#top shelf chapter 20

[lysreadsbookssometimes]

I am working on the next chapter of my WIP and have probably just written the best joke I have ever written and will ever write. I peaked.

It's an exchange between Nightwing and Red Robin, following a joke about Nightwing wanting to keep Red an innocent child in his brain.

Red glares at Nightwing. “You know I am an adult, right?” “Not if I refuse to acknowledge that you age.” “You cannot ignore that I age.” “Watch me.”

I am very proud of myself for that one, ngl

[treatmelikeasmut]

The Artist and the Engineer Part 1//Chapter Three//Pose Reference

<<PREV Master List NEXT>>

Pairing: Viktor x Fem!Artist!Reader

Series Synopsis: Heimerdinger wants a commemorative painting done of Viktor, who is not fond of the idea.

Chapter Synopsis: Viktor and the artist are back for their second session. He's being far more cooperative this time. But it seems the artist may have something to hide.

Word Count: 4.3k

Author’s Note: I'm still debating how I want to flip-flop between Viktor and reader. If it's going to be every other chapter, or if it's just going to be however the flow feels right.

Don’t forget to like, comment, and reblog your favorite fics ❤️

~*~*~

You were late.

Super, incredibly late.

You’d gotten in the zone; playing music, working on a commissioned painting. You’d completely lost track of time. It was so easy for it to slip away like that. When you finally decided to take a break, the clock on the wall read five after two. Your apartment was ten minutes from campus if you ran like your life depended on it.

People clogged up the roads and sidewalks, which definitely didn’t help your situation. Some people yelled after you as you shoved through the crowd. You knew all too well the consequences of being late to appointments. You were just glad the spring thaw had finally seemed to be staying. The breeze no longer held its icy bite.

Still, sweat trickled down your spine as you finally made your way through the entry arch of the academy. You paused briefly, shielding your eyes as they hunted for the clock tower. It read 20 after. Cursing under your breath, you hustled towards the main door.

Standing just outside was a familiar face, Fallon, one of your friends who was still working through her undergraduate studies. Usually recognizable by her sizable stack of long, dark curls. She smiled, waving as she called you over. You returned the greeting.

“Hey, how’s it going?” you rushed.

“I just got out of of class, I have a before hours before my next one starts. You want to get lunch?”

“I would, but I have an appointment to keep and I’m running super behind!” You were already halfway through the door. “I’m so sorry, I swear, we’ll catch up soon! I’ll see you later"!”

Fallon called something after you, but it was lost when the door shut. You speed walked down the main corridor, and then turned into the hall that would take you towards the art wing. When you were sure there was no one around, you broke into a jog. You knew Heimerdinger’s assistant didn’t want to be doing this as it was. Being late was not going to help your case any.

Taking a moment, you caught your breath and wiped your sweaty forehead with a clean rag. You could only hope you weren’t too disheveled. Regardless of the paint stains on your clothes, you still had to appear somewhat professional. Running in soaked with sweat and panting was not the way to do that.

You were surprised to see Viktor already in the studio. Well at home on the chaise and deeply engrossed in his book. His long legs were stretched across the cushion, one cross over the other. He didn’t look up as you shuffled passed.

“You’re late,” Viktor observed, not unkindly.

“Yeah,” you panted, “Sorry - give me a moment and I’ll be ready.”

You hurried into the side room, and barely caught his words, “Take your time.”

In the side room, there was a wall of cubies. Each about as wide as your wing span and stretched about a foot over your head. They all had a wide shelf at the top and drawer in the bottom. Some of them were filled to the brim with covered canvases, others held only a sketch pad or an easel, most of them were empty. You were grateful the academy even had a reserved space for alumni artists. Not everyone had the space or the money to have a studio. You had a small corner where you kept your easel and paints in your own apartment. The entrance to your balcony was there, so it offered the best light. Just not the best view, since it over looked one of Piltover’s side roads.

You made your way to the one with a scrap of paper reading your name that had been stapled to the wooden surface. Tossing your bag into the bottom drawer, you dragged out your sketch pad, along with the pouch that held erasers, pencils, and a sharpener. Quickly double checking that no sticky fingers had made off with your extra supplies. Double counted your rolls of paper. Made sure your spare easel and the canvas you’d be using was all accounted for. That canvas was going to need prepped soon. That mental note got tacked to the back of your mind.

“Alright!” you sighed loudly, rounding back into the main studio. “Are we ready to start?”

Viktor looked up at you then, slotting a place holder into his book. His sharp eyes didn’t miss a beat, immediately zeroing in on your non-dominate hand. Narrowing as he studied it.

“Rough day yesterday?” he asked plainly.

You glanced down at the splint bound to your hand with white cloth. It held your ring finger and pinky straight. In the back of your mind, you could still hear the sickening sound of them breaking. Hastily, you shoved your hand in the big pocket of your overalls. You tried very hard not to wince at the pain.

“Something like that,” you told him. You tried to laugh, but it came out strained.

Viktor continued to watch you, as if he were waiting for you to elaborate. It left you feeling a bit like a specimen under a microscope. When you offered nothing he opened his mouth. Then closed it again. Finally, his gaze moved elsewhere.

It didn’t keep the shadows of the Alumni Studio from being oppressive, however. They sat heavy on your shoulder. Squeezed your lungs far too tightly. Making you itch for more than the dusty light coming in the high windows.

“Would you be too terribly opposed to sitting outside today?” you asked, then gestured behind you. “There’s a door not far that takes us to one of the inner court yards. It’s nice enough today.”

“Wherever you will have me.” Viktor shrugged, bringing his gaze back to you. Then he seemed to realize just how his wording came out. Clearing his throat, his ears reddened. Quickly, he corrected, “That is, wherever you wish me to sit.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. He was kind of cute when he was embarrassed. You swiftly erased that thought. “This way.”

Viktor trailed after you as you lead him out the side door and into another long hall lined on one side with windows. It was quiet between you, just the clink of his cane on the floor to let you know he hadn’t run off. A chill chased from the nape of your neck down your spine.

Finally, you came across the door to the court yard. The entire thing was relatively bare. Just a large circle carved from the same white stone as the rest of the building. There were a few low benches with arms, along with a sprinkle of large basins full of shrubs and moss. A couple trees grew from well maintained raised beds. You lead Viktor to your favorite one.

“Here,” you said, pointing to a bench backed by neat bushes.

Viktor sat, then you went to the edge of the low planter wall opposite him. You were both covered by the shade of a tall tree. It was just starting to sprout lively green leaves. You flipped to a new page in the pad. Then rifled through your pouch until your found your favorite pencil.

“I thought we would figure out your pose today,” you said, tapping the end of the pencil against the paper.

Viktor raised an eyebrow. “My pose?”

“Yes.” You nodded. “I want to do sketches of potential ones. It’ll help us figure out what will look best. - We also have to consider how comfortable it will be for you. I know what I’m thinking of, but did you have anything in mind?”

“I wouldn’t know -” Viktor awkwardly folded his hands in his lap.

“Try this.” You laughed a little, then moved to the edge of the wall, setting your stuff beside you. You adjusted your posture to be ramrod straight, your body set at an angle with your hands at waist height, cradling air. “Obviously you’ll be holding your book.”

Viktor tried his best to mirror your posture. Glancing at you, eyes flickering over your body. You knew it could be awkward. It was never easy posing people, it often felt too staged.

“Like this?” he asked.

You relaxed, taking a moment to check. Your mind was already doing a preliminary painting. But something wasn’t quite right. You stood, going to him.

“Almost, do you mind if I - ?”

Viktor looked at you for a long moment, then shook his head. “No, no - go right ahead.”

You nodded, then carefully covered the backs of his hands with your own palms. Applying just enough pressure with your fingers to guide him. His hands were smooth and chilled under your touch. You pulled the book a bit farther away from his chest, giving the pose some breathing room. “Hold that there. - Now this is going to feel unnatural, but I’m going to adjust your elbow. Now tilt the book itself back a little bit. We need a nice silhouette.”

You stepped away, looking him over one more time. Still just almost. You hummed, tapping a finger on your chin with the other resting on your hip. Viktor pursed his lips as you took his chin between the knuckle of your forefinger and your thumb. Guiding it to where it needed to be to follow the lines of his body.

“Now turn your hips out just a bit more,” you uttered. He followed suit without a word.

Once more, you stepped away to check composition. Perfect, except for his expression. His brows were furrowed as he stared very intensely at the pages. Without thinking, you placed your thumb between his brows. Trying to get him to relax. You’d done this before, many times, trying to get people’s expressions just right. You felt him go still under your touch, but the creased immediately went away in his surprise.

“Sorry.” You pulled your hand away. “I should’ve asked if it was fine to touch your face.”

“Don’t apologize,” Viktor muttered, glancing at your very briefly. “You simply me caught me by surprise. That is all.”

You were surprised that he was being far more cooperative today. You wondered what had changed in the last two days. Maybe Heimerdinger had said something. As long as it wasn’t about your deal, you’d be fine with whatever he had to say to get Viktor to sit until the portrait was complete. You needed this. Desperately.

“Hold this pose for a minute.”

You returned to your seat, pulling the drawing pad into your lap. You did a quick gesture drawing. Getting the lines right, carving out the silhouette with the side of your pencil. A few places needed smudged with the pad of your finger, blending until it felt right. You saw his hands begin to shake.

“Okay, you can relax,” you told him.

Viktor’s entire body slumped, then he stretched with his arms over his head. You had to admit, he was nice to look at. Long and lithe, the light carved out his features in a way you hoped you could recreate and highlighted the warm undertones in his hair. You looked back down at your sketch. You definitely hadn’t been exaggerating when you told Heimerdinger Viktor had nice features that you couldn’t wait to put on canvas. You laughed to yourself, thinking of your conversation with the professor.

“What is so funny?” Viktor asked lightly. “I most certainly hope my posing wasn’t that horrid.”

You looked up, surprised to see him bent slightly over you. Eyes on what you’d drawn. The intensity of them almost made you bashful about your work.

You shook your head. “Not you, just thinking of something I’d told Heimerdinger.”

Viktor hummed. “Nothing too awful, I hope.”

You chuckled again. “Only that I was glad you didn’t have fur.”

“Really?” Viktor asked, clearly amused.

“It took much longer to paint him because of it. He got a good laugh out of it, though.” You shrugged. “I forgot to ask - how was your day yesterday?”

Viktor straightened up, leaning on his cane. You would have to remember to sketch it. It was a nice cane, finely crafted. You wanted to make sure you got it right when you painted it.

“Eehhh…” Viktor’s eyes bounced as he searched for the right word. “Productive.”

You smiled at him. “I’m glad. I don’t want you to get too behind in your work.”

“Worry not, my partner is seeing to things in my absence.” Viktor hovered, hand readjusting on his cane. His gaze had settled on the branches over head. “I also had some time to reflect. I want to apologize for my behavior - I must not have made a good first impression.”

“It’s fine, really. I know how Heimerdinger can be. I thought he told you. I can’t really blame you for acting the way you did. So, no apology needed.” You stood, if only for something to do.

“Then let us begin anew. On the proper foot, this time.” He held out his hand. “I am Viktor, assistant to the Dean of the Academy and Hextech researcher. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

You found the effort endearing. You took his hand in yours, shaking it as you reintroduced yourself. “Recent University of Piltover graduate. Semi-professional in portraiture. It’s nice to make your acquaintance. I look forward to painting you, I’m very glad that you are not furry.”

Viktor gave you a real smile this time. It was nice to see. It suited him, opened up his face. Making you feel warm inside. You tried to shut that feeling down immediately. But you couldn’t help admiring the boyish charm in it.

“Now, shall we continue?” he asked.

You nodded towards the bench. “Be my guest.”

You walked him through a few more poses. A couple were an immediate ‘no.’ Either they just didn’t look natural on him, or he said it would be too difficult to maintain for long periods. By the end of it, you had settled for something simple. He would sit reclined against the back cushion, one arm resting on the arm of the lounge, the other holding his book. His legs would be crossed, with his left ankle resting on his right knee. Carefully keeping his brace from digging into his skin.

You considered this session a success.

When the clock announced three, you stood to stretch out your back. You were expecting Viktor to take his leave like a rabbit sprung from a trap. Instead, he sat and observed as you began to pack your things.

“Well, that’s the hour,” you announced. Wondering if he was waiting for a proper dismissal. “I figure I won’t keep you longer, I was the one who was late after all.”

“Actually,” started Viktor, “I find I have some spare time. I can stay another hour, if it’s needed.”

You paused. “Are you sure? You don't have to do that.”

He nodded. “Jayce can suffice another hour without me.”

“Alright then.” You couldn’t help but grin. “Since we've figured out your pose, I was wondering if it was okay to sketch your cane?”

Viktor glanced at where it laid next to him on the bench. “My cane?”

“For the painting.”

His expression was unreadable. “You want to include it?”

“Yes?” You cocked your head. “Why wouldn't I? Unless you don’t want it to be? - It’s your picture, at the end of the day. Heimerdinger is just sponsoring it. We don’t have to include anything you don’t want..”

“I -” Viktor frowned a touch, as if the idea had never occurred to him. He sighed. “That is perfectly fine.”

You sat on the ground in front of the bench. Viktor held the cane upright, turning it when you asked. You made little notes about colors, and where it was dullest from being held. All while being under his sharp gaze. You wondered what he was thinking. If he resented you at all, even though you were just hired to do a job.

“So…” Viktor cleared his throat. “Your fingers - what happened?”

Your whole body went rigid, freezing mid-sketch. You carefully avoided his eyes. Shaking your head, your forced yourself to keep drawing. “Nothing. I was clumsy. Tripped, landed on my hand wrong.”

A moment of silence, then a small hum. “At least it was not your other one.”

You muttered to the paper, “Not yet anyway.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I asked,” you stated louder, “will you tilt that to right a bit?”

Viktor obliged, though the movement was hesitant. You studied the cane intently. Trying not to meet his eyes. He had to know you were lying. That excuse hadn’t even sounded convincing to you. A few more minutes ticked by in silence.

“Tell me,” Viktor started again, “do you have a preference for coffee or tea?”

That one did make you look up. He ran a finger along the rail of the stone bench, watching you from the corner of his eye. The amber of them burning in a patch of sun. You told him your preference, to which he hummed. You searched your mind for something to ask him.

“So,” you started, “what all do you do for Heimerdinger?”

“Many things.” Viktor shrugged, as if it was the most uninteresting question in the world. “I do anything he asks.”

“I’ve heard you and Jayce Talis are the founders of Hextech. All the revolutionary stuff that’s appeared the last few years has been because of you. Is that true?”

Slowly, Viktor nodded. “He took the first steps, then together we built.”

“Then it’s no wonder that Heimerdinger wants your portrait done,” you started, a bit awestruck. “It’s not everyday this sort of thing comes along. - We’ll have to include something of it in your painting. Make sure everyone knows your face, too.”

“Right.” Viktor shifted in his seat. You pretended not to notice the pink blotches staining his neck. “Ah - I’m not well versed in art. Out of curiosity, how long does this sort of thing usually take? Professor Heimerdinger said this could take months, but surely not…”

“It could - it took me most of the four year graduate program to paint Professor Heimerdinger. The third and fourth year especially since I had to make a presentation to go along with it, but it was also hard to meet with him. Yours shouldn’t take nearly as long,” you told him. Your eyes traced the curves on the cane’s handle, your hand trying to follow along on the paper. “If I can focus, a painting this size takes…80 or 90 hours to complete. That isn’t including color matching and sketching, which could take it well over 100 -”

“100 hours?” Viktor repeated, jaw tight. Any openness that was once there now gone. “That is nearly four months of my time. More if one of us is not available!”

You nodded slowly. “I can try and speed up the process, but there’s no promises with this sort of thing. Some of it, I may not even need you there for.”

Viktor pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, sighing. “No, no - it’s fine. I will just have to accommodate accordingly.”

Your name echoed across the courtyard then and you both flinched. Glancing over your shoulder, you caught sight of Fallon. How had she even seen you? That ever present smile was on her face. She waved, curls bouncing as she jogged over to you.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she laughed. Her eyes turned to Viktor. “Who’s your friend?”

“Not really a friend, more of an acquiantance. This is Viktor, the Dean’s assistant,” you said, “I’ve been commissioned. Sorry - Viktor, this is my good friend Fallon. She’s in her second year of her undergraduate studies.”

He nodded at her. “A pleasure.”

Fallon gasped, gripping your bad hand by the wrist. You hissed softly at the pain, grimacing. She turned your hand palm up, then back over.

“What did you do?” In a second the sweet Fallon was gone, a dark cloud sweeping over her features. She asked in a low voice, “He didn’t do this, did he?”

You tried to pull your wrist away, laughing awkwardly. “No, no, no - nothing like that. This is my own fault. Viktor is…sweet. He’s been very patient with me today.”

Just as quick as it appeared, the storm cloud passed and Fallon was back to her grinning self. Her gold skin practically glowed under the late afternoon sun. The light threading through her dark curls to highlight the red understones. Her eyes danced briefly over your face, then narrowed.

“I know how you can get,” Fallon scolded, releasing your wrist. “Have you eaten today?”

As if on cue, your stomach growled loudly. She put her hands on her hips, foot tapping against the stones. You gave her sheepish smile. “I got in late then was up early. I had some work to do.”

Fallon flicked your forehead. “How many times have I told you -”

“Yes, I know - take care of myself.” You rolled your eyes. “I’ve just…been busy.”

“You are never too busy to care for yourself. - I’ve decided I’m taking you to lunch.” Fallon pulled your arm, hauling you off the ground. Small but mighty, it seemed. “C’mon -”

“But I have to -” you argued, barely keeping a grip on your pencil and pad as you stumbled after her. “Uh - I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then, Viktor!”

You glanced over your shoulder to see him watching you. He almost looked like he was trying not to laugh. That sent a wave of embarrassment through you. You had the strongest urge to stick out your tongue or flick him off. But you didn’t. Just allowing yourself to be pulled out the door, barely being able to waylay her long enough to put your things away and grab your bag.

Fallon found a resturant close to academy for you both. The entire time she gave you a scathing review of your poor habits. But you knew it came from a place of concern. You’d done the same for her a few times. Especially around midterms and finals.

“So, anyway,” Fallon said, the stern tone fading. A mischievous grin took over. “That guy, huh?”

“Viktor?” you asked, taking a bite of your food. “What about him?”

“He was a cutie, wasn’t he?”

“Okay, first off - he’s way too old for you.” You rolled your eyes. Fallon had been unstoppable since she started at the academy. Constantly chasing one guy after the next. “You’re not even twenty yet. He’s like, 26 or 27.”

“As if that would stop me. Besides - I wasn’t thinking about me…” Fallon chuckled. Then licked her finger and rubbed at your cheek. “Hey, did anyone tell you there’s graphite on your face.”

You looked down at where your shiney, grey fingers held your fork. Then scrubbed at your cheek with your shirt sleeve. “Secondly, I haven’t really thought about it.”

She hummed, eyebrows raising briefly. “Liar.”

“I’m not!” You truly hadn’t, whether she believed you or not. “His has some nice lines. His eyes are a nice color -”

“So you’ve just been looking at him like an art project.”

“I guess, yeah.” Your face felt hot, so you swallowed down some ice water. “I can objectively observe someone’s beauty, ya know. You literally have to take an entire class about it.”

“All I’m saying,” Fallon pushed, “is that maybe you should stop looking at him as just a subject.”

You narrowed your eyes at her. “You’re trying to set me up, and you don’t even know him.”

She held her palms up. “There’s more to life than work, that’s all I’m saying. And if you just happen to be able to be in the presence of a cute guy who’s stuck with you until the commission is done…”

“I don't want to make our sessions weird. Also, I already told you that I’m not really looking to date anyone right now.”

Fallon pouted. “But why?! There are so many cuties on campus. You’re just going to ignore them all?”

“I -” There were so many things you wanted to tell her. So many things that were safer if you didn’t. You just wished you at least one person to confide in. “I’m just not looking. I’m so busy with commissions and making sure that I can pay rent. It just wouldn’t be fair to try and balance a relationship. I wouldn’t be able to dedicate enough time. It would end badly. So it’s better off that I don’t.”

Fallon’s gold eyes watched you. They reminded you of Viktor’s a bit, but hers were missing the honey tones. Either way, they didn’t seem to miss a thing.

“You’re hiding something,” she said plainly, “what is it?”

You shook your head. “I’m not involving anyone in my life drama.”

“I’m your friend, you can trust me. I want to help if I can.”

“I know exactly the kind of help I need. - Trust me, I’m already dealing with it.”

“You don’t have to carry this burden alone.” Fallon reached over and touched your arm, staring at you with nauseatingly intense sincerity.

Finally, you sighed, leaned forward in the booth - and whispered to her the whole dirty truth.

____________________________________________________

TAG LIST

@starmansolar @motheroffae @vintagehellfire @seaweedbumblebee @21-princess @starriekaede @local-mr-frog @tspmovro @hexhoess @shushjayvik

[itsriabby]

Mona Lisa - S.H. (Part 1)

actor!steve x makeupartist!reader

Plot: When Steve meets his beloved makeup artist’s replacement, he swears it’s hate at first sight. But… is there truly such a thing?

Trope: enemies x lovers

Warnings: slight slut shaming (Steve is kind of an asshole at first).

Hi!! I thought about trying something new and this came up. I don’t really know if I should continue it so let me know if you like it! Thank youuuu!!!

Main Masterlist | Chapter 2

————————————————————————

“What do you mean she’s not coming?”

Steve was mad. Actually, no, Steve was furious. Angela had been working with him for the first two seasons of the show he was in, and frankly, she’s one of the only people he doesn’t hate in there.

Everyone treats him like this stuck up marionette, either not even looking at him because they’re scared of him, or kissing the ground he walks on, doing things for him like he’s a dummy, as if he can’t take a simple direction. It’s honestly insufferable.

The rest of the cast are nice and all, but he doesn’t really spend much time with them out of character. The only time he felt he could be himself and disconnect for a while was in that chair in the makeup trailer, with that middle-aged woman that treated him like her own son, and who’s now, apparently, getting fired.

“Steve, listen, I get that you’re angry, but she’s not getting the results we were hoping for. This season is filled with gruesome scenes that need some vfx makeup that she’s, quite frankly, not qualified for.” Sam, the showrunner, exhaled, like explaining the situation was a waste of his time.

“How do you know that though? You haven’t even seen-“

“We have. We’ve done a test run on a lot of the looks and even she said herself that it wasn’t “her thing”.” Sam sighed, pinching between his eyes. “Look, she’s been in the business for more than 20 years, and she’s tired of having to learn new advanced techniques to do everything we ask her, she just wants to do the usual screen-ready skin and that’s it.”

“But-“

Sam grabs Steve’s shoulder, softening his expression. “I know you bonded with her. And trust me, I get it, it sucks.” He shrugs nonchalantly “But her job wasn’t to be your friend, it was to do makeup, and it’s not up to par, so she’s out, end of story. Now please do me a favor and go change, the new makeup girl is waiting for you in the trailer.” Sam leaves immediately, leaving Steve to dwell on this unwanted situation.

Not only does he have to come to terms with the fact that Angela won’t be here anymore, he has to deal with the new hire.

He doesn’t want to meet her.

If Angela’s not enough for this, then who did they get to replace her? If 20 years worth of work isn’t good enough, the new “girl” has to be old enough to be her grandma. And he bets she’s one of those stuck up mua’s that stay quiet for two hours and look at you like a project, like you’re a canvas, not a human being. God he really didn’t want to meet her.

No one can compare to Angela. She was real to him, she treated him like he was normal. Plus, he really did see her as a parental figure, and God knows he doesn’t have much of those. But well, as it’s been shown time and time again, everyone leaves him, so what’s one more?

Actually no, that’s not true. Robin’s there, as always. She now has the title “manager” added to “best friend” but honestly, nothing’s changed. She’s always wanted the best for him and held him accountable at the same time, so he couldn’t have imagined someone better for the job.

The kids, Nancy and Jonathan are there too, but he hasn’t really seen them in a long time, and they call as much as they can but it’s not that much. Not that he blames them, they all have their own lives.

He thought making friends in Hollywood would be easier, a fresh start, but its the absolute worst. Not only are the friendships fake and shallow, they have a shelf life of 2 months tops. They adore you and tell you what you wanna hear, and the minute they find their next new shiny friend, you’re out. So he has to admit, he feels pretty lonely.

“Goddamit Steve, I’m not your nanny!” Robin marches into his trailer, walking up to him and yanking him up so he stands up “You were supposed to be in the makeup trailer 30 minutes ago! And that tiny short-tempered producer has been blowing up my ear for 10 minutes straight, so you either go out there or I’ll have to kick his minuscule ass and you’ll face the consequences cause-“

“Ok!ok! I’ll go!” Steve raises his hands, trying to calm her down “i didn’t notice I’d been here so long, I’m sorry.”

Her shoulders slump down and she sighs “It’s ok dingus, I’m sure you’re stressed with all your start-of-the-season shit. Go do your magic and we’ll order takeout tonight, alright?” She gives him a soft smile.

They’ve been roommates for years. It’s been a long time since they’ve passed the point of affording their own place, but L.A. is lonely, so having company at the end of the day is nice.

“Ok. Although I’m not sure if you need that more than I do.” Steve laughs and raises his eyebrows playfully.

“Sure, sure, whatever. Go get your makeup done princess” she ushers him away, pushing him out of his own trailer and shutting the door on his face.

…

When Robin said he was late to makeup, she really wasn’t lying. The trailer was almost empty at that point. A girl was sitting in one of the chairs, but apart from her, completely empty.

He’d never seen that girl before but he’d been told there were new characters this season, so she must be one of them. She’s pretty and around his age, maybe a love interest. She’s also on her phone so she must be waiting for this new makeup artist too.

Who’s nowhere to be seen apparently.

“Not very professional is she?” He jokes, sitting a couple chairs away from her and taking off his jacket.

She jumps a little, obviously not expecting him. Immediately she turns off her phone and tucks it in her jean pocket, looking at him very confused “Sorry?”

He points behind them, where no one is “The new makeup girl, or woman, I guess. Not very professional to be absent on her first day.”

She frowns “Actually-“

“But what do I know? The big guys hired her. She’s probably sucking up to them, figuratively or literally, cause she must be sleeping with one of them to make them fire Angela. She was the best, really, if you’d met her you’d love her. But she’s gone, so we’ll make do with whoever this is, if she shows up that is.” He shrugs, getting comfortable on the chair.

“Unbelievable.” she scoffs.

“Right?” Steve smiles. At last, someone who gets his indignation. It doesn’t hurt that she’s hot, but really, he needed a friend here.

Maybe this is the subject they relate to, and because of this mutual annoyance they end up with a beautiful friendship. Or something more. He hasn’t had action in a while.

You know what they say, nothing brings people closer than a common enemy.

He glimpses through the mirror the new plaque on the wall behind him, reading it out loud. “Wow, even her name sounds pretentious.” He looks at her with a smirk “I’m Steve by the way, what’s your name?”

————————————————————————

Frankie, the older black woman who introduced herself earlier as the hair magician, shouts your name before opening the door to the trailer “Hi honey, I don’t wanna rush you but he has to be ready in 5 minutes.” She nods to Steve.

“It’s alright, tell Erik I’ll be quick.” You pick up your face palette and start mixing shades to get Steve’s color.

Steve fucking Harrington. Who with a quick glance, you can see is shocked to learn you’re the woman he’s been shit-talking about. What an asshole.

You were actually excited to work with him. He was your favorite character in the show and after watching some of the cast’s interviews, you kinda became his fan.

Not anymore.

“Wait. You’re-“ He frowns, trying to understand just how bad he’s fucked up.

“The slut who’s sucked off her way here? In the flesh” You give him a sarcastic smile, before dropping it completely and turning his chair around, facing you.

“I- I thought…”

You start applying light concealer on the reddening areas of his face, not including the blush he’s now sporting. “That I wasn’t her? No shit.”

You continue working under his eyes, making him avoid staring at you.

“You could’ve told me.” he mutters, trying to hide his embarrassment.

“I tried, you were pretty passionate on the subject.”

You thank whoever made the schedule for filming a natural look today, because if you spend much more time with him alone, you can’t promise he’ll come out alive. And it’s not a good look for your first day of work.

He looks down apologetically, feeling guilty for his words in the heat of the moment “Look… I’m sorry for saying what I said, I’m having a really-“

“Shut up.” you cut him off.

He looks taken aback, frowning and looking up to stare at you “Excuse me?”

“Stop talking, I’m trying to do my job.” You mutter nonchalantly, giving him the last touches under his lower lip.

He’s still processing, a disoriented look taking over his face, cause there’s no way someone’s talked to him that way, not after he became who he is now at least.

You put all the makeup back in its place and turn around to face him one last time, “There you go Mona Lisa, you can leave now.” You clap his cheek a couple times without applying pressure, just to piss him off, and point to the door behind him.

He’s still speechless when he leaves the trailer, and when he finishes shooting, and even that night at home, with a slice of greasy pizza between his teeth, he can’t seem to shake off the way you acted, the way you talked to him. It’s like you couldn’t care less about him.

It infuriates him.

It infuriates him so much he spends all night tossing and turning, thinking about you. Cause if you want to play like this, then game on, you have no idea what you started.

[redsrooftopprincess]

Hey so can I possibly get a scenario with Raphael. You know cuz he’s tall. S/o can’t reach the top shelf and she’s like “the universe is humiliating me. Can you get that for me?” It normally happens at the boys house or if they happen to be at a public place. If they can’t see over a fence or they can’t get into the attic even with the ladder. S/o is all pouty and looks at raph and is like “can you lift me?” Raphael can’t fit through their attic cuz he’s too big width wise. S/o is small to where they can get into small places he can’t reach on the flip side? How’s he deal with this?

As someone who is quite short, I'm sure you can imagine how much I enjoyed this. 😈

...

Poetic Justice

"Oh, come on, really???"

You stand there, arms crossed, smirk firmly planted on your features. Somewhere in the ether there's a crash as a table flips upside down. Your smirk becomes a grin.

Tall. He's tall. And when you say "tall," you don't mean tall you mean TALL. And, and I will not apologize for this, he holds it over your head every chance he gets (fight me, I earned that pun).

"Hey, shorty," anytime you show up at the lair, but he means it literally. Purposely putting your coffee mug on the shelf just above where you can reach. It's like it's his job. He lives to torment you.

But now, it's your turn.

You'd arrived just as training was ending, 20 minutes ago. They'd been practicing projectiles, and after the others had cleared out, he dragged you inside to show you this "cool new trick," he learned with a shuriken, which promptly backfired, resulting in said shuriken ending up under the dais which held their Kamidama.

Leo had been giving him grief earlier about losing a shuriken, so there was no way in hell he can ask his brothers for help. You are his only hope.

"Say. It. Again." You demand, grinning.

He sighs heavily, "...This is stupid."

"You're welcome to go ask someone else for help." You say, smugly.

He growls at you. Actually growls. You raise an eyebrow, otherwise unmoved. He groans, "Fine."

You wait patiently.

"Will you please help me..." He says, painfully, "... I can't reach it."

...

What's up my darlings??? I'm back on my bullshit (kind of). The holiday burnout is still strong, but I'm working my way back into writing and whatnot. It'll be sporadic, probably be more vignettes and drabbles than actual fics/chapters, and asks are closed until I can catch up (sorry, I love you, and thank you for your patience to everyone waiting), but I'm HERE DAMNIT!!! 🤘🏻

....

Tag list

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @daedric-sorceress @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo @milykins

[atinymekanie]

The Night We Met - Chapter 10: Let The Light In

|| Premise: What if Dawnbreaker's wish for one day and one night with the woman who lives only in his dreams... came true? ||

| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 |

Slowly, Zayne sat upright on the couch, his hands moving to rest on his knees, staring off into the distance. He would need a plan. Gazing around, he scanned the apartment for anything resembling something to make notes with. A phone, a tablet, even a pen and paper would suffice. Zayne had known the dingy apartment was bare, with not much in the way of décor or furniture or anything that really made it a home, but looking at it now, really looking at it – the barrenness was like a splash of icy water to the face. The hunter really had…nothing.

There were no rugs on the bland linoleum, no pictures or paintings on the walls, just a few areas with peeling paint and water stains on the ceiling. The couch Zayne was sitting on had no throw pillows, no soft blanket draped across the back, like he kept on his sofa. It was the only place to sit down in the apartment, other than the bed in the bedroom, and that fact made it quite apparent that guests were not a common occurrence. If they occurred at all. The table in the kitchen had a bent leg, and one of the few cabinets on the wall in the tiny kitchen area had a broken hinge. The linoleum in the kitchen was peeling up off the floor, like how a picked scab on an old wound might.

His brow furrowed as he continued to look around, glancing at the small, drab stand the TV stood on, noticing something sitting on the bottom shelf. Zayne stood, noticing the stiffness in his limbs, even just from sitting for a little while. That was odd. But then again, this wasn’t his body – not his normal one anyway, and it seemed clear the hunter didn’t take very good care of himself or his nutrition. Heaving a sigh, Zayne moved over to the TV and knelt down in front of it, his scarred hands reaching for the pile of what looked like papers on the lower shelf of the TV stand.

Magazines. Zayne stared down at the faded pages of old magazines as he held the small stack of them in his hands. What could the hunter want with magazines? Sorting through them slowly, he began to realize that they all shared a theme – Linkon City. There were travel magazines, daily gazettes with lifestyle tips and tidbits, and one food and restaurant-related digest. All from what looked to be ages ago, based on the brittle feel of the paper and the faded quality of the pictures. But then why was everything in the photos so…familiar? Zayne realized that it was because he had been to most of the places pictured in them. The museum, the ski resort, the shops and restaurants. Maybe not all of them, but enough to know the places listed in the magazines were from the city where he lived.

Shaking his head, Zayne stuffed the magazines back onto the bottom shelf of the TV stand, trying not to think about the broader repercussions of what that might mean. Now was not the time to get into an existential crisis. Even if the whole day so far already was one. Raising his head, Zayne’s gaze fell onto something he hadn’t noticed previously, sitting in the corner by the window.

The plant sat in the corner of the room, almost behind the TV near the window, nestled in a cheap plastic pot. The main stem was twisted and gnarled, and the leaves that sprouted from the few secondary stems were a dull green, rather than the vibrant color of most plants that Zayne was used to seeing. He moved over to the plant, peering down at it to see if he could figure out what it was, and that was when he saw the small white bud at the top of one of the stems.

“Jasmine.” The sound of his voice breaking the silence almost startled Zayne, the words seeming to ricochet back towards him after careening off the blank walls of the apartment. How did the hunter have a jasmine plant, of all things? And why? Reaching out, he tapped his finger against the soil, testing it. Way too dry. Zayne stood, stepping quickly into the bathroom and grabbing the cup from the sink. He filled the cup with water and returned to the plant, gazing down at it.

As he went to pour the water into the soil of the potted plant, Zayne paused, glancing at the water in the cup. Remembering how bad the tap water had tasted that morning, he frowned as his gaze moved back to the little jasmine plant. Perhaps that was the reason for its stunted growth and dull color. The water quality truly was terrible. Pursing his lips, he walked back to the kitchen area and dumped the water in the cup into the sink, watching as it swirled and gurgled its way down the drain.

Zayne stepped over to the table where the bottle of unflavored water sat, already about half empty. Hesitating for only a moment, he then nodded and filled the cup with the clean, filtered water, about to take it back over to the little plant in the corner. He stopped mid-step, suddenly wondering why he was bothering to care for a plant that wasn’t his, in an apartment that wasn’t his, in a body that wasn’t his, in a world that wasn’t his… Or was it? Zayne shook his head firmly – he had already decided he wouldn’t go down that line of thought again. Not while he still had to focus on the here and now. Whenever that might be.

His gaze returned to the sad little plant in the corner, the leaves drooping in the dim light from the sole window. With a sigh, Zayne walked over to the plant and knelt down beside it, pouring the water into the dry soil. The water sat on top of the soil for a second, then was greedily absorbed, disappearing faster than he had expected. A small crease appeared between his eyebrows as he realized just how dehydrated the soil, and therefore the plant, must be.

Retrieving the bottle from the table, Zayne brought it back over to the jasmine plant, tilting it slowly and watching as the water trickled from the mouth of the bottle and splashed over the leaves, dripping down onto the dirt beneath. Droplets shone in the wan light, sparkling as they fell through the air and bounced over the leaves and stems, finally sinking into the soil to nurture the roots of the tiny bit of life. Part of him realized that if he gave the plant all the water, he would have to go out and get more before the day was done. But he had to go out later anyway, didn’t he? Besides, nurturing life was important. Especially in a place where it was already so scarce.

Watching closely as the soil sucked up the water, Zayne waited until some of the liquid pooled on the surface of the dirt, then raised the bottle upright to pause the stream. Only a quarter of the bottle left. He would definitely need to buy more before the day was out. He glanced back down at the jasmine, reaching out his other hand to gently brush one finger against the small white bud. The fact that it could still manage to flower in such unforgiving conditions was a testament to its strength and perseverance.

Both of which were qualities he would need if he wanted to survive the rest of this nightmare. Zayne drew a hand down over his face, his gaze moving to the window, the glass grimy and smudged. He lifted the bottle of water to his lips and downed the rest of it as he stared out at the alleyway beyond the dirty windowpane. Now that the sun was more overhead, a lot more light filtered down into the alley, and therefore also into the small apartment. The little plant would never receive direct sunlight due to the angle of the buildings around the apartment, but thankfully jasmines didn’t need direct sunlight to thrive. More light wouldn’t hurt, though.

Turning around, Zayne moved back to the kitchen area, searching for a cloth or towel of some kind, even a sponge would work. He found a small drawer filled with different-sized towels, mostly hand towels, and selected one at random. Dousing it in water from the tap, he returned to the window and began to wipe it down, wanting to provide the little plant with as much light as the one window would allow. After a few moments of effort, Zayne realized that he wasn’t making much headway – most of the grime seemed to be on the outside, in the form of mildew.

Grimacing, Zayne turned toward the door, the soft blip sound from the bedroom suddenly making itself known again. Of course. Well, he needed to get used to setting foot outside, if he was going to do something about that wretched dot. This was as good a way to acclimate as any. He made his way over to the door, taking a deep breath before opening it and moving as though plunging into cold water.

As before, nothing happened when he stepped past the threshold, other than that same odd smell assaulting his nostrils, and Zayne suddenly felt a bit self-conscious of how apprehensive he was to be outside. Still, he couldn’t shake off the visceral fear that churned through him at being in the place from his literal nightmares. No amount of understanding of human physiology and psychology would stop the knee-jerk reaction that came with that realization. He gazed around the alleyway for a moment, reassuring himself of its definite lack of anyone including Wanderers, then stepped off the stoop and set about cleaning the window of the mildew and muck that had piled up on the glass.

Once finished, Zayne stepped back and tried to admire his handiwork. While the glass wasn’t completely clear, it was much less dirty and only slightly streaky. Much more light would be able to reach the jasmine now. He nodded decisively, then went back inside, tossing the now ruined towel into the small trash can in the bathroom before washing his hands.

After glancing over at the window to see if his efforts had made any difference from the inside – it did seem a bit brighter now – Zayne’s gaze landed on the magazines below the TV again. Right. All of this had come about from looking for something to make notes and plans on. Stop procrastinating. He blew out a long breath, the exhalation fluttering some of the dark hair that fell into his eyes. Perhaps the bedroom would have something to write on; he knew there was a nightstand with a drawer.

The soft noise from the monitor grew louder as Zayne covered the short distance into the bedroom, plopping down onto the bed and opening the drawer of the nightstand to rifle through whatever was inside. There wasn’t much. A few chocolate wrappers, a pair of old leather gloves, a pressed jasmine flower, and a phone. Finally, something useful. The odd assortment of items made him tilt his head, but the minute Zayne saw the phone he snatched it up, hoping the hunter used facial recognition and not a passcode.

Holding it up in front of his face, Zayne waited anxiously as the cracked screen lit up, then responded to his visage, albeit sluggishly. He breathed a sigh of relief as the phone interface shifted, showing him a pale blue background with only a few icons on it. It was somewhat different than what he was used to, but nothing overly complex. The hunter was clearly a minimalist when it came to technology – either that or he couldn’t afford it. The second one seemed quite likely.

However, the phone did have a signal of some kind – from what Zayne could tell, it was a sort of basic, citywide signal that allowed for simple usage of devices. Things like messaging, navigation, and local news updates. Either that, or that was all the hunter had bothered to put on the phone. He tapped over to the messaging icon, wondering what he might find there. Did the hunter have friends? Family? Zayne watched as the screen flickered and changed, revealing… Empty Inbox. Well, that answered that question.

A sort of odd, twisting sensation flared to life in Zayne’s chest as he stared at the empty inbox behind the broken screen. Like frost prickling across leaves, a sense of loneliness mixed with homesickness crept through him, stealing his breath for a moment. No wonder he woke up from every nightmare with the profound sense of being utterly alone, even if he was lying beside the woman he loved. When was the last time the hunter had even spoken to another person?

Frowning, Zayne flicked away the empty messaging icon, wishing that he could get rid of the twisting sensation in his chest just as easily. No such luck, of course. Instead, he busied himself with learning how the navigation icon worked, moving to sit beside the monitor at the end of the bed. To his surprise, when the phone moved alongside the monitor, it chimed, and the navigation icon glowed that same sickly orange color as the dot on the monitor.

Intrigued at this turn of events, he continued flicking and tapping through different interfaces in the navigation system, attempting to orient himself with where the apartment he currently occupied was in relation to the rest of the city, and consequently, in relation to the blinking dot.

After a bit of maneuvering through the somewhat unfamiliar technology, Zayne managed to make sense of the city’s layout, at least to some degree. He decided not to think about any oddly familiar sections that he might have noticed, instead thinking back to where the dot had approximately been that morning, trying to calculate about how fast the person must be moving through the city. Because it was a person. For now. A shiver ran through him at the thought – that at the moment, this was just another person, going about their day, moving through life, and very likely completely unaware of what was going to happen to them in a matter of hours.

Closing his eyes tightly, Zayne shoved the thought away, clearing his mind as best he could, given the circumstances. Drawing in a deep breath, Zayne held it for a moment and then exhaled slowly, repeating the process until he felt his thoughts clear. He tapped over to a basic notepad function in the phone and began typing out the steps he planned to follow for the rest of the day:

1. Head out and find a better store for provisions before nightfall.

2. Check the apartment for any and all useful assets.

3. Prepare by eating, dressing appropriately, etc.

4. Navigate the city successfully.

5. Get rid of the damn dot.

6. Shower and sleep.

Zayne stared at the list he had made on the phone that didn’t belong to him yet had responded to his facial features, wondering why he had even bothered to make a list. It was short and simple, but the act of laying out the steps seemed to help him focus – having an actionable plan was always better than winging it. After a moment, Zayne added one last step to the list:

7. Return home(?)

Squeezing his eyes shut, Zayne tossed the phone onto the bed and dropped his head into his hands. No. No falling apart again. His hands curled into his dark hair, his nails scraping against his scalp as he sucked in a breath, trying to repeat the breathing exercises he had completed just moments ago. He succeeded after a moment, the slow, controlled breaths allowing his nervous system to slowly regulate, his heart rate eventually slowing.

As his mind slowly focused, Zayne raised his head, his expression flattening, his normally emerald eyes becoming a flat agate flecked with cold metal, his jaw set, and his lips pressed into a thin line. He stood slowly and glanced around, his gaze raking over the small bedroom and then moving to the disheveled living area beyond the bedroom door. Glancing back at the phone on the bed, Zayne realized he still had more than six hours until sunset. Going to the store wouldn’t take that long. The apartment was not well taken care of – something that had irked him since he had woken up, and only now had the clarity of mind to realize.

Moving with a purpose, Zayne left the bedroom and began searching the dinky apartment for cleaning supplies of any kind, needing to occupy himself with something to fill the time. Sitting alone with his thoughts would be a recipe for disaster. The apartment was small and shouldn’t take too long to clean. Maybe an hour or two, tops? And now that he had the phone, finding another store for more food and water didn’t seem quite as daunting. That should only take an hour, no? Which would leave plenty of time to gather anything useful, eat, and prepare for his evening endeavor. His mind whirled through scenarios as he moved around the apartment, calculating how long each step on the list would take to complete.

Mentally, Zayne switched steps one and two in his list and added cleaning to the first step. His search for cleaning supplies turned up only a few items: a tattered broom, a ragged old mop, a bucket without a handle, a couple of sponges, three bottles of rubbing alcohol, and one mostly full bottle of a generic cleaning spray. Placing his hands on his hips, Zayne stared at the pitiful options he had pulled together, his brow furrowing. No wonder the place was a mess.

Still, it was something to pass the time and keep his mind off the troublesome thoughts that kept beating against the wall in the back of his consciousness where he had imprisoned them. Rationally, Zayne realized that his decision to clean was likely an attempt to control one of the few things he had any control over, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to continue doing it.

Shaking his head, he grabbed the broom and began sweeping first, then mopping, filling the bucket with water and some of the cleaning spray. Zayne was sure it wouldn’t be terribly effective, but since the floors didn’t seem to have been cleaned in who-knows-how-long, the difference between the mopped and unmopped sections was still quite apparent.

Once the floors were mostly clean, Zayne moved to the bathroom, cleaning everything in sight, using up one of the sponges and half of the cleaning spray by the time he was done. Since he was going to have to shower there later, he wanted it to be clean. As he finished cleaning the bathroom, Zayne stared down at his hands, wishing he had found cleaning gloves. A barely visible shudder passed through him, and he moved to the sink, scrubbing his hands furiously beneath the cold tap water. Thankfully, the apartment only had one bathroom.

From there Zayne continued on to the small kitchen area, wiping the counters and sink, scrubbing at the small range that seemed almost unused but was somehow still grimy. The few dishes in the small cupboards were then organized, along with the items in the two drawers beside the sink.

After cleaning his hands yet again, Zayne’s cleaning spree moved to the living room, wiping down the TV stand, hanging the long black coat on the single hook by the door, and taking the couch cushions outside to shake them out. He replaced them as neatly as he could, realizing that one of them was horribly flattened – likely from its owner only ever sitting in that same place, again and again. Without really thinking about it, Zayne swapped the cushions, placing the one with more shape where the flattened one had been, as if in an attempt to even them out in the future.

All that remained was the bedroom, which really wasn’t that messy. In his focused state, the blip from the monitor barely registered. Zayne straightened the thin blanket on the bed, then remembered that he had seen another blanket in the closet when looking for clothes. He turned, opening the closet and rummaging through the shelves, finally producing a slightly less worn, grey plaid blanket. As he pulled it out, something fell from it, landing on his foot.

A…plushie? Zayne bent down to retrieve it, a line forming between his brows. How odd. That was the last thing he had expected to find. Straightening up, he held the little plushie at arm’s length, tilting his head as he regarded it. It appeared to be a small black cat, but the fur was so worn that it seemed more like a dark grey, and one of its ears was torn. The pink of its nose was mostly gone, and the tail was horribly frayed. It looked…well-loved.

A small smile curved up one side of his lips for an instant before disappearing. Turning back toward the bed, Zayne placed the plushie on top of the monitor and picked up the phone from the bed, placing it in his pants pocket. He then set about swapping out the blankets, tossing the thinner one in the laundry basket in the closet.

Stepping from the bedroom, Zayne noticed the used sponges, an empty bottle of the rubbing alcohol, and the now empty bottle of cleaning spray. Remembering that he had seen a dumpster out at the end of the alley, he gathered up the trash from the bathroom as well as the used items and moved towards the door. As he did, he noticed that the light from the window had now fallen onto the jasmine plant in the corner. While it wasn’t direct sunlight, Zayne was glad that he had cleaned the window to let more light in. Maybe now the little plant would have a better chance of surviving.

Zayne finished taking out the trash and closed the door behind him, his gaze wandering across the much cleaner apartment. It looked…almost homely. The grey linoleum looked less like a torn scab and more like an old floor, and the light from the window brightened the living area a bit, making the place seem a little larger than it normally did. The couch looked marginally fluffier after shaking out the pillows, and the sink in the kitchen shone a dull silver. There was one floor lamp near the wall behind the couch, and Zayne turned it on, watching as the warm light from the bulb spread out towards the kitchen area, where the light from the window didn’t quite reach. He breathed a small sigh of something similar to relief and grabbed the coat from the hook on the wall. Time for Step 2.

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

Tags: @callme-naomi @altair718 @seris-the-amious @schnittled @punk-cat

[gtwscratch]

GTWScartober Day 3: AU (Alternate Universe)

For the past week, I have been nonstop reading @uhohbestie’s fic “There Are Monsters Nearby,” and I am PROUD to say that, after only six days, I’ve finished 20 chapters as of posting this. I know what happens in chapter 21 bc I’ve seen some spoilers, and I am both unprepared and SO ready for what’s about to go down.

Key, Lock, you two are very talented writers, and the suspense has been so good that I wasn’t able to calmly read the chapters until they ran into Karlnapity (zombies and the zombie apocalypse are among my top worst fears haha). I look forward to binge reading the rest of what’s out so far :) And I have a very fun comic concept in mind for when a certain someone let another certain someone fall off a shelf >:3

[autumnshighlady]

I've Always Liked to Play With Fire (part 29)

NESTA ARCHERON X ERIS VANSERRA X FEMALE!READER

summary: wedding night... activities

warnings: PURE SMUT!!! literally filth, i have no excuse. threesome, oral sex (F receiving), spanking, dom!Nesta, orgasm denial, face sitting, everything basically. slight talk of past trauma but that's it (seriously when y'all write threesomes why do your characters never discuss limits beforehand smh)

word count: 8.3k

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: sorry i fell off the face of the earth... again..... i got super depressed and forgot how to write but i'm back now! rip to the person who requested neris x reader smut and had to wait 28 chapters for it lol

DISCLAIMER: none of this is proofread and i WAS drunk when i wrote it so it's a disaster but it's smutty so feast away

part 1 // part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12 / part 13 / part 14 / part 15 / part 16 / part 17 / part 18 / part 19 / part 20 / part 21 / part 22 / part 23 / part 24 / part 25 / part 26 / part 27 / part 28 / part 29 / part 30

read on ao3

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

Your jaw hit the floor as you entered the unfamiliar room. Against the wall to your left was the biggest four poster bed you had ever seen, enough to fit at least 4 people with room for limbs to be spread but not touching. It was covered in a thick green blanket, with cream pillows and a knitted throw at the base. Almost-sheer gold curtains were wrapped from the top frame of the bed posters, held back by brass loops. There was a large, arching wall of flowers and branches surrounding a shelf behind the bed’s headboard. A few trinkets had already been strewn across the shelves – books, jewellery, a knife, all objects you had seen Eris possess. The floor was dark wood and elegant, with a large, red rug in front of the bed, offset by the most comfortable-looking, plushy chairs and couch you had ever seen. 

But what caught your eye the most was the expertly carved cinquefoil arches and pillars on the other side of the room that lead to a balcony. There were no windows between the pillars, but the room remained devoid of the chill of the night air. It was spelled, judging by the thin sheen of magic between the spaces. You couldn’t see the view at this hour, but you knew it would take your breath away.

Angling your head in amazement, you noticed two open doors on the right side. One led to what looked like a massive walk-in closet, while the other led to the bathroom. You followed the second door, peering in to see the largest bathing room you had ever seen. An enormous tub was carved into the floor at one end, a small fountain spurting from one end with dragon’s heads carved into it. Across from the tub was a spacious shower, with various faucets and shower heads at all angles and three shelves with different soaps and oils on them. Amazed, you stepped back into the main bedroom, too stunned to speak.

“So,” Eris smirked, sauntering up behind you and placing his hands on your waist. “What do you think, my love?”

Slack-jawed, you couldn’t find the words for a moment. You glanced at Nesta, who had come up beside you. Her eyes were wide, her soft lips parted ever so slightly in wonder. Everything in this room was perfect, down to the last detail. “Is this…” You tried to speak but your voice trailed off.

“Our room.” Nesta finished your sentence for you, her voice filled with awe.

You asked, “wait, did you know?”

Eris squeezed your sides gently. “She knew this was going to be my gift to you both. Unfortunately I had to tell her, as I needed her input in the construction of the shower. But this is the first time you have both seen it. It was originally a storage room, but I had it redone and it has been worked on for the past two months.”

You baulked. “Eris, I…” Once again, your voice trailed off. The scale of the room, the attention to detail, everything was specifically designed for you, Eris, and Nesta to live together without feeling cramped. Eris had done all of this for you, for Nesta. Even during those dark days where it seemed everything had gone awry, he had kept hope aflame with the building of this room. “I don’t even know what to say, this is incredible.”

Eris chuckled, resting his chin on your shoulder and letting his lips graze your ear as he murmured, “You don’t have to say anything. You both deserve it, and I am beyond thrilled that I have the honour of spoiling you like this. It is the least I can do, and it is just one of many endless ways I intend on proving my devotion.”

Instantly, your blood heated at the sensation and you let out a breath. You shivered slightly, face flushing at having your mate’s lips so close to your neck. The action did not go unnoticed. Nesta turned her head towards you, pupils widening with lust at the breath that escaped your lips. Eris simply moved even closer, his fingers stretching up your ribs ever so slightly. Even through the thick fabric of your wedding dress, your skin tingled where his fingers brushed and you sucked in a breath.

“My, my,” Nesta cooed, cocking her head and surveying you up and down like a dragon staring at her prey. The way her head tilted slowly, eyes aflame and each movement possessing a serpent-like quality reminded you of Athariel’s mannerisms – rider and beast, slowly morphing into a unified being. “Somebody is flustered easily.”

“That’s good,” Eris said smoothly, his voice like silk. “It means she listened when I told her she had to wait until the night of the wedding for her desires to be satisfied.”

“You really think I had time for any of that amidst the wedding chaos?” You tried to snap back, but your voice was breathy and weak. All you could think about was Eris’s hands on your sides and Nesta’s blue-grey eyes sizing you up. Your heart thumped louder in your chest as you realised your fantasies were going to be brought to fruition. All those weeks of having to suppress your urges were finally at an end. The sensation of your mates’ desire through the mating bond was almost overwhelming, igniting every nerve in your body.

Eris dragged his lips up and down the side of your neck, chuckling darkly at the shudder your body involuntarily made at the sensation. “Fair enough, we have been rather busy, haven’t we? I’m surprised you’ve made it this long.”

Nesta gracefully took a step closer to you, her rich, warm scent enveloping your senses as she gently removed the crown from your head, setting it down on the dresser a few feet away. “Oh please, take what Eris says with a grain of salt,” she rolled her eyes. “He’s been struggling to hold back just as much as we have. He’s desperate too.”

The High Lord paused his movements along your neck, amber eyes narrowing at her. “Careful, Nesta.” He purred. “I had planned on being generous to my mates tonight, I’d hate for it to turn into an evening of punishment and teaching that smart mouth of yours a lesson.”

Nesta bit the corner of her lip,and you couldn’t help but notice the sudden shift in the position of her thighs. She shot Eris a glare, lifting her chin with a challenge. “You wish.”

Before Eris could reply, you let out a snort of laughter at her boldness. A mistake, it seemed, as both your mates whipped their heads sharply towards you. Your stomach fluttered with a delicious fear, one that sent heat between your legs. 

“Is something funny?” Nesta asked, a hint of a smirk behind her lips.

You shook your head, resisting the urge to chuckle again. Truthfully, you were impressed with the self-restraint of your mates. For so many, the snapping of the mating bond ignited a weeks long frenzy of fucking. But even after the bond snapped between you, Nesta, and Eris, there had been next to no sexual touching. Every ounce of your being desired to ravage your mates, but Eris’s wishes to refrain until the wedding were the string that held you together. No, your male mate liked control. It was something you had always known about him, something that often made your imagination run wild with other types of control he would enjoy exercising. While you certainly liked your fair share of being in charge, you craved Eris’s approval that came with doing what he asked… after a good amount of mouthing off, that is.

Nesta had held herself together almost as well as Eris, refusing to give into your sly attempts to find a loophole in his command the last few weeks. She shared very little of what her and Cassian had done together, but you were itching to find out what she liked. To explore what buttons you could push, the sounds you could draw out from her plush lips…

Your thoughts were abruptly cut off as Eris’s hand found its way into the locks of hair by your scalp, expertly tugging and pulling your head back against his solid chest. The moan that escaped you was completely involuntary, your body going haywire at the simple action of your mate. 

“Nesta asked you a question,” Eris said sternly, forcing you to look up at him. Your breath caught in your throat as he tilted your head back enough for him to stare down at you. His amber eyes were dark with lust, the crown upon his head and the smug look on his face painting the perfect picture of royal arrogance. “It would do you well to answer it.”

This time you managed to catch the whimper in your throat as Eris tilted your head to the side so you were upright and facing Nesta again. The way he moved your body around as if you were a piece of chess on his playing board sent a new wave of arousal through you. You felt torn in two, part of you wanting to submit and let him use you as he pleased while the other part wanted to challenge him and face the consequences he would no doubt dole out.

Nesta’s arms were crossed, pushing up her breasts ever so slightly, which your hungry eyes noticed right away. She raised a groomed eyebrow, “well?”

Deciding to give both of them what they wanted for now, you answered. “What’s funny is I thought you’d be more submissive, Nesta. Your remark caught me off guard. After all, I know how badly you want to please Eris.” The first sentence was entirely untrue, something all three of you knew. But you couldn’t help but add kindling to the fire. The masochistic part of your brain wanted to see how you’d be punished, and if it’d be enough to break you into submission.

“Brave words for somebody who’s about to be at her mercy.” Eris’s voice was low and smooth, his lips returning to your ear. 

Nesta simply stared you down evenly, wicked cunningness lurking behind her eyes. “Pathetic, she wants us to not be nice to her and is trying to goad us into doing what she wants.”

You shook your head, but excitement ran through your veins. You heard Eris chuckle from behind you, and Nesta let out an exhale. With the mating bond still so fresh and the three of you in such close proximity, you knew they had felt your body’s every reaction as if it were their own. Despite the chill autumn breeze, the room felt stiflingly hot.

Eris’s hands moved higher on your hips, fingers spreading and ever so slightly grazing the underside of your breast through the fabric of your dress. Nesta stepped forward as well, so close you could smell the honey-lemon tart she ate for dessert on her breath. Her cheeks were flushed with desire, but her eyes still donned that stern expression that drove you crazy. Before you could say anything, her slender fingers reached down and brushed against the inside of your legs through your skirts. An icy hot shiver went up your spine at the contact, and you couldn’t help but arch into Eris, who at this point was responsible for holding you upright.

“So, it seems that you have a choice to make, my dear,” Eris said in your ear, rubbing agonisingly slow circles along your sides with his fingers. “How do you want this night to go? Do you want me to be nice and focus on making you both feel good, hm?” With those last few words, Eris gave your hair another pull, tilting your head further to the right and exposing more of your neck. You cried out as his lips and teeth finally found your skin, gently kissing and biting with the perfect amount of pressure. Instantly, your breathing became uneven, your body desperate for more.

After a few moments of pleasuring the sensitive skin on your neck, Eris removed his lips and continued. “Or perhaps, you want something a little different, for me to be mean and turn you into more of a desperate mess than you already are.”

Suddenly, the gentle strokes of his lips and tongue from before were replaced with sharp canines sinking into your skin. You gasped, a new wave of arousal rushing through you like the waves of a storm. His teeth stung in the most delicious way, mixing with the pleasure arising in your body and making your head spin.

“I think we have our answer.” Nesta chuckled, moving her hands to rest on your hip bones just below Eris’s. “But I want to hear her say it.”

“I…” You stuttered, world reeling from the whispers of touches from Nesta’s hands on your hips mixed with the harsh biting at your neck from your other mate behind you. “I want you to do your worst.”

“Masochistic little fox.” Eris purred. “If you need us to stop, please speak up at any point. This may not be the traditional coupling of mates, but I want you to enjoy it.”

“Nothing about us is traditional.” You couldn’t help but chuckle.

“That is true.” Nesta added. As if she couldn’t take the close proximity anymore, she crashed her lips into yours, squeezing your hips as she did so. Immediately, you placed your hands on her biceps, pulling her closer and moaning into the contact. Her mouth was soft yet all-consuming, and wetness almost immediately pooled between your legs. Nesta’s kisses have always turned you on in the several that you shared, but this was different. Before, they had been tender and longing, like a prayer echoing through an abandoned church. 

There was nothing tender about the way she was kissing you now. If her previous kisses were like a gentle creek flowing through the woods, this kiss was a tsunami. It bewitched your body and soul, her lips bold and claiming you wholly. You were hers, and she was yours – that’s all her kiss told you. You pulled her even closer, her chest brushing up against yours as Eris’s hands explored further, grazing your breasts more and more with each movement. You shuddered between them, lifting a hand and bringing it around Nesta’s neck, squeezing the back of it. She let out a moan, and you used the opportunity of her slack jaw to slip your tongue into her mouth, brushing her lips and tasting every inch of her.

After several minutes of being utterly consumed by the female, you felt her pull away. You let out a whine that was cut off abruptly as you were spun around to face Eris. His green cloak and dazzling crown had been discarded already, leaving him in his red and gold robes. Even without the royal symbols, there was no mistaking his power and status. It sent a thrill through you as you stared up at the male. Chuckling, Eris’s hand wove into your hair again as he pulled you forward, pressing his lips into yours. He was rougher than Nesta, a different kind of dominance, one that was nearly overwhelming. His lips were firm against yours, commanding every ounce of your attention, and you gladly gave it to him. The hand in your hair kept you immobile, unable to resist any which way Eris chose to move you.

You felt Nesta stir behind you, and after a few moments the strings trying together the back of the dress began to loosen. Her fingers expertly undid the material, and you eagerly pulled your arms from the long sleeves while keeping your lips glued to Eris. A shiver came over your body as Nesta’s fingers grazed your newly exposed skin, pulling the soft white and red fabric down your body and letting it fall to a heap on the floor before delicately removing the emerald necklace. Nesta also reached out and pulled the remaining few bobby pins out of your hair, releasing it from the previous mess of an updo it had become. 

You stood there in your underwear, skin covered in a thin layer of sweat from the evening’s festivities. You did not feel the urge to shy away and cover yourself as you had when getting undressed with previous lovers. Even as Eris pulled away and took a step back to drink in your naked form, you did not cower. You were his equal, and he yours. He would come to know your body like the back of his hand, there was no use in trying to hide it.

His amber eyes went from lustful to angry as they found the scar below your belly button, that cursed letter ‘M’ that his brother had carved into your skin. You bit your lip, pushing back memories of those awful encounters with Malgorm. 

“I hate the gods for letting this happen.” Eris muttered angrily, staring at the scar as if enough willpower could wash it away. “I am so sorry–”

You took a step forward, pressing your fingers against his lips to shush him. “What’s done is done,” You murmured. “We cannot change the past. We can find a way to permanently glamour the scar, as I do not wish for it to be on my body any more than you wish to gaze upon it, my love. Let’s not worry about it for now, okay?”

A slender hand on your shoulder made you turn to face Nesta. She had removed her crown and dress as well, leaving her just as naked as you. But her face was serious, breaking the teasing tension of the room as she spoke. “Are you sure this is okay? After everything that has happened, we don’t have to do this right away. We can wait.”

You shook your head. “No,” You said firmly. “I want this. I want you both. If I was unsure I would have said so. I trust you.”

Nesta’s voice was soft. “Okay. But is there anything off limits that might cause you to become… discomforted?”

You thought for a moment, hating the memories that flashed through your mind. But you endured it. Nesta was right – before anything happened, boundaries needed to be stated. “My neck…” You said slowly, remembering how hard Malgorm had grabbed you. “I don’t want pressure on my neck, please.”

Nesta nodded with understanding. You turned around to face Eris, whose gaze had softened. “I can work with that.” He said gently.

“What about you, Nesta?” You asked, facing your female mate once again. “What’s off limits for you?”

At first, the female visibly tensed, as if fighting off the urge to put those walls back up that she had so firmly in place when you first met her. Getting Nesta to be vulnerable with sex would be a journey, that much you knew. After how she described her couplings with Cassian and other males, this discussion of limits seemed new to her. She blinked slowly, and you could see the wheels in her mind turning. 

“Take your time,” you said softly, grabbing Eris’s hand and squeezing it reassuringly.

“My head…” Nesta said quietly after a moment, her eyes slightly glazed over as if reliving memories. “I would appreciate it if my head was not held down or restricted.”

Immediately, your mind thought of all the instances that explained this. The kelpie, the Cauldron, the human male who assaulted her, it all made sense. You nodded, then faced Eris once again to take the pressure off of Nesta. “And what about you, husband? Anything off limits?”

Eris scoffed half heartedly. “Nope. I am content with anything.”

You elbowed him lightly in the stomach, rolling your eyes. “You’re not funny. We’re trying to have a discussion here and you ruined it.”

The male made a noise of agreement, his eyes sobering up for a second before he sighed, removing the crown from his head and moving his fingers to unlace his robes. Nesta came up to stand beside you, her hand sliding into yours but her eyes fixed on Eris. Both of you stared as the male removed his robes and unlaced his tunic. You felt Nesta’s breath catch as Eris’s bare torso was revealed. Slender muscles were covered in faint scars. They looked to be from some sort of burning lashes – Beron’s doing, no doubt. Bile rose in your throat at the sight before you, at the thought of how bad these injuries must have been to still be scarred centuries later.

“My father liked to use his own fire on me,” Eris said slowly. “The wounds from the beatings disappeared fast, but my…. harsher punishments involved fire. I think in a way, he wanted me to fear our fire. But like many things in life, he failed.” He let out a hoarse laugh. “For this reason, I do not wish for pain to be inflicted upon me during sex. While I will inflict it if it’s something you want, I am firmly against being on the receiving end of it.”

“I understand.” You said, and Nesta murmured in agreement. Even with the scars, your body still heated up at the sight of Eris shirtless. They marked his skin like stars in the night sky, glowing in the candlelight. He was strikingly beautiful, every inch of him. From the way Nesta’s breathing changed beside you, he was having the same effect on her, too.

Finally, the arrogant smirk returned to Eris’s face. “Excellent, now that we are all in agreement…” His amber gaze fell upon you, making your knees weak as he spoke with lethal command, “Get on the bed.”

You rolled your eyes at him, but obliged, giving Nesta a quick kiss on the cheek on your way over. The mattress was soft and plushy as you sank down onto it, and you briefly wondered if you even wanted to know how much it had cost. 

All distracting thoughts vanished from your head as Nesta strode over, prowling like a dragon approaching a lost sheep. The silver light from the moon and the golden light from the candles illuminated her soft curves in an otherworldly way, the coronet now evolved into a simple loose, messy braid coming over her shoulder. She smirked as you leaned up to kiss her from your sitting position. Before your lips could reach hers, she chuckled and abruptly pushed you back so you were laying down. The yelp you let out as you unexpectedly fell back was cut off by a kiss, her mouth swallowing any noise you made as you melted beneath her. The rich scent of your combined arousals flooded the room, filling your senses.

Nesta’s thighs straddled you as she pressed her body into yours, her creamy skin brushing against you and making your nerves go haywire as she shifted her mouth to your throat, planting gentle kisses there before sliding further down your body. You reached down to try and pull her back up so you could touch her, but two silver flames appeared around your wrists, gently guiding them up over your head and twining into the bedframe, leaving your hands tied. You whimpered in complaint, causing Nesta to stop her kisses just above your breast. 

“I’m sorry, did you want to touch me?” She asked huskily, eyes dark. Her lips moved just above your nipple, her breath sending the bud into a peak.

“Yes.” You said breathily, trying to keep the desperate tone out of your voice.

Nesta gave your nipple a quick lick, causing your entire body to twitch before she continued. “Too bad, you have to earn it.”

“And how do I do that?” You snapped in frustration, unable to stop yourself. 

As quick as a snake, Nesta reached under your thigh and hoisted your hips off the mattress. With her other hand, she reached underneath and slapped your ass. Hard. Instinctively, you moaned loudly, pain and pleasure coursing through your body and creating even more wetness between your legs. Through half-open eyes, you saw Nesta blink in surprise then smile wickedly. She turned to Eris, who had discarded his bottoms and was palming himself through his underwear. A silent conversation passed between them, and you shivered with anticipation before Nesta turned back towards you. “Lose the attitude, love,” she said.

You huffed, but tried to force the attitude out of your voice. “Boring. What do I have to do to earn it?”

“You’ll have to beg us to let you cum, and you’ll ask permission to do so.”

“I don’t beg.”

“Oh but you will,” Eris chimed in, gently gliding his fingers down Nesta’s spine as she took your nipple in her mouth, causing you to moan. “And you’ll love every second of it.”

You couldn’t deny that. All you could focus on was Nesta’s mouth on you, her other hand fondling the other breast. All the squirming in the world was useless against those silver flame restraints, which was unyielding. Finally, Nesta shuffled down so she was kneeling on the ground with her upper body between your thighs. Involuntarily, your legs automatically widened as she settled in, which did not go unnoticed.

“Wow, you are desperate for me, aren’t you?” Nesta teased, running a finger up your inner thigh. “The lightest of touches have you soaked through your underwear, I can’t imagine how you’ll react when I get my mouth on you.”

You whimpered at her words that washed over you like warm water. You had never been this wet, this aching to be touched. Nesta was smug as her finger ghosted over your clothed slit, feeling the wetness of the thin material. Your hips jolted at the sensation, electric shock wracking your nerves. 

Your mates were going to be the death of you. Every instinct screamed to find a way out of the restraints and pounce on Nesta and Eris, but your desire to please them overpowered it.

“My, my, she’s sensitive,” Eris mocked. “I don’t think she’ll be able to handle what we’ve got planned.”

“She will,” Nesta said sternly before glancing up at you. “Won’t you?”

You nodded in blind agreement, the anticipation of not knowing what was coming next both exciting and terrifying you. “Good girl,” Nesta replied before grabbing your panties and tearing them in two, revealing your soaking wet pussy. She moaned at the sight of your exposed core, making you pool even further. Every sound she made, every look she gave you was enough to drive you crazy. Your thighs were near trembling as she lightly touched your clit, the contact with the sensitive bundle of nerves making you jump and your thighs twitch.

“Look how wet she is,” Eris said. “And we haven’t even done anything…”

Your eyes snapped open fully when you realised he had removed his underwear and was stroking his cock. Your mouth practically watered at the sight of the male with his hand wrapped around his long cock, a smug expression on his face as he stared down at you like you were a piece of meat served up on a platter. “See something you like?” He said arrogantly as he noted your expression.

“Mother above, do I ever,” You replied breathlessly. “My brain doesn’t even know where to focus.”

Nesta said, “I think I can remedy that.” Without another word, the female’s head dove between your thighs, her tongue sliding up from your entrance to your clit before wrapping her lips around the bud and sucking. Bursting with pleasure, your back arched off the bed, hands angrily pulling against the restraints begging to touch Nesta. She repeated the pattern, licking and sucking in all the right spots and making your eyes roll back in your head. 

Cursing under your breath, you let out moans as Nesta ate you out. Her hands were wrapped around your thighs, burying herself as far into you as she could. You could feel her enjoyment and desire through the mating bond, which intensified the experience tenfold. Never before had you been this turned on this fast. Nesta had already figured out what made your body sing and was playing it like a violin. Eris was kneeling behind Nesta, pressing kisses all over her back. The sight of it turned you on even more.

You could pinpoint the exact moment Eris’s fingers found Nesta’s pussy. The female let out a moan that sent vibrations into your core, making your moan echo off of hers. The room was filled with the wet sounds of Nesta’s mouth on you and Eris’s fingers rubbing Nesta’s clit. Her face was screwed up with pleasure and a focused determination, her tongue never relenting against you.

“Isn’t she making you feel so good?” Eris asked you. “Nesta seems like she’s already doing very good with her mouth, I can’t wait to test it out myself.”

“So fucking good…” You murmured, causing Nesta to moan in approval between your legs.

The sounds between Nesta’s thighs intensified as Eris slipped a finger into her, curling it in a way that had her squirming in between you two. “Do you know how many nights I’ve had to get myself off to refrain from storming into your rooms and dragging both of you into my bed to be fucked senseless? I’ve had so many fantasies about what I want to do to you two, even with an eternity ahead of us I don’t know if we’ll have time to complete them all…” The male continued, cocking his head and pushing his hips forward, letting his cock rub against Nesta’s ass. “Is this everything you dreamed of, my love, hmm?”

“Yes!” You exclaimed, hands gripping onto the headboard as you writhed underneath Nesta’s mouth. The pleasure was almost overwhelming, coupled with the sight of Eris behind Nesta’s kneeling form with his knuckles buried inside her, you felt yourself approaching the journey to your climax within ten minutes, a new record for you.​ Your mate between your legs whimpered as Eris’s movements seemingly sped up, but she kept her blue-grey eyes open and looking up at you. Incoherent noises escaped your throat as you began to plead. “Please…” you begged. “I’m getting close…”

“Close to what?” Eris asked mockingly, his voice perfectly even as if he wasn’t curling his fingers inside Nesta so tactfully that she was shaking slightly. “You have to use your words, my love.”

You felt your orgasm building at a rapid pace, coming crashing towards you like a tidal wave. “Please… I’m gonna–” Your words were abruptly cut off as you were unable to hold back the inevitable. Like water overflowing a cup, your orgasm washed over you, spreading that warm electric sensation through your nerve endings. Nesta groaned with pleasure as your hips bucked against her face, grinding into it as you rode out your high. The world went silent around you in those few, stretched out seconds. It was an orgasm unlike any you had ever experienced.

With shaking legs you caught your breath and Nesta finally removed her tongue from your cunt. You watched through hooded lids as she leaned her head back, and Eris bent down and kissed her hungrily, lapping up your juices. One of his hands grabbed her breast, squeezing it in his fingers and making her moan into his mouth. They were like two gods in a painting before you, one you would happily stare at for the rest of your life.

The silver flames around your wrists vanished, and you eagerly brought your arms back down to stretch them out. When Nesta and Eris eventually separated, they turned their gazes towards you. And you knew you were fucked from the wicked look in their eyes.

“I’m sorry–” You began apologising, but Eris cut you off.

“We asked you to do one thing, and you couldn’t even do it…” He said with gleeful disappointment. “A shame, I had such a lovely reward in mind for you if you had just been a good girl.”

Nesta scoffed. “I think she wanted the punishment.”

“She will regret that very soon.” Eris stood up and strode over to your side of the bed, grabbing a fistful of your hair and forcing you to look up at him. “Did we say you could cum?”

You shook your head, earning you another harsh tug that elicited a moan. “I asked you a question,” Eris hissed. “Did we say you could cum?”

“No…” You stuttered weakly, shrinking beneath his and Nesta’s gazes.

“Then why did you?”

“It felt too good, I couldn’t stop it.”

“Do you think flattery will keep you from punishment?”

You sheepishly shrugged. “A girl can dream, right?”

Eris barked out a laugh, grabbing you gently by the hands and guiding you off the bed. Your legs still felt weak, and had it not been for Eris you would have surely stumbled in your first few steps. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Nesta smugly smirking at her handiwork, her cheeks flushed. 

But Eris’s hand grasped your chin, turning your focus to him as you met his gaze. “Go to the empty space on the wall,” He said slowly. “And place your hands on it and spread your legs.”

You baulked, eyes widening. The evil grin on his face sent chills up your spine. Despite your recent orgasm, your body began to heat up again. Knowing better than to protest this time, you did as you were told. The sound of your footsteps echoed throughout the large bedroom as you walked over to the gap in the wall between the fireplace and the corner area. Taking a deep breath, you faced the wall and placed your hands on the smooth wood. It was cold beneath your touch, a soothing sensation against your sweating palms. You mentally cursed your body at how quickly it was recovering and ready for a second round. The mating bond was thick with desire so palpable you could feel it.

You heard footsteps coming up behind you, and you knew without looking that it was Eris. His presence could be felt creeping up on you as if it were your own shadow. You flinched as he put his hands on your waist, pressing his chest into your back. His cock rubbed against your ass as it did with Nesta’s, causing you to suck in a sharp breath. “If you want something, you have to ask for it,” Eris murmured in your ear. “Those are my rules, and you have already broken them. I am going to spank you ten times, and you’re going to fucking take it. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Eris.” You whimpered. Behind you, his cock twitched at the moaning of his name and the male groaned. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Nesta take a seat in the nearby chair with a glass of white wine in hand. She had run a comb through her hair, and when she caught your gaze she raised an eyebrow. “Don’t look at me for help,” she chided. “You’ve done this to yourself. I will not get you out of this.”

You sighed, trembling in anticipation and waiting with bated breath for the first strike. Wasting no time, it came seconds later. Eris’s hand came down on your right ass cheek, hard. From your throat came a guttural cry, one you didn’t know you were capable of making. It was a cross between a scream and a moan, crossing into the latter as the impact from the initial sting melted into a white hot pleasure. You barely had time to recover before the second one came on the other cheek this time, drawing out the same response.

“Good girl…” Eris murmured, rubbing your ass and pressing a kiss between your shoulder blades. You sighed beneath his touch, melting into it. 

But the tenderness didn’t last long. By the seventh spank, tears pricked the corners of your eyes. 

“Aw, look at her, Eris,” Nesta spoke up. “You’ve made her cry.”

Your laboured breaths drowned out his response as you pressed your forehead into your arms, which you had valiantly kept pressed against the wall. Your ass stung and sweat dripped down your forehead. But the cherry on top was your dripping cunt. Wetness had seeped down your thighs, glistening in the candlelight of the room on display for everyone to see.

You felt Eris’s hand brush some stray hairs out of your face, and he leaned in close to murmur into your ear, “Are you okay?”

“Mhm,” You whispered, nodding feverishly. 

There was no teasing in your mate’s voice as he spoke. “Do we need to stop?”

“No,” You insisted. “I can handle three more, I promise.”

You felt Eris nod against you before pulling away and continuing to rub your ass, which already donned the formations of several dark bruises. You turned your head towards Nesta, who was watching the scene with lust in her eyes. “You’re doing so well, my love,” she said tenderly. “You can do it.”

With a newfound determination, you forced your body to relax as Eris’s hand came down again with a loud smack, making you wince and grow wetter at the same time. Then again, and again. Finally, after the tenth smack, you collapsed your head into your arms again, panting. Your legs felt as weak as a newborn deer, gangly and unstable. You didn’t even have the energy to react as Eris swiped his fingers through your slip, sampling the wetness gathered there. 

He chuckled darkly. “My, my, somebody sure enjoyed that.”

“I’m not surprised, given her reaction to my one slap earlier.” Nesta said, placing her wine glass on the table next to her before standing up and making her way over to where you and Eris were standing. She wiped some sweat from your brow with a cloth and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Well done.”

“Is my punishment over?” You asked weakly.

“Not quite,” Eris responded, gently guiding you over to the chair Nesta had been seated in. “You’ve demonstrated a lack of patience, which is unacceptable. So you are going to learn to be patient, and you are going to sit here and watch me fuck Nesta.”

“And you’re not allowed to touch yourself,” Nesta added sternly as Eris pushed you into the chair, which was now turned to face the bed and had a glass of water next to it. Truthfully, your body was relieved at the idea of getting a break. Your muscles ached from the trembling, and the idea of watching your mates fuck each other made your body heat up. So you nodded, getting a kiss on the cheek from each of your mates before they made their way to the bed. After taking a sip of the ice cold water, you leaned back in the plushy chair.

Nesta knelt on the bed, her long locks cascading down her back as she looked up at Eris. He stood before her at the edge of the bed like an altar she was worshipping, his lean muscles illuminated by the moon. He bent down and kissed Nesta as if she contained the last molecules of air left in this universe, his lips moulding into hers perfectly. You couldn’t help but bite your lip as you watched her shoulders relax as she melted into his kiss. Desire began to build in you once again, just by watching your mates share a heated kiss.

With a shove on the shoulder, Eris pushed Nesta into the bed so she was laying down. He wasted no time crawling over her body and pressing heated kisses across her chest. As his mouth came to her nipple, Nesta moaned and wound a hand in the male’s red locks, arching her back into his touch. Your palms itched with the urge to go over there and help, but the soreness of your ass reminded you to stay in your seat. 

“Fuck, these are gorgeous…” Eris murmured before switching to her other breast. He groaned into the mound of flesh as Nesta’s grip in his hair tightened, the animalistic sound echoing throughout the chamber.

Don’t touch yourself, you reminded yourself. No matter how hot the scene before you was, and despite the fact you normally loved being punished, you knew your mates were the type to only be so forgiving.

Grabbing one of Nesta’s long legs, Eris placed a kiss on the inside of her calf, working his way down. Nesta’s breathing shifted, her hips squirming to try and meet his face, but the male swerved every time and kissed her thigh instead. More arousal pooled between your legs as you watched Nesta squirm beneath Eris.

“Please, Eris…” Nesta breathed, her cheeks red and eyes half closed with desire.

The red haired male stopped, his lips centimetres above her pussy. “Please what?”

“Please use your mouth on me…”

Nesta’s pleas made you whimper. All you wanted to do was go over there and satisfy her, to have her clamp her thighs around your head until the world crumbled into ash before you. Eris turned his head to face you, where you were gripping the arms of the chair. “See how she asked nicely?” He said to you, “Now she’s going to get what she wants. It’s that simple.”

His pale fingers gripped Nesta’s hips tightly, pinning them down to the mattress as he brought his face between her legs and began his work. Immediately, Nesta let out a loud moan – she was much more vocal than you, letting her noises out shamelessly as she was pinned down. After several minutes, Eris easily slid two fingers into Nesta, stretching her out yet still keeping her hips still with only one hand. 

“Oh, fuck…” Nesta cried out as Eris curled his fingers inside her, one of her hands gripping the sheets while the other palmed her breast. Her eyes fluttered closed, and it was only minutes later when Eris pulled away. Nesta whined at the loss of contact, and he let out a growl, grabbing her leg and hitching it up against his waist. You watched with a slack jaw and clenched legs as Eris lined his cock up with Nesta’s entrance before slowly pushing it in. 

Nesta’s face contorted, her eyes squeezing shut and mouth opening in pleasure as Eris pushed himself to the hilt. His head tilted back, and his jaw clenched with pleasure. You dug your fingernails into the palms of your hand so hard it almost bled, the sensation of watching your mates’ blissed out expressions almost overpowering.

Eris leaned over Nesta, one hand on her thigh keeping it up against his hip while the other planted itself beside her shoulder. It only took a few minutes for him to pound in and out of Nesta, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room and drowning out Nesta’s moans. Eris was fucking Nesta hard, her toes visible curling with each thrust.

As Nesta’s legs began to tremble not ten minutes later, Eris slowed down his thrusts, making her whine. He turned his head towards you, a devilish grin on face. “So, my dear,” he said to you. “Do you think Nesta deserves to cum?”

Surprise flickered in you, and seemingly in Nesta too, for she turned her head sharply to look at you with wide eyes as Eris’s hand rubbed her clit. “P…please…” she begged you, desperation written all across your face.

You were torn in two. You wanted nothing more than to see Nesta cum, to watch her writhe underneath Eris as she rode out a blissful high. But the sinister part of you wanted to show her that you weren’t the only one who could take charge.

After a minute, you came to your decision. “No.”

“What?!” Nesta sputtered angrily as Eris pulled out of her, chuckling. Her hair was stuck to her face, her lips swollen from kissing and her cheeks red. Her grey eyes shot you a  furious glare.

“That’s my devilish little fox,” Eris purred, beckoning you over with a finger. “You took your punishment very well, and I think it’s time for a reward.”

“Please,” you begged pathetically as you laid down on the bed beside Nesta, desperate for any physical contact. 

Sensing that, Eris gave you a quick kiss before grabbing your hips and spreading your legs with his knees. You were so soaking wet that after checking your comfort with two fingers, Eris lined himself up with your entrance and slammed into you with ease. The breath was knocked out of your lungs at the impact, the delicious stinging pain of the stretch quickly melting into pleasure as it had with the spanks. He gave you no time to adjust before pounding into you, his soft grunts filling the air.

Beside you, Nesta sat up, a playful look in her eyes replacing the furious one. She grabbed your hair just as Eris had, forcing you to look at her. “Since you decided to be a brat and not let me finish after I was so nice to you, I’m going to sit on that pretty face of yours to shut you up and use you to finish myself off. Got it?”

About to burst with happiness that your plan worked, you nodded eagerly, shifting your shoulders to get more comfortable. Seeing the smugness on your face, Nesta rolled her eyes but released her hair, spinning her hips to face Eris. She then swung her leg over your face, leaning forward to place her hands on your breasts and play with them as she lowered herself down.

You moaned into her pussy, tasting the mixture of her and Eris on your tongue, eagerly lapping it up. You used the tip of your tongue to flick her clit, making her legs twitch around your head. Repeating patterns of licking and sucking, you gripped Nesta’s hips tightly as she grinded herself into your face.

Eris’s thrusts had somehow gotten more powerful, making you whimper into Nesta. Your wife let out a moan at the vibration, then Eris’s fingers found your clit. You were oversensitive, and as a result moaned repeatedly between Nesta’s thighs. Her legs began to shake around you, her hands squeezing your breasts as she panted, “Can I please cum?”

“Yes.” Eris grunted, his own thrusts getting sloppier as he chased his own release. Seconds later, Nesta moaned wantonly, her legs clenching your head and shaking like an earthquake as you sucked on her clit, drawing out her release. She cried out, her orgasm wracking her body as she grinded her hips into your face even more. You happily took it, whimpering as her moans spurred both you and Eris on towards your own release. 

As Nesta dragged her trembling self off of your body, she flopped down beside you. Her fingers quickly took Eris’s hand’s place at your clit, rubbing back and forth harshly. You nearly screamed at the sudden pressure, white hot pleasure pooling in your gut ready to burst.

“Come for me, my love,” Nesta purred in your ear.

That was all it took to send you over the edge. Your muscles clenched as your release shot through you, and you gasped with the sudden wave of pleasure. Nesta murmured praises in your ear as you rode your high, and Eris let out a growling moan as his hips sputtered, your clenching around his cock spurring on his orgasm. You cried out as his cum shot into you, the sensation almost overwhelming and prolonging your high. 

Finally, the ironclad grip on your hips released and Eris slowly pulled himself out of you. Your legs twitched, all three of you panting in an attempt to catch your breath. Deep down, you felt whole, as if the mating bond had somehow grown even stronger since before the wedding. It was as if a piece of you had been missing before you met Nesta and Eris, and they were slowly filling that void with pieces of their own.

“Does anyone fancy joining me for a shower? I’ll have someone deliver our favourite snacks afterwards,” Eris asked, standing up and holding his hands out for you and Nesta. Eagerly, you both took his extended hands and headed towards the newly built bathing room.

As the three of you stood under the multiple shower heads, tenderly washing each other when needed, you felt happy tears prick your eyes. The Nesta you met six months ago was a shell of herself, angry, with walls as high as Ramiel that refused to be crumbled by anyone. She was an object in another male’s court, a pawn in the games he played. An aggressive animal that was to be locked in a cage and only lured out when they had use for her. That Nesta never would have let anyone wash her hair, or cuddle beside her in bed. The Nesta standing beneath the shower with you was a changed female, one who knew her value and was now finally free to make her own choices without threats being made at every corner. She laughed freely, smiled more often, and the life had returned to her eyes.

Eris was a male who you never thought would tenderly kiss your forehead, or kneel before you to help you wash your legs. To be raised in an environment as harsh as Beron’s shadow, you knew how lucky you truly were that his heart stayed good. No matter how often he would deny it, you knew he was a good male.

And so all of the horrors you had faced in the last six months washed away with your happy tears in the shower, your wife and your husband beside you to hold you up no matter what.

taglist (comment if you want to be added): @queercontrarian @kitkat-writes-stuff @moonfawnx @sevikas-whore @weird-and-wise @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet @kingshitonly @ladyofcherries @eerievixen @readingwritingwatching @peacecoffeeandflowers @a-frog-with-a-laptop @shadowqueen25 @lana08 @highladyofillyria @rachelnicolee @ladespedidas @little-darlingo @manonblackbeakquidditchteam13 @demirunner @terorovaerangi @hauntedandhopeful  @younxii @microwaveallthedemons @fanfictioniseverything @lovra974 @maddietheshoe @peaceandcrackers @emy1-99 @lostinfantasyworldsbi @issybee0611 @thoughtfulshepherdmongerkid @belledawnidk @whhyyynottt @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @littlebbb @piceous21 @sevendeadlyshins-blog @searchingford  @marigold-morelli @thesapphiclibrarian @nikovasbitch @chasing-autumns-chill @the-sweet-psycho @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @red-bees @daughterofthemoons-stuff @bloodicka @blackgirlmagicforever @writeroutoftime @paleidiot @

[itwasrealtome]

AGENT GRAY

Chapter 19 • Burning Out — Part II

TAGLIST FORM

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

⚠️ DO NOT READ IF THIS MIGHT TRIGGER YOU

Olivia Benson x fem! FBI Agent OC

Summary: Alexis is sick. Olivia stays with her.

Content Warning: Usual SVU & Violent Crime talk • mention of the ongoing case (human trafficking, victims under 18) — Alexis being sick

*

MONDAY, MARCH 20

Manhattan — Alexis' Apartment

03:12 PM

Olivia knew she should've gone back to work.

Her unit was knee-deep in the early stages of a trafficking case–one of those sprawling, insidious networks where the monsters wore familiar faces and the victims slipped through the cracks like smoke. Most were girls from Eastern Europe, barely more than teenagers, their names surfacing in fragments across reports: a missing persons file here, a whispered alias there. They'd started to piece it together weeks ago–a pattern hidden in plain sight. Arrests that didn't line up, timelines that bent under pressure, survivors too terrified to speak.

Now, the picture was beginning to take shape–dark, jagged, and far from complete. More names had surfaced in the last forty-eight hours, young women pulled from online reports, immigration detentions, and missing persons databases, all with the same vacant fear behind their eyes. Some had faces. Others were still just initials on a board, names without stories, bodies not yet found. And the men behind it–the ones pulling strings and buying silence–remained ghosts. No arrests. No confirmation. Just shadows and broken trails.

But Olivia wasn't at her desk.

She wasn't chasing down leads or pinning fresh photos to the corkboard in the squadroom.

She was here.

In the still, dim hush of Alexis' apartment, leash slack in her hand as Champ–the agent's six-year-old Belgian Malinois–padded ahead through the door. The dog moved with quiet purpose, his path familiar, his ears flicking as he trotted toward the bedroom, tail swaying low and easy. He didn't need direction. This was his domain, even more than it was hers.

The apartment itself surprised Olivia every time she stepped inside.

It wasn't sterile–not exactly–but it carried the weight of someone who never fully unpacked. The kind of place that held function above comfort, that whispered of temporary stays and half-formed roots. A clean pair of boots by the door. A single jacket on the wall hook. One coffee mug in the drying rack, and another on the windowsill, still faintly stained with the remains of whatever had been in it that morning.

The living room was sparsely furnished–one worn leather couch, a low, functionable table, and an aging bookshelf with more gaps than volume. A baseball under glass sat alone on the top shelf, catching a shaft of weak afternoon light. Beside it, a photo frame faced slightly toward the wall, its contents not immediately visible. There were no plants. No candles. No trace of domesticity for its own sake.

In the far corner, Olivia's gaze settled on a military-issued duffel bag–the kind that had seen years of deployment. Its canvas sides were still creased from recent travel, half-zipped and slumped against the wall like it was waiting for its next call to duty. Not unpacked, not forgotten. Just...paused.

The whole place echoed that same sense of suspension. It was clean, carefully arranged, and unmistakingly temporary in feeling. There were personal touches—a framed photo of a unit, that worn baseball under glass, a few books stacked on a side table–but nothing indulgent, nothing that said permanence. It felt like a place someone lived in out of necessity, not choice. Like a rest stop, not a home.

It felt, Olivia thought, like Alexis.

Purposeful. Controlled. Pulled together just enough to function, but never quite enough to belong. The apartment had a quiet precision about it–a lived-in sense of discipline, not comfort. And that, Benson realized, was the woman she'd come to know in the liminal spaces between chaos. Agent Gray, who had slipped into her world with steel-edged focus, bone-deep loyalty, and a wit that came dry as dust and twice as sharp.

The lieutenant hadn't expected to admire her so quickly. She hadn't expected to care this much.

But she did. And now Alexis was in bed, feverish, worn out, and–as ever–gritting her teeth through the very idea of being looked after.

The leash was still in Olivia's hand, forgotten in the doorway. She could've left it on the hook in the hall, but she hadn't. Her fingers tightened around it, the nylon digging faintly into her palm as she stood motionless in the stillness of the place. Champ's nails had already clicked out of earshot, the dog weaving through the narrow hallway with that uncanny sense of purpose only service-training animals seemed to have. He didn't need any instructions. He knew exactly where he was needed.

So did Olivia.

She moved quietly, her steps muffled by the faded runner rug, her hand brushing the wall as she turned the corner. The hallway was dim, the air inside the apartment noticeably warmer than it had been earlier, thick with stillness and the faint scent of eucalyptus from the diffuser the agent had probably forgotten she owned.

The bedroom door was cracked open. Through it, the oldest could already see the silhouette of the dog, curled into his usual post at the foot of the bed–watchful but at ease, his presence both sentinel and comfort.

She nudged the door open with a whisper of movement, slipping into the room.

The curtains were drawn against the afternoon light, letting only a soft, gray glow filter in. The air was hushed, the kind of stillness that came with fevered sleep and drawn-out exhaustion. Alexis was curled on her side, her back to the doorway, tangled in the bedsheets that she hadn't quite managed to wrestle into order. The blanket rode low on one hip, her shoulder exposed, skin damp with sweat. Her breathing was shallow, her face flushed and still.

She looked–Olivia hated the word, but there was no escaping it–fragile.

The sharp, composed edges that usually defined the young commander were absent now. The quiet power in her bearing, the controlled energy she carried like armor–it had all given way to something softer, more uncertain. Olivia had seen her bleeding before. She'd seen her fight through pain, push past fear. But this... this was something else. A surrender, not to weakness, but to the sheer weight of being worn down.

The brunette eased herself down beside the bed, one knee pressing softly to the floor, mindful not to jostle the mattress. Her eyes lingered on the woman before her, drawn to the subtle flicker of her lashes, the small furrow in her brow, even in rest–like Alexis was still fighting something invisible in the dark.

She reached out with care, brushing a loose strand of hair from the younger woman's damp forehead. Her fingertips barely grazed the flushed skin, but the heat radiating off her was unmistakable. Too high. Still rising. Still burning up.

Beneath the blankets, Alexis stirred–a faint shift, her shoulder twitching as her breath caught. Olivia stilled.

A few seconds passed in silence.

Then Gray's eyelids fluttered, struggling against the weight of fever and fatigue. Her gaze wandered, unfocused, until it finally landed on her friend.

She blinked. Once. Twice. As if unsure whether what she saw was real.

—Hey, Olivia said softly, her voice low and warm, barely above a whisper. It's just me.

The agent let out a faint exhale. Not quite a sigh. Not quite relief. Her eyes shut again, then cracked open.

—You stayed? she murmured, the words dry and gravel-thin.

—I did.

—You should've gone back.

—I know.

The quiet between them stretched, thick and lingering. Alexis shifted again, a faint wince tugging at the corners of her mouth as she tried to lift herself and failed. Her throat worked as she swallowed hard, voice raw.

—You don't have to babysit me, Benson.

—I'm not, Olivia replied, reaching for the cloth again and dabbing gently at Lexi's temple. I'm just... not leaving.

A stillness settled over them–not tense, not uncomfortable, but heavy in the way that silence can feel when two people understand something unspoken. Benson stayed close, her fingers stilling on the damp edge of the cloth. She watched the young SEAL, saw the fight in her start to fold, piece by piece. It wasn't just the fever. It was something quieter–bone-deep exhaustion, and that particular brand of discomfort that came from being seen too clearly. Olivia understood that kind of tired. She'd worn it herself more than once.

Her voice dropped even softer.

—You upset?

A shiver ran through Alexis. Her jaw twitched as she tried to respond, but nothing came at first. Olivia wondered if she'd slipped back into sleep. Then, slowly, the woman's eyes cracked open, unfocused and glassy as they drifted somewhere just past the lieutenant's shoulder.

—I'm tired, she muttered, barely audible. The words dragged behind the fever, slow and slurred.

Olivia's brow knit with concern. She leaned in, pressing the back of her hand gently to the woman's forehead. The heat that met her skin made her heart kick up. Too warm. Alexis flinched slightly beneath the touch, the cool contrast too much. Her features twisted briefly before her expression flattened again, all effort spent.

—You're burning up, the oldest said, worry threading more plainly through her tone. She shifted her weight, fingers moving to the edge of the quilt. You need to cool off a bit.

She began to tug the blanket back, just enough to help. But Alexis' hand jerked up from beneath it, latching on fast.

—No–

Her voice cracked on the word, rough and breathless. Her grip was shaky, not strong, but the panic behind it made Benson still instantly.

—I'm not... the commander tried again, blinking hard, as if that might help her gather the words. I'm in... underwear.

The words landed with a flicker of something fragile–embarrassment, hesitation, maybe even shame. Olivia's hand froze on instinct, the blanket still bunched gently between her fingers. The stubbornness in Alexis' voice wasn't the kind she usually heard from her in the field–this wasn't defiance rooted in pride or authority. This was something rawer. Something closer to self-preservation.

—I see, she murmured softly, letting go of the quilt at once. She didn't step back. She didn't make a joke to defuse the moment or try to convince her otherwise. She simply stayed where she was, kneeling beside the bed, her voice steady and calm in the thick, fever-warmed air. Then the blanket stays. It's okay.

The brunette's hand lingered where it had caught the edge, her fingers still curled, though the tension in her grip was fading fast. Her eyelids drooped again. Whatever adrenaline had flared moments before was already burning out, leaving her visibly weaker, her breaths shallow and uneven beneath the heat.

—I just... need some rest.

Olivia gave a quiet nod, even though the SEAL's eyes were already drifting shut again. She wrung out the cloth once more, placed it gently along the side of her neck, and stayed there a moment longer, watching the younger woman settle beneath the covers, her breathing uneven but easing.

—I'll let you sleep, Benson said softly, rising to her feet with practiced care, like any sudden movement might undo the fragile calm they'd managed to carve out. She smoothed the edge of the blanket Alexis had clutched moments ago, then took a slow step back. You need the rest.

She turned halfway, meaning to cross back toward the door, give the agent some quiet, let the weight of sleep do what medicine hadn't yet.

But then—

—Wait.

It was quiet. Barely a whisper.

Olivia froze. Turned. Alexis' hand hadn't moved from where it rested on the blanket, but her eyes were open again–just barely–and fixed on the woman's silhouette through the dim light.

—You can... stay, she said, her voice rough, barely formed, like she was fighting to get the words through cotton and heat. Just–just sit or something. You don't have to talk. Or...

She trailed off, blinking slowly. Her brow furrowed as if she were already regretting asking, the apology forming before she could even finish the thought.

—I know you've got that case, Alexis mumbled, voice rasping now. The girls. The ring. You probably have a thousand things to do and I'm— She exhaled roughly, frustrated with herself, her expression creasing. I'm just lying here like some half-dead stubborn idiot and you should be out there doing something that actually matters, but I—

—Lex.

The nickname slipped from Olivia's lips–soft, but unwavering. She'd stepped closer without thinking, one hand braced against the footboard, the other relaxed at her side. Her voice was low, even, but beneath it ran something unmistakable: quiet resolve, like steel hidden beneath velvet.

—You matter, she said plainly.

Alexis blinked, slow and dazed, but the words reached her. The lieutenant saw it in the subtle way her jaw unclenched, in the faint flicker of awareness behind her fevered gaze.

—And I'm exactly where I want to be.

The silence that followed wasn't heavy this time–it carried warmth, a quiet pulse of understanding that seemed to settle over both of them. Alexis' expression shifted, the lines of pain and resistance softening by degrees. Not erased. But eased.

Her head tilted ever so slightly in a nod, lashes falling back to her cheeks as she surrendered again to sleep.

Olivia lingered beside the bed for another moment, watching the rise and fall of the younger woman's breath until it found a steady rhythm. Then, with practiced care, she moved around the edge of the bed and lowered herself onto the mattress beside her–slowly, gently–keeping a respectful distance, but close enough that Alexis wouldn't feel alone.

She didn't touch her. Didn't need to. Her presence was quiet but unmistakable.

Champ shifted only slightly at the foot of the bed, lifting his head just long enough to glance back and confirm everything was still as it should be. Satisfied, he laid it back down, his sigh soft and steady as he resumed his vigil.

And there, in the hush of the room, Olivia sat. The world outside–its cases, its chaos–faded into the background.

She didn't reach for her phone. She didn't think about the case files waiting on her desk.

She just stayed. Still.

Close enough to protect, but far enough to let Alexis rest.

*

Time moved gently, muffled by the soft rise and fall of Champ's breathing and the distant groans of old pipes shifting somewhere behind the walls. Olivia stayed still, her back resting against the headboard, one knee bent beneath her and the other stretched along the edge of the bed. Her gaze wandered–sometimes to the window, where the afternoon light had dulled to a muted gray, sometimes to the woman lying beside her.

Alexis looked asleep. Her body was heavy under the quilt, her face slack with exhaustion. But the lieutenant had been watching long enough to know better. Every now and then, a flicker passed through her brow, a small shift in her jaw–as if her mind hovered just beneath the surface, caught somewhere between waking and rest, unable or unwilling to fully let go.

Several more minutes slipped by before Olivia moved. She leaned slightly, reaching across the narrow space to adjust the compress resting against her friend's forehead. Her fingers were careful, practiced–gentle in the way one learns only after enough years tending to others who won't ask for help.

The touch stirred Alexis. Her lashes trembled, then lifted just enough to reveal a sliver of glassy eyes. Her voice emerged like a breath caught on smoke, thin and hoarse.

—I'm not asleep.

Olivia glanced down, the faintest curve lifting one corner of her mouth. She didn't seem surprised–only patient.

—I thought maybe not.

The youngest brunette didn't answer right away. Her eyes wandered again, past her friend's shoulder toward some point on the far wall, distant and unfocused. Then, after a moment, she blinked–slow and heavy–and her lips parted, as though whatever she was holding back had worn thin.

—Thank you... for taking care of my boy. Of me.

The admission hung between them like a thread tugged loose. Olivia didn't speak right away. Her hand remained where it was, resting near Alexis' temple, her thumb brushing lightly against the curve of her brow in something that was more comfort than habit.

—You don't have to thank me, she said after a moment, voice low. I wanted to.

The agent's eyes drifted shut again—not asleep, not fully, but hovering in that hazy place just above it. Her breathing had leveled out, steadier now, though the occasional flicker of tension still ran through her shoulders, a subtle twitch here and there. Olivia didn't speak. She simply watched her, quiet and still, as if afraid that any sudden movement might jolt her out of whatever fragile calm she'd found.

Then, barely louder than the sound of breath between them, Alexis spoke.

—When I was a kid... my mother used to send me to school even when I was sick.

Her voice was hoarse, dulled at the edges, as though the words had taken too long to surface and were worn down by the time they reached her lips. Olivia turned slightly, her head tilting just enough to catch her gaze, even if Alexis kept her eyes closed.

—She'd say I was being dramatic. Making it up, the brunette went on, her brow twitching faintly beneath the fever sheen. Didn't matter if I had a fever or could barely keep my eyes open. I'd get dressed, drag myself to school, sit through the day like a ghost.

The oldest woman didn't say anything. She didn't need to. She just shifted slightly, lowering her hand until it rested gently on the blanket near Alexis' arm–close, warm, but not invasive. Her presence, quiet and steady, filled the space that words couldn't.

—But Tommy..., she whispered, voice nearly swallowed by the dark. If he got a bruise? A bump? He'd stay home. My mom would set him up on the couch with a blanket and cartoons. Make soup from scratch. Sit with him, dote on him, tell him how brave he was for being in pain.

Her throat worked around something dry, brittle.

—He was hurting, so he got to stay. I was hurting... so I was a burden.

The quiet that followed didn't press like silence usually did–it hovered, tender and understanding. It wrapped around them like something living, like the apartment itself was listening. Olivia didn't move her hand. She just let it stay–something solid in the soft dark, in all the space Alexis had never been given as a child.

The commander's jaw twitched, just once, then stilled again.

—Sometimes I'd fake feeling better, she went on, her voice thinner now, fraying at the edges. Just so she wouldn't roll her eyes when I walked into the kitchen. Just so I didn't have to hear her tell my dad I was faking again while he was deployed. While he couldn't see.

A beat passed. Then Alexis' brow furrowed, barely, and her lips parted again, the words shaky and small.

—She used to say I was too sensitive. That I made things worse for everyone.

Olivia's chest tightened. But when she spoke, her voice was calm, low, unwavering.

—She was wrong.

Gray didn't open her eyes. Her face didn't shift. But her next breath caught slightly, like something unsteady had loosened in her ribs.

—I think..., she started, then paused. The words clung to her throat. I think I used to try to earn it. Her kindness. Like maybe if I was strong enough... quiet enough... she'd stop seeing me as a problem.

The hand near hers moved. Olivia let her fingers settle lightly on top of Alexis' forearm, just a brush of contact—steady, respectful, grounding.

—You didn't have to earn that, the lieutenant said, the steadiness in  her voice quiet but sure. Not then. Not now.

Another moment passed. The air between them held still, wrapped in something heavier than silence and warmer than pity. The oldest watched as the muscles in Lexi's face softened, just slightly–like some piece of her was loosening for the first time in a long time.

Then, quietly–almost like the words slipped out on their own–the agent drew in a shallow breath and murmured, "Sorry."

Olivia angled her head, gentle curiosity in her eyes.

—For what?

—For rambling, came the rough reply. Alexis grimaced faintly, her lips twitching as if she was trying to suppress the instinct to wince at herself. Her eyes shut for a beat, lashes brushing fever-warmed skin.  It's the fever. I don't... talk like this. Not about myself. Not really.

A swallow. The muscles in her throat tightened as embarrassment crept into her voice.

—I probably sound ridiculous.

—You don't, Olivia said without pause, her voice steady, quiet but firm. You sound like someone who's been holding everything in for a long time. And who finally let a little of it out.

Alexis shifted slightly beneath the blanket, enough for Olivia to feel the movement where her hand still rested gently atop her forearm. There was a pause–long and quiet–and for a moment, Benson thought she might've slipped back into that hazy edge of sleep.

But then, softer than before, the young woman spoke again.

—It's easier when I don't talk about it, she confessed, barely above a whisper. Most of the time, if I pretend it doesn't matter... it almost doesn't.

The lieutenant's fingers gave the faintest squeeze in response–not pressing, just there. Present.

—I know that feeling, she said. But it does matter. And so do you.

No protest followed. No sarcastic deflection or shrug. Just stillness–and the sense that, for once, Alexis was letting the words settle in without pushing them away. Letting herself believe, if only a little.

*

The apartment had settled into a gentle stillness, broken only by the soft tick of the radiator and the occasional sleepy sigh from Champ, stretched out near the foot of the bed. The quiet wrapped around the room like a thick, familiar blanket. Olivia sat leaned back against the headboard, one leg bent beneath her, the glow of her phone lighting her face in intervals. She scrolled slowly, eyes flicking over updates she wasn't fully processing–half-distracted by the quiet rhythm of Alexis' breathing just inches away.

At last, the younger woman had given in to real sleep. Not the restless, half-aware drifting from earlier, but something deeper–limbs slack, face softened, the tension she wore like armor finally eased for a little while. However, she didn't lie still for long. Not completely.

Even in sleep, Alexis moved with the unconscious restlessness of someone not used to staying still. A sigh escaped her, low and muted, as her body shifted under the weight of fever and dreams. The quilt slipped lower, sliding down past her hips to pool loosely around her thighs. Olivia didn't notice at first–still scrolling, mind somewhere between SVU reports and the soft cadence of late afternoon–but the shift of motion caught her eye.

She looked over instinctively, and there–bare skin, long legs stretched half across the mattress, her underwear just barely visible beneath the hem of her tee. Olivia blinked, startled not by the sight itself, but by the sudden, uninvited flush of warmth in her chest. She looked away quickly, not wanting to invade anything sacred, already reaching to gently adjust the blanket—

But before she could move, the agent stirred again.

Without warning, she rolled toward Olivia, slow and heavy like someone chasing comfort in a dream. One leg lifted, bare and warm, draping itself across the lieutenant's lap. Then an arm followed, slipping around her waist with surprising surety. Within seconds, the younger woman had tucked herself close–cheek pressed to her friend's side, breath warm through the fabric of her shirt.

The embrace wasn't neat or careful. It was instinctive. Raw. The kind of unconscious gesture made only when walls were down.

Olivia froze. Not out of discomfort–but out of sheer surprise. She didn't breathe at first, afraid to startle her. And then, as the realization sank in–Alexis Gray was literally cuddling her in her sleep—something twisted in her chest. A slow, impossible mix of tenderness and something else. Something quieter. Something she didn't have the courage to name.

She felt like a teenager again, flushed and still, her pulse drumming faintly in her ears. The SEAL's leg was heavy across hers, warm against her hip. Her arm was slung around her waist like they'd done this a hundred times before.

It was ridiculous. It was sweet. It was intimate in a way Olivia hadn't expected.

She glanced down, brushing a few strands of dark hair from Alexis' forehead with the gentlest touch. And then she settled again–slowly, carefully, her hand resting lightly over the young woman's where it curled against her side.

Outside, the city carried on without them. But here, in this quiet corner of the world, Olivia stayed still.

And she didn't mind at all.

*

TAGLIST: @ginasbaby @nciscmjunkie @thefatobsession @makkaroni221 @certainlychaotic @hi-i-1 @kiwiana145 @kobayashi-fr @alexis042499

[livingdeadmlm]

You Bring Me Closer to God p12.5

Pronouns: The reader is referred to as a man. 

Physical Sex: not mentioned 

How far are things going?: no sex but each man fantasies for a second! 

Warnings: not much other than my own ship propaganda (Sean/Kieran Dutch/Hosea Charles/Javier.)

Outline: While Father is off in Strawberry, the men in Valentine are left in charge of setting up for the impending storm. They each get a bit nosy in Fathers room. 

What inspired me to write this: the awful priest romance book I picked up. 

Other: Wanted to have a chapter of the men to show their relationships with each other! I am sadly very late to posting this to tumblr so I am very sorry about that! plus this is short so I'm working to make the next chapter longer and more meaty if I can lol! (I also am setting up an excuse to talk about Ethical theories. I adore ethics and philosophy)

Tag list @unr0tt3n @pedifero @moarar: Comment or send an ask to be added to the tag list when new updates come out!! 

Previous Chapter or Next Chapter!

Javier and Charles were in your room. Your list mentioned that extra candles were kept on your top shelf.

Charles could reach them just fine, and Javier began to look around after struggling for a few seconds. Your shelf was full of books and small wooden boxes, and the bed was messy and unmade.

Walking over to your closet, Javier found a box under the folded blanket pile. Pushing the blankets, Javier opened the box to see it was full of books. Javier picked out a book; its soft green cover had caught his attention. There was nothing else on the cover besides the title he couldn’t understand.

“Hey Charles, what does this say?” Arms full of candles, Charles looked at the title in cursive across the front. “The hunter. Where did you find that?” Charles squinted as Javier flicked through the pages. Print English was easier for him to read, and he was still struggling with cursive writing.

Glancing across the pages, it seemed like a plain story: “ ‘Lilliana stood at the edge of the woods, her heart racing as she locked eyes with the enigmatic hunter. His eyes held stories yet to be told, laughter tucked in the corners, and secrets wrapped in shadows.’ oh my!” Javier put on a slight voice as he read the book, mimicking your speech patterns where he could.

“A box of romance books tucked away in the closet?” Charles gets his hands on a few more candles. Charles laughed, a soft sound as he shook his head. Javier stared as Charles laughed, a grin across his face at the noise.

“Cute, huh?” Javier kicked the box back into your closet, putting the soft leather book into his inner coat pocket. “Do you think he really reads them?” Charles watched as Javier leaned down to get the blankets. “Maybe he’s read all these other ones.”

Javier waved his hand around to your stuffed shelf. “Being alone for 20, I imagine a man gets a little needy.” Charles nodded and sat with the words for a bit. You probably were needy.

Lifting the large stack of blankets, the men made their way out to Hosea to set up the cots.

–

“Ah, you know what, Kieran Sean, can you find matchboxes? We should try to have one per room.” Hosea scratched his chin as he helped Javier and Charles set up. The fluttering of blankets filled the air as both men stepped out of the room and wandered the halls, only having about three matchbooks. “I uh, I know where some more are,” Kieran stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“(Name) keeps a few books in his nightstand.” As he spoke, Kieran absentmindedly flicked the paper of the matchbooks with his fingers, the faint sound echoing in the stillness as he made his way toward your room, the door slightly ajar. Each footstep thudded against the wooden floor.

“An’ how would ya know that?” Sean asked incredulously, narrowing his eyes as he observed Kieran kneeling beside the nightstand, the dim light casting shadows on his nervous expression.

“Well, um, I always come by to help out!” Kieran hurriedly defended himself, his gaze flickering nervously around the room, avoiding Sean's penetrating stare. He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks as he reached into the small drawer and began plucking a few matchbooks from their arrangement.

“Are yew sure it’s just that and not yew bein’ some sort of pervert?” Sean challenged, his voice laced with playful suspicion. He leaned down, forcing Kieran to meet his eyes, which gleamed with mischief. “Looking through Father (Name)’s stuff just to get yer rocks off?”

“Of course not! Why on earth would I be nosy here?!” Kieran exclaimed, backing away slightly as the gravity of Sean's accusation hung in the air. “It’s not like (Name) has any secrets! Never met a more open book in my life!”

Sean paused, his intense gaze softening before bursting into laughter, filling the room. “I’m only pullin’ yer leg! But are yew sure, though? Not even a…” he teased, rummaging through the other drawers, tossing their contents with abandon. “Fancy little notebook where he writes all his fantasies?”

As Kieran watched Sean's antics, he felt like this was violating a lot of your privacy, even if Kieran had, in the past, taken a small peek into some of the other cabinets and drawers when he had the chance.

“(Name) doesn't have anything like that!” Sean huffed at Kieran’s words before going to the bedside table opposite Kieran. “Why cause ya checked?” Kieran groaned and denied it again.

“Wouldn’t that be somethin’? Desperate Father (Name) scribblin’ in a notebook about, I dunno, intense eye contact.” Both men knew they had done more with you but refrained from mentioning it. “I suppose…” both men left the room, minds wandering off thinking of you in such a state of need, and all you’d have to turn to was writing that raw emotion.

As if they could read it anyway.

—

Hosea placed a matchbook on each window next to a few candles. Last on your list was to gather some canned goods. And writing to avoid fresh fruit until the day before the storm.

‘I want them to last! So don’t worry about buying any!” The sun was setting as Lenny whispered, describing where you hid a little money to buy food cans.

Dutch saunters into your room, pushing the door open once again. Your room is peaceful; he can feel the calm wash over him. Dutch pulls a book from your shelf.

‘Critique of Pure Reason by Immanuel Kant’

Opening the book to the middle, Dutch slid the money into his hand before the pages caught his attention. A plethora of underlines and annotations from you. And the book itself kept him in.

You had philosophy books? And noted things about them? Looking more at the books on your shelf, over half were different philosophers and their ideas. Consequentialism, social contract theory, utilitarianism, divine command theory. Many things he had a vague idea of.

Hosea entered your room and eyed Dutch carefully. “Did you find the money okay?” Ditched nodded and slid the book back into your shelf. He’d absolutely had to speak to you about such things. He didn't see you as the philosophical type.

Hosea looked at the mess in your bed and sighed. You left in a rush, so he assumed you didn’t have time to fix it. Hosea tidied your bed by stepping over to the tangled mess of blankets and pillows. It was getting dark outside as each man left, Dutch and Hosea heading to the general store and the rest off to camp for the day.

[silver-tongued-bby]

The Fall - Chapter I

Pairing: Manipulative!Dom!Loki x Sub!fem!Reader

This work is set in an AU.

Words: ~2,400

Summary: A chance encounter at the grocery store has you second guessing yourself and well, everything else.

This is work of fiction is 18+!!!!, and contains graphic descriptions of rough sex, manipulation, sadism, Loki who likes to see you cry, a dom/sub dynamic, a broken reader with family issues, cigarette smoking. Please do not interact if you are a minor or are sensitive towards any of the themes mentioned above.

~~~

It really was a bad fucking day. 

The exaggeratedly bad type of day that was reserved for shitty romcoms or late-night comedies, the ones that made your stomach curl. Everything that could go wrong did. 

And so here you were, feeling sorry for yourself as you vacantly stared at the neatly stacked ice cream containers behind the glass. You rubbed your eyes and caught a glimpse of someone in the reflection, flinching with a start. 

It took you a moment to recognise her - that girl. The one that showed up when you were at your lowest. That girl that looked so much like you, but without the mask. The mask that made you a functioning member of society, that got you jobs, friends, and dates. You looked at this girl, the one with tears in her eyes wrapped in a men’s coat four sizes too big for her and wondered when exactly she’d come into existence. It seemed she’d always been there, growing as her parents did their very best to do their absolute worst. 

You blinked again, sighing at your reflection before turning around, vacant stare now aimed at the boxes of crackers behind you. You weren’t hungry - not really. Your feet had just carried you to your car, so you drove yourself here, as if a 1AM visit to the grocery store would fix things. 

Blinking away the fresh tears, you grabbed a box of Cheez-Its off the shelf and turned, your bleary eyes meeting those of the stranger at the end of the aisle. 

Something in his stare stopped you, pinned you in place. His expression was neutral, but something in that blue-green told you to turn around and run, though your clever feet had seemingly retired for the evening. 

You could tell he was handsome, though you didn’t lift your gaze from his. You felt as if he’d somehow stripped you bare, easily seeing all you desperately tried to hide. 

You opened your mouth to speak, though you hadn’t the slightest idea of what to say. His eyes flickered down to the box in your hand before snapping back to your own and a second later he carried on, walking past the aisle to the next.

You stood there on uneasy legs, a frown tugging at your features. What the fuck was that? 

You shivered, your heart racing, the frown deepening when you felt heat pooling between your legs. You looked to the box of Cheez-Its, then back to where he stood. No, really. What the fuck was that?

You weren’t one to make eye contact in public, especially not when you were alone, learning young of the attention it brought. But something in the way he’d looked at you made you want it - want him to look at you again. 

You stopped yourself from following him, shaking your head as you walked to the front of the store. It was 1AM and you were alone in a deserted grocery store. What the hell are you doing? 

Your eyes cleared a little as you made your way to the checkout counter, the stranger filling your thoughts. The only clerk working was a teenage boy, who rung up your box and gave you your total in a monotone drawl. You asked for a pack of cigarettes as well, thumbing the lighter in your pocket. 

“ID?” He asked, blinking slowly at you. 

“Fuck,” you mumbled, feeling around in your pockets for your wallet. You’d left the house with a $20 bill crumpled in the top pocket of the giant fishing coat you donned. “I don’t have it on me.” 

He shrugged, looking back at you. “Manager’s really up my ass lately. Can’t give them to you without ID. Sorry,” he shrugged again, taking the crumpled bill from you as the register opened.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as you did your very best not to cry in front of this poor kid. Taking the box and pocketing the change, you walked out through the sliding doors and into the night. 

Making it to your car, you pulled the keys from your pocket, the box in your other hand. You swore as the keychain slipped from your fingers, skidding against the pavement and under the only other car in the lot- parked just a spot away. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, debating on whether or not to just leave them and walk home. Sighing, you got on your hands and knees, spotting the mass of keys right between the tires. You tried to reach but felt nothing, the gravel stinging against your kneecaps. You found the tears started to fall again, the day catching back up with you. 

You sniffed, reaching under the car again, the keys still just out of your grasp. You sat up on your knees, shivering as you thought of what to do. You must’ve sat there for a solid minute or two, your knees aching as you wiped tear after tear from your heated skin. 

“Here.” You jumped at the sound of a man’s voice, looking up to see him standing above you, your keyring hooked on his finger. He wore the same expression as before, though his eyes looked darker in the low light. 

“Oh,” you sniffed again and stood, taking the keyring from him. You brushed some of the gravel off your knees, wiping another tear away with the back of your hand. “Sorry.” 

You turned to leave, embarrassed, when you felt his hand against your shoulder. You looked to him, your breath catching once more as he looked down at you, his stare more intense than before. 

“Your biscuits,” he said, the little smirk curling at the corner of his lip making you feel better and worse at the same time. You looked down, seeing the box at your feet. He withdrew his hand as you bent to pick it up. 

“Right,” you mumbled. 

“You want one?” He asked, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his pants pocket. 

You looked at his outstretched hand, the long fingers steady. Looking back to his face, the little smirk was gone. You reached out with a shaky hand, sliding a cigarette from the pack. He put one between his lips and swiftly lit it, holding out his lighter to you. 

“Thank you,” you lit the cigarette then handed him back his lighter. He took it, fingers brushing yours, though his eyes were trained on the highway across the street. You stood beside him in silence, the sound of a passing car filling the air every few seconds. 

“You’re pretty when you cry.” He’d turned to look at you as he’d said it, though you kept your eyes trained on the highway. 

“T-thanks,” you sniffed, glancing up at him, heart racing as he looked down at you with that intensity again. You swallowed. 

He held your gaze as he reached up, the tips of his fingers lightly touching your jaw as his thumb brushed away a tear. His eyes fell to your lips as you wet them, you could feel they were puffy as a result of your crying. Before your brain could catch up with his movements he’d withdrawn, pulling the cigarette from his lips to extinguish it beneath a boot. 

“I’m not always like this,” you said, his gaze lifting to meet yours. 

He quirked an eyebrow as he studied your face. 

You shifted on your feet. “I’m usually better- normal.”

He smirked, turning to open his car door. “Of course you are.” He slid inside, turning on the engine before pulling out of the empty lot, the vehicle’s acceleration loud once it hit the highway. 

You stared off in the direction he’d gone, wondering if that had really just happened. A shiver tore through you as you remembered the feel of his touch against your skin. 

You should have been outraged, or at the very least disturbed at the intimacy of the action, but all you could think of was how desperately you wanted it to happen again. 

You took one last drag off your cigarette and ducked into your front seat, peeling off the other way. 

~~~

Looking in the mirror, you adjusted your skirt before leaning forward to swipe a thumb at your eyeliner. Leaning backwards you but your lip, sticky with gloss as your heart hammered in your chest. 

You looked at your phone to check the time, letting out a shaky breath as you made for the door. 

The drive was quick, one you’d become familiar with over the past week as you visited in the dead of night. Your sick little ritual performed in the hopes of seeing him again. Pulling up to the lot, your heart leapt to your throat when you saw his car, the black expensive one, parked neatly near the front of the darkened deserted pavement. 

You parked a row back, locking your door as you walked quickly to the entrance. You shivered as the blast of air conditioning met your skin, eliciting goosebumps over your exposed arms. You bit your lip, deciding to take the long walk to the back aisle of the store. 

You stepped slowly, shoes clicking off the scuffed linoleum as you kept your gaze forward, using your peripherals to see within the aisles. You couldn’t help the little gasp that slipped from your lips when you caught sight of his lithe, dark figure. You could feel his gaze on you as you passed by, continuing on without a glance in his direction until you made it to the laundry detergent in the next aisle. Picking up a small jug, you made your way to the cash, paying for your purchase along with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. 

You leant against your car, lighting up a cigarette. Taking one nervous drag after another, you finished it and pulled the carton back out, slipping a fresh one from the pack. Your eyes drifted to the sliding doors as they opened. 

You lit it up, watching him walk to his car. He glanced at you casually, opening his trunk for the bag in his hand. 

You bit your lip, pushing yourself off the cool metal before making your way to him. “Hey,” you called out, walking closer. 

He looked at you, that same gaze stripping you bare once more, making your fingers tremble around the cigarette. 

“I-I was here the other night,” you came closer, your heart pounding as you took in his handsome features. He was at least twice your age. “I wanted to say thanks,” you offered him a cigarette. “I was having a rough night.” 

He glanced at your hand before taking it from you. “I remember.” 

You nodded as he lit it up, taking a drag. 

“Is there something you want?” 

You opened your mouth, then shut it, unsure of what to say. What did you want from him?

There was that stare again. “How many times did you come to the grocery store at 1 in the morning this week?” 

Your eyes widened. 

He took a step closer. “The clerk inside told me you’d been by every night. Is that right?”

You found yourself nodding, the rest of you frozen in place. 

“And what were you looking for?” 

You swallowed. 

He waited. 

“You,” you called out, the small sound of your own voice surprising you. 

“And what is it that you want from me?”

“I don’t know,” it was a whimper - barely audible over the sound of a passing car. 

He didn’t say a word, simply pulling a phone from his back pocket. He handed it to you, opened to the new contact creator. 

You took it in your shaky hands, typing out your name and number before passing it back to him, his fingertips grazing yours. 

He put the phone back in his pocket. “You shouldn’t be hanging around here this late,” he put out his cigarette. “It isn’t safe.” 

You nodded. 

He slid into the drivers seat and pulled off, leaving you speechless and alone once again. 

~~~

It was a week before he texted you.

The first two days any notification you got made you scramble for your phone, heart pounding, only to be disappointed yet again. 

On the third day you started to lose hope, and wondered if you should go back to the grocery store. He’d told you not to - but what if that only meant he’d actually wanted you to? What if it was all a test? 

After sitting in your car in the driveway for an hour you decided to go to bed with a huff, only to do the exact same thing the night after. 

On the fifth day you did your best to push him from your mind - to stop the image of his face from popping up each time you closed your eyes. It didn’t work, so you spent the night awake, watching horror movies as you attempted to force him from your thoughts with blood and gore. 

The sixth day you drove past the grocery store at 1:03 AM, not seeing his car there as your heart sank in your chest. 

Then the seventh day came. And at eight o’clock on a Sunday you got a text, prompting you to lazily reach for your phone. You sat up straight when you saw the unknown number. 

Have you figured it out yet?

Figured out what? You responded in seconds, cursing yourself for not playing it cool. 

What you want from me.

Your heart raced as you reread the words, trying to think up a witty response. Only one thing echoed in your thoughts, and you found yourself typing it out, and staring at the words. 

I want you to pay attention to me. 

Before you could overthink it you hit send and closed your phone, throwing it to the other end of the couch. The soft ping made you reach for it, your heart in your throat. 

What are you willing to do for my attention? 

You swallowed, staring at the words. A normal person wouldn’t respond, recognising that statement for what it was. A red flag. A huge one at that. You knew what he was asking for, and yet you typed out a response, quickly hitting send. 

Anything. 

You watched the three dots at the bottom of the screen. 

Let’s get dinner.

~~~

To be continued...

~~~

Author's Note: Ok ok ok so this is very loosely based off of this one-off interaction I had at a grocery store (years ago), as well as a somewhat popular account on here that I am both fascinated and disgusted with at the same time. Reader is in for a sketchy time...

Thank you so much for checking out my latest work. A new chapter of Tear You Apart is coming soon.

And thank you to all of my followers for your continued support during my hiatus 🖤

As usual, likes, reblogs, and comments are always immensely appreciated. 🖤 🖤

[antichilde]

margin of error: part 1

satoru gojo x fem reader, 1.7k words mdni

in which satoru gojo makes a bet

contents: student teacher!gojo, student!reader, no curses, college au, slight age difference (gojo is 20, you are a couple years older), disinterested reader, he falls first, no smut (for now)

notes: loosely based on worth the wait — i just can’t let go of teaching assistant!gojo. i’ve never posted a multi-chapter fic on tumblr so we’ll see how this goes, but comments/asks are always appreciated. (image citation)

part two | part three | part four | part five | read on ao3

Gojo watches you from his place at one of the bio lab’s big slate tables. He’s been grading papers for about an hour, looking up every now and then when his peripheral vision catches you reaching for the top shelf. Your shorts keep riding up on the slope of your thighs, though you don’t seem particularly bothered by it. 

“You know,” he says, breaking the silence. “You’re supposed to wear long pants in here.”

You don’t even turn to look at him. “You’re only telling me this now?”

He shrugs, though he knows you can’t see. “It was a welcome distraction.”

His voice is pure flirtation. This is where he expects you to blush, maybe fix your clothing just enough to stay enticing. He’s used that line before, and he’s pretty confident it’ll work on you. 

It doesn’t. You go back to ignoring him and Gojo frowns. He really is distracted now. A couple papers later he stands and stretches, making sure to let the hem of his shirt ride up. 

“Need any help with that?” he asks, and you look up from your work. 

“Don’t you have more papers to grade?”

Ignoring your question, Gojo moves to take a look at the experiment and is surprised to see that you clearly have no idea what you’re doing. Hm. Maybe he is having an influence on you after all. 

“You’re doing it wrong,” he says, tilting his head towards the vials in front of you. 

“I’ll figure it out.”

He laughs. “I don’t doubt it. But you’ve already redone it a couple times and I don’t think Yaga will be happy if you waste any more materials.”

For a moment don’t reply, leaning against the table and looking at him with a completely unreadable expression. 

“Alright,” you say at last, stepping aside and gesturing to the experiment. “Show me where I’m going wrong.”

“I’ll need to see your measurements first.”

You reach for your notebook, passing it to him. Either you’re completely oblivious to the double entendre or you’re electing to ignore it. He tosses a couple more lines your way as he walks you through the lab, but it’s like flirting with a brick wall. 

By the time you’re finished he’s thoroughly frustrated. This is only amplified when you shoo him back to his work, rinsing your materials and artfully dodging his attempts to strike up a conversation. At the end of the evening he’s left with a stack of ungraded papers and nothing to show for it.

“Maybe she’s just not into you.” 

Geto doesn’t even look up from his Switch, unmoved by Gojo’s story. 

“That’s impossible. Everyone’s into me,” Gojo says, pacing back and forth. “Maybe she’s not into guys. Or she’s got a boyfriend or something… Though that’s never been an issue before.”

“No, she likes guys.” Geto tries to hide a smile as his friend’s eyes snap to him. “She doesn’t have a boyfriend either.”

“And how do you know that, Suguru?”

He shrugs. “We’re in the same advisory. I thought you knew.”

Gojo had not, in fact, known that and now he feels a little silly because Geto mentions their group chat quite often. 

Collapsing onto Geto’s bed, he stares up at the ceiling. “You get along with your advisory unnaturally well. I don’t know anyone else who actually keeps in touch with theirs.”

“You know Nanami,” Geto says, his voice level even as he frantically mashes the A button. “And Utahime. And Haibara. And—”

“Okay, okay, let me amend my statement: I don’t know anyone outside of your advisory that actually keeps in touch with theirs. The only person I talk to from mine is Shoko.”

“Classic STEM majors. Can’t even draft a text.”

Gojo scoffs. “Yeah, whatever. Let’s see how much you and your liberal arts degree are making five years from now.”

After a moment of contemplation, he adds: “Think you can put in a good word for me in your group chat?”

“No, most of them know you too well.”

“You’re so mean to me.” He rolls so he’s facing the wall. “It doesn’t matter anyway. There’s another lab period this week.”

You’re back in the lab with him. It’s like déjà-vu, except this time you’re wearing clothing that adheres to safety guidelines. It’s actually worse like this— fuck, you look good in those jeans. This must be some kind of karmic punishment for hitting on you last time, but Gojo has never been one to consider signs from the universe. 

“Do you need any help?” he asks, leaning against your table. Your look of concentration is just too cute.

“Yes,” you say. “Shoko walked me through the experiment before she left, but I must’ve missed something.”

“Can I see your notes?” he asks, and wordlessly you push them across the table, turning your attention back to your work before he can dazzle you with a smile. He squints at your handwriting through his glasses. Everything looks alright on paper, but he can see that something’s off about the actual results. 

“I think your labels might be mixed up. I’ll grab you a couple pH strips.”

You glance up at him, as if you’re surprised that he’s actually helping you, and he takes the opportunity to shoot you that smile. The effect is negligible. 

After testing each sample and confirming that yes, the labels had been mixed up, you go right back to ignoring him. Gojo makes the tactical decision to retreat and wait until the experiment is finished before he tries to talk to you again. 

“You’re friends with Suguru Geto, right?” he asks, helping you clear away your materials. 

“Mm-hm. Do you know him too?”

“Yeah, we actually live together.”

You perk up at that. “You must be Gojo then?” 

He stops midway through shelving a beaker, glancing over at you. “Did you… not know my name until now?”

“Was I supposed to?”

Ouch. Well, that certainly knocks his ego down a couple pegs. 

“I’ve been your TA for almost a month.”

And you’re apparently on a first name basis with Shoko, he doesn’t add. He knows it’ll just sound petulant. 

You shut the cabinet you’d been arranging, turning to lean against the slate counter. 

“Maybe I should’ve paid more attention. It’s nice to be able to connect a face to the name. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Good things, right?” 

You don’t reply, just return to your table to pack up your notebooks. 

“She didn’t even know my name!” Gojo’s back in Geto’s room, pacing around. “How the hell did she not know it? It’s not like there’s a million TAs for that class— just me and Shoko!”

Geto yawns, not bothering to cover his mouth. “Maybe she just doesn’t care.”

“I bet she’s just playing hard to get. Trying to keep me interested.”

“Yeah, and it’s clearly working. Really, Satoru— she’s not the sort of person who plays games like that. Also she said you’re not her type.” 

He stops dead in his tracks. “What? When?!”

Geto pulls out his phone, unlocking it and opening Instagram. He scrolls back a ways and tosses the phone to Gojo. “Read it and weep.”

thegirlreadingthis99: Sorry guys I’m going to be late to dinner. I had to stay late to finish a lab and got held up

yu_haibara: Everything alright?

suguroo: If it makes you feel better Utahime will probably be late too so…

iori.hime: 🖕🖕🖕

thegirlreadingthis99: (@ yu_haibara) I’m okay. Just annoyed. One of the teaching assistants kept hitting on me while I was trying to focus

yu_haibara: Ew I’m so sorry

iori.hime: Death penalty

knanami73: (@ suguroo) 👀

suguroo: Was he cute?

thegirlreadingthis99: Yeah I guess. Not really my type though

thegirlreadingthis99: I’d pick Shoko over him any day

knanami73: (@ suguroo) 🫢

iori.hime: Why do you keep doing that

suguroo: (@ thegirlreadingthis99) Me too

“This proves nothing,” Gojo says, shutting off the phone and tossing it onto the bed. “Except that she said I’m cute.”

Geto shoots him a look of disbelief. “ That’s what you’re choosing to focus on?”

Shrugging, Gojo deposits himself onto Geto’s desk chair and leans back. Truth be told he’s kind of pissed. Not at Suguru, obviously, but at the fact that you genuinely seemed uninterested.

Not really my type. 

What the hell is that supposed to mean? There are three universally acknowledged facts about Satoru Gojo: he’s beautiful, he’s charming, and he’s good at everything. How could someone not want him? It’s baffling. 

He tips the chair back until it’s balanced on two legs, staring at a crack in Geto’s ceiling. “…I can make this work.”

“Hm?” Geto asks, looking up. He’s texting, and Gojo can’t help but wonder if it’s the advisory chat again. “Make what work?”

“I bet that I can get her to fall for me.” His gaze flickers over to his friend, searching his expression. “Unless of course you want her?”

With a sigh, Geto turns his phone off and meets Gojo’s eyes. He looks tired. Or maybe just resigned. “No, I don’t. We’re strictly friends. And for the record I don’t like the way that question was phrased.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Women are objectified, I get it,” Gojo says, waving a hand dismissively and pretending to gag. “People objectify me too and I’ve never had a problem with it.”

He’s just trying to get a reaction, but Geto doesn’t take the bait. “I’m not going to stop you. She’s an adult and can look after herself, but I really don’t think this is going to end how you want it to.”

“Is that a challenge?” Gojo asks, turning his attention back to the ceiling. 

“No.” Geto gets to his feet and stretches his arms above his head. “Now get out of my room, I’m going to sleep.” 

thegirlreadingthis99: (@ suguroo) So when were you planning on telling me that Gojo is my TA for bio

yu_haibara: WAIT

yu_haibara: GOJO AS IN SATORU GOJO??

suguroo: The one and only

iori.hime: This is perfect I finally have an excuse to kill him

knanami73: 😔

thegirlreadingthis99: (@ knanami73) You fucking knew didn’t you

knanami73: 🫥

iori.hime: STOP DOING THAT

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

A Sweet Mishap - Chapter 20

Pairing - Jensen Ackles x Reader 

A/N: I just want to start by thanking everyone for all the love on this story so far. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. This chapter is a little heavier (as is the story going forward, but I'll include potential triggers for each chapter as relevant), so please read the TW below and only read on if you feel comfortable doing so.

Potential Trigger Warnings: no warnings

A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

As the reality of making it on Broadway sets in I dedicate myself to self-improvement. I go for lengthy walks or jogs daily either before or after work depending on my shift. I call or text Jensen whenever we can, and decide to give a relationship with him a real shot. 

But, as the week goes on and he prepares to go back to Vancouver to start filming and I busy myself with night rehearsals, work at the cafe, and prep work for my classes, all while attempting to maintain a healthy sleep schedule. My contact with Jensen eventually drops back to sporadic text messages and a range of missed calls on either side. The one thing keeping me from a major meltdown is knowing my best friend will be back Sunday and I’ve already got a coffee date planned for Monday morning.

When I finally lay in bed on Saturday night, getting some much needed relaxation I scroll through my social media feed. Thanks to Jensen’s surprise stunt at the wedding and then his run-in at the barbecue joint, his face is all over my feed. I scroll through the lists of speculations about a secret girlfriend or project in New York. The adrenaline and secrecy makes me smile, but at the same time I’m terrified of the truth coming out before I’m ready. I send a few of the articles to Jensen. Minutes later he’s calling. As I answer I can hear music and other voices in the background and I instantly feel guilty for disrupting his night. 

“Hey Darlin’. Relax. I know about the posts. That’s one of the things my agent called about the other day. I’m handling it.”

“I’m sorry, did I disturb your night? You sound like you’re out. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“I just haven’t had a chance to bring it up, but I’m here now. It doesn’t matter where else I am. You need me, so I’m here. Take a deep breath for me.”

I throw my head back on my pillow and take a deep breath, “There’s no way you’re real…”

“It makes me disappointed in my gender that you think that. It means your standards are low.”

“You don’t exactly get high standards when you’ve dated the people I have…But I really don’t want to talk or think about them. What’s your plan?”

“To treat you like my queen. Prove to you that you deserve the world and that you’re my number one.”

“I uh…I meant about the rumours…But that sounds amazing. It’s not gonna be easy, but I’m rooting for you.”

I hear another voice call out on the other end of the line, “Hey Jensen, go easy on my top shelf whiskey! And get back in here!” I figure it’s just someone else at the party or bar or wherever he is.

“I’m comin’!” He calls out before lowing his voice again, “I promise I’m gonna handle it all, so you can just focus on becoming the star I know you are.”

“Thanks. Sounds like your friends are missing you. You should get back.”

“Only if you’re sure you’re okay? No brisket?”

“No brisket, I’m okay now. I should get some sleep anyway.”

“Alright, Darlin’. Sweet dreams.”

I hang up and snuggle into my bed. 

After a long few hours in the cafe, I sit back at the counter in my apartment infront of my laptop. I fill out the digital forms to drop back to part-time study. I figure with getting fit, rehearsals, work and my new, budding relationship I just don’t have the time or mental capacity for the extra unnecessary stress and workload. And last night just confirmed in my mind that I need to focus on my mental health and wellbeing. Feeling a little disappointed but also relieved, I submit the forms and then focus on the required reading for the acting classes. 

After an hour and a half my eyes are straining and my stomach is growling, I shut my laptop and walk around the island bench to find something to eat. As I make a sandwich I keep glancing over at my face-down phone As I sit down to eat I quickly flip it over and slide up for notifications. I notice a missed call from Stella. I quickly call her back, excited to hear from her after what feels like the longest week ever. 

“Hey, Bestie! How’s married life?”

“Amazing! I’ve had the best week ever! I can’t wait to tell you everything tomorrow!”

“Abridged, please. I need a PG version, M at your worst. You can leave out the X-rated stuff, which I know there would have been plenty of.”

“That takes out 90 per cent of my week! Nah, you know what Nick’s like, we did plenty of PG-rated activities.”

“Speaking of Nick, shouldn’t you guys be enjoying your last afternoon and night before the official end of your honeymoon?”

“You would think…But Mr. Reality-check got back to reality the second we touched down. He’s busy checking mail and paying bills and then onto meal prep. I guess it’s good one of us wants to do that…”

“I’m sorry…”

“I know who I married. It’s sweet really, cause I know he’s only doing it to make the transition easier for both of us, and he knows I’ve been dying to hear your goss!”

“We agreed to talk about everything tomorrow…” I say trying to deflect as I start to pace.

“Yeah, but I’m only gonna get an hour for lunch and that includes travel time to and from the cafe. And I need more than the 45-ish minutes that we’re gonna have left. So, tell me about you and Mr Tall and Sexy.”

“There’s honestly not much to tell…We are a maybe something…a far-fetched possibility…”

“There’s a story there…You need me to come over?”

“No! No…You need to be at home with your husband. In other news! Grease? The audition YOU signed me up for…”

“No way! You got it? Who? Sandy? Frenchy?”

“Understudy…and…Female Student number three.”

“Well, you’re gonna be the best damn Female Student number three to ever bless that stage!”

“That’s the plan, but also, chances are over the six week run I’ll get at least one matinee show as the lead.”

“When that happens, I’ll be in the front row.”

“I know you will. Thanks.”

“I’m glad you got a part. I was worried I was gonna have to get you the junior HR position…”

“Broadway is where I want to be. I’m willing to work for it. It’s my first role and it’s a great position. No one lands the lead as their first role…except for probably Jensen Ackles,” I add under my breath.

“What’d he do? You always wear the blame but it’s always the guys in your life taking advantage, so what did HE do?”

“Nothing…I’ve got so much work to do before classes start this week, and I’ve got rehearsals most nights.”

“Hey, I’m your best friend. You can talk to me.”

“I’ve just got a lot to do. I’m thrilled that you had an amazing honeymoon and I can’t wait to see you tomorrow. But go enjoy your night with your husband…”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“I know. Enjoy your night.”

“I plan to. Don’t get too in your head about whatever’s going on.”

I sigh and hang up. As I try my best to refocus on the text about tone and enunciation, my mind keeps wandering back to the night before and the endless rumors that I’m caught in the middle of.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Taglist: @stoneyggirl2 @hobby27, @n-o-p-e-never, @deansimpalababy,

@winchesterwild78, @kr804573, @chriszgirl92, @smoothdogsgirl

@speakinvain, @deans-baby-momma, @1967winchesterimpala

[bloopitynoot]

What I Read This Week: 01/20/25

I am a librarian, and unrelated to stereotypes about my profession, I do read a metric shit-ton in a week. Most of it is fanfiction but hey, I thought maybe it's time I share my reads?

This is what I read this week:

1. A different kind of bun in the oven by jiejieaini (13,338)

Summary: The timer on his oven chimed and he hurried over to pull the bread out.

This is where Wei Wuxian’s day went awry.

Alongside the 5 perfectly baked loaves on the top shelf there was something he had never seen before.

A large egg.

The egg was too big to be a chicken egg, and he certainly wouldn’t have put one of those into the oven. It was nestled between two loaves, their crusts pressing against the shimmering shell which had a slight reddish hint to it.

“What the…what on earth lays an egg this big?” Wei Wuxian muttered to himself as he reached out his gloved hand to pick it up. “And where did it come from?”

He didn’t have time to contemplate this further. A moment later the shell started to crack. The sound was surprisingly loud, loud enough to make his fox ears flatten against his head.

----

Wei Wuxian accidentally becomes the father to a baby dragon. Thankfully his best friend Lan Wangji is there to help.  

This was a short little guy (for me) but so fluffy and domestic :'3

It was a perfect little cute vibe I needed before going into some heavy fics I have bookmarked.

I love wangxian as parents and this one was doubly blessed.

2. Heaven Official's Blessing by MXTX Chapter 19-23

Summary: Born the crown prince of a prosperous kingdom, Xie Lian was renowned for his beauty, strength, and purity. His years of dedication and noble deeds allowed him to ascend to godhood. But those who rise, can also fall…and fall he does, cast from the Heavens again and again and banished to the mortal realm.

Eight hundred years after his mortal life, Xie Lian has ascended to godhood for the third time. Now only a lowly scrap collector, he is dispatched to wander the earthly realm to take on tasks appointed by the heavens to pay back debts and maintain his divinity. Aided by old friends and foes alike, and graced with the company of a mysterious young man with whom he feels an instant connection, Xie Lian must confront the horrors of his past in order to dispel the curse of his present.

I've finished book 1 and am just over halfway into book 2. I'm reading about a chapter a day and live blogging the experience. you can follow along on the Bloopitynoot reads TGCF tag

NO SPOILERS PLS.

So far I am loving it!

3. The Weight of Honor by BillyBabear (7,325)

Summary: Wei Wuxian is a whirlwind of chaos in the disciplined halls of the Cloud Recesses, a constant thorn in Lan Qiren's side. Loud, unruly, and utterly infuriating, the boy seems determined to disrupt every principle the Lan Sect holds dear.

But when a Sect Elder crosses a line, Lan Qiren is forced to investigate. What he uncovers challenges not only his perception of Wei Wuxian, but also his unwavering belief in the fairness and integrity of the Lan Sect itself.

So listen, I am weak for Lan Qiren fics; specifically, Good Uncle Lan Qiren fics. I don't even think it's because of actually reading MDZS, but more so from fanon version of Lan Qiren; I just love this man.

This fic does such a good job of exploring Lan Qiren and his shift from assumptions to questioning himself and uuugh it is so good to see that growth.

A solid palate cleanser fic. Honestly if this premise was a long from I would be eating it up.

4. And Time Is But a Paper Moon by sami (139,032)

Summary: "Zewu-Jun. You once told me about a house surrounded by gentians, where you visited once a month, and how Lan Zhan still waited there, even when the door no longer opened."

Xichen feels light-headed. He feels shocked, and angry. He has never told anyone such a thing, but Lan Zhan is giving Xichen a look of utter betrayal.

"You told him?" Lan Zhan whispers. "When?"

Wei Wuxian takes Lan Zhan's hand. "About twenty years from now."

Wei Wuxian starts again from the beginning.

This won my poll on what I should read next! I have read it before but it truly is a comfort read. I would read this over and over again.

I recommend this series to literally everyone. Sami is such a solid writer

A solid soothing read before I get into the next fic which is bound to ruin my life.

5. Authorised Personnel Only by sami (1,407)

Summary: Mod Post: we are not responsible for your poor life choices and will not give them a platform

While I was reading the first in this very long series; there was an update for an interlude part from sami!

This will make absolutely 0 sense if you dont read the rest of the series.

It was fun though- I love the little social media conspiracy interludes.

6. This Is Not A Courtship (Said the Bridesgroom to the Suitor) by midnightsnapdragon (132,165)

Summary:

“Why doesn’t Hanguang-jun just ask his brother if he’s all right? Write him a note, or something?” Wei Wuxian winces. “You’re not technically supposed to do that when someone is in seclusion.” “So? This is his brother. Shouldn’t that be more important than Lan Clan’s three thousand rules?” “Aw, Jiang Cheng, would you write me notes if I were in seclusion?” “Yeah, to tell you to stay there.” “Jiang Cheng!” “Well, so what? It seems like Zewu-jun just wants to be left alone.” And Jiang Cheng can’t blame him. Sometimes it takes every ounce of self-control he has not to wade into the lily fronds and join the frogs in their screaming chorus at dusk. “What am I supposed to do about it?”

In which Jiang Cheng proves to be a questionable grief counselor but a faithful correspondent, and no one has seen Lan Xichen since his little brother's wedding.

This fic was so good

I am weak for a xichen healing fic- bonus if Jiang Cheng heals too and this had both

The romance was so slow burn, the tags do not lie. the miscommunication was incredibly written

7. Stepping Up by Tossawary

Summary: Shang Qinghua accidentally brings Luo Binghe in as a disciple of An Ding Peak instead of Qing Jing Peak. Thankfully, there don't seem to be any requirements that he step up and become the new villainous mentor figure, so he decides to ignore the problem until further notice.

Luo Binghe looking up to him is a dangerous sign. But as long as he keeps young Luo Binghe and Mobei-Jun away from each other, everything should be fine, right?

I am so soft for fics where the protagonist (who had a shitty life) gets a chance to have a better one- and this is very much that.

It was truly so wholesome :'3

The only thing that could have made it better is a part two LOL

Such a cozy low angst read

8. a candle blown out by RoseThorne (1548)

Summary: Gusu Lan takes in Wei Wuxian after Yu Ziyuan nearly kills him punishing him.

Very short fic but part one in the series rain falls and soaks into the earth

this is deeply upsetting- Wei Wuxian goes through something truly awful and does not cope well- so take a look at the tags before proceeding.

by itself this is a super depressing read

9. a ghost in the mirror by RoseThorne (1,497)

Summary: Lan Wangji is losing hope as Wei Ying withers away, but he keeps trying.

Part two of the rain falls and soaks into the earth series.

I am now 2/2 for crying with this series.

the ending is hopeful I swear, but man it was a ride.

10. this body yet survives by RoseThorne (57,250)

Summary: Wei Wuxian continues to recover from his traumatic near-death experience, and the cultivation world slowly reacts to the event as well.

3/3 I guess on the tears train. this is the last part of the rain falls and soaks into the earth series.

Still so much pain, but had a good ending

Yumeng siblings love in this fic! Also everyone taking care of wei ying

That's what I read this week :)

[apollafire]

(sorry that it's so short; not every chapter will be like that. I had finally thought of a good jumping off point and sort of ran with it- either way, enjoy!)

Dearly Departed

Next Chapter

Summerville, Oklahoma 2021

The place was a dump. Maybe not a complete lost cause, but then again it probably was. Callie knew that for sure, standing in the foyer of the what should have been abandoned old farmhouse her father had residing in until his death. It was a miracle that the "fracking", as Phoebe had called it, didn't bring the place down on top of them.

"Can I help you?" The woman's voice made Callie turn to face her and a feeling of familiarity washed over Janine Melnitz as she looked at the blonde woman, looking towards the living room at her children only strengthened the feeling.

"We're the uh-" The word family was refusing to leave Callie's mouth, "This was my father's place."

"Right, hello. Hi." After a moment, Janine regained herself, "I'm Janine Melnitz, we spoke on the phone. I was old friends with your father, I'm very sorry for your loss." The women continued to speak as Trevor turned to poke around the living room some more, just looking for weird stuff when he pulled an old photo from between two books on a shelf.

A young woman, maybe mid to late twenties, stood against a pillar of some grand building. Laboratory goggles adorned the top of her head, pushing back a mass of wavy blonde hair. Her smile was bright and proud. She wore Converse sneakers of a dark color, maybe black, cuffed blue jeans, plain purple t-shirt and had a white lab coat draped over her crossed arms.

"Woah, who's this babe?" Trevor chuckled out, catching the attention of the two women and his sister Phoebe as he turned and held the photo up in their direction. Columbia University - 1981 was scribbled on the back in blue pen ink.

"That's your grandmother, Trev." Callie said with a sigh, arms crossed over her chest.

"Grandmother, as in grandma Kate? Your mother, grandma Kate?" Trevor questioned before shuddering in disgust at the fact he just called his own grandmother a babe, dropping the photo on the already paper strewn table and leaving the room. Phoebe grabbed the photo to look at it as she brought it over to her mom.

"I'm surprised she didn't come with you. We lost touch when she moved to Chicago." Janine spoke softly.

"She died." Callie spoke softly as well, staring down at the photo.

"I'm so sorry, I had no idea that both-" The older woman brought a hand up to her mouth, "When did she-?"

"It'll be 20 years next February."

[foxblood]

The Threads of Memory V - Contact Tracing

Editor's Log 5/21/25 - This chapter has plot now too! More obvious plot, anyway. - Velim gets some family time. - Velim also does some breaking and entering. - As always, basic edits for readability.

1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/25/26/27/28/29/30

The driving rain kept the crowds off the dim back streets of the Sea Ward.  Gale pulled his collar up as the rain pelted him sideways beneath the shield and mixed with the icy mud caking the street.  It clung to his boots and stained the hem of his robes as it lapped over the wooden walkways.  The damp ached in his joints and the orb pulsed ever-hungrily in his chest in a hot and cold throb that kept his teeth chattering and his shirt sweat-stuck to his back.

He missed the stairwell on his first pass and backtracked.  The first few stairs were slick with ice and he leaned heavily against the wall, but the landing was dry and the shop behind the door hummed with magic.  The orcish shopkeep glanced over his gold spectacles at Gale and gave him a slight nod as he tinkered with a tiny brass automaton.  Arcane fire flickered blue-white in the sconces, catching on curling wisps of smoke rising from an incense burner on the top shelf.

Gale approached the counter.  The shopkeep set his automaton aside to make room for a large velvet-lined tray.  It rattled with trinkets and small weapons.

“Saved some things for you.” He tapped the side of the tray.

Gale recognized some of the enchantments on sight, outdated and sold at a steep discount.  A dagger glowed silvery blue inside its sheath, reacting to the shopkeep’s orcish blood.  Two rings sent a short magical pulse back and forth to one another at ten second intervals, electricity arcing between them once per minute.  The orb salivated at the offerings, tendrils of weave reaching for the tray and passing over each trinket, selecting the best cut of meat from the butcher’s counter.

Gale plucked out the dagger and the rings and a couple of tarnished amulets.  The shopkeep considered the items Gale had selected.

“Eleven dragon, seven shard, nine nib,” he grunted, picking up his automaton to tighten a couple more screws while Gale got his coins together.

Gale produced a string of taols from his pocket and untied the knot, sliding six of the heavy bronze coins off and pushing the stack across the counter.  The shopkeep swept them off the table and dug in a locked drawer.  Gale held out his hand, but the shopkeep dropped two shards and a nib on the counter.  Gale gathered the change and the trinkets.  He nodded at the shopkeep and braved the rain again.

Velim watched Gale leave Lonzok’s Arcane Supply, cloaked in Everon’s skin and the  smoke rising from their pipe.  Gale passed them without looking up, and they tried to parse the magic pulsing around him.  No change, the Netherese weave in his chest overwhelmed anything else on his person.  Once he gained a long head start, they followed him.  At the end of the street, he blinked out of sight with an invisibility spell, and Velim took a sharp turn down an alley in case they'd been spotted.

Velim cut across the city, clinging close to walls and tight alleys for some protection against the driving rain until they reached Gale's block. They took shelter beneath a shop awning and leaned against the cold brick, lighting their pipe again and puffing until the smoke worked the cold promise of sleep out of their system.  Gale turned onto his street and they ducked into the shadow of the alley.  Gale climbed the stairs to his tower, digging in his pocket for something Velim couldn’t see.  When he reached the top, he pressed his hand to the warded door and for a moment, nothing happened.  He got in on the second try, the wards illuminating him in a soft white glow.

Home safe, they thought, snuffing the pipe before the rain could.  They backtracked, avoiding the sludge clogging the gutters and entered the same stairwell they Gale emerged from not long before.  

The shopkeep -- Lonzok, Velim presumed -- glanced up from his tinkering, and his gaze lingered on them for longer than they liked.  “Let me know if I can help you with anything, Vulture,” he said, pushing his spectacles up his nose and returning to his work.

They studied the shelves of magical scrolls, picking at the tangled strands of weave for some indication of where Gale had passed.  No use, everything around them vibrated with such varied intensity that they couldn’t pick a necromantic charm from a fire spell.

They flipped through a reference of magical ailments from the shelf and approached the counter, dropping the book in front of Lonzok.  “You strike me as a man who’s seen everything.”

Lonzok’s eyes flicked up at them, then returned to the automaton.  “I might be.”

Everon’s snide smile curled across Velim's lips.  They flashed the badge pinned on the inside of their coat.  “I’m working on a case, but I’m afraid I’m no expert in magical ailments.”

The shopkeep nodded at the badge.  “Some tenure you got there, eh?”

“Indeed,” Everon’s voice felt slimy in their mouth, “might I describe the symptoms to you?  Perhaps you could point me in the right direction.  Of course, I’ll pay for the expertise.”

The orcish shopkeep pushed his gold spectacles up his nose with his screwdriver and leaned forward on the counter.  “Lay it on me.”

Velim studied the wrinkles in his face, the wiry hair receding at his temples, the smell of incense covering something mustier.  They thought they’d seen that nose before, broken several times.  

“Well,” they began in the same flippant tone that made them imagine throwing Everon off a cliff every time they heard it, “my patient is suffering from a critical case of spell parasitism.  It sits right above their heart and leaches magic into the environment at an alarming rate, forcing them to consume weave in order to stabilize it or it simply drains their own stores until they die.  It’s an uphill battle that we seem to be losing, but I’ve neither seen any similar ailment, nor am I Weavemaster enough myself to identify and cut out the cause.  Perhaps you’ve seen something similar?”

“So you want to cut it out?” The orc leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap, considering.

“I am perfectly capable of performing the removal as soon as I know what it is that I am removing,” Everon assured the orc with such a condescending tone that Velim was sure he’d throw them out for insolence.

Lonzok watched them closely.  “I seen kids do something similar before.  Took a find familiar spell, but didn’t finish so the weave gets stuck in their throat.  The half-formed critter eats the kid’s magic ‘til they’re drained, and then they wither away to nothin’.”

Velim cocked their head to the side, but swapped their curious consideration for smug neutrality and hoped he hadn’t noticed.  “My patient is certainly capable of completing a find familiar spell.”

The shopkeep eyed them.  “Well, I only seen the like in kids.  And only twice.”

“And how did you fix it?” Velim pressed.

The orc laughed.  “Didn’t fix it.  Kids died, both of ‘em that I saw, anyway.”

“Are there any records?” they asked, studying the stitching of their leather gloves.

“I didn’t keep none.  Try Blackstaff Academy’s infirmary staff, they probably got that on file somewhere,” the orc suggested, “sure they see it all the time.”

“Well,” they slid a few shards across the counter and tucked the book into the safety of their coat, “I thank you for your expertise.  The spell misfire is a start.”

“‘Course.  You come back if you’re in need of my expertise again, Vulture.” Lonzok tossed the coins in the locked drawer on top of the taols without taking his eyes off the disguised dragon’s back.  The draconic weave cast a haze around their body. His Truesight spectacles cut through the tangle of illusion magic they cocooned themself in, and he recognized those eyes from his brother's nightmares.  Cold air gusted in as they left the shop.

The orb ached in Gale’s chest, but not as badly as the night before -- keeping him awake until the wee hours of the morning with each painful throb against his ribs no matter how many times he fed the damn thing.  All the blood in his face pooled in bruised circles under his eyes.  Even so, he’d dressed and combed his hair in expectation of Velim’s arrival.  They came at least once a tenday now, dinner in tow.  As they settled on his balcony to watch the golden afternoon sun, he again considered telling them the truth.

 Tara settled beside Gale on the bench as Velim laid out the evening’s offering on the small table.  They sliced the bread with one or two quick strokes each, fanning the pieces out on the board around a wheel of white-bloomed cheese.  Gale watched, feeling just a touch embarrassed, but knew better than disturb their perfectionist’s trance.

When they finished, they tucked themself on Tara’s other side and leaned back with their glass of wine while Gale cut a piece of cheese off for Tara.  Gale’s earring glinted as he leaned over, the ring through his ear smooth and unblemished.  Mystra’s spinning wheel -- Velim wondered if he was trying to return the Netherese weave to her, if it lodged itself in him when he laid eyes upon it, and if so did that mean his left eye was dominant?  They thought they felt Mystra’s eyes boring into their back from the living room, but she was turned toward the door.  They made sure on their way in.

A cold breeze blew off the ocean.  Gale pulled into his sweater, the crow’s feet tight at the corners of his eyes.  Black tendrils traced angry red welts in his skin like charcoal driven in with a tattooer’s needle.  Velim spread some cheese on a slice of bread and took a bite, waiting for him to fill the silence.

“I read something interesting,” Gale began, “an excerpt from a pamphlet published in Neverwinter some two hundred years ago.  It’s only a sentence, but it makes mention of some sort of draconic plague that swept the countryside east of the city.”

“What was the pamphlet about?” Velim asked.

Gale waved his hand.  “A political piece using Azan the Red as a metaphor for some noble family or another with draconic blood.  Largely your run-of-the-mill slander, but I’d never heard of any such plague in that area.  The passing mention suggests common knowledge at the time of publication, referencing an actual plague.”

Velim scratched behind Tara’s ears thoughtfully, “perhaps some kind of fallout from Azan’s gravesite.  He was slain east of Neverwinter, 100 years before, but…” they trailed off, “no, he would have been scavenged so thoroughly and quickly, there’d be nothing left. You know how fast snatch teams form when a dragon falls, let alone one of Tiamat’s ilk.  He'd be in a million little pieces by then.”

“Are you sure they would descend so quickly as to preclude the possibility of some sort of magical contamination?” Gale pressed, topping up their wine.

Velim’s stomach flipped and they swirled their glass to stare into the little red whirlpool.  The bounty hunters, the magical artifact dealers, the adventurers looking for heroic renown, all would have circled Azan like buzzards from the moment of his blessing.  Long before he was the red dragon, as soon as Tiamat pierced his chest with a crimson claw and set that fire.  Their own heart constricted around a sharp and distant memory.

“Velim?” Gale’s voice pierced their concentration.  He raised a hand like he was going to reach for them.

Velim straightened up.  “It’s possible that he expelled his intrinsic weave as a last act of defiance,” they admitted, “but the stories of Azan don’t depict a man likely to let that go, even as vengeance -- and an event like that would have been recorded, anyway.  Nothing pisses the snatch teams off like a magicless dragon.”

“Ah, true, dragons are not known for giving their power away.  Quite the opposite -- I believe the potency of their bodies is due to their tendency to cling to it, as though their very bones hold it tight,” Gale clenched his fist in illustration and Velim felt sick, “makes for excellent enchanting and magical foci.  Unfortunate for the dragons, of course.”

Velim chuckled, hoping they didn’t sound too strangled.  “Yes, they do, don’t they?  No, I think Azan’s body was scoured down to the last mote within days of his fall.  It’s more likely a run of the mill fever they’re referencing.  The mosquitoes east of Neverwinter --” they blew out a slow breath, “those things kill hundreds every damn summer, and I could see the illustrative link between a red dragon and a particularly bad year for fever.”

“Your insight humbles me, as always,” Gale smiled at them, “I had not considered the bugs.”

“You must always consider the bugs, Gale,” Velim relaxed as the topic shifted.

“Or perhaps the pigeons,” Tara added, “and rats.”

Velim nodded.  “A good harvest year, and you could end up with any number of illnesses from the influx of rodents.  Good grain farming east of Neverwinter, too.  Maybe a hemorrhagic fever?  Blood might also provide a link to the red dragon.”

Tara hopped off the bench and trotted back inside, her absence leaving a cold gap between Gale and Velim.  Velim used the performance of the setting sun as an excuse to take a deep breath of the salty air off the harbor and stretch. Gale pressed his hand hard to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing through the new surge of pain while Velim was looking away.  He finished his glass of wine, willing the alcohol to numb him a little.

“Another?” Velim asked, brandishing the bottle.

“Yes please.” He set his glass on the table.  

Velim topped them both up, even though their’s was still half full.  “Your episodes aren’t normally this long.”

Gale willed his hand not to shake when he picked his glass up again.  “Impossible to hide anything from you, isn’t it,” he smiled at them, “no, I am…”

Velim waited, his face twisting into a conflicted grimace.  The confession stuck to the tip of their tongue, caged by the lack of solution.  No treatment to soften the violation of his privacy.  Their heart sank.

“It’s worse than it has ever been,” he clutched his sweater until the fabric wrinkled, “and my poor mother has no idea why I’m ill.”

Velim doubted that.  Morena seemed more perceptive than he gave her credit for, based on their brief correspondences and what Madame Toussau shared with them.

“I keep turning her away.  Gods, I know it hurts her.  Del tells me I’m killing her, but if she knew --” he swallowed a sob, “If she knew --” he stopped himself again.

Velim looked down at their bare hands, the ring of Mortal Guise shining in the gold light, and back at Gale.  Hugging him was not an option, he would feel the scales through their shirt or on their cheeks.  They couldn’t hold his hand, either, or he would feel the claws.  They settled for resting their hand between his shoulders, relying on the thick knit of his sweater to disguise any brush of claws.  He leaned into their touch, his body radiating feverish heat.

“I understand,” Velim said softly, desperate to confess what they knew, “it’s lonely, having to lie to the people you love.  Worse, when you know the truth would hurt more.”

The cries of seagulls circling closer for a chance at pillaged dinner swallowed Velim’s voice.  Gale’s heart stuttered in momentary panic.  He wondered how they could have found out, but their touch brought him out of his head and his breath rose and fell beneath the weight of their hand.

“I’m grateful you’ve let me in as much as you have,” Velim brushed their thumb across the ridge of his shoulderblade, suppressing their frustration, “it’s no burden to bear alone.”

Velim measured his breathing and the constant flow of magic spilling off him until both eased.  Gale wiped his eyes and straightened up, and Velim dropped their hand back into their lap.

“Thank you, Velim.”  Gale didn’t look at them, instead throwing back the remainder of his wine.

Velim finished their glass and watched the sun fall below the horizon, turning the clouds red.  “I have a meeting with Peiotr,” they said without standing.

“How soon?” Gale asked, still gasping slightly.

Velim looked at the sunset.  “I’m already late.”

“Gods, I didn’t mean to keep you,” Gale leaned back on the bench and stared at the planks of the ceiling above, wiping his damp eyes again, “I can clean up, if you need to hurry.”

“I don’t mind making Peiotr wait,” Velim wrapped the remainder of the cheese in the waxed cloth it came in, “this is good for another meal.  You ought to keep it.”

Gale watched them work, packing the food away with the same precision they laid it out with.  An ache settled behind the orb.  They already knew so much about his condition and remained eager for his company.  The memory of their magic surging into his chest rose to his mind unbidden.

Velim carried the leftovers into the kitchen.  Gale followed them, lingering in the cool draft from the balcony.  He watched them scratch the sweet spot behind Tara’s ears when she hopped up to direct them, dropping an enchanted trinket onto the counter.  Tara’s head tilted into the touch, but the greeting lasted only a moment before both of them were back to business. Tara flitted across the room and handed the enchanted locket to Gale.

He wanted to admit the full truth, but when he tried to speak up his throat tightened.  He closed his fist around the heart-shaped locket, the stones set into the silver dug into his palm.  The warding bond pulsed warm and soft in his hand.

Velim tsked at dusk settling over the city as they opened the door.  “Peiotr is going to get on my case about running around in the dark again.”

“Blame me for talking your ear off,” Gale smiled despite his aching heart, “I’ll see you soon?”

Velim shot him a half-smile.  “Whether you like it or not.  Take care, Gale.”

Gale pounded against the locked doors of his own voice, demanding that he tell them the truth.  Instead, he said: “take care, Velim,” and closed the door.  

The wards lit up, the magic brushing past his face as he pressed his forehead to the wood.  Tears welled, and he squeezed his eyes closed to keep them from spilling over.  His breathing came in short, painful gasps.

“Mr. Dekarios?” Tara meowed, rubbing against his legs.

Gale staggered away from the door and dropped onto the bench.  It creaked beneath his weight.  He buried his face in his hands, but tears wet his palms and his frustration boiled over in shuddering sobs that pulled his chest taut around the orb.  It reached for the locket clenched in his hand, and he threw it against the opposite wall.

Tara picked the locket back up and hopped up beside him.  “Mr. Dekarios, use it before you get worse,” she scolded, prodding his hand loose with a paw and dropping the locket back into his palm.

“I can’t keep lying to them, Tara,” he sucked in a hard breath as the orb surged for the locket with dogged hunger, “I can’t keep doing this.  It’s not working.”

Tara pushed his hand against his chest, the orb devouring the weave with a fiery ache that pushed a frustrated groan out of his throat.  He dropped the spent thing in his lap.

“Perhaps we should tell them, then?” Tara suggested gently, “Velim is a clever creature.  If the two of you put your heads together, you may get somewhere.”

Even in her absence, Mystra’s weight settled upon him.  The amethyst set eyes of her statuette watched him, and he glared back.  “If they knew what I had done, they’d think me a fool.”

“I think Velim would forgive you.” Tara curled in his lap and began purring.

Gale’s throat constricted again, his voice hoarse and soft.  “And if they didn’t?  This damned thing would take everything from me.”

The statue of Mystra stared forward, accusatory when Gale met her crystalline eyes.  A promise of unending retribution for his folly, and her ever-present watchful silence.  He looked down at the floor.

“Vely!” The young kobold chirped with delight, wrapping herself around Velim’s knees as they entered the cramped townhouse in the Trade Ward.

“Jada!” Velim returned the enthusiasm, helping the kobold scramble onto their shoulders.  They smiled at Peiotr when he appeared in the hall, tapping his foot impatiently.

He sniffed, his moustache working like a furry caterpillar.  “You’re late, Vely.”

“Yes, yes, dinner ran long,” Velim reached into the back pocket of their coat for a sheaf of paper, “but I have the pages.”

Peiotr harumphed.

“Dinner with the wizard,” Jada sing-songed from their shoulders, “when does Jada get to meet the wizard?”

“Jada gets to meet the wizard when the wizard gets to meet Jada,” Velim said, pushing past Peiotr for his office.  They dropped Jada on the seat next to the door.

Jada crossed her arms.  “Jada does not like that answer.”

“Bummer,” Velim said before Peiotr closed the door.

Velim handed Peiotr the sheaf of paper.  He put on his spectacles and studied Velim’s neat slanting hand.

“This ain’t all I asked you for, Vely,” he said, “where’s the rest of it?”

Velim considered the stacks of books on their bed, the journal full of anatomical and magical diagrams.  “That’s all I have Peiotr, I’ve got a case that takes precedence.”

Peiotr sighed and folded his spectacles again.  “I thought you were on leave?”

“Personal case.”

“Personal case,” Peiotr grunted, “for what?”

Velim cleared their throat.  “Patient-doctor privilege, Peiotr.”

He waved his thick hand at them dismissively.  “Not your wizard again.”

The blush prickled at their ears.  “Not Gale, no,” they lied.

Peiotr set the sheaf of papers on his desk.  “I can argue for an extension on the manuscript,” he held up his finger as Velim perked up, “but not unless you’re reinstated by the Vultures.  Far as the publishing house is concerned, you got nothing going on but this.  Unless I can get them an official dispatch or statement of injury or something, Vely, they’re going to drop us.”

Velim ran through their list of contacts.  “I can find someone to sign off on that.”

Something crashed on the upper floor, followed by shouting voices.  Peiotr rubbed his temples.  “Sit down, Vely, we’ll go over what you’ve got when I get back.”

Peitor lumbered out of the room as Velim fell into the plush chair on the other side of his desk.  They listened to his voice rise as he stomped up the stairs, met by a cacophony of childish excuses and blame, and took the moment to close their eyes.

Peiotr jostled their chair on his way back in and they startled awake.  He eyed them as he sat down.  “You gettin’ enough sleep, kid?”

Velim rubbed their eyes and pulled their pipe from their pocket.  “Of course not.”

Peiotr grunted disapprovingly, but didn't ask them to put it out.  “Let's see what you've got here.”

Velim picked up the paper slipped under their door, cracking Georgie’s seal.

Case dropped, Unger expelled from council.  Drinks tomorrow?

-G

Velim dropped the note on top of a pile of books with a long-suffering sigh.  Another problem: reinstatement and imminent deployment to some dead-sick backwater.  Peiotr might be glad for the excuse, but Gale couldn’t afford the hiatus.  They sat at their desk and rested their tired head on their arms, bed still occupied by the expensive arcane library gathered from any bookseller willing to exchange dragon parts for a rare tome.  Their arms itched where missing scales grew back in jagged quills that caught on their clothes, and their head pounded with a bloodless ache.  

A request for investigation would out Gale’s condition, get him reported to Blackstaff Institute and ejected from the city or worse.  Lying about his condition on the request would be out of the question: they were known for providing extensive evidence of a problem, Harold would call them out on it immediately.  And what of Unger?

Georgie might be in a celebratory mood, but Unger was expelled, not dead.  This was the same man who personally euthanized seven victims of Ilanezar’s Rage with a woodcutting hatchet, and then killed another fledgeling who opposed his brutal methodology.  They signed off on the euthanasia, admittedly, but not the use of an axe.  The memory still made them shudder.

And another thought chewed away at their mind.  Gale mentioned Azan, brought him up unbidden.  The last known Red Dragon of Tiamat who perished outside of Neverwinter during his assault on the city over 300 years ago.  Was he trying to tell them something?  Did he know about them the way they knew about him, and if so, what did he intend to do about it?  

They needed action.  Something to stop the running thoughts.  The orc at the shop mentioned Blackstaff Academy had records of spell parasitism.  Parasitism of smaller spells, albeit, but perhaps someone had figured out a treatment they could replicate on a grander scale for Gale.  They needed a solution, and maybe that was the key.  They could offer it up to him tomorrow with their confession -- they thought as they slipped out of their apartment and down the dark streets towards Blackstaff Academy.

The infirmary building floated apart from the main tower, connected by a narrow bridge.  Velim breathed through the vertigo as they walked along the underside, stepping over the crossbeam supports until they reached the end and circumvented the watching eye patrolling the bridge.  The city glittered underneath them, and when they climbed up the side of the infirmary to an open window they paused to collect themself before slipping through the gap.  They landed on the floor in the hallway, quiet except for the coughing of a sick child in one of the wards.  They made their way into a quiet room full of record books, a place they’d been only once before, and made a beeline for the shelf of research reports filed by ailment.

They traced the files, locating the books containing all instances of parasites on campus.  Four tomes in all.  They stacked them on the floor and flipped through, lighting the pages with a flickering flame perched on the tip of their finger.  Enchanted leeches, mind flayer larvae, slug vomiting, run-of-the-mill pubic and scalp lice, and -- here -- familiar parasitism.

Velim released an excited breath as they read on, drinking in the details of magical output and interaction with the lymphatic, neurologic, and vascular pathways of the host.  The affected areas were drawn with multicolored tangles of veins that lifted off the page, rotating slowly so the reader could understand the whole apparatus in three dimensions.  Yes, this was something they could cut out, if they could just figure out how to map the pathways in a living body.

They didn’t hear the door open, or the muffled clank of footsteps on the carpeted floor.  Their mind reverted to animal panic as someone grabbed them from behind, confused and thrashing for seconds before the thick arm tightened around their throat and choked the blood from their brain.  They pawed at the fabric of their assailant’s sleeve, but their filed claws failed to break skin as they lost consciousness.

[steventhealmighty]

Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year

Rating: M

Archive Warnings: None Apply

Relationships: Rook/Emmrich Volkarin, Emmrich Volkarin/Original Male Character(s)

Characters: Emmrich Volkarin, Rook (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras, Dorian Pavus, Dragon Age: The Veilguard Ensemble, Dragon Age: The Veilguard Companions

Tags: Modern Thedasbut also magic is real, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Trans Male Rook, Trans Male Character, Rock Stars, more tags will be added as applicable, Older Man/Younger Man

Summary: When rock-legend Emmrich Volkarin of the Mourn Watch needs a fresh sound to be the opener in their revival tour, he spends weeks listening to demos and scouting potential bands. It is during a chance encounter in a dive bar that he finds the Veilguard– a nobody band with an alluring frontman that goes by Rook. With barely an album to their name, the Veilguard is hardly the established musicians Emmrich had in mind. But there is something about the Veilguard’s performance that captures his heart, perhaps in more ways than one.

To Rook, the offer to go on tour with the Mourn Watch is a dream come true– finally, the chance he and his friends have been waiting for, the chance to make a real career out of music and not eat so many instant ramen noodles. And if he happens to have a crush on the lead vocalist of the Mourn Watch, well, nobody needs to know.

A self-indulgent and in-no-way-accurate-to-the-music-industry fic about Emmrich and Rook. Set in a modern time, but with magic and qunari and dwarves and elves and everything. Enjoy!

Click here to read on AO3!

Or continue below to read here.

Chapter One

His gold rings clinked against the glass that held his bourbon– top shelf, on the rocks. He sighed and let his head fall into his open hand in defeat. He was in some dive bar in Minrathous, “the Sloppy Seagull”. He had just got out of the show at the venue next door and he was decidedly not impressed. He was anti-impressed, in fact, and from his point of view he very much earned a bourbon after listening to the auto-tuned slop that headlined tonight’s show. 

Granted, the “top shelf” bourbon at a dive bar wasn’t what he would consider a fine liqueur, but it was strong and it was near and the Seagull was grimy and unpopulated enough that he was unlikely to be recognized with his hood up. 

After a solid two months scouring Thedas for up-and-coming bands, he was disappointed to be empty-handed again. Was it him? Has he lost his ability to hear the potential in blossoming musicians? Has he just become an old, grumpy man who’s upset about the youngsters on his lawn? He signed again, sipping slowly. 

As he moped at the bar, the bar around him was actually starting to pick up. More people came in off the street, mostly in their 20’s and 30’s. None of this warranted Emmrich’s attention, but the sound of mics being plugged in and the beginnings of a sound test did. He frowned. 

Sweet Andraste, another set from some superficial lyricist with a couple friends who could pick up an instrument? He thought disparagingly as he tried to tune out the sounds of a band setting up and tuning their instruments.

He tossed back the rest of his bourbon, determined not to sit through another awful performance. He fished his wallet out of his pocket, finding the cash needed to pay for his drink and tip the bar keeper handsomely. 

He was turning to vacate his bar stool when a hand clasped him on the shoulder. Looking over to the left, he was surprised to see a dwarf sitting on the stool next to him with a friendly face and a nose that had been broken one too many times before. 

“You’re going to want to see this.” He said, nodding towards the stage. He quickly removed his hand from Emmrich’s shoulder and used it to wave to the barkeep, greeting them jovially by name. 

Emmrich checked his watch– he supposed he could stay for a song or two. He sat back into the barstool, his back to the bar now. He was supposed to be working to find a suitable opener after all. Maybe this band would know someone in the area? 

He took in the rapidly filling bar, the air seeming to vibrate with barely contained excitement. He spotted a merch table set up against the far wall, and he squinted to make out the band’s name from the displayed t-shirts. The Veilguard, the shirts and posters proudly proclaimed. The dwarven girl behind the merch table happily chatted with others as she laid out the few types of items for sale.  

By this point there were about 25 people buzzing about the bar. Most seemed to be regulars, or at least familiar with the venue or the band. Some even wore clearly home-made shirts and jackets that had a symbol on them, a triumphant V inside a circle. It had been a minute since he had seen home-bleached jean jackets and black shirts, it was as charming as it was nostalgic.

He was interrupted in his musings and people watching by a voice from the stage. The frontman had taken his place in the center of the stage, the rest of the band situated around him. They were a pretty classic set up– drummer, bass, two guitars, vocals. 

Somewhere behind him, the dwarven man grinned and said “Showtime.” 

“Hello Minrathous!” The lead singer announced into the microphone. He was an elven man, flashy red hair styled up in a faux hawk with the sides shaved down short. There was a glint in his eyes that spelled trouble. “We are the Veilguard, and we’re here to fuck this night up!”

Oh dear. Emmrich thought to himself. 

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

Emmrich was beside himself. Even now, two hours after the show had ended, he was still wired. He paced around his lavish hotel room suite in Minrathous, cellphone in hand, waiting for his agent to call him back after several frantic voicemails. Manfred, ever a loyal friend and wisp, paced back and forth with him, just a few steps behind, hissing in a supportive tone.

“It was amazing, Manfred!” Emmrich raved, “It has been years, years , since I have been to a set that was that… that… electric. They were flexible, they were innovative, they synergized with each other, they… ” 

His cellphone started ringing. “Truly a diamond in the rough…” he said more to himself, flipping open the phone to answer.

“Dorian, yes, hello.” Emmrich said, cutting off whatever Dorian was about to say on the other line. “We have to book this band.”

“My dear man, what has gotten in to you?” Came the bleary response from his agent. Looking at the clock, he supposed it was rather late. Or early, depending on your perspective. 

“And moreover, did it really require that many phone calls at such an hour? You know I need my beauty sleep. And so do you, for that matter.” Dorian said.

“Yes I know, my sincerest apologies for interrupting your peaceful slumber Dorian, but did you listen? Did you click the link I sent you?” Emmrich continued. “If you click the link, it’ll take you to their website, and–” 

“Yes, thank you Emmrich, I do in fact know how to use the internet.” Dorian snapped. He sighed. “Let me put you on speaker, I will listen right now.”

After a few beats of silence, one of the Veilguard’s songs started playing over Dorian’s phone. He recognized it from the set– the frontman, Rook, had called the song “The Maker Isn’t Real (And Neither Are You)”. Emmrich placed the phone on his bedside table and sat on the bed, steepling his fingers and listening. 

He was able to make out more of the lyrics, now that he could listen to a clean (or at least cleaner) recording of one of the songs. He felt chills running down his spine, true chills! When was the last time a song gave him chills? A song that wasn’t his own, at the very least. 

After hitting one last high note, the song faded out, leaving Emmrich and Dorian in a mutual silence. “Well?” Emmrich prompted after a few very long seconds. 

Emmrich heard a sigh from the other line. “They’re good, Emmrich, I won’t deny that. Rough and green, to be sure, but good. They have an edge about them, a ‘fuck you’ energy that hits right.” Dorian said.

“And they care, Dorian!” Emmrich said, standing back up and resuming his pacing, phone in hand. “They care – about their music, their fans, they give a damn–” 

“Emmrich!” Dorian interrupted. “How can you possibly know that after listening to just one set? You don’t know these people from Andraste!”

“I just know, Dorian.” Emmrich said. “We need them. I need them. Make it happen, Pavus.” A breath of silence. 

“Please.” Emmrich finished. 

Another sigh came from the cellphone. “Fine, fine, I’ll reach out to their agent or manager or whomever they have looking over their email.” Dorian grumbled. 

“If it’s fine by you, Mr. Rockstar, I will wait for it to be an appropriate hour to conduct business. Goodnight.” With a huff, Dorian hung up. Leaving Emmrich standing in his hotel room with Manfred. 

Emmrich snapped his phone shut. He walked back towards his king bed and fell backwards, his back hitting the plush comforter. He folded his arms behind his head, gazing at the ceiling, rolling the lyrics from tonight around in his head, over and over. 

He couldn’t get this band, this Veilguard, out of his mind. The tight pit in his stomach that had been dreading the process of finding an opening band had loosened. He had found them, he’s sure of it. He closed his eyes, rolling the night back through his mind’s eye. 

He stopped at the precipice of their first song, the breathless moment of silence before the first chord was struck. The singer, Rook, had looked out into the crowd. And from where Emmrich was standing by the bar, he could almost imagine he was looking directly at him.  

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

Sometime in the later morning, after Varric had finished his morning coffee and standard hot breakfast, he was working on his laptop. He had the Veilguard inbox open, getting ready to continue correspondence with several venues in the area, hoping to book more shows for his favorite rag-tag group. 

He was mid-typing when the computer softly “dinged!” indicating a new message in the Inbox. He navigated to the main page and stared at the subject of the email. He read the subject a few times, just to make sure he wasn’t delirious and no one had slipped anything into his Keurig. 

The subject read, “The Mourn Watch Cordially Invites You to Audition For Some Reason (Response Requested)”

He clicked on the message, quickly scanning the body of the missive. A smile broke out across his face. 

“Well, I’ll be damned.” He said to himself, and clicked reply.