#to be fair its mostly in response to her coming over to stare at me for things like

[fjordfolk]

Pretty sure if you checked my most-uttered phrase every year for the last 10 years would be "no, Sparta."

[mapis-putellas]

𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚/𝑨.𝑷𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒔

Alexia knocked on your door for the third time that week. You sighed, knowing exactly why she was there before you even opened it. Her insistence had become a staple in your life since you’d arrived in Barcelona. Standing in your doorway, her blonde hair tied back in its usual high pony and her brown eyes full of exasperation, she crossed her arms over her chest. “You eat dinner?” she asked in her clipped English, something you were slowly growing accustomed to.

“Yes, Alexia,” you replied, trying to keep the amusement out of your tone.

“What?” she challenged, eyebrows raised as if she didn’t believe you.

“Spaghetti,” you replied, showing her the half-eaten plate still on your table.

She leaned in slightly, peeking over your shoulder into the small apartment. Her eyes landed on the plate, and she sighed like a parent discovering their child hadn’t done their homework properly. “No vegetables,” she muttered, shaking her head.

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real bite to it. Alexia had been on your case ever since you’d joined Barça a few weeks ago. At 18, you were the youngest on the team by a fair margin, and she’d apparently taken it upon herself to adopt you despite the fact you were very much capable of looking after yourself. It was amusing as much as it was endearing, really.

“Alexia, I’m fine. I’m an adult, you know.” You retort.

Her lips quirked at that, but she didn’t smile. “Adult?” she echoed, her thick accent making the word sound almost mocking. “You still a baby.”

You groaned, stepping aside to let her in. There was no point arguing with her when she got like this. “I’m not a baby. I’m 18.”

She ignored you, walking into your small kitchen and opening your fridge without asking. She frowned at its contents—mostly quick snacks, a few drinks, and some leftovers. She muttered something under her breath in Spanish, shaking her head.

“This…” She gestured to the fridge. “This is not okay.”

You leaned against the counter, watching her with a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Alexia, I’m fine. Really. I’ve been living on my own for months before I came here.”

Her brown eyes flicked to yours, full of disapproval. “No. Not okay,” she repeated. Then, as if making a decision on the spot, she added, “You come. Live with me.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

She straightened up, crossing her arms again. “You come. My house. I cook for you. You are too young for this,” she said, gesturing around your apartment like it was some uninhabitable place. It was very much not, of course. Sure it was a little unfurnished, but that was only because you’d not long moved in.

“Alexia, I’m not moving in with you. I’m fine here.”

But she just stared at you, clearly unimpressed with your response. “We see,” she said cryptically before leaving. Your front door closed behind her with a soft click, and you stared at the empty space she once stood before letting out a quiet sigh.

*

Over the next week, Alexia’s campaign to convince you intensified greatly.

Every day after training, she’d ask about your meals, your laundry, your sleep schedule, and she wouldn’t leave you alone until you answered. One evening, after you mentioned that your washing machine had broken, Alexia gave you a look that clearly said, I told you so, like you’d somehow caused it. You tried telling her that you very much did not, that the washing machine was just faulty, but she cut you off.

“Enough,” she declared, and your mouth immediately snapped shut. “You come. My house.”

You sighed. “Alexia, I’m not-”

“My. House.”

“Fine,” you muttered, knowing that as much as you might like to think otherwise, you didn’t really have a choice. “Just until my washing machine is fixed.”

*

Living with Alexia was an adjustment.

She treated you like a child in the most endearing way possible. The first night, she cooked you dinner—a proper Spanish meal with vegetables you’d reluctantly eaten under her watchful gaze. She washed your kits with hers, folding them neatly and leaving them on your bed like a doting older sister. She even knocked on your door every night to say goodnight, occasionally tucking the blanket around you if she thought you looked cold.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” you told her one night as she stood by your bed.

She just shrugged, smiling softly. “I want to.”

Despite her somewhat overbearing tendencies, you didn’t mind. Alexia’s house was warm and welcoming, a stark contrast to the loneliness of your small apartment. And while she could be bossy, she was kind about it.

One morning, you woke up to the smell of coffee and toast. Wandering into the kitchen, you found Alexia setting the table.

“Sit,” she ordered, pointing to the chair.

You raised an eyebrow. “You know I can make my own breakfast, right?”

She just gave you a look. “Eat.”

You laughed, but complied.

At training, the team noticed the change almost immediately.

“You look well-rested,” Mapi teased one day as you walked onto the pitch, casually throwing her arm over your shoulder and pressing an obnoxious kiss to the side of your head. “What is Alexia feeding you?”

“Vegetables,” you replied dryly as you wipe off her saliva, earning a laugh from the group.

Alexia just rolled her eyes from where she was sat on the cooler, tying up her boots, but you caught the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

Over time, her house felt less like a temporary arrangement and more like home. You started teasing her about her habits, like how she couldn’t go to bed without folding the blanket on the sofa just so or how she scolded you for leaving your shoes in the hallway.

“You’re like a mum,” you joked one evening as she fussed over the laundry.

She paused, giving you a mock glare. “You are messy.”

You grinned, throwing a cushion at her. “And you’re bossy.”

One night, after a particularly long day of training, you collapsed onto the sofa face first, groaning dramatically.

“Tired?” Alexia asked, sitting down beside you.

“Exhausted.” You grumbled, looking up at her through bleary eyes.

Without a word, she tossed a blanket over your body, making sure you were all tucked in.

You smiled, resting your head on her lap. “Thanks, Ale.”

She patted your head gently, a gesture that had become surprisingly comforting. “Always,” she replied.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan

[linddzz]

While yes, Viktor is confident too, but...

This man isn't shy? He's hyperventilating and nervous-tapping over the idea of giving a speech!

This man?

I guess Im not getting across like, the Vibe that I always see that bothers me? Viktor's got the social anxiety for sure, and it's VERY fair to assume that his condition makes him even more self conscious to be up in front of a crowd full of topsiders. He's pretty clear in episode 1 that he's aware of how topsiders see him and his cane use, and that's before his disability is even more visible.

But ALSO very few people ARE good on a stage in front of tons of people. And also there's a very specific connotation to "shy" that is beyond social anxiety.

Shyness to me, is its own flavor of social anxiety plus timidness. The actual definition is a bashful, timid nervousness. It has connotations of the wilting flower personality. Viktor, even when he's quiet around other people doesn't come across as nervous or timid in the slightest. His first introduction has him VERY confident and collected surrounded by enforcers and not taking Jayce being snappy and angry at him. As a kid there's more of an argument to be made because what awkward socially isolated kid isn't going to be shy. But at the same time he doesn't try to shrink away from Sky's attention, he still looks right back up at her, he just keeps on doing his own thing. Mostly he comes across as someone who does not know how to casually interact with people so he doesn't. He's got tunnels in his eyes lmao.

Viktor is complicated. Viktor is nuanced. It's why he's Ultimate Blorbo. He's withdrawn and awkward and not very good at interacting with people, but he's not timid about it. He is very self assured in himself.

But when I say fandom makes him shy it IS much more of the wilting flower timid woobie that I kept seeing in Season1 fics. There was SO MUCH of Viktor being the nervous soft spoken anxious thing who was just so happy Jayce was even giving him the time of day as if Viktor didn't sass Jayce about his notes right after he stopped the man from jumping lmaoooo

And idk not to be TOO OBVIOUS with my projecting but it's the part of Viktor I can relate to the most. I consider myself a quiet person who gets annoyed when people think that me being quiet = shy. I'm able to speak up well on zoom calls with colleagues and I also would rather drop dead than have to go up on a stage in front of a bunch of normal people who I know were expecting someone very different. I get nervous and shaky speaking up in front of a crowd of colleagues even! but afterwards I can go right up to people like "your presentation was insane tell me more right now." I am often quiet and uncomfortable in large social situations because I know that most people there are operating under a different wavelength than I am, I do not know what the right responses to things are, or I full on do not know how to not accidentally come across as a huge asshole and I don't want to be an asshole. And when I was younger I would have so many people come up and act like I was a little wallflower (bc oh boy can I also relate to being quiet while physically small meaning being constantly infantalized) who "didn't need to be so shy" and every time I was like "I'm not shy. I just don't feel any engagement with this conversation and I don't want to be a dick and tell you that, but if you gently tell me it's ok to talk one more time I'm gonna start biting."

(It got better as I got older bc I learned that if you're quiet but making active eye contact instead of staring off into other directions - not to avoid attention but because you're just thinking of other shit - people will stop labeling you as shy and instead say "intimidating" or "mysterious" which is also hilarious when what you're thinking about is "machine herald big naturals lmao" but it's better than being labeled "shy")

[dancingbirdie]

Would you plz do a fic with Astarion when tav and the party looted a bunch of alcohol and take it back and drink it and celebrate at camp but tav gets a little drunk and astarion starts realising his feelings for them? 😳

I’d love astarion to take care of me after a few drinks 😂

Bless you anon, for gifting me this fic idea. It practically wrote itself and saved me from being bored all day at work. I hope you enjoy it!

A Night of Drinks and Realizations

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3,120

Warnings/Tags: Astarion x GN!Tav, minor act 1 spoilers, drinking, drunkenness, descriptions and references to Astarion's trauma/trauma responses, FLUFF! Non-sexual HEARTWARMING FLUFF!

Song Credit: The Galway Girl by Steve Earle (I do not own rights to the music, lyrics modified slightly to fit the fic)

************************************************************************

Chultan Fireswill tasted exactly as its name suggested - like the last charcoaled bits remaining in a dying campfire. But, Tav had to admit, it got the job done. It was as strong as horse piss on a hot day. They were absolutely soused from just half a bottle. Although, to be fair, Tav hadn’t been a heavy drinker in their past life, before all this illithid tadpole business had come about. Now? Well, they supposed they had much more reason to imbibe. 

Tav sat around the campfire with most of the others, enjoying spoils from the goblin camp the party had handily defeated - mostly due to the help that Halsin and Lump the Enlightened’s group had provided. They had yet to make it back to the Emerald Grove as Halsin had requested. Utterly spent from the fighting and fleeing, Tav and the rest of the party had opted instead to rest for the night in the blighted village on the outskirts of the goblin camp. At least there were semi-usable beds in some of the abandoned buildings. 

Shortly after setting up camp, Gale had retired early, eager to continue reading some of the dusty tomes he’d been collecting throughout their journey. Astarion had slunk off in search of something to satiate his thirst, leaving the rest of the group in various states of relaxation around the fire. It was a quiet, peaceful evening. Everyone seemed to be deep in their own thoughts, ruminating.

That was until Tav hiccupped loudly, breaking the thoughtful silence that had overtaken the party. Karlach guffawed at the sound, smacking her hands on her thighs.

“Tav’s absolutely PISSED, look at them!” she managed between cackles. The other party members turned to observe them, curious. They had all been running about, fighting, nonstop for the past few days. No one in the party had ever been well and truly drunk in front of the others. There just hadn’t been the time, or the relative safety, to be inebriated.

Tav blinked blearily at Karlach across the bonfire, trying to focus. “‘M not,” they garbled. “‘M perffc-ly fine.”

“Chk. Your tolerance for this weak slop is an embarrassment,” Lae’zel spat from her seat next to Tav. “Give me that,” she said as she grabbed the bottle from their hand, upturning it and consuming the rest of the foul liquid in one go. 

Tav smiled amiably and patted her on the knee. “You’re *hiccup* lovely. I forgive you *hiccup* for takin’ my drink.”

Lae’zel stared at them, eyes widened to the size of saucers. Wyll, Shadowheart, and Karlach were nearly bursting at the seams to keep from laughing openly. 

“I do not require your forgiveness, ska’keth,” she snapped. 

Tav just giggle-hiccupped and smiled again. Looking to the rest of the party, they put a hand to their mouth and stage-whispered, “she’s a little grumpy, that one.”

At this, they all laughed uproariously. Lae’zel rolled her eyes, reaching for another bottle of alcohol piled near the rest of the camp supplies.

“YOU-GUYS,” Tav suddenly shouted in a slur, tottering over to snatch up a new bottle of Chultan Fireswill. “We should have a party. Like, right now, have a party.” 

“FUCK YES!” Karlach cheered, chucking an empty mead bottle onto the ground with a resounding crash. “I’m all in, baby,” she said, reaching for an unopened bottle of Ithbank.

“Here, here,” Shadowheart echoed, raising her own bottle. “We could do with a bit of levity and foolishness, I think. Does anyone play an instrument? Some music would be lovely.”

“It’s been a few years but I believe I can still pluck a few tunes on the lyre. Let me give it a go,” Wyll replied, rummaging through his pack supplies to retrieve the instrument. 

Moments later, he began plucking a jovial tune that had everyone besides Lae’zel tapping their feet and nodding to the music. After it finished, he continued with a dancing jig Tav was familiar with from the taverns in Waterdeep, although most of the footwork eluded them in their drunken state. 

“Where’s Gale and Astarion?” Tav shouted in a sing-song voice, twirling around in a laughable attempt at dancing. “Wake their asses up and tell them we’re having a party!” 

“No need for ass-waking, at least for me,” Gale called, joining the party from the direction of one of the abandoned houses. “No one can get an ounce of sleep with you lot frolicking around the fire.” 

“GALE!” Tav shrieked as they dance-skipped over to him, tripping slightly and smashing into his chest. “You made it!”

Chivalrous as ever, the wizard kindly grabbed Tav’s arms to keep them upright and restore some semblance of balance to their swaying form. “Quite literally impossible to miss it, Tav. Your voice carries extraordinarily well,” he replied, chuckling.

Tav gave him a rueful smile. “I drank, jus’ a lil’,” they explained. 

At this, his face broke into a wide grin. “I can certainly see that. Looks like I’ve got a lot of catching up to do if I'm to match the rest of you!” 

He guided Tav over to where Shadowheart was sitting, delicately perched on an old traveler’s trunk near the fire. “Perhaps stay here while I go peruse our stockpile.” 

Tav plopped down unceremoniously next to Shadowheart, who quirked a smile. “Enjoying ourselves are we?” she asked.

“Oh yes,” Tav sighed out. “Although it would be even better if Astarion joined us. Where IS he?” they asked, swiveling their head around the village square, hoping to spot his telltale white blonde locks. 

“I’m sure he’ll turn up eventually. Maybe he caught himself a big bear and is drinking it dry,” Shadowheart said teasingly.

Tav nodded seriously, “He deserves the biggest bear, ever,” they said, absolutely failing to notice the joke. 

Shadowheart scoffed. “Lovesick, little pup?” 

Tav giggled, abruptly hiccupped, and then giggled again at that. 

“He’s just beautiful,” they finally replied in a dreamy sort of voice. 

And then, “Inside and out,” they added, more softly.

Shadowheart threw her head back with a laugh. “Oh gods! You really are lovesick.”

Tav hummed happily. “I think I am, but - OH MY GODS!”

“What?” Shadowheart shouted, startled and peering about to assess the apparently impending danger. 

“I LOVE THIS SONG!” Tav shrieked, jumping to their feet and swaying about once more as Wyll began playing another lively tune. 

Confession utterly forgotten, they were lost to the strumming of the lyre, spinning like a top that might never stop. 

************************************************************************

Astarion had not planned to eavesdrop on the conversation between Tav and Shadowheart as he made his way back toward the camp. Truly, he hadn’t. But, at the mention of his name from Tav, he couldn’t help but wonder what the conversation was about. 

Stepping quietly around the corner of the decrepit tavern, he paused to listen. His heightened senses easily picked up on their voices as clear as if he would be standing next to them. 

Tav had… feelings for him? Astarion didn’t know what to do with this information. Why were they admitting this so openly? And to a person they barely knew? Was this a ploy? Was Tav banking on him hearing this supposed confession and trying to lull him into some false sense of security? The paranoid part of his mind was absolutely convinced of it.

But no, surely that couldn’t be it, another more reasonable part of his brain asserted. Lost in his thoughts, he observed Tav whirling about the campfire with their bottle of booze spilling out. They accidentally doused Lae’zel with a spurt of liquid, causing the Githyanki to swear loudly and move to the other side of the campfire. 

Astarion huffed a laugh. No, Tav was… many things… but devious was not one of them. He had observed them enough throughout their travels the last few days and had come to the conclusion that Tav was as harmless as a week-old pup to those they liked and trusted. They were genuine, transparent, and… open… to his utter confusion. And, okay yes, his considerable annoyance. 

But Astarion was truly hard-pressed to remain annoyed at Tav for long. They were just so gods-damned pure. As pure as the sun’s rays. Being annoyed with them was like being annoyed at the sun for existing. It couldn’t help what it was. Tav couldn’t help who they were. It would be a mistake, a waste of time, to despise them for their nature. 

He envied them for that. But above all else, if he were being totally honest with himself, he craved their attention just as much as he relished the actual sunbeams he’d been able to feel on his skin for the first time in over 200 years. 

But still, Astarion had no idea how to process this revelation, that the-pure-sun-incarnate-Tav had love for him. Love. Not merely lust, desire, or attraction. Now those he was familiar with.  Those had been a currency he’d transacted on Cazador’s behalf for so many years. But love? Love was an unknown concept to him. It had never been something he’d tried to cultivate in the minds of his victims. Astarion wasn’t even sure he understood what love actually was.  

A series of loud bangs startled him from his circling thoughts. He looked up and chuckled at the sight he beheld.

Tav had found several scrolls of minor illusion in Gale’s packs and had begun to set off fireworks. Bright green, pink, and yellow sparks were careening into the sky, exploding into images of flowers and pixies to the utter delight of Tav. The rest of the party were loitering about, laughing at Tav as they clapped their hands in joy. 

Seeing as this would perhaps be the best time to integrate himself into the party, Astarion strolled toward the campfire. Grabbing a bottle of some cheap swill they’d looted, he took a seat beside Shadowheart and nodded in a cheers sort of motion to the cleric. She raised her bottle in acknowledgement. 

“Come to watch the wonder that is Tav utterly debauched?” she quipped.

“I must say, I rather like them like this, all uninhibited and bawdy” he replied, his eyes following Tav as they danced and gyrated their way over to Wyll, who was plucking out another familiar tavern tune.  

“Wyll, do you know the song ‘The Amphail Girl’?” Tav asked too loudly, hiccupping.

“I do, but gods Tav, I don’t know that I’ve ever tried playing it,” Will admitted.

“Okay, okay,” Tav sighed in a mock-morose tone, stopping Wyll from playing by placing a hand on the lyre strings. “Then you must pass the lyre my friend and be ready to take some *hiccup* notes.”

Wyll, ever the good sport of the group, obliged Tav’s demand and relinquished the instrument. 

Astarion chuckled. “Oh, dear. They’re not about to actually put on a performance, are they?” he asked in a somewhat-rhetorical question toward Shadowheart.

She chuckled. “It appears so. Liquid courage really does wonders, it seems.”

They both watched as Tav began plucking at the strings of the lyre until they stitched together the right tune. After a few beats of strumming, they began to sing.

“I took a stroll down the old long walk

Of the day I-ay-I-ay

I met a little girl and we stopped to talk

Of a fine soft day I-ay

And I ask you friends, what's a fella to do?

Because her hair was black and her eyes were blue

And I knew right then I been takin' a whirl

Down the Salthill Prom with an Amphail girl”

The entire party watched, enraptured, as Tav sang the lyrics in a beautiful, high tenor voice. Their hands never missed a chord, performing as though they knew the song by heart. 

“Did you cast Guidance on them?” Astarion whispered to Shadowheart, as Tav strummed the bridge of the song. 

“No, I haven’t touched my magic since this afternoon,” she replied. “This is all Tav. Shocking, considering how inebriated they are.”

It seemed the rest of the party members were in equal disbelief that their drunken compatriot could perform so flawlessly. Tav continued the song, smiling as they sang, eyes closed and blissfully unaware of the stares they had garnered. 

“We were halfway there when the rain came down

On the day I-ay-I-ay

She asked me up to her flat downtown

On a fine soft day I-ay

And I ask you friends, what's a fella to do?

Because her hair was black and her eyes were blue

So I took her hand, and I gave her a twirl

Oh, and I lost my heart to an Amphail Girl”

And the longer Tav sang, the longer Astarion realized there were cracks now forming in his long-held aloof façade. There they were, singing with their heart and soul, radiating unobtrusive joy. Astarion was enamored by Tav’s utter lack of pretense. He couldn’t take his eyes off them, even if he had wanted to.

“When I woke up I was all alone

With a broken heart and a ticket home

And I ask you now, tell me what would you do?

If her hair was black and her eyes were blue

'Cause I've travelled around, I've been all over this world

Boys, I've never seen nothin' like an Amphail girl”

Tav concluded the song with a final series of strums. They opened their eyes slowly and looked around curiously at the party, as though they had forgotten where they had been before the song began. Astarion thought they had an almost ethereal look in their eyes. Everyone had grown quiet, the meaningful pause leading them toward more introspective thoughts.

Of course, that was before Tav doubled over and hurled the contents of their stomach on the ground. In a blink, that otherworldly moment was gone, and the party members groaned at the mess of ick now puddling in the center of their circle. 

Tav wobbled on their feet, very nearly careening to the ground. 

Strong arms caught them about the waist before they collapsed. 

“Now, now darling, the fun is truly over, it seems. Let’s get you to bed, shall we?” Astarion coaxed, leading Tav toward the tavern. 

“You alright taking care of them, then?” Karlach called after him and Tav. 

“Yes, yes, I can keep the pup from choking on their vomit,” Astarion promised.

“And make sure they drink plenty of water!” Shadowheart added.

“Astarion?” Tav mumbled, seeming to finally come to, blinking up at the pale elf’s face. 

“Yes, darling, I’ve got you,” he murmured, an arm wrapped solidly around Tav’s waist. 

“Oh good. Did you get a beat grig bear? Oops,” Tav chuckled, grinning. “I meant a great… big… bear. Shadowheart *hiccup* said you would.”

Astarion didn’t have a bloody clue as to what Tav was talking about, but he nodded along, charmed by their innocent look of excitement.

“We should drink to celebrate!” they said suddenly. 

Astarion well and truly laughed. “No, my dear, I think we’ve both done enough drinking for the night,” he responded. 

Tav sighed. “I suppose you could be right,” they grumbled.

The two fell into a companionable silence. Astarion carefully walked Tav up the steps of the tavern and guided them toward an old boarding room near the back. There was a bed there, mostly left untouched by grime and pests. In any case, it was a more favorable alternative to sleeping on the ground.

Gently, Astarion pushed Tav to sit down on the edge of the bed. Crouching to his knees, he began pulling their boots off their feet. Tav watched in a daze before lifting a hand to cup Astarion’s cheek. 

Concentrating on the laces of Tav’s boots, he hadn’t been expecting their touch. He jumped slightly in surprise. Casual touches were not something he was used to. 

At his response, Tav removed their hand from his skin but kept it floating there in the air, as if unsure what to do. 

“Sorry,” they murmured. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Astarion held their gaze, pondering them thoughtfully. After a moment, he took Tav’s hand and returned it to his cheek. 

“It’s all right,” he said quietly. “I’m beginning not to mind those touches from you.”

Tav gave him a sleepy smile. “Thank you, Astarion,” they whispered and began to slump over onto the bed. 

“No no, not yet you don’t,” Astarion said hastily, rising to his feet and walking over to fetch a carafe of water from his pack. 

“Here. Drink all of this,” he said, extending the bottle to Tav.

“I don’t want water,” they said, frowning. 

“Trust me, darling, you’ll thank me for it in the morning,” Astarion chuckled. 

Tav gave a sullen huff. “Fine, but only because you asked.”

They downed the carafe in a couple of drinks before collapsing back onto the bed. 

Satisfied that Tav wouldn’t perish from alcohol poisoning - at least not tonight - Astarion made to leave the room. A quiet voice gave him pause just as he was about to cross the threshold. 

“Could you stay with me, please?” Tav whispered, watching Astarion through half-closed eyes. 

Astarion balked inwardly. Staying in the same bed with Tav would mean something. To Tav. To him. Was he prepared for that? What would Tav expect from him then, in the days that followed? Was this a step toward some kind of commitment? Did he want that?

As the seconds ticked by, he watched Tav’s eyelids close completely. They may not have even been aware that they had uttered that request aloud. They certainly weren’t aware of the effect it had on Astarion. He could just as easily pretend not to have heard them and walk out the door, leaving things as they were between them now: a curious potential.

But watching Tav’s chest slowly rise and fall with peaceful breaths, Astarion felt that craving again. The desire to be in the warm sun. To be touched by the sun’s rays. 

Fears be damned, he thought. At least for tonight. He could have this moment, he reasoned. He could have this one night. 

And, climbing into bed next to Tav, a part of him thrilled at the way their body turned and curled into his. The complete and total trust they had in him, that he wouldn’t harm them. That he - Astarion - was a safe harbor in which they could rest. 

The realization was too much to take in. So foreign. His mind couldn’t make sense of it. 

But, as he lay there in the quiet, his hand gently brushing Tav’s locks back from their forehead, listening to their even breaths, Astarion knew one thing. Whatever this new feeling was that Tav was drawing out of him? He wanted more than just a few stolen moments of it.

[thisonegirl]

Hello, whoever you are

pairing : touya “dabi” todoroki x reader rating : sfw warnings : mentions of death wc : 1.5k (edited) part I part II part III ps: yes, I'm aware that it's unlikely that he'd be able to speak this much but just pretend okay

Y/N’s body shook violently where she stood. 

Her mind spinning as the question of whether she was doing the right thing plagued her.

With the war being over and everyone worried about rebuilding their lives from the destruction, Y/N had a secondary worry. She had seen the destruction Dabi left and she couldn’t help but wonder if he was alive after all that happened.

In a singular moment of courage in her life, she asked. Such a simple action that she knew would have further repressed hence her fear, but she still did it. 

“How do you know him?”

She had been asked in return. And so the retelling of that story began. Luckily, she had no useful information so it wasn’t too bad that she hadn’t spoken up before but the guilt of having kept silent for so long gnawed at her conscience.

Now, she stood before the hospital with her feet glued to the ground beneath her, staring at the building that now held her… acquaintance? If she could even call him that.

“You’re the one who was asking about him, right?”

A soft yet raspy voice asked from beside her. Its sudden appearance startled her, making her head snap to the left to face its owner.

It was a boy. His hair was half white and half red and a burn scar marred the left side of his face. Y/N recognized him. She had seen him a couple of times on television and she knew that he was Endeavor's youngest son. The half-cold, half-hot hero. 

Remembering that he had asked a question, she snapped out of her trance just enough to provide a nod as a response.

“Are you going in?” He asked.

“Oh- Uh, I-I’m not sure,” she stammered. She wasn’t sure she was willing to face him. She didn’t even know if he wanted to see her. Especially since she so rudely sent him away that one night.

“Why not?” The question felt a bit intrusive but she responded either way.

“I don’t think he’d want to see me,” she explained.

“He doesn’t want to see anyone. He hates all of us actually but what matters is that we’re there regardless,” the softness of his tone soothed Y/N. The trembling of her body slowly eased as he offered a comforting smile.

“Wanna come in with me?” 

She nodded following him as they made their way inside the hospital. It was full, all of them were to be fair. She felt a bit relieved that she wouldn’t have to navigate these full halls in search of the correct room as the boy walked with confidence so she was sure he already knew the way. 

As they neared the door of the room where Dabi would be in, their steps slowed significantly until they reached a full stop right in front of said door.

“You can go in first.”

“No!” She burst out before she could stop herself, “I mean- uh… h-he’s your brother. You should go first.” 

“Like you said, he’s my brother soI come here quite often. Maybe seeing a new face would be good for him,” he said. Sighing, she nodded before hesitantly opening the door. 

The room was mostly bare except for a large machine a couple of chairs in front of it. With furrowed brows, Y/N slowly inched closer to it only to gasp at the sight before her. Inside the machine, dwelled an unrecoverably burnt Dabi and that when it clicked: it was his life support.

Tears welled in her eyes as she took in the man’s deteriorated state. Was there anything she could’ve done to make him see reason? To make him stay that night when he had dinner at her home? 

“What are you doing here?” His voice was hoarser than before and he spoke slowly as though uttering each word was a struggle. It likely was actually.

“I came to see you,” she whispered, still shocked by his state.

“Why?”

“I don’t know…” she trailed off, not knowing what to say in general. She stared at him as they stood before each other in silence, both analyzing the other.

“I guess you were right,” he said after what felt like an eternity of silence. Y/N knew exactly what he meant and it broke her heart that that was his first thought. “I should’ve stayed with you that night.”

“I’m sorry,” was all she could think to say.

“My family visits me everyday. They missed me all this time,” she could swear she heard his voice tremble a bit, “I could’ve just gone home, maybe if I had stayed with you, I would’ve eventually.”

“I met your younger brother, the one from UA. He seemed nice,” she said in a shaky voice, only then did she notice she was crying.

“Yeah, he comes by a lot too. I used to hate him, you know,” he admitted.

“You hated everyone,” Y/N retorted.

“I know. But I hated him first and most,”

“Why? He seems to love you so much,” Y/N questioned, emboldened by the fact that he was already opening up to her.

“I wanted to be what he was in my dad’s eyes,” the confession broke her heart. To feel so inadequate and unloved that he turned to cruelty and villainy was a heartbreaking thing. 

Y/N knew that Endeavor must’ve felt guilty for all that happened and quite frankly, he deserved to feel so.

“How are you?” She asked. Only after did she process how stupid her question was in face of his current circumstances, “Nevermind, I-“

“I’m fine…” he responded, “might not look like it but I am,”

“Oh but -“

“How? I got my family back and I know I don’t have much longer so it’s nice to have them around for now,”

Her heart stopped for a split second. I don't have much longer. What?

“W-What do you mean by that?” She questioned with a slight quiver to her lip as she felt her chest tighten as tears flow faster.

“You know what I mean,” he said. A sob escaped her lips, “I didn’t know I matter this much to you,” he continued, “now I really regret not staying.”

“I wish you stayed too,” she cried. “I hoped you’d come back or at least not go to them. I should’ve tried to make you stay! I should’ve done something!”

“No. There was nothing you could’ve done,” he opposed, “nothing that wouldn’t be met with danger and you had to think about the kids too.”

She didn’t respond any further. Just stood there sobbing her heart out as she struggled to speak.

“I could’ve loved you,” Dabi confessed, “I knew I could when you called me Dabi and I hated it.” Y/N’s sobs stopped as she stared at him in pure shock. Her heart sped up, pounding against her chest as she struggled to make sense of what he said.

“I think I did- or do love you,” she said, “I think that’s why I feel so guilty.”

“Don’t. I brought this on myself.”

“Still! Everyone did their best to try and help and I just sat there like a coward!” She burst out, “I could have done something!”

“It doesn’t matter now. All we can do it think about the future,”

“You just said you don’t have long,” she sobbed.

“I know. But I want you to be here for the time I have left.”

She shook her head. With her legs finally growing tired, she took a seat in one of the chairs in front of Touya’s machine.

“Why did everything have to be like this?” She wondered out loud.

“I don’t know.”

A knock on the door called for both of their attention. A warning that their time was up. Sniffling and wiping her face, she got up from her seat and looked at Touya once more.

“Can I come by again?” She asked hopefully.

“Yes, I’d like that,” he responded, making her smile softly.

“Bye for now then-“ she stopped hesitantly. “Is it Dabi or Touya now?” 

“I’ll be whoever for you,” he responded. She smiled shyly before continuing her goodbyes and leaving the room.

Finding Touya’s brother still waiting in the hallway, she felt bad for the time she took, “Hi, thanks for helping me find his room,” she said to the boy once he noticed her presence.

“No problem,” he smiled, “hope to see you again.”

“You will,” she said confidently.

She left the hospital feeling much lighter and at ease. It was bittersweet but she decided to only focus on the sweetness of the situation rather than the bitterness of it.

The next day, Y/N walked into the hospital with no hesitation. She found his room with little to no effort and sat before him with a new found sense of what she could describe as belonging.

“Hello,” she said, smiling at him from the other side of the glass of the machine where he laid.

“Is it Touya or Dabi to you,” he said, sensing a little teasing in his tone.

“Hello, whoever you are,” she teased back.

The laughter they shared felt like a marking of a new beginning. They were both aware of how short lived it would be but that didn’t matter at that moment. They figured that the ‘now’ was more important and what they should focus on.

——————————

masterlist

[sleekervae]

The Bride [0.9]

Masterlist

A/N: fair warning before you read but the plot only moves a little bit here, mostly filler and background being talked about with a smidge of violence. I promise the next chapter will have more action!

Pairing: billy the kid x fem!reader

Summary: Eleanor comes upon an old threat

Warnings: cursing, slander, mentions of shooting

Word Count: 4,029

Tag List: @poppyflower-22 @ponyslayer

Jesse remembered the first time he ever laid eyes on Eleanor.

It was one of those rare, cooler afternoons when the sun cut through the mist, casting a silver glow over the world. He’d been sitting in front of the saloon, boots up on the railing, nursing a bottle of whiskey that had long gone warm. The last thing he expected was for her to show up. She was like a wild animal, something who would easily spook if you moved too fast.

She was down on her luck. That much was obvious. Clothes dusty, her face drawn with exhaustion, but there was a defiance in the way she carried herself, chin lifted like she was daring the world to break her. She didn’t say where she was coming from, but he could tell she was running. Running from something big.

“What’s your story?” he had asked, more out of curiosity than anything else, though he hadn’t expected a straight answer. People like Eleanor didn’t give those easily.

“I don’t tell my stories to strangers,” she’d shot back, her voice sharp but low, a defensive edge to it. There was something about the way she spoke, though, that caught his attention. She wasn’t looking for sympathy, and she wasn’t afraid.

And maybe that’s why Jesse had kept talking to her. “Well, I’m not a stranger if I offer you a job.”

That had piqued her interest. She hadn’t said yes right away, of course, but he saw the way her eyes flickered with cautious curiosity. Jesse had been looking for someone to keep tabs on old Billy Matthews, could case the place so his gang would know when to strike for the cattle, and Eleanor seemed like the perfect fit—someone who could blend into the background but still hold her own if things went south.

“I need someone to keep an eye on a ranch,” he’d said, watching her closely. “Pays well enough. And it’s better than whatever’s chasing you.”

She hadn’t flinched. Just gave him a long, calculating look before finally nodding. “Tell me what you need.”

From that moment, Jesse knew she was different. Something about the way she moved—quiet, but deliberate—told him she wasn’t some ordinary woman. Eleanor Aubert was trouble, and he liked trouble.

Jesse couldn’t deny it—he was drawn to Eleanor from the start. There was something about her that kept him restless, an invisible pull he couldn’t shake. She moved through his life like a quiet storm, always there but never close enough to touch.

It started with small things. The way she’d tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, focused, as if the world outside her didn’t exist. Or how her lips would twitch into the faintest smile when she thought no one was watching. Jesse was always watching, though, always waiting for a crack in her armor. But it never came.

No matter how hard he tried to get close, Eleanor kept him at arm’s length. She was all business—always had been. To her, Jesse was a job, nothing more, nothing less. And he hated it.

There were nights when he’d offer her a drink, try to start up a conversation. Maybe ask about her past, drop a line about what she was running from. Every time, her response was the same—a blank stare and a change of subject. Cold as stone.

“You don’t trust me, do you?” he’d said one night, half hoping for an answer that’d give him a way in.

She’d paused for a moment, just a flicker of something crossing her face, but then she turned away, her voice flat. “Trust isn’t part of the deal, Jesse. I do the job. You pay me. Simple as that.”

That was the thing about Eleanor—she was never cruel, just distant. He couldn’t blame her, not entirely. Whatever she was running from, it had left its mark. He saw it in her eyes, the way they darkened when someone got too close.

But damn if Jesse didn’t keep trying. He found himself making excuses to keep her around. Every job she finished for him, he found another. Told himself he needed her because she was the best at what she did, but deep down he knew better. It wasn’t just about the work.

He wanted her to see him. To see that he wasn’t like the others, that maybe he could be something more. He fawned over her, complimenting her sharp mind, her skill, anything he thought might make her drop her guard.

But she never did.

He’d bring her whiskey, ask her to stay a little longer after a job was done, but Eleanor always kept her distance. Always walked away, like he was just another man in a long line of people she couldn’t afford to care about.

Still, Jesse couldn’t shake the hope that one day, maybe she’d come around. Maybe she’d stop looking at him like he was just a paycheck and see him for who he was. A man who, despite his flaws, would’ve done anything for her.

But then there was Billy.

When they had found him out in the desert, half-dead and baking under the relentless sun, Jesse should’ve just kept riding. But Billy was his friend after all! He had taken the boy under his wing, sure he got him into some trouble, but he held out for Billy!

He didn’t think much of it at first. They brought Billy back to house, left him with Eleanor while they rode out on another job. She was just a woman, after all; tending to the men, taking care of them was her job. Jesse figured she’d patch Billy up, they’d send him on his way, and that would be that.

But it wasn’t.

When they came back, Jesse noticed it right away. The way Eleanor lingered near Billy, looked at him, talking to him in that low voice she reserved for moments of real care. It set Jesse’s teeth on edge. He’d been trying to break through to her for months, and here was this half-dead kid, stealing the attention that Jesse had never managed to claim.

Even after Billy left, the pain burned. Jesse watched as Eleanor slowly let her guard down, piece by piece, only to put it up again. Her eyes softened whenever she thought of him, the chip on her shoulder was always a little less. Nevertheless, she was sad because she missed him. Jesse had never seen her like that—not with him, not with anyone.

He hated it. Hated the way Billy had gotten under her skin so easily, while Jesse had spent months scraping at the surface, only to be pushed away time and time again. No matter how skilled or useful Billy was—and he was, Jesse had to admit that—he couldn’t shake the gnawing envy that ate at him every time he thought of them together.

Billy wasn’t even trying. That’s what infuriated Jesse the most. He didn’t have to beg for her attention, didn’t have to carefully lay out reasons for her to stay. She just… opened up to him. Let him in without hesitation, the way she’d never done with Jesse.

It grated on him when they came to Lincoln, because Jesse knew that despite Billy's words that he would go out and see her. Talk to her, touch her in a way that Jesse never could. No matter how many jobs Billy helped with, no matter how well he fit in with the crew, Jesse couldn’t shake the anger. The resentment.

Because in the end, Billy had gotten something Jesse never could—Eleanor’s trust. And no matter what Jesse did, it didn’t seem like she was ever going to look at him the way she looked at Billy.

So, when the opportunity arose, Jesse did what he’d always done best—he took what wasn’t his.

The morning he stopped her in front of the bank, ready to pull his gun, daring her to fight him, it was too easy. It wasn’t just about the money; it was about getting back at her, for rejecting him. For choosing Billy.

It was about the power. About hitting her where it hurt because she’d never let him in, because she’d never given him a second glance the way she did with Billy. It was a childish, spiteful move, and he knew it, but Jesse couldn’t stop himself.

Taking from Eleanor was the only way he knew how to regain some sense of control, some twisted form of justice for all the ways she’d made him feel small. Petty? Absolutely. But to Jesse, it felt like evening the score. If he couldn’t have her, he could at least destabilize her job, leave her with a hole as big as the one she’d left in him.

Eleanor swept the floor of Tunstall’s store, her jaw clenched tight as she replayed the events of the last few days. The sharp scent of soap filled her nose, but it did little to distract her from the bitterness gnawing at her insides. Jesse had robbed her -- robbed her boss -- plain and simple, and she’d let him walk away without a fight. No consequences, no comeuppance—just a silent agreement that she’d let it slide. And that was what pissed her off the most. How easily she’d let him get away with it.

She paused, wiping her hands on her apron as the familiar heat of frustration rose in her chest. Jesse had been a thorn in her side from the moment they met, always trying to get closer, always pushing for more. She’d kept him at arm’s length, making it clear that he was nothing more than a job. But he wanted more. Wanted something she wasn’t willing to give. And when Billy came around, Jesse had lost whatever patience he had left.

The fact that he’d turned on her so easily, stealing from her like she was just another mark, stung more than she cared to admit. She should’ve seen it coming. Jesse was petty, vindictive, and jealous, but she hadn’t expected him to stoop so low. Now, every time she looked at the empty shelves, she was reminded of her mistake. Of letting him in, even just a little.

And then there was Billy.

She hadn’t seen or heard from him in days, and the knot of worry in her stomach grew tighter with each passing hour. Billy wasn’t the type to disappear without a word. He had a way of making her feel like she wasn’t so alone in this mess of a world, even if she’d never admit it out loud. But now, with him gone and Jesse lurking in the shadows, Eleanor felt the weight of her isolation pressing down on her like a heavy blanket.

She hated that she cared so much, hated that Billy had wormed his way into her thoughts. But the truth was, she missed him. Missed the way he’d look at her, like she was something worth fighting for. She hated that vulnerability, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Meanwhile, out in the desert, Billy sat by a dying campfire, his face illuminated by the soft flicker of flames. The Seven Rivers gang was out on another raid, Jesse leading them like a pack of wolves, tearing through farms and ranches with ruthless efficiency. Billy’s gut twisted as he thought about the bloodshed. It wasn’t just men they were killing anymore—it was women and children, innocent families who had nothing to do with their quarrels. The violence made him sick, but he kept quiet, burying his unease beneath a mask of indifference.

But the more he thought about it, the harder it became to ignore. He wasn’t like Jesse. He didn’t take pleasure in the slaughter, didn’t get off on the power trip that came with a gun in his hand. And the thought of Eleanor’s face if she ever knew what he’d been a part of—it haunted him. He didn’t want to be that man. Didn’t want to turn into someone she couldn’t recognize.

Billy’s meeting with McSween had been brief but to the point. The lawyer was a sharp man, with calculating eyes that seemed to size Billy up the moment he walked into Tunstall’s office. McSween didn’t waste time on pleasantries, diving straight into the heart of the matter: Tunstall was looking for men who weren’t afraid to stand up to the corruption sweeping through the county, and Billy—well, Billy was known for his willingness to take risks.

That’s when Tunstall had come into the picture.

The man had a reputation for being fair, for standing up to the gangs and the violence. He’d seen something in Billy, something that made him extend an offer—work for him, protect his land, and maybe, just maybe, Billy could clear his name. It wasn’t much, but it was a chance. A chance to get out, to start fresh. To be someone Eleanor could be proud of.

As the fire crackled and the distant sounds of Jesse’s gang echoed in the night, Billy made his decision. He wasn’t going back. Not to Jesse, not to the violence. He was going to take Tunstall up on his offer, even if it meant crossing Jesse in the process.

Billy leaned against the bar, arms crossed as Irene Riley slid up beside him. He barely noticed her at first, his mind heavy with everything else. Jesse's orders weighed on him, the memory of McSween's words from their meeting echoing in his head: a chance to clear his name. Then there was Eleanor—always Eleanor. He couldn't stop thinking about her.

"Hello there, Billy," Irene's voice cut through his thoughts, silky but filled with intention.

Billy straightened, glancing over at her. "Mrs. Riley."

"I wanted to see you," she said, her gaze lingering a little too long, a little too boldly. "I want to talk to you. I need to."

"Uh… maybe now's not a good time," he muttered, already half turned to leave. But she wasn't having any of it.

"Oh, no. Definitely now." She flashed him a smile that might’ve worked on some other man, but Billy just felt uneasy. She leaned in, her perfume sharp and overwhelming. "I have something to say."

He sighed inwardly, already knowing where this was headed. "Get me another drink, will you?" she added, tapping her glass against the counter.

"Sure," Billy replied, moving to get it for her more out of habit than anything else. He passed her the drink, waiting for whatever she had on her mind. His thoughts slipped back to McSween. The lawyer's offer was tempting: a way out of this violence, a new start. And Eleanor… maybe if he could walk away clean, they could have something more. Maybe—

"I want to tell you about my husband," Irene interrupted, her voice low and dangerous.

Billy blinked, pulling himself back to the present. "What about your husband?"

"I… I hate him." Her voice dropped further, leaning closer into his space. "He treats me so bad. You can't even imagine."

Billy shifted uncomfortably, his fingers drumming against the bar. "Maybe this isn't the place to talk about this."

But Irene was persistent. "No," she said sharply, lighting a cigarette and taking a slow drag. "Light my cigarette, will ya?" He did as asked, though his mind was already wandering again, back to Jesse, back to Eleanor.

"Thank you," she whispered, her gaze trailing up his face. "You know, you're very good-looking, Billy." Her voice had dropped to something more intimate, something he wasn’t interested in hearing.

Can we go somewhere? I like you," she said softly, her fingers brushing against his arm.

Billy recoiled inwardly. His mind flashed to Eleanor, how she looked at him, how she made him feel. Not this. This was something else entirely, something hollow. He shook his head, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over him. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Her hand lingered on his arm, her voice pleading now. "Please. Please, Billy. I told you I hate him. I have to get away."

"No." His voice was firmer this time, more resolute. He could only think of Eleanor—her strength, her fire. She wouldn’t be caught in a mess like this. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Riley."

For a moment, her expression faltered. Then, she straightened, pushing herself away from him, the bitterness flashing in her eyes. "Never mind," she muttered, blowing out another puff of smoke. "It's not your fight." She turned away, but Billy barely noticed her leaving.

His mind was already elsewhere, locked on Eleanor and the war inside him.

Eleanor did up the buttons of her coat as she glanced around the dimly lit store. It was time to close up for the night. She’d grown used to the quiet of the evening, the way the fading sun cast long shadows across the shelves, how the world seemed to slow down just before dusk. She began locking the doors, mind already wandering to the things she needed to take care of at home when, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of something—or rather, someone—that made her blood freeze.

Across the street, parked at an angle, was an army caravan. The sight of it made her stomach twist in knots. Stepping out from the caravan was Captain Harbinger, his uniform crisp, the gleam of his medals catching the last bit of sunlight. It was like seeing a ghost, a reminder of everything she had run from.

Eleanor’s heart pounded in her chest, her breath catching as she backed away from the door, hoping—praying—that he hadn’t spotted her. She pressed herself against the frame, eyes wide as she watched him scan the area, his eyes sharp and searching. He couldn’t see her. He couldn’t find her. Not here. Not now.

She slunk away into the shadows, heart racing, her mind frantically calculating the safest path home. There was no way she could risk walking out in the open. Not with him so close. With quick, quiet steps, Eleanor slipped out the back of the store, taking the long way around the alley, her every nerve on edge. The sound of her own hurried footsteps echoed in her ears as she kept her head down, weaving through the backstreets, desperate to stay hidden. She couldn’t afford to be seen.

As she walked, her mind raced just as quickly as her pulse. Harbinger being here wasn't a coincidence -- the US Army had a steady presence here in Lincoln. But that didn't mean he hadn’t forgotten, hadn’t given up on the thought of his 'bride'. As far as she had tried to run, her past caught up to her once again. The life she’d built here, the small sense of safety she’d started to feel, was now under threat.

Her breaths came shallow as the truth settled heavy in her chest. There was no way she could stay. Not with Harbinger here, sniffing around like a wolf hunting its prey. She’d been down this road before—moving, running, hiding. She hated it, but it was all she knew how to do. She couldn’t risk being caught.

Eleanor stopped for a moment, her hands trembling as she leaned against the cold wooden wall of the alleyway. She had to leave. That much was clear. The thought of it filled her with dread, but the alternative was worse. She couldn’t let Harbinger catch her, couldn’t let him drag her back into that life. Not after everything she’d done to get away.

So Johana Delile would have to disappear, and she would become someone else. She would have to pick up and move again, find somewhere new, somewhere far from here where he wouldn’t think to look. But this time, something tugged at her heart—a small but undeniable thread of hesitation. What about Billy? What if he came back, looking for her? Could she really leave without telling him?

Eleanor froze mid-step, her heart pounding as the sharp crack of a gunshot shattered the evening air. The sound echoed through the town, slicing through the murmur of voices and the rustle of movement. Panic surged as people dropped their tasks, their faces pale and eyes wide with fear. Frantic, curious bystanders surged toward the source of the commotion, their footsteps pounding on the ground like a stampede. Eleanor’s instincts screamed at her to move, to escape the chaos closing in around her. She forced herself to keep walking, her pace quickening as she desperately sought refuge in the growing darkness, knowing that the safest place was far from the unfolding violence.

The night outside the saloon was thick with tension. The crowd spilled into the street, murmurs turning into shouts as people pressed forward to see what had just happened. The sudden crack of a gunshot had silenced the raucous laughter inside, and now the night air was filled with panic.

John Riley stood over his wife’s body, panting heavily, the smoking gun still clutched in his hand. Irene lay crumpled in the dirt, her dress stained dark with blood, eyes open but lifeless.

"She's dead!" someone shouted from the crowd, their voice laced with a mixture of horror and disbelief.

Billy stepped out of the saloon just in time to catch sight of the chaos. His gaze landed on John, trembling, wild-eyed, still holding the gun.

"What did you do?" one of the onlookers demanded, their voice sharp as they turned to John.

"She shot me!" John bellowed, clutching his side where a shallow graze was visible. "She tried to kill me!" His words were frantic, his voice cracking under the weight of what he'd done. "Now get me some fucking help!"

The crowd surged forward, but Billy moved faster, stepping in front of John before things escalated. "Hey, hey!" Billy barked, trying to keep things under control. "What the hell is happening?"

A man in the crowd pointed at John, eyes wide with shock. "Your friend killed his wife!"

John swayed on his feet, blood seeping through his fingers as he continued to press his hand to his side. "She shot me, I swear!" His voice was desperate, pleading, as if saying it loud enough would make it true. "Look at me!"

Billy's eyes flickered between John’s injury and Irene's body on the ground. He knew John, knew how he could lose his temper when he’d been drinking. But this… this was different.

"Okay, okay," Billy said, keeping his voice steady, trying to calm the rising panic in the air. "Just…" He glanced at the revolver in John’s hand. "Put it down, John."

John’s eyes were wild, darting between the crowd and the gun in his hand, like he didn’t even recognize what he was holding anymore.

"Billy, put it down!" one of the townsfolk urged him.

The tension crackled in the air as Billy held his ground. "Someone go fetch the doctor, huh?" he called out over his shoulder. There was no time for arguments. He needed to get control of the situation before it spiraled out of hand.

One of the men nodded and took off running down the street.

Billy turned back to John, voice softer now. "Come on, John. Let's go inside, all right? I’ll help you." He stepped forward slowly, hands out in a gesture of peace. "Come on."

John’s grip loosened on the gun, his face slack with shock, as if the reality of what he’d done was starting to sink in. He let Billy take the weapon from his hand.

"Good," Billy muttered, swallowing hard as he tossed the gun aside and wrapped an arm around John's shoulders, steering him away from the scene. Irene’s body lay still behind them, but the crowd’s attention shifted to John, muttering about justice, about calling the sheriff.

"Fuck," Billy cursed under his breath. He had a bad feeling about this.

"We need a sheriff!" someone yelled from the crowd, but no one moved. They were all too stunned, too horrified by what had just happened.

"Just go!" Billy snapped, glancing over his shoulder before leading John back into the saloon.

[crankycreates]

“See that moving light over there?” Pagan pointed the dull glow of our joint at a section of sky. I shuffled closer, peering along the line of his arm. It wasn’t hard to spot what he meant; it easily outshone the stars around it. “That’s the ISS.”

“The what?”

He sighed theatrically, as if I was being a bit slow. Which, to be fair, I probably was, on account of the weed.

“The International Space Station.”

“What? No way. You’re shitting me!”

“Nope.”

“There’s people up there?!”

“Mm-hmm.”

I stared in awe at the moving speck of light, following its trek across the sky over the next several minutes. Pagan told me some facts about it, reading aloud from his phone. I listened with half an ear, forgetting everything the instant he’d said it. Mostly enjoying the sound of his voice. Then he put his phone away, and there was only the gentle waves lapping at the hull of the boat. His arm was warm against mine. Hands found one another; fingers lacing together.

“Do you remember the night with the glowing plankton?” I asked after maybe five minutes or an eternity of silence.

“I do,” Pagan said. “Very well.”

We had both enjoyed a bit of pure, uncomplicated happiness that night, revelling in the marvels of nature. Drowning in each other. Now I wondered if it would be possible to recapture that feeling of awe, of endless possibility, with everything that had happened since then. It didn’t seem so difficult, to me, but Pagan…

“You know,” I said, “I can sort of understand why people believe in astrology.”

“Hmm?”

There was movement in the periphery of my vision as he lifted his head to look at me. We’d turned off all the lights on the boat, yet the milky way was bright enough to see by. I kept my eyes on the stars.

“Some things in life just feel … preordained.” I gestured vaguely towards the sky. “And with the heavens looking like this, I get why one might feel like the stars had something to do with it.”

Pagan huffed, offering me the joint along with his opinion: “Astrology is a load of bollocks invented by people who’d rather blame the stars than deal with the consequences of their own choices.”

An ironically predictable statement. Pagan had always maintained a doctrine of free will, holding everyone ultimately responsible for their own fate. I grinned into the dark, recalling an argument we’d had about it once. I had told him there is no true freedom without agency, no choice without options. The world belongs to people like him; the rest of us have to live according to the whims of the wealthy few. He said that’s rich coming from someone who’d practically begged him to put a collar on her. I said that was patently untrue and also didn’t make sense as an argument, and then he put me over his lap and said I could make sense of—

Well. We’d both ended up feeling like we won that one, in the end.

“I chose to come here,” I said. Lightly squeezed his hand. “I chose to kneel to you. But at the same time, I feel like I was made for this. Like all of this was meant to happen, and I never really had a choice at all.”

“Jesus Christ,” Pagan muttered, rolling over until he was half on top of me. He grinned. “If you ever say the word ‘star-crossed’ in my presence, I will choke you and feed you to the sharks.”

He interrupted my laughter with a kiss.

Excerpt from Pagan Poetry, Act V Chapter 6: Opening

[casspurrjoybell-24]

My Mate - Chapter 4 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Mom walked past the kitchen with a basket of clothes but backtracked upon seeing me sitting at the island.

I looked away from her and took another bite of my apple pie.

It seems I'll be the only one enjoying it this year.

"What are you doing? Why are you home?"

Confused, I looked up at mom.

"Ugh... school doesn't start until next week," I reminded her.

Maybe she forgot?

"No, why are you in my house? Don't you have friends to go play with?"

I stared at her with a blank expression for awhile.

Did she want me to admit that I have no friends?

Like none.

Not even an acquaintance that I can say hi to in passing.

Not even a human friend.

It's embarrassing and sad really.

We heard Calvin coming long before he actually entered the kitchen.

He was dressed in his usual plaid shirt and worn jeans and mom looked at his outfit with distaste.

"You should shave, sweetie," Mom suggested as Calvin opened the fridge for a bottle of water.

His beard wasn't messy, at least not to me.

It looked like he kept it trimmed and there was never food in it.

Calvin just shrugged in response to mom and I ate the last piece of pie on my plate.

"Torin go get dressed, you're going with Calvin."

"What?" we said together, Calvin saying it a bit more angrily.

I hesitantly looked over at him.

We've never really intentionally hung out. In fact, I would go as far to say he avoids going out in public with me.

A fact that I use to cry about actually.

"He can't come with us," Calvin grumbled.

"And why ever not?" Mom snapped.

We all knew she was going to get her way.

Biting my lip nervously, I put my dirty dishes in the sink before going up to my room.

I was hopping into a pair of jeans when I heard the now familiar rumble.

Pulling back the curtains, I watched Robby pull in front of the house, ignoring the driveway.

He stepped out in all black today and leaned back against his car with his arms folded over his wide chest.

When he removed his glasses and looked up at me, I stuck up my middle finger and laughed when he clutched at his chest as if in pain.

Backing away, I pulled on my converse and ran back downstairs to where Calvin was still grumbling to mom.

"Bye, have fun," Mom said, waving for Calvin to bend down so she could kiss his cheek.

She didn't have to do that with me and instead had to bend down herself to kiss my cheek.

I smiled and waved bye as I followed a grumpy Calvin.

Robert pushed off his car when we made it to him and raised a thick brow in question, looking between the two of us.

"Mom made me bring him," Calvin said gruffly while walking around to get in the passenger seat.

"That's okay, little Torin can tag along," Robert teased.

"Thanks, Robert," I said with a cheerful smile that became genuine when his jaw ticked.

"Get in," he said, opening the door and pulling his seat up so I could climb in the back.

It was a good thing I'm small because there's barely any room back here.

After I was seated, Robert fixed his seat and got in.

"Buckle up," I told the both of them while buckling myself in.

They grumbled but listened anyways.

"So where are we going?"

Truthfully, I was always excited when mom made Calvin take me with him.

I finally got to hang around my big brother and I'd never say it aloud or tell him but Robert was pretty cool too.

More than a few times they'd end up ditching me somewhere but I take what I get.

"Town," Calvin said shortly.

Robert chuckled and opened the glove compartment, pulling out a cassette tape.

"We're going to the fair."

"Really?" I gasped, bouncing a little in excitement.

I liked going to the county fair, for the food of course.

Its not so fun when you're by yourself.

Maybe it'll be different with Calvin and Robert there with me.

Some slow rock song started playing and I sat back and looked out the window.

Robert and Calvin would talk between each other but the twenty minute ride to town was mostly quiet.

Robert parked in front of the small ice cream parlor and I handed him his leather jacket when I climbed out.

[hmslusitania]

That perfect one word no one’s heard yet

Have a 5x17-5x18 spec?

Eddie tries to be as quiet as he can when he unlocks the door in case Buck’s on the couch. He’d told him that it would be stupid to sleep on the couch when Eddie was going to be in a whole other state, but Buck sometimes refuses do the sensible thing.

But Buck is not on the couch. His shift bag is in a neat pile by the door and there’s a half finished Lego construct on the coffee table that’s being colonised by Chris’s dinosaur toys. The jackets hanging on the hooks in the hallway are Buck’s too, from his myriad collection. There’s no light on in the house and Eddie checks his watch. It’s later than he’d thought; there had been an accident on I-5 and Eddie’s Uber driver hadn’t been stupid enough to take it, but the spillover traffic had made every other route between LAX and Eddie’s house stupid busy for being after midnight.

He gently opens Christopher’s door and sees him completely passed out and drooling a little into his pillow. Eddie shuts his door and heads to his own room.

Buck is not a restful sleeper. Eddie had found that out the hard way when they’d been quarantining together, but it holds true now in Eddie’s room. Buck has managed to wrap himself and the comforter into some kind of non-Euclidean knot and has one of the strings from his hoodie stuck in his partly open mouth. One of his feet is visible from the blanket knot, the sock rolled down to halfway off his heel. He’s mostly — by a very slim margin — on the left side of the bed, and has his arms wrapped around the other pillow. Eddie’s pillow.

Eddie’s heart squeezes in his chest and he wants to reach out and pull the sweatshirt string out of Buck’s mouth and roll the sock back up his foot, and then he wants to tangle himself into the knot of Buck and blanket.

And then he realises its two in the morning and he’s just standing stupidly in his own bedroom staring at his—

“Eddie?”

Buck’s voice is deeper from sleep and fuzzy from confusion.

“Hey,” Eddie says and realises he should put his bag down and maybe put on his pyjamas. He rounds the foot of the bed and—and those are definitely more of Buck’s things than he could’ve realistically needed for Eddie’s three day trip to El Paso.

“Did I miss—fuck, I was supposed to pick you up, oh my god I must’ve slept through my alarm—”

Buck fumbles to explain Eddie’s presence and when he falls silent, Eddie glances over at him, pausing in the act of unbuttoning his shirt. Buck is sitting half up in the bed with his phone in hand, frowning intensely at it. Like he can see that its 2am and knows Eddie wasn’t supposed to be in until 8am and also knows Eddie is standing in front of him half-undressed.

“I left early,” Eddie explains before Buck can fully ask. He turns around and drops his jeans, fishing his sleep shorts out of the dresser. “Changed my flight.”

“You should’ve called me, I would’ve come and got you,” Buck says. Eddie shrugs, and shrugs out of his undershirt, reaching for a fresh one from the drawer. “Oh, fuck, this is your bed, I should go—”

He pauses and when Eddie turns around, he’s sitting all the way up and staring into the middle distance.

“What’s up?” Eddie asks.

“Uh, the farthest I can go is your…couch,” Buck says.

Eddie mentally throws a stifling hand over his own instinctive response (“you don’t have to go anywhere ever for any reason you should just stay”) because Buck looks confused and guilty and perversely like he might be about to smile.

“What happened?” Eddie asks.

“Uh, I—I said she should keep the apartment since it was only fair since I got her to give up hers,” Buck says. He does grin just a little then and then seems to force himself to sober. Eddie’s heart does an odd, joyous pirouette. “When—when I broke up with Taylor.”

He does sober then, frowning. “And I’m back to being the useless couch crashing perpetual roommate.”

“You’re not crashing on my couch,” Eddie says firmly. “And you’re not useless.”

“No, I know, I’ll—I think Albert’s getting a new place right, I can just—”

“No, I meant—” Eddie steels himself and then catches sight of Buck’s dangling foot and half dislodged sock. He grabs Buck’s ankle and ignores the way Buck is staring at him, all mussed and rumpled and confused, and pulls his sock back up for him. When he lets go of Buck’s foot, Buck’s tilted his head sideways in that confused-Buckley-puppy dog expression that Buck got from Maddie and that Jee-Yun’s already starting to show off.

“I meant you don’t have to crash on my couch,” Eddie says. He circles around to his side of the bed and picks up his pillow where Buck’s relinquished his hold in his confusion. “But you do have to budge over and untangle part of the blanket for me.”

Buck obliges and Eddie tucks himself into the spare half of the bed. Eddie hadn’t turned on the light but it isn’t really dark until Buck’s phone goes out. They lie there in silence just the wrong side of perfectly comfortable for a while until Buck clears his throat.

“You left Texas early?” Buck asks.

“We can talk about it in the morning,” Eddie says. “When it’s been more than six hours since I fled my childhood home for probably the last time ever.”

“Right,” Buck says. “Sorry it went badly.”

“It didn’t actually,” Eddie says. He sighs. “My dad had a heart attack, but he’s going to be fine, and we left it in a place where if they ever want to see Chris again, they’re going to have to be the ones to reach out.”

“What if they want to see you?” Buck asks softly.

“That, we can definitely talk about tomorrow,” Eddie says. “We can talk about Taylor then, too, but she’s not welcome in my bedroom even for a conversation about her.”

Buck, to his relief, laughs. “Yeah that’s probably not gonna be nearly as big a conversation is it.”

“The decision making process that led to you breaking up with the wicked witch of the west? Maybe not,” Eddie agrees. “But, like, she is the first partner you’ve ever lived with and ending that even on your own terms can fuck you up in ways you don’t expect.”

Buck hums in agreement, or at least acknowledgement, and Eddie registers a second later that he isn’t actually speaking from experience. It feels right though, so he leaves it be as a statement.

“Sorry about your apartment through,” Eddie says.

“Its okay,” Buck says and he sounds like he’s falling asleep again. “I kinda hated it in the end anyway. Guess it kinda sucks to be homeless for a sec though.”

“You’ve always got a home here with me,” Eddie says before he can stop himself. “With us.”

Buck doesn’t respond, and after a moment, he lets out a soft exhale that’s not quite a snore. Eddie smiles and lets himself fall asleep.

When he wakes in the morning, Buck’s worked himself into another inconceivable Escher knot with the blanket. But this time, Eddie’s tied up in it, too inextricable to move.

And there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

[amber-michaelson]

Alone Time

Killian hook x reader 

Summary: being related to peter had its pros and cons but it was mostly cons because you never had time to spend with your love

Read at own risk

Warning: swearing, pregnancy

kn = kids name

Being pans twin sister had its ups and downs, he promised you a better life and gave up your first like he did to his but over time you regret it more and more peter wasn't keeping his deals and even becoming obsessive for power while you watched the pirate ship leaving and coming back you realized you fell in love with your brothers worst enemy "Killian hook".

Yn pov

I sat on the cliffs edge watching captain hooks and his crew from a far "watching captain codfish again are we" peter said sitting beside me "making sure doesn't do anything like last" I murmured boredly "you know I can tell when your hiding something" he grumbled "I just miss kn and I wish there's was another way that maybe he could be here enjoying this as well" I thought back to the moment I handed him away "yn I think the exact same but we made our choice" peter said and put a hand on my shoulder "it was worth it if you asked me" he added I pushed his hand off and stood up "how dare you say that, that was your child and don't even regret it" I muttered and left him behind 'he's heartless'.

Killian pov

I waited inside my cabin sitting at my desk, i was waiting for her "I hope I didn't disturb anything" yn smiled and walking in "nothing at all" I smiled and patted my lap and she happily sat down "how are you today" I asked placing my hands on her waist "peter is a heartless monster" she mumbled leaning her head onto my shoulder “what happened” i asked running my hands up and down her back “i miss kn” she whispered my heart broke because i know i can’t help her “im sorry” i murmured and kissed her cheek “i wish i could help you” i added and looked into her eyes “what if we made another i know it would never replace your first born but maybe it will help you” i said she pulled back and stared into my eyes “you want to have kids with me” she whispered her lip slightly quivering “yes i knew after our first month together that you were the one i wanted, to get married, to have a family and to grow old together” i explained squeezing my arms around her “i want that” she smiled and kissed my lips “i only want that with you” i chuckled.

Yn pov

Killian slowly started kissing my neck whispering about how much he wants me as his hands slipped under my clothes pulling them off piece by piece till I was left bear "its unfair if I'm the only one naked" I teased acting sad he sighed and picked me up and layed me onto his desk “always have to be fair with my princess” he smirked taking off his clothes “now what would my princess want first dick or mouth” he offered leaning onto his desk “mouth please” i murmured and shivered as he slowly kneeled down infront of me kissing my thighs slowly making his way up towards my pussy "come on kil" I murmured "patients baby" he whispered in a commanding tone I whined and watched as he finally moved to my clit I moaned silently "your already wet baby" he murmured into my clit "fuck kil" I muttered throwing my head back "how about i add a few fingers" he teased my hole before plunging three of his fingers in side "fuck" I moaned arching my back "please kil please" I begged slowly moving my hips into his face and fingers "dam aren't you a horny girl" he chuckled and thrusted his fingers in and out "kil" I moaned my legs were shaking from the pleasure and my breath was raggered with moaning "please don't stop" I pleaded I was getting closer and closer to the edge and as I was just on the peak he stopped and pulled away "kil" I cried I was so close "you can only cum on this cock baby" he murmured standing up and lubed his dick up while moving it to my hole "may I" he smirked I only whimpered in response "come on baby I need your words" he chuckled teasing the outside of my hole "please please just fuck" I yelled and wrapped my legs around him he thrusted in deeply "now was that so hard" he groaned and started thrusting 'dick head', I ran my hands all over his body as his did the same "I love you" he growled and kissed me "I love you too" I grinned while moaning, he fastened his pace I was a moaning mess "please fill me up" I whined and reached down and started rubbing my cilt "getting you pregnant is that what you want" he asked I nodded eagerly "use your words" he growled "yes please let me have your babies kil please" I cried I was getting close "then let's fill you up shall we" he growled and thrusted harder and faster "killian" I screamed and cam clenched down on him tightly "yn" he groaned and released inside "I guess we're gonna start a family".

My other once upon a time works

Check out my other works

[sunlightandsuffering]

Omg familiar au and mad scientist is coming back 👀

IT COULD! i do have stuff written for them! Althoug its far more likely for the familiar AU, I have like 8K written for that, mad scientist 2 not so much!

Familiar AU is genuinely so funny tho poor Eren, girl really thinks of him only as a cat lol!

Familiar AU:

She gets home later after a date, she probably shouldn’t have gone home at all, but she did want to see her stupid familiar, make sure he was okay, no matter how much of an asshole he was being. 

He could summon food for himself, etc, if he really needed but he is pretty spoiled and he was used to Mikasa cooking everything for him. 

She finds him glaring at her with piercing silver-green eyes, drilling holes into her skull the second she shuts the door. 

The next thing she knows her head is a barrage of angry expletives. 

“Mikasa you can’t keep seeing him you need to stop it!” “Eren it’s my first boyfriend, I’ve never dated anyone before, I won’t stop just because you don’t like him, just because you’re being a controlling asshole!”

“That’s not why I don’t like him,” his tone is careful, alluding to something more but Mikasa is too angry to really consider it, how dare he try to control her. 

“I don’t care why, Eren I know we’re tied together forever, but you need to get this through your brain, he is my boyfriend. That isn’t going to change, you are my cat, that’s all, not my boyfriend, or my lover, any of that. You are my cat, familiar, and my best friend, and I love you, but you need to let me live my life okay? I wouldn’t stop you if you found someone, another cat, that’s just not fair.” 

She ends her tirade a little out of breath and staring at the chestnut coloured little furball that now looks rather defeated, if a cat can look like that. He’s so sad, she almost wants to take all her yelling back and give him a hug. She loves her stupid cat. “Just your cat huh?” He says in her head, and she nods, yes he understands! What else could he possibly be??

Mad Scientist 2:

Mikasa does it, she has a beautiful baby boy and they name him Nico and Eren is the proudest dad she’s even seen. And for a while for like the first few years of Nico’s life, Eren is happy with their creation and all is well.  But Mikasa knows her husband, her best friend, and she knows him very well. So, she knows his ambition never stops, and as soon as Nico turns three, the day after actually his attention has caught on her in a new way. 

At first, she thinks maybe he wants another child, maybe a baby girl this time and Mikasa would be lying if she said the idea didn’t thrill her, but no to her immense misfortune it’s not quite that simple, her husband is a very complicated and curious man. 

Since the first time he fucked her that morning, the day he’d gotten her pregnant, she’s sure now that’s when they’d conceived their beautiful baby boy, since that day Mikasa has learned A LOT about Eren’s sexual appetite. Mostly that it is insatiable and sometimes she has difficulty keeping up. 

But it seems Eren hasn’t learned enough about her, because one day after she’s dropped Nico off at Eren’s parents for the weekend, so she could have a break Eren broaches the subject of his next budding experiment. 

She doesn’t quite expect what comes out of his mouth.  “You know Mikasa, we don’t know very much about female sexuality.” 

He says it so casually, she almost doesn’t question it as she flips through a research article for a study she’s thinking about conducting. 

She hums, agreeing with him at first, but then her head snaps up to look at him, she knows Eren very well. 

“What do you mean? We know more than we used to and research has come a long way on it.” Eren concedes her point, nodding, “You’re right, but there’s no unifying model on the sexual response cycle, especially not for women.”  She drops her research article to the coffee table, irritated as she leans over to look at him where he’s seated on the floor, turned oh so innocently towards her. 

She is suspicious, “Why do you care Eren, that’s not your area of study anyway.”  He shrugs, “It could be.” 

“What do you mean it could be, don’t tell me you’re thinking of changing fields now,” she huffs, grumbling under her breath, “your stupid ambition is the entire reason we had Nico.”  Eren grins at her devilishly, “And what a great decision that was, wasn’t it Mikasa?”  His voice drips with smugness and she wants to throttle him. 

“Yeah, yeah you asshole I know, I don’t regret our baby, but why would you want to change fields right now?”  Eren inches a little closer to where she’s seated on the couch, his head resting against her knee as he speaks to her, dropping a little kiss there. 

“My wife,” Eren says very simply and she raises an eyebrow questioningly.  “You see Mikasa, since we’ve been together I’ve become very interested in just how that pretty little head of yours functions, especially during sex.”

He moves closer, hands gripping her calves, pulling them apart just slightly and fuck they haven’t had sex in at least a week, it’s been too busy. 

She nods at him, biting her lip as his breath hits her lower thigh, a promise. His smile is lascivious, smug as he continues, “There’s some things I’m very interested in Mikasa, some things about my wife I’d like to learn. So imagine my surprise when I discovered most of the research is mixed, inconclusive and there’s no unifying model for me to refer to. It’s sad isn’t it, all I wanted was to learn more about my dear wife.”

She’s so fucked, especially if Eren’s already done research. It means he knows more than he should, more than she knows and he’s going to use that knowledge against her in any way possible. 

She has no doubt this time she’ll be the research experiment. 

The very idea makes her breath hitch.  “I have so many questions my love, won’t you help me Mikasa?” 

She’s nodding before she can stop herself, before she realizes what she just agreed to, just a little nod to seal her fate. 

Eren’s smile is crazed, those eyes filling with wonder, pupils dilated and his hands stroking her calves lovingly, “Oh Mikasa, I’m so excited to start, baby it’s going to be wonderful.”  Before she can consider changing her answer, he’s kissing her forehead and running off to his office, calling back how much he loves her. 

He doesn’t come out for dinner or for the rest of the night and Mikasa is so, so fucked.  She just gave her husband, her batshit crazy insane mad scientist husband explicit consent to experiment on her sexually, with the sole purpose of finding out what makes her tick. 

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Everybody Talks Too Much (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Mute!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language, brief violence Summary: Whenever Cassandra gets angry, no one wants to deal with her. Well, no one but you, that is. Thankfully, the middle child appreciates your company... not that she'd ever admit it. Notes: Another self-indulgent fic with a selectively mute reader. This one's a lil different. Sections in italic are mostly indications that the reader is miming actions in order to communicate, though there are a few internal thoughts that are marked as such. Unlike the past two I've done, this takes place pre-relationship, so there's some mutual pining of sorts. I think that's the word.

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

Among the many servants of Castle Dimitrescu, there were a number of secret rules to be followed. Guidelines that were never written down, only spoken in hushed whispers, for specific (and dangerous) circumstances. Most could be divided into one of two categories: 1, how to reduce the chances of a Lady of the house killing someone. 2, how to make sure that if they kill someone, it will not be you. Of these rules, there was one that you knew best of all, despite never having been told it. Why? Because you have observed it time and time again. After all, the rule revolved around you. To put it plainly… If Cassandra Dimitrescu was in an awful mood, but had yet to draw blood, send in the mute.

Even now, as you rushed down a corridor, you did not know why this rule was in place. You simply knew that you had been summoned countless times by frantic maidens, to go serve their volatile mistress. Admittedly you did understand their eagerness to thrust the task upon someone else. Cassandra was often considered the deadliest of the Dimitrescu daughters, for she was the quickest to anger, the one with the deepest bloodlust, and took the longest to calm down. Personally, you disagreed, believing that it wasn’t terribly hard to know what she did and did not like. All it took was some observation. It was Daniela who scared you, seeing as she was unpredictable. She didn’t even need to be in a bad mood to want to kill you.

Of course, that didn’t necessarily mean that you saw no danger in working with Cassandra. In fact, you saw a fair bit, such as now: Right as you round the corner, a shiny object hurls past your head, embedding itself into the wall. Had you been walking ever so slightly faster… Well, you preferred not to dwell on such things, especially not when the one who threw the thing was still nearby. Based on the howling laughter and swarm of insects that moves around you, the intended target was Lady Daniela. Across the room is the markswoman herself; Cassandra stood tall, huffing in anger, staring at the spot her sister had just vacated from.

“Damn it!” She yelled, stomping her foot as if the resulting shockwave might do what her weapon had not. Oddly amused, you’re quick to remove the sickle from the wall, careful as to not damage it. It’s a tad dirty, but nothing you can’t fix with your handy pocket cloth. Cleaning as you walk, you slowly move towards your employer, not even bothering to spare her a glance. After all, you had your own rules for dealing with her.

(1: Avoid eye contact for at least one minute after an outburst.)

By the time you make it to Cassandra, the minute has come and gone, allowing you to ever-so politely look her in the eyes when you return her blade. She scoffs, then practically rips the sickle from your hands. This was your job, however, so you made no complaints. Not that you could, at least not verbally. Instead, you gave a short bow of acknowledgement. Afterwards you stood still, awaiting either instructions or a dismissal. Neither came.

“I can’t believe that little shit tried to take my favorite dagger and thought she could get away with it! Agh, the nerve of her! Can you believe this?” Cassandra snapped, turning to you as if you might agree with her. Nod, simple yet effective. “At least you know how to handle a blade. Damn Daniela is lucky she didn’t get any scratches on mine.” Then she pulls the knife in question from its place on her belt, letting it gleam in the light. A soft exhale, head tipping to the side, wow is it pretty. So is the one holding it. Your mind wanders but your gaze does not. Always polite, always ready to serve.

(2: Do not get distracted; she is no patient lover, rather a demanding boss.)

“Cassandra! What was all that noise a minute ago?” Someone called, interrupting your ‘conversation’. The speaker soon appears, being none other than Lady Bela, the most reasonable of the castle residents. Though that meant little, considering the nature of her family. As if to prove your point, Cassandra merely rolls her eyes in reply, refusing to divulge the truth. And so Bela turned her gaze to you, perking a brow. “Feeling up to talking today?” She asked, already knowing the answer. Of course, your hands are already moving, not even waiting for her to finish speaking. This is a game you know intimately.

A hand goes to your belt, moving to pull a nonexistent blade from its sheath. Raising it, moving it forward then back several times, launching it towards the wall- towards the hole left behind. Then shifting, waving your hand in front of your face while exhaling a sharp breath. Flinching. An exaggerated gulp, pretending to check if your nose is still attached, sighing in relief. Lastly, an inclination of your head towards the culprit. Cassandra.

“I was aiming for Daniela. Not that it matters, nobody got hurt,” she stated, confident. Both hands clasped together, then tapping the palms together, mimicking a heartbeat at a reasonable pace. Suddenly a stomp. The beating stops, and you hold your hands next to your ear, as if listening for signs of life. Pause. Three seconds. Worried expression, eyes wide. Finally, fast as a gunshot, the heart beats again, wildly. At this, Bela shoots her sister a look of doubt, as well as judgement. Hoping to change the subject, Cassandra looks to you. “What are you doing here anyway?”

Rubbing your chin, thinking. Squinting for effect. Ah, got it! Both hands go to your sides, lifting the imaginary hem of a dress you aren’t wearing. Waltzing forward, yet in place, with the poise expected of a professional maid. Then the focus shifts to your face. Fear. A silent scream, a hand at your forehead, feeling like you… might… faint. Falling backwards, making a step at the very last second to prevent a real collapse. End scene.

“Someone was scared?” Bela asked, sounding uncharacteristically unsure of herself. When you nod, she does as well, considering the implications. “Why would they send you?”

“I hardly care why, I just want to know who so I can kick their ass,” Cassandra interjects, taking a step closer to you. All you do in response is shrug. Unsurprisingly this is not enough to please her, and before you know it she’s wrapped a hand around your throat. “Give. Me. A. Name. Now.” A perked brow. Thoughts practically telegraphed. ‘What do you expect?’ Opening your mouth, slightly, then wide, back to almost closed. No sound comes out. Obviously. It’s not like you wanted to break your own rule, but in this case you had no choice.

(3: Give her whatever she wants, consequences be damned.)

Luckily for you, Bela acts as a foil to Cassandra, there to smooth the seas. Moving behind you, she reaches into your back pocket and retrieves the notepad you keep there. Then she’s handing it to you while making eye contact with her sister. Cassandra promptly releases you, though she’s clearly not pleased, going so far as to push you away in one last act of anger. Internally you roll your eyes. On the outside, however, you quickly write down everything you know… which isn’t much.

“I don’t remember who it was. A lot of people have asked. This happens a lot.” Then you hand the paper to Bela, who soon looks back up at you in confusion. Too antsy to wait for her own turn, Cassandra yoinks the notepad from her sister’s hands, reading it over several times before reacting.

“What the fuck? Why would they send you to me because somebody pissed their pants in fear? I’m going to kill someone. Ugh, I don’t- this doesn’t make any goddamn sense,” Cassandra ranted, pacing back and forth, looking like she wanted to destroy something immediately. To your surprise, Bela doesn’t look the slightest bit concerned. If anything, she looks amused, and smiles when the two of you make eye contact. Something tells you that she knows something that you don’t. Before you can react, she quietly retrieves your notepad and returns it to you. Then she pauses, thinking, eying you with curiosity.

“Why don’t you go for now? See if anyone thanks you for stepping in, hmm?” She suggested, tone implying that this was absolutely about something else entirely. Still, you don’t care to disobey, and so you bid the two of them farewell with a deep bow. As you leave, you can almost make out part of what they say next. But you’re certain that you must have heard incorrectly. “Showing your favoritism a little too much, sister? If even the servants can see it-” the rest of the sentence is cut off by angry muttering from Cassandra. After that you’re too far away to hear anymore. What a strange day...

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

“Hey, you know where Lady Cassandra’s room is, right?” Ygritte asked, casually, definitely not having just been told by someone else that you were the solution to her problem. Pretending that you were unaware of this, you give her a smile and a nod. Later, behind her back, you will mentally add her to your list of people to watch out for. Maybe even decide to refuse to share your biscuits with her. In the meantime, you pretend that you don’t mind whatever task she’s about to dump on you. “Can you bring these books to her? I really have to get back to the kitchen soon, and that’s in the opposite direction…”

Technically true. Something told you that the real problem was that Cassandra had been extra loud the past few days. Regardless, you accept the books from her, leaving before she even finishes thanking you. Why do people do this? I don’t get it, you think. It’s like they think I’m immune to her rage. If that were true, I’d gladly throw myself between her and others. But no, that’s not the case. Hmmph, if only they saw my scars. Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you keep walking, subconsciously rubbing the spot on your arm where Cassandra had cut you. Well, the worst spot. Being pain tolerant had made her take interest in you, during your first few weeks, but it’s what allowed you to learn her rules. Your rules, really.

Knock. Knock. A pause… three more, much softer. The door swings open, revealing your Lady, whose eyes widen at the sight of you. Tipping your hat (which you are not wearing), you greet her, forcing another smile. Then you present the books, free hand gesturing with a spiral motion towards them. She doesn’t respond. No, wait, she glances at the door hinges, considering closing the door in your face. Now both of you are staring at each other, daring the other to move.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she finally said. There’s a gruffness to her voice that you hadn’t expected. It’s unlike her usual tone, less angry, more tired. Were those bags under her eyes?... No, just smudged makeup. “Don’t just stand there- tell me why you’re here.” Again, you gesture to the books, extending your hands further towards her. This time she takes a half-step backwards to avoid you. Peculiar. “Someone else was supposed to bring them, dipshit. Fucking hell, why can’t anyone around here do their damn jobs?” At last, she takes the books from you, carrying them deeper into your room. Though she does not close the door, you assume that your job is done. Or maybe you simply do not wish to deal with a Cassandra who’s frustrated by your specific presence. Either way, it breaks one of your rules, though you do not remember until it is too late.

(4: Do not leave until dismissed by a member of the family.)

“Where the hell are you going?” The sound of buzzing flies, a blur of motion around you, then the form of Cassandra solidifying in front of you. One of her hands is raised, pressing against the center of your chest. She pushes you, hard, making you stumble backwards into her room. Next thing you know you’ve crashed onto her floor. A tad stunned, you bring a hand up to hold your head, blinking rapidly for a few seconds. There’s the sound of a door closing, and then someone’s trying to help you stand. “I didn’t say you could leave yet. Now c’mon, I’ve got stuff for you to do.” Then she’s guiding you to her bed, making you sit down on the end. Panicked thoughts race through your mind one after another. What exactly was she intending? Thankfully you don’t have to wait long to find out. “Read through these, and-” a pause, like she hadn’t known what she was going to say until she was already speaking- “take notes. Make a summary of the bookmarked sections, or whatever.” Handing you a couple books (neither of which being ones you had just brought to her), she sits on the other side of the bed, refusing to look at you. She does, however, say one last thing, voice barely above a whisper. “Just stay for a while, okay?”

Inside your head, you make a mental note to amend your list of rules.

(4.b: Do not leave until dismissed by a member of the family. If Cassandra asks you to stay, you stay, no matter what. It’s worth it.)

[archonanqi]

consequence / pt i

⛔️ Warning: This is an exploration of Zhongli’s manipulative tendencies that we see glimpses of in his archon and story quest. Absolutely no part of the relationship depicted here is healthy or consensual. Please proceed with caution. 

🔖 [info] [next]

—

pt. i of iii

Looking back, you should have noticed that something was wrong the moment Zhongli had insisted on treating you and Aether to dinner. 

You and Paimon tried to stop him, of course — far too many of his shopping sprees in the past had ended with the Millelith involved or your pockets emptied of Mora (usually both, really). Yet today, he’d produced a wallet lined with gleaming coins, and any protests died quickly on Paimon’s lips. 

“Wow, that’s enough to buy—” she marvelled, staring as intently as though her gaze itself could start pocketing the Mora, “at least… TEN Golden Crabs from Wanmin Restaurant!” 

Zhongli chuckled, the sound still sending pleasant shivers down your spine even after all the months you’d spent traveling with him. “A little more than that, Paimon, but a good guess nonetheless.” He turned his amber gaze to you and your brother, who had not strayed a foot away from you since the Abyss released its hold on him. 

Aether had kept an easy smile on his face for the past few days, but you’d known him long enough to pick out the signs of guilt, despite your reiterated reassurances that what the Abyss did to him was not his fault. It would take a long time for him to feel alright again; and you’d be there for him for as long as it took. 

“And as for you two?” Zhongli continued, “will Wanmin Restaurant be agreeable? Though of course, if you believe that such a momentous reunion demands something a little more extravagant, I’m sure that Xinyue Pavillion is still taking reservations—”

“No, that’s not—” you weren’t sure why you were hesitating. So what if he mysteriously found himself without enough Mora by the end of the meal, and you ended up having to foot the bill as usual? It stung a little to think about, but it wasn’t as though you’d have any need for Mora after tonight. “That’s not it. After everything you’ve done for us during our travels, I couldn’t possibly accept more from you, Zhongli.”

Couldn’t possibly bear sitting at a table with Zhongli, knowing that it’d be the last time you’d ever see him. This was why you’d always tried to leave each world with a clean cut. This was why, at the break of dawn, you and Aether would leave without telling anyone — not Jean, not Cyno, not Dainsleif, not Ajax. Not even Zhongli, with whom you’d spent the bulk of your past year.  

“Oh, no,” Zhongli replied, brows arching upwards, “I’ve told you, have I not? The pleasure of our travels were mine to enjoy.” 

“Er... well. I’m sure Aether is also tired and wants to rest,” you prompted, squeezing Aether’s hand. Aether nodded quickly — no matter the world, you’d always been able to count on him to pick up on your nuanced signals. Though he might not know why, he knew that you were uneasy with going to this dinner, and that was enough.

“Hmm,” Zhongli pondered this shortly, then turned to your brother. You’d seen that look of calculated determination on his face before, in front of basha stalls and souvenir stores across the continent. A look that meant Zhongli would get what he wanted. “I had rather been looking forward to getting to know the sibling of my favored travel companion. Are you certain? Wanmin Restaurant is quite the gem of Liyue Harbor, and I’m certain that the food here will be a fair few notches above what the Abyss Order has been able to offer you.” 

There was a slight, amiable smile on his face, but bringing up the Abyss was a painfully low blow and you had no doubt that Zhongli, the lord of contracts and negotiations and everything in between, knew it. You watched in mute horror as the guilt and regret danced on Aether’s face, before he finally gathered it all back into an apologetic smile. “Of course, Mr. Zhongli. Far be it from me to refuse a dinner with the former Geo Archon himself, especially with all the trouble I’ve caused you...”

—  

Even after traveling the seven nations, you’d never once stopped pining for the savory, hearty flavors of Liyue cuisine. The spice of the black-perch stew that Xiangling taught you to cook had kept you warm through many a Snezhnayan blizzard, after all. Basking in the familiar scent of Wanmin Restaurant with a stomach full of hot food, and watching Paimon devour skewers of meat five at a time, you began to feel much better. 

The anger you’d felt at Zhongli’s manipulation of your brother had also since faded into contentment. After all, negotiation, you found, came as naturally to Zhongli as breathing; he had likely meant nothing by it.

Maybe it was okay that you spent just one more night with Zhongli. Maybe it would turn out to be the closure you need. 

You glanced at the man in question; he was teaching Aether how to use chopsticks, of course, and you were grateful to see that the haunted look in Aether’s eyes had given way to exasperation for now. By the time your brother had snapped his third pair of wooden ones, he was smiling and Paimon was just about rolling around on the ground in glee. As you stifled your own laughter, Zhongli set two small bottles of wine on the table.

You tried not to let yourself think about how the string lights of Chi’hu Rock glinted like stars in his eyes. 

“What’s this?” You joked, referencing Zhongli’s anger from the one time he’d seen Venti get you drunk. “Are we all to become disgraces to the arts tonight?”

Zhongli’s lip curled into a small smile. You couldn’t remember when his smiles had started coming more and more frequently, but you’d learned to savor each one. “Ordinarily, I would not condone such strong drink, but today is the most special of occasions, no?” 

As you watched, a goblet began to form between his fingers, golden, black and resplendent. You’d seen similar ones before, buried deep within the Domain of Guyun Stone Forest — an Archaic Petra Artifact, a Goblet of Chiseled Crag. According to Zhongli’s stories, the very same ones that he had created for the Seven to drink from in celebration, before all but two of them had vanished from this world. 

The cruel irony was not lost on you. 

“Besides, this is nothing like the watered down Mondstadt alcohol that that young bard partakes in,” Zhongli said, gloved fingers masterfully plucking the cork from the first bottle and pouring it into the goblets. “These two bottles contain the finest wu’liang’ye spirit that Liyue has to offer. They’ve been aged for well over decades with a technique passed down from the goddess Guizhong, whose mastery over grain and crop transcends even my own today.” 

“We’re—  flattered,” you bowed your head. The matter of Guizhong, the late Goddess of Dust and Zhongli’s good friend from when the Archon War still ravaged the land, was but one of the many things that you’d wanted to talk to him about. If only you had more time. “Thank you, Zhongli.”

He passed you the first goblet, then the second to Paimon. “Please, let’s forgo the formalities tonight. You are a dear friend to me, and so, by extension, is your family.” The second bottle was opened, its contents split between Zhongli and Aether. “Let us drink, to the happy reunion of loved ones, to the fruitful friendships you have forged in this world, and to all the triumphant adventures to be had still.”

The wince you hid was only partially from the burning drag of liquor sliding down your throat.

It had not escaped your notice that Zhongli had been staring at you all night — more intently than usual, and that was saying something. 

“y/n, I think—“ he began, as you met his gaze. By the Archons, the way he said your name—

“ Paimon thinks there should be less talking, more drinking! Ganbei!” Paimon screeches, downing half her goblet and immediately falling down to the cobblestone road, spluttering and choking at the heat. 

“This is… very strong, Mr. Zhongli,” Aether was the first to speak after. “Wonderful liquor. What gives it its mild bitterness?” 

“Bitter?” You asked, letting the drink roll on your tongue, “where’s the bitterness? It tastes mostly sweet to me.”

Aether took another long drink, thoughtfully. “Definitely bitter. Here, try a sip?”

You took his goblet, but as you pressed it to your lips, you felt it begin to violently vibrate. Quickly, you pulled it away from your face just in time for it to shatter in your hand, gold and black shards falling to the floor as what little drink left in the goblet splattered across the table. 

“Goodness,” Zhongli said, after your surprised yelp brought Paimon stumbling back to your side, her cheeks still stained scarlet from the liquor, “I must apologize. It’s been quite some time since I’ve had to construct something so small and intricate — I am out of practice, it seems.” 

“Oh! That’s quite alright, I drank most of it already—“ Aether glanced over your shoulder, “by the Archons, Paimon has a knife!”

As you watched Chef Mao try to wrestle his knife back from a cackling, red-faced Paimon, you recalled the crystal hairpin Zhongli had forged two months ago — when you’d complained of the Natlan desert wind blowing your hair into your eyes. It had been just as intricate as the goblets, and much, much smaller. One of the few belongings you were planning on bringing with you.

You wondered what reason Zhongli had to lie. 

— 

“Maybe it was a good thing your goblet shattered,” you told Zhongli, prodding Aether with one of your chopsticks. He had stopped even groaning in response. And though Paimon was still conscious, she looked as though she would much rather not be, sitting forlornly on the table with her head in her hands. “Look at them. Drunk as skunks.” 

“Maybe,” Zhongli replied, “though I did not expect these two to have such low tolerance to alcohol. It was a miscalculation on my part.” 

“Paimon’s always like this —you know, remember that bar in Snezhnaya?— but Aether’s usually better at holding his drink,” you sighed. “I should probably get him back to Wangshu Inn.”

“Let him sober up a little here. It’s a long trek to the inn, and you don’t want him making a mess of his dinner on the way back.” Loathe as you were to admit it, Zhongli was right. It seemed that the fates were demanding that you spend a little more time with him, after all. He stood up, his tremendous height still a little startling to you. 

“Will you walk with me for a little, y/n?”

It wasn’t fair, really, the way he said your name. “Where are we going?” 

“I’m not sure,” he answered. “The harbor for a breath of fresh air perhaps, or Bubu Pharmacy to fetch a remedy for Aether. Does it matter to you, where we go?”

Going anywhere with him was a pleasure, one that against your better judgement, you yearned to partake in one more time. “No,” you admitted. “Let’s go.” 

--  

“It’s been so long since we’ve walked through Liyue — a year, almost. Do you remember? It was my birthday, and we walked for hours through the harbor.” Zhongli chuckled, the sound a deep rumble through your bones. “You wouldn’t let me buy dinner that time, either.” 

The nights of Liyue, its rolling hills and monumental mountains, were a peace you’d never known before coming to Teyvat. The city was uncharacteristically quiet tonight, and by the time you got to Yujing Terrace, you realized that it was the emptiest you’d ever seen it. The usual evening crowd of kids out of school and elderly taking strolls were nowhere to be seen — not even the Millelith guards usually standing by the gate were there. 

“ That time ,” you corrected, swallowing your unease at the silence of the city, “you didn’t have a single Mora to your name.” The strides you had to take to keep up with Zhongli’s long, long legs were huge, and you struggled to stay by his side. “Look me in the eyes and tell me that I wouldn’t have had to pay the entire bill if we’d actually gone to Wangshu Inn for dinner that night.” 

You immediately regretted it when he turned his golden gaze upon you, and it took everything within you to not avert yours. “Perhaps that may have been the case,” Zhongli allowed, “though I would have returned your investment tenfold over the next week. Have I not proven as much throughout our travels?” 

His vast knowledge of valuable gemstones and herbs — and more importantly, his uncanny ability to get any deal he set his mind to — had kept you and Paimon fed for many a week during your trek through the caves and jungles of Sumeru. You had to give him that. And that wasn’t not even counting the number of boulders, traps, swords and ravenous winter wolves that his shield had protected you from—

“Fine, I’ll admit, it was nice to have you around, you bourgeois parasite,” you said, playing on his joke back from when you’d first met. Then, after a brief silence, “Zhongli, in all seriousness, thank you.”

“Hmm?”

“I know that you’ve accompanied many adventurers on their journeys,” you explained, “but you — you dropped everything and journeyed with me, and you’ve done more for me than anyone else. I could never have found Aether without you.” Zhongli was being uncharacteristically quiet, and so you hurried along to fill the silence, “We— we made a great team together. And I will never forget everything that you’ve done for me. So, thank you.” 

“A great team together...” he repeated, voice lower than a whisper. “y/n, this sounds like a farewell.” 

Your breath caught in your throat. Even in silence, you were breaking the most important rule you’d learned throughout all your travels. Never let them know you’re leaving.

Zhongli turned to face you, and his full attention is a force that you had not yet learned to endure. So instead, you turned your attention to the koi darting about among the lotus reeds as he continued, “I’ve noticed that you’ve been more careless with your Mora lately. And as for your hard-earned weapons, artifacts, and resources, you have given them all to the Knights of Favonius, correct?” 

“I gave some to the Millelith too,” you objected quietly.

“You know that is not what I meant,” Zhongli said. You did know. “Are you planning on leaving this world, y/n?”

“I have to,” you heard yourself say, “we don’t belong here.” 

As though he heard the waver in your voice, the Lord of Contracts honed in on it like a Sumeran jaguar. “Do you remember the first Lantern Rite you partook in? Though you had just arrived in Liyue, and though the Millelith, Qixing and Adepti each gave you reason to distrust them, you still chose to spend the festival helping people.” 

“I didn’t help that many—” 

“Twenty-six people,” he corrected, and you cursed yourself for not thinking that he would remember. “A dozen more, if we are to count the young and elderly of Qingce, whose lives were brightened by the festivities you brought to the village. And hundreds above that, if we acknowledge every person in Liyue Harbor, whose Lantern Rite would have been ruined had you not stopped the thief who tried to steal the Mingxiao Lantern. Am I correct?” 

“I did it for the compensation,” you retorted, determined not to let yourself think about the people you’d helped. Who would help them after you left? 

“Hmm.” Zhongli rested his gloved fingers against his chin, and you could tell that he didn’t buy your bluff, not for a moment. “Anyone else, I may have believed. But you, y/n, who have begged me to stay my hand against fleeing Hilichurls? You, who could not bear to attack the Mitachurl that sits alone on Mount Tianheng and watches the harbor? You, who gave it a name ?” 

“Okay,” you finally relented. “Okay, I like helping people, and I don’t want to go. But that doesn’t mean I can stay. It’s— it’s not good for Aether to stay here, after what this world has done to him.” 

“With time, I believe your brother can adjust—”

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Zhongli,” you begged, and the tone of your voice finally made him take notice. He regarded you for a moment, and you thought you saw his eyes glow bright. 

“The last thing I wanted,” he sighed, reaching into his coat, “was for it to come to this.” 

Your first reaction was to reach for your weapon — it wasn’t there; you’d given Festering Desire to dear little Bennett just before you’d left Mondstadt. Still, you felt the bright burn of shame when the only thing Zhongli pulled out was a piece of parchment, folded into a perfect square. How could you think that after everything, Zhongli would ever hurt you? 

“Do you remember this contract of ours?” Zhongli asked as he carefully unfolded the paper, handing it to you. You stared down at the neat lines of calligraphy, punctuated by your name in your own handwriting. 

Of course you remembered: the moment you had approached Zhongli at Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, after your expedition into Havria’s domain. The day you’d asked him to join you on your travels.

“ Oh? A new contract? I'm still on leave, but I can accompany you for a while. ” Zhongli had mused, as though he hadn’t just sent butterflies soaring through your insides. “ What name should I use on the contract? I have a great many names, though when on leave... I tend to go by Zhongli. And you, Traveler? What name will you be signing on this contract— ?” 

The following contract had been quickly printed in his swift brushstrokes — simple terms: he would lend his strength and knowledge to your endeavor of finding Aether, and you, in turn, would simply keep him in good company. 

Even at the time, you’d wondered what was in it for Zhongli — the terms of the contract had seemed rather imbalanced, but in your euphoria at having gained Zhongli as your new travelling partner, you had not thought more on it. 

—

The same terms stared back at you now, and you were quickly realizing what was going on. 

For thousands of years, I have made countless contracts. If the deal was of no benefit, then I certainly would not be inclined to agree to it. 

The day you discovered his identity, Zhongli had said this to you. He’d never signed a contract before that did not benefit him wholly; and you were a fool to think he would’ve made an exception for you. 

“By keeping you in good company,” you said, numbly, “you don’t mean— forever ?”

“In the circumstances that the duration of a contract’s term is unspecified—” Zhongli held out his hand for the parchment. Briefly, you debated tearing it up and scattering it to the koi, but you knew well enough that it would not void the contract — one of the hundreds of thousands that Zhongli had undoubtedly seared into his memory. You handed it back to him silently. “Well, it would be fair to say that you are obliged to uphold it, until I personally release you from it, no?”

The first thing you felt was: fear, deep and chilling. You hadn’t truly believed that Zhongli would hurt you — until now. Until a contract had come into play. Until you realized you were poised to break one.

“You can’t be serious,” you said, but you’d known him long enough to know that he was. “I found my brother. I’m not from this world, and so I have to leave. I have to go home.” 

“Has Teyvat not provided you enough of a home? You have made friends here, allies who would die for you in a heartbeat. And as for Liyue — Liyue will always be as much of your home as mine. You have your own room in Chi’hu Rock, you are on a first-name basis with the Qixing and the Adepti would spar with you as though you were one of their own—”

You could feel your resolve trembling, but it was not enough. You would not ask your brother to compromise his wellbeing in a world that had not been kind to him. “I’m sorry,” you said, and you understood fully what was coming. “I can’t stay.” 

“After everything we have gone through, my friend, you would leave... me?” And there it was. In that moment, the former Archon — the oldest being in the world — looked so lonely that you almost broke down, almost apologized, almost reassured him that you would never once again put him through what he’d gone through far too many times: the loss of a friend. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeated. “My family comes first. I can’t stay.” 

Zhongli’s expression became unreadable. He closed his eyes, and for a moment, there was a peaceful silence that you savored. You had a feeling that it would be the last one you’d ever have in Liyue. The seconds crawled by, and briefly, you let yourself hope that Zhongli might relent, might make an exception for his close travel companion. 

“Well then, my friend,” Zhongli finally said, holding out his right arm. Sparks of energy gathered in his palms, forming a wicked, golden spear. The Vortex Vanquisher. You’d seen it countless times, marveling each time at its beauty and strength. You never thought you would one day be staring down the end of it. “You must know what comes next.” 

—

On your journey, you’d witnessed many a broken contract between Zhongli and other people — an Inazuman merchant whose greed for an extra trinket got the better of him; a Sumeran scholar who just needed to grab that last book from the hidden ruins; a Snezhnayan soldier whose loyalty to the Tsaritsa transcended his gratitude to you saving his life— 

None of them had escaped unscathed.  And each time, after delivering the punishment required of the situation, Zhongli would ask you the same thing, uncharacteristic frustration in his voice: 

“ To get people to abide by a contract, and act in accordance with the guidelines set out within, is simply to ask them to respect the concept of fairness. It is not a large request. How are there those who still do not understand such simplicity? ”

Each time, after you’d cheered him on in his reckoning of justice, you would nod and agree sympathetically. None of their contracts, you thought, had been particularly difficult to uphold. And each time, you would thank the heavens that you had more sense than to break a promise between yourself and the God of Contracts. 

It seemed that today, you were going to learn of what happened when you did. 

You took a step backwards as Zhongli took a slow, calculated one towards you. Having closely watched him rain destruction down upon your foes for the past few months, you knew with certainty that you, lightheaded from the wind and the still exhausted from your fight with Aether, would not be able to keep up with his speed and technique. 

And even if you weren’t, how could you even hope to compete with six thousand years of experience in war and strife and carnage? No; fighting him was not an option.

“Come on now, Zhongli,” you pleaded, taking another step and discovering, to your horror, that one more step backwards would have you falling into the koi ponds. You had nowhere else to go. “Aren’t we friends?” 

Even as the words left your mouth, you knew that they would fall on uncaring ears. Friendship had never stayed the hand of the victor of the Archon war.

Zhongli took another lazy stride forward. 

“Are we really going to fight in the city? We’ll destroy half the harbor.”

“While I appreciate your concern, I am quite confident that it will not come to that,” Zhongli said, the ‘because I would long have you pinned under my spear before then’ unspoken but tacit. “And besides, most of Liyue architecture is of stone. It would be nothing that I could not easily fix.” 

Fair enough. You switched gears, praying that two millennia of walking amongst the mortals had given him some vestige of human empathy. “Please, I need to go back and check on Aether. What if he woke up and found himself alone? Who knows what Paimon’s done to him by now.”

“Aether,” Zhongli said, “will not wake up for another day or two.” 

You pause, letting that register. “What?” 

The first bottle: you and Paimon. The second bottle: Zhongli and Aether. You remembered how carefully Zhongli handed you the first goblet, though Liyuenese etiquette would have mandated that he pass the first drink to the guest at the table. The way the goblet had shattered suddenly rang clear in your mind’s eye. His lie. How adamantly Zhongli must have been trying to keep you from drinking from Aether’s cup— 

“The herb I placed in his drink was but a very mild… sedative. He will almost certainly not die from it, but it can take mortals up to two days to regain consciousness.”

“ What ?” You could barely breathe. “You’re joking. You drank from the same bottle he did.”

“You need not concern yourself about me. My body has always been much more resistant to poisons than that of mortals.” 

The rage made your throat tight; it had been a long, long time since you had been so angry. “Congratulations, you know that there’s absolutely no way I’m staying now, right?” 

“Even before our confrontation today, I could tell that your mind was already made up,” he explained, as nonchalant as ever, as though he hadn’t just poisoned your fucking brother . “Naturally, the next course of action was to prevent you from breaking your contract by any means necessary, so that we could further negotiate. I did not want—” 

You would never learn what Zhongli didn’t want, because the fury in your lungs erupted outwards in a burst of elemental energy. You reached out, grabbing one of the last swords in your arsenal — a dull blade that you had been keeping around for enhancement fodder — but it didn’t matter, didn’t matter didn’t matter didn’t matter. All that mattered in that moment was making Zhongli pay . 

The familiar warmth of the element you were attuned to channeled through the sword, and you swung it as hard as you could in the direction of the former Archon. A wake of hardened earth ripped through the stone brick of the terrace, circling Zhongli in a jagged cage of rock and crystal. A little too late, you realized your folly.

Zhongli absently reached out, resting his gloved fingers against the earthly fangs you’d entrapped him within. Even through the haze of your anger, you could see a smile — a kind you had never seen on him — forming between his cheeks. “How ironic,” he said, “that you would use the powers that I granted you against me.” 

You could see the glow of Geo flowing from your constructs towards his outstretched palm. Vaguely, you knew that you had to run . 

“And how endearing—” he continued, and you could hear the rumbling beneath your feet, even as you turned to flee, “—that you truly thought it would work.” 

From behind, a shockwave of Geo more powerful than anything you’d ever felt smashed into you, throwing you off your feet and slamming you against the wall behind the pond. You crumpled like a paper lantern, cheek hitting the cool stone floor. As you struggled to keep your eyes open, the last things you saw were Zhongli’s intricate boots, gleaming in the moonlight before you.

[the-dream-team]

hi dylan! i've seen you around a lot but never interacted with your posts before (a tragic error) so i wanted to remedy that by saying that 'July' was very beautiful and utterly perfect!

P.S. I've heard some mumblings about Shirtless James May 👀👀 here is my formal request for you to participate 😂

Oh my gosh, hi! I’ve definitely seen your username around, so it’s lovely to finally say hello :) That’s so sweet, I’m glad you liked July- it was very fun to write! And you know what else was fun to write? This ridiculous one shot for Shirtless JP May, dedicated you, @sunshine-marauders <3

Three Times Lily Evans Did NOT Want to See James Potter Shirtless and One Time She Most Certainly Did

***

“Mr. Potter, please put your trousers back on, my boy!”

“Sir, I would, but there’s just no way of telling if this potion might be poisonous, and I’d rather play it safe.”

Lily’s eyes narrowed as she shrugged off her own robes, now covered head to toe in acidic slime from the Dungbomb that had just exploded in her and Sev’s cauldron. The purple liquid smelled something foul, but there was nothing poisonous about what was once a perfectly brewed Sleeping Draught. James Potter knew that, but he’d stripped down to his pants regardless. 

“Really, Professor Slughorn, I don’t mind,” Potter continued while he sauntered back to his own workstation, bare chest puffed out as though he wasn’t practically nude in the middle of the damn classroom. His display garnered a collection of giggles from around the dungeons and a wolf whistle from Remus. “And who am I to deny my fellow third years of this view?”

Lily scoffed. She couldn’t speak for her classmates, but she knew her own view consisted of scrawny limbs, knobbly knees, and the most insufferable smirk known to wizardkind. And when he turned to her with fingers running through his hair and an infuriatingly pointed look in her direction, Lily balled her hands into fists, nails digging into her palms to keep herself from reaching out to smack that stupid grin and those lopsided glasses clean off his face.

***

“There’d better be a good explanation for this, Potter.”

“It kills me, Evans, because there is an excellent explanation for our current predicament- one that I think you’d find admirable and impressive- but unfortunately we’re sworn to secrecy, so you’ll just have to assign us detentions and continue on with your rounds for the night.”

Lily turned, exasperated, to Remus, whose Prefect’s badge looked awfully heavy on his robes that night. He didn’t meet her eye, instead focusing on his three naked friends standing before them in the middle of the first floor corridor. Well, mostly naked. Each of the fifth year Gryffindor boys held strategically placed Shrivelfig leaves to cover their most intimate areas, but only Peter looked as though that protection was a matter of life or death. Sirius stood as casually as he always did, completely unphased to find himself caught clothesless in the middle of the night, and James somehow looked more confident than usual (if that was even possible) with his chest on full display. He seemed to be strategically flexing every Quidditch-trained muscle as he grinned down at her with that pointed look she’d become far too familiar with. She spent every last drop of concentration keeping her eyes locked on James’ face to avoid any potential… drifting. 

“Did you have any luck?” said Remus after a moment. Lily whipped around in shocked betrayal. He couldn’t possibly approve of this behaviour?

“Not this time,” Sirius responded, “but I got bloody close. Don’t think having clothes makes a difference, but it was worth trying.”

“I’d say we should be on track to making it work before the end of the month,” added James, his crooked grin turning into a proper smile. 

Remus’ eyes sparkled. “Holy shit, that’s brilliant.”

Lily let out a frustrated grunt before turning on her heel to storm away from the disrobed boys and her fellow Prefect, upset that Remus wouldn’t take their duties seriously, but thankful to be out of sight from James’ sharp gaze, finally able to let the blush she’d been desperately fighting back escape across her cheeks.

***

“I’m sorry, Evans, but I don’t make the rules. You’ve got to lose an article of clothing or else you’ll have to forfeit.”

“That’s bollocks, Black, you literally came up with the idea for Strip Exploding Snap this evening.” 

The sixth years were circled up around the Common Room’s fireplace, loose socks and sweaters littering the floor, a half-empty bottle of stolen Firewhisky passing around from hand to hand. If it weren’t for Mary’s ridiculous crush on Sirius, Lily would never have found herself anywhere near this kind of event, but she’d decided to be a good friend, and now she was down to an undershirt and knickers. It was unclear whether her face burned red from the whiskey or the nerves. 

“Look, Evans,” Sirius continued with an air of indifference, “if you’re not going to participate, you can just put your cards back in the pile-”

“I’ll do it for her!” James nearly shouted as he jumped up from his seat, swaying slightly. His eyes as glossy as the crooked glasses falling down his nose. He reached for the collar of his white t-shirt, grabbing hold to pull it over his head, but a competitive rush propelled Lily to her feet. 

“No!” she protested before the shirt could make its way too far up James’ stomach. He froze in place, peering over the fabric at her in confusion. “You can’t just play for me, Potter, that’s not fair. I want to win on my own.”

“Really, Evans, I don’t mind,” laughed James, finally following through to remove the shirt completely. His glasses came off in the process, stuck in the fabric, and Lily nearly choked as her mouth went dry at the full sight of him, broader and fuller than she’d remembered. Had she ever seen him without his glasses before? His face as naked as his torso? She needed another drink. 

“I’m not going to let you cheat,” she said, actually stomping her foot in the process. And to prove the dedication to her claims, she stripped down to her bra and sent James her most determined, pointed stare. His glasses made their way back to his face so fast, he nearly poked his eye out. “Now, put your shirt back on, Potter, or I’ll come over there and do it myself.”

“That’s not the threat you think it is, Evans,” he breathed, nearly choking on his words. 

Lily thought her leaping heart must be horribly visible through her exposed skin.

“Do you both need the rest of us to leave?” chimed in Sirius, throwing Lily from her rapidly spiraling thoughts. 

She immediately sat back down, throwing James his shirt in the process, desperately trying to contain the butterflies threatening to escape through her throat. His shirt never made it back over his head and the rest of the night no longer passed in minutes, but instead in glances stolen from across the room.

***

“Whatever is the problem, Miss Evans, my dear?”

“Sir, I accidentally spilled an entire vial of Mermaid venom all over Potter. It’s burned straight through his robes and I’m worried it might be serious. Do you mind if I leave to take him to Madam Pomfrey’s?”

Professor Slughorn fumbled out a concerned response, granting his blessing, and Lily spared no time grabbing James by the wrist to drag him out of the classroom and through the dungeons. His eyes were wide as he studied the golden liquid eating through the fabric of his sweater. “Is this poisonous?” he asked, fingers fumbling with his deteriorating uniform. 

Lily spun around with emerald fire behind her eyes. “It is,” she responded, stopping him in his tracks as they turned a corner. “So we ought to play it safe and get these off you.”

She watched his eyes flash with sudden realization before she pulled off his sweater and made quick work of the buttons on his shirt.

The knowing grin that broke out across James’ face sent waves of elation through her heart, radiating out to find him again and pull him down to her. Their mouths met with smiling lips and heavy sighs, eager to reconnect after what felt like ages apart, but in reality, couldn’t have been more than an hour. 

“What did I do to deserve this?” James asked through jagged breaths as he grabbed for the door handle to the nearest broom closet, dragging Lily in after him by the waist. 

“You gave me that look,” she said, laughing slightly as she moved her hands up his warm skin to comb through his tousled hair. “That bloody pointed look you get that drives me crazy.” She kissed him and he deepened it before pausing. 

“Wait. You poisoned me because I looked at you?”

“I spilled poison on you because I wanted to get your shirt off.”

He beamed, his smile brightening the dim, crowded cupboard as he brought his hands up to hold her face. “Well, in that case, who am I to deny you this view?”

She scoffed. Then kissed him again.

[darks-ink]

Spark

Prompt: How does being constantly exposed to high amounts of ectoplasm affect the citizens of Amity Park? Prompt by: @robotbeowulf Word count: 2,487

[AO3] [FFN] [more Phic Phight fics]

---

Danny shrugged, shifting his backpack to lie a little more comfortably on his shoulders, and pretended very hard to be a regular student. It wasn’t easy, but it hadn’t been easy for the last two years. The constant secret-keeping from everyone was wearing on him.

Not to mention the constant ghost attacks, of course. He was pretty sure all of Amity Park was covered in a thick film of ectoplasm by now, considering how much of it he and the other ghosts spilled and fired during the almost-constant battles. Sure, his parents said that the stuff evaporated and then returned to the Ghost Zone, but his parents also said that humans couldn’t have ghost powers, and Danny was the (mostly) living proof that that wasn’t true, either.

He was jerked from his thoughts—literally—by a fist, grabbing him by the shirt and slamming him against the lockers he had been walking by.

“Hi, Dash,” Danny muttered, trying to hide away his weariness with apathy. “Good morning to you too.”

“Fentonia,” Dash growled back, leaning in close to Danny’s face. A little too close, thank you, ever heard of personal space? “Finally.”

Danny bit back the automatic reply—aw, were you waiting for me?—and settled for grimacing at Dash.

Not that that went over well, of course, because Dash’s other hand found its way to Danny’s shirt as well. With Danny well in his grasp, Dash lifted him, slamming him against the lockers again, this time with his feet off of the ground—no easy way of getting out. Not without using his powers, at least.

“What’s wrong, Fenturd?” Dash asked, pressing Danny against the lockers even harder. “Ghost got your tongue?”

Ha ha, how creative. How funny. Danny was sure he’d come up with funnier jokes in his sleep. “Fuck off,” he grunted at Dash as his back was slammed against the hard metal behind him again.

“Ooh, he’s got bite today.” Dash leaned back a bit, a vicious grin on his face, then crowded Danny against the lockers again. “Oh, no, never mind. Looks like he’s all bark.”

Danny snarled back at Dash before he’d really thought about it—before he could stop himself, really. It wasn’t even words, really, just an animalistic snarl and the pulse of his core that meant his eyes were glowing.

Oh, fuck. And Dash was way too close to miss that.

“Hey, there you go!” Dash… cheered? The fists clenched in Danny’s shirt released, and his feet thumped down on the ground before he’d really caught on to what was happening. Dash was already turning away from him, nudging Kwan. “See, I told you Fenton could do it too!”

That… was not the reaction he’d expected to get to ghostly glowing eyes. What the fuck?

Kwan laughed audibly, and Danny wrenched his eyes away from Dash and towards the other boy. The… the laughing, visibly cheery boy.

Seriously. What was going on?

“So, uh… No bullying anymore today?” Danny asked, and then felt like he could kick himself. Absolute moron. Who asks that sort of thing?

Dash snorted, apparently amused (amused???) by Danny’s idiotic question, and waved a dismissive hand. “What’s the point? I got what I was after.”

Okay? Good? That explained absolutely nothing. If anything, Danny felt even more confused. Had Dash seriously been bullying him trying to get him to glow eyes his? To snarl at him?

What???

Apparently he vocalized that last thought, because Kwan’s eyes turned back to him, a hesitant grin on his face.

And then Kwan’s eyes flashed a bright, glowing, cyan.

Danny, still leaning against the lockers he’d been pressed to, froze up automatically. He knew what that meant. Had spent enough time combing through his parents’ research—and with his own experience—to know that briefly glowing eyes couldn’t be caused by ordinary ghostly causes. An overshadowing ghost altered the eye-color of their host, but that was constant.

And, if there had been a ghost, Danny would’ve felt them. He’d grown more than strong enough to sense ghosts even if they were hidden in a host.

“He’s had them for a while.” Dash spoke casually, like this wasn’t a big fucking deal. “We couldn’t find anybody else with that brand of ecto-contamination, y’know, so Kwan was feeling super down about that.”

“Dash,” Kwan groaned, sounding put-upon. As carefully as Danny listened, the only thing he could hear was the undercurrent of care Kwan held for Dash. For his friend.

“Shut up, man.” Dash nudged his friend, then picked up his explanation that didn’t explain anything. “See, but I knew I had seen you do them too. The glowy eyes, I mean.” Dash underlined the latter with a vague gesture at his own eyes. “So I just had to push you into doing them while Kwan could see, to prove that he wasn’t the only one.”

“Uh.” Danny blinked at them, feeling like he missed everything Dash had said after the words “ecto-contamination”. What?

No, seriously, he knew he’d uttered that word a lot these past five minutes—even if only in his head—but what?

“You had to get him angry, though,” Kwan muttered, bumping shoulders with Dash. “You know that’s not the only way to make them glow.”

“Yeah, but it was the easiest to push him into,” Dash easily admitted.

And then, while Danny was still reeling, feeling like he’d missed at least seven steps in this conversation, Kwan stepped in closer and shot him a bright smile. “Thanks, Fenton. I feel a ton better.”

“Uh, yeah.” Danny blinked, watching the two of them wander off like nothing happened. “You’re welcome?”

“Man, what was all of that?” he muttered to himself, staring at the empty hallway for a moment before pushing himself away from the lockers. He desperately needed to talk to Sam and Tucker, see if they had any idea what all of that was about.

Somewhere, he kind of wished that Jazz was still in Amity. She would definitely know what the hell all of that was all about.

Seriously. Dash had just casually muttered the words ecto-contamination, and then suggested that it was common enough for there to be accepted variants of it.

How had Danny missed all of that?

!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

“There’s Val,” Sam whispered, leaning in closer. Danny followed her gaze and, indeed, there was the girl they’d been looking for all morning.

Well, it figured that they wouldn’t manage to pin her down until lunch, but it was frustrating nonetheless. Sam and Tucker hadn’t known what the stuff with Dash and Kwan had been about, either, so they had decided to ask the only person they could reasonably ask: Valerie Gray.

But that, in turn, meant that they had to just sit on the knowledge until lunch.

At least she had picked a distant enough seat that they could talk in private. Small blessings.

“Let’s hope she actually knows what’s going on,” Tucker muttered, before nudging Danny forward. “You go first, dude.”

So quick to sacrifice him to the ghost huntress. Danny shook his head but walked over, slipping into the seat opposite of Valerie. “Hey, Val.”

“Danny,” she greeted him back, raising an eyebrow at Sam and Tucker, who sat down on either side of him. “Well, this feels like an interrogation all of a sudden.”

He shot Sam a meaningful glance, but she just grinned back, pushing herself to sit more squarely on the seat. Rude.

“Danny had a weird interaction with Dash and Kwan this morning,” Tucker started explaining, breaking the tension before it could really go anywhere. “We were hoping you could offer… I dunno, some clarification, since you know them better than we do.”

She snorted, leaning back slightly. “They’re Dash and Kwan. Every interaction with them is weird.”

“Well, yeah, but they were…” Danny paused, briefly hesitant to mention it—what would Valerie think of ghost-powered humans?—before powering through. “They were talking about ecto-contamination, and known variants of it.”

The look they got in response was flat. Flat, and clearly confused.

After a long and exceedingly awkward moment of silence, Valerie cleared her throat and asked, clearly hesitant, “None of you noticed?”

“Noticed what?” Tucker frowned, glancing between the three of them and Valerie.

“That pretty much everyone in Amity Park has ghost-like traits?” She raised a questioning eyebrow at them. “Everyone, but especially the kids here at Casper High, has ecto-contamination so bad that we’re all, well. Becoming a little ghost-like.” She paused, shook her head, then asked. “None of you seriously noticed?”

Danny drew back, considering his words, but before he could really think about it, Sam had already flapped a dismissive hand. “The three of us spend so much time in and around Fentonworks that we’re already contaminated to hell and back,” she dryly explained. “And honestly, Valerie, how much time do we really spend with anyone outside our direct circle?”

“Fair enough,” Valerie allowed with a shrug. “Right, so, it mostly seems to be caused by the Portal and the constant ghost attacks. I mean, obviously, right?”

“Right,” Danny agreed, ignoring the way his stomach was turning. He’d tried so hard to keep everyone safe, but had the presence of ghosts been endangering them all along? Had the spilled ectoplasm really affected people, and so badly too?

“Now, what we started noticing pretty early on is that people generally only display a single ghost power, once they become contaminated enough to actually have a discernible ghost power. Some people consider them distinct variants: people with invisibility, with intangibility, flight, etcetera.”

Sam and Tucker both hummed, thoughtfully. Valerie raised her other eyebrow at that, then shook her head and continued on.

“Generally people don’t get contaminated enough to display more than those basic powers, but exceptions exist, I guess. And your contamination is probably way worse than anyone else’s, except maybe actual ghost hunters like the Fentons.” She made a face. “And that’s assuming their jumpsuits don’t protect them, which I doubt.”

“I’m pretty sure they do,” Danny mumbled, trying to inconspicuously watch both of his best friends from the corner of his eyes. The more Valerie explained about the ecto-contamination that apparently haunted all of Amity Park, the more their expressions twisted into something they usually called “suddenly understanding weird shit that had been happening”.

It was, unfortunately, a somewhat common expression these days. What with ghosts becoming a common thing, and all that.

“I… Some of the plants in my greenhouse grow unusually well whenever I’m near. Some even seem to react to my presence…” Sam admitted, her voice quiet, uncharacteristically reluctant. After a moment of hesitation, she tacked on, “And sometimes, when I really really don’t want to deal with my parents, they just… overlook me, like I’m not there at all.”

Like she was invisible, they all heard, despite the fact that Sam didn’t say the words.

Seemingly encouraged by Sam’s admission, Tucker added on, “I rarely, if ever, charge my tech. Their batteries just don’t seem to empty as long as I have them on me. And sometimes when I’m digging into code, it feels like… like I can alter it directly, like I’m tapping into some inner world that doesn’t—shouldn’t—exist.” Just like Sam, Tucker also paused for a moment. “When I’m running from a ghost or whatever, sometimes I run into an alley that I know has a dead end and never hit the wall.”

Like he was just phasing through it, going intangible before he hit it.

Danny swallowed through the clog he suddenly found in his throat, watching Valerie turn a meaningful look to him. She wanted him to tell her about his— his ghost powers. But he couldn’t just pretend all of his powers came from the contamination of living at Fentonworks, could he?

And he definitely couldn’t pick certain powers as acceptable and others as not.

“I… I guess weird shit has happened to me too, yeah,” he finally admitted, cautiously, hoping she guessed the source of his reluctance wrong. “But I never really thought about it, to be honest. Anything I could blame the ecto-contamination for could just as easily be caused by actual ghosts.” And in a way it was, of course. Anything caused by his ecto-contamination was caused by an actual ghost: Phantom.

“But,” he tacked on, knowing Valerie wouldn’t just let that lie. She was far too stubborn not to investigate. “Dash and Kwan apparently saw me with glowing eyes?”

Valerie hummed, then nodded. “That makes sense, I guess. I know Kwan has the glowing eyes variant as well, so that would explain why they’ve been targeting you.”

“It’s been around that long?” Sam asked, leaning forward, clearly curious despite herself. “I figured it would’ve taken longer than that to show up.”

“Oh, no, that was long after I got kicked out of the group,” Valerie said dismissively. “But Kwan saw me with a ghost scanner one day, and he begged me to scan him. I guess he was seriously worried that he had been overshadowed, even if overshadowing doesn’t work like that.”

“I don’t think he got rid of that fear, to be honest.” Danny shrugged, uneasy. “At least, he seemed pretty cheered-up when I, uh, glowed my eyes at him and Dash.”

Tucker snorted, and Danny could see Sam crack a grin as well, probably at his word choice. Well, fuck them. What did you call it, if not “glowing your eyes at them”?

“Anyway, I can’t help but notice that we all told you, but you haven’t said a word about what you can do,” Sam prodded, nudging Valerie. “Come on, Val.”

“Yeah, that does seem a little unfair.” Tucker leaned forward as well, an expression of genuine curiosity on his face.

And, honestly? Danny kind of wanted to know as well. Her ghost hunting suit probably hadn’t protected her, and her new suit definitely didn’t. If anything, the Technus-made suit probably had just worsened it.

“I…” Valerie visibly hesitated, then gave in. “I can fly, a little. It’s not really all that great, but at least I won’t break anything if I ever fall out of a tree or something.”

She said it with a light tone, like it was just a casual joke. All Danny could think of, however, was all the times he’d seen Valerie fall off of her hoverboard, especially at the start.

He carefully does not wince.

“That’s pretty neat,” he forced himself to say instead. “Less lame than glowing eyes, at least.”

Valerie grinned back at him, but before she could say anything the bell rung.

“Guess we’d better head to class,” Sam said with a grunt, pushing herself off of the bench.

“Yeah.” Tucker got up as well, then nodded at Valerie. “Thanks for the explanation, Valerie.”

Danny followed suit, shooting her a smile. “Same. Thanks, Val.”

She had given him a lot to think about.

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part IV

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 9.6k

Warning: a big helping of abandonment/daddy issues, lots of feelings, explicit sexual content A/N: y’all are gonna be so soft and then so mad lmao. 

The plan was to go to Mike's house then back to campus. You said you didn't have anything to do at your mom's, that a long phone call would suffice, which is why Mike is confused when you ask him if you can stop by before going back. It's an hour out of the way, but it's not like he has anything better to do, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious about your humble beginnings. 

 The house is in a decent-looking neighborhood, small, nearly identical one-story homes surrounded by cracked sidewalks. He has to be careful not to trip as you make your way to the front porch, pots of dead or dying plants along the edges of it. You shove your key into the lock, twist and open, then motion for Mike to follow. 

 The den is dimly lit, ceiling fan above with only one working bulb. A crime show is playing on the TV but there's no one watching. There is, however, another light pouring from a back room, and as soon as you drop your bag on the couch, a head pokes out from the doorway. 

 "Baby girl!" A shrill voice cries, and Mike sees you grimace. "I thought you weren't coming by!" 

 A woman walks into the den wearing long, cotton shorts and an old tie-dye shirt then pulls you into a hug so tight that it makes you cough. 

 "Mom," you take a deep breath as if to refill your lungs with all the air that was pushed from them. "This is Mike."

 He holds out a hand and smiles, but all your mother does is stare with round eyes and blurt, "Oh, he's a big boy." 

 "My fucking god." You don't yell or whine, just pinch the bridge of your nose and mumble, "Just shake his hand please." 

 "Sorry, I'm sorry, just was not expecting… You didn't tell me how tall he was."

 "'Cause it doesn't matter. Why would I—nevermind," you cut yourself off, face falling flat just like your voice. 

 Mike isn't sure if he should be flattered or offended or embarrassed, so he just ignores the comment entirely and says, "Nice to meet you." 

 You make your escape to the back, dragging Mike with you before shutting your bedroom door and leaning against it. 

 "Mom is a little weird, but you'll always know where you stand with her," you tell him. "Also, sorry about the house. She’s a teacher, so she’s usually pretty beat at the end of the day. Not enough energy to do a lotta cleaning."

 "Didn't even notice," he reassures you. 

 Mike unpacks his bag next to you, and you gather the dirty clothes from both yours and his, balling them up and taking them with you out to the garage to throw into the washing machine. Mike should have done it at his parents', but as you were packing up that morning, his mother got all teary eyed and his dad just kept shaking your tiny hands and telling you to come back, so it just didn’t happen. 

 Back in the living room, your mom is sitting in an old rocking chair, and Mike thinks you'll take a seat on the adjacent couch, but instead you ask, "You need help with anything? Dishes or vacuuming or somethin'?"

 She looks up at you, fly-away hairs sticking out around her temples and forehead and responds, "It'd be nice if you could do the dishes. I just haven't gotten around to it."

 "Can do," you nod and walk into the kitchen, opening the dishwasher and making a displeased noise at the dirty plates and bowls inside. There's room for a few more, but once it's full and running, you just clean what's left in the sink by hand. Mike finds a towel, stands next to you, and holds his hand out for every scrubbed dish, drying it and placing it in the rack to hopefully be put up later. 

 "You hungry?" You ask when you're done and drying your hands. "It's almost one."

 "Uh, yeah. I could eat." 

 Truthfully, he's starving having only had a small breakfast at his parents'. He doesn't want to say that, though, doesn't want you making a big meal for him or apologizing for anything. 

 "Sandwiches okay?" 

 Something in your tone has him on edge. Your voice is too quiet, deflecting downward as if you're forcing each word from your mouth. 

 "Yeah," he nods. "If you get the stuff, I can make 'em." Mostly so that you can relax but also because there's no way he's gonna let you make him a fucking sandwich. 

 You shrug your shoulders, grab bread, lunchmeat, cheese, and condiments, then say, "You can make ours. I'll make mom's."

 He knows he's missing something, but he doesn't know what, and right now he's too afraid to ask. 

 He eats next to you on the couch, you and your mom watching TV as Mike tries to subtly glance around. Mounted shelves are decorated with dusty, mismatched figurines, cracks opening at the corners where the walls meet the roof. The brick fireplace is stacked high with plastic tubs and books, probably from your mother’s classroom, and the carpet has seen better days. 

 Mike isn't judging—not in the least—but he has a feeling he knows why being here puts you in a sour mood. The house feels lived in, cluttered and cozy and worn around the edges, but it's still empty somehow. 

 After the three of you are finished eating, you take the paper plates and dispose of them, then tell your mom that you'll be in your room. She gives you a soft smile that you struggle to return.

 It's a little more you in the bedroom, blue walls covered in old posters and collages, a quilt similar to the one in your dorm folded at the bottom of your bed. Your pillow cases are faded and covered in an old flower design that matches your sheets, and there's a small nightstand next to the headboard that's bare on top with wrinkled papers poking out of the bottom drawer. 

 "It's not much, but if you wanna snoop around like I always do, feel free." 

 Mike doesn't really want to, especially since you already seem so uncomfortable in what should be a safe space for you. The only thing he feels okay investigating is the old bookshelf next to your closet—mostly YA novels, some poetry books, an old set of The Lord of the Rings series, a textbook over rocks and minerals and another over volcanoes. Tucked away in the bottom shelf is a tiny booklet that looks like a photo album, and Mike has to fight the urge to pull it from its place and flip through the plastic pages. Anything to get to know you better. 

 You lay in bed, eyes locked on the ceiling, and Mike doesn't know what to do. There's a very small TV sitting on your dresser, an old DVD player next to it, so he figures he'll save both you and himself from talking by picking out a movie. 

 He fingers through them, not that there's a lot, just skims the spines until he pulls out a copy of Space Jam. You only glance at the screen when the intro starts, and Mike immediately zeroes in on the way your jaw sets and your brows furrow. 

 "I can pick something else," he tells you quietly. 

 You take a deep breath and shake your head. Slowly but surely your features begin to soften. 

 "'S'fine."

 "Are you sure?" 

 "Yeah. My, uh…" You swallow loud enough from Mike to hear, neck bobbing with the motion. "My dad and I used to watch it all the time."

 He doesn't know what to make of it or how to respond. In the months he's known you, Mike has never heard you mention your father a single time, and he's never asked in fear of what your response might be. 

 He moves your quilt to sit on the very edge of the bed, a little too tense as he heavily contemplates ignoring what you'd said and still switching movies. 

 "You can lay down, you know," you mumble. "I'm not gonna bite you."

 "You have before," he tries to act casual, but it comes out too stiffly.

 You laugh through your nose— "Suit yourself—" then get more comfortable on the mattress. 

 Michael Jordan gets pulled into a golf hole and the Loony Toons journey to retrieve his shoes from the real world. Mike is barely paying attention, more focused on the way your breathing evens out until it becomes slow and deep. 

 That's good. You could use a nap. 

 He watches you for a while, the way your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks and your lips part. You're all curled up on yourself, hands tucked under your chin, knees to your stomach, and Mike wants to slip behind you so badly, to pull you to his chest and lay with you until his heartbeat syncs with yours. 

 But first. 

 As carefully as he can, Mike stands from the bed and glides to the bookcase. He lowers himself in front of it, quickly finding what he's looking for and pulls it from the shelf. 

 It's a small little album, full of polaroids and old pictures cut in half. The first page sets the tone for the rest of the booklet, a photo of a very small you outside eating a popsicle next to a man that is most definitely your dad. You've got a similar facial structure as well as his coloring. Not to mention the expression he's wearing is one Mike has seen you make many times before. 

 The next picture is the two of you dressed up for an event. He's in a striped Polo and slacks while you're in a little checkered dress, a rose corsage on your tiny wrist. Some kind of father-daughter dance, Mike guesses. 

 Sitting on his lap at a fair, a chubby little boy a few years older than you standing close with a stuffed snake around his neck. A party where you're posed with an honestly frightening costume character. You in a bright, mesh jersey standing back to back with your dad, arms crossed, looking at the camera with your chins tilted upward. 

 They all look like good memories. The little boy in the fair picture appears several more times, and as he loses his baby fat, Mike sees the resemblance he shares with you and your father. It's too close to be a cousin—your eyes and mouths shaped the same—so he must be your brother. 

 Mike doesn't know how to feel about that because again, you've never uttered a word. As far as he knew, you were an only child, so why…

 He gets lost in the pages, watching you grow and pose mostly next to your dad. Smiles and laughs and silly faces with your tongues sticking out. Your mom is in some, brother in others, and then, you're in a cap and gown, grinning widely next to your dad who's beginning to gray at the temples. His own smile is barely there now, a ghost of what was seen in the previous photos. It's forced, it's sad, and it's the last picture in the book. 

 Mike's chest hurts. He wonders what happened, when exactly you'd lost him. Was it a quick goodbye, or had it been drawn out and painful? Had he been sick for a long time? He'd looked perfectly healthy in all the shots. Maybe a car accident that took both him and your brother…

 He flips to check for one last photo on the back of the page, but it's empty. However, tucked in a tiny, paper pocket is a folded up note that Mike stares at for a few solid minutes, debating the pros and cons of reading it. He knows he's already violated your privacy by looking through the album, and fuck, he's only been in your house for a couple hours at most—how has he already managed to tumble down such a humongous rabbit hole? 

 Your tiny snores reach his ears, and Mike gently pulls the note out, biting his lip as he unfolds it as quietly as possible. It's soft, like it's been read too many times, and the letters scribbled in all caps are beginning to fade, but the words are still legible. 

 It starts with your name, and then it's all apologies—sorry I can't stay, I have to leave, you don't understand how much this hurts me and so on. 

 Mike's eyebrows pull together the further he reads, blood pounding against the walls of his arteries, pulse picking up because he understands now.

 Your father wasn't in any sort of accident; he just left. 

 The letter ends with a gut-wrenching, You'll always be my little girl, and Mike nearly crumples the paper up to throw away. He resists somehow, simply folds it with shaky hands and slips it back into the pocket at the back of the album. 

 He's never been so mad at a stranger in his life. This must be it. This must be why you are—

 "Should've known you'd go straight for the photo album." 

 Your voice makes Mike's body jolt, his face heating as he turns to look at you with wide eyes. 

 "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—"

 You wave him off and prop yourself up on an elbow. "It's whatever."

 But, it's not. It's this huge part of you that still affects you to this day. Mike is no psychologist, but he has a pretty good feeling this is the main reason you hold everyone at arm's length. 

 "Why didn't you ever tell me?" 

 "What's there to tell?" 

 Sitting up fully, your gaze moves to the screen just in time to see Michael Jordan step off of the spaceship and onto the baseball field. I Believe I Can Fly is playing, and you're gritting your teeth. 

 "It's not anything that comes up in normal conversation anyway. I wasn't just gonna hit you with it outta nowhere. Also," you look back to Mike, eyes still sleepy, lips pulling downward in a frown. "I'm not the only one who hid stuff about my family."

 Mike sighs and quietly tells you, "That's different," as he closes the album and slides it back into the row of books. 

 "Is it, though? Is it really?" 

 "I..." 

 Mike shuts his mouth and actually thinks on it. He wasn't trying to lie to you about his home life or his heritage. He's only half Greek on his mom's side, after all, and he's only been to the country to visit family a couple of times—once when he was a child and once right before college. The culture is a little different over there, but it all seems so natural to him, especially after being raised to speak the language. 

 Honestly, he didn't ever tell you because he didn't think to, but Mike can understand the shock of walking into his childhood home and getting thrown through that loop. It must have been jarring for you. 

 It's a positive aspect of his life, though. It's not something that's damaged him or made him cold toward others. And, he hates describing you in such a way, but it's true.

 At least it makes sense now. 

 "I guess not," he shrugs. He's not about to fight you on it. 

 You stare at him for a while, waking up a bit more as you rub your eyes and stretch. 

 Then, you flop back down on your pillows. 

 "So. Any questions, Zacharias?" 

 He's surprised that you're asking, and though he doesn't want to twist the metaphorical knife in your gut, he still replies honestly: "Too many."

 A long exhale through your nose, and then you're patting the mattress next to you and grumbling, "Fine, I'll do my best, but you gotta come up here."

 "Why? You gonna need to cuddle afterward?" He can't help but tease. 

 "Fuckin' maybe, dude! We're about to get into my god damn trauma so—"

 Mike is up on his feet and flying toward the bed. He isn't about to sabotage the one fucking moment you're opening yourself up. 

 "Alright, what first?" You ask, trying to look bored, but Mike can clearly see that you're nervous. 

 "He left." 

 "Yeah."

 And then he gets the full story. 

 Your dad was pretty perfect during your younger years—a bit of a workaholic but still good. He took you to dances like the one you'd both dressed for in the photograph. You'd spend days at amusement parks where he'd carry you on his shoulders. He coached the basketball team you'd played on as a child.

 "Not saying he played favorites, but I was definitely closer to him than my brother was."

 The brother who developed a drug problem at fourteen, who was always either out with his little addict friends or at home where he would just scream at you and your mom. 

 "He went to rehab a couple times, but it didn't stick." 

 He left home at seventeen and hasn't gotten in touch with you or your parents since. 

 "I keep thinking one day we'll get a call from the police saying they found his wallet on a fucking corpse, but who knows. Maybe he got clean. Maybe he started a family somewhere else. He'd be twenty-five now."

 "Were you ever close with him?"

 You shrug. "We spent a lot of time together when we were really little, but even back then he was kinda a mean kid."

 It very quickly circles back to your father. Mike still doesn't feel like he has all the answers, so he asks through the skin of his lip, "Why'd he leave?"

 At this point, you've got your head in his lap as he sits against the wall. He smooths your hair back from your face every once in a while, something his mom used to do to him when he was very young that always soothed him. 

 He hopes it's having the same effect on you, thinks it might be considering you've had your eyes closed for a while now, humming now and then as you talk. 

 "Honestly, I don't really know. I don't think he and my mom were ever in love. Like, they just kinda settled for each other," you sigh. "They didn't have a lot in common. They had different upbringings. But, they didn't fight or anything—not in front of us. They were good at hiding the hard times from me and my brother. They just didn't… click."

 Mike bites his tongue, wonders if that was hard to watch or if you'd been too naive to notice. 

 Then, there's his second train of thought that's really just the voice in his head screaming, we click, though! You and I work! But he keeps it to himself. This isn't about you and him. 

 "I think maybe dad had, like, a 'stay together for the kids' mentality 'cause as soon as I graduated, he was fuckin' gone. And, I mean gone. We went to a graduation party the next weekend that lasted a few hours—just me and mom—and when we got back his truck wasn't in the driveway and his drawers were empty. He left that note you read on my desk."

 Mike breathes. Just breathes. He tries to make sense of it, how someone could just do that without a real reason. There hadn't been any explanation in the letter, only apologies. 

 "Have you seen him since?" 

 You open your eyes and reply, "Nope," popping the 'p'. "I don't know where he is, and he hasn't reached out. Mom made the drive to my grandma's—his mom—but she said she didn't know where he was either. Pretty sure she was covering for him, though. She was always kind of a bitch. You know, save for the whole paying for my college and all."

 Mike snorts at this, not that there's anything funny about the situation. It's just his first reaction. 

 You ignore it, moving on with an, "Anyway."

 "Anyway," he mimics. 

 "I don't know if you've noticed in the short time you've been here, but my mom is a little… off. Not super good at taking care of herself."

 "Is this why?" 

 "Clever boy," you show a bitter smile. "I didn't really understand since they weren't, like, in love or whatever, but… I think it was the betrayal more than anything. Like, it came outta nowhere, a big ol' slap in the face."

 "Plus, he left you behind," Mike adds, as if you don't already know. 

 Looking up at him, you raise your eyebrows and smirk. "And, now you know about my abandonment issues." The last part comes out in high-pitched, melodic syllables, a little song that would be funny if Mike didn't know it was a coping mechanism. It most definitely is, though. He can tell that you're the type to mask every issue with humor and sarcasm. It's how you've been dealing with him for the last several months. 

 "So, that's my story," you conclude on an exhale. "Now you know all my dirty secrets."

 "For some reason I don't think that's all of them," Mike pets your hair again. "But, probably the important ones."

 "Mm. I guess."

 The rest of the day is really just spent killing time. You cook an easy dinner that you refuse to let Mike help with, then sit in the den with your mom just like you did at lunch. A medical show is playing. Then a reality show. Then a game show. None of you say much of anything, and it's painfully awkward for Mike now that he knows what happened, but he can power through a few days of this if it makes you feel better. 

 Hours pass until you can retreat, and moonlight shines through your bedroom window, not that Mike needs it. He's memorized your body at this point, knows where to touch without even seeing. He makes sure to be gentle, to suckle and blow on your pebbled nipples as you card fingers through his hair and breathe faster and faster. 

 Leaving love bites down your chest and stomach, he sucks on your skin, gently grazing his teeth over every bruise. Mike wants you to see them all the next day—not a staked claim, just something you can't ignore when you look in the mirror, evidence of his feelings in every mark. 

 When you're finally nice and relaxed, he spreads your legs and licks into you, trying not to be too rough with his beard, but a few swipes of it over your clit leave you shaking in his grasp. You whisper his name, the common one that everyone knows him by, but then, rolling off your tongue like a prayer, you call him, "Miche," and he can't help the rumble that rises in his chest. 

 It should be strange. That's the name only his family uses, the one he was born with. He only simplified it so that kids in school wouldn't ask questions or make fun of him, and after that, it just sort of stuck. But, here and now, falling from your lips, it's so soft. So intimate. 

 You whimper when he sucks on your folds, making them swell, making them sensitive. And then, he's pushing his tongue inside of you and humming happily at the taste. His nose is bumping against your clit, and Christ, you even smell good to him—that ripe, tangy aroma that has Mike going a little crazy. He has to make sure he doesn't get too carried away. You can't make very much noise even with the rattling of the air conditioner, but as he slowly slides a finger into your pussy, he hears you moan around the fist you're holding to your mouth. 

 He stretches you just enough to get you ready, then he holds himself over you and pushes into your wet cunt. Your eyes are open, locked with Mike's as your brow raises and your jaw drops. It's erotic, something you've never done with him before. You typically either gaze somewhere other than his face or keep your eyes squeezed shut. 

 Tonight, though, you've been vulnerable and apparently want to stay that way for a little while longer. 

 He bends to catch you in a kiss, lips and tongues moving just as slowly as his hips, and when you reach to tug at Mike's hair, he pants into your mouth. 

 Those words are there again, stuck in his throat but slowly crawling upward until they're just there, pouring from his tongue, "I lo—"

 Until you cut him off with a sharp, "Don't."

 He makes a noise of frustration, wants to protest because he's so deep inside of you, and you're holding onto him like you want him—truly want him, but you mutter once more against his lips, "Don't say it, Miche."

 So, he doesn't. He bottles the confession up and keeps it locked away, hoping like hell that one day you'll let him tell you. 

 After you climax and coat his cock in slick and cream, he gives a few more thrusts and comes inside of you, filling you with himself and wondering why you're so willing to accept him in that way but not in any other. 

 He's hurting again, like he did at his parents' as you walked around like you belonged there. Except it's worse now. 

 If you don't want him to say it, that means you don't want to say it back. 

 He stays with you for a few more minutes before pulling out. You leave to clean up, and while you're gone, Mike sits on the edge of the bed, head in his hands as he tries to get it all out of his system, whispering it out loud to himself: 

 I love you. I love you, I love you.  

 You still let him hold you as you fall asleep, gripping his hand until you can't anymore, and as Mike drifts off behind you, he has one last thought—Just let me.

* There’s only three weeks left of the semester when you head back to campus, and you intend to make the most of every passing day. 

 You pay better attention in class. You study harder in the library to prepare for final exams. You go to a few more Pi Alpha Kappa parties, making sure not to burn yourself out. And, you let Mike fuck your brains out every few days. Sometimes it’s late at night after those parties. Sometimes you're too tired after the nights of drinking and end up just going to bed only to wake up in the morning and have slow, sleepy sex. Sometimes it’s in the middle of the afternoon when you both have breaks between classes.

 Neither of you bring up anything that happened over the break—meeting families, details about your childhoods, how much you learned about one another in general.

 Most importantly, neither of you address that first night at your mom’s, the way Mike had basically worshiped your body, how he’d come so close to uttering the three words you least want to hear. 

 Thinking about it still makes your chest tighten, your heart beat faster. Sometimes when you’re sharing his bed with him, back pressed to his chest, large arm slung over your waist, you think about why it is you’re so vehemently against it. The two of you already act like a couple most of the time. You walk with each other to class when you can. You stick to each other’s sides at parties. You fuck like rabbits and don’t care who knows about it. 

 And, though you’re hesitant to admit it even to yourself, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have feelings for him. Mike is your best friend at this point. He’s insanely hot. He’s goofy. He’s kind. Yeah, the frat boy persona he puts on around his friends is annoying, but you understand it a little better now. Plus, he always takes off the mask when he’s alone with you, giving both you and himself a break from it.

 You know your time with him is quickly coming to an end—for about two months, at least—and whenever you think too hard about it, it makes you pout and huff. You’re not looking forward to your summer classes without him, but he promises on several occasions that you can call him while he’s at his parents’ if you ever need help with the material.

 It’s impressive, the way he’s able to act like nothing happened. You know it must be troubling him, but it’s not like you can do anything to soothe him. If he was really upset with you, he would have stopped spending time with you, but he hasn’t. He just bottles it up, keeps smiling at you all crookedly, and keeps satisfying you in the bedroom (more than satisfying honestly. There’s really not a word to describe what he does).

 He’s back to getting along with everyone in the Pike house, everyone being Erwin. It’s a relief just because you don’t have to put up with the tension between them, but it’s also awkward. And, a little frightening. 

 The brothers have Smash Brothers tournaments and movie nights, a few date parties here and there, and it never fails that at some point during the evenings, you find your neck prickling as it always does when you feel someone staring at you. You always hope it’s Mike. Fuck, you wish it was him. But, when you glance up and around, it’s Erwin. Every time. His deep blue eyes are trained on you, the corner of his mouth twitching upward on one side. It doesn’t matter if he’s alone or if he’s got Maddie or some other girl sitting in his lap. He's fucking shameless, and it makes your stomach hurt.

 You keep your mouth shut for the sake of the friendship but also for the sake of Erwin’s pretty face. If he and Mike ever got into an actual fight, Erwin would probably be able to get a good few punches in, but you’re nearly positive Mike would end up destroying him in the long run. That could get him kicked out of school. That could get him thrown in jail. 

 Finals roll around, and you manage to pass all of them without issue, even getting grades above the class average. You feel fantastic, like your long term goals might actually be attainable. You have a long road ahead of you, but your GPA at the end of the year is more than enough to raise your confidence. 

 Mike asks you to come back to his house for the couple weeks between the end of the semester and the start of your summer courses, but you turn him down, too scared of what might happen while you’re there. Acting like a couple in front of his parents will only exacerbate his feelings as well as yours, and you’d like to avoid that as best you can. 

 Even now as you’re standing outside by the Jeep, he tries to persuade you one last time, almost pleading, “Are you sure you don’t wanna come?”

 “Miche, I’m sure,” you tell him, trying to stay stern, but it’s hard when his sea glass eyes light up at the sound of his real name. It’s a habit you’ve gotten into, a bad one considering how much he likes it. How much you like it. “I already told you I wanna spend the free time I have at mom’s. I need to check up on her and… Probably clean, honestly.”

 He lets out a little grunt of disappointment, then nods. “Yeah, I get it.”

 “You saw what she’s like,” you remind him. “Someone needs to drop in every once in a while to make sure she isn’t, like, wasting away or something.”

 “Makes sense. I’ll be bummed, though.”

 “Be bummed all you want,” you smile. “I’ll probably still bother you over break. A lot.”

 He sounds terribly sincere when he mumbles, “You never bother me.” It makes your stomach flip in the way you do not enjoy.

 Mike sighs, taking in one of those deep breaths that makes his broad chest rise then fall, calling attention to it and making you bite your bottom lip. 

 “Alright, I should get going,” he concedes, bending down to kiss you too deeply for simple friends with benefits. It doesn’t stop you from humming into his mouth and smiling against him. You hold him by the back of his neck as he pulls your body close to his, his voice muffled when he tells you mischievously, “Don’t forget to send pictures.”

 It makes you laugh, and you lean back to swipe your tongue over his lips so that he groans and chases after you. 

 “I promise I will. Perv.” The beating sun is nothing in comparison to the way your body heats at the thought. You’ve sent him nudes before, but the idea of him looking at them from hours away, fisting his cock as he admires your body through his phone… It makes seeing him off even harder.

 After a couple more softer kisses, Mike swings into the Wrangler and pulls out of the lot. You stand in his parking space and watch him until he’s out of sight, then walk back to your dorm, dragging your feet the whole way. 

 You only stay at your mom’s house for a week, and just like you predicted, you spend most of it cleaning. She thanks you the whole time but makes excuses in between. You just reassure her that you don’t mind even though you do. She really should see a therapist and sort out the depression she’s been stuck in for a few years now, but telling someone they need professional help is easier said than done. 

 Sleeping in your old bed is much harder this time around. You're all too aware of the weight that isn't behind you, and most nights you lay awake for at least a couple of hours trying to imagine it. 

 Like you’d promised, you send him a few pictures, some of them just lewd selfies with your tits pouring out of the cups of your bra, but others are of your naked body in the bathtub, sometimes a shot of you with your hand between your legs. It feels wrong to touch yourself in your childhood home, but it’s necessary, especially when Mike sends you a few pictures of his own—one with his torso on display, defined abs absolutely mouthwatering and the V of his hips suggestively leading into mesh shorts. Another is of him in the gray joggers he wears all the time, the ones that always show off his cock. 

 He’s so fucking hot it atually hurts, makes your pussy throb as you crave his touch. It’s an awful feeling honestly, but even worse than that is the way you miss him. You aren’t supposed to miss him. You’re just supposed to be friends who have sex. Nothing more than that.

 It's why you’re glad to go back to school. Your classes will distract you, keep you from thinking about him too much. The semester is shorter during the summer, so you have to work even harder than you do during fall and spring. You don’t really think it’ll be a problem since you’re trying to cram your brain full of anything other than Mike which is great motivation for studying. 

 Nothing is gonna get you off track, you tell yourself. Nothing will interfere with your studies. That’s the plan.

 Then, you meet Zeke Jaeger. 

* You're studying in the library. It seems like you spend most of your time here, nice and quiet and empty. The campus isn't nearly as busy in the summer as it is during the rest of the school year. No parties, no sporting events, just you alone with your books. 

 It's nice. Most of the time. A little boring but mostly nice. 

 Your eyes are getting tired, and when you check your phone, you realize why. It's almost eleven PM, meaning you've been studying for about six hours. You've had longer nights, usually spent on the phone getting quizzed on the information you're learning with a few breaks in between, but that wasn't the case tonight as Mike had to spend the day with family from out of town. 

 It's okay. You're supposed to be distancing yourself anyway. 

 Taking a deep breath, you pack up your books and slide your laptop into your bag, then stand and swing it over your shoulder. 

 The strap is too long. The bag swings too hard, and your heart sinks when you hear a little grunt followed by a, "Agh, hot!" 

 Turning with wide eyes, you immediately start apologizing, "I'm so sorry, oh my god, fuck, I'm so sorry!"

 A head of light blond hair looks up from the brown stain on his white t-shirt, icy blue eyes narrowed behind wire-rimmed glasses, but when he sees the mortification on your face, his own expression softens, and he chuckles. 

 "It's fine. You can calm down."

 You're still breathing heavily, guilt making your hands shake, but he really doesn't look angry. In fact, he's grinning now, eyebrows raised like he's amused. 

 The longer you stare at him, the more familiar he looks. You're pretty sure you've seen him before. Many times before, actually, and then it clicks that this guy is on the front page of the school website. You see him every fucking time you log in, looking much more stern than he does now. Baseball hat and jersey, mitt on one hand as he hides his other in it, and yeah, you know him. 

 "You're Zeke Jaeger."

 He makes a face, scrunching his nose up and squinting. "Yeeeeah, I guess I am."

 Best pitcher in the college league despite being a sophomore like you. He's beaten the records of some major league players. 

 You don't give a fuck about baseball, have never even been to any of the school's games, but you've been hearing about Zeke since the last season. You've learned to tune it out because, again, no shits given (and also you're much more partial to lacrosse now), but he's hard to ignore when he's staring you right in the face. 

 "Well, uh," you try to act casual. It's something you're pretty good at these days. "Cool."

 He snorts, picking his shirt off his chest to air it out like it'll help, then says, "I don't know your name, though."

 You run your tongue over your teeth, wondering why he cares, then introduce yourself. 

 "Oh, you're Zacharias' little girlfriend, aren't you?"

 Your stomach flips at the mention of him. 

 "We're not dating."

 Zeke cocks his head to the side. "No?"

 "No. Just friends."

 He hums but doesn't say anything, and your eyes are once again drawn to his chest as he fans over the stain. 

 "Okay, let me get you a new shirt or something," you try. 

 He laughs again. "I highly doubt you've got a men's shirt tucked in that bag of yours, sweetheart."

 "I—" you pout for a second, mumble, "Okay, yeah, fair point."

 "Another coffee, though," he muses out loud. "Wouldn't be the worst thing."

 You shoot him a finger gun and smack your lips. "On it. Where do you get coffee at eleven o'clock?"

 "I'll walk with you," he states more than offers. 

 Then, you're both leaving the library, leaving campus, and going to a little 24 hour cafe where you blow on lattes and cover the basics about each other—philosophy major, valedictorian of his high school class, playing baseball since age seven, etc. You should sleep. You should get ready for another long day of studying.  

 But it's hard to make good decisions when Zeke Jaeger is smirking at you from across the table like you're the most interesting thing he's ever seen. 

* Zeke gets your number that night. You're not exactly sure how, but he does. 

 Then he doesn’t text you for three days. It doesn’t bother you that much. You figure he has other things to focus on. He’s on campus to take a couple courses and practice for the upcoming season, so he’s probably just busy. If that night had just been a one-off, it’s fine with you. It was cool to talk to him, but your heart isn’t broken.

 These are all the thoughts and justifications running through your head when you’re in class on Tuesday and your phone lights up during the PowerPoint lecture. You glance down, expecting Mike or Hitch, but it’s an unknown number instead. Eyes flicking from the projection screen to your much tinier one, you slide to open the message and chew on your lip. 

 Hey, it’s Zeke. You have classes this afternoon?

 You do not. And, you are too quick to tell him that.

 He takes you to a little Mom and Pop restaurant, too far to walk so you end up riding in the black Bronco he drives, trying to convince yourself that it definitely does not make him any more attractive to you. Because you aren’t attracted to him in the first place. Right?

 You sit at a table for two eating paninis and fruit. Zeke asks how classes are going, you ask about practice, and as you talk, he gets that look in his eyes again, like you amuse him or interest him or something.

 It confuses you, and for a moment, you’re taken back to last fall at that first Pi Kappa Alpha party, the one you met Mike at when he tried to get you to shotgun a beer. God, he had been so obnoxious back then, always following you around and flirting and—

 “You listening, sweetheart?”

 Your eyes refocus on the man in front of you, his raised eyebrows and little smirk. “Looks like you’re a million miles away. Sorry if I’m boring you.”

 “No, no,” you try to defend. “I just zoned out for a second. Realized I, uh, got an answer wrong on the quiz I took today.”

 “That sucks,” he hums. “Anyway, I can stop talking about baseball.”

 “It’s okay. Just go over the last, like, ten seconds,” you say with a laugh, hoping your cheeks will stop burning sooner rather than later.

 Zeke chuckles and does just that, doesn’t seem irritated or put out. He tells you about how he has a new trainer this year to warm him up and make sure his throwing arm is in top shape. “I hope he’s as good as my last. Colt was always on it, knew exactly how hot to make the warm compresses and how cold to make the ice packs. Stuff like that. He learned my needs.”

 You both laugh, and if it was anyone else, you’d have an innuendo sliding off your tongue, but for some reason, you don’t think Zeke would want to hear it, like he’d be unimpressed with your vulgar humor. 

 Back at the college, he drives you to your dorm, explaining that he lives in the apartments on the other side of campus and wouldn’t want to make you walk that far. Then, as you slide out of the Bronco, he stops you with a smooth, “Hey,” that makes you look over your shoulder at him. “Make sure you save my number in your phone, okay? I’ll text you soon.”

 The way your stomach flips is worrisome, a feeling you’re only used to when you’re with…

 “Yeah, okay.”

 He grins widely and nods, then waits for you to get a good distance away from the car before driving off.

 No distractions, you’d said. It’ll be good for your focus, you’d said. 

 What a fucking joke. 

*

Mike has to help you with some homework that weekend. You can hear his smile through the phone, snort when he makes his little nerd jokes, then sigh when he gets to the actual subject and explains it to you without a problem. His brain is incredible, and when you think about it too hard, it makes you warm inside. 

 “You’re so fucking smart. Why don’t you let people know?”

 “Maybe I just want you to know,” he chuckles. “You think I wanna spend my days tutoring every idiot who needs help?”

 “Miche, did you just call me an idiot?”

 You hear another breathy laugh followed by a sigh. “I have many, many names for you, but ‘idiot’ isn’t one of them.”

 “Oh yeah?” You play. “And, what might those other names be?”

 He lists a few, all of them making your face flush and your body tingle, and before you know it, you’ve got your pants off and your fingers between your legs. You can hear Mike’s heavy breathing on the other end, the wet sound of his hand stroking his lubricated cock, and when you reach your climax, you moan out your usual, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, Miche.” 

 He tumbles down right behind you, panting and telling you in a voice of disbelief, “Jesus, it just keeps coming.” It makes the pulses of your orgasm even stronger, remembrance of all the times he’s painted you in white, and God, you are so ready for him to get back to the school.

 Then, there’s the voice in the back of your head that makes you think maybe it’s better that he’s gone for now, that he might not be too pleased that you’re spending time with another guy. But, it’s not like things with Zeke are going anywhere. You wouldn’t even call him a friend. You text on and off, have brunch or lunch or coffee depending on the time of day. 

 And, yeah, he calls you pet names, tells you that you look nice even when you’re just in leggings and a t-shirt, talks about his family and…

 Okay, it could potentially lead to something more, but it’s only been a week, and considering his golden boy status, he could have anyone he wants, so why would he even be interested in you in any way, shape, or form?

 Naturally, your thoughts circle back to Mike and the way he could have any girl on his arm, but he still chooses to spend time with you. To fuck you. To nearly confess his feelings to you. You have to wonder if you’re emitting some kind of scent or beacon, if there’s a sign hanging above your head with an arrow pointing down. Sports gods, come get a piece. 

 If only you’d never gone to that party. If you had just kept your head down like you had freshman year. Your life would be so much easier now.

 But now you’re in Zeke’s apartment listening to him rant about some philosopher you’ve never even heard of. He’s gesturing with his hands, flipping curling, blond bangs from his face, and whenever he pauses to think, he scratches his beard. He’s very fond of the white t-shirts and jeans get-up, sometimes switches it up and wears a button down under a sweater vest. Both looks are becoming of him no matter how much you try to deny it, but when he drops down onto the couch next to you and peers into your god damn soul with those piercing, blue eyes, you have to choke back a dreamy sigh.

 What is happening to you?

 “So, what do you think about it?” He asks, looking hopeful that you might have some insight on this matter.

 But, you simply laugh and shake your head. “Zeke,” you start. “I’m gonna be real honest with you here. I didn’t understand a fucking thing you just said.”

 You assume he’ll be disappointed, maybe tire of you since you can’t be as intellectually stimulating as he’d like you to, but Zeke exhales in a lighthearted sort of way, shows one of those amused smiles, and tells you, “You’re cute.”

 Anyone else and you would have snapped back, something along the lines of, don’t fucking patronize me, but with Zeke, all you can do is stare at him and let your lips part, silently asking for something you won’t speak out loud.

 His gaze moves to your mouth for a split second. That soft smile turns into one of his famous smirks. Then, he’s back on his feet and asking, “You wanna go to dinner?”

 You are more than relieved at the shift in atmosphere, but your heart is still beating too hard as you follow him downstairs and to his car. 

* Summer is passing quickly. Too quickly. The eleven week classes are kicking your ass, or are close to kicking your ass. Lucky for you, you have your own private tutor just a call or text away. Mike helps you, and you laugh and goof around, shoot off innuendo after innuendo, but the phone sex slows to a halt eventually. You tell him that you’re tired, and you are. It isn’t a lie. But, it also isn’t the full truth.

 Between classes when you could be resting, you’re eating out with Zeke. Or, watching him and the rest of the baseball team practice for the upcoming season. Or, sitting in his apartment, watching movies and chatting about all manner of things. Nothing important, of course—there’s no diving deep into your life story like you had done with Mike over Spring Break, but Zeke still learns the little things about you. Why you’re majoring in geosciences and how you became good friends with some of the Pike guys. You don’t give him the full details on that one—that you got blackout drunk and fucked Mike and just couldn’t stop. You don’t think Zeke would be interested in hearing about it anyway.

 You learn a bit about his dad and stepmom, the latter of whom he isn’t very fond of. He also has a little brother who’ll be attending the college starting this fall, and he’s interested in the Greek life. Naturally, you build PKA up. Even if there are some… Problematic people in the house, there are also a lot of really good guys. 

 “I’ll make sure to pass it along to him,” Zeke tells you one evening as you’re both sprawled on the couch, backs against the armrests as you face each other. It’s how he seems to prefer to sit when the TV isn’t on. When you asked him why, he had told you, “Just like looking at you,” and you didn’t know how to respond. You still don’t know how to respond.

 “Eren thinkin’ about joining any sports?” You ask now. “Does baseball run in the family or anything?”

 Zeke snorts. “Kid couldn’t hit a baseball even if it was on one of the t-ball stands.”

 “I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.”

 “I would say he’s more academically inclined, but,” Zeke sighs. “That would be a lie.”

 You can never tell if he actually likes his brother. Most of the time he complains about him, but every once in a while he’ll bring up something cute Eren did as a little boy, and you see a fond glimmer in his light eyes. 

 “Anyway,” Zeke waves off the subject and transitions to a new one—one that makes your stomach drop. “Are you gonna tell Zacharias about us?”

 You choke on your own spit, leaning forward to cough a couple times, then challenge him with a nervous laugh, “I wasn’t aware there was anything to tell him.”

 Zeke tilts his head, mouth pulling up as he raises his eyebrows. “Come on,” he chuckles.

 “Come on, what?” You frown. If you were with Mike, you both would have died at that. Come on my face, you can hear him say, and you have to fight a smile because there’s absolutely no way you could explain that to the man in front of you.

 “You don’t have to play coy, sweetheart. We both know there’s something going on between us.” He says it with such confidence that even if he wasn’t right you wouldn’t be able to argue with him. The assumption should annoy you, should make you scoff and leave, but instead you sit there staring, caught up in his gaze and cocky grin.

 “I—”

 “It’s okay, you know. Not like you’re alone in this.”

 Those questions swim through your mind again, all the insecurities that you’ve been sorting through with Mike, but now that voice is louder because that sense of trust hasn’t formed yet. You’ve only connected with Zeke over meals and movies. It sounds domestic, but despite your apparently obvious attraction to him, you still don’t feel like you really know him. 

 But, he draws you in, like a moth to a flame. You can’t help it. There’s just something about him that makes you want him to like you, like you want to impress him, like you want to be good for him. You’ve been trying to ignore those thoughts, but they’re much harder to fight now that you’re sitting in front of him, taking in his wavy hair and pale blue eyes, that ever present smirk on his face, the curve of his neck that disappears into his shirt.

 He could just want sex. He could just want a fling. Wait for everyone to get back on campus and drop you for another girl. You tell yourself you wouldn’t care; you’re good at keeping things casual.

 Wouldn’t it be fun to be his arm candy for a while, though? Let people look at you and whisper louder than they did when they’d see you and Mike together? You don’t care about status, about being in the spotlight. It’s more for the experience, dating someone who could teach you things.

 Mike teaches you things, that voice pops up again. He’s been helping you with your work for almost a year now. You can’t just overlook that. 

 “What, are you weighing the pros and cons over there or something?”

 You snort. “Maybe. We still don’t really know each other all that well, Zeke.”

 “Might I remind you that we’ve been hanging out all summer? Did you honestly think it wouldn’t lead to anything more?”

 “Honestly,” you mimic, “I never thought you’d be interested.”

 “Why wouldn’t I be?” His brow furrows like he’s genuinely confused. “You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re cute.” 

 God, you can’t even count how many times he’s called you ‘cute’, how many times it’s made you blush over the last several weeks, just like it does now.

 Then, he pushes, “Do you not find me at—”

 “Of course I do,” you cut him off. “I don’t know who doesn’t, which is exactly why I don’t know where this is coming from.”

 Zeke sighs like he’s annoyed, then turns the hand on his thigh palm up and beckons you with two fingers. “Come here.”

 “What?”

 “Come here.”

 Your blood pressure spikes, breaths coming in little puffs that have no way of getting to your brain. It’s probably why you obey, rolling to your knees and clumsily crawling over to him. You stop short, right between his bent knees, but Zeke sits up, straightens his legs, and pulls you into his lap.

 More of that precious air leaves your lungs as you exhale too sharply, staring at him with huge eyes. You don’t know what’s happening, can’t believe it’s happening. It doesn’t feel real even as you rest your hands on his shoulders, even when he holds your hips and pulls you so that your full weight is on him, but fuck, you can’t say anything. You can’t make a sound. All you can do is wait for him to make his next move.

 “Why do you look scared?” His voice is just above a whisper, but at this proximity you can hear him without a problem. 

 “I don’t have a lot of experience sitting in men’s laps,” you manage, trying to keep your usual careless tone, but you doubt it works.

 “For some reason I don’t believe that.”

 You rear back, actually offended. “Excuse m—”

 That ire, however, melts away as quickly as it arose. Zeke slides fingers up your waist, all the way to the back of your neck to bring your face to his—your lips to his. 

 He feels different, not at all what you’re used to. His kiss is more demanding, hungry, and God, you still can’t breathe, can’t think straight because his tongue is moving past your lips, and you’re letting it, letting him taste you as your fingertips dig into the flesh of his shoulders. You lift yourself from him just a little only for Zeke to pull you back down with the hand still gripping your hip. He makes sure you feel him when he grinds up into you, the zipper of his jeans rubbing you through your little shorts so that you gasp into his mouth. 

 You both stay like that for what feels like a fucking eternity, biting and sucking on lips, stroking over each others’ tongues until you absolutely have to break apart. You’re panting now, body still tense on top of his, and Zeke stares at you with half-lidded eyes and shows the ghost of a smile.

 “Oh, I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

 The statement sets you on fire, so much so that all you can do is whimper quietly and lean in for more. 

  And, as you get lost in Zeke Jaeger, you decide for yourself.

I need to tell Mike

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