#usually i write or chapter plan but i could NOT keep my eyes open

[teabiscs]

might push back feeling worthy update by a week/ ship poll winners whenever. i've been so tired recently and its not covid but its definitely something that's going around, since half my team has been feeling this way.

[brunchable]

𝐌𝐫. 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭'𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞: Stucky x F!Reader

Part Two Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!reader, Steve Rogers x f!reader | Daughter of Thaddeus Ross (Red Hulk) Words: 5.4K Themes: Forbidden Reader, Love Triangle, M for Mature, 18+ , Post-Endgame, AGE GAP (24y/o reader). Summary: Bucky Barnes expected another typical therapy session, but the moment he meets Y/N, a sharp and unflinching therapist who doesn’t back down, everything changes. Used to keeping people at arm’s length, Bucky finds himself intrigued by her resilience and the way she sees right through his walls. A/N: I am also obsessed with Bucky ok? I can't leave him out. I will not use "chapter" for now because IDEK how long this will be. Let me know if you want to be tagged. Ciao.

Bucky entered the therapist’s office, expecting the usual routine with Dr. Raynor. But when he saw a younger woman sitting on the couch, legs crossed, glasses perched on her nose, he froze. She was scribbling in a notebook, completely absorbed in whatever she was writing. His eyes swept over her—pencil skirt, white blouse with the top two buttons undone. Definitely not Raynor.

Raynor was a pain in the ass enough, but now they're throwing this at me? Bucky thought, his jaw tightening as he watched her quietly scribble in her notebook. He wasn’t sure if this was some kind of test or another attempt to “catch him off guard.” His whole life had been one test after another, and this—this felt like just another trick up their sleeve.

Great, he thought bitterly, as if I haven’t been poked and prodded enough. Now I’m supposed to open up to someone who probably just finished med school.

The calm way she sat there, so sure of herself, made him itch with irritation. He couldn’t figure her out, and he hated that. Was she here to push him harder than Raynor? Or was this just another bureaucratic move to switch things up, like changing therapists would suddenly crack him open? 

What’s next? A therapy dog? His mind was racing, constantly searching for the next hit, the next blow. He felt like they were always trying to break him down bit by bit, like he was still their weapon. 

But this? This is just insulting. He didn’t know what to make of her, or what she could possibly do for him, but his instincts were already screaming to keep his guard up, to watch her carefully. There was always something more to these situations. Always a catch.

"Did they lose my file or something?" Bucky raised an eyebrow, smirking. "You don’t look old enough to be out of med school, let alone help me with… this." His words came out dripping with sarcasm, testing her right from the start.

Y/N didn’t look up immediately, taking her time as she finished writing something in her notebook. When she finally met his gaze, she adjusted her glasses slightly, then pointed to the couch with her eyes.

"I assure you, Sergeant Barnes, you’re in the right place," she said, her voice calm and even. "If you’d like to sit down, we can get started."

Bucky paused, the smirk still playing on his lips. He scanned the room, as if making sure he hadn’t walked into the wrong office, then sauntered toward the couch opposite her. He dropped down, stretching out his legs lazily, crossing his arms over his chest, still eyeing her with playful suspicion.

"Right place, huh? Are you sure about that?" He chuckled. "Didn’t realize they sent kids to do the hard jobs these days."

"Lucky for you, I’m not a kid. But if you’re hoping for someone older, I’m sure you can take it up with the front desk. Or we could just get started, your call."

Bucky’s smirk widened slightly, impressed by the way she shot back at him. He leaned back on the couch, arms crossed. "Alright then, since you’re apparently the expert. What’s the plan here? Gonna wave a magic wand, make all my problems go away?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, meeting his sarcasm head-on. "No magic wand. Just work. But something tells me you’re not afraid of a little hard work, are you?"

That caught him off guard. He was used to deflecting with humor, but she wasn’t backing down. In fact, she seemed perfectly comfortable in this verbal sparring match.

"Hard work, huh?" He leaned forward slightly, his tone softening but still sarcastic. "And here I thought you were here to hand me a quick fix."

Y/N smiled ever so slightly, just enough to show she wasn’t intimidated. "I don’t do quick fixes. That’s for amateurs."

Bucky stared at her for a moment, genuinely impressed despite himself. He had expected someone more nervous, someone he could easily rattle. But this woman? She wasn’t having any of it.

"Alright, doc," he said, nodding slightly, acknowledging her stance. "You’ve got my attention. What’s next?"

Y/N adjusted her glasses, flipping a page in her notebook. "Next? We talk about your progress. Or, we can sit here in silence while you continue throwing sarcastic remarks at me. I’m good with either option."

"You think I’m just gonna spill my guts? It doesn’t work like that."

"I didn’t expect it to.”

"I’m fine with silence.”

Bucky muttered, his eyes flicking to the window as if contemplating an escape. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about himself. Especially not with someone like her—someone so young and… focused.

Leaning forward slightly, his playful look faded into something darker—a cold, calculating stare. His blue eyes locked onto hers, hard and unblinking, as he gave her the same menacing look that had unnerved countless soldiers and enemies. It was the stare that said he wasn’t someone to mess with.

Most people would have flinched by now, maybe glanced away or shown some kind of discomfort. But Y/N didn’t move. She didn’t flinch. She met his icy stare head-on, calm and unwavering.

Seconds ticked by then into minutes. Bucky’s gaze bore into hers, daring her to crack under the pressure. But she didn’t blink. Didn’t shift in her seat. She held his stare, unshaken.

As Bucky realized she wasn’t going to back down. He clenched his jaw tighter, leaning in even more, his menacing stare intensifying. And still—nothing. Y/N just stared back at him. After what felt like an eternity, Bucky scoffed, the sound low and begrudgingly amused. He leaned back into the couch, letting out a breath.

"Well, I’ll be damned," he muttered, clearly impressed. His smirk returned, but this time, it was less mocking and more intrigued. "You didn’t even blink."

"I’ve seen worse," she shrugged.

"Most people can’t handle the stare," he said, a hint of admiration creeping into his voice. Bucky stared at her for a moment longer, still processing that she hadn’t buckled under his intimidation. 

"I’m not most people," Y/N replied, her gaze still locked on his.

"You’re not, huh?” Bucky let out another short scoff, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

For a moment, they just stared at each other, the tension between them gradually easing. Bucky leaned forward, rubbing his hands together as if contemplating his next move.

"Alright," he finally muttered, his voice quieter now, the edge of defiance softening. "Let’s get started."

× × × ×

Bucky walked down the street, hands deep in his pockets, his mind still stuck on the therapy session with Y/N. He couldn't shake the image of her holding her ground against his menacing stare. Most people crumbled under that.

He was impressed. Hell, maybe even a little thrown off by it.

He reached a small café, the door chimed as he walked in. He’d been coming here for weeks, liking how quiet it was. Bucky slid into a booth in the corner, the furthest one from the entrance, his usual spot. The place was small, quiet—barely anyone noticed him here. That was what he liked. No eyes following him. No whispers.

As he sat down, he glanced at the menu out of habit, though he already knew what he wanted. He tapped his fingers against the table, feeling the hum of anxiety still coursing through him. His thoughts wandered back to Y/N’s. Her refusal to let him dictate the session. It had been a long time since someone had stood their ground with him.

“Same as usual?” the waitress asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. Same.”

The door chimed again, and out of reflex, Bucky glanced up. His eyes landed on her—Y/N. But she was different now. She was dressed in a casual sweater and jeans, her hair down, and the serious, composed demeanor was nowhere to be found. She looked relaxed. For a moment, Bucky frowned. Was this the same woman from earlier?

She hadn’t noticed him yet, busy ordering her coffee at the counter. As she turned, their eyes met, and for a split second, surprise flickered in her gaze. Then she smiled. 

It wasn’t a polite, professional smile like the one she had in the office—it was real, warm. Bucky had to admit, she was even more beautiful when she smiled like that. She made her way over to him, her expression soft and light, a stark contrast to how she’d been before.

“Sergeant Barnes,” she greeted with an amused smile. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Didn’t expect to see you either. You got a twin or something?” Bucky leaned back, trying to hide the fact that her smile had thrown him. He gave her a skeptical look, still trying to wrap his mind around the shift in her demeanor.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her smile widening. “Nope. Just me.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You sure? Because you’re not exactly giving off the same ‘don’t mess with me’ vibe as you did earlier.”

“I save that for the office.” She laughed lightly, the sound catching him off guard again.

Bucky blinked, still half-convinced she had to be a different person. “You’re… different outside of work.”

Y/N smiled again, and Bucky couldn’t help but notice how that smile completely transformed her. The serious, no-nonsense therapist was gone. 

“Therapist mode can be intense,” she said, settling into the seat across from him. “Gotta decompress too, you know.”

“Decompress, huh?” Bucky muttered, still eyeing her. “I wasn’t sure you even knew how to.”

“Oh, trust me, I do,” she said with a grin. “You think I’m a robot in the office?”

“Was starting to wonder. . .”

She laughed again, shaking her head as she took a sip of her coffee. “Nope. Just human.”

Bucky stared at her for a moment, taking in how much more approachable she seemed now. The difference between the Y/N sitting across from him now and the one who had held her ground in the office was stark. He hadn’t expected to see her like this—relaxed, smiling, laughing. It was almost disarming.

“You’re hard to figure out,” he said, still trying to process the shift.

She shrugged lightly. “That’s part of the job, isn’t it?”

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, the sounds of the café filling the space. Bucky glanced at her again, her soft smile lingering in his mind. He wasn’t sure why, but seeing her like this, outside of the serious office atmosphere, made him feel… at ease.

Eventually, Y/N glanced at her watch. “I should get going. Got other plans.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, same.”

She stood, grabbing her cup. She paused for a moment, then gave him one last smile—a sweet one, the kind that lit up her whole face, making her seem even more different than the woman who had stared him down earlier.

“See you at the next session?” she asked.

Bucky chuckled, half-joking, "Hm, I don’t know."

Her smile didn’t waver. If anything, it deepened, her eyes holding him with a quiet confidence. "I will see you, Sergeant Barnes," she said, her voice more insistent this time, not leaving room for doubt.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, shaking his head slightly, "What’s the point of asking then?”

As she walked out of the café, Bucky leaned back in his seat, shaking his head with a small smile. She had completely thrown him. Her smile, her relaxed demeanor—it was all so different from what he’d expected. For a moment, he wondered if she really did have a twin. But then again, maybe she was just someone with more layers than he’d first realized.

And he found himself eager to know more.

× × × ×

Steve Rogers wasn’t sure how he had gotten talked into this. Well, actually, he knew exactly how—Sam Wilson had dragged him along to this party, claiming Steve needed to “loosen up” and enjoy life more. But standing in the middle of a loud, flashing room with music pounding in his ears, Steve wondered if he should have pushed harder to stay home.

"Come on, Cap," Sam had said with a mischievous grin as they walked through the entrance earlier. "You’ve been in retirement long enough. Time to see what the world’s been up to while you were busy saving it."

Steve stood near the bar now, trying to blend in, his eyes scanning the room. People were dancing wildly, laughing, and having fun in the swirling haze of strobe lights. It was a far cry from the kinds of parties he had attended back in the 1940s—those had been calm, slow, and filled with small talk and jazz music. 

This? This was chaos.

Steve shifted uncomfortably. He had barely touched his drink when Sam elbowed him from the side, laughing. “You look like you’re plotting an escape route. Relax, Cap. Have fun.”

Before Steve could respond, Sam was swept into the crowd by some friends, leaving Steve standing alone by the bar. Even in the anonymity of the darkened room, Steve still attracted attention. His broad shoulders, strong jawline, and quietly confident presence drew glances from several women who were passing by. The strobe lights occasionally highlighted his features, and more than a few curious eyes lingered on him as he stood by the bar.

“Hey there,” she said, leaning in slightly, her voice loud to be heard over the music. “You look like you’re way too good-looking to be standing here alone.”

Steve smiled politely, keeping his distance. “Just here with some friends,” he said, not giving much away.

She stepped a little closer, her eyes lingering on him. “Well, maybe I could keep you company?”

Steve chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Thanks, but I’m good. Just enjoying the night.”

She looked a little surprised but shrugged it off with a casual smile. “Your loss,” she said with a wink, before disappearing back into the crowd.

Steve let out a small breath, his shoulders relaxing as she left. He wasn’t here for that kind of attention, though it seemed inevitable. He glanced around, hoping to spot Sam or Bucky, but before he could move, another woman approached.

He was just about to step away from the bar when another woman, a petite brunette with a mischievous smile, appeared beside him. 

“I’ve seen you reject at least ten girls in the last ten minutes,” she said, her voice teasing. “Either you’ve got impossibly high standards or you’re just too shy to admit you’re having fun.”

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “Neither, really. Just here with some friends. Trying to keep a low profile.”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “A guy like you, keeping a low profile? Good luck with that.”

Steve smiled, nodding toward the crowd. “Seems like it’s working so far.”

The woman laughed, but before she could say more, the crowd surged again, and someone bumped into Steve, almost spilling his drink. 

“Sorry about that,” a voice said, half-shouting over the music.

Steve turned and caught a glimpse of another woman, this one different from the others. She was barely recognizable in the strobe lights, her features blurred by the darkness, but something about the way she carried herself caught his attention. She didn’t linger too long on him, and didn't try too hard. Her smile was brief but real.

“No problem,” Steve replied, raising his voice to be heard over the music. 

“Not your scene?” she asked, leaning a little closer to be heard.

“Not exactly,” Steve admitted, putting a finger in to cover one ear.

She laughed lightly, stepping closer, her eyes catching the light for a brief second. “Same. My friend dragged me here. I’m pretty sure she thinks I need to ‘loosen up’.”

“Guess we’re in the same boat,” Steve said, feeling a bit more at ease. She had a warmth in her voice, even amidst the chaos.

Before either of them could say more, a group of partygoers surged by, and one of them grabbed Y/N’s hand, pulling her toward the dance floor. She was caught off guard, stumbling a bit before turning back toward Steve, her hand still caught in the wave.

“Come on!” she shouted over the music, her face lit up with a playful grin.

“No—I don’t think—”

Steve hesitated. He wasn’t much of a dancer—especially not in a place like this—but before he could protest, Y/N grabbed his hand, tugging him into the crowd. The pulsing rhythm of the music pounded in his chest as they were swept into the moving mass of people. The lights flashed wildly, and before Steve knew it, he was dancing, caught up in the infectious energy of the room.

Y/N laughed as they moved, her hand still in his, and Steve found himself smiling despite the overwhelming atmosphere. The strobe lights flickered, casting everything in flashes of light and shadow, and for a moment, it was easy to forget who he was, to forget the weight he usually carried.

Steve didn’t have time to react before he found himself right behind her, the sea of people pushing them closer together. The music pounded through the room, the heavy bass vibrating under their feet. Steve felt her back press against his chest, her body swaying in time with the beat.

The lights flashed, casting her in and out of shadow, but Steve was caught in the moment. She moved to the music effortlessly, her hips swinging in rhythm, her back brushing against him with every movement. He felt the warmth of her body through his shirt, the closeness sparking something inside him he hadn’t expected.

The lyrics of the song echoed through the room: “I, I, I, I just want to watch you when you take it off, take off all your makeup, baby, take it off. . . I just wanna watch you when you take it off, take off all your clothes and watch you take them off.”

Y/N's body moved in perfect sync with the music, and Steve, despite his hesitation, found himself falling into the rhythm. Her hips pressed against him, swaying seductively in time with the beat. He hesitated for a moment before resting his hands lightly on her hips, unsure but drawn in by the intensity of the moment.

The crowd pushed them even closer together, and Steve’s grip on her hips tightened instinctively. She didn’t pull away; instead, she leaned into him, moving her body against his, teasing, playful, completely in tune with the energy of the music. Her head tilted slightly, her hair brushing against his neck, and Steve felt his pulse quicken.

She bit her lower lip, glancing back at him through the lights, a playful spark in her eyes. Steve’s breath caught, his hands sliding up slightly from her waist as their bodies continued to move together. The energy between them was electric, like nothing he’d ever felt before. The music drowned out everything but the pounding of his heart and the feel of her body so close to his.

Suddenly, the crowd pushed them even closer, and in the heat of the moment, Y/N turned her head slightly, her lips brushing against his cheek. It was a brief touch, but it sent a shock through him. His grip tightened on her hips, and before either of them could think, their movements slowed, the tension between them peaking.

“I just can't wait to see it all I'm so turned on”

Y/N turned her head fully, her lips finding his in a fast, unexpected kiss. His lips were unexpectedly soft. They parted-in surprise, she thought and then she slipped her tongue inside. It had been forever since she'd done this, never had she done this, but it came to her like breathing. It was electric, quick, but charged with the energy of the moment. 

Steve’s world narrowed to just the two of them—the music, the lights, the crowd—all vanished as her lips met his. He stopped her, just for a moment, then flipped it, deepening the kiss with a flick of his tongue and a firm grip on her hip. Now it was him kissing her, her soft sigh filling the space between them. He responded with heat, his desire matching the unexpected pleasure he found in her.

The kiss only lasted a moment, but it left both of them breathless. Y/N pulled back, her eyes wide with surprise, like she hadn’t expected it either. They were still close, her breath mingling with his as they caught their bearings.

Before either of them could speak, Y/N's friends found her and pulled her with them unaware of Steve, and she was swept away, disappearing into the throng of dancers. Steve stood there, frozen for a second, his heart still racing from the kiss, his hands still tingling from where he’d touched her.

He blinked, trying to steady himself, but she was already gone, lost in the mass of people. The music still pounded around him, the lights still flashed, but all Steve could focus on was the ghost of her lips on his and the wild, unexpected energy of the night.

Steve shook his head, still trying to process what had just happened. The kiss, the way her body had fit so perfectly against his—it was all too new, too different. The way young people dance these days, he thought, he can’t believe he allowed himself to be dragged like that. It was nothing like what he was used to. He exhaled slowly, needing a moment to collect his thoughts. Pushing through the crowd, he scanned the room for Sam. He was going to get an earful for this.

Steve spotted Sam by the bar, laughing with a couple of friends, and beside him was Bucky, nursing a drink and quietly observing the room. Steve made his way over, still feeling the lingering heat of the moment and trying his best to shake it off.

Sam noticed him approaching and immediately grinned, raising his drink in greeting. “There he is! Our man of the hour!” Sam shouted over the music, his voice laced with amusement.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his expression more reserved but no less curious.

“I don’t know about that,” Steve rolled his eyes, but there was no hiding the slight flush still creeping up his neck. 

Sam’s grin widened as he leaned in closer. “Come on, Cap, you’ve got that look on your face. What happened?”

Steve hesitated for a moment, debating whether or not to tell them. But Sam already knew him too well, and Bucky… well, there was no escaping his sharp gaze either.

“Nothing,” Steve said with a shrug, hoping to play it off.

“Uh-huh,” Sam said, narrowing his eyes. 

“Nothing, huh?” He took a sip of his drink, but the teasing gleam in his eyes was unmistakable. “Didn’t look like ‘nothing’ when I saw you on the dance floor with… what’s her name?”

Steve’s eyes widened slightly, “You saw that?”

Sam burst out laughing, slapping Steve on the shoulder. “Oh, I saw it. The whole room probably saw it! You were practically glued to her!”

Steve groaned, rubbing his forehead. “It wasn’t like that.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, still grinning. “Oh, really? Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were having a little too much fun.”

Steve shot him a glare, but the way Sam wiggled his eyebrows made it impossible to stay serious. 

Bucky, still quiet, finally smirked. “You’re not exactly blending into the background there, punk.”

“It just… happened, alright?” Steve admitted, his voice trailing off as he tried to explain. “We were dancing, and the crowd kept pushing us together. And then…”

“And then you kissed her!” Sam finished for him, laughing again. “Oh man, Cap, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“I didn’t kiss her! She kissed me! It just happened—like in the heat of the moment.”

“Yeah, because ‘heat of the moment’ sounds nothing like you.” Bucky chuckled, finally downing his alcohol.

Steve shot him a look, “Who's side are you on?”

“The ‘heat of the moment’? You mean to tell me you got caught up in the lights and music and had your little dance-floor moment? That’s priceless!” Sam was practically doubled over with laughter now.

“It wasn’t like that. I didn’t even know her.” Steve couldn’t help but crack a smile despite the teasing. 

Sam straightened up, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Doesn’t matter, man. That’s what makes it even better! You don’t know her, and you still ended up in some steamy dance-floor kiss? That’s wild for you.”

Steve groaned again, but the smile tugging at his lips was undeniable.

“Well, I’ll say this,” Sam said, leaning in closer with a sly grin. “You’re full of surprises, Cap. I thought you’d be sitting in a corner all night, but instead, you’re out here stealing kisses in the middle of a crowd.”

“Okay, fine. It was… unexpected. But I wasn’t exactly complaining.”

Sam raised both eyebrows in mock surprise. “Unexpected, huh? Is that what we’re calling it when you’re practically glued to someone in the middle of a party? I mean, the way you two were moving—if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were auditioning for a music video.”

Steve sighed, but a part of him couldn’t help but feel amused at the whole situation. He never expected to get caught up in something like that. 

“I didn’t even get her name,” he said, almost to himself.

Bucky tilted his head. “Classic.”

Sam’s grin softened into a knowing smile. “Well, maybe that’s the universe telling you it’s time to loosen up a little. Enjoy the ride.”

Steve smirked, shaking his head. “Maybe.”

Sam clapped him on the back again. “Look, Cap, you’ve spent your whole life saving the world. You deserve to have moments like that. Maybe even more than most people.”

Steve couldn’t argue with that. The memory of her lips on his, the way their bodies had moved together—it wasn’t something he was likely to forget anytime soon.

Sam raised his glass in a mock toast. “Here’s to Captain America, finally letting loose.”

“I don’t think I’m cut out for this.” Steve chuckled and clinked his glass against Sam and Bucky's.

“You’re doing just fine, Cap,” Sam said with a wink. “Just fine.”

+ + + +

Y/N’s heels clicked against the smooth marble floors of the mansion’s foyer as she unlocked the door and stepped inside. The security system beeped, and she casually entered the code, the familiar beep fading into silence. The house was large, quiet, and pristine—almost too quiet after the chaos of the party.

She kicked off her heels, phone pressed to her ear as she continued her animated conversation with her best friend.

“I’m telling you, it was insane,” Y/N laughed, still buzzing from the energy of the night. ���I don’t even know how I ended up on the dance floor, but there I was, dancing like I had no care in the world. And, oh my god, there was this guy...”

She paused, biting her lip at the memory of the mysterious man she’d danced with. The lights had made it impossible to see him clearly, but the way he moved, how his hands had felt on her hips—it sent a thrill through her just thinking about it.

“I didn’t catch his name,” she continued, flopping onto the plush couch in the living room. “But we were so close, and when we kissed... girl, I don’t even know what came over me.”

Her friend gasped on the other end of the line, clearly invested in every word. “Wait, you kissed him? Who are you right now?”

“I don’t know!” Y/N laughed again—almost squealing, “It was one of those wild party moments, you know? The music was loud, people were everywhere, and then—boom—his lips were on mine.”

“Omg, didn’t you get his number?”

“No.” She frowned then she smiled to herself, enjoying the carefree thrill of the memory. “Honestly, I thought I’d regret it, but no. Imagine that? My dad would kill me.”

As she continued recounting the night, a slight rustling from the other side of the room made her pause. Y/N looked up, her heart skipping a beat as she realized she wasn’t alone. In the doorway stood Thaddeus Ross, her father, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.

He cleared his throat loudly, the sound cutting through the excited chatter still flowing from her phone. Y/N froze for a moment, her eyes widening as she realized she’d been caught mid-party recap in her usually reserved father’s presence.

Her friend’s voice buzzed in her ear, still going on about the party, but Y/N quickly pulled the phone away, muttering, “I’ll call you back,” before hanging up. The excitement drained from her face, replaced by a nervous smile.

“Dad,” Y/N greeted, forcing a casual smile. “Didn’t know you’d be home.”

“Apparently, you didn’t. Sounded like quite the party.” Thaddeus Ross narrowed his eyes slightly, stepping further into the room.

Y/N stood, suddenly aware of how much she’d let herself unwind. She straightened her clothes and tried to appear nonchalant. “It was just a party with some friends. No big deal.”

Thaddeus arched an eyebrow. “Friends?”

“Yeah, friends. You know, just... normal people.” Y/N shrugged, trying to downplay the whole thing.

Thaddeus studied her for a moment, his eyes sharp, as if trying to piece together the details she hadn’t given him. 

“I see,” he finally said, his tone unreadable. “It sounded a bit more... involved than your usual nights out.”

Y/N swallowed, brushing off the heat rising in her cheeks. “It was just for fun, Dad. Nothing to worry about.”

He didn’t respond immediately, just gave her a long, assessing look. 

“You know how important it is to keep certain parts of your life secure, Y/N,” he said in that familiar, commanding tone of his. “People might take advantage if they know too much about who you really are.”

Y/N gave him a playful smile, trying to brush off his seriousness. “Dad, I’m 24. I should be out there kissing strangers at parties by now, right?”

Thaddeus didn’t smile. He simply sighed, crossing his arms tighter over his chest. 

“I wasn’t wearing a neon sign that said ‘Mr. President’s Daughter’ on it. It was just a party. I’m allowed to have fun.” Y/N rolled her eyes, her tone still light but more pointed now.

Thaddeus didn’t seem to be swayed by her attempt to joke. “Having fun is one thing, but keeping yourself safe is another. You may think these parties are harmless, but they aren’t always what they seem.”

“Dad, relax. I know how to keep myself out of trouble. I mean, come on, I live here, don’t I? No one’s getting past your fortress.” Y/N sighed, but her smile remained. 

Thaddeus gave her a long, measured look, as if deciding how much more to say. Finally, he relented just slightly, his voice softening. “It’s not just about the security, Y/N. It’s about the people you surround yourself with.”

Y/N softened her tone too, standing up to face him. “I get it, Dad. I know you’re just looking out for me, but I’m not going to live in fear. I can take care of myself.”

Thaddeus didn’t reply right away, his eyes flicking to the security system panel before returning to her. “Just... be careful. Not everyone you meet at those parties will have good intentions.”

“I know, Dad. I promise I’ll be careful.” Y/N nodded, her earlier playfulness giving way to a more serious understanding. 

Thaddeus gave a short nod, clearly not fully convinced but unwilling to push the conversation any further tonight. “Good. Just remember what I said.”

He turned and left the room, leaving Y/N standing there with the lingering weight of his words. As the tension dissolved, she let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “I’m 24,” she muttered to herself, smiling at the absurdity of the situation.

“I heard that!” Thaddeus yelled from another area of the house.

“You were supposed to!” 

Despite everything, the memory of the night—the music, the dancing, the kiss—still played in her mind, and she couldn’t help but smile.

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[training4theapocalypse]

Thirsty (Adrian Chase x fem!reader)

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only

Word Count: 7.5k

Warnings: SMUT, Mutual pining, Romance, Canon typical descriptions of murder and violence, Dubious consent (they are both kind of drunk), Oral (fem receiving), P in V, Safe sex (male condom), Multiple orgasms

Summary: Your job restocking vending machines takes you to businesses all over Evergreen - including Fennel Fields where the cute busboy keeps making eyes at you. (Based on this ask by @kpopgirlbtssvt)

A/N: There’s a part where Adrian picks the reader up over his shoulder but he is a very strong boi, I am confident he could shoulder carry any thirsty MF. PS My toxic trait is that I slip a reference to Scotland in literally everything I write.

Masterlist

Tag list: @likeficsinthewnd, @she-wolf09231982,

Chapter text:

The muscles in your forearms ache as you drag your hand cart, stacked with cases of soda and water, up the ramp at the back of Fennel Fields. 

You wheel your final delivery of the day straight into their break room, as usual, and park your cart beside the vending machine, ready to start your restock. You’re greeted amicably by the staff, who know you well enough that they’re not surprised to see you. 

But one particularly familiar face spots you from across the room and practically leaps off his chair. Adrian Chase looks forward to your weekly trip to Fennel Fields, and today he can’t help but notice the glow on your face from hauling your delivery. He wonders what else makes your face glow like that. He bets he could.

“Hey, stranger,” you say, and he blinks at you as if snapping out of something.

“Stranger? It’s me, Adrian.”

You grin. You can’t tell if he’s joking or not but either way, you find it sort of cute. And, yes, Taylor warned you to stop flirting with the hot but kind of dorky busboy because he’s gonna end up catching feelings, but there’s something fun about getting him all flustered and making his cheeks burn.

“I know, Adrian. I could never forget that pretty face,” you tease. He turns slightly pink. There it is. “Thirsty?” you ask.

“Yup, and wait til you see what I got you.”

This has been your routine at Fennel Fields for a few months now. You pick up some speciality soda while you’re delivering beverages across Washington and Adrian brings you something- usually a snack or anything else he thinks you might like.

“Three… two… one.” At the same time, you pull the soda out from your bag and Adrian hands you a small, blue rectangular box.

A cassette tape. Aqua- Aquarium. 

“Adrian! This is so sick- it’s so hard to find tapes these days.” You flip it over to read the tracklist. “I fucking love Barbie Girl.”

“Me too! And I noticed your Walkman, so I thought you could use some more music.” He looks down at the orange and blue soda can in his hands, reading the label. “IRN BRU?”

“This is the weirdest soda I’ve found yet. It’s like bubblegum cream soda but it burns.”

He cracks it open, takes a sip and looks confused. “I think I like it?” He takes another sip. “It’s like my mouth hates it but needs more.”

“I know, right?” You put the cassette in your bag and open the vending machine.

“Thanks for the soda.” He nods at your tired arms as you start loading in your delivery. “Sick forearm pump, by the way.”

“Uh, what?”

“Yeah! You can totally tell you’ve been working on them- they’re huge.”

You raise an eyebrow. It’s probably meant as a compliment, but you’re not sure how you feel about Adrian talking to you like you’re one of his bros at the gym. 

“I mean- not huge! Like normal. But nice. And-“

“Have you seen Taylor?” You decide to step in before he can dig this particular hole any deeper. “I need him to sign for this.”

“What’s up, Cuz?” Taylor appears from around a corner. 

You hold out your electronic POS and stylus, awaiting his signature. “Just need you to sign this, then I’m done for the night.”

“Nice!” says Adrian “You got any plans after this?”

“Depends on who’s asking,” you tease him, a small balloon swells up in your chest with excitement. You’ve never been sure whether Adrian’s always so excited to see you because he likes you or if he just really likes soda. 

“Uh, me,  Adrian. Remember?”

“Hey man, what did I tell you about hitting on my cousin?” Taylor gives him a stern look. “Don’t you have a pregnant girlfriend to be worried about?”

You’re surprised, to say the least. The fact that Adrian has a girlfriend (a pregnant one at that) but he still goes out of his way to exchange gifts with you every week is kind of disappointing. It reaffirms your belief that there are no decent men in this town.

“Yes! I mean, no. We, uh, we broke up.”

“Because of the party you tried to throw her?” asks Taylor.

Aw, that’s kind of sweet.

“Uh, yeah, she did not appreciate the abortion party.”

What the fuck?

Taylor signs for the delivery and hands you back the device, giving you a meaningful look- I told you so. The balloon of excitement in your chest feels well and truly punctured.

“But I mean, I’m not hung up on her or anything. I actually dumped her.”

Yup, no decent men alright.

You and Taylor exchange glances. You can practically hear the wet raspberry of the balloon deflating completely. 

“I’d better go. Thanks for the tape, dude,” you say a little more coolly than you’d intended in your hurry to hide your dismay before wheeling your cart out of the break room.

“Hey, let me help you with that,” Adrian’s voice calls from behind you, but Taylor grabs the door before he can.

“I got it, man.” 

Taylor walks with you to the van. You lean up against the cab door in exasperation. Taylor offers you a cigarette which you go to accept, but he retracts the packet.

“Nuh-uh, let’s hear it first.”

“Fine,” you sigh. “You are so full of wisdom, as always, and I will forever heed your dating advice from now until the end of time,” you concede to Taylor, snatching a cigarette. He grins and lights you both up.

“Y’know what the weird thing is? I don’t think he ever had a girlfriend.”

You exhale a puff of smoke in surprise. “What was that about then?”

“I dunno. I caught him out here celebrating one night, and he made up a weird abortion party story. I think he was really out here dancing because Peacemaker came into the restaurant-“

“Peacemaker?! Jeez, isn’t that guy in jail?”

“Musta released him. But I think Adrian was being an excited fanboy and got embarrassed when I saw him. Dude’s a serial liar- I thought he’d come clean if I asked him about it in front of you.”

You lean your head back against the van. “Where are all the decent men in Evergreen?” You lament and start rhyming off, counting on your fingers. “They’re either obsessed with capes, racists, racist capes or racists who are obsessed with capes!”

“Well, speaking of capes, it’s getting dark. You better hit the road before you run into that nutcase, Vigilante.”

“Yeah, or the escaped gorilla,” you laugh, stubbing out your cigarette. 

“Put that in the trash or you’ll end up with a bullet in your head for littering.”

“I’ve charmed my way out of worse situations. Besides, maybe he’ll be the one to sweep me off my feet.”

“Vigilante? Or the gorilla?”

“Honestly, at this point, I’d take either.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The following afternoon, your delivery route sends you off down the highway. It’s not a glamorous job, stocking vending machines at different businesses all over the place, but it’s easy, and you can listen to your own music. It takes you all across this little corner of Washington, and the more you see, the more grateful you are that you get to live in this beautiful, rocky state.

Even if there isn’t a single eligible man to be found on your entire route. You still feel a little crestfallen thinking about Adrian Chase. Why was he so intent on lying to Taylor yesterday? How deep does his Peacemaker obsession go if he was that embarrassed?

You pull up to the back of the Glan Tai bottling plant on the outskirts of Evergreen, put on your headphones and turn on your Walkman. You want to keep a low profile because the clients are much weirder here than the rest- Adrian Chase excluded.

They weren’t always like this. The facilities manager at Glan Tai was a friendly old man - Clive- who let you use their bathroom, and gave you filter coffee from a polystyrene cup to ease your two-hour journey home. Until one day recently, Clive wasn’t so friendly anymore. New management, you expected.

Head down, you drag your cart through the service entrance and make your way to their storage room. Aqua blasts in your ears as you wheel your way along the corridor. There are loud bangs and the ground vibrates slightly, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary in a site with heavy machinery. 

You get to the room where they keep the IT equipment, files and vending machine and start unloading. You feel a heavy hand on your shoulder and pull your headphones down around your neck.

“Oh, sorry Clive, I didn’t see you-“ 

You freeze, icy fear spreading through your veins as you find yourself face to face with - you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me - the escaped gorilla from the zoo.

You scream. Loudly.

Two people burst into the room, startling the gorilla. It backs away from you. For a second, you think they’re factory workers running to your rescue. But they slam and bolt the storage room door shut behind them.

“No! Unlock the door!”

They whip around and point their guns at you. You drop the case of water you’re holding and hold your hands up in surrender.

One of them, you recognise from the news. A man in a black and teal suit, armed to the hilt, with his face almost entirely obscured- except by a red visor covering his eyes.

It’s him. It’s Vigilante. And a blonde woman you don’t recognise. 

He lowers his gun and nudges hers away from your direction.

“Shoot her before she kills us both!” snaps the woman, irritated. 

“She’s not a butterfly,” says Vigilante, his voice muffled behind his mask. “I know her.”

He knows me? How?

“I’m just delivering water, I swear!” You beg her, looking between them. 

Just then, the gorilla appears from behind the shelves and launches the blonde woman across the room.

An involuntary yelp of shock escapes you again and the gorilla returns its attention to you. Thinking fast, you tip your cart forward, and the giant ape trips up on the cascade of cans and bottles.

“You didn’t think to tell us there was a gorilla in here?!” Comes the annoyed blonde woman’s voice from behind a broken table.

“I was preoccupied with the guns in my face!” 

The door to the storage room is blasted open and another woman bursts in, followed by none other than Peacemaker.

Adrian would lose his shit right now, you think to yourself.

Peacemaker looks at you through the eyeholes of his helmet “She’s clear, Adebayo” and the other woman lowers her gun. The gorilla gets up. “Oh shit!” says Peacemaker as it sends a swipe in your direction, sending you tumbling off your feet and onto the floor.

You cower in the corner as they fight the gorilla. Vigilante stabs it but it bats him away easily and does the same to the woman called Adebayo. Peacemaker launches himself onto the gorilla’s back but the beast throws him off onto the hard floor.

“Die, human!” 

Did that gorilla just speak? What have you gotten yourself into?

The gorilla raises its fists, ready to crush Peacemaker, when a man with an oddly patchy beard runs through the door, chainsaw in hand and proceeds to kill the gorilla, sawing it almost in half and sending blood splattering everywhere. 

A small winged creature crawls out of the dead gorilla’s mouth. The blonde woman gets to her feet and shoots it casually. What the…? Was that some kind of parasite?

The gunshot leaves your ears ringing but hearing your name whispered in your ear brings you back to reality. You blink stupidly at Vigilante, who is now crouched down inches from your face and you try to make out his eyes through the red visor. You know those eyes. But how? How does the mass murderer of Evergreen know you?

He hooks his arms under yours, lifts you to your feet and wipes the smattering of blood off your face. Your heart is racing as you continue to stare at him silently, dumbfounded. You know you should be scared of this masked man, who’s wanted on multiple counts of murder. But here he is, claiming he knows you, making sure you’re okay.

“What do we do with her?” asks the bearded man with the chainsaw. 

“Who, me?” you try and sound nonchalant. “I didn’t see anything. I’ll just get out of your beard- hair! I mean hair.” You go to put your headphones back over your ears but the blonde woman rips them off.

“Hey!” Vigilante steps between you and her. “Look, she’s cool. She says she didn’t see anything, so she didn’t”

“How do you know she’s not a butterfly?” she challenges Vigilante.

“X-ray helmet,” interjects Peacemaker. “No butterfly in that pretty little noggin.” He winks at you and Vigilante bristles, folding his arms in an irritated sort of way.

“Listen, I’ve got like four more deliveries today so…” You trail off as your body starts to go on autopilot. There’s an awkward silence as they watch you bustle around, stacking the blood-covered cases of water and soda back onto your cart.

“She’s clearly in shock,” says Adebayo, more gently than the blonde. 

“Hey, let me help you with that,” says a muffled voice from behind you.

‘Hey, let me help you with that.’

In the exact same cadence as yesterday. 

“A-Adrian?” you say hoarsely and you turn back around in time to watch Vigilante drop the case of water. “Adrian Chase?!” you repeat, your voice slightly hysterical. 

“No!” says Adrian unconvincingly but at the same time Peacemaker says:

“Godammit Vij. How does she know you?”

Adrian groans in frustration. “She delivers drinks to my job too!”

“That settles it- she’s a witness and she knows Vigilante’s identity. Adebayo, you need to end this. Don’t make her beg for her life like the other guy,” commands the blonde woman, clearly in charge of the team.

“Nonononononono,” Adrian stands in front of you with his arms folded. “No way. I am not letting you kill her.”

“That’s an order, Adebayo. Vigilante- move.”

“Wait,” says the guy with the beard. “She might actually be useful, Harcourt.”

Harcourt raises her eyebrows. “Well?”

“We’re looking for other leads, right? Other places where the butterflies are?” He looks at you. “Hey, water girl. Does this company have any other locations?”

“Y-yes,” your throat feels dry.

“Can you tell us where they are?” he asks.

“Will you let me live if I tell you?”

Everyone looks at Harcourt. She groans. “Fine. But we’re gonna need to figure out what to do with her to keep her from blabbering.”

“C’mon, she already said she was cool!” says Adrian.

“And you trust her?”

“One hundo percent.” He gives you a reassuring thumbs up.

“I wouldn’t trust his judgement,” says Peacemaker and you immediately feel faint. It must be obvious on your face because he backtracks. “No! Not that we should kill her! Definitely not. But Adrian would trust any hot girl. We can’t just let her go.”

Harcourt pinches the bridge of her nose as she thinks. 

“Vigilante,” she says finally. “I’m telling Murn that water girl is your responsibility. You’re going to keep her with you 24/7 until the mission is over. Any fuck-up, if she does or says anything that jeopardizes our objective, she’s dead and you’ll be doing black ops in Belize. Got it?”

“Cool, got it!” says Adrian enthusiastically, as if that isn’t the most horrifying thing he’s ever heard.

“Wait, don’t I get a say in this? I have a job! I have people who will be looking for me.”

“Do you want to cooperate or do you want to die?” 

“Which one do you wanna do?” asks Adrian.

If you hadn’t already figured out that Vigilante was Adrian Chase, that would have been the dead giveaway.

A few moments later, Adrian is leading you by the hand back through the factory to where your van is parked while you cover your eyes with one hand. He had suggested it after your knees almost gave way when you saw the pile of bodies at the door. And he liked that you had rejected Peacemaker’s offer to hoist you over his shoulder and carry you out.

“Oh, no… Clive,” you whisper, making the mistake of opening your eyes and seeing the old man crumpled on the floor, next to the coffee machine. You cover your eyes again.

“Watch you don’t slip in the blood here,” says Adrian gently, guiding you to side-step.

You groan. You think you might puke. 

“I can’t believe you killed all these people,” you whisper, wishing you could disassociate from this whole thing.

“We didn’t, not really- I promise. I’ll explain on the ride home.”

Harcourt instructs Adrian to drive your van, following theirs back to Evergreen. When you’re both out of earshot and in your van, Adebayo sits in the driver’s seat turning to Harcourt, Peacemaker and Economos. “Isn’t it kind of weird seeing Vigilante like this?”

“Like what?” asks Economos.

“Like, compassionate, sweet… not all hell-bent on murder?”

Peacemaker shrugs “He’s like this all the time. You should hear the way he talks about this other girl, his friend Taylor’s sister, or cousin, I think. He’s just a sucker for anyone who’s nice to him.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours later, you’re sitting on the couch in your apartment, waiting for Adrian to finish up in the shower.

On the drive to their headquarters, Adrian had explained all about their mission and how an alien race called ‘the butterflies’ had taken over the bodies of (and, therefore, killed) all those people in the factory long before Adrian’s team had arrived.

At headquarters, you had told them everything you knew about your clients at Glan Tai and had given them the coordinates for their other delivery location- a small farm thirty miles north of the factory. Murn seemed to be satisfied with your intel and approved of Harcourt’s plan to have Adrian keep you under close surveillance. Great. 

Adrian grabbed his go-bag from his Sebring and drove the two of you in your van back to your apartment, where you immediately ran to the shower, to try and rid yourself of all the negative feelings from today.

He now appears in your living room, fresh out of the shower in a pale blue t-shirt and jeans, looking much less out of place than when he was in his full combat gear. But he still stands awkwardly, not sure what to do with himself. 

“Thirsty?” you ask him. “I’ve got wine.”

“I shouldn’t. I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on you.”

You find two wine glasses and place them on the coffee table. He sits on the edge of your couch. “What am I gonna do, Adrian?” You open up a bottle of red wine and start pouring. “I could barely stand seeing all that shit at the factory. Do you really think I’m gonna kill you?” You slide a glass towards him and start filling your own. 

He looks down at the wine but doesn’t touch it. You raise your glass. “To forgetting the worst day of my life.”

“The worst day of your life? Today was awesome!” He looks genuinely surprised that you’re not sharing his elation. “We killed a ton of butterflies, and now thanks to you, we know where they keep their cow.”

It’s a sentence that wouldn’t have made sense to you a few hours ago. And you hate that it does now.

“We’re saving the world,” he continues. “And you helped!”

You push his wine glass closer to him. “To saving the world, then.”

He takes a sip and screws up his face. “Do you have any beer? Ooh, or soda!”

“It’s in the van. And most of it’s covered in blood now.”

“Then this is great,” he says, a little too politely. 

“If you’re not used to it, the first glass tastes like acetone,” you tell him, draining yours. “But the second one…” You pause, pouring yourself another. “The second goes down real smooth.”

Adrian copies you and gulps down the red wine. You refill his glass, and he takes another sip.

“The second one isn’t so bad, actually.” He sounds surprised. 

You sink down on the couch next to him. “So now what?” you ask. He looks confused, so you elaborate. “What do you usually do with hostages all night?”

“You’re not a hostage!” He looks offended. “I’m more like your bodyguard.”

“Oh yeah? Who are you guarding me from? Your friends?”

He looks up over his glasses in thought. “Well, just Harcourt. And Murn. But it’s mostly to keep you safe from the butterflies.”

You take another drink of wine. Studying his face, you think he’s telling the truth. He really doesn’t consider you to be his hostage. As you look him over, you realise you’ve never noticed how curly his hair is before- he’s normally wearing that dorky little Fennel Fields hat. 

You’ve always thought he was cute in a wholesome kind of way but now that he’s out of his work uniform, you can appreciate that he’s, like, ridiculously, conventionally handsome. You wonder if he knows it. You wonder a lot of things about Adrian, especially now that, come to think of it, everything you know about him is probably a lie to keep his secret identity hidden.

“Truth or dare?” you blurt. 

“What?”

“Go on.” You gesture towards him with your glass. “We’ve got a long night. I want to find out more about you. Adrian. Vigilante.”

He looks excited. Maybe it’s the prospect of playing a game, or maybe he’s just happy someone wants to know more about him. Both sides of him.

“Truth then.”

“Does your pregnant ex-girlfriend exist?”

He groans and leans his head back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. “No. I was just trying to cover how stoked I was that Peacemaker was out of jail.” 

You laugh, but your eyes linger on his exposed neck and the way his Adam’s apple moves when he talks.

He turns his head to look over at you through his wire-rimmed glasses. “I don’t think Taylor likes me.”

“Taylor likes you just fine,” you lie, sipping your wine.

“Truth or dare?” asks Adrian.

“Truth.”

“Has Taylor ever told you that you shouldn’t date me?”

“Ugh, fine. Yes. He told me not to give you my number.”

“Why?!”

“If you want to ask a follow-up question, then you need to take a drink. That’s the rule.” He does so- quickly. “Okay, fine. He says he doesn’t trust you because you’re always lying about things, and it kind of annoys everyone because you’re a bad liar.”

“Everyone?! I thought we were talking about Taylor?”

“If you want to be liked and have a secret identity, you need to be a better liar.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” admits Adrian, twisting the stem of the glass between his fingers. “Your turn, truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

He thinks for a couple of beats. “I dare you to finish your drink.”

“Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“It was the only dare I could think of that wasn’t a sexy dare.”

The newly formed idea of Adrian asking you to do something sexy for him makes you pause. Warmth pools deep in your tummy as watches you, waiting. God, why does red wine always make you feel so slutty? You raise your eyebrows over the rim of your glass, and you drain the rest of the liquid. “Why don’t you want to give me a sexy dare?” you ask, setting your glass down.

“I dunno, don’t you think there’s kind of a power imbalance?” 

“That’s true. You are my bodyguard after all.” You nod contemplatively. “And I guess it would be awkward since you need to stay here for a few more days.”

“Oh, I meant-” Adrian cuts himself off. What he really meant would sound incredibly childish now. 

You get up from the couch to retrieve another bottle of wine from the breakfast bar that separates your kitchen from your living room. “Go on, what did you mean?”

“No, I meant what you said.” 

No, he didn’t. What he meant is that you have all the power because he has such a huge crush on you. And the way the wine is going to his head, he’s not sure he trusts himself to give you a dare without it having an ulterior motive. Adrian watches as you twist the corkscrew into the bottle with precision. Your chest jiggles in your tank top with the recoil of your arm extracting the cork, and it makes Adrian blush bright red. He discreetly adjusts himself in his jeans.

You bring the new bottle of wine over to the couch and sit down cross-legged, your back leaning against the armrest so you can get a better look at him without constantly straining. Fuck, he’s gorgeous like this, you think, as he gets comfortable, changing position so he can look at you too. In the soft light of your living room, you can make out that his cheeks are pink again. “Does wine usually make you flush like that?” you ask. 

“Uh, I wouldn’t know. Can wine do that?”

“To some people, yeah. For me, it just makes me feel kinda sexy.” You clap your hand to your mouth, watching Adrian’s eyes widen. “Ugh! Sorry, I wouldn’t have said that if I hadn’t had two glasses already.” You scoff and shake your head. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

The wine is making you feel bolder. “Have you had sex in your Vigilante costume?”

“Today?”

You almost choke on your newly poured drink with laughter. 

“Okay, that answers that question. In which case, I have a follow-up,” You take a sip, pointedly. “What’s Vigilante’s favourite sex position?”

“Oh, uh…” Adrian thinks back to when he last had sex as Vigilante, with Amber and Peacemaker a few days ago. “Any, I guess.”

“Any? C’mon, you picked truth!”

“It is the truth! I don’t take my mask off, or my suit if I don’t have to. So it always feels the same. Fun, I guess, but sorta uncomfortable. Funcomfortable.”

You smile and rest your head on your hand, elbow leaning on the back of the couch. “What about Adrian?”

“Is that another follow-up question?”

You acquiesce and take another drink but before you can even swallow he says “Missionary.”

“Boring,” you tease but he doesn’t seem fazed.

“It’s not. Not when you really like someone anyway. Missionary is fucking great - when you can kiss them, hold their hand, stare into their eyes…” He pauses, his green eyes burning into yours. “Boring is not being able to even taste someone because of my mask.”

You realise you’ve been holding your breath. You look away and exhale slowly, trying to steady the growing arousal burning hot, deep in your pelvic floor. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I-” When you raise your head again, he’s still looking at you intently. “I just realised I haven’t been fucked like that in a really long time.”

He shakes his head. “Yeah right! I bet you go on tons of dates.”

“I do,” you admit with a tilt of your head. “But did you know that like 90% of women don’t orgasm on a one-night stand?”

Adrian’s eyebrows knit together “That doesn’t sound right. Women always cum when I-”

“That’s what all men say, Adrian. But honestly, I don’t think a man has made me cum in, like, the entire time I’ve been single.”

“I could,” he says, matter-of-factly. It’s not a boast, it’s a simple statement. 

Honestly, you're not sure if it’s the alcohol or the vivid image you have of Adrian making you clutch at your bedsheets and moan his name, but something’s making the blood rush to your face and other parts of your body that you’re still desperately trying not to think about. 

“I’ll do it right now if you want?” 

He’s asking if he can try to make you cum as casually as if asking if he can help you restock the vending machine. It’s bolder than you’d expected from the shy busboy. Then again, you’d never expected him to be Vigilante either… maybe you should review all the preconceptions you have of him.

Your abdomen clenches. Fuck, you can feel how hot and sticky your underwear is as he blinks at you behind his glasses, waiting for your response.

You look at his face hungrily, eyes lingering on his lips, now stained with red wine. “Adrian, listen. I’m sure you’re very good, blah blah blah. But I just… I don’t want to set you up for disappointment. It’s kind of hard to make me cum.”

“Let me give it a shot. And if I can make you cum, you let me take you on a date.”

You stare at him, feeling your chest pounding as you contemplate his offer. There’s something about his voice that’s so sincere and so fucking desperate for you, your brain can’t think of a reason not to say yes.

“Truth or dare?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“Truth.”

“Do you want me to go down on you? I’m really good at it.”

Yes! You want to scream- already stupidly soaking fucking wet at the mere idea of it. 

Instead, you squeeze your eyes shut and nod. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“Yeah?” His tone makes you think that he wasn’t really expecting you to say yes.

“Yes, Adrian.” You laugh in disbelief. “If you make me cum, you can take me on a date.” He grins and you shift inelegantly, not sure how to proceed. “So… how do you wanna-”

Adrian pounces on you before you can ask the question, his red-stained lips crashing against yours. You kiss him back- hard. You’re thirsty for him, you realise, as you taste the alcohol mixed with the slightly metallic taste of his saliva. You want to drain him, drown in him.

He groans when you grab the nape of his neck and suck on his bottom lip. He can’t believe that you’re kissing him like this- like it’s you who’s been pining after him and not the other way around.

You pause, lips barely touching his. “Fuck, I’ve wanted to kiss you like this for so long,” you whisper.

“You- you have?”

“Adrian, I spend half my week trying to find you new kinds of speciality soda just so I have an excuse to talk to you.”

“Oh.” Realisation dawns on him. All this time he just thought you were really, really into soda. 

Adrian gives you one last deep kiss and pulls away. He gets on his knees on the floor, and the sight of him there, with his hands on your hips and his body between your legs, makes your cunt clench. You bite your lips in anticipation.

His fingertips hook the hem of your sweatpants. “Can I take these off?” You lift your hips, permitting him to remove them.

“Fuck,” he breathes, staring at your pussy.

“Adrian…” You mumble, suddenly self-conscious. Exposed. You try to bring your knees together, but he places a hand on each of your thighs, holding them firmly open. 

“You’re wet already,” he says, in a self-satisfied sort of way that makes your skin feel like it’s on fire. “When did that happen? Was it when I said I’d make you cum?”

You shake your head. “When I was wondering what kind of sexy dare you wanted to give me.”

He grins “I wanted to dare you to take your top off.” He traces a finger along your hot, wet folds. You gasp, feeling the calloused texture of his fingertip brushing up and down against your skin.

“Like this?” You lift your tank top up and over your head, tossing it aside and then you squeeze your tits together. 

He sits on the floor, lips parted slightly in awe. You feel like he’s looking at you like you’re the most-

“You’re the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

Now you really are embarrassed but before you can respond, he dips the finger that was sliding along your folds into your pussy. You bite your lip to stifle the vulnerable, blissful sigh that leaves you.

“It’s okay- you can moan for me.” He reassures, pushing a thick finger in and up. You feel your walls squeezing around him in response. “God, you’re so tight around my finger.”

“Fuck-” you plead, as he teases you, gently stroking your g-spot. His lips haven’t even touched you yet and you already feel like you’re having to consciously stop yourself from cumming.

“You needed this, huh?” he asks and you watch as he kisses your inner thigh, sucking the sensitive skin there. You have to look away- just the sight of his jaw muscles moving as he traces his tongue along the crevice where your thigh meets your body almost sends you over the brink.

“Adrian, I’m- fuck-” After all your warnings about how difficult it would be to make you cum, you’re are shamefully close already- and Adrian knows it. Everything below your waist is hot and shaking and swollen as his finger curls up inside you, tapping rhythmically. 

“Wait not yet- I’ve got to taste you. I want you to cum on my tongue.”

Warmth envelopes your clit as Adrian opens his mouth and slowly glides his tongue over the bundle of nerves there, tasting you for the first time. He barely moves at all but you’re so close that just the pressure of his mouth on you sends the crashing wave of your orgasm rolling across his hot tongue. Your back arches and your walls clamp down around his finger. 

He lets out a groan, sending pleasant vibrations across your clit. 

“Shit, Adrian-”

Blinding lights appear somewhere between your eyelids and the centre of the universe. Your thighs tense as the pleasure shoots through your body, your pussy flooding his mouth between your legs. 

When you finally stop twitching he removes his tongue from you, giving you a moment’s respite. 

“That was, like, really easy,” he smirks as you run your hands through your hair in disbelief. “I didn’t even have to take my glasses off.”

“I’ve never-” You try to catch your breath, blinking at him. You’re not sure you’ve even made yourself cum that quickly before. “That’s never happened -so fast- ever.”

“I shoulda asked what two orgasms would get me.”

“Literally anything. Do whatever you want with me-” you babble, staring up at the ceiling. You pause to look down when you feel him remove his finger from inside you. 

And he takes off his glasses, ready to make you a fucking mess.

It’s the singular hottest action you’ve ever seen anyone do in your entire life- Adrian Chase is going to be the end of you.

He hooks his arms behind your knees, lifting your ass off of the couch and pulling you towards him. 

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he says, mesmerised by the way your chest still heaves in the aftershock of your orgasm. Adrian buries his face between your legs, delving his tongue between your lips and exploring your entrance.

He pulls back for a second “I knew you’d taste so fucking good.” 

Fuck. 

You watch as he sucks on two of his fingers and sinks them deep inside you, up to his knuckles. When you repeat his name over and over, he answers by flicking his tongue over your clit.

You gasp at the sensation and grab a fistful of his thick, curly hair. His tongue rolls gentle circles around your clit as his fingers work in and out, softly stretching your pussy. Adrian takes his time now and it’s agonising. 

For so long he’s been having sex as Vigilante. Adrian’s missed this, the freedom of having his mask off. Of taste. And he can’t believe that it’s you that he’s devouring. 

Fuck, and you could lie here like this forever, just enjoying him exploring you, like he wants nothing more than to make you gush all over him and cry his name again. Normally you’d feel under pressure to perform, to give him that second orgasm he’s so determined to draw from you, but the way he’s taking his time, lazily swirling his tongue in circles, and curling his fingers into you makes you dissolve into a puddle.

“Fuuuck,” you whine helplessly, feeling the familiar sensation of you losing yourself, the heat that’s been slowly building deep in your core threatening to boil over. “Can we do this, like, the whole time you’re here protecting me?” Your eyes try to find his but he’s staring at your tits. His other hand is on your hip, fingers not quite stretching up towards you - as if unsure what the boundary is on touching you when it comes to this silly little deal you’ve made.

You pull his hand to your chest, encouraging him to squeeze you. He moans needily between wet, sloppy licks. The sound of him being so turned on just from touching your body, when you haven’t laid a hand on him yet sends ecstasy searing through you.

And it comes, whipping through your core and cracking like thunder. You squeeze your thighs around his head and he lets you set the pace, as you grind yourself wildly onto his tongue, his lips, his chin. Adrian groans in encouragement when you grip the back of his head, his fingers still pressing into your g-spot as you press yourself against his mouth. 

You cum hard again, your rocking hips eventually shuddering to a halt as he gives you a few last long, slow licks. The faint prickle of embarrassment you feel from letting yourself come undone like that vanishes when you see Adrian’s face light up, his lips swollen and sticky, totally enamoured by your now slightly dishevelled appearance. 

His mouth looks irresistible. You slink down off the couch to join him on the floor so you can kiss him desperately. Fuck, why did you ever listen to Taylor? You needed this. Needed him. You taste the sweet, salty juices on Adrian’s lips and on his tongue.

“I’ll admit-” you breathe, pressing your forehead against his. “- you’re like really, really fucking good at that.”

“Told you.” He leans on the couch and gets to his feet. “So, where’s your bedroom?”

“Uh, down the hall, across from the bathroom. Why?”

“Two orgasms and I can do what I want with you. Deal’s a deal.” Before your brain can catch up, he hoists you to your feet and over his shoulder, making you squeal involuntarily with delight.

Oh my fucking god.

Adrian slaps your ass and carries you through to your bedroom, tossing you onto your bed where you burst into a fit of giggles. He smells warm and clean, like your favourite shower gel he must have used earlier. He crawls on top of you and plants tiny kisses all over your lips, your cheeks, your nose- every inch of your face and neck peppered with his affection. 

He pulls off his T-shirt and - Jesus Christ, he has abs. But you also notice his torso is covered in scars and bruises, the evidence of his double life painted across his body. A streak of white scar tissue here, a purple welt there-

“Don’t girls usually ask about all these injuries?” You ask, tracing your hand down his chest.

“I usually keep my suit on.” He shrugs.

And that’s when you realise- he doesn’t just happen to have sex as Vigilante. He only has sex as Vigilante. You feel a pang of understanding, thinking about the way he so wistfully described missionary earlier. You’re the only one who’s seen him like this. Both sides of him.

Adrian undoes his belt buckle and looks down at you lying spread out of the bedsheets in front of him, still flushed and glowing. He knew he’d be able to make you glow like that.

He pauses. “Do, uh, do you have a condom? I wasn’t expecting to…”

You find a condom in your bedside drawer while he undresses and then you help to put it on him as you kiss the small trail of dark hair below his belly button. He’s big- bigger than what you’re used to. You’d really, really like to suck it, you think. But Adrian has other ideas. He guides you back to lie on your pillows and climbs on top of you.

Wanton anticipation bubbles over inside you, you sigh needily as he kisses your neck and brings his calloused hand between your legs again. He slides his fingers into your folds and you hear the wet sounds of him rubbing your slick on his cock. It’s greedy but you’re already impatient for him- you want to cum for him again.

He positions himself at your entrance and looks into your eyes. “You okay?” he murmurs.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Fuck me- please.”

The way you plead makes him twitch- he can’t take it anymore. The erection he’s had since you opened that second bottle of wine is throbbing. Adrian’s hips press into you and you feel his cock pushing through your folds, into your centre. A soft whimper escapes your lips as you feel him filling you up, the walls of your pussy struggling to accommodate him.

Watching your reaction, he double checks “Sure you’re okay?” 

You nod. Because it aches - but in the best kind of way. 

“Good,” he says. “Because you feel so good. Your pussy feels so fucking good around me.”

You wrap your legs around his waist. Fuck, he has such a slutty little waist, you think to yourself as he grinds into you, pushing deeper, the head of his cock pressing into your g-spot. You slip your hand between your bodies to touch yourself and he moans quietly in your ear.

“Oh my god, yeah. Fuck, rub your clit because I’m not gonna last long.”

He clasps your other hand, fingers intertwining with yours- half holding it, half pinning it to the bed. Your body writhes under him, leaning your head back into your pillows and he takes the opportunity to suck at your freshly exposed neck.

“You look so good taking it so deep like this,” he groans, tilting his head down to watch his cock slide in and out of you. “I can’t believe I’m fucking inside you.”

Everything he says makes the hairs on the back of your arms stand up. You feel so, deliciously full- the indecent slapping and squelching noises as he picks up pace and pounds into you only makes you wetter.

Your legs squeeze around his waist as your whole body tightens like a spring coiling, ready to be released. The friction of his body moves yours, driving you into your mattress, and putting even more rhythmic pressure on your fingers against your clit. 

“Adrian, I’m- ah, fuck- I’m gonna cum again.”

“Fuck, look at me. I want you to cum when I cum. Let it all out for me.”

You try and keep eye contact with him while bliss rockets through your body as his hips slam into you harder. It spreads from your centre right down your legs, now in a vice-like grip around him. You curse his name incoherently, your pussy tightening and releasing as you cum around his cock. 

“That’s it- fuckfuckfuckfuck-” His full weight collapses on you as he empties himself. You feel Adrian’s cock pulsing inside you as he groans your name and comes to a halt.

You both lie there for a few moments, Adrian breathing raggedly into the crook of your neck, his heartbeat and yours pounding against each other. Your euphoria is interrupted only briefly when he pulls out of you and disposes of the condom. 

Adrian returns to your bed and pulls you into his chest. 

“I am never listening to Taylor ever again,” you say, face pressed against his pectoral muscles.

“Yeah?”

“I mean, unless…” You tilt your head up to look at him. “You still want to take me on a date right?”

“Are you crazy? Of course, I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Nevermind.” The dating scene in Evergreen has sucked so hard for so long, your first thought was that he might not want to see you again.

He grabs your face with both hands, trying to drum sense into you. “I’ve wanted to ask you out for months. You’re not getting rid of me.”

Adrian plants a kiss on your forehead.

Maybe there is a decent man in this town after all.

[nanamis-baker]

The Bold Stroke

Chapter 2 | Whisper of the Petals

Pairing: philosophy student Geto x art student f!reader (College AU)

Summary: A mystery blooms on your doorstep. A breathtaking bouquet of white flowers, a silent whisper of apology… but it's not for you. Delivered under the name of a man so handsome he takes your breath away, the mix-up sets your heart racing.

Fate seems determined to keep throwing you together, and soon you're caught in a whirlwind of chance encounters and undeniable chemistry. It was almost as if it was trying to bring you together.

Content: Fluff | slow burn | Light angst (I am not sure) | Mention of scars and accident | Mention of family issues | Reader falling for Geto | Geto being a gentleman but also a big big idiot.

Status: Ongoing

Word Count: 10.2k

a/n: okayy it's here!! This chapter took me a while to write because writing conflicting emotions is something new for me lol.

But a big big bigg thank you to my girl @whereflowerswenttodie for reading and rereading it and helping me out with it!! 💙

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“So, are you meeting up with someone?” you asked Inumaki as you fixed your hair a little, the elevator mirror being perfect for it. The two of you were going to the library. Well, you were going to the library, and Inumaki had some work on the same floor, so he accompanied you.

Inumaki nodded, a small smile gracing his lips as the lift opened with a ding. The two of you went separate ways, waving each other goodbye as you went into the library. But as soon as you entered, your legs halted. What you saw was… unexpected, to say at least.

The library had transformed into a bustling marketplace of stressed students. Every table, including yours and Suguru's usual spot, was now occupied by unfamiliar faces. The studious quiet you'd craved was replaced by murmured arguments, frantic typing, and the occasional frustrated groan. This wasn't exactly how you'd envisioned making the presentation format with Suguru.

You had texted him earlier about the presentation format, but there was no way you could get any work done in this chaos. What could you do now? And what other option did you have? You could go to the cafe but-

Just then, a warm hand settled gently on your shoulder. You whirled around, heart leaping into your throat, only to find Suguru standing there, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," he chuckled, his voice soothing amidst the library's chaos. You shook your head, the disappointment momentarily forgotten.

"No worries," you managed, forcing a smile. "But seriously, what do we do now?" You gestured towards the library, the silent question hanging heavy in the air.

Suguru's smile faltered, replaced by a knowing frown that mirrored your frustration. "I kind of expected this," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Apparently, a bunch of students submitted the same assignment, thinking they could fool their teacher."

A flicker of surprise shot through you. "The same assignment? How did you…"

"Long story," Suguru interrupted with a wry smile. "Let's just say the rumour mill at this school is efficient." He paused, his gaze flickering around the library before landing back on you. "The good news is, I might have a backup plan."

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering in your eyes. "A backup plan, huh?" The unexpected turn of events had certainly piqued your interest.

Suguru chuckled, a hint of mischief dancing in his dark eyes. "It is a Top secret," he declared, smiling to himself. "But trust me, it's worth it." He reached for your bag, gently relieving you of the weight. "Just promise me you won't breathe a word of it to anyone."

"Can't guarantee anything until I know where we're going," you teased, the disappointment at the ruined library session fading with each passing moment.

Suguru grinned, a playful glint in his eyes. He reached out and gently grasped your arm, the warmth of his touch sending shivers down your spine. Suddenly, the crowded library seemed miles away as Suguru led you on a detour.

The corridors twisted and turned, a confusing maze that would make recalling the route later impossible. You found yourself relying on Suguru's confident strides, a comfortable silence settling between you broken only by the rhythmic click of your shoes against the polished floor.

Finally, you arrived at a seemingly nondescript wall, the only hint of something unusual was a small, silver panel nestled discreetly within the plaster. Suguru pressed a button, and with a soft whirring sound, the elevator door slid open.

Your eyes widened in surprise. You had no idea this elevator even existed!

Suguru stepped inside, beckoning you to follow. It was a maintenance elevator, you realised. The cramped space barely accommodated the two of you comfortably, and the close proximity did little to deter you. He punched in a series of numbers on the keypad, and with a slight jerk, the elevator began its ascent.

"This elevator," you began, looking up at him, unable to contain your curiosity any longer. "How did you find it?"

Suguru chuckled, a sheepish grin spreading across his face as he looked down to meet your eyes. "Let's just say Satoru and I stumbled upon it during an… 'unforeseen circumstance'?" He rubbed the back of his neck, a blush creeping up his cheeks at the memory. "Someone was rather displeased with us - him, actually - at the time. Finding this secret elevator was a happy accident." His gaze lingered on the keypad, “And figuring out the pin wasn’t difficult, especially when Satoru is with you,” He finished, smiling fondly at the memory. You found yourself smiling too.

The elevator came to a halt, the familiar ding echoing in your ear. With a sense of anticipation, you watched as the doors slid open, revealing a sight that took your breath away. No longer confined by the walls of the library, you found yourself standing on a rooftop terrace bathed in the warm glow of the late afternoon sun.

The sky stretched out before you like a canvas splashed with luminous hues of apricot and peach, with a hint of purple, the sun beginning its descent towards the horizon. Below, the sprawling campus unfolded like a miniature world, with buildings and pathways etched in the golden light. A gentle breeze ruffled your hair and caressed your skin, carrying with it the scent of drying leaves, with a hint of muskiness.

For a moment, you were speechless, captivated by the unexpected beauty that lay before you. Turning to Suguru, you found a wide grin plastered across your face.

"So this is what you meant by 'Top Secret'?" you exclaimed, your voice brimming with excitement.

Suguru chuckled, a hint of pride in his eyes. "Yeah," he admitted, nodding confirmation. "This place is a bit of a hidden gem."

His gaze swept over your face, searching for your reaction. "Do you like it?" he asked, his voice soft.

"Like it, Geto?" you repeated, the question almost comical. "I absolutely love it!"

This secret terrace, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, felt worlds away from the unexpected chaos of the library. It was a private sanctuary, a place just for the two of you.

A satisfied smile spread across Suguru's face. "Good to know," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. He gestured towards a nearby bench, its weathered wood and faded brown paint promising a comfortable perch. "We should have plenty of light for some time now - enough to complete that presentation, at least."

Grateful for his thoughtfulness, you readily took a seat on the bench. Suguru settled himself beside you, the air crackling with newfound energy. "Perfect!" you declared, clapping your hands together. "Then let's get started."

The sun, it seemed, had a favourite today. You sat beside Geto, bathed in the warm glow of the late afternoon light, as it casted a golden halo around you. He found himself mesmerised, his gaze drawn to the way the light danced on your skin, turning it a canvas of shimmering bronze. Each flicker in your eyes held a spark more captivating than any gemstone, a tiny fire that seemed to ignite a warmth deep within him.

A golden aura surrounded you, and in Geto's eyes, you became the most exquisite treasure the world had to offer.

He struggled to focus. Every few moments, his gaze would snag on the way the sunlight danced in your eyes, igniting a flicker that stole his attention. Geto found himself mumbling a request for you to repeat yourself. Surprisingly, you didn't seem annoyed, simply repeating your point with a gentle smile.

You intrigued him – a captivating puzzle he couldn't seem to solve. Your thoughts, a fascinating mix of unexpected angles and surprising echoes of his own, kept him constantly engaged. During discussions, you'd throw out a witty remark that had him stifling a laugh, a sharp observation that made him see the topic from a whole new perspective. He'd marvel at the way your mind effortlessly weaved humour and insightful analysis, a combination that felt refreshingly unique.

There was a depth to your intelligence that went beyond mere academic prowess. You possessed a genuine curiosity about the world, a thirst for knowledge that mirrored his own. He found himself drawn to your passion, the way your eyes would light up as you delved into a subject that truly interested you. It was as if you held a mirror to his soul, reflecting things he hadn't even realised were there.

The more he interacted with you, the more he realised how much he craved your presence. It wasn't just the conversations; there was a spark between you, an undeniable chemistry that left him both exhilarated and strangely vulnerable. He found himself wanting to impress you, to share his thoughts and ideas in the hopes of eliciting another one of those dazzling smiles.

"Okay!" you said, a triumphant smile lighting your face. The last rays of the setting sun cast a warm glow on the terrace, painting the cityscape in hues of lavender and gold. "We are done now," you declared, gathering your things. You turned to him, and your smile was even brighter, “Suguru, I can’t thank you enough for your help with this - I couldn’t have done this without you” Gratitude and sincerity shone brightly in your eyes, but that wasn't what held his attention.

Suguru. You had called him by his first name. It was a simple gesture - you probably didn't even realise it - yet it resonated within him like a physical touch. The sound echoed in the twilight, a melody far sweeter than the chirping crickets. He craved to hear it more and more.

"You don't have to thank me again and again, you know?" he managed, his voice a touch rougher than usual. He cleared his throat, hoping to dispel the unexpected feelings that bloomed within him. "I enjoyed working on this project too," he added, hoping to convey his sincerity. It was true – it had all been stimulating for him. But a deeper truth lurked beneath. He enjoyed simply being near you - in your presence.

A pang of sadness, sharp and sudden, twisted in his gut. Here he was, enjoying the afterglow of a shared experience, yet a looming shadow threatened to engulf it. The project, the reason you were here with him, was done. When would be the next time the two of you see each other? Would you, like the last rays of the sun dipping below the horizon, simply slip away too?

The weight of his unspoken thoughts pressed down on Suguru as you walked towards the elevator. The last embers of the sun had faded, leaving the sky a canvas of deepening indigo. As he reached to press the button, blinding darkness swallowed the world whole, leaving him momentarily disoriented.

"What happened...?" He heard you murmur, a whisper lost in the sudden quiet. Suguru turned towards your voice, his eyes straining to adjust to the absence of light. He found you, a faint silhouette framed by the faint glow of the rising moon.

Concern flickered across him. He couldn't see you clearly, but he didn’t miss the slight tremor in your voice. He gently grabbed your hand, his fingers interlacing with yours, hoping to calm you.

Needing to confirm his suspicions, he took a tentative step towards the railing and peered over. Darkness. Not just the terrace, but the entire university grounds were shrouded in an inky blackness. The distant hum of activity that usually filled the evening air had been replaced by an unsettling silence.

"There seems to be a power cut in the area," he replied gently, his voice sounding hollow in the darkness. "But don't worry, we should have power back soon." He said, but for some reason, he had a hard time believing his own words.

"Can we use the stairs or something?" you asked, the slight tremor he had heard in your voice earlier was still there.

"Unfortunately, no," he sighed. "Satoru and I found it earlier, but they are blocked - inaccessible."

You didn't say anything, but Suguru heard a small, defeated 'Oh' escape your lips.

"But don’t worry, we can go and sit on the bench?" he offered, trying to shake away your worries. He could see the outline of the bench as his eyes had started to adjust to the darkness.

"Yeah, let's go," you agreed. As he guided you towards the familiar wooden seat, he felt your hand tighten around his, drawing his attention towards you.

Suddenly, you stopped, your voice tinged with awe. "Suguru, look up!"

He followed your gaze, tilting his head back. And then he saw it. The unexpected darkness had stripped away the veil of artificial light, revealing a breathtaking spectacle he hadn't even realised he'd been missing. A vast expanse of midnight blue stretched above them, a canvas sprinkled with a million shimmering diamonds. The stars. So many stars, each one a tiny beacon in the infinite darkness.

The darkness, once unsettling, now felt strangely beautiful. He stole a glance at you, your face bathed in the ethereal glow of the starlight, a look of wonder mirrored in your eyes. Maybe this wasn’t a bad thing.

Not at all.

An unexpected idea sparked in Geto's mind. He gently released his hold on your hand and reached for his jacket. He knelt, spreading the garment on the cool ground, making sure it was properly spread out.

"Here," he said, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he looked up at you. He could see you better now, bathed in the faint moonlight, and a flicker of curiosity played across your features.

"What are you doing?" you asked, And Geto could hear the amusement in your voice.

"Come on," he said, extending out his hand, offering it to you in the dimness. "This way we can see the stars better, without straining your neck."

Understanding dawned on you, and a delighted smile spread on your lips, mirroring his own. Taking his hand, you allowed him to gently guide you down onto the makeshift blanket his jacket provided. A warmth spread through him as the two of you settled on the jacket, laying down side by side. Geto could feel the heat radiate from your body against his arm.

A comfortable silence descended, punctuated only by the occasional chirp of a cricket, a sound that seemed louder than usual in the quiet. Geto kept his hand intertwined with yours, the warmth of your skin a surprising comfort against his. His thumb, as if possessed by a will of its own, began tracing lazy circles on your palm.

Stealing glances at your face, bathed in the ethereal glow of the moon, Geto searched for any sign of unease, a flicker of disapproval that might suggest he had crossed a line. Thankfully, he found none.

"Suguru?" He heard you say, your voice, soft as the night breeze. He turned his head slightly, meeting your gaze in the dim moonlight.

"You know," you began, a playful glint dancing in your eyes, "you never really told me why you were nose-deep in all those business books in the library that day."

A surprised chuckle escaped Geto's lips, despite the topic you were referring to. "Yeah? And you never told me why you chose to drown yourself in the world of arts," he countered, his voice betraying a hint of the unease he felt.

You let out a laugh, the gentle sound echoing in the dark. "Well, you never really asked!"

"But I am asking now," he countered, amusement dancing in his voice.

"Okay, okay," you said with a grin. "Fair enough. First, you answer my question, and then I'll answer yours. Deal?"

Geto hesitated for a beat, the darkness both a shield and a prompt. So Geto had to offer a part of himself to get to know you better - sounds interesting "Deal," he finally agreed.

You looked up at him expectantly and taking a deep breath, he decided to be honest. "The thing is," he began, trying to hide the disgust he felt about this topic, "those business books weren't exactly what I wanted to be reading. You see, my family owns a pharmaceutical company, one of the biggest in the country."

"Oh wow," you said, a hint of surprise in your voice, “I didn’t know that.”

"Yeah," he said, a humourless scoff escaping his lips. "They expect me to join the business after graduation. Here's the real thing though," he continued, feeling his voice drop low, "They see me as a puppet, someone to inherit their greed and continue their ruthless practices."

"What kind of practices?" he heard you ask, concern flickering in your voice.

He felt his jaw clench slightly, the darkness a welcome shroud for the anger simmering within him. "They price their life-saving drugs at exorbitant rates," he spat, the venom of his words sour on his tongue. "People who desperately need them can't afford them, all because of my family's insatiable thirst for profit. It goes against everything I believe in."

A heavy silence descended. He stole a glance at you, unsure how you'd react. But your expression was open, devoid of judgement, and held a flicker of understanding. It was an unspoken invitation to continue, a safe harbour for the storm of emotions brewing within him.

"They wouldn't listen to reason," he continued, his voice low and defeated. "I've tried, believe me. But logic and compassion seem to be foreign concepts in their world." But still, Geto had to do something right? "Maybe, just maybe, by learning their game, I can break this system and change it from within. But honestly," he admitted with a bitter laugh, "I don't even know if that's possible. Their control is absolute."

The darkness seemed to press in on him, a reflection of the despair that threatened to consume him. He yearned for a way out, a way to break free from the gilded cage his family had built for him.

Your hands squeezed his, bringing him back to the present. "That's a lot to carry," you finally said, your voice soft but firm. "The anger, the frustration, the feeling of helplessness." You paused, letting your words sink in. "But Suguru," you continued, your voice gaining strength, "don't let them steal your compassion, your beliefs. As long as you hold onto them, you’ll find a way. I know you will”

Geto smiled. You were so sweet, so kind, trying to comfort him. It was a small, tired smile, the kind that held the weight of the world but acknowledged a sliver of sunshine breaking through the clouds. Your words, laced with a quiet strength, resonated deep within him. It was true. He couldn't let their greed and corruption taint the core of who he was. But, at the same time, he knew it wasn't wise to hope for much when it came to his parents. Still, he wouldn't burden you anymore with his issue. Maybe a lighter topic would chase away the shadows that had crept into the conversation.

"You're right," he said, his voice regaining a touch of its earlier playfulness. "Now, answer my question from earlier." He raised an eyebrow in mock seriousness, hoping to lighten the mood.

He saw you smile, but it wasn't your usual, happy smile. A faint shadow flickered across your features, a subtle shift in your demeanour that sent a wave of unease through him. "I was in a car accident a few years ago - both my mom and I," you said, your voice softer than usual, your fingers twisting a loose thread on your shirt.

The playfulness drained from his face. An accident? The image of mangled metal and shattered glass flashed unbidden in his mind. "Oh," he stammered, unsure of what to say.

"Another car crashed into ours," you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. "The driver was drunk. Thankfully, the major impact was on my side, so my mom wasn't hurt too bad."

This wasn't what Geto was expecting to hear. He watched as you reached for your phone, a hollow feeling blooming in his chest. With slightly trembling fingers, you lifted the hem of your jeans, the phone's cool flashlight revealing a constellation of scars that snaked across your calves. Geto's mouth went dry.

You turned towards him, a flicker of vulnerability in your eyes. Hesitantly, you reached up and brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face, revealing a faint scar that traced a jagged line along your hairline and the back of your neck. The moonlight glinted off the raised, pale flesh, a contrast to the smooth skin surrounding it.

Geto thought he had memorised the expanse of your face, every little detail like the map of a cherished land. But god, was he wrong. He had missed such a big part of you.

Shame washed over him in a sickening wave. He'd been so caught up in his own problems, that he hadn't noticed the silent stories etched across your body. His fingers moved to trace the scar, to feel it under his fingertips, but retracted his hand before it could reach you.

You continued, your voice quiet, "I was bedridden for months, Suguru. I couldn't even speak because a shard of glass had damaged my vocal cords. Hell, I wasn't even supposed to survive, but I did." You let out a humourless chuckle. "I could barely move, I couldn't speak at all, and the frustration – I can't even begin to tell you." You shook your head slightly, a ghost of the ordeal lingering in your eyes.

"My parents were worried, you know, and that's when I started painting," you continued. A small, bittersweet smile touched your lips. "It was horrible at first, of course," you added with a self-deprecating laugh, "but with time, I got better. It became my voice, a way to express the things I couldn't say. Even after I healed, I kept up with it. I wanted to know more – about other people's work, their thought processes, and why they painted what they painted. And so, I chose art as my major." You finished with a shrug as if it wasn’t a big deal or anything.

Geto didn't really know what to say. Words felt hollow compared to the weight of your story. "Does it still hurt?" he asked, the question tumbling out before he could stop it. He mentally face-palmed himself. Really? That was the best he could offer? It sounded insensitive, trivial even, in the face of what you'd been through.

You offered a small, understanding smile. "Sometimes," you admitted. "Not the scars themselves, thankfully. But half of my body is metal now, thanks to the accident. That gets achy sometimes, especially when the weather gets cold." As if on cue, a cool wind rustled through the leaves, and Geto saw the way you flinched so slightly, a shiver running down your body.

Geto's heart lurched. He cursed himself for his obliviousness. Here he was complaining about his family, while you carried the physical and emotional weight of a traumatic experience. Without thinking, he shifted closer, offering you the meagre comfort of his body heat. "Here, let me shield you from the wind a bit."

A warm smile graced your lips as you leaned into him slightly, accepting his support - accepting him. The gesture ignited a spark within Geto, a warmth blossoming in his chest that rivalled the one he offered.

Geto's fingers, which had hovered awkwardly in his lap, found themselves drawn to you again. This time though, they didn't hesitate. With tenderness, they brushed against the cool expanse of the scar on your temple, then trailed down to the faint jagged line along your neck. Your skin felt cold under his warm touch.

You inhaled sharply, your breath catching against his chest. Geto's touch was light, almost reverent, as if he were tracing a sacred map. He met your gaze, the moonlight and stars reflecting in your eyes like a million scattered diamonds. At that moment, it felt like he was peering into a whole new universe, one filled with unspoken stories and hidden depths. A universe he desperately wanted to explore, to get lost in, and maybe, just maybe, find a way back to, together.

His thumb grazed the soft skin of your jaw, a gentle nudge that tilted your face up a fraction. He wanted to see everything, to re-learn every detail etched on your face, the scars, the way the moonlight glinted off the moisture gathering in your eyes. He wanted to learn all your secrets, or at least the ones you were willing to share.

You responded instinctively, leaning in further until the space between you evaporated. Your warm breath mingled with his, a silent question hanging in the air. The stars seemed to wink in approval as the distance between your faces continued to shrink. Anticipation flickered in your darkened eyes, which then fluttered shut as Geto leaned in even closer. Slowly, the space between his lips and yours became nonexistent, a mere breath away.

Just as your lips were about to meet in a brush, The world erupted in a harsh burst of fluorescent light. Both of you jolted back, blinking away the temporary blindness.

It took Geto a moment to realise what had happened. He cleared his throat, the sound rough in the sudden quiet. "We got the power back," he mumbled, his voice thick with the unspoken desire that hung heavy in the air moments ago. His gaze darted away from you for a moment, then returned, searching your eyes for any indication of how you felt about the interrupted moment.

He took in your flushed cheek and your dilated, glossy eyes. That was all the indication he needed. A small, frustrated sigh escaped your lips. "Yeah," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. The moment, the intimacy between the two of you, was shattered like a dropped glass, leaving behind a thousand shimmering shards of unspoken desire.

The silence stretched, heavy with what could have been. Geto watched as you began gathering your things, a subtle shift in your demeanour that spoke volumes. You turned to face him, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips despite the lingering frustration in your eyes. "We should go now, it's getting colder."

He nodded in agreement, his voice thick when he finally spoke. "Yeah, definitely." He grabbed his jacket and dusted it off, the simple action taking longer than necessary. He watched as you reached for your bag, then blurted out, "Here, let me get that," as he grabbed the bag, relieving you of the weight. It was the least he could do, anyway.

Geto had spent hours with you today, yet it felt like mere moments. "Let me walk you home, please," the words tumbled out before he could stop them, fueled by a desire to prolong this stolen time, this unexpected intimacy.

He held his breath, bracing himself for a polite refusal. But then, a bright smile bloomed on your face, a smile that lit up the terrace brighter than the harsh fluorescent lights that had shattered their moment. "Thank you, Suguru," you said, your voice soft but filled with a warmth that sent a thrill through him. "I'd like that."

“Okay, so what happened next? Did you invite him up?” Maki leaned forward, her eyes eager. She glanced at Yuta, who was also listening intently.

Your friends—minus Inumaki—were gathered at the campus café for a small celebration. You’d just received an A+ on your presentation, and of course, you had to share how Suguru's help had played a crucial role. The moment you mentioned his name, their ears visibly perked up.

It had been two weeks since that night on the rooftop, two agonisingly silent weeks. You and Suguru had barely exchanged any texts, and you hadn’t even seen him around campus.

A blush crept up your cheeks as you shook your head. “Of course not! It was just something we felt in the moment. I don’t think inviting him up would have been a wise decision.” You took a sip of your iced tea, the coolness soothing the flutter in your stomach. Every time you replayed the scene in your head, your heart skipped a little. But the silence that followed since then was deafening.

“It doesn’t sound like ‘something in the moment,’ especially with the way you described everything.” Yuta pointed out. One might think he wouldn’t be interested in such stuff, but when it came to his friends, Yuta was always supportive.

"Maybe," you admitted, the word tumbling out before you could stop it. The truth was, the interrupted kiss felt less like a missed opportunity and more like a promise waiting to be fulfilled. But what if you were reading too much into it? The thought sent a pang of disappointment through you, a feeling you quickly brushed aside.

Maki scoffed playfully. "Girl, you were practically glowing when you talked about him! And no one does what he did just to be friendly, you know."

Your cheeks burned even hotter. Maybe Maki was right. Maybe there was something between you and Suguru. A tiny flicker of hope ignited within you, but it was quickly washed away by a wave of uncertainty. Here you were, falling for him, yet his silence indicated that he probably regretted things—didn’t want it. But then the gentle look in his eyes, his silent support, and the way he held you oh so tenderly, shielding you from the cold...

Ugh, it was all so confusing. "But what if—"

Yuta cut you off with a gentle laugh. "Hey, you never know until you try, right? And besides, even if things don’t work out romantically, you made a great new friend. Win-win, I'd say."

You couldn’t help but smile at your friend’s statement. Yuta always knew how to see the bright side. Taking a deep breath, you decided to focus on the positive. Suguru was interesting, kind, and surprisingly easy to talk to. You could confide in him as a friend. But the way his touch comforted you, ignited you...well, that was definitely more than friendly.

"Yeah, you're right," you agreed, a newfound determination settling in your voice despite the nervousness you felt. "Maybe I'll just...see where things go."

Admitting it out loud felt a lot easier. "I like him, you know," you said, looking at your friends with a small smile. "He’s someone who seems to be interested in something that’s not superficial—like he wants to know me, understand me. And it just seems so rare for someone to be genuinely interested in you, right?"

Your friends looked at you with knowing smiles, a silent encouragement hanging in the air. It was probably more than just liking him, you knew. But admitting it out loud, even with just a hint of the deeper feelings swirling within you, felt like a huge step.

The art exhibition buzzed with a quiet energy. The gentle notes of classical music filled your ears, punctuated by the soft murmur of conversation and the clinking of glasses from the nearby champagne bar. 

You stood mesmerised in front of a large, abstract piece. It was a puzzle, quiet literally. Fractured squares of vibrant colours and captivating strokes hung on the stark white wall, making an incomplete puzzle, while its other pieces were scattered chaotically on the floor below. The missing pieces created a gaping emptiness in the artwork, a void that tugged at your emotions.

Was it a metaphor for loss  - longing? a commentary on the incompleteness of experiences? You longed to discuss it with Yuta. He'd always loved puzzles; his apartment was filled with framed pieces of puzzles he had solved so far. His mind was a kaleidoscope of unconventional interpretations, making you look at things with a different perspective.

A pang of guilt lanced through you. You were supposed to visit this exhibition with your friends, but Maki wasn't feeling well. Yet, here you were, lost in the beauty of the artwork displayed. Although Yuta had assured you he was taking care of her, telling you to not miss this exhibition, a part of you still yearned to be by your friend's side.

“Intriguing, is it?” A voice interrupted your thought. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. The voice, once a source of comfort and playful teasing, now startled you. It was him, the man who had vanished after nearly kissing you under the twinkling stars, leaving you with nothing but lingering confusion and a heart full of unanswered questions.

And now, after almost two months, he was here, asking you this bloody question.

Suguru Geto.

Well, if he wants to play it this way, you can entertain him. After all, two can play this game. "It is," you began, your eyes finally meeting his. "But I'm trying to figure out what the artist is trying to show here."

Geto hummed thoughtfully. "You know what I think?" He paused. Was he expecting a response from you? Well, he wasn’t getting any. You remained silent, your gaze fixed on the artwork.

Undeterred, he continued, his voice taking on a philosophical tone. "This artwork seems to be a metaphor for life. Life throws pieces at you, like the ones scattered on the floor. It's all you need to make your life meaningful and beautiful. Opportunities, people, love..." he trailed off, the last word hanging in the air unspoken.

His gaze shifted back to the painting, his voice softer now. "But it's up to you how you make use of those pieces, to put in the effort to fit them together. If you're not careful, if you wait too long..." He paused again, his eyes meeting yours for a fleeting moment, a flicker of something akin to regret and longing passing through them. "The pieces might be lost to you forever."

You sucked in a breath. No, he couldn’t mean what you were thinking. After all, the only conversation the two of you had after hanging out on the terrace was when you told him about your assignment and the grade you scored.

Yes, you had texted him a couple of times after that, but the reply seemed…dry. So, you stopped, hoping Geto would reach out to you when he was ready, but the man beside you never bothered to do anything about it.

But your mind replayed the memory of how he held you that night, a tender embrace that spoke volumes without words. It was a gesture that made you feel cherished, as if you were his most prized possession, far above any material wealth the world could offer. And when you shared the news of your accident, his reaction was unexpected - a mixture of regret and concern, as though he wished he had been there for you, even though he didn't even know you at the time.

No.

You couldn’t allow yourself to go there again.

Not if he wouldn’t follow you, keeping up with you.

Your mind buzzed with Geto’s words, his interpretation of the art piece lingering in your thoughts like an unshakable presence. Was he a piece that life had flung your way, meant to enhance the beauty of your existence? Or did he hold some other significance, perhaps serving as a lesson - a piece that doesn’t enhance the beauty of the puzzle, but serves as a guiding force for other pieces? Was he a fleeting moment of joy, destined to fade into memory like the strokes of paint on a canvas? Or was he a constant, a steady presence meant to shape your journey, to teach you lessons you had yet to grasp?

Stop.

You wouldn’t allow yourself to go there. Not again and again.

This man almost kissed you after you told him one of the deepest truths about yourself, and then disappeared, leaving you alone to deal with the darkness so similar to the inky blackness of that night. But this time, even the stars weren’t there to keep you company.

Leaving the painting behind, you moved towards a different section of the exhibition. Here, the air shimmered with vibrant light. Holographic projections of the paintings danced around you, painting your surroundings with the artist's colourful strokes. These ethereal brushstrokes, magnified and swirling, seemed to come alive, transforming the space into a kaleidoscope of the artist's imagination. 

However, the original artworks remained untouched. Hung on the wall next to their holographic counterparts, they offered a more tangible connection to the artist's hand, allowing you to study the physical texture of the canvas, the subtle nuances of the brushstrokes, and the deliberate choices of colour.

The projections painted your off-white dress in different colours, the fabric a soft caress against the skin of your calves as you walked from one painting to another.

Geto followed you closely behind as you navigated through the section, his silence a palpable presence behind your back. You felt his gaze track your movements, but you paid it no mind, completely enthralled by the painting before you.

It was a complete mess. It was a riot of colour, a whirlwind of strokes, a storm of emotions, yet it held you captive. The longer you stared, the more it seemed to transform, the chaos morphing and shifting before your very eyes. What initially appeared as a meaningless jumble began to hold meaning, revealing a hidden order within the frenzy. The chaos formed a structure - The structure within the chaos.

It was almost as if the holograms mirrored your feelings - Confusing, chaotic, shifting.

Lost in the painting's mesmerising chaos, you barely registered Geto's approach. He stood so close behind you that the warmth of his body radiated through your clothes, his upper arm brushing against your shoulder. His voice, soft and low, shattered the silence.

"What are you doing at this exhibition?" he asked, his voice gentle.

Turning around to face him, you finally took him in. Dressed in a brown turtleneck that mirrored the depths of his eyes, his attire accentuated their warm, inviting hue. He wore a casual blazer on top of it, the colour slightly lighter than the colour of his turtleneck. His raven hair, noticeably longer, was tied back in a simple half-bun, the remaining strands cascading down his shoulders. The change, subtle yet noticeable, added a touch of softness to his features.

But what stood out the most were the circles under his eyes and the hollowness of his face. Even as the holograms danced all over his face, they did nothing to conceal his worn-out state; they almost amplified it.

A pang of concern flickered in your chest, a fleeting thought about his well-being. However, you quickly pushed it aside. Geto was the one who decided not to keep in touch anymore, so now it wasn’t your job to be concerned.

But of course, it wasn’t easy to just get rid of your feelings for someone like they never existed, was it?

"This is an art exhibition, open to all," you finally answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "and in case you forgot, I am an art student, Geto." Your voice was filled with sarcasm, and Geto chuckled. You smiled sweetly at him as you asked, "What about you?"

"Well," he began, his voice laced with a playful drawl, "as someone just said, this is an art exhibition, open to all." He shrugged, smirking. You gave him one final, unamused look before your eyes turned back to the painting.

For a few minutes, neither of you said anything. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken questions and the lingering warmth of Geto's presence. Finally, he spoke, "What do you find so captivating about this painting?"

His voice, a soft melody laced with genuine wonder, resonated with a yearning that transcended mere curiosity. It was as if you held the key to answering the storm of questions swirling within him, your insights holding a weight far greater than anything else. A hunger to delve deeper, to peel back the layers of your being until he could see the very essence of you, consumed him.

A ghost of a smile danced on your lips. How could you deny the man who held such profound significance in your heart, the man who yearned to truly know you, to unravel your soul until there was nothing left to be discovered?

No, of course you couldn’t keep away, no matter how hard you tried.

Finally, you answered him. If he wanted a piece of your mind, you would gladly offer it to him. "For me, it’s those golden strokes," you began, "It was definitely a risky move for the painter. Those strokes could have ruined the painting, but it didn't. Instead, it made this painting what we see."

Geto hummed, "So, you feel like that stroke was a bold move for the painter?"

You nodded your head in response. Geto continued, "But what if that stroke ruined the painting?"

A slight smile played on your lips. "Well, then the painter would have learned something important. They'd know they could create the painting again if they wanted to, and that's a power in itself. They'd know they have the skill and the confidence to reach that level of greatness again." You looked him in the eye, your gaze pinning him, "Even if the stroke ended up ruining the painting, the artist could always put in the effort of making it again, and that in itself is a form of victory. They wouldn't be afraid to take that bold step again and again, till the painter gets what they want from the painting."

Geto's gaze drifted away for a moment, his brow furrowed slightly as he processed your words. It was as if he was engaged in an internal debate, weighing the implications of your statement against his own judgement.

“I wish I could look into your mind.” He finally said, his eyes slightly wide in wonder.

But oh Suguru, little did he know, he has been settled there since the two of you met in the cafe.

A soft buzz from Geto’s phone brought you out of your thoughts, making you realise how quiet it was around you. He pulled out his phone, his fingers flying across the screen as he typed a message. As you watched him, the silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket and met your gaze. "It was good seeing you again," he said. Were you overthinking, or was his voice a touch more formal than before? "I have to go now. Enjoy the exhibition."

With that, he turned and walked away, his steps hurried, leaving you standing there with a lingering feeling of unease. You hadn't had a chance to say goodbye, and the abruptness of his departure left you wondering about your interaction with Geto.

Soon, you were done with the exhibition, the vibrant colours of the holograms still dancing behind your eyelids. Your mind buzzed with inspiration, the beauty of the paintings displayed sparking a flurry of ideas in your head.

The puzzle painting seemed to mock you as you passed it one last time, the question echoing in your mind: where did Geto fit in your life? What piece of the puzzle was he?

Exiting the building, you descended the stairs, the chill in the winter air making you shiver despite your sweater. As you reached the bottom, your steps slowed, coming to a halt. There was Geto, standing by the entrance. But he wasn't alone. He held a woman close, his arms wrapped tightly around her like he never wanted to let go. Her head rested against his chest, and his eyes were closed, almost nestled against her shoulder. The intimacy of their embrace was undeniable, a silent language of comfort and connection that spoke volumes.

Despite the prickling suspicion in your chest, you knew better than to jump to conclusions. This wasn't your place to pry. Yet, the image of their closeness branded itself into your brain, a searing feeling that left your heart burning.

"Well, don't you two look cute," a voice boomed. You looked up to see a man with white hair and sunglasses approaching them, a wide grin plastered on his face.

Gojo Satoru - the name echoed in your mind - Geto's best friend.

You watched as Geto and the woman pulled away, the woman playfully swatting Gojo's arm. But it wasn't the playful interaction that held your attention. Even from a distance, you could see the lingering longing in Geto's eyes as he looked at her.

It hit you like a punch to the gut. This was what he'd been preoccupied with. This is why he had kept you in the dark. This all felt like a cruel joke, life playing a twisted game on you. Of course he had a girlfriend - a guy like him probably had women lining up around the block.

You shook your head, a humourless chuckle escaping your lips as you made your way down the remaining stairs. Yeah, it was pretty obvious what kind of piece Geto was. A missing piece, a piece that belonged to someone else's puzzle, not yours.

You stood outside maki’s wooden front door, finger hovering over the buzzer.  But, before you could ring, the door swung open, its hinges creaking slightly as familiar black, tousled hair came into the view.

Yuta lifted his head, momentarily startled to see someone standing right outside the door, before his eyes met yours. A small smile graced his lips. You took note of the black duffle bag hanging on his shoulder.

You returned his smile, “Leaving now?” you asked him, watching as a small blush crept up his cheek. “Yeah, Maki is feeling better now, so I figured I should go home.” He answered, relief clouding in his eyes before his expression turned curious, “Oh, how was the exhibition yesterday? Again, I am so sorry we couldn’t make it.”

You shook your head, dismissing his apology. “No need to apologise, Yuta.” Despite the events of last night, you found yourself smiling. After all, you saw some works by your favourite artists. You cannot let a man - no matter how much he meant to you - ruin something that you have been looking forward to so eagerly.

“The exhibition was great, Yuta,” You said, as you told him about the puzzle artwork. “I really missed you guys there, you would have loved it too.” You finished, hoping to convey your sincerity with your words. 

Yuta’s eyes lit up and his smile widened, “That sounds amazing! I hope next time all of us can go” He said, before gesturing towards his bag, “Anyways, I gotta go now - Maki’s in her room, by the way.” With a final wave, he moved towards the front door, the door shutting behind him as he left Maki’s apartment.

You made your way towards her room, the minty smell of ointment filling your nose. You found Maki sitting on her bed with a small crochet blanket draped over her legs. The vibrant colours of the blanket reminded you of summer. 

Maki looked up when you approached, a small chuckle leaving her lips as she rolled her eyes, inviting you to sit on the bed. “I knew I would see your face today.” she said, causing you to smile. Her voice today was a far cry from the shaky, tired voice she had yesterday.

Yeah, Yuta was right, Maki was definitely feeling better.

You also noticed that some colour has returned to her face, and Maki looked better now than she did at college, and this observation somehow soothed and comforted you. You enquired about her well-being and got to know that Maki had a cold and fever, but thanks to Yuta’s support, she was feeling far better. 

Oh, Speaking of Yuta…

“So Yuta stayed the night, huh?” You finally asked, an eyebrow raised and a smirk gracing your lips. 

Maki rolled her eyes again but she didn’t shy away from the topic. You watched as the top of her cheeks turned slightly pink. It was a rare sight, something you found so cute. Both Yuta and Maki had a similar reaction to a similar situation.

“Yeah, he was just making sure the fever doesn't get worse or anything,” she said, a small smile on her lips as if she was recalling last night. “He was really sweet about it, actually.” She said it as if she just realised it too.

You smiled for your friends, “So, do you want something with him?” you asked, genuinely curious.

Maki’s expression turned thoughtful, though a hint of playfulness remained, “I do like him,” She admitted. There was no hesitancy in her voice. “But I don’t want to force things with him or anything. Just go with the flow, you know?” She met your eyes as she said, “Besides, he is a great friend - that matters above everything else.” 

You admired Maki’s clarity. She knew what she wanted. 

Nodding your head in response, you reached out to squeeze Maki's hand. But just then Maki let out a small cough. You quickly reached for the glass of water on her bedside table and handed it to her, "Here, take a sip of this."

After a few sips, a sigh of relief escaped her lips. "Alright," she said, her voice slightly raspy, "enough about me. Tell me what’s going on between you and that Geto guy?" Her gaze, even dimmed by illness, held its usual unwavering intensity. It burrowed into yours, leaving no room for secrets. “And don’t lie, I can tell something is bothering you.”

Your heart sank at the mention of Geto's name, the emotions from last night bubbling back to the surface. You avoided them, though. "I think he's seeing someone else," you admitted with a bitter chuckle.

Maki's frown mirrored your own confusion. "But from what you told me…?"

"Yeah, I know," you sighed, your voice heavy with resignation. "But then again, we didn’t speak for two months. I don’t really blame him for pursuing someone else."

But the ache in your chest refused to dissipate, stubbornly clinging to the remnants of hope you had tried to bury.

You recounted the events of the exhibition, the cryptic nature of Suguru's words, and the sight of him with another woman. Maki listened attentively, her unwavering gaze conveying understanding as you poured your heart out to her.

Maki sighed, her disappointment evident in the furrow of her brow. “The woman you are talking about,” she began, her tone tinged with frustration, “I think I saw her and Geto at a cafe - the description sounds the same. But I didn’t think much of it because I just assumed they were friends or something.” Another sigh escaped her lips, laden with exasperation. “But from what you're saying… man, that guy is so clueless!”

"Now, there’s no point in that anyway," you murmured, your shoulders slumping as you shook your head. "I’m just disappointed because I thought we had something, but I guess I just misunderstood things."

Maki's eyes flashed with indignation. “I saw the way he looked at you in the cafeteria - like a teenage boy looking at his first crush. It was so sweet it was almost disgusting,” she said, her nose scrunching up slightly. “So no, you did not misunderstand things. That guy turned out to be an asshole.”

Maki reached out and squeezed your hand, a gesture so unexpected from her that it caught you off guard. “You deserve better than someone who doesn’t know what he wants.” Her gaze was intense, taking in your slumped shoulders and tired eyes. “You know what?” she began, determination clear in her voice. “Give me your phone.”

“You are not texting him,” you said sternly, though you unlocked your phone and handed it to her anyway.

“Of course not,” she replied with a humourless chuckle. “He isn’t worth my time.” You rolled your eyes at her statement, but the corners of your lips twitched upwards, feeling a bit of the weight lifting off your shoulders.

You peeked over your phone, curiosity getting the better of you. Maki was busy downloading - “A dating app?” you asked, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

Maki nodded in response, her fingers flying over the screen as she added a description and prompts to your profile. “But Maki, I don’t want to date someone just like that,” you protested.

“You deserve to meet someone new and exciting. It doesn’t have to be serious,” Maki replied, her voice firm but caring.

You had never used dating apps before, so you felt hesitant to try it out. The idea of swiping left and right felt strange, almost impersonal. But another part of you was curious to see how things would turn out. After all, college was ending soon, you had barely dated anyone until now, and then the thing with Geto...

Maki looked up from the phone, her expression softening slightly. “I know it feels weird, but sometimes you need to step out of your comfort zone. Just give it a try. If you don’t like it, you can always delete it.” She angled the phone towards you, the dating app now downloaded and ready to go. “Think of it as an adventure. You never know what might happen.”

Maki began swiping for you, her eyes occasionally flicking up to check your reaction. One particular profile caught your eye. “Wait!” you stopped her just as she was about to remove the profile.

“What? Him? Really?” Maki asked, her nose scrunching up in mild disgust.

“Hey, he looks good, okay? But that’s not the point,” you said, leaning in to get a better look. The picture of a familiar white-haired man stared back at you. “That’s Geto’s best friend, Gojo.” You told her, swiping down on the profile to see more.

You came across a picture of him and Geto, seemingly from a beach trip. Both of them were wearing floral shirts and sporting big grins. The sight of them together stirred a mix of emotions within you. The carefree happiness on Geto's face contrasted sharply with the confusion and heartache you felt.

The text with the picture read:

Yeah, that’s my best friend, but you won’t find him here. His heart is already taken, but mine isn’t ;)

You shook your head, ignoring the icy feeling that crawled up your veins; a feeling that didn’t have anything to do with the cold, biting wind outside. After a few more swipes, you got some matches. Maki took over, texting them on your behalf.

“‘Are you free tomorrow?’” Maki read the text from one of your matches out loud. Yeah, you were free, but was it wise to go out with someone you barely knew? As if sensing your hesitation, Maki said, “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, but I think you should.” Then, she added, “It might help you deal with your feelings for Geto.” You noticed a hint of bitterness when she said his name, as if it left a sour taste in her mouth.

You bit your lip, considering her words. Maki has always been your rock, her advice helping you through the toughest situations. Finally making up your mind, you said, “Yeah, I guess I’ll go out with him - see how it is.” Then, with a teasing tone you said, your voice light, “But I am going only for you.”

Maki smiled at you, her expression lightening. “Great! I’ll text him then.” Her tone turned serious. “But keep texting me, okay? He seems okay, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be worried about you.”

You smiled at your friend’s protectiveness. “Yeah, I will Maki, don’t worry about it.”

A small part of you felt like this was wrong, especially since there was no communication between you and Geto to clear things up. But he had started dating someone else, hadn’t he? His heart was already taken, wasn’t it? So did it matter what you felt for him? Clearly, it didn’t mean anything to him, so the sooner you got over it, the better it would be for you.

The sudden crack of lightning jolted you, sending a streak of black liquid across your eyelid just as you were applying your eyeliner. A muted curse escaped your lips as you grabbed a makeup wipe, determined to fix the line. But the damage was done – a dark smudge now decorated your under-eye. With a sigh, you opted for a clean look, wiping away the eyeliner completely.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the room, followed by a low rumble of thunder. Your brow furrowed as you pulled on your clothes for the date. Winter rain was a rarity, but the damp air and earthy scent were unmistakable signs of a downpour.

You had to hurry now. Getting caught in a winter rain shower was the last thing you wanted, especially with your already achy legs. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed that you were looking presentable. Despite the eyeliner disaster, you felt satisfied with your hair and makeup.

You made your way towards the restaurant, taking the subway. As you emerged from the station, the warm, stale air was replaced by a blast of icy wind that stole your breath. It was raining now, but thankfully it was misty; the droplets of water barely felt like anything. The rain clung around your face, blurring the city lights into shimmering halos. The rhythmic rumble of the train faded behind you, replaced by the traffic honks and the murmur of people walking around.

Your legs felt like lead as you trudged towards the restaurant. You'd chosen a cosy Italian place that was a little far from your apartment. Your date had insisted on a ‘middle point’ since he lived far away from your place, and you couldn’t protest.

Doubt gnawed at you. Was this the right way to get over Geto? The memory of his supportive glances and gentle laugh sent a pang through your chest. This date with someone you barely knew, suddenly felt like a flimsy shield against a tidal wave of longing. Yes, you and your date had exchanged some text, but could you really judge a person just through texts? But cancelling now felt like a betrayal – you couldn’t bring yourself to leave someone hanging like that while they waited for you.

With that in mind, you pushed open the glass doors of the restaurant. The smell of molten cheese and basil greeting you, followed by the gentle clink of glasses and happy murmurs. The whole place was bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights. 

Once inside, you navigated through the crowded space until you spotted a familiar-looking face. Your date's blond hair was combed neatly, but there was something different about his hair compared to the pictures you saw. Still, you paid it no mind as you made your way to the table.

As you reached the table, you noticed an almost empty lowball glass that sat in front of him. It had a single ice cube clinging to the bottom of what appeared to be bourbon, given by its amber colour. Before you could dwell on the obvious red flag, dark hazel eyes met yours.

You forced out a smile. “Hey, you must be –”

The words died on your lips as he cut you off, his voice clipped. "You're late."

Huh?

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Looking forward to your feedback 🌷

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I know things take a turn here, and even I wasn't expecting this to happen but it just happened, to the point I had to change the storyline lol

@whereflowerswenttodie @celestie0 @lostfracturess @nakariabnrb @yungbloode

@peppertoastuniverse @hopefulpeachcolor

Stained glass and heart dividers by @/saradika

Line divider by @benkeibear

Galaxy divider by @/cafekitsune

[whiskeyghoul]

Pt.3 || She blinded me with science || [Spencer Reid x Goth!reader]

Read pt1 here, previous chapter, next chapter.

A/N: Hello hello, we are finally to the unofficial first date hehe. This is a bit of a longer one because somehow I kept on writing. So once again this is not proofread. I don’t know yet how many parts this story is going to be, because I just want to continue this for as long as I can. I have some ideas for some more future angst that I want to start setting up to keep it interesting. Anyways, enjoy the read. If you do please like, reblog or comment. If you want to be added to my tag list let me know.

WC:2,5K

Tags: Fluff, sweet fluff, two idiots in love, goth!reader, alt!reader, coffee date, but is it really a date, both are flustered messes.

Warnings: Discussions of murder. Nothing worse than in criminal minds itself.

Spencer POV

Spencer stood in front of the lab door again. Hearing the music pour from the cracks, Siouxsie and the banshees again. A familiar situation. Only this time he felt even more nervous than he had before. There was a cup holder in his left hand, the two steaming beverages balanced equally. The smell of cinnamon and coffee filled his nostrils as he took a deep breath. Trying to calm down his racing heart. It had been 4 days since he first called you. 4 Days of wanting to get back to Quantico as quickly as possible so he could bring you the coffee you wanted. He called you every day, short calls at the end of the day right before he’d go to bed. He felt giddy when talking to you, and would go to sleep thinking of when he’d get back. He finally returned late last night, the office was already empty and there was no sign of you to be seen. So he had gone home, planning to get out and get coffee early in the morning. That left him here, in front of your lab. 

As Spencer stood, staring at your name plaque next to the frosted glass door, he felt like he might be going too fast. Coming on too strong perhaps. He didn’t have time to worry about it though when the door in front of him opened. The music turned louder as you came into view. Beaming at him, “Were you planning to come in, or what?” Your voice sounded so melodic to him. Sweet, warm, and slightly teasing. “You saw me?” He asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. “It’s frosted glass, I knew there was someone waiting. From the height I suspected it was you.” You answered with a shrug. Spencer did notice the slight pink tinge that dusted your cheeks at those words. The way you avoided eye contact for a moment. You were embarrassed. If only just a little. “I got your coffee.” He held out the holder with the two cups, watching you perk up at the sight of the coffee. “Come in, we can sit together.” You answered him, taking the coffee cup marked with cinnamon. Spencer smiled, he quickly fixed his hair when you turned around, following into the lab. You still wore an almost completely black outfit, this time a skirt that hit just above your knee, large black platform boots made you taller than before. He had noticed this time you wore a ripped shirt, still with a logo on the front that he did not recognise. 

The music was turned down to a mild background noise. Spencer watched you place the little remote on the desk before you sat on the wooden surface. Turning the chair like an invitation for him to sit. His eyes wandered to your legs, the skirt riding up slightly exposing more of those gorgeous thighs. He quickly placed his bag on the ground, before he took his seat forcing his eyes to your face. He didn’t want to feel like a pervert staring at your thighs. The position causes Spencer to have to look slightly up at you, in turn you smiled at him after taking a sip of your drink. He turned slightly side to side in the swivel chair, a nervous energy overtaking him. His knee bumping into your leg softly. He usually was so full of words, but in your presence he was once again speechless. “How was the case?” You spoke up first, breaking the relative silence that had been over taking. Spencer's eyes wandered to his hands in his lap, where he held the cup a little awkwardly.

“Oh, it was a bit more difficult than expected.” He tried to find his voice, still feeling a little tongue tied around you. “There was a group of male bodies found in more of a ritualistic setting in a warehouse. Laid out with their heads towards each other in a cross like fashion, all dressed in white, and with myrrh found on their hands. At first we thought of ritual killings, after learning they were all members of the parish it seemed most likely…” When Spencer looked up and saw you were watching him with undivided attention he was surprised. Normally when he rambled people were either bored or cut him off quickly because it was an inconvenience to them. Yet it seemed to him you weren’t inconvenienced at all. He stopped, feeling his heartbeat pick up again. 

“But it wasn’t a ritual killing? Was it made to look like one then?” You asked him. Your interest in the story was clear to him. You were leaning slightly closer, towards him, the smell of cinnamon mingling with your perfume was a little distracting to him. “It was but not really intentionally I suppose.” He continued to explain the case. He had managed to find his voice, describing what happened, how they managed to track down the unsub, and how the killing was done by a former church member who wanted to expose the victims for their wrong doings. When you would interject with questions he had time to sip his coffee. Slowly but surely the cup grew colder, the coffee becoming less likable with each sip but he didn’t seem to mind as much. So he moved closer to the desk, in turn slotting his knees around your right calf, before placing the coffee cup on the desk. He preferred this, being close to you. Enjoyed the way you were listening to him and showing interest.

“What was it like here?” Spencer asked after he answered your last question about the myrrh, changing the subject to you. He wanted to know how you spent your time, wanted to know what you liked. The idea of learning more about your hobbies and interests had taken up residence in his head. The entire time he had been away there was just this difficulty focussing on the case. Hotch had even called him out on his lack of focus, remarking that he had been unfocused and to get some shut eye if he had a difficulty due to lack of sleep. Instead he had gone back and picked up his phone to look at your number. Debating to call, scared you wouldn’t pick up. When you did hang up the first time he felt a little defeated, his heart was beating out of his chest. However, still feeling like he needed to try again, he hit the call button again. When you did pick up that time, and your voice rang out through the speaker on his phone, relief washed over him. Starting to ramble on as he tried to find the right words to explain how he felt. His heartbeat was still a mess, his head an even worse one. That was until you had explained you had given him his number because you wanted him to call. Suddenly, he could think again.

“Oh, it was fine. When you called I was over at Pen’s place, maybe she told you about it. Other than that it was pretty normal. Currently I am still working on some tests on the stomach contents of a presumed poison victim. I did get something interesting. Do you want to see?” Your smile was infectious as you placed a now empty coffee cup next to Spencer’s discarded one. Spencer watched enamored at your shift, the excitement washing over you showing just how special this thing was. That apparently it had made your week.  "Of course." He answered, delighting in getting to know just a little of what you enjoyed. Spencer watched as you hopped off the desk, suddenly standing so close to him. He really looked up at you, taking a deep breath to take in that intoxicating perfume. You were practically straddling one of his legs as you stood there. He was scared to move, just in case he touched something he wasn't supposed to. His heart beating out of his chest, he could swear he could feel the heat from your skin through the fabric of his pants.

The moment was short lived when you moved a step back and around. Making your way to one of the many cabinets that lined the wall. Some with warning stickers only alluding to the dangers of the content. The one you walked to didn't have any of those labels on them, it was lower than most other cabinets picking up what looked like a frame. He watched you, the way your hips swayed did something to him. Spencer averted his eyes before he got off of the chair, walking over towards you. “It came in yesterday after you called. Maybe you find it a little weird so don't freak okay.” You looked back over your shoulder. Spencer's heart skipped a little, for some reason when you looked over your shoulder the light hit just right, making you glow. All he could think about was wanting to be close to you then. How wonderful you looked. More importantly, how soft your lips looked.

“I won't, I have seen a lot of weird things.” Spencer promised. Taking a few steps closer so he was a foot or 2 away from you. His face was still feeling warm as the urge to be close continued to brew. “You probably have.” you turned to face him as you spoke, still holding the box with the glass facing your body. “So, my favorite books of all time are the Hannibal books. I know… predictable. But they are wonderful books.” you turned the box and Spencer was faced with a beautiful death’s head hawk moth, pinned up against a dark blue background. He smiled a little, having you excited over a moth that was on the cover of your favorite book. He had to file that away for later. “I saw someone sell it online, and just had to have it.” You sounded a little embarrassed. He could see the small flush return to your cheeks. “It's a beautiful specimen.” He answered, “Did you know they squeak when distressed?” He added, unable to stop himself from fact sharing. “I do now.” The smile you wore made him want to lean in, want to kiss you. It was overwhelming. So he bit his lip, not wanting to do something to scare you away. This was new.

You turned away from him, placing the pinned moth back on the small cabinet. Spencer took a step even closer without even thinking. When you turned around you looked surprised, head tilting up to look him in the eyes. He took note of the little breath you took in, how your eyes lingered on his face as your surprise faded away. Just like you had done that first meeting. The mood shifted from nervous excitement to something more intimate. “Spencer?” The way you said his name made his mind go stupid, he could listen to you saying his name over and over again for all eternity. “Yeah?” He said it softly, not sure if you really wanted an answer, or if he even had the brain capacity to answer you coherently. “You’re staring.” The tease in your tone was clear as day. Yet you spoke so softly, with your cheeks dusted in pink. “So are you.” He whispered back. His heart was beating out of his chest. "Touche." You whispered back. With how close you were, the mingle of cinnamon and cherry was too much. He couldn’t think any more. His hand was itching to reach up, to cup your cheeks as he would kiss you.

Spencer’s mind wandered with the idea of how your lips would taste. Obviously the cinnamon would be there, but what else. He wanted to find out. Wanted to kiss you until the coffee was gone and he could just taste you. How his hands would course through your soft hair, or hold your head as he kissed you. Then again he wanted his hands to hold your thighs, the ones which were so enticing to him. The feeling of your soft skin under his fingers, the idea made his mouth water. So, he gently moved his hand up, his fingertips gently caressing your cheek. Your skin was as soft as he expected, maybe even slightly more so. You were warm, flushed and he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Wanting to drink up every little reaction, every movement and intake of breath. “Spencer.” You breathed his name. Another eruption of butterflies in his stomach. “Is this okay?” he asked, tucking a small piece of hair behind your ear. It was as smooth as he envisioned. 

You nodded your head, eyes still transfixed on his face. It was cute, Spencer thought, the way you were suddenly the one at a loss for words. How both of you seemed to be so affected by each other. He moved his hand again, placing it where your jaw met your neck, he could feel your heartbeat racing under your skin. A smile tugged at his lips. He was about to lean in, to press his lips softly to yours, unable to resist the urge, when suddenly an alarm rang throughout the lab. Pulling him from the intimate moment. A little resentful of the equipment interrupting him. He watched you close your eyes and breathe out through your nose almost with a sigh. “I have to get that. If I don’t I might not get accurate readings on the toxicology.” You looked a little disappointed. Spencer felt just a little pleased at that. “I understand, my team is probably wondering where I am too.” He responded, taking a step back and allowing you space. He was surprised when you placed your hands on his shoulders, “lean down a little.” He did as you asked, leaning down until his face was almost level with yours. You tipped up onto your toes, the platforms making you at eye level with him.

You smiled, quickly planting a soft kiss on his cheek. He felt his cheeks flush as his brain went blank as his senses just filled with you. “There, that will have to do for now.” You spoke as you pulled away. Spencer was wide eyed but he felt his lips curve into a dopey smile. “It will, for now.” He answered. “You better wash that off before you go back to the bullpen.” You were referencing the lipstick stain on his cheek most likely. “I might want to keep it.” He knew that Derek would tease him for it. It would be a reminder of you though. Of your lips on his skin. “Hmm, don’t blame me for the relentless teasing you will undergo if you do.” You grinned before turning to head to the beeping machine. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Spencer said and you looked back over your shoulder. “See you tomorrow.” You called back before getting to work on the tox screen.

Before Spencer returned to the bullpen he made a quick stop at the mens restroom, taking out his small phone and snapping a picture of your lipstick mark on his cheek. A reminder for later. Before he washed it off with reluctance. He was already looking forward to tomorrow.

Tag list: @depressedbutartsy @sarai-ibn-la-ahad

[anundyingfidelity]

I'M A RUIN — Soldier Boy (Part II)

Series summary: After the events of the Seven Tower, you present Grace Mallory a new secret project you're working on already to develop a cure to Compound V. The only problem? You need Soldier Boy for that.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader.

Word count: 2.5k.

Warnings for series: set after S3 (spoilers), some OOC!Ben, some depressed!Ben, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, slow-burn, language, PTSD, reader has Compound V (she's no Vought supe tho), Soldier Boy being an usual asshole, reader is a fucking liar.

Warnings on this chapter: Ben being a misogynist, talks about masturbation and porn, killing threats, Ben's POV in general is a red flag, death.

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

get yourself in the taglist!

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII

tags: @k-slla

GEN MASTERLIST! — SERIES MASTERLIST!

Part II: Silence is Peace

The next day arrived fast, and again, you found yourself walking ready to have a conversation with the supe locked in the facility. A part of you was surprised he didn't try to escape yet, but Ben, on the other hand, was just letting things flow at the moment.

The heavy, metal door opened to let you in. The supe caught by surprise seeing you coming inside full of confidence at this time in the morning. A couple of armed men in black uniforms followed behind as they settled down some furniture in the empty area of the room: two small sofas and a coffee table.

His arrogant self knew those guns wouldn't tear a single hair off of him, but hey, he understood you needed to feel safe. So meanwhile, he decided to play along. He remained still by the bathroom door as you came closer.

"I didn't request that," he said once you stood face to face.

"Oh, I know. I did, it's for your therapy," you smiled, tugging the bag on your shoulder. The armed men finished decorating the cell, and they left with a loud thud of the door being closed behind their backs. "There's been a small change of plans. I will come by every day for one hour. Anything you want you will ask me first and if I approve, then I will bring it to you."

He smirked. Like if he needed to be bossed around by a fucking woman, he thought. "You sure have the balls to stand up on me like that."

"Like I said, I want to help you," you replied, making your way and sitting down on a sofa. "Please," you requested him with a hand to do the same and he followed with curiosity. You put the bag on the coffee table, taking out a notebook, pens, a folder, and a small zip bag containing the only thing he asked from you the day before. You left his reefer on the coffee table, putting the folder in your lap as you waited for him with a smile on your face he found unsettling.

Ben still didn't buy you or your intentions, but he sat down on the opposite sofa nonetheless. You had brought him something he asked from you, something he wanted and would calm him down for a little. Hopefully it wasn't going to be that bad. He only had to put up with the game of doctor-patient. In the back of his mind, he was also grateful you dropped the stupid white coat at the same time he found your attempt to fix him ridiculous. He didn't need to get fixed.

"Your guards ain't hurting me with those guns, you know that," Ben started.

"We have to try," you shrugged. "And you're still here, that has to mean something."

He rolled his eyes. Of fucking course he had to stay. There were a lot of questions in his head. He had to settle down for a moment. Things were different in the world, he needed to learn about today's tech and get a fucking good plan to get away with his shit. Who would he get to kill first? Still thinking about it. How would he escape? Probably could use some help to keep a low profile. Could you be that help, being the only human contact he figured would have from now on? Maybe.

"So how are you feeling? Did you have some sleep?" you asked.

"I slept enough, spent the whole fucking night jerking off," he spat. "That TV of yours now does have good porn some hours in the day."

With wide eyes, you wrote down after his answer.

"Alright. But tell me, how are you feeling?" you pushed, your smile long gone and replaced with a serious face locking your gaze to his own.

"Great, never been fucking better" he smirked and you shifted on your seat.

His green eyes started checking you all over for a second. The pencil skirt hugged your legs perfectly and the blouse was tight enough to show off the size of your breasts. The clothes yelling that you were expensive and valuable for the CIA, and most important, to Mallory. Soon he sensed the discomfort emanating from you as his gaze returned to your face. God, he loved doing that, but you sure were daring to get locked inside a room with him alone.

"You can tell me the truth, you know," you said.

"I can easily break your neck and explode this shithole if I want to," he spat back.

"You won't do that. You had the chance yesterday, today even, and yet here you are."

He thought you sounded so sure about that. Ben held your gaze. Neither of you dare to break eye contact. It was like you were challenging him to something he wasn't aware of just yet. He didn't like that, but he remained there, breathing deeply with a strong look on his face. You were right though, and he realised could find you a good usage besides the obvious fucking use for pretty girls like you. He might have missed a good fuck for 40 years but the little common sense on the back of his mind told him the porn channel was enough for now.

"Listen, I know you're not a bad guy," the words fell softly from your lips. "I know you didn't mean to harm those people in Midtown... And in order to help you I could use some information on how you feel every time the blast comes-"

He stood up abruptly, strong enough to move the sofa he was sitting some feet away behind his back and yelled aggressively.

"Fuck off, bitch. What the fuck do you know about me? I don't trust your kind and you're making my threat sound like a great plan now.

You held his gaze as he made his way towards you. You were a prey in his cage, but even if you were scared, he didn't sense any sign of it. Ben's big frame towered you, standing just inches away from the couch you sat on. The space was enough for him to kill you with only one hand but you never moved or flinched a second.

"If you touch me, just a single hair on my scalp, you're fucked."

"C'mon sweetheart, you're no match for me," he mocked with a smirk on his face.

"Novichok definitely is."

He tightened his fists with his lips on a straight line, and his heartbeat increased at the mention of that fucking poison. Meanwhile, you just sat down looking at him with a blank face and innocent eyes. For a moment, he was tempted to just kill you but he forced himself to calm the fuck down. He didn't want to black out again, he certainly did not want to become a fugitive. If he was going to do something, it had to be done well.

"Soldier Boy, it's okay," you got on your feet. His eyes followed your moves. "It's fine if you don't want to talk to me. I can't force you to."

He saw a strange sparkle in your eyes. Were you pitying him? He didn't need that. And when he said nothing, then you continued.

"You accepted the deal, and that includes therapy to help you get out of your trauma. And sooner or later, you have to talk to me," you explained, he felt like a fucking child being scolded.

"You want to fucking help me and spray me with Novichok at the same time," he groaned.

"We have to take our precautions. But trust me. I’d rather not use that on you, I prefer other ways."

"This is fucking crap," he mumbled through his teeth.

He watched you making your way towards the book shelf, leaning down to grab a couple of books. He took in the curve of your ass as you knelt, and he wondered if you were doing all that little show on purpose to test him. His jaw clenched once again at the thought of being played with false promises and a cure to his memories.

"I can leave, but I will come tomorrow," you tossed two books on the coffee table: one about PTSD, the other one about new technology for him to start educating himself on that. "Start reading those and write down in the notebook anything you have to say. It can be about the books, your thoughts, your feelings... Anything you want. I don't have to know unless you want me to."

If looks could kill, you were already dead. He still didn't trust you. He didn't understand completely why a stupid psychiatrist of the CIA wanted him to go through rehab. You were a woman, for fucks sake. Psychiatrists were old, wise, rich men back in his days, not expensive sluts.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "You're lucky I'm trying hard not to crush your bones right now, pretty thing."

"At least you're trying, that's improvement," you smiled cockily, pointing at his chest with a finger and you took your bag and belongings together, as if he didn't threaten to kill you like three times in the same conversation. "I will leave you now. Have a good lunch, Soldier Boy."

"Time of death 9:41 a.m."

The sound of the monitor disturbed your senses as the voice announced all over the place the death of yet another supe. You watched through the windows as two lab assistants ran inside the chamber to take out the lifeless body of the woman who had given her life to volunteer and assist the program. Anything for the cure, you remember her voice saying, even after she was warned about the possible effects. The worst of them being death. The contract stipulated it clearly and you told her to think twice before agreeing to take the third version of the Anti-V, although she hesitated a lot before joining.

You breathed out. The formula needed improvement, quickly. How many corpses had they taken out of there? You lost count already. You ordered Bianca, your young assistant, to note down all the details one day after the second death of a supe you witnessed, and for her to count them as necessary and at all cost. Arms folded on your chest, your jaw clenched, losing hope and feeling despair running through your spine. The discomfort of what had to be done to find a cure sometimes was too much of a burden. But sacrifices had to be done.

And speaking about sacrifices, you knew you had to get into Soldier Boy's head as soon as possible. The few other sessions you tried to talk to him were useless. The sixth one being today before lunch. A part of you was growing tired of faking it and pretending to be a psychiatrist, it really wasn't your field but you knew how to be one after many sessions, research, and medication on your own. Grace had taken care of your training years ago and this was just another mission with a huge impact and objective in mind: destroy Vought and Homelander, and then provide the cure to supes who didn't want their powers and give them the chance to live a normal life. People like you needed the cure, but first things first.

"Doc, the analysis of Blaze is updated," Bianca said, giving you the tablet to check the information on the supe that was collected.

"Thanks."

Blaze, or Electra Richards was her real name, was a low-profile supe for some time, and you had a secret track of those like her with some help. These kinds of supes didn't really represent a threat to Vought, so it was kind of easy to contact them and give them a possible solution with a warning written all over the place. When Electra was contacted, she had to think about it but eventually said yes. She was young and brave, but she never wanted powers. She had superhuman strength and healed in minutes, seconds even, her bones were indestructible, and when your people ran the proper tests on her she was healthy as hell. Pity that her body wasn't enough to take in the injection of the new Anti-V prototype.

You read the last notes your assistant typed on the supe's profile.

Cause of death: sudden cardiac arrest caused by ventricular fibrillation; failure in electrical signaling within the heart.

You couldn't continue like this, not anymore. Nine months and nothing seemed to work out. Some supes died, some of them quit the program, and you didn't really blame them for it. The failures were growing bigger than the small steps close to creating the final antidote. The process was becoming an endless trial and error. With a tired face and a sigh, you left the tablet on a desk and walked out making your way to your office.

You took out your cell phone and dialed Grace, walking around the room worriedly. You needed to vent or talk. Anything. And gladly, she picked up by the third ring.

"Is everything okay?" she asked on the other line. She knew you too well.

"I- No, it isn't. But you already know that," you breathed. "Another supe died on trial today. I don't know how many we have-" your voice cut off abruptly and you sighed, composing yourself after a moment. "We keep losing a lot of people..."

Grace exhaled. "It's part of the job. It's your project, you know it was coming when I approved to do this."

"That makes it even worse, you're not helping me," you replied with a playful tone. "I've been thinking- I would like to try the cure."

"No. We need you to focus on this."

"And when I get him, when I get Soldier Boy's blood? He already takes powers of supes with the blast. Should be easier."

"He's your safest option for now. You'll find a way to get it, I trust you. But don't make stupid and hurried decisions, just wait for the right moment," the lady scolded. You smiled a little, like if she was watching you. "About that, how's he doing? Is he cooperating?"

"Not at all, that's my other problem," you fell back on your chair ungracefully, your back hurting at the thought of seeing him again that day. "I am trying to get him to talk, even using my cards of dressing up like I'm a fucking slut with tight skirts and all, but he's really backing up. Besides he's a fucking dick," your words made Grace chuckle for a bit.

"All supes we have dealt with are dicks, especially Vought. But Y/N, you got this," her words attempted to make you feel better. "This is one of our best options to take them down for once. I know you've been working on this way long before you talked to me, and that's the reason I know it's gonna work, doing whatever it takes."

"Thank you, Grace," you mumbled from your heart. Disappointing her was not on your list, and you hoped it won't happen anytime soon. So you switched the topic of the conversation. "And how have you been?"

[melancholicmelanin]

Compress/Repress | Chapter 2: Sister, Sister

Pairing: art donaldson x black!oc x patrick zweig, tashi duncan x black!oc (platonic)

Summary: As the summer of 06' winds down, Maya is anxiously prepping for a secret adventure: flying to New York to watch her half-sister Tashi compete at the Junior US Open. The only problem? She’s doing it behind her grandparents’ backs.

Word Count: 5k

Warning(s): minor challengers spoilers (if any?), mild cursing, a non american writing americans, self edited and no beta.

masterlist | prev | next | wattpad | AO3

BEL-AIR, CALIFORNIA – August 30, 2006

“Look, you’ve already got the plane tickets, right? And you’ve figured out how to get to LAX. You’re halfway there!” Tashi exclaimed. Her tone was light-hearted, like the gravity of the situation was no big deal, as if sneaking across the country wasn’t an act that could land Winston Pratt in the hospital.

It had been a year since they’d made their first connection—one impulsive friend request that had led to a secret sisterhood neither of them had anticipated. An outsider looking in would deduce them as a close-knit pair of sisters. Heck, maybe long-time best friends even. Now, they spoke almost every day—through texts, phone calls and sometimes in person, always careful to keep their connection hidden from their respective families.

Maya let out a low, breathy laugh, though it sounded more like a sigh. Like she was failing at convincing Tashi to change her mind and ditch the plan altogether. Her heart raced as she listened to Tashi’s voice echo through the receiver. Maya’s heart raced as she took in her sister’s words, a mixture of excitement and nervousness bubbling beneath her tummy.

“I know, I know.” Maya said as she paced between the four pastel walls of her room, her Paul Frank slippers gliding against the plush white rug.

“I can’t stop thinking about the worst-case scenario. Like what if I get human trafficked at the airport and the kidnappers want ransom. They’d freak!” She exclaimed, dramatically tossing her arms in the air.

“Oh my god, M!” Tashi blurted out, sounding both exasperated and amused at her sister’s active imagination. When her guard was down, Maya Pratt-Duncan’s true form always showed, she was an anxious nervous reck at the end of the day.

Maya shut her eyes and clutched her phone out of embarrassment as she heard Tashi's befuddled voice coming through on the other end. Despite being miles apart, she could almost see the jokes forming in Tashi’s mind.

“You watch too many movies,” Tashi quipped, trying to ease Maya's worries.

“They’re not going to find out,” She explained further, firm and unbothered, the usual confidence Maya admired in her spilling into every word. “You’ve got everything under control. This is our moment. And I want you there when I win.”

Maya made her way towards her bed, her suitcase laid bare on top as she prepared for tomorrow's flight. She carefully checked and rechecked all her belongings, her nerves still prickling despite Tashi's reassurance.

The thought of seeing her half-sister for the first time in action—on the court, in her element—made her heart flutter. But the idea of lying to her grandparents, Tabitha and Winston, weighed on her heavily. They had raised her, protected her, and shielded her from so much of the world. And now, here she was, planning to deceive them.

Maya's voice was soft and hushed, a small smile playing at the edge of her lips as she spoke. "I know you're going to win," she said, her words filled with admiration and confidence. "But...I've never done anything like this before, you know."

Tashi's laughter came through the other end of the phone, light and teasing. "Oh, come on, Maya. You're going to be just fine."

Maya couldn't help but bite her lip, a habit her grandmother couldn’t stand. "It's one thing meeting up at South Coast Plaza, but flying all the way to New York? That's a whole new level."

"Hey, trust me," Tashi reassured her. "You've got this."

“And besides, it's not like I've been completely innocent this whole time.” Tashi leaned against the kitchen counter, her fingers fiddling with the telephone cord as she recounted one of their rebellious antics. “Remember that college party we went to? My dad definitely doesn't know about that!" Maya’s laughter echoed throughout her room as she reminisced about ditching the party in exchange for the local 7 Eleven at 2AM. Till this day she couldn't believe they had gotten away with it, but then again, Tabitha was under the impression that she was at UCLA college scouting.

A warm, genuine smile crept onto Maya's face as she listened to Tashi speak, feeling a sense of comfort and ease wash over her. Tashi had always been one to remain unfazed by anything--whether it be societal rules or the constant pressure of her successful tennis career. It was a trait that Maya both admired and secretly envied, wishing she could exude the same level of nonchalance in her own life.

“I just don’t want to mess this up,” Maya admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, her words carrying a hint of vulnerability and uncertainty.

“You won’t,” Tashi reassured her, her tone softening. “Look, you’ve covered your tracks. You told your grandparents you’re staying with that friend of yours, right? The one with the gap in her teeth?”

Maya nodded, despite Tashi not being present to see her affirmation.

“Yeah, I told them I’m going to Reneé’s for the weekend,” She confirmed, biting her lip. “I mean, they’re really good friends with her family, but I still feel guilty.”

"Maya, listen to me. You have nothing to worry about. You're not doing anything wrong," Tashi insisted, her voice filled with conviction and confidence. “You’re just… bending the rules a little. It’s not like we’re committing a crime,” Tashi said, her voice filled with the kind of certainty Maya wished she could muster herself.

Maya paused, her mind swirling with Tashi's words. At the end of the day, she knew she had to do this. Her entire life had been spent following the strict rules and expectations set by her grandparents. They lived in a world of high society and legacy, where image was everything. But Tashi's world was different. Spending time with her free-spirited sister had taught Maya to break out of her shell and live in the moment. She longed to let go of Tabitha's expectations and just be herself. This trip was for her, and it would be the last time her grandmother's disapproval stood in the way of her desires. As she gazed at the open window ahead of her, she could feel a sense of freedom and adventure calling to her, beckoning her to embrace this new chapter in her life.

“Okay,” Maya said, taking a deep breath. “I’m doing it.”

"Hell yeah, you are!" Tashi's voice echoed through the phone, filled with pride and determination. Maya could practically picture her sister fist-pumping into the air. "Plane tickets aren't cheap, babe. But trust me, M. You're going to love New York City. It's vibrant, pulsing with energy." Tashi's words sparked a feeling of anticipation in Maya's chest. "And just wait till you see me on that court at the Open—I'm going to dominate."

"Now get some sleep and prepare for the most unforgettable weekend of your life," Tashi exclaimed with a wide grin.

They exchanged goodbyes, and after ending the call, Maya stared at her phone, still buzzing from the energetic conversation. She walked over to her window, gazing out at the dazzling skyline of Los Angeles as it shimmered under the night sky. The city lights twinkled like stars as a plane sawed the sky, beckoning her to join in on the fun. Her reflection in the glass appeared small and hesitant. Could she really go through with this? She had never been one to break rules or rebel – every decision she had ever made was with her grandparents' blessings. But this... this felt like stepping into a whole new world. A world where she could let loose and be free, even if just for a few days.

It’s just one weekend, she told herself. Just a couple of days. I can do this.

The Next Day

Now, most people would think the hard part was packing, right? How in the world do you fit a week's worth of clothes into a carry-on suitcase for a weekend trip? Well, lucky for Maya, that kind of job needed experience, and she’d been practicing for years. She had honed the art of over-preparing for every kind of situation—always with the perfect mix of practical essentials and stylish options, who cares if it ends up with you lugging around two suitcases in the middle of LAX. But packing was the easy part; it was everything that came after that was trickier.

The hard part was actually figuring out how to get out of the house without waking any suspicions. Maya knew her grandparents’ routine like the back of her hand; it helped that it hadn’t changed in years. Tabitha woke up every morning at 6:30 A.M. on the dot for her morning jog with "the girls"—her circle of wealthy friends who gossip as much as they power walk. Winston would follow shortly after, making his way down to the breakfast table with the morning newspaper already tucked under his arm. Ettie, the housekeeper, would be brewing a pot of Italian coffee for him. The whole ritual was so ingrained in the fabric of their household that Maya could practically set her watch by it.

Her grandmother always had a way of figuring out when Maya was up to something, so timing was crucial. If she was going to slip out unnoticed, she’d have to be long gone before Tabitha finished her jog. She calculated that the best window of opportunity was during those precious few minutes when Winston would be alone in the kitchen, sipping his coffee and absorbed in the day’s headlines. She’d leave a meticulously written note on the entryway table, some excuse about the early bird catching the worm and hope that would be enough to buy her a few extra hours.

Her heart racing, Maya reached the top of the grand staircase and paused. The entranceway below seemed impossibly vast; the polished marble floor gleaming under the faint light of dawn that streamed in through the stained-glass windows. A family portrait, prominently displayed by the foyer, seemed to gaze down at her—a beautiful oil painting of her grandparents, herself, and her late mother. Her mother’s soft eyes seemed to follow her every move as she cautiously descended the stairs, almost as if silently questioning her decision—Are you sure about this?

Maya tiptoed down the staircase, gripping the banister as if it might help her tread more lightly. The large grandfather clock in the hallway ticked steadily, the only sound breaking the quiet of the early morning. Her pulse quickened with every step, the echo of her shoes on the marble floor sounding far too loud in the stillness. She couldn’t risk alerting Ettie, who was always the first to rise before her grandparents. If Ettie caught her, there would be questions, and then she’d have to explain why she was up so early, where she was going, and why she had two packed suitcases for a sleepover with a family friend.

Her suitcase’s wheels glided silently over the marble floor as she made her way to the front door, keeping her movements slow and deliberate. She caught a glimpse of the kitchen down the hallway—Winston was already there, sitting at the breakfast table, absorbed in his newspaper. Her note, propped up against the sugar bowl, looked small and insignificant, and for a fleeting moment, Maya wondered if she should just go in and tell him the truth. But she quickly brushed that thought aside. There was no way they’d ever let her go if they knew where she was really heading.

Taking a deep breath, she turned the handle on the front door and slipped outside, closing it softly behind her.

A sharp gust of cool air struck Maya's face as soon as she stepped outside her front door, sending a shiver down her spine. The crispness of the early morning air seemed to whisper warnings in her ears, urging her to turn back while she still could. But Maya pushed the thoughts away with determination. She had made up her mind, and she wasn't going to let any doubts stop her.

In the pale light of dawn, Maya spotted Reneé's car sitting at the curb, its headlights cutting through the dimness like beacons. Reneé stood next to the driver's side door, wrapped in a thick jacket, her bonnet still on her head and rubbing her sleepy eyes. As soon as she saw Maya approaching, she perked up slightly, though her expression remained a mix of curiosity and concern.

Maya had always known she could count on Reneé, her best friend since childhood. They met in the most ridiculously “private school” way possible: at their elite academy’s spring fair. It was 1995, and six-year-old Maya was twirling around in a frilly lavender dress, sparkly shoes, and butterfly clips in her hair like a mini-Mariah Carey. Meanwhile, Reneé—awkward, with wild curls and a shiny new camcorder her parents bought to shut her up—was filming a “serious” documentary titled “Life Sucks When You’re Six".

The collision was inevitable. Reneé backed right into Maya, sending both of them sprawling. But instead of tears, Maya jumped up, adjusted her dress, and grinned. “Hey, can I be in your movie?” she asked, with all the confidence of a little girl who had just discovered Clueless. Reneé, who was usually more comfortable behind the camera than in front of people, couldn’t help but smile. From that moment on, they were inseparable—like two halves of a Spice Girls cassette tape.

Growing up in the same exclusive Los Angeles neighborhood, they were an unlikely pair, more like Cher Horowitz and Daria Morgendorffer at group sleepovers than your typical best friends. Maya was the girly girl: always perfectly put together, with glittery lip gloss and an impressive collection of Lisa Frank stationery. Reneé, on the other hand, had a style best described as “indie film director in training”—baggy overalls, thrifted T-shirts, and always a journal in hand to jot down her latest “brilliant” ideas. While Maya attended etiquette and ballet classes, Reneé was busy trying to figure out how to direct the next Godzilla movie.

Despite their differences, they shared everything: secrets, dreams, and even some epic middle school crushes. In Maya’s perfectly pink bedroom—walls covered in a fancy wallpaper imported from France and posters of NSYNC and fashion magazine cutouts neatly pinned on a cork board—they would lie on the floor and talk about how one day they’d move to New York City, where Maya would become the next It Girl and Reneé would direct films about “the real meaning of life” (whatever that meant at age twelve). In Reneé’s room, which was more of a creative chaos zone, they would brainstorm ideas for homemade movies, often starring Maya as a glamorous protagonist and Reneé providing the scene of what they thought a woman in her 20s would find themselves in

Their bond was unbreakable, forged through years of navigating the ups and downs of adolescence in a world where everyone seemed to have at least three vacation homes. They laughed at dumb celebrity gossip from TRL, whispered about grand plans that sounded straight out of Lizzie McGuire, and found ways to dodge the relentless expectations placed upon them by their parents. With Reneé by her side, Maya didn’t have to worry about being perfect; she could just be herself—even if “herself” meant spending a Friday night reenacting scenes from Titanic while Reneé filmed it as "performance art."

Even in the early morning light, Reneé’s voice was dripping with suspicion. "I can't believe you're actually up this early," she grumbled, rubbing her eyes and leaning against the car door. "This better be worth dragging me out of bed before sunrise. Did you finally get tired of the whole 'good girl' act and decide to run off with some older guy?"

Maya tossed her suitcase into the backseat, the car grumbling to life as she tried to sound casual. "What? No," she said, though her voice came out a little too defensive. "It’s just a quick trip. I’ll be back by Monday." But she couldn’t ignore the flutter in her chest at the thought of how close she was to getting caught.

Reneé raised an eyebrow, her eyes narrowing like a gossip columnist sniffing out a juicy scandal. "Right. 'Quick trip' is exactly what I’d say if I were meeting some mysterious silver fox." Her tone was teasing, but there was an unmistakable glint of curiosity in her eyes.

Maya forced out a laugh, shaking her head as she slid into the passenger seat. "Please. If I were running away to meet some older guy, I’d at least wait until I was done with high school. And I’d have a way better cover story."

Reneé leaned over the steering wheel, still eyeing Maya like she was trying to solve a mystery. "Uh-huh. But I’ve known you long enough to tell when something’s up, and you’re not exactly packing like someone who's just 'going to visit a friend.' Spill it, Maya. What’s really going on? Did you get seduced by some rich guy who swept you off your feet at one of those boring charity events? Because honestly, that sounds kind of romantic. Also, kind of reckless, but still romantic."

Maya fumbled with the seatbelt, her pulse quickening. She couldn’t exactly tell Reneé that she was sneaking away to New York to meet the half-sister she’d only found out about a year ago. That kind of revelation was way too fragile, too precious to expose to anyone else’s opinions—not even Reneé’s. "I’m fine," she said, a little too quickly. "I just… needed to get out of here for a few days before the semester starts. You know, clear my head or whatever."

Reneé rolled her eyes but started the car, steering them down the empty streets. "Okay, sure. But if I find out you ran off with some guy who’s old enough to have his own yacht, I’ll say I told you so."

The car cruised through the dimly lit streets; the city still wrapped in the quiet of early morning. Reneé reached over and switched on the radio, landing on a station playing an old Britney Spears song. "Oh my God, remember when we did that dance routine to this?" she exclaimed, a grin spreading across her face. "Come on, Maya, don’t leave me hanging. Sing it like you mean it!"

Maya’s laughter bubbled up despite the tension she was carrying, and she joined in. As they belted out the chorus together, it was easy to forget, just for a moment, where she was headed and the secrets she was keeping. For those few minutes, it felt like they were back in middle school again, planning sleepovers and giggling about silly crushes. But as the song faded, reality crept back in, and Maya’s thoughts returned to the trip ahead.

The car rumbled to a stop at the departure terminal, and Maya took a deep breath, bracing herself for the whirlwind of the airport. The early morning light was just beginning to stretch across the sky, casting a hazy glow over the glass facade. Despite the hour, LAX was already alive with travellers dragging suitcases, taxi drivers haggling for fares, and the occasional lost soul wandering around with a coffee in hand.

Maya climbed out of the car, her steps slower than usual as she retrieved her suitcase from the trunk. Reneé stretched her arms over her head and let out a long yawn. "Alright, runaway princess," she said, still eyeing Maya like she was waiting for a confession. "Go have your mysterious rendezvous. But I swear, if you come back wearing a diamond bracelet, I’m going to need the whole story."

"Will do," Maya said, forcing a smile. But her chest felt tight. She wanted to tell Reneé the truth—about her real reason for the trip, about Tashi—but the words just wouldn’t come.

Reneé pulled her in for a quick hug. "Whatever it is you're doing, just be careful, okay? I’m all for spontaneous adventures, but try not to come back married to a guy who quotes The Great Gatsby unironically."

"I promise," Maya said, laughing nervously. "No secret weddings."

Reneé grinned as she climbed back into the car. "Good. See you when you get back, okay? And text me if you need a rescue."

Maya gave her a final wave as Reneé’s car rolled away, the taillights fading into the flow of early morning traffic. For a moment, she stood at the curb, feeling strangely exposed against the backdrop of the sprawling airport. She adjusted the strap of her bag and took a deep breath. She was really doing this.

The automatic doors slid open with a faint hiss, and Maya stepped inside, letting the chaos of the airport wash over her. There was a comforting anonymity here—a sense that she was just another traveller with somewhere to be, just another face in the crowd. She weaved her way through the bustling terminal, her suitcase bumping along behind her as she headed for the self-check-in kiosks.

As she tapped at the screen, printing her boarding pass, Maya’s thoughts wandered back to Reneé’s teasing. It would’ve been easier to lie and say she was sneaking off to meet some rich older guy. At least then, Reneé would have had something fun to speculate about. Instead, Maya was about to board a plane to meet a half-sister she hadn’t even known existed until a year ago, and not even her best friend knew the real story.

With her boarding pass in hand, she made her way toward the security line, her pulse quickening. She was about to cross an invisible line—leaving behind everything she’d known to find answers she wasn’t sure she was ready for. But there was no turning back now.

Maya found a seat by the window at the gate and pulled out her phone, scrolling through her messages. There was a new one from Tashi, sent just a few minutes ago.

Tashi: Just got to the courts. Can’t wait for you to get here! It’s going to be amazing; I promise.

Maya smiled, a mixture of excitement and nerves bubbling inside her. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to finally meet Tashi face-to-face, to see the sister she’d only known through late-night phone calls and Facebook photos. It felt surreal, like stepping into a story that wasn’t entirely her own.

As her flight was called, Maya stood and gathered her things, ready to step into the unknown. Whatever lay ahead, at least it was her secret to keep, for now.

NEW ROCHELLE, NEW YORK - August 4th, 2019

The sun blazed relentlessly upon the crowd, its heat shimmering off the concrete in waves that distorted the air. Maya squinted behind her oversized sunglasses, their dark lenses doing little to shield her from the sun’s intensity. Her skin prickled from the overexposure of Vitamin D, making it difficult to focus on anything besides the sweltering discomfort that clung to her like a second skin. As she sat in the stands, the familiar scent of sunscreen and freshly cut grass filled her nostrils, triggering memories of summers long past—carefree days spent at her grandparents' estate in Bel-Air Crest, where her only concern was perfecting her bronzed tan.

The hum of the crowd rose and fell around her, but it felt distant, like background noise from an abandoned television. Maya’s gaze drifted across the humble country club, taking in the swirl of colors from spectators’ sun hats and vibrant outfits, and the flashes of bright white tennis gear as players gathered to bear witness to what they suspected to be the match of a century. She was scanning the rows of seats absentmindedly when a tall, slender figure caught her attention. The person was descending the steps slowly, almost as if they were reluctant to be here at all.

As the figure came closer, the cascade of mid-length blonde hair, the effortless grace, and the striking features became unmistakable. Even from a distance, Maya could tell it was Tashi. Her sister’s presence filled her with a complicated rush of emotions—part nostalgia, part unease. They locked eyes just as Tashi reached her row. Time seemed to slow, and an unspoken tension hung between them, as heavy as the humid air. Despite the match unfolding on the court before them, Maya couldn’t tear her gaze away. She watched as Tashi took her seat just a few feet away, their proximity at once too close and yet, not close enough.

'Get a grip Maya, you knew she would be here.'

Maya’s fingers clenched tightly around the edge of her seat, her knuckles turning a ghostly shade of her usual caramel complexion as the internal struggle roiled within her. Her eyes darted anxiously to the tennis court, where the looming presence of the upcoming match filled her with a sense of dread. The players’ shadows stretched long in the late afternoon sun, mirroring the tension and anticipation coursing through Maya’s body. It was as if the scene was mocking her—a snapshot of normalcy while her mind was anything but calm. The roar of the crowd spiked in excitement as the players began their warm-ups, the rhythmic thud of tennis balls echoing like a ticking clock. Maya shifted in her seat, trying to shake off the prickly sensation that crept up her spine.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Tashi’s gaze turn toward her. Tashi—the sister who had once known her better than anyone else in the world, who could finish her sentences, who could always sense what she was thinking. Now, it felt like they were two strangers who had to pretend they hadn’t once shared everything. Maya’s breath hitched slightly as she felt Tashi’s eyes on her, the weight of that familiar gaze bringing a sudden rush of memories she had buried beneath layers of silence and time.

Tashi's features, once so easy to read, seemed guarded now. Her cool expression betrayed nothing, but Maya knew her sister too well to be fooled. The slight tension in her jaw, the faint crease on her forehead—it was all there, hiding beneath the calm façade. A year ago, they would have hugged, laughed, shared inside jokes to ease the tension. Now, they were separated by more than just a few feet; a chasm of unspoken words and unresolved issues lay between them.

Tashi's gaze landed on Maya, her once-closest confidante, now a stranger sitting just a few feet away. It unnerved her, how different Maya seemed, even in small ways—the slight slump in her shoulders, the tightness in her jaw. There was something brittle about her that hadn’t been there before, a fragility hiding behind the composed exterior. Maya's forced smile, offered to a couple of teenage girls who recognized her from a fashion magazine, barely reached her eyes. It was the kind of smile people practiced in the mirror, perfected for the sake of appearances.

As Tashi’s gaze drifted back to the court, she felt a pang of something close to regret. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. She had imagined a different future, one where they could lean on each other no matter what happened. But life had taken a different course, and the choices they’d made—some willingly, others out of desperation—had driven a wedge between them that seemed impossible to remove.

The match hadn’t even started, but Maya could already feel the tension tightening around her like a coiled spring, ready to snap at the slightest touch. She stole a glance at Tashi, who was staring ahead, her jaw clenched as though determined not to show any sign of weakness. There had always been that fierce pride about Tashi, a need to present a strong front no matter how turbulent things were beneath the surface. It was one of the things Maya had admired about her growing up, but now it felt like a wall keeping her out.

"Nice to see you made it," Tashi said finally, her voice low and edged with irony, as though she wasn’t entirely sure whether she meant it or not.

Maya's lips parted, but for a moment, no words came. When she finally spoke, her voice was measured, carefully controlled. "I wouldn’t miss it for the world."

Tashi’s mouth curved into a faint smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "Right," she said, turning her attention back to the players who were now preparing for the first serve. "Because we’ve always been so good at being there for each other."

The words stung, though Maya wasn’t entirely sure whether Tashi intended them to. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and pressed her lips together to keep the sharp retort from escaping. Instead, she chose to stay silent, gripping the arms of her chair until she could feel the bite of the metal against her palms.

The crowd erupted in applause as the first serve cut through the air, the players diving into the game with all the precision and grace expected at this level of competition. But for Maya, the real match was happening here, in the silent exchanges and unsaid words between her and Tashi. Every ball that flew across the net seemed to carry the weight of their unresolved history, every cheer from the crowd a reminder of how long they had been pretending that everything was fine.

The tension hung between them like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. It wasn’t just a tennis match to Maya and Tashi—it was a collision of everything unresolved, a confrontation without words. The years of sisterhood, of shared secrets and broken promises, all seemed to blur together, fusing the past and present into one inescapable truth: no matter how far they drifted, they could never really escape each other.

And as the players battled it out on the court below, Maya couldn’t help but feel as if she and Tashi were the real competitors, locked in a game where neither of them knew the rules anymore.

[kel-lance]

JJK Mafia Au (JJK x Reader) PART 2

Part 1

Warnings:- TW: Dead dove dont read (DDDR) Minors do not interact (MDNI): SA, Physical Assault, DubCon, NonCon, Mindbreak, Public Humiliation, Breeding, Ownership, Gaslighting, Multiple manipulation, RWORD, PTSD, a lot more toxic sh.

Premise: Reader lives in a city where the two biggest gangs keep things line until the third gang showed up. That had nothing to do with you though, until dumb luck just happened to favor you one day. Basically You’re picked up and used by every dangerous criminal within the clans due to some alliances they had to create due to some members messing up the previous alliances. ((Almost everyone’s gonna have a turn 🤗)) ( i have 11 more chapters planned out right now meaning after i write those ill still be writing more.)

“We’re done for today.” The large man reaches for his robes. You don’t bother to move. Just breathing hurt. It was his off day and he was deciding to break you in, deciding to keep you for however long you were durable. He was amused with your reactions. He liked it. He found it interesting how you were also trying to survive. He’d play along as your god now. 

You lay in the bed and his finger prints stained your skin, each strike created blots of purple and blue and green. You liked bruises before, it showed how you fought for it. 

You apparently woke up two days later, and he lets you rest. Your body finally turns off survival mode for a second, just a second to adjust to the warm room. Four walls, the nice smell, it was just another thing you weren’t used to. Stillness. It was boring. But under these circumstances you were glad to have your own padded room to deal with this.

The time you were left alone, you didn’t know how long that would be. Another hour or so you’d think he’d come back in, hearing as you’re up. Time for more torture, though do torture victims get a bed and tended to? It felt more like you were a sacrifice, meant to appease him, though no one handed you over. 

You were brushed, scrubbed raw, and even felt a bit of shame for the way you were living compared to the two ladies who were taking care of you. But you didn’t know how long they’ve been in this line of work. Hell they honestly looked like they were born into it with the cold looks in their eyes. They could care less about your well-being, though they found and scrubbed every inch of you. Of course you didn’t want strangers to look at you, especially after such a moment that brought you here. To be real, these twins are probably the only people who knew you more than anyone you currently knew. 

Friends? You had a few, some to help you out sometimes, some to let you crash at their place. It was all fair game to the people you knew. Life was never easy for them and they knew of you being a free spirit. You didn’t leech off of them for you’d always show up with something in exchange, usually something you stole but it would never get traced back, it was either too common (but useful) or just something that would never be brought out of shown off. 

You weren’t a bad friend for it, if anything you were the perfect guest, though this time you didn’t mean to give yourself away for a few nights stay.

“I gotta get out of here, but where would I go? These people have already seen my face and I can’t tell how many more there would be. I can’t request anything to learn the layout of this place and no one will talk to me. If I leave I’ll have to run further and faster than I already have been…” You ponder more, sitting at the table placed in front of the window. 

They’re smart enough to know what I’d do if I wanted to pick a fight with their lord, of course there are guards at more doors, even under the window out your room, and it’s safe to say that there’s even a guard at each vent that’s connected to your room. 

“Why does it seem like I’m so special?” You sit and open the window, the guard below moves from his post to observe you on the same side has the other posted to view you. You look down at then and offer a wave, saying you’re not doing anything stupid, but you just wanted some air. One of them leaves, probably to get Sukuna. 

“I bet he’s just a lonely loser and I just happen to fall into his lap, or maybe I was one of many and was the newest. The girls here looked like they could be in the same position as you, though why weren’t they? They didn’t look like they were his blood, and there was no way that he could be their dad. That would make things even worse since you’re close in age as the twins. 

You see the guard go back to his post, nonchalantly. “Weirdo.” You thought. Not even a second later your room door whips open. Jumping from your place at the table, you turn and see who other than the man with the unpredictable entrances. “Finally up?” He leans on the door frame. “Honestly, you’re so dramatic for that.” He teased, being strangely familiar to you.

“Dude…” You caught yourself about to tell off this stranger. All you’ve known from him is that he’s having fun taking you and making you a toy, that his name was Sukuna and how everyone seemed under his control. Not that they enjoy it, but it didn’t look like anyone, even in their numbers, would stand up to someone like him. 

It still wasn’t apparent for you. He only told you his first name, his last could tell you that you were in even more danger than any “normal” man doing this to you. It could be such a metaphor but you’re literally trapped in the best place you’ve ever been. Was that just life? all the bad comes up when you’re supposed to be happy, and realizing how good you’ve had it as it gets ripped apart in front of you? The balance of it all only comes with ignorance, which was also why you wouldn’t get attached. You didn’t run to one person for everything you didn’t need more than what you’d ask for and that wasn’t much. If they were lucky you’d be there for 3 days at most. 

You lost your voice, his presence set in, bringing you out of your (if you can all it that) relaxed state. He notices you tense up, the look in your eyes begging him to give your body a break. He huffs and saunters into the room, taking a seat at the end of the bed, the side that’s facing you. “You had some time to clear your head, now tell me what was your intention. Playing dumb suits that pretty face of yours… But that’s not why I’m here.”

You sure knew nothing about this guy. Other than his name and how his body looked. How he felt was different, it just happened so fast that you could only remember how it lingered in your belly after he left you the second time. It wasn’t something you can forget, those were the best orgasms of your life. “Sukuna… I’m serious.” 

“You expect me to believe that? Did I hit you too hard?” You almost wanted to laugh, you saw stars and colors you couldn’t before his knuckles contacted your skull. Lifting his hand from his side to place under his chin made you flinch, a bit too hard for his liking apparently.  It took a lot for you to muster standing up on your own, much less realize you had to get to the table by needing support from the wall. It was like you were in an ice skating rink and had to hold onto the walls for dear life, except there was no ice, it was just pain in your body not letting you level yourself out.

“When you’re ready to talk, I might hear you out. My patience is thin you already know.” He stands and closes your door, sent a shiver down your spine. Him not being close to you, or hurting you, having this quick visit was so unsettling. 

It haunted you for hours. He didn’t touch you. The edge of the bed where he sat still held an energy, like he left a part of him right there to keep watch over you. 

He definitely hit you too hard, you were thinking more outlandish things to go with this scenario. Like why didn’t the touch you? You thought he was going to keep a pattern, that maybe after this he would come in periodically to taunt you. That maybe his patience has worn out and he was going to get rid of you any minute now, or to use you again. 

The trauma you got from this certainly messed with your self soothing methods. Every time you catch yourself hitting your peak of your self imposed orgasms, you were almost wishing you had more than just your fingers. You didn’t want him, but seriously its already been 2 weeks. You were gonna go crazy in here. The girls kept bringing you your meals, and a bathroom is attached, though you couldn’t do much by yourself. 

You were to let the others feed and bathe you, and you honestly hated it. It was way too weird, you never talked to them, and they never tried with you so it felt like there was an agreement to just not speak about it. That none of you were here willingly. That gave you some insight. Your body healed itself enough that you didn’t need the wall to walk anymore, making your trips to the table in front of the window more frequent. 

You notice some sort of schedule Sukuna follows, as well as a few other noticeable men in this kind of gated community. Whatever he has gong on here, it felt like you were almost a stolen princess locked away in a tower or something. “You have GOT TO get a hold of yourself.” You didn’t need to see a doctor or someone, you were fully aware that these thoughts were just you daydreaming to escape reality, yet again. Though this time it was getting boring, you couldn’t help yourself, literally. 

At this point you wanted to even ask one of the guards if they wanted to come in and help you out, but you didn’t have to do that, because a day later you decided to act. Rolling around night time, you decided to open your window a noticeable amount. By then the guards usually leave one guard to patrol the grounds in each quarter. 

The ones outside your door either end up sleeping or one leaves the other for a bathroom break, some nights they both go, probably to blow each other you thought. It wasn’t any of your concern, they did it before when you could barely move, but now you were agile again, enough to move around without hissing at each moment.

 Placing your ear to the door, you heard light snoring through it. “Okay, just find his room you thought. You knew that it took about 60 steps to reach a stair case, then that would be about 24 steps down. You could hear his footsteps through the pairs of others who followed him, as his echoed with pace, and the others almost scuttled behind them like bugs.. 

You find your way slipping past heavy wooden doors, making sure it wouldn’t creak, you saw the walkway in the garden. You looked up and saw your room, you knew it was yours as it was the only one with the window open. you knew that the guard just left this fourth of his grounds. You were searching the area for his room. Peering through the windows, it would have been hard to tell if it was him, but his tattoos were honestly unique. 

None of them were him, you go back to the walkway, going down the opposite end, just blindly working your way through. You couldn’t just walk through any door, it could be your last mistake, it being Sukuna or not. But it just had to be him, you wanted so badly to find his familiar face and just, you don’t know. 

You decide to be more ballsy, there’s surely no way he’s be in the same quarters that has this many people,” you decide to take your chance with the left corridor. “I wouldn’t take him for a cuddly guy anyway.” 

Listen, you know it sounds crazy, but if you even got to escape, you’d be hunted like a fox, unnecessarily, and as a spectacle for others to watch. But if you could find him, and do it yourself, “I mean, at least I’d die with something, and what a funny way to go.” You loved to joke about these kinds of things. Anytime it seemed dark, you’d find yourself cracking a joke or going off an other tangents from the barrage of thoughts coming your way.

You hold your breath as you set your fingers around the doorknob, you pull it back slowly, and turn it, to silence any squeaks it may have. After turning it fully, you let it go back and unclenched your fingers to let it go a second time, making sure there was no noise from the metal trap, and decided to go in. 

What fucking luck you had as if you broke into another room you’d think your breathing would start to give you away. As you head towards the bed, the raising figure laying there was him. Your eyes had adjusted to the dark, so much so that you could just stand in front of him. 

Looking down at him you wondered what you should do. You’re not going to kill him, that’s one thing, though you had nothing to lose, you still liked your life and you enjoyed whatever adventurous you got yourself into. It was always just one thing after the next and you’d rest when needed, but you loved it. 

This was totally different though. Before it was like you were born into this work and have to abide by its rules. As of right now you could do /anything/. What else would you do? 

You look down at him, kneeling at the edge of the bed to face him. Looking at his face like this, completely defenseless, his harsh eyes weren’t poking at you or telling you exactly what he was thinking. No he was just, he looked human. Like if you were to have met him at any other place it would possibly be on a magazine cover or an army recruitment booth posted wherever. 

“Damn bastard is beautiful.” You thought. “I didn’t get this far to stop now. Fucking 2 weeks you keep me here and don’t do anything? Do you know how boring that is? You can’t just keep me here and forget.” All that time alone had gone to your head, did you forget how he treated you the time you met? 

Tbh it fades in and out, your memory’s cut up pieces of film that randomly plays an old memory, and since you can’t recognize it, you call it a dream. 

Nothing could take you away from where you were now. Looking over him, still not a care in the world. Nothing could wake him if he’d allow it. You cocked your head to align your eyes with his, and reach out and brush your fingertips across his jawline. 

How much of this could you enjoy before he kills you for breaking out? Just that thought had you slowly leaning in, your hand before tracing his face was leaning onto the bed to support your intrusion. 

First, you kissed his forehead. The poor fuck probably hadn’t felt the touch of a real lover in ages, he just finds and uses whatever and whoever he wants, whenever. Of course you didn’t pity him, but does he even know what being loved properly was like? You’re really one to be asking. 

You peck the smooth, hot skin, and kissed a line across his cheek, getting more sensual with the next. His touch, even sleeping was still so manly. His body was so, honestly the words seem odd, but he looked so edible. Like you almost couldn’t keep your lips off of him. He was so yummy when you get a good look at him. 

Cupping his face, your lips reach his, beginning to lightly stimulate the connection. You lean in further, applying yourself onto him, guiding open his mouth with yours as you lick his lips. This shit was getting you so excited, considering all that he’s done to you, having this moment, where you’re in control and he was at your mercy, and only you know this.

Continuing to make out with your kidnapper, you moved yourself to get on top of him. His lazy reaction of kissing back had you think he was a deep sleeper, god you really wished. 

You opened your eyes just to make sure he was still asleep, but his eyes were staring back at you, with the same look he always has. You didn’t have time to even make a sound before he had you under him. His hand grabbed your waist and turned kept you parallel to him as his leg pushed his body to get on top. 

You could feel his erection, he was basically stabbing your thighs with his head. His hands pushed your wrists into opposite sides of your head, and he has you immobilized as he sat on your legs. Most you could move was your toes and neck, but he had pressed his face up against yours. 

“I don’t even know where to start with you. If you wanted to kill me, you would’ve already. Maybe I can believe you’re just some random, …but you wouldn’t have come to my room.” He lets a wrist go to reel back and strikes your face as a warning. Seriously, no sane person would just come straight back to him in your situation.

“The guard fell asleep?” Nothing gets by him. You can’t tell if he was just prepared for everything or if he planned this out. The excitement you were feeling before was being clashed with the sudden shock to your face. “Depending how the rest of the night will go will determine his punishment.” 

Keeping everything in place, he moves your chin up by his nose, giving him space to start attacking your neck. “We’ll just start with yours.” His grasp tightened around each wrist, so much so that he was pulling on the tendons in your forearms, making your fingers involuntary curl. 

Your luck may have run out, but you weren’t as scared. Trying to enjoy the moment as much as possible, knowing fully well that you’re about to be eaten alive, and god, youve been waiting. His teeth grazed your collar bone, making their way back up, making themselves a known threat to your neck. 

“Speak.” He orders. “Who sent you?” 

“You still think I’m a spy?” The spot where he hit you was pounding, but it didn’t hurt. Other parts of your body were just pulsating along with your heartbeat, you knew he was going to take that as a sign of fear. 

“Hurry up, we have a meeting tomorrow so I’m trying to be considerate for everyone else.” 

He’s still not listening. You weren’t either at this point, finding his roughing up sort of endearing. Maybe he didn’t want to get blood on his bed, or maybe he did care about that stupid meeting. All you could feel was vigorous pulsating from your wrists, your face, your heart, and more than anything else, your pussy. 

This was literally what you came here to do, this was why he even took you with him wasn’t it? Seriously whatever big shot he thinks he is… this shit wasn’t legal; You were serious on going out with a bang, raising your hips to create some friction on his hard on. 

Sukuna seemed to notice the look in your eyes and gave you another firm slap. “Focus, doll.” He adjusts his hips a few inches too far down your liking, his hands being the only thing touching you. 

“Put it back.” You got this far, now he wants to start questioning you immediately after waking up? He picked you up after meeting and ignored you for two weeks, you’re about to do what most others would. Especially if they’re in the same situation with the same circumstances.

“You’re not the one to be giving orders, much less to me.” 

You raise your hips back up to his head, having it dip into you, crossing your clit but unable to enter fully. His tip could find its way in no problem, it was just his call, and that almost drove him over the edge. You’ve stopped fighting back, for something like your freedom and what’s better for you. 

What you were after now was just one more orgasm brought by that monstrous mf. He doesn’t drop his guard, or change his face at all as he accepted “your bait/distraction”. In this position, you’re still straight legged, laying in his bed as he has you held down, arms pinned, palms up, and legs trapped as he sat on your thighs. 

He could easily kill you now, but it would honestly leave a bad taste as no one’s been killed in his room before, much less even entered without permission. You both didn’t know what to think really. 

To you he’s some strange and strong asshole who’s been unclear if you were his sex toy or if you were “invited” and he was just being a terrible host. Honestly, it felt worse to you to have everything you needed; Without your freedom, you were honestly thinking it’d be better to be dead. 

To him, you were dangerous. You got it all right. From the room, to the person to bump into, to the alley. You could have been a spy laying low, from whichever gang he thought you were from, he thought it would be good to hold you off to send a message to see who would come collect you first. They wouldn’t send someone if they didn’t have something to say. 

At first he did just want to keep you until one of them sent them back another message. It didn’t matter what happened to you, honestly he got bored. He’s a busy man, there was really nothing else to say. 

So imagine his surprise how you came crawling all over him tonight. He knew an assassin would’ve done it before he even knew the door opened, they were to make sure it was quick. The attack would have had to been fatal, whether they succeed in one shot or have them die as they’re leaving. And how quick they leave is how desperately they want to live. 

You, just came in to stare at him and decided you wanted something else. And it didn’t seem like revenge. That was a first, especially for him. Right now he was allowing it, letting you go. There was no way you could harm him, he concluded. 

Looking down at you squirm and pout, upset on how close you were to getting what you’ve been aching from and for. He won’t drop his guard, but he sure as hell was silver platter served. Really how badly did you want it?

He connects your wrists at the top of your head with one hand, the other has its index finger and thumb at the base, controlling himself with those two fingers. He raises his erection and knocked it against your clit, the strikes sent waves of pleasure from your core to the top of your head and palm of your feet, having you whimper out. 

Your aching hole needed him, it was taking him so long. Seriously you wish he’d kill you now because this so actually torture. The only thing you could do was start to cry, tears leaving their corners and running into your hair. You were more than frustrated. Angry, horny, needy, powerless, you wanted it so bad you were losing control, it didn’t matter, no one else could judge you, and who would be worse than Sukuna?

“You came in here, climb all over me, just to cry now? You’re so pathetic.” 

“Please,” You whine. “I want you to put it in.”

His face changed, from laughing at you beg, to sharpening his focus. Even after all this, getting caught, threatened, insulted, you’ve started to beg for it. He takes his legs up from pinning yours, putting them to your sides as he aligns himself to your front hole. “Say it again.”

“Please Sukuna, put it in-“ He lowers his hips and dives deep into you. He watches as your head writhes. Instantly youre spread apart, the sudden plunge casted a warm blush across your face and electricity towards the tips of your fingers. “Oooh,” 

“Fuuuuuck.” He finished for you. He continues to grind deeply into you, quickly using his now free hand to gag you from waking everyone up. Good thing too as you were messy, fucked silly couldn’t cover it. You gave up control a long time ago. He wouldn’t kill you, not right now anyway, you especially wouldn’t let him without trying to get one last nut. It was diabolical how down bad he had you. It was more of your unhealed trauma and he just happened to be the best person to help you out, willing or not.

——————————————————————————

You lay there as the base of your back ached. Every part of your body was bruised again, you could only imagine to move again as you tried catching your breath. You had lost count on just how many times he’s forced an orgasm out of you, mind numbingly rich euphoria every time. Nothing else mattered, you were more than thrilled the first 2 times but started to wonder if he ever got tired. 

It wasn’t until after your fifth orgasm that he managed to get his first one in. You were honestly almost regretting climbing into his room but his second had him pinning you on your back as he lay on your lower torso and legs. You couldn’t feel anything but your pulsating cervix, half feeling good from the pain and lingering pleasure, the other half making you know that this was a mistake and the nausea was on you. 

Raising your free arm, you weakly start to pat his head. It was over, you insatiable perverted needs were fulfilled, so what were you going to do now? It’s not like you’re in love with the guy, you don’t even know if you’ll get to wake up tomorrow with this stunt. “It was worth it.” You thought. Running your fingers thorough his hair, and tracing his back, you fall asleep holding him, accepting that this is it.

[hope-you-brought-kneepads-bitch]

Killing Wanda Pt 3

Summary: You couldn’t figure out what to do, you’d gone from seducing Wanda to basically bullying her and leaving her with a confused Yelena, you couldn’t think straight and just wanted to forget things, why did you have to be attracted to some hot redhead that you had to kill? It really puts a dent into trying to bed hot women and kill people in between.

Words: 3,000 (or so, probably more)

Warnings: 18+ only Minors DNI, sexual innuendos On Carols part because she’s desperate in this (sorry 😬) angst and upset Wanda and confused Y/n

A/n: Oh you thought I forgot about killing Wanda? Never! I’ve re written this about 4 times so that’s why it took so long sorry 😬 I need to post it, it’s good I like it but I keep putting it off but here it is! As usual any mistakes are my own and I’m gonna stop making my chapters so long because honestly I lose track of what I’ve said 😂

Forget what you said about walking in the dark, you hated it, hated the noisy animals, hated the wind in the trees, stupid trees, again you reached your destination at another door, why were you walking so much now? And why was your side hurting??. Oh right you got shot, anyway not the point

You banged on the door waiting for Maria to open it, when she finally did you stormed past the poor woman and fetched some whisky from the liquor cabinet. But before you could drink it it was snatched out of your hands by Natasha “didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”

You scoffed “wouldn’t know Natty never knew my mother, just a man and woman who moulded me into an assassin then made me move in with two Russian women with anger issues”

You tried grabbing the bottle but a pair of hands grabbed you and pulled you down onto the chair making you shout in pain from your side “fuck off Maria why’d you do that??!”

You tried wriggling away but the woman wouldn’t let up “why do you have dried blood all over your shirt?”

She finally let you go and your curled up on your side trying to ease the pain that was returning “didn’t Yelena tell you guys? She normally does”

Nat rolled her eyes giving Maria the bottle to put away and looked back to you “she did tell us, she also sent a text recently saying you told her to take Wanda to the safe house and not to speak to her at all until you got back”

“Oh good I don’t have to recap everything then” Maria returned with a syringe full of something and you jumped up backing off “what’s in there? Are you gonna sedate me? You can’t do that without my permission you know”

Nat wrapped her arm around your neck from behind surprising you and holding you in place while Maria lifted your shirt and injected the area around your wound, after a couple of minutes the pain stopped and you relaxed feeling pain free again

“Feel better?” Natasha relaxed her hold on you and kissed your cheek you didn’t respond so she just dropped you letting you stand on your own

“Yel also texted about Wanda crying her eyes out” you paused sighing and holding your head in your hands “want to explain that?”

“Why do I need to? She’s a target like you said, targets don’t get sympathy” turning around you went to the front room slumping down onto the couch and closing your eyes

Natasha followed close holding her phone reading the text message from Yelena out loud

“Bozhe moy Sestra I don’t know what Y/n said to this girl but she’s crying her eyes out in my car I just got my seats cleaned!

She said Y/n told her the threat for her life wasn’t real and the shooter was planned and that Y/n owns Wanda and she needs to stay at the safe house for her own protection against Y/n because she’s pissed off, silly if you ask me, Y/n was basically writing love letter to the woman”

Natasha rattled off the messages while Maria tried comforting you sitting next to you rubbing your shoulders “come on bunny tell your mommy what’s wrong, daddy and I are here to listen”

You held back the vomit in your throat when you lifted your head glaring at the woman “never and I mean never speak like that again, I don’t like your sweet and soft innocent act it’s so fucking strange”

She laughed “yeah sure okay, I was just trying to make you smile, so tell us why you’ve done a complete 180 about this woman”

You sat up sighing “I’d gotten shot, but the position the shooter was in and where they shot from it should’ve been for Wanda, if she was standing it would’ve gone straight through her forehead, Maria it was for Wanda and I know it’s from the people who want her dead and I’m taking too long, that’s why I switched up on her and I needed her to think I was lying about the whole thing so it didn’t stress her out more”

“Okay” Maria said holding your hands “I need to tell you that with all the love in the world you’re an absolute idiot”

Natasha laughed out loud and covered her mouth holding in anymore laughs while you blushed in embarrassment “what? Why am I an idiot??”

“You scared the poor woman, plus according to those text messages you also threatened her pretty harshly apparently”

You scoffed jumping up from the couch and barging into Nat who wouldn’t let you past “I don’t think so Y/n”

You pushed back against her “what the hell do you care?! You pushed a knife into her throat nearly killing her!”

You jabbed her in the chest with your finger and Nat grabbed it bending it back making you yell out “yes I did I also had you behind me with a pistol in the back of my head and you were so close to pulling the trigger I felt it, I felt all the emotion you had holding the gun, so don’t you dare try and tell us you don’t care about Wanda”

She let go of your finger watching you hold it gently and bending it back into place “so? Are you gonna say anything?”

“I’m going to get drunk, you two are boring”

You pushed past the woman ignoring Maria trying to shout for you and took off into the city “I swear to god I need better friends”

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

“Lady Y/n! Here to waste your life away again?” The man behind the bar called Thor hadn’t seen you for weeks and obviously he missed you “yeah whatever hi Thor, give me my usual”

“Of course! Anything for my favourite murderer!” He was so much larger than life with no indoor voice “Thor! Will you shut the fuck up about things like that, you’re gonna get me jailed”

You slid onto a bar stool at the end of the bar accepting the whiskey given to you, how cliche of you, a depressed assassin drinking whisky in a dingy bar “don’t look now Y/n but your fling just walked into the bar” the man gestured behind you but you didn’t even need to turn around to know who it was, her strong frilly perfume invaded your nose well before she entered to bar

“Hey kitten” she hovered over you from behind purring into your ear her greeting “I’ve missed you, my toys don’t satisfy me like you do, how about you come home with me” you shrugged the woman off and turned around in the chair “Sharon you’re so desperate it’s embarrassing, no I don’t want to fuck you, you’ve probably slept with everything that has a pulse like the whore you are, so fuck off and leave me alone”

You knew she didn’t listen, she likes being degraded, a bit deranged actually if you thought about it

“You’re so hot when you’re angry, I’ve missed it” she started kissing your neck and wrapping her arms around your waist as you finished off your whiskey trying to ignore her kisses getting heavier “you’re like a damn dog in heat it’s so embarrassing”

“Come on baby please? I’ll do whatever you I’ve just missed your body so much, you’re the only one who uses knives too”

“I use knives because it shuts you up and lets me finish without your annoying voice”

“I promise I won’t say a word, you can tape my mouth shut for all I care I promise I won’t make a sound”

You rolled your eyes glancing up at Thor looking disappointed in Sharon’s desperation and that made you laugh actually “fine Sharon, I’ve had a rough day though so you better keep your promise about keeping shut”

You stood up from the bar stool but Sharon gave you no chance for much else when she jumped into your arms wrapping her legs and arms around you kissing your face all over “I promise I promise I’ll be quiet, I’ll even ask permission to cum because I know you like that”

You groaned holding onto the woman so she didn’t fall and made your way out of the bar throwing Thor money for the drink “enjoy your night lady Y/n!”

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

Wanda hadn’t said much since she and Yelena arrived at the safe house, she only thanked Yelena for the dinner of macaroni and cheese then sat on the couch just staring at the wall, sometimes she would cry for a while then go quiet and Yelena wasn’t too sure of what to do

“Hey Wanda, did you know the human body is mostly water? That’s cool right?”

Wanda shrugged “maybe if I keep crying then I’ll eventually run out of water and die”

Yelena was shocked, that was a little dramatic, even for an assassin to hear, at least she was talking though that was something she guessed “sure sure that’s something to say I guess, soooo what-

“Is there someone after me?” She cut Yelena off which she thought was very rude but she guessed after everything she’d been through she’d give Wanda some leeway

“Why do you ask?”

“Just tell me?” She simply asked

“Whatever Y/n told you is the truth, she says she lied then she lied obviously, I don’t know anything” her reply was cold but she didn’t want to give away much and cause trouble

“Cut the bullshit Yelena you tell me the truth right now!” Yelena opened and closed her mouth a couple of times trying to rack her brain for something to say when a shot rang out and she found herself clutching her shoulder “I hate being shot at!” She jumped behind a wall and watched for Wanda who didn’t move

“Are you stupid Wanda?! Get down!” She tried reaching out for the woman to pull her down but Wanda just moved closer to where the bullets were coming from “what’s the point Yelena? If the threats fake they won’t hit me and if they’re real they will, either way I’ll find out the truth!”

Yelena couldn’t believe it, what the fuck was going on?? God she’s gonna have to save the suicidal idiot

“Fine!” Yelena jumped back up earning another shot in her side to push Wanda behind the couch hiding them both unfortunately she wasn’t as quick as she thought hearing Wanda yell out as she tackled her to the floor

“Did they get you in the arm?” Wanda nodded “yeah but I’m okay”

Yelena rolled her eyes “you won’t be if you keep ignoring me, now stay down or I swear to satan himself I’ll kill you slowly and painfully”

Wanda nodded keeping her mouth shut and closing her eyes to wait out the shots firing through the house.

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

“That was amazing, you’re so good” Sharon’s mumbling went unanswered as you put your clothes back and picked up your things to leave, but you weren’t a man so you did go back to Sharon and kissed her softly, tucking her into bed and getting her a glass of water “well done for being quiet, sleep well princess” you left with a final kiss to her lips, she’s good to be around when she doesn’t talk much

You left the house locking the door with the spare key and posted it back through the letterbox, you fished your phone from your pocket seeing missed calls and messages from Yelena

“Y/n I swear to whatever god is out there answer your damn phone, where r u??????”

“She’s feisty, she wants to see you and not in good way either!! She is mad at you for lying!”

“How does she know ur lying you ask?? She’s been shot at again and hit in the shoulder! Nat here now and cussing you out so get here!?!?!!”

You couldn’t finish reading instead running straight to the safe house, getting there you saw the doors open and Maria coming out with blooded bandages and your heart sank “Wanda?” You were out of breath and tired but you wouldn’t be able to take it if all that blood was hers

Maria saw your panicked face “no Y/n it’s okay she’s fine, this is mostly Yelena’s, her shoulder and side took a beating”

You hoped she was okay but you were so relieved Wanda wasn’t the most injured, you ran into the house seeing Nat attending to Yelena and Wanda in the other corner drinking a glass of water “Wanda, Wanda are you okay?? Is your arm okay??

Wanda didn’t look at you instead just looked straight on “you lied to me” she whispered

“What?”

“You lied to me Y/n” her voice didn’t waver “all you’ve done is lie, convincing me that there’s no one after me then Yelena gets shot in the shoulder, someone is out to get me and I don’t know why you tried to gaslight me and scare me like that”

You accepted what was happening and moved in front of Wanda making sure she looked at you “Wanda I’m sorry these last 24 hours have been very difficult, I just didn’t want the shooter to actually get you, he would’ve done Wanda if I wasn’t there”

“Doesn’t explain it Y/n we’ve never had a good relationship but I seriously can’t do this anymore, I’m going to the police and getting them to figure out who’s after me” she stood up removing the towel from her shoulders and walking off not bothering to look at you

Maria slapped you on the shoulder “go after her! If she goes to the police they’ll get you too, I’m pretty sure an assassin doesn’t get caught”

You weren’t even thinking about the police finding you, you just couldn’t believe you were losing Wanda “oh shit!” You ran after the woman leaving Maria to laugh “she’s an idiot”

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

“Wanda! Wanda wait!” You yelled after the woman in the streets like a creep, god if someone were to come up and punch you in the face for following someone at night you wouldn’t blame them honestly

“Wanda come on please!” She finally stopped and you nearly crashed into her but steadied yourself “what do you want?”

You took in a breath, god why were you out of breath? Maybe the hole in your side but you couldn’t be sure of course “you can’t go to the police”

“Oh yeah? Why not? Nervous that you won’t get your payment for killing me?” You were gobsmacked, you didn’t want to kill her that was the whole point! You’ve literally been trying to prevent that this whole time!

“Wanda if you go to the police and they start digging around they’ll find me and then I’ll get thrown in jail or given the electric chair” you took a hold of her hands and kissed them in your own “please let me take you somewhere away from here, I’ll keep you safe”

Wanda snatched her hands away and you knew you’d said something bad and instantly regretted it “keep me safe? You made me fear for my life! Both when you told me you’d been paid to kill me and when you claimed me as your own like a predator and their prey!”

You noticed a couple of people gathering near you guys and you just smiled at them “it’s okay everyone she’s a little drunk that’s all I promise we’re okay” you offered people your fakest smile and some accepted while others stayed watching

“Come on Wanda we’ll need to go home now okay?” You subtly grabbed Wanda and brought her into a hug kissing her forehead “she’s a lightweight” you laughed off dragging her away forcing a kiss to keep her quiet

When you both got further enough away your grip loosened on Wanda and she was quick to push you away and walk in front of you “Wanda I need you to listen”

“Get fucked Y/n”

“By you? Absolutely! But it’s not the time please just listen to me”

Wanda stomped to a stop and turned around crossing her arms at you “what”

You sighed “I’m sorry I lied we’ve been through this I know, it’s a stupid fucking excuse but I was trying to protect you and you know if you don’t want to talk to me? Fine! But you need to go to our bosses safe house its safer than Fort Knox”

Wanda didn’t move, didn’t even look or acknowledge you in any way so you dug around in your pocket for your bosses business cards and held out your hand for her to take the card “take it” she didn’t move

“Fucking take it Wanda and I’ll turn around right now and never see you again, just take it”

She gently reached her hand out and took the card carefully not to take your hand with it

“Good, goodbye Wanda” you turned around on your heel and walked off in the opposite direction, you did hear a weak attempt at your name but you refused to turn and kept walking, you’d go to the people who wanted her dead by your hands and use your hands to kill them, they’d regret the day they asked for your help.

[huramuna]

banshee's lament - chapter 10.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

wordcount: 6.2k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

and here we have it! the end of act 1 of banshee's lament. it will be going on a hiatus while i plan and write most of act 2. so sorry for the long wait. i hope y'all enjoy!!

content: smut (specifics under the cut), angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, graphic depictions of violence, death

story playlist

warning: p in v, loss of virginity

The silence was stifling– the usually bustling keep was quiet. It didn’t breathe nor creak like normal. It was lulled to sleep. 

The scent of fading smoke still permeated the air, lingering down into paltry ash. Shera wasn’t sure if it was her dream still at play. The world around her suddenly felt different. Not just at Aegon’s pronouncement, but the tone of reality was slightly askew. Askew and off color. There was a throbbing deep within Shera’s skull as if she’d lost something dear— or mayhaps, a memory she was never meant to have was shoved into her cranium. An intense pressure pressed at her mind, threatening to drive her mad. 

Shera held onto Aemond for as long as she could, as long as he would have her. His arm was tucked under her legs to hoist her up, his other arm secure around her back, pressing her to him. She felt safe, peering over his shoulder like a stealthy cat. He held her up with ease as she observed Aegon, now apparently pronounced ‘King’. She should be shocked– but she knew Viserys had passed. She watched it, in some twisted semblance of the vision her poppy-addled mind had concocted.

“How long have… I been asleep for?” she asked Aemond tentatively, whispering into his ear. 

“Five days.” 

Five days. Much happens in five days, then. 

“Is everyone… alright? Helaena? The children?” she posed the question to Aegon then as Aemond sat her back down on her bed. She squirmed slightly, not wanting to stay in bed any longer. 

“Everyone is fine,” Aegon said, quirking a brow to Aemond. “She’s awake now. You should go before grandsire gets any more cross.” 

Go? Where are you going? She stared at Aemond with a pinched expression, tilting her head. 

“I will return, Shera,” he paused, brow furrowing. “I promise. Then, we shall speak. ‘Tis a quick flight to Storm’s End.” 

“He is petitioning Lord Borros on my behalf, so the Baratheon seat will declare for me.” Aegon answered swiftly as Shera’s mouth opened to protest. 

“Petitioning?” she interjected. 

“Daeron will be a suitable match for any of his four daughters, I assume.” Aemond nods to Aegon, whom tips his head in agreement. “Keep Shera safe, brother.” 

“‘Tis no greater honor upon a King to guard the banshee.” 

Shera scowls, folding her arms over her chest. Even with the crown upon his head, Aegon was still an agitation. 

Aemond rolled his eye in turn, prying one of Shera’s arms from her chest, turning her palm upwards. “We will speak further, little wolf,” he whispered, leaning down to the shell of her ear. “I hope to never see you in red again. You’re better suited to blue.” 

Shera’s eye wandered to the bedside table where her dress, the red and black garment worn at the Lucerys’ inheritance hearing, was strewn. 

“You should have Vhagar burn it, then,” she hummed back, the ghost of a smile curling at her lips. “Along with any other pieces of my wardrobe you deem… unsuitable.”

“I’d say what you’re wearing currently is, in fact, unsuitable, my lady,” Aemond responded, his thumb pressing into her upturned palm. Not a warning. It was a promise.

Aegon cleared his throat. “If you two are going to fuck, get on with it. Make it a show for your king, then! I haven’t got all night.” 

Heat burned at Shera’s cheeks as she hid her face sheepishly in Aemond’s shoulder. He gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead and let go of her hand. “If I were a lesser brother, you would be eating a meal of your own teeth, Aegon.” 

And then he was gone. The door closed behind him and the warmth of the room vanished. Aegon didn’t make a move to leave— in fact, he adjusted himself to be more comfortable. 

“You’re… staying?” Shera questioned softly. 

“I promised my honorable brother I would keep you safe, did I not? I cannot very well do so if I leave.” 

A long silence stretched between them. It wasn’t awkward, per se, but it felt overbearing. It felt… heavy for both of them. A proverbial woolen blanket casted over them, warmth rising to a point of discomfort, to which Shera couldn’t be silent any longer.

“Why did you do it, Aegon? This… this will bring disaster for everyone,” she exasperated suddenly, the breath leaving her lungs as she thought of all the things that could, no, would happen. She worried her lip between her teeth as she stared at Aegon. “You usurped her. You usurped Daemon.”

“Why? You really ask me that, Shera?” he responded, lazed back in his chair. 

“Explain it to me– so I might… understand.” 

“They will do anything to secure their position. You know that– they… they would kill my children, kill my siblings, my… my mother–” the king choked on the last word like it was bile stuck in his craw. 

“You don’t know that for sure, Aegon.” She didn’t want to believe it, even if it was likely true. Undoubtedly true. she thought.

“Look what they did to you, Shera. They mauled you like beasts and then expected you to be okay with it. They betrothed you to one of them. I may be a drunken lecher, but even I know it's wrong,” he took a shaky breath, the heights of his cheeks reddened. “They took my brother’s eye and no punishments were brought forth. Daemon caved his first wife’s head in with a rock and was allowed to marry into Velaryon money, even. They killed Vaemond in the throne room in front of two dozen guards and the bleeding King for fuck’s sake– and nothing happened.” 

“Aegon…” 

“I am not my mother’s favorite child, I know that. I am not my sister’s favorite brother. I am not your favorite Targaryen by any means. I…” Aegon twisted his rings on his fingers in a way so reminiscent of Alicent. “I cannot sit by idly and let them take and take and take until we,” he gestured between the two of them, then beyond to the general direction of his mother, sister and children’s chambers. “Until we are nothing but dust and ash,” his knuckles were white as he was straining, fist clenching the back of his chair. “Make no mistake, I do not want this. I don’t want the burden, the strife. I’d be much happier stripped of all titles and frills and be nameless in Essos–” he paused, swallowing. He could say it all he liked but knew it not to be true. He needed his family-- as much as they needed him in this moment.

Aegon had always been the eldest of them all, shouldering the brunt of what it meant to be eldest child, but never the favorite. Expectations set upon him the moment he exited his mother's womb, but never sought to fruition.  The deep set dark circles under his eyes were reminiscent of someone much older, who had been through much more– but his posture; defeated for the last time as a disappointment, slouched, veins bulging from his hand was a painted picture of a child, a child who wanted to do better. Who had to be better. This would be his metamorphosis.

“Mother said that he professed me his heir with his dying breath. Mother is many things— but I do not think her to lie like this. Especially against Rhaenyra.” 

Aegon’s dream. The depiction of the younger, much more alive Viserys danced before Shera’s gaze once more. If the world of men is to survive, a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne. A king. 

Or a queen. 

But the latter was left unsaid, wasn’t it?

“Then… this is… war?” she finally uttered, looking down at her hands. 

“Indeed.” Aegon acknowledged, his voice hollow. 

—

The sky finally cleared, if only for a moment. The roiling clouds opened a pathway to Storm’s End, allowing Vhagar to ascend towards the land with ease. Aemond kept his head low as he scoured the palisade, seeing the puny figure of a green and yellow tinged dragon. He felt Vhagar tense beneath him ever so slightly, the bubbling of a growl stuck in her craw. 

Vermax. Aemond would recognize his eldest nephew’s bile colored dragon anywhere. Steering Vhagar outside of the castle walls and as far away from the snack-shaped whelpling as possible, he slid down from the saddle. 

He didn’t fancy much having to beg and plead Lord Borros against Jacaerys— it was unbecoming. He loathed having to beg for anything, especially from an oaf like Borros. The man could not even read and apparently only knew how to sire girls. Aemond pitied Daeron having to deal with the Baratheon lord as his future good-father. 

The prince’s steps were quiet and measured, hands behind his back. The clouds swirled above, threatening to dole out the Gods’ wrath once more. 

“Prince Aemond of House Targaryen has arrived, Lord Baratheon,” the page announced, leading him to the seat of Storm’s End. 

It was a terribly bleak room, Aemond thought. In tune with a bleak castle and bleak house. The Baratheon house words were ‘Ours is the Fury’. There was certainly nothing ferocious to be seen, however. 

Borros Baratheon lazed in his stone chair like a sloven boar as a maester read off a missive next to him. “Another Targaryen prince graces Storm’s End. The house of the Dragon is confused on who rules it and the realm, it seems. The young pup here is asking for a declaration for the Queen. Might I ask what you are asking, prince Aemond? And what you might offer.” he balanced a single gold dragon between chubby, sausage-like fingers. 

“I’ve come to seek House Baratheon’s alliance with the true king— King Aegon, second of his name. May I remind you that the current sitting monarch does indeed have the Conqueror’s name, his crown, and his weapon,” Aemond began, standing with a rigid back. 

Jacaerys was there, as well, meandering on the outskirts of the room. Anxiety roiled off of him like smoke from a dragon’s nostrils— albeit, a puny one. 

Aemond paid him no mind as he continued. “I fear the Queen that my naïve nephew proclaims for is a farce. My father named Aegon his heir upon his dying breath, denouncing Rhaenyra.” 

“Grandsire would never!” Jacaerys butt in. “My mother has been named heir and upheld for years. The vipers are spewing their poison, my lord. Their lies are not to be believed.” 

“Aegon was crowned in the Dragonpit before Gods and men, as well as blessed by a Septon. I do not recall your mother being coronated with the conqueror’s crown, nephew? Ah, that would be due to her incessant need to hide upon Dragonstone.”

“My mother was crowned b—,” 

“That is enough!” Borros bellowed, sitting up in his chair slightly. “I don’t care what the Gods have professed, nor a dead King. What can you offer me, Prince Aemond?” 

“A betrothal of my brother, Prince Daeron, to one of your daughters.” Aemond said simply. He knew that Rhaenyra did not have any sons to offer up, all of them being betrothed or still in child’s nappies. It was a fruitless affair.

“May I remind you, Lord Borros, of the oath that your father took in favor of my mother, the rightful heir?” Jacaerys cut in again, voice raising in urgency. Aemond could feel the nerves pouring off of him, no doubt feeling the pressure of failure weighing upon his shoulders.

“That is all well and fine, young prince— but I am not my father, am I? Am I so beholden to the oath of someone who is dead? An oath made when your mother was barely fourteen?” Borros perked a brow as he continued to flip the coin between his fingers. “You weren’t even a thought yet, nary conceived.” 

Jacaerys shifted his weight between both feet, clenching his jaw. His leather gloves squeaked under the balling of his fist— and yet, he stayed silent.

“Your uncle brings me quite the offer. I can wed one of my daughters into the King’s family with ease. What do you offer, little prince?”

“My mother’s favor, my lord. The Baratheon name will be sung through the halls of court when she ascends to her throne, rightfully.” 

“Her favor? And what can I do with favors and minstrel’s songs? I cannot even wipe my arse with those pitiful offerings.” 

“Lord Baratheon—,” Jace attempted to interject.

Borros silenced him with a firm hand. “You’ve lost, boy. Go back to your mother with your tail between your legs,” the stout Baratheon looked at Aemond, who was quiet all the while with his hands neatly behind his back. “House Baratheon declares for King Aegon, second of his name.”

—

Finalizing the affair with Borros was surprisingly straightforward— Daeron would have his pick of four brides when the war was over. Borros didn’t seem to favor any of his four daughters to be wed over one another, but he did mention his youngest being the most ‘comely’. 

Shera crossed his mind for a moment, thinking of the situation— she was no different than any of Lord Baratheon’s daughters, was she? In circumstance, merely a pawn for treaties, alliances to be forged, bloodlines to be mingled and heirs to be conceived. Surely, the state of the realm severed her betrothal to Jacaerys, wasn’t it? And if not, surely Aegon would be prevalent to dissolve it. 

But Aegon wasn’t the only one with power or a voice. He was the final say and could invoke absolute authority if needed— but it would be wasted on something as tedious as a betrothal during a war. Cregan wouldn’t forsake his oath to Rhaenyra for anything, it seemed. Not even for his own sister. Nothing would be gained by marrying Shera, not in the eyes of the council at least.

Aemond curled his lip in agitation as he left the Keep, fearing that his brain may wither and die if he were to share any further words with that oaf. The ground rumbled with the promise of thunder, as well as Vhagar’s looming presence beyond the walls. Heavy clouds loomed above, dark and swirling. 

He felt something cold against his throat as he was suddenly pushed backwards, undoubtedly with a weapon to him. Grabbing his attacker’s arm, he twisted it at an awkward angle and shifted his body weight to stagger them. Wringing their arm behind their back, he spoke evenly. “Drop your weapon.” 

A clang of metal upon stones was heard as Aemond got a look at his opponent’s face. “Jacaerys. That was a pitiful attempt, truly.” he drawled, hoisting his nephew’s arm higher behind his back. 

The young prince grunted in pain, thrashing against his uncle like a pinned animal. “Where is she?! You and your damnable brother have her captive, you cowards!”

Aemond blinked once. Twice. He was referring to Shera. Did his nephew actually care for her? Or mayhaps the reaction of her brother, instead, that he was afraid of. “She’s safe, ‘tis all you need to know. She’s away from you and your inept side of the family. In fact, I daresay, she is with her real family.” he let go of Jace’s arm, shoving him away and sending him spiraling on the cobble. He drew his dagger, twirling it. “Do you really think anyone believes your charade, nephew? That you actually like her?” 

Jacaerys got back to his feet, unsheathing his sword. His grip was shaky, but with some intention. “You know nothing, uncle! I care for her— we are to be married!” he professed the words with hollow conviction, a dullness behind his deep brown eyes giving way to his true emotion: doubt. 

“You care for her? If that’s true, you’ll climb upon your puny dragon and go back to Dragonstone with your tail tucked between your legs. Cry to your mummy and tell her to cease this silly charade of war— and never, ever mention Shera’s name again. She’s too good for the likes of you, bastard.” Aemond spat.

Jacaerys surged forward, sloppy and fueled by anger alone. Aemond shouldered his blow, clashing the metal of his dagger with the shortsword. “A rematch, then, nephew? I don’t believe your guard dog is here to so valiantly come to your side, is he?” the elder prince taunted, felling another haphazard strike– sparks flew from their respective weapons, years of resentment, the bullying, prods and exchanges, taking his Shera, it had all finally come to a head. An elude to a dance between them. 

Metal bit metal, flickers of those flames bleeding from their blades with each strike, strike, strike. 

“Since you very well fancy yourself a dragonrider, nephew,” Aemond continued to tease, gaining ground on Jacaerys with ease. “How about we take this fight to the skies, hm? Vhagar would do well with a snack out of your shitty little whelp.” he cocked his head to the side as lightning struck behind them, near the sea. The skies churned and toiled, swirling like a threatening witch’s brew. Then came the thunder, rumbling and shaking the ground beneath them. “I shall give you a head start,” Aemond hummed, twirling his blade. “Run.”

It was a blur of adrenaline, the pressure of the storm and something ancient brewing in his blood. He did not remember mounting Vhagar and beginning the chase. But as the rain pelted his face like shards of ice piercing his soul, his whole body sung. It was alight with fire, with molten lava straight from the molten hells of Old Valyria. Vhagar rumbled beneath him, as if to share sentiment with his thoughts.

“Dakogon, valītsos!” Run, boy! He yelled into the raging storm, not caring that he was thoroughly soaked to the bone. He felt alive.

The blur of Vermax dodging and weaving through the clouds, above and below the storm, was all Aemond saw besides the red in his vision. Crimson fury coursed through him as he thought back to Driftmark, feeling a ghost of the pain light up his nerves. The roar of the storm was muted over the ringing, the white noise playing in his ears, the echo of his own screams as a child being mutilated. He never told Shera, nay, anyone, but he had heard her cries. He had heard the colluding of his family to murder her. 

“Kill her! She’s going to tell on us, Baela!” one of the other kids had cried. 

“I-I can’t! I can’t kill her, Jace!” Baela wailed back. “T-That would be… wrong!” 

What was left of his strength at that moment, Aemond mustered it. Baela had the knife pressed to Shera’s throat, hand shaking. The Stark girl was eerily still, soft whimpering cries coming from her. Blood was everywhere, the whites of her eyes no longer white, but stained red.

He would save her, he had to! 

He hardly remembered moving, it was all autonomous, as he pushed his cousin’s arm wielding the knife away– 

The tunnel was silent, save for the noise of sickly gurgling as blood filled Shera’s throat. It wasn’t the action of Baela that cut it. It was Aemond’s paltry attempt to save her.

It was truly an accident.

Aemond was pulled out of the memory by Vhagar’s agitated roar, Vermax spitting fire at her from in front. It wouldn’t hurt the old dragon, no, the whelp’s flames didn’t burn hot enough for that. But it was an annoyance to her– she was the Queen of Dragons, how could a lowly little hatchling think himself big enough to challenge her? Any semblance of clarity in Aemond’s clouded mind was snuffed out at Vermax’s display of aggression. 

Instead, he plunged deeper into it. He embraced the madness. “Ao sylugon naejot vīlībagon se dāria zaldrīzoti, nādrēsy?” You dare challenge the Queen of Dragons, bastard? “Kesan jikagon ao arlī naejot aōha muña isse ñuqir!” I will send you back to your mother in ashes.

An updraft lifted Vhagar, her gargantuan wings billowing like sails as she rode the wind. They were approaching a craggy outcrop of cliffs which would spell doom for any would-be sailor. But they were not sailors. Tucking in her wings, she dove downward towards Vermax. Vhagar was not the fastest dragon by any means, but her size coupled with gravity pulling downward made her as fast as an arrow, barrelling towards the pair. 

They were at war. It would be justified, surely. It was on the tip of his tongue. Dra—

No. No. 

“Keligon,” he whispered. Stop. “Keligon, Vhagar!” Stop! He pulled at the reins to steer them towards the open sea. 

Vermax and Jacaerys Velaryon disappeared into the hovel of crags, just small enough to slip into them.

Vhagar protested, growling, snarling, blowing fire into the air as they skimmed the surface of the ocean, more water spraying across Aemond’s face, some droplets turned to stinging steam.

Why did he stop?

He could’ve killed Jacaerys and then Rhaenyra’s side would be down one dragonrider. Shera would not be betrothed any longer. It would be revenge.

But– he remembered Shera rambling about something a few weeks prior. 

Shera held a red leaf between her thumb and forefinger, observing it with a careful gaze. They had liaised into the Godswood after his morning training. She was wearing her usual garb of black and white with a lacy train that was getting caught in the twigs and grass as she walked. Her veil was off of her face, pulled to rest behind her neck for a moment of reprieve. 

“The leaves are falling,” she murmured, her moonstone jewelry on her hands shining as the sunlight filtered through waving foliage. “Do you think the Gods are watching us, Aemond?”

He glanced at her as he was loosening his armored gauntlets, unstrapping the leather beneath them. “Mayhaps.”

“They’re selective when they do see, don’t they? What makes a God? And what are we…” she dropped the leaf, letting it float away on the breeze. “But just spaces in between? We wish to be blessed by being good, by adhering to their rules. The faith of the Seven condemn bastardry as a sin. The old Gods of the North behold guest rights as an immutable law. Both hold Kinslaying to the highest of faults, none are more damned than a Kinslayer,” her eye met Aemond’s as she tilted her head. “I want to believe in it all, to be good, to appease… but sometimes I feel as if it’s never enough. It seems they only pay attention when you are to be cursed for your wrongdoings.” 

Aemond clenched his jaw as he guided Vhagar back to King’s Landing.

—

“You’re inevitable, you’ve always been.” he muttered, loosening the fingertips of his gloves before removing them. 

Shera poked her head up from the doorway, nightgown billowing around her like a ghostly shift. It was late— extremely so. The candles had burnt out, the only light available illuminating from the moon. “Aem… ond?” she squeaked, voice laden with sleep. A poor pageboy had been sent to wake her, the shaken lad citing ‘The prince requested your presence immediately in his chambers’. It remained a mystery to her how Aemond had even found a servant at this ungodly hour.

“Why are you inevitable to me? It’s as if I’m looking at my death when I see you, think of you— you’re a parasite upon my own mind, like I have no self control.” he continued, his silhouette outlined by the moonlight. One hand was clutched at his head, fingers running through his hair. The luminosity glared off of the sapphire embedded into his socket— he looked quite mad. Mad in a beautiful, haunting sort of way. 

Shera thought them made for one another. “I’m… I’m sorry,” she said, slipping into the room and closing the door behind her. Moongeist had escorted her, but he was left outside the chamber now. It was only her and Aemond. “I didn’t think… I occupied so much of your mind.” 

“I could’ve killed him tonight, you know. Chased his whelp of a dragon through the storm and scattered him across the bay,” Aemond rambled on, not addressing that Shera was even speaking. “I should have. Put the title of Kinslayer on me, over my head. I’m already damned.”

Walking closer, he was soaked head to toe, rain water still dripping from his leathers. His hair clung to his skin, curled softly in its dampness. It almost brought a smile to her face, the curls she thought he lost were still there— but the mood of the room, the distant rumble of thunder, was oppressive. It felt like a hood over their heads. 

“Would you still love me if I was a Kinslayer?” he turned to her completely. Even in the dark, she could see the smallest rim of violet in his eye— eclipsed by his blown out pupil. His expression was blank, mood unknowable. 

Her stomach twisted at his words, legs feeling shaky beneath her once more. She hadn’t told him that she loves him, afraid of denial, rejection. Taking a seat in his desk chair before him, she looked up. “Y-you… you must know,” she whispered hoarsely. “You must know my feelings.” 

“Speak it into existence, Shera,” the prince pleaded, almost. “Make it real.” he got on his knees now before her, putting his hands in her lap, palms up— as if he was praying. His head laid sideways on her thighs as he looked onto the darkness, ear up, waiting.

Her heart plummeted to her stomach, to the deepest depths of the hells below them. She never thought herself brave, no, she was quite cowardly, in truth. She would catch a fright from odd shadows and most certainly would never stand up to the face of adversity. She wasn’t made for it. But this— this was something she needed to do. It wasn’t an act of bravery nor valor. It was selfish, cowardly. The words she spoke made it real between them both. And they could not be taken back. Her lips parted slowly, her voice soft as she whispered into his ear. “I love you. I love you irrevocably, irreversibly, irresponsibly, all consumingly,” her words were jagged and unhewn, but it was so much like them. “You are everything, Aemond.” 

Aemond let out the smallest puff of air from his nostrils. He still did not speak, nor verbally reciprocate her declaration. He was, of course, a man of action. His hands slid up to her face, pulling her downward into a ferocious kiss. It wasn’t the sweet one they had shared in the Godswood before— no, this was different. It was the exchanges of breath, tethered to one another’s oxygen like lifelines. His fingers threaded in her hair, tugging, teasing. 

The heat in the room was rising, much like the fervor of their kisses. Tongues fighting, fingers roaming to snatch at exposed skin— anything to be closer, as close as they could be without their veins intertwining. Soon enough, Aemond lifted her up from her seat with one arm, not breaking their connection for even a second. 

“You,” he huffed between her lips as he sat her down at the edge of the bed. “Are mine. You are mine,” his hands left her body as he unbuttoned his soaked jerkin and discarded it to the side carelessly. 

“Yours,” she echoed, her voice not sounding like her own. It was an autonomous thing, to give oneself to another, wholly and completely. 

Laying back on the bed, her nightgown pooled beside her like silver ichor. The ichor slipped through his fingers like silk, pulling it taut. Aemond pauses for a moment, throat bobbing in an unheard ask for consent to go further. Despite his bravado with starting it, there was an air of apprehension swirling around him, an uncertainty that was almost unheard of with Aemond. 

She knew it right away, seeing that own feeling within herself many times. Warmth grew in her chest as she reassured him without words, both hands making a home on his face as she swept him into a kiss that left no room for any other interpretation: she wanted him. Desperately.

To her delight, it seemed he felt the same, if the hardness prodding against her stomach was any indication. He peeled away her lone garment, leaving her bare before him. He blinked, chest rising and falling with a slow, feather light motion. He was observing her with extreme scrutiny, much as he had when he sketched her before. This was something he wanted— needed— to commit to memory. Then, after what felt like an eternity of staring, he let out a deep breath, hands back on her once more. His fingers notched themselves in the soft skin of her hips, silently marveling at them with a less than subtle squeeze. 

They didn’t need words between them. Not now, not for this. Words only got in the way, cluttering what could so clearly be said with action. With reaction. Shera let out a gentle sigh as he continued his exploration, palming her heavy breast, once again giving a squeeze. On mere instinct, to want more, to taste more, her lips latched to his neck and jawline. He wriggled out of his smallclothes and finally there was nothing between them.

Nothing but skin and warmth, on display for one another. All of their collective scars washed away with their extremities as their chests cracked open, bones falling away with all pretense, all duty, all expectation. It was just them. The two colors of their souls mingling together rightfully at last. 

He prodded gently at her entrance, testing for any discomfort. She sung her consent by melding their lips together again, tongues taking one another and savoring as her arms looped around his neck, pulling him impossibly close. As he breached her, sliding in slowly, Shera paused for a moment, mouth open against his, peering at him beneath fettered lashes. 

His eye was closed— the one he could still see from. The other, embedded with the sapphire, did not close completely. The puckered skin tried, eclipsing the gem ever so slightly, leaving a crescent of blue to shine through. Aemond’s brow was furrowed, lips pursed in deep concentration as he finally bottomed out inside of her, hand clutched against her thigh, fingers indenting against her skin. 

It didn’t feel right to say anything else at the moment, truly. Her heart hung so heavy in her chest that she feared it would abscond from her ribcage and fall upon the floor. Softly and almost inaudibly, she whispered against his lips. “I love you.” 

Theirs was a muffled pleasure, besotted by one another’s presence that all sound ceased. Only once they had finished, the union of dragon and wolf, Aemond planting his seed deep inside of her, did he speak. “I love you.”

–

It was silent, save for the tandem pitter-patter of two bare feet and four paws. Her heart fluttered in her chest, her body still tingling from the encounter. She still felt his hands on her waist, his lips on the soft column of her neck– he absolutely worshiped her after they got over the awkwardness. 

It felt like second nature after the initial moments– it felt right, to give themselves to one another, to profess so strongly…

She couldn’t stop smiling. Her cheeks hurt, actually hurt, from smiling so much. When has she ever experienced something like this in her life? 

Her fingers skimmed Moongeist’s soft fur as they went back to her chambers. She had wanted to stay with Aemond, to sleep beside him, to wake up next to him– she had to put mind over matter when she left while he was sleeping. She always figured him a light sleeper due to his incessant training with Ser Cole. She was surprised to learn that he even slept at all. When she had awoken from the tiny nap after their coupling, he was, in fact, asleep– soundly, even.

This was probably the only time he did sleep. She giggled to herself as she imagined it again, sipping at her herbal tea left on the side table, left presumably by the maids. It was lukewarm and could use a bit of heat. When did they leave this?

Perched on the settee, she attempted to cross one leg over the other, but was met with a dull, aching pain in the apex of her thighs.

Oh, right.

Her mind began to swirl as she thought of Aemond waking up… and seeing that she wasn’t there. Would he be upset? Angry? Despondent?

Their time together for the past half year had been enlightening. About herself, about Aemond. The fact of it was– he was just as damaged as she was. He had just mastered the art of masking it. She had a lot to learn from him.

Mayhaps she should write him a note– saying she didn’t want to leave, that she liked what they did, that she loved him, that she wanted to do it again and soon because she was absolutely aching for him–

She needed to calm down, beginning to feel wanton. Her head felt full of cotton, leaking from her ears like one of one of the stuffies that Moongeist destroyed as a puppy. Grabbing a quill and piece of loose parchment from the table.

I have always liked blue. 

What color do you think we make together?

I think it would be a shade of periwinkle, a beautiful layering of vinca on the forest floor.

Please return to me. And we shall see what color we make. 

I feel bereft without you.

She did not address it, nor sign it– Aemond should know her handwriting by now, shouldn’t he? As she folded it up, fuzzy bundles of sheep’s wool cotton spread across the room. When she tried to move, intending to stand up, a sudden illness rose through her, the quill slipping out of her hand. As she stood up, her vision went sideways. Moongeist began to whine, prodding at her hand with his wet nose. 

This wasn’t normal– to be frank, nothing about her usual illnesses was normal. But this was different. She was numb in her extremities, shots of ice spreading through her fingers and toes. It felt like being caught beyond the wall in the maw of an ice dragon, rime-wrought teeth burying into her skin. Moongeist was growling suddenly, snarling and snapping his jaws. She hadn’t heard him so upset in so long, nary ever. 

“Bloody fuckin’ hell! There’s a damn wolf in here!” an unfamiliar voice boomed. 

Who is that? What is happening? Shera clutched the fabric of the chaise as she attempted to right herself, to right her mind and rid it of the cacophony of butterflies that were making a host in her ears.

“‘Course there is, damn rogue wouldn’t mention it! Stave ‘em off while I grab the girl.” another voice responded. 

Please don’t. Please don’t touch me. Moongeist snarled, she heard, his body barrelling toward one of the intruders, knocking over furniture in his way. The wolf was a force to be reckoned with, sizing up to the burglar’s height with ease, over six feet when standing on his hind legs.

The former man’s voice wailed, his scream bloodcurdling, followed by a sickly crunch. “Fuck! Fuck! My fuckin’ fingers!” 

Strong and careless arms hoisted Shera up, her vision still spinning. “S-St… stop… stop,” she whimpered, her limbs feeling like jelly. She tried to wrestle out of his grasp– he smelled terrible. Twisting her body as much as she could, she wriggled against him. 

“Shut up, shut up,” he grunted, looking around the room as Moongeist mauled his companion.

He tore out a chunk of flesh from his arm, then silenced him by ripping out his throat. The first intruder gave a sickly gurgling noise before he went still. 

The man holding Shera bolted towards the opening behind the bookcase. 

“A-Ae-,” Shera rose her voice, trying her damndest to yell, to scream. Her consciousness faded like a failsafe, her voice cut off by a sharp hit to her throat. It felt like a steel ball ripping through her, her voice going dead and falling from her tongue like vomit.

She felt blood in her mouth, flesh in her teeth. She needed the violence, the rage– 

I’ll fucking kill you. I’ll rip you apart, you fucking craven.

She slipped into Moongeist’s being with ease, with urgency, jaws snapping as they whipped around, seeing her corporeal body being taken away.

No, no, no!

They howled, lamenting. 

NO!

Their paws moved fast, chest heaving, lungs ballooning and deflating– so close, so close. 

The bookshelf closed in their face. They howled again, their song filled with anguish. Their nails scratched against the wood, tearing books apart and splinters embedding into their paws. The physical pain was nothing– nothing compared to the tether between lady and wolf wavering. It flitted across the breeze, pulled taut, taut, taut.

Lost.

Taken.

Stolen.

SNAP.

The cord was severed. She was back in her own body again. Her nose was bleeding. She couldn’t speak. She was well and truly silenced now. 

Her vision went dark again as she heard the distant sound of seagulls.

[sapphic-coded]

Loose Ends

With her target dead, all Yelena needs to do is clean up a loose end. You. Except she can't pull the trigger. But she can't let you go. That leaves only one option.

Yelena Belova x fem Reader

Warnings: Violence. Some gore. Mention of past non-consensual relationship. Smut ( bdsm, dom/sub relationship, punishments, impact play, restraints, light degradation but it's there, edging, collars ). Minors DNI. This was written for a mature audience. Please do not repost my work. Reblog, like, and/or comments is how you can show your support.

Word Count: 3k

Author's Note: This started out as a writing exercise and it turned into this. It was too much fun to not share. I can see this being a short series. Let me know what you guys think. Do you want more Yelena?

Chapter One: The Brat Tamer

You put up a good fight. The two goons that obey Watson’s every command drag you down the hallway. With every breath you take, you try to get away. You try to pull yourself from their grasp. You try digging your feet into the hardwood floors. You try everything you can think of to either wear them down or slip free. But all your efforts do nothing as they reach the door to Watson’s study. The door opens, and you are pushed into the room. 

You stumble into Watson’s study, and you just barely manage to stop yourself from falling face first onto the floor. You hear the door shut behind you. You want to turn around and yank the door back open. You want to run out of Watson’s study and just keep running until all of this is far behind you. But you already tried that. Multiple times. It never works. You run and run and run…and you end up back here. 

“Ah, Y/N,” Watson’s familiar voice claims your attention. He is sitting behind his large mahogany desk in his favorite dark brown armchair. He is dressed in his usual navy blue business suit with a tumbler glass of whiskey in his hand. “You made it.” The smile that cuts across his face is cold and hollow. “I want you to meet someone.” He gestures with his hand to the woman sitting across from him.

The first thing you notice is her hair. Her long blonde hair is held away from her face in a large intricate braid. Only a couple blonde strands fall free to frame her face as she turns in her seat to look at you. She wears a long green trench coat that is held closed by the wrap that is knotted across her stomach. Black fingerless gloves cover her hands while black tactical looking boots cover her feet. But it’s her eyes that steal your attention completely. The woman’s hazel eyes are playful, but there is something else that lurks behind it. You feel as though you are standing before a predator. But not the kind like Watson. Not vile and disgusting. She’s different. 

“This is Yelena,” Watson says. 

She offers you a smile and tilts her head slightly as her eyes drink in the sight of you. 

“She is here at my request,” Watson continues. 

You can feel her stare as if they were her fingers raking over your skin. Just minutes ago, you hadn’t cared how you looked. You were content to look as messy and unpresentable to Watson as possible. You hated his touch, and you did whatever you could to keep him away from you. It wasn’t a foolproof plan. When he wanted you he would have his way with you. But his displeasure was always palpable, and you found solace in that. 

But now you feel like a dirty, mangy animal under her stare. You are suddenly self conscious of all your flaws. Your grass stained sweats and your worn band t-shirt feel wrong to wear. You nervously pick at the hem of your shirt.

“Y/N!” Watson’s raises his voice and your attention is dragged away from Yelena. You can still feel her looking at you. Watson’s hollow smile is gone. “Say hello.” 

Your attention quickly returns to Yelena. Her hazel eyes meet yours. “Hi.” You feel proud that your voice doesn’t betray how you really feel. Your voice comes out calm and even slightly disinterested. 

Watson shakes his head and looks across his desk to Yelena. “As I explained, she is challenging.”

“It is nothing I can’t handle,” Yelena says. The woman’s Russian accent laces through her words as she keeps her focus on you despite responding to Watson. 

“Threesome’s aren’t really my thing,” you say to Watson. You watch as he takes a long sip of his drink. Your words are meaningless to him. He has already done so much to you that you hated. He’s already heard you begging him to stop. He never does. 

He sets his drink down on his desk. “Even if it was, you do not deserve any pleasure. I spent three days chasing you down after your latest stunt. Do you know how much money I spent to make sure you got back here safely?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. A thousand dollars? Whatever it was, it sounds like a big waste of money to me.”

“You should be grateful,” he says. 

“I will be dead before that ever happens,” you reply. “Can I go now?” 

“No.”

It is Yelena that answers you. Your gaze shifts to the woman, and you notice that her smile is gone. 

“Yelena is here to correct your behavior,” Watson explains. 

You are still processing Watson’s words when Yelena stands up and moves towards you. You instinctively step back, but Yelena closes the space between the two of you. You can smell the jasmine and cedarwood scent of her perfume as she moves in a slow circle around you. You hear her come to a stop behind you. You are tempted to turn your head to look at her, but Watson’s movement steals your attention. 

He rises from his chair and collects his glass of whiskey. “She has my permission to do whatever her work requires.” He moves away from his desk and closer to you. “And if you drive her away–”

“She won’t,” Yelena cuts in before Watson can finish his threat. You feel her finger slowly glide across your back between your two shoulder blades. You shift your weight from one foot to the other. The smell of her perfume is beginning to be all you smell, and you don’t want that to stop. “I am very good at taming brats.” 

Watson’s smile makes you want to turn and run, but Yelena’s hand grabs the back of your collar. You stumble for a moment as the action jerks you back half a step. You can feel the softness of her coat brush against your back as something cuts apart the collar. Before you can think to ask, the dark blue, rough, scratchy collar is removed. The brush of cool air against the newly exposed skin around your neck feels strange. 

Yelena holds the collar out towards Watson. The collar’s fabric has been cut through and looks pathetic and sad in Watson’s hand. “Take that. She must earn it back.” You aren’t eager to earn it back, but a warmth pools in your gut. Watson walks by you, and you listen to the sound of his retreating footsteps. You can still feel Yelena at your back as you hear the door to Watson’s study open and then close. 

“Your Master has told me so much about you,” she says once you two are finally alone. You feel her press her finger into the nape of your neck. “He told me how he acquired you.” Her finger slowly traces down the back of your neck. The feeling of her skin pressed against yours is like lightning, and the warmth taking root within you becomes more pronounced. “It is obviously the root of your misbehavior. We will address it. I will make you his obedient slut.” 

“I’m not his–” 

You are about to turn around to face her, but her finger disappears from the back of your neck. Her fingers curl into your hair, and she grabs a fistful of it. Without warning, she pulls you back until your entire back is pressed against her front. Her lips come to rest next to your ear. 

“You will not speak unless I give you permission. Do you understand?” 

Your hands come up in a pathetic attempt to free yourself from her hold. Yelena’s free hand effortlessly smacks your hands away and gives another swift yank on your hair. Your eyes squeeze shut against the pain, and you think you can hear her smiling as her breath tickles your ear. 

“Yes,” you finally say.

She doesn’t let go. “You will address me as Domina.”

“Yes, Domina,” you quickly reply. 

She lets go of your hair, and you take a breath at the receding pain. Domina. You’ve never had a Domina before. Always a Master. There’s a ring to the title that you like. You like the way it feels in your mouth when you say it. Unlike Watson’s title. You want to gag every time he forces the title out of you. 

“Your Master gives you too many privileges,” Yelena says as she takes a small step away from you. The feeling of her body against yours disappears, and you don’t like that at all. You miss it. And you hate how she keeps dragging your Master back to the forefront of your mind. You don’t want to think about him. You just want to think about her. You don’t know what she’s going to do to you, and it sends a thrill through you. 

“He lets you speak when you have not earned it,” she continues. “He lets you hit him when you do not listen. I am revoking these privileges. Put your hands behind your back.” 

You bring your hands back, and you feel her hand grab hold of yours. She secures a pair of handcuffs around your wrists. Once the cuffs are locked, she lets go and you hear her take a step back. The same feeling from before returns. You want her to keep touching you. You don’t want her to stop. 

“Kneel,” she orders. 

“Does this have to happen here?” you ask. You hear her moving slightly behind you and you start to turn your head to look at her. “There are at least six bedrooms we could–”

You don’t see her pull out the baton. In fact, you aren’t even aware of its existence within this room until she hits it against the back of your knees. A sharp cry is ripped from your lips as you fall immediately to your knees. The pain stings as she slowly walks around and stands in front of you. You stare at her black tactical boots until the tip of her black baton comes to rest beneath your chin. She tilts your head up. 

“Your antics will not work on me,” she says. “All they will do is earn you more punishments.” She removes her baton from beneath your chin. “Open your mouth.” 

You keep your lips shut and look away from her. A moment later her hand grabs your face and forces you to look up at her again. 

“You will not win this, Y/N.” Yelena’s fingers press into your cheeks and squeeze. You try to keep your mouth shut for as long as possible, but she soon manages to pry your mouth open. She brings her baton back up, but instead of bringing it down against you again, she positions it horizontally and shoves it into your open mouth. The grip she has on your mouth loosens as your mouth slowly closes over the baton. Your teeth bite down against the weapon. “Do not drop this.” 

Yelena lets go of her baton before kneeling down on one knee in front of you. She lifts up the hem of your t-shirt until the waistline of your sweats is exposed. “You should be wet by now.” 

You are not prepared for those words, and you are even less prepared when Yelena slips her hand between the fabric of your sweats and your skin. Her hand expertly slips underneath your soaked panties. The moment you feel her fingers brush against your wet sex, you let out a small moan. Your bite on her baton starts to loosen as every thought in your head diverts to her fingers. 

“You are losing focus,” she says as her fingers gather up some of your slick. “Your punishment will be worse if you drop my baton.” 

Your teeth dig back into the baton, and you are glad you did because you know for sure that you would have dropped the weapon when her fingers finally plunge into you. She gives you no time to properly react as her fingers begin thrusting in and out of you at a pace that pulls louder moans from you. She watches you as her fingers brush across your sweet spot. Her head tilts slightly to the side as her fingers continue to work you up. Her fingers are deft and merciless as you feel yourself steadily reaching that sweet, blissful edge. 

You’re getting so close, and you try to speak around the baton in your mouth but all that comes out are unintelligent noises. But right as you are about to spill over, her fingers disappear. Yelena pulls her hand out from your sweats. More unintelligent noises escape from your mouth as you voice your frustration. You are so close. Why did she stop? 

She ignores all your noises and gets up. Your head tilts back to look at her while her hand dips into the pocket of her green coat. “That is all you will get until you learn to behave.” Her other hand reaches out, and her fingers settle underneath your chin while her thumb softly strokes the side of your cheek. “But we will work on that, malýshka.” 

You feel something pinch the side of your neck. You don’t understand what is happening as you feel your body grow heavy. Yelena continues to watch you as your head suddenly feels very heavy and rolls forward. Your eyes shut, and you hear the baton hit the floor. Then nothing. 

When you wake, you are no longer in the study. You are laying on a couch in the living room. It’s quiet, and you don’t understand how you got here. You feel something draped over you. You turn your head to look, and you end up more confused. Draped across your body is Yelena’s green coat. What happened? One minute you were on the cusp of coming completely undone into the hands of this woman, and now you’re here. 

You sit up and part of Yelena’s coat falls away to reveal your hands bound in cuffs in front of you. Your clothes are still on, and you don’t see anyone around. In fact, you don’t hear the usual chatter of lounging goons. Everything is so quiet. What’s going on? You lift Yelena’s coat off of you and stand. The living room is empty, and the large flatscreen hanging on the wall is off. You are about to call out to anybody when you see it. 

Or rather, when you see him.

Laying on his back on the other side of the couch is Watson. He is dressed in the same navy business suit you saw him in earlier. So you couldn’t have been out for long. He is staring up at the ceiling with his eyes wide and his mouth open as if he is yelling. In the middle of his forehead, right above his eyebrows, is a red hole. Dark red blood pools on the wooden floor beneath his head. 

You are still putting together exactly what you are seeing when you hear fast, heavy footsteps rushing down the hallway. One of Watson’s goons emerges from the hallway. Usually, Watson’s goons can’t help themselves. They love touching you. They love any excuse to drag you to your Master. But this time, the goon doesn’t even spare you a look. He keeps running across the living room towards the foyer. 

Three gunshots make you jump and cry out as the goon stumbles. Fresh blood stains the backside of his shirt as he falls. You hear him struggling to push himself back onto his feet when someone else emerges from the hallway. 

Yelena. With her coat gone you see that she is dressed in a black tactical suit. Some blood has dried along the side of her face, but you don’t see any marks on her. In her hand is a gun, and she raises it towards the struggling goon. She pulls the trigger and another gunshot rips through the air. You take several steps back away from the couch as the goon goes still. 

“Oh my god,” you say, unable to stop yourself. You know you shouldn’t have drawn attention to yourself but what the fuck did you just watch? “You killed him. You just…” You look away from the goon’s body and you find Yelena looking at you. “...killed him.” You know that you’re repeating yourself, but it’s the only thing you can think to say. 

“Yes,” Yelena replies with a small nod. “That is what I am paid to do.” 

Paid? Your mouth opens and then closes as a million questions crash together in your head. 

Yelena moves towards the couch and reaches down to grab her coat. “Come. We cannot play twenty questions here. I have set the explosives to go off in five minutes.” 

You quickly take another step back. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” Then, a moment later when what she also said finally hits you. “Wait, explosives?” 

She puts her coat back on and moves towards you. “I think I drugged you too much. You are acting very slow.” You feel the warm barrel of her gun press against your side when she reaches you. “You do not get to choose. You are my prisoner.” The barrel of her gun digs into your side when you don’t move. “Do you want to walk or do you want me to shoot?” 

You still have so many questions, but the look Yelena gives you keeps you quiet. As much as you want to understand what the hell is going on, you also want to get as far away from all this as possible. But the gun makes both those things impossible. So, without any other choice available, you start to move towards the foyer. You see Yelena smile as she moves to walk behind you. She drags the barrel of her gun to press against your lower back.

“Good girl, malýshka,” she says. 

Her praise sends a shiver down your spine as you leave. 

[burning-academia-if]

Hello, I am mostly back and recovered at the time of writing this lol. June wasn't very productive writing wise (...for BA), which is fine because I needed that break! Look at everything I did do in June:

RELEASED CHAPTER 2 FINALLY

Spent like 2 weeks fixing bugs (dw chapter 3 I'll get beta readers so it doesn't happen again LOL)

Participated in the Raffle for Palestine + wrote and sent out the story to the winner!

Wrote about 5k words of Chapter 3

Wrote and edited Zoe's back story

Wrote most of Lars back story because I was inspired (sorry you won't get this until after Chapter 3 drops)

I'm pretty happy to have released Chapter 2! I'm gonna be honest, this felt like such a daunting release lol When I started BA, I was expecting no one to read it save for a handful of people and I'd just be chilling and writing mostly for myself like usual, so releasing it with over 1.5k followers was very daunting. With that said, I am glad people overall enjoyed the new chapter! The plan is for Chapter 3 not to take as long, but life is still hectic so we'll see. At the very least, it hopefully won't be any later then October (BA's one year anniversary month!).

I also just want to give another shout out to everyone who participated in the raffle for Palestine! Raising over two thousand euros in two weeks is still amazing to me, and I'm happy the IF community could come together like this to help out a cause! This was lowkey another thing I was nervous about since I've never really done anything that's felt like a personal commission before (asks definitely feel different lol), but other then my initial nerves the whole thing was a really nice experience!

Now, going into July, I want to focus on the UI updates I want to make. I have some things I want to shift around and change, and since coding is my biggest weakness I know it's one of those things I'm going to have to focus on. If things go well, I'm hoping to do a pure UI update by August. It'll mostly be the menu pages (achievements/stats/relationships/etc), but there are a few other things I want to add in and adjust outside of it. As for Zoe's backstory, that should be out soon, so keep an eye out of that! Finally, I also might not be too active in July. For personal reasons, July is always a hard month for me. Hopefully it isn't obvious, but just in case I'm not around as much as usual, that's why!

OH and before I forget, here's this month's chapter preview ft Angry Rook:

Lastly, I made the questionable decision to make a side IF. Updates will be very sporadic since BA is and will always be my main project until its completion. But if you want to follow it, it's To Taste Sweet Silver. An 18+ gaslamp fantasy about trying to steal the Fruit of the Old Gods in order to bring the world to an end. It's a little more niche I think, but feel free to check it out! The demo shouldn't take too long to get out since I did accidentally write most of opening already.

[holdmytesseract]

moodboard by @chennqingg | divider by @jiyascepter

Through The Years

Áki x Sađi

Jotun!King!Loki Laufeyson x fem!Æsir!Queen!Reader

Summary: This story takes you and Loki on a journey through the twins life. From their first steps all the way to their first time falling in love.

Warnings for this Chapter: Áki being his sassy self, royal things? fluff, suggestive smut/light smut, food - a lot, mutual pining? Loki and Y/N being the best supportive parents ever. Let me know if I missed something!

Word Count: 5,1k

a/n: Well... We reached one of the most important chapters... Áki is finding the man of his dreams! 🥰 I love this whole chapter very very much. It turned out just how I wanted. Also, this is my first time writing male x male, so... Pls go easy on me. ☺️

Kudos to @eleniblue , because she helped me plan out this whole story. Without her, this wouldn't exist.

❄️ Chapter Four ❄️ Chapter Six ❄️

Ice Flower AU Masterlist ❄ Loki Masterlist ❄ Masterlist

Chapter Five - Áki Finding Love

It was one of these days again, where the five-minute-older twin was on search for something to eat, aside from the regular meals. Áki had always been a little hog - since he was an infant. Well... Keeping the trained body of his and compensating all that energy he needed for training, a lot of food was required. That was just how it was.

So, the young prince made his way to one of his favourite places in the whole palace... The royal kitchen.

It was one of the few places, which were always busy. The kitchen was bustling with staff almost the whole day. Only at night was it completely, entirely quiet inside the big room. But when the prince rounded the corner and stepped through the open, beautifully crafted swinging doors of the kitchen, there were several Jotun's running around. Some of them cooks, some of them maids, some of them kitchen helpers - as per usual.

Áki knew everyone who worked there, of course. After all, he was the part of the royal family who spent the most time in this place of the palace. And, the staff knew him... "Greetings, your highness," addressed him first an older lady, wearing a white apron and a smile. Atla - she was a kitchen helper and already worked here for ages. Áki returned the smile and gave her a nod, before he continued his journey through his own personal paradise - and paradise was smelling delicious.

"My prince," the head cook greeted him as well, and took a small bow. "What can we serve you today? We've got a lot of food today." The young Jotun bit his lip in a thinking manner, before he answered: "I don't know yet. I'll keep on looking." Another bow from the head cook. "As you wish, my prince."

Áki's feet led him to the cool room, in which he finally found his 'object of desire'... Cake. Blueberry cake, to be precisely. Perfect for an afternoon snack. Having the good manners his parents taught him, he asked of course first, if he could have a bite of the cake - and who was the staff to deny him this? So, he took a big slice from the cake in his hands, smiling happily. But just when he made his way out of the cool room, an accident happened... Therefore, that the prince had to close the door, he had his back towards the main room. Turning around and walking away, his hard, muscular chest suddenly clashed against a not so strong and not so muscular chest, causing the cake to get sandwiched between his and the other Jotun's torso. Cream and blueberries were smeared all over Áki's bare chest, before it dripped to the ground, like the rest of the cake. And not just the cake... The poor man he crashed against with all his strength was send to the floor as well.

"I-I'm s-so s-sorry!" The man on the kitchen floor apologised immediately. The horror in his eyes was clearly visible, since he knew exactly who was standing in front of him and what he had gotten himself into. But the prince said nothing at first; had his eyes only settled on the poor soul who had crashed against him.

Áki had never seen the young Jotun before. Not here in the kitchen or elsewhere inside the palace. He must be new...

He was tall, but not quite as tall as Áki. His physique was not exactly the one of a warrior. He was a bit sturdier. Strong, but not muscular. His golden-brown hair was long; clearly reaching his shoulders, but currently tight up into a bun. Shocked, wide ruby eyes looking up at him. "M-My p-prince, I-I'm so clumsy, I..."

The prince was like frozen in time for a long moment, but he didn't know why. Just when his brain had caught up with the situation he was in, and Áki was about to say something, the head cook walked into the scene. "Sađi, you clumsy, feckless boy! What did you do?!" Sađi looked up to his boss with fearful eyes. "I-I-I..." He stammered; trying to somehow explain himself. The head cook leaned down and grabbed him by his arm. "Get on your damn knees and apologise to the prince, will you?!" He hissed at the younger man - inaudible to Áki, before pushing him forwards onto his knees.

Sađi was visibly a bit overwhelmed by the situation - and quite afraid of his chief; small tears gathering in his deep ruby eyes. "A-Apologies, your h-highness."

The pain in the young Jotun's eyes didn't go unnoticed by Áki. The usually so tough warrior's demeanour shifted. He squatted down and placed his hand on Sađi's shoulder. "You're forgiven."

That was the first time Áki's and Sađi's paths crossed. But it shouldn't stay at only one encounter, oh no...

Sađi had made a lasting impression on the prince. Áki couldn't put a finger on it, what exactly it was that kept the simple kitchen helper on his mind. It was just how it was. Perhaps it was the reason why his feet lead him more often than before to the royal kitchen? Just to get a glimpse at the attractive young Jotun, which had undoubtedly caught his attention?

The prince had noticed quite early in his teenage years, that he was more into men than women. His brother, you and Loki knew that, of course, but it wasn't a problem. Why should it be? Everybody accepted it - and Áki the way he was.

"You are my son, Áki. That won't change. Neither does the love I feel for you. If you like men, you like men. If someone can understand this, it's me." His father had told him with a smile and wink; hand placed on his shoulder. Áki liked to think back to that day. It had been an important moment in his life.

"What can we do for you today, my prince?" The head cook asked Áki, but the prince's attention was somewhere else; eyes directed on the Jotun with the long golden-brown hair. He watched him cutting some vegetables. A smile tugged at the warrior's lips, whenever Sađi swerved from side to side to change his cutting tactics. Or when a frown crossed his features, when the vegetables didn't want things to go as he did.

"My prince?" The head cook addressed Áki again, which caused him to shortly break his stare. "Yes? What did you ask?" "What we can do for you today, your highness." Áki's eyes started to travel immediately again. "I, uh... I'd like to have something sweet." "Something sweet?" Áki nodded, checking Sađi out, who currently had his back towards them. "Mhm, yes... Something sweet. Dessert." He just couldn't help himself. "Dessert?" "Yes." The cook nodded, "Of course, my prince." and turned around.

"Sađi! Prepare some dessert for the prince! ASAP!"

The Jotun nodded frantically. "Yes, Sir!"

Áki watched then with a smile, how the handsome kitchen helper ran from one point to the next, hurrying to finish his given task. Áki found it utterly cute how much effort he put in it. Just for him.

About five minutes later, Sađi approached the prince cautiously; trying to appear as polite as possible. "Dessert, your highness." Áki smiled and took the plate from his hands; ruby eyes boring into the matching ones of Sađi. "I thank you." Sađi swallowed and flashed the prince a small smile as well. "I hope it is to your liking." "Oh, I am sure it tastes delicious." With those words, the warrior turned on his heels and left the kitchen again.

Their next encounter was only a few days later. A very fateful encounter, to say the least. Perhaps it was destiny...

The night had settled over Jotunheim. It was past midnight so everyone was asleep. Everyone, except Áki. The prince had just woken up to a rumbling stomach; signalling him to get some food inside him. So, that's what Áki did. He stood up and made his way - like so often, to the kitchen. It wasn't the first time, that he took a little trip to this place of the palace at night, but it's been a trip he didn't do in a long time. Usually, he kept some food in his chambers, but someway somehow led his feet him today to the kitchen - and what he found there, was something he didn't expect even in his wildest dreams...

A dim light was shining on the dark hallway; coming undoubtedly from the kitchen. With furrowed brows, Áki sneaked to the big room. One hand was resting on the dagger, which was in the pocket of his dressing gown. Ready to face whatever danger or thief lurked inside, the warrior stormed the room - only to find the young Jotun, on which he had casted an eye.

"What in the name of Yggdrasil are you doing here?"

Áki's voice echoed through the kitchen, causing Sađi to yelp up and flinch. He was so frightened, that he threw with shock the onion he was holding in his hand away. "P-Prince Áki, I-I..." He stammered, turning beet red. The prince crossed his arms over his chest, stepping closer. "Again, I am asking... What are you doing here? Or should I go, get the guards?" Sađi's eyes widened even more. "O-Oh, no, no, by the n-norns, please don't! I-I need this job, I... Please! I-I'll tell you everything! Just p-please don't get the guards!" "Alright," said Áki and leaned against a kitchen counter. "Tell me."

The young Jotun nodded and took a deep breath. "I-I am practising." Áki frowned. "Practising?" "Y-Yes, because I wish to become a cook. I-It is my biggest dream, b-but I can't reach this dream without practicing. And the head cook doesn't let me practice, s-so I sneak inside the kitchen at night, t-to practice. N-Nobody usually ever comes here at night..." "Well, I do." Áki pointed out; stepping closer to the kitchen helper, causing Sađi to swallow hard. "So, you'd like to become a cook, yes?" "Y-Yes, your highness."

Áki nodded towards the several pots and pans standing on the stove. "Show me what you got then." Sađi was a bit confused at first. "W-What?" "Show me what you got." "O-Okay. I-If you wish, my prince." With a shaking hand, he took a small plate and put something from the dish he cooked on it, before handing it Áki, who tasted it on an instant.

Full of fear and anticipation, Sađi gazed at the warrior prince. He started to nod. "Yes... Tastes not bad. Needs improvement, but it's definitely not bad. You got talent, I see." "T-Thank you, your highness." Áki thought for a moment, as an idea crossed his mind. "I have an offer for you. A deal..." He started, circling the Jotun like a predator its prey. "A d-deal?" "Yes," he hissed, causing a shiver to run down Sađi's spine. "I'll tell nobody about your little... trips here at night. I'll let you keep on practicing. And as a quid pro quo, I'll get to taste and eat the wonderful dishes you cook. Do we have an agreement, Sađi?" The aspiring cook nodded with a small smile. "Yes, yes, absolutely! I thank you, my prince."

From that point on, the two men meet often at night in the royal kitchen. Sađi to improve his skills as a cook and Áki to quench his hunger. Over the days, weeks and months, Sađi's cooking skills improved - and not just that... Their relationship as well. They went from barely knowing each other to way more. The lines of royal blood and not royal blood slowly but surely blurring. While Áki let his guards more and more down and stopping his princely behaviour, Sađi got more open and confident.

And when the prince was really bold one night and asked Sađi, if he had a girlfriend, the kitchen helper blushed in the deepest shades of red and told the warrior that he was more into boys and not girls.

This fateful night caused the sexual tension to grown undoubtedly between them. Every accidental touch left a prickling, sizzling sensation behind, which caused both men's skins to burn. It was like an ever-burning fire, which was indelible.

At one point Áki just decided to act on it. He started to leave his dressing gown at his chambers, attending the nightly meetings only in his sleep shorts and giving the young cook more to look at; subtly urging him on to make the first move. It threw Sađi off track, of course, but not even with all the confidence he had gained over the weeks did he dare to make said first move. So Áki had to do it - or optionally making Sađi cave in. Both ways would work for the prince just fine...

"Now you have to slowly add the wine," Sađi explained; looking happily, but concentrated at the prince. He was in the zone; definitely enjoying what he was doing. Someday, Áki had asked him what exactly he was doing and how he was going to do it, and since that night, Sađi explained happily every step of a new meal he learned and practiced to cook. Áki though, mostly didn't pay attention. At least not to the young Jotun's instructions. He was way too distracted by Sađi himself...

"Add the wine?" Áki asked, eyes glued to Sađi's hands, which gripped the bottle of wine. "Yes, but slowly." He added some of the wine to the pot, causing it to steam. "Have you seen how much?" "Mhh," the prince answered absent-minded; had only paid attention to the bulging veins in his crush's hand and certainly not to the amount of wine. "What's next?" "Next, you have to stir the sauce and slowly add a bit more wine. Look." Sađi demonstrated what he had just explained - and Áki saw the first opportunity tonight to make his move.

While the aspiring cook stirred the sauce, Áki stepped even closer towards him. He placed himself behind Sađi, so that he could look over his shoulder; all the while pressing his bare torso against Sađi's old, shabby chef's jacket clad back. His arms sneaked around the Jotun. One hand landing on top of Sađi's (The one which was stirring the sauce.), and the other on the edge of the counter; literally caging the man. It caused a soft, almost inaudible gasp to leave the gold-brown-haired Jotun's lips. But Áki heard it, of course and started to grin.

"Do you need help with that?" The prince whispered in Sađi's ear; making sure to keep his voice as deep and husky as possible. The cook shivered. "I-I-I, uh... Actually n-not, b-but, uh, s-sure," he stammered. A sign that Áki's move had been fruitful. He had clearly put him off his stride. "Alright." Áki added and slipped his fingers through Sađi's, in order to help him stir the sauce. The longer the warrior's touch lasted, the more started Sađi's hand - which held onto the bottle of wine - to shake. Something that didn't slip Áki's attention as well. "Now, now what is the matter, young Sir Bjørnson? Are we nervous?" Sađi swallowed hard; his Adam's apple bobbing. "I-I-" Áki smiled; happy to be able to get such a reaction from the cook. If there was something he was good in, then it was fighting - obviously, flirting and seduction. The mixture of yours and Loki's genes clearly playing a big role in this one...

"Or... Is it the touch of my body against yours?" Áki breathed in Sađi's ear. "Am I too close to you, or... Too far from you?" Every hair on Sađi's neck was standing up at the prince's words. He had a hard time to control his breathing. "Hm?" To test the theory, Áki took a small step backwards, to bring some space between his and the young male - who let out a small whine immediately. Once the realisation dawned on him, Sađi's eyes widened. But he just couldn't help himself. It just had slipped past his lips - just like the soft moan, when Áki pressed his body back against his, "Ahh, I see... Too far." including his hips.

Sađi's eyes went shut at the sudden, very intimate contact. This only made it worse - in the best way possible. He felt like standing on the edge of a cliff and Áki was the one in control; deciding whether he was going to fall - or not.

"Better?" Áki asked in a low voice. A question which the young Jotun could only answer with a shaky nod. "Good. Now where were we? Ah, the sauce, right. Continue, please."

Sađi's head started to spin. How dare he? How dare he brings him in such a situation? How in the nine realms would he be able to keep cooking, with the handsome prince's crotch pressed against his bottom? "M-My p-prince, I-I-" His voice was so hoarse, it died in his throat.

The prince grinned even wider. Almost. He almost had him. "Yes?" "I-I... Can't, I..." Time to make the final move, thought Áki. Quickly - before Sađi could even react, he had spun the gold-brown-haired Jotun around in his embrace. Two hands gripping now the edge of the kitchen counter; pinning the surprised cook between the warrior's body and the cool, hard furniture. "You can't, huh? Well... Is there something else you'd rather do than cooking?" Sađi's mouth opened and closed, but no words were leaving his lips. The warrior smiled, "Go on, say it. I know you want me to." and leaned closer to his ear once more. "But I won't do it, unless you tell me to."

And with that, the dam finally broke. Sađi fell off the cliff; free falling. "K-Kiss... Kiss me."

Áki's heart skipped a beat. Finally. Finally! "Very well." Within the blink of an eye, Áki cupped Sađi's cheeks with both hands and literally slammed his lips on the young man's. Sađi was immediately enchanted by the kiss; hungry lips searching for more. It had been long overdue.

The prince soon brought his body into the game; pressing it against Sađi's and trapping him even more. The Jotun whimpered into the passionate kiss at the sudden friction; hands clawing into Áki's muscular waist.

Only when it was hard to breathe for them, did they break the kiss. Both panted; lips red and kiss swollen. In a rather bold move shifted the warrior his hands, until they landed on the cook's bottom; pulling him even closer against himself and creating more friction. "Spend the night with me," he spoke in a low, seductive voice, almost growling. Sađi's eyes widened. "S-Spend the night with you? I-I don't know, I..." His words caused Áki's heart to sunk. "Don't you... want to spend the night with me?" Sađi quickly shook his head; clearly noticed the sad tone in the Jotun's voice. "No, no, no, norns, no! I want nothing more than to do just that, but..." Relief flooded the warrior's veins. "But what?" Sađi sighed. "My prince, I-" "Stop," Áki interrupted him immediately. "It's Áki for you. No title, no formalities." He nodded. "Áki, I... I don't know if this is a good idea. You are the prince and I am... me..."

The prince shook his head. "I don't care, Sađi. I just want you. We can keep it secret and no one has to know, but please... Don't deny me. I waited so long for this. All I longed for was to kiss you. Touch you," he said, running one hand over Sađi's broad back. "Feel you. Hel, I lost count of how many times I touched myself to the thought of you." Those words send another shiver down the cook's spine. A tingling sensation formed in the pit of his stomach and gathering in his crotch. Sađi blushed, eyelids fluttering. "Y-You did that?" "Mhm," Áki purred and Sađi swallowed.

"I'd say, we clean here up as fast as possible and then take a trip to my chambers. What do you say? You'll even get a free room tour. And perhaps I take you into my bathing chamber as well." He winked, causing Sađi's knees to buckle. "I'd love to, my pri- Áki." The prince smiled, before sealing 'the deal' with another passionate kiss.

This was one of many nights the two men spend together in secret. It was more than just a one-night-stand. Áki had fallen for the handsome kitchen helper already a long time ago, even before he started to bed him. And the warrior was certain, that what he felt was, without a doubt, love.

As for Sađi, it took him some time to sort out his feelings. Was it just fun? Was it serious? He was torn a very long time, but in the end, Sađi couldn't deny that there were indeed feelings involved. At least from his side. He struggled quite a bit to interpret Áki's signals and unfortunately got them wrong. One oppressive thought led to the other, and at some point, it escalated and Sađi couldn't take it anymore...

Sađi was the last one in the kitchen today - like so often. After all, he was still nothing more than a helper and the other kitchen staff loved to leave the cleaning up to him. His dream of being a cook not yet palpable.

It didn't take long for the prince to join his lover, like he did whenever he got time and was not busy with royal duties. Making sure, that nobody was around, Áki stepped over to Sađi, who was currently cleaning some pots and pans. "Do they still leave you alone to clean up their mess?" It wasn't really a question from the warrior; rather an assessment. Áki wrapped his muscular arms loosely around Sađi's torso; chest pressed against back. The prince angled his head, tried to catch the aspiring cook's lips, as he looked over his shoulder - but Sađi avoided Áki's attempt for a kiss and turned his head away. "You know that they never stopped it."

Áki frowned; noticed immediately that something wasn't right. "What's wrong?" Sađi shook his head, "Nothing." and stepped away from the prince. Áki didn't believe a single word, of course. "Oh, come on, Sađi. Tell me what's wrong. I am not blind." The young Jotun answered nothing, just kept on cleaning up the mess. Áki shrugged his shoulders; was quite a bit offended. "Fine. If you don't want to talk, I'll leave." The prince turned on his heels and marched towards the open doors. What he didn't see coming, was Sađi's voice, holding him back. "We can't do this anymore." The warrior stopped dead in his tracks. Frowning, he slowly turned to face the golden-brown haired man he fell so deeply in love with. "What do you mean?"

The handsome kitchen helper took a deep, shaky breath. "This. Us. It has to stop." Áki was utterly confused. "Us? Why? Why does it needs to stop? Do you..." He swallowed. "Do you not... enjoy yourself?" Sađi shook his head, causing a few strands to break free from his loose man bun and to fall into his face. "N-No, I... I do enjoy it. What we have is... thrilling. Magical, wonderful - but..." Tears gathered in his beautiful ruby eyes. "I can't do this to myself anymore, because it breaks my damn heart every time." Áki still wasn't able to follow his words. "It breaks your heart? Why?" Sađi buried his face in his hands; almost desperately, that the oblivious prince didn't catch what he was trying to say. "You are the prince, Áki! I am a mere kitchen helper and wannabe cook! Just think about what the people - your people would say about this! Or the king and queen!" He scoffed; shaking his head. "I get that you are free to sleep with whoever you wish. I guess it's your privilege as a member of the royal family, but... I don't want to be your lover anymore. I don't want to be just another man on a long list of affairs. I'm not the only one you are bedding - and it destroys me, because..." Sađi paused for a moment; drawing in another shaky breath. "Because I fell in love with you! And I'd rather leave, before my heart gets entirely broken."

With those words, the aspiring cook threw the towel he was holding inside his hands on the kitchen counter, passed by a literally stunned Áki and headed straight for the door. But just like Áki before, he got stopped. The prince needed a moment to collect himself, though. His brain needed to process first, what his ears had heard. But once it did, a warm feeling spread throughout his whole body - and he smiled. "Sađi." He spoke up firmly, causing the other Jotun to stand still; freezing in his movements. "I won't let you walk out of that door." "W-What? Why?" Sađi's face mirrored confusion, as he turned to look at the warrior. Seems like they both had been oblivious to the other's feelings...

"Because I love you, you blind, silly boy."

Sađi blinked. Stunned. "I... You... W-What?" He definitely needed a moment to process that. "You... You love me?" He asked; disbelief swinging in his voice. Áki just smiled and stepped closer to his lover, gently taking Sađi's hands in his. "Yes, I do. Perhaps since the first time I had ever laid my eyes upon you." The helper blinked again, then looked at their intertwined hands. "I-I-I-" "Ah.Ah," the prince interrupted him, while walking Sađi towards the next wall. "Less talking..." He pressed his body against the cold stone surface; hands wandering to the helper's hips. "... and more kissing." With a smoulder only his father could do better, Áki's lips found Sađi's, asking them for a dance.

Áki's and Sađi's worlds were suddenly more than just alright. They had found each other, were helplessly in love and enjoyed the rare time they had together. Nevertheless, they decided to keep this a secret at first, except for one person. Váli. Váli was the only person who knew, since Áki loved his twin brother dearly and shared everything with him. But the secret itself didn't stay a secret for long anyways...

It was time for dinner in the palace. Áki was the first one to find his way to the dining hall, of course. You were a little late, and Loki and Váli not present, since they were away on Svartalfheim for some royal duties.

"Hey," you greeted your son warmly, placing a hand on his muscular biceps, before you sat down. "Hey, mom." "Sorry for the delay." Áki smiled, "No worries. I learned to wait." and winked, causing you to giggle. While you and your son ate, you talked about anything and everything. You enjoyed the moments you could spend with your sons, since they definitely lived their own life's by now.

Mere ten minutes later, dinner got served - and for the first time by none other than Sađi. When Áki saw his boyfriend walking towards the table, together with two other servants, his heart sped up. Of course, he was more than happy to see him, just like Sađi was, but the two of them tried hard to not let it show - which turned later out to be not really successful.

It was simple gestures. Things the two men didn't even realise. The subtle smiles, lingering gazes, eye contact, hand brushing... They didn't notice - but you did. After all, you were Áki's mother and it was kind of in your instincts to notice everything, right? You more than once bit your lip in order to hide the smile. Your son had seemingly found love - and you couldn't be happier. To be entirely sure, though, you decided to address him.

Once dinner was over and there was no servant left - just you and Áki, you took the initiative. Áki already stood up, though and was on his way to leave, when you stopped him. "Áki, hey, wait a minute, please." Your son waited, of course; turned to face you. "Yes, mom?" You patted on the chair beside you, smiling. "Take a seat." Without hesitation, Áki did what you ask him to. Full of anticipation what you were going to say, he looked at you. You reached out your hand and brushed a lose curl of his raven hair behind his ear. He looked so much like his father. You smiled even wider. "So... Who is he?" The prince frowned. "Who is who, mother?" You nodded towards the closed doors, which led to the kitchen. "The handsome servant with golden-brown hair."

Áki turned red on an instant. "I-I, uh..." "I know you two tried to be inconspicuous, but... Let's say it this way… It didn't quite work out." Your son cleared his throat; knowing that their secret wasn't a secret anymore. "Well, mom... His, uh... His name is Sađi and he works here as a kitchen helper. But he aspires to be a cook." "Sađi... Beautiful name - and an aspiring cook? What a perfect match for you." You smiled. "So, it is something serious between the two of you?" He nodded; unable to suppress a smile. "Yes. We are together." "That is wonderful, son. I'm happy for you." Áki smiled bashfully. "Thank you, mom." The so confident prince suddenly wasn't so confident anymore. "It... It isn't a problem for you that he's 'just' a kitchen helper and no prince or of royal blood?" You shook your head and placed your hand on his. "Why should it? Quite the opposite... I'd love to meet him properly one day. As long as you love each other... That's more important than anything. Than status or heritage. Believe me when I tell you, I know what I am talking about - and so does your father." Áki smiled. "Thank you, again. And yes, I promise you, you are definitely going to meet him properly one day."

Another smile crossed your face, as you leaned over to hug your son. A gesture which he returned gladly. "Áki... I am so proud of you. Just... Look at you. You've grown into a strong, confident young man. You are proud of what you are and who you love. It's beautiful." The prince almost started to cry when he heard this. "Oh, mom, I..." He hugged you again; now even tighter. "And your father is proud, too. I hope you know that." He smiled. "Yes... I know." "I love you." Your son backed up from the tight embrace to press a kiss on your cheek. "And I love you."

Tags: @eleniblue @mochie85 @muddyorbsblr @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jaidenhawke @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @multifandom-worlds @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @huntedmusicgardenn @lokiforever @fictive-sl0th @lokisgoodgirl @smolvenger @hisredheadedgoddess28 @icytrickster17 @chennqingg @glitchquake @princess-ofthe-pages @elegantcheesecakecrown @crimson25 @buttercupcookies-blog @herdetectivetheorist @loz-3 @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @simping-for-marvel @km-ffluv @stupidthoughtsinwriting @jennyggggrrr @lady-rose-moon @lovingchoices14 @salvinaa @irishhappiness @sheris532 @princessdragon23 @kimanne723 @mandywholock1980 @xxannyxx @the-holy-trinity-I

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Oh, Lonely Bones, Have You Forgotten? Chapter 3

*Rolling in six months late with Starbucks* Did y’all say you wanted another 15k of angst? No? Well, I got you another 15k of angst. Sorry for the wait on this one folks! There’s been a lot going on in life and a lot of other projects and prompts! Next update should be quicker — plan is to finish this fic by the end of the year! Thank you @dear-monday for reading this over for me and assuring me that it was not 15k of utter nonsensical self-indulgent angsty wank, as usual she and the horny whatsapp group are saving my sanity xD And an ENORMOUS thank you to @kieren-fucking-walker for talking to me about Edwardian burial customs and cemetaries and giving me lots to go on when writing this! I still wouldn't got expecting bulletproof historical accuracy but it was truly so enlightening and inspiring and really shaped some elements of this story and made it more than intially planned, so thank you my love 💛 This is, as my opening bit suggests, mostly more angst. Heed the warnings of the tags/previous chapters, plus this chapter has a little more of a focus near the end on the sadness/circumstances of Edwin’s death and how his family handled it. So refs to teen death, to homophobia and hate crime, to family shame. There’s a section that switches up the format a bit, and which contains brief but supernaturally grisly instances of gore and body horror. There’s also a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it instance of ghostly suicidal ideation. Everything is sad and the chapter ends on more angst but I swear to you that there will be one more chapter, and all with be right. I am knocking Edwin down hard but I WILL give him a soft place to land. More commentary afterwards. In the meantime; are you sitting comfortably? Then we’ll begin 💛 Also on Ao3

"Oi, Edwin," said Charles, gaze affixed to the letter in his hand. "You speak ancient Babylonian?"

Edwin hummed. "I have a smattering."

"That'll do. Letter from Tragic Mick — says he's got a book might help, but there's no translation."

Edwin looked up from his well-thumbed copy of The Arcane Physician's Desk Reference. Over the last few days he'd read it so often he could quote large tracts of it verbatim. "You contacted Tragic Mick?"

"Thought we should pull whatever contacts we had," said Charles, picking his way over the chaos to give Edwin the letter. "Tried our magic shop, but Flimsy Steve wasn't picking up the phone."

"Unsurprising."

Charles snorted. "Leave off. He's a decent bloke."

"He's perfectly agreeable, Charles. I merely wouldn't trust him with anything time sensitive."

"Alright, he's a bit flaky." Charles had a visible mental debate on the best way to navigate around a teetering book stack, before rolling his eyes and phasing through it. "Not his fault about the hex, though, innit?"

"Hm, yes. The hex. Convenient excuse..." Edwin muttered. "If I could explain away my abysmal punctuality with bouts of vaporousness I'd certainly consider it."

"Heh. Yeah, does pull it out a bit much, doesn't he?" Charles chuckled, finally succeeding in his quest to reach Edwin. The office was in a dreadful state. Tidying up after the self-contained paranormal monsoon hadn't been a high priority. Nor had re-shelving the books, given they were bound to be pulled out again for double, triple, quadruple checking. Edwin was only grateful that the blizzard had been a spectral plane phenomenon. The thought of his entire library subjected to water damage was almost too much to bear.

Edwin himself was in a rather sorry state as well. He'd set up operations on the floor beside the trunk, after their discovery that proximity lessened the noise and the cold. At first he'd sat upright and cross-legged, to maintain some comforting sense of professional decorum. But as they had continued to hit dead end after dead end, he'd taken to lying on the floor. In part so he didn't have to keep seeing the sickly blue glow of his own skeleton every time he turned his head.

It shouldn't have felt uncomfortable, not to him. But in such close range to the bones, he was above averagely aware of his surroundings, even the hard floorboards at his back. Edwin wasn't sure which he disliked more; the discomfort, or the indignity. At some point in the proceedings Charles had dug a large, cuddly shark from his bag — acquired during the case of the Swedish poltergeist, if memory served — and propped it under Edwin's head like a pillow. It had helped with the comfort issue; though it had rather exacerbated the dignity one.

But comfort and dignity were among the least of his problems. More concerning by far was the fact that the bones, despite quieting down, had not in fact ceased to speak to him. Instead all their past phrases, the look at me see me don't leave me's, had been replaced by just one simple refrain. Quiet, soft as silk, neither demanding nor insistent. Merely persistent...

Edwin took the letter as Charles offered it down to him, skimming it quickly. The bulk of it, as usual, was a lengthy, hand-written tangent about Mick's woes and the majesty of the sea, but he soon found the section pertaining to their predicament. "Hm. I'm not sure we'll find anything of use in that text. I had the chance to peruse a copy some years ago. But at this point I'm willing to try anything. Beggars can't be choosers. Perhaps if we're opening inquiries with our Port Townsend contacts, we might consider asking Thomas."

"Who?"

Edwin re-folded the salt-stiffened paper. "The Cat King."

Charles' eyebrows arched, hands landing on his hips. "Oh, he's Thomas, now, is 'e?"

"Rolls off the tongue rather more easily, don't you think?"

"Since when d'you still talk to that tosser?"

Edwin rolled his eyes. For such a personable fellow, Charles could hold a grudge with the best of them. "We've a long-running game of correspondence chess in progress. Man's dastardly with a rook. But he is a rather seasoned magic user, not to mention his... intimate experience with witches. He could be a valuable source of information in this case."

"Let's try a few more things before we get Whiskers on the phone, yeah?"

Edwin sighed, passing the letter back up between two fingers. "Very well."

Charles tucked it under his arms as he crossed them, cocking his head to regard Edwin from on high. "Comfy down there?" It was said in a tone light and teasing; a tone that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Oh, yes. I'm luxuriating," said Edwin, dry as a bone. "I should do more of my thinking on the floor. Stimulate the little grey cells."

"Look at things from a different angle, yeah?"

Edwin peered up at him, his line of vision beginning directly beneath the point of Charles' chin. This shouldn't be a flattering angle for him, but alas, he looked as handsome to Edwin's eyes as he ever had. Must he never know a moment's peace...? "Yes, something along those lines. Although so far it's offering precious little in the way of fresh insight. And it —"

Charles gave him a pointed look.

Edwin sighed, and corrected himself. "He is... not helping."

Frowning, Charles squatted down beside him, bringing their faces closer together. His knee rested lightly upon Edwin's abdomen as it bent. With the illusion of awareness afforded to him, Edwin could almost feel the weight of it. Almost.

"He's still talking to you, then," said Charles, voice low; as if he didn't wish for the bones to overhear.

"On occasion," said Edwin, with equal caution. "On... fairly frequent occasion."

"What's he saying now? Still on the 'stay with me’?"

Edwin shook his head, before letting it fall to the side. Peering across the length of his whimsical pillow at the dark leather siding of the trunk. He let his eyes drift closed, let the soft susurration of the voice creep back into his mind unimpeded by distraction or resistance.

"He wants..." His fingers flexed on his chest. "He wants to be held."

Distantly, the phantom weight of Charles' hand alighted upon his shoulder. All the more frustrating for possessing the barest edge of tangibility. As if Edwin was allowed to sense the shape of him and nothing more.

"By anyone?" Charles asked.

A short, stabbing pain flared behind Edwin's eyes. He winced. "No. No, not just anyone will do, I don't think."

A door clicked, and a new voice chimed in: "Do you think you should hold them?"

Edwin and Charles both looked up at Crystal, who was propped wearily against the doorjamb leading to the small water closet. Aside from dealing with whatever human activities she'd had to carry out in there, she'd also clearly splashed her face with cold water. A few glistening droplets clung to her neck, and she had that touch of mania in her eyes that oft accompanied a minor shock.

She shrugged, arms crossed. "I mean. He told you to look at him, and that helped. Maybe you just need to do what he asks you to do..."

"It's... possible," Edwin hedged.

Unfortunately, Crystal did have a point. Based on prior evidence, there was every reason to believe that giving in to the bones' demands would alleviate Edwin's suffering. But for reasons he could neither name nor explain, he had the distinct feeling that to do so wouldn't end well for him. A feeling he suspected he wasn't alone in; raising the subject had caused Charles to tense up, his shoulders a rigid line of stress.

But they were rapidly running out of alternatives.

Edwin hitched himself up, sitting with a wince at the shadow of an ache in his spine. His shoulder bumped up against the open top edge of the trunk, and a small surge of anticipation from its resident rippled through him. Edwin raised his hand and, with a dry, apprehensive swallow, reached out —

It was stilled before it could get within three inches of the skeleton.

"Let's — let's keep digging a bit, yeah?" said Charles, fingers flexing visibly around Edwin's wrist. When Edwin looked up he found Charles with his eyes wide, and his ghostly countenance paler than usual. "Bet we'll stumble on something soon."

Edwin offered no resistance. "Yes. Yes, I daresay you're right."

Crystal seemed neither surprised nor overly upset that her idea had been rejected. Perhaps she shared their concerns after all. "I still have a few more magic shops to hit up," she said. "I can go try and shake down that Steve guy in person."

"Don't count on it," Charles warned her. "Slippery customer. He'll be under the door and away in two seconds flat."

"...Right. And, uh, I figured maybe Emma might have some ideas..."

"Emma?" asked Charles.

"The little girl," said Edwin. "With the squid."

"Oh!"

"Good idea, Crystal," Edwin mumbled, rubbing his brow. "She's been dead a long while, clearly has a working knowledge of the occult. Perhaps she's seen a curse of this ilk before."

"Jesus, I'm gonna go," she said, gravely. But she gave his shoulder a companionable squeeze as she passed him to claim her jacket. "Freaks me out when you're too nice to me."

Edwin scoffed. "Honestly, Crystal, you liken me to some sort of wicked stepmother. I'm not a drill sergeant."

"No," she said, shrugging into her jacket with a smile and a twinkle in her eye. "You're just a bitch. Look after him, Charles."

She sloped out of the office without a backwards glance, ignoring Edwin's protests and Charles' giggling. When Edwin turned his displeasure on Charles he was met with crinkled eyes and unrepentant cheer.

"What?" said Charles. He held his thumb and forefinger close together. "You are a bit."

Edwin scowled, toppling back onto his pile of blankets with crossed arms and poor grace. "Perhaps it's best we read in silence for a little while."

~

Days passed, and still no breakthrough.

Crystal was consuming inadvisable quantities of coffee on a daily basis, and had taken to pacing the hall outside the office. Her hair had ballooned to twice its usual volume under the stress of her fretful tugging and twisting.

Even Charles was showing the strain through his erstwhile bulletproof veneer of optimism. Edwin kept glancing up at him, and catching him staring back with a haunted look. As if he half expected Edwin to vanish in a puff of smoke before his very eyes. There was a marked increase in the frequency of grounding hands upon Edwin's arm, chest, shoulders; holding Edwin down lest he flutter away in the breeze.

Edwin, it had to be said, wasn't coping all too well, either. For the first time in a hundred sleepless years, he felt truly exhausted. He was burning the candle at both ends; as far as he was concerned if his eyes were open, he could be reading something. Though book research, generally something he found intriguing and invigorating, now had his weary eyes sliding off the page. And onto the trunk.

Always, always to the trunk.

Hold me hold me hold me please hold me...

Its calls never ceased. They waxed and waned, and at times softened to barely a breath, but always they remained; pestering, pattering, pleading. Crying out in the corners of his skull for him to come closer, closer, closer, to hold me please hold me —

As their research dead ends stacked up and desperation grew, so too did the temptation to succumb. It was, after all, as Crystal had said; if giving into the first demands had eased the way, surely there was something to be gained from giving a little more.

And yet somewhere, in the back of his mind, under the droning rattle of pleas and demands, it persisted. The niggling notion that if he were to give in, he'd surely come to regret it.

He wasn't alone in his apprehension. Just once or twice, his hands had strayed closer to the bones than usual — and each time they did, Charles' eyes snapped to them, wide and wary. If Edwin's own instinct to pull back hadn't sufficed, the dread on his best friend's face would have stayed his hand.

But every passing hour represented another frayed nerve, another chip in his resolve. Every whispering plea a grain of sand pouring down upon him, suffocating him slowly. Though he didn't wish to, he could feel himself beginning to buckle under the strain. Not even the small relief that came from facing the problem head-on, looking the remains of himself in his hollow eyes, was enough to mitigate the mounting horror of prolonged exposure. It was incessant. It was inescapable.

To be frank, he wasn't sure how much more he could take. If they didn't find something...

"FOUND SOMETHING!"

Edwin jumped — which, from his position on the floor, caused his body to lurch in a rather unpleasant jackknifing motion. Gathering his wits, he propped himself up on his elbows. "What?"

"Here!" Charles babbled excitedly, jabbing his finger to the page of the battered leather-bound book in his hands. "In this old apothecary's journal. Must've looked right past it first time, it's dead small."

He cleared his throat and read aloud, affecting — in Edwin's opinion — a needlessly exaggerated upper crust intonation. "'My 'esteemed' colleague in the mortuary magicks' — that's magics with a 'k', by the way. Proper old arcane stuff."

"Charles, the point," Crystal prompted.

"Right, yeah. 'My 'esteemed' colleague in the mortuary magicks recently positioned — no, wait — recently posited that in the event of sudden, traumatic demise in the presence of powerful magic, a soul might be rent asunder. A colourful theory, though I find his speculations on the ability of the same spirit to commit multiple hauntings dubious at best."

Charles grinned up at them, fairly bouncing on his feet in his excitement. "Author's a snooty git, but sounds like his mate might be onto something!"

"Holy shit," said Crystal, bounding up from the sofa to lunge for the book. "Charles, I think you might be onto something!"

Edwin likewise sprung into action, leaping from the floor and elbowing in to flick through the pages with Crystal. "Charles, that is brilliant. We must find the identity of his colleague. Perhaps he's done further study into the subject..."

"Name's gotta be in there somewhere — this bloke writes almost as much as you do," Charles teased. "Flip back a bit, might've missed it earlier in the entry..."

The pages grew rather busy with all of their hands pointing at them, poring over them, riffling restlessly back and forth. Edwin found himself at the centre of a rather tight huddle; Charles and Crystal half draped across his shoulders and conversing over his head.

"This guy's writing is the worst," Crystal complained.

"Apothecary's sort of a doctor, innit?" Charles nudged her — or rather nudged Edwin, who transferred the proxy-nudge to Crystal like the central ball of a Newton's cradle. "S'pose doctors have just always had shit handwriting, eh?"

"There!" said Crystal, jabbing the page. "That name."

Edwin followed her finger, squinting. They were both quite right — the handwriting was atrocious. "Let's see... Johnathan Harrington — oh! I'm familiar with him. Or her, I should say. Harrington was the nom de plume of one Sybil Crombie. I'm given to understand she frequently adopted a male alter ego to carry out her research undeterred. Her writings are supposed to be quite radical for the time, but they're wretchedly hard to come by..."

"Must be able to find 'em somewhere," said Charles — with a confidence implying that were it not possible, he'd go to great lengths to make it so. "Maybe Tragic Mick knows someone? Could hop through the mirror and ask him."

"No need," said Edwin, closing the book with a decisive snap. "I believe I know where we might find it."

~

"Charles, you must be quiet!"

Charles winced, straightening up the book pile he'd rather loudly upset with the toe of his loafer. "This place is bloody booby trapped. What kind of bookshop keeps half the books on the floor?"

"The kind that isn't overly interested in making sales," Edwin muttered. "Keep your voice down. The proprietor bears an inane grudge against me for some reason."

"Maybe 'cause you nicked his book, mate," Charles chuckled.

"I borrowed his book. I had every intention of returning it, he's quite unreasonable. Now, if he has any regard for organisation whatsoever —"

"Wouldn't bloody count on it."

"Then it must be somewhere in this section. Look for anything by Johnathan Harrington — quietly!"

Charles resumed his search, tiptoeing about the treacherous shopfloor with a wincing expression. He was, unfortunately, not widely renowned for his stealth. But with Crystal unable to mirror travel and Edwin likewise tethered to the office, Charles was their only suitable spy.

Edwin scowled at the mirror, at his hand disappearing into it. So far, Crystal hadn't tugged his wrist, so he could only assume the bones weren't yet causing a scene. It would seem that remaining at least partially connected to the office lessened their separation anxiety. Edwin was growing rather tired of having to dangle through a mirror portal, half-in and half-out, on a metaphorical leash. Honestly, if he had a penny!

He couldn't aid much in Charles' search, but he scanned the one bookshelf within his reach while Charles pored over the reverse side. He could see Charles' efforts through the gaps above the books; see his brow furrowed in concentration, tongue poking out between his teeth as his clever brown eyes flickered over the spines. Something tight and anxious in Edwin's chest loosened at the sight. Despite the direness of the situation and the insistent voice tugging on his sleeve, he felt assured. Safe in the knowledge that neither of them would rest until this case was solved. Not even Charles, who hated nothing so much as having to read lots of words very quickly, was going to leave this bookshop until they had what they needed.

"Not here," said Charles. "Gonna check the other shelves!"

"Quietly!" Edwin hissed after him; to which Charles responded with a lip-zipping motion and a sloppy salute.

Edwin closed his eyes, attempting to slow his breathing. Attempting to enjoy the moment of slight distance between him and the voice, though he could still feel it under his skin, as if it were creeping through his fingers and into his brain. He could feel his tension ratchet ever upwards with every passing moment. He couldn't be sure what was more abrasive on his nerves; the stealth mission, his inability to contribute, or the whispering bones. When calming breaths proved to be a lost cause, he focused instead on standing sentry; keeping his eyes and ears attuned to any sounds from beyond the bookstacks.

"Gotcha!"

Charles' too-loud, triumphant cry startled Edwin. His eyes snapped back to find Charles dragging a book from a nearby shelf and holding it up for Edwin's inspection. The title: Connective Tissue: Osteopathy and the Human Soul, by Johnathan Harrington.

Despite his misgivings, Edwin grinned. "Well done, Charles!"

"I say — is someone there?" came a voice from off, prim and peevish.

They both jumped.

"Shit," Charles muttered.

"Mirror, now," Edwin hissed, seizing Charles by the hand as soon as he scampered within reach.

Hand in hand, two ghosts and a very old and valuable book ducked back into the in-between — leaving Soho and the cries of the irate bookseller behind them.

~

November 1st, 1832: A Case Study, and a Confession

William Stoker, my friend and colleague, passed away earlier this year. Too young; a mere lad of twenty-four when he was taken from us.

His father is (or perhaps was) a friend of mine. As long as I'd known him, William (or Will, as I would come to call him) had always had a keen eye and a scientist's curiosity. When his father suggested I take young Will under my wing, I leapt upon the chance. It was a valuable experience for him; and a much-needed helping hand for myself. Frequently, Will would aid me in my research endeavours, no matter how unsavoury. A strong constitution is required in our field, and William possessed it in spades. Not even the more grisly aspects of the job could dampen his cheerful whistling while he worked — nor could my insistence that it was bad luck to whistle inside. He was far from a superstitious lad. For several years, he acted as my research assistant and, more commonly, dogsbody, with good grace and no complaints. Pride was of no concern to him. His only thoughts lay with the work.

It was a tragic and violent incident that ended William's life; an incident for which I hold myself responsible, at least in part. I could not have known, and yet even now I feel I should have. Somehow. I worry that day, that incident like a loose, aching tooth. Wondering if I overlooked the signs, somehow. Wondering if his death could have been avoided...

I sent William to collect something for me. Some samples; a selection of assorted vertebrae, to be exact. With the help of a local hedgewitch, Sally Cubbins — a long time associate of mine — I had been preserving them in a variety of herbal and chemical compounds, in order to observe reactions of the marrow. It should have been a simple task. Little did I know as I gave him his marching orders that Sally was in the midst of a delicate situation. A summoning, to be exact. One of the women in her locale was being harassed by a malevolent entity, a demon. One more powerful and more bloodthirsty than my poor Sally bargained for. Her summoning and dismissal went badly awry.

When I went to investigate Will's prolonged absence, I found him and Sally both. What was left of them, at any rate. Rent asunder atop a similarly broken summoning circle. To this day, I've no idea what became of the demon. Perhaps, when my own time comes, it will be waiting to drag me to damnation.

That gruesome scene was the last I saw of Sally Cubbins, God rest her soul.

It was not, however, the last I saw of William Stoker.

William's father asked that I prepare the remains for burial. Perhaps he wanted to assure me that he didn't hold me responsible. Perhaps he was simply too deep in his grief to seek other arrangements. Either way, I accepted without a thought. There was little left of Will; needless to say, an open casket was out of the question. But I did my best to make him presentable. I believed it to be the least I could do.

And later that evening, in my mortuary, William appeared to assess my work for himself.

(No doubt, many of you reading this just scoffed. But I shan't sidestep the matter. I have encountered a number of spectres in my time; in my line of work they are practically an inevitability. I have seen them, often, and consider them to be a manifestation and demonstration of the fortitude of the human soul. Though my detractors will no doubt continue to insist that the embalming fluid fumes must have gone to my senses. If you, dear reader, are likewise unconvinced, I would politely recommend you seek alternative literature.)

I had met many a phantasm over the course of my career, yet Will was quite unlike any other I'd previously encountered. He was recognisably himself, at least. But I had always found conversation with spectres little different from conversation with the living. They are by-and-large sensible, coherent, rational folk, simply seeking their end life's purpose. If they were a person I had previously met in life, I generally found their spirit to be no different in personality or demeanour.

Will, however, seemed... troubled. Deeply troubled. He had adopted a number of tics and nervous mannerisms, and a wildness of eye. When he spoke he was prone to saying things which were unreasonable, paranoid, frantic. And despite my suggestion that he take a constitutional, bid farewell to his friends, family and favourite places, my prompting fell on deaf ears. He exhibited a powerful reluctance to exit the mortuary.

I soon realised it was not the room to which he felt attached, but his remains.

Though I myself was still grieving, I was nonetheless fascinated by the situation, and decided to investigate further. The funeral, after all, would not be for several days yet. Besides which, I must confess a desire for distraction, for purpose — and perhaps some small absolution from the guilt of his passing.

Over the next several days, I took careful note of Will's moods and movements as they occurred. Any dips and troughs, any manic periods. Any strange phenomena I could notice connected to either himself, or his remains. I asked him frequently what he was thinking, or feeling (insomuch as a spectre is able to feel), and I recorded all that I could. This amounted to dozens upon dozens of pages of notes, likely insurmountable to most given my particular manner of writing, but I shall attempt to summarise the key points:

William complained often of pain, largely in his 'joints', and discomfort at minor physical sensations he should not, by rights, have been able to feel at all. Discomfort which increased in proximity to his remains. He also reported itchiness, headaches, and nausea.

William exhibited acute episodes of psychological distress. When I was able to get any sense out of him he reported feeling dread, anxiety, claustrophobia, and a feeling of being ‘hounded’. On more than one occasion I witnessed him having what I can only describe as an attack of panic. What good rapid breathing serves to a ghost, I've no idea. Aside from his acute episodes, William also suffered a near constant low-level psychological turmoil. He was prone to listlessness, melancholy, restlessness, and frustration. He would often tell me, with a smile short on humour, that he 'wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry'.

William was hearing things. A voice, a whisper. Something, somewhere, was speaking to him.

As you can imagine, I found this last revelation alarming. And there was little I could do to glean more information, as Will only let slip of this voice once and then proceeded to bury the matter. No doubt he feared himself mad, or cursed. No amount of reasoning could convince him to open up to me about the voice or what it was saying.

By the time the day of Will's funeral was upon us, I was no nearer to answers. And so I made a choice, out of desperation. As I’ve every intention that this entry be published posthumously, I can confess to you my sin.

Reader, I did not bury William's remains that day. I sent the undertakers a closed coffin, nailed tight, and warned William's father that his son's remains were in no fit state to be observed. That despite my best efforts, there was simply not enough of him left to reconstruct. I advised him, please, to hold onto the memory of his son as he was, and let his body claim its final resting place sight unseen.

I ask not for forgiveness, reader. Only understanding. You must understand that I already believed myself hellbound for my part in William's death, amongst myriad other indecencies and indiscretions in my life. If I was to face judgement either way, I decided I would do everything in my power to find answers first. If it comes as any consolation, Will endorsed my course of action. Although looking back, I wonder whether he was truly of sound enough mind to do so...

But that too is a question only God may answer, and I'm sure He will let me know in due course.

The remains, of course, had to be reduced; there was only so long I could keep a cadaver in progressing states of decay lying about without causing suspicion or ill health. It was a grim and unpleasant task, but within the week Will's flesh had gone the way of the incinerator, and only his bones remained in the mortuary. And what peculiar things they were; they had about them some strange energy, though I had no opportunity to find out if this was widely-noticeable, except to those already with the Sight for the paranormal. To my eyes, they were in possession of the faintest glow; and to my ears, on occasion, a soft, susurrating rattle.

With Will's remains safely in my possession, and his spirit in permanent residence, I observed both over the following weeks. I did, of course, continue urging Will to take his leave, say his goodbyes, seek his own absolution. But he staunchly refused to do so. He became a shadow to my work, much as he had been in life — though by all accounts he was a mere shell of his former self.

In death, more so than any spectre I'd ever met, Will was short-tempered and morose. Though his old self, the lively young man I'd considered a close friend and worthy apprentice, clearly still dwelled within the spectral form. I glimpsed him from time to time, in fleeting moments of lightness and candour. Whatever it was which held Will in its grasp, it had neither erased nor altered the heart of him. He still had a smile on his lips for me, still whistled his jaunty tunes long into the night, albeit with a new edge of mania. He was not a man changed or possessed, but a weary soul under considerable strain. This I believe, even now.

I did my utmost to ease that strain upon him, but found there was little I could do. He was bedevilled by forces beyond my ken, and I felt powerless to aid him in any way that mattered. Though to the best of my ability I kept him company, lifted his spirits (if you'll pardon the play on words). I spent many a long night in the mortuary, playing cards with the deceased. I was deeply comforted to find that despite his quite alarming personality shifts, he was still an inveterate cheat. Always an ace up his ghostly sleeve.

Despite my best efforts, his temperament worsened. And though he continued not to confide in me, I knew that mine was not the only voice in his ear. Something was still speaking to him, whispering to him, things I could only speculate upon. And so often when he heard that voice, when his countenance drew tight and his jaw clenched, I would find his gaze drawn to the covered unit where his own remains now resided.

I became convinced that the bones had become possessed in some fashion. I suspected the demon that had slain Will and my dear Sally was to blame. Perhaps it had been too weak to step into the mortal world from its summoning circle, and had instead taken refuge in the remains of its victims. I called upon all of the occult knowledge I had amassed over the years to try and oust any such unwelcome guest, but to no avail. If only Sally had still been with us, perhaps... but no. No matter what exorcisms I conducted, no matter the counter-hex or cleansing spell, the thing residing in Will's remains held fast. Burrowed in, anchored to the marrow, as surely as if it had belonged there all along.

I explored other avenues, of course. Raided my library and my journals, passed the scenario as a hypothetical amongst my friends in occult circles. I explored the possibilities of paranormal parasites, of life echoes, of curses and corruptions, but no theory held water and no counter yielded results.

All the while Will, God help him, continued to deteriorate. Day by day he grew more frantic, more preoccupied. Often I saw him lingering near his bones with a strange, mad look in his eye. I might even go so far as to call it murderous. Whatever had taken residence in his bones, it had not granted him a moment's peace in weeks, and he was wearing thin.

I had formed a new theory, although to this day I have no true manner of verifying it. It is not, after all, as if I can secure Will or the thing in his remains for thorough interview or cross-examination. But it was, and remains to this day, my theory. The only cogent explanation for these wretched happenings that makes any sense with the facts. I theorised that somehow, perhaps due to the violent and intensely magical nature of William's demise, a part of him was separated from the whole. Perhaps a spirit can be propelled from a physical form with such ruthless immediacy as to leave a small piece of itself behind.

Well, I see no reason to beat about the bush. If you wish to call me mad, I'm sure you've already reached that decision with yourself. I believed, and continue to believe that William was, in effect, carrying out two hauntings at once.

The lion's share of his soul, the person most easily identifiable as the Will I'd known, lay outside his remains, as is the norm with spectres. He was still thoughtful, intelligent, able to follow and carry conversation. Able to reminisce upon his life, able to form complex arguments and hold nuanced opinions.

The piece he'd left behind was, I fear, severely lacking in any of these traits. It's debatable whether it could even be said to be in possession of a personality. Based on what little I'd managed to eke out from Will about its way of speaking, it seemed to me a shrivelled, stunted thing. An essence comprised merely of a single want, a single need. It did not have within it the capacity for reason, for comfort or conversation. It cried out in his mind like a hungry child, insensible to any and all things but that which it craved. There was no reasoning with it, no bargaining, no way to soothe it. Nothing, except to give it what it desired.

Now, here is where the tragic end of this tale writes itself. For you see, though Will was my friend, and confided in me about a great many things, he would not disclose the exact nature of the fragment’s request. I believe it scared him, or shamed him. Rendered him vulnerable in a way his scattered soul was simply not equipped to handle. I pleaded with him to tell me exactly what it is the voice wished, what it said, what it would keep saying, but he would not confess. Not even to me.

How I wish he had.

For all my expertise, all my tools and skills and hard-earned knowledge of the anatomical magics, I was powerless. Powerless to do anything to change his fate. Or at least, this is what I tell myself; but as I take responsibility for his death, perhaps I merely wish to absolve myself of his suffering thereafter.

As the days and the weeks wore on, Will closed himself to me. His world narrowed to a pinpoint; to the bones. Always the bones. I would see him standing beside the drawer where they lay, staring into it whether it stood open or closed. At times when I had them pulled out and resting upon a pallet, desperately seeking any clues I might have missed, he would circle them. Pacing, edging closer, closer, hand outstretched; ultimately pulling back with a hair's breadth to spare. I considered locking them away for good, removing them entirely from his sight, but what good would it do? To a spectre, wood and metal are hardly a deterrent. Though I considered the merits of building them a box of iron, something even a ghost would hesitate to cross.

I had no wish to hold his remains hostage, however, so instead I tried to talk to him. Tried to encourage him to different pursuits. But there was nothing I could hold his attention or interest with. There was nothing else, not anymore. All William cared about was those bones. He would stare at them with fascination, with yearning, with revulsion writ plain across his expression, his fine-featured young face now carved and haggard. He hated them; and he needed them.

And one day... he touched them.

I will never forget it so long as I live, and I will carry it thereafter into damnation. The scream that tore from him, violent and visceral, more animal than human. Nor will I forget the sight of his arm — his strong, steady arm, which had once fetched and carried for me without the slightest tremor — as it withered, liquified. As his spectral flesh loosened from his frame and dripped like hot candle wax down an invisible pathway; following the hollow shape where once resided the bones of his arm, his wrist, his fingers. Before I could act or react, the effect was spreading; shoulder, chest, neck. Face. Before my very eyes he melted, oozed, his liquid remains drawn to the bones like water to a spigot, like gas to a vacuum.

And before I could even think to scream, William Stoker was no longer.

Afterwards, the remains lay... well. I do not wish to say dormant. Evidently, they are no such thing. Energy still thrums within those bones, clear as day to those with the eyes to see, but it is of a more benign disposition now. It no longer wishes harm upon any who might come near; I suspect if it wishes harm, it wishes it only upon itself. I tried over the years to do my research, find a solution, to do everything in my power to draw poor Will out of his prison, but I never succeeded.

He never rematerialised. No more did he appear in my mortuary to fret or pace or cheat at cards. No more did I hear his whistling into the night.

But sometimes, from the dusty iron lockbox wherein his pitiable bones reside in the mortuary to this day, I can still hear his screams.

May God have mercy on his soul. And on mine.

~

Edwin's voice trailed off. It seemed to hang in the air like a curse long after the fact.

Hunched forward in the opposing desk chair, Crystal sat looking distinctly nauseous. "Oh, my god..."

Charles — perched, as ever, upon the desk itself — was white as a sheet and, for once, at a total loss for words.

Clearing his throat, Edwin closed the book with great care. "Well," he said, clipped. "That, at least, was... pertinent to the case."

"Edwin..." Crystal began, face pinched in concern.

In an explosive burst of motion, Charles was over the desk and on his feet in a metaphorical heartbeat. Three long strides had him over to the trunk, to the whispering bones; and a sweep of his arm had the lid slamming down upon them like a portcullis.

Edwin winced, gritting his teeth as the mild hum in the back of his head spiked into a distressed, cutting wail. "Charles, please —"

"You're not touching 'em!" Charles snapped, picking up the enchanted lock from the floor and slipping it through the shank. It rattled and grated; his hands were shaking. "You're not getting anywhere bloody near them!"

"Believe me, Charles, I've no intention of it," said Edwin, rising from his seat. His own hands felt rather unsteady as he braced them upon the desk. "But it does help to mitigate the effects if the trunk is kept ajar."

But Charles was shaking his head, hunching his shoulders. It was only when Edwin heard the sound of a slight sniffle that he recognised what was happening.

His heart clenched. "Charles..."

Charles swiped a hand angrily down his face as he lurched upright. When he rounded on Crystal, his eyes were dark with a shadowy smudge of dissolving kohl. "We nearly let him touch them," he barked. "Earlier, when we —"

"I know, Charles, I know," she said as she stood. "But we didn't. You didn't. Charles."

She walked over to him, bold as brass despite his bristling demeanour, and took his face in her hands. "He's fine. He's fine."

Edwin, feeling like an interloper despite being the subject of distress, hovered at the desk. Fists clenched, knuckles braced together; grounding himself against his own spectral solidity the only way he knew how. "Charles," he repeated, softer. He sounded altogether too close to weeping himself.

In a blink, Charles was back by his side — and his arms were around Edwin like a vice. "I'm sorry," he babbled, breathing the words in a rapid patter against Edwin's neck, voice choked with tears. "Fuck, Edwin, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

Perhaps it was proximity to the remains or simply a rawness of emotion, but... Edwin could almost feel him. Trick himself into believing he could feel Charles' weight in his arms, rich and real.

"You've nothing to be sorry for," Edwin uttered, soft, yet stern. He returned the embrace, clutching the nothing that was everything in his arms. "You held me back, Charles. You saved me again."

He squeezed him tight, for all the good it would do. "Thank you."

Charles seemed in no hurry to pull away — and frankly, neither was Edwin. So he allowed himself to hold and be held a few moments longer, clinging to Charles like a port in a storm.

Meanwhile, behind Charles' back and in the corner of Edwin's vision, Crystal had begun to pace.

"Okay. Okay, so. So this has happened before. That's good, right? Means we're not totally fucking alone, here," she muttered, tugging at a flyaway curl of her hair. "We just — we just need to think about this. Sybil, John, whatever didn't know what the bones wanted because that guy wouldn't talk to her, but we do, right? Edwin, you've told us everything, right?"

"I've told you the whole of it," he replied. It came out slightly muffled in Charles' shoulder.

"Good. Great, okay, so we're not flying blind. We just — look, she said it was like, a haunting, right? Like his spirit was..."

"Split in two," said Edwin, quietly.

The look she cast him over Charles' shoulder was gratingly sympathetic. "Yeah. Yeah, so fine. It's a haunting. So how do you stop a haunting?"

"It depends," said Edwin.

"Unfinished business," Charles cut in. He inhaled through his nose as he pulled back, and pulled himself (mostly) together. "Sort out the unfinished business, sort out the haunting. More often 'n not."

"Great," said Crystal. "So we find whatever unfinished business the piece of Edwin trapped in those bones has, and we finish it."

Edwin snorted, scratching his cheek where it had been pressed to Charles' neck. Though he could scarcely feel a bit of it, he already missed the embrace. "You make it sound so very straightforward."

"I mean, isn't it?"

"It's not as if we can interview the client," he sniped.

"Oi," Charles mumbled, ever the peacekeeper — but his heart wasn't in the admonishment. His hand, however, was in Edwin's hand. As if he could no more bear to break the contact than Edwin could bear to lose it.

"No, but it can't be anything complicated, right?" She clicked her fingers. "She said that piece of his spirit was like, it was a fragment. Like it wasn't intelligent."

Edwin bristled.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not saying you're not intelligent. Idiot."

"How silly of me to think such a thing," he said icily.

"What I mean is — that you, the one in the box, it's like, base, right? That's what she said. No reason, no personality. It's barely conscious. Right?"

"Right," said Charles, nodding to himself. "Right, so he's — he's not gonna be wishing he'd composed a bloody symphony or anything."

"Exactly. Nothing complex. We've just gotta find whatever basic, boring, any-amoeba-can-do-it thing that he wants and... give it to him. And then he moves on and the haunting stops. Right?"

"In theory, yes, it could be as simple as that," said Edwin. "Although we mustn't discount the possibility that what it wants is..."

Though he'd absorbed the images as text on a page, they flickered through his mind on a vivid reel, crimson-tinted frames of celluloid horror. Images of his own arm twisting, warping, bubbling. Bleeding away from him in a roiling mass of terrible tallow, into the empty vessel of his howling bones.

He swallowed. "A reunion..."

"Nope," said Charles, flat, with a decisive shake of his head. "Nah. Nah, we're not. No. S'not that. There's gotta be something other than that. Hasn't there?"

"Yeah," muttered Crystal, answering his pointless tag question with an even more pointless platitude. "Yeah. Sure. Gotta be."

But she shared a look with Edwin behind Charles' back, a worried one. One he returned with a grim set to his jaw.

Neither one of them spoke another word for fear of upsetting Charles — or speaking the terrible truth into existence — but it lingered nonetheless. Lying unspoken between them, as large as the box of bones and all the more ominous a presence. The terrible elephant in the room.

Maybe there is no other way.

~

"So." Edwin turned on his heel to face the gathering as his chalk scraped a decisive line beneath the words 'Unfinished Business' on the board. "Let us have it. Any notion that springs to mind. At this juncture, there are no wrong answers. What could he want, what could he need?"

Charles and Crystal sat assembled on the floor, watching him and the board like tall, bedraggled schoolchildren with poor posture. Stationed dutifully between Edwin and the trunk — which had been propped open again, on his request. He needed to think, and it was damnably difficult with his bones having a tantrum.

"Gotta be basic, yeah?" said Charles, scratching his nose. "Right, so what's like, the most basic thing people can want?"

"Sleep?" said Crystal, on the tail end of a stifled yawn.

Edwin rolled his eyes, but dutifully jotted it down.

"Food?" Charles offered, hopping aboard her train of thought. "Um, water...?"

"Sex?" said Crystal.

Edwin, halfway through making note of the previous suggestions, gasped in indignance and turned upon her. "I absolutely do not consent to anyone attempting... that with my skeleton." He wrinkled his nose. "I'm not even sure how one would go about such a thing..."

"Bet there's a few people online who'd have ideas," she muttered.

"I dread to think. Hm. Perhaps there are some wrong answers, after all," he said curtly, deigning not to write it down. "Let's rule that one out for the time being. Any others?"

"Cash?" Charles suggested. "We could lob a few tenners at 'im?"

Edwin closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose. "Let us call that Plan F."

"You know, there is a way we could get the answer straight up," said Crystal, voice quiet and eyes to the floor. "Straight from the horse's mouth."

"Crys..." said Charles, a gentle warning.

"I could read them," she blew past him.

"You heard what that journal said," Charles argued. "They'll melt the bloody flesh off your bones!"

"I'm alive — pretty sure that was a ghost special." She turned to Edwin. "You agree with me, right? It's the fastest, most bulletproof way to figure this out."

He did agree, and he opened his mouth to say so. But then he made the mistake of looking directly at her; at that now-familiar glint of reckless determination in her eye.

Edwin sighed. "I agree with your assessment. But I agree with Charles, as well. It's a risk. We must exhaust all other avenues, first."

He saw Charles let out a breath he'd been holding, a spark of gratitude glowing warm in his eyes. It was a suitable balm to the caustic ire of Crystal.

"We've been here days! How long did that guy last before he caved, like a month? I know you say you're fine, Edwin, but you're not fine! Look! You're doing your — your thing!"

She pointed to his hands — he followed her gaze, scowled, and pointedly unclenched his fists, letting them fall to his sides.

"And you're still twitching," she said. "They're still in your head, right?"

ClosercomeclosercomecloserlookatmeholdmeCLOSER —

"I have it quite under control," said Edwin. "And even if I did wish to succumb, I'll hardly find the chance with the two of you watching me like hawks."

"But I could —!"

"Crystal," he said, voice like a sharp rap across the knuckles. "You are of far too much value to us to risk when we haven't exhausted all other options, and that is final."

She blinked, mouth flopping in a flabberghasted, fish-like manner.

"Yeah," said Charles, softly. His hand found hers, cupping over her smaller digits upon the office floor. "What he said."

Crystal looked to him, then Edwin, with eyes that looked suspiciously damp. Oh, good heavens, no. He simply couldn't bear it if another person were to cry in front of him today.

Edwin cleared his throat. "Well." He brushed down his rumpled shirt. "Now that's dealt with —let us return to the task at hand, shall we?"

"Right, yeah. Unfinished business." Charles frowned, tapping his fingers on his knee. "Mate..."

"Yes, Charles?"

"I'm thinking, yeah... If we find out what his unfinished business is," he said, jerking his thumb towards the sealed trunk at his back. "And he moves on. Does that mean... Since, y'know, since he's you..."

"That I would move on with him?"

Charles exhaled, a ragged sound, and nodded.

Edwin swallowed. "We... mustn’t discount the possibility."

A possibility which hung heavy in the air between them, grey and charged like a storm cloud. Edwin could see the panic in Charles' eyes — recognised it intimately for it matched that rising in his own chest. A thin, taut thread of terror strung between their unbeating hearts. A thread which neither one of them wished to snip.

"We don't have a choice," Crystal cut in, quiet. Almost gentle. "Edwin's sick. And he's gonna keep being sick. If it gets bad, if his bones... absorb him."

She chewed on her lower lip, and looked Edwin solemnly in the eye. "Then we lose you either way."

He closed his eyes. "We have to try."

"Yeah," said Charles, the weight of the world in one little syllable.

Edwin waited to face the blackboard before he opened his eyes once more. He couldn't bring himself to meet Charles' gaze; he'd only want to run and hide in it. "So. What else have we —"

"Oh, boys!"

The three of them startled like gazelles, whirling on the new voice. That was no surprise appearance of the spectral postman — that was the unmistakable voice of —

"Ah," said Edwin, sheepishly straightening his back and attempting to do likewise with his rumpled shirt. "Good evening."

The Night Nurse stood, in all her crispness and cleanliness, at the heart of the veritable bombsite of their office with an air of horror. "Is it, Master Payne? Because it hardly seems to be the case from where I'm standing! What have you little delinquents been doing — I was gone for less than a fortnight!" She frowned, and consulted her watch. "I was certain I’d accounted for your terrestrial timezone…"

"Long story," said Crystal. "But we've got a situation."

"I can see that, young lady. Would one of you care to elaborate?"

"We found Edwin's..." Crystal's eyes flickered to him, uncomfortable.

Edwin sighed. "My remains. We found my remains." He gestured to the trunk. "Stashed and forgotten in the attic at the school where I... yes."

She leaned over neatly, knees and back unbending, and peered into the trunk. For just a moment, her stern expression softened somewhat. "Oh. Wee lamb..."

Edwin blinked, the gentleness of that designation altogether a little more than he was prepared for. He found himself unsure what to do with it, so he put it down on the floor and backed away slowly with a clear of his throat. "Yes, it's been a... trying few days."

"There's something about 'em," said Charles. "We think they're sort of... haunted."

"They're making Edwin sick — keeping him here, talking in his head," added Crystal.

"Found some notes about it happening to someone else." Charles picked up the book from the floor at his side and tapped the cover. "Basically, we don't sort them out, Edwin's fucked."

"Thank you, Charles," Edwin muttered.

"I see," she said, taking the book from Charles and flicking through it. Though she merely riffled through the pages as if she were shuffling a deck of cards, Edwin had no doubt the information found its way into her brain somehow. An enviable talent. "And how do you intend to 'sort them out'?"

"Unfinished business is our best bet so far," said Crystal. "But it's gotta be something super basic. Something unconscious."

"And I take it burial didn't work?"

Edwin looked at Charles. Charles looked at Crystal. Crystal, wide-eyed, only shrugged.

"We... have not attempted burial," said Edwin, carefully.

The Night Nurse stared at him, eyes slightly bugged, before they narrowed. "You haven't. Tried. Burial?" she said, voice clipped, stilted. Sharp and precise as the rhythmic snip of a pair of sewing scissors.

"Well, um, no — but, it was gonna be next on the list!" Charles lied.

"Children," she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with two immaculate fingernails. "In the event of cursed or haunted remains, proper burial is almost always standard protocol! Did any one of you think to read the Lost & Found Guidelines and Procedures manual that I gave to you?"

Edwin, abashed, shifted his weight and steepled his fingers. "I... gave it a cursory glance."

Edwin had read some dry texts in his time, often with interest and even some pleasure, but even by his standards that tome had been... a difficult read. He'd wished fervently, as he did most every day, that Niko had still been with them. How she'd managed to read that book at all, let alone absorb and decode its convoluted contents in a handful of hours, remained one of life's great mysteries. A truly uncanny affinity with the text, as if she'd written it herself.

The Night Nurse scowled. "Well. Chop chop, then — kindly locate a suitable, respectable burial site and crack on. And once you've got that sorted out, clean up this mess; we can hardly invite clients into this pig sty."

She cursed under her breath, in a language too old for even Edwin's linguist's ear, as she picked up the briefcase by her feet. It seemed to weigh a tonne — possibly a non-figurative one. "Now. If that's all sorted out, I've accrued a lot of paperwork from the conference. I'll be attending to that in my study and I would strongly advise you not interrupt me." She huffed a frustrated exhale through her nose. "I do hope that irksome landlady of yours hasn't re-ordered all of my pens, again..."

And with a sharp snap of her fingers, she was gone once more. Folding through space and time neat and sharp-edged as an origami crane, she teleported to the top floor, and the other disused apartment where she'd set up her own office to distance herself from 'the youth'.

The three of them left behind stared at the empty spot, where her stiletto heels had pinched small matching dips in the floorboard.

"Well," said Charles. "Seems as good a start as any, yeah?"

"Yes," said Edwin, tightly. "I'm amazed we hadn't thought of it."

"I was, uh. I was kinda joking, before, with the mirror and stuff, but..." Crystal furrowed her brow. "Are we like, actually stupid?"

Edwin jotted down burial on the board, and underlined it thrice. "Best not to dwell on it."

~

Edwin and Charles had become quite familiar with London's so-called Magnificent Seven. Unsurprising, given their line of work. Cemeteries and the engravings therein were a treasure trove of useful information when it came to helping the unquiet dead move on.

In fact, they'd visited the sites often enough to form extensive opinions and pick favourites. Edwin's preference was for the peace and quiet of Nunhead, or the fascinating architecture of West Norwood. Charles, on the other hand, had taken a shine to the overgrown, ramshackle remains of Tower Hamlets.

"Almost like it's barely a graveyard anymore, innit?" he'd said of his fondness once, as he bent to inspect another fragment. Many of the gravestones had become so broken, so weather-worn and algae-crusted, they were barely distinguishable from protruding roots in the undergrowth. "Practically a jungle. Like a proper adventure, yeah?"

Edwin let him have his fun, but truth be told, he took some dislike to their outings to that particular cemetery. He'd not attended a service there in life — few in his family would have deigned to be buried in London's east end — but he'd visited, on occasion. Usually at the behest of his aunt, who'd insisted a stroll through the grounds was good for the mind and soul.

"Around here, my boy, you're never more than a stone's throw from a dead person, a real person, or a parakeet."

At nine years of age, Edwin had found that statement rather perplexing. At a hundred and twenty, he'd decoded two of the three. 'Real' person, he imagined, referred to the working class in the area, the sort of people Aunt Florence spent the majority of her time with, despite her brother's best attempts. And after thirty years in the company of one Charles Rowland, Edwin couldn't agree with her more on that point. Edwin was, simply and unequivocally, a better and happier person for knowing him. As to the benefit of being among dead people, perhaps she'd been referring to the good psychological practice of acknowledging one's own mortality, in order to make peace with it.

He was, admittedly, still baffled as to what an invasive species of parrot could provide for his mental acuity. He suspected she'd just thrown them in the mix because she enjoyed the colours, and respected the rule of threes.

Memories of an aunt he wished he'd tried harder to understand set aside, the cemetery was still not an easy place for him. Unlike much of London, which looked so different from his day it could be mistaken for a new city altogether, the cemetery had few modern additions. The last hundred years were marked only in growth and destruction. The shellings of the nineteen forties had shaken the stones loose, and nature had crawled in through the cracks. It was a place where each long year of his absence from the world lay plainly marked, like chalk notches on a cell wall.

Fortunately, it was not to Tower Hamlets that Crystal's internet led them, but to Kensal Green. Edwin was rather embarrassed about being unable to recall the cemetery or plot location himself. But in life, he'd visited it only a handful of times, for funerals or family pilgrimages. Over the course of seventy years in Hell, he'd lost far more vital information from his life than a burial site.

To be truthful, which cemetery it was mattered little to Edwin. After a week of confinement, he was just grateful for the outing.

There was the question, of course, of what to do about the bones and their separation anxiety if Edwin were to leave. But Charles outright refused to leave Edwin alone with them, so a temporary solution was devised. An effective (if inelegant) workaround.

Charles gave a low whistle. "Mate. This whole bloody plot's yours?"

"My family's, yes. My great, great grandfather's investment, if I recall correctly." Edwin went to give his bowtie an anxious tug, only to remember he wasn't wearing it. Lost in the dreadful haze of the last week. He settled for adjusting the collar of his shirt. "He was always quite adamant about being buried away from 'the rabble'."

"'Course he was," Charles snorted.

"So, what are we looking for?" asked Crystal, rubbing her arms. The sky was heavy with the threat of rain, and going by her chosen attire the weather must have been fresh for July. "Like... just a big enough patch to start digging?"

Edwin tutted. "Crystal. The onus is on a proper burial; we can hardly tip my mortal remains into a hole in the ground."

"I'd dig a nice hole," Charles joked, nudging Edwin with his elbow. "I'm great at digging holes."

He had mastered quite a technique over the years, but that was by the by. "There might be a grave waiting already," said Edwin.

"Like an empty one?" said Charles.

Edwin nodded. "It wasn't strictly orthodox, but I recall a similar arrangement when my Uncle Cuthbert perished at sea."

"Okay," said Crystal, rolling her shoulders and switching on her torch. "Let's get looking. I don't wanna be the only visible person digging up graves when the sun comes up."

"Check them all, thoroughly," said Edwin. "I did die rather young. It's possible I share a headstone with... with my mother."

Crystal and Charles set to — but not before casting him another worried look or two. Edwin was rather tiring of those. Just because he was being plagued by malicious forces beyond their ken didn't mean he needed to be mollycoddled.

When Edwin lifted his lantern and took a step towards the nearest headstone, he winced. Then scowled. "Oh, shush," he snapped, giving the trunk a sharp kick with his heel. It skittered a little on the wonky wheels of the pilfered airport luggage trolley to which it had been haphazardly lashed. "I'm hardly going far."

"Careful, Edwin!" Charles called out in a panic.

Edwin rolled his eyes. "I am being careful."

"It's definitely closed, yeah?" Charles persisted.

"Yes, Charles."

"Got your gloves on?"

"Yes, Charles."

"What d'you want him to do?" Crystal chimed in from the next row. "Wear a hazmat suit?"

Charles left a worrying pause. Edwin couldn't see his face at a distance in the dark, but he could see it in his mind's eye. The raised brows, widening eyes, the considering dip of his head as he thought 'actually...'. Absolutely unacceptable.

"Charles," said Edwin, firm. "Less fussing, more searching, if you don't mind."

He grumbled, of course, but his torch beam flitted away and his crunching footsteps resumed.

Though it would be more efficient to aid their efforts, Edwin decided to hang back, standing vigil over the box of bones. He'd hardly be an asset to the search party with a migraine.

Besides, if he was being honest, the idea of stumbling across a familiar name graven into ancient stone was... troubling, to say the least.

And if was being genuinely honest, more troubling still was the idea of being untroubled. It had been so very long since he'd seen his parents, his aunts and uncles and cousins. What little he remembered of them existed in his head only as fleeting snatches of memory. He'd written down facts about them, names and dates and habits and views, but in the end that was all they were. Facts. Impersonal jottings on a piece of paper. Seventy horrific years in Hell, followed by thirty in a situation comparable to a personal heaven, had put all that came before quite out of mind. It was only their recent excursions that had begun to dredge up the past; hauling the pitifully small shipwreck of his mortal life out into the light of day.

Edwin sighed and leaned on the trolley handle. In the lantern glow, the silhouettes of his family's tombstones crouched dark and dubious. No names visible, no detail, only vague forms, pitch black and hunching like a murder of silent crows. He closed his eyes against them.

His bones whispered urgent, incoherent litanies; there was little to do but bob upon the tide, and watch the distant torch beams. At some point, the one denoting Charles scurried over to meet Crystal. They might have been whispering to one another, but Edwin didn't hear, Couldn't hear. Hard to hear much of everything beyond that insistent little voice, breathing its pleading words into his ear.

Hold me hold me hold please hold me...

"Edwin?" came Charles' voice, creeping closer behind twin beams. "Got a problem."

"That doesn't fill me with confidence," said Edwin, opening his eyes slowly. Feeling as if he was coming up from underwater. "The last time you said that in a graveyard, the problem was zombies. And quite a lot of them."

"No zombies," said Crystal, hustling into view side by side with Charles like a two-headed creature in the gloom. Charles' earring flashed in the lantern glow before his worried eyes had the chance to catch up. "But..."

"But...?"

Charles puffed, raising his arms in a sharp shrug before letting his hands fall to his sides with an audible slap. "We can't find you. Anywhere."

Edwin frowned. "Are you certain?"

"Yep. Found an Edward Payne," said Crystal. "But he died in 1909."

"My grandfather," said Edwin, absently. He went to the funeral. He thinks...

"Yeah, well. Closest we've got." Crystal crossed her arms uncomfortably. "There was... we found your mom's stone, but. Your name wasn't on it."

Edwin closed his eyes and exhaled, slowly. "Right. Well. I thought this might be an issue." He adjusted his coat. "If they labelled me a disappearance, it's possible they never had any sort of funeral."

"That's bollocks," was Charles' immediate and incensed response. "No memorial? Not even a bloody stone?"

"Could it be someplace else?" asked Crystal. "Do you have, like, family scattered across the country?"

"This was our plot for generations. We had a branch of the family in the north, but why they'd memorialise me there I haven't the faintest. We scarcely even visited." Edwin's leather gloves creaked, fist braced to fist. "However..."

"What?"

Edwin cleared his throat. "Well. There is, of course, the chapel annexed to St. Hilarion's. I seem to recall a small graveyard in the vicinity."

Even in the low light, Charles looked distinctly ill. "You reckon they buried you there?"

"Evidently, Charles, they didn't bury me at all," he said. "But if there's anywhere else a memorial might be..."

"Great," said Crystal, in a bitter, biting tone that communicated the exact opposite. She sounded about as happy about the lead as Edwin felt. "So. Guess we're going back."

"I suppose so."

"Do we have to?" asked Charles, plaintive. "I mean — no rule saying we have to bury you where your old man put your grave marker, is there?"

"Strictly speaking, no," said Edwin, peevish. "But in the absence of an alternative plan, I think it important we do everything in our power to execute this one flawlessly. It is as I said, only a proper burial will do — and regardless of your hole-digging technique, Charles, I doubt disposing of me in an unmarked pit in the woods is liable to solve anything."

Crystal inhaled sharply.

Charles stared at him, stricken. "Christ, Edwin. I'd fucking never. You know I'd never."

Edwin sighed — a dry, rattling sound. "I know. I... I apologise."

Silence hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable. At least, Edwin imagined it did. For him, silence was a long-lost friend; he'd not met a silence these last days that couldn't be filled with the hushed, manic whispers of the dead.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, massaging his temple. "I'm... I'm not myself."

Dull, distant pressure brushed his hand aside; and Charles held his shoulders and met his eyes.

"You're fine, mate," he said, voice low, urgent. "Just under a bit of stress, yeah?"

Edwin took a slow, steadying inhale, and looked at Charles — even though a part of him wasn't wholly sure he had the right to do so. Charles' signature eyeliner was faded, the neat arcs reduced to dark smudges, making his eyes appear sunken and bruised. It was a little affectation of his, a tell, like misty breaths and uncontrollable shivers. The true emotions peeking through the cracks. He looked about as haggard and overstretched as their poor living colleague did.

And it was all Edwin's doing.

He gathered himself, insomuch as there was anything left to gather. "Well. Mustn't dawdle," he said, giving Charles' arm a brief pat before stepping back from his hands and taking hold of the trolley. "Let us hasten to that chapel while the night is on our side."

Crystal glanced between them both, then evidently decided whatever she wanted to say wasn't worth it. "Fine." She huffed as she collected up an armful of shovels and torches. "Jenny's gonna be real stoked about how many places her van's been seen loitering around tonight."

She tromped off towards the borrowed van in question, looking for all the world like a rather dejected and unsuccessful grave robber. Edwin supposed it did look a bit suspicious, from an outside perspective. Certainly Jenny would have had words to say, if she knew what they were up to. But Jenny was otherwise occupied tonight, and Crystal had a newly minted driver's licence, so there'd been little point bothering her. Crystal disappeared over the grassy verge, leaving Edwin and Charles alone with a couple more shovels and a restless cart of bones.

Charles gave Edwin another worried look, and reached for the pull handle of the trolly. "Let me take those for a bit, mate," he said.

Edwin shook his head and tightened his grip. "They'll make a fuss."

"Well, they can bloody lump it for a minute, can't they?" said Charles. Firmly, but with care, he pried Edwin's finger's from the handle and replaced them with his own. Edwin winced in anticipation of a flare of pain that never came. For whatever reason, for the time being, the temperament of the bones remained stable.

Exhaling slowly, Edwin flexed his fingers. "Thank you," he muttered.

"S'alright." Charles was watching him, all too shrewdly. Shrewdness bore a rather unique flavour when Charles wielded it. Neither cutting nor cruel; it was simply an expression which asked if all was well, and saw right through to the real answer. "Did you..."

"Did I?"

"Did you wanna..." Charles bit his lip, and shrugged. "See anyone? Say anything? Seeing as we're here." He nodded towards the hunching shadows. "With them."

Edwin looked at his feet.

"You don't have to," Charles hastened to assure him. His free hand landed, with that reassuring Charles-signature firmness that carried even through the intangible ether, upon Edwin's shoulder. "Just thought I'd ask, yeah?"

Edwin turned his head to the grave plot. Generations of his family, from before his time, and after. Each as dead as he, or moreso. He imagined Aunt Florence was here, somewhere, despite her cemetery preferences. Uncle Cuthbert. Grandfather Edward. Mother. Father.

The names rang clear as a bell, graven across his memory in his own hasty handwriting. Etched year by torturous year in Hell into the pages of books and the dust of the walls lest he forget; lose the familiar syllables to the sands of time.

The faces to go with them?

Edwin pressed a hand to his chest, to the outline of his notebook where it lay tucked against his heart. The impression of a family crest. A singular tether, a constant reminder. A tribute, like his frantic scrawlings, to the name. Nothing more.

"I... think I'd rather not linger," he said, shamefaced, looking at Charles' hand — if only to avoid his eyes. "If it's all the same to you."

He watched Charles release him. But not without a squeeze, and a slow trail of his hand down his arm. As if to prolong the non-touch as long as possible.

"Say no more, mate," he said, low and achingly kind, as he shored up his hold upon Edwin's mortal remains. "Say no more."

He followed in Crystal's footsteps, towing the trunk and its contents with care and attention. Edwin followed, and did not look back. Perhaps it was for the better, that they'd found no grave waiting to receive him.

He had no wish to be buried amongst strangers.

~

Returning to St. Hilarion's even once had been quite enough for Edwin's nerves. Twice was pushing it. But needs must when the devil drives. And with his own bones now found — and apparently happy to keep their interference to a low, droning whisper whilst being towed along in Charles' steady hand — at least there were no extreme supernatural weather conditions to contend with.

The chapel, as well, was an altogether less familiar area of campus. Edwin had spent his fair share of time there, of course, for Sunday service amongst others. But the headmaster in his time had preferred to conduct assemblies elsewhere, and so the chapel became an infrequent haunt. And a relatively peaceful one, considering his bullies had to torment him very, very quietly, lest they incur the wrath of this God fellow. Or, more pressingly, the wrath of the bishop with the sharp eyes and cutting tongue. He never raised a hand to them himself, but was always quite happy to recommend any ne'er-do-wells for punishment from the school staff. As a result, Sunday service was somewhat of a sanctuary in Edwin's week, which he'd enjoyed greatly; even if the boredom threatened at times to choke him. But he daren't attempt to hide more interesting reading material in his prayer book. Just because he was rarely a target for the bishop's ire did not mean he didn't carry a healthy respect for it.

Much like the rest of the school, the chapel had been well-kept since Edwin's day. Though he wondered if it saw as much use in these enlightened times. Did they still herd the boarders in the door every Sunday? The grass outside was short and freshly chopped. He experienced a moment's pure nostalgia for the fragrance that always erupted about the school when the groundskeeper had been out and about with his little push-mower. That bright, green, fresh scent that bled through the open windows of the classroom on a summer's afternoon, a stark contrast to the smell of books and bodies and the throat-clagging chalk dust. It wasn't often Edwin so keenly missed his sense of smell, but that had always been one of his favourites. Remembered with a vivid fondness not even afforded to his own immediate family.

Being buried on school grounds was certainly not ideal; but buried under fresh cut grass, that he could abide.

"Well," Charles muttered. "This shouldn't take long."

In contrast to the sprawl of Kensal Green cemetery — and even the relatively small subsection of the Payne family plot — the St. Hilarion's graveyard amounted to a mere handful of scattered stones. It seemed relatively few new additions had sprung up since Edwin's time.

"Good," he said, dryly. "They must not be haemorrhaging students at a breakneck pace."

Charles tossed him a wry grin. "S'pose we're special then, eh?"

"Wait," said Crystal. "Charles, is one of these yours?"

He shook his head. "Nah. I'm over Croydon way."

Edwin's gaze snapped to him. "You are?"

"Yeah. Found out a while back." He shrugged, but his expression had clouded. Somewhere behind his eyes, a distant rumble of warning thunder. "Should've been cremated, really. Always thought, 'cause of mum... but, well. Dad had to go and steamroll that, didn't he?" He kicked a clump of loose sod at the side of the cobble path. "Just like he always does. Can't not have it his way, can he?"

Edwin wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that rhetorical. If he were Charles, someone more at ease with the practice of offering comfort, he might have reached out to touch him. But he was no such thing.

"Charming man," he muttered instead, tongue dripping venom. And that, at least, coaxed a wry smile from Charles' scowling lips.

"Right then. Better get looking, hadn't we?" said Charles, as he gently passed the trolley handle back into Edwin's hand, fingers lingering in the changeover. "Be careful, yeah?"

Edwin smiled, tightly, and offered Charles a torch. "Of course."

Charles took it, and he and Crystal marched grimly towards the grave plots. Crystal, Edwin noticed, walked in close step, and gave Charles the reassuring squeeze that Edwin himself had failed to provide. He averted his eyes, glowering at the infernal trunk he was once more saddled with.

It didn't sit well with Edwin. Waiting. He liked to be pragmatic. Not in Charles' sense of the word, of course — impulsive decisions were neither his preference nor his specialty, and he was loathe to charge into a situation unprepared. But preparation in itself was a form of pragmatism, and Edwin had been feeling woefully understocked on both these past few days. When the only resources they had to hand were a single book and the odd scattered diary entry, it made it rather difficult to contribute in any meaningful way to the case. It hadn't even been his idea to fasten the trunk to the trolley — at most, he could claim credit for holding the tape.

Well. He'd had quite enough of waiting. Squaring his shoulders, he took a firmer grip on the handle. "Come along, then," he told his bones brusquely. "Let us see what we can see."

The wheels of the luggage trolley were not well suited to grass and dirt. Edwin wove a very slow, very stilted path across the green, full of routine stops to disentangle the axles from tangles of loose cuttings. But he made it, eventually, to the yard, exchanging a glance with Crystal as he went. She made no efforts to stop him, for which he was quietly grateful. As she continued to inspect the smattering of stones in the southernmost stretch of the small yard, Edwin surveyed the ones closer to the gate. Many of which were clearly too modern to be his, but it made sense to leave no tombstone unturned.

He was directing his gaze away from the carving of a lamb upon an older stone, when something caught his eye. A single name amongst a jumble of them.

His breath caught.

"Edwin?" Charles called, his voice very distant, rising in budding concern. "Edwin, I still can't see you anywhere, mate..."

"Me either," added Crystal.

Edwin didn't look at either of them; cold to his very soul. "I can."

He heard rather than saw their approach, Charles and his insensible loafers skidding in the dirt alongside the confident crunch of Crystal's sturdy boots. The noise stopped abruptly when they reached his side; and silence reigned as they read what was written.

"Shit..." Crystal muttered.

"Edwin," said Charles, quiet. "What's this about?"

"I don't know," said Edwin, his own soft voice roaring like a waterfall in his ears. "But I can make an educated guess."

The stone which bore Edwin's name was not a dedicated gravestone at all. What it was was a tall, distinctive structure, carved in the image of a celtic cross. A better word for it might be cenotaph. Beneath the most prominent engraving on the plaque, the fairly boilerplate 'IN PROUD REMEMBRANCE', a list of names. Edwin's peeked out from within it, almost timid. Eighth down in the roster, amongst a handful of others. All familiar, some more than others. The name Simon Fairfax stood out somewhat.

Charles took a knee in the dirt beside him, reaching out. His gloved fingertips traced Edwin's name in the brass. "Mate..."

It took Edwin some moments to find his voice again.

"Act of God," Edwin parrotted, dully. "Covers all manner of sins, does it not?"

Crystal squatted at his other side, arms folded on her knees.

Edwin wondered who'd originated this rather ingenious cover. The school, or his family. How long had his parents waited, he wondered. How hard had they looked. Did they know, from the moment news of his disappearance reached them, that this was how they'd explain it away? Or did this happy coincidence not occur to them until some time later?

It was rather easier to explain, wasn't it? No uncomfortable questions to be fielded about where Edwin was last seen, or with whom. About why he could have been a target for abuse at the hands of his peers. About what he and at least one other of the boys who'd disappeared that night had in common. An easy explanation; and an easy, expeditious route to a noble death.

He laughed, cut-glass sharp. "How convenient."

"Shit..." Crystal muttered. "Shit. Edwin, I'm so sorry."

"Oh, no, don't be. It's the kindest thing, is it not?" he spat, fingers tightening to a bruising grip on the trolley handle. "I should be thanking them, really. How thoughtful of them to spare me the embarrassment."

"Edwin..." said Charles.

"Really, what a kindness. What a gracious act of self-sacrifice to cover up the truth of the matter for my sake." The words were coming thick and fast, now, but he hadn't the wherewithal to care. He had dead lungs with no need for oxygen, and no shortage of acidic vitriol to burn. "It must have been so very difficult for them, to stand in front of all our friends, relatives, all of father's business associates and lie. Poor Edwin, ran away with his chums to join the front lines. Fought valiantly, or so we heard. How brave of him, that hard-headed, foolish boy. How tragic to see a fine young man cut off in his prime. Oh, but not to worry. At least he died a hero's death, him and all of his little friends. At least he died defending his country, and not in the school that we sent him to, screaming, begging. Pinned against his will, writhing on his back and sobbing like a wretched little Mary Ann!"

The hated words, like a bitter incantation, broke the spell. The red haze bled from his vision and soon, all that was left in its place was sorrow. So old, so aching it could be felt, quite literally, in his very bones.

Closer closer closer please closer...

He dropped the handle, uncaring for how they cried, how it hurt in his head and his heart. How a small, broken part of him wished, shamefully, to throw himself upon them and melt like wax just to make it all stop.

Hold me. Please hold me...

But he sat petrified, a statue among the stones, between Crystal's hand at his elbow and Charles' on his shoulder. Bound inescapably to the terrible moment and so he did the only thing he could think to do. The only thing he felt capable of doing.

He wept.

~

Minutes ticked, inexorably, into hours. A light rain fell, staining the weathered cenotaph a deeper, slicker grey. A stone effigy of a darkening stormcloud.

It was when the sky had wept its fill, when the rain had left behind only a glimmering beading upon the neatly trimmed cemetery grass, that Edwin's tears likewise subsided. He blinked up at the dawn's gloaming.

"Hey," said Crystal, quiet. He looked at her; her jacket was sodden and her curls had been tamped down by the persistent, penetrating drizzle. She hadn't complained once.

Edwin found, with a somewhat detached sense of surprise, that he was as drenched as their living friend. His blazer was heavy with water, his knees damp and grass-stained. A slick forelock of his hair had split from formation to curl, limply, in his vision. He looked to Charles and found he, at least, was dry. But the slight tremor of his hand, the soft puffs of vaporous air from his lips denoted a worry he was simply keeping a tight lid upon.

With a ragged exhale, Edwin wiped his eyes. How strange, to not feel the water, and yet to see his fingers come away wet. "I'm sorry."

Quick as a flash, Charles' hands were upon him. On his neck, cupping his jaw, turning Edwin to face him. Edwin had never so deeply craved something he couldn't have in his life; he wanted the warmth of Charles' hands. Wanted them to ward off the ice settling upon his very soul.

"Oi. You have nothing to be sorry about," said Charles, serious as the grave.

Edwin breathed in, slow and shuddering, and nodded. His hand found Charles', and held on tight.

"Are you okay?" asked Crystal. Then, with an audible wince: "Shit, of course you're not okay. I mean, like... physically, are you okay? You look..."

A droplet of water broke from the tip of Edwin's flyaway hair. "Like a drowned rat?"

"Uh. Yeah. Kinda."

Edwin shook his head. "They're — this near to them, it's like I can..." He shivered. "Everything feels very... close."

"Hey, now. You're alright. You're okay, yeah? Here." Charles shrugged out of his coat, and draped it over Edwin's shoulders. "It's alright, mate."

It made precious little difference, of course, being draped in a piece of ghostly wool. He'd much rather Charles have kept it for himself, to stave off his own spectral chill. But he clutched it tight to his chest, nonetheless.

"So what now?" asked Crystal, bleakly.

Edwin had no answer for her.

"Could try burying 'em with your family, anyway," said Charles. "Make a grave ourselves. A proper one."

"It won't work," said Edwin, softly.

"Why not?" asked Crystal.

Edwin wasn't wholly sure why it wouldn't, but it wouldn't. He'd felt the unrest of the bones at the very suggestion, in the back of his mind. As if an invisible hand had grabbed at his head and yanked it back by the scalp.

"They don't want to be there," he said, gathering Charles' coat tight around him. "He doesn't... I don't."

Crystal rubbed her face. If there was any of her eye cosmetic left behind from these frantic days, it had been washed away by the rain. "Would here work? I know it's not like, a real grave, but..."

Edwin, considering it, stretched out a shaking hand and sank his fingers into the wet, unresisting dirt beneath the stone. The pain was as immediate as it was pronounced. Less a pull of the hair, and more of an icepick to the frontal lobe. "No," he grit out through clenched teeth, falling back on his haunches in the grass. "No, no, here... here won't do, either."

"Maybe they don't even bloody want to be buried." Charles threw up his hands in frustration, before raking both through his hair. "Christ, not got much to go on, have we?"

Silence hung in the air following his outburst, taut and trembling; until Crystal snipped the thread. "But we could."

Charles' gaze snapped to her. "No."

"What choice do we have, Charles?" she argued. "If there's no grave, and if they don't want us to make one, then — then we've gotta find out what they do want. And I have a way to do it."

"It's too dangerous," he said, bringing his hands down to his thighs with an impact for emphasis. "Right, Edwin?"

Edwin looked at her, and she at him. She raised her eyebrows.

"It is too dangerous," he agreed, barely above a whisper. "And I cannot ask you to do it."

She hesitated, then put her hand on his arm. "But you want to ask me."

He nodded.

She nodded in return. "Then I'll do it."

"Crys..." Charles mumbled.

"Charles," she said, in a tone that took no prisoners. "Open the box."

He glanced between them, fists clenching fretfully on his knees. But one look at Edwin's sorry state, and he seemed to make his uneasy peace with the idea. "Alright. Alright..."

It was hardly a quick or elegant process, laying the trolley down flat and cutting through the yards and yards of heavy-duty duct tape with Charles' pocket knife. Some cursing was involved, and Edwin considered, briefly, that perhaps they ought to have adjourned to the office for this part. But it was too late now. The trunk's mummifying wrappings lay in mangled shreds about the grass, and Charles had the padlock in hand. He cast Edwin one more wary, terrified glance, before he willed it open with a click and let it fall to the ground with a damp and anticlimactic squelch.

The trunk swung open with its customary ominous creak. That faint blue iridescence from within shone upon the weathered planes of the cenotaph, and on each of their harrowed faces. Still vibrant in the pre-dawn light, not yet drowned by the encroaching sun.

Crystal climbed to her knees, shuffled closer, and propped her elbows upon the edge of the box. Her face was sallow in the direct glow of the contents, her eyes disconcertingly enormous.

"Careful..." said Charles, visibly twitching with the effort of not pulling her back. "Just..."

"Don't die?" she muttered.

He chewed his lip. "You've still got a life to lose," he mumbled.

She looked at him with a weary kindness, then. Tucked away somewhere in the wry uptick of her smile. "I'm not gonna." She glanced between him and Edwin as she reached out, tentative, naught outstretched but her littlest finger. "Guess you're both stuck with me."

Edwin's breath hitched. He extended his hand to her. "Crystal..."

But she closed the distance, first; her finger brushing like a kiss upon the crown of Edwin's bare, hollow skull.

The effect was instantaneous; her eyes clouding into perfect white pearls, her mouth falling open. Edwin half expected her to scream like a banshee, or start speaking in tongues but it was far, far worse.

She started crying.

It was a hideous sound, wet and wrenching; the sort of crying that had to escape through the mouth lest it force itself through the ribs instead. Edwin's blood ran cold.

"Crystal, that's enough now," he pleaded, trying — and failing — to keep his voice level against the rising panic. He reached to touch her, but hesitated — what if he only need touch the bones by proxy to fall into their trap? "Crystal, let go, please —"

Charles had no such considerations. "Crystal!" he hollered, throwing himself at her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "Crystal, stop it, now!"

He pulled, and her hand parted from the skull.

She inhaled sharply, her eyes flashing back to normal in the space of a blink. The tears, however, continued to roll.

"Crystal. Crystal, you alright?" asked Charles, frantic. He'd yet to release his hold upon her, rocking her back and forth with his own restless motions.

She sobbed, burying her face into Charles' arms.

Edwin swallowed, and inched forward. "Crystal. What did you see?"

"Oi! Give her a sec!" Charles defended.

But Edwin could feel it, already, the bones and their insistence creeping back into his mind. Maddeningly inscrutable. If Crystal had managed to get even a glimpse...

"Crystal, please," he breathed, hushed and intense, crowding closer. He took her trembling hands in his, letting Charles' coat fall from his shoulders to the ground. "Please, Crystal, what did you see? What does he want?"

When she finally looked at him, he wished she hadn't. Not even in his lowest moments had he ever felt such pity in her gaze.

"He's so lonely," she said, sounding very small and very broken, very little like herself at all. "That's all. There's nothing else he wants, nothing else he knows, he just." She sniffed. "He just doesn't want to be alone anymore."

Hold me please hold me...

Edwin slumped, a dead weight. Cold and heavy as the stones which surrounded them.

“How long… How long will I have to stay with him in order to make him… happy? Do you think?”

"It's been in front of us the entire time," he said, voice ringing out hollow in the cold snap of the graveyard air. "It was so obvious, we just..."

Before my very eyes he melted, oozed, his liquid remains drawn to the bones like water to a spigot, like gas to a vacuum.

"I just did not wish to see it."

He saw Crystal's hands squeeze his, unfeeling. She may as well be across the universe.

"Edwin..." said Charles, low and urgent. His hand reached out past Crystal, going for Edwin's shoulder, where it belonged.

Edwin flinched. "Don't."

Charles froze.

"I'm sorry," Edwin whispered. "But please don't."

He couldn't bear it, another empty embrace, another grip without weight or warmth. To touch Charles without feeling him. Not now.

His pitiful, cadaverous heart couldn't take one more drop.

~

Dawn crept up on them, a silent hunter; rosy claws touching upon three harrowed faces in a graveyard. Each as young, as open, as lost as the next.

Somewhere in the woods, the first blackbird of the morning began to sing.

~~

Thank you to all who've bookmarked, subscribed, and especially commented, love you loads, until next time 💛

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Ok, hi! I absolutely ADORE and LOVE all of your writing, and I know you're not going to continue Green Eyed World, but I just wanted to know what you had planned for the ending so my anxious ass can finally rest in peace. Would Remy leave his universe to be with the reader? Would they live together happily ever-after or would it be bittersweet? I'm just so curious and I know you're the only person who can answer that ^^'. Anyways, I hope you're doing well <3

Okay so! I’m gonna give you my favourite bits that I wrote for the last few chapters.

Keep in mind none of this has been edited ❤️

Chapter 10:

Remyknocks gently on your door, the familiar sound a small comfort. “Hey,” he calls out when

you open it. “I brought you that sandwich I promised you. Thought you might be hungry after everything.”

You smile, a touch of your usual banter returning despite the emotional toll of the day. “You actually made it? I’m impressed.”

Remy chuckles, stepping inside and holding out the sandwich. “Well, I figured it was the least I could do. Plus, I didn’t want you accusing me of forgetting again.”

You take the sandwich gratefully and start to unwrap it. As you both settle into a light-hearted conversation, the mood lightens. The joking and laughter momentarily distract you from the Heaviness you’ve been feeling.

Eventually, the banter dies down, and a more serious tone fills the room. You take a deep breath, feeling a mix of embarrassment and vulnerability. “Remy, can I ask you a favor?”

He looks at you with genuine concern. “Anything. What’s up?”

You hesitate, struggling to find the right words. “After today... I need to feel something real. Something safe. I know this might sound strange, but... could you stay with me tonight?”

Remy’s expression softens as he processes your request. He closes the door behind him and moves towards the chair by your desk, pulling off his boots. “Sure,” he says, his voice reassuring.

“Just give me a sec.”

He slips into bed beside you, pulling the covers back and settling in behind you. For a moment, he just holds you, hesitating as if searching for the right words.

Finally, he wraps his arms around you, his warmth and presence a soothing balm to your frazzled nerves. “You did amazing today,” he whispers, his voice low and sincere. “I’m so proud of you.”

You close your eyes, letting his embrace envelop you. The comfort of his touch, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and his soft words provide a sense of security you desperately need.

You shift closer, seeking solace in his arms, letting go of the day’s stresses as you drift into a more peaceful state.

In the quiet of the night, you find a semblance of peace, knowing that despite everything, you’re

not alone.

As you lie there wrapped in Remy's embrace, a profound realization begins to settle over you.

Amidst the chaos, the uncertainty, and the emotional turmoil of the past few days, one thing stands out with absolute clarity. In the midst of all the confusion, there’s an undeniable truth: your love for him is real.

The gentle rise and fall of his chest against your back, the warmth of his arms, and the sincerity in his voice when he whispered how proud he was—these things ground you. They remind you that amidst everything else, this feeling you have for him is genuine and unwavering.

You let the sensation of his closeness wash over you, appreciating the tangible reality of his presence. It’s a stark contrast to the abstract challenges you’re facing. As you nestle deeper into his embrace, you hold onto this truth, letting it be a beacon of stability in the ever-shifting landscape of your life.

With each breath, you reaffirm this feeling, understanding that no matter what happens, this love is a constant, something solid and real. It becomes a source of strength, something to hold onto when everything else feels uncertain. In the quiet of the night, you allow yourself to fully embrace this truth, finding comfort and solace in the knowledge that this love, at least, is something real in a world full of chaos.

As you lie in Remy's arms, the weight of the day's events begins to lift, and a deep sense of calm washes over you. Gently, you reach for his hand, which rests across your stomach, and bring it up to your mouth. You press a soft, tender kiss to the back of his hand, letting it linger for a moment before holding it against your chest.

Remy's hand is warm against your skin, a comforting presence that soothes your racing thoughts. You feel him respond with a lazy, affectionate kiss to the back of your head, his arms tightening around you in a protective embrace.

The simple gesture, the closeness, and the warmth create a cocoon of safety that you haven’t felt in a long time. As you drift into a peaceful sleep, the first you've experienced since the chaos with Thanos, you hold onto the tranquility of the moment. Remy’s presence, the gentle pressure of his hand, and the steady rhythm of his breathing provide a sense of security and comfort.

In this serene embrace, you finally let go of the stress and fear that have been your constant companions, finding solace in the knowledge that, at least for tonight, you’re not alone.

The night drifts on peacefully, each breath you take syncing with Remy's, your bodies nestled together as if they were made to fit just so. The usual barrage of thoughts and anxieties that plague your mind every night is mercifully quiet, replaced by the steady beat of his heart against your back.

You stir slightly, still half-asleep, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest. In the darkness, his presence feels even more profound, like an anchor grounding you to something real, something tangible in a world that often feels like it's slipping through your fingers. Your hand still grips his, pressed to your chest, as if holding on to this moment could make it last forever.

Remy shifts behind you, and you feel his breath warm against your neck as he whispers your name, so softly you’re not sure if you heard it or if it was a dream. You can tell he's still awake, his hold on you tightening just a bit, as if he needs the reassurance that you're really there with him, just as much as you need it from him.

"Y' know," he murmurs, his voice low and rough with sleep, "you ain’t gotta do any of this alone."

His words are gentle, filled with an understanding that cuts through the night, touching something deep within you.

You don’t reply, partly because you’re too tired, and partly because you know he’s right. Instead, you just press yourself closer to him, letting the silence speak for you. Remy’s hand moves from r chest to rest protectively around your waist, and you let yourself sink further into his embrace, feeling more at peace than you have in years. As the minutes stretch into hours, sleep pulls you both deeper into its embrace. The world outside fades into the background, leaving just the two of you, wrapped up in a moment that feels both fleeting and eternal.

Chapter 11:

You stood on the battlefield, the students gathered behind you, ready to fight at a moment's notice. The X-Men stood on guard, a formidable wall of defense, with Remy right by your side.

His presence was more than comforting; it was the only thing grounding you in this moment of uncertainty.

Before you, Kang stood alone. His purple jacket flowed with the wind, hands clasped behind his back, a serene and confident smile playing on his lips.

"I thought he would’ve brought an army," Logan growled, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the solitary figure.

You didn’t break your gaze from Kang, your voice hardening with disgust. "Kang doesn't need an army," you replied, bitterness seeping into your tone. "He has me. It’s always been me."

Beside you, Remy reached out and took your hand, his fingers interlocking with yours. The warmth of his touch contrasted with the cold dread creeping up your spine. When you turned to meet his gaze, his eyes were intense, filled with emotions that words could never convey in such a fleeting moment. His love, his fear, his desperation—all of it was there in the way he looked at you.

"I know," you murmured, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, though the words were as much for you as they were for him.

You reluctantly let go, stepping forward to meet Kang in the middle of the field. His smile widened, pleased at your approach. "I didn’t expect such a large welcoming," he remarked, his tone casual, almost mocking. Though he appeared unassuming, you knew better than to underestimate him. You could feel his power, a dark force that seemed to resonate with something deep within you.

"They’re ready to blast you off this field," you said, your voice steady despite the storm inside you.

Kang spread his arms wide, inviting the challenge. "Let them," he replied smoothly, pausing as he studied you. "But you won’t."

"What do you want?" you demanded quietly, the words laced with suspicion. "It's been you, hasn't it? Those dreams I've been having... you've been planting them."

Kang shook his head slightly, a knowing smile on his lips. "They’re not dreams. They’re memories. Your memories. Of a future you haven’t yet lived."

A frown creased your brow. "How can they be memories when there’s only one of me?"

He wagged a finger at you, teasingly cryptic. "Yes, this is true. But some things must remain close to my chest," he whispered, stepping closer until his face was inches from yours. "Those memories happen. I lay waste to every single person in this school. Every child, every mutant, every human." His gaze drifted over your shoulder, settling on Remy with a dark, deliberate intent. "Your boyfriend will be the last to go. That one, I'll make you watch. Unless..."

He took a step back, giving you a choice. "You come with me."

Your refusal was instant. "No."

Kang smiled, almost as if he expected your answer. "I don’t expect an answer right now. But I’ll be back. This time tomorrow, I’ll be back to get you."

"You sound convinced that I’ll come," you said, your voice firm despite the unease gnawing at you.

"Twenty-four hours is all I need for you to make up your mind," he said, his smile never faltering.

"And you will come."

Chapter 12:

The room was warm, the faint scent of your body wash lingering in the air as you sat on the edge of your bed, one leg propped up on a chair, your fingers working lotion into your skin. Your hair was still damp from the shower, and you were dressed in a pair of comfortable sports shorts and one of Remy’s shirts that hung loosely on you. The fabric carried his scent, wrapping you in a sense of comfort even as your thoughts swirled with everything that had happened earlier.

The door creaked open, and Remy stepped inside. He looked tense, his brow furrowed, and you could see the worry etched into every line of his face. His grey jumper clung to his frame, making him look both effortlessly casual and heartbreakingly handsome. You could tell from the set of his jaw that he was ready to argue, and you braced yourself for what was coming.

"You can't go with him," Remy started, his voice low but insistent. "We’ll fight this, together. You don’t have to—"

You cut him off with a small smile, looking up from your task. "You look really good in that," you said, nodding toward his jumper.

For a moment, he looked taken aback, as if your response was the last thing he expected. His eyes flickered with confusion before they softened, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease.

You went back to moisturizing your legs, the simple act grounding you in the midst of the chaos swirling around you both.

"Don’t do this," he continued, his tone pleading now. "You’re talkin’ like you’re already gone. We can fight him, chérie. Together. We’ve fought worse."

You paused, your hands stilling as you considered his words. Then, without looking up, you spoke, your voice calm, almost serene. "I love you," you said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Really, I do. I’ve been wanting to tell you for so long, but there always seems to be chaos. It never feels like the right time."

You closed the lid of the lotion container and leaned back in your chair, your gaze finally lifting to meet his. "This just proves there never is a good time, doesn’t it?" you added with a soft, almost bittersweet smile.

For a moment, Remy just stared at you, the words hanging in the air between you. He seemed stunned, as if he didn’t quite know how to process what you’d just said. Then, slowly, he crouched down in front of you, his hands resting on your thighs. His thumbs began to trace gentle circles into your skin, the warmth of his touch soothing yet filled with an undercurrent of desperation.

"Why now?" he asked quietly, his voice laced with a sadness that tugged at your heart. "Why tell me now when you’re thinkin’ ‘bout goin’? Don’t do this to me, chère. Don’t make me watch you walk away."

You reached out, brushing a hand through his hair, your fingers lingering on his cheek. "Because I don’t want to regret not telling you," you admitted, your voice softening as you looked into his eyes. "I’ve been afraid, Remy. Afraid of what this all means, of what could happen. But I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I don’t want to leave without you knowing how much you mean to me."

His eyes shimmered with emotion as he leaned into your touch, his breath catching in his throat. "I’ve known, chérie," he murmured, his voice thick. "I’ve always known. But you ain’t leavin’. I ain’t lettin’ you go. We’ll figure this out, just stay with me."

You could see the raw vulnerability in his gaze, the way he was holding on to hope, to you, with everything he had. It broke something inside you, seeing him like this, and yet it made you love him even more.

"I want to stay," you whispered, your thumb brushing over his lips. "But I have to do what’s right. And right now, what’s right feels impossible."

He shook his head, his grip on your thighs tightening as if he could physically hold you here, keep you safe by sheer will alone. "There’s always a way," he insisted, his voice trembling slightly. "We’ve always found a way before, and we’ll find one now. Please, chérie. I can’t lose you."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, leaning down to press your forehead against his. "You won’t lose me," you promised, though you knew the words might be hollow. "I’ll come back to you, I swear."

Remy closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he tried to believe you, tried to hold on to the sliver of hope that your words offered. His hands slid up to your waist, pulling you closer as if he could fuse you to him, keep you anchored in this moment.

"I love you too," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "So much it scares me."

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him as tightly as he held you. In that embrace, time seemed to stand still, the looming threat of tomorrow momentarily forgotten in the warmth of his arms.

But even as you held each other, the weight of what was to come lingered, a shadow that neither of you could fully shake.

Remy’s hands remained on your thighs, his thumbs still gently tracing circles as he held your gaze, searching for something in your eyes. His voice was soft, almost fragile, as he asked, "Do you remember what you told me that night in the cabin? When Wade, Logan, and Vanessa were there, and I was beggin’ you to leave… do you remember what you said?"

You felt your throat tighten, the memory of that night flooding back with vivid clarity. The desperation in his voice, the way he had pleaded with you to walk away, to save yourself from the chaos that surrounded you both. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you nodded slowly, the words tumbling out of you in a whisper, "In every universe, I’ll find you."

His breath hitched, and before you could say anything more, Remy surged forward, capturing your lips in a deep, desperate kiss. It was filled with all the emotions he couldn’t put into words—fear, love, longing, and the overwhelming need to hold on to you, to keep you with him.

You returned the kiss just as fervently, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as if that could somehow make the world outside disappear. His lips moved against yours, speaking a silent plea, a desperate attempt to make you stay, to make you see that he couldn’t bear to lose you.

"Please," he murmured against your lips, his voice trembling with emotion. "Please don’t leave me. I can’t… I can’t do this without you."

Chapter 13:

Kangaroo control over you was absolute, but he underestimated the power of your will and the strength of your love for Remy. Even as you endured the trials he set before you, you remained determined to find a way to return to him. The hope that one day you would be reunited, that the love you shared would be a beacon through the darkness, was your guiding light.

Weeks turned into months as Kang tightened his grip on you, gradually molding you into the weapon he needed to prune timelines and eliminate events that didn't align with his grand vision. The sterile, emotionless halls of his stronghold became your world, the metallic coldness seeping into your bones as time wore on. You were no longer just you; you were a tool, a means to an end in Kang's relentless pursuit of power and control over the multiverse.

At first, you resisted with everything you had. Each time Kang commanded you to alter a timeline or erase a pivotal event, you would argue, plead, or defy him. You challenged him with questions—what right did he have to dictate the course of countless lives, to snuff out entire realities just because they didn’t fit his plans? Your defiance was met with cold indifference or, worse, twisted amusement. Kang would listen to your protests with a slight, condescending smile, as if your resistance was nothing more than a minor inconvenience, a fleeting rebellion that he knew he could crush.

And crush it he did.

Kang was patient, methodical. He knew that breaking you wouldn’t happen overnight, so he chipped away at your resolve, bit by bit. He exposed you to the horrors of unchecked timelines, showing you visions of chaotic futures where unchecked power led to devastation, where the worlds you once knew lay in ruins. He presented these visions as proof of his necessity, as if the atrocities he forced you to commit were somehow justified in the name of a greater good.

The first few times you were forced to prune a timeline, the guilt was unbearable. You would stand on the precipice of a world, staring at the people who lived there, the moments they cherished, and the futures they hoped for. You would see yourself in them—ordinary beings trying to find their place in the universe—and you would feel the weight of what you were about to do. Kang’s cold voice would echo in your mind, urging you to complete the task, to erase these lives as if they were nothing more than glitches in his grand design.

The act of pruning was excruciating, a deep violation of everything you once believed in. You would watch as entire timelines—whole realities full of people, hopes, dreams, and histories— were reduced to nothingness. The first time you pruned a timeline, you collapsed afterward, the enormity of what you had done crashing down on you like a tidal wave. You wept for those lives, for the universes that would never be, and for the person you once were, who would have fought to the death before allowing such an atrocity.

But Kang knew how to erode that person away

Chapter 14:

Remy’s voice, soft and laced with concern, pulls you back to the present. “You hungry? Thirsty? Anything you need?” His question is tentative, like he’s trying to find some way to make you comfortable again, to bring you back to this reality where you’re safe, home, and with the people who care about you.

You look at him, then at the rest of your friends standing around you, their eyes filled with a mixture of hope, worry, and love. You smile softly, trying to reassure them, even as your emotions churn inside you. “I just… I just need a minute,” you say, your voice steady but quiet.

Without waiting for a response, you turn on your heel and walk toward the living room. The familiar space feels both comforting and alien, filled with memories of a life you’ve been disconnected from for so long. You sink down onto the couch, your hands gripping the fabric as if anchoring yourself to something real, something that won’t slip away.

Logan appears in the doorway, his presence a steadying force. He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he just walks in and takes a seat beside you, giving you the space you need to gather your thoughts. The silence between you is comfortable, a reminder that you don’t always have to fill the void with words.

“It’s okay to take your time with all this,” Logan finally says, his voice low and rough, but gentle.

He looks at you, his expression understanding, patient. “Ain’t no rush to figure it all out. You’ve been through hell.”

You sigh, rubbing your hands together as if trying to warm them. “I don’t feel like I belong here anymore,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “Not after everything I’ve done. I don’t even know where to start.”

Logan watches you carefully, his eyes never leaving yours. He’s always been able to see through the bullshit, cutting straight to the heart of the matter. “You belong here, kid,” he says, his tone firm but not unkind. “You think you’re the only one carryin’ around guilt? You think we haven’t all done things we regret?”

You open your mouth to protest, but he holds up a hand, stopping you. “Let me finish,” he insists, his voice softening. “When you were gone, it messed Remy up. The first few months… hell, the first six months, he wouldn’t leave the house. He barely left your room. He was holdin’ on by a thread, waitin’ for you to come back.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, the weight of them sinking in as you picture Remy, alone, refusing to leave the space where he felt closest to you. “Then it changed,” Logan continues. “He started avoidin’ the house altogether, doin’ anything to keep busy, to keep his mind off the fact that you weren’t here. But even then… even when he started actin’ normal again, he still wasn’t the same. He was still missin’ you, every day.”

You bite your lip, the guilt gnawing at you. “But it’s not just him,” Logan adds. “Wade and Vanessa—they moved in here. Gave up their apartment. They didn’t want to leave him alone, didn’t want him to fall apart without you. They’ve all been waitin’ for you to come back, hopin’ for it. Those aren’t the actions of people who don’t have your back. They’re with you, through thick and thin, no matter what.”

You nod, swallowing hard as tears prick at your eyes. The weight of their love, their loyalty, presses down on you, making it harder to breathe. You’ve been so focused on your own guilt, your own pain, that you didn’t realize how much your absence affected them—how much they’ve been hurting too.

Logan leans back, his gaze still fixed on you. “Look, you’ve been through a lot. We all have. But that doesn’t mean you don’t belong here. This is your home. We’re your family. And if you’re feelin’ lost, we’ll help you find your way back. But you gotta let us in. Don’t push us away because you’re scared of what you’ve done. We’ve all got blood on our hands, but that doesn’t mean we don’t deserve a chance to make things right.”

You wipe at your eyes, nodding slowly. “I don’t know how to make it right, Logan,” you admit, your voice thick with emotion.

“We’ll figure it out together,” Logan says simply. “One step at a time. But don’t shut yourself off from us. You’re not alone anymore.”

His words sink in, and for the first time since you walked through that door, you feel a glimmer of hope, a tiny spark that maybe, just maybe, you can start to heal. You’ve been through hell, but you’ve also found your way back to the people who matter most. And they’re willing to stand by you, no matter what.

As you and Remy make your way down the hallway to your bedroom, the house feels strangely familiar yet different, like you’re seeing it through the eyes of a stranger. Everything seems both the same and completely new, as if you’ve been gone longer than just a year. The walls hold memories, echoes of conversations and laughter, but now they seem quieter, waiting for you to fill them with life again.

When you reach your bedroom door, Remy hesitates for a moment, glancing at you before opening it. The room is just as you remember it—your things exactly where you left them, your bed neatly made. But there’s something different about it now, something that makes your chest tighten with emotion.

“I’ve been sleeping here,” Remy says quietly, his voice breaking the silence. “But I’ll clean it up for you before tonight. I know you probably want some space.”

You look at him, seeing the weariness in his eyes, the weight of everything he’s been carrying since you left. He’s trying to give you the room you might need, to be respectful of whatever boundaries you might have now. But that’s not what you want. Not at all.

A small, genuine smile forms on your lips as you shake your head. “You don’t need to clean anything up, Remy. You can stay in here as long as you want.” Your words are soft, almost tentative, but the meaning behind them is clear. You’re asking him to stay with you, a silent plea that you hope he understands.

Remy’s eyes widen just a bit, a flicker of surprise passing through them before he nods, the corners of his mouth lifting in a gentle, almost relieved smile. He knows what you’re asking, and he’s not going to make you ask twice.

You move over to your wardrobe, intending to grab some clothes to change into. As you rummage through the hangers, your fingers brush against something soft and familiar. You pull it out and see your old SHIELD jumper, the one you haven’t worn in years. It brings a wave of nostalgia, memories of a time when things were simpler, when the world made a little more sense.

For a moment, you just stand there, holding the jumper in your hands, your mind racing with everything that’s happened since you last wore it. The pain, the loss, the unimaginable choices you had to make. But also the love, the connections that have brought you back here, to this very moment.

You close the wardrobe, holding the jumper close for a second before setting it aside with the clothes you’ve chosen. “I need a shower,” you say, your voice steady but laced with the weight of everything you’ve been through.

Remy watches you closely, his eyes filled with an intensity that makes your heart ache. He doesn’t move, just stands there, as if he’s trying to memorize this moment, trying to etch it into his memory.

“I’ve missed you,” he finally says, his voice low, almost reverent.

Those three simple words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you feel the tears welling up again. You’ve missed him too—missed everything about him. The way he looks at you, the way he’s always there, quietly offering support and love without asking for anything in return.

You nod, swallowing hard as you meet his gaze. “I’ve missed you too, Remy,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but you know he hears it. He always hears you.

There’s a silence that stretches between you, filled with all the things that don’t need to be said.

You’re both here, you’re both alive, and that’s what matters. The rest—the healing, the rebuilding—will come in time.

Finally, you turn towards the bathroom, your hand brushing against his arm as you pass by him, a silent promise that you’ll be back, that you’re not going anywhere. As you close the door behind you, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, trying to steady yourself as you prepare to face the reality of everything that’s happened.

The water runs warm as you step into the shower, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, you let yourself relax, if only for a few moments. The water washes away the grime, the tension, the pain, leaving you feeling a little lighter, a little more like yourself.

But even as you try to find peace in the simple act of washing away the past, you can’t help but think about Remy, just on the other side of the door. Waiting. Ready to pick up the pieces with you, no matter how broken they are.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you can find your way back to each other. One step at a time.

Remy paces the hallway outside the bathroom, his fingers drumming anxiously against his thighs as he listens to the muffled sounds coming from behind the closed door. The running water of the shower mixes with the quiet sobs, a stark reminder of all that’s been lost and all that’s been endured. He wants nothing more than to burst in there, to hold you and offer whatever comfort he can. But he knows, deep down, that you need space right now. You’ll come to him when you’re ready.

Chapter 15:

The sun dips below the horizon, the first stars begin to twinkle in the sky. The moment is serene, filled with a sense of calm that you all have longed for.

As the sky deepens into twilight, the atmosphere on the balcony shifts to one of quiet reflection.

Remy finishes his cigarette, tossing the butt into the ashtray with a soft clink. He stretches out his legs, sitting closer to you and Vanessa, the warmth of his presence a comforting anchor.

Vanessa, always perceptive, reaches out and places a hand on your arm. “It’s good to see you smiling again,” she says, her voice gentle. “We’ve all missed you.”

You smile at her, grateful for her support. “I’ve missed you all too,” you admit, your voice soft but filled with sincerity. “And I appreciate you being here, through everything.”

Wade, ever the source of levity, interjects with a playful grin. “So, what’s next on the agenda? Do we get to pick out some new adventures, or are we just going to sit around and enjoy the view?”

Logan chuckles, shaking his head. “Maybe we’ll just focus on making sure this place stays as peaceful as it is now,” he suggests, his tone a mix of practicality and hope.

The conversation drifts to lighter topics, the camaraderie between you all easing the lingering tension. As you listen to the banter, you feel a renewed sense of belonging. The feeling of home, once so elusive, now wraps around you like a warm embrace.

Remy leans over and takes your hand, his fingers entwining with yours. “How about we just take it one day at a time?” he proposes, his gaze steady and filled with love. “I’ve got you back, and that’s what matters right now.” You nod, squeezing his hand gently.

“That sounds perfect.”

The evening stretches on, filled with laughter, stories, and the simple joy of being together. As the stars fully emerge and the night settles in, you feel a deep sense of contentment. The battles of the past seem a little lighter, the uncertainties of the future a little less daunting.

You roll your eyes, but there’s a warm smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, and FYI. Next time you fuck up my morning and ask me to take a random trip to the void to pull out some friends, I’ll kill you.”

Wade’s grin widens as he lounges casually, his hands behind his head. “To be fair, I think I’ve earned some brownie points for convincing you to rescue th he man who becomes the love of your life. You’re welcome.”

Remy chuckles beside you, his hand still intertwined with yours. “Yeah, Wade, you’re definitely on thin ice, but I’ll give you this—without you, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

Logan nods in agreement, a rare smile on his face. “Just don’t make it a habit, Wade. We’ve had enough chaos for a while.”

Wade’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “Hey, it’s all part of the grand adventure, right? Besides, it worked out, didn’t it?”

The group laughs, the tension of past events melting away under the shared camaraderie. As the ht deepens, the sense of togetherness strengthens, and you can’t help but feel a deep appreciation for the people who’ve stood by you through it all

[squeezil]

I don't usually write, let alone share fan fics, but I've been on a DEEP Httyd hyperfixation lately and it's been particularly inspiring, and I'm a slut for a good Hiccupxreader so have this lil piece I wrote, I plan on writing more and if people like it who knows maybe it'll be more than just a collection of one shots 🤷🏼‍♀

This Changes Everything...

Hiccup x Fem!Reader

This takes place between Rtte and Httyd2 when Hiccup is working on his map and trying to find the part of himself he thinks is missing, little does he know he’s going to find something else along the way that he really didn’t expect.

Y/N = your name

D/N = your dragon’s name

H/C = your hair color

E/C = your eye color

F/C = your favorite color

Chapter 1

It was late afternoon on a beautiful midsummer day, the sun was shining bright over the calm seas, the steady waves sparkling in the warm light. "What better time for an exploratory flight around the the archipelago?" Hiccup thought, ignoring the other glaringly obvious reason being that once again his father had tried to talk to him about taking over as chief soon. That wasn't something he wanted to talk or think about right now. There was still far too much he hadn't discovered yet, about the world, and more importantly, about himself. 

He and Toothless had been soaring around the neighboring islands for what seemed like hours at this point, noticing nothing new or out of the ordinary, much to Hiccup's disappointment. He leaned forward to place his hand on Toothless' neck and opened his mouth to tell him to turn back towards home when the Night Fury's ears shot up in eager curiosity, and began sniffing excitedly at the air. 

"What is it, bud?" Hiccup asked, curious himself now. 

Before he knew it, Toothless dove towards a nearby island with such speed he nearly fell backwards from the sheer force. "Thank Thor for this harness!" He thought. 

"Whoooa, bud! What's gotten into you?" Said Hiccup, as they plummeted faster. 

They landed so abruptly that Hiccup lurched forward and tumbled off of Toothless' back. With a quick glance back at his best friend to make sure he wasn't hurt and an impatient bark, Toothless set off into the woods, eagerly bounding through the trees to find the source of his interest. 

"Toothless, wait! Where are you going?!" Hiccup called, getting up as quick as he could to run after his wayward dragon. Try as he might, he couldn't quite keep up with Toothless and soon lost him in the brush. 

"Toothless? Toothless! Toothless, where are you?!" He screamed, praying to the Gods that there weren't dragon hunters on this island. In the near distance he heard the distinct roar of a Night Fury and quickened his pace.

Eventually he came to a small clearing nestled in a thick canopy of trees, which blocked out most of the sunlight, making it difficult to see well. He saw a large, dark creature moving in the shadows and squinted for a moment before letting out a sigh of relief. It was definitely a Night Fury.

"There you are! What in Thor’s name was so important that you couldn't wait for me, huh bud?" He said, a twinge of annoyance in his voice, despite trying to maintain a calm tone.

The dragon shifted quickly and whipped it's head around, letting out a low warning growl as it did so. 

"Wh-Hey, hey bud, it's me, it's Hiccup, what are you-" he stopped cold as the dragon moved into a small streak of light peaking through the trees, illuminating it's deep violet eyes that were angrily boring into his startled green ones. 

Shock, then dawning comprehension, and finally fear spread across Hiccup's face as he realized Toothless had green eyes, this was not his dragon. He had somehow managed to find another Night Fury…and they were mad. 

"Ohh my Gods…Wow, another Night Fury! And look at your eyes, I've only ever seen Razorwhips with purple eyes before, incredible!" He started, his fascination getting the better of him for a moment before remembering that this dragon was not friendly, yet. "Uhh, whooa-okay, easy, I-I'm not gonna hurt you, it's okay." He said gently, his hands up in attempt to show he wasn't a threat. 

The wild Night Fury growled louder, and narrowed it's eyes, clearly not believing his assurances. He backed up slowly until he was backed up against a tree and suddenly, from a branch above him Hiccup heard a woman shout, 

"You're damn right you won't hurt her!" 

The next thing he knew, he was face down on the ground with a knee pressed between his shoulder blades, pinning him in place and the distinct sound of a dagger being unsheathed above him. He shifted nervously under her weight and tried to speak through the dirt and grass he was currently being shoved into.

"Look, ugh, I don't know who you are, but I really don't mean either of you any harm, I would never hurt a dragon, especially not a Night Fury!"  

"Uh huh, sure, just like the last guy we caught sneaking up on us. You hunters are all the same! Why can't you just leave her alone?!" She said, angrily digging her knee harder into his back.

"Argh…Hey, could you ease up a bit? I'm telling you the truth, I'm not a hunter, I'm a dragon rider!" He said in a strained voice.

"Well that's a new one, huh D/N?" The Night Fury made a disdainful huff of agreement beside her, "but I'm still not buyin' it, I know you were just here for same thing they all come for, the last Night Fury in the world. Well, if you want her, you have to go through me!" She said, raising her arm to strike, but before she could bring down her dagger a purple plasma blast came out from the bushes, disarming her. She looked up at D/N in confusion, and the dragon simply gave her an equally confused look in return.

Toothless sprang out of the bushes, growling and baring his teeth as he slowly advanced on the young woman holding his friend hostage. With his captor sufficiently distracted, Hiccup managed to push her off of him and swipe a foot under her, knocking her to the ground.

"Look, we don't want to fight you, please just listen to me." He said, getting to his feet and once again putting his hands up in a gesture of peace. 

She stared, dumbfounded at Toothless, who had positioned himself in between them to protect Hiccup, "I can't believe it" she uttered under her breath. She turned back to Hiccup with a suspicious glare, "who are you?" narrowing her eyes at him, one hand reaching for the bow slung across her back in case she still needed to fight her way out of this.

"My name is Hiccup Haddock, son of Stoick the Vast the Chief of Berk, and leader of the Dragon Riders of Berk. This is Toothless, and up until now we believed he was the last Night Fury left in existence…" He said carefully, taking a tentative step towards the young lady and her wary dragon.

D/N was so distracted at this point by Toothless that she had stopped growling and had begun eyeing him with curiosity. They cautiously approached each other. Glancing at the dragons, who had both dropped their defenses and started sniffing each other inquisitively, Hiccup smiled slightly and let out a relieved sigh "see? Toothless just wanted to say hello." He turned back to the girl who had now lowered her hand from her bow, but still looked uncertain. 

"Look, I'm sorry we scared you guys, we were just scouting out new islands to add to this map I've been working on and I guess Toothless heard or smelled, er, D/N, was it? Anyway, dragons are gonna do what dragons do, right?" He said, smiling wider now.

He had such an unassuming, warm smile, she couldn’t help but feel more at ease, and there was something in his eyes that made it hard not to believe him. Realizing that maybe he wasn't quite the threat she thought he was after all, she relaxed slightly and  took a few steps closer to him. With how fast everything had just happened, Hiccup hadn’t really gotten a good look at her before, but now that she was standing only a few feet from him he could see that she was easily one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. She had long H/C hair with two small braids around the crown of her head that met in the back where they merged with a larger braid that fell down the middle of her back, with the rest of her hair falling free underneath. Her eyes were a stunning shade of E/C. She was dressed in a long F/C tunic with a off-white fur wrap around her shoulders that clasped around her neck with a strangely carved broach, a leather skirt, and fur lined boots that matched the fur around her shoulders.

“Wow…” Hiccup thought out loud, then catching himself said “uh, I mean, how…did you find a Night Fury? For the last five years we assumed Toothless here was the last of their kind.”

“We sort of…found each other, I guess.” she started, pausing a moment as she recalled their troubled past. “Where I’m from dragons are considered evil, all anyone cares about is capturing or killing them, but something about that never sat right with me, even though they terrified me. It wasn’t until I came across D/N in one of our traps that I realized why, I saw how scared she was, how helpless, and it was like…” she trailed off staring at the ground, trying to find the words.

“It was like she was just as scared of you as you were of her? Almost as if you could see yourself in her?” Hiccup finished. 

She looked up at him speechless, “Y-yes…how did you know that?”

He let out a light hearted chuckle and said “Because it was exactly the same with me and Toothless. I looked at him, and I saw myself, and we’ve been together ever since, isn’t that right, bud?” he said gesturing for Toothless to come over to him, prompting the dragon to jump over, nuzzle his arm, and lick him across the face. “Haha okay, okay, easy bud! You know that doesn’t wash out!” 

She couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at this sudden display of affection between the two. D/N came over to her and gently head butted her as if to ask for her turn. She stroked the dragon’s smooth scales and whispered, “well, what do you think, girl? Should we trust em?” D/N cooed happily in response. 

Taking another tentative step towards Hiccup, she said "I-I'm sorry I attacked you…it's just, we've never met anyone else like us…either of us. It's just been the two of us for so long, I learned trusting other humans doesn't usually turn out well." A look of quiet disdain darkened her face at the last few words. 

Hiccup furrowed his brow, his smile fading with concern as he turned back to look at her and said "Sounds like you guys have been through a lot…we can relate.” 

She looked from Hiccup to Toothless, suddenly noticing that he had a prosthetic leg, and that Toothless had a prosthetic tail fin as well.

"What happened to you guys?" She said, feeling as if she already knew the answer, "hunters?" she added with a scowl.

"Uh…not exactly." he replied sheepishly, absent mindedly rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment. Realizing this wasn’t much of an explanation, Hiccup sighed and said, “it’s a long story.”

“Well, I have time.” She gestured to a large rock nearby for them to sit on. Hiccup smiled and followed her over. He started telling the story of how Berk used to be, how he had shot down Toothless only to realize that he didn’t want to kill him, how they had slowly gained each other’s trust, and eventually how they had managed to change everyone else’s minds about dragons. 

“Sure, life’s a little more chaotic now with dragons everywhere, but it’s so much better!” He said, absolutely beaming. She couldn’t help but return his infectious smile. 

“That’s amazing! I wish my tribe was like that…” she said, her tone turning wistful. “We had to run away to keep D/N safe, the people back home just didn’t understand, they only wanted to mount her head on their walls” she glared at the dirt, fuming at the harsh memories, “even my own family turned against us.”

Hiccup gave her a sympathetic look and said “Well, if you don’t have anywhere else to go, why don’t you come back to Berk with me and Toothless?” 

She looked up at him, her nerves suddenly returning, “Oh…Uh, I don’t know…I mean, you two do seem nice, and I still can’t believe we met another Night Fury…but, we don’t really know you that well or how well we can trust you, no offense. I have to do what’s right for D/N, she’s saved me countless times, I have to keep her safe too.”

“Well…if you won’t come to Berk, how about we come back here to check up on you from time to time? That way you know you’re not alone, and Toothless and D/N can finally have one of their own kind to spend time with, it’s a win-win!” He said hopefully.

She thought for a moment, unsure, but something tugged at her gut to say yes. She didn’t know why, but she really did want to see Hiccup again, and he did have a good point, this was D/N’s only chance to be with her own species, this chance wouldn’t come up again. 

“Hmm…I guess that would be okay.” She said, smiling softly. 

He grinned back at her sweetly and said “Great! Hey, uh, I just realized I never got your name.”

“Oh, right, it’s Y/N.”

“Y/N? Wow, that’s…that’s really pretty, uh I mean, I’m really glad we met, Y/N.” He said, once again smiling wide, his cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink.

She felt her cheeks warm slightly too as he looked at her, his green eyes bright with earnest enthusiasm somehow made her feel that for the first time ever, she was truly being seen. For once in her life, she was genuinely hopeful.