#will this work loose something in my own mind? Will I become more painfully aware of my own needs? Will loneliness hurt more?

[smilesatdawnmain]

a question from the Author of the tragedy of the six how would you define the boys' personalities? (English is not my original language, I don't know if it will be understood)

Oh my gosh okay okay! I put a summary of how they are in the Tragedy of Six Au below~

-- Red Son:

As the oldest member of the group, Red Son takes his responsibilities very seriously. He is often trusted to watch over the others and as a result, has become quite strict when it comes to following rules. Though he may come across as overprotective, it's only because he cares so deeply for the well-being of his peers. Despite having a quick temper, Red Son always keeps stress toys on hand to help him manage his anger. In fact, he goes through so many that he has quite a collection. However, one thing that can easily soften his demeanor is seeing something cute. This is especially true with the younger children in the group; their innocence and adorableness make it hard for him to stay mad at them, and he often lets them have their way.

He can be stern and serious, but it's evident that he wants to let loose and experience life as a normal child. He yearns to fully immerse himself in the things he enjoys and openly express his passions, but fears letting himself be too open like that. Only the other children can draw out his more playful sides and creativity when it comes to machines.

Fully aware of the wild and unpredictable nature of his powers, he dedicates himself to mastering them. He is deeply afraid of what he could do if he lost control. In his mind, the woman known as LBD is not a mother figure, but a savior. He clings to the belief that she saved him from certain death after being abandoned by his birth parents, still having faint memories of them and a flash of… burning his Mother. He cannot remember anything after that other than screaming and fire.

During missions, Red Son is the one who stays focused and ensures that they stay on track. He does not allow himself to become distracted by the wonders of the outside world.

Mei is often the person he confides in the most, as she has a completely different demeanor from his own. He finds that her contrasting nature helps to ease his worries and fears.

Emerald:

Even though he is the second oldest, he's always been the smallest one in the group. With his fluffy hair and gentle demeanor, he's often likened to a tiny ball of cotton. He's a kind and caring soul, but he startles easily and lacks the strength of the other children. He's painfully aware of this, especially since LBD never misses a chance to belittle him.

Although she treats all the children with a maternal warmth, Emerald can feel the distinction in her treatment towards him. He tries his hardest to earn her love and approval, but nothing seems to work. This has created Guilt Complex in him, making him constantly question if he's at fault for everything and refrain from defending himself when wrongly accused.

He struggles a bit with Body Dysmorphic Disorder, constantly aware of his physical differences from the other children and trying to seem more… normal, such as hiding his ears with a his hoodie or tucking in his tail. Whereas they are easily identified as specific animals - a bull, a monkey, a dragon - he is both lion and dragon. This uniqueness causes him great discomfort and he has no explanation for it. He usually keeps these feelings to himself, only sharing them with Bai He in hushed tones.

The outside world is a scary place for him, thanks to the manipulation and deceit of LBD that has plagued his mind. He may follow the other children out to experience it, but he always stays close by their side, seeking comfort from Red Son, Mei or MK- as he deems them the strongest in the group.

Interacting with strangers and making new friends is a challenge for him, but within his family, he never stops talking and engaging with them, coming out of his shell to show is very bright and bubbly personality.

He holds a phobia to the Emperor of the Celestial realm, Azure Lion- due to the lies of LBD.

Mei:

As the third child in the family, she is known for her mischievous spirit. With no memory of her origin, she often leads the way in their escapades alongside Xiaohua. She is fearless, outspoken, and a bit impulsive when it comes to trying new things. While most would heed Red Son's stern warnings, she charges ahead driven by her love for adventure and fun. As a result, the rest of the group typically follows along with Red Son's objections ignored.

Although she does call LBD “Mother,” it is more of a title than a term of endearment used for a parent. In reality, her true father figures are Nezha and Erlang - and that’s how she sees them, despite Erlang stubbornly claiming otherwise.

She has a strong desire to explore the world and discover more about her dragon lineage. She dotes on Emerald, treating him like a little brother despite being younger than him. She feels a special connection with him due to their shared Dragon blood and frequently suggests teaming up with him.

She is fiercely protective of her family, always stepping up to the plate when things go awry. She has no fear of any potential consequences that may come from LBD, perhaps earning a bit of admiration from the Witch in the process.

Despite often getting annoyed with Xiaohua, as one would a sibling, she often turns to him in hours of need as well, as he can often get her back on her feet and into a good head space again.

MK (Xiaotian):

Born as a twin, he is the second one to arrive in the world. He has always been a gentle and affectionate child, but there is a hint of darkness lurking within him. However, deep down, he is inherently good and pure. His senses are heightened, making him sensitive to loud sounds and strong smells. This can be challenging for him as he constantly needs to adapt to his surroundings.

He is considerate to others, outgoing, often forgetting to use his brain before acting.

He feels the weight of his “Mother’s” expectations pressing down on his shoulders. She sees him as her champion, a title that he doesn't quite grasp, and he worries about what it will mean in the end.

He is often conflicted about his path, torn between the opposing ideologies of his "Mother" who advocates for a brutal and cold approach as true strength, and his Master Nezha, who believes in the power of compassion and forgiveness. His young mind struggles to reconcile these conflicting perspectives.

His role as a protector has instilled a savior complex within his personality. While he acknowledges that others can also protect themselves, he tries to restrain himself from becoming too overbearing. However, this restraint often leads to an intense anger towards those who still pose a threat to his loved ones, despite his clear warnings for them to leave them alone.

Thanks to LBD's manipulations, he has developed an unhealthy sense of protectiveness towards Emerald and an irrational hostility towards Azure Lion.

Xiaohua:

Xiaohua, the twin of MK, possesses a playful nature and a sharp mind. He is always up to mischief with his partner in crime, Mei. Despite his mischievous tendencies, he is also full of energy and excitement for new experiences and adventures. In fact, he is the most eager among them to embark on new missions and explore the world around them.

Despite his outward appearance of confidence, he harbors a deep sense of inferiority towards himself. This stems from his "Mother" constantly comparing him to his brother, who surpasses him in strength and speed. Though he possesses impressive talents, they are overshadowed by the brilliance of his brother's abilities. To match MK's level of ability, his Mother regularly subjects him to personalized and rigorous training long after everyone else’s is done.

He has a connection with MK, often able to share thoughts, emotions, and even feel the physical pain of the other at times. This keeps the two often close together, as they are strongest when together.

Among his family, he is the most curious one, always sensing when something is not quite right with their actions. Despite knowing that the "Celestial court and Monkey King" are seen as malevolent and deceitful, he can't help but feel intrigued by their story and wants to know more about it.

Bai He;

Being the youngest in the family, she is often coddled and shielded from conflicts. But behind her sweet demeanor lies a sharp mind that many underestimate.

She possesses a brilliant mind and can decipher any text, read any book, and seem to have an endless wealth of knowledge. Despite this, she often doubts her own strength and abilities and remains unaware of her true talents. Her family is constantly in awe of her intelligence and quick thinking, and even Xiaohua turns to her for strategic advice as she always provides helpful tips and suggestions.

She constantly seeks her Mother's approval and attention, though she only receives a small amount. She can't help but feel envious of MK, who clearly holds more value in her Mother's eyes. However, Nezha often steps in to balance things out. He has a soft spot for the girl and frequently shower her with gifts. Even Erlang seems to value the child more than the Witch herself, enjoying the more poetic and political debates he can engage with the child, as the other children only stare at him blankly.

Among the children, she has the strongest bond with MK. However, this sometimes leads to feelings of guilt when she experiences rare moments of animosity and jealousy towards him. She feels comfortable sharing her thoughts and emotions with him, often confiding in him about her feelings and desires.

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[captains-simp]

Carol Danvers ~ Infuriating

Carol Danvers X fem!Reader Smut

Word count: 8,016

Includes: dom!Carol, captain kink, brat taming, choking, degrading, fingering, edging, nipple clamps, clit clamp, thigh riding, spanking enhanced with powers, vibrator enhanced with powers, strap-on gagging and choking, strap-on sex and overstimulation

[ masterlist ]

Buy me a coffee ☕

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You hadn't meant to fuck up Carol's mission. You weren't that petty. But the look on her face when you disobeyed her direct order and took the shot was priceless.

You and Carol had never gotten on. The first time you laid eyes on her you were infuriated by her actions. The second time you met only amplified that.

You had been under cover for a year when she came along and screwed up your mission. It had taken a long time to be trusted by those you 'worked with'.

You had set up a buy with a huge advanced (and crazy irresponsible) weapons smuggling ring that would lead to you obtaining more of their weapons for SHIELD until eventually, hopefully, you would figure out the secrets to their operation and be able to take down the business.

Just as the dealers arrived at the abandoned warehouse Carol came flying in to take on the armed men, oblivious to the mission that was happening, in all her heroic glory.

"We got the weapons, it was a success."

After writing out the report and having a long convosation with Fury (most of which involved you describing Carol in ways Steve would have been outraged by) you had at least expected an apology from the blonde. You could still remember how that went down.

"It was not a success!" You almost screamed at Carol. It infuriated you to no end that after half an hour of talking she still didn't see the bigger picture. She really thought she had done the right thing.

"Yes we got the weapons - something I could have done on my own - but that's such a small part of the rest of what they're making."

"You don't know how much there is." Carol said, her voice as calm as ever as she leant against Fury's desk with her arms crossed.

"That's the point." You said through gritted teeth, determined not to loose your cool infront of her and Fury. "My mission was to find out and put a stop to it."

"There are guys in holding. They'll talk."

You almost laughed at that. "If I could ask them my way they definitely would." You silently cursed SHIELD's moral codes that stopped you from torturing the answer out of them. They wouldn't talk any other way.

"They'll talk." Carol said stubbornly. "And anyway, you should be thanking me for cutting your mission short."

And that was it. From that moment on you couldn't look at the woman without wanting to slap her. That had been months ago.

Despite you never hiding your dislike for Carol she never seemed to mind you. In fact, she tried to be around any chance she could. Always looking for ways to get on your final nerve, everything she did she did for your reactions that you had grown worse at suppressing.

You took some of it out on her during training. It bothered her but thrilled you that you too were on the same level in combat. Apart from the times she was a sore looser and used her powers.

But you had made a strong effort to avoid training with her too. She taunted you during fighting. Although you were used to it it struck different when her body was pressed against yours to pin you to the floor.

Your most shameful day was when her actions had sent a jolt to your core that you couldn't deny.

Carol looked down at you with an insanely arrogant smirk as she straddled your waist. She was always like this in her moments of victory, always wanting to rub it in.

"Wow, you gave in quickly today." She quipped, not even trying to hide the obvious undertones. That didn't even make sense!

You weren't about to give in when she looked so god damn smug. You gripped her shirt with two hands and lifted your hips to flip her off but she caught on both too quickly and too late. She lurched forward into your grip but instantly pinned your hands above your head as her legs fell down next to yours.

Your breath hitched in your throat when you realised her face was inches from your own, it was only then that you become aware of the darker specs of brown in her eyes that highlighted the lighter shades. They were beau- okay. They were okay eyes. Yours were better.

The corner of her mouth raised in her familiar smirk that you always despised. But being that close brought light to how soft her lips looked. They were slightly parted and you wondered what kind of things she could do with that mouth. Professional things of course. Strictly professional and tactical thing. Not sinful things at all...

You wanted those thoughts banished from your head immediately. You wanted to leave.

All too hastily, you tried to raise your hips again, only then noticing how Carol's new position had her core right over yours. The contact and friction was undeniable, as was the slow throbbing that started.

A quiet moan slipped from your mouth that you desperetly coughed to cover up. You turned your head to the side, not wanting to see if Carol had noticed.

"Get off me, Carol." You huffed, trying to hide your embarrassment.

"What? You don't like me ontop of you?" She smirked.

God you definetly did.

As much as you tried to ignore that memory and replace it with the time you were first introduced you rarely succeeded. And even then it was like your hatred for her only encouraged how much you wanted to feel her deep insi-

"Are you even listening to me?!" Carol yelled at you with a glare. You never zoned out during meetings. Carol knew that. Fury knew that. Yet it was still very clear you just had.

"Are you done rambling?" You quipped, not having a moment to place the filter over your mouth as the thought spilled out.

Fury arched a brow at the question and Carol's jaw clenched in an annoyingly attractive way. You did not regret that one bit.

"If I hadn't taken the shot the hostages would have died."

"They almost did anyway."

"Almost."

There had been some sort of detonator with the man holding the hostages. Once dead, the storage he had loaded into his truck had been destroyed and nothing was salvageable. That was important cargo, but you always put a priority on lives. Taking the bad ones more than saving the good ones admittedly.

Once a vigilante always a vigilante.

"I don't think you understand how valuable that cargo was."

The meeting continued like that for a while. You would never admit it to anyone, especially as fucking up the mission wasn't intentional, but seeing how the tables had turned from the last time the three of you were in that office? It made you happier than it should have.

You guessed the two of you were even now. Maybe she would finally leave you alone. Your happiness faulted at that thought.

Finally, Fury told you and Carol to go and that it would be discussed again tomorrow. He was clearly tired. It had been a long day and it was late, everyone else was already asleep.

Even as you trudged down the hallway Carol continued to rant about your inability to follow orders. You would be the first to admit you weren't a team player. You still weren't used to it. But you always follow orders.

"I can follow orders, Captain. I just choose not to follow yours." You said calmly as approached the hallway towards your room.

You hated that Carol's room was next to yours. You had been there when Carol had talked to Tony about staying at the Avengers compound. You had seen her sly smirk as she pointed out on the compound map which room she wanted. Knowing full damn well it was next to yours.

How long did she plan to keep this up? You definetly didn't bug her about her screw up as long as she was you. Why couldn't she just hold the grudge in silence like you?

"You put aside personal matters when you go on a mission, y/n." She continue to scorn.

"Not personal, Captain. I just know when a decision and order is bullshit." Your room finally came into your line of sight. Just a few more meters.

"It wasn't bullshit. It was the right call. You just refuse to do what I tell you to." You rolled your eyes at her insistence, something that didn't go unnoticed by the blonde.

"The whole thing would have been fucked if I followed your orders. You should be thanking me." You taunted with a smile. But before you could fully bathe in your victory of getting under her skin, Carol gripped your neck tightly and slammed you into the wall.

You eyes widened as your back hit the wall painfully and you struggled to comprehend that Carol's hand was really around your neck...and you liked it.

"What? Got nothing to say to your Captain now?" She smirked. A familiar jolt travelled throughout your body and rested between your legs at her words.

It wasn't hard to put two and two together. Her hand, her words and the tone that accompanied them. You could always tell Carol was a top, but a dom?!

"If I could go back..." You started, your voice quiet with an edge of fear that made Carol preen. "And do the mission again...." Carol watched your face intently, awaiting your words of apology. "I still wouldn't follow your orders. Because I don't take orders from yo-" Carol stepped forward and forced one of her legs between yours.

You bit you lip to stop yourself moaning at the friction she was causing, the urge to grind against her leg was strong.

"Brat." She whispered with poison dripping from her voice. Her warm breath hit the small area of skin her hand wasn't covering and her hair tickled you chin.

"I have just the thing to deal with that. You wont be keeping up that facade for long."

You were about to object and assure her you would. That your stubbornness was just as strong as hers and you had been down this road before with others.

As she moved away from you she gripped your shirt in her closed fist and pulled you away from the wall with her. You hated that you instantly missed the contact of her thigh between yours. But her rough nature was doing it for you too. It had been so long since someone had been rough with you and you yearned to feel that again.

Carol had barely opened her door when she pushed you through the gap into her room. You were about to take in your surroundings and even pause to assess what was happening, but Carol's hands were on you again and all doubt slipped from your mind.

The next thing you knew your face was engulfed by soft pillows before you felt Carol's strong presence above you.

You could feel her knees on either side of your waist, pressed against you as though caging you beneath her. Her hands entwined with the back of your own and held them above your head under the pillows.

You went to move your hips up out of instinct from your training but Carol was too strong. She didn't even flinch from you efforts, clearly overpowering you in strength.

You reminded yourself you would not, under any circumstances, let Carol win.

You wouldn't apologise for the mission, wouldn't do what she said and you would not fully submit to her. It was something you truly believed, Carol knew this and it made everything you eventually did all the more worthit.

You could never imagine or anticipate the things you would let her do to you that night or the desperate way you would beg her to do them.

Her hair tickled your exposed neck as she leant down to whisper into your ear. "Anything you want to say to me before I begin? Perhaps an apology?" Carol questioned, knowing you would say no such thing but wanting to have more ammunition for later on.

You chuckled into the pillows before replying. "Go fuck yourself." It was muffled. But Carol understood.

She didn't reply verbally, instead she leant further against your body as her hands left yours and wandered down your arms.

Carol inhaled the scent around your neck as her hands reached your shoulders and decended to trace your collarbones that were visible from your shirt being lowered.

The blonde took her time memorizing every inch of your body, especially cupping your clothed breasts in her hands and ever so slightly grinding herself against you as she did so.

You reminded yourself to control your breathing as you felt those motions, not allowing yourself to be caught up in the firm grip of her hands against your breasts or the way she used your body to gain some friction to her core.

Her hands continued to massage your lower stomach, admiring the feel of your finally formed abs in a way she never could when you trained.

You kept your head amongst the pillows when her fingers danced around the waistband of your trousers. You didn't want Carol to see the anticipating look on your face at the touch of her fingers. They barely dipped half an inch beneath your trousers and panties but the contract gave you chills. You wanted to feel her against your bare skin more.

Carol retracted her fingers and instead wordlessly moved them to the centre of your trousers and unbuttoned them. You could hear her pull your zip down in the deafening silence of the room and you found yourself holding your breath in anticipation again.

She didn't hesitate once in her movements. With undeniable certainty, Carol slipped her hand under your trousers and panties to meet the space between your legs that welcomed her.

Carol sighed into the crook your neck as her fingers met your wetness between your slick lips. You bit your lip to stop any sounds escaping your mouth as the arrogant hero swiped a single finger slowly through your eager folds. She collected the arousal on her fingers before pressing it firmly to your clit.

Your hips rolled into her hand before you could stop them and the action caused a smug grin from Carol that although you couldn't see, you could feel against your skin. It was considerably worse and amplified your arousal as Carol could tell.

You hated feuling her ego. You hated that she had made you so wet your throbbing clit would slip around her fingers when she had barely touched you.

"Such a wet little brat. You're so ready for me and I've barely touched you." Carol husked as her finger continued to alter between running through your folds and rubbing your clit lightly.

It took every ounce of self control in your body not to squirm against her or make any noise. Your pride helped you keep those actions at bay.

Carol gripped your chin with her free hand and turned your head away from the pillow. You tried to avoid making eye contact with the blonde, knowing it would make your self control waver, but her hand continued to guide your line of sight to her enchanting gaze.

Her face was so close to yours you were completely caught off guard when Carol's finger pushed inside you and was engulfed by your lower lips with ease.

You bit your lip hard at the action, still staring into Carol's eyes and refusing to be the one to look away first. The intense eye contact did you no favours in holding off your verbal signs of arousal, especially when her single digit curled to brush your most pleasurable spot.

You gave a breathy moan when Carol held her finger against your g-spot for a long moment before withdrawing it, your eyes marginally widening as you adjusted to the pleasure, something Carol wouldn't have noticed if your faces weren't so close.

Her finger pushed back in at a slow pace but always stroked the back of your pussy in an angelic way.

You moaned louder when Carol returned with two fingers, the additional surface area made the experience all the more pleasurable and you feared how quickly you would cum.

Carol studied your facial expressions as she fingered you slowly, figuring out the spots that made you preen in pleasure the most and even the best angles to approach it.

It didn't take her long to understand the eb and flow of your pussy better than anyone ever had. With this powerful knowledge, Carol's pace suddenly increased in an overwhelming way you could barely adjust to.

She fucked you hard and fast with her fingers. Her wrist twisted in the most agile ways that caused her fingers to burry deep within you.

You moaned continuously as you stared into Carol's brown eyes you were beginning to remember better than your own.

The pleasure was immense and you knew your orgasm would hit you hard. Your breathing became rapid and your walls clenched down on Carol's fingers desperetly as your body prepared for your release.

Carol's fingers increased in pace as she gripped your chin harder, ensuring you look at her as her smirk finally returned.

Just as you were about to explode around Carol's fingers she retracted them from your throbbing pussy and brought them up to her lips as she grinned at you.

"Carol!" You protested in disbelief and annoyance.

"What? You didn't really think I would let you cum so soon did you? You haven't earned the right. Unless, of course, you'd like to make an apology." Carol said as her eyes bore deep into yours.

"Like hell I will." You groaned.

Carol clicked her tongue in disapproval before finally looking away from you. Her fingers returned to your waistband, only this time she pulled your trousers down swiftly, deliberately leaving your soaking panties clinging to you.

She then got off the bed and strolled confidently towards her walk in closet for a few seconds, returning with a few pieces of metal you weren't surprised to be seeing yet still gave you goosebumps. Carol's keen eyes seemed to notice this and she grinned knowingly to herself.

You shifted onto your side to get a clearer view of the devices attached to the long silver chain, once Carol reached your side she roughly forced your shoulder down so you were laying on your back.

"You're very pushy you know?" You quipped as Carol moved to straddle you hips and placed the metal beside you.

Her jaw clenched tightly in annoyance of your words but she didn't look at you, instead running her hands along your lower abdomen beneath your shirt. Seeing her frustration at you, especially the slight heavy exhale through her nose very few would notice, helped you control the urge to shiver under Carol's touch.

"I hope you can do other things with that mouth of yours besides bitching, for your own sake." Carol said lowly before gripping the end of your shirt and pulling it over your head.

"It can work wonders," you winked at her with a grin, "and it's nice to know you care, Captain, not just a big, mean, dom I see."

Carol's hand wrapped tightly around your throat just as you finished your sentence. She glared at you with clear rage in her eyes, a look that made putting up your hard front difficult. You had a strong urge to apologise, but you instead pushed it aside.

"If you think for one moment I'm going to go ease on you at any point you are sadly mistaken, brat. I'm not done with you until you're a begging, quivering, pathetic mess that's forgotten her own name and only knows her Captain. Even then I won't take any pity because of the shit you keep pulling. Whores dont deserve sympathy." Your breathing was shaky as the words dripped from her mouth laced with poison, threatening to be the end of you.

You were made acutely aware of her grip of your neck tightening and her ability to cut it off and never let you breathe again. You weren't sure at what point you had given over all control, but you didn't want it to stop.

Carol leaned in next to your ear and her scent enveloped your sences again. Her voice had dropped considerably when she next spoke her whispered words. "I can't wait to break you." She bit down on your ear harshly making you yelp. You couldn't deny the effect she was having on your body, she could see it too. Of course she could, she was playing you like a fiddle and there was nothing you could do about it. It was a thrilling realisation.

Carol pulled away from you slowly while you tried to return your breathing to it's normal pace. It wasn't until you heard Carol's deep chuckled that you realised that your eyes were clenched shut. You opened them to see the blonde looking very proud of herself and the result she had gotten.

You couldn't make another witty remark. Your brain couldn't form any kind of coherent thought and you wouldn't have trusted your mouth to deliver it. Besides, after what Carol had just said, you were afraid to speak out of term again.

The self-certain hero reached around your back to unclasp your bra as her other hand came to rest on your stomach, pressing down as she used it for support while she leant forward.

Carol's eyes eagerly took in every inch of your skin the moment it was exposed. She slowly pulled your bra away before flinging it across the room without taking her eyes off of your breasts.

The cold air hitting your skin made your nipples strain in a want for attention, although you and Carol both knew that wasn't the only reason. Carol hummed at the sight and leaned forward again to rub your buds between her thumb and fingers. Your head leant back into the pillows at the attention, sighing in bliss before you hissed sharply at the the spark of pain.

The blonde smiled in amusement as she continued to pinch your nipples harshly, you didn't protests out of stubbornness.

Carol then picked up the forgotten clamps next to you, trailing the chain slowly and deliberately over your sensitive skin. She attached the left clamp with a silent concentration that filled the room with tension. You hissed again as Carol adjusted the screw to the level she saw fit, which was scarily tight, before moving to the next with the same accuracy.

You closed your eyes and tried not to enjoy the throbbing pain on you nipples, but the growing slick between your legs was telling enough.

You closed your eyes and bit your lip hard to suppress a whimper, failing when Carol gave the chain a quick tug that made you give a strained whimper that sounded more pathetic than it would have if you hadn't tried to stop it.

Carol moved further down your body and spread your legs apart so she could sit between them. You could feel the chain extending down your stomach so you opened your eyes in confusion and instantly squirmed.

The two clamps had separate chains that looped around a small ring that lay on your stomach, twinkling mischeviously in the light. There was a third chain on the bottom of the ring that had a clamp at the end of it. A clamp that Carol was guiding dangerously close to your still covered core.

You had had experience with clamps before, but the thought of one pinching painfully at your throbbing clit was one you were unfamiliar and uncertain with.

Carol adjusted herself according to your newfound protests to kneeling on your legs, each knee digging into each of your thighs as a show of control. Your hands were still free and just as you were about to sit up Carol spoke with a fake pout.

"Aww, do you not think you can handle this? Are you too sensitive?" She mocked making you freeze. "I can always stop if you want me to. All you have to do is say the magic word." The blonde continued to taunt.

Your pride screamed at you to make some snarky remark as to protect your ego, knowing saying 'please' would lead to you spiralling down the rabbit hole you refused to step foot in, while your fear begged you to stay quiet. But there was also a small part of you that was eager to experience the pleasurable pain the clamp would surely deliver to your clit.

So instead, you kept your mouth shut and stared up at the ceiling, trying to keep an eye on Carol in your peripheral while appearing to ignore her.

She smirked, unbeknownst to you, at your pettiness and trailed a single finger against the wet patch on your panties. You struggled to continue looking at the ceiling and bucked your hips to try and meet Carol's hand.

Surprisingly, Carol let you and even pressed further against your panties, rubbing your clothed lips and relishing in the effect she had on you.

Carol teased you like that for a while, rubbing her finger against your soaking folds before circling your throbbing clit. Every so often she received a quiet whine from you that flooded you with embarrassment, hating how your body betrayed you and pleased Carol.

Finally, Carol pulled your ruined panties down and gleamed at the sight of your glistening folds, the view making her pussy clench around nothing and ache more than it had all night. An idea sprung to mind and she smirked at the thought.

She took the third clamp between her long fingers and pinched at your clit. You yelped and bucked your hips up again as Carol entrapped the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"So responsive." She muttered, more to herself than you, as she slowly twisted the screw. Her eyes returned to your pained face as she adjusted the tightness, studying you to see when you would reach the peak of your pain and your limit.

Your face scrunched up at the sharp pain that jolted throughout your body and made you whine lowly as you turned your head to the side and tried to squirm away.

Carol took another glance at your strained bud, biting her lip at the sight, before gripping your under arms and flipped you onto your back.

You were surprised and caught off guard but all questions flew from your mind when you were pushed against the mattress, the clamps pressing down and amplifying your pain.

A tear formed in your eye as your nipples burned hot in pain and your clit ached against its restraint. You whined and tried to squirm away, the inch you did move only made things worse as your dragged the clamps and the skin they pinched across the mattress. You gave a small cry at the pain but pushed your face into the pillows to muffle it, still trying with everything you had to not let Carol win.

You were so caught up in the unnatural pain you didn't even notice Carol stripping herself of her jeans and pants. But you did notice when you felt her wet pussy lips come into contact with the back of your thigh.

You brain short circuited when you felt how wet she was and that she was slowly rocking herself on your leg, using your body to get herself off.

"What are you-"

"Quiet." Carol cut you off by demanding as her hands locked yours to the top of the mattress again.

Her arousal was spreading across your thigh as she grinded against you.

You could feel your own breathing increase rapidly as you heard Carol gasp out occasionally. You wanted to see her. You wanted to see the look of pleasure on her face as she approached her high. What did she look like cuming? Did you feel good against her? Would she ever let you make her cum with your fingers or tongue. You prayed desperetly that you would someday get the chance.

"Fuck." Carol moaned breathlessly. Your own pussy clenched around nothing at the sound and you knew that while Carol was getting her wetness over your thigh, you were getting your own on her bed.

Carol's grip on your hands tightened as her movements became more erratic, chasing her release.

"Your Captain's gonna cum on your thigh, brat. Such a good fuck toy for me to use." A moan slipped past your lips at her words. You cursed yourself for giving the reaction Carol wanted, helping her frantic movements.

"Oh you like this, slut? You like being my little fuck toy for me to use whenever I want?"

You desperetly searched for friction on the bed covers as you whined, only to accidently apply more overwhelming pressure to all 3 clamps.

Carol's cunt dug harder into the back of your thigh as she came with a low moan, coating your skin with the evident of her orgasm.

Surprisingly, Carol didn't move from your thigh as she brought a soft hand around to the soaking space between your legs. She tugged momentarily on the clamp there and you whimpered in protest making her snicker.

She fingers teased your lower lips as she spoke. "You seemed to enjoy that just as much as I did." Carol smirked arrogantly as her fingers swiped at your arousal. "Answer me." She demanded, delivering a smack to your ass to punctuate her words.

You didn't. Instead your breathed into the pillows and tried not to think about how they smelled like Carol in an annoyingly soft way.

Carol spanked you again harshly, barely giving you a chance to adjust to the last.

"No." You lied shakily.

"Don't lie to me. You're only adding to your punishment, not that I mind. It's just drawing out the fun I'm having. Being a lying little slut gives me something else to fuck out of you too." Carol spanked you again as those words left her lips. She gripped your hips tightly and pulled you up so your ass was on full display to her.

When Carol's hand returned to your ass her hand was considerably warmer. You thought it was strange at first until she did it again, this time burning hot.

You moaned into the pillow as your realised Carol was using her powers. And you loved it. The hellish heat, Carol's brute strength and the merciless ways she delivered the blows with no recovery time hit your core everytime.

Your legs shook in pleasure and pain and your moans got notably louder. Sometimes when you tried to lean back into Carol's hand she tugged sharply at the ring connecting the chains on your clamps and you immediately returned to your position.

"Something to say?" Carol inquired after a particularly loud moan from you.

It dawned on you how close you were to submitting yourself to Carol. How close you were to telling her you loved every second of what she was doing and wanted her to fuck you.

So, to convince yourself more than the dominant blonde above you, you spoke up. "Need your powers to help you, Carol? Can't do it on your own?"

The pissed off blonde spanked you unbelievably hard after that. Your whole body lurched forward so suddenly you almost hit your head on the wall. You ass was stinging terribly and you felt a tear trickle down your cheek just after you cried out.

Carol got off the bed to once again disappear into the closet, giving you a moment to wipe the stray tear away so she could never know it was there.

When the powerful hero returned your eyes immediately fell to the obnoxious toy between her legs.

You bit your lip at the thought of her fucking you with it. Despite that, you were in denial that something that long and girthy would even fit. Although you knew Carol would make it fit. And with the blonde as pissed as she was...

"God you're practically drooling on my sheets." Your cheeks redened slightly at her words. "You want my cock, brat? You wanna be your Captain's cockslut?" God you did. But you refused to admit it, even if there was a moan caught in your throat.

"It isn't for your needy little pussy yet. It's to shut you up." Carol said as she straddled your chest, the strap inches away from your face.

"I'm not sucking your fucking strap, Carol." You tried to defy passively with an amused grin. You wanted to, so much. The thought of doing something like that was making your cunt pulse. But you might as well get on your knees and beg for forgiveness. You refused to please Carol with such a submissive act, even if you could feel the cracks in your bratty walls grow with each exchange of words and acts.

To your surprise, Carol didn't push the idea any more, simply nodding with a sly smirk, as though she knew something you didn't.

Instead, the taller woman grabbed a small device from the side of the bed you had failed to notice prior. She twirled it in her hand, as though familiarizing herself with it as she positioned herself between your legs again, a place she seemed to be becoming familiar with.

As you gazed at the toy Carol held you couldn't help but feel there was something different about it. Something you couldn't quite placed. It wasn't as slim as any vibrator you had ever seen, not as pointed either, but there was something else to it too.

You didn't voice these inquires and the blonde didn't make any suggestive comments. So you let the thoughts go.

With her free hand, Carol unscrewed the clamp that had continued to grip onto you with everything it had. The release of pressure was unimaginably relieving but you didn't get long to appreciate it.

Carol wordlessly turned the vibrator on to a high setting and teased it against your skin just above your clit. Your hips jerked instantly in an attempt to lower the vibrator to where you needed it, but Carol placed a firm hand between your hip bones and kept you in place.

You almost whined at that, trying hard to keep it at bay, but Carol soon placed it directly onto your throbbing clit. Your hips bucked again as the vibrations hit you hard. The lack of a tip stopped them being focused to one point and instead pulsed down to every milimeter of your clit.

Despite this newfound pleasure, you couldn't shake the unnerving silence from Carol that hung in the room. Just as her lack of teasing with the vibrator hung over you. It seemed as though she was purely focused on drawing out your own pleasure, abandoning any precious plans. You knew that wasn't really the case. But you didn't know what was. It was anxiety inducing not knowing what Carol was planning in that stubborn head of hers.

The silent blonde watched you as she rotated the vibrator, grinding it into you like a drill that buzzed furiously. The vibrations were sending strong shock waves to your core that were carried throughout the entirety of your body in bliss.

Just as you were about to mentally praise yourself for not making a noise the vibrations seemed to multiple at an alarming rate.

You moaned the loudest you had all night at the feeling of warmth covering your core, emitting off of the vibrator that centred in on your aching clit that was drenched in arousal. Your hips tried to buck violently in search for the source of the vibrations that pulsed almost angrily.

You finally braved a look down as you panted heavily amongst moans to see what could possibly cause such uncharted pleasure only to spot the blue, yellow and red swirls of light you had come to hate the sight of. In that moment you didn't hate them though, far from it. You were entranced by the light show from Carol.

Your legs attempted to close around Carol's hand and the vibrator, but she held them apart. She watched you with an arrogant smirk as you threw your head back and moaned continuously, just as she had planned.

"Oh? I thought you didn't like me using my powers on you. You seem to be enjoying it now, judging by your slutty moans that is." She taunted knowingly.

You're unable to muster the voice to say something, to defend your ego. All you can do try to stop yourself moaning Carol's name or title.

Your breathing became increasingly ragged as Carol's powers never let up, mercilessly pulsing waves of vibrations to your core repeatedly until your legs started to shake.

Your cunt clenched around nothing as your clit throbbed aggressively, desperate to reach it's release it craved so much.

Your moans became less coherent when your back arched and toes curled. Just as you were about to fall over that glorious edge all vibrations died down to barely noticeable sensation.

You whined lowly at the worst teasing you had ever felt. It was as though Carol held you over your much needed edge by the back of your shirt, keeping you in that vulnerable state until she decided to either pull you back or let you go.

"Do you need something?" Carol asked with a shit eating grin.

You brought your hands down to push the vibrator further against you but Carol pinned them together in the middle of your stomach with one hand. The strength of just that was able to stop you and it was frustrating to no end knowing that.

Her other hand stayed firmly attached to the vibrator that was quietly buzzing against you core. Carol occasionally messed around with the vibrations levels and the inclusion of her powers to take you by surprise, constantly keeping you on the edge of where you needed to be most.

"Jesus Christ!" Your frustration bubbled to the surface, unable to control your anger at Carol for the merciless teasing she was making you ensure.

"Nope, just your Captain." If you had control of your legs, you would have kneed her in that stupidly attractive face of hers.

The vibrations were becoming too much yet still too little. Every so often they would spike to the previous level before returning to something unfairly light. Your orgasm seemed to grow closer and closer each time before it was denied.

Once, Carol slipped the powered vibrator through your drenched folds with her powers lining it. It felt insane. Energy tickling your inner walls as the vibrations hit all the right areas. But, of course, it was quickly pulled away too.

Just like that, all defiance left your body and you surrendered to your needs.

"Carol, Please, I need to cum so bad!" You wailed in desperation, not caring how you sounded.

"Really?" Carol wondered aloud as she stared down at you.

"Yes! Carol..." You whined and returned her stare pleadingly.

"Who are you begging to make you cum?"

You gulped stiffly, knowing you were about to slip head first into the rabbit hole you had been avoiding so precisely all night.

"You...My Captain." Carol preened at the use of her title, something she had long awaited to hear you say and was sure you would need no encouragement to say it countless more times that night.

"Good girl." She husked and carelessly threw the vibrator to the side now she could use something better. "You want your Captain to fuck you? You wanna cum on my cock like a good little slut?"

Your nodded eagerly, knowing the only way was forward and that you would do anything for what Carol wanted to do to you.

"Please Captain, I want you so bad." You begged shameless.

"Well then you need to get my cock ready for your cunt." Carol stated matter-of-factly as she sat up straight and edged towards you.

The silicone toy between her legs was getting nearer to your face and your mouth watered at the sight, knowing you would need it to help accomdate the size.

You were so dazed by the sight of the toy bigger than you had ever seen that Carol had to tap your cheek to prompt you to open your mouth for her strap.

You did so instantly and without hesitation, quickly having the tip of the silicone toy at your mouth.

"Such an obidient baby now. You would do anything for my cock wouldn't you?" But Carol didn't give you a chance to respond. She thrusted her hips forward and in a flash she was forcing the strap into your mouth and hitting the back of your throat.

The blonde retreated the strap slightly only to ram it back in with more force and causing you to gag as it surpassed your limit without consideration.

You tried to sit up on your elbows to try and soften Carol's thrusts but she knelt down painfully on your arms as she gripped the headboard to aid her thrusting.

"I haven't even got you tired up and you're still so helpless." She mocked cruelly as she continued to make you gag and choke on the toy you struggled to accomdate so badly.

Eventually it became too much and you body fell limp in defeat, drool spilling from your mouth.

Carol didn't fail to notice this and chuckled darkly at the sight of you spread out on her bed with a dazed expression. She hadn't even fucked you yet.

As the dominant hero withdrew her strap she felt a rush to her core at the sight of your saliva glistening on her cock. You really had gotten it ready for yourself. Not that it would help you handle the size much.

Carol didn't waste and time lining the strap up with your entrance. Her hands were firmly placed on either of your thighs to ensure you stay spread open for her.

"Please." You whispered as you both watched the strap part your folds, paving a way for itself, before disappearing into your hungry pussy. You moaned loudly as the strap stretched your walls for it's entrance. You couldn't help but cling onto Carol's bare back and scratch the prominent muscle beneath your fingers as she sunk the strap in further.

The pain was present but it was overridden by the amazing pleasure provided by it. Your pussy clenched desperately around the intruder just before Carol bottomed out into you and you cried out at the unexpected motion, gripping onto the woman above you as much as you could.

She pulled the strap out slightly, only to slam it back in with force that made your whole body jerk and shudder. She pulled out more the next time, as though giving you a moment to prepare before thrusting the toy back into your still unprepared cunt.

You moaned over and over, struggling to form words and accomdate the brutal strap. You were overwhelmed with pleasure and pain as they took over every part of your brain, body and soul.

Her pace never faulted, never giving you a break. Every thrust was just as hard as the last, leaving you a moaning and shuddering mess beneath her.

"You feel how deep I am inside you, slut?" Carol grunted as she continued her onslaught of fucking tour dripping pussy.

"Yes Captain! Feels so good. You feel so good deep inside me." You moaned between breathless pants.

"God you're such a desperate slut for me. Dripping whore for me to use whenever I want." She punctuated each word with the snap of her hips.

The coil in your lower abdomen was starting to tighten and you craved your release.

"C-Captain." You stuttered as you started to shudder. "I'm gonna...cum."

"Beg me for it." Carol demanded and you complied without question.

"Please! Please Captain, I'm gonna cum so hard! Please let me! I'll be good for you." You begged as though Carol held your life in her hands.

"Why should I let you?"

"Because I- because I'm sorry!" You looked Carol in the eyes as you pleaded, letting you see her expression when she knew she had won. You both knew.

"How sorry?" Carol asked as her pace increased. You knew you wouldn't be able to hold off your orgasm for much longer.

"I'm so sorry. It'll never happen again. I promise." Carol watched you for a moment as she memorized every inch of you during her victory.

"Cum for your Captain." With a cry, you came incredibly hard on Carol's cock. Your whole body shuddered violently as Carol fucked you through your orgasm in the most ungentle way possible.

"I'm cuming! I'm cuming on your cock, Captain!" Never in your life did you think you would talk like this to someone, especially not Carol. Never since meeting the arrogant hero did you think you would submit to her in such a wanton way.

Carol fucked you through your orgasm and into another one without even considering giving you a break or chance to recover from the earth shattering one you had just experienced. Your vision was still spotted with blanks as you tried to speak this to her but you couldn't manage to form any coherent words, the only sounds resonating throughout the room were your desperate moans, slapping of Carol's thighs against your own and the wet sound of your pussy being fucked, this being amplified even more now that your cum was swirling around inside of you with the strap.

Carol unexpectedly reached out quicker than you could react to and locked her hand around your throat. Her pace was harder this time, as though reminding you she hadn't forgotten she was punishing you and that she was still mad at you. Clearly very mad.

The strap slammed against the back of your pussy and had you crying out in a failed attempt to adjust to it. Even that was muffled by Carol's grip on your airways.

You couldn't believe the force she was able to gather to drive herself into you with each thrust. Over and over. You began to loose your grip on the world around you.

You plummeted into another orgasm in no time, your overworked pussy spasming around the strap as it released more sticky liquid onto it that you were too blissed out to notice was dripping onto yours and Carol's thighs. She smacked your thigh hard to show she at least had acknowledged it.

You lost count of how many times you had cum. When your limbs went weak and finally dropped from Carol's back she withdrew. Something you were thankful for until she flipped you onto your front and dove back in. Her stamina and sex drive was unforgivable and unmatched. And soon, it was the only thing you knew.

You continued to moan and scream profanities into the pillow while Carol wrecked your world above you. She had your head forced into the pillows with one hand and showed no signs of letting up.

You mustered as much energy as you could to squirm away but your efforts were futile. Your pussy ached with the punishing pace and extreme overstimulation you were experiencing. But you had no way to escape it. All you could do was lay beneath your Captain, voice horse from screaming so loud countless times, and take everything she was giving.

When the final orgasm was ripped from your body it was as though it had taken every part of you with it. Your exhausted and overworked body finally abandoned you and left you to be enveloped by the darkness and the strong arms of Carol Danvers.

[crimsonophelia]

hello basil!!! i’m the anon that sent the original request of reader being a big dumb dumb and accidentally mailing their love letters to childe in liyue—i personally just wanted to tell you that i absolutely LOVED what you wrote and that i’m so happy and grateful you did my request justice. keep up the good work!!!

if you wouldn’t mind, could i request for a hurt/comfort angst with kaeya and a gn reader? the reader is a fellow knight of favonius that regularly gets dunked on by their friends for their crush on the cavalry captain—but every time their friends insist they confess to him, they joke that “sure, i’ll tell him when i die.” and then they actually nearly die.

while on a mission with kaeya, something terrible happens that seemingly pushes the reader to the brink of death. they’re in his arms and convinced they’re about to die, so with their “dying” breath, they tell kaeya that they’re in love with him before the world goes black.

but then they wake up. 👁 (you know the drill—what happens next is completely up to you!!!)

featuring: kaeya x gn!reader

warnings: good ol' angst, some descriptions of blood, lots of typos lol

published: may 27, 2021

form: imagine

a/n: hi anon!! i'm glad you liked that imagine www and thank you for sending me ideas again! you know how much i love angst and kaeya lol~ also please forgive me for making it so long, i tried to challenge my writing abilities a bit more.

You came into this mission knowing that it would be quite a bit more difficult than the ones you typically took on. You were merely a B-rank knight, working on your certification to reach A-rank status, which definitely was not an easy feat. Yet the open commission to investigate a newly-uncovered set of ruins in Dadaupa Gorge was requiring one more member of the dual-member expedition team. When you saw who had occupied the first position for the mission, you threw caution to the wind and signed your name for position two, despite the mission being ranked A-level, at the very least. The occupied position? Filled by none other than Kaeya Alberich, captain of the Knights of Favonius cavalry, S-rank soldier and swordsman, and your former mentor. Who also happened to be the man you had hopelessly fallen for. 

The mission was assigned by the headquarters of the Knights, specifically for fully-trained Knights only, as the nature of the mission would be too dangerous for your run-of-the-mill adventurer team, and the Knights did not want to be held accountable for any potential casualties or injuries as a result of a mission gone wrong. You and Kaeya had been assigned to go investigate a newly-uncovered set of ruins in the Whispering Woods, supposedly already showing signs of being an Abyss rendezvous point. Apparently, the team of archaeologists who uncovered the ancient rocks from behind a thicket of trees had had many difficulties even making it back to the city of Mondstadt alive. You were frightened, no doubt about it, but you also knew that this was your chance. Your chance to prove yourself and your capability as a knight. Back in your training days before you took the certification exam to become a knight, you were Kaeya’s favorite pupil, a star student. Also possessing a Cryo vision, like the captain himself, certainly did not hurt your reputation in his eyes. Now, having taken on and excelled at countless dangerous B-rank missions, you felt confident in your ability to take on a mere A-rank mission, especially with the captain of the cavalry at your side. 

You had almost forgotten about the icy presence at your side, lost in your own daydreams of ambition. After following the paths leading out of Mondstadt, weapons and supplies ready at hand, you and Kaeya had finally made it to the edge of the Whispering Woods. It was starting to get dark, even though the two of you had left reasonably early in the day. The woods seemed so much more vast when their shadows grew longer, waning by the last seams of daylight. Faint howling moaned through the leaves (”Wolves? In the Whispering Woods?”, you thought to yourself), and you felt yourself tremble in the slightest. You couldn’t tell if it was due to the fear or the overwhelmingly strong Cryo aura that Kaeya emitted.

The tall man seemed unaffected by the ominous surrounding, forever carrying himself with an unwavering assuredness. He looked onwards, into the woods, eyes darting back and forth, exhibiting the remarkable surveying skills of a seasoned knight. 

“Well, [y/n]”, Kaeya turned to you, with that smug yet rather comforting voice of his. “Are you ready?”

Kaeya’s unshakeable confidence was rather spiriting, you had to admit. Nothing like traipsing into a wild forest, overrun with archons-know-what, with only your own wits and a cunning, distractingly handsome knight to guide you. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose”, you replied, trying to hide the rookie anxiety from trembling your voice. Damn it, you weren’t even a rookie. You were one of the more experienced knights in the entire Knights of Favonius. You could handle this. Plus, Kaeya has your back. In all the years you had known him, Kaeya had never dropped that rogue-ish grin off of his delicate countenance--he had the face of a prince, but marred with the implications of his mysterious eyepatch (he had never told you how he had lost that eye) and the pierce of his sly smile. It made him all so painfully attractive. 

You hate to recall the very first day you met him, the two of you only teenagers, barely adults grown into their own skin, yet he stood at the front of the training yard like the prolific swordsman he was, tan skin gleaming beneath the summer sun, hair tied behind his neck, sinewy muscles stretching as he maneuvered the sword in his hand like it was an extension of his own being. That day, you swore that you would become like Kaeya, that you would learn all you possibly could from him. That was also the day you had fallen hopelessly for the charismatic boy, though you were not aware of it just yet. 

Trudging into the forest, you made sure to clutch the weapon at your side a little tighter, wary of any potential threats that could appear in front of you at any moment. You never know how much the Abyss mages could use their magic--they are always using the spirits of Teyvat for evil. Although you had only encountered Abyss mages a small handful of times in your past B-rank missions, you already knew how perilous an interaction with any of them could be. The last time you and a partner engaged with a Pyro mage, you left the site with severe magic burns to your side, which took at least three months to fully heal. Looking at Kaeya, he appeared to be as relaxed as ever, both hands loosely tucked into his pockets, his steps led by his elegant hips. The eerie silence of the woods didn’t seem to bother him at all, a comfortable void between the both of you.

“So, captain”, you begun, doing your best to break the proverbial ice a bit, trying not to let the emptiness of the whole forest get to your head. “How have you been? It’s been a while since we last took an assignment together, I believe. 3 months already, isn’t it?”

Kaeya chuckled. “Oh, drop the formalities, [y/n].” He looked at you with his singular, unobscured eye with a teasing glance. “You’ve always known me as just Kaeya, havent you?”

Blood rushed to your face, although not entirely unwelcome, due to the chilliness of the forest. You hoped that the twilight shadows could hide your red cheeks from the man beside you.

“To answer your question, I am doing exceptionally well, thank you”, he smirked. “Although, the last time I did see you was only about a month ago, at the Windblume Ball. Not sure if you remember it all though—you were rather... intoxicated, it seemed.”

Oh, archons. You didn’t know if your face could possivly get any redder from the embarassment. The Windblume Ball was a month prior, hosted by the Knights for all citizens of Mondstadt to attend, to end the Windblume Festival with a night of wine, music, and dancing. Your group of friends within the Knights convinced you to attend along with them, though they didnt quite succeed at convincing you to finally confess your attraction to the captain of the cavalry himself. You acquiesced only on the condition that you would not have to interact with Kaeya at all that night. The anxiety was simply too much and you did not want to deal with the potential situation of seeing Kaeya in formalwear and absolutely losing your mind, let alone Kaeya seeing you dancing and drinking.

“Oh, come on, [y/n]”, your friends had whined. “If you don’t tell him now, when will you ever? He most definitely finds you attractive, as well.” Chuckling, you took a sip of the wine lrovided by the Dawn Winery. You cringed at the sourness of cheap grapes. “I’ll tell him when I’m dead.” You took another sip of the wine, but over the rim of the glass, you saw the one person you were hell-bent on avoiding.

Kaeya Alberich stood across the room, talking to one of the other knights. He was dressed to the nines, in clothing you had never seen him don before. His hair was parted neatly, his long lovelock secured by a large sapphire band. His lean, upper body was covered by a three piece suit, fitted perfectly around his narrow waist, tailcoat resting neatly by his thick, carved thighs. His pants were pressed tightly, without a wrinkle, and he had brought along his usual white fur cape, giving him the sophisticated look of a king.

In awe, you spluttered in your drink as he caught your eye from across the room, clearly noticing you were staring at him. You turned the other way, seeing that your friends were making fun of your oblivious gawking, and they now excitedly pointed behind you, mouthing the words he’s coming! You tried your best to smooth down your hair and pat down your outfit, before turning back around to see that the captain was standing in front of you, face-to-face, with his hand outstretched.

He looked even more sparklingly glamorous up close, an image of old-world elegance that you never knew him capable of portraying. You suddenly felt more drunk than any cheap wine could possibly make you. Kaeya looked at you, a gleam in his eye, and asked

“May I have this dance, [y/n]?”

The rest of the night was a blur, what with your continued consumption of alcohol, convincing yourself you needed to periodically top up your liquid courage. Kaeya had asked you for a few more dances, as far as you remembered. But from what you could recall, he was just as elegant and charismatic as you had always remembered him to be. He never made you feel out of place.

It was awful that Kaeya only seemed to remember how disgustingly drunk you were, but you were thankful at least that he didn’t seem to recall the perpetual state of flusteredness you were in that night, by his mere presence beside you, and his hands guiding yours as you both danced to the upbeat music of the band.

“Archons, I assure you that I am not the unabashed drunkard I may have seemed to be that night”, you chuckled.

Kaeya let out a hearty laugh, his voice reminding you of the sounds of the bells ringing atop the Cathedral. “Of course not, my dear”, he drawled. “I’ve met many a drunkard in my day—you are far from one; I promise.”

You and Kaeya kept on your way in this manner, making pleasant small talk to fill the silence. You didn’t dare tell him for fear of seeming a coward, but hearing his voice and reminiscing with him diminished the fright you initially felt, entering the woods and taking on this assignment. Kaeya was a master conversationalist, and diplomat too, no doubt, always knowing what to say at what time. His warm remarks and playful banter took your mind off of the imminent danger of your situation, and you didn’t notice the path you were both on narrowing. The sun had already set, and the woods were doused in an eerie darkness, and as you and Kaeya approached the vicinity of the ruins, the thickets grew denser and the tree branches hung lower. Not a sound could be heard--

Until suddenly, Kaeya stepped in front of you, blocking your path with an arm outstretched. Shit. You smelled Abyss magic. How could you have possibly missed the putrid scent of sulfur before? 

Kaeya’s grin had fallen. His attention was now beyond only you, as if trying to detect something he sensed nearby. Out of nowhere, a hum grew, louder, until an earblasting pop rang out in front of you and Kaeya, and in its place were three Pyro Abyss mages. Three. You could handle one, if you had a partner with you, but three? 

Terror ran down your spine, knowing how difficult your Cryo vision could be against a Pyro mage. Your hand unsheathed the sword at your side with blinding speed, just like you were trained, but before you could even take a step forward, Kaeya was already charging at the mages, ice blasting forth from his swordtip, smashing up against the mages’ shields.

“Aren’t ya glad I caught that, [y/n]?” Kaeya teased, sword cutting through the air and the force fields surrounding the mages, as their strained groans pierced the night air. His movements were swift and effortless; at times his movements were so fast that it looked like he teleported from one spot to the next. This was the grace, the beauty of a true prodigy. “If I hadn’t stopped you, we would’ve been roast boar by now!” 

You jumped into action, assisting Kaeya with his assaults against the mages, doing your best to dodge the onslaught of fireballs. You felt the heat of the fire magic graze your extremities more than once, counting your blessings that it was nothing critical. The way the two of you moved in unison, one complementing the other, like an avalanche of piercing ice, was a testament to the years of experience you gained in under Kaeya’s expert tutelage. One sword piercing the left, the other the right, until you both had broken down two of the Pyro mages’ shields. You had never gotten through their force fields in such rapid succession before, you thought, in awe. Swinging your sword calculatedly, whilst utilizing your vision and shooting out ice crystals, you defeated the mage, dealing a killing blow, piercing its side with your sword. You watched the creature groan out gutturally, and eventually dissipate into ash, drifting away. 

Turning around, you noticed that Kaeya had already taken care of the other mage, already breaking down the final one’s shield. He dodged each blast of Pyro magic with grace and ease, not even showing any sign of fatigue. 

“Hey, good work rookie!”, Kaeya teased, activating his ultimate Cryo weapon, sending a halo of ice crystals about his body, knocking into the mage’s shield with every swing.

You huffed. “I’m not a rookie”, you called back, joining him in his siege upon the last enemy. Exhaustion was quickly catching up to you, although you tried to hide it. You couldn’t let Kaeya down. 

Over and over, the pair of you banged upon the force field with your swords, with more difficulty than any of the previous mages. This one was different, somewhat stronger. The grass surrounding the two of you was already lit up in flames, licking at your ankles. If you even so much as tripped, the heat would probably damage you more than a fireball could. 

“Watch out, rookie”, Kaeya yelled in your directions, trying to be heard above the cackling of the mage and the raging flames, already beginning to catch onto the trees nearby. The night was filled with a reddish glow--hellish and suffocating. “I think it’s about to activate it’s ultimate.”

The cackling grew louder, as you worked yourself into a frenzy, shooting more and more ice crystals, trying to break it’s force field. Three, dragon-like heads began to emerge around where the mage floated. Fuck. The fire-breathers were out. You had only ever fought a Pyro mage that could use fire-breathers once before--that also happened to be the instance that caused you to be an invalid for several months, healing from a deep flesh burn. But Kaeya was here this time. Things would be okay, right?

You could tell Kaeya was growing panicked as well, his swings becoming a bit more hurried and erratic. You didn’t know, but he was deathly worried about you. He had no idea how experienced you were with dodging the fire-breathers, and he knew he had to make quick work of the blasted mage before things could escalate, Archons forbid you get hurt. Kaeya activated his ultimate once more, and, finally, the mage’s shield broke. 

You heaved a sigh of relief, closing in on the Pyro mage. Kaeya’s strength and incredible reliability in battle did not fail to impress you, even beyond just the prowess he had demonstrated as a trainee and a mentor. You finally activated your own ultimate, summoning a boulder made of hard ice. Approaching the mage as you saw it struggle to get up off the ground, the ice in your boulder began to form, and you willed it to hurl towards the mage, intending to finish it off. Finally, you would show Kaeya your true strength, your capability. He could depend on you. Hell, you were his star student. Even if you were afraid to tell him about how he had stolen your heart, you could at least show him that the time and effort he had dedicated to you wasn’t for naught. 

The seconds slowed down, as the blinding white ice made its way through the air, aimed straight at the pathetic mage, groveling in the dirt. But beyond the ice, was something even brighter, not making its way to the mage; no, it was headed straight at you. A fireball. 

You felt an excruciating pain on your left side, right below your ribcage. A scream in the distance--the mage? No; it was Kaeya’s voice. The white-hot pain blinded you, as you felt your back make contact with the hard ground beneath you. Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit. Archons, what will Kaeya think? 

Vaguely willing your arm to press into your side to assess the damage, you felt warm, sticky liquid pooling on your waist. Lifting a hand, you saw it drenched in crimson blood, dark in the moonlight. You heard another scream again nearby, this time coming from the guttural squeaks you knew was the mage, the dying cries of a pitiful monster. At once, a pair of arms lifted you from the ground, supporting your head. What a damned disappointment you were. 

“[y/n]! [Y/N]! DAMMIT!” You had never heard Kaeya this worked up before. The pain of hearing the panic in his voice was also tinged with a selfish gladness that he cared, that Kaeya Alberich gave a damn if you died. Because, in that moment, you were certain you would die.

Straining out a chuckle, your chest racked up a wet cough, sticky blood now staining the edges of your lips. I’ll tell him when I’m dead, you once said. Well, isn’t this all quite ironic.

“Fucking hell, [y/n], I need you to keep your eyes open”, Kaeya commanded. He was using his captain voice, the one that only comes out when a new recruit wasn’t following orders. “Rookie, don’t you dare pass out on me.” His voice wavered.

Would it be worth it to tell him now? Did you want his last memory of you to be a pathetic, wishful fantasy spilling forth from your bloodstained lips, like the nonsense uttered by a mere child? Your vision spun faster, losing sight of Kaeya, hovering over you. You couldn’t make out his features too clearly in the darkness, but something about the wet drops of water landing on your cheeks told you that it wasnt more blood. You supposed that you should do yourself justice and at least keep the one promise you made that night in Mondstadt.

Straining to open your mouth, you uttered, “Kaeya, I—”

But before you could muster the strength to speak another word, your vision went dark.

*****

The first thing you heard when you woke up was the sound of birds chirping. The second was a silent snoring sound coming from somewhere to your right.

Cracking your weary eyes open, you sensed the faint light of the early morning coming in through an nearby window. Getting your bearings, you realized you had woken up in the Knights of Favonius headquarters hospital. Your damaged adventurer’s clothes were gone, and instead you could feel bandages dressed around the wound at your side. Oh, right. You thought you had died.

Trying to sit up, you fekt an excruciating pain burn through the side of your body that had been hit, setting your nerves on fire. You hissed, and the snoring beside you abruptly stopped.

“Archons, you’re awake.”

Kaeya sat up from the chair he had apparently been sleeping in, still dressed in his captain’s armor, just as dirt-covered and singed as when you last saw him. Was that only last night? You figured Kaeya must have hurried you back to the city before your condition could get any worse.

Fuck. As all your memories of the prior night came flooding back, your eyes pooled up with salty tears. Not only had you cone closest to death than you’ve ever had, you had completely disappointed Kaeya and made a fool of yourself in front of him.

“Kaeya, I’m so sorry—”, you started.

Your words were interrupted by the man next to you leaping into your embrace, arms wrapping your shoulders where you were not injured. “Dammit, [y/n]. When won’t you just shut up.” His voice was muffled by his face buried into your neck. “You don’t have to say a word.”

It scared you, seeing him vulnerable. The ever-cocky and cunning captain of the cavalry, the man who always had a plan and was never caught off-guard. Now, a man bearing his innermost emotions to you, little old you. Had he heard what you begun to tell him last night? Or were things going to return back to the way they were, you admiring his dazzling beauty from a distance, comfortable yet agonized at the degree of separation.

You hoped to the archons for the latter. You hoped that it wouldn’t take another instance where you almost lost your life for the love you felt for him to spill forth. Archons, even if you had to die, it would still all be worth it, if it were with him at your side.

Kaeya trembled as he pressed himself deeper into you, desperately clinging on. “Don’t you dare open your mouth, rookie”, he chided. “I don’t want to hear something you’ll only tell me when you’re almost gone. Please just let me do the talking.”

Pulling back, you looked at him in confusion. His hair was disheveled, eyepatch slightly askew, yet his face was full of an almost childlike wonder, akin to the gleam he possessed when you had first met him, however many years ago.

“Do you think I did it all for nothing?” Kaeya looked at you. “Do you think all those years of training together, eating together, soarring together, was all because I thought you had potential as a soldier? The private walks through Windrise, the nights spent at the tavern, the dance, that damned dance we shared—what did you think that was?” Desperate and exhausted, Kaeya’s eye began to shimmer with tears. “Fucking hell, [y/n]. I’ve always loved you. Since the very beginning, you idiot. Why else would I dedicate all my time, all my energy to you and only you?” He grasped your shoulders tighter. “If you think that I haven’t been madly in love with you since I first laid eyes upon you that day, then you’re fucking wrong.”

You cut him off, burying your hands into his hair—pain be damned—and kissed him. It was bitter and metallic, the taste of both of your blood on your tongue. Kaeya’s neck was ice cold, but his cracked lips were thick and warm, and when you pulled away from them, you suddenly felt like you could take on the world.

“Well”, you remarked. “I’m glad that we got that out of the way.”

a/n: uhuhuhu this is pretty long but i hope you like it! i wanted to improve my writing a bit and elaborate on descriptions a bit more, so i hope i did your request justice!

[todorokibois]

Along For The Ride - Atsumu X Chubby!Reader {M}

Disclaimer: Atsumu is aged up to about 21, as are all characters in my fics.

Genre: Fluff, Smut (Face sitting, praise, slight body worship and thigh riding), Slight Angst (If you squint real hard)

Pairing: Atsumu X Reader

Words: 3,060

A/n: Atsumu is a chubby chaser and you cannot convince me otherwise. Is this completely self-indulgent? Yes. Do I care? Not really. Can this be read even if you do not consider yourself chubby? Absolutely! Hope you enjoy! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

Summary: Your boyfriend has a very specific request.

The first time Atsumu had mentioned it, you nearly spat out the water you had been drinking. Clearing your throat, you had looked towards him with wide eyes. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly,” came his immediate response, gaze locked with you own.

A few moments of silence had passed between the two of you as he waited patiently for your response. You sighed, “I’ll think about it.”

The only response you got from him was a smile and a nod of his head. At least you didn’t outright say ‘no’ to the idea.

The next few times he brought it up, you managed to avoid the topic by changing the subject, face heating in embarrassment at the mere thought of what he was suggesting. Each time, he was patient, always looking at you with a glint of hopefulness in his eyes that you would agree to his proposal. However, you weren’t too sure if you should say yes or not.

Currently, the two of you are on your bed, lips locked in a heated embrace. Both of your shirts have already come off, along with your pants, as he helps you to grind down on one of his thighs. He smirks, knowing how much you love them, almost as much he loves yours. What’s even better is the slight dampness he can feel soaking through your panties and onto his thigh, only serving to make his cock twitch in his shorts.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this,” his voice is nothing more than a low drawl as his eyes drink up every movement you make.

The only thing you can manage is a pleasant hum in response, your movements quickening as you desperately chase your own high. In your dazed state, you barely register his next words, and once they click in your mind, they have you halting your movements as you stare down at him with an expression of mild shock.

“I want you to sit on my face,” his grip tightens on your thighs, eyes locked with yours as you hesitate to respond.

“I don’t want to crush you,” you finally say, nervously chewing on your bottom lip.

You’re not going to lie, you’ve thought about it, too. Given how much he’s asked about it, it’s obvious that this is something he really wants to try. You know he’d never push you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with, but you are slightly worried you might suffocate him. Even if the thought of looking down at him between your thighs turns you on.

As if sensing the reason you’re hesitant, Atsumu is quick to respond, reassuring you with his words.

“Babe, it would be an honour to suffocate from your thighs,” there’s that look again, the one which lets you know he is one-hundred percent serious with what he’s saying.

Your heart flutters in your chest as you take a deep breath, warmth spreading throughout your body starting from your core, “okay.”

“Wait, seriously?” His whole face lights up, eyes sparkling with delight as he leans up onto his arms to get a better look at your face.

“Yes,” you nod once in confirmation, “I trust you.”

His heart feels as if it’s about to burst out of his chest as it swells with love and admiration for you, eyes clouding over with lust in the next moment as he continues to stare at you, “I promise I’ll make you feel so good, baby.”

Laying back down, he watches through hooded eyes as you carefully slide your panties off. As if he can still sense your slight hesitance, he smiles reassuringly at you, guiding your body so that your knees rest on either side of his head. He can already see your entrance glistening with your juices, just begging for him to have a taste. He smirks, licking his lips as his hands trace the outsides of your thighs, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

“That’s my girl,” he hums as you settle above him. “Now,” his thumbs are stroking gentle circles on your skin as he locks gazes with you once more, “sit on my face.”

You can feel your walls clench around nothing as you carefully lower yourself to meet his waiting mouth. You’re careful not to sink down too far, making sure that there’s still an adequate amount of space between his head and your core. However, as soon as his tongue makes contact with your clit, you inhale sharply, nearly loosing your resolve to keep this amount of distance between the two of you.

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, doing your best not to succumb to the need to drop your entire pussy on his mouth in fear of squishing him. Each stroke of his tongue through your folds causes your legs to shake, and it becomes even harder for you to remain above him as you are. A fact of which he notices.

“I said,” he growls out, wrapping his arms fully around your thighs as he pulls you into him, voice now muffled by the skin of your thighs, “sit on my face.”

You can feel his arms tensing around you, keeping you in place as he holds you to his mouth, nothing separating the two of you now. A gasp escapes your lips as you feel him suck your clit into his mouth, using his tongue to flick over the sensitive nub shortly after. He wants all of you, and fuck, if your sounds weren’t music to his ears before, they certainly are now.

Allowing his tongue to explore every inch, he notices your back arching slightly at this new angle. Now that there’s no space separating the two of you, he can finally get to work on pleasing you the way he knows best. Fingers biting into your skin, he pulls away briefly to suck a mark onto your thigh.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?” He grins, soon blowing cool air over the mark he’s just made and watching as you shiver slightly.

“You’re not-“ your breath hitches as he licks a teasing strip up your entrance, dark eyes locked on your face as it twists in pleasure, “you’re not so bad yourself.”

A chuckle rumbles from beneath you, “I don’t think you understand, darling. What I wouldn’t do to these thighs of yours,” he trails off, licking his lips once more. “So tender. So soft.” He emphasizes each phrase with a kiss. “Perfect for marking.” He growls, nipping at your skin and causing you to gasp. “Perfect for me.”

“Atsumu,” his name escapes you in no more than a breathless sigh.

“Fuck, you don’t know how long I’ve dreamt of this,” he confesses, tongue going back to circle your clit as you keen above him. By now, you’ve had to grab onto the headboard to steady yourself, holding on tightly in order to ground yourself. He chuckles once more, “look at you, trembling from the slightest touch.” As if to emphasize his words, he gently caresses the inside of your thigh with his nose, eyes flashing to yours as he notices you twitch once more. “My beautiful girl.”

With another bite to your thigh, he guides his mouth back to your clit, flicking the nub a few times before sucking it back into his mouth with a new vigour. Your hand flies to his hair as you feel him move his mouth down to your entrance, thrusting his tongue as deep as he can and collecting every last drop of your essence that escapes you.

“You taste so fucking good, darling,” he groans, grip tightening once more around your thighs.

You can feel him smirk against you as he continues to work you closer to the edge. You even start to grind down on him in time with the strokes of his tongue on your folds. Each flick on your clit sends a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body, and you know it’s only a matter of time before you fall over the edge.

“That’s it, baby,” he encourages, eyes alight with satisfaction and glee as he feels you begin to tremble above him, signalling you’re getting very close to your orgasm. “Use me. Use me for your pleasure and fucking come on my tongue.”

His words, combined with the way he expertly flicks your clit, moving in time with each of your thrusts has you tumbling over the edge in no time at all. His chest swells with pride as you come, head thrown back as you cry out his name in bliss, hand tightening your grip in his hair. 

Gaze drinking in your figure, he watches as your chest rises and falls with each breath you take, small moans still escaping your lips as he laps up every last drop of your sweet nectar that you have to offer him. The way your body twitches in response makes his own shudder in pleasure, knowing that he’s the one to make you react like this, to make you feel this good.

Releasing his grip on your thighs, you move off of him, allowing for him to sit up against the headboard as you return to straddling his lap. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he watches you carefully. Only now is he aware of how painfully hard he is beneath his shorts as you both attempt to catch your breaths.

“Wow,” is all you manage to get out and you watch as his expression morphs into one of smug content.

“I knew you’d enjoy that,” he flicks his eyebrows at you in amusement, only causing you to raise one of your own.

“Oh?” This time, it’s your turn to smirk, shifting slightly to grab his prominent bulge and hearing how he lets out a slight hiss at the contact. “And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you also enjoyed that.”

“More than you’ll ever know,” comes his response, his voice dripping with lust as his gaze flicks to your lips.

Understanding his silent request, you lean into him, connecting your lips with his once more. You can taste yourself on him as his tongue explores your mouth, a low groan escaping his throat as you grind against his hard cock beneath you.

“I can’t wait any longer,” he tells you, resting his forehead on yours, fingernails biting into your skin. “I need to be inside you.”

Nodding wordlessly, you give him one final peck on the lips before moving over to the nightstand and grabbing a condom. By the time you’ve opened it and are back to straddling his thighs, he’s removed his shorts. You watch as he holds his length in his hand, stroking himself a few times before you pass him the condom. Rolling it on, he watches you lick your lips, gut twisting as he sees the same want in his eyes reflected in your own. Ever so slowly, he watches you position yourself above him, head tilting back as he feels your warmth envelop him as you sink down on his cock. 

This is one of his absolute favourite positions with you, with him sitting up and leaning against the headboard while you’re placed in his lap, riding him slowly. There’s nothing more intimate then this to him, being able to feel you so close to him as he holds you in his arms while you control the pace. He loves feeling ever inch of your body pressed against his own, getting to feel every little tremor you make while mapping  out all of the curves of your figure. Every time this occurs, he swears that you’re made for each other, and to him, this position proves it.

Once he’s fully sheathed inside you, he rests his forehead on your shoulder, breathing laboured. How is it that you make every time feel like it’s your first? Never has he been able to rid himself of the butterflies, and at this point, he doesn’t ever think he wants to. How he got a goddess like you all to himself still boggles his mind.

His hands find purchase on your lower back as he places a gentle kiss onto your neck, “whenever you’re ready, baby.”

Nodding your head slightly, you wait another moment before starting a slow pace, feeling him continue to place gentle kisses onto your neck, chest, and shoulder. Each movement you make is drawn out, and you can feel him pull you closer as he lets out a soft moan. Your heart races in your chest as he pulls away to stare deep into your eyes, nothing but wonder, awe, and love shining within.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are today yet?” He asks, nuzzling his nose along your jawline as your breath hitches.

“You may have mentioned it once or twice,” you hum back, enjoying the casualness between the two of you, even during such an intimate moment as this.

“Then I haven’t said it enough,” he replies, and you can feel your heart flutter in your chest. “There’s not a day that goes by that I’m not thankful that you’re in my life.”

“Sumu,” your expression softens, movement momentarily halting as you whisper his name.

“It’s true,” his hand caresses your spine, trailing upwards slowly as you continue moving once more. You can feel him twitch inside you as you clamp down on his length unexpectedly. “Fuck- how are you so perfect?”

Now it’s your turn to hide your face in his neck, letting out a small whine of his name, “I wouldn’t say that.”

“Why not?” He lets out a small hiss as you shift above him slightly, allowing him to sink even deeper into your warmth. “You mean so much to me, so goddamn much. You’re smart, beautiful, talented, not to mention unbelievably kind, and I get to call you mine.”

You feel your walls involuntarily spasm when he says that, only causing a smug grin to pull at his features. 

“You like it when I call you that, don’t you?” He teases, arms beginning to help guide your movements over him.

“Call me what?” You pretend to not know what he’s talking about, tilting your head innocently to the side.

“Mine,” he growls, and you cannot help the small moan that escapes you when he does. As soon as he hears you, combined with the way your pussy clenches once more around him, he knows he’s got you. “Don’t worry, baby, you’re all mine just as I’m all yours.” 

Shifting his position slightly, his arms wrap around you securely, holding you to his chest as he plants his feet on the bed behind you, legs now bent to help support him better for what he’s about to do. 

“My beautiful darling, you have no idea what you do to me. From the way you smile at me that sets my heart racing, to the way you call out my name,” he emphasizes each phrase with a sharp thrust into you, causing your legs to start to tremble as his name falls from your lips. “Yes, just like that- and don’t even get me started on this body of yours- fuck,” he pulls you closer, nails digging into your flesh as if he’s holding on for dear life. “So fucking perfect. It’s as if you were made just for me, and you always respond so well to my every touch, like I was made for you. I love everything about you, baby. I love you.”

By now, you can hardly form words of your own, only whimpers and moans of his name able to fall past your lips as you begin to meet his every thrust. Your arms are around his shoulders, pulling him closer to you just as he’s doing with you. You can tell he’s getting close from the way he twitches inside you, not to mention how much more laboured his breathing has become. Luckily, you’re not too far behind.

Pulling away slightly, you manage to meet his gaze, conveying wordlessly all that you want to say. He only grins at you as you cup his face in your hands and connect your lips once more, allowing your passion and love to come through in the kiss.

Removing one of his hands from around your back, he brings his hand up to caress your own, intertwining your fingers together and pulling your arms between your bodies. You swear you can feel his heart racing in his chest, just as you’re sure he can feel yours as you both near your release.

“I love you,” he echoes his words from earlier with a deep growl, staring deep into your eyes.

Hearing you mirror his words is the final push he needs to send him over the edge, you following at the same time. He comes with a loud cry of your name, feeling you bite down on his shoulder to muffle your own cries of pleasure. It’s as if the dams holding back your releases have finally broke, pure ecstasy flowing through your bodies as you remain intertwined with one another.

Holding you to his chest, he gently strokes your back with his hand, cooing sweet nothings into your ear as you both come down from your highs. Your breaths mingle together as you look at him to already see him smiling fondly at you.

“What?” You giggle, kissing him softly on the lips.

“Just thinking about how lucky I am to have you,” he answers, removing his arms from around you to allow you to move off of him and clean yourself up, also allowing him to dispose of the condom and pull his shorts back on.

“I think I’m the lucky one,” you mutter, yet he still manages to hear, causing a smile to tug at his lips as he watches you move around the room, one of which you don’t see until you turn around again to face him. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” he hums, feigning innocence. “Just thinking about how hot you looked when you were sitting on my face.” You nearly choke on air with how casually he says that, but it’s his next words that have your cheeks flaring with heat, “next time, can we do it facing the mirror?”

[joshstambourine]

A Seconds Glance

"Hi I have a request for either Josh or Jake 💛 can I get a story where they see a girl, either at school or they can already be famous in this, and is instantly enamored. I don't know if you've seen The Virgin Suicides, but if you have then something similar to when Trip sees Lux for the first time. I'm interested in how those two would go about getting a girl's attention when they have a crush.💕💕💕" - Anonymous

//Hi Doll! I can’t say I have seen that--- but I will try my best to write something that I feel matches the idea you had. 

I’m gonna be repeating this forever--- but again, I’m so sorry it took me so long to get this request out for you! I decided to go with Josh being in school for this one.//

Warnings: Cursing, awkward beans

Word Count: 1969

Synopsis: Josh had never really believed in love at first sight... but yet....

Josh Kiszka x Fem!Reader

The first day of sophomore year. For most this was just the start of another school year; a sudden reminder that a new binder or fun pencil case is exciting for all of 10 minutes when it comes to actual classes and work. But for Josh… this year felt like it was filled with possibilities. It sounds like some sort of stupid thing you'd see on a motivational calendar, but it really truly did.

Josh hadn't imagined for a second that he actually would have a chance in making music his career; and yet, he had spent all summer with his band mates playing for different occasions and pubs. All the while they were working, working hard on writing songs that they could be proud to play for others.

All of that said, Josh was returning to high-school this year with a new found amount of confidence and excitement; it showed in every step Josh took. His one hand held loosely on to the arm of his backpack, walking in time with Jake.

"But what do you think? Would it look good on me?" Jake inquired, fingers lightly playing with the mid-length pieces of hair on his head.

"I mean… I don't know…" Josh lightly starts, glancing at his twin and begins to take a good long look at him.

Jake's eyes widened just a touch, his expression becoming one that said, 'Well…?'

"Uh… honestly I don't really know Jake. I've never seen you with anything else than this." Josh admits, then snickers a little, "Except for that one time when we decided it'd be fun to take those scissors and---"

"No, that's fine, I didn't need to think about that." Jake immediately stopped him, his hand going to take a full dive into his mess of dark brown hair. 

"Cmon, it was really funny though. Ma really lost her shit when she saw your head like that." Josh continued to muse, hands folding into his pockets with the utmost of ease. 

Jake shook his head in a mournful way, "I can say I will never go back to a buzz-cut again… not without a fight."

Josh's smile never faltered, it was his laughter that changed, softening into a bit of a sigh as they reached the double doors at the front of the school. With a swing of the doors they both were making their way down the hallway to their lockers.

"Meet by Mr.Shapiro's class before lunch?" Jake questioned, to which Josh nodded. No matter which school the twins went to the teachers seemed to know that the best course of action was to keep them separated. That said Josh and Jake always had separate homerooms at least, through most of their time in school.

"See ya in a bit." Josh waved, taking a few steps back before turning on his heels and heading to his own locker.

Josh's excitement to be back in class showed on his face more than he probably would have wanted. A few pencils in his hand along with a binder filled with blank paper and tucked away dividers.  

As soon as Josh stepped into the class room his eyes were met with many familiar faces. Some of these people he had been in school with since kindergarten; like Meg, a rather tall blunt faced girl with long kinky black hair. She simply threw a peace sign Josh's way as he stepped through the doors; he eagerly returned it, bringing a small smile to Meg's lips. 

With some brisk steps Josh moved to place himself at the back of the classroom, just behind Meg. He threw his things on his desk without much thought. Despite there being a good number of kids he knew... there seemed to be equally just as many new kids. 

Leaning on his desk Josh moved closer to Meg, "Where the hell did these guys come from?" 

Meg's brow lifted as she leaned back a little, "Know the high-school on the east side?" 

"The one where you can get crack for super cheap?" Josh inquired, 

Meg's head bobbed, "They closed it down, so now we get half the kids that went there." She explains with her head resting on her hand in a bored way. 

"Oh shit really? That's a lot of kids---" Josh was quick to respond, glancing around the room. 

"Oh yeah... way too many in my personal opinion --- not that anyone cares." Meg mutters, beginning to click her mechanical pencil. 

Josh's eyes were still taking in all the new faces as he started to respond, "Wow aren't we positive today." 

Meg sighed, "Eh.... I'm just not excited, Justin and I broke up over the summer and I'll have to see him in history." She began to explain, "Things are just really tense, yknow?" 

She waited a moment for him to give some comforting... but still idiotic response, however none came. It finally got Meg to turn and look at him, as she did she immediately noticed that Josh's eyes had widened just a touch, cheeks dusted a light pink. 

Meg followed the line of his eyes to a beautiful young woman. The expression he wore was more than enough to tell Meg that she should move. 

Josh was so busy just... taking the new girl in that he didn't even notice Meg slip to the free desk to the side of the one she was previously sat in. Josh just couldn't put his finger on it, there was something... something so breathtaking about her. Was it her eyes? Or maybe how her hair fell around her face? He couldn't be sure. What he was absolutely sure of was that he had never had a moment in his life where he could hear music just by looking at someone. 

"Hey... do you know if this desk is free?" A new voice shook Josh. It was her. She was standing at a desk to his left with a bit of an awkward air. 

He was just so shaken. What did she say again? Something about a desk? Josh's lips parted, "Uh--- I uh, what did you--?" 

"No that one isn't open, but the one just in front of my dude Josh is, right Josh?" Meg interrupted, pointing to the desk ahead of him. 

"Oh y-yeah, that one's open! Definitely 100% open! It couldn't be more open even if it tried!" Josh started spouting, he really wasn't even aware that his mouth had moved, and that was clear in the fact that it just kept moving when she had come to sit down. "Do you need any pencils at all?? I have like 20!" He continued, though his hand held one full sized pencil and one shorter than the average person's pinkie... both chewed on. "I mean not on me but--- who needs a pencil right?" 

The girl laughed a little awkwardly, her gaze moving from Josh to Meg and then to the desk. "No, no I'm okay thank you though." She slipped into the chair, keeping her gaze frontwards. 

Meg looks to Josh with a shocked look, 'What was that??' She mouthed, 

Josh responded with an absolutely mortified expression. He would never say he was the smoothest guy on the planet, but he had never been that awkward in his life. 

Meg shook her head before reaching out to tap the girl's shoulder, "I'm Meg!" She introduces, "And that goober is Josh." 

The girl lightly moved to glance over her shoulder at Josh in a shy way. "It's nice to meet you both. I'm (Y/N)." She hummed with a sweet smile. 

"That's a pretty name, isn't it Josh??" Meg quickly said, trying to get him to continue the conversation in a less awkward way.

Josh nodded very enthusiastically, "The prettiest name I've heard in a long time!" He said with a smile, 

(Y/N)'s cheeks began to hold a flush of their own. "Oh! Uh... th-thank you!" She sputtered out. 

'OH FUCK. She's so cute.' Josh thought to himself, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat with a shaky swallow. 

Little did Josh know that (Y/N) was thinking something very similar. She might not make it as obvious as he was, but being so much closer now... being able to see the warmth in his brown eyes, seeing how his wavy brown hair came to cup his cheeks --- she couldn't help but continue to stare back at him. 

The only thing that could pull them both out of the little trance they had fallen into was the bell. Both of them quickly looked toward it, followed by a man's voice at the front of the class. 

"Alright everyone, take your seats!" 

(Y/N) was reluctant but she turned herself to look toward the front of the class. A little bit nervous, but mustering an ounce of courage she tore a piece of paper from her notebook quietly and began to scribble something down. 

Josh hardly got anything out of that language arts class, he was way too busy trying to figure out what excuse he could make to talk with (Y/N) again. He was just rattling through every little conversation starter he had ever heard in his life... but none of them felt like they would work. 

Before long the bell had rung overhead once more and everyone was shuffling to grab their things and head to all of their next classes. 

Biting his lip, Josh was determined to catch (Y/N) before she could head off to her own next class. Luckily for him she had a similar idea. Both turning to each other as they stepped out of the classroom, it was painfully quiet at first. It seemed as if they were trying to get their thoughts together really. 

Finally they spoke, 

"Hey would you---" "I was wondering if you'd---" 

At once. 

A small awkward laugh left their lips, "Please, go ahead I was going to say something dumb---" Josh quickly said moving to rub the back of his neck. 

(Y/N)'s lips parted as she let out and unsure chuckle, eyes moving downwards for a moment. "I was just going to ask if you would mind if I joined you for lunch? I just am new and don't really have any---" 

"Yes!" Josh quickly said, "Yes absolutely. You didn't even have to ask, you could have just showed up if you wanted to!" He quickly says to her. 

The speed he seemed to talk at entertained (Y/N) a heck of a lot. A smile creeping across her face, "Okay! Thank you!" She responded. 

"Do you know where the cafeteria is? I can show ya if you want??" Josh quickly continued, "I mean I'm sure you could find it on you're own, you seem very smart and capable. Most women are to be honest; I remember reading an article about how men need to---" 

"That would be really great actually." (Y/N) smiled in a gentle way. 'He's even more nervous than I am.' She thought to herself. 

"Oh-oh! Okay cool! Uh, do you know where Mr.Shapiro's class is?" He asks, 

(Y/N) seemed to think for a minute, "113... right? I have him for chemistry this afternoon I think." She mutters. 

Josh swiftly nods his head, "That's the one!! Meet me there okay?" He says. 

(Y/N) nodded back, understanding the little plan they now had. "I'll see you in a little bit then?" She lightly asks. 

"Yeah absolutely." Josh began to grin, suddenly beyond excited. Even as she began to walk off to her class all he could think about was how sure he was now that this year was going to be fantastic. 

That was until a warning bell played overhead, "Oh shit--" Josh jumped in shock, immediately beginning to run to his next class.

//That's all for now lovely! I do actually have an idea on how to continue this one if anyone would like! Pretty please let me know in the comments if that's something you guys would like 💜//

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

The d’Avenir Treatise on the Essentials of Monster Hunting (Vol I) - Preface and Introduction

The timing of this whole thing with the campaign is pretty amazing, as it turns out. In the middle of absolute work hell and attempts to sort out my general apartment/living situation, a little while ago I entered a fic into the /r/CurseOfStrahd second annual fanfic contest. It was one of my attempts to kind of write out and process the way our own run through the module went, stretch out some poor, suffering, unused writing muscles, and it was also super duper self-indulgent. So I'm very, very proud to say it won first place amidst some really great competition, and super happy to rep my best girl Ez.

Summary: In the aftermath of Strahd's destruction and the not-quite-loss of her mentor, Ezmerelda d'Avenir sets out to tie up loose ends and lay some ghosts to rest, and continues carving out a path for herself in the Domains of Dread.

Word count: 9999, as there was a 10k limit. I had fun.

Rating/Warnings: T, with canon-typical violence, and dealing with death and loss in a general gothic horror setting. Spoilers for the Curse of Strahd module.

---

The d’Avenir Treatise on the Essentials of Monster Hunting (Vol I) - Preface and Introduction

Being a compendium of successes, failures, tricks, and warnings relating to detecting, tracking, fighting, and ultimately destroying undead, fiends, lycanthropes, and assorted monstrosities.

-

1.1. Introductory remarks

Their ride back to town is a quiet one. The silence is broken only once they are sitting, their hunting and travelling gear half-unpacked and strewn about, in the library just above van Richten's herbalist shop.

"Were we in any other profession, this would be a cause for celebration," van Richten's lips twist into a bittersweet wisp of a smile, and he pushes a warm cup of tea into her hands. "A demonstration of pride in an apprentice's first job well done, for all to see and revel in."

Ezmerelda tries to look up at him and meet his gaze properly, but her shoulders, her head, her eyes all feel too heavy. A leaden weight seems to have settled on every bit of her. She is tired, bone-deep, but the very thought of lying down and closing her eyes to attempt to sleep fills her with disgust and no small amount of dread. She knows exactly what she will see. The man, just on the cusp of middle age, entirely unremarkable at first... features quickly twisting into a mask of monstrous hunger, then to wide-eyed horror, and, finally, resorting to desperate pleas for mercy as the stake hits home and his screeching form dissolves to ash. 

It feels like the ash still coats the back of her mouth. The tea smells of strong herbs, with just a whiff of something even stronger that van Richten must have snuck in from the liquor cabinet. Her hands clench around the cup, and a burning need to justify and defend herself drives her to finally speak up.

"I was ready," she insists. "I am ready."

"I know," van Richten replies, softly, sadly.

The tea scalds her tongue, but she drinks it anyway.

---

Getting up from the damp, cold floor of the tomb again feels like an impossibility. She can barely keep her head above the ground, eyes stinging with a mixture of blood and sweat and the glare of pure, magical sunlight. The clawed gashes on her ribcage burn with every weak, hard-won breath, and a metallic taste coats the back of her tongue.

But she is not done yet. She has one last lightning bolt left in her, and Strahd and his dusk elf lackey are so beautifully, perfectly aligned. Ezmerelda can't keep her lips from curling up into a smirk as she raises an arm and mutters her incantation, feeling that familiar tickle of static rising all around her.

She holds on, builds it up as much as she can, teeth grinding together, ears buzzing - until she can hold on no longer, and the energy flies from her, the flash near-blinding, the roar of accompanying thunder ringing in her ears.

She sees it hit home, the first traces of foggy vapour swirling around Strahd's convulsing form, and a beautiful satisfaction fills her. 

Then, she lets herself go.

An instant or an eternity later someone is shaking her into jarring and painful wakefulness, jostling her head against the rough floor. Her mouth is filled with the bitter aftertaste of a potion, and she grimaces as she feels the familiar residue on her lips and chin.

"Fine, fine, old man, relax, I'm up," she manages, slurring the words, struggling to blink her eyes open and into focus. "I'm awake. Stop it."

But it's not him.

It is Ireena, wide-eyed gaze somehow growing wider still at her words. The reason for this becomes abundantly and agonisingly clear as she points to somewhere behind Ezmerelda... to where Rudolph van Richten lies, very pale and very still, a greater and more profound calm upon him than she has ever witnessed.

"No."

She didn't even see him fall.

"Why didn't you help him?" Ezmerelda knocks the empty potion bottle away, and it clatters loudly against the stone, finally finding rest near a streak of dark ashes. "What are you waiting for, what--"

"I tried. It was... it's too late," Ireena whispers, "I'm sorry." 

Ezmerelda feels shame flood her immediately at the misaimed anger. "No. No, I'm sorry. It's not your fault. I'm sorry. I just-- wait." Awareness of just where they are and what they were in the middle of doing suddenly overwhelms her, and she feels panic crawl up her spine. "Is it over? Did you stake that bastard once and for all?"

Ireena nods, mouth curling in visible distaste. "I did, just like you said to. Your last hit - it was enough to force him to turn into mist, and then, when... when he reformed in the coffin, I did it."

The relief Ezmerelda feels at that is so bitter it burns. "I missed it, then," she murmurs, and feels ridiculous immediately afterwards. Ireena shakes her head, and helps her sit up.

She allows herself a few precious moments of rest against the cold, damp wall of the crypt, eyes painfully locked on van Richten's still, still form. As soon as she feels half-capable of moving, she all but drags herself to his side. Feeling for a pulse, a breath, anything at all to help her disbelieve what is plainly before her eyes.

She finds no such thing. He's dead, and it feels like a stake through her own heart. After all her efforts, after getting into Barovia just to get the damned foolish old man off his self-destructive warpath and out, only to lose him now, to fail right at the end...

A pale shimmer falls over the scene before her, like a curtain right before her eyes. Ezmerelda blinks and shakes her head, but can't make it go away. She reaches up, and--

Erasmus all but swoops down to be face to face with her.

It takes her a moment to properly grasp what she is seeing. Erasmus. Somehow still there, his ghostly form hovering over his father's body. Gesturing at her wildly, pointing down at something, and, finally, using his ectoplasmic paint to draw... a circle within a circle, hanging in mid-air.

She follows his wordless instructions to the best of her current ability and, with some painfully suppressed reluctance, looks down at van Richten. And there on his finger is a ring that was certainly not there before.

Erasmus seems insistent and quite unusually agitated, so Ezmerelda takes the ring, trying not to register the coldness of the hand it was on, and puts it on numbly, feeling utterly beyond thought.

Suddenly, cutting through the fog that seems to have descended upon her mind, bubbling up like an idea from her own consciousness, a thought - a voice. A familiar voice.

'Ezmerelda? Ah. I see. Well, that could have gone decidedly better.'

She feels tears welling up in her eyes, an unstoppable burning in her chest. She wants to laugh until she can't breathe, or sob her lungs raw. 

Instead, she sits back against the cool stone wall. As the adrenaline wears off, she becomes more aware of the extent of her injuries: the sting where foul claws raked across her midsection and upwards; the burns of magical fire on her palms. She fishes out the last potion from her pocket, and downs it in one greedy gulp. The relief is near-instant.

Her faculties at least somewhat returned to her, she opts for a laugh as she recognises the ring for what it is. Ireena looks at her with some concern, but Ezmerelda waves it away.

"A ring of mind shielding. Protect the mind, and store the soul, should the worst happen. Of course you of all people would come so prepared."

Ezmerelda twists the ring on her finger, marvels at the detailed engraving.

"Should I... we could... there's ways. To get you back. I mean..." 

She trails off, and there is a brief pause before the voice in her mind pipes up again. 'No. No, I think, at long last, it is time for me to stop. And rest.' 

Even though her entire being wishes to rail against this, to insist on the need for Rudolph van Richten to exist, and protest the injustice (just when she'd gotten him back!), Ezmerelda manages, barely, a soft, "I understand." 

'There is still some work to do before that, though, no? Loose ends for us to take care of before, well...' 

That, she feels far more comfortable with. It almost comes as a relief. "Yes, of course. First order of business, we will sit down, and we will work out a plan. And we will stick to that plan." 

There is a soft chuckle in her mind. 

"What's so funny? You love plans." 

She imagines, in better, happier days, the old man - only slightly less old - shaking his head at her with a long-suffering smile. 

'Thank you for humoring me, is all I'll say. Now, go handle things here properly and finish up, while I think of a list of priorities for us. Miss Kolyana is waiting for you.' 

-

1.2. A brief reflection on personal experience

Ezmerelda is pulled into a room, hand clamped over her mouth. The door slams shut, and she almost stumbles as she is suddenly released.

"What in all the realms are you doing here?" The colourful half-elf carnival master hisses at her in a voice decidedly unlike the one he was just using in the downstairs taproom. Now that they are close, she can see the magical disguise of the Great Rictavio is utterly impeccable, but the eyes... the eyes are unmistakable. 

They are also flooded with the closest thing to panic Ezmerelda has ever seen in them.

"I'm here to help you. You don't stand a chance on your own."

"How did you find me?"

Ezmerelda shrugs noncommittally, and doesn't look behind him. "I have my ways."

He shakes his head. "That isn't good enough. If his agents - and there are many, I assure you! - catch even a whiff--"

She finally glances at the ghostly form of Erasmus, just barely visible over Rictavio's shoulder, unable to be perceived by the one man he wishes he could reach out to and reassure. He meets her eyes and holds his finger up to his lips.

"I recognised your horse," she says, at long last. 

"Dear Drusilla? Oh..." Rictavio seems to almost deflate at that, though his nervous pacing doesn't slow. 

Erasmus' visage shows what has to be gratitude, or relief, or both. Then he closes his eyes, seemingly tired, and the shimmering remnants of him disappear from view. 

"Damned stubborn, foolish girl..." Rictavio moves deftly around the small room, securing the shutters on its single window, locking the door from the inside, gaze darting around wildly. Then he reaches up and removes his hat, and Rudolph van Richten, looking more old and more worn than Ezmerelda was perhaps ever prepared to see, stands in his place.

"I had a plan, you know," he sighs, tossing the hat onto the bed. "One that I can now no doubt forget about entirely."

"There's no time for your endless preparation and planning. Any waiting game we try to play is a losing one. There's a young woman who desperately needs our help, a legendary weapon to be found, and there's a monster to hunt, feeding on an entire land. I've been to the castle, scouted out--" 

"You've done what?" 

Ezmerelda doesn't look at him and chooses to pace a small circle around the room herself. "The castle. Ravenloft. Getting in was a breeze - getting out was the hard part." She suppresses a brief shudder at the memory of her invisibility spell running out and Strahd's eyes boring directly into hers, as if he'd known she was there all along. "But, well, I managed. And more importantly, I found a way into his crypt."

Van Richten sits down on the bed, rubbing circles into his forehead.

"Ezmerelda, you can't be here." His voice sounds pained, almost. "You know you are not safe near me. My curse--" 

"Sincerely, fuck your curse," Ezmerelda spits. "After all these years, it can wait a few days before striking. Can't be worse than what will happen to both of us and anyone involved if we can't manage to work together on this. We have to. I tried, by myself, but..." 

She tries not to dwell on the terribly brief confrontation, the bite of the cold, cold grasp that seemed to steal the very life out of her, and her rather desperate escape.

"Ezmerelda," van Richten starts again, then pauses, and just looks at her - a long, heavy look. "Why?"

"There are still people who care about your well-being," she replies simply and softly, "no matter what you may believe." 

Then she straightens her shoulders and allows the steel back into her voice. "So listen to me. We are going to stake that devil in his lair, and we are going to get out of this cursed land. Together."

For once, he doesn't argue.

---

Their lord and master may be gone, but there are plenty of foul things still crawling around Castle Ravenloft - and occasionally crawling out of it as well.

How lucky for the Village of Barovia, then, to have a monster hunter visiting.

"...so I think that should do it for that particular area of the barracks," Ezmerelda flicks a stray bit of zombie gunk off of her bracer, then casts an apologetic look at Ireena. "But who knows what else he has buried under there."

Ireena Kolyana, the girl haunted, hunted, and tormented by the vampire, deciding she's had enough of running, turning on him and wielding a sword of pure sunlight against him. Poetic justice, if Ezmerelda fancied herself a poet.

Ireena Kolyana, looking exhausted in a very different way, now caught up in burgomaster duties, barely finding time in her overstuffed schedule to hear about the results of Ezmerelda's latest expedition to the castle.

"You know," Ezmerelda begins, eyeing the stacks of papers and growing chaos on the desk between them, "if you ever get really tired of this, and miss life on the road..." she nods towards the window, and the wagon just outside it. "I have room for one more. And could always use a deft hand with a sword." 

Ireena smiles, but the sadness underpinning it is palpable. "I can't, not now at least. There is too much to take care of here. And without Ismark..." a shadow falls briefly over her face, then she visibly forces it back. "Some day, maybe. I would honestly love to." 

Ezmerelda nods, then moves to stand up, and holds out a hand expectantly. "Come on, you have time for a walk. A minute to escort me out and say goodbye, at least."

Ireena chuckles quietly and shakes her head, but pushes away from the desk and takes the proffered arm. 

The sunlight is bright, tempered only by a wisp of white cloud here and there. Ezmerelda feels a light pull on her arm as Ireena stops on the threshold of the house for just a fraction of a moment. The hesitation is brief, barely noticeable, but the pause as if needing to catch her breath and the subsequent dawning joy - pure, almost radiant by itself - as the sunlight hits her skin--

Ezmerelda realises she's staring, blinks, and makes herself look away.

Their stroll is indeed brief, and as soon as they turn the corner and reach the parked wagon, Ireena sighs and stands half-ready to hurry back to her office and her duties.

"Hey," Ezmerelda puts what she hopes is a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I know you can handle all of this. Never doubt that." 

This wins her a sincere smile. "Thank you."

Knowing there's no more point in delaying, Ezmerelda pulls away, moves to arrange her things around the wagon and prepare to leave. 

"The offer stands," she says as she climbs into the driver's seat. "Keep it in mind."

"Maybe next time," Ireena replies with another sad smile. But then she pauses for a moment, almost as if thinking something over. Then she darts in quickly, and kisses Ezmerelda's cheek.

"Don't stay away too long," she says, quietly, then draws away again. Ezmerelda nods her agreement, and takes up the reins of her conjured horses.

Ireena waves her goodbye, and stands, looking on, bathed in sunlight. 

And then the road turns, and she disappears from Ezmerelda's view.

'Well.'

"Shut up." Ezmerelda can feel her face burning. "Absolutely no need to read into things." 

'You know I mean no offense. I only want the best for you.' 

"I am perfectly fine," Ezmerelda grumbles. "Besides, this is the last thing she needs right now." 

'You don't know that. Ask her sometime, perhaps, to tell you herself. Too many people have assumed too much about that young lady, I think. Myself included.' 

"Oh, what do you know..."

There is a distinct sensation of stinging grief, never quite healed, as the voice comes again. 'You seem to forget I was young once. In love once. More... than once. And though it never ended well, like few things in my life did, the only thing I have ever regretted was not acting sooner. And regret is...' 

"... the enemy of progress. I know." Ezmerelda sighs, the old man's oft-repeated saying rattling around in her mind as she snaps the reins and takes them down the road westward. "Maybe next time."

-

1.3. Materials and methods, an overview

Her balance is off still, but the past few weeks have brought incredible improvement. She flicks her rapier upwards, then lunges - back, forth, back, forth, fully and properly bearing weight on her right side in the training yard for the first time in months. The new prosthetic is truly a work of art and a masterful display of craftsmanship. Ezmerelda feels almost giddy at the sensation of ducking and weaving under the wooden limbs of the training dummy, feinting deftly, ignoring the burn in her arm and shoulder. The maneuvers are not yet close to her peak speed and fluidity and elegance, not after the long, arduous recovery she is only now reaching the end of. But it is all so very, very promising.

It also brings to mind - because how could it not, when for the better part of the past half-year she has had more time to think, and remember, and reflect than in her entire life? - van Richten's drills. He was always far more of a theoretician than practitioner of swordfighting, but he was certainly no slouch with a blade. The precision and perfection of form he insisted on instilling in her initially seemed to clash with her more free, improvisational, off-the-cuff approach, but ended up blending with it to great effect in ways that occasionally surprised them both.

She goes through attack patterns he's drilled into her and realises she misses him, the cantankerous old man and all his frustrating ways, and suddenly finds herself fervently wishing she wasn't doing this alone. She spares a moment to imagine the amount of fussing over her he would likely have insisted on, with his overprotective bedside manner that she used to chafe and scoff at whenever one of their hunts went badly for her. She thinks of all the lovely, fleeting drawings Erasmus would have made for her.

Her next step is careless, thoughtless, distracted, and as a result only a little off. The lunge is misaimed, unbalanced, and her knee twists unpleasantly. For the briefest flash of a moment she could swear she can feel the teeth sinking in again, and the horrible tearing.

Ezmerelda winces, fingers clenched around the rapier's handle, knuckles white. Her teeth grit as the wave of pain subsides so very, very slowly, but doesn't quite go away. She remembers, belatedly, that she has an audience.

"Ah, almost there," she calls back to the artisan eagerly awaiting her feedback, voice forcefully kept steady, without turning to face them, and taps her rapier on the metal plating running up from the heel. "We'll need to make another slight adjustment to the ankle joint, I think. But this is definitely and by far the best one yet. Let me get some more practice first, and we can go over the details in the afternoon."

Ezmerelda doesn't wait to see if her words are acknowledged. She hefts the rapier back up.

---

Before she reaches the first crossroads west of Vallaki, she turns the wagon south and into the woods.

"I have some unfinished business of my own to settle first," Ezmerelda states very matter-of-factly, preempting any interrogation from the ring's general direction.

The wagon trail to the top of the hill is easier to navigate than ever, and the camp is abuzz with activity, as it usually is. But this time the feel of it all is a bit different.

Ezmerelda knows it well; the air of a caravan packing up to leave.

Arabelle sees her weaving through the horses, strolling towards the large central tent, and darts towards her immediately, then freezes not three feet away. Ezmerelda can tell plain as the new Barovian day that she is torn between looking dignified and throwing herself at her in a hug.

So she crouches down and opens her arms first, and is almost knocked over when Arabelle rushes in. 

"I want to show you something I've been practicing," Arabelle whispers conspiratorially, "but you'll need to lend me a dagger."

Ezmerelda's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but she obliges the girl after only a moment's contemplation, still crouched down and one arm around her narrow shoulders.

The dagger is one of the smaller ones she usually keeps concealed, but even so it seems far too large in Arabelle's hands. Nevertheless, in a few surprisingly dextrous motions with only a couple of moments of hesitation, she seems to make it disappear - then produces it again as if out of thin air.

"Huh. Impressive. Did your uncle teach you that little trick?"

Arabelle nods, but her pride is palpable. "Papa was so mad! He says that both him and you are a bad influence and I am far too young to be handling blades."

"There's no such thing," Ezmerelda scoffs, but motions for her dagger back and tucks it away safely. "Where is your father? I wanted to speak with him."

"Luvash is busy," another voice cuts in cooly, and Arrigal steps out of the fading, scarce shadows, somehow slipping under her notice even with the bright streams of sunlight all around. "But you can speak with me."

Ezmerelda stands up slowly, and can see him sizing her up.

"Run along now, Arabelle," Arrigal says in a much warmer tone of voice, but without taking his eyes off Ezmerelda for even a moment.

Arabelle gives her one last look as she turns to leave, and Ezmerelda tries to give her a reassuring smile - but then she realises Arabelle doesn't seem concerned or reluctant or... anything at all. She seems supremely calm, and not seven years old at all.

Arrigal steps forward and, even as uncannily quiet as he always is, it startles her back into the moment. Then, he reaches out a hand.

Ezmerelda meets his gaze, steps forward, and takes it. The handshake is firm, and she smirks. "Looks like you backed the losing side, cousin."

The term of address rolls off her tongue with some bite of irony in it. Arrigal inclines his head in acknowledgement. "You can't say it wasn't a fairly sure bet. A matter of survival, of course. We do what we must to keep our people safe. But," and he draws a bit closer, as if letting her in on a secret. "I'm glad he didn't send me after you."

Ezmerelda nods, and decides she isn't in the mood for a debate. "You know, so am I. I would have hated having to kill you. Instead, here you are, in an excellent position for a little introspection, changing your ways... much better this way, isn't it?"

He shakes his head with a grin, and finally lets go of her hand. "You are a menace. But we follow the traditions, and you have a place here. Where are you going?"

"Borca," she says, and pointedly doesn't elaborate further.

Arrigal laughs. "Off to more of your grim business right away! Well, one has to admire your tenacity. You can stay, of course, and leave with us tomorrow. We will share the road at least part of the way."

So Ezmerelda stays, and exchanges news of recent caravan routes and planned Mist-traversal with Luvash. The fire roars to life as the sun sets. Tales are told, and she contributes some of her own.

"Regale us, cousin," Arrigal says, grinning wolf-sharp, arms open wide as if to encompass the entire camp, "with the story of the fall of the devil Strahd." 

Arabelle is a delight, as always. The truce with Arrigal, if it can be called that, is uneasy, but holds. The ring is quiet.

Arabelle insists on riding with her in the morning ("You did fish her out of that lake... brought her back to us," Luvash grumbles. "I suppose there's no harm... I'll have none of that monster-hunting nonsense, though!"). Her delight at the summoned magical horses is palpable, even as she tries to hide it. Ezmerelda gives her the reins until they need to enter the Mists, and is only slightly surprised to see her managing well, with just a few pointers here and there.

The whole way, Arabelle demands stories of her and van Richten's exploits very matter-of-factly - interrogates, almost, at times. Her eyes are large, intent, focused, as Ezmerelda obliges, for hours. 

"I knew you would win," Arabelle says at one point, breaking a rare longer stretch of silence between them. "Uncle didn't want to listen to me, but I knew."

Ezmerelda looks at her, matches her seriousness. "I hope he will learn to listen, one day soon."

-

1.4. Common pitfalls

Ezmerelda inches back to consciousness more than wakes, and hisses as she almost reflexively tries and fails to sit up. She recognises her own bed in the former guest room above the herbalist shop, but the details of how she got there are fuzzy at best, completely absent at worst. She is, however, very aware of a merciless pounding in her head and that she has most certainly just pulled some fresh stitches.

A swirl of colourful ectoplasm greets her when she next opens her eyes, Erasmus' fleeting but always lovely and cheerful greetings hovering above her.

Well. Ezmerelda forces a pained smile at him, knowing that if he is here, his father cannot be far, and--

Ah. Familiar footsteps on the stairs, and the distinct creak of the second one from the top, as Rudolph van Richten enters the room with uncanny timing. 

He doesn't seem to be surprised to see her awake as he gives her a quick look-over, even as concern and frustration clearly war on his face.

"I thought we had reached an agreement," he begins at last, very deliberately calmly.

Ezmerelda doesn't reply.

"I thought," he continues with that same calm tone, "that we had made a plan. That was my distinct impression of our last conversation."

Ezmerelda clenches her teeth, then grinds out, "I couldn't just stand by and let that beast--"

"You could have voiced your disagreements with the plan and brought your concerns to me, instead of running off on your own in the middle of the night," van Richten is clearly struggling to keep his voice level. "You almost died."

"Fine, I am voicing my disagreements. We know it's a wereboar. Just go at it with our silvered weapons, set up an ambush where we found its lair... why wait? Why give it more chances to hurt people?"

"To be absolutely certain we have all the information. That we have looked at it from every angle, that we have not overlooked a crucial detail. Minimise its chances to hurt us."

"But by then it might have mauled half the village to death, or worse!"

Van Richten's gaze on her is sharp. "And if we get ourselves pointlessly killed, are the villagers any safer for our hasty, brash, ill-thought sacrifice?"

"Hasty, brash, and ill-thought. Fine, if that’s how it is, how you think of me," Ezmerelda throws her hands up, and wishes she could march off, slamming a door shut behind her for good measure, as childish as the thought makes her feel.

Van Richten sighs deeply, and pulls up a chair to sit next to her bed. Ezmerelda recognises it as one from downstairs, and feels a small stab of guilt at the thought of him setting up a vigil at her bedside.

"We can't go rushing in on half-checked information," van Richten begins, after a brief silence, looking down at his hands. "We can't, because... because I have done that, in the past. And people - good, brave, dedicated people who chose to stand against evil, people who trusted me - died as a result."

"I have been wrong," he continues, still not looking up. "I have followed faulty sources without the due diligence of thorough enough vetting. I have overlooked things, and I have lost many. I will not and cannot allow that to happen again. We have to be careful, patient, and vigilant, always."

"I'm not advocating for blindly rushing in," Ezmerelda protests, "I'm merely--"

"I won't have you on my soul as well. I have far too many already."

"And I won't have any more innocents on mine! We had all the relevant information two days ago. Four people could have been alive today if we had acted on time. We were right."

"And what about when you aren't, Ezmerelda? What about when you aren't?"

Ezmerelda looks him right in the eyes, steely. "Then I will make sure I am the one who pays the price for my own mistakes."

"Oh," van Richten smiles sadly, "If only that were possible."

---

The letter arrives just as she is preparing, to her great relief, to leave Port-à-Lucine for good. It is hand-delivered by an ostentatiously dressed man in a stylised fox mask, entirely - and Ezmerelda feels her lips curl in annoyance - unassuming and usual for the land of outrageous pretense that is Dementlieu. The way he seems to disappear in the moment it takes for her to glance down at what he has thrust into her hands is also something Ezmerelda finds hard to marvel at anymore.

Overjoyed to be able to return to the relative privacy and safety of her wagon, she tosses away her old harlequin mask in the sincere hopes of never having to put the damn thing on again. Then she throws herself on the bed and focuses on tearing into the sealed envelope, absorbing its mysterious contents.

After she reaches the end of the letter's brief text, she stays very still for a long while.

'Not a name I thought I would see again, if I am to be honest,' van Richten's voice comes slowly, sounding very wary.

Ezmerelda breathes out a frustrated sigh, an unidentifiable jumble of feelings warring in her chest and burning up her throat. She tries to reply several times, then stops, and closes her eyes. Collects herself, at least somewhat, and decides to focus on the practical. "How do we even know this isn't a forgery, or some sort of trap?"

'We don't. But it is a loose end I, for one, am not prepared to simply overlook.'

"She's tried before, but I never... I don't have time for this right now, I--," she throws the letter and the shredded envelope onto the chest at her bedside, and runs an annoyed hand through her hair, again, and again, and again. Thinking, or at least trying to. 

'We have time. You and I both know it's not time that is the problem.'

They are nearing the end of their planned journey, finishing up their business with Alanik Ray and Arthur Sedgwick's latest investigations and bidding farewell to Dementlieu. And then it was supposed to be on to Mordent, to call in at the Mordentshire shop briefly, and afterwards to Darkon - to Rivalis, and the villages surrounding the old Richten estate. Some ghouls to fight off, wraiths to purge, ghosts to lay to rest, to help the villagers out, before... well. They'll come to that when they do.

Ezmerelda can't deny the detour would only be a brief one.

"A 'loose end'," she huffs. "Really."

'I am just trying to help you. Don't waste years of your life like I have, either bitter or wondering or fleeing. Confront your - our - past, at least this part. Lay it to rest, if you can.'

"The past does not lie behind us. It is part of what we are, and part of what we always will be," Ezmerelda recites, then sighs again. "Old Vistani saying."

A moment of silence. 'Make sure it is a good part, then.'

-

Ezmerelda's memory of her mother feels... not fuzzy, but perhaps a bit tweaked and twisted over the years, more by feelings overtaking it than by any fault of recall. The images of what she remembers and what now stands before her don't match, but have a strange, dissonant overlap, leaving visible in the centre a woman Ezmerelda could almost, almost imagine seeing in the mirror. One she hoped to never see again after that night of wordless parting, many years ago. 

Years of imprisonment seem to have been surprisingly kind to Madame Irena Radanavich. She has wormed her way into some kind of favour with someone powerful here, no doubt, as has always been her utterly unscrupulous way. The cell is clearly a formality, more of an office than anything, a parlour for receiving agents and lackeys, as well as bosses. There is even a chair - a worn, old wooden frame with faded red upholstery - placed a little ways away from the bars, facing them. Ezmerelda also gets a distinct impression that the guard standing in the corner is not there for any visitor's safety or protection.

The woman in the cell seems to light up the moment she sets eyes on Ezmerelda strolling into the cell space with a pretense of casualness.

"My, how you've grown! My, and yet-- oh, darling," concern seems to flood her face and voice, and - there, a subtle, wry twist - Ezmerelda thinks she catches a false, even mocking undertone to it. A flash, and it’s gone, and perhaps she merely imagined it, or even wanted it to be there, an ache for some semblance of simplicity to box this woman in. "There's both more and less of you than last time I saw you." 

"Really?" Ezmerelda scoffs, and almost wants to laugh. "All those tales I've heard of your vicious, clever, insidious scheming, and that's the best you can come up with?" She crosses her arms, and clicks her metal heel against the floor loudly. "Not an angle you can use against me, I'm afraid. Try again." 

"You wound me!" A dramatic hand placed over her chest. "Treating your own mother like that, who has never had anything but your best interests at heart. Who you've never even come to visit."

Ezmerelda slips the opened letter through the bars, letting it land on the hewn stone on the other side. Then she moves to sit down on the solitary chair.

"I'm only here because I got your letter."

"Oh! Good. My dearest Ezmerelda, I was--"

"I am here to tell you I want you to leave me alone," Ezmerelda continues, acting as if she hasn't heard a word. "For good. Forget I exist, preferably. I want nothing to do with you, and I never will. And the only thing I might want to do with your plotting and scheming is foiling it, so it is in your best interest to leave me out of it all. And van Richten..." 

The saccharine smile dips down, almost into a scowl. "And here I'd heard you'd finally seen sense and parted ways with that old fool." 

"You hear much, I see," Ezmerelda replies, cooly.

"I have my ways. My sources. People loyal to me, who have yet to abandon me."

Ezmerelda feels the swipe like an airy almost-cut of a dagger that just barely misses. "Well, here's something new for you, then. Something your little web-weaving spiders seem to have missed. You'll be happy to hear he's dead." 

"And right away you come back to me! Time to end your silly games, eh, Ezme? Good, good. A start--" 

"You have no right to call me that," Ezmerelda cuts her off, rapidly losing her will to restrain herself.

"Come now, dear. That's no way to talk to your mother, your own flesh and blood. It's about time we set all this nonsense aside, don't you think? Your family--" 

"You're no family of mine." 

"Please," she scoffs loudly. "You sound like an angry child. And... oh, really, what kind of name is 'd'Avenir' even?"

"My name," Ezmerelda replies, perfectly matter-of-fact, and refuses to even entertain further discussion of the matter.

"I wonder how you'll do," Madame Radanavich smiles, but this time the threatening edge is obvious, pretense briefly abandoned, "all alone. Playing your little games of pretend with your make-believe name. You'll come crawling back to me yet." 

Ezmerelda finds herself thinking of Erasmus, and almost believes she can see him, out of the corner of her eye. Tries not to think of what this confrontation might be bringing back for him. Thinks of the Martikovs welcoming her with open arms and offering shelter even in the darkest and dourest and most dangerous of days; thinks of Ireena with the sunsword and an entire wealth of feeling tangled in a tired, relieved smile somehow brighter than the blazing sunlight itself. Of nights around the fire in the camp outside Vallaki, and little Arabelle pulling on her coat, extorting promises of lessons in both swordfighting and divining. Of Arthur Sedgwick and his honest, caring eyes, and his patient instruction in properly using a flintlock, as his husband gleefully offers detailed scientific explanations of the weapon's workings from the side. She twists the ring on her finger.

"I'm not alone," Ezmerelda says simply, and feels resolute steel pouring back. She stops to consider her next words more carefully.

"I watched your actions and your curse destroy a good man's life. But I want you to know that you wanted to take from him, and in the end you took from me, the daughter you profess to care about so much. And now you crow at me about flesh and blood and expect me to, what? Beg you to let me come back? Back to what? A mouldy cell and as short a leash as the current master feels like giving you?"

"Bold words for one given to following an old wretch around like a sad pup, even as he keeps trying to kick you away," Radanavich sneers, then shifts back to sad pity in the blink of an eye. "Oh, yes, my dear, it's so very tragic... I've heard it all. Look at you - you're wasted on him."

"Oh?" Ezmerelda raises an eyebrow cooly, clamps down on the sting to her pride and the deliberate scrape against old wounds, and almost wanting to scream you are the reason he feared that daring to care about someone would be a death sentence for them. "And what would you prefer to be using me for?"

"How dare you! After all I've done for our family, while you throw your lot in with the man who killed your brother and imprisoned your mother!"

Ezmerelda feels suddenly tired, more than anything. "You know he did no such thing. And I've done very well for myself, despite you." 

"Have you, now? What price have you paid for your... profession? What has it cost you already?" 

"Nothing I wouldn't be ready to pay ten times over if it meant ensuring the safety of an innocent, or beating back those such as you. You still don't understand," Ezmerelda just smiles sadly, allowing only the slightest undercurrent of danger. "I'm neither lost, nor settling for anything, nor desperately grasping at a chance, nor tragically misguided. This is what I want. This-- this cause, this fight, this is exactly what I was meant to do. And I am very, very good at it."

"Oh, Ezmerelda, if excitement and adventure and glory is what you are after, I know of much that you could do! So many causes that your... talents... would be an excellent match for. You do have a certain reputation, and I know several highly influential actors who'd know exactly where to put your skills to use, no matter how they were acquired. You could do so well for yourself! Rise right to the top of the ranks in the blink of an eye, become truly great."

Ezmerelda shakes her head, and sighs, and moves to get up from the sad, solitary seat. 

"Ezmerelda--"

She quickly turns towards the bars and leans in, baring her teeth and grinning widely. "I killed the devil Strahd," Ezmerelda smirks at the look of shock she gets in response. "I think your petty schemes are a little below me, don't you?" 

She turns to leave, not waiting for a response. The guard leans back in his corner as she moves away from the bars, waving him off.

"Oh, do feel free to let your masters know," she tosses over her shoulder nonchalantly as she makes her way out. "Though I have to say I haven't really looked into whose lapdog you are nowadays." 

Ezmerelda hears a frustrated growl behind her as the sickeningly sweet, pleasant mask falls for good. As the door slams shut behind her, she doesn't look back.

She lets the noise of the city drown out her thoughts as she slowly makes her way back to her wagon, more than ready to be on her way elsewhere. Until, after a while, a familiar voice comes swimming up through her mind.

'How do you feel?' 

"I don't know," Ezmerelda murmurs, after a long silence. "Ask me tomorrow."

-

1.5. Notes on useful classification and categorisation

As she finishes rattling off the information she's gathered on a series of apparent annis hag encounters that van Richten asked her for, he looks-- well, 'impressed' is the only word Ezmerelda can think of to describe it.

In the ensuing moment of quiet, he takes off his spectacles, fidgets with them briefly, polishes off a smudge with his handkerchief. Then, he looks her right in the eye. "You, girl, are a veritable sponge."

Ezmerelda flashes him a smug smile, then remembers the other matter she wanted to bring to his attention. She clears her throat, and begins, with uncharacteristic hesitance. "I've also been looking into some... other things. Another way I can contribute, I think." 

The only reply is a raised eyebrow, so Ezmerelda steels herself and decides to go forward with her planned demonstration. She quells the nervous fluttering in her stomach, and instead focuses on the points of her own fingers as they trace well-practiced patterns in the air. With a final flick and a quick mutter of the incantation she's quietly recited so, so many nights in her room when she was supposed to be asleep, the very air around her right hand shimmers with heat. A few tense moments later, a small mote of flame appears in her palm.

Ezmerelda bites back an exclamation of joy at the success, tries to keep her expression fairly neutral, and looks to van Richten expectantly.

His eyebrows are, very amusingly, trying to climb into his hairline. "Where in the world did you learn to do that?"

She lets the little flame dance between her hands, casually skip from one to the other, flickering giddily, and feels an odd sense of relief wash over her.

"I saw it in one of your books. Almost by accident, and it... it just made a lot of sense to me, even just skimming over it. So I thought, why not? If I could get a handle on a few of the spells, I could complement your arsenal quite well. Bring more to the fight."

Van Richten nods, but there is a wary undertone to his words. "As long as you aren't making any ill-advised deals and pacts - which, I'll remind you--"

"-- are all of them. I know. Don't worry. I'm only interested in things I can glean by myself."

"Well, I'm not much of an arcane practitioner, though I am quite familiar with a lot of theory. I'm afraid I won't be able to provide any elaborate training or instruction--"

"That's fine," Ezmerelda rushes to say. "I can continue like this. The research, the books - it's..." 

She trails off, not quite knowing how and what to explain. Arcane magic is fascinating, surprisingly enjoyable, and strikes a deeply satisfying balance between being hard-won and feeling like it comes naturally to her. 

It also feels... hers.

"It's very engaging material," she finishes after a little while. She moves to close her fist and extinguish the tiny fire, but something stops her at the very last moment.

"Indeed," van Richten replies simply, and gets up from his seat. "Well, I do need to go tend to the shop, but rest assured we will discuss the tactical applications of this later today." 

Just as he is out the study door and about to start down the stairs, he pauses, and turns back to look at her, a bright and sincere smile on his face. "Very well done, Ezmerelda."

The flame flickers, ready to fly from her fingers, bursting with potential.

"Thank you," she murmurs long after he is gone.

---

It is deep nighttime when Ezmerelda shakes off the last tendrils of the Mists and sets eyes on the cliffs of Mordentshire. The wagon's wheels clatter over rain-slick cobblestones as she navigates the still-familiar streets of the seemingly unchanging harbour town. The cold sea wind makes her tighten her coat around herself, to very little avail. 

She can't say she's missed the weather.

By the time she spies the sign neatly painted with the words Herbalist - Dr. Rudolph van Richten, she feels soaked through and entirely miserable, and spends only a moment giving the place a quick look-over.

The shop is in fine shape - if she didn't know better, Ezmerelda could easily believe its owner closed it up for the night and left just yesterday. The wolfsbane and garlic in the planters underneath each window are flourishing. She makes a mental note to make her first order of business in the morning calling in on the neighbors and discussing further arrangements with Mrs. Polk, in whose capable hands van Richten has been leaving things for years.

In the meantime, she fervently hopes for dry clothes and a workable fireplace.

A quick rummage between two bushy wolfsbane plants - the second and third one on the right - produces a spare key, and Ezmerelda remembers with mild amusement her shock at this mundane weakness in van Richten's usually impeccable and overthought defenses, years ago.

"Keys," he'd looked at her over the rim of his spectacles, "are hardly a problem for things that truly want to harm me."

The little bell chimes as she opens the door. Catching a glimpse of herself in the very precisely placed full-length mirror just opposite the entrance, she wastes no time before going upstairs. The second stair from the top creaks its old, familiar reassurance.

Ezmerelda enters the room that used to be hers, in between harrowing hunting trips and trying adventures, during her years training with van Richten. It doesn't seem to have changed much - nor does it seem to be in use as anything but spare storage space.

She does her best not to think about how empty and quiet the house is, or how she's never truly been alone in it. Instead, she hangs up her coat, rolls up her shirt sleeves, unpacks some of her things, and, by the time she gets a proper fire going, realises sleep is the very last thing she feels like doing. Her eyes alight on the small desk in the corner, and she instead decides to do something she hasn't in a while.

She sits down to write. 

First, Ezmerelda takes off the ring and sets it aside, muttering a quick good night, Doctor under her breath. Then she takes out some of her collection, observations accumulated over the years - jotted down on everything from thick parchment to old wrapping paper. Combining it with the wealth of van Richten's remaining material and into something eventually coherent will no doubt be a challenge, but a challenge is not something Ezmerelda d'Avenir has ever shied away from.

It is just haphazard, quick notes on anything of consequence that comes to mind at first, carried by an odd nervous energy. A more systematic approach will have to come at some later point.

While knowledge is a key weapon in any hunter's arsenal, honing one's body as well as mind is absolutely necessary, she writes, tapping her foot on the wooden floor in a way that often drove van Richten to distraction. Many of the creatures of the night become, in their cursed states, inhumanly strong, and in such instances one must be particularly careful of engaging them in close quarters, for even the greatest strongman would be at a disadvantage.

However, not all of these encounters need be solved by violence. Many ghosts 

She pauses, pen slowly dripping ink onto the half-filled page before her, and sees Erasmus out of the corner of her eye. She turns her head to face him, and for once in their long and unusual life-and-afterlife-spanning acquaintance, she finds she can't quite read him.

Many ghosts are held in their in-between existence due to unfinished business. Tethered to some regret or incomplete task from their mortal lives, they seek resolution and closure. Many hauntings can thus be resolved by investigation, and what I must term a primarily sympathetic approach. Of course, one must also always be wary and on the lookout for deliberately misguiding spectres who seek to play upon one's pity.

The first signs of dawn creep into the room by the time she has moved on from ghosts to wraiths to trying to sort out her notes about creatures that lurk underwater - old notes that have been, to her chagrin, very appropriately and unsalvageably waterlogged.

Ezmerelda manages to light another candle just before her current one sputters out, and rubs at her tired eyes. Then she pauses, gazing idly at the ink stains on her fingers.

She reaches over for a new page, setting her current work aside. There is something else she wants and needs to write, something other than dry facts or hopefully helpful guidelines. The first few sentences come in fits and starts, but soon enough she finds them flowing out of her pen almost of their own accord.

What I would like to make clear is that this is not an inherently bad place. The lands themselves can be beautiful - wondrous, even. Worth living in, and worth fighting for. And the people who live in them do not deserve to live in fear. I, and many others, could simply leave for some better, tamer prospects, yes - but then what? Nothing is gained if we merely surrender an entire world, a collection of lands so fantastically varied and so full of promise, to a cruel, merciless, hungry night. It can't all be abandoned as collateral damage in a great punishment intended for a horrible few. I can't, and won't, allow this to happen.

Maybe the foes are overwhelming, and the fight endless. But a life saved is a life saved. A victory is a victory. One innocent snatched away from a grim fate, one tendril of darkness beaten back - that is enough. But only if we persist at it, day after day after day. And evil may be impossible to ever completely destroy, but it is far weaker and less widespread than it could and doubtlessly wants to be, in at least some small part thanks to our continued efforts.

A dour prospect? Perhaps, for some. Ezmerelda smirks to herself, and gazes down at her veritable manifesto, and thinks back to that cell in Il Aluk. 

What better life is there to lead? None, for her.

I, for one, don't intend to give up anytime soon. I hope that in you, dear reader, I can find one of like mind. And perhaps one day we shall find ourselves standing together.

She lights another candle, and continues.

-

1.6. Conclusions and remarks on future work

She clenches her hands as she steps into the sitting room that morning, decisions made after a long, sleepless night of contemplation. As if fate is conspiring against her, the first thing she sees is Erasmus, hovering over his father's shoulder. He turns to face her as soon as he notices her, a bright smile he saves just for her on his pale, ghostly face. She knows what a struggle it is for him to manifest this way, how much it takes out of him. The thought of his precious few minutes today being this... 

It takes immense effort to speak up, interrupting van Richten's apparent focus on the post strewn about the table in front of him.

"I think... I think it's time for me to go."

"Go? Where?" He blinks, looking up from his papers.

Ezmerelda swallows, but hesitates only for a moment. "I don't know," she answers, chin tilted up, almost proud. "But I know we can't go on like this. I don't want to go on like this."

They butt heads and scrape against each other constantly. Chafe and grate and, and, and. She can't remember the last time they agreed on even the most cursory thing. It has reached a level where she fears his presence will become intolerable, and anything binding the two of them together become irreparably soured and tainted.

She refuses to allow this to happen.

Erasmus has drawn a coin. Two sides. He indulges in a small, semi-teasing pantomime, pointing at the two of them as his shimmering, ectoplasmic drawings hover briefly before vanishing like so much smoke, and Ezmerelda shakes her head sadly.

"I don't want to come to resent you, that is all. I don't think I could bear it if I did."

"If you think it for the best, by all means," van Richten says simply, and leaves it at that. He never turns to fully look at her. There is an undercurrent to his voice Ezmerelda can't quite place - something deeply tired, and far more complicated than plain sadness.

It rains heavily that morning as she sets off, as if the world itself wants her to rethink this. The muddy road squelches almost threateningly under her horse's hooves as she leads him forward.

Van Richten doesn't come out to see her off.

"I'll miss you," she breathes to herself, and half-hopes it somehow reaches both of the companions she is leaving behind. But she has only the rain and her horse's steady trot on the trail for company. 

It is quiet.

---

Finally, the familiar mists of Darkon, and the countryside of Rivalis, lie before them. The inevitable, at a familiar estate fallen into quite a state of disrepair. 

'No, leave it be,' van Richten said, at her hesitantly presented idea of including returning Richten House to at least some of its former glory on their list of unfinished business and loose ends.

Still, this is where he wanted to come. At the end.

Ezmerelda never saw it in its prime. She was a mere child then, kept well away from her family's machinations. Until she was (inevitably, irrevocably) drawn in, her fate forever entangled with that of the van Richten family. But even now, in all its disrepair, rich traces of what the gardens, the orchard, and the house itself used to be permeate the atmosphere, like ghosts themselves.

She walks across the hills of the grounds, all the way around the mansion to the family cemetery. She slows as she moves up to the two most recent graves, so easy to find, and thinks, briefly, of the body van Richten insisted on being burned before they left Barovia, just in case. 

Just in case, she agreed, knowing all he knew about what foul magic and foul intentions could do to physical remains in the wrong hands, and built him a pyre.

The headstones before her are simple but elegant, as is the tidily engraved lettering on them.

Ingrid van Richten

Erasmus van Richten

'Well, here we are.' For a disembodied voice softly projecting into her mind, almost as through a mild haze or over some great distance, it is one of the heaviest things Ezmerelda has ever heard.

'A few words, if I may,' van Richten's request comes, gentle, and she nods, finding herself oddly wordless.

'I am so proud of you,' he begins, and the ferocity of it almost startles her. 'I hope you know this, always. If I have ever made you doubt this, as I pushed you away - I am sorry. I regret many things in my life, as one does, no matter what I like to say - but most of all I regret that I didn't tell you this sooner. 

You are the best of my life. But more than that, you have grown far beyond me, into a finer person than most could dream of being. And I am sorry I wasn't there for you, that you had to do so much of it on your own. But know that when I see you... I couldn't be happier, or more in awe.' 

There is a very brief pause, and then the voice softens again.

'I love you as my own, and am deeply honoured you would consider me, and that I get to consider you, family.' 

Ezmerelda swallows once, twice, struggles, then finally lets her tears fall freely. 

'Look at you. You don't need me anymore. And I can only hope your legend will far surpass anything I have ever done - there is so much ahead of you! Your light stands so very bright against the darkness. But I am glad, so very glad - selfishly, perhaps - that we were there together, at the end.' 

"So am I," she manages a whisper. "Love you too, old man." 

'Now I suppose it is time for me to go.' 

Erasmus looks at her, bittersweet pouring from him in waves, and he gives a small nod. His form flickers, and then disappears, and Ezmerelda knows she will never see him again.

She knows how the ring works, too. The soul within it can choose to depart whenever it wants to. She knows she doesn't need to do anything - that she couldn't, even if she wanted to. It brings with it a strange sort of peace. 

Ezmerelda inclines her head. "I hope you see them soon." Tell Erasmus I'll miss him, she wishes she could say. 

She spins the now-inert ring around on her finger, a habit she will need to break. She wants to tear it off, and throw it as far away from herself as she can. She wants to never take it off as long as she lives. 

A soft rain starts up, and Ezmerelda feels oddly grateful for the feel of it on her face, even as she knows there is no one here but her.

It is quiet.

---

With gratitude to the notes and tutelage of the esteemed Dr. Rudolph van Richten, whose guidance and wealth of knowledge have proved invaluable on countless occasions, and whose friendship changed the course of my life more than once.

[exquisitley-obsessed]

The Dinosaur and the Vampire Part Three (Carlisle Cullen x Reader)

Author: exquisitely-obsessed

Request: hi can you do a one shot for Twilight where the reader is best friends with Bella and is there at the car crash in the first movie, they go to hospital and that’s where the reader meets Carlisle, really fluffy, thanks

Word Count: 5000+

Pairings: Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Warnings: nothing

A/N: This is and this isn’t the final part of the story. I’ve already got a draft for a part four but it’s also going to be able to work as a one shot in itself. Here’s a hint - it’s got something to do with the plot of New Moon. Kinda obvious but I LOVE angst. My requests are open <3 But if you’re interested you should check out my masterlist here!!

previous part

Y/n felt crazy. It was the middle of the afternoon also the middle of a storm and she was standing on Bella’s doorstep, half-crying.

Her day trip to the Cullen’s house was only a few days ago and yet so much had changed since then. Bella was basically no where to be seen, now constantly spending time with Edward to the point where she even ditched school with him after Biology leaving y/n to drive herself home.

Moreover, the Carlisle incident had also wedged a gap between her and Bella. After the silent drive home back, y/n waited until Bella was busy with Charlie before heading to the nearest store and treating herself to an assortment of bathing items. New shampoo and conditioner, body wash, body scrub, shaving cream, razors, body lotion, leave in conditioner, facial oils; the list went on. Y/n knew she could never speak to Bella about it, too mortified over what Carlisle had said never mind the fact she was crushing on the 20-something year old doctor and (adoptive) father of Bella’s boyfriend.

All this combined with Jess talking her ear off about the dance, her parents pressuring her about college and her grades slipping; it had all become a bit too much. Her last straw was an argument with her mum about the dishes which left her storming out of the house, hopping the fence and knocking on Bella’s door. She couldn’t take it anymore, she needed her friend.

“Hey Charlie, is Bella in?” Y/n watched as Charlie took in her groggy appearance, wrapped in one of her dad’s old jumpers which had holes spotted along the sleeves.

“I’m sorry she’s not,” Charlie answered, his eyes tentative. Y/n tried not to act surprised, after all what did she expect. “She’s at the Cullen’s house, playing baseball or something.” Y/n could feel the angry tears prickling behind her eyes, she had never felt so alone and abandoned and she hated herself for it. She wanted with every inch of her heart to brush it off and just be happy for Bella’s newfound romance, but this seemed to come at the price of her own happiness. “Hey y/n are you okay-”

“Yeah.” Y/n answered a little too quickly, wrapping her arms around herself and nodding furiously. “It can wait. I think I’m going to go for a drive or something.” A somewhat forced smile slipped onto her cheeks as she tried to shake off her disappointment. “Could you tell Bella that I was asking after her?”

“Course.” Charlie said calmly, his gaze still soft and worried.

“Thanks, uh, bye Charlie. Have a nice evening.” Y/n splurted turning away from the door and hopping the fence. Without looking back y/n unlocked her car and quickly got inside, aware of Charlie’s lingering fatherly gaze. After sitting still for a moment, not quite sure what to do with herself she decided to drive down to La Push. The rocks, the ferocious waves, the abandoned feeling of the place. It was exactly what she needed. Trying not to let the tears brim over she turned on the radio and spluttered the engine to life.

Turning out of her driveway she felt better already. Some distance would be nice, plus she never knew who she might bump into along the way, it would be nice to see Jacob again. However, as she was driving down her street she noticed Bella’s red truck speeding toward her. From what she could see Edward was driving, a terrifying expression cut into his face as he glared at the road; Bella peering at him with an estranged fear, tears in her eyes. Y/n only saw them for a second before they passed, headed for home.

Had they been fighting? Y/n’s heart lurched for Bella. Despite Bella’s lack of communication recently, y/n still understood how much Edward meant to her, and of course she would still be there for her.

For a moment she wondered if she should turn back, wait till Edward left and then call on the house again, but her mind was already carrying her to the beach. She needed this time to herself; a break from everyone and everything.

***

Y/n hadn’t been driving long when she was pulled from her mind once more. She was driving down one of the lesser known roads, green and blue blurring around her when she caught sight of someone standing on the side of the road.

The first thing y/n noticed was her hair, ferocious red. It exploded around the woman’s head in fiery ringlets. Her clothes were raggedy and didn’t fit her very well: a tartan button up and loose fitting beige trousers. Over her shoulder hung a backpack with a bottle of water and thick rope looped off the side. She was waving her hands desperately in the air, clearly trying to catch y/n’s attention. Without thinking y/n slowed the car and rolled down her window.

“Are you okay, what’s wrong?”

“Oh thank God!” The woman cried in a strange accent. “I was hitchhiking when I thought I saw a bear. Ran like I never had before but now I’m lost. If you could just drive me to the nearest main road I’ll be able to find my way back to my car.”

Y/n couldn’t help but drink in the appearance of the woman now that she was closer. Her hair appeared even more explosive, a stark contrast with her ivory skin which appeared dewy and soft. Perfect freckles were sprinkled across her nose underneath a pair of dark eyes. She was unimaginably beautiful.

“Sure!” Y/n found herself saying without really taking it into consideration. She was pretty sure the woman looked like that girl Martha in her history class, maybe this was her older sister. “Hop in!”

It would be a minor detour, wouldn’t take long at all. The woman moved fluidly to the side of the car, opening the door with a flash before seating herself comfortably next to her. Y/n paused a moment, waiting for the woman to pull on her seat belt, when realising she wouldn’t she started the engine and drove on.

“The plan will work.” Edward comforted Bella, the two now back at the Cullens house following their performance for Charlie. The Cullens themselves rushed around them, preparing.

“Rosalie and Esme are heading down to your house as we speak. They won’t take their eyes off of Charlie. He’s perfectly safe.” Carlisle added, Bella shot him an appreciative smile. A pause of silence.

“Carlisle what about y/n?” Edward pondered aloud.

“Already thought about it.” Carlisle answered without looking up, Bella glanced between the two. First Edward’s invitation (for which he brushed off all her questions and instead supplied the phoney answer of wanting to know Bella’s friends better) and now this?

“What about y/n?” Bella asked. Edward took a deep breath, not meeting her gaze and ignoring her question.

“James and Victoria have no reason to suspect y/n is of any importance to Bella, Charlie or any of us. They’ve never seen y/n with us, they haven’t heard us talk about her. Y/n is no more than a neighbour. Besides, with Rosalie and Esme having eyes on Charlie they automatically have eyes on y/n.”

“Y/n’s not at home though,” Bella interjected worriedly, “We saw her pass us, she was leaving in her car.”

“What.” Carlisle stated rather than asked, his voice dropping as well as his easy smile. In fact, his entire body language changed, he stood taller, stretching his shoulders forward slightly as he eyes flickered a darker shade of bronze.

“It’s fine.” Edward said, not phased by Carlisle’s reaction, “I read her mind, she’s headed to La Push. If Victoria or James goes onto their territory...” Bella shot him a confused look.

“You’re right.” Carlisle murmured, relaxing slightly as he chewed on the new piece of information, “As long as she’s there she should be safe. I’ll send word to Rosalie, she can keep an eye out for y/n’s return.”

“Let’s go.” Edward muttered without another word.

***

“Just a few more turns then we’ll be on Bogachiel Way, you should be able to find your way from there.” Y/n said automatically, wearing a cheery grin as she hoped not to spook the woman any further - it sounded like she had had a rough day.

“Actually I was hoping we could take a left," The woman spoke, it was the first thing she had said since being in the car. Her voice was smooth like honey but not overtly-sweet, there was definitely some bite in there.

“Are you sure?” Y/n’s brows furrowed, “I haven’t been down there before and we could risk both of us getting lost,” She chuckled to herself, “And-” She turned to face the woman and stopped abruptly, her jaw clamping shut.

“What is it?” The woman asked, not breaking eye-contact. Y/n felt as though she was being compelled, she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

“Your eyes,” She stuttered, “They’re...blood-red.” She tried to laugh, speaking as though the woman would be surprised herself.

“Oh.” Was all the woman said in a voice completely devoid of all emotion. “Well that just gives it away.”

“What-” But the woman had already snapped her fingers through y/n’s hair, and all she remembered was the sight of the driver’s wheel as her skull crashed into it.

***

Bella sighed heavily from where she was sat in the hotel room. The TV presenting her with some daytime talk show with a painfully loud and obnoxious host. Alice and Jasper were completely still next to her as they watched, no emotion, they looked as though they weren’t even thinking.

The phone exploded with a shrill ring that made Bella jump, before she could get up Alice was already answering it, nodding along to whatever the other person was ranting about. Bella waited patiently with watchful eyes, if it was Carlisle that was calling Edward couldn’t be too far away.

“Bella,” Alice turned to her with a vacant expression, holding out the phone. Bella went to reach it when all of sudden it was falling out of Alice’s grasp with a resounding ‘k-dunk’. Bella went to protest when she realised Alice couldn’t see her, she was seeing something else, something from the future - Jasper was behind her in a second.

“What is it?” He asked soothingly, his hands resting on her shoulders.

“It’s...Victoria.” Alice spluttered distantly, her golden irises flitting back and forth.

“Charlie is he-” Bella began.

“She’s driving. She’s happy.” Alice continued.

“Alice, is Charlie-” Bella tried again.

“Oh.” Alice once more continued as if she hadn’t heard. Then it was over and she turned to Jasper with wide, fearful eyes. “It’s y/n. She has y/n tied up in the back of the car.”

“What?” Bella distantly muttered behind her, meanwhile Edward’s frightful voice could be heard yelling through the phone from the floor. Jasper swept down and twirled the phone into his fingers.

“Edward.” He said clearly, “We have a problem.”

“Is y/n okay?” Bella asked shakily, her fingers half covering her mouth. Alice simply collapsed back down on the couch, her brows furrowed, eyes frightful and she chewed on what she had just seen.

***

“What’s going on Edward?” Carlisle asked as he shifted the car up a gear, racing down the motorway. Edward’s eyes were wide, fluttering left and right as he took in new information.

“What’s wrong?” Emmett asked from the backseat, picking up on the awful tension.

“We have a serious problem.” Edward began.

“How serious?” Carlisle asked, not removing his eyes from the road and yet his voice was still calm, supportive.

“Alice just had another vision but it was of Victoria, apparently she’s driving somewhere with y/n tied up on the backseat.”

What Edward had said didn’t seem to settle with his audience for a while. Carlisle’s face enigmatic, Emmett just simply confused.

“Who’s y/n?” Emmett pondered aloud. Y/n’s presence and affect on the family had pretty much been kept secret between Edward and Carlisle, and Edward was only in on it because of his ability.

“A friend of Bella’s.” Edward answered so Carlisle didn’t have to. “Her best friend, in fact. She could be used for leverage.” Carlisle still hadn’t spoken although his knuckles where blushing blue from his grip on the wheel. “Carlisle?” Edward asked after a moment, still on the phone to Jasper. No response.

“We’re going to need to split up.” Carlisle’s voice was calm, the same as it always was. It was only his eyes that were different, flickering to a darker shade of bronze. “Emmett, Edward, I’m going to need you two to keep driving. Head for the airport and buy yourselves plane tickets to Seattle. Regroup with Jasper and Alice and keep Bella safe.”

“And you?” Emmett asked, now curious.

“I’m going to turn around and head back to Forks. See if I can track down Victoria and stop this from getting anymore messy than it has to.”

“How are you going to...ah.” Edward’s question was answered when Carlisle swung a hard right and sped into the car dealership. Before they knew it Carlisle was up and out of the car throwing the keys to Edward.

“Don’t scratch the Porsche,” Was all he said. “It was a gift.”

“Are you sure?” Emmett called out leaning out of the back window, “You don’t need help?” Carlisle smiled at his son.

“It’s more than I don’t want you to see what I’m about to do.” And with that he turned and disappeared into the building. Edward in a flash was sitting in the driver’s seat, starting up the engine - desperate to see Bella again.

“So,” Emmett smiled broadly as he leaned back and stretched out his arms across the seats, “This girl...y/n...she’s important right.” Edward sighed deeply, before glancing over his shoulder with a soft grin.

“You have no idea.”

***

Y/n stirred, her head feeling as though it was going to pound out of her skill. Distantly she was aware of something holding her wrists and ankles close together and the hum of the engine beneath her.

At first her vision was blurry, and it didn’t help that the trees were rushing past her window and an incomprehensible rate. It was also dark outside, too dark, how long had she been out?

“Wakey, wakey.” A dark voice fluttered down at her. Y/n groaned in response, her hands, bound, automatically rushed to her forehead and when she pulled them back they were slick with blood. This couldn’t be happening.

“What’s going on?” Y/n was surprised how calm her voice sounded as her eyes focused on the sight of the red-head, her wild appearance now feeling threatening. This woman must be insane.

“You have no idea what you owe me.” She spoke in riddles. “Lying there bleeding across these seats. I almost messed up the whole plan.” Yes, she was definitely insane.

“I’m sorry.” The words tumbled out of her mouth. “Have we met before?”

“No.” The woman rolled her eyes, “I promise you would remember if we had.”

“Where are we going?” Y/n didn’t feel like playing into her games, she was petrified as it was.

“Seattle. A girls trip.” She grinned menacingly at her over her shoulder. “James just called, apparently some of your friends just booked a flight there. We can’t risk flying though so I’m afraid we’re driving.”

“To Seattle?”

“We’ll be there before you know it. I’m a quick driver.” She was, the trees were rushing by so quickly no distinctive feature could be made of them. Whenever they came across another car on the lonesome road it whipped by within the millisecond.

“What did you mean by my friends?”

“The Cullens, silly. I saw you hanging around Bella’s house, asking after her even. That’s why your here.” Y/n couldn’t make sense of it, the jumbled words and the fizzing in her head meant everything she tried to process felt scrambled.

“I think you’ve got the wrong girl.” Y/n muttered, her eyes scrunching up as she tried to endure her throbbing skull..

“I’m not sure about that.” Victoria glanced in her rear view mirror, y/n noticed and, twisting in her seat, she watched as a white blur stayed hot on their trails, following the cars movements perfectly. She tried to focus on the identity of the driver but another wave of nausea rolled through her guts.

When this had passed she glanced around panicking. Looking down she noticed the rope, about an inch thick and bound several times around her wrists and ankles in expert fashion. It didn’t take long for y/n to conclude there was no way she could get out of them herself. Glancing around, her head feeling a littler clearer she looked for any way to slow the car down or at least call for help.

Trying to look inconspicuous, y/n leaned forward and looked through the window resting her fingers near the trigger to pull it down. With a quick glance at the woman she slammed down the trigger; but the window rolled down all to slowly and all to loudly. The woman’s head snapped around.

“Bitch.” Was all she spat before rolling the window back up with the panel by her arm. “What were you going to do, make a jump for it? We’re going 150 on the motorway.” The number made y/n feel queasy but she had already committed now, she wasn’t just going to sit here and we carted off to her ‘girls trip’ in Seattle.

Quickly, y/n flipped the window down again and using the bony knot of the rope between her arms she began to attack the top of the glass the same moment the red-head began moving it back up. She wasn’t quite sure where the strength had come from but after a small fit of thwacking her arms against the window she became aware of the tiniest crack at the top. This fuelled her flame.

She started again, aiming directly at the crack beating her bound arms against it relentlessly. In the moment the pain ignited her fury although she was sure she would regret it later. All of a sudden the window gave, one piece fell and then suddenly the whole thing shattered. Before the woman could stop her she leaned out the window, her hair exploding in the wind as she was caught in the white cars headlights.

“Help!” She shrieked, the volume of her voice astounding even her. “Help! Get me out of here! Call the police!” Re-filling her lungs for another spout of shouts the woman leaned over the front seats grabbing a handful of y/n’s hair and slamming her back into the car.

“Insolent bitch!” The woman cried, taking her hands off the steering wheel to yank y/n over the divide between the front two seats. “If you make this anymore difficult for me I’ll find away to get Bella without your help!” This caught y/n’s attentions and she went limp across the seats, her head hanging back so she saw out the front of the car, the world upside down.

“Bella?” Y/n choked.

“If you keep struggling you’ll never see her again.” The woman twisted so that one hand gripped the steering wheel, the other holding y/n’s hair so she was firmly bent back against the armrest, straining her neck; y/n couldn’t help but notice the impossible strength at which she was being pinned down.

The short scrape had pulled and split y/n’s previous head wound: a deep cut curling above her left eyebrow. And when she had broken through the glass and leaned out the raw glass had cut her waist and cheeks. This meant that as y/n’s head was pulled back blood dribbled up her face, trickling into her eyes and leaving a mixture of blood, tears and sweat.

She wasn’t held in the position for long. At some point the woman gasped and let go, now holding two hands on the wheel. Y/n couldn’t quite see what was happening around her but she saw a flash of white and felt the cars wheels roll unstably. She snapped back into the backseat, now no longer interested in the window but rather trying desperately with her bound hands to buckle her seat belt.

As she focused on her bound hands she could faintly hear distant, familiar voices and the red-headed woman shouting back something incomprehensibly fast. Her instincts proved correct, within the minute the car leapt out of control underneath her, swerving off the road and rolling down the small hill. Clutching onto the overhead hanger for dear-life y/n felt her entire world upside down, the sickening scent of burning flesh before darkness finally coddled her once more.

***

Y/n stirred from unconsciousness for the second time in 24 hours and the first thing she noticed was the release on her wrists and ankles. Before she tried to open her eyes she fluttered her fingers over her wrists where there lay course indentations. The skin was tender to touch and she was sure the skin would be black and blue.

Trying to open her eyes she noticed the warm light above her, somehow this made her feel safe. Her head still throbbing furiously she tried to open them further provoking tears to prick behind her eyes and dribble down the sides of her face. A wave of nausea overtook her then and abruptly her body snapped up underneath her, once she was vertical it seemed to die down.

“Woah, woah, woah.” She heard a familiar voice call, she knew that voice. It appeared he had leapt from the shadows, guiding y/n back down but she protested, groaning audibly. “Slow down.” He said calmly, his fingers firm on her sides. A harsh intake of air whipped from her lips and his arms snapped back.

“Your fine it’s just...my sides.” Y/n muttered, wincing from the lingering stinging from her sides, the cuts from the glass of course.

“You’ve had a rough couple of hours.” Carlisle spoke into the silence. Y/n groaned pushing up again, this time Carlisle didn’t move to stop her. “You really shouldn’t sit up, you’ve got some serious head trauma.”

“Just for a sec.” Y/n’s voice was breathy as she pleaded with him, “I just feel too nauseous if I lie down.” He didn’t say anything, but he let her sit. Y/n had just assumed she was in the hospital what with the presence of Carlisle, but when she looked around she wasn’t startled to realise she was propped up on his kitchen counter top. A series of cashmere and fluffy looking blankets covering the surface to make it soft, she tried to ignore that a few were covered in blood.

“I assume you have a lot of questions.”

“You think?” Y/n didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know where to begin. It was a debate on whether to tell Carlisle her crazy story, to describe to him the red-headed woman with blood-red eyes, how she had talked about the Cullens and Bella. On the other hand, instead of explaining she wanted to ask questions; how had she ended up at the Cullens house, where was her car, what happened to the woman. She settled on her question. “Is Bella okay?”

Carlisle stared at her with a pondering expression, as if he were chewing on the information she had released by that question alone.

“Bella is fine.” He said slowly, his voice soft. He had stepped away from y/n and stood at the opposite counter top, running a white cloth (by the smell it was doused in alcohol) over an assortment of medical instruments. Y/n tried not to look at them. He turned to her suddenly, as if he were waiting for another question.

“Do you know what happened to me?” Y/n asked, her fingers rushing to her forehead. He was there in a second, his hand empty, holding her fingers back with his own gentle touch. He had moved with supernatural speed but y/n couldn’t process that right now, that wasn’t the craziest thing to happen tonight.

“Yes and no. Don’t touch your wound I’m not done.” He answered clearly, going back to his work. Y/n just stared at him, waiting for him to go on. He sighed. “I got a call saying that you were in danger. That you had been taken hostage by Victoria.” Y/n automatically linked the name with the face. “I came to help you. I was in the white ford bronco behind you.” Like deja-vu the images shot through her mind, leaning out the window calling for a help, unable to make out the figure in the white car.

“How come...” He was back assessing her wounds, dabbing it here and there, engrossed in his work. Her eyes were large, slightly dazed and glossy as she watched him through his arms, her eyes fixed on his own.

“How come...” His warm voice was only a whisper, guiding her along her words.

“You. How come it was you that came for me? You...” She trailed off again, aware even through her murky mind of her heartbeat picking up at his closeness.

“Because, and I know this is confusing,” He began, taking a break and looking directly into her eyes, capturing her attention, “I will always be there when you need me. Perhaps not necessarily when you want me...but always when you need me.” Y/n surprised herself by completely understanding what he was trying to convey. It all felt like a dream anyhow.

“When your car went off the side of the road.” He began, unable to return to his tools as he was caught in a memory, “I-” He trailed off, a flash of anger dancing in his eye. “I pried open your door and you were unconscious. And the blood-” He stifled something in his throat.

“You’re a doctor and you don’t like blood.” Y/n murmured, a smile slipping on her lips. Carlisle smirked.

“I’m not afraid of all blood, only yours.” He went back to work.

“You’re afraid of me?” She asked, her voice quiet and small. He paused, catching her off guard as he moved forward, his nose an inch from hers.

“I haven’t felt fear like I did tonight for three hundred years.” Y/n still felt like she was dreaming.

“It hurts.” She mumbled after a few moments of tense silence.

“I know, love.” He hummed, saddened at her pain. “Where?”  Y/n went to brush her forehead but stopped herself, she then moved to her stomach, tentatively, afraid of showing Carlisle her exposed flesh she lifted her shirt slightly. Peering down herself she noticed a series of cuts dancing around her waist, in particular her front from where she had leaned on cut glass. If she were not mistaken, Carlisle’s breath hitched in his throat. She let her shirt drop.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Carlisle winced as if he disagreed.

“You shouldn’t even be this hurt in the first place.” He murmured, more to himself than anyone. “I thought that by leaving you alone I was protecting you. In reality, I was only pushing you away because I was afraid.”

“There’s that word again. Why do I scare you?”

“It’s not you per-say, more what you’ve made me realise about myself.” 

“Carlisle...my heads spinning.” He met her eye before turning away grabbing something off the counter top.

“Here,” He murmured, a smirk lighting up his face. Looking down y/n caught sight of a roll of band-aid held between two of his slender fingers; the familiar dinosaur pattern somewhat sun-bleached.

“God, I can’t seem to escape those.” Y/n murmured softly smiling despite everything. 

“Well I might’ve taken a box home since the accident.” Y/n eyed him, he had taken these from the hospital? “I guess I couldn’t help myself.” He said as if reading her mind, his brows now furrowed as he turned back to his work. He unwrapped a decent amount of plaster before tearing it with his fingers, finally he positioned it above her right eye and, soft as feather, pressed it against her head. As he had done this he had inched closer and closer, y/n’s legs automatically opening so that he may position himself comfortably.

“I have to say I think you’re going to get your wish.” Carlisle muttered softly.

“What?” Y/n whispered back, astonished at how close he was standing, his hip bones touching the inner of her knees.

“I think this cut may just scar. You can finally walk around town with something interesting to talk about.” Y/n rolled her eyes but grinned broadly, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly.

“By the way, what am I going to say, about this?” Her fingers reached up to her face resting against her dinosaur spotted plaster. Carlisle thought for a moment.

“You,” He began, reaching his own fingers up to join hers, “Were tired...and upset,” His voice was so soft, and yet the silence blanketed around them meant it filled the room. “And you went for a drive,” Chills sparked down her spine as he slowly lowered himself to her level, careful not to make any sudden movements. “And you...lost sight of things...for a moment.” She could feel cool breath brushing against her cheeks. “It was dark and you crashed...I saw it happen by chance, and helped.”

“Okay.” Y/n murmured. “But...that’s not the truth.”

“No,” He breathed into the tension, “Unfortunately the world cannot know the truth.”

“Can I?”

“I think it is what you’re owed.” Y/n pondered this.

“The woman?”

“She had disappeared before I got to you. Afraid probably.”

“Of you?” Y/n asked somewhat incredulously, but she could see it, the power in his voice, his control over a room.

“I have a...reputation.” Y/n just grinned, overwhelmed.

All of a sudden his cool fingers were brushing her hair off her face before resting either side of her head, his thumb back to brushing under her right eye. Y/n froze at the contact and yet he clearly found the movement completely natural as he tilted her chin to meet his gaze.

“There is so much about this world you have yet to discover. Right now, you are on the cusp of a discovery that may change your life forever and most certainly it will mine. We’ve been keeping something from you, me, Bella, Edward. But not out of contempt, or anger, or hate...but because it’s difficult to know how to best protect those whom you love. And if today is any indication, I’ve been doing it all wrong.”

“Love?” Y/n whispered. Carlisle paused heavily.

“It’s...not my fault, I promise.” Carlisle murmured, his nose brushing with hers ever so slightly, “There is a degree of destiny involved.” Y/n grinned as she pulled back slightly, but Carlisle’s hands never left her face.

“You speak in riddles.” This caused Carlisle to laugh, deep and heartily.

“A product of my age unfortunately. But, I promise. Things aren’t as complicated as they seem...or maybe they are. Either way, you no longer will be left in the dark.”

“Is this the part where you spill all of your dirty secrets?”

“How did you know?” He mocked with a grin. “Now listen carefully.” He pulled back leaving only cold air where he once was, but he remained in contact, holding onto y/n’s hand, brushing circles over the feathery veins as he seated himself next to her. 

“There’s a lot you need to learn.”

next part

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[ageofevermore]

Golden

summary → in which Harry doesn’t understand how he can possibly love such a small baby so painfully much. 

word count → 1.7k

note → this might require a few deep breaths because oh lord, i really laid the fluff down thick. 

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When you and Harry had fallen pregnant it was unexpected. You had been talking about starting a family in the near future, but hadn't felt the need to fall in deep. You were aware of the problems you might face with natural conception, especially due to the stress of being employed by the entertainment industry, but just three days after your conversation, the both of you had gotten carried away in a moment of beautiful love.

You had been on birth control ever since your seventeenth birthday when your mother figured you might begin to explore your sexual desires. It was something she was quite open about, making it easier to tell her that you were seeing a green eyed wonder called, Harry.

It was just after a morning run through LA that you took a test. It was some cheap brand, an impulse buy after laying in bed worrying about your lack of protection weeks prior. You had been paranoid for days, your cycle abnormally long and lacking the usual symptoms of tension and muscle aches. Instead, you had full fledges cramps and headaches.

When the first test came back positive you almost fainted on the floor of your en-suite. Harry was just downstairs and heard the unusual commotion. You were usually light on your feet, a classically trained ballet dancer as a child. It was worrisome to find you doubled over on your hands and knees beside the tipped over nightstand. Harry had immediately rushed to your aid, collecting your frame in his hands and pressing soft kissing to your forehead until he could get your attention. Your eyes were dazed, hands balling into the fabric of his thick black jumper. You were completely beside yourself with joy.  

"What's a'matter, moppet?" He mumbled against your forehead, pulling your legs over his lap so her could bring you closer. He softly pried your hands away from his jumper, kissing your clenched knuckles fervently. "Scaring me, love. What's got you so worked up?"

The thought of the positive pregnancy test in your palm brought on a new wave of tears. The tip of your nose trembled as you broke into a wide grin, breaking down completely into Harry's chest with gleefully shocked giggled. Harry didn't waste a minute, wrapping his arms around your middle and pulling you closer to his chest. Your legs wrapped around him like a koala, but it only made this moment sweater for you. For now, you were the only one that knew about the growing baby making a home for itself inside of you. For years you had overlooked how special this moment would be.

"Pet." Harry cooed, bringing his fingers down your spine. The metal of his rings was cold when he lifted your shirt and tickled your back with scratches. "Gotta tell me what's got you so giddy."

Uncoordinatedly you smashed your lips against Harry's. Your teeth knocked against his harshly, but all you could manage was a smile that left his lips wet, "We're parents." Your whispered.

-

The end of your pregnancy was brutal, complete with unbearable braxton hicks and obscene swelling. You had been riddled with insomnia for weeks as well, and the throbbing in your fingers was brought on by the wedding band stuck between your knuckles that even elevation and heating pads couldn't help. Harry had done his absolute best to make you comfortable, but even his hour long foot rubs and 3am snack runs did little for you. None of that was relevant now, nor was the stitching holding your torn vagina together. Your baby, sweet Indie Anne Styles, was here. She was perfect, and she was finally before your eyes.

Her warm pink body was flush against your chest. Harry stood off to the side, tears blurring his vision as he took in the picture before him. His first true love was embracing their own little mini. He had no doubts that his little Indie was a product of the truest breed of young love. Indie, Harry wasn't so sure the big name fit her little body and button nose.

"Look at her, lovie." You sniffled, running your finger down her cheek. She had finally stopped wailing, settling into your warmth and letting herself fall asleep in your embrace. You were certain birth was tiring for babies, glad to see that your little love was resting up now and getting ready to experience the life you and Harry had shaped just for her. "She's perfect."

"Knew she would be, love." Harry came closer to the both of you, bending down to press a kiss to your sticky forehead. He loosely grabbed the newborns hand, chocking on a sob when she gripped his thumb. Her grip was tight for such a tiny human, and already Harry was sure he wouldn't be able to live every day with a heart so heavy with love.

Your husband was barely keeping himself together over your shoulder as he admired your daughter. You had gently coaxed a pacifier between her lips after watching her squirm, and the soft pink plastic only brought Harry a new wave of overwhelming love and protection. He never wanted anything to hurt his littlest love, his precious baby Indie.

"Thank you, pet." He cried into your crown, pressing gentle kissed to your hair and face at an uncomfortable angle. He didn't want to hurt you, but he needed to thank you for this moment. It was everything he had always dreamed of and so much more, "Thank you for her. Thank you."

-

It had taken Harry three weeks to call Indie her name, having a habit of referring to the newborn as 'his little angel'. You didn't mind the title, but hearing her name on the tip of his tongue made you weak. He had taken great to becoming a father, like you knew he would. You had never had any doubts about just how unconditionally Harry would love your little human. He was up with you during every feed, changing all the diapers until you were healed enough to bare standing at the change table for long stretches.

He bought only the best for his Indie too. Her nighttime routine was prepped with high end vegan moisturizers and ointments. Her diapers were made of organic, non toxic, vegan materials. He didn't care for prices, only quality. Harry was as relatively humble man. He never talked about wealth or thought it as anything valuable, but he also, despite what it seems, didn't splurge on high end products often. He had his limits and boundaries, but his money was used wisely and not thrown away on material. He refused to let Indie soak in a cheap diaper though, even when you assured him that most diapers were exceptionally made and there was no need to spend a few hundred dollars every month.

It didn't take long for Indie to form more defined features, one being her insanely bright blue eyes and thin strands of soft blonde hair. You weren't quite sure where your baby girl came from to be honest, seeing as your eyes weren't near the same shade of color as hers nor were Harry's. Her hair was ungodly as well. Almost like your favorite disney film, her locks were strikingly golden. It had only taken a month before you caught Harry above her crib, whispering a fond, "Good morning, golden girl."

Golden had been her name since that dewy spring morning. You couldn't see her as anything but, adoring the nickname Harry had brought upon the three of you. It was odd when you had family visiting and they would refer to your precious Golden as Indie.

It was just after two am when the shrill screams of your infant severed the sleep you and Harry were catching up on. His arm was thrown around your waist, and for a minute neither one of you moved. She was going through a growth spurt meaning the usually laid back baby you shared a house with was needy and desperate for her fathers attention and your satin milk. It was hard to give her what she wanted at times. You knew she was hungry, but she didn't want to leave Harry's arms.

That had happened just the other day. With the luck you were working on, you had forgotten to pack away another pre-made bottle. She was eating so frequently you hadn't had the need to pump, but that decision came back to bite you when she woke up from her nap hungry and only wanting her daddy. You both had eventually figured out a way to please her, but it had been frustrating and stressful on the three of you alike. It was safe to say you were always on top of bottles now.

When Harry finally did pull away from your warmth, he kissed your temple before feeling the room, not before you heard the last of his mutter, "I'm coming, Goldie."

You were sure your heart exploded in that moment. When you saw him again, this time with a squirmy baby impatiently suckling on the nipple of a pacifier, tears were gathering in your eyes. You smiled widely down at your little love, affectionately stroking her cheek. You settle her against your chest, wincing when she latches, but relaxing when her sucks become rhythmic and predictable.

In the darkness Harry couldn't make out your teary smile, instead just moving around the master and preparing another diaper for Goldie, having felt the wet one when he picked her up from the crib moments ago. He could hear you praising the baby for doing such a good job, promising that it was okay if she woke up every thirty minutes, but what caught him off guard was when you brushed your thumb over her cheek and whispered, "Look just as pretty as your Daddy, Goldie."

"Y'heard that, huh?" He stuttered. He knew you weren't too fond of the first few nicknames he had given Goldie, and he was almost fearful that you would reject his shortened version of Golden.

You rolled your eyes softly at his question, patting a patterned on your baby girl's diapered bottom as she nursed with sleepy eyes. "I think it's cute, fits her."

Harry smiled widely at the pair of you, the dim moonlight capturing the perfect moment in his memory. His love for you and Goldie somehow got deeper every day. He never wanted to leave this stripped down midnight moment. This perfectly golden moment.

[theseshipsshallsail]

There’s a new club in the Village - Infinity emblazoned in bright, neon letters - and naturally, the building is jam-packed with society’s outcasts on its opening weekend. Oliver grimaces, pressing his third beer to the side of his face, yet the condensation does nothing to soothe his overheated skin. It’s like a furnace of writhing bodies, and with every bead of sweat that bisects his neck to soak into his collar, he can’t help but wonder why he ever agreed to come in the first place.  

“Drink up,” Vanessa says, brandishing a bright amber concoction as she slides into the booth opposite him. “You look like you need something a little stronger.”  

Oliver raises an eyebrow as he returns the bottle to the table, then plucks the wedge of orange peel from the rim of the proffered glass. It’s been three years since he tasted a negroni, and the potent combination of gin, Campari, and vermouth sends his mind reeling in directions he usually fights tooth and nail to avoid. 

“Remind me again why you brought me here?” he asks, trying not to wince at the bitter aftertaste. “This isn’t exactly my scene.”

Vanessa scoffs. “Well, if you ever left your study...”

“I’m up for promotion!”

“You’ll be up for an ulcer if you don’t slow down. Besides, you deserve to let loose after... you know.”

You know, meaning his divorce, and the eighteen month shit-storm that preceded it.

Vanessa has the office next to his, and in between general grousing about University politics they’ve become close friends. It helps, of course, that she understands his situation all too well, and even though her parents never tried to strong-arm her to the altar, she and her girlfriend still have to hide their relationship from the rest of their colleagues.

Oliver sighs as he takes a second sip of his drink. “It’ll take more than a one night stand to loosen me up,” he tells her, and the filthy smirk that curls Vanessa’s lips has him tempted to bang his forehead against the table.

“Whatever tickles your pickle, Professor.”

“Why do I put up with you?”

“Hell if I know.” Slurring somewhat, she taps their cocktails together, and Oliver laughs as she leans forward, poking him in the chest. “Listen, Ollie, you and Micol did a spectacular job of making yourselves miserable, but at least you stayed faithful ‘til the end. Why not enjoy yourself, yeah?” 

“Why not indeed?” 

He’s aiming for sarcastic, yet his tone falls somewhere short of exhausted. She’s right, he realises, but Oliver hasn’t had much interest in men or women for a while. He’s not so deep in denial to admit his heart still belongs to another, and being hopelessly in love with someone he can’t have has done a real number on his libido.

“Damn! This place is heaving!” Simone says, slumping in her seat when she returns from the bathroom. Slinging an arm around Vanessa’s shoulder she drops a quick kiss to her cheek, and Oliver averts his eyes, the casual intimacy leaving him yearning for the impossible. “A few too many student-types for my liking, though. Makes me feel like I’m back in the theatre department.”

“Makes me feel like I’m pushing thirty,” Oliver mutters, painfully aware of the significantly younger crowd as he tugs at the cheap material of his shirt. Too many curries and not enough exercise has made him self-conscious of the few extra pounds at his waistline, and depressingly, twenty-eight feels ancient in comparison. 

“You wanna call it a night?” Vanessa asks, and Oliver nods absently as his gaze catches on a couple in the middle of the dancefloor. 

Caught in a world of their own, they make a striking picture. The taller of the pair is bleached-blond and athletic, his arms wrapped tightly around the slim waist of the man in front of him in a surprisingly protective gesture. Oliver can’t see his partner clearly from this angle, but his skin is pale and shimmering as they move to the beat, dark curls falling in a tousled mess. Whether it’s by artful design or sweat-damp from dancing, he can’t quite tell, yet Oliver is hypnotized by the way they bounce as he loses himself to the music, obscuring his vision until the other man reaches forward, gently brushing them away.  

The bass pounds in his rib cage, and Oliver’s throat feels constricted as he watches the brunette link his hands behind his lover's neck. Profile half in shadows, he raises up on tiptoes to whisper in the shell of his ear, and Oliver experiences a crisis of tenderness when he butts their temples together. Something squirms in his stomach. Something raw and envious. Memories flare, unfair and brutal, and he immediately blames the burning of his retinas on the relentless assault of the strobe lights surrounding them. 

“Oliver? You okay?”

No. 

Definitely not.

The jostling crowd causes the blond to alter their position, and Oliver’s head spins from more than just the alcohol as his blood runs cold in his veins. 

“Elio…” he murmurs, vaguely aware of Vanessa’s stifled gasp when she tries to get a better look.

“Your Elio?”

He wants it not to be - wants his eyes to be deceiving him - yet there’s no denying the truth. All that he’s forgotten - all that he’s clung to - coalesces in a rush of unslaked longing, and between one blink and the next, Oliver remembers everything. 

“Not anymore,” he whispers, but then, why would he be? 

Elio was seventeen when they first met, and Oliver isn’t naive enough to think he hasn’t fallen in and out of love many times since then. He’s beautiful, intelligent, talented beyond measure. Was he really so arrogant to imagine he would still be single? Pining for him, maybe? Saving himself? And for what? A six week romance one too-hot Italian summer? Something his cowardice cut short with a long-distance phone call?

He was, wasn’t he?

Arrogant. 

And so very stupid.

“Of all the gay bars in all the world…” Vanessa takes a swig of her piña colada as he continues to spiral. “I thought you said he lived in Italy?” 

“He did,” Oliver replies, picking at his thumbnail. “He moved here for school.”

“And you didn't contact him?”

“To say what?” His ears ring from the shrillness of her tone. “Hey, Elio. Remember that time I broke both our hearts ‘cause I’m a gutless schmuck? How about I buy you a coffee to make up for it?”

“It would’ve been a start.”

“It would’ve been selfish,” he says, tearing his eyes away. “He has enough on his plate with Juilliard. I’d only get in the  -”

“Juilliard?” Simone’s low whistle interrupts his self-reproach. “Impressive.”

“Son of a professor,” Oliver explains. “I always knew he was a genius.” He gathers himself with a quiet huff. “Though he’ll probably say he knows nothing.” The spark of nostalgia is crippling, and it takes everything he has not to break down on the spot. “I should go,” he says, draining the remains of his drink as he rises to his feet. 

“Oliver -”

“Why don’t you come back to ours?” Vanessa offers, making to follow, but whatever expression is on his face causes Simone to catch her by the wrist.

“We’re here if you need us, alright?”

“I know,” he says, eternally grateful for their support as he pushes some cab money into her hand. “Get home safe. I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

“You’d better,” Vanessa tells him, obstinate in her concern, yet all he can focus on right now is leaving.

The swirling thoughts inside his head are all-consuming, but Oliver is determined to reign in his emotions for a little while longer. Ignoring the way his shoes stick to the tacky vinyl flooring, he grits his teeth as he snakes his way through the crush of humanity. He needs space. Fresh air. Hell, a damn time machine wouldn’t go amiss. He has nobody to blame but himself, and he’s halfway to the exit sign when his pace grinds to a halt, his masochistic streak unable to resist one last glimpse. 

A flash of irrational panic makes him breathe in deep - hold it for a count of three - and when he turns to scan the roiling bodies that fill up the dance floor, he finds them immediately. The shock doesn’t lessen, and if Oliver thought his heart had broken when they’d clung to one another on a train station platform, it’s naught compared to when Elio tips the other man’s chin up with the same fingers that used to play his body like a finely tuned instrument. White noise fills his ears as he ghosts a kiss to his lips - two chaste pecks at first - and then harder. Hungry. Mouths open. Tongues swirling. Deep and dirty. 

Just the way he likes it.

Fool that he is, Oliver doesn’t turn away. But he’s not the only one. Their bawdy display has garnered a small audience of the jealous and horny, and when the cat-calls eventually die down he notices a clearly disappointed red-head stalk past them on route to her table of friends. 

Time has not domesticated him, it seems, and Oliver feels like crying as the world returns frame by frame - the oscillating pulse of the dance track. The lightning burst of colour from the laser system above. An innate sense of powerlessness floods through him - the depths of which he hasn’t experienced since Elio sobbed against his chest in an attic bedroom - and a heavy weight settles in his belly as he recognises the cues and rituals that were once directed at him alone. 

Elio has obviously flourished in his absence. His body language is looser, more relaxed, assured in a way his younger self could only dream of, and Oliver allows an almost-smile as the couple laugh for a moment before turning to walk away. 

His fingers itch for a cigarette - a habit he’s struggling to waive - and the next thing he knows he’s taking a seat at the bar, a double shot of bourbon in his hand he doesn’t remember ordering, and a screaming admonishment from his better judgement to not do anything stupid. 

All I had to do was find the courage to reach out and touch, Elio said once, rife with self-mockery, and Oliver’s advice was to try again later. Was this it? Their later? And if not now, when? Because whatever his feelings of bitterness - whatever his misguided envy - if he lets this opportunity pass him by, he will always wonder. Always look. 

In truth, he already does. 

Ever since Samuel mentioned Elio was moving to the States, he’s carried the idle fantasy of crossing paths in some random book store, eyes locking across a busy street, a name - his, theirs, both - shouted across a bustling coffee shop. Of all eventualities, though, he hasn’t prepared for an Elio who might not be happy to see him. Who might dismiss him. Cast him aside like some ill-fitting chapter in the editing process. The context is all wrong, and for it to happen like this is akin to being plunged into the icy waters of the berm.

“Accidenti!” an achingly familiar voice says from somewhere behind him. “Are all Americans incapable of taking a hint? Or is it just an East Coast thing?”

“It’s the accent, mio amico. Fries their brains.”

“Never mind their brains,” Elio replies in the same lazy drawl. “I think you’ve sprained my tonsils.”

There’s a snicker to his left, and like a moth to a flame, Oliver peers up into the mirror behind the bar, only to find his living nightmare mere meters away, sharing a cigarette. Elio’s still wearing the same bracelets he did that summer, and three years of sleepwalking collapses around him as Oliver hunches over, palms sweating. 

“Seriously though,” the blond continues. “Look at this place! Wall-to-wall entreés, and you won’t so much as skim the menu. You’re spoiled for choice, compagno.”

Elio scoffs as he brings the filter to his lips. “Didn’t I tell you choice is an illusion?”

“As is time, according to Adams.” The man slings an arm over his shoulders. “And here you are, free as a bird, wasting the perfect opportunity.” 

Elio flips him the middle finger. “Stronzo,” he says, leaving Oliver more confused than ever as he studies him over the rim of his glass. “It’s a curse.”

��Self-inflicted, maybe.”

“So what’s the answer? And don’t say forty-two.”

The guy chuckles. “Variety,” he says, signalling the harried bartender. “Things didn’t work out with the violinist - I get it. È la vita! You’re not in the mood for pushy red-heads? Fine. But don’t sell yourself short. Trust Fund Tina’s not the only one checking you out.”

“Perhaps.”

“What perhaps?” A knowing smirk shoots in Oliver’s direction. “See for yourself.”

It’s like experiencing the first tremor of an earthquake. Elio was always a force of nature, and bracing for disaster, Oliver feels the fault lines buckle beneath him. He thought he was done letting fear and shame dictate his life, yet even now, at peace with his true self, he can’t bear to witness the seismic shift between past and present. Instead, he falls back on avoidance, tearing strips off a frayed beer mat until the hair prickles at his nape.

He can feel it - the instant his fate is sealed - and taking a deep breath Oliver returns his eyes to the mirror, meeting Elio’s stunned features. Dark brows climb towards his hairline as the happiness on his face shifts into something else. Something measured. Unrecognisable. A blank slate, almost. For a moment, Oliver fears he’s going to ignore him completely, but then Elio straightens his spine, offers the half-smoked cigarette to his friend, and with a few whispered words strides forward with purpose.

His daring is a law unto himself, but the look he’s giving him now exudes superiority - omniscience, almost - as if he can read every thought that’s going on inside Oliver’s mind, and has already deemed them wanting. It shouldn’t be such a turn on, yet his heart skips a beat regardless. Then another. Every instinct in his body tells him to reach out, to hold Elio’s hand, tuck those wild curls behind his ear, but it’s no longer his place - if it ever really was to begin with - so Oliver takes a deliberate sip of his whiskey, scared and aroused simultaneously, before swivelling towards him.

“Oliver.” His name on Elio’s lips - three smooth syllables - and he feels reborn. “Long time no see.” Hesitating, he offers up a pack of Luckies. “Fumo?”

“I shouldn’t,” he says, dragging trembling fingers through his hair. “I told myself I’d quit. God knows it won't take much to -” 

“Tempt you?” 

Heat rises to Oliver’s cheeks. “Yes,” he admits, and Elio’s smile is a shallow, brittle thing. 

“Well, you know yourself,” he says, returning the cigarette carton to his pocket. “Don’t let me ruin your good intentions.”

His flippancy is like a red rag to a bull, and Oliver’s hackles rise as he sets his drink on the counter, irritated enough by Elio’s calm exterior to try and provoke a reaction. “Is your boyfriend not the jealous type?” 

All he receives is an eye roll. “Bruno’s not my boyfriend.”

“Could’ve fooled me. From what I saw earlier.”

“You saw nothing,” Elio replies, defensive. “We’re friends. Roommates.”

“Roommates?” Rising from his stool, Oliver takes a step towards him. “That kiss -” 

“Is none of your business. Not anymore.” 

It hits him like a punch to the gut. Oliver’s lips part, but no sound passes between them. He’s being irrational, he’ll accept, but old habits die hard, and through sheer force of will he quashes down his guilt, knowing better than to use it as a weapon. 

“Of course,” he says, chastened. “You’re right.” 

“I usually am.” 

“Elio…” This isn’t how he wants the conversation to go. “I know it’s too much to expect your forgiveness, but please don’t be angry with me. We were friends, once. Before anything else.”

“I’m not angry.” A beat. “Not anymore.” Tipping his chin, Elio folds his arms in front of him. One more barrier despite the brush-off. “I’m processing.“

“Processing?”

“Yes, processing. Originates from the Old French proces. Related to the Latin processus, and from the verb procedere in Middle English.”

“Wise ass.”

“Sempre.” Elio shrugs, watching him openly. “What are you doing here, Oliver?”

“My friends saw the flyers,” he says, bypassing the here, specifically, when Elio’s attention drops a few inches lower, and he realises he’s staring at his ring finger.

At the white line that’s all but vanished since he signed his way to freedom.

“You’re…”

Oliver clears his throat. “Divorced,” he manages, shuffling his feet. “Almost three months now.”

“Divorced?” Elio’s mask slams back into place, the distress in his voice palpable. “Why?”

And there are so many things he could say to that - the stress of his job, money, differing expectations - but this is Elio. His first love. His forever love. He, above anyone, deserves the truth. 

“I think you know why.”

“Do I?” That same phony indifference. “What the eyes see, and the ears hear, the mind believes.” 

“The truth is never that simple.”

“Not for us, it seems. Not in this world.” Elio gives his head a small but firm shake, blowing out a frustrated breath. “You know, tonight was supposed to lower my stress levels, not raise them,” he says, granting them a temporary reprieve. “But then, you always were hazardous to my blood pressure.”

“Trust me. The feeling’s mutual,” Oliver tells him wryly. “Might I recommend some deep breaths?”

“Deep breaths?” Elio rocks back on his heels. “If I had any peaches I’d be using my right hand.”

It catches him unawares, and Oliver can't help it. He snorts. Overcome by relief. Then he laughs - a weak sound, and damn near helpless - but a laugh, nonetheless. Cupping a palm to his mouth. Moving it to his eyes. Feeling the tears he’s been fighting since this whole debacle began.

“My God you’re incorrigible,” he mutters, the sharp stab of regret cutting him to the core as he glances over his shoulder, and the blond - Bruno - shoots him a wink. “When you said I saw nothing...”

The hesitant curve of Elio’s smile lights a fire in his chest. “There was a girl on the dance floor who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Lucky for me, Bruno’s never been shy about putting on a convincing performance.” 

Oliver winces. “Well, I bought it.”

“Mission accomplished, then.” Elio edges closer. “I could’ve said the same for you, once upon a time.” The air between them grows charged. “Do you ever miss it?” he asks. “Italy, I mean?”

“Every single day.” Oliver finds himself captivated by the smattering of stubble along Elio’s jawline. The touch of smudged kohl beneath his lashes that turns his gaze smouldering. “Do you?”

“In a way.”

“Just a way?” He’s not entirely certain they’re talking about the same thing, and Vanessa’s advice seems all the more pertinent. “Let me buy you a coffee?” Oliver asks, and Elio frowns.

“What? Now?”

“If you like.” 

“It’s gone midnight!” 

“Tomorrow, then. Whenever you’re available.” Suddenly desperate, he closes the gap between them. “I can’t excuse my actions, Elio - I know I can’t - but at the very least I owe you an explanation.”

“Oliver...” This time it’s Elio who reaches out, his usually steady hands uncertain as they entwine with his. “I was young, not stupid. What’s there to forgive? You left because you had to. You married because -”

“I was weak.”

“Cazatte!” The tension in Elio’s body snaps back like a coil. “My father would have carted me off to a correctional facility,” he murmurs, squeezing his fingers tightly. “I’ll never forget those words.” 

“I’m sorry...”

“Don’t be!” Elio sounds furious on his behalf. “Weak, you say? No. Control over others is the true weakness. Coercion. Conformity. All it does is breed hatred. And that’s not you. Not my Oliver.” 

“Am I still?” he asks, laying his cards out on the table. “Your Oliver?”

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” 

Oliver swallows thickly. “I guess we will,” he says, dropping his forehead to Elio’s crown.

He’s braver at twenty-one than Oliver could have dared imagine, and for the first time in years the dull ache beneath his ribs is replaced by a different sort of craving. The way they fit together so easily, like no time has passed, fans the banked passions within him - the desire to press his lips against Elio’s neck, to nip his way along countless freckles until he can fist those unruly curls and guide his mouth back to where it belongs. 

Flush against his. 

Devouring.

But not yet.

This isn’t leading to sex. Not tonight. This is about reconciliation. Reassurance. Redemption.

“There’s a late-night diner on the corner…”

It’s a whisper against his cheek - so quiet he barely hears it - and Oliver leans down, pressing his face to Elio’s collarbone, breathing him in. He knows this won’t be easy - knows there will be dark clouds before the dawn - yet here they are, older and wiser, and three years might as well be yesterday as the parting crowds provide a temporary island in which to weather the storm.

[catxsnow]

TRUTH BE TOLD D.G & J.T.

Request:  Alright homeslice hear me out: dick x reader x jason love triangle. And reader is so oblivious and doesn't realize it. One night they're fighting someone and reader gets hit with like a love/truth spell and BAM angst and fluff galore

Warning: Fluff, Angst, swears

A/N: I hate love triangles but I made an exception just this once. I’m sorry about this ending. 

Also if you don’t know, Klarion is a bratty Witch Boy. Pretty much all you need to know for this lol. Also I love Zatanna, okay I HAVE NOTHING AGAINST HER it was just for the plot. 

GIF not mine

Word count: 4.2k

Damian was tired. He was tired of seeing his brothers so ridiculously pine over you. First off, you were far too beautiful to stoop as low as them. Secondly, they continuously tried to gain your attention that has made them look like narcissistic idiots. Whether it was trying to show of their muscles with some sort of cool move or prove their intellect, they tried everything.

You didn't work with Batman full time until moving to Gotham. It was the occasional team up that got Dick and Jason absolutely infatuated with you. When they heard that you were moving to Gotham for good? Well, they were in the least to say, very, very excited. Even with Dick in Bludhaven most the time and Jason off fighting around the world, it was a hell of a lot easier to see you when they came home.

Much like Bruce and his family, you were just human. No powers, no magic, just someone who wants to see the world a better place. Maybe that was the reason that Batman trusted you so easily - well as much as he trusted anyone. Being human meant that you had weaknesses, a lot of them.

One of those weaknesses included being completely oblivious to people's feelings about you. Most of your life you were cut off from emotions. If you wanted to do a good job of cleaning up cities from crime, you couldn't be distracted by caring for others. Year after year you told yourself it was just part of the job.

Until you moved to Gotham. Becoming part of the Bat-team made you realize that it was okay to let people in, even just a little bit. If the great Batman himself cared for a select few of people, why couldn't you? Damian had become the annoying little brother to you, Tim as well. It was with Jason and Dick where things became more complicated.

The two men had obvious feelings for you - everyone was aware about it except for you. They were allured by your skills, beauty, talents, and genuine selflessness. Night after night they had an endless war of trying to see who you would choose. You hadn't noticed either of their attempts at this, to you they were just being friendly.

This was why Damian was tired of it. You didn't even know about their feelings and yet they still fought about it when you weren't around. Jason and Dick would yell at each other, trying to prove who deserved you more. Bruce and Alfred had to pull them apart before things got escalated nearly every time.

It had been going on for years, and even though they both had been in and out of relationships over the years, it seemed that the end goal was always you.

"I'm getting really fucking sick of this guy!"

It was supposed to be an easy mission, in and out before anyone could even see you. Of course, things had to go wrong. Klarion the Witch Boy had been hiding within the shadows and the second that he laid eyes on you, all hell broke loose.

Objects were thrown in your direction constantly and it was becoming a struggle to continue to dodge them all. There was no way that you could get a clear shot on him with his force field protecting him and his stupid cat. No matter how many explosives and sharp objects you threw his way, there was no chance of getting to him.

It was against your wish that you had to call in for back up. After being on your own for this mission, you were quick to realize that Klarion was far too powerful for you to take down on your own. Bruce and Damian arrived as fast as they could to help you, the others were unfortunately busy with missions and couldn't come to you even if they wished to.

Their entrance had distracted you for only a sliver of a second, but that time was all Klarion needed to cast the first spell he could think of off the top of his head. A red blast protruded from the palm of his hand and went straight towards you. It hit your right in the chest and the force of it pushed you painfully into the nearest wall.

Your head smacked against the cement and black spots covered your vision because of it. As you tried to push yourself up off the ground, you could see Klarion getting away. He wasn't prepared for a fight against Batman himself. Your arms collapsed from below you and you didn't have the energy to even sit up.

The last thing you saw was Robin running towards you with worry on his face.

><

You woke up to bright lights. The small med bay that Bruce had in the cave was always lit up and each time you were stuck there you always wished he'd get different lights that didn't hurt to look at. The groan that you admitted while sitting up caught the attention of those who had stuck around for you to wake up.

Jason, Dick, and Damian were all there waiting for you to recover from the spell that Klarion had cast upon you. They were still unsure what he had done to you, but if you didn't seem to be in any danger from it, at least nothing that would be permanent. They wouldn't know until you woke up.

The three boys hovered over you, watching your every movement. "The last thing someone wants to see waking up is your ugly faces," you joked. The three of them rolled their eyes nearly in sync as they gave you some space. "What happened?"

"Klarion hit you with a spell," Damian informed you. "How do you feel?"

"My headache feels worse than the time that I showed up hungover for patrol with Bruce. Also, I’ve got the weirdest craving for a PB and J," You blurted out. Your eyes were wide at your answer - you definitely didn't mean to say that out loud. "What the fuck. I didn't mean to say that. What did that Witch Rat do to me?"

"We don't know," Jason answered. He glanced between you and Dick. Both of them wanted to hold you in their arms, to make sure that you were safe with them. Neither of them made a move to do so, not when they didn't know what was wrong with you. "Do you feel any different?"

You shook your head. You felt fine. Your body wasn't that sore and you didn't feel sick in any sort of way. Hopefully, his spell was nothing but a distraction to get out of there and not something that would leave you suffering for the rest of your life.

"Maybe we should call Zatanna, she might be able to figure out what he did to you. What do you think?" Dick offered. If anyone could figure out a magic spell, it would be her. Your thoughts immediately went to the time that she and Dick had briefly dated and your mind went sour.

"Zatanna was never good enough for you Dick, you always deserved better than her. She's a liar, and a sneak," you said aloud. This time, your hands physically covered over your mouth from what had just come out of it. There was no way that you intended to say that out loud.

"Whoa, (Y/N)," Jason held his hands up in defense. You were never one to be snippy with other people. There were the time that you got annoyed and flipped on them, but never behind their backs like this. What the hell was going on with you? "Tell us how you really fell," he continued to joke around.

"I feel like sometimes I meant to be alone in this life. That I'll never be good enough to have someone love me because of the things that I've done, the people I've killed. It's come to the point where I don't feel like I deserve to wear this suit because of how aggressive I've become while in it."

You one again held your palm of your mouth. Where did this come from? Why did you just reveal your darkest insecurities to them? Insecurities that you could barely admit to yourself, much less someone else. Even if you did trust these boys with your life, you didn't always trust them with your feelings.

"What the fuck!" you screeched. Whatever Klarion had done to you, it was taking effect. You would never say anything like this, everyone knew that. You were reserved when it came to any emotions, maybe just as bad as Bruce himself. The surprised look on the boy's face had made you feel even more embarrassed for what you said.

The shock quickly turned to pity. They had no idea that you felt that way about yourself. Dick and Jason both wanted nothing more than to just tell you how they felt, to assure you that you were worthy of love. They might not have had the cleanest slates either, but you still deserved to have someone love you.

"Klarion put a truth spell on you," Bruce had joined the four of you. You hadn't even noticed him arrive and wondered how much of that he had heard. Bruce knew that you had killed before, but he also knew how it tore you up at night and that it wasn't something that you were proud of. "You're lucky he didn't kill you."

"Because you think I can't do things on my own, don't you?" You questioned with hostility in your voice. "I didn't mean that. Yes I did. Bruce! Fix this!" You had a turmoil within you. No matter how hard you tried to stop yourself from blurting out how you truly felt, you couldn't do it.

Bruce said nothing else, but nodded once before leaving. As soon as his father left, Damian gained a bit of an evil look in his eyes. Before you could even try to stop him, he had already started talking. Truth spell that you couldn’t resist answering? He was going to have a lot of fun with that.

"Did you eat the last slice of cake and blame it on Jason?" Damian asked. There was no way that he wasn't going to take advantage of this situation with you, but he wanted to start off with easy questions to see how powerful this spell really was. You should have known that he was going to do this.

The list of questions that any of them could ask you was horrendously long. The more you thought about it, the more you really did have to hide from them. You were pretty secretive and without being able to hold back the truth, they could find out everything from you if they wanted to.

"Yes," you told them. Jason's gained a look of hurt at your words. "Damian was holding a knife! What else was I supposed to say. He scares me." Damian looked content with your truth about him.

"When I lost my helmet a month ago, was it you that took it?" Jason narrowed his eyes. It had disappeared only for a day. When he checked the next time, it was in the exact same spot that he left it. For a while, he assumed that he had just been too sleep deprived but the more he thought about it, the more he knew that someone had to have taken it.

"Yes," You told him. "I wanted to see what the tech was like but then I kind of was having fun and didn't want to take it off. I also stole your sweater when I went over too, it's still in my room but I don't want to give it back. And I took the left overs in your fridge and left the note so you would think it was Roy."

Jason scoffed and shook his head at your answer. He wasn't expecting you to admit so much to one question but he was glad that he asked. The things he was dying to ask you, he knew that he couldn't with everyone else there as well. He had to restrain himself from asking, the answers that were just at the ready for him were so tempting.

"Why does Alfred the cat hate you?" Damian leaned his body closer to you. You felt intimidated under his stare but no matter how hard you bit your tongue you couldn't stop yourself from answering again.

"He wouldn't leave me alone so I threw him in the water fountain in the garden."

Dick and Jason couldn't help but laugh at that one. Damian looked furious at your answer but you had paid for your mistake. Cat scratched lined your arms for the next week.

“Do you sleep naked?” Jason raised an eyebrow. The questions were surely going to get a lot more personal and if they weren’t surrounding you, you already would have made your escape. Unfortunately, you felt too weak to push them away and there was no way you could outrun them. 

“Sometimes,” you answered. The truth spell didn’t seem to be quite content enough with that answer and made you spew out more unforgettable words. “Yes, all the time.” 

"Wait, wait," Dick stopped his brothers as they both opened their mouths to ask even more questions. Though there was so much that he wanted to ask you, he knew that it was wrong to do so. "This is mean, we can't take advantage of (Y/N) like this. She has the right to her own privacy."

"Thanks, Dick," you half smiled at him. You appreciated that someone stepped up to stop anything from happening that you would regret.

"But," Dick continued. Your eyes widened at what he was going to say next. You were sure that they could hear the rise in your heart rate and the see the beads of sweat form on your forehead. being unable to hide what you wanted to say made you more scared than half the missions ever did.

Dick wanted nothing more than to ask you the question they had all been thinking: Jason or Dick? He wanted to know once and for all who it was that you cared for more and which one of them had a real chance with you. This back and forth arguing with Jason was tiring him out. He didn't, it didn't seem right to ask you this question against your will.

"You hooked up with Roy when we were part of the Teen Titans didn't you?"

"After every mission."

Between Damian's disgusted face at you, along with Jason wondering how Roy ever managed to hook up with you, and Dick's disappointment, you could tell that this was not the answer that they were wanting to hear. They wanted to know why you had hooked up with Roy rather than either of them.

Truth was, they just never asked.

><

It had been days and the spell still hadn't worn off. Everyone in the manor kept forgetting about your truthfulness. It was the simple, mundane questions that they didn't expect you to be so open about.

How was your sleep? Who forgot to make coffee? Why is there no milk left? You had openly admitted to them that you were on your period and would much rather take a bullet to the chest than go through this every month.

The worst time had to be when Steph asked about her outfit. She simply wanted another woman's opinion and had completely forgot about your open honesty. After that morning she vowed never to ask about an outfit from you ever again. You felt terrible for saying such awful things to her.

Each question got a very snippy, very truthful answer which you felt bad about. Thankfully, no one teased you anymore about asking ridiculous questions about yourself that you weren't wanting to share. Bruce had scolded his kids for being rude to you - you were a guest in their home until all this was over.

Since you were staying there, that also meant that Dick and Jason had decided to hang around as well. Although you were worried they were still going to ask you certain questions, you were glad to have their company. It had been a while since you had spent time with them outside of missions.

The two heroes were starting to lose their patience with each other. Jason wanted to ask you how you felt about them, it was the perfect time in his eyes to ask. There was no way that you could lie about your feelings and they would finally know the truth after all these years. Whoever you picked, would put an end to this war.

Dick on the other hand, saw this as too much of an invasion to your privacy. If you were going to pick one of them you either would have said something already, or weren't ready to admit it. Forcing you to reveal your feelings seemed like something you would hold against them forever.

Which had brought on another fight between the men. They yelling had caught your attention from your room, but it was the loud crash that followed that made you run downstairs to see what the fuss was about.

Damian stood between Jason and Dick, both of which had a vicious look in their eyes. If there was nothing blocking them, you were sure that they would be right in the middle of a fist fight. Damian looked relieved to see you standing there.

"I'm tired of this useless nonsense," Damian scowled. "(L/N), if you were going to date either of them, which on of these imbeciles would you choose?"

That was a question you had been dreading to be asked. Both men played an important role in your life. They were your best friends, your family. Each of them supported you in their own ways and you would always be thankful for everything that that have done for you. But having to pick a favourite? You didn't want to have to do that.

Jason was the kind of person that would stand up for you no matter what. After everything that he went through with Bruce, he knew that he could be a hardass at times. Jason protected you from things that you didn't even realize you needed protecting from. He kept you sane in this crazy world that you lived in.

Dick managed to always brighten your day on the worst lows you had. He had his ups and down in life and he knew how hard it was to get out of those valleys just by yourself. Without him, you weren't sure what kind of endless pit of self-destruction you would be in. He was there for you when you needed him most.

"I..." you stuttered over your words. These past few days, you hadn't had the choice to think about what you wanted to say. Whatever you felt deep within your heart and mind was the only option that you were allowed to say out loud. Now, you felt a relief in your chest, the ability to say whatever you so choose, not the deep, hidden truth within.

"I don't have to answer that," you told the three of them. Jason and Dick had egarely been waiting for your answer, it was all that they wanted to know within the past few years. Who would you pick? You did you think would treat you better. The questions had been on the tip of their tongues all week and it was finally Damian who had caved. "I think the spell's worn off."

"What?" All three of them nearly screeched. This was the one question that they had been dying to ask you and now that they finally did it, they would never get the real truth out of you. They had missed their shot.

"No, there's no way," Dick argued. He looked panicked, Damian had admitted that the two fought over you and now that they got the chance to see what your choice really was, it was taken right from the palm of their hands. "What was the most embarrassing thing that happened to you out on patrol?"

The tightness in your chest that you felt when you had been asked questions didn't appear. You didn't feel the need to blurt anything out either. The spell that Klarion cast on you was finally out of your system, and just in time too. You didn't want to know what would have happened if you had answered that question.

Truth be told, you didn't even know the answer.

You shrugged to answer Dick's question - of course you could remember the most embarrassing things that happened to you, it was engraved in your mind for the rest of your life. Without another word, you grabbed your mug of coffee and headed over to the three of them. You kissed the top of Damian's head - to which he grumbled about it.

Damian left the three of you - there was no way that he wanted to be part of whatever was going to happen next.

"(Y/N)..." Jason trailed off. He didn't even know what he wanted to tell you. He wanted to be honest, to tell you that he loved you since the day that you had told him off. He loved the way that you protected everyone no matter the cost but still ruthless against your foes. He loved everything about you.

How was he supposed to compete with someone like Dick? The golden child. Mr. Perfect. There was no way that you would ever pick him over Dick, so why did he keep getting his hopes up? Why had he fought for so many years for your affection? That was what love was all about, he just didn't know it.

"How long has this been going on?" You asked. For years, you had no idea that they had feelings for you. Dick was the biggest flirt you knew, you had just gotten used to it. Jason was always kind to you, you assumed that he was just being the protective friend over you. All these years you were oblivious to how they felt.

"Years," Dick answered briefly. Just like Jason, he wanted to tell you his true feelings. There was nothing more that he wanted than for you to pick him. But how was he supposed to compete with someone like Jason? You were more like his younger brother than you were ever like him, that was how he assumed that you guys got along so well.

Jason was always the person that you leaned on when things were getting rough. He knew how to make you feel better about the terrible things you had done because he had done just the same. Dick was never able to fully understand the difficulties that you went through, not like Jason. After all these years, why did he keep trying?

You sighed, followed by rubbing a hand down your face. That wasn't the answer that you wanted to hear. After knowing them for half your life, you felt like an idiot for not knowing that they were feeling this way. The answer that you gave them about Roy, their reaction to it, it finally made sense. They weren't disgusted, they were disappointed that it wasn't them.

Back then, when you felt like your heart couldn't be broken and that you would never break someone else's, you would have happily had put either of them in Roy's place. Now? Now, the three of you were adults, vulnerable to heartache and mistrust. You were glad that neither of them had gotten the chance.

"I would take a bullet for either of you - I have taken one," You sat down on one of the stools that sat at the kitchen island. Both of them stood before you, waiting for you answer. The anxiety in the room had never been so high before and for the first time in your life, you felt uncomfortable under their gaze.

"And you both know that I care about you, a lot. That's something that's never going to change," you continued on. "There is no one that I trust more with my life than the two of you... But I don't think I could ever trust either of you with my heart. I'm sorry."

You stood up from your spot on the chair. The heartbroken look on their faces nearly broke you. You didn't want either of them to hurt from your answer. The last last thing that you ever wanted to do was hurt them. You loved them both, it was just never the way that they wanted to be loved by you.

With as much delicacy as you could muster through your shaking hands and wobbling chin, you placed a kiss on each of their cheeks. The men leaned into your touch, soaking up every ounce of you that they could get.

"You know that I love you both," You spoke once more just before exiting the room. Your back was facing them, turning around meant that you would have to put on a brave face and that wasn't something you were sure you were capable of. Tears threatened to spill down your cheeks - whatever friendship you shared with them, it was going to be different now. 

You were all adults, something like this shouldn’t change a friendship that had been lasting for years. Yet, if they had been arguing over you since they were young, you were sure that their teenage mentality of this whole situation would overpower their adult intuition. 

"You deserve better than me, you deserve someone that's going to love you unconditionally. I want you both to be happy, without me."

Truth was, they never would be.

[visionsofus]

Hey what's up? I was wondering if you still take requests for the wanda and vision mixtape. It's one of my favorites. If you have time I would love for you to consider the song Rewrite the Stars from the Greatest Showman. I love this song and I think it really fits them. Thank you so much for your work and what you contribute to this Fandom!

hi! I do still take song requests for Wanda and Vision's mixtape (despite the stack of them waiting in my inbox - I'm so sorry to those I haven't gotten around to yet, creative flow comes and goes) This song is such a great fit for them so thank you for requesting, it was lots of fun to write! thank you for your support 🥰

Track #26: Rewrite the Stars - Zac Efron and Zendaya

| read on AO3 here | mixtape playlist | send me an ask with your song/prompt request |

Synopsis: Things are changing between Wanda and Vision. Naturally a big charity even is the best place to confront their confusing emotions, no? featuring some serious yearning and a dance scene, because I love confessions mid-waltz.

Vision frowned at himself in the mirror.

There was nothing wrong, in fact the suit he had on had been perfectly tailored. Vision had been excited at the premise of having a piece of clothing that was made specially for him, and real at that. Tony had presented the options and given how significant the event was, Vision thought it might be worthwhile to have a proper suit that wasn’t just one of his constructs. He enjoyed being able to create whatever he wanted to wear, but he wanted tonight to be normal, as normal as he could be.

Now that he had it on it was underwhelming. Not to say he didn't appreciate the gift. It was a piece of art. A three piece of different shades of something similar to charcoal. The jacket glittered; its fabric featured iridescent silver threads that shifted when he moved under the light. The trousers matched the double-breasted vest, though they were a lighter shade of grey.

No, no it wasn’t the suit that was the problem.

It was the prospect of the event itself, the idea that all eyes would be on the Avengers, expecting a certain level of behaviour. Vision much preferred the days he spent with his friends at the compound, secure in the fact that they knew the real him. And more than anyone else, Wanda knew the real him, knew the face that he showed to the public and the press wasn’t.

Plus, Vision would be expected to dance – he had never had reason to dance or move in such a way before and he was dreading it. But then there was also the prospect that he might dance with Wanda and that raised his spirits marginally. Though, whether or not she would wand to dance with him was another question.

Things had been changing between them and Vision felt as though Wanda was even more hesitant to confront those changes than he was. All it had taken was one fateful night together. He hadn’t stayed by her side since Wanda’s first month at the compound, when her rest was so riddled with nightmares that she couldn’t bear to be alone. In the year since it had become a growing rarity for Vision to stick out the night by her side.

But then a week earlier Vision had been preparing to sleep, even if it just meant lying in his bed and doing nothing for eight hours. His body had been in need of a little downtime after several missions in quick succession. He’d been settling in to rest when there had come a knock at his door, of course he said come in, less phased than his teammates by the prospect of unannounced guests.

It was Wanda, who else would be knocking at his door so late at night. She’d walked in hesitantly but there had been a hard set to her jaw. Vision hadn’t asked for her reasons, had just shuffled over in the double bed to make space. So, it was not common, this behaviour, but what had come next was worse. Vision winced recalling the memory with the vividness enabled by his high functioning mind. But he entertained his brain and let the memory play out, hopeless to prevent it. If anything, he wanted to relive it.

Vision woke slowly, relishing in the well-rested feeling that spread throughout his body as his awareness increased. For the first time it felt as though he had really slept.

As he became aware of his body he frowned and opened his eyes. In the memory he blinked a few times, as though trying to clear a dream from his eyes. There was Wanda, her face relaxed in slumber, one side of her mouth turned up at the corner as though she were in the middle of a good dream.

One of her hands was wrapped up in the cotton of his t-shirt, gripping it tightly like she was afraid he might float away. At that moment Vision had felt so light it was at risk of actually happening.

He stayed totally still as he gradually became conscious of where their bodies were in relation to each other. Their legs were tangled, one of Wanda’s knees hooked around his, the bare skin warm against his. One of his hands was tucked under his cheek and the other had apparently possessed a mind of its own and gravitated down to rest on Wanda’s hip.

Slowly he removed his hand, wincing as Wanda registered the movement and opened her eyes. The blue of her eyes was bright in the dimness of the room, but her pupils still turned to pin pricks as they adapted to the light difference. And then she caught sight of him, centimetres from her own face. Vision watched long enough to see her pupils dilate.

Vision shook his head and returned to reality, pressing both hands to his cheeks and feeling them as warm as they had been on that fateful morning. Wanda had mumbled something about training and practically fled his bed, her ears an alarming shade of red. And Vision had been left to sit there for a further half hour trying to absorb exactly what had happened.

Wanda was running late. She hadn’t meant to take so long to get ready, but it was just so difficult to figure out what she wanted to do with her hair. Ten minutes before they were due to leave for the function, she decided on leaving it down, curled loosely so it settled about her shoulders.

Heels in one hand and holding the edge of her dress in the other she hurried down the stairs for the front door. There were three cars waiting outside, not the usual SUVs they traveled in but sleek BMWs.

A couple of smart cars held nothing to her dress. It had been a gift from Nat a few months earlier, but Wanda hadn’t had the opportunity to attend anything fancy enough that merited putting on the gown. Earlier she’d struggle to make it to the bodice through the pleats of rich red fabric that made up the skirt. Now that it was on it was a perfect fit, flowing off her hips in waves of fabric that shifted with every move. It was the most elegant thing she had ever worn, Wanda only hoped she would do it justice as the evening went on.

The doors on the front two cars were shut so she hurriedly made her way round to the backseat of the third.

Steve sat in the passenger seat with Natasha and Vision taking two of the spots in the back. As Wanda went to step in Natasha caught her gaze and smiled mischievously.

“Hang on, Vision do you mind swapping with me? It’s hard to sit in the middle with my heels and the console.”

Wanda’s stomach dropped as she settled into her seat and Vision and Nat got out of the car to trade spots. And here she had been worried about holding them up. Frustrated, Wanda huffed her hair out of her face, pushing the waves off her shoulder as Vision settled himself into the middle. The backseat was spacious enough, there was no way Nat had been that uncomfortable. No, it had been for Wanda’s benefit. She had confided in Nat on some of the changes occurring between her and the synthezoid now at her side but never had Wanda thought Nat would pull something so obvious and foolish.

It sent her cheeks turning a shade of red not so different from her dress.

The drive felt painfully long. Steve had kept it going with some small talk but that had died out into a stagnant silence. She was being dramatic; the others were probably fine with the silence but for Wanda it felt suffocating. Any other time and she and Vision would have been talking. They could talk for hours about anything, and he always knew what to say to put her at ease. Even their silent moments together felt comfortable. It was never like this.

In the end, she spent most of the drive focusing on moving with the car when it turned so she didn’t accidentally brush Vision. How had they gone from the casual intimacy of friends to this strange tension? It annoyed her, though she felt powerless to change things. Wanda didn’t know a whole lot about chemistry, but she knew whatever she and Vision had would blow up in their faces if they weren’t careful.

Finally, the glowing street lamps turned into the staticky light of cameras. For the first time, Wanda felt relieved by the assault of flashes on her eyes.

They approached a line of similar vehicles, all likely full of celebrities who had managed to scrape together enough of a network to score an invite to the Stark Industries charity event. Hurriedly, Wanda bent over and set about lacing her shoes up. The thick platform heels were chunkier than what would go with her dress but they made up for it in their steadiness. There had been talk of dancing and Wanda figured she was best off in comfortable and stable shoes than trying to balance on stilettos.

Busy fiddling with her shoes, Wanda didn’t feel the car turn until she was sent sliding across the leather seat. Vision’s reflexes were fast as always, his hands quickly steadying her, one at her back the other coming to rest at her hip. They both froze and Wanda looked up, hating how easy it was to lean into his touch. Vision’s eyes glittered in the dim light of the car, their brightness shifting as he took in her face. Suddenly she was taken back to that fateful morning the week before. She’d known it was a bad idea before she’d even made it to his room. Had known she should have run before he woke up instead of pretending to keep sleeping in the warmth of his presence, relishing in the familiarity of his hands on her body. What she would give to wake up to that every morning. But no – no this wasn’t happening, it couldn’t, it wasn’t in her cards.

“Alright, here we go,” Steve said unaware of what was unfolding in the backseat. He swung open the passenger door and they were immediately met with the clicking of cameras and shouting of the crowd.

Wanda moved away and Vision’s hands disappeared from her body so quickly she felt sure he had used his superhuman speed. She quickly finished tightening the strap of her shoe and threw her door open, taking Steve’s arm as he came to help her up.

Vision was left to scramble out of the car on his own as Nat hurried after Wanda who had practically stormed away from the car. He hung his head sadly, trying to pull himself together in time for the cameras.

At the front of the glamorous hall that was the location for the evening, Vision managed to skip the questions from the reporters outside. He didn’t often get questions, with the Tony and Steve taking the blow for the rest of them. Wanda had disappeared in a flash of red, heading up the stairs and into the hall before he could catch her. Tony caught Vision’s elbow and pulled him over for a photo. They smiled genially at the cameras which were entirely unaware of the underhanded question Tony asked.

“Everything alright, bud?” Tony whispered through his smile. “Wanda looked a little frazzled.”

“Everything’s fine, we’re fine,” Vision lied, doing his best to smile in the direction of the cameras. He was yet to master Tony’s people pleasing smile.

A break in the flashing allowed them to speak a little more candidly. “Anything you need to tell me about?”

“Nope,” Vision said confidently, backtracking towards the stairs. “Everything’s peachy!”

The inside of the hall was larger and more confusing that Vision was prepared for. The dancing was in full swing. It surprised him, he didn’t know that humans still danced this way, it didn’t match up with what he had seen on television or the internet. It made him grateful for the simulations he’d been running in the back of his mind all afternoon in the hopes that he wouldn’t be caught unawares. He must have included a waltz or two in there somewhere.

The building itself was grand, its ceiling arcing high above not unlike the interior of a church. Enormous windows lined the walls, curtains shifting as couples span around the dance floor. The architecture felt old, the whole building felt old to him. The chandeliers that hung from the ceiling felt out of place, overly modern compared with their surroundings. He was momentarily distracted by curiosity, reaching into the power source of the building the electricity surging through its walls to power the bright lights. Interesting, he thought. It was all authentic wiring but he couldn’t understand how such old powerlines could power the sheer amount of light sockets the room held. He reached further and felt the familiar warmth of an arc reactor, hiding in the basement of the building. It made sense, this was a heritage building that Tony had received patronage of from his parents. This tangent came to a quick end as Vision made his way around the edge of the crowded middle of the hall. He ignored the looks he was getting, the general curiosity of the humans for once felt unimportant.

Vision bit his lip as his eyes search for Wanda. What he would say when he found her, he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure if she wanted an apology or if he even wished to give one. Vision couldn’t feel sorry for the emotions that thrummed through his heart when he saw her. He didn’t feel sorry for wanting to be more than a friend to Wanda. And it was difficult to see such feelings as one sided, not when the tension between them had become so tangible in recent days.

He caught sight of Wanda near the centre of the dancing pairs, Sam Wilson was twirling her around and around. It was a wonder she didn’t get dizzy. Even from here, and over the sound of the string quartet, Vision could hear her peal of laughter as they goofed around. Vision was about to start making his way through the crowd when Natasha grabbed his elbow. It was the second time he had been forcibly stopped from going to Wanda’s side and he was beginning to get frustrated.

“Are you about to cause a scene?” Natasha asked, her grip tight on his arm.

Vision didn’t reply.

“Because I am all for making scenes,” Nat smirked, “but maybe not at a charity event?”

Vision looked sideways at Natasha, wondering precisely how much he should tell her. He trusted her, but also knew she was usually Wanda’s confidant.

“I just want to talk to her,” Vision said quietly. Natasha smiled fondly at him, her eyes shining with understanding.

“I’ll get you close enough.”

Vision was about to ask how she planned to do this when she grabbed both his hands and pulled him out into the swirling mass of couples. Vision thanked his lucky stars that he had taken the time to pick up some basics before tonight.

Natasha led, using her hands to weave around dancing couples. Vision smiled. He was nervous but Natasha’s ease as they danced made him feel more relaxed. Her grace on the battlefield had never been in doubt, but he had never seen her properly dance before. This Natasha was something else.

She smiled brightly as they spun around and around, getting closer and closer to Wanda and Sam who were still dancing on the other side of the room.

As they neared Natasha had Vision spin her around once before extending her out towards Sam and Wanda.

Nat tapped Wanda’s shoulder and held her hand out to Sam. “Mind if I steal your partner for a bit?”

Wanda grinned and scrunched her nose, “be my guest, I’m sure he’d appreciate someone who actually knows how to dance.”

“Yeah, but not someone’s who’s better than me!” Sam said indignantly but smiled at Nat and took her hand. Nat sent a meaningful look at Vision over Wanda’s shoulder.

Wanda turned around to leave the dance floor only to come face to face with Vision’s outstretched hand, and the barely restrained nerves on his face. To Vision’s surprise she didn’t hesitate in taking his invitation. Slowly they eased themselves back into the crowd for a waltz. Her hand slid onto his shoulder, as Vision rested his hand on her waist. This time Wanda didn’t pull away.

“You look beautiful, Wanda.” It was something of an understatement, but Vision didn’t quite know how to put into words exactly the reaction Wanda was giving him.

“Thank you, Vision,” she smiled her eyes looking everywhere except his face. “You look nice too.”

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” Vision began hesitantly.

“Yes,” Wanda sighed, not unhappily, “we do need to talk.”

They were quiet a few more moments, swaying with the violins echoing to the ceiling high above them. Wanda’s dress swirled about her legs, and Vision had to take care to note step on her hem. He’d never forgive himself if he stepped on her toes. The music shifted and the dancers began to change directions. Wanda and Vision did their best to follow suit. Vision pulled her closer to avoid the clumsiness of another couple.

Wanda shivered under his touch, her hand had shifted to brace herself against his colour bone, her thumb brushing his neck. He gazed down at her, wondering if she could feel how quickly his pulse was thrumming.

They must have looked strange, standing still that and so Wanda broke the spell by taking a step back. Vision pulled his arm back around, finding her waist again and began to dance slowly.

Wanda was looking at him fully now, and it took all of Vision’s periphery senses to make sure they didn’t get too lost in each other’s eyes and start crashing into other couples.

“You know I want you,” Vision said, hating how the words caught in his throat, a last attempt to stop himself from crossing their self-imposed line.

“No,” Wanda murmured, her eyes darting around apprehensively. “There are too many people.”

“Are you ashamed?” Vision pushed. He needed answers and if he had to be let down, he’d rather it be now.

Wanda frowned, her brows pulling together. She shook her head, looking down from him to gather her thoughts.

Vision started a little as she spoke within his head, she glanced up at him, her eyes glowing a dark red that matched her dress. ‘Of course, I am not ashamed of you, I would never, ever want you to think that.’

“Then—” Vision said out loud, but Wanda continued.

‘But there are doors we can’t go through.’

Vision did his best to think clearly so that she would hear his thoughts. His words were becoming too personal to speak aloud. ‘You say that, but the only thing that matters here is us, what we think and what we want.’

When Wanda didn’t reply for a moment, he repeated himself. ‘I want you.’

His meaning couldn’t be lost with her in his head. He knew she saw it, saw his feelings.

‘I know,’ her voice whispered somewhere between his ears. ‘It’s hard for me too—’

Vision waited for her to continue, barely conscious that they were still spinning across the marbled floor of the grand hall.

‘But I’m afraid – how can you be sure this will work. How do you know we won’t break each other?’

Her words said one thing, but his mind heard another. Wanda wasn’t worrying about herself, no, she was consumed by the fear that she would hurt him, break his newly fragile heart.

‘You underestimate my strength,’ Vision replied, smiling. ‘You couldn’t break my heart; it is what it is because of you. Will you not let us even try?’

When Wanda didn’t reply Vision spoke aloud. “No one gets to decide who we are without our permission.”

“This is bigger than us,” Wanda whispered, leaning closer to him.

“It shouldn’t be.”

“I know.”

Vision dipped his head down, to reach Wanda’s cheek and press a tender kiss to it. “I want to decide my own destiny, with you. I would rewrite the stars if it meant a lifetime by your side.”

Wanda didn’t say anything, and he wasn’t able to see her expression before she sent herself off twirling away. When she reached the end of his grip, he pulled her back in. For a second Vision thought his bold words would all be in vain, that his confession wouldn’t trump Wanda’s fears. But then she was right before him, nose to nose, sharing the same air. He gazed into her eyes, slowing their dancing until they had come to a stop in the centre of the dance floor.

“Okay,” Wanda said, her eyes bright and a smile on her face. “Let’s rewrite the stars then.”

Vision was starstruck, both hands on her waist and totally lost in what she had just said. He was equally as shocked when Wanda slid her hands up over his shoulders and pulled him down to her mouth.

Vision stopped breathing, lost in the sensation of her lips moving against his own. It felt right, as right as anything could feel.

Vision felt Wanda jump before there was a harsh ringing above them and a fizzling pop. When he opened his eyes, sparks were flying down from above and the room sank into darkness. There was a commotion of cries of shock from the patrons. Vision pulled back to look around, trying to figure out what had gone wrong and then he felt it, the absence of a connection he had forgotten he had even forged. Vision laughed, feeling giddy. Slightly embarrassed that all it had taken was Wanda's kiss for him to overload a building's power source and blow every fixture.

“I, um,” Vision bit his lip, “I might have had something to do with that.”

Wanda laughed and it was music to his ears. He kissed her again, smiling into her embrace. Wanda was wrong about this not being in their cards. They were chaos and order, destined to collide.

[bimswritings]

This Is Our Way

Ch.1

Summary: What happens when you make the mistake of thinking you can steel from a Mandalorian? You land yourself and job and a plethora of adventures and emotion you could never even dream of.  The question is; where will those emotions lead.

Warnings: Typical canon violence, NSFW implications and scenes later on

You can also read it on my Ao3 account.

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Clouds. Dark, impenetrable, depressing grey clouds are what greet you as soon as your eyes open, just like they have every day for years during your existence on the scrappy planet of  Corellia. Home to the most desperate and cruel criminals, along with the enslaved and weak civilians and captives. All mixed in with your average day citizen trying to get by.

A great place to live.

The sound of tie-fighters overhead is what first woke you, screaming as they made their morning flight overhead, acting as an ever present reminder of the Empire's presence and signaling the start of your day. Bones and joints crack in sync as you push yourself up, rubbing your eyes and crawling from the busted old weapons crate that acted as a poor supplement for a bed. Its lid laid discarded to the side, allowing the cool night air of one of the only dry nights of the month to flow in while you slept. The hard metal lining was barely tolerable, even when padded with the few scraps of fabric you had managed to snag over the years, but it was sturdy and the lid provided great protection from the ever present rain on the overcast planet.

Taking care not to trip while climbing from the enclosed space, you stumble out onto the main section of the roof and stare over the city as you stretch, trying not to cringe as certain bones popped back into place painfully. It wasn’t a pretty sight, and not even the fresh breeze that floated in from the sea could make it any more appealing.

Boring, industrial buildings stretched as far as the eye could see in varying colors of black and steel, hardly standing out against the horizon of equally dull colors only punctuated by the occasional crism Empire flag. In the middle of it all was the only decently maintained and sizable buildings on the planet, where the majority of ships for the Empire were produced. It was thanks to the presence of that one building that there was even an economy here, keeping it from turning into a more dreary and wet version of Tatooine, the outlandish world it was. The sight was enough to make your stomach churn, but had nothing on the aching pain that radiated from the organ and had you mind wondering when you had eaten last. Three, four days maybe? It didn’t matter. However long it was, the meager scraps you had managed to find behind the restaurant district of the wealthy were but a distant memory. It was this very hunger that drove you from your safe space, forcing you to climb down the pipes lining the outside of the building you resided on.

The metal creaked and groaned in protest under your weight, but you didn’t give it a second though, knowing there was nothing to worry about. You had been climbing along these fixtures for years, nimble hands and feet finding the smallest of purchases as you move along with ease.

When the ground was close enough you dropped, rolling through the impact to your feet and taking shelter behind an abandoned stall as you momentarily stumbled, vision swimming and black dots dancing before you. Force, you really need to get something to eat soon. Rainwater could only fill your stomach for so long before it lost its abilities to hold you over.

Peering around the corner, your eyes scanned the narrow alleyway, looking for any sign of stormtroopers or other rough characters that would cause trouble. You were never much of a fighter, but today especially was a day you were feeling particularly weak.

‘Alright. All I need to do is slip out, grab a couple of credits, and get back. It should be fine as long as I don’t run into-’

“Well well well. Look what we have here.” Leon’s voice spoke from behind, making you cringe and berate yourself for not being more careful. This was the last thing you needed to deal with, and Leon’s sickly smooth voice only served to grate on your nerves more as you turned to face him and his three lackeys, identifying them as Sho, Everett, and Corin.None as dangerous, but all as bad tempered as their leader.

Glacial blue eyes stared from pale skin beneath his shock of blond hair, a combo that drew ladies like flies to him. Pair that with pearly white teeth and he could have been a poster boy for some prep school on Coruscant. If not for the tattooed arms and green vest that held the insignia of a ranicore tooth, marking him as one of Sozin’s many street enforcers. His kind was the one you hated most. Cocky guys who thought that just because they were someone in some gang they had power over everyone else, not giving a second thought to those they hurt, be it man, women, or child. As long as they got a nice cut at the end of the day they were fine. Despite your hate for them, by all means joining a gang was the best way to survive here. It promised food, shelter, and constant work. All you had to do was give up your own self respect and humanity in return.

“The little Jawa had finally come out from her fortress. Tell me,” He smirked as the others formed a loose circle around you, effectively caging you in. “Get anything good lately.”

You wanted to spit at him, slap that stupid smirk off his face and leave him to go crying back to his boss. But you didn’t. Instead, you took a more casual, defensive stance, ready to get away the moment you had the chance. Slapping a fake smile on your face, you cocked an eyebrow in mock teasing.

“Please. If I had anything of interest I’m sure you of all people would know.” You were getting more nervous now, keenly aware of how close Sho was getting to your current position. Far too close for your liking.

“And with the patrols increased and punishments cracking down, things have gotten harder.''

“True, but I just never know what those sticky fingers of yours may manage to pick up. Your skill has a reputation after all.” His eyes skimmed over your body, not even trying to hide the way he was practically undressing you. The slimy bastard had been pining after you for years, ever since he had watched you lift a number of things from a trooper when you were both just young teenagers. He claimed it was for your skills but it didn’t take a genius to see he was looking for something more. “Maybe you could give me a live demonstration some time.”

And there it was.

You said nothing, only pushing yourself further against the cool metal of the wall behind you in an attempt to create some sort of distance in between you. Your stomach, the traitor it was, decided that it would be the best time to voice its own opinion, letting out a loud growl of protest that didn't go unheard.

Leon’s face took on a mask of concern and sympathy, and you might have fallen for it had you not known any better. His tone took on a softer, more whispery tone, like he was speaking to a stray feline. Not that far off if you thought about it.

“You look hungry. Why don’t you come back with me. I can get everything squared away with Sozin, and I promise, I’ll take real good care of you.”

His hand extended out in invitation, strong fingers that had ended the lives of so many gently relaxed, the other crossing behind his back in a mock gentleman pose, as if he even knew what being a decent guy even started with.

“C’mon. Think about it. No more empty stomachs or fighting for every scrap. You’d even have a nice bed to lay in at the end of the day. No more sleeping on the filthy streets.”

Scoffing, you summoned the last of your confidence, brushing past him and ignoring his invitation. “I’d rather take the streets than your blood soaked sheets any day.”

That should have been it, and it would have been for anyone else on just a code of respect among those here. But Leon wasn’t known for taking no for an answer. Before you could even make it  three steps his hand closed on your elbow, bringing you back closer to him. Despite all you twisting and pulling, his superior strength kept you close, breath fanning your skin as he spoke.

“Listen here, I’ve been more than kind in my advances. A saint some may even say, so you’re not going to walk away from me, understand? No your going to come back and-”

“Hey!” A shout from the end of the alleyway interrupted him, drawing all your attention as the squadron of storm troopers rounded the corner to the alley, falling in line behind their captain.”You there! What’s going on?”

At the sight of the local law enforcement and their blasters, Leon’s grip loosened a fraction. Just the smallest amount really, but enough for you to be able to slip from his grip and between Sho and Corin before they could stop you. You ignored the shouting of the officer, sprinting in the opposite direction and around the corner into the main streets of Corellia.

‘Good luck trying to find me now.’ You smirked, pulling your hood up to conceal your face as you effortlessly blended into the crowd, becoming just one of the thousands of faces that traveled through as you continued on your way. Now it was time for the real work to begin.

Just as with the seasons, your own hunting grounds changed, ever rotating through the different sectors in order to keep law enforcement off your tail. It was one of the first lessons you had ever learned; never hunt in the same spot for more than a few weeks.

Today was a fresh start in the port district, leaving an abundance of new and unaware targets. It was a popular place for travelers as well, who were especially naive, but even with that you knew today would be a challenge. It hadn’t been a lie when you told Leon that the troopers were cracking down. More patrols and increased severity of punishments had started to begin in order to ‘cut down the crime’, as your senator put it. Fat chance of that though, as one could argue that Corellia ran on crime. Still, the effort put forth was really putting the pressure on smaller people like you, who were just trying to survive, not to mention the street vendors and shop owners had installed their own new security measures in place, leading to an unfavorable combo that led to your current weak and hungry state. So you were here, looking for some oblivious fool to cop a few credits off from your perch just outside the mechanics.

As your eyes scanned the crowd, looking for visible money holders or those with liftable jewelry and other items, you saw him. He was hard to miss actually. The beskar he wore from head to toe shone proudly even without the light of the sun hidden above, speaking of its own durability and care shown by the owner. Alongside him was a pod, closed, and most likely carrying whatever supplies he had picked up from the market. The brown cape around his shoulders did nothing to hide the gun scross his broad back, nor the dozens of smaller weapons strapped to his person.

He stood tall above the crowd, most parting like water around a stone to avoid him, and it was no wonder. Even you had heard the stories about the Mandalorians. Fierce warriors and fighters who could track their prey to the ends of the galaxy. They were the best bounty hunters and hired guns on the market. You had been witness to more than one lowlife being pulled from their seat in the cantina by his kind, kicking and begging to no avail as they were carried away, dead or alive.

Teeth gnawing on inside of your cheek, you debated with yourself. On one hand, he was a high risk target, undoubtedly being used to these kinds of places and the people who lived here. Stealing from him would earn you a blaster shot to the head if caught, that is, if he were feeling merciful enough not to crush every bone in your body. But then, he was a bounty hunter. They always carried a lot of credits, and ones worth more at that. One swipe from him could set you up for days, if not weeks! He was also the only target you had seen open worth any value the entire day, and you weren’t sure you could go much longer without food.

You debated with yourself, going back and forth as you watched him grow closer to where you sat. If you didn’t make a decision soon you would lose your chance all together.

As if detecting your hesitance, your body made the decision for you, loosening another growl from its depths, prompting you forward and before you knew it you were on the move. Pulling a small guide book from your pocket, you pretended to be grossly interested in the useless thing, eyes moving to falsely skim the words as you carefully adjusted your path closer to his, threading between the crowd with as much ease as he cut through it.

The moments before were tense, each step leaving you feeling more electrified as adrenaline coursed through your body, only feeding your blind confidence as you counted down.

‘6..5...3..2..1….Now’

You pretended to stumble, tripping on your own feet as naturally as you would walk, veering from your course and bumping into the armored man. You winced slightly as your shoulder made contact with the metal, which made your grunt of pain that much more believable and distracting while your hands got to work. Like all bounty hunters, he kept his money in front of him, just slightly to the left of his leg. A tactic to prevent pickpockets like you that frequented the scenes they often found themselves in. Smart, but you had gotten used to this tactic before, and it was a simple swipe of your hand as it quickly entered and retreated the pouch, fingers closed around an unknown number of credits, all within a fraction of a second as you mumbled apologies, raising your opposite hand in distraction as your other moved to pocket your catch.

As soon as your own fingers left the pouch, you knew you were in trouble. Years of being on the streets had taught you when you had the upper hand in a situation or not, whether you were the predator or prey. In that moment, that small fraction of a moment, you went from poised victor to the most demure of prey.

And the man in front of you was the hunter.

His hand, even quicker than your own, moved to latch onto the retreating limb. The very one holding the credits you had thought had been yours.

Head snapping up to meet his, you were faced with an unfeeling gaze in the form of silver surrounding a small ‘t’ of inky darkness that prevented you from seeing his face. You tried to pull away, only to have his stern grip tighten even more, the leather of his glove squeaking in symphony along with the crackling of the joint. Yet you still refused to drop the credits, stubbornly holding onto them out of spite and fear. If he hadn’t seen them yet, there was no way he could indefinitely prove you had taken anything from him, though the way he focused on it told you he already knew the truth.

Kriffing hell. Why had you even thought this would be a good idea. He was a Mandalorian, and in your hunger driven brain you had somehow managed to convince yourself it would actually work. Well congratulations, you had the credits, but now you were as good as dead. If he didn’t decide to deal out his own justice and kill you then and there, surely he would turn you over to the stormtrooper.

The skin on your back tingles and warmed at the thought, memories of public whippings flashing in the back of your mind and doubling your heart rate and raising your panic even more.

Maybe you could still get out of this though. He was a man, as far as you could tell anyways, and all men were susceptible to one thing, hardened warrior or not. You could distract him, try to get a trade or compromise in return for forgetting about the situation. If not him then the clones. Maker knows they were always willing to pass up small crimes every once in a while in exchange for a way to sate their horniness. Though you had never tried the practice yourself, you had heard of numerous others getting off the hook that way. How hard could it be?

Your thoughts were interrupted by movement, bringing you back from your blind panic of plotting how to get out of this. The Mandalorian had tilted his head, t-visor still trained on your face as he observed you. Those around you were all too eager to ignore the situation, walking past with explicitly diverted eyes as they went about their business. The hand not holding yours moved, making you flinch back but with nowhere to go as he kept you trained in place. It moved towards your face and you braced, eyes scrunched and ready for the impact of a palm or fist making contact.

Yet, it never came.

Instead, the soft worn leather gently pressed against your face, fingers gently running along the curve of your cheek, highlighting the bone that protruded with hunger. The occasional scrape of his beskar along the skin makes you shudder, but if he even notices he doesn’t say anything, only continuing to stare as his hand tips your face every which way for him to examine. Then he just...let go. Without another word he had dropped his hands, stepping around and continuing on his original path, leaving you behind him, frozen in place and in a state of shock.

You could have stood there for any measure of time, be it seconds or minutes. Your brain was too busy trying to process what had just happened to even think about anything else. It was only when someone rudely bumped into you, almost knocking you to the ground, that you finally snapped out of it, and suddenly you were running. Feet pounding the uneven ground as you gained speed, faces flew past as little more than blurs as you continued to put more space between you and your should-have-been attacker. If it had been any other time you might have been proud of the speed you had, the burning in your lungs of little significance. Not even when you had seen Leon once again did you blink, blowing past as he called out and tried to grab you.

Before you knew it you were rounding the alley back to your little home, leaping more than climbing up the pipes with record speed as your feet barely touched the rickety metal. You practically dove into your little crate of a home, pulling the lid and locking yourself in darkness as you tried to sooth your pulse, taking deep breaths that did little to help. Absentmindedly, you began humming to yourself. A song so out of tune and unrecognizable it would have made a wookie weep, but it was what you needed as you pressed the burning and sticky skin of your forehead against the cool metal of the wall.

Eventually, after countless repetitions or the short tune, you managed to steady yourself, bringing enough sense back to realize you were still holding onto the credits from before, which were now gripped tightly in your hand. Enough to the point where the skin had turned a pearly white and your fingers hurt to move as you slowly unclenched them, revealing angry marks and even places where the rectangular currency had bit deep enough into the skin to draw blood. But oh what a beautiful sight it was.

One hundred credits laid in your fist, clustered together in a jumble of varying amounts and different kinds, but a total amount of one hundred. You normally only got this after a week of extremely successful hunting in the summer months. The sight of it now was enough to make you cry.

Despite the urge to go and get food from the nearest vendor, you knew better than to go out right away. For all you knew he had only let you go just to follow you back to your base, probably thinking he could turn you into the stormtroopers for a bigger ransom than what he lost, or loot your own place for anything you had stored up. Jokes on him if that was the plan, because he would only get back what you took from him.

The thought stayed stuck in the front of your mind, forcing you to stay tucked in your hiding space for the remainder of the day and keeping you awake through the night. Every little sound made you jump, convinced that you would once again find yourself at the receiving end of his burning gaze, the helmet he wore only masking his expression and leaving your fate uncertain. He never showed though, never ripped the lid off your container or dragged you out into the open.

By the time you managed to fall asleep, your body finally running out of its immense supply of adrenaline, the city itself had just begun to awaken below to the wee hours of the morning, and the fighters had just begun their morning rounds once again.

‘Maybe...maybe just a few hours of sleep.’ You thought to yourself, burrowing down into your small nest of blankets. What could be the harm?

Well, apparently a lot.

You had woken up in a panic, cracking the lid to see that the sky had already gone dark once again. Swearing to yourself, you emerged once again like a Nightshrike from its cave. Foregoing any normal rituals, you allowed your body to stretch itself as you moved, hustling from rooftop to rooftop, something you only did under the cover of night. The last thing you need is someone seeing you and discovering your home up top. You would never be able to get any peace after that.

You were in a rush though, and the thought of wasting a day of work didn’t bother you nearly as much as the thought of your favorite shop closing. With the amount of credits you had now, you wouldn’t have to worry about money for a while, so the only thought you had while the dim lights of the city flicked to life below was getting there as soon as possible. Who knows, maybe you’d even have enough to treat yourself to some fruit, an expensive and rare treat for anyone on the planet.

Skidding to a stop just before the end of the row, your eyes lit up at the sight of the shop still open, clearly readying to close. Shimmying back down to increasingly deserted streets, you were already drooling at the thought of biting into something and not having to wonder what it would taste like. No more than ten minutes later you were leaving, pockets now full of brick bread as the owner locked the doors behind you.

The plan was to only eat half of one on your way back, the nutrient rich and dense pastries giving you enough energy for the day in a single bite, but not even halfway back you found yourself licking the crumbs from your fingertips, hardly holding back from grabbing one of the four remaining loafs. Instead you reached into the opposite side and grabbed the meiloorun fruit you had managed to snag.

Now this was the main event.

Sinking your teeth into the soft skin, you nearly groaned as its taste exploded on your tongue, making your taste buds dance and sing as the sweetness became so intense it almost hurt. You still loved it.

Your stomach was full for the first time in forever, almost foreign as you had begun to forget the feeling. Juice dribbled down your chin as you continued on your way home, making a deliciously sticky mess to be wiped away and cleaned by your lips, intent on not letting a single morsel go to waste.

Thankfully the trip back was less eventful than your previous outing, helping instill an eerie yet calming silence over the city and prompting you to take your time.

You always enjoyed it up here on the roofs. Hardly anyone came up, not many having the same confidence and agility possessed by you and few others, and there was an ever present breeze up here that didn’t quite reach the lower levels. Not to mention the view it gave, which was one of the main reasons you had chosen a roof as your spot for a base camp. If only you could see the stars, but alas, the sight was as rare as greenery here, leaving it up to your own imagination to construct an array of bright lights on the top of your crypt.

Finishing the fruit, you paused at the edge of the building before your own. Small lights danced in the darkness, the occasional lamp illuminating a hustling figure and the street walkers that lined the corners of streets, calling to anyone in sight. The occasional search light of a patrol ship would shin above the buildings as it made its rounds over the city.

‘Must be looking for someone’ you mused, turning back to return home. No reason to get caught out tonight, especially when you were looking at a few days of relaxation.

As you turned, a familiar flash caught your eye, triggering a new taught panic response. You could hardly believe your eyes, rubbing them extra hard just to make sure you were seeing things right. But alas the sight before you neglected to change, unfortunately not a trick of the eye like you had hoped it was, and the Mandalorian you had thought you escaped the previous day continued walking down the dark alley.

You began to sweat backing away from the edge and further out of his line of sight, trying to still keep him in yours as you peered back over and tracked his progress as he got closer.

‘Kriff. I should have known he would want his money back.’

Panicking, you began going over all the escape routes near you. Ones through city street and sewers that would be much too small for him to fit through. Though, if he had tracked you here then chances were he would be able to find you wherever you went. This really wasn’t good. You might not even be able to go collect what meager possessions you had back in your box.

Then, materializing out of the darkness as if he were made of it himself, was Leon. He stepped into the path of the Mandalorian like he had no fear and, knowing how stupid he was, you thought he might actually not have any for the bounty hunter. But why would he when he was the primary enforcer for Sozin and still had his own backup, the three from earlier.

“Hey there.” He spoke in a voice that promised nothing but trouble, hands casually resting in pockets that undoubtedly concealed a weapon of some sorts. "I've been meaning to have a talk with you. The shiny Mandalorian warrior everyone is talking about."

This, you thought, was not good.

[indiavolojones]

Diavolo eats a pomegranate while Lucifer works. Lucifer doesn’t realize that the plate of pomegranate seeds that’s just been steadily growing is, in fact, for him. 

alternate summary: serving/sharing fruit with another is one of the most tender shows of love in the world and i am a soft, gentle soul that just wants canon-compliant-ish domesticity somewhere in the 1800s?? idk, they’ve known each other a damn long time. u_u 

2.2kish words, G, dia/luci, #no warnings apply except for like, idk, a sizzle of diavolo thirst on lu’s part. we can angst later, y’all

Special thanks 2 @canonlucidia for being 1) my rock and 2) my resident lucifer expert that wrote the report line and lastly 3) just being so, so good with lore and patient with me when cv brain go wuh??? 

-

A memory, a snapshot in their thousands of years spent at each other’s sides, the scene burned into his mind. 

Not all their moments are stretched to the extremes, interactions eternally caught in fire and brimstone. Some of them rest here, in a gentle domesticity that Lucifer is hesitant – and rightly so – to acknowledge. 

Here, with the two of them alone in Lucifer’s office, is a tentative, trembling contentment that Lucifer has yet to fully take apart in his mind. 

Lucifer sits at the desk with almost painfully perfect posture, as lamented by Diavolo, several sheets of parchment paper drying in front of him. A small white plate with intricate gold designs burned into the glaze rests nearby. Diavolo pulls out a blade from thin air, cutting it into a ripe pomegranate with the practiced efficiency of someone who grew up with the trees keeping him company.

“I will not be re-writing these reports if you make a mess,” Lucifer says apropos of anything Diavolo might do, on purpose or otherwise. 

The admonishment in his voice half-hearted at best, even as he warily eyes Diavolo slicing the fruit open. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Diavolo quips, returning a cheeky grin, slouched over the empty side of Lucifer’s spacious desk as he cracks open the pomegranate into fours. 

Diavolo opted for his human form today, which is a laughable concept to Lucifer in itself. Diavolo’s aura can barely be contained by him in his demon form, but to see his essence stifled into a mortal’s appearance… Diavolo’s human teeth are always a little too sharp at first glance or in one’s peripherals. His gold eyes are too molten to match any human shade. 

Pair it with Diavolo’s inability to sit on anything without it becoming a throne – sprawling with languid, regal grace as natural as breathing, much to Lucifer’s annoyance – and discretion is a difficult request. 

Lucifer has called him out on his slipping control of the glamours before, especially in the instances where they find themselves working in the Human Realm, the risk of detection a very real threat. Not that many princes are discrete, but Lucifer supposes that if he expected someone to spill out past the seams, it would be Diavolo, who has always been larger than life in both personality and power. 

Despite a grandiose description, Diavolo’s attire does not reflect his status. His outfit is more fitting for a common human rather than the next ruler of Hell. 

The other is dressed in indecently tight trousers and a loose, finely-woven off-white tunic that dips low on his sculpted chest. Cording at the hem of the shirt drapes over his exposed skin, and Lucifer offhandedly wonders why they even bother getting Diavolo fitted for garments if he’s just going to wear things too loose, too tight, or forego most clothes altogether. 

In the past, Lucifer might have asked why are you here? or don’t you have your own work to do? All such inquiries have been shut down with a colorful multitude of responses, displaying the future king’s creativity. 

Some honorable mentions being:

Diavolo’s wild claim that Barbatos was staging a coup, and clearly, Lucifer was the only one who can fight off someone with control over time. Lucifer had asked when Barbatos was hosting the next recruitment session, which led to a troublesome, if not amusing, outburst from Diavolo.

A somehow unionized group of suitors threatened to storm down the palace gates for his hand in marriage. Diavolo was merely hiding in the safest place, for once they believed he was not home, they would give up and leave! 

"A curse, Lucifer. It was a curse!" If more than two pairs of eyes were to witness Diavolo, he would surely burst into flames. That's why he tried to hide behind the door when Barbatos came to collect him!

Nowadays, when Lucifer can’t kick Diavolo out of his study/Barbatos is off running the household and can’t drag him away, he allows himself to lean into giving Diavolo a hard time – nothing unbecoming of their stations, nothing disrespectful – but enough to give Lucifer quiet vindication. 

It serves him right, for all the grievances he causes Lucifer on a daily basis. 

(Levi calls it teasing, but Levi has not left his quarters since the last major war killed one of his favorite authors before a series was finished, so what does Levi know of social interaction?) 

“If you’re in need of something to do, Barbatos and I found a few errors in your last few missives…” Lucifer begins. 

Diavolo, surprisingly, doesn’t jump to the bait.  

There are no witty remarks that come from the future king’s lips, only the lazy upward curl of a smile and a contented hum in return. 

Unused to the lack of a response from the other, Lucifer glances down at the small plate, Diavolo's cultivated pile of seeds gathered in the shallow puddle of juice.

Another pomegranate seed plinks onto the plate, and Lucifer watches through his peripherals as it topples the delicate balance of the seeds already there. 

He narrows his eyes at it briefly, as if it holds the answers to his obvious questions, but says nothing. Diavolo works at a steady pace, humming quietly under his breath as his nimble fingers pluck seeds from the fruit. 

For a while, they go on like that. 

Diavolo alternates between quietly munching on seeds and adding to his growing plate. Lucifer scribbles away at the parchment, his clean script much more legible than Diavolo’s own. 

Diavolo deserves an award, Lucifer thinks, for the longest amount of time spent not getting into trouble in Lucifer’s recent memory. Perhaps he should be more suspicious of the other’s uncharacteristically quiet nature, but Diavolo looks at ease with his menial task.

Diavolo’s tune continues, a soothing, low cadence to his voice offsetting the relative quiet of Lucifer’s quill scratching at the parchment. It’s a waltz, syrupy sweet and with a dreamlike quality as Diavolo’s humming carries the notes into creation. 

It casts a spell with charisma alone, and Lucifer doesn’t notice when his hand stills, quill hovering over the page as he tries to recognize the tune. A smile twists the prince’s lips, his lips stained darker with the sweet purple nectar.

Diavolo doesn’t hesitate in his motions, only glancing up at Lucifer through his lashes. Lucifer’s breath involuntarily catches in his throat.

Lucifer does not think about how Diavolo’s fingertips are stained as well, stained deeper than the curve of his lush lower lip. Does not think about the juice dripping down his tanned skin, drying sticky on his wrists. It is in the middle of these not-thoughts, their gazes catching in passing, that Diavolo speaks.

“20%.” 

“What?” Lucifer startles, despite himself, brows cinching with narrowed eyes. Diavolo reaches down with one long, purple-dyed finger to point at the line where Lucifer’s quill has stopped. The smile only grows, Diavolo tilting his head to the side as he reads the line off of Lucifer’s report.

“‘The sixth circle has under reported their amaranth yield again this quarter, their numbers being off by roughly,” He pauses for dramatic effect, which Lucifer finds wholly unnecessary considering this is a report, not a performance, ”20%.’”

Diavolo purses his lips, before it turns into a huffed laugh, “It’s probably because they pay tithe to Beelzebub. You should talk to him about that.” 

His eyes and hands go back to the fruit in front of him. Lucifer does not admit that the next part of his report was about to mention that it is likely due to his hungriest brother.

Saved from having to formulate a response, there’s a knock at the door, and Barbatos’ muffled voice on the other side calls, “Lucifer? Have you seen Prince Diavolo?” 

Diavolo’s posture immediately jerks up, and then his shoulders curl in on himself, like a child that knows he’s been caught. Barbatos is, most definitely, here for Diavolo. 

Lucifer is absolutely not relieved at the distraction. He levels Diavolo with a singular stare that somehow says I’m not covering for you, and nearly rolls his eyes when Diavolo returns a pained look that begs please?

A strange, out of place idea has Lucifer wanting to concede to Diavolo’s whims, to pretend that no one is there. Ridiculous. As they sit in the silence, there’s a moment where Diavolo’s eyes light up, as if thinking that Lucifer might actually help him out –

“He’s in here,” Lucifer says, because of course he is. All three of them know there’s no way that he wouldn’t be, and Diavolo deflates. 

It’s clear from the slight, upwards quirk of Barbatos’ lips that he knows Lucifer’s hesitation. Lucifer bristles at the thought, at Barbatos’ ability to always see more than is shown. 

Barbatos does not startle easily – in fact, Lucifer believes he can recall maybe a handful of times that the other has reacted with little more than resigned acceptance or rueful amusement. 

It wounds his pride, in a sense, to have Barbatos walk in on a scene like this (like what? Diavolo slowly working at Lucifer’s carefully constructed walls, trying to carve a contented little spot in Lucifer’s life? Yes. Lucifer is aware.) and have his reaction be anything less than shocked. Appalled? 

Perhaps aghast, that Lucifer too has fallen to the whims of his lord. 

Unless Barbatos thought that Lucifer would cave from the beginning, Lucifer realizes, and it sours his expression in the slightest. 

“Barbatos!” Diavolo grins, still slouched over the edge of the desk like it pains him to have good posture. 

“I have been looking for you, my lord,” Barbatos says, his voice as even and polite as ever. 

“I’ve been taking a break!” 

“It’s been four hours since you said you would be right back, sir. I thought I would help you find your way, since you seem to be having some trouble.”  

Diavolo, a devil of almost immeasurable power and status, has the gall to look sheepish in front of his butler and aide. He glances big, pleading eyes at Lucifer as if asking for help again, and Lucifer cocks one brow, saying nothing. 

A beat of silence passes, before Diavolo suddenly exhales loudly, tossing his hands (one of which is holding a knife, and the other a pomegranate, and juice splashes on the desk alarmingly close to his nearly-finished report) into the air. 

“Okay, okay! I’m coming,” Diavolo concedes, still brimming with amusement as he easily disposes of the empty pomegranate husk with his magic. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he wipes the remnants of sticky juice off the blade and his fingers, staining the pristine white purple. 

“Let’s stop by the kitchens on the way there, Barbatos. Fruit has only made me realize how famished I truly am!” Diavolo says, placing the handkerchief down and stretching his arms up as he stands. 

“I can bring something to your office, my lord.” Barbatos shoots down the attempt at escape, and Diavolo tsks under his breath. 

“You’re too smart, Barbatos,” Diavolo says, walking towards his butler and patting one hand on the other’s shoulders, “You know all my tricks by now.” He nods sagely as they walk to the exit of the room. Barbatos gives a soft sigh. 

“We both know that’s not true, my lord.” 

Lucifer watches, unafraid to admit to himself that he finds some amusement in Diavolo’s plight, before he realizes the mess that Diavolo has left behind. 

“Your – ” Mess? Pile of fruit seeds? Penchant for completely derailing Lucifer’s productivity? Whatever Lucifer had intended to say is cut off by a dismissive wave of Diavolo’s hand and a cheerful slant of a smile on the other’s face. 

“Those are for you!” Diavolo laughs, and Lucifer doesn’t have the opportunity to get a response in before Diavolo whirls into the hallway, Barbatos shutting the door after him with a soft click. 

Lucifer sits in silence, listening to the muffled, familiar chatter between the two, fading as they travel further from the door. He tells himself that this is to make sure that Diavolo has truly left, not for any other frivolous, flowery reasons that his brothers might claim, were they to know of his lingering gaze on the plate, the stained handkerchief Diavolo left behind. 

The plate of pomegranate seeds rests in the corner of his desk, still untouched.

Lucifer ignores it until the candles in the room burn dangerously low, the only indication of time passing thanks to the endless twilight of the Devildom. When he finally decides to stop, he rolls his neck to alleviate the stiffness, eyes fluttering shut at the tension. 

When they open again, his gaze lands once more on the plate. 

This time, it stays. 

Alone in the privacy of his office, Lucifer props an elbow unceremoniously on the table. He brings his hand to his chin, gloved fingers tapping at his lips. More silence passes, a decision is made. Lucifer tugs off the glove of his right hand.

For him, Diavolo had said. 

Lucifer isn’t particularly fond of pomegranates. 

The flavor isn’t anything amazing to him, and they’re much too messy, but there’s a strange, perverse pleasure beginning to blossom inside him at the fresh memory of Diavolo devoting his time to a task solely for Lucifer, understanding coloring where there was once muted shades of gray.  

Kings are servants to their kingdoms, but there’s an undeniable intimacy in the act of servitude for one. 

It makes the initial burst of flavor on his tongue all the more sweet. 

[scxrsgxrd]

Remedy // Gordon Merkel

Part One

Part two here

Part three here

Part four here

Part five here

Sooo, ‘a taste of beer’ is released so I decide to write about.... Merkel?? Yep, sounds about right. 

Anywho, enough of me and my galaxy brain, I hope everyone enjoys this and thank you so much for reading! :)

WARNINGS: 18+, mentions of female sex work, mature language, degradation and sex.

Merkel slowly made his way down the dimly lit hall, a singular lightbulb precariously hanging above him which flickered every once in a while. He traced his fingers along the tattered wallpaper on his left hand side, the feeling of the cold, chipped paint beneath the dull floral wallpaper was refreshing due to the humid atmosphere of the corridor he wandered down. He scoffed slightly, the neon lighting outside the building was a stark contrast to the state of the inside. Numerous floorboards creaked beneath his large frame as he made his way to his desired room, he had memorised the winding corridors to this particular door, as he always seemed to find himself in this exact spot following an assignment, seeking out her.

He took a deep breath as he halted outside the door, he knew before he could enter he needed to separate himself from his work persona, ‘work’ being a loose word to describe his profession. He wasn’t like the other men who came here - he wasn't a sleazy, married CEO nor a frivolous teenager seeking a story to go home and brag to their friends about. No, Merkel’s struggle was different. It is here that he finds himself at his most vulnerable, he has yet to shake off the recent memories of his assignment and can still feel the weighted blood on his hands. The only way for him to heal was to visit her, and she was perfectly aware of this, she was his remedy of sorts. He never spoke a word of his profession to her, yet she could so easily read him and submit to his needs in ways that nobody else could.

He brushed his knuckles against the cold, flimsy frame of the plywood door in front of him before knocking twice. It was mere seconds under she opened the door, slowly peering her head around until it opened fully, her eyes lighting up ever so slightly when the man before her was revealed. 

“Merkel, its been so long-”

“Shhh, little one, no talking for now.” He ducked slightly as he entered the room, his tall frame looming above her as he shrugged his coat off, resting it on the back of the musty armchair in the corner of the room.

She knew to oblige. She could tell from the darkened circles under his eyes how exhausted he was, and the fact that his lips were slightly pursed explained to her that he was in no such mood for non compliance. Merkel felt a pang of sympathy for the woman before him and stroked down the length of her jaw with his thumb before planting a light kiss against her lips and then moved his hands towards his belt. Once removed, he toyed with the black leather as he imagined the ways in which he could make her squirm with it; he could have her over his knee in an instant, drinking in every once of her punishment.

No. Not tonight. He thought, he had different plans in mind for this visit. There was only one way for him to pass the countless, mind-numbing hours of surveillance he had to endure: to think about her and everything he wished he could do to her.

“Listen closely my sweet, you know how I do not like to repeat myself. Tonight we shall do things differently, I will only let you cum once.” He gazed at the woman stood in front of him, her expression hiding nothing. She felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her, Merkel was never one to play lightly, he was never satisfied unless he stole multiple orgasms from her. Merkel liked to fuck her until she could not take him anymore, until pure exhaustion wrecked her body, and that was how she liked it.

“But I don’t understand. You know how quickly I cum when you fuck me, I can’t help it.” Her eyebrows furrowed as she was already exasperated, and he hadn’t even touched her yet.

Merkel chuckled at her protest before grabbing hold of her chin. “So beautiful yet so naïve little one. Did you think I planned to let you cum easily? Oh my sweet, I will simply hold you off until I decide you deserve to cum.”

She felt a slight shiver down her spine at the thought of how utterly torturing he was going to make her cum denial. Merkel was never one to play lightly.

-

Merkel lay her completely bare on the bed in front of him as he began to ever so slowly kiss his way down her navel, while his long fingers trailed their way up the insides of her thighs. She jolted slightly as she felt the cold silver of the ring of his middle finger connect with her skin, causing Merkel to press his hand to her left thigh to keep her in place.

“You remember my rule? You stay completely still until I’m finished, if you move then, well, you know the answer to that sweetheart.” His voice was almost hoarse now as he felt himself overcome by utter lust for the woman he was so desperate to pleasure. She meekly nodded in reply, knowing if she opened her mouth the only thing leaving it would be nothing more than a squeak.

He dipped his head between her thighs and placed a light kiss on her clit, a smirk forming on his lips as she almost threw herself towards him, but she knew better than to move. His lips then attached themselves to her now swollen clit as he began to rhythmically suck and lick, while his index and middle fingers toyed with her entrance, only dipping halfway before pulling back out. She was already a mess. Her thighs were quivering ever so slightly as Merkel scraped his teeth against her clit, moaning against her as he drank in every drop of arousal she was giving him. He had never tasted anything like her before, he could eat her pussy all night with no issues; except now he was experiencing his own ache. His trousers were now painfully tight around his cock, and this ache only worsened as he dipped his tongue inside her entrance, savouring the taste on his tongue. By now her stomach was in knots, she knew she couldn’t take much more before the desire for her release overcame every muscle in her body.

“Merkel, I’m, oh shit. I-I’m.” Her plea turned into a whimper as Merkel forcibly pulled himself away from her, placing a kiss on each of her knees before returning his gaze to her face. Both his lips and chin were coated in her arousal, and his hair was standing in every direction possibly.

“Ah, remember what I said little one, I decide when you cum.” He wiped his chin with his thumb before sticking it into his mouth, his eyes almost rolling back as he tasted the last of her arousal. He then removed his woollen sweater and trousers, palming himself over his boxers for some sense of stimulation as he studied the woman lied before him, his eyes taking in every curve and dimple.

Her eyes were almost begging for him to remove his boxers as she could already see the patches of pre-cum on the thin material. As if answering her prayers he stuck his fingers in the waistband and slid his boxers down his legs, stepping out of them as he made his way onto the bed, hovering over her before grabbing hold of her hips and flipping her onto her stomach. 

He slowly lined himself up behind her, a slight groan leaving him when he felt her folds contract against his tip. He gave her a kiss on the shoulder before easing himself into her, allowing her walls a few seconds to adjust to his length while he relished in the feeling of her warmth around him, something he had almost pined for during his time away. When she began to buck her hips backwards slightly to indicate that she was ready for more he removed himself from her completely, snaking his hand around her neck and squeezing gently before slamming himself back into her. He began to quite literally fuck her into the mattress, biting her shoulder every so often causing her to yelp and whimper as his pace only seemed to get quicker, which posed an issue for the woman underneath him. 

Once again she could feel her stomach begin to tighten as the pressure between her legs was almost unbearable, but she knew that trying to reason with Merkel would get her nowhere, so she had to take it upon herself to gather every single ounce of her self control. Her moans and whines were only become more choked as her walls clenched tightly around him, his hand tightening around her throat as he tried to delay his own orgasm. 

“You like that, don’t you my sweet? You fucking love me fucking you, you can’t get enough of my cock hm? Listen to that. Listen to how wet you are for me.” He drawled in her ear, almost sending her completely over the edge as he rocked his hips against her behind, making sure to hit every good spot inside her he could manage.

“Mm, M-Merkel, right there. Oh, please, just. Don’t. Stop.” She choked as he slammed into her once more, but he knew what this request meant: she was on the edge. He slowly pulled himself out if her, making her whine in frustration as the warm sensation within her stomach began to disperse.

He gently rolled back onto her back, chuckling as he saw the frown rooted in her expression. “So impatient hm? You haven't changed at all.” His hand cupped her cheek as he kissed her deeply, every nagging feeling of his seemed disappear into the kiss, every qualm he had over the past couple of months was eased as he rubbed his nose against hers, a sigh of relief overcoming him as he enjoyed this momentary peace.

Once he regained his composure he loomed himself above her, parting her legs with one hand as he wiggled himself between them, pressing himself against her entrance as he kissed her once again. 

“If you do not break eye contact with me then I will let you cum.” He murmured against her lips, waiting for her nod in response before once again easing himself into her; but this time it was different. He was less hungry now, less desperate to feel every inch of her so quickly. No, this time he studied her face as he pleasured her, the way her chest rose sharply in time with each thrust, and the parting of her mouth as he moved against her walls over and over. His thrusts were more sloppy now, he knew it wouldn’t take much more to get him to his release. But it wasn’t his orgasm he was focussed on. 

He stuck his thumb into her parted lips and ran it along her tongue for a few seconds before connecting it with her clit, rubbing slow and hard circles on her. As her eyes began to close he grabbed her chin, growling slightly to remind her of his instruction. She looked deep into his tired, green eyes as her legs began to quiver, and the shake uncontrollably as her back arched off the bed, her chest pressed against his as she yelped and whined.

“Oh, Merkel. Oh my- fuck, Merkel. I mean fuck.” She cursed as her long awaited orgasm overcame every sense she had, her hands gripping onto whatever she could reach as her toes curled and her teeth dug into her bottom lip. She could’ve sworn she saw his eyes light up slightly at the sight of her pure pleasure, as he suppressed a satisfied smile at knowing he had pleased her so intensely.

His smile soon disappeared as his lips pursed, his right hand gripping onto her hair as his left hand held onto her waist, his hips jolting as she felt the warmth of his release inside her. His eyes never left hers as his high washed over him, every pent up feeling of guilt and frustration had left him as he kissed her ear and then moved himself to lie next to her.

“Merkel, that was, like nothing I’ve never experienced before.” She giggled to herself as she turned to face him, but his expression had turned back to the stony, stern one she was greeted with when he arrived. No matter how many times she tried to pry into his personal life he revealed nothing, not one detail about where he worked or his life in Berlin. He was very much a closed book, never one to allow his mask to slip, to allow anyone access to his demons.

“You should sleep, you probably had a busy day.” He mumbled to her, stroking down her side, urging sleep upon her so he didn’t have to endure her interrogation about where he had been the past eight months. Deep down he wanted to tell her, and maybe one day he would, when he was free.

He sat up and fumbled around in the pocket of his coat before producing his wallet, counting through the various currencies littered in it before she held his arm. “You know, I wish sometimes you didn’t pay me. I don't do this for the money with you, I do it-”

“Nonsense, I came here for a service, received it.” He cut her off, keeping his eyes on his wallet so he couldn’t bear witness to the pain he had just caused her. She hated how quickly he could flick the switch inside himself. How quickly he could go from being almost devoted to her to cold and blasé about her feelings. He leaned over her to place the money on her bedside table before lingering in the position for a few seconds. He shook his head and stood up, swiftly redressing himself without removing his gaze from the floor, it was better this way, for both of their benefit.

-

She sat upright on her bed holding a pillow to her chest, she knew he’d be back. It might be months from now, but she knew he’d come back to her. No matter how pissed she might be in this moment, she knew she wouldn’t be able to help herself when she saw his tall frame at her door and felt his gaze land on her once again.

Thank you once again for reading! I really do appreciate it and hearing all of your opinions :) If anyone would like to be added to a tag list let me know!

Blogs I think may like this: @roman-cek @ill-skillsgard @dreamtherapy @skrsgardspam @theskarsgardcult @bskarsgardlove92 @emmyrosee @anastasiaskarsgard @bill-skarsgard-owns-my-ass

[lov3nerdstuff]

White Queen

*Loki x reader*

Parts: Oneshot

Words: 5.9k (hell, I just can't write short stuff anymore)

Warnings: none

Request: Not a request, but a gift to the lovely @beenthroughalot who I absolutely dedicate this to 💚✨

Summary: When Tony Stark throws a costume party, you need to come up with an idea. Quickly. So why not take the god of mischief costume shopping? He seems eager enough to help. Yet, you dressing up as the white queen for the night makes Loki painfully aware that he would prefer you to be his queen indeed.

A.N.: Sorry I still suck at summaries... 💗✨ This is basically Loki realizing that every darkness needs a bit of light and every light a bit of darkness. Fluff! 💚 Also, this is referring to the white queen from Alice in Wonderland!

______________________________

Chilled morning air flooded your lungs, crisp in a way that soothed your ever troubled mind and bearing the tiniest droplets of water, in the gentle transition from dawn's fog to noon's impending rain. You inhaled deeply, closing your eyes in bliss at this little piece of gloomy autumn solitude. It had been a rough night, filled with nightmares and pictures you tried to lock out of your mind for all times, finally leaving behind anxiety ridden thoughts in their downward spiral.

But the little shiver, the goosebumps this breath of morning air brought to your heated skin gently reminded you that you were alive, breaking through a deep water's surface after almost drowning.

The pleasant smell of moist soil, wet withered leaves in every color you could wish for, mingled with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and you inevitably had to smile as you stood on your little balcony in the Avengers base. Maybe having a room right above the kitchen did have its perks, after all.

It was early still. The only people up at sunrise would be Tony, probably the person currently making coffee in the room beneath you, Steve, probably working out in the gym, you, most definitely freezing, and Loki… And who knew what Loki was up to at any time of the day.

You sighed. Thinking of the god brought both a smile and a frown to your face. He had been living in the room next to yours for a little over a year now, and you had found yourself drawn to him from the very first day. Not only were his eloquence and sophistication traits you could spend eternities delving into, but they also made him the only person in the team who was even remotely able to keep up with you, to interest you and understand the intricate ways of your mind.

After a few weeks of being around him more and more, as you were the only person he would willingly spend time with, you had grown to admire the entirety of Loki's being. The way he saw the world, the way he thought and expressed those thoughts to you… it all drew you to him with an increasing force. Like a black hole that swallowed every last bit of light, Loki dared to consume your every thought and you found yourself unable to resist, to stay away even if it would be for the better. You doubted that he would have any romantic interest in you (why would he, after all?), only allowing you to dwell in his presence because he deemed you the most bearable, the lesser evil.

But you were proud that he seemed to enjoy talking to you, that you were the only person he really talked to at all, and maybe that just had to be enough.

"Good morning." Loki's smooth voice startled you, causing you to jump and grab onto the railing so tightly that your knuckles turned white.

Your head whipped around for your eyes to meet his as he was standing on his own balcony, a few feet away from yours, looking over at you with an intrigued expression.

"Hey Loki…" You finally replied, giving him a small smile as you willed your heart to slow down. For whatever (not so miraculous) reason, it picked up speed every time he was close to you.

"I apologise for startling you, that wasn't my intention." He said calmly, and the depth of his voice brought another kind of shiver to your already chilled skin. "Are you cold?"

"Uh… yeah, a little." You shrugged, smiling at him once again. "But it's fine, I was just enjoying the fresh air after a rough night."

"Well, maybe you would like to join me in a venture to find some coffee, then?" He offered you a smile in return, raising an eyebrow at you in question.

"I'd really love to." You grinned back and after quickly putting on a loosely knitted cardigan, you met Loki in the hallway and together you made your way downstairs into the kitchen.

"Y/n! Up early as ever, aren't we?" Tony greeted you with a smirk as Loki and you entered the grand open space of the kitten.

"Hey Tony." You smiled back, taking two mugs out of the cupboard and handing one to Loki, who rolled his eyes at Stark's ignorance of his presence. It was always like this, and it had been from the very beginning: the team would mostly ignore Loki and if they didn't, Loki would ignore them instead.

"Have you gotten your costume ready yet?" Tony asked you as he absentmindedly scrolled through the news on his tablet.

"What costume?" You frowned as Loki poured steaming coffee into both your mugs, then adding a dash of milk to yours. It made you smile involuntarily that he knew just how you liked your coffee, and it didn't help at all with your frantic heartbeat that he took the time to prepare it for you.

"Well, I assumed you would be wearing a costume to the COSTUME party I'm hosting tonight." Tony frowned back at you, letting his gaze wander over your small frame first, then over Loki who was considerably taller and leaning against the counter next to you, sipping his coffee with a completely indifferent expression.

"Oh god, that's today?!" Your mouth dropped open as you looked at Tony in shock, then at Loki with a small frown. "I haven't even come up with an idea for a costume!"

"Well, you still have the whole day today to see to it." Tony shrugged, getting up from his barstool and sauntering to the door. "I'll be in the lab if you need help with anything… or some better company."

"Thanks, but I have Loki to help me and keep me company." You said a little too defensively for your own liking. It was true though, whenever you needed help with anything, you would always come to Loki first. Somehow… you knew that he would always be your safe haven, even if he'd deny it out of pride in his mischievous ways.

"Whatever…" Tony sighed before disappearing out of the room and thus from your sight.

"I'm not going to be of any help to you." Loki said as soon as he knew Tony would be out of earshot.

"What?" You turned to him in an instant, wide eyes filled with disappointment looking up at his calm ones. "Why not?"

"I'm not going to that party, first of all." He replied with a shrug. "And I am not good with costumes. I use magic for that kind of thing, and I have no knowledge about crafting costumes without it."

You frowned deeply and took a big sip of your coffee, burning your tongue on the still too hot liquid and hissing at the immediate pain and numbness that followed.

"Careful, darling…" Loki mused, in sincere concern rather than mockery, taking a sip of his own coffee while your skin tingled at the name he just called you. If only you hadn't fallen in love with him… maybe there would still be the chance to develop a real friendship.

"Well, I… I haven't ever been to a costume party before and I'm looking forward to dressing up." You said as neutrally as you could, crossing your arms in front of your chest as you pulled your cardigan tighter around yourself.

"I'm sorry if I have disappointed you, but I simply do not wish to spend the night with a group of people who despise me to the very essence of their being." He replied in the same calm as before, placing his empty mug in the sink before moving to stand in front of you. "I'm sure you will have a great time without me."

You looked at him with a forced smile, thinking about when his presence had become a requirement for your happiness. "I understand." But really, you didn't. Wasn't it enough for him that you would be there? Obviously not, and that knowledge hurt a lot more than you would've liked.

"I will be in my room, if you need me." He offered you a soft smile in return, one that was solemnly reserved for you, in the most private of moments. With a nod and a flutter of your heart, you let him go.

After taking a few minutes for yourself to get your emotions back under control, you actually felt ready to tackle the task at hand.

Even if Loki wouldn't be there to see you, you still wanted to have a fun night and an amazing costume that would leave people impressed.

Thus you returned to your room, getting dressed in something warm enough to withstand the increasingly cold and wet weather, before finally finding yourself in front of Loki's door yet again. A little reluctantly you knocked, then opened the door a tiny slit. "Loki?"

"How many times will I have to tell you that you may just walk in?" He replied with a small, yet amused sigh and you opened the door wide enough to step into his room (which looked more like a small library indeed, a palace of knowledge and dreams, escape routes into different worlds).

"Well, I… I was just wondering if you needed anything from the city. I'm going shopping for a costume." You said softly, watching Loki as he sat in the windowsill, reading peacefully as always. Behind him, outside of his small realm of endless possibilities, the rain hit the window with increasing speed to create a soft and steady drumming. A perfect echo of your heartbeat.

"Are you sure you want to go out there?" He asked in return, motioning to the approaching storm outside.

"Yeah. I really need a costume and I don't have any idea yet, nor anything that could even remotely be used as a costume. Don't really have a choice." You sighed, already freezing as you watched the trees outside bend concerningly in the strong blow of the wind.

"You could also stay here and drink tea with me. Read a little..." Loki mused, eyes returning to the book in his lap. If there had been time, you would have liked to spend hours just watching him read. It was beyond fascinating to watch his reaction whenever he read a piece of fiction, his face telling a story of its own, while hearing him read poetry in that liquid velvet voice was addicting like the strongest drug, enchanting to enjoy and leaving you craving for more.

"Can't we drink a tea tonight, once I'm back?" You asked as your heart felt painfully torn. "I really want to do both, but I need a good costume first."

"Don't mind me. I will be here, tonight, tomorrow… probably forever, if you need that long."

You chuckled at the irony in his voice. "Yeah, sure… Forever will be just long enough. Maybe I should simply dress up as you and annoy the hell out of everyone at that party. Cause some mayhem around the compound..."

"That, my dear, is the first decent costume idea I have heard all day." He smirked at the book as he still had his eyes fixed on the very same page, his whole expression screaming of an emotion you couldn't quite put a name to. "But I'm sure you will find something that's better suited for you."

"If I ever get going, I actually might." You chuckled. "Is there anything you need? I'm not overly fond of going to the city, because honestly the crowds give me anxiety to just think about, so keep that in mind when you ask me to bring you something ridiculous."

For a moment Loki only stared at his book, and you almost believed that he was ignoring you because of the tease, but a few seconds later he sighed and closed the book in his hand while rising to his feet, moving to put the book back into a shelf.

"C'mon Loki, just answer my question and I can finally go. I get that you don't like costume parties, but this is really important to me and I just wanted to be nice and ask if you need anything. So please, just say no and I can go." You sighed almost desperately now. "I'm sorry if I've overdone the teasing or anything, but…"

"I'm coming with you." He announced, changing his clothes into an entirely black suit and a warm coat with merely a soft green light.

"What...?" Your eyes widened, heart picking up speed again.

"I'm coming to the city with you. You asked me for help earlier and I said I wasn't of any help in crafting a costume. However I'm more than decent at fighting off crowds." Loki stated calmly, walking past you and holding the door open.

You looked at him in utter surprise for a moment, then started smiling widely. "That's really nice of you… to help me, I mean."

"Of course I'm helping you." He frowned at you as you walked into the hallway. "Why wouldn't I?"

"I… don't know." You simply replied, not in the mood to doubt his motives, only feeling very glad indeed that he would be coming with you. Going to the city alone wasn't THAT bad, but it still made you nervous at times. And it meant a whole lot to you that Loki would be coming with you now.

"Where do you think you're going?" Steve called once Loki and you crossed the entrance hall, heading towards the garages.

"Shopping!" You replied happily, giving the soldier a friendly smile. "Still need a costume."

"And what's HE doing?" Steve questioned, looking at Loki in deep suspicion, who only rolled his eyes in return and your face also fell.

"HE is my friend, Steve. And he's coming with me to help." You answered scoldingly, even though you knew it wouldn't be of any use. There was no amount of redemption that could change the way the Avengers saw Loki, and the thought left a painful sting in your heart and a longing to amend the wrong done to him.

"If you say so…" Steve mused, giving you a disapproving look before heading on towards the living room where the party preparations were already busying more people than you cared to count.

"I don't understand what you see in these people." Loki sighed as you made your way towards the row of cars, neatly lined up in the parking ground.

"I don't understand what they see in me! I'm no different than you, really…" You shrugged with a grin. "But since Tony likes me, we can at least pick a car now."

"Do you wish to drive or shall I?" Loki asked politely, yet not without a smirk of his own.

"Feel free to choose." You chuckled, pointing to the board of car keys on the wall and a few minutes later he drove off the parking ground with a rather dangerous speed that left you feeling calm nonetheless. You knew that you were completely safe with him, both physically and mentally and you smiled to yourself as you made your way through the heavy rain, towards the city.

_______________

You had roamed through multiple stores, looked at a thousand different costumes of witches, vampires, horror clowns and nurses and yet you hadn't even wanted to try a single one on. They all screamed Halloween, screamed 'hey there, look at me', screamed naked skin and boozy nights. Nothing spoke to you at all, and after three hours your energy equaled that of an unwatered plant in the scorching summer heat. Only difference being that it was still raining, and you felt increasingly sorry for having dragged Loki along with you. In his defense, he had not once complained about the time you took, or about your sarcastic commentary of both the strangers you passed and the costumes you saw. Rather on the contrary, he had seemed fairly amused by your relentless sarcasm and even gone along with it most of the time.

Yet, after having gone through so many stores, you had decided to take a break and buy him coffee as a thank you for making this whole experience a lot more bearable. Thus you found yourself sitting in a corner coffee shop, in a cozy little nook that shielded you from the crowds and yet allowed you to watch the pouring rain outside. Loki had picked the place, and you had felt yourself enjoying it immediately after setting foot in it. You always enjoyed the things Loki would pick, or show to you… it was as if he just knew you so perfectly well that everything he did went along with you like a seamless transition from his very being to yours. It could get quite scary at times.

"I'm really sorry that you haven't found the right costume yet…" His voice pulled you out of your thoughts and back into the real world, as you warmed your chilled hands on the hot porcelain of your mug.

"Oh, don't be. I'm the one who needs to be sorry for dragging you outside in this weather… and for making you help me." You sighed, studying his marvelous features in the dim glow of the distant fireplace.

"Why would you be sorry for asking me for help?" He questioned with a frown, taking a sip from his steaming mug. It was a miracle how he could drink the hottest liquids without hurting himself… maybe he used magic, or maybe he just didn't feel pain anymore.

"I'm sure you would've had something better to do back at the compound… I mean I'm just me, really, and I'm sure spending time with me isn't on top of your list of fun activities." You snorted to yourself, sadly, looking down at the small bursting foam bubbles of the steamed milk, slowly swirling on top of your coffee in a hypnotically slow spiral.

"That is a really odd thing to say, darling. Shopping isn't on top of my list of fun activities, that indeed is true… but spending time with you isn't as much an activity as it is a necessity to me." He replied with a smile, looking at you in a mixture of humor and curiosity.

“A necessity?” You wondered, deeply frowning at Loki in return. Sometimes it was just impossible to decrypt what he was saying and differentiate it from the meaning behind his words.

“It’s fairly easy, really, but let me illustrate it to you… You, my dearest Y/n, are inherently good. Not because you made it your mission, or because you are expected to be, and that is truly remarkable. You are a bright light in your entirety, to me, a beacon of hope and a promise of a future that I have never deemed possible before our first meeting. I, on the other hand, am not inherently the way I am by nature, but definitely by circumstance. I am a deeply blemished creature, darling. Flawed to the very core.”

“I most definitely beg to differ!” You replied immediately, letting go of his insufficient explanation on why he would deem you a necessity in order to right this wrong he was doing to himself. “I am not entirely good! And neither are you a bad person for that matter, even if you obviously seem to think that.”

"I don't think I'm a bad person. I know for a fact that I am not a good man."

"But the world isn't black and white, Loki!" You protested, eyes digging into his in attempt to make him understand. He was a good person indeed, perfect to you in his being, even if you couldn't tell him without giving yourself away.

"You are a creature of the light, Y/n, while I am a creature of the dark. You cannot deny that." He gave back with a serious expression, looking at you almost sadly.

"I don't care what you say, there's no light without darkness and no darkness without light. Nothing is inherently good or bad!" Your heart clenched painfully, trying to break free from your rib cage in vain.

“This promises to be a very interesting discussion, but I’m afraid we will have to continue it another time. Let’s say for now that you are on top of my list indeed.” He mused, finishing his coffee while you took the first reluctant sips of your own. That is when an idea struck you, like a lightning rippling through a tree and dooming it catch fire with a sudden intensity, destined to burn until nothing would be left.

“I have an idea for a costume.” You blurted out, making Loki’s eyes shift to yours yet again.

“Care to tell me?”

“Nope. Not yet. We’ll have to find some very specific items and I don’t want you to mock me the entire time.” You chuckled, looking at him with a little more adoration than you wanted to let on as he rolled his eyes but failed to hide his smirk from you. Loki would be your inevitable doom and you knew it, but at least you could make the road to hell a fun one indeed.

After also finishing your coffee a little while later, and after having ignored Loki’s intrigued gaze on you for the better part of said while, you both returned your mugs and left the coffee shop to be released out of the warmth into the cruelly whipping rain.

First of all, you browsed through a few of the stores you usually went to, in search of something that would even remotely come close to the picture you had in your head. Loki patiently trailed along, however using absolutely every opportunity to point out that he would be of more help if he knew just what you wanted to represent.

Soon enough you ran out of stores to search through, and your desperation really showed more with every passing minute. Why did this have to be so difficult?

“This is not making you happy, and I don’t like it.” Loki suddenly commented, taking a hold of your elbow to keep you from walking on without him.

“What?” You frowned, ignoring the scorching burst of energy that erupted in your heart upon his touch. Loki never touched you if it wasn’t utterly necessary, so this unique sensation, even through so many layers of clothes, was very much new and very much welcome indeed.

“I am pointing out that this whole hunt for a costume was supposed to be fun for you, but by now I get the impression that it is more of a burden than a fun activity indeed.” He shrugged, looking into your eyes in a way that inevitably made you shiver. “Maybe we should reconsider our options?”

“I really wanted this to be fun, but I just can’t seem to find what I’m looking for in any of those stupid stores.” You sighed.

“Well, since you’re refusing to let me in on what you want to represent, would you at least tell me what you want the costume to look like?” He asked in such a kind voice that your heart skipped a beat at the realization that he really was trying to help you, and that he was honestly concerned about your happiness. You wouldn’t let your mind delve into what that might mean right now.

"I'm looking for an elegant, white gown." You started, sighing as you stood in the middle of the sidewalk, only shielded from the crowds by Loki's larger frame in front of you. It was weird really, how everyone just stepped out of your way when you were with Loki… You hadn't been jostled by anyone at all today, and that seriously left you wondering if people just avoided Loki or if he was keeping them away from you intentionally, with magic or anything else you weren't supposed to know about.

"A white dress… of the sort the women here wear when they are to be wed?" He inquired, rising an eyebrow in honest curiosity. Obviously he really had no intention of mocking you for now, so you loosened up a little.

"Well, yeah, something of that sort…" You shrugged. "But I haven't seen any dress that looked like that yet."

"Why don't you just buy a wedding dress indeed?"

"C'mon Loki, I can't buy a wedding dress as a costume! Do you know how crazy expensive those things are? And it would be really awkward." You mumbled as your cheeks heated up, bringing a touch of crimson to your face despite the cold autumn air.

"Why don't you do that kind of thing Thor tried a few weeks ago when he really wanted that stupid flannel shirt?"

"Thrifting?" You rose an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms in front of your chest. "I'm not entirely sure if secondhand stores even sell those kinds of garments."

"You'll be, once we try it." He shrugged, giving you a small smile that made you return the tiniest of smiles. It truly was a loss for humanity that Loki only ever smiled around you, that you were just certain of. He could be so incredibly nice and lovely if only he wanted to… which he never did, with anyone but you.

"Alright…" You sighed. "Let's look, at least. I just REALLY want a good costume."

Thus you made your way to the next secondhand shop, looking through their collection of clothes but you didn't find anything that even came close. So you went on to the next, and the next, until in the fourth one you finally found a whole collection of wedding dresses.

"So those garments are what you were looking for?" Loki asked, arms crossed in front of his chest as he watched you watching the dresses with a frown.

"Uh, yeah… I guess." You answered in a small voice, searching through the many different dresses.

"Can I help you?" An overly friendly, elderly woman asked, smiling so brightly at you that you were sure her cheeks must hurt.

"Uhm… I was just looking at the dresses really…" You replied, looking at her first, then at Loki with an equally lost and desperate expression.

"Oh, I'm sure we can find something for such a lovely young couple!" She beamed at you, then at Loki a little more reluctantly. "When do you plan on getting married, lovelies?"

You immediately blushed a deep shade of red, suppressing the urge to just grab Loki and run, while Loki for his part only stared at the woman without saying a single word.

"Uh, that's… that's not…" You stuttered, unsure of how to appropriately tell her that you needed the dress for a costume and not to actually get married!

"Sooner rather than later, that is precisely why we are here now." Loki finally replied with the most stoic expression, and your cheeks heated up even more as you merely stared at your feet. God, he was good at lying… maybe he'd have to teach you how to do that one day.

"Oh, don't worry about a thing! We're gonna find a nice dress for you, dear." The woman still smiled brightly as she turned to you, then to the dresses. "Are you looking for something simple and easy or rather something bold?"

"Uhm… I'm not entirely sure. Something with a simple top and a larger skirt maybe?" You shrugged, fighting the blush off your cheeks for good as you looked at Loki who was just smirking to himself as he sauntered around in the small store. At least one person was having fun, currently.

The sales assistant ushered you into a changing cubicle and made you try on multiple dresses, which just looked horrendous on you. To your poor mind, buying a wedding dress, even if for the solemn sake of a costume, was a really odd thing to do and you kept feeling a little awkward as you looked at yourself in all those dresses. After half an hour of changing again and again, the elderly woman finally brought you a dress that alone by its look on the hanger caught your immediate interest. It was truly beautiful, not too simple and not too elaborate… almost ideal. Once you'd out it on, you found that it fit you almost perfectly even before looking at yourself in the huge mirror. That at least was a good sign, you really didn't feel like being uncomfortable all night. However it was all topped off when you finally dared to look at yourself in the mirror, eyes going wide at the sight. It truly was… nothing you would ever have expected to wear, but it would be just perfect for your costume.

"Loki?" You called a little more insecurely than you usually would, as you were almost entirely sure that he would've wandered off by now, bored and causing some mayhem in the city.

"Still here, darling." He replied and you could hear the smirk in his voice as if he'd really known what you had just been thinking.

"Would you… Do you want to take a look?" You asked reluctantly. "I really like the way this one looks."

"As you haven't even bothered to show me the previous ones, I'd very much welcome the insight. And the distraction." He mused and you rolled your eyes with a smile, taking one last look at yourself in the mirror before leaving the small changing cubicle.

"How do I look?" You asked with a half smile, biting your lip as you stood in front of him in utter awkwardness. Loki however only stared at you in an odd mixture of awe and fear, eyes quickly roaming over your small form before locking with yours in a long moment of silent observation.

"Will this work for your costume?" He finally asked instead of answering your question. You hadn't specifically expected a compliment, for Loki wasn't the kind of person to make compliments easily or without meaning them to the very core, but you had expected at least a commentary on the dress itself.

"Yeah, I think so." You replied quietly, but quickly shook the uneasy feeling off. "It'll be just fine."

"Great, I'm glad we have found something you like at last. Is there anything else you need?" He inquired, rising an eyebrow.

"Uh… yeah, one thing, but that will be quick." You mused, returning to your cubicle to change. After paying for the dress, you went on to another store to pick up some long sleeve lace gloves and then finally you returned to the car to drive home to the compound.

It was late in the afternoon already as you both made your way back towards your hallway and your rooms, yet Loki stopped you before you could disappear in your own space.

"Thank you for letting me come along. I enjoyed our venture." He said with his usual small smile and your heart did an involuntary leap.

"I did too. A whole lot." You smiled back. "But I better get ready now, for the party…"

"Will you tell me now what you're dressing up as?" He asked with a smirk.

"I'll come by your room before the party, then you'll see." You grinned back before closing your door behind yourself.

_______________

For the next two hours you took a shower, did your hair and makeup and finally put on your new garments, styling the dress up a little to make it look a little less like a wedding dress and more like yourself. Finally you were content with your efforts, happy even. This was a freaking great costume, and you most definitely would have a great time at that party. You only wished that you'd have some more appropriate jewelry, but that really was so minor that you didn't think about it for too long.

Sighing contently, you left your room and walked the few steps to Loki's. This time you actually listened to what he'd told you and just opened the door without knocking.

"Hey Loki…" You said as you stepped into the room, finding him sitting in the window once more with the inevitable book in his lap.

Once he looked at you, his face showed the same reaction as it had in the shop when you'd tried on the dress for the first time. Awe, maybe even adoration and a slightly hint of fear.

"I just wanted to show you the outcome of today's efforts." You gave him a small smile, turning around on your spot once before looking back into his eyes. "Thank you for your help."

Loki stayed quiet as he only stared at you, not moving nor even breathing. But when you turned to leave, you heard him rise to his feet behind your back.

"Who exactly is it you're portraying?" He asked quietly as he walked towards you, making you turn around once more.

"I'm the white queen." You gave him a half smile. "Alice in wonderland."

"Ah. Of course." He smiled, coming to stand only a foot away from you.

"Since you said I was inherently good, I thought I might as well act the part." You shrugged. "And I think I make a decent enough queen."

"Y/n…" He spoke quietly, eyes searching yours yet again. "I have been thinking… And I've come to the conclusion that I was wrong."

"YOU admit to being wrong?" You rose your eyebrows at him. "Wrong about what?"

Instead of answering, you watched how he very carefully placed a hand on your shoulder, gently caressing your collarbone with a slender finger. Upon the soft green light surrounding you, you felt something cool and heavy resting against the skin of your neck. When Loki pulled his hand back, your eyes stayed fixed on his nonetheless.

"I was wrong about you, and me. And you were right all along. There is a little dark in the light, a little light in the dark. It's what draws creatures of the light towards the darkness and creatures of the dark towards the light indeed." He said calmly, motioning for you to look down on yourself. The smile on your lips widened upon seeing the intricate, yet bold black necklace that was darkly contrasting against the crisp white of your dress. To say it looked stunning would have been an understatement.

"Your light draws me in, darling." He said in a breath. "And I find myself unable to resist any longer."

"Then don't." You replied in the same quiet voice, smiling softly. "You know… The white queen is the only true match for the black king. Or have you never played chess before?"

A slow grin spread on his lips as the fear disappeared from his eyes and only the deepest adoration remained. "Will you be my queen, Y/n? For tonight and every day to come?"

"It will be my pleasure, and my privilege." You smiled brightly. "Tonight you'll need a costume though."

With a mere wave of his hand, smirking, he turned his suit into a royal asgardian gown, entirely black except for a crisp white cravat.

"There's more light in you than you let on, you know." You mused happily as you let Loki take your hand in his, leading you out of the room and down the hallway.

"And there is just enough darkness in you to make you the perfect queen indeed. My queen."

______________________________

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[jeongi]

more than us (m) | kth

↣ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | taehyung x reader

↣ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 11.3k

↣ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 | college au. roommate au. fluff. smut.

↣ 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 |  explicit language and sexual content. unprotected sex (pls use condoms), oral sex (f receiving), light choking, mild dirty talk, some hair pulling, spanking, taehyung’s magnum badonk.

↣ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | Taehyung had always been the common thread in the capsule of your memories, your best friend until the very end. But the thoughts had always lingered; could the two of you ever be more than this?

↣ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

This was a request and if you’d like to see your own come to life, please shoot me an ask, here. They’re always welcome and greatly appreciated! :)

You’re painfully aware of Irene's gawking, uncomfortable stare as Taehyung nonchalantly plants his plump lips against your temple. If it wasn’t eight in the morning, you might have even protested, but the warmth of Taehyung’s arms around your body has you in a lull, a sort of zombified state of mind. He tucks a stray piece of your loose bun behind your ear, taking you into his fullest capabilities as he pulls you in again. You can almost trace the very prominent vein that runs along his full right arm. You wonder how you’ve not noticed he’s been working out lately. The sun barely peeks through the drawn curtains leaving the living room space warm, in a shade of amber that turns his brown locks, gold. It doesn’t help move you away from that early morning haze, your thoughts almost abandoning the very prominent acknowledgement of Irene’s appalled presence. If Taehyung notices your classmate merely inches away with her mouth hanging open and arms crossed, he doesn’t say anything about it. He simply retracts from your hug, your arms automatically wrapping around yourself in hopes of preserving any shred of loss from his warmth. Your head follows Taehyung as he stops towards the kitchen counter to pick up the bagged lunch you’ve prepared for him, and you can’t help stifle a laugh when you catch Irene doing the same. Even though classes for him start much later in the day, his leaving this early is a fairly common occurrence for the young photographer; he had always seemed to have found something new to gaze at in his viewfinder with morning hikes. As he pivots towards the door, the chiselled expanse that is Taehyung’s right shoulder unintentionally brushes against the pointed corner of Irene’s baby blue blazer and the scoff she lets out signals that she is more than vexed. He places his hand on the doorknob before turning around, his gaze settling on the far distance between the door to you.

“So I'll see you in photography, then?” he asks. You plop yourself on the chocolate suede couch and nod slowly, noticing the difficulty trying to comprehend what has transpired. “Great,” he says as he flashes you a boxy grin. “I'll see you then,” he pauses, reluctantly twisting his head to view the jet-black haired gremlin stood no more than a few feet away from him.

Five-foot squat and filled to the brim with scathing ice, Irene is plenty to look at, but her reputation for becoming a social usurper precedes her. Taehyung was well aware of her numerous exploits and found himself wishing for a swift exit from any potential involvement in any of her future schemes.

“And good morning to you, Irene,” he adds quickly, the grin he beamed just moments ago vanishing under a tight-lipped smile and a short nod. Irene returns his greeting with a disingenuous, silent smile, raising up her perfectly manicured fingers in a dismissive wave. As Taehyung disappears behind the door with a click, the soft thud of the heavy door clatters to a close— leaving you and your ball of bedlam in complete solitude.

The foyer is filled with a thick silence following his departure and you rest an elbow on the armrest of the couch, your chin coming to land on the palm of your hand as you await the inevitable. Irene opens her mouth to say something, but anticipating a response from her, you’re quick to interject.

“I know what you're going to say. Just… don't say it,” you start off low, your fingers tapping against the skin of your cheek.

“Oh, is that an admission of guilt?” Irene shoots back, her arms crossing over her blouse-clad chest as her hip sticks out, accusingly. You’d almost laugh at her childish antics if it weren’t for the exhaustion that now ran throughout your body.

“I didn't realize you had the capability for jealousy,” you reply somewhat more coolly than intended. Proud of yourself for the swift retort, you muster enough courage to continue. “I do have other friends beyond you, you know.” You arch a brow at her as your chin abandons your palm, letting the morning chirps of robins and tits fill between the stiff air that seems to have encompassed following Taehyung’s exit.

“I'm only human,” the degree of Irene’s eye roll has you wanting to rub your own eyes because surely, that hurt. Her heels clack against the hardwood floors as she makes her way towards you. You submit to your willingness to forgive her for wearing shoes in your house if it meant she’d usher the two of you out soon. “Excuse me for finding that a little…weird,” she briskly glances towards the front door once more before turning back to you. “I don't exactly make a habit of smacking my lips on my roommate,” she hisses. Your earlier remarks seem to slide off of whatever conversational armour she donned.

“Irene,” you sigh and relent, kicking off your house slippers. Her icy gaze isn't exactly something you want to deal with right now; it's simply too goddamn early for this, and you haven't even had your coffee yet. Unfortunately for you, all you can do is fully sprawl yourself flat against the sofa and take whatever Irene dishes to you. You muse that you’d rather get scolded in comfort.

“Don’t ‘Irene’ me! I’m serious— when will you admit that you guys are fucking?” Irene persists mercilessly, and if you had water in your mouth, you would have most definitely delivered a hefty spit take. But instead, all you have the energy to do is simply roll your eyes.

Though you and Taehyung aren't fucking, you do realize there isn't an absence of common-law comforts. Come to think of it, you remember those stolen glances between you and him, numerous as they were.

You remember his hand brushing yours, on some occasions even gently grasping for your fingers, and surprisingly enough to you, allowing it to happen. There was no denying the powerful, silent comfort that enveloped you both, and the implications of that comfort were as reassuring as they were inconsolably confusing— maybe even terrifying.

“Hello?” Irene’s voice abruptly snaps you back from your reverie. Her head hangs over yours as a poof of cool air brushes against your face as her hand waves over your vision.

“No,” you groan at her insistence, batting her arm away. “We’re not fucking.”

“Well you're certainly not platonic,” Irene says, the same hand reaching towards your own to help you back up to your feet. You accept the help, regardless of her nagging. “You're acting as if there isn't anything happening, but it’s obvious that something’s going on.”

“Irene,” you start. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with being comfortable with someone.” The pair of you begin for the doorway before you’re forced to come to a halt as she barks a humourless laugh.

“Oh for the love of god, _____, I'm not an idiot. Whatever the hell that was, seems to be more than comfortable— it just seems flat out dangerous.” Irene taps her fingers, irritated. You run through the thousands of things you could shoot back at her, ultimately deciding against it. It’s just not worth the energy— at least not now.

“Are you done? I’d like to get this day started without your incessant... griping,” you ask, now decidedly less than friendly. Irene doesn't answer, but huffs in annoyance and heads out of the foyer, into the cool morning light. The front door closes, and you sigh heavily, forcing yourself away from the all too inviting comfort of the bed that laid perfectly open for you to rest in upstairs. Sliding on your shoes and hefting your bookbag over your shoulder, you follow her lead as the early spring sun hits your face. “It’s eight in the goddamn morning, how the hell do you look so put together?” you ask incredulously as Irene digs through her purse for her car keys.

“Practice, my dear,” she replies, quite matter-of-factly. “Years, actually. Literal years.” You look down at your own outfit and immediately frown. Somehow, next to her impeccable style, your all-black attire of a hoodie and sweatpants make you feel more like her gay lover than a classmate.

“I always look like a dude next to you.” You kick a rock as you wait for the click of her car to unlock.

“A cute dude,” she sends you a wink. “Don’t worry about it. If anyone’s going be looking at us, it’s going to be me,” she says dramatically, throwing up a hand and briefly striking a pose. “Besides, don’t look so glum. It makes your eyes sag, and you’ll get premature wrinkles.”

You can’t help but grin at her rebuke, all trademark Irene; a spear dripping in sugar.

A week passes seamlessly, except, that’s what you tell yourself. Irene’s words sit at the back of your mind, a spin cycle of what ifs and what could be. You find yourself thinking about her words every moment of every day. Shit. Could it be possible Irene was right? The way you had become with Taehyung wasn’t normal, was it? You think to just last night, how Taehyung had brought home flowers for you- not a gift for a special occasion but simply because they reminded him of you. A year ago, this gesture wouldn’t even hesitate a thought of doubt that something more could be lingering between the forbidden space you two refused to talk about. Not to mention the underlying fizzle of sexual tension that’s filled you two to the brim of existence. The other day, you had caught him right after the shower- looking like he was carved out of stone by Michaelangelo himself. Taut, honey-toned and bare. Nothing but a towel acting as a barrier between your pupils and his pen—”

“Was breakfast okay this morning?” Taehyung whispers to you, eyes filled with anticipation. His query catches you very off guard; it’s not like you were paying attention to Professor Jinhwan at the front of the room anyway. The projector whirs and the voice drones on and on about the importance of the rule of thirds. Your mind is elsewhere yet from the beat of his low voice, Taehyung manages to captivate your attention right away.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Sure was,” you stutter quietly as your gaze meets his— wondering if maybe he caught your lie. As his shoulder presses against yours, you note that he’s wearing that Mont Blanc cologne you like so much. And you once again question if that’s even a regular thing to note. The scent pushes you to lean in closer until you’ve rested your temple on the edge of Taehyung’s grey, wool knit sweater. It’s almost natural for him to shift until you’ve comfortably fit even deeper into his side, the back of your head hitting his chest as his arm circles around your shoulders. It wasn’t always like this. You could recall a distant point in time when you and Taehyung were as thick as thieves, a powerful equilibrium of quiet affection. This affection had rarely proceeded beyond the odd hug, or perhaps a gaze held a moment too long but had seemingly ramped up recently the past little while. The cause of it was beyond you, but the implications were clear enough; something was now definitively brewing between the pair of you. For a second, Irene’s voice chants in your ears, ‘you're acting as if there isn't anything happening, but it’s obvious that something’s going on.’ but as quickly as the notion arises, it fades when Taehyung’s voice picks you out your forced repression. You’ll deal with these thoughts later, is what you always say.

“That’s a relief,” he heaves a sigh. “You know how much I suck at cooking.” That was an understatement. The fact of the matter is that breakfast was nothing short of gummy sludge. The apple and cinnamon oatmeal- rather the attempt at oatmeal-  had a dash too much of cinnamon and he had somehow overcooked the apples to the point of it resembling apple sauce. The worst of it all was the fact that it was instant oatmeal. It wasn't the first time Taehyung had tried to cook a meal for you, but it had been a while since his burnt salad incident. It’s half the reason you’re inclined to pack him a lunch almost every day— convincing yourself it would save both of your lives to not let Taehyung near a stove ever again. It was nice at times though, to have him accompany you in the kitchen when you would prepare meals.

The screen blinks off, and the lights above flare to life again as the presentation ends. You shake yourself back to the present as you and Taehyung partner up for another assignment.

“So, portraits?” He turns over the assignment sheet in his hands before stuffing it into his bag. “I’m sure we can have this wrapped up in no time— do you have plans tonight?”      

Packing up your own things, you begin to open your mouth, but before anything can come out, your phone buzzes in your hand. Momentarily distracted, you take your eyes away from Taehyung’s and glance at the screen.

There’s a text from Irene, a multimedia message. Perplexed, you open it and much to your shock, you’re greeted with a handsome looking selfie of a boy you know only the name of. Lee Minhyuk. The photo had been unceremoniously stolen from his Instagram, no doubt. Your heart freezes, purely out of surprise as you read the long string of heart eye emojis that accompany the attachment.

Irene [1:32pm]: Cancel your plans,, tonight ur going on a date!!! :))

Your lips press into a firm line as your eyes nervously glance between your phone screen and Taehyung. This isn't the first time Irene had pulled something like this; there had been many instances in which she had set you up on blind dates with complete strangers, insisting that your loneliness had come to an end. What Irene didn't know was the abysmal success rate of her spontaneous rendezvous, typically leaving you either bored, completely uninterested, or with a deep desire to leave the date and be home to tell Taehyung how horrible it went. But after every date, every dinner, every disappointment, Irene would still not get the point. It had always caused a small tension between the two of you but had never left any irreversible damage. And you could feel the patience Taehyung had after every date slowly dissipating as he told you after the ninth bad one to stop agreeing to go. You’d try to explain that Irene's insistence was little less than force, and something about her always left you somewhat guilty for not giving her dates a chance. Though you gathered that he never fully understood your dilemma, your appreciation for his ongoing consolation always remained steady.

“I- uh… y-yes, I… think so?” you stutter, your fingers weaving together to encompass your phone from anyone’s view.

It doesn’t go unnoticed how Taehyung’s shoulders sag at the news, his head cocking to the side as he questions your sudden floundered vocabulary. The benefit of knowing you since middle school meant he could catch a secret within the first few sputters of words you could spew.

He usually never asks, yet he’s curious what it is on your phone that has you so flustered, and you are his best friend after all. “Did someone send you a dick pic again?” he asks.

“No!” You bark, shrinking into yourself as the eyes of stray classmates littering around the lecture hall seer towards the pair of you. “No,” you repeat, calmer. “I just…” Your words trail as your gaze focuses past Taehyung’s shoulder to the side of Minhyuk’s head as he chats happily away with a classmate. Your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. You don’t know why you duck as if a baseball had come flying towards you, but you do. With that, your arms quickly grab ahold of Taehyung’s sleeves as you jerk him in front of you, shielding your face from any potential of Minhyuk seeing you.

“What the hell are you doing?” Taehyung is both tentative and concerned because clearly, you’re not alright and your sudden outburst has him wanting to look over his shoulder to see what you’re trying to hide from. However, when he tries, your fingers roughly grab at his jaw, forcing his eyes to remain on you.

“Has Minhyuk always been in this class?” You try to whisper, but of course, Taehyung and his naïve, boyish charm, does not take the hint of obvious secrecy.

“Minhyuk?” he repeats too loudly and you shriek as you slap a hand over your forehead, peering just past the expanse of his arm to see if the familiar head of hair has turned towards you from the sound of his name. You release a breath of relief when you see that he hasn’t. In fact, the seat he occupied moments ago is now completely void.

“Taehyung! How vapid can a human being be? Do you not know an emergency code of silence when necessary?” You release his chin.

Taehyung scoffs. “Vapid? You’re the one acting like there’s an assassin in the room ready to kill you— and honestly, if that’s the case, how dare you use me as a human shield?”

You groan. “You’re so useless sometimes.” You huff as you slide the strap of your bag over your shoulder and make your way towards the exit.

Taehyung can’t help but release another scoff, eyebrow cocked as he follows you out the lecture hall. “Women.” He mutters under his breath.

“Taehyung, your breath seriously stinks,” you scrunch your nose in disgust, swiping his arm away from trying to wrap around your torso. His already wide grin grows tenfold and you squeak when he grasps ahold of you, bringing you close to blow a wet raspberry into your ear. “You’re repulsive!”`

You push him away, lips down turning to a frown as you use the sleeve of your sweater to wipe his cold saliva from the shell of your ear. You don’t expect his hand to grab ahold of your wrist and twist it behind your back as he breathes a humid miasma of onion directly in your face.

It’s beyond disgusting, and you gag. Fully. He’s crazy. “Taehyung!”

“You’re the one who dared me to take a bite of the spoiled onion— and now thanks to you, I’ll get food poisoning!” His hands shoot upwards in surrender. You think back to five minutes ago when you challenged him to eat the onion the pair of you had neglected the disposal of for four months now. You didn’t actually think he’d go through with it, but seconds later you had heard a crunch and saw him chewing a piece of the onion, little white hairs and all. You found yourself being the one reacting far more sickened than he was as he continued chewing the putrid vegetable with a straight face. And in true Taehyung fashion, he made your own practical joke backfire on you. Reaching behind you, his fingers wrap around the onion in a futile attempt to shove it in your face. Anticipating this, you throw yourself onto him, the pair of you tumbling to the living room floor.

“I think,” you grunt as you try pinning his arms to his sides. “That my patience with you is beginning to run out…”

Of course, Taehyung lets you pin them above his head, it’s a weakness he would never admit because when it came to the furrow of your eyebrows and that demure pout of yours, he was putty between your fingers.

“Really? I thought you ran out of patience with me years ago,” he beams you a full set of pearly white teeth as he flips you on your back without warning. The yelp you let out is expected when he pins your arms against the curve of your sides in success— his lips tantalizing close to your own. There’s a beat of a pause that lingers between you, the gleam in the coffee of his eyes sparkling with something akin to desire, yet it quickly fades to that of mischief as he plants a violent, impactful raspberry to your neck— playing against your inability to do anything against it. You lay there, helpless, shrieking lightly in equal parts laughter and confusion over the sudden tingle in your chest.

Taehyung pins your arms above your head relentlessly with one arm, the other one gripping your side, tickling the weak points that lay there.

“Taehyung!” you scream in protest. “I have to go get ready! Meaning, you better remove your stinky, grubby self from me before I break your twig arms in two.”

“Twig arms?” his voice raises an octave higher as he drops your hands, his face metamorphosing into a scowl. “What do you mean, twig arms?”

You cackle in triumph, a finger stretching out to press against his chest, relishing in the victory so long as it lasted.

“If I can’t physically break you, I can always break your spirit,” you hiss teasingly, feeling sufficiently content that the tables have finally been turned against him. However, he seems to take legitimate offence to this, but his vulnerability shows but for a moment, and his icy exterior soon freezes over his pale face once again. He releases you, a smile crossing his face for a faint moment, and he sticks out his hand in reconciliation to help you from the floor. Without a moment’s hesitation, you take his hand, and his arms lift you from the floorboards a little too easily.

“So, when is Min-hulk coming to pick you up, anyway?” he asks, almost accusingly, and you note a subtle hostility detected in his typically timid tone.

“Didn’t you say you partnered with him for that food photography assignment? And suddenly you’ve forgotten his name?” Your eyes roll for the hundredth time that evening before they widen in horror as you glance at your watch; you’ve got exactly 32 minutes before your date. “Ah, shit!” Your shoulder involuntarily shoves against Taehyung as you scramble towards the stairs that lead to your bedroom. How had time slipped by you so quickly? Flinging your bedroom door open, you march towards your dresser as a very present brown-haired pursuant saunters behind you relentlessly.

“You know, you could be a little less rude about it.” It’s an unwanted suggestion and you’re getting seemingly more irritated as he continues trailing after your every move. Just as you shove past him once again, the back of his knees knock against the edge of your bed, forcing him to have a seat. He raises a questioning eyebrow, wearing a pout as he observes your route of panic between your closet and your dresser.

“I haven’t even showered yet!” you exclaim as you rush into your attached washroom.

“But I like your day-old hair…” he calls from the bedroom, the echo of his voice doesn’t make it very far before it’s abruptly cut from the sharp snap of your bathroom door shutting. You’re disrobed in record time, almost a nude blur as you take the fastest shower you think you’ve ever taken; the water wasn’t even warm. Your towel barely clings around the curves of your body as you step out the washroom, a shriek leaving you upon seeing Taehyung exactly where you left him. “Sorry,” he says as he closes his eyes and holds up his hands in a mock attempt to blind himself. A genuine attempt at subterfuge, but it did not hold, for you noticed the ever so slight spread of his fingers allowing a quick glance at your figure and the not so subtle tongue that pokes out to dab at his bottom lip.

However, you find his subtle scrutiny… arousing. You can’t help but notice in that moment his gawky self, incorruptibly charming as always, radiating a youthful brilliance that so easily filled your heart with joy. You bite your lip and a brief moment passes before shaking yourself out of it. Not only were you under a dry spell, but your mind was also now resorting to Taehyung of all people to fantasize over. Inwardly, you force a gag.

The gag that might have happened if he put his—

“What is it?” Taehyung asks, his voice glazed with a hint of concern.

“What?” you’ve been staring at his damn dick the whole time. “N-nothing— I’m naked, get out!” Truthfully, you didn’t mind if he stayed. Your mind strays briefly to the thought that he’s never seen you in the nude before, despite knowing you well over ten years. Your memories fade to the awkward, prepubescent pile of limbs that was Taehyung— that atrocious bowl he called a haircut, the almost-too-long arms and legs. You had joked that he’d never be able to find a girlfriend looking like that, but now it was almost impossible to miss the droves of fawning women over his devilish looks and childish buffoonery. Granted, the wonderment of puberty hit Taehyung with great fortune- unlike yourself- though, he’d reprimand you for even thinking that. Come to think of it, he had always built you up, hadn’t he?

Taehyung offers immediate surrender, sulking slowly out of your room. He doesn’t make it two feet out of your door before turning back for a split second.

“But you are planning on wearing more than that towel, right?”

He just barely dodges the article of clothing that flies towards him, chuckling to himself as you shout through gritted teeth. “Out!”

As Taehyung watches you step down the staircase dripping in a crimson bodice jumpsuit, hair perfectly curled and pushed to one side, lips full and encased in rose gloss; he feels his mouth physically part in awe. To him, it feels like those moments you would see on television where the main love interest watches as his muse descends down the stairwell like a classic Lainey Boggs trope. However, you are not the result of a dramatic makeover montage- no, to him, you are already Galadriel. You are already pure perfection and much to his misfortune, in this tale he is merely the best friend. In this tale, you are not his muse, you are someone else’s— even if it’s just for tonight. The bubble of bitterness that overtakes him is too overwhelming. Why tonight was any different from the other inevitable failed dates you have gone on is beyond him. Perhaps it’s because he knows your date would not take notice in the way you cover your mouth when you laugh, or, know that said laughter usually comes from nerves because if you were in true hysterics, you don’t care who’s looking your way. And that’s what makes you perfect.

“Well?” You ask, high heels hanging from the fingers of your right hand. He knows you won’t last the night in them.

“Hm?” Taehyung replies, hand running through the lush of his brown locks. The black shirt he adorns stretches around his torso as he brushes his fingers through his hair. The slight rise in his shirt allows you to see the faint trace of his abs. So he has been working out.

If only for a moment, you feel something so inescapable and powerful it suddenly draws you towards him— as if you had crossed an event horizon. Briefly, you consider cancelling the date and simply staying home with him tonight. “How do I look?”

“Like a bargain bin Jessica Alba.” And just as suddenly as it had come, the feeling evaporates. So much for thinking he had always built you up. What was up his ass suddenly?

You scoff, digging your phone out of the purse hanging from your shoulder to check how much time you have remaining. “Whatever.”

Taehyung feels the slightest pang of guilt because the truth is he wants nothing more than to be the one you’ve dressed up so nicely for. But of course, he’d never admit that.

As your foot leaves the last step of the stairwell, you move towards the kitchen counter. “Pizza’s in the oven-—, please for the sake of our beautiful home, remember to turn it off after taking the pizza out?” You turn towards him, leaning against the granite counter as you raise a concerning eyebrow accompanied with a quick flash of a loving grin.

Taehyung follows after you, arms crossed as he observes you once more. You’re wearing the necklace he gave you, how disrespectful? “I’m not an idiot.” He spits out. The furrow in your eyebrows reveal your brief confusion as you open your mouth to speak.

“Oh really? Should I bring up the burnt salad?” Smart girl, he thinks. How was he supposed to know people ate lettuce raw just out of the fridge like that?

Just as he’s about to retort, the doorbell rings and Taehyung is once again filled with venom. He wishes under his breath that you have the worst time and that you come home quick. He knows he’s being selfish, that he shouldn’t be feeling this way. He knows he has no right directing this anger towards you either but the soft scent of his favourite perfume radiating from your skin drives him to a bloodlust.

You look at him, pointing a finger in his direction as you walk backwards towards the door. “This house better be intact by the time I get home.” He’s even more sour that you don’t kiss his cheek goodnight like usual.

Taehyung doesn’t look when you open the door. He pushes himself off the kitchen counter and walks towards the living room where he can eavesdrop on the small (and dry, might he add) conversation at the door. His eyes roll as he hears something along the lines of “you look beautiful,” from Minhyuk’s mouth. He closes his eyes, wanting this torturously boring conversation to end already as his head leans on the backrest. Crossing his arms over his chest, he listens to your voice that’s grown three octaves higher as you express your gratitude.

“Bye, Tae!” You shout from the door and Taehyung replies with something of a grunt. He hears you pause, waiting expectantly for something a little bit more but when you don’t receive anything further, he hears the sigh you let out followed by the sound of the door slowly closing.

When you return home a few hours later, the house is completely dark-— the only light being from the plethora of text messages you’ve received from Irene. You simply don’t have the heart to tell her this one was going nowhere either and that maybe just maybe she was right about Taehyung. You try to be as quiet as you can while you kick off the heels, your feet screaming in immediate relief as they finally get to conform to their natural state. You exhale the softest of groans as your feet pad along the hardwood floor, each step relieving the pent up ache. Your date went well. In fact, you would say it was uncharacteristically stellar, bottom to top. Nothing you’ve ever had before it could compare, and you solely doubted that anything would ever come close to it.

It was the magnum opus of nights out. The man had outdone himself; it wasn’t exactly a wonder before why so many wished for him, but now you had a taste of why it was so.

There had passed the rising action, the climax, and now, approximately three wonderful hours later, the time had come to the denouement. However, you realized you couldn’t help but be distracted the entire night. Something had been sitting at the back of your mind. Truth be told, it had been picking at you all day. Minhyuk was wonderful but you definitely weren’t ready for whatever he was willing to give you. The wow factor was there but the spark was almost completely non-existent. Besides, Taehyung seemed to occupy your mind more frequently, in ways you hadn’t imagined before. Through forceful conversations and smiles that didn’t quite surface your eyes, your mind continuously wandered back to your best friend. How was it that even the light brush of his skin against your own now fill you with a sense of excitement? Maybe even in some ways, you’d be too shy to admit to.

You would be lying to yourself if you didn’t admit that you’d thought about it; how those full lips would feel against yours, his taut arms wrapped around you holding you in fervour and lust. You’d seen the ghost of his girth through his boxers once or twice, chalking it up to your imagination how well he’d fit inside you. You want to slap yourself, feeling dirty for even thinking that way. As you ascend up the stairs, you can see the sliver of light that emits through the bottom crack of Taehyung’s bedroom door. God, he’s awake. You’re not sure if you’re relieved or anxious. How were you supposed to break it to him that this was another dead end of a date? That is if he asks but by the looks of it, he’s not phased by your arrival. You’re not sure if that hurts or alleviates the constant thoughts of him that litter your mind.

On the other side of the oak barrier, Taehyung is laying on his bed, flipping through an old comic he’s read over five times. He doesn’t want to know how your date went, instead, finding solace within the confinements of his room. He can hear the clattering outside his door, the water running to surely remove your makeup, the shlaaack of your dresser drawers opening. He’s never noticed how thin the walls were. He gives it 20 minutes before his door handle twists and your head pokes into his room. Your gaze filters through the room, starting at the desk against the right wall which turns out empty. Upon seeing this, you shift your eyes towards the bed where you see Taehyung laying in bed, donning boxers and a navy blue t-shirt. If it were anyone else, he’d be seething to have someone barge in like this. But it’s not just anyone; it’s you.

“I’m back.” You widen the door as you step in. Taehyung looks up from the pages of his comic that he wasn’t very focused on anyway and swipes his bottom lip with his tongue when his eyes fixate on you. How were you even more beautiful wearing his t-shirt than you were dressed up for the date? Your hair is in a bun, your face freshly washed and glowing. You’re awkwardly playing with the hem of your (his) shirt that falls just below your baby pink pyjama shorts. For a moment, Taehyung thinks to himself that he’s the luckiest man in the world to see you like this; you’re even more beautiful to him than anything else in this state; Min-yuck didn’t know what he was missing. He pulls back the duvet next to him and nods towards the empty space. It’s a silent offering for you to join him and you swear, if you squint hard enough, you could almost see a trace of your imprint etched into the mattress from how many times you’ve done this. Some nights you’d stay until morning, falling asleep with your limbs tangled in knots around one another. Other times you’d talk about everything and nothing all at once until you’d have to finally give into the desert in your mouth and sandbags in the inner ducts of your eyes. Tonight seemed to be one of those nights.

You shriek as your toes promptly dash across the chilled hardwood floor. “Cold, cold, cold!” you chant until you’ve sprung yourself onto his mattress; the bed flopping in such an aggression that it sends Taehyung’s comic flying out of his fingers.

“Easy there, She-Hulk— you’re going to break the bed before either of us get to go green,” he says as he thrusts his hips mockingly in the air, his tongue spilling out of his face and his eyes crossing. You roll your eyes at his juvenile remarks, still all classic Taehyung.

“You know, comments like that can make you extremely repulsive.” He turns over in bed to face you, unfazed by your comment and a giant boxed grin stretched across his face. He’s heard it all before, after all, ceaseless jabs at his immaturity. None of it had actually managed to make it through his seemingly impenetrable shield of humour, but even if it did he wouldn’t show it.

And this was definitely not one of those cases.

Something was different. There wasn’t the usual spark of jaunty humour he sprinkled in his voice; no, this was something far more intense, something far more carnal than you were used to.

You let out a groan in protest as his arms stretch to wrap around you, pulling you into his side. But you can’t resist for too long. You’re immediately met with warmth as you let your head fall against Taehyung’s chest, his arm stretching around your shoulders to fit you more comfortably against his body.

There’s an ambient silence that follows your arrival, you’re focused on the stretch of his shirt against his pecks and he’s playing with the strand of hair that seemed to have escaped the hold of your hair tie. Come to think of it, the pillow that is his chest seems to have become more firm, taut against your cheek as time has passed. The arm wrapped around you flexes with every readjusting and you can’t help but titter admiringly as you stretch your neck to face him.

“So, did you have a good time?” He asks. In his head, Taehyung figures it’s the most delicate way to ask you how the date went.

“I did yeah… The shoes killed me though,” you say as you point to your poor, beaten feet and wriggle your toes. The action itself draws a hiss from between your teeth and Taehyung finds himself immediately letting his hold around you go as he tends to your feet.

Your giggles morph into a breathless sigh, relief flooding into your veins from the sheer pleasure of Taehyung’s hands kneading at the heels of your feet. The noises that escape you are too sinful to his ears. For a moment, he thinks you’re doing this on purpose. You on the other hand, are watching him carefully. The balm of your left heel in the palm of his hand as he wrings and squeezes your toes causes the muscles in his biceps to shift with every movement. Suddenly his shirt seems to be barely fitting around his barrel chest, the fabric stretching against what you could only see as the outline of his nipples. Your lips purse and you contemplate if you should openly admit that you’re merely staring because he seems to have gotten that much more handsome as the years have passed. “Have you been working out?” You blurt.

He didn’t think he’d been gaining anything, working out was just something his friend Jungkook got him into to relieve some steam. “Have you been checking me out?” It makes a signature boxy grin form on his face as he looks up from the foot he’s been deliciously massaging. You scrunch your nose in distaste and kick his hands away. The giggle that bubbles from him leave your cheeks painted a shade of red. You had been checking him out lately. You turn your head to finally look his way, and grin back when you see he’s focused nowhere but on you.

“It’s a good look.” You mumble, bringing the duvet up to your face as you let the words hit him. When it does, he’s lurching towards you to rip the fabric barrier away from you. Another perfectly rectangular smile adorning the stretch of his lips as he snuggles next to you again. The only light in the room coming from his bed lamp allows the brush of your lashes to be shadowed onto the perfectly sculpted apples of your cheeks. It drives Taehyung to kiss it- an action that is not unusual between the two of you. You’re not sure when the kissing started but neither of you ever protested since it began. He kisses your other cheek, it’s light and sweet but it leaves a subtle scorch as he pulls away. The sweet form of endearment riles an effect that you hadn’t experienced before whenever Taehyung kisses you which is why it takes you by surprise when he moves down to kiss the edge of your jaw. That kiss suddenly burns an inferno into your chest, imprinting your so deepest desires to the edge of your mind.

“I’m glad you think so,” the warmth of his breath fans across the heat of your skin and suddenly you feel that familiar, yet foreign fizzle in the middle of your chest. When he catches your gaze with your own, the pupils of his eyes are dilated, a reflection of pure mirth hidden in the caramel of his eyes. Through the million times you’ve cuddled up to him, this is the first you’ve felt this bare in front of him. Suddenly you’re aware of the very prominent slick that’s clinging to the inside of your panties. You don’t know where this feeling has suddenly arisen from but you do know that you want nothing more than him, in this moment.

“T-taehyung?” Your voice is hushed, quivering at the slightest when the expanse of his hand brushes along the exposed skin of your stomach. He doesn’t apologize like he usually would, instead bravely pushing the fabric of your shirt a little higher as he circles his thumb along your skin. Every stroke of his thumb sends your cunt into an ocean of hot slick, your brain fogging with nothing but carnal want for that thumb to be circling your tingling clit.

“Hm?” He replies, too nonchalantly. It riddles you with disgrace for even being aroused in this moment. Did he not feel this as well? The breath you release is shaky and unsure as you try to think of anything else to keep your thoughts away from the callused stroke of his thumb that’s made it towards your hip bone. You note that he’s moved lower, and the sudden kiss he plants on the base of your neck is the one that sends you over the edge. Now, the thrum in your veins is too powerful, too overwhelming to ignore. You push his hand away a little more forcefully than you would have liked. It takes both of you by surprise. But before he’s able to apologize, you’ve pushed yourself off your back and practically tossed yourself onto him. Straddling his hips, your lips find his. The kiss is slow, tentative and you sigh in relief when you feel him reciprocate. You think that you’d deal with the consequences later but the heat you’re feeling surging through the depths of your bones sends you into a rapacious drive to achieve what you most desire. And in this moment, it’s him.

Taehyung tastes like mouthwash and the twizzlers he must have been munching on prior to your arrival. It’s sweet and you’re already addicted to the way his lips seem to form perfectly against your own. You can barely catch a break as your lips smack in even greater fervour, his hands coming down to the expanse of your ass. “Fuck.” He mumbles against your mouth as he kneads the meat of your ass underneath the palm of his fingers. Your hands clamour against his shirt, gnawing at the fabric in an indication that you want it off right away. Taehyung obliges, unlatching your lips briefly so he can pull the fabric over his head before tossing it somewhere on the floor. He cups your face with both hands and brings your mouth to his once again. You sink into him, letting his hands fall down to your hips as he guides them repeatedly over his growing bulge. You can practically feel your sex dripping through not only your panties but your shorts too as Taehyung growls against you before tugging on your bottom lip. “These, off. Now.” He pulls at the layer of barrier that’s keeping him from finger fucking your cunt. He wants to leave you a screaming mess by the end of this, he wants his name to chant off your tongue only for him. This drive alone sends Taehyung to flip you over to your back so you’re now underneath him. He plants hasty kisses along your neck before bunching the shirt you have on above your breasts so he can lick at the bud of your nipple. The wanton whimper you let out has him nearly come right then and there. Never would he have ever imagined you like this, underneath him looking like such a salacious beauty-— it almost makes him emotional. He tugs at your pyjama shorts and panties all in one, not wasting time to strip off the two fabrics individually. He’s waited too long for this moment and he needs to make you feel good, right now. “Fuck, _____.” You’ve noticed his already baritone voice has lowered in bass as he watches the honey drip from between your legs. “Is this how badly you want me to fuck that pretty cunt?” He uses his pointer finger to stroke a line over your slit, collecting your arousal in one swipe. You shiver at the single touch, gladly taking his finger into your mouth as he offers you to suck it clean. “You like tasting yourself, don’t you baby?” You nod in response, a mewl leaving you as he retracts his fingers from your mouth and teases the opening of your slit with it.

“Nnng!” You cry out when he plunges his finger into you, your walls immediately inviting the digit as they squeeze around him.

“Holy fuck,” You’re tight, and it leaves Taehyung’s aching erection twitching underneath the restraints of his boxers. The merciless curl of his fingers send you into muffled moaning and whining as you squirm against his touch. He can’t help but stare in awe at the carnal beauty laid underneath him like this, speared to his finger as you desperately try to reach the high you lust for. “Just like that, baby, come for me-— fuck.” He feels the lining of your cunt squeeze around his digit in such demand, he’s afraid if this was his dick, you’d deliciously suffocate it. As he fucks you with his finger, your eyes are rolled back. You just look so beautiful, he can’t help himself. He dives in between your thighs and licks a fat stroke up your slit. Your body freezes, the sensation of his wet muscle against your sensitive clit so euphoric, you could cry. He starts in figure eights, slow, deliberate and with a nudge of your fingers lacing through the brown lush of his, he gains speed. His tongue flicks over your clit, it’s merciless and sloppy. The sensation of his tongue sucking, flicking, smoothly running across your nub has your back arching off the mattress. The room is filled with your cries of elation. With each pump of his fingers and each stroke of his tongue, eventually, you give in. Your orgasm ripples over you as you convulse underneath him, desperately milking his finger as the aftershock of the electricity surging through your entire body fizzles until your head pulses with an overloaded amount of dopamine. Chest heaving, you’re stunned at the hunger that remains within you, You’re not done yet, you just want more. Pushing yourself off the mattress, you hook your right arm around Taehyung’s neck as you hungrily plant your lips against his. It’s strange, tasting yourself like this but the notion of it all is even more arousing to you. Your left arm finds its way to the very visible bulge of his erection, getting a feel for his cock as you palm it against the cloth of his black boxers. You’re ready to give back the favour. Taehyung hisses against your mouth, releasing your lips before he speaks. “You can do that some other time, but you and I both know I’m taking you now.” He kisses you once again and firmly guides you back onto the mattress. He’s quick to discard his boxers, your eyes nearly leaving the sockets of your skull as you gaze at his cock. It’s thick and long, tanner than the already honey-kissed tone of his skin, and the head is a dusted pink that looks all too inviting to shove down your throat. In all truth, it might be the biggest you’ve ever seen. The biggest you could ever think of. The magnum opus of cocks you’ve ever feasted on.

Holy shit…

It has your mouth salivating as you watch him pump himself a few times before urging your legs apart. You don’t think it’s possible for your cunt to soak even more, feeling the dribble of your arousal stream down your outer lips. You give into his command, allowing him to line himself up for your eager sex.

“Mm…” You moan as the velvet tip circles around your clit, the feeling sending bolts of sparks through your abdomen. The deep rumble that falls past Taehyung’s lips as he pushes his head into your cunt makes you immediately clench around his thick shaft. He places two hands on either side of your head as he slowly pushes into you. You feel the short stinging pinches as the initial resistance of his too large of a cock pushes into you. He kisses the tip of your nose, eyes focused on yours as he whispers dirty profanities. “You’re doing so well baby, taking my cock so fucking well.” Every inch you take draws the neediest of moans past the plump of your lips. It’s when he sinks deeper into you until your pelvic bones are touching, that you feel the tears of pure rapture sting at the inner corners of your eyes. Your lips ghost around each other as you both moan at the sensation. The stretch is so deliciously painful, you want nothing more than to have this moment for a lifetime. This feeling, this sinful lust of two human bodies connecting in the most vulnerable of ways makes you sink your teeth onto your bottom lip as Taehyung rolls his hips out before inching them back in. He hisses, your walls desperately clinging to the ridges of his cock as he begins a slow pace.

“God, you feel so fucking good. So tight.” He pushes his hips forward once more and your cunt eagerly invites him in, clenching, squeezing around him like the perfect fucking angel you are. Once the initial sting of his cock is coated from your insatiable wetness, you’re desperate for more. Moving away from your mouth, Taehyung spreads your legs further apart, grabbing a hold of your shirt around his fist as he begins rocking into you. Your fingers scramble for his torso, digging your nails into his sides as he picks up the pace. “You’re doing so fucking well baby-— so fucking good- fuck.” Your moans grow louder, followed by the sound of skin slapping on skin as Taehyung unapologetically fucks you into his mattress. With each thrust, you suck him in deeper than the last. You want him deeper, harder, fucked out until you’re seeing white.

“M-more,” you whimper and he happily follows your command, raising your ankles until they sit perfectly on either side of his shoulders, so he can just hit the area you both need to be sent to heaven and back. Your mixed guttural moans fill the ambience of his room as he fucks into you so feverishly, you can’t warn him when you’re about to come all of over his cock. “Oh my g-god,” he’s close, so goddamn close-

Beep. beep. beep.

A methodical, near musical but consistent tone. It’s something familiar… Something that makes a distant call to your anxieties, some survival procedure set in place.

Shit... The fire alarm.

It’s the fucking fire alarm.

“Taehyung…” you begin, gasping between deep breaths. “Is… is that the fire alarm?”

Taehyung stops, a full stop as the tone continues. A moment passes, heavy and laden with pure panic as he throws you off in a single motion and dashes toward the kitchen, all buck naked and pure spin cycle. You chuck the duvet off of you as you hastily follow after him. As you reach the last steps of the stairs, you hear Taehyung cursing from the kitchen. At the moment, it’s indiscernible, but within a minute you’re met with a blast of burning smoke coiling your lungs as you’re forced to inhale the scent of burnt pizza. All the windows are opened, followed by the silence of a disabled kitchen smoke alarm. You don’t know whether to laugh or yell at the prominent figure of Taehyung’s plump ass shifting underneath his panicked arms as he swings across the fire alarm with a dish towel. Arms crossed, you shift your eyes towards the charcoaled remains of the veggie pizza you had made him prior to your date.

“Well… You’re going to hate me when I tell you this,” Taehyung starts, placing the rag onto the counter. You tilt your head expectantly as you tap a forefinger against your crossed arm.

“Do enlighten me,” you reply, amused.

“I forgot to turn the oven off,” he finishes.

With these words, you step forward and to him, you look even more exquisite underneath the golden kitchen lights. “You absolute idiot.” you unravel your arms. “Taehyung, how could you? I specifically reminded y-”

Your sentence stops, mid-word. Somehow, without you noticing, he’s crossed the threshold that barred him from you in a flash, his powerful hand now finding itself placed firmly on your neck. He’s squeezing. It’s not hard, but it’s definitely enough to remind you where the balance of power between the two of you now stands.

“Now, was that attitude you’ve just given me?” he asks, almost mockingly.

You had always given him attitude, time and time again. It’s definitive that something is quite certainly different in this occasion. It’s impossible to think otherwise when someone has their hand around your neck.

Even more so when you find yourself dripping in spite of the situation; and not just from your most recent endeavours. Somehow, it’s the sudden authority that now secreted from his whole being; one hand on your neck, the other sliding the fabric of your shirt up your hip. “Don’t think I’m done with you yet.” You find yourself paralyzed. You’d never seen this side of Taehyung before. He releases your throat, and you gasp gratefully; air fills your lungs, and when you exhale you hear nothing but a moan, sprinkled with a shudder of ecstasy that gives away just how incredibly fucking riled up you are. Like it or not, you find yourself completely given to him, and the only thing that floods your cock riddled mind is the thought of him splitting you open and making you gush. Without another word, he spins you until your back hits flat against his chest. You whimper against him as he rides your shirt up your sides and clutches the material in his hand before forcing it above your head. You give in, a fresh wave of arousal clinging to you when you feel his teeth scrape against the shell of your ear. The small action makes you shudder and with a singular persuasive push, you’re leaned onto the counter, chest weighing down onto the cool granite slab. Taehyung leans forward, placing a hand on your back as he pushes your chest further into the countertop, your ass being presented as a meal to feast on. “Should be taught a lesson.” He mumbles, the calloused expanse of his hand sliding up your smooth ass. You wait anxiously, excitement bubbling inside you as you feel him rub the skin before yelping when his palm comes into contact with your right cheek. Using his second and third digit, he uses the tips to paint a tantalizing stripe up your glistening slit. Oh, how badly he wanted to dig in, have you unravel underneath his tongue like this. He spanks you again, hard and your ass quickly flushes to a shade of crimson as he soothes over his mark. He forces your legs apart even farther, your sex now even more exposed to his throbbing member. You’ve never felt this susceptible to someone’s gaze or touch and it fills you with nothing but with further want for him.  

You stick out your ass further, inviting another spank before the sting is alleviated with a single kiss. Taehyung grasps the base of his cock in one hand and grinds it against your sticky slit, teasing it. The other hand slides up the divot in your back as he reaches to grab a fistful of your hair. He pulls with tranquil and your head is forced up. The blunt head of his dick nudges your entrance before it’s sinking in. With a ghost of a gasp, he slides in, and for a moment you’re silent, feeling nothing but his hot member as it penetrates the depths of pure pleasure you never knew you had.

You take him, miraculously enough, to the hilt, silently. He presses against your cervix, his hips grinding against yours as you feel his thumb rub against your clit. You desperately grip onto the edge of the counter, your knuckles pale as you cling from the new sensation of this position. Taehyung slaps your ass again, churning a whimper from you as you’re forced to stare towards the ceiling with your hair encircled around his wrist. He slides out of you until only the edge of his head remains before snapping his hips forward. You both moan, eyes fluttering to a close as he does it once more. His cock fills you so deliciously, you don’t want this feeling to end.

“Tae…” you gasp when he pulls out of you again and releases your hair. Your legs shake against the side of the counter as you twist your head to just see his arms reach for the dish towel sat beside the burnt pizza. It takes you by surprise when you feel the rough fabric of the dish towel slide across your neck. Your head tilts back as he tugs, lining his cock against your sex before rolling his hips back into you.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he grunts with a whisper, one hand on the dish towel around your neck and the other kneading at your ass. The grasp on the towel tightens around the base of your neck before Taehyung is moving his hips again. This time it’s merciless. His hips rock in and out of you with an even greater need than in the bedroom. The towel around your neck limits your airway in the slightest, blood rushing to your head as the mixed moans of you two fill the kitchen. You don’t even care that the windows are wide open, the idea that people could hear the two of you like this exciting your fuel even further. Each rock of his hips sends you closer over the edge, the tip of his girth hitting just the cushion of your cervix. Everything is so carnal, so divinely licentious that within a matter of minutes, you’re coming with a towel around your neck and your best friend’s dick speared to you. Your legs are shaking, cries of his name falling from your lips as he fucks you through your rippling orgasm. He lets go of the towel around your neck, using both his hands to steadily grasp your hips as he pounds into you. It’s doesn’t take long for Taehyung to find his own high, not when you’re quivering underneath him, your cunt clenching so tightly around his cock, it almost hurts in the best way possible. “Fuck.” He groans as he feels his chest tighten before he spills into you. You feel the warm liquid soak into your cunt, profanities chanting out of him as he chases after his own orgasm. He stills, closing his eyes as he plants a wet kiss along your spine. You’re gasping for air, chest rising and falling against the counter as you feel his cock soften inside you. Taehyung releases a breath and pulls out, a string of your mixed arousal dripping out of your fold and down your leg. The sight of that alone makes his cock twitch immediately. All he can think is that you’re delectable and he wants you like this for eternity. You lift yourself off the counter and huff out a breath as you turn around. Taehyung looks down at you, watching the way your face is flushed, the film of sweat filtering over your forehead and the edges of your baby hairs clinging to your neck. The sight is ravishing.

“That was…” you begin, brushing your messy hair away from your face.

“Yeah,” he breathes out. “It was.” Suddenly you’re aware of just how bare you are in front of him, in front of each other. Your eyes rake his torso, down to his now softened length. His honey skin glimmers underneath the kitchen lights, the shadows carving his muscles perfectly. You wish you could’ve taken him in your mouth. “So you have been checking me out.” he beams a grin towards you and you don’t think your cheeks could be any more flushed, surely painted cherry red by now.

You mumble a “maybe,” taking his offering hand as you two make your way back upstairs. Your fingers find themselves naturally intertwining. Even though you had held hands in the past just as friends, this time felt different; it left you with a deep rumble of butterflies in your belly. Now what? What did this mean for you now? Did he feel the same way? Would it merely become a convenient way for you to fuck? Being his roommate and his best friend- maybe Taehyung would use it to his advantage now that he knew you were okay with it. The idea of that pangs you with dejection, not wanting to have this with him purely for the sex. Maybe you do want more, maybe you don’t. You don’t know and frankly, the pounding in your head from the amount you’ve just orgasmed mixed with the dull ache between your thighs doesn’t help the thought process slip by at all. You’re instantly panicked, worried that you’ve ruined a lifelong friendship simply because you were horny and confused about feelings. Feelings. Over your best friend- this was not meant to happen. Taehyung could feel your grip on his hand tighten as you reach his bedroom and it’s as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking. Perhaps knowing you over ten years has something to do with that ability. He leans into you, kissing your cheek in hopes of reassurance. He doesn’t want to bring it up right now in his doorway, not like this.

“Shh, just rest for now.” He whispers and you’re not sure you’ll be able to. You’re met with the cool duvet as you lay down. You’re not chilled for long when Taehyung’s bare and toasty body fills the vacant space next to you. He always loved how well you fit into him- a thought that occurs as you hesitantly curl beside him. “You know I love you, right?” Oh god, you think. Questions like that never ended with anything good. He looks at you expectantly and you’re forced to swallow your worries and reply with a small nod. “Then you should know I plan to love you until you’re forced to stop loving me.”

“What does that even mean?” You yawn as you question him, resting your head on his chest. He licks his lip and releases a shaky breath. You’re prepared for the ultimate worst news. That’s a lie; you’re the farthest from prepared. You take comfort on his chest, relishing that this could quite possibly be the last you get to have your best friend like this. He’s too comfortable, the warmth, the thump of his heartbeat against your ear and the way that damn thumb is circling around the point of your shoulder again has you lulled. A sudden blow of slumber overtakes you and you’re barely able to concentrate on his words as you begin nodding off to the sound of his voice.

“It means that I want this in more ways than I could have ever imagined- always have...I,” he sighs and tightens his arm around you. “I want you in more ways than I could have ever imagined.” He pauses. “I was jealous tonight, I’m jealous every date and I can’t help but be relieved every time you tell me it’s failed,”

“Actually, remember your first kiss with Jimin under that stupid Narnia looking lampost in eighth grade? Don’t get mad- I was just a kid but I beat him up after and told him to stay away from you. And then you got a boyfriend freshmen year of high school- what was his name again? Hoesake...Hosoke...Hoseok? Remember how you cried in my arms the night he broke up with you? I remember every second of it. And then—” Taehyung stops and look down at your silence.

You’ve soundly drifted off with a smile on your face.

“What the hell is this?” You groan at the voice that sounds too much like Irene. Surely that’s not her. It couldn’t be. You’re in the comfort of your bed- Taehyung’s bed to be exact. You’re still dreaming, limbs entangled with Taehyung as his arm rests over the hills of your chest. “If I see that boy’s winkle pop from under those covers, I will resort to drinking.” The comment is followed by an unfamiliar sounding snort. You’re probably having a nightmare. You’ve heard of situations like this, lucid dreaming was it? It really sounds as if she’s right there- wait. Your eyes spring open as your body shoots up from the mattress. It brings along Taehyung’s arm and he grumbles, stirring in his sleep yet unphased that Irene is literally stood at the foot of his bed. Her arms are crossed, lips pursed and foot tapping repeatedly against the floor.

“I-Irene?!” You shriek, scrambling to bring the sheets to your chest as your pupils widen further when you’re met with not only her perfectly primp figure but Jungkook’s next to her. A random addition to an already confusing situation. “Jungkook?” He waves like the idiot he is, a smug grin stretched across his face before he pokes a tongue on the inside of his cheek. It’s as if he had been waiting to catch you like this since he was given birth to. It’s too early to have already spoken more than three words, and you can’t believe Taehyung is still sleeping. “What the hell are you doing here? How did you get in here?”

Irene scoffs as if those were the most absurd questions you could have ever asked. “I think what matters is that you felt the need to lie to me about rubbing genitals with him!” She huffs a breath and her face softens. “You didn’t answer your phone last night so I got worried and,” she turns to face Jungkook. “He was the only person who had a spare key to this house.” Of course Taehyung had given a spare key to Jungkook, no wonder your stock of cup ramen had gone thin recently.

“M’what’s going on?” Taehyung grogs huskily next to you. All gazes snap towards him. His face is puffy with sleep as he peeks through one creaked open eye. When he sees you not directly laid next to him, he adorns a frown. “Are you alright, baby?”

“Baby?” Irene shrills and it pierces both of your ears. Taehyung rubs his eyes and pushes his torso off the mattress, as he views the cause of the commotion. Irene and Jungkook, a pair you wouldn’t have imagined together yet here they were in your house- uninvited nonetheless.

“If you guys wanted to join in on the fun that badly, you could’ve rang. Can’t even get a peaceful morning with my girlfriend.” He grumbles, laying back down into his pillow as he stuffs his face into it.

“Girlfriend?” You and Irene question in unison. Your head snaps towards him and you’re only met with the back of his head.

You rub your face in hopes that maybe just maybe, you’re still dreaming and this is all a part of that lucid dreaming phenomenon. You point towards your ball of bedlam and the hoodie-clad figure stood next to her. “Wha-... how do you two even-”

“They’ve been fucking for months,” Taehyung mumbles from his pillow, answering your unfinished question. As if this morning couldn’t have gotten any weirder. Irene looks appalled and she opens her mouth to say something but shuts it before anything can escape her. You’re at a loss for words and you’re not sure whether to be seething or laughing in hysterics at how ridiculous this whole situation is.

“Irene, what?” You start. Jungkook is silent and Irene is at a loss for words it seems.

“I-I...it’s only been one month,” she stutters, struggling to hold her posture. “Jungkook, you promised not to tell!” She seethes and just as quickly as they arrived, they’re marching out of the room, echoes of their raised voices trailing after their bickering. You’re speechless but the first set of words you speak to Taehyung since your sexual exploits and his rambled confessions are that of inquiry.

“So, girlfriend huh?” Your gaze finds his as he lifts his head off the pillow and cranes his neck towards you. He beams a full-blown toothy boxed grin that you’ve known since you were 11 years old.

“Yeah,” he nods. “Girlfriend.”

all rights reserved © jeongi

a/n: and just like that, we’ve come to an end! i hope you’ve thoroughly enjoyed reading this as much as i loved writing it! please give me as much feedback as possible!! i love interacting with you guys and hearing what you have to say :))

thank you to @sorryimacrapwriter for this wonderful request, i really hope i did it justice for you x

and ultimate thank you to my love, my joy, my afflatus, @meant-for-dreaming for keeping me sane and motivated to get this published. i love u.