#i'm hoping to write with you <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[mastermicd]

well hey, strangers. it's been a minute.

my ridiculously full queue has continued to run one post a day in my absence, but i honestly haven't actually been here for a long while. i've had a lot going on, most of which i won't bore you with. but one factor of my disappearance is the fact that my external hard drive has decided to give up –– which stored my whole indie life. my dearest beloveds ( @bruiseeasily & @krys4lis ) have encouraged me to return despite this.

so i've pulled together some (super rough) new graphics and banners to use, and while i don't have the energy or muse to completely rebrand, i'm hoping that by dipping my toe, the muse might come back!

i plan to continue leaving my queue running as is, and the threads sitting in my drafts will be responded to and dropped into it, though if muse comes back i may look to increase the post frequency. thank you to everyone that has taken the time to reply to things while my only presence has been one post a day. i'm going to really make an effort to engage with the memes my mutuals post to encourage interactions (as i haven't been the best at that, and i can only apologise) and will be keen to get some new things going. new threads won't be put in the queue, at least not at the moment, to not keep you waiting any longer than i already have.

big ramble over! i'd appreciate it if you engaged with this post in some way if you'd like to write –– i'll come and message you on here, or on disco if i have it, to get some things moving again. you might see some memes drop into your inbox over the next few days too. i appreciate you all ♡

p.s. what do you think of the new headers?

[lilybug-02]

Sam is catastrophizing.

Bug Fact: Their ears may be on their legs, but katydids hear a lot like humans do! Scientists have found fluid-filled vesicles resembling and functioning like eardrums.

V2 First || Prev // Next

Volume 2 Masterpost

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[loz-chainsofcorruption]

I was sleepy but wanted to do something so I picked out some memes on Pinterest and redrew them with Warriors while vibing to a specific set of songs I thought suited the mood on loop

Screenshot of playlist for those curious below

[themeraldee]

The Lucky Winner - Part 2

[Masterlist] [Part 1]

18+ Only | 7.3k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Early Season 1. Voice kink (mild). Roleplay. Established Relationship. Masturbation. Dirty Talk. Unprotected sex. 

Summary: After much deliberation you finally decide to meet your hero at a meet & greet.  

Author’s Note: Sorry if the ending of this feels a little confusing. I did have an idea for a retrospective Part 3 of this that would cover the events in between Part 1 & 2, clearing up the confusion a little bit, let me know if you'd be interested!

The metal detector beeps, finally letting you through after the hassle of emptying your entire bag and getting a full body scan. You quickly collect your scanned belongings and you scuttle along, almost sprinting across the now-empty hallway. You’re breathing heavily, holding onto the bag over your shoulder as you reach the right door. Panicked and out of breath you show your pass to the man working the door and he just about lets you in grumbling something about it being way past the time slot and how you’re the last one in. You ignore all of it, instead you focus on your breathing and move along. You inhale sharply through your nose, trying to mask just how winded that rush got you. 

You take your place as the last one in the line. Turning around just in time you see the door guy close off the room, not letting anybody else in. Phew. You just about made it. You smooth out your summer dress, adjusting the bag you had over your shoulder as you look around the hall. God, you’ll be waiting forever!

You knew it would be busy but having usually avoided convention centres it still hits you hard with how overwhelmingly packed the hall is. The ventilation and air conditioning could be state-of-the-art and it would still feel stuffy. Looking around you feel like one of the few people who didn’t bother dressing up like their favourite heroes. You see about thirty Queen Maeves at a quick glance, another twenty Black Noirs, a few of the Seven’s new member Starlight but the most prevalent one is easily a sea of Homelander knock-offs. The sea of cheap red, blue and white assaults your vision, making it actually pretty overwhelming to look around.

For once Homelander is actually drowned out in a sea of look-alikes where normally he stands out like a sore thumb in all his primary-coloured glory. Homelander. Just the thought of seeing him here makes you pick at your nails and bite your lips with anxiety. Sure, you’ve met him before. You’ve talked. You even had sex, really good sex, goddammit. You have history. But still, you’ve never done this. Not the in-public meet & greets that you decided to put yourself through today. But still, you’re doing this for him. 

The longer you’re standing at the end of the line the longer being surrounded by fans dressed in Spirit Halloween versions of the Seven’s costumes is becoming less comical and more uncanny valley. You only wonder what it feels like to them.

You slowly move through the line. Sighing impatiently, your nerves are slowly being replaced by irritation as you watch the interactions play out in front of you. You’re now close enough to see and overhear. Thankfully with each step you take forward the people in front of  you get what they came here for and they leave, making the hall a little more breathable. 

You’re now watching Homelander as he tends to each fan, all puffed up and high energy to replicate the vision they all have of him but you see how much he wishes to be anywhere but here. Most of the Seven do. Vought plucks them from what most expected to be their duties, like saving the world, and instead they drop them in front of cameras and paying fans. You watch as Homelander signs each piece of merchandise his fans bring him, one after another with a smile on his face.

Having seen part of his real self, or the extension of himself he doesn’t show the media you see the smile for what it is. Placating, empty, downright forced. Were you none the wiser you wouldn’t have thought to look past the showmanship but now you knew better. It was easy to notice his tells, his jaw ticks anytime he’s irritated, his eye twitches anytime he has to hold a smile for too long or anytime he’s forced to compliment someone. You overhear his booming stage-voice going, ‘you look great buddy, wear it better than I do!’ for about the twentieth time. The crowd eats it up, again, and somehow they’re blind to his tortured expression. Sure, he hides it very well but if any of them cared to look underneath the surface it would be glaringly obvious. Instead they look at him like the hero they want him to be. Flawless, perfect, serving their needs. The more you’re privy to this viewpoint the more it grates on you. He’s so much more than that! And you don’t understand how they don’t see it. More than that, you're angry that they willfully don’t want to see it. Why would they ruin the image of a perfect hero they look up to when they don’t care to know the person behind the suit in the first place. 

You shake your thoughts away, focusing on keeping up with the queue. Thankfully the hall has now almost emptied, few residual fans loiter around taking pictures of themselves in their costumes with the Seven members right behind them. As it’s almost your turn, and with that the end of the event, you clumsily pull out a postcard out of your bag clutching it in your hands getting it ready to be signed.

With each step you hear him clearer and clearer. Your heartbeat picks up and by the time the Homelander female cosplayer in front of you gets her very own, ‘you might as well take my spot, you pull it off better than me’, your heart is pounding so hard that you think it must grate on Homelander’s nerves. You rub the glossy paper of the postcard in between your fingers trying to distract yourself from the impending doom that’s bound to be caused by whatever comes out of your mouth. Even after all that’s happened between you two, all that history, you cannot stop yourself from feeling flustered in a situation like this.

You’re so stuck in your head that you don’t realise that the lady in front of you already left and all who’s left is…well, you.

You’re broken out of your trance by a familiar voice.

“Looky, looky, who's here? I can't believe you actually showed up at one of these.” There he goes, grinning like a Cheshire cat as he quickly looks you up and down. Already his eyes are glittering with excitement. Your heart skips a beat at his smile. It's more genuine. You see the annoyance seep out of him, his posture a little more relaxed. 

“Yeah…about that. I thought I couldn't really call myself a fan otherwise right?” You rattle off some lines and your anxious mess of a gut is slowly unravelling to make room for the coil of excitement replacing it. Sure, you’re nervous. How couldn't you be. But the place is nearly empty and there isn't much he could say that would get you as flustered as he did the first time.

“Here for an autograph? The one I gave you before wasn't good enough?” Right. Scratch that. You blush a bright red as the images flood back into your mind. And he's grinning so widely, clearly pleased with how he can so easily make you into a blubbering mess. Even if someone overheard, there’s technically nothing dirty about his words but the shiver they send down your spine along with the vivid imagery is enough to make you feel indecent in a public space.

“No—no! It was, um, great. I just—uh—wanted something a little more permanent.” You quickly look around seeing if anyone caught that interaction as if they could read your mind. Well, you are in a room full of superheroes, who knows what they can or can’t do. Thankfully, it doesn’t appear like anyone is interested in Homelander signing a photo for yet another fan. The rest of the Seven is slowly filtering out of the room, finally relieved of their duty.

“Alrighty-doo, let me sign that for you.” He takes his hand out prompting you to put the postcard in his palm. You do so, giving him a little timid smile. Your hands shake a little as you retreat them back by your sides. Catching the way his eyes linger on the movement you cover your shakiness by clasping your hands together in front of you.

“Is this all you want me to sign? Did you really wait the entire line for that?” He says his eyes squinting incredulously as he waves the postcard with his likeness in front of you. Without waiting for your answers he still places it in front of him reaching for his marker pen.

“What was I meant to bring?” You scrunch your eyebrows with confusion. Sure, you weren’t used to going to these events but you still brought something he could sign, that’s good enough, is it not?

“For starters, something that my signature won’t cover entirely.” 

“It’s fine if it covers it.” You brush off his concerns. Really you didn’t care about the signature as much as you cared about seeing him. So placement be damned.

You look as he uncaps the pen, turning the card around. It’s a photo of him in his hero pose standing against a very patriotic background. Originally it came in a pack of seven postcards, one for each member of the Seven. You don’t want to admit that you were so anxious over deciding whether you would even turn up or not that when it came to the day you forgot to bring an item to sign. Hence the pack of generic postcards you bought on the way when you realised that you forgot just about the most important item. This also turned out to be the reason for your tardiness, you spent way too long in the shop just angsting over the small selection of items you could even pick from. 

“You know it's a real shame you of all people didn't come dressed up. I'd like to see you as Mrs Homelander.” He says all cheeky and amused at the image in his head, while he’s fiddling with his marker pen, trying to start his signature for the third time but the ink has run out.  

“Oh no no no, I couldn't. I don't think it would be a good look on me. I mean nobody can rock the uniform like you do!” The idea of dressing up as him was ridiculous, you couldn’t just take that away from him. He’s more than a circus animal to you.

“You think I rock it?” He gives you a look, clearly fishing for compliments while he lets his voice rumble. He might not be in your ear but you still feel a shiver dance down your spine. You don’t think you’ll ever get over the effect his voice has on you. He just knows how to pull your strings. And what’s a puppet to do if not follow.

“It looks very good on you. The colour brings out your eyes.” You make an awkward gesture, pointing at your dress and then your eyes, as if it wasn’t obvious that those two had the same colour on him. You cringe internally but he always seems endeared by your awkwardness. You think it probably feeds his ego. You’re always such a mess in front of him and he slurps it up.

“Wowie, heavy on the flattery today are we?” He’s fiddling with his marker pen, trying to start his signature for the third time but the ink has run out.  “Oh for fucks sakes.” He tries another two times, the leather of his glove creaking with pressure around the pen. You expect him to snap it in half at this point but he just sighs and recaps the used marker, placing it down. He looks around, his jaw ticking as he mumbles, “where the fuck is Ashley…” He rolls his eyes, muttering something about being surrounded by incompetent idiots as he stands up. 

“Just, come with me, I think there are some spares in my dressing room.” He waves his hand, still holding the postcard in the other one.

“Are you sure? It’s really no big deal!” You feel guilty at the way his suggestion sends a shiver up your spine. You’re not entitled to it but the fantasy of him fucking you in his dressing room still plays out in your mind. 

“Nope, you waited your turn. You know I’m not one to leave my biggest fans empty handed.” He winks at you before he beckons you to follow him. You give a short nod and you scurry behind him like a little duckling, mesmerized by the sway of his cape swishing with each purposeful step. You feel your heart rate rise with every step, just being in his presence is overwhelming and the closer you get to his dressing room the more vivid your fantasy gets.

“Righty-ho,” Homelander says as he opens the door to his dressing room, fiddling around to pick up a spare marker. He presses the postcard against the wall signing it for you with a silver sharpie. You stand in the half open door a little awkwardly. Rather than focusing on him, you’re looking around making sure nobody sees you standing in Homelander’s dressing room. He tears you away from your paranoid thoughts as he hands the card back to you with a sing-songy, “there you go!” 

Your eyes widen and you gingerly take the postcard with a “oh, thank you,” and you gently put it back into your bag, not wanting to smear the ink. Part of you was disappointed that he genuinely took you here for innocent reasons. 

Like the open book you’ve always been to him he reads your facial expressions for what they are barking a laugh at the dumb-struck look you were sporting. “What? Did you think I brought you here to fuck you?” He leans against the doorframe, his tone a little condescending and mean. 

You really do your best to recover but your embarrassed blush and the spike in your heart-rate is such a blatant giveaway of your true thoughts. “N-no! I wouldn’t, of course not.” It doesn’t matter what you say in the moment, it’s not wiping the all-knowing smirk off his face.

“Jesus, you’re so easy, you know that?” His gaze is predatory as he looks you up and down again, this time slowly, reaaally taking you in. Before you know what’s happening he yanks you into the room, closing the door behind you. For all his strength he controls it well as you don’t end up with a dislocated shoulder after a move like that.

He cages you in against the door, leaning close to your ear so he can get his voice nice and low and he whispers, “For that kind of slutty behaviour I definitely need to fuck you.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. You love how easily he reads you, there’s nothing you can hide from and you know that these days, you’re his favourite book. In a way it’s liberating, it removes the thoughts behind actions, it removes the second-guessing. You know that he knows what you want. So you don’t have to make propositions and embarrass yourself further, he’s either gonna take you as he pleases or tell you to get lost. So far it’s always been the former. 

His gloved hand grabs the side of your jaw as he leans back and the woodsy, natural scent of leather whiffs past your nose. His other hand is less stationary, he brazenly glides his hand down your dress, generously palming your tits before he slides down further down your waist and back, settling on your ass. “Gotta teach you a lesson that you shouldn't be spreading your legs for men you don't really know that well.” He growls out tilting your head so he’s directly staring into your eyes with his impossibly piercing blues.

“You’re not just a man.” 

“Mhm you got that right.” He purrs all pleased at the obvious stroke to his ego. You’re all flustered, breathy and eager for him and he loves it. The pure adoration and love you give him so easily just flows through him, feeding that black hole starved for affection inside him.

He didn’t wait a second longer to kiss you, one gloved hand still on your jaw, the other quickly moving up to the back of your head pressing you into him. With a moan he kisses you, already acting like you’ve been starving him this entire time. His kisses are feverish, already hot hot hot as his lips ply yours open. You feel his shaky breath hot against your lips while the plush pillows of his lips are pressing against yours in a frenzy.

You wrap your hands around his neck for support more than anything. You know how he gets. Your heart rate has skyrocketed by now, beating hard and loud in his ears as he presses his tongue in between your lips, already wanting to be in you one way or another.

You part your lips for him just like you’d part your legs and you let him kiss you, heavy, hot and wet as he holds you with almost shaky hands trying to get as much as he can out of you.

His ravenous kisses don’t relax you, they make your body feel tight, wound up, always expecting and wanting more. At this moment you need him as much as he needs you. You grind your body against him with each more pressing and needy kiss. You know he can feel you through his suit, even though it’s handily hiding his hard-on. He still moans when you rub against him, clearly just as wound up as you are.

He pulls away, his eyes no longer that bright piercing blue but now his pupils are blown, his gaze lustful and heavy. His breathing is rough and stuttered. Even though he can’t get winded or tired his body is so strained that he pants for you like a thirsty dog.

Homelander takes his time to calm down, wanting to take control of the situation, he wants you to look up at him with those unsuspecting sweet wide doe eyes while he defiles you. And you do, you look up at him, panting out of actual lack of breath and you stare in reverence. 

There he goes, grinning like a shark again and you’re already waiting for the foul words that he’s undoubtedly going to thoroughly wet your panties with.

“Tell me,” he purrs out, seducing you with his dulcet tones. “How many times did you make yourself cum to my voice, huh?” He’s now leaning into your ear again, knowing this is where the occasional brush of his lips makes your body burn bright and hot. “Or to the memory of my cock inside you?” 

You expect him to be filthy and talk with no filter, it’s his specialty behind closed doors, but it still catches you off-guard. It especially does anytime you’re reminded of the time he utterly ruined you for any other man in your home, in your safe space, in your bed.

“I don’t know—many times. I, um, I lost count.” You don’t know exactly what answer he wants from you but you know that he will turn each and every one against you. His hair tickles the side of your face as he nuzzles into you with a small whimper before continuing. 

“Yeah? Maybe you should show me, do it for me. A little performance as a reward for all that I've done for you.” You hear the restraint in his voice. You know he wants nothing more than to just fuck you, have you fall apart on him. For him. But you also know Homelander loves to play. And he doesn’t want the game to be over yet. “You can do that for me, can’t you?” He goads you with that. Homelander knows just as much as he swallows up all your love and affection; you thrive on being reminded of how much you adore and worship him. How much you’d do anything for him. Anything. 

Homelander pulls back from you, his hands now firmly on your waist as if you were a flight risk.

“What do you mean?” You regain some sense of self after he gives your hot and flushed body a little break. 

“I mean you’re gonna sit your pretty ass in that chair, make yourself cum for me, while I watch.” He guides your body towards the further end of the dressing room where he points at a chair in front of a lit vanity table that’s still littered with make-up and brushes from when his team got him ready for today’s event.

Your body is buzzing with excitement but part of you is still a little embarrassed by such a blatantly open display. He wants you to sit in that chair, spread your legs and give him a perfectly lit view of the way you get yourself off? Yeah, that’s not the easiest thing you’ve ever done. But again, for him, you’ll do anything. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” He pulls the chair out a bit tilting his head towards it. He looks at you, blatantly undressing you with his eyes. Literally, undressing. You may not physically feel his x-ray vision but the look in his eyes and the way he stops at your tits with a leery smile on his face is very telling. He doesn’t bother to hide how much he ogles, he knows how much it turns you on anyway. “Come on, panties off and hop on.” He clicks his tongue impatiently.

You sneak your hands under your dress and pull the hem of your panties down. You slide them down your legs until they pool at your ankles where you step out of them with your shoes still on.

Homelander chuckles to himself as he picks up the undergarment inspecting the damage. “You’re like a faucet, always fucking dripping wet.” He brings them closer to his face, inspecting the pair of Homelander-themed panties. He inhales the scent of your pussy now that it’s long seeped into the fabric. “I didn’t think these would be salvageable after last time.” He speaks as if he was talking about the weather and not pure debauchery while he indulges in the scent of your cunt.

“I got more pairs.” You said with a shrug as you got into the chair. You had to jump up a little as it was set on the highest setting for Homelander’s viewing pleasure.

You watch as he tosses the panties on the vanity table in front of you. “You’re gonna have to spread those legs some more.” He tuts with his tongue. You spread your legs as wide as you can in the chair and he shakes his head. “No, nope that won’t do either. Legs up on the arm rests.” He commands and as much as you want to comply, even you have your limits.

“I’m not that flexible!” You yelp out in amusement. “Wait!” You exclaim again except this time he easily manoeuvres you around in that chair with his stupid strength and you feel like a pretzel as you’re being pushed into the right position.

He ends up hooking just one of your legs over the armrest letting you rest it against the vanity table and giving you a comfortable enough position but more importantly, giving him a great view. “See, there you go. Flexible enough.” He pulls off his gloves one by one, throwing them on the table, out of view. “Come on, show off for me,” He coos in your ear, his bare hands, hot and smooth, sliding up your legs picking up the hem of your dress on the way as he pulls it up.

You gasp at the view in front of yourself. In the lit mirror in front of you you see yourself spread wide, your pussy easily visible and glistening in the bright light. This might as well be a porn shoot with how well lit and visible all your parts are. As you instinctively start closing your legs Homelander presses your thighs down, barely putting any power into it yet you feel the unyielding strength thrumming through his fingertips.

“Don’t be shy, you know I’ve seen it all.” He tucks the skirt of your dress above your waist and behind your back. Your hand slowly slinks down to rest on the bunched up fabric of your dress.

He straightens up properly standing behind you, his hands land on your shoulders, close to your neck, squeezing softly. He watches you in the mirror. He extends his pointer finger pushing your jaw up so you look up and meet his gaze. “Keep going, spread that pretty pussy for me.” He growls in your ear as his eyes are locked on the way your fingers slide down your slit, your pointer and middle finger spreading your pussy open for him to see. “Just as I said, like a fucking faucet.” He chuckles at the sight of you drenched and dripping.

You blush at the way he’s staring so intently at your reflection. Your fingers tentatively run up and down, gathering the wetness on your fingers, bringing it up to your clit where you rub small, shy circles around it. You’re taut as a bow and struggling to relax.

“Stop thinking and start feeling.” Homelander purrs in your ear. “I know you can do this for me, can’t you?” His voice sends a hot flush down your body, and you feel your clit throb under your fingers.

“Yeah… I can.” You breathe you, closing your eyes for a second to take a deep breath. The tension slowly leaves your body as Homelander presses soft kisses down the side of your face as he leans over to your other side. You let your hand go on auto-pilot trusting it to know what to do. You suck in a sharp breath as he sucks on your jaw, giving it a little nip while you still circle your clit with a soft squelch of your slick.

“There’s my girl.” He watches as you breathe deeply, your eyes finally opening to watch as he descends more kisses down your neck. You shiver at the sensation, pressing in your fingers a little harder, at the right pressure in the right spot. You’re just about to dip lower, push a finger inside your wet, needy hole but Homelander speaks up. “Uh uh, nothing but my cock is going inside that pussy today so keep your fingers on your clit.” Your entire body prickles with heat all over at his words. He’s so brazen and upfront and no matter how many times you hear it it always makes your head spin and pussy throb. 

You nod a simple ‘okay’ and only ever slide your fingers down to collect more of your own slick. Homelander is whimpering with you as if just the sight of your pussy was enough to get him off. For him, it’s intoxicating. His senses enhance the way your slick squelches loud to his ears and the scent of your pussy just makes him want to stop this little game and rail you already. Yet, he’s a patient man when he wants to be. And more so, indulging in his own desperate urge isn’t as fun as watching you submit to him first.

“Eyes open.” Homelander interrupts the thoughts and visuals in your head. Your eyes snap open and you meet his sharp gaze in the mirror. You didn’t even realise you had them closed. “What were you thinking about?” He asks, almost testing you. As if saying, you better not be straying too far from the path he wants you on.

“‘M thinking about you fucking me.” You say meekly, your fingers rubbing at a particular rhythm now that you know will get you off. Your clit is already throbbing, aching under your fingers.

“Getting a bit ahead of yourself missy, first you’ll have to cum for me.” He says nonchalantly while he pushes the strap of your dress and bra down your free arm. As much as you’ve gotten more used to functioning around him, his voice still makes you dizzy, especially when he’s a master at saying the most depraved shit. 

You pause to help him get out of the other set of straps and when your arm goes up to slip out of the strap he gives your slicked fingers a little suck, tasting you with a pleased grin making you flush hot.

While you go back to rubbing your clit Homelander unclasps your bra from behind your back dropping it on the floor and he pushes your dress down, already groaning at the sight of your tits free for his eyes to feast on. He presses his hands against your tits from either side, groaning at the sensation of the plush pillows underneath his hands.

“That's a good girl, keep rubbing that clit.” He growls out an order, yet somehow he looks more frazzled than you while he's not even the one performing. “Open up,” he whispers, his voice frayed at the edges as he presses two fingers against your lips. Obediently, you open up giving them a suck and laving them with your saliva while you keep eye contact with his reflection. He moans at the raunchy display, his eyes glazing over as he pulls his fingers out. With both his hands back on your tits he pinches your nipples, overwhelming you with the different sensation of one being rubbed wet and the other dry. You whine at the sensation, your pussy throbbing with each hot breath you feel against your neck as he tucks his head against it.

He listens to your heart beat like a drum in his ear, while he gives your nipples all his love and attention. He whispers and moans sweet nothings into your ear whilst watching you rub harder and faster finding the perfect rhythm that has cascading heat climb up your spine. “Thaaat’s it, come on—fuuck—come on, you can cum for me. I know you can.” Homelander watches as your muscles tense, seeing your body just ready to snap. What really does you in is the way he’s whimpering like he’s the one getting off. It’s like he’s sharing all the pleasure you're feeling with you.  

You cum with Homelander’s lips whispering against your ear as you hold your breath, your body tense until it finally gives in and you feel the wave of heat and tingling pleasure wash over you from your core to your limbs. “Ohhh god.” You finally release your breath, your chest heaving with the release.

Homelander is less impressed. Clicking his tongue again against the roof of his mouth.

“Mhm that won’t do, you can do better than that. I’ve seen you cum better than that.” 

You barely have the strength to counteract his claim. This was easily one of your strongest orgasms and he’s trying to say that it was weak? Oh please. You shake your head. You know he’s just playing his little game of ‘I can do whatever the fuck I want’ so you let him.

“Come on, up you go,” He says as he pulls you up on your feet all wobbly and numb from the way you were sitting on the chair. He pushes the chair out of the way with enough force that it topples over with a bang. He bends you over the vanity table where you’re up close and personal with the mirror, watching Homelander’s reflection as he hurriedly unzips his pants pushing them halfway down his thighs. 

You can’t see his cock from this angle but you’re sure it’s rock fucking hard and leaking precum with the way he’s panting like a dog in heat. He’s not even in you and he looks about three strokes away from finishing.

“God, fffuck!” He grits out through his teeth before parting his lips letting a long groan out as the tip of his cock parts your folds, immediately finding your soaked hole and pushing inside with one long slide. He huffs and puffs, his head tilted back as he keeps his eyes shut with restraint. His cock is hot and hard inside you, giving your pussy something to quiver around. 

You’re overstimulated, your nerves totally fried and your body has still nowhere recovered from your performance of a lifetime but you still take him in. You push your ass towards him, whimpering yourself as you feel his hands land on your hips, holding you there. “Look at how your pussy just opens up for me. Taking me riiiight in.” Homelander’s voice is strangled and raspy as he hisses air through his teeth.

You whimper at the way his words leave you buzzing and mindless with pleasure. You prop your elbows against the table as he starts fucking you, dragging his cock agonisingly slowly at first as if he was so sensitive he was about to bust. 

Thankfully that gives you some time to recover and your pussy is no longer screaming at you that it’s too much. He gives you more and more with each thrust, letting out a breathy soft moan each time he hits home. Tip to hilt on every slide. 

His boots kick your legs together giving him a tighter, more pronounced feel. That’s where he really starts to pick up speed. He moves his hands up, gripping where the fabric of your dress is still bunched up as he wholeheartedly fucks into you, minding his strength of course, he gives you what you can take and not a drop more.

You’re so deliciously taken in by him that you barely remember where you are and that you reaaally shouldn’t be screaming and moaning at the top of your lungs. Against all odds, your body is still so wired up and wound up that you feel the climbing sensation prickle at your nerves, your legs quivering with each stroke.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Homelander pulls out of you unceremoniously and you whine.

“I was so close!” You pull a displeased face in the mirror, looking at his reflection.

“I know. And so does everyone on the other side of that door.” He mumbles as he picks up the panties he tossed earlier on the table except this time he balls them up stuffing them in your mouth. You protest around them, your eyes widening in shock and your body flushing with indecent heat when you get a remnant of your taste from the soaked fabric.

“I don’t need people barging in to see who’s screaming bloody fucking murder.”

He turns you around, swiftly picking you up and plopping you on top of the vanity table where you’re nicely lit from behind. “Now behave, the door’s not locked. I’d rather not have anyone see you like this. Capiche?” You nod fervently, at this point just doing anything to get him back in you. 

“Good girl.” He coos as he pulls your legs up wrapping his forearms underneath your thighs, his hands gripping the sides for easy control. And just like that he slides back into you. You give muffled little sighs into the fabric of your panties as he fucks you hard against the table, making it rattle on its legs. The littered makeup and brushes were now rolling off and in some cases breaking on impact.

“You’re always so fucking worked up. Just need someone to fuck you don’t you. Poor little fangirl, so obsessed with me she doesn’t even have time to date anyone else.” He gives you a sharp grin, his canines sharp like a predator’s would be. You body flushes with embarrassment at the almost degrading comment and with the way you’re gagged and fucked you feel like Homelander’s personal toy. 

He fucks you until your legs tremble in his hold and your eyes flutter shut with each press of his cock deep inside you.

He slows down with the literally mind-melting grinds of his pelvis against yours and instead he looks you straight in the eyes getting your attention. “Did you learn? Will you be good?” You nod. He takes the panties out of your mouth, leaving the now even more damp fabric back on the table. 

You keep your promise and you keep mainly quiet, biting your lips shut and only letting the occasional whimper out as he strokes a particularly good spot inside you. Instead you let your body do the screaming for you. You shake and tremble around him, all tense and hot and Homelander doesn’t need to hear you scream to know that you’re close.

With your lips free again he captures them, as if he’s been starved this entire time without them. He kisses you deep and wet while he bucks into you, slowly losing his impeccable rhythm as he’s so strung out for an orgasm it’s bound to happen any second.

“Ah—I’m, uh, close…” You nearly whisper out, all strangled and needy. Homelander nods, clearly just as far gone. He lets one of your legs go, instead letting you wrap it around his waist as he places his fingers on your clit, giving you the extra push to the finish line.

He doesn’t wait for you as he cums in the next, one, two, three, strokes. But he pushes through still fucking into you while his cock pumps you full of his load. You cum immediately after, it’s more the thought than the faint feeling of him finishing inside you that just pushes you over the edge. A burst of buzzing fireworks sparks behind your eyelids as you close your eyes shut through the euphoria sinking into your bones. 

You’re panting, catching your breath, moaning your residual finish in small whimpers. “Wow, that was—”

There’s a sharp knock on the door.

“Sir, you’re needed on stage in 10 minutes.” Ashley’s panicked shrill can be heard on the other side of the door and your heart stops for a second before realising it’s her. Ashley knows better than to barge into any rooms ever since Homelander’s shown interest in you. 

“Oh well, there goes the afterglow.” You mumble with a tired laugh. Homelander nods quietly as he tucks himself back in, finally spent and satisfied—for the time being at least.

Homelander looks at you with fond hunger, leaning in for a soft kiss. “Yeah. Sorry I have to cut it short.” He grumbles, displeased, as he nuzzles his face in the junction of your neck.

He pulls away, reaching for your bra and passing it to you so you could make yourself presentable again.

“Tell me, did you actually leave the door unlocked?” You ask. 

“No! I don’t want anyone else seeing you like this. Well. I want you out there with me, just not when you’re freshly fucked. That’s all for me.” He gives you a wide grin, unable to stop himself from peppering you with kisses, capturing your lips again hungry for them as if you’re constantly denying him air. 

“Thank you for today.” He breathes hotly against your lips. “You know how to indulge me, I really didn’t think you’d turn up.” He smiles against you, caving in for another kiss.

“What wouldn’t I do for you?” You say with an amused roll to your eyes, but it’s all light-hearted. He knows you really would do anything for him. 

“I haven’t found that out yet.” He rumbles all pleased as he helps you make sense of the mess he made of your dress.

“And you never will,” You beam at him, your heart pounding again but this time it’s just from that overwhelming love you have for him, the butterflies that don’t seem to ever calm down in his presence. Even though you’ve been secretly together for a couple of months ever since the fated phone call, the excitement hasn’t even begun waning yet. 

“Hey, you know, you’re a really great actress. Had me sold quite a few times. Maybe I should get Vought to cast you in a movie alongside me, huh?” He grins as he picks up his gloves, pulling them over his hands again. 

You have to laugh. Sure, you’ve enjoyed role-playing as the obsessed fan that you were a few months ago but it wasn’t all acting. 

“I wasn’t acting! Well, obviously I did with the ‘I don’t know what’s gonna happen’ part but beyond that I was really nervous to be with you like that in a public place. You know how I get. It’s not that I don’t want to be with you publically, it’s just a huge adjustment. So… baby steps.” You finally adjust your dress though you still very much look like you just got railed. 

“Come ooon, let me make you mine officially. Fuck this sneaking around. The people who need to know, know. The rest is not important.” He presents you with his sweet honeyed voice, and he’s cheating really, he knows how much it affects you.

In a way, he’s right. The people who matter at Vought know about you seeing as you’re up at his place every other day but there was something terrifying about announcing to the entire world that you were Homelander’s girlfriend. That’s nothing easy to get used to. He’s not just a celebrity. He is the celebrity. You will have to say bye-bye to the comforts of a private life. But maybe that’s all worth it for him. 

“Okay. How about you go do your job and I go do mine and when you see me for dinner we can talk about it again. Sounds good?” You said as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in for another sweet kiss.

“Sounds good." He repeats before continuing with a fond, "I love you,” which always comes out a little strained. He’s never been able to say it without letting himself drown in the endless pool of emotions that are just swirling around inside him. 

“I love you too. Now go before Ashley has a heart attack. You’re already late.” You kiss him sweetly, adjusting his hair, making it look more purposefully-tousled, less ‘sex-hair’. You let him go, smoothing your hand down his suit. 

“Oh please, I’m the Homelander. Does the party really even start without me there?” He blows a raspberry into the air with a scoff.

“Sure doesn’t, babe.” You shake your head, amused as you watch him wave you off and shut the door behind himself.

You took the time to make yourself look more presentable but you couldn’t leave the room in the state you both left it in. So you collected the things that fell, you wiped the surfaces clean and you trashed whatever broke on the way. It’s the least you could do.

You looked into the mirror, almost not recognising the woman you’ve become over the past few months. Being someone who feeds off your endless adoration has done wonders for your confidence. You no longer feel crazy and obsessive. You’ve finally found someone who’s never gonna have enough of you. Someone who inhales your love like the oxygen he needs to breathe.

You revere Homelander less as an icon and more as a person, as a partner, these days. You know so much more of who he is now and strangely, while he scares others, you’ve never felt safer in his presence. Something about you two just clicks. It’s no wonder he wants to show you to the rest of the world. He wants to lock you in, have people forever associate with him.

And soon enough, there will be no way out.

[Part 3]

Taglist (you can add yourself to be notified anytime I publish a new Homelander story): @morishitoshi

[sanctus-ingenium]

[arthursfuckinghat]

So, I was nosing around the gang's tents and I thought that it was honestly so sweet that so many of them have photographs of themselves or of family right?

Little baby Charles with his parents, a young Susan, young Hosea and Bessie, but then I found something interesting in that pile of junk down the cliff just behind Arthur's tent-

Dutch actually writes notes for his famous camp speeches.

And if you've seen the speech that these notes are referring to, Dutch seemed to simplify it a lot when he recited it, almost dumbing it down for the gang entirely?

Writing notes for an important speech isn't the strange part, but the fact he dumbs them down and that these notes are hidden/thrown away out of sight is really strange to me. It makes me think that this is possibly a rough draft or early version of what he wanted the speech to be, sort of implying that Dutch practices and revises his speeches.

Which, if he ultimately dumbs them down for the gang, then what is the point?

The likely answer is that he holds himself to a higher standard because he feels he's above the gang members, in a way. He's the visionary, the leader, the man in charge, the one who reads philosophy books almost exclusively, to say that Dutch didn't think highly of himself would be a lie. And because the gang is 'below' him, he simplifies his speeches for them - despite majority of the gang being well educated and understanding. He doesn't think that the gang is as intellectual as him.

I made a post previously talking about Dutch and his Evelyn Miller philosophies and how he argues with gang members that don't agree or understand. It's especially interesting how Lenny, also an avid reader, disagrees so strongly with Miller's writings when that's what most of Dutch's philosophies are based on.

It solidifies that Dutch was manipulative from the beginning, and probably long before too.

[oneluckydragon]

I know you,

I walked with you once upon a dream.

I know you,

That look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam.

[rhaenyratargcryen]

i want to hold you close, skin pressed against me tight | logan howlett/wolverine

masterlist ❈

summary: drifting from town to town and never lingering in one place for too long has served you well since you began to realize something might be...different, about you. you've never been able to put a finger on what exactly that difference is, until you end up at the same bar as a mysterious, albeit deeply captivating, stranger. author's note: this literally came from an idea of a reader that could share their own feelings through touch, which then snowballed into an arguably too long one shot (if i'm not careful, that's what i'm going to become known for hahaha) i recently rewatched x-men (2000) after seeing dp&w (twice) and haven't had time to rewatch the others. i know at the end of the first movie, logan leaves the school - so i feel like this would take place, hypothetically, either after he returns/before x2, or between x2 and x-men 3. idk it's not that deep seriously just imagine early 30-something year old hugh jackman's wolverine while you read this <3 kind of still a shithead, not yet entirely traumatized lol!!!

pairing: logan howlett/wolverine x f!reader word count: 10,353 (uhhhh hahaha next question) warnings/tags: pWp (with, y'all!), sloooow burn, user rhaenyratargcryen had to google everyone's powers multiple times just. be warned

18+/mdni i am sooooo serious and please don't repost with or without asking for permission. i'm not into that kind of thing, if you want to share pls reblog!!!!

title is from she wants revenge's "tear you apart"

It’s a Sunday, when Logan finds you. Or, you’d soon come to find, perhaps it was you who had been the one to find him.

You’ve grown accustomed to becoming a familiar face at every shitty bar in every small town your drifter lifestyle drags you to, and this hole-in-the-wall in the Hudson Valley that smells slightly of piss and even more of cigarettes is no different.

The motel down the street that you’d unpacked your menial possessions into is the perfect distance from the dive — you could walk home at the end of the night, and not worry you’d find yourself in trouble with a stranger. Well, the wrong kind of stranger.

Sitting at the end of the bar, you’re nursing your third drink in the fading light of the afternoon as it comes through the row of windows to your right when the light blinks out, abruptly, and you look up to find yourself face to face with a very ruggedly-handsome man with…mutton chops, you think? You snort. They haven’t been in style for centuries.

Your gaze drags across his face, down to his torso, then rests for a beat too long to be appropriate on the way his jeans sit low on his hips, a bit too tight on his thighs if he was to ask you. He stiffens under your wandering eye, watching you carefully as your attention returns to his — begrudgingly, considering he’s disturbing your peace — beautiful face.

He’s hot, you’ll give him that, but you try your best to glare and look unapproachable; it’s a Sunday and you’re drunk on bottom-shelf whiskey, trying desperately to communicate that you’re not quite in the mood for conversation with a stranger at the moment. 

This man will not take a fucking hint. 

He gestures to the seat directly to your right. “Mind if I sit here?”

You glance pointedly at the rest of the seats at the bar, which are all notably empty, but you say nothing and grunt your indifference. This guy doesn’t look the talkative type, but you really hope he isn’t looking for a chat. Luckily, he sits down silently and gestures to the bartender, who seems to recognize him and pours him a finger of whatever you’ve also been drinking.

From the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s picked up the glass and swirled the liquor around in it, but before he can take a swig, he opens his mouth with the glass practically pressed to it and mutters, “You know what you are?”

“That’s an odd fucking thing to say,” you remark, pulling your glass closer to you and closing both fists around it, turning to look directly at him. Your heart stutters as you watch the left side of his mouth curl slightly into a smirk. “Wanna explain to me what the fuck you mean by that, dude?”

The man grunts and throws back his whiskey, swallowing it in one go. Before you can get another word in, he lifts his left hand up, flexing his forearm, and you watch as three shiny, silver pieces of metal pierce through the skin between his knuckles with a sharp snikt sound.

“What the fuck,” you rasp, pressing a hand flat down on the bartop to push yourself up and away from him in the seat next to you, knocking your own drink over in the process. No one else in the bar seems fazed, like he comes in here and does this — whatever this is — often. He doesn’t move, doesn’t make an attempt to come closer to you than he is, and eventually your heartbeat calms down, and your flight response becomes a fight response. You bristle, a bit pissed off at what you read as an attempt to scare the shit out of you for fun.

“What’s your problem?”

“Ain’t got a problem, bub,” the man murmurs, leaning against the bar and grinning, the claws retracting. He wipes the backs on his knuckles off onto the thighs of his jeans, blood staining the denim red. “Was just trying to get you to do whatever it is you can do.”

You thank the bartender, who has dropped a rag in front of you to clean your spilled liquor and replaced your empty glass with a full one. 

“Sweetheart, I could smell you the second I stepped foot through that door. I haven’t seen you around here before, you new in town?”

Smell you? You’re about one more strange statement from him away from losing your goddamn mind. “I’m gonna need you to elaborate on what you mean by smell. Please.”

He leans closer to you, that smirk on his mouth a provocation, so close that you can practically taste the whiskey on his breath. “You ever heard of mutants, dollface?”

—————

Now, seeing as that wasn’t the kind of conversation you wanted to have in public, you had tried to push him — Logan, his name is, you learn — back by his chest, but the man was an immovable object. Probably a good thing you’d ultimately decided it wasn’t worth trying to hit him.

“Excuse me,” you’d uttered, slapping a twenty dollar bill down on the bar top and slipping out of your seat carefully, quickly realizing how drunk you really are. When you right yourself, you turn to him and angle your head to the door behind you.

“We can have this talk somewhere else, yeah?”

Logan had looked up at the bartender, muttered, “Add hers to my tab?” and palmed your money to give back to you, following you across the room. When you’d tried to object, Logan had held his hand up and told you your money wasn’t good here anymore.

Now, you lead him through the door to your room, stripping yourself of your jacket and kicking at the dirty laundry on the floor at the end of the bed at the same time.

“Want to tell me what the fuck that was all about? Do I know you or something?”

“No, sweetheart,” Logan says, unzipping his moto jacket and slipping his arms from the sleeves, revealing a crisp white t-shirt and biceps thicker than your neck. You subtly try to shake your head, snap your attention away from them, but he smirks, catching your eye. “You don’t know me. But I think you’re like me. We’re drawn to each other, you know. It’s like some sort of…beacon, a homing device. I was coming to the bar anyway. I knew what you were, second I saw you.”

“And you think I’m…also a, what, a mutant?”

“Not think. Know. You seriously can’t think of a single thing recently that might have felt a little, I don’t know, off? Can you see things you couldn’t before? Have you been hungrier? Felt more on edge?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying and failing to think of any big change, but you come up short. Shaking your head, you glance back up at him. “No. No, everything’s been the same. I’ve been on the road a bit, moving from place to place, but that isn’t unusual for me.”

“Any particular reason you chose Westchester County to land on?”

“I don’t know…I just,” you blanch, realizing he’s right, except it hasn’t been one big change – it’s been little by little. “I felt drawn east.”

Logan considers this for a moment; you can see the ditch between his eyebrows deepen with thought, before he seems to come to some sort of conclusion.

“I think you been in fight or flight for a long time, trying to survive on scraps and strangers’ generosity. Let me guess. No family left? Nowhere to call home? Somethin’ big and bad happen to you?”

You say nothing and he watches a scowl slip across your face, humming when he realizes he’s cut deep, to the bone.

“C’mere,” Logan murmurs, and you take steps backward as he comes toward you, the backs of your calves meeting the bed. He holds his hands up, palms facing you. “Hey, okay. I won’t hurt you, I promise. I’m not in the business of scaring little girls.”

“I’m not a little girl,” you scoff, staring at him out of the corner of your eye as he advances, albeit a little more slowly, on you.

Logan shakes his head. “You’re still much younger than me, sweetheart.”

“What? You don’t look older than 31, maybe 32.”

“Yeah, well. Looks aren’t everything, okay? I’m just — I’m not in the business of scaring girls. I wouldn’t’a let you bring me back here if I was going to hurt you; that’s not who I am.”

You suppose you don’t have much choice but to trust him. 

“I wanted you to come here,” Logan breathes, hands returning to his sides. He gives you a look, asking permission to move closer to you, to touch you, and you tip your head forward in a slight nod. “So I can do this.”

He grasps your forearm in his hand, places your palm on his bicep, and immediately winces. White flashes in front of your eyes, and a sharp pain nearly splits your head in half. You gasp his name, beg him to stop. When he pulls your hand from him, it almost looks like the print of it has been burned into his skin.

“I have a friend who’s an empath,” Logan murmurs, pupils blown, once his heartbeat has recovered to its resting rate. “She has to touch someone, to affect the way they feel. It’s good for, you know, calming people down in situations where they might be worked up. You, on the other hand…”

Logan trails off and you shake your head, bringing your arms up to fold across your torso, shivering gently. “What? I’m what?”

“I think, when you touched me, you made me feel what you were feeling. You were scared of me, huh? I could feel it, immediately. I could taste copper in my mouth, I started sweating.” Logan laughs softly, running his fingers across the skin of his right hand. “My palms are still sweaty.” 

He’s still staring down at his hands, at the stretch of skin on his arm that still stings with the feeling of you. Your eyes rove over his handsome profile, at his strong nose. His jaw ticks when he looks back over to you, one eyebrow curled.

”Sorry,” he adds. “I didn’t know it would hurt you.”

Already walking past you, Logan gestures toward the bed. “Sit,” he orders, and you blanch and do as he says. He digs a cellular phone out of the front pocket of his jeans and ducks his head, disappearing wordlessly into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Groaning, you fall back onto the bedspread. Fuck, this whole ordeal has sobered you up, and quick. Why is there a strange man in your bathroom? You could make people feel what you’re feeling? What was going to happen now?

You run through every possibility — you could leave before he comes back, abandon your stuff, take your car and run — but by the time you come to any sort of conclusion, Logan emerges from the bathroom. 

“C’mon,” he says, sliding his jacket back over his arms, zipping it up and gesturing toward the door with his head. “Got somebody who wants to meet you.”

You sit up straight and look around at your belongings. Logan seems to take this hint and starts gathering the articles of clothing strewn across the room, along with those still somehow neatly folded in the motel dresser, ignoring your protests and stuffing them in the suitcase open on the floor against the wall. After a few moments of watching Logan pull together your worldly belongings, you fumble with the drawer on the bedside table, open the bible, and pull out your passport and an indeterminate, but large, amount of cash. Logan eyes it but says nothing, and when you zip your suitcase closed, he picks it up for you without a word.

“You won’t need to come back here,” Logan mutters as you slam the tailgate on your truck closed. He points to the room you’d just left, then rounds to the driver’s side of your truck and starts walking across the parking lot, looking over his shoulder to shout, “You can leave your key in the room. There’s plenty of empty beds where we’re headed.”

“And if I don’t want to go?”

Logan stops and turns back to face you, his jaw set. “Pretty soon, people’ll figure out what you are, sweetheart. And they won’t take to you as nicely as I have.”

You snort. Nicely. But you know he’s right. It seems like things are a little different around here, for people like you. But you know that now you know what you are, that will change. As you’re trying to figure out what to say to him, Logan starts backing up.

You’re still unsure of how to talk to this man you’d only recently met, who’d already had a hand in changing your life fundamentally, but you hold a hand up, asking him to stop. He does. He watches you carefully, probably trying to decide whether or not you’re going to run away. You’re still not sure yourself.

“How did you know that you needed me to touch you?”

“Call it gut instinct.”

“It didn’t hurt, by the way,” you murmur, turning to look at him. A few paces away from you, one of Logan’s eyebrows arches, and you wring your hands together.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. It felt good.”

—————

The place you’re headed — plenty of empty beds, he’d said — is less than a ten minute drive from the motel you’d been staying at, it turns out. Logan had told you to wait by your truck while he went back to the bar to pick up his bike, then drove ahead of you all the way there, your headlights illuminating the back of his body. Wrought iron gates await you, and they ease open as you pull up the long gravel drive.

Logan drops his kickstand and leaves his motorcycle directly in front of a large set of wooden doors, and you slow nearly to a stop, trying to decide where’s best for your truck. Logan’s one step ahead of you and dismounts the bike, pointing you toward a line of cars on the other side of the little lot, following you on foot as you shift into park and turn the vehicle off.

“What is this place?”

Logan is popping your tailgate open when you open your door and he pulls your suitcase from the bed — the act takes him little effort, you notice. You thank him and try to take the case from him, but he shakes you off and leads you to the building.

“It’s a school,” Logan says, pushing through the front door. Immediately you’re greeted with the sound of children’s laughter, of feet running on wooden floors, of voices echoing off walls in the distance. You catch the door as it closes behind Logan, trying your best not to be distracted by the subtle opulence of just the foyer.

Logan drops your suitcase by the front window, then unzips his coat, removes it, and hangs it on the coatrack to his right. “We’ll figure out your room situation soon, but I wanna take you down to meet Charles first.”

“Charles?”

“He owns the place,” Logan mutters, crooking a finger to indicate for you to follow him. “He’ll want to see what you can do.”

Pursing your lips, you decide to press your luck with Logan. “What about what you can do? Is it just the claws?”

Logan smirks, coming to an abrupt stop in the dark hallway. He turns to face you, and you can see his teeth shine as he smiles. “What? You hoping for somethin’ else, a bigger show than I gave you earlier?”

You stand your ground with him, but your heart is racing, and he cocks an eyebrow like he can tell. He relents, shrugging.

“I heal pretty fast, too.”

Charles’ office is behind the last door on the left, at the end of the hall, and you’re shocked when Logan knocks, rather than entering the room like he belongs there.

“Come in,” you hear, then realize you hadn’t actually heard it. It’s more like you’d felt it knocking around the inside of your skull. Your heartbeat picks up again.

“It’s okay,” Logan says out of the corner of his mouth. “He does that sometimes.”

The door opens, and you’re met with an almost-empty office — only a bald man sat behind a large wooden desk.

“So,” the man says, folding his hands upon the tabletop. No hello. No, it’s lovely to meet you. “You’re an empath, are you?”

“I — I guess?”

“Hm,” he murmurs, glancing at Logan, who stands behind you and to the left, slightly.

“She is, Chuck,” Logan assures Charles. “I felt it myself. She can show others her emotions, make them feel what she feels. She was scared when she met me — had my heart racin’. I could see myself through her eyes.”

He hadn’t told you that part, and you worry he’d noticed that your heart hadn’t only been racing because you were afraid. Charles clicks his tongue, and surveys you, your dirty shoes, the wild look in your eye, and clears his throat.

“If you wouldn’t mind, young lady, I’d quite like to feel for myself, as well.”

A blush heats up your face and you step forward, throwing a tentative look at Logan over your shoulder. He nods, dispelling any fears, and you step forward until you’re standing at the edge of Charles’s desk. You reach across, shaking, and take the man’s hand in yours.

“Oh,” Charles murmurs, his pupils dilated. “That’s certainly new. You’ve no need to be afraid, dear, we only want to help you. As I’m sure Logan told you, it’s a dangerous world out there, for our kind.”

“And we’re safe here?”

“Yes.”

Logan brushes past you and rounds Charles’s desk, leaning down to murmur something in the man’s ear. You can hear their hushed, hurried voices, but can’t make out what they’re saying, and the longer you stand there as an onlooker, the more out of place you feel. You shift your weight from your left foot to your right foot and look out the window as they talk.

The sun is setting outside — the late summer glow illuminating the office, warming your face — and you decide to clear your throat, drawing the men’s attention back to you.

“If it’s alright, I’d like to be alone for the night. I think.”

“That’s alright, yes,” Charles smiles, raising a hand and curling his fingers inward. The door opens behind you, and you jump. “This is a lot for one day, I understand. Logan, if you would show our guest to a spare room? One in your wing, perhaps, in case she is in need of anything.”

You glance at Logan and watch him nod, then turn and wink at you. You roll your eyes at him. He doesn’t know you, and the familiarity with which he interacts with you is unnerving, but at the same time, you find him intriguing.

It’s almost like the man you met at the bar and the man guiding you out of this room are two entirely separate people. The man from the dive was overeager, compensating for being the one thing there that was out of place. This man is relaxed. This is his home.

You wonder as you watch him if this is who he really is. 

“Charles is telepathic,” Logan murmurs, almost as if he can also hear your thoughts racing. He glances over at you, holding your eye a beat too long. “He’s also telekinetic.”

“Hence the door opening on its own.” You pause. “And the creepy voice inside my head.”

Logan chuckles, shrugging and bending down to retrieve your suitcase from where it now sits at the bottom of the staircase. You watch the muscles in his biceps flex, your mouth suddenly going very dry. “You get used to it. People say he can read every mind within a two-hundred-and-fifty-mile radius of wherever he sits. Can’t imagine all that noise all the time.”

Humming your consensus, you follow him, gaze trapped between his broad shoulders. Even the back of his neck is enticing. “If he could read my mind, why wouldn’t that have been enough for him to know?”

“There’s something different about what you do,” he says, guiding you up the stairs to the second floor and down a long, carpeted hall. “It requires touch. Charles can read your mind, sure, but there’s more to your influence than just your thoughts. It’s baser, more animalistic.”

Finally, the two of you come to a dead end, and Logan opens the nondescript wooden door to your left. He walks inside without waiting to see if you’ll follow and places your suitcase down on the end of the twin-sized bed against the farthest wall.

“You need anything, I’m two doors down across the hall, okay? Seriously. Anything.”

You haven’t moved from where you stopped in the doorway to watch him, one fist pressed against the frame you’re leant up against. He brushes past you, so close you can smell his cheap aftershave, the whiskey on his breath still lingering, though he hasn’t once seemed drunk. The hint of something more pungent. You open your mouth — before he gets too far, you want to ask him the question you haven’t yet had the courage to voice.

“Logan?”

The man pauses, his face inches from yours. Your gaze flicks between his eyes, then down across mouth, to where his throat moves as he swallows. “Hm?”

“Why are you helping me?”

What you mean is, You don’t seem like a generous man. What you mean is, I’m not afraid of you, but I haven’t yet decided if I can trust you. What you mean is, Why me?

He pauses, considering your question, then places one hand on your bicep and squeezes. His eyes are wet, like someone who remembers too much and not enough. Before you can catch your breath, he’s moved on, that same hand now wrapped around the doorknob of his own room. A small smile graces the lower half of his face. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I got a habit a’ pickin’ up strays.”

—————

The days pass by quickly, and they’re exhausting. There’s a war brewing, they all say. A war none of you had ever asked to be a part of, but have no choice in joining. You wake daily before the sun rises, called downstairs to do endless exercises to strengthen your control over your ability, you’ve come to think of it as. The problem is that you’re not sure you’re capable of the things they need you to be capable of.

“Can we stop, for today?”

You’re bent at the waist, arms dangling, both hands clutching the opposite elbow. It helps you decompress. This isn’t physically tiring work, necessarily, but the mental strain is undeniable. You’re avoiding Charles’s gaze, which you know will have a disappointed glean to them.

“What, can’t handle it already?”

You perk up at the sound of Logan’s voice, and when you turn your head towards it, you see him walking towards you across the yard, light wash jeans slung low on his hips once again. The sleeves of his white tee are rolled up, straining against the corded muscle of his biceps, the collar cut into a V at the front.

Since you first met him, you’ve learned a few things about Logan: one, he’s Canadian. Two, he can drink you under the table, and he will absolutely let you drink yourself to sleep, but he always makes sure you end up in your own bed at the end of every night. And three, his powers are more than just the claws: he has a regenerative healing power, alongside superhuman strength, and superhuman stamina. The thought of that last one makes you blush.

You spend most evenings with him on the floor of your room, drinking cheap whiskey while he chain smokes and deals you in after every round of cards he kicks your ass at.

“Need to work on your poker face, darlin’,” he always says, smirking and shuffling the cards again with his lithe, thick fingers. 

And on the nights when you can’t find sleep, he sits up with you in your room, reading Hemingway and Steinbeck and Fitzgerald, even some Stephen King, while you curl up on your side and let the even sound of his breathing lull you unconscious.

You get used to each other’s presence. You don’t talk much while you sit together – is there really anything more to say? He’d clocked you that very first day. You were alone in the world, before, but not anymore.

He doesn’t do this with anyone else, you notice. Allow them into his small circle of trust, or whatever this is. You’re friends, you think. He hasn’t let himself have many of those.

You’ve also learned a few things about yourself, the most important being that with some practice you no longer get a splitting headache using your ability; that you can control when and how you use it; and that you’ve been meditating on some other, perhaps more enjoyable and creative ways, to make use of it.

Although you’d tried to deny it from the start, unfortunately — mostly for yourself — the attraction you feel toward Logan is unshakable. He’s rough, and sharp, and impermeable, but he seems to have a soft spot for you. You can’t tell if it’s the circumstances under which the two of you met that have him feeling that way, but you’ve developed a fun back and forth over the last few weeks.

“What, sweet cheeks,” Logan pokes at you, left hand on his cocked hip. “Is it that hard for you, still?”

Shaking your head, you grin at him, one hand cupped over your eyes to block the sun behind him. You turn to glance at the back of Charles’s chair, already heading away from the two of you. Your attention falls back on Logan.

“C’mere, then,” you murmur, standing up straight and mirroring his body language. One of his eyebrows arches and his canine teeth appear as his smile widens. “I’ll show you how easy I can get it goin’.”

As he crosses the remaining bit of yard between you, that smug look on his face, you channel fury. You push every ounce of attraction and good will you feel toward Logan out of your mind, and you think: anger. I’m angry. At my circumstances. At what the world does to people like me. At how much I’m underestimated — at how much I underestimate myself.

By the time Logan has made it to your side, hand already outstretched, you’ve made up your mind. And you place one hand on the side of his face.

Immediately, you feel heat, but the cracking headache from that first day you’d met never comes. Instead, you feel an ache deep in your gut, a wave of want, of assurance that you’re where you need to be, with exactly the right person. You hold your palm against him for another minute and his face falls forward, towards your chin, before he wraps his hand around your wrist and pulls it away, gasping with relief when you let him go. 

Logan’s cheeks are flushed, and when he looks back up at you, chest heaving, you realize he hadn’t felt your anger. You didn’t have much to be angry about — sad, sure; scared, yes — so anger must have been the wrong emotion to pull from. You’d wanted to get him worked up, but not like this.

Instead, you worry you’ve just ruined any ounce of trust the two of you had built between you. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and leans away from you, his eyes running from the top of your head, down to where your own hands now sit at your sides.

“I’ll talk to you later, kid, okay?”

Logan doesn’t let you respond, instead turning to leave you standing, heart falling, lost in your head in the middle of the yard, while all around you birds chirp and children play.

—————

“Well, well.”

You jump, the back of your head snapping against the top of the inside of the fridge, and you groan, pressing the heel of your hand to the now-tender spot, pulling it away to see if you’ve made yourself bleed.

“Burning the midnight oil?” Logan laughs, padding across the kitchen and rubbing a hand against the top of your head where you knocked it. “Sorry, bub. You okay?”

“I don’t know. Ask me in a few minutes when my eyes uncross.”

You’re too focused on the feeling of his fingers against your scalp to think about anything else. You glance down at Logan’s flannel pajama pants and his bare feet. He grabs you by the shoulders and steers you against the kitchen island behind you.

“Lemme get you some ice.”

You watch, back pressed to the edge of the counter, as Logan pulls a tea towel from one of the kitchen drawers and a tray of ice from the freezer, popping them out onto the towel and folding it into itself, wrapping the tail to give you something to hold onto. You prop it against your skull — instant relief. You eye him warily, accusatory.

“What are you down here for anyway?”

“Same thing as you, I think.”

Logan refills the tray with water and places it back into the freezer, and this thoughtfulness surprises you, you’re embarrassed to admit. You wouldn’t have thought him to be so considerate. Then again, he had just handmade an ice pack for you. Your eyes glaze over and your mouth goes dry just watching his fingers work. 

You haven’t seen him for days, not since you’d accidentally let him feel…whatever it is you feel for him. Every day when you’d gotten out of bed, even when that was before the sun rose, he would always already be gone from his room, the door open and his duvet cover tucked neatly underneath his mattress. He hadn’t taken any of his meals in the dining room with the rest of your peers, hadn’t joined in on any sparring sessions like he usually loved to do. His bike had stayed parked outside — you’d kept an eye out for it every day. You’d begun to worry that something had happened to him.

The silence starts to dig into you. You can’t help it; you have to break it.

“Thought you died, I didn’t see you for so long.”

“Yeah, well. I had some shit to take care of.”

You scoff at that. “I saw your bike outside, Logan, you never left the school. What kind of shit did you have to take care of?”

Another beat of awkward silence, and you can’t stand whatever wall has come up between you. You want to knock it down.

“You remember what you said to me in that bar?”

“What’s that?” Logan looks up at you, a sharp look in his eye. A warning, almost, but unfortunately, you’re feeling a little bolder than usual. Perhaps you’re concussed.

“You said that we were drawn to each other because of our abilities. I think maybe that wasn’t the only reason we found each other.”

He leans back against the freezer and stands quiet for a moment, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath. His dark eyes regard you in the dim light of the kitchen.

You step forward into his space, one hand coming up to press against his chest, through his shirt. The other, the one holding his makeshift ice pack, lands at your side.

Logan’s breath catches in his throat at your touch and he swallows around it, his heart stuttering under your palm. He’s waiting for the feeling to rush into and overwhelm him. It never comes. 

Logan exhales, then reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Your cheeks flush a furious red and he chuckles at the feeling of it against his fingers. You’re tempted to shift your hand over to touch his skin, to fill him with this rush of unexpected desire you feel, but you can’t quell your thoughts that that would be a bad idea. Even though the position you’re in right now might be regarded as a bad idea, too.

Since you met, he’s made it abundantly clear he doesn’t see you as anything more than a friend — if that. But you’ve been replaying the other day in the training yard in your mind, and you can’t shake the feeling that maybe he’s got the same desire you do.

“You know, you’re right,” Logan murmurs, and you cock your head, looking to his face for an explanation. He takes the towel full of ice from your hand by your side and holds it against your head for you. “What you think about me, it’s all true. I’m not a nice man.”

“I don’t know. You say that, but you seem pretty nice to me. You took me in. You’re helping me understand what I am, what I can do. Logan, fuck’s sake, you tuck me into bed when I drink too much.”

Logan laughs softly, tilting his chin to take you in from a different angle. Your heart squeezes in your chest.

“I just can’t figure you out. You act all mean and tough and scary, but I see the way you look at me, and I’ve only known you, what, a handful of weeks? I see how you are with some of the students. I see how you are with Charles. You got some deep, dark past you don’t want anyone knowin’ about, sure, but you’re a nice man, Logan. You’re soft on me. I can tell.”

Considering you for a moment, Logan’s lips parts to respond, then he thinks better of it. His eyes fall from yours to the way your chest expands with every breath. You’ve wondered about you and him, and that one look gives you all the courage you need to say it.

“Since I got here I’ve had this feeling, that with you and me, there’s something bigger. Tell me you feel it too, that I’m not goin’ crazy. And if you don’t, Logan, tell me that, then. Anything to stop this awful, sick feeling I get whenever you walk into the room.”

You wait to see if he’ll tell you to fuck off, that he doesn’t see you that way. That he’s soft on you, sure, but this is as far as it can go. Instead of saying anything at all, he surges forward to claim your mouth with his.

The kiss is hesitant, at first, before Logan can figure out whether you’re going to push him away or not, but when you open your mouth to deepen it, it turns furious. It’s all teeth, tongue, Logan’s hips caging you in and driving you back against the counter behind you. He’s got one hand wrapped around your waist, the other gripping the countertop, and when you carelessly bring a hand up to rest a hand against his cheek, Logan gasps against your mouth. The towel full of ice finds its way into the sink.

Shocked, he peels himself from you, panting. You hadn’t thought about whether you’d project or not when you’d touched him — and if his blown-out pupils are any indication, he’d felt it. All of it. The ache deep in your gut and the clench of your thighs. The flare of your nostrils as his scent hits you, heavy and earthy and masculine. The undeniable way you fit against him, your chest pressed to his, the shock of his hips aligned with yours, like you were made for one another. You want him to have you, have all of you, and with your palm still pressed to his skin, he knows.

“Is that really what you want?”

It’s practically a growl, and you pull your hand from him, allowing him to recover, but only slightly. He’s got himself worked up all on his own. 

You can see in his face that he wants you, too. You nod, bring one hand down to clutch the waistband of his pants and tug him forward against you again. He groans, gathering some of your hair in one hand and gripping it tight. 

“Sweetheart, I’m not exactly a — a gentle guy.”

“Somehow I don’t believe you.”

Logan laughs, breathy, and tilts his head back to take you in. He throws a glance down at your hand tucked into his pants, the backs of your knuckles pressed against the swell of his stomach. “I didn’t have you pegged for the fuck-me-in-the-kitchen type.”

“I’ll let you take me back to your bedroom, if you want.”

Whistling lowly, Logan leans his face in close to yours, the tip of his nose nudging against your cheekbone. “And if I told you I wanted to take you right here?”

“I’d tell you that’s fine, too,” you swallow, angling your face up to try to press your lips to his, but his grip on your hair stops you. He grunts, tugging a little harder, so you have to look into his eyes. They’re soft, wary. For all the talk he talks, he’s a man of few words when it matters, and you can tell he can’t believe you’d want a guy like him. You’re not exactly a gentle girl, either, but he sees how much more the world has gotten to him than it has to you. You’ve still got the potential to be someone who wouldn’t want him.

“You really want me?” You hear the unspoken emphasis. You could have anyone else, and I can’t see why you’d pick me. 

“Since the day we met,” you mutter, his breath against your mouth driving you insane. “Logan, please kiss me.”

He brings his other hand, the one that’s been holding your hips in place this whole time, up to press against your cheek, and he closes the distance between you once again. The hand still gripping his pants tugs them forward, and you can feel his insistent cock where it’s now pressing against you. You moan into Logan’s mouth and this seems to drive him mad, holding your head in his hands like you’ll float away and driving his tongue against yours, languid and fluid but at the same time persistent. 

“C’mon, doll,” he says when you break away to gulp down a breath, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I got a queen bed in my room.”

As Logan drags you out of the kitchen and to the wing of the mansion where the two of you live, practically a world of your own, you trace your fingers down his back over the top of his shirt. His body shivers under your touch and he laughs, turning to look at you as he pushes through into his bedroom.

“Hey, yeah,” you murmur, watching him drag his shirt up and over his head, exposing his bare chest and the patches of short, wiry hair growing there, the vein on his lower stomach that leads your gaze down to wonder at the bulge in his pajama pants. You tear your eyes away and meet his smug stare. “How come I gotta sleep in a twin?”

He laughs at you, reaching out to curl his fingers around the bottom of your sweater and lead you closer to him. He hums, muttering, “Don’t worry about it.”

Then he’s kissing you again, your eyes closing at the sensation of his mouth against yours. His hands are underneath your shirt, skirting across your bare back and now you’re the one shivering under his touch. His fingernails scratch gently against your skin and you moan again, sighing into his open mouth. He smiles before pulling away, only slightly.

“Feels good?”

You nod, flexing your fingers at your sides. You can’t remember the last time someone touched you so sweetly. He catches sight of your hands and runs the tips of his own fingers down your arms.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he says, mouth close to the shell of your ear. He tucks his teeth around it, too, gently, but you cry out at the surprising sensation. “You can touch me.”

You nod and place an open palm against his sternum, his bare skin heating beneath your hand. You want him to feel the way your mouth has dried at the thought of being beneath him in his bed. You want him to know just how far you’ll let him go. When you open your eyes to look at him, a different beast entirely has crossed his face. His mouth curls into a self-satisfied smile.

“Hm,” Logan grunts, nostrils flaring, teeth baring further.  “I can smell how bad you want me, baby. Could down in the kitchen, too. I can feel how tense I make you. Do I still scare you? Huh?”

You shake your head, whisper, “No,” your voice hoarse. “You don’t scare me, Logan.”

“No, I didn’t think so. I don’t even think it scares you, how much you want this. I think it excites you. Think you been wonderin’ what it’d be like for a while, huh?”

Logan’s arm tightens around your waist and pulls you flush against him, your hand trapped between your chests. You gasp, the warmth of his body flooding yours, filling you with heat, with want, which then rushes into Logan, his eyes rolling back at the sensation. 

“I wasn’t sure about you when I first met you,” he bites out, tilting his head to meet your eye again. “But fuck if I wouldn’t move heaven and earth for you now.”

Your heart stutters at the admission, the reassurance that you’re not alone in the way you feel about him. You peel your palm from his skin and sigh in relief when his gaze softens. Logan pushes his face into your neck, lips pressing tenderly to your pulse point, forcing a soft groan from your mouth. You feel him smile against you and when his teeth graze that same spot, your knees buckle beneath you.

Tucking your hands back between your chests, you push Logan gently away from you and he goes willingly, a sharp contrast to the man who was rooted to his barstool the first time you’d tried to touch him. The look on his face would frighten you if he hadn’t spent so much time convincing you he wouldn’t hurt you. His expression is dark, contemplative.

Logan’s eyes watch, hooded with desire, as you back away from him, your knees buckling when the backs of them hit the edge of his bed. As soon as you sit, he begins stalking toward you, your heart racing against your sternum, and you meet his eye just as he reaches you. Taking your cheek in his hand, he angles your face up and watches as your eyelids flutter closed. His hand travels down, fingers running over the side of your neck and cupping the warm flesh where it meets your shoulder.

“I can feel your pulse,” he murmurs into the warm air between you. “It’s racing.”

You gasp when you feel his hand search out your heartbeat through your chest. Opening your eyes to meet his again, you see that the desire in his face has been replaced with something that looks frighteningly close to affection.

He grasps your wrist, thumb rubbing against the soft, sensitive skin above your pulse there, and guides your hand to press against his own heartbeat, a mirror to yours, thundering in his chest, too.

“You do this to me. Not because you want me to know what you’re feeling, sweetheart, because this is how I feel.” He swallows, voice thick in his throat. “I want you so bad.”

The confession comes out rasping, like the words had been ripped from his chest. Your hand trails down his bare stomach, the backs of your knuckles dancing along the planed ridges there. The skin beneath your fingers jumps when you skirt across it. Pushing your fingers into the waistband of the flannel pants, you groan at the sensation of the heat coming off of his skin. “This okay?”

“Fuck, baby, you’re askin’ me if this is okay?” Logan’s hand comes up to cup your cheek once again, and you glance up at the grin on his face. It lights up his eyes. It’s like Logan’s fighting two different parts of himself: the very human desire to be gentle, to be careful, and the beast inside of him that wants to tear you apart.

Laughing, you tug down on the elastic, cheeks heating when you don’t feel another waistband. He’s bare beneath, and as you’re eye-level with his hips, you come face-to-face with his flushed, heavy cock as you strip the fabric from him. The tip of it weeps as you palm him, stroking him gently so his foreskin pulls back and reveals the crimson tint of it. You can’t say you’re shocked by the size of him, considering how large a man he actually is.

“Fuck, Logan,” you breathe, mouth watering, and you know the way you’re looking at him would be a bit embarrassing if he wasn’t looking at you the exact same way, his lashes fluttering as you push the adrenaline coursing through your veins into him. He wraps one big hand around yours and squeezes, groaning at the sensation.

“Here, baby,” he says, pulling your hand from his cock and placing it into your lap. He laughs when you whine in protest, stepping out of his pajama pants entirely and leaving himself naked. You’re still fully clothed and it almost pains you. “Plenty a’ time for me to stuff myself down your throat later.”

The way he says it has a low, fuzzy warmth rushing into your gut, but you quit your protesting when Logan kneels on the floor at your feet. “Lean back.”

You do as he says and inch yourself further up the bed, knees still hanging over the side of the mattress, anchoring yourself to his bedspread with your elbows. Logan crooks his fingers into your own pants, kissing the skin he exposes as he pulls them down, down, leaving you in only your tee shirt and soaked-through panties. He eyes them as you unconsciously angle your knees outward, but ignores your desire completely, instead leaning up to bite the hem of your shirt and drag it up and over your stomach.

Gasping, you rush to pull the fabric from the grip of his teeth and pull it over your head, tossing it to the floor beside the bed and cupping the back of his head in one hand, fingers tangling themselves in the hair at the base of his neck. You ease him upward, his palms pressed into the bed next to your waist, and pull him into a searing kiss, hoping to communicate how you feel without saying a word. Logan pants into your mouth and squirms out of your grip, pupils once again blown wide. He leans down to press his lips to the base of your throat, your elbow falling back to the bed to hold yourself up. 

Your gaze follows his descent down your torso, watching as Logan drops a kiss to your breastbone, to the areola of your right breast, then to the one of your left. His lips engulf your nipple and you moan softly, biting your bottom lip when he flicks his tongue across it. He drags his lips down your stomach, settling against the knot of one soft peak of your hip bone. He bites gently and your stomach clenches at the feeling. When you place a hand against his cheek, his eyes flutter shut, his nostrils flaring at the feeling flooding his body. The pleased, humming warmth he’s making you feel. 

“Logan,” you whisper, watching him continue down, mouthing at the skin on the inside of your thighs, kneading the soft flesh there. “Please.”

“Please what, honey?” You can feel him smirk against you. “Gotta use your words.”

“Please put your mouth on me.”

“Am putting my mouth on you,” he says, smug, and you gasp, tossing your head back when he bites you again, this time enough to make your delicate skin bruise. “Whaddaya want?”

“Want you to fuck me.”

“With my mouth?” Logan tuts, bringing one hand up to pull your panties to the side and expose your warm, wet flesh to the cool air of his bedroom. Your hips twitch. “You sure?”

You angle yourself up, trying desperately to find his mouth and claim it yourself. He laughs at the desperate want plastered across your face. “Oh, fuck off, you god damn tease, just fuck me.”

Logan shakes his head, leaning in to lick along your wet cunt and a sharp, bright cry rips itself from your chest. Your thighs try to close around his head as he presses his thumb into your pubic bone and holds you open, laps at your clit, but he growls and grips one in his hand, wrenching it away from him. His eyes shine up at you from between your legs.

“Why’d’ya wanna do that, huh, baby? You want me to fuck you so bad, don’t make it hard on me,” he murmurs, wrapping his lips around your clit and suckling gently while you cry out. He carries on like that for quite a bit – just his mouth against the most sensitive part of you, fingers pressing into your thighs. Your legs shake and you cover your mouth with your hand; you worry about coming too quickly until he eases up, pushing one finger inside of you to fuck you with.

Your hand grips the hair at the top of his head, and Logan groans at the pressure. Hissing, he presses his palms flat against the insides of your thighs to wrench them further open, encouraging you wordlessly to hook your feet across his back. When he’s satisfied, he crooks a finger around your panties and pulls until they tear, the shreds of fabric no longer an obstacle in the way of seeking out your pleasure. 

“Want me to make you come?” The question is asked with his mouth pressed against your cunt, and you gasp, back arching, at the feeling of his words. “You wanna come on my tongue?”

You nod furiously, writhing as a second finger works itself inside of you, curling upward to meet head-on that spot inside of you that sends sparks behind your eyes. Your heels dig into the skin of his back and you reach down, blindly fumbling for Logan’s hand. He smiles wide and takes it, tangling his fingers with yours as your hips rut against his face. 

He talks you through it between strokes of his tongue against your clit, his fingers pumping in and out as he tells you how good you are for him, how good you feel for him, how he can’t wait to feel you around his cock. You throw an arm across your eyes and whimper, hips twitching as you come down, pulling his hair and crying out for him to let up. He places one last kiss above your cunt, smiling as you gasp, and leans back to admire you.

Logan places your feet on the floor and plants his hands beside you, using the mattress as leverage to hoist himself up above you. He grins down at you and for however fucked out he already looks, you know you must look a thousand times worse.

“Hi, gorgeous,” he murmurs, leaning in for a kiss, giving you a taste of yourself by easing his tongue into your mouth. You can feel his cock, weeping and solid and insistent against your hip. Fuck. 

You groan against him, your lips stretching into a smile as he kisses you languidly and reaches out to help you wrap your arms around his neck. “Here.”

Standing, Logan holds your body close to him. Your head notches into his neck and suckles there while he pulls you up the bed, settling you against the pillows underneath him. He props himself up on one hand as his knees push against the insides of your thighs, opening you up for him.

One hand on your flushed cheek, Logan fists his cock, smiling down at you. “Y’alright there, sweet cheeks?”

“Head’s fuzzy,” you murmur, reaching out to grip his hips with your hands. “Want you.”

Logan smirks, leaning back on his heels and running a hand through his hair, scalp sweaty. Your own fans out behind your head. He gawps down at you. “Look like a goddess like this, you know.”

Your blush deepens and you push a hand against his stomach. “Stop.”

“You do,” he smirks, leaning down to plant kisses across your face, down your jaw, to your neck. “Mm, so fucking pretty when I’ve just made you come. Smell so good.”

You gasp when he presses his mouth right behind your ear, gripping your hips. His cock drags across your stomach, a heavy reminder of his own neglected desire. You reach down to fist a hand around him and tug, pulling a groan from him.

“My girl want me to fuck her proper? Hm?”

Open-mouthed and with a heavy gaze, you watch as Logan sits back and fucks himself up into your fist, hips stuttering when you tighten your grip. His chest glistens with sweat, heaving as you push the burning feeling in your veins through to him. He gasps, stretching a hand down and holding your wrist still.

“Hey,” he growls, head thrown back. “Play fair.”

“Why should I?” He’s glaring down at you now, which only eggs you on. You shrug. “S’fun to watch you come apart like this, big strong man.”

Logan groans, pulling his hips back, and his cock falls from your grasp. “I’ll show you comin’ apart, baby.”

Sitting back on his heels, Logan wraps his hands around your hips and jerks them forward until your cunt is close enough to him that he would barely have to move his own hips to fuck his cock into you.

“You got a condom?”

“It’s okay,” you whimper, shaking your head. “Don’t need one. On the pill. I’m clean.”

Logan looks down at you, trying to gauge what headspace you’re in, if he should grab one anyway – and you shake your head. “Don’t need it, please.”

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” you repeat. He smiles, squeezes your hips tight. He nods, bringing one hand down to grip himself and ease toward you. Runs the head of his cock down your cunt, getting himself nice and slick, up and down and up again until you’re a panting mess, wiggling your hips. It’s torture. “Please, Logan.”

“Oh, now you’re askin’ nice?”

You groan, wild-eyed, and he wants to laugh at the look on your face but he chokes it back. You need him – bad – and he can’t say no to you.

“Alright, baby,” he says, hushed, gripping your thigh with the hand not currently around his cock. Guiding himself to your entrance, Logan pushes his hips forward, groaning as the head of his cock disappears inside of you. Despite how wet you are, the stretch burns, your body unattuned to his size. He presses forward, bit by bit, licking the tip of his thumb and pushing it against your clit to ease your discomfort, and you gasp at the feeling, eyes rolling back. “Shh, shh, it’s okay.”

Once he’s fully seated inside of you, he pulls your hips flush to his, leaning down to press himself to you completely. Hand still pressed to your clit between you, Logan circles his hips, watching your face, how you react. He watches your eyelids flutter, watches you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. He gives a shallow thrust to gauge your readiness, and you moan, low, in the back of your throat. 

“S’okay,” you grunt out, hands braced against the outsides of his thighs, eyes trained on his lips. “Fuck, please. I’m so wet, Logan, please, please fuck me.”

Logan groans, your words going straight to his cock, twitching inside of you. He grips your waist in his hands and gives another exploratory rut, this time short, puncturing. Your breath is pushed out of your lungs. He rocks his hips back once again, pressing forward slow before punctuating the thrust with a sharp jolt, shocking the air from you once again.

Your nails dig into his thighs and he nods, his forehead rubbing against yours. “Okay baby, okay. I’ll fuck you, yeah. This what you want?”

His hips ease back, pulling his cock from your warmth almost all the way, before thrusting back in, deep, to the point. Then again, and again, and again. Your head has fallen back, Logan having to hook an arm around the back of your neck as you’re forced up the bed.

“You’re so warm, pulling me back in, sweetheart, so fucking wet for me. I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’re so tight, god, like you were made for me.” 

“Fuck,” you whisper, mouth pressed to the side of his face. Your cunt tightens around him and you whine. “Already fuckin’ me so good.”

“You gonna come for me, baby? Yeah?”

“Yeah.” And you are. Again. You’re gonna come for him again. His cock is driving into you so fast you can’t escape the warm sensation in your gut – and you don’t want to. It feels so good, it’s like your whole body has turned to goo beneath him. You press a kiss to the underside of his chin, his beard scratching at your lips, but you don’t care. 

“Yeah, baby? Can feel your cunt tight around me, can feel you ‘bout to come.”

“Gonna come, Logan,” you gasp, reaching one hand up and gripping the headboard as tight as you can, but your elbow still folds, your arm putty with the pleasure. He brings his other hand up from your hips to hold you by the top of your head, to keep you from slipping further up the bed, and your hands instinctively come around to clutch his shoulders.

Immediately the pleasure coursing through you lights every nerve ending in his body fucking alive. You feel him tense beneath your fingers, pulse quickening.

His hips snap down onto yours, his cock dragging up against that rough spot inside your cunt, as your orgasm floods through you. You hardly register the deep rumbling coming from his chest as you cling to him. Logan’s breath comes gasping as the feeling of your orgasm floods through him, too, hands gripping the flesh of your ass to hold you in place while he fucks down into you.

His eyes are closed tight, stomach clenching, and when you drag one hand down to rub circles on your clit, he buries his cock deep inside of you and holds himself there. 

You scratch your nails gently down Logan’s back as he basically whimpers into the air between you, leaning up to catch his lips with yours as he rocks his hips, stuffing himself deeper, until you feel him come. He groans and spills himself into you, hips glued to yours, occasionally quavering with the aftershocks of his own orgasm.

“Fuck,” he huffs once he’s back in his body, one hand against your cheek, brushing your hair away from your mouth so he can press a kiss to them. His eyes search for yours, bright and enlivened. “You okay? Huh?”

You nod, your head loose on your neck, and he laughs. “Fuck,” he repeats. “That was fucking crazy. Is that how it feels every time?”

At that you sheepishly shake your head, eyes coming up to meet his. No, that’s not at all how it feels every time. You can tell by the look on his face he’s trying not to seem smug about that.

“That was good, though,” he murmurs, his face softening, “fuck, that was so good.”

He seems more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him. You cry out when he pulls his cock from you, still holding your face and whispering sorry, baby, sorry. He presses a kiss to your mouth between apologies.

He unfolds himself from you and stands, running a hand through his hair. Pulling his pajamas back up over his legs and his shirt over his bare torso, he tells you he’ll be right back, and you must fall asleep after that because the next thing you know you’re curled up on your side while Logan runs a warm, wet washcloth across the inside of your thighs. You hiss at the sensation and he nudges a hand against your hip until you roll over onto your back.

“You sure you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you or nothin’?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, reaching for him and he obliges, dropping the cloth to the floor and crawling up the bed to wrap himself around you, slinging your leg over top of his. “You just wiped me out, s’all. And who thought you’d be so fuckin’ talkative in bed.”

He laughs and presses his lips to the end of your nose, his nose grazing your forehead.

You pull at his shirt and kiss him square on the mouth, a thank you for making you feel so good. So safe with him. Your bare chest is pressed to his, and you know he can probably feel how fast your pulse is racing, arms wrapped around your back. You still in his grip when you feel something pressing against your bare stomach.

He’s hard again. A fire reignites somewhere low in your belly, your mouth watering, and when you catch his eye, he grins, like he can read your thoughts.

“You wanna put that mouth to use now, sweetheart?”

[thesunisatangerine]

playing for keeps – chapter three

alexia putellas x barçakeeper!childhoodfriend!reader

warnings: coarse language, light angst

(a/n in the tags) [chapters: one, two, three, four]

word count: 8.8k

[1]

Just before you turned thirteen your body, finally, began to change. 

While Alexia’d gone ahead of you a year prior—with her limbs now lanky and sinewy, and her muscles stretched close to the newly grown bones—you were left behind. She’d grown taller, yes; not by much but the two-inch difference (two and a half, as Alexia was always inclined to remind you) felt like a foot to you. So the change was welcome when it finally started, and more importantly, it happened to coincide with something that completely altered the trajectory of your life.

During the spring after your birthday, your father got a promotion at work. To celebrate this milestone, he took you and your mother for a trip around Europe. And as a gift for your hard work and for getting into La Masia with Alexia just a few months before, your parents surprised you with tickets to at least one game in the country, or area, you were visiting. 

In Gelsenkirchen, Germany, you found your destiny. 

Or at least that was how you liked to look at it. 

Before seeing the match between Schalke 04 against Stuttgart, the idea of keeping never entered your mind; you’d played forward your whole life, and you thought that would be the position you’d play in professionally. But as you saw Manuel Neuer controlling the outcome of the game with his hands, a spark ignited within you—this overwhelming surge—and right there and then, you were enlightened to the art of keeping. That spark returned home with you and, playing into the hands of fate, your journey to keeping began.

[2]

The crescendo of the cicadas’ song was this close to lulling you to sleep. It didn’t help that Alexia’d curled herself up beside you in your bed, her head on your lap while her math notebook laid forgotten at the foot of the bed, and her eyes already closed. It was a rare occurrence for the both of you and even more so for Alexia to ‘slack off’—if you were to put it as Alexia had—but this afternoon was a particularly hot one. Summer had practically bled into spring, and even someone like Alexia clearly wasn’t immune to its soporific effect. 

The numbers from the homework you were working on began to blur when you heard a knock downstairs. Out of curiosity or just surprise, you snapped awake. And so did Alexia, apparently.

“You expecting someone?” Alexia yawned, stretching out her long limbs before settling over to her other side. The movement made a lock of hair fall to her cheek which you brushed away with the back of your finger.

“No, it’s probably Mamá’s.” You hummed in answer, relaxing down on your pillow to finally chase that nap that continued to tempt you.

But then came your mother’s voice, “Guille! Hello, my boy! How are you?”

Alexia let out a startled yelp when you jumped out of the bed, now fully awake, tripping on the rug as you rushed into the closet. 

“What the hell? What are you doing?!” Alexia hissed with annoyance but you were too busy trying to get changed to address it. 

You snatched the closest pair of shorts and jersey shirt, and began to shed the ones you had on before you slipped the fresh ones on in quick succession. 

As you did, you began to explain, “I completely forgot! I was supposed to meet up with Guille today!”

When your head popped out of your shirt, you found a deep crease between Alexia’s brows. She was sitting in the middle of your bed, cross-legged, looking very much like a disgruntled cat woken from a nap with the way her hair stuck out in odd places. 

She looked adorable. 

You bit your tongue before you could say it.

Crossing her arms, Alexia retorted, “Why? It’s Saturday.” 

The tone she used made it seem that today being a Saturday was a valid enough reason for you to not go. 

“And it is because it’s Saturday—and no training, Alexia—that I can go with him.” 

At that, her frown only seemed to deepen. You had half a mind to tease her but you knew that’d probably just piss her off even more, although if you were being honest, you didn’t understand just why this seemed to bother Alexia so much.  So instead of teasing, you tried a placating tone, “You could come with if you want?”

Alexia opened her mouth, “I—”

Your mother’s shout cut through the air. 

“Honey? Guille is here for you!” 

You sent Alexia one last apologetic glance. 

“I’m really sorry! Please stay for dinner! I’ll be quick!” 

And with a quick hug goodbye, you rushed out of your room and practically flew down the stairs. At the bottom, you found Guille leaning against the bannister, hands in his short pockets, with a small rucksack on his back who, upon seeing you, gave you a bright smile.

“Hey! You look—” He began but then suddenly, his eyes darkened and the quirk of his lips turned upside down, his tone flattening, “Oh. You’re here.”

In the same second you noticed Alexia beside you, Alexia’d slung an arm over your shoulders.

“Lovely to see you as always, Guille. And I could say the same about you.” Alexia deadpanned, flashing Guille a smile full of teeth, her eyes void of any warmth as she stared at him down her nose. Then she turned to you, her face lighting up as she asked with a little too much excitement, “So, are we going or not?”

“Wait, she’s coming with us?” Guille blurted out, but before you could even answer, Alexia left your side and ran down the steps. 

“Of course, Guille! Come on, keep up!” Alexia exclaimed on her way out of the door, tapping Guille’s stomach as she did—not without force apparently with the way Guille expelled air out harshly. 

When you got to him, you placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

“Are you okay?”

He let out a strained, “Yes.”

You gave Guille an apologetic look, grabbing your ball bag. 

“I’m really sorry for the last minute change. I’ll make it up to you.”

Still clutching his stomach, he said, “Don’t worry about it.”

The three of you got to the field near your place—which you were glad to find empty—without any more incidents. You were faced with another problem as it was only after you’d begun warming up that you realized that in your haste to leave, you forgot to bring water with you. When you told Alexia, she offered to go to the nearest corner store to buy some.

You stretched as you waited for Alexia’s return when Guille suddenly said behind you.

“Here.”

Turning, you found him holding a paper parcel bag. You considered his outstretched hand with curiosity before you met his eyes, taking the bag from him slowly. “What’s this?”

“Just a little something to get you started,” he answered, scratching the back of his head. “You said you wanted to keep, so I thought you’d need them.”

Peering into the bag, you gasped at what you found inside. 

A new pair of keeper gloves.

“Guille, you didn’t have to!”

He shrugged, smiling, “Yeah, but I wanted to anyway.”

“Thank you! Come here, you big baby!” You laughed, throwing your arms around him. Unlike Alexia, Guille was only taller than you by mere centimeters so it was relatively easy to ruffle his hair as you pulled away. 

“Mess up my hair again and I won’t teach you anything,” He threatened with a faux glare as he swept his fingers through his curling locks in an attempt to tame them. 

You rolled your eyes, grinning at him. “Okay, Antonio Banderas. So, what are the basics?”

He imitated you, rolling his eyes before he shook his head slightly, his smile never leaving his lips. Then he pointed to a spot by the goal line. “Put your gloves on and stand right there.”

You did, noting the way your new gloves fit perfectly over your hands and fingers. It felt different—stuffy—and you could already feel your palms beginning to sweat from the trapped heat. When you stood where Guille pointed, he walked around you all the while he instructed you to correct your posture: he told you keep your feet shoulder-width apart, to bend your legs slightly so that your chest was just past your knees, and to hold your palms facing out. 

“The main thing to worry about starting out is your stance. It will take time to get the balance right but once you get it down, you’re set.”

“Is this alright?” 

Guille took a step back and he gripped his chin as he hummed. After a moment of scrutiny, he nudged you back suddenly. It wasn’t quite forceful but it made you tumble down on your rear all the same. 

You smiled at him sheepishly, getting up. “I guess that’s a no?”

“Yep. It looks like you keep your weight on your heels too much.” He crouched down at your feet, drawing a square over the front half of your foot. “Keep your weight spread out around here and you should—”

Guille scrambled back suddenly, yelping as a football went flying past where he was just a second ago and into the net. Turning to the direction where the ball came from with your mouth agape, you found Alexia there with water bottles clasped to her chest, an eyebrow raised, while one corner of her mouth was set in a bemused droop, another ball rolling beneath her left foot.

“What the hell was that for, asshole?!” Guille shouted as he stormed his way over to Alexia. He was in front of her now, looking up at her with flame in his eyes but Alexia remained unfazed. She put the water bottles down before she settled her hands on her hips, cocking her head slightly to the side. 

“I’m sorry, Guille. I didn’t see you.” Alexia said flatly, “And aren’t you supposed to be playing keeper?”

“Really. You didn’t see me? Besides—”

“Ale, I asked Guille to teach me.” You huffed, running in between them and separating them with your arms before things got out of hand—again. 

This wasn’t the first time this… row between them happened. In fact, you noticed it’s been occurring more frequently lately. For all their similarities—the main one being their short tempers—the two never got on well together for reasons you never really understood and the only thread that tied them together was you. 

They weren’t always like this though; they were nice with each other the first time they’d met. Guille transferred to your school not long after you’d joined Sabadell, and if you and Alexia were inseparable there, it was always you and Guille at school. And when an opportunity arose for your two favorite persons to meet, you took it. It went well; they were friendly with each other. You only noticed things had changed after you and Guille’s school team started playing against Alexia’s so you were never sure when this all started, and by that point, the friction between them was too great to smoothen out which both saddened and disappointed you.

And it wasn’t like you never tried to get to the bottom of it. You’d asked them what happened, they both gave similar answers. By that, you meant completely avoiding answering. 

Guille’d assured you, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, we’re friends? Don’t worry.” 

While Alexia’d said with a confused frown, “What do you mean? Nothing happened.” 

And when you pestered her, asked her if the reason was because she liked Guille as a joke, she looked at you without reply, and when next practice came, she made a nuisance of herself enough to let you know the answer to your question and more. 

And here you were again, with them acting like this–always at each other’s throats. 

At your answer, Alexia looked at you, confused. “Why would you ask him to teach you how to keep?”

Your gaze lanced away as you bit your lip.

Maybe you should’ve told her after all… 

Mustering up the courage to meet her eye again, you replied, low and serious. “I want to start playing keeper, Alexia.” 

Alexia blinked, and then she crossed her arms before she eyed Guille who was scowling at her in return. She looked at you again. 

“Have you told Alejandro about this?”

“Yes.” 

“Oh.” A pause. “What did he say?”

“I’ll still start as a forward. But he said he’ll put in some extra technical sessions for me starting next week which was why I asked Guille to help me get started. Alejandro said if I get good enough, he’ll see if I can start as keeper for the team.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over you three. 

You caught Guille’s eyes darting from you to Alexia and back again from the corner of your eyes but you remained focused on Alexia’s face. At a glance, Alexia might seem calm—impassive with the way all of her features remained flat. But her eyelids drooped just so they hid more than half of her pupils, how her lower lip was slightly concealed beneath the upper one; she was pissed and even worse, she was hurt. And knowing that you’d hurt her was enough to compel you to reach out and touch her arm, apologetic.

Alexia regarded you for a moment longer. Another word of apology was on the tip of your tongue when she finally sighed, the corner of her lips tilting up to a half-smile as she spoke softly. “Okay. How can I help?”

You couldn’t help yourself. You threw your arms around her and it felt like a weight was lifted from your chest upon hearing the chuckle she let out.

The next couple of hours were spent with the three of you working together: Guille by the goal who continuously gave you notes and instructions, while Alexia—upon Guille’s signal—would send some shots to the net so you could try and stop them. The first… fifty or so shots went right past you—going easy was never exactly Alexia’s strong suit—but the more you focused on getting the timing right and reading the language of Alexia’s body to anticipate the direction of the ball, you ended the session with a few decent saves. 

It was a rough start but you were satisfied with it.

You’d left to use the restroom but upon coming back, the two of them were bickering once more.

Oh, no. What was it now?

You heard more of their words the closer you got, but you didn’t have to move too close with the way they were shouting.

“Come on, dude! Please, don’t tell me you’re still pissed off about that? It was a fair match!”

“How was that fair, Alexia? The two of you playing together is never fair! You’re both in La Masia for crying out loud! And even more importantly, she was supposed to be on my team! That was the original plan, but you went ahead and took her away!”

“What made you think I took her away?” Alexia crossed her arms, scoffing. “Let’s face it. She likes to play with me more than you.”

“You don’t know that!”

That was the moment Alexia spotted you and before you could even get a word in, she said, “Why don’t we just ask her who she’d rather play with?”

Two sets of intense eyes looked your way and without meaning to, you gulped, taking a step back.

“So? Who would you rather play with: me or her?” Guille asked, eyes wide and pleading. 

Suddenly feeling like you were backed into a corner, you stammered in your panic, “Umm, I—”

[3]

Alexia stayed over for dinner that night. That was normal; what was unusual was she left you alone to do the dishes. You had a feeling where she might be, especially since she’d been mostly quiet throughout the whole evening.

After you put away the last dish in the cupboard, and when your arms were finally free from suds, you took a peek into the living room. She wasn’t there—a confirmation of her whereabouts.

Putting on your flip flops, you headed out of the back door. 

The light from the living room casted a faint glow that dissipated the darkness around the garden when you opened the door that led out to it, aiding you just enough to see Alexia on the swing, sitting still with her back hunched forward. Once you were just a few paces behind her, you saw the contours of her headset, but even with them on, there was no way she didn’t know you were there—the fact that your shadow stretched to reach her before you did was a dead give away. Yet still, she made no move to acknowledge your presence.

Okay. That was fair.

“Ale,” you said softly. 

She gave you a glance before she went back to looking down at her clasped hands. 

“Alexia, come on.” 

Still no response. You fiddled with your thumbs as the moment dragged on. 

You sighed, sitting down on your heels next to her.

“I should’ve told you about the keeper thing,” you muttered. “I wanted to get a feel for it first, to get a bit better at it before I told you. But I didn’t consider how that would make you feel… and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you feel that I didn’t want or need you by my side, Alexia. I wanted you to think I was good enough for this.” 

Finally, Alexia turned to you, taking her headset off, the movement barely above a whisper. And softly, she spoke, “What made you think that I’ll think you’re not good enough for anything?”

“I don’t know.” You admitted, pulling at the grass in front of you. Your mother would probably see the hole you’d made on the lawn and berate you for it in the morning but you needed something to keep your hands busy. “I just wanted to go through this without too many expectations. And it’s not like I don’t want to keep our dynamic going. I love playing forward with you, Alexia, but I think keeping is my calling, just like midfield is to you.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I completely understand. You didn’t want any added pressure. I’m not going to hold that against you.” 

“Thank you,” you smiled at her. Then, “So, tell me why are you sulking?”

“I’m not sulking!” Alexia huffed with indignation. Then she looked away again, working her lower lip between her teeth.

You put a hand on her knee. “Alexia, what is it?”

“I…” Alexia sighed, brushing the bridge of her nose with her thumb. You gave her another moment. She heaved another breath before she began.

“That thing you said… Did you really mean it when you said you’d rather play with him than me?”

Oh. So that was what this was about.

“Of course not. We both know it’s always going to be you, Alexia.”

“Then why did you tell him that?”

“I feel like if I didn’t, I’d lose him as a friend.”

“And you’re not worried about losing me?” Alexia cried out, her tone inflected while her eyes reflected her hurt.

You blinked at her. 

There were moments—just like now—where you’d feel a sudden urge to shake Alexia. For all her sharpness and unmatched awareness, she sometimes failed to see even the most obvious of things. Couldn’t she see that you loved her and that you’d follow her to the edge of the earth if she asked you to?

At the absurdity of her question, you really couldn’t help but laugh. You stood up and shuffled behind her before you threw your arms around Alexia’s neck, draping yourself over her broad back, which made the swing move forward. The dampness of her hair felt cool against your cheek, the scent of your shampoo that clung to them filled your senses as you chuckled into her ear. 

“Why are you laughing? I’m serious!”

“Because, Alexia, do you hear yourself? I love you, you idiot!” You giggled again. “I know our friendship isn’t that shallow that I’d lose you over this. Or am I wrong?”

Alexia turned her head and you saw a hint of a smile on her lips. “No, I suppose not.”

A pleasant silence blanketed you both. And then Alexia hummed.

“But if there was something that could break us, what do you think it would be?”

You stopped to ponder, twirling a lock of Alexia’s hair with your finger, noting her hair was nearly dry now. When your mind drew blank, you replied nonchalantly, “Honestly, I have no idea.”

“Good.” Alexia leaned away so she could give you a lopsided smile—an earnest one. “Because me neither.”

[4]

“—you okay?”

You blinked and turned to Alexia. “Hmm?”

She glanced at you for a moment before she turned back to what she was doing, sleeves rolled up as she scrubbed a plate in the soapy water in the sink.

“I said, are you okay? Is there something wrong? You’ve been out of it since practice.” When a moment of silence lapsed, Alexia added, “And don’t think I didn’t notice you on your swing the past few days, too, because I did.”

You looked out the window and watched how the rain sluiced down the glass pane. In the darkness behind the window, you saw glimpses of soaked, curly locks and heard the hasty confession all over again.

You sighed, blinking the memory away.

“Guille asked me out.”

The sound of glass shattering and metal clanging made you jump, and you watched as a casserole pot twirled like a top on the hard, kitchen floor, while fragments of a broken plate skittered out to different directions. 

“Oh, shit!” Alexia cursed, looking down at the mess, while a voice called out from the living room. 

“Alexia, is everything alright in there?'' Came Eli’s voice. A few seconds later, Jaume’s head popped into the kitchen. He glanced at you then his eyes settled on Alexia who was crouched down, looking up guiltily at her father.

“Are you okay, girls?”

“Yes, Papá. I just… dropped some stuff.” Alexia said. You crouched down, too, about to pick up a fragment when Jaume spoke.

“Don’t pick that up, love, you might cut yourself. I’ll do it.” 

Jaume shooed the two of you to a corner he deemed safe and the both of you watched as he picked up the pieces, throwing them in the bin by the back door. Afterwards, he gave Alexia a kiss on her temple, and you a hug and a ruffle to your hair, as he retired for the evening, leaving the two of you again in your own company. Alexia went back to the sink to finish up whatever was left, and you returned to your place on the counter beside her. 

The silence that intruded was cut short by Alexia when she cleared her throat, “So… what did you say?” 

“I haven’t said anything, yet,” you sighed again, looking back out the window, the questions coming back full force. In the eight years you’d known Guille, how long had he harbored those feelings for you? When did it happen? What did you do to make him feel that way?

“Do you like him?” Alexia’s question brought you back to the present.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want him?”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” You laughed slightly, glancing back at Alexia who shrugged her shoulders in answer.

“No, I don’t think so. Desire is a drive, like it makes you want to act. Attraction is just… I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s a weaker feeling. And they complement each other but they’re not the same.”

“And you know this how exactly?” You asked her teasingly, a brow raised.

Alexia averted her eyes, and shrugged your question off with a laugh.

In the moment of silence that followed, you traced Alexia’s profile, and your gaze ended at the elegant curve of the bow of her lips. She looked so pretty casted in the candescent glow of the kitchen light that it made your chest ache just by looking at her. You dropped your eyes to your feet as your mind ran faster than before this entire conversation happened.

Clutching your arms tightly across your chest, you muttered, “I don’t know what I want.” 

[5]

Maybe hoping it would all turn out fine was a bit naive because naturally, Guille didn’t take your rejection well. It was your fault really for expecting otherwise but nevertheless, the inevitable discomfort of disappointment settled like lead in your gut. 

The thing was, you were ready to give Guille the space he needed to accept your boundaries—friends, or nothing at all—and to heal. But accusing Alexia of making you turn against him? Now, that was something you couldn’t let pass. 

He knew he’d crossed a line, too, with the way he kept avoiding you. At first, the silence didn’t bother you; he was hurt, after all. But when the apology never came, you understood that you’d be going through your last year of high school without your closest friend there by your side.

A fortnight passed without any word from him so it surprised you when he showed up at the local meetup that the three of you used to go to. He refused to meet your eyes but he had no problem leveling with the glares Alexia kept giving him. And when you ended up in Alexia’s team, the only sign of his distaste about it was the way his lips flattened to a line. He looked like he was about to say something, but with a slight shake of his head, he turned around and made his way to his teammates.

With one last look at Guille’s retreating back, you tuned back in your team’s conversation.

“—doesn’t need to play keeper. We need her more in the offensive.” Alexia said evenly but when you met her eyes, there was a clear question in them. 

You gave her a slight nod to let her know you were okay. 

She nodded back.

“How will that work? She’s the better keeper.” And then Marco added, “No offense, Julia.” 

Julia only shrugged carelessly, a gesture of nonchalance.

“Julia is perfectly fine and besides, with you, Benji, and Carmen, our backline is already strong. The four of you together lessens our chance of conceding.” Alexia paused, looking over her shoulder to the other team before she faced you all again, continuing, “Our priority is the offensive. What good is a strong backline if we can’t counterattack? That’s why I’m suggesting she play as forward in the meantime, while Martina and I will play as interiors. Does that make sense?”

A collective nodding occurred.

“So just to clarify, we’re playing three–two–one?” Benji asked.

Alexia hummed, nodding her head. “Mostly. If we find the space and some opportunities, we can easily do three–one–two.”

“No pressure on us defenders, right?” Carmen said with a laugh, if not with a hint of nerve. 

Everyone laughed but at the end of it, Alexia placed a hand on Carmen’s shoulder. “No pressure because you guys, as I said, are very strong. You got this.”

Carmen smiled at Alexia at that, nodding before she finally moved to her spot. As you and Alexia moved towards the middle of the pitch, Guille was introduced to your line of sight, and a weight pressed in your gut. Disappointment? Perhaps. Or maybe you just actually missed talking and hanging out with him.

Alexia’s teasing tone pulled away your attention from Guille.  “I hope you haven’t forgotten how to play forward from all the keeping you’ve been doing.”

“Four years of keeping against the five years of playing forward? You need to brush up on your math ‘cause I think you’ve forgotten how to count.” You said dryly, giving her a look so dirty that had her throwing her head back in laughter.

Alexia leveled you with an unimpressed look but her tone remained playful. “You are such a bitch sometimes. You know that, right?”

“Thank you. I do try, you know. It’s my only defense against your smart-mouth.”

“Stop denying you don’t like my teasing.” Alexia waggled her brows as she smirked. The way she looked just then—with both hands on her hips, the ball beneath her left boot—your throat dried, heart racing; a sensation that’d familiarized itself to you during its recurrent visits over the past few weeks. Your mind blanked out, clear as the white of Alexia’s shirt, and when no words came to you to retort back, you shook your head and just laughed. By the time the game started—or maybe it was because it started—the feeling finally went away, replaced by the adrenaline that shot through your veins the moment Alexia kicked the ball to you.

It proved to be a tight game. The main strategy of the opposition seemed to be to mark and shut you and Alexia down whenever the ball so much turned your way. Alexia was right to trust your backline: any counterattack from the other team was dealt with immediately, and Julia only needed to save a handful of shots that passed through your defense, which she handled well.

At last, your team finally made a breakthrough.

Alexia cut a diagonal through the box, taking two of the defenders as she did, freeing up the space just behind her. You knew what she was doing so you faked a sidestep, turning quickly to lose your marker, before you sprinted in towards the middle of the box. And as you anticipated, Alexia sent the ball back to you with a flick of her heel. Now, if you could just—

The ground tilted, and there was a moment where the whole world suspended. It lasted for less than a breath before everything—the sensations and sounds—came rushing back in.

You slammed to the ground. 

Air was squeezed out of your lungs from the impact, while your skull and teeth rattled within the confines of your skin; the taste of green, earth, and copper spread on your tongue. Muffled shouts and grunts filtered past the ringing in your ear but when you cupped a hand over your tender ribs, your resulting groan was all you could hear.

When you finally came to, Alexia’s face was over you, the doubled image of her finally merging into one. Her wide, hazel eyes looked on you with worry and you felt the warmth of her fingers as they grazed over your face: from your temples down to your cheeks which she took in a gentle cradle.

“Alexia?” You let out another groan as you turned on your back while Alexia helped you.

“Tell me where it hurts.”

There was a tension that constricted around the front part of your head, but you could feel the blood pulsing most on the side that collided with the ground. “My head… it hurts.”

“Okay, okay. Just lay down for now, I’ll get you…”

You seemed to have passed out after that because one moment you were lying on the fields, and the next you were beside Alexia on her living room couch. You had a vague recollection of being carried on Alexia’s back, but the feel of the strong plane of her shoulder against your cheek remained there, warm and comforting. 

And only then, after Eli gave you ice for your head, did you see the bruise that bloomed deep in the skin of Alexia’s jaw, just below her left cheek, and the scuffed knuckles of her right hand which were splotched with deep reds and purples.

You took her hand onto your lap, gently running over the ice for your head over her knuckles, while you looked at Eli sitting on the opposite couch with Jaume beside her. Eli’s face burnt redder than you’d ever seen before, while Jaume held onto her hand, circling his thumb over the top of it in an attempt to calm her down.

Alexia remained quiet the whole time, eyes casted down as she took her mother’s reprimanding words. There was the unmistakable shine of shame in them, her guilt, but also an unwavering quality that stood for what she did. At the end of it, Eli and Jaume hugged the both of you before letting you retreat into Alexia’s room as you waited for your parents to arrive.

Instead of getting on her bed with you, Alexia plopped down on the floor just by the foot of the bed, her back against the wooden bedframe. You regarded the back of her head, her neck curved downwards, and you suddenly felt the need to be close to her so you shuffled off her sheets, and got down beside her. 

“Thank you, but your mother was right, you know? You shouldn’t have done it, Alexia.” You mumbled, unfurling her fingers to rest on your knee so you could access more of her knuckles that way. Gently, you placed ice over it, but she still hissed in pain. “You shouldn’t have punched him.”

“Why not? He deserved it.” Alexia said evenly as she stared at the far corner of the room. “And before you start defending him, you didn’t see what I saw—what the rest of us saw. He didn’t even touch the ball—it was all feet. He meant to trip you up.” 

Warmth bloomed in your chest at her words—at how her action showed just how much you meant to her—but the discomfort in your gut marred the surge of your affection for her. 

You took a deep breath, sighed it out, and it tasted like disappointment. 

“Alexia, I appreciate the gesture, I do. But you can’t just hurt people just because they did something to me.” 

Alexia puffed her chest and proclaimed, “I can.”

“Stop that nonsense, Alexia. I mean it.” Firmer now, you said, and there was a hint of desperation in the intonation of your words. There was an urgent need to make Alexia understand the gravity of what she did, what future implications it held if what Eli and you told her didn’t sink in now. “Actions like this can jeopardize you, Alexia, and all the things you worked hard for. Do you understand that? What will Alejandro say when he sees you all bruised up next practice? And if I get tackled dirty during a game and I get hurt, would you risk a red card, or suspension, for behaving like this?”

Alexia became silent, the muscle in her jaw working, and when she turned to you with her mouth open and you spotted a defiant crease in her brows, you were quick to stop her.

“If the answer to that question isn’t no, Ale, I don’t want to hear it.” The sound of teeth clattering filled the air. She casted her gaze aside again, her cheeks growing a shade deeper. “Look at me, Alexia.”

When she kept her eyes glued to the floor, you dropped the ice pack to take her face in your hands. She flinched from the coldness of your fingers but as you looked into her eyes, rimmed with redness and framed by drooping eyelids, you found exhaustion and the shine of apology. You brushed away a matted lock of hair from the tail end of her brow.

“You have a good heart, Alexia, but you have to promise me. Please don’t do something like this again. Ever.” 

Alexia looked into your eyes, deeply as if in contemplation, and then she closed them. A moment later, she sighed, sagging into your touch as if a weight had left her shoulders, before she opened them again. 

“I promise.” 

This time, you believed her.

Smiling softly at her, you whispered, while you placed a light kiss on her cheek. “Thank you.”

Settling into the moment, you rested your head against Alexia’s shoulder, her bruised hand in yours. In the brief silence before your father arrived to pick you up, Alexia spoke in an earnest tone that made your stomach flutter.

“I know you can handle yourself, but that won’t stop me from having your back.”

At her words, your heart felt like it would burst your chest open. And you should’ve known that this was where you’d end up—with her, it seemed inevitable anyway—because the years of you’d known Alexia flashed quickly before your eyes, and the memory stopped to this person beside you, haloed golden by the warm glow of her bedside lamp, and you were hit with a realization that took what little breath you had away.

You liked Alexia.

And, even more importantly, you want her.

[6]

When you got on the field in a Barça jersey for the first time after your return, you didn’t expect to be welcomed like you did. Jona subbed you on after the first half and as you left the tunnel, you heard the crowd chanting your name. The cheers made you feel excited, accepted and seen, but you’d be lying if you said that it didn’t pressure you at all.

It was originally intended for you to come on during the last twenty minutes, but seeing as Caro, Patri, and Alexia gave the team a comfortable enough lead, Jona decided to sub you on ahead of schedule. You didn’t see much action on your end though, something that you didn’t mind at all—a quiet defensive-third was the best kind. The midfielders kept the midline high to sustain pressure in the offensive-third, while the defenders maintained such a tight backline that any loose through-balls sent to the opposing runners were called offside. Of course, there were a handful of times when you needed to get out of your box to ping the ball back into the offensive, but other than that, it was quiet. When the match ended, you were satisfied that Barça had another clean sheet and four goals to add to the season tally.

For the celebration, you moved with your teammates around Estadi Johan Cruyff, and during the procession, you spied your parents, Eli, and Alba who was talking to a raven-haired woman you’d never seen before, clapping and cheering. Warmth filled you upon seeing your family in the stands again—such a scene was a luxury when you were in the States because plane tickets weren’t exactly cheap—and when you felt the familiar weight of Alexia’s arm slung over your shoulders, the fabric of her captain armband against the skin of your neck, it felt like a perfect homecoming.

Well, almost.

After you’d showered and changed to your casuals, most of the crowd had gone while some lounged about, one of which was the raven-haired woman Alba was talking to. When Alexia took her hand, you knew instantly, and your heart—damn your heart—dropped.

“This is Diana,” Alexia said after the both of them made their way to you. And if it wasn’t their intertwined hands that revealed what they were to each other, their gaze—saccharine when they met—made it all the more clear the nature of their relationship long before Alexia said the words, “my girlfriend.”

Diana beamed up at Alexia, her cheeks deepening in color before she regarded you again, sticking her hand out towards you to shake. Preceding the intention, you took her hand and when you did, Diana placed her other hand over yours, clasping your hand between her warm palms.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you. Alexia’s talked so much about you.” 

She did? Your eyes flitted to Alexia but when she shied away from that, you focused back on Diana’s face. She was stunning: with her high cheekbones carved to elegance, her brows following the perfect line of her temple, her full lips painted with a terracotta shade made deeper by the bronze of her skin, while her loose, straight, raven hair framed her face in such a way that accentuated the sharpness of her jaws. Her eyes were dark but still light enough to see the outline of her pupils, and they had an amiable shape that reflected her warm nature. And for some reason, her light brown eyes looked really familiar—

“Ah! My favorite cousin made it, after all! Although I’m not sure it was me you went to the game for!” Tori’s playful voice resonated in the near-barren corridor. Diana’s eyes flicked somewhere behind you—to Tori, you supposed.

“Don’t be like that, Tori, of course I came to see you, too!”

“Lies!”

Diana shook her head, laughing, as she took Tori in her arms. “Come here, you!”

In response, Tori said something in Portuguese that made Diana laugh. When they broke apart, Diana said, “Forget you? Never. Especially when I owe you one.”

“Owe her what?” Alexia asked with her brows creased with curiosity.

Diana took Alexia’s hand and squeezed it, looking up at Alexia with a gentle expression. “For giving us the chance to meet.”

“Damn right!” Tori exclaimed, putting both hands on her hips, as she grinned so wide that her dimple showed. Tori must’ve seen your confusion because she leaned in to whisper, “I brought Diana as my plus one for last year’s Ballon D’Or ceremony.”

You allowed your mouth to drop open before you smiled, letting out a small laugh that made your chest ache. “Ah, I see.”

“She kept complaining about going but now, aren’t you grateful I took you away from your precinct, Detective Beauregard?” Tori teased.

“She’s never going to let us live this down, will she?” Diana muttered dryly to Alexia but it was deliberately loud enough for all of you to hear. In response, Alexia threw her head back laughing. 

“You’re a detective? That’s amazing!” You said, impressed.

“Please, Tori’s exaggerating. I work in forensics. DNA analyst is the correct title.” Diana threw Tori a dirty look to which the other woman raised her shoulders in response. “It’s a whole different world compared to yours so—and please don’t let this get to your head, Tori—I am grateful I was able to step into it.”

Her eyes, still locked with Alexia’s, grew all the more soft.

“Get a room, you guys,” Tori said with a mock sound of disgust, and then she continued to mutter, “And to think that you’ve only been going out for four months… I don’t even want to think about how it will be like in another three months.”

At that, Alexia raised a brow and then, “Want to do some extra laps tomorrow?”

You and Tori knew Alexia was joking, but Tori being Tori, she spluttered, “That would be a hard no, Captain. I’ll just—Have a great night!” 

With that, she ran away, arms flailing behind her in an exaggerated manner as she hastily made her exit. The sight drew laughter from the three of you.

“We’re having dinner at Mamá’s, want to come over?” Alexia asked.

You shook your head, flashing a look at Diana, before you told Alexia,“Not tonight. I’m just about to head over to my parents’ as well.”

“Alright. But Alba’s going to ask about you, you know? I think she wants to hang  out with you.”

You laughed. “Tell her to text me. She’ll know what that means.”

“Is that something I should know about?” Alexia smirked.

Flatly, you retorted, “If it’s something that concerns you, I’d be telling you by now, right?” 

“You see what I have to deal with?” Alexia told Diana, almost whining.

Inching backwards, you said as dry as you could manage, “I’ll take that as my queue to leave, Alexia might start crying. She’s a crybaby, you know?” 

“Hey! I’m not—”

“No need to be embarrassed about it, Alexia. Be proud!”

Diana only laughed, saying, “Alright, kids, I think that’s enough for tonight.”

Nodding, you grinned at Alexia while she mouthed the word ‘bitch’ to you. In kind, you mouthed ‘smartmouth’ back. With a shake of her head and a smile, she gave you one last hug, and after a pleasant goodnight from Diana, the three of you parted ways.

You sent them a look over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of the watch around Alexia’s left wrist. It glinted as they walked together down the corridor, hand in hand, looking as in love as any new couple would. 

The sight made you smile, but it felt heavy, and as if the universe wanted to rub salt to the wound, you found Patri outside the locker room when you turned around with a look akin to pity in her eyes.

[7]

The next day, Guille stopped by at your place. He’d given you notice a few days prior but even still, the moment you saw him behind the door, you squealed like you were ten again from your excitement. After you hugged him tight—he made a choking noise when you did to tease you—you held him at arm’s length to see what changes the last few months had done to him.

He looked different. Gone were the long, dark curls; now sheared close to his scalp that left only about an inch of length, his hair retained their luscious shine, their color still as dark as night. 

His scar—the one just by the tail end of his left brow—that used to see little light from the obstruction of his hair, now stood apparent and without meaning to, the day he got it came back to you: the bruised knuckles, ice-cold fingers, and the warm blush of a lamplight.

 And your chest ached a little.

Leading the conversation to the living room, the two of you ended up ordering takeaways—mostly for Guille’s benefit because you weren’t about to subject him to your football diet—and as you ate, the two of you caught up.

Guille was close to finishing his dissertation—the biomechanics of concussion in sport and its neurocognitive implications—and he was both excited and fearful about what would come next. He then talked about his girlfriend, Iris, smittenly if you might add. She was actually with him in the city, but his mother insisted she steal Iris for the day for some quality bonding, and you laughed at the repertoire of stories he’d relayed in great detail about his mother’s teasing of their relationship.

“When am I going to meet Iris?” You asked with a teasing tone.

He rolled his eyes, “Well, since you’re actually staying in Barcelona this time, we can arrange that.”

A pause, and then, “Is Alexia staying here, too, or are you here by yourself?”

“No, it’s just me here.”

“Oh. I thought the two of you’d be rooming again like—” Probably seeing your change in demeanor, Guille cleared his throat as he ate his pasta a bit too eagerly. “Speaking of, how is she?”

The question was casual but you knew it was anything but.

“She’s doing good, if not a little stressed. Our first Champions League game is just around the corner after all and it’s against Chelsea, so.” You shrugged to complete your thought. You knew what he was asking but you’d rather not talk about that.

His eyes could burn a hole on the side of your head by the way he stared at you in the silence that followed. Then he sighed deeply.

“She still doesn’t know.”

Tension filled every inch of your body and you shrank tight as a coiled spring. You stood up as you felt a sudden urge to get away from him, taking the used plates on the coffee table as a pretense to move from the couch to the sink.

“What’s it to you if she doesn’t know, Guille?” You asked flatly, rolling up your sleeves after you turned the tap on.

“I just want you to be happy. Is that so wrong?”

“And who says I’m not?” Your tone was flat and when you glanced at him over your shoulder, Guille only gave you a pointed look.

Then he said softly, “She could make you happier and you know it.”

And there it was again, that look in his eyes that you just couldn’t stand. Gritting your teeth, you gripped the edge of the sink and your voice quaked when you spoke. “Please stop talking like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like,” you tried to find the words but when they evaded you, you huffed and threw your hands up in the air. “Why are you making it sound like I have a chance?”

“Because you do! You’re the one who’s not giving Alexia a chance by not telling her.”

“Give me one good reason why I should.”

“She loves you.”

A pause.

“That’s bullshit.” You shook your head, letting out a small, disbelieving laugh. As much as your heart wanted that to be true, you knew otherwise.

“It’s really fucking not.” Guille countered.

“If she did, she wouldn’t have said what she did.” 

“People say stupid shit when they’re drunk.”

“That can go the other way, too. Alcohol has a way of loosening what’s been bottled.”

“Oh, come on!” Guille scoffed. “You’ve known her since you were eight. You’ve been through thick and thin together! Do you really think she wanted you to leave?”

With the reminder, the memory sprung up on you and you could hear Alexia’s voice, grating and wrenching your heart raw again when you heard the words from her lips. You whirled around to face him, eyes burning.

“You weren’t there when she told me, Guille!” You breathed out sharply and then you continued, in a lower tone filled with resignation, you whispered as you buried your face in your palms. “You didn’t hear the way she said it. You didn’t—”

You choked on your words. 

After all this time, it was still too painful.

Darkness filled your vision but the tears escaped nonetheless, branding tracks down your cheeks. You heard the rustling of clothes followed by soft footsteps. Before you knew it, Guille’s arms wrapped around your shoulders and his familiar, comforting scent made you sink into the embrace.

“You’re right. I wasn’t there. But if you could forgive me for being an asshole and what I did to you, why can’t you do the same with her?”

You didn’t say anything after that, only clutched at his shirt a little tighter.

Guille kept quiet, too.

The both of you knew just the reason why.

[8]

“Did you see the news?” Jona asked as he kept the door open for you to an empty meeting room, closing it as soon as you’d gone in. 

Sitting down on one of the cushioned chairs, you said, “I did.”

You saw it this morning and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t faze you. 

Jona nodded, taking the chair across the table from you. He put his clasped hands on the wooden surface and the way he tapped an erratic rhythm with his thumbs didn’t help your nerves.

“Lyon paid a hefty transfer fee for her and that makes me worried. I don’t know what Bompastor is planning to do with her but her transfer to the European league will be a concern for the club.” With a pensive crease appearing between his brows, he continued. “You probably know why I asked you to come in.”

“You want me to tell you what I know about her.”

He nodded, leaning forward as if to emphasize his point. “She’s a lethal forward and you’re the only one in the club who’s ever played with her. In fact, you two seemed very close during your time in Angel City.”

You crossed your arms, leaning back into your chair, frowning slightly. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

Jona blinked at you.

Then slowly, “Surely you must’ve trained closely together considering she’s a forward and you’re a keeper? Unless training was vastly different in Angel City, then I’m sorry for the assumption.”

“O–Oh, I thought you were implying—” You shook your head, uncrossing your arms as you waved the rest of your sentence away. “Never mind. But yes, that’s right.”

Jona gave you another questioning look before speaking again. 

“She’s going to be a big problem. And that’s why I’m going to change things up a bit. I want to put you in the starting lineup as soon as possible—put as many games with our current team under your belt. We’ll most likely face Lyon in the Quarters and that’s unfortunate but what is great is that you’re here: the best counter to what Lyon acquired. If we could eliminate Lyon early, we have a higher chance of winning this year’s Champions League. The question is, are you ready for it?”

“That’s what I’m here for, Jona.” You said seriously, ignoring the pressure that pressed in the periphery of your mind.

“Use me.”

[chelnciel]

Ch 29

Or we're finally getting closer to KGHR being canon

Ok, I'm writing this after the release of ch 30 in Japan, but as always, I like to get my thoughts out before reading the new chapter (or spoilers, which this time appeared very quickly) so I've been staying away from Twitter and other places, but I don't think I'll be able to stay in the bunker much longer. So, I took the notes that unfortunately I hadn't been able to develop in these months (my life is in hard mode right now), reread the last chapters and started writing since I want to take a little time and scream with everyone about this new chapter.

OMG OMG OMG OMG

I don't know where to start... Kagi really is so hungry for Hirano! I saw where you were looking young man! I don't know if he can take much more considering he keeps looking at him with those eyes:

But I'll go in order... OMG Ichinose feeling uncomfortable because he thought they were already dating! I'm dying! And he had them totally identified! And damn, he's direct! He didn't give Hirano any chance to overlook what he saw. He immediately takes advantage and gets him talking (a special mention in this sequence, I love how the mood changes).

Hirano saying they're not dating yet... yet... I mean, he wants to go out with Kagi? And Ichinose being like, "Congratulations on your relationship, which is going great!"

He can finally tell someone everything that's been going on!! Although

I'd love to know what Ichinose thought about what the boys have been trying... While Hirano can only remember Kagi hugging him and taking him by the waist, Ichinose blushes and is left wondering, "What have they been doing?!" Calm down, honey, it's nothing inappropriate for a decent dorm.

And Hirano took the opportunity to ask him since he doesn't have anyone he feels comfortable talking to about this topic. It hurt me to think about it. But it's just that his best friend, the person he's closest to and trusts the most, is the person he's confused about... of course he wouldn't have anyone to talk to! At first I thought it would be Sasaki who would help him put his thoughts in order, but it makes perfect sense to me that in the end it would be Ichinose who would help him. Sasaki seemed to want to stay out of it, but I'm sure they will talk in the future (that ssmy ch won't leave my memory, no sir).

But he's starting to feel different...because while he has no problem touching him, he does when it comes to being touched and he doesn't want to kiss the person he likes? And I feel sorry for my poor boy squeezing the umbrella because that he thought that it's not the same love

that he can't accept everything Kagi wants and offers him, and that there's a line he can't cross, that prevents him from being with his cherished kouhai

I said it, he wants to reciprocate him, he really wants to reciprocate! And to think that that has him distraught breaks my heart.

But there's Ichinose telling him that there's not only one kind of love... And that's exactly what my dear Hirano needed needed to get out of the deadlock he was in.

Hirano already knows that he loves him! Now he needs to understand if he can deal with Kagi's more physical love.

Aaaah, Ichinose is finally his sempai. Hirano needed someone more “grown-up” and with a different perspective to guide him and help him see from another angle what he didn't know. I loved how naturally Ichinose took it, and that he gave that space to my blond to talk and sort out his ideas.

And the sun coming out when he understands that there can be more than one kind of love and that it's nice that those feelings are reciprocated...his head finally clearing a bit and coming out of the storm of confusion. Plus he looks so cute in this panel!

HIRANO IN HIS CHEERLEADER UNIFORM. God, he's so cute!

100% agreed Miyano's reaction

And probably if Kagi knew Miyano was looking at Hirano here, he probably would have had a jealous fit.

And Niibashi doing the same thing as Hirano! Tying clothes to the balls so he could score more!

In the end they're both stubborn, strong-willed and weak with Kagi <3.

The whole page 22 is so cute! Seeing them so close like that, with that relaxed and friendly attitude, I love that they are so friendly, so inseparable, so comfortable with each other.

Hahaha, Hirano grew about 10 cm… So he started school at about 1.7 m tall, and he's a couple more to go before reaching 1.8 m. And that next to Kagi he looks so small but he's really not small at all

And Hirano thinking that skies look good on Kagi!!!!!!! I died with this!!

I love that scene where he says that the sky looks good on him. I feel like that's the first time he actually sees Kagi and thinks he's handsome. I mean, he knows he's handsome and he's said it countless times, but this time he associates it with something he loves. He is looking at him as something he loves, with eyes of love, not just as a friend (and he's embarrassed by it).

Sure, in the novel Hirano repeats a thousand times that Kagi is handsome:

and he's already said he has a good body

now he is already looking at him with dreamy eyes thinking about how good he looks... soon he'll be in that dreamy state of falling in love!!! Wait, then we'll get even more handsome panels of Kagi!!!

And while he's thinking about how handsome he looks, he comes up with the idea of ​​asking him if he wants to kiss him (quick association for Hirano). I was impressed at how calm Kagi was in that moment, since it was a question that really came out of nowhere. But he, super relaxed, answers, "Of course!" But this question got me thinking:

So Hirano never knew that in ch24 he was going to be kissed? What did he think was going on when Kagi was inches from his lips, whispering to him that he had no idea how serious he was about him?

Back to chapter 29, Kagi is definitely so direct ❤️ And I think he knows Hirano so well that he ends up making it clear that he doesn't want to go out with him just to kiss him, but that he's the person he most wants to be with, that this is his love. 

But Hirano believing that it's not the same kind of love, because he doesn't have the inherent urge to touch and kiss... and that relief he feels when he realizes that Kagi actually wants to be with him 

t's not just a physical attraction, he wants to be with him forever. It is finally what he feels. Because he gets distressed when he thinks Kagi wants to kiss him (which would be just that kind of love, I love how it's reflected in his hands and posture that he gets depressed) and relaxes again when Kagi tells him she wants to be with him.

I insist, Hirano will be the one to kiss Kagi. He no longer refuses or is surprised to be asked for the 10 seconds, and actually he didn't say no to touching, it was just that it's not a good place since he doesn't want them to get caught again (they won't have the same luck again).

Thank goodness Hirano said no to Kagi about using the 10-second in the courtyard, because the kouhai just arrived to interrupt.

I hate the basketball kouhai... he's constantly after Kagi and won't leave him alone with Hirano. It's been at least 2 times now that he interrupts their conversations (Now that Kagi is a sempai, he has to split what little free time he has) but I feel like he's an annoying limpet.

OMG Kagi will have to compete in the search race!!! Will he have to find who he loves the most? Well, I don't think this will happen since I guess Miyano would have been extra vigilant if someone kidnapped Hirano at that festival.

And if summer is already coming, we'll get to see Hirano in his summer uniform! Because so far in the manga we've only seen him in winter uniform. ARGH!!!! If I remember correctly the last time we see Hirano in his summer uniform is in ch 21.5

o I just want to see him in his summer uniform in sensei's current style (how his drawing style has improved!).

So now that he knows how he feels about Kagi, he'll be more aware of all their two-way flirting? Because they're always glancing at each other and talking super close, and being in each other's personal space... I guess now he might be a little more aware of it, more aware of Kagi, even if just a little bit.

I LOVE that Hirano touches Kagi's head to slyly give him what he wants while still getting on with the task of herding his lazy classmate.

And all that calm dialogue, thinking, "Wow, so it could be the same kind of love.".. He takes it so relaxed, so peacefully that I really like that we don't see a gay panic or anything. He just understands and things quietly fall into place while his student life continues. The final scene of the chapter, and the title got me so emotional! In the end, that's their way of being together and I love it.

I love the parallel... While Sasaki confesses and is really nervous,, Hirano is finally realizing what love is for him. Maybe not exactly the same love (Hirano asexual or demi is a reality), but it's love and he wants to be with Kagiura.

And that's why he comes so calmly to Sasaki, where Sasaki is thinking that expressing his feelings is so hard and then wishing he could be cooler about them... Hirano is so cool, having just figured out his feelings, just comes looking for him... When I read ssmy I would NEVER have thought that Hirano at that moment came from talking to his roommate and going through his realization. Never! Acting all relaxed about it and looking gorgeous in the cheerleader outfit.

An aside: he really knows how to find Sasaki! He doesn't hesitate and doesn't waver, he knows exactly where to find him, in a cool place lounging around. So he knows him pretty well, actually.

About ch 30... If Hirano already has the idea and he's sure it's the same kind of love, I think he won't wait too long to tell Kagi. Maybe he'll just say it and leave Kagi (and us, the readers), open-mouthed since that conversation comes out of nowhere (I already mentioned that I love how he always brings very random questions to the conversation). What I don't think will happen so soon is THE long awaited kiss we've been waiting for years. I think Hirano isn't quite there yet, he's still uncomfortable with being touched and probably needs to be a bit more involved to think about actually kissing him. However, I insist that he will be the one to initiate the kiss, probably in an impulsive situation (Kagi’s games are coming up, so one of my favorite scenarios is that after seeing him give it his all on the court, he goes to congratulate him and in a burst of euphoria, ends up kissing him). Dang! I think at this point I've imagined so many scenarios that I don't even know what's going to happen!

And one more thing... Ok Hirano seems to have managed to put his feelings in order, and surely he won't hesitate to tell Kagi how he feels but... how will they deal with the fact that Hirano doesn't like to be touched? I think Kagi will do anything to be with him, and he's even always careful not to overstep the boundaries they set for him, but you have to be made of stone to date the guy you like, that you can't stop looking at and longing to touch and not be able to satiate that hunger. I see even harder times ahead for our favorite basketball player, as it will be like having a delicious and rare candy right at your fingertips, that you can look at and get close enough to smell it and feel your mouth water at the thought of its sweetness, but it's forbidden to taste it. Kagi will definitely have to be the king of self-control and be in celibate mode to keep sharing a room with that provocative blond.

Kagi has been very honest that it's not enough for him to just touch him, so if they start dating, they'll also have to figure out what their dynamic will be like as a couple. Will their 10-second experiment evolve into 10 seconds of more intimate contact? Will we get to see them be even more clingy with each other? Will Hirano start asking for more closeness?

On the other hand, it will have to be seen how they hide their relationship. Hanzawa has known for months that they've been getting close, in a very unsubtle way, and he already sees that Hirano fell for it, so they'll have to be extra careful. Yes, I'm getting ahead of myself, but it's just that I'm sure they'll start dating in the next few chapters, especially after seeing the marriage-themed cover of this magazine and the color pages that, in my eyes, would be their honeymoon.

And especially, for all the times sensei has mentioned that she wants to draw ch 31. I hope Hirano finally makes THE move with Kagi and tells him that he does love him and they become boyfriends. I mean, I think that ch 30 could end at that moment where Hirano is going to tell him or outright tell him that he feels the same and leave us speechless, in a cliffhanger (a bit like chapter 8 where Kagi confesses [ch08 p26]) and in ch 31 we will see his reaction.

On another note, that little boy who is giving Kagi a sour look at the beginning of the chapter (and who I think is the same one who was badmouthing him for not cleaning the court in ch 23a)

looks to me like he's going to be a pain in the ass. My impression is that he's jealous of Kagi but will it be jealousy of how popular, talented and handsome he is, or is it jealousy because he likes him? It's already been made clear to us that Kagi is really popular with girls, so I don't rule out that he's popular with the boys as well. They're in an all-boys school, there can't be only 4 or 5 LGTBIQ+ guys in the whole place (Sasaki, Miyano, Hirano, him and Niibashi), so I wouldn't be surprised if there are more boys in the shadows stalking that hottie.

And just one more thing... Kagi's eyes are beautiful.

[cuddytism]

the turn from cameron and wilson being our house-related co-conspirators to it being cuddy and wilson is so fast you don't even realize it. you go from season 2 to season 3 and all of a sudden wilson and cuddy are around each other so much more, and the premiere of that season solidifies them as our new co-conspiring duo.

i think it's really easy to go through the entire show and feel like wilson and cuddy were close the entire time but... they weren't. prior to season 3 they had very little to do with each other. i wouldn't necessarily call it a relationship retcon; Meaning seems to imply that they had grown closer in the two months between the end of season 2 and beginning of season 3, and even before that with the date in Forever. but there is a very distinct jump in their closeness and likelihood to share a scene or scheme between seasons.

prior to season 3, it was pretty firmly cameron and wilson playing the roles of The Ones That Care About House--not that cuddy didn't care about house at that time, just that she did it solitarily--so i find it interesting that they all but completely ditched the cam/wilson duo for cuddy/wilson in this season.

the reason that i believe this happened is quite the boring one; cuddy needed more screentime, and it evens out the character dynamics. they're trying to solidify her as being a Main Character, now that she's getting her own storylines, as well as the fact that this season is the one where the role of 'love interest' for house undoubtedly shifts to cuddy, where it'll stay for the rest of the show. the closer cuddy gets to house, the closer she has to be to wilson. the less that cameron is interested in house, the less she feels the need to seek out wilson, and vice versa.

it's strange how unnoticable this change is when you aren't paying attention, though. because it doesn't come out of nowhere, it does build, it isn't like wilson and cuddy have never plotted before (hello! Detox!) or that cameron and wilson stopped having scenes together completely. it's just that things are changing. in a way that feels... sort of natural, so it doesn't really catch you off-guard. it's kinda jarring on paper, but in practice i think it works.

character dynamics are changing. character roles are changing. change is a big theme of the season, and though it's quite hammered in by the finale, it starts at the very beginning. with these two!!! there's a reason the first real scene of season 3 is of cuddy and wilson conspiring in her office. it's solidifing this change, without us even realizing it.

[tiredeg]

george russell when user tiredeg turns him into a little kitty with orbeez eyes a la ur recent rb: “right what’s all this then” (#31 for the ask game hehe)

creature that is literally george from this post for your information

George is almost late to the press conference—unlike him. The stick up his ass doesn’t usually allow him to be anything but early. The glare he shoots at Max is more true to character, but Max honestly can’t think of anything he could have done yet to piss him off. Annoying. The last thing Max needs is any of the journalists catching that and this turning into twenty questions about some made-up fight between them. 

Thankfully, nobody notices. He gets the same stupid questions as always. Does he think the car will be good this weekend? No. Will it be better than last week? Maybe. Is he talking to Toto about moving? You’ll have to ask George. That’ll be another glare, probably, but if he doesn’t look over at George then he doesn’t have to see it. 

He leaves the moment they’re allowed, leaving George and Gabby to chat about whatever it is they have in common. It’ll only be five minutes, but he’ll take any alone time he can get.  

His good luck charm is gone when he gets back to his driver room. Huh. That doesn’t make sense because he remembers specifically putting it on the desk before he left. He had only found the thing this morning, a little wooden figurine with these creepy blue eyes staring up at him from the ground as he entered the paddock. He had actually walked by it originally, but something about it called out for him, its freaky eyes following him. It was probably a mistake to call it a good luck charm, even as a joke, because now it’s gone and it’s just one more thing to think about when he has enough problems with the car as-is. 

***

The next morning, he finds it again as he’s leaving the hotel. It’s looking directly at him with those weird eyes, and even though he knows it would stare at him from any angle, something about its gaze seems particularly directed. How it ended up on the ground outside their hotel, Max has no idea. Maybe it had been in his backpack the whole time and fallen out when he got back last night. Maybe one of the team had picked it up for him, or someone from Mercedes—they're in the same hotel this week. Max has seen Kimi around, but not George. Maybe it is good luck after all. 

There is something calming about the figurine, he has to admit, turning it over and over in his hand as someone talks at him about his commitments for the day in the car to the paddock. It’s not perfectly smooth, so he can feel the slight texture against his fingers as he spins it. Every now and then he makes accidental eye contact with it, like it's looking back at him. Enough that he feels kind of bad about it when the car lurches and he slams it against the door handle. God, he really shouldn’t have called it a good luck charm, the little chip in its face can't be a good sign for the car today. 

FP1 is as frustrating as ever and while a bad Friday is routine at this point, it doesn’t make it easier to swallow. Max’s dentist has been trying to stop him grinding his teeth. Max lied to her at his last appointment, said it must be happening in his sleep—hopefully she’s not watching the coverage. FP2 is no better, their quali sims doing nothing to challenge the McLarens. 

Still, at least he’s not having the worst day on the grid. George nearly threw up in the car, they told him, had to cut his session short. Speak of the devil, or at least some middle-management demon, Max spots him and Alex hunched together near the Mercedes motorhome, their heads close together.  

“—spent the night outside?” he hears Alex say. He slows down. It’s not eavesdropping, really—if anyone asks, he could be concerned for George. Whether they believe him or not, that’s their problem.  

George has a sticky bandage on his face, yellow with a smiley face pattern. He doesn’t look very smiley, scowling at Max the second they make eye contact. What the fuck is his problem this weekend? Max looks to Alex for any sort of clue, but Alex has for some reason started coughing loudly. Honestly, whatever is going on, Max decides he doesn’t need to know. He nods at them and heads to the debrief. 

***

“Fifth on the timesheets at least,” somebody calls after him as he leaves afterwards. Probably best he doesn’t know who, it’ll make it hard to keep his face normal if he has to talk to them again later. He’s ready to snap as someone from the marketing team catches him on his way to his driver room. If they start talking about TikToks right now he might retire. 

“Um, George was looking for you earlier,” the guy says, which is nearly worse. “I sent him to your room to wait, but he must have left when I wasn’t looking.” 

Max manages some sort of reply and braces himself before opening the door to his driver room. No George. Thank fuck for that. He just needs to grab his backpack before he can get back to the hotel—if he’s lucky he can be unreachable in thirty minutes.  

The figurine is staring up at him from the desk. He pockets it, running a thumb over the dent in its face as he walks out, thoughts turning to his long run sims tomorrow morning.  

Alex catches him as he leaves the paddock, no George in tow this time thankfully. Maybe he’ll tell Max what’s going on.  

“This is a bit awkward,” Alex says, not quite meeting Max’s eyes, “but I’ve lost my good luck charm, I don’t suppose you’ve seen it? It’s this wooden figurine with big blue eyes. I’ve been looking for it everywhere.” 

Oh, now it all makes sense, he’s been having Alex’s luck all weekend. Ew.

“Yes, I have it, I found it on the ground” — Alex winces at that — “you can of course have it back, it was not so lucky for me I don’t think.” 

He digs it out of his pocket and tosses it over. Alex’s eyes widen dramatically and he splutters as he catches it—just about.  

“Thanks,” Alex says, almost panting, “appreciate it.” 

“You should take better care of it if you want better luck,” Max says, already turning to leave. 

“Yeah, I should,” Alex says behind him. 

Max takes one more glance back, to see if Alex is following him out. Maybe they can talk about whatever is up with George in the car. But Alex makes no moves to follow him, he stays standing there holding the figurine delicately in both hands, staring at it intently.

(from situational prompts)

[yaekiss]

since your normal requests are still open （＾ω＾） i absolutely NEED to go next door to my darling kaeya!!! he can’t just be so devoted and adoringly obsessive without being rewarded! after that little show of a picture he sent, can’t quite be satisfied until i ravage him the way we know he wants </3

𝑹𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅

꩜ Room Content: Dom! GN! Reader x Yan! Sub! Kaeya, no gendered terms for reader, Kaeya calls you "my heart", unhealthy and obsessive relationship from Kaeya, unhealthy attachment from reader, stalking (from Kaeya), mentions of biting and marking (Kaeya receiving), handjob (Kaeya receiving), lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ A/N: This is a (long overdue) sequel to this love letter from a previous event (now closed!) Sigh I really meant to finish this a lot earlier, first it was supposed to be your birthday present then when that date passed by, a v-day gift of sorts,,,,, But it's here now!! Hope it's kind of what you were looking to read @pulpbeing !

The whole walk over to the next room, regardless of how short it was, you were barely cognizant. It was hard to be, when mere minutes ago, it was revealed to you that your lover was some sort of obsessive stalker. (Yet, why does your heart still hammer so hard in your chest?)

Each step draws you closer and closer to Kaeya, and before you even register it, you’ve reached the door to his room. It's the very last one in the hallway. The room opposite his is vacant.

Your blood thrums under the skin of your fingers as you reach out to the smooth cold handle on the door, as if the mere act of crossing that threshold could shatter everything at once.

And to your surprise, the door swings open without any resistance.

The second your foot pads onto the carpet of his room and the door locks behind you, the atmosphere turns electric as a singular starry eye bores into you from where Kaeya is lounging on the bed.

And there he is. Draped in the same lacy white lingerie in the scandalous photograph he sent to you. As if the sight in the picture wasn’t stunning enough already, the sight of your lover before you outright steals the breath from your lungs. 

Adorned in naught by the gauzy fabric, you drag your gaze down from his face, to the crimson-stained trail left from that trickle of wine from his lips. The sheerness of the lingerie leaves nothing to the imagination with the way it snugly hugs his figure. The curve of his chest, his slender yet toned physique, stark white garter belt against the flesh of his thighs.

It's all ridiculously tantalising to you. And he knows it.

“No need to just stand by my door, my heart. You can do more than just gawk at me, you know?” Kaeya all but purrs out to you from where he’s seated, his one eye squinting as he grins.

Somehow, your body has already betrayed your warring thoughts within because when you next blink, you’ve crossed over to the bed, the mattress dipping as you take your seat beside him. His grin grows more blinding at this and he squeezes in closer to you, until your thighs are touching. 

“So the cat’s out of the bag, and now you know I’ve been tailing after you in Fontaine like some lovesick dog off a leash,” he sighs noncommittally, as if he didn’t just admit to stalking you.

He fixes you with a gaze, “How exactly does it make you feel?”

“Is it fear?”

The silence grows when you don’t respond, as if you know in a deep twisted part of your mind, that despite this, Kaeya would never harm a single hair on your head.

“Or is it desire?”

And it’s at this, that your heart thumps. 

The kiss is messy, more tongue and spit than anything else but you can’t be bothered when you’re busy removing the lingerie still on him. He melts into you as your hands wind around his frame, unravelling and undressing him from the flimsy layers of white lace that dare to separate him from you. When you watch the pure white tumble from him, perhaps he’s not the only one whose desires drive them wild.

A breathy moan leaves him as you leave bite mark after bite mark across the expanse of his neck. The feeling of your teeth pressed against his skin, the pressure and force behind it threatening to break past the surface. You’re kind enough to grant him one last hickey prior to pulling back and briefly admiring your handiwork.

Hands trailing down his side, you graze your fingertips over his hips before you settle a palm against his length. Just before he can roll himself up to rut against your hand, your other hand grips the side of his hip, stilling him as a protesting noise slips past his lips.

“You’ll move when I say you can. You can do that for me, yes?” 

Docile, he nods and simply watches on as your hand wraps itself around him. You can tell by the way he’s fisting the bedsheets that he’s holding himself back, resisting the urge to fuck into your hand. Aided by the precum drooling from his tip, you glide your hand slowly up and down, marvelling at the way his breath hitches and eyes screw shut whenever you twist your grip exactly where you know he likes it.

It doesn’t take long before you can tell he’s reaching his limit. His breathing grows clipped and ragged and his groans and whines become increasingly needy. Every time his hips jerk involuntarily, your hand stills, prompting him to plead pitifully for you to continue. He makes quite the sorry sight before you, and your heart twinges with the need to watch him come undone.

Deciding you’ve toyed with him enough for now, you lean in, whispering, “Go on, let me see how you reward yourself.”

His pulse jackrabbits as you lave your tongue along his jugular, panting out broken “thank you”s at your generosity while he frantically chases his release, rutting into your hand. A quick twist and he’s spilling over, crumpling in on himself as he moans unabashedly at the pleasure you’ve shown to him. He has his chin hooking over your shoulder and arms wrapping around you, pulling you into a tight hug whilst riding out his high, his chest heaving as he catches his breath.

Suddenly, your world tilts when Kaeya pulls you down onto the bed, you lie atop him, trapped in his embrace.

And coy as he is, he slithers next to your ear and whispers breathlessly, “It’s alright, you can have your way with me,” you can feel his heart pound from beneath you, your pulse matching his.

“There’s no one next door anyways.”

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

[polarisbibliotheque]

Devil May Halloween - Ghost Riders In The Sky (Dante)

Devil May Halloween 2024 - Ghost Riders In The Sky (Dante's Halloween Special)

Pairing: Dante x Reader Summary: Oh, Halloween. Last year, you were almost forcefully married to a demon, so Dante's keeping his eyes on you. Well, this time, he will be the one needing help - and only a demon at the crossroads will be able to give you the powers to help your red devil. Rider, you should've known better to change your ways so you wouldn't ride with the ghost riders. Word Count: 25k words, it's a book, BEWARE. Author's Notes: Big big BIG credit to our beloved @furyeclipse who literally helped me write this year! We did this one as a sort of a collab and Fury wrote everything Ovid - so don't forget to sing her praises too!! We got you guys 55 pages of pure DMC crew Halloween shenanigans this time! I was on a big cowboy mood and I LOVE Johnny Cash's song, Ghost Riders In The Sky, with all my heart as well as... YES, THE GHOST RIDER MOVIE WITH NIC CAGE. NOT SORRY, I ADORED IT AS A TEEN. Hahahahaha those were the inspirations - oh, and of course Scooby-Doo inspiration with Nico and Kyrie on this one. Fury helped me getting the ideas going and I just finished writing it yesterday, if I'm not wrong. I do hope you guys enjoy it! I also hope Vergil's will follow soon, but I can't guarantee anything. Do apologize - but I hope Dante's can suffice for now. Happy Halloween, my dear critters, hunters and cheeky devils! ;)

“We’re stickin’ together this year, babe.”

You were almost laughing, but you didn’t want Dante to feel bad for wanting to keep an eye on you – your laughs would be of how endearing you thought he was being rather than anything else, but it would be too much to explain.

His protectiveness actually had a point, and you had to give him that.

“Ok, big guy.” Even so, you couldn’t refrain your voice of sounding a little dismissive. It wasn’t like you didn’t carry around a huge sword and a couple of guns to hunt demons by yourself as well – his worries had a point but, quite frankly, you could always put one hell of a fight if something even tried to touch you.

“Ei, I mean it!” You were walking side by side, but he pointed at you for emphasis. It was impressive how Dante could carry so much worry in his voice and still act absolutely nonchalant about everything – you thought it had something to do with the way his hips swayed during his laidback walks; even during a job, like you were at the moment. “Do I have to remind ya what happened every single last Halloween we had together?”

“I know, I know.” You sighed, but you had to agree with him. From a cursed top hat to being kidnapped to a demonic wedding, you had been through it all. Each year, you thought something new couldn’t happen, until Halloween arrived and, lo and behold, you were both in some new, crazy adventure. “To think it all started with that frigging top hat. How do you think Cheshire demon is doing? Any word from it?”

“Well, Patty allows it out of the hat from time to time. It seems to like her and protect her, who would’ve known?” Dante shrugged, letting out a long sigh himself. Patty practically stole the hat from the shop one day, and there wasn’t much Dante could do to have it back – the girl had a will of steel and, if he thought it was really dangerous, he would’ve never allowed it to touch her hands. In his eyes, everything was under control and Patty seemed… Happy. He would never steal happiness from her. “That spook is kinda her pet now. They’re ‘best friends forever’, who am I to get in the way?”

You let out a giggle. Dante looked like a father whose kid just brought a stray from the streets and looked at him with puppy eyes, asking to be able to keep it.

Only Patty’s stray was a skinny, creepy Cheshire cat looking demon, with a mischievous grin… But a good heart.

It looked worse than it acted, in all honesty. You were team Patty on this one.

“What…?” Dante side eyed you, noticing your endeared giggle and pleased expression.

“Well. You’re one hell of a dad, big guy. That’s all.” You answered in a sing-song tune, incredibly satisfied to be having that conversation mid-Halloween job with your half-demon life partner. “Best dad material I could’ve ever wished for. Really.”

And there it was, your life-long ability of making Dante speechless. It was something Vergil would almost always applaud if he was around, but you rarely left Dante speechless over thoughtful feelings in front of other people – those moments were mostly reserved to yourselves.

He immediately tucked his hands in the pockets of his pants – and you could almost say he was blushing. Dante turned pensive in the blink of an eye, and you couldn’t help but smile.

A father. He never really saw himself becoming one or even being one – and his expectations would be to be terrible at it, like his old man before him. Not that Sparda was a horrible dad when he was around, but he wasn’t. When Dante, Vergil and Eva needed the most, Sparda was nowhere to be seen. He never really knew what happened to him – just disappeared from the world and left them with the curse of his blood and stain of his name.

You knew very much what you were doing when you said he was great father material. You wanted Dante to feel proud of that – eventually, because he would have very much conflicting feelings about being seen as a dad… Mostly because, like everything else in his personal life, his immediate reaction would be to think he would absolutely suck at it.

Dante wasn’t the best at receiving heartfelt, sincere compliments. You were well-aware of that.

That’s why you had a personal mission to make him understand how amazing he was in your eyes – one compliment at a time.

“Well. At least I didn’t inherit that from my ol’ man.” He finally said out loud, looking back at you and flashing a half-smile on his lips. “Creepy-ass demons aside, you’re stayin’ under my radar today, hot stuff. With someone like yourself around, I’m gonna have to worry about demons tryna marry you every Halloween now.”

“Oh, please…” You rolled your eyes with his answer, making Dante immediately laugh in response. He was teasing, of course, but there was a sting of truth to his words. “That was… Awful. I hope it never happens again. If I have to wear one of those horrid wedding gowns again, I swear… I’m gonna start throwing punches.”

“Sucker punchin’ demons down the aisle, what an entrance!” Dante had to laugh alongside you – the previous Halloween had been one hell of a ride to say the least. “But hey, I’ll always be around to tear those horrible clothes off you, babe.”

“Oh, and that you do quite well, you devil…” You had to giggle in return as Dante had the cockiest grin slapped on his lips. Oh, how you loved bantering with your red devil.

Alas, it was Halloween, and all that sweet talking with your beloved red devil would have to wait. You two had finally arrived back at the hotel you were staying with the whole crew – courtesy of the inhabitants of the very western looking little town that called your services for that night.

Something had been brewing for quite a while: you and Dante had noticed it, but you weren’t able to actually identify what in the hell was going on. Ever since the disco incident with the hellish imps in Redgrave, it didn’t slip past your fingers that random summoning of demons was increasing around smaller cities – the hellish imps were probably a group that detached from the original summoning point and decided to wreak mischief right at the Devil May Cry’s backyard.

One city, though, seemed to be the most affected. Silverstone was quite small compared to Redgrave, but very much a tourist town. It thrived on its western look and it took pride in being known as a place that could take its visitors back in time to years of salons, gold rushes, wanted posters and duels at noon. Recently, though, the tourists were a little bit scared and decided to avoid the place, and with reason: demons were becoming increasingly common around the area.

There wasn’t much to do against it, for the demons seemed to come from the desert, at night, with a thirst for blood and human flesh – leaving only destruction in its wake. The political leaders of the city were taking too long to figure out what to do, so the tradespeople of Silverstone decided to come together and take matters into their own hands.

With a little council formed – mostly with owners of hotels, cafés, restaurants, shops, and every other kind of business that could benefit from tourists – you had quite the interesting proposition at the Devil May Cry for that year’s Halloween night.

*

“C’mon in! Door’s open!”

It was a chilly autumn evening at the Devil May Cry – nothing really eventful happening, so you took the opportunity to kick Dante off his chair and help you organize the shop a little bit. He didn’t complain – after all, things were a lot better after you came into his life; organizing the shop was one of those things.

You didn’t expect a knock on the heavy doors of the Devil May Cry, though. Since Dante was near the kitchen and your hands were busy putting your swords away on their rightful place at the wall right behind the desk, telling the random customer to come in was the best way to welcome them.

“Didn’t know it was time for a ‘Fall cleanin’ at this place! Looks like you can work miracles, after all.” That raspy voice and the smell of cigar was unmistakable. You giggled as you turned around to greet him.

“Well, you know how I roll, Morrison. If I can’t work miracles, I don’t even show up.” You rested your hands on your waist, having a cocky smile on your lips – which made Morrison laugh in return.

“I sure do hope you people can work miracles alright, pal.” What you did not expect to see, was Morrison’s client: a man well into his sixties, huge white mustache curled up at the ends, wearing light jeans, snake leather boots, checkered button up shirt to his neck and a white, quite imposing, cowboy hat – which he took off to greet you respectfully, revealing his combed back white hair.

“Well, if you call closin’ the Gates of Hell a miracle, we’ve been known to work those from time to time, Colonel Sanders.” As soon as Dante finished his sentence, you closed your eyes, controlling yourself not to giggle. You never wanted to seem rude to customers, but you had to admit, having a cowboy in the shop was a first. A cowboy other than Dante, that is. “Halloween is approachin’ and we’ve been havin’ more spooks than the usual around. Is that what this is ‘bout?”

The Colonel Sanders cowboy gazed at Morrison as if asking if the man had briefed Dante in advance. As the red devil sat on his huge chair, you rested on the edge of the desk, crossing your arms and allowing a proud smile to spread across your lips – Dante always played the goofy, reckless rockstar card, but he was far from being naïve and, how his twin liked to call him, foolish. When it came to his job, he was quick to notice patterns and underlying intentions of demons – and, since your hellish imp disco job, he had been keeping an eye on the increase of devils in and around Redgrave.

Oh, yes. You were more than proud to call him your lover.

“Told ya. He might not look like much, but he’s good.” Morrison answered the man’s look, making you giggle a bit. You could feel Dante glaring at you – the ‘he might not look like much’ would come up later, in a teasing and friendly banter between you both. “You guessed it, Dante. There’s a lot goin’ on, but I’ll let Mr. Carson here do the explainin’.”

“I take it you’re not from the city, Mr.” Dante pointed at the man’s hat, as Morrison moved to his favorite spot on the shop’s couch and the man approached the desk.

“Ye, not from around, indeed. Call me Buck.” The man took his time to shake Dante’s hand and yours – with a strong grip, but not as rough as you expected. You had to admit, you were a lot more familiar with rougher hands – like Dante’s. “I’m from Silverstone, you people probably heard of it.”

“Hmmm. Up north, smaller city. Got the name because of the silver mines around; one of the biggest cities back in the day, right?” You had to pull the mental map you had in your head to find Silverstone – it was a touristic city you had always wanted to visit but never really got the chance, hence why you knew so much about it. Also, it was good knowing maps by heart when you had to count on Nico driving you somewhere: you had been lost a couple of times with Nero, Dante and Vergil and it was chaotic, to say the least.

“Yes, pal, and we take pride in that!” Buck’s mustache smiled to hear you knew about his small town – something he didn’t really expect from people in big cities. Dante also looked at you, with his eyebrows raised, as you only looked back at him with a matter-of-fact expression in your eyes. He called you a know-it-all sometimes, but he actually loved that about you.

Vergil was a whole different kind of know-it-all – as per his words, the asshole kind.

“We been havin’ problems in Silverstone lately… Demon problems.” Buck’s dark brown eyes now turned serious, drawing yours and Dante’s attention. “It started with some small, flyin’ things. Annoyin’ little folk who liked to upset the cattle and do all kinds of mischief devilry around the city; they were drivin’ the tradespeople mad. But nothin’ a good ol’ rifle couldn’t solve. Some men and women took ‘em as target practice.”

“Hellish imps. You’re talking about hellish imps.” And even though you had a smile on your lips, you couldn’t look more annoyed. Dante couldn’t hold back a laugh.

“They’re easy to kill, but annoyin’ as hell.” He shook his head, remembering finding you in the disco, hopelessly chained to a chair, while the imps from Hell messed around with your stuff while Stayin’ Alive blasted through the amps. It was a sight to see – a funny, but rather cute one. “We also had some problems with ‘em recently.”

“Well, if we had only those… Hellish imps, you said… ‘Round the town, folks would take care of ‘em, no need for help. After a month, I think, it got worse.” Buck’s face turned somber and his shoulders seemed to recoil to himself – even if he was a naturally imposing kind of guy, it looked like he got a little smaller… Fearful, even. “Folks from farms started reportin’ dead cattle – not your usual disease or random poisonin’ from eatin’ bad food, no, poor cattle were bein’ torn to shreds; all blood drained. Some of us decided to take a look…” Buck shook his head, letting out a heavy sigh. “Overnight, farms turned into fields worse than slaughterhouses. I never seen anythin’ like it. And it was random too: some cattle dead, some alive.”

“Hmmm. Demons do have a thirst for blood, but only lesser ones wouldn’t risk going after armed humans.” You pondered, your memory going back to all the things you read in the Codex Daemonica. It was the best knowledge reference you knew… After Dante and Vergil. “You might’ve grown a reputation of being too tough for them not to attack you right away.”

“We tried to keep our lil’ town as protected as we could, pal.” Buck now had a thankful smile on his mustache, proud to hear someone like you appreciated their efforts and courage. “That didn’t keep those things at bay, though. We tried all superstition and priests to keep those things away. Some of us even tried shootin’ some in the dark, but they kept comin’ back. Farmers would be terrorized inside their houses at night, keepin’ their families safe and prayin’ they wouldn’t wake up to their cattle mutilated.” The man’s thick, white eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead, eyes turning somber once again. “We were fightin’, pal. Keepin’ things together as we could. ‘Til that thunderstorm; rumblin’ in the skies like the devil’s herd themselves, crossin’ our path to bring our doom.”

You felt a chill dripping down your spine, rearranging yourself at the edge of Dante’s desk as if you were trying to make your sitting spot more comfortable. You weren’t one to fear any sort of devilish stories – quite the contraire, you and Dante heard those with enthusiasm and even let out some good laughs while at it – but you had to give it to that cowboy. He knew how to tell an ominous story, and that was a rare find.

He would be a certified success at camps, telling ghost stories by a bonfire at night.

“Thunderstorm, huh? That’s no small demon.” Dante suddenly turned serious – and when that happened, play time was over.

“Nothin’ small indeed. The cattle mutilation got worse, if you can imagine. Their blood, their parts… Gone. Some folk in the city tried to see what was goin’ on, and they did see somethin’: dark figures, watchin’ us from over the hills. Always when the night was approachin’, when the horror would begin. The ones who tried to fight back… Well…” Buck sighed, taking a little embroidered handkerchief from his pockets and drying some of the sweat that started to appear between his bushy white brows. “We lost our first townspeople. Good folk. Fair, hardworkin’ people. Good with a rifle too.”

“I know it’s a rather insensitive question, but it’s important, Mr. Carson…” You immediately apologized before you could even ask what you had in mind – after all, you could see the sorrow in the man’s eyes. Sorrowful cowboys had your heart softened like ice cream melting on summer, and you had Dante to blame over that. “But were there bodies? If so, did they have anything missing…?”

“Hmmm, yeah, they had some parts missin’… Mostly hair, nails… One of them, those things they… Well, they…” Buck sighed once more, putting the handkerchief away. You and Dante were used to that sort of horror – having contact with someone who didn’t work in the business like you did was definitely grounding as to what was considered horrible or not. “They took tongues and teeth too. A grim sight, pal, a grim sight… They all had their throats slit, clean cut, pale with their eyes frozen in fear. Forever starin’ at the thing that took their life.”

“Wait, you said clean cut…? As in a blade cut?” Dante had both his arms on his table now, leaning forward with interest as his eyebrows betrayed the confusion that information caused him. “Not an animal’s claw?”

“Nah, friend, that was definitely a blade. I know my animals, and I’m a pretty decent tracker along with some folks who like to hunt together sometimes. We know what’s a cut from a knife and a cut from a beast. Even those beasts you two been huntin’.” Buck shook his head affirmatively with so much conviction you couldn’t doubt his words. “Every single throat was slashed with a blade, maybe a huntin’ knife. The rest that was taken… Well, I dunno. I don’t wanna think a human could’ve done somethin’ so monstrous to someone else. That’s gotta be those demons of yours… After all, they come back every night.”

“And they kill humans every night as well? How many so far?” You maybe had something in your mind, but things were actually quite foggy. Some things didn’t add up – and, judging by Dante’s expression, he was on the same page as you.

“Not every night, no. We’ve been keepin’ ourselves safe. We’ve been sleepin’ together at big places: hotels, churches, markets. Barricade the doors, guards with rifles takin’ turns so everyone has a chance to rest, town watch to keep an eye on the dark figures on the hills… But sometimes, that’s not enough, friend. Sometimes, one of us gets lost and the body turns up the next day.” Buck lowered his head, shaking it right after. “It took us some time to find out how to fight back. We never knew there were… Professionals in dealin’ with those things. We thought we were abandoned to our own doom and nothin’ could save us, until a random couple from Redgrave said a man named Dante might be able to help our lil’ town. Gave us a number, and Morrison picked up.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you found us, then.” You smiled back, trying to lift up the mood a little bit – something that was quite impossible, but you pitied the man. You just wanted to see cowboys smiling; again, something you would always blame Dante for.

“I hope so, friend.” His mustache curled up on a small smile and you already had some more joy in your heart. Dante almost laughed upon seeing you so happy from trying to cheer up a client – you would always do the best you could, and you would always let your heart open to empathy. Something so human, and so lovely to his eyes. “Folks in town weren’t so sure ‘bout me comin’ all the way down to Redgrave to check this ‘devil hunter’, but it’s the last chance we got. We decided to risk it.”

“Your gamble paid off, pal. You got me interested – and, if you’re payin’, you got me hired.” Dante sighed back in his classic nonchalant way, already getting up from his chair, offering his hand to close the deal.

“That won’t be a problem. A job well-done is a job well-paid – you get rid of those horrors in Silverstone, the whole town will be more than willin’ to compensate you, pal.” Buck put his hat back on, shaking Dante’s hand. “I’ll be goin’ back to town tomorrow first time in the mornin’ –”

“Ya don’t have to worry. We can keep up.”

The biggest smile in the room was Morrison’s: he always got a commission whenever he found a job for you and Dante, so the promise of the whole town being monetarily thankful to you both was a great prospect for him as well. As Morrison and Buck Carson left the shop, and you all said your goodbyes, Dante went around the desk, slightly leaning on it by your side while keeping his arms crossed and eyes on the door – just like you.

“Demons don’t usually use blades.” You finally said what you both thought was so weird about all that story.

“And when they do, they’re not the chaotic bunch of the imps. They’re much worse.” Dante agreed with you, his voice now serious and pensive.

“What do you think? Hell Generals? Higher rank demons?” You furrowed your brows a bit, looking up to his reflective face. “Angelos…?”

“Might be… Might be all of them, might be just one.” Dante sighed, slouching a bit on his desk while blankly staring at the heavy wooden doors of the Devil May Cry. “We’ll only figure it out when we get to Silverstone.”

“Hmmm. I guess you’re right.” After your own sigh, you did your best to reach out to his face and place a rather long kiss on his rough jaw – making Dante look back at you quite confused, breaking his blank stare and having life back into those sky-blue eyes. “You’re very handsome when you’re brooding, cowboy, did you know that?”

“Oh, you like it when I’m serious, sheriff?” And even if he kept his straight expression, you could hear the fun teasing and loving notes in Dante’s voice. “Maybe I’ve to play the ‘stoic cowboy’ more often to ya.”

“Eh, I love you anyway, red devil. You don’t have to play any roles for me.” You shrugged, giggling as Dante’s hands already pulled you closer to him, sneaking around your waist. “Blame it on that handsome face of yours.”

“Ya think I’m handsome, then…?” And now he had a bit of his goofy smile on his lips, hell bent on teasing you for the rest of the night. You knew exactly what you were getting yourself into – and, considering every single Halloween prior to this one, that kind of break would be very welcome. You could feel it in your bones. “My sheriff has a thing for handsome devils, huh?”

“For one handsome devil. I’m pretty committed, you know…?” You finally allowed him to playfully kiss your lips, both of you smiling between pecks. “I’m not one to think everyone is handsome. I have standards.”

“Oh, and this cowboy here is your kind of standard, yeah?”

“You bet you are, Dante.” With the certainty of your voice and the way you pulled his head to a deeper kiss, something ignited in Dante’s chest. You knew exactly how to get him going – and he would never complain about that.

“Ok, sheriff. You got what you wished for!” Breaking the kiss, Dante immediately lifted you in his arms, carrying you bridal style throughout the shop and up the stairs. “Undivided attention from your handsome devil tonight, no refunds!”

“See? You surpass every standard I may have, babe!” You giggled, leaving a few kisses on his neck.

That was something you both learned after a few couple life-threatening, serious jobs: always seize the moment you had before the storm; enjoy every kiss and every touch you could with each other prior to one of those dangerous gigs – it could very well be the last chance you would have.

*

“Well, well, rise and shine! Got enough of your beauty sleep?” Of course, Dante had to tease his nephew – or it wouldn’t be Dante.

“Yeah, maybe you should try it too. Be lookin’ too much like an old man, soon they’ll be mistakin’ you for Santa.” Nero’s answer was as sharp as his sword, perfect for a punk like him. You had to wheeze, receiving a side-eye from your red devil.

“What?” You shrugged back, while Kyrie stopped by the porch of the grand Wild West looking hotel you were all staying – property of Buck Carson – worriedly observing the hills in the distance against the orange sky. “You kinda asked for it. Santa.”

“Great.” Dante’s smile was poisoned with annoyance. “Lil’ angel is comin’ along too?”

“Nah, I don’t think it’s a good idea…” Nero started mumbling, and you could see it in his face: it was a topic of discussion between them both. Kyrie was brave and wanted to save people, while Nero was overprotective and wanted to save her at all costs. After the almost marriage, he became a little worse. “There’s plenty of people to help here in town…”

“The demons might have kidnapped and hurt people already, wherever they are.” Kyrie’s hazelnut eyes focused back on Nero – determined, but still kind. “If so, those people need help. You can kill the demons, but I can help the people.” She turned her eyes to you, like an accomplice. “It’s what we have been doing for a while now.”

“Yeah, it backfired last year. With both of ya.” Nero added, having you looking back at him with surprise, resting your hands on your hips. That was bold of him, to talk to you like that. He was your honorary nephew, after all.

You finally felt the pang of a parent being antagonized by their child and you were ready to give him your very first scolding – what a Halloween already.

“Eh, have to agree with the kid on that one.” But Dante got in the way first, and now your surprised gaze turned to your red devil – who immediately picked it up and was quite used to some scolding. “Ei, I’m just sayin’, babe! Last year, you both got yourselves in a pickle, this close to marryin’ a demon in a ceremony that would be a real pain in the ass to nullify if it had happened.” And Dante wouldn’t argue if he wasn’t worried himself: if it was just him, Vergil or Nero being headstrong about something stupid, he would let it go – but it was about you. And your safety was a subject he would never let go. “Cut us some slack here, will ya? We’re just tryna keep ya safe.”

You and Kyrie never looked so conflicted in your entire lifetimes up until that point. There you were, standing on the porch side by side, hands on your waists, ready to rebuke them like the most annoyed family member of the year – but how could you when your partners were only being that annoying because you were so important to them, the only thing they cared about was keeping you both safe?

You wanted to argue and kiss Dante, all at the same time – and Kyrie perfectly understood your conflict, because she wanted to do precisely the same with Nero.

“Well, you don’t want me to stay here in town, do you?” You finally asked the million dollar question. If you couldn’t disarm them with the old ‘you’re-worrying-too-much’ scolding, you had to appeal to logic. “I’m a devil hunter. I go on jobs by myself. I’m as important as Nero or you, big guy, on this one. Kyrie has been training with Nero for a year now to be able to protect herself on the field whenever she needs to come along to help people, and she’s been helping me a lot last couple of jobs. Even killed some demons herself.” With those words, Kyrie’s hazelnut eyes found yours with pride in them. You remembered telling her how Credo would be proud, and how emotional she got. Since then, she was becoming even fiercer, but still keeping her sweet kindness, only resorting to violence if she had no other option at hand. “If you think we can’t handle ourselves, then all that talk about humans being even stronger than demons is bullshit, and you only say that to feel better about yourselves. Your actions must match your words if you really believe in something, you know.”

Nero and Dante just stared back at you like two wet dogs who did something terribly wrong and now we're being lectured by their owner and asking for forgiveness. Not even in their wildest dreams they could’ve thought such calm words could make them feel so small and embarrassed for their actions. They were completely speechless, trying to find an argument back and trying to keep their pose – but failing miserably.

“Damn, did you go to Vergil’s school of winnin’ an argument…?” Dante shook his head, having his hands on his waist now – and a slight smile on his lips. “You know I do believe in that. You two get in trouble, I’m killin’ the bastard who touched you. That’s it for me.”

“Eh, that’s it for me too…” Nero scratched the back of his head, not being able to counter your logic. “But I’m stayin’ close to you, Kyrie!”

“Heeeeeey there, you suckers! Your magical ride arrived for the night!” Nico appeared just at the right moment, tires singing on the pavement as she parked the van. “Gotta say, the mechanic in town is pretty good! Not like me, of course, but we tuned up a few things that needed some fixin’ and the van is workin’ fine!”

That was enough to get Nero bantering with Nico and Dante on his way to the van, ready to get to work. You and Kyrie followed along together, with her entangling her arm on yours as you went down the stairs of the hotel’s entrance porch.

“That was good! Point for us!” She whispered to you while giggling, making you mirror her actions.

“Hey, I learned with the best.” You pointed back at Kyrie, a satisfied smile appearing on her lips. “Nothing like treating the Spardas like the kids at the orphanage.”

“Oh, a little bit of gentle authority goes a long way with Nero. Dante’s like that too, right?”

“You have no idea. Best thing I’ve ever learned from you.”

“Ei! Can you both stop gossipin’ and get on the van already…?” Nero tried to look annoyed and maintain the punk attitude but you both could see how that was cracking and his whole body looked a lot gentler than his words sounded.

“Eh, kid, we just lost all credibility. Time to accept that.” Dante gave his nephew a pat on the back as he hopped on the van, already used to that kind of situation. Nero just blushed as you both giggled together and he helped Kyrie up while you followed your red devil in.

Plopping right by his side, Dante was calmly reading one of the many magazines about gunsmithing. You scooted near him, landing a quick kiss on his jaw – his eyes finally looking back at you, a half-smile hidden on his lips.

“You know I love you, right?”

“Hell yeah I do, hot stuff.” And he landed a quick peck on your forehead. “I love you too.”

Dante’s attention got back to his magazine as Nico kickstarted the van and you took one of your guns of its case to check if everything was in order before the job. Nero sat by Kyrie’s side like a guard dog while she talked about something completely unrelated to hunting with the gunsmith virtuosa at the wheel.

With the sun almost hiding behind the hills, tainting everything in blood-orange, you all failed to notice the dark figures following your every footsteps and the tires of the van as you plunged in the night to find the demons terrorizing the little town of Silverstone.

*

You had to be fair to Nico: driving in the middle of a dark desert wasn’t an easy task. You were engulfed by a sea of darkness and the only light on the highway was that of the van. Granted, there was nothing for Nico to crash the vehicle on, but she wasn’t leaving the road either.

“What you’re seein’ today, is the new town. A few miles away, there’s the old town of Silverstone – the original, if you will.”

As soon as the sun shone in the sky that morning, you called Kyrie and briefed them of the job – which, of course, they were eager to be part of. Buck led you all to the city: riding ahead with Morrison in his truck, followed by the Devil May Cry van… And Dante riding the Cavaliere with you safely holding your red devil’s waist, as you always enjoyed the motorcycle rides.

He introduced you to all the members of the small council of townspeople who decided to take those hellish matters in their own hands and end the horrors – and soon, you were having a meeting to understand where the damn demons were coming from.

“It all started as a silver mine, closer to the hills. Folks started to settle around, built a church and soon, Silverstone was born.” An old woman, Frances Campbell, explained with a map opened on a big table at the hotel’s party room – the common areas now filled with mattresses tossed around and families refusing to dare set a foot outside; be it day or night. “The town was hit with a wave of prosperity, and even more people tried their luck in Silverstone. Soon, there were too many people for such a small little town – and that’s when the town you’re in was born.”

“Why change the location of the town, ma’am?” Kyrie had her attentive eyes analyzing the map and, as always, made the most insightful questions. “Was there something wrong with the initial town?”

“Nothin’ at all, my dear. At least at the beginning.” Frances added, fixing the thin glasses that were starting to slide down the bridge of her nose. “The original town was closer to the mines, but not the water. Silverstone now is a lot closer to the main river in the region.”

“Well, whenever there’s a peak of prosperity, there’s a peak of greed too; at least in my experience.” Dante crossed his arms, also studying the map.

You did love when he got all professional. That’s how you ended up showering him with kisses the previous night.

“And that you are right, Mr. Devil Hunter.” The woman pointed at Dante as a teacher does when a student makes a smart remark – you remembered Buck mentioning she was a retired professor, and you could see she still had that in her. “And with greed, comes crime. People started tryin’ to take advantage of each other, steal, cheat, murder… Everythin’ you hear in ol’ Wild West stories.”

“The type of thing that attracts demons. Maybe that’s why they decided to appear now…?” You furrowed your brows and looked at Dante, but he too had a not so sure expression. “It was long ago, though, as you are saying, ma’am. It’s a long shot, but I’m trying to understand here why demons attacking Silverstone of all places all of a sudden.”

“Well, rumors started goin’ around the town back then, of a man who made a deal with the devil.” And that made all of you even more attentive, as a pack of dogs who hear a favorite word. “He was the richest of Silverstone, built a huge mansion in the old town… Died a horrible death: he got caught in the middle of a stampede. People never found his horse, nor the cattle and the drovers, but they found his body teared in pieces across the desert.”

“How did they know it was a stampede, then…?” And you would never tell him as not to hurt his pride, but Nero looked like a child hearing a spooky story by a bonfire.

“There were roof marks everywhere. Some parts of the sand seemed burned, as if the roofs were made of hot steel.” The lady’s voice was ominous and you did think she and Buck would make one hell of a couple. Maybe that could be your side quest for that Halloween, if there was something close to a spark between them. They would be an absolute banger at the spooky orphanage parties. “The townspeople said the devil had come to collect his part of the bargain for all the money the man got of his contract. Soon, the man’s wife died in an accident at home, and strange, usually deadly, happenin’s started occurring at the mansion. Everyone left and the building was considered haunted. The town started havin’ more and more issues involving death and horrible accidents, and soon everyone believed the man had cursed them from beyond the grave. That’s when the townspeople decided it was time to build a better version of Silverstone.”

“Nothin’ like an old, power-hungry bastard to bring down a whole city…” Nero mumbled more to himself than to anyone else while reading the map – but everyone could feel who he was really talking about. Wherever Vergil was at his Halloween job at the moment, you were certain he was feeling a sting from being stabbed by his own son in the distance. “Gotta a name for this as-Gentleman…?”

You couldn’t hold back a wheeze when Kyrie elbowed Nero so he wouldn’t curse so much in front of Frances, and tried to correct himself.

“Beau Blackwell. My grandma knew him, snob fellow. She never liked him too much, and kept cursin’ his troubled soul ‘til the day she went to the grave herself.”

“The Campbell ladies were never the kind to mess with, that’s for certain.” Buck finally arrived back, having both his hands hanging at the edge of his belt, his moustache smiling to Frances. “Grandma Campbell was a tough one.”

“That she was. Ol’ Blackwell didn’t even try to get in her way.” She had a proud smile back in her thin lips, a spark igniting in her smart eyes as soon as Buck Carson arrived.

Oh, you knew that spark. Your side quest for Halloween was on.

“And what did your grandma think of this Blackwell guy, ma’am? He had a deal?” For Dante, that was the most important information at the moment. A contract could indicate a whole number of things, but there was a good chance the old town had at least one good demon summoning place – at worst, a door to the underworld itself.

“She sure thought he did. As far as she said, Blackwell was a useless wimp who couldn’t find a slab of silver if it was paradin’ naked right in front of his nose.” So far, Nico was serious and didn’t get much into the demon talk – probably studying the map and all the routes in and out of the old town, as she always did. But the whole naked silver slab thing made you and her have to hold a wheeze – Nico failing and trying to mask it with a cough. “He also got to marry the sheriff’s daughter, the most beautiful and smart woman around back then – and the one all men fought to get. For some reason, the woman fell head over heels for a spineless shrimp like Beau.”

“Doesn’t look like she was that smart after all.” Buck shrugged. “I always thought that was the Campbell’s title.”

Oh, yes. Buck was genuinely head over heels for his Frances – and judging by the way she glared him back, with a smart smile on her lips, it was corresponded.

“We kinda got the title after she chose that ass.” With Frances’ answer, Nero couldn’t help but beam a proud smile: if she was cursing, he could curse as well. “The fact is, Blackwell was suddenly hit with a wave of luck that was very much out of character. And then, found death in the most mysterious and grim circumstances.”

“Yeah. That has the foul smell of a demon contract right there…” Dante was pensive again, now looking at the map. “Is the ol’ Blackwell mansion easy to find?”

“Pretty easy, Mr. Devil Hunter. It’s the biggest one in the ol’ town, bigger even than the church. Damn Blackwell was a show-off with all that money of his.”

“Well, it sounds more and more like a contract to me.” Dante sighed, looking back at Frances and Buck. “If they’re watchin’ Silverstone from the hills and there’s that much history in the ol’ town, I think it’s safe to say that’s where the demons are comin’ from. Either way, we’re checkin’ it tonight.”

“Tonight?” Buck’s eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead, Frances copying his worried expression. “Don’t you prefer to go durin’ the day, when those creatures aren’t out?”

“Eh, I can’t put on much of a show if there aren’t any demons to kill, can I?” Dante shrugged and you had to smile. Buck had a point, but you knew the best time to check would be at night: if they were attacking when the sun was gone, that’s when you would find them. Prior to that, you risked finding anything at all. “Besides, I got the cavalry with me. We’ll be fine and you’ll be out of demons in no time.”

With the van riding in pitch-black darkness, though, you couldn’t make out any shapes in the distance: you would only see the creatures on the hills if you had the moon behind it – but it seemed like even the moon herself was hidden that night.

It was eerily quiet as well. You had checked your guns and your sword, making sure everything was in pristine condition. Now that you had nothing else to do, you were watching outside and paying attention to your surroundings – and there weren’t many noises. There were just a few sounds here and there that you couldn’t quite isolate and figure out what it was. But it felt, familiar in an off putting kind of way.

“Ei, sheriff. Everything ok there?” Dante’s voice took you out of your thoughts, and you turned your attention to him. “Your eyebrow will soon look like just one, the way you’re frownin’ there, hot stuff. What’s wrong?”

“Hmmm… I dunno…” You murmured back, trying to relax your eyebrows a little bit. That made Dante smile. “I have a… Feeling.”

“A feelin’, huh? What kind of feelin’, pretty eyes?” And even if he had that easygoing tone sprinkled in his voice and attitude, Dante did take on a more serious demeanor. “Good one? Bad one…?”

“A… Weird one. I can’t quite tell if it’s good or bad…” You had your worried expression back on, trying to understand what the hell was that thing stirring in your heart. Your feelings were notorious between you and Dante: he said it was your spidey-sense tingling, even if you didn’t have any heritage like his. “I just know something is wrong. I’m not feeling like things are completely… Ok.”

“Have they ever been ok in this family, y/n?” Nero had to put his two cents in the conversation, immediately making you a little less worried – and giggling with his question. “But hey, if you’re feelin’ somethin’s wrong, we should have our guard up.”

“Well put, kid. Y/n’s spidey-sense is no joke.”

“It’s not a spidey-sense, c’mon…” You rolled your eyes, already smiling with your red devil and honorary nephew.

But the moment couldn’t last for too long: soon, the van jumped in the air, as if it had aggressively ran over something.

“Hey, Nico! What the fuckin’ hell was that?!” Nero held Kyrie’s waist so she wouldn’t fly around the van – and only after you checked on them, you realized Dante had the very same reaction, but holding you close to him.

If you flew around, you would fly around together. You jump, I jump, as Jack Dawson would say.

“I’ve no idea!!”

“Don’t’cha know how to drive anymore?!” And now Nero stumbled over to the driver’s seat, as Nico stopped the van with a screech. He almost stamped on the front window like a sticker. “What the fuck is goin’ on?!”

“Why don’t you do the drivin’, if you’re so good yourself, huh?!” Nico fixed her glasses on her face, hands trembling and flailing everywhere. “I dunno what happened! It wasn’t an animal, nothin’ like that!! It was too fast and I didn’t see it! One minute, the road was clear, the other, I hit somethin’ and went over it!!”

“Oh, maybe it was a coyote or a wolf trying to cross the road…!” Kyrie’s heart was almost coming out of her throat, but you could all hear the tone of worry in her voice.

“It can very well be, those animals are common around here.” You had your own hand over your heart, feeling it beating like a samba school in peak Carnaval. “They aren’t used to cars, specially this time of the night.”

“C’mon, kid. Let’s check it out.” Dante got up from the seat, leaving Rebellion behind and carrying only Ebony and Ivory in his hands. “If it’s an animal, we can’t leave the pooch agonizing out there. If it isn’t…”

“They’ll regret gettin’ in the way.” Nero answered with a smile and already reloading Blue Rose, leaving Red Queen behind with Kyrie. “You better stay in the van.”

“Was that for me as well? ‘Cause you know, I got my own set of cool guns, too.” You looked back at Dante, waving your dual guns around – and winning a quick laugh from him.

“Hey, if it’s nothin’, it’s just trouble for you, pretty eyes. If it is somethin’, well, thank you’re more than welcome to join the party.” With those words, he winked back at you and left the van with Nero.

You remained close to the van’s door, telling Kyrie to seat beside Nico on the driver’s seat. None of you could really see what was going on: the only thing in front of you was the dark road and endless miles of pitch-black desert. For Kyrie and Nico, it was no different; although they had the headlights to light up a few meters ahead.

You could hear their steps as they quietly approached whatever it was that Nico ran over. Awfully quiet for the both of them. That feeling you had before only tightened in your chest, reverberating even more, almost making you forget how to breathe. Those seconds dragged like feet drenched in quicksand, trying to move but unable to get anywhere.

Until you heard a gunshot.

Before you could even ask what was going on, a dead demon flew over the van and landed on the hood with a loud noise, staring at all of you with its dead eyes and blood splattering everywhere – which made Nico and Kyrie immediately start screaming, almost hugging each other.

You jumped out of the van, finding Nero and Dante surrounded by demons – low tier demons, though, nothing you three couldn’t handle together. Wielding your dual guns, you started to shoot as fast as Dante had taught you.

Not as fast as he did, though. That was his demonic blood at work.

“Where did they come from?” You ran up to him, standing with your back to your red devil’s back – that way, you both could cover a larger area.

“No idea, babe. We were checkin’ out the dead one. Don’t move!” With those words, Dante used the dead demon as leverage to jump right above you and pull off his classic spinning move with Ebony and Ivory. With you in the middle, right below him, it was impossible to hit you.

You had to be fair: you would always be impressed when he did that and managed to keep you safe while slaughtering all the demons around you in one single move.

When you were least expecting, though, a blade flew by your side – superficially slashing your upper right cheek, but enough to make a constant flow of blood trail down your face.

Dark figures were approaching – like the ones the townsfolk described. You, Nero and Dante were already expecting higher rank demons; the ones who were really behind all that mess.

Until you all heard a motorcycle noise.

“What the…?!” Before Nero could finish cursing, though, you all turned around only to find a set of motorcycles running right into your direction. If Nero hadn’t grabbed you and dodged right away, you would certainly end up with a nasty injury.

You counted quickly. There were around sixteen of those dark figures, including the ones on foot and the ones on the motorcycles. One of them held an amulet that glowed with a blood red light in the dark, creating dark seals on the floor – the ones that summoned more of the lesser demons from the underworld.

That was where they were coming from.

“Nico, hit the gas! Get the hell out of here!” Nero immediately screamed, assessing the situation the same way as you did: it was a very bad situation.

“But…!”

“Now’s not the time to argue, Goldstein!” Dante’s voice was almost a roar – and Nico rarely heard him calling her like that. It was enough to make the gunsmith virtuosa get the van running. “Y/n…!”

“Ah, hell no, big guy! I’m not leaving without you!” You roared back, already shooting one of the demons that tried to attack Dante. The van’s tires screeched on the road as Nico turned it around abruptly to go back the way you came from – back to the new town of Silverstone. In a safer place, they could figure out what to do. “You jump, I jump! No refunds!”

Dante’s heart didn’t know if it wanted to jump out of his chest from desperation of having you in such a situation or from elation of you loving him so much as to put yourself in danger.

It was probably because of both.

“Kid! Y/n! Back to back, the three of us! C’mon!” He didn’t even had to say it again: soon, you had Dante’s and Nero’s backs to yours, the three devil hunters making it rain bullets over the demons. The motorcycles tried to approach, but you would always threaten them with killer shots.

With Dante’s sharp eyes in the dark, he eventually hit one of the motorcycles in such a way it crashed a few meters away from you. With the right shot, he could make it explode – and it was a strategy to use. He just wanted some more of those goofs to approach, so he could take a lot of them at the same time.

One of the motorcycles, though, decided to be brave – or suicidal, depending on your point of view – and try to run through the three of you, almost running you over. This time, though, your reflexes were quick enough to dodge in time, but that made you three separate.

“Alright… You clowns are startin’ to piss me off…” With that rumbling comment from Dante, he held out his hand, summoning Devil Sword Dante in a blaze of fire.

You could hear Nero groaning – he definitely missed Red Queen at the moment and ever since Dante managed to summon his two main swords, Nero always complained he couldn’t be that cool while fighting.

Understandable. You were missing your very own sword – you could only wish you could make it come over to you that easily.

At this point, you were pretty sure you would win. As Dante slaughtered the demons – and whatever figure who tried to come any closer – the odds were certainly in your favor. You helped with some shots here and there, aiding his kills and getting the job done.

Until you felt your fingers tingling. Furrowing your brows, you looked down only to see your hands trembling. Your vision became blurry, as the world suddenly tilted under your feet. The gash in your cheek burned with the wrath of the fires of hell.

“What the…” You mumbled, opening and closing your eyes a few times. You could barely hear Nero calling your name: it seemed like he was stuck inside a tin can. “Nero… Dante…?”

“Ei, babe, what’s…” Dante lowered his sword and, before he could finish asking, the dark figure with the amulet finally stepped near enough for you to see it was nothing but a human – which he confirmed when he lowered the hood of the dark robe he, and the other humans, were wearing. “You better start talkin’ before I decide to cut off that ugly head of yours. What’s goin’ on?!”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquittance, son of Sparda.” The man allowed a calm smile to grace his lips framed by a well-maintained goatee as you felt a sting of fire coursing through your whole body. You tried to keep it in, but you couldn’t hold back a groan. “I am kindly inviting you and your… Relative…” The man gestured to Nero, still completely ignoring you and the ever so worsening pains. “To join us in the old town for a talk. We have much to discuss.”

“What the fuck did you do to y/n?”

The man looked into Dante’s blue eyes – now with some sparks of red, teeth already growing into fangs – knowing quite well all their intentions would be fumbled if Dante and Nero decided to trigger right then and there.

And that was why you were an insurance.

“It’s a simple poison, found in the underworld. If the cure isn’t administered soon enough, though, your… Pet, I take it… Will perish.” The man treated you with disdain, making Dante already try to walk towards him to have his sword on the man’s throat. The human, though, lifted his hand, showing a glowing purple vial. “No human antidote can counter it, only the demonic one. This is the only sample in miles. They have only a few minutes, if I am not wrong, and the death… Oh, it is exquisitely agonizing.”

Dante’s jaw was locked. You could barely see through your blurring vision, fighting every fiber of your being to remain on your two feet – but your red devil was tense and ready to fight… Ready to kill. If he let his demon out, there wouldn’t be a soul left to tell the story of that night.

“What do you want?” His voice had a slight tinge of distortion – as you could almost sense, Dante was a word away from triggering.

“You and your kin to put down your weapons and follow us. We have prepared a very important celebration tonight and you are the guests of honor – especially you, Tony Redgrave.” You choked upon hearing that name: very few people knew that alias and, judging by Nero’s confused reaction, even fewer than you thought. “Do this, and we shall save your… Pet.”

“Call y/n ‘pet’ again, I’ll cut your tongue off, smartass.” Dante scoffed, apparently not affected by hearing his old name from the lips of a shady character in such a desolated place. “Don’t usually trust strangers in the middle of a crossroads.”

“As proof of my good faith, son of Sparda…” With those words, the man handed the vial to one of the other hooded figures – another human like him, wearing a dark robe to their feet, keeping their head down under the hood – who approached you slowly. Dante had his eyes trained on them, watching their every move. “I’m taking the first step. Lower your weapons, and my assistant shall heal your… Human.”

You couldn’t keep yourself standing anymore. With your stomach burning, you feel to your knees, barely able to see Dante in amidst the darkness and your blurry vision. Closing your eyes, your head was in such pain you thought soon blood would run down your face instead of tears. Your heart pounded on your chest quicker than when you rode the Cavaliere with your red devil and, as much as you didn’t like to admit, you came to the conclusion that was like dying felt like.

“Alright. Do your thing then.” Dante lowered his hand and his sword was gone in a small set of flames, Ebony and Ivory being abandoned on the floor.

“What…?! Dante…!” Nero was ready to fight back, to get that vial and cure you himself, but he saw the plea in his uncle’s eyes. You were outnumbered and you were dying from a poison none of you had the cure – only them. If they wanted, they could break that vial in a million pieces and leave you to die a horrifying death. “C’mon, we can…” But even Nero didn’t know what more they could do.

“Hey, Nero. Please.” Dante’s voice had no edge of playfulness or the typical easygoing tone. He was serious, defeated even. He would allow himself to be enslaved if that meant saving you – and all he was asking was for Nero to put down his weapons.

And so he did, with Blue Rose hitting the floor right after.

As soon as the assistant inserted the purple antidote into your bloodstream, others quickly approached Nero and Dante, locking heavy silver bracelets around their wrists – immediately cutting out their demonic powers. It was a first for Nero, who stumbled around and seemed like a dizzy, drunk young man. Dante, on the other hand, knew exactly how that felt like, having gone through something similar during his time at the Temen-ni-gru. Ancient demonic wisdom, infused in those bracelets to suppress demonic power and subdue powerful demons to a weaker one’s will… Or to enslave them for eternity, as it happened to Vergil once.

“Come. The night has only just begun.”

You felt your head burning as you watched them viciously knocking down Dante and Nero – something you thought you would never see in your entire lifetime. Falling to the floor of the road, you tried to get up, barely having any strength in your arms. You would drag yourself to them if you had to, but you wouldn’t give up… At least, not until your body gave out.

“What about their… Human… Master?” The assistant checked, standing right beside you but not moving a single finger to help you up.

“Leave them. A weak thing like that deserves to die like roadkill.” The man dismissed with a quick wave of his hand, ordering the others to carry the Spardas back to the old town.

Warm tears trickled down your eyes. You tried to get up, but your body was slowly giving out – the burning sensation, though, was fading away. Indeed, the antidote was working, but your body took the toll of it.

You weren’t weak. You were not. All those years, Dante kept fighting by your side, singing your praises as one of the most powerful humans he had ever met. You defeated the worst of Hell, you faced nonstop hordes alongside your red devil. A stuck-up snob like that unknown guy had no right to call you weak. You were not weak. You were not…

Your hands started giving out as you slowly tried to claw your way to their direction – but they were already long gone and the only soul left in the middle of that desolated highway was you.

But you were human. More powerful than any demon, as Dante would say. Why couldn’t you get up, then…?

Your arms gave out and you hit your face on the warm road, eyes closing in the middle of nowhere. The last thing you heart before fainting, was a blade cutting the asphalt right next to your hand – ready for you when you opened your eyes again.

*

“What are we going to do?!”

“I don’t know!”

“We can’t just leave!”

“I know!”

“What are we going to DO?!”

“I don’t KNOW!”

That was the main conversation back and forth between Kyrie and Nico as the gunsmith virtuosa drove the highway as if the devil’s herd itself was chasing them viciously, their hot breath on their necks, ready to take their souls.

Kyrie was standing right by the driver’s seat, holding for dear life on the very thing, as Nico gripped the wheel like she never did before in her life. They both screamed while the van was practically trotting on the road, bumping on every single stone on the way since Nico couldn’t care less to dodge at that point.

It was actually very impressive she never came to swallow her cigarette.

“What do you think will happen to them?!” Kyrie immediately gripped the necklace Nero gifted her in Fortuna – she saw it as a good luck charm, and would wear it anywhere. It made her feel closer to him and, whenever she was in trouble or uncertain, touching it would make her feel safe.

But never in her life it was the other way around: this time, she was worried Nero wouldn’t be safe. And that was so new.

“I dunno! I-I-I mean... Dante will…! He will, right?!” Nico stuttered back, barely able to think. If she could, she would light five or six cigarettes in a row. “I mean he… He called me Goldstein, for Hell’s sakes! He never does that! I’m as scared as you!”

“I know! They never did that!” Kyrie was about to cry – and she didn’t even know which emotion was making her feel like overflowing. “What about y/n? All of their swords are here, they took only their handguns!”

“What?!” Nico quickly glanced back only to see the three swords calmly lounging in the van. “Oh, fuck! I mean… Well, Dante… He has that big ass flamin’ sword inside ‘im, right? He can summon at any moment…! Right?!”

“I hope he can! I’m used to Nero, I don’t know how Dante’s sword works!” Kyrie rolled her eyes in pure despair, going back in the van to check on everyone’s swords. Red Queen now looked so quiet, so… Dead. It didn’t sit well with her, not like that. It had to be with Nero. He needed his sword. “Y/n knows how Dante works!”

“Oh, be damned! We’re on a hell of a fucked-up situation here, Kyrie!”

“You don’t have to tell me that twice…” Kyrie sighed, plopping down on the couch and cradling her head with both of her hands. After a few seconds of pure desperation, the woman turned her hazelnut eyes back to the Red Queen. The sword seemed like it was ready to rev-up, burning to be back in the hands of her master – like it was as annoyed as Kyrie to be away from Nero, sensing, like her, that he needed his weapon.

In the distance, Kyrie saw Rebellion trembling, as if it had the very same problem. Differently from Red Queen, though, it didn’t seem like a figment of Kyrie’s imagination: even if the van was kicking and prancing around, she could clearly see Rebellion was vibrating, as if it was ready to take flight. She remembered Nero telling her Dante could summon his sword like that: a simple call and she would fly over to his hands, no matter where he was.

“We need to go back.” The resolution settled in Kyrie’s heart as she stood up, holding the charm on the necklace she loved so much.

“What?! Have you lost your mind too?!” Nico didn’t know if she looked back to Kyrie or if she kept an eye on the road. “Those creepy dudes will kebab us in half a second if we step in that ol’ town!”

“They need their weapons, Nico! Right now, we’re the only ones that can help them get back to their owners!” Kyrie walked back to the virtuosa – again holding on for dear life on the driver’s seat. “If we don’t do that, their chance of getting away is very low! They’re depending on us to do the right thing, Nico!” She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. “Nero needs me. He saved me so many times, I will not fail him now.”

Nico remained silent for a while, frowning while chewing on the tip of her cigarette – the trotting of the van making her go up and down on the driver’s seat, almost hitting her head on the roof sometimes.

Kyrie was right. She knew the little angel was right. Nero hadn’t saved just Kyrie throughout the years, he had saved Nico too: she was just a crazy gunsmith with a very dubious driving style and a van to get the devil hunter around, but he was the one who would always get the job done. And when trouble came a little too close to them, Nero always made sure it would never even touch Nico. She could drive fearlessly through a horde of demons because she knew Nero would slay them all. That was something her heart always took for granted.

Now it was time to pay it back. It was time for her to risk her skin to get Nero out of trouble.

And damn well she would.

“Alright, little angel! We need a plan to save those three asses!” The resolution that resided in Kyrie now bled to Nico, making the angelic woman beam a satisfied and proud smile. “I’d say we go in guns blazin’, but we don’t have any guns – and those swords are useless for us.”

“I say we take a stealthy route. Calm down, breathe, think. Go back and give them their swords to let them do their job.” Kyrie’s voice now was a lot steadier, finally feeling a little surer of herself.

In the middle of nowhere, Nico slowed down until she stopped the van. The two women finally looked at each other.

“This gon’ be madness, you know that, right?” The virtuosa made sure Kyrie understood the seriousness of the situation they got themselves into.

“Yeah. But we’ve never really got scared of a little madness, have we?”

With an accomplice look, they giggled at each other, the tension finally seeming to dissipate a little. Leaving the driver’s seat, Nico stood up to check on the swords and think of a plan with Kyrie.

“What do ya think? They got kidnapped by that… What the hell was that, anyway?!”

“It sure looked a lot like the Order of the Sword…” Kyrie sighed, having memories of her younger days in Fortuna – making Nico remember as well. “I’d call it a cult. And I don’t know… Maybe they did get away, but…”

Nico waited for her to continue, but the words got lost in her tongue. Holding her amulet once more, Kyrie sighed before speaking.

“I don’t feel right. Something is wrong. Something’s wrong with Nero.”

“Eh… You and y/n with your weird ‘bein’-the-lover-of-a-demon’ bond thing…” Nico raised one eyebrow, pretending to have shivers. “It’s spooky sometimes. But well, if you’re sayin’ somethin’ ain’t right, I believe ya.”

Before the two women could keep going, though, Rebellion started vibrating more violently, stealing their attention. They frowned, looking at the sword as she threw a tantrum – seemingly looking like it would gain life at any moment.

“Uuuuuh… What’s goin’ on…?”

“I don’t know! You’re the gunsmith; you should know about demon swords better than me!” And even if Kyrie scolded Nico, she couldn’t take her eyes from Rebellion – after all, neither of the ladies knew what the sword was about to do.

“You’re the one datin’ a demon!”

“Nero’s weapons work a lot differently than Dante’s!”

With a loud clang, the eyes on the horned skull near the handle of Rebellion lit up in red, the sword perking up in resolve. Kyrie let out a loud screech as Nico jumped back, ready to have to tame the thing – after all, they had never seen that happening before.

In a blink, Rebellion went flying out of one of the van’s windows, crashing it like a million of stars, disappearing into the night.

Nico and Kyrie slowly looked at each other – their hearts beating furiously inside their chests.

“What the hell just happened…?”

“I think… I think that’s how Dante summons his sword…” Kyrie tried to explain in a whisper, still barely able to breathe.

“Doesn’t his sword come out of flames he summons from within’ himself, though…?” Nico couldn’t understand a single thing going on. She thought she knew how everything worked – but that Halloween was proving to be quite an adventure already.

“I don’t know…” Kyrie closed her eyes, keeping one hand over her heart. “Red Queen is very different…”

And, as if to agree with her, the sword herself revved up just a little, a few flames igniting for a couple of seconds. The two women stared at it, a little alarmed.

“And you? Not gonna say anythin’ for yourself too?” Nico pointed at your sword, not knowing what to expect.

With a little shake and a tingling sound, it seemed like your sword was telling off the gunsmith virtuosa.

Exchanging looks, the two women assessed the work they had in their hands.

Returning your sassy swords would be one hell of a ride.

*

It felt like the worst hangover of your life.

You slowly opened your eyes as pain reverberated through all the limbs on your body. Your head was pounding, every breath felt like your lungs were about to burst and your stomach apparently wouldn’t even be able to keep water down, if you had any.

As you came to your senses, you sat in the middle of the road, assessing your situation.

It was bad.

Really bad.

You were abandoned literally in the middle of nowhere. No one in sight: no town, no car, no soul, nothing. You could barely hold yourself together, let alone walk miles and miles in any direction to get anywhere. If you went to the old town to help Dante and Nero you would be more of a hinderance than anything else. If you went to the new town to get help and maybe meet Nico and Kyrie, you would probably arrive in the morning and, by then, the damage would be done already.

To say you were feeling useless was an understatement.

Looking around, though, you finally realized what was that slashing sound you heard before blacking out: Rebellion had carved the road, having come to your aid, as Dante said it would do if it felt you were in trouble – like it did to him. All you had to do was call; apparently, you did it unconsciously, seeking his help even when your mind was fading and all hope was gone.

You couldn’t help but smile – a bittersweet smile, but a smile nonetheless.

“Well, thank you for coming, old friend…” Your started talking, using all your strength to get yourself on your feet again. It took you more than you expected. “But I guess I’m not in my best shape at the moment… I’ve no idea what to do.”

With those words, you gripped the handle of the legendary sword and pulled it off the ground. At least you could still wield it, even if you were tired and defeated.

“We’re in the middle of a lost crossroads, in this godforsaken piece of desert, no way back and no way forward – also no prospects of helping Dante and Nero. Let’s face it, Rebellion. We need a miracle.” You sighed, looking at the horned skull that embellished Dante’s first sword. With that, you summoned all the strength left in your body to rest it on your shoulders as your lover would always do – taking a deep breath and beginning your way to the old town. “Standing here will serve us nothing, though. I guess we gotta make it happen.”

“One should know they can always reach out for a miracle in the crossroads, little one.”

You turned around, startled, ready to put Rebellion to use – but the only thing you found in that empty road was… Yourself.

Yourself, but not really. Something was off. That same gut feeling you had before, started to form at the base of your stomach now. It was like staring at yourself in the mirror, but the eyes… Something was wrong with the eyes – as if they were not quite yourself. Looking down, the figure who slowly approached wearing your form had two sets of shadows – while you, yourself, had only one.

“Some would call that kind of miracle a curse.” You rebuked carefully, still studying that creature’s intentions. You had heard Dante and Vergil talking of doppelgangers, but that didn’t act like one: it was too sentient, too intelligent to be one.

“Not all of them were in your shoes.” The figure smiled – it was your smile, but with a different edge that made you feel slightly uncomfortable.

Either way, the creature – whatever it was – had reason on their side. Your situation was pretty hopeless and you still had a long way to go… You had much to do. Dante and Nero needed you. Whatever those cult like people wanted, it wasn’t good. The man knew Dante’s previous alias, and that was never a good omen.

For the first time, it was your red devil who needed the saving – and you weren’t nearly in no way, shape or form to do so.

You needed whatever help anyone could offer. You needed a miracle – or a curse.

“Now if you’re thinking I’m like those foolish cultists messing with powers they think they can control, you’re wrong. Besides, I could have killed you at any point while you were unconscious at the crossroads, even without Sparda’s beloved Rebellion by your side. I’m simply a bystander that’s looking to be entertained and eager to make mischief on this moonless night.” The figure paused and chuckled. “Not even Hecate could interfere – like she could, anyways.”

“Who are you…?” You asked carefully, wary of the utter convenience and situation at hand.

“My name has been lost for the ages, but it’s not of great importance. You, however, are much more interesting; after all, you are Dante Sparda, The Legendary Demon Hunter’s beloved and prized human. Untouched by demonic blood and yet able to wield one of the most powerful blades known to demonic kind. Consider yourself lucky to have such a powerhouse of a weapon by your side. However, I’m guessing that you’re in need of something with much more firepower to get your nephew and lover back.”

“How do you–“

“Sparda may have had many enemies, but there were a few of us demons that stayed loyal to him even after he left The Underworld.” With those words, the creature mimicking your appearance bowed a bit before turning a soften gaze to the sword in your hands. “It’s lovely to see you again, Rebellion, and I’m quite fond of your new powers as well; it’s a nice touch.”

“Wait a minute, you knew Sparda and served under him?” With your question, the figure wearing your likeness nodded. “Then why can’t you stop the cult that took Dante and Nero?”

“Simple, I’m not the one they’re trying to summon. However, though, they do have something of mine that I would like back.”

“And what would that be…?” When dealing with demons, all wariness couldn’t be enough.

“Dear ol’ Beau Blackwell’s skull, of course!!” Your mirror cackled before coughing politely. “You see, one of my subordinates double crossed me and took the damn fool before he was ready, and soiled the deal I had with him. So, when I came to collect, the body was there, but the head was missing along with his soul. Come a few decades later, I find what I’m looking for, but it’s out of my reach. See, us demons expend huge amounts of resources to stay in your world. It’s not as nice as the Underworld, but it’s decent at times.”

“Huh. So, the town folks were right about him taking a deal with a devil.” You murmured to yourself, one hand resting on your waist.

“Such a smart human, after all. Besides, when you meet the devil on the crossroads, on a pitch black night, talking to your mimic with two shadows… Such a bad omen indeed for most – but to others, a risky chance to turn things around, for a high price. If you know how to make a proper deal without losing it all in the end.”

Your eyes turned to the mirror of yourself – standing calmly in front of you, a peaceful smile on your face. Their eyes were not your own, those were demonic eyes. You were dealing with a demon in the crossroads – and that could turn into something really bad. Even if they were fond of Sparda, the very nature of trickster demons such as the one copying you was uncertain.

They could very well give you what you needed to succeed – but they could ask for an unfathomable price. Usually, the highest prices were always asked when people found themselves in desperate situations such as yours.

But your body was hurting. Your feet were barely able to hold you standing. Your hands were trembling, and you were pretty sure you could only wield Rebellion because the sword herself was aiding you – as Dante would if he was there. You were not in a position to deny any aid, you knew that – and the demon right in front of you knew it as well.

“Knowing how to make a deal is of little help when someone needs a deal.” You answered carefully, still watching the calmly smiling creature. “It usually exploits the one with less power.”

“However, I think you’ll like what I’ve got to offer – and you’ve got nothing to lose, after all.” Hearing that answer, you instinctively grabbed Rebellion tighter, making your clone let out a distorted laughter in amusement. “Oh, relax. I don’t want your soul or to cross blades with you; I’d rather not have Dante put me into the ground like he did with Mundus. I simply want a favor done and, in exchange, you get a way out.”

“What’s the catch?”

“You’ve been trained so well.” The creature’s compliment came without malice. “I simply want that idiot’s skull back and, in turn, you save those two Spardas and prevent a demon from coming into this reality empowered with human sacrifices.”

“And how do I know you’ll make good on your word…?” You had one of your eyebrows raised, the deal sounding too good to be true.

Your mimic whistled loudly and a demonic horse with six legs came out of the right path’s fog. Four blazing red eyes looked over curiously, as the black strong body had strange demonic symbols on its shoulders. There was a saddle, reins and a chest plate adorned with a black feather inside a book with a claw clutching them both: the demon’s symbol, embellished on the surface. Its main was wispy like ashes from a fire, but the fire was coming from inside the creature itself.

What really caught your attention, was the sounds of snarls and soft growls, as multiple demonic coyote-dog-like creatures kept their distance – but stood at the edge of the fog, as if waiting orders.

“My horse, Slade, shall take you to the cultists so you can put the skull in his saddle bag here. Then sound the horn to signal the pack it’s time to feed. Afterwards, the pack of hounds will devour those cultists, since they are made of the souls of those they’ve slaughtered, itching for revenge. All you have to do is prove you are not terrified and step up to save the boys from a cruel fate.”

Oh, you knew what that was. You knew what you would have to become. Meeting a demon like that, in the middle of the desert, offering you their horse and pack of vengeful hell-hounds as power for you to control? You could almost hear the faint song, whistling ghostly in the distance…

Then cowboy change your ways today or with us you will ride, tryin’ to catch the devil’s herd… Across the endless skies.

With your skeptic look, your mimic smiled in amusement.

“Are you brave enough to take the reins or do you want to wander home without your lover and nephew?”

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. You were out of options. Going back meant leaving them behind and failing to save them – you couldn’t do that to Nero, to Dante. Many times Dante tapped into the worst of himself, the darkest places of his soul, to summon a power he despised to save you and have you back home – safe and sound into his arms. Many times he became a demon fiercer and more powerful than those he was fighting against, even if he loathed it.

You could do that for him too. At least once in your lifetime – maybe for the only and last time.

Sensing your resolve, Rebellion settled herself on your back as you walked forward to the demonic horse and held its reins – knowing it was time to aid you, as she had aided Dante a thousand times before. Your mirrored image watched you with a pleased smile.

“Now, take the left path; it’ll take you straight to the abandoned church where the cultists are. Get going, rider, you’ve got until dawn.” The doppelganger reminded you before plopping a black cowboy hat on your head, only for you to look up in surprise when the figure was gone.

You closed your eyes for a second as your whole body seemed to be engulfed in flames – the pain lasted for only a little while, though. When it washed off, it was as if you had never been hurt in the first place: you could breath properly again, your limbs weren’t hurting and all your strength – and more – was back into your body. Taking another step, though, you heard a ringing that wasn’t there before.

Looking down, you realized your clothes had changed: an all-black cowboy attire, covered your body, fitting it perfectly; with a heavy black coat down to your ankles keeping you warm in the chilly desert night. The cowboy boots had spurs that ringed like little silver bells every time you took a step – and, as you did it again, you realized you left a trail of fire behind, melting the asphalt with your footsteps.

That wasn’t the work of the demon who used your appearance to strike a deal with you – as you looked back into the four curious blazing eyes of the demonic horse standing in front of you, you realized it was its way of saying it also chose you to be its rider. At least for a while.

“Demons are always dramatic, aren’t they…” You shook your head, sighing as you made your way back to the horse who kindly awaited you – now looking like a rider who deserved their service.

As you looked around the crossroads, you could see the pack of hounds remained, waiting for your orders. The horse lowered itself down to let you onto its back and the pack of demons perked up in excitement. As you got into the saddle and adjusted yourself, the horse got up and the demonic pack howled to each other – as if signaling it was time to move out.

You adjusted your new hat as you nudged the horse forward onto the left path. The soft sounds of claws were in the distance as the pack followed you both.

“C’mon, Slade. It’s time to burn some asphalt.” Hitting the open road, you cracked the reins and the horse took off into a gate and then galloped once he had hit top speed – the trail of burning fire in your wake, as you did yourself with your footsteps.

In the distance behind you, the faint noise of a stampede was close by, but as you looked over your shoulder, you could only see the pack of demonic coyote creatures following at a distance.

Yipping, yowling and snarling hungrily as they followed in excitement. You looked forward, holding Slade’s rein tightly and feeling the weight of the Rebellion on your back. Those cultists, whoever they were, better be ready to fight – you were coming for them.

Yippie-yi-o, yippie-yi-yay… Ghost riders in the sky.

*

If Dante had to guess, he’d say the cultists would lock them up in the desecrated church of that derelict town, as that kind of people would usually do. To his shock, though, he woke up on an old rotten bed that, if he moved too much, would definitely fall apart with his weight. Even so, it was able to cradle the half-demon with ease, and it didn’t turn into dust as Dante sat on it’s edge, massaging his head on the spot those damn cultists hit him.

“Took some time to wake up, old man.” Nero mumbled from across the room - making Dante look at his own kin on the same situation he was. At least, Nero’s bed was made of brass.

“Eh, those cultists weren’t jokin’ ‘round. Hit my head pretty hard; gimme a break, will ya?” Dante shrugged, shaking his head and looking down to his feet.

Nero furrowed his brows. In all his life, he never thought he would see his uncle so... Defeated. After all, it was Dante they were talking about, not some random human on the street. He couldn’t shake off that feeling that it was all so... Easy.

“Ei, kid. I know what’cha thinkin’. And you’re damn right, I didn’t fight as much as I should’ve...” Dante sighed, raising his head back up again. In the dark, Nero could see his blue eyes, and they had a tinge of melancholy even with the slight smile Dante carried on his lips. “But out of everyone in the crew, I think you’re the one who can understand me the best. Imagine if it was your lil’ angel on that situation. What would you do...?”

Nero scoffed, not wanting to look into his uncle’s eyes. Bringing up Kyrie was a sure way into Nero’s heart - and bleeding heart even. He would die for her, he would kill the whole world for her, he would destroy gods and demon kings if he had to - but he would never let any harm come to Kyrie. And if the only way to save her was to put down his weapons and let himself be taken - by enemies or even death - Nero would do it without thinking and without doubt.

Yes. Out of all the crew, he could understand Dante’s action the best. It was too easy to take them, because those damn people knew quite well the very best way to enslave a Sparda was to tear their heart apart.

“Eh... Guess there wasn’t really a good way out of it, huh...?” Nero massaged his own head, shaking it right after. “But we gotta do somethin’ now. I mean, we can’t sit around and just... I don’t know, what the hell do those creeps want with us anyway...?”

Weirdly enough, Dante smiled until it turned into a good laugh. Nero furrowed his brows, staring at his uncle thinking he had finally lost his mind - the kid wouldn’t complain too much, he could perfectly understand where Dante was coming from.

“What a situation, huh? To think one year ago, it was y/n and Kyrie in the same shoes as us!” Dante shook his head, slapping his leg with a hearty laugh upon realizing it. “There’s somethin’ of poetic in this, kid!”

“Huh. There kinda is...” With that, Nero couldn’t stop himself from laughing as well. He wondered if that weird tugging in his heart was what Kyrie felt when she was locked up in that church with you last Halloween, getting ready to forcefully marry a demon. “I just hope they won’t dress us up in those ugly ass wedding clothes.”

“Oh, no, no, no. If they try, I’m tearing them apart!” Dante answered letting a louder laugh out of his chest. Nero couldn’t help but smile alongside him: it was good to see his heart coming back.

“Well, not to spoil your party, but I don’t think we can do much with those things lockin’ us up.” Nero raised both of his hands, showing off the silver shackles supressing their demonic powers. “Never felt anythin’ like this before, it’s nasty.”

“Yeah, those things are no joke...” Dante glanced down at his own wrists, slightly sighing. “But I’ve been through it before. Just gotta relearn how to fight like a human, that’s all.”

“You say that as if it was easy.”

“It kinda is, kid.” Dante shrugged, looking around the room, trying to come up with some plan to get them out of there. “It took quite a while to have my demonic powers awaken, so I remember how it feels like. I fought as a human for a long time, as long as you did. Well... As human as we get.” He winked at Nero, getting up from the bed and pacing around the room - the wooden floor creaking as his weight shifted the old boards; but never looking like it would give out. “You just gotta fight without the good ol’ demonic leverages.”

“What do ya mean it took you as long as I did?” Nero had his eyebrows furrowed, head pending to the side. They never really talked about Dante’s and Vergil’s lives before Nero met them - even if everything they had lived shaped so much of what happened to him. Either way, it wasn’t an easy subject, and both twins didn’t enjoy much reminiscing about the past: Nero had to piece up their story like a huge puzzle he was only given jigsaw pieces every now and then. “I thought you guys always knew about your heritage. I mean, it wasn’t like me who didn’t know why the hell I was different from everyone else and had a weird demonic arm.”

“You haven’t had it easy, huh, kid...?” Dante wheezed, shaking his head as he still looked around the room, trying to pick up anything on the cult or on a way out. “I knew my heritage, yes, but not what it could do. Your dad found it out as a kid, when those demons almost killed him the night our home burned to ashes. But me...? Well, it took some time. I survived, remember? I started workin’ and opened up the shop, and your dad tracked me down. Instead of bein’ happy I was alive, guess what he wanted...?”

“Power...” Nero mumbled, looking down at his newly acquired human arm - something that was still so weird to him. If he had to be honest to himself, he still kind of missed it as a demonic thing or the prosthetic one Nico built him. It was very strange having to adapt being so... Mundane.

“Bullseye.” Dante winked at him, with a humorless laugh at the end. “It was his first attempt at opening the Gates of Hell, that dumbass. Still, he kicked my ass and impaled me with Rebellion.” With those words, Nero’s eyes shot back at Dante, a little shocked with that story. “At the time, I thought he wanted to kill me, but now... I have my doubts. Your dad’s a weird guy, you know? He won’t tell you he likes you, but he will stab you with your own sword right in the chest to awake your dormant demonic power so you can accept the legacy your dad of the year left you when you were born.”

Again, Nero furrowed his brows. Perhaps it wasn’t that strange he had such a hard time around his feelings - and it was actually a very good thing he had Kyrie around to help him let them out in a healthy way. He got to learn something Dante and Vergil never had the chance to learn: the only thing both of them knew was harshness. Could Nero really ask anything more from them...?

“I was around the age you were back when we met in Fortuna, I think... So you see, I spent quite a while fighting as humanly as possible, with no leverage whatsoever.” Dante pointed at himself, finally stopping in the middle of the room. “I think Verge would have more of a problem in this situation than both of us.”

“Well... If that’s the case...” Nero spoke slowly, still processing everything Dante had told him. With time, he learned not to make much of a fuss when Dante or Vergil shared something about their history and their life with him: it made them feel like it was ok to be vulnerable if it wasn’t treated as a big thing, so Nero would keep it that way. “Then I should have more of an easy time than you.”

“That’s the spirit, kid!” Dante now rested his hands on his waist, sighing while looking around the room. “Now. We have no idea what those Eyes Wide Shut wannabes want downstairs. Windows and doors are sealed with demonic stuff to keep us in, so we’re gonna have to force our way out somehow.”

“Ok. I say we try one of the windows and sneak out. We can try to take ‘em out quietly and figure out what they want with us in the way.” Nero finally got to his feet winning a grin from Dante - who was more than ready to agree with his nephew.

“That will not be necessary, Sparda’s kin.” Both of them were interrupted by the leader of the cultists - still wearing the dark robe, but now permanently without his hood. His eyes were cold, smart and arrogant; the beard well trimmed and intricate. He carried himself with an attitude that certainly screamed he thought he was much better than any other human in town. “I didn’t bring you here to have you in the dark regarding our festivities - you are our guests of honor, after all.”

“Yeah, yeah, King Charles, cut the crap.” Nero rolled his eyes, tired of the way the man behaved. If there was something that pissed him off, that would be entitled people, completely full of themselves. “What the hell’s goin’ on here?”

“Even if you have a share of Sparda’s precious blood, boy, you are not the main guest. Know your place.” The man was clearly respecting Nero more than he respected you because of his heritage - or else, he wouldn’t even be addressing Dante’s kin.

“And you should know yours, fancy pants. Haven’t your mother ever taught you to respect people?” Dante had his hands on his hips again, but his eyes burnt like the fire he carried inside him. “Remember you have to keep us with these things so we won’t kick your ass. Give us enough of a reason, we’ll do it anyway. With or without demonic power.” He showed off the shackles to the man, noticing the human winced ever so slightly - trying to appear Dante’s words had no effect at all. “Who the hell are you? And you better answer this time ‘round.”

“You can call me by my family’s name, Blackwell. I’m Beau Blackwell’s great-grandson - and it is an honor to meet Sparda’s kin.” The man bowed his head in a sign of respect - something Dante didn’t do back and that made Nero smile. “I take it the townspeople of Silverstone did their job of telling you my family’s history.”

“If you’re talkin’ ‘bout the contract, hell yeah they did.” Dante’s eyes were now sharp, taking a guess where they were at the moment. If he could bet, he would say that was the old Blackwell mansion at the abandoned old town. “Guess stupidity runs in the family.”

“Damn, you beat me to it...!” Nero mumbled, making Dante smile proudly. At least they shared the same sense of humor - and taunts.

“I will admit my kin did play with powers much too great for his understanding and that was his downfall. He was too arrogant to realize he was biting much more than he could chew.” As Blackwell spoke, Dante and Nero just exchanged looks, having the same thing in their mind: the irony that he was criticizing the same thing they thought about him. “I, in the other hand, am more careful. I have studied the arcane and occult arts; learned how to wield them, tame them. There’s much more to ask of demonic creatures than petty, mundane things like money... There’s power. That’s what my kin failed to notice.”

“Oh, now there’s a word I never like bein’ thrown around...” Dante shook his head while mumbling to his nephew- and Nero couldn’t refrain to notice it was because of Vergil’s obsession with it for so long.

But, in all honestly, after everything he went through in Fortuna, humans seeking demonic power was never a good thing in Nero’s book either.

“Come. I will take you around the old Blackwell Mansion and you can be aware of what you will be taking part in.”

But, even with the man’s gesture and inviting demeanor, neither Dante or Nero moved a single step.

“Yeah, you see, we make a point on not taking part in things against our will.” Nero crossed his arms, making sure he wouldn’t leave without Dante. If his uncle stayed, he would stay.

Blackwell immediately frowned - not the calmest cult leader they had ever seen. Something about it reminded Nero of Sanctus.

“I am not asking you and you will be part of it - whether you make it a point or not.” The man raised his head high, as if to overcompensate for the fact he was smaller than the two devil hunters inside the room. “I have tried to be cordial and I will remain as such. I planned this night for a very long time, and neither of you will fumble it. The ritual will go on. The sacrifices will be made. The blood will be spilled. The demon king will rise. You can either take part peacefully or by force - but trust me, if you choose the second option, it will be painful.”

Dante wasn’t afraid of pain - and neither was Nero. Those words weren’t alarming per se: after all, it was to be expected of a cult that they would be made of sacrifices and blood offerings somehow, but they didn’t know if they were the only victims chosen for it.

What alarmed them the most, though, was the demon king part. There were a few of them, yes, but Dante couldn’t stop his blood from running cold as soon as he heard that.

After all, Mundus was a king. Could it be that godforsaken spiteful creature found a way to come back, so many years after Dante put it to rest? That it wasn’t for all eternity as he thought he had managed to do so...?

If Mundus decided to rear up its ugly head again, Dante wanted to be at the seat of honor to watch him rise just to tear him back into pieces and make him taste death once more.

As if noticing the sudden shift in his uncle’s heart, Nero looked back at Dante, waiting for an answer - but seeing the murderous glint in those ever easygoing eyes.

“Show us around, then. I guess gettin’ to know the stage of such a hideous play wouldn’t hurt.”

Blackwell had a peaceful smile back to his lips, finally allowing them to leave the room - but Nero could sense something was different; it seemed as if Dante could tear a demon king with his bare hands in the blink of an eye, but he was just waiting for it to rise.

*

“How can... Y/n... Ugh... Carry this thing ‘round... So easily...?!”

Nico mumbled while carrying your sword, heavily strapped on the gunsmith virtuosa’s back like a backpack. She always thought it should weight very little - after all, you always pulled the most incredible acrobatics while fighting - and you were human, just like her.

But the woman couldn’t deny: after walking around with that thing weighing on her shoulders, she started feeling a pain she wasn’t used to. Demonic metal was more efficient and lighter than any human and earthly metal, but still... It felt like she was carrying at least two guitars strapped on her back.

“Y/n is a trained hunter, they’re all used to it.” And even with that comment, Kyrie’s voice didn’t seem to struggle as much as Nico’s. She had dragged Red Queen around countless times to bring it to Nero, so dragging it once again through the desert wasn’t much news to her.

Neither to Red Queen. The sword always knew that when it was in Kyrie’s hands, she would soon find her proper wielder’s hands again to wreak havoc.

“Tell me ‘bout it... We’re all a bunch of weirdos, that’s what we... Ugh... Are!”

Kyrie had to giggle with Nico’s complaints. Yes, you were a bunch of weirdos, but that’s what made you all a family, wasn’t it? And family was always there for each other.

After they decided to take your weapons back to you, Nico drove all the way to the old town - and as soon as the ghostly, abandoned wreckage of a city appeared in their view, the gunsmith found a hidden place to park the van. Behind a few tall rocks, the Devil May Cry on wheels would be safe until that night was over - at least, they hoped it would.

Taking the swords in their hands, the two women started making their way to the old town - away from the main road, so they would have a better chance sneaking in unnoticed - and formulated the best plan they could at the moment.

“Ok. We’re almost there. So, we’re going in, and we’ll find a place to hide...” Kyrie started going over said plan, to make sure she and Nico were on the same page. Too much had already gone wrong that Halloween, they didn’t need even more problems.

“We’ll listen around to those assholes and figure out where they’re keepin’ the damsels in distress.” Nico’s answer was almost immediate, making Kyrie giggle. It was a first, imagining Nero as the damsel in distress and her saving him. “We’ll head over where they are...”

“Give them back their swords, and let them do what they do best.” Kyrie finished with a rather peaceful smile, given the situation. “Here. Let’s sneak in through here...!”

Going around the buildings, Nico and Kyrie entered what would be a dark alley between two wooden, rotten buildings in town. Going in from the back, they kept themselves low, walking side by side until they were the closest they could be of the main street. They could hear the cultists talking and patrolling the street, so they maintained utmost silence to get through them completely unnoticed.

The main street ended in a big plaza, with a large, decrepit mansion being the last building on it - and the only one with a semblance of light: not electrical, but a set of candles lit it from the inside, almost like a jack-o-lantern. The cultists roamed around the main street, but the larger number was definitely inside the mansion; after all, Kyrie and Nico could hear them chanting something they couldn’t understand.

“What do you think...?” Nico whispered to Kyrie, barely being able to hear her own self.

“They’re either in prison or... In there.” The woman answered in the same tone, pointing at the mansion at the end of the road. Nico sighed.

“I was hopin’ you wouldn’t say that... How are we gonna find ‘em in there...?!”

“I don’t know, but we have to think of a plan.”

The certainty in Kyrie’s voice was a little more reassuring - after all, they had a whole city swarming with cultists to cross and a mansion to infiltrate; all while carrying your weapons. They thought it wouldn’t be easy, but they didn’t expect that level of difficulty.

*

“Ok, I’m sayin’ it... We got a huge fuckin’ problem this time, Dante.”

Nero and Dante found themselves in a big party room, entirely lit with candles and decorated with sigils drawn with fresh blood - on the walls and on the floor. The biggest sigil, forming a closed circle, was in the middle of the room, glistening on the wooden floor. Cultists guarded the two entries and every window - big windows, that still had glasses on them.

The two devil hunters were seated on the middle of the circle, with their backs to each other, arms tied together so they wouldn’t escape.

“Beau Blackwell played with a demon he could not tame and he thought he could understand it.” Blackwell explained as they moved into the party room, revealing the ritual setting - everything one would expect on a ritual to summon a demon. “I, on the other hand, intend to do something much smarter. And that, involves... You.”

With a gesture from his hands, some of the cultists overpowered the devil hunters, guiding them to the center of the circle. Nero tried to fight, but immediately stopped as soon as he saw Dante followed the cultists calmly, almost sitting on his chair as if he was indeed a guest of honor. With his eyebrows furrowed, Nero did the same. After all, Dante must’ve known what he was doing, right?

Right...?

“Well, you’d usually need human blood to summon a demon, smart ass.” Dante’s comment was calm and cheerful, even, while he allowed the cultists to tie his hands behind his back and intertwine the ties with Nero’s.

“Oh, that will be arranged. There are many in my flock who are willing to serve such a higher purpose.” Blackwell smiled kindly, opening his arms to show around the room. “But a man with your knowledge must have noticed, this is not a common demon summoning ritual. It’s for a higher rank, a king - and one with that status would only come with a more special blood being spilled.”

“Eh. That’s why you need us, then...” Nero murmured, shaking his head. “And then what, smart ass? Gonna strike a deal of your own, too?”

“Oh, no. To summon him, I need you. To bind him, I need Dante.” Blackwell opened a wicked smile, making the room fall into complete silence as the two devil hunters didn’t say a word. “My ancestor made the mistake of gambling with a demon. I shall not make the same mistake - I will bind the demon and make it answer to my very own command. I will have all its power to myself, and there will be no one to stop my will. But to do so, I need powerful blood to do the binding - and there is no blood more powerful than Sparda’s blood.”

“Well, I’ll like to see you try that, Blackwell!” Dante started laughing, leaning back on his chair. “Stupidity really does run in the family, eh?”

“Apparently, it does.” Blackwell made a small gesture towards Dante and Nero, calling the cultists back to their places guarding the room. “The festivities will begin at 3 a.m. It’s just a small wait, but you will have the time to catch up... And say your goodbyes.”

Those were the last words Blackwell told them before leaving the room. Since then, the devil hunters had remained in silence, thinking about everything that had happened so far - and how to get out of that situation.

“Well, kid... After livin’ as much as I have, you’ll be able to say...”

“You’ve had worse, yeah, yeah, I know...” Nero laughed, shaking his head while staring at his beaten up boots. “But I mean. I’m gonna be sacrificed with a random crazy cultist to raise a demon king from Hell. You’re gonna be sacrificed to bind the demon king. Things aren’t lookin’ too good, man.”

“I just wanted to know which demon king they’re tryin’ to bring up this time.” Dante sighed, leaning back on the chair again. “But I guess there’ll be no old acquaintances today. That’s already a good thing, kid.”

“You... You were afraid that Mundus dude would be back...?” Nero’s question was almost as quiet as a whisper, barely audible for anyone who didn’t have a demonic hearing like theirs.

“Hmmm...” Dante’s answer took some time to come, even after he hummed in return. Nero rarely saw his uncle being that quiet and somber. “The world doesn’t need him rearin’ up that ugly head of his again.”

“Well... You killed him a long time ago, didn’t ya...?” This time, Dante only answered Nero with a shake of his head and a quiet hum. “I don’t think we’ve to worry ‘bout him, then, you’re pretty good at your job.”

“Huh. Thanks, kid...” Dante had a slight smile on his lips, but his words had an uncharacteristic bitterness to them. “But some demons have trouble stayin’ dead. Someone has to make sure that doesn’t happen to Mundus.”

Silence fell between them once again in the room. Nero kept looking at his boots, but his thoughts ran at a thousand miles per hour. He knew it was because of Mundus that his family was as broken as it was, that he never had a chance to have something normal. He knew it was because of that demon that Dante and Vergil had broken childhoods and carried a trauma that shaped their whole lives. But he never really understood the burden Dante decided to carry on his shoulders of ridding the world of such a horrifying demon - of making sure Mundus would never do to anyone else what he did to his family, to him.

It was a good path. A right path, some would say. But probably the most difficult one to follow: it was certainly the loneliest.

“Well, you got me with ya this time. That should account for somethin’, right?” Nero nudged Dante with his shoulder, hearing a slight laugh from his uncle.

“That does, kid. It certainly does.” With that answer, Dante sighed again, stretching his back and legs for a while. “Now, remember what I told ya? Fightin’ like a human?”

“Yeah...?”

“Good. ‘Cause that’s what we’ll be doin’ when that clock hits 3 a.m. You better get those legs stretched and ready to do some damage.”

“Fuckin’ finally. I’m tired of waitin’ here!”

They didn’t really know what they would do to get themselves out of that one - but, at least, they were together. They would figure something out.

*

“Ok... So. We have to find a way in.” Kyrie murmured over to Nico, as both women found themselves ducking behind a set of dead bushes near the mansion.

They managed to get there undetected, counting at least fifteen cultists on their way to the house. Keeping themselves on the outskirts of the plaza, they circled around in the shadows and got into the main garden through a broken piece of the iron gate.

To their relief, there weren’t many cultists around the mansion: they were either inside or outside on the town.

“Yeah. Way in. The main door isn’t an option... Right?” Nico tried a little smile to Kyrie, who just shook her head in negative. “Yeah, I thought so.”

“Hmmm... I don’t see another entrance... Maybe there’s one in the back?” The woman tried looking above the bushes without being spotted but, as if on cue, a loud, ominous bell sounded from inside the house.

The two women immediately ducked even further, almost hugging each other from being startled. The bell sounded three times and they saw one of the cultists - now without wearing the cape’s hood - appearing on the balcony of the second floor.

“My children, it is time! Join us in sacrifice and festivity!” The man had his arms opened and his voice could be heard through the whole dead town.

Kyrie and Nico scooted even further in the shadows as the cultists on the main street left their duties to get inside the mansion. They watched the wicked procession of chanting voices through the dark street, entering one by one inside the house that seemed soon would fall apart.

“That’ll give me nightmares for years!” Nico whispered to Kyrie, shaking from a quick shiver that went down from the top of her skull to the base of her spine. “Damn cults.”

“Damn cults...” Kyrie whispered back, thinking how the Order of the Sword in Fortuna wasn’t that different.

As the heavy wooden doors of the mansion closed, the two women found themselves completely alone in that godforsaken ghost town in the middle of nowhere - being the only ones with some hope to save the devil hunters that night.

“What are we gonna do?” Nico had a tinge of desperation on her voice. “That creep said sacrifices, I heard it fine! You think they’re sacrificin’ the crew?”

“Well, if that is the plan, we can’t let that happen!” Kyrie had resolve in her hazelnut eyes, looking at the house over the dead bushes. “We have to try entering through the back. If there isn’t an entry through the back...”

“We are doomed!”

“No. We try something else. C’mon, Nico, they’re counting on us!”

“I-I-I know, but I don’t count on myself...!”

Before they could continue their discussion, they heard a thunderous noise in the distance - as if coming from the skies. Furrowing their brows, they searched everywhere, but there was nothing; not even a semblance of storm over their heads.

“You’re hearin’ that, right...? Right...?”

“Yeah...”

As soon as Kyrie answered, a vicious galloping came in with the wind. As they stared back on the main street, the figure of a fiery horse running with all might with a black rider on its saddle appeared like lightning, approaching at an inhuman speed.

“You’re... Seein’ that...”

“Yes. Yes.” Kyrie shook her head enthusiastically - probably with the same enthusiasm she wanted to ran away.

Before the two women could think of running, though, the horse reached the plaza - and they could finally see the face of the rider as the horse ran around the perimeter of the place; the rider cracking a fiery whip to draw the attention of the cult.

“Is that... Y/n?! But... We... They... Those assholes didn’t take everyone?!” Nico stumbled over her words, as both of them watched you in awe... And horror.

“Apparently not!” Kyrie’s heart danced inside her chest as the man who previously summoned everyone to the ‘festivities’ ran to the porch once again, having a few members of the cult join him - the others took glimpses of the plaza from inside the mansion, through the half broken windows.

You circled the plaza one last time, heading right to the iron gate - now open, which you saw almost as an invitation. You could feel the unease in the air, as Slade slowed its steps and entered the garden, coming to a stop without even your command.

Looking up, you finally saw Blackwell’s face for the second time that night. Now, he had his eyebrows up in shock, recognizing your face under the cowboy hat. In such a short time frame, you could say you had one hell of a makeover.

“Either you let me in willingly, or I’ll force myself in.” You stated loud and clear, having your hand ready on the hunting horn on the saddle horn. “You’ve got one chance to cooperate.”

“Bold words coming from just a pitiful human.” Blackwell’s response was almost spat on your face, with a small laugh that made his cultists giggle alongside him. “It’ll take more than just a few... Party tricks... To stop the ritual.”

“Oh, I got much more than some party tricks, smart ass.” You laughed as an answer, taking the horn out of its place on the saddle. “You’re not the only one striking deals with the devil on these parts. I think you will all enjoy meeting the souls you sent to the afterlife.”

You blew the horn loudly, allowing a ghostly sound to take over the air, as the demonic horse rose up on its back legs neighing loudly in a distorted tone with the demon pack howling in response - the mix of sounds making it seem like a cube of ice was running slowly down your spine.

When the horse landed, the pack took form from the darkness, making Kyrie and Nico scoot away trying not to get in those creature’s path. Blackwell’s eyes grew in terror, even if the man tried to remain arrogant and not show any kind of emotion - the pack raced forward hungrily with gnashing and snarling sounds as they opened their mouths with sharp fangs, ready to tear through the cultists flesh like butter.

“It’s the hard way for you all, then.” You pointed to the house, raising your voice once more. “Take what they owe from you!”

With that command and an intense howling, the pack destroyed the front door - and you could hear the symphony of roars and screams as some of the cultists tried to run away and others tried to fight.

“No! No! I will not be defeated by the likes of you!” Blackwell screamed from the porch, taking one of his followers and slicing their throat without a second thought, leaving the body on the ground as soon as he collected the blood. “Fight those creatures or sacrifice yourselves to their will! The ritual will go on and the main room is to be protected at all costs! That’s an order!”

The remaining cultists obeyed without questioning, willing to give their lives for that bizarre cult ran by Blackwell. You shook your head, watching as they entered in a rush, and still hearing the mayhem going on inside.

“Are you girls alright?” You finally broke the badass pose to look to your side, checking in on Kyrie and Nico. Both women were hugging each other, ready to scream and run, but now they just stared at you in awe.

“Damn, y/n, what the hell?! You almost killed me! My heart cannot take somethin’ like... Like.. A flamin’ demon horse?! How?!” Nico let go of Kyrie to wave her hands around in despair as they approached you - you, in the other hand, smiled back while caressing Slade’s head.

The horse was quite sweet for a demonic horse, if you had to say something.

“What happened? You were all fine when we left, I mean, you were all together...!” Kyrie tried to explain and you could see where she was coming from. “What’s with the deal you mentioned...?”

“Look, it’s quite a long story. But I had to borrow some powers - and help...” You pointed to the house as some growling and yelling was still happening, making Nico visibly shiver as you did so. “To save our damsels in distress for the day. Also have another kind of help.” And this time, you pointed to Rebellion strapped on your back.

“Oh, so that’s where she went!” And Nico could say she was relieved to see the sword with you. They would have a lot of explaining to do if they had lost Dante’s sword.

“We’re here to bring your weapons too...!” Kyrie took Red Queen out of hiding, since they had put the swords down for a moment while discussing their next steps. “We were just trying to figure out a way to...”

Before she could finish speaking, though, a loud noise came from inside the house and the windows started glowing with a flash of red for a while before going back to normal. The floor rumbled for a couple of seconds underneath your feet right after, and then everything went silent - even inside the house.

“The pack did their job, it’s time for me to do mine.” You took the reins back into your hands. “C’mon, Slade! Time to teach those assholes a lesson!”

“Let’s go...!”

“Let’s go where? Are you insane? We’re pretty ok here, outside, waitin’, while the hunters do their thing in there...!”

“Nico.” Kyrie rested both of her hands on the woman’s shoulders as you led Slade up the front porch stairs of the mansion and inside the house - taking everything in your path and leaving fiery steps behind. “They need their weapons. They need us. No time to back up now. Let’s go!”

“Everyone here’s insane...!” Nico rolled her eyes and, if it wasn’t such a dangerous moment, she would be lighting up another cigarette.

You rode through the dead cultists, ripped apart by the pack you summoned earlier - now gone, probably to finally have their rest. Following the chanting noise, you found a set of heavy wooden doors, locked from the other side and being well guarded. With your fiery whip, you took care of the guards in a blink; and with Slade’s hooves, the door was soon broken into pieces on the ground, with you riding inside the room and interrupting the ritual.

“Sorry the late, love. I got a little... Caught up.” You winked as soon as you found Dante’s sky-blue eyes fixated on you in pure amazement. He watched as you rode inside the room, whipping away any cultists who tried to get in your way. Your objective was to save Dante and Nero, and you had nothing but their safety in your mind.

“That flamin’ horse is pretty cool! Where did you get somethin’ like that?” And to say Nero was excited about it was an understatement: he looked like a child who just saw the coolest thing on earth and wanted that to himself as well - enough even to ignore the gash he had on his hand, dripping blood on the wooden floor.

Not a huge blood offering as they were expecting - but Blackwell didn’t want to waste too much of Nero’s precious blood on the summoning. After all, if Dante wasn’t enough for the binding ritual, he would use Nero as well.

“From a demon, no doubt.” Dante answered instead as you finally left the saddle and your feet hit the floor of the house - leaving fiery steps as you approached him. “Hope you didn’t do anythin’ too rash, babe.”

As you reached Dante, you could see the worry in his sky-blue eyes. He knew that kind of power, for a human like you, came only with a deal - and, usually, it never ended well for the human. Either way, what choice did you have that night, really? Not many, and you would do whatever you had to in order to save your lover. Dante knew that - and he would never want to be the reason of your downfall.

That’s why the first thing you did was to place your lips on his, on a slightly longer kiss. You hoped that would reassure him; that it would make Dante know you would make that decision over and over again if it meant he and Nero would be alright that night. You could think about your deal and your soul later, as long as they were safe.

Also, being Dante, he could easily take the increase in your body temperature after the deal.

“I did what I had to.” You answered as soon as you left his lips, smiling fondly even if you could see how melancholic his eyes looked. “Now, let’s get you both out of here. We have a cult to dismantle.”

“We’re experts on that!” Nero was already bubbling inside to fight, almost as if something told him Red Queen was nearby.

“It doesn’t matter what you all do!” Blackwell reappeared from a door on the second floor, holding a black box with silver carvings. “The gates have already been opened! The king will rise and with a few more spells, the binding will be done! Give up!”

“Why do all power hungry asshats always speak like that, huh...?” You shook your head, going back to freeing Dante and Nero: turns out, untying them was quite easy; the problem was the power suppressing shackles around their wrists.

“Eh, you know, babe... If they can’t sound like cheesy villains, then what’s the fun in that?” Dante shrugged, making you giggle in response. As you untied his feet, he finally got up, being followed by Nero as soon as you freed him.

Before any of you could do anything else, the floor rumbled once more and the red sigils in blood started glowing with a light you only saw in very well succeeded rituals. Indeed, the gate was opening, and the demon they summoned was about to come to earth - unless you did something about it.

“Hey, cowboy, can you take care of the cultists and their smart ass leader?”

“Sure thing, ghost rider. But dont’cha think you’re gonna have all the fun by yourself.” With that answer, Dante kissed you quickly before heading over to Blackwell. “C’mon kid. We got work to do!”

“About time!” Nero ran after Dante, even if he himself wasn’t sure what you would do with the ever trembling floor.

“Slade!” As soon as you called, the horse galloped over to you, having you back on its saddle in no time. You circled around the room, watching as the seal between dimensions opened and a metallic looking demon started poking its ugly head through it. Holding Rebellion’s grip tightly, you took it from the holster on your back, as you watched the creature who stepped into your dimension - black eyes oh so interested to finally be out of the demon world. “It’s time to work, Rebellion.”

“Ah... The Human world, at last...” The demon was almost as tall as the mansion itself, wearing a black metallic armor that you couldn’t tell if it was its clothing or its actual skin. It had a humanoid head, but the lips didn’t move as it spoke - almost as if it was wearing a mask made of marble; crowned with a thousand dark metallic spikes. Its black eyes, though, seemed to harbor infinite void; while its clawed hands dripped a viscous black liquid, pooling around its feet. The demon king looked around with no expression on its masked face, but soon those empty eyes found you: a rider on a fiery horse, carrying one of the legendary swords made with the fire of Hell itself. A human rider, wielding such power. “And already a hunter as a warm welcome.”

“To send you back home where you belong to.” You answered, raising your head with pride. “Can’t let you stay here for too long, your putrid highness.”

“A hunter with such power in their hands. This shall be interesting...” The demon king hummed, summoning two blades on each of his hands; forming from the dark liquid that dripped down from his claws. “Very well, hunter. I shall indulge you.”

You had no more words to say, for now it was time to fight. Charging in, you led Slade right in the direction of the demon king, circling around the creature to try to land a hit with Rebellion. In spite of his size, though, the demon was fast and you had to dodge a heavy attack from one of his swords - that buried on the floor, cracking the rotten wooden panels. You seized this opportunity to land a hit on his arm with the Rebellion - soon realizing the skin of the creature was, indeed, made of metal.

It would need a lot more strategy and power to land a blow that had an actual impact on that kind of demon - in all your life as a devil hunter, you had never seen nor fought against anything like it.

Meanwhile, Blackwell pointed his followers to take on Dante and Nero - who were running up stairs to deal with the man who was already setting up the second part of the ritual in a makeshift altar across the room.

The hunters just exchanged looks and a knowing smile before sucker punching their way up - even throwing some of the cultists down the stairs. If they had to fight like humans, they would... And they were actually very good at it.

“What the...!” Kyrie and Nico said in unison as soon as both reached the doors you brought down when you barged in the room - finding that mess of a scene: Dante and Nero running up stairs and you fighting a demonic king with Rebellion in hand. In a matter of fact, their shock came mostly from seeing a demon king for the first time in their lives. Other than Vergil, actually.

“Don’t t-t-tell me you wanna... Go i-i-in there.” Nico’s stuttering suddenly got worse, wincing as soon as one of the kings swords tried to bring you down - and you expertly held it back with Rebellion, keeping your balance on your horse.

It was actually quite impressive to watch.

“I... Don’t. We can... Wait.” Kyrie’s answer was almost a whisper, with both of them agreeing to hide behind something until the opportune moment to give the swords back to their respective owners.

“Blackwell! Time to end this party!” Dante announced as soon as he got to the top of the stairs, making the man jump in place.

There was a skull in the middle of the altar, sided by candles and behind a brass bowl - where he would probably collect Dante’s blood. Blackwell had already cut his hand and offered his own blood, chanting incantations written in an old book he had opened on the corner of the altar.

“It’s too late now, Dante. You should accept...”

“Man, you talk too much...!” Nero finally lost his patience. Before Dante could say anything, his nephew ran with all his might, drop kicking Blackwell on the floor. Dante couldn’t refrain from shaking his head.

“You never change, do ya, kid...?” He had his hands on his hips, watching as Nero kept Blackwell immobile.

The cracking sound of your whip drew everyone’s attention to the fight at hand. Looking down, Dante found you with the fiery whip on your hand, keeping the demon king at bay. Your foe immediately raised one of its huge swords to take you down in a swift sweep, but with a flick of your wrist, you wrapped the blade with the whip, cracking it with the sound of a thousand raging bonfires. Dante couldn’t help but raise his brows and watch you with amazement and admiration.

Indeed, you were a human to tame his demonic heart. There you were, mounting a demon horse, Rebellion on one hand and a whip made of the fires of Hell itself on the other, holding down the sword of nothing but a demon king in place. You didn’t back down nor felt fear - instead, you wrapped the whip even tighter around your own arm, making it shorter and forcing the demon king’s sword down. You knew it wouldn’t burn you, for you were the one wielding it. Keeping your gaze on those eyes made of oblivion, you commanded the whip to burn hotter and hotter... Until the very blade in the demonic king’s hand started to melt, pouring on the floor like molten mercury.

“Fuckin’ hell, y/n...!” Dante let out as soon as surprise hit his heart, watching it all while keeping his hands rested on the balustrade of the second floor. His mind couldn’t even think of that clown Blackwell behind him when he had you being such an incredible hunter downstairs, taming a demon king like he never saw any other devil hunter doing.

He was the only one he knew who ever conquered a king in his book - and there you were, proving the world why you were the owner of his heart.

“Rare are the fights worth fighting...” The demonic king’s voice echoed through the house, as the creature gained back his posture upon realizing one of his weapons were gone. “I can see why Rebellion stands with you. What is your name, hunter?”

“Y/n. Rebellion stands with me because I gained her owner’s trust.” Your answer came with your head held high, while you untangled your whip from your arm. As expected, there was no harm done to you nor your clothing.

“I reckon you gained more than his trust. It will be an honor bringing you down, y/n.”

“I wouldn’t be that concerned with y/n if I were you, ugly face.” Dante finally entered the conversation. He did like the fact that you owned the respect of a demon king, but he did not like it that the creature was now even more interested in killing you. His phrase, though, made both of you turn your attention to him on the second floor. “I mean, I know, my sheriff is givin’ ya a run for your money and, sooner rather than later, you’ll be back down in Hell in no time.” He had a smart smile on his lips, sprinkled with pride, which made you smile in return. It was good to see how much faith Dante had in you. “But we’re all forgettin’ the big elephant in the room: the smart ass who summoned you and has all the intentions on binding you to serve ‘im.”

“Huh. Son of Sparda. I did feel your stench when I arrived - I just concluded it was tied to the sword.” The demonic king raised his head up to Dante, now pointing his sword towards him. “But your words ring truth. You were not the ones who summoned me - and now you tell me a mortal thought itself to be powerful enough to try to bind me into servitude...?”

Oh, you could all feel the anger running on the king’s bloodstream - if he even had one.

“Oh, yes. Not even a honorable human like y/n, huh?” Dante winked back at you, making you giggle. You weren’t really scared of the demon king behind you - your lover had done one hell of a good job of drawing his attention from you and the fight at hand. “More of a...”

“Coward little shit hidden upstairs so you wouldn’t find ‘im!” Nero dragged Blackwell by the collar of his robe as the man stumbled to stand by Dante’s side - clearly trying to run. “And tryna complete the bindin’ ritual, will you look at that!”

“A cowardly move indeed, petty creature...” The demonic king’s voice echoed through the floor, trembling the boards underneath you all. “Weaklings like you should learn your place and which souls are bound to eternal servitude.”

With that phrase, the portal between dimensions opened once more, making you guide Slade away from it so you wouldn’t fall into the demonic world. The king pointed at Blackwell, making some of the black, viscous liquid dripping from its claws go up the man’s arms and neck, slowly reaching his eyes. Blackwell screamed in horror and pain as the liquid filled his eye sockets, turning into infinite voids completely out of a soul as soon as it was done. Nero let go of the man’s arm, watching him go down the stairs like a mindless puppet, walking obediently to the edge of the opened gate, staring into the demonic world as if he had no choice.

“You shall regret your hubris, petty creature.” With those words from the king, Blackwell willingly threw himself into the abyss, forever lost in servitude to the demonic king he thought he would be able to control.

It was the perfect moment. You couldn’t allow a demon king to stay, and he knew that very well. With a quick movement and a loud crack, your whip tangled itself around the demon king’s metallic arm. The expressionless face turned to you, staring into your eyes with that gaze devoided of soul. You held the look, once again wrapping the whip around your arm tightly, cracking Slade’s reins so the horse would walk backwards - helping you pull the demonic king with you.

You had every intention of pulling him down the opened gate, locking it right after he was gone.

It was a matter of strength and will. You kept pulling, and the demonic king kept anchoring his feet on the floor of the house. Dante and Nero watched it all from the second floor with their mouths slightly opened and hearts pounding viciously in their chests. Nico and Kyrie had their eyebrows furrowed, barely believing what their eyes were seeing. The hardwood floor started to crack underneath the king’s feet, but your eyes wouldn’t leave that soulless gaze. You wrapped the whip once again around your arm, making it even shorter, yanking the creature towards you - making him try to anchor himself down even harder.

Using the same command in your heart before, the fires on the whip got hotter and hotter, burning even brighter and making everyone in the room start to sweat - except for you and the king. The creature stumbled a little when you noticed the whip started to melt into its metallic arm - slowly, but surely, melting it... Destroying it.

If the demonic king wasn’t going back to his rightful place, he was going down. The way you stared into his black eyes made him know that.

“Y/n. I shall remember your name.” The demonic king’s voice reverberated through the room again, as he slowly glided towards the opened gate.

“You better. Next time you try to come up, you should know I’ll be here to take you back down.” Your answer was certain, causing a low laugh to echo through the room in return.

“It will be an honor. Hunter.”

Those were the last words you would hear from the demonic king. He finally let go and you yanked the fiery whip, dragging the creature down the same abyss Blackwell had thrown himself into. With the whip free, you had it back on its place on the saddle in a flourish, watching the gate slowly close up - too slowly, in a matter of fact: some demons had noticed it was open and saw an opportunity to come out and cause mayhem.

“Ei, y/n!” You heard Dante calling, as he ran downstairs alongside Nero. “Use the Rebellion! It’ll speed things up!”

Doing as he said, you killed a few demons who tried to come out - and, as you stroke one of them down where it belonged, you noticed the portal closed faster and faster, until there was only the tip of the Rebellion left buried on the very ordinary hardwood floor.

No demons. No gates. No kings. The mansion fell in silence - and the town had its ghostly quietness back to it. With the last stand from Rebellion, it was over.

Dante finally met you in the middle of the party room, watching you with a proud smile on his lips. He had defeated Mundus once, yes, but you had just put a demonic king back where it belonged without any help from him. That was quite a feat you could brag about as much as you wanted now - even if he knew you wouldn’t do it. He knew you paid the price for the power to do so, but he would be lying if he said it wasn’t worth it.

“Guess you saved my ass this time, ghost rider.”

“I believe ‘thanks’ are in order, cowboy.” You answered casually, approaching with Slade walking lazily towards your red devil.

“Oh, you deserve more than thanks tonight, sweetheart.” And the looks in Dante’s eyes made you immediately giggle - while Nero rolled his eyes.

“Ah, stop that you too. There are children in the room...” He shook his head while both you and your lover stared at him with eyebrows raised, ready to question him. Nero just casually looked back at you. “It’s me. I’m children.”

“Ya know... I’m quittin’ this job.”

You three finally looked back at the door only to find Nico and Kyrie walking towards you - safe to say, Nero immediately smiled and ran to meet his love halfway.

“The materials are good, but damn...!” Nico rolled her eyes, completely ignoring Nero holding Kyrie tightly in his arms, kissing the top of her head while she giggled. “You’re all crazy...! Crazy!”

“What can I say? It runs in the family.” Dante shrugged, making Nero laugh from their now inside joke. He turned to you as soon as your feet hit the floor by his side. “You too, babe. You’re family as well.”

“Good to know you think I’m crazy too.” With your answer, he laughed a little bit out loud before having his lips covered by yours - now burning like fire.

“Phew - gonna take a while to get used to that, babe. Is it permanent...?” You could see the care in Dante’s eyes as he pushed some of your hair away from your face - your cowboy hat still immaculate on top of your head. It was clear he didn’t want any kind of thing that transformed you to something more than human to be permanent, but he would accept it anyway: after all, it was you; and everything you did that day was to save him. Dante never really had that.

“Not really. I just have to keep my part of the bargain and it’s gone.” You played with his hair for a while, making Dante have a goofy smile on his lips - only for you. “Which is a shame, really. I liked having you around, Slade.”

The horse approached you, bumping your shoulder with its fiery nose - making you caress its demonic head. All in all, it was a good mount and you grew strangely fond to it.

“And what’s your part of the bargain, babe?”

“Beau Blackwell’s skull. I’ve to find it and give it back to the demon who first made the contract with him.”

“Ya know, the other Blackwell had a skull on the altar upstairs. It’s probably the one ya need, y/n.” Nero considered, still having Kyrie in his arms. There was no force on earth that would make him let her go before sunrise.

“Huh. The demon who made the deal with Beau made a deal with you too, then...?” Dante decided to follow you upstairs as you started making your way towards it.

“Yeah, pretty convenient, I know...” You sighed in return, now used to the fiery steps you left behind you. “But hey, I needed a way to get ourselves out of this one. Demon at the crossroads was my only way out.”

“Yeah, and what a way out. You make one hell of a sexy ghost rider, babe.” Dante teased and, as soon as you got to the top of the stairs, you turned around to let him see you in all your ghost rider glory.

“Right? I’m gonna miss it, I feel quite the badass!” You laughed in return as he whistled upon watching you.

“You’re always a badass, sheriff, you don’t need all that.” There was that unapologetic sincerity in his eyes as Dante spoke, making you know he actually meant it. In all your life hunting by his side, you never felt like you were missing something for being completely human.

“Thank you, cowboy.” You winked back at him, locating the skull inside the black box with silver sigils. Taking it in your hands, now you just had to keep it in the proper place on Slade’s saddle and let it take it back to the creature who gave you those powers for that night. “Though the fiery whip was pretty cool, huh?”

“That it was.” Dante laughed alongside you, stopping for a while before going back downstairs. “Thanks for the rescue, y/n.”

“No worries, Dante. I’ll always be here for you.” You smiled back at him, using your free hand to gently caress his face. “For better or for worse.”

“Usually for worse.” He completed with a slightly bitter laugh, making you shake your head.

“That depends on your point of view, love. To me, it’s always better.”

You left another quick fiery kiss on his lips before heading back downstairs - and, as you concluded your business with Slade and Nico kept arguing with Nero, who kept glued like a koala on Kyrie, Dante couldn’t stop himself from smiling upon thinking about your words.

You were always the better on his life.

*

“To whom it may concern,

Business in Silverstone is back on its tracks. Folks are regaining confidence and tourists are back in town. Things have been flourishing like never before: with the rumors of the latest ‘demonic rituals’, occultists and supernatural enthusiasts are flocking around to visit the old town. Some young folk in the city have even made a ‘Supernatural Silverstone Horror Tour’, or some stupid young people thing like that.

It’s been a hit, though. Not only the young ones, but some old people are coming to take the tour. The old town has never seen so much interest before - and the old Blackwell mansion is now a haunted spot, or something. Haunted house? Dunno. These people like making things up. Not complaining! The hotel is packed every weekend, and there’s plenty of money going around to help us rebuild from the chaos those pesky demons set around on Halloween.

Things are going steady and good around Silverstone - and we all have you people at the Devil May Cry to be thankful to. Whenever you want to visit, accommodation, food and whatever else you need is on the town. You all will always be welcome here.

Oh, the young ones said if you ever want to take the horror tour or whatever, they’ll be more than happy to have you around. It would be an honor, they said. Maybe you could come and show those kids what a proper scare is like, huh?

Well, that’s it for now. I thought you would like to know how things are going - and that you have made friends here in Silverstone. Once again, in the name of the whole town, thank you.

Buck Carson.

Ps: Frances and I have been seeing each other for a while and she agreed to moving in with me in the Hotel. Thank you for your help, y/n.”

“They’re moving in together! Mission accomplished!” You had Buck’s letter in your hand, having just read it out loud, and now you were in the middle of a very weird - and happy - celebration dance in the middle of the Devil May Cry; Dante watched you with his arms crossed, legs on the table and a huge smile on his lips, as always.

“You’ve been playin’ quite the long game to complete that mission, babe!” He laughed alongside you, watching your bare feet happily dancing over the shop’s floor - no fiery footsteps to follow you anymore; your deal was done. “Who would’ve known? You’re a Cupid too!”

“Oh, I’m a good shot, cowboy.” You pointed at him with finger guns, as if you were aiming for his heart. “I could make a wreck with a Cupid’s bow!”

“Oh, there would be no one left standin’! Ouch!” He took his hands over his heart, pretending he was shot as soon as you hit him with your finger guns. “You already took my heart with ya, sheriff!”

“And you took mine with you, cowboy.” You walked over to his desk, leaving the letter on a safe spot and sitting by the edge as you and the ladies always did whenever you were talking at the Devil May Cry. “Who knows, maybe if I make a deal again next year, I’ll get the powers of Cupid for a little while.”

“Ha! Now that I’d like to see!” Dante let out a good laugh, watching intently as you settled in front of him. “But we did get some nice things out of this one this year...”

“Yeah, the whole town is thankful to us, we could go there someday as a vacation.” You considered while Dante agreed, shaking his head. “That’s nice, for a change.”

“Yeah, a first one for me too...” He took his legs off the table, having his feet on the ground again, leaning closer to you. “And you got yourself your first devil weapon, pretty eyes.”

“Oh, my fire whip. I’m so glad.” You closed your eyes, having a huge smile spreading across your lips. Dante quickly glanced over his shoulder, seeing the whip was still sitting peacefully alongside his own devil weapons on a wall display, precisely where you both left them. “All demon kings better beware.”

“I can bet you’re already a legend in Hell, hot stuff. You’re earning your name.” He nodded towards you in a gesture of respect. You could barely think of yourself becoming a legend and making a name for yourself in Hell - but you had to admit it would be more than nice to be known for your abilities.

“But you know, I really like being known as the human who has earned your love.” You looked back at your red devil intently, leaning down on the desk towards him. “That is more important to me than any kind of power I could’ve earned.”

“And that is somethin’ you’ll always have, y/n.” With those words, Dante quickly pulled you into his lap, you both making his chair shift heavily on the floor and make quite the noise - while your laughs ringed with it. “’Cause you know, there’s a reason why Rebellion followed you.”

“Hmmm... I thought it was because I called you somehow before fainting.” You furrowed your brows, pending your head to the side while watching his kind eyes.

“You can call it too, babe, but that’s not what happened that night.” As Dante started talking, he took one of your hands in his, drawing random patterns in it as he spoke. “You see, my swords answer to my soul. And my soul, was worried about you that night. As soon as Rebellion sensed you were in danger...”

“It found me. But how...?”

“’Cause I’d find you anywhere, babe. No matter the place, no matter the circumstance.” His answer was certain; his sky-blue eyes going back to meet yours. “I’d find you anywhere.”

“I’ll always find you too, Dante...” With that, you took his silvery hair away from his eyes, in order to place a gentle, slow kiss on his lips. There was no job to do, no world to save, no gates to close - you could take your time and savor each other. “And save you from whatever demonic kings that decide to step in the way as well.”

“Oh, I’ll always count on that, sheriff!” Dante held you tight against him, placing another long kiss on your lips, making you giggle as he did so. “And I think you said some ‘thanks’ are in order...!”

“But you already... Dante!” Before you could finish speaking, he lifted you up on his arms, leaving his desk to take you upstairs.

“Job’s done and we’re in due for some lovin’. No refunds!” As he spoke, you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing at Dante’s antics.

After all, by now, you knew every Halloween would have a new adventure in store for you - and you also knew that after every storm, some celebration was to be had.

And celebrating with your red devil would never be enough; after all, loving with all the might of their human heart also ran in the family.

[rhinoyo]

a little fan animatic for @lostxmelody's mikofuu fic parts of a human...! <3 a very very very good read :') <3

[nerdallwritey]

Awfully Fond of You

Request: i was wondering if you’d be willing to write a little something for act 1, during the tiefling party for an autistic tav who has a crush on astarion but also has body insecurities + SA trauma, maybe instead of the usual scene that goes down they request to bathe with astarion instead? a tav with poor interoception (sense of awareness with one’s body) who loves to help and touch others but doesn’t quite register others touching them or how they feel about it but still craving intimacy with astarion is something i’m obsessed with (*^^*)*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･* i love your writing style and NEVER request so im super nervous!!  - 🪴 (Link to original request here).

Pairing: Astarion x gn!reader Rating: 18+ - no smut, but mature themes Word Count: 7.7k CW: Very vague alludes to SA trauma, reader is a sweetie pie, Astarion is an idiot as always - No explicit smut this time; this one's mostly fluff! Spoilers: Minor spoilers for Act 1 (in-game dialogue, plot points, etc.), as well as Astarion's plotline Also posted to: AO3

a/n: Hello folks! I come bearing my very first request fulfillment! As you can tell from the ask, 🪴 anon wanted something very personal and sweet, and I'm incredibly honored that they chose me to see their vision come to life. I did my best to hit every beat they requested, while also staying true to my writing style, which, of course, means there's plenty of banter to be had. Yes, it is a bit similar to An Evening To Ourselves and Perfect Every Time (I swear I was in the middle of writing that one when I received this request), but I'm pleased with how this new remix of Astarion's Act 1 romance scene turned out! And yes, the title IS based on a lyric from everyone's favorite Sesame Street bath time song, "Rubber Duckie." HIT IT, BOYS! (Thank you, as always, to @kermitwazowski for beta reading!) NOTE: This Tav is completely separate from bard!Tav and does not take place in the same universe as Beauty and the Bard. Part 5 of that coming soon! And my request box is open!

Without further ado, 🪴 anon, I hope you like it!

The air in camp was abuzz with laughter and cheer. Booze flowed into goblets and down throats, and smiles graced the faces of nearly every guest currently in attendance of the last minute celebration thrown together by you and your companions.

With the goblins and their leaders defeated in what turned out to be a rather difficult encounter, Halsin and Zevlor had insisted on celebrating with you and your party at your campsite before the tieflings made their way to Baldur’s Gate within the next few days. 

Alfira supplied the evening with a somewhat constant stream of joyful songs, only stopping every so often to enjoy a drink with Lakrissa, while other tieflings danced and mingled with each other, relief and excitement making their shoulders relax as they reached for more goblets of wine. 

You were in the process of making your rounds through the party; you’d shared a drink with Shadowheart, some jokes with Gale and Karlach, a quiet moment with Wyll, and a confusing conversation with Lae’zel about limbs being torn from a neogi? You weren’t entirely sure what those even were, but you had to assume they were a fearsome creature if Lae’zel was bringing it up. 

That only left Astarion.

To be honest, you’d been avoiding him all night. Try as he might to catch your eye whenever you passed by, whether it be with a pointed clearing of his throat or a blatant call of your name, you would zero in on something else, and focus all your attention on that. Even if it meant sitting through an extended conversation with Volo. 

But now, there was nowhere left to go. Unless you opted to avoid him completely. And that would only lead to questions from your companions that you wouldn’t know how to answer.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like him. No. In fact, it was the exact opposite. You liked him a lot. And you weren’t sure what to do about it. 

Astarion was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen and you were… you. You’d been you, your whole life, and knew for a fact that the pair of you were an odd couple. Where he was crass, you were kind. Where he was violent, you opted to talk things through. 

And yet, you couldn’t help but enjoy spending time with him. His bloodlust was fascinating to watch, and you loved sparring both physically and verbally with him. More than once, you’d both saved the other’s ass in a sticky situation during battle. More than once, you’d allowed him to drink from you to ease his sanguine hunger. 

You were pretty sure that at the very least, he considered you a friend, though you weren’t sure he’d ever directly admit that to you. Unlike Gale and Wyll, who often reminded you how much they appreciated your friendship, Astarion was much tougher to read. Yet despite his somewhat malicious name calling and disapproval towards your actions, you couldn’t help but feel that he had a soft spot for you. Even when you were telling him he couldn’t kill a man in cold blood, it seemed like he legitimately enjoyed your company. The thought made you smile softly.

Taking in a deep breath and straightening your posture, you finally willed yourself to approach the vampire.

His eyes lit up in that way they often did when he was preparing to tease you.

“There you are, darling,” he said, dramatically. “I was worried I’d never see you again.”

“Worried I’d leave you, huh?” you teased with a smirk. 

Astarion tsked. “Perish the thought. But I recognize someone avoiding me when I see it.”

“Ah,” you clasped your hands in front of yourself, looking down at the ground, “you noticed that.”

“When I usually have to pry you away from me, yes, I noticed.” He took a swig of the wine he was holding.

You nodded and bobbed back and forth on your toes. “Best for last, I guess?” you shrugged your shoulders and smiled at him, hoping he’d drop the subject.

He hummed lamely. 

“So,” you perked up, “are you enjoying the party? I see you’ve been indulging in the spirits.”

“Watching me, were you?” Astarion smirked and you held up your hands, caught.

“Guilty.”

“You know,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “I never pictured myself as a hero.”

You reached out to squeeze his arm. “Don’t say that.”

His eyes met yours, and he gently pulled his arm out of your grasp. He cleared his throat before continuing.

“Never thought I’d be the one they toast for saving so many lives. And now that I’m here…” He closed his eyes and took another swig of his wine. When he brought the bottle away and opened his eyes, he met you with a scowl. “I hate it. This is awful.”

You laughed. “Really? Saving lives is awful?” 

Astarion rolled his eyes. “We killed some goblins to save some tieflings. The tally of lives didn’t change much.”

“You’re awful,” you shook your head affectionately. 

He looked smug before puffing his chest. “And what do I get for all my hard work?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

“Nothing but a pat on the head, and vinegar for wine.” 

You pursed your lips and reached for the bottle, brushing your fingers against his own. 

“Let me try,” you said, lifting the bottle to your lips and taking a sip. Your tongue was flooded with the bitter taste of fermented grapes and something else you couldn’t place. Your face scrunched at the flavor and Astarion snorted.

“See what I mean? Awful.”

You handed the bottle back to him, smacking your tongue to get rid of the aftertaste. He took the opportunity to continue speaking.

“All I want is a little fun. Is that so much to ask?”

You let out an amused scoff. “Knowing you, it probably is.”

Astarion lifted a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Oh, don’t be so sour. I like a good time as much as anyone.”

“‘Sour,’” you repeated, pointing at his wine bottle. “Good one.”

He smirked. “You know, we could always make our own entertainment, darling.”

“Oh, really?” You lifted an eyebrow. “And what does that entail?”

“We could get a little closer, so to speak.”

You were suddenly very aware of how close you were standing to Astarion. You took a considerable step backwards and crossed your arms. 

“Sorry, I was really close to you just now, wasn’t I?” You rubbed up and down your bicep awkwardly.

Astarion blinked before his face settled into a seductive smirk. He reached his free hand out to rest on your hip. “On the contrary, my dear. I rather like it when you’re close.”

“Oh, good,” you sighed in relief. You brought your hand down to where Astarion’s rested on your hip. “Sometimes I can’t tell.”

He chuckled, squeezing your hip slightly. “So what do you say?”

“To us getting closer? I don’t mind!” To emphasize your point, you took a step forward and rested your other hand on his shoulder.

Astarion furrowed his brow. Then he chuckled again, gently removing both of your hands from his body. “While I appreciate your enthusiasm, let’s wait until things quieten down. Once the others are asleep, we’ll find each other.”

“Okay, now I’m really interested in what kind of entertainment you have planned.” You smirked at him, sensing a shift in his tone, but unsure of what it meant. “Don’t tell me you’re a master of shadow puppets or something.”

He smiled skeptically. “Very funny,” he said slowly. “But I trust you’ll meet me?”

You giggled. “Yes, I’ll see you later, Astarion.” 

“Indeed you will, my love. Indeed you will.” Rather than bid you a proper goodbye, Astarion brought the wine bottle to his lips once more and turned away from you. 

You spun on your heel and made your way back to the party. 

This was fine. Good, even! Spending time one-on-one with Astarion was probably exactly what you needed if you wanted to navigate this silly crush you’d developed. Sure, he’d just called you “my love,” and that was a new one, but it wasn’t that much different from the other pet names he threw at you and your companions. You didn’t need this foolish infatuation distracting you on your journey or, gods forbid, diverting your attention during battle. No, this would be the perfect time to remind yourself and your fluttering heart that Astarion was, first and foremost, your friend, and a person. It didn’t need to be anything more than that. 

Your feet carried you not too far from Astarion’s tent and landed you at Karlach’s tent, the tiefling in question currently lying on her back, looking up at the stars.

“Hey, Hot Stuff,” you said, standing over her. 

“Soldier!” she grinned, her eyes a bit fuzzy from the wine. 

“This seat taken?” You kicked your foot over some dirt to her left. 

“All yours,” she said, sitting up to join you. 

You settled down next to her and watched the party still taking place at the center of camp. It sounded like Gale and Lae’zel were having some sort of heated argument over which main courses were best to prepare for battle, while Halsin awkwardly weaved between them to gather a plate of food for himself.

“Saw you chatting up Fangs just now,” Karlach playfully air-elbowed you, careful not to accidentally touch and scorch you. “Did he have anything good to say?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” you shrugged. “He was an ass to me, I was an ass to him, the usual.”

Karlach nodded. “Sounds about right.”

You both sat in pleasant silence for a moment before you laughed a little. “It’s funny, he actually asked me to spend time with him tonight, after the party.”

Karlach furrowed her brow. “After the party? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” you shook your head, “he said we could ‘make our own entertainment.’” You made air quotes when you repeated his words. “I figure he wants to read together or something. It was just weird how he phrased it.”

She sat up a little straighter, her expression growing more serious. “Hang on, what were his words, exactly?”

You leaned back a little, confused by her sudden interest in your mundane conversation with the vampire. “Um… I don’t know. He said he didn’t like being a hero, I told him not to say that, he said he wanted more than a pat on the head and bad wine, I tried the wine and it was bad, he said he wanted a little fun, ‘is that so much to ask?’ and I said ‘knowing you, it probably is,’ and then he said we could make our own entertainment. Or something like that.”

“Huh.” Karlach thought for a moment. “I think he means to bone you, Soldier.”

You sputtered out a laugh. “What?! No he doesn’t!”

“He sooooo does!” Karlach barked out a laugh. “And good for you! I know I’d ride him to the Feywild and back if I had the chance.”

“He does not,” you said again, trying to convince yourself as much as you were trying to convince Karlach. 

But you faltered. 

“Does he?”

“Soldier,” Karlach lowered her head at you, giving you an incredulous look, “he was absolutely asking you to get nasty with him.” 

“Are you serious?”

“Yes!” she threw her hands up in the air. “We all see the way you look at each other! You practically undress one another with your eyes every time you see each other!”

“No we don’t!” you argued, but shrank back when Karlach raised an eyebrow at you. 

“You do. You know you do.” 

“Am I that obvious?” you asked, lifting your hands to your cheeks as you felt them heating up. 

Karlach started counting on her fingers. “He’s always the first one you check on after a battle, you’re always walking next to him when we’re traveling, AND you let him drink your blood. Weirdly often. Which is gross.”

“I like helping him,” you countered weakly. “And I always check on you guys, too!”

“Of course you do, Soldier, but we can all see how you two treat each other differently.”

You peered over at Astarion’s tent. He lounged comfortably amongst his pillows, a book propped open in his lap and his bottle of wine was not too far off. 

How could he be so casual and relaxed about all of this? The thought of talking to him later tonight made your stomach drop.

“What if I turn him down?” you asked softly, leaning forward to hug your knees.

Karlach’s expression softened. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” She reached out a hand, but retracted it. “If I could, I’d rub your back like my mum used to do when I was a kid.”

You smiled over at her. “Thanks.”

She nodded. “If you don’t want to sleep with the leech, that’s your choice. Don’t let him talk you into it if it’s not what you want.”

“I’m not entirely sure what I want,” you admitted, looking up at the familiar stars above.

Karlach sighed. “Well, you don’t have to decide anything tonight.” She nodded her head towards his tent. “In fact, I could go beat the shit out of him, if you’d like.”

You laughed. “Not necessary. But I appreciate the offer.”

“I’ll do it.”

“I know you will,” you smiled and settled your cheek on top of your knee. “I do really like him,” you confessed.

Karlach thought for a moment. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s the problem?” She cocked her head curiously.

You sighed. “Sex isn’t really something… I have a great relationship with.”

“Ah,” Karlach nodded. “Same,” she joked, flaring her flames a little for good measure.

You snickered quietly. “I won’t get into it, but… yeah. No thanks. For now, at least.”

“Say no more,” she held up her hand and turned to observe Astarion at his tent. “You could always just see what he has to say? Maybe he just wants to show you he’s a master at shadow puppets or something.”

“That’s what I said!” you laughed, and Karlach joined in.

When you’d both settled, she spoke again. “But seriously, Soldier. Astarion may be a freaky vampiric bastard, but I don’t think he’d hurt you.”

“I don’t think he would either.”

“He knows we’d kill him.”

“I’m sure you’d all take turns sending him to the hells.”

“You bet your sweet ass we would,” she brought her fist to her hand as if preparing to punch this hypothetical Astarion. 

After another quiet moment, she spoke again. “You don’t have to go with him tonight. Or, I could come with you, if you want. As backup.”

“Thanks,” you said, “but I think I need to have this conversation with him alone.”

“Of course.”

You looked back over at Astarion’s tent. He was now standing and stretching his arms over his head. When he caught you watching him, he smirked and threw a wink in your direction. You quickly snapped your head forward, back towards the center of the party. Groaning, you brought your hands up to cover your face.

“What am I gonna do?”

~~~~~

Staring into the trees ahead of you, you remained frozen in place. 

The party had died down and dispersed about an hour ago, giving you and your companions plenty of time to perform a quick cleanup and head to bed. And just as Astarion had said, once a peaceful quiet had enveloped the camp, he’d come to your tent and wordlessly motioned for you to follow him. 

Now you were wringing your hands, trying to convince yourself to follow after him into the forest.

Karlach was right: you didn’t have to do anything you didn’t want to do. And Astarion was a reasonable guy. 

To a degree.

Okay, no he wasn’t. 

He was always prepared to kill someone who wronged him in an instant. But surely he’d be reasonable in this department. Your gut told you that that was true. And if it wasn’t, you’d sicc Karlach and the others on him. 

You knew it wouldn’t come to that, though. You felt strongly that he was the type who wouldn’t react rashly to a rejection. 

Before you’d even made up your mind to do so, you found yourself walking into the trees, following the general direction you’d seen Astarion head off towards. The least you could do was hear him out. And who knew, maybe this would be a funny anecdote in your friendship later on down the line. Only time would tell.

It took a few minutes of mindless wandering before you reached a clearing. You kept going, prepared to keep walking until you eventually found Astarion, when you spotted him emerging from behind a tree in your peripheral. 

You screeched to a halt and turned to face him, growing stiff with nerves when you realized he was shirtless. 

“There you are,” he said, his hand lingering on the tree behind him. “I’ve been waiting.” 

He approached you slowly. 

Seductively. 

You stood completely still.

He continued, “Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you.”

You swallowed thickly.

He moved even closer. “Waiting to have you.”

“About that,” you said, struggling to keep your voice steady, “what exactly do you mean?”

Astarion’s sensual expression morphed into one of confusion. Then he laughed a little. “Isn’t it obvious? Tonight is about pleasure.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” you muttered.

While you were pretty sure he heard you, Astarion pressed on anyway. 

“Yours. Mine. Our collective ecstasy.”

“Astarion,” you said quickly, surging forward to grab his hands in yours, “please.”

He looked surprised, but quickly recovered with an alluring smirk. “Please what, darling?”

“We don’t have to.”

Astarion narrowed his eyes skeptically. “Don’t have to what?”

You groaned and leaned your head forward to rest on his bare shoulder. After a second you lifted your face back up to look at him. “We don’t have to sleep together.”

This time, Astarion looked stunned. “Then… what are you doing here?” 

You shrugged. “I thought we could talk.”

Astarion pulled away from you and took a step back. “‘Talk?’ I thought we had an understanding?”

“See, that’s the thing,” you said, “I did not understand.”

“Hmm,” he hummed and tilted his head in disbelief.

“I’m serious,” you said, stepping closer to him again. “I thought you wanted to spend time together.”

“Oh, but I do,” his lips quirked up mischievously. “I mean to spend the entire night with you, my dear.”

“And while that sounds great, I think you and I are having different thoughts about how to spend that time.” You held his gaze, willing him to hear you.

He humphed. “So you don’t want to have sex with me?”

“Not right now, no.”

He sputtered his lips together and threw his arms up. “And what does that mean?”

“It means… It means I don’t want to have sex right now. At all.” You watched his face scrunch in incredulity. “It has nothing to do with you!” you clarified, grabbing one of his hands again. “Believe me, this is all me.”

Astarion looked you up and down, scanning your body language. You still held his hand and leaned into him ever so slightly. 

“What’s this then?” he asked, placing his free hand over the hand holding his.

You pulled away from him completely. “Sorry,” you said, “I end up touching the people I like. I don’t realize I’m doing it.”

He narrowed his eyes, putting the pieces together in his head. 

“You like me.”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t want to sleep with me.”

“Yes.”

“So… what? You want to be friends or something?” He made a sour expression.

You laughed softly. “I’d like to think we’re already friends, actually.”

“And why would you think that?” Astarion asked, but you saw in his eyes that he was teasing.

You smiled lightly. “Maybe because you won’t stop following me around Faerûn?”

“Well, it’s not like I-”

“Or maybe because you’ve had a taste of my blood and now you can’t get enough?”

“Okay, that’s-”

“Or maybe because Karlach said you treat me differently than you treat everyone else.”

“She did not!” Astarion sounded genuinely scandalized and you laughed.

“Face it, pretty boy, you like me, too.”

Astarion groaned and rolled his eyes. “This is not at all going how I planned.”

You pursed your lips and wrapped your arms around yourself again. “Sorry.”

He glanced back at you and saw you staring at the ground. He sighed. 

“No, I’m sorry, darling.”

You met his eyes. He stepped closer and placed his hands on your cheeks. Instinctively, you leaned into his touch. 

“I assumed you wanted the same thing as me, and I was wrong.”

“It’s okay,” you assured. “You couldn’t have known.”

“Still,” he said, his thumb caressing the apple of your cheek, “I misread your touches as advances rather than…” He searched for the proper words. “One of your quirks.”

You exhaled, amused. “You didn’t entirely misread me.”

“Pardon?”

“I do like you. A lot. And if things were different, maybe I would sleep with you, but…”

Astarion pulled away from you and held up a hand. “No explanation needed, darling.” He smirked. “But it's good to know how you feel.”

You felt your cheeks go red. “Yeah,” you said, suddenly shy.

Astarion clicked his tongue. “You’re so adorable when you’re thinking of what to say.”

You shook your head and patted your cheeks. “I have another idea,” you said.

He nodded for you to continue and crossed his arms.

“Um… if it’s alright with you, I…” You paused, not exactly sure how he’d react. 

“What is it, darling?”

“I’d like to… bathe you.”

Astarion uncrossed his arms and looked rather dumbfounded.

“What?”

Your words came out clumsily and a little too fast: “Or not! I don’t know, I just like you so much, and I’d like to be closer to you but I don’t want to have sex with you so I thought maybe we could get closer another way, or maybe-”

“Okay,” Astarion interrupted.

“Huh?”

He moved closer to you and brushed some hair out of your face.

“Okay,” he repeated softly. “Let’s bathe together.”

“Oh,” you said, disbelief painting your features. 

Astarion laughed. “Did you assume I’d say no?”

You shrugged as a smile grew on your face. “I don’t know what I expected,” you reached for his hand, “but I’m really glad you said yes.”

~~~~~

The walk back to camp was pleasantly silent, save for the crickets singing their nightly aria. Astarion kept pace with you, the back of your hands brushing every so often, each time sending a tiny shock wave through your body. 

This was happening. You were going to have a private, intimate moment with Astarion. Even if it hadn’t been what he originally intended, you were happy to think of a compromise that still allowed you to get close to him in a way that you knew the others in camp hadn’t, and probably wouldn’t. It made you feel special.

Happy.

And nervous. 

Nervous as all hells, to be honest. You felt your heart speeding up with every step you took, bringing you closer to camp.

“Something wrong, darling?” Astarion asked, giving you a sideways glance.

You jumped a little when his voice broke the silence. “Huh?”

“Your heart, love. It’s pounding.” He waggled his eyebrows teasingly. “Nervous?”

“Oh, that.” You held a hand to your chest and focused on slowing your breathing. When you turned to look at him, you asked, “Is that weird?”

“Seeing as how this was your suggestion, maybe a little.” He smiled and nudged his shoulder into yours.

You groaned. “If this is too weird, let’s just not.”

Astarion halted and grabbed your wrist to stop you. He spun you to look into his eyes. “Whatever’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, darling, cut it out.”

“Oh, okay great. Done.”

“Really?”

“No, not really!” You narrowed your eyes at him.

He sighed. “Never is that easy, is it?”

It was a rhetorical question, but you shook your head anyway. 

“Well, whatever’s making you nervous, I’ll strive to steer clear of it.”

He looked at you expectantly, as if he wanted some sort of explanation. You avoided his eyes and moved to continue walking towards camp. He followed close behind.

“It’s just that…” you paused, trying to collect your thoughts. “I haven’t been… naked in front of someone. For a while.”

Astarion bit his lip, mirth in his eyes.

“Don’t laugh!” you exclaimed, mortified.

“No, no, darling!” His tone was gleeful. “Apologies. It’s just that that’s what’s making you nervous? I’ll have you know that you’re one of the more beautiful creatures who I’ve attempted to bed. You have nothing to fear. I’ve seen all manner of bodies and I can assure you, yours will be nothing short of exquisite. In fact, your shyness is rather endearing.” He smiled at you, looking like he might still be withholding a laugh.

You flattened your lips into a line. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.” You began walking ahead of him but stopped when you heard him call your name.

“I may be a rake and a thief, but I’m no liar.”

You blinked at him. “Yes you are! You lie all the time!”

“Okay, yes, sure, but I don’t lie about things that matter! Things like this!” He motioned up and down, indicating your body.

Just as he did so, the two of you emerged from the trees and into camp. You held a finger to your lips and indicated for him to be quiet. He nodded and padded after you as you crept quietly towards the shore of the lake that lapped quietly next to your sleeping campsite. You bent to pick up towels, along with the bucket that held soap and other washing supplies that you and your companions shared in an effort to stay clean on the road. You held them up and motioned for Astarion to follow you again, away from where Withers stoically kept watch, and more towards where you’d spoken with Wyll earlier in the evening. When you turned to face Astarion, his eyes were full of questions.

“Are you sure you still want to do this?” you asked.

He perked up and grinned. “My love, there is nothing I’d like more.”

You searched his eyes one more time to make sure he was serious. When you were satisfied with what you saw, you motioned for him to step into the lake. 

“Ladies first,” you teased, looking anywhere but at Astarion.

He, in turn, looked down his nose at you. “I know what this is,” he said, pointing a lazy finger at you.

“What’s what?”

“You’re stalling, darling.”

“I am not!”

Astarion crossed his arms and tilted his head towards you, unimpressed.

Your posture fell into a slouch. “Okay fine, maybe I am stalling.”

“Really?” Astarion said dramatically before dropping his arms to his sides again. He approached you, close enough to where you could feel his cool breath on your face. 

He placed both of his hands on your hips. You looked down to watch as his fingers drummed a calming rhythm into your sides. He whistled quietly, gaining your attention. 

“Let’s start here,” he suggested, now fingering the hem of your shirt. He refused to let you look away. 

You nodded.

“Good,” he purred as you raised your arms and helped him take off your shirt. 

The cool air of the evening immediately sent goosebumps down your arms, and you unconsciously crossed them over your chest for warmth.

Astarion tsked. “Come now,” he protested and placed two gentle hands on your wrists, guiding them to your sides. “Lovely,” he praised once he was able to look at you. 

You made an uncomfortable sound before placing your hands on your waistband. 

“These probably need to come off next, right?”

“Typically that’s how one bathes themself, yes.”

“Right,” you agreed, watching as Astarion mirrored you and reached for his own waistband. You looked down at your legs as you removed your pants, leaving you in only your underwear. 

“Goodness, love,” Astarion said quietly and you looked at him shyly. He himself was now only in his underwear. “You have nothing to be shy about. You’re magnificent.”

“Would you shush and get into the water please?” you half teased, half begged. Anything  to end this weird tension you were feeling. 

“Alright,” he laughed softly before reaching for the waistband of his underwear. He looked at you for approval. When you nodded, he removed them in one fluid motion as if he’d done this a million times. Maybe he had.

Regardless, you couldn’t help but stare at the space between his legs.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Eyes up here.”

“Sorry,” you said, immediately flicking your eyes up to his face. “I didn’t- It’s just-”

Astarion chuckled. “I understand.”

“Thank you,” you said, breathing a sigh of relief. 

“Your turn,” he said, lifting his eyebrows.

You bit your lip and slowly reached for your underwear. When you pulled them off, Astarion watched you without a hint of judgment in his eyes. You ran a hand through your hair and shifted nervously on your feet. 

He held out a hand to you and you stared at it before looking up at his face. He rolled his eyes.

“I’m not going in this frigid water alone, are you mad?”

You laughed and took his hand. He instantly pulled your body to his, holding you so that you were chest to chest. He gave you a seductive smirk before leaning in. You leaned away, avoiding his advances. You shook your head ever so slightly before stepping into the gentle water. Astarion remained standing on the shore before following after you. 

Braving the cold of the water, you sunk down until you were sitting in neck deep water. You let the bucket you’d brought with you float next to you as Astarion crept through the water, clearly freezing. 

“Why did I let you convince me to bathe at night? There’s no sun out to warm this wretched lake.”

You ducked your mouth below the surface to blow some bubbles in his direction. “You should know by now that dunking your whole body helps you warm up faster.”

He gave you a dirty look before slowly sinking down in front of you, yelping and contorting his face the entire time. You couldn’t help but squawk out a laugh. 

When he was fully seated, he pulled you towards him, making you sit in his lap. He gave you a sensual look that had you frowning and pulling back. He raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“When I said I wanted to bathe you, that’s all I meant.”

“Ah.” His tone was confused. Then he shook his head. “Right, sorry. This is - well… you know.” He smiled, looking like he was admitting defeat and that he wasn’t pleased about it. “I have no idea what to do with you.”

You swam behind him, pulling the bucket of soap towards you and laying your hands on both of his shoulders. “You don’t have to do anything.”

He spun to face you. “Nothing?”

You nodded and he huffed out a laugh. “No sex, no fooling around…I’m sorry, darling. It’s just - having to slow down, it’s… I’m just not used to it.” 

“That’s okay,” you rested your hands on his shoulders again. “We’re in no rush.”

He hummed. “Can you… I don’t know. Help? Show me what to do?”

Laughing, you took his hand. “I’ll try.”

You led your weightless bodies into shallower water and had Astarion sit facing away from you, towards the shore. Reaching for the bucket again, you pulled out a bar of soap and a sponge. 

“Relax,” you cooed, seeing how tensely he held his shoulders close to his ears. 

He let loose a breath and you watched as he relaxed his muscles. Your eyes traveled lower, suddenly catching a glimpse of a complicated and gruesome scar on his back. Your eyes widened, taking in how the water and moonlight reflected off of it. Calmly, you dipped the sponge in the water and added soap before gently rubbing his right shoulder. Astarion melted further, allowing his neck to tilt forward, which, in turn, gave you a better view of his scarred flesh.

“Um… Is it okay for me to wash your back?” you hesitated in bringing the sponge across his shoulder and over his back to his other shoulder.

“Why wouldn’t - oh. I suppose you’re talking about the poem.” He barely looked over his shoulder at you.

“I’ve never seen a poem like this,” you said quietly, a hint of anger in your voice.

He chuckled darkly in response. “It’s a gift from my old master, Cazador. He considered himself quite the artist and used his slaves as a canvas. Do you like it, darling?” He shimmied his shoulders, mockingly preening over the evidence of his own torment.

“Not at all,” you said evenly, continuing to wash his shoulders. 

“Ouch, love, you’d hurt his feelings if he heard that.” Not a hint of joy reached his eyes.

“I don’t much care about the feelings of this old master of yours.”

“Oh, be still, my undead heart,” he held a hand to his chest sarcastically. Then he sighed. “You’re allowed to wash it. It doesn’t hurt anymore.” His voice was quiet when he said, “Thank you for asking.”

Wordlessly, you moved the sponge from the back of his neck to his shoulder blades. 

“I’m not going to break,” he laughed softly, “you don’t have to be so gentle.”

You increased the pressure you were applying to his skin before adding more soap to the sponge. “Move up a little,” you instructed, tapping him to move closer to the shore. “Lean forward.”

Now you had a better angle to wash away the grime of the road from his back, and an even better view of the scar. You clicked your tongue and set to work. 

Perhaps uncomfortable by your silence, Astarion began to speak again. “He, Cazador, composed and carved that poem over the course of a night.” There was a venom to his words. Maybe a deep regret, or a weighing sadness. “He made a lot of revisions as he went.”

Your hand paused over a particularly brutal ridge. You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around his torso, resting your cheek against the raised tissue. “You’re brave for enduring that.”

“What are you doing?” Astarion straightened, making you push your cheek further into his skin. 

You pulled back immediately. “Sorry, I wanted to hug you. I should have asked. I just… wanted you to know that I care.”

Astarion looked over his shoulder at you blankly. “You ‘care?’”

You nodded. “Turn back around, let me keep washing you.”

He gave you a slight nod before facing forward again and leaning over. 

After another silent moment of gliding the sponge across his back, you asked, “Any idea what it means? Or is it just some pattern?”

Astarion let out an unamused laugh. “Hells if I know. Not sure how much you know about vampires, darling, but typically, we can’t see our reflections.” He spoke as if talking to a child. 

You splashed his back with a small wave from your hand. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“You’re lashing out at me when I was just asking a question.”

“I-” He paused. Then he fell silent.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped but… I’m not your enemy,” you said gently. “We don’t have to keep talking about this. We don’t have to talk at all.”

Astarion groaned. “Silence is dreadful, darling.”

“Is that why you never stop talking?” you teased, trying to lighten the mood again.

“Good one,” he said flatly, but you could hear the smile in his voice. “I only talk because you lot never have anything interesting to say.”

You scoffed with a smile. “I have plenty of interesting things to say!”

“Oh, really? Like what?”

“Like-” you thought for a moment. “Like the other day! When I was talking with you about your embroidery!” By now you’d moved on to washing over Astarion’s arms. You spun him to face you so you could wash and massage his hands. 

Astarion clicked his tongue. “Unfortunately, darling, that’s not an entirely interesting topic, seeing as how I was in the middle of mending a shirt and you just wanted an excuse to talk to me.”

“I did not!” you denied, massaging between his fingers. Unconsciously, his fingers curled around yours before retracting and flexing. 

“Deny all you want, you still didn’t say anything interesting.”

“Hmm,” you narrowed your eyes at him. “If I’m so uninteresting, why did you want to spend the evening with me of all people?” You were massaging his other hand. 

“You-” He paused again.

“I?”

“You’re… I’m still trying to figure you out.” His voice grew softer when you pulled yourself closer to wash across his chest. You sensed the shift and looked up at his face to make sure he was okay with your actions. When he nodded minutely, you continued. 

“If you’re trying to figure me out… one might say that you’re interested in me.”

He groaned. “Say whatever you want to help you sleep better tonight, darling.”

“Uh huh,” you said pleasantly to yourself, feeling like you’d won. You looked away to add more soap to the sponge and when you looked back, you realized how close you were to his face. His pupils were blown wider than usual and you could see yourself reflected in his eyes against the moonlight. His breath tickled your face. 

He watched you with an intensity that had you hesitating. Why was he so-?

“Look up,” you said, looking up yourself to demonstrate what you wanted. “Please.”

He held your gaze for as long as he could before looking up at the sky. 

You carefully brushed the sponge along his throat, pausing briefly when you got to the twin wounds on his throat from the night he was turned. You circled them gently with the sponge before rinsing the suds with water cupped in your hand. A shiver ran through Astarion’s body.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

“Yes,” he said looking back down at you once you’d finished rinsing the suds away. “But I’d very much like to kiss you.”

You blinked a few times before resting your forehead against his. When you pulled back, you asked, “Is it okay for me to wash your hair?”

Astarion looked at you for a moment, his eyes flicking to your lips for a second before meeting your eyes again. “I suppose so,” he said.

“I don’t have to. Your legs are still-”

“I can handle my own lower half, thank you.” He winked at you.

You smiled and handed him the sponge before bringing yourself to rest behind him again. You gathered the bucket that was still floating nearby and submerged it until it was filled about halfway with water.

“You can either dunk yourself, or I can pour this over your head,” you held the bucket for Astarion to see.

“I’m actually quite enjoying you taking care of me, darling. I trust you won’t drown me.”

“A mistake,” you said, pretending to dump the bucket over his head all at once. “Can vampires even drown? It’s not like you need to breathe.”

“I’d rather not find out, if it’s all the same to you,” he smirked. 

Instead of dumping the entire bucket on his head like you threatened, you poured a gentle stream along the back of his skull before moving forward to evenly wet the rest of his hair. 

“Bloody hells, that is cold,” he pushed some flattened curls out of his face.

“For being a fearsome vampire, you sure are a wimp,” you teased. 

“I could rip your throat out.”

“And I might be able to drown you.” You placed firm hands on both his shoulders and pushed gently, as if you wanted to test your theory. 

“Terrifying,” he smirked, running the sponge along his legs underwater.

“You should see what I did to those goblins who were holding Halsin hostage.”

Astarion laughed. “I know, darling, I was there. Who knew you could be so hellbent on vengeance?”

You laughed softly, coating your hands in soap before running them through his curls. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Like?” he prompted.

“Astarion!” you exclaimed sarcastically. “You want to know more about me?”

“Well if I knew you’d make a fuss, I wouldn’t have said anything.” Despite his tone, his eyes were closed in pleasure as you continued to massage his scalp. 

You chuckled quietly, trying to think of something to share with him. 

“I’ve lived in Baldur’s Gate my whole life,” you started.

“A shame we never crossed paths.”

“I’m not entirely sure you’d spare me a passing glance.”

Astarion opened his eyes. “Don’t say that.”

You shrugged. “I read a lot, growing up, and liked being indoors. But I also liked the outdoors. I helped my dad tend our garden, and helped my mom cook dinner–”

“How quaint.”

“We’d visit my aunt in the Upper City every Midwinter, and I wanted to be a teacher when I grew up.” 

“Pity, you have such a promising career as a spa keeper.”

You examined Astarion’s head to make sure you hadn’t missed a spot. When you were pleased with your own work, you continued: “This is the first big adventure I’ve ever been on.”

“First brain worm?” Astarion opened one eye and pointed to his temple.

You laughed and nodded. 

He smiled. “Mine, too.”

You filled the bucket with more water and held a hand over his forehead to keep soapy water from splashing into his eyes when you poured the fresh water over his foamy locks. 

Astarion sighed as the soap began to wash away. You filled the bucket again to repeat the process. 

“Did you ever foresee yourself bathing a beautiful vampire, when you were a child?”

You pursed your lips. “I mean, I had my hopes.” You smiled as he let out a laugh. 

“Tonight definitely didn’t go how I expected,” he admitted.

“You didn’t foresee yourself getting bathed by your incredibly interesting leader?”

He let out an amused breath from his nose. “No I did not.”

You finished rinsing out the last of the soap from his hair, but continued raking your fingers through it. “Are you disappointed?” Your voice was small.

He turned to face you, making your hands disconnect from his curls. “Not at all,” he said, sounding genuine. “Pleasantly surprised, actually.” He thought for a moment. “And cleaner than I’ve been in weeks. Probably.”

You laughed. “Happy to have provided my services.”

He smiled at you, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. “This was nice.” He lifted his hand to swipe through his hair. “Let’s hope you didn’t ruin my hair.”

“With soap and water?”

“You might have done it wrong,” he teased.

“How? It’s soap and water!”

“Not so loud,” he chuckled, nodding his head towards camp. You could vaguely hear Gale snoring in the distance. 

“I’m leaving,” you joked, moving to get up, but Astarion grabbed your wrist and pulled you back into the water.

“Am I not to return the favor?”

You looked back at him and half smiled, patting his cheek. “I’m not convinced you’d do a thorough enough job.” With that, you pushed away from him and got up, gathering the bathing materials and walking back to shore where towels awaited. 

Astarion sputtered behind you. “How dare you! I could give you a massage, the likes of which you’ve never experienced before!”

“You know, sometimes, Astarion, people do things for other people, and don’t want anything in return.” You threw the towel over your head to start drying your hair before wrapping it around your body. 

Astarion did the same before bending to pick up your discarded clothes. “I- Well… You-” He sighed heavily. “You’re a tricky one, aren’t you?”

“I’m not trying to be,” you shrugged.

“And yet,” he sidled up next to you, offering you his arm, “you are.” 

You took his arm in one hand and the bucket of washing supplies in the other and followed him as he led you back into camp. You placed the materials back where you found them and brought your newly freed hand up to wrap around Astarion’s arm. You leaned your head onto his shoulder. 

When you arrived at your tent, he handed you your clothes. 

“I suppose this is where we end our evening,” he said quietly so as not to wake the others.

“I suppose so,” you agreed, your eyes shining as you looked at him.

“What?” he asked.

“Thank you for letting me do that,” you said, still holding his arm. “I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.”

“I did,” he said. “Very much, actually.” When he saw the excited look on your face, he amended, “Don’t be weird.”

“I’m not weird,” you said, weirdly.

“Uh huh,” Astarion said, pulling his arm out of your grip, not unkindly.

“We can do it again,” you bobbed on your feet, “if you want.”

“I… could be persuaded,” he nodded.

“Good,” you said. Then you surged forward to kiss his cheek. “Thank you. Goodnight Astarion.” You turned and ducked down into your tent.

“Pleasant dreams, darling,” he said softly. 

You didn’t see how his hand lingered on his cheek where your lips had made contact, didn’t see the small smile that crept onto his face or the mask beginning to slip. 

Instead, you had pleasant dreams filled with laughs and curls and a flash of fangs accompanied by a smile of delight.