#(was at someone’s house and set their chair or couch on fire)

[enoch-xyz]

you were in my dream last night. ghost released a new song involving mirrors and we were at an after party, and for some reason i was there. i was sitting in a chair & talking but i made a bad joke & you said "thats it you're dethroned" and you dumped me out of it. idr much else it was weird

this is 100% in character for me that’s too funny help?? I’m glad I’m infecting your dreams

[pucksandpower]

Burn, Baby! Burn!

Lando Norris x firefighter!Reader

Summary: Lando almost burns down his house (twice) and meets the throughly exasperated love of his life in the process

The shrill screech of the alarm pierces through the calm of the fire station. You jolt upright in your chair, coffee spilling across the table. Another firefighter bursts into the room.

“We’ve got a call! Some bloke has managed to set his kitchen on fire boiling pasta!”

You shake your head in disbelief as you follow your colleague out to the truck. Who in their right mind manages to burn water?

The sirens wail as you weave expertly through the London streets. You’ve lived here your whole life and know every nook and cranny. As you near the address, plumes of smoke curl up in the distance. Sure enough, you pull up to a posh townhouse billowing with black smoke.

You hurry to unravel the hose, pulling on your heavy fire gear with practiced ease. As you blast water at the licking flames, they hiss and retreat. Within minutes, the fire is out.

Your captain does a sweep of the place to check for any remaining embers. You start to inspect the damage. The kitchen is completely demolished — cabinets charred and counters blackened. And there, in the middle, stands a lanky man with a mop of brown hair. His eyes are wide as saucers as he takes in the ruin.

You stride over. “What in blazes happened here?”

“I, uh, was just trying to make some pasta,” he stammers.

You spot a scorched pot in the sink. “Pasta? All you need for that is water, salt, and noodles. How did you manage to incinerate the whole bloody kitchen?”

“Honestly, I’m not really sure,” he says, raking a hand through his hair. “I filled the pot with water, turned on the stove, went to get my phone and next thing I knew, the place was up in flames!”

You rub your temples, frustration simmering. This overgrown child clearly can’t be trusted alone.

“What’s your name?” You ask.

“Lando. Lando Norris.”

Lando Norris … why does that sound familiar? You rack your brain trying to place it.

“Well Lando, unless you fancy burning down the rest of London, I suggest you leave the cooking to the takeaway. Or hire a personal chef or something, sure looks like you can afford it.”

Lando chuckles at that. There’s a twinkle in his eye that irks you.

“Will do, firefighter ...”

“Y/N,” you supply.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful firefighter,” he says with a wink.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. The last thing you need right now is an incompetent flirt.

Your radio crackles to life. “Y/L/N, need you to hang back with the resident until a building inspector can come assess the safety.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath before responding. “Copy that.”

You turn back to Lando. “Looks like you’re stuck with me till the inspector shows up.”

“Well I certainly won’t complain about that,” Lando says with a dimpled grin.

You plop down on his couch, which by some miracle remains unscathed. Lando sits down next to you, angling his body in your direction.

“So, do you rescue fiery damsels in distress often?”

You snort. “Wouldn’t exactly call you a damsel. But putting out idiots’ fires? More often than you’d think.”

Lando clutches his chest in faux offense. “Idiot? I’m wounded!”

Despite yourself, you feel your lips quirking upwards. There’s something endearing about him, even if he is concerningly incompetent.

“Gotta admit, this is a new one,” you gesture around. “Never been called for someone catching water on fire before.”

“Ah well, I like to keep things interesting,” Lando says with a wink.

You’re about to respond when your radio crackles again. “The inspector’s been held up across town. Gonna be another 30 minutes.”

You lean your head back and groan. Lando perks up beside you.

“Well, lucky me! More time with the lovely firefighter.”

You toss a decorative pillow at him. “You’re incorrigible.”

Lando just laughs, dodging the pillow with ease. “So tell me, Y/N, what made you become a firefighter?”

You debate shutting him down, but something about the open curiosity on his face makes you open up.

“My dad was a firefighter,” you explain. “Some of my earliest memories are of playing at the fire station with the other firefighters’ kids while our dads were on calls. I was maybe 5 or 6 when my dad let me slide down the fire pole for the first time.”

You smile at the memory. “I knew then that I wanted to be just like my dad. I thought firefighters were the coolest people in the world.”

Lando is watching you intently as you speak.

“What about you?” You ask. “What is it you do, besides wreak havoc in the kitchen?”

Lando smirks. “I’m a Formula 1 driver.”

Your eyes widen — no wonder his name is so familiar.

Lando looks pleased at your recognition. “So you’ve heard of me then?”

You nod. “Guess that explains how you can afford a posh place like this. Though I’d think a racing driver would have a bit more common sense in the kitchen.”

Lando shrugs sheepishly. “Never really had to fend for myself until now. I’m a bit hopeless at all things domestic.”

You shake your head in exasperation. “Been living off takeout, have you?”

“You know it,” Lando says with a wink.

You’re about to retort when the building inspector arrives. You greet him as Lando shows him around the thoroughly singed kitchen. After an extensive examination, the inspector deems the place safe, reminding Lando to get repairs done immediately.

With that settled, you make your way outside, Lando following at your heels.

“Don’t suppose I could get your number?” Lando asks as you reach the fire truck. “You know, in case I have any other domestic mishaps that require rescuing.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “How about I just pray we don’t meet again? Since that would likely mean you almost burned your place down … again.”

Lando clutches his chest in mock offence. “You wound me! And here I thought we were really hitting it off!”

Despite yourself, you let out a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.” You pause, considering him for a moment. “But seriously … try not to burn the place down again, yeah? I’d rather not have to peel you off the floor next time.”

Lando grins. “I’ll do my best to keep the place flame-free. Though I can’t promise I won’t still need rescuing from time to time.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Take care of yourself, Lando Norris.”

As you hop into the fire truck and speed away, sirens blaring, you catch Lando waving out of the corner of your eye. You let out a small laugh, shaking your head.

What an absolute disaster of a man.

***

It’s been nearly two weeks since the incident at Lando’s place. You’ve replayed that day in your mind more times than you’d care to admit. There was just something about that hapless yet charming Lando Norris.

Speak of the devil — the fire alarm at the station suddenly blares to life.

“Never a dull day, eh?” Your captain jokes.

You hustle to gear up, a sense of deja vu washing over you. As you near the now familiar posh townhouse, plumes of smoke once again curl into the sky. Your disbelief grows when you see a very sheepish looking Lando standing outside.

He grimaces as your truck pulls up. “Before you ask, yes, it was me again.”

You leap out of the truck, pulling the hose as your team gets to work quelling the flames.

“What the hell happened this time?” You shout over the roar of water.

“I, uh, may have tried to microwave some leftovers,” Lando says, rubbing the back of his neck.

It only takes a few minutes to extinguish the fire and assess the damage. Thankfully, it seems contained to mostly the microwave this time. Lando leads you inside, where smoke still lingers in the air. Your eyes immediately zone in on the microwave, or rather, what’s left of it. The interior is completely blackened and melted.

You whirl on Lando. “Please tell me you didn’t put something metal in there.”

Lando winces. “Right, so, funny story. I may have left a fork in the takeaway box.”

You drag a hand down your face in exasperation. “Lando, are you actually incapable of functioning like a normal adult?”

He has the decency to look ashamed. “I know, I’m a disaster, truly. But in my defense, the microwave came with the place already. I didn’t even think to check for a manual or proper usage instructions.”

You snort. “I’m pretty sure not putting metal in the microwave is common sense.”

Lando shoves his hands in his pockets. “Suppose I don’t have much of that.”

You sigh, suddenly feeling a bit bad for berating him. He really is just hopeless, not malicious.

“Look, maybe it’s best you just avoid the kitchen altogether,” you suggest gently. “At least until you get some proper instruction.”

Lando nods enthusiastically. “You’re absolutely right. In fact, why don’t I just take you out for dinner? Be a lot safer than me bumbling about the kitchen.”

You cross your arms, biting back a smile. “Are you asking me out while I’m on duty?”

Lando’s eyes widen. “No no, of course not! I would never compromise your professionalism.”

You can’t help but grin. “I’m just teasing you.”

Lando looks relieved. “Right, sorry. But truly, I’d love to take you to dinner, if you’re open to it.” He smiles sheepishly. “I could certainly use the company of someone responsible in the kitchen.”

You consider him for a moment. There are about a million reasons you shouldn’t agree to this. But despite the situation, you find yourself charmed by Lando.

“Tell you what, why don’t you swing by the station once my shift is over in ...” You check your watch. “Four hours. You can ask me again then.”

Lando’s face lights up. “It’s a date! Well, hopefully, if you say yes.”

You chuckle and turn to leave, but Lando calls out your name. You glance back and he smiles warmly.

“Thank you again for rescuing me … in more ways than one.”

Four hours later, you’re wiping down the fire truck when an expensive sports car pulls up outside the station. Lando hops out, beaming when he spots you.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he calls out cheekily.

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Don’t you know this is a strictly no-playboys zone?”

Lando clutches his heart. “You wound me, Y/N! I’m much more than just extraordinarily good looks.”

“What good looks?” You challenge.

Lando strolls over and holds open the passenger door. “Have dinner with me and see for yourself.”

You pretend to consider it, then shrug. “Eh, why not. Beats more takeout on my couch.”

You hop into Lando’s flashy car and he zooms off towards the restaurant. Lando insists on opening every door for you and pulling out your chair. You poke fun at his over-the-top chivalry, but find it endearing nonetheless.

Over dinner, you learn there’s much more to Lando than his hapless antics. He’s unexpectedly clever, with a sharp wit to match. He’s passionate about racing, his eyes lighting up as he tells you about life on the circuit. And despite his lavish lifestyle, he’s remained remarkably down-to-earth.

Conversation flows easily between you two. You’re amazed at how you manage to lose track of time, the restaurant emptying out around you.

When Lando finally drives you home, you linger in the parking lot, neither of you wanting the night to end.

“I had a really nice time tonight,” you say softly.

Lando smiles. “Me too. Think it’s safe to say there were definitely some sparks between us.”

You groan at the terrible fire pun, shoving Lando playfully. His eyes gleam with mirth.

“In all seriousness, I’d love to see you again,” Lando says. “If you’re willing to take another chance on this walking fire hazard.”

You pretend to consider it. “Well, seeing as I’m trained to deal with hazards ...”

Lando perks up hopefully. You grin and lean over to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“I would love to see you again. And until then … just please stay away from anything flammable.”

***

A few months have passed since your unusual first encounters with Lando. To your surprise and delight, you’ve settled into an easy relationship that feels almost like second nature. Lando has been actively planning creative dates, seemingly determined to take you on adventures across London.

It’s been a whirlwind of posh restaurants, West End shows, helicopter rides, and more. Lando delights in lavishing you with exclusive experiences. While you appreciate the gestures, your favorite nights are spent cuddled on the couch playing video games.

You’ve helped Lando gain basic competency in the kitchen. He can now make scrambled eggs and pasta unsupervised. Progress.

In turn, Lando has taken an interest in your life as a firefighter, asking for crazy stories and even visiting you at the station with treats for those on shift. He greets you after work with hearty meals — takeaway warmed up in the oven without any explosions — a welcome respite from having to worry that you would come home to find his house burnt to a crisp.

You’re touched by how you’ve each become such a fixture in the other’s unusual life so quickly.

One morning, the two of you are lounging on Lando’s couch during a rare shared day off when he suddenly perks up.

“The British Grand Prix is in a few months! I know it might be tough for you to get the weekend off but I would love it if you could come,” Lando suggests excitedly.

Your eyes widen. “Seriously? I would love to see your world up close.”

Lando grins and pulls you in for a kiss. “It’s a date then! Fair warning though, the garage can get a bit chaotic. But I can’t wait to show you off to my team.”

You laugh. “Well in my line of work, chaotic is the norm. I think I can handle it.”

On race day, Lando picks you up in a sleek McLaren emblazoned with his number. You take in the organized chaos of the paddock, amazed by the scale of it all.

Lando guides you through the sea of team members prepping for the big day. He greets his mechanics warmly, introducing you with a hand on the small of your back.

“Lads, meet my girl Y/N,” Lando announces proudly.

The mechanics appraise you curiously. One whistles under his breath. “Nice catch, Lando. She’s clearly out of your league.”

You laugh as Lando flips him off good-naturedly.

Another mechanic, Dan, gestures to your athletic frame. “So what is it you do, Y/N? Personal trainer? Athlete? Fitness influencer?”

You smile wryly. “I’m a firefighter, actually.”

Dan gapes in disbelief. “A firefighter? No way! But you’re so ...” He vaguely gestures at you.

You quirk an eyebrow. “So what? Girls can’t be firefighters?”

Dan holds up his hands quickly. “No no, course not! Just didn’t expect it, is all.”

Lando grins and squeezes your shoulder. “She’s saved my arse more times than I can count.”

You laugh. “He’s not wrong. Man’s a walking fire hazard.”

Lando’s team ribs him fondly about his cooking mishaps. But you can tell they’re impressed, regarding you with newfound admiration.

“Go on then, show us what you can do!” Dan cajoles.

You grin mischievously. “If you insist.”

Before Dan can react, you swoop down and lift him effortlessly into a fireman’s carry. The other mechanics whoop and holler as Dan flails comically over your shoulder.

After a few seconds, you gently set a very flustered Dan back down.

Lando lets out a low whistle. “Have I mentioned how hot it is when you go all firefighter on me?”

You smirk. “Never gets old seeing you boys underestimate me.”

Dan rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, fair play. Reckon I earned that.”

You laugh good-naturedly and pat Dan on the back, assuring him no harm done. As you all chat, you notice Lando’s gaze lingering on you admiringly.

As race time nears, Lando has to start prepping with his team. But he keeps glancing over at you with a newfound awe. Your little display of strength clearly left an impression.

Soon it’s time for him to get in the car. You wish Lando luck with a quick kiss, giggling at the mechanics’ dramatic groans.

Once the race gets underway, you stand behind the monitors with Lando’s performance coach, cheering him on with every overtake. You join the crew in jumping to your feet when Lando crosses the chequered flag for an exhilarating podium finish. The garage explodes into celebration, and Lando sweeps you up into a spinning hug when he arrives.

“My good luck charm,” he proclaims, keeping you close as champagne sprays wildly.

Later at an afterparty for the drivers and teams, you sip cocktails under strings of lights. Lando proudly spins you around the dancefloor, making sure everyone can see you on his arm.

“Have I told you how amazing you are?” Lando murmurs into your hair.

You grin. “Might’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

“Well I’m saying it again. You’re incredible, Y/N. Today was so much better getting to share it with you.”

Your heart swells at the sincerity in Lando’s eyes. You cup his face gently.

“Couldn’t imagine a better first Grand Prix. Thank you for inviting me into this part of your world.”

Lando smiles softly. “You’re the best part of my world now.”

Over the following weeks, you start to notice Lando looking at you with a new hunger in his eyes. The easy affection between you has shifted into something more wanton and primal.

One night, as you’re cooking a simple pasta dish together, Lando comes up behind you, hands encircling your waist. He plants a trail of kisses down your neck as his grip tightens possessively.

You lean back into him with a pleased hum. “Well hello there.”

“Mmm, ever since I saw you lift that mechanic, I just keep thinking about all the ways you could put that sexy strength to use,” Lando murmurs against your skin.

You grin and turn in his arms. “Oh yeah? Why don’t you tell me more about that?” You purr teasingly.

Lando crashes his lips to yours, backing you against the counter hungrily. You just barely remember to turn off the burner before completely losing yourself in the feel of him around you — one burnt pot of boiling water is more than enough for your relationship, thank you very much.

Later, lying spent and sated in Lando’s bed, he nuzzles against you. “Have to say, your skills in the bedroom rival your skills as a firefighter,” he jokes.

You swat his chest playfully. “Careful or I may have to break out some new moves on you.”

Lando’s eyes gleam. “Promise?”

You grin and roll on top of him, ready to stoke the flames between you once more. Though your relationship started unconventionally, it seems things with Lando will never stop burning hot.

[princessbunnib]

Care For You

König |Cod/Mw2|

Summary: König takes care of you after finding out you've had a stressful day at work.

Pairing: König X Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Smut MDNI, Dom König, Sub Reader, Established Relationship, Communication, Size Difference, König With Size Kink, Overstimulation, Talk About Breeding, Consensual, Praising, Accidental CreamPie, Rough Penetration, Fingering, Begging, Talk About Squirting, Sex In Kitchen, Sex On Table, Squirting Encouragement, Missionary, Oral |F| Receiving, DoggyStyle.

Author's Note: Continuation of 'Another Round?'

I had a different plot and script but decided it wasn't strong enough to be part two. I kindof set the bar very high with part one.🤧

Ah! part one got 1k notes! That's my first post to ever get that much attention. Thank youuu😭💕

Thank you all for 229 followers♡

I don't know how I feel about this one so please let me know in the comments.

PT 1 Here:

____

You unlocked the door to your shared house and was met with the smell of food being cooked followed with König singing a song that has been stuck in his head for the past week. You sat your purse down on the couch and walked into the kitchen. König was making eggs for himself considering that was the only thing he knew how to make on his own without burning down the house.

You watched him for a breif moment as he tried the stove nob off and scraped the eggs out of the pan and onto a plate before making your presence known.

"Hey... Uhm, you know I could have made you something when I came back. I'm off earlier than usual today." You said walking up to him to place a kiss on his cheek. Holding his waist for a second before letting go.

"Yeah but I couldn't wait... how was work?" He asked begining to clean up the mess he made while cooking.

You sat down and sighed heavily, kicking your feet up onto the next chair and kicked your heels off. Rolling your eyes thinking about the events that took place ealier today. "It was fucking awful... that blonde chick I told you about last week really likes to bust my non existent balls... I would pay to see her get fired." You stated with a crisp tone of annoyance.

"What did she do this time?" He asked grabbing your foot and begining to message it while pulling up another chair. He had a delicate hold while pressing his thumbs into the center of your foot, revealing the sore feeling in them that was caused by your shoes.

"The usual... I don't want to talk about it though, just thinking about it pisses me off so I'd rather not say." You scoffed. While watching him give you a massage

"But other than that how did your day go?" You asked. He shrugged not having much to say. He has a job but it's a work from home one since he likes to avoid social interaction at any cost. Other than working, he doesn't do much.

He usually takes care of all of the domestic things around the house to give you a break. He's comfortable with this dynamic you two have created because it makes you happy. Your happiness is the only thing that truly matters to him at the end of the day..."

"I see you cleaned up... it feels better in here, thank you... I would have done it but you know- duty calls..." You said with a nervous laugh.

A/N: (I guess you could say it's- call of duty.)

"You don't have to thank me, I live here too... what boyfriend would I be if I made you do all the house work..."

God he looked so sexy in your apron was. It didn't fit him as well as it should have, but he still wears it because of two things. It smells like you, and he likes to pretend like he's a professional chef with a reality TV show when he's alone.

He was so domestic for someone his size. You found it cripplingly attractive. Just thinking about him washing dishes drives you nuts. You'd always watch him as he scattered around the house cleaning any and everything. His hips would sway while he vacuumed. A strong grip on the handle as his forearm veins flexed while he yanked it back to clean a persistent pile of junk off the carpet.

König pulled your chair close to him since you were staring at him. "Do I have something on my face?" He asked lifting a brow.

"Nope... you have a nice face?" You said not thinking about how weird that response would be. 'You have a nice face..' Who the hell says something like that?

You sighed to yourself and looked away from him. He let go of your left foot and messaged your right foot. "Thank you... I haven't shaved yet and thought I looked like a bear or something..." He shrugged.

Ugh he's so cute. He valued your opinion over anything. He wanted to be perfect for you, he'd change everything about himself if you asked him to. Which you would never do for the record, you already felt that he was perfect.

"Don't worry about that... I don't mind a bit of stubble... besides- it feels good against me when you-"

You stopped yourself from interrupting this wholesome interaction with your lewd nonsense. But it's not your fault, he's the one who keeps staring down at you with his eyes big and clueless. You wanted to top him so badly one day. But knowing how strong he is, there's no way he'd let you.

You then leaned in and kissed him without thinking. His soft lips soothed your attitude making you forget about the things you were even mad at prior.

You melted into his lips and wrapped your arms around his neck. He groaned into your mouth and picked you up from the chair pushing objects out of the way for you to have as much space necessary so he could lay you down.

What a dream. Coming home from a stressful day of work and having a boyfriend to manhandle you and toss you anywhere he pleased

"König what're you doing... I just got home, I have papers to fill out..." You said watching him pull your pencil skirt off of your hips. You had on thin black tights to cover as much skin as possible when at work. He turned you over on your stomach and held your ass in his hands.

"Sorry... but you know how much I love your uniform... and now that we've had sex... I can't stop thinking about how sexy it makes you look." He lustfuly said while kissing your neck, his large hands ripping them off of your body. You looked back at him clearly annoyed. "König! I'm going to have to buy new ones..." You said giving him attitude.

"Oops." He shrugged off your words and harshly slapped your ass with both hands. Watching it jiggle with a subtle red mark on your pretty skin.

You wore black lace underwear. He glanced up at you, teasing the waistband as if he was going to take them off. "What's this? Wearing something so scandalous at work... care to explain?" He asked yanking them upwards to hug your clit making you moan in the process.

"Ahh~ I just wanted to feel confident today... that's all, really." You said hoping he'd believe you.

"If you wanted to feel confident... you could have let me creampie you before you left so you'd have to rush out of here with my come still inside you...". He said caressing your face and dragging his thumb on your bottom lip. Imagining how pretty you'd look with his cock prying your lips apart for you to suck on him.

"What's gotten into you today? You usually aren't like this..."

"Dunno... guess I'm just proud of myself for making you come." He said nonchalantly.

König then slowly broke apart the buttons to your blouse revealing your spaghetti strap undershirt and matching lace black bra.

"Wow... not only you wore the panties, you also wore the bra to match... seems like you wanted me to fuck you when you got home hm? Either way I'm still going to fulfil that... only if you'll allow me..."

With your chest now exposed it gave him the perfect space to kiss you all over and pull your shirt off of your body. He threw it somewhere and unclipped your bra. You held your bra onto your body not wanting to expose yourself so quickly.

"K-König~ I swear you're like a dog in heat ever since that night, I haven't been drinking enough water lately... I won't be able to squirt how you've been wanting me to..." You said attempting to push him off of you.

He groaned and pinned your hands to the table. Leaning down to pull your bra off with his teeth and throw it. His tongue then dragging across your breasts daring to touch your nipples.

His dominant behavior was arousing to say the least. You felt like an animal in the woods being attacked by a rabid wolf who was hungry for nothing but meat. The way he dragged his teeth across your skin slightly biting into it but not too much. He was testing the waters even though you deep down wanted him to mark you all over like you belonged to him.

He ignored your body language and yanked your hips closer to his. He grunted taking your apron off and tossing it somewhere in the room. He didn't have a shirt on. Only grey sweatpants that lowly hugged his hips.

He's such a slut for walking around the house like that. Who raised him.

"I guess I am in heat... but it's really not my fault, you're so unbelievably sexy... please I need you so badly... I know you want me as much as I want you- well probably not... I need you more than the will to get out of bed in the morning..."

"Mmm... I haven't been able to stop thinking about you... I feel like you're still inside sometimes when I'm alone." You said placing a hand on your stomach whimpering at the emptiness. "Oh yeah? You want me inside your stomach? That desperate feeling is driving you crazy isn't it... I could put something else in there too so you wouldn't feel lonely for- about... nine months?" He said with a smirk.

"Just seeing you makes me hard... can I please fuck you... I can't stand the tight feeling in my pants..." He softly whimpered trying not to beg. You bit your lip and held his face for him to look at you.

You didn't answer as he began to lightly play with your clothed clit. You let out a gentle moan while covering your chest due to the cold air.

"Awe please... let me see you... let your man see every inch of your body... I wanna suck on those sweet little nipples of yours... can I?"

You nodded biting your lip and giving into your sexual urges. Your hips bucking onto him wanting to feel more than just his hands.

He then took your left nipple in his mouth, kissing it with the tip of his tongue before using the wet pink tissue to flick it back and forth. He swallowed it while and grazed his teeth on it, looking up at you while applying more pressure to your clit.

"Ahmmm~ that feels good..." You whimpered holding your right breasts for him while your other hand held his head.

"Thank you for telling me... I've been thinking about you all day... how bad I want to stuff you full of my come... you're so gorgeous... I love you... I need you..."

He groaned and pulled his sweats halfway down his thighs, spreading your legs apart and pinning them to the table. He then slid your panties to the side and aligned himself with your entrance before sliding himself into you, moaning loudly and throwing his head back.

König thrusted steadily but with force. You tightened around him causing your walls to become more slicker and softer to penetrate. He groaned and put your legs on his shoulders placing his hands on the table and staring at your body as you moved along with his thrusts. His mind was foggy with lust.

Hips moving faster than he could speak. He couldn't muster up any words, he was more focused on fucking you. Making your vaginal muscles tighten and clench on him, obeying each forcful thrust taking him in with wet sounds. You held onto the table with your right hand and covered your mouth with the other. Eyebrows furrowing as his pubic hair brushed against your clit with every time he'd thrust forward.

"Hhnngghhh... more... work was driving me over the edge today-" You screamed as he thrusted into your g-spot before missing the area altogether.

You whimpered wanting him to correct his thrusts but was too flustered to speak.

He slapped your thighs and held your face, giving you another slap but on your cheeks. Then continuing to snatch up your jaw. "Yeah? You've had a stressful day... I know- agh... that's why I'm doing this for you, just relax around me... I'll take excellent care of you." He mocked your whimpers and squeezed your breasts. You put your hand on his stomach to stop him momentarily.

He groaned and stopped thrusting glancing down at you. "What is it? Am I going too fast or hard?" He asked showing concern for your pleasure.

"No... you found my spot but changed it before I could tell you..." You responded softly with lust filled eyes.

"I'm sorry... I'll try and find it again, tell me when it feels good alright? I'm so sorry..." He said before kissing your forehead.

You nodded and wrapped your arms around him. He then placed his hands on the table you laid on and changed his footing. He groaned beginning to steadily thrust upwards into you. You moaned as it did feel good, but that still wasn't it.

"Deeper? Ughh please... it felt so good for literally a second..." You whimpered in frustration.

"Alright... don't get upset... you know I'll find it for you... give me a second okay? You love me?" He asked showering your face with kisses.

"Yes... I do~ I really love you..." You nodded as he sloppily kissed your lips with a light hold on your neck.

You wanted him to squeeze tighter but had to keep composure. One thing at a time.

König then pulled your lower half off of the table. Some of your body weight was resting in his hands. He then began to thrust hard into you, you felt more deeper now that your pelvis felt like you were standing up. "How's that?" He asked hoping he did it right.

"Y-yeahh~ t-th-there... just- a bit... mghhnn~ harder..." You managed to speak instead of choking on your words.

He moaned feeling your juices drip down his shaft and collect on his balls. You definitely gotten wetter due to him penetrating you differently. You whimpered wanting to touch him but was too focused on not falling off the table.

"Yes yes ahhhmmghh König fuck me harder... I don't want to think about anything but being fucked by your fat cock~♡" You lustfuly said while rolling your eyes back.

"Yes... anything for you... you're so wet now... I can feel it all over me... does that feel good?" He asked staring into your eyes.

You nodded used your elbows to keep you up for support. Your arms were tired at this point. But you didn't want to change positions because of it.

"I'm gonna come already... fuck... I can't..." He whimpered rutting his hips into you.

"Ughhhh just remember to- ahhh p-pull out... I haven't gotten back on birth control..."

He rolled his eyes not wanting to listen to you. He wanted to come inside you for the first time but because of your fear for having children. You wouldn't ever allow him to breed you.

Sure the act of a creampie would sound absolutely amazing. Especially if it's from him, but you weren't ready to put your life on hold for a family.

And also due to his above average height. It would be hell on earth to carry such a heavy and most likely tall child.

You could tell König these things but he wouldn't understand. He's not the one who has to carry the baby, and he's also not the one who has to deliver it.

"Ughh I don't want to come yet... shit- I need your pretty clit in my mouth... are you going to allow me to do that?" He groaned pulling out and tapping his tip on your clit. You were given a moment to get yourself together. You could feel your juices dripping down your lips. You nodded quickly to him while bucking your pelvis onto his shaft. Making him moan and drip pre-cum.

He then got on his knees and grabbed your breasts, playing with them while wrapping his tongue around your clit, groaning with every sloppy lick he made with his tongue. Your back arched as you whimpered grinding your lips on his mouth.

He could feel his erection settling which may or may not have been a good thing. Hearing you moan kept it standing for a breif moment but he really just wanted to fuck you. But due to him wanting to enjoy this moment. He chose your orgasm over his. The more be could make you moan while still being able to preform, the better.

König kissed your clit and teased your entrance with his index and middle fingers.

He lightly chuckled hearing you whimper his name while he slid his fingers inside sometimes using his thumb to rub your clit, then sucking it. "Ugh just look at what you did... my fingers are soaked..." He said watching the clear juices drip down his digits. You looked down at him and covered your mouth feeling embarrassed by his interest in the subject.

"König~ sthoopp~ you're embarrassing me..." You whimpered until he stood up and held your face, gently slapping it and curling his fingers while rubbing your clit again.

"I know... you're face is so hot... it's okay... I'm just appreciating everything there is to appreciate... the way you get so wet for me... your pretty moans... your sweet little clit that twitches everytime I kiss it... I love it all..." He said into your ear, watching you squirm under his touch and moan clearly.

"Uhhh~ K-König~ Am I being good for you?" You asked hoping he'd understand what you meant.

"Hm? Oh I get it- you want me to praise you right?" He asked lifting a brow. You nodded suppressing your moans as he curled his fingers in a more consistent pattern, now penetrating his fingers into the spot he reached earlier.

You moaned more looser and held onto his forearm with your right hand. Hips rutting into the air and mouth open forming the 'o' shape. "Right there! Yes! Don't stop- please don't stop~"

"Awe, I'm not going to don't worry... and Y/n of course you're being such a good girl for me... you keep squirming under me to stop yourself from coming aren't you? You don't have to hold yourself back... I want you to come on my fingers..."

"B-but I'll- m-make a mess... you spent all day cleaning up... You whined still trying not to let all of your composure go.

He pulled his fingers out and put them in his mouth, sucking everything off of them and holding your thighs teasing your clit with his tip again to get himself hard as his previous erection wasn't fully gone. "I'll clean it up when we're done... you're so sweet for being considerate... now tell me this, do you want me to stop playing games and give you this huge throbbing cock already?"

You didn't asnwer at first so clearly you needed some encouragement. He then held his inches in his right hand and penetrated you with just the tip. Your moans became louder as your arms fwailed around. You hoped he'd but it all inside but soon was left disappointed when you heard him groaning in pleasure, you looked at him to see that he was using his hand to pleasure himself while barley inside you.

He couldn't be serious. Right? Did he expect you to get off by his tip alone? You whimpered and tried to move your hips to be penetrated by him more, only to receive a slap on the thigh along with a rough squeeze.

"Don't misbehave now or I'll have to get rough with you... I can see that disappointment in your eye... just asnwer my question and then I'll stop joking around and take your precious orgasm seriously."

"Ughh... what was it? I wasn't listening... mmm." You loudly whimpered kicking your legs in frustration.

"Shame on you for not listening... I asked you if you wanted my cock already so you could come... but considering recent events, I don't think you deserve it... I'll just take this out... and try another time." He said lazily pulling out, now mentally annoyed with his actions.

He got on his knees again and scooped your legs up into his arms, you whimpered trying to get out of his hold but couldnt. You knew what he was going to do.

Fuck you couldn't handle being overstimulated again like last time. Your legs were so weak by the time he was finished with you. You knew you wouldn't be able to walk after this, he has such a fascination with making you come by using his tongue.

"Awe you're getting worried aren't you... how cute... you don't want my tongue do you?" He asked. You shook your head and nodded. You couldn't decide on a clear answer, you also didn't want to speak up and say it because the only thing you'd manage to say would be a whimper or moan.

He smirked lightly swishing his tongue side to side. You held the table with your hands throwing your head back slightly whimpering for him to stop.

"You're squirming... tell me what you're thinkin' about... I want to know if I'm satisfying you." He asked before taking your whole clit in his mouth and sucking profusely and tightening his grip on your thighs to keep you still.

"Mhmm mm... such a pretty little clit... mnghmm I can't get enough of it..." He moaned into you humming to send vibrations throughout your spine. You shook your head whimpering and arching your back.

You had no choice but to put your legs onto his shoulders, he held your thighs closely to his head wanting you to squeeze him with your thighs. His eyes never left yours, even if you tried to break eye contact he'd nibble on your clit to get your attention again.

You'd then whimper in pain and try to open your thighs, but he was stronger than you. By like a lot. He held your hands with his making it impossible for you to stop him. His tongue pulled back the small hood and began to thrust in an upward motion. He'd play with your clit like a cat to a mouse by flicking it in all directions, using the slippery underside of his tongue to make it more wet then give a long lick and proceed to suck it making sure to not stop until you moaned.

He looked away briefly to watch your stomach cave into itself. He could tell you were going to come soon. He's only been doing this so much to take notes of how your body reacted to him. When he's too busy staring into your eyes when in missionary, it doesn't give him much room to notice the small details that lead to you coming.

"You taste immaculate... I could stay like this until my jaw falls off... mmmghmm~"

You were going to speak but forgotten how to. You cried out literal nonsense and squeezed his hands, with that simple action his eyes were back on your face. You whimpered feeling the temperature in your body rise. "Mhmm... you're so close aren't you? I won't leave you alone until you come."

"Köniiiigg~ sthoopp... it's too good... you're gonna make me... ahhffmm~"

"Mhm? What was that? Come? Squirt? Cry? Tell me all the details so I know how to take care of you after... I love you so much... no matter what you do I will love you forever..."

"I- I don't know- fu-fuck- I can't even think..." You chocked on your words and bit into your lip, eyes glazing with tears as you watched him.

"You're so come drunk you don't know what to do with yourself... I'm glad that I have such an affect on you Y/n... you feel amazing around my fingers." He praised lightly kissing your clit inbetween statements.

"Hmm~ you make me feel so good when you kiss my clit..."

"Good... can you come on my tongue? I promise I'll fuck you in any way you want me to... weather it be slow, fast, rough, deep... you name it my beautiful girl..."

"I'll try~♡ hooghoddd..."

He held your hip with his left hand and continued to stare at you. You moaned rocking your hips back and forth feeling his fingers deeper inside. He played with your breasts and pinched your nipples to further bring noises out of you. You screamed his name and covered your face.

"I know... I know... you're so worked up... you don't know what to do with yourself... come for me, you can do it. You're such a good girl for me Y/n." He said egging you on before lapping his tongue on your clit still fingering you.

Your eyes rolled back, mouth opening wide without anything coming out of it. You nodded at his encouragement letting him know you were indeed close. He harshly slapped your thighs then squeezed them tightly to sooth the sting. "Mhmm come on my fucking face... good girls come on my face, you're a good girl right?" He said using a cocky tone.

"Yes yes yhesss! I'm a good girl... I'm a good girl... aghhh König I'm close..."

"I know... awe please come on my face, I'm so fucking hard for you... You mean the world to me... you're even better than a good girl... I love you so much I don't fucking deserve a goddess like you... come for me please~♡"

You looked down at him and held his head, pushing it further inbetween your legs to shut him up. You were so god damn close that it annoyed you, you needed to come. You couldn't think about anything else. His tongue felt smooth like silk, he was a master at what he did. With more words of encouragement you ended up locking your legs around his head keeping him in place. He held your hips allowing you to use him like a toy.

Your vaginal muscles clamping on nothing, all the tension focused on your clit. Sucking, blowing, licking, nibbling. You threw your head back as it felt like an explosion of fireworks in your brain had went off. You found yourself rutting your hips on his mouth and moaning at the top of your lungs.

"König! AHHH YEESSSSS FINALLYYYY~♡" The sound of your voice made it seem like you were crying tears of joy. He let go of your clit with an obnoxious slurping sound and blew a gentle breeze of air on it.

Your legs shaking and giving out at the same time. He watched you in awe as you grabbed yourself not knowing how to deal with the amount of dopamine being produced. "Awe wow... look at you so undone for me... that's it, keep moaning... you're almost coming down aren't you?" He said gently rubbing your clit in a side to side motion.

"Stop stop stop stop! It's too fucking much I've had enough... please!" You begged uncontrollably feeling tears gushing out of your eyes.

He stopped touching you and pulled you close to him, tossing your arms around his neck. "Shh shhh... I know... calm down... you're so overwhelmed..." He said holding your face staring into your dazed eyes.

"Mm, you're my pretty girl... I love you so much..."

You let out a whimper feeling yourself let out a heavily watered down stream of liquid from your urethra. You moaned shaking your head to not focus on how embrassed you were by the whole process. "I'm sorry..." You managed to choke out.

"Awe don't be... take a moment to rest for me okay? And would you look at that... you can squirt... I knew I'd be able to make you do it." He said caressing your face and showering your lips with kisses.

You nodded and kissed him back, tasting yourself from earlier. "Thank you so much... thank you... thank you..."

You couldn't think about anything. Your mind was blank and all you could do was thank him. He took your words with pride and laid you back down on the table, you didn't let him go. You were vulnerable and didn't want him to leave your side. You buried your face into his neck locking your legs around him tighter.

"Stay here... I'm ready for more if you are... I want you to fuck me until I cry..."

"Oh? As you wish... you don't need to do anything... I just want to use your body to come..." He said before laying kisses on your chest.

____

The two of you had quickly got naked while still in the kitchen. König towered over you leaning down to kiss your neck with his cock thrusting inbetween your thighs for friction to keep him hard. You were looking up at him holding his face and making out with him, his strong hands caressing your breasts and pinching your nipples.

"You're perfect... are you okay? Do you want to continue or do you need more time? Or we can just stop if you want." He said caressing your face and speaking softly to you.

"I'm okay... thank you for asking, you can do anything to me, I'm ready for you... just feeling your cock inbetween my thighs like this is making me lose my mind..."

"Same here... I know it might feel like I'm saying the same things over and over but I really mean it... there aren't enough words in the dictionary to describe what you are to me."

"Yeah? Well for starters... let's say that I'm yours..." You said softly while allowing him to push you down onto the table, he held onto your hips with a low desperate groan. "Say that again... tell me how much you want me... beg for me so I can feel confident enough to fuck you senseless..."

You looked back at him, pulling him down to you so could sloppily kiss him. He slid inside you with ease, being careful to not get carried away too quickly. You moaned into his mouth and broke the kiss, holding his jaw to keep his eyes on you.

"My body belongs to you, you're the only man I'll let fuck me... you can have me any day at any hour... I'm nothing but a brain dead fuck toy for you..."

"Hmm? Yeah... you're mine... you have no idea how jealous I get when I'm in public with you... you always have to leave the house looking so fucking gorgeous... every man just has to stare at you... I fucking hate it."

You moaned as he began to kiss your neck and bite into your skin. You melted like butter under the sun holding his hand keeping it on your body. His thrusts started slow and deep to focus on speaking to you. Your walls clenched around him, hips moving back and forth to engulf his size.

"So tight... just like that Y/n... look at you trying to take control and use me for a change... I'm afraid I can't let you do that though... last time I checked fucktoys don't have a mind of their own." He growled in your ear and slapped your ass.

"I'm sorry... you're just taking so long... my desire to be fucked is burning... please can you fuck me already König~" You asked with innocent eyes lovingly gazing up at him.

"When you look at me like that how can I say no... you're so amazing... all mine... you're my good fucking girl..."

With those lustful words he proceeded to lift your left leg up and pin it on the table, spreading your legs apart made it easier for him to stuff more of himself inside. With you being pinned down to the table it's not like you could get free from his hold. You reached out and held onto the surface you laid on, whimpering as his thrusts became more consistent laced with desperation.

He cursed under his breath and slapped your ass hard. Disregarding if you may or may not like it. "Fucking bitch... mm... so tight and wet... you're such a broken in slut aren't you, you take me in so deep now..."

"You look so pretty when being fucked from behind... your ass is moving so much..." He grunted slapping it harder than before.

"Ahh~♡ choke me... please..." You asked moaning more comfortably. "How? I don't want you to pass out..."

"Squeeze the sides of my neck rather than onto my throat... I'll still be able to breath but not easily... feeling the pressure build up my head is what really turns me on..." You explained before König pulled you by your hair for you to lean upwards.

He was hesitant in fulfilling your request not sure if he'd do it right. But he wanted to make you happy and decided to trust your words. Alright how did you say to do it again? Hands on both sides of neck... that should be good.

You moaned pulling him inside deeper. Your walls reacting positively and hugging every vein in his shaft, squeezing on him ever so often. Forcing pre-cum out of him.

"Like this? Is that right? You're body seems to think so..." He moaned slightly in disbelief, wow you felt way better than before. You sounded like heaven itself aswel.

"Mhmm... just like that... ughhh your hands~ they make the perfect necklace König~♡" You praised throwing your head back and letting your self control leave your body altogether. Now making you act and sound more slutty.

"Oh my god... you keep clamping down on me... you must really like this... fuck, I'm gonna go faster now... is that okay?" He asked hearing you whimper while nodding as a response.

König began to breathe heavier and thrust harder. His balls slapping against your sensitive clit, making it twitch with every ounce of contact. He threw his head back holding your neck tighter then releasing after making you light headed intentionally.

You put your hands on his wrists, eyes rolling back and whoreish smile plastered on your face. "So deeep~ It's in my stomach~♡"

"Shut the fuck up... fuck toys don't talk." He sternly spoke before pinning you head to the table, using both hands to hold you down and thrusted harder. Heavily breathing and groaning.

A knot built up in your stomach making the pleasure become overwhelming. You whimpered focusing on the feeling of him inside you. Repeatedly clenching and pulling him in deeper. "Fuck I love you... thank you~ I can't control myself when I'm inside you..." He leaned down to you and spoke into your ear. His hand sliding under your hips so he could rub your clit.

Your mouth opened wide, drool collecting on your tongue and dripping onto the table. Your eyes rolled back as you focused on both points of pleasure. His fingers were wet as they rubbed against you.

"Say you love me... ughh f-fuck... I'm close Y/n..."

"Mmm~♡ I love you... you make me feel good... don't stop rubbing my clit, I'm gonna come soon..."

König groaned pulling you off of the table and turning you over onto your back so that the two of you were in missionary again.

You whimpered at the loss of contact around your throat. He then slapped your face gently and held your jaw. "I love you~ nghhh... I love you so much... fuck I'm gonna come~"

you pulled his face into your chest while moaning and allowing him to suck your nipples. His thumb applying pressure to your clit, teeth biting your nipples and tongue licking them.

His hips were thrusting on their own at this moment. Your legs locking around him and body jolting in pleasure. You moaned again and arched your back.

"Please don't stop choking me... I'm so close that it hurts..." You lustfuly said while receiving hard thrusts to your cervix. He groaned letting your nipples go and put your legs on his shoulders and leaning down to you, wrapping his left hand around your throat tightly squeezing. Listening to your thankful whimpers while your nails dug into his skin. He kissed your lips once until you held his face sloppily keeping your lips on his nearly sucking your face off.

"Mmmuahh~ I love how deep you take me... fucking slutty bitch..." He groaned pulling your bottom lip in his teeth.

"I love how good you fuck me... I think I'm going to squirt again-" You managed to speak as his hand momentarily got loose. "Oh fuck... don't be shy... come on I want you to squirt... I can't believe I was able to get you to do that... you were so cute while coming just because of my fingers..."

"Yeah? Tell me how pretty I am... ughhh I want to come all over your fat cock..."

He then yanked your body off of the table, you panicked and held onto him tightly. Arms wrapped around his neck as you melted into him. His hips thrusting upwards reaching your spot from earlier. You whimpered loudly and threw your head back moaning and letting your whole body relax.

"That's it... give me another... squirt on me... you're so sexy when you do." He said holding your ass in his hand and wrapping his arm around your waist to keep you in his arms.

"I love youuu~ K-König!~" You screamed at the top of your lungs. Mind being blinded by your lust and clenching around him.

He groaned burying his face into your neck to cover up his submissive moans. His hand slapping your ass until it had a large red mark into it. "I'M COMING... FUCK I'M COMING... Take every fucking drop you slut!"

He forced you down onto the table again and slammed his hips into you. You moaned arching your back and rolling your eyes back into your skull. Your nipples tingling with pleasure as your walls relaxed for the last time, flooding your urethra with clear watered down liquids. König pulled out of you and rubbed his tip on your lips, gliding it up and down watching you release all over him. Your vagina clamping down on nothing, whimpers slowly getting quieter.

Your hands pressed onto his chest as you watched him moan your name and pump his hand up and down his shaft. "Ughhhh you're so perfect for me... I need you in my life forever..."

The two of you came down from your highs. He then laid on you, allowing you to hug him and kiss his cheek. You sighed heavily in relief. He kissed your lips and lightly held your neck in his hand. Turning your head to the side so he could pepper kisses all over you. You then felt something drip out of you and onto the table. You looked down seeing his erection going down while his tip was dripping with come. "König..." You said trying to gain your composure.

"Yeah? Give me a minute... if you want to go again..." He panted in response.

"Did you come inside me? Fuck... I think you did..." You said.

He then got off of you and spread your legs. He watched his come drip down you, your vagina clenching and releasing, forcing his thick load out of you. "Looks like I did... sorry about that... You felt too good for me to waste it..."

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Hey! I love your writing. Could I please request a fluff piece when Iris is till a baby and Joel is on dad duty? Idk just something really fluffy where he just enjoys being a dad and also Sarah helping?

Dad Duty

pairing: elementary!joel miller x f!reader

rating: F (no outbreak au, talks of diapers and poop because infants are a mess, elementary!joel being the best dad/husband in the world, talks of being drunk/alcohol consumption)

wc: <1k

a/n: sorry for the delayed wait on this, anon! i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless 🫶🏼

series masterlist | joel masterlist

“Are you sure you’ve got everything?” you asked, standing by the front door in a “going out” outfit for the first time since your daughter had been born six months ago. “I can cancel.”

Joel shook his head sternly as he and Sarah sat on the couch, Iris fast asleep in his arms.

“It’s your best friend’s birthday,” he said. “I won’t hear the end of it from her if she suspects you cancelled all because you don’t think I can handle a six-month old.”

“Of course I think you can handle it,” you said, offering him a sweet smile as you grabbed your purse. “I just feel guilty—“

“Baby,” he sighed, tilting his head at you. “Iris ain’t gonna remember you goin’ out one time when she was six months old.”

“I know, but—“

“No buts,” he said. “Get your fine ass out there, and take a couple shots for me while you’re at it.”

“Besides,” Sarah chimed in, pulling your eyes to hers. “I’m here as backup. Go have fun for once.”

Letting out a deep exhale, you nodded, agreeing to bury your guilt over leaving your daughter behind for the first time. “Fine. But if you need me—“

“Baby,” Joel chuckled. “We got it. Go get hammered.”

Walking over to him, you leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. I love you.”

“Love you more,” he said, tilting your chin so that he could steal a quick peck on your lips, careful not to smudge your lipstick. “Go on now before they start honkin’ and wake baby girl up.”

“Alright,” you said, walking over to the door. “Sarah, don’t let your dad try to cook anything. I’d hate to come back to ashes.”

“Already on it.”

“Sarah!” Joel called from the upstairs nursery, Iris on the changing table in front of him making the biggest and grossest mess he’d ever encountered in his tenure as a father. “We got any more wipes?”

Sarah was already laughing when she walked in, carrying a new pack of wipes in hand before she witnessed the scene in front of her and started to gag.

“I’m never having a kid,” she said, covering her nose with her t-shirt.

“This ain’t the usual,” Joel said, shaking his head as he tried his best to clean up his very wiggly daughter. “Stay still, baby girl. It’s—Jesus, Iris. How’d it get in your hair?”

“I’m not even sure a bath will fix this,” Sarah said, looking disgusted. “I think we have to take her back and get a brand new baby.”

“Your mom would notice,” he said. “Otherwise, ain’t too bad an idea.”

After a thorough cleaning that left Joel scarred, Iris was set down in her activity chair down in the living room, her favorite nonsensical cartoon on while Sarah helped Joel cook some mac and cheese for dinner, her babbles filing the home.

“And to think she thought the house would catch on fire if I tried to cook,” he said, smiling at the thought of you.

“Well, in fairness it has almost happened before,” she said, earning an offended look from her father. “You don’t remember the fork in the microwave incident?”

“Shit,” he cursed, shaking his head. “You’re right. But in my defense, someone left it in my takeout box.”

“Yeah, you.” Joel chuckled, amused by her wit. “But to pad your stats, we can lie and say you made dinner tonight.”

“No, she’d expect me to start cookin’ then,” he said. “I may have pulled a miracle tonight, but my battin’ average ain’t great. Do you want to take the chance of house burnin’ down?”

“Good point.”

“Exactly. You’re takin’ the credit for this work of art.” Joel pointed at the pot of artificial cheese goodness. “How in the world am I hungry after cleaning up Iris’s shi—“

“Dad,” she winced. “I just got the image out of my mind.”

“If I gotta remember it, you do too, baby girl.”

It was midnight by the time you stumbled in, waving your best friend and her designated driver-slash-husband goodbye as you cracked the front door open before heading inside. To your surprise, Joel was still awake and rocking Iris to sleep in his arms, though judging by the heavy blink of his eyelids, he was barely hanging on.

“Hey baby,” he said with a smile as you stumbled your way over to the couch as quietly and gracefully as you could to sit down beside him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “How was it?”

“I’m drunk,” you confessed, your voice raspy from singing along to the club’s music. “And hungry.”

“Well, lucky for you, Sarah made dinner,” he said, standing up with Iris and setting her down in her rocker before holding his hand out for you. “Come on, you drunkard.”

“How were the girls?” you asked, clasping your hand in his as he guided you to the kitchen table to have a seat while he warmed up tonight’s leftovers.

“A piece of cake,” he said, shooting you a smile from over his shoulder. “Iris had one very messy diaper incident, but besides that, she was an angel. Just like her mom.”

“Hey, I won’t be having any messy diaper incidents for another fifty years or so,” you joked, earning another grin. “You gonna love me when I’m wearing a diaper?”

“Baby, I’m older than you,” he reminded. “If you’re wearin’ a diaper, so am I.”

“Oh, I can’t wait,” you mused with a wide, drunken grin. “You can save your payback for then, have Iris see how it feels.”

“I like the way you think, baby,” he chuckled. “But I love her too much to make her go through what I went through earlier. I think I’m gonna need therapy after that.”

You stood up, finding your way over to him to wrap your arms around his waist and hug his back, too in love with him not to touch him.

“Thank you for tonight. I didn’t know how much I needed it,” you said, humming as Joel’s hand lowered from the pot on the stove to run over your forearm wrapped around his middle. “How about next weekend I watch the girls so you can have a night out?”

“Maybe one of these days we’ll both get to go out,” he chuckled. “Until then, I’m good stayin’ at home with my girls.”

[wildandsmile]

Summary: When your brother leaves for America to tend to some pressing business, he found himself in need of a favor, which you were unaware of. Little did you realize that this favor came with an unexpected twist – a pink-haired man tasked with monitoring your every move.

Tw: Weird club group , Bad pick up lines, kidnapping, stalking, unknown backstabbing and guns

Wc: 4.6k

Kinks: Fingering, Degrading, Cream-pie, Praising, Sir Name, Squirting, Exhibition, Sub Reader, Dom Reo, unprotected sex, penetrative sex (p in v), humiliation, Choking, Rough Sex and Knife play.

An: Kinktober is still going to be finished but I will only do my days instead of all 31 by myself, hope y’all can understand also sorry if the story weird I just wanted to get something out.

Enjoy Kinktober day 12!

Your older brother, a legendary gang leader in the heart of Tokyo, certainly brought some complications into your life. No more regular school for you, as he worried about a target on your back, so homeschooling it was. But the real headache was that everyone knew your face and your connection to him. It felt like trouble followed you everywhere, with people trying to get to him through you. So, you can imagine his frustration when he had to jet off to America, leaving you here, all alone and unprotected.

He was in a real bind, torn between his trip to America and leaving you all alone. So, as he sat there in his chair, puffing on a cigarette, he suddenly remembered that Toman mentioned wanting an alliance. Your brother wasn't one to make alliances lightly, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He picked up the phone and dialed them, striking a deal: he'd form an alliance, but only if they watched over you while he was gone. They didn't hesitate to jump on the opportunity.

And that's how you ended up standing at your front door, wearing nothing but an oversized shirt and pink panties, as you sleepily rubbed your eyes. There, you were greeted by a tall, pink-haired boy with star-shaped scars on the corners of his mouth. At first, you thought he must have had the wrong house, looking like he came to pick someone up for prom or something. But then it clicked – your brother had mentioned a pink-haired guy named Sanzu coming over to keep an eye on you. You couldn't quite recall the details because you'd zoned out when your brother explained it, something about him watching over you.

You barely had time to process it before you were shoved aside. Turning around, you found the guy already making himself at home, feet on your table and arms spread out on the edge of your couch. It irritated you, but you set that aside and approached him. After closing the door, you stood in front of him, hands on your hips, and decided it was time to lay down some ground rules.

"If you're going to be my bodyguard or whatever, we need to set some ground rules," you asserted, tilting your chin upward, trying to exude authority. The pink-haired man raised an eyebrow, and you continued, "Rule one: No breaking or messing up my or my brother's stuff, and get your feet off the table. Rule two: Don't follow me everywhere I go; I'll text you if I need your help or something. Rule thre—"

Your words were abruptly cut off as you noticed the man aiming a gun directly at your heart.

"Now you listen, princess," he declared, his voice oozing authority, "I'm the one who sets the rules here. I decide when you can come and go, who you can have over, and whose say matters. Your life is in my hands, so you'd better not get on my bad side. Do you understand ?"

The gun remained pointed at you as he spoke, but you couldn't help but roll your eyes. You started to walk away, but his gunshot into the floor stopped you in your tracks. "I said, do you understand me?" he growled, this time with a harsher and louder tone. You reluctantly turned back towards him and gave a quick nod, but in that instant, he fired at a vase right behind you.

"Use your words," he demanded, and you quickly forced out a hesitant, "Yes, sir."

With that, you made your way to your room and flopped onto your bed, pondering why your brother would choose a wild pink-haired lunatic, brandishing a gun at the slightest provocation, to protect his baby sister. You couldn't help but admit that the guy had some charm, but you quickly dismissed that notion from your mind, reminding yourself that you had school the next day.

Morning came, and your alarm blared, jolting you out of bed. You began your usual routine with some light stretches, a soothing hot bath, and a touch of makeup. However, when you emerged from your room into the dining hall, you were met with an unexpected sight. There were no servants awaiting your arrival, and there certainly wasn't any breakfast on the table. The only thing in sight was Sanzu, sprawled across the dining table like a model for a magazine cover, casually toying with your dartboard.

"What are you up to, and where are all the servants?" you inquired as you approached the man whose name you still hadn't obtained. He remained silent, seemingly oblivious to your presence, which was starting to irk you.

"I know you can hear me, Mister," you insisted, letting the last word linger as you searched for an unflattering nickname. Just as you were pondering, he finally spoke, "My name's Sanzu, and as for your servants, I sent them away. Can't be too trusting of anyone now that your brother's gone, not even me," he explained while lounging on the table.

You let out a sigh of frustration before heading to the kitchen to start preparing breakfast. Fortunately, you weren't so much of a spoiled rich kid that you couldn't make your own food. After about an hour, you returned to find Sanzu seated at the table, knife and fork in hand, as if he'd been eagerly awaiting his meal.

You were on the verge of ignoring him, but as you settled into your seat, something zipped past your cheek. You turned to see a dart, and it was clear who was behind it – Sanzu, still facing the other way. You rolled your eyes and returned to the kitchen, offering a middle finger salute as you mumbled, "If you wanted some, you could have just asked, asshole."

With a plate of food for the irritating pink-haired man in hand, you placed it in front of him and returned to your own seat. You closed your eyes to say a quick prayer, which seemed to get on Sanzu's nerves. He looked at you and commented, "You know there's no one listening, right?"

You gazed at him, your eyebrow raised and a hint of annoyance in your expression. "And how would you know that?" you questioned.

His response was laced with a bitter laugh, "If there were a god, neither you, your brother, nor any other gang member would be in this mess. We'd be living peaceful, happy, and healthy lives, but here we are." With that, he got up and walked away.

You decided to brush off Sanzu's earlier comment and resumed your prayer before eagerly digging into your meal. Once you had finished, you retreated to your study to join your teacher for the day's online lesson. This had been your monotonous routine for nearly three weeks – no going outside, no friends over, just making breakfast for both you and Sanzu, then retreating to your study for the day's schooling.

Truth be told, you were growing tired of the routine and decided it was time for a little adventure, away from your exasperating bodyguard. After your lesson, you informed Sanzu that you were going to bed and that he didn't need to worry about dinner. He offered a quick nod and waved you off, engrossed in flipping through various TV channels.

Back in your room, you readied yourself for your secret plan. You gathered your phone, wallet, makeup, different shoes, and a change of clothes, determined to slip out unnoticed.

Once you had all your essentials in hand, you called your friends, making sure they were exactly where they told you to meet, ensuring the cameras wouldn't catch you or the getaway car. After receiving confirmation that all was clear, you quietly descended to your brother's study. For some peculiar reason, this was the only room in the house the cameras couldn't see.

You carefully slipped out of a nearby window, evading any prying eyes, and managed to reach your friend's car without being detected. The moment you hopped in, your friend sped away as quickly as possible. And that's how you ended up at this club, indulging in drinks and dancing your heart out. It had been a while since you'd had this much fun and freedom.

As always, there had to be someone ready to ruin the fun, and in this case, it was a group of someones - a mix of girls and boys who approached you and your friends, attempting to flirt with you while delivering some of the lamest jokes and cheesy pickup lines you'd ever heard. The once-joyful atmosphere was now tainted, and you were ready to take a seat.

However, just as you turned to walk away, one of the girls grasped your wrist, halting your exit, and tried to reassure you, saying, "Come on, doll face, don't be shy. We're just trying to have a little fun." You gazed at her with a twisted expression of disgust, quickly sizing her up from head to toe. In a harsh tone, you retorted, "Let me go." Despite your threatening words, she still didn't release you. Frustration mounting, you did what any reasonable person would do and delivered a punch right to her throat, causing her to stumble back in pain.

Your brother had imparted some skills to you, though nothing too extreme. Yet now, all that training paid off. With your friends in tow, you decided it was time to leave the group that had spoiled your night. Before you departed, your bestie turned back, playfully tazed the troublesome girl, and stuck her tongue out, saying, "Gotcha, bitch."

You all stopped at a nearby restaurant for a quick meal, even though it didn't take long since it was already dark. While eating, a nagging feeling persisted, as if someone was watching you, but as you scanned the surroundings, you couldn't spot anyone, so you brushed it off.

Eventually, you and the girls paid for your food and began walking back to the car. Yet that eerie sensation of being observed didn't dissipate. You whispered to the group, huddled close, expressing your concerns. They all agreed that something felt off. With a quick nod of agreement, you all broke into a sprint, heading for the safety of your car.

You arrived in no time, your heart racing as you piled into the car. Locking the doors for safety, your friend ignited the engine, and within moments, smoke began to fill the car. The acrid scent immediately tipped you off to the nature of the gas – a sleeping agent. You urgently instructed your friend to open the door, but no matter how hard you all tried, it wouldn't budge, and by then, it was too late.

As you regained consciousness, you found yourself face-to-face with a masked man. Despite your efforts, your limbs felt immobilized, and your struggles proved futile. The man stepped back and chuckled, remarking, "You're a feisty one, aren't you?"

He then turned to converse with another man in the room, their hushed words leaving you in the dark. Letting out a long sigh, you realized this wasn't your first kidnapping experience. But, for the first time, you felt a tinge of fear because your brother wasn't around to protect you.

He then turned to confer with another man in the room, speaking in hushed tones that left you in the dark. Exhaling deeply, you realized this wasn't your first kidnapping, but it was the first time you felt a creeping sense of unease, as your protective brother was nowhere to be found.

"What kind of games?" you managed to ask as sweat trickled down your face. The masked man remained silent for a moment, only dragging the knife's tip along your bare thighs. When he reached the part of your skirt that covered the rest of your legs, he paused, gazing up at you with a wicked grin.

"Oh, the fun," he purred as he sliced through your skirt. You recoiled, and the other two assailants closed in. Fear began to well up inside you, and it was only when one of them placed a hand on your shoulder that you couldn't contain it any longer. You screamed, "Help! Somebody, help me, please!"

The masked man with the knife pressed the blade against your skin, whispering sinister words before he was abruptly interrupted. The door burst open, and all eyes turned to the entrance. There, like a knight in shining armor, stood Sanzu.

"Hey, princess, close your eyes for me, won't you?" Sanzu's voice broke through, and as he leaned against the door frame, you obeyed, shutting your eyes. Soon after, you heard a cacophony of noises and groans, and then the sensation of your hands being released and your body being lifted.

As you opened your eyes, you found Sanzu carrying you. Glancing back at the guys who had been your captors, they were sprawled out on the floor. When you turned your gaze back to Sanzu, he was looking down at you with a radiant smile, blood trickling from the sides of his head, and you could tell it wasn't his blood.

Finally, an exit came into view. Sanzu gently set you down and looked you directly in the eyes, saying, "Stay. I need to settle some business with those guys from earlier, okay?" You didn't say anything; you merely nodded in response. With that, he turned and walked back to where you had come from.

·٠•●🩷𝕾𝖆𝖓𝖟𝖚 𝕻𝕺𝖁 🩷●•٠·

He returned to the cold, dimly lit hallway and reentered the room, finding the men still unconscious. Taking his time, he carefully moved them all to the room's center and began tying them up. Nearby, a bucket of water caught his eye, and he grabbed it, emptying its contents over the group of men. Predictably, they awoke, wriggling and squirming, which only elicited a chuckle from Sanzu.

The men turned their gaze toward him, their voices filled with confusion. "What the hell are you doing, man? This wasn't part of the deal," one of them protested. Sanzu merely rolled his eyes and approached, pressing a gun to the man's forehead. "And I don't recall giving you permission to touch her either, so it seems we've both broken our deal in some way," he retorted, increasing the pressure on the gun.

The man from the other side attempted to speak but was abruptly silenced when the gun went off. His lifeless body fell limp, and a pool of blood began to form beneath him.

"I can't stand it when people ask me dumb questions," Sanzu declared, his gun aimed at the remaining man, and another gunshot rang out. He had systematically taken down all the men in the room except the one standing before him.

The man trembled, his heart racing, and Sanzu reveled in the fear that danced across the man's face. It was this thrill that had drawn him to the world of gangs in the first place. However, his excitement waned when the man began to shout at him, "You're a freakin' monster, nothing but a sick freak!"

In response, Sanzu let out a long, manic laugh and danced around like a madman. Once he regained his composure, he fixed his gaze on the man and explained, "Of course, I'm a monster. That's why I orchestrated all of this – to appear as a hero in her eyes, so she couldn't see the true man-eater that I am."

The man attempted to speak again but was silenced by a bullet through his head. With a sigh, Sanzu returned to the door, making a swift phone call, "Hey, Rindou, send the clean-up team to my location." He hung up and then made his way back to you.

·٠•●🩷𝕰𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝕻𝕺𝖁 + 𝕿𝖎𝖒𝖊 𝕾𝖐𝖎𝖕🩷●•٠·

You were back at the house, and in a hurry, you headed straight to your room, shutting the door behind you. Unbeknownst to you, Sanzu had followed you, and it wasn't until you closed the door to your room that you noticed his presence. You quickly opened the door and pulled him into your room, asking, "Do you mind staying with me, at least until I calm down?"

Rolling his eyes, he gave you a quick nod and headed over to your bed. He plopped down on it and patted the spot beside him, and you interpreted that as his invitation to join him. With that, you closed your door and made your way to his side.

The two of you watched TV for a while, enjoying each other's company. The atmosphere shifted when a steamy scene played out on the TV. You couldn't help but catch yourself glancing at Sanzu and then back at the screen. Yet, every time you looked at him, he appeared unfazed, his attention firmly fixed on the television.

The moment you glanced at him again and found him staring back, a shiver ran down your spine. It was only then that you finally spoke up. "You know, if you keep undressing me with your eyes, I might just freeze to death," he teased, sporting a cheesy grin that left you blushing.

"I wasn't undressing you with my eyes," you countered, trying to mask your embarrassment, "I was just looking at you to pick something out as a gift for saving me." You couldn't help but fib through your teeth, but Sanzu wasn't buying it.

He pinned you to the bed, now hovering over you, and declared, "Now, come on, princess, no need to lie." You attempted to protest, but he silenced you by pressing his lips against yours. The kiss didn't linger for long, but it left your mind feeling hazy, like pudding.

"How about you let me help you forget about what happened today? Consider it my reward and your stress reliever. What do you say?" Sanzu inquired, peering deeply into your eyes. In response, you gave a quick nod, prompting him to kiss your forehead and neck while uttering, "Just remember, you asked for this, princess."

·٠•●🩷𝕾𝖒𝖚𝖙 🩷●•٠·

You keep your eyes closed as you groan and wriggle under his touch, savoring the feeling of the knife and his cold, numb fingers. You groan amusingly as you snap and trap the hand of the man with the pinker hair between your thighs.

The man replies, "Mmm, seems like you're ready for some fun," as he runs the blade of the knife down your stomach and watches you shudder with excitement. With a low voice, he says, "But first, we need to get you out of these clothes."

With that, he begins to carefully start cutting your large shirt with his knife, showing your exposed skin inch by inch.

After removing your shirt, he will straddle you while drawing patterns on your chest with a knife. "You know how much I love to play with you, don't you?" He grins and leans in for a kiss, then bites your neck. Slowly, teasely, he moves his free hand down your body in the direction of your underwear. "Let's see how much you can take" He adds, before sliding a finger under the elastic of your underwear and letting it go with a snap is other hand now setting the knife black on the table.

You recoil in horror and hiss as the stinging sensation hits your skin.

As he watches you lean into her touch, he chuckles gently and watches you with hungry eyes. He grins down at you and slides a finger under your pant elastic, rubbing his fingers gently between your folds. "You're so eager," he says. "But patience is a virtue, and I want to savor every moment," he says as he leans down to bite your nipple and sucks it into his mouth, setting aside the knife.

He mutters gently, "Mmm, you feel so good," as she continues to glide his hands expertly through your slickness, and his breath is hot against your skin. "You're so moist and so silky...You feel incredible under my fingers, but I think it's time for you to show me how badly you want it," he adds, sitting up and moving away with a sly grin on his face. Let me hear you grovel for it. "Beg me to touch you again and again."

You look into his eyes with desperation as you whisper, and you groan as you realize you won't be able to feel his touch again. "P-Please don't stop, I need your touch…please touch me. I'm pleading with you.

He laughs at your pleading and kisses you passionately, his fingers returning to your swollen clit. As he pulls away from the kiss, saying, "That's a good little pet," he watches you pant and wriggle against his, his touch remaining steady despite your throbbing core. To which he replied, "But I want to hear you say it louder."

If you don't respond, he'll get more aggressive, dropping his fingers to circle your wet hole and gently teasing it as your face contorts with pleasure.

Beg for it, already. As he asks, "How badly do you want to come?" his hands move rapidly and tightly against you, sparking a fire deep within you.

"Fuckk…Please don't cancel my trip; I really need to be here. You start to scream, but it doesn't help; he pulls away his hand and stands by the side of the bed.

Sanzu's mouth curved into an alluring grin as his fingers traced the curves of your trembling stomach, inching tantalizingly closer to the flimsy cloth that barely covered your alluring curves. He eagerly drew it down, longing to feel his hand disappear behind the plush velvet. As his fingertips brushed over your tantalizingly bare thighs, they inched ever so little closer to your yearning core, and your breath caught in your throat.

What's the point, "Come on don’t tell me I turned you into a dumb slut already yet, princess?" He poked his finger inside your cunt, laughing at how tightly the walls gripped his finger.

Knowing that keeping your tongue quiet was going to be impossible, you said, "Fuck," but you didn't want the moment to end since you were so attracted to him. You needed him badly. With your eyes closed, you muttered, "Fuck, Sanzu," again.

You began making low whimpers and groans as he pushed it in and out of you, causing your breathing to become irregular. When Sanzu inserted his middle finger and ramped up her speed, you tossed your head back in an instant because you wanted to hear more of the amazing noises you created particularly for him. And he was completely content with everything. You started repeating her name under your breath when he got to the portion of the speech that always made you roll your eyes back in your head.

He said softly, "You're making such a pretty mess princess, look at you." It was the mix of his chilling voice and deft hands that gave you the old familiar feeling of dread.

I like how flexible you are in my hands. He gushed, "You take me so well," as he raised your skirt fabric once more to examine your cunt with his free hand. As they dripped from your thighs, he saw that your fluids were soaking through his hand and collecting at your feet. Unable to contain his hilarity, he let out a whistle at the location.

You lowered your sight to the place where he met your body and moaned in shock because you couldn't believe how soaked you were for him. If you thought Sanzu turned you on, seeing your body react to his touch was a whole other experience.

While his enormous, thick fingers stretched out your cunt in the alley, all you could hear were wet moans. The ease with which his fingers glided into your cunt was almost mortifying. You would feel guilty about it if you weren't getting fucked out by him, but you didn't care.

"I'm- I'm so close! Close your eyes and dig your nails into his shoulder blades as you beg him not to stop.

Sanzu spoke softly in your ear, "Cum for me, princess," as you closed your eyes and agape your mouth in search of your high. You were on the edge of passing out from the exertion, yet he didn't stop his moves on your body until you practically begged him to.

After you've squirted all over his hands, he'll proudly observe your messy state as he pulls out each finger and brings it to his mouth to be sucked clean. Your eyes were glistening and your lips were bitten because you were too tired to talk. Your tits were almost visible now that your dress barely covered your upper torso.

You finally took a deep breath, but before you could adjust to his massive frame, he lined up his cock with your now too sensitive cunt and drove his throbbing cock within. You wept because carrying his presence within you was driving you crazy. After rubbing your clit in rough circles with his left palm, Sanzu made a series of low groans. And his right made its way to your thirst, landing softly on your throat and making you and Sanzu feel like you were about to cum.

You look great like a filthy little cum slut ready to get filled, but what you don't get to cum is what makes you look great. So feel free to cry on my cock while I decide if you can continue to breathe. You whimpered as your nails dug painfully into his wrist. Slowly, your disorientation returned. When I tell you to, princess, you'll cum on my cock. While his mouth was close to yours, he started talking. His voice cracked with effort, and you could hear him taking small breaths.

The messed up expression on your face as you moaned, "M'mm yes sir, promise not to cum until I'm told" only served to make Sanzu more aggressive.

After giving you a couple more sharp thrusts, Sanzu says, "Good girl," again. When he hits the sweet spot again and time again, a sound like a scream comes from deep within your chest. He let go of your neck a little while ago.

"Cum." Your eyes suddenly went white as the demand reached your ears. While you were having an orgasmic experience, you could feel his hips jitter against yours.

He gently backed away, admiring the sight of you straining to stand up with your legs spread wide and his sperm seeping out of you into the cold ground. After cleaning you up the two of you lay in bed looking at each other and you say “I never thought we would get to this point” with that Sanzu lets out a hard laugh before pulling you into a deep kiss and goes “Never did I”. And with in that moment the room to your door opens is you brother and without he say “What fuck is this”

[babydollmarauders]

El!hughes au, taking her to the lake house for the first time and Jack just wanting her all to himself and not letting anyone else hold her

i sit in the living room of the lake house, snuggled into Jack’s side, watching El sleep as he holds her. we never told his parents and Quinn what time we would be arriving, just that we would get here sometime today. Luke having joined us for the long drive back to Michigan. we didn’t wanna put a time limit since we didn’t know how often we would have to stop to change diapers and feed Eleanor. but i guess we happened to arrive about the same time Quinn’s flight got in, because Jim and Ellen have been nowhere to be found since we arrived.

the front door opens, and Jack and i look up to see Quinn stepping through the doorway, their parents got on his trail.

“Quinny!” i cheer, standing to give him a hug.

“hey, twinkle toes!” he exclaims, wrapping his arms tight around me. it’s no sooner than a second after we pull apart that he speaks again. “where’s my niece?”

“Jacky has her.” i inform him, pointing to my husband who sits on the couch with an excited grin. this will be Quinn’s first time meeting Eleanor in person, having never gotten a long enough break in his game schedule to fly out and meet our now three month old.

Quinn smiles and makes his way over to the couch, sitting down beside his brother and gazing at the baby.

“god, she looks so much like Jack as a baby.” he whispers, seemingly to himself more than anyone.

“i know! it makes me feel like i’m holding baby Jack again when i hold her.” Ellen smiles, standing over the back of the couch to look at her granddaughter.

“can i hold her?” Quinn asks, looking between Jack and i.

“of course!” “not right now.”

i look at Jack with furrowed brows.

“Jack, let your brother hold his niece!” i scold him, making him frown and hand Quinn the baby.

“i was holding her.” he pouts as i sit back down beside him. i smack his arm lightly.

“it’s his first time meeting her. you get to hold her all the time. don’t be rude.” i roll my eyes before setting them back on Quinn, who looks down at his niece with a soft smile.

“you guys did good.” he tells us, making me giggle.

“well, someone had to give mom a grandchild because lord knows you two weren’t doing it.” Jack jokes.

“i’m eighteen!” Luke defends himself, throwing his hands up in the air. “i have plenty of time. besides, don’t act like you planned for El.”

“oh shush, boys!” Ellen laughs. “Quinn and Luke have plenty of time to have children if they choose to do so. i’m content with this one right here.”

she scoops Eleanor up from Quinn’s arms, making Jack scoff.

“hey! i wanted my baby back.” he exclaims.

“Jack, share the baby, please.” i tell him, wrapping my arms around his neck and hanging onto him. “you’ll have plenty of time with her for the next eighteen years, i promise.”

**

i walk down the stairs in the morning, in search of my missing husband and child. it doesn’t take me long to find Jack out on the back porch, sitting in an adirondack chair with Eleanor in his arms.

i slide the glass door open, stepping out into the sunshine and find that he’s not out here alone. Jim sits beside him in a matching chair. i smile, standing behind them and watching silently as they discuss Jack’s season, which just ended. El starts to fuss in Jack’s arms, letting out tiny huffs as she moves around to try and get comfortable.

“here, let me take her.” Jim says, holding his arms out for the baby.

“no, i got her, dad.” Jack tells him, switching El around in his arms. she calms down but i can’t help but roll my eyes in annoyed humor at Jack’s stinginess with her.

**

we all sit around a bonfire, Jack holding Eleanor as i make him a s’more. he’s holding her up in the air, watching her grin in delight as he brings her back down before repeating the process, and i can’t help but smile lovingly at my little family.

“hey Jack, can you help me with rekindling the fire?” Quinn asks.

“uh, i’ve got El.” Jack responds, making me chuckle at his resistance.

“i can hold her, Hughesy.” Trevor tells him, holding his hands out to take the baby.

“nah, it’s okay. why don’t you help Quinner?” Jack asks, and Trevor just nods, standing and making his way over to help Quinn.

“Jack, babe, you gotta let people hold her. it’s how she’ll bond with them.” i tell him. “don’t you want her to be close with her grandparents, and her uncles? and even her uncle Trevor?”

“well, yeah. but she’s my baby.” he replies, and i give him an understanding smile.

“i know she is, love.”

“i just, i know i get her for longer than they do. i understand that. but, i go on roadies and i feel so bad leaving her. i just want her to myself for a while.” he explains. “i’m sure, in a few more days, i’ll be happy to let them hold her so i can do other things. but for now, i just want my baby.”

[taka-sakamaki]

My Pretty Princess

Game: Honkai Star Rail

Modern Au

Wife Himeko x Rich CEO Reader

In which Himeko comforts the reader after having a hard day and the next day, reader spoils Himeko rotten.

Warnings: Slight teasing from Himeko

The sound of cars passing by and the soft music playing resounded in the enormous house of Himeko and her lover. She sat down on a chair, mindlessly watching TV as she waited for you to arrive. Shortly after, she heard a car pull up in the drive way, a smile making it's way onto her face. She had just made dinner for you as she knew how hard you worked and she wanted to ensure that you're well taken care of.

You approached Himeko, a tired sigh leaving your lips as you threw down your car keys and immediately made your way into Himeko's opened arms. "Rough day?", she asked as she combed her fingers through your hair. You nodded and buried your face deeper into her chest, mumbling incoherently. "It's okay if you don't wanna talk about it. Just relax and eat dinner. I'll bring it out".

You laid on the couch, your body becoming numb after countless days of working nonstop. Your eyes opened as the smell of delicious food hit your nose. She set down your plate with a glass of wine, taking a seat next to you. "There, I made your favourite. Eat up and then we'll take a shower together".

Whilst eating, you told Himeko about your day. There's always someone messing up your plans but that's all sorted out today. You fired the person as he was unreliable and lazy. "Since it's all over, why don't you take a break tomorrow? It's been a while since you've last taken a break and I missed you".

You felt guilty. She does so much for you and all you do is work, come home, fall asleep then get up the next morning and repeat the same thing. Not even having a chance to talk to your wife but taking one day off wouldn't hurt, right? "Okay, I'll call Bronya and tell her to take care of everything tomorrow". She smiled and watched you eat out the rest of the food before taking your plate back to the sink.

The two of then took a bath together, she massaged shoulders that made you let out the most animalistic sounds ever. Then after, she did her night routine while you immediately went to bed, falling asleep right away. "Good night my love. I know how hard you work so you deserve this rest", she pulled the blanket over you both and soon dozed off as well.

Himeko was awaken the next morning by light kisses being placed on her face. She was greeted by your adorable smile and a tray of food next to her. "Good morning love! I made you breakfast". She looked at you in disbelief.

"I thought you'd be sleeping. Why did you wake up early?".

"To make you breakfast".

"It's supposed to be yo-my day off I know but it's also yours as well. You do everything around here and I want you to take a break as well which is why we have alot planned for today so eat up". For some reason, Himeko wouldn't let you hire maids. Yes you did have your own gardender but she doesn't like the idea of other women cooking and taking care of you.

She ate all the food, feeding you some in the progress. Then after she went to the bathroom and the two of you brushed your teeth together, playfully messing with each other. Since you've waken up early and did the chores, none was left for her, so she got ready for the special day you planned for her. "What's so special about today, my love?". She and you made your way to the car, with you opening the passenger side.

"We're going shopping!". Her eyes lit up. She hasn't been shopping for months and she needed new clothes, shoes, jewelry, new everything and you were going to buy it all for her. Even buying a few other things she'd like.

You drove to your first stop and she practically ran inside like a little child. "Hey wait up!". You caught up with her, almost out of breath. Her eyes scanned the luxurious store, seeing all kinds of famous brands. "Hey", you call out to her. She turned around and wrapped her arms around your neck. "I want to you pick whatever you want. Today is your day, now go crazy", you pecked her red nose. That was all she needed to hear. Although she was a well composed person, which woman would say no to shopping? Especially if their lover are willing to spoil them.

She browsed around the store, heading to the dress section first. Their were different kinds of dresses, all of different sizes and patterns. In less than three minutes, she already selected four different kinds. "Ooh! Can I buy that one as well?". She pointed to a backless black dress.

"Anything you want darling". She nodded and pick that as well. Next was the top section. Like the dresses, their were many kinds of tops; all with different brands. She ended up picking a few of them before sliding into the skirt/pants section. She didn't like any of them, as they were all too plain. "We'll try another store then", you kissed her head.

"No, it's okay. Come with me". She grabbed your hand and pulled you with her to the underwear section, which also sold robes and lingeries. Your eyes widened as she picked up a few. Each lacey with a different colors.

"Come on, don't be shy. Tell me which one you'd like to see me in~".

"I-um-well... all of them? Just buy all of them". She chuckled at your redden face and added it to her heap of clothing. She took one last look before nodding.

"Yep, I'm done".

"Are you sure?". She nodded enthusiastically as you payed with your card. It made your heart warm to see her so excited over shopping. You placed the bags in the trunk before driving to a few other stores buying jewelleries, shoes and bags. By the end of the trip, it was night. The last stop was a fancy restaurant you had made reservations for.

Upon arriving, her eyes glittered to see how enormous the building was. "I've never seen this before, is it a new restaurant?".

"Yep! It recently opened up".

"It must be expensive".

"Nothing that I can't take care of", you gave her a wink before stepping out of the car, opening her door. The two of you headed inside and sat at your booked table which was on the second floor that barely had people. "Is this the first class floor?", she giggled.

"Kind of. It's more expensive since the food thay serves on this floor is from all over the world".

"Well why didn't you book one on the first floor?".

"Because you deserve the best".

She smiled at her statement. Even after years of marriage, you still knew how to make her blush. The waiter came and took your orders and the dinner went smoothly. You told her all about work and your plans for the future and she even brought up having kids, which was one of your plans for the future. After the wonderful dinner, the two of you drove home and unloaded all the bags. She knew she had a whole bunch of packing up to do.

A movie night was planned out for her as well but a few hours later, clothes were scattered on the floor and the only thing that was heard throughout the apartment was the faint sound of the TV and her delicate moans as you gave her the last gift planned for today.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Whumptober snippet

we’re still several days off from Whumptober, but i thought i would post some snippets occasionally to tide y’all over. this is what y’all are in store for!

this is from day one!

—————

Perrine had a nightmare about freezing to death once.

It was the first winter with the Lark as a group, and she didn’t know if they, a bunch of very young children without adult supervision, could survive on their own.

In the nightmare, there was a blizzard raging outside, making it impossible to get more firewood. Of course, there was no need to get more, as they had stocked up generously the day before.

However, they went through the firewood surprisingly quickly, and soon, there were only a few logs left.

Panic began to set in.

Clémentine said they would brave the wind and snow outside and go get more firewood from the pile they kept in the small shed just off of the side of their cottage. While they were gone, Perrine, Cole, and Kingsley started to hack up any piece of wooden furniture they could- chairs, tables, shelves, even parts of their couch. They tossed it all into the fire, watching it burn, but they were still rapidly running out of fuel, and it was only getting colder. Worst of all, Clémentine had yet to return.

It had been thirty minutes.

Perrine told Cole and Kingsley that she would go find Clémentine, so she suited up in her thickest furs and stepped out into the white abyss waiting outside their door. With one hand on the house to keep it in sight, she began to slowly trudge around its perimeter. She was soon facing the direction of the shed, though she could not see it, even though it couldn’t have been more than fifteen feet away. It took all of her courage to pull her hand away from the house and fully embrace the whirlwind.

She found the shed with surprising ease. Or, more accurately, it found her, as she bumped right into it. Regardless, she had reached her destination with only minimal difficulty, and she peeked inside.

Clémentine was nowhere in sight.

She saw the collection of firewood, chopped by herself the day before, dusted in frost. And she saw the shuffled footsteps in the snow, a telltale sign of someone having been here. But she didn’t see Clémentine.

“Clém?” Perrine had called out, but her voice was quickly swallowed up by the storm. Even still, she tried again, “Clémentine?”

No response, aside from the howling of the wind.

Perrine was worried. Where was Clémentine? Were they okay? She was starting to panic, but she pulled on the reins of her composure and chomped down on the bit, choking back her rising anxiety. She needed to stay calm.

Maybe Clémentine had already gone back to the cabin. Maybe they just missed each other; it wouldn’t be surprising in how limited the visibility was.

Perrine collected as many logs as she could carry and started back toward the cottage. For a terrifying moment, she thought she had gone in the wrong direction, but then the wooden walls swam up through the pelting sheets of white. Home.

She shambled her away to the front door and heaved it open against the wind. Scrambling, she hurried inside.

It was dark. The air was cold and silent. Her own breath formed a cloud in front of her face, even though that shouldn’t have been possible. She was back inside, she was safe, they were safe.

And yet…she was cold.

The logs in her arms fell from her grasp, clattering to the floor. She began to look around, desperate. Her mind was foggy, and she didn’t know why. Anxiety, she thought. That was all.

It wasn’t difficult to locate her friends.

Cole and Kingsley were huddled together in front of the hearth, but it wasn’t their own desperate need for warmth that had them pressed so close, rather the frost that had accumulated over their bodies, freezing them together in their final moments and making it impossible for them to pull away, lest they tear the skin of the other with them. Their flesh was faded to a horrible blue color, rime clinging to their hair, and their faces… Oh, their faces…

Cole had their eyes screwed shut, tears still frozen on their cheeks as they had been sobbing until their last breath. Kingsley’s eyes, on the other hand, were impossibly wide, glued to the front door, like he was waiting for her to come back.

The fire was burned out into embers. Dead, just like Kingsley and Cole.

Perrine was in shock. How did this happen? Had she really been out in the storm for that long?

She tried to rouse them, but it was futile. They were long gone.

Strangely, she didn’t remember crying. She wasn’t sure why. But she did, vividly, remember the terror.

The cold was coming for her next.

Putting the corpses of her friends out of her mind, Perrine scrambled to start a new fire, but she couldn’t feel her hands. Her fingers fumbled clumsily, unable to grasp the match no matter how many times she tried.

Perrine slumped back, panting. She felt so tired…

She thought about Clémentine. They weren’t here, so they must have been outside somewhere still, most likely lost. She liked to think that they were rescued or found by someone, brought into a nice house and given some hot tea, but that was just wishful thinking. They were probably dead. Just like Kingsley and Cole. Just like she would be.

Perrine died, alone and afraid, and it was only after having to sit through and feel the slow torture of freezing that she finally woke up in a cold sweat.

Living life is a lot like playing dominos. Each new day is a new domino set up. And at any moment, any one of those dominos could fall, causing an unstoppable chain reaction until there were no more dominos to tip over. The end of the line. The end of a life.

For Perrine, her first domino fell exactly one year later.

[docholligay]

Choose Your Own Adventure: August

I basically had to just, cut this in half and call it a month. No voting this month, as your answers are still carrying me through to next month. Thank you all so much for backing my play on this, it means so much to me to read your comments. I know this is not god's most exciting thing, but it's the most writing I've done in a long time and that in itself is meaningful to me.

In the aftermath of a bombing, there is silence. No birds sing. No people chat to each other in the streets. No glasses full of drink with a dull thus against the wood of the table. There is only the still, dark quiet, underlaid by the one sole sound of fires burning. 

So it was in the room, after Fareeha left. As Mina sat. As the fire burned. 

Mina sat with her hands in her lap, not quite staring at the fire. Staring through it. Silence stretches on so long--it could not have been more than a minute since Fareeha stormed out of the room, and if one listened, her steps, firm and consistent, could still be heard echoing back into the low, glowing light of that chamber. 

The firelight provided little more than the heat and dim glow promised. Rei could see things in the fire, certainly, but Mina seemed to be simply turning something over it, like a chicken, dripping from the spit. 

Haruka gave a short sigh, punctuating the air, breaking the spell. Doc put her drink back to her lips, Angela let out a little sob back in her chair, and the world began to move again. 

She leaned toward Mina, paused at her ear for a moment before continuing, Mina keeping her eyes on the fire all the while. A whisper.

“Why’d you do that?” 

Mina looked at her, but said nothing. She simply shook her head as her wide eyes cast around the room. Trying to find a reason for herself, on the shelves, in the flames, anywhere. 

But the house returned only silence. 

Haruka puzzled. Of course Mina sometimes hid things, even from her, that was part of what she was supposed to do, was make judgment calls. Haruka didn’t want that job. But Lena hadn’t done anything, as far as Haruka could tell. But she didn’t always know. She wasn’t very smart, not like Minako. 

Haruka touched Mina’s knee, drew back her attention. “Is Lena…you know, bad?” 

Mina shook her head again, but moved away from Haruka, to the end of the couch. A pang hit Haruka’s chest, her hand still hovering where Mina’s leg should be. She lowered it, and leaned back against the seat of the couch. 

It had been her, somehow. The little spark of unhappiness she had set fire to everyone else. Just because she was…Haruka would have liked to find a word other than ‘jealous’ to apply to her feelings about Fareeha, but she couldn’t come up with a better one. The whole idea of this had been to get some kind of vacation out of Overwatch courting Michiru’s family, and Mina’d wanted to see how other paramilitary groups handled things. Or so she said. Hard to say, with Mina. 

Haruka flushed a little, thinking about how Fareeha, well, didn’t intimidate her, exactly, but she was a wall of a person, both in her body and in her personality. She was so exact, and so polite, but she didn’t seem to like Haruka. Not really. She was polite in the way a police dog was polite. But it didn’t come off awkward, it came off so strong, and the broad shoulders only supported the idea. Haruka found herself wanting to salute, and that anger churned up in her, that someone could be all of that, and Haruka was just, well--

You’re just a weedy and bad-tempered mutt. Never a police dog. 

Haruka shook her head, though it echoed in her own voice. So why didn’t Mina go after Fareeha? Fareeha had actually been the bossy one, mostly. Even to Lena. Lena just didn’t seem to care all that much--Haruka did envy her ability to ignore a commander--and had carried on with whatever she was doing. Lena hadn’t been the one with the detailed schedule. Lena’d taken them to a pub with chicken katsu. She was, Haruka thought, nice. Fareeha seemed to like her, even, and Haruka wasn’t sure Fareeha liked anybody. Except her wife. 

Why had Mina attacked her? Even for Mina, it had been a mean thing to say, especially over such a stupid argument. She was smarter than that. And now she didn’t want to even tell Haruka why. It was confusing, and she hated it. And she hated that it confused her. 

It descended on her again, the difficulty of being the stupid one in a group full of smart people. The fire crackled, and she stared into the flame. No, not the stupid one.

“And if me math’s wrong, it’s because I’m not a very clever woman.”  But Lena smiled wide. She was always smiling, and it never seemed like a choice she was making. 

They were standing at the edge of the road, guessing about how long it might take Lena to get to a nearby town while Fareeha groused at yet another cell phone, trying to find a connection. Haruka took a pull off her cigarette--MIna was probably right and she should cool it on the pack a day she seemed to have developed as a twitch here--and shrugged. 

“Whatever that means. You probably went to fuckin…you know, Cambridge or something.” 

“Sure, right,” she clapped Haruka playfully on the shoulder, “in that I ‘ave been to the English city of Cambridge.”

Lena looked at Haruka a moment, studying, and shook her head. “Love, I never went to university. I completed exactly the two A-levels the RAF needed in order to let me fly very expensive planes, very fast, and took an exam name of, ‘’aving a bloke ask me name, rank, and service number as I stood with me gas mask off, eyeballs melting out me ‘ead.’ Very exclusive program.” 

“Really?” 

Lena’s eyes glittered, the edges of them crunching up with a giggle.

“Clown asked for me name four times because every time he asked "Name?!?" I gave him me rank. Was a bit ‘ard to think, just then. Any’ow.  University, hah.”

“And you’re,” she tapped the ash off the end of her cigarette, “like, an officer.” 

Lena took off her hat, shook the rain off it, and put it back on her head.  “Top as it gets, love, don’t let Fareeha fool you. She doesn’t outrank me, ‘owever much she likes to act as if the world rests on ‘er entirely. I let ‘er, as she isn’t ‘appy if she isn’t miserable, but they report to me same as ‘er.” 

Haruka went to take another puff, and then willed herself to stop. This was an elite organization, the best people in the world, and Haruka hadn’t thought, even for a moment, that one of the leaders might have skipped the whole college experience. Haruka was never going to college, she knew that. She wasn’t smart enough. 

“I know I said I’m not a very clever woman,” Lena was looking at her now, in a serious way, “But--”

“No, I mean, don’t--don’t think you’re stupid or anything--” 

“I don’t, and I’m not.” Lena gave another chuckle. “Haruka. Not a person alive, asks me about university, once they see me fly. I am not being asked to be a bloody physicist when I rally people to the cause. Meantime, Ang don’t know what a sandwich is, and Fareeha acts like ‘uman interaction is a new concept she’s only now learning. What I was going to say is, I know I said I’m not a very clever woman, but I just like to take the piss out of meself now and again. I am perfectly clever, in the ways I need to be, because--” and with this she took Haruka’s elbow, and looked intensely at her. “There is more than one way to be clever, and a good operation, a good group, ‘as many as it can manage.” 

She flushed. How had Lena known? She’d known Haruka felt stupid, and she’d corrected it, and Haruka felt grateful, if grateful came in an ashamed flavor. Limited edition. She was smart in some ways, too, wasn’t she? She was just as good as Ami, or Rei, or any of them. Just different. 

“Yeah. I’m gonna go fix the van.” 

So, she hadn’t been able to fix the van, but that didn’t mean the she didn’t have other things she could do. She could go after Lena. She could try to comfort her, the way she had Haruka. She wasn’t always as good with people as MIna, but she and Lena were alike, right? They were smart in different ways. 

Haruka stood up, determined, and the three women left in the room stared at her. 

“I’m going to find her.” She put back on her jacket. “I can fix it.” 

----

Lena’s back was to the wall, her head tilted back against a toile of small songbirds, legs encircled by flowering green vines. A sliver of moonlight crept through a door and worked up her leg, her arm, her cheek, illuminating that small slice of corduroy and wool and freckle against the long, dark hallway behind her. 

“You should have died that day, and everyone knows it! Everyone!!” 

Dozens of voices rushed in, telling her dozens of other things.  It wasn’t a choice you made, Raj reassured, what else were you meant to do?. Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of chances to die in the line of duty, Parvati added. Oh, Christmas would be so hollow without you, Florrie pressed, misty-eyed, it would feel wrong. And who’s Mondatta to me, said Aunt Lily with a shrug. 

“He was…” Lena breathed in, deep, “he was a hope for something better, and--I--” 

Lena, I don’t know what I would do. 

She opened her eyes and almost saw him, shining tremulously in that pale silver shimmer, the grey of his fur glinting against the darkness. 

It was a nasty thing to say, but that didn’t make it true. All it ever had been was an accident, a wrong step. Sometimes, in life, you lose, love. Doesn’t matter how much you tried. Doesn’t make you a villain. We’ve been over this, Lena. It’s done and dusted. Chin up. Carry on. Sun still rises in the morning.

She pinched her temples and drew her hand forward, wiping her eyes, and nodded. 

Besides, said something inside of her, you have other things to do here, in this life. It was her voice, but tin around the edges, as if someone had stuffed her into an old radio. Not quite right. Not quite her. 

Her back slid up the wall as she stood, brushing the birds and their floral shackles. Lena’s eyes drifted into the darkness. 

There was a light there, a warm orange glow at the end of the hallway. Lena was sure--at least she thought she was sure--that there had only even been a window at the end of that hallway. She must have gotten turned around, it was true that she hadn’t been paying too much attention as she’d stormed away to find a quiet place. 

One foot moved toward the light. The birds behind her let out a shrill call, but were silenced as the vines crossed over them.

A rich aroma came down the hallway, cinnamon and vanilla caressing Lena’s face. She could nearly taste it. But there’d been hardly anything in the kitchen, so far as she had seen. This place had been shut up. 

But she followed, the smell getting stronger, raisins and brandy joining the parade as she became swept in the current, moving inexorably toward that golden glow. It began to feel warmer, as she drew close. There were the giggles of children. A song, playing on a faraway radio. 

You’ve always been needed here. No one here wishes you died. Everything would be so much worse if you had. 

There was a shout, in the back of her mind, the way her dad used to do when she climbed too high into a tree, but it was swallowed and sweetened in the warm syrup of that brandied golden door. She touched her fingertips to it, and it swung open, a zephyr of light and comfort embracing her. 

The fire was blazing in the hearth, reflected in the polished tile of the mantle surrounding it. A giant tree stood in the corner of the room, covered in ribbons and bright glass balls. The table near the window was wobbling with the weight of puddings and pigs in blankets and roast potatoes, all clustered about a giant turkey. 

Giggles, and then passel of children running around the room. As Lena watched them, they began to come into focus, and Lena realized she recognized them. The room was too big and too fine to have belonged to any of them, and yet, here they were. Her family. Christmas. 

She put her hand on the doorknob, steeled herself to leave. This is what you want. She opened the door behind her, and then a chipper voice came from a plush velvet chair by the fireside. 

“Lena?” A man with green eyes and reddish blonde hair turned to face her, “Oh love, we’ve been waiting so long! Tell me everything.” He put his hand out. “I’ve missed you, Bean.” 

Lena shook her head, her back to the door, but it crawled out. 

“Dad?”

[ghostlyforxst]

GENDER: Gender Neutral Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere tendencies, toxic reader, mentions of someone getting burned alive, and inappropriate language.

CHARACTER: Shoto Todoroki

WORD COUNT: 683

You grinned, giddy from the alcohol that pervaded your body, as you swayed against a man's cloth dick; his hands dawdled down your sides until they grasped at your hips and his sultry lips grazed the clammy skin of your nape—the air heated with sexual tension.

“Wanna continue this at my place?” The man slurred, sloppily-nibbling at your ear.

You smiled lecherously and pushed yourself from his hold, “Let me get a drink first!”

You staggered towards the bar, plopping down on one of the stools and ordering water, needing to sober up fairly. You rested a hand on your forehead, sipping at your beverage, pondering how to reveal your unfaithfulness to your boyfriend. You do feel guilty for making him believe it could more than just a quick fuck and as well as allowing the relationship to go longer than it should've.

You weren't meant for commitment, you thrived to party and to fling around with other people. You weren't selfless, you were selfish—couldn't he see that? Couldn't he see the way your clothes lazily hung from your body and the hickies that tainted your skin, like right now as you stood in the entrance of y'all house. He was just staring at you, he wasn't screaming at you or threatening to leave you like you assumed he would do.

“Listen Shoto, I honestly haven't been loyal to you and I wasn't expecting our relationship to escalate like it did. I don't think this relationship is cut out for the both of us-”

“Shut it.” he hissed, turning away from you.

You immediately quiet yourself and walk towards the bedroom, gathering your things before coming back into the room he was seated in. “I'm sorry, Shoto.”

“Please don't leave.” He whispered, snatching your wrist.

“We're toxic, I'm toxic Shoto. If I know that, you should know that too. So stop being ignorant and just let me go!”

“I've always known,” He shouted as he abruptly stood from the couch, “I've always known you were fucking other people and I don't care because they end up dead anyways.”

He has eyes everywhere, he is a pro hero.

“What?”

He drops his head, his two-toned hair obscuring his eyes and the tears that slowly welled up. “You'll learn to be loyal, you just need some more time.”

Before you could even mumble out a word, pain gnawed at your head and your vision blurred as flashes of white dots appeared.

“It's going to be fine Y/N, we can start over once you wake up.”

_

Your eyes flutter, adjusting to your surroundings, discerning the muffled screaming ahead of you.

“huh, what the fuck?”

You were staring fearfully at the person who was chained to the basement wall, the person being the man from the club. Your breath hitched, waterline glistening, as your arms and legs rubbed against each other as you try to release yourself from the restraints that bound you to the chair. A plea arises from your wobbly lips, pleading for a relief from the almost claustrophobic feeling that has begun to overwhelm you. Your eyes averts away from the panicked, deafening man to the stairs. The basement door creaks open and footsteps descend down the stairs, and Shoto comes into view.

He gave a delighted look, “you're awake, good...”

Shoto steps in front of the man, shrouding him with his body. Shoto placed a hand on the man's fear-stricken face.

"No Shoto," you beseeched, " please don't do that him-"

The man screamed, struggling as Shoto set him ablaze. You screech in terror, kicking against the ground til you fell with the chair. You sobbed and yelled at Shoto for him to put the fire out even though it was too late, the man's screams had stopped and his body went limp.

You hear Shoto come closer and loom over you, pulling you up and giving a full view of the chrisped man.

“This will happen to every single person until you start being a good little lover, it's all your fault. Do you understand?”

You hesitantly nodded your head, whimpering.

“Good.”

[ravendruid]

Food, Friendship and Comfort

This fic is part of the @critter-genfic-events Bingo to fulfill the Comfort and Cooking slots. [Check my bingo card and other works here.] Set post-Campaign 2 and Mighty Nein Reunited. Read on AO3

Beauregard Lionett’s days as a Cobalt Soul Expositor are either dreary and dull with endless paperwork or exhausting with back-and-forth trips to Rexxentrum to track the Cerberus Assembly. Today is one of the latter days where she trades a warm, sunny Zadash for a gloomy and cold Rexxentrum. 

Beauregard scheduled to meet her friend Caleb for breakfast this morning, so as soon as she steps out of the teleportation circle connecting the Rexxentrum and Zadash archives, she speeds past the guardians and archivists without a word and exits the dimly lit library onto the bustling street of the capital of the Dwendalian Empire. The feeling is immediate as the cold hits her uncovered skin and makes her curse between her teeth. Beau doesn’t have time to linger, so she follows the familiar cobblestone streets, ignoring the people rushing to and from work, the colorful buildings, and the heavy presence of crown guards in the more seedy areas.

The cottage that appears when Beauregard turns on another crossroad is a sight that makes the corners of her lips curl and her skin tingle in anticipation of warmth. She should have known better by now and brought a warm jacket along. The two small planter boxes out front are still full of tall, green plants, possibly kept alive in the cold by some arcane means from the owner of the cottage, and as Beau approaches, she notices that it either has recently been harvested or is yet to produce green beans. 

Beau knocks at the rustic door, and where the motion would usually be followed by the sound of a chair scraping the wooden floor, it is now followed by silence. Weird. Caleb knew she was coming. Even if he is still in his arcane tower, he would have certainly set up alarms that would have triggered by now. Beau knocks again, louder this time, but still, no answer comes from the other side. She tries to peek in the side window through the small gap in the curtain but can’t see anything out of the ordinary. The house is intact, with no signs of a struggle (or worse, an attack). Beauregard doesn’t want to expend the single use of her sending stone yet, lest it be needed later. However, the cold is bothering her right now, so she does what any good friend would do if they suspected their friend might be up to something or in a difficult situation: she picks Caleb’s lock. What are the chances that he has arcane wards against thieves? Highly, Beau tells herself as the lockpick clicks. Too late now. However, the door opens with a creak, but nothing explodes in her face. Beau sighs in relief as she steps into the musty interior and relocks the door behind her.

“Caleb?” She calls out to the empty house. It’s cold inside. The hearth is full of ash, and there is a layer of dust on every surface as if someone hasn’t cleaned in weeks. Beau inspects every room, each darker and emptier than the one before until she finally reaches the back room where she knows Caleb often tutors children who didn’t get accepted to the academy. This room, too, is empty and dark. Dust covers the desks and chairs, a few pieces of old parchment are spread out, and empty and dry bottles of ink sit forgotten. At first glance, this would be an average room. Messy, yes, but ordinary. But Beauregard knows better. She knows what to look for and finds it in a corner, slightly obscured by a tall bookshelf, a shimmering door that leads into Caleb’s tower. 

Beau is welcomed by a lit fireplace in the study, a spectral Bengal cat rubbing at her legs, and a mess of Caleb lying on the soft, plush couch by the fire, reading a book about Dunemancy. He is alive but looks almost as bad as he did when they first met. Caleb’s shiny red hair is full of knots, although still in a ponytail, his beard is shaggy and unkempt, his clothes are wrinkly, and there are a few coffee stains on his shirt. Caleb is indeed a mess, which can only mean one thing.

“How long?” Beauregard asks in a harsh tone that means she will take no bullshit. Caleb lifts an eye from his book, finally acknowledging his friend’s presence, but he doesn’t reply. “Caleb, how long has it been?” Beau presses on. She strides confidently to where the man lies on the couch and effortlessly removes the book from his hold, closing it with a thud. Caleb stares at her for a moment, then finally greets her with the hoarse voice of someone who hasn’t spoken in days, “Hello to you too, Beauregard.”

Beau does quick math in her head. It hasn’t been that long since they last saw each other, perhaps two months, not even that long. She remembers Caleb saying then that he was waiting for a visit from Essek, but those were usually short and never resulted in a depressive mood like this. Something must have happened during their Xorhasian friend’s stay, and if the empty look in Caleb’s eyes is any indication of it, then Beau is determined to help and comfort him in any way she can.

“Clean up before I message Jester to tell her you smell and look like a hobo again. Just when she was starting to let it go away…” Beau threatens, scrunching her nose at him. Caleb nods and rises from his nest of pillows and blankets with the groan of someone whose joints are stiff from being in the same position for a long time. Beau shakes her head in displeasure and stares at the back of the man’s head as he lifts through the arcane elevator and disappears above the central iris.

Caleb meets Beauregard an hour later, freshly clean and bear-trimmed, in the dining room, where they plan their day over eggs, pancakes, and pocket bacon. Caleb doesn’t mention Essek, and Beau doesn’t ask questions about the state she found her Empire friend, so the only names said aloud are those of the Cerberus Assembly, particularly Ludinus Da’leth, who is up to no good. Caleb shares with Beau the detailed information he gathered since their last time together, information that cannot fit the 25 words of the sending spell they use for their daily reports. Beau is glad he took the official position at the Soltryce Academy, not for his proximity to the Assembly members, but for how much happier Caleb has been since he was allowed to teach and shape young minds.

When they separate hours later at the gates that lead up to the school, Caleb’s shoulders are lighter, and his smile brighter. Beau knows whatever happened is still lurking in the shadows, but she won’t pull unless he wants to push. So, before she turns her back to him and returns to the archives to fill out report after report, Beau throws her friend an invitation, “Why don’t you stop by later to have dinner with Yasha and me? She would love to see you.” 

“I’ll think about it,” Caleb says, but from the look in his eyes, Beau knows he will knock at her door with a bottle of wine and apple tarts. So be it. She waves him goodbye and leaves.

—   

Caleb is happy to find that Zadash isn’t as cold tonight as Rexxentrum. The smaller city’s lights are already sparkling against the dusky sky, and the aromas of food and burning wood fill the residential area around him. He knows he could have teleported directly to Beauregard and Yasha’s house, but he would hate to intrude on them, so Caleb teleported into a narrow alleyway not far from the center of town and strolled to their friends’ abode. The house is just as he remembers it. Not large, but cozy. The garden that Caduceus has been teaching Yasha how to care for is dormant as the first signs of winter approach, but the ivy growing up the front of the house is still there, larger and taller than the last time Caleb saw it. He stops at the iron gate, peering through the open curtains to see Yasha stirring a pot on the stove. He knows she has been learning how to cook from a neighbor, not always successful, according to Beau’s reviews in the few words they share about their day. Meanwhile, the tall Aasimar’s wife is just finishing setting the table for three people. How Beau knew Caleb would show up, he doesn’t know. Maybe she hoped? Perhaps she just… knew. Either way, Caleb is here now, crossing the iron gate, walking down the pebbled path towards the ivy-framed door, and knocking twice.

Beauregard opens the door with a smirk. She is wearing different clothes than Caleb saw her wear in the morning—more casual, comfortable clothes—her hair is still up in her signature bun, and she is still wearing some of her golden jewelry. The woman in front of him is not an Expositor of the Cobalt Soul anymore, but his friend from adventures that have been almost forgotten in time.

“Hello, Beauregard,” Caleb greets her sheepishly. Beau’s smirk gives room to a bright grin as she greets him back and steps away to let him in the house.

It’s a cozy, lived-in house (although a bit too messy for Caleb’s tastes) that smells of stew and sweets, where a small fireplace crackles in front of a comfy couch and a shaggy rug. The walls are adorned with art, paintings done by their tiefling friend of the Mighty Nein and their allies. Caleb’s favorite piece is definitely the large painting above the mantelpiece of their group of misfits, one that includes Mollymauk at one end, Kingsley at the other, and Essek smiling next to Caleb. Caleb has the same painting in his office in his small cottage (Jester painted one for everyone so they wouldn’t forget about them. So they could look upon it and smile, remember the memories of what they have been through, and soothe the sorrow of missing their friends).

“I’m glad you could join us, Caleb,” Yasha greets him, bending to give the man a bear hug. Beauregard must have told her wife the situation she found him in that morning because he sees compassion and comfort in Yasha’s eyes. Caleb merely nods and drapes his coat over the back of the couch. He produces a bottle of wine and a plate of apple tarts—not homemade today, though—that he kept in his private pocket dimension and hands it to Beau, who tuts at the wine label reprovingly but promptly uncorks it nonetheless. 

Dinner doesn’t take long to be served, and it’s not half-bad (a vegetable stew with harvests from Beau and Yasha’s garden with a side of rustic bread also made by the latter). The conversation flows nicely between the three, sometimes pausing to sip on wine or to change the subject. Caleb listens attentively to Yasha’s tales about their neighbor, Martina, who has been teaching her new recipes to use their produce (she was, apparently, the one who taught Yasha the stew recipe they are eating). The conversation changes again to Beau and Caleb’s work tracking the Assembly, and the three discuss and share theories about Ludinus’s plans. Through it all, no one mentions the name of their drow friend, the war criminal who has been running from both the Empire and the Dynasty, which makes Caleb relax. 

Essek doesn’t get the opportunity to visit often, and when he does, it’s in disguise, so Caleb has learned to cherish those fleeting moments. However, things seemed to have calmed down for a while, and Essek’s stay was extended to over a fortnight before chatter began, and the man departed again under the light of the moon. He hasn’t heard from his Xorhasian friend in weeks, which is not uncommon, but this separation has taken a harder hit on him. Beau clearly saw it that morning. She guessed from the state she found Caleb’s house in but didn’t ask, and neither did Yasha. Caleb knows the women will wait until he’s ready to share, and he’s thankful for that. He makes sure to give them a smile to convey his gratitude, and, in response, he is offered a place to stay overnight so he doesn’t have to return to his empty house and empty cold bed. Here, surrounded by two of his dearest friends, chatting happily about vegetables, fertilizer, and power-hungry mages, Caleb is still far from healed but on the mend, and the dark loneliness in his starts to vanish.

[imaginedreamwrite]

Like My Father: Part 11

A/N: Violence and a few triggering topics/conversation in the second half

“I haven’t spent much time in here.” You observed, trailing your fingertips along the edge of the storage cabinet along the far wall, the rows of books stacked neatly on dark shelves had spines illuminated with silver or gold letters.

Across from the shelves and the storage cabinet were two matching love seats made of soft white leather and dark cotton throw pillows that had been set against the puckered armrests. There was a single folded blanket that had been set in the middle of the couch on the left, the flannel pattern a clashing distinction from the rest of the room.

The desk was stationed near the back of the room, and there were matching storage cabinets behind the desk that matched the dark wood aesthetic.

In the open-faced cabinets were some files that had been set in clear bins, a few framed degrees and other legal forms that would aid Andy and the ‘family’ in general. On the desk was a closed laptop with a phone to the right, the device was connected to the landline and security system that was still used throughout the house.

“Your father did his best to protect you from this world.” Andy had closed the door behind you both, his footsteps muffled on the area rug that sat below the couches and met the edge of the door.

When he had stepped off the area rug onto the hardwood, you had winced softly at the sound that hit your ears with grating irritation. Despite the coffee and the pastry that you had eaten, you were still dealing with the lingering aftereffects of the drugging, and it was affecting you almost as if you were suffering a hangover.

“If he wanted to protect me from this world, then why did he give it to me?” You turned slowly and settled your gaze upon Andy, watching him attempt to keep the noise down as he pulled the rolling leather chair out from under the desk to sit on the cushion.

Even as he had lifted the laptop and began to type on the device, giving whatever credentials he needed to have access, he tried to be quiet. You watched him focus, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pursed with all the telltale signs of a man who was concentrating on the task at hand like the seasoned lawyer he was.

“Andy,” you stepped forward, drawing yourself nearer to the desk, “do you think my dad made a mistake? Do you think he should have just…married me off?”

Andy had raised his head and looked at you with the same furrowed brows and pursed lips, only instead of being focused and concentrating, he had appeared confused. He leaned forward and rest his elbows on the desk with his fingers intertwined and resting under his chin, he was watching you with intense focus.

He was giving you the entirety of his attention, looking at nothing but you while the facet of emotion in his eyes shifted, and his scent was radiating and pulsating with comfort and ease, he was your alpha and he knew you needed comfort. He was waiting for you to finish, he had every right to cut you off and degrade your worries as an alpha. He could have very well shot you down with an alpha command, one that would have settled in your skin with no chance of ignoring the demand.

He could have overstepped and taken those liberties with you because of the differences in your designations, other alphas had done worse to omegas, and other alphas have demanded more.

“No,” his voice was even and he spoke with unkempt truth.

“Honey, your father would have never done that to you. Your father believed that you could do this. He didn’t want to see you married off to someone who would try and tamper your spirit and that fire. He knew that this whole family, this empire, needed an omega. Despite what everyone else may think, despite what they may all believe, you were purposely chosen for this. Your father didn’t want anyone else to do this, he knew that you could and you would be the only one he would ever give this to.”

“And you? And you all?” You questioned them, even if you had already been reassured of everything. You were in charge now, this was your responsibility and if you had failed it would be your failure.

“We’re all here for you.” Andy had tucked his chin into his chest and drew in a soft breath. “You are ours and we are yours.”

“Everything we do, we do together.”

“If you fail,” Andy had whispered to you, “we all fail. We’re here for you, we’re all here for you.”

You nodded your head and shuffled toward one of the chairs in front of the desk and slowly sat down on the cushioned surface before you tucked your feet under. You had drawn your bottom lip into your mouth and nibbled on your flesh, your eyes captivated by some of the artwork that was on the walls.

There was lingering silence between you two, lingering quietude that had remained comfortable enough for you to be able to focus on the mess in your head and the interior design of the office your father had once loved.

“I don’t understand this, I hate this. This is so stupid.” Your frustration had come out as a huff, and the book in your hands was tossed to the couch.

“You’re not trying.” Ari had gently scolded you from behind the desk, his gaze flickering from the computer to you and your position halfway off the couch.

“I don’t want to try, Ari. I don’t want to try. I want to forget this and get ice cream.” You turned your head and blew out a puff of air, annoyed while rolling your eyes when he laughed and shook your head.

“Nice try, finish your homework.”

“Blowhard.” You muttered under your breath and pushed yourself back on the couch, flopping down on the cushions and then you reached under your back and removed the book from where it was trapped.

“You can have ice cream when you’re done.” Ari had relayed the hopefulness when you had opened the book and held it above your face, however, you were far less interested in reading as you were pressing him for a few ins and outs of the business.

Before you could even open your mouth to speak, the office door had flown open with a large crash and a man was dropped to the carpet uncouthly. Ari immediately stood and walked around the front of the desk, tension in his shoulders and back as he moved toward the door.

“Get him the fuck out of here.” Ari had hissed, standing between you and the man laying on the carpet, blocking you from seeing what was going on while his scent and the prowess of his designation had kept you frozen in place.

“Ari-“

“Now!” He growled and shoved one of your father’s men back, only briefly glancing over his shoulder toward you and then he looked away. “Get him the fuck out of here, now.”

The limp man was lifted from the floor and the door was slammed with a solid thud that rattled a few pictures on the wall. Stunned silence had fallen between you two, your mouth opened and closed a few times as you fought for any words to become vocalized. There was so much you wanted to know and ask, so much you wanted to dive into but no words would form on your tongue.

At least, not until Ari had turned and ran his fingers through his hair. “You wanna skip this and get ice cream?”

“Uhh…yeah. Yeah.” You snapped the book shut and discarded it, quick to stand and shuffle toward him.

“Good, get your things.”

Brick and mortar were the perfect substance to act as the grater for skin and bone. It was a single strike that had him sent flying into the rough surface, and the cry that followed hit their ears. Neither one was apologetic, neither one had any qualms about spilling blood and cutting flesh, not when they had questions that needed to be answered.

“You have two minutes.”

“I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t-“ Their target had cried in protest, pleading with them despite being one of the men on shift when the bottles had been filled and corked.

The local brewery and winery had been a favourite of their guests, and until now it had been without fail. Until the moment someone had slipped roofies into the bottles before they were corked, there was never a doubt for the local favourite.

“You were here, you knew something.”

“There are cameras! Check the cameras!” He squealed and drew in a sharp breath when Ari lifted him from the ground and held him against the wall.

Ari had looked back at Nick as he began unsheathing one of his favourite knives, the glint of the metal surface reflecting the sun’s rays.

“We already checked the cameras and they were found faulty. Now, you were on shift and everyone you work with has thrown you under the bus. You can either tell us who gave you the brilliant idea or Nick will start cutting nonessential pieces off of you.”

“I’m starting with his dick, he doesn’t need it.” Nick had stepped toward the target and turned the knife in his hands, allowing the decrepit man to visually see the weapon that was going to be used on him.

“He’s losing patience, now-“

“I don’t know! I don’t know his name! Please, fuck-!” He whimpered in Ari’s tight hold, his feet dangling above the ground as the inability to breathe had become stronger when Ari tightened his hand around his throat.

“I got a message, a text asking if I want to make some money. I was told to spike the drink and send it to the party, I didn’t know-“

“He’s lying, you’re lying. You better start telling the truth or you’ll find yourself missing an invaluable piece.” Nick had stood on the other side of Ari, his fingers wrapped tightly around the hilt of the knife.

“I can usually make it easy on a person but for you-“ Nick glinted, he had tilted his head and cast his darkening blue eyes upon the quaking prick.

“I’m telling the truth! I swear! I have the message, I have-“ he shook in Ari’s hands, quaking and whining as he begged for release.

“The message is gone.” Ari’s fingers flexed, and his hand tightened as the man attempted to claw and strike at him.

“It was an alpha!” His hands loosened on his body, his mouth parted as he hastily sucked in air. “AN ALPHA!”

“What alpha?” Nick’s jaw clenched, the veins in his neck protruding as a settled force of rage was starting to course in his body. “What fucking alpha?”

“O-one who was b-betting on having your bitch-“

“Cut out his tongue.” Ari dropped the quim to the ground, allowing Nick to step forward and press the blade of the knife against his lips.

“You should mind how you speak to her. She has a lot of power at her fingertips.”

“I-its not m-me. It’s his words.” He raised his hands in protest, begging Nick and Ari for mercy. “He called her a bitch. He said that he was expecting to bed the bitch and inherit it all.”

“Cut off his dick and his tongue.” Ari’s clear and crisp voice heralded his calm fury. He was pissed beyond all measure but he was controlled, his anger was bedded down under great restraint.

“I told you everything! I told you everything I know!” He pleaded with Nick, his voice getting muffled when a dirty rag was shoved into his mouth.

“Keep your hands still, I don’t want you dying from this.” Nick placed his foot on the target’s chest and cut away the fabric of his jeans, exposing his withering dick to the open air.

“You know,” Nick raised his head and locked eyes with their prey, “we’re not just doing this for our boss. We know things about you, a lot of dirty details that your rich daddy had covered up.”

“You like them young, don’t you?” Ari spat at him, disgusted and vigorously pissed off at the sick man trapped against the ground. “You need to learn how not to fuck with vulnerable people.”

His cries came as Nick pressed the tip of the knife against the poor bastard’s flesh, drawing a few pebbles of blood.

“Trust me, this is good for everyone.” Nick pressed harder, he worked the blade over and over like he intended while their target thrashed and screamed into the cloth.

Nick had stood back once his first task was done, cutting off the ill-gotten member and wrapping it in a cloth. He had stared down at the weeping target, Nick’s lips stretching into a smirk before he whistled for Ari.

“You need to be marked, you need to wear your charges so everyone knows.” Nick grabbed his right arm and lifted it while Ari helped him hold the bastard down.

He pressed the knife to flesh again and carved out the disgusting and revolting word into his forearm, marking him permanently with the engrained and damning charge.

“Now everyone will know what a piece of shit you are.” Nick wiped the blood off the knife and spat it on their victim’s body. “You disgusting fucking pedophile.”

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[theladyofbloodshed]

A Court of Tangled Flames - Chapter 14

A sheet of fire was sent as a warning. It was enough for Azriel to press himself against the wall, heart thundering from the heat of it. In all these years, fire still made him bolt with fear. He’d never been able to train himself to overcome it. It was an instinct to recoil, to remember that pain that rendered his hands useless for weeks.

‘Stop,’ Nesta cried.

The fire ceased. He heard her muttering a curse in the dark. ‘You could have set the house on fire.’

‘I saw vermin. I eliminated a problem.’

‘Nesta?’ Emerie asked, treading into the room. Azriel shot out an arm to stop her. He needed to assess the situation before she entered.

The female with Nesta kindled a ball of vivid, red flame into her hands. She had the markings of Autumn; thick, auburn hair and freckles. ‘Are there candles in Illyria?’

‘Nesta,’ Emerie said again, a smile brightening her face. She was in a night gown, signs of sleep clear on her face. The hour was late. He’d not been sleeping. An Autumn Court female swinging into the room had still made him jump out of his skin though.

Nesta squeezed past the Autumn female to wrap her arms around her friend. ‘So sorry to drop in. We just wanted to check you were okay.’

Once the room was illuminated, they all stood in a circle in the small living room, assessing each other. Nesta’s eyes fell to the couch where Azriel had pulled the chair up to it as a makeshift bed. Next, she noticed the bag in the corner.

‘You’re staying with Emerie?’

Azriel had other places to go. His mother’s. His apartment – though he so rarely went there these days. He could have gone back to the House of Wind but it meant facing Cassian with the knowledge he’d pursued Nesta in the Autumn Court and been pelted by truth after truth. The River House was not an option. His temper still simmered. Azriel knew he could not be alone or he’d fester like a rotting wound thinking about Rhys’ actions Under the Mountain.

The poor Illyrian shop keeper had reluctantly said he could stay a couple of nights after he’d winnowed Gwyn back to the library. Emerie kept herself busy during the day while he haunted the upstairs. Their conversations were brief, reluctant things. Azriel was mindful not be seen entering or exiting her shop in case tongues wagged in Windhaven. The last thing Emerie needed was people associating her with someone like him.

‘Just for a while.’

If Nesta sensed the rift that had ripped between him and the Rhys, she said nothing, only stepped forwards to embrace Emerie again.

‘She still has all ten fingers,’ the other female said. ‘And the most gorgeous wings I’ve ever seen.’

‘Can I make you tea?’ Emerie asked, fighting to hide her blush.

‘No, we shouldn’t linger.’

‘Sure we can,’ said the female, slinging an arm around Nesta’s shoulder. She was missing a finger. ‘Nesta’s told me all about you. I’m Niamh. We’d love to stay for tea as long as your pet shadowsinger promises not to try anything silly.’

He couldn’t decide which irritated him more – that she knew he was a shadowsinger or that he’d been named Emerie’s pet.

‘Like returning Nesta to her family?’ He asked.

Nesta stiffened. ‘Azriel.’

‘Yes, like that,’ Niamh pressed. ‘For a male who’s had a nasty incident with fire already, you don’t want to be on the receiving end of mine. It will be your pretty face that’s ruined next.’

‘That was distasteful,’ Nesta chided.

‘As is this entire court. Tea, please, if you’d be so kind, Emerie.’

Whoever this female was, Azriel didn’t like her. He knew the Vanserras by sight. None of them had wives except Beron – and Eris now. Beron’s small council had wives and daughters, but Azriel didn’t recall her face from any of his missions. Most were meek homemakers. This female clearly knew who he was – and Eris clearly trusted her with Nesta. Azriel wondered if Nesta had spilt all of the Night Court’s secrets to her new allies.

Emerie smiled tightly. ‘Do you think we can manage it without setting my house on fire?’

Right. They were all guests in her home. Out of the kindness of her heart, she had allowed a male - who she was not wholly comfortable with - to stay. Azriel didn’t need to make her life harder. ‘I’ll boil the pot.’

‘What a good male he is. How well you’ve trained him, Emerie. Does he cook too?’

Was there something in the water of the Autumn Court that made them all irritating or did Azriel simply have the misfortune of crossing paths with only the irritating ones?

He sipped his tea in a silence at one end of the little kitchen while the three females sat at the other end. Emerie and Nesta should have had a chance to talk alone, but there was not a hope in hell that Azriel was being trapped in a room with Niamh. He didn’t trust her not to steal Emerie back to Autumn too.

Surprising himself, there was no temptation to deliver Nesta to Feyre and Cassian. There ought to have been that need. Azriel couldn’t. It was a betrayal against his brother, against his court, but he could not do it. There was a glow about Nesta that he had never seen before. Her eyes were brighter, she seemed more at ease. Her smiles came easier.

And worse was that he had seen Nesta with Eris. Eris had been decent – caring. Azriel had tried to scour the images from his mind of Nesta stepping closer to the male, of leaning into his touch for comfort. The anger had risen in Eris’ expression when Nesta had cried, a real, blistering hot fury that somebody had upset his wife. The type of anger that Cassian should have had when Rhys had threatened her. Instead, his brother had forced her to hike in the mountains until she’d broken. And Azriel had helped.

He wasn’t good with his emotions. He never had been. It was either a desert or a monsoon. Never a middle ground. He’d gone to Nesta with good intentions – that unbidden need to save females – and left with his tail between his legs, his world tipped on its side.

It was difficult to reconcile. By trusting his instincts that Nesta was a willing wife to Eris Vanserra, he was further expanding the gap between him and Rhys – even Cassian. His brother would not forgive him. But for what? Nesta was not a possession. She wasn’t owned by Cassian or Feyre or anybody else. Azriel had no business collecting her like a package.

‘How have you been?’

‘Good. Really good,’ Nesta said, a weight lifting from her shoulders. ‘I’m learning how to ride a horse. It’s terrifying. They’re enormous. Eris is…’ She cast a look to Azriel then cleared her throat. ‘Eris is helping me with everything.’

‘That’s good,’ Emerie agreed. Both females were likely guarding their words from him. He could have left the room, but his shadows were unable to help themselves and they’d listen in regardless.

‘How is training?’

Emerie fiddled with the handle of her cup. ‘I don’t go anymore. Nobody does.’

‘What?’ Nesta’s face fell as she listened to her friend explain how the numbers had dwindled until it was only Emerie and Gwyn still attending. Azriel had offered to continue their lessons, but both had been reluctant. Nesta’s face ruptured into despair. ‘But all of those hours spent training. You can’t let them go to waste.’

‘It was never about the training. It was that sense of belonging. Being part of something bigger.’ Emerie shrugged to hide her own upset. ‘Without you, it wasn’t the same. You held it all together, Nesta.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

Emerie wouldn’t hear it. She held up a palm to stop Nesta. ‘Don’t you say sorry. You… you weren’t in a good place there. I’d rather not train and know you’re happy elsewhere.’

The Autumn Court female flashed a bright grin. ‘There’s room in our court. I’d be more than happy to whisk you away.’

Another blush stole over Emerie’s cheeks. She fumbled with her cup, tried to drink, realised it was empty then blushed again. ‘What did you mean you wanted to check in anyway?’

Nesta tucked the loose strands of her hair behind her ears. She gave a passing glance to Azriel before turning back to Emerie. ‘We worried there might have been repercussions on you and Gwyn from your visit to my home.’

Azriel stayed silent. Was that what Nesta truly thought of them? That they would have hurt Emerie and Gwyn for intel. He swallowed. Yes. Azriel probably would on Rhys’ order. He was able to disconnect his guilt when necessary.

‘Spymaster,’ drawled Niamh. ‘Can I ask you a little question? Just one tiny question. I promise it’s not about your wingspan, impressive as it might be.’

She’d ask it whether or not he agreed to it. He stood stony-faced awaiting whatever ridiculous question she’d ask.

‘If your high lord is the most powerful daemati to ever have inhaled the sweet air on this world, why does he need you to torture information from victims when he can just crack open their heads like an egg?’

Revulsion quickly flashed on Emerie’s face although she turned back to her tea to hide it. She didn’t know who he was. What he was. Now she did. Now she knew the things he did for his court – and would never feel comfortable around him again.

‘He’s also capable of partaking in his own torture sessions.’ Niamh gave him a grin that had Azriel wishing he was dealing with Eris rather than this one. ‘I was Under the Mountain too. You’d be surprised how many times your high lord delighted in hurting others.’

‘Rhys did what he had to.’ It was hollow. An echo that had no base.

She slurped her tea. ‘Did he? So, why did he cut the wings off a lesser fae’s back when Amarantha wasn’t even in the damn room? It wasn’t an order. It was simply your high lord being the sadistic fuck we all know him to be.’

‘I can’t abide this, Nesta. I won’t tell them you’ve been here, but you cannot come again. Do not bring her into my court.’

It was a hard lesson, but Nesta could not have both. She could not dip her toes into the Night Court whenever she pleased – for her own safety. Azriel clung to the fraying threads of his temper as Nesta readied herself to return to the Autumn Court. She hugged Emerie tightly, promising to see her again soon despite Azriel’s words - then Niamh surprised the Illyrian female with a hearty embrace that lifted her from the floor.

‘Azriel,’ Nesta said, stepping closer to him.

‘Don’t try anything, shadow boy,’ Niamh called, bringing an arrow of fire to her hands, trained at his chest.

‘I know this puts you in a situation where your loyalty is tested – and I’m sorry for it. I promise you I’m safe with Eris.’

‘Are you happy, Nesta?’

Her grey eyes turned to the floor. ‘I am learning how to be. But I was never happy here, Azriel. You must have seen it.’

He had. He had seen her fading a little more each day and waited for Cassian to step in. Or Feyre. Or Elain. Anybody.

He could have, he realised. He could have extended the hand of friendship to Nesta when he’d first noticed her struggling. It was as if a knife had been pushed into his gut as he realised that Eris had never failed her. When she had needed him, Eris had stepped up to the mark and hadn’t once let her down. Nesta was a female of action and Eris had met her step for step. Eris was the male that she needed then – and now.  

Nesta reached for his hand, trusting him not to winnow her away.

‘Thank you for never saying a bad thing to me.’

Shame overcame him. The bar was that low that Nesta thanked him for not insulting her. He squeezed her hand back. ‘If I can ever help you, I will. Don’t be a stranger.’

‘I fear I have to be.’

He inhaled. It was wrong. Yet how could he deny Nesta access to her friends when she’d lost so much? ‘Just don’t get caught coming here,’ he murmured. ‘And don’t bring her again.’

‘I’m sorry for what Niamh said. It was uncalled for.’

Another unpleasant prickling of guilt rose up in Azriel’s throat as he stared at this pillar of steel. She could turn the dining room into a battle ground with her words. But had any of them ever stopped and dared to learn who Nesta was besides Feyre’s sister. A female who had volunteered herself as a sacrifice, who’d dared to argue with queens when it came to her people. A female whose heart was good.

His hand stayed in hers although instinct told him to snatch it back, to hide it from her – just as he hid them from everybody else.

‘Won’t you come for Solstice?’

It was more than a month away yet the celebration was a time for family. A chance to pause, reflect, and gather. Feyre’s birthday.

Nesta gave him a resigned smile then withdrew her fingers from his palm. ‘Next time you go to the house, have a look at the paintings.’

 ***

From the moment that Nesta returned with Niamh, Eris could tell she was not right. Her hands tangled in the skirts of her dress, her jaw was tensed, and the worst was the far off look in her eye. He knew better than to push her in public so it was a slow, burning agony waiting to return to the Forest House.

If Nesta had been harmed, Eris counted on Niamh hurting whoever had done it in return. She thrived on violence.

There was no visible marks, no signs of any scuffle.

The moment that she followed Orla to another room to collect a book, Eris rounded on Niamh. ‘What happened?’

‘We met the shadowsinger.’

‘You should have winnowed immediately to me.’

‘So sorry papa. I shall not be naughty again,’ she drawled. ‘We had tea. He behaved. I threatened to set him on fire.’

He didn’t expect anything less but Azriel perhaps was the worst option for such a threat from the state of his hands. ‘Why is Nesta upset?’

‘Maybe she remembered she’s your wife.’

Before Eris could retort, the two females returned, talking quietly while Safera followed Nesta. The dog had taken a shine to her.

‘Should we go home?’

Did she want to return home with him? Did the Forest House feel like a home? Eris nodded. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Eris,’ Orla called. ‘Your back.’

Oh. That. The cool sensation of Orla’s magic receded so that the unbearable burn of the lashes rippled up his spine. Eris knew the routine well enough. Minimal movement was preferred. He’d get a servant to apply a poultice to at least sleep through the night.

Reluctantly, Nesta took hold of his hand to winnow.

Fine. It was fine. She’d been to the Night Court. She had seen Azriel. Her emotions were raw – not a result of him. Still, Eris could not stop the sadness creeping into his heart as Nesta turned colder towards him. No, he had to follow Orla’s words and let Nesta grow without him tangling himself around her.

The Forest House was in a slumber. They had to walk slowly in order to not aggravate the wounds of his back but they saw no Vanserras, only sentries and servants.

‘What happened?’ He asked softly when they entered their rooms.

‘Nothing,’ she snapped.

Nesta’s steps were clipped, her back rigid enough to snap, as she marched forwards to the bedroom. He followed her, despite a small voice in his head telling him to leave her to sort through her own feelings. She forced the red curtains shut. Her boots hit the floor with two loud thumps. The bathroom door slammed behind her.

Still, Eris waited. His back was agony and he could not wait to lie on his front and sleep, but he would not let her go to sleep upset.

On purpose, Nesta seemed to take as long as possible in the bathroom but he was as stubborn as her. With pain lancing through his body, Eris remained upright although he held onto the bed post for support.

Eventually, she emerged. Her brows tugged downwards.

‘What do you want?’

‘I want to know why my wife is so unhappy.’

‘Because you are in my room. Get out.’

Nesta was baring her teeth, the wounded animal who hid her hurts with anger.

He kept his voice quiet. ‘I have done nothing wrong to you, Nesta. What happened in Windhaven?’

She tried to push him from the room but was met with an immovable force. Eris planted his feet even when Nesta tried again. If she wanted to strike him, she could. If she wanted to lash out, he’d let her. There was a reason why she was upset. A reason to be angry. Eris would remain calm until he found out why. If he had to pay a visit to the shadowsinger himself, he would. Nobody would upset his wife.

‘Get out. Just get out.’

Eris caught her wrists then drew her to his body. At first, Nesta thrashed, trying to break out of his grip then she sank into him, a sob breaking out of her until the banks gave way. He cradled her to his chest. A hand went to stroke her hair, the other remained firm around her back.

If that damn shadowsinger had hurt her in anyway, Eris would kill him.

‘I ruined everything.’

She wasn’t ready to raise her head so Eris let her cry into his chest.

‘Life is better with you in it. You ruin nothing, Nesta.’

‘I do. All of the females have stopped coming to training because of me.’

Eris rested his chin on her head while he continued holding onto her. He tried not to let his heart get carried away with the moment. But they hadn’t had a moment like this before, where Nesta sought out his comfort and opened so willingly. It was difficult to resist though Orla’s warning repeated in his head.

‘They don’t want to go when I’m not there. They stay in the library. Emerie is stuck in Windhaven. I ruined everything for them because of my selfishness.’

‘It was because of you they came in the first place. You encouraged them. You supported them.’

‘But I ruined it.’

‘No. You couldn’t be with them every step of their lives. Nesta, it’s not selfish to want better for yourself. You deserve a good life – and that is not with Cassian, or any of them. If the only reason that you want to return to the Night Court is so that the females can train again, it will destroy you. You cannot sacrifice your own happiness.’

‘But it’s not fair for Gwyn or Emerie or the others.’

Eris shook his head. Nesta finally looked up at him, her eyes still rimmed with tears. ‘And it wouldn’t be fair on you to be in misery. I’d rather cut off my hand than let you go back there. If I thought you wanted to be there, I’d let you go. But not when you would sacrifice your joy.’

‘Why do you care about me? I’ve done nothing to earn it.’

The question stunned him for a moment. ‘You believe you have to earn someone’s care?’

He pressed down on the anger that swelled inside of him. Not yet. He couldn’t let his temper run riot yet.

‘How would you like me to declare my adorations? In song? Poem? Should I have it recorded officially?’ Nesta rolled her eyes at his teasing – good, that was better than her sadness. ‘Because you are brilliant, Nesta. You are clever, and wickedly funny with a mind that mine races to keep up with. You have a hunger to learn which I admire. Because you are gentle and loving, giving your heart to those who deserve it. You adapt to everything – and I wish you didn’t have to adapt so much. You never complain. You get on with everything with an unflinching steadiness.’

She appeared bashful, so Eris had to continue. There was a desperation to flood her cheeks with a blush.

‘You are utterly beautiful, but when you wake up from a nap with Safera with sticking up hair and lines on your face, you’re even better. Even when you shed so much hair and I am left wondering how you aren’t bald, I care. I care about how your feet get so cold and I have to bring you a second pair of socks. You always make me the best cup of tea and never lie that my jokes are good. And mostly, because you stood in that room full of high lords and had the biggest balls of any of them. You made my father listen. I care about you because there is one Nesta Archeron in this world and I am so lucky to know her.’

Nesta made a funny sort of noise and breathed out. ‘You talk too much.’

‘I could write an epic that my children’s children would study in history lessons about you. Nesta Archeron: the kingslayer and the master of sarcasm.’

She pressed her palms against her eye sockets, fending off the last few wayward tears that she hadn’t managed to train.

‘Will you promise me one thing? Don’t shut me out, Nesta. I am here to support you. The only way this will work is if we are a team.’ Eris should have stopped. Shouldn’t have kept going down the path but he had to give her hope. ‘Next time I meet with the Night Court, I will raise the topic. Perhaps we could find a way that you could see the females without sneaking.’

Her hand cradled his face. ‘My Eris.’

***

Despite the wounds still seeping blood onto his clothes, Eris would not entertain the notion of sleeping in the bed while she slept on the couch. They were as stubborn as each other; Eris went as far as calling her a goat. To spite him, she invited Safera to share the bed with her. The dog was happy to. She’d leapt onto the mattress, span around a few times, then barked at Nesta until she was shushed.

When the morning came, they took a slow walk around the Forest House so Nesta could better acquaint herself with the vast number of rooms. There was a ballroom that she perked up at, endless rooms that held no purpose, rooms where members of the court lived, a library that she itched to visit, and a gallery that had her yearning to see her pregnant little sister.  

They heard a sharp gasp as they entered the glass conservatory.

Eris’ mother froze where she stood, gazing from the windows into the gloomy forest.

At once, her eyes turned to the floor. The submissive female shrank in on herself. Her orange dress seemed to wear her, draining the colour from her already-pale skin.

‘Mother,’ he said softly.

‘Eris.’ Her reply was brittle. Not the loving call of a mother to her son. It was the wearied cry of an animal backed into a corner who could barely muster the energy to fight another day.

Where her hand rested in the crook of his elbow, Nesta felt Eris’ body tense.

After a few moments of silence, the female nodded her head. ‘I must be going.’

Her feet hurried over the runner in eagerness to flee. The billowing skirt of her gown had been lifted slightly to help her. She was a female who knew how to escape.

Nesta could not bear the despair wending itself through Eris’ features. He touched a hand to his shortened hair. She still had not told him what had occurred between the two of them on her wedding day; how his mother had been willing to risk everything to give Nesta her freedom. It was a secret too precious to share for fear of who might be listening.

‘Do you want to go for a ride?’

Eris blinked at her, realigning himself into the Forest House. ‘I have a lot of work to get through. Would you mind terribly if we remained here?’

While the rain continued pattering down on the glass above them, Nesta read in a chair. Sometimes her eyes flitted to the forest if movement caught her eye. Sometimes it was sentries canvassing the grounds on their duties, other times it was the grey streak of one of the smokehounds. Mostly, her books kept her entertained. She flitted between novels and facts. A sweeping love-story interspersed with histories of the Vanserra family. There were few love stories to be found within their lineage. The necessity to ensure an heir trumped love.

‘Eris,’ she called.

It had him prising his head up from the small table where he’d been writing furiously for hours.

‘Nesta,’ he replied, flexing his hand with a wince.

‘When was this built? It doesn’t match the rest of the building.’

Eris gazed up at the magnificent greenhouse that was filled with luscious plants. On a wet day like this one, it seemed to become more alive as if the plants hungered to be outside into the rain. It reminded Nesta of Elain. She could not help but think of how wide her sister’s eyes would become – or how strange it must be for Lucien for his mate to enjoy the same hobby as his mother. Perhaps fate really did tie mates together. Or perhaps it was simply cruel enough to pair Lucien with a female who would forever remind him of the mother he was denied access to.

‘I hadn’t known you were an architect,’ Eris teased. He crossed an ankle over his knee then leant back against his wicker chair. He called for the servant that had stood to attention the entire afternoon to fetch them tea. Once the female was out of ear shot, he said in a low voice, ‘My father built this for my mother for a wedding present.’

A harsh laugh came from him. ‘I can see you’re surprised.’

Was Nesta so awful at masking her shock?

‘He wasn’t always like that. Not with her. For a while, he did try. I think he doesn’t know how to love. Not truly. Now, he’s a bastard to everybody, especially my mother.’

It was strange to imagine it. Strange to imagine a younger version of Beron embarking on a marriage, hopeful for an heir with his new wife but perhaps even keen to see it flourish. Nesta felt such despair thinking about Eliška, who was sent to a marriage bed to only produce a son, not to be loved or cherished, simply because it had been arranged.

‘He could have destroyed this greenhouse,’ Nesta said softly. ‘Perhaps he’s realised how special it is to her.’

‘Of course he knows how special it is to her. Don’t ever give him the benefit of the doubt, Nesta. He’s threatened her plenty over it. Barred her from coming in, made her earn the privilege to enter, had all of the plants destroyed. The usual scaremongering to keep her in line.’

Their conversation paused when the servant returned with their tea then Eris sent her on a pointless errand to clear the room. Nesta took the opportunity to scan over the documents he’d been compiling – but Eris was quicker. He flipped the papers over, giving her a rueful grin.

‘Do you know why my father cut my hair?’

Nesta shook her head. She knew there had to have been a reason. A calculating male like Beron never did anything without a reason. The fire that she believed existed in the Autumn Court didn’t ring true for the high lord; he was blisteringly cold. There was no warmth. There was no passion.

‘Because my father is a bastard, Nesta.’ Eris rammed the nib of his pen into the ink with more force than necessary. ‘Did you notice how my mother jumped when she saw us? Because I look like her father when my hair is short.’

There were elements of Beron in his features, Nesta could acknowledge, but Eris always felt more fae to her. His ears were more spiked, his amber eyes wilder, the sharp angles of his face more dangerous.

‘What was your grandfather like?’

Eris tapped his pen twice, watching a drop of ink fall back into the glass pot. ‘He was the sort of male who’d sell his youngest daughter to Beron Vanserra for a pile of jewels at twenty years old. That’s what sort of male he was. My father cuts my hair so that my mother will hate me a little more.’

His anger was a rope pulled too tight, threatening to snap.

And yet Nesta had to push a little further. ‘The engagement to Morrigan. She said you had a reputation for cruelty.’

The smile he gave her was cruel enough to match her words. It was cruel. It was vicious. And Nesta knew why he did it. The servant girl might have had her head pointed downwards, but the ears of servants always listened. Nesta had already been primed by Eris that servants weren’t to be trusted. He had his own favoured ones who listened in on his brothers or father – like the one who had warned their bedroom activities would be the topic of conversation at dinner. Others were more aligned with the brothers, some to Beron, some had no loyalties and listened to everything, hoping to profit in some way.

‘Fourteen years old and already known to the Night Court for my cruelty. Are you impressed, my dear wife?’ He gathered his belongings, straightening the papers and kicking his chair beneath the table. ‘I tire of this loathsome place.’

A strange coldness needled its way between them in the following days. Eris was polite and charming, always offering his arm in public and still surrendering the bed each night. But Nesta had felt a sense of wrongness creeping in. He would drop her off to Orla’s home or the cottage in the morning after their magic lesson then would collect her just before bed.

Her hours were busy. Eris had compiled a packed schedule for her. Maceo came most days to teach her more and more about the Autumn Court. He did not know the marriage was a sham, so when he began teaching Nesta on relationships between the courts, and proper protocol, she did not stop him. It was interesting to learn the laws – and she wondered whether Feyre knew all of them too. If her and Eris did not end their marriage one day then she might end up at his side as the lady of the court, and she certainly was not going into it blind.

When she was not filling her mind, Niamh – the hellcat – had her out on a horse. She took a far less careful approach than Eris, commanding Nesta to swing herself up onto the horse and explaining that her sister was adept at healing nearly all injuries if she came off.

When they weren’t on a horse, they trained. Niamh had capitalised on Nesta’s mention of training with Emerie, claiming so few females in the Autumn Court could fight and it would stop her getting into tavern brawls if they could train. It was a different experience than training under Cassian or Azriel’s tutelage. Niamh pressed her to improve her instincts and trust her gut. The witch also fought without honour.

She had Nesta on the floor, looming over her with a big grin. ‘A tip: If you ever fight an Illyrian, go straight for their wings.’

‘You should never touch their wings.’

‘Exactly. They won’t expect it. It’ll scare the shit out of them and give you that split second advantage to slam your knife in their neck.’ Her brown eyes widened. ‘Oh, speaking of. Whatever happened to the king’s head? Do you have it gilded on a shelf somewhere?’

Orla sometimes took Nesta out with her to check on patients with long-standing illnesses. They took the horses out mostly, with Safera remaining with them. The dog had become a steadfast companion. Nesta hadn’t quite worked out whether the visits were to give Nesta a break from Niamh’s exuberance or not. Either way, she was thankful to visit new parts of the Autumn Court with Orla. The elder sister was more pragmatic, less emotional, wise and calming. She healed any bruises gained from knocks in training with Niamh, saying she would not dare to send Nesta back to Eris with marks on her.

Their conversation flowed easier each day. Although Orla was the only one with magical abilities, she still instructed Nesta how to properly care for wounds and manage illnesses. They had planned to give her a false name, but Nesta was recognised easily as the wife of Eris Vanserra. She was interrogated about taxes, the turn of winter, the missing soldiers, and more. Nesta did her best to answer their questions diplomatically, deferring to the Vanserra family where possible and never outright lying. She wasn’t afraid to say she didn’t know an answer or to promise something that she could not give.

‘You’re a natural,’ Orla said with a proud smile as they untethered the horses ready for the ride back.

‘I’ve done nothing.’

‘No. You’ve listened. Sometimes, that’s all they want. Just to be heard.’

It had been just over a week since Eris had been whipped. In that time, he had not once had a meal with Nesta. When they returned to the rooms, he’d either depart or claim he was exhausted which hurried her to bed. He could be heard, pacing sometimes, or his voice would press softly against the silence as he spoke to one of the hounds. Sometimes he did depart later on but never informed Nesta the next day.

Nesta could not help but feel disheartened. He had taken her on as his wife then put himself in harm’s way to protect her. They had shared a moment together, one where she had wanted to kiss him. Since she had called him hers, Eris had pulled back. He was likely regretting being stuck with a female like her now. She even voiced that concern to Orla; though the female was his friend, Nesta needed reassurance that Eris did not regret her.

Orla’s brows tugged downwards. ‘Is he being unkind to you?’

‘No.’ It might have been better if he spat the same vitriol as Cassian. No, Eris was polite. Always polite and charming – though sometimes he’d stop himself from smiling, becoming more reserved or aloof. ‘I know it’s a sham – the marriage – I know that. But we were becoming close friends, I thought, and now he’s distant.’

‘Eris won’t force you back to the Night Court. Please, don’t worry about that. He’d never do something like that to you.'

Heat bloomed in Nesta’s cheeks at the thought of giving voice to her foolish worries, but she was insecure. She could not stand the feel of the ground shifting beneath her, that Eris was drifting away. ‘I feel as if I’ve done something to annoy Eris. He ships me to you every day like cargo then doesn’t want to spend much time with me. I don’t know. I don’t know what I’ve done.’

The healer pushed her hair away from her face as their horses followed the winding trail down a hill towards her home.

‘We all know the story of the war. We know you as the king slayer; being Eris’ wife is second place. You and the general of the Night Court. You were together?’

Her chest constricted at those three words. Were they together? No. Yes. Somewhere in the middle. When Cassian wanted her. Lust had driven them together, but Nesta had always known that there was no commonality between them beyond that. And Nesta knew that Cassian would always pick his family over her. The situations weren’t comparable, but Nesta could not help but believe that Eris would have put her first – at least before the change in him this last week.

‘We slept together a few times. No declarations of love. Unless you would class forcing me to march until I collapsed to be something romantic.’

Orla shook her head with distaste. ‘I should like to give him a piece of my mind. Do you love him?’

‘I think I wanted somebody to love me and he was the easiest option.’

‘They took your other options by trapping you in that house,’ Orla reminded her.

‘True, but it wasn’t love. He’d anger me on purpose, choose his family over me. We’d sleep with each other then never spend the night together. There was no care. He laughed when I fucking fell down the stairs and I still slept with him. I don’t know what I was thinking.’

Nesta watched the healer as she took the horses into their stables. Orla did everything efficiently. She was the steady captain while her sister was the storm.

Safera stood on her back legs to press her paws into Nesta’s stomach for a fuss. Nesta tipped her face forwards, letting the dog’s cold nose brush against hers. She ought not have favourites from the smokehounds, but Safera had become her girl. The others only listened to Eris, but Safera was beginning to listen to her commands. Even if she didn’t, Safera was softer than the other dogs, always seeking a fuss before she joined the hunt – and she was always the first back as if she had not wanted to stray too far.

‘I fear that I have meddled with good intentions.’ Orla blew out a long breath. Night was encroaching, stealing all the light from the sky. ‘You have probably realised that Eris hasn’t had the best life. Nesta, he wants to love somebody so badly and I was scared that he was giving you too much of himself when you weren’t ready for it.’

The tension that had been coiling in her body relieved itself. Her shoulders loosened. It wasn’t her. She wasn’t being paranoid – Eris’ behaviour had changed, but not because of something she had done. He had heeded his friend’s warning and backed off.

‘I’m sorry. I wanted you to have a chance to bloom alone, to realise how amazing you are without anybody’s shadow falling on you.’ The healer reached out to squeeze Nesta’s hand. ‘You are amazing. You do know that, don’t you?’

‘Stop it,’ Nesta scoffed.     

‘Have you given thought to perhaps being true partners?’

Heat rose in Nesta’s chest at the thought. Yes, she had. Eris was easy to be with. Although the short hair was to hurt the relationship with his mother, Nesta found Eris more attractive that way. There were times when she had almost told him to just share the bed with her.

‘You and Eris, you’re a great pair.’

@owllover123 @rarephloxes @fanboy7794 @sugardoll22 @kitkat-writes-stuff @this-is-rochelle @sv0430

[fixed-signs]

Marzana, Marzana

Marzana, Marzana - Chapter 4

Pairing: Josh x original female character (you read that right despite starting with Jake)

Warnings: NSFW MINORS DNI, drinking, weed, implied sex

Eventual pregnancy and angst, we got slow burn, we got fluff

Word count: 700 (a shortie)

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Sara asked.

Hadley munched on the rejected and leftover sour apple hard candies Sara had brought home from work. The house was always filled with random sweets from the local candy store she worked at. During covid Sara had discovered that glass blowing and sugar based foods were very similar— and that people always wanted candy. 

Hadley shook her head ‘no’, “I think I have a stomach bug anyways.” 

“Ok…” Sara eyed the bag of candy and then up to Hadley.

“Please, they’re the only thing I can keep down lately.”

“Ok, but please eat at least one solid meal today- you’re looking….”

“I know, it’s just been busy at work and this flu I’ve had.”

Sara shoots her a look.

“Really, it’s nothing.”

*

Card tables dotted Jake and Josh’s living and dinning room. The family, including Danny’s, was scattered about the house. Someone was already sleeping in the guest bedroom, a game of scrabble was going at a card table set up in the living room, and stories were being regaled at the kitchen island. Josh was busy refilling everyone’s drinks and appetizers, Jake was in the backyard with a small crowd gathered to watch him fry the turkey. 

Stars and warm hanging lights dotted the sky around the grill. Jita hung around the deep fryer and Jake with a fire extinguisher- both casually held drinks in their hands and giggling at each other.

*

Hadley was half asleep on the couch, TV on the blank home screen waiting for the next selection, the same tik Tok had been play for 10 minutes, and it was only 7:30. 

Burl barked loudly in the dining room, startling Hadley awake. She groggily sat up and called for Burl. He didn’t come, just continued on in the dining room. 

Hadley stood slowly and rubbing her eyes, “Burl! Come here!” She called out. 

The only light in the house was the gleaming TV and single lamp in the living room. Her eyes adjusted as she went to were her dog was causing a commotion. 

He was frantically half circling a chair in the dining room. He stopped as soon as Hadley flipped on the light. It blinded her, but immediately stopped Burl in his tracks. 

“Come on, outside.” She muttered and he trotted happily to the back door in the kitchen. 

*

Hadley awoke in her room, Burl as close a humanly possible, without being in her skin, under the covers next to her. Last night was just another drowsy fever like night spent mostly pretending to watch TV and falling asleep on the couch then moved to partially snuggled in her bed. 

It was late morning, she shifted and Burl groaned. She laughed at him and muttered at him to stop making such human noises. He sighed heavily and managed to get even closer to her and taking up more room on the bed. She slung an arm around him and with the other reached under her pillow for her phone on the charger. 

The most recent text from Josh

“Sorry for my belated happy thanksgiving, friends and family I didn’t have the chance to see yesterday. The turkey was so good it felt like my face fell off and then was getting a face transplant al a Nic Cage in Face Off. The blissed out, turkey induced tryptophan trip was the most enlightening piece of my year (even better than the Ayahuasca I got from that gas station bathroom in Florida when I was 19), however, this hangover and bloating is not. I hope all is well and I hope to see you all at some point during this holiday season.” 

She laughed at the attached picture of a very puffy face Josh. 

‘You should get that checked out’ 

Hadley replied and then began about her morning routine. By the time she had come back from letting Burl out, starting coffee, and going to the bathroom herself (while checking her emails on the toilet no less), Josh had already responded.   

‘Looking better already’ Josh sent another picture. This time he has sunglasses on with his parents next to him.

‘What an honor your parents get to see you mildly hungover’

Immediately ‘…’ started on her screen from him.

‘How was your Thanksgiving?’

‘Oh so many thanks. Can’t even count. ‘Btw the guitar is coming along much better than I thought it would’ 

‘Excellent!! Well, what’s your #1 thank-give?’

‘I didn’t get sick last night (not from drinking, the flu you degenerate)’

‘Lol, I can’t wait to see what’s in store for you for Christmas’ 

‘Dream big’

[powpowpunchout]

Spending Time Together

Octave laid across the dark brown couch in his living room. His bare chest was pressed against the cushions, his feet hung off the armrest, and his face was buried in a pale yellow pillow. He shifted his legs around, trying to get comfortable, but his bruises flared up.

He dug his fingers into the cushion as he hissed to himself.

He doesn't care how much pain he’s in, he’s been lying in this position for hours, he can’t stay like this forever.

Octave pushed himself up. His arms felt like they were about to snap. His legs felt like they’d been set on fire. His whole body felt so, so heavy. Despite it all, he managed to turn around and lay on his back.

He let out quiet curses in between his slow, heavy breaths. He hated that. His body hated that. But he’ll take a few minutes of pain over staring at that stupid pillow for another second.

As he waited for the pain to fade, he turned his head and stared at the TV that stood across from him. His ‘old, clunky piece of junk’ as the seller he bought from called it. The shape of it was odd, sure, especially compared to the TV he’s seen at Aran’s place or the ones hanging on the walls at WVBA’s bar. It was boxier. Longer. It went just past his hips in terms of height, and a small screen took up the top half, while the built-in speaker took up the bottom. Despite how ‘clunky’ it looked, it still worked fine.

He could watch his old movies without a problem, he could turn it on and off no issue, the audio was almost alway clear, but those knobs…

He narrowed his eyes, trying to get them adjusted to the darkness.

He needed to fix those knobs. Eventually.

They weren’t completely broken, yet, but it was getting harder to use. He had to walk over, spin them around some, press them in, spin them around some more, then he’d get frustrated and shake the entire TV before he went back to spinning them again. Just thinking about all those steps was annoying him. He needed those knobs. He needed them to adjust the size of the picture on the screen so he could see the films normally.

Octave let out a long sigh.

If he had the strength, he’d turn the TV on right now, but he didn’t want to push his luck.

His stomach was still killing him.

He wasn’t sure if it was from the boxing match, or because he hadn’t eaten since he’d gotten home–oh, jeez, that match was yesterday. It felt much longer than that.

Octave clutched at his stomach.

It felt like someone was twisting a knife inside of him.

When was the last time he ate?

He remembered coming home, throwing his stuff aside and wanting to take a shower, but he only had enough energy to change into a pair of black shorts before collapsing on the couch.

Has he really been laying here for an entire day?

He probably reeks.

His stomach’s probably hurting because he’s hungry, but he wasn’t in the mood to get up and drag himself to the kitchen.

He let an arm dangle off the couch and touch the light beige carpet below.

Beige.

Browns and beiges. That’s all his living room consisted of.

The walls were beige, his carpet was beige, the tiles in his kitchen were beige, the counters? Beige. The small dining table was brown, its chairs were brown as well, as was the coffee table that sat between him and the tv. The end table pressed against the left side of his couch was brown, heck, every piece of furniture he had were all some shade of browns and beiges.

The only things that had any pop of color were his collections of old vinyls slipped into shelves, whatever decor he hung around the house, and the stack of old books and record covers atop his TV that looked seconds away from toppling over. Everything else though? Browns and beiges.

Tonight, though, his house had been consumed by the deep, cold violet of the evening.

It wasn’t often he got to see his living room washed in another color.

He brought his eyes up and saw a bright yellow streak of light going across his wall, hitting the string of decoration he had put up some time ago. They weren’t anything too fancy. Just pennon flags of boxers’ initials, old movie tickets, newspaper clippings of his past victories, simple things, but he liked them. He then glanced at the window beside the dark brown front door. It was cracked open, as were the blinds, allowing the headlights of his neighbor’s car to shine through. Idiot must’ve forgotten to turn the dang thing off–

The phone on his end table started to ring. Octave rolled his eyes and stayed put.

He’s not answering that.

Whoever’s calling this late can go rot.

He stayed still. His black candlestick phone shook with each loud ring.

It kept ringing and ringing and ringing.

And then it stopped.

And then it was quiet again.

He laid still, a cold but pleasing breeze hitting his face.

He looked at his body.

His poor, bruised body.

Even with how dark it was, he could still make out the disgusting purple marks across his chest. He–

The phone started to ring again.

Octave groaned and shoved the pillow into his face.

He stretched his arm out and felt around for the phone. He cussed when his fingers hit a sharp corner of the table. Great. Wasn’t like they were hurting enough.

His hand managed to find the table top. He continued to feel around, knocking off crumpled papers, an empty cup, and whatever else was on there before he finally felt the base of his phone.

His fingers traveled up before curling around the thin, cylindrical spine. He sat up, brought the phone to his face, tore the cone-shaped receiver away from its hooks, then pressed it against his ear.

“Yeah?” He said, tightly wrapping the phone’s cord around his finger in an attempt to ignore the surge of pain rushing through his body.

“Aye, Overload.” Aran said, his voice grainy, “Ye busy?”

“Yeah.” Octave tilted the phone so that the mouthpiece on top was closer to his mouth.

Aran clicked his tongue, “Awh, that’s too bad. I was hopin’ we could spend some quality time t’gether.”

Aran’s voice kept getting overpowered by… Something loud.

Octave ignored whatever Aran was saying and listened closely. It sounded like he was in a car, but that can’t be right, Aran’s license got revoked.

He kept listening.

Was that…

Was that cheesy 70s music?

“Aran–Aran are ya with Disco?”

“That obvious?”

“I can hear his stupid music through here. Why th’heck are ya with him?”

There was some shuffling around on the other side before Aran spoke again.

“He was jus’ drivin’ me back home is all. Wan’ me to tell ‘im ye said hi?”

“No.”

There was a bit more shuffling.

“O’erload says hi.” Aran’s voice was quiet, but Octave heard every word perfectly. Along with Disco Kid’s little ‘Hi!’

Octave groaned. Aran’s staticed snickered creeped through his ears.

“So, wan’ go out for a bite?”

“I’m hurtin’, Aran.”

“Sure y’are.” Aran said. Octave could hear the grin growing on his face. “C’mon, when’s th’last time we hung out?”

“I ain’t goin’.”

Octave heard Disco speak again, but he could hardly make out a word.  

“How bout tomorrow night then? Y’pick th’place, I’ll pay. My treat. It’ll be fun. See ye then.”

Aran hung up.

Octave sat there, hunched over, staring into the mouthpiece of his phone.  

He tightened the cord around his finger.

Whatever.

He can’t stay on this couch forever, and he needs to eat eventually.

It’ll be a good reason to finally shower too, maybe he could even dress decently. Maybe he does need a night out.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Great Tiger lifted his head off a pillow. He opened his eyes and was nearly blinded by the sunlight. He hissed and looked away, only to see he was surrounded by more colorful pillows.

He slowly blinked.

Did he fall asleep during Bald Bull’s training last night? That’s embarrassing.

But this was Bull’s room. He doesn’t remember stepping foot into Bull’s room last night.

Did Bull carry him here? That’s even more embarrassing.

Tiger sat up, but a lock of his dark brown hair snagged onto something. He looked down and saw it got tangled around the beaded edges of a pink pillow. He grumbled as he placed the pillow on his lap and carefully pulled his hair free. After that was done, he ran his fingers through his hair–his face scrunched when he felt how tangled it was. That’ll be a joy to brush through.

Tiger then patted down his low, white v-neck long sleeve shirt. It looked horribly wrinkled. His loose, sand-colored, wide-legged pants weren’t as bad, thankfully–

His eyes scanned the bed.

Where in the world was his turban?

Where in the world was Bull?

His turban was surely… Somewhere… On this bed, but what about Bull?

He looked ahead and saw the thick, pastel purple curtains that surrounded the bed were parted at the very front. That allowed Tiger to peek into the bedroom. It also allowed that accursed sunlight to shine through and assault his poor eyes.

Tiger crawled towards the curtains and poked his head through. His brows lowered when he saw there were still no signs of Bull.

Bull wasn’t by his redwood dresser that was pressed against the wall getting clothes out, he wasn’t sitting on one of the colorful, patterned orange couches and cushions placed in the far right corner of the room, and when Tiger leaned a bit further to get a better look through the archway that led to the balcony, he couldn’t see Bull there either.

Tiger pressed his lips together. Perhaps Bull was already downstairs preparing breakfast? The sort of breakfast that was always far too sweet for Tiger to ever finish? The sort that always left a giant mess behind? That left behind a syrupy scent that lingered in the air for hours? It’s possible.  

However, before he checks down there, he needs to find his turban.

Tiger started digging through the pile of pink, yellow, purple, and who knows how many other colored pillows that buried Bull’s bed.

You know, Tiger could tell you every little thing about Bull’s room. He could tell you about the large, arched windows on both sides of the room, how you could get an excellent view of the garden and city on one side, while getting a wonderful look at the rich, neighboring forest and the wildlife that passed on the other. He could talk about the decorations for hours, from the mosaic lamps that hung from the ceiling on brass chains, to the strings of beads and cut paper that dangled from the walls. He could talk about the giant, round red rug in the center of the room with tiny, intricate, embroided patterns that could mesmerize you for hours. Oh, and the fabrics that were tied around the four large, elegantly carved, light-peach columns that were placed in each corner of the room? Magnificent.

He could ramble for hours about the fabric alone, honestly. The way they were tied to the tops of the columns and stretched across the ceiling? The way they met in the middle where a big mosaic lamp hung and circled around it? The way each fabric had such different colors and patterns from one another yet still harmonized? From magentas to purples to pinks, from stripes to speckles to plain, each one was splendid, and even more so when they were all tied together. And the way the sun bounced off them and tinted the tan floors and walls in a gentle hue of pink? The only word that he could use to truly describe the look of it all was: ‘Magnificent’.

The lamp in the center of the ceiling was broken, unfortunately. It’s been broken for as long as he can remember. He keeps offering to fix it, to fly over and change to bulb, but Bull always says he’ll change it himself. Eventually.

And Tiger may or may not have influenced Bull to hang up a tiger-patterned fabric.

He didn’t mean to!

He just made a comment one day, jokingly saying: ‘Oh? No tiger stripes? How disheartening.’ Or something along those lines, and the next time he came over, Bull happily pointed out his latest purchase. It honestly did make Tiger’s day. Even looking at the fabric now, a feeling of delight fluttered inside of him.

So many of Bull’s things had all sorts of stories to them, stories he’s told Tiger all about, and Tiger could spend all day sharing every single one of them with you, but if you asked him about Bull’s bed? Tiger would have no idea what to tell you.

He’s never seen Bald Bull’s bed before. It’s always been covered with pillows and thick, patterned blankets.

The bed sheet might be purple? But that could’ve been another pillow for all he knew.

And sure, even though the pile of pillows were comfortable, it’d be nice to sleep on an actual mattress. Something that didn’t snag his hair every time he tossed and turned. Bull always tells him that the pillows don’t tangle up hair that badly, but he’s not the one with hair going past his back.

Tiger sat up and put his hands on his hips. No luck finding his turban so far, and he did not want to spend the entire day looking for it.

He snapped his fingers. Then waited.

And waited.

Suddenly, his unraveled white turban teleported onto his lap. He smiled. A little bit of a delay,, but it still appeared! Perhaps his magic won’t be too much of a hassle this morning.

He got to his feet and started shuffling through the pillows as he carried his turban, wondering what Bull made for breakfast. Pancakes? Muffins? Did he order donuts again? Whatever it was, Tiger knew it was going to be delicious, and that he'd only have enough stomach to eat a single bite.  

Tiger felt his foot get caught underneath a blanket. He flailed his arms in a desperate attempt to keep his balance, but as he fell closer and closer to the floor, he squeezed his eyes shut.

‘Teleport me back onto my feet!’ He told himself.

That’s all he needed.

To be back on his feet.

That’s all.

The sensation of magic sparked inside of him.

That familiar, sharp, cold sensation that started at the tips of his hands and feet and shot right into his chest.

Then the feeling of high winds started to hit his face, and though his eyes were closed, his vision was filled with an array of colors that swirled together and whirled past him.

His hair flew. His grip on the turban tightened. Everything got faster and faster–

And then it stopped.

His hair fell down to his back. The fabric drooped. And his feet touch the ground.

He breathed out then cracked an eye open.

“Ah.” He said as he saw he was no longer in the bedroom, but the kitchen. He’d be mad at this teleportation mess-up had it not been for the fact he wanted to be here in the first place.

Tiger’s mustache twitched. Plenty of sunlight came through the small window above the kitchen sink, and through the sliding glass doors nearby that lead to the backyard, leaving the kitchen perfectly lit and warm, the perfect conditions Bull loved to cook in, but despite that, the kitchen was completely spotless.

The umber countertops weren’t covered in batter or flour, none of the cream-colored drawers were open, the sink wasn’t filled with a mountain of dirty dishes–heck–all the clean dishes from yesterday were still untouched on the drying rack, and there weren’t any pots or pans sitting on the black stove. In fact, they were all still hanging on the metal rack above the kitchen island, which was also perfectly clean.

His eyes flickered to the light tawny shelves placed along the white tiled walls. The small bags of sugar, the little containers of baking soda and powder were unopened, the thin, cylinder baskets that held Bull’s cooking utensils looked unmoved. The only sign that Bull had ever stepped foot in here were the houseplants sitting on those same shelves; fresh water droplets adorning their leaves.

He caught a glimpse at the timer on the stove. 8 AM.

Tiger mindlessly started to circle around the kitchen island, the wooden floor creaked with each step he took as he stroked his beard and wondered where Bull could’ve gone off to.

He wrapped his turban into a tight ball and placed it inside the pocket of his pants as he slowed and brought his attention to the white pantry pressed against the wall. His eyes trailed down and landed on the small, chestnut-colored prep table sitting beside it. Bull was originally going to put it in the living room, but he kept forgetting, so here it remains, holding stacks of boxed snacks and an assortment of fruit.

He stared at the fruit, specifically at a red apple.

He flicked his wrist. The apple poofed away then reappeared in his hands. He smiled.

Then a banana teleported into his hands.

No, no, no he doesn’t want that vile thing. Put it away.

He glared at the banana. It teleported back onto the prep table.

The apple suddenly teleported back as well.

He huffed and flicked his wrist again. The fruit disappeared and…

Tiger’s head darted around.

Where the heck did they go?

He stopped when he spotted them sitting on top of the sleek, gray fridge, but before he had the chance to reach out for them, they poofed back onto the table. Again.

Tiger looked at the apple. He folded his arms, sighed, then hung his head in defeat as he did the walk-of-shame over to the table and picked up the fruit like a normal person.

‘Blasted magic.’ He thought to himself as he went over to the sink and washed the apple, ‘Hopefully it decides to wake up sooner than later.’

As soon as he went to bite the apple, he heard a phone ring. It sounded rather… Muffled.

Tiger’s eyes darted about. Was it coming from outside?

He turned to the small window above the sink and leaned close to it. He cracked open the blinds and peered through–Oh, Bald Bull! He’s out there!

Tiger set the apple aside and hurried to the glass doors.

“Good morning, Bull!” Tiger said as slid them open and stepped out onto the patio, the feeling of cold concrete against his bare feet was more than enough to wake him up.

“Ah–” Bull looked away from the chained punching bag that hung from the balcony overhead, “Morning.”

He wasn’t wearing a shirt–that was tossed over one of the many magenta cushions that surrounded the pale, wooden round table placed under the patio. His shorts a shade of warm purple that reminded Tiger of the jars of fig jam Bull kept in his pantry. He wasn’t wearing any shoes. Or socks. But seeing how the grass he stood on was glistening with dew, it was probably for the best.

“I was looking all over for you, you know.” Tiger put his hand on his chest. The subtle smell of pollen and just-watered flowers was growing stronger with each passing second. “Why–”

A loud, obnoxious phone ring interrupted him.

He shot a nasty glare at Bull’s maroon flip phone. He grabbed it off of the table, being careful not to knock over the water bottle beside it, and raised it in the air.

“Would you like–” Tiger stopped and quickly stepped onto the large, red, pink, and blue striped mat beneath the table. He couldn’t bear to stand on the frigid stone floor for another second. “--would you like me to answer the phone for you?”

“No, no. Probably another photographer.” Bull’s voice trailed off as he gave the punching bag a half hearted swing.

“Another…?” Tiger tilted his head. His mind blocked out the constant rings as he… Well… He was a bit worried about Bull. He didn’t sound nearly as energetic as he usually does. Usually Bull was always the first one to give a loud, hearty ‘Good morning!’, then he’d ask how Tiger slept, if there’s anything he’d like for breakfast, but here he was–

The caller hung up. Tiger flipped the phone open and gasped.

“Good heavens, over 50 missed calls?! What happened?” Tiger exclaimed.

“Macho man.” Bull said as he rubbed his eyes, “He did not show up to the photoshoot like he had promised.”

Tiger raised a brow, “I didn’t know Macho had your number.”

“Neither did I.”

“Are all these calls from Macho Man?”

“No, he–”

A voicemail started to play. Tiger hit a button and put it on speaker.

“Hey Bull buddy! Ya accidentally blocked me again.” Super Macho Man’s voice came through. Tiger glanced at Bull, who looked absolutely exhausted.

The voicemail continued, “Anyways, Super-Macho Sorry bout th’photo thing again. And th’guys constantly callin’ ya. Totally didn’t think that’d happen. Any way I can make it up t’ya? Drinks? Couple hundred bucks? A wig? Cake? Ya like cakes, right? Jus’ lemme know when ya get th’chance. Later.”

Tiger stood there. Mouth hanging open. Before he slowly turned to Bull.

“Super… Macho… Sorry?”

Bull groaned and rested his head against the punching bag, “Tiger.”

“Yes?”

“Scroll down.” He made a little motion with his finger.

“Alright?”

“Do you see the small red box at the bottom of the screen?”

“The one that says ‘Block Caller’?”

“Yes. Click it.”

Tiger did so. A little ‘blip’ came from the phone.

Bull nodded then brought his focus back to his training.

“So,” Tiger twirled the tip of his mustache, “who else has been calling you?”

“Photographers, journalists, fans.” Bull said as he struck the bag, “Macho told me he had given my number to some people on the night of the photoshoot for some reason, and since then things have been getting worse and worse.”

The calls didn’t start coming till yesterday afternoon, while he and Tiger were taking a break from their work out. It started off slow. Every other hour he’d get a call here, a few messages there, nothing to pay much mind to, but before he knew it, those ‘couple of calls’ turned to hundreds.

‘...I just thought that–ya know–if th’fans were so bummed bout not seein’ ya, they could give ya a quick call ‘n say hi!’ One of Macho’s voicemails said. Bull’s face soured at the recollection. Thanks to him, he’ll have to change his number. Again.

Bull gave the bag another punch.

“I could hardly get any sleep last night.” Bull muttered. He remembered laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling with wide, aching eyes as the muffled rings of his phone taunted him. Tormented him. Even with it being shoved in the far back shelf of his pantry on the first floor, he could hear it so clearly.

The fears that plagued his mind certainly didn’t help either. It didn’t matter how much he wanted to sleep, the voice in the back of his brain kept screaming at him to check the windows. Lock the doors. Make sure no one was standing in his driveway. Make sure no one was getting closer to them–

“Is that why you got out of bed last night?” Tiger asked.

Bull stopped, “Did I wake you?”

“I felt the bed shift around,” Tiger shrugged, “and I saw you leave the room, but I thought it was a dream.”

“Ah.” Bull’s face grew warm, “I apologize.”

“Oh, don’t be. I fell right back asleep.”

Bull raised his fist and lingered for a moment before hitting the bag, “I took my phone outside, thought if it was not in the house, I’d sleep easier.” He hit it again, “I did not.”

Tiger leaned against one of the thin, pale-peach colored columns that supported the balcony, “Well, if you’re tired, why not rest? You’ve earned it.”

Bull didn’t take his eyes off the punching bag, “I do not want to fall behind.”

“Oh, ‘fall behind’.” Tiger scoffed, “You’ve been training all day yesterday. It’s not a crime to relax! Have you even had breakfast yet?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Tiger folded his arms and frowned, not like Bull could see. He then sharply exhaled and stepped forward, “Well, at the very least let me help you.”

Bull stopped.

“Are you sure? Is your magic awake enough?”

Tiger raised his hands into the air and started making quick, little pulling gestures. His turban slithered out of his pocket and into the air. He then made small, circular motions with one finger, his hair tied itself into a tight bun before the turban wrapped itself around. And with one flick of the wrist, his gem appeared right in the center of his turban, securely placed between the fabric.  

He gave Bull a smile, “I think it’s waking up quite nicely.”

“Showoff.” Bull lightly rolled his eyes. Tiger could see the tiny smile underneath his bushy mustache.

“We’ll start off the way we did yesterday.” Tiger said, pulling out one of the cushions with his magic and sitting on top, “I’ll move the bag around a bit, make it dodge your attacks, all that delightful stuff, and then we’ll pick up the pace. How’s that?”

“Perfect.” Bull said as he walked further out into the backyard, watching as Tiger used his magic to take the bag off its hook and fly it over to his side. Bull’s eyes locked onto the bag. He dug his feet into the ground, swung his arm back, then–

As soon as he went for a hit, the bag quickly moved aside.

Bull tried again. Only for the bag to dodge again.

He watched as the bag jumped from place to place, and once he caught onto the rhythm, he reeled his arm back and socked it square in the center.

The punching bag went flying across the garden–Tiger quickly stopped it before it could crush any of the flowers.

Bull’s smile widened as Tiger teleported the bag back in front of him.

Bull tried to hit it again. The bag moved.

He tried again, only to miss again.

He kept trying over and over to get another punch, but it felt like with every missed swing, Tiger made the bag faster.

After another missed hit, Bull grit his teeth.

He let the bag dart around before he uppercut it.  

A loud ‘BANG’ shot out from the impact. Music to the ears.

Bull put his hands on his hips and let out a confident laugh. He repositioned himself, hands curling to tight fists, energy flowing through him as he was ready to–

Ready to…

Where did the bag go?

Bull scanned the backyard.

That’s strange. No traces of it anywhere–

Bull stopped when his eyes landed on the patio. On Great Tiger.

“Tiger.” Bull folded his arms.

“Oh goodness! It seems the punching bag has vanished into thin air!” Tiger covered his mouth dramatically.

“Tiger.”

Tiger hovered off the seat and gravitated towards his unamused friend, “And it seems the only way to make it reappear is by… Having breakfast!”

“Tiger, where is it.”

“Ah-ah, a magician never reveals his secrets when he’s hungry.” Tiger grinned.

Bull raised his brows.

“Alright. I will make us breakfast.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Octave stood outside, hands shoved into the pockets of his high wasted, dark gray pants as he leaned against a lamppost, waiting at the corner of one of the city’s blocks. The one that was right beside the laundromat he goes to; where he’d help himself to a small handful of candies from the dispensers right beside the counter as his clothes were in the washer, or go for a walk outside as he waited for the dryer to finish.

It was the only laundromat he knew of that was close to his house and open 24/7.

‘Brightest building on th’block. Can’t miss it.’ Octave told Aran over the phone this morning. Heck, it was probably the brightest building in the whole city. That’s what made it the perfect place to meet up.

Sure, the outside wasn’t too flashy, it looked like every other brick building with a worn down sign,, but the inside? The bright, blinding white lights on the inside that shone through the wide, rectangular windows? It was enough to illuminate the entire street. 

It didn’t matter what hour it was, what day, or if a giant storm swept through the city, the laundromat kept its dang lights on at full blast.

Octave took one hand out of his pocket and fiddled with his black tie. He wished he had brought a watch. He was starting to get hungry.

Octave was starting to get hungry.

Aran was taking forever.

Where the heck was he?

Octave’s hand went from his tie to the buttons of his white shirt.

Aran better not be hitching a ride from Disco again. The last thing Octave needed was Disco’s stupid face pulling up in his stupid, flashy car, all while blasting his stupid, obnoxious music.

If Aran’s not here in five minutes, he’ll just go to the diner by himself–

“OY! O’erload!” Octave heard someone shout, “Izzat you?!”

Octave turned and saw Aran hurrying across the street.

“Bout time. Was startin’ to think ya got lost with how long you were takin’.” Octave said, pushing away from the lamppost, “Was ya daddy Disco not able to drive ya tonight or somethin’?”

“Ay, trus’ me,” Aran huffed, “I was thinkin’ bout ditchin’ several times.”

Octave scanned Aran up and down. There wasn’t anything good to look at. His t-shirt was plain and green, his shorts a dark indigo, his shoes were a dark seagreen–he didn’t even bother to tie his laces or brush his hair. Yeah, his hair always looked like a wreck, but it was especially bad tonight. It was more than obvious this outfit had been thrown on at the last second.

“Kinda wished ya did. C’mon.” Octave muttered. He shoved his hands back into his pockets and tilted his head. Aran followed behind.

The diner they were heading to was a straight walk from here, but as Octave stared ahead–stared at the line up of lampposts and buildings–he sorta wished he had picked an earlier time to meet up.

Don’t get him wrong, he loved how quiet the city was at night. He loved how there were hardly any cars rushing through the streets, playing their awful music, he loved how the sidewalks weren’t filled with hundreds of noisy people constantly bumping into him, and he loved how cool the air was, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss the colors at sunset.

Instead of the sky being filled with pinks and purples, it was filled with a deep, dull indigo. Usually that wasn’t an issue, usually there’d be stars to look at, but tonight, the sky was consumed by thick clouds. Instead of the city streets being washed with a hue of orange, everything was just dark.

Octave looked to the left, trying to see if he could sneak a peek inside the windows of the stores they passed by, but all of their lights had been turned off, and the lamp posts certainly weren’t any help. They produced just enough light to dimly illuminate the sidewalk. Nothing more, nothing less.

It was kind of a downer, not seeing anything through those windows. He felt stupid for feeling that way, but there was something pleasant about seeing stores wrapping up for the day. Catching a glimpse of them cleaning up, waving goodbye to their last few customers, or locking their doors before they head home? It was strangely pleasant.

But there was nothing tonight. Nothing to look at besides the barren street ahead of them. Nothing to hear except the buzzing of street lamps.

Octave felt Aran tug on his dark gray, cropped suit, “What’s wit th’getup? We gonna have a fine dinin’ experience tonight or somethin’ tog’ther or somethin’?”

Octave pulled it away, “Wanted t’look nice.”

“Ye look bad.”

“Thanks.”

Octave kept staring ahead. Aran’s smirk twitched.

“Y’still mad at me bout a couple’a days ago?”

Octave didn’t answer. He heard Aran sigh.

“C’mon, I was jokin’ bout all that.” Aran rolled his eyes, “Thought it was somethin’ we could laugh at.”

“If I wanted t’laugh I’d lookatcha face.”

Aran cackled then wrapped his arm around Overload’s neck, “See? There’s that bite I love. But if we’re both bein’ honest ‘ere…” He leaned in closer, “We both know y’can’t see past that nose o’yers.”

Octave shoved Aran off. Aran stumbled a bit onto the road before jumping back into place.

Octave twisted a button on his suit. He was thankful he decided to pop in some painkillers before heading off tonight. While his body still ached a tad with each step he took, it was nowhere near as bad as it was yesterday.

He brought his head up. A yellow light coming from one of the apartment buildings’ windows caught his attention. It was rather high up, but when he narrowed his eyes, he could make out the silhouettes of house plants. His eyes darted over to another lit room where a couple was talking to each other. There were several other lit windows scattered across the buildings, all allowing little peeks into the evening lives of those inside. From cats resting atop their cat-trees, to people sitting on their balcony having a smoke, to others leaving their windows open to let the aroma of their dinners out into the world, it was nice. It wasn’t the same as passing by stores at sunset, but it was nice.

When Octave lowered his head, his eyes lit up when he saw a familiar red glow up ahead. He picked up the pace. So did Aran.

At the end of the block, sitting across the road, was his favorite diner.

He felt a small smile make its way on his face.

“Course y’chose this dingy place again.” He heard Aran grumble.

“If ya don’t wanna eat here then there’s a trash can right over there.” Octave motioned to the overflowing bin nearby. Aran elbowed him before rushing across the road. Octave hurried behind.

As they grew closer to the restaurant, the warm, welcoming red glow of the restaurant’s sign that read “DINER” grew stronger.

They made their way to the white door that jutted out from the otherwise perfectly flat front, white lights from the overhang shining down on them.

Octave has a clipping from an old newspaper that shared the story of when this diner first opened decades ago. The paper was worn down, partially stained and torn, but it was still legible, and the picture was in decent quality too. He has it framed and hung on his wall, along with several other old clippings.

The outside of the diner today looked the same as it did all those years ago. Simple. Not that simple was a bad thing. Its colors were nothing but white and shades of metallic grays, the only pop of color being the red stripes that ran across. The metal roof and its rounded corners still looked as sleek and stainless as it did when it first opened, the only thing that looked aged was the diner’s sign. Its red lights kept flickering, sometimes a letter would fizzle out and stay that way for a couple of weeks before the owners fixed it up.

Octave remembered how many cars were parked in the driveway of that photo, how many people were lined up by the door. Tonight? The parking lot tonight was empty, and from what Octave can see through the windows, so was the inside. Perfect.

Octave held the door open for Aran before slipping inside the diner.

The first thing to greet them were the strong smells of warm butter and pancakes. Enough to make a person’s mouth water, yet somehow overpowering enough to dwindle their appetite.

The second thing to greet them was an orange haired waitress who wore a white apron that stopped just below her knees and covered most of her pastel red, collared t-shirt, along with her tan khakis.

“Hi there!” She hollered from the other side of the diner, cleaning off one of the many white tables pressed against the walls, “You two sit where ya need’ta. I’ll be there to help in a sec!”

Octave walked over to the long, white counter that nearly stretched across the entire checkered floor.

The inside of the diner was on the narrower side and split into three ‘sections’. The first section–the side where the front door stood–was where all the booths laid. Most people liked to sit there as they all had windows beside them. The second section was the white counter with a whole bunch of red bar stools placed on one side–if you’re too tall, your knees’ll keep hitting the edge of the counter–and on the other side was the drink station and the black door that lead to the kitchen. And the third section? That was the area placed between the booths and the counter. The small bit of section of actual, visible floor that you could walk on. The section you need to walk through to get to the bathroom on one end of the diner, or to use the jukebox on the other end. The section you have to be the most careful in because so many people stuck their legs out there, making it incredibly easy to trip and crack your head open.

Octave sat down on one of the barstools at the edge of the counter. Aran sat beside him, but not before spinning around a couple of times in his seat like a five year old, chuckling to himself.

Aran grabbed one of the menus in front of them. Octave didn’t. He already knew what he wanted.

Something simple, something filling. Pancakes, maybe with a side of sausage patties.

As Aran skimmed through the menu, Octave let his eyes wander around the diner.

Only two other people were in here, not including the waitress. They were sitting rather far from the counter as well. Hopefully they won’t smack their lips or slurp too loudly.

Each table and small sections on the counter had their own salt and pepper shaker, napkins, and a couple of condiments that all looked replenished and neatly arranged. They must’ve been restocked recently.  

The old jukebox–which color had always reminded Octave of copper–was playing jazz from a band he didn’t recognize.

“Pah, nothin’ but th’cheap stuff ‘ere.” He heard Aran hiss. Probably complaining about the beer again. He threw down the menu and whipped his head over, “Y’know, th’last time I had th’hashbrowns ‘ere, they made me sick.”

“Yea, ya ate like three plates of ‘em in three seconds. Course ya got sick.”

“They nearly killed me.”

“Too bad they didn’t.”

Aran threw his arms up, “I put up wit th’crappiest food for ye ‘n ye can’t even–”

Octave jabbed him with his elbow, shutting him up.

Aran rubbed his arm as he grumbled strings of curses to himself. He was about ready to ask what that was for, but then he saw the waitress coming over with a notepad.

“Hi, hi! Sorry for th’wait! How’re you two doin’ tonight?” The woman asked, the corner of her eyes crinkling and the wrinkles around her mouth stretching to perfectly fit her big smile.

“Fine.” Octave said.

“Not too shabby.” Aran added.

“Good, good. Have you two decided what ya’d like to drink?” She asked, taking out a pen that was placed between her hair and ear before clicking it.

Octave opened his mouth–but Aran cut him off.

“Ay, two bottles o’ Stellar Soc’er for us.” He said as he placed a hand on Octave’s shoulder. Octave gave him a glare.

“Alrighty,” She nodded as she scribbled away, “and have ya decided what ya wanna eat? Or do ya still need some time?”

“Nah, we’re ready. I’ll have th’--uh–” Aran grabbed the menu again and quickly flipped it over, “Ham ‘n cheese omelet.”

“Any sides?”

“Ay, two things of hashbrowns.”

Octave shot him a ‘Seriously?’ look.

The waitress then turned to Octave, “And for you?”

“Silver dollar pancakes for me.” He said, propping his head up with his hand.

“Any sides?”

“Nah.” He wasn’t feeling as hungry as he was earlier.

The woman finished jotting down their orders before flashing them another smile, “Okay! I’ll be back with ya drinks in a minute!”

Octave watched as she went to the other side of the counter, black shoes squeaking across the floor. She turned to the drink station and bent down. She opened one of the cabinets and took out a bag of coffee, probably for one of the other customers.

Octave’s eyes started to drift away from the waitress and to the drink station itself.

Is that even the right thing to call it? Was there a specific name for it?

It’s an area.

That has drinks.

Well, it had more than just drinks, and it wasn’t an ‘area’, it was another counter on the other side–black–and the same height of the one he and Aran sat at, but it wasn’t as long.

Most of the countertop’s space was taken up by blenders, various coffee machines, and an electric kettle, and while those were all spaced out evenly from each other, the same couldn’t be said for everything else on there. The bags and canisters of different coffee brands? The small boxes of tea bags and leaves? The containers of sugar, cinnamon, and other spices? Those were shoved together in whatever space was left, piled on top of each other in such a way that they looked like their contents were about to spill all over the floor.

The staff would probably have more room to work with if they got rid of the large, clunky coffee dispenser they’ve kept since they first opened, or tore off those old, silver soda tap towers, but Octave would miss them. Sure, the coffee dispensers no longer worked and were decades old, but they looked great, and the tap towers still worked fine. It gave the place charm, what can he say?

Maybe it’d be better if the staff sorted through those dark brown cabinets below. Octave’s caught glimpses of what was inside of them before; the clutter was concerning, but it was honestly impressive how much clutter those cabinet doors could hold back.

There were a couple of shelves above the counter, the same color as the cabinets. The first shelf held stuff the diner actually needed. Stacks of cups, extra silverware, plenty of straws, but the other two? Those were filled with empty bottles of discontinued soda and beers they used to sell over the years. Octave remembered talking to one of the women who works here, he remembered how she took a vibrant, red bottle from the highest shelf to show it off. She made sure he got a good look at the fancy-looking arched logo plastered on the front while she rambled about how the owners used to have this soda shipped from a friend all the way in Russia.

‘Dang thing’s older than Popinski!’ He remembered her laughing.

In between the bottles were pictures of family members, along with souvenirs the owner’s collected over the years, and little toys their kids apparently used to play with.

If the staff shoved everything on the shelves into boxes and stored them away, they’d definitely have more room for their ingredients, but then the drink station would look boring.

Octave heard Aran’s seat squeak. He looked over and saw Aran had hopped out of his chair and wandered to the front door where a newspaper rack was. He squatted down and started sifting through them.

Octave thought back to the newspaper clipping of the diner he had.

He wondered how much the inside has changed over the years.

The article never gave any pictures of the interior when it first opened; ‘As clean as a whistle.’ Was the only description given.

He wondered if these white walls were barren in the beginning, if there weren’t any of these flags with colorful initials on them, photos taken by the owner, record discs of old bands, and business cards of neighboring stores held up by stickers when it was starting out. It’s hard to imagine the place without them.

Octave’s eyes traveled across the crowded walls. Framed pictures took up most of the spaces. Pictures of family, friends, and favorite customers, pictures of special events and holidays, there were even pictures of WVBA boxers who’ve eaten here.

Only the big names, of course.

Some of the men Octave’s only ever seen in old recordings, but there were a few familiar faces. Mr. Sandman has a picture where he’s posing with the owner, who looked absolutely puny standing right next him, there’s a picture of–ugh–Super Macho Man. Octave does his best to never look in that photo’s direction. And apparently there was a picture of Popinski somewhere, but Octave’s yet to find–

Octave stopped when his eyes landed on one of the customers at a booth licking the sauce off their fingers. His body tensed and he scowled.

Disgusting.

Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting.

What’s so hard about using a napkin?

Aran’s excited laughter cut off his thoughts.

“Ye’ seen this yet?” Aran asked as he hopped back into his seat, shoving a newspaper in front of Octave’s face.

Octave yanked it away and read the front page.

‘Super Macho Man’s Amoooosing New Look?!’  

Octave hated that he actually chuckled at that joke.

The picture below was blurry, but there was no mistaking it was Macho Man in an ink stained robe. Octave skimmed the article. It just talked about how Macho was ‘potentially’ shifting to a new cow-themed appearance, and how Macho refused to answer any questions. Octave noticed there were comments left by fans and actually took the time to read them.

‘I was definitely shocked to see Mr. Macho of all people wearing such a tacky pattern! I don’t know WHAT he was thinking.’ One woman said.

‘I could see Bald Bull wearing it, but THE Super Macho Man? Guy must’ve gotten hit in the head a bit too many times.’ A man stated.

‘Looks bad.’ Another fan said.  

Aran pulled the paper down, “Good stuff, ay? M’sister had a holler when she saw it.”

“Yeah, yeah, good stuff.” Octave tossed the paper onto the counter. The corner of Aran’s mouth curled down

“Thought ye’d be a li’l happier than that. We go through all that effort ‘n for what?!”

“Look, I’m still hung up bout the fight a couple’a days ago, lay off.” Octave grumbled.

“Awh, izzat th’problem?” Aran spoke in a sappy, fake, sympathetic voice, but before he could continue, two blue bottles slid in front of them.

“There ya are! I’ll be back with your food in a few.” The waitress waved then walked off to help another customer.

Aran grabbed a bottle, popped the cap off, and started to down the beer, each gross gulp getting louder than the last. Octave grabbed the other bottle and held it firmly. The cold glass stung his skin.

Aran tore the bottle away and wiped the bit of beer off his face, “Y’gotta git ov’r it. People lose all th’time. Y’think whinin’s gon getcha anywhere?”

“I got 21 losses on top’a gettin’ beaten to a pulp, don’t I get to complain bout that?”

“Ye got 21 wins.”

“Second lowest in th’circuit right next to Bear.” Octave muttered as he twisted the cap off. Aran groaned.

“I wanted t’have a good time t’night. I wanted t’do somethin’ nice ‘n cheer ye up, but no, y’just gotta go ‘n make it some pity party, don’tcha?”

Octave stared at the bright purple ‘STELLAR SOCKER’ logo on the bottle. He then stared at his reflection. At the giant bruise on his face.

“I lost m’last match, ‘n ye don’t see me cryin’ bout it, do ye?”

As Octave brought the bottle to his lips, he remembered how much he hated beer.

He hated the smell.

He hated the taste.

And as he took a sip, he remembered how much he hated the burning feeling it’d give the back of his throat.

“Ye lost 20 times before ‘n survived, this isn’t gon’ be any different.” Aran’s nails started tapping along the side of his bottle.

Octave watched it.  

“If it really bothers y’this much, spend th’rest of th’week trainin’ away. Keep practicin’ till yer on the brink of death.”

Aran’s fingers were getting faster. So was the sound.  

“Or keep mopin’ th’moment ye get back home. Keep feelin’ sorry for y’self, like that’ll do ye any good.”

He kept tapping.

“But not here. Not when we’re suppose t’have good time tog’ther.”

“Knock it off, Aran.” Octave mumbled.

He kept tapping.

“So why don’tcha suck it up for th’night ‘n try to have fun.”

Octave wasn’t listening to Aran’s words anymore. He wasn’t looking at the scowl he was wearing. He wasn’t looking at how close Aran’s face was to his. He just kept watching.

Aran kept tapping.

Clink clink clink. That was the awful sound his nails made.

Clink clink clink.

Octave’s grip around his bottle tightened.

Clink clink clink.

His heart was racing.

Clink clink clink.

His breaths were getting faster and faster.

Clink clink clink.

An urge was starting to fill him.

The urge to raise his bottle in the air.

To bring it down on Aran’s head.

To drive the jagged glass into his skull.

The terrible scene played in his mind so clearly.

The blue shards of glass that’d fly in the air.

The blood that’d fly with it.

Aran’s body hitting the tiled floor–

Octave squeezed his eyes shut before he grabbed Aran’s bottle and pushed it away.  

Aran spun around in his seat and watched as the bottle slid to the far opposite end of the counter and stopped just before the edge.

He turned back to Overload and glared.

Octave narrowed his eyes back, “I said knock it off.”

Aran pushed himself off the seat and muttered to himself as he went to get his beer.

A plate of small pancakes was suddenly set in front of him. Octave blinked then looked at the waitress.  

“There ya are!” She sang as she placed Aran’s omelete down, “Need anythin’ else?”

Octave shook his head. The woman walked off.

Octave stared down at his pancakes.

He wasn’t that hungry anymore.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Ah ha! Look! Macho Man covered in ink!” Tiger exclaimed as he flew a newspaper over to Bald Bull, who was sitting across from him on a tuscan red sofa, “I told you I wasn’t making things up yesterday.”

Bald Bull set the instruction manual for his phone aside, “Huh.” He mumbled as he looked at the photo of an inky Macho Man, gently tugging on the end of his coral-colored shirt, “I am sorry, it sounded so ridiculous that I…” His voice trailed off as he skimmed the article, but he didn’t get the chance to read much as Tiger pulled the paper back towards him.

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” Tiger said as he flipped a page, he shifted around on the other couch–this one having a royal-blue blanket tossed over it–until he was laying on his back. Well, he wasn’t exactly on the couch, more like hovering above it, but regardless, he needed to be comfortable, “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself. Oh!” His eyes lit up, “Apparently a new face might be arriving to the WVBA soon, isn’t that exciting?”

Bull brought his head up, “Really? Who?”

Tiger read a bit more before he let out a scoff, “No one interesting, that’s for sure.” He looked at the tiny picture provided, “Boring name, boring face, it wouldn’t surprise me if his fighting style was as boring as he is.”

He looked up from the paper, expecting to see Bull pushing himself off the couch so he could walk over and tease him for being oh-so-mean, that the man couldn’t be that boring, let him see! But instead, Bull just sat there. Staring down at the low, sienna colored coffee table that was cluttered with phone manuals, an empty box of sugar cubes, and two drunken cups of tea.

Tiger lowered the paper and drifted down onto the couch. He sunk into the cushions slightly.

Were his jabs a little too cruel?

“Are you alright?” Tiger asked.

Bull didn’t say anything. He looked tense.

Tiger saw that Bull was staring at his phone. His eyes narrowed.

That accursed thing has been going off all day.

Today was supposed to be their day to relax, the day where they’d lounge around and do absolutely nothing after the constant training Bull put himself through yesterday, but instead? They had to deal with the constant calls of fans and paparazzi who couldn’t grasp the basic concept of privacy.

Bull kept telling Tiger the calls weren’t that bothersome, but Tiger’s seen agitation that flickered in his eyes everytime the phone started to ring again. He’s seen the way his smiles faded every time he had to stop whatever he was doing to hang up on the caller. He’s seen how his movements grew stiffer throughout the day. Tiger knew those calls bothered Bull as much as they bothered him.

Tonight they were supposed to sit outside and ramble about their weekday plans, which would slowly change into them exchanging stories from their past for hours as their evening talks always went.

Tonight Bull wanted to bake cookies–whether it was from scratch or those pre-made cookies from the store, Tiger wasn’t sure, but he always enjoyed helping him.

Tonight was the perfect night to sit outside and spend the last few hours of the day together.

But instead, here they are.

In Bald Bull’s living room.

All thanks to Macho Man.

How miserable.

Tiger didn’t have any grudges against Bull’s living room. It looked… Fine.

The couches were fine, the golden and orange pillows scattered around were fine, the house plants placed beside the window–which Bull had cracked open–that was placed behind the couch Bull sat on was fine, the shade of honeyed orange for the walls was fine, the wooden floor was fine, the mosaic lamps hanging from the ceiling was fine, the unlit candles held up by their long, thin holders were fine. It was all fine. Fine, fine, fine, but it wasn’t where they were supposed to be.

“Bull.” Tiger said again, raising his voice. Bull shook his friend and looked at his friend.

“Sorry, sorry.” Bull scratched his sideburn, “I was–perhaps I should apologize to Macho Man.”

Tiger's eyes widened and he immediately sat up.

The moment Bull reached over for his phone, Tiger snapped his fingers and teleported the phone into his hand.

“Absolutely–!” A phone call cut Tiger off. Tiger rolled his eyes and hung up before continuing, “Absolutely not. What on Earth would you even apologize for?”

“Last night he had texted me that he was unable to do the photoshoot because he had been, ah, ‘tarnished’, as he said. I didn’t believe him. At the very least, I can apologize for that.”

Tiger furrowed his brows and opened his mouth, but he stopped himself and took a big, deep breath.

He exhaled, “Macho Man should be apologizing to you.” He started, “Now perhaps I’m being a bit harsh when I say this, but I think anyone with half a brain can understand that handing someone’s number out to strangers is the worst thing to do. Especially for a man of your reputation!” Tiger used his magic to raise the blanket off the couch and twisted it until it was one, long line. He then forced the blanket to create a simple outline of Macho Man’s face, “I think his careless act is far worse than you not believing a story.”

“He has already apologized several times.” Bull said.

“Super. Macho. Sorry.” Tiger chanted, “That doesn’t sound very genuine to me.”

“Trust me, from personal experience, that is as genuine as he can get.” Bull said as he pushed himself off the couch and walked over to Tiger, “He is not completely to blame either. Whole situation could have been avoided if I had gone to that photoshoot.”

“Oh–what? Are you blaming yourself now?!” When Tiger saw Bull try to grab the phone out of his hands, he used his magic and sent it flying to the ceiling, “This whole situation could’ve been avoided if those men in their fancy little suits actually bothered to tell you about the photoshoot ahead of time instead of at the last minute.”

“Tiger, my phone.”

Tiger stared at his friend. He huffed and flicked his wrist. The phone teleported into Bull’s hand. Bull then slipped it into the pocket of his dark blue shorts and picked up the cups from the table.

“I will get us refills.” He started making his way to the kitchen. Tiger followed behind.

Tiger tried to break the strange silence that filled the air, “So, are you planning on relaxing tomorrow? Make up for the time you lost today?”

“No. Not likely.” Bull said as he placed the cups on the counter, “After I finish changing my number, I will… Go to bed, wake up, and train.” Bull grabbed his copper teapot on his stove by the wooden handle. It’s been sitting here for a while. The tea’s probably cold now.

“Again?” Tiger didn’t even bother to hide the woe in his voice, “Bull, you’ve been training for nearly three days now, your fight isn’t for another few weeks, a day of rest isn’t going to kill you!”

“I know, I know, I–” Bull threw a hand up, “It just… It will help take my mind off of–of everything.”  

Bull rubbed his temples before he sighed, “I am sorry. It’s–”

The phone rang again.

Bull quickly set aside the teapot and hung up on whoever was calling.

“I want to rest, believe me, but with this fight coming up so soon after my most recent one, I can't risk falling behind.”

“You won’t!” Tiger said as Bull started to refill the cups, the smell of apple tea not nearly as strong as when it was first poured, “You’re Bald Bull, you’ll do excellent as always.”

Bull didn’t say anything. He just grabbed one of the cups and handed it over to Tiger, who gave him a whispered thanks.

It was quiet again. Tiger took a sip of his drink.

Bull searched around the counters for an extra box of sugar cubes he had taken out earlier.

He dragged his fingers across the umber countertops as he slowly walked around.

“I should have gone to that photoshoot.” He said.

Tiger raised his head.

“If I had shown up and posed for the pictures, I wouldn’t have been dealing with these calls. Macho wouldn’t have gotten covered in ink. We could have had a normal day together.” He let out a heavy sigh. He tugged at one of his sideburns.

It didn’t matter how much he hated having his picture taken, it didn’t matter how much he hated the flashing lights, the constant clicks, how the photographers followed his every step to capture every second of his life, he needed to get over it.

The tugging turned to pulling. It felt like he was about to rip his hair out.

He’s been dealing with paparazzi for years, yet the fear he feels–this childish fear–has never dwindled. How stupid was that? A grown man too afraid to show himself in front of a couple of cameras. Why can’t he just get over it? Other boxers have been dealing with the exact same thing for just as long, why can’t he be like them?

“I’m sorry.” Bull said again, his voice a brittle whisper.

“What for? Things out of your control?” Tiger said, lifting his feet off the ground and flying towards Bull, who was leaning against the counter, facing away. “That photoshoot was announced at such a short notice, there’s only so much you can do in such little time. You have a life outside of the stadium, people need to understand that.”

“I know.” Bull said. He stayed quiet for a moment. “Ah, look at me, making you worry.” He forced a smile on, “How about cookies to make up for it?”

“Oh, there’s nothing to make up for, but that’d be wonderful.”

Bull went over to his fridge and opened the door, “Is the one from the store okay?”

“Of course.”

Tiger watched Bull turn the oven on and tear open the yellow package.

“I don’t know if I’ve told you this before…” Tiger said as he slowly drifted towards Bull, “...But I have a rather special magic power I keep hidden.”

Bull stopped and turned his head, “Do you now?”

“Not many people know of it, but I’m able to detect when you’re horribly stressed.”

“Is that so?” Bull spoke in that teasing ‘Oh really?’ tone.

“Yes! And when I do detect it, my gem flashes horribly.” Right on cue, his gem started blinking an array of colors, “Oh dear, would you look at that!”

Bull shielded his eyes, a sliver of a smile gracing his face, “Very strange how it has never done that before.” Traces of a familiar liveliness were weaved in his words.

“Well, you see, I have to suppress it because it is one of my most draining of tricks. It takes all of my mental and physical strength to contain it.” He put his hands over his heart, “And don’t get me started on the side effects.” He inched closer to Bull’s face.

“Oooh no. Even more of those?”

“Oh yes.” Tiger said with a smirk, “As soon as I sense the stress, I teleport immediately to the source. Doesn’t matter where I am or what I’m doing, I’m whisked away against my will.”

“Really?”

“And if you ever want a moment of peace from me,” Tiger wiggled his fingers under his chin, “you’ll have to do nothing but relax tomorrow.”

“I am not really seeing a downside to spending more time with you.” Bull raised a brow.

“No! That’s not what you’re supposed to say!” Tiger shot his arms out. Bull’s smile widened.

“You’re supposed to promise you’ll get plenty of rest tomorrow and take it easy!”

“Ah, that too then.”

Tiger pouted as Bull took out a baking tray from one of drawers, along with a sheet of parchment paper.

“Why don’t you prepare the cookies while I go and turn the patio’s lights on? We can sit outside as we wait for the oven to preheat.” Bull said as he walked over to the sliding glass doors.

“Oh! I’d love that!” Tiger wasted no time using his magic to break the cold cookie dough into even pieces and place them in neat rows on the tray. He heard Bull open the door and–

He froze.

He zipped over.

“Wait Bull, hold on! Don’t slam the–!”

Bull gave him an odd look right as he slammed the door shut. A loud ‘THUD’ was heard right behind him, making both of the men jump.

Bull whipped his head around and turned on one of the lanterns.

Sitting right outside the patio was his punching bag.

Tiger cracked the door back open and poked his head through.

“You–” Bull started, but stopped and stroked his chin, “Did you put the punching bag on the roof?”

Tiger stared at the floor, face getting red, “Yes.”

Bull looked up at his roof, “Were you planning on keeping it up there all day?”

“No, I–I sort of… Forgot. About it.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Octave swung his door open and dragged himself inside.

His pain medicine had worn off. He felt sick to his stomach. All he wanted to do now was go to bed.

He held his take out box tightly. The last thing he needed right now was the smell of pancakes creeping into his nose. Just the thought of it made him want to vomit.

He kicked the door shut behind him and trudged over to his kitchen so he could shove the leftovers away and never think about them again.

He didn’t care what junk he was stepping on, he didn’t care that his hips kept running into corners, he didn’t care for the pile of dishes in his sink or the mess on his kitchen table, he just. Wanted. To sleep.

The moment Octave stepped foot in the kitchen, his phone rang.

Octave cussed and threw his box down.

What?

What did Aran want now?!

Octave stomped over to his end table.

This better be good, this better be worth his time.

He snatched his phone and shoved the receiver to his ear, “What? Whaddaya want?!”

“Oh–is this a bad time?” Great Tiger’s voice came through.

The anger in Octave dwindled. He exhaled heavily through his teeth.

“No, jus’ been a long night.” He finally said. He slicked his hair back and sat on the couch. Despite how much his bruises stung, despite how exhausted he was, he kept talking, “How’ve ya been?”

“Fine, I’ve been spending most of today with a friend of mine. You?”

“Yeah.” Octave sunk a bit deeper into the cushions, “Same here.”  

[eunchancorner]

Is it fine to ask for a Tord, Edd, and Matt tickle fight?

Ooooo. Time to pull up the good Tord AU (basically he actually moved to the city, but came back (eviction’s fun :,>) and it was Vlahd who attacked (trying to get Tord to join) and killed Jon, and Tom just had a new house built since he didn’t wanna ‘waste money on an apartment’)

  Lers Tord, Edd and Matt, Lees Tord, Edd and Matt

Warning: cussing lol

Word count: 1579

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Alright, I’ll be back in a few days,” Tom informed his three housemates as he started to walk out the door. He was leaving for a few days to visit someone regarding his inheritance (apparently fruit can write wills, who knew!) after putting it off for years.

“Seeya soon!” Edd called.

“Good luck!” Matt added.

“Don’t stink up my car!” Tord demanded from the kitchen.

“As if it doesn’t stink from the bacon, gunpowder and garbage already!” Tom refuted before closing the door. A few minutes later, the car started and they heard it driving away, signaling his departure.

“It’s gonna be weird not having him around…” Matt mumbled from the end of the couch, looking at his brunette friend who was sitting on the chair nearby.

“Yeah, but he’ll be back soon! Only a few days,” he reminded the redhead, who nodded.

“Yeah, but it’ll still be weird…” their Nordic friend pointed out as he draped himself over the back of the couch. Of course, he dropped the facade rather quickly when he suddenly said “You guys wanna go something dumb?”

“Duh!”

“Of course!”

But who were Edd and Matt do deny doing something arguably stupid but fun.

“Awesome!... Does anyone have an idea?” Tord spouted enthusiastically, his emotions not matching his very question. He genuinely had no ideas and prayed the others did.

“Uhhh…”

“Well, no?”

“... Vel, faen…” (Well, fuck)

No ideas. No ideas meant nothing to do, which meant boredom. They all hated being bored, almost as much as Tord hated Sunshine Lollipops, but what were they meant to do?

Well, Matt did have a smol idea. But, of course, he had to be sneaky to pull it off.

He watched carefully as Tord struggled and flipped down onto the couch, sinking into it with a bored expression, sighing softly. It was perfect. Almost too perfect.

Slowly, and carefully, he moved his hand closer and closer to Tord, slowly reaching out for him, until…

“HA!”

“ACK!!”

Matt was suddenly yanked by that very hand over Tord’s lap. He realized that Tord had somehow caught on to his little plan, and now had him trapped.

“What are you two doing?” Edd questioned from his chair, watching them curiously.

“Edd, can you believe this? This little jerk actually tried to tickle me!” Tord feigned anger towards his friend.

“HEY! I’m taller than you! AND I’m not as much of a jerk as you!” Matt defended, before realizing he should probably add something. “A-also I didn’t try to tickle you!”

“Now, why don’t I believe that…? Hm.. oh yeah, because you were reaching straight for my belly!”

“Heh, Matt, reaching directly for the spot you wanna tickle might not have been the best sneaking strategy,” Edd pointed out. “I, personally, go in for a hug and then trap them! It’s effective and affectionate, which makes it even better!”

“That’s nice, Edd, now help me teach this walking torch a lesson,” Tord requested, casually referencing the time he accidentally set Matt on fire (which Matt refused to believe was an actual accident).

“Hey, that was your fault and you know it!” the ginger protested.

“I’m not the idiot who leaned so far back over the match, now am I!” 

“Guys, chill, what happened to tickling Matt?” Edd broke up their little spat as he stood, discarding his phone and the video he was watching on the chair.

“Right, right, right. Anyway, you ready to die, Matt?” Tord teased as he smirked down at the redhead, who suddenly became aware of his very vulnerable position, with his arm pulled over his head, belly up in the lap of one of the worst lers in the house, the other standing right next to him. Fuck.

“W-w-wait, we can talk this out, right? W-we’re friends, of course, s-so you’ve got to have mercy on me! R-right?!” he tried to plead.

“But, like you said, Matt, we’re friends! And friends tickle each other, isn’t that right, Tord?” Edd chirped teasily, his Nordic friend getting in on the act.

“Oh, of course! And it’s been so long since I’ve tickled you, why, I haven’t done it since I moved out! So many years without your laughter, and now I finally have that chance again!”

“B-but I laughed with you! Remember! A-after we went out on adventures! B-before the house blew up?!”

“Oh, that’s different. I was laughing too, I could barely hear you! I want to hear just you laughing now~”

Before the redhead could come up with another excuse or protest of any kind, he suddenly felt two hands (one of which was undoubtedly Tord’s) kneading into his belly, drawing out bubbly laughter before he was ready, and he curled up the best he could. But, of course, Edd and Tord simply couldn’t leave this simple reflex alone.

“Awww, like a little porcupine!” Tord pointed out.

“It’s almost as if he’s trapping our hands so we keep tickling him!” Edd chirped in a voice that sounded cheery and sweet, but Matt knew it was meant to tease. “How sweet!”

“Aw, is that what’s happening? How cute~”

Matt was dying, he was sure of it. The whole being held in his friend’s lap and tickled was bad enough, but all the sweet, flustering teases were absolutely killing him. He had one way out, and one hand to do it with, so it’d have to be good.

Quicker than Tord hiding his magazines, he reached out and squeezed wherever on said friend he could reach, praying it was somewhere ticklish.

“EEEEEEEEEHEHAHA!!”

Jackpot!

He kept squeezing as one of the hands jolted away from him, another releasing his arm, now feeling them shove feebly at his own. He peeked his eyes open to see that, by some miracle, he had grabbed ahold of Tord’s hip, aka, his complete and utter death spot. Although, if he could have paid better attention to Tord’s reaction, he might have guessed that.

The poor guy was kicking and squealing, and Edd, while confused, soon smirked and helped the redhead, taking the other hip, sending their friend into absolute hysterics.

Matt managed to roll away amidst the tickly chaos, but heard Edd’s voice calling behind him. He didn’t dare look back or listen, he just ran.

Little did they know, this was merely the start to a whole night filled with tickly shenanigans.

-

“Look, Edd, I’m an artist, too!” Tord chirped, tracing soft patterns into the brunette’s belly as Matt held him still, sending the poor cola lover into utter hysterics at the featherlight touches.

“YOUHUR AHAHART SUHUHUHUCKS!!” he dared to say, trying to kick as Tord sat firmly on his legs.

“Hmm, maybe you’re right. Guess I better erase it~”

“NOOHOHOHOHOOOO!!!” Edd squealed as he suddenly felt his friend’s hands digging into his poor tum.

-

“PLEHEHEHEHEASE! IHIT’S SOHOHO BAHAHAHAD! IHIT TIHIHIHICKLES SOHOHO BAHAHAD!!” Matt squealed and cackled as the two opposite-hoodied friends tickled him from either side. Tord had his belly and left ribs, while Edd had his right ribs and armpit, causing him to snort at the utterly maddening sensations.

“That’s kind of the point, Matt!” Edd pointed out with a goofy smile, poking all over his death spot as his arms clamped tightly to his sides to try to block him.

“Poor little fluffball, too ticklish for his own good!” Tord added, clawing at Matt’s belly relentlessly, causing him to curl up like earlier.

-

“DEHEHET KILEHEHEHEHER!! STOHOHOHOPPE!!” (It tickles! Stop!)

“Tord, come on, we can’t understand what you’re saying!” Edd feigned complaint, kneading the poor man’s hips.

“I don’t think he can speak English anymore, Edd,” Matt pointed out with a quiet giggle, scribbling his armpits, making the communist kick and squeal.

“Then I guess we’ll just have to tickle it back into him!” Edd chirped.

“NEHEHEHEHEHEHEI!!” (No!)

-

All three friends flopped onto the floor, giggling and panting (Tord more so than the others), finally having ended their long tickle fight. No winner was clear, but it didn’t matter to them.

“Ihit- it’s been a long time since we’ve had Tord around for a tickle fight. You two ok?” Edd asked the others, getting little more than a giggly nod from Tord.

“Yeheah, I’m good. Although it sounds like that’s more than I can say for Tord,” Matt pointed out, glancing at the one still giggling brightly between them.

“Shuhuhuhush…” he complained, covering his face with one arm, “I cahahan’t stohohohop…”

“Well, you’re gonna have to try, otherwise you’re gonna get me laughing again!” Edd warned playfully, only making Tord giggle louder.

“Nohohot hehehelping.”

Matt rolled his eyes and stood, before helping his two friends to their feet. He gently patted Tord’s back to help him stop giggling, slowly calming him down as Edd stretched and went to grab some drinks for them all. 

“Ohokahay… Ohokay, I think I’m calm now…”

“You sure? You were pretty giggly.”

“I think so…” Tord sighed as he slumped onto the couch, slinging an arm around Matt as he sat beside him. “God, I’ve missed this, these crazy tickle fights with you guys.”

“We missed it too, Tord,” Edd responded as he returned with a cola for himself and two apple juices for his friends, which he handed to them.

Matt drank his own without hesitation, Tord took slow sips, putting his other arm around Edd and pulling him close.

“We gotta do this more often,” they chorused as a movie started on the TV in front of them, all of them relaxing.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

JUST IN TIME FOR EDD’S BIRTHDAY HOLY SHIT