rest of the journey, he remembered in flashes. It felt like he would just blink and lose a chunk of time. Kyle wasn’t sure if he was losing consciousness or if this was what dying was like. The thought gripped him with a sudden panic and he whined softly. 

He blinked. Suddenly, he was being hoisted onto Morgan’s shoulders unceremoniously. He let out a groan that tapered off into a low growl. This wasn’t Morgan’s fault; it was the best way to move him, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. His side was on fire and his head was splitting open, he was sure of it. That was the only logical way to justify the pain. 

Kyle closed his eyes. Now, he was being loaded into a vehicle. The transfer into the car was less than smooth and his eyes shot open again, this time in pain. He didn’t recognize this car, but it smelled like Mina. Beyond that, he could smell the old penny scent of Bex’s blood. Bex? Was she alive? Or were they simply transporting her corpse? Again, he whimpered quietly. He did his best to just breathe through the pain and stay awake long enough to make sure Bex was okay. She needed to be okay. There were people who were counting on her--people who loved her. Kyle couldn’t even say the same for himself. He had a handful of friends and his parents, but he wasn’t important to somebody in the same way. Bex had to survive.

Kyle closed his eyes. When he next opened them, they were moving. The car was speeding through the streets; the road raced along beneath them. Kyle’s eyes were glazed over and he stared at the road as it zipped away. He had to close his eyes this time. The movement was making him lose his grip on which way was up and which was down. It flipped his stomach and he figured Mina would appreciate it if he didn’t make even more of a mess of the car. 

The next time he opened his eyes, he was being unloaded from the car. Again, he became acutely aware of the pain. He yelped and struggled briefly against Morgan’s grip. It wasn’t her fault he was hurt. It was… Kyle couldn’t clearly remember what had happened. There was a bright light, then there was pain. What had he done?

Kyle closed his eyes. When he opened them he was...indoors? He wasn’t familiar with this house, but it smelled like Morgan and Mina and… Bex. Kyle’s eyes widened and he began to push himself up onto his feet. The effort was wasted as he slid back down onto his side with a wet thump. Where was Bex? Was she here? Was she alive? His eyes darted around the room, landing on another familiar face. Nell Vural. If Nell was here, surely Bex was alive. Nell, Morgan, and Mina didn’t owe him anything. They could’ve left him bleeding out in the street. They could have left him to die. If being in Bex’s head taught Kyle anything, though, it was that she wouldn’t let that happen. Kyle focused on the silence in his head again. She had to be alive, right? She had to.

Kyle closed his eyes.

[ace-in-a-shopping-cart]

Trust Issues

Summary: Virgil and Logan are internet friends. Can they be something more? Angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, analogical. Mentions of abuse.

Word Count: 3,784

Taglist: (Send an ask to be added or removed!) @starlocked01​​ @spoopy-turtle​​ @lizluvscupcakes​ @more-fandon-than-friends 

Virgil kept everyone at arm's length. He knew it wasn’t fair to himself but he didn’t care. It was the way he had been since high school. He was half way into college now and doing fine. That was, until he met someone online. They got along well, having similar interests and Virgil enjoyed talking to him. He didn’t realize that he was letting his walls down until it was too late.

He was trying to study for an important exam when he got the request for a call. Sighing, Virgil rolled his chair over to the side, reaching into his loft bed to grab his phone. He accepted the call as he rolled back, turning the music coming from the laptop down. 

“Salutations, Virgil.” The almost musical voice came from his phone.

Virgil was still out of sight of the camera and allowed himself a large smile before sobering and propping the phone where he could see it and be seen. “Hi, Logan. Did you need something?”

“I wanted to spend time with you.” Logan said as if it was the most logical thing in the world to call someone up simply to spend time together. Which, for most people, it probably was. Unfortunately, Virgil wasn’t most people.

Virgil scoffed as he jotted down a note. “Sure, because you’ve got nothing better to do.”

Logan sighed, already used to this from him. “Virgil, I can see you multitasking. Is it not possible to conceive that I might also be capable of doing the same? Is it a truly impossible idea that I simply wanted your company, whether we discuss topics or not?”

Virgil’s hands stilled, pausing in his thought process to look at the small screen housing Logan’s face. “No, I guess it isn’t.” He ran a hand through his hair, oblivious to the amount of graphite on the side of it. “Sorry, I’m just stressed out right now.”

Logan smiled. “Take a deep breath. Now, do you want help, or a listening ear?”

“A listening ear. I’m trying to study for my second to last exam but it doesn’t feel like I’m remembering any of it.”

Logan nodded. “Okay, maybe it’s time to take a break. It seems that I called at just the right time.”

Virgil shook his head. “I don’t want to bother you with this. It’s stupid and not even like it’s the class with the most credits right now. I think I’ll just switch to a different subject and work on that.”

Logan’s voice took on a dejected tone. “Alright. I’m here if you need me.” He turned away from his screen and Virgil got a look at his surroundings. Unlike Virgil who was in a dorm, Logan seemed to be in at least an apartment. He was standing in an immaculately clean kitchen with a few mixing bowls behind him.

Logan turned to the bowls, grabbing a bag of flour from off screen and started measuring out ingredients. Virgil rested his chin on his palm, elbow placed on the desk, and let himself watch for a few minutes as Logan whipped up a batch of cookies by hand and placed them in the ove, setting a timer before turning back to the phone, obviously surprised to see Virgil spaced out in front of him.

Virgil startled out of his thoughts when Logan called his name. Eyes focusing again, he found himself looking at Logan’s face with a soft smile resting upon it. “Virgil.” He called again, voice impossibly gentle. 

Virgil lifted his head. “You need something?”

“You spaced out for a bit. Anything on your mind?”

Virgil shook his head, removing his pencil from behind his ear and looking back at the scratch paper in front of him. “Just the math problems.”

“Okay. I’m gonna read a book for a while so just say if you need anything.”

Virgil gave a thumbs up to the general area of his phone and hoped Logan saw it. After a few minutes of quiet music and no sound from Logan, Virgil needed more auditory stimulation. So, he rolled back in his chair and pulled out a drawer that housed his headphones. Plugging them into his laptop, he turned the volume up just enough that he could finally think. 

His thought strayed from his work to the man sitting nearby but so far away. Looking up, Logan’s phone was positioned against what Virgil assumed was a lamp that allowed him to read and still have the phone within his sight line. Virgil sighed quietly as he directed his gaze back to his page and started to doodle in the margins.

He knew what was happening, had known for a few weeks now. He was terrified of the consequences of these feelings that were beginning to bubble up inside him like a freshwater spring in the mountains. While he wanted to live by the spring and drink deeply of it every day, he knew he was doomed to be a nomad and was scared to fill his water bottle from the spring. 

He knew he was falling for Logan, knew he could confess and have a good chance Logan felt the same. He also knew the chances of him turning him down and cutting off all contact with him. Virgil didn’t think he could stand that again. He looked up when he heard a sound, only to find Logan staring at him with another smile in his eyes.

Logan mimed taking headphones off and Virgil did as requested. Pausing the music, he turned his full attention to the beautiful human on the other side of the screen. “You need something?”

Logan coughed. “Well, I actually did call you for a reason.”

Virgil nodded, letting his pencil fall out of his hand and roll across the desk. “I’m all ears.” His heart was in his throat and was pounding a mile a minute. There was no other sound in his room as he turned his undivided attention to him.

Logan smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s nothing major, I assure you.” Virgil nodded, heart rate slowing just the slightest. “I have to go away for a week or two and I won’t have access to the internet or service. I’ll essentially be radio silent for the foreseeable future.”

Virgil nodded in understanding even as the feelings he had been dreading the most clawed their way into his throat. He forced them back down, telling himself he would deal with it at a later time that would never come. “Okay. Are you just informing me out of courtesy?” He was surprised by how nonchalant he managed to sound as he started looking around the desktop for the dropped pencil.

“I know you worry to the point of excess at times and simply wanted to inform you so you don’t freak out when you can’t get into contact with me.” He paused. “Virgil, are you alright?”

Virgil was leaning away from the camera. “Yeah, just looking for my pencil.”

Logan sighed as a timer went off in the background. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

“I’m fine. Go check on the cookies.”

Virgil finally sat back up, pencil in hand. He could feel the tears pricking his eyes even as he swallowed them. ‘He’s just going somewhere for a while.’ He thought. ‘He’s not like him. He’ll come back, there’s no reason to panic.’

He watched Logan stand and walk off screen before his head dipped back down, looking at his paper through blurry eyes as a tear splashed onto the problem he was working on. Sniffling, he rolled away to grab the box of tissues that his roommate stole. He blew his nose in case Logan was within hearing range before swiping at his eyes a bit too hard. He cleaned his face up before blotting the water drop on his page. 

Logan came back into view and picked the phone up, holding it away from his body. “Are you alright? I thought I heard something from here?”

“Yeah, I just have a stuffy nose right now due to the weather.” He rubbed his hands down his face, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Hey, I really need to focus on this right now. I don’t know if I can call you back later so I’ll talk to you in a few weeks.” Virgil purposely kept his voice light, almost cheerier than normal. “Bye!”

He ended the call, head falling to rest on his desk. First it was the stress of having homework to do on top of studying for a test he was sure he was going to fail, then he was sure he was coming down with a cold, now Logan initiated a long bout of not talking. He knew Logan wasn’t going to abandon him, but it hurt just the same.

Remus came back a half hour later to find him in the same position. “Yo, dude. What’s wrong?”

Virgil grunted, not bothering to move.

Remus’ voice softened as his footsteps approached. “Hey, you wanna talk about it?”

Virgil’s hand shot up, showing Remus the bird. Remus just snorted. “I get that enough from my brother, you don’t scare me, emo. Come on, what’s wrong?”

Virgil finally lifted his head, allowing Remus a glimpse of his red, puffy, and bloodshot eyes. “My life is going to hell faster than you are.”

Remus nodded, ignoring the last part of the sentence. “Okay. That’s not new. Tell me what happened this time.”

Virgil stood from his chair, crawling into his bed and hugging his pillow. “Logan just told me he wasn’t going to be able to talk to me for about two weeks and now I’m having past trauma creep up. Nothing too major.”

Remus sighed, climbing into the bed next to him. “Do we need to move your appointment up so you can talk about it with Dr. Picani?”

Virgil shrugged. “Probably. I don’t want to bother him with this though.”

Remus laughed. “You do realize that this is the exact thing you started going to him to help with, right?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Virgil leaned his head on Remus’ shoulder. “So, how was your day?”

So, Remus distracted Virgil from the tempest raging inside him, talking on and on about the things he learned and got to experience in his mortuary science classes. That night, Remus helped Virgil bump his appointment to the day after next.

When it was time to go, Remus offered to drive Virgil but he opted to walk instead. He got there and checked in with the receptionist, Remy. They chatted about what kind of coffee Remy was drinking today and his current recommendation before he was told to go ahead and go on back. Dr. Picani came in shortly, skipping the theatrics and going straight to the nitty-gritty.

“So, something's bothering you?” He asked as he sat down.

Virgil nodded. “Yeah. It’s just . . .  something happened recently that caused me to go back into the mindset of a few years back.”

Emile nodded. “So, your abandonment issues are back?”

“Yeah.” Virgil sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, almost ashamed to have brought this to him. “It’s something so stupid too.”

“Nothing is stupid when it comes to this. Now, what caused this?”

“A friend that, for the past two years-”

“Logan?”

“Yes, Logan. We keep in contact regularly, always chatting at least three times a week, sometimes more.”

Emile nodded. “He’s good for you.”

“Well, he says he has to go somewhere for the next few weeks and won’t have any service or access to wifi. In his own words, he’s going radio silent for one to two weeks.”

“I can see how that would be distressing to you. What feelings does it bring up? Honestly, please.”

“Honestly? Inadequate, too much, like I was stepping on his toes and wasn’t told of it until just now. Most of all, it hurts to know that I’m falling for him but have no courage to confess or even bring it up. I don’t even know if he’s into guys.” Virgil ran a hand through his hair, tugging slightly.

Emile made a note. “So, you feel like when your ex left you?”

“Put plainly, yes. I’m back into the loop of wondering if I did something wrong only this time I have the knowledge that Logan communicates enough to let me know if I did something wrong. He would have no reason to lie to me. Then again, he was baking cookies while we were talking.”

“He is not the baker type?”

“I’ve never seen him use that much sugar in all the time I’ve known him.” Virgil shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m probably just being paranoid.”

Emile hummed. “You are not paranoid, but you are probably overthinking this. If you have a way of texting him, maybe do that to cope. If nothing else, write him letters when you want to talk to him.”

Virgil nodded. “That’s a really good idea, thanks!”

The rest of the appointment went smoothly, Virgil needing a refill on his medication anyways. Over the course of the next few days, Virgil bought a small notebook that he started filling with random thoughts that he thought Logan would enjoy or things he really wanted to tell him. Maybe he would tell him parts of it but much of it was something he would die of embarrassment if anyone found it. 

One night, Virgil was sitting at his desk while trying to do some research for an essay when there was a knock at his door. Groaning, he stood up. “Remus, you’ve gotta stop leaving your key here.” He said as he opened the door, not even looking at who was at the door. Afterall, who else would be knocking on his door at two in the morning? 

“I did not know I possessed a key.” A familiar voice that definitely wasn’t Remus answered.

Virgil whirled around, only to see Logan standing in his doorway, a suitcase in one hand and tubberware in the other. Logan raised his eyebrows. “Do I need a key to enter?”

Virgil shook his head, brain not actually connecting what was happening at the moment. Logan smirked as he stepped past the doorway and shut the door behind himself. “Are you alright?”

Virgil nodded. Legs giving way under him, he collapsed into his desk chair. His eyes were wide as they followed Logan. Logan slipped his shoes off and placed them by Virgil’s near the door before setting his suitcase down and handing the tupperware to Virgil, who took it and placed it on his desk.

Another minute passed as Logan got a good look around the room before Virgil finally got his brain cells working again. “What are you doing here?”

Logan laughed, pulling Remus’ desk chair over to sit at Virgil’s eye level. “I wanted to surprise you.” His eyes were soft and voice fond, leaving Virgil a figurative puddle of feelings.

Virgil blinked but had enough presence of mind to close the journal he’d been writing in, making it look like he was just tidying up his desk. “Why?” His voice was filled with bitterness directed at himself. He wasn’t sure why Logan went through all the trouble of coming all the way here.

Before Logan could answer, the door was flung open. “Emo, I’m hoooome!” The word ‘home’ was sung out like Remus was in some sort of sitcom.

Virgil sighed, grateful for the distraction. “Hey, stinky.”

Remus looked over at him. “Oh, who’s this? Is this that boy you’ve been talking to for the past three years?” His eyes were bright with mischief. Or maybe that was alcohol.

Logan stood, holding out a hand for Remus to shake. “I’m Logan. It’s a pleasure to meet Virgil’s roommate.”

Remus looked at the hand before taking a few steps forward, close enough that their noses were almost touching but not quite. Before he could do anything, Virgil spoke up. “Bad Remus. Go to bed.”

Remus pouted but climbed into his loft bed, rolling to face the wall and putting his headphones on. Virgil sighed, standing to give him a water bottle before turning back to Logan. “He tends to lick new people.”

Logan rubbed his cheek. “Lick?”

Virgil nodded, chuckling. “Yeah.”

Logan nodded, a relieved expression crossing his face as he sat back down. “So, how have you been? We haven’t talked in a little while.”

Virgil nodded, grabbing water bottles for himself and Logan out of the minifridge before sitting back down, handing Logan his. “I’ve been okay.”

Behind Logan, Virgil saw Remus roll over and raise his eyebrows in a way that Virgil had come to know as, ‘You wanna tell him or should I?’ Virgil waved a hand at hip height, something Logan would miss but Remus would know as, ‘Leave it.’

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You seem unsure of that.”

Virgil sighed, running a hand through his hair before taking a sip of water to avoid the question. As soon as the liquid touched his tongue he realized that the last time he drank something was an energy drink a few hours ago and chugged half the bottle. When he came up for air, Logan looked concerned. “Do you want the honest answer?” Virgil asked, capping the bottle.

Logan’s concern turned to surprise. “I thought we were always as honest as possible.”

Virgil nodded, hand subconsciously reaching for his fidget cube. “I’ve not been doing so well.” His hand went through his hair again, tugging slightly.

Remus laughed. “That’s an understatement!”

Logan turned to look at him. “Would one of you care to explain?”

Virgil gestured at Remus, who instantly swung his legs over the side of his bed, not caring that he didn’t have a railing. “So, Virgil has a past. Because of this, he’s got such things as abandonment issues and an anxiety disorder. He’s going to therapy for both but had to bump up his appointment due to you going radio silent.”

Logan held up a hand, turning to face Virgil. “Is this true? Why did you need to change the appointment date?”

Virgil nodded, fingers pressing the buttons harder than he meant to but the clicking was calming. “I needed to get a refill of my meds as well as needed to talk to my therapist about it.” He shrugged, his hoodie being pulled tighter around him. “My ex would often be abusive before going radio silent. I got used to the connection to the point that he could just go radio silent and I would wonder what I did wrong. I haven’t seen him in years but old habits die hard.”

Logan’s face crumpled in sympathy, leaning forward to put a hand on Virgil’s knee. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Virgil shrugged. “That’s cause I didn’t tell you.” 

Logan nodded. “I’m sorry for making you feel like that. No one should have to go through that.”

Virgil nodded. “I guess.”

“Hey!” Remus called. “It’s late and I want to sleep! Get out!” 

Virgil playfully gasped. “Remus! You don’t even know if he was planning on spending the night here!” Virgil turned to Logan, hope in his chest but practiced indifference in his eyes as he struggled to build his walls back up brick by brick. “Were you?”

“No. I was going to get a room in the hotel down the road. Although, I should be going now as it’s quite late.”

Virgil nodded, standing with him. As he rested his hand on his desk to stand, it fell on the journal he was writing in earlier. On a whim, he picked it up and held it out to Logan. “Take this with you. You know, for some light reading.”

Logan smiled as his hand gently closed around the book, slipping it into his suitcase. “I will, thank you.” Virgil ignored the way Remus was making kissing faces.

Logan left and Virgil had a hard time getting to sleep. Eventually, he did. Sleep crept in like a thief in the night, noticed just as quickly and caught even slower. When morning came, he was just drifting off to sleep but had to get up to go to class, grumbling all the way.

When he was getting out of his last class, Virgil got a text from Logan that said to wait in front of the dorm building. When he got there, a car was already parked outside. The window rolled down to show Logan in the driver’s seat. “You got time?”

Virgil smiled and nodded, getting in. Logan sped off gesturing to the stereo. “I don’t know the local stations and this is a rental.”

Virgil sat forward, hand poised to change the station. “What are we looking for?”

Logan shrugged. “Anything you like, really. I’m not that picky when it comes to music.”

Virgil smirked before changing it to the one station that was eternally stuck in the early 2000’s. Logan smiled. “I missed this music.” He muttered.

Virgil sat back and let himself get lost. He didn’t care about the destination, just focused on the music around him. Blocking out all thoughts except for the music, he started to hum along to songs he knew. Eventually, he started to sing to them. Logan just smiled and turned the music up.

When the car stopped, Logan turned the music down and all Virgil’s worries came back. He remembered the book he gave away last night, which he now noticed was sitting on the center console. Logan turned to face Virgil, who started to play with his hood strings.

Logan smiled, reaching a hand out to hold one of Virgil’s. “I want you to know I read the whole thing.”

Virgil wished the car had an eject button or that the ground would open up and swallow him. 

“Honestly, reading that gave me confidence and made this infinitely easier to do.”

Virgil squeezed his hand, reminding himself Logan wouldn’t have come all the way over here just to tell him he didn’t want to be friends anymore.

“I want you to know that I feel the same way.”

Virgil’s gaze shot up from their joined hands, looking at Logan and feeling like a house was being built by the spring. “Do you mean it?” His voice was quiet, hesitant.

Logan smiled, thumb idly rubbing on the back of Virgil’s hand. “I’m as serious as I’ve ever been. I made cookies to butter you up, for goodness sake!”

Virgil giggled. “You’re a dork.”

Logan leaned forward, his smile turning into a smirk. “Can I be your dork?”

Virgil nodded, leaning in to close the distance and kiss his dork.

[enigma-im]

Crocodile Rock

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Lizard Man X Female!Human Warning: sexual drought, minor stalking, kidnapping, sex on a mountain, Oral, monster sex, loss of control, scenting, ovulation

Word count: 3660

A monster prowling the streets of a suburban neighborhood. A girl in a bit of a dry spell is driving him crazy.

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One would think that going most of your life without sex would make going a few months without it easy. I'd imagine the metaphor for food would make sense. If you never had spaghetti before you can't crave it, you can want it but not really desire it. I also just compared sex to spaghetti, I really need to get laid.

I believe the last time I was intimate, not even had sex, with someone was almost a year ago. It is fine for the most part, hardly noticed it till recently. Work has kept me busy so it wasn’t a great loss. Now that I have more free time all I crave is the touch of another. Reading hasn’t done me any favors either. Its been a mess of a time.

As I spiral in the depth of frustration I have been noticing the presence of someone watching me. It was easy to brush off at first but once I started seeing strange things do I become worried. In the morning when I'd walk to my car to go to work id catch a pair of glowing eyes in the woods opposite my house. The first time I assumed it was the neighbors' house lights, boy was I wrong. When I come back home and rechecked I saw there were no lights. Next came the sightings and talk around the area. People caught sight of a huge man walking about. Other added on saying it wasn’t a man but a monster, having scales and sharp teeth. I hardly believed any of that until I caught sight of him when looking at my backyard.

I stood in the kitchen and looked out the window at my poorly kept yard. It desperately needed a trim and grooming. I wonder who will be doing that cause its definitely not me. As I was about to walk away with my fresh cup of cocoa I see a shadow move under the trees. I squint and lean against the sink to get a better look. It was big, that was easy enough to decipher. It stepped over my fence and walked towards the back porch. Once it was close enough, the motion sensors caught it. We both stood frozen after that.

Tall was my immediate thought. Big, hulking, scaled, were my next ones. This… thing… looks like a lizard to simplify things. It was covered in dark green and brown scales and had some spikes coming out the back of its head. Before I could detail more it ran out of the yard and into the dark.

"Well fuck me," I grumble in shock. I didn’t particularly know how else to react after seeing that. Big damn lizard in my yard heading to my back door. It felt like watching one of the lost tape videos on YouTube. That creepy feeling crawling up your spine that may turn into a flight or fight response. I shivered at the time, standing in the kitchen for an uncomfortable amount of time.

It's about two weeks after the incident that I am heading back home from work. The day was harsh and aggravating. Not sure why I scheduled a date for today. Just because its Friday, doesn’t mean I'm not tired. still, my sexual drought hasn’t done much for my growing stress around the mystery in the neighborhood. I think I've caught it out the corner of my eye often after seeing him. Always lurking in the woods like some stalker. It's unnerving but I can't help to an awful fantasy of being watched while gratifying myself at night. I won't lie and say I've never thought about it, opening my windows so the lizard man could catch an eyeful. Of course, I haven't don’t it but I feel its only a matter of time.

I make it home with phantom pains in my stomach. Always around ovulation do I get these little pains, about a 2/10 on the scale but still noticeable. Fingers crossed that my date goes well so I won't have to come home and use the detachable shower head to get some peace. I pull into the driveway and shuffle about collecting all my things in the car. I open up the door as I shove my phone into my pocket. Before I could slam the door shut I hear a loud snap in the woods. It wasn’t like a twig being stepped on but more of a branch being broken. The sound echoes over the mountain and bounces off the trees. The noise sending a chill down my spine.

"ok," I grumble in comfort. I quickly shut the door and speed walk to the front door. As I grab the handle I pause. A crawling feeling runs up my spine. I freeze like a deer caught in headlights. A primal feeling of fright gripping my brain. I can't put my finger on it or even explain the reasoning until a puff of air pushes against the back of my neck. I stop breathing.

Out the corner of my eye, I see a large hand slowly reach out and press against the door. On the other side, I see another hand grab mine and gently take it off the handle. Taking in small gasps of air, I do as it says. The heat of the thing behind me increases as it crowds me to the door. I look up at the glass and try to make out the reflection. I gulp when I realize what it is.

I watch him lean down toward my neck and inhale a greedy breath, letting it out in a pleasing growl. I find myself whimpering right after. His hand still holding mine trails up my arm, stopping at my elbow. Slowly, he traces his nails over to my stomach, flattening his hand to cover almost all of me. He pets his thumb just under my bra and releases another growl.

In a flash, his hand tightens and pulls me back. He grabs me and twists me so he can throw me stomach first over his shoulder. I cough as the breath is punched out of me. We twist and in a dizzying speed, he runs away from my house. My chest bounces against his back as he runs us into the woods. Tree passes us in blurring speed till we stop at a short sharp incline of the mountain. Keeping a strong hold he grips the rock and catapults himself upwards.

He climbs up to a flat space high up over the neighborhood. He walks over to a clear space surrounded by trees, stopping and settling me in the flattened grass. I rest on my back feeling like a dog showing its stomach as I get a good look at him. His features are sharp and aggressive. His eyes are extremely dilated, or his pupils are always that big. His teeth are bared in a snarl and a bit of drool dribbles out the corner of his mouth. I don’t know how to interrupts this, is he going to eat me?

"Please," I whimper while trying to sit up. He growls as he quickly presses his hand to my chest, forcing me back down into the dirt. I follow with minimal complaint, too scared to deny him. The man lowers himself with me, settling on his hand so he can press his face close. Startling me he presses his nose to my neck and sucks in another deep inhale, releasing a deep breath with a rumbling purr. His tongue slithers out and licks up around my collar. I accidentally cry out at the warm press of his mouth. He seems to startle as well, jumping back with a gasp. He looks down at me for a moment before he shakes his head vigorously, seeming to clear his mind.  

I yelp when he grabs at my pants, jerking at them. I jump up but he makes me fall back as he jerks again. Quickly he rips my bottoms down and tosses them aside. His palms glide up over my thighs, parting them as he nears my crotch. I keen in protest, trying to buck away with a flush face. Our eyes meet as he settles on his stomach. He sneers with a growl, gripping my legs tightly in command. Stay still. I settle in panic, resting on my back with a strange mix of anticipation.

His fingers settle in the cleft of my thigh, massaging gently as his breath ghosts over me. I clench my fist to my sides, refusing to look. I yelp when his tongue runs a slow stripe up my crotch. He grunts loudly as his head rest against my pelvis. I feel a dribble of drool splash onto my hip as he shakes his head slowly, perhaps overwhelmed with the experience. Without warning he licks again, dipping inside before sliding his full length up and over my clit. I choke on my breath, clenching my stomach with a white jolt pierces up my spine. He wastes no time going for thirds, taking his time to taste everything he can.

I can't ignore the sharp pulses of arousal drenching over me. I have never cared for slow but he is making it work. Feels like he is worshiping the experience, worshiping me. His tongue invades me and I can't stop the soft moan escaping my lips. He groans along with me, vibrating my thighs as he does. His fingers dig into my skin, no doubt leaving marks. He laps at me like a dog before using his lips to suck on my cunt. The scales on his chin rub over my rear and entrance, the sensation is different but not unwelcomed. I feel myself bucking against him and ignoring any previous protest I had. I let my body enjoy his assaults, even going as far as to watch him.

"Yes, fuck," I sit upon my elbows, my head dropping to my shoulder. His eyes meet mine with an intoxicating amount of enjoyment. Glad we are both on the same page. His eyes roll back as he adjusts his hold, shoving his tongue inside. His fingers then glide around to finger at my clit. "Ah, yes, please," I cry out. I watch as he drinks from me, rolling my hips into him as I near my end. I whimper out pleads, falling back onto my back as I arch into him.

"Please, please, please," I chant. His growls push me over the edge, bucking and squirming into him as I cum. He licks up everything I offer as I dig my fingers into the dirt. My fist ripping up the grass as I cry out.

As I fall he sits up and watches. I roll my head back and forth against the ground, whispering thank you. He is the first person to give me an orgasm in nearly a year. That thought should be sobering but all I can think is, he is kind of cute. For a giant lizard, he did great, better than most, if not all, my exes.

Once I come down I sit up and look at him. He isn't looking up at me, well he is looking down. Motion catches my eye and I look down at his hand wrapped around his cock, and what a cock it is indeed. He is hung like a soda can, thick as all hell. His hand is teasing along his length as he eyes my crotch. He passes a quick glance up at me, his look seems debauched if not predatory. I quirk a brow at him as I try to stray off a smile. I kind of want him inside me, I won't lie. I didn’t imagine I was this desperate for sex but here I lie, ready to plead for him.

I look from him to his crotch, spreading my legs a bit as I lick my lips. This breaks his last strand of control as he grabs at me. He clutches my hips and slides me so his tip rests against my entrance. With no preamble, he bucks forward with a loud growl. Not ready for him to go full hilt I fall back to the dirt with a clenched yelp.

"Jesus," I huff. He takes no time wildly thrusting into me. His hips clapping at mine, leaving my thoughts scattered. Sweet fuck I might die. His cock stretches me like no other. His claws piercing my skin a bit as he slams in and out. Wanting to see what's happening I sit upon my elbows again.

I watch his hips roll, ending with a sharp snap. His stomach muscles pull taunt then flow with his movements. I'm in rapture watching his motions, feeling the effects of his actions. Sitting on my elbows I watch his thick cock pound quickly into me. His cock pulling out swiftly before bucking forward. My face clenches up as I think too much on it, feeling him rub against my walls. I want to look up at him, see what this creature's face looks like when taking me so quick and hard. Yet I can't bring myself to look away from this erotic sight. I hardly notice this keening sound coming from my throat, I also hardly care.

"Fuck, please," I cry as I fall back into the dirt. His grunt and growls echo up the mountain. With a quick squeeze to my hips, he falls forwards on to his hands, hovering over me with a sneer. His bucking picks up pace, slapping against my hips with loud claps. He bares his teeth down at me, his eye nearly clenching shut. The sight is anything but ghastly. His monstrous snarling with his beast-like thrust is all the more arousing.

"Fuck-," I try to whine out a name but nothing comes to mind. The acknowledgment that this beast is using me like a sex toy hits hard. I don’t know anything about him, except how well he can eat a girl out. The taboo of fucking some strange monster in the woods is erotic, like some over the top romance novel. I can't help but squeeze around him with a fluttering of tension. He clenches his eyes close and stutters in his thrust. Soon he falls forward onto his forearms, hanging his head near my neck. I can hear his panting breath and grunts clearer now.

"Heath," I hear him huff out. I lazily swing my head to the side, eyeing him confused. He watches with a side-eye. I can't help but squeeze again when I notice that I'm bouncing with him. "Heath," he growls again.

"Heath," I mumble out around heavy breaths. As he hears me he drops his forehead to the ground and bucks harder into my hips. I choke on a gasp as it feels like his cock is in my stomach. "Fuck, Heath," I growl out between clenched teeth. I find myself reaching out for something sturdy, grabbing at his biceps near my shoulders. As I call his name again he grunts and groans. His noises sound delightful next to my ear. I squeeze around him as I listen, fighting off my nearing peak just to prolong this experience.

I can feel everything. The way the head of his cock leads the way deep inside me. The sensation of his scales rubbing against my hands and thighs. I can feel the air puffing from his heavy panting, brushing my hair slightly. I hold on to every sensation until I can't take it anymore. "Heath, shit- you-… Fuck," I try to speak. My brain seemingly mush as I cry out, hearing my whines echo over the mountains. No doubt startling some of the residences below.

Quickly everything turns white. My hearing becomes a ringing as I suddenly stop screaming. My mouth opens in a silent yell. My insides clench around his impressive length, making him stutter in his thrust. I clench his arms with a vice grip, listening to his short whines as he frantically pounds into me. He takes all he can get before slamming once more. He stills, his breath caught in his throat. I feel his hot load jet into me, coating my insides with his seed. Giving just one final buck we both lay silent. His face buried to my neck and my hands gripping him tightly.

Neither of us moves, still coming back into our own and catching our breaths. I relax my hold and tilt my head back with a content sigh. That was amazing.

Heath startles me by pressing his face to my neck. Licking a short stripe up to my ear. I can feel his chest rumble with a soft purr. His satisfied behavior is pleasing in an almost primal way. I trail my hands up his arms, over his shoulders, and down to his chest. I press my palm to him, feeling his vibrations.

"Jesus, you have been driving me insane all week. I tried taking myself in my hand but it didn’t work, your cunt was the perfect cure," he growls out next to my ear. It's startling, if not embarrassing, to finally hear his voice. Well, hear it in a full sentence anyway.

What he says is still a bit concerning, "I've been driving you crazy?"

"Yes, your scent was too potent. My little sexually frustrated female, practically screaming for my cock," he rubs his nose to my cheek, licking and kissing as he does.

I push his head away while trying to bite down on my smile, "I was not, you big brute." he finally sits up, cocking an eyebrow down at me.

"Right, shall we make a repeat performance than? I will have you begging in the dirt in seconds," his smug face is both charming and annoying.

"Cocky aren't we?"

"Only when I'm right," he grins. He settles back on his forearms, pressing gentle kisses around my face. It’s a strange contrast to his previous domineering actions. Despite my denial, he did have me screaming into the dirt like some kind of whore. I won't lie and say it was unpleasant or unwanted but I will say it would have been nice to know his name beforehand. Not everyone can say that they found out someone's name when it was growled into their ear while that someone's big cock was rearranging their organs. That would be weird if it was a common thing, be concerned about today's way of life if that were the case.

Without warning, Heath grabs my hips and tilts us sideways. He is on his back, cradling me to his front. Letting out a content sigh that ruffles my hair, he closes his eyes. I rest my palms to his chest a bit perplexed. Is he going to sleep? What a typical man. With a roll of my eyes, I rest my chin on his sternum, just observing this strange beast. As I too begin to fall captive to the grips of sleep I remember my plans for tonight. Instead of catching some comforting rest, I begin to rouse with questions.

"Now what?"

His eyes peak open, "Now what?"

"I need to get back home, I have a date tonight I need to get cleaned up for," I clarify. It seems wrong to go out after being thoroughly fucked on the plateau of a mountain but I can't imagine this is going to form into something more. A taboo rendezvous that won't result in a committed relationship.  

He still surprises me by saying, "Date? Not anymore."

I regard him confused, "hmm?"

"No man is taking you away, I will state my intent right now. I will have you again, and again, and again because you are mine," his fingers dig into my naked hips. A growl rumbling from his chest into mine. I'm not put off by the idea, far from it, but I won't make it easy for him.

"I don’t remember agreeing to that," I answer in a cheek to tongue way.

"You agreed when you took my cock," he counters with a wicked smirk.

"I feel there wasn’t much say in that. Didn’t exactly ask," I pretend to ponder.

"Why would I need to when you were begging so beautifully? I couldn’t prolong our torture by asking. Also, I don’t think I could have arranged enough words into a coherent sentence with your arousal surrounding my nose," he sits up and rubs his face into my neck. I can feel his sharp teeth grazing along my collar. It was a fair point, not a good one but a pleasing one.

"I'll let it slide, this time. I expect to be properly courted, don’t need some brute coming in and just staking his claim," I submit, not without my own demands. He stops his assault and leans back with an annoyed look.

"You are exhausting," he thumps his head back to the ground.

"Maybe you shouldn’t have thought with your prick before your brain then," I poke to the top of his head.

"What can I say, he made a good choice," he chuckles.

"I can agree with that," I answer as I rest my cheek to his chest, tracing some of his scales with my finger.

"Then we agree, you are mine," he asks with a large grin. I look up at him, my lips quirking at his full toothy smile.

"As long as you are mine," I shoot back.

"I was yours the minute I got to taste your cunt," his smile goes from playful to teasing. His fingers trailing down to cup my ass.

"Brute and vulgar," I can't help but laugh.

"Shut up, you love it," he purrs. His hands grope and squeeze my rear, his tongue lapping along my neck. If he keeps this up I may be partial to another round.

I grin like a fool, "perhaps."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- This is almost exactly how a dream of mine went. only difference is i woke up before he said anything. Bruh was hella hung, miss him.

check out my Archive. Have a peak at my Main Blog.

[five-hxrgreeves]

I Won’t Back Down - Five Hargreeves x OC

Word Count: 3,244

You can stand me up at the gates of hell But I won't back down I'm gonna stand my ground Won't be turned around And I'll keep this world from dragging me down

 1  | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 

Pt. 4- Waking up to Ash and Dust

Lola didn’t know what woke her but she groaned and opened her eyes, lifting her head from where her cheek stuck to the page she’d been writing on before she’d fallen asleep. The basement was pitch-black, her candles having been burned out while she’d been resting. Unbothered, the brunette stood, stretched, and made her way to the wall where she knew the light switch was. After patting the guessed area, her hand hit on the dimmer and flicked it up. Nothing happened.

She moved it up and down several more times and the room remained completely dark. Frowning in confusion, Lola guessed that they’d lost power during the night for some reason. With no windows in the basement, it was impossible to tell what time it was or if a weather event had happened. Shrugging, she stepped twice to the right and placed her hand on the banister to guide her steps up the stairs. Only- she hit her head even halfway up.

”Ouch!” the girl yelped, rubbing the sore spot on her head. What the hell? The ceiling was never this low before! There were fifteen steps from the door to the bottom of the basement. Lola had only gone up ten.

She pushed on the supposed ceiling tentatively. No movement, “hey, guys? Mom? Dad?” she called, hoping someone would hear.

There was no way the ceiling was caved in, right? How would that even be possible? Maybe her uncle was pulling a prank on her and had stuffed obstacles down the stairs so she couldn’t come up.

“Uncle Ed? You’re really very funny! Haha!” she tried, hoping it would convince him to help move the stuff.

Then, something shifted and movement by her feet made her jump, causing her to yelp. There’s no mice down here, idiot. Her mother would never allow that, so what had fallen by her foot?

Still in pitch-blackness, Lola made her way back down the stairs until the was on the last one. Gripping the banister carefully, she moved her foot into the empty space below the final step until she hit what had fallen. Bending over, she was surprised by the weight of the item.

Lola moved the object between her hands, feeling the roughness and shape of it. It wasn’t any sort of object used for a prank, she determined. It felt like a part of her house. But how could that be right?

Stay calm, Lola, she told herself, there’s a reasonable explanation for this. Maybe mom decided to renovate the upstairs, started this morning, and forgot you were down here? That seemed a little far-fetched. What about school? Her mother always checked the basement if Lola wasn’t in her room and it had to be around the time she had to get ready.

Dropping the loose object, the girl made her way back up until her head brushed the blockage again, “MOM? DAD?” she yelled again, straining her ears for an answer.

What the hell happened last night? Or early this morning, she supposed. She called for her parents several more times, all of which went without response. Turning, she sat down on the seventh step and buried her face in her hands, the sudden coverage of her eyes making no difference with the black of the room.

Okay, she thought, you know the basement. What could you use to help you?

There were drills and electrical cords so she could drill herself out but she’d never used the tools before, her mom would go nuts and there seemed to be no power. She had candles, so she could burn her way through but if it was mostly cement on top of her that wouldn’t help. Paint was useless and so were light bulbs. She doubted there was something useful in the holiday section. Did they have a pick axe? Those couldn’t be so hard to use. Or maybe an anvil and a hammer.

That would take longer but didn’t require electricity and her mom might be more okay with that.

What if it caves in on you, though? she considered, biting her lip as she tried to puzzle around it, what did people use to prevent cave-ins? Some type of support, she supposed. Did they store plywood in the basement? Was that even strong enough?

Stay calm, Lola, you can do this. And besides, she was jumping ahead of herself. Surely her parents would notice and dig her out? Maybe there wasn’t even that much blockage and it just seemed like a lot. It probably just was a rotten prank her Uncle Ed had cooked up but she couldn’t see her mother being okay with her being late for school because of it. Still, she didn’t want to jump to conclusions so she stood and made her way back up the stairs, calling as loudly as she could, “MOM? DAD? UNCLE ED?”

--

There was no telling how much time had passed but no answer came as Lola’s voice tired out. After her 839th call, she gave a final cough, turned, and sat down, bending her head slightly to accommodate the small space. What now?

Surely it was past school’s starting time. Her uncle and father would be at the store and her mother would be at the library starting her shift. Lola sighed and strained her eyes into the blackness, hoping it would reveal an answer of what happened. It didn’t, of course, but she wasn’t sure what else to do. Maybe her voice wasn’t loud enough? The thought suddenly occurred to her and part of her favorite, well-memorized story came back to her: Liesel hit the lid of a paint can. Maybe her paint cans weren’t as useless as she thought.

After sliding down the stairs feet first and lowering herself carefully by her hands, she stood and made her first step to the left. Suddenly, she was very glad she was a counter. There were exactly twenty-seven and a half steps to the paint section of the shelves from the bottom of the stairs. Carefully counting them out, she arrived in the correct place and took the top paint can after feeling around for the handle. Then, with another fifteen steps, she made her way to the hand-held tools and felt along the second shelf for a hammer, pleased when her hand grasped the worn, wooden handle.

Turning, Lola counted the total forty-two and a half steps back to the stairs and went up again to the blockage. Placing the paint can on the last available step, she swung the hammer down, hard, on the lid. It let out a resounding clang which was loud in the dark stillness and made her flinch in surprise. Shaking off her prickle of fear, she repeated the action several more times.

--

The girl jumped when something slightly wet splashed on her and she gingerly felt the spot where it landed on her shirt. Oops.

The lid had dented after so many hits and now it had finally given, the most recent contact had splashed the sent the wet paint flying. She swallowed nervously. How many paint cans did they have? How long would she be stuck here? Clearly, no one was coming to help. Lola supposed she should have waited until her parents would actually be home but the thought hadn’t occurred to her until now. Besides, who knew how long it had been?

The thought made her shudder slightly, the idea of days passing without being released not sitting well with her. She loved the basement but even she didn’t want to live out the rest of her days here. I need light, Lola thought, slightly frantically.

She shook herself and took a deep breath. As well as she knew the space, losing count of the steps wouldn’t help her. She descended the stairs again and stepped left, this time counting out eleven steps. Her hands found the candles and matches blindly, relieved when she felt that there were twenty-five in all. She would still conserve the light, though. Just in case.

Lola repeated her path in reverse and sat on the third step, carefully holding one slim, long candle between her legs as she prepared the lighter. There was a spark and the match caught, causing her to quickly set it to the wick and shake it out, relieved to keep some of the darkness at bay. Holding the light aloft, the brunette stood from the stairs and in twenty-one steps she reached the far wall where a wine cellar of sorts stood embedded into the cement. The space was tiny and hand-dug, extremely cold in the winter and less so in the summer but was an additional food storage area for long-term items. They didn’t usually keep it very full but there were several packages of canned drinks, two tubs of ice cream, some frozen dinners and a case of water.

The girl now took stock of the items, checking that each one she thought was in there actually was and was reassured that she would be able to survive down here for some time, if it came to that. She hoped not. Lola had zero practiced survival skills and what she knew only came from books like Hatchet which wouldn’t truly help her here.

She wasn’t an idiot; rationing her food should start immediately and she needed to go as long as possible without eating or drinking to make it last longer. Going to the bathroom would be a challenge, but she’d dedicate a spot and hope for the best.

Stop it, idiot, Lola thought suddenly, you’re acting like you’re stuck down here. You probably aren’t.

Still, she couldn’t help but think what if she was? At least the couch could act as her bed and the rest of the time would be spent trying to free herself.

She sighed and exited the food storeroom, at least you don’t have to worry about homework right now. Your teachers will understand if you miss because you’re trapped in a basement. Hopefully.

Okay, she thought, if worst comes to worst, you’re pretty well off. There’s definitely no need to panic. Nope, none at all. Think: what would Liesel do? WWLD? She wouldn’t panic- well, she did at the sight of her dead-

STOP. Don’t think like that. The point is, she didn’t panic when she was trapped in her basement. People came to help. The same will happen for you. You’ve always wanted to be like her, remember? Now’s your chance.

“At least this will make for an interesting section in my autobiography,” Lola commented aloud and instantly shook her head, stop it, talking to yourself is a sure sign of insanity. It had only been a few hours at most, probably eight.

The uncertainty of exactly how many made her shudder slightly.

--

The next day- or what she assumed was the next day- she tried the same routine, calling her parents’ and uncle’s names for as long as she could before her voice gave and then resorting to banging on a paint can until it, too, gave. Lola used some of her light to count exactly how many paint cans she had, which were fifteen. A little over two weeks and she’d used two already.

They could help her keep track of the estimated days. To keep herself busy, she also partitioned out her food into servings so she wouldn’t eat a lot at once, even if she was really hungry. Her stomach was already starting to growl but she pushed through knowing it could get worse.

Another obstacle she realized she had was that there was no running water, not that the basement had a sink. There was no way to keep her hands clean or wash herself and she cringed at the thought of becoming disgustingly dirty.

--

The next guessed day came and Lola was entertaining the idea that something had gone very, very wrong outside. She’d sat for several hours next to the cave-in and heard nothing. She allowed that the pile on top of her was too thick to let sound through but it seemed that she’d hear police sirens or something as they swarmed over the collapsed house.

The thought made her heart twist in her chest. What about her parents? Were they hurt? The only explanation that there could be was the house collapsed, but surely they hadn’t been inside when it happened? They were probably worried out of their minds right now about her. Lola wished she could send them a message that she was okay.

An idea had crossed her mind that she could tap out an SOS out on her paint can lid but she didn’t know Morse code and had tossed the idea aside. The brunette was glad that she had rather weak olfactory senses and couldn’t easily smell herself but she was sure that after three days of not showering, she must stink.

You stink to high heaven! her mother would say. Lola had never missed her as much as she did right now and she wished she could have been more understanding about her mother’s reasoning for things. The next time she gives me chores or scolds me, I won’t ever complain again.

--

Two more days passed without much change. Lola still lived in darkness most of the time, worried about running out of light. It was surprisingly easy to stick to food rations. She’d never been a big eater but she wasn’t a small eater either. She chalked it up to the fact that she could count each serving.

Her first time going to the bathroom without a toilet had been awkward and messy but luckily they did store toilet paper and trash bags on the lower part of one of the shelves so at least she could clean up. The couch was a fine sleeping place and only creaked a little when she shifted around.

After spending her obligatory hours trying to get help, Lola would then shuffle, shuffle, shuffle her cards, over and over again to keep the panic at bay, the action familiar and comforting. In the dark, she would try magic tricks which proved to be difficult as she couldn’t see the result. Then, she returned to counting all fifty-two of the cards, reassuring herself that they were all there. Her writing fell by the wayside as she focused on keeping herself calm and definitely not panicking.

--

After approximately one week, Lola was starting to feel the affects of being stuck in the dark for so long. Sleep had become more difficult and she instead lay awake for hours, staring into nothing as she lay on her side on the couch, the cushions pressed against her back. It was easier to operate without light now, too. She still counted her steps whenever she moved around but her ears seemed sharper- the ringing of the paint can lid proved that- her touch seemed more sensitive and it seemed like her smell had improved, too, because she was definitely stinking.

Lola wished she had a change of clothes at least, but she was out of luck. The only possibility of new cloth was Christmas tree skirts and that wouldn’t help her since she didn’t have needle and thread- not that she was even a fashion designer, but she could have figured something out.

Sometimes, when she stared at nothing for long periods of time, bright spots would enter her vision or strange, geometric shapes would pop up. Then, she would blink and they would disappear. The thought of seeing things terrified her and Lola made an effort to keep her eyes physically closed instead of just peering into the darkness.

--

By the beginning of the second week, sleep had suddenly come back. Lola thought she was just closing her eyes in short spurts but in reality, they were closed for many hours. The paint cans helped keep her from misjudging how many days she’d spent in isolation and the food rations did too, slightly.

The panic that had threatened to overwhelm her had ebbed, only poking at the back of her mind every so often. Lola could feel that her body had become weaker, too, even though she spent many hours pacing the edge of the space, counting out all 900 steps. It was clear that no one was coming to help her but she couldn’t bring herself to stop hoping. Even as she lost everything else, something told her to press forward and keep believing someone would come.

She’d been speaking to herself more and more too, to cover up the awful silence that persisted in the darkness. She’d often just recite parts of her autobiography, sang song lyrics she'd memorized or she’d spend several hours reciting The Book Thief as a way to help calm her as her panic increased. One time, in her rotations, she’d turned on the third corner and had stopped for a moment, eyes wide, as what looked like a monkey on a unicycle juggled in front of her, complete with flashing circus lights and music.

Lola’s mouth had dropped open and she’d let out a crazy, slightly maniacal laugh before she rubbed at her eyes furiously in disbelief. The darkness had promptly returned, leaving her to shiver fearfully on the spot.

--

On the twelfth day, according to her paint cans- not that she actually knew for sure anymore- something changed. Lola hadn’t been expecting it, of course, and had gone on with her usual routine. Then, in one of her circuits of the basement, she heard something, out of the ordinary from the sounds she was used to- not that there were many. Her pulse picked up. Was someone trying to kill her?

“No, stupid,” she said aloud, her voice raw and hoarse from the hours she spent yelling, “you’re dumb. There’s no one alive. I think we’re alone now.”

The words didn’t make sense but then nothing much did these days. When had she started speaking in plural? Still, the shifting continued.

Creeping slowly up the staircase, the brunette paused next to her already set-up paint can. It certainly sounded like someone was out there. The girl looked down the dark staircase, thinking about her remaining food and liquid supply which was now rapidly dwindling, her shrinking amount of candles, paint cans and matches, her wrinkled, used deck of cards and came to a decision.

At first, her banging went unnoticed on the surface until the shifting stilled above her.

“Hello?” the sound was faint and muffled, clearly she was hearing things.

Lola continued her banging, hoping that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t.

The shifting resumed but it seemed more purposeful now. The sound came again, “hello? Is anyone there?”

Bang, bang, bang came the answer, the brunette continuously hitting the lid. A chink of brilliant light appeared above her head, making her shut her eyes in pain.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” it was definitely a voice, a young one, too.

Then, the hole opened wider, wider, and wider until bright light came pouring into the dark space. Turning up her face but closing her eyes, Lola tried to look up at who had come for her. Maybe she was dead and the light was from heaven.

The answer was the exact opposite as the voice spoke again, this time disbelief clear in the tone, “what the hell?”  

[sabraeal]

Happiness Is Just Around the Corner

The Wide Florida Bay | Previous

Written for @bubblesthemonsterartist for her birthday! This was...not the fic I thought I’d be writing, but this is where this subplot needed to start >:3c

There is an improbable amount of fireworks on the lawn.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure none of it’s legal,” Kiki assures him, taking a long drag of her Sam’s Summer. “Shiira took his ducklings up to New Hampshire yesterday, and they came back with two coolers worth of...something.”

Zen coughs on the dregs of his Magic Hat. “What? Should we even--?”

Kiki’s flat stare is more effective than a hand over his mouth. “You really think we’ll get in trouble.”

His gut instinct is yes, because there’s not a day in his life where his brother hasn’t caught him with his pants down just to prove a point. It would be just like him to send a cruiser around so that he could experience the heart-stopping terror of being on the other side of a two-way mirror. Sure, Haruka would be down at the station before he could even ask for a phone call, and all of this would slide off his permanent record like water off a duck’s back, but still-- trouble.

But he doesn’t say that. He takes a deep breath, thinks. It’s quiet here on campus. They’re rowdy, sure, but it’s just the frat there, not some rager with Omega Delta Nu. The campus cops are probably bored out of their skulls, but they’re not going to nail the honor’s frat for a light show.

“No,” he admits, begrudgingly. “Not unless they light something on fire.”

Her mouth twitches, following the spark in her eyes. “Well, there’s a non-zero chance of that.”

Ugh, of course Kiki would be excited by the prospect. “Well, as long as we don’t get--” Obi crosses the lawn, aviators looming over a wide smile, and hovers just at Shiira’s shoulder, perusing the goods. “UH.”

“Fuck.” Kiki hops off the porch, straight down into the landscaping. “I’ll handle this.”

Zen settles back against the porch swing and sighs, taking another swig of Magic Hat. “Yeah, please do.”

Kiki’s already halfway across the lawn by the time he’s finished talking, so quick that when Obi picks up a particularly patriotic package of pyrotechnics, she’s there to snatch it out of his hands. Even from here, Zen can see the jut of his pout, hear the faint whine of Ms Kiki on the air.

Mitsuhide’s lighting up the grill, surrounded by a crowd convinced cooking works by consensus. He takes a handkerchief out of his back pocket-- stars and stripes, stuffed there early this morning as Obi solemnly announced, you are America’s hat today, big guy-- and wipes the sweat beading on his forehead. Zen can’t tell whether it’s from the heat or from the effort needed to withstand six guys offering advice on proper grilling technique.

A cool breeze tumbles through the porch, carrying the muted voices of a dozen conversations. Zen closes his eyes, letting the smell of smoke and the heat of the day wash over him, the swing rocking gently on its chains.

It’s nice, having all this. People he can anticipate. People he can depend on. Friends. The real kind, not just kids whose parents went to the same prep school as his.

This isn’t where he’s supposed to be.

A year ago that would have sent him scrambling-- last minute tickets and crumpled up itineraries paired with the crushing guilt of never being enough. But now--

Now he knows this is where he wants to be. And there’s only one person to thank for that.

“Hey.” His eyes slit open, and there she is, brilliant smile and bright hair, peeping around the post. “Enjoying yourself?”

Zen drops his legs from the rail to make room. “I am now.”

Shirayuki’s mouth slants, playfully wry, and his heart strains against his sternum like a dog testing its leash. “It looked like you were before too.”

“Well, sure.” He wishes he had Obi’s obnoxious aviators right now, if only so she couldn’t see the eager way he watches her as she comes up, tucking herself neatly onto the opposite end of the swing. “But even more now that you’re around.”

Freckles disappear behind a bloom of pink, settling in on either cheek.  “Ah, w-well,” she stammers, staring at her bare toes. “It’s good to know you don’t regret staying here.”

“Instead of being with my family?” He laughs, incredulous, draping his arm over the back of the swing. His fingers just barely brush the freckles on her shoulder. “More like I’m thankful for the excuse.”

Her smile dims. “Oh, um, right. You and Izana...”

She hesitates. There’s a wealth of ways she could end that thought, but instead she says, “It must be nice. I mean, the place your family has, not...”

The fraught relationship you have with your brother. She doesn’t have to say it for him to know exactly what she means.

“It’s all right, I guess,” he allows, wishing she’d sit closer, that she’d give him a good reason to put his arm around her for real, and not just let him awkwardly hang here. “I mean, it’s just a house. The beach is nice though. Private, of course.”

That doesn’t stop his mother from inviting the paparazzi if she thinks it will make a good photo op. Last year he’d made the cover of the Inquirer, face scrunched and unattractive as Izana has splashed sea water in his face, with the words Final Frolic for World’s Most Eligible Bachelor? There had been a two-page spread inside, dedicated entirely to the relationship rumors Izana had accrued since Valentine’s Day.

Well, he didn’t have to worry about that this year. No paparazzo was going to stake out a college frat to take pictures of an illegal fireworks show. Now Haki could deal with having her picture slapped across the tabloids because mother thought candid shots made for better family photos.

“Ah, right...” Her laugh stutters out, awkward and endearing. “That sounds...good?”

Shirayuki’s still next to him, the heat from her skin humid against his fingertips, but she’s never felt so far. He grunts, frustrated, shifting closer.

“There’s an old carousel on the island too,” he offers, haltingly. He’s not sure why the impulse takes him to tell her; why he thinks she, specifically, might like it, save that when he looks at her it’s the same as when he saw those hand-carved horses the first time, well-loved and shining beneath antique lights.

“Oh!” She blinks. “My grandparents took me to one of those, once! Back when we visited...”

Her mouth works silently for a moment before pulling tight, the bittersweet twist making her smile more grimace than grin.

“Well, you’d love this one,” he assures her, sweat pricking at his palms. “It’s the oldest in the US. But it’s still really nice! I’ll take you next--”

His words slam to a stop, running headlong into the barrier of his teeth. She’s staring at him now, eyes wide and mouth parted, and-- and what can he say? I’ll take you next year, when my brother suddenly approves of you.

Yeah, he knows better than to hold his breath for that.

“I’m glad, anyway.” She folds her legs up on the swing, one arm hooked around her knees, and tilts her head back. “It’s nice for all of us to be here, together.”

Her eyes are closed, face serene in the evening light, like she could just sit here forever, breathing into the twilight. His heart flutters just looking at her, at the way she relaxes next to him, content with the slow rock he eases them into. No one can just be the way Shirayuki can.

“It is,” he agrees softly, because anything but a whisper might break this moment, might let the rest of the world in. “It’s going to be weird when you...”

He tries to stop himself, but her eyes fly open before he can. Of course, the one moment he’s gotten her to himself, and he’s gone and ruined it by bringing that up.

“I just mean...” He laughs, tipping his head back on scroll of wood behind his head. “It’s going to be strange when you and Obi are gone next year.”

A month from now, really. It looms over him, a ticking clock that chimes every evening, telling him he’s wasted another day if it wasn’t with her.

“Oh!” Her head snaps upright, cheeks flushed. “I-- I guess. I didn’t really think...” She bites her lip; he wants to kiss it. “Mitsuhide won’t be here either!”

He blinks. It’s true, but he’s never actually thought about that. Mitsuhide has always been in the house, it seems, never the president but a calming influence just to the side of him, and now--

Well, it’ll just be him and Kiki next year. And the rest of the frat, of course, plus all the new pledges.

Still, the future is distinctly more lonely than he’d like.

“He’ll be close, though,” he says, if only to hear the words out loud. “Harvard is a bit of a drive from here, but now that him and Kiki are, you know...”

Banging. That’s what he means to say at least, what he would say if he didn’t, last minute, remember who he was talking to. The last thing he needs is to get a scolding about taking feelings seriously and supporting their friends. Especially when he’d rather be talking about another relationship entirely.

“...Together,” he settles on, and she hums, approving.

“I’m glad that happened.” She rests her chin on her knees, surveying the lawn. Kiki’s abandoned the fireworks committee, instead shooing away the flock of fraters that have congregated around the grill. “They’re good for each other.”

“Made for each other,” he agrees, tickling her shoulder with his thumb. She squirms, a giggle bubbling out from her lips. “Just like...”

Us. He wants to say it, so bad it’s almost an ache, but-- it’s not fair. Not when they’re not really anything, when they can’t be anything, because--

I don’t know if being with me like…like that will be…good for you. I don’t think either of us are ready for that sort of…of attention.

-- Because everything about his life makes things complicated.

“I’m...happy for them,” he says, because he is, because there’s no two people in the world who deserve every bit of goodness they can wring from life more than they do. Even if that leaves him on the outside, again.

“Me too.” Shirayuki smiles, soft and fond, and it’s impossible to believe it’s barely been ten months since he met her, that she isn’t someone he’s known his whole life, not when she just slips seamlessly into every part.

Her hand reaches out, taking his, cool in the evening breeze. “I’ll miss you too.”

His breath catches in his chest, painful. Maybe she feels so familiar because he’s been waiting for her his whole life, too.

“I-I mean, all of you, of course,” she stammers, pink flooding her cheeks, and oh, he wishes he could just lean over now and kiss her, like he was some normal boy with a normal crush and normal expectations of privacy. “I’m excited to go, but...it won’t be the same without everyone.”

Good. He smothers a grin. This whole trip is a great opportunity for her, he knows that-- how could he not, when Izana keeps reminding him about the connections she’ll make-- but--

Two years seems excessive. After a year, she’ll realize that too. And then she can come back for senior year, live in the frat, graduate, spend the summer with him in the Vineyard, and--

“We should do something together,” she says, fingers knotted around his, shoulders rounded shyly.

“Yes!” he blurts out, squeezing way too hard. “Definitely”

“All of us!”

“Ah...” That wasn’t what he thought she was going for. “I mean...”

“One last big adventure.” Her lips spread giddily. “Just the five of us. For now, of course,” she adds, “we’ll be coming back.”

“Oh, ah...” He blinks, staring down at where her hands are tangled with his. She has little over a month left here, and what he really wants is to be doing this, this whole...being together thing, but--

But it’s not like this is going anywhere either. Two years is a long time, but they’ll be sitting here just like this when she gets back. Well-- with more kissing, he hopes.

He can wait. He’s not the only one who will miss her. “Yeah, that sounds...nice.”

His eyes flick up, catching her just as she sinks teeth into the soft pillow of her lip, leaving a dent that begs to be soothed. Zen swallows, hard.

Well, a friendly getaway will have its opportunities for some, ah, private time too. He just has to create them.

“I was thinking,” he starts, lifting a hand to ruffle his hair, trying to be, you know, casual. “What if we--?”

“Hey.” Kiki perches herself across from them with a deftness that says she’s been hanging out with Obi too much. “Burgers are off the grill.”

“Great,” Zen grits out with a glare. “We’ll be down in a minute.”

Kiki hums, brow raising dubiously. “What are you two up to out here?”

“Nothing.” He glowers at her, wishing she would just take a hint. “Just talking.”

“Ah.” Her mouth twitches. “I see.”

“We were just talking about taking a trip!” Shirayuki blurts out excitedly, red-faced and glowing. “All of us! One last adventure before me and Obi go to Lyrias.”

Kiki blinks at that, cocking her head. “What were you thinking?”

“Oh, um, I don’t know.” A giggle burst nervously from her as she smooths the hem of her shorts over her thighs. “We hadn’t really gotten that far.”

All right, it’s time to drag this conversation back on track. Zen clears his throat. “Kiki, doesn’t your dad have that house in the Berkshires? We could go for a weekend, maybe take in the--”

“Why? We’re already in western Mass. What will a forty minute drive get us?” She wrinkles her nose. “It isn’t even peak foliage season.”

Privacy, he wants to say, but he knows how poorly that idea would fly with her. For someone who always seems to find time to be alone with her boytoy, Kiki’s awfully invested in seeing that he never has any with his girl...thing.

“Hm, I wasn’t really think a trip-trip either,” Shirayuki admits, crushing his dreams of a nice afternoon alone in a hammock, just the two of them and their bathing suits. “But something like an, ah...activity. Like an amusement park.” She perks. “Do you have something like that out here?”

“Six Flags!” he blurts out before he can even consider what he’s saying. “It’s only a half hour away, and the coasters are supposed to be some of the best. I mean, if you, ah, like that sort of thing.”

Which he doesn’t, but there’s really no need to mention that. Not when she lights up like she does, hands clapping together over her heart.

“That sounds perfect! I’ve never been to one of those.” She leans in, conspiratorial. “Opa always got vertigo on the Turkish Twist.”

He may not know what that thing is, but it sounds gut-wrenching enough to keep in head in the trash for a good ten minutes. Zen plasters a smile on his face, steadfastly ignoring the arch look Kiki gives him-- god, that’s the last thing he needs, Kiki deciding it would be funny to tell the story of when they rode the Tower of Terror in middle school-- and says, “I’ll go on any ride you want.”

Kiki makes an unearthly noise, somewhere between a cough and a choke, and he braces for it, for the you know, Zen can tell you the location of every trashcan in Hollywood Studios--

“When were you thinking?” she says instead, mouth just barely twitching at the corner. “It’s going to be busy this weekend.”

“Oh!” Shirayuki’s eyes round, matching the curve of her mouth. “I didn’t think of that. It doesn’t have to be right now. Maybe in another...week? Or so?”

Kiki whips out her phone, flicking through with one finger. “How about...the seventeenth?”

“Ah...” Shirayuki squints, eyes rolling upward like her brain is an open book she can skim for answers. “Y-yes. I think that’s all right.”

Zen stares. “Did you just...pick a random date?”

“No.” Kiki clicks her screen off, slipping it back into her pocket. “This weekend will still have traffic from the fourth. Next week we’re supposed to submit our paperwork to the student affairs office for this semester, and I know you haven’t started. I don’t want to go during a weekend rush, and Thursday is far into the week where if we have any last second problems with student affairs, we won’t have to reschedule.” She holds out a hand, ta-da. “The seventeenth.”

It’s not fair how she can just...do all that. “W-well, all right. But we still have to make sure that Obi and Mitsuhide--”

“Hey, Obi,” Kiki calls out, catching his attention as he cuts across the lawn toward them. “What are you doing on July seventeenth?”

In full sunlight, in the view of every member of the frat, Obi stumbles over absolutely nothing. “W-what?”

“July seventeenth.” she repeats archly as he slinks up beside her, arms resting on the rail. “Are you doing anything.”

When he thinks of Obi at rest, he thinks of languid limbs, of a frustratingly canted smile and glittering eyes, but--

He’s not any of that now. His troublesome mouth lays in a tense line, the corners of his eyes creased and wary. “Why?”

“We want to go somewhere, all five of us,” Shirayuki informs him giddily, mouth stretching from ear to hear. “And Zen suggested Six Flags--”

“Oh no.” He holds up his hands, shaking his head. “No way. Hard pass. I don’t do amusement parks.”

Kiki arches a brow, unimpressed. “Is that so.”

“Yeah.” He tosses his head, mouth straining towards casual derision and falling short. “Not my scene.”

“Oh really.” The mild look Kiki levels at him had leveled lesser men, but Obi only flinches. “Too cool for them, huh?”

His shoulders twitch. “Sure, we’ll go with that.”

“Ohh,” Zen grins, enjoying the way Obi squirms like a cat with his head caught in a fence. “So you mean that’s not really the reason? You have some other secret, terrible Bugs Bunny trauma in your past, maybe?”

“Well, I have to tell you,” Obi says loftily, “I’ve never really cared for Yosemite Sam.”

Shirayuki frowns. “We really don’t have to--”

“I think we all know this is just to obscure your Lola Bunny fetish,” Kiki deadpans.

“Excuse me?” Obi presses a hand to his chest, aghast. “Space Jam is a formative experience. To say any of us don’t owe Lola Bunny--”

“Hey.” Mitsuhide hops up the steps, wiping the sweat pouring down his neck. Zen valiantly doesn’t notice how Kiki stares. “The burgers have been done for a bit. What’s keeping all of you?”

“Obi is allergic to fun,” Kiki informs him, earning a shocked gasp from Obi.

“That’s not it!” he protests. “You just want to go to Six Flags--”

“Oh, Six Flags!” Mitsuhide’s mouth break into a guileless grin. “I love amusement parks.”

Obi stares, jaw slack. “Big Guy, don’t do this to me...”

Zen grins. “I dunno, Obi. Looks like you’re outvoted.”

Shirayuki shifts beside him, wringing her hands. “Oh no, I don’t think-- if Obi doesn’t want to go, we can just pick--”

“Nah.” Obi waves her off, one hand clasping at his shoulder. “You guys can do what you want. I’ll just sit this one out.”

“Obi--”

“I better check in on Shiira,” he says, stilted. “Don’t want them blowing up the front forty by accident.”

Shirayuki half stands, but it’s too late, he’s already sauntering away, laughing at he calls out to the brothers on the lawn.

“Don’t worry, Shirayuki.” Mitsuhide assures her with a clap on her shoulder. “He’ll come around.”

“I...” Zen watches the way her mouth sets, too knowing, a grim white line cutting through the flush of her face. “I don’t know about that.”

[ottomations]

A giant iron vault door, the cosmetic aspect of it was intimidating to say the least.

Sounds of the redstone, hard at work, poured through the gaps of the blackstone and obsidian walls wherever it could. The many doors and platforms were all designed for the prison to be at maximum security.

Tapping of boots on the ground, one was more metallic and the other was the soles of regular sneakers— squeaking every now and then on the smooth surface.

The warden, guiding the visitor through the process, led them to the aquamarine lamps that shone dimly underneath the black-tinted glass.

Raising the sharp, fire aspect axe, Sam spoke behind his mask,

“Punz, I’m going to have to do a manual check for Items— to make sure you’re not carrying anything into the cell.”

“Alright, got it. Do what you need to do,” the hooded blonde responded, icy eyes blinked to the tip of their shoes as they held their arms loosely to the side.

It was a quick inspection. The burning lingered lightly as the poison seeped into the visitor’s skin, the cold water caused it to finally fade away.

The sounds of the ink swirling in the small, glass pot and the quill writing on the page of the forms was the only sound other than the running lava to both of their lefts. Each of the signatures were neat for a person like them, reading out ‘Punz.’

Punz blanked out for a few of the next parts in the process, mainly remembering the hot lava on his skin feel like a warm, summer day instead of the inferno of the nether.

He was now just staring at a curtain of lava, The Warden filled the silence every minute or two with a reassurance that the lava, “takes a moment to clear away.”

The curtain fell, revealing a horned man with hair that resembled Captain Puffy’s. He seems scared of who was going to visit him, pressing his body against the back wall of the cell. After seeing the blue eyes and platinum hair, Dream calmed and relaxed— seeming relieved.

The brick platform below Punz’s feet moved towards the prisoner, the bubble of the lava resonating in their ears. Stepping off the contraption, they felt the floor of obsidian— regular and cracked. There were scratches and chips in the walls and floor accompanying different spots and marks of dried blood.

The curtain falls, the barricade is lowered.

Silence, a mumble here and there from Dream.

Punz sighed, walking closer as they grasped the right sleeve of their hoodie with the opposite hand, “Dream, are you still...” he paused, collecting his voice with a cough as he took a deep inhale, “are you mad at me?”

Not replying, the prisoner grazed his swollen, bruised cheek. It definitely seemed new. Punz was worried, making a stride closer to Dream and reaching out their hand to wait for a reaction.

“Dream,” they called again, the other had no reaction— again.

Sigh, “Dream.”

The stern tone and the ‘woosh’ in the air caused the ram child to look up. Punz’s arm came down to their sides, stiffly.

“I’m... I’m sorry, truly I am... there’s... stuff going on and—“ the innate rubbed his eyes, dark circles have accumulated from the lack of cushioned resting grounds, “I’m like... glad you came— I’m glad i swear.”

“Well...” the blonde looked around before refocusing on Dream, “While we’re getting this out of the way, i’m a.. a huge dick for- for just excepting the offer from... tommy and stuff...”

Dream gestured for them to sit down on the floor, each doing so.

“And I’m... I’m also sorry for... you— I was really split on the decision between your side and.. his.”

The prisoner nodded slightly and slowly in response, blinking back the moist feeling in his eyes.

“It’s my... my fucking fault for even paying you like... the amount I was, it was such a bad accommodation for what.. what you were doing.”

Punz didn’t reply, being silent for a period of time as Dream continued to stroke and rub the cuts and bruises on his body. They were concerned, although it didn’t seem like a good segway to just ask what they were.

“So how has been your time in... the prison?”

“Definitely... Definitely could be better... I’ve been visited by Tommy... Bad... Sapnap... Ranboo— I think...” eyes closed as his Adam’s apple bobbed, “Quackity has been visiting.. every day...”

“What... what does he want?”

“Well... Tommy was... revived... the information went around... fast— a-and he wants to.. wants to know the secret to revival and stuff...”

Punz started to connect the dots, Quackity? This? To Dream for crying out loud??

“Did... you tell him?”

“N... no— well— he did first ask for the book, but I already... burned it. After... refusing to give information...” streaks of warm tears ran down his face, the emeralds of his irises disappeared as the eyelids closed shut.

Dream unzipped the shirt of the orange outfit that he wore, taking it off to a mostly ripped, white tank top. The rips and tears revealed large scars and cuts in his torso that were definitely not there before his imprisonment. Some were still bleeding or open, the scars haven’t formed at all.

Punz gasped at the sight reaching to lightly graze their fingertips on the wounds— causing a reaction of pain in Dream’s face, drawing in air through his gritted teeth. They lifted and pulled the hood off of their head.

Dream couldn’t help but inspect how the other changed from their last interaction, their back hair was kept in a tight bun that sat at the crown of their head. Bangs still hung forwards and swept right to keep out of Punz’s eyes

Speaking of his eyes, there was a specific glisten that wasn’t in them anymore. It reminded Dream of contacts. What could he be hiding?

“I’m.. so sorry for you. I didn’t think that this would happen...”

“I knew it was bound to have someone yearning for the information... but I didn’t think torture would be one of the options... I don’t...” the taller sniffled as his knees curled to his chest, careful to not touch the tender skin.

Both of them paused to recollect their thoughts.

“So Punz... how is... how is the uh... outside,” Dream asked, the hunt for an answer commenced.

“It’s alright, that... th-the... egg... is... w... wonderful, it’s great!” They responded, seemingly in a trance.

“Punz... please, are you okay?”

“Yep! no... I’m perfectly fine, everything’s weird...” a heavy sigh, hands reaching up to their eyes to take out the contacts.

Ruby red.

“I don’t... I know I’m.. Not... I’m fine— No...” they tried to cover up the controlling voice.

“Hey, I don’t know if you can properly speak to me, but I respect your decision. Hopefully you... achieve your goals!”

Punz stood and walked over to sit next to Dream, leaning their head back on the wall. They took a heavy sigh after a while, crossing their legs and moving their head forwards to stare at the floor. Dream put his arm around Punz’s shoulder, causing a slight jolt.

Both of them leaned into the embrace, Dream took another step and undid the other’s hair bun. It fell down quite gracefully with a few ruffles of his hand, some strands shone like lightning as they reflected the glowstone’s gleam.

The pair stayed like this for a while, taking in the warmth of the other. Before Punz really knew it, there was a hand that rested palm to palm with the prisoner’s. The arm on their shoulder was interlaced with the hairs on their scalp.

Punz moved his head, wanting to look at the other’s eyes. Dream was absurdly close, he blinked in surprise as the other made eye contact.

The inmate looked away to his bare feet.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to do that— If it makes you uncomfortable.”

Punz moved their free hand to cup the other’s cheek, turning Dream’s head to face him again. The freckles on his face better emphasized the peachy glow.

The shorter chuckled, blonde hair brushed their shoulders at their length, “Your face is pink, Dream. You thinking about George or something?”

“Nah, I’m thinking about someone else, they’re nicer to me and have better hair for me to grasp when I want to kiss them,” the responder cooed.

“What a charmer,” Punz smirked, “I could’ve sworn he was a child torturer.”

Dream scoffed, “I couldn’t tell if that was a joke or you were being serious. Either way, you’re for some reason into that shit.”

“I’m my defense, I was being paid,” They paused, “In second defense, the torturer is good lookin’.”

Both of them laughed, rustling around in their positions as each hid their flushed faces.

“I can’t tell if you’re glad that we’re flirting or mad that you enjoy it—“ Dream smiled, looking at the other with a smile.

Punz giggled, “Both— but I think it’s mostly the first option.”

“Heh, I’m glad. I’ve liked you and what you do.”

“Mmh... yeah, I have too...”

Dream paused, turning his body to face Punz.

“Do you want to... maybe...?”

“Wait like... actually, you want to?”

“Yeah... just...”

A message appeared in the chat, Punz pulled up his menu to read the alert from The Warden, Sam.

‘Punz, your visiting hours are over. Please tell me when you’re ready to leave by the next 5 minutes or I will force you to leave.

Dream also read the message, “You... you need to leave...”

“Yeah.. I’ll see you later, Dream. I had quite a bit of fun talking with you about our lives,” Punz replied as they put their contacts back in.

The prisoner didn’t want him to leave, it wasn’t a proper ‘goodbye’ and he wanted to do what he’s been wanting to do for a long while. They made amends and had shared feelings, why now?

“I’m ready to leave, Sam...”

Punz had already gotten into the water, the Warden continued to give instructions as they readied to be ‘splash-potioned’ out of the cell.

“Punz—!”

“Huh?”

“I have something to give to you before you leave,” Dream stood up and jogged over to the water, going into it and held Punz’s head with his hands.

“What are you doin—?”

But Punz was cut off from finishing their sentence, cut off with the feeling of the other pressing his lips against their own. It was slightly chapped, but filled with the love and happiness that they shared that evening.

They responded, pressing into the kiss with lust. Their hands reached up and around Dream’s shoulders, grasping tightly and pulling him closer to his body. The taller shared the tight embrace and his hands moved down to the other’s waist.

Before they knew it, it was over. Punz woke to see Sam at the other side of the room with the levers behind him.

“So, how was your visit?”

“It was... good, yeah.”

Punz wished it lasted longer though. Maybe he could visit another time to continue what Dream and them had.

Upon exiting the prison, they visited their home and tended to their bees. They changed into something more comfortable as the night shone ever so bright in the sky. Making their stride to a lectern, they got out a book and quill.

Lighting a candle, ink dropped off of the tip.

Punz started to write a letter to the arctic,

“Dear Technoblade,

I believe you owe us a favor...”

[therainroguefanfiction]

❉ 139 Dreams (Lucifer) Exception

📑 Table of Contents

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Slice of Life, Friendship ☁

Word Count: 2,518 ☁

Pairing: Reader x Lucifer ☁

World: Obey Me! ☁

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

It all happened so suddenly, coming out of nowhere and side-swiping you like a freight train. It started a week ago when you were playing an MMORPG with Leviathan – him in his room and you in your own, communicating via the console voice-chat. Normally, the two of you would game well into the early morning hours until Satan finally yelled at the two of you to ‘shut up and go to bed or I’ll kill you!’, but that night was different.

It was only five minutes until eight at night and you felt completely drained, both mentally and physically. Yawns tore from your body every few minutes, your eyes drooping despite you willing them to stay open. No matter how many times you shook your head and slapped your cheeks, it was as if the sandman himself was standing atop your head, constantly sprinkling sleep into your eyes.

You fought as long as you could but, finally, at around eight-thirty, you decided to give in to the growing need for sleep. “I’m gonna call it a night, Levi.”

“Huuuh?~” came his surprised reply across the headset. “It’s only eight-thirty-five! We haven’t even entered Mageia’s magic kingdom yet. I have to save the princess from her witch aunt so she’ll fall in love with me. She’s so cute and innocent, the perfect companion for my chosen class!”

You were too tired to even roll your eyes at his dramatics. “You’re much stronger than me, I’m sure you can beat the area on your own.”

“Of course I can!” He nearly stuttered. “But it’d be easier using you as bait for the exploding toads and plasma leeches. Your class can handle the damage and it doesn’t use plasma for its attacks. That’s the only reason I’m even playing with you.”

“Gee thanks,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’m really tired, Levi, I’m sorry. I promise I’ll help you tomorrow. Good night.”

“Wait a min –”

Before he could finish his sentence, you quickly shut down the console before crawling under the comforter, sure that a good night’s sleep was all that you needed to feel better. You were out like a light before your head even hit the pillow.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

“Hun, please wake up…”

A soft voice reached through the clouded haze of your sleeping mind, but it was distorted, seeming so very far away. Who was it? You couldn’t tell, but it seemed so familiar to you.

“Y/N, are you alright? Wake up!”

The voice was growing in clarity as small hands gripped your shoulders. The sudden, violent shaking of your body snapped you from the foggy depths of sleep and you found yourself looking up at the avatar of lust through blurred eyes. Asmodeus’s face was contorted with worry, his slender fingers digging into the flesh of your shoulders.

“What is it?” you mumbled, only having enough energy to whisper. It felt like you had been asleep for only a few moments before being awoken and your body was begging for more rest.

He produced a small huff of air as he stood up straight, putting the back of his hand on his waist. “No one has seen you all morning! Mammon started taking bets on whether you had been eaten by a demon or not.”

“What are you ta -” your voice broke, making you clear your throat as you forced your body up to rest against the wall at the head of your bed. “What are you talking about, Asmo? What time is it?”

A frown took over his lips, orange eyes scanning your form. He could tell that you were much weaker than normal, but he hadn’t a clue what was causing it. Surely if it was the work of a demon, he would be able to sense something, but nothing stood out to him. “It’s almost one in the afternoon! I’ve been trying to wake you up for the past eight minutes, you know. I was beginning to think you were dead.”

Being a dramatic demon by nature, his concern didn’t bother you as you just assumed he was over-reacting again. Stifling a yawn, you grabbed your D.D.D off the floor beside the bed, reading the time – one-fifteen. “I slept in?”

“I just told you that!” He whined, bottom lip jutting outward. “Honestly, how long did you and Levi stay up last night?”

You frowned at the clock on the home screen. ‘I really slept over seventeen hours… and I still feel exhausted! What the hell is wrong with me?’

“Y/N, are you listening?”

“Huh?” Your eyes snapped to meet his, offering him a sheepish smile. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I said you’re lucky you didn’t miss the demonology test! Lucifer wouldn’t be so forgiving!” He scolded lightly. “I had to convince the teacher to let me take care of it so he wouldn’t go to Lucifer. Now come on, get up and get dressed!”

The thought of the test made you want to crawl back under the covers. You hadn’t studied at all, mainly because you had forgotten about the test even being a thing. You were so going to fail this test…

With a sigh, you pulled yourself from the bed and grabbed a clean uniform from the closet. Just as you started to lift your shirt, a spark of terror went down your spine and your eye twitched in annoyance.

Asmodeus hadn’t moved, his orange eyes glazing over with lust as he stared intently at your body. When he noticed your lack of movement, his eyes flickered up to meet yours and he smirked. “Don’t stop on my account, Y/N.” He purred your name.

A shudder of disgust went through your body and you picked up the closest item to you – a stuffed cheeseburger that Beelzebub had given you for your birthday. You chucked it at his head, “Get out!”

He dodged it with ease, sending you a pout. “But -”

“OUT!”

“You’re no fun~” he whined but did as he was told, leaving the room.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

You made it to your demonology class on time, taking a seat beside Simeon, who offered you a kind smile. The test was two and a half pages of multiple-choice questions, with one essay question on the last page. The class was given exactly forty minutes to complete it and turn it in.

At first, your anxiety for the test kept you focused on the task at hand and you were surprised to know the answer to the first few questions. As time slowly ticked by, though, you felt yourself growing more and more tired. The anxiety was slowly draining what little bit of energy you had left, and your eyes were struggling to stay open. You felt so confused, unsure of why you felt so bad.

‘Maybe I just need to splash my face with some cold water,’ Shaking your head, you raised your hand, waiting for the teacher to call upon you. “May I go to the bathroom? It’s an emergency.”

She frowned at you above her half-moon glasses. “You realize the timer won’t be stopped for you, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am, I understand.”

She hummed. “Fine, go ahead.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” You offered her a bow before quickly turning and leaving the room. The halls were empty, your shoes echoing off the marbled floor as you stepped into the bathroom. The water was ice-cold against your skin, making you suppress a shudder, but it seemed to wake you up for a moment. You stared at yourself in the mirror, frowning at the bags under your eyes and how glassy your eyes looked. Your skin was pale and you just looked horrible.

‘Come on, Y/N, get it together.’ You dried off your face, dropping the paper towel into the trash bin before stepping out of the bathroom. A wave of nausea came over you as the world around you began to spin. You clutched at the wall, screwing your eyes shut. You were faintly aware of footsteps approaching, but as another wave of dizziness hit you, you couldn’t be bothered to care. It took everything within you to try and keep yourself together, but with your low energy levels, you weren’t able to.

Black dots spotted your vision before you fell unconscious, your body tumbling to the floor in a heap. Lucifer, startled by what he saw, sprinted toward you, calling your name as he gently slapped your cheek, but you didn’t stir.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

A soft groan passed your lips as you regained consciousness, squinting up at the bright fluorescent lights in the ceiling. The smell of rubbing alcohol invaded your stuffy nostrils, making you start coughing violently.

“Easy now!” Cried the nurse, a short demon with curly brown hair and piercing violet eyes. “You need to relax your body.”

You wanted to scowl at her, to ask, ‘How the hell do I calm down when I’m hacking up a lung?’, but you couldn’t stop coughing long enough to do so. A warm hand rested flat on your back between your shoulder blades and you felt a wave of calm go through your body. Slowly, your coughing fit came to an end, leaving you gasping for breath.

“Do you know what’s wrong with them?” A deep voice came from behind you, one you knew quite well – it was Lucifer.

The woman shook her head with a sigh, “I’m afraid not. Demons and angels I’m used to treating, but I’ve never treated a human before.”

Lucifer felt his eye twitch and he resisted the urge to ask why she was here, then. Instead, he told her, “Please bring Solomon here.”

She shrugged before leaving the room, the door sliding closed behind her.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” He inquired, removing his hand from your back as he reclaimed his seat.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him as you laid back down, eyes closed as you tried to keep yourself calm. Your immune system had always been quite strong and you couldn’t remember a single time when you suffered more than just a runny nose. Were you even sick? Maybe you had pissed off some demon and he cursed you or something.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone that you were feeling under the weather?” He demanded, red eyes watching you closely.

His gaze made you squirm uncomfortably and you struggled to give him an answer not only because he intimidated you, but also because you were starting to lose your voice. “I didn’t know…”

“You didn’t know?” His brow raised, tone disbelieving. “How do you not know when you’re sick?”

That was a good question, and you found yourself wondering the same thing.

“Well?”

“I… don’t know.”

His lips parted to speak, but he was cut off when the door slammed open. A grinning Diavolo strode into the room, with Solomon close behind. The red-head offered you a warm look, “How are you feeling, Y/N?”

Having the warm-hearted demon ruler here made you feel more at ease, knowing that Lucifer wouldn’t do anything with him around. You offered him a weak smile, “I’m okay.”

“You certainly don’t sound it,” Solomon interjected, stopping at the side of the bed. He grabbed either side of your head before bringing his lips to your forehead.

Lucifer saw red. He jumped from his seat, prepared to attack the silver-haired male but Diavolo pulled him away from the bed, ordering him to calm down. The two of you didn’t even notice the scene.

Solomon pulled back with a frown. “You definitely have a fever,”

Diavolo tilted his head. “Oh, that’s what you were doing?”

The silverette raised a brow at the angry aura radiating from the avatar of pride. “That’s right. It’s more accurate if you use your lips.”

“Fascinating,” he murmured. “Will Y/N be okay?”

He nodded. “They just need to get some rest and drink a lot of water. I imagine it’s the flu.” He paused, glancing over at you. “Y/N, were you out in the rain this past weekend?”

“Oh…” Your face went blank at the question.

“‘Oh’?” He parroted.

You rubbed the back of your head sheepishly. “Ah, well… Mammon had a bet with another demon that I wouldn’t sit out in the rain. The idiot bet a lot of grim, so I felt bad and did it.”

Lucifer’s eye twitched. “It was a lightning storm. Are you stupid, Y/N? You could have been killed.” You flinched at his harsh tone, something that didn’t go unnoticed by him. “I’m going to kill Mammon,”

On instinct, your hand shot out to grab his wrist when he passed by the bed, something you instantly regretted when his red eyes fell on your form, narrowed at you challengingly. You took a breath, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. Normally, you avoided Lucifer like the plague because he not only terrified you, but you found yourself slowly falling for the handsome demon, and that terrified you more anything. To him, you were nothing but a human here for Diavolo’s little experiment.

The fever seemed to have given you some confidence. “It wasn’t his fault, it was mine. If you’re going to punish someone, then it’s only fair that you punish me.”

His brow rose, surprised at the conviction in your tone. Normally you were so compliant when you spoke to him, on the rare occasion that you didn’t avoid him. It stirred something deep within him and he had to take a deep breath to compose himself. “I believe your illness is punishment enough. Don’t let it happen again.”

You nodded, releasing your grip on him. When he left the room, you released the air you hadn’t realized you had been holding, shoulders drooping. Why did it feel like you had just scraped by with your life?

Diavolo watched you curiously as Solomon suggested ways to recover quicker. If anyone else had grabbed Lucifer like you just had, there’s no doubt in his mind that they would be hurt, if not far worse, but when it came to you, he had shown remarkable restraint. The number of times you had gotten into trouble since coming to the Devildom was on par with Mammon, but Lucifer had never gone beyond a simple scolding. Meanwhile, those that had been by your side creating the same trouble were given harsh punishments.

You noticed the demon lord staring and sent him a curious look. “Is something wrong?”

He shook his head, carefully patting your shoulder. “Rest up, Y/N!”

“I will, thank you!” You offered him a smile, watching as he left the room.

Solomon sent you a knowing smirk, his eyes shimmering with amusement. “Lucifer didn’t punish you,”

“Yeah,” you breathed, falling back against the mattress.

“You truly are the exception, aren’t you?” He murmured under his breath.

You heard him speak but couldn’t make out the words. “What was that?”

“Oh, nothing.” Solomon gave you a closed eye smile that sent a shiver down your spine. He was fascinated by the idea that you, a mere human, had such an effect on a powerful demon like Lucifer. He was looking forward to investigating this further.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

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[cas-kingdom]

She’s a Lady

A/N: Because you all love the sister!Shelby fics. <3 (Yes, the title is a Tom Jones song!)

Find the OC version of this fic here.

Title: She’s a Lady

Summary: You want to cut your hair, but Tommy won’t let you.

Words: 1919

“Can I cut my hair?”

Tommy rose an eyebrow from where he was sat behind his desk, reading a book during a rare moment of peace. You’d traipsed into his office a little after he’d began to read and unceremoniously dumped yourself in the chair opposite him. He hadn’t paid it much mind; Arthur and John were out on business, Michael was busy in the accountant’s office, Polly was shopping for new shoes with Finn, and Ada wasn’t due back from London for another two weeks. It was simply to be expected that you’d eventually grow bored with whatever you were doing and seek out your only free sibling.

He hadn’t said anything when you’d sat yourself sideways in his chair, instead simply pushing a book he’d thought you’d possibly be able to entertain yourself with for the next hour or so over to your side of the desk. Nevertheless, apparently a book was not enough to alleviate your boredom… which he couldn’t quite understand, seeing as he hadn’t seen you lay your eyes on it once.

“What do you mean?” he answered, spinning slightly on his chair but not lifting his eyes from the page he was currently absorbed in. Books were a relief, he found, in his line of work. There weren’t many days he got off, but during the ones he did he was almost always found nose-deep in a story. He’d hoped at least one of his siblings would follow after him in that – namely you – but was deeply disappointed to find that they all would rather do something else. You seemed to like painting, though, and he figured that was close enough. At least someone in the Shelby family had a possible future that wasn’t to do with the company.

“My hair. Can I cut it?”

“You’ve just had it cut.”

Tommy couldn’t see, but he would have bet his entire business on the idea that you’d rolled your eyes at that statement. “I know that,” you said. “But that was a trim, Tom.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Why do you want another haircut?”

“Because I want it shorter.”

The man reached over to sip at his glass of whiskey. “How short?”

“Like… like Ada’s!”

The whiskey made a splash as Tommy coughed and the liquid came right out of his mouth again. He glanced up, feeling the burn in his throat, and rose both eyebrows. “Ada’s?” He coughed again and shook his head. “No, not that short.”

You frowned. “Why not? I like it.”

“Yeah, well.” Your brother cleared his throat. “I don’t.” He rested his eyes on your beautiful, long hair, falling about your shoulders like wild waves. Why you wanted it cut, he had no idea. Having short hair nowadays was a sign of maturity and adulthood. Finn had gotten his obligatory Blinders haircut when he’d turned sixteen, and though he had no problem with that, it was only because the boy was exactly that. A boy. You, on the other hand, were a girl – his girl, more specifically, and he had a distinct feeling that you would be getting the cut Ada, Lizzie, and all other girls in Birmingham above the age of eighteen had at a much later date, if he and his brothers had anything to say about it.

Tommy had learnt to braid in that hair, and he’d put one in every morning whenever Polly wasn’t around to plait you a better one. He’d spent countless smiles on watching John playfully tug on your long locks whenever he passed by, and he’d even helped wash out flour and egg and whatever else he’d caught you and Finn throwing at each other that one awful time… and he knew Arthur would be greatly upset by the massive loss of hair he’d have available for him to run his fingers through the next time the Shelbys had a quiet night together and you routinely made your way to your eldest brother’s lap.

A hair cut would most definitely affect your brothers more than it would affect you yourself, no doubt about it.

“You can’t control how I look!” you said indignantly, crossing your arms over your chest. He noticed you weren’t looking at him, though, something you did if ever you believed you may have crossed a line with something you’d said.

Of course, you hadn’t. Fortunately for you, Tommy understood your – in his opinion, appalling – want to cut your hair; you lived in a world where children did not have the ability to stay children for too long. It was natural for you to feel the need to grow up, and though cutting your hair seemed a strange way to grow up, it was, in actuality, what you’d be doing. As soon as he allowed you to cut it, many more things regarding adulthood would follow, and in no time at all you would no longer be the little girl your brothers would have you stay forever, if they had their say in it.

He sighed, marking his page with a bookmark and placing it back on his desk. “I’m not having you walking around Birmingham with short hair.”

“Why not?”

“Because all the men will think you’re a woman, and you’re not.” He rose an eyebrow, reaching for a cigarette and lighting it.

“I am!” You spun your legs around and sat up straight in the chair, giving your brother a look as he drew the cigarette up to his mouth and puffed. His eyes locked onto yours, sending a clear message without him even having to open his mouth, and you sighed, leaning back against your seat. “Almost.”

Tommy chuckled. “Wait until you are. Then we’ll talk about it again.”

It was silent for a moment, with you thinking to yourself and Tommy puffing at his cigarette. He had half a mind to pick his book back up, but those thoughts diminished as soon as you spoke yet again. “Ada said I’d suit short hair. So did Lizzie.” Your voice was quiet, and he wasn’t totally sure of the reason behind that, but he sighed nevertheless and answered.

“Of course they did. But they don’t know much about what it feels like to be an older brother, believe it or not.” He gave you a soft smile, hoping you weren’t going to go off on a tangent with this and take it all the wrong way. Of course you’d suit short hair. You’d suit anything. You were a pretty little girl who took after your mother in every way possible, and Tommy knew that, when the day did come that you deemed yourself old enough to make your own decisions based on your hair, you would look no less or more beautiful than you did with it long. Nevertheless, his point still stood. Short hair was a symbol of everything he did not want you to be at this point in time, and it almost pained him to know that you probably only wanted it so you could feel more of an adult. “This is a man’s world, Y/N,” he continued, “and we’re just lucky enough to have women in it. The moment you cut your hair to Ada’s length, you’re not a kid anymore.”

You nodded slowly, making a face. “So… you don’t want me to cut my hair…?”

“I’d rather you not, yeah.”

“… because you want me to stay a kid?”

Tommy smiled, shaking his head. He leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on the desk, looking straight at you. “For as long as possible.”

You knew he was giving you that look to try and make you happier about the situation; he wasn’t ignorant to the fact that it wasn’t always easy to be the odd one out. Every day, you were around women with short hair, and you simply wanted to be like them. Seeing as it was definitely one of those rare moments in which Tommy was actually smiling, you gave him one in return. “Fine,” you said, “but the moment John tugs on it again I’m grabbing a knife and cutting it all off.”

The man chuckled and took another puff of his cigarette. “Yeah, and I’ll have you wearing a wig until you’re thirty.”

“Sixteen, Tom! Finn got his when he turned sixteen!”

“Finn got some hair cut off the sides and layered up a bit on top. It doesn’t look any different to how it used to.”

“It looks nice!”

“Yours looks nice, Y/N. You’ve got beautiful hair. Don’t wish it all away.” He rose an eyebrow and you heaved a sigh. Truthfully, you did love your hair, but every woman you saw out on the streets had theirs cut into short little bobs. They framed their faces perfectly and there hadn’t been a single lady you’d seen, yet, that didn’t suit the look. You hardly doubted you’d be that one. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready for my baby sister to cut all her lovely hair off, okay?” He narrowed his eyes at your lack of response. “Okay?”

“Yes, yes, Thomas. Fine.” You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest, and your brother couldn’t help but see the image of another reason he could not quite imagine you with a mature haircut like the ladies’ of Birmingham. You weren’t there, yet, on the development side of things, and he hated the fact that fifteen-year-olds – both girls and boys – like you were forced to act more and more like the grown ups they weren’t these days. He’d be damned if he took away those last few years of freedom and innocence from you before you turned into a young woman. 

“And I’m telling Ada that, too, in case you want to go up to her and say that Tommy’s told you it’s fine to get your hair cut so can she arrange an appointment to do so, please.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“’Course not.” Your brother shook his head, reaching for his glass of whiskey and draining the last few drops before glancing up as the door opened and John walked in. He rose an eyebrow. “Don’t we knock anymore, John boy?”

John gave the older man a look. “Seriously?”

“No. What’s wrong?”

“Trouble down at the Cut. Someone pushed Isaiah in the water and now they’re all arguing. Won’t listen to me so I said I’d get you down.” You could clearly tell he was trying hard not to laugh at the situation as he leaned casually on the back of your chair, attempting to maintain a serious facial expression while he looked at his older brother.

You snorted. “Should’ve pushed you in the water while they had a chance.”

John made a face and reached down, grabbing a few locks of your hair and pulling. Your head jerked to the side. “Ow!”

“Yeah, that’ll make you think twice, you little shit,” the man said with a grin. Nevertheless, you didn’t turn to him, instead sending a pointed look at Tommy. He sent one straight back in return, but John could easily decipher it to be one of warning. Before he could ask any kind of question, you shot up from your chair and ran straight towards the door.

“Fuck!” Tommy leapt out of his own seat, whacking his brother ‘round the head as he passed, before following straight after you. “Don’t you dare, Y/N!”

“Michael! I need that knife you were using earlier!”

Peaky Masterpost

[echoeternally]

If Alakazam and Machamp Survive Together...

Balancing the votes between Machamp and Alakazam in the Hero’s Second Wind poll will bring them into the next story together. Those potential scenes are found on this page!

Brief descriptions and scene titles will be included below!

Fair warning: There is some content dealing with death below as well.

Second warning: This post is long to depict several developing scenes!

... ... ... ... ...

Cave of Wonders

At the conclusion of their battle, Alakazam was barely able to Teleport himself and Machamp to safety. They discover that they’ve healed, and wonder if they can place where they’d arrived.

...

His eyes snapped open, and Alakazam grasped at Machamp, who jolted awake as well. He quickly grabbed at Alakazam and scrambled to the surface.

Gasping, Machamp lurched forward, coughing a bit. He pulled up on Alakazam, who gasped, coughed, and sputtered. Both stared at one another, panting as they steadied their breathing.

Alakazam quickly patted at Machamp’s chest, and they looked down. No stab wounds were on him. While Machamp glanced around the cave, Alakazam held his hand out, telekinetically lifting his spoons back out.

“How did we…?” Machamp returned his attention to Alakazam. “Did you bring us here?”

“That shouldn’t be possible,” determined Alakazam. “We’ve never been here…”

“Wait, but even if you did, that last Teleport should’ve killed you!” Machamp splashed water out as he scooped up Alakazam’s hand. A soft orange glow lit up around their wrists. “…Your…pulse is fine…”

“And you made a remarkable recovery as well, yes,” pointed out Alakazam. “None of this makes any sense, unless…”

“This can’t be that place, can it?” Machamp brought Alakazam closer into him as he paddled over to the nearest ledge. “You remember the legend about the hidden lake that we read about?”

“Now that you mention it…” Alakazam studied the cavern as Machamp gently lifted him to the land, and then pulled himself up. “But how…can it really be…?”

... ... ...

Charting the Waters

As they proceed with climbing the mountains of the monarchy, Machamp takes a moment to talk with Samurott about some potentially developing feelings.

...

“…So…” Machamp slid over to Samurott, who slashed at a rock. “That Typhlosion pal of yours, huh?”

Samurott sighed and rolled his eyes. “What about him?”

“When did you start liking him back?”

Jerking back, Samurott spun around to Machamp, whiskers standing on edge. He pointed his blade at him.

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

“What? I wouldn’t tell him anything!”

“No, I’m not going over this with you, ok?”

“From what I was told, he gave you some clear moments that you could’ve talked to him about it,” reasoned Machamp. “But you’re holding back, because you already screwed up a few times, didn’t you?”

“Just what do you think you know?”

“Well, if you tell me that I’m right,” started Machamp, “that’ll be good to work with, because I went through the same problem with Alakazam.”

“…Wait, you two weren’t always…?”

“Us? No way!” Machamp laughed. “We needed help from your friends to sort our own feelings out!” He sighed and rubbed behind his neck. “A while ago, I, uh…I messed up with Alakazam pretty badly.” Machamp smirked. “We try not dwelling on it, though, because we’re really happy together nowadays! But…I could go over it with you, if you want.”

“Look, I don’t know what I’m feeling,” admitted Samurott as he sheathed his blade. “I just can’t sort it out, and I don’t think your little story would help any.”

“Maybe not, but you’d be surprised.”

Silently studying Machamp for a moment, Samurott sighed and nodded.

... ... ...

Battle Harmony

During a battle trial to prove their worth to the monarchy, Alakazam and Machamp outshine rivals from the mountains kingdom, with unrivaled pairing skills in combat.

...

“There’s no way they can be this good! …Can they?” Krookodile fumbled back. He glanced at Audino, who blankly shrugged to him. “Come on! We’re in a band together! It’s literally our job to synchronize and harmonize!”

“Being a band doesn’t really mean that you two are that close,” contested Machamp, as he folded his lower arms. “And it’s got nothing to do with your battle prowess.”

“What would you know about that?!” Krookodile folded his arms. “I bet your boyfriend over there is the one with all of the tactics.”

“Me?” Alakazam chuckled and shook his head. “I only know the tactics that Machamp has extensively taught and practiced with me.” He cupped his hands together and charged energy between his spoons. “The tactics that you’re dealing with are all his ideas, not mine.”

“Seriously?!”

“Aw, listen to you bringing me up.” Machamp beamed to Alakazam as he lifted the ball of green energy. “Don’t mind if I do!”

Alakazam waved to us, and then winked as Machamp pulled his fist back. “Always here for you.”

Orange energy focused around Machamp’s hand as he swung forward, slamming the orb at their opponents. Audino clapped as Krookodile grabbed her and dove aside.

He glanced back and watched the energy ball burst, with leaves scattering around the impact, and orange ashes coating them. Grinding his teeth, he twisted back to the pair.

“What the hell kind of combination is that?!”

“You mean you don’t have attack combinations?” Machamp grinned. “You’re only proving how much more we’ve got going on over here!”

“Bah!”

Krookodile lifted his foot and slammed it to the ground with his tail. A tremor ripped across the earth and toward the couple.

“Oh, I’ve been waiting to test this.” Alakazam slid in front of Machamp. “Ready, darling?”

“Always!”

Concentrating on his lower hands, red energy crackled from Machamp’s fingers, as he cupped his hands around Alakazam’s waist. Alakazam outstretched his arms, with his spoons levitating out from them.

Clapping his hands together, a fuschia aura lit around them as Alakazam pointed them to the ground. As the ground split open, his spoons, glowing with both energies, slammed into the earth and forced a heavy bubble between them.

... ... ...

Stoking the Flames

As a midpoint in their journey and after a show performance, Alakazam picks up on Typhlosion’s wavering interest in Samurott and decides to lend him some advice.

...

“Do you want to talk about your feelings regarding Samurott?”

Alakazam folded his legs as Typhlosion deflated and stared across the table to him. He lowered his head and plopped it down.

“There’s nothing else to talk about,” mumbled Typhlosion. “I told him months ago how I felt, and he…doesn’t like me the same way.”

“Has he ever actually told you that he doesn’t like you?”

“Does he have to?”

“Probably.”

“If he has by his inaction and disinterest, shouldn’t that count?”

“Not necessarily, considering that he’s likely struggling with sorting out his own feelings regarding the matter,” assessed Alakazam. “In all honesty, his mannerisms and hesitation around you seem to indicate that he has interest in you, particularly after your little, ah, performance back there.”

“Can we not talk about that?”

“Ha, you didn’t see how he watched you, and how he scowled at the crowd,” teased Alakazam. “Machamp guards me with that same underlying ferocity, so if he’s not romantically inclined to you, then that’s still a supremely excellent friend.”

“If he still even sees me like one…”

“Without a shadow of a doubt, he certainly cares for you,” reassured Alakazam. “Even when Machamp and I weren’t getting along years ago, he would always defend me.”

“Hold on, what?” Typhlosion picked his head up. “You and your boyfriend didn’t get along? I thought you were childhood sweethearts.”

“That’s not quite the story.” Alakazam sighed. “To tell you the truth, you and I are quite alike. My emotions twisted my thoughts up miserably, and I thought Machamp wasn’t as interested in me as I was in him.” He gazed down at his hands on the table, twirling his spoons around one another. “It was actually because I caught his mind off at the wrong moment, or uh, several times, really, but…I just repeatedly misinterpreted his love for me as curiosity and lust.” He sank down in his seat. “And lust for someone else, but I’d rather not get into that part.”

“But you’re both so…” Typhlosion sat up. “Now you’re both so inseparable!”

“Absolutely.” Alakazam grinned. “Your friends helped us come together, and we’ve stayed that way happily since.”

... ... ...

Echoes of the Apex

Near the conclusion of their journey, Machamp and Alakazam must face off against Mega Garchomp once again.

...

A heavy roar erupted from the rainbow light as it faded, and Mega Garchomp lowered his head, wildly grinning at the couple.

“Yeah, I definitely didn’t miss that psycho smile,” muttered Machamp. “Now what do we do?”

“Last time, we were throwing ourselves at him to defend our home,” pointed out Alakazam. “We were stuck with putting ourselves on the line because if he crossed it, everyone else would have died.”

“In case you didn’t notice, we’re falling right back into that scenario,” pointed out Machamp. “Just not at our home, but we’re not going to let innocent people die, are we?”

“Not at all.” Alakazam smirked. “But, unlike last time, we can’t give up breaking through to him.” He frowned. “Also, we don’t have you get too close to him.”

“Definitely not planning on a full repeat performance,” agreed Machamp. “So if you’re trying to get to his head, what do I do?”

“Keep me alive.”

Machamp twisted around to fully face Alakazam, who softly smiled to him.

“Yes, I would absolutely leave my life in your hands,” Alakazam answered Machamp’s thoughts. “And we’ll need to once he comes across the way to us.”

“Alakazam, we can’t—I can’t!”

“Would you rather just find a way to kill him, after what we nearly died discovering about him?” Machamp paused before he shook his head. “Good, because I’d rather not either.” Alakazam searched the mountaintop, and spotted the green dragon. “As a matter of fact, I have a few ideas on appealing to him this time.”

Following his eyes, Machamp spotted who Alakazam focused on. He grinned as Alakazam turned back to wink at him.

“Ok, I think I can follow.” He picked up Alakazam’s hand and kissed it. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Just…let’s be very careful this time.”

“Absolutely.”

... ... ... ... ...

(Remember, these are scenes in development. However, this is what you can look forward to, should the vote tallies of Machamp and Alakazam be close enough together! See if you can get their combined return for the stories!)

(Head back to the poll here!)

(Still not sure or want to read more? Check back here!)

[dracoqueen22]

[Critical Role] Coming Clean

Universe: Critical Role, Campaign Two, Set in the Xhorhouse Characters: Caleb Widogast/Caduceus Clay Rating: K+ Description: Caduceus only meant to help Caleb to relax. He hadn’t known it would lead to something surprising for the both of them.

It's not hard to coax Caleb out of his research room. One simply has to have the right timing. Such as late at night, when the rest of the Mighty Nein are asleep in their beds and not prone to being nosy. When Caleb has spent far too long awake, nose pressed to his books, determined to glean every last bit of information from every last page. When he's skipped dinner because he didn't want to lose his place, but mindlessly snacked from a plate Nott left by his elbow. He's predictable, their wizard is, and Caduceus finds there's a certain comfort in predictability.

Caduceus hums as he fixes up a tray, placing a pot of tea and two cups upon it, along with a plate of heartier snacks. The tea is a special blend -- the Temis' he thinks -- one that tastes better once it's cooled, which means it'll be perfect for an afterbath meal. Caleb works hard, far too hard, and doesn't care for himself in the manner he should. Caduceus understands that there are reasons, things which weigh heavily on Caleb's heart and conscience. But Caleb lets those things swallow him up, inform too many of his decisions, and he wallows like a pig in the sty. He needs to get out of his own head, and Caduceus means to help him do just that. He picks up the tray, and at the last minute, adds a small vase with a few cut flowers from his personal garden, just to give it a splash of color. Caleb will appreciate that, he thinks. Caleb is one to notice the little things. The Xhorhouse is still and quiet. Nott and Yeza retired early, and Caduceus is no longer so naive as to be confused why, he's simply glad for them. Yasha is on her balcony, sword balanced across her knees, staring into the night sky, perhaps hoping for a storm. Jester and Beau are both asleep; Caduceus had paused outside their room, heard Beau's telltale snoring, and Jester's quiet murmur of sleep-talking. Fjord's asleep in the common room, knocked out on a couch, one arm dangling off the side. He’d had a book on his chest, but Caduceus had gently extracted it, saved Fjord's place, and covered the half-orc with a blanket. Lastly, Caleb is in his research room, burning the past midnight oil, and in need of a break and relaxation and some stress relief. The trick will be to convince Caleb he is in need of them as well. Caduceus shifts the tray to one hand and raps his knuckles against the door. There's a moment of startled pause before Caleb's voice comes through the wood. "Yes?" "Pardon the intrusion, Mr. Caleb," Caduceus says as he slips inside, balancing the tray with care. "I thought I might convince you to take a break and join me in the bath. I think it'll do you some good." Caleb rises from behind his desk, sleeves pushed up to reveal the scars on his arms, coat shucked aside, hair loose around his face, dark circles under his eyes. "No matter what Jester tells you, I bathe on the regular now, Mr. Clay." Caduceus chuckles and rests the tray on the desk, hoping the enticing aroma will waft Caleb's direction. "I meant a soak will relax you, not that you are dirty." "Oh. I see." Caleb's gaze slants toward the tray. "You brought this for me?" "For us to share." Caduceus holds up a hand. "But only after a soak. They are best eaten when one is at ease." Caleb chuckles, quiet and dry, and it's such a rare sound Caduceus' chest blooms with a delighted heat. "Very well. If you're going to bribe me, then I suppose I have no choice." Caleb casts a glance at his work before purposefully moving around the desk, rolling his sleeves back over his arms. "To the bath then." Caduceus grins widely. He picks up the tray once more and follows Caleb through the Xhorhouse, to the bath they've installed for their own use. There's something to be said about a private bath. It's always clean and fragrant and only needs a touch of magic to be the perfect temperature. The privacy is also nice, though Caduceus has never bothered much with modesty. A body is a body, what's there to be concerned over? He sets the tray on a shelf and starts to disrobe, throwing his clothes over a nearby chair. Caleb is much more neat about it, removing each article and folding it. He's lean and pale, arms striped in scars, and others across his body. There's a knotted one on his chest which looks as though he's been impaled, and countless signs of battle. His skin is a landscape of struggle, and Caduceus finds himself curious of the stories behind each one. He looks down at himself. He'd been pristine once. Unmarked. Now the evidence of an adventuring life has started spreading across his own skin. The pucker of burns from Nott's exploding arrow. The long, thin lines of claw marks. Little knots where contusions have left permanent bumps. The only injuries which haven't left visible scars are the times of near-drowning. Those scars he feels in a thick smoke or when panting from exertion, when his lungs threaten to seize, and he’s taken by a coughing fit. His ear twitches at a faint splash. Caduceus looks up in time to catch Caleb sinking beneath the water, until it laps at his shoulders. His face reddens from the heat, his freckles standing out in sharp relief. He emits a soft sigh, the lines of stress in his face and across his shoulders starting to loosen. "You were right, Mr. Clay. Sometimes a break is necessary." Caleb splashes his face with water, scrubbing around his nose and brow and chin especially, where new growth peppers his jawline. Caduceus smiles and grabs a bar of soap before he joins Caleb in the water. "I find a calm mind often opens new avenues we may not have seen before." "Very true, though a calm mind is something I rarely have." Darkness shades Caleb's face for a moment. He ducks his head under the water, soaking his hair, before he rises again, pushing it up and out of his face. Caduceus hums and rubs his fingers over the soap. "You just need to learn to relax," he says, and he tilts his head. "I could help, if you want." Caleb blinks at him, and red paints the bridge of his nose and the top of his cheeks. "Eh, help? I don't... um... " "I could wash your hair," Caduceus clarifies, gesturing with the soap. Sometimes, he thinks every member of the Mighty Nein doesn't get enough physical intimacy, something he himself has been missing since the last of his family left. "My sister says I give great scalp massages." "Oh. Yes. That makes sense." Caleb coughs into his hand, and the tips of his ears turn a bright red. Perhaps the water is too hot. He stands, the water swirling just above his hipbones, and comes closer to Caduceus before turning to present his back, and a new array of scars and bruises. He heals so slowly, despite the magic they pump into him. He’s the squishiest member of the Mighty Nein, according to the others, and times like these, Caduceus agrees. Though he is not by far the weakest. Truthfully, Caduceus does not see any member as a weak link. They all have their skills and talents most useful in particular situations. Just as they all have their weaknesses where they must rely on one another to overcome them.. “Let me know if I hurt you,” Caduceus says as he lathers up the soap and threads sudsy fingers through Caleb’s hair. Standing, he’s a good two heads taller than Caleb, so it’s no trouble to work a good lather into the ginger strands. A low groan is Caleb’s response, but it’s not one of pain so Caduceus grins and rubs his blunt fingernails over Caleb’s scalp. A shiver runs across Caleb’s skin, but it can’t be because of the water’s temperature. Low curls of steam rise from the surface, bringing with them the fragrance of the oils Jester keeps dumping into the water. “This is far from pain, mein freund.” Caduceus chuckles as Caleb leans back toward him, body going visibly limp. “That’s what I want to hear.” Caleb hums, a sound not unlike Frumpkin’s purring, and tilts his head into Caduceus’ fingers. He lapses into silence, a companionable one, occasionally sighing with satisfaction as Caduceus finds a particularly troublesome spot. He scrubs his fingers lower, scratching through the finer hairs beneath the longer strands, and Caleb’s head tilts forward, exposing his nape. There are more scars here, hidden behind Caleb’s hair. Whisper-thin lines. What could have caused these, Caduceus wonders. He doesn’t dare ask. He’s worked too hard to encourage Caleb to relax. Queries about scars turn into reminders about the pain which caused them, and might cause Caleb to tense all over again. Caduceus files them away for another day. “Still okay?” Caduceus asks. Caleb groans, soft and quiet. “Your sister was right.” Caduceus laughs and his fingers drift lower, massaging at Caleb’s nape before fluttering out across the top of his shoulders, thumbs digging into knotted muscle. Caleb turns to jelly beneath him, and Caduceus chuckles again, pausing and resting his hands on Caleb’s shoulders. “Careful now. Wouldn’t want you to sink into the water and drown.” Caduceus takes a step back, finds the underwater shelf and sits, his tail flicking to drape across his thigh. He pulls Caleb back another step, between his knees, and resumes massaging the tense upper shoulders. They are of a height with Caduceus seated, and sudsy water dribbles from Caleb’s soapy hair. “I may fall asleep like this, Mr. Clay,” Caleb murmurs, and there’s a sleepy, unguarded quality to his voice that fills Caduceus with pride. “Then I’m doing my job right.” Caduceus finds a particularly stubborn knot and digs the heel of his thumb into it, until it unfurls beneath him and tension melts out of Caleb’s body. “Schiesse, that hurts,” Caleb says, and he grabs Caduceus’ knees under the water, fingers digging in as if to hold himself upright. “A good kind of hurt though, right?” Caleb sways back toward him. “Ja, it is.” Caduceus grins and grabs his shoulders, holding him in place. “Might wanna dip down real quick, Mr. Caleb, before that soap gets in your eyes.” “Yes. Of course.” Caleb hums to himself as he sinks below the surface for a moment, and then rises again, water cascading across his bare skin in a bubbly fall. It’s fascinating, to watch the various trails the water takes, before Caduceus shakes himself out of distraction and gets back to work. He gets lost in his own head sometimes. Less so, now that he has people to speak to rather than himself, but every once in a while, old habits rise up. Caduceus buries his fingers in Caleb’s hair, working the soap from the silky strands, fingers dragging behind Caleb’s ear to get a few stubborn soap-slicks. “One more time,” Caduceus says. Caleb nods and dips down, long enough for Caduceus to help him rinse the last of the soap free, before he stands again. He wobbles briefly, catching himself once more on Caduceus’ knees, until he catches his balance. “Better?” Caduceus asks. “Much.” Caleb drags his fingers through his own hair, scraping it back from his face, behind his ears. He draws in a long, steadying breath, and the air around him lacks the distinct tension he tends to carry like a physical weight. He looks younger, less burdened by the pain he carries. Caleb is a handsome human on his own, but relaxed and soft like this seems to make him seem even more so. “Good.” Caduceus sweeps up his own hair, pulling it over his shoulder, finger-combing it in preparation for washing. “You have my thanks,” Caleb says as he turns to face Caduceus, his lips pulled into a gentle smile, mouth still framed by a shadow of scruff. “And you were right. I did need this. You always seem to know these kinds of things.” “People’s needs aren’t all that complicated. It’s not hard to guess,” Caduceus says, reaching for the soap, but Caleb’s hand closes gently over his, warm from the bath, a few scars roughing the skin of his fingers. “Allow me,” Caleb says, slipping the soap out of reach. “It’s only fair.” “If you insist.” Caduceus leans forward, so that it is easier for Caleb to reach, and hums when a cupful of water splashes over his head and hair, trickling down the sides of his face. There’s something soothing about the slide of water over skin, something meditative. Caleb's hands then sink into his hair, and Caduceus melts, a groan rising in his chest. Caleb is gentle as he scrubs around the base of Caduceus' ears, but firm when he drags his blunt fingernails against Caduceus' scalp. He works a fine lather, the floral scent of lilac and berry filling the air around them, mingling with the oils of the bath. Caduceus hums a satisfied noise as Caleb breathes a laugh, smoothing the pads of his fingers into the base of Caduceus' head before dragging them up again. "It seems I am not unskilled myself," Caleb says. Caduceus smiles though Caleb can't see it behind the curtain of pink hair. "You have very talented hands," he agrees, and sinks a little further, surrendering to the relaxing scrub of Caleb's fingers, especially as they scratch through his undercut. "It is good to know they are useful for more than burning things," Caleb says, his tone light and offhand, but an edge of self-deprecation beneath. "We are the sum of our parts," Caduceus says slowly, taking care to choose his words, lest Caleb flee and shatter the moment. "And we're all capable of great deeds as well as terrible ones." "Yes. This is true." Caleb's hands wander around the base of Caduceus' ears, ever so gently, and Caduceus sighs happily. There's nothing quite like the soft touch of another in such a delicate spot. It never produces the same result as scratching them himself. "This is a good spot then, ja?" "Yeah." Caduceus' head sinks a little further, baring his nape entirely. Caleb hums a laugh. "Good to know." He gives the ears another gentle rub before his hands remove themselves. "Close your eyes, Mr. Clay. Time to rinse." He obeys and focuses on sensation as warm water courses over his head and hair, dripping down with suds, splashing into the water beneath him. Caleb works each cupful through his hair, until there's not a trace of soap remaining. By Melora, Caduceus shall sleep well tonight. "There. I think I've got it all." Caleb gathers up Caduceus' hair, twisting it into a loose braid off to the side. Caduceus waits for the last few drips to leave his brow before he opens his eyes and straightens, Caleb's fingers tucking the last of the braid in place. "If not, a little soap never hurt anyone," Caduceus says. Caleb chuckles. "Yes, so Jester tells me. Frequently." He cards fingers through his own hair, no longer slicked down to his head, and he gives Caduceus a suddenly keen look. "Mr. Clay, I am going to do something, and if it's not... eh... acceptable, please tell me." Caduceus tilts his head to the side a bit, the braid slipping over his shoulder. "All right." Caleb nods, as if to himself, and his tongue flicks over his bottom lip. He brushes a strand of hair from Caduceus' forehead -- escaped from the braid -- and he leans in. It takes a moment for Caduceus to connect the dots, to read Caleb's intent, before their mouths collide, and Caleb kisses him, his lips chapped and warm. He rests one hand on Caduceus' knee, the other on his shoulder, to brace himself. The kiss is gentle at first, a bare brush of lips, but when Caduceus doesn't immediately pull away, Caleb returns with a firmer pressure, a flick of his tongue to the seam of Caduceus' lips. It’s brief and testing and over far too soon. Caleb pulls back. There is wariness in his eyes, and the red flush has reappeared on his nose and cheeks and the tips of his ears. Caduceus licks his lips, which seem to tingle in the aftermath, echoing with the slight scrape of Caleb's mouth against his. "Was that all right?" Caleb asks. Caduceus examines the warmth flooding his belly, the flush of joy and satisfaction spreading out from his thumping heart. "Yeah," he says, and he smiles. "That was nice." "Nice?" "Well, to be honest Mr. Caleb, I don't have many points of comparison," Caduceus admits, though his inexperience isn’t something to be ashamed of. He's aware, however, that it might provide some clarification. "I did enjoy it." Caleb blinks, and then laughs, quiet and genuine. He briefly knocks their foreheads together. "I suppose as long as I haven't offended, then I'm okay with 'nice'." "No offense," Caduceus reassures, and the wariness in Caleb's eyes still concerns him. "But you know, Mr. Caleb, you don't have to -- I mean, I offered this because I care for your well-being. Don't think you owe me anything in return." Caleb squints, his brow furrowing. "You think I kissed you out of no real desire?" Again, his inexperience betrays him. Caduceus steadies himself with a long, slow breath. "I don't know. I'm not very good at this." "I've noticed." Caleb squeezes the back of his own neck, a touch of tension returning to him, ruining all of Caduceus’ hard work. "To be fair, neither am I. It's been a long time since I've allowed myself to have interest and express it. It's no secret that I'm a mess and I probably shouldn't, but..." He trails off, shakes his head, and his weight shifts away from Caduceus. He captures Caleb's hand before the wizard can fully turn, threading their fingers together. "We're all a mess," Caduceus says, because it's true. The Mighty Nein is composed of broken people, but all their edges fit together and make a functional whole. "You don't know the things I've done," Caleb murmurs, and there's something aching in his voice, something dark in his eyes. Caduceus needn’t even feel the hum of warmth at the nape of his neck, the whispered caution Melora offers him, because he’s well aware. "True. But I know the things you're doing, and some of the things you're trying to do, and that's good enough for me." He brushes his lips over Calebs knuckles, tastes the spiderweb thin scars. "I can't fix you. Only you can do that. But I can hold your hand if you'd like." Caleb sighs. "You are too good for us, Caduceus." The sound of his name on Caleb's lips makes a quiet joy bubble in his heart. "I don't think there's such a thing." Caduceus kisses Caleb's knuckles again before laying his other hand over it, sandwiching Caleb's between his. "Now we should enjoy the tea and snacks." As if hearing Caduceus and wishing to agree, Caleb's stomach audibly growls. He covers his face behind his palm. Caduceus chuckles. "Or maybe something more substantial." "No, no. I'm sure what we have here is fine." Caleb backs away, untangles his fingers, and clambers out of the bath, water streaming behind him. Caduceus averts his gaze, because it seems the thing to do, until the swish of a robe settles around Caleb's body. Only then does Caduceus climb out as well, twitching his tail to flick away excess moisture. Caleb, he notices, stares boldly at him. Not that it dissuades Caduceus in the least. He stands there dripping, letting Caleb look his fill, before the wizard fumbles for a robe and thrusts it Caduceus' direction. "You never cease to surprise," Caleb says. Caduceus laughs. "Are you referring to my behavior or my physique?" "Both." Caleb's voice has a ring of humor to it, teasing. He’s not filling the air with self-deprecation, so Caduceus considers that a win. Caleb sweeps up the tray before Caduceus can, pot and cups and plate rattling upon it. “What do you think? To the kitchen? The dining room? The--” He pauses to wrinkle his nose in an adorable expression which cuts years off his face. “--happy room?” Caduceus chuckles and squeezes the last of the water from his hair. He gathers up their clothes in each arm. “The kitchen. Easier to leave the dishes in the sink when we’re done.” “I’ve never known you to leave the dishes in the sink.” “Why save for tomorrow what I can do today?” Caleb tosses a smile over his shoulder, and something flutters warm and happy in Caduceus’ belly. “That sounds exactly like something you’d say.” “Well, I did just say it.” Caleb laughs, and it’s irrepressibly charming. They set up in the kitchen, around the small table that is really only sized for two as they tend to take their meals in the dining room. It’s quiet and intimate, and Caduceus soaks up the companionship as he sips his tea and leaves the snacks for Caleb. “You know, Mr. Caleb,” Caduceus says as savors the sweetness of the tea, “It doesn’t have to be anything more than this, if you’re worried. I’m not in any hurry, and we’ve got a lot of things on our plate to add complications.” Caleb wipes a crumb from the corner of his mouth and fiddles with the handle of his tea cup. “It would not bother you?” “It is what it is, not a burden or a stress, but a source of comfort and joy without expectations,” Caduceus says as he lowers his tea to the table, resting his hands around the cup. Caleb is silent a moment, contemplating the shade of his tea perhaps, hiding behind the cup, before he nods as if confirming something to himself. “All right,” he says. “That is fair and reasonable.” He smiles and rakes hair out of his eyes. “Would you feel better if we had a contract?” Caduceus teases, and is delighted by the flush of pink spreading over Caleb’s face. He snorts a laugh and puts down his empty teacup, swiping the last cookie from the plate. “I don’t think that’s necessary.” Caleb stands and circles the table, leaning in toward Caduceus. “I do, however, think I should sleep now.” Caduceus lifts his chin, looks up at Caleb, and chuckles as a few crumbs hangs on the corner of Caleb’s mouth. He sweeps them away with the pad of his thumb. “Sleep well,” Caduceus says. “I think I will. For once.” Caleb leans in, brushing their lips together, and Caduceus hums into the kiss, the faint scent of tea and cookies flavoring it. “Goodnight,” Caleb murmurs with a parting kiss to Caduceus’ brow, and then he’s gone, munching on the last of the cookies as he leaves. Caduceus finishes his tea, gathers up the dishes, and sets them in the sink. He contemplates leaving them for a brief second before he realizes he can’t, and washes them first. He chuckles to himself, thinking of Caleb commenting on it, and touches his chest where a warm blossom of unexpected delight has taken up residence. This is not the way he expected his night to have gone, but he’s not disappointed either. Life is an unexpected, complicated series of little moments, and while he might not know where this one is heading, he has faith it will take him to wonderful things.

****

a/n: I’d love to know what everyone thinks! This is my first time writing this pairing. :)

[evesbeve]

boundaries mean nothing

Summary: It doesn't matter if Klaus is having his afternoon bath — Ben will show him his new book right here, right now. In other words, this is how you fuck up a perfectly fine Diego Hargreeves. 

(Read this on AO3 + FFN)

____

Ben's favourite thing about being alive was reading all the books he had missed out on during the last decade.

To be fair, he did read some of them while he was a ghost. However, it was hard to get Klaus to cooperate and turn the pages for him — as he literally couldn't do it himself — so he'd consider his new books a win.

There were so many great authors, and the stories were endless. Unfortunately, Ben's time wasn't.

Although there wasn't really a need for the siblings to get jobs — their father happened to be the largest billionaire out there — Ben had tried running some errands around the city, to make some pocket money.

He found himself spending all of it on books, and Klaus — being the voice of reason for once — told him to get to the library instead. Which he did, by the way, but nothing beat the joy of holding your own physical copy of Eleanor & Park.

But Ben also loved fantasy novels.

When they were little kids, he used to tell Vanya all about them. His favourite scenario was when Vanya had read said books too, and they talked about all these magical worlds together.

Ben missed being that person.

What he definitely didn't miss was cliffhangers in books.

He almost threw his most recent read out the window when it ended like that. It was such a beautiful story, with well-written characters and breathtaking scenery — Ben could see the mythical world right in front of him — but there was more to it, and it made Ben feel simply unfulfilled.

He had to tell someone.

"KLAUS!"

He didn't even think about it twice when he rushed out his room with his book in hand and entered the bathroom at the end of the hallway without even knocking.

Klaus, who was apparently having the best bubble bath of his life, didn't even flinch. He was buried by millions of bubbles, steam coming out of the bathtub's hot water, and blinding the mirrors in the room.

Ben knew Klaus had noticed him. That smug grin on his face fooled no one, regardless of how much he tried to avoid eye-contact.

"Do I have to run down the hallway again for you to notice me?"

At that, Klaus turned to Ben's direction slightly, faking a gasp. "Ben! I did not see you come in here, my dear brother. How may I be of-"

"Cut the crap, Klaus, this is serious," Ben said, ignoring his brother's jokes. "I finished The School for Good-"

"-and Evil, yeah, yeah, I've heard you say the title, like, ten million times," Klaus finished for him. "You almost had me convinced it's an emergency this time."

"It is an emergency!" Ben said. "You'll never guess what happened at the end."

Klaus turned to his side, resting his head on the bathtub's edge. "Unless Sophia and Cthulhu started dating, I'm not interest-"

"For starters it's Sophie and Agatha, not Sophia and Cthulhu," Ben interrupted him. "And second, they kinda did?"

Klaus coughed, eyes widened. "Wait, seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously!" Ben said. "Sophie was basically dying — long story — and Agatha just leaned in and kissed her? And then they disappeared out of thin air, and I don't know where, the book didn't say!"

Klaus somehow sat up, facing Ben. "Wait, wasn't there like, a prince that was into one of them?"

"Yeah, he-"

Klaus burst out laughing at this, much to Ben's annoyance. "He's stuck playing third wheel to a pair of lesbians! That's a low blow-"

"No, a low blow is that I have no idea what happens next in the book," Ben interrupted, but couldn't help but smile while speaking. "Let me read the ending to you-"

"Oh come on, you don't have to-"

Ben cleared his throat, trying to suppress his urge to laugh. "The kids gathered around Sophie, who-"

"Beeeeeeen-"

"-Sophie, who was-"

It all happened too fast; Klaus splashed a little more water than needed towards Ben, and Ben reacted a bit too late, resulting in the book being soaked wet.

Ben squealed.

"Oops."

"Klaus, you asshole, I borrowed that one!" Ben said, his heart shattered at the sight of the book's ink giving out.

"Oh come on, the library loves you, I'm sure they won't mind-"

"From Five."

"Fuck."

Mutual panic was shared between them, Ben blowing on the book's pages and Klaus almost tripping while getting out of the tub to find some towels. Ben pretty much snatched them out of his hands, wrapping the book in them.

Both of them sighed in relief, sitting down on the soapy floor.

"That was a close one," Ben said out of breath. "I mean, the book is still ruined and I still went through the biggest panic attack of my life, but at least-"

"Wait a second," Klaus stopped him. "Five reads fantasy novels?"

Ben had never even thought about it.

"First of all, rude," Ben said, "and second, holy shit?"

"How did you not notice?" Klaus gestured in confusion. "If Five ever handed me something that's not an empty cup of coffee or an old scarf, I would have flipped."

"A scarf?" Ben asked. "Five wears scarves?"

"Holy shit!" Klaus exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. "I guess we really don't know Five!"

"Okay, what the hell is going-"

The two brothers turned towards the door as it opened, revealing Diego in his nightwear, who screamed as soon as he laid eyes on them.

"WHAT THE HELL, WHY ARE YOU NAKED, WHAT-"

Diego shut the door closed. Ben had never seen him look so terrified.

"Relax, Diego," Klaus silenced Diego's screams. "Ben was just telling me about his new book."

"Five's book," Ben corrected. "Which Klaus absolutely destroyed, by the way."

"In my defense, I couldn't see how much water was underneath these bubbles."

They heard a pound on the door, and Ben was almost certain it was Diego banging his head against it. "How do you not see anything wrong with this," Diego half-whimpered. "What is wrong with this family?"

"When Ben here was dead, and I was out of juice-"

"Just say drugs, you don't want to make Diego cry even more-"

"-and I was out of juice," Klaus repeated himself, making Ben shake his head, "Ben would talk to me while I was in the shower to distract me from the bad boos!"

"In my defense, he spends like, four hours soaking in water, and there's not much to do while you're a ghost. I was so bored, you can't even imag-" Ben stopped himself, backtracking in the conversation. "Did you just say bad boos? Please never say bad boos again-"

"Anyway, things got out of hand, I went out of the tub to find towels, and alas, we saved the fantasy novel! Woo!"

"Yeah, barely," Ben added. "How am I going to tell Five-"

"Five reads fantasy novels?" Diego asked through the door.

"That's what I said!" Klaus clapped his hands in joy.

"Whatever, just-" Diego sighed. "Put on some clothes and go to bed, it's late."

"You got it," Ben said, getting up.

Klaus reached for the towel in Ben's arms, and Ben pulled away before he managed to touch it.

Klaus tilted his head in confusion, a fake smile on his face. "Ben. I need this to leave the bathroom?"

Ben shook his head. "No way, I want to make sure all the water is soaked out of the book."

Klaus stood up too, opening his arms. "Ben. I need this towel."

"You brought this on yourself Klaus," Ben took a step back as Klaus approached him. "No way, you are not hugging me in the nude."

"Beeeeeen~" Klaus teased, stepping closer.

In an attempt to get further away, Ben slipped on the soapy floor, falling back and into the bathtub, that was still filled with water.

Needless to say, it splashed everywhere.

Ben coughed, grimacing as he spit the soap out his mouth. "Klaus, I'm going to end-"

But it was too late. Klaus had taken ahold of the towel and wrapped it around his waist, heading for the door. "Have fun cleaning up, Benny!"

And just like that, Klaus disappeared. At least he had left the book on top of the radiator, safe from all the water. Well, the remaining water, that was.

Ben leaned back, hating the feeling of water on his clothes more than anything.

Maybe reading books wasn't Ben's favourite thing about being alive; planning his revenge on Klaus was. But first, he had a mess to clean up, and a sequel to borrow.

The distant sound of Pogo scolding Klaus for all the yelling only satisfied that need.

[feminarrie]

ice and tanqueray - one

warning(s): this series contains smut (18+)

[ masterlist ] / [ story tag ] / [ niall tag ]

The First Glimpse

The spitfire attitude that she had upon their first meeting hadn’t disappeared even after Y/N accepted the position of Niall’s personal assistant. Niall had seen the target upon his chest shift to overly flirtatious athletes and some particularly rude staff members from the second floor. Though, Niall likes to think that she’s a bit softer on him now that she’s gotten to know him a little better over the past six or so weeks. She no longer rolls her eyes at him when he laughs at his own jokes during some meeting with an athlete and their legal team. Niall could swear he’s seen her smile down at the minutes she’s typing up on her laptop. She’s even had his regular coffee order (two creams and three sugar) sat at the edge of Y/N’s desk, still hot, by the time he has arrived on more than one occasion.

When he arrives today, there’s no coffee sat neatly on a coaster atop his desk. But, the lack of the caffeinated beverage isn’t why his eyebrows furrow and a huff of air is expelled from his nose. The desk that sits just outside the heavy double doors of his office is empty of its occupant and the black handbag that served as both her purse and backpack.

It’s unlike Y/N to be late, as far as Niall knows. She could have certainly come in late on the days that he’s played golf before coming into the office a few hours later. However, he doubts that Y/N would do such a thing. She’s there earlier than he is, most days, with a notebook splayed out on top of one textbook or another. Sometimes with some acoustic playlist that he wonders how she hears through all the rustling and turning of the pages.

Niall’s putting his phone to his ear when he hears the elevator chime with someone’s arrival. The silver doors open to reveal a disheveled Y/N rummaging through the contents of her bag to find, what Niall assumes to be, her phone. Her free hand brushes a few loose tendrils behind her ear when they fall in front of her eyes. Her brow remains furrowed as she continues the search for her phone. Niall thinks he can hear a soft hmph from where he is standing, a sure sign of Y/N’s building frustration.

Y/N looks up when she sees the pair of black Chelsea boots Niall wears on the more casual days at the office. She gives up the search for her phone then and shifts her attention to pulling a tissue from her bag. With a quiet sniffle and a quick swipe of the crumpled tissue, Y/N allows herself to make eye contact with Niall. Though, Niall is momentarily distracted as his eyes take in her appearance even further. A chapped nose, nostrils and tip tinged pink, and eyes half-lidded with fatigue. Niall cannot help the slight dip in his brow when she finally opens her mouth to speak.

“Sorry I’m late, Mr. Horan.” Y/N says, a cough following closely afterwards. It’s a terrible, painful noise that comes deep from within her chest. “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Don’t mean to be rude, pet. But, you look a little worse for wear.” Niall says, a sympathetic smile on his face. “You didn’t have to come in if you’re ill.”

Niall expects a snarky remark to follow his words, but instead he’s met with Y/N’s lips settled into a pout. Her lower lip is jutted and her nose twitches when she sniffles once again. The look on her face remains even as she quite literally drops her bag on the floor without any regard to the contents inside it.

“I’m already two days behind on my summer course work. I can’t afford to fall behind at school and work.” Y/N frowns, plopping down in the black faux leather computer chair that rolls slightly with the sudden weight.

Niall’s not so far removed from his time at university that he’s forgotten just how hard it was to be a student. Even with his father’s legacy and support—fiscal or otherwise—he had worked hard in his studies to be where he is today. Remembers the inconvenience and added stress of taking courses during what should be a time of rest. So, maybe that’s the reason why his eyes turn soft and he’s shaking his head as Y/N begins to unpack the contents of her bag. Pulling crumpled and used tissues from her bag and tossing them into the garbage as she sifts through to find her notebooks. Or maybe it’s the fact that she’s been on his mind ever since Grace and Niall’s wedding. Mostly innocent, but he’s not too keen to admit that he’s thought about her when he’s getting off.

“Go home, Y/N.” He says, voice softer than Y/N has ever heard. “Get some rest.”

Even though she can feel the way her lungs struggle to inflate and can hear the wheeze that the action causes, she shakes her head. She knows she literally cannot afford to skip a day of work if it means she wants to maintain a roof over her head and a tummy full of chicken noodle soup when she’s ill.

“I’ll leave to get myself a tea and your coffee in a minute,” Y/N rasps.

Niall’s chest rises and falls with a heavy sigh.

“It wasn’t up for debate.” Niall orders, voice stony with authority. “Go home.”

Y/N heaves a sigh, but immediately regrets it when it catapults her into a coughing fit that rips at her throat. Though it’s short lived, it leaves her throat feel more raw and swollen than before. She struggles to speak, each word falling silent as they claw their way up and finally settle on her tongue.

“Can’t.” A single syllable is all she can muster.

Niall crouches down before Y/N, tipping forward onto the balls of his feet. His thick and freshly manicured hands are plucking up creased papers and frayed notebooks to put into her bag. He nestles them between textbooks with post-it flagged pages and her wallet. Y/N watches him with narrowed eyes, a pout reappearing on her lips.

“Put that lip away, Y/N.” Niall says when he glances up at her. “Go home and rest.”

Y/N had remained sedentary in her bed for the next four days. Wrapped tightly in a quilted blanket and reruns of Grey’s Anatomy playing quietly in the background as she slept. She’s been asleep for the majority of those ninety-six hours and plenty more ill than she had even realized. And as much as she had balked at Niall sending her home on Wednesday, she was grateful that he had insisted. So grateful, in fact, that she’s attempting to balance a plate of freshly made banana bread and his regular coffee order in one hand while calling the elevator with the other.

She doesn’t actually know if Niall likes banana bread or if he’s allergic to the finely chopped walnuts that are scattered throughout. So, in theory all of her efforts could have been for absolutely nothing, but she tries not to focus on that. Rather turns her attention to the woman at her side and kindly asks if she would press the button to take her to her designated floor. The woman, whom Y/N assumes is a professional athlete based on her height and toned physique, presses the shiny plastic of the button without further acknowledgment.

The bell sounds sooner than Y/N had anticipated and startles her. The coffee that is nestled in the crook of her elbow slips from where its held and splashes against the black and gold marbled floor.

“Fuck!” She exclaims, both in frustration and at the hot liquid that has splashed at her feet.

Y/N glances over at the woman next to her, noting the splotches of brown that have begun to stain her stockings and the disgruntled look on her face. A string of apologies and promises to buy a new set of heels for her falls from her mouth before she can stop herself. Far before she’s noticed the red bottoms of the velvet, pointed-toe shoes that once were a pristine burgundy.

But, Y/N is a woman of her word and doesn’t shy when they exchange details as they step outside of the elevator. The tall blonde with stained shoes and lips pressed into a hard line holds the doors ajar as Y/N types her number into her phone. She receives a text message seconds later with the woman’s name and ‘red velvet Pigalle Follies’ written in capital letters.

A few more whispered apologies fall from Y/N’s lips until the doors are sealed and she’s left alone in the large foyer. Her steps sound sloshy as she makes her way toward her desk, the bottom of her kitten heels sticking to the ground before lifting with a distinct noise that makes her frown deepen.

She had every professional and personal intention of thanking Niall for being as kind as he was. But, she feels deflated as she places the plate of banana bread on her desk and tosses the now empty coffee cup in the waste basket beside her desk. The thought of time wasted and the hundreds of dollars that she will inevitably have to drain from her savings weigh her down. The weight teeters on her shoulders as she quite literally drops into her seat.

A shaky sigh and the wrinkling of her nose suggests that frustrated tears are just around the corner. The thought of crying at work, where Niall could walk in at any moment to see her in such a state, only frustrates her more. Doesn’t really like the idea of other people seeing her cry.

She does what she can with sticky fingers and blurry vision, to clean up any coffee that had managed to splash onto the plate sat on her desk. Scrubbing until the sticky residue is gone and the weight on her shoulders is replaced with a feeling of satisfaction.

(Tidying has always seemed to clear Y/N’s mind. She doesn’t know if it’s a distraction from the rest of the world or if a clear space really does help to declutter her brain, but she’s grateful that such a small act of self care can bring her clarity).

Niall is two hours late when he finally arrives back in his penthouse office. A navy suit jacket is draped over his bare forearms, the sleeves of his baby blue dress shirt rolled to the crease of his elbow. The tie that once sat expertly tied beneath his collar is now loosened and the top two buttons beneath it are open.

Y/N glances at him while she converses with someone on the phone, but returns her attention to the open planner in front of her to write yet another appointment down. She’s sweet with her words as the call comes to an end, one of the first genuine smiles since her day began.

“You’ve got another benefit this weekend. It’s for the Tomlinson Foundation.” Y/N says, quite literally dotting all of her “i’s” and crossing her “t’s” before she moves onto her next task of opening up Niall’s office doors.

“Louis call you himself?” Niall asks, though he knows the answer. Their seven year friendship had made him feel a little like an expert.

Y/N nods as she kicks triangular door stops beneath both doors and juts her chin toward the plate of banana bread left on the coffee table to the left of Niall’s desk.

Niall raises a brow at the bread as he walks behind his desk to drop his jacket over his chair. He asks which company or agent had sent over the plate, prompting Y/N to smile widely at him.

“I made it,” she beams, picking up the plate and bringing it to him. “Would’ve had a coffee for you, but that’s mostly stuck to the elevator floor.”

Niall’s eyebrow appears to be permanently arched even when he reaches for a slice, but his features soften when he takes his first bite. Y/N’s eyes are wide and expectant as he swallows.

“S’really good, Y/N.” He says, taking the plate from her hands and setting it on the left side of his desk.

(He had to skip breakfast and knows he’ll be picking at it for the remainder of the afternoon).

“I just wanted to thank you for sending me home last week.” Y/N says, “I really needed it.”

Niall waves a hand at her dismissively as he sits down behind his desk. He leans to set his right elbow on the armrest of his chair and looks at Y/N. She’s standing in front of his desk, a hand lightly clutching the back cushion of a chair. He notices the chipped polish in passing, paying little mind to it as he makes eye contact with her once again.

“You don’t have to thank me for that.” He says. “You’ve just got to take better care of yourself for me, pet.”

There’s no flutter in her stomach at Niall’s words, but a warmth does settle in her tummy. It’s the second time in two weeks that he has treated her so gently. A gentleness that implies that he cares for her as more than just his personal assistant. A bittersweet sentiment for someone as independent and in control as Y/N.

She airs on the side of sweet, though. Because Niall’s gentle dominance forces her to relinquish some of her control and breathe for a moment. Something that she hardly experiences between work, university, and commitments that she was too kind to say “no” to. Something that she knows she needs to work on, but isn’t entirely sure how.