#which is when I will finish second chapter

[softaestluv]

Turning Page

You work at the library Simon and his daughter frequent.

single dad! alpha Simon Riley x librarian! omega reader

tags | alpha! Simon Riley, Omega! Reader, a/b/o dynamics, mentions of mating bonds, heat, scenting, fluff, angst

chapter 8 | masterlist | ao3

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Story time turns into lunch breaks spent with him and Clementine. Coffee or Ice cream— Mint’s personal favorite.

The weekends turn into date night. Breakfast at your place, cooking dinner with Clementine at his.

Dinner turns into bedtime for Clementine, which turns into Simon pressing you into his couch cushions, teeth grazing skin, fingers dimpling flesh, nose buried in your scent gland.

He has to stop himself every time he starts to rut into your clothed cunt like some dog, lapping at your neck desperately. Every time you begin to whimper in his ear, baring your neck for him so prettily, the plea for him to sink his teeth into your skin dying on your tongue.

It’s a routine, until it isn’t.

100-degree fever is the culprit.

He woke up to his sweet Mint sniffling with tears in the corners of her eyes, skin pale as ever.

“Papa, I don’t feel good.” She had barely managed to croak quietly to him.

“Oh, baby girl.” He cooed, placing the back of his hand on her already sweaty forehead, “Think you got a fever.”

He scoops her into his arms, her little mermaid pajamas damp where his palm and forearm press, “What hurts, baby? Your head?”

She snuggles into the crook of his neck, tiny nose pressed to his scent gland for comfort with a small nod.

“Yeah? Poor girl,” He murmurs, rubbing circles into her back soothingly, “Daddy’s gonna give you some medicine, okay?”

She shakes her head in protest, whining weakly against his skin.

“I know, pup, but it’s the cherry one. You like that one, remember?”

It takes a few sips, several dramatic grimaces, multiple gulps of water, and an abundance of negotiation on Simon’s part to get her to finish the medicine, but she eventually does. His brave girl.

He gives her a bath after, washing away the sweat clinging to her skin. She holds on to him the entire time, eyes fluttering and falling heavy with each passing second. By the time he lifts her out of the bath and changes her into a new set of pajamas she’s snuggling into his hold, pale skin turned rosy from the warm water.

He lays her across his chest after, lying out on the couch before putting on her favorite cartoon. It’s her favorite spot; it’s his favorite spot. His pup curled up on his chest, tucked into his arms— safe.

Except, now his Clementine is in pain, tiny brows furrowed, prominent pout on her lips, and small paws fisting his shirt. There's already a streak of sweat forming on her forehead again, but her little body is shivering like she’s freezing.

He rubs her back, runs his fingers through her blonde curls, and presses kisses into her scalp as he projects his scent, trying his best to soothe her with his alpha pheromones. She presses deeper into him when he does, searching for the comfort only he can provide.

He sees the moment the medicine kicks in, the moment her eyes finally shut and she falls asleep in her safe space.

The first time his pup got sick she was just a baby, smaller than his forearm, and he thought his world was crashing around him. He was useless at the time, didn’t know what his baby girl needed to feel better. He had trembled at the sight of her pouting and afraid.

Now, he’s a better father, replaced the calluses on his palm with smoother skin. Learned how to soothe her, nurse her back to health instead of slaughtering those who faced the barrel of his gun.

Clementine wakes up just as he’s finishing making her soup. He doubts her stomach will hold it down, but she hasn’t had anything to eat since the night before.

She patters into the kitchen, fat tears rolling down her chubby cheeks, “Daddy!”

“What’s wrong?” He asks, brows furrowing with worry.

She balls her fists at her side, her tears collecting at the collar of her shirt, “Story time! Daddy, we missed story time!”

“Mint, you’re sick.” He exhales a chuckle of relief. “We couldn’t have gone.”

Clementine isn’t pleased with this answer because she starts to sob harder, choking on her breaths in seconds. He pulls her into his arms at that, shushing her softly as he carries her to the couch and sets her in his lap.

“Hey, pup, look at daddy.” He cups her face, wiping the tears away with his thumb, voice dipped lower, comforting. She’s trying her best to speak, blubbering through her tears. “I know, baby. I know you’re sad. It’s okay, you’re okay.”

He holds her tiny hand to his chest, taking deep breaths with her until she’s able to breathe without hiccuping.

“There we go, pup. Good job.” He praises, alpha rumbling in his chest, “We can go next week when you feel better. But you want to know how we can do that?”

Clementine nods, bottom lip wobbling. His sweet girl.

“You gotta eat your soup, take your medicine, and get lots of sleep. You think you can do that?” He asks, tapping on her chest with each reason.

She nods again, climbing off his lap to her bowl of soup.

By the time she’s finished her soup and he’s managed to feed her some more medicine she’s ready for bed. He lets her sleep in his bed for the night instead of squishing both of them onto her much smaller bed.

He doesn’t nest, it’s not in his instincts, but he lays her favorite stuffies and blankets around the bed the best he can manage. Corduroy hugged tightly to her chest, her head snug to his arm and shoulder.

He’s so concerned with Clementine’s health, that he almost misses the message that pings his phone.

‘Didn’t see you and Clementine at story time today. Hope everything is well!’ —and there’s that damn heart you always use at the end of your message.

Clementine barely moves when the doorbell rings the following day, but when she sees you, books in arms, she jumps up from the couch.

“Miss Librarian! What are you doing?”

You smile at him in greeting before bending down to her height. “Well, I heard that you were sick and weren’t able to come to story time this week.”

Clementine nods. “But I took medicine like daddy said.”

“I'm glad you are. Gotta get healthy to come to story time again, right?” You agree, “But, in the meantime, I’ve brought the book we read yesterday. Do you want to read it with me?”

Simon practically sees stars in Clementine’s eyes, gasping as she nods her head eagerly.

“Yes! Yes!” She’s already dragging you to her bedroom before you finish your sentence.

You examine her room, eyes stopping on her makeshift library, “Wow, you’ve got your own mini library, don’t you?”

“Yep, but it’s not as big as yours.” She pats the empty spot next to her on her bed.

You chuckle at that, “Well, maybe one day you can have your very own library even bigger than mine.”

A Bad Case Of The Stripes.

It’s a bit fitting considering Mint’s health.

She sits in your lap as you read to her, tiny feet wiggling as she focuses on the pictures on each page, gasping at each new design on the little girl as Simon stands in the entryway.

He’s a little scared to walk in, sit on the bed with the two of you that definitely doesn’t have enough space for the three of you, so he admires from the door. He watches Mint read with you every week, but now it’s in her room, curled in your lap.

You underestimate his Mint, just a bit— ‘Do you want to try reading with me or are you not feeling up to it?’

Mint makes you read it with her four more times until she’s tuckered out, rubbing her eyes with a small yawn, and turning around in your lap to snuggle into your hold.

“Miss. Librarian?”

“Yes?”

“Are you my new mom?”

Simon watches your mouth part, eyes flickering over her face to find the right words, voice soft as you answer.

“I’m whatever you want me to be, sweetheart.”

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@succulambb @casualhel @weeping-treee @lumilily @tessakate @shitaaba @lucienofthelakes @nocturnal-nyx @aphinthestars @muraaaaaa @night-shadowblood-writes2 @whos-fran @thetastewassweeter @eremika104 @animegamerfox @oaksgrove @dawnnightshade666 @chaieanne @trulovekay @appalachianecho @grossitsluca @noonespecial2347 @spidersuneee @ihe4rtme @lunamoonbby @iaozuyiling @aggiesramble @novthewolf @irondreamerface @chaos-on-stand-bi @callsignpxnguin @flowerluvr @whatdoyxumean @sleepybunnygirly @cd-mr @cod-bin @crackheadwithtoes @diasnohibng @bookies16 @amberbalcom14 @vajjaa

[ollyissleepy]

𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲

𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

pairing: yandere!bruce wayne x male!reader (ft. platonic yandere!baftam) summary: during the preparation for his biological son's first public appearance, Bruce meets a florist who challenges his perception of love. The meeting takes him down the path of self-discovery and feelings darker than Gotham's alleyways. cw: general warnings, bruce has a dirt mind for a second there but nothing major a/n: I made the first chapter a little short since I'm still working out the pacing I want this story to have

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The workers moved around the space in a hurry, knowing the importance of the approaching gala. Their main focus was setting up the tables, making sure everything was up to Wayne's standard. Most of them were so focused on their work that they didn't notice a man in a suit and a child in Gotham Academy's uniform. A few that did greeted the father-and-son duo with a nod of their heads.

Bruce takes his time as he's showing his son each part of the venue as well as going over the things he should expect from the guests. The two of them swiftly move between the tables, with Bruce warning his son about the habits of a few more troublesome guests to deal with, before they reach the table the florists set up to finish flower arrangements.

Passing the table, Bruce overhears the male florist ask his co-worker something regarding the flowers he was thinking about putting inside the vase meant for the entrance of the venue. The co-worker looked between the vase and the man when they spotted Bruce near the table.

"Mr Wayne is here. Maybe you should ask what he's thinking about it," the co-worker suggested.

The male florist turned around, his eyes slightly widened as he stared at Bruce. He nods slightly, thinking about his co-worker's suggestion.

"Good morning, sir. I'm one of the people working on the flowers. My name is (name) (last name)." The man bowed his head slightly as he introduced himself to Bruce. "I was wondering which flowers would be more fitting for the entrance. I was considering lilies and—"

Bruce stops listening to whatever the man in front of him is saying, awestruck by the way (name)'s eyes were sparkling as he talked about the flowers and the nervous biting of his lips in between each spoken sentence. Bruce felt the way his heart was pounding in his chest and wondered if the florist was able to hear it too.

He has never felt this way towards any man he's ever met, no matter how attractive they were. He couldn't help but look between (name)'s eyes and lips, wondering how each of them would look when Bruce got to have his way with the man. He wondered how (name) would look like as his eyes were rolling back in ecstasy.

Lost in thought, Bruce doesn't notice the florist going quiet, waiting for him to make a decision. It took Damian tapping his arm for Bruce to snap out of it.

Bruce clears his throat before he speaks.

"Sounds good," he agreed, nodding. Bruce wasn't sure what exactly the florist had in mind, but he'd rather agree and blame the man in front of him if the arrangements turned out not to be to the guests liking.

"Oh, really? I was worried it would be too much..." (Name)'s eyes widen, not expecting Bruce to go along with his idea. "I'll get to it then! Thank you, Mr Wayne."

And with a final polite nod towards the father and son, (name) returned back to his station, grabbing a handful of flowers to start working.

Bruce watches the way the man moves with a smile tugging on his lips. He only stops staring when Damian tugs on his shirt, asking if there's anything else he needs to know.

He sighs, looking down at his son. Bruce promises to explain more on their way back to the manor.

The two of them walk out of the venue, Bruce looking back in hopes of getting a quick glance at the florist. He makes a mental note to look into the man.

Bruce needed to know who the florist was and why he was making him feel that way.

taglist: @seanwalbrecht

comment to be added!

[leiatalon]

Character Interview: Prince Collin ❤️

Welcome to the second character interview in an ongoing series!

Today we sat down with Prince Collin Ga’vaan to get his thoughts on questions sent in by fans of The Eternal Library…

Enjoy the excerpt below, and be sure to check out my Patreon for the full interview, which is available for free!

What kind of ruler would you like to be?

Fair. Just. Benevolent. Peaceful when possible and more than capable of defending the kingdom at need.

I don’t wish for the crown. It is a weight I’d prefer someone else carry, but the responsibility has come to me and I will wield it in the name of Minare’s citizens.

I’m only beginning to understand how many things need to be managed in order for the kingdom to thrive, but I know a lot of good people. These lands are ours to share. If we work together, I expect we can accomplish miracles.

What is your opinion on the Fae?

My opinion is ever evolving. I was taught to be wary of Fae, but the more I learned about them through the years, seeking out Minare’s Fae in the high forests of Crost, the more I yearn to make allies of them. Now, one of my closest comrades is a Fae-blooded Kitherin. I am intrigued by Fae and mages of all sorts, and drawn to the vast potential of magic.

Do you have a secret talent or hidden hobby?

Does magic count? My magic is subtle compared to the power most Fae possess, and nothing compared to the Kitherin, but mine nonetheless. I have kept it hidden all my life, but for a few close friends and my tutors, Master Tyne and Master Leonz.

And now my Tian friend knows…

You said you had been noticing the MC for years. Other than chance injury, what has endeared you to the MC so suddenly, and, given all that’s happening, are you in a good headspace for a romantic partnership and what are the depths of your feelings?

Ah, the mystery of the Tian. We grew up together, if you can call it that when my duties and the MC’s were so different, but we have seen each other countless times over the years. When we met in the library a few weeks before the incident with the door, I was happy to insist MC take the book to finish the story. It was a good book, meant to be shared with more than myself, my siblings, and whatever nobles may have picked it up.

When we collided in the hallway my world changed. Sharing my meager abilities in an attempt to heal the damage I caused sparked something in my magic. Something in my soul. I can’t explain it, but when we’re near there’s a kind of call. A resonance I cannot ignore.

Am I in a good headspace for a romantic partnership? [laughter] Why wouldn’t the Weaver send me one more wave to ride through the chaos? In all truth, I’ve been yearning for a closeness that transcends lust and reaches into something real.

What is life without love? It is nothing. Every story I read speaks of it, and I have longed for it all my life. My magic tells me this is true. If the MC chooses to love me, I will love with my whole heart, my being. My soul. If the MC chooses friendship, my loyalty will be as steadfast as time.

We have work to do together. I know that with certainty.

✨ Collin ✨

If you'd like to hear more from Prince Collin, read the full post for free:

I hope you enjoyed this Interview with a Prince! 

I have a growing collection of character interviews on my Patreon if you’d like to read more. You’ll find the public interviews with Temphesta and Prince Collin there, as well as a chance to learn more about Angelina, Sevitas, and Dorian. Over the next few weeks I’ll have interviews coming out with Gemma, Marienna, Prince Petre of Trillivum, and Prince La’rast. Those are already written and scheduled for Patreon subscribers at Royal Guard tiers and higher. Getting to know the characters better gave me some great ideas for future chapters!

I've also just updated the Patreon demo of The Eternal Library with the full rescue path of chapter five! That will be released to the public in a month or so, but is now available to all paid subscribers!

Thanks for reading! I hope you have a fabulous rest of your weekend!

[darkverrmin]

Geralt couldn’t shake the strange feeling in his chest.

The man sitting across from him was undoubtedly Jaskier. He had the same blue eyes, the same voice, though slightly deeper and the same familiar body language.

And yet, he wasn’t the Jaskier Geralt remembered.

There was something heavy in the air around him now, something that had settled on his shoulders with the weight of years. His face bore more than just wrinkles - it held stories. Wounds. Choices. And though he still moved with elegance, there was a steadiness to him now that didn’t exist before, like a man who had learned when to speak and when to remain silent. That alone made him nearly unrecognizable.

He looked older, of course, probably in his early fifties. His shoulder-length hair was threaded with silver, which, oddly enough, suited him. He wore a simple black tunic, dark trousers and a forest-green cloak - nothing like the flamboyant outfits Jaskier used to favor.

But what unsettled Geralt most was the look in his eyes. Gone was the carefree spark of an exuberant eighteen-year-old. Instead, it was the gaze of a man who’d seen too much and lost more than he let on. It was calm. Measured. But behind it, there was weariness. And something else - Command. Authority. Geralt had seen that look before, but never on Jaskier.

He wasn’t just older. He was… transformed. Sharper. Colder, maybe. Or simply hardened by time.

The room was warm, lit by a fire crackling in a stone hearth, shadows dancing against the walls. It smelled faintly of parchment and cloves, unexpectedly comforting.

Geralt had just finished explaining how he’d ended up here, fifteen years in the future. Jaskier had listened silently, nodding occasionally. That alone was a change. The Jaskier Geralt had known could barely keep quiet for thirty seconds.

“I apologize that my men tried to kill you,” Jaskier said at last, after a long pause. He took a sip of his drink, looking faintly amused. “We don’t get many visitors, and with the Rebellion sniffing around, you can’t be too careful.”

Geralt nodded. “I understand. Sorry I broke your commander’s arm.”

Jaskier leaned back, setting his glass aside. “So, let me get this straight - you pissed off a witch and she threw you fifteen years into the future?”

Geralt nodded.

Jaskier chuckled, shaking his head. “Didn’t even know magic like that existed.”

“Neither did I.”

“The more you know, huh?” Jaskier gave him a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “So tell me, how can I help?”

***

Continue reading:

[sulumuns-dootah]

Hello could you write something along the lines of MC being monogomous with Foras, and how he reacts witnessing you fall out of love with him after a particularly bad jealous outburst??? I loved Foras but after that part in the latest chapter when he went absolutely batshit over his own wild assumption, I completely lost all my adoration for him 😭 thank you thank you🫶

⟡ Masterlist ⟡

A/N: decided to do this as a drabble instead bc it felt more appropriate ^^ (and with that also kinda came up w drabble post format :D)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The moment Foras finishes speaking, he already regrets his words. Seeing the look in your eyes stabs straight into his heart. That look. The one he's hoped he'll never see from you. "Y-Y/N-" he tries to reach out to you, but he ultimately stops the moment he sees you shake your head and turn away from him. It takes all his strength to not collapse in his knees, which have suddenly become weak. As you leave with the other demons, he wishes he could follow after you and apologise thousand times over, but he can't. His whole body feels like scorched by a boiling water. The image of your back disappearing through another door of the reversed tower suddenly becomes blurry as his pink eyes fill with tears. And... For the fist time in his life, he hates Leviathan. Hates the country he'd affiliated himself to. Hates the deadly sin that rules him. And most of all, hates himself. His coffin summons itself from the ground, inviting him to command the horrors within to devour him then and there. For a second, he contemplates his choices. Should he run after you, afterall? Should he give you some space and hope you'll gradually come around to him again? Should he give up? His hand comes up to brush over the smooth surface of the polished wood as he ponders. The creatures inside rustle restlessly. Will you ever be able to forgive him?

[angelkiko]

St. Chérie

chapter two: mushrooms

you had been polishing forks for over an hour now, the rest of the staff had begun to slowly filter. your eyes drifted up from the fork you were polishing into oblivion to see an older man enter.

he had mutton chops on his face, wore black slacks and a black dress shirt, along with a pin that said “john price (manager)”, who couldn’t help but chuckle when he saw you.

“simon, you have ‘em doing forks?” he sort of wheezed to which you quietly looked up, he continued “love he’s just messing with you, forks are for our wait staff” the nickname slipped off his tongue like he’d used it thousands of times.

the man you grew to recognize as simon chuckled, before price explained what your role would be today. “today you’ll be a helping hand in the kitchen and learn how our recipes” he murmured slightly tapping on the counter.

admittedly, this man was hot. you’d never been into older men but this may change now, your eyes drifted down to his fingers, a small ring rested on his ring finger. oh god were you thirsting after a married man???

he gestured for you to help simon with prep, which now turned into chopping onions. you quietly joined him, shyly pulling out your cheap big knife, to which his eyes fell to and he just silently handed you a spare knife out of his kit.

“I really shouldn’t—“ the words tumbled out of your mouth, to which he just let out a small gruff and pushed your hand a little when you tried to hand it back. as you quietly chopped onions, the other chefs filled in.

the ones that came in first were two men, one a loud man with an accent almost too thick to understand, and another gorgeous man who was laughing along with him.

god we’re all the people here this hot?? you really weren’t going to last a month. as you kept chopping onions, one of the two men approached you from behind and placed his hand on your shoulder, which admittedly made you jump.

“dinnae know we were taking new hires” he said, your eyes trailing up to meet his pretty blue eyes and oddly enough a mohawk.

“we weren’t” simon muttered, piquing your interest but price put a firm hand on his shoulder, and flashed you a sweet smile. “don’t listen to him, luv” he spoke to you with that voice sweet like honey.

“that’s soa— johnny, our dessert chef” he introduced the blue eyed man to you, to which you spoke your name back. the man you learned to know as johnny reached out to shake your hand almost a little too enthusiastically, and price gave him a look that almost said “heel boy”

johnny sighed, muttering something thick with his scottish accent that you couldn’t understand as he wandered to his station tucked just in the corner of the kitchen.

you chopped the onions until you finished with the bin, to which price was quick to inform you of what you’d be doing. they wanted what he called a “shadow” to help everyone around the kitchen. you’d help with everything from cooking to desserts, just what the hell did you get yourself into.

“simon, our head chef” he gestured to the man still prepping what looked like to be potatoes now, “kyle is out back I think, he’s our sou, “and as I’m sure you’re aware that’s johnny our pastry chef. we have a few other staff in the kitchen but those are the most important” he informed you before flashing a tiny smile and disappearing into the hall you entered from into the office.

“mushrooms, walk in” simon muttered to you, snapping you out of your thoughts, to which your feet moved quickly to the walk in. when you opened it, a pair of eyes landed on you. the man you assumed was kyle stared back, you caught him mid mumble about johnny using all the milk in his baking.

you two stared for second before he blurted out, “kyle, sou” before going in to shake your hand, to which you spoke your name back. this man was gorgeous, beautiful eyes, clear skin, if he said he was a model you’d probably believe him.

“mushrooms” you blurted out, to which he sort of awkwardly said “oh” and moved out of the way. why the fuck did they have 5 kinds of mushrooms in this walk in??

he watched you for a few moments just stare and question your life choices before asking “what knife is he using” and you slowly turned as if saying “huh?” to which he repeated himself.

“The one with the little japanese symbols” you shyly recalled, and kyle chuckled and grabbed what you recognized as white button mushrooms, handing the bin to you with a soft smile. you thanked him quietly and slipped past him, why was he staring like he was starstruck?

you placed the bin on the counter, simons eyes narrowing to it before muttering something about kyle wanting to be a hero. to which kyle, just stepping out of the walk in laughed at him lowly.

the other staff began to filter in, servers polishing the silverware, the dishwashers cleaning the plates until you can see your reflection, and some servers stared at you like you were an alien. why though?’

johnny tapped your shoulder, murmuring something about you putting on your uniform to which you sheepishly apologized and hurried out of the kitchen. the email said uniforms were in the staff room past the dining room bathroom, so you went out to the dining room where the servers prepped the tables.

now, this was the kind of restaurant where the black table clothes had no wrinkles, the silverware looked like it had been placed with a ruler as it was all the same angle, and the glasses looked like someone polished them like a psycho.

each table had candles, chairs without a single mark or scrape, and an intricately designed red carpet that somehow lacked stains. you wandered to the little back hall with the sign that said bathroom, waking past the cleaning staff and into the staff room.

it was empty, thankfully. It was lit with the same kind of lighting as the kitchen, those fluorescents that somehow gave everyone headaches. the room itself resembled a locker room, lined with lockers with each staff members name. your fingers ran over the cool metal until you got to yours, opening it to see one single chefs coat.

it was black, and it looked like it had your name hand stitched in red small writing right where your heart was. you slipped it on with ease, it fit nicely. how did they know your size?? It was thick, quality material.

just as you finally allowed yourself a breath you heard the sound of a staff meeting being called. this place is nice, almost too nice for you.

but hey, nothings stopping you from trying.

┈┈・ ✦ ・┈┈

a/n: second chapter yippie!! ignore my horrible accent writing please, also sorry for some grammar mistakes or messes in my writing style mobile is hard ):

your angel, kiko.

[catchingfallingstars]

I BET ON LOSING DOGS | GOJO SATORU X READER & SASHISU X READER ♥︎

♡ CHAPTER TWO: my baby, my baby

♡ SYNOPSIS: After Suguru visits you for the first time in nearly a decade, you find yourself adrift and decide to take some time away from your lovers to recuperate from such an event. Unfortunately, Satoru doesn't let you hide for long.

♡ WORD COUNT: 6.7K

♡ WARNINGS: 18+, polyamory, alcohol abuse, depression, unspecified eating disorder, unhealthy coping mechanisms and relationships, thigh-humping, (m!receiving) oral sex, light d/s, subspace.

♡ A.N: This is, indeed, a repost, so if it looks familiar, that's why! I decided I'd rather have a xreader-focused sideblog <3

PREVIOUS ♡ AO3 ♡ M.LIST/TAGLIST ♡ NEXT

There are multiple text notifications on your phone after you finish cleaning up. Too many to count from Satoru. Two from Shoko. One from Yuuta-kun. They’re all updates and questions about your well-being. It brings a smile to your face, lasting long enough to make your cheeks hurt as you cook a simple breakfast. Simple because you need something light, and there’s nothing else in your fridge—there never is.

White rice and bare miso soup—the green onions and package of untouched tofu had to be thrown out with how spoiled they were. Despite your precaution, each bite tastes rotten. It seems like Suguru has left you with this affliction once again. You shoot off a few replies as you discard what’s left, washing the dishes and placing them on a drying rack.

You sit on the couch, closing your eyes, and sink into Suguru’s lingering residuals. He hadn’t erased them when he left. An act of cruelty or kindness, you do not know, but the familiar twang of bitterness followed by something mellow soothes a hurt inside of you that he left you with. It was too naive to believe he’d stay for a proper goodbye, but you thought that maybe—well, it doesn’t matter now.

You feel tender like a bruise, the gaping hole that had slowly scabbed over in his absence had been torn asunder. Some time away and alone would be necessary to heal it enough to go on with your life. As much as you want to nuzzle into Shoko’s arms while Satoru’s arms engulf both of you, you know it won’t happen. Those two’s intimacy is limited to brief fucks and the occasional peck on the cheek or brief clasp of hands. You’ve never gained the courage to ask why it’s stayed that way. Irrationally but perhaps correctly, you believe it has to do with you rather than the—missing—elephant in the room. It’s moments like this you miss them both, but perhaps it’s for the best that it isn’t a possibility. It would only tip them off that something is wrong. You’ll only be unbalanced for a few days, and then, the encounter will be behind you.

It has to be.

A ring interrupts your inner monologue. It’s a call from your auxiliary manager, a member of the Gojo clan that Satoru had foisted upon you, one that you had come to begrudgingly accept in the years since her assignment. You answer it as you finally bring yourself to cleanse Suguru’s residuals. A quick slash of your cursed energy easily snuffs out what remains as Minoru-san reminds you of the mission you had signed up for the day before. She’s five minutes out, which leaves you just enough time to grab your fresh sheets from the dryer and fix your bedding. Now, everything is reset. If only you could do the same to yourself.

You leave your apartment and enter Minoru-san’s car, looking over the case file from your tablet as she drives you to the subway station. She informs you that she has already arranged for a rental to be there upon arrival and that there should be very little pushback from the workers of the building the curse is currently residing in. You like how succinct she is, like how she doesn’t hold a grudge against you for being forced into this role.

Before Satoru had practically ordered her to exchange careers, she had been a Second Grade sorcerer, and before that, she had been the most likely candidate in his clan to become his bride. Thankfully, she had never cared for that and had known since your first Goodwill Event that Satoru would never deign anyone who wasn’t one of his yearmates a second glance, let alone consider marriage. However, you remember she had been irritated at being relegated to such a position when Satoru first poached her. It was only when she realized why she was chosen, her large cursed energy reserves, that her irritation began to fade. Consuming a curse’s energy after depleting too much of your own was a surefire way of running the risk of acting a bit too similar to the curse—dangerous and unhinged. Minoru-san’s cursed energy is a good counter, which Satoru knew, of course.

Today’s mission involves an infestation of a few first grades and more lower-grade curses, which would usually be relegated to Satoru, but since he’s busy in Kyoto, it’s been assigned to you. You’ve gone against worse, but, likely, Minoru-san’s energy alone won’t be enough to overcome what you will absorb from them. It doesn’t have to, though; it just needs to help tide you over until your own cursed energy replenishes or you make contact with one of your friends.

The drawback of your cursed technique is the state it leaves you in, always leaving you craving more. No matter what the more takes a form in. It’s why you struggle with addiction and healthy eating habits. It blindsides you most of the time, but that’s what the people that surround you are for—to keep you tethered to reality. Having got a taste of Suguru’s has left you with a bad taste in your mouth and an unearthed longing for him. It’s a dangerous position to be in, so you reach forward and brush your fingers against Minoru-san’s shoulder and zap a minuscule amount from her. She doesn’t even notice, too busy navigating the road, and it soothes you enough to ignore the desire to reach out for him.

The mission is completed within an hour once all is said and done, and you’re itching for a fix or a fight. You can’t quite tell, but Minoru-san rushes to you as soon as you dispel the barrier. Your fingertips dig into her tender flesh, a cool sweep of her energy intermingling with your own, and the frenzy fades as easily as it comes.

You give her your thanks, and she says it’s not a problem, that she’s glad to be of help. She’s not quite a friend and more than a coworker or subordinate, but you’re grateful for her companionship regardless of how it began. Others would not be so understanding of being drained dry of their main fighting source, but Minoru-san has never minded or complained. Although she is no longer an active sorcerer, she is still reliable, be it through her continued training or allowing you to steal her cursed energy. Satoru chose well; it warms you from within to know how much effort he put in towards your safety despite your status as a Special Grade.

As she walks beside you back to the rental, Minoru-san calls the hotel that was booked to apprise them of your incoming approach. She always negotiates the highest budget possible for missions like these, so you’re certain that the room she booked for you will be extravagant. You had questioned her once as to why she did so, and she had replied that you deserved nothing but the best, practically deeming you Satoru’s wife and therefore one of the heads of her clan.

Not an incorrect assumption, seeing as you completed half of his paperwork regarding those matters when he was overworked and exhausted, which was often. It had been this way since you were teens, disregarding the period when your relationship had been terribly fraught. Yet, marriage with him wasn’t in the cards for you, and not because of your lineage, or lack thereof, but because it would feel unfair to Shoko. You never wanted to diminish her importance to you, even though she had stated that it wouldn’t be a bother. The dynamic would change again, though, and that is the last thing that you wanted.

What more are the expectations that would be thrust upon you—children. It’s not that you didn’t want them. On the contrary, buried deep within your soul was a fierce desire for them. It had been fed with Megumi and Tsumiki, but Megumi no longer turned to you, and the less said about Tsumiki’s state, the better. You had, naively, thought that Tsumiki wasn’t the one to worry about because it was Megumi who was becoming a sorcerer, but how wrong you’d been. A brutal reminder of why having children was a bad idea, but the fantasy that Suguru had implanted in your mind had stoked the flames of yearning into something near uncontrollable.

As a teen, when you let yourself believe in that impossible future, you’d always imagine the four of you living in the clan estate that Satoru had invited you all to during Tanabata in 2006. It wasn’t too pretentious, nor was it quaint. The space could be filled, and until it was, your lovers would be enough to take up the empty space.

Satoru would give you a boy and maybe a girl, but ultimately, Suguru would give you an army of little girls to dote upon and love like they deserved. It had been obvious even before his handling of Riko-chan that he had a soft spot for young girls, and now, with the knowledge of how he attained the twins, his preference could not be denied. Of course, it doesn’t work like that, something Shoko would remind you of as she performed the necessary checkups, yet you had a feeling you’d get what you want. Slowly but surely, your home would be filled.

Now, that dream has changed drastically because everything else has too. You decide not to linger on what it would look like presently because you feel too raw to examine it. Suguru had plucked at every vulnerable string you possessed, unravelling them and leaving your soul laid bare.

Entering the rental, you notice that there are even more text notifications on your phone, but you don’t look at them. You’ll check them before bed or in the morning. They won’t expect an immediate reply anyway because you’re not the best at responding. Your habits will obscure the fact that you are actively avoiding them. You’ll feel bad about deceiving them later, but for now, you’re grateful for the reprieve it brings you.

Still, guilt creeps up on you, and you derail Minoru-san’s original instruction by asking her to take you to the city proper to attain souvenirs. She nods with a smile and changes route immediately, like this had always been the plan. In your Suguru-induced haze, you had forgotten the typical itinerary for remote missions, which was always to gather an alarming amount of souvenirs and explore the surrounding shops and a museum or two. You’ll have to get more than usual to make up for being absent from the student’s Goodwill Event.

Minoru-san is keenly observant but doesn’t bring attention to your misstep, only tells you what’s near and will be open for the day, as well as the best shops. You’ll have to get her an exceptional gift when the holidays come around, maybe a vacation. You can always borrow Ijichi-san from Satoru for a week or two, or maybe you’ll snag Satoru himself. Of all the people you steal cursed energy from, Satoru’s is your favorite. Overwhelmingly sweet and more than enough to satiate your needs.

All in all, it’s a few hours until you reach your original destination. Minoru-san’s cursed energy has replenished your own, completely indistinguishable from yours, but the kind you absorbed from the curses continues to linger at the edge of your consciousness. It never takes this long for its will to submit to your own, but it must recognize what you’ve kept stubbornly hidden in the deepest recesses of your core, a small well of Suguru’s dangerously inviting energy in its purest form, and a prey will always recognize its predator.

Your body is built to house as many foreign energies as you can absorb, but foolishly, you like to keep a few in their original state. Satoru’s is a constant supply within you, but you steal away a portion to hoard away the same way you do Shoko’s and now Suguru’s once again. When he forced you away in 2007, you had almost drained him dry in your despair, and not a drop of his cursed energy was absorbed because you had buried it so deep within. It lasted for three short years before a special grade curse forced you to absorb it as your own.

This time, it will be gone in the blink of an eye if you are not cautious, and you will be helpless to the emptiness it will bring you. There is nothing you can do about that, though; Suguru is set in his ways. For now, you will simply cherish the fact that all of your lovers are never far. You simply have to call them forth, and there they will be. You cradle them gently, tenderly, lovingly, basking in the complexities of their soul as you begin to unwind for the night.

As expected, the hotel room Minoru-san chose for you is ostentatious and expansive, with full amenities, a king-sized bed, and a large bathroom with an enticing tub. It reminds you of something that Satoru would choose for himself. Normally, it would be a nice deviation from your plain apartment, but it only stands to remind you of how alone you truly are. You cannot fill in this emptiness. Only the three separate wells of your lovers’ energies ground you.

You run the bath, turning the knob to boiling, before sitting down to separate the souvenirs you bought into different bags for the people they are intended for. Unsurprisingly, Satoru’s is the most filled. Of all the recipients of these gifts, he will be the most appreciative. You love to spoil him even though he has the means to buy whatever he wants, mostly because he knows that when you do, it’s because you’re thinking of him, and you think of him often. You don’t do much with your salary anyway, and Shoko is practical the way you are, so the gifts she receives are expensive bottles of alcohol, and you’d much rather spend it on Satoru than yourself.

You’re finished quickly, but the bath is not even halfway full. In the meantime, you strip and take a quick shower to wash away the specks of gunk you collected as you exorcised the infestation of curses. There’s very little, as Minoru-san provided you with sanitary wipes to clean yourself earlier in the day, but you still feel unclean. By the time you’ve scrubbed yourself until your skin is red and raw, the bath is at the right level.

It’s as you're about to step in that your stomach grumbles. Food won’t go down easily, but a drink will. There are a few bottles of sake and wine inside the fridge, but just staring at them turns your stomach. It may be best to steer clear of any alcohol for the foreseeable future, yet another thing Suguru has tainted. Instead, you opt for a can of melon soda. It’s something Satoru would choose, obnoxiously sweet. You hope it will wash away the bitter taste that persists due to Suguru’s visit.

Your phone rings; the tune is something Satoru chose for himself in your first year, the instrumental theme for Digimon. It brings a small smile to your face to remember the first time he heard it and realized what it was. His face had completely lit up, different from all the times before. Not that they weren’t genuine before, but he truly had looked touched. He had talked about it only once before, but he had sounded so passionate about it during the scant time he defended it to Suguru when the other boy stated that Pokémon was superior. That moment stuck with you, so when you were granted a phone, it was his ringtone you picked out first. It’s that same theme that plays out now. You let it ring, and don’t answer.

Cowardly, maybe, but Satoru will just assume that your phone is too far from your person to pick it up. Though you’re not the best with texting, when he calls, you always answer, same with Shoko and Megumi. It won’t stand out from all the other instances. You can just pretend you left it in the rental. Your phone pings repeatedly in quick succession. Like a fool, you instinctively grab it, swiping up and staring at the barrage of messages Satoru has sent you.

satoru <3

22:49; i miss u :( it’s been sooooo long. shoko complained about your absence too,,, in her own way, but i swear she did!!

22:49; we’re at an izakaya now. it’s so boring without you that i’ve resorted to messing with utahime. ughhh she’s such a bore. i wish you were here. next year i’m not letting you off the hook!

22:50; oops shoko thinks you might be sleeping.

22:50; are you? hope i didn’t wake you up, but i reallyyyy miss you. they say absence makes the heart grow fonder and they’d be right

22:50; shoko says i’m a mess without you but she’s the same as me so she's barking up the wrong tree. she’s just as pathetic as i am without you.

22:51; i know you’re safe, minoru updated me earlier, but i’d still like to see it with all my six eyes. and shoko probably would like to check up on you too.

22:52; okay gonna stop bothering you if you really are sleeping. love youuuu~ ♡

Your heart flutters in your chest rapidly, and a smile grows on your face. You can’t deny how much joy it brings you to see how much they both love you. Any reminder, no matter how small, sets your heart aflame, even a decade later. However, it only worsens your mood as guilt and shame sour the small interaction. You should know better than to hide away like this; the two of them will find out. There’s no way of hiding your fragile mental state, and only one person is capable of eliciting this kind of behavior from you.

The moment Satoru asks a probing question or Shoko cradles your face like you’re something precious, you’ll fall apart like a house of cards. It’s not like this short time away has helped substantially. All it’s done is make you entirely too despondent because this is what he does to you. This is why Satoru never recounts his outings with him and why Shoko never mentions him. They’re both so resilient when it comes to his betrayal, while you had gone to him the first chance you could get and only stayed away because it was what he asked of you. Compared to them, you are so weak when it comes to him, and you hate it. Not him, never him, even after all he’s done. You can hate his stupid decisions and idiotic ideals, but you can’t bring yourself to hate him.

You leave Satoru on read and put your phone down, sinking further into the now tepid water. If he hears your voice, he will know, and you’re not yet ready for that confrontation. You hardly ever deny him, so he will make note of this. Just one more day of languishing, and you will get over this bout of melancholy. It will weigh less in the morning. Despite that thought, you long to be with him. Satoru, more than anyone, will understand this particular plight, yet that is what stops you in your tracks. There is so very little you can do to help ease his troubles. He doesn’t need to bear your problems when the load he carries is far greater than anyone else’s.

It’s just unfortunate that while you continue to stew in your misery, you forget that Satoru has been capable of long-distance teleporting for years now.

As you drain the bath, dry yourself, and put on one of the complimentary robes, it seems that Satoru let himself in because there, on the obscenely large bed, is your partner, kicking his feet back and forth on the edge of the bed with a wide smile on his face as he greets you. It only confirms your belief that he doesn’t know. It’s not the time of month when they see each other, and you rid yourself and your apartment of his residuals while eating breakfast after his departure. It had tasted like acrid sludge, just like everything else you've had since then.

Witnessing him like this settles your tumultuous cursed energy, something you hadn’t even noticed was a problem until the change took place. He has always been your safety net, and now more than ever, you yearn to spill your heart to him, to bear your soul before him, to allow him complete control. He will know what to do with you. You’re certain Satoru will be successful in purifying the rot festering within you. He has experience, after all.

A burden shared is a burden halved; Satoru will forgive you for unloading this onto him. He has forgiven much worse things, and really, this is something he is well equipped to handle.

You don’t bother flicking the lights on; Satoru’s eyes, alone, will see the truth that’s laid out on you and within you, and the moonlight should suffice for your measly vision. You need not confess what took place when your body tells it all. Satoru’s usual chatterbox of a mouth comes to a stop, watching you intensely as you untie the robe and let it fall to the floor.

His eyes scan the bruises and hickies and bites Suguru left on you, and you wonder if he recognizes them by familiarity alone. He’s surely seen the same set of handprints and teeth marks on his own body. Does he admire them the way you do before inevitably healing them and coming back to you? He doesn’t keep your marks either, but you keep his. You’ll be keeping Suguru’s too, and you hope the marks you left on Suguru remain when the two men meet up in the next few days.

“Found a new lover, have you?”

“No. I’ve just reconnected with an old one.” You slip into his lap, Infinity giving way to you immediately as you wrap your arms around his neck, stealing away a portion of his cursed energy by rote as you do so. You rest your forehead against his own, staring into where you know his eyes are. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Satoru?”

As you tug the bandages off him gently, he stares at you with something you can’t name. You wonder what it is he sees when he gazes upon you. He’s all-seeing, all-knowing, but exactly how omniscient is he?

Can he see the evidence of your attempt to exorcise Suguru’s residuals? The curl of Suguru’s power resting deep within you, besides his own and Shoko’s? The devastation Suguru’s departure has done to your psyche?

Of course, he can, and it’s not because of his Six Eyes.

Satoru knows you, and oh, what a thing it is to be known.

He doesn’t judge you, doesn’t get angry, or even pity you as his eyes soak up all the information they can. He’d be a hypocrite if he did, but he would never. He understands the distinct effect Suguru has on you because Satoru is just the same when it comes to him. This specific affliction is something only the two of you share: weak-willed in the face of love.

Still, the blankness he projects leaves you feeling a little disquieted. It’s unnatural, and you dislike it, so you pull him into a kiss. He tastes as sweet as ever, and what a relief it is to have the bitter rot be replaced by one that’s saccharine.

There will be time for a heart-to-heart later. For now, though, your bodies will do all the talking.

Satoru is greedy as always, quickly turning what was supposed to be a sweet kiss into something filthy as he uses both tongue and teeth to get you worked up. You feel reluctant to pull back for breath, but your lungs are burning for air. You admire his flushed face when you do. It’s a much better look on him than his previously unreadable one. He’s just so pretty, and there’s nothing you want more in this moment than to witness him looking completely debauched. For that reason alone, you palm his length through his slacks and delight in the way his hips jerk into your heated touch as he lets out a needy moan.

He’s always so quick to arouse, but then again, so are you. The wet spot you’ve left on his pants is evidence of that. He pulls you into another kiss that leaves you with an aftertaste of something sickly sweet. You’re accustomed to this kind of bite, crave it even, but even so, you find yourself missing Suguru’s specific breed of decay as it's replaced by Satoru’s.

Satoru, in tune with your body as always, spreads his legs wider to accommodate you properly as you straddle one of his thighs, and his hands go back to your hips. He can suffer a little while you chase your peak.

You begin by rocking your hips gently to rub your very wet cunt against his thigh, nails digging into his shoulder. Leaning back just enough to brace yourself on his knee, you pick up pace and intensity. The friction against your clit each time you grind on him feels electrifying, your belly tightening with each drag against the bud of sensitive nerves.

It’s not going to be enough. Satoru’s been watching you, rapt, impatient to be an active participant, so you lean your chest closer to his mouth. He latches onto one of your breasts, immediately understanding your body language, his teeth sinking into the supple flesh. The added stimulation makes you shiver and moan, clenching your thighs tight around his leg and riding it harder than before.

“You—hah—can be rougher, Sa–to–ru.” One of your hands tangles in his hair, pushing his face further into your chest. His teeth clamp down harder, and his fingers dig deeper into your hips. A low moan escapes your mouth. “That’s it,” you say breathlessly as your lover helps you along, fingers running over his bulge teasingly as a reward.

He switches to your other nipple, swirling around it with his tongue before his teeth sink in. You halt in your motions, body stiff as your peak quickly approaches, and Satoru takes that as an incentive to guide your hips back and forth on his thigh. High moans fall from your mouth without permission as his mouth travels to your sensitive neck, lips, teeth, and tongue, trailing everywhere Suguru was the night before.

“Satoru, ‘m close,” you whine, breath catching as he murmurs your name into the nape of your neck—gives his permission easily. There isn’t enough time for games. You yank his head up and slot your lips against his own as your thighs shake around him, cunt pulsing and gushing against his thigh.

He deepens the kiss, and you slump on him as you go boneless. It’s nice to let him do what he wants as you come down from your high. It only takes a few moments before you pull away, feeling present again—well, as present as you can be. There’s still a part of you that resides with Suguru, and going by the look in Satoru’s eyes as he stares down at you, he knows it too.

You don’t let him get a word in as you slink off him and sit before his knees. Your hands unclasp and unzip his slacks, shimmying them and his boxers down and off. He’s already hard and leaking, a product of all your earlier teasing. You lean forward, one hand curled around his inner thigh and the other one delicately wrapped around the base of his cock as you guide it to your lips.

Once his tip is past your lips, Satoru threads his fingers into your hair and slides more of his length into your mouth. You keep your eyes focused on him, and he does the same, eyes glowing imperceptibly in the dark. He begins to fuck your mouth lazily, shallowly thrusting, as the thumb of the hand not holding you in place strokes your cheek tenderly.

He’s so gentle, it makes you sick to your stomach. This isn’t what you wanted, but it’s what he’s willing to give you. You’ll take it all the same; you’ll take all that he gives you happily. You won’t ask for more, nor will you ever deny him, something Satoru is intimately aware of.

“You’re being so good,” Satoru croons, and the praise shoots right between your legs. You can’t help the whine that leaves you involuntarily, which has him coo in response. Condescendingly, probably; not that you care because you had heard the slight hitch of his breath when you took him in deeper. He’s just as affected as you are. “Is this what you needed, baby?”

You hum an agreement around him, and he groans beautifully. His head is thrown back in pleasure, his neck on full display for you to admire. You want to mark that smooth column of skin, want him to match Suguru in a way he hasn’t in a decade, even if you won’t be there to see the look on his face. Maybe you should be, though. Perhaps you’ll finally accept the open invitation. What’s a little more hurt in the long run? You can take it. You want to take it before it’s too late, and Suguru goes through with his plan and—

Satoru’s grip on your hair tightens viciously as he withdraws from your mouth, tilting your head up so you’re eye to eye.

“Thinking about him, are you?” He asks lightly, but you know it’s anything but.

“Sorry, can’t help it,” you reply hoarsely, eyes watering.

You really are sorry. It’s unfair of you to be stuck on Suguru when Satoru is the one before you, when Satoru is the one who always comes back to you, but this is just what he does to you. He swallows you whole, only to spit you out in pieces once he’s done with you. Why do you allow it? Well, everyone has their weaknesses, and Suguru will always be yours.

“I know,” Satoru sighs softly. He leans down and kisses you so softly, you melt into him. When he pulls away, his eyes are dark as his thumb swipes across your bottom lip. “You need more, don’t you?”

“Yes. Please. I don’t want to think, Satoru,” you beg, uncaring how pathetic you must appear to him. He hasn’t seen you at your worst—only Shoko has had that privilege—but close enough that you don’t feel the need to hide anymore.

“You know I’ve always got you.” You do know that, which is why you’re in this position. You know Satoru well enough to realize that he'll come to you if you do something out of the ordinary. You could have run, delayed this moment further, but part of you must have longed for this to happen. For Satoru to do what he does best: take control.

“All you have to do is be good and do as I say.”

You can do that. You want to do that.

He smiles. “I know, baby.”

Your face heats up. You didn’t mean to say that out loud.

Oh well, you think as Satoru brings his cock back to your lips. It’s still wet with your saliva, and there are beads of pre-cum leaking from his tip. You lick it right up. The taste of him down here pleasantly differs from his cloying mouth. It’s still a little sweet, but there’s a bite of pure musk to it that will only get more powerful the more you get.

He lets you set the pace for a few minutes, teasing him with kitten licks and butterfly kisses before wrapping your lips around his tip again and taking him into your mouth. You’re content to let your mind wander as you focus on pleasing him. Every so often, you’ll look up and find him staring at you with a strange intensity each time, as though he is committing you in this moment to memory.

It should be daunting to be under the Six Eye’s gaze, but it is only tantalizing to you. Satoru is the unknowing supplier of your only remaining addiction: his singular attention. Not just anyone can claim that, and even fewer can claim a place within his heart. You’ve traded away all the drugs that’ll do you harm for one that isn’t destructive, only obsessive, in return. A fair trade, all things considered. Satoru gives you an endless supply of adoration, and you revel in it, in him, in his equally damning attachment.

This is one fixation that you’ll never have to give up.

Your tongue swipes from underneath as your teeth scrape softly above, and Satoru gasps. Unwittingly, his hand clenches and pulls you further onto his length. You gag at the quick motion, but that doesn’t stop Satoru from shoving more of his cock into your mouth. He’s grown tired of your exploratory pace, but that’s fine because you were of the same mind.

It’s nice to be used by Satoru. You don’t have to focus on anything but him. All thoughts of Suguru disappear as you follow his every demand. Open wider, he says, so you do, relaxing your throat and allowing him deeper. Keep your eyes on mine, he says, and you do, maintaining eye contact even as his thrusts become rougher. Keep your thighs apart, he says, and you do, aching for any kind of friction despite knowing that any attempt to touch yourself will have consequences.

Satoru fucks into your mouth relentlessly, taking his pleasure while you’re helpless to do anything but moan, suck, and take it. He’s aggressive with you, just like you wanted. Your jaw aches, but there’s no stopping Satoru once he gets like this. That’s just fine with you; he needs to blow off steam, and you need to be useful. It’s a win-win situation, even if you feel like you’re getting more out of this than Satoru. Next time, you’ll make a day out of it and let him use you properly.

Drool escapes the corners of your lips as he continues to thrust roughly. Your jaw aches, but it’s the nice kind, a sort of badge of honor for how good you’ve been for him.

Nothing matters but Satoru, even as tears stream down your face and air becomes scarce, the more erratic his strokes become. You can barely make him out through your blurred vision, but you’re certain there’s never been a better sight. He is incandescent as he chases his orgasm mindlessly.

Pulling from your mouth just enough to leave the tip in your mouth, he cums with an unbashed moan. It coats the back of your throat, and you swallow it down as best you can. As much as he likes seeing you coated in his cum, he left his cock in your mouth for a reason.

He waits until you’ve got it all, until he withdraws from your mouth. Cupping your cheek, he croons, “You were so good. You took me so well.” He leans down and kisses you, his tongue licking up the remnants of his seed, and you keen into his mouth. He separates from you to say, “Come on up, baby.”

You reach up, and he takes you into his lap, cradling you like something precious as he extends his Infinity to include you. Nothing but Satoru can reach you now, and it’s like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. You nuzzle into his chest with your arms wrapped around his neck, as he whispers sweet things into the crown of your head and rubs soothing motions into your skin.

It is pure and utter bliss, being faced with the full brunt of Satoru’s care. The only thing better would be if Shoko were here, but she never joins the two of you anymore. She only slips in when Satoru is finished and hands you off to her. You think it would be nice to be sandwiched between them for a night before you spill your guts to them. Almost immediately, a wave of exhaustion hits you in apprehension of such a conversation.

“I’m tired,” you mumble in his skin, eyes dropping as sleep threatens to take you.

“Let me dress you,” he whispers, and a frown forms on your face at the thought of extricating yourself from him. He chuckles. “It won’t take long. I promise.”

“Okay,” you acquiesce. “Be quick.”

He untangles you from himself, and you watch as he finds the pajamas you brought to wear for the night, a comically oversized shirt, and a pair of soft cotton shorts. Things you’ve stolen from your lovers. You grumble as he pulls you off the bed to dress you, clinging to him the moment he’s finished.

“Done! Now we can go,” Satoru declares.

“Go?” You ask warily.

“To Shoko, of course!” He chirps.

You tug a strand of his hair. “What if she’s still sleeping?”

He looks down at you fondly. “She’s not, and even if she were, she’d wake up for you.”

You don’t protest because it would be really nice to see Shoko. You want them both with you, and Satoru must know that. He’s the best, and you love him so much. Words can’t describe how grateful you are, so you merely kiss him softly.

“Okay, let’s go then.”

As he gathers your belongings, you text Minoru-san about your recent change of plans, so she doesn’t needlessly worry when she inevitably knocks on the door of your empty hotel room in the morning. She’ll understand the reason for your absence immediately. This is not the first time Satoru has been too impatient to wait for you to come back to Tokyo, nor will it be the last. It is, however, the first time he has stolen you without warning. He would’ve taken you to Shoko no matter what you said, and it’s for the best that he did and that you agreed.

Satoru has all your things on one arm while the other wraps around your shoulders and teleports.

As you begin to regain your bearings, you take a step away too quickly and collapse into Satoru’s awaiting arms. You’re not clumsy when it comes to his teleportation, not anymore, so maybe Suguru truly has thrown you completely off track. What terrible timing; the end of summer is always rush season.

When you glance up, successfully this time, your eyes meet Shoko’s tired ones. The corner of her mouth lifts in an almost smile. Like always, she looks weary, but she’s still so beautiful. Her beauty is unlike Satoru’s, who will always be a touch too perfect. No, Shoko’s appeal lies in her humanity. Something is charming about her smudged mascara, her untidy hair after a night of drinking, and how she wears her exhaustion like a second skin.

“Come here,” she beckons, and you collapse into her on the bed.

Shoko smells like whiskey and sweat, no lingering antiseptic remains, just the pure scent of her.

“I’ve got you,” she whispers into the shell of your ear, her arms enclosing you from behind. Satoru joins you on the other side, holding you just as tight, and sighs, “We both do.”

“Thank you,” you murmur happily.

They hum in acknowledgement, snuggling closer to you. It’s reminiscent of your school days, of the days when you finally reconciled with Satoru after… after. You don’t want to think about that right now, not when the two of them are finally in bed with you.

You fall asleep between them, Satoru’s heartbeat against your ear and Shoko’s pressed against your back, certain that in the morning, they’ll still be there.

[smilesrobotlover]

Oh yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask Smiles, what’s your like, process with doing comics? Like where do you start? Dialogue? Or loose outlines of panels, or something?

Someone has probably asked this before but I don’t remember heh 😅

-Sky Floor

I don’t think anyone’s asked me this! This is for long term comics. Short term comics I just think of it and go ham with it lol.

But for long term I start with a script:

As you can see, I change the dialogue a lot and move things around as I work on the comic, but as long as the vibes are there that’s all I really care about. I try to make things clear for myself so I know what I’m going for in the moment.

Then I thumbnail after finishing writing and editing:

Idk how other people do thumbnails but I draw the comic and then try to find good placements for dialogue, characters, and panels. I also write the script to the side so that I know where the dialogue goes (and once again, this changes sometimes but as long as the vibes are there that’s all that matters to me). Since it’s not a serious thing, I try to give the characters distinguishing features that don’t take up a lotta time (Wars’s scarf, Wild’s sideburns, Twi’s markings, sometimes their hair). I also write notes on what I’m going for if it’s not clear enough in the thumbnail, which is silly but it works for me 😅 as long as it’s clear to me that’s all that matters :) For short term projects I don’t care that much about doing thumbnails, but with long terms I want to make sure the pacing is good and things are clear since I’m taking it a bit more seriously. This doesn’t super work well I feel but it’s something I can lean back on when I draw the actual comic itself. Sometimes having to do everything in the moment makes things stressful

And then I work on the comic! I sketch it out, draw the panels and write the dialogue, and then I do a second sketch of the characters and move them all around to fit the dialogue. That way things don’t get too crowded or anything, which I’m still trying to improve! Then I line, color, and shade and voila, a comic page!

Like I said, things get switched around as I try to make things better, like switching Twi and Wild’s placement in panel 5 and adding another panel at the bottom. It just makes things a bit easier to read, and this happens a LOT. My thumbnails are drastically different than my comics 😅 which might get rid of the point of thumbnails but I guess they’re more like rough drafts of what I’m going for? But yeah! I also have colors I use as reference for the backgrounds and other things

Chapter 3 was a LONG chapter so there’s do many colors here, but I try to add all the colors I use on here just so I can reference back to them. It makes me life so much easier, tho this page got slightly confusing haha. That’s why some things are labeled. I also made sure to get the percentages right to make everything fit. I use refs for all the Links, and their items. Like swords, sheaths, and the Sheikah slate! Having all the refs out def crowds things up for me tho but it’s so much better than whatever I was doing before with all my other comics!

Not a fancy answer but this is basically how I do it and it works for me :) I find there’s a lot of ways to do things, but the most important thing in comics is to make sure things are CLEAR. It’s heavily dependent on visuals obviously, so thumbnails do help with making sure things are clear. This is something I’m still trying to learn and something I’m teaching myself, but yeah! That’s what I got :D

[riaa-moony]

The day everything changed- j.miller (7)

masterlist, part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, (part 7)

summary this is a series that follows the show some, the game some, and some scenes are from my imagination. everyone is aged down, sarah doesn’t die.

warning mentions of death of a child, mentions of birth, mentions of healing, blood, mentions of injury, guns, grief, cussing, so many flashbacks.

pairing joel miller x f!reader

okayyy so i just finished exams and was free to write, so here you have it! this chapter has a lot of angst, so i’m sorry if you cry and i’m sorry if you went in wanting to cry and didn’t! i’ve hit the max limit with this so it has to be 2 parts, but the next one will come right after this!

The sun was beginning its slow descent by the time the gates of Bill and Frank’s town creaked open.

It wasn’t loud. Nothing was, not anymore. The quiet here felt different from the silence in the city— it wasn’t the hush of something holding its breath before it strikes. It was… still. Settled. The trees rustled with wind instead of warnings, and the creak of an old swing across the street came not from a haunting, but from time just moving forward.

Joel didn’t loosen his grip on the weapon in his hands until he saw the tall wire fencing, the planted rows of vegetables, and the faint trail of smoke.

“Is this it?” Ellie asked, squinting through the trees.

“Yeah,” Joel said. “Bill and Frank’s.”

“Should we… knock?”

Y/N gave a soft laugh. “If by knock you mean ‘don’t step on a landmine,’ then yes.”

Joel looked at her. “You still remember the code?”

“Of course I remember the code,” she muttered. “You think I’m gettin’ blown up today?”

He leaned close, brushing his arm along hers. “Just checkin’.”

“You checkin’ or flirting?”

Joel smiled. “Why not both?”

“God, we’re still here,” Sarah muttered. “Your children are right here.”

“Earmuffs,” Joel replied without missing a beat.

Amara groaned. “Can we just get to the paranoid man’s bunker before Mom starts making out with you?”

“I’d be offended if you weren’t so accurate,” Y/N replied.

“Do I want to know what Bill’s like?” Ellie asked.

“No,” Joel, Y/N, and Sarah all said in unison.

Y/N approached the gate and entered the sequence with deliberate care. A second later, a low click came from it. The fence shifted slightly.

“We’re in,” she said.

“Bill’s not gonna shoot us, right?” Amara asked.

“No promises,” Joel muttered, but the gate opened without gunfire, which was a win in and of itself.

The town was clean, organized. Lawns mowed, flowers blooming. No doubt Frank’s doing.

Then, the screen door flung open revealing Bill, shotgun braced tightly against his shoulder, ready to pull the trigger any second. He looked exactly the same— bearded, grim, and deeply displeased— except for the faintest widen of his eyes when he registered who was standing in his front lawn.

“Frank!” Bill yelled over his shoulder, voice like gravel, “You’re not gonna believe this!”

Frank’s voice came floating back from inside. “Is it the raccoon again? I told you not to yell unless it’s—”

“No, it’s Joel Miller and… his entire damn family.”

That got Frank’s attention.

He appeared a second later, wearing an apron, flour on his hands, and his eyes lighting up like Christmas. “Oh my god.” he was already halfway down the steps, hands on his hips, eyes wide with something between shock and joy. “Joel?” His gaze shifted. “Y/N?”

They didn’t even have time to answer before Frank started moving. He didn’t wait for permission— just threw his arms around Y/N first. She hugged him back tightly, eyes welling up before she could help it.

Joel gave a short nod to Bill, who returned it with the subtle air of someone doing his best not to show how relieved he was. Sarah and Amara stood awkwardly at their parents’ sides.

“Missed you too, Frank,” she said warmly. “I’m sorry we didn’t radio ahead.”

“Didn’t radi— are you kidding? I would’ve set the table!”

“That’s what’s bothering you?” Joel muttered under his breath.

Frank pulled back from the hug, smiling through tears. “God, you’re really here. You’re okay.” He turned, finally spotting the girls. “Sarah? Amara? Oh my god— look at you! You were what— ten and sixteen the last time we saw you in person?”

“Fourteen and twenty,” Sarah corrected, smiling.

“Come in, come in!” Frank waved them all in. “You’re staying the night,” he continued and before anyone else could add a protest, he said, “no arguing.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” Joel muttered.

“Great.” Frank smiled, like he’d won a small war. “Bill, stop being weird.”

“I’m not being weird,” Bill said defensively.

“You’re aiming a gun at our friends.”

“I didn’t know they were our friends!” he shot back, lowering it reluctantly.

Then, his eyes landed on Ellie with suspicion. “She’s new.”

“Hi,” Ellie said flatly. “You must be Santa.”

Frank blinked, then smiled wide. “Well, aren’t you a firecracker.”

“Ellie,” she said. “Nice setup you got. Cozy apocalypse.”

Joel raised an eyebrow at Ellie, giving her a warning look. Y/N, meanwhile, stepped forward and pulled Bill into a long hug.

“You look older,” she teased.

“So do you,” he said, though his voice softened. “But still beautiful.”

Frank stepped back, eyes scanning their faces again until he noticed the absence beside them. “Where’s Tess?”

Y/N hesitated.

Joel looked away.

The answer sank in before anyone spoke it.

Frank’s face fell. “Oh.”

Bill’s frown deepened. He said nothing, but quietly opened the door.

“Come inside,” Frank said again, gently this time. “Please.”

The house smelled like rosemary and lemon wood polish. It was clean, lived in, and not survival— it was a home. Frank had insisted on setting the table for dinner— something warm and simple. The smell of soup filled the space, but no one felt like eating— not yet.

Y/N sat beside Joel, her hand lightly brushing his under the table. He hadn’t said much since they’d sat down, only grunted a few pleasantries. His gaze flicked between Bill, Frank, and the girls, a beat slower than usual.

Bill sat stiffly at the far end, spoon in hand like a weapon, gaze narrowed and locked on Ellie like she might leap across the table and try to kill them all.

Frank broke the silence first, hands curled around his glass. “You don’t have to tell us anything. Not unless you want to.”

Joel’s jaw tightened. One hand firmly planted on the table, eyes locked on the wood grain. “We lost her. Capitol building. She held the infected off so we could get the kids out.”

Frank nodded slowly, swallowing hard.

“She wanted to make sure Ellie got here. That we were safe. She knew what she was doing.” Y/N said softly.

Bill’s eyes softened, his voice was gruff, but not unkind. “Didn’t think she’d go out any other way.”

Sarah shifted, sitting a little straighter beside her father. “She was brave. Even when everything went to hell.”

“She saved our lives.” Amara’s voice was added quietly.

Frank blinked back something wet in his eyes and reached for Y/N’s hand across the table. “She was so excited when she found out you were pregnant with Jordie, you know? Said you two were gonna take on the world.”

Y/N gave a sad smile, her eyes glassy, but no tears fell. “She was the first one I told. Before Joel, even. She screamed in my face.”

Frank huffed a laugh. “Yeah, that sounds like her.”

Joel finally looked up. “She was family.”

Frank nodded.

A beat later, Ellie cleared her throat, ripping a piece of bread in half and shoving it into her mouth. “Okay, real bread? Like, what the hell. This is a luxury,” her words came out muffled.

“You don’t talk with your mouth full,” Joel said automatically. Frank chuckled wetly, making most of the tension in the room dissolve.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry Dad,” she rolled her eyes.

“She’s like if sarcasm had a child with caffeine,” Amara muttered, reaching for the butter.

“I heard that.” Ellie grinned.

Bill cut in flatly, “Who is she?”

Joel sat straighter. “She’s with us.”

“Right,” Bill said. “You said that.”

Y/N set her spoon down gently, then leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “She’s from the Boston QZ. She’s… important.”

Frank glanced between them all, brows furrowed now. “Important how?”

Joel hesitated. He looked at Y/N, who gave him a small nod.

“We’re takin’ her out west,” Joel said finally, voice low. “There’s a group— Fireflies. They want her.”

“And let me guess,” Bill said, sitting back. “You don’t know why.”

“We do,” Y/N said carefully. “We just aren’t telling people.”

Frank blinked. “Is she… dangerous?”

“Only if you’re a mushroom,” Sarah deadpanned.

Ellie smirked, then added, “Don’t worry. I’m not infected, I’m not a spy, and I haven’t murdered anyone. Yet.”

Joel gave her a sharp look. “Ellie.”

“I’m kidding!” She popped another piece of bread into her mouth. “Kind of.”

Bill wasn’t laughing. “You brought someone dangerous into our home.”

“She’s not dangerous,” Joel snapped. His voice was calm, but there was heat behind it. “She’s a kid.”

“Kids can be dangerous,” Bill replied.

“Bill,” Frank said gently. “Let them explain.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, like he’d been holding it in since he walked through the door. “She’s immune.”

Silence.

Bill blinked. Frank’s hand froze halfway to his wine glass.

“Excuse me?” Frank asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“She’s immune,” Y/N repeated, her voice soft but certain. “She was bitten. Weeks ago. Nothing happened.”

Frank sat back in his chair, stunned.

Bill, however, pulled a gun from under the table and pointed it at the girl. “That’s not a thing.”

“It is now!” Joel said sitting up slowly with his hands raised, trying to calm Bill down.

Y/N followed Joel’s movements, “Bill.” She said in a warning tone, “put it down.”

Bill hesitated, but kept the gun in place.

Despite the gun in her face, Ellie’s hard eyes didn’t leave him. She pulled up her sleeve, revealing the healed-over bite on her forearm. “This is what happened to me. Then… nothing.”

Frank leaned forward, eyes wide, fascinated. “You’re serious?”

“We wouldn’t be risking this much for a lie,” Y/N said, her tone suddenly heavy with exhaustion. “She might be the only one. And we have to get her to the right people.”

Bill looked to Joel. “And you’re the ‘right people’ to take her?”

Joel didn’t blink. “Tess believed we were.”

Frank’s face softened.

Joel’s jaw clenched, the grief flickering just beneath the surface.

Y/N reached over and touched his arm. “We’re doing it because it matters.”

There was a long silence. Bill’s gaze dropped to his plate, his gun following. Frank, after a moment, looked at Ellie and smiled kindly. “You’ve got quite the team looking after you.”

Ellie shrugged. “I guess. I mean, I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“None of us did.”

The mood at the table shifted. Softer.

Frank poured more wine for Joel and Y/N. “She’s welcome here. All of you are.”

“Thank you,” Y/N said gently, her fingers brushing Joel’s knee under the table after they sat back down. She felt him lean into it ever so slightly, grounding himself.

Bill looked unconvinced, but didn’t argue. Instead, he dipped another piece of bread in his soup with unnecessary aggression. “Just make sure she doesn’t touch anything,” he muttered.

Ellie raised her eyebrows. “Cool. Can’t wait to rob you blind.”

Amara snorted, Sarah choked on her water, and Joel buried his face in his hand.

“I swear to God,” he murmured.

Frank laughed, soft and warm.

Joel looked at Y/N. There was something soft behind his eyes, something rare. For a second, in the dim candlelight, he looked less like a man carrying the weight of the world and more like someone simply… grateful.

She bumped her knee against his again. He reached over, under the table, and gave her hand a quiet squeeze.

Eventually, they moved to the living room. Amara curled up beside Sarah on the couch, the two of them drowsy with food and warmth. Ellie sat cross-legged on the rug, chatting with Frank, asking him about the piano in the corner.

Y/N disappeared into the kitchen to help with the dishes. Joel followed after her, catching her waist before she could start rinsing anything.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low.

She turned to face him. “You okay?”

He looked at her for a long second. “I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here.”

Y/N reached up, brushing her fingers along his jaw. “But I am.”

His arms wrapped around her more tightly, eyes closed, his lips against her temple.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“Good,” she said, muffled against his shirt. “Because I love you too.”

From the other room, Sarah’s voice rang out sleepily: “Gross, you’re being mushy.”

Ellie cackled. “Old people flirting. Make it stop.”

Joel groaned. “We’re not that old!”

“You’re practically fossilized,” Ellie fired back.

“Ellie,” Y/N called out, laughing, “Don’t poke the bear.”

Amara added, “Please poke the bear. I want to see what happens.”

Joel sighed and leaned in to kiss Y/N’s cheek.

“You ready to tell ‘em we’re staying the night?” she asked softly.

He nodded. “Yeah. One night.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow.

“Okay,” he muttered, “maybe two.”

She smiled. “That’s what I thought.”

Upstairs, Sarah and Amara slept curled together on a real mattress, one arm hanging off the edge like a lifeline. Ellie had passed out in the guest room, surrounded by comic books and leftover dinner crumbs. She hadn’t stopped talking for hours, finally lulled to sleep by a full stomach and the first warm bed she’d had in months.

Y/N was lying on the couch, eyes closed and a blanket pulled to her chin.

The house was quiet. Too quiet.

The kind of silence that pressed on your ribs until it made breathing feel like a decision.

Joel was sat on the front porch alone. The sky was clear, the stars out in full— something you rarely saw with all the smoke and city dust.

The moon was high. Cold. Uninterested.

He didn’t mean to think of him.

Didn’t ask for it.

But it crept in, same way it always did— quiet, sharp, devastating.

It wasn’t the worst memory. Not the blood. Not the screaming. Not the moment the light left his boy’s eyes.

No.

It was the soft one that got him this time.

A Roadside Barn, 2016

Jordie’s six. Joel’s got his whole heart in his hands.

The barn smelled like dust and hay and rusted metal. Moonlight sliced through the slats in the wall, falling in stripes across the floor like quiet prison bars.

Joel sat on an old blanket in the far corner, legs stretched out, Jordie curled between them, his little chest rising and falling beneath layers of flannel and wool. His boots were off. His cheeks were pink from windburn. He was too tired to talk, but his eyes stayed open— wide and wary.

Joel felt that stare like a stone in his chest. The kind that doesn’t hurt until you try to breathe.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked softly, brushing the boy’s hair back.

Jordie shook his head.

“Too loud,” he whispered. “The wind sounds like people.”

Joel looked towards the door. It wasn’t true, but Joel understood. Everything sounded like people now.

So he pulled Jordie in a little closer, tucking his blanket up under his chin. Then, after a long pause, he murmured:

“You want a song?”

Jordie nodded, eyes not leaving the ceiling beams above.

Joel didn’t ask which one.

He just started.

“There is a young cowboy, he lives on the range…”

His voice was low, the kind that doesn’t carry. Just soft enough for Jordie to hear and no one else.

“His horse and his cattle are his only companions…”

Jordie blinked slower now. The line softened him, like it always did. The rhythm was soothing. Familiar. Safe. It was a lullaby Joel had heard a few years before the outbreak, but he’d made it to fit the shape of his son.

Joel kept going.

“He works in the saddle and he sleeps in the canyons. Waiting for summer, his pastures to change…”

He smoothed a hand down Jordie’s back. The boy had gone still— listening, but heavy now.

“And as the moon rises, he sits by the fire. Thinking ‘bout stars and feelin’ it right…”

The words settled into the room like dust.

Joel didn’t finish the whole song. He just murmured the chorus once, soft and slow:

“Goodnight, you moonlight sleeper. Rockabye, sweet baby boy…”

“Deep greens and blues are the colors I choose. Won’t you let me go down in my dreams…”

“And rockabye, sweet baby Jordie…”

He didn’t say anything else after that. Just sat in the quiet.

The boy was asleep before the fire died out.

Joel stayed awake the rest of the night, watching the door, keeping his rifle close, but holding the memory like a match against the dark.

Bill and Frank’s, 2023

Joel stared at the darkness.

And then— so softly he almost didn’t know he was doing it— he sang.

“Goodnight, you moonlight sleeper…”

It wasn’t a melody. Not really. Just air shaped into sound. His voice was barely there. Like it had traveled all the way from the past just to live in that one line.

Inside, Y/N’s eyes opened instantly.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t dare.

“Rockabye, sweet baby boy…”

Her breath caught.

She could picture it— Joel rocking their baby every night, Jordie’s hair messy, his tiny hand clutching that half-broken rabbit he carried everywhere. Joel murmuring this very song to settle him down, when the world outside was savage, Joel was the safe thing in it.

And now…

Now he was singing it into a porch that didn’t need lullabies.

“Deep greens and blues are the colors I choose…”

His voice cracked, just slightly. Enough to make her press a hand to her mouth.

“Won’t you let me go down in my dreams…”

His chest was tightening. That knot, the one that lived under his ribs— it pulled so hard it hurt to speak.

She could feel him break on the other side of the wall.

He kept going anyway.

“…And rockabye, sweet baby Jordie.”

He didn’t remember his own voice sounding like this. Like it was rusting from the inside out.

Silence.

Painful. Whole.

Y/N didn’t move. Not because she didn’t want to— but because she knew him.

He needed to fall apart alone tonight.

She curled in tighter beneath the blanket, tears running soundlessly into the pillow.

On the other side of the door, Joel sat with his head in his hands, grief pouring out of him like the song had cracked something loose. Like saying Jordie’s name out loud had carved him open in a way nothing else ever could.

No one came for him.

No one interrupted.

And in that still, perfect sorrow— he finally let himself mourn the boy he couldn’t save.

“Rockabye… sweet baby Jordie…”

The wind stirred gently through the trees, carrying his grief somewhere.

Joel stayed there until the sky began to bleed blue with morning, watching for ghosts he knew he’d never see again.

Y/N found him that way. Sitting with his elbows on his knees, head bowed, shoulders tight.

She sank down next to him, close enough that their arms brushed, Not a wink of sleep between the both of them. “The girls are still asleep,” she whispered.

Joel nodded once, his voice cracked, raw and low. “I couldn’t...” He cleared his throat, but his voice still faltered. “I couldn’t stop—”

Y/N turned to him, gently cupping his cheek. “Joel…”

His eyes finally met hers. Wet. Red-rimmed. He looked broken open, and for once, he didn’t try to hide it.

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this,” he whispered. “Every time we lose someone— every time I think we’re gonna be okay— someone else is gone.”

Y/N leaned her forehead against his, tears slipping quietly down her face. “You’re not alone. You’ve never been. I’m here. We all are. And we’re not going anywhere.”

He didn’t speak again. Just pulled her into his arms, held her like she was the last steady thing in the world.

The girls were still asleep in the extra room, Ellie had woken up an hour ago, but decided to curl up between Sarah and Amara again like they’d known each other forever. Joel and Y/N sat at the kitchen table with Bill and Frank, steaming mugs of bitter coffee in hand.

Frank was flipping through an old photo album he’d pulled from a drawer.

“Oh my god, I forgot we had this one,” he said, pointing to a photo of a much-younger Joel, arms crossed, standing next to a very pregnant woman.

Bill peered over his shoulder.

Y/N looked up, smile faltering but warm. “That was right before he was born. I couldn’t leave Joel to visit alone that day.”

Frank turned a page and revealed another photo: Y/N in a sun dress, holding a tiny baby with an expression that could only be described as stubborn joy.

“He spit on my shirt five minutes after this,” Bill said dryly.

Joel smiled faintly.

Frank’s smile faded a little. “We never got to see him after he turned four. Just photos. He looked so much like you, Joel. Except with your eyes, Y/N.”

“He was…” Y/N started, then stopped. “He was bright. Mischievous. Always thought Amara and Sarah hung the moon.”

Joel nodded, clearing his throat. “He’d sneak out of bed to sleep between them. Said he had ‘important dreams’ and couldn’t have them alone.”

Frank chuckled softly, fingers running over the photo.

Bill spoke up. “He smiled at me like he’d known me forever.”

Y/N smiled. “He was always like that. Like the world hadn’t touched him yet.”

Frank catching the look on Joel’s face, reached across the table again and took his hand. “He’d be proud of them. Of you.”

Joel nodded, unblinking.

“Do you remember the first time you brought Jordie here?”

Y/N didn’t answer right away. Her fingers twitched against her thigh. Joel swallowed the last of whatever was in his glass.

Lincoln, Massachusetts, 2010

The sky was high and blue that day, the kind of clear that only comes after a rainstorm. Joel had insisted on driving— something about how it was safer to drain a seven-year-old battery, than to walk with a baby— even though Y/N could’ve sworn he hit every pothole between Boston and Lincoln. He had one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the infant car seat they found, with two fingers curled just under Jordie’s chin, like a man too scared to let go of something so fragile.

“Baby’s asleep,” Joel said softly, almost reverent.

Y/N, still aching in all the places no one tells you about, turned her face toward the window, the sun catching her face and getting stuck in her hair. “Let’s hope he stays that way. You remember what Frank said? Bill’s not exactly… baby-friendly.”

Joel grunted. “Bill’s not anyone-friendly.”

When they pulled up to their destination, the gate opened slowly, and Frank stood waiting on the gravel path with the world’s biggest smile plastered across his face.

“There they are!” he called, waving.

Behind him, Bill stood with his arms crossed. Joel muttered something about trigger-happy preppers under his breath.

“Be nice,” she whispered. “They’re our friends.”

“They’re your friends.”

She ignored him.

Joel got out first, yanking open the back door to carefully unbuckle Jordie. The baby stirred with a soft grunt but didn’t cry. Y/N followed slowly, one hand against the small of her back as she rounded the truck. Her dress clung lightly to her skin, and her free hand brushed down over her soft, healing belly.

Frank approached first. “Oh my god,” he whispered when he saw Jordie. “He’s so tiny.”

Joel passed the baby over carefully, hesitant, like he might break. “Three months,” he said, almost defensively. “Strong little guy, though.”

Frank didn’t even blink, gently rocking Jordie like he’d done this before. “Hi there, sweet boy,” he cooed. “God, you have his nose.”

Bill kept his distance, eyeing the baby like it might explode.

Y/N moved to Frank’s side, laughing. “Joel’s convinced he’s got my eyes.”

“He does,” Frank said, smiling at her. “Big and bright and smarter than everyone else in the room.”

Joel rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

Inside, the house smelled like basil and lemons. The kitchen table had already been set with mismatched plates and glasses of iced tea. Joel walked the perimeter of the house like he always did, glancing out the windows, scoping escape routes, new habits turning old from a world that hadn’t fixed itself yet.

Jordie started crying almost the second he was put down.

Bill flinched.

Joel was up in a wink, pacing the living room with his son cradled against his chest, bouncing him gently. “It’s alright, buddy. I gotcha.”

Y/N watched from the kitchen doorway, her arms wrapped around herself. Frank passed her a glass of tea. “He’s good with him.”

“He’s better than he thinks,” she said.

Bill stood awkwardly in the hallway until Jordie quieted. Slowly, he walked into the room and stood beside her husband. “How do you shut him up?”

Joel blinked. “Uh. Mostly just walk around. Or sing. It was the same with Sarah and Mara.”

“You sing?”

Joel looked vaguely horrified. “Not well.”

Y/N laughed from the doorway. “You sing to him every night.”

Frank covered a smile as Joel turned crimson.

Bill eyed the baby again. “Huh. Didn’t think you’d be the type.”

Joel looked down at Jordie, his rough hand brushing lightly over the baby’s cheek. “Didn’t think I’d be a lot of things.”

And that was the closest Bill ever came to a compliment that day.

By sunset, the baby had settled, and the four of them sat around the backyard table with a plate of Frank’s burnt lemon chicken between them. Jordie slept in his carrier beside Y/N’s chair, one small fist curled against his chest.

Bill sat straighter. “Does he sleep through the night?”

Joel barked a quiet laugh. “Hell no.”

Y/N yawned as if on cue.

But even then, with her eyes heavy and her body still healing, she felt at peace in a way she hadn’t since giving birth. The world was still whole. Her babies were safe. Her husband was here.

And for one perfect day, nothing had gone wrong.

2023

By late morning, the group had gathered in the backyard. The girls sat around the garden's edge, legs dangling off the porch step. Sarah was braiding Ellie’s hair— poorly, but with full confidence. Amara had a book open, but wasn’t reading; her eyes were on Joel and Y/N, who were quietly stacking firewood with Bill near the fence like she knew something no one else had caught on to yet.

“I still think you’re out of your minds for leaving the QZ,” Bill grumbled as he passed another log to Joel.

Joel shot him a look. “QZ was getting worse. Tess knew it. So did we.”

Bill huffed. “And now she’s gone.”

Joel didn’t answer.

Bill softened slightly. “I liked her. Even when I didn’t. She believed in you.”

Joel’s eyes flicked to Y/N. “She believed in all of us.”

Frank came over with mugs of cider, offering them around with a smile. “Sarah says she remembers Jordie running naked through the sprinklers out here. You remember that?”

“Oh god,” Y/N laughed. “He kept yelling, ‘Look, Mama, I’m water!’”

Bill shuddered. “He was soaking wet and then tried to hug me.”

“Yeah. That sounds right,” Joel said, a small, real smile tugging at his lips.

Y/N slipped her fingers into his, squeezing gently.

Sarah and Ellie got up and left to collect berries in Frank’s garden for jam, as per his request, probably sneaking more into their mouths than into the basket.

Amara had said she was tired.

Truth was, she just needed air that didn’t carry laughter.

She wasn’t ready for that sound today.

She’d slipped away into the guest bedroom she and her sister were occupying for the time being. It wasn’t anything fancy— just soft sheets, a worn dresser, a mirror. Joel had told them to unpack what little they had. “Make it yours, if only for a while.”

So she did.

Sort of.

She pulled her backpack onto the bed and unzipped it with slow fingers. It held mostly practical things—extra socks, a pair of gloves, a paperback missing its last chapter— but wedged at the bottom was something small and soft and cruel.

Jordie’s rabbit.

It had lost one button eye. The stitching on its belly was loose. There was a faint bloodstain on one paw— from when he’d tripped years ago and insisted “Bun-Bun has an owie too.”

Amara stared at it.

Her throat clenched.

She hadn’t touched it in months.

They’d found it the day after.

She swallowed. Hard.

She hadn’t cried when it happened.

She didn’t scream.

She held Sarah while she screamed.

She buried her face in Joel’s jacket.

She stood next to Y/N in silence as they laid her baby brother in the earth.

But right now— right here— she couldn’t hold it anymore.

She sat down on the floor, the bunny limp in her lap, and her shoulders started to shake.

The first sob escaped like it had been caged for too long— raw, jagged, ugly. She pressed the rabbit to her chest like it could hear her, like it could still smell like him, like maybe if she held it hard enough, he’d come back just for a second.

“Why’d you leave me…” she whispered, voice cracking. “You were supposed to stay little forever, remember? That was the rule…”

The house around her stayed still.

Outside the room, footsteps moved down the hall, but no one knocked. No one opened the door.

Y/N had passed by. Heard the sound. And left it alone.

Because sometimes grief needs space.

And sometimes a sister needs to cry in the dark, holding the last soft piece of her brother in both hands, mourning everything the world stole too soon.

Millers Apartment, 2015

Boston QZ

The living room still smelled like someone else’s life. Sunlight. Old books. Faint cologne in the couch cushions. But the place was home. Their home.

Joel had gone out with Y/N to the clinic.

That left the three of them— Sarah, Amara, and Jordie— alone inside. And naturally, they were all squished together on the rug in the middle of the floor, surrounded by mismatched socks and a pile of freshly folded laundry that had somehow turned into a pillow fort war zone.

“Stop moving, you smell like old cheese,” Sarah groaned, shoving Amara’s ankle with her elbow.

“That’s literally Jordie,” Amara said, pointing accusingly at the small boy sprawled across both their laps, humming loudly and completely unconcerned.

“I don’t smell like cheese,” Jordie mumbled through the two fingers stuffed in his mouth.

Sarah grinned. “Okay, sweet cheddar boy.”

He gasped dramatically and popped his fingers out. “I’m not cheddar! I’m Batman!”

“Oh no,” Amara whispered. “Not this again.”

“Yes, again!” Jordie yelled, leaping to his feet and immediately falling backward into the clothes pile. “I fight crime! I am the niiiight!”

Sarah cracked up. “You just face-planted into a pillow, vigilante.”

“I mean to,” he mumbled from the floor, voice muffled. “That was my… sneaky move.”

Amara rolled onto her side and rested her head in her hand, watching him. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He popped his head up at that. “You think I cute?”

“Oh my god,” Sarah muttered, laughing. “You’re five.”

“Mama say I’m five an a HALF,” Jordie corrected, beaming. “I’m a grown-up.”

Sarah exchanged a look with Amara— one of those shared-sibling telepathic moments— and then both girls lunged.

“Noooo!” Jordie shrieked, laughing as they grabbed him from both sides.

“Time to tickle the Bat!” Sarah declared.

“I’ll get his feet, you get the ribs!” Amara shouted like a war general.

“Mercy!” Jordie howled through his giggles. “Mercyyyyy! I too small!”

They let up after a few seconds, laughing and breathless.

Jordie collapsed across their legs again, flushed and panting, his curls a mess, his cheeks glowing. He looked up at them with the kind of trust only a little brother can have— whole, blinding, absolute.

“I like when we play,” he whispered.

The girls quieted.

Sarah smoothed his hair back, gentle now. “Yeah. Me too, buddy.”

Amara nudged him softly with her knee. “You’re safe here, Jo. You know that, right?”

He nodded.

Then after a second— his voice a little smaller, more careful— he asked, “What if the bad people from my dream come back?”

Sarah swallowed. “Then we protect each other.”

Amara gave his arm a squeeze. “You’re batman. Bad people don’t stand a chance.”

Jordie smiled again— so big it almost didn’t fit his face— and curled against them like he belonged there forever.

Outside, the wind pressed against the house.

But inside, the fire crackled softly.

And for a little while, there were no monsters.

Just two big sisters, a boy in a Batman shirt, and the kind of love that could hold off the world.

Upstairs, 2023

Sarah had just come back inside, her fingers sticky from berry juice and her shoes muddy from the garden path. Ellie had stayed outside— still babbling something about how she was definitely not cheating at berry-picking— and Sarah had said she’d be right back.

But the moment she stepped into the hallway, she heard it.

Muffled.

Barely there.

But she knew that sound.

She followed it quietly. Slow steps. One hand resting on the doorframe.

The door was cracked open.

And there, her sister was on the floor, hunched over, arms clutched around Jordie’s old rabbit.

She wasn’t sobbing anymore— just… shaking. Silent and wrecked.

Sarah didn’t say a word.

She walked in, knelt beside her, and wrapped her arms around her sister.

Amara didn’t even flinch. She just collapsed into her like gravity had pulled her there.

Sarah held her tight. One hand in her hair. The other around her shoulders, grounding her.

They stayed like that for a while. No words. No explanations. Just warmth where the cold had been.

Then Amara whispered, broken and barely audible, “I miss him so much I feel sick.”

Sarah closed her eyes. She pressed her forehead to Amara’s temple.

“I know,” she murmured. “Me too.”

Amara sniffled, a wet, shaky breath trembling through her chest.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“You loved him every day. That was goodbye.”

Amara went quiet again.

Then, very softly, “he was funny. And annoying. And brave.”

Sarah gave a soft laugh through her tears. “He punched a mushroom once because he thought it looked like an infected.”

Amara let out a watery breath— half sob, half laugh. “He said he was immune to nightmares because ‘bad dreams were scared of him.’”

Sarah smiled, but her eyes were wet too now. “God, I loved that stupid little boy.”

“I still do,” Amara whispered.

Sarah pulled her in tighter.

“We both do.”

The rabbit lay between them, crushed but safe, like it had carried all the love of one little brother into this quiet, aching moment.

And for a while, they just sat there.

Boston QZ, 2013

Just Before Winter Took Hold

It was early morning, and the strees outside were draped in orange. Little droplets danced on the windowsill like whispers. The wind had just started to bite, not harsh yet— just enough to make your nose pink and your fingers reach for warmth.

Inside, the world was quiet.

And so was Jordie.

Y/N stood at the stove, stirring powdered milk into lukewarm water with one hand and holding her sleepy little boy with the other— his arms slung over her shoulders, his cheek pressed to her collarbone. The morning air still clung to her skin, cool and thin, despite the fire crackling behind them.

He was warm against her. Soft. Heavy in that way toddlers get when they’re still halfway in dreams.

“I had a dream,” he mumbled, voice thick.

“Oh yeah?” she whispered back, kissing the top of his head. His curls smelled like firewood and sleep.

He nodded lazily. “Thewe’s a big bue dog. He talk.”

“What did he say?” She held back a smile at the way he pronounced words.

“He say you make the besttt soup.”

Y/N smiled, heart folding in on itself. “That dog’s got good taste.”

“He aso say… he aso say…” Jordie paused, thinking so hard she could feel his forehead wrinkle against her collarbone. “He say he don’t wike musrooms eider.”

“Well, then that dog and I are in full agreement.”

Jordie giggled sleepily, and he snuggled in tighter. “He aso say you have magic powews.”

“Oh really?” she said, amused, blowing on the milk before pouring it into a chipped mug. “Like what?”

“Makin’ bad dweams goway.”

She paused for half a second, then she whispered, “That’s a mama thing, baby. We all got that power.”

He was quiet again. Breathing soft. But then—

“I don’t want you goway.”

She closed her eyes.

“I won’t,” she promised, voice low, steady. “I’m right here.”

“You bettew not,” he murmured, curling in like a sleepy cat. “I gwue you to me.”

“Oh yeah?” she smiled.

“Yeah,” he nodded, eyes fluttering. “With supew geue. So stwong.”

She laughed under her breath, pressing her lips to his temple. “Well, you better get that glue ready, ‘cause I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

He yawned, his breath warm against her shoulder. Then, muffled, “‘Cause you my… soft.”

She blinked. “Your what?”

“My soft,” he mumbled again, already half-asleep. “You… soft.”

She didn’t ask what he meant.

She just held him tighter. Pressed her lips to his forehead. Let the silence say what her voice couldn’t carry.

He lifted his head slightly, blinking slow at her. His cheeks were warm. His curls stuck out in every direction like they’d fought a war overnight.

The mug steamed quietly on the table. The rest of the world could wait.

Upstairs Bedroom, 2023

Y/N was alone in the room. The windows were open a crack, letting in the soft whistle of wind through the trees. She’d come up to check on Amara and Frank had asked her to bring an extra blanket with her.

She hadn’t expected to find the bin.

It was tucked beneath the bed. Mismatched clothes folded neatly inside. Some of hers. A few old pieces Sarah and Amara had outgrown.

And then— halfway down the stack— she saw it.

That flannel shirt.

Small. Washed a hundred times. The faded red and blue checkered pattern still clung to it, but barely. The collar had gone limp from wear. The right sleeve had a tiny stain near the wrist— something Jordie had picked up chasing a frog through wet grass years ago.

Y/N’s fingers stopped moving.

Her breath caught.

She sat there on the floor, staring at it. Then slowly— so slowly— she reached out and lifted it from the pile.

It still felt warm, somehow. Not in temperature, but in memory.

She held it in her lap. Smoothed the wrinkles flat. Pressed her fingers over the tiny chest pocket where he used to stash rocks and sticks like treasures. A soft, choked laugh escaped her lips— because he’d once cried for twenty minutes when Joel accidentally washed a “very important acorn” he’d hidden in there.

Her shoulders began to shake.

She didn’t sob. Not at first. Just curled the flannel in her hands and pressed it to her face, breathing him in even though the scent was long gone.

But memory doesn’t need smell.

It just needs the shape of something once loved.

And this— this tiny, soft, broken-in shirt— had his shape. His laugh. His warmth. His weight when he was too tired to walk and asked, voice small, “Can you carry me just a little more?”

The tears came slowly. Then all at once.

She folded in on herself, shirt pressed to her chest, forehead resting on her knees as the kind of grief that doesn’t make sound poured out in waves— heavy, exhausted, raw.

She stayed like that for a while.

Long enough that the sun dipped low behind the trees and the room turned gold, then gray.

Later, she’d refold it gently, and slide it into her pack.

Not because she thought she could keep him.

But because this was what she had left.

One small shirt.

One entire life inside it.

Taglist: @staley83 @princess76179 @issieruby

[andthekitchensinkao3]

TBD chapter 8 teaser

I have been tagged by several people this week, and last week, and and and, you know how it is. You don't always have something to share, but you appreciate the tag anyhoo.

Guess who's finished a whopping 3,4k words on this bad boy [gender neutral] right here? Estimate about 18-20 pages of double-spaced Arial 12pt goodness. In one single chapter. My usual average is twelve! Which is roughly where I'm at, at this point.

This is from the upcoming chapter of To Be Determined, the Emmrich/Astarion fic that's completely running away with me. Pspspsps @tinygameralec

... or it's running away from me. Either/both. Nobody's following my carefully planned outline, but the reward for THAT is going to be one massive chapter with action, high stakes and DRAMA. Who's excited? I'm excited! Are you with me?

Gentle tags under the cut, in case you want to share something, or if you just want to know what I've been up to lately. Thank you for tagging me: @sunny374940 @biowaredisasterbisexual @notyourmamasdeerbat !! <3<3<3

First, a blurb for the chapter: When Astarion rolls a critical failure on a perception check, Emmrich comes to his rescue, with… unforeseen consequences. Injured and separated from the team, they have to put their trust in each other, or they’ll never make it out of Weisshaupt alive.

---First scene, go!--- Content warning for BG3 canon approximate violence and mild gore. We're taking down an ogre, here, people.

Weisshaupt was glorious.

The air was thick with the sounds of slaughter, and the smells of burning flesh and otherwise filled him with a sense of purpose so ripe and juicy he could taste it. These ‘Darkspawn’ had a wonderfully singular mindset - kill everything that moves and isn’t one of them - which made them delightfully predictable.

They were on the ramparts of the fortress, making their way to the War Room with a girl as their guide - fiercest little thing he’d ever seen, miniature version of Karlach, without the horns; she would’ve loved Mila - and the battlefield below was like a dance floor. Rook and Davrin were in the thick of it, fighting off the little beastlies with the red googly eyesockets like the heroes they were always meant to be. Aw. Emmrich kept a safe-ish distance: ish, as nothing was safe in this place, and he rained down necrotic spells like he’d done it his entire life. He probably had, at that.

Hence, Astarion’s detour to higher ground. He had his eye on a pair of big, muscular whatsit, hitting hard with their long-distance projectiles. If he could clear a path for Rook and Davrin, he might impress them further. Show them he could be useful, that his invitation to join the team wasn’t for nothing.

Blades at the ready, he sneaked closer to the edge of the outcrop of cliffs. He picked his target, and jumped into the fray, landing with his legs over the hurlock’s shoulders. The second one barely had time to react before he’d half severed its head from its shoulders, and the first - the one getting intimately acquainted with his thighs - made a gawping sound at its friend.

“Sorry, darling,” he said, tutting, and thrust both blades into his new friend’s chest. And twisted. “I shouldn’t have made you watch that.”

The hurlock choked on its own blood, and as it sagged to its knees, Astarion flipped himself forward, pulling his daggers with him.

Up in the air, Assan made ooh-ing noises that were equal parts impressed and teasing. On ground level, Davrin came running with a fresh smile, pausing only to cut down an uppity spawn of the ‘dark’ variety. “Good job taking those two down.”

“Flashy,” said Rook, not quite so impressed despite his grin. The weight of responsibility, and whatnot. “In the words of my mentor, ‘don’t get cocky.’”

“Varric’s a wise man,” said Astarion - who else could it be? “But I’m afraid that ship’s sailed a long time ago.” He patted Rook’s shoulder and spied down the crumbling path. “Run along now, I’ll see where Emmrich ran off to.”

“We don’t have time!” Mila glared at him, running past them all. “We have to find my dad!”

“He’s right behind us.” Rook pointed in the general vicinity of that-a-way, and pushed forward with Davrin. True to his word, there was Emmrich. Leaping backwards through the air like something taken right out of a ballet performance, raining down mayhem on any darkspawn foolish enough to go at him. Covered in blight and blood. Looking perfectly…

Their eyes locked across the vast expanse of corruption taken physical form. Emmrich’s eyes were quite something. In the warm light of the Lighthouse courtyard his irises were almost amber-like in quality. In the infirmary, they were hazel; brown and green combining in the most delightful way. But here, they glowed a bright green. Like his magic.

Something crashed behind him, but with the general calamity and all, he didn’t think much of it. Lucanis had said something about Emmrich being a battlemage, and hells’ bells was he right about that - the way he moved on the battlefield was nothing short of distracting. He came running, his eyes widening with alarm and the sweet rush of adrenaline. Shouting. Something.

He remembered the first time he’d seen that colour. Emmrich’s features disappearing into the darkness of oblivion, nothing left but a pair of literal twin orbs of that green. The second time, the Grand Necropolis, and the Veilfire lanterns.

Emmrich’s magic coursed through him to the point of bursting, and in a weak moment Astarion might admit to being smitten. If he were weak. Which he was not. Categorically not.

“ASTARION!” Emmrich’s teeth were bared, his face covered in grime and sweat-sheen, pale and flushed at the same time. “MOVE!”

“What?”

“OGRE!” Emmrich’s voice cracked over the words, and still Astarion couldn’t move. “BEHIND YOU!”

A shrill sound carried through the air to his ears, and the air came away from him, displacement brought on by something enormous and very, very bad. His instincts more than rational thought kicked in a fraction of a second before something as big as him crashed down a hair’s breadth from his skull. He threw himself out of the way, tumbling onto his ass on the craggy ground. The loud chink of metal hitting stone; the gleam of a sharpened blade and the bloodied pike sticking out at the top like a lethal exclamation mark. A halberd bigger than his own head, and attached to it was, indeed, an ogre.

Its eyes glowed a menacing blight-red, much like its maw, lined by far too many razor sharp teeth. It roared at him, but didn’t immediately attack, too preoccupied with trying to yank the halberd loose from the rock it had cleaved.

And then, there was Emmrich. Wild-eyed and hollering, he rushed the beast, wielding his mage staff like a close-combat weapon. The glowing skull connected with the ogre’s big head with a resounding crack, and Emmrich used the momentum to leap off its broad shoulder, spinning sideways in the air for another unforgiving wallop.

Behind the ogre was a wall of debris, cutting off their path forward. Davrin and Rook were nowhere to be seen. It was just them against one pissed-off behemoth with horns. Or, rather, Emmrich going at it tooth and nail… defending him.

The ogre gave another marrow-curdling roar and lashed out, grabbing Emmrich by the arm, and shook him like a ragdoll. Emmrich cried out in pain, his staff clattering over the edge of the rampart.

“Emmrich!” Astarion’s breath caught in his throat, and he went scrabbling for his daggers. He ran, using the halberd’s handle as a stepping stone, catapulting himself through the air to land, daggers first, on the ogre’s broad back. He snarled, driving his blades deep through bone and soft tissues, deep as they would go. Once wasn’t enough to make it let go, but Astarion didn’t mind. He stabbed, and he stabbed, and he stabbed, to the sound of gurgling wails of agony like music to his ears. Leaving a latticework of flesh behind once he was satisfied, and jumped out of the way.

The ogre gave a final, desolate groan, and sagged right over the edge into the darkness. Dragging Emmrich with it.

Tagging everyone, as always:

@ghoulehhh @natendo-art @in-my-loki-feels @kusakichan15 @kcscribbler

@devilbearingtrouble @impulsemuppet @mirilyawrites @scifikimmi @silentxsymphony

@rin-love-is-green @confetti39x @stillwanderingflame @elodiah @lokimobius

@insert-witty-user-name-here @blackbirdofasgard @dreamycloud @distracteddream

@mobius-m-mobius @dilfmobius @adorbspotat @lgwilt

@redheadsramblings @starfleetteddybear @mercars-musings @holyglassbone @genocidalfetus @wolfpup026 @elodiah @notyourmamasdeerbat @lavender-tea-fling @otterpocketz @notyourmamasdeerbat @crowtoed @roshytsunami @watcherandcrow

And if I've failed to tag someone who's reading this - consider yourself tagged!

[cheekybarnes]

just wondering how many more oneshots you’re planning to post before you actually finish a seat at the table or point of impact. no shade, but it’s getting kind of hard to keep caring when you keep starting new things instead of following through.

hi there! just wanted to let you know that you maybe didn’t need to make this ask as rude as it came off :)

this the third of these types of anonymous inboxes i’ve received the past few weeks and i was willing to look beyond the first two, but i have a lot of feelings and things to say about this after this one. i truly hope you read it, respect it, and understand it:

i get it. you’re clearly invested in a seat at the table and point of impact, which i appreciate. truly. i love that those stories have found readers who care about what happens next. what i don’t love? the tone that drips from this message like it’s been sitting in a lukewarm glass of entitlement.

there’s been a HUGE uptick lately in bitchy-ass anons crawling out of the woodwork to complain about writers…writing. which is wild, considering every single one of us is doing this for free. free, babes. zero dollars. negative dollars if you count the hours of emotional labor, unpaid creative effort, and time sacrificed from our actual lives to write these stories. which, AGAIN, are available to you at the low, low cost of absolutely nothing.

so if i’m being honest? if you’re going to show up with that energy, i’m going to go ahead and match it. i’m going to throw it right back. because what we’re not going to do is pretend i owe anyone content on a schedule. i’m not amazon prime. i’m not a vending machine you get to kick until your next chapter drops out.

i’m a person. i have a full-time job. like, a real one. a 9–5 that pays my bills and eats my brain. i have a partner. i have friends. i have errands and grocery runs and laundry piles and migraines and plans that fall through and burnout that creeps in when i’m not looking. i have hobbies beyond writing, as shocking as that may be. i love writing, obviously, it’s why i’m here, but my entire existence does not revolve around serving up fic on demand.

i write what inspires me in the moment. and sometimes that’s a messy, emotional one-shot. sometimes it’s me finally chipping away at a draft for one of my series. sometimes it’s a request someone sends me. sometimes its something that came from instantaneous idea and i don’t want to let it go. and all of that? is valid. is mine. is part of the joy i get from being in fandom. this is supposed to be fun, not a second unpaid job where strangers audit my output like it’s a quarterly report.

and if you actually paid attention instead of tallying how many times i post new oneshots like you’re running a fic IRS you’d notice i do still update those series. they’re not abandoned. they are active WIPs that i care deeply about. but rushing them or forcing out chapters just to appease people who forgot that writers are humans is not the move. it leads to burnout. it leads to resentment. and it sure as hell doesn’t lead to good writing.

so yeah. i’ll keep posting what i want, when i want. whether that’s a new chapter or a chaotic little oneshot that dragged me out of bed at 1am. because this is my space. this is my joy. i WANT to share it with a community and have built a lovely rapport of mutuals. and if that’s not enough for you, there’s a simple solution: log off and go touch some grass.

or, and this is a wild idea, maybe just say thank you and enjoy the free content while it’s here.

have the day you deserve 🫶🏻

[please-destroy]

When The Deal Goes Down

Series Masterlist

.

Chapter 5: Companionship and Penguins

.

Part 1 -  Rebooked

When you both got to the elevator, Natasha relaxed against you. You had a feeling that the conversation with Pepper had switched from global politics without you realising. You wrapped her in your arms gently. You expected to head to her room as usual when you stepped off the elevator, but instead she led you to your own door.

‘I’ll meet you in a few minutes.’ She said softly. Not exactly a question, but leaving you the opportunity to say no.

‘Sounds good. I’ll get started on making the tea.’ You confirmed with a smile, heading inside.

When she returned, you were already dressed for bed in a t-shirt and shorts. You watched her eyes rake up the length of your bare legs, settling on your ass unashamedly. For a moment, her gaze was almost predatory and a thrilled shiver shot up your spine. 

She’d dressed differently to what you’d expected, wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a threadbare, oversized t-shirt. Her hair was tied back in a loose braid. She looked unassumingly beautiful and it was all the more distracting.

‘God, you look hot.’ You said automatically and Natasha laughed. 

‘You have to be kidding.’ She replied, reaching out to take a mug from your hand. You tapped her chin and kissed her small smile and it made her smile more.

‘Tonight was fun.’ You declared as you sat together on the edge of the bed. You had your arm wrapped around Natasha and she reflexively curled towards you.

‘Yeah?’ She looked up at you. ‘Good.’

‘You got plans tomorrow?’ You asked playfully.

‘Oh yeah, big plans.’ Natasha laced her tone with sarcasm.

‘Well, you’re cooking me breakfast.’ You reminded her cheekily.

‘Keep dreaming (Y/N). You didn’t even try to cook for me tonight.’ She shook her head in mock disappointment. You took her mug and your own and deposited them in the kitchenette sink.

‘I know, I know. Maybe we should go out for breakfast tomorrow, then? If it doesn’t interfere with your schedule?’ A warm feeling hummed through the room suddenly and you turned back from the kitchenette to see her shy smile.

‘Okay’ Natasha’s smile met her eyes, ‘like another date?’

‘No.’ You paused, letting the mood fizzle out only for a second. ‘Just so I can make sure you’re well fed and ready for our actual date.’ The room reheated and she grinned again.

‘But what about my busy schedule?’

‘You just got rebooked.’ You winked, not quite believing your own confidence.

You prepared for bed very domestically, both of you brushing your teeth whilst watching the other in the mirror and pulling funny faces. You were on the last chapter of your book and Natasha was nearly through with Jane Eyre. As you closed it at last, you scanned the piles of novels around the room, unable to decide which should come next. Natasha looked over at you and shut her book too.

‘Ready to sleep then?’ She asked.

‘Sure. You got any book recommendations by the way? If you don’t pick one for me, I’ll have no excuse when Bruce lends me his personal picks.’

Natasha lay down properly and then turned on her side to face you.

‘Hmmm.’ Her voice was husky as she mulled it over. ‘I’ve just finished the Harry Potter books.’ As always, Natasha revealed even innocuous facts carefully. You watched her studying your face, gauging your reaction.

‘Really?’ You smiled, turning on your side to face her too. ‘I’ve already read them, but they’re exactly what I could read again. Did you like them?’

‘Yes.’ Natasha didn’t elaborate and you thought immediately about how cute she would be at the Harry Potter theme park in Orlando.

‘I have a lot of questions.’ You admitted.

‘I thought you’d read them already?’ Natasha sounded amused.

‘No’ You elongated the word for effect. ‘I have questions about what you thought of the books.’ 

Natasha looked a little awkward. ‘I told you, I liked them.’ She said carefully, watching you warily like you had asked her for the nuclear codes.

‘You don’t want me to learn all your opinions on the boy wizard? You asked playfully, but a little curious too.

She shifted onto her elbow.

‘I don’t understand why you would want to know.’ She stated, implying again that you might have some ulterior motive.

‘Solely for my own interest. I just want to know your opinions.’ You shrugged easily, keeping it light despite her tension. ‘I won’t tell anyone about your Draco Malfoy fanfiction.’ Natasha used a pillow to smack you.

‘Why would I ever write about that weasel?’

You laughed loudly at that and felt her ease into your round of questioning on the books.

Natasha seemed actively cautious that her answers were too revealing but you saw her push through it.

‘I’m definitely a Slytherin.’ She assured you.

‘I’m going to have to get you to do an online quiz before I even halfway believe that.’ You insisted.

‘I’m literally a spy (Y/N), I’ve worked for the KGB.’ Natasha glared a little. You tried to remember if you’d ever found that look truly intimidating.

‘Oh please, that’s past tense. You’ve taken out aliens in Manhattan since then.’ You waved her off, dismissing it easily. ‘I just don’t know which other house you’re most like.’ 

‘Slytherin.’ Natasha repeated stubbornly and you shook your head but otherwise ignored her.

‘Hmm you’re loyal, so Hufflepuff could work.’ Natasha huffed loudly. ‘You’re also ridiculously smart, so Ravenclaw would make sense. And you’re the bravest person I know, so Gryffindor is probably the most likely.’ 

There was a pause where you waited for her to insist again on Slytherin. But instead, Natasha asked very hesitantly.

‘Do you really think that?’

‘What? That you’re smart, loyal and brave? Of course I do.’ You answered confidently.

‘The bravest person you know.’ 

‘Oh yes, for sure.’ You said honestly, lying on your back and staring up at the ceiling. ‘That’s the only part of your past that gets to count towards your house.’ You decided aloud.

‘I was really scared, you know, a lot of the time.’ Natasha countered quietly.

You looked over at her carefully. ‘Yeah, I think that’s why it should count.’ 

Natasha closed the small gap between you and kissed you deeply. You let your fingers roll over her nipples under her shirt and she moaned in pleasure. You squeezed lightly and she tensed.

‘That’s enough for now.’ Natasha said definitely, sighing dramatically as if to make her words less confrontational. You saw her watch you subtly, and knew this was another part of her teasing game of testing you and her boundaries.

‘Okay.’ Was all you said, stretching out a little to be more comfortable. 

‘Maybe soon.’ Natasha dangled the offer again looking over at your reaction with interest.

‘Okay’ You repeated. ‘I’m basically always thinking about how hot you are, so I’m sure I can do short notice.’

You slept together like you had the night after your first date, with Natasha curled into your side and your hand wrapped around her wrist where it rested between your breasts.

Natasha had more nightmares than usual that night, but you both survived until morning. You were up at the crack of the dawn. It presented a perfect opportunity because you hadn’t gotten your spontaneous date idea completely figured out yet, and so you took the chance to plan ahead. 

Natasha woke up bathed in the early sunlight. Tensing first at the unexpected surroundings  of your room and then giving you a sleepy smile. She closed her eyes again.

‘Fancy some breakfast?’ Your voice cracked from lack of use.

‘Yes.’ she sighed happily.

‘Fancy some breakfast?’ She imitated to herself a minute later, as you both left the bed.

‘Hey!’

‘You say cute things.’ Natasha defended. ‘Now shut up until I’m dressed, I want my coffee already.’

This time, Jarvis loaned you a car for the trip. Natasha let you drive and you could tell it was because she liked watching you whilst you were occupied. It was a warm day and the views were nice along the roadside. Natasha spent a lot of time trying to encourage you to go faster. You encouraged her to read more of her book or choose some music. She was like a child at a restaurant needing a colouring book. She moved the radio station onto generic pop music. You glanced over, noticing that her eyes were closed again in the morning’s warmth and she really seemed to be enjoying it.

‘You like this station?’ You asked curiously.

‘I like all of this.’ Natasha said unexpectedly, looking over at you with a grin. ‘It’s like a real American date.’

You thought about her with her ankles crossed on the dashboard, the pop song blaring and the sunshine starting to heat up the tarmac. You grinned.

‘Oh yeah, I can see that. Wanna make out in the backseat of my car?’

‘Pick a nice parking lot.’

You pulled into a diner just off the main road.

‘You want American, you get American.’ You teased whilst getting out of the car. 

You held her hand as you walked into the establishment, met with a red cord that blocked you from entering the main dining area. You twirled Natasha around on impulse, leaning into the generic pop that was also playing here in the ‘Wait To Be Seated’ area.

Your server’s name was Ronny. Ronny had clearly been on shift all night. She didn’t care that you were clearly two girls on a date. She didn’t look like she’d care if you were both cannibals, here for a side of eggs after a home cooked spit roast. You said all this to Natasha when you were meant to be reading the menu.

‘Now I don’t think I want eggs.’ Natasha looked revulsed, pretending to repress a nauseous heave. 

‘Okay, that was spooky realistic.’ You said, impressed by her dramatics.

‘Thanks, it’s like my job or something.’ Natasha slipped into a Valley Girl accent and flicked her hair, returning to the menu. 

Inevitably, you both got a full American breakfast ensemble. You ordered extra hashbrowns and eyed your stack of pancakes suspiciously. They were dripping in melted whipped cream and strawberries.

Natasha rolled her eyes at you, chewing on a mouthful of bacon.

‘Why did you even order them if you hate them so much?’ 

‘Thought you might want extra.’ You muttered. ‘Do you?’ You said hopefully, thinking you might feel better without having to watch the whipped cream dribbling all over the bacon on your plate.

‘Sure.’ said Natasha. ‘As long as we make a deal.’ In one move she took your pancakes onto her plate and used her other hand to slide her milkshake into the centre of the table.

‘Okay, we can share it.’ You agreed happily ‘We can call it dessert. Or, I could call you that.’ You regretted the lame line instantly. Natasha stared at you and you felt heat crawl up your neck, not able to read her at all.

‘Okay, no more smooth talk from me.’ You said, lifting your hands in surrender.

‘That definitely wasn’t smooth.’ Natasha commented with a sly smile. 

‘Good to know’ You said, sipping on the milkshake and giving her foot a little kick. She hooked her foot around your ankle and dragged it over to her side.

Part 2 - Fishy Picnics

Back in the car, Natasha’s tight pants proved to be thoroughly distracting as she stretched her legs back out on the dashboard. Somewhere during the drive, she’d started chewing some gum. You hadn’t seen her put the gum in her mouth and you weren’t sure how you could have missed it.

‘So, this plan for today.’ Natasha began casually, blowing a bubble. ‘Is it another reception staff organised event?’

‘No, this one is all me.’ You assured her. 

When you parked at the zoo, Natasha gave you a look. It was a look that said, first an aquarium and now a zoo.

‘I know, I know.’ You said grinning ‘But, you’re the cutest human being in the world when you see new stuff. And I figured you’ve never been to this zoo.’

You said ‘this’ but you suspected it was ‘any’ zoo.

You could feel a secret bubbling excitement coming from her when she looked at you and you could have floated without meaning to. 

You practically skipped over to the ticket desk, Natasha moving quickly to keep up and not lose your handhold.

Kelsey, who greeted you, was clearly gay. She was also clearly human. You watched her eyes light up and her mouth drop slightly at the sight of Natasha. She mumbled her way through a welcome speech and pushed her glasses up her nose more than necessary. She nearly had a stroke when Natasha kissed you and pulled you over to the meerkat observation zone right by the front desk. 

‘You’re kinda like a meerkat.’ You said stupidly as you looked out at the animals. ‘You’re always alert and you’re super cute.’

You then watched together as two meerkats screeched ferally, each trying to murder the other.

‘Just kinda though.’ You said awkwardly, feeling Natasha shake with silent laughter.

‘Let’s go see the flamingos.’ Natasha directed, flitting away from the meerkat enclosure with that light-as-air energy she had sometimes; ironically like an enclosed animal finally out of its cage. You enjoyed following in her wake.

When you caught up, Natasha’s fingers were already curled in the chain link fence that stood between her and the flock of stoic birds that she was observing.

‘You’re kinda like a flamingo.’ You decided to continue teasingly, watching the hairs rise up on her neck when you spoke from right behind her. ‘You’re beautiful and elegant.’ 

You both watched as a flamingo vomited up some pebbles in the corner of the enclosure.

‘Just kinda though.’ You added again and now Natasha laughed loudly.

The silly game soon became more interesting to you than the animals themselves.

‘You’re kinda like a tiger, impressive and fierce as fuck.’

‘You’re kinda like a tapir, because, uh, you’re underappreciated?’

‘Okay, so you have no resemblance to an elephant, except that you’re also very wise.’

‘You’re definitely like a lion.’ You hummed, cuddling into Natasha whilst you watched from the viewing station above their enclosure.

‘And why’s that?’ Natasha rolled her eyes teasingly. Other couples were smiling over at your interaction. The ones who looked familiar to you had probably overheard your silly commentary at other exhibits already. You knew Natasha was getting a kick out of the playful domesticity. 

‘Because you’re my absolute favourite.’ You admitted with a grin. Natasha spun around in your loose hold to face you.

‘Really?’ She asked, playfully focused on the string of your hoodie that she was twisting around her finger. ‘Why are lions your favourite?’

‘They can be powerful, even ruthless. But nothing matters more than their pride. And they’re tough.’ You kissed her quickly. ‘And beautiful.’ You kissed her again. ‘Really cool hair too.’ 

‘I think.’ Natasha tangled the drawstring a little more and played coy. ‘That maybe you want to fuck a lion.’

You shook your head seriously, undermined by your own half smirk. ‘No’ you hummed. ‘I think I’m only interested in the human species.’ Your hands wandered up and down her back lazily.

‘Now.’ You pretended to think out loud. ‘If only I could find a girl a bit like that.’

You expected her to say something silly and continue the back and forth, but instead she leaned forward, fingers now completely entangled with the hoodie string and put her head down quietly, right on top of your heart. You held her tighter automatically, swaying a little as if slow music was playing. Now, the other tourists started to avert their gazes, the scene suddenly too intimate.

‘Don’t ever’ Natasha started, her voice unexpectedly heavy. ‘Please, don’t -’

‘Leave?’ 

You knew it was the right guess, because it was the thing you wanted to guarantee as much as her. Ever since she’d had that panic attack, Natasha’s fear haunted you.

‘Never. Let’s just live in the zoo.’ 

You sensed that her sadness was as much for the things lost before you. You kissed her hair, humming softly. When Natasha finally came back to you, you ran your thumbs under both her eyes wordlessly before you headed over to the lunch hall.

Natasha’s nose wrinkled at the sight of it. In fairness it did not look appealing. Filled with sticky children, juice boxes and an undetermined smell that definitely wasn’t food.

‘Okay.’ You considered your options. ‘Wanna see what food options the ice cream cart has?’

Soon, you found yourselves sitting in the sunshine, lying out on the grass by the penguin’s enclosure. You started with your ice creams before trying your boring sandwiches, which the cashier had morosely informed you didn’t come with a toy.

You closed your eyes and let the hot sun beat down on your face.

‘I wish every day was more like this.’ You announced. ‘I don’t know how it could get better.’ As you spoke, a keeper threw a bucket of fish in with the penguins and the smell hit you so hard that you gagged on your sandwich crust.

Natasha smirked, her open delight at your suffering always weirdly endearing. 

‘There’s a penguin parade later.’ You informed her. ‘They all go for a walk around the edge of this patch of grass. The zookeepers herd them around. Do you want to stay here for half an hour so we can watch?’

‘Sounds too good to be true.’ Natasha teased. ‘In fact, it sounds a bit fishy to me.’ 

You groaned exaggeratedly at the pun.

‘If you make that noise every time, I’m going to come up with more of them.’ Natasha threatened smugly. You rolled your eyes and rested back on your elbows.

You enjoyed people watching together for a little bit. Natasha’s predictions and observations usually rang scarily true, from who was expecting a phone call to who was about to make a joke that would fall flat. You were openly impressed with her accuracy and she preened a little, playfully revelling in your praise.

‘What about that kid?’ You said, pointing at a little red headed boy with glasses on. He was walking with purpose right past the jungle gym and over to the penguins, hands deep in his pockets. 

‘He’s got to be up to something.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Natasha, suddenly neutral. ‘I can’t read kids well.’

It was hard for her to surprise you, but this did. ‘You must have been able to read them when you were one?’ You asked, hoping this was still a safe topic.

‘Not since.’ She said shortly, and you sensed that the mood had definitely changed. Natasha kept her eyes on the little boy though and you stilled, waiting for her guess or prediction and hoping that she wasn’t flashing back to some terrible childhood memory that you’d unknowingly unlocked.

Eventually, you started watching the kid too. After a minute, you stood up still holding Natasha’s hand in yours.

‘Okay, we should probably help him. Even I can tell that he’s lost someone or something.’ 

Natasha stayed sitting, letting your joined hands strain awkwardly at the angle.

‘We don’t know that.’ 

The kid’s head was swivelling like a periscope and tears were threatening to fall. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure it out. You tilted your head and waited for a better reason. 

‘I can stay and keep our space. Otherwise we’ll lose it.’ This was the opposite reaction you’d been expecting for an Avenger faced with a scared child. 

‘Okay.’ You made a neutral shrug that you didn’t quite mean and walked away, dropping her hand in the process.

The boy had lost his Mom. She’d told him to go stand by the penguins if he ever got lost, but the penguin enclosure was large and over two levels. You told him to stay still and did a quick run around. His Mom was easy to spot on the lower level. She looked exhausted and worried, standing with twin toddler girls. She was more than relieved to hear your news.

You walked back to the grassy space with the family. They were looking to sit somewhere before the penguin parade as well. 

On your approach, Natasha’s sudden eye contact seemed to be screaming, please don’t bring them over here. You complied automatically, helping them instead get a good position for the parade about 20 feet away from Natasha.

When you sat back down next to her, Natasha felt distant but her eyes scanned around the park in a perfect facade of ease.

‘Right, well we should probably talk about that.’ You said clearly, not liking the mixed signals. ‘Because it was kind of weird.’

‘No.’ She said so lightly it could have been the breeze, but it was steely too.

‘Okay.’ You paused, giving in immediately. ‘Then, I’ll just say I’m sorry. And we can always talk about it later if you want.’

Now Natasha turned to you with unfiltered confusion in her small frown. ‘Sorry for what?’

You rubbed your neck. ‘Sorry for making you feel super uncomfortable. You set a boundary and I kinda skirted all over the edges of it.’ You gestured with your hands unhelpfully.

‘I really don’t want to talk about this right now.’ Natasha reiterated, eyeing you suspiciously and trying to assess your intentions.

You just sighed. ‘I know. I actually don’t want you to talk about stuff if you’re not ready to. You don’t owe me that. You don’t owe anyone that.’

Natasha moved over and rested her legs over the top of yours in a nonverbal cue that you’d said the right thing. You let the awkwardness fade away in the sunshine, but were unable to stop wondering about what exactly had made her so uneasy.  Soon enough, they were opening the gate for the penguins. You watched them wander along absentmindedly, choosing to stay seated together even though your view would have been better standing.

‘Do you think they have a penny press here too?’ You asked later, when you entered the gift shop. Together, you found the machine near the back, behind the more popular shelves of animal plushies. There were several designs to choose from.

‘The lion?’ Natasha confirmed after examining each design carefully.

‘No, the penguins.’ You said unexpectedly, even for yourself. ‘Because you’re kinda like a penguin.’

She played along without hesitation. ‘And why am I kind of like a penguin?’ 

‘Well, they’re very cute, always well dressed.’ You teased, looked her up and down approvingly. 

‘Is that it?’

‘No. They’re also big fans of aquariums.’

Natasha raised an eyebrow.

‘...And they’re like the most loyal animal, right? That old pair walked the whole parade today whilst holding flippers.’ 

Abruptly, Natasha looked like she might cry.

‘Plus.’ You added seriously, looking her straight in the eye. ‘They also smell kinda fishy.’ 

Natasha was remarkably fast and accurate when she pelted you with a koala plushie. 

You left the zoo, each with a new pressed penny in your pocket. You also had a big stuffed lion that Natasha had insisted on buying for you. You kept making it roar at her whenever she looked your way in the parking lot.

Part 3 - For Your Eyes Only

You picked up Chinese takeout on the way back to the Compound. Natasha automatically went to push the elevator button for the common floor, but you intercepted, pressing the one for your floor instead. 

‘Not feeling so social today?’ She questioned and you shook your head.

‘I think Tony’s spent the last 24 hours coming up with a litany of innuendos.’ You intoned darkly. ‘I don’t want to have to throw my food at anyone.’ 

You sat together on the sofa in Natasha’s room. She drank the wonton soup straight out of the carton, managing to make it look fairly elegant. Jarvis put some folky music on in the background and you smiled at the ceiling.

Natasha, however, had started flitting between comfortable and then nervous whenever you shifted or moved. It was subtle enough at first, but it started to become unnerving as it persisted. You couldn’t tell what was making her so hesitant around you.

By the time you’d finished your rice dish and she’d had her main course, you had to address it. 

You put the carton down on the coffee table.

‘Natasha, what’s wrong?’ You asked simply.

‘Nothing.’ She lied smoothly and immediately, as if she’d been anticipating the question. Her expression gave nothing away.

You let your head hit the back of the couch in silent frustration and stared blankly at the black TV screen. You tried to think what to do next. For anyone else, you might have expressed your annoyance. But that was the last thing you wanted to do here. You didn’t know why she was upset and you didn’t know what she was anticipating that made her so wary of you. It was like facing a checkmate. Every move you thought to make seemed like a nonstarter.

Natasha kept eating her food, obviously preferring the tension to speaking. You could tell from her body language that she was ready to be defensive.

Your mind mulled over some of the worst things that had ever happened to you. You knew that you could trust Natasha with that information, that she’d even appreciate you sharing. But, even with that knowledge, you also knew that you wouldn’t want to talk about it. Your empathy for Natasha increased and your annoyance faded.

‘(Y/N)’ Natasha eventually spoke. You turned your head to look at her, still resting it against the back of the couch.

‘Natasha, what is it that you want?’ You blurted out unexpectedly. She looked as surprised by your bluntness as you were.

‘Because I’m sitting here and I’m thinking that all I want is exactly what you do. And I’m thinking that maybe this is going too fast for you. I want to be around you and know everything about you and that’s a lot to put on someone who’s not ready. So, just, know that I’m going to love you regardless and tell me what you want from me? I can take it.’ 

You sat up straight as you finished speaking, intending to move off the sofa and put some distance between the two of you.

‘No.’ Natasha said immediately. ‘Don’t.’ Her hand grabbed your wrist, stilling you instantly. 

‘I don’t want you to go, but I don’t think you should stay when you don’t know everything.’ 

You just waited, because there was nothing to say to that. You loved her so much it stung.

‘I just.’ Her nails dug into your wrist a little and she blinked back tears. ‘Please don’t go.’

‘I won’t. Not if you don’t want me to.’ You reassured her, taking her words as an invitation of touch and moving both your hands to gently rest on her waist. 

‘I just don’t want to hurt you and I feel like I’m walking blind right now.’ You admitted, watching her waist flinch automatically at your touch.

‘I can’t have children.’ Natasha said abruptly. You blinked, processing the words.

‘Oh God, honey, I’m so sorry.’ You moved quickly to take her hands in yours, wondering immediately if your last touch had been too close to her stomach. Too close to the part of her that she was talking about. Her eyes flickered away from you, staring into the mid distance about an inch over your left shoulder. 

‘How long have you known?’ You asked.

‘Since they sterilised me.’ Her voice filled with disgust.

Your breathing came out ragged as you felt a hot rush of rage build in you at the thought of it.

‘That’s awful.’ You said at last, in a low controlled voice. ‘What they took from you, what they - ’ You couldn’t speak through the anger that you were trying to repress.

Natasha quoted words that weren’t hers, bitterly. ‘It’s more efficient, one less thing to worry about once you graduate.’

‘Jesus.’ You muttered out, trying to breathe past the anger that was clouding your vision. 

‘Now, you can’t even fucking look at me.’ You felt her hands pull away from yours. ‘I’m a programmed, altered thing. Nothing about me has ever been my own. I’m disgusting.’ You saw her own repulsion reflected in her face and it was so jarring that it cleared your head enough to think coherently.

You looked right back at her. 

‘You are Natasha Romanoff’ You said with force. ‘You are not anyone’s anything. You are you and I love you exactly as you are.’

‘There’s no future with me.’ Natasha replied immediately, and you wondered if she’d heard your words at all.

‘Yeah, well, I don’t think I want a future without you.’ You said. ‘I really don’t. And God, Nat, if you want children, there are other ways. You’d be a great mother.’

You could feel the hot twisting emotion pouring from her, like you’d opened a wound and for once said the right thing.

‘You think I could be a good mother?’ She choked out after a minute.

‘Yes.’ You said with conviction. ‘I think you would be.’

She kissed you so hot then, that you nearly gasped from all the oxygen burning up. You moaned lowly into it. All you could feel was love and lust bound together from you or her or both of you. 

You didn’t hesitate this time, the moment was right. You moved her hands and placed them around your neck. She recognised the gesture from the night above the ceiling tiles and she gripped her legs around your waist as you lifted her and moved her onto the edge of the bed.

Clothes landed on the ground. Soon, you were both in your bras and you wondered vaguely how you’d lost your clothes without really breaking the kiss. Her fingers undid your bra almost as fast as you got to hers. Your thumbs ran over her nipples and the noise she made nearly capsized you entirely. 

You let your fingers trail around her breasts before squeezing them softly. This time, she moaned into your mouth. You teased your thumbs along her panty line and she moved to leave a hickey on your neck, pulling at your hair in the process.

‘Fuck.’ You panted out, already heady with arousal. Natasha’s thighs tightened around you as you pressed into her and you sensed her intent to flip you onto the bed. Instead you freed yourself with efficiency and knelt down in front of her, like you had once before.

Natasha gazed at you intently, curious and maybe a little nervous. You took no time in swirling your tongue over her hardening nipples, letting your teeth graze them. She grunted, her hands clenching in your hair.

You pulled her pants down and off her legs and slipped out of your own too. Natasha was left sitting there in just her panties. They were light grey and unassuming. You noted the dark wet underside to them and let yourself feel smug.

With a last tease of her nipples, you let your tongue run down her toned stomach. You grazed over a nasty looking scar and didn’t let yourself pause. Just giving it an extra, if slightly sloppy, kiss on your way further down.

As your tongue went lower, you let your fingernails trail lightly up and down her thighs before gazing reassuringly back up at her. She looked a little nervous in a way that didn’t match her arousal.

‘This just feels important.’ Natasha said carefully between panted breaths and you caught her meaning immediately. You shared a smile with her that you wouldn’t give to anyone else and kissed her thigh gently.

‘Spread your legs.’ You commanded simply. For once in her life, Natasha was obedient and her legs opened wide, the anticipation building to its peak. You slowly dragged her panties down her legs, licking your way up her left thigh at the same time. You let your hot breath linger on newly wet areas.

You licked along the outside of her cunt, tasting her already. She made a noise like a half scream and then a whine. In that moment, you found an absolute focus, listening only to her and her body. You used your tongue to lick and lap at her, following your instincts and her sparks of pleasure. You let your fingers go deep and made her beg while you took her over the edge. 

The first time she came, she seemed blinded with the pleasure. You moved up to kiss her languidly, letting your bodies twist and shift as you began again.

An hour or so later, you were curled into each other on the bed, covers kicked off. Both of you were sweaty and as you'd cooled, Natasha had draped herself over you like you were her personal space heater. You kissed her lazily, tasting a blend of you both. Her lips were so close that it was a crime not to have them.

‘You’re so hot.’ She commented, her finger running down between your breasts and tracing back up the sides of them. Her hands were cold enough to make your skin tingle all over again.

You just smiled, brushing a tendril of her hair behind her ear.

[kotikaleo]

GOOD JOB JOEL!!!

MAKE IT WILD!!!

Just a small doodle I made a few days ago, right before actually watching the finaly XD. That's why his design is from double life.... Double life with me forever.

MAYBE when I will watch his pov for Wild Life I will redraw that with more accurate design

[azzymaxxing]

IFUCKING WIN

[not-poignant]

Constellations 15 on AO3!

Rating: Mature

Tags: Contemporary, trauma recovery, men in therapy, references to BDSM relationships, past trauma recovery, complex family relationships, hurt/comfort, angst, historical child abuse, historical familial abuse, reconciliation, Gwyn’s a stalker for five seconds

Summary: (Will make little sense if you haven’t read Falling Falling Stars) It’s been around ten years since the events of Falling Falling Stars, and Efnisien and Gwyn are living their respective lives, and haven’t really been in touch since. Over time, Gwyn becomes more curious about his cousin, especially after learning something he hopes isn’t true, and after seeing him by chance in a park, kicks off a series of events that helps create new opportunities for reconciliation, and discovering what it really means to be family. 

–

Constellations - 15 - Champagne Supernova on AO3

In which Efnisien meets Gwyn’s dog, Fleet, for the first time, and Gwyn finds out more about the incest that occurred between Efnisien and Crielle, and has his worldview shattered by his new understanding of past events.

–

EARLY ACCESS: Constellations - 18 - Solar Event (Final chapter!) on Patreon and Ream:

Constellations 18 on Patreon

Constellations 18 on Ream

In this chapter, Gwyn and Efnisien keep seeing each other. Gwyn realises he gets to have Efnisien in his life and how much of a gift that truly is, as he looks towards a future where he finally understands what family means.

– Thanks to all the Patreon and Ream supporters for making this (and my other writing) possible!

[stump-not-found]

Is there a post schedule for Thesus Guide? Or is it updated just whenever? Asking to see if I should be marking my calendars or not :3

we're on break right now! please expect at min a 2 month delay, since that's about as long as the first half took to write, not counting for the editing, which i had been doing during posting (which was a mistake im doing editing WELL before i start posting again)

truthfully it may be a longer wait as the second half is looking to be longer than the first lol . but i like writing in batches so i can edit things to make sure late plot beats are set up in early chapters

i'll be sure to give plenty of heads up when the story is about to start up again, tho :D