#not to be a dm but this would be great for a game. people could guess what these are about. would be a grand time

[miabrown007]

girl who sucks at making OCs needs to make a DnD character send help

[sp0o0kylights]

Eddie was terrifying. 

Elliot had known the guy for a few years now, ever since Eddie had stepped into the Spellbound Bar with big eyes and a wild grin. The guy hailed from some small ass town in Indiana, but it was clear to see that he hadn’t hidden much of himself over there. 

So many kids blew into California freshly freed from their families, still dressed in clothes their old life had forced them to wear. They always had a sort of fragile, reborn look to them that made all the elder queers reach out their hands, welcome them in. 

Eddie, whose last name changed on a daily basis (his drivers license listed it as ‘Henderson’ but there were rumors that it too, was fake)  had too large of a wardrobe for all of it to be recently purchased, and moved too comfortably in clothes for them to be new to him. 

The guy wasn’t mean. His temperment wasn’t why he was terrifying, really, though the constant high energy he whirlwinded around the bar with often grew too much for some of their quieter regulars. 

No it was all the shit he casually talked about. How he took things in stride, and said he had to, given he used to be the president of a D&D club he named Hellfire. 

(Hellfire. In small town America. The sheer fucking balls on this dude.) 

He regaled them all with tales of his lost sheep and the fights he had with his high school principal long before Angel, the bar owner, agreed to take him on as a busboy--then bar back, then bartender, all in rapid succession.

Always winking as he spun a story about how he was caught flagging once from an out of towner stopping by for gas, the story somehow darkly hilarious. 

A lot of people didn’t like southern California, or rather, not the way they thought they would at least, but Eddie took to it like a duck to water. There was no denying the man belonged here, in a way he hadn’t truly belonged anywhere else. 

Elliot had been the one to help him find a local metal band. He himself was one of those quieter regulars (and not a musician let alone a metalhead) but he knew people. Could make some connections.

It helped that Elliot did play D&D, and was quick to pull Eddie into his orbit that way. Get him connected to others who loved the game like the metalhead clearly did. 

And damn, could Eddie DM.

It was here though, that Elliot first picked up that Eddie’s bluster wasn’t just that. 

Watched as his new friend's eyes went hard and flat when the Vecna campaign was mentioned, shut it down with such force that it left the table briefly stunned by the sheer venom in his voice. 

How he flinched once, hands reaching for the bat he’d hammered nails into under the bar when electricity had stuttered in a heatwave, lights flickering in the bar. 

(The bat itself, and the way Eddie had simply looked at the one Spellbound had as their only defense measure and declared it “fucking useless” had not helped the rough, survivalistic story they were all putting together.) 

Winter rolled back round to spring and then summer and whispers about his home life, about how he had to survive with all the rural cow farmers looking and acting like he did, how he obviously knew how to fight was practically old news by the time he first showed up in a cropped shirt. 

The scars that decorated his stomach still caught the attention of everyone at the bar, and more than once their little D&D group had tried to map out the shape of them, if only to figure out what the hell could cause such a dramatic injury. 

No one ever quite succeeded, but then, no one was brave enough to ask the man himself. 

What it did do, was cement the idea in everyone’s heads. 

Eddie Henderson/Buckley/Sinclair/Wheeler/and one time even Walmart--was a great guy, and one who could absolutely beat the shit out of almost everyone in the bar, hands down. 

Nothing he did over the years ever challenged that. If anything, Eddie only cemented it further, which is the only reason Elliot didn’t bolt the second the two of them came home from a shift and found a stranger in front of their door. 

Elliot, 5’4, formerly named Eleanor and still not on T despite making every clawing attempt towards it, wasn’t much of a match for an enraged, pissed off jock. 

But Eddie was. 

xXx 

The jock was the straightest looking man Elliot had ever laid eyes on. 

Bruises covered half his face and one eye, and he sported a nose that had clearly been recently bloodied. Judging from the scrapes on the back of his hands he hadn’t gotten them willingly--or maybe was just giving as good as he got. 

He was walking wildly back and forth in front of their garage, hands opening and closing, a look in his eyes that spoke of someone not entirely in control as he muttered audibly to himself. 

Given the preppy polo shirt, expensive looking shorts and shoes that practically shined, they were so new, he was comically out of place, even with the entire homicidal aura he had going on. 

(Given the descriptions of the assholes who had attacked Angel only four nights ago on their walk home, Elliot could only see the man as a monster preparing to attack.) 

He slammed to a stop, breath in his throat, entirely unsure of what to do.

Thankfully, Eddie was right behind him. 

Eddie, who could probably beat this guy and six others bloody. Eddie who carried a knife. Eddie who terrified Elliot sometimes, but not the same way the idea of getting hate crimed did, Eddie who--

Who was coming up besides Elliot, looking both alarmed and confused and not at all challenging the homicidal rich boy. 

“Steve!?” Eddie said, voice high and surprised.

They both watched as the figure spun to face them, crazed look crumbling down to something Elliot couldn’t read. 

“Hey.” The supposed Steve said, rather miserably, shoulders hunched right before Eddie shot forward, hands hovering in the air like he wanted to touch but didn’t know where to start. 

“What the hell Harrington--did you lose another fight!?”

“I don’t lose every fight you know.” Steve snarked back, sounding exactly like every rich snob Elliot’s ever encountered. 

It’d get his back up, except Steve’s entire body was curving towards Eddie in obvious relief. “Henderson exaggerates.” 

Which was doubly confusing, given Eddie was supposedly a Henderson.

“Sorry for dropping by like this. Wasn’t close to anyone else, so I didn't know where else to go.” Steve continued, as Eddie finally stopped waving his hands around and instead began herding Steve through the door and to the kitchen. 

Confused, Elliot followed.

(What the fuck else was he supposed to do?) 

“I thought you were on a cruise?”  Eddie challenged, sounding more and more normal as he and Steve traded banter. 

“I was. Clearly, I’m not anymore.” 

“Steve.” Eddie said, voice almost pleading as he patted the only empty spot on their counter, before turning to fish a bag of peas out of the fridge. 

(Had Elliot ever heard him plead like that? Had he thought Eddie even capable?) 

Steve jumped up on it like a dog that had been asked to perform a trick, while Elliot hovered in the living room, watching it all go down across the little half wall that separated the two spaces. 

“Did I just see pop tarts in your freezer?” Steve asked instead of answering. 

“Don’t distract me, you dick. Put this on your face.” 

And so they went, instantly and immediately comfortable, two people who clearly had known each other for a long time trading insults and catching up while Eddie tried unsuccessfully to pull what happened out of Steve via an increasing number of ridiculous nicknames. 

He’d worked his way past ‘Stevie’ and was well on his way to calling the stranger things like ‘big boy’ by the time Anders came home from her shift at the record store. 

Swaned through various other, mildly incriminating nicknames until he saw something that made him start cursing, at which point he rapidly fell down the nickname rabbit hole, landing at a final; 

“Come on Sweetheart, you look like someone tried to kill you! Just tell me what happened!”

Jake, who had just waltzed in the front door, blinked wildly. 

“Eddie has a guest.” Anders informed him, handing their roommate an open beer from the pile she’d put on the floor as he slammed to a halt. 

Took in their intruder so starkly out of place on the kitchen counter, nestled between twin pride flags and a poster for Eddie’s band like a misplaced catalog model.

“I don’t understand what’s happening.” Jake said flatly, as Steve grumbled something lowly at their fearless DM, and Eddie flicked his nose in retaliation. 

"He's from Indiana," Elliot offered, the closest thing to an explanation he had. "Same town as Eddie."

He hesitated, then added, "I think."

It was all he’d managed to piece together, the conversation had been all over the place.

“Steven Madonna Harrington,” Eddie snapped finally, spinning to pin his guest with a glare, “you either tell me what happened or I’m calling Robin.” 

‘Madonna?’ Anders mouthed at Elliot, as if that was the weirdest part of this entire situation. 

Steve kicked at Eddie lightly. “She has finals this week you jerk.”

Eddie slammed both his hands down on the counter, one on either side of Steve’s hips, staring up challengingly. 

It put him almost directly in between Steve’s legs, bringing their faces intimately close together. 

“And she’s gonna lose her shit when she finds out her platonic with a capital P soulmate ditched off that family cruise he’s been dreading for months, looking like he decided to take up backyard boxing, and then came to my place instead of calling her first--” 

“Fine! Fine, you underhanded asshole. Tommy was on that stupid Alaska cruise. Decided he wanted to reconnect.” 

“Hagan did all this!?” 

“Oh no, this is from my dad.” Steve motioned to himself, a grim sort of amusement curling around the words. “He caught me and Tommy making out. Decided to have a little chat about how he disapproved.” 

“That is awful and we are returning to it immediately but first--Steve. Babe.” Eddie stared at him in clear dismay. “Tommy Hagan?”

Another eye roll, this one earning a wince from Steve as it agitated his bruises. “Not the time Mun--” 

Eddie coughed loudly right over the rest of whatever Steve was about to say, getting a weird look from everyone around him. 

“Henderson.” Eddie corrected softly. “They changed it to Henderson after all the uh.” He paused, as though trying to recall the word he wanted. Went with; “Earthquake.” 

That got some glee out of Steve. 

“You picked Dustin’s last name? Does he know?” 

“Fuck no dude, he’d never shut up about it.” Eddie put a hand on Steve’s thigh, jostling it lightly. “We’re not talking about me right now though. Your dad disowned you?”

“Supposedly.” Steve shrugged, like this was normal and not a huge ordeal. “I’ll check on my credit cards tomorrow, see if he’s serious.” 

Eddie’s stare was growing flat, fast. “Even if he isn’t, he beat the shit out of you.” 

“Yeah, well, everyone kinda does, I guess it was just his turn.” 

“Steve.”

“I’m kidding!” Then, in a far more serious tone; ‘I am sorry about crashing in like this. I can get out of your hair.” 

Eddie was already waiving a hand dismissively, head shaking, but Steve plowed forward anyway. 

“I mean it. The cruise stopped at a port near here and I needed to get off it before my dad decided disowning me and throwing all my shit over the rails weren’t enough.” 

Steve finally looked up, taking in all the people who were watching this play out like a TV sitcom. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your game night.” 

“There’s no game, they all live here.” He turned and glared, and got one embarrassed face and two entirely unapologetic ones in return. “They’re just enjoying the show.

‘It’s getting a five star rating so far.” Anders snarked at him. “Might lose a star, if one of the main actors keeps breaking the fourth wall, though.” 

Eddie flipped her off. 

“You’re not going anywhere looking like this. You are at minimum, staying here for the rest of the weekend.” 

“If you’re sure.” Steve said hesitantly. To the group at large, he added; “And no one minds me taking the couch.” 

“The couch is a shared communal space.” Eddie shot back instantly, before anyone else could protest. “You’re staying in my room.” 

“Oh.” Steve said, like he’d half expected, wanted even, Eddie to make that offer. “Okay.” 

“I am so confused right now.” Anders muttered, and Elliot could only nod along because, well. 

Yeah. 

Him too. 

“Come on, let’s get your stuff, I’ll show you around. Keep the peas on your face.”

“Eds, man, I don’t have any stuff. I was lucky to escape with my wallet.” Steve vollied, but hopped off the counter anyway, following Eddie as he was led up the stairs, towards the metalheads room. 

“This is the weirdest day of my life.” Jake announced when they’d disappeared. 

“It’s not over yet.” Anders said, cracking open another beer.  “Give it a bit.” 

“How on earth could this get any weirder?” Elliot muttered. 

“Well thanks Elliot.” Anders told him flatly. ‘If it wasn’t guaranteed before, it is now.” 

“How!?”

“She’s right bud, you challenged the fates.” Jake responded. “We’re in for it now.” 

(Given Steve never moved back out, they absolutely were.) 

Bonus

“You know.” Eddie said, and his voice was quiet but the house was fucking ancient and not in the best of shape, and thus Elliot heard him loud and clear through their shared wall. “I kiss a lot better than Tommy Hagan.”

“Not letting that one go anytime soon, huh?” Steve rumbled back. 

“I’m just saying! If you’re going to get disowned for a kiss, it should be a damn good one and not whatever limp noodle bullshit Hagan does. I saw him with Carol, he kisses like a puffer fish.” 

A low snicker, followed by; “He did kinda kiss like a fish.”

“See!?” Vindicated, Eddie grew louder in volume. “I could give you a kiss that would actually be worth all this shit! A proper kiss!” 

“You offering, Munson?”

“Well if the good knight Sir Harrington doth allow it--”

An ‘mmph!’ noise that took a moment for Elliot to translate as Steve kissing Eddie, which made this entire fucking day suddenly make a whole lot more sense. 

“If you stop all the nerd talk we can take it beyond a kiss.” 

“I can do that.” Eddie said, voice breathless. “I can definitely do that.” 

“Good.” 

Elliot snorted in amusement, before reality of their paper thin shared wall and the fact he was going to hear fucking everything asserted itself. 

He decided to go sleep on the couch.

[sinsxo]

luckiest fan. ☆ blue lock ── ★ ˙ 🍒 ̟ !!

⤷ ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro.

✦ synopsis: your interactions with them may have gone viral, but what the world doesn’t see is what happens after the cameras stop rolling. the notifications, the dms, and the quiet moves they make.

✦ contains: cussing, fan interaction stuff, lighthearted fic.

✦ word count: 1k words.

read more: from the stands to the dms. ☆ masterlist — bllk.

── ✦ isagi yoichi .

the world may have seen isagi yoichi’s fan interactions with you — helping you pick up the phone you dropped, and taking a selfie with you after his team qualified for the semi-finals. it was a heartwarming and sweet gesture from him. people reposted it with captions like “wholesome king” or “i want what they have.”

but that was only the surface of it.

no one saw the notification that popped up on your phone when he liked the instagram story you posted — the one where you thanked him for being so kind, paired with the selfie he'd taken of you two.

and no one saw the reply to your story either.

isag1yoichi replied to your story.

isag1yoichi you're welcome :) glad the pic turned out well

you stared at your screen with your mouth open, taking a couple minutes to run laps around your room before responding.

you omg you ?!?!?!??!?!?!? you you were awesome on the field!!

isag1yoichi haha thanks :D glad you came again

you it was worth it! semi finals next, right?

isag1yoichi yeah! isag1yoichi are you coming?

you if i can get a ticket LOL

isag1yoichi maybe this will help

attached was a photo of a jersey.

his jersey.

with his signature on it.

isag1yoichi got you a ticket too, just pick it up at the ticket window. left your name with the staff :)

you WHAT you THANK YOU!!!

after jumping around out of joy for a few minutes, you laid on your bed, back flat against the mattress and stared at the ceiling like your soul just left your body.

── ✦ itoshi rin .

you didn’t tag him in your instagram posts. you just posted casually — photos of your outfit, the view from your seat, a pic of the gift bag you handed him, and your poor isagi banner that got stepped on (accidentally).

then you forgot about it — forgot that you even posted anything until you were mentioned in an article that featured you and rin with the headline: “a mysteriously soft interaction from the usually cold itoshi rin.”

your instagram handle was there. his was too.

a few hours later, a notification lit up your screen.

itoshi_rin liked your post.

then:

itoshi_rin sent you a message.

itoshi_rin thanks for the protein bars. never thought the day i could eat them again would come

you hoyl fcuk you i mean you you’re welcome you but wtf

itoshi_rin you coming to the next match?

you yeah

itoshi_rin great. make sure you cheer for the correct player this time

you hey i am cheering for the right player

itoshi_rin clearly not itoshi_rin make sure your banner has my face on it itoshi_rin and try not to drop it

you why you will you sign it?

itoshi_rin if you’ll be my protein bar supplier, then yes itoshi_rin or teach me your ways at least

you only iffffffffff you you get me isagi’s signature too

itoshi_rin lame.

you so you won’t? you then im not cheering for you

itoshi_rin add your number to the deal then i will

you OMFG???????????????????

and guess who showed up to the stadium with a rin banner instead of their isagi one.

── ✦ itoshi sae .

you posted an instagram story of the banner that he signed. both of it — the one he ruined and — nevermind, he ruined both.

the first time he signed ruined your banner, a viral article came out, talking about itoshi sae’s “dry humour” and “hidden playfulness”.

you thought it was just pure pettiness.

but two can play that game, so naturally, you fought pettiness with pettiness.

you got a signature on his own banner so you could sell it.

but he ruined it once again.

you posted it on you instagram story anyway, with the caption: “might sell this for 5 digits. who wants it 😋😋 #profitoffpettyboys”

then you tagged him. as a joke.

and he replied.

itoshisae_10 seriously?

you stared at the message, panicking.

you wth you WTH you WHY DID U ACTUALLY REPLY

itoshisae_10 ? itoshisae_10 am i not allowed to interact with fans now?

you WELL U NEVER DO you seems like u didnt expect that me to sell it huh you shouldve signed it properly if you wanted me to keep it you mustve hurt your ego ☺️

itoshisae_10 next time, make a better one. itoshisae_10 maybe i’ll give you a proper autograph that you can sell.

you wait actually?? you like actually? you no ykw you i dont want your autograph anyway

then he sent you a photo of his jersey with a signature on it.

itoshisae_10 shame. itoshisae_10 could’ve earned 6 digits from this. itoshisae_10 if you show up, that is

you weren’t sure what surprised you more. that he actually replied to your story and offered you a signed jersey or that you were now crafting a new banner for the same man who ruined your last two.

── ✦ nagi seishiro .

nagi seishiro doesn’t really go on social media unless he has to, and he definitely doesn’t track articles or read his own press. he thinks it’s too much work — unnecessary work.

but he did bring candy to the next match.

so when he saw you again, waving from the stands, grinning like you’d just won the lottery, he blinked slowly and made his way over.

“you,” he mumbled.

you grinned. “me.”

he pulled out a bunch of different candies out of his pocket and handed it over. “for you.”

you looked surprised. “really?”

he shrugged. “you gave me good candy. figured i should give you something back.”

you laughed, feeling touched. “thank you!”

he mumbled something that sounded vaguely like you’re welcome before walking off — hands in his pockets, head tilted back, yawning.

that night, you posted the candy on your story.

nagi gave me candy 🥹💕 #luckiestfanever

you tagged him, not expecting anything.

but a few minutes later, a notification popped up.

nagiseishiro replied to your story.

nagiseishiro did u like it?

you @#$$@%!???? you YES I LOVED IT you thank you :))

nagiseishiro ok cool nagiseishiro what flavour do you want next time?

you NEXT TIME?!??! 😭

nagiseishiro idk

you im not picky with the flavours, anything works!

nagiseishiro ok nagiseishiro same time next match?

you fhbajijhfsjkqwpokisjk you i mean of course!!

and that was how your casual matchday tradition began.

somewhere in between, it became something more.

taglist. tagging everyone who wanted a part 3, thanks for your support! @lexiestea13 @itoshiabi @chewiebee @pinkytoxichearts

© sinsxo , dividers by @enchanthings & @uzmacchiato.

[cup1dluvhss]

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ SPIN THE BOTTLE, written by cup1dluvhs

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ when a gathering at martin and mandy’s turns to a game of spin the bottle, you are forced to kiss the one person you despise the most.

| warnings: making out, teasing

| taking requests

when mandy texted you last night asking if you’d be available for a gathering at hers, you were hesitant to say yes. why? because you knew he would be there.

you and hamzah had never gotten along. you didn’t know why at first, but you quickly realised it was just because he wasn’t a particularly likeable person. he was cocky, immature, and would always go out of his way to pick on you when you hadn’t ever done a thing to him.

you weren’t going to deny that you were a little attracted to him, though. he had dark eyes, and dark curly hair and a smile which made your stomach flip. it was a shame that he was the way he was although, because he’d be exactly your type if he wasn’t extremely annoying.

however, there was going to be a lot of people there so the chances you’d run into hamzah were pretty low, but you were still hesitant to test that theory. eventually, you settled for bringing one of your closer friends, megan, as a plus one so you wouldn’t be alone most of the night, and if you did run into hamzah you could use her as a way to escape from him.

you were currently in megan’s car on the way to martin and mandy’s, the fabric of the little corset top you wore already starting to irritate your skin. you had gone out of your way to make sure you looked good, because you knew there’d be an opportunity to talk to new people, and you hadn’t been in a relationship since a year before.

‘do you know anyone who’s coming?’ megan said, clearing her throat and trying to break the silence, but you were too lost in your own thoughts to have much to say back to her.

‘nope, but that could make it more fun.’ you said, a smile playing on your lips as she nodded, turning up the music that was playing on the radio.

‘do you know if maybe, uh— hamzah will be there?’ megan said, her words suddenly catching you off guard as your head snapped in her direction.

‘listen! i know you hate him and everything, but i may or may not have sent him a dm last night. i don’t know y/n, i think he’s kinda cute!’ megan said, her words instantly leaving you shaking your head at her, your head falling in your hands shortly after.

‘this can’t be happening.’ you muttered, leaning back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest as you sighed.

just when you thought things couldn’t get worse in terms of hamzah, one of your best friends had just admitted to texting him the night before. great.

when you arrived, mandy was there to greet the two of you at the door, and welcomed you both inside. music filled your ears, and you quickly took note of the amount of people that were there.

‘hey, can i grab a drink?’ you asked mandy, already desperate to get alcohol into your system, your body on high alert for any sign of hamzah.

‘yeah, this way!’ mandy said, taking your hand and pulling you over, megan close on your tail and mandy led you over to the table where all the drinks were layed out.

you gave her a smile as she turned on her heels and walked away, leaving you and megan alone at the table as you instantly picked up a bottle of vodka, placing a little red cup in front of you. you poured the liquid into the cup, instantly knocking it back and relishing the burn that seared your throat.

‘jesus, someone’s desperate.’

you could recognise that voice anywhere. not because you enjoyed it, but because it was so painfully annoying that it was impossible to forget.

‘what do you want, hamzah?’ you snapped, turning around to face him as you instantly took note of the stupid smirk on his face, clearly amused over something.

‘save some for the rest of us, y/n.’ he shrugged, his words making your grip on your cup tighten, the plastic denting with the added pressure.

‘why don’t you mind your own business?’ you snapped, rolling your eyes as he pretended to look offended, his hand going to his chest.

‘wow, you certainly seem happy to see me, don’t you?’ he said, biting his lip slightly as his brown eyes met with yours, the contact suddenly making your heart pick up pace slightly. it shouldn’t have made you feel that way, but it did, and you hated it.

‘give me a break.’ you huffed, tucking some of your hair behind your ear as your eyes trailed off, before raising your cup to your lips and taking another sip of the remaining vodka in the end of it.

‘don’t act so uninterested, sweetheart. i know how you really feel.’ he said, his words instantly making your heart snap in his direction, your brows furrowing.

‘don’t call me that, dickhead.’ you snapped, your tone stern as he suddenly let out a laugh, before stepping closer to you, the proximity making you want to step back, but the table behind you was in your way.

‘or what, hm?’ he said, a smile playing at his lips as he observed your rosy cheeks, and the way your eyes wouldn’t meet his properly. you put your cup down of the table firmly, before pushing his body away from yours.

‘leave me the fuck alone.’ you muttered, nudging your shoulder against his as you walked off, now realising that megan was still stood over by the drinks, having not followed you when you left.

it took you a second to notice that hamzah was still stood there too, and that they were now talking to each other.

fine. that’s totally fine. that did not irk you at all, and it shouldn’t anyway.

an hour had passed, and megan had joined back with you about fifteen minutes later, now giddy and excitable. you didn’t want to ask about what her and hamzah talked about, because it was none of your business anyway. although, you were still curious in a way that you wouldn’t admit to anybody.

‘spin the bottle everyone!’ a shrill voice suddenly yelled, and people instantly began to gather around in one area. you laughed, because you genuinely thought the person was joking. what was this, the fifth grade?

however, megan wouldn’t let you out of this one, and dragged your hand over to where mandy was sat down in the circle of fifteen people, pulling you down with her as you crossed your legs, sighing.

‘cheer up, this’ll be fun.’ megan whispered as the first person spun the bottle, and it landed on another person you hadn’t met before. they met in the middle of the circle and gave each other a quick peck, before returning to their respective positions.

so that was it. that’s fine.

you swallowed, your eyes briefly meeting hamzah’s for a moment as you continued observing the circle. you quickly looked away, biting your lip slightly as you hoped he wasn’t still looking at you, your heart starting to beat faster.

eventually, your turn rolled around and you put on a fake smile as mandy attempted to hype you up. really, you didn’t want to kiss any of these people, but you might as well just do it for the plot, and to make them happy.

you placed the bottle on the floor, before spinning it. you gnawed on the inside of you cheek, and a new fear suddenly rose in you.

what if it landed on hamzah?

the more the bottle spun and slowly slowed down, the more you began to dread that the thought you were thinking of might come true. and of course, with your luck, it did.

the top of the bottle pointed clean on him, and you knew there was nothing you could do but beg and hope that they wouldn’t make you do it. you didn’t even want to look at him, and a few gasps sounded around the room. people knew you hated him, and you knew nobody would forget this if you went through with it.

‘hell no. literally anyone but him.’ you said, a few laughs slipping out from other people around the room, but you weren’t joking. you looked up at him, and a small smile was on his lips as he stared at you, waiting for you to come over to him.

‘come on, y/n. it’s just a game, right?’ he said, his words instantly making you want to run out the room. kissing him was bad enough, but having to do it in front of everyone was worse. you turned to look at mandy for help, but she simply shrugged, a grin on her face.

‘fuck my life.’ you muttered under your breath, sliding over to hamzah who wasn’t far away from you, avoiding eye contact with him as you bit your lip, feeling the stares on you as everyone awaited your next move.

you finally looked up at him, and he had a smirk on his face which told you everything you needed to know about how much he was enjoying this. you rolled your eyes, flinching slightly as his hands met your hips, pulling you closer to him.

‘don’t try anything, or i swear to god.’ you whispered only loud enough for him to hear as a small breathy laugh escaped his mouth. before another thought could pop into your head, his hand reached up to your face, before slowly guiding your chin to close the gap between your lips.

when your mouth met his, you felt like breaking away immediately, but that feeling slowly melted into something more.

after years of tension, hating each other, and constantly throwing insults and remarks back and forth at one another, you realised just then that it wasn’t exactly hate. it was something else entirely, and it only took you until this moment to realise that.

your lips moved rhythmically together, your hand instantly going to the back of his neck to pull him closer to you, his grip on your hips tightening. his tongue brushed your bottom lip, before you parted your lips enough for him to slip it into your mouth. it was the very thing you told him not to do, but yet you gave in so easily.

by now, you had completely forgotten about everyone else around you.

you continued making out with him for a solid thirty seconds, the only sound in the room being that of you and hamzah’s lips moving together and occasionally parting so that the two of you could breathe. when you finally broke away, hamzah had a smirk on his face and the room was dead silent.

‘holy shit.’ martin said suddenly, his brows furrowed as he stared at the two of you, mandy copying his action, one of her hands pressed firmly over her mouth in shock.

his words snapped you out of the trance you were in, and you immediately removed hamzah’s hands from your hips and retuned to your position next to megan. you couldn’t even care when she got up, scoffing and leaving the room, because all that was in your head was what you had just done with the one boy you swore you hated more than anything.

‘okay everyone, thank you so much for coming but i think we’re gonna wrap it up here!’ mandy said, slapping her hands together as people began to get up, picking up their things.

slowly, the room began to grow emptier and emptier, and soon enough it was just you, hamzah, martin and mandy left in the room.

‘so, do you wanna tell us what that was?’ mandy said, looking back and forth between you and hamzah, both of your expressions looking as if you had no words and nothing to say.

you briefly looked up at hamzah, his eyes wide as he opened his mouth, before quickly shutting it again. you sighed, your head falling into your hands.

‘it’s nothing. it was just a stupid mistake.’ you said, your words instantly catching hamzah’s attention.

‘i don’t think it was a mistake.’ he mumbled, his eyes going wide again as he looked at the floor, avoiding eye contact with you as your brows knitted together.

‘uh, yes it was?’

‘uh, no it wasn’t? you were pretty into it, y/n.’

‘hamzah!’

you snapped, letting out a frustrated groan as mandy and martin exchanged a look, both with smiles on their faces as hamzah bit his lip, trying to prevent a smile while looking at your clearly confused state.

you didn’t know why on earth you did what you did, and because of it megan was angry with you and martin and mandy had so many questions. despite all of the consequences that came with your actions, as you now looked at hamzah who had a stupid smile on his face, you didn’t have any regrets.

[deesseshesca]

PAC :What will his friend think of you ?

(SINGLE SINCE BIRTH - ERA ~5 )

No ... because I actually want to crash out !

PILE 1

Page swords (reverse), 5 swords, magician, 2 pentacles 

His friend is going to think of y’all as an old couple. Y’all would be the dad and mom of the group. Don’t be surprised but you will often have a third wheel between y’all. I also get a feeling that this is going to be an union between the dad and the mom of each respective group. Y’all may both be the oldest sibling in y’all respective household since you are unfazed by the people surrounding you constantly. If you need to bicker which you will, it will look like two old heads going at it. Y’all know the Bambi and Druski dynamic that’s exactly y’all. You guys have so many inside jokes. You guys are only this comfortable around each other. Both, you and him have past situationship/relationships … Yet it was the first time for his friend group to see him so comfortable in public. You guys may walk around in matching pjs, which he would never have done on his own not because he found it cringy but because of some kind of social anxiety. Also social anxiety stops him from being his authentic self way too often. So to see him express emotion, be talkative and affectionate with you is actually going to warm the heart of his bros. Little do they know how comfortable he makes you feel 2. To add on that, you are a safe place for his inner child. Not holding him to the high standard which he was born in because of his role as the oldest sibling. Y’all also act like you both can’t stand each other. Bickering and all while cuddling … lol. I see his friend looking around … like : ``Are these guys serious rn?``.You guys are very vulnerable with each other and you both put a lot of effort in this relationship. Your person would never expose y’all problem in the daylight but they are not ashamed to say : `` Damm y’all wish I could stay but little mama is on her period.``, ``Shit we argued yesterday, we are cool but I need to go check on her if everything is good frl frl`` or even `` Sorry for the bad play gang, my lady is mad at me … I am scared she will block me …``.They see the effort on your part 2, coming to his games, making his lunch box, walking around with his fav snack, playing with his hair and hugging him.  They really feel like you are wifey material, which is great because one of your goals in life in all seriousness is to be a MILF . They also know you are here to stay. 

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PILE 2

3 swords, King wands (reverse), Magician (reverse), Knight wands (reverse) 

You and your future person will take a break. No worries there no fuck up. I think this person got really scared of how deep the relationship was going and they respect and love you too much to hurt you. So they just sit you down and express their real feelings and you welcome them with no fight, letting them go. You work on yourself in the meantime. Did a lot of journaling and work on your standard & self concept. One day you will post and they will catch on after spending weeks off socials and they will run back with so much excitement. Not in the way, like : `` Damm nobody can have her but me …`` . Nah this person genuinely enjoys the chase. So they come as an evolved person. Knowing that you may be cuff or you just don't want them but they don't care because it was always supposed to be you. While all this is happening their friends are watching on the side lines. His friend will often remind him of the mistake he made by letting you go. Not in some sneaky way (me:believe me, you would be surprised how many of the friends of my situation were in my DM) but more on some real shit. They saw the happiness, joy and love that was pouring from y’all connection like sweet honey. They will probably help him get you back. Some will literally set up a christmas carol to get you back. Anyways regarding any specific thought… they think you are high maintenance. You are clingy and very sensitive. Like it matters to you the tone that he uses, the words that he uses or even the way he touches or even looks at you. You are quite an emotional woman. Is very easy for you to cry. They also think you are high maintenance, they saw their boy pay for your nails and hair more than once. They know damm well that when y’all become official, he’s going to pay for the trip and your shopping spree because of all that they will never hit on you because in their books, you are too demanding as a gf. 

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PILE 3

8 wands, King wands (reverse), 7 wands, Sun (reverse)  

Most of y’all reading this have a sagittarius rising. Since that came strong I decided to do my little search. Most of y’all may have a sleeper build (quite literally using their slang) or have a plus size/very curvy pear body. You know the body Doja Cat had. When she was way curvier, where she was very heavy down but less up. Also you may have big animated eyes like the character that Tim Burton wrote about. Is almost mystical. Y’all may play a sport, maybe cheer or volley. Some are runners whatever it is you are an athletic babe. Maybe you even play a more masculine sport like baseball or handball. You also have a specific feature in your face aside from your eyes that big, could be your lips or even ears. One last thing … you are a tall gyal. Minimum : 5’7,8 to even 6ft. All this to say is that your looks strike them. They also think you are a cool girl because they saw you do the first move with your future person. You were quite straightforward in what you wanted with them. They also think you are chill because even tho you have not played a boy sport, you are passionate about it so it is easy to build a connection with you. Since you share the same hobbies. You may be sharing the same soul tribe. Meaning there's a high chance that you and this person are friends rn.Y’all are just part of a big friend group which would make you sincere on the ease in which you connect with his friends. Since y’all are all friends ! I think your bff dont want y’all to be together because she knows how much you want a serious relationship and y’all know how much of a womanizer he is. How much he is afraid of commitment. I think you know why because y’all are quite close. Something to do with a father's wound. Unlike the other women, he allows you to see the boys hiding behind the mask but you don't know if he can hold up to a good relationship. Even tho he often voices that he will treat you verrrrrrrrry good. You know he can because the way he treats you is completely different (more gentle and loving) than the way he treats others. Like he treats you even better than the other girls in the group. Is giving everybody can see it  but y’all. Y’all both know  there's a tension and I think (looking at the cards) that you will be the first one making the move.

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[lalaluna20]

hey babe, we need more cc pure angst😔🙏🏻

Not fair

Caitlin Clark x reader word count: 1,361 warnings: angst, hate comments, mental breakdowns.

You and Caitlin have been dating since sophomore year at Iowa. It was awesome, you guys had a great friendship and even better relationship. You two just meshed so well together. Your relationship was extremely serious, you both met each other’s families and we’re planning on getting married after her 3rd or 4th year in the W.

You remember the day Kate had posted Claire on her instagram story. You were so incredibly happy for them and proud of Kate. A part of you hoped maybe one day you and Caitlin could do that. You knew the two of you would probably have to wait until you guys were married or something due to how crazy the internet is.

But nothing, absolutely nothing could’ve prepared you for this.

Headline: CAITLIN CLARK HAS A GIRLFRIEND

Headlines of the short were everywhere, photos, videos, everything was there. You don’t even know how they got access to it, all your socials are private, besides one insta account, but you’ve never posted caitlin in it, it makes zero sense how anyone had access to it. The photos and videos are cute and sweet, like the ones you would find on the cute wlw insta reels. Yea that type of sweet, which probably made it even worse.

One second you were looking at headlines, the next moment your phone was blowing up with messages, dms and follow requests. It was so much that your phone started to overheat in your hand. promptly making you turn it off.

For the longest time you tried ignoring them. But they never left.

”she’s so ugly” ”what does caitlin even see in her?” ”this is an actual joke, i’m literally so much better than her, yet this is who caitlin chooses??” ”at least she’s winning on the court, such a shame.”

It hurt, every single one of them. Even instagram had to take down certain comments with many calling you the d-slur, f-slur and so many other nasty things.

Caitlin stuck by you the entire time. She made statements both on her account and on the indiana fever account, having her team take legal action against people who harassed you or threatened you. But most of all, she comforted and reassured you. Every night after practice or afternoon games she would be there for you. Greeting you at the door, making you food, cuddling and holding you, no matter how exhausted she was. She would tell you how proud she was of you and how much she loves you. Her words were always able to numb the pain of the hateful words.

It’s been a couple of months since your relationship got exposed. At first you thought the hate would die out after a couple of weeks. I mean, it’s not that serious… right? But god were you wrong. The hate was still coming in, stronger and harsher than ever. Even worse, Caitlin was no longer here to comfort you either. The fever were now on their “away game tour” leaving you home alone, to deal with it your self. At least you still have Colin, but he could only comfort you so much.

You didn’t want to do it, but you didn’t know how much longer you could take this.

Caitlin had gotten back from the away game tour a few days ago. Of course you were happy to see her. But she could tell something was off. “how have you been holding up?” Caitlin asks, kissing the top of your head. “fine, just busy with work.” You say looking at your laptop, sounding oddly distant. Caitlin automatically noticed, yet didn’t comment. “okay” she says softly rubbing your back. “let me know if you need anything, dinner will be ready in 10 minutes.” She says gently, with a gentleness reserved for you. Yet you only respond with a cold, dismissive nod.

After you finished your work, you and caitlin headed to bed. “Baby,” caitlin states in a soft serious tone. as you change into your pajamas. “I can tell something up, talk to me.”

As you finish up changing, you turn to face her, your eyes looking away from hers. “i can’t do this anymore.” Her eyes widen, she knows what you’re implying, but god she didn’t want to accept it. She thought she has been doing a good job of keeping them from you, she thought she was doing a good job at reassuring you, making sure that the words wouldn’t affect you. “What?” was all Caitlin was able to mutter out, getting out of bed and walking towards you. Wanting to hold you and reassure you, reassure you of her love, her comfort, she wanted to hold you, hold you until all the affect of the hate went away. “i can’t do this caitlin, i can’t handle the hate anymore. I’m tired, i’m so tired. no matter how hard i ignore it, it’s just back the next day. I I can’t do it anymore, i can’t do this anymore.” You’re starting to cry, wrapping your arms around yourself, moving away from caitlin to create distance. As too caitlin was also crying, tears stinging her face as they stream down, watching the person she loves with all her heart break down in front of her. watching your eyes that refuse to meet hers, shine and glisten due to tears. “We can work through this… we always do.” Caitlin mutters desperately, trying to take your hands in hers.

The rest of the night was a blur, hell the next two weeks were a blur. You moved out, moving in with some friends who promised caitlin they would take care of you. Caitlin wasn’t herself either, the first few days she couldn’t get herself out of her apartment. Colin letting her cry it out while watching her favorite movies as comfort. Anne and Brent coming to Indiana to comfort her. Brent was able to get caitlin out of the house again, getting her to play some basketball with him. None of them blamed you, or hated you. Although they would never directly understand, they understood why you did it. A part of them hoped, maybe, just maybe you’ll come back. Like take a break, realize how much you and Caitlin need each other and then live happily, but they knew that was wishful thinking.

It’s been two weeks, Caitlin is laying in bed, looking at photos of the two of you. She didn’t know why she was doing this, why she always did this. But she just wanted you back, she wanted you to be in her arms again, wanted to feel you next to her again. But here she lies alone.

She doesn’t know why she did this, why she posted this. its unprofessional, hell even mean to do this to you.

Instagram: @caitlinclark22 just posted

It was 20 photos and videos of the two of you. With a rather heartbreaking caption to anyone who has a heart, yes even to the delusional ones.

“You did it, first you guys exposed my relationship. Then you guys went to bully and harass my girlfriend. For months you guys relentlessly sent hate comments, death threats, and other threatening messages to my girlfriend. For months she did everything in her power to ignore them, to not let them affect her. But you guys didn’t stop, they never stopped, every day, morning to night she would just find new comments and threats. Then finally you guys did it, you guys broke the smartest, strongest most loving person alive. Two weeks ago on Saturday July 12th, my girlfriend of 5 years broke up with me after relentless hate. Hoping this way you guys will finally give her a break. I hope you guys are really fucking proud of yourselves, because you’ve just ruined the best thing in my life. And to my dear [your name], if you’re reading this. I’m sorry for everything i put you through. I hope one day you can forgive me. Just know I’ll always love you and i’ll wait for you, not matter what or how long.”

taglist<3 @ashortyluvsports, @sweetbcgs, @salemsuccss, @laurenmcucm,

i hope you enjoy!

-love luna

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

The Gift

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Virgin f!Reader

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 9.2k

Warnings: Period typical sexism and treatment of women, period-typical ideas of virginity and virtue, Marcus is a bit rude at first but he comes around quickly, attempted assault that is heavily implied to be sexual, canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, wound care, yearning, virginity loss, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PIV sex, mushy endings :)

Summary: The Emperor of Rome has given his most valued General, Marcus Acacius, a generous gift after his recent successful battle. Rather than the gold he’s hoping for, Marcus is stunned when a young virgin is delivered to his chambers. At first, he refuses to entertain the idea of stealing the virtue of a scared girl, but their lives become entwined when he learns that refusing his ‘gift’ puts her in even more danger…

A/N: The art in the header is by @norththelemon and is inspired by Paulo and Virginia by Alessandro Puttinati. Thank you so much for letting me use this artwork for my fic!!! <3 The artwork does not necessarily reflect the appearance of the reader character; rather, it is a reflection of the original artwork. The only physical description I included of reader is that she has long, curly hair (color and texture are never mentioned). Marcus’s pet name for her, bellatora, very loosely translates to “little warrior.” Thank you to the lovely @leslie-lyman for the beta! **NOTE: as attempted SA can be triggering to some people, I have separated out this section with asterisks (******). You can quickly skip this scene and you will not miss any significant plot. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to send me a DM! Be safe <3

Masterlist

Marcus rides through the streets of Rome, the cheers of citizens ringing in his ears and the white petals being thrown from above him sticking in his curls. The populus is joyful, but he cannot help but think of the cost of the battle, about the sons and husbands who he knows are not returning home.

He longs for a bath, to wash the grime, dirt and blood from his body. He longs to strip off the heavy, soiled armor and lay down on his bed, naked and warm and full of bread and wine, and sleep for several days.

First, however, he must endure the long procession up to the palace, where the Emperor was surely waiting for him–where he would have to play all the little games that come with positions of power: smile, nod, say the right words and act in the ways that other people expect of a General.

The horse whinnies nervously as the cacophony swells, and Marcus gently pats its neck, sending a cascade of petals to the ground to be trodden underfoot by so many hooves.

The Emperor waits at the top of the Palace steps, surrounded by all of his court and Roman nobility. Without allowing any of the contempt he feels to show on his face, Marcus Acacius dismounts from the horse and slowly ascends the marble stairs. When he reaches the top, the Emperor pulls him into an exaggerated hug, slapping his back and cheering loudly enough for the onlookers to hear.

“Congratulations to you, my friend, for your triumph and victory over the vanquished,” the man booms, slapping Marcus's pauldron again for good measure and causing another great cheer to rise up from the crowd.

Marcus does not say anything, but he turns to face the onlookers and unsheathes his sword, raising it over his head victoriously, knowing that's what they all want him to do. The resulting din seems to rattle the very stones of the palace.

“You must be weary, good soldier,” the Emperor tells him. “Go now and rest. A gift will be sent to your chambers to show your Emperor’s appreciation for your prowess in battle.”

Marcus nods and bows deeply, indicating his gratitude for his Lord's generosity. He's most thankful, however, for the quick dismissal.

The General’s quarters in the palace are spacious and outfitted with all modern amenities Marcus could ever think to ask for. He quickly lights a fire under the basin to begin heating water for a bath. He begins removing his armor, leaving it by the door where he knows it will be collected for cleaning and polishing. He discards the filthy underclothing and retrieves a clean cloth with which to wash.

It is only now that Marcus is able to take sock tock of his injuries; as the grime is wiped clean from his body, he can finally see where the blood was his, and where the blood was not his. His arms are peppered with bruises and superficial wounds, but nothing that requires any dressing. 

He is lucky. 

Marcus dresses in loose robes, luxuriating in the feeling of being free and unencumbered by his armor. With a deep, satisfied sigh, he settles himself down on the bed, surrounded by the ornate pillows that come with Palace trappings, and closes his eyes.

They’ve barely been closed for a few minutes when a knock sounds at the door. 

Marcus frowns. All his joints and muscles protest when he reluctantly rises from the bed again and opens the door. He’s greeted by one of the Emperor’s personal guard, who is roughly holding the upper arm of a young girl.

“What is the meaning of this?” Marcus asks hesitantly, taking in the girl’s simple, white shift that clings to her breasts and hips, her trembling lips, and her wide, terrified eyes.

“The Emperor, in his generosity, presents you with this virgin as reward for your duty to Rome,” the guard announces. He pushes the girl forward into Marcus’s chambers and shuts the door behind him.  

“What in the Gods’...” the General murmurs under his breath as you are shoved unceremoniously into the room.

You curtsy deeply, remembering, despite your fear, what you have been instructed to do. “M-My Lord,” you whisper through trembling lips. You can only stare at the floor, unable to look at the man to whom you have been gifted.

“I had been hoping for gold,” the man grumbles. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

He sounds angry. This terrifies you more.

“I am f-for your… p-pleasure,” you try to explain. “My Lord.” You deepen the curtsy, until your knees nearly scrape the floor. If you please him, perhaps he will not be unkind.

“Stop that. Get up.” the man snaps. “I’m not in the mood for deflowering virgins.”

“S-Sir?” You don’t understand. You weren’t prepared for the man to say no. You were bathed, dressed, and told that you were to be a gift for a mighty general. You were to please him, let him bed you, and serve him until he tired of you. You were instructed to kneel, to address him as only “My Lord,” and to do whatever he asked of you. Only then would the debt your father owed to the Emperor be paid in full. 

You were not given instructions on what to do if the General refused his gift.

“D-Do I not please My Lord?” you try again. Terrified of being turned away, sent back to your father, where they’d surely kill you both, you begin to cry.

“By the Gods–stop, come here,” the General says, sounding exasperated. He gently leads you to a chair and indicates you should sit. You do. He crouches on his heels so that your heads are level, and examines you. “Who are you, girl?”

“I… am the only daughter of Proculus Opilio,” you sniffle. “I am a gift for his Lord’s pleasure.”

The man’s fingers take hold of your chin; his hands are gentle as he guides your eyes up to his. “Why are you a gift,” he presses.

“M-My family owes a great debt,” you whisper. “I am to be payment for our transgressions against the Emperor.”

“The Emperor sends me a frightened child,” the man growls as he quickly stands and paces away from you, “and calls it a gift.”

“You must accept,” you say frantically, hopping up from your seat and following him. “They will know if you do not, and we will be punished for it.”

The general scoffs. “What, they intend on checking?” he asks, as if such a thing is too ridiculous to be spoken aloud.

“Yes,” you whisper. They told you as such.

“Girl,” he says sternly. “I am not going to enact such violence on a scared child.”

“I am not a child,” you argue, sticking your chin up. “I have seen nineteen summers, almost twenty.”

The General seems to find this funny. He huffs, shaking his head and turning away. “Go home, girl.”

“I cannot go home,” you say, and start to cry again. 

“Stop. Stop,” the man entreats. He turns toward you again and cages your face in his hands, rubbing the tears away with his thumbs. “Okay. Do not worry, I will… Gods, I will help. You and your family will come to no harm.”

“Thank you,” you say emphatically, your hands coming up to your shoulders in preparation to unclasp your shift.

“No! Stop!” You freeze again, eyes wide.

The General softens, and gentles his words. “Please stop. I am weary from battle and I need to sleep. Please… let us both rest, and after that we may discuss this with level heads.”

“Of course, My Lord,” you nod, curtsying again. 

“Marcus.”

“...My Lord?”

“Call me Marcus. I am no Lord.”

“As you wish, My Lord.” It comes out automatically.

The General–Marcus–raises one eyebrow.

“...Marcus.” You watch as the man pads over to the bed and collapses onto it with a heavy sigh. 

“You may sleep here, you may sleep elsewhere, it does not concern me,” he mumbles, eyes already closed. “I am not long for this world and will be unconscious for quite some time, I imagine.”

His words are correct; within a matter of minutes the man is snoring. 

Alone and scared, you sink back down into the chair, and begin to cry again.

Marcus wakes with something tickling his nose. Opening his eyes, he’s greeted by a mass of curls on his pillow, framing the angelic face of… 

Oh.

He had forgotten about you. At some point, you had clearly decided to sleep as well, because you are curled up next to him, your hands clasped under your chin and your lips slightly parted in sleep. This is the first time he’s seen your face not terrified, and he realizes that you are really quite beautiful.

He does not know what to do with you. 

Marcus has never had a shortage of willing partners, and he is uninterested in the alternative. You are pretty, young, and soft, but he is not the sort of man to force himself on a woman. Even if you did ask him in no uncertain terms to do so, it would not be for the right reasons. 

He needs to find a way out of this situation, ideally with his life, your life, and the lives of your family still intact; he did not wade through the blood and mire of battlefield just to condemn an innocent woman to death.

“Girl,” he says lowly, and your eyes open quickly. They go wide at his proximity, and you scramble back a few inches, creating more space between you.

“H-Hello,” you greet him shakily. 

“Good morn,” he replies. “How are you feeling?”

“Well-rested, My Lo–Marcus.” You offer him a small, timid smile. 

Marcus glances toward the window. “It must be almost midday,” he says, noticing the angle of the sun. He’d fallen asleep yesterday in the late afternoon, slept all night, and through the morning. He hopes you did the same. 

“I am famished.” He gets up from the bed–Gods, his muscles still ache–and pads toward the door to his chambers. “With any luck, this morning’s breakfast will still be outside.” 

It feels like the only act of providence that has happened since his return to the Palace that the breakfast tray is still there, laden with fresh bread and fruit. He carries it inside and sets it on the small table in his chambers. He grabs a piece of bread with one hand and beckons you over with the other, too hungry to be polite and wait for you before tearing a piece off with his teeth. He finishes the bread in a few bites, but you still stand near the bed, unmoving and watching him with wary eyes.

“Come. Eat.” Marcus grabs another piece of bread and a handful of grapes. 

Hesitantly, you approach the table, looking like a wild animal unsure of whether the human offering you food can be trusted.

“I do not bite, girl,” he grumbles. 

You snatch a loaf off of the table and retreat backwards a couple of paces, breaking off small pieces and popping them into your mouth as you continue to stare at him. 

“What will you do with me?” you ask.

“Do with you?” Marcus laughs humorlessly. “Nothing.” 

“Nothing?” you repeat, beginning to sound angry. Good. Marcus would rather you be anything but the timid, scared girl that was shoved into his chambers. “So you would condemn my family to death?”

“I am not going to take an unwilling woman to bed,” he growls, taking more grapes from the tray and popping them into his mouth. 

“Most people would do far worse to save the life of a loved one,” you argue. 

Marcus scoffs. “I’ve seen and done things you could not imagine, girl. If losing your maidenhood is the worst thing you can conceive of–”

“It is not,” you snap, stamping your foot in a show of exasperated petulance. “If you are not going to help me, then… I—I hope the gods curse you!” you finish lamely. You spin on your heels and retreat to the corner of his room, sitting down on a chair and crossing your arms with a huff. 

Marcus closes his eyes. He is being too harsh with her, too cruel. He has spent too long shouting orders at his men of late, and not enough time offering comfort or kind words. He grimaces and approaches you with caution. You glare at him, and he doesn’t blame you, but he slowly sinks to his knees in front of you before speaking.

“I have been unkind,” he says softly. “Please forgive my rudeness.”

He watches as your pretty eyes narrow, then widen, then narrow again as a number of emotions seem to flicker across your face. Your lips part, but you don’t respond, and Marcus forges on.

“I did not ask to be put in this situation, and neither did you. I made a promise to you last night that you and your family will come to no harm, but we must work together to keep you safe.”

“Would it not be easier to simply take your ‘gift’?” you sniffle, jutting your chin out and trying–unsuccessfully, he thinks to himself–to be brave.

Marcus chuckles softly, reaching forward and gently grasping both of your hands. “I have committed enough violence in the name of Emperor and Country to last a man several lifetimes. I may not have been as kind as I should have been to you, but I will not take the innocence of a scared girl who is being used as a pawn in the evil games of powerful men.”

You sniffle again, wiping your nose on the back of one hand. “Sometimes I wish I could just be free of this cursed ‘gift’ of innocence and lose all value to men like that.”

Marcus huffs in amusement. “Do you, now?”

You sigh, turning and looking out of the window. “How nice it would be to be valued for other qualities, instead,” you murmur, speaking more to yourself than to him. When you turn back to look at him, you ask, “How will you–we–subvert the wishes of the Emperor himself?”

Ah. He was rather hoping you wouldn’t ask, at least not yet. Truthfully, he has no idea; all he can really hope to do is attempt to sway the Emperor in some way, or at the very least, buy him some time. 

“I will request an audience,” Marcus tells you. “I must go soon to debrief with the other generals, and he will be in attendance. I will speak to him, garner favor…” he trails off, knowing how vague and uncertain he sounds. 

“You would really take such a risk for me…?” you ask hesitantly. 

“The Emperor, in his wisdom, has bestowed upon me a gift,” Marcus says sardonically. “And as I see it, that gift is now mine, and is under my protection.” He gently cups your cheek, letting his palm rest against the slightly damp skin. “We will use his… generosity… to our advantage.”

He stands, letting his fingers trail across your jaw before pulling his hand back. “I must go. Do not open the door to anyone while I am gone.”

In the General’s absence, you finish off the rest of the breakfast tray, which was plentiful. With a full belly, you wander around the man’s chambers, exploring the space that will also be yours for the foreseeable future. You wash in the basin, splashing cool water on your face and sighing in relief. For the first time in over a day, you are finally able to breathe and take stock of your situation.

You should be grateful, really. The General Marcus, although gruff and tactless at times, seems to be a caring, even kind man. You believe him when he says he will protect you, protect your family, even though you have nothing to give him in return. Nothing he wishes to take, at any rate. 

Your eyes fall on an ornate dagger sitting on a table near the window, and you cannot help but think of the way his hands–the same hands that would fiercely wield a weapon to slice through skin and bone–so gently touched your face. 

A loud knock on the door to Marcus’s chambers startles him out of your reverie. A soft noise of surprise escapes you before you are able to clap your hand over your mouth to stifle it. You can tell that whoever is on the other side of the door has heard you, because they pause, listening, and then knock again.

The handle rattles as someone on the other side turns it back and forth, testing the strength of the lock, and your heart pounds with trepidation. 

They cannot get in. They cannot get in. They cannot get in. You repeat the phrase over and over in your head, but then you hear the distinct click as the lock is bypassed or picked, and the door swings wide.

“Well, well, well,” a man in ornate robes sneers. “It appears the rumors are true.”

**********************************

Another man in similar garb pushes past him. “Our beloved general has a new toy.” The words are dripping in sarcasm.

You back up against the wall, and the table next to you rattles when you bump it with your hip. Quickly, you pick up the dagger and point it at the intruders.

Both men guffaw loudly, slapping their knees and shoving each others’ shoulders in their apparent mirth. “She has teeth, she does!” one of them jeers.

“Tell us, did you bite the General when he stuck you?”

The men lunge forward, and you slash with the blade. One of them howls, clutching at his arm, where red is already beginning to well up between his fingers, but you are unused to wielding weapons and the second man rips it from your grasp easily.

“You little bitch,” the injured one spits, and slaps you, hard, with his good hand, the blood from his injury splashing your face and your white robes. You crumple in an instant, clutching your cheek, as the two men close in.

“I bet she squeals nice and loud,” one of them growls menacingly as he reaches for you.

*************************************

A loud bang from behind the men makes them startle. You look for the source, and see the General standing in the doorway with fury in his eyes. He wrenches another dagger from its scabbard and, with no warning, lunges forward and plunges it into the neck of the man who had reached for you. With a sickening gurgle, the man collapses instantly, and red blood begins to pool underneath him. Marcus rips the dagger from the man’s neck and points it at the second man as he shoves him against the wall, who immediately begins to whimper and shake his head. 

“Sniveling cur,” the General spits. “I would happily kill you both, but you are going to deliver a message for me instead.” At the man’s frantic nod, he continues. “It seems that some need reminding that I am not to be trifled with,” Marcus snarls. “And the next person who disrespects me by harming my property will be dealt with in the same manner as your friend. Now. Go.” 

The man bolts, clutching the wound you had given him.

Marcus’s demeanor immediately changes. He drops the dagger on the floor and falls to his knees in front of you, taking your face in his hands again… hands that are trembling. 

“They hurt you,” he murmurs, his eyes rapidly flicking back and forth over your face, seeing the blood that had spattered on your robes.

“It isn’t mine,” you manage to say, although your voice shakes and your chest heaves with leftover terror. You can’t keep your gaze from landing on the dead man in front of you, his eyes still open and staring sightlessly ahead. “I–your knife I–”

“Okay,” he nods, his thumbs still caressing your cheekbones. “Okay. Shhh. Don’t look at him, look at me.” When you manage to pull your gaze to the General instead, you’re suddenly captivated by his wild, dark eyes. They’re so full of fire, yes, but with that fire brings warmth. He stares at you as if you are a precious object, not some scared little girl covered in blood and cowering against the wall. “Come here,” Marcus says softly. “Let me help you up.”

You surprise even yourself when you automatically lean forward and into the General’s arms. He stiffens, seemingly just as stunned by your trust in him, but he recovers and carefully stands, pulling you up with him and gently turning your body away from the dead man. He leads you forward, and you follow blindly as he guides you down onto a chair. 

“Let me fetch a cloth,” Marcus says, his expression stormy and troubled, “to clean you up. Do not move.”

You nod, watching as he fills a little bowl with water from the basin and comes back to crouch at your feet. “Your cheek,” he murmurs. “Is it very painful?”

You nod again, a few hot tears escaping from your eyes and stinging the small cut in question. 

“I will be as gentle as I can,” Marcus promises. “But it must be cleaned.”

You shut your eyes as his fingers carefully grasp your chin, using his hold to tilt your head and grant him easier access. The cloth is cold against the burning skin of your cheek, and you cannot stop the soft whimper that leaves your lips. Gently, the General dabs the little wound, dipping the cloth in water over and over and soothing the tender skin as he wipes it clean of dirt and blood.

Once satisfied with your cheek, he cleans the man’s blood off of the rest of your face and neck, as well as the few droplets that had landed on your hands from the other man as he was stabbed. 

“Thank you,” you whisper hoarsely as he gently turns one hand over and dabs away the last remaining spot of blood on the inside of your wrist. 

“You should not be thanking me,” Marcus says, voice tinged with bitterness. “It is because of me that you came to harm.”

“Yet it is also because of you that I was not harmed further,” you tell him quietly. Your eyes dart toward the body in a pool of blood still lying on the floor, and quickly look away again. “You killed a man for me.”

“You are under my protection,” Marcus says solemnly. “I do not take that vow lightly.”

As your heartbeat finally begins to slow, the deep terror that had been swirling inside you leaves, replaced with bone-weary fatigue. Your vision swims and your head sways slightly as you suddenly feel that you must fight the urge to fall asleep right here in this chair.

“Something ails me,” you say, alarmed at your darkening vision.

“Battle fatigue,” the General says matter-of-factly. “When the fog of war lifts, sleep often takes its place.”

“I am no soldier,” you protest tiredly. The world shifts–Marcus has scooped you into his arms and is carrying you to his bed, carefully laying you down on the blankets. 

“You are now,” he teases gently. “Victorious little soldier, bellatora, wielding a General’s weapon with ferocity. You even have a battle scar.” His finger gingerly brushes your cheek.

“Will others come?” you ask, struck with a sudden pang of fear even as your eyes threaten to close. 

“No.”

“What if they do?” It’s a silly question, and you aren’t sure why you even gave voice to such a childish fear. Warmth envelops you as Marcus covers your form with a blanket. Your eyes finally close, and the General’s last words seem to come to you through a dream.

“Then I will fight the entire Roman army to keep you safe.”

Marcus Acacius did not want this “gift.” 

He did not want a virgin to deflower, nor a scared girl to comfort, or even a servant that inexplicably tidied his rooms while he was away.

He did not want you. 

But here you are, sitting by his window with a book, eating all of your dinner and a good portion of his, and leaving long, curly hairs on his pillows, by the basin, and even on his armor–something he had discovered during a drill one morning, pulling the offending strand off of his pauldron with a bemused shake of his head. 

He does not want you. He doesn’t want the comb and mirror that now lie on the table by the basin, nor the extra rags he had to ask a servant for–ears burning bright red–when your… er… monthlies arrived. He does not want to spend his wages on new robes for you, but he hardly has a choice, not when your thin white shift became filthy with blood the night that he–

Gods.

The night that he almost lost you.

If his meeting had gone just five minutes longer, he would have been too late. He would have arrived to a much different scene, and he knows he would have killed every inhabitant of the palace in retribution.

This is how he knows that he cannot trust his own feelings when it comes to you. What should be an unwanted inconvenience in his life has quickly become much, much more. He acts like a man in love, the way he buys you trinkets and brings you sweets, but no matter how he twists the story in his own head, he cannot deny the truth: you are a captive. His captive.

As if to punctuate his thoughts, a wealthy merchant crosses his path in the bustling market, followed by another man carrying all of the man’s wares for him, purposely walking several paces behind as is the custom for slaves.

Marcus can dress you in all the finery his salary can afford, but that does not change the fact that you were intended to be a slave for his pleasure. 

He already has his intended prize from the market–a parcel containing two pieces of sweetbread tucked under one arm–but perhaps it is guilt over your imprisonment that causes his head to wander to the stall of jewelry to his left. 

“Trinkets for a special someone,” says a middle-aged woman wearing kohl eyeliner and almost as many beads around her own neck as are displayed in her stall. She shoots Marcus a knowing smirk as his fingers reach out to graze a length of beads of palest pink. 

“Rose quartz,” the woman tells him. “For love, compassion, and emotional healing.”

Rose quartz. He cannot help but picture the pretty, pale beads glowing, luminous against the soft skin of your neck.

“How much?” His voice is rough and thick. 

The woman’s smile widens.

They cost almost an entire weeks’ salary, and he’s never spent such a sum on anything for himself, let alone something so frivolous, but he’s already reaching for his purse.

You grin widely at Marcus’s return–a sight that makes his heart swell when he remembers how frightened you were of him on that first night. You make little grabbing motions with your hands, causing him to laugh as he hands over the parcel of sweetbread. You take your piece and hand him the other, hardly waiting until he’s taken it before you’re biting into the sweet dough with a sound of pleasure that goes straight to his nether regions. 

He thinks of the necklace, wrapped in cloth and hidden in his robes, but he is struck with a moment of uncharacteristic cowardice, and he leaves it where it is. 

“Tell me about the market,” you say wistfully. 

“Too crowded,” Marcus grunts before taking a bite of his own sweetbread. 

You seem to find his cantankerous nature funny, for Gods know what reason, and the pretty sound of your laughter fills the room–and his mind.

“There are a number of visitors for some play at the amphitheater tonight,” he explains further, shrugging slightly.

You suddenly exclaim in delight, startling him a little. “I love the amphitheater,” you say emphatically. “My father often had to punish me for sneaking in to see plays against his wishes when I was a little girl.”

Marcus chuckles, picturing a smaller version of you, but no less fiery.

“It was worth it,” you laugh. You pop the last piece of sweetbread into your mouth and suck each finger clean of the sticky dough in turn. Marcus should look away, but he’s entranced by the way your lips close around each digit, leaving clean, shiny skin in your wake.

He blames this momentary onset of utter madness for the words that leave his mouth next.

“Would you like to go see it? The play?”

 The pure delight that washes over your face is enough to make Marcus want to take you to a different play every night, but after too short a time, you are frowning warily.

“Would that be wise?” you ask. “Is it not dangerous for me to leave your quarters?”

“You would be seen as my consort,” Marcus answers. “No harm will come to you, bellatora.”

“Your… your consort?” 

“You cannot be a prisoner in these walls for the rest of your days,” he tells you softly. “If we play the parts we have been given–the General and his consort–no one will question it. They wouldn’t dare, not after my warning. The entire palace knows that I will gladly kill anyone who threatens you.”

You duck your head, looking down at your hands. Marcus wonders if you’re frightened of him, still. 

“Everyone will see my act as one of possession,” he says. “Of territoriality. If we allow them to draw that conclusion, they will never suspect any different.”

You nod, biting your lower lip and giving him a timid smile that slowly spreads across your face and turns into something bright and joyful. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

“The play will end before we even arrive, bellatora,” Marcus grouses from the main chamber. 

“Patience,” you snap from the washroom. The stupid elaborate hairstyle that you keep trying to braid your hair into keeps falling out, and you’re beginning to feel frustrated. With a heavy sigh, you settle for a simpler plait that falls over one shoulder. You’re wearing one of the nicer gowns that Marcus has gifted you–robes of deep emerald green, but you still worry that you look far too common to be an appropriate consort to a General.

Since when has such a thing become a concern for you? Despite the roles you are forced to play, Marcus is not your consort, nor your lover. He has made it clear he will never touch you, so why are you hiding in the washroom, worrying over your appearance?

With a pained sigh, you shake yourself, square your shoulders, and turn to face the General.

“Ready,” you announce, and the man in question looks up.

His lips part slightly, a little crease forming on his brow as his eyebrows raise. He fixes you with that look–the one he keeps giving you lately. It’s as if he’s in a constant state of surprise every time he sees you, as if you aren’t a permanent fixture in his rooms and could disappear at any moment. 

“What?” you finally ask. 

Marcus seems to shake himself out of his stupor. “It is missing something.”

The statement confuses you. “I–I have nothing else to–” You cut yourself off as the man seems to be digging through his clothing, looking for what, you do not know.

“I thought this would suit you,” he says quietly, as he retrieves a small parcel and holds it out for you to take.

You hesitate, frowning. “What is it?”

Marcus huffs softly with impatience and opens the parcel himself, revealing the prettiest strand of stones you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Oh,” you gasp. 

“Do you…” the man in front of you clears his throat and shifts in his stance, “Do you like it?” he asks gruffly.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Yes, I like it.”

Wordlessly, he removes it from the cloth and moves behind you to clasp it at the back of your neck. You can’t help the wide smile that breaks across your face at the feel of the cool beads resting against your throat. Gently, you touch the necklace with your fingers and turn to look at Marcus. “Does it look pretty?” you ask, still grinning at him.

The General’s face is almost pained when he returns your gaze. His eyes don’t leave yours when he softly answers, “Yes.”

Marcus Acacius has never been much for plays, but never before has he experienced seeing one with you. He can’t help cracking a small smile himself every time you let out a joyful peal of laughter, which you do often, as the story is a humorous one. 

The necklace suits you just as he thought it would, but your beauty almost makes the stones appear dull in comparison. If anyone were to ask him, Marcus would say that your smile could outshine all of Rome. Pretending that you are his consort is far too easy; your delicate fingers find the crook of his elbow without prompting when he offers his arm to you as you walk through the streets when the show ends. Your eyes always seem to find his, your face bright and hopeful and oh so lovely as you look up at him. 

“Marcus?” 

He’s been lost in his thoughts again. He grunts and nods to you as the two of you walk back to the palace, when you suddenly stop. 

“I want to tell you…” you begin, wringing your hands together nervously. 

“What is it, bellatora?” Marcus asks with concern.

“I want to tell you that I am… very happy,” you say, ducking your head and avoiding his gaze. 

“I am glad that you enjoyed the play,” Marcus says hesitantly, wondering what is making you suddenly be so… shy.

“With you,” you add quietly. “It’s not only the play, it’s… it’s just you, Marcus.” The final word is almost a plea, with how earnestly it leaves your lips. “I–I want you to know that I would. I would be your consort, i-if you wanted, and I’d–”

Marcus closes the small distance between you and presses his lips against yours. You yield to him immediately, your small hands moving up the planes of his chest and coming to rest at his jaw. You kiss with the slight timidness of someone unfamiliar with how to do it, but oh, he’s happy to guide you. One of his hands gently cups your neck, the other caresses your cheek and it’s all he can do to keep the kiss chaste and not frighten you by backing you up against the wall of the alleyway and opening his mouth to you. 

When he releases your lips, you chase him–leaning forward with your mouth still pouted and your eyes closed, as though you cannot bear to be parted from him, and it takes a herculean effort not to indulge.

“Come,” Marcus murmurs softly, his thumb tracing back and forth over your cheekbone, watching as you flutter your eyes open and look at him with an expression of such open trust and want that he feels as though he’ll burn from the inside out. “Come, let us go home.”

You are ablaze.

Marcus’s hands seem to burn with heat as he guides you hastily through the palace and to his familiar quarters, but their temperature still seems to pale in comparison to the heat that rises within you. 

Once inside, he kisses you again, and you swear your knees could simply buckle and give out just at the feel of his lips on yours. You crave it again and again; your hands grip at his robes to hold him close to you, hoping he’ll never stop. 

“Sweet girl, little bellatora,” Marcus murmurs, his lips dragging from your mouth across your cheek to the side of your neck and oh, you like that even more–your head falls to the side and your back arches as you all but beg for his lips on your skin again. His hand on your lower back guides you even closer until your bodies are pressing together and you gasp softly at the feeling of his body against yours.

“Tell me,” he whispers in your ear, his lips grazing the shell of your earlobe and causing a cascade of shivers to course through you. “Tell me that you want this. If you do not, deny me now, and I promise I will never touch you again.”

“No,” you whimper automatically. “No, please don’t stop, just–”

“Shhh, bellatora.” Marcus seems to crumple with relief, leaning forward until your back hits the wall and his lips ravish your neck once again. “I won’t stop, just tell me you want me like this.”

“Yes,” you gasp, as the General’s hands cage your face and his mouth meets yours once again. “Yes, yes, yes–” You repeat the word over and over into his mouth, until he groans softly and parts his lips too, deepening the kiss and tasting you with his tongue.

His hands caress your neck, fingertips running up and down before settling on the clasps on your shoulders. “Let me see you,” he whispers. “Please, let me–”

You pull back, looking in his eyes as you nod slowly, giving him permission. He carefully undoes your dress, letting the fabric fall and pool at your feet. The necklace is still around your neck, and he touches the beads lightly as he stares at the sight before him.

“Oh, Gods…” Marcus murmurs to himself, shaking his head in awe. “What a divine gift you are, bellatora.”

His eyes rake over your breasts, your hips, the swell of your stomach, and the fire burning within threatens to consume you. With one more soft kiss, he whispers, “Come to the bed, so I may worship you properly.”

You let him lead you, keeping your eyes on him as he takes your hands in his and pulls you toward the bed. You are too consumed with flames to feel fear of this moment, but a pang of nervousness thrums within you despite yourself. 

Marcus guides you down until you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. You begin to scoot backwards–you might not have much experience, but you know you’re supposed to be lying on the bed–when he stops you, and instead sinks to his knees in front of you. 

“I–” you begin, unsure of what to do.

“I want you to watch,” the General whispers, looking up at you in the same way an acolyte may look up at a temple. “I want you to see me.”

Slowly, cautiously, as if he’s afraid of spooking you, he guides your legs open until you’re splayed out in front of him. You would be embarrassed, but for the hungry look in his eyes, how his chest seems to heave in anticipation, and the way his tongue darts out to lick his lips as if he’s about to enjoy a feast.

When he leans forward, his mouth moving toward you, you gasp and stiffen, and he pauses.

“Trust me,” he soothes. “It will feel good, I promise.”

You swallow thickly and relax again, watching as Marcus comes even closer, until he’s able to press a kiss right on–

“Oh,” you whimper softly. 

Emboldened, he angles his mouth against you and licks. The sensation of his tongue through your folds causes you to collapse backwards on your elbows, your head falling back and your eyes closing as you gasp toward the ceiling. 

“Watch,” Marcus reminds you. 

With you half-sprawled on the bed, your legs fall open even further and his hands wind underneath your hips as he pulls you even closer onto his mouth. His tongue, his lips… oh, it’s so decadent; you’ve never felt pleasure like this by your own hand. He thrusts his tongue into you, and you can only whine and babble wordlessly, your eyes wide as you dutifully watch him please you. He alternates between these deep, overwhelming strokes of his tongue and little licks right on the little bundle of nerves above, back and forth, back and forth until your entire body shakes. 

“Exquisite,” Marcus rasps, his voice rough with exertion and pleasure. His lips close around you and he sucks gently, and the fire within you burns until it reaches a crescendo, until finally, you fall.

“Bellatora.” The endearment is laden with affection, and when you slowly blink your eyes open, the General is smiling down at you. “Are you with me, mi bellatora?”

You giggle. “I think so.”

He must have disrobed while your eyes were closed; you stare at his slightly golden chest, at the light dusting of hair and freckles, and further down, where–

Oh, Gods. 

Marcus hangs thick, heavy, and proud, and you swallow in trepidation at the thought of all of that inside you.

“Don't look at that; look at me.” The words are soothing, but tinged with humor, and you can see the mirth sparkling in his eyes when you do as he asks and look at him.

“Let us just lie down together,” he says, smiling. “Nothing more.”

You scoot up until your head rests against the pillows, and Marcus crawls over you with a smirk, pressing little kisses up your body as he goes, until he lies down beside you and pulls you into his arms.

With your back against his chest, you can't exactly forget about the hard length of him, as it's currently pressing insistently against you. You wiggle, arching your back and trying to soothe the empty ache that still seems to reside within you. 

“Feeling greedy, mi bellatora?” 

You whine softly and push back against him harder. His arms are wrapped around you, but somehow, it’s still not enough. You want him everywhere, you need everything. 

“What have you done to me?” you laugh softly. 

“Nothing you have not also done to me,” Marcus murmurs, nipping your shoulder playfully. 

“I have done nothing,” you say airily, leaning further back into his embrace.

“Oh, you have,” he growls. “You have invaded my quarters–”

“That is hardly my doing–”

“–and shortly after, invaded my heart,” Marcus continues, ignoring your interruption. “You have made me crave as I never have before.”

“You have made me feel the same,” you whisper. “I have never… felt anything like this before.”

“Mi bellatora,” he breathes against your skin, sending shivers up and down your spine.

“Do not be cruel.”

“Cruel?”

“You are denying me.”

At your playful accusation, Marcus suddenly shifts, rising up from beside you and pinning you to the bed with his body. “And it is taking the effort of every bone in my body, more challenging than all twelve labors of Hercules.”

“Then stop,” you tell him softly, reaching up to palm his cheek. “Stop denying us what we both want.”

Rather than answer, the General lowers his mouth to yours. 

Kissing might be your new favorite thing–you thought the feel of Marcus’s lips was the most perfect thing you’d ever felt when he kissed you in the alleyway, but here, in his bed, with the weight of his body pressing deliciously down on you, his kisses feel even more profound. His hips roll gently against you, and you instinctively wrap one leg around his thigh to try and relieve your desire for more friction. 

The action causes Marcus to groan and bury his face in your neck, his light beard scraping against your skin. Your hips cant upward unconsciously, and the skin of his cock catches and rubs against your folds. 

With a little moan, you press against him harder, wanting more, more–

“Bellatora,” Marcus groans. He props himself on one elbow over you, spits on the other hand and rubs the wetness onto the head of his cock. He repeats the motion again, and then gently rubs the remainder onto you, making you arch back with a surprised gasp. 

“I know, I know,” he murmurs. “It’ll be easier like this.”

He lines up the thick head of him with your entrance and pushes the tip in ever so slightly. Your eyes widen as you feel him, your mouth falling open as you stare up at him in awe.

“That’s it, just look at me,” Marcus murmurs. “Just keep looking at me.”

His face is so close to yours that your breaths mingle as he slowly slides in. You expect it to hurt, but you’re so soaked from his earlier attentions that it’s almost easy for him, at first. When he’s only about halfway in, though, you start to feel unbearably full–too full–and it makes you whimper softly and squirm against him.

“Breathe for me,” Marcus reminds you. “Breathe, mi bellatora.”

In between more kisses and soft praises, he pushes forward, bit by bit, until you can feel his body fully pressing against your core.

“Oh,” you whisper, smiling shakily. “I can feel you.”

Marcus chuckles. “And I, you.”

He stays just there, unmoving, stroking your face, until you begin to squirm with impatience again.

“I don’t want to hurt you, bellatora,” he says softly. “Please, love, tell me if I do.”

You nod, wide-eyed and enraptured by the feeling of being utterly filled. With one last gently kiss to your cheekbone, Marcus carefully begins to move. His cock drags slowly back and forth against your walls, and each time he buries himself to the hilt once again, it sends sparks of pleasure all over your body.

Your exhales turn high and breathy, little whimpers and gasps escaping every time Marcus reaches the end of you. You cling to his shoulders, the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his curls, eliciting a deep groan and a change in the rhythm of his thrusts as he gains confidence that you aren’t in any pain. 

The faster Marcus’s hips move, the more it seems to send you into a frenzy. Your legs wrap around his hips and your grip on his upper body tightens as the fire within you starts to build again. 

Your lips seek any available skin they can find, pressing open-mouthed against his jaw, his neck, his upper arm, anywhere you can reach. One of Marcus’s hands gently cups the back of your neck for leverage as he grinds against you; the other wanders up and down your body–gripping your hip, squeezing your breast and pressing his thumb against your nipple, stroking your cheek as he kisses you again and again. 

His kisses become more and more messy and frenetic as he loses himself in the pleasure of your body. He pants softly, his voice catching on every exhale, quiet little noises deep in his throat that only you can hear. 

Your bodies move seamlessly together, aided by the light sheen of sweat that beads on your skin. Marcus hand slips in between you, his fingers finding the little bundle of nerves and gently rubbing circles into the skin there.

“Oh, I–I–” you whimper brokenly, drunk on the sensations of pleasure that he’s pulling from your body. “M-Ma–” 

“Say it,” he rasps in your ear. “Please, bellatora.”

“Marcus,” you manage to gasp. 

“Again.”

“M-Marcus, Marcus, oh Gods, I–” 

Your body arches off the bed as the strongest wave of pleasure you’ve ever felt courses through you. You convulse against him, hands scrabbling for a hold on his broad shoulders, gripping him for dear life as though he is the only thing keeping you from being pulled under by the waves. 

Your cries reach a crescendo and Marcus gives you everything–his hips snapping roughly against you as your core continues to flutter weakly. Finally, when your body feels boneless and the fullness of him begins to ache, his thrusts falter and he finally stills, his cock twitching inside of you as he finishes. 

He slips out, frowning slightly with concern when you wince, but continues to hover over you, his eyes sweeping over your face as your breathing slows and your heart quietens. He stays there, stroking your hair and kissing you until his shoulders start to shake with the effort of holding himself over you. 

You fall asleep tangled together, safe and warm in Marcus’s arms.

[Several moons later]

“Must we really go?” you wheedle as you watch the General fiddle with the clasp on his ceremonial robes.

“It is the most effective way to make our little statement, bellatora.” 

You cross your arms and make a show of pouting, although you know Marcus is right. You raise your arms, which are currently holding half of an unfinished braid. “Help me with my hair?” 

Marcus sighs loudly, although you know that, like your feigned petulance, it’s also an act. He takes the braid from you and finishes it before moving to the next section, plaiting it together the way he knows you like. 

“Tell me the statement again.”

He huffs. “You just like hearing me say it.”

“Yes.”

“An act against one of us is an act against both of us,” he murmurs dutifully. “And tantamount to an act of war, to be met with a swift and disproportionate response.”

“You always say that–‘disproportionate response.’ I do not understand what you mean by it.”

“Mmm. An opposing force sends one arrow into my army, I send one back. Proportionate response. Someone sends an arrow into my army, and I reign fire from the sky, burn every building to the ground, kill every citizen and remove them from every map. Disproportionate response.” Marcus finishes your hair and gently drapes the long braid over your shoulder.

“If ever you ask why I was scared of you when first we met, I will refer to you to that statement,” you say wryly. 

“You did ask, mi bellatora.” He picks up a belt and scabbard–similar to his, but smaller, more delicate, and ornate. He fastens it around your waist, cinching your dress and making you feel not only more alluring, but powerful. 

You do a little twirl and turn to him. “Do I look like the consort of an esteemed General?”

Marcus leans in and gently captures your lips with his. “You look like so much more. Now let us go into this den of wolves.”

With your head held high, you walk proudly through the halls at the General’s side, your hand tucked neatly against the crook of his elbow, until you reach the banquet hall, where the Emperor is holding a great feast. In your wildest imagination, you cannot think of a single place you want to avoid more, but you hold Marcus’s earlier promise in your mind as the heads turn to look at your entrance.

This is the last time.

The Emperor, surrounded by his entourage, raises his glass with a shout and a laugh as he sees the two of you. “The good General,” he grins wolfishly. 

“Taking his little plaything out for a walk,” one of the other men sneer. 

“Letting his little pet out of its cage,” adds another, snickering. 

Calmly, you unsheath the beautiful, ceremonial dagger that Marcus had given you as a gift and hold it at your side, just as he’d told you. A powerful warrior does not brandish their weapon or wave it under people’s noses, he had said. A powerful warrior does not need to. They simply remind their enemies that the weapon is there.

“You disrespect me,” you say, keeping your face even and your eyes stern. “And you disrespect my husband.”

Silence falls around the room. The Emperor’s men look at each other, to Marcus, and back to you again, unsure of how to respond. Finally, one of them laughs loudly.

“General Acacius is going soft,” he cackles. “Letting his little toy play pretend that she’s the wife of a noble.”

You fight to keep your expression free of malice or hurt, continuing to face them down calmly, your sword resting at your side. 

“Your gift to the General was far more valuable than you knew,” you say evenly, speaking only to the Emperor. “My family’s debt is paid in full, and I am therefore free to leave the palace at my leisure.”

The Emperor of Rome stares at you with befuddlement, his eyes wide, seemingly completely at a loss for words.

“We take our leave,” you announce with a flourish of a bow. 

“Leave?” The man sputters. “You are my finest General, you cannot–”

“I have given the Empire more than my fair share of years in service,” Marcus says quietly, standing resolutely next to you and placing his hand around your waist. “I find I have seen all I care to see of war, and the rest of my days will be filled with peace.”

Marcus turns to the other generals, who are all watching the confrontation with the Emperor. Without speaking, they draw their swords and hold them aloft in a silent salute to your husband–who solemnly returns the gesture. As you are still holding your dagger, you copy the gesture. This seems to please both him and the other Generals, who all smile. 

Marcus turns to you, beaming with affection and pride. “Let’s go home, bellatora.”

Epilogue

In a small hamlet south of the big city, a villa sits on a small hill overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea. 

There is a rumor among some of the residents of the town that the man who lives there used to be a General in the Emperor’s army, but most of the inhabitants agree that this is a ridiculous notion. 

He’s too soft-spoken, you see; his gentle demeanor is unlike that of a soldier. He often likes to sit with his wife and watch the color of the sea change as the sun rises in the morning, savoring the moment of peace before his children wake up. 

There are five of them now–with a sixth on the way. His wife jokes that should she find herself with child for the seventh time, she’s going to feed the man’s privates to their goats. 

Their life is modest, but by all accounts of those who witness it, they are blissfully happy. Their home always seems to be filled with joy, laughter, and no small amount of chaos that always follows young children. They maintain a small farm, raise goats and chickens, and they sell their extra eggs and vegetables at the market every week, accompanied by their five children, who are helpful… to varying degrees.  

Sometimes, late at night, the odd passer-by will see the silhouette of a couple standing on the cliffs overlooking the sea, wrapped in a tender embrace.

They have few visitors, but those who have been inside their villa have noted that two swords are mounted above the front door. One is large, utilitarian, but expertly crafted–with signs of wear that might indicate it has seen more conflict than most. The other is small and elegant, the hilt decorated with precious stones. 

No one has ever dared to ask about them.

[woof-verine]

this is a niche headcanon but I think Wade would be a really good Dungeon Master. His mind and mouth run a mile a minute, he’s really good at thinking on the fly, and he also can really obsessively plan shit out, which are all grey traits for a DM. I think his ADHD ass pirated the DnD rulebook on a whim and then whoops! He’s read it all in a single day and now he’s binge watching Critical Role and reading the DM’s guide and planning out dungeon maps in his mind etc etc.

Logan comes home to Wade sprawled out on the floor with his computer, a notepad, and like 5 books all open around him and is like —

“Fuck is all this, bub?”

“Oh! It’s a thing called Dungeons and Dragons. It’s total nerd shit, but lucky for me I’m a total nerd, so! I just got into it today but it’s basically a role playing table top game where you—“

“I know what it is.”

“…you do? Because no offense, Logie bear, but you are, like, ancient, and I don’t think they had this when you were growing up. Unless Gary Gygax is secretly immortal, too, which could totally be a possibility now that I think about it.”

“No, uh. I played it once. With the kids at Xavier’s back when… back when I was in my old universe.”

“Oh. Well… if you ever want to play it again, I’m home-brewing a campaign and I’m gonna see if Yukio and Negasonic Teenage Butthead wanna play.”

“When did you say you got into this again?”

“Today.”

“Right.”

And then Wade ropes Yukio and Negasonic and Laura and Colossus into playing with him, and Logan stays out of it but eventually after a couple sessions they all gang up on him and peer pressure him into joining. He thinks he won’t have any fun really besides spending time with people he likes, but then he’s kind of blown away at seeing Wade DM — he’s so animated, great at improving and keeping things fun and interesting, finally finding a way to put his propensity to talk and talk and talk to good use, and Wade just looks so damn happy doing it too that Logan can’t really help but get into it.

So then he ends up playing DnD every Thursday evening.

[rosenclaws]

Hi! I really, really love your writing, especially these headcanons.

This is gonna sound really weird but could you write Logan with a reader who struggles with friendships and making friends? And general loneliness?

I'm struggling with feeling like I have no one right now and I just would really like to read about Logan loving on me and making me forget that for a bit

HI!! of course I can. we don't really talk and im so ass at responding BUT my dms or inbox is always open if you need someone to talk to <33 I really understand where ur coming from this was literally me all through college. I didn’t make a single friend bc I commuted and I felt so lonely. Also dofp and trilogy logan can be read more platonic so if u arent happy with it i can redo them!

Origins Logan -

I think that Logan isn’t great with making friends either. He’s not super interested in making friends so he’s very content being alone or being with you. But he notices a small sadness in your eyes sometimes. How you never seem to go out with people or the way your voice falls when he tells you he’s going to the bar after work with some work friends. He wasn’t sure what it was at first but then he saw you tucked away with tears in your eyes one night and decided it to get to the bottom of things.

See making friends is hard. You try. You really do. But no matter how nice you are and how much you try to reach out it just never works out. You never told Logan about it. Fearing he’d laugh or think you were lame. But it breaks his heart to see you so sad. He puts you in his lap and assures you that he’s there for you. He’ll be your boyfriend, your best friend, your support system. Hell he’ll even be your enemy if you wanted him to be.

He takes you out to town more in his free time encouraging you to join that book club you see flyers for or maybe that running group. Of course he won’t push anything but he just wants to see you happy. Whatever you need from him he’ll be. Because he loves you and he’ll be by your side through it all.

Trilogy Logan -

It’s stupid. At least it feels stupid. You live in a mansion with people just like you. Yet somehow you just feel lonely. You didn’t grow up here. You came very late in life and your powers didn’t warrant a spot on the team. In fact you swear the only reason Charles let you in is because they needed an art teacher. You’d sit in the kitchen at dinner by yourself while everyone was chatting around the counter. You would take walks when the students and staff played games. You were never invited to go out afterwards. Hell you aren’t even sure anyone else knows your name.

Until Logan came along. You knew him, of course you did he was The Wolverine after all. But you swore he never even gave you a second glance. It was your birthday and you were once again alone. You debated on going to the store and buying a cupcake but before you could make a decision Logan made it for you. A cute pink box sat on your bed with a card in very proper handwriting. The card just read Happy birthday signed by Logan of all people. It was your favorite flavor too. You confronted him and he just shrugged. He had always seen you but he was a lone wolf kind of guy. Still he liked you and in the spirit of…teamwork? He reached out. Logan was more than the grumpy man you thought he was. He was funny and had a sharp tongue. But he was sweet and a big softie. Only you got to see that side. He was your friend and slowly he made you feel seem. Made you feel loved. Now you have someone to exist in silence with and you’ve never been happier.

DOFP Logan -

I think it’s similar to trilogy Logan in the sense that he sees you when you feel like no one else does. He’s observant and the man can see that you don’t talk much to anyone. At a staff event you stayed quiet in the corner. Your face had “get me out” written all over it. A look he knows too well. He doesn’t know what draws him to you exactly. He thinks your smart and the kids love your class so why hasn’t he seen you around more.

The truth is you hated these events because you want to be apart of the fun so badly. To talk and laugh and befriend the people everyone seems to idolize. But no matter how hard you tried you just faded to the back. Making friends isn’t as easy as asking someone if they like ponies or the color purple. So when Logan. The Wolverine of all people walked up to and talked to you. It was bizarre. Not that you were complaining but fuck how did he even know who you were?

You start to overthink everything with Logan. Are you too clingy? Too forward? Should you ask if he wants coffee when you asked him yesterday if he wanted an extra donut? Eventually I think he asks you about it and you confess that making friends isn’t easy for you. Logan doesn’t think you’re weird or a loser for it. He understands shit happens and things aren’t easy for everyone. He is not a people person either and making friends is low on his skill set. But he likes you a lot and he’ll happily be your friend. Maybe more if you’re interested. He’ll be whatever you want him to be.

Old Man Logan -

Logan notices you’re just a little off. That you aren’t as happy as you used to be. A part of him is worried it’s his fault. He’s gone so much working and when he’s home he’s exhausted. He tries to take out on a nice date every other week. Something that you’ll remember for a long time. He’ll by you flowers he thinks are pretty from the store. They aren’t the most expensive but you don’t care. Was he not doing enough? I think he hides his worry until one day he finds you teary eyed laying on your bed and he can’t hold it in any longer.

It feels silly to tell him. He’s got so much on his plate and it’s not his fault he has things to do. He takes such good care of you and loves you. But you’re lonely. You go to work you come home and that’s it. You have Logan but you don’t have any friends and its starting to weigh on you. You try but people can be mean or they already have friends. You feel like theres something wrong with yoj. Logan frowns as he reassures you there’s nothing wrong with you. Absolutely nothing. Making friends ain’t as easy for some people and that’s okay. He would pick you up in his arms and cuddle you. He makes an effort to be the person you can always come to. Texting you things in between his rides. He’ll let you blow up his phone with everything you’re doing. He can’t always respond but he promises he reads it. When he comes home he’ll listen to you talk, ask a few questions and smile when you do. It can be hard but the loneliness isn’t forever and Logan will be your beacon for as long as you need him.

Worst Logan -

Wade has a lot of friends and sometimes it can be overwhelming as hell. So sometimes Logan just fucks off for a little bit. He enjoys the quiet more than the noise of people. That’s where he meets you. You live next door but he’s never met you. Not even Wade really knows who you are. You’re quiet and reserved and seem to stumble on your words. But Logan likes you. You’re much more tolerable than Wade for long periods of time. Sometimes you show up to ask for help or to drop off something but you don’t stay long.

After a while Logan asks why you don’t come to dinner or any of Wade’s parties. That’s when you tell him the truth. You aren’t Wade’s friend and that sometimes your jealousy gets the best of you when it comes to hearing how much joy and life comes from his apartment. Wade is friends with just about everyone but for some reason he never bothered to befriend you. You’re lonely and despite your small attempts to become closer they never went anywhere so you kind of just gave up. Until Logan came along. He was nice and he looked at you and gave you the time of day.

Admitting to him you were lonely was hard but he understands. He was the same way for years. All his friends had died and he had no one for a long time. He never wants to be that lost again and he won’t let you feel that way anymore either. He listens and he tells you that things might feel bad now but it will get better. He can’t tell you when but he’s there and he hopes his company can distract you even just for a little bit. Wade was appalled with himself for not introducing himself sooner once Logan brings you to a Sunday dinner.

He doesn’t force you to talk to anyone or suddenly expect you to be amazing at making friends with these strangers but he is there when you look back. Offering a smile that encourages you to open up just a little more. And if things feel like you’re losing it again, he’s right there to comfort you. He’s just a wall away and there’s no where else he’d rather be than with you.

[grieferkisser]

𓎟𓎟 reader x gr13f3r　trip　 ◞ ◟

ꔛ word count: 530⠀╱⠀established relationship 。

(¬_¬")⠀⠀⠀note ⠀╱⠀ars came back with more griefer and forgot the milk part 2!! i literally had no motivation nor ideas god save me,i like making griefer tough first and then make him a loser lol uhh yeah this writing is sht i also like ending writings w "i lov u" crazyy

Griefer was torn—should he text you? He didn’t want to seem clingy. Would it come across as needy if he reached out? The uncertainty gnawed at him as he stared at your name in his DMs, pinned right at the top. Getting a spot in Griefer’s pinned messages wasn’t easy—congratulations, you’d earned it.

With a deep breath, he typed out a message, his fingers feeling heavier than usual. Once done, he kicked his feet against the floor, sending his chair rolling backward as he nervously buried his head in his hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at the screen, waiting.

The text was simple: "Y0U'V3 B33N G0N3 F0R 5 D4YS. WH3N 4R3 Y0U C0M1NG B4CK?"

The moment he heard the notification ding, he shot forward, yanking his chair back toward the screen. He hadn’t heard from you all day, and he missed you—a lot more than he was willing to admit. Maybe he should’ve just gone with you on that trip.

He groaned at your response: “It’s been 3 days, not 5.” Great. He had definitely come off as needy with that little mistake. Quickly, he tried to play it cool, slipping back into his tough-guy personality.

"WH4T3V3R. ST1LL F33LS L1K3 5."

Griefer dropped his hands into his lap, trying to shake off the embarrassment. Without you around, everything felt off. Sure, he could stay up all night gaming or messing with people online, but what was the point? There was no one to laugh at his dumb jokes or call him out when he got too cocky. It was boring. He missed you.

Another ding. He glanced at the screen, your message teasing him: “Do you miss me?”

Griefer huffed, knowing full well you were right, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

"1T'S N0T L1K3 TH4T. 1T'S B0R1NG W1TH0UT Y0U."

It was cheesy—yeah, he knew that—but who cared? You already knew how much he hated being apart from you, even if he tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal. Ever since you left, his routine had been off. The games weren’t as fun, the usual chaos felt empty, and, honestly, everything just sucked.

Your reply came in quick: "I miss you too."

A smile crept onto his face. Griefer, the guy who never took anything seriously, was grinning like some love-struck fool. Yeah, he was a little bit of an idiot when it came to you.

"Y34H, 1 GU3SS. Y0U B3TT3R C0M3 B4CK S00N."

You responded with a playful jab: "You’ll survive."

"1T'S JU5T L4M3 W1TH0UT Y0U. D0N’T ST4RT 4CT1NG L1K3 TH4T."

As soon as he hit send, he exhaled, not realizing he’d been holding his breath. He was trying to stay cool, but the truth hung in the air—things just felt right when you were there. You understood him in ways no one else could, and as much as he teased and pretended it didn’t bother him, he needed you around.

Your next message was simple: "I’ll be back before you know it.Love you"

Griefer let out another breath, a genuine grin spreading across his face as he stared at the screen.

"Y0U B3TT3R B3. 1 L0V3 Y0U T00."

[in-hush-and-hiding]

Of Worlds and Words

-----

Welcome to my Date Everything era. I am OBSESSED with Chance the D20 it's actually embarrassing lol.

Anyway have a college AU about it.

-----

10k words

GN!reader

No mention of any gendered body parts or hair.

No use of y/n or anything similar.

Chance lifts you at one point, but I generally wrote him as being quite large/strong, so hopefully that isn't too exclusive.

Mostly fluff. Light smut near the end, but it's written to fit the fluffy tone so it's not very explicit.

not beta read 'cause i like to live life on the edge, lol.

-----

"I want to give you the romance you deserve." "You already have. You gave me a whole world. You gave me a piece of yourself to explore. And, in that world, we're creating something together, just the two of us. Do you really think that isn't romantic? I think it's one of the most sweetly intimate gifts you could give to someone."

-----

"That hits! For...?"

Parker leaned eagerly over the table, baring a feral grin at Chance, who was practically bouncing in excitement behind his DM screen. "48 damage."

Mac whistled. "That's considerably higher than expected."

There was a moment of tense silence while Chance took his sweet time making a note on the pages spread out in front of him. "Well, Parker...." He grinned. "The cult leader is done for. So, how do you want to do this?"

A cheer went up around the table, which was tucked away in an unused corner of the student union building of Valdivian University. The cry was loud enough to momentarily drown out the sound of crinkling chip bags and rolling dice.

The party made quick work of mopping up the rest of the mobs, after that, and Dasha's character, Yakaterina, made a show of sweeping the kidnapped princess into her arms to carry her out of the dungeon. It was over - the last session of this semester's G&G campaign was a success.

As the session wrapped up, Chance took a moment to bask in the excited chatter of his players while they gathered up their dice and character sheets. There was a knock at the door, but it was drowned out by exuberant chatter and masked by similar sounds of books and dice clacking against the table.

Without an answer to your knock, you pushed the door open and peeked hesitantly inside. "Um. Hi?" The conversation died down as five sets of eyes turned to look at you with varying amounts of curiosity and confusion. They would have normally been very happy to welcome a potential new player, but new people usually showed up at the start of the game, not at the end. "Is this the G&G group I saw on the flyers?"

The group naturally looked to Chance to answer, as both their GM and the one who went around posting flyers around campus every semester.

But Chance just stared, saying nothing at all. He was too busy wondering whether fate brought you to his game as a great blessing, or a terrible curse. Because it was definitely one of those two. It had to be. Otherwise, of all the students who could be asking him about G&G, it wouldn't have just happened to be the object of his embarrassingly long and embarrassingly intense unrequited crush.

There was nothing embarrassing about you, of course. No, it was embarrassing because he'd been pining since first year and he'd never had the guts to do a single thing about it. In fact, he had yet to speak a single word to you. And he still hadn't, as of right now. Even though you'd just asked him a question. The silence was definitely getting awkward. He should really say something. But that would require that he remember how to make word-sounds with his mouth parts, and he really didn't know how he could be expected to do that with you standing there looking absolutely hypnotizing. Just the way you did every time he saw you.

See? Embarrassing.

Chairemi wasn't a fan of awkward silences. If Chance wasn't going to answer, then she would. "Yes! Yes, we are a G&G group!" She took a step toward you, wearing a bright but apologetic smile. "But, I'm sorry to say, this was the last session of the semester!"

Meanwhile, Parker was squinting at you, half-sure that he recognized you from somewhere. It took a minute for him to realize that he recognized you as that student from Chance's literature classes. Today, he would be the hero who saved his poor lovesick best friend from himself; he broke the silence with a bright laugh that was only a tiny bit disconcerting, and motioned for you to come in. "Yeah, unfortunately this was the end of our campaign, but we're planning to get some dinner to celebrate, and you'd be welcome to join us! You can get to know us a bit, and then maybe join the next campaign. Right, Chance?" With a bright grin, he kicked Chance under the table to break him out of his stupor.

"Ow, Parker, what--" Chance's voice died as his brain finally caught up to what was happening and his attention shifted back to you. But this time, at least, the mere sight of you didn't just stunlock him all over again. In fact, now that he could remember how to make his tongue work, he was even more gregarious than usual, just for you: his smile brighter, his laugh warmer, his glance accompanied with a blush. "Oh! Hi! Yes, sorry, you're very welcome to join us! I'm Chance, I'm the GM! Have you ever played any G&G before?"

-----

You were folded into the group with remarkable ease, like there was a space for you that had always been there and they were just waiting for you to come fill it. Which made it all the more heartbreaking to realize that you'd have to wait for the entire summer before you'd be able to play G&G with them again.

"Yeah, I know, I wish the timing was better too!" Chairemi sighed dramatically as she twirled her pasta, seated across the table from you at a packed restaurant popular among students. "But Dasha and I aren't from this area, and we both go home during the summer."

"It's too bad my summer internship is in Seattle this year," Mac added. "I got an internship nearby last year, but it doesn't always work out that way."

"We could play some board games instead! The three of us," Parker suggested, pointing at you, himself, and Chance. "The Little League schedule is a mess, so I probably won't be around consistently enough for a G&G campaign, but there are tons of other things we could play!"

Chance leaned a little closer to you with a smile, his shoulder bumping against yours. Just casually, of course. He was definitely not hyper aware of it every single time he came into any kind of contact with you. "We should play 2 v 1, the two of us working against Parker, if we're going to play board games with him. He might seem nice now, but get him across a Catan board from you, and suddenly he's a tyrant."

Parker gasped dramatically, clutching at his chest. "How dare you poison our new friend against me like this!"

"Perhaps if you do not wish others to be poisoned," Dasha answered lightly, "you should not be such a snake at board game night."

"Slander!" Parker turned to you with a pout. "They're slandering me. You don't believe them, do you? You should definitely play board games with me!"

As infectious as Parker's energy was, he did come across as a little intense and it really wasn't very difficult to believe that he would be quite merciless in any competitive board game. But you didn't particularly want to say so, so instead, you neatly avoided the question with a distraction; "Did you say something about Little League before, Parker?"

His whole face lit up at the question. Distraction successful. "Oh! Yes! I work as an umpire and...." And apparently, this was a topic he would happily spend the rest of the meal chattering about, if you let him. Not that you minded, honestly. His passion really was pretty cute.

-----

After dinner, you left your number with Chance before heading out, and he totally didn't blush about it. It was just the lighting in the restaurant that made his cheeks look redder than they really were. And besides, there was nothing to blush about. You only gave him your number so he could let you know when the G&G game started up again in the fall, and he was totally, definitely, extremely normal about all of this.

And there was absolutely no reason why his friends should all keep staring at him like they expected him to break into a love song at any moment.

Parker nudged him, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "Oh, my friend, you are so gone. Poof. Vanished. Launched into deep space."

Chairemi giggled, nodding along. "Yeah, aimed right for a heart-shaped orbit around Saturn."

Chance was suddenly and inexplicably very interested in staring directly at the empty plate on the table instead of meeting anyone's eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Mac didn't look up from the session notes they were reading on their phone when they scoffed. "Pft. Yes, you do. You're so head-over-heels for them that I actually started to doubt whether love at first sight might be real after all."

Chance peeked up at the group and, finding that his denial was going nowhere, he promptly gave up on it and groaned, covering his face with his hands. "Oh, god. Was I that obvious?"

"To us? Yes, very much," Dasha answered. "But to our new friend? I don't think so. You were focused on them, but not so much more than any GM would be focused on a new player joining his game."

"Or, even if they did notice your interest, they clearly didn't mind," Mac pointed out. "Though I'm surprised that you were so taken with them so quickly. You couldn't even speak when they first walked into the room."

"It wasn't the first time he'd seen them," Parker answered. "He's had a thing for them since first year."

And as embarrassing as it was to explain himself, Chance didn't want to leave Parker to do it for him; not when he was pretty sure Parker would make sure he looked as ridiculous as possible. "It's not that big a deal. They were in a few of my lit classes. They're so..."

There were about a million words that crowded into his mind as descriptions for why he developed such a huge crush on someone he'd never even talked to before. But really, if he had to boil it down to one thing, it was the simple sense that your love of stories mirrored his own. Something about the way you looked when reading, and the way you spoke about a story you loved. He couldn't help but feel like you were a more kindred soul than any he'd ever met before.

But he wasn't going to say any of that without blushing so hard that he'd combust, so he just waved off the comment and tried again. "But I never had the guts to say anything, so I don't think they even knew I existed before today."

Dasha smiled broadly. "And now they know you exist. See? Progress! Next, you must call them and ask them on a date!"

Chance sputtered. "What? No, I'm not going to ask them on a date!"

"Why not?"

"If they say no, do you really think they'll still come to the next campaign? I don't want to risk driving them away because I've made it awkward." He shook his head, resolute. "No. I'm not going to risk it."

The others just looked at each other and shrugged. Parker was already planning to start a pool with bets on how long Chance's resolution would last.

-----

You were lying on the couch in your apartment when your roommate came in. "Hi Betty."

"Oh, hey, sweetie! How was the game?"

You propped yourself up on your elbows to look at her. "Oh, we didn't play. I was just asking about joining the next campaign. Which isn't until the fall semester, unfortunately."

She smiled, putting down her keys and purse. "Well, at least that's something to look forward to, right?"

Flopping back down, you grabbed one of the throw pillows to hug to your chest. "I dunno if I can wait that long."

She laughed softly, and you felt the couch shifting as she sat down at the end by your feet, so you tucked your legs up to give her a little more space. "You're that excited to play?"

Squeezing the pillow, you let out a shaky sigh. "I'm that excited to see the DM again, you mean."

"The DM?"

"Chance." Even just the way you said his name made it painfully obvious just how bad you had it for him already. "Oh my god, Betty. He's so...." Hot? Sweet? Charming? Funny? All accurate, but all felt like they were missing something important. "He's so.... everything. Fuck."

You heard her muffle a giggle behind her hand. "Oh wow, you're really into him, huh?"

Pulling the pillow up to cover your face, you groaned. "It's stupid, right? I've barely even spent 3 hours with him." Well. Except all the times you caught yourself staring at him in class. There was a particular look he'd get on his face when he was really absorbed in writing - it was so impossibly endearing that even just the thought of it twisted your stomach into a tornado of butterflies. But you'd never spoke to him before. You were pretty sure he didn't even know that you existed before today.

"No, it's not stupid at all," Betty assured you. Her tone was all maternal affection, even though she was definitely the same age as you. "That's just how the heart can be, sometimes."

Sitting up with a sigh, you hugged the pillow even tighter to your chest. "I've never had a crush hit me like this before. Like a truck. Am I being too shallow? There's no way I know enough about him to feel this strongly already, right?"

Betty shrugged. "Well, maybe a little of it comes from physical attraction, but why should it be bad to be physically attracted to a potential partner? Besides, I think there's less shallow appeal at work than you imagine. People underestimate how much you can see into a person just by watching the way they speak to friends and strangers, how easily they laugh, and what makes them smile." She paused, tilting her head to look at you with a knowing smile. "See? You noticed all that stuff about him, too. I can tell just from the look on your face."

You hid your face in the pillow again, but this time it was to hide your smile. "You're just trying to make me feel better about having a planet-sized crush on a nerdy dice-boy."

"Yes," Betty answered with a warm laugh. "And it's working, isn't it?"

-----

Counting down the days until the end of the summer semester would be an amazing way to drive yourself mad, so a distraction was in order. That was how you ended up in the local library, wandering through the stacks. There was just something so good about being surrounded by books. They didn't even need to be books that you might like - you were pretty sure half your current aisle was stacked with encyclopedias. But that wasn't the point. Just the presence of books of any kind was a sort of comfort.

You were not expecting to hear a familiar voice floating over the shelves. You couldn't make out the words, muffled as they were through several shelves, but then you heard a playful roar and the shrieking laughter of children.

"I will tear this castle to bits, piece by piece, unless I have the princess!" Chance's voice - or rather, Chance doing the low, gravely voice of an attacking dragon - drew you around a corner where you spotted him sitting in front of a dozen young children who were utterly enraptured in his story. He spread his arms wide in imitation of the dragon's wings. "The great beast took to the air, flying all around the castle and tearing at the highest towers with his mighty claws!"

You got as close as you could while staying out of sight, and hung back just behind a shelf to keep him from noticing you. Maaaybe you should go. The last thing you wanted was to make him feel self-conscious. But every time you gathered up the will to walk away, he'd say or do something that would send the children into another fit of raucous giggles. Every single time, you could always hear his own gleeful laughter right alongside them, and all that willpower seemed to go instead toward making your heart swell a little more. And really, it was probably best for your health if you didn't move around too much while your heart felt like it was trying to burst clean out of your chest, right?

In the end, the brave knight confronted the dragon and saved the day, and the villagers were protected from the dragon's wrath. His little audience cheered and chattered as the story came to a close, masking the sound of his footsteps, which is why you didn't realize he was coming around the corner until he nearly bumped into you.

You jumped in surprise and took a quick step back to avoid a collision. "Oh! Heh. Um. Hi, Chance."

"Oh. God." Chance already looked embarrassed at the idea that someone had been surreptitiously listening in, but then he registered who you were, and suddenly he looked mortified. Taking a step back away from you, he crossed his arms like a shield and stared down at your feet, unwilling to meet your gaze. "Uh. How long have you been standing there?"

"Um... I'm pretty sure I heard most of the story..." you admitted, worrying your lower lip between your teeth and your face burning with regret. You had guessed that he might find it embarrassing, but this was so much worse that you'd imagined. "I'm really sorry, Chance. I didn't really mean to stay so long, I just... It was so adorable, I kept thinking that I'd just stay one more minute, but one minute turned into five, and then ten..." Now you were both staring at your shoes.

"Adorable?" His voice was small, but hopeful. When you glanced up at him again, you found him with his head still low but his eyes peeking up at you from above the rim of his glasses.

The impulse to grab his cheeks and pepper every inch of his face with kisses was so strong that your fingers twitched. God, this man was teaching you some very concerning things about your self-control. Or lack thereof. "Yeah, of course. Are you kidding? That was the sweetest thing I've ever heard."

"Oh." Like a switch had been flipped, his body language changed completely and abruptly. Apparently all he needed was the assurance that you liked what you heard, and he was fine. More than fine, even. "Heh. Thanks!" He stood straighter, which made him seem suddenly two inches taller, and broke into a smile that perfectly skirted the line between playful and openly flirty. He took a step toward you to lean a little too casually against the bookshelf next to you for the motion to be actually casual. His forearm came to rest across the edge of a shelf above your head, his dice-beaded bracelets clacking against the wood. "Though I feel I should tell you, the stories we tell in G&G are a lot more compelling, if I do say so myself."

"You mean to tell me that you don't save your juiciest tales of political intrigue, betrayal and murder for the 6-year-olds?" It was a horrible shame that no one would ever know what a feat you had just accomplished, keeping your voice steady and your smile playfully coy with Chance standing over you like this. Truly, you deserved an Oscar. Maybe a Tony, too.

"Hm." With a roguish smile, he tapped thoughtfully at his chin. "I suppose this means that you're hoping for some political intrigue in the next campaign? Good, I have some particularly twisted ideas I've been saving up for the right player." You couldn't quite figure out how he managed to make it sound like he was flirting with you when he said that, but the way your heart was hammering in your chest said that it worked. Or maybe he wasn't doing it on purpose at all, and you were just down so bad that you were ready to hear anything he said to you as flirting.

"You can't just say stuff like that and then expect me to survive the wait until September," you complained. "I came here to find distractions from the wait, not to find even more reasons to count the days!"

And just as you were learning how to withstand his mischievous flirting without melting into a puddle in your shoes, his energy changed again; now he was all bashful joy, giggling - giggling! - with glee at your complaints. "I'm so glad you're excited too!"

Excited? Yeah, you were. In more ways than one. This man was going to give you a heart attack. He was a genuine danger to society, being that fucking cute. "I swear, if G&G didn't need a party, I'd kidnap you to run something for me right now."

Oh. Chance wanted to smack himself for missing what seemed, in retrospect, so obvious. Since you'd come looking for a group, he'd just assumed that you weren't interested in playing one-on-one. But oh, he could see it now. Weaving a tale together was a perfect opportunity to learn more about you. Not to mention that it would mean spending hours alone with you. A tiny but annoying part of his logical mind pointed out that probably was a bad idea if he actually had any intention of keeping his feelings hidden from you. But he wanted to, so badly that the thought of it made him giddy, and that was enough to quash his doubts completely. He had plenty of self-control, right? He'd be fine. Nothing to worry about. "I could run something for you, if you want. No kidnapping required." Not that he'd mind that, either.

"You.... oh." You felt kind of silly for not thinking of it before. You'd never heard of G&G being played without a whole party before, but there was no reason why you couldn't, right? "But that's, um, it's a lot of work to make a campaign, just for one player. Are you sure?"

"Yeah I'm sure!" The exclamation tumbled out of him faster and louder than he'd intended, leading him to clap his hand over his mouth with a blush. "Uh. I mean, I wouldn't offer if I didn't want to. And I do. I want to play with you."

Surely, surely he knew how that sounded. But he was looking at you with such earnest enthusiasm that you really couldn't tell. Not that it mattered. It's not as if it would change your answer, either way. "Yeah, I would love that."

-----

Chance normally booked that room in the student union building for his games. It was easier than trying to find a place to play every week. But since the semester had already started, Chance discovered, to his great dismay, that someone else had swooped in to book the usual room out from under him.

There was the option of inviting you back to his apartment, but that had the problem of being simultaneously both too intimate and not intimate enough. Mostly because, when Parker wasn't around, just knowing that his bedroom was right over there might be too much for him to bear. And when Parker was around, then... well, Parker would be around. Not that Parker's presence was normally a problem, but he really liked the idea of it just being the two of you.

In the end, he found a quiet little corner in a lesser-used student lounge; a couple of old, over-stuffed couches gathered around a low coffee table. The table wasn't perfect, but it would do. Besides, he didn't need quite as many notes for a single-player campaign, anyway.

The story that unfolded between you was one of grand, swashbuckling adventure. Your character served as the captain of a ship in a world of scattered islands, where naval power was paramount. The story began with a king's request for your aid in preventing the return of a usurper. And so you set off, with your skilled and loyal crew at your side, to find this usurper and prevent the civil war that he aimed to ignite.

Chance always let you bring one of your crew with you when you went ashore. The idea was that you could, with some preparation, make an educated guess about what skills you might require that you didn't have for your own character, and to bring a crew member that fit the role.

In practice, however, you quickly found yourself bringing your first mate, an elven thief named Aster of Rion, with you on nearly every outing. Of course you did - he was the archetypal charming rogue, and Chance played him as an incorrigible flirt. Given the choice between letting him flirt with you at every opportunity and anything else, it was hardly a surprise. Especially when he was always more than happy to oblige.

As the summer stretched on, the sessions got longer. It wasn't that Chance was planning more for each session - though he was inspired by the story you were building with him, that just meant that he was prepared several weeks in advance, these days. Instead, the sessions were always derailed by meandering and often-suggestive conversations between the captain and their first mate. And it was definitely the characters who were flirting. Totally not just you and Chance, finding an excuse to be a little more open about flirting with each other behind the safety of the mask of character.

-----

After a particularly gruelling fight, Chance took the post-combat respite to get some snacks. When he returned, he took a seat next to you rather than across from you - ostensibly so you could share the bag of chips in his hands.

"When I get back to the ship, I think I'll go up to the crow's nest rather than going straight to bed." You shuffled over to make a bit more room for him and leaned back against the arm of the couch with a yawn. You couldn't reach the table from here, but, with combat over, that probably wouldn't matter. At least not immediately. "I can't imagine being able to sleep right away, with all this adrenaline that'd be running through my body after that fight."

Chance hummed in agreement, holding the bag out to you. "You took a couple of nasty hits at the end there. I think Aster would come looking for you, if you don't go see the ship's medic right away."

You laughed, popping a chip into your mouth. "Okay, dad."

Chance slipped easily back into the lilting accent that he used for Aster as he responded, "I'll be heartbroken if you see me as a father figure, my dear captain."

"Are you sure you don't want me to call you 'daddy'?" You cackled as Chance choked on his own breath at the way you purred out the last word.

His voice was a half-octave lower when he spoke again. "You know very well that those are two very different words."

"And you're here to take me to bed, which could mean two very different things. So, you tell me what you intend, and I'll tell you which one you get to be."

There was a long pause while Chance tried to hide a smile. "Then maybe I won't say anything about that for now."

A comfortable quiet settled between you - both between the characters and players. Chance never seemed to have a dearth of things to talk about, but he didn't seem to have a strong need to fill silence for the sake of noise, either.

Resting against the arm of the couch, you tipped your head back to stare up at the ceiling. "Wish the view in here was half as nice as what they'd see on the ship." Even if you went outside, it wouldn't make that much of a difference - the stars were all hidden by the city lights anyway. You let you eyes slip shut to imagine a sea of stars over your head instead.

"Aster knows all sorts of stories about the constellations, if you want to hear one."

You opened one of your eyes, just a crack, and smiled at him. "Really? Yeah, I'd love that."

Chance nodded and cleared his throat. There was a long pause, long enough that you once might have thought that he'd changed his mind about telling the story. But you knew better now; he was simply piecing his thoughts together before he began speaking.

When he finally began, his voice had an almost musical quality that felt natural to mythology. It perfectly captured the way a story sounds when it's been told, over and over and over again, a hundred times. The rhythm of it might have lulled you to sleep, if you weren't so focused on following the story.

"This is the story of how a mortal man seduced a princess of the Fae. They met in a meadow by chance, as he was a hunter after quarry, and she was with her maidens collecting spring flowers. Her maidens fled from the presence of the man, but she did not fear him. They spoke, and then danced, and he told her of his life. They say she was enchanted by the fire of mortality in him."

"They fell in love, but such a union was forbidden. Even so, they met on dark nights, in secret, for many years. In time, they came to realize that he would grow old and die, and she would not. The prospect of such heartbreak was too much to bear, and so the princess stole a single poppy seed from the faerie feasts of spring, and fed it to her lover. This, she said, would see him reborn for a hundred lifetimes, so that they might find each other and be together over and over again."

"But then, the princess was promised in marriage to the lord of another Court. Her new husband was jealous and suspected infidelity, for she had not ceased her meetings with her lover. He killed the man, and the princess fled back to her mother for protection. Her husband demanded retribution. He wished for her death. He had the right to demand such a payment, but the queen was not willing to give her daughter such a fate. And so, instead, she allowed her daughter's body to die, and raised her spirit into the heavens."

There was another long pause and, this time, when he started speaking again, it was in Aster's voice once more. "You see that dark spot in the sky, embraced by a bright ring of stars? That is the princess, where she waits for her love to finish living his hundred lives on earth, so that he may join her and fill the emptiness in her arms for eternity."

Your heart twisted unexpectedly in your chest at the poignancy of the image. "Where is that from?" The moment the words were out of your mouth, you waved off the in-game answer that you knew was coming. "That was a question for Chance, not Aster."

"Oh. Uh. It's... from my notes?"

You sat up finally, watching him curiously. "So that was something you wrote?"

He looked vaguely offended by the question. "Of course I wrote it, where else would it have come from?"

"Oh no, it's not that I didn't believe you wrote it or anything. It's just... well, it wasn't like you could have known that I was gonna randomly decided to go stargazing at the end of the session. When were you planning to use that story?"

He shrugged, ducking his head in a doomed attempt to hide the blush that was reddening his cheeks. "I wasn't. I write lots of stuff that I never get to use in my games."

Your eyes went wide. "How much stuff like that have you written that you've never shared with anyone?"

He let out a soft, self-conscious laugh, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. "I don't know how I'd even count it. Enough to fill at least a few notebooks, probably."

"If I play a historian as my next character, would that count as a good excuse for you to let me read some of it?"

"You..." He had to pause to untangle his tongue in his surprise. "You want to read that stuff?"

A surprised laugh bubbled out of you. "What? Of course I do. That was a beautiful story, and you're telling me you have books of stuff like that, that no one else has ever seen?"

He answered with that giddy little giggle of his, the one he always made when he was so bashfully pleased that you enjoyed something he created. He didn't say anything - he was utterly tongue-tied by the idea that you were so interested in his random writings about world-building - but he didn't need to speak to make clear his feelings. Just the way he was looking at you, like you hung the very sun itself in his sky, was enough.

You'd never really understood, before now, why it was called falling in love. But the way he was looking at you stole the breath from your lungs, made your blood pulse with a giddy energy, and made your stomach start flipping dizzy somersaults. It was only now that you understood the comparison was apt, that it really did feel like that moment of weightlessness before a fall.

-------

As the campaign progressed, you began to suspect that this so-called usurper wasn't a usurper at all; that the king who hired you was a tyrant who had stolen his throne through assassination, and that you were, perhaps, being used to finish the job now that the king knew one of the true scions of the royal family had escaped his blade.

What you had not expected, however, was the revelation that Aster was the very prince-in-exile you were searching for. Something which was only revealed during the climactic fight against the tyrant king.

It was tradition, at this point, for Chance to collect the snacks after combat was over, and to join you on the couch instead of returning to his seat across from you. Tonight, he settled into the space next to you, just close enough that any little movement was enough to make your leg or shoulder brush up against his. "Where would Aster find you, once things settle down in the castle?"

You shrugged. "Is there... maybe a balcony or something? Preferably one that isn't at risk of falling off the side of the building." A few siege weapons had been used in the lead-up to the fight, so that was a risk.

"Sure, yeah, there's a steady one just outside the throne room."

"Then that's where I'll be, whenever Aster comes looking. He'd find me leaning against the railing, thinking about plans for securing the castle in case the old king has supporters holed up outside the city somewhere. Though I wouldn't mind the interruption. It's not like his allies will arrive in the night, anyway."

"Once the palace quiets down, Aster comes up next to you, joining you in looking out over the city." He slipped easily as ever into Aster's accent. "That's three times I owe you my life, now."

"Do I get a reward this time, now that you're royalty?"

"Anything for you." His voice was low, heated, and carried little enough of Aster's accent that it was difficult to pretend that this wasn't just Chance offering you anything you asked of him.

You couldn't trust your voice to remain steady after that, so instead you played up the act of thinking over your options; humming and hawing, and tapping at your bottom lip with you index finger. "Then I would like to request that I don't have to call you 'Your Majesty'."

Chance laughed. "Of course. But it doesn't feel right, to consider as payment something that I would give you freely. So you can call me whatever you wish, and I still would offer you something else as a reward."

"Then..." The feeling of your heart leaping into your throat was almost enough to make you swallow the words. It came out as a near-whisper. "What about a kiss?"

You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, even though you could feel his gaze on your face. The silence felt electric, the space between you filling with static until the tension was nearly unbearable. It was broken not by words, but by touch - Chance's fingers tracing the line of your jaw with a feather-light touch, just barely enough pressure to be a gentle request that you look at him.

"Not as a reward." His answered in a whisper to match yours. Even though the answer was in-character, he dropped the accent entirely - despite the context, there was no question that this was just Chance, speaking directly to you. "That is, again, something I'd give you freely." His thumb traced the arc of your bottom lip, making your breathing stutter. That his touch could elicit such a sound from you; his gaze went dark with want. "More than freely," he corrected. "Eagerly."

You reached for him, placing your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself as you leaned toward him. Anticipation pulled your muscles taut, and you caught yourself grasping handfuls of his shirt without meaning to.

That first kiss was gentle, hesitant and chaste. After dancing around your desires for so long, neither of you were sure that this wasn't just a dream. Even just that short touch of your lips was enough to pull a gasp from him. Any remnants of the mask of character fell away, and he huffed out a charmingly bashful little laugh. "Wow."

How could you resist that? He was such a brilliant, charming and talented man; how utterly intoxicating to know that you were the one who could, with such a simple affection, leave him giddy and glowing.

You released your grip on his clothes, instead draping your arms around his shoulders to pull yourself closer to him. In response, his hand on your cheek moved to cradle the back of your neck, while his other arm snaked around your waist to pull you flush against his chest.

This kiss was deeper, hungrier, a response to the appetite whetted by the first. His lips formed the shape of your name, but the only sound that came out was something wordless between a growl and a whimper. His muscles coiled under your hands as his breathing grew shallower.

You nipped gently at his bottom lip, murmuring his name in a gentle encouragement to release the tension building in him, but he only coiled tighter in response. His whole body was pulled tight enough to snap. Something wasn't right. You broke the kiss, worry warring with rejection in your chest. "Chance? Do you want to stop?"

"No." The word snapped out of him, louder than he'd intended in his hurry to ensure that you spent not one moment longer in doubt of just how badly he wanted you. He pulled you back to him for a searing kiss that felt at odds with his steel-clenched muscles. He broke the kiss a moment later with a low groan and pressed his face against the curve of your neck.

Clearly it wasn't a problem with you, but he still seemed to be struggling with something. Running your fingers soothingly through his hair, you peppered all the skin you could reach with kisses. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." A beat. "No." Then, after another breath, he laughed softly. "I don't know." He took another few deep, calming breaths, forcing some of the tension in his body to unravel, even if just a little. "I want to take you to dinner," he said finally, as if that explained anything.

"Um." Your fingers paused in his hair as you tried to figure out what that meant. Given all the kissing, you'd kind of assumed that a date would follow in short order. You didn't understand why he was posing it as a problem. "Okay? I'd like that. A lot."

There was a pause, like he was waiting for something that never came. His arms tightened around you and he sighed. When he finally spoke again, there was a note of self-deprecating humour in his tone. "You think any good restaurants would still be open at this hour?"

An affectionate laugh bubbled out of you. "You want to go now? In a hurry, are we?"

He nodded against your neck, hugging you tighter still. "I really don't want to let go of you." He let out a laugh, tight and nervous. "I don't think you realize what you do to me. I want..." He paused, clearing his throat. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, softer and with a deeper tenor that still somehow belied just how much he was still trying to hold back the tide of his desire. "I want you. So badly." This wasn't new, but he'd learned how to live with it. Except the kiss seemed to open the floodgates, and now the only thing he seemed to be able to think about was more. "But I shouldn't. Not yet. Because I want to do this right, with dinner and flowers and..." He cut himself off with a gentle kiss pressed to the hollow just below your ear. "I want to give you the romance you deserve," he murmured against your skin.

It caught you by surprise, sometimes, how oblivious he could be to his own brilliance and charm. Not that he outright denied his appeal - nothing so simple as that. But then he'd say things like this, like it never even occurred to him just how much of his heart he offered to you through this game. "You already have," you answered softly, your fingers in his hair gently tugging his face up so that you could meet his eyes. "You gave me a whole world. You gave me a piece of yourself to explore. And, in that world, we're creating something together, just the two of us." You smiled, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips. "Do you really think that isn't romantic? I think it's one of the most sweetly intimate gifts you could have given me."

He took your face between reverent hands and spent several silent moments just taking in the sight of you. "I'm... amazed by how you see me."

"Good," you answered simply. "You should be. You're amazing."

Tugging you close, Chance rested his forehead against yours and let his eyes slip shut for a moment. A playful smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "I still want to take you to dinner, though."

"I'd love that. Although..." You smirked and darted forward to press a quick kiss to his lips. "Would you consider breakfast instead?"

That was all the invitation he required. He answered with a kiss, this time unburdened by his efforts to hold himself back. And this time, when you nipped playfully at his bottom lip, you were rewarded with a fiery groan, so low that you felt the vibrations of it in his chest more than heard the sound. His mouth trailed from your lips along the edge of your jaw, and then down the column of your throat. "You really have no idea what you do to me."

Any response you might have offered was consumed in the flash of fire that flooded through your body at the feeling of his teeth scraping gently against the curve of your shoulder. You tried to swallow the soft moan that worked its way out of you, but that only made your voice break partway through, making you sound more needy rather than less. It was as if you were spellbound; your head tipped back, the soft heat of his tongue combined with the sharp spark of teeth leaving you dizzy. Even your fingers, woven through his hair, had gone weak.

You felt his lips pull into a smile, and the rumbling laughter that followed. He knew exactly the effect he was having on you. If there was any doubt remaining, it disappeared with the purposeful way he pressed his lips back to the hollow of your throat, worrying your heated, sensitive skin between his teeth. As if he needed to confirm that he could make you go limp and pliant in his arms whenever he wanted.

He pressed a soothing kiss to the same spot, grinning at the eruption of butterflies in his stomach with the thought that there might be a mark there in the morning. "Let's get out of here."

Seriously? He was going to just casually suggest that you walk back to his apartment like he hadn't just worked you up on purpose? "You tease!"

He actually giggled at the accusation, and your traitor heart took off like a hummingbird. That's not fair, he shouldn't be allowed to be so effortlessly seductive one minute, and then so fucking adorable the next! There was not a single doubt in your mind that you would forever let this man get away with anything. You were fucked, and you couldn't even be mad about it.

-----

Chance thanked the gods of every pantheon he knew when you walked into his apartment and found it quiet. Parker was going to have a thousand things to say whenever he found out, but Chance had the patience for precisely none of them, at the moment.

He wasn't even sure he'd have the patience to make it to the bed. The moment the door was closed, you had your hands on him - which, he supposed, was fair play after teasing you like that.

You grasped a handful of his shirt and pulled him toward you to kiss him like you were starved.

He stumbled back to catch his balance. You followed. He ended up pinned between you and the wall at his back, and you swallowed his gasp of eager surprise in another all-consuming kiss.

Your hands slipped under the hem of his shirt so you could splay your fingers across as much of his heated skin as you could reach. Every shred of your patience had been burned to a crisp on the way here. You wanted all of him. Now.

He stripped his shirt off over his head, leaving you free to trail your lips down over his chest. It wasn't until you sunk to your knees in front of him, your hands hovering over his belt with a pleading look on your face, that he actually understood what you were after.

And then, god, the noise he made. Strangled and desperate, he was already near ruin and you hadn't even started yet.

The one errant, dizzy thought that managed to float through his lust-addled mind hoped that you realized this kind of reward was only going to encourage him to tease you all the time. And then there were no thoughts at all, as the heat of your mouth left him grasping uselessly at the wall in a vain attempt to keep himself upright while his knees went weak.

He had to fight to keep his eyes open, but he would be damned if he would miss a moment of the divine and obscene sight of you on your knees, gazing up at him from under low lashes, pupils blown out with eager lust. And all the while, your tongue working every nerve in his body with masterful control, playing him exactly as you wished, until he was left a gasping, quivering mess for you.

Every exhale carried a moan or a curse or, most often, your name; cried out over and over again, in a pleading, carnal prayer. And with each breathless gasp, he was rewarded with your moan in return. It was already a sound that could drive him utterly mad, but the way you sounded now - muffled and breathless and driven by a pure, shameless hunger for his pleasure - was alone enough to send him crashing over the edge, a strike of lightning consuming him in white fire.

He couldn't remember how he got to the floor, but his sluggish brain suggested that you must have helped him collapse without hurting himself; you had somehow ended up sitting with your back against the wall while he lay between your legs, curled against your chest with his head pillowed on your shoulder. You were whispering to him - his ears were ringing so he couldn't hear the words, but they must have been sweet. He could hear it in the tone of your voice.

"H-holy...." His voice cracked, raw and rough. The lights were off in the apartment, and yet the visual stimulus of seeing anything at all was still too much for him to handle, so he pressed his face against your neck and ignored the sound of his glasses clattering to the floor. "You're perfect." What did it say that even the word 'perfect' felt like an understatement for how he felt about you?

One of his hands was trailing up and down your side; from your ribs, over your waist and hip, and down the length of your thigh. Then back again. It was an idle affection while he was still recovering. He wasn't trying to tease you further. But every time his palm passed from hip to thigh or back, he'd drag his thumb across the top of your thigh and press gently against this one spot. You weren't sure if there was a nerve there, or if maybe it was just because you'd have this kind of response to any touch of his that came anywhere close to the aching heat between your legs. But it felt like he was throwing kerosene onto a fire that was already burning wildly out of control. And this all while you were still clothed.

You were trying so valiantly to let him have a moment to rest. The man had just collapsed - though, in your defence, knowing that you could do that to him was not helping your self-control problems at all. You could give him that. Bringing him such pleasure was a satisfaction all its own, and it lent you the will to be patient, at least a few minutes more. Or it would have, if it weren't for the way his wandering hands kept sparking that the banked heat in your belly.

Inevitably, your lust grew too demanding to contain. Your next breath came out as a whine, strangled by your failed attempt to hold it in.

Chance lifted his head from your shoulder. The look of glassy pleasure in his eyes cleared as he took in the state of you; flushed with warmth, breaths coming short, and your bottom lip held between your teeth in a vain attempt to keep yourself from contain the next needy sound that was trying to escape you. "Oh, wow." He sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of you. Then he leaned down to press a sweet kiss to your lips. "I'm so sorry for letting you wait like this." There was nothing apologetic in the molten heat that dripped form every word.

Chance was strong. You knew that. He'd mentioned going to the gym, and you'd seen him carry around a huge plastic tote full of G&G books like it was nothing at all. But it still caught you by surprise for him to scoop you into his arms and carry you into his bedroom.

The gentle way he placed you so carefully down onto his bed was at great odds with the way he looked at you once you were laid out before him; like a cat stalking its prey. There was no question in your mind; he meant to play with you before he finished you.

It seemed that you'd made a very gratifying mistake: that your own impatience hadn't done anything to satisfy his desire for you, but had only taken the edge off of his own lust. And as a result, Chance was taken with an insatiable hunger for you and all the patience in the world.

He took his time undressing you. With each inch that was revealed, he worshipped with hands and lips and his adoration murmured against you skin.

When he finally satisfied your aching lust, with fingers and lips and silver tongue, he still took his time. It was as if he intended to map every nerve in your body, and to learn how he might wring the greatest pleasure from each. Slow and methodical, he brought you to the edge and then paused, showering you with kisses while you cooled just a little. Over and over, until your voice cracked over the cry of his name. It was one snapped thread, and his patience unravelled in an instant. You were swept away, drowning in, burning for him as he devoured you completely and pulled you, finally, over that shattering edge.

Lying down next to you, Chance gathered you into his arms, pulling you close while you caught your breath. He was on his side, facing you, your head pillowed in his upper arm and his lips pressed to your forehead. "You're so perfect." It felt like even more of a woeful understatement, now.

The fog was finally starting to clear from your mind. You tipped your head up, eyes closed, waiting expectantly for a kiss - which you got, accompanied with a soft chuckle, once Chance understood what was happening. "You're really good with your tongue."

"Heh." Even in the dark of his bedroom, his blush was bright. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"Oh my god." Your exclamation was halfway to a hiss.

Chance froze, suddenly worried that he'd moved in some way that had made you uncomfortable, or pinched you by accident, or...

"It's illegal to be that cute," you complained, tucking your head back against his chest. You were still just pleasure-drunk enough to say whatever came to mind without filter, so you continued, "I'mna be in so much trouble if you figure out how to weaponize it against me."

He relaxed again with a grin, arms tightening around you ever so slightly. "Is that so?"

"Mhm. You smile like that, and I'll give you whatever you want. So don't take advantage of me."

He hummed in agreement. "Then I guess we're both in big trouble, 'cause I'd give you the world, if you asked for it." His heart skipped at the memory of what you'd said to him earlier about romance. "As many worlds as you want."

-----

Chance woke to the sound of his phone alarm beeping angrily... in the kitchen. There was a moment of sleepy confusion as he wondered just how the hell that had happened. But the confusion evaporated the moment he saw you, curled comfortably against him with your back tucked up to his chest. One of his arms was draped across your waist, his palm pressed flat to your stomach. Your hand was atop his, pressing his hand harder against you, your fingers hooked loosely around his.

With the memories of last night came the memory of leaving his clothes out by the door. With his phone still in the pocket of his jeans. Oops.

Parker knocked on the door and Chance pulled hastily at the blankets to make sure you were fully covered. He was mostly sure that Parker wouldn't just walk in without an explicit invitation, but... only mostly sure. "Come turn your phone off, man! I don't know how to unlock it."

Chance sighed and started to untangle himself from you, only to stop when your hand tightened around his.

You were still in the process of waking up, so you weren't entirely sure where you were until you rolled over and laid eyes on Chance. The moment you saw him, any concern on your face disappeared, replaced with a relaxed, sleepy smile. You hummed comfortably, sinking back into the pillows, and lifted his hand to your lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "Morning."

Oh, he would be a happy man if he could wake up to that smile every morning. He returned the gesture with a kiss to the back of your hand, and climbed the rest of the way out of bed. "Morning, gorgeous. I'll be right back." With that, he pulled on a fresh pair of jeans and slipped out of the bedroom to go looking for his roommate and his phone.

The moment he had closed the bedroom door behind him, he turned to find his glasses being thrust toward his face. "You're welcome for not stepping on these, by the way. You left them on the floor in the hallway. Along with most of your clothes." Parker, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth and hair a wild mess of bedhead, retreated to a stool next to the kitchen island, watching Chance through narrowed eyes.

Chance took his glasses with a nod of thanks and collected his phone off the counter, finally turning off that incessant ringtone. "You know, you don't have to unlock the phone to turn off the alarm."

But instead of answering, Parker just kept staring like Chance had the secrets of the universe tattooed to his back. "Why do you look like that?"

Chance tried to play innocent. "Like what?" But he knew exactly what Parker was talking about. He could practically feel himself floating two inches above the ground on a little cloud of euphoria. And there was nothing he could do to keep the smile off his face.

Parker didn't need to pry any further, because the door to Chance's bedroom opened again and revealed the answer to his question; you, leaning oh-so-casually against the door-frame with a cheeky smile. "Hi."

Parker's mouth popped open in surprise and nearly dropped the toothbrush.

Chance turned around to look at you and froze. The sight of you wearing one of his shirts punched the all of the air out of his lungs.

Parker took one look at the way Chance was staring at you, popped up from the stool, disappeared into the bathroom. He reappeared only a few seconds later, this time without the toothbrush, and offered you a rapid-fire greeting as he walked straight past you toward the front door. All at a pace that was halfway to a jog and without once breaking stride. "Haha! Well then! It has been lovely to see you again but I am not staying here for this BYEEEEEE!"

By the time the door slammed, Chance had you in his arms again. He kicked the bedroom door closed behind him as you stumbled back into his room, each giddy with laughter, and fell straight back into bed together.

-----

The start of the fall semester brought unexpected nerves with it. You and Chance walked hand-in-hand, on your way to that familiar table, the one tucked away in an unused corner of the student union building of Valdivian University. And though it felt like you'd slotted effortlessly into the group in the spring, that had really only been one evening. It was hard not to wonder if that had somehow been a fluke.

Chance paused just in front of the door, circling one arm around your shoulders to pull you into a hug. "They'll love you as much as I do," he promised. Then, with a wink, he kissed you with just enough heat to leave you breathless. "Well. Almost." And then he opened the door.

"There they are!"

Greetings were tossed around. With one last kiss placed just below the dice-beaded bracelet dangling from your wrist, Chance went to his place at the head of the table to get out his notes.

Chairemi eagerly pulled out the chair next to her, motioning for you to join her, where you were immediately roped into a story already being told to Dasha and Parker about the improv workshop she took over the summer.

And, in no time at all, any doubts you might have had? Evaporated.

Chance cleared his throat, waiting with a patient smile for the chatter to die down. Holding his hands out in front of him, he began. "Welcome, wizards and warriors, to this semester's campaign of Grottoes and Gargoyles!"

-----

[cosycryptid]

Closed Cuts and Faded Bruises - Part 2

Eddie joins the group and they begin devising a plan to figure out what's going on with Steve. Also on A03: [Here] Part 1

There’s a flicker of fear that Steve buries deep. The pain of his leg snapping still lingers like a phantom echo, sharp and sudden in his memory. Even now his leg fully healed, it’s like his bones remember. He’d hidden it well at the time, biting down on the scream, forcing himself to remain calm because the kids didn’t need more reasons to be scared.

He knows what he saw. What they all saw. But knowing doesn’t make trusting his own body any easier.

His right side is aching like fire crawling under his skin, most likely from the awkward way he landed and the jolt his leg breaking sent through his system.

Still, he can’t sit in the dirt all night like a broken action figure left behind. Not with everyone watching. Not with Max already holding the door open to her trailer, inviting them in with an exasperated look, Lucas and Dustin already making their way inside.

“Need any help, Dingus?” Robin asks, holding out her hand.

He takes it without question, letting her help him to stand. Her concerned eyes are fixed on him the whole time. She wraps an arm around his waist, and he slides his across her shoulder, but it’s more of a comfort thing than her supporting his full weight. Robin’s grip tightens as Steve wobbles, but he’s pretty sure if he takes a tumble, she’s going with him.

To Steve’s surprise, Eddie takes up the same position on his other side. He hisses slightly as ringed fingers curl over the side of him that still feels sore. As soon as Steve makes the sound, Eddie apologises and moves his grip to a less tender spot.

His leg holds. Although his brain still insists it shouldn’t, which causes a small stumble here and there.

They’re going to talk. About what just happened. About the last three years of monsters, mind flayers, and government cover-ups. Steve doesn’t want to drag anyone else into this mess, but Eddie’s already seen too much. If anyone ever came after Steve like they did El, Eddie would be a liability—too much seen, too many questions to answer. And even though it had only been their small group who witnessed it, they could never be too sure that someone or something wasn’t watching from the shadows, just out of sight.

Robin and Eddie deposit Steve on the couch as gently as possible, trying their best not to jostle him. He still sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth at the stabbing sensation that comes with bending his body into a sitting position.

“Hey Max, you got a notebook and pen I can borrow?” Dustin asks as he makes himself at home.

"No,” Max answers bluntly.

“Here,” Eddie says, pulling one side of his leather jacket open to reveal an inner pocket containing a pen and two small notepads, neither of which is the one he was writing in earlier. One is a little well used and the other is brand new. He hands the new one over with a flourish.

“You got a stationery store on the inside of that pocket or something?” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Very funny, Harrington. Alas, my pocket isn’t a bag of holding,” Eddie mutters. “I’m a DM. Always good to have spares in case I come up with a new way to torture my players while I’m out in the wilderness.”

“You said a lot of things there that I’m a little afraid to ask the meaning of,” Steve responds.

“Oh sick,” Dustin says as he accepts the notebook like it’s the greatest treasure that has ever been bestowed upon him, he gestures to himself and Lucas. “We play D&D too.”

“Awesome, great to see people keeping the game alive,” Eddie says. “So, are we going to talk about how—”

Steve raises his index finger, cutting Eddie off mid-sentence. He shuts his mouth but looks highly confused. Steve glances over at Dustin, who’s already got his face down in the notebook, scribbling furiously.

“Henderson, pass that over a second?” he asks.

Dustin doesn’t look up. “I’m writing important research questions, Steve.”

“Yes, and I’ll give it back. But this is more important. Now hand it over.”

His tone leaves no room for argument. Dustin sighs and hands it over, clearly reluctant.

Steve flips to a clean page and writes in big letters:

Should we do a bug check first?

He holds it up for the others to see. Hopper had once mentioned something about bugs in his lights—surveillance. It stuck with Steve more than he liked to admit.

‘A bug check?’ Eddie mouths.

Robin takes the notebook and pen. She writes:

Couldn’t hurt.

Max furrows her brow, takes the pen, and adds:

Why would the government have my place bugged?

Steve takes it back and writes:

You’re directly involved in the mind flayer stuff and you’re friends with El. They probably have bugged people’s homes for less.

Steve’s right it’s better to be safe than sorry. Lucas agrees.

Dustin leans in and adds:

Also, three of us have recently angered the Russian military and given them reason to keep an eye on us.

Robin nods and points at him in agreement. Then Dustin scribbles one more line:

Thanks again for giving them my full name again by the way, Steve.

Everyone turns to look at Steve.

“Oh my God, I was drugged and tortured!” he blurts out, throwing his hands up.

“Shhh!” several voices hiss at once.

Eddie, who’s been quietly watching the whole exchange, finally steps forward and takes the notebook. He writes:

I don’t know what kind of Cold War crap you guys are mixed up in, but I’d really like to know we’re not being listened in on by two separate government entities.

He looks up, dead serious now. “So... where do we start?”

After searching every nook and cranny in Max’s trailer, including the light fixtures and the phone receiver. The group can finally breathe easy. No bugs. No wires. Just dust and mismatched furniture.

Eddie, Robin, and Steve collapse onto the couch, exhausted. Dustin, Max, and Lucas settle on the floor around the coffee table, Dustin happily scribbling away in the notebook once again.

Steve tries to take a spot on the floor too, wanting to free up space for someone else, but Max shuts that down fast.

“You broke your leg earlier, idiot. Just sit down.”

“I’m fine,” Steve argues, but he shifts a certain way that sends pain jarring up his side. A small sound escapes him before he can hold it back.

Dustin pauses to write down ‘Still feels pain’ and underline it several times. Max gives Steve a pointed look. “Then what’s that, Steve?”

Steve looks down at where she’s pointing. To his dismay there’s blood soaking through his shirt on his right side where the pain seems to be radiating from. He peels the fabric back to reveal two of his ribs sticking out through his skin ever so slightly.

Silence.

“I liked this shirt,” he sighs.

“You’ve been climbing on furniture and unscrewing lightbulbs for the past half an hour,” Lucas says. “What the fuck are you?”

Steve shrugs and pushes the bones back into place, watches the skin close back over it. He waits a few seconds, then intentionally pokes himself in the side, relieved when the shooting pain doesn’t follow. Then he drops the shirt again, folds his arms over his chest and says, “So who wants to start on explaining all of the Upside Down shit?”

Everyone stares at him like he just grew an extra head.

“Okay, I have to say something,” Eddie says. “That was the most metal—and also horrifying—thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“Welcome to the club,” Robin replies.

Thirty minutes later, the group have given a fairly accurate yet slightly confusing explanations, complete with bickering over the order of events. Eddie leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes flicking between them, and threads his fingers through his hair.

“Let me get this straight. You’ve got monsters from another dimension, psychic kids, Russian spies, and now this guy is regenerating like a goddamn Xmen character?”

“Pretty much,” Robin says, deadpan.

Eddie lets out a low whistle. “I was not prepared for this level of weird. Me.”

"Told you it’s hard to believe,” Steve reminds him.

“Oh no, I believe it,” Eddie counters. “Always knew this town was a hell hole, I just didn’t realise how literal that was.” He searches their faces. “Why haven’t any of you left?”

“The Byers did, but the rest of us have barely any money and parents who would never take us seriously,” Max answers with a shrug.

“Wait a second,” Robin says. “Do you think Owens or El might have some idea what’s going on with you, Steve?”

Steve shrugs. “I don’t know but is there any way we can contact either of them without it potentially being intercepted? I’d prefer not to have the Government coming after me so they can take me away for experimentation. Henderson’s going to be bad enough, I can already tell.”

“Hey!” Dustin protests. “Excuse me for being curious.”

“That’s something though,” Eddie says. “What if Harrington is just like your superpowered, top secret experiment friend.”

The words hit Steve like a punch to the chest.

Suddenly, the room feels too small. Too quiet. Like the air’s been sucked out of it.

No. No, he couldn’t be. He’s always lived with his parents. He remembers growing up in that big, echoey house.

But the more he tries to pin down the memories, the more they slip through his fingers. Birthday parties? School plays? His first day of kindergarten? Nothing comes clearly. Just vague impressions. Blurry snapshots. That’s normal, though. Right?

Most people don’t remember much from when they were little. That’s what people say. That’s what he’s always told himself.

But now, with Eddie’s words still hanging in the air, it doesn’t feel so normal anymore.

“No,” Steve says out loud, more to himself than anyone else. “No, because I have parents. I live with them. I’ve lived with them my whole life. Everyone’s seen them, right? So, there’s... there’s no way...”

He trails off, eyes scanning the room, looking for something to anchor him.

“Is... there?”

The silence that follows is heavy. No one rushes to fill it.

Then Robin speaks, her voice calm but serious. “I don’t know,” she says honestly. “But something’s going on with you, Steve. Your leg healed in minutes. That’s not normal. And powers don’t just come from nowhere.”

“Yeah, but I think I would remember it if I had grown up in Hawkins Lab. I mean, I went to school, you all saw me at school growing up. And I don’t have a tattoo like El does.”

“If you can heal injuries, there’s a chance your body would view a tattoo as an open wound and get rid of it because that’s essentially what they are. That’s why you have to take so much care of them for the first couple of weeks after getting them,” Eddie explains. “It would suck if you could never get one. Tattoos are cool as hell.”

“Least of my worries right now,” Steve says.

At the same time Dustin perks up, “Shit, yeah what happens with tattoos and piercings. Oh my God the possibilities are endless with this.”

Steve gives him a weary look as Eddie starts talking again.

“Can’t argue with the fact that you went to school with us though. It was kind of difficult not to notice you actually,” Eddie’s eyes widen ever so slightly. “I mean, you’re King Steve Harrington, everyone noticed you,” he adds quickly.

Dustin nods, already thinking it through. “Maybe you aren’t from Hawkin’s lab. But we can’t rule it out. There is still a chance your parents aren’t who they say they are. They could be hiding something.”

“Or maybe it’s the Upside Down,” Max offers. “You’ve been exposed to it. Maybe it did something to you.”

Dustin nods, flipping back through his notes. “That actually makes sense. Prolonged exposure to interdimensional energy could cause mutations or awaken latent abilities. Like radiation, but weirder. Or maybe it was something the Russians did.”

“Cool,” Steve mutters. “So, I’m either someone’s science project or I’ve been mutated by evil dimension juice.”

“Or some of column A, some of column B,” Robin says helpfully.

Steve shoots her a look, but there’s no real heat behind it.

Eddie speaks up, voice low but steady. “You’re still Steve Harrington. You’ll still be you. Doesn’t matter where you came from, or how this started. But if this were a campaign? No one goes up against the big bad without knowing what they’re working with. Abilities, weaknesses, origin story—the whole sheet. It’s the only way to stay alive.”

He pauses; eyes fixed on Steve. “If someone’s behind this, we can’t afford to wait for them to make the next move. You’re gonna need to know what you can do. And why.”

Steve swallows hard, glancing around the room. Dustin’s watching him with barely restrained excitement. Max and Lucas are braced, steady. Robin hasn’t let go of his hand.

“Alright,” Steve says, nodding slowly. “Let’s find out the truth.”

“Yes! Operation Phoenix has officially begun,” Dustin says proudly, splaying the notebook page out on the coffee table in front of him. “I’ve already devised a list of questions to help us.”

“Project Phoenix?” Steve lifts a brow. “Of course you’ve already named it. Of course you have. Why am I even surprised?”

“It’s symbolic. Rising from the ashes, rebirth, transformation—very thematic.” Dustin beams. “Now, are you gonna listen or not? Because I’ve got good research questions here.”

“Fine. Go on.”

“Right,” Dustin clears his throat and stands like he’s addressing a press briefing. “The way I see it, we’ve got two strands of investigation. One: what you’re capable of. Two: where your healing abilities came from, why you have them in the first place. The first easier because strand two involves secondary research and potentially searching through Steve’s parents' possessions for anything suspicious. For strand one, it’s essentially field research, so we just need Steve and, ideally, a video camera. For documentation and scientific integrity.”

He flips a page. “Now, questions for the capabilities test: Do smaller injuries heal faster? Is there a way to speed up the process? What happens with stuff like drowning? How far does this go? Is it just injuries, or could Steve literally regrow a limb or come back from the dead?”

There’s a pause.

“Jesus Christ, Dustin,” Lucas mutters. “Are you planning to murder him? After everything he’s done for us?”

“It’s for science,” Dustin argues. “Besides we’re not just going to jump right in with trying to hit him with a car, impale him on a metal pipe or push him from a tall building. We’ll start with something small like I don’t know, a burn or something.”

“Hit him with a car?”

“Impale him?!”

“Henderson, you scare me,” Eddie admits.

“I think I’m going to have to supervise because you’re going to end up killing Steve or yourself or the both of you.” Robin says. “And I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to because I’ve already almost lost my lunch once.”

The voices fade into the background for Steve as something from a couple of years ago, from the days of Carol and Tommy H rears its ugly head. An unsettling conversation, one he’d thought was an unfunny joke at the time. He’d pushed it to the back of his mind because he had literally been dealing with different demons not too long after, but now it drags itself to the forefront – unnervingly significant.

“Hey Harrington, are you doing okay over there, man?” Eddie’s voice slices through the fog in his brain. “Maybe we should stop talking about torturing you in the name of science in front of you. You’re looking kind of green around the gills.”

“I’m fine,” Steve says, the others give him a look that says, ‘you’re clearly not’, but he ignores that. “I just remembered something weird that Carol and Tommy H said to me a few years ago.”

“You’re gonna have to elaborate on that, Steve.” Robin says. “Tommy and Carol have said and done some stupid shit over the years.”

“Now that I can personally attest to.” Eddie nods. “What was it? Were they looking for a third?”

“What? No!” Steve scrunches up his face, offended. “And if I was going to experiment, it wouldn’t be with Tommy Hagan. Give me some credit, Munson. I have taste.”

“Can we put a pin in the superpowers thing for a moment? Because I need to know more about who his royal highness would deem worthy of experimenting with.”

“Yeah Steve,” Robin says pointedly, in a way that tells Steve he’s in trouble for not sharing with the class. “I would love to know more about this development too.”

“Guys! Focus!” Dustin snaps. The three of them look at him with guilty stares. “What was the memory, Steve?”

“It made no fucking sense at the time, but maybe it means something now,” Steve muses. “I was hanging out with them both one-day and out of nowhere Carol just goes ‘hey remember how Steve never used to be allowed out of his house after school when we were kids? Tommy used to complain about it all the time.’”

“But here’s the thing, I have memories of spending time with them outside of school. I remember hanging out with them after school. Going to the arcade, sneaking into movies, even just biking around town. But it was like, neither of them remembered it, you know? I didn’t say anything at the time because I knew they’d think I was crazy.”

The room goes quiet again, the weight of Steve’s words settling over them like a heavy fog.

Robin leans forward, her brow furrowed. “Do you think they were messing with you or telling the truth?”

Steve shakes his head slowly. “I don’t know. At the time I thought so. But now? I’m not so sure. What if my memories weren’t real?”

Dustin’s already scribbling in the notebook again.

Lucas looks uneasy. “You think someone messed with your head?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says again, quieter this time. “But it’s like… the more I try to remember my childhood, the more it feels like I’m chasing shadows. I thought I had memory issues because I have been hit over the head a few times, but now it feels kind of like there’s a wall in my brain I didn’t know was there until I started pushing against it.”

Eddie exhales slowly. “We’ve got healing powers, possible memory tampering, and a weird childhood lockdown that no one ever questioned. That’s not just weird, man. That’s ominous.”

Robin leans back, arms crossed. “Let’s not jump straight to the wrong conclusions about this. We need evidence. Something concrete.”

Eddie nods. “Yeah. Like yearbooks. Photos. Report cards. Stuff that proves you were where you think you were.”

Steve exhales slowly. “I’ve got boxes of that stuff in the attic. My mom kept everything.”

“Perfect,” Dustin says. “Tomorrow, we go to your house, and we dig.”

Max glances at Steve. “You okay with that?”

Steve hesitates, then nods. “Yeah. I need to know. Even if I don’t like the answer.”

Robin reaches over and squeezes his hand. “We’ve got your back. No matter what we find.”

Previous

[doyoulikethis-videogame-song]

Ask Masterpost 1/25/2025

I will be answering the BLOG RELATED asks that I have received since opening my inbox. Lucky number three this finally becomes consistent :).

I would like to state here that even though I don't respond to them (I'm persnickety about keeping ask spam low) I very much appreciate everyone's well wishes and compliments and gratefulness for this blog. I screenshot all of them and keep them in a folder. Thank you so much and I hope you keep having fun :).

@forrest-knight asked: Hello! I am here to ask for some clarification regarding the rules: “Songs from multimedia series that are primarily NOT video games (such as the Homestuck minigames, for example) will not be accepted.” I’m a bit confused with this rule, does this mean we’re not allowed to submit songs from licensed video games (aka games made for non video game media), even if the song is originally made for the game (ex. To The Moon from the DuckTales NES game). Or does this rule is intended for something completely different? *please note that I’ve never read homestuck, so this might relate to my confusion Anyways, thank you so much for doing this! And I hope you have a great whatever time you are reading this!

SO Homestuck was the only example I could think of at the time as a series that actually did this. I was specifically thinking about franchises/series/works that 100% did not start off intending to be a video game but, in the nature of being a multimedia series, added video game minigames or mobile games as it developed.

This is referring to things like homestuck (a webcomic that featured small browser/flash games within the comic), many idol gacha games** (hypnosis mic, love live), etc. This does not include series that were 'completed' (loosely used since I know many of these frequently get universe-expanding sequels and threequels and whathaveyou) and then had video game spinoffs, such as Star Wars, Marvel, etc.

** exceptions being tracks that are exclusively used in the video game itself, such as BGM.

I know this rule is probably the most complicated one and I'm still trying to figure out how to word it clearly and precisely LMAO. Fundamentally it comes down to intent, which is why I'm still on the fence some things like tracks used exclusively in promotional materials and things like that.

That being said: if the song is originally from a video game as in literally you can hear it while you are playing the video game you are totally in the clear

And according to your second ask (I won't name the songs in case you want to submit them): The one made for and coming from the NES game is fine (of course), AND the one that is the 8-bit version of the NON-VGM one is ALSO FINE, because it was REMIXED for the NES game :).

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**NUMEROUS QUESTIONS ABOUT PUTTING DISCLAIMERS ASKING PEOPLE NOT TO SPOIL THE SONGS**

The blind listening and polling period is just for fun! If someone really likes a song and wants to know what it is/where it's from, PLEASE feel free to tell them!!! And PLEASE always enter the notes with the expectation that there may be song spoilers!!

I will ask that you keep it in the TAGS rather than the comments or reblogs (you're more than welcome to DM people the title if they ask), just for the sake of people who might want to discuss the song without spoilers. I'll put that in the pinned and the (eventual...) formal rules.

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What's up! New here so sorry if this has been asked before but has the exact same song been submitted more than once before? Like it's clearly different people but the same song keeps getting submitted over and over again?

Ever since Mod Rae cleared duplicates I have no idea anymore, BUT I know there have been a lot of different submissions for a few select Disco Elysium songs. That doesn't shock me because I know it's got a cult following here :).

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do you get a lot of the same people in ur notes or is it like. a few of the same and then it branches out to fandoms where people know the song? or do u not pay attn to your notes at all (also fair)

I do read the notes (when I remember)! I really like hearing people's opinions, and I always look through the tags on songs I know (I find it really hilarious seeing 'is this dark souls?' 'is this nier?' on any orchestral ever). There are a lot of familiar faces but I'd say the majority for any given poll are new or sparsely in the notes :).

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Would you ever consider adding two more "i dont feel strongly/have an opinion" options to the polls? Specifically, "it sounds familiar and i dont have an opinion" and "ive def heard it before and dont feel strongly/have an opinion"? Of course, if theres a specific reason why you dont add those two as options, feel free to ignore this, ty <3

I've considered this -- but honestly, that button has always existed as more of a 'I just want to click a button' option than an actual datapoint I'm looking for (I think I might have answered an ask similar to this before but I don't remember so I'm answering it again LOL). When that option dominates, I always read the notes and tags for discussion and I'd encourage anyone who is genuinely interested to do the same. Actual complex opinions, of course, cannot be captured with the limitations of preset poll options anyways LMFAO.

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@mkcannothelpyou asked: I'm beginning to wonder if spacing series severely further apart and prioritising picks further down the queue that aren't as represented would make for a more interesting order - as it is, it feels like you can more or less still track what people submitted and when, with waves of series (and closely related works within those series, at that) coming in conspicuously densely. Hearing the same style only days apart might impact poll results for the negative as time goes on.

This was mostly the fault of me allowing people to submit multiple songs at once, leading to songs with similar qualities (as they are all liked by one person with a particular taste) being grouped together, even if they're from different series. I limit submissions to one per period now so this will not be a problem in the future :').

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@the-mayor-of-space asked: how long do submissions typically stay open once they are open?

I originally wanted to have them permanently opened (thinking people wouldn't mind waiting for their submissions) until I got an insane amount of submissions, severely underestimating the popularity of this blog. I then tried to do a 24 hr submission period, and then a 12 hr submission period, but both of these still ended up with a fuck ton of submissions so the current answer is 'They're closed until I can figure out something proper'...

I don't want purging the existing submissions to be on the table, but if I get to the 1 year anniversary of this blog without a better option I might have to go that route -- in which case I'd probably publish all the unposted options so people know if theirs was cut so they know to resubmit it if they're still interested.

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**NUMEROUS QUESTIONS ABOUT HOW FAR BACK THE SUBMISSIONS ARE**

WE'RE FINALLY IN AUGUST!!!!!!!!

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are fan/non official/non licensed versions of songs allowed? because i am 100% certain #293 is a fan made remaster and medley arrangement (im not the submitter but i know the song well - i found the youtube video the audio is from and the comments from OP confirm it is a fan remix). if they are, that's totally cool, but i couldn't find anything in the submission rules about it. i dont intend this ask to be rude or hostile at all, and either way im grateful you've created such an active community with this blog!

They're not really allowed unless they're from a mod or fangame. Since it's a fanmade remaster it's kind of towing the line, so I'm not inherently against it, but it might end up just being a highly situational thing.

Note: I'm not familiar with Fire Emblem at ALL but I knew this particular song was from an older game, which is why I wasn't opposed to posting the remastered version. In any future submissions I'd appreciate if this sort of thing were indicated just in case! I will add that to the submission guidelines :). And of course if there's a better way to go about this (i.e if the game is like, 30+ years old fanmade remasters/upscales are permitted or something like that) I will make sure that's made clear as well :).

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sorry if you've answered this before but I was just wondering, are people allowed to submit spoiler songs for the polls? like final boss songs and songs from endings and secret endings

Absolutely! But I think for all future submissions (this doesn't apply now since there's a huge backlog) I might put a hold on the submissions of OSTS from new games for like 1-2 months (i.e No Mario Kart 9 OSTs until two months after the game drops!) so people who are playing/going to play the game have time to play it before hearing the OSTs unprompted.

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@its-daisukenojobito asked: Just out of curiosity, do you prefer the more obscure submissions, or more well known? I feel like for the sake of reach, the more well known the better, but as a participant, i love being able to hear something I wasn't expecting, and knowing it!

I have no preference, but it's always fun hearing good stuff from games and series I've literally never heard of!

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@venonomnomicon asked: am i allowed to DM to check the status of a submission? it was a couple of months ago though i do respect it's probably just deep in the queue as you get hundreds of submissions a month lol

Absolutely, but you'll have to DM my main blog (@himejoshi) because apparently tumblr doesn't let you have DMs when you have more than one blog admin.

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@royvalentine asked: is the form supposed to be only submittable once?

Yes, so people would only submit one song per submission period. I intended to make a new form for every submission period... There just hasn't been one since.

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hi question, do pinball tables count as video games?

I don't think I have enough experience to answer this question... What do y'all think????

[slutoru1207]

I'm reading your stories, and... DAMNIT, GIRL! THEY'RE GREAT! So now I'm addicted to them (I will probably read all of them tonight because I want to and don't want to sleep).

That said, let's get to the important stuff: I was thinking about a Reader x Variant!Invincible, one of Mark's versions who sided with his dad and started to hunt rebels/people against the empire, and he has a "problem"... a "situation". The problem? Reader.

She is one of the leaders of the resistance, the reason why that group managed to escape so many times, a super who messes with Mark's head (both up and down one) and well, an ex-girlfriend of his that he still hasn't managed to forget.

Nolan is angry with that at his son. But for this Mark, she's just a "pet" (Maybe? Actually, no)... That cat-and-mouse game making him hard every time they found each other. Because Mark knows she's going to try to play with him, buy some time for her friends while he f*cks her deep. And he loves how she does that. Each time is different from the last one.

Sometimes, he could swear that she makes some noise just to have a night with him. And he's not that different, sometimes sleeping in a place where she was last seen, just to let her go inside his head, making him have some of the best dirty dreams about her.

The reader would have some telepathic powers; she would be very powerful, and that's how this small group has succeeded in escaping so many times from Mark and other Viltrumines: She messes with their senses, what they're seeing, with their heads. She's ok physically, but her mental powers.

And the Viltrum empire wants her, cuz, imagine some Viltrumine with that power? How much easier and more powerful would their job be? How dangerous could it be to the destruction of the empire? So they must have her.

(I don't know if you need more for the request... Pls DM if you need. And I'm okay with being posted.)

AHHHHHH OMG YESSS betttt ill start working on it. ahhhh im so exciteddddd finallllyyyy I feel you with the sleep omgggg I sometime stay up late and read or write haha

[thydungeongal]

any advice for playing a character very different than you IRL? i know it sounds silly, but i play a warlock who would reasonably have good knowledge of magic that i don’t have as a newer player and would be far more eloquent/persuasive than i am on the spot. my dm asks that we speak in character before resorting to rolls which is great but i feel like i get nerfed for not memorizing books of lore/not being a theatre kid with great improv skills.

I think you should talk to your GM about the need to speak in-character because for some people it can actually be an obstacle. Now, I'm very much an advocate for players describing their characters' actions before they roll, like shit like "Can I roll to persuade this guy" is nothing. But there should not be an insistence on a strict need to speak in-character.

So like, as long as everyone else, more or less, knows what your character is doing and saying, I don't see there being anything wrong with your narration being more detached. It's also okay to switch between these two, describing character actions more abstractly one moment and then speaking lines as your character might speak them the other. A strict insistence on having to speak lines in-character all the time seems unfair, provided you describe what your character is doing in terms of actions and intent.

So anyway, assuming Gonad the Barbarian, you could like do something like "Gonad steps towards the guard and says 'What ho, good guardsman, wouldst thou allow me to go and see yon magistrate?'" or you could just say "Gonad steps towards the guard and asks the guard if he may see the magistrate." And then when asked to present an argument you could just say "Gonad says that it's of utmost importance and waves the letter with the viscount's seal in front of the guard." Like, as much as I like putting on a goblin voice and playing out my character's lines, that shit isn't necessary and this more detached form of narration is just as fine.

And finally, it's literally just okay to ask. I sometimes do this still: sometimes I'm stumped for what a cool line would be for someone to say, and this happens to me on both sides of the GM screen, and sometimes it's fun to just defer to the rest of the table like "Hey I know this would be a perfect moment for Morningwood the Elf to say something epic, but I can't figure it out, does anyone else have an idea?" Like, Morningwood the Elf may be my character but he's part of a narrative that everyone is partaking in creating, so like it's always okay to step back and ask everyone for what would be a good and cool thing for your character to say. Especially as a newer player the rest of the group should be okay with letting you ask them for advice on stuff like this without being weird about it.

Also, the folks at @anim-ttrpgs are very passionate about this sort of thing and especially third person narration, and their game Eureka encourages it very heavily. They have a few interesting posts about it on their page which I hope to dig out once I'm no longer tired, but I apparently slept pretty badly last night and am already nodding off when it is barely past nine here

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

End Game 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, stalking, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your gaming buddy asks to meet up but it doesn’t go exactly as planned.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: 😘

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

There’s another tap on the window. You shake your head, ignoring it. Go away, go away, go away. Another comes, this one louder and you turn, ready to shout at him to leave you alone. Why is he there? Why is he bothering you? 

You spin and stop short. A little boy smiles from just over the little ledge and his dad stands behind him, his hand hovering at the window. You blink and move forward to slide open the glass. As you do, you peer around, searching for the bearded man in his button-up. He’s gone. You think. You hope. 

“Sorry, I was cleaning,” your voice tremors before it evens out, “how can I help you?” 

“What do you want, kiddo?” The man puts his hands on his son’s shoulders, “rocky road?” 

“I want choccy!” The kid demands. 

“Double chocolate or chocolate chip or chocolate brownie?” You prompt, smiling as your eyes continue to rove around, waiting for any glimpse of that man. 

“Double,” his dad answers for him, “I’ll have a scoop of praline and cream.” 

“Sounds great? Bowl or cone?” 

“Sugar cones are fine,” the man replies as he takes out his wallet. 

You go through the transaction on habit alone. The man seems slightly agitated by your twitchiness but still drops a tip in the jar. You thank him and lean out the window to see along the side of the booth. Is he gone? Really gone? 

You can’t shake his shadow. You just can’t believe he would show up like that, then act so casually. Like you’re old friends. You chatted for one year and you didn’t even know who he really was. That’s not a friendship, that’s just strange. 

You don’t close the window. You’re already nervous about having it closed for so long. Your manager takes complaints very seriously and you can’t exactly afford to drop one job when you’re considering a second. 

You check the time. Right. A couple hours. You can make it through. If you see him again, maybe you’ll call the cops. Won’t that be funny to explain? Maybe he could use the humiliation of fessing up to his betrayal. 

You don’t feel better about the back-up plan but at least you have one. Sort of. It all depends on if they even believe you. 

The after-dinner crowd begins to burgeon and you find yourself forgetting the unwanted customer for a whole line of new ones. You scoop and scrape and dish out the flavours with a faulty smile. When you’re through the rush, the tip jar is close to full. At least you had a fruitful night. 

You hope that the locals scared Andy away. Or your reaction. You don’t think he came all that way expecting that. Surely, he wouldn’t bother if he thought you were just going to turn him away. Yet why would he expect anything else? 

You really don’t understand. 

As your shift comes to an end, you’re anxious to lock up. Leaving is another matter. You can’t help but look over your shoulder as you twist the key from outside. You turn your back to the wall and wearily wade through the dark. You won’t be caught off guard again. 

You take a different route than usual. You don’t know why but it seems like a clever idea. You keep in the sheen of the street lights. You keep your phone in your hand just in case. You remember all those precautionary safety presentations they had on campus about walking home alone. 

You let out a sigh as you reach your street. Your grandmother’s house sits nestled behind the overgrown walnut tree. You feel safer in sight of it.  

You slow as you sense something off. There’s a car you don’t recognise. An SUV that doesn’t fit in the neighbourhood. He wouldn’t be there. Then you think of the flowers. He knows where you live. 

Your name makes you yipe as a shadow emerges from the silver vehicle. Your feet tangle and you stumble. Keep going or go back. Either way won’t be an escape. You stop and face him wide-eyed. 

“Please, leave me alone,” you beg. 

“Honey, please, I’m not here to do anything but apologise,” Andy strides across the street and you can’t help but shy away. “Won’t you just hear me out?” 

“No, I told you--” 

“And I sat and listened. Don’t you think you owe me the same courtesy?” He insists. 

“But-- I already told you, Andy, what you did--” 

“I know what I did,” he breathes, “I think about it constantly. Every second of every minute of every day. I think of you and I can’t get you out of my head because I know it was wrong. I can’t stand that I hurt you so bad. You don’t deserve that. After everything you’ve gone through--” 

“I only told you those things because I thought you were someone else,” you hiss, “I can’t... I can’t forget the lies. I can’t move on, alright? And honestly, I don’t think we have much in common. We’re in different places.” 

“That didn’t matter before. We got along--” 

“Because you--- you were pretending to be a teenager,” you bluster, “how old are you? Can’t you see how insane this all is?” 

He winces and his jaw ticks. In the glint of the streetlight, his eyes sockets are dark pools and his broad shoulders seem even wider, his figure even taller. You lean back on your heel and sway, looking towards you grandmother’s house. 

“It’s not... I never meant to hurt you.” 

“You did,” you shrug, “Andy, I don’t know you and you don’t know me. We were just gaming, shooting the shit, that’s whatever. The best thing you can do is get help. Talk to someone.” 

“I want to talk to you,” he says. 

“A professional,” you insist, “I’m nineteen. I can’t help you.” 

“But you did,” he snips. 

“Not how you need to be helped, okay? I’m asking you to stop. Go. It’s over. It never really was. I was friends with Jacob, not Andy. You chose that.” 

He hangs his head and heaves. You stand in silence. Slowly, you sidestep and flinch as he mirrors you. He reaches for you and you back away from him. He retracts and pushes his fingers through his hair. 

“Sorry, sorry, I just...” he croaks, “honey,” that word, again, “if I get help, will you talk to me? If I go, get some pills or something, will you just give me a chance?” 

You huff and shake your head, “Andy, there’s lots of people online you can game with. People your own age. Maybe you should try the discord--” 

“No, not them. You.” 

“Andy,” you plead, “I’m... no. No. You can’t do this. You can’t just show up and make me listen. You can’t send me flowers and come to my work and force me to be your friend. Alright? That’s not... healthy.” 

“I wanna be better. For you. That’s what I’m telling you,” he steps closer until you’re against the prickly hedges. “I wanna do everything for you. I can make your life so much better. Honey, don’t you want that? Don’t you want someone who wants you? For once?” 

You’re quiet, stunned by the insinuation, of the truth in it. 

“That’s cruel,” you whisper. 

“I don’t mean—not like that. I only, I’m trying to show you what I can give you--” 

“I don’t want anything from you,” you sniffle, “or anything to do with you. Can’t you get that through your head?” 

He staggers back as if he’s been struck. He shakes his head and stammers, “what-- why? Why not?” 

You blink, long and hard. How many times do you need to repeat yourself? You roll your eyes and turn on your heel. You brace yourself for him to follow but he doesn’t. 

His shadow looms just along the edge of your peripheral and as you turn into your grandma’s yard, you glance back. He watches you but stays where he is. He just stands there. You shiver and raise your phone, lighting up the screen, hoping he gets the idea. You could call the police. 

He takes a step back then pivots sharply. He crosses the street back to the SUV and the door slams behind him. You jump in your shoes and quickly scramble up the walkway to your grandma’s front door. You’re hoping that’s the last time you have to tell him to go away. Next time, you might just have to be mean about it. 

🎮

You try to sleep. It comes in shallow spurts that leave you more and more tired. You don’t have a shift, thank god, but you’re also not so grateful to be left without distraction. You give in to futility as the sun peers in between your curtains and you groan at the dull weight in your temples. 

You creep out quietly to make a coffee. Just instant powder so the machine doesn’t wake your grandma. You go back to your room and sit in a groggy daze, waking yourself with the warmth of each sip. You sigh out and hang your head. 

There was enough to figure out a week ago. Now, you don’t know how many problems you truly have. You’re not so certain last night got the point across, especially after the first two times didn’t work. Third time’s the charm, right? Besides, how much effort are you really worth? 

You can’t just sit still. Your eyes keep itching to look at your Switch, a now cursed item in your collection. You finish the coffee and change out of your pajamas into a pair of sweats and faded tee. You’ll catch up on some chores, keep yourself busy and grandma happy. Besides, you’re not brave enough to venture outside just yet. 

You grab your head phone and pop them over your ears and search through your phone for your cleaning playlist. You’ll start with the living room. Give it a sweep and a mop, wait until grandma’s up to do the vacuuming. Dishes next and the kitchen. Scour the fridge for the forgot produce in the back and take out the trash. You have more than enough to do. 

You wipe off the end tables then the coffee table, sorting the clutter and clearing the trash. You dust the television and the shelves of knickknacks and the ornamental fireplace against the wall. No matter what you do, there’s always a slightly dingy smell to the place. 

When the living room is decent, you move into the kitchen. You turn up your music and drown out the house around you. Dishes, floors, cupboards, cobwebs... You feel the effort in your muscles as you stretch out the kinks from your pitiful sleep. 

You’re entirely obliviously to the existence of others until your grandmother appears with a scowl, pinching your arm as she glowers in her house robe. You glance at the time. You’ve been at it for a few hours. You pull your headphones off your ears and pause your music with a tap of the button on the cord. 

“Oh, morning, do you want some coffee?” You offer. 

She’s unimpressed by your efforts as she crosses her arms. It is kind of early for her to be up. Her nostrils flare as she sniffs. 

“You better make a full pot for your visitor,” she sneers. 

You blink at her and scoff, not understanding her, “visitor?” 

Her eyes are narrowed and her lip curls, “the one who’s been pounding on my door while you’ve been listening to your racket.” She jabs an ear of your headphones, “damn woke me up.” 

“I don’t... who?” 

“Says you knew his son. The dead one,” she shakes her head, “sad, I suppose.” 

You stare at her. You hear movement in the front room, just on the other side of that wall. You glance through the archway and see a shadow shift. She’s not lying. How else would she know? 

“What did he tell you?” You breathe. 

“More than you, eh,” she snaps, “what are you doing gaping at me like a fish, I need a damn coffee. Too early for this nonsense. A dead kid, some stranger in my front room... what trouble are you getting into?” 

“N-nothing, grandma, I don’t... get him out of here. I don’t know him--” 

“He knows you. Knows your name. Says you and his boy were at school together. ‘Splains the flowers, I guess. Condolences, not that you cared, did ya?” She shakes her head, “you always were off in your own little world. Well, I’m not doin’ your dirty work for ya. You ain’t gonna be your mother if I can help it so you want him gone, you tell him you didn’t give a damn about that dead one.” 

You frown. You don’t understand why she’s so callous. She’s never shown any concern about anything but her books. It’s not your fault your parents didn’t want you. Or that she doesn’t either. You only ever begged for her attention, for a sliver of her approval. 

You blow out between your lips. You won’t argue. There’s no use in it. Besides, it’s a small house, you know he heard all that, that he knows you’re on your own. Maybe that’s why he came all this way. Because he knows you have nothing.