#this ended up much longer than I thought it would be...

[maxv331]

✮ What happened to hello | Lando Norris ✮

Summary: Quick little drabbled based on all the speculation of Lando getting a bad haircut because he wore his hat so much at the Mexican GP

Warning: none :)

word count: 848

a/n: I haven't wrote in a long time so I'm pretty rusty, go easy on me! I also wasn't entirely sure how I wanted to wrap up the ending, so yeah, sorry for that!

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“Take the hat off Lando” You playfully demand with a squint of your eyes as soon as Lando’s face appears on your laptop screen. 

You’re currently on day 14 of being apart since Lando left for the triple-header and it’s eating you both alive. You haven’t been apart for longer than seven days at a time, in almost a year. Everyone around you, even the fans, call you two codependent, but really, you were just in love and wanted to spend as much time together as possible. 

Between the time zone differences and you both working so much, you’ve found it difficult to spend much time together. You’ve found comfort in being able to keep up with Lando from all of the fan and official F1 content posted online. 

You’ve gotten a giggle out of all the speculation surrounding Lando’s hair. It started on the first media day in Mexico, when it appeared Lando had gotten a haircut, but his hat stayed on the entire day. 

The next day was when the rumors actually started, Lando hadn’t taken his hat off again and every fan you came across was freaking out and cracking jokes that Lando got a bad haircut and was embarrassed about it. 

Initially, aside from enjoying all the posts, you hadn’t given it much thought, assuming Lando was mostly wearing the hat because of the heat; but then you realized Lando hadn’t sent you any photos without the hat on, and the handful of late night facetimes you had, he was already in bed with his hoodie up and it was mostly dark. 

Whenever you and Lando are apart, you always made sure to keep each other still included in the day to day parts of your lives; you were always sending photos, videos and voice notes until you could facetime or be with each other again. 

Lando hadn’t changed your familiar routine, he just never had hair showing, which was a little odd, but nothing concerning. You admittingly missed the post shower selfies or the sweaty, messy haired, tired post race selfies. 

You’re instantly met with a giggle from Lando “What happened to hello baby.” Lando’s sat in his drivers room, he��d got a couple hours break between practice and qualifying and wanted to make the most of your shared free time to squeeze in a quick facetime with you.

“Hello baby” You grinned cheekily. “I’ve missed you so much, did you get a bad haircut?” You giggled 

Lando raised an eyebrow as another giggle slipped past his lips. “Did I get a bad haircut?” 

You nodded quickly “You haven’t taken your hat off the entire time you’ve been in Mexico, so show me”

“And how would you know that, hmm?” Lando asked with a smirk. Lando was initially confused, but now all he wanted was to play into the fun he was having. 

A bright rosy blush crept up your cheeks as you briefly glanced away from Lando on the screen. Lando’s now grinning mischievously, enjoying getting to tease you. “Do I need to talk to Osc or have you been creeping on me?” 

Before you even get a chance to answer, Lando starts giggling again and shaking his head. You pout and cross your arms. “A bad haircut is the only explanation for the hat and not getting my selfies”

“Your selfies?” Lando questions, once again raising an eyebrow. He knows exactly what selfies you’re talking about, but one thing about Lando Norris is that he loves to tease his girlfriend.

“I want my post race selfies back Lando” 

Lando smiles widely, taking a moment to take in all of your soft sweet features. Lando hadn’t intentionally been keeping anything from you, the few days he had been in Mexico had been busier than usual and it slipped his mind. “I’m sorry my love, I promise you’ll get one after quali”

“I better” You murmur, arms still crossed against your chest. You did miss the selfies, but you weren’t actually annoyed with him, in fact any feelings that even remotely resembled annoyance or hurt from the past few days all stem from a place of missing Lando. 

Lando knows you better than you know yourself, so he knows that if he doesn’t do something in the next few minutes, the call is going to take a sharp turn from playful and fun to somber and probably leave at least one of you in tears. Neither you or Lando were one to shy away from your emotions, but if Lando could hold off on it, until he could guarantee you his undivided love and attention, that's what he’s going to do. 

Lando winks at you, before taking off his hat and running his hand through his hair. “Is that better my love?”

A small gasp passes your lips, before you break out into the widest smile that Lando had seen in weeks. “Lando!” You squeal happily. “You look so handsome, why have you been hiding your hair?”

“I haven’t been hiding my hair, you doughnut,” Lando laughed. “It’s hot and I like my hat”

[lovscb97]

tags: park sunghoon x fem!reader, established relationship, size kink, strength kink, bulge kink, d/s dynamics, dom!sunghoon x sub!reader, unprotected sex (plz don’t), breeding kink, creampie, dirty talk, degradation (slut, whore), praise kink?, nicknames (baby, princess, angel, hoonie, etc), slight fluff, lowkey pwp, reader is described to be shorter than hoon and is easy to pick up/throw around, reader is also very down bad for him (aren’t we all), etc

wc: 2.67k

add. notes: hoon won the poll i put out so i present to u my first ever enha work :3 thank u very much to everyone who voted n this will def not be the last enha fic i put out so do not worry there is much to come for hyung line!!! also icon creds to @/v4mpjay :3

. . . 

sunghoon doesn’t know how much longer he can take this. 

it all started when he began going to the gym regularly, slowly bulking his figure up and feeling himself grow out in his clothes. what used to be his lanky frame that greeted him in the mirror gradually turned into a built man with lean muscles and sharper features, adding to what was already there initially. it wasn’t like this wasn’t what he wanted though, albeit the entire reason why he even started working out in the first place being to improve his health and build better habits for himself, but the outcome wasn’t too bad in itself. he got used to feeling stronger, more lighter on his feet or less out of breath when he climbed the stairs, and it was enjoyable to know that he could lift twice his weight and still feel good as new. in some way, things felt like they were going swell.

that is, until you came into the picture.

now, sunghoon’s always known that you’re small compared to him. even when standing side by side, his height next to yours is a little laughable, though he supposes you’re used to that considering you’ve always been shorter than most of your peers. he’s well aware of how you have to go on your tippy-toes when you guys kiss, and the soft feel of your little hands in his is something that spins in his mind constantly when your fingers lace together. it doesn’t help that you always ask him to fetch your favourite mug from the top cabinet too, his larger physique towering over yours each time he leans over from behind you. he likes to tease you about it, revelling in the way you pout cutely back at him whenever he makes fun of you jokingly despite the small smile playing at your lips, but little do you know about the twisted fantasies breaching his thoughts every moment you spend together. he wonders if you would be disgusted? would you dump him and tell all your friends about what a creepy loser he was? sunghoon can’t help but imagine the worst case scenario, and it would be easy to bury these emotions down the hatchet had it not been for the fact that he’s started to think he is going mad too. 

every time sunghoon comes home from the gym, every time he enters your shared apartment, sweat dripping down his forehead and his water-bottle empty, he swears on his dead grandmother that you start checking him out. it doesn’t help that he's always been attentive either, always needlessly easy at picking up the cues of your discomfort when you're outside in a social space for too long, or being able to tell instantly when you're anything other than the happy go lucky girlfriend he usually sees you as. so, when your lingering gaze begins to trail across his arms a little too long whenever he passes your shared bedroom on his way to the shower, or when your mouth opens and closes to swallow before you're pressing your thighs together subtly each time he moves to wipe himself down each time he’s home— it all sparks something in him. it told him to finally, finally indulge in the nasty thoughts he’s kept tucked away to himself once and for all.

except he doesn’t. because at the end of the day, sunghoon is a gentleman. he pulls open the doors for you with nonchalance written all over him despite his burning ears, and he brings you back your memorised coffee order alongside a few sweet treats when he knows you’re on your period. he holds you close when you’re asleep in bed together, rubbing a gentle thumb against the skin of your cheek because he’s aware that’s what it takes for you to fall asleep, and makes sure you know he’s always going to be there for you in any time of need, even if he’s a thousand miles away. he’s never once made you doubt him, never once given you any reason to suspect he could be anything beyond the perfect, storybook written boyfriend he’s always been. 

until today, at least.

it was a day like any other, a day where you wouldn’t have expected things to take the turn they took at all. you and sunghoon were tangled up in your lavender sheets with your leg thrown over his, the morning sun streaming through the beige curtains you’d picked out on your ikea date together, and no alarms were intact to disturb you as it was the weekend. that’s probably why you both found yourselves in your current situation, your mouths meeting sloppily for short kisses and your boyfriend’s cock buried to the hilt inside you, thrusting ever so gently every other second as he whispered sweet praises to you between the meshing of your lips. the only sounds heard beyond the chirping of the birds outside your window were your soft moans and his low grunts, alongside the quiet noises of your slick dragging against his dick.

“fuck, baby. you feel so good.” sunghoon mumbles, pressing gentle smooches along the skin of your chin and jaw. you reply back something unintelligible, too lost in the euphoria he’s providing you to even form a coherent answer, which only makes him chuckle. he pulls back to admire your figure underneath him, a smile spreading across his lip at the sight of you laid out oh so pretty and pliant just for him. for him. all for his use. his use and his use only. the eventual thought makes his cock twitch inside you, and sunghoon momentarily slows down his movements in fear he’ll accidentally lose control of himself and fuck you into the sheets. his loss of momentum causes you to whine out loud though, large doe eyes blinking up at him in wonder, almost as if asking what happened, which does not make your boyfriend’s job any easier.

“hoonie, faster.” you beg softly, one hand coming up to grip his shoulder as the other bundles up the duvet underneath you. “please, wan’ it so bad.” sunghoon feels like his resolve is on the brink of snapping at your words, and he quickly resumes his previous pace (albeit still slower than what you wanted but better nonetheless) with gritted teeth, trying to think of something, anything that would distract him from the realisation of how fucking small you look under him, or how soft your hand feels resting on his skin. it doesn’t help that the sounds spewing from your lips are so cute, only spurring him on further to do what he longs to. 

“yeah, angel? want it faster? want hoonie to fuck you deeper?” he groans out instead, biting his lip at the sight of you nodding almost instantly to his words. your hole clenches even tighter around him as he speaks to you, and he shudders at the sensation. “shit, don’t do that, princess. might cum too quickly.” he exhales shakily, confused when you shake your head. “don’t care. cum f’me. wanna feel it, please.” you plead almost instantly without thinking, sunghoon’s eyes darkening as the request leaves your mouth. his pace comes to an immediate halt after that, and you make a noise of complaint at the loss of pleasure in your lower region, legs kicking up slightly in protest as you eye your boyfriend who’s currently trying to compose himself above you.

“don’t.. don’t say stuff like that.” sunghoon sighs, eyes closed shut as you cock your head to the side. you’re about to ask him why when he speaks up again. “i won’t be able to hold myself back if you do.” he professes darkly, opening his orbs back up to look deep into yours, his smouldering gaze making you shiver. you involuntary tighten around him at his confession, and he hisses at the feeling, head snapping to look down at you and the blush spreading across your cheeks. 

“i-i don’t.. don’t want you to hold back.” you mutter whilst looking away meekly before he can even comment on your actions. you meet his stare again after a beat of silence, but there’s something dark and sinister swimming in it now, and by the time you can even process what it is, he’s suddenly sheathing himself back into your warm walls, plowing into you with a heightened pace as if this is the last time he’ll ever get to fuck you. your moans tumble out of your mouth before you can even stop them, and you swear you hear sunghoon growl at the way you keen from his movements. 

“yeah? don’t want me to hold back? want me to absolutely destroy this wet cunt with my cock? ruin it for everybody else and mould it to the shape of my dick?” he grunts, a smirk spread across his face as you wildly nod at his words. “what, too fucked out to speak now, baby? where’s that confidence from before, hm?” you whimper at his condescending tone, the noise travelling straight to his core as he curses, continuing to plunge himself deep into you. the tip of his cock brushes against that spongey spot inside you, and you cry out when he angles his thrusts to hit it each time he drives inside your pussy. 

“who knew you were such a slut, huh baby? tell me, how long have you wanted me to spread you open and fuck you like i hated you?” sunghoon pants, tongue lolling out to lick at the sweat gathering on your neck. “s-so long, hoonie!” you mewl in response, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he bites down on your skin. “wanted you to— hnng, wanted you to bend me over and throw me around so bad!” sunghoon laughs breathlessly at your answer. 

“yeah, pretty? want me to use my big arms and toss you onto the bed? you should’ve told me sooner that you were such a whore.” you clench at the degrading name, and sunghoon almost stumbles into you at the sudden jolt of shock. “would’ve done everything you wanted me to. wanted it just as bad as you, did ya know that?” he grits out, pace unrelenting and unforgiving as he proceeds to pound into you. “you’re so fucking small, baby. makes me so goddamn hard every time i think about it. just want to, oh fuck— want to hold you down and make you take it.” 

“do it! do it, hoonie, please do it! make me take it, i wan’ take it for you.” you sob, and sunghoon physically feels the last of his self restrain break in half. he’s far too fucked out now to go back to his old ways, far too gone in the dizziness of making you feel good. his only goal now is to make you cum violently around him, and he’ll stop at nothing to achieve that. “gonna do it, baby. just wait, gonna fuck you so dumb, you’ll be begging me to stop.” he pauses momentarily to grab at the plush of your thigh and tosses your leg over his shoulder, resuming his past actions in the blink of an eye as you cry out at the change. he hits deeper, more harsh this way, and you swear you can feel him battering your cervix with each thrust delivered to your abused cunt.

“fuck, look at that.” sunghoon laughs in disbelief, his eyes fixed on the slightly evident bulge of his cock thrusting in and out of you in your stomach. “taking my cock so well, princess. you gonna cum for me soon, yeah? gonna cum for hoonie and make a mess of me?” he coos at the way you’re drooling, swiping a thumb up to wipe at the spit leaking out of your mouth before sucking it off, the visual of it only making you whine even more. by now, the bed is stained with your leaking arousal, but neither of you care, especially not when he involuntarily moves his hand to press down on your stomach. his movements only cause you to double over in pleasure, and before either of you know it, you’re shaking through an orgasm, thrashing and wailing as tears stream down your face.

“shit, shit, shit! that’s so hot, oh fuck.” sunghoon moans. “you did so well, angel. did so fucking good for me, you deserve a reward, don’t you? don’t you, my baby?” he rambles, and you whine in overstimulation as his thrusts grow more frantic and misplaced when he begins chasing his own release. “get ready, princess, ‘m gonna fill you up. gonna breed you so, so good and make you take it, yeah? you’ll take it, won’t you? take it so good for me like you always do.” by this point, you’re both trembling and whining out loud, sunghoon pistoning his hips into you as he desperately fixes to cum. he can feel the pressure building up, his balls tightening with each harsh thrust he delivers inside of you, and you’re more than ready to feel him ooze out of you, encouraging words spilling from your lips.

“do it, hoonie! do it, please! make me full and fuck it back into me. i’ll take it so good, so good, please baby, please.” you’re babbling by now, too fucked out to think let alone speak, but your words seem to send sunghoon over the edge because by the time you’re even halfway through your sentence, he’s shooting ropes inside of you, painting your walls white with his seed. there’s so much of it that it almost leaks out despite his cock keeping you plugged up, and you watch his beautiful face contort in pleasure, eyebrows furrowed and eyes clenched shut as he continues filling you up. 

“fuck..” sunghoon sighs out once he’s come down from his high, looking down to grip his cock and pull it out slightly only to push it back in when your cunt gushes with his release, causing him to bite his lip at the sinful sight. you whine when he moves back into you, his large arms caging your smaller frame in as he leans down to pepper salty kisses all over your face. “my good girl.” he whispers, slightly collapsing on top of you to catch his breath. his weight on you feels comforting, almost natural as you wrap your tired arms around his back tightly, pressing your bodies together even more than they already are to feel closer and connected to him.

“i didn’t know you were into that.” sunghoon speaks up after a moment of silence, causing you to open your eyes and look at him. he moves so he’s laying on his side, cock still keeping you plugged up despite the awkward position. “into what?” he deadpans at your reaction, and you giggle. “c’mon, babe. you can’t seriously look like that and expect me to not be feral for you.” you smile, and sunghoon huffs out a laugh, spooning an arm around you as he pulls your body closer to his warm one. “still, who knew my girl was so freaky?” you swat at him, and his chest rumbles with laughter, the sound sending an odd pool of warmth flowing through your chest. you both lay there in silence after that, basking in each other’s presence and enjoying the serenity and afterglow which comes from what was quite literally the best sex of your lives. 

“i love you.” you hear sunghoon mumble suddenly, his voice drowsy as he yawns cutely, a large grin spreading on your face at the simple three words which leave him. you reach out for his hand, lacing your small fingers in it before bringing it up to your mouth and pressing a kiss to the back. “love you more, hoonie.” you sigh out in satisfaction, eyes slipping shut slowly as sleep welcomes your tired senses.

you gradually drift off, thoughts filled with sweet dreams of your boyfriend and his precious laughter. 

. . .

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

[heathermason6060]

Daryl Dixon x F!Reader Smut: Teasing will get you Somewhere

Gif found on Pinterest unknown credit

Warnings/Mentions: Blue balls, Dark/Rough!Daryl, sexual teasing (Daryl receiving) rough sex, spitting, choking, manhandling, biting, blood blisters, spanking, bruising, it might smell like dubcon but it's not

Summary: Reader wants to see Daryl at his breaking point, teasing and depriving him of release until he gets there. 

Notes: I loved writing this so much. While trying to think of a plot for dark!Daryl I remembered this idea/prompt someone had like 5 years ago where the reader teases a guy until he cracks and just goes crazy. I think it was a fanfiction, but I looked through my bookmarks and ao3 history and couldn't find anything like this so if you know what I'm talking about please let me know!!

All you wanted from the start was to see Daryl snap. He was such an aggressive loudmouthed man, but not in the way you wanted him to be. 

He'd started flirting with you to appease Merle, the man who'd instantly noticed how you swooned around Daryl. The younger Dixon didn't believe him, of course, but he approached you to avoid the harsh blows of Merle calling him a ‘belly-up pussy’ along with more distasteful slurs. 

His way of “flirting” was a lot like Merles at first. Offensive, inappropriate, you know the rest. You'd been patient enough to politely explain that you weren't like the type of women that would fuck Merle after he called them a 'sweet piece of Georgian ass', and he took the hint. 

Daryl was shockingly sweet after that. He was less verbal after learning vulgar compliments weren't the way to go, but it turned out alright for you in the end. He began looking after you like you were his full responsibility. Making sure you were fed first, bringing home clothes specifically for you, along with any other treats he thought you might like. 

It was great, aside from him never making a move on you. He gawked like you were an alien when you started dressing for his gaze, Bobby Brooks shorts, pretty tank tops, even shaving your legs once in a while. But he never made a move. 

That simply wouldn't do. 

It was late one night and you'd slipped into his tent. 

“The hell you doin'?” He cursed, wiping the sleep from his eyes as you zipped up the flap behind you. 

“Can't sleep, Carl won't stop coughing.” 

You'd been sharing a tent with Lori and Carl ever since you arrived with T-Dog. It wasn't a complete lie, Carl was coughing up a storm, sick with some chest cold, but that wasn't the reason for your lack of sleep.

“I got some earplugs.” He sat up and began shifting through his bags. 

“No, it's okay. Can I crash here tonight?” You asked innocently, kicking off your casual flip flops that you saved for night time piss breaks or trips to get water. 

Daryl tried hiding his surprise . The stutter in his voice gave him away. “Uh, sure, I guess. S’long as ya dun snore.”

You behaved for an impressive amount of time. Lying in silence, not moving an inch, waiting for him to loosen up before quietly shifting backwards until your back was pressed up against his chest. 

His heart felt seconds away from collapsing in on itself when he felt you. He'd popped a semi when you'd taken off that big T-shirt he'd given you, and now it was bordering on a full on erection.

You waited until you felt his body relax, which took longer than you originally estimated, and then wiggled your hips. 

The reaction was immediate. He sucked in a breath through his nose and made this choking sound. He grabbed your hips, only for a split second before yanking his hands away like he'd been burned. 

You wiggled again, pushing back until the feeling of the outline of his dick against your ass was ingrained into your memory. 

It didn't take long to wear him down, not at all. He let out a strangled groan and rocked into you, his self restraint long since thrown out the window.

And then you stopped.

He nearly gasped at the loss of friction. The feeling was so devastating that it sobered him, and his cheeks burned with embarrassment. 

“Wha-” he panted. His fingers loosened their hold on your hips and twitched against the fabric of your pajama shorts. “Why'd ya stah- stop?”

“I'm sleepy.” You said plainly, pulling the thin sheet up to your shoulders in emphasis. 

Daryl caught his breath behind you, struggling to make sense of it all through his confusion and disappointment. He grumbled something that sounded like it held an attitude, though sadly that was the extent of his protests. 

You needed more. You needed him to tear your clothes off and ravish you like the animal you knew he was. The Daryl that feverishly humped you like his life depended on it was cute, but you needed the Daryl that he was in his daily life. 

The only way you could think of was to force it out of him, even if it did torture the poor man in the process. 

You kept up the innocent teasing for a while. You took a break after Merle went missing, you knew your limits and his. You weren't a total selfish piece of shit. Only when you arrived at the farm and he began talking to you again did you resume your game of “teasing Daryl until he cracks”.

“How's it look?” You gave a cheeky smile as you turned in a circle with your hands on your hips. 

You'd put on the pair of green cargo shorts he'd found you. They weren't very practical, holding only four pockets, which was less than normal cargo shorts, but they were scandalous. The fabric hugged your ass tight enough to look damn near pornographic. 

“Didn't realize they were that tiny. Christ.” Daryl muttered with pink cheeks. “Jus’ give ‘em ta Beth. 

“Oh god. Can you imagine her face? That girl is still wearing pants in late summer. Her daddy would kill me.” You snorted and turned back to face him. “I'm keeping these bad boys. The fabric is soft. Wanna feel?” 

“Already felt em when I took em.” Despite his words, he set down his knife to free up his hands. 

“Give me your hand.” 

The poor boy was so eager to feel you that he practically threw his hands in yours. When you placed his palms on the sides of your shorts he seemed to snap to life, dropping the nonchalant attitude to rub his thumbs over the fabric covering your hips and thighs. 

You tried to keep the smug smirk off your face, and failed miserably. He was turning himself on just by touching the clothing that covered your pelvis. 

Suddenly, you pulled away, feeling your heart lurch in your chest at the way his face dropped.

“Thanks again. I've been needing new shorts.” 

“Yeah. Uh-huh. S'nothin.”

It went on like that for a while. 

One night you climbed into his tent again with the ruse of being cold, and he didn't mention the fact it was a warm seventy degrees that night. You were wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt and panties, and made sure to make Daryl aware of this when you slid your knee over his thigh. 

Nothing happened that night either, nothing other than pretending to sleep while he palmed himself through his jeans. 

Another time you put on those green cargo shorts and offered to tidy up his camp, an offer he was quick to accept just so he could watch you needlessly bend over to grab random objects to place somewhere else. 

Once you even made out with him. Late at night in his tent, things got hot and heavy and you straddled him, wearing the same oversized T-shirt and panties, washed since then, of course. 

He was nervous at first, you could tell by the way his hands trembled on their way up your sides. You kissed him slow and sweet, nothing too extreme, not until he pushed his hot tongue against your lips. 

You let him in and groaned at the enthusiasm he showed. He kissed you like you were still teenagers, up in the loft of some barn hiding away from Daddy. 

“Shit.” He panted against your lips. He moved his hands down to your waist and pulled you down hard, groaning when he got that first taste of friction he so desperately craved.

“Slow down.” You breathed. Your body betrayed your words, your hips rolling down gentle and slow, just enough to feel the outline of his aching cock through your clothing. 

“Why?” He muttered before pressing another kiss against your lips. “Wha's stoppin’ ya? I got condoms. Glenn's got the pill. S'fine.” 

You pulled up and away from his lips. He looked so pretty beneath you all desperate like that. It still wasn't what you wanted. 

“I don't know, Daryl-” Your voice choked into a whine when he moved under you, the friction momentarily rendering you speechless. 

“Can't ya feel what yer doin’ to me? Huh?” He snapped his hips again, forcing out another whine. “S’all for you. C'mon now.”

“Not here Daryl.” You tried to keep your voice level and firm. “Not in some tent where we have to be quick and quiet.” 

“Le’s go somewhere then. Anywhere ya want, don't care. Tell me. I'll take ya.” 

Truthfully, that almost made you give in. But it still wasn't the Daryl you wanted to experience. He was desperate, but not desperate enough. 

“Not tonight, Daryl. It's too late and Shane's on watch. He'll have my ass if he catches us sneaking out.” 

Daryl growled in frustration, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. “Won't get caught.”

“Yeah, sure. Let's just wait another night.” You pressed a kiss against his cheek, innocent enough, contrasting painfully with the way you ground down against him one last time before sliding off.

Part of you started doubting your plan. Daryl was too reluctant, too full of self doubt, too terrified at the aspect of losing whatever fun thing you had going on by pushing your limits. Even though you had no problem pushing his. 

His patience amazed you. Any other man would've thrown you to the side after the first few times, or ignored your “wishes” and dove right in. He didn't know that's what you wanted. You couldn't blame him. 

How could you tell someone like Daryl “I want you to fuck me with enough desire and aggression to give a nun a heart attack”? He'd been too gentle during foreplay, too submissive, you were beginning to think he was a virgin. 

Maggie gave you a dress. You didn't know who it once belonged to, her or her sister, but it was one of the cutest things you'd ever laid eyes on. A pretty moss green that went right below your knees, laces up your stomach the same color as the dress, and thankfully, no sleeves. 

The domestic look had Daryl in shambles. You looked like a farm wife from a damn magazine, it took everything he had in him not to fuck you behind the barn like he wanted. 

He took you out that day. On a ‘food supply run’, as he called it. You weren't anyone's first pick for runs, which you understood, you were easily distracted. It was your biggest fault.

So when he asked you specifically, and you alone, you were barely able to contain your excitement. 

The first place you stopped by was an old farmers corner store to pick up enough food so you didn't come back empty handed. A few canned goods, stale snacks and three cans of soda. 

He left that in the back of the truck when the two of you stopped by a house. A very nice house, to your surprise. 

“Can't believe this place hasn't been trashed.” You commented while rummaging through the kitchen. “No more food, but there's some lighter fluid.”

“Hm.” Daryl grunted. After securing the front door he found you still in the kitchen, chewing on a mouthful of gum. 

You'd shoved about three long sticks in your mouth. “Want some?”

He eyed the gum wrapped in silver paper before taking it from your outstretched hand with a gruff thanks. 

It was hard to focus on, his heart felt like it was in his throat, it was hard to swallow, and his jaw ached from his aggressive chewing. He'd done everything you wanted, got birth control; condoms and plan B. He found this nice house that same morning, almost immediately after seeing you walk outside in that dress. He even cleaned up the master bedroom for you, dusting off the sheets and beating the pillows, opening the windows to air out the room. 

There was no way you could wave him off now.

Oh, but you found a way. It was a talent that needed to be fucking studied. 

You were digging through the dresser in the upstairs bedroom when he approached you. You ignored the sound of the door shutting and locking behind him, pretending to be very interested in the contents of the bottom drawer. 

His hands found your sides. Your skin tingled as he pulled you to your feet and pressed you against the dresser with his palm on your lower back.

He went to kissing the back of your neck. His lips were light and soft, contrasting the anxiety bubbling in his gut. 

“Hmm.” You hummed. He brushed your hair over your right shoulder and went back to kissing your neck, peppering them all the way to the point of your left shoulder. 

“Missed ya'.” He muttered, pushing his hips forward to drive home his point. 

You tried not to laugh with pity at the feeling. He was already hard? Poor thing. 

“We're supposed to be looking for food.” You chided playfully. You shifted your ass and earned a low grunt of appreciation for the friction. 

“Then why’re ya in the bedroom?” He challenged. When you didn't respond he smirked against the skin on your neck. 

His hands didn't wait for permission. He bent his knees so he could grab the bottom of your dress, gathering it in his fists and pulling it up and over your ass. He sighed at the sight, you were wearing the type of panties he'd only ever seen on a clothing rack or behind a screen. Black soft fabric, tight and with lace around the hem, hugging your curves just right. 

“Daryl, come on.” You chuckled, but made no attempt to move. “They're gonna wonder where we went.”

He laughed, the sound dry and humorless. “Don't give a shit. They'll survive.” 

“And what is it you wanna do so bad that's more important than feeding our people, huh?” You mused, placing your palms on the dresser he was pushing you harder up against. 

“Ain't my people.” He quipped and ground into you, dying to make you feel how desperate he was for you. 

You choked back a moan. “You didn't answer my question.” 

“Want ya. Right here.”

“Want me to what?” 

Daryl sighed and released his hold on your dress to grip your waist. “Wanna fuck ya nice an’ good. Make y’feel what y’been missin’.”

You groaned. Your grip on the dresser turned white-knuckled as he pushed against you again. 

“Yeah?” Your breath trembled past your open lips. “What else?”

Daryl pressed himself closer, until his mouth was right at your ear. “Wanna feel what ya’ been keepin’ from me. Taste ya'. Shove my dick in that pretty lil’ mouth n’make ya sorry.” 

His words had an obvious effect on you. Your knees trembled and your breathing was louder, more shallow. 

But he still hadn't cracked. 

The curiosity was eating you alive. You couldn't give in now, not when he was so fucking close. You turned to face him and gave a ghost of a smile, trying your best to look sympathetic.

“Maybe some other time.” 

His eyes widened and his eyebrows scrunched tightly together. His nostrils flared as his pupils darted over your face, looking frantically for the slightest sign telling him it was a joke. He looked hurt, confused, like you just slapped him in the face and called him a slur.

There it is. 

“You-” he choked out, “Y’aint serious?” 

You forced a nod. 

“Why?” The way he raised his voice sent a bolt of pleasure through your core, and you had to fight back a whimper. “Got everythin’ ya needed. Went through the trouble’a findin’ this place, ain't gotta be quiet, ain't gotta worry ‘bout walkers or someone hearin’, the hell else you want from me woman?” 

You couldn't stop yourself from whimpering. You bit your bottom lip and tried to steady your breathing, but when you stole a glance at his face and saw the expression held there your lungs shifted into overdrive. 

He looked so fed up. 

“What are you gonna do about it?” You whispered. 

Daryl sneered in contempt. “The hell can I do ‘bout it? Not gonna beg.”

You swallowed hard. You slowly shook your head, your chest rising and falling dramatically, your body still trapped between his arms, his hands on the dresser behind you. 

“Don't want you to beg.” 

You pressed a hand between his legs and he let out a strangled groan, his elbows swaying as they threatened to give out. You flexed your fingers to massage his length, and pulled away. 

His eyes shot open and just as quick his hand wrapped around your wrist, yanking you back to his bulge and nearly breaking your fingers in the process of shoving them down the waistband of his jeans. 

After unbuckling his belt he was able to cram your hand down deeper, forcing you to feel him. 

You gasped when your fingertips made contact. You didn't know a dick could get that hard. It felt just as firm as any other extremity. 

“Daryl.” You let out a long sigh as you gave a half assed attempt to pull your hand out. His grip on your wrist tightened. 

“Hmm?” The teasing tone of his hum made your clit throb. 

“We can't-” You didn't get to finish your sentence before he scoffed and picked you up. Like actually picked you up in his arms, bridal style. He threw you on the plush bed where you bounced a few times, and dove into you.

“S’enough.” He muttered. He pulled your dress up over your waist and looped his fingers through the sides of your panties. You thought he'd hesitate, take a look at the expression on your face and back off, but he didn't. He tugged them down your legs and tossed them off the bed in a random location. 

“Ain't some pussy ya’ got on a leash.” His fingers snaked between your legs, beelining for your cunt. He groaned in surprise, his eyes rolling back at the feeling. You were beyond wet at this point, his aggression had your folds like a slip n slide with lube instead of water. 

You bit back a moan. His fingers spread your folds, smearing your wetness around, his thumb pressing down against your clit. 

“Fuck!” You gasped. Your hips instinctively shifted to the side from the overwhelming sensation, but a firm grip on your waist quickly snatched you back. 

“Think y'can do whatever the hell ya’ want, and I'll jus’ sit back an’ let ya’?” He didn't give you time to answer. He pushed a finger inside you, and both of you hissed at the feeling. “Ffuck. Shit ain't like that no more, princess.” 

Any other time you would've snapped at the insult, but his finger digging around inside you had your mind blank. 

“Wha’s wrong? Huh?” He twisted his finger and you cried out. His voice was sickly sweet, something that should've pissed you off but only fueled your arousal. “Got nothin' to say?” His finger curled, a movement that held no thought behind it, though the way you gasped and arched your back had him repeating the action. 

Then he started mocking you. “Oh no, not now, it's not right, I'm not ready!” He scoffed in disgust. “Like ya’ a lot better when ya’aint speakin’.” 

Oh, god. You should be fuming. You should be spitting venom right back at him, but this is everything you'd wanted from him. It was all going according to plan. 

Maybe he knew that, or maybe he didn't. Either way he was behaving just as you'd imagined countless times, rough, mean, cruel and demanding. 

“C'mon, try a little bit.” He growled after leaning down to bite at your open neck. “Go on. Tell me it ain't the time. Tell me.”

You were nothing but a puddle under him. Your hands became too restless and reached up to grab at him, balling your fists in the back of his shirt.

Never in your life had a man treated you like this. No matter how bad you teased and gave subliminal signals. They would either indulge in your teasing, respect your wishes and back off when told to, or kiss and plead until you relented. 

Finally someone was fucking you like you had always wanted. Or, they were about to. 

The knuckle of his thumb had been digging into your clit for a good minute now, and despite how uncomfortable it could feel at times, you came quickly. 

You sucked in a sharp gasp and locked your legs around his waist, trying to pull his finger in deeper, or make his knuckle grind harder. 

Daryl groaned into your neck as you came around his finger. His hips jerked forward and bumped against his hand between your thighs, knocking his digit in deeper. You yelped, not expecting such a sharp sensation during your warm and soft climax. 

He withdrew his finger and you whined. 

“Sh-sh-sh.” You didn't think a hush could sound so condescending. “Got somethin' better. Gonna make you regret not takin’ it sooner.”

You said it before you could stop yourself. “You don't have it in you.” 

His eyes flicked up to your face as he pulled his zipper down, a look on his face that sent chills across your bare legs.

There was slight amusement, slight relief, as if someone finally gave him permission to show off and prove himself. Lips parted into a breathy smirk, tongue peeking between his teeth, and one eyebrow raised. 

Your eyes dropped to his pants when he pulled his cock free. It looked just as you imagined when you'd touched it only minutes ago, standing at full attention against his lower stomach.

You let out a sigh when you saw it reached his navel. 

Daryl leaned down until he was level with your pussy. You heard it before you felt it, the sound of him spitting, and then warm drool dropping right on your sensitive clit.

You squealed in protest, trying to raise yourself on your elbows, but he stopped you with a hand on your chest. With his free hand he smeared his spit over your already soaking folds, even going as far as to push some inside you with his finger. 

“Ew!” You gasped. 

You felt a tingle. Subtle at first, you just assumed it was the salinity of his saliva, and then more prominent. You were close to panicking until you saw the wad of white gum shoot out of his mouth, landing with a smack against the hardwood floor. 

At least you knew the source of the tingling. You swallowed your own gum, the same way you'd completely forgotten about.

The skin around your cunt buzzed when he slapped the tip of his dick on your clit, and you squirmed beneath him. He steadied you with the same hand on your chest. 

“Wait.” You inhaled deeply. He didn't wait though, he just pushed into your clenched hole, ignoring your whines.

“Ssss-shut up.” His voice trembled. He used his free hand to wrap around the base of his dick, holding it straight as he slowly pushed in further. 

“Y-you said you had condoms.” 

Daryl let out a loud groan as he sank into you. His right hand on your chest increased in pressure as more and more of his upper body weight bore down on it, forcing the air from your lungs. 

He was so thick, and it had been years for you. The burn was incredible, in such a pleasurable way that you should've felt ashamed to enjoy. You tried to moan, but nothing came out aside from a strained breath. 

“Ain't nothin' gonna make me feel rubber instead’a this.” He grunted. He rolled his hips forward and finally pulled his hand off your chest to roll the dress up and over your body. 

“F-Fuck.” His whimper was strangled in his throat. Being completely naked under someone who was fully dressed had you clenching around him, earning another whimper from said man. 

“Should feel ‘shamed, keepin' all this from me.” 

You didn't. Not one bit. 

“But I know ya'aint.” 

You furrowed your brows, momentarily stunned by his apparent mind reading abilities. He jerked his hips forward and your face fell slack, your jaw dropping and your eyelids falling shut. 

His thrusts were harsh, but far too slow for you to get anywhere. You grabbed his shirt and used it to pull him down, desperate for more stimulation. 

Daryl happily obliged. His breath was hot on your ear before he took the lobe between his lips, sucking and licking the flesh. You gasped as he bit down on it, and you could sense the smirk on his lips. 

“Daryl?” You breathed, the name breaking on your tongue with another thrust. 

“Jesus.” He groaned, thoroughly annoyed. He released your ear and pulled back to look at you, frustration evident on his face. “What?”

“Thought I was gonna regret it.”

Your words had his upper lip twitching and his eyes widening ever so slightly. 

“Yeah?” He huffed. “S'gonna be like that?”

He rose from your chest, shifting until he was sitting on his boots. His hands grabbed onto your hips and yanked you down on his dick, forcing a cry from your dry throat. It took him a few seconds to position himself, leaning back just a bit, his grip on your hips tight, and then he started fucking you in a ruthless pace. 

It wasn't what you were expecting. Your mouth dropped into a long gape and your eyes shot open as he pounded his pelvis against yours, driving his dick so deep it reached places your fingers never had. 

Each thrust had a gasp burning in your lungs, and those gasps quickly grew to embarrassing moans. Now that you were ashamed of. If you had the ability to stop it you could, but the way he was thrusting into you rendered you utterly unable to control yourself and the sounds you made. 

“Get up.” 

You weren't sure why he even spoke, because he was moving your body by himself before you could process his command. He pulled you to the side of the bed and turned you over on your stomach, bending you over and shoving his dick back inside you so fast you shrieked. 

Your feet flew up behind you, smacking against the back of his thighs. If you could've seen it you would've laughed. 

The new angle was paralyzing. His dick was no longer tilted against the spot under your stomach, the spot that had you a drooling mess seconds ago. Now it smashed against a deeper part of you, a part that had you groaning with each frustration fueled thrust. 

“Fuck.” Daryl groaned, his pace slowing to give momentary reprieve. He wasn't as young as you, and even though he was always out there doing a hundred times more labor intensive activity, he needed a second to catch his breath. 

There was still an itch yet to be scratched. While he regained his bearings you fought to think of a way to say it without actually saying ‘i want you to hurt me and fuck me till I cry’. You'd already humiliated yourself enough. 

When he began picking up the pace again, you reached for the hand beside your head and bit down on his knuckles. Not gently, either. You bit down so hard he could've ripped a tooth out with the way he yanked his hand away.

“The fuck?” His voice was barely below a shout. “Ya’ crazy bitch!” 

There was no retaliation besides a particularly forceful thrust, to your irritation. 

“You baby.” You managed to grunt out. “Barely bit you.” 

“Barley bi-” he scoffed, looking down at the hand he now had splayed across your lower back. There were deep pink imprints from your teeth over his index finger knuckle, and the skin around it turned a bright red. 

You felt his fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling your hand away from its grip on the bed sheets. Your heart hammered quicker than his thrusts when his breath tickled your skin, and then he bit you. In the same spot you bit him.

It wasn't nearly as hard as you bit him, but you still whimpered at the ache. 

“Point stands.” 

Daryl couldn't believe what he was hearing. His jaw set and he dropped your wrist. 

The smug smirk you'd been keeping to yourself fell when your hair was suddenly twisted in the fist of his right hand. With just that leverage alone he pulled your upper body up, and his left arm snaked around your torso to keep you flush against his chest. 

He yanked your head to the side. You gasped. 

“This what ya’ wanted, huh sweetheart?” He breathed against your ear and drew back until his dick nearly slipped out before slamming back in. ��

“Mmm-oh god yes.” You blurted out between moans. 

“Jus' had to ask.” He managed a chuckle. 

“More.” 

He furrowed his brows, but kept up the slow and deep pace. He couldn't imagine what else he could give you. He was fucking you hard enough to bruise, he was pulling your hair, what, did you want him to start beating you? 

He dipped his head down to bite your shoulder, holding back just enough so that he wouldn't give you an actual wound. 

You have to consider that biting someone with enough force to actually break the skin takes a lot. Skin isn't like the flesh of a fruit. It's tough, and would require chewing to break through. So for him to stop right before that point meant he was biting you so hard you got blood blisters, and the pain was all you could focus on. 

Your wail of genuine pain had him pulling back like he'd been shocked. His thrusts slowed, and through ragged breaths he spoke, “Shit, m'sorry. M'so sorry.” 

“No.” You gasped. Your shoulder felt like it was on fire, and your walls cleaned around him in response. “So good. Feels so good.”

Daryl let out a huff in relief. “Ya’ weird as shit, yanno that?” 

“Mhmm.” You groaned, pressing your ass back tightly against him. “More.” 

He took a deep breath to steady himself and pushed you back down on your stomach. He had to work himself up to it, the idea intimidating. Once his thrusts were back to their former sharp pace he raised a hand in the air. 

You tilted your head to the side so your cheek was pressed against the blanket. When you saw his right hand held up, your heart leapt. You never nodded so quickly. 

Daryl ground his teeth together, glancing down at your ass, your face, and back to your ass again before smacking his hand against it. 

It was barely a love tap. 

You groaned, wiggling your hips and earning a moan from him in response to the feeling on his dick. 

He took the hint and gave another smack, harder, but still not giving that burn or satisfying ‘smack’ sound you wanted.

“Daryl, please.” You whimpered. “Hurt me. I'm not made of glass.” 

You barely got the last word out before he slapped you. Open handed, fingers spread and slightly curved to mold perfectly against your asscheek. You yelped and instinctively tried scooting up the bed, held back by his left hand on your hip. 

It clicked in his head then. No wonder people liked spanking so much. His palm tingled and he could see a faint handprint start to color your skin. And the way you reacted, that sound you made, your body trying to get away from him, it made his dick twitch. 

“Fuck!” You cried out after another hard slap. The pain fully distracted you from the ache in your shoulder, white hot pain spreading across your ass and up your spine. 

“Such a baby.” He meant it to sound patronizing, but he was still too amazed by the new turn on he'd discovered, and the words came out breathless. 

Your whimper bled into another cry as he spanked you again. 

And again. 

Again, again, until you were on the verge of tears, sobs bubbling from your wet lips as you tried to squirm away from him. 

As if you actually wanted to. Which you clearly didn't. You were practically gushing around his dick. 

He rubbed his palm over the deep red skin, barely soothing the blinding burn he'd left behind. “Goddamn.” 

“M'gonna cum.” You were literally drooling. 

He snapped his attention away from your ass and back to you. “Whaddya want, huh?” He quickened his pace once again, jolting forward to press his body against your back. You whimpered at the way he moved, his dick pushing deeper inside you. 

“More, please,” you stuttered, trying desperately to work your hand under your body, which proved to be difficult due to his weight on top of you. 

Daryl noticed and lifted your hips with his hands. He shoved your eager arm out of the way and rubbed your clit with his own fingers, fast and deep in a way he assumed you'd like. 

You moaned under him, arching your back, feeling him slip in further. It was as if he grew another inch every five minutes. Or you grew another inch deeper, and he was staying the same. Either way he was deeper, and it felt immaculate. 

The rise to your climax was slow, but powerful. You were fully prepared to gently tip over the edge and slide down in bliss. 

That was before he slapped your pussy. Then you fell down gasping. 

Daryl held onto your body like you were a wild mustang, trashing and twisting under him in ecstasy. He withdrew his hand and grabbed your hips again, resuming his brutal pace, clamping his teeth down on the back of your neck to keep your bodies anchored together. 

It took a while for you to come down from your high. When you did it was violent, the pure bliss smashed away by burning overstimulation. 

“Fu-uck!” You heaved in deep breaths. “Daryl s’too much, can't, wait!”

“Ever since that night ya’ came in my tent, blue ballin’ me like that,” he growled against your neck, “-been dreamin’ ‘bout havin ya’ like this. Fallin’ apart. Face full’a tears. Ain't stoppin now.” 

He wasn't bluffing. He didn't stop. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head, ramming into your abused cunt, only slowing to shift in positions so you were on your back. 

The air felt amazing against your chest. Daryl ripped that feeling away with gnashing teeth, biting your hard nipples and alternating between sucking and pinching.

The house had to be surrounded by walkers by now. There was no way it wasn't, you were crying and moaning like you were getting paid for it. 

“Oh, god.” You wailed as another orgasm built up quicker than ever inside you. “Oh please, fuck, god!”

A jolt of pleasure shot through your core when Daryl's hands wrapped around your throat. 

Now, Daryl was no stranger to strangling someone. He'd choked plenty of people out before.

In fights.

He was unaware there was a different type of choking for pleasure. Instead of squeezing the sides of your throat with his thumb and fingers, he wrapped both hands around your neck and fucking strangled you. 

You squeezed your eyes shut so tight they ached as you came. Your orgasm had started off blinding, overwhelming every inch of your body, but Daryl's crushing grip soon muted the tail end of your climax and filled your ears with a deafening ringing. 

Daryl pulled his teeth off your nipple and panted against your ear. “Lemme cum inside ya’, sweetheart.”

You could barely process what he'd said. You forced your eyes open against the pressure induced burn, trying to find his face, only to see the side of his head. 

“Can't pull out.” He growled and released some of the pressure around your throat. Oxygen and blood flooded your head, leaving you dizzy and with black around the edges of your vision. 

“Can't, m'sorry. Oh, huh-  fuck!” His voice was strained as every muscle in his body tensed up. His hips surged forward, stuffing his dick balls deep to coat the end of your walls in his cum. “Mmm-fuck s’good. So good. Ohhh, Hah-” 

He choked on his moan. He moved his head, replacing his hands around your neck with his mouth, kissing and biting at the tender skin as he spurted ropes of hot cum inside you. 

Your body broiled under his crushing form. Your thighs relaxed from their clamped position, falling off his waist and dropping to the bed beneath you. Your lungs ached and your throat was raw, but your pussy buzzed so intently it felt like you had a vibrator pressed against it. 

“Oh, god.” The tone was full of dread and you forced yourself to focus on Daryl. 

“What?” You croaked. There was a stabbing pain in your neck from Daryl choking you out like you were a man his size. 

“Yer all fucked up.” He whined. He traced his fingers across your throat. “S’bad. Oh fuck.”

“Calm down.” You sat upright after he pulled back enough for you to do so, his dick dragging out against your trembling walls in the process and making you hiss.

“It's okay. I'll just tell em a walker got the jump on me. We've all seen them grab throats. It's fine.” You pressed a kiss to his worried lips. 

“Gonna tell em a walker did that too?” He pointed an exhausted finger at the bite mark on your shoulder, which was now in the early stages of a deep bruise, not to mention the blood blister in the shape of his teeth.

You laughed softly. “Fuck no. I'll just skip the tank tops for a week or two.”

That seemed to settle him enough and he nodded, moving to lay on his back. 

“That was amazing.” You broke the long silence. “Seriously. You're the first man to ever… you know.”

Daryl furrowed his eyebrows and looked up at you. “Huh? Y’never…?”

“No! I mean…” you sighed. “Never had a man make me come.”

Now he was at full attention, sitting upright and leaning back on his palms. “Nah, no shit.”

“I'm serious.”

He let out a light scoff, shaking his head in disbelief. “Jesus.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he watched you climb off the bed to grab your thrown panties. “Me too.”

You glanced over your shoulder as you stepped into them. “Really? You never…?”

He nodded, going back to biting his cheek. 

“How'd you last so fucking long?”

A cocky grin crept across his lips at the compliment behind your words. He was worried he didn't last long enough. And you just asked him how he held on so long.

“Jerked off like, ten fuckin’ times today.” 

That meant he knew he was going to fuck you today. Heat spread through your core again, despite how worn out you were. You smiled and climbed back on the bed to smother him with kisses. 

“You're so fucking hot.” You mumbled against his lips, which were moving weakly against your own. 

“Says the bitch that wouldn't fuck me.” He chuckled. 

“Just wanted you to make the decision for me. It's a lot hotter that way.” You hummed, pulling your swollen lips away from his. “It worked.” 

“Psh.” He rolled his eyes and began stuffing his soft cock back in his jeans. “Put yer clothes on. Place is probably crawlin' with walkers. Le’s get the hell outta dodge before anymore show up.”

Now that Daryl was in on your little game, you couldn't wait to play again. 

@ophelialaufey @carlgrimesgfofficial @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfish-daydreams @my1fx @jinx-nanami

[yaut-jaknowit]

How bout a human woman saves a yautja after he got hurt pretty bad or something. Over time they get to know one another…one thing leads to another and the bang. But the male leaves not long after to return home, unknowingly leaving a bun in the oven…only that out possibly years after…

-🥤

Left Behind

Character: Ahtaal (Male Yautja) x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 8895

Summary: A night that changed your life forever. You had to fight for survival and live to tell the tale. Ahtaal is saved only because of you. That leaves him in your debt. He heals you from wounds that will leave lasting scars. But he too leaves something else behind.

Author Note: I love the fact you call it 'bun in the oven'! Imagine saving a Yautja and then get the biggest dick down ever. Wish come true~.

Masterlist

Ao3

Blood burned through the skin on your arm. The pain a distant thought as you shoved the long spear into the chest of sickly, black monster. Black tendrils poured from its head. Four weirdly shaped mandibles. A long rigidly tail with a sharpened end made for stabbing. One that looked like it had crawled out of the depths of hell to come after anyone vulnerable. A demon in the flesh.

It almost looked like the beast you had protected a deadly blow from. But this thing… it was ten times worse.

The pain nearly grew to a point you couldn’t hold onto the spear for much longer. It slipped from your blood drenched hands. But, the point was still lodged deep into the chest of the screeching beast. You panted and backed away until the back of your foot met resistance. The creature you had just saved still lay on the ground, hopefully not dead. Or all of this would’ve been for naught.

Your arms stung with each passing moment, the pain mounting higher and higher. The adrenaline that once filled your system began to slowly deflate. You swallowed back the thick saliva in the back of your throat. Yet, not once did your eyes leave the beast as it backed away and clawed at the spear. Thankfully, it was barbed and refused to move from deep within it.

As if the life that once filled its body vanished in a second, it crumpled to the ground in a pile. A few twitches was all it gave before finally coming to still. Dead.

Everything hurt. Your chest heaved for air. Your mind tried to reel in every thought you had. Your heart thundered loud and clear in its bony cage. It took everything you had not to let your knees collapsed under your own weight. You slowly glanced at the down creature at your feet. His shoulder slowly rose and fell with each breath. A deep sigh of relief sounded from you.

Now, came a new problem. To move him. This place wasn’t safe. Other people would soon come. The government would easily snatch the two of you up in a heartbeat. One to silence you. He would become an experiment for whatever they wanted. You couldn’t have that. Not when he looks so sad in the state that he was in. You turned around and squatted at his side. A poke to his uninjured gave no results. Not even the next five. He was out cold.

This was unfortunately circumstances. He was at least seven feet tall and three times your weight easily. Deadweight was harder to move than someone giving some assistance.

With might and will, you used a tarp you had randomly found to hook under his arms. It was just strong enough to help you pull him through the foliage of the forest. After a hundred yards, you could no longer move. The exhaustion in your muscles, in your soul was far too deep. This all started this morning and it was deep into the night. The full moon shing ominously above the land. You collapsed harshly onto bruised knees and cut up palms. There was nothing more you could give to save him or yourself. You did what you could before the darkness consumed your vision and took away your conscious.

The gentle sway is the first thing you awoke to with a groggy groan. The crust in your eyes made it uncomfortable to open them. You rubbed it away with a shaky, weak arm before opening them.

Bright light blinded you from the first thing you saw. A groan tumbling out of your throat. Pain met you that same moment, racing up from your forearms. The rest of you throbbed with an ache that would take ten hot baths to finally chip away at it. You squinted through the sunlight and noticed a familiar red. Your hand reached up timidly and touched at the thick scales you could feel under your fingertips.

Big Red. The creature you had saved. You tilted your head back. He was facing forward, eyes hidden by the mandibles that covered half of his face. But the missing one was a familiar sight.

“Y-you’re al-ive,” you croaked out, voice harsh to even your own foggy ears. Your hand dropped down to your stomach, unable to hold up its own weight anymore. The grunt he made you felt it rather than heard it from his own mouth.

Your face cracked with a tiny grin. At least you hadn’t failed on that front while fighting something you didn’t know existed. A demon in the flesh. Your wrecked body trembled. A sight you hoped to never be face to face with again.

Through your blurry vision, he was marching quickly through the forest despite a noticeable limp to his gait. A table had been thrown at him, striking him direction on his shin when he jumped to block it. There wasn’t a loud crack of bone but it was possible it had only been fractured. You hummed and lazily drew patterns on his midriff, mind still foggy.

A rumbled vibrated through his chest and drew your attention to stop. That’s when the lightbulb above your head finally sprouted to life. Your lips pressed together while you looked away from him, eyes nearly bulging out. Heat flashed to life upon your cheeks.

Big Red moved across the forest, rarely taking breaks during the whole day. Only to stop at a creek and scoop water into his strangely constructed mouth. He would set you down and let you finally move around. It was hard at first, trying to get the blood flowing back in your limbs. Nor did your muscles want to listen. But, you did what you could and drank from the fresh creek. Anything to quench the dryness in your throat.

It was back to him carrying you in the bridle position and marching away. At points, you would take naps, needing the extra energy to recuperate from the days events.

At dusk, Big Red stopped and set you down. There was no creek or source of water. You had to lean heavily against the base of a tree with a shoulder. Your forearms were covered with scorch marks from the acidic blood that had landed on them. The pain from them was the only thing that kept you on your feet, giving you enough adrenaline to stay alert.

He limped away from you, leaving you behind. Fear gripped your heart that had taken you further into the forest only to abandoned you. After all you had- he stopped and pressed a button on the metal band that covered half of his forearm. You heard a hiss echo through the air and furrowed your brows.

Like a in a sci-fi movie, a large object revealed itself to your very eyes. Your jaw dropped when it came to mind it was a spacecraft. From Star Wars!

The creature came back over to you and easily scooped your weakened form up. Big Red carried you over where a ramp had come down. White steam came from the hydraulics in a dramatic manner. You tried to take everything. The information overload caused the pressure in your skull to tenfold. You groaned and curled up against his chest as if he’ll protect you from inward pain.

With your eyes closed, you missed all the important, interesting details no one has probably seen before. You whined and scrunched up your face as if that’ll push the pain away.

Warmth touched at your rear and brought you back to the present. You squinted and find yourself in a different room you couldn’t find a name for. Big Red had set you down on a table with many tools already on it. To which he was pushing off of the side to give you more room. He reached to the side and grabbed hold a box and set it down next to you. You watched as the box was open to reveal different items. None of them you could really figure out were for.

A moment of trust. It wasn’t like you could fight him in your circumstances. He could easily overpower you and subject you to whatever he wanted.

Instead, he grabbed some sort of gun with a need. You gulped at the size of the needle and strange blue liquid that filled the containment hanging off of the back. Either he didn’t notice or just ignored the fear gripping your heart. Big Red plunged the needle without hesitation into your shoulder. You grimaced at the slight pinched but otherwise, stayed still.

The needle was pulled free from your muscles and set off to the side. Next, he grabbed a white jar and untwisted the top. A sulfuric smell poured out of the jar. You gagged and used your shirt to cover your nose. “Oh my god, what is-is that?” you croaked out with disgust written all over your face.

Red stopped and tilted his head up. The golden mask on his features prevented you from seeing his true feelings.

“It is hurt,” he grumbled out, shocking you from hearing his voice for the first time. It wasn’t as deep as you thought but enough to send a tremble up the length of your spine. Your thoughts got you caught up in the moment before you shook them free. You cocked your head to the side. Hurt? Of course your arms hurt. They’ve been burned with acid.

White paste coated his fingertips before he slathered the burns in it.

The scream that curdled from your throat shocked him too. You jerked away and nearly slid off of the table before he caught you. Big Red forced you back onto the table and held you down. “Ooman! Calm! Calm. At ease,” his voice cut through the pain that burned through your veins. It was just enough to get you to finally focus on him again.

“I say it hurt,” he muttered then slowly let go of you when your muscles relaxed. Your body didn’t have the energy to fight anymore. Not even enough adrenaline could keep you going.

A fiery glare was set ablaze on the big, dark red alien. “I thought you were saying if I was hurting!” you yelled at him, arms drawn up to your chest. In case he may go for a second round without asking first.

A huff came from underneath the metal mask. “Paste heals but… hurts.” The words didn’t come naturally to him. He struggled to find them but you understood what he was getting to.

“Well, do you have something that doesn’t hurt like a bitch?” you snarked at him, in hopes to find a nice soothing paste. Not the one that made you feel like you were stepping on hot coals.

“No. Just this.” Ah, he didn’t get the sarcasm that was thick in your voice. You sighed, face scrunched up again from the pain this caused you. “Let me?” Big Red held out a waiting hand, letting you have the choice to either get an infection or deal with more pain. A groan sounded from your tired form before you roughly set one forearm in his palm.

“Better warning next time,” you mumbled and tensed up. An agony you didn’t want to experience but it meant for your life to survive. Then, so be it.

It was a pain you’ve never felt before.

The healing process took half as long as you thought. A couple of months turned into only a month until Dai’stbaen, the big, red alien, deemed you healed enough. Even letting you stay longer just to make sure you had no lasting injuries.

Today would be your last night with him. Dai’stbaen said he would fly you back to your home before setting off home bound. The last time you would see the towering beast in all of his glory. And you felt heartbroken to see him leave. You wish for him to take you but couldn’t go through with the idea of leaving everything behind. Not your friends or family who had to be worried sick about you at this point.

Countless times, he had made you promise and even created a mark on your skin to ensure you wouldn’t tell his secret. To let the whole world know that aliens, the Yautjas, exist. Dai told you it was against his code to let you live but you had saved him. That was a higher offense to kill someone who had saved his life. So, he had to slip out of your bed that night and back into his ship. Where he flew off into the stars, to never be seen again.

The ache he left you made it difficult to walk the next few days. All the marks he left on you a remind of what he could make you feel. A distance feeling after the days go by without him there with you.

After the first week back home, you had lost your job, finally calmed down your family and friends, and was barely able to skim on past in your lonely apartment. It felt better when Dai’stbaen was there with you, even if it was just for that night.

Things for first month was difficult, even after you were able to pick up a job that was remote work. It paid well enough to keep a roof over your head and food in your stomach.

Well until you missed your period. That’s when your heart dropped down into the apartment below you.

You raced to the nearest Walgreens and picked up a test. The cashier gave you a certain expression at the distant look in your eyes. All of your thoughts were running rampant through your mind. It had to be impossible. Truly, it really had to be. He wasn’t human!

The first place you went to back home was in your bathroom, tearing open the package. Then, you stopped just shy of sitting down on the toilet. Your eyes looked at yourself in the mirror. The distraught in your features from the horror of the situation. It had to be from the stressfulness of the situation you had just survived from. That what it had to be. But… even while in his care on his spacecraft, you had been hit by your period. God, that freaked him out when he smelt the fresh blood. Which… in turn freaked you out learning he could smell it. Like a dog.

Your hands lowered the unopened test to the counter. No. You shook your head. No, this wasn’t real. This was happening because of stress. It finally caught up to you. Your head nodded. Yeah, that’s what it had to be. You placed the unopened pregnancy test back into the box and shoved it into a random drawer. That would be needed at a different time. Not now. Because it was impossible.

Until you missed a second period. Even then, you tried to push off that feeling that there was something wrong with you. It was from stress. New job, new duties, new scars, new life. Everything to create a hell storm to recuperate from. Of course your uterus wouldn’t want to put you through anymore stress than needed.

At the same time of the next month, going into the wintery months, not a drop of blood.

That night, after work, you stood in the bathroom, hands holding the unopened test again. Your hands shook while looking down at the package. Every part of your mind tried to reason with all the other excuses you’ve given before. Stress. Job. Nearly being killed. Scars. Each one circling through the turn style until they fell away.

Just get it over with.

In front of the mirror, you turned to the side and lifted up the front of shirt. Your brows furrowed. There was a little weight loss when you first returned, eating practically just meat and little greens. Now… was that a slight bulge in your stomach? You could feel yourself on the verge of crying.

A child. There couldn’t be a chance you were pregnant with the alien you had a one-night stand with. He wasn’t coming back. You would be left alone to take care of the child. Then, there’s the fact it would half alien! How would they look? More like you or Dai’stbaen. There would be no way for them to live a normal life of going to school or having friends. And yourself. A child who could never step out into the light.

For the first time in the last three months, you plopped down on the toilet and took the test.

Each passing second, each passing heartbeat worsened everything feeling swirling inside of you. Every thought ran wild.

There were two sides to the coin. The more logical side. A hybrid alien baby couldn’t be possible. Let alone on the only time you were with him. It didn’t matter the three or four times he knotted you. That was a surprise. Very pleasant. Yet, there was also the fact you weren’t having your period the last three months. Surely, your body should’ve figured itself out at this point.

As the test did its process, you paced through the tiny bathroom squeezed into your one bedroom apartment. One of your hands ran through your locks, messing up the strands. It was all you could do to stop looking at the test every two seconds.

Two minutes passed until you took another glance and stopped in your tracks. Plus. A plus sign. You covered your mouth and backed into the nearest wall. Tears welled in your eyes.

Fear gripped your heartstrings. This was to be your life now. A mother with a hybrid child who couldn’t be normal. God, why did he have to leave!? Why did you have to fall for the alien?!

That night, you cried hard, curled up into a ball on the bathroom floor.

One good thing in your life was the fact your job just required you to sit in a chair and play customer service. There was no going out of your house and being heavily pregnant. To people wanting to know every single detail about the pregnancy and the child.

After the sixth month, you truly picked yourself up by your big pants and made a plan. It had to a home birth. No one could know. Not unless they take your child away. Over your dead body.

Supplies had been purchased, for the most part. Only a couple of onesies, a crib, some toys, and lots and lots diapers. You weren’t sure what to expect besides the normal stuff you researched for a human child. This would be a new experience for you and the whole world. A world that will never know what you possess deep within your belly.

This was all new territory to you. Of course it was. Who else has had an alien baby before?! Shit, calm down. You gripped the desk’s edge breathed through the unease in your stomach. From there, you were able to slow your pounding heart once more. Everything will turn out okay. It had to be.

By the beginning of the ninth month, you couldn’t go out. None of your family was allowed to see you, but that stemmed from the end of the seventh month. Where your bump was pronounced at that point. The questions and integration you would go through all for them to find out there’s no father in the picture. You could see the color drain from your parents face if you had to tell them.

The new job went well so far. An up in your unsteady life. You have yet to tell them about an unplanned trip that was coming up soon. Whenever your child decided to pop out. You didn’t even know if that was going to happen on time. Who knows if the alien genes have altered the time frame of the pregnancy. God, you didn’t know how any of this worked.

So far, the idea was when your water broke, you would use your vacation and sick leave to give a home birth. Hopefully from there, you can figure out a way to take care of the child while at home. All you prayed for was the delivery went smooth.

Two weeks later, while working away, a rush of water soaked the apex of your thighs. You were in the middle of call, pausing mid sentence at the feeling. A hand slapped over your mouth to stop any noises from escaping. There wasn’t any pain, just a feeling you had just wetted your pants. The person on the other end asked for you to repeat what you said. You swallowed down the lump in your throat and continued onward, barely paying attention.

It was about to happen.

When the work day ended, you threw down your headset and rushed to the bathroom. Supplies had been laid out in preparation for when the time came.

A blow up pool to lay in your living room was pulled out. A hose that could attach to the bathtub’s facet was connected then dragged out to the pool. An air mattress blowup machine was set down next to the deflated pool. The small hose was connect to the necessary hole before you turned it on.

The noise it created was uncomfortable to listen to. A headache began to form. Pressure created inside your skull and pressed against your eyes. You wanted to take some pain killers but was afraid on if that was the right thing to do. People get medicine at the hospitals but how much was too much. Would anything you’ve taken affect the baby? Oh god, you hadn’t thought about that! You wanted to smack yourself silly for not thinking about such a thing. Had you put the child in danger now?!

When the machine changed its tone, you looked down to see the blow up pool had been finished. It only took a single disconnected hose to seal it off. Instead of putting it away, you decided to keep the device nearby just in case. You wanted it be prepared at all costs since you’ll be doing this alone. Without anyone. No one to hold your hand. No one to make sure you’re okay.

Tears welled up in my eyes at those thoughts. All alone to give birth an alien baby. A mistake you had partially regretted. The night of throes was one you could never forget about. Your hand subconsciously rubbed against the lingering scar on your neck. A mark that he left in reminder of himself. Not the only thing he had left behind in his wake.

After all the supplies had been dragged out, you texted your boss you had an emergency and couldn’t be there for work. You were using the next three days to recoup from this. You wished for more but didn’t want to anger your new boss about the sudden leave. All you had to do was fake it until you make it. Pretend you knew everything about giving birth. It’s natural. Your body should know what to do and how to do it.

For the rest of the day, you simply walked around your small apartment. A sharp pain began over time to throb in your nether regions. It only eased up when you continued to walk around. Thankfully, it was manageable for the most part. No drugs. Just walking your way through it.

The night came. Your ankles were swollen beyond belief. The lower portion of your back ached. The throbbing never went away completely. It receded to the back of your mind then waned back into existence. You constantly gnawed on your bottom lip and tried to put on the T.V on something random to distract you. It helped little to draw your mind away from the different pains you were experiencing.

One look at the clock had you groaning. It was two in the morning. The contractions you were having only grew worse and closer together. That left you with no time to get any shut eye besides a five minute Power Nap every once in a while. You could only endure the aches as you rested in bed.

Night progressed onward until the rosy fingers of morning cascaded across the lightening sky. Any other day, you may have taken a picture at a sight so pretty. Instead, you scoffed at it and rolled out of bed.

Not once did you get more than five minutes of a nap.

The contractions had grown to a point where it made it hard to stand. Yet, you bear your weight against a chair in the small dining room. Standing it meant to help. Let gravity do its thing. Yet, with the lack of sleep made it hard to use what energy you did have to stay standing.

Then, the need to push hit you like a semi truck. You had to rush to fill up the pool with hot water. It was all you had left to do before everything would be ready.

All of your clothing had been strewn across the living room. All the towels you owned were set around in arms length near you. You sunk into the steaming water and groaned at the relaxing prosperities it offered.

It was time to push.

A day you knew you would never forget despite what you’ve read. The hormones in the brain could cause you to forget that any of it happen. The pain. The agony. Nearly shitting yourself. All variables to when your bundle of joy was freed from your body. Just a little thing that didn’t… look to weird.

He was so ugly he was cute in a way that only a mother would understand. He had the features of his father. Yet with a humanness to him you could see. Yet, your son could never step out into the world like you are able to. Unless he will be ripped away from you as you are dragged deep underground. Never to see or hear from your family again.

His face had only two mandibles. Bottom ones that were only nubs at this point with no sharp, deadly fang to taint the tip. He had no hair. That left you to wonder if he who’s hair he may take after. You hoped not the alien’s. Who knows if they have a routine. Not like you could have the supplies or knowledge to take care of such thing.

Thankfully, his skin mostly matched your own. There were hints of that dark red of scales that pebbled the tops of his forearms. You flinched at the sight and picked at the scales. But they didn’t come off. Your brows pushed up together as you worried the scales wouldn’t come off. They had to.

His first cry snapped you out of your stupor.

Since that day, living with a child you didn’t know how to take care of was beyond exhausting and nerve wracking. There was no time to yourself. Let alone, going out to see friends and family. You just used the excuse of work. It was always about work.

Your son, Austin, was different then research told you. From his ability to sit up only weeks after birth. He was able to speak at six months; crawl at eight before standing at eleven months. He pushed past each milestone with ease. You were proud of him, astonished he could perform each feat.

Days turned into months. Those milestone months turned into years. Before you knew it, your little Austin had turned five. A year he would have been starting kindergarten if he was normal.

One thing that changed about him was his hair. It easily came to you his hair was thin but like the rubbery dreads of Dai’stbaen. His scales multiplied across the tops of his forearms, growing up to his shoulders. Some peeked out on his chest and down his belly. The red was stark across otherwise smooth skin. He looked… not human. Only a mother could love. As harsh as that sounded, it was the truth. But, if anyone took him away from you, they would meet a mother’s fury.

During the night, you were curled around Austin. A protective shield to hide him away from the dangers of the real world outside the safety of your apartment. That was his one rule. All windows must stay shuttered and sealed off. No one could see in. No one could know he existed.

The time dragged on. Every second feeling like going over a pile of sharp rocks on the bottom of your feet. Nothing quelled the unease that sat in the pit of your stomach. The years may have passed well but you weren’t sure you were doing this right. This is a hybrid baby where the father isn’t in the picture. You didn’t even know if Dai’stbaen was still alive. All the dangerous things he lives to hunt for a passion, for a living. You shuttered at the reminder of all the skulls he possesses. Dangerous and lethal.

When sleep finally decided to drag you into its depths, you jerked up. Something in the back of your mind screaming to get up. Austin whined when you slid off the bed and rushed towards the bat you had close to the bed.

By the time your fingers curled around the bat, your bedroom door creaked open. Fear pulsed through your body like a powerful drug. Your hands trembled while holding onto the weapon. The darkness made it next impossible to see the figure standing in your doorway. That didn’t stop you from rushing forward and bringing the metal bat down with all of your strength.

Only for the bat to be caught mid swing.

It was tugged out of your grip and tossed behind the figure. The lights were flickered on, blinding you. You squinted through the pain the best you could only to see a darkly dressed figure there. More piled in. You stumbled backwards until your back hit the wall.

Harsh hands snatched at your wrists and smashed you nearly face first into the ground. Both of your arms are wrenched behind your back and locked into place with handcuffs.

Finally, at this point, your brain has finally caught up. But, it was too late to struggle. One person held down your legs. Other held various points of your body so it was impossible to move more than an inch.

The shrill scream of Austin had the fight in you restored to full power. A war cry thundered into the room, causing the people on you to tense. Your arms were already restrained with metal cuffs. Yet, your legs struck out and hit something soft underneath your foot. The tall tale sound of pain cut through the tense air. Someone fell down with a thud. You didn’t stop. Your legs continued to thrash until both of your wrists were being bent in a way that felt like they had snapped.

A scream of pain rang throughout the small bedroom before someone used some sort of cloth to tie around your mouth. It effectively quieted all of your screams. You looked up the best you could towards a masked face and swore you were going to hurt them all for hurting your son.

Austin had been pulled out first before they had painfully dragged you out of your own apartment. The entire time, you fought them. Each time, they either kneed at your ribs and tugged harder on your shoulders.

Then, you received a knee to the head.

.

Word spreads like wildfire. Nothing like this is common. The council is immediately called upon to set forth who shall proceed with the task at hand. But, when it comes down the finer details, Dai’stbaen is the one traveling through time and space. Back to a planet he has not seen in years. Where he wished to return for his own pleasure and time. To a ooman that… captured his attention.

This return trip wasn’t meant for time away from the hunt. A job had been handed to him. A very important job that needed to be completed before Cetanu could be released.

A hybrid had been spoken about on the rail. A ooman/Yautja hybrid. Dangerous beyond belief to let such a thing be in the hands of the oomans. Some call for it to killed. An abomination in many minds. It all came down to Dai’stbaen in the end. If he deems it mercy or an act upon the code, it shall be killed.

The ship softly shuttered when it came to rest on earth’s ground. All the engines slowly whirled down, powering off with a couple switches. Dai’stbaen unbuckled from the seat and stood up. His weapons soon adorned his frame before he headed out the hatch.

Pine and morning dew filtered into his mask. He took in the lungful, shoulders rising and falling. Then, he was off. Only a flash of dark red in the sea of green and brown.

Before arriving here, the Yautja had done his fair share of research. Many known places for ooman government settlements are pinpointed on a map. A map that Dai’stbaen currently was using to show him the right direction. Yautjas have been here for a long, long time.

His silent feet led him straight to building that wasn’t well hidden just deep in the forest. A helipad was the only way in and out of here. Whoever was here was all there could be. Backup, if he had been spotted, would take too much time to capture him.

A cloak covered him from sight. Dai’stbaen took roost up in a tree, eyes scanning over the decently sized building. Just enough to hold a small team. For whatever they were doing to the hybrid. The Yautja scowled at the thought of the nasty oomans. He only knew of one that was worth a blooding mark. One well deserved after saving his life. Death almost came to the ooman as well after the fight had finished. Wounds that one should’ve never survived from. Without him, the ooman would’ve passed. A strong, mighty soul lost to Cetanu. Dai will not allow for that to happen.

Weak entry points were easy to locate and mark mentally in his mind. No patrols wondered the outside perimeter. Oomans and their cockiness. No wonder they die so easily to his own kind.

With the other modes on his bio mask, he determined the easiest way to get into the complex. His feet were silent as he dropped back down to the forest floor and moved inward.

Despite the place being lack with its security, Dai’stbaen never once let his guard fall. Not all shall seem to meet the eye. Plenty of life experiences and past hunts have told him otherwise. The hunt may seem easy but may turn for the worse at a moments notice. Dai rather not be caught in trap so avoidable. Not like some past Yautjas have. A shame and board line dishonor.

To get inside the complex took little pressure. A certain wire cut had the door failing. It opened up and revealed an empty hallway. The cloak was still activated as he moved forward. He used his mask to look at patches possibly taken. Yet, the signs helped him the most.

Dai’stbaen stood in front of a door strong enough to hold back a Yautja at full strength. A grumble fell from his throat as he looked over the exterior. This wasn’t something he could strong arm the rest of the way. He was forced to look over the outside well, finding any weakness. Yet, it had been designed specifically to hold a Yautja.

Noise to his right had been side stepping the door and looking down the hall. A trip of oomans rounded a corner, deep in talk. White lab coats hung off of one of them. Others were dressed in pastel color of clothing. A brow arched from underneath his mask as he watched the three of them walk towards him. But, he wasn’t alert to them finding him.

All of them stopped at the door he once stood at.

“We’ve only been able to recently touch him with the mother nearby. Or else he’ll claw and bite everyone,” one said and rubbed a wrapped up portion of his arm. “I don’t know about either of you, but I’d rather not take another swing from the little twit.”

Mother? Was the hybrid young? And these oomans had taken a child and its mother.

Fire raced through his veins. A growl threatening to alert the oomans right in front of him.

One of them raised a plastic card up to the key pad. It beeped at the touch before the door opened up. The angle didn’t allow him to see inside the room.

But the smell. A smell he’d thought to never scent again hit him hard. Idiotic of him, he froze up long enough for the door to shut after the oomans entered. He had to close off his throat to stop a deep growl from erupting. It was his duty to get into that room.

It felt like he was a unblooded all over again, patient worn out long ago. The muscle of his jaw so tight it felt like it was cramping. His eyes never left the doorway, ears trying to listen in but found the walls too thick for him to hear through. Everything in him wanted to bust down the door to get inside. Who knows what those scum of oomans were doing.

The tension in his muscles turned complete rigid when the door slid back open. His body acted before his mind could complete a thought. Dai rushed forward and snatched the lab coat ooman up by the neck. She tried to scream for her life but he pinched off any access to air. Her face already turning to a shade of red he loved oomans to wear.

He entered the space still holding onto the soft meat. She squirmed and kicked at him, anything to get free from his grasp. The door shut behind him and locked him into the room that was filled with the scent of terror.

And yours.

A mixture that reeked. The Yautja growled lowly in his chest before plucking the ID card off of her. She could barely make a noise, face beet red. Dai’stbaen dropped the defenseless ooman back down onto the ground. She crumbled to the floor and choked and gasped for air. He barely gave her a glance and strode over to your trembling, slacken jaw form.

You never once thought to see this beautiful creature again. Not a single moment in your life. But, here stands Dai’stbaen in all of his glory. Biomask covering his features but you could feel the heat of his eyes on you. He marched over to you and ate up the space between the two of you. He fell to a knee and reached out to your chained form.

Metal wrapped painfully around your throat and hands. They attached to a bolt in the concrete wall. No ooman could break out of something with pure strength alone. Dai’stbaen lifted up the chain and felt its weight. Nothing to him but to you, red marks had been rubbed raw into your soft skin. A scowl hidden by his mask.

As if you saw a god, you reached up and brushed your fingers against the coolness of the metal of his face covering. A face you desperately wanted to see.

“Dai?” you croaked out in voice devoid of water for so long. You looked so lost, long without hope to fill your fierce eyes. The male himself was speechless. Why in the stars were you here? In a facility he was looking for a hybrid. He cupped your jaw in a massive hand, fingers curling around the back of your head. His thumb graced over your pronounced cheek bone. Your eyes had sunken in. The skin dark and lifeless underneath him.

This wasn’t the vision of how he left you. You had been curled up against him, soft, gentle features at peace. The marks that marred your skin. His eyes darted down to the bite mark he left in the heat of the moment. Had these scums taken you all because of a bite? Surely, they wouldn’t notice anything off with such a bite?

Clattering of metal skirting across the concrete floor snapped him back into his hunter mode. His head whipped around. One of the other oomans had discovered him, coming around a partition. Before the man had time to react, Dai was a red blur across the room. His hand curled around his throat and brought the person to him. You watched as Dai choked the unsuspecting man out until he no longer moved. He was released and flopped down onto the ground. His chest slowly rose and fall.

The person in the lab coat was able to regain her composer, head tilted up. Her dark eyes were trained on Dai. An accusing finger pointed at him. “You-“ she coughed “-can’t hurt me. Can’t hurt any of us,” she bit out in a nasty tone that twisted your gut. There was nothing you could do, still chained up to the wall. Your face morphed with anger. You pulled on the chain but it only rattled at the move.

Dai’stbaen didn’t stop marching towards her on the ground. She scrambled backwards and even kicked his shin. Yet, he didn’t even flinch at the strike. He bent at the waist and picked up the struggling woman with a single arm. Your jaw slackened again at the remind of how strong he is. The memories of the last night with him resurfacing at the wrong moment.

Not a word or sound utters from his vocal cords. One arm wraps around her neck and hold strong. Blood and air is restricted to her brain. It doesn’t take long for her to drop to the ground, chest slowly rising and falling.

Once the issue is solved, he strides across the limited space again. They weren’t dead. You were thankful he hadn’t killed them in front of you, knowing he could pull such a thing. Dai’stbaen returns to his position in front of you. A claw hooks into the unforgiving chain wrapped around your wrists. For a government facility, they didn’t have good restraints. Maybe… they weren’t thinking about capturing prisoners.

Not like yourself, at least.

His mask stares at the chains for a moment. Then, with both of his hands, he grips it at two different sections and pulls. The metal groans under his pure strength before easily giving way with a snap. The end hangs from your neck and pulled on the tender areas. Next, Dai’stbaen worked on your wrists in the same manner. He had left a tail end, unable to get so close to you.

Your legs strained to lift yourself off of the unforgiving, dull grey floors. The muscles have gone weak after the lack of use and proper food.

Before you could make it, Dai’stbaen easily scooped you up into his arms. His warmth easily washed over your numb frame. The air in the room was cool. It kept you shaking nearly all the time. They never offered a blanket or something.

He was able to transfer you to one arm holding you to him. His free hand grabbed the ID card he had snatched earlier. The male walked over to the closed door.

“Wa-it!” you hissed when he attempted to leave. Your body squirmed in his hold. Dai’stbaen grunted and pinned you to his warm body. “We can’t le-ave!” Austin. Tears were brought to your eyes at the thought of your son. You used a hand to pull on one of Dai’s tresses and directed him over to the partition.

Dai could smell another ooman and something else.

Your feet touched the cool concrete again. The strength in your legs was long gone and forced you to sit down. His gaze was set on what he could see around the partition’s edge. He stalked over then froze for a moment. In another flash, he lunged forward. You decided to stay where you were when you heard a thud smack. Another person choked out. Alive.

Soft, nearly silent footsteps alerted to Dai coming back. When he appeared around the corner, you scrambled to get to your weak legs.

In his arms was the limp body of Austin. “No!” you cried but unable to find the strength. After so long of fighting, you had lost the will. Even at the sight of your son limp in front of you. Tears brimmed the edges of your eyes as you clawed at Dai’stbaen. As if you could climb him to get to Austin. “Please, no.” Your whimper cracked at his own heart.

What had they done to him?

It was your reaction that had the dots clicking inside of his head. You… Oh, by Paya’s will! His eyes widened underneath the mask, muscles turning taunt. The hybrid… it was his. The red scales, mandibles, the tresses. Dai’stbaen could’ve smacked himself for how stupid he had been. How could’ve he not even thought of the possibility?! But… the idea was next to impossible.

Here it was though. In his arms. Softly breathing. The mother clawing at him, eyes balling with tears. Dai’stbaen knelt down in front of the ooman he’s come to know. You instantly tried to tug him out of his arms but it was nothing compared to his strength.

“Austin, honey. Oh god, no. Anything but him!” you sobbed and rushed your hands all over him. He was still warm. The first thing you notice; slightly taking you out of your panic. Then, your finger pads found a gentle pulse. Your saneness slowly coming back as you realized Austin was alive. You gave another sob. This time of relief. Your arms wrapped around him the best you could then slowly looked up at the Yautja.

The mask may hide all of his features… but you felt the heat of his stare. You pulled away and straightened your back, eyes casting downward. Not once did one of your hands leave Austin.

“Yeah,” you choked out and buried yourself into your shoulders. You didn’t know how he was going to react to all of this. Even yourself didn’t want to believe the pregnancy for the first six months.

His arm underneath Austin’s knees snatched the forearm closest to him. Dai leaned in close to you that your foreheads nearly touched. Your heart began to thunder loudly.

“Child? We have… child?” Words so unsure of the reality of everything. A feeling you felt so long ago in the beginning of all of this. You had been alone, terrified. To this day, you still are. Even before they had found out about Austin and yourself.

More tears stained your cheeks. “Yeah,” you sniffled with a nod. His hand twitched for a moment before letting you go. Instead, you carded your fingers through his, nails biting the back of his hand. “We do. I-I didn’t k-now how to-to tell you. You were… gone.” Words so important to you unaffected him. For the most part.

A huff left the alien. His head turned towards the door. The weight of the situation slammed down on you once again. Escape. This was your chance for escape. You couldn’t walk though. The battle had long left you after a lesson well learned. His hands were full with Austin.

You let go of his hand pushed at him. If one must be saved, it had to be Austin. Your son over yourself. “Go! Bef-ore they find out. T-take him to-to safety, please,” you pleaded with the male, face wet and sticky from the constant tears.

Dai snorted and scooted Austin more onto one shoulder. With his other arm, he wrapped it around your torso. One show of strength had you tossed over onto the other shoulder. A pained grunt surge past your lips when you landed harshly on your stomach. The birth had always left you scarred permanently. Then, the Yautja was on his feet and quickly stalking towards the door.

The stolen keycard was used to open the door and revealed an empty hallway. He peered out to look both ways before stepping out. Years of training aided him. His feet light despite the added weight of two people on him. Yet, he had noticed how much lighter you were compared to when he last held you up. Something twisted in the pit of his stomach. A need to end the lives for those caused harm to you.

There were more important things to worry about for now. Safety for one.

Like a skilled hunter, Dai’stbaen was able to slip out of the complex with little difficulty. The cloak had been rendered useless. He was forced to rely on strict listening and awareness of his surroundings.

Fresh air on your skin was heaven sent. You lifted yourself up with just enough strength to prop yourself up on his shoulder. The outside world was something you hadn’t seen in a long time. You could cry at the sight. For so long.

The Yautja carried you a long way. Not once did he stop for a break or rest. Like a freight train, he continued to move. The sway of his gait nearly had you passing out, ready to succumb to a sleep you weren’t petrified to never wake up again.

A familiar sight peered through the trees. The ship. Oh god, you were really free. Dai’stbaen had come for you to save the two of you.

How did he know? Words you wanted to ask him but your energy was dwindling faster than you could stop it. The realization of safety had you finally drifting in and out of light sleep.

The feeling of scales against your belly had your eyes flickering open. You groaned and found yourself on your back, looking up at the familiar face of Dai’stbaen. His biomask long gone at this point. The only upper mandible twitched when his bright yellow eyes found yours. A hand cupped at your cheek, thumb running over your pronounced cheek bone.

“Thank you,” you whispered in a hoarse voice. Water was instantly brought to your lips in the form of a waterskin. Every drop you took then licked at your cracked lips.

Something akin to anger swirled bright in his fierce eyes. His mandibles tightened over his mouth, nails creating divots in your skin. “You stay. With me,” he demanded.

Free from the mask, his voice was clear and crisp in the protection of his room. A space you had shared with him for that month.

Your brows jumped up towards the ceiling. How was that going to work? Humans… they don’t survive outside of earth’s atmosphere. And the creatures he hunts. They would think of you as a snack. Easy pickings. A full bottom shiver wrecked your poor frame.

“How’s… that going to work?” you asked, not opposed to leaving your life behind. All of your friends and family had been pushed away when Austin had been born. Your job must of fired you. Your apartment was probably been cleaned out. Everything you once knew was gone. All besides your child and his father.

His next words were thought over carefully. “You are ooman, weak and frail. Yes. But, I protect you. Like you protected me. We have child. He learn Yautja ways. Be hunter,” he explained to the best of his knowledge in English. Your eyes widened. He wants Austin to be like him.

Austin. Your head whipped about before Dai’stbaen caught it and directed your attention to your side. There laid your sleeping kid. He had curled up on his side, facing you. At peace.

You licked at your cracked lips and gaze back towards Dai’stbaen. “I named him Austin,” you said to him. Something flashed in his eyes, but he kept silent.

Everything he said though, you couldn’t completely disagree on. From the fact your life was ruined, to the fact Austin was different. It took so much to reel him in from going out the front door. Or, he loved to climb up on to of the cupboards. Even when he very young.

A hunter at his core.

“He’s got you heart.” You smiled at him, stars sparkling in your eyes. Then, you bowed your head and played with your hands on the blankets. “I… I agree with you. I can’t go back. And, I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel terrible that I’m probably not taking care of him right.” You peered at Dai from underneath your lashes. “I need your help.”

With his hands on your cheeks, he tugs you in a little closer. His forehead presses to yours in a soft gesture. “I help. We raise together.” Your eyes closed. You embraced the warmth blooming in your chest.

The tension in your chest loosen. You could finally breath normally again.

[writingwithciara]

family game night -quinn hughes-

summary: game night at the lake house. what could go wrong?

word count: 2.6k

pairing: quinn hughes x reader

notes: idk

game nights at the hughes' lake house were mandatory for anyone staying there. they were also known for being the most fun anybody in the group ever had.

but with the good times, come the bad ones and the awkward ones. some friendships are seriously tested when game night begins and if one of the boys brings a girlfriend to a game night, the relationship usually doesn't last much longer than the summer.

and that is why a 'no significant others allowed' rule was implemented for the summers. everyone wanted to protect their respective relationship and refused to subject their significant other to the torture that ensued.

hanging in the family room was a scoreboard that kept track of who had won the most games since the family game night started years ago. and luke hughes was tied for first place with his jack's best friend, y/n.

the youngest hughes had dreamt of claiming the crown on his own but that became impossible when he and y/n got paired together the first night. they went on to win every game that night and decided they would always partner together.

jack used to argue with it, claiming that it was against the rules to be with the same partner year after year. but seeing y/n and luke jump for joy whenever they won, meant more to him than he expected so he dropped the argument after the second year.

so when luke was unavailable for the fourth year, y/n turned to her best friend.

"please jack? you're my best friend and i can't win without you."

"don't you mean you can't win without luke?" jack smiled, knowing it would get on her nerves. but that's what they did. they bickered like brother and sister.

"he's the dumbass who went and broke his arm earlier this week so if you won't be my partner, i'm gonna lose my crown."

"well, it's about time, ain't it princess?"

"jack, i'm serious. will you please be my partner?"

"no can do, sweetheart. already promised trevor i'd play with him this year."

"but i thought this year, you were gonna partner with quinn. and if he's not your partner, then that means-"

"that he's a free agent. why don't you ask him to be your partner?"

"we never talk. i highly doubt we'd be on the same wavelength long enough to retain my crown."

"wouldn't hurt to ask. you both need a partner and you're both good at games." jack shoved some chips in his mouth and snatched the remote back that y/n had taken from him when she entered the living room.

"you were no help, jackass." y/n rolled her eyes and went upstairs to find quinn.

that was the year she and quinn won every game, causing her to take the lead over luke in most wins. she was happy with the outcome and had decided to partner with quinn the following year.

but when she arrived at the lake house for the 5th year, she was shocked to find out that quinn had brought his new girlfriend for the few weeks they'd be on vacation. and that meant that she'd be back with luke for game night. but that didn't bother her. she loved playing games with luke but she was under the impression that she and quinn had a surprisingly good amount of chemistry when it came to game night.

when jack arrived at the house, he went to quinn and started restating the rules.

"i thought we had a rule, quinn. no significant others allowed. remember?"

"i remember. but i also made the rule and therefore, am the one who can lift it. plus, our relationship is strong enough to withstand the torture of game night."

"well then if you're allowed to have your girlfriend here, then i'm going to invite mine." jack pulled out his phone and dialed his girlfriends number.

"i am too." luke did the same, leaving y/n to wonder who her new partner would be.

after everyone arrived, it was officially time to start the game night. since all the boys ended up inviting their girlfriends, y/n was forced to partner with brock. she didn't know much about him and he was fairly new to the group so she was worried about losing. but he turned out to be amazing. they ended up winning 2 of the first 3 games, basically securing her spot at the top of the leaderboard. but when quinn and jack got in an argument about whose relationship was stronger, their version of the newlywed game was announced.

"we don't have to play this, right?" y/n asked while looking up at brock.

"we don't have to. but i'm sure there's a way we could kick their asses in this game." brock smiled.

quinn went to go find the game and each couple started their own conversations.

"if we want to win, i need to know everything about you."

y/n and brock began to share as much information with each other as they could before quinn came back with the board and question cards. he quickly explained the rules and the game began.

after 12 rounds, it was shocking how far ahead y/n and brock were. for not being a couple, they somehow knew more about each other than the real couples did.

when y/n answered another question about brock right, quinn threw the cards down.

"you guys are obviously cheating. there's no way that brock could've known that your favorite meal to eat when you're upset is meatballs covered in nacho cheese with a glass of orange juice. or that you had a crush on danny phantom until you were 14. or that when you're sick, you really enjoy cuddles on the couch while watching coraline on repeat." quinn looked from y/n to his girlfriend. both girls were giving him weird looks. "what?"

"you sound jealous, quinny." his girlfriend marissa narrowed her eyes at him.

"i'm not. i just don't like losing this game. our relationship is strong enough that i don't have to prove it with this stupid game." he grabbed his drink and stood up. "come one, babe. let's go."

he and marissa walked outside while the group dispersed into their own little worlds.

"guess that means we win, huh?" brock looked at y/n as he began cleaning up the game.

"yeah. guess so." she smiled and started helping him. "thanks for helping me retain my crown."

"it was a lot of fun. maybe next year, we can be partners again."

"okay. that sounds like a good idea." y/n looked at the back door and saw quinn and marissa arguing. "so, what do you think was going on with quinn earlier?"

"i'm not sure. he's usually competitive but seeing him blow up over a game as meaningless as that one was very odd. but also kind of interesting." brock followed her gaze and only saw quinn standing outside. "i think he has a thing for you."

"no he doesn't. why would you say that?"

"the way he was upset that we were getting so many questions right."

"he would've gotten mad at anyone who was beating him."

"but he and marissa were in 5th place. he could've gotten upset with trevor, luke or cole. he didn't have to be upset with us. but he chose to get mad at you instead. plus, he rattled off those facts about you like they were common knowledge. face it. he pays attention to you, y/n."

"maybe so. but that doesn't necessarily mean he's into me."

"believe what you want." brock chuckled. "but i can tell when he's into someone."

as brock headed up the stairs & to his room, y/n went out to the back porch to talk to quinn.

"hey. you alright?"

"why brock?"

"pardon me?"

"why did you partner up with brock?"

"because all you assholes broke the 'no significant others' rule and invited your girlfriends to our game night. brock and i are the only single people in the group & game night is mandatory. i was not allowed to sit out." y/n looked at him. "although, since one rule was broken tonight, i probably could've said 'fuck it' & went out for a ride on the lake with brock instead."

"okay. that's fair, i guess." quinn sighed. "but how did he know all that stuff about you? you guys have barely ever talked before."

"i don't know. maybe he just knows things about me."

"it sounds a little creepy to me. i'm thinking you should stay away from him."

"why? he's your friend."

"yeah. but still. better safe than sorry."

"okay, you know what? no. you do not get to break a rule & then try to take over my life like this. if i want to hang with brock, i will. because it's my decision. not yours." y/n sat down in her favorite chair. "ugh. why are you being such an asshole today?"

"i'm just looking out for a friend."

"great excuse." y/n shook her head. "stop trying to run my life, quinn. i don't want you in it."

"you don't want me in your life?" he sounded shocked.

"not if you're gonna run it." y/n looked out towards the boat. "you're not gonna stop, are you?"

"no." he sighed. "i'm sorry but i just can't. not when i'm only looking out for you."

"i appreciate it, quinn. but i'm a big girl who can take care of herself. i don't need you doing it for me."

"i'm sorry."

"if you're really sorry, you'll let me have fun the rest of the time i'm here."

"okay. if you want to have fun, whether it be with brock or by yourself, i will try to stay out of your way."

"thanks, quinn." y/n got up and headed back inside. she had one goal in mind and as she ascended the stairs, quinn's words echoed in her mind. she knew getting involved with a hockey player was risky, but she liked brock. he was a good guy.

she knocked on his door lightly and waited for him to open it.

"hey. how'd it go with quinn?" brock smiled when he opened the door.

"he tried to tell me i should stay away from you. we argued for a minute but he apologized and promised to let me have fun the rest of the time i'm here."

"did you guys talk about him having feelings for you?"

"didn't come up, actually. we talked about you and why he got so upset with the game earlier."

"and what did he say to that?"

"he said he was only trying to look out for me and kind of told me i should stay away from you."

"y/n, he's got a thing for you. why else would he be getting so protective and jealous?"

"brock, i really want that to be true. i like him. i really, really do." y/n stepped into his room. "but he's got a girlfriend. one who's actually in his league. marissa is so pretty & i don't know what to do."

"talk to him like he's your best friend. talk to him as if he were jack. be honest with him."

"it's so hard to be honest with quinn. and believe me, i want to tell him how i feel. i just don't think i can anytime soon."

"you're strong and brave. i'm sure you'll figure it out."

"maybe you're right." y/n sat on the edge of the bed. "i originally came up here to tell you how much fun i had playing games with you tonight." she lied.

"i had a lot of fun too." brock smiled. "for the record, it was cute when you got excited every time we'd win."

"oh." y/n blushed. "thanks. i try."

"you and quinn really need to talk."

"yeah yeah. i know." y/n walked over to the door. "see you in the morning." she walked out slowly and stopped in front of quinn's room. "i'm an idiot. he and marissa are probably in there doing god knows what. i can't talk to him now." she sighed and went to turn away. she was only 3 steps down the hall when she heard his door open.

"y/n? what are you doing out here? and who were you just talking to?" quinn asked.

y/n faced him and walked back to him. "we need to talk."

"what is it about now?"

"before i say anything, where's marissa?"

"probably almost home by now." quinn looked at y/n. "she dumped me just after we went outside and right before you came out to talk to me."

"oh. i'm really sorry, quinn. i know you liked her."

"yeah. i think that was the problem. i liked her, but i wasn't in love with her." he smiled slightly, his gaze never leaving the ground. "kind of hard to find someone else to love these days."

"have you been in love before?"

"um, once. when i was 17." he took the opportunity to look to at her. "i didn't know it at the time though. and just when i finally figured it out, she ended up in a serious relationship."

"oh. that sucks. sorry to hear that. what's she like?"

"she is the most kind and gentle person i have ever met. she puts up with someone as crazy as my brother and she seems to truly love him. don't know if it's platonically or otherwise, but there's definitely love there."

"have you ever told her how you felt?" y/n looked at him. "what if there was a chance she felt the same way?"

"i don't see how she would. i haven't been the nicest to her lately. yet, she's still sticking around."

"does this girl happen to be best friends with jack? and is she at the house right now?"

"yeah. she is." he looked at her. "i'm sorry, y/n. i know that you figured it out. and i really am sorry. perhaps i should've told you back when i was 17."

"so, brock was right? you do have feelings for me?"

"yes. but i'm an idiot and i already know you don't have feelings for me. so, as promise, i'm going to stay out of your way while you have fun this summer. i'm sure brock could help you with that."

"i don't want to have fun with brock. i want to have fun with you, quinn."

"with me? why?"

"because....i love you too, dumbass. how can you not understand that?"

"because, as you so affectionately put it, i'm a dumbass."

"clearly." y/n smiled widely when quinn grabbed her hand. "so, are you gonna kiss me or what?"

without another exchange, quinn pressed his lips to y/n's. no hesitation and all the passion one person could give in one simple kiss.

neither of them heard the door open down the hall. but when they heard brock chuckle, they knew they had to pullaway from each other.

"about time. seriosuly, dude. how could you not know y/n was in love with you too?"

"because he's a dumbass." y/n smiled.

"yeah. but i'm your dumbass now, right?"

"absolutely. and it's going to stay that way, right?"

"oh, you bet it will." he kissed her nose, making her giggle.

"you guys are so perfect for each other, i swear." brock shook his head with a chuckle before retreating back to his room.

"so, you and me, huh? i really like the sound of that." quinn smiled. and intertwined his hand with hers.

"yeah, me too." y/n stood in the hallway admiring quinn like he was going to disappear any second.

they were oblivious to the world going on around them. but they didn't care one bit. they were finally together and that's all that mattered to either of them.

[ckret2]

Pictured above: a shape's eye view of the end of the world.

The second dimension has burned; and Bill's been accidentally setting the second dimension's neighbors on fire. At the moment, the Axolotl is trying really, really hard to convince himself that these two facts are unrelated. Here, have a fic.

This is chapter 5 of an ongoing fic about the Axolotl in the wake of the Euclidean Massacre as Bill just keeps on committing atrocities. If you wanna read the earlier chapters (and/or look at more pretty art of Bill committing horrors and the Ax witnessing horrors), here's chapters one, two, three, and four.

####

As soon as the Axolotl and the Time Giant exited Dimension Zero, they were greeted with a faceful of rain. Apparently the storm cloud with the Apocalyptic Threat Task Force had been waiting for them. "The fires in the remaining dimensions around 2Δ are finally acting like normal fires," it said. "No teleporting around, no more targeting the mortals. We've got the worst ones under control. Think we'll save about 40% of Dimension 2 Zeta and 30% of Dimension 2 Epsilon. Whatever you two did in there, it helped."

"Yeah, well." The Time Giant shrugged, nearly dislodging the Axolotl from his perch draped over her shoulder. "It was one of those problems that fixes itself once you figure out what it is."

So the Time Giant had been right. The triangle's attempts to rescue "his" "people" and to stabilize his strange underworld in Dimension Zero had been what was destabilizing all the other dimensions. As much of a relief as it was to hear the situation was improving... part of the Axolotl had hoped that the fires were still as untamed as ever—because that would have meant the triangle wasn't guilty of perpetuating the blaze.

(If the triangle wasn't actively working to keep Dimension Zero stable, how much longer until it collapsed and erased all its imprisoned souls from existence? Would it be long enough to get them all out?)

The cloud asked, "So, did you find out what destroyed 2Δ?" Right. The Axolotl had almost forgotten that was what they'd originally been looking for.

The Time Giant shook her head grimly. "Didn't see any sign of it. But I've got a suspicion who did it."

The Axolotl said sharply, "All we have is circumstantial evidence." And he'd ripped into more than one god who'd tried to damn a mortal based on circumstantial evidence. 

The cloud's sunbeam darted between their faces. Slowly, it said, "I take it you mean our triangular friend. I don't have any proof yet about the original fire; but he's been spreading the fire, I know that much."

"How did you know?" the Axolotl asked. He and the Time Giant had only just learned it themselves inside Dimension Zero.

"We've been interviewing some refugees while you were out. I—think you'll want to speak to them." The cloud directed this statement to the Axolotl.

The Time Giant said, "Later. The triangle says he's willing to move his people to another dimension." She gestured toward VENDOR, flanked by the two cops THEY'd apparently adopted as THEIR personal escorts. THEY were ranting into a phone that the crab-looking cop was holding up for them. "So we've gotta go discuss refugee stuff with Vendy McVendface."

"VENDOR," the cloud corrected.

"Vend 'er? I hardly even know 'er!"

The gods turned to stare at the border of Dimension Zero as the triangle laughed at his own joke until he wheezed. "I had to. It was sitting right there! It woulda been a crime not to pick it up!" His cackles slowly petered out. "What, no laughs? Maybe the joke doesn't translate."

The Time Giant shrugged. "I kinda thought it was funny."

"Ah, whatever."

"Have you been listening the whole time?" the Axolotl asked, not sure whether to be amused or mortified.

"Don't worry about it, I've got something more important to say." He zipped up along the surface of Dimension Zero's border until he was eye level with the Time Giant. "Hey, Hourglass. I didn't say I'm ready to move my people. I said I'm ready to talk about moving. Your guy better sell me on it. If your offer isn't worth it, we're not leaving."

"Are you serious?" She screwed up her face. "Ain't not being erased from existence worth it?"

"I have very high standards. And there are fates worse than death."

"Name one."

The triangle only thought about it a second before he answered, "Captivity."

####

It wasn't until the Axolotl and the Time Giant left the border of Dimension Zero that the Axolotl realized, the moment the triangle had shown up, the storm cloud had disappeared. It was now drizzling surreptitiously near VENDOR, waiting for them to catch up.

As they approached VENDOR, the Time Giant said, "You should give VENDOR the news."

The Axolotl gave her an affronted look. "Why me?" This wasn't his responsibility. He hadn't been hired to do a job here. He shouldn't even be here; he was essentially an over-involved lookie-loo.

"You'd be better at talking to 'em. You move in the same circles."

"I'm not a politician, I'm a lawyer."

"I'm an engineer." She took the Axolotl off her shoulder and nudged his butt to set him gently floating in VENDOR's direction.

The Axolotl twisted around to give her a resentful look, but swam toward the vending machine.

THEY ignored the Axolotl until THEY finished THEIR current call, at which point THEY snapped, "What?" and he explained the situation. Blessedly, THEY didn't ask any further questions or give him any instructions; THEY just grumbled, "Finally," and told the crab cop, "Call the Vitruvian Mandala—we'll need to find places for another ten million 2D refugees."

"And 1D," the Axolotl said.

"Yes, yes." THEY muttered under THEIR fan, "And hopefully we'll get that triangle to the afterlife he deserves and be done with him."

The Axolotl doubted THEY meant a serene eternal paradise. Pointedly, he said, "Which afterlife he goes to is his choice."

Afterlife law was his speciality. Not cases like "based on this mortal's good and bad deeds, which form has she earned for her next reincarnation?" or "has this soul earned entry into his religion's realm of the wicked, the good, or the heroic?" Those were decided on the local level.

Rather, he tended to handle inter-pantheon, sometimes even interdimensional, cases—like, "if a mortal born on one planet lives and dies on another planet, which world's afterlife has claim to his soul?" "Is a soul's right to return to her native afterlife forfeit if she's apprehended in another god's jurisdiction for crimes against reality?" "Can a death god in a dimension where wandering ghosts are banned incarcerate a ghost from a dimension where wandering is legal?" "How does a soul's right to claim an afterlife weigh against an afterlife's right to claim a soul?" "Who has the right to judge a deceased mortal in the first place?"

The Axolotl personally thought that mortals deserved to be treated as mercifully as possible—starting with respecting the dead's own choice of afterlife above all others, and ending with outlawing damnation at the interdimensional level.

The rest of the multiverse... didn't agree with him yet. He didn't intend to stop until they did.

He went on, "Case law has long established that unless the dead made other arrangements premortem, they will be taken to—in order—the afterlife of their birth, their death, or their choice. The afterlife under whose jurisdiction the triangle lived and died has been destroyed, so he can go to any afterlife that says they're willing to take him, whether or not you think it's what he deserves—"

VENDOR's camera rolled and THEY impatiently beeped acknowledgment. "Do you mind, I'm on the phone." THEY turned THEIR back on the Axolotl to focus on THEIR next call. Yeah, most gods didn't like being told they couldn't just smite and damn whoever they felt like.

The storm cloud called the Axolotl's attention with a fork of lightning. It said, "I'll need to help coordinate the rescue efforts with VENDOR. I can get the report on what you learned in there from the engineering inspector; but you need to go talk to some of the witnesses of the fire. Maybe you should ask the Vitruvian Mandala when He's free."

That was the second time it had told him to talk to the refugees. "Why?"

"You said that yellow triangle's your friend, right?"

"I... did, yes."

The cloud didn't explain any further. It only said, "Be careful around him."

####

VENDOR bustled around making preparations to receive ten million new refugees with absolutely no input from anyone else on the scene; the cloud's time was split between coordinating with the ATTF and getting a full debrief from the Time Giant on the conditions inside Dimension Zero; and left alone, the Axolotl found himself staring into the roiling barrier around the bloated singularity.

He swore, no matter where he looked, in the center of his view he could see a tiny, yellow, triangular pinprick of light, like an afterimage burned into his retina. No matter how deeply he looked into Dimension Zero, somehow his eyes always seemed focused on the triangle, making it appear nearer and then farther, like an optical illusion.

Be careful around him. He wished his Oracle were here to ask him questions. Helping her mortal mind make sense of this whole affair might help him make sense of it himself.

He'd seen the horror in the triangle's eye when he realized that he was the one incinerating the dimensions that had once bordered his own. He'd heard the sincerity in the triangle's voice when he said he could feel the deaths of every life that fell into his dream realm—the deaths that he himself was causing. He'd felt the guilt pouring from the triangle when he realized his efforts to save "his people" from being killed were what was killing them. Whatever else the Axolotl knew, he was sure the triangle hadn't meant to cause anyone harm. He hadn't started the fires on purpose. He just... didn't know what he was doing.

And "his people"—what did that mean?

Maybe some of the people in the triangle's dance party were from his dimension. The Axolotl couldn't totally confirm that they weren't; if the triangle had somehow survived, then why not others?

But it was undeniable that the triangle had been "rescuing"/kidnapping people from other dimensions, and he talked about the people he'd rescued no differently from the people from his own dimension.

Why? Had members of his species spread to neighboring dimensions? Or had his species come from another? Had his people established diplomatic relationships with cultures in neighboring universes, enough for them to consider themselves one people?

"Certainly not," said the Vitruvian Mandala.

He was a god from one of the worlds in Dimension 2 Gamma that the ATTF had managed to evacuate before the dimension was fully incinerated. Now, He was just another refugee, huddled with His confused, terrified people on one of the temporary worlds provided by VENDOR, curved uncomfortably atop the spherical planet. He had to be reeling from the loss of His home just as much as His people were—if not more, since He had known and seen and done and loved much more that any single mortal could. But nevertheless, He'd immediately stepped up to assist with organizing the rescue services, acting as a liaison between VENDOR and the 2D mortals to find new homes for them. 

And some of His people had been among the ones dragged into Dimension Zero—which was no doubt why the cloud had suggested the Axolotl speak to Him.

The Vitruvian Mandala may have been a minor creation god (He'd only created a galaxy) but He was more than powerful enough to know whether any of His people had ever made interdimensional contact. The Axolotl had waited until He had a moment to spare from assisting VENDOR, and then asked Him about their relationship with Dimension 2 Delta.

"I seeded life on all the populated worlds in My galaxy. None of My worlds have ever so much as been colonized by another galaxy in Our own dimension, much less people from another dimension," He said. "And We're a young galaxy—the most advanced starfarers have hardly ventured beyond their own solar systems; none have left Our dimension."

"And they've never spoken to other dimensions...?"

"No. The first contact We ever had with 'Dimension 2 Delta'—or what was left of it—was when the Magister Mentium began dragging My people into his underworld. The leaders I've had a chance to speak to from Dimension 2 Epsilon and Dimension 2 Zeta have told Me the same. " He called the triangle 'Magister Mentium' without any of the halting awkwardness the Axolotl did, or even the self-consciousness the triangle himself did. The Vitruvian Mandala had never known the triangle as anything but the Magister Mentium—and in His voice, it sounded not like an oversized title for a tiny triangle, but like the name of a fellow god.

But—the Axolotl had only asked the Vitruvian Mandala about Dimension 2 Delta. He hadn't brought up the Magister Mentium, nor mentioned that he was asking about the kidnapped people. "How did you know about the Magister Mentium?"

The Vitruvian Mandala said simply, "Because he introduced himself to My people before he started stealing them."

At the Axolotl's shocked silence, He said, "Do you want to see what they saw?"

####

When the agents with the ATTF had started interviewing survivors about the cosmic fire, naturally, they'd first approached the other gods for information. And then the gods had approached the mortals under their charge to get their testimonies and pass them on to the apoc agents.

The Vitruvian Mandala had telepathically extracted His people's memories and copied them into tiny glassy discs with brass rims. He sifted through dozens of discs before offering the memory of a narrow rhombus from one of His most technologically advance worlds; and the Axolotl stared through the disk to experience the mortal's memory.

The memory started with a sight that had become all too familiar to the Axolotl: a distant line of burning blue fire. It took a moment for the Axolotl to orient himself to the mortal's razor-thin two-dimensional view of her world; but once he did, he realized that, from her perspective, it wasn't a line of light. To her, it was the entire sky. The constellations of faraway flat stars had vanished, and their place was taken by an inferno.

The whole world reeked of a stench that the rhombus didn't recognize, but that the Axolotl did: burning hydrogen. In most dimensions, three-fourths of all the matter in the entire universe—including the very stars themselves—consisted of hydrogen molecules. Hydrogen burned a pale blue. The stench in the air, the pale blue light filling the sky, was the smell and sight of the raw materials of reality itself burning away.

The nearby buildings had emptied into the city streets as people abandoned their work to coming outside and stare at the burning sky. Somewhere—it seemed very far away—people were screaming, sirens were wailing, government proclamations were issuing out of radios and loudspeakers; but on these streets, on the border of the city where the sky was most visible, everyone was horribly silent. 

An eerie feeling of unreality hung over the world. It felt like a scene out of a dream. The rhombus's heart filled with dread. She didn't understand why or how the sky was burning, but she felt in her bones that it must mean the end of the world.

She never imagined that it was the end of the entire universe.

And then, more real than reality itself, bright enough to blind, a radioactive-yellow shape appeared in the middle of the crowd. Over the gasps of shock, a voice that echoed between the buildings proclaimed, "Gooood evening! Lines, bis, and tris; quads, quints, and more—my beloved believers and my new friends—I'm sure you all recognize my voice from the news, but it's a pleasure to finally meet you all in the flesh!"

She wasn't sure he had any flesh to meet. He was ghostlike, as insubstantial as smoke—and just as formless as smoke, too: his shape constantly shimmered and shifted and distorted, his skin appearing and disappearing as his internal organs were exposed; one moment a leg visible, the next a hand, then no limbs at all, just his blindingly bright body. His organs were all wrong. When she could stand to squint at the specter's light, in the split seconds that his ghostly form was properly visible, she thought he looked like a triangle.

(She'd never seen the third dimension, never even attempted to imagine what a 3D shape might look like. She didn't realize his appearance shifted because he was a 2D shape tilting in 3D directions trying to lay flat on the 2D plane of Dimension 2 Gamma, and not quite succeeding. )

"Allow me to introduce myself properly: I'm the Magister Mentium, seer of the third dimension! Your gateway to the stars and stardom, your guide to prophets and profits, your mastermind and master of minds; and, if you're lucky, your new eternal party host! I'm sure the honor's all yours—but please, resist the urge to swoon! I have a limited time offer that you cannot afford to miss."

For all his self-aggrandizing, the triangle was still completely unfamiliar. She didn't see recognition in the eyes of any of the shapes around them, either. She doubted he'd ever actually been on the news at all, unless it was in one of those dubious programs about ghost hunting or UFOs. 

But the triangle charged on regardless: "I'm here to bring you salvation from— Whoops! We've got a crying baby over here. Sorry junior, I'm on stage right now." She hadn't even noticed the crying until the triangle pointed it out; the whole world seemed dull and muffled and gray except for the triangle. One of his arms stretched in the child's direction and disappeared; there was a split-second flash of black fingers where the baby used to be; and then both hand and baby vanished, the baby's cries morphing into a shriek of terror that slowly faded into the unseeable distance.

"My baby!" a rectangle wailed. She rushed up to the alien triangle. "What did you do to my baby, you—" She tried to seize his arm, and let out a howl of pain as her hands burst into flame.

"Calm down, Mama, your little brat's okay!" He reached out and flicked the rectangle back. His finger hit her with the force of a catapult. She tumbled away from him through dimensions unknown, skins and bone and organs turning inside-out over each other; and slammed into a nearby building, fusing with the wall. All that was visible of her was a thin cross section of meat. The rhombus couldn't imagine where the rest of her had gone—but she could smell the burning flesh.

"Too bad I can't say the same of you." The triangle turned to stare them all down, gaze darting restlessly from face to face. His pupil was bizarrely long, animal-like; and his gaze burned. She was sure that, if his gaze had lingered on her a moment longer, she would have caught fire, too. "We're burning time, people! Would anyone else like to be excused? Last call!"

There were a few whispers, but no one moved. The crowd was petrified with fear.

"Terrrrific! Then you'd better listen close, because I only have time to say this once," the triangle said. "Here's the deal! There's only two kinds of people: the ones who hate captivity, and the ones who love it. Oh yeah, there are people who love it! Some of 'em like inflicting it, some of 'em are too stupid to think for themselves, and some of 'em just want to do terrible things and pretend they had no choice!

"But I'm here to help the rest of you—you know who you are! You're the ones who never quite tessellated with the other kids! The ones who are sick and tired of your family saying you had so much potential and asking where it's all gone! You can feel the barbs of social obligation hooking into your flesh—yeah, you there, you know what I'm talking about, I see you!—and you'd rip your own skin off if you thought it would set you free! It won't, by the way—take it from a guy who knows! Luckily for you, my way's more effective and less painful! Probably!"

In spite of their fear, more than a few shapes had started pushing closer to the triangle. He was speaking to them.

"So if you crave freedom—from work, laws, morality, physics... death..."

More than a few shapes glanced fearfully toward the sky.

"...if you want to see the stars with me—then raise your hand! Reach out to me! Watch your enemies burn and escape to a realm of dreams with no rules and no responsibilities! That's right, this way!"

As soon as he said raise your hand, it seemed like half the crowd stretched their hands out to him —and the longer he spoke, the more reached out.

She recognized some of the people reaching out—some of them were her neighbors and friends. Here was a beaten-down pentagon who'd spent his whole life being controlled, and just wanted freedom from the ruthless monsters who used and abused him. There was a controlling circle who'd spent her whole life using and abusing others, and wanted freedom to be an even more ruthless monster. They all reached toward the triangle just the same—as if they'd been waiting their whole lives for an opportunity to escape. The desperate, the downtrodden, the dastardly, the barely daring to hope. If the whole burning world felt like a bizarre dream, then this must have felt like a dream come true to them.

But to the rhombus, it felt like a nightmare. She had to fight through the crowd to back away from him. 

"No need to push! If you can't see me, just hold your hand toward my voice, I can see you!"

The smell of burning existence was growing stronger.

Was this a test? An approaching apocalypse and a shapeshifting god of light and fire offering a last-minute rapture. The sky was burning—what hope did they have if they didn't go with him? More of the crowd was reaching for him now—terrified of him, but more terrified of their fate if they didn't. The rhombus reluctantly stretched out a hand.

"Thaaat's right, this way! I've got all of you!" His voice was taking on an edge of impatience. "Just—come on already! Hurry up!"

She was at just the right angle to catch a split second glimpse of the triangle through the crowd. She saw as the person closest to him reached out and grasped his hand. She saw as the first of the triangle's new followers burst into flames. The unlucky soul crumbled to ash before they had a chance to scream.

"I said no pushing."

The rhombus jerked her hand back and hoped the triangle hadn't seen her through the crowd. He wasn't offering salvation.

Most of the crowd wasn't lucky enough to get a view of the unfortunate shapes at the front who were already learning what a deal with the triangle entailed. The rhombus could hear people, as though from a vast distance, calling out to the triangle: "Take me, take me!" "I'll do anything!" It seemed like the whole world was trying to get closer to him; she thought she was the only one trying to move away, until she made it as far back as she could, where the crowd was thinning out, and caught a few other shapes in her peripheral vision who'd moved the same way. More than half the crowd was rushing in toward the triangle.

But apparently, it wasn't enough to satisfy him. "Come on, people!" That enthusiastic voice, halfway between a salesman and a camp counselor, was gone now. His voice went shrill with anxiety. "What's it gonna take?! I'm offering you idiots paradise, why won't you listen? Why don't you ever LISTEN TO ME?!"

For a moment, even though the triangle was completely hidden by the crowd, the rhombus could feel his fiery gaze sweep over her. She felt the way her skin threatened to burst into flames, and she knew he saw her.

She backed away until her rear angle bumped into the nearest building.

"Fine! You've had your chance! I've found my people!" The triangle's voice dropped to an angry snarl. "For all I care, the rest of you can burn."

For every hand that stretched out to the triangle, a black hand reached back toward them—dozens and dozens of hands. "Let's blow up this popsicle stand!"

He seized his new believers' hands.

Most of them instantly burst into flames.

Most of the rest were either jerked away into some unseeable direction like the baby had been, or else the burning ghost hand they were shaking yanked something out of them, leaving behind a dry corpse.

Reality warped and distorted in ways her eye couldn't make sense of: buildings wobbling and spilling apart like they were made of liquid; people twisting together with the buildings in sickening multi-corpsed abominations.

"Whoopsie!" The triangle let out a shrill, tittering laugh. It sounded pained. "S-still gotta get the hang of that. Oh well!" He spoke louder and faster. "I saved as many of you as I could, doing the best I can here, the rest of you don't matter, anyway byyye!"

And then he was gone.

And then they were all awake. She hadn't known they were asleep. Whatever happened hadn't been a mere shared nightmare; it was as though the layer of existence that dreams happened on had been pressed into the layer of existence where reality happened, and she hadn't even noticed until the pressure applied by the triangle lifted and the layers popped apart again.

The layers had popped apart too hard. Several of the shapes nearest the triangle that he hadn't taken with him instantly died—the tether between their souls on the plane of dreams and their bodies on the plane of reality snapped like overstretched rubber bands.

The fused corpse abominations had been left behind, still tangled and mangled with the architecture. The buildings were charred. The survivors were covered in burns they hadn't noticed—everywhere the triangle had looked was burned. Anything the triangle looked through was burned.

She was covered in burns. She could feel the burning inside her body. She raised her hands to her face and felt it peeling off.

She couldn't even feel the bright blue fires roaring down from the heavens.

And then something else lifted her out of the world, just before the reality around them began to burn.

She didn't know where all the people the triangle had taken had gone. But as she blacked out, of one thing she was sure: this higher dimension he'd claimed to see, this realm of stars and dreams? They weren't there.

Wherever they were, they'd gone down.

####

When the Axolotl emerged from the recorded memory, he was dizzy with horror. He had to lay down on the prefab planet next to the Vitruvian Mandala while he reeled.

"Are you all right?" the Vitruvian Mandala asked.

Broken, the Axolotl said, "he threw a baby."

"I know."

"Is the baby alright?"

Delicately, He said, "It's beyond the dimensions I'm able to sense."

The Axolotl curled his gills. Not the baby. "What about the rhombus?"

"Her body was too burned; she died shortly after this memory," the Vitruvian Mandala said. "But fortunately, only a small part of her ghost suffered third degree burns. With an ectoplasm graft she's expected to recovery enough to have a fairly normal afterlife. Inasmuch as any afterlife can be considered 'normal' for My people now."

The Axolotl had noted how many ghosts were mingling with the living mortals when he arrived on this planet. He hadn't wanted to say anything; he didn't know whether that was normal for their people. "I can give you the contact rituals of some interdimensional psychopomps I respect. Very professional and compassionate gods." Although they'd be cursing the Axolotl's name for millennia for throwing so much work on their desks.

"I'd appreciate that. Thank you."

The Axolotl returned the memory disc to the Vitruvian Mandala; He momentarily stared into it Himself before returning it to His collection. "He gave speeches like this all across My populated worlds. I've retrieved thousands of memories like this from My people." His voice shook; the Axolotl couldn't tell if it was with anger or grief. "There would have been more—if more had survived."

"I'm so sorry." He didn't know what else he could do for the poor god but be sorry. All the senseless, slapdash slaughter. All of it so casual and accidental.

"Why?" the Vitruvian Mandala demanded. "He didn't speak like he meant My people harm, but he couldn't have done them more harm if he'd tried! I've never heard of him before—what is he, some malevolent trickster god? Why did he do it"

"Because... he thought he was saving them." That was the only thing the Axolotl could cling to.

####

(Thanks for reading!! If the art lured you in and this is the first chapter you read, this is part 5 of a 7-or-8-or-9 part fic that keeps getting more parts, about the Axolotl in the immediate aftermath of the Euclidean Massacre. I'll be posting one chapter a week, Fridays 5pm CST, so stick around if you wanna watch the Axolotl run out of ways to pretend Bill didn't destroy his own dimension.

It's ALSO chapter 61 Part Five of an ongoing post-canon post-TBOB very-reluctantly-human Bill fic. So if you wanna read more of me writing Bill, check it out. If you're not sold on the idea of a human Bill fic, I've also got a one-shot about normal triangle Bill escaping the Theraprism if you wanna read that.

If this is NOT your first time here and you already knew all of the above: Bill got SO CLOSE to looking like a misguided good guy last chapter, and that's why he had to throw a baby.

No actually it was because it seemed really really funny. Flipped that flat little thing like a pancake.

Due to real-world reasons, this is another chapter that isn't as edited & polished as usual, so let me know if you noticed any rough spots that need buffing. And let me know what you think! Bill with his cult leader persona cranked up to 100% is probably the hardest Bill to write.)

[hitlikehammers]

ignis obscura (dragon-sacrifice!Steve falls for random-man-in-the-woods(?)!Eddie before Steve goes to get eaten) (???)

feat. lots of love-at-first-sight, soul-deep devotion sorta shit

When a dragon arrives within telling-distance, the town nearest the lair it claims must send the sacrifice; their most valued possession. Everyone knows this.

It was just that no one in Hawkins had ever imagined—never really believed—that of all the villages, a dragon would come to them.

Steve had imagined it, though. As a boy, he’d thought it an adventure. As a teenager, he’d fancied it something of an escape.

Now, when it happens? As a young man, Steve Harrington mostly just thinks of course it goes like this.

Because he’s the disappointing-but-only son of the mayor, in a town where mayoral wealth rivals the coffers of the crown, and if the dragon wants value? Steve’s the gateway to whatever riches have been hoarded, whatever small power may be marshaled to command more, to rule, to gather up virgins if Steve himself proved insufficient to that fabled task—though he was renowned as the most comely of his people, having just dipped his toe into his prime while keeping the rosy flush to his cheeks alongside the strength in his arms: perfect timing, really. It helped pad the argument for him as the tribute.

As if maybe the dragon had waited, had watched. Had known what it wanted, and swooped in with intent.

Steve couldn’t give two rats’ asses what the dragon did or didn’t do, as he made his way through the woods and up the mountain. The stories of sacrifice always paired with the same end: no matter how you pleased the dragon, the tribute did not live to descend to their home again.

So really, at this point, it was merely a question of how Steve would meet his end. At the dragon’s mercy, of course, but: more like details.

Steve distracts himself with arguments for whether it’s wiser, or more efficient, to carve human flesh with claws or teeth, and it’s a job done so well that he not only finds himself wholly turned around on this trek, far too close to nightfall, and not nearly as near to the cave he’s aiming for as he need be, but more than that:

He fails to notice he’s no longer alone.

“Are you lost?”

There is a honey-smooth quality to the voice that rings out but…deeper. Darker even, though it doesn’t strike warning between Steve’s lungs. It’s…caramelized, and slow slip of thick…almost comfort. Steve fights to keep a clear head: not all dangers are apparent. Enchantment and faerie mischief, even, could have found him in his mindless wandering.

“Lost?” Steve tries to scoff at the right tone of haughty; “I’ve lived here my entire life—“

“In these deserted woods?” the voice, and now there’s a figure that draws nearer, closer in the growing claim of the moon for light but still more silhouette than anything as it—he, the voice is male, Steve is near-certain—turns and assesses their immediate surroundings before tutting thrice:

“Strange choice of domicile.”

And it’s mocking, of course it is: but the honey-caramel of the voice is a molten thing. It warms Steve deep and he cannot even be cross.

“I,” he starts, but sees not point to finishing before he sighs and admits, to himself as much as to the stranger:

“Yes, I am lost.”

“But you’ve lived here your whole life!” the stranger slaps a palm to his own cheek, mouth dropped in faux-horror but he looks so…earnest. And maybe adorable with it, so much so that Steve can’t help but chuckle a little helplessly for it all.

“Hush,” he chides, half-heartedly at best. “I was supposed to get to the caves by nightfall.”

“Ooo,” the stranger leans in, as if to prepare for a secret; Steve didn’t realize he was so close; “scintillating dinner date?”

Steve can’t help it but to snort.

“By a measure,” Steve deadpans, before clearing his throat; “I need to present myself to the dragon.” When the strange man stares at him unblinking Steve deflates a little.

“You know, hot, fire,” he gestures broadly; everyone knows what comes at the end of a sacrifice: “dinner…”

“Why are you looking for a dragon?” the other man asks, his lips pulling down a bit in just-shy-of-a-frown. Steve doesn’t like the look on him, so he tries to put on a bit of a show, match the stranger’s teasing energy from before as best he can in the given circumstances:

“I just so happen to be the village sacrifice,” Steve announces, chest puffed a bit, but he fails to do anything but deepen the frown he’d been aiming to wipe clean from the other man’s face; now Steve’s frowning, too, as he deflates a little, but hardens a little too, crossing his arms and leaning back where the other man’s not even bothered to stop leaning in, despite his apparently displeasure.

“What?” Steve challenges, but it’s brittle, he knows it. “It’s a,” he vacillates, unsure how exactly to describe the…ritual of it. The way it’s cast as a, as a…

“It is a high,” Steve’s voice wavers a bit, like finally saying it aloud makes it all the less believable: “honor.”

The other man eyes him silently until Steve feels it in his very skin, before finally he speaks:

“Hmm,” he tips his head, considering just a little before he seems less to come to a conclusion, and more to a conclusion on how to best voice the things he wanted to say already, at that:

“Well, I know these woods very well, better than any hailing from the village I suspect you’re speaking of,” his gaze flicks Steve top to toes, something warm in it, no, something hot in it, that simmers through Steve’s veins: “and so I can get you to the caves, at the very least for shelter before moonrise-full,” he glances skyward, seeming to doublecheck his words before he nods decisively and reaches out a hand:

“Think you can trust someone you only just stumbled upon in the forest to steer you straight?”

And Steve doesn’t know for sure what he’d have done, what his answer and actions may have been if death-by-some-draconic-means weren’t imminent. But it is, and so he takes the hand offered, and grasps more than shakes, holds more than strikes accord and lets himself notice and relish how smooth and warm it feels against his skin:

“Lead the way.”

He doesn’t know what he’d do in lesser circumstances.

But for the grin on the man’s face, the way it shines brighter than moonlight, than sunrays even, he suspects: for the way it makes of the man a star on his own somehow?

Steve wants very much to believe he’d trust the man anyway, regardless of sense, just for the breadth of that smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Looks like the dragon’s out for the night.”

Steve makes an extra survey of the den nestled a good bit into the cave when his mysterious guide comments on the undeniable silence of their surroundings, the telling echo of their footsteps in the empty space.

“Curses,” Steve huffs, both frustrated and dismayed because: “I’ll have angered him, what if he doesn’t think I’m enough for—“

“One,” Steve’s beguiling guide ticks the point off with a finger raised on a strangely elegant hand; “you think dragons to be too irritable.” Steve rolls his eyes to himself—this Man who knows so much of the temperaments of dragons, the ego to presume—

“They can be quite pleasant so long as they have sufficient treasure. And they’re long-lived, so they’re patient,” the man continues on, which: it seems his ego’s well-reasoned out at the very least, Steve supposes.

“Which brings us to point number two,” and of course there’s a number two, a pair of fingers now waving almost accusingly to the side of Steve’s face:

“You’re more than enough to be worth waiting for.”

Steve blushes furiously and thanks the sparse cracks of nearly enchanted—quite possibly enchanted, actually—light for very little chance to be seen for it.

His companion grins with a glimmer of that sparse glow catching his eyes, glittering in it like enchantment themselves, and Steve thinks both that yes, he’s likely been seen and caught so that likewise yes, he needs to move out of the shaft of light that betrays him and with haste, because to think such a thing about this strange and beguiling man—beguiling, good gods—says far to much about what Steve feels about him, and far too soon, even by his standards.

Which are lightning quick already on a day in which he knows restraint.

“Sparse for a horde,” Steve surprises himself for how steady his voice is, given how obvious his bid to change the subject lands, not matter his tone.

His companion is gracious enough to allow the shift without comment:

“You think mortal eyes can see such things without a dragon’s explicit permission?”

But not gracious enough to abandon that ego.

“How do you know so much of dragons?” Steve finally just asks; subtlety’s never been his strongest characteristic, and in honesty, it’s past time to have asked it.

The other man smirks, scoffs a little.

“This may be your village’s first encounter with them,” and it’s said not quite in censure, and not unkindly, but Steve is cowed a bit nonetheless—the man had never named but has more than once referenced where he thinks Steve’s from, and Steve suspects if his vestments and the crests embroidered to them weren’t enough, his lack of knowledge would be—his people have been blessed in many ways, and live privileged lives on the whole, most especially his family, in comparison to their neighbors.

“But here is the only perch for the span of tens of villages,” the man points out; “and they’ve not been left untouched for so long.”

Right. Of course.

“You’re from a neighboring town?”

“One word for it,” the man shrugs, in such a way now that it shivers through his unruly curls; “and you’re from Hawkins, I gather.”

Right. Unsubtle to the bone it seems, indeed.

“For the whole of my life I can say I know only one thing about your home,” the man takes Steve grimace as the confirmation that it is; “and it’s how they share notoriously little to know.”

Steve chews at his lip, knows the failings his family’s rule has had for the people without and without their borders. Has tried to find ways to help without power of his own in the order of things.

“I always wished to see other lands, even the nearest of them,” Steve finally lands on something to say; “I tried to convince my parents, but—”

“Parents?”

It might be the first time his new…friend? Looks properly halted.

“Son and heir,” Steve points to himself with a weary sort of smirk, the whole thing laughable, really; “the tribute has to be valuable, right? I thought upon seeing so little here, I could offer from our own troves before the end, as appeasement but,” Steve sighs, suddenly drained, only now realizing, now that the option eludes him, just how heavily he was counting on the option of at least trying to bargain with the dragon, appealing to its intellect and far more, its love of treasure.

“But if it’s as you say, I may have much less by way of offering at all.”

There’s an instant sort of chill that fills him as he starts to acclimate to the reality that he’s going to die, and soon, and there truly is not hope for an escape. He—

“Let me assure you,” the man’s hand startles Steve, battles and swiftly overcomes the chill in him as it wraps tight around Steve’s wrist, his voice following Steve’s own almost without break, a cutting finality to it, definitiveness in his tone and his eyes alike once Steve meets them—and once Steve meets them, the not-quite-stranger doesn’t let him look away.

Magnetic.

“Based on what I have seen?” and the words could be casual, but the low rumble they’re spoken with is anything but:

“You could walk here wholly empty handed, and no dragon worth their flame would turn you away as unworthy.”

Steve feels less his cheeks, and more his whole body, inside and out, flush bright and there’s no light to hide from, save from the one shimmering in the gaze locked into his own.

And Steve, for all his postures of pride: this time?

He has no desire to hide the way he flushes, never mind the way he shivers, if it means trying to evade those eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~

Incidentally, it’s too late for the other man to turn back, though he clearly knows these woods so well. Steve insists that he stays.

Not for any ulterior motives, of course.

The man argues, if almost for show alone, but agrees on one condition: they neither of them have bedding. The other man apparently hadn’t planned to be out past the hour for rest, is only stuck because of Steve and Steve—

Steve has a pack but he…he presumed he’d either be dead and his offerings deemed fitting, or the dragon would keep him as the dragon desired, bedding or clothing or neither, until the dragon was satisfied.

And then, again: he’d be dead.

It is unthinkable to take the meager blankets Steve can see in a corner, not without permission; not from a dragon, so. The other man is asking to…lie close.

And Steve is not opposed. The man is almost…surreally exquisite, especially in the passing moonlight. His angles are…particular. Alluring. They steal the breath in Steve’s chest a little, long before they’ve earned the right.

“It feels more than overdue now to ask your name,” Steve whispers, not that it’s necessary. Not that there’s anyone to hear.

“Eddie,” the man whispers back, his voice so warm and almost enveloping, like an embrace in itself and Steve feels less absurd for speaking so soft, so privately.

Nearly intimate.

Good gods, now Steve is being absurd and should feel it to his bones. He deserves to suffer the uncomfortable twist of embarrassment it leaves in stomach, at this rate.

“Steve,” he manages to say low enough that his mortification isn’t audible.

But then:

“That is a beautiful name, sweetheart,” Eddie breathes, and he’s shimmied closer somehow while Steve was stuck in his shame-spiral for being the too quick to show his cards, even to himself in his own head.

“Nothing special to it,” Steve mutters, demurs a little but in a coquettish way, doesn’t even mean to. Just…there’s an energy between them now, and Steve’s primed to match it.

“Isn’t there?” Eddie asks, heated and near in a way that dances up Steve’s spine:

“I would hesitate to be so sure.”

Again, Steve doesn’t mean to, or plan to, when he rolls further into Eddie’s frame where they’re laid together, already so close, now nearly in each other’s arms.

He doesn’t mean to, and yet: his arms are gathered close against the chest of a man he doesn’t know, and yet feels…more comfortable next to than any body he’s pressed against in his life.

And there have been fair few.

“You’re so warm,” Steve mouths more than anything, lips dragging on this half-stranger’s neck by accident, because it could be nothing save an accident that Steve now knows that Eddie’s skin tastes of salt and smoked cinnamon sticks and the air in the forrest at night: elemental, somehow. Necessary.

Only by accident would Steve torture himself this way.

“I’d keep you warm always,” Steve hears as the world blurs soft to black, the phantom sensation of arms curling around him, welcoming him to sleep—the whole of it odd in every way because he hadn’t spoken loud enough to be heard, really, even so close, and to read his words from the drag of his mouth to flesh was of course impossible.

“To the end of the Age and beyond if I could,” the words drift blissful, wistful like an invitation into sleep: “if you’d let me.”

So of course: it must have been a dream.

~~~~~~~~~~

Daybreak finds them entangled.

Steve…freezes, as if he didn’t feel snug and perfectly warm wrapped up so close. He weighs the merits of bolting, and making apologies after the fact, against trying to extricate himself without rousing his companion, versus—

“Good morning, sweetness.”

Steve stills somehow further, feels his face heat yet again and yet this time, despite the dark of the cave, he’s…crushed ever so pleasantly against the bare smooth planes of a chest that…shouldn’t be bare, should it, because they moved together close for heat against the chill and for certain it is past dawn but it is still nowhere near warm enough for—

“Did you sleep well?”

Steve groans, which only leads him to burrowing further into the unavoidably welcoming give of Eddie’s chest, lean but strong, Steve can tell, much like he can feel as much as hear the rumbling laughter that cascades through that chest: so much like an invitation to sink into the chest and the sound alike, to never be singular, to never be cold.

What a ridiculous notion.

But then lips are unmistakably pressed to the crown of Steve’s head, not even in passing, no: they linger. They…feel right.

Steve wants for them to be right until the day he dies—

Well. That might actually be possible, or close enough for what he’s earned in this world.

The irony.

Eddie takes to the hunt—the reason he was in the woods to find Steve in the first place, apparently; he says his bow and knives are just down toward the ravine, which Steve vaguely knows but not well, too close to the borders of other lands.

“Don’t fret, though,” and this time the lips press to the low half of Steve’s cheek, affection that does not press its advantage but makes it desires clear, too close to Steve mouth to be anything less.

Steve…is unsure what to make of that. Because he cannot make what he thinks of first; he cannot possibly follow that thread in his own mind—increasingly in his own chest.

“I’ll find you, if you get lost again.”

As if Steve will wander, would risk missing his dragon captor’s return, to even consider one misstep to unintentionally enrage his looming executioner, to even consider missing a single instant in the meantime with this man—

But the glinting smile that man shoots Steve’s way as he strides out the yawning opening in the rocks, its glinting like stardust and warm radiance that fills Steve’s veins then spills over and seeps into his marrow:

Steve doesn’t think that man actually meant getting lost that way.

And what on earth is he supposed to make of that, save everything that he can’t have; that cannot be?

Though, in fairness: it would be on brand. Steven Harrington of Hawkins.

Falling hard and fast and more real than ever before, mere hours before he leaves the mortal coil.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re anxious.”

Steve knows now that his dreams were realty, last night. The words, the arms.

He is awake in them now after they eat what Eddie’s secured for them, cooked over a fire perfectly pitched outside the mouth of the cave, its warmth not insufficient as they’d eaten in pleasant company together.

Not insufficient at all. Just not this chest; these arms.

And now they are both of them bare to the waist, knowingly and happily curled into one another, and Steve feels on one hand boneless, weightless, inexplicably held and kept beyond the physical in the embrace of a man he barely knows and yet feels…close to. Something-he-cannot-bring-himself-to-say-at-first sight, like in the fairy stories.

But that man’s palm is splayed across Steve’s chest; can feel the birds’ wings of his heartbeat at first stroke.

For the first time in Steve’s life, it doesn’t feel like a weakness he’s caught out on; with Eddie nuzzling at his hair, Steve doesn’t hesitate to speak his fear with a heavy sigh:

“You said you’ve dealt with dragons.”

“Time to time,” Eddie hums, presses his lips to Steve’s scalp like reassurance.

“How will it happen?” Steve whispers shakily, but for the first time in his entire life, he shakes into someone who seems to care, against all reason; who holds tighter to him for needing rather than casting him away.

“I mean, I know,” Steve licks his lips; “I know what will happen, just,” and he can’t quite finish, chokes around his words. Eddie moves closer against him, under the weight of Steve’s frame, maneuvers them so that he can tilt his head just so to kiss down Steve’s jaw while still holding him close; ever closer.

“Well,” Eddie pecks against the peak of Steve’s cheekbone before moving down, all the while massaging circles against Steve’s chest; “a town sends their most valued,” and he sucks a little the, against Steve’s jawline; “but some towns have less to pick from,” and then he finds Steve’s pulse point and suckles there with real feeling until Steve may be terrified, but he’s simultaneously soft clay in a beautiful man’s hands, under a beautiful man’s mouth.

“A dragon is not a mindless beast,” Eddie adds after Steve can feel he’s been well and thoroughly bruised.

“I’ve always heard they’re very smart,” Steve breathes, maybe nods, mostly just savors Eddie’s heat, his nearness, how he touches Steve like he has value; like Steve has value to him, and what a thing to feel, to want, to possibly hold, even for these stolen moments; “it’s how they tell if you send them less than they’re owed.”

Because of course Steve knows the stories. Steve can remember countless tales of horrific ends for villages, towns, whole kingdoms even, razed for being so haughty and foolish as to try and swindle a dragon—perhaps embellished to encourage children’s behavior, but. The bones of the narrative fit the oft-smoldering evidence often enough, so far as Steve could tell in the proper histories.

“Not owed,” Eddie corrects, firmly but somehow also gently, his capacity for dynamism an oddly comforting thing, so human and forgiving of overstepping boundaries so freely as to maybe not even draw any to begin with, at complete odds with Steve’s entire life; “not how most people think, at least.”

Eddie flip Steve over gently, firmly again, settles them chest to chest, one atop the other as Steve looks down at him, feels his heartbeat crash against Eddie’s own closer than ought to be felt, like their ribs clear way for the two of them, for whatever they could be, and Steve wonders if part of why his heart is racing so is for the loss of the possibility that rushes through him, that swells between them in every moment—something that grows in every moment, every look and touch and blink, that expands effervescent and filled with so much without any knowledge that there is not space to hold it, that what time they have is borrowed at best.

Steve thinks maybe; his sick heart for it could be railing where the rest of him is fixated on etching every one of those looks and blinks and touches into his bones so that they may be among the last parts of him to leave the earth.

“A dragon, above most things, has a particularly keen sense to know precisely where value lies,” Eddie’s explaining again, his hand now still, pressed against Steve’s heart akin to a shield, or a safe-hold. “And how.”

Steve ponder that for a moment before he meets Eddie’s eyes, having felt them heavy and molten upon him with new fire before taking them in for all that they are: brilliance.

Blinding.

Steve leans as Eddie arches and they meet in between to press their lips together after what feels an eternity and an instant of living in a world where they didn’t taste one another in such a way as to drink their fill. As to breathe each other’s breath.

So as to tease and cherish deep, to tongue against the very heart.

And there Steve makes certain, before he loses himself wholly to sensation:

Looks. Touches. Blinks. Carved into his bones, but first.

First he’ll gild them in every single kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~

They transition fully into lovers in a seamless fashion, insatiable like Steve’s never known it. Eddie never keeps him wanting, gives selflessly and Steve does all that he can to reciprocate and more, because Eddie is everything, of that Steve is certain, and therefore he deserves no less.

He also seems dead set on making sure that they are posed as equals. That to lavish one another with affections as much as to ravish each other endless never unbalances one way or the other. Wherever Steve seeks to give more where Eddie should have it, Eddie turns the tables to takes Steve apart so that all he knows is tingly euphoria. A happiness he’s never felt, didn’t quite believe could exist.

Yet here he is. Here they are.

Steve smiles more than he remembers, playful and ravenous and overflowing with feeling, and Eddie doesn’t rise to meet his enthusiasm: he’s already there, matched with him and ecstatic to entwine. It’s a heady thing, addictive and overwhelming and a gift, Steve thinks: maybe the universe forgive him for doing less to stop harm and deprivation in his home, for wishing to help more and acting where he could even if it wasn’t enough. Maybe he gets this sliver of heaven out of pity for what’s to come.

He will take it with open arms. He will welcome it. He will make himself of it until there is not Steve that exists outside of it.

But it cannot overcome the inevitable, in its impending, suffocating weight.

Come the sixth day like this—the sixth night like this—something in Steve gives way. Existing on the precipice of life and death with no telling of when the hammer with strike finally takes too much of a toll, and his nerves betray him.

“Likely they are hunting, it can take many days, weeks even I’m told,” Eddie tries to console him as he shakes, can’t even sob, like his body can’t coordinate even that much to work properly, too distraught are pieces of him he’s flooded with pleasure but finally could no longer be denied, fed on his wonderment and picked until it cracked enough for his fears to bleed through. “But if you are still so anxious we could, or, I could try and look for some clue as to where it’s gone?” Eddie offers carefully, holding Steve together as he does his utmost to shudder out of his skin. “And you can stay here, in case it returns?”

The only thing Steve can do then is shake his head until it hurts, until he’s dizzy with his own vehement denial: it’s the first things that’s properly matched, body to feeling.

It’s fitting that way.

“I,” Steve starts, just voice barely a scratch as Eddie reaches, tips his chin upward and cups his face so delicate:

“What, angel?”

Steve blinks at him—takes him in, presses down to pain as he draws it, brands it onto his skeleton to be remembered, all the tangled but powerfulfeelings he has for this man so fast, so strong.

For this man, for all he feels: Steve makes himself speak what’s heavy and true and real in his galloping heart:

“I have no intention of reneging my duties,” he rasps, holds on to Eddie as tightly as he can, as if maybe their bones could brand one’s another and fuse into one.

“But until no choice is left, I,” Steve chokes, and his eyes burn as he holds Eddie’s gaze, lifts Eddie’s hand away from his cheek and over to his lips to press all his hopeless hopes against Eddie’s palms:

“I don’t want to be out of your sight, nor you taken from mine.”

The tear that escapes him then is caught by Eddie’s thumb. Adoringly.

Each that follows is lost between Eddie’s lips; might belong to them both.

Steve thinks he can believe that much—in these fleeting, sacred moment—to be true.

~~~~~~~~~~

The dragon has still not appeared, and Steve has since collected himself for the most part, with Eddie ready to brace him steady when he starts to falter. It’s a wild novel thing, to be supported this way. To be cared for.

With such care, comes perception. For better or worse.

“What troubles you, beloved?” Eddie eyes him knowingly, a level of sight straight through to Steve’s soul that should not be fathomable in a lifetime, let alone a week’s time.

“My own mind,” Steve admits freely, unwilling any longer—if he ever had been—to hide from Eddie, unsure what the point would be even if he desired to: “it is cowardly, and selfish.”

“I doubt that,” Eddie catches Steve’s jawbone with a single finger, playful, endearing: but clear in its pointed redirection of Steve’s gaze, and his disparagement of his own thoughts:

“I would doubt that quite strongly, in fact.”

Steve lets Eddie touch prompt him to a kiss, as if he needs coaxing before he leans into the crook of Eddie’s neck and breathes him in: the best savours of the ground and sky.

“I would not run from my fate, here,” Steve says, not wholly to remind himself but, not without that purpose at hand; “save that it feels like my fate is…”

And he slides his hand to Eddie’s chest, hopes it speaks for him where he doesn’t know words for the depth and breadth and weight of these feelings; Eddie’s hand covers his, automatic, and he knows he’s understood.

“I wish not to be parted from you, now that I’ve found you,” Steve whispers, swallows hard, then looks Eddie in the eyes, speaks straight to the soul in them so that he is not misread, or underestimated in the weight of his own words, now:

“I think that I may be in love with you.”

And he’s never been before. He’s believed it may be love, but: no. No, it was never love before.

If ever it was love: it is this.

“Oh my precious one,” Eddie pets his hair and kisses after his own touch: “I don’t think that I’m in love with you,” and Steve stiffens only for the instant Eddie leaves between those words, and dipping down to Steve’s ear to exhale with feeling:

“I know it.”

How it is possible to die brokenhearted and happier than he’d ever dreamed, Steve doesn’t know.

But he’s about to serve as object lesson, in just days.

Maybe less.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Know that when,” Steve is speaking to the cracks in the rock that peek at the night sky as he speaks, Eddie on his chest like a blanket, save so much better; “when it happens,mwhen it devours me whole or takes me in pieces,” and his voice catches, but he remains resolute; “it will know you in every inch of me,” and he cups Eddie closer to him then, holds him against the thunderous roar of his pulse.

“My heart is full of you, and it will taste only of devotion,” Steve near-hisses for the fervor in him. “You’ll be the last bit of me known to the world.”

“Never.”

The growl that comes from the body that curls around him, protective, possessive, beloved in a way and to a magnitude Steve didn’t know he could feel before now: the venom in it makes it clear that it’s not a refutation of Steve’s declaration for the sentiment.

It’s a refutation to the cosmos itself.

“I would never allow it,” Eddie bites out, pressing closer to Steve, to his heart: “you will not be forfeit to some dragon,” and oh, but this man Steve loves is wild with his passion, foolhardy and yet all the more lovable for it.

“I would fight with all that I am to protect you,” he vows, presses his lips to Steve’s chest and speaks there like he means well and truly to means to tell Steve to the heart of him this sole, unshakeable truth: “and should somehow I lose the battle, it could only be because there is nothing of me left to fight.”

And for the first time, in all his life: Steve clings to something, someone, he’d happily rip his beating heart out to protect.

And that—he realizes in a single world-rewriting instant—he fears the loss of more than any other thing.

Any. Other. Thing.

~~~~~~~~~~

They don’t speak of it, or of a choice to be made when the time does come: Steve thinks maybe that’s the only way they manage at all, really, is to simply hold it between them in those last days. Known. Seen.

Loved.

And feared.

But always together. Always so close, in every way.

Until the stasis breaks.

“Steve,” Eddie breathes into the afternoon, innocuous. Steve’s stopped counting how many days they’ve stolen together.

“I must leave, my darling.”

Steve narrows his eyes, trying to understand him. He watches as Eddie hurries to gather both of Steve’s hands, to bring them to his lips.

“Only for a short while,” he murmurs between Steve’s fingers, kisses at his knuckles with apology, and with heartsickness thick between his breaths: “barely a moment,” and his breath is short, thin, like the thought of leaving hurts.

And Steve…Steve has been in love for the first time, with the perfect match to his very soul. Unthinkable, but undeniable.

But it hasn’t made him wholly blind.

He means to press, to see if the slight little inklings he’s had every so often hold any weight, point in any direction of significance, means to ask just a simple thing, but then Eddie’s expression breaks open, a miasma of emotion spilling forth as his breath catches, monumental on a sob and he takes the hands at his lips and instead uses them to bury his face.

“Oh, my Steve,” he breathes, and all Steve can really see are the heaving lifts of his shoulders, and the way his curls fall a little like a monsoon.

“I am sorry,” Eddie whispers into Steve hands and Steve feels dampness there, and oh. No.

Not from Eddie. Not for whatever this is. Steve can think of nothing, save Eddie leaving for good before the end, that he should be moved to apologize for. And even that Steve would forgive.

Because Steve loves him.

“Why?” Steve asks, incredulous, his own half-formed ideas to seek to know gone at the sight of his beloved in distress. “What reason on earth do you have to be sorry, you said,” and Steve halts, wonders if that’s the catch, and tries not to falter without reason, tries to stand tall: “only a moment,” and that is what Eddie said, he said only a—

“I lied.”

Steve does to falter.

He starts to fracture and fall entirely. Because what, what all was a lie, was it all a lie, he—

He doesn’t know if he can breathe. He’s never lost his heart before. But he imagines that if death is still waiting for him, and he’ll face it alone: it’s what he’d planed for. What he’s prepared for from the start.

He knows how to be alone. It has to hurt less, than losing his heart now.

It will have to hurt less, at the very end, if it comes to him without a heart in his breast.

“It was worth every second, no matter that it must end, in joy or heartbreak,” Steve finds himself saying, and if his tone rings hollow, it’s only because his heart’s already leaking from him, already half-gone: he means it with every bit he has left, nonetheless.

“You are the moon, pulling me close,” he turns his hands so his palms line to Eddie’s; “the sun wrapping me in warmth,” and he folds their fingers together, clutches tight one last time, greedy as anything:

“You have been the greatest gift at the end of all I’ll ever know.” And that is the truth, that is the last words and final rites written on his bones. “Because of you, I will die fulfilled in ways I didn’t realize I was lacking.”

And then there’s just one thing, because Steve, Steve needs to say this part, he doesn’t think he’s said this part yet:

“Thank you.”

He means it.

But Eddie only holds onto him harder, painfully but it’s perfection; only shakes his head over and over before he finally rasps, barely audible:

“You misunderstand.”

Steve leans closer to hear him, to feel him, to know his warmth in the lat moments that might be left. He wants to understand. He doesn’t want the end to be anything but clear.

Even if it hurts.

“I have lied,” Eddie swallows hard; “but you misunderstand for what.”

Steve…still misunderstands.

“You have been my moon,” Eddie nearly moans, his head nuzzling into Steve’s hands, his hold, with nothing short of desperation:“you have been the sun since the first revelation when I was taught as barely a hatchling that my kind were born of suns, made from fire.”

And that. It’s been those small things: some dragon. Not owed. No dragon would find him unworthy.

The ego to presume.

This is no longer a small thing, spoken now.

“You stole my heart straight away, and I gave it freely but,” Eddie hiccups the slightest bit; “I only grow in relishing that of all the souls in all the worlds, yours has welcomed mine,” and he sniffles, by every god and power in all the worlds—

“You are a privilege.”

And oh, oh, but by every god and power: Steve loves him.

“And you have a dragon’s heart now, no matter how you choose to use it, to keep or reject it,” foolish words Eddie speaks so messy, so rushed and ragged, so ripped out from him visceral and slick with feeling: “and your end will be my end,” and his lips brush Steve’s hands, kiss the pulse on both his wrists:

“And either that will be unmeasurable ages hence,” and his breath catches, and Steve only wants for him to look up, just look up, because he’s said it without saying now, hasn’t he, muddled and frantic and so human, to say he’s anything but as he admits to the thing he thinks he needs to offer apology for.

“Or,” he trips over the next words, but they’re so sodden with candor, the blood in his veins:

“Or my heart may turn ash if you leave but,” and he brings the heels of both Steve’s hands to his mouth and kisses, speaks into them worshipfully:

“Your life will go on as a mortal’s, once I’ve—”

“You’ve given your heart?”

Because Steve had suspicions. Of why Eddie said certain things, certain ways. How warm he was. How strong and even and…ancient the beating of his heart resonated beneath Steve’s ear, his touch, like it radiated heat as a sun in itself.

“Of course,” Eddie’s head snaps up, like he’s offended at any suggestion to the contrary; “almost immediately.”

He blinks; he forgets himself. There’s a lid to his starburst eyes that closes unlike Steve’s, the opposite direction, almost invisible.

But Steve’s watching. Steve doesn’t blink once, cannot miss this.

Cannot pause what he writes into his bones because even if he plans for nothing less than ages unmeasurable, now, he wants this written on the bones that come in the end.

Whenever the end stretches out to.

“And if it’s ill received,” Steve asks slowly, his brows pinching as he picks through the implications of this part: “you—”

“Wither, slowly,” Eddie says, far too matter-of-fact for Steve’s liking, or willingness to stand: “but the end comes, yes.”

“Eddie,” Steve scolds, and Eddie flinches, thinks he’s been caught, been known and revealed now and in so being is anything but wanted with all of Steve’s being.

There is a tiny part of Steve that’s grateful for his foolishness: it makes Steve feel less alone, to be swept so by a love this vast.

“You are the dearest treasure I’ve ever known,” Eddie whispers, but it’s a pleading thing, something even Steve can tell doesn’t feel as if it had a hope to grasp; “if you let me keep you I would hold you closer than all things. To give a dragon’s heart means to place whatever holds it closer than the heart itself ever learned to rest on its own,” and Eddie gathers Steve’s hands again to his chest, stacks them, presses so very hard.

The life in him is a sobering thing. The idea that Steve holds this power somehow in his hands, literally and otherwise, is…staggering.

No less then amazing.

“You are my single desire, but more,” Eddie breathes; “you are my single care, my sole concern,” “my only.”

“Why do you leave, then?”

And Eddie stills. Pulls back only so much as to weigh what he sees in Steve’s face, Steve’s eyes—what Steve sees in his is clear: Eddie didn’t think he’d get to this part. He thought Steve would balk at learning his lover was something more than mere human.

Specifics aside, Steve could have told anyone that from the night that they met.

And so Eddie, bowled over by the shock of the fact that Steve still holds to him, does not waver, seems to speak unvarnished when he answers:

“The things you have shared,” and Steve knows without expansion what Eddie means: tales of home, of his family, of his parents, of how he came to be here, pledged as sacrifice for the good of his town, whispered in the dark as they watched the stars move slow; “I can bear it no longer, my darling.”

And Eddie straightens further then, and Steve sees what he dismissed as the play of the light: the glow in Eddie’s eyes unmistakable as something other, something from within.

“I demand the most valued,” Eddie’s words come out in a hiss, shape even as he hesitates, leaves every moment for Steve to pull away should his touch be unwanted as he reaches to brush Steve’s hair from his face.

“You are that and more to me and yet,” and he shakes his head, and it’s so strange still to be marveled at this way: unbridled and unashamed.

“You said it yourself, valuable,” Eddie nearly spits the word, like a poison he seeks to eke out; “and yet I believe that I said something different.”

Steve frowns, tries to put together the pieces but then his face is framed in long fingers that span the whole of him, fittingly so, as Eddie looks deed in his eyes and says with force and feeling:

“Valued,” he emphasizes with a kiss; “beloved,” and another, and Steve cannot help but smile into it just the slightest bit, his heart soaring as the other pieces—borrowed time and impending ends and forevers in view all at once rearranging into what he thinks might be an always with this man who’s more than a man when he speaks against Steve’s mouth:

“Precious beyond all else and others.”

He pulls back, and marvels more, then narrows his eyes in a way Steve’s never seen, pupils contracting inward from the sides into slits.

“You are mine,” Eddie growls; “but the demands we make are not idle, and they did not value you as you deserved,” Eddie scowls, and Steve sees it now, where he’s going, what he’s doing:

“And they thought it acceptable to send you to me as their most valued, believing they sent you to your death?” Eddie seethes:

“It cannot go unpunished.”

Steve…sees it. Understands, now.

It does not hurt, the idea of losing people who were family only in name, especially not to the man before him, who is all that family should mean, could mean, will mean.

Always, now.

“The villagers are innocents, please,” Steve whispers, and Eddie cups his cheek, so lovingly it aches.

“Fret not,” he says with that warmth that Steve’s melted in from the very start; “I know who deserves my ire.” His expression sours, hardens:

“And they will know their hard-earned consequences.”

Eddie kisses Steve with a kind of devotion bigger than the sky somehow, and it’s only because Steve’s reeling to get his footing back that he trails behind Eddie and not at his side as he makes to depart.

“Please do not follow me, beloved,” he calls over his shoulder, not breaking his pace; “I do not wish you to see-“

“I will stay,” Steve answers, like the words were waiting on this tongue of this very moment: “if.”

Eddie stills; turns.

“If?”

“You promise to return with all haste,” Steve reaches him quick and is the one who kisses with all that he knows, all that he can imagine, all that he holds inside of himself and shares already with Eddie uninhibited; “I will be cold without you.”

And that makes Eddie soften; smile as he promises:

“Done.”

“And,” Steve adds, pulling away from Eddie’s lips to look him straight on as Eddie’s brow quirks in question:

“And?”

“Change for me.”

And Eddie, for once, is wholly dumbfounded. Speechless.

It’s quite a feat to behold.

“You,” he stammers; “you wish to see,” he shakes his head, disbelieving; “beloved, it is not, I am,” and oh, oh: Steve did not expect this part: “we are cast as fearsome creatures for good reason.”

He is wary. He is cautious. He thinks himself the monster. He wants to hide this part from Steve.

But Steve will have nothing hidden between them, least of all this: the whole of who his love is.

“I do not fear you, I could not,” Steve pledges in truth; “and any creature with your heart, who has captured my soul,” Steve grabs Eddie’s shoulders and draws him in, bows those foreheads into one another:

“You could never be anything short of exquisite. Breathtakingly so.”

Eddies breathing is hitched, stuttering. Steve wants to cry for the way he is surprised. Wants to mourn for whatever hurt him to make him this cautious, this stunned by Steve’s love: unconditional.

Undying, now that it’s possible to give as such, and in truth.

And Steve waits, watches him, stares patient until Eddie sighs deeply, steps back far and then closes his eyes and…becomes.

Larger, of course. The wings are a feat. The talons are less a surprise from his spindly fingers.

He’s, he is…

“You are,” Steve reaches, waits until Eddie comes to him, welcomes his touch this way and to feel him, smooth scale not so unlike the chest bare against him in the night—warmth and safety and all that is right:

“Magnificent. And I would know you,” Steve tells him, seeks his gaze as he speaks from the very core of his being: “even if I hadn’t seen it for myself.”

He steps closer, waits for Eddie to be curious enough to bow his head low so Steve can mimic how they’d stood, forehead pressed just moments before.

“These unfathomable eyes,” he whispers between them, and smiles at how those eyes fall closed in something like relief, like comfort after laying down a heavy burden as Steve reaches for the soft underbelly in lighter scales against the charcoal of the rest of his beloved’s form:

“The might of this heart,” and he presses, and yes, exactly as he knew he’d find: thunderous. Could part seas, reshape the globe, stir the stars.

And it’s Steve’s. So he doesn’t hesitate to press his lips above the breathing and breathe out:

“Unmistakable, my darling.”

When he pulls back those eyes truly are just the same: they wonder. They marvel.

At Steve. Just Steve.

It’s intoxicating.

“Do what must be done,” Steve nuzzles at the side of Eddie’s face, pulls his snout to his shoulder so he can kiss at what he supposes is something of a cheek, and then he pulls back, lets go.

But only their bodies. Nothing more. Never anything more. Not ever again.

“Then come home to me.”

Steve could be wrong, or just wishful, but he thinks Eddie glows from within through the whole of himself, and not just his eyes, as he takes flight and shoots like the star Steve always saw inside him, up into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s not long. It’s just as Eddie promised.

After everything, Steve hadn’t worried at all that it would be anything else.

“It was painless,” is what Eddie says as he walks back into the cave, a man again; “and it was for the sake of justice overdue,” as if he must explain. Or seek forgiveness.

Steve pulls him in and kisses him until he’s breathless as an answer for both concerns.

“What now?” he can’t help but ask. He is still more in love than he can breathe through. Will live and die exactly that way for time innumerable.

“You wish to be here, with me?” Eddie asks, almost hesitant; seeking.“You do not feel indebted, or, or coerced? Or tricked or held by force or—”

Steve grins at the babbling, the nervous rambles. To think they’re because of him.

It might just give him an absolutely unbearable ego of his own if it’s to be the norm forevermore.

“Love,” Steve presses a single raised finger to the missile of Eddie’s lips, watches as he adorable crosses his eyes to follow its trajectory.

“You are all that I have imagined and never thought to find.” And it really is as simple and as unthinkable as that, in the end. Or the beginning. “The only way I would be anywhere but your side is to be torn from it, or sent away.”

Eddie growls at the first suggestion, and huffs in pure offense at the suggestion of the second as he reaches and pulls Steve flush to his body: warm, warm, warm.

Steve’s heart flutters against him, reminding him that he owns it wholly.

Eddie’s drums in protective answer, welcoming as much as seeking to leap into Steve’s chest on the same promise, the same pledge as he murmurs into Steve’s lips:

“You still misestimate what it means to be loved by a dragon,” and drags his mouth against Steve’s bottom lips, a little wanton even as his words carry the weight of the universe entire:

“This,” and he clutches Steve’s closer still, so as to not be mistaken; “is for as much of eternity as is for us to grasp.”

It is not sacrifice at all to kiss the man, to love the dragon, in front of him, now.

And for the rest of time ahead.

For @a-little-unsteddie, who requested the quote 'Magic' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher

divider credit here

💫 ao3 link here

[sinfultutor]

My sweet little darling, I know that you are a virgin, but there's no need to be ashamed. There's nothing wrong with that. On the contrary, seeing that you are waiting for your daddy with it, shows you are a truly good girl.

You probably wonder how it feels to have daddy inside your special place. You probably thought about it many times, comparing it to your fingers, toys, or humping your plushies.

Let me take you through it, little girl. It will be sweet and simple, with no big words. So you can understand it well, even as a little princess you are.

You know how it feels when you feel tingly down there, right? The longer it keeps going on, the more you feel like something is missing there. It feels like the most important thing at that moment is to put something inside. That's not a coincidence.

Imagine you are spreading your legs now, nude, opening yourself for your daddy. He is looking at you, and you can see all the love he has for you in his eyes. He gets closer, being nude as well. Now you are skin-on-skin with him.

He kisses you, you kiss him back and you feel like hugging him. He puts his arms around you, cuddling with you, stroking you.

Now, to describe the feeling you are waiting for:

As your hole feels so empty, your daddy slides his hard thingy inside. You feel how it enters you and pushes its way deep inside you. The feeling of being empty starts to disappear. You feel your hole stretching, it never stretched like this before, yet you can feel daddy's thingy so vividly, feeling how your insides are collapsing onto it, squeezing it.

You try to take a deep breath, but somehow you cannot. Your body feels numb in a way. The feeling radiating and spilling from your special place overshadows any other feeling in your body, feeling like you are submerged in a warm bath.

Your daddy presses his body against yours. You can sense the pressure. You feel his weight on top of your body. Making you feel like you can't move at all. It feels like wanting to run, but simply feeling too much to make a single move. You feel so vulnerable, yet so strong. You know anything could hurt you now, but you also know your daddy would never let that happen. You'll feel like being bonded to your daddy by the trust you have in him.

You feel an immense need to hug your daddy, you need to be as close to him as you can. It's a need like no other. You feel closer to him than to anyone else before, yet, you feel like you need more. It already feels more intense than a thousand hugs.

Right now, you are one with your daddy. There is no separation, no ending, and no beginning.

Then your daddy starts thrusting inside you. In and out, in and out. His body pressing against yours. Moving like a wave of water, like a running animal. With each thrust, he hits your pelvis harder and harder, yet it feels so gentle.

Now you feel something building up inside you, a pressure. You feel warmer than ever before. Feelings coming from your princess place filling even your head now. You are in a fog. You can't really speak. You can't really think. All you can imagine is daddy's thingy entering you.

Then as it keeps going for a while, you feel your daddy's movement getting a bit harder. He grabs onto you, squeezes you, and then, suddenly, you feel a warm feeling spreading in your tiny hole and your daddy's thingy twitching inside of you.

This feeling takes you over the age. The pressure that was building the whole time, you can't hold it anymore. It feels like all those feelings you had are bursting out of your little hole. Your muscles spasm and the control over your body is hijacked by the feelings you are experiencing. Now you are not in charge, you are simply a passenger inside your own body.

The pressure slowly goes away, and the fog disappears. Your daddy is still inside you, but it is not sexual now. Now, you feel like you need to be close to your daddy, hugging him again, keeping his thingy still inside you. You can't comprehend the idea of it not being inside you. You simply cannot imagine it. You need it inside you. You feel so safe like this. You feel so human like this. You feel complete. It feels like if your daddy pulls it out, you will die. It feels necessary for your survival. You lock your legs behind daddy's back, not letting him move away.

You stay like this for long moments. You might laugh, you might even cry. All of it is just as it should be.

Don't worry, darling. Your daddy will stay with you. Holding you and kissing you. Keeping you safe.

[we-were-beautiful]

Unraveled Ends Chapter 2

Pre chapter Shenanigans 

a/n: Sooooo long time no post but I'm here now and that's what matters. Writers block hit me like a brick wall after my last piece that I did for the riders quadrant fic exchange back in July, that piece was only supposed to be 3k in words but ended up around 7.8k. I had been working on this chapter at the same time and had roughly 2k words but after I got through the edits on the gift fic couldn't seem to string together a coherent sentence much less moving the plot forward. all my photos for the moodboard/aesthetic come from pinterest. Last bit of info is that we did pick up two beta readers for this story( but I am always open for more if people want to hop in). So big Thanks to @loving-and-dreaming and @curse-bearing-hips for reviewing this chapter. That said we are all still human so there is more than likely some mistakes. And a huge thanks to @whisplion for inspiring me to write this fic. Hope y’all enjoy  

Summary: A tailor in the heart of Velaris finds herself mated to the two most powerful fae in Prythian. Unfortunately for her the mating bond only snapped for her, leaving her to question on how to move forward. Should she wait for her mates to feel the bond or should she go ahead and reject it and live with the gaping hole in her heart  

Poly!Feysand x Reader 

Warnings: None but there is angst

WC:3.1k

The next few weeks are nothing short of hell. I didn’t know pretending like nothing is wrong would be as exhausting as it has been. It was a never ending cycle of waking up, getting ready, going to work, and coming home. At work I was dancing a fine line of hiding everything from my seamstresses and sister and failing miserably. The only small mercy that I have had was that I haven’t had to see my mates. Thank the mother for that; I don’t know how I would have reacted to seeing them so soon after the bond had snapped. Not seeing them however did nothing to dampen the feelings that the two of them would throw down the bond unknowingly. Deep down  I know that they didn’t mean to send those memories and feelings to me, but on a good day it makes me sick to my stomach. I don’t know why it has gotten worse. I was fine for a year of burying the feelings that I have for the two down.

They were so happy together, and I don’t have a place in their perfect lifestyle. I thought that I had seen them around town a lot when they were just my customers but now it felt like every time I turned around they were there. It has increased since they came in to get their outfits for Starfall designed. I swear I ran into Rhys yesterday when I went to get lunch for myself. I ran into Feyre the other night while I was getting the groceries for my sisters and me. The two of them had actually approached me a week ago while I was at the park with my baby sister. They had little Nyx with them then and it felt like someone had taken a hold of my heart and started squeezing. The babe was adorable at two years of age. He's starting to reign terror on his parents who had apparently decided he needed to run off his energy at the park. The two of them are far more friendly with people than I would have liked, but mostly that friendliness was targeted towards me. As they joined me on the bench sandwiching me between them. They ended up chatting my ear off for the better part of an hour. There brushes of hands against my body that were too well placed to be incidental. It felt like a vice clamping down around my heart as I left the park with my sister to head home. Feyre had wanted me to stay a bit longer so that she could continue talking to me about my sketches. 

The physical interactions with them weren't the worst thing though. It was the images and emotions that the two had unknowingly sent down the bond. It wasn’t unusual to get a flash of lust from one of them at any given time of the day. It was inconvenient to just get hit with the overwhelming need for someone when I’m with clients. Late at night though I get the images. Of my mates tangled up in pleasure. Sometimes it was flashes of Feyre's face screwed up in pleasure; other of Rhys’s eyes alight with lust and desire. Those nights sleep was hard to come by. A few of those nights I found myself back in the shop working on my clients orders, anything to keep my mind from lingering on the two people that didn’t know I was bound to them.  I was surprised to be receiving so much from them down the bond given that both of them are powerful Demati. I figured that they would be skilled at keeping to themselves. 

Last night was one of those sleepless nights. It was a damn near endless barrage of want and need coming from both of them. If I hadn’t known that their mating bond had been accepted between them I would have assumed that they had accepted it last night. I left a note for my middle sister in the kitchen before heading to the shop in the dead of night. Being the night court, plenty of people were milling about the streets and shops in the palace of thread and jewels. Thankfully it isn’t one of the nights we keep the shop open for those who live under the stars, I could work in peace and not be bothered by anyone. No customers, no seamstresses, no nosy sisters, and most importantly no over friendly mates or their friends. 

It was wonderful to sit in the shop and do what I love with my shadows dancing around me. The shadows had been my friends since I was a very small faeling. They were more shy when I was out in public but when it is just me they come to life and sing. I had only seen two other people like me. One was my maternal grandfather who was from a court that had long since been lost; and the other was Azriel. Grandfather was able to teach me how to control the shadows and use them to my advantage. But he also told me to keep the gift to myself. Shadowsingers had long been coveted by the courts to be used as spies; and he and my parents were worried that the former High Lord would have conscripted me into his spy network if it was ever found out. I had successfully kept it a secret for nearly 400 years. Though times like this, when the shop is closed and I have the room to myself, I let them loose. A soft smile grows on my face as I watch the playful shadows dance about the room. A few of them try to be helpful by handing me tools and instruments that I need as I work on Feyre’s Starfall gown. 

Feyre’s dress had been coming along beautifully. She had come in for a fitting last week where we were checking the fit on the mock up. The High Lady had all but begged to have a similar fabric to my own. We had more of the fabric left; thank gods for that; the last thing I wanted to do was take a trip to the Autumn court to source more. I lose track of time working on the dress; so much so that I didn’t realize the sun had risen until I heard the lock on the door turn. 

“Sis, are you still here?” Genevieve calls out. Of course she came here. “I saw your note on the counter this morning. I dropped Itty bitty off at school and brought breakfast.” 

I sigh and set my things down to make my way out of the work room. Genevieve stands in the room looking so much like our mother; hair tied up in a worn red scarf, a dark red linen shirt and comfortable leather trousers. Ready for a day at the blacksmith. In her hands she balances a bag of what I assume is the breakfast and two cups in the other. 

“Your shadows are so helpful I’m jealous.” She passes me one of the cups and I take a sniff and immediately am greeted by the comforting scent of coffee “ Were you here all night again?” 

It's not hard to hear the concern in her voice as she takes a once over of me. 

“Yes” I responded, taking a sip of the delicious coffee that she had brought. 

“Ok what is going on with you.” She cocks her head to the side “It seems like you have been stressed this past year. Well more so than normal. This is starting to get worrisome. The number of times you have left the house in the middle of the night and worked through to morning is ridiculous.”

“What’s going on? I know it's not money since I help with the books and we have two sources of income coming in.” She takes a breath. “You can talk to me Sis.” 

“Let's go into the office. The ladies should be coming in soon.” I led her into my office not wanting to state what was going on when one of my employees could walk in. Once we are in the office I gesture for her to take a seat in front of my desk. I take a seat and my chair, bones creaking as I sit on the soft leather. She fixes me with a look telling me to start talking. 

“So I met my mates.” I sigh running a hand through my hair 

“You met your mate. That's good news right.” She starts rifling through the bag of food 

“Mates. Two of them.” She stops looking up at me 

“Two. Is that possible?” Her eyebrows nearly disappear into her hairline. 

“It is.” I lean back in my chair. “Incredibly rare but possible.” 

“So let me repeat my earlier question. That’s good news right?” 

“It’s complicated.” I bite my lower lip “The two of them are already mated. Sealed the bond and everything. But the bond only snapped for me.” 

“They don’t know.” Her voice drops in concern 

“No,they don’t.” 

“So what is stressing you out about it? You wouldn’t be leaving the house in the middle of the night over nothing?” 

“They are sending things down the bond. Images, emotions; it’s driving me crazy Gen.” 

“Shit, well can you block them out.” Mom had taught the two of us how to shield from Demati when we were younger. 

“I’ve tried; it only is able to dull it.” I fidget in my seat.  “It also doesn’t help that I keep seeing the two of them every time I go out into the city.” 

“Oh..” She hesitates “Do you mind if I ask who it is.?”  I quickly sent a few shadows out to make sure that the shop was still empty and that there were no busy bodies lurking around the shop. 

“It's the High Lord and Lady.” This was the first time I had ever said those words out loud. I guess I had thought that if I didn’t say it then I could pretend it wasn’t real and that it didn’t bother me. Gen lets out a low whistle.

“That does complicate things. I was going to tell you to grow a pair and tell them but fuck. The High Lord and Lady that… that makes things way more complex.” 

“You see why I am stressed now.” I can feel the ugly emotions filling my chest.

“Yeah, you are in the world's shittiest situation.” She lets out a sigh “It's not like you can go up to them and say hey I am your mate. Fuck I am sorry Sis.” 

I let out a wet laugh, a few tears escaped my eyes and rolled down my cheeks “ There’s nothing for you to apologize for. I just got dealt a shitty hand by the mother.” 

“Are you going to…” She trails off. I know what she was going to say though. It wasn’t something that was talked about often and not in polite company. Rejecting the bond. 

“It’s an option, and I am considering it. I want to ask a few friends of mine in Day about it first though. Since it hasn’t snapped for them they shouldn’t notice but I would like some confirmation first.” It helped that I had friends in other courts that I could gather information from; and there was no better place for information than  the Day Court.

“I will support whatever decision you make. You deserve to be happy Sis, and if your happiness is achieved by breaking the bond then do it.” 

The conversation between us dies after that as she passes me a blueberry muffin from the bag. Seems she stopped by our favorite bakery before heading over here. Time seems to fly too quickly and all too soon Gen has to leave for work leaving me here by myself. Although I’m not on my own for too much longer as my employees start trickling in.

The day seems to stretch on and on as clients make their way into the shop for fittings or to pick up their orders. The dull chatter of my employees and the various customers buzzes in my ears as I methodically pull a small needle through water-like silk. It's hard to make out any distinguishable conversation from behind my office door. Today seems like one of those days when time is just suspended and I can work in peace. There is a quiet content hum from my mates bond; one of the few times that I haven't felt heightened emotions from either of them. 

A soft knock shatters the silence of the office, effectively breaking the spell of tranquility that had fallen over me 

“Come in.” My voice cracks just a bit from not using it. The door squeaks open as a familiar head of midnight hair pokes in. Violet eyes twinkle in amusement as a smile grows across his stupidly handsome face. 

“Sweetheart!” The door swings open the rest of the way as Rhysand swaggers his way into my office like he owns it. I am quick to stand from my desk. 

“High lord.” I give him a polite curtsy, slamming my mental shields up before meeting his gaze

“How many times do I have to tell you it's Rhys?” He laughs before taking a seat in one of the leather chairs in front of my desk. “ So are you ready for my fitting or should I come back later.”  

Shit… Shit shit shit. I had completely forgotten that he was on my books for his second fitting today. It wasn’t like I was completely unprepared. No his suit was ready for the fitting but I was nowhere near mentally prepared for a fitting and not having slept the night before was going to be the actual death of me. 

“No, you are fine.” I move from behind the desk “Let me go grab your suit and we will get you out of here in no time.” 

“No need to rush, I quite enjoy your company.” I cannot afford to focus on my racing heart right now. I need to get him out of this shop as quickly as possible. I move through the back of the shop with practiced ease quickly locating the High Lord’s suit hanging neatly next to the High Lady’s gown. The two pieces were works of art in themselves that compliment each other. The suit as dark as the night sky embossed fabric giving the illusion of swirling depths. The dress flowed off the hanger like liquid moonlight, the delicate silk the identical twin to my own gown. Small gems sewn into the bodice catch and reflect the light like the stars that will make their journey across the sky on Starfall. For as much as I don’t want to care about the two, these pieces tell a different story. If I wasn’t just a little bit attached to the two of them I would have passed the designs along to another dressmaker and been done with it; but now I painstakingly designed and sewn these garments for my mates. I let out a small sigh before reaching up to grab the suite. Once I get back to my office I am quick to pass the suit off to Rhys directing him to the small changing area at the back of the office. I quickly begin to route around my desk for my supplies.  

An hour, all I have to do is make it an hour and then I will be free of Rhysand for the time being. It feels like forever before he walks out from behind the curtain. It is only years of working with Rhysand that keeps me from gasping out. If the suit was beautiful on the hanger and dress form it is absolutely stunning on the male it was made for. Rhys makes his way over to the platform and mirror in the office stepping up before moving to fuss with the cuffs. 

“This is a beautiful suit Sweetheart.” He moves to pick off the smallest piece of lint on the  collar. I move to stand behind him to begin the process of adjusting the way the suit sits on Rhysand.

We continued the song and dance that we had done for many years to get the suit to fit him perfectly. I can't help the small ache in my chest as I circle around him placing pins and chalk lines where minute alterations need to be made. Rhys is beaming the whole time chatting away like we hadn’t seen each other just the other day. I can feel the long day in my bones, my hands ache from the countless hours of work. My fingertips are raw from the amount of times I have jammed pins and needles into them. While I try to appropriately match Rhys energy, it's easy to tell that he isn’t buying the act. 

“You seem tired.” He arches a brow at me as I move to pin the hem of his pants. 

“My mates kept me up last night.” A mischievous glint grows in his violet eyes.

“Oh. They kept you up .” He teased but hidden in the back of his teasing tone seemed to be a bit of jealousy… possessiveness. 

“Yeah the two of them kept sending all of their emotions down the bond last night.” I sigh looking up at him from my spot on the floor 

“Two mates…” He stumbles with his words. He hasn’t done that since he was a teen and I was helping my father with his fitting “The mother has blessed you.” 

“Blessed or cursed.” I put the pins down. 

“Cursed.” He questions

“The bond only snapped for me.” A small sad smile grows on my face.  My mental shields are intact and stronger than ever and it's not like I can tell Rhys that he and Feyre are my mates. 

“Have you told them?” He questions, holding a hand out to help me from the floor 

“No. The two of them have already sealed the bond and have started their own perfect little family.” It feels like an Illyrian has punched me in the gut as I make this confession to him “I don’t want to ruin that for them.” 

“So what are you planning to do?” He tilts his head looking at me in sympathy “ Because you seem to have wilted these past few months. 

“I have a few things I am thinking about doing. I want to seek out a few friends in Day first before committing to it.”

“Committing to what Sweetheart?” he gazes at me with concern 

“Breaking the bond.” And as those words leave my lips you can see the color drain from his face.

Tag list: @rachelnicolee @goldenmagnolias @jesssicapanigua @sweetorangeblossom @cat-or-kitten @alowint @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @coldpeachkitten @esposadomd @araneea92 @saltedcoffeescotch @persephonesalvatore

[lumosinlove]

Seeking hope and happiness, especially today, and found some in these three...

On The Line

Part Six

~

New York was much as Logan remembered it. This city seemed to do nothing but change, so its fast paced lights and sidewalks always seemed the same. Finn refused to stay anywhere but Manhattan, but if his happy expression as he stood at their suite’s large windows while sipping his coffee resulted in earlier mornings for the both of them, Logan didn’t care.

He poured a cup of his own and joined him at the window. Central Park’s leaves hadn’t turned yet. Early joggers and cyclists were out. People walked their dogs. The world felt awake and happy, and Finn’s arm around his waist was warm.

The qualifiers were over, the first rounds blown through. The semifinals were today. Logan had taken out Winter easily to get past the quarterfinals, and today he’d go up against Luke. Leo had fought hard to get through Black and succeeded, which had upset and surprised everyone—even those who were hoping for another grueling Tremblay-Knut match up in the final.

Logan knew he should be nervous for tonight’s match. He had to focus on Luke, who had a way of sneaking up on people. Instead, all he could think about was the prospect of meeting Leo in the finals.

“He sleeping?” Finn asked.

“Shower,” Logan said. “He was singing last I checked.”

“Singing what?”

“I don’t know.”

Finn scoffed. “Yes, you do.”

“Willow.”

Ah-ha.”

Logan rolled his eyes, but settled his head against Finn’s chest. The park looked so peaceful. The runners knew just where they were going around the circular track of the lake. The dog walkers would soon make their way back home. Logan didn’t know what would happen tonight—if he’d make it, or if he would lose this chance at another title. He wondered when he would get tired of chasing titles. It hadn’t quite happened yet. Something still ignited in his chest when he thought about winning. It was similar to the feeling he got when he thought about those two, prized first kisses he’d received. He liked Finn in the stands. He liked the grueling training Finn designed for him.

“How you feeling?” Finn asked, scratching his fingers through Logan’s hair. “You’re playing good. Smooth. I’m proud.”

Logan nodded, settling more of his weight against him. “I’m good.” He hesitated, but Finn would find out sooner or later. Logan would end up blurting it out in a different moment just like this one. “Nervous.”

“I know,” Finn said. “But we knew this was always a possibility.”

“But now it’s close. And real.”

“Oh, you’re so sure you’re going to take Luke.” When Logan just looked at him, Finn laughed. “Yeah, okay, killer.”

“I don’t want to hurt Le.”

Finn stayed quiet for a moment. Logan closed his eyes, letting him mess with his hair, rub his neck, do anything he wanted while he thought. One time he accidentally started doing it when a few reporters caught up with them around the practice courts, and there hadn’t been a camera there but they had sure gotten a few laughs.

“You’re not hurting anyone, Lo. You’re doing your job. Leo will be in the game longer than you. He’s talented and driven and younger.” Finn looked down at him. “I think the only thing that would hurt him is you…like, going easy on him or something.”

Logan scoffed. “Going easy?”

“Not that you would. God knows you’re too stubborn for that.”

Logan let his eyes unfocus, filled only with the green and brown smudges of the park far below. A siren wailed somewhere—a sound he always associated with the beginning of a grueling hardcourt season. He already knew Finn would be setting up multiple massage appointments for him—and thought about asking Finn to do it himself like he sometimes did.

“I want to beat him. That’s there, just like in practice,” Logan said carefully. “I just… I need a way to separate it.” Logan ran his hand down Finn’s arm until he reached his wrist. He traced over the taut tendons there from holding his coffee. “I don’t remember how I did it with you. I just—I need it to be about the game and not about us because…”

Finn’s fingers paused from messing with his hair. His thumb brushed Logan’s eyebrow, and Logan took the cue and looked up at him.

“Because I love him,” Logan whispered.

A new sort of flame caught behind Finn’s eyes. His laugh was soft, satiny, and he cupped Logan’s chin in light fingertips.

“Ouais,” Logan whispered against Finn’s mouth. “Finn, I do, I do…” Finn was hushing him, smiling, nodding, then kissing him.

“Shower’s free,” Leo’s voice said.

Logan looked to see him with a towel around his waist and another in his hands, drying off his hair roughly. The droplets of water on his chest shone as brightly as the gold chain around his neck.

“I mean,” Leo continued, grinning. “Technically, it was free while I was in it, too. If we’re covering all our bases here.”

“I have to shower,” Finn said, setting his coffee down. “So, why are you toweling off?”

Leo laughed and threw the towel in a perfect straight snap to Finn’s chest.

Finn just grinned, grabbing his face for a sloppy kiss as he passed by. He turned. “Lo, eat a light breakfast and stretch now so we can get some hitting in early. And Le…” He stopped in his tracks, halfway through the bathroom doorway before he retraced his steps and took Leo around the waist for a slower, softer kiss. It left his shirt damp. He hooked a finger in Leo’s gold chain. “See you for lunch?”

Logan still managed to forget Leo wasn’t coming down to the courts with him more often than not. He’d grown so used to spending every single moment together. Seeing him across the practice courts, alone, and tall, and beautiful, felt so, so strange. Sometimes Finn had to stop Logan from crossing the lines at the sound of Leo’s coach’s harsh barks at him…Sometimes Logan had to stop Finn.

Leo bit his lip, shoulders falling some, and shook his head. “Probably not.”

Logan frowned. He took it all back. This was the hardest part. The days where they hardly saw each other. “When?”

“I’ll stick around after I play Lupin,” Leo said, offering a smile as he wiped at the water he’d gotten on Finn’s shirt. “Watch you kick Luke’s ass.”

Logan brightened. “You will?” What if you lose? There was no way Leo’s team would want him out at Logan’s match for the camera to find if he lost.

“Fuck ‘em,” Leo said, reading his mind, then looked at Finn. “But I probably shouldn’t sit with you.”

Finn’s mouth pulled to the side unhappily, but he nodded. “I know…All right, well, have a late dinner with us?”

“Gotta ask coach,” Leo said. “But I want to. Will you text me where you guys end up?”

Logan set his coffee down too, mostly untouched. “Le, we won’t leave without you. Tell your team your having dinner with—with friends, if you have to.”

“They can’t deny you us.” Finn brushed his knuckles down Leo’s cheek. “We’re yours.”

“Sweetheart…” Leo caught Finn’s hand and kissed it. “You are.”

But Leo sighed, and it sounded so heavy and exhausted that Logan wanted to take them both back to his house, back to the sun and the pool, and the open kitchen that wouldn’t ever feel the same without Leo’s happy humming in it.

Logan crossed the room and fit into Leo’s other side. He settled his palm on his neck, making Leo look at him. I love you. I love you.

“I’ll try,” Leo said. He put his hand over Logan’s. “You know I’ll try.”

~

Leo won his match. Logan caught the end of it on the warm-up room televisions while rolling out his back on the mats. Luke was on the other side of the room. Maybe they would have been watching together, had they not been about to play, but Logan was glad for the quiet. Finn was off somewhere preparing Logan’s drinks and fruit. He’d started leaving little messages on the insides of bottle caps and the back of Logan’s plastic forks. Love you. The camera had already caught one that said you’re hot and so he’d been sticking to love. Logan had realized that the camera caught it and had shown it on the big screen once the crowd laughed, so he’d made a point of tapping it, eyes on the camera, and pointing to himself. That had won him big media points. One headline had even read Heart Grew Three Sizes That Day.

Leo was doing well. He looked strong and energetic, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet while he waited for a serve. Logan paused, letting himself rest with his neck on the roller as he took him in. He looked devastating in the outfit his sponsors had chosen. All black, all the way to the headband tied around his golden hair.

His returns were like water. He hit a backhand, forehand, backhand, before whipping the ball down the line so perfectly that Logan had to inhale and close his eyes, pushing the roller from his neck to shoulders. The perfect dig into his sore muscles couldn’t come close to Leo’s hands on him, especially with Finn’s dark eyes watching the two of them over Leo’s shoulder.

“I know what you’re think-ing a-bout,” Finn’s sing-song voice came.

Logan opened his eyes to see Finn standing there. He held a clear cup of fruit, and three water bottles. One was clear, untouched. The other was orange, filled with vitamin C, the third pink with hydration powder.

“Ha,” Finn said. He set the bottles down as he crouched by Logan’s side. “I was right, I can tell.”

Logan pushed himself up to sit. “You were right.”

“Actually. You were,” Finn said. He twisted a bottle cap off and flashed its reverse at him.

I <3 him 2

~

From the court, Logan found Leo in in the crowd easily, smiling and accepting congratulations for his win. He had shed the black, sponsored clothes. For Logan, he was sunny in white and light blue. Only a small smile and a slight flutter of his fingers let Logan know Leo had seen him, too. Hi, it might have said. Or, good luck.

When Logan looked to Finn, Finn flashed him a thumbs up and patted a hand over his chest. You got this. Love ya.

Logan liked all of his and Finn’s secret messages to each other while he was on court. He wanted more of that with Leo. He wanted to be able to know for sure what ever inch of Leo meant. Every movement. He wanted Leo to know in turn that he had seen him, that he—

“Time violation,” came the umpire’s voice.

Logan blinked. Around him the audience was murmuring. He jerked his head up to the chair. The umpire was looking at him impatiently. He didn’t remember coming to stand at the baseline, but he found himself holding the ball close to his racket like he was about to bring it up for a serve. How long had he been standing that way? He looked at Finn, who was now standing up and had concern written all over his face. Lo?

Leo. Logan found him in the crowd again. Sweet-eyed. Just as concerned. Nodding at him. What did that mean? I know? It’s okay? I understand? You got this?

Logan bounced the ball, once, twice, caught a glimpse of Luke’s taken off-guard face, and served. Ace. No one could touch that shot from him. Maybe Leo could.

Leo definitely could. With his reach, with his step, with his glorious elegance. Logan narrowed in again. This was his game. His war within as his body fought to reach the finals—even while his mind dreaded playing Leo. And longed for it.

Luke put up a fight, but he simply wasn’t as quick. Logan’s win came to him easily in the third set, off a slice that cut the ball to drop right over the net.

“Game, set, match, Tremblay,” echoed through the stadium.

Luke met him at the net, clasping his hand and slapping him on the back.

“Nice one. You good?” Look said in his ear.

“I’m in love,” Logan said.

Luke pulled back, giving him a look, then laughed. “Lucky you, then, Tremblay.”

~

Finn was waiting for him in the tunnel, as usual. Instead of the usual hard hug—which Logan had been looking forward to—he put oh-so gentle hands to Logan’s face, looking between his eyes for signs of harm.

“You okay?” he asked softly. “What happened with that time violation? You just…You just stood there for a second, I thought you were gonna pass out on me or something.”

Logan shook his head. “Where’s Leo?” Then, surprising himself, he laughed. He took Finn’s face in his hands, a mirror, and kissed him hard. “Where is he?”

“I…” Finn laughed, too, shaking his head. “I don’t know, maybe waiting for the car if he got away—”

Logan wrapped his arms tightly around Finn’s neck. He pressed a kiss to Finn’s cheek. “I love you, mon Rouge. Mon coeur, lumière, éternité…”

Finn’s hands pressed into his back. “I love you. God, I love you, too, but Lo, just say you’re good. Say it to me.”

“I am,” Logan said, tucking his face into his neck. “I am.”

Logan tried not to appear as insane as he felt when he was stopped to sign autographs. He was probably full on grinning in photos with fans more than he had in his entire career. Finn stood a step apart, like a watchful bodyguard. He signed a few autographs and took a few pictures of his own. He placed a hand low on Logan’s back and guided him out of the arena towards where the car would be waiting.

And there he was. Logan felt like some string had been cut then refastened. All the parts of him yearning to get to Leo in that crowd, standing frozen on that court, tethered themselves to the golden boy waiting at the curb.

He would have kissed him right there. He would have willed the world’s attention their way—but first them. Just them. First, this had to be theirs.

He didn’t have to call out Leo’s name. He heard them coming and turned. The grin he gave Logan was filled with the win he himself had under his belt.

He slipped his phone into his pocket. “Late dinner, yeah? Tastes fifty times better after a win.” When Logan got close, Leo wrapped an arm around his shoulders and leaned in, away from the cameras. “Good game, Lo. You all right?”

Logan nodded and yanked open the door of the car. He guided Leo through, then Finn, who went with a wink.

The car was dark, darker than the night was outside with its people and camera lights. The door shut and took the noise with it. Finn and Leo sat in the seats opposite Logan. There was a driver, Finn was giving him a restaurant name, but Logan didn’t care. Leo had a hand on Finn’s thigh, accepting a kiss.

“He’ll say he’s fine, but you tell me,” Leo said. “Is he okay? On the court, I thought—”

Logan leaned across the pristine black carpet of the car. He steadied himself on the smooth leather seat with one hand, his other high on Leo’s thigh, and kissed Leo’s surprised mouth.

“Okay,” Leo mumbled, steadying Logan with two hands on his waist. “Moving car? Seatbelts?”

“If you’re in the stands, I want you in my box,” Logan said. “If I’m in the stands, I want to be in your box.” He feathered lighter kisses up Leo’s cheek. “I want to sit next to Finn. I want you to be able to hear us when you go for a towel. I want to be able to hear you both.”

Leo sent Finn a look through the kisses, smiling. “Okay…”

“I don’t care what your team thinks. I don’t care if they think I’m listening, or Finn’s plotting and stealing.” Logan pulled back to look down at him. “If they think I would use you in that way, they’re stupid.”

“You and adrenaline are quite the cocktail,” Leo said, but he was blushing.

Logan let himself fall back into his own seat. “And you look perfect in black.”

“A crazy cocktail, but he speaks the truth.” Finn held out a water bottle to Logan. “Drink that whole thing. Even the dregs, I’m watching you, Tremblay.”

Logan took the bottle, shaking up the hydration powder inside. “What do I get if I do?”

Finn just smiled. He was unwrapping silver foil from a piece of blue peppermint gum gum and he popped it into his mouth. “I’ll blow you in the restaurant bathroom.”

Logan blinked. “Really?”

Finn reached forward and flicked him on the forehead.

They reached Manhattan again quickly enough, and curled into the twisting streets of the West Village. Finn perked up, happy to be on familiar ground and popped the car door.

“After you,” Leo said, just as Logan motioned for him to go first. “Oh—ha. Lo, go.”

Logan narrowed his eyes. “You.”

“Not that this isn’t adorable, but…” Finn leaned down. “If I’m hungry, you guys must be starving.” He held out his hand to Leo. “Guess what they have here?”

Leo put his hand in Finn’s. “What?”

“Deconstructed chocolate cake,” Finn said, helping him out.

“What the fuck is that?” Logan asked, following.

“Sugar. You’ll love it.”

Logan sent Leo a look as Finn jogged ahead and disappeared between large, wooden doors. Inside, Logan caught a glimpse of windows lined with candles. Leo would look gorgeous.

“That was pretty sweet back there,” Leo said. He took his hand as they walked. “You sure you’re all right?”

“I was fine on the court,” Logan said, pulling the door open. “I was just thinking.”

“About?” Leo asked.

The candlelight was already hitting him, and Logan thought about telling him right there in this doorway with Finn and a—blushing—waiter looking expectantly at them.

“Just thinking,” Logan said. “All good things.”

“Um,” the waiter tucked her hair behind her ear. “This way.”

“Thanks so much,” Finn beamed.

“Classic O’Hara,” Leo whispered. He moved Logan’s hand from his left to his right and placed his hand low on Logan’s back. “But we both won today. Who’s he gonna let taste the wine?”

Logan laughed. “It’s going to be you.”

“Why?”

“Just a feeling I have.”

~

It didn’t feel like a day off. Not without Leo there. The two female finalists were playing their match today, and at dinner Logan had been relieved at the idea that he’d have a whole day off with Leo before they had to go against each other—until Leo told them his coach wanted him to stay away. 

He woke up earlier than usual and in a too empty room. Finn, warm and solid against his back—but no Leo. He wasn’t sure why he was even awake until he felt the next stroke of fingers through his hair, absentminded and soft. It would put him straight back to sleep soon.

“Rouge,” Logan mumbled. His voice wasn’t quite there yet, coming out a gravely sort of whisper.

“Sorry,” Finn whispered back. “I was just looking at you. Go back to sleep.”

Logan pushed back against him. “I’m turned away.”

“I was looking at the rest of you.”

The sheets were near his hips now that he thought about it. Finn’s hand ran down the dip of his ribs and waist.

Logan settled into the feeling, but when Finn’s fingers moved back to his hair, he sighed and rolled onto his back, getting a hand under Finn’s head to pull him onto his chest. He closed his eyes, pressed five hard kisses to Finn’s temple, and felt Finn let out a long sigh.

“What’s up?” Logan asked.

“Leo. If there was any day he should have been able to be with us, it was today, when we have nothing going on, and the training is light because you play tomorrow.” Finn’s fingers began drumming on his chest, restless. A rare show of nerves. “He should be here right now.”

Logan could see Finn in Nice. In his library nook for the first time. Head in his hands, finally allowing himself to cry away an old life to let the new one in. This, he thought, was a version of it. Worries, brimming over because they had not been let out.

He passed his fingers through Finn’s hair. Kissed his temple and his forehead and the bridge of his nose. “It’s not your fault.”

“I should have talked to his team—”

“Non,” Logan said. “They’re angry people. I think. That wouldn’t have helped. But, hey. Look at me.”

Finn did. Sleepy brown eyes. He traced a thumb under one lower set of fair eyelashes. There was lilac there.

“No more worrying,” Logan whispered. He brushed his mouth, feather-light, over the delicate skin just under Finn’s eye.

“I’m not worried—no, I am.”

“It gets like this when you’re stressed.” Logan kissed his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. “It’s gorgeous, but it’s not good for you.”

Finn sighed and let Logan press him back into the pillows to be kissed. His jaw. His neck. “He’s not happy. I mean, he’s happy with us. But in the game. In this life. He used to be happier. At the Wimbledon Ball. He was happier.”

“How do you know? We weren’t seeing a lot of him then.” Logan’s mouth found the valley between his collarbones. Was there anything better than this? It woke him up like coffee, and settled him down like nothing else. Sometimes, panicking on the court, he pictured this. Soft and unhurried. Usually, Leo was there for him to kiss, too. “Let’s get dressed. Then call him. Tell him he has to have breakfast with us.”

Finn smiled. “What, or else?”

“Or else I…” Logan tried to think of something good, but honestly he wasn’t meant to be awake this early. He pressed his face into Finn’s neck, his hand to his cheek. He inhaled, kissed him there, then pulled back and kissed him properly. “I love him.”

Finn smiled. “I love him, too.”

It rang. Rang and rang.

“Hey, it’s Leo, sorry I missed you!”

Again. Logan leaned his forehead against the warm window pane, standing in a square of sun coming into their room.

“Hey, it’s Leo, sorry I missed you!”

“Fuck.” Logan turned, waiting for the beep.

Finn watched his face as he pulled a t-shirt over his head. His skin was still slightly damp from his shower and Logan, worried as he was, enjoyed the way it stuck to his chest.

“Hi, Le,” Logan said. “It’s us. Just wondering where you are…”

“Missing you,” Finn mumbled, bending down to lace up his shoes.

“We miss you, we are going to get breakfast at the place. Okay. Lo—Okay, cool.” Finn’s head snapped up with an open-mouthed smile. Logan flushed. “Okay, come find us, or we’ll find you.”

He hung up fast, staring at his phone. Finn crossed the room, taking Logan’s face in his hands.

“You almost said—” he began to say, laughing through the words.

Logan pushed up on his toes and kissed him silent. He pulled back, knowing his eyes were wide, and pressed three fingers to Finn’s mouth. “Quiet.”

Finn gave his chin a little jerk and took Logan’s fingers in his mouth, smiling around the gentle bite. Logan rolled his eyes and pulled his hand away.

“C’mere, lover.” Finn wrapped an arm around Logan’s shoulders. “I’ve got the room key. I’m taking you to a big breakfast full of eggs, ham, and calling Leo every five minutes.”

~

Finn got restless again and they had barely taken a sip of their coffees. Logan could tell. What they had started calling “the” place was a small coffee shop that Finn knew. It made generous omelettes with sides of potatoes and greens. Spicy beans and fried eggs with tortillas—Leo’s favorite. Logan had stared at it at the menu, wondering if ordering it would make him arrive faster.

A plate with a steaming chocolate croissant appeared in front of him, and Finn pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“There you go, sweetheart.” Finn slid into his seat. “I ordered for us. But I didn’t want to sit here with you while you’re hangry and drinking your coffee-milk, so…”

Logan shoved him, but Finn just pulled their chairs together and took out his phone. Logan ripped off a piece of the croissant and watched Finn find Leo’s contact. When he held it up to his ear, Logan watched Finn’s face. Hopeful. He caught Logan’s eye and put a hand on the back of his neck, squeezing.

“Hi,” Finn said, but the sigh in his voice told Logan no one had answered. “Hey, Sunshine. Us again. We’re here. Just…wondering where you are.” Finn looked at Logan, mouth pulling to the side. “Let us know.” He ran a thumb over Logan’s bottom lip. “Okay. Okay, love you, bye.”

Finn set his phone down, hand falling down to Logan’s lower back. “Maybe he’s sleeping and we’re assholes trying to wake him up.”

“It’s almost eleven.”

“Yeah…” Finn picked up the water pitcher on the table and filled Logan’s glass. Logan picked it up again and filled Finn’s.

“What did you order?”

“Got us the ham and tomato omelettes. Sound good?”

“Ouais. Thanks.”

They quieted, then laughed a little at each other when they realized they were both waiting for the phone to ring.

Finn was worrying the straw of his iced coffee when he set the cup down hard. “Oh my God.”

“Hm?” Logan got to the chocolatey center of the croissant and carefully bit so he got enough chocolate and enough pastry.

“Logan…”

Logan raised his eyebrows at his full name from Finn’s mouth. “Finn…” He mimicked his tone, but got serious when Finn put both of his hands in his hair, gripping. “Finn. Quoi?”

“I just—oh my God.”

“What?”

“I just…” Finn’s hands moved over his mouth. “Did I?”

Logan set the pastry down. “Did you what? Did you fucking what?”

He looked so panicked that Logan started looking around, trying to figure out the problem. But Finn grabbed his hand, pulling his attention back to him.

“At the end of the message, I said…” Finn whispered. “I said love you.”

Logan blinked. “What?”

They both stared down at Finn’s phone and its dark screen.

“Shit,” Logan said. “Wait, ouais. You—you did. Finn.”

Finn melted, folding his head into his arms and slumping on the table.

Logan laughed, but he wasn’t sure if it was actually funny. That wasn’t how he’d planned for Leo to know. Of all the opportunities they’d had. Dinners and late nights and soft afternoons.

“And after you made fun of me for almost saying it.”

“Shut up,” Finn mumbled into his arms. When he lifted his head, his face was flushed. “It just slipped out. I—shit. I was looking at you and your stupid chocolate, and then I saw the hot sauce on the table and I was thinking about him and the amount he puts on his fucking eggs—”

“You said okay, love you, bye.”

“I know that!”

“Two omelettes?”

They both looked up at the waiter, who took a step back—probably at the panicked look in their eyes.

“Um,” he said. “No? Not omelettes?”

“No, no,” Finn said. “I mean, yes, omelettes. Thank you so much.”

The man set the plates down with a look on his face like he wanted to get out of there. It probably had something to do with the way Finn still had his head in his hands.

Logan rubbed a hand down his back. “It’s fine. Baby, it’s fine. We do love him.”

“And he finds out on a voicemail?” Finn’s voice came out muffled through his hands. “So bad. Jesus.”

“Maybe he’s not gonna listen?”

“Maybe.” For a moment, Finn sounded almost placated, but he jerked his head up. “No phone.”

Logan nudged his plate at him. “Eat something.”

Finn turned his body towards him in his chair. “You’re playing tomorrow.”

“Finn, what the fuck?”

“I want you eating and drinking and resting.”

“Finn, what…” He gestured to his food. “Ouais. What does this look like?”

“When do you not have your phone?”

“When I’m…” Logan trailed off, finally understanding. “Non. That would be insane.”

Finn stood, gesturing to the waiter. “Let’s get this to go.”

They arrived at the practice courts in the heat of the day. Logan heard Leo before he saw him. He heard him like he’d heard him every day during those perfect months at his house. Leo had a rhythm all his own. His footwork. Quick shuffles, short squeaks of his sneakers on the hard court.

But Logan should not have been able to hear it right then. Not less than twenty hours before the U.S. Open final.

“Fuck,” Finn said, pushing a fence open. “He’s on the court.”

“Again!” they heard Leo’s coach shout.

“Fuck,” Finn cursed. “I’m gonna kill that guy.”

Logan watched him storm towards the next fence, past another player practicing with a hitter—who missed his shot when he saw Finn.

“Wait,” Logan called. “Rouge!”

Finn stopped, but barely. Every muscle in his body strained towards Leo’s court just ahead. Logan could see him now, just barely through netting and bushes and low court walls. Logan caught glimpses of blond hair as he jogged towards Finn.

“What?” Finn asked. “He shouldn’t be out there.”

Logan put his hands on his shoulders. “Stop. I know. But stop.”

Leo was on the baseline. His coach stood beside him, talking fast while Leo’s chest heaved.

“Let me go alone,” Logan said. “If it’s you, his team will get defensive. If it’s me, it’s not their business. It’s player to player.”

Finn looked conflicted. “I…” He looked towards Leo, too. “He shouldn’t be out there.”

“I know.”

“I do love him.”

“I know,” Logan said softly. “Look. I’ll get him in the locker room. You’ll be waiting there. Let me.”

He left Finn, all the while sure he would break and follow him. But he didn’t. Logan made it past another court and opened the chain-fence door into the sidelines of Leo’s. Leo was mid-rally, so his coach saw him first. The man scowled. Logan scowled back.

Leo’s hitter sent the ball into the net.

“Leo,” the coach called. Leo looked at him as he rolled out one of his ankles gingerly. A sharp nod directed his attention to Logan and, despite everything, the heat and how tired he obviously was, a smile broke over Leo’s face and jogged over.

“Hi,” Leo said, but held out his hand. “I want to, but don’t hug me.” He jerked his head subtly towards his team. “They already think I’m going to be soft on you tomorrow and I don’t…” Leo swallowed. He let out a breath. “Anyway. Hi. What are you doing here?”

Logan’s whole chest hurt. “What about I kiss you instead?”

That, at least, made Leo smile. One blue eye squinted shut against the sun. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” Logan fired back.

He squirted Logan lightly with his water bottle. “You spying on me, Tremblay?”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Logan said.

“That’s cute. A little desperate, but cute.”

“Leo.”

“I’m training,” Leo said. “I don’t know if you heard, but I’m going up against Logan Tremblay tomorrow. He’s pretty good.”

“Which is why you should be resting.”

Leo was quiet for a moment, then he looked around. “So, where’s Finn freaking out right now?”

Logan bit the inside of his cheek and looked towards the locker room building.

“You two are sweet, you know that?” Leo reached out and briefly stroked a knuckle down the center of Logan’s chest. “Look, I’m almost finished here. Then I’ll find you. I know how to take care of myself. Finn knows that, too, or he should.”

“He actually—We actually need to talk to you about something else.”

Leo frowned. “Oh?”

“Just—” Logan itched to take his hand. “Come? Please? Just for a moment.”

Leo still looked concerned, but he nodded. “Okay. Hold on.”

His coach had his arms crossed. His narrow eyes tracked Leo as he came towards him. The argument was hushed and intense. It ended with Leo grabbing his bags with an angry sort of strength. Logan knew how heavy those bags got. Leo swung them onto his shoulders like they were nothing, just beautiful baby blue and white leather there to make his hair turn even more golden.

When he reached Logan again, he looked more tired than before.

“Give me,” Logan said. Leo didn’t protest when Logan took his racket bag from him and shouldered it himself.

“You’re not supposed to be seen with Adidas.”

“They can kiss my ass.”

“Lo—”

“Then they can explain why they have a problem with me helping my boyfriend.”

Leo lightened up at those words like he always did. As they ducked away from the court, he wrapped an arm around Logan’s shoulders and kissed him. Logan wanted to whisper the phrase into his skin until it stayed with him forever, kept in that sweet freckle just under his chin.

Finn was pacing when they walked in, and then he was rushing over, holding Leo’s shoulders.

“What the hell are you doing out there in the sun? You’ve got a match tomorrow.”

“Backhand,” Leo said. He glanced at Logan. “Mine’s not as good. Coach wants…” He sighed. Annoyance was all over him. Stress. Logan hated it. He wanted to smooth it all away with his fingers, wanted to touch every inch of him to make sure it wasn’t there. “I don’t know what he wants. Oh. By the way…” He leaned forward and planted a soft, quick kiss to Finn’s worried mouth. “Hi.”

Finn pulled him in, leaving one arm open for Logan.

“I’m so sweaty, sorry,” Leo said.

Logan pushed his nose into his chest. Okay, love you, bye.

“Missed you this morning,” Finn said. “We thought…We thought we’d get to…”

There were a million ways Logan would have finished that sentence. Sleep in, breakfast, kiss, lounge, shower, read, talk, sex, doze, stretch, breathe.

“So did I,” Leo sighed. Logan felt his fingers in his hair, a kiss pressed to his forehead and held there. “Fuck. So did I.”

“Do you have your phone?” Finn asked. “With you?”

“It’s in my bag.” Leo arched an eyebrow. “Why?”

Finn just stared at him, but Logan saw each thought pass in his face as if he’d said it.

Leo saw it, too, though he didn’t know enough to understand and laughed instead, unsure. “What the hell is up with you two?”

“We’re in a locker room,” Finn whispered to Logan.

Leo looked between them. “O’Hara, what is happening?”

“I cannot do this in a locker room.”

“Do what?”

Finn groaned, then laughed, then sat down on a bench and covered his face. “I left you a voicemail today. Ugh. Well. We left you a few.”

“I’m sorry,” Leo began but Finn shook his head.

“No, no. It’s okay. It’s just—the last one I left…” His hands dragged down his face lightly, making his brown eyes look big and sad. “Ugh. Leo. I’m such an idiot.”

Leo sat down beside him, hand on Finn’s knee. “Finn…You’re not. You’re not an idiot.” He glanced up at Logan, all concerned and blue, sweat still dripping down from the ends of his hair. “The last one you left…what?”

Finn straightened. He set his hand over Leo’s. Then he held it in both and brought his knuckles to his mouth.

“When I was hanging up, I told you that I loved you,” Finn said. “And I do.”

Logan wanted to hear him say it again, in that soft way. He sank onto the bench on Leo’s other side, the very same words burning in his chest. He put his mouth to the warm fabric of Leo’s t-shirt shoulder, curling a hand around his bicep. There was a fine tremor to Leo’s muscles. Logan didn’t know if he was tired, or if it was the words, but Leo was shaking, just a little.

Logan couldn’t help it. Where he was tucked against Leo’s shoulder, he smiled. “Leo…”

The laugh jostled Logan first, and then it sounded, light and a little tearful, from Leo’s mouth. He grabbed for Finn’s shoulder, pulling him in for something that was more a smile than a kiss.

“You just blurted that out, huh?” Leo cupped the back of Finn’s neck. “Jesus, O’Hara, you had me so worried there.”

“I love you,” Finn said. “I—Logan…”

Leo laughed louder, freer, as Logan gripped the back of his t-shirt until Leo turned.

Logan swiped a thumb over Leo’s full bottom lip. He just wanted to touch that smile. He kissed him, hard, tasting the sweat from his practice.

“I love you,” Logan whispered. “I was supposed to say it first, I love you.”

“Supposed to?” Finn spluttered.

“Shh,” Logan said into Leo’s mouth. “Look how happy he is, I can taste it.”

“I love you, too,” Leo said. He pressed his nose against Logan’s cheek, then turned back to Finn. “Oh God, I love you, too.”

Logan watched them kiss. Laugh. Dissolve into each other—Finn’s chin on Leo’s shoulder, eyes closed, fingers scratching through the back of his hair. Logan put a hand on Leo’s back and felt his muscles relax. All the tension from the court earlier bled away. And tomorrow…Tomorrow’s match felt very far away.

“Let’s go,” Leo said. “I’m sweaty and hot and in love.”

“Wow, speaking Logan’s language,” Finn said.

Leo laughed, but when he stood he sent an almost nervous glance towards the door. “Quick. Before anyone tries to pull me back out there.”

“You shouldn’t have been out there in the first place,” Finn said.

Leo sighed with a smile. “Finn.”

Finn stood, hands up in surrender. “Let’s get out of here.”

~

Logan could relax because it was the three of them. He was finishing off a plate of pasta and chicken balanced on his thighs. Finn sat with his computer perched on the arm of the couch with Logan’s feet in his lap. One thumb dug perfectly into Logan’s arch. Leo was laying on the ground, stretching out his back and—well. Smiling the whole time.

“I keep thinking about the Wimbledon Ball,” Leo said.

“You scolded me for leading,” Logan said.

“I didn’t scold,” Leo laughed. “I wanted you to know you could trust me.”

Logan sat up and set his plate down on the hotel’s coffee table. He pulled his feet from Finn’s lap—Finn wrapped a hand around his ankle and held on long enough for Logan to lean in and kiss him. Logan pressed down against Finn as that hand smoothed up his calve, behind his knee. Up his thigh, resting on his ass for a moment before settling on his lower back to press them together harder.

Logan smiled against Finn’s mouth, then slipped out of his hold. He made his way to where Leo lay on his back and stood over him, one foot pressed against each of his hips.

“Trust you?” he repeated.

Leo stretched his arms over his head, grinning. He was wearing Finn’s sweatshirt. He’d caught the worn cuffs in his hands and it pulled the hem halfway up his chest. Logan wanted to put his teeth on the cut of his waist, he really did.

“Mhm,” Leo said. “You didn’t. You thought I was trying to get inside your head.”

“You were.” Logan narrowed his eyes. “You just said so—trying to get me to trust you.”

Leo rolled his eyes. “Fine. Fine. But you thought I was trying to beat you. And I wasn’t.” He pulled his arms down. Like Finn, his palms found the back of Logan’s ankles. Then his calves. Then the back of his thighs. Only, Leo pulled gently and Logan lowered himself into straddling his hips. Leo smiled and pushed down on his thighs until Logan let his full weight go. “I wasn’t trying to beat you. I was trying to win you.”

A soft laugh came from the couch. “I knew something had to be up when you blatantly asked to dance with my boyfriend.”

“Would have asked you, too,” Leo said, eyes trained on Logan’s as Logan lowered himself down onto his forearms. They were nose to nose now. “A boy can only find so many excuses in one night.”

“And what are you gonna try to do tomorrow?” Logan asked.

“Oh,” Leo whispered. He picked his head up just enough to capture Logan’s bottom lip gently between his teeth—a pull and release that sent Logan’s hips rocking down against him. “Beat you.”

“Please find the bed,” Finn said absentmindedly. His eyes were on his laptop, and he’d put his glasses on. “Your knees get enough stress as it is. And don’t go crazy. I need you rested. And not sore.” Finn looked over at them and Logan wondered if he knew how red his ears were. “Both of you.”

“I’ll find a bed, if you promise to find us when you’re done with that computer,” Leo shot back.

Finn slapped the laptop shut. “What computer?”

~

Coin toss. They weren’t even playing yet and Logan was already sweating with the sun at his back.

“Mr. Tremblay?” the Umpire presented him with the coin. “You will choose?”

“Heads,” Logan said.

“Very well. Heads. Mr. Knut, you will be tails.”

Logan was trying not to look at Leo too hard, but it was difficult. Every time they caught each other’s eye, they both had to suppress a smile. There was joy in this. Logan dreaded to win and dreaded to lose, but there was joy. Leo across from him. The game he loved. Leo, being his.

The coin flashed in the sun as it got tossed up. It rattled, looping around on its edges for a moment before settling between their feet.

“Tails.” The Umpire looked at Leo. “Mr. Knut, you will…”

“Serve first,” Leo said.

“Knut, first service. Thank you, gentlemen.”

Logan fought the urge to roll his eyes. If Leo thought he was going to get to take a few points off of Logan with that massive serve of his, he was wrong.

It seemed to take ages for the crowd to settle down. New York was always loud, but they were more riled by the idea of of Leo and Logan on the court once again. Logan leaned down to re-tie his shoes and tried to steady his breathing. He turned to look up at Finn, who had a baseball cap on—one of Logan’s sponsors—and was leaning forward on his elbows. He was rubbing his palms together, his eyes on Leo. When he noticed Logan looking, he dropped a wink.

Logan rose and gave his racket a spin against his palm. He bounced twice, then adjusted his feet into a poised stance.

Leo had his ball pressed against his racket, ready. He looked back at Logan once before lowering his gaze to his racket.

“Leo Knut to serve,” the umpire’s voice echoed over the chatter. “Play.”

Leo won the first set. He was gorgeous and lean, and their rallies lasted minute after minute after minute until the crowd was gasping after each stroke. Quite the even match, they were called. Too even, Logan thought. Everywhere else, they would give each other anything the other could possibly want. But not here.

Here, Logan’s t-shirt was soaked in sweat within thirty minutes, and it wasn’t from the heat. They were running each other hard. Leo’s stride equaled Logan’s speed, and his height, Logan’s strength. Logan was frustrated, sure. But he was also having fun. Leo hit a drop shot that had Logan sprinting to the front of the net, only to miss it by its backspin. Leo grinned at him when Logan jokingly hit his palm against his racket in applause. For a moment, it felt like they were back at his house in one of the faux matches Finn set them to.

But it only took three rallies into the second set for Logan to see that something was wrong.

Leo stopped moving well. He wasn’t even walking right. He seemed stiff, and then at changeovers, he spent long seconds with his face hidden in a cold towel.

On Logan’s next break before his serve, he turned away from Leo, wiping his face and wrists with his towel as he looked up at Finn. Finn tapped his thigh and squeezed his hand into a fist. Muscle cramps.

Logan winced, but part of him was relieved. Those were painful, but at least they were short-lived. He made his way back to the baseline and tested out a ball with a few bounces before discarding it and tossing it back towards the ball boy. He glanced up at Leo as he withdrew the second ball from his pocket. He was bringing his knees up to his waist, trying to get the blood flowing. Logan bounced the second ball. His serve clock was winding down and Leo didn’t look ready for his serve. Not at all.

Logan let out a breath, tossed the ball up, and brought his serve down. Ace. Leo barely got his hand back properly. Leo looked behind him, up at his box, and motioned something that Logan couldn’t make out, but what he figured was that he wanted to call for a trainer at the next change-over.

“Ah-ah,” came from Leo’s box. A scolding, horrible sound. Leo’s coach gave his head a sharp shake and he pointed towards the court. Don’t, it seemed to mean.

Finn was standing up in Logan’s box when he looked, his arms crossed. Beside him, Noelle pulled him back into his seat.

He took one more game off of Leo before he couldn’t take it anymore—watching the pained way he walked and the set of his mouth as he tried to hide it.

Logan looked to the chair and raised a finger. “Medic, please.”

The walk to his chair gave him one, tiny second to lock eyes with Leo. Logan wanted to tell him silently to call. Call while I’m calling. He didn’t linger long enough to see if Leo understood. He sat down in his chair, wiped sweat from his face, and looked at Finn. He was leaning back to say something to Logan’s mom. Maybe explaining the trick. Finn would know that Logan had absolutely no reason to call for a trainer.

Even still, a woman came jogging out onto the court. Logan heard the shush and mumble of the crowd as they figured out what was happening. She dropped her heavy supply backpack and knelt in front of Logan’s chair. She had kind eyes, dark hair pulled back into a slick bun, and when she spoke it was with an Australian accent.

“Hi, Mr. Tremblay. My name is Nicola. What can I do for you, sir?”

“Nothing,” Logan said in a low voice, and put his foot out. “Just check my ankle. Take your time about it.”

Nicola looked confused. “I…what?”

“Please,” Logan said.

She looked confused still, but slowly she reached out for Logan’s ankle. She began pressing at it tenderly, like she would if she had been checking for pain. Eventually, her eyes went to Leo’s chair. So, she’d figured it out.

“Is he calling?” Logan whispered.

“Yes, sir,” Nicola said.

Logan didn’t look Leo’s way, but relief flooded him. Another medic came out onto the court, heading Leo’s way. Logan didn’t care if anyone else saw through his trick. If he beat Leo, he didn’t want to do it like this.

He could only ask Nicola to pretend for so long, but when he looked over he saw that Leo had his eyes closed while the trainer dug his thumbs into his thigh in what was probably a good-pain way. Logan paced the baseline to keep his own muscles warm, then heard Finn’s voice in his head and ate half a banana.

When Leo rose to his feet, the crowd applauded, eager for the match to resume. Leo’s box got loud, too, but the tone sounded pressing, not encouraging. It made Logan want to make a noise complaint just so he could inadvertently tell them to fuck off.

One look at Finn told him everything he needed to know. Play, it seemed to say. Logan knew he was right. All he could do right now that wouldn’t hurt Leo, was play.

He tried to turn off everything but the game. The crowd was hardly there. Leo couldn’t be Leo just then. Logan had to turn him into just another player, or else Logan might looked down to find guilt gnawing its way through his chest. He even stopped looking at Finn. Finn now meant Leo, too, so at least for these few hours, there could be neither of them. There were no faces or features around him, just the yellow blur of the ball and the burn in his muscles as he took each point more easily than the last. This was what it had felt like to play when he had been alone, before Finn. The mechanical motions of the came combined with the small adjustments to strategy—treating his opponent like a machine to be figured out. A bleak headspace filled with gray and numbers. He didn’t like it there anymore. He never had.

When he took the win, it all snapped back in. The noise of the crowd roared into his awareness. The colors and court lights made him squint.

The pained flush on Leo’s face hit him right in the chest.

Logan turned and looked up at Finn. His hat was smushed between his palms, red hair a mess from his fingers. He didn’t exactly look like Logan had just become a U.S. Open Champion. He was on his feet and clapping now, but his eyes looked as exhausted as Logan felt. Imperceptible, if you didn’t know him. But Logan did know him. He didn’t know anything better than he knew Finn O’Hara. Finn hadn’t had the game to lock into. He’d been sitting there watching Leo in pain and Logan forcing himself into a brutal, winning pace.

Logan dropped his racket and rubbed his hands over his face. He should be smiling. He might have, had he not looked to see Leo with one hand on the net as he waited for him.

When Logan reached him, his hand was cold in Logan’s, and his breathing felt shallow as Logan rubbed a palm briefly up and down his back.

“That was some trick,” Leo said, drawing them closer to hide his words from any cameras. “With the trainer.”

“I love you,” Logan said. “Are you okay?”

“I will be,” Leo said. “Go see your family. Oh.” He squeezed Logan tighter for a moment. “I love you, too.”

No one let Logan climb the stands this time, but pointedly directed him to the stairs. He sort of wished Finn would just come to him. He would have all night to see his family. Right then, he wanted a magical sort of door that took him away from all the prying eyes and into Finn’s arms.

Burying his face in Finn’s warm neck when he reached his box would have to do.

“You were going to win,” Finn whispered. “You did so good. Don’t feel guilty, you made that match end as fast as you could.”

“The thing with the trainer,” Logan mumbled.

“I know.”

Logan pulled back to look up at him. Asking. Telling. Imploring.

Finn only nodded, then gave him over to be hugged by his family.

It was excruciating, watching Leo try to fake his way through his speech. He was disappointed. Frustrated. But he was sweet and funny. Logan saw each time a muscle seized up in the way he turned away from the microphone briefly to draw a slow, steadying breath. He saw the way Leo kept one hand on the podium while he gave his runner-up speech. That same hand used Logan for support when they took their trophy photographs. Logan stood ready for him, immovable until Leo pulled away first.

“I’m so grateful to have the support that I do,” Logan said, trying not to wince as his voice echoed back at him around the stadium. “And the amazing talent I get to go up against.” He looked back at Leo. “Every single player on this tour has been in your shoes and all I’ll be thinking about is when we get to play again.”

Logan wanted off the court, he wanted Finn and Leo to himself. He wanted an ice bath and then Finn’s thumbs digging into that one point in his back.

“Finn,” Logan said, then startled back from the microphone as the stadium went wild. He even heard Leo laugh a little from behind him. Logan felt tears claw up his throat and laughed, too. “Leo.”

Because they were one now. Nothing existed without the other.

Leo’s eyes, when Logan found them, had gone a little wide.

“Je t’aime,” Logan said, then waved a hand up to the crowd, who reached back. “Je t’aime, merci.”

~

Finn and Logan didn’t have to agree to find Leo, but he wasn’t where they thought he would be. He wasn’t recovering like Logan had just spent the last thirty minutes doing. He was in a lounge near the locker rooms, sitting on a couch with his long legs bent awkwardly due to the sag of the old sofa cushion. Four people seemed to be trying to talk to him at once.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” one of them said under their breath when they saw Finn and Logan. It made Leo look up. He looked tired. So tired. His silver plate trophy was on the coffee table in front of him, casting shimmery reflections across his drawn face.

Finn drew in a breath, about to speak, but Logan gave the back of his t-shirt a sharp tug and stepped forward instead.

“I need a word with Leo,” Logan said.

Leo was on his feet in a second, stepped out from around the table. He was still limping.

“What for?” the coach asked. “We’re in the middle—”

“Players business.”

“His business is my business.”

Leo didn’t look at them. He didn’t even turn around. His eyes were unfocused and trained on Logan’s chest.

“But mine isn’t,” Logan snapped. “Excuse us.”

He didn’t take Leo’s hand. He wanted to drag him out of there by both hands, but he stayed perfectly still with so many eyes on them. That wouldn’t help Leo just then. Obviously, he had already been told that loving each other made them weaker players. Logan wouldn’t give them something to point at. If they thought this made them weaker, they didn’t deserve to see even a glimpse of the strength that flooded Logan every time Leo so much as looked at him.

  So, Logan made to turn away, knowing Leo and Finn would follow.

“O’Hara.”

Finn stiffened beside Logan and looked back over his shoulder. Leo’s team looked like they had been having a silent conversation, but now their eyes were on Finn.

“A word, if you don’t mind,” said the coach, and he scowled at Logan. “Coach business.”

“I have a few minutes,” Finn said. He looked down at Logan. “See you in a second.” His eyes flit wordlessly in the direction of the recovery rooms.

The room was simple. An examination mattress with a cushion against the wall. A side table, a sink, a few stools, and a small, humming refrigerator in the corner whose glass door showed cold water bottles and hydration drinks. Logan went to it while Leo pulled himself up onto the bed with a groan, stretching his legs out. He’d been icing his knee. Logan could see the redness that the cold had left behind.

“I’m…” Logan set the water aside. He wasn’t sure what to say. He put a hand on Leo’s thigh where the redness was and experimental kneaded his thumb into the muscle. When Leo’s eyes closed with pleasure, he did it again.

“I fired them,” Leo whispered.

Logan let out a breath. “You did?”

Leo nodded. His chest rose and fell heavily once, then he opened his eyes and looked at Logan tiredly.

“Maybe I’ll be like you were,” Leo said. “Try it solo. For a while.”

No. Logan hated that idea. He’d done the endless plane rides alone. The hotels, the mornings, the lonely nights that came whether he won or lost. He didn’t want that for Leo. He wasn’t sure Leo would be able to do it. He was a people person, far more so than Logan ever had been. He was like Finn. He liked to talk, to laugh, to be surrounded by others.

“Leo,” Logan began to say, but suddenly, voices from the other room could be heard plain as day. Finn was—

Leo and Logan looked at each other in surprise. Finn was shouting.

“No. Nope, nope, you saw, you saw what was happening! You do nothing? What did you want him to do, push through? He’d been playing for hours, he needed help, that’s what you’re there for, you know that.”

“It’s a fucking cramp! They go away.”

“He needs water, he needs sugar—”

“Hey. Hey, where do you get off trying to tell me—”

“He needs you not to be running him the way you were the day before the match, in the heat, in the sun. He needs you to not be rolling your fucking eyes when he asks for the medic, are you fucking kidding me—

“Oh, fuck off, O’Hara. You can do fuck all with Tremblay, whatever, but Leo’s not one of your fucking whores, all right?”

There was a shocked beat of silence. Leo and Logan stared at each other, wide-eyed. Logan didn’t catch the next thing Finn said, not until he raised his voice again.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“He’s not. Your. Player.”

When Finn spoke next, he sounded dangerous. Truly dangerous.

“That is not,” Finn began, “what you just said.”

If Logan didn’t know him, he would have been just a bit terrified. But he did know him. And he knew the second he came back into this room it would melt. If he was ever rough with the two of them, it only came out as pure pleasure.

“Call Logan that again,” Finn said. “Let’s see what happens. Go ahead.”

“You have no distance,” Logan heard the coach say. “You cannot run a player like you do, you have no discipline, no—”

“Run? Run a player? They’re not machines!”

“They can be! If they’re worked right—”

“They’re not animals either,” Finn thundered. “They’re people.”

“You don’t treat them like people, you treat them like playthings. Your playthings.”

Finn went silent again. Logan covered Leo’s hand with his, Leo did the same to him, and they waited. Waited.

“This can be a lonely life,” Finn finally said. “A very lonely life. And this is the last thing I’ll say to someone like you, but I am the luckiest man in the entire fucking world to have found love, real love, in this game.”

Logan closed his eyes. He felt Leo’s forehead meet his temple and turned into him.

“And if you ever call Logan or Leo ‘things’, or anything else, again, I’ll sweep your fucking world out from under your feet.”

Leo made a quiet, sad sound in his throat and tilted his chin forward to brush their mouths together. He pulled back to look at him.

“We are lucky,” Leo said.

Logan nodded.

Finn came through the door very quiet. He was red, cheeks flushed in his anger, but he looked at Leo so softly. Logan loved that about him. He loved that. Finn set down two cups on the side table, along with a banana.

“Sorry about that Le,” he said.

Leo shook his head, dazed and glancing towards the door. “No. I…”

Finn handed him the cup, then caught Logan’s eye. “Guess I’ve got no more ground to stand on when I tell you not to lose your head?”

“I love you,” Logan said.

Finn pressed a hand over theirs, then reached for a cup.

“Drink this,” he said to Leo. He cracked the banana’s peel. “You like these kind of green, right?”

Leo just stared at him for a moment, then nodded.

Finn pressed it into his hand. “Okay. Eat is slow.” He passed that hand through Leo’s hair. “Okay?”

“I’m sorry he said that to you,” Leo said. He looked at Logan. “God, to both of you, I can’t believe…He knows how much you mean to me.”

“Don’t apologize for him,” Finn said, and that angry flush began to bloom over his cheeks again. “God, I could just…” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Le. Okay. Le.”

Finn sank down on the other side of the PT pallet. He put a hand on Leo’s thigh. “Baby, I don’t—It’s not just that I don’t like the way your team talks to you anymore. I don’t like the way they manage your health. I don’t fucking like it. That, today? That was avoidable.”

Leo looked down, nodding. Logan’s anger flared up so fast that he had to squeeze Leo’s hand hard between his own. The fact that someone could put a look like that on Leo’s face made him want to kill. He couldn’t understand how Finn hadn’t hit Leo’s coach clean across the face. Logan wanted blood on his knuckles as badly as he wanted to curl up into Leo’s side.

“I want to say…” Finn glanced at Logan, who nodded quickly, heart in his throat, then back at Leo. “I’d have to train you two separately. And in different ways. But…I would.” Finn took the empty banana peel and cup and set it down, then took Leo’s hands. “Le, I’d love to be your coach.” Finn paused. “If you want me.”

“Oh…” Leo’s voice was so faint.

Logan was nodding again, even though neither of them were looking at him.

“I’ve been in your shoes as a player,” Finn said. “I’ve leveled up Lo’s game and he was already a master. And you’re brimming with talent and skill and they’re fucking wasting it. I can—”

Leo reached out and put a palm to Finn’s cheek, stopping him. Slowly, his eyes filled with tears. “I fired them tonight.”

Finn straightened. “You did?”

Leo nodded.

“Oh. Then—can I beg instead?” Finn laughed a little, then quieted. He turned his face into Leo’s hand and kissed his palm. His eyes met Logan’s, and Logan felt, all over again, what it had been like for Finn to be his in this way for the first time. “Please, Le.”

“Please? Please?” Leo repeated, and Logan watched him trace Finn’s jaw. “I’ve…always wanted someone like you.”

Finn smiled and it made Logan smile. Love. Real love in this game.

“Okay, hey.” Another kiss to Leo’s palm, then his wrist. “Hey, don’t cry.”

“No, no, I’m just relieved.” Leo’s laugh tumbled out of him and he looked at Logan. “Lo?”

“He wanted this a long time ago,” Finn said. “You should have seen him.”

Logan pulled a face, and Finn touched where his nose wrinkled up. “I don’t know what you mean by that. Of course I want this.”

“Our living room has a new groove from his pacing,” Finn said. “Let’s leave it at that.”

Leo sniffed as he laughed again. “What? But okay.”

“Okay?” Finn looked hopeful still, which was funny because Logan was sure it had been a done deal long before today. Somehow, Leo always seemed to have been theirs. Not knowing him and that foreign, guarded dance in a ballroom, felt long, long ago.

Leo looked at Logan. “You won’t feel strange? Sharing him?”

“I’m pretty sure we’re past that,” Logan said, raising his eyebrows. “And I’m pretty sure he likes it. I know I like it.”

“I mean sharing him professionally.” Leo rolled his eyes and wiped at his cheek. “God.”

“Are we talking about me like I’m not here?” Finn cut in. “Because that’s—fine. But hey, hi.”

Logan reached out and put a hand on Finn’s cheek before moving it to Leo’s. “Yes. I want you to have him as your coach, too. It’s the best decision I ever made.”

“Man oh man,” Finn said. “Boys just want me for my skills.”

“Professional decision.”

“I have a lot of skills,” Finn said. “In a wide variety.”

“Finn,” Leo said.

Finn let out a ha and pulled on of Leo’s ankles into his lap, beginning to massage his calf. Leo groaned, but didn’t pull away. “I am so excited. I am so excited, I love this fucking job.”

Leo had his brows knit as Finn dug his thumbs into his knotted muscle, but he huffed out a laugh. “Are you on the clock right now?”

“No,” Finn said. He propped Leo’s foot on his shoulder and turned his head to bite gently at Leo’s ankle. “Relax your ankle for me.” Leo complied and Finn adjusted his grip to one Logan knew well. His ankle felt twenty times better because of that grip. Leo dropped his head back. Finn flit his eyes to Logan knowingly. “Good. Now come here for a second.”

Finn gently lowered Leo’s ankle back to the bed and took Leo’s hand so he could sit forward. He put one hand on Leo’s chest, right where his heart was. Logan counted the freckles on the back of it, then took the free hand Finn held out to him and counted those, too. Like stars, like the miles he’d run for both of them, he lost count.

“My clock never starts or stops,” Finn said softly. The brown color of his eyes looked melted and beautiful in the dim light. “Same goes for Logan. I care about you. A game doesn’t change that. A green court, a blue court, a clay court with white lines doesn’t change that. Some people might say that’s a bad thing but I don’t care. There is no line for me. If anything, I’m standing on the line so I can reach both sides whenever I want.”

Logan pulled his feet up and pressed himself into Leo’s side. “Rouge.”

“Really,” Finn said, looking between them. “I’m not kidding. I used to think playing tennis was my dream, but this…” He smiled, shaking his head. “This.”

“Same goes for you,” Leo said. “Do you hear me? We’ve got championships on the line, we’ve got a shit load of money on the line.” Leo tilted his chin towards Logan. “This one’s gonna get buckets of attention and shit about his legacy.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “But none of that compares to you. D’accord?”

Finn smiled at them. “So we’re in agreement, then.”

Logan had toed the line for so long between the happiness of winning, adrenaline-soaked and nothing more, and the lonely emptiness of loss. When he’d gotten Finn, he’d saw the lines blur before his eyes and loved it so much that he’d wiped them clean with his own palms. Leo had redrawn them. Soft, and bold, and real, and theirs to cross.

“As much as I enjoy sitting here with your hands on me,” Finn said. “I would like you to drink this water.”

“Here he goes,” Logan mumbled and Leo laughed.

“You hungry?” Finn asked.

“Yep,” Leo said.

“Where do you want to go?” Finn put the next cup into his hands. “Anywhere you want. Drain that, even—”

“The dregs,” Leo and Logan said in unison.

“Anywhere?” Leo asked.

“Ouais.” Logan messed with his gold chains, watching Leo’s throat move as he drank as Finn commanded.

“For now, room service steak will do, but then…”

Finn raised his eyebrows, eager. “Yeah?”

Leo set the cup down with a soft, almost sheepish grin. “Then let’s go home.”

(And that's a wrap on On The Line! I loved writing this story so very much. Thanks for reading and all of your wonderful messages!! I love talking about these three with you all <3 This is a trying time right now and I hope this brought a spark of joy...all the love <3 <3)

[parfaitblogs]

making the bed ❀ s. reid x reader

in which your night crumbles around you, and spencer is happy to pick up the pieces. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: hurt/comfort  tags: established relationship. (prior) alcohol consumption. reader is semi-drunk (but sobers up). post drinking depression. healthy alcohol information/discussion 🫡 word count: 2.1k a/n: do not read too much into this for you will begin to question why i still enjoy going clubbing. (joke...) 😄 plsss tell me if u liked this or even if u didnt thank u i love uuuuuu

Alcohol is a depressant. 

You remembered the God awful lecture your boyfriend had given you when you woke up one Sunday morning with this feeling of existential dread, and nothing to pin it to. A ramble about how alcohol can temporarily increase the body's production of dopamine and serotonin when entering, causing a worse crash of both chemicals when it leaves. Leaving you, evidently, depressed and anxious after a big night. 

You knew that. 

You also knew how quick you were to seclude within your mind when you were with people. Too many drinks and not enough social interaction tended to lead to your own isolation, sitting on the outer edge of the booth, absentmindedly playing with the charm on the end of your phone. 

The room no longer spun the way it had an hour ago. You missed when it spun. When it spun, you weren't thinking about how little you had to contribute to the conversations your friends were having. You weren't tallying up how many drinks you had already drank, then falling flat when you realised you couldn't remember, and that was a thought more horrifying than knowing it was over ten. You were fun, when the room was a carousel. 

Now, it's simply overwhelming. Loud chattering from both your table, and the surrounding ones. Clinking of glasses at the bar. A sports game on the television across the room. Balls on a pool table being dispersed for the first time in a game. Dancing feet. Music. People. So many fucking people.

Your phone buzzes against the table, and you pick it up before any of your friends could turn their heads to see where the vibrations were coming from. You figured they were too drunk to conclude it was you, anyways. Or to care. 

Spencer had texted you fifteen minutes ago to check in on you, and though it wasn't long ago, you not responding immediately in a flurry of half strung together sentences and emojis was worrying for him. That was probably why his name was now lighting up your screen, a funny photo of him mid-bite of an ice cream as his contact photo, enlarged. 

You hadn't responded for no reason other than the fact that you had no will to. Which should've been a big enough red flag to yourself that you should text him, and you should ask if he can pick you up. Thankfully, he loved to prove how well he could read you, and he was calling you anyways. 

"Hi," you mumble into the phone, angling your body away from your friends, hand held up to your other ear to block out some of the noise the best you could. 

"Hi," he parrots back to you. "You okay?"

An automatic yes manifests on your tongue, but you're quick enough to keep it to yourself before you can lie to him. Instead, you let out a quiet, "No."

He seems to have expected that answer, for he leaves no silence in between your admission and his response. "What can I do to help?" He also seems to be expecting your hesitance at asking him for anything that would require him to move, because he adds, "I can pick you up. Do you want me to pick you up?"

"Yes. Please?"

"I'm already leaving," he tells you, and you can hear his shoes against the wooden floor of his apartment to confirm that. "Did something happen? Are you safe?"

"No, nothing happened. I'm safe," you reassure him. "I started feeling sick so I stopped drinking an hour ago. Now I'm just sad."

"You remember what I told you about it being a depressant?"

"Vividly," you mutter, and while it isn't meant to be funny, you hear him huff a short laugh anyways. It makes you feel a little better. 

"It's important to know," he defends. "I'm sorry I shared important information with you."

"Mm."

Your lack of a verbal response was expected, but he still hated the sound of it regardless. You heard him sigh. "I have to hang up now. I'll be there in forty minutes. Will you be okay?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. I love you."

"Love you too."

No matter how much time had passed, your head lifted every time the door — that your group was so conveniently close to — opened, letting in a rush of cool air and sobering you up with every hit of it. 

True to his word, Spencer was entering the bar after forty minutes, face scrunching up at the sudden onslaught of noises and visual stimuli. Same boat as you, only he had not a drop of alcohol in his body. At least you weren't crazy about it being overstimulating. 

"This is why I don't go to bars," he says once he's approached your booth, and you had stood up next to you, his hand finding an automatic place on your waist. 

"It's usually not this bad," you tell him, but he decides not to ask you anything else upon hearing just how exhausted your voice sounds. You're grateful for that.

The goodbye to your friends is quick, Spencer rattling off a lie about him needing you home for he had work early the next morning, and you only had one key to the apartment. Even the friends who knew that wasn't the case didn't comment on it, and you made a pointless mental note to thank them for it later. You knew you wouldn't. 

The drive home was even faster. Silence, aside from the rush of the wind from your slightly cracked window as Spencer drove, that helped the sick feeling in your stomach from the alcohol you had consumed. 

It didn't seem to help the hollowness of your chest, though.

You weren't sure if anything would, really. A chemical imbalance in your brain — even one as temporary as the deflation from being drunk — was hard to fix without medication. It would go away, yes. But then you would make the mistake of drinking once more, and you would find yourself back in this brain peeling predicament. 

You showered alone. Despite Spencer's offer to join you, and your own personal desire for him to be there with you. It didn't help your fogged mind at all, and you were exiting the bathroom feeling like you had retreated further into your bones. Every movement felt clunky, your skin a heavy coat to your skeleton, restricting your movement down to short shuffles and barely lifted arm movements. 

He was reading when you reentered your bedroom, and you've never seen him put a book and his glasses back on his bedside table faster. He looked visibly tired. Keeping himself awake a seemingly difficult struggle, that you could feel your body heading towards to as well. 

"Hey," he says as you climb into the bed, and he's very patient as you figure out what position you want your bodies in. Head on his chest, but next to him, you had decided on, and his fingers entangled into your hair.

"Hi," you mumble, staring up at the ceiling, counting brush strokes of the paint, as if it were possible to.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

You huff at the phrase, tilting your head upwards so your eyes could land on him. "Do you have a penny?"

He pauses, then angles his head closer towards yours. "Okay, kiss for your thoughts?"

"That'll just distract me."

"Is that what you want?"

You should say no. Arguably the last thing you should be doing when you're sad is let intimacy with your boyfriend distract you. But then again, you're not the best advocate for healthy coping mechanisms anyways. 

"Maybe."

"Maybe?" he muses, and his lips brush against yours. Your heart flutters. 

"I don't really know what I want," you settle on telling him, honestly. "I want my brain to shut up."

His body deflates beneath you, and you feel guilt chip away up your spine at the killing of the less depressing atmosphere. 

"Sorry," you mumble.

"No. It's good. Be honest with me," he reassures you, quietly. His fingers tap at your scalp, "What's going on up here?"

"I'll cry if I try to verbalise it."

"Crying's good for you, you know," he hums.

"I'm pretty sure I still have eyeliner in my waterline. I'll just stain your sheets," you retort. 

"Yeah, probably. That's fine."

You're silent for a few moments, gathering your thoughts in your brain the best you could despite yourself, before you sit up, his hand dropping to the bed beside you.

"I just don't like being... here? Out? I don't know. I'm just really sick of being sad every time I drink. Is there something wrong with me? Did you get sad whenever you drank? Everyone else I know loves going out for drinks because they have fun and they're giggly drunks, or they're clingy drunks. And if I drink too much then I'm a fucking sad drunk, and I'm the only person I know that gets that way. I want to be normal."

He's silent your entire rant, and then some, waiting for your heaving chest to slow, having caught the few tears that slipped down your cheeks. You were grateful — you needed that time.

He reaches a hand out, and you let him tug you back down to the bed, slotting your body atop his own, just so he could see you properly. 

"To answer your question, no, I didn't get sad when I drank," he says, brushing your hair out of your face, before his hands rest on either side of your face. "But I wasn't really happy, either. I just talked more."

"You already talk a lot."

His lips twitch. "I do. Double whatever you think my worst is, and that was me drunk. Focus on the part where I said I wasn't a happy drunk, please."

"But you weren't sad. So there is something wrong with me."

"No, there's not. Alcohol is a depressant," he punctuates his words with a kiss to your nose, which you gratefully accept despite your emotions. "Are you willing to give up alcohol as a whole?" 

"My friends will think I'm boring, then."

He hesitates in his response, but ultimately settles on asking, "Do you think I'm boring because I don't drink?"

"No. Obviously not. And you have a real reason for not drinking, so—"

"—and being sad isn't a real reason to not drink?"

Taken aback by his sudden sternness, you go quiet, breath hitching within your throat. He was right, ultimately. No reason is reason enough. You knew that. 

Sensing your discomfort at his tone, he expels a breath of air and lowers his hands down to your hips. His voice drops to something a little less harsh, as he murmurs, "You are allowed to not want to drink alcohol if you don't like the way it makes you feel. If your friends think you're boring for that, then they're not worth it."

You silently nod your head, beginning to curse your emotional regulators. For while you had kept your tears at bay for the vast majority of this conversation, it seemed all it took was the gentle rubbing of circles onto your hip bones, and a fact checked piece of life advice from your boyfriend to make you cry. 

"Sorry," you sniffle, dropping your head to the crook of his neck to hide your newly tear stricken face. 

"Crying's good for you," he repeats his earlier words, and feels you nod your head. "You don't have to decide tonight. I'd encourage you not to, actually. You're technically still intoxicated."

"I'm sober," you protest, weakly. 

"Okay, honey." He's only agreeing with you to wane any further argument. "I don't think your friends will think you're boring, though, if that's any help."

"I don't think they will either."

He nods his head, and you're relaxing against him a little more. 

"Are you just trying to not be the only loser who doesn't drink?" you mumble, voice muffled by his skin.

"You've caught me."

He relishes in the laugh that leaves your lips, and he places the gentlest of kisses on the side of your head, which prompts you to lift it to look at him again. 

"You're not a loser for not drinking," you say, and his lips pull into a smile. 

He leans his head up, brushing his lips against yours, despite the mix of mint toothpaste and alcohol on your tongue. "I know. You wouldn't be either."

"I know."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[sweetsaladpainterranch]

The Rival (Chapter 4)

(Summary: Alastor sought to possess one of the only does in Pentagram City for the rut season, however, you wanted a mate, not a master. But what happens when a handsome new buck shows up one day and tries to capture your attention away from the Radio Demon. Who will you choose?)

<Be aware that there are mentions of Sexual Abuse and slight gore in this chapter>

***

You could see nothing. Where once there was a seemingly paralyzed Alastor standing in front of a smirking James, there was now a swirling vortex of alive blackness that had completely overtaken the two men. You and Husk could only watch helplessly from the back porch as the fate of the duel was decided privately, but…Alastor couldn’t actually lose, right?

“Fuck, I didn’t think the boss would actually pull out the spectral tunnel!”, Husk mumbled, “ain’t seen that smoky bitch in almost a decade.”

“Guys!?”, A distraught Charlie and an irate Vaggie suddenly appeared and shouted from the back door, “WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?? WHY IS THE SKY OVER THE HOTEL COMPLETELY BLACK?!” You thought the princess might actually have a panic attack if she didn’t start breathing as she continued to take in her back garden. She looked towards you and Husk questioningly and you shamefully replayed the morning’s events beginning with Alastor catching you making out with the newest tenant and ending with the swirling black void being the product of the buck’s fight.

“You’ve got to stop them, Charlie!”, you stepped towards the princess with imploring eyes and shook her by the shoulders, “They’re going to kill each other!”

Vaggie quickly moved your hands away so that the shaken princess could stabilize herself and hand off her red suit jacket. Rolling up the sleeves of her dress shirt and muttering something about not taking shit from other demons or some nonsense, Charlie strutted off in the direction of her hotelier’s spectral twister with a determined expression. However, before your, now demonic-looking leader, reached the terrifying shadow manifestation it disappeared completely and left only an undisturbed Alastor holding up a very tired, but otherwise unscathed, looking James.

…

A day later things had already changed dramatically at the Hazbin Hotel. Firstly, you had expected Alastor to jump at the chance that his win over James granted him and take you deep within his bayou den. However, he simply declared that he was no longer worthy of being your mate and asked for the opportunity to prove himself to you (whatever that meant), while you found yourself nearly overcome with heavy emotions.

Also, at the same time, an incredible amount of sexual frustration coursed through you from being left at the start of your heat with no one to sate you, but this could actually be what you’ve been longing for. A mate instead of a seasonal sex buddy.

Secondly, James left without a single word to you and left that same afternoon. Only taking what little he had brought with him and swiftly exiting (running) through the large front doors without looking back. He refused to answer any of the questions or affirmations Charlie hurled at him in a desperate attempt to calm her retreating tenant, but he merely offered a small apology for the trouble and a gruff “thanks” for the hospitality. You also noticed a slightly sweet, yet familiar, aroma emanating from him, though you just couldn’t place where you knew that floral scent from.

What the fuck? He could have at least given you some sort of explanation after causing so much trouble!

Who knew what Alastor could’ve meant about being “worthy”. All you could do was retire to your hotel room for the time being as you prayed that he would take pity on you and relieve this fever upon your soul. Every passing hour became worse and worse as your entire body felt like it might burn up in your bed and you felt sweat soak your nightshirt. You knew better than to either change your sheets or keep on anything but a shirt as they’ll only get dampened again by your heat’s fluids. Who knows how far into your season you were now, you had already lost track of time and could only weakly reach out for the emergency rations, that you noticed had kept restocking themselves magically at your bedside, to eat and drink enough to balance out the energy you were burning trying to conquer your lust on your own. Though, no amount of self-initiated orgasms, with or without a vibrator, helped to quench your demonic biology’s demand to be bred by a buck.

And not just any buck. YOUR BUCK.

You whimpered pitifully as your foggy mind wandered to where your mate, the one male who was strong enough to trigger your heat, went off to and cried when the thought of his slight rejection again sounded within your ears. What if he had chosen another? Not likely since you were the only doe you knew of in all of time you’d fallen into Hell, but you were exhausted, and logic wasn’t a concern as you were soon sure that he must be fucking another through her own season.

Dammit! Why was a female’s heat so much worse than a male’s?!

Both Alastor and James seemed to be at least able to stroll around their daily lives normally a few days, even a week or so, into their seasons with barely any problem. Then a depressing thought made itself known. Was it because you weren’t strong enough to control your body? Was that what Alastor thought too? Was that why James suddenly left without a word? That must be it! Your fragile mind agreed. They must be disgusted with how you were far too weak to wrangle either of them during their fight and now they knew you had become a poor, wanton slut. A fat tear slipped out of your clenched-shut eyelids as you accepted that you would be alone in this torture for however long your heat decided to drag on. The fever must have finally become too much because you were cast adrift within a fitful sleep of nightmares… and your Alastor.

…

Alastor stood tall, holding out his felled opponent’s, still beating heart, in front of his inwardly crushed face and wet eyes as the tornado of his shadows raged around them in time with his own growing fury.

“No? Well then, how about a… deal?”, the Radio Demon purred out excitedly and thought his smile might actually cut his face in half if it got any bigger. He continued with his proposal, “You see, my good man, my spectral companion picked up some rather racy gossip while he was housed within you about your human life.”

James could only express himself through pained gasps and wet grunts in response as he barely held onto consciousness through Alastor’s monologue, but pleasant memories of his past reared themselves in his mind. The sunlit days spent on his farm with his barn animals and dogs, running church bake sales with his mother-in-law, and enjoying a beer in the quiet stillness before visiting his wife and the others in the rabbit hutch. 

A cruel cackle brought his attention back to the blood-soaked present. Alastor’s voice was almost casual, “I, of all people, understand how living in the rural country provides a certain amount of privacy and how being a member of the local congregation affords the shield of social standing.” Alastor shrugged his shoulders as if he were talking to Mimsy about the good old days up top, however, he straightened himself up and squeezed the frail, pink heart in his large palm. 

With a sudden snarl, the Radio Demon morphed his expression into something absolutely frightening, even for a demon, and leaned forward in disgust once again, “I saw how you kidnapped those girls from the surrounding towns. How you raped them like the filthy animal you are and sold the children you stole from them to those traffickers.”

“Not even your own wife was safe from your perverted nature and you lowered her into the role of one of your…rabbits…once she found out the total brutality of your crimes and tried to go to the police.”, Alastor spat with extreme distaste, “I of all men belong in Hell, but I simply cannot stomach those who show no measure of respect for the fairer sex among us.”

Another tight squeeze of the reindeer’s heart calmed the deer’s ever-expanding anger towards the brute and the thought of making it into a stress ball tickled him so that he doubled over with manic laughter. Wiping a tear away from his eye, Alastor once again focused on James and the silent pleas within his victim’s eyes.

“Let’s begin, shall we?”, Alastor purred, “My proposal is that, in exchange for your life, you will feel the same pain that you caused your victims.” His voice lowered and grew colder once more, “The fate that you had planned for my darling doe when you first set your putrid eyes on her in town. To snatch her away to use for yourself and…profit on… from the other males in town.” His shadow hissed from its position amongst the other specters in the vortex at the thought of such torture having been planned for you and its master continued.

“However, you had smelled me on her but were confident in your newfound demonic abilities so you took advantage of the princess’s good graces, something you will thank her for, and decided to take your chances with whatever was awaiting you. Yet we now see how that worked out for you. HA!” Alastor’s antlers elongated as his rage once again built up at the thought of James laying a finger on your perfect skin and he held out his hand, “Either accept this deal and embrace the suffering of those women or I will simply consume your soul, and you will serve me like every other disrespectful wretch that dared to cross me.” He gestured around the void and only then did James notice the eternally wailing faces that made up the walls of the dark funnel. All howling and clawing and climbing over each other in their agony.

James inhaled with all the effort he could muster and dropped his hand as best he could into Alastor’s as a flash of bright green flashed out between them and engulfed the dying reindeer. The only sensation that James could process was the burning of his flesh that seemed to last years and he couldn’t even hear his own screams over Alastor’s victorious laughing, but, before he knew it, the agony had been replaced by an odd feeling in his core. The defeated reindeer remained on his knees as he quickly patted down his jaw and chest to make sure everything was in place and he noticed that he didn’t even have a rip in his flannel shirt nor a scratch to be found on his skin. If not for the cold sensation of the heavy chain wrapped around his thick neck, James could almost put the entire afternoon up to a bad dream.

“What did you do to me?”, he demanded shakily as Alastor roughly hauled him up to his feet by the arm and merely smiled normally, “I suggest you keep our agreement to yourself if you wish to live long enough to find out. Now!”, Clapped the Radio Demon, ”we have guests to humor.”

Alastor could feel Charlie’s demonic energy approaching his position and, after straightening up his already somehow pristine appearance, dispersed the spectral tornado and grinned widely at the incoming princess. “Charlie! Good to see you my dear!”, he began stepping forward with James in tow and slapped the reindeer’s shoulder playfully in response to Vaggie’s flying accusations of a fight.

“Merely having a productive chat, Vagatha, and we required a bit of privacy from the peanut gallery.”, he shrugged leaving Charlie to check a silent James for injuries, “After all, isn’t our fearless leader always preaching communication over confrontation? Just ask the old boy, himself, if you don’t believe me.”  Everyone looked towards James for confirmation, including Alastor over his shoulder, however, he only nodded once and quickly made his way inside the hotel. Noticeably walking a bit lopsided, the reindeer completely sidestepped you as much as he could without so much as a glance. Good. Alastor thought and he knew the beta male felt his red gaze as it burned into the back of his retreating head.

While James disappeared within the building the air suddenly felt like it was knocked out of Alastor’s chest and had to subtly stabilize himself with his cane as the heavily sweet musk of your heat finally assaulted his senses. To his delight, you seemed just as enraptured by his scent and barely acknowledged James’s leave or even Charlie and Vaggie running past you after the beaten reindeer. He could see that your face was flushed, your hands fidgeted over the constricting clothes you wore, and your breathing picked up in anticipation with each step he took in your direction. Oh, how he wished he could take his animal mind’s advice and just take you right there where you waited for him on the porch. His spoils of war so to speak.

But…that’s not how this season is going to go, Alastor told himself and tried to take a deep breath to clear the biological fog. That only made the member in his slacks twitch more aggressively, though, as he accidentally took a big gulp of your pheromones and stopped in his tracks before coming too close. You looked at him in confusion and your ears flopped over a bit when you leaned your head over in a silent question. He knew what images were flashing in your mind, but he needed to get control of this situation if anything was going to change.

“Darling, I-”, he began tensely and straightened his shoulders, “I have come to understand that I have wronged you these many seasons that you have spent by my side and I cannot stand for it to continue any longer. I cannot harm my beloved doe anymore and-“, he swallowed thickly to finish as you crept towards him slowly, “and I must admit that I no longer feel that I am worthy of your affection.”

He noticed how your ears slipped back onto your head as the realization of what he was saying churned in your mind (as best it could at the moment), however, Alastor nearly jumped you again as he took in your pouting lips while you pressed yourself against him and inhaled.

The blood was quickly leaving his head to travel south, and He was losing the battle of logic fast so he gripped your shoulders with a huff of effort and gently moved you back from him. Looking into your clouded eyes, he never felt like The Radio Demon and, rather, knew himself as simply a buck gazing towards his mate. A mate he has not treated fairly as she had him and that fact cut him to the soul, but he would redeem himself! Though, not in the way that Charlie would approve of.

Alastor, beginning to massage your slight shoulders, requested, “I’m asking for the chance to prove myself to be the superior choice for, not just this season, but for every season to come as well.” He knelt and took your hand before staring silently up into your face in suspense; knowing full well that you could simply deny him and find whomever you wanted …and he’d have to let you. Despite his misgivings, you merely nodded your head once and teared up just a bit as if you’d been waiting for his confession for years. Perhaps you had. He stood tall before you with newfound determination for his mission and promised to return to your side as soon as it was finished properly.

The Radio Demon immediately leaned forward to kiss your forehead tenderly and melted into the shadows with a vicious smile to locate his newest (unwilling) partner in crime.

***

This one is the longest chapter I've done yet, but I kinda hate it 😅 It's important because it introduces the lead into the last chapter and our motivation to root against James, but I just can't seem to like it (idk if that even makes sense lol), This is the first time I've tried to write that kind of villain story. What did you think?

-S.S.P.R.

@Xalygatorx, @songbirdpond, @bitter-rabittt, @sakuraluna2468, @cinnamon-galaxies, @speedycoffeedelight, @diffidentphantom, @wtf-why-do-i-gotta-do-this, @eris-norwega, @anngray1369, @ladyadrasteia666, @wends, @prime-in-time-and-space, @supeersimpeer, @sirens-and-moonflowers, @type-ink, @fantasyhopperhea, @martinys-world, @apad-ravya, @galaxywolf3, @thoughfullovercreator, @Boogiemansbitch, @helluva-simper, @alastorsgirl48, @ohmylovewhereartthou-blog, @need-a-life-or-grass, @michi-keinz, @milkissesx, @ari42, @valerie-is-in-the-cupboard, @lil-glum, @amariskygal, @strawberryoverlord1893, @cherry-cola-100, @noellebellq, @lettuce-frog16, @junieshohoho, @phoephan-123, @dreamraven13@sweet-radio @littlebluefishtail @ohmylovewhereartthou-blog ,@vxllys ,@chibistar45 ,@sadlilghostt

[hellsitedotcom]

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*·˚ FIRST KISS HEADCANONS : PART ONE *·˚

ft. Aventurine, Moze.

My brain doesn't work properly, which means I ain't happy with anything I write when it comes to prompts/longer drabbles, so here's another round of Headcanons 'cause, uhhh, I had a random thought. (Unfortunately cursed to have those) EDIT: This...escalated a tiiiiiny bit, buuuut (as much as I hate my writing) I don't rlly mind.

*·˚ warnings/info: well, there's obviously going to be mentions of kissing; mentions of alcohol/drinking (Aventurine); Sunday's escalated so much, I had to make it a separate post lol. *·˚ english isn't my native language!

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⭒˚｡⋆ Aventurine ⭒˚｡⋆

⇢ I'll be frank: It probably happened while you were both drinking, just ''unwinding'' and ending up having a rather good time. You were sat at a bar way longer than you should've - the employees really just wanted to get home, but you two just...weren't leaving.

⇢ You were sat further away, obscured by room dividers, only your voices audible to anyone else. Aventurine had been teasing you since you agreed to go drink something with him, and now you were both at a point at which he felt like...taking risks.

⇢ He had asked you for a simple game of poker, winner gets granted a wish - but the loser will only find out what the winner wants after the game; were you in, or were you out? And you, slightly drunk, agreed after only a few seconds. What could possibly go wrong?

⇢ And he won - of course he did. What else did you expect? But you were laughing, joking how you had nearly beat him; still in a good mood, you waited for him to tell you his wish - his ''demand''; and he did, your eyes widening for mere seconds, before you granted it.

''Royal Flush,'' Aventurine triumphantly laughed, displaying the cards on the table between you, ''I win, sunshine.'' You just groaned, though you didn't hide the amusement in your expression, ''Oh, you definitely rigged that. There's no way, come on.'' ''Well, at least I almost got you,'' you added more quietly, chuckling while he collected all the cards you had used. ''I simply don't lose,'' he countered, smirking at you as he leaned closer, a motion you followed curiously, ''I thought you would've noticed by now.'' You merely scoffed, rolling your eyes without hiding your smile, ''Sure, sure, Mr. Gambler.'' ''You just got lucky,'' you hummed in a teasing manner, leaning further across the table, ''So, what's your wish?'' Aventurine held your gaze, unwavering, and even in the dim lighting of the bar, you could tell that he was thinking. A part of you wanted to regret agreeing to this, but the other part - the louder part - only grew more intrigued. For a moment, his eyes dropped to your lips - so quickly that you thought you had imagined it - before his lips parted, your eyes widening the slightest bit at his words, ''How about a kiss?'' You could feel your face heat up, a wave of different emotions momentarily taking over your expression before you collected yourself again. ''Just a kiss?'' you repeated, making sure you had heard him right. ''Just a kiss,'' Aventurine confirmed, slightly tilting his head, ''Only if you're comfortable, that is.'' Silence settled after that, your mind still processing his wish. Despite how lost in your thoughts you were, you could notice Aventurine grow...unsure? No, that wasn't really it... You were taking too long, and the man was beginning to wonder if you would back out. And just as he was about to repeat himself, making sure you knew that you didn't have to kiss him if you didn't want to, you crossed the space between the two of you, your lips crashing against his. You weren't even thinking, merely acting on instinct...on a feeling deep inside you, an urge you had been fighting for months. The second your lips had touched his, all your restrain had vanished, and Aventurine didn't seem to be feeling any different as he reciprocated your kiss, a hand coming up to rest on your neck, pulling you even closer. Neither of you could get enough, your hands resting on the table between, but all good things have to come to an end, don't they? As you tried moving even closer, breathless from the things he was doing to you, a loud buzzing noise interrupted the two of you, making you pull apart. ''The IPC...'' Aventurine groaned, visibly annoyed as he stared at his phone screen. He had to take the call, you both knew it. And, before the man could decide if he was willing to take another risk by pressing on decline, the bar staff came up to you, informing you that it was time to leave for you anyway...

⇢ You didn't sleep much that night, or the nights that followed, your mind too busy replaying that kiss over and over again. The next time you saw Aventurine again, neither of you mentioned the night at the bar, though from the way he looked at you alone, you knew you weren't the only one unable to forget it.

⭒˚｡⋆ Moze ⭒˚｡⋆

⇢ This came to me in a prophetic dream (listening to music & daydreaming), and I am a firm believer that your first kiss happened...on accident, almost. In a situation that...how did it even come to that?

⇢ You were sat beside him, hiding in the ''shadows'' away from everyone else while Moze was patrolling the area. There...wasn't really a need to do it, but it was Moze, so you didn't really question it. And while he was taking all of this seriously, you were just...laying in the sunlight, having a wonderful time.

⇢ At one point, you had just started talking, asking brief questions or sharing thoughts with him, which he - though somewhat reluctantly - replied to. Eventually, you'd even gotten him to learn over to you, and as you held his gaze in that moment, it just...came over you.

⇢ Maybe it was the fact that you were having a good day, the sunlight making you feel so alive and full of energy. Or, maybe it simply was the man's captivating presence, making you feel like you were admiring a painting. Regardless of the reason, the urge to learn in had taken over.

''I mean, I guess I just don't understand it,'' you rambled, emphasizing your confusion with your hands, ''Why make everything so much more complicated than it has to be, you know? Artisans can be a really odd bunch.'' You were lying on your back, staring up at the sunny sky as waterfall after waterfall of thoughts fell from your lips, when Moze suddenly leaned over, allowing his arm to rest beside your head. ''You talk too much,'' he huffed expressionlessly, making you fall silent as you dragged your eyes up to meet his gaze. ''Maybe you just don't talk enough,'' you quipped back, your lips twitching in amusement, ''Besides, if it bothered you, you wouldn't have stuck around me this long. We both know that.'' The man just grunted, focusing back on the crowd underneath you, ''Just try to be more quiet. I'm not helping you if we get spotted.'' ''Of course,'' you hummed, not believing a word he was saying, earning you another discontent grunt from him. Your smile just grew at that, eyes still glued to the man standing beside you. ''Just admit it, big guy,'' you teased, slightly tilting your head to get a better look at him, ''You enjoy my company.'' That made Moze turn back again, violet eyes boring into yours as he leaned over once again, making a swarm of butterflies awaken in your stomach, ''Is that so?'' His face was mostly obscured by shadows, hidden by the hood he always wore while you laid in the sun, yet her gentle warmth was entirely forgotten as you held the man's gaze, ''Tell me I'm wrong?'' Moze was quiet, just watching you wordlessly. You couldn't tell what he was thinking, but you realized the longer you stared at him, the less you cared about his answer to your counter. You were too busy getting lost in a daydream, drowning in his eyes, when a sudden urge came over you. What if you just-? Your inner voice didn't even need to finish the question, your body moving on its own as you propped yourself up, not even giving the man any time to react as you pressed your lips against his. Moze seemed to freeze under your touch, unmoving at first, until you felt his hand rest against your chin, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. His patrol all but forgotten, the man's lips began moving against yours until you pulled away to catch your breathe, your heart racing. ''I-'' You wanted to say something, but your mind, despite the hurricane of thoughts tormenting it, couldn't form a coherent sentence, so you just continued staring at him, eyes searching his expression for anything - any sign that this meant something to him. But you never got that answer as the man took a step back, letting go of you, Moze's expression as blank as a canvas. He was still looking at you, watching as your previously cheery expression began to falter, yet he remained quiet as you struggled to find the right words.

⇢ You didn't get any reaction out of Moze that day, nor did you ever calm down enough to actually say something to him in that moment. Eventually, Moze merely continued his patrol, telling you he needed to move to the next location before disappearing without waiting for a reply.

⇢ Since then, you've been...well, on one hand you've been trying to avoid him, but on the other hand, you still hoped you would catch a glimpse of him regardless of where you went. And, while you thought he probably never thought about the moment you shared, Moze felt the exact same way as you.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

[painted-flag]

OF FLOWERS AND DEATH - aemond targaryen

Chapter 14: The Saphire

☾⋆⁺₊✧ dark elf!Aemond Targaryen x f!human!reader series. ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series masterlist. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ word count: 3.4k ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series warnings: 18+ depictions of violence/gore, eventual smut, warfare, sickness/disease, some moments of misogyny, and mentions of alcohol consumption. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ Under a canopy of stars, you forge a bridge of companionship with the elf king.

The soft light of the rising sun illuminated the tops of the rocky snow-capped mountains. The sun had not risen enough to shine on the meadow you were camped in, but the subtle light of the sky brushed the ground. Dew settled on the grass that moved with the breeze. The guards had woken up and made food. You broke your fast with them and enjoyed the calm small talk they provided. During that time, your eyes would occasionally glance over to Aemond’s tent, but he had yet to emerge. 

After eating, you had begun a general sweep of the area. You had no idea what you were looking for, as your father’s notes were vague. All he mentioned was that the properties of Lake Rosemagne were rumoured for its healing capabilities. Whether or not those rumours were true, that had yet to be discovered. When you passed by a fallen and hollow log, you noticed some ground beetles scurrying about. 

You had thought back to the promise you made with Helaena and crouched down. You pulled a small wooden box with holes from your bag and opened the lid. Your hands delicately picked two up and put them in the box. You closed the lid and slid the metal lock to secure it. 

“I did not know beetles were used in healing,” Aemond’s voice, abrupt as it was, startled you. The box almost dropped from your hands. You placed it in your bag and stood up while brushing the skirt of your dress. 

“No, your grace, they are not used in anything.” You clarified, “I promised Princess Helaena that I would catch anything that she may like. She mentioned these beetles many days ago during one of our lunches together.” You crossed your arms. Aemond looked at you, his eye filled with something soft and indecipherable. 

“I was told we would be leaving on the morrow because you have duties to get back to. Forgive me, your grace, but why would you come along when you are so busy?” You questioned. 

Aemond tilted his head slightly, “Well since you so easily snuck out of my castle, I thought it best that I come to make sure you don’t do it again. If you’ve slipped past my guard once, you could do it again.” You took in his words for a moment. The idea of sneaking into the woods was ridiculous, but it did leave a bit of satisfaction that it had managed to get under Aemond’s skin. 

“Oh, so you do care if I stay?” You teased. You could have sworn you saw his eye roll, but you had begun to look down at your fidgeting hands. The conversation you had with Aemond the evening prior had played in your head countless times as you had tried to go to sleep. It was another instance of a conversation with him turning sour. That seemed to be a common habit, whatever words the two of you exchanged had an equal chance of becoming venomous or ending well. 

“Only for you to fulfill your end of the deal. A year of looking for a cure and then you can go.” Aemond said. You nodded and then moved to watch the water. 

“Do not worry, you won’t have to tolerate me for much longer with how well things are going. I’ll be out of your way soon.” You reassured him. It was true. If things went as swiftly as they were going, with your access to the elf’s resources and their wisdom and help, a cure seemed tangible in the near future. You may even be looking at a window of time shorter than the year you were granted. When you had originally taken the offer, you thought a year was not nearly enough time, but now that had changed. 

“I suppose you will.” Aemond’s tone had dropped and he took on a contemplative face. He then straightened his back and spoke, “I’ll leave you to it then.” 

Aemond had gone back to his tent. You had waited for a moment, wondering if he was going to stay there for the day. His explanation as to why he came with you did not add up. If he was worried you would sneak away, why was he avoiding you so much? 

There was no point in trying to understand him. Even if you somehow lived as long as elves, you doubted you could ever come to understand him in that time. No amount of conversation could unwrap the enigma, so you decided to go about your day. 

It had been hours spent, collecting an array of samples. Everything from blades of grass to the twigs of branches from trees that lined the meadow were collected. Since you were only there for a day, you knew you had to get as much as you could. 

Just as the sun had begun to wane, you kneeled in front of the water with some empty vials. You filled six of them and corked the tops. You held one up to the light and watched the swirling of a bunch of minerals in the water. They shimmered in the light. You then put them securely in a bag and got up. You made the walk back to camp which was only a short while from the lake. Some of the guards were sitting around the fire and eating. 

You stopped by the cart and placed your samples in one of the bigger chests. Once that was all done, you approached one of the logs by the fire. Four logs formed a square-like formation. Elias scooted over to let you sit and you joined him. He handed you a bowl of stew that you took gratefully. 

The sun went down over a few hours. The elves swapped stories as you watched on with rapt attention. There was always underlying wisdom within their tales, no matter how ridiculous or even downright raunchy they became. 

One by one the guards each retreated into their shared tent to rest. Once it was down to you and Elias, he shuffled to the side to give you more space. 

You had been watching the fire when he spoke up, “Do you think a cure can be made?” His question caught you off guard and you looked to him. The stars had come out and the fire and moon provided the only light. You could see the reflection of the flames dancing across his face. 

“Of course I do.” You answered. 

“I… my wife is expecting. I don’t want my kids to be born into a world that is dying.” Elias admitted. He fidgeted with his hands, pulling on his fingers. 

You adjusted in your seat, “That won’t happen.” You were firm in your words. There was a way out, there had to be a way out. For multiple millennia, there had been things thrown at the world. Terrible events that none thought would be overcome. Yet, here the world remained. Continuing on and on, with no end in sight. Those previous perils were defeated, why should this be any different?

“I hope so.” Elias patted his thighs and sighed. He stood up and faced you, “That does it for the day. Don’t stay up too late.” He nodded to you and then approached the guard's tent. 

You continued to sit on the log and watch the fire. Crickets chirped and it was mixed with the sound of croaking frogs. You listened to the noise, taking in the sight around you. Everything was calm and you again pulled out Lyra’s doll. You were stuck looking at it and processing her passing. Those days you had spent locked in your room were not healing, nor did it aid in your grief. It had been nothing but nonexistence – trailing from one hour to the next.

Here, away from the kingdom and other obligations, you could finally breathe. 

The abrupt passing of Lyra had you reflecting on your own life. Back to your humble life with your father in the capital. That when he disappeared, you had to learn to take care of yourself. He had left you enough money to cover food and other needs, but only for a short period. You had come to know what hunger was really like. It was by some miracle you had managed to make it to a village on the outskirts and settle. Even then, you were not as stable as one would like. 

While you were looking at the doll, Aemond emerged from his tent and sat down on the log adjacent to yours. You could see his blue eye observe the depths of the flames. For a moment, it was silent. 

“When you found my sister, injured on the borders, you helped her despite the great possibility of death,” Aemond spoke softly, “Why?” There was quiet contemplation across his face. He seemed to be going through some moment of clarity. The foundations of whatever he previously thought of you were shaking, yet you could not understand why. 

You wanted to tell him everything, you wanted him to tell you everything. Damn the distance, damn all preconceived notions you had of one another. You wanted nothing but a complete reset, a possibility to connect. 

“My whole life, I have struggled to find a purpose. If there is anything I can do right, that is healing. She needed help… and I could give it to her. Why should I not?” You spoke. Aemond moved his gaze from the fire to you, but you had already looked back down at the doll in your hands. You could not look at him, you were scared of what you would say if you did. 

He did not speak, so you continued, “I did not think it would lead to me coming to your kingdom. It was scary, at first. But your people have given me something I have not had for a while. A home. I just did not expect to lose someone…” 

Out of the corner of your field of vision, Aemond was looking at you. It was obvious, from your hold on the doll, that you were still in that uncomfortable state of mourning where all a person was filled with was regret. In the distance, an owl called out as the crickets rose in volume. 

“I promised to take her on an adventure. I don’t know why… as a healer I should know not to do that. But she was so innocent and broken.” Perhaps, in her fragile state, you had seen yourself reflected in the glassy orbs of her eyes. Lyra was a reflection of you, or more accurately, a reflection of you before the disappearance of your father. A time when all you had was your innocence. 

“You care.” Aemond seemed to have had an epiphany at that moment, his mouth slightly agape, “You care about my kind…” Anger flared in you at his comment. Had he not seen, the whole time you had been there, that caring was all you did? Your work with the cure, with the patients, connecting with other elves including his family. It was all because you did care, more than you have ever in your life.

“I care?” Your grip on the doll tightened as you finally looked at him. You met his soft gaze with hostility, “Do you still think so little of me after all this time? Have I not proven myself?” 

Silence settled between you two. That seemed to be a habit lately, though the silence was not uncomfortable. There was a connection there that you two shared. Isolation of sound gave way to a deeper understanding. You had observed him in that moment. Your eyes traced the curve of his jaw, and the pursing of his lips, and moved along the scar to settle on the thick leather patch that covered whatever was underneath. 

You quickly turned away, suddenly ashamed at staring so unabashedly at it. You had managed not to do that your entire stay there, largely out of fear that he may lash out at you for it. You gazed back into the fire. 

“It’s a sapphire.” Aemond suddenly spoke. 

You put your attention back on him, “What?” 

“The eye that I lost. I replaced it with a sapphire,” The roles had reversed and Aemond had a difficult time looking at you, so he turned his gaze back onto to fire, “You were looking.” 

You tilted your head slightly but made no move to comment. How many people had been privy to this knowledge? From your time in the kingdom, he had never taken it off. When you had first met Aegon, the topic of Aemond’s eye had come up, but he had brushed it away with underlying hostility. If it was such a sensitive topic, why had Aemond revealed it to you? 

“You want to know how it happened.” It was not a question, but a flat sentence that seemed hesitant to come out from his lips. You continued to watch him, scanning his lithe form as it sat on a log. He was not dressed up in his finery but simply wore boots, pants, and a thin white shirt. The top half of his hair was not collected into a tie at the back, but fell loosely over his shoulders and down his back. The strands looked soft and caught the orange haze of the fire.

You swallowed some saliva that had gathered in your mouth, “I would be a liar if I said I was not curious and I will not lie to you.” 

Aemond looked up for a moment, “It was before the Great War.” He lowered his head again as if it would shelter him from the memories that likely pushed to the forefront of his mind.

“You need not tell me this.” His growing discomfort had begun to rub off on you. You did not know if he had been drinking, that this instance might be a lapse of judgement in his muddled perception of reality as the alcohol took hold. However, there was no indication that he had. 

“You want to know,” Aemond said plainly.

“Not at your expense.” You whispered. It was barely heard above the sound of the environment and the fire, but Aemond whipped his head in your direction as if you had yelled it. Your words were a quiet revelation to him that you indeed did not carry complete hate towards him like you had led him to believe. 

“It was a human that did it.” His words felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over you. It was like those moments between sleep and awake when the world was hazy and made no sense until the final wave of energy hit you and everything sharpened into focus. The coming of the dawn, the rising of the birds, it all made sense to you.

His perception of you made sense; the one that he had voiced to you the morning after your first party in the library. 

All humans are a threat.

For him, you were just another version of the person who dealt him irreparable damage and unquestionable violence. 

“He was a prince from your kingdom,” The way he had said it was almost accusatory, “Our people had been allies. I thought of the Prince Lucerys as a friend, perhaps a brother…” The way he spoke the man’s name sent a shiver down your spine. It was an intense portrayal of animosity, a loathing monster lurking in a forest of broken trust. 

“I had just become king, but still so young. My people were still weakened from my father’s death and it was treated as an opportunity by your kind.” His grip on his thighs tightened and you could almost see the memories themselves through the glossy film of his eye. “I had woken up that night to him above me, dagger in hand. I… I tried to fight him but,” His words fell short. You watched him ball his hands into fists, shaking ever so slightly. Either from fear or anger, that much was unclear. 

“Why are you telling me this?” You whispered. You had leaned over in your seat during his recounting of events, attention rapt with both horror and curiosity. Aemond then faced you for the first time since his confession and you could not help but look at the scar on his face. A symbol of betrayal and violence, what should be a mark of a monster, was truly just a blow dealt to a scared child. 

It was not elf King Aemond Targaryen who sat by you, but a scared little boy broken in countless ways.

“If you think to betray me or my people, get it over with so we can avoid the pain.” You understood that what he truly meant was that he could avoid the pain. What you did not account for was the possibility that, perhaps, he is still just as prone to unwavering naive trust as he was as a child. It was clear that he had some form of a degree of trust and even camaraderie with you. That the thought of you committing such an act against him would be another scar upon himself.

He had been waiting for you to hover above him, dagger in hand, and prepared to even the score. 

“You are not what people say you are.” Your voice acted like a balm for him and you could see Aemond visibly relax. “You are not a monster.” You knew he could sense the double meaning of your words. That his actions were not monstrous, but most importantly, that he did not look like one. You did not doubt that the scar had led him to feel deficient in many parts of his life. Which, in your whole honesty, was a complete lie. To think that someone could glance at that face and shrink away was nearly insane.

Aemond’s shoulders sagged and you could have melted under the intensity of his gaze. The softness, the sheer dedication of reverence. There was a thick gloss that reflected in his eye and even now you could see that he was holding back. It was all too much. 

“And you are not like the other humans… you care.” 

You wanted to move over and get closer to him. To feel if he was warmer than the fire; if the swirling ocean in his eye was worth it to sail. You cursed the distance between you two. Now, when you were speaking and had gotten closer than ever before, he still felt far. With each time you two connected it was always the opposite. When you were arguing, you were always physically close and could feel his heat, but when you two were getting along, he seemed so impossibly far. 

It was an odd form of cruelty that you each imposed upon one another. 

“Do you think,” You began but hesitated, “Do you think we can be friends?” Your heart thumped against your ribcage. That you had even asked such a question had your mind racing. Would this attempt be successful? Or, if anything, will he see this as a threat for getting too close?

Aemond appeared almost shocked and his back straightened. His eye squinted, full of uncertainty. “You want to be friends… with me?” 

“Yes.” You decided to take the risk and moved to sit by him. Everything felt slow like your senses were pushing to delay this moment; to lock it in your memory and keep it forever. You raised your hand, which elicited an almost imperceptible flinch from him. You slowed your movement and rested your hand on one of his that had been balled up tightly on his thigh. 

It was like a damn broke and his hand opened up to receive yours. You could feel the heat of his skin and the callouses that littered the pads from endless training. There were a few scars that littered it, each line spread out like randomized patches of flowers in a field. They were beautiful to you. He was beautiful to you. 

You did not care that you were in too deep anymore. If you could know him, really know him, if just for under a year – you could carry that with you for life. Your fingers slotted between his and he squeezed your hand.

Aemond had looked back to the fire, now slowly dying out, and spoke just barely, “Friends.”

It was there, fingers intertwined, that both your souls rested together as you bathed in the light of once-unspoken words.

Chapter 15: Know Your Enemies Preview

A hand waved in front of your vision. You had not even acknowledged how your vision had gotten blurry in your moment of thinking. Aegon was crouched down, a crinkle prominent between his eyebrows as his face was morphed with worry. 

“Come back down to the ground here. Shit, did I break you?” Aegon shook your shoulders gently and his voice dropped to a near incomprehensible whisper, “Gods, Aemond will kill me.”

☾⋆⁺₊✧ If you want to be added to the taglist, click here!

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[jessjad]

Rightfully deceived

Chapter 3

Summary: When a marriage promise forces Y/N to step up for her younger sister, she gets something she always wanted. But when the truth comes out, her new husband Dean is not so happy about the mix-up. Will she loose it all? Or will she be surprised in the end?

Pairing: AU!Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2696

Warnings: arranged marriage, lying, forced proximity and a little abandonment.

A/N: Well, let's see how this goes down... All mistakes are mine! Enjoy!

Series Masterlist My Masterlist

The weather was starting to get colder day by day now. Winter was fast approaching and Y/N could feel it. She was standing infront of the castle, the only home she had ever known, and watched Dean's men getting ready to leave.

The carts were already loaded and the horses saddled. Her belongings were also already stowed away. At least the things she could take with her. All that was missing was her own horse, Arrow, a young stayer she had hand-raised. This way she could at least take a little piece of home with her.

She tried not to stay in anyone's way, but the men from the Winchester Clan did not seem to be bothered by her. And eventhough it felt like time was running in slow motion, they were ready to leave faster than she liked. Dean was still not around, but his brother Sam was. He smiled nicely at her whenever their eyes meet and that made Y/N feel a little better. After the horses were harnessed, Sam came over to her.

"Are you okay?" he asked and touched her shoulder lightly.

"Well... I'm better than I thought I'd be." she answered honestly, but before Sam could reply, Dean joined them.

"Are we ready?" he did not sound so happy.

"Yeah, we're all set." Benny said from one of the carts.

"Alright. Let's go." Dean replied and a few seconds later he sat on his horse and was holding out his hand towards Y/N.

She looked at him in surprise. What was he indicating? Did he want her to sit with him on his horse?

"I... I will ride on my own horse." but as she was looking at Arrow she saw that Millie was already sitting in the saddle.

"Your maid will ride it with the rest of your belongings." Dean said and was still holding out his hand.

"Then... I... can walk. It's not a problem. "

"Yeah, you could. But our trip will already take a day by horse." which meant it would take even longer by foot. "And the nights are getting cold."

He sounded neutral, but Y/N saw in Dean's eyes that he was starting to get annoyed. She really didn't want to make it more difficult or complicated, but she could also imagine that he wanted to have as little as possible to do with her.

"Well... maybe I can sit on a cart..."

"Oh for god's sake." Dean grumbled under his breath and hopped off his horse.

Before Y/N could react in any way, Dean was at her side tugging on her arm. And within seconds he picked her up and sat her down on his horse. As if she would've weighed nothing. She squealed upon that action while Dean sat up again right behind her. He reached around her and picked up the reins again with both hands.

"Everybody move! I wanne be home before midnight." Dean called out and the travel company set off.

Y/N looked back over her shoulder and some tears started to burn her eyes. She had had a lot of lovely goodbyes including big hugs and warm words. A lot of people from her clan wished her well. Only her father did not say much except some warnings words to not embarass him.

The trip back to Dean's castle was quiet and without any disturbance. They stopped once for ten minutes to eat something and to go to the bathroom. But now they've been on their way again for several hours. The day was starting to dim down slowly and Dean was sure that Y/N's back and hips must've started to hurt a little by now. But they moved faster than expected and would therefore be home earlier than planned.

He was thinking about another stop, when he felt the woman infront of him leaning a little more into his chest. And when her head fell onto his shoulder he looked down on her to see that she had fallen asleep. Her face was relaxed and her chest rose and fell evenly.

Dean started to smile and his heart began to beat a little faster, but that didn't hold very long. This was not Helena. He had to keep remembering himself, that this was the wrong woman in his arms. Pictures from last night reappeared in his mind and he frowned. Eventhough this was Y/N, why did this feel so right?

When Y/N awoke the next time, the horse she was sitting on had stopped in his tracks. She felt Dean's strong chest on her back and his arms that surrounded her to hold the reins. It was warm and comfortable, eventhough her butt and thighs hurt a little.

"We are here." Dean said quietly into her ear.

And so she looked around. The day had already moved into the blue hour, but it was still bright enough to see everything. They stood infront of the castle. A big castle. At least three times bigger than her's. Dean had already gotten off his horse while men started to surround them and helped unpacking their things. There were so many people here.

With a look back over her shoulder Y/N was trying to find Millicent and when she spotted her, she saw that her friend had gotten help from Dean's brother Sam. The woman had a slight smile on her face and it warmed her heart a little.

"Are you able to come down?" asked Dean and Y/N turned her head to him.

She wanted to say 'yes', but somehow her voice did not work and so she just nodded her head. The only problem was that her legs felt stiff and Y/N was unsure if she could get down safely and with a little bit of grace. She swung her leg a little clumsily to the other side and almost lost her footing. But Dean was there to help right away and grabbed Y/N by her waist to lift her down.

When she felt solid ground under her feet again, she looked up at Dean and thanked him with a small, relieved smile. However, he didn't smile back and then Y/N noticed that they were standing quite close together. She felt the tight grip his hands had on her waist, felt the warmth radiating from his chest, and for the briefest of moments she felt the urge to rise up on her tiptoes and kiss him. But Dean abruptly let go of her and turned his back to her, untying the bags on his saddle.

"DEAN!" screamed a female voice full of joy and him and Y/N were turning their heads towards the voice.

A young, darksinned woman ran towards them and smiled brightly. She ran to Dean and embraced him tightly. Y/N took a step back, feeling a little awkward and almost as an intruder to this scene infront of her. Dean did not embrace her back, but he didn't push her back either.

"Cassie." was all he said, before slowly peeling himself free from her arms.

"I did not think you would be back today. I thought you'd come home tomorrow or in two days." she said with excitement.

Y/N furrowed her brows and a weird feeling settled in her gut. These two seemed a little to familiar with each other and she couldn't help but wonder what their relationship was.

"It all went down faster than I thought..." Dean said and gave Y/N a quick glance which Cassie followed. "... and I just wanted to be home again."

"Oh! Then you must be Helena, right?" Cassie walked over to Y/N, but before she could answer Dean already spoke for her.

"No. That's Y/N. Her sister." he explained rather emotionless.

Now Cassie looked confused and Y/N felt a little irritated by Dean's tone. It had been his decision to take her with him, right? She had not demaned anything from him, nor had she insisted on comming with him and take her place as his wife. So there was no reason for him to be like that.

"Oh, really?" Cassie turned around to Dean again. "Where is Helena?"

"Not here." Dean replied and swung a bag over his shoulder. "I married Y/N."

And with that he left the two women alone and made his way into the castle.

Since then a whole month had passed and Y/N still felt like she did not really belong here. She felt alone in these big walls and missed her home and her Clan. She visited Arrow a lot and the horse was always happy to see her. Being in the box with him had something so familiar for her, it mended her heart everytime. Millie could tell that she was not quite happy and tried to spend as much time with her as she could. Now, the women could be more open about their friendship. Y/N was the new lady after all.

But Millie was still fulfilling her duties and everytime she was alone on her way, Sam seemed to join her. They talked a lot whenever they could and Millie seemed to be more happy here than Y/N was. The maid always smiled and her cheeks blushed a little when Sam smiled down on her. Y/N was happy for her friend. Sam was a good guy and they were really sweet together. Dean on the other hand...

In the first week he showed her around, but it felt more like he had to instead of he wanted to. They slept in the same room, but he barely talked to her. So, whenever they were in the same room, Y/N started to talk. She could not stand the weird silence between them and eventhough he did not respond to her words, he did not flee the room either. And somehow she took that as a positive sign. Maybe, just maybe, if he got to know her more, his heart would melt a little and his anger about the situation could fade away. At least that was what she hoped.

But after the first week he went on a short business trip. Dean had been gone for five days and that gave Y/N time to get to know the daily routine in the castle better. At one point she would need to start to take over the responsebility for the castle and the Clan. She was married to Dean. It gave her that power.

It did not take long before she met the woman who was in charge the whole time. Her name was Ellen and she basically managed the castle. Her daughter Jo helped her with the tasks and they made a pretty good team. These two were the first ones who had really welcomed Y/N here and started to bring her in right away.

After two days Y/N felt as if they were already friends. Jo was a few years younger than her, but neither of them could tell that. She was funny, clever and beautiful. A few men of the Clan seemed to flirt with her and she knew how to handle them. Y/N was really impressed by that. For her that would've never been an option.

Ellen was rather strict, but she had a big heart and only good intentions. Everyone knew that you should not mess with her, especially since she cooked for the whole castle. But everyone respected her and in truth they all liked her. She was almost like a mother and that made Y/N's heart hurt a little. Since her own mother had been gone for so long by now, that the picture the woman had in her mind, slowly started to fade away.

"Yeah, and that's how we handle the dinners." explained Ellen while she cooked the lamp stew on the big stove.

"But... that's a pretty big pot. Isn't he heavy?" Y/N asked.

Ellen had said, that only the women would serve the food. Carrying out the pots, pans and plates.

"It is pretty heavy. So four of us will carry it. It's the same when we eat suckling pig. But that's not all the time."

And still, in Y/N's ears it did not make sense. There were a lot of strong men here that could carry the heavy things alone or in groups of two. It would be easier for everyone. But to that Ellen had only one thing to say.

"That's how we did it in all those years and Dean probably never wanted to change that."

But only half an hour later Y/N's point got proven when four women came into the dining hall with the heavy pot and one of them lost her footing on the stairs up from the kitchen. The other three lost their balance too and half of the stew spilled over the floor.

Ellen exchanged a knowing look with Y/N after both women rushed to their aid. In the end the men were the only ones who got to taste the stew and everyone else had to eat the side dishes. It was still enough for all, but it was a shame about the delicious meat. And that was not everything that could use improvement.

When Dean came back from his first business trip Y/N tried to talk to him. But Y/N felt like he did not even listened to her. He was focused on his papers that were lying on the table near the window in their bedroom. He did not even look up to her, only grumbled. She had never felt so lost, standing in the middle of the room and not even being noticed by her now husband. Two days later he went on the next business trip and it made her only fell worse.

Everyone else in the castle was really nice to her. She tried to be as polite and friendly as she could, wanting to show them that she was interested in the people of her new Clan and the way they lived their life here. And it seemed as if the others responded well to that. Slowly they welcomed her more and more and became more open to her. At least that was some consolation.

The only one she didn't really seem to warm up to was Cassie. The young woman seemed to be clearly avoiding her and Y/N wasn't entirely sure why. She had a feeling that Cassie really liked Dean and she knew from Millie that the young woman would have liked to marry Dean. That's what Sam had said. But Y/N hadn't expected the whole situation to end like this either and that's why she didn't think the behavior was entirely fair to her.

But while Cassie was too focused on Dean, Y/N realized that there was someone who probably really liked Cassie. It was a blonde Scottish man named Alex, maybe a year older than Cassie, and he always tried to be near her and help Cassie. But she didn't appreciate his advances. On the contrary, she seemed rather annoyed by him. And somehow Y/N recognized herself in the situation. So at some point she took advantage of the opportunity and tried to have a conversation with Alex.

"You really like her, don't you?" Y/N asked with a gentle smile on her face.

"Who? Cassie?" Alex looked kinda embarassed.

Y/N nodded. "Yeah, I do." Alex admitted after a moment.

"Did you tell her?"

"What? NO!" he looked down on the ground and Y/N could feel that he was not feeling comfortable right now. "I mean... she likes Dean."

"Yeah... I've noticed." now Y/N was not felling so comfortable with that topic.

"Don't worry about her behavior. It's not because of you." Alex explained.

That was the moment when Y/N realized that the rather shy and quiet boy noticed more than one would think.

"Then what is it about?" Y/N wanted to know.

"It's because he was supposed to marry Helena. And then... he came back with another woman."

Which meant that she was angry, that the other woman was someone else and not Cassie. And again Y/N was asking herself if it still had been a good idea to actually come here.

A/N: It could've been better, right? Dean's not really there and now we have Cassie also. 🫣 🫣 Let me know what you think. Feedback is very much appreciated! 💜

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[mrs-kodzuken]

empty promise ⟢ kenma k.

synopsis: you notice that your boyfriend, kuroo, of almost three years has been acting strange lately. you confront him on it and then suddenly you’ve made the decision to leave him. luckily, your best friend is always there for you.

other: cheater!kuroo x fem!reader, best friend!kenma x fem!reader, angst, break up, little mention of ED, comfort, manipulation, gas-lighting, asshole!kuroo, best friend!kenma helping rebuild reader, therapy, best friend!kenma has loved reader since 4eva eventual fluff

"Kuroo, I know it’s happening again.” You sighed, knowing this wouldn't end well, just like last time didn't end well per say either. You stared at the man across from you in the kitchen decorated with picture frames of the both of you as he hovered in front of the fridge, probably wondering why you didn't cook tonight.

“What are you talking about?” He sounded snippy; his demeanor changed as he peered his sharp gaze back at you, immediately becoming defensive. His slick, black suit that he wore leaving for work this morning was hardly as neat as it was, adding on to your suspicion. 

“You’re hiding something from me, I know it.” You finally got out, your heartbeat quickening as it usually did when you would have to confront your boyfriend of three years. It was upsetting that you would have this anxious-riddening feeling that made you sick everytime you defied him. 

“Seriously? This again? You’re fucking kidding me,” He snapped, slamming the refrigerator door shut, into which you jumped at the loud, sudden noise—eyes widening. 

“Yes, Kuroo, this again. I can't set it aside any longer; the feelings are tearing me apart.” You attempted to say, “I just want trust, and—and I feel like I’m not getting it from you,” You stammered, trying to reason with the man; his expression held anger as if he couldn't believe you felt this way, especially about him.

“There you go with your crazy talk; are you sure you’ve been talking with the therapist Y/n?” He accused you, the scoff apparent in his voice as he rolled his eyes. 

Furrowing your brows, you couldn’t believe that he would ask something like that. “Yes, at every appointment, and sometimes I text—“ You were abruptly cut off, the anxiety ate away at you, making you chip your nail polish. 

"I just think you’re being dramatic. Honestly, I think you’re the one who's making this relationship go without trust,” He hammered in on his accusations. The kitchen light flickered as a few beats of silence passed between you two. 

The absolute quietude in the house was almost deafening. The living room TV wasn't on; no soft music, nothing. No noise except the small buzzing from the refrigerator that you have always, always hated.

You took a deep breath and tried to collect your thoughts, you followed the steps your therapist gave you for moments like this. 

“Kuroo, where were you tonight? You’re home extremely later than you said.” You purse your lips, wanting to know, but the ache in your stomach was becoming too much. At this point, it hurt to love him, to question him. You knew what he would say, you could probably even guess the exact words that would come out of his mouth.

His taller frame stood across the kitchen; the usual loving eyes now turned cold and hard and it was all directed at you.

“At the office, I was working.” He snarled, “Oh, you think I’m fucking someone at my job now, huh?” He raised his voice, your eyes widening at the thoughts your mind crept to, but you wanted to discuss it first. Wanted to calmly talk about it, this is what your therapist told you to do. 

“No, Kuroo, I don’t think anything; I didn’t say anything like that. "All I said was that I had a feeling and I wanted to talk with you about it.” This is what your therapist had specifically told you to do; you could feel the crease between your eyebrows becoming more apparent with every sharp word Kuroo said. 

“Oh yeah, because I’m totally cheating on you. I told you that last time would never happen again; why are you having these ‘feelings’?” He rudely said, as if you didn't notice the signs.

The late nights, the alcohol on his breath, the lack of physical intimacy with you, the ruffled, messy state of his clothes and hair. It was painfully obvious at this point. You felt ashamed for not saying something sooner. 

“..There was just one night where you came home smelling like another woman and I—I just don’t know Kuroo. I wanted to make sure that last time wasn’t happening again.” You averted your gaze, not being able to stand the hatred in your boyfriend's eyes. You felt small against his larger frame and even larger, hurtful words. 

“Ha! Isn’t that something? You’re probably cheating on me with how much you work from home.” He dryly chuckled, throwing accusations as if they were sharpened knives now. 

“Kuroo, why aren’t you listening? You saying things like that hurt me, you know? I've been faithful since we agreed to be in this relationship. I'm just worried that history is repeating itself.” You try to get his attention back on the topic; he just wasn't listening to you.

You could feel your eyes starting to water, the buildup of arguing, the ache in your stomach, and the painful incriminations he was throwing. It was beyond hurtful, it ached.

“You’re delusional if you think you smelled another woman on me. There was no one at the office; nothing has happened since last April; nothing.” The bellowing of his voice was meant to try and beckon you to listen to him. And you were finally silent; you knew your pathetic voice would waver if you said something, anything right now. 

You watched Tetsuro open a bottle of alcohol, not caring that he just openly hurt your feelings without any regard to how you might actually feel and didn’t try to console you either. 

Opening your mouth to try and say something to reason with him, you couldn’t even say a singular syllable. 

“Just fucking drop it,” He muttered before trying to slide past you into the cupboard to find something to eat. 

"I’m leaving you.” Your voice harrowingly got out, and you glared at the floor, hating that you got dealt these shitty cards. You carefully took off the promise ring that you now realize was nothing more than just an empty promise and set it on the cold counter. 

"Fine, you'll realize that you're the problem. The toxic, insecure, crazy one and then come crawling back to me,” He said without a hint of remorse; you knew though. You knew that he wasn't your caring, sweet, helpful boyfriend anymore; he was someone's. And you damn sure were not going to fight for him. 

You watched as he left the house through the back door; you didn’t bother to check Life360 as you probably knew where he was going. You were right, unfortunately yet again. 

Not being able to take the heartbreak, you decided to pack. You wanted to leave this home; you wished Kuroo made you happy like he did in the beginning of the relationship, but instead all he does is make you stressed and upset. 

You gather your at-home work supplies, main toiletries, important documents, sentimentals, and clothes to last you three whole weeks. You could replace everything else; hell, you were a working woman, not some rando he could kick to the street to make you fend for yourself.

You figured he’d clear out the rest of your things before he invited his new girl here. 

You carefully put your personal belongings in your car before leaving the key to the house under the front door mat. You decided to take a few minutes to give yourself a cry; you needed it. Your entire life of what you thought you knew was completely destroyed within thirty minutes; you had to cry or else you wouldn't be okay. 

When you pulled out of the driveway, you called Kenma from your car. Kenma has been your best friend since college; he actually introduced you and Kuroo to each other.

And look how that turned out. Although, you had hardly spoken to him in a few because Kuroo cut off your contact with anyone that wasn’t him—mostly any male. 

Once the dialing ended, Kenma picked up. You tried to gather what to say in a few short moments, watching the streetlamps pass you by as you drove.

“Can I stay at your place for a few days?” You asked before he could ever say 'hello'. You cringed at your voice, which was raspy from the argument and the tears you shed. 

“Oh, yeah, sure. What happened?" Concern laced Kenma's voice for you; he was always so observant of your emotional state. But then again, you did sound horrible right now. 

“Kuroo cheated on me again; I left him this time; I should've—I just should’ve left the first instead.” You tried to keep it together and not have to pull over and cry about the situation. 

There was silence over the phone for a few minutes except the small sniffles and clearing of your throat. "I’m sorry, Y/n. You deserve better than someone who easily breaks your heart like this.” You could tell that Kenma felt guilty because he was the one who set the both of you up on a date.

"I’m sorry that I’m going to crash at your place to get my life together; I know I’m a lot.” You sighed, parking in his driveway. His house was as huge as ever; living the rich life did suit him though. 

“No, you’re not a lot. Things happen, and I’m glad I’m someone you can lean on.” He genuinely reassured you, peeking out of the living room curtains and seeing your headlights, then ending the phone call.

You gathered your things and headed inside to Kenma's house, not having been here in a couple. It was just as admirable as the first time you were here.

“Were you just streaming right now?" You called in the house curiously; you could hear gaming sounds in the background of the phone call, they were much too familiar to listen to. 

Kenma came from around the corner of the kitchen; he was in his typical comfortable merch that he made. His hair was pulled back, and he had a bowl of curry in his hand. 

He paused, taking your form just like you did to him, except he was wary of your blotchy face and red eyes. 

"..Yeah—yeah, I was. But don’t feel bad; I was supposed to get something to eat anyway.” He half smiled at you, a small crinkle in his eyes. 

“You can make yourself comfortable in any room in the house; I'm going to finish my stream. If you need me, you know where to find me.” He turned away from you with a glance that you didn't see as you got familiar with his home again. 

“Thanks, Ken,” You mumbled as he was already gone. You were going straight for the room that has always brought you comfort—Kenma's bedroom.

Collapsing on his fluffy bed was the highlight of your night, letting the feelings of the breakup wash over you. You knew that it would be something you'd bring up with your therapist this week; she would help you and talk you through your mind process like she always did. 

Your eyes wandered as you controlled your breathing, grounding yourself with the distant memory that you last had about Kenma's room. It was always your safe space back then. You sighed and rolled over onto your back.

After lounging around and letting your emotions process thoroughly, you finally got up, the heartache from the past few hours still fresh. 

"I didn’t expect you would pick my room, but that’s okay. It brings back memories of our sleepovers.” Kenma's voice rang out, opening his black-painted bedroom door, effectively startling you, which made you jump. 

You regained your posture and gave a small, worried smile. “Are you sure? I can leave. Sorry, this just, just brings me comfort, you know?” You softly smiled, gazing around the room that you both would always share. 

Back then, if Kenma hadn't introduced you to Kuroo, you would have probably confessed to him. The thought made your eyes widen a bit, and you blinked it to the back of your mind because anything else could come of it. 

He leaned on the door frame and said, "No, it’s okay for you to stay. Were you about to sleep or something?” He raised a brow, not knowing that you planned to sleep with him. Nevertheless, he didn't care because, after all, he's missed you. 

You winced, not fond of the idea of sleep right now. “Not really. I know I shouldn’t mess up my sleep schedule like this, but life kind of got in the way." You dryly chuckled, gathering your comfortable clothes that you would usually sleep in at your now-old home. 

You sighed with despair, not being able to keep it in. The silence only egged you on as Kenma waited, his gaze only on you.

"I just keep feeling sorry for myself. How I should’ve been stronger to leave instead of being so lenient with him cheating on me so easily.” You were getting teary-eyed again, hating the situation you could've left from but didn't.

A soothing voice and an even more soothing hand surrounded your senses, trying to calm you. “That's normal. You thought you could trust again, so you tried it, and he proved you wrong. It just shows that you both weren’t compatible, a shitty thing for me to say, but I’m not going to sugarcoat it for you; you know me.” You could even hear the smile in his voice at that last part.

However, you were oblivious to the painstakingly ache in his posture due to the guilt of him putting you through that. 

“Yeah, I do. Thank you for always being honest with me. I really appreciate it, Kenma. It means a lot. You’re practically the only person I trust—to always give me the truth.” You paused at that bit, realizing how awfully true it was. 

“Always. I don't think I’d lie about anything; I don’t really see a point in it.” Kenma pondered out loud before going to light a few candles and turn on a warm-colored lamp for you since you’d be in here.

“Don’t worry about finding someplace to go yet. It’s okay for you to recuperate from life for a few days first.” He finished, his kindness for you glaringly obvious, but that's all you took it for, was kindness. You nodded, physically there but mentally not. 

“What are you doing?” Broke you out of your trance-like state; staring at a computer screen for hours on end didn't do your eyesight any good.

“Working..” You mumbled out, knowing he was able to scold you about this. You never stayed up late to do work, to party, to drink, anything. You felt like you were boring and this was a way to combat it, especially with you feeling guilty for yourself.

“Why? You’ve had like three hours of sleep; I thought you were going to recuperate from life.” Kenma asked, he had noticed that you were knocked out earlier. He came into his room to check up on you, but you were sound asleep, peacefully. Knowing you were finally safe from harm in any way made him feel good inside. 

"I tried; it didn’t work.” You turned back to your screen, wheeling around in Kenma’s office chair. You didn’t bother pretending like you didn’t know what you could and could not touch or act new with him. 

“Have you thought about trying harder?” He snorted, but he genuinely cared about your wellbeing right now. He flicked on the above light, it was better than nothing right now, he also cared about your eyes. 

"I’m only joking Y/n. want me to stay here with you or at least bring you something?” You saw his reflection on the screen, being able to notice his change of clothes now that you were sitting in complete darkness with the only light from your computer shining. 

“No, I’m fine.” You said, earning yourself a squint from Kenma, not that you could see it as you were still typing away.

“You’ve been here at my house for almost eight hours and have yet to eat or drink something. Restricting your body from things like that as a poor coping mechanism isn’t healthy.” He scolded, being actually serious. Ironic how he learned that from his best friend in high school, however, Kenma wasn’t even sure he wanted to call Kuroo his best friend after what happened tonight.

"I—I know that, I wasn’t going to.” You stammered, trying to think of an excuse with him standing right there, taking a few small steps to further his point. “Okay, maybe I was going to, but now I obviously won’t.” You rolled your eyes, not bothering to lie to him. 

"I’ll bring you something, and then we’ll see if you change your mind about working.” He patted your head like he used to, it brought you back to an easier life, a simpler life where you were actually happy and didn’t live your life anxiously. 

Being with Kenma was like breathing, it was simple. 

You didn’t feel insecure because you didn’t have make up on, or that you cried, or probably didn't look the best right now. Kenma wasn’t Kuroo, Kenma cared. 

You knew he always had and probably always would. It was beyond palliating to know that Kenma cared about the important things like whether you were okay, if you had eaten or drank anything, if you needed someone to support you emotionally or help you vent.

He didn’t care about the other things like pressuring you to always look perfect or to stray out of your comfort zone for business parties with people who made you uncomfortable. 

That brought you back to the present. “This, my god, this is so good Kenma. I'm stuffed.” You groaned at the last bite of the delicious meal Kenma made you. The pristine glass plates that Kenma knew you loved, he plated your food on that like he always used to do when you stayed over.

"I’m glad you like it. You can have the recipe if you want it.” He offered, sitting comfortably on the extra chair he pulled up so he could make sure you ate and finished the meal. 

“That’d be perfect, thank you.” You smiled an actual happy smile, you loved when Kenma did things for you without you having to ask. 

“How do you feel now?” He took your plate in his hands, standing up and wiping off the desk with your unused napkin. You watched him and yawned before responding. 

“Kind of sleepy; I just want to lay down or something.” You mumbled, rubbing your sleepy eyes, your body finally going into relaxation after he had pulled you out of the state you were in. 

“Told you.” Kenma pointedly said, “Go on, I’ll shut this stuff down for you.” He resisted the urge to kiss on your temple, watching your figure sleepy shuffle into the hallway. 

“Thank you, Kennie.” You sleepily said before leaving, hoping he would come sleep with you too, you missed those nights. The gloamings you spent with him was comforting, you wished you didn’t trade that up for someone like Kuroo who hardly ever wanted to be away from work for you. 

That night, you went to bed sound asleep. Unfortunately, Kenma couldn’t bring himself to 

“You make me feel like my breakup wasn’t the end of the world.”

“That’s because it wasn’t the end of the world. How long have you gone without basic human decency?” Kenma asked you, already knowing the answer to that.

Between the last few days, Kenma’s been your listener, besides your therapist, to help you overcome your breakup. The way he has cared for you without expecting anything else in return was endearing, almost too endearing that it hurt your heart.

You knew your feelings by the end of the few days of staying at Kenma’s, the feelings that came back from when you both used to be close. However, even if he was ready for you, you weren’t for him. You had to go. 

Moving the conversation along away from the awkwardness that surrounded you both, "I’m glad I got a therapist a while back because between you and her, I think I’ve helped myself a good amount from the breakup, and it’s only been almost two weeks.” You surprisingly said, grateful for the fact that you mentally checked out of the relationship a while ago but still needed to process it. 

You continued, not watching Kenma but your phone to show him. “That reminds me; I’m going to start looking for apartments so I can be out of your hair soon. You’re amazing for letting me stay so long, Ken.” Smiling, you pushed the lit up screen towards his view, showing the apartments that were way nicer than you expected. It even had an elevator! You were fondly surprised at that. 

As you kept raving about all these fancy apartments you found, occasionally scrolling through the apartment list to remember the details, you were interrupted abruptly by Kenma. 

"You can stay." Was all he said, that’s when you finally looked at him. The room seemed to still as you met eye contact with him too, in his eyes…you could tell he didn’t want you to go.

He wasn’t ready for you to leave after he finally just got you back. Unable to eventually stop you from going, he had to tell you how he felt about you leaving. 

You were speechless when it came to responding to him. Of course, you wanted to stay but it would go against what you planned, however you knew what you would say. Besides, you haven’t even put a payment in for the apartment number yet. 

Kenma scratched the back of his neck, a random habit he never got rid of when you were around. "If you'd like, it's nice to have you around more often." The tenderness in his eyes was just so familiar now to you that you just had to accept his offer.

Living with your best friend who you may have a slight simmering crush for, knowing that it was requited too wasn’t the worst idea. Quite frankly, it seemed like one of the better options at this point. 

And so, you happily agreed, you finally got the taste of comfort again and you desperately wanted to keep it. Your mind felt at peace, not racing with horrid thoughts all the time about whether or not Kenma had ill will towards you. You loved, and needed, your best friend because the nights he brought you were everything you lacked without him. 

The warmth from the lamps that he turned on every evening as soon as the sun went down because he knew you loved them. Kenma would always light a small candle or two before you both got comfortable on the bed that you now sleep in with him. He even kept your Nintendo switch that he bought for you because you expressed interest in it once.

You always wondered where it went too, however, nights with Kenma dwelled on animal crossing and your favorite sweet treat. You didn’t have to worry about restricting yourself to no end because you were told to keep your shape up.

Looking up from your switch, you watched Kenma’s concentrated face, loving the little details you could see up close, especially his blue light glasses. You also adored how he kept his hair long, sporadically putting it in a pony.

The face framing pieces of hair, that you now play with every so often, were your favorite.

“Ken…thank you, for letting me come back into your life. I wish I never left.” You paused, letting him hold eye contact with you.

“It was worth it though, because now I know.” You hinted, but didn’t say anything else. Relishing in the fact that Kenma’s response was purely just to pull you closer to him. 

a/n: requests are open! hope you like & this is all my work <3