#8500 words or something

[pe4nutastic]

So I made another writing thing, but like WAY longer than I originally thought it'd be. Conventionally, I've never really written things that involves me balancing more than one character lol so I'm not sure how adept I am at the balancing act yet.

All the same, this writing thing takes place in sort of alternate universe where Giegue survives M2 (originating from my old, now defunct, RP blog @anearthstruckalien) and is stuck in a kind of limbo where he needs to put his own destroyed mind back together. This is one of the many fragments he addresses.

Everything is muddled like an unwound thread, always unraveling without apparent end, splayed in all directions like spiderwork and tangled into painful knots where it had been unfortunate enough to cross into its own endless trajectory.  Muddled away into agony and nothingness.  Drenched in darkness and blood, only punctuated by a distorted painful buzzing of so much something. Hot and cold. Wet and dry.  Sparking yet dimmed.  Suffocating and all-encompassing, like a tomb.  Something short and flitting at some points, rising and lowering like especially mercurial tides, and endless at others unlike anything even the deepest and darkest depths of the oceans have ever seen.  Thoughts cannot be formed… whatever that is supposed to be.  Identity cannot be found, whatever that is supposed to be.  Memories cannot be fit together.  Whatever that is supposed to be.  He cannot discern how long it has been.  He cannot even conceptualize how something like that is measured or what it means, even as it passes through him like wind, there and yet not in an instant.

And then.  Abruptly, as if forcibly cutting to the next scene of a film in an especially jarring way with bemoaning screeeeeeeech upon reaching the terminal of some arbitrary counter, a sharp pang brings a few things to focus.  And now, he can perceive and process his environment.  A shred of clarity.  A void-like place, painted in an inky and seemingly never-ending darkness–one tinged in an oddly despairing and desolate hue somehow–and littered with glistening bits of bright shards.  Incomprehensibly bright and ever-shifting in colour and form; iridescence incarnate.  Glimmers of that which is missing, seemingly unable to fit with each other anymore yet drawn to one another anyways with the sense that with enough effort, somehow it could all fit together and become recognizable anew.  And altogether with it all, the first proper thought–as opposed to a mess of disjointed sensations and tortuous pain–springing to mind with a sudden start, something indescribably heavy like a pit coursing through what little remains of his very being intact:

Am… I… dying…?  Ceasing to… be…?

He squints or rather… would, if he had any associated visual to him.  As it stands now, it would seem that the being known as the Universal Cosmic Destroyer, is little more than a flicker of consciousness.  The tiniest and most fragile ember from a flame which had previously been extinguished, now sparking anew against all odds and probability.  Against the schematics of fate which had dictated that he die in the battle against the Earth’s latest set of Chosen Ones.  Dying.  Finality.  Somehow that seems daunting–though he can’t recall why–yet he cannot feel alarmed by it at all by his own questions nonetheless.  He had just regained (or gained?) the ability to properly process his environment and string together thoughts after all.  And either way, somehow he knows that this isn’t the end anyways.  Or at least, not yet.  All he has is a feeling.  One padded out by that which sparked that ember of consciousness, fragile as it is, into being.  A sense of resilience and indomitable spirit that refuses to bend or break, no matter how hard it is chipped away at by the harshest of elements:  willpower and determination.

The will to not die (but from what?).  The determination to endure and survive.

And somehow, without definitive rhyme and reason, part of that lies in the glimmering points of iridescent radiances before him, scattered about like stardust in the void.  He shifts his gaze towards the one closest to him, feeling something almost like a magnetic pull towards it, and as though on cue… –the very moment he eyelessly stares at it for more than a few seconds, the scene before him is softly wiped clean like chalk off a blackboard and replaced with far less monotonous and simplistic scenery:

A brightly lit room adorned by ivory wallpaper dotted with artfully-administered strokes of tiny multicoloured carnations, light brown hardwood floors, and containing little more than a small window with nothing to see but golden radiance of some kind shining through and a tiny wooden table full of various desserts and cups of tea; one cup before the entity himself and the other… before a blonde woman in a neatly-pressed pale pink dress ruffled at its ends and hanging just past her knees.

Dark blue eyes squint anew with a shrewd sense of calculation as he assesses the room anew, trying to piece together what had exactly happened to shift the location, but unable to come to an answer.  A train of thought that inevitably comes to an abrupt halt anyways when he catches sight of himself in the murky reflection of the tea soothingly settled in the ivory nook provided by its petite cup.  Shock jolts through him almost immediately, eyes widening just a smidge, as he almost jumps straight out of his plush seat.  Small fingers tap at his face and pull his cheek in an almost clinical way, as though jumpstarting a more thorough tactile examination.  He looks quite a bit like the blonde woman.  He looks… what was the word for it?  Human.  A young human boy to be precise.  Fluffy blonde hair.  A set of blue eyes set in white sclera and black pupils. A nose and mouth set into a relatively flat profile and smooth skin.  Real skin tinged with warmth, but with minimal color rising to its surface.  Human.  Somehow it feels like an illusion and yet he cannot recall every being anything else save for the formlessness he had experienced a moment prior.  Has he always been human?  It doesn’t feel like it, but…

…–and almost as soon as that particular thought starts, it comes to a grinding halt when, after what feels like an eternity of confusion and strangeness (but in actuality was little more than a few seconds worth of time), the blonde woman speaks up.

“Ah you’ve finally arrived!  I’m so happy to see you here!  It’s been a long time huh?”

She tucks a few strands of gently curling blonde hair behind an ear and all the while, the now human-boy tilts his head to the side a little at the inquiry.  A long time?  A long time for what?  He taps small stubby fingers against the solid wooden top of the table or rather, the long and lacey pale pink tablecloth daintily hanging over it, dull gaze averting in an oddly concentrated way as though attempting to grasp onto something.  Bit-by-bit, it feels like something is trickling in so as to fill an emptiness he had not realized he had, but not up to pace enough to leave him anything but perpetually confused and disoriented nonetheless.  There must be a more… a more… –efficient? yes, efficient method to this but it would seem that he has little more than the ability to think and process at the moment, knowledge itself lacking save for what inevitably trickles in.

“Are you comfortable?  I’ve prepared your favourite tea and some desserts that you’ve always liked just for this occasion.  So feel free to take as much as you want of whatever you want.  Nothing ever runs out here --take my word for it!”

She winks, one bright and lively blue eye–practically brimming with a zest for life and unwavering optimism for whatever the future may bring–of two, momentarily being obscured by the attached flap of skin before re-emerging.  In return, the human boy stares blankly at her for a few seconds before seemingly relenting his inscrutable gaze–unable to find whatever it is he was looking for–before gingerly plucking a shortbread cookie off its pristine plate, intrigued by both the dessert and by what the blonde woman had said.  By the very notion of having information that he lacks.  Something about that feels right… familiar… but he can’t quite place why exactly.  Lifting the cookie directly before him, rather than immediately consuming it, the human boy examines it with just a glint of intrigue in his comparatively dull pupils.

“My ‘favourites’...?  I have a favourite?  How would you know?”

A genuine question.  The entity rather delicately nibbles on the perfectly-formed edge of the cookie, swirling the tiny bit on the tip of his tongue, before taking a proper bite out of it afterwards.  One which he hopes will at the very least serve as a good point of reference or direction towards easing away that thick fog cluttering his mind.  The cookie is… hm… ‘good’.  It tastes good.  Familiar.  Safe.  Safe…?  Safe.  Dark blue voids flicker back up to meet the blonde woman’s gaze.  She seems to have no immediate response, thick eyebrows knitted in thought albeit without ever breaking her gaze on the entity himself, before settling on something, smile dimming a little to something less exuberant and more gentle and understanding.

“It’s a liiiittle tricky to explain if you even need to ask in the first place… but, I know what I do about you because in a way, I’m a part of you.

The one part that’s never changed… –that never could.

No matter how much everything else got rearranged.

…it’s never changed.  You were still you.  You still are.”

She taps a finger over where the human heart would be located, over the left side of her chest as she makes a claim of being part of the entity himself.  And she does just that, something lights up in softened iridescence over that point, in the shape of a stylized heart, the same occurring immediately to the entity himself in the exact same point and thus emphasizing the verity of her very point, dark blue voids widening just a smidge in surprise before giving way to a small pensive frown.  He sharply glances down to his own chest as the light fades away.  Part of him…?  He taps the same spot a few times.  But, he’s right here and yet… even though it seems nonsensical, it somehow seems to make perfect sense anyways.  Instinctively so.  The answer isn’t as direct as he had been hoping, but maybe it’s meant to be this way.  Meant to be?  There’s a word for that.  Destiny.  A bitter taste in his mouth.  Fate.  A sensation that twists and churns his guts (if he had any to begin with) with intense fervor for reasons he cannot entirely parse out… –doesn’t matter.  It doesn’t apply in this situation anyways.  Because this is on a significantly smaller scale anyways.

The entity takes a small sip of the hot and soothing tea before him, a cooling sensation immediately hitting afterwards despite its true temperature setting.  Peppermint.  Much like the shortbread cookies, it indeed seems pleasant to his palate.  Between this, what he captured beyond this world in the form of glittery fragments amidst a void, and the growing conglomerate sensation (familiarity, safety, trust) towards the blonde woman… it seems that there’s more merit than ‘meets the eye’ to this interaction.  Clarity starts with this.  Perhaps that’s why he was the most drawn to this fragment.  Another small sip of the peppermint tea.  Perhaps that’s why not receiving a direct answer is the most conducive to dispersing that thick fog over his mind.  Towards feeling less empty.

“Perhaps.  But, if what you are saying is accurate, then I must be incomplete.

In… pieces.

It is what my… ‘gut’ is telling me… though it also ‘feels’... incorrect to rely on such a thing.”  He glances back down at the tea, settled shortly after his last sip, and down to his murky reflection in it before shaking his head.  “This form feels incorrect.  As though I should have a different shape...”

Yet another sip of the peppermint tea, head tilting slightly to the side afterwards as he continues to speak, any uncertainty from before evaporating to be replaced by what seems to be rather characteristic of him; blank neutrality and flatness.

“Being in pieces is not my natural state, is it?  Is this interaction a way of pulling everything back together?”

The blonde woman takes a sip of her own tea.  Chamomile tea.  He can tell what it is somehow, without having tasted it and even before its smell registers with him.  It’s her favourite.  Just like the carnations dotting the worn wallpaper.  She taps her head for a moment as she responds, a hint of playfulness entering her tone as she does so.

“Maybe.  Maybe not. I can’t just tell you directly, but I can give that knowledge as an exchange of sorts.”

The entity lifts up his own cup of tea anew, as though planning to drink it, before deigning to just swirl the liquid around a bit as if mulling something over before responding, a twinge of determination entering his tone as he does so.  Of course not.  He isn’t being fed direct answers, but being directed towards them after all.

“What kind of exchange?”

Her smile widens, matching the playful tone as it continues to seep into her next few words.

“We can play a game and if you win, then I’ll be more direct with you.  A game of…”

She pauses, frowning a bit herself in a rather pensive manner as if mulling over a few options herself to determine which one would be best for truly helping the entity, before settling on something and with that, clasping her hands together with renewed enthusiasm. 

“... –of riddles!  It’s a pretty simple points-based game with two roles:  the one that makes up the riddles, the Riddle Master, and the one that answers them.

The Riddle Master gets points by making up riddles that the other player can’t answer while the player gets points by successfully giving the correct answer to the Riddle Master’s riddles.  No one loses points, you either get them or you don’t.

In this game, I’ll be the Riddle Master and you’ll be the one answering.  There’ll be a total of 5 riddles.  How does that sound for you?”

The entity hesitates very little, taking just a moment to mentally go over the exact parameters of the suggested game, before offering a definitive nod.  He’s already determined that judging by every minute improvement in his state here… it’s best to simply ‘play’ along, no matter how counterproductive it may seem.  He implicitly trusts her, even if the reason why exactly cannot be parsed out, and so this aspect to him must represent someone that was (and perhaps still is) important to him.

“I accept your arrangement.  Proceed with the ‘game’.”

The blonde woman takes another sip of her chamomile tea, gulping the rest of it down in one fell swoop before gently moving aside the empty cup… one which stays empty for only a second or so before the familiar steam of freshly crafted tea wafts through the air anew, as if no progress had been made on it to begin with.  ‘As much as you want’ huh?  The entity consumes the rest of his shortbread cookie, as if to test the theory for himself, and in line with what he had just seen… the empty spot on the plate from which he had plucked it is immediately filled with a new shortbread cookie as its replacement; a reinforcement that this is a matter of the mind… he thinks.  At this juncture, he only has sensations and hunches –not true concrete data to confirm if there is anything more than this.  He smoothes out the neck of his grey sweater before folding his own hands together with definitive intent and concentration, dark blue voids narrowing accordingly.  All the more reason to ‘play along’ and succeed in this game.

“Alright!  Let’s get to it then.  I’ll keep the first three riddles simple and easy; a good warm-up before getting to the trickier ones.

What… disappears as soon as you say its name?

That’s it.  That’s all you’re getting to work out the answer!”

The entity immediately gets to thinking over the answer.  A riddle is an inquiry that appeals to logic, problem-solving, or both.  And so, it either has an answer that’s so obvious one wouldn’t even consider it or clues scattered throughout as the characteristics of what the answer is supposed to be.  Judging by the minimal nature of this riddle… it must be the former.  The answer is obvious.  Something in plain sight.  An auditory component to it.  Speaking aloud the name of the subject will make it disappear and so, it can only exist so long as one doesn’t speak… ah.  He almost smiles, satisfied, even by such a trivial accomplishment.

“The answer is ‘silence’.  Not making any sound is a condition inherent to maintaining it therefore, it ceases to be once sound is made.”

The blonde woman gives an affirmative nod in agreement, sticking two closed fists with thumbs sticking out as if to reaffirm the point.  The entity isn’t entirely certain as to what he should make of the gesture, but based off her body language, he can only deduce that it is a positive gesture.  One whose continued enthusiasm is admittedly a little endearingly infectious though he doesn’t quite outwardly show it yet.  He doesn’t feel as though he is the sort to ‘warm up’ quickly to others, but something about this comes just as naturally as trust did, tinged with a sense of ‘deja vu’, as though he’s done this many times over before.  Something about this contents him, the familiarity and warmth prevalent throughout their entire interaction thus far playing no small role in this, even though the game has just started.

“That’s right aaaand one point for you!  You’re a natural at this –I knew you would be!  You’ve always been clever.  But, can you handle this one too?  

What has many keys, but can’t open a single lock?”

Hm.  Yet another question with very minimal clues and in lieu of that, an obvious answer to it.  Keys and locks.  A key?  A key is… a key is… hm… oh! something that is used to open places safeguarded by a matching lock!  Keys and locks are a pair, one shape fitting the other in order to move the mechanism keeping its interconnected block in place against those without the necessary key.  Small fingers pensively tap his chin.  But, in this case… the key in question has no matching lock.  Several keys without matching locks to be specific.  A quality inherent to the object in question and not the result of some defect or damage, if he has analyzed the phrasing correctly.

Admittedly… be it due to his gaps in actual knowledge or not, he cannot imagine anything which would have multiple useless keys attached to it.  But then… perhaps the term ‘keys’ does not refer to what his initial instinct falls upon.  Maybe he needs to consider alternate contexts of it…–an abrupt pause mid-thought, by the sound of the blonde woman tapping her fingers over top the table’s wooden surface.  A rhythmic and intentional motion…

… –as though, she’s creating music.  An oddly familiar tune, sweet yet bitter in a way he can almost grasp, like words just at the tip of his tongue.  Understanding clicks into place.  Playing an instrument.  With keys. 

“A piano.  The answer is a ‘piano’.”

No need to explain this time.  The abrupt, almost enthused despite the blandness of his tone, way in which the entity himself answered, cutting straight through the tapping says it all.  He’s certain in his conclusion with no need to explain it to the one that created the riddle in the first place.  And as such, he receives another set of ‘thumbs up’.  Something which sparks a bit of brightness in his heart anew; contentment and satisfaction at succeeding.

“Correct!  Two points now!

For someone that doesn’t remember much, you’re pretty good at this game, but remember, this is the last easy question before things get more challenging okay?”

A playful wink on her part while the entity does little more than offer a curt nod, much of his attention glued more to whatever the next question may be.  It’s difficult to parse out the exact words for this sensation, but it’s hooked him in rather quickly; a combination of its familiarity and the mental exercise it offers.

“What do you call two birds in love?”

And with that question, the blonde woman uses her respective thumbs and and index fingers to form the shape of a heart as if to emphasize the ‘love’ part.  The entity himself stares at the motion, from start to end, with a blank stare despite his enjoyment of the game before focusing in on piecing it out.  It doesn’t seem like a true riddle.  The question does not seem to have an object inherent to its answer, but a term instead.  He rubs his chin.  An odd departure or perhaps a format that he cannot recall, due to his fragmented state of being at the moment.  He thinks on it for a few seconds more before shaking his head, a touch disappointed in himself, and ultimately relenting.

“Apologies.  I do not know.  Would you be so kind as to enlighten me on the matter?”

A short and sweet–almost as musical as her voice, like gentle wind chimes–burst of laughter bubbles out her mouth at that before its obscured by an arm, bare skin far less effective than actual fabric would have been were the sleeves of her dress not short.  Nonetheless, once the blonde woman regains her composure enough, the answer comes out in one similarly short burst as if retelling an especially thrilling punchline to a joke.

“Tweet-hearts!  Get it?  Because they’re birds and in love –like sweet hearts haha!”

Another short and sweet burst of laughter, her hand gently smacking the table with a soft yet no less resounding thunk, clearly thoroughly enjoying the joke herself.  The entity on the other hand… though he understands the concept of it and the wordplay that inspired it, mouth twitching a bit, before he just turns his head to the side.  And he does so in a rather petulant and oddly childish way, as if overcome with an emotion from a separate moment in time tipped in deja vu, before huffing through his nose to forcibly dissipate any genuine amusement that may (or may not) have been felt by him.

“That is not a riddle.  It is wordplay.  You tricked me.”

In response, the blonde woman sticks up a single finger and wags it side-to-side, having long since gotten the last bit of her amusement out of her system, evidently finding great amusement in jokes like this.

“Uh-uh!  By definition, a riddle is a question or statement with a clever twist to it. And all clever twists need ingenuity to properly entangle, don’t you think?”

Incapable of actually keeping up the petulant facade–the emotion as insincere as everything else might as well be about him at this juncture–where the human woman herself is concerned, the entity ultimately relents and turns back to her with a nod.

“... I suppose.  Does it count against me then?”

She shakes her head, high energy dimmed a little but no less bright and warm in her overall demeanor nonetheless.

“It’s just a joke –a bit of humour!  Pretty punny don’t you think?  Don’t worry, this one doesn’t count against you.  You still have two points.  Two for you.  Zero for me.

Are you ready to move onto the next riddle?  Two more left.  And remember, it gets more challenging from here on out.”

The most immediate answer that pops to mind is a resounding ‘yes’.  And yet, the entity finds himself halted by a sudden and odd sense of melancholic emptiness, one which almost completely replaces the contentment he had experienced before.  He downs the rest of his peppermint tea, somewhat hoping to distract himself from the uncomfortable sensation, but ultimately failing.  How familiar.  The sense of deja vu is even stronger than before and it’s only really hitting him now.  It isn’t just the game itself, but the exact questions and wordplay interjection that’s familiar.  Nonsensical as it sounds, this exchange feels as though it’s happened before in every exact step…at least on the blonde woman’s part.  The entity himself has changed.  Somehow, he’s certain of it… certain that when (if) this actually happened in reality… he more closely mirrored the blonde woman’s demeanor.  He glances back down at the now empty cup before it immediately refills itself with the steaming and soothing aroma of the peppermint infused liquid.  The entity himself has changed, even before the fragmentation event, and likely for the worst.  He takes a renewed cursory glance at his surroundings, one with renewed clarity even through the still ever-present fog in his mind.

The surroundings make a lot less sense now.  The odd minimalism and the overly bright hues to everything (now that he really looks at it) as if it all has a subtle glow to it… the lack of anything beyond pure radiance outside the window… it seems less like reality and more like a dream.  A thing of the mind after all.  Something in his chest tightens.  Hesitation encased in dread cutting through what remains of his contentment before he mentally presses on with a determined nod, ready to hear the next riddle.

“A star twinkles in the distance, a wonder of its existence. In exchange for a bird, the silence of a child. A question of the sheep's provisions.

What is it?”

More challenging indeed.  The format is far less simple, especially when he’s on the cusp of what feels vaguely like an awakening of sorts.  A stab through delusion which, if he is to fully submit to the idea that this isn’t what reality is actually like, he must not have wanted to recover from on some level.  Not if it took for him this long to figure it out if he really is as supposedly clever as she claims.  And yet, despite the cloudiness introduced to his logical processes, the answer comes much quicker than before with little introspection needed on his part.  Like he already knows it… because he almost certainly already does.  Quick as it comes however, some of that hesitation from before rushes back with a biting vengeance.   It… hurts?  Something does.  The game is almost over after all and yet, his determination to see it through remains anyways.  Feeble as it may be… the entity nonetheless, pushes on anyways like before.

“...a lullaby.”

Almost despondently so, his gaze averting off to the side, but never fully breaking the blank neutrality of his tone.  Then silence for a bit.  A much needed reprieve and yet, one which even in the absence of the final riddle, only lasts for a short burst of time or so before his mind wanders back to the blonde woman’s tapping from before.  With a bit more clarity gained now… he not only realizes that she was giving him a hint as to what the answer to the second riddle was, but that he actually knows the words.  Sweet yet painful.  More clear images–and with it, the surroundings losing their subtle glow and coming more into focus–starting to filter through like film from an old movie that might have once been in pristine condition, but has now long since degraded, cutting off at certain points while slanting in an unsightly way at others.  Another pang of clarity.  He almost doesn’t want to play anymore.  To stop it at this before things go too far… before he is far too gone to return to being more contented and… and… normal.

N o r m a l.  He’s always wanted to be normal, but they would not let him.

A discordant thought.  One which he neatly sweeps aside, finding it easier to do so as opposed to letting it run any further, before forcing his attention back on the game.  Despite everything… he still, at the end of it all, feels inclined to finish.  He has to finish because this is important.  More than he had initially surmised in his far less lucid state upon arriving here.  At that conclusion, as if on cue, the blonde woman starts on the next riddle with no further lighthearted comments or jabs, her expression going completely inscrutable yet no less determined as if she knows the end is near in more ways than one.  An awakening is coming and though it’s a bit hard to pop the entity’s bubble… though it feels cruel… she must press on.  It’s better this way.

“Three points.  Onto the last riddle

I’m always old yet sometimes new.

Never sad yet sometimes blue.

Never empty but sometimes full.

Never pushy but always pulling.

Always here even when I’m gone.

What am I?”

The entity’s eyes widen as though he’s just been sloshed with a bucket of ice-cold water.  Inexplicably so.  Nothing about the wording is especially offensive and yet something tightens in his chest anyways.  The very feeling which had been building up over the course of this whole interaction peaking and exploding by the very last sentence of the riddle, small hand reaching up to tightly grip just over his chest, where his heart would be were he actually as human as he appears.  The moon.  Gone.  He knows it.  Not real.  She’s gone.  He knows that this is the answer with 100% certainty and yet the answer is caught in his throat anyways, as blocked and paralyzed as he’s abruptly become as something inscrutable splits, fracturing like glass or like one layer of a haze which had hung over him ever since he had gained cognizance anew.  She’s gone.  The moon in all of its mundane glory.  A basic satellite that orbits the earth.  Her home.  She’s gone.  A rock inhospitable to humans and littered with maria, dark flat regions that look like bodies of water from a distance–

…–maria? He shakes his head to himself.  No.  Not maria, but Maria.  Maria.

Maria.  She’s gone.  Always here.  Always gone.

It all cliiiiiiicks into place.  Not in full–that much requires a far lengthier and more arduous journey–but enough to properly identify that which pertains to the blonde woman before him.  His hands curl into tight fists by his sides, posture going completely rigid as he shakes his head, as though that would somehow magically make this particular ‘awakening’ stop.  To Maria.  His dearest mother.  His only family.  The one and only bit of good in his life before everything was irreversibly poisoned.

Poisoned by them.

And as if in direct response to that particular thought, rising up against it amidst everything else, something abruptly breaks on the inside and against all odds, out gushes a sensation even more overwhelming than what’s just hit him.  Overwhelming enough to push aside that odd melancholic emptiness, bitterness, and despair which had all too fast begun to fill him.  A jumbled patchwork of emotions that shouldn’t fit together yet do all the same nonetheless, tumbling out at various intensities and moments without rhyme or reason.  And it is all because of her, with one particular emotion far above the others at the core and helm of it all.  The very base origin behind everything felt now.  The planet to everything else which revolves around it.

An all-encompassing, rich, and impossibly deep sensation, almost suffocating in its concept, almost too overwhelming to contain within his fragile body yet somehow it manages to be anyways.  It permeates every fibre of his being.  It exists in every crevice and space where it could fit within the essence which constitutes who he is.

Warmer than the simple, bright, and short sprigs of happiness from before.

More passionate than the most concentrated poisons of hatred.

Beyond all comprehension and in complete violations of all logical conventions;  the very pinnacle of irrationality, evolved beyond its initial spark and into its final transcendent format.

Love.

Yes.  That’s right.  It’s clear to him now.  More than anything else, he loves her.  He had forgotten that he did, for a bit, but now that he is no longer blinded by… other things… he realizes that there is nothing more important than that.

Nothing more important than her.

That is what has come gushing out with such vigor.  The true form of his feelings towards his adoptive human mother.  That is the precise name of that sensation.  It only hurts because he loves her.  It hurts because it mattered.

Because it still does.

Despite everything, it still matters.

She still matters.

“Maria.  Mother.”

He hesitates, sadness sharply pinpricking his heart with renewed enthusiasm against the seemingly endless onslaught of love as if attempting to strike a particular emotional balance and with it, a strange and foreign wetness forming at the corners of his eyes.  Liquid.  Strange, upsetting, and rending liquid.  Are his optical receptors broken…somehow, even here in a dream…?  He rather tentatively glances down at his refilled cup of peppermint tea to discern the true identity of the mysterious liquid, almost jumping back as he does so, his chair making a muffled skidding sound on the floor as the only indication of his shock.  His appearance is no longer human.  He appears as he feels he should, but perhaps a bit small?  A small clawed digit pokes at an upright and triangular ear, then at his stubby snout, large dark blue voids (the same colour through every part of his eyes, from the sclera to the pupils) narrowing in the welcome distraction that this provides before closing his eyes with a sigh, the clear liquid dripping out and staining the otherwise pristine pink tablecloth before him.  Fists somehow becoming even tighter, claws digging into the palms of his hands without drawing blood.

“Are you really here?”

The question comes tumbling out, rigid neutrality finally properly breaking a bit under the enormous weight of what can only be his own grief reborn–having originally never been permitted to properly manifest and instead, kept at bay by things that seem awfully petty and meaningless now–before he can stop himself.  He knows.  He knows the answer to his own question.  The painful, bitter, and ugly truth.  He knows and yet he can’t help asking, hoping to be wrong.  To receive an answer to halt what he’s reliving; the warmth and intensity of love, outlined by crushing and unrelenting sadness.  Maria herself reaches out–the chairs, table and everything on it having mysteriously vanished now seemingly in accordance with this change in the entity himself, as smoothly and seamlessly as if it had been like this all along–and bending down to the entity’s now diminutive height, her expression twisted a little with concern, and gently presses a thumb at the corners of his eyes to wipe a few more budding tears away.

“My dearest Giegue, I’m always with you.  And I always will be.”

She pulls him into a hug and overwhelmed by the flurry of emotions as he is, Giegue does not resist.  Rather he numbly allows for it to happen, more liquid leaking out his eyes to replace that which Maria had so kindly wiped away, his mouth pressed into a rather tense line that faintly quivers as if holding back so much more.  He can’t breathe, physiological impossibility of that aside.  He can’t move.  He can barely think, what little he can manage utterly dedicated towards “getting it together”, simply-put.  His memories are largely incomplete, but this feels awfully pathetic anyways.  As though he’s supposed to be better than this.  As though he has no right to break and bend at all and rather, has a duty towards remaining completely militant.  To otherwise fail to do so, as he is now, admittedly makes him feel hatred not just for them in general but for himself for being unable to do something so basic and so much more.

“You’ll always have a bit of the most important people inside your heart.  They’ll always be a part of you, even after they’re long gone.

Memories might hide in different parts of the mind’s maze, but they’re never really gone.

You never really forget the important things.  Do you understand?”

Of course he understands, comprehension cutting through the budding self-hatred for a moment.  He slowly, almost tentatively moves just a bit to loosely return her hug.  But, that’s exactly what makes this so difficult.  He knows.  He knows that, though the sincerity of her words rings through, this isn’t the real Maria.  It’s an aspect of his mind.  Love and maybe a bit of hope made manifest in the form that which exclusively inspires such an irrational state of being.  He closes his eyes shut rather tightly, pointed teeth grinding harshly from behind the tight line of his mouth.  He knows.  His fingers claw into the pink fabric of her dress as if he’s been starved of something for a very long time and can no longer continue to push back the desire to be satiated at long last.  He knows that he needs to complete this interaction in order to move onto the next fragment of many out there.  To become more complete.  And yet… his grip on the pink fabric abruptly tightens at the thought of having to move onto something else.  How despicable.  And yet… he briefly entertains the thought of never properly waking up.  Disgusting.  Of never becoming complete again.  Lowly scum.  Of the dream never ending.

Irrationally so.

Irrational.  Stupid.  And selfish.

Childishly so.

Stupid.  Stupid.  Stupid.

Let go.

But, he can’t.

Move on.

To what…?

Get over it.

How can he?  Everything has unraveled too far to neatly tie back up in its box.

Let go.

NO.  Never again.  That fleeting thought of never repairing himself is promptly crushed underneath his proverbial and unyielding heel.  How can he even think like that?  Be that pathetic and weak?  Somehow.  He knows that it isn’t like him.  And even if it is, then he knows that he needs to transcend such a basal nonetheless.  To be better.  Stronger this time around.  A slow and disapproving shake of his head to himself before the Psion pulls back from the hug, letting go of her dress and recomposed just a bit albeit still teary, and levitates up enough to meet Maria at eye level.  The first display of his psionic power since he regained his ability to think and process things at all, perhaps in response to the latest bit of growth towards becoming complete.

For several moments, he just stares at her.  Just stares and stares and stares while she patiently waits, completely nonplussed–a glimmer of understanding no less prominent in her gentle gaze–by this particular development.  He can’t find the words.  Despite his renewed, albeit still shaky, determination… words fail him anyways.  Despite knowing just how much of an illusion this actually is… mountains of mountains of mountains of words pile up all at once, much like the way all these feelings and thoughts of his had come rushing back in a jumbled mess.  There’s so many things that he wants to say.  Things he’s always wanted to say to her; archived for millenia until the consequent backlog became almost impossible to contain, now bursting out and flooding his mind in violent waves.  She’s not really here.  She’s gonegonegone.  

Destined to never cross paths with him again.  

Like lines that can never intersect.

GONE.

There’s NO POINT in saying anything meaningful.  And yet…

“I am sorry.  I could not be what you wanted me to be.  I have failed you.”

He cannot help himself anyways.  His head dips down, gaze averted towards the ground while his shoulders hunch ever-so-slightly, thoroughly miserable.  Shame.  Pure and unadulterated shame.  Out of the billions of things that he could say… that he shouldn’t bother with saying on principle… this comes out anyways.  A hollow apology tinged with regret.  Like that fixes anything, especially when he cannot entirely recall what he’s sorry about in the first place.  All he knows is that he’s deeply regretful about everything and that it is because he has in a way that is exceedingly wrong.  Utterly unworthy of all that she has invested in him in the short time they had known each other.  Is that really all he can say anymore after everything?  More liquid leaks out his eyes and falls, guided by the gravity of this dream towards the nonexistent ground now, blanked out by pale yellow hues in place of the wooden floor from earlier.  All the while, Maria shakes her head as if in disagreement with the Psion’s outward claims and the thoughts running through his mind earlier on, before gently pressing a hand to his shoulder.

“You haven’t failed me.  I think that… sometimes… we lose our way in life.  That doesn’t mean that we can’t find our way back.  Most people don’t stay lost forever.

The fact that you’re sorry at all is proof that you’re part of that majority.”

She steps forward and takes his small stubby hands into her own, cold contrasting against the very human warmth of her fair skin.  A beat.  And the Psion himself instinctively returns the grip–even though he shouldn’t–though he still doesn’t shift his gaze off the ground.

“Giegue.  You’re capable of more good than you know.

I still believe in you.  I always have and always will.  Because… just as I’ve said before, despite everything, you’re still you.

And I’ve always believed that you had a good heart.  I still do.

It’s never too late to turn away from the path you’ve been on thus far and do what’s right.  To be good against all perceived odds.  Even your own.”

Giegue wants to irrationally resist.  Hands twitching with intent to ball into fists, but only halting that particular action because said appendages in question are intertwined with hers.  Resist her words.  Resist the sense of ease starting to creep its way through him.  He wants to hold onto all that hatred, bitterness, and misery for as long as he can… to press it so close to his very core that he will never forget how rendingly awful it feels.  He deserves it.  Just as much as he wants to never let go of her, even if she’s just an illusion here.  And yet, he finds himself comforted by the words anyways, pain ebbed away by her warmth and kindness.  It’s absurd.

Because even if she’s an illusion… an apparition of his mind… he cannot bring himself to sincerely fight her on this.  He cannot deny her.  Not anymore.  So the only option he has is to simply let himself be comforted by it, somehow, and instead focus on seeing this interaction through to its end.  The surrounding details fading further away, window and wallpaper disappearing until the background is little more than a pastel rainbow of color splotches twinkling with a mysterious kind of radiance, like the starry night sky.

Good.  Being good.  Is it really that simple?

It hardly seems like it, especially for a creature such as himself.  The sincerity of her words come through as clearly as his rediscovered… love… for her and yet, he cannot help doubting himself anyways.  He’s comforted by her words, but doubt creeps in just as swiftly as comfort comes nonetheless.  He’s done nothing to warrant such faith in his apparent intrinsic ‘good’.  Absolutely nothing.  That much, he’s certain of, even in the absence of supporting memories and knowledge to that.  Because he was created by them.  The Psion species and they are certainly not good.  Because Maria is indisputably good and Giegue himself is nothing like her.  His shoulders hunch further, twitching but not accompanied by any further tears, his gaze somehow dipping down even further –fixed to the ground with even more intent than before.  Then he speaks, expression as blank as the tone of his words despite the uncertainty, misery, and lack of direction behind them.

“Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  I nonetheless no longer have a purpose.

What am I supposed to do anymore?

There are many gaps in what I can recall at this juncture, but somehow I simply know that there is nothing meaningful beyond this ‘dream’.”

He pulls his hands away from Maria, so as to wipe away the last few pinpricks of liquid off the corners of dark blue voids, shaking his head as he does so despite the resignation from before, emotional vulnerability of a new sort cracking through his renewed neutrality as he continues on, volume gradually quieting as he reaches the end of his message.

“I don’t know what to do anymore.

I’m… I am…. afraid that I am not strong enough to do anything else.

That I am only good for causing destruction and harm.

I am… afraid that… that I am not strong enough to be more than what they wanted.”

For a moment, there’s a brief flicker of sadness in her ever patient, gentle, and understanding gaze–a breakage in kindness and optimism paralleling the breakage in the Psion’s neutrality–before it snaps back to normal.  Then a pause as Maria carefully thinks over how to answer.  How to even begin addressing his feelings.  Complex things entangled in such a way, hatred completely and utterly integrated throughout, that it could not possibly be resolved in one fell swoop.  Nonetheless, the apparition has hope and unwavering belief in her son’s strength.  The memory of her would not exist at all if he really were as hate-worthy and weak as he believes.  And deep down he knows it.  She places her hands, one atop the other, over her heart while a small, hopeful, and knowing smile makes its way back onto her face anew.

“I only want for you to be happy with yourself and your life again.  It might seem impossible to you now, but I know that it will come to pass.

Giegue.  

You are so much stronger than you know.

The answer might not be immediately clear to you on what you’re meant to do now, but that’s okay.  You’ll figure it out and make it through.  You always do.”

Much like before, the Psion is hit with that impulsive and irrational desire to rebel against her words, but this time he quashes that impulse much more quickly.  Even if he cannot quite believe in himself the way she’d like for him to… he has to somehow try anyways.  If not for his sake, then certainly for hers.  He straightens his posture out and finally returns Maria’s gaze more properly, a fragile yet no less determined glint reflecting off dull pupils.  His doubts and fears cannot be mitigated so easily, but that does not matter because if he allows for himself to be completely consumed by such lowly sensations then he will only end up wasting the time, effort, and love–unworthy as he is of it at all–the real Maria had put into him long ago.  Apparition or not, the feelings of his which manifested it to begin with are real.  And in his… ‘heart’... he knows that this is how the real Maria would feel.

“Do you really believe that…?”

One last slippage, one last glint of vulnerability, and he’s done.  It’s a question he cannot help asking.   Especially now that the apparition before him has abruptly lost her details in line with the renewal of his resolve, demoted to little more than a vague pink outline while the multicolored splotches of their collective backdrop fragments to reveal the void from earlier on, sans a glimmering fragment.  The very development he had been dreading, but he holds strong against it with rigid neutrality.  He has to.  For her sake.

“Do you even need to ask?  Of course I do.”

She then looks down at herself, starting to fade now with the rest of the scattered backdrop pieces, and sighs a touch disappointed.  As if she had been hoping for a little more time despite knowing that this final outcome was near.

“Our time here is almost done.  You’ve achieved what you needed to.  Before I go… can I make one last request of you…?

I know that it might be a bit much with everything that you’ll have to face moving forward–”

The apparition is abruptly cut off before she can finish her sentence when the Psion sticks out a stubby arm, palm facing outward and towards her as a silent indication to cease speaking immediately.  No explanation is needed.  He will always help her without question.  She needn’t even ask.  Such is the ‘power of love’ in all those… stories of heroes and monsters that his adoptive human mother used to tell him, is it not?  In the end, love always prevails and though mere fiction, it certainly applies here.

“Yes.  Anything.  You can have no request that is too unreasonable for me to fulfill.

Though I may be uncertain on where I… ‘fit’... now… there is something that I can nonetheless say with certainty on how I will exist from now on.

And it is that… no matter what happens, has happened, or will happen… I will always stand by your figurative side through it all.

No matter what, I will never abandon your memory.”

The Psion receives no immediate response, the apparition taken aback for a moment, as if she hadn’t been expecting this particular response.  Or at least, not so quickly.  Strange for a mere apparition born of his mind.  As an aspect of him, she should have anticipated this particular result anyways, but then… he was rather heavily damaged.  His entire mind had fractured and so, certain… incongruencies can be expected.  Nonetheless, the apparition quickly recovers, a bit of pride making its way into her fading features as she smiles for the last time, embracing the Psion as she does so which he more immediately returns this time around. A tentative and awkward, as if completely unused to contact like this, but not less sincere in its gentle nature.

“I should have known.  I won’t hesitate then.

Protect the Earth and all life on it, won’t you?”

Gone.  Gone.  Gone.  Her voice fades away as she speaks along with the rest of her form, little more than a ghostly whisper lost to the void.  She’s gone.  One hand curls into a small and tense fist, both dropping by their respective sides, while his eyes screw shut.

Some part of him admittedly felt compelled to reach out, as if that would somehow stop what had happened. Another part felt inclined to call out to not leave, even though he already knew such an inevitability was near. The visuals made that much abundantly clear. He should have done this. He should have done that and yet, it happened too fast for him to do anything but reel in the cold and isolated aftermath of it all. An aftermath from which he cannot falter; he had already done far enough of that and at this juncture, he must remain strong even as renewed bits of wetness threaten to deftly slide out the corners of his eyes.

The real Maria is long gone. She has been for a very long time. That was just an apparition. Nothing more and nothing less.

Gone, but certainly not forgotten.

The pale alien takes a moment to just… accept what’s happened… the part he supposed would be hardest, even though he had braced for it.  One.  Two.  Three.  An inhalation of air.  Four.  Five.  Six.  An exhalation of air.  Then he opens his eyes anew and glances out at the remaining fragments in the darkness as the remaining bits of the previous fragment’s backdrop morph into pure glittering golden light–the very same which had once shone through the window in the dream–before concentrating into a beam that fades into his body, right where a heart would be if he physiologically had one.

“I will.  I promise.”

The semantics of that do not matter. Whether it's more complicated or simpler than he can currently envision, limited as his current database is, he will certainly see her request through to the very end.

It's the least he can do. The only thing he can do for her anymore as her son.

[oh-look-car-horns]

Wondering what boop count your 3 letter word corresponds to? I gotchu:

Using a python script I wrote, I booped myself 50,000 times, saving an image of my boop-o-meter every 500 boops. Before we get into the results, there are two important limitations to this study that I should mention:

Firstly, because I only recorded the boop-o-meter every 500 boops, if a message appeared for less than 500 boops it may not have been caught.

Secondly, every now and then my computer would lose a boop or two when a click wouldn't register. This is seen in the 500 and 1000 boop images below, which in reality read 498 and 994 respectively. Because of this, boop values are slightly lower than they appear.

With that out of the way, lets dig in.

0-999:

From boops 0-999, the boop-o-meter displays your boop count, and changes color as you boop

Boop count: 0 Boop count: 500 Boop count: 1000

Boop fact: the colors do not change after 1000

LOL:

Between boops 1000 and 1500, the boop-o-meter changed to display 'LOL'. This likely took place at 1000 boops, but maybe it said 'MAX' or sumn for awhile at first? Idk this is already the misinformation website so not my problem.

Boop count: 1500 (actually more like 1490 ish)

More results below the cut

OMG:

Between 1500 and 2000, the boop-o-meter changed to display 'OMG'. Again, this probably happened at 1500 but who knows. Maybe staff made it 1523 for the bit or something.

Boop count: ~2000

WOW:

The boop-o-meter remained at omg until the 3500 boop readpoint, when it switched to 'WOW', meaning this transition happens somewhere between ~2980 and ~3480.

Boop count: ~3500

Boop fact: 'WOW' is the second longest reigning message

*-*:

Between 5000 and 5500 the boop-o-meter switched to '*-*'. You get the idea at this point so I'll speed it up.

Boop count: ~5500

WHY:

The boop-o-meter changed to 'WHY' between 6000 and 6500 boops. For science. That's why.

Boop count: ~6500

PLZ:

Next was 'PLZ', switching between 7000 and 7500.

Boop count: ~7500

AAA:

I'm not sure what bloody urine has to do with anything, but for some reason staff felt is was important to display, switching between 7500 and 8000.

Boop count: ~8000

;_;:

Huh the colon makes that one look weird. 8000-8500.

Boop count: ~8500

Boop fact: That fucking cat haunts me in my dreams

0_0:

I realized after I set my pyautogui script running that my computer wouldn't turn off its screen because of the clicking, so there was a strobing blue light in my room all night. This encapsulated my expression while trying to sleep (8500-9000).

Boop count: ~9000

MAX:

After 9000 it displayed 'MAX'. This was cap. (9000-9500 switch).

Boop count: OVER 9000 (9500)

<33:

I miss my wife. 9500-10,000.

Boop count ~10,000

TUM BLR:

THE HOLY GRAIL. The boop-o-meter switched to displaying 'TUM BLR' between 10,000 and 10,500 boops. Because my actual boop count was slightly behind my theoretical, I'd guess that this change happened at 10,000 boops.

Boop count: ~10,500 (likely switched at 10,000)

Summary:

When charted the boop curve looks as follows:

Boop curve: 0 - 10,000 boops

My script continued to run until 53,000 boops, but no further changes were observed. Again, there were quite possibly more messages at lower boop values, but my ass is not checking. Maybe I should have scaled my sampling accordingly, but it is what it is. Thank you for joining me on this journey, and if you have any corrections or more information, please add it to this post.

Boop fact: Terfs DNI

[vigilvntes]

i welcome all of you to continue getting my ass in my ask box but unfortunately i have to sleep because i have to get up for work in two hours and it's not looking good for me

[vaya-writes]

Plus Two

So this is more than a bit indulgent, and I don't know how well it would be received, and I totally had to create some new characters just to make this scenario work but!!! If you're looking for something to read here is a reader insert fic of you attending a gala with the worlds (@eldritch-spouse's) most emotionally constipated demon (don't worry it's by design). You scheme against said demon's entitled and rude ex to make her look bad in front of everyone, attend a gala with Mervin, and then fuck nasty with him in a semi public place afterwards. Enjoy <3

M demon x F reader. 8500 words. Context required? Not really. Just that he's like that on purpose. Divider by firefly-graphics.

Mervin is visiting his mother. 

It’s... frustrating, to say the least. 

 You’re sitting in the kitchen, watching Obie cook. He wanted you as a taste tester, but honestly, you’re not very helpful. Many of the small tweaks he’s making to his dishes go above your head.  

Katia is asleep upstairs. Ludwig is elsewhere. It makes you wonder why the pride demon is pacing around the kitchen, obviously getting in his brother’s way. You get the sense he’s waiting for somebody to ask what’s wrong. 

Thankfully, Obie picks up on the mood. “So, why the stick?” 

Mervin stops, drawn from his thoughts. “What?” 

“The stick up your ass. Who put it there?” 

Mervin scowls and resumes his pacing. Then lets out a huff and joins you at the table. He crosses his arms. Mutters under his breath. You think you catch the name he says. 

“Stasia.” 

Obie snorts. “Should have guessed.” 

You glance at Mervin. “Who’s that?” 

He grits his teeth. “Not your business, human.” 

You shrug, but Obie turns with a smirk. “His girlfriend.” 

“Not my girlfriend, corkscrew.” He’s just as scathing towards his brother. 

Obie turns back to the stove. “You might not guess it, but my dearest brother doesn’t have many friends.” 

“No?” You feign shock. 

Obie grins. “No. But he does have one. Kind of. Stasia. So, whenever Merv is pressured into attending some event or gala, or whatever they do over in Pride, he has to take a date or risk looking like a dolt.” 

“And he takes Stasia.” 

“And he takes Stasia. Well, he invites her. And she says yes. And then, always the night before, she says no. And then sometimes she says yes again. It’s hard to keep track. Regardless, Merv always works himself into a tizzy when she says she won’t attend, and then shows up anyway.” 

You glance at Mervin. He’s fuming at the explanation but doesn’t dispute any of it. 

“She sounds like a piece of work.” 

“She is.” 

You turn to Mervin, who looks more miserable than usual. “So, what do you usually do?” 

He rests his head on the table and doesn’t reply. 

“Sometimes he cancels. Can’t do that too often though, or risk looking like a recluse. One time he found another date.” Obie frowns. “Somehow. But then Stasia showed up and embarrassed the fuck out of her.” 

You wince.  

“He usually goes alone. Sometimes Stasia swoops in like nothing is wrong and they’re meant to be together. Other times she doesn’t show, and my dearest brother is left to roam the event by himself.” 

“Why do we even have these parties,” Mervin mutters. 

“Here, here,” you can’t help but agree. “Even working at them was boring.” 

Mervin turns his face towards you, raises his brow. “You’ve been to a gala before? I refuse to believe it.” 

Your nose crinkles. “I did security for a few. They were human events, mind you.”  

Mervin grunts, turning his face back down. 

You kind of pity him. The demon doesn’t even bother sitting up straight – the event must weigh heavily on him. “So, are these parties exclusive?” 

He shrugs. “This one’s for mid-ranked Pride. The especially wealthy demons. Might be some others there as plus ones.” 

You raise your brow. “I thought you lot grew up in the common rings.”  

“We did.” 

“Without a lot of wealth.” 

Mervin curls his lip at the perceived dig, and sits up. “They started inviting me after they recognised my exceptional skills. I’ve worked for many influential demons in Pride, thank you very much, and as such have a very robust income.” 

You appease him with a gentle smile. “I don’t doubt you deserve to be there, Mervin. I was just curious as to how it came about.” 

He lifts his chin. “Good. I suppose even a human can recognise talent such as mine.” 

“How would everyone react if you brought a human as your date?” 

He grimaces, “you mean to imply I should bring you?” 

“I mean to offer my company if you don’t want to turn up alone. I could even help you get some petty catharsis over Stasia, if you’d like.” 

He looks at you, more sharply. But considers. “I don’t know. You’d be a bit of a novelty, I imagine.” 

You feign indignance. “I’m famous, you know.” 

He doesn’t look impressed. “Infamous. Topside. Nobody in Perdition knows who you are.” 

“Ah, yes, precisely why I’m hiding at your mum’s house.” 

His expression sours for a moment. But the longer he considers, the lighter it becomes. “It might be interesting. Taking a human to a gala,” he mutters to himself, “if a little demeaning.” 

“Not too demeaning, I hope. I’ll be there to make you look good. Being polite to Stasia, using lovely manners, mindlessly rambling about how amazing you are to anyone I pass. Easy.” 

He has to try to keep the scowl on his face, but you can tell he’s seriously considering the offer. 

“You’re vastly underestimating the danger of this evening.” 

He’s right. But you can’t help but straighten. Rise to the challenge. “And you’re underestimating my ability to turn on the charm.” You give him a sweet little smile. “Besides, you’ll be there to protect me.” 

He sneers. “You’re just bored.” 

“I'm having a pleasant afternoon with Obie.” You lower your chin. “But, yes, I haven’t left the house for days. It’d be incredibly charitable of you to take me as your plus one.” You blast him with another pretty smile and lighten your tone. “It’s a shame your date had a last-minute emergency and had to cancel, but I’m so very fortunate you were generous enough to bring me along. A truly serendipitous turn of events.” 

He keeps his face blank as he mulls over your excuse. Weighs the pros and cons. Before, ultimately, shrugging. “Let’s see how you clean up, first. I doubt your clothes will be of high enough calibre.”  

He plays it cool, but you know you’ve won. 

- 

Mervin is right, and you don’t bother disputing it. You have a bag of stage clothes that are marginally prettier than your casual wear, but none of them are formal. Some of your accessories might be of use – the lingerie, or perhaps the stockings – and you have multiple pairs of sandals and boots. But what you wear will ultimately be decided by your escort.  

“You don’t have anything black tie. These might pass as black tie optional,” he mutters to himself, rifling through your clothes in a way that would probably offend most women. “We should head to Pride. I’ve a place you can dress at. Your makeup supplies are passable, but I’m going to have to take you shopping for a decent dress.” 

You don’t complain. It’s been a while since anyone bought you nice clothes. You wave goodbye to Obie as Mervin whisks you away. And before long you’re in another ring entirely. 

You hadn’t been to Pride yet. You’d worked in multiple rings, sure, but standards in this one tended to sit a little higher than you could provide. It’s affluent, with the streets laid out in a way that demonic urban planners no doubt agonised over. Mervin leads you straight to a commerce district, dragging you by the wrist in and out of boutiques and dress shops. 

He barks orders at imps and attendants, listing off dress styles and materials. Very few meet his standards, though several he does make you try on. You almost get a headache listening to store owners bragging about their stock; the quality of their goods. Even if hearing other demons sound so similar to Mervin makes you want to laugh at first. 

“What are you wearing tonight,” you ask him. 

He pulls out his phone and shows you a photo. The suit is high end, in his usual colours. You’re not surprised. 

He listens to your input over the dresses, for which you’re grateful. You choose the colour you think will match Mervin’s outfit best; a purple so dark it appears black.  

Then finally, you’re heading back to his place, three new dresses in tow. You’re not sure how you managed to pick not one but three (three!) gala dresses in the space of one afternoon, but Mervin had insisted on purchasing them all, some excuse about their iffy quality and you needing alternative options.  

Once at his place, you let him fuss over the dresses and dig through your accessories again, while you look at your other equipment. A glance at Mervin reveals he’s still in his casual wear, sai crossed over his back. “So, is this an open carry event, or..?” 

His gaze cuts to you, where you’re looking over your weapon holsters. His lip curls. “No. It’s not.” 

A thigh sheath it is, then. 

“You really think that’s going to help you here? You should let me worry about safety. I doubt you’ll be able to take care of yourself.” 

You give the demon a too bright smile. “I don't go anywhere without my family jewels. Have you picked a dress yet?”  

Conversation successfully redirected, Mervin ushes you to his bathroom, pushing you the dress of his choosing. It’s certainly elegant, with slits up the thighs, a cinched waist, and most the skin above your cleavage on display. The fabric is silky, and feels nice against your skin. 

When you step out to show him the fit, Mervin is silent. You wait for him to voice an opinion. 

The dress looks good. You look good. You know it.  

Mervin only scoffs. “I need to get ready. I assume you can finish dressing without any hand holding.” He turns for his room, almost slamming the door behind him.  

You assume his weird behaviour has something to do with his prideful nature. He hadn’t disparaged your appearance, so it probably passes.  

You spend the next half hour applying the finishing touches. Braiding your hair into an updo. Masterfully applying makeup. Pulling on a garter belt and stockings and choosing which of your knives to holster. You’re lacing up your sandals when Mervin emerges from his room again, dressed in a suit.  

He pushes a box towards you. “Put it on. I don’t want people thinking my plus-one looks plain.” 

It’s a jewellery box. Inside lies an intricate necklace of silver, dotted with indigo gems. A discrete glance reveals they match the rings Mervin wears.  

You can’t hold back your smile. Regardless of meaning, the gesture is sweet. “Thank you, Mervin. It’s beautiful. You have good taste.” 

“Naturally.” 

You struggle with the necklace until Mervin ‘tsks’ and steps behind you to help with the clasp.  

“You’re a sweetheart,” you grin up at him. 

He shakes his head, before looking away quickly. “And you’re useless. Honestly. Who can’t put on a simple necklace?” 

You pick up on the deflection. It’s almost cute. You decide to needle at him some more. “Me, apparently. Thank you for helping. I’m sure this would take ages without you.” 

He looks down his nose at you. Perhaps you overdid it. 

“Whatever.” 

Finally you two stand, dressed and ready to go. Looking down at yourself and back at Mervin leaves you satisfied: you match. 

“So, do I clean up well enough?” 

He looks you over. “You won’t be winning best dressed.”  

You raise your brows. He was the one who chose the outfit. 

But something almost akin to a smile crosses his face. “But I guess, you’re only human.” 

- 

Mervin hires a driver to take you to the gala. You’re honestly impressed, having never ridden in the back of a stretch limo before. You quiz Mervin on the way there, asking after etiquette, who to chat up, who to avoid. How much dancing is expected. What is the schedule for the evening. Everything you should know to avoid making any faux passes. Because while you’d visited high society before – in various service industries – you'd never participated in it. It’s daunting. Exciting. Terrifying.  

You make plans for the evening. Scheming; laying contingencies. Because while this night is supposed to be social, you know you’re honestly just here to show up Mervin’s ‘friend’. He paints the picture of a conniving demoness. One who dominated in certain social circles. One who will be dismissive and icy towards you, and increasingly aggressive the longer you stick around. 

Mervin dictates how you’re to behave. How you’re to react to her insults. You interject here and there, swapping ideas until you have a seamless blend or characteristics to take into the night. A fleshed out character you’ll be playing before the surrounding audience. 

All too soon, you’re arriving. 

Mervin opens your door. It had been pre-negotiated, and he’d fussed about it (if anyone deserved the door opened for them, it was him, he should be served all night, he was only doing this because it was polite, because he needed to look like a gentleman). You brace yourself before stepping into the light.  

In the moment before you straighten there’s enough time for trepidation to rush through you. You remember how exhausting it can be, meeting new people. Playing pretend. 

But then you’re giving Mervin a starry eyed smile, and linking arms. It’s too late to back out. 

You’ve settled on a bubbly personality. Too demure and you risk fading into the background. Too assertive and it leaves you open to social mistakes. You’ll go with friendly. Lively. Sweet. Not quite arm-candy, not quite Mervin’s equal. 

It’ll be tiring, but you might manage to have some fun. Pry a dance or two out of Mervin. Or try some expensive wine. Somehow Mervin hasn't yet learned how you’d caught his brothers’ eyes (an incident involving too much alcohol, and a bar fight), so you haven't been forbidden from indulging. Yet.  

Mervin doesn’t let you wander. You mingle in the foyer, where most of the crowd lingers. Shaking hands, trading introductions, smiling. There’re a few surprised exclamations at your appearance - “A human! Where in Perdition did you find her, Mervin?” - and a few too many pinches and gropes. But you bear it all with a smile, playful indignance, and charming redirection.  

You’re just settling into your role when Mervin stiffens, almost imperceptivity.  

“There you are, sugar plum. I’ve been looking for you all night.” 

Stasia has arrived. 

--- 

Stasia is an envy demon, graced with a classic sort of beauty that would do well on Earth. She has a wide and elegant set of horns, curling back from her temples, and her long tail swishes with confidence behind her as she crosses the room. She’s wearing a floor length evening gown in a bright scarlet, and a lipstick that matches.  

Mervin is silent beside you.  

You slide into action, another starry eyed, bubbly smile fixed onto your face. “Oh wow, you look gorgeous. You must be Stasia, I’ve heard so much about you.”  

Her arms had been open, clearly about to embrace the demon by your side, but you intercept, shaking one of her hands with enthusiasm.  

You crinkle your brow and look up at the demoness with concern. “Your schedule cleared then? That’s such a relief. Mervin was worried when you had to cancel on him so suddenly.” 

Several sets of eyes land on you. Stasia narrows her own at you, but you’ve already outed her as a flake to the crowd. Somebody nearby laughs.  

She pulls her hand from yours. “Mervin, who is this?” 

Your companion relaxes. “Stasia, this is an acquaintance of mine,” he tells her your name. “Pet, this is Stasia.” No honorific, you notice. You imagine anyone looking on also notices. 

You beam up at the envy demon, “Mervin was generous enough to bring me as his plus-one. I’ve been stuck at home for weeks, it was really too kind of him. I should thank you too, Stasia. You’ve indirectly brought me here.” 

The smile frozen on her face slips, just a little. 

You’re kept from formulating any further praise – or jabs – when the host announces the doors open. The crowd dissipates, making their way towards what appears to be a genuine ballroom.  

Stasia walks lockstep with Mervin, almost shouldering you aside. You’d be offended if you weren’t expecting the treatment. Instead, you trail shyly after them, a step behind Mervin’s other side.  

Stasia is already chattering to your date, linking her arm through his.  

“You two should catch up! I’ll get drinks while you do.” You lean up to kiss Mervin on the cheek. 

Even though you’d discussed and planned PDA with him (that part of the drive had been like pulling nails), he still stiffens at the gesture, blanching a little. 

You give him a smile, “Your regular?” 

“Fine. And something for yourself.” 

You don’t catch the glare Stasia sends you, but others do. 

You hasten towards the bar. Nobody stops you, but you suspect it might get harder to navigate the crowd as the night goes on and the guests get more inebriated. Even now you’re subject to stares, and the occasional frown. 

The bartender takes your order, thankfully.  

You’re watching as it’s made when a demon you don’t recognise sidles up beside you. 

“Watch yourself, girl. Last time somebody got between Stasia and her prey it wasn’t pretty.” 

You take in the demon (purple hue and the pronged horns) with a glance, before choosing a sympathetic expression. “I appreciate the concern, sir. I can’t help but feel for her, though. Scheduling conflicts are such a pain. Imagine making time for an event, only to find you’re no longer invited.” 

The demon watches you critically. You don’t mind. You’ll either come off as naive or conniving, and both are acceptable. 

He shrugs. “You’ve been warned.” 

“Again,” you say, taking your drinks from the bartender, “thank you.” 

Mervin is wearing a strained smile when you return, locked in a conversation with Stasia and two other demons.  

He accepts his drink with a nod, and when the conversation next lulls, he introduces you to his companions.  

The night continues like this, with Mervin introducing you around, and Stasia growing tense each time he stops to draw attention to you. 

She positively writhes if the conversation so much as turns your way, stink eyeing anyone who deigns to ask you where you’re from, what you’re doing in Perdition, what you do for a living. 

Over and over you repeat yourself. You’ve been indoors for weeks. You were feeling stir crazy. Mervin was so generous to show you around. Mervin was charitable. Mervin was kind. Stasia was too; you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for her actions. 

Until she’s red in the face, and not in a pleasant way. You decide to back off, before she erupts like a tea kettle. 

The music has since started, and more and more demons are flocking to the dance floor. You look wistfully after them. “It’s a shame I don’t know any of the dances in Pride. Why don’t you two take the first? I could watch and learn.” 

The demoness jumps on the opportunity, though conveniently ignoring you. “Come on, Mervin. It’s been months since we danced together. You remember that one time on Earth-” you don’t catch the rest of her reminiscing as she leads Mervin away.  

One of the demons you’d been standing with gives you a sympathetic coo. “You’ve been neglected all night, little bird. Why don’t you dance with me?” 

You give them an amicable smile. The excuse falls smoothly from your lips. “I’d love to, but I think it’d be rude to my date if I gave my first dance to somebody else. Maybe later?” 

The demon tuts. “Why should you be polite to him when he’s having a good time with his ex over there?” 

You manage to keep your face relaxed. Obie had called Stasia Mervin’s girlfriend. Had there been some truth to the jest? Still, you manage to shrug, looking towards the dancing pair. They’re locked in a stuffy waltz of some sort. 

“Does he look like he’s having a good time?” 

The demon blinks, before following your gaze. True to your implications, Mervin is tense. His smile is strained. He looks slightly bored, or even resentful at the way Stasia chatters.  

They huff, conceding to your point.  

You nail it in anyway. “He can spend the whole gala with her if it pleases him. He’ll still do me the honour of taking me home afterwards.” 

Stasia keeps Mervin for not one, but three dances, before he manages to escape her grip and find you. You pass his drink back to him, giving him an amused smile. “Having fun?” 

He scowls.  

You give your empty glass to a passing staff member before looking back up at Mervin. You’re pretty sure he’s never going to ask you to dance. Not directly. Not even if he wanted to (a surprising number of wallflowers stand testament to Pride’s inability to simply ask for a dance).  

You take the initiative instead. “Dance with me?” 

He looks almost grateful but doesn’t manage a response other than a mute nod. 

He leads you to the floor, and you take his shoulder and hand. The weight of his own at your waist is pleasant. You don’t remember the last time you danced a waltz, but it’s easy enough to slip into, and Mervin leads well.  

You want to ask him how you’re doing (you know you’re doing well, and he won’t be able to tell you honestly). You want to ask him how he’s doing (he’s clearly tired and frustrated, and likely won’t take kindly to your prying). You want to ask about Stasia (is she really his ex?). Instead, you dance wordlessly for the next few minutes. 

He starts to relax towards the end of the dance, and on a whim, he lifts you during your next turn.  

You inhale sharply, before letting out a laugh. He gives a begrudging smile back. 

The exchange wheedles some words out of you. “You know, if I’d known the dances were going to be this simple, I might have asked to dance first.” 

He raises his brow. “And go against your careful manipulations? How stupid.” 

You grin. “Maybe. But I’d still consider it.” 

He huffs. “There’ll be a few traditional dances after dinner. I doubt you’ll be able to keep up.” 

“Speaking of dinner-” You’re glad you’d questioned Mervin on the drive here. Because of it, you can easily guess what will happen when the dining hall opens. “She’s going to be in my seat.” 

He purses his lips. “We’ll get there first.” 

You’d discussed the possibility but hadn’t made any explicit plans to deal with it.  

“No.” 

He cocks a brow. “No?” 

“If I sit first, there’s no telling what she’ll do.” 

“You have something better in mind?” 

You give him a smile, this one less bubbly, and more genuine. “I think we should renegotiate your terms regarding public displays of affection.” 

His face scrunches with displeasure. “You think you deserve to touch me without express permission?” 

“No. Never,” you butter him up. “But I think she’d hate it if you allowed it.” 

He chews his lip, appearing to consider. 

You inch closer, intent on enjoying what’s left of your dance. “Don’t worry your pretty head so much, my prince.” 

He blinks and opens his mouth to reply. Undoubtedly still wanting to know your solution. Then the rest of what you’d said catches up to him, and he shuts it. He straightens, chest puffing a little. 

You try not to smirk. He’s cute sometimes. 

The waltz finishes. You give him your last words before parting. “And please don’t push me off.”  

Mervin almost stumbles as he understands your request. But before he can protest, the doors to the dining hall are opening, and dinner is due to start. You gesture for Mervin to lead the way. 

After a beat he does, and you trail after him. He pauses several times, greeting aquaintances and stopping to chat. Numerous demons still mill about, not quite ready to take their seats. 

It’s almost suspicious how Stasia doesn’t intercept you. You’d be worried if you weren’t almost certain of where she was. 

Sure enough, when you reach your reserved table, Stasia is seated in your place. She smiles at you, in a way that’s just a little too condescending, but does not otherwise acknowledge you.  

“You kept me waiting, sugar plumb.” 

You pull out the chair for Mervin, inclining your head respectfully as he takes his seat. Then, without missing a beat, you follow him down, settling on his lap. 

He stiffens, but Stasia's expression makes it worth it. 

You cover his surprise with a sweet smile. “Sorry to keep him from you, Stasia. I just thought it might be rude if I danced with somebody else before him.” 

She stares, face now blank. 

After a beat, Mervin’s arm wraps around your side. His claws dig into you, giving away his discomfort. “At any rate, I’m back. Where did we leave off...” 

Stasia resumes her chatter, and Mervin makes an effort to engage. The three of you aren’t alone; there are other pairs seated around the circular table, speaking amongst themselves, and occasionally interacting with Mervin and Stasia. You receive several glances, most of which are accompanied by amused grins. Stasia receives a handful of smirks too. You’re not sure who they favour, but at least you’re cause for humour. None of the pride demons are forward enough to ask Mervin why he apparently has two dates.  

Nobody looks your way when entrees are brought out. Stasia gets your food. It smells delicious, and your stomach rumbles with envy.  

Mervin frowns. “Did my brother not feed you enough?” 

You pout up at him. “Humans typically eat three times a day.” 

He stares down at you. It’s hard to tell, but you think he’s looking at your lips. Eventually he sighs, and passes you his spoon. “I don’t share with just anyone, pet.” 

You beam up at him, placing a kiss on his cheek before he can react. “Thanks babe. You’re literally the best.” 

A muscle in his leg twitches, and he has to work to hide his surprise. It almost has you smirking. The fingers digging harder into your side betray his growing tension. You wonder if he’s flustered at the compliment, or irritated at your relaxed demeanour. Perhaps he’s just been touched too much tonight. 

There’s a glare fixed on you when you take a sip of the first course. It’s a particularly fragrant soup, served with bread. Unimaginative, but damn if it doesn’t taste amazing.  

You lock eyes with Stasia, and smile. “It’s good, right?” 

For a moment she doesn’t reply. But after a beat she sneers. “Bland, actually. The chef must have messed up my order.” 

“Actually, the order was changed, Stasia,” Mervin interrupts. “We’re being served human safe variants of the menu.” 

You blink at the new information. You didn’t realise Mervin had gone to such lengths to accommodate you. It leaves you feeling... nice. 

Mervin notices your stare and scowls. 

“Of course, Stasia is right. It’s terribly bland compared to the usual fare. But I doubt you could handle our food. Your stomach is far too weak. Pathetic, really.” 

You smile at his disparagment. You’re honestly genuine when you praise him next: “You’re too kind, Mervin. I appreciate it.” 

He turns his face away with a sneer, ignoring you as you finish the entrée. 

You insist that Mervin eats the main course. You assume a greed demon would appreciate your excuses more – you wouldn’t dare take the food from his plate, he’s already been kind enough to you, it’s his meal, he should get to taste it, it’d be rude of you to even think of touching the food before he does – but they do the trick, and Mervin still looks a bit pleased at your fussing.  

Dessert passes without incident, and you’re ready to stand and go for a wander. Mervin’s lap isn’t the most comfortable – not while he’s at a dining chair, at the least. The food is cleared and you’re about to get up when another demon at the table ropes Mervin into conversation. 

You can’t help but fidget, not sure whether it’d be acceptable if you stood right now. You think you’re being discrete, shifting your weight just a little, but Mervin grabs your thigh and squeezes it, pointedly.  

You blush and look down in apology, reigning in your wiggles and acting the picture of relaxed and demure once more.  

Instead of releasing you, his hand creeps upwards, along your thigh. 

You force yourself not to fidget again at the touch. It had to be unintentional. You hadn’t discussed anything like this ahead of time. Perhaps he didn’t realise how high his fingers were trailing. 

You hazard a glance over your shoulder, desperate to see his expression, to gleam his mood.  

He grabs your jaw instead, and turns your face forward, before leaning down to murmur at your ear. “Stay there, pet.” 

You hadn’t really considered the possibility of Mervin being dominant before. It was always too much fun flustering him with compliments, or making fun of his stunted emotional responses. But you forget that for a moment, enjoying the firmness of his tone.  

To your immense frustration, he doesn’t do anything more. Just stroking your thigh, claws tracing the slit upthe side of your dress. It’s almost impossible to keep from squirming, and you watch the crowd critically. You’d be mortified if a concubi wandered by just now. 

There’s a cold touch at your wrist. The interruption frustrates you, before you notice Stasia leant forwards. The smile she gives you is unnerving. “Would you mind getting that drink for me now, pet?” 

Mervin’s hand stills. 

You manage a pleasant expression and a nod. “Of course. And anything for you, Mervin?” 

He grimaces. “No. One is enough for me.” 

Stasia gives you her order and you remove yourself from the table. With the distance, you’re almost grateful for the interruption. Mervin would be tempting fate, starting something with an audience so close. No doubt Stasia had noticed. You’re just lucky she’d been calm in her redirection. 

Your second trip to the bar is a little more perilous. The number of stares you receive is doubled, and one demon has the gall to actually slap you on the ass as you pass. 

A glance reveals his reddish hue, and you’d gamble he has wrathful origins. As such, you have no compunction about grabbing the hand that had touched you and twisting his fingers painfully out of place, dodging any further grabs from him. 

“Bitch,” he accuses. 

You roll your eyes, moving on before he can drag you into a fight, or inspire too much anger in you. 

You’re breathless by the time you make it to the bar, and it’s an exercise in your evasive skills to make it back to your table without spilling either of the drinks. 

Mervin and Stasia are gone. You’re irritated, but not surprised. 

You catch a glance of them dancing in the thick of things. Mervin wasn’t wrong; the music upbeat and fast paced. You don’t know your ballroom music particularly well, but based on their movements, you assume it’s a quicktime dance of some sort. You sit at the table and take the opportunity to watch carefully. You’d love to be able to replicate it by the end of the night. 

You’re so focused on analysing your date’s distant footwork that you miss your name being called. 

You start at the touch on your shoulder. 

Another wrath demon chuckles at you (did everyone bring one as their plus one?). 

“I hope I’m not interrupting.” 

You blink. “Not at all.” Then blink again. “Have we met?” 

The demon grins, revealing some of his chipped teeth. “Sure have. I probably went to all your shows when you were touring Wrath.” 

You raise your brow. You’d never done any meet and greets. So when had- 

“We met after your show at the Splatterfest.” 

You wince at the memory. Some imps had tried to protest the inclusion of a human at the music festival, and dumped a bucket of blood over your band, ‘Carrie’ style. You’d kept performing and probably given every demon in the audience a boner (you were in Wrath, what did they expect?). 

Even so, you grin. “You tried to give me your shirt afterwards. Sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.” 

He holds out his hand. “Friends call me Bean.” 

You try not to laugh at the name. “Nice to meet you, Bean.” 

“I couldn’t help but notice you staring daggers at your date.” 

You huff. “I was actually watching the dance. If I’d had any time to prepare for tonight, I’d have bothered to learn some of the dances.” 

His face lightens. “I could teach you?” 

“Do you know these dances?” 

“Too well. My mum is from Pride.” 

You’d already danced with Mervin. It might reflect poorly on him if his date looked too antisocial. So you shrug. “Sounds like fun.” 

It is fun. You stumble a lot at first, tripping over your own feet in an effort to copy Bean’s step pattern, but he grips you by the elbows, keeping you upright even as he laughs at you. You have stamina, at least, and manage to keep up with the punishing pace. By the time the first dance ends, you’re covered in sweat and panting, but you have some of the footwork down. 

Bean grins. “You’re not terrible.” 

You crinkle your nose. “You’re sufficient too.” 

Bean has his head cocked, listening to the opening of the next song. “Ah. This next one’s fun. It’s got a lot of lifts though.” 

“That doesn’t bother me.” 

His chipped grin reappears. “We take turns raising each other.” 

Oh. You bite back a frown. “How much do you weigh?” 

Bean isn’t that big. His horns and tail are on the small side, and he’s only an inch or so taller than you. Still, the number he tells you does not fill you with confidence. 

He laughs at your expression. “Scared? Or just weak?” 

You scowl. “Weak, unfortunately. May I?” You ask before touching him. 

He lifts his arms enough for you to grab him by the waist. You brace yourself and lift. 

His heels leave the ground. 

He laughs at you again. “Cute. But mostly pathetic.” 

You scowl harder. “Whatever. If you want to keep dancing, you’ll have to jump a little.” 

His laughing quiets to a chuckle. He takes your hand and pulls you in to dance. “It’s alright. We’ll manage. This one is... well I’m not sure of the translation. It’s a genre unique to Perdition. I guess you could liken it to a quick waltz? There are several lifts in each of the refrains. Then towards the end we start spinning, taking turns with the elevations. It’s easier with the momentum, but you’ve gotta watch your surroundings too, or you’ll crash into another couple.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter. You’re not too worried about bumping into anyone. Your spatial awareness is decent enough. “I feel like this dance is just so everyone can flex at each other.” 

Bean laughs again, though not at you this time. “No, you’re completely right. It's how this genre was started. It’s a competition of strength and stamina. It’s not actually that common in Pride, since it usually tends to lack finesse or grace.” 

“Hmm,” you appreciate the history lesson. 

You ease into this dance smoothly; despite the lifts it’s easier than the last. Bean is a good teacher, and he warns you ahead of any changes. You brace yourself for the first rise, and when your feet leave the ground by almost a foot, you can’t help but grin. 

“Show off.” 

“Absolutely,” he agrees. 

His feet actually leave the ground when it’s your turn to lift. Bean springs up a few inches, turning the elevation into something closer to an assisted jump. Regardless of the terminology, you’re grateful for the assistance. It sets the tone for the rest of the dance, and you find yourself having a pleasant time. 

Your dress flairs when you’re next lifted, and Bean gives you a grin. “Is that a knife, or are you happy to see me?” 

You’re breathless, but manage to reply. “A knife, actually.” 

He eyes your legs appreciatively. “Expecting trouble?” 

“Most of my weapon belts would clash with this dress,” you joke. 

“Nonsense. You’d look good with any weapon,” he argues. 

You can’t help but smile. “You sure know how to lay on the charm.” 

“Pfft, this is nothing. You should see me when I’m actually trying.” 

You’d laugh but there’s another series of spins coming up, and you have to brace yourself of them. The recapitulation begins, and you know the dance is nearing its end.  

“Steady now,” Bean encourages, before raising you again.  

You’re able to keep spinning. To avoid any collisions. To lift him the first few times. But your arms quickly tire, and Bean doesn’t do much more than bob his knees instead of completing any jumps. He still manages to send you upwards on each of your turns though, and you have to reign in your laughter. 

Especially as you make eye contact with Mervin, dancing with Stasia beside you. 

It jars you enough that your grin fades, and you remember to school your expression into something a little more dignified. Slightly less carefree.  

The song ends and you and Bean nearly collapse against each other, panting and laughing once more, even if you’re feeling subdued. 

You realise your face is only inches from his, at the same time he does. 

He glances down at your lips. “Do you... want to take this elsewhere?” 

Any other night and you’d take him up on the offer. But- 

“I think that’d give my date a conniption.” 

His smile shrinks. Bean pulls back. But he maintains that relaxed demeanour. “It’d serve him right for leaving you here alone.” 

You shrug and give him an apologetic smile. “Another time?” 

He sighs. Ruffles your hair.  

You scowl and duck out of his grasp. 

“Can you imagine his face though?” 

You bite back your grin. “I can.” 

Bean steps away. “Thanks for the dance, love.” 

You wave him off. Take a breath to compose yourself. Then turn back to the gala. 

--- 

It doesn’t take long for you to find your date. Not with the way he’s striding towards you, shoulders squared and a scowl on his face. He grabs you by the wrist and leads you out a nearby door, practically dragging you down some unpopulated corridors. 

“Where’s Stasia?” You ask. 

“I cut her off when she started trying to make me jealous of that shit-for-brains dance partner of yours.” 

You’d only danced with Bean twice. Was Mervin really so bothered? 

“Key word ‘trying’?” You ask, tentative this time. 

He doesn’t reply, but it’s obvious he’s not happy. 

You wince. Stasia’s meddling or not, this one was genuinely your fault. “I’m sorry, Mervin. It wasn’t my intention to make you feel that way.” 

“I know,” he grumbles, before practically flinging you at a wall. “But you still need to deal with the consequences, human.” 

Then his hand is on your jaw, holding you still as he crushes his lips against yours. 

You freeze, more surprised than upset. 

His other hand rests against the wall, caging you in. He doesn’t meet your eyes when he pulls back, still scowling. “How dare you ask a stranger to teach you to dance. You should have gone to me.”  

You’re still processing the kiss. Part of you is indignant – you never thought he’d work up the nerve to kiss you first. The other part of you struggles to stay grounded. To listen to his complaint. “I’m sorry, I-” 

He cuts you off with another kiss. Bites down hard on your lip this time. You think you taste blood. 

“You should consider yourself lucky that I’m still willing to associate with you. That I’m willing to do this.” 

Your head spins when he pushes your face sideways, gaining access to your throat. He kisses his way down your neck, across your shoulder. Not shy about using his teeth to punish you.  

His other hand slips below your dress. He grips the hem of your underwear and your breath hitches. As much as you enjoy leading him along, you could get used to this. Mervin's display of dominance is doing things for you. 

“I’m lowering my standards so much just to do this with you. So, you’d better hold fucking still.” 

Your mouth waters at his words. You’re somehow both burning with tension and turning into putty under his hands. And you know just what to say to make things worse. 

“Yes sir.” 

He stiffens. “What was that?” 

You have to bite back your grin, to force yourself to appear contrite. “Yes sir?” 

“Fuck,” he mutters before grabbing you bodily and turning you around. Your hands splay against the wall, bracing yourself. Mervin presses between your shoulder blades, bending you over while his other hand drags your dress up. 

The position sends nerves and excitement through you in equal measures. “Somebody could see.” 

He ignores your half-hearted protest, dragging your underwear down and palming your ass. “You didn’t care if somebody saw you flirting with that meathead.” 

Facing away, you can let your grin creep out. He sounds angry.  

His knee spreads your legs and your heart speeds up. Then there’re fingers at your folds. You can practically hear his sneer when they come away wet. 

“Pathetic. Is this really all it takes to get you going?” 

“Mhm,” you hum agreement, throat tight. Coherency is starting to leave you when all you can focus on is the cold air against your nethers. You wish he would touch you again. 

He scoffs. “You really are just a slut.”  

You think you get wetter at the insult. 

There’s the sound of a belt buckle, then a zipper. You can’t help but clench in anticipation.  

But Mervin doesn’t touch you. 

You try to look over your shoulder, to give Mervin your most I’m-pathetic-please-fuck-me stare, but he just pushes your face against the wall. 

You let out a whimper and squirm. If he keeps drawing this out, somebody really could see you.  

You push the thought down. As enticing as it is, things could quickly turn dangerous if a third party got involved. 

“-you think I’ll do this with anyone? What makes you think you deserve me, huh?” he starts. 

Honestly, you thought he’d start talking himself up sooner. He’d barely insulted you yet.  

“-don’t deserve a single piece of pleasure until you earn it-” 

You try rubbing your thighs together, but you only succeed on clamping around Mervin’s knee.  

“-should be singing my praise, I shouldn’t have to touch you until you’ve begged for me-” 

You let out a groan. If you were still facing him, you’d snog him just to make him stop talking. “Ughh, shut up and fuck me.”  

He grips you by the hair, his voice raised in pitch, “The nerve of you, human, the utter disrespect-” 

You cut him off with a whine, “Pleeease Mervin. I need you to fuck me.” 

His breathing stutters. 

“Please touch me, please, I can’t wait any more, pleasepleaseplease,” you squirm around his knee.  

He grabs your ass again. Squeezes. “You’ve been so casual with my name tonight. I don’t think you deserve to use it.” 

You want to groan again. You barely restrain yourself. “Please, sir, I bet you’ll feel so good, please, I need this so badly-” 

His breathing is even more laboured, but he still manages to slap your ass. 

“Needy.” 

You flinch away, and end up grinding down against his knee – fuck. It’s not fair how good that feels. You decide that if he doesn’t fuck you soon, you’ll just have to rub off against his leg. Though you might leave a wet patch so noticable that concubi wouldn’t be the only ones turning heads. 

You bite down on your lip. You just want to get dicked down. Picking your words is hard when you’re this horny. 

“Needy,” you huff. “Yes. For you.” You grind against him. “Please help me, sir. Please fix it.” 

He shudders. The hand at your shoulders pushes harder, and you have no choice but to stick your ass out, curving your back as far as it will go, or topple over.  

“Fine,” he says, and you could die from relief when you feel his erection against your ass. “But only because I feel sorry for you.” 

He hilts himself in one rough movement and you moan, practically high at the sensation. There’s possibly a bit of drool escaping from your lips. 

Mervin’s not unaffected himself, one hand braced against the wall, the other digging into your waist. The groan he levels at your ear is delightful, stretching on into a softly pitched rumble that’s almost like a purr. 

Interesting. A disembodied part of yourself definitely notes that for later. 

He doesn’t move. 

You let out a whimper, trying to grind back against him. He swats you on the ass, tuting. “Ask nicely, pet.” 

Having him speared inside you feels so good. But it’s not enough. You need him to move. 

“Please,” you whisper, “please fucking fuck me, please-” 

You’re rewarded with a single thrust. “Why should I?” 

You groan; a whiney, needy sound. “You’re making it so hard to think right now- I can’t-” You want to bang your head against wall. “Nngh, Mervin-” 

He takes pity on you. Or maybe you’ve convinced him. He’s probably barely pretending to be composed right now - you don’t care about the reasoning, you’re just relieved when he starts to fuck you. He’s fast, and rough, and the ridged texture of his cock serves as a pleasant reminder that he’s in no part human.  

It doesn’t take long for him to come, practically crushing you against him when he does. One arm wraps around your throat, and the other around your waist; he bites down on your shoulder to keep from making too much noise. It hurts, but that only adds to the experience. 

You close your eyes, panting, trying to savour the way his dick twitches inside of you. But as soon as he’s finished he straightens, practically shoving you away. 

Your brain is hazy, and it takes you a few moments before you can stand, fixing your underwear, then your dress. You clamp your thighs together, to keep from dripping spend everywhere.   

By the time you turn around, Mervin has composed himself – cock receeded back into his slit, clothing fixed. You feel incredibly raw in contrast. 

He raises an eyebrow. “What?” 

You open your mouth to reply, but your thoughts stall. Forming words is somehow harder.  

His face goes blank as he takes in your details. Processes what’s wrong. The seconds that pass feel incredibly long, and you’re tense, wondering how he’s going to react. You know that biology literally compels him to be an ass, but you’re not sure how much derision you can take right now. 

You can’t describe how grateful you are that he only shakes his head, and cages you in again. “Like I said before. This is only because I feel sorry for you.” 

He slips his hand under your dress, back into your underwear. You’re slick; a mess of your own juices and his cum. There’s no resistance when he sinks two fingers inside of you. Hardly any friction when he rubs his thumb against your clit.  

You shudder, grabbing his lapels and pressing your face against his shoulder. “Fuckkk,” the word is barely muffled. 

His free hand cups your jaw, dragging your face upwards. “Don’t get makeup on my jacket, idiot.” 

“S-sorry,” you reply, eyes glazed and mouth agape.  

He doesn’t seem to process your apology, watching intently, instead, as you come apart on his fingers. You can barely stand, fighting the impulse to sieze and crumple, clinging to your date like he’s a lifeline.  

“Go on then, pet,” he murmurs, pushing hard against a sensitive spot inside of you. “You can come.” 

And you do. Head lolling back, whole body arching, gripping Mervin’s arm like a vice. You don’t care what kind of noises you’re making, but perhaps he does, because he covers your mouth with his own in another messy kiss.  

His fingers don’t stop moving until you’re limp against the wall, almost turning into a puddle in his arms. Your head buzzes. You feel high.  

Fuck, that was incredible.  

Your eyes are closed. You’re listening to Mervin’s panting; almost as loud as your own, when he pulls you upright suddenly. 

“Someone’s coming.” 

Your eyes spring open. 

“Come on,” he practically drags you away, down another corridor and into what appears to be a coat room.  

You’re still breathless, and it takes you a moment to compose yourself. Mervin has his ear against the door, tense. It almost makes you laugh.  

“If I’d known how much fun pity sex can be, I’d have doubled down on my efforts to be pathetic.” 

Mervin scowls. “Clean yourself up. You look like a whore.” 

You give him a coy smile. “Your whore, though.” 

He turns away, masking his expression. 

Still, you do the best you can to clean the fluids from your thighs, shamelessly using the sleeve of a stranger’s coat. 

Mervin is examining you when you turn back. Wordlessly he pulls a handkerchief from his pocket. “Your lipstick is everywhere.” 

You smirk, taking in his own features. “It certainly is.” You wipe it from your face, wishing you had a mirror, but Mervin doesn’t say anything so you assume you got it all. Then you stand on tip toes, cleaning the lipstick from his own face. He stiffens, but allows the treatment. 

Your eyes catch on a smear across his throat. You don’t even remember kissing him there. Feeling mischevious, you leave the mark. You consider it a parting gift. He’ll notice it later, you’re sure.  

“Your hair is a rat’s nest.” 

You’re sure he’s exaggerating, but you roll your eyes and attempt to fix it anyway. “You’re the one who was pulling on it.” 

Soon enough you’re both presentable again, bracing yourselves before returning to the fray. Nobody has noticed your absence, you think. 

You glance towards the dance floor. “So, are you going to teach me this next dance?” 

He manages to keep his expression level as he considers.  

“Not here. Having you trip and stumble in front of everyone is too painful to contemplate. You’re going to take private lessons with me. That way you won’t look like a fool next time.” 

“Next time?” You ask. 

He winces, unable to meet your eyes. 

You want to make fun of him. You want to poke at him so badly. You barely restrain yourself.  

“How generous of you, to invite me not once, but twice. I should be honoured.” 

He relaxes minutely at your acceptance. Then crinkles his nose. “Obviously.” 

“But this was simultaneously the most stressful and most boring event I’ve attended all year. You’re really going to have to make it worth my while.” 

He grits his teeth. Tries his best to look calm. “Did you have something in mind, human?” 

You can only grin. “I don’t know. I’ll be sure to think of an especially pitiful request.” 

-- 

[myevilmouse]

Hi there! So sorry if you’ve already talked about this and I completely missed it, but did you remove your Thrawn stories from AO3? Your Aesthetic story is one of my all time favorites, but when I went to find it, I wasn’t able to see it in my bookmarks. Could be me missing something on AO3, but just thought I’d check. I’d love to read them again if you thought about posting elsewhere ♡

Hi @the-ashtronaut! Thank you so much for such kind words about my writing and Aesthetics. It absolutely makes my night! I'm glad you asked about it, because every once in a while someone thinks I deleted my fics but I promise you I have not (and never will). I put them all (not just the Thrawn ones) behind the AO3 login, because AO3 recommended authors do that back when AI was scouring the internet for creative writing. I didn't want my stories to be used to train ChatGPT or whatever (even if it's futile at this point) so now unfortunately they are only available to registered/logged in AO3 users.

I'm not sure why it isn't showing up in your bookmarks, but perhaps you can try again to add it? Maybe when I combined Part 1 (Conflicting Aesthetics) and Part 2 (Complementary Aesthetics) into a series, it messed things up? Please let me know if you can't access them once you are logged in, that would be weird and worrisome.

The adventures of Seta & Thrawn are still here for everyone's enjoyment, just click on those underlined words to access the series. Also in the good news camp, I have about 8500 words written of the third and final installment (not going as quickly as I hoped due to real life being insanity, but it's coming!). I hope you enjoy it when it's ready!

Also just as an aside, if anyone doesn't have an AO3 account and wants a PDF of any of my fics emailed to them, please hit me up with your email and I will make sure you have a copy forever!

[ziminy]

A little too late pt.1

Gojo keep bullying you. But you find out that he's just dumb and he actually loves you

Tags: mdni, smut , enemies to lovers, bully!Gojo, college au, playboy!Gojo, f!reader, kissing, fingering, lovesick!Gojo, size difference, names (besides dumbass and whatever he calls you, he also calls you honey and cute nicknames), horny Gojo (me too ngl), I'll add it later if I missed something.

8500 words, lol. It's pretty long.

Pt 2 here. Masterlist

You were in the hallway with a friend, both of you about to go home. As you were walking, you felt something on your head, and when you looked up you saw the white haired guy.

"Ugly." he said and walked away.

"What's wrong with him?" your friend said. He was always like that. He just out of nowhere started to call you names and then walked away. You don't have any kind of history together, so, what happened? No one knows, to be honest. He just saw you and he decided to do that whenever he saw you from that moment.

"I have no idea." you didn't even knew his name. You don't have any classes together. Does he know your name? Or maybe you done something to one of his friends to be like this? I have no idea. So many questions, yet no one is there to answer them.

But now, you started to see him outside the school. Now, for example. You sat at a table inside a coffee shop, working on some project on your computer and then you heard his voice. "Idiot." he said as he walks past you. Tf? How is he there? Did he started to follow you to insult you? Later, that evening you were talking with a friend of yours over the phone, complaining about the dick head who constantly insults you.

"No, cuz I got enough of this. I don't even know who he is. I can't breathe in peace without him getting out of nowhere and then say something." you said as you sat at the edge of the bed.

"You said he have white hair and blue eyes."

"And he wears sunglasses a lot. Even if he is mistaking me for someone else, at least he should apologize. He have four eyes and still can't see clearly." then your friend sent you a link.

"This might be his profile. I doubt that it's him though." it was him.

"It's him! It's that son of a bitch!"

"Really?" your friend sounded shocked. "Then.. Now that you know who's he what are you going to do?"

"Revenge." you said and hang up. Sure, revenge sounds nice. But what exactly are you going to do? You looked at you phone screen for a few minutes, you weren't scrolling through his profile, you weren't even paying attention to what was on the screen. You were just thinking. He calls you all kind of names. Most of the time an idiot or ugly, dumb ass. How about making him say that you're the opposite? Your finger moved on the screen, scrolling down. Tall ass bitch. Even in the pictures you could see how tall he was. But that wasn't important. With a little bit of courage you send him a message. "Remember me?" a few seconds pass by, almost a minute, then two and he finally saw your text.

"The girl from last night?" what? You stared in disbelief at your screen. The fuck?

"No." you text back.

"The girl from two days ago?" you blinked a few times.

"No."

"Have we seen each other this week?" I mean, yes, but not in the way he's suggesting.

"I'm the girl you keep picking on at school." he saw the text, but he didn't reply. Almost a minute pass by, he was online, but he didn't reply. "Are you still there?" he saw the message instantly.

"So?" you raised an eyebrow. Is he playing dumb?

"I just want to talk :) " it was more than just talk. It was more to make him take everything back.

"What exactly do you want." if only he knew.. But maybe he knows.

"Dunno. Think." why is he replying so slow?

"Dunno who you are." oh, so he wants to play like this? Alright then. War is it.

"You better prepare yourself." it was the last text you sent him before you went to sleep. You heard your phone buzzing, but you didn't even looked at it.

The next morning you woke up with a lot of texts. Mostly from your friend who sent you his profile. But there were also messages from him. Like, "what do you mean" or "don't ignore me", " at least reply ". The evil smile on your face.

"I fell asleep." you finally texted him back.

"So what do you want." he texted back a lot faster than yesterday.

"Nothing. Just talk. Get to know each other?" yeah. Get to know each other my ass. Like you give a fuck about that guy.

"??? " if you could only skip time to the moment he finally says what you want him to say. As much as you want to poke his eyes out, all four of them, you tried your best to have a nice conversation with him. If he could only be more far away than now, another city, or county. Planet, even better. As much as you looked in disgust at your phone screen, you tried your best to keep your cool. And, at the end of the week, you got to know a few things about him. Like the major hes in (it was far too boring to remember), or why he constantly wear sunglasses. Like, bro, it's night and he still wears sunglasses. He even sends you photos of where be is, like you would care. With a little bit of acting and the fact that you don't give a shit, you managed to get over the day.

Now your were about to go to sleep, while he kept spamming you. He's in a club or something, and he doesn't see anyone that he would like. For a moment you open your phone, mostly to mute him so that you could sleep in peace.

"I'm not doing charity work." you stared at his text. "Ughhh. Why is everyone so ugly." you wanted to choke him.

"I would do charity work." you replied mostly to see his response.

"Well, we're not talking about you now. It's about me." bitch.

"Fuck you." you turned off your phone and went straight to sleep. The next morning you woke up with not so many messages. The last one being before he finally saw someone that catch his attention, nothing from there. "You up? " but he didn't saw your text until you got ready to leave your house.

"That girl had a boyfriend." why was he telling you like you would care.

"So?"

"What do you mean 'so'? " was there another meaning than what have he done last night?

"You left her alone?" I mean, pretty obvious, right?

"Fuck no. I just had a threesome." wow. Just, wow. What are you supposed to say after someone just said that? Are you supposed to congratulate them? Are you supposed to ask questions? Also, why is he so open to you as if he wasn't insulting you everytime he saw you.

"Congratulations. Hope it would be twins."

"Always use protection." good for him. But that wasn't the only conversation you had with him that left you with questions. Because by the end of the week you woke up with questions about you. What color are your panties? How far can you squirt? Can you jump on it like it's an trampoline? This wasn't normal. This isn't the way it supposed to go. Not like this, at least. Sure, if you were dating. But you're not. Not now and not later. "What's your favorite color?" that was the most normal question you ever heard from him.

"Why?" you're skeptical tho.

"So I could buy condoms in that color." oh my god. What in the world?!

"Bro????"

"I'm having a date later."

"Then what does it have to do with my favorite color? Like I want to know who you're fucking and in what color."

"I don't know her favorite color, so I could at least do this. Geto said I should get the green ones." him and that friend of his. He keeps talking about the guy he hangs around with. That guy encourage him to do so many stuff, he's up to no good.

"Then do that! You frick!"

"What's your favorite fruit?"

"I'm not shoving anything up my ass." it was like you anticipated his questions. But no, everytime you think it's something, it's turn up to be something else.

"So I could buy condoms in that flavor?? Why would you put something in you ass? Can i see it." the block button was such a temptation. As soon as he admits that you're a decent human being, the sooner he gets blocked.

"Fuck you." most of your conversations end up like that. And, like this three weeks pass by since you started to text him. He was a mixed machine. He'll be like this now, then like that. He sent so many pics of him, yet he never received one from you. And he doesn't seems to care. In fact, he would send you more and more photos like you have what to do with them. Maybe sell them online? There were quite a few people who liked him around the school. Maybe you could get a use of those photos in a way or another.

"You're not as bad as I thought." was this what you think it is? But it only been three weeks. Was he that easy? "I thought that you want to fuck at first." was your actions not speaking for themselves.

"Like hell I want to be near your horny ass."

"You're like a girl friend I only talk to."

"Who wants to be friends with you?"

"Let me finish. -And I haven't fucked."

"You fuck your friends?"

"Yet." why is he getting out of subject. Also, text all once, you freak.

"Where are you?" is one of his weekly dates boring?

"At a bar with some friends."

"Don't drink too much." at least if he says something, he better be wide awake. It's doesn't feel like a victory if he's drunk.

"Don't tell me what to do." bitch. At least stop texting.

"Go home if you feel like you had too much. Don't stay there and get your ass back home."

"Alright." he went offline the next moment he sent that text. What a moody guy. Well, he always seemed a little different when he was drunk. He seemed more serious, and he actually listen to you. "Good morning." you woke up with a text from him.

"So? With who did you went home? Anything nice?" you texted. You would have let him text after that. It was mostly to look like you care after all.

"I went home alone. Didn't felt like doing anything yesterday." the way you gasped. He was known for fooling around after all.

"Fr?"

"Yeah."

"Waaaa. Congratulations. Your demons finally left your hormones alone." it was like he wasn't himself. You couldn't really believe, after the few days you two been talking, he was always with a girl, then another. Maybe he mistook you for someone else, since he changed girls like clothes.

"Mmm." but something was odd. It was strange. Is he drunk? What's with the replies.

"Alright, alright. I understand. Text me when you're sober."

"I'm not drunk."

"And I'm batman. Get over the hungover, Hercules." you turned off your phone and sat in bed. Man, if he could just confess faster. It's becoming tiresome at this point. You text him as soon as you wake up, you text him before you go to sleep. He text you out of nowhere and tell you what he's doing, even if you never ask for it. He could just had blocked you from the start, but he didn't. Maybe you got some of his hungover. Is being drunk contagious?

"I heard you been talking to Satoru." your friend said, somehow waking you up from your thoughts. It's been three days since that guy haven't text you. Maybe he got enough of you? You could only think of him because of the way he was acting, you couldn't stop thinking about him even at school.

"Oh? That guy? Yeah. What about him?" you said fixing your posture.

"Don't get your hopes high. Have you heard about him and the girls that hang around him?" how could you not? He been describing every hookup. He never leaves a detail apart. But as long as you can keep him entertained, it doesn't matter.

"I know better than anyone what he been doing." you said and crossed your arms to your chest. "See that girl over there?" you point in some girl's direction. "She and one of her friends hook up with that guy. Both of them slept with him separately and then both of them tried to confess to him at the same time. It ended in a threesome." your friend looked a little surprised. "See that guy over there? His girl cheated on him with Gojo and that black haired guy he been hanging around with." your friend gasped. "And guess what. They're still together."

"Nahh.. I don't believe you.." your friend put a hand over her mouth.

"And guess what. That guy confronted her."

"As he should." but it didn't ended there.

"And then it was a gangbang. It was him, the four eyes guy, his friend, two more guys if I remember. Then Gojo left with his friend two other guys came in. It turned out that girl been cheating on her boyfriend with multiple guys." your friend gasped again.

"What? How do you know about it." she looked shocked and in disbelief.

"The guy you just warn me about it told me. He just can't keep his mouth shut."

"I thought you were also fooling around with him."

"We're just talking. Nothing more." and it was about to end very soon. He either confess or you'll just block him. One of two.

"What are you talking about?" you're phone buzzed, revealing his text. Oh, he's not dead?

"Are you spying on me now?" you texted back.

"I've been feeling very bad lately. I think I might be ill or something." you giggle. But it was an evil giggle.

"Who are you talking to?" your friend said.

"Speaking of wolf. You would not believe it." you show your phone to your friend.

"Can you say a few nice words about me so I could date one of his friends?" like heck you'll ask for anything from him.

"Nahh ah. It's not going to happen."

"Most of the people around him are just.. Ugghh. One date. Please." you raised an eyebrow.

"Okay. Time out. I'm not talking to you until you get yourself in check." you got up from where you were sitting. Oh, sweet break, it was about to end. How many classes do you have left until you can finally go home? Time passes very fast. So fast that it even been four days since he finally started to text you again.

"I don't really have what to do, to be honest." well, the weekend was around the corner.

"You know, seeing you staying in place is weird. Like, you're not the dick head you used to be like a week ago." you confessed.

"Yeah.. About that."

"?? " you raised an eyebrow.

"Can we talk about something." he left someone pregnant? Did he perhaps fooled with a girl and now she's asking him to marry her?

"Man.. Don't scare me like that. I'm here if you need someone to talk to." yeah. Go ahead and talk. Maybe if he gets over his phrase and you're there.. Maybe.. Maybe he'll open up?

"I've been thinking about it. I stopped texting you at some points thinking it would go away. But you really don't wanna sleep with me. You don't want anything from me."

"If it's about this, then I don't wanna talk about it. I'm not going to sleep with you." this? Didn't he said personally that you're just a girl he's friends with. A girl that he doesn't sleep with? Yet.. But the yet part won't come.

"Sleep with me woman! Ask for something from me. Ask for a relationship. Ask for things I won't like. Make me reject you."

"Boy, if you don't shut your ass."

"Listen, I feel stuff I never felt before. I think I'm mentally ill." at least he's knows.

"Yeah, I also think that."

"I think I might have some heart issues. I'm dying."

"I don't really wanna go to your funeral."

"Y/N." he remember your name? "I think I like you." What? "No, I.. I don't know what these feelings are. I never felt this when I'm looking at someone good looking. I never felt this when I'm with more beautiful girls."

"Thank you for calling me ugly."

"You're not ugly. You never were. You're the most beautiful thing I ever saw in my life." mmm. Sure.

"You called me an idiot before." you stared at the text you just sent. He's typing, you can see that.

"You're smart, beautiful. You're there to talk to me. You listen to my bullshit even if I didn't asked to. You still talked to me even if I called you names. I am an idiot." yeah. He is. You smiled at the screen. But then something hit you. Was this.. A win? Will this be.. His villain origin story? What if you decide to not fuck around with him? No! Wait! You were never fucking with him! Your eyes widened and then you realize. He made you soft and all fuzzy inside. You gasped. Was this his plan from the start? Is this the way he seduces all those poor women?! "I love you." you stared at his nonsense. "I adore you." bullshit. "I wanna be with you." that just straight shit! This man! This was his plan from the start, wasn't it?! He plan on making you text first and then fall for his words. "I really love you." you pressed on your phone screen and looked at the block button. Right under it was the report button. Witch one should you press first? Block so you can stop seeing him typing bullshit or report, so you could report his bullshit? You close your eyes and took a deep breath and then press the first button that was in your way. You open your eyes and he was blocked. Finally. You're free from the devil's hand. You were finally free from his curse. That damn man. Ughh. That evening, after you finally was done with him, you went straight to sleep. And in the morning , out of habit you almost texted him. It was when you open the conversation when you realized what happened. You should be happy, yet you only felt tired. What happened yesterday made you go through so many feelings, it was tiresome. Getting ready for school and even the walk was making you feel like you haven't slept last night. The classes? Ughh. It was like they were never going to end. The weekend? Slept it away, now feeling even tired. The next week? Your friends finally said something about it, getting you out of it. Bros over hoes. No, he wasn't even your whore to begin with.

The next day, you were finally on your feet. Getting other routes to your classes. Getting to know better the school that you've been going to for almost two years now. You were all a smile while the white haired guy was suffering in silence. He stopped taking care of himself. He stopped talking to a lot of people. He didn't even wanted to get out the house anymore. He walked to classes looking half dead and half homeless and then go back home. You? You got to see parts of the city where you never been before. Your friends dragging you out the house and showing new places. Some of them you recognize from the photos you received from the blue eyes guy.

"Since tomorrow is Saturday, how about going to a club or something?" one of your friends said while sipping from the coffee she bought earlier. The coffee shop you were in was somewhere far away from your home.

"Mmm. I'll go." you said. For the past few days you've been going out as soon as your done with your classes.

"It's rare to see you like this."

"A few days ago you were a living mess and now look at you."

"What happened anyway? I don't remember you being in a relationship." that made you look away.

"I've been going through some hard times. But what I can say is that I'm over it now."

"Whatever." the sooner you got home, the sooner you jumped in bed. It was hard to keep up with others. You felt tired than before. Continuously walking left and right, always having to smile so people would stop asking you what was going on at the start of the week. You close your eyes and when you were about to fall asleep, something woke you up. Your phone buzzing? You looked at it. It was nothing. Since you stopped talking to that guy you kept hearing your phone, when in reality you never even got a notification from any random app. You turned off your phone and close your eyes, falling asleep this time. The next morning you woke up with your friends in your house.

"We're going to order some food and then watch a movie or something, then later were going to get ready to go out." one of your friends said.

"Yeah, yeah. " you said looking at your phone. Whatever. It wasn't that thrilling. Hours pass by, you keep hearing laughing and people talking in the background. It's not like you have anything to listen to.

"Y/N, weren't you taking with Gojo? How's things going on?"

"You know. Nothing much. He haven't been really texting, he might be busy or something." you said still looking at your phone.

"Eh? I heard he's not feeling very well." another friend of yours said.

"He said he might be sick. Dunno anything else tho." But their nagging never end. Could anyone stop talking or change the subject? Please. For sucks shake.

"But I heard-"

"Let's leave the man alone." you said and got up from your bed. "Isn't it the time for us to get ready?" after what seemed an eternity, everyone is ready and in front of the club. "I'm going to get waisted tonight." you said as soon as you got in. That place was loud. The music wasn't even that good, or for your liking. But the bar? That area was surprisingly empty. The sooner you ordered something to drink, the sooner you empty your glass. And then got another one. Three empty glasses already and you were on the dance floor. These people look like they forgot how to have fun. It was like they were bearly moving. Maybe it's the music fault. It was still not on your liking. But that didn't stopped you from moving your body like you were some kind of fish on the land. The song change and it made you stop for a moment. The previous drinks weren't strong, maybe if you got another drink? But the drinks looked so far away, along with the piece of wood they are at, but you know who's closer? The white haired guy , looking like he was only getting closer and closer. Or not. No, he looked like he was in the middle of your way to the bar, but he never got closer. He stood there, looking like the slender man he is. He never moved, but he looked at you. His messy hair, the white shirt he was wearing that looked like it was embracing his body just right. It was tight enough to see the form of his body, but it didn't looked like it was about to pop off him. The round glasses he wears everywhere he's going. His hands in his pockets, now out of pocket, now crossed to his chest then in his pocket again. Is he nervous? Or what does he have in his body for making him move his hands so indecisive. You walked forward, getting closer to him and to the bar you intend to go to. He open his lips, looking like he was about to say something, but no sounds came out of it. You were now in front of him, looking up at him. Suddenly , you felt something. "My neck." you said and put a hand on the back of your neck. "I forgot how tall are you." he stared at you. He never said something. You walk past him, not saying another word. Man, this revenge feels a little bitter. You sat at the bar, waiting for the barman to be available to take your order.

"Don't drink too much." what does he want?

"Why would I listen to you?" you raised an eyebrow.

"I listen to you before. Also, I'm saying it because I don't want to see you in a place like this." if he could just go back to his old self.

"I want to see myself in a place like this." no you don't. But for some reasons you want to do the opposite of what he's doing and saying. Annoy him? Dunno. It was something that it made you want to go the other way.

"Y/N." you looked with the side of the eye at him. What does this guy wants from you? he sighed. "Are those your friends?" he said and turned around to look at some girls not far from you two.

"I think so." lately, even them have been going off the right path. There was a big difference from the moment you started to hang out with them and now.

"One of them tried to sleep with me."

"I know."

"The other one is after one of my friends." yeah, you know that too. "Why are you friends with them?" sometimes you don't choose the way people are. Sure, today might be your friend, but what about tomorrow.

"Sometimes people do things. But it's not like you can complain about them. You're not any better."

"But I'm not worse." dunno about that.

"What do you want anyway." is he really ready for a round two? Was it not enough a week ago?

"I didn't really planned anything, I didn't even know that you're going to be here." so? "Can we talk?" again?

"I don't know how to block you in real life, but I know how to leave." you were about to leave when he put a hand over yours, trying to stop you for at least a moment. He took off his glasses and looked at you. Oh my god, what happened to him? Look at those eye bags. And now that you could see him better, he looked so tired.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable." he better be. All that time spent for nothing, trying to make him say at least something nice about you.

"And what do you expect me to do now?" you sat down on the chair next to him. "Asshole." as much as you're trying to convince yourself, he's not that bad. He is, but not as bad as some of the guys you saw before. He admitted that he's an idiot, even if he called you one. But he was one even bigger. Look at him, he looked like he's been overworked all his life. Even if he was mostly fooling around most of the time when you were texting him. It was hard to wake up and having no one to text, after you texted him for more than over a month. As much as you hated to admit, he was a decent human being. Almost. Yet to come? Is it to late to say sike? You sighed. "What do you want from me?" besides the obvious.

"Unblock me, please. Let's just talk like we did before. Or you could at least say hello from time to time, just to let me know you haven't forgotten about me." he hold your hand in his. His hand was warm.

"What if I want to forget about you?"

"At least don't let me forget about you."

"What if I want you to forget about me."

"You said you want to forget about me, you can't go the other way now." he sounded like something he would say when he's drunk. Right. That not the sober Gojo. The one who would ask such stupid thing. Maybe it would have been better if you blocked him from the start.

"Let's talk about this when you're awake." it was mostly to send him home right now, then never respond to him ever again.

"I'm not drunk. I didn't drink anything the whole day." you sighed. Did this guy ever heard of dehydration?

"Don't lie."

"I'm not lying."

"Look at the time. I need to go home." you said and got up.

"Let me drive you home. I'm not trusting those friends of yours."

"I need to go to the bathroom." you said turning around to go to where the bathroom was.

"Let me come with you."

"Don't you think you tried your luck enough?"

"Don't leave me alone. Please." he didn't looked like his annoying usual self. Rather than that, he looked like a guy left in the rain. That soft expression on his face made him look like someone else. Where's the grin? Where's the expressions he usually makes? He hold your hands so tender. And the look on his face, and those eyes of his that somehow made you wish he had his glasses on.

"You said you wanna talk? Alright. Let's talk." as much as you want to say you're strong enough to let him go. You are, actually. But not when he looks like he's about to cry. What would people say or how would people look at you when a grown man that's as tall as almost the ceiling suddenly starts crying. "What made you say that you like me in the first place."

"You treat me different."

"I treated you different because I wanted you to take back the words you said to me. Why do you think I listen to your bullshit for so long? I never planed for you to fall in love with me. I only wanted for you to apologize."

"And I did apologize."

"That was all."

"I don't care if you played with me. I'll let you do it again." if he would had shut up from the start, now it would be different.

"But I don't want to do the same thing twice."

"Then don't do it."

"Look, man. Look- I just- I.." you took a deep breath. He knew what to say, but it was at the wrong time.

"In this little time we talked, have you ever think of me?" who would said they don't? Look at him. There are more than a bunch of girls waiting for him. If he could just.. If he would have said nothing from the start. Now it would have been different.

"We're getting off of subject." you avoid his gaze.

"Tell me what other girls been telling me. I like you because you treat me different. Maybe it would change something." what exactly does he want to hear?

"Like what?"

"I've got so many confessions. Tell me that you like me. I hope it would change something." what in the world is going on? Why is he changing so much. Earlier he was beginning and now.. Now what?

"Give me a little time to think." this fucker. Why did he showed up here anyway? Why is he saying all those things if he was planning on going back to his old self? Did he never learned anything?

"I can stay here as much as you want."

"Hey handsome." a girl suddenly appeared next to you two. "Do you have time for a drink?" you looked at him and then at her. Wasn't this the perfect time to escape? You could just get out of there while he wasn't looking.

"I'm here with my girlfriend." he said as he hold your hand. That girl left as soon as she heard that. "Forget about it. I understand if you don't want to talk to me anymore. Let me at least drive you home." what would be the answer? No. Obviously.

"I'm with my friends. I can't go without them." he looked left, then right. You could see one of your friends not so far away from where you were. He got his phone out his pocket and texted something, the next moment some guy was next to your friend, then walked away with him. You only got a text from her.

"Sorry. I had to leave." you looked at your screen.

"If your other friend leaves by herself,would you let me drive you home? " his confidence was making you angry.

"Yeah, sure." you were so sure that you'll find that girl and go home with her. But instead you woke up outside the club, next to a foreign car, and the tall guy next to you.

"Let me open the door for you." he said and open the car door, waiting for you to get in. You said nothing and got it, looking out the window. It started to rain since you got out the club. It wasn't that heavy, hopefully you'll make it inside the house just a little wet from it. "Let me do that." he took the belt out of your hands and put it for you. What a gentleman, huh?

"I live-" he didn't let you finish.

"I know where you live." huh?

"Are you spying on me?" you put a hand on the door, ready to open it and run from there.

"I was in your neighborhood once with business. Someone told me where you live." what business? "That was a few weeks ago, when we still talked." oh. So then.. He was there for some of his so called dates? It wouldn't be surprising if he fucked half of your street.

"I see." he started the car and drove off. Oh, but how quiet the ride was. Now, you two stopped at a red light, it also started to rain harder than before.

"I don't think I can drive you home on this weather. Let me find a parking lot and wait there until it's calms down." one of the smartest things he said. You nodded and he found somewhere to park. A few minutes pass by, no one said a thing.

"How long do you think it would keep raining?" he only looked out the window.

"I don't know." you sighed and turned on your phone, searching for an answer, since he doesn't have one. But that made you sigh again.

"Can we stay here for a few more hours? It says here that I'll stop in the morning."

"Forget about it. I'll take you to my place." he started the car again.

"Huh?"

"I live right around the corner. I'll take you back as soon as the rain stops." then, you finally saw where he lives. Maybe you could stay for a few hours in place like this. His apartment complex does not look that bad. Can you even call this a simple apartment?

"I didn't know you lived like this." you got out his car when he parked the car in front of his so called home.

"You never asked." you weren't interested before.

"At what floor do you live?"

"27." rich mf. You followed him. You walked after him when he got inside the building, you were still right behind him as he walked to the elevator. This place looked so empty. There were a few paintings and some small tables with some flowers on it on the first floor, after that, you didn't see anything, even if you only saw the reception area and the hallway to elevator. His corridor was just, white, just like his hair. And his home? As white as the hallways. You looked around the so called house. Big ass couch in the middle of the living room. How does he keeps it so clean? It looked like no one stayed on it, it looked like brand new. The tv that's on the wall, facing the couch, almost as big as the furniture that's in front of. Only now you noticed the blanket and the pillow that was on the couch. "Don't mind the mess. I've been sleeping on the couch these days." did he perhaps had visitors?

"You had company?"

"What would you do if I gave you another chance?" the right question is what won't he do if you give him a chance. No, actually. Did you even gave him a chance from the start. It was just to prove something after all, and you were right.

"I wanted to change the picture a little since you.. You know." he stopped in the middle of the sentence. "Anyway." he took a deep breath. "Make yourself comfortable." you could see the rain hitting his windows, it didn't looked like it was going to calm down any time soon. You got next to the couch, but then you noticed the amount of napkins on the floor. "Don't mind those either. I've been.. Crying." he said and disappear in another room. Oh? Maybe this revenge thing is going better than you expected. Oh, but who are you to talk? You also been not good. You tried to mask it. But you're just doing as bad as him. "I got you some clothes to change if you want." he appeared back. Maybe he changed? No. He didn't. Did he? Isn't he just playing right now? Right. As he always do.. He sat on the couch, somewhere close to you, but at the same time keeping the distance. "Here. If you want." he placed the clothes somewhere in the middle, more close to you.

"Don't say that if you don't actually plan to do so." why not? Is not like he can be affected more, right?

"I was curious." you said as you played with your fingers.

"Did you ever liked me? Or think of me?" didn't he asked the same question. You also asked yourself. Wouldn't you be lying if you said you don't. You almost gave up in the end anyway.

"Why do you ask? It's not like you don't know the answer."

"I want to hear it from you." you gulped.

"Maybe."

"Is that an yes or a no?"

"Take it as however you want." this is so embarrassing.. You avoid his gaze.

"You asked me what I'll do if you give me another chance, no? Well.. If you do give me a chance I can show you, since I don't have any words right now." but weren't you right from the start? He's the devil. Look at his words, listen to them, analyze them. His voice is sweet. That's something you can say. His words? He knows what to say. And it's makes you mad.

"Alright then." you said. Somehow, that was unexpected to him. He looked surprised. "If.. I give you a chance. And lets say that I'll give it now..." you took a pause, trying to think of what to say next. "If I.. " no words came im your mind.

"Is that an yes?" he stopped you.

"Yes?" you said somehow unsure.

"I'll show you. If you let me." you nodded, only looking at your feet. Why couldn't this conversation be online, somewhere where you can run if you don't have anything to say.

"What do you plan to do?" he moved more close to you.

"You'll let me, won't you?" let him? What? "Stay with me even after the rain stops. I'll drive you home after you rest." well, his place is nice. And you never heard a bad review about him. So...? With your heart in your teeth, you nodded. "I want to hear you say it. I want you to verbally confirm it."

"A- alright.. Geez.." a firmly hand on your cheek, making you to look at him. He stared at your face for a moment. His eyes moving all around your face. Your lips, your nose, eyes, he was making sure to look at everything. Memorize it, if he could.

"You're alright with it. Right?" you only nodded. "I want to hear your voice."

"I'm alright. You can do whatever you want." his face got closer and closer to yours, but he stopped right before your lips were about to touch. Is he tasting your patience? But weren't you were testing him too? Right from the start. Oh, yes, those times. Your lips finally touched. His hands moving on your hips, dragging you closer to him, he's also moving himself closer to you. His deep kisses now slowly transforming into hungry ones. One of his hands moving behind your head, slowly placing you on the couch. His kisses were longer, and longer. It was like he didn't even wanted to let you breathe. The hand that was on your hip, reminds there, while the other moved along your body. From your chest to your thighs, he tries to be everywhere on your body. "Mmm." you tried to get away for a moment to breathe. He gave you a moment then continued with the kisses.

"Wrap your legs around me." he said and placed one of your legs on his back.

"Hmm?"

"I don't plan on keeping you on the couch all night." is that so? he carried you to one of the closest rooms. He placed you on the bed, getting away for a moment, mostly to look at the way you looked. Then got back at what he was doing before, kissing you. He never stopped doing it, not even when he was carrying you.

"Are you going to kiss me until I leave?" no, he planned more. It was just that he takes his time. How long will it take for you to say that you want something. Or how long will it take for him to give up and lose him mind?

"Maybe." he planned more than that. But he'll make sure to kiss all of your body before you'll have to go. "If you want to do something you can tell me." or wait until he's going insane.

"Well.." he kissed you right before you could say something. "I am.. " and another kiss. "Impatient." and another.

"Mmm. I believe you." what is that supposed to mean? He finally got away from you, for a moment. "Let's take those off." and, like this, the clothes on you disappear. He gulped, somehow lost in his thoughts. Forgetting what he wanted to do.

"You're alright?" he never was.

"Alright, so." he got next to you, making sure you lay on your back as he sat between your legs. He made sure that he have more than enough space, and his hand now between your legs. His eyes moved up and down. Up to your eyes, and down to where his hand was. The way he feels now, it was.. Confusing. It made him unsure, you made him unsure. The way you were already so wet, that also intimidate him somehow. He have to show that he's a man. He can't become a jelly now. What if you don't want to see him anymore when you see him all soft?

"Satoru." his eyes moved back up, to look at you. "I'm kinda embarrassed.. Please don't look like that at me." how cute of you. He looked in your eyes as his hand moved on its own. His face getting closer again to yours, as his fingers makes themselves wet. A few circles around your clit as his lips touched yours. Then ,his hand goes down, slowly, two of his fingers disappear inside of you. It was just so easy to move inside you. But he just made sure to give you extra attention. Never leaving you feel alone somehow. He kiss you, he makes sure you feel him and the warmth of his body. The look on your face said it all. And how can he not observe it? He curled his fingers, making you to jump at the feeling. It was mostly to see how you'll react. But he just finds it funny. He continued to kiss you as he continued to curl his fingers. The room was filled with wet sounds and your muffed moans. And his actions become more and more aggressive somehow. The kisses are deep, while his fingers does the same action over and over again, hitting your walls. Somehow, this was his revenge for the time you left him alone. And it was a punishment to not believe his words. After all, you said it yourself that you're going home after you rest. He'll make sure to never let you rest. You tried to close your legs, he's too much. This is too much. But he was in the way. His fingers stopped moving, somehow, making you more relaxed and empty since he got his hand back to himself. He stopped kissing you and got out the bed. "Where are you going?" your voice shaking.

"Nowhere." he got next to the bed, getting something out the nightstand. A small box. He open it and got something square out of it. Condoms. How could you not notice sooner. He took his clothes off and then he got back in bed. So.. This was it. Somehow, both of you were so anxious. Was the weather outside the fault of the way you two felt? It wasn't just that. It was also fear. The thing from earlier did not prepare you for what was going to happen. His eyes were fixed on your face. You could just not hide what you had in mind. "Look at me." he tried to make you look away from his dick. Mostly because you seemed so scared of it. He got back between your legs, now wrapped around him. He balanced himself, making sure to not fall on you. With a hand, he positioned himself at your entry, then slowly got in. His eyes keeps moving from your pussy to your face. Any kind of discomfort showing on your face? Or do you look like you have something to say? Can he go all the way in or should he wait for any kind of signal? It was just so warm and wet inside, it was like it was sucking him in when he tries to get out.

"It's alright." you're words were more to make him more comfortable. So, now, he held you close as he finally got all the way in. Your hands on his back, holding him. It wasn't like you could loose him. Not when he was a mountain of a man. And he also hold you just as close. He sighed softly as his head rested on your shoulder, moving his hips slowly. He placed a kiss on your shoulder and then moved his lips back on yours. Right, he wanted to feel all of you after all.

"If I wasn't so tired I wouldn't have been so soft on you." you nodded. Right, didn't this guy confessed that he cried? Like heck you believe his words.

"I believe you." no you don't.

"Oh?" he said, one of his hands were on your hip. He stopped moving for a moment only for then to start the same movement again. This time harder, not faster, only harder. He even stopped kissing you, he only stared at the faces you make. No, because you gasped when he started to move again. "What's wrong, honey? Use your words." he never change. Why did you believe him in the first place? He smiled at you, somehow tired, but that smile made you angry. But that only made his movement to change. He got half the way out then went back in, still hard. You tried to close your legs, but just like before, he was in the way. "You like that?" you shook your head. "Be more honest." he placed a kiss on your forehead.

"Shouldn't I say that?" you wrapped your arms around his neck. Why is he trying to play cool? He stopped being that harsh, now moving his hips back how it was at first, long and slow thrusts. His forehead on yours, he close his eyes as he moved slowly. But something felt like it was missing, or at least to him. Oh, right, aren't you just so relaxed? How can you be like this after the hell days he had this week. One of his hands moved, his thumb now on your clit, rubbing it. His hand movement wasn't the same pace as his thrusts. No, it was more faster, somehow trying to see how much you can last. Because he can't do this much longer. "Mmm." the way you tried to not let out any sound, trying to bite on his shoulder.

"I'm also close." he could feel the way your walls are squeezing him. He started to kiss you again, hungrily, because that's how he felt. "I'm here. I'm here." he whispered between the kisses. His thrusts a little harsher now, never stopping the kisses, never stopping rubbing your clit. "I love you, I really do." he said before both of you finally release yourself. Him cumming inside of you, while you released all over him.

"You said something?" you tried to say catching your breath. You heard him say something, but you couldn't understand what.

"It's nothing." he said and he felt next to you.

"You're sure?" he dragged you in his arms.

"Mmm." won't you leave him again if he says those words again, anyway? It's better if he keeps it to himself. "Sleep here tonight. I'll drive you back tomorrow."

"Alright." he'll enjoy even the last second of it until you leave. All of it.

Now I'm kinda embarrassed of what I wrote.

[khaleesiofalicante]

so dani i always respected you for writing around 30k-to sometimes 40 k chapters in one go, but i have a new level of admiration adn love for you, i just finished a legal research paper with 8000 words and 100 citations, and boy whoooo , it was something, took me three days to finalize it with writing, editing, citations, and oh plagirism - which someone catches word slike 'have been' and 'tribunals' and commisions , like how else am i supposed to write a court's title if i cant use tribunal when tahst literally in its name. aghhh, anyways, yes, on one side was happy because i literally alawys write more than whatsrequired, my first draft was 8500 words when teh limt was 8000 but i just wanted to come and tell you that you are amazingggg, and sersiously admirable. (Sry i dont have words rn in my head, i just submitted teh paper and its 11 15 pm ist) but i hope you feel the loveee

First of all, academic writing is tough, so I have a lot of respect for anyone who manages to finish writing anything lol.

Also legal research paper??? hot 😎

I hope the writing went well and congrats on submitting it on time NOW GO GET SOME REST.

[dreamsofbrightstars]

UPDATE: it’s been located, thank you all very much! Took about 5 minutes AND I learned something new! For anyone interested it’s this:

Friends. Mutuals. Fellow fic writer and readers. I need some assistance. I started reading a fic about Sirius’ escape from Azkaban that began with him on a beach trying to remember who he was, how he got there, and why. I got as far as him jumping into the back of a lorry to escape the dementors, and went to bed, expecting to finish it the next day. Tumblr had other ideas, the bastards.

I don’t know who the author is, but it’s unfinished (author stated it won’t be), on AO3, and around 8500 words. It was great, I’m hooked, and I want to finish it! If this sounds familiar to you, please send me a link!

Tagging who I can think of off the top of my head, please share and thank you in advance! @theresthesnitch @findajilyfic @blitheringmcgonagall @obscurilicious @plecotusauritus @magic-girl-in-a-muggle-world @scarletnerd05

[presidenthades]

When is a new chapter coming??? Love u tons 💕💞🩷💝

I made the executive decision to wait until tomorrow (Monday) to post, because most of us are going to be busy watching E2 tonight. That’s probably how the posting schedule will continue to be while S2 is airing.

But on Monday, we will be getting 8500 words of Aemond’s POV (his last POV in Compromised until the time skip, which will be Chapter 10)! This chapter will include:

Aemond in a lot of pain 😢

Family’s reaction to his eye

Aemond having his heart stomped on 🥺

Literal fire and blood 🔥🩸

Targsibling dynamics

Sapphire 💎

Aegon plotting…something… 👀

[whatstruthgottodowithit]

Fractured

Fandom: Elvis Presley, American Musician,

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Addison Goodwin

Characters: Elvis Presley, Addison Goodwin, Marci Cunningham, Priscilla Presley, Jessie Presley, Original Female Character, Original Male Character, Colonel Tom Parker

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 8500

Summary: Escaping the most famous man in the world is never easy.

Tags/Warnings: Heartache, Hidden Pregnancy, Angst, Elvis and Priscilla Wedding, Anger, Crying, Jealousy, Love, Single Parent, Motherhood, Single Mother, Weddings, Kissing,

Notes: Okay so this is just as angsty as the most recent chapter of Here You Come Again but I feel like I need to defend my gal and her actions

Question is would you want to see a parallel fic to this from Elvis’ POV

PART TWO // ELVIS AND ADDISON MASTER POST

August 1958

The air was still and quiet save for a few faint gurgles as the babies were disturbed in their cribs by the sound of an opening door. Addison knew she shouldn’t have been in here, that she should’ve been sleeping as the nurses had told her to, but for some reason, she couldn’t make her body rest no matter how battered and broken she was feeling. She couldn’t make herself sleep because she couldn’t stop herself from missing her daughter. She was barely six hours old and yet Addison felt as though she didn’t remember what life was like without her in it. She supposed it was because now was the first time she had been alone, truly alone. The last time she had felt like that was the first night she had spent at St Bernadette's, sobbing her heart out as she thought about the life that had been ripped from her just hours earlier, and yet even then she hadn't been alone, not really. Even if she hadn't known, she’d been with her, helping her through everything – giving her a reason to carry on when all seemed lost. Which was why she was desperate to see her. To hold her in her arms and cherish the feel of her. Addison had thought she’d known love before now and yet it seemed to pale in comparison to the love she had for her little girl.

The little girl who disturbed as she got to the side of her crib, her tiny features contorting as she plucked her from her cot before she broke into a guttural sob. Addison watched as fat tears rolled down her reddened cheeks, trying not to take it to heart as she figured she too wouldn’t have taken to being jostled awake into a world she barely knew.

‘Hey,’ Addison murmured as she moved to sit down in a rocking chair in the corner of the room, the baby bundled into her arms, ‘hey now, it’s okay. Sshh it’s okay.’

Addison held her close, hoping that her aura would be enough of a comfort as she didn’t have much more in her arsenal than cooing. But the baby didn’t settle, instead, she continued to wail making tears prick at Addison’s eyes as she floundered for something, anything, to help her.

‘It’s okay honey. Mama’s here see,’ she whispered, her hand placing soft pats on her daughter’s back as she continued, ‘oh come on. You’re gonna get us in trouble. C’mon now lil miss, can’t have the nurses scolding me on my first day on the job.’

To Addison’s surprise the baby then fell quiet, tears still on her dampened cheeks though absent from her eyes as she peered up at her mother watching her with curiosity. They were eyes she knew all too well.

As she looked down at her daughter’s cerulean gaze she took in everything else. She was the most beautiful baby Addison had ever seen and yet every inch of her was like a dagger through her chest, every feature, every expression so much like Elvis she couldn’t bear it. From the intoxicating blue eyes to her pouty lips even the tuft of sandy hair on her head was enough to make Addison want to weep.

But she pushed it back. Over the last nine months she had done enough crying to fill a goddamn river but she didn’t have time for that now, not when her daughter needed her. Not when she was watching her as if hanging on to be told whether or not to start crying again. Her little girl needed her to be brave, to be strong, and so she put on her keenest smile and whispered, ‘you like that name huh little miss?’

‘Sounds good doesn’t it? Though I suppose I can’t name you the first thing you answer to,’ Addison whispered laughing as the baby shifted, a gummy smile on her face her mother chose to believe was agreement, ‘thought not. I guess we’ll have to think of something that’ll last…any ideas? Yeah me either.’

She was settling now, the sound of Addison’s voice rumbling against her providing a lasting comfort that made her close her eyes, and though she no longer had a captivated audience Addison found her own comfort in speaking to her daughter as if she was listening anyway.

‘You know I thought once you got here I’d just know…what to call you I mean,’ she explained, her thumb swiping over a damp cheek as she did, ‘I thought once I’d seen your little face I’d be able to tell what your name should be. Whether you were a Sharon, a Susie, or a Lisa but you don’t suit any of them. In fact, can I tell you a secret?’ she asked, pausing to glance around the room. It was empty, apart from the babies, but she lowered her voice anyway as if what she was admitting was only for the two of them.

‘I’d swear I didn’t know you were a girl at first glance…you look so much like your daddy,’ Addison whispered.  At her words sadness washed over her though it somehow didn’t feel as bad as it had earlier. She didn’t know whether it was because she had her daughter in her arms or because she had been thinking about him a lot today but either way it wasn’t the gut-wrenching ache it normally was. She didn’t speak for a moment, the flash of him behind her eyes too strong to get rid of just yet. She thought about him. Tried to picture what he was doing at that very moment, contemplating if he would even be able to fathom where she was or what she was up to right then and there. She wondered if he would even think or care about her after all by now the Colonel was sure to have pumped such vitriol into his ear he probably hated her.

And yet she still loved him, heartbreakingly so.

As an errant sob escaped her, causing the baby to stir, she choked it back choosing to get back onto the process of finding a name as she said, ‘guess we can’t name you after him though huh? Can’t even give you his last name.’

She didn’t know why her next words came considering she was trying to steer her thoughts from Elvis yet as her daughter lay there in her arms she felt compelled to explain, even if she would never remember, she felt that she owed her some reasoning, some explanation as to why she had made the choices that had inevitably led them both here.

‘I would if I could you know…if there was any way I could do it differently I would but we ain’t that lucky,’ she said sadly. It wasn’t enough, it was never going to be enough of an excuse but it was all she had which is probably why she felt the need to tell her daughter, ‘he’d love you, you know. Oh, he’d be obsessed with you. Probably have already bought you an entire nursery full of stuff…he’d know what to do, what to name you,’ she said feeling the tears she had promised not to cry slipping down her cheeks as the idea of Elvis holding their baby girl played on her mind, ‘not me. I feel like I don’t know anything anymore.’

It was an honest confession, one she hadn’t even expected to come from her own lips and yet now it was here she felt better. If she was being honest with herself she didn’t feel like she knew anything. She didn’t know how she was going to raise this little girl in front of her because for the past year all she had done was put one foot in front of the other focusing on the goal and not what would happen when she finally got there. When her dad had died it had been about getting through the week. With Elvis it was till graduation. When she had found out she was pregnant all she had thought about was getting to the birth, all of that other stuff she had thought would slip into place.

And now she was stuck.

With barely anything to call her own but a little girl who was now depending on her for everything. A little girl who she couldn’t even think up a name for. If she’d had been allowed to stay it would’ve been different. Not easy but not this hard. And it wouldn’t be the real things, the things that mattered that were hard. Elvis would’ve been besotted with her she knew that. It was other stuff that would’ve taken its toll. The fans, the papers, the Colonel. She wondered how his parents would’ve taken the news. If they would’ve changed their minds about her now she had borne them a grandchild. She wanted to believe that they would, that the beautiful little girl in her arms would’ve been enough to win them back over though she doubted it. For Elvis maybe, not for anyone else.

Though the struggle in her mind was internal and her baby completely ignorant to her mother’s turmoil she felt as though she had to explain anyway, that she had to reassure the sleeping child about worries she did not have.

‘He’s still part of you. I want you to know that…even if we can’t be part of his life he always will be. You’re still his little girl,’ she said firmly receiving nothing but a yawn in return. It was true. No matter the circumstances or the turmoil nothing would ever take away that fact. Whether they could be together or not that didn’t matter because they were tethered together forever, even if he didn’t know it. Maybe that was why she was having such a hard time deciding on a name. Making any decision without him somehow seemed final, like cutting him out of their lives for good. And though he would never be able to be part of their lives having that finality was like another dagger to the chest. Which is why she wanted to pick right. If she was going to make a decision, name their daughter without his input, she wanted to make sure she chose right. If anything she wanted to give her his last name though she knew it would never be an option. So maybe something relative, something no one would know but enough to feel as though he was there, part of their little girl’s life in some form. 

She thought of his cousins and friends – none of their names feeling youthful enough for the tiny babe in her arms. She thought of his Grandmother and found Minnie to feel alien in her mouth given that Elvis had taught her at just three years old to only refer to the older lady by his affectionate moniker. And then she thought of Gladys, his best girl. If she was going to pick anything it should’ve been that after all his mother was a worthy namesake in Elvis’ eyes and yet a heartache in Addison’s. Could she spend the rest of her life looking at her daughter and seeing the eyes of the woman who felt betrayed by her? No, no she couldn’t.

She was running out of options, cursing the fact he had so many damn men in his family until her mind ran over a memory. A memory of a baby, a child, part of Elvis’ life and yet not present, never destined to be. Just like the child in her arms.

‘Jessie,’ Addison said quietly, making the child’s eyes flutter open as she stretched, clasping her hand around the finger on her cheek which made Addison chuckle as she said, ‘you like that huh?’

As a tiny hand squoze her mother’s finger Addison smiled and pressed a kiss to her daughter’s forehead before she pulled back and murmured, ‘well Jessie let me tell you something. Your daddy will always be a part of you but for now you’ve only got me. And like I said I don’t know what I’m doing but I’m going to learn. I’m gonna be whatever you need me to be okay? No matter what, you got me. Always will, okay?’

She didn’t answer, that darling girl in her arms.but the glow of her familiar blue eyes and the squeeze on her finger was enough.

June 1965

‘I should go,’ Addison panted, as his mouth continued the fervent assault down her neck, his tongue lapping at the sweet spot that always made a shiver run down her spine.

‘Mmhmm,’ he hummed against her skin causing a petite moan to fall from her lips. It made her feel heady, almost making her forget her train of thought until her eyes caught the clock on the dash showing it had just gone nine. She needed to go and yet she didn’t want to, not when he was kissing her like this.

‘Jess is probably waiting up for me,’ she said though she didn’t know who she was trying to convince with that statement.

‘Probably,’ he mumbled as lips migrated back to hers, every kiss accompanied by the feel of his hands aching to get to bare skin.

‘Nick,’ she mumbled hoping he’d hear the regret in her voice. Hoping he’d understand that it wasn’t her choice to leave either of them high and dry like this. He seemed to notice, pulling back with a disappointed yet understanding look.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said as Nick pulled back, his hand finding hers as he rested back in his seat.

‘It’s okay,’ he shrugged.

‘Honestly, I wish we had longer,’ she said.

‘I know, don’t worry about it,’ he replied offering her a reassuring smile that made her feel a little less guilty though it couldn’t snuff it out completely. She always felt guilty these days given that she was either turning him down because she was too busy or she was out with him and coming home to find Jess asleep at the top of the stairs, where she had fallen asleep waiting for her. She’d dated before of course, though nothing ever this serious. And he was a good guy, a kind and understanding man who seemed to like her despite her baggage, which was why having to peel herself away from him never felt good.

‘You know,’ he said snapping her out of her thoughts, ‘I’ve been thinking.’

‘Oh?’ she giggled wondering what scandalous thing he was going to try and talk her into before she definitely had to go inside.

‘Yeah, I was just thinking maybe next time I could have dinner here,’ he said. He watched as the smile on her face turned to shock, nerves bubbling through her as she said, ‘here? Like at my house?’

‘Well that’s kinda what I meant by here,’ he said with a teasing smile that aimed to put her at ease.

‘Oh…uh I don’t know,’ Addison said his tactics failing to make her feel settled. She didn’t know why the idea of him inside her house got her so at odds with herself. It was a natural progression and yet it still seemed a lot.

‘Why not?’ he asked.

‘Well…Jess would be there,’ she said though she didn’t think that was the entire reason for the nerves in her stomach.

‘Well that’s kinda the idea,’ he said making her wince with stupidity.

‘Oh right,’ she said. No, it wasn’t the idea of him in her house or the prospect of the pair of them meeting for the time. It was that this would be a step forward. Once Jess met him he would be part of their lives, her life, and that was something she didn’t know she was ready for.

‘I mean didn’t you think I’d want to meet her at some point?’ he asked.

‘Of course I did but isn’t it a little soon?’ she said, hoping he’d drop it.

‘It’s been six months Addie,’ he said.

‘Right,’ she muttered.

‘Is that a problem?’ he asked looking at her properly, unable to hide the hurt in his eyes at the idea she wasn’t taking this as seriously as he was.

‘No, it’s just…Jess has never been involved in this side of my life before and I don’t want her getting attached to someone and then it not working out. I just don’t want her to be devastated,’ she admitted, dropping her gaze to her lap. It was partially that but it was also the thought of how devastated she’d be if they didn’t work out.

‘I get that but,’ he said capturing her attention, ‘I guess I thought maybe this was going somewhere…’

‘Me too,’ she replied, the truth falling from her lips before she gave it permission to. And as she looked at him, handsome and understanding, she couldn’t help but want it to go somewhere. To the next step.

‘So, maybe it’s time?’ he asked with a smile as she nodded, ‘I mean we don’t have to say I’m your boyfriend or anything. We could say I’m a friend and see how it goes.’

‘Yeah maybe that’s best,’ she agreed, unable to stop her from smiling as her nerves all but disappeared. He was trying, really trying to make her and her daughter comfortable, and that was what she should want right? A guy who understood, who was patient enough with them. That was what she wanted.

‘So Saturday?’ he asked.

‘Saturday,’ she agreed.

To Addison’s surprise Jess had been completely fine about her inviting ‘a friend’ over for dinner. A fact Addison didn’t know whether to be happy or concerned about. On the one hand she didn’t want to make a big deal out of it and make Jess feel as though she’d gotten a new dad in the space of a night but on the other, she didn’t want Jess to be under the impression this was like having her aunt Marci around given it could be more than that.

But either way it seemed she needn’t have worried because Nick had been all she could’ve asked him to be. He wasn’t too friendly, trying too hard to make her daughter like him, but she could see he did care. She could see that he understood Jess was just as important to keep happy as she was. And fortunately he managed to keep Jess on his side by bringing a box of new LPs to the house. Addison didn’t even remember when she had mentioned Jess’ newfound love of the Beatles but the look on her daughter’s face when Nick had asked if she would want to check out the new album with him, pretending he hadn’t had a chance to yet, had made Addison happy she did. It was a small gesture but one that made her feel good all the same.

In fact, it had even made her feel so good she had dared to let them have a moment alone whilst she tidied up after dinner. As they’d toddled off into the living she’d stayed behind trusting they’d be okay without her. It didn’t take long to wash the dishes but when she’d pressed her ear to the door she could hear them chatting and given her daughter was normally shy when it came to strangers she’d decided not to intervene. After all, it wasn’t as though she’d be able to join in the conversation much, her penchant for music being shelved years before evidenced by the fact the only LPs in their house were that bought by Marci. Still, there was only so long she could tidy, clean and arrange before either of them got suspicious and so after a while she was forced to join the party.

They were sitting on the floor; their backs to the door as Jess rifled through the box of albums in front of her. She didn’t even seem to notice her mother had entered though Nick caught her eye for a moment, reciprocating the smile she offered as she watched them.

‘This one,’ Jess said eventually thrusting an album into Nick’s hands which made him smile.

‘Good choice,’ he said as he slipped it out of its sleeve, gesturing for Jess to help which she did eagerly, her little fingers pulling the needle up and cutting the music from the air. As Nick started to swap the records she glanced away finally noting Addison was in the room.

‘Mom guess what?’ she said climbing up from where she was sitting and pulling Addison down to the couch.

‘What?’ Addison asked, her daughter’s enthusiasm infecting her.

‘Nick saw the Beatles live!’ Jess said agog.

‘Really?’ Addison replied.

‘Isn’t that cool?’ Jess asked.

‘Pretty cool,’ Addison agreed, nudging Nick’s thigh with her toe which made him pause in his movements smirking at her as Jess continued.

‘Can we go next time?’ Jess asked hopefully.

‘Sure,’ Addison said smiling as Jess broke into a massive grin turning to her new friend as she said, ‘did you hear Nick? Mom said yes!’

‘I heard,’ Nick said as he slipped the record into place.

‘You can come too,’ Jess said.

‘Well thank you,’ Nick smiled.

Addison was going to smile too but it faded from her face as the sounds of the record player echoed out into the air bringing with it a voice she knew all too well, Elvis. She didn’t know the song and his voice sounded different, lower and smoother, yet it was unmistakably him. And it was like a punch to the gut. One that was made worse as her daughter and her boyfriend continued to chatter, unaware of it all. But Addison couldn’t push it away so she mumbled something about getting everyone a drink and left the room, fleeing to the safety of the backyard.

The air was crisp outside, causing goosebumps along her flesh as she stood in it and yet she didn’t care. If anything having to focus on not shivering was better than the thoughts flooding her brain. It wasn’t that she had eradicated him from her life, he was too famous to ever combat that, but she had learned how to compartmentalise. To put him into this box inside her brain she didn’t have to think of.

In the early days it had been hard to do, instead of tucked away in her head he wreaked havoc inside it, consuming every thought she had. But she had learned. She didn’t watch his films. If he came on the radio she tuned him out, even turning to another station if she was alone. And she steered clear of the news, keeping her reading to more serious publications rather than the trashy magazines that plastered him over their covers. And over time it had gotten easier, whether because she had more in her life to focus on than him or his dwindling popularity amongst the masses she didn’t know but it had become easier. In fact the more she thought about it the more she realised she hadn’t thought about him in a good few months, if she was being honest with herself - six months for sure. And yet now he was here again, clawing at her heart as she tried to move on with her life.

‘Why?’ she thought. Why did he have to come barrelling into her life when she was finally getting to grips with being happy? How could she have an amazing, loving and caring man sitting inside her living room at that very moment and still feel heartbroken at the thought of him? Or was it the absence of him? She’d done her best to rebuild, to put the pieces of her broken heart back together and yet one thought of him had shattered it apart again only this time into more and more fragments. It wasn’t fair.

‘Everything okay?’ she heard Nick say and when she turned around he was coming out of the sliding door, pushing it shut so that they wouldn’t be heard.

‘Fine,’ she lied, ‘where’s Jess?’

‘Bathroom,’ he said hesitating before he came towards her, ‘are you sure you’re okay?’

‘I am honestly,’ she lied once more trying to force her face into something more believable though she wasn’t sure it landed so she said, ‘I’m just getting a bit of a headache that’s all. The music must’ve kicked it off.’

‘Well we can turn it off,’ he said moving to hold her as he accepted her lies, ‘how about we watch some TV?’

‘Sounds good,’ Addison said pulling back, ‘I’ll be in a minute.’

‘Okay,’ he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead before he let her go heading back inside the house though not before he threw her one last smile which she returned albeit hers was weaker.

As he disappeared inside the house she felt a sob rattle through her, one she forced down as she tried to steady herself. She didn’t know why it had come. After all, she couldn’t have wished for Nick to be any more loving than he had been and yet it had brought no comfort. It hadn’t made her feel safe and secure as she so desperately wanted it to. Instead, she felt nothing. And that was what saddened her.

May 1967

Addison was rushing, barrelling down the sidewalk even though she knew her lateness wouldn’t bother anybody but herself. Her sentiments were confirmed as she walked into the salon to find her daughter standing happily beside her best friend handing her the tools she needed for whatever she was trying to achieve with her client's hair. It gave Addison some relief, that she wasn’t miserably waiting by the window for her mom to show up, but the guilt that it was the third time this week she’d been forced to divert her to her friend’s care instead of being able to collect her from school herself stung.

She knew Jess really didn’t mind. She knew that she understood that Addison was building a future, something more fulfilling than working for Marci. It wasn’t that she didn’t like working alongside her friend and she was immensely proud of the salon Marci had put together so well. It was just that she wanted something of her own, something she could be proud of, something she’d worked for. It was just that the work itself was encroaching on her life. She knew it would do, that having to study and work at the hospital would mean her time with Jess would be hindered but it still didn’t make her feel any better about it.

As the bell on the door jingled Marci and Jess looked towards it both of them breaking into a smile at the sight of her, bedraggled and frantic as she was.

‘Hi, hi,’ she said coming into the room and placing her bag on the counter, ‘sorry I’m late.’

‘Oh it’s alright you know I like having my lil helper here after school,’ Marci said as she continued to place rollers into the hair of the client she was standing behind.

‘Hi Mom,’ Jess said moving towards Addison and wrapping her arms around her middle as she looked up at her. Addison leaned down to place a kiss on her forehead, placing her hands on her cheeks as she pulled back.

‘Hi sweetie. How was school?’ she asked.

‘Good,’ Jess smiled.

‘You managed to catch the bus okay? I know I only managed to call your teacher late,’ Addison said trying to keep the worry out of her voice as she pictured her baby standing by kerb waiting for her mother to show.

‘Yeah she told me before I left,’ Jess said, ‘dropped me off right out front.’

‘Good, good,’ Addison said feeling her nerves ease enough that she let go of her, going to grab her things as she said, ‘you ready for home? I thought we could have pizza for dinner.’

‘Definitely!’ Jess said excitedly.

‘Actually,’ Marci said turning around to face them, ‘could you guys hang on for a minute? I need to pop to the store for some change.’

‘Well I can go if you want,’ Addison said.

‘No it’s okay,’ Marci said as she untethered her apron from around her waist. Addison’s eyes narrowed as she watched her friend. The grocery store she was referring to was only a couple of shops down and they knew Addison so it wouldn’t be any bother for her to do the job not to mention it would save Marci’s client from being left halfway through. Fortunately for Addison, she needn’t play detective much longer as her daughter, who was now sitting behind the reception desk said, ‘she wants to see the new shop boy!’

‘Jessie!’ Marci chastised making Addison roll her eyes.

‘You do!’ Jess giggled looking at her mother as she said, ‘she said he’s really cute.’

‘Oh really?’ Addison mused watching with merriment as Marci’s cheeks flamed red with denial.

‘No I did not!’ she said, ‘anyway even if I did that’s not the point. I simply need change.’

‘Mmmhmm,’ Addison teased.

‘Will you watch the shop or not?’ Marci asked poutily.

‘Of course I will,’ Addison said choosing to let the teasing go, if only for the moment. No doubt would this topic make up most of their conversation once Jess was in bed, Addison living vicariously through her friend’s romantic exploits.

‘Good,’ Marci said more securely as she noted her friend had let the matter drop. As she moved to drop her apron on the counter she pointed towards various customers in their chairs explaining the situation to Addison as if she were back in her old job and not merely making sure the shop didn’t burn to the ground in the time it took Marci to talk herself into a date with the shop boy, ‘I’ll finish Helen up when I get back but if I’m longer than five minutes can you take Sylvia out from under the dryer and take her rollers out?’

‘Sure,’ Addison said earning a nod from her friend though as she headed to the door she called, ‘say hi to shop boy for me.’

‘Me too!’ Jess giggled from her seat at the desk.

‘Oh shut up,’ Marci said with a roll of her eyes that neither of them caught before she headed out the door and out of view.

As Addison turned back she found Jess had started to read a book and so rather than disturb her she decided to make herself useful and opted to tidy up a bit.

It never failed to amaze her how Marci could be such an expertly talented beautician and leave an ugly wake of chaos behind her in everything she did. If anything when Addison had worked here the only thing she had been required to do was keep the clutter to a minimum which with her friend was quite the task. And yet after a long day of running around after patients, doctors and relatives she found that she missed this. Even if the thing she missed was putting 36 hairpins back in their correct location. In fact, she had been so enthralled in the mundane little tasks she had occupied herself with she barely noticed her five-minute timer had run over until Jess called her name and thumbed in the direction of an older woman sitting under a dryer obliviously allowing her hair to fry as she thumbed through her magazine. Addison rushed towards her, switching the instrument off at the wall which caused the woman to finally look up from.

‘Oh, hi dear,’ she said, the confusion of it not being Marci disappearing as she finally recognised Addison.

‘Hi Sylvia,’ Addison said, ‘I’m just gonna get you out from under here okay?’

‘Ooh, you’re a lifesaver!’ she smiled, ‘I’m sweating buckets under this thing.’

‘I bet,’ Addison smiled before she moved the dryer away and set to work on unfurling the plastic rollers from Sylvia’s head, wincing as she felt how hot they were.

She didn’t say anything, her focus on getting the job over as soon as she could to save the skin on her fingertips, and so Sylvia turned to the woman next to her as the two started chattering away about the magazine in hand. Addison wasn’t paying attention, only inserting herself into the conversation to ask her client to move her head this way or that so she could do the task at hand, yet she could hear snippets of a scathing piece of gossip.

‘I don’t know,’ Helen thumbing through the magazine Sylvia had entrusted to her, ‘I just don’t see it myself.’

‘Mmm, I agree. She’s plain,’ Sylvia replied.

‘Well not after all that makeup,’ Helen said scathingly, ‘it’s far too thick.’

‘You’re right. He suits a more natural-looking woman,’ Sylvia said.

‘Oh definitely!’

‘I loved him with that one, what’s her name, the redhead,’ Sylvia said.

‘Ann whats-her-face?' Helen asked earning a nod from her friend that made Addison say, ‘Sylvia!’

‘Sorry dear,’ Sylvia said moving to put her head back in position though she turned it a fraction of a second later making Addison roll her eyes.

‘I know what you mean though,’ Helen said, ignoring the debacle between her friend and Addison, ‘you’re right he looks good with a blonde. What do you think Addison?’

‘Hmm?’ Addison asked, her finger probing a particularly stubborn pin meaning she wasn’t really focused on what they were saying.

‘Elvis,’ Helen said.

That was enough to make her stop, her eyes snapping up as the pin she had been fumbling with slipped out of her grasp and onto the floor, now unnoticed. She didn’t know how the mere mention of him could still have such an effect on her, how it could make her brain go fuzzy and her tongue go numb so that she couldn’t speak. Maybe it was because it was few and far between these days. Maybe it was because she’d learned to avoid all thoughts of him so that the ache inside her wouldn’t rear its ugly head. But unlike before she recovered quicker and was able to push that ache aside almost getting her voice to its normal timbre as she said, ‘what about him?’

‘He’s married,’ Helen said as if she was absurd not to have heard yet.

‘He is?’ she asked trying to remain as normal as possible.

‘Yep, got hitched yesterday right here in Vegas,’ Helen said turning to show her the magazine article that had his face plastered all over it. He looked handsome, excruciatingly so in his dark tux, his blue eyes sparkling with happiness. And beside him, his new wife.

‘We were just saying we don’t think they’re very suited. What do you think of her?’ Sylvia explained. Addison paused. What did she think? More to the point could she honestly offer an opinion? She didn’t know the girl given that she avoided all articles about him where she could but she had to admit she was very pretty. Raven-coloured hair that matched his, blue eyes brightened by the dark eye make-up she was sporting, and skin so radiant she appeared as though she was wearing no makeup at all. If anything she looked like a perfect little doll beside him, something that could slot into his life with ease – the perfect little housewife. But she didn’t know her, she doubted she’d even know the man he was now or what he’d want. So instead of saying all that she held it inside her only offering, ‘Oh I don’t know much about her. I don’t really have time to follow the news.’

‘You guys are from Memphis thought right?’ Helen said asking with a chuckle, ‘bet you know a lot about him.’

‘Not really,’ Addison said.

After that Addison appeared to lose joining in privileges, the women favouring opinions that leant to slander and gossip rather than niceties. Addison didn’t care, she was too busy trying to focus on getting the rollers out of Sylvia’s hair as quickly as she could so she’d have an excuse to get away from their chatter which only stopped as Marci came in looking less enthusiastic than when she had left.

‘You’re back soon,’ Sylvia said as Marci stood in front of them, slipping her apron back on.

‘Jack wasn’t, I mean the store wasn’t too busy,’ Marci said, her cheeks tinged red at the slip-up. They would’ve flushed deeper if the sarcastic quip she was expecting from Addison came but it never materialised. Instead, when her friend glanced up at her she found her face unreadable, making nerves bubble inside the blonde.

‘Everything okay?’ Marci asked coming towards her but Addison simply nodded and said, ‘take over?’

She didn’t even wait for Marci to agree instead she slipped the couple of rollers she’d just removed onto the counter and fled towards the safety of the back of the shop. There wasn’t much back here apart from a small stock room and an area for Marci to have a break whenever she got the chance but it was enough, enough to be away from prying eyes. Only it wasn’t as though she was going to cry. No, to her surprise she wasn’t even all that sad about him getting married. It was bound to happen eventually. No, she wasn’t sad, she was angry.

Angry that he could move on. That he could find someone else, someone he’d share the rest of his life with when he’d promised her the world.

Angry that this girl, this beautiful girl got everything she had wanted and more. Angry that she got to be his, truly his, for all the world to see.

And most of all she was angry at Parker, though that was nothing new, but her anger flamed anew now as she thought of all he had robbed from them only to place it into the lap of a girl who looked even younger than she. What narrative had he managed to spin around that she wondered? Or did he simply use the same tactics he’d proffered to employ for them?

Or was it just that idea she didn’t fit, that she was never going to fit into his life? The loud, brash teenager, with a mouth and an attitude problem. The girl with no family, well no family left worth a damn, that Elvis, kind, sweet, charitable, Elvis had been forced to take pity on. The one girl who'd forced him to have to leave his country, his home, and his mother behind all because he’d been stupid enough to fall in love with her.

Not even now would she fit. Still that girl but now a mother, with a bastard child in tow. To even attempt to tell him about Jess now would be to turn his entire world on its head. To tell him now would mean she wasn’t just changing his life but ruining a family.

Still, her anger burned on, for the family they could’ve been.

‘Addie?’ she heard Marci say, coming into the back room and shutting the door quickly behind her as Addison straightened up, feeling the urge to wipe her face though there were no tears. She hesitated, watching her friend with pity as Addison waited for her to speak.

‘They told you huh?’ Addison asked, running her tongue along her teeth as she thought about the old dears attempting to corral Marci to be another voice for their salacious soiree.

‘Yeah,’ Marci said quietly, ‘you okay?’

‘Fine,’ Addison lied making Marci towards her until she was close enough to put her hand on her arm. Addison’s gaze fell to the floor as she tried to force her face into a neutral position. As she tried to push the anger inside of her down, anger that flared as Marci said softly, ‘Addie.’

‘What?’ she said looking up at her, her jaw clenched.

‘You don’t have to be okay you know,’ Marci said.

‘I said I’m fine,’ she said tersely, ‘so he’s married. So what? It’s fine. I mean it was going to happen eventually right?’

‘But-’

‘Mar just leave it okay? I said I’m fine,’ she said abruptly, ‘look I’m just gonna take Jess home.’

‘Okay…how about I come over tonight? Girl’s night?’ Marci said. At that Addison softened. She knew it wasn’t Marci’s fault. She knew she shouldn’t allow her anger to spill out on her or God forbid Jess. But to ensure that didn’t happen she needed to be alone.

‘Actually, I think I’m gonna have dinner and go to bed,’ Addison said moving away from her friend, ‘I’m tired.’

‘You sure?’ Marci asked.

‘Yep,’ she said offering her a small smile. It had been a while since she’d had to use this; the mask she placed on herself to keep the world at bay. The mask that ensured no one asked too many questions. And as much as she needed it, it pained her to see her friend fall for it. To see how she accepted Addison’s assurances freely as she said, ‘well call me if you need me.’

Addison didn’t say anything but she nodded and headed out into the main salon where Jess was already waiting for her, schoolbag in hand and a curious look on her face as she wondered what the hell had been going on back there. She had been told to stay put, her aunt practically barking an order at her as she’d chased after her mother. But even without that, she would’ve known something was amiss.

‘Ready to go baby?’ her mother said beckoning her forward as she nodded. Addison was heading to the door when she felt a small hand slip into her own and looked down to find Jess smiling at her. She may have had her mask on for the world but her daughter, like her father, could read her too well for any of that. And though she was angry and frustrated her heart felt a little bit better because of it.

April 1969

‘Hey,’ Addison said as she came into the living room, causing Marci to look up from the TV she was watching.

‘Hey,’ she said as Addison kicked her shoes off and dropped her bag to the floor, ‘how was work?’

‘Fine,’ Addison said dropping onto the couch with an ‘oomph’ before she said, ‘exhausting.’

‘Bad shift?’ Marci asked with a frown, watching Addison as she lay there her eyes closed and her arm across her face to aid blocking the light out.

‘Nah, it was fine just tiring you know?’ Addison yawned looking at Marci before she added, ‘And I can't remember the last time I ate.’

‘Well luckily I made dinner,’ Marci said chuckling as Addison immediately sat up, a smile on her exhausted face.

As the pair padded through to the kitchen and Marci went to retrieve dinner Addison went to the refrigerator to grab a drink, stretching as she tried to remove the aches from her weary bones, before she plopped herself down in a kitchen chair and watched Marci flit about the kitchen to fix her something to eat.

‘How was Jess?’ Addison asked as Marci pulled a plate wrapped in foil out of the oven and placed it on the side before she fished about in the drawers for cutlery.

‘Good as gold as always,’ Marci said as she discarded the foil and brought it to where Addison was sitting.

‘Good,’ she said, ‘thanks by the way.’

‘No problem,’ Marci smiled as Addison started to tuck in, ‘she did try waiting up for you though.’

‘Again?' Addison sighed, ‘I told her not to.’

‘I know but you know what she’s like,’ Marci sighed.

‘Well, it’s just till the end of the month. Then I can go back to normal shifts,’ Addison said taking a sip of her diet coke.

‘I’ve told you I can help with money,’ Marci said a frown on her pretty face.

‘Mar,’ Addison sighed.

‘I told you I would,’ Marci said making Addison close her eyes just for a moment. It wasn’t that she was ungrateful it was just that they were never going to get used to it just being the two of them if Marci was chipping in. Not to mention she already helped them out more than Addison could ever ask for hence why she was spending the night babysitting her daughter.

‘I know but you have your own place now. It’s not the same as before with you coming back every couple of months,’ Addison said.

‘I know but I can help,’ Marci said guiltily. It wasn’t that she had tons of money but it had been her decision to finally get her own place. Nearing thirty and still flitting between boyfriends and her best friend's house was getting old. And it wasn’t that the pair couldn’t afford to get their own separate places it was just that an extra wage did go a lot further when it came to raising a child.

‘We’re fine,’ Addison said firmly, ‘this is just a little extra work to cover birthdays and summer stuff. We’re not in dire straights.’

‘Promise?’ Marci said.

‘Promise,’ Addison said, ‘now can I eat my dinner?’

‘Sure,’ Marci said, her nervous expression being replaced by a smile.

It didn’t last long though. As Addison wolfed down half her mac and cheese before finally stopping to take a drink she found Marci watching her closely, her brow furrowed though it smoothed out as Addison’s eyes narrowed and she said, ‘what?’

‘Nothing,’ Marci said airly.

‘No come on,’ Addison said suspiciously, ‘I know you. There’s something else.’

‘There's nothing,’ Marci said rolling her eyes as she fiddled with the tablecloth’s edge before adding, ‘so, you’ve been busy at work huh?’

‘Yeah,’ Addison said unable to buy into the casualness of which her friend was speaking. There was something going on, she knew it.

‘So you’ve probably haven’t seen they’re opening a new hotel,’ Marci said.

‘The International? Yeah, I heard about it, why?’ Addison asked wondering why on earth some newly erected eyesore on the strip would be newsworthy dinner conversation given that it had been in construction for ages.

‘Well it’s gonna have a big showroom,’ Marci said finally looking at her.

‘And what you wanna go watch something? Or stay a night in the city when we live twenty minutes away?’ Addison asked unable to catch the thread of the conversation.

‘No,’ Marci said indignantly.

‘So?’

‘Well,’ Marci said awkwardly, ‘I was reading today that to open it they’re gonna need a show. Something to draw people in…a big name.’

It was like lightning striking, a face flashing into her mind as all the dots connected; the probing, the uncertainty of which Marci spoke, making sure she was fed and watered before she even broached it. Elvis.

‘Oh,’ was all Addison could say.

‘Yeah,’ Marci said sadly watching her friend’s face for the inevitable emotion that was going to come but it didn’t. Nothing did instead she forced a smile and shrugged before saying, ‘well good for him.’

‘Addie,’ Marci gasped.

‘What?’

‘Come on! He’s going to be here! In Vegas!’ she said incredulously.

‘So? Why do you wanna go see the show?’ Addison said, her snark in full force as she felt that familiar wave of anger, sadness and pity run through her body. Marci’s face fell into a scowl, evidently not appreciating her lack of seriousness about the subject.

‘No of course not it’s just…I mean what if you guys bump into each other,’ she asked worriedly.

‘I doubt we run in the same circles,’ Addison replied sarcastically making Marci’s scowl deepen. Addison sighed, ‘Mar look whether he’s ten miles away or a thousand it doesn’t change anything. I made my decision a long time ago and just because he’s on my doorstep now doesn’t make it any different.’

‘But it’s been ten years. Maybe it’s different now I mean maybe he could find out about Jess-’

‘Oh yeah I’m sure me and Jess will fit in right beside his new wife and kid,’ Addison said coolly.

‘You don’t know Addie,’ Marci said quietly.

‘No I don’t because I don’t want to know. Not now. Not ever,’ she replied hoping the seriousness of her tone would be enough to make her friend drop it.

She wanted her to drop it because there was no angle she hadn’t looked at it from. She tried to convince herself he’d see that once he realised she was gone he’d come looking for her, unable to believe she wouldn’t love him. She’d been broken over it, crying herself to sleep as she thought about the unfairness of it all for her and for Jess. She’d thought of how she could tell him; if she could just get a letter to him, only him, or if she could make it Memphis past his entourage, past the Colonel she could explain. She’d been angry as she’d watched him move on, something she couldn’t seem to do longer than a couple of months because letting Jess get attached to anyone felt wrong, like a betrayal. She’d thought about it every which way because she’d had to until she'd finally accepted it. This was it for her. Her work. Her friends. Her daughter. That was it. She couldn’t make herself hope for more because to do that would mean to hope. And hope was worse than giving up. Hope meant putting the fragments of her heart fully back together to potentially have them smashed back to smithereens only smaller this time, less easy to rebuild.

She could see Marci wanted to protest, that she had more to say, but Addison was too tired to do so. And so when she spoke she spoke with as much authority as she could give it, ‘Look, if Jess wants to meet him one day then fine. I’ll cross that bridge when I get there, though preferably it’ll be when I’m dead and buried, if not at the very least when she’s eighteen so it can be nothing to do with me.’

‘You don’t mean that,’ Marci said sadly.

‘Don’t I?’ Addison scoffed, ‘listen I’ve done all the thinking I’m ever going to do about it. I’ve been sad, I’ve been angry, I’ve tried to convince myself it’ll all work out but I’m done Mar. I’ve accepted this is my life and I’m fine with that. I have Jess. I have you. I don’t want anything else and I definitely don’t want anything that might ruin what I have got now. Got it?’

‘You’re sure?’ Marci said.

‘If it were meant to be now it would’ve been meant to be then,’ Addison said.

‘Maybe one day,’ Marci said hopefully.

‘I can't live on maybes Mar and maybes are no good when you’ve got a kid. I just can’t put my faith in something that’s not a certainty. I just can't.’

ELVIS TAGS 

@girlblogger2002 @sania562 @caitlin1996 @literally-just-elvis-fics @notstefaniepresley @artlesson8892 @18lkpeters​ @velvetelvis @jaqueline19997 @elvispresleyxoxo @amydarcimarie @presleyenterprise @everythingelvispresley @elvispresleywife @lillypink @richardslady121 @lettersfromvenus @louisejoy86 @ccab

[all-the-things-2020]

Year of Fandom Crossovers: March

Title: “Lost, Only to Be Found”

Pedro Character: Ezra

Fandom Crossover: The Last Of Us

Warnings: Mentions of unprotected sex (it’s an apocalypse, nobody has condoms anymore); grief

Notes: This takes place about 5 years before the events of The Last Of Us season 1, so roughly 15 years after the outbreak. Written in second person, so feel free to imagine yourself as the narrator. I tried to be as vague about the Narrator’s physical description and back story as possible. TLOU is a bleak story, so this one does not have a happy ending, but the underlying theme of love in the face of disaster is there.

Word count: 8500+

@yearofcreation2023

Morning light glowed golden through the mist that rose from the meadow. You shifted slowly from one knee to the other, wishing you’d thought to look for sharp rocks before you’d taken position. A doe lifted her head, ears swiveling in your direction and you silently cursed. You held your breath, willing her to return to her grazing. Her tail flicked once, twice, and she started to lower her head.

Suddenly, her head flew up and she stomped a hoof. The rest of the herd was instantly alert, looking to your left. In a moment, they were on the move, tails up, flying into the cover of the trees. Something was out there. Probably a bear, you thought, picking up the crackling of some twigs. Wolves were quieter. Only a bear would be blundering around out there making enough noise for even you to hear.

Except it wasn’t a bear. You ducked lower as two human figures emerged from the forest. One was smaller, slender, her blonde hair in a ragged ponytail. The other was taller, broader, with short-cropped dark hair and one bloodstained sleeve dangling limply at his side. He was not walking very steadily.

“Damn it,” you said quietly. It had been ages since any Infected had made it this far away from the cities. You lifted your rifle and carefully sighted through the scope. Something made you hesitate before pulling the trigger, though. For one thing, the girl didn’t seem frightened, and she was walking okay. And the man … he looked tired, and in pain, but his eyes were alert, constantly scanning for danger. Infected weren’t that with it. You lowered your weapon and stood up.

“Stop right there,” you yelled. “Don’t come any closer!”

They both froze, then the girl raised her arms over her head. “We’re not dangerous!,” she yelled back. “Please. We need help.” 

“He infected?”

“I am not,” the man called out. There was a subtle drawl to his voice. “Were that the case, I assure you, my young companion would have had no issue taking the matter well in hand.” He winced, clearly in pain. The blood on his sleeve was dark, but fairly recent.

Shit, you said to yourself. It would be easy enough to ignore them, leave them to their fates, but the girl had asked for help. She’d said please.  “Okay,” you yelled. “Just … wait there. Let me come to you.”

You picked your way through the fallen branches and shrubs that ringed the meadow, avoiding exposure as you’d been taught. Only herd animals or strong predators walked boldly through an open area. Everyone else skulked in the shadows, even humans with loaded rifles.

When you reached them, it was clear the man needed rest. “Go ahead, sit down,” you said, motioning toward a nearby log. He practically collapsed onto it.

“Thank you kindly,” he said. “It has been a wearisome journey.”

The girl hovered protectively behind him, her eyes fixed on your rifle. You took the risk and slung it behind your back, which eased her posture just a little. 

“What happened?,” you asked. “That looks fairly fresh.”

“Accident,” the girl said. 

The man shook his head. “It was no accident. It was done deliberately and with very good reason.” He looked you in the eyes. “We were surprised by an abnormally stealthy person of the Infected persuasion and in the midst of fending said person off, I was dealt a glancing blow by their teeth.”

You jumped back, swinging your gun around. “You said he wasn’t infected! What the hell are you trying to pull?”

“He’s not infected!,” the girl shouted. “We — I chopped it off. His arm. Right after it happened.”

The man nodded. “This incident occurred roughly two days ago and I have shown no symptoms of cordyceps infestation in the interim,” he said wearily. “My young protégée removed the affected limb with our hatchet and there was not time for the tendrils to spread any further.”

“He’s lost some blood, but that’s all,” the girl said. “I used a tourniquet and I heated up the axe blade in the fire afterward and cauterized the wound. Sort of.”

You looked more carefully at the useless sleeve dangling at the man’s side. You could make out the bulge of a hasty bandage covering the stump. 

“And you’ve had no signs of infection? No motor control issues? No slurred speech?”

The girl half laughed. “He never shuts up. If his speech was affected, I would have noticed.”

“And taken care of the problem,” the man said, giving her a significant look. “I was very clear about what actions should be taken if the procedure didn’t work.”

You lowered your gun, but kept it handy. “Okay, so you aren’t infected, but you do need medical help. I can’t offer much, but I can take you back to the compound with me. We can patch you up a little, give you a few days to rest up before you move on. With winter coming, we can’t spare more than that.” 

“We are much obliged,” the man said. “My name is Ezra, and this is Cee.”

You gave them your name. “It’s a few miles hike back to the compound. Think you can make it, or should I go fetch some help? We can rig up a travois or something …”

Ezra raised his good arm. “I have a few more miles in me, if I can take it slowly and lean on my young friend for support now and then.”

“Good,” you said. “I’d hate to waste an entire day getting you to the compound.” You squinted up at the sun. “The deer will be bedded down by the time I can get back out here, but maybe I can pick off a few rabbits along the way, and try the creek this evening.” The meadow was a reliable place to find deer, but it was too far away from shelter for evening hunting. The creek near the compound had a few small pockets of browse that might prove profitable, however.

The hike back to the compound was slow but uneventful. Ezra put all his effort into walking, which left conversation up to you and Cee. 

“So, this compound we’re going to,” Cee said. “What’s it like? Is it big?”

“It used to be some rich person’s hunting lodge before — well, before. I’m not sure who found it first, but it’s been in use since just a few years after outbreak day.” You told her how you’d come upon the compound, how you’d been invited to join the others there and how, with the prospect of safety in numbers and approaching cold weather, you’d agreed. “That was what … eight, nine years ago?”

“So you were on your own for a while after the outbreak,” Cee observed.

“Yeah.” You looked her over carefully, trying to guess her age. “Were you even born yet?”

“No,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’m almost fourteen. Missed the before times by about a year. What was it like?”

You shrugged. “You’ve seen movies, books, magazines?”

“A few.”

“Well, it was like that. Completely and totally different from the way things are now.”

“Did you ever drive a car?”

“A couple of times,” you admitted. “I was still in high school when it all happened.”

“He was in college,” Cee said, nodding toward Ezra, who was lagging slightly behind, having procured a sturdy tree limb to use as a support so he wasn’t leaning on her every step of the way.

“College boy? Really? I’d never have guessed,” you teased. Most of the people you ran across out here in the back of beyond were of a decidedly less educated bent, at least as far as academic learning went. Even though he hadn’t said much yet, Ezra’s vocabulary already far exceeded that of anyone you’d met.

“English literature,” Ezra panted. “I was going to be a professor. Leather patches on my elbows, maybe even take up smoking a pipe. Snifter of brandy and an armchair by the fireside, a pile of leather bound books at my side.”

“And here you are, in the middle of the woods,” you said. “Same as me.” You had just begun to think about the possibilities after high school when the world blew up in your face, every option gone. Survival had been the only thing worth pursuing.

“We are all in the middle of the woods, metaphorically speaking,” Ezra said.

“Is he always like this?,” you asked Cee.

“Yeah, but don’t hold it against him,” she said.

You reached the compound by mid morning. Carter and Sophia were still out, having headed off to hunt the same time you did, but the others were at home. The lodge had a stone gatehouse that had been purely decorative when built but was now the only way through the wall of logs and boulders and pieces of scrap metal that ringed the building. It wouldn’t keep out FEDRA or a mob of Infected, but it was sufficient against the few small groups of raiders that wandered through occasionally. 

Diane was on guard duty. “What the hell?,” she asked as you approached, Cee and Ezra a few steps behind you. 

“Found them out by the deer meadow,” you told her. “He’s injured. Figured we can spare a day or two of food and some first aid supplies.”

Diane nodded. “Yeah, least we can do. For the kid’s sake.” You lifted your eyebrows. Diane was a soft touch and you were glad she was the one at the gate. Some of the others would have turned Ezra and Cee away. Once they were inside, though, there wasn’t much anyone could do. Anyone inside the compound walls was safe, for a few days, at least.

You led Ezra and Cee through the gate and up to the front steps of the lodge. You turned Ezra over to Miguel, who had been an EMT once upon a time and was the de facto doctor for the group.

“He’ll take good care of him,” you told Cee. “Come with me and we’ll get you something to eat.” You led her to the kitchen, where you seated her at the battered butcher block table and sliced some bread, topping it with a dollop of wild berry preserves. “There will be something more substantial for dinner,” you promised. Once Cee had finished her first slice, you leaned closer.

“So, this Ezra fellow,” you said slowly. “He’s not your dad. Is everything … good between you?”

Cee made a face that implied you were an idiot. “There’s nothing creepy going on,” she said. 

You nodded. “Okay. You two been together long?”

She took a bite of her second slice of bread. “A few months,” she mumbled. 

“And were you alone before that?”

She swallowed. “With my dad.” She laid the bread down. “Look, my mom died a couple of years ago. Dad took it hard, got hooked on pills. FEDRA threatened to take me away from him, put me in one of their schools, so we left the QZ. He started working for the guys who were smuggling the pills in and we were traveling with them.

“A few months ago, they caught him stealing pills and kicked us out. We ran into Ezra and this other guy, Dad was going to do a smuggling run with them, but we got ambushed by some Infected. They killed Ezra’s partner and bit Dad. On the neck. Ezra shot him. He had to. There was no choice. And then we got out of there.” She shrugged. “Been traveling together ever since, trying to make it to the border. They say things aren’t quite as bad in Canada.”

You’d heard all the stories. Some said the Canadian authorities were less authoritarian than FEDRA, while others said they were worse. What you did know was that there was a settlement about a hundred miles west that traded with your compound and other small settlements, and they had connections to some groups in Canada. If anyone knew the truth, it would be them.

“Well, you’re safe for now,” you said. “We’ll get Ezra patched up before you move on.”

Cee crammed the last of the bread into her mouth. “Thanks,” she said once she’d swallowed enough to allow for words. “For the food. And for helping Ezra.”

“Speaking of him, I’d better go check with Miguel and see how he’s doing, then talk to Miriam. She and her husband are kind of in charge around here.”

“In charge like you elected them or in charge like ‘We love the leader’ kind of shit?”

You gave her a curious look and she shrugged. “We had a few Simpsons DVDs at my daycare when I was little,” she said. “They were better than the cheesy fairy tale cartoons. Mom always said they were Disney rip offs but I never saw any of the real Disney stuff, so I don’t know.”

You smiled at the memory of old Disney cartoons, but it was a bittersweet memory. They belonged to the time before cordyceps, when it was still possible to believe in happy endings. “You can stay here where it’s warm,” you told her. “We keep the kitchen fire going all the time but we don’t light the others unless we have to.” The lodge had a generator, but there hadn’t been any fuel for it for a very long time. 

You found Miguel, who had put Ezra into one of the bedrooms upstairs. “He lost quite a bit of blood,” Miguel told you, “but it looks like it’s healing well. No sign of infection. The kid did a good job.”

“She seems pretty resourceful,” you replied. “Think Miriam will let them stay?”

Miguel sighed. “Doubt it,” he said. “It’s his dominant arm so he can’t do much without a lot of therapy and training with that left hand. He’s a liability.”

“At least they’re under a roof for a few nights,” you said. “I feel sorry for the girl. Her folks are gone and now this.”

“We can’t save everyone,” Miguel said stoically. “You know that.”

You nodded. You knew it, but it didn’t mean you liked it.

“Miriam and Vincent are still doing the rounds,” Miguel said. They made an inspection of the entire compound every day, checking for weak spots in the barrier and making sure everything was working well, noting what needed repair or replacement. The couple was efficient and they ran the compound well. “You can go see our patient, if you want. I’ll let you know when they get back.”

You went upstairs and found Ezra tucked into bed, shirtless and with a fresh bandage on the stump of his arm. “Your estimable physician has proclaimed Cee’s amputation a qualified success,” he said. “Not nearly as clean as what could have been done with a scalpel, but I’ll survive, and that’s what’s important.” 

You felt awkward, standing by his bed. You couldn’t help but notice his broad shoulders, the little bare patch in his scruffy beard, his strong nose, the lock of blond hair that stood out so boldly against the rest of his dark hair. And most of all, his deep brown eyes, which even as he lay in a sickbed contained a spark of mischief. 

“I’m glad,” you said. “Cee’s downstairs in the kitchen. It’s warm there, and I fed her.” You shivered a little. The bedrooms did not have fireplaces and it got quite cold upstairs. “You warm enough? I can probably find you a clean shirt, or another blanket.”

Ezra smiled and you felt a tingle inside that you hadn’t felt in years. “A blanket around my shoulders would suffice,” he said. The look in his eyes implied he could think of other ways to keep warm in bed, and that sent a rush of warmth to your face. He was charming, to say the least.

You fetched a blanket from the storage closet and carefully tucked it around him, trying to ignore his pleased smirk as you leaned over him. “You could use a bath,” you said.

“Is that an offer?”

“It’s a statement of fact,” you said. “You and Cee both have been out in the woods too long.” You wrinkled your nose dramatically. 

“Unlike yourself, who spent the morning at the beauty parlor,” Ezra replied. 

Your hand went to your hair, which was, as usual, pulled back in a utilitarian style, with a few rogue strands escaping here and there. “I had a bath two days ago,” you said. “A proper bath, with hot water.”

Ezra smiled lazily. “That brings quite a pretty image to my mind,” he said. 

“Don’t be creepy,” you replied.

“I was referring to the steam rising from a bath full of hot water,” he protested. “So inviting for a weary body suffering from the travails of life. I can just imagine slipping beneath the surface of the water, letting the warmth soothe my sore muscles.” He winked. “The thought of your naked body was completely secondary to my craving for the creature comforts of hot water.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” you said. “About the hot water,” you added after he raised an eyebrow. Oh, this one was trouble, but in a good way. It had been far too long since you’d met someone who appealed to you. The handful of men in the compound were your friends, nothing more. 

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

“He can’t stay.” Miriam was blunt, as always.

“I know they can’t stay for long, but …”

Miriam cut you off. “He can’t stay. Period. He leaves tomorrow.”

“He’s not strong enough. Miguel said he lost a lot of blood. He’ll need a while to build his strength back up. And with only one arm …”

Miriam held up her hand. “I talked to Miguel. He made all the same arguments and then some. I understand your compassion, but I have to think of the welfare of everyone in this compound.” She closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “Vincent and I learned the hard way that we need to be pragmatic if we’re going to keep this place afloat. We almost lost everything in the early years. I don’t want to have to tell people I care about that there’s no food. I don’t want to have to watch people die again.”

You knew that arguing was useless. “What about the girl?”

“We can probably stretch to accommodate her,” Miriam admitted. “She can do some of the work around the compound, freeing up another person to hunt and forage. It’s the best I can do. I’m sorry.”

“He’ll die. All alone out there with only one arm and winter coming on.”

“I know.”

“She’ll want to go with him, and then they’ll both die. You want that on your conscience?”

Miriam looked up at you, her eyes wet. “Better them than you,” she said softly. “Better them than Vincent or Miguel or Carly or …”

Now you cut her off. “I know, I know.” Life was so much harsher now. A lot of people had basically gone feral, letting their baser instincts take over. You were lucky to have landed somewhere filled with people who still had some decency. The compound was a small haven against Infected and raiders and the other dangers out there. Still, life was hard. And it had just gotten harder.

“I’ll let you tell them,” Miriam said. “It’ll come easier from someone they already know.”

“So that’s it. He leaves and he dies, or they both leave and they both die.”

“We only have two choices here,” Miriam said. “Neither one is good.”

“What if there was a third choice?”

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

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Ezra told Cee. The three of you were in his temporary bedroom.

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” she corrected.

He shook his head. “No, birdie, you’re staying here.”

She looked at you, her eyes fierce. “You said we could stay a few days.”

“Miriam said no,” you said. “He has to leave in the morning.”

“But he’ll die out there by himself,” Cee said. 

“I know,” you said. “That’s why I’m going with him.”

Now Cee was gaping at you like you’d sprouted a second head. “What? No.” She shook her head. “Okay … okay, we’ll all go.”

Now it was your turn to shake your head. “No, just me and Ezra. Look, the compound can’t spare any supplies so we’ll have to hunt and forage for food. I can manage to feed one or two people while traveling but not three.” You laid a hand on her shoulder. “I promise I’ll take care of him. There’s a big settlement about a hundred miles from here. We’ll go there. Ezra can rest and recover there over the winter. If we get there fast enough, and the weather holds, I’ll be back and you and I can make the trip in the spring. If not, I’ll stay the winter there and we’ll both come back for you in the spring. Miriam will make sure you’re safe here until then.”

“Ezra, tell her this is stupid,” Cee cried.

“It is not stupid,” he said carefully. “It is incredibly wise. If you join us in this trek, I will waste sorely needed energy worrying about your well being. Knowing you are safe and secure here will allow me to concentrate on my own survival. I am responsible for you, birdie, in loco parentis. I could never forgive myself if I led you to your doom when I could have left you snugly here.”

“You’ll have to help out around the compound,” you said, “but that’ll make time go by faster. You’ll be fine.”

“I’m not worried about me,” Cee said. “I’m worried about Ezra.”

“He’ll be fine as well,” you told her. “I promise. I know my way around out here. I’m a good shot, a good hunter. I’m his best chance at survival. Now I suggest you both get some sleep. I’ll be back early in the morning.” 

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

Your pack was woefully light when you slung in onto your shoulder. No food, just a change of clothing, a box of matches, ammunition for the rifle, a couple of snares … It felt foolish setting out with a one-armed stranger with winter so close, but it was the only way to keep Cee from following him, the only way to ensure that she was as safe as possible. You’d been hardened by everything that had happened since the cordyceps outbreak, but you weren’t hard enough to let a child die needlessly.

Ezra had an even lighter pack. You wanted him to conserve his strength. He carried some lightweight cooking utensils: a pan, a pot, a couple of spoons and forks. And a knife, strapped to his left leg where it would be handy. 

“Be careful,” Cee told him. 

“I will,” he said. “Don’t worry about me.” He smiled at her and she threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“We should go,” you said. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover. I want to make camp early so I can set out some snares, catch us a rabbit or something for tomorrow.”  Miriam had given you both extra portions at breakfast, knowing the meal would have to hold you for quite some time. 

“I defer to your expertise in woodcraft,” Ezra said with a nod. “Behave yourself, birdie. I don’t want to return to reports of your hooliganism.”

Cee rolled her eyes. “Behave yourself, Ezra,” she replied. “He thinks he’s charming but he’s really more of an asshole.”

“Language,” Ezra admonished. “Such foul words are unseemly coming from a youthful mouth.”

“We’ll be fine,” you said. “Come on, Mister Charming Asshole. Let’s go.”

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

Ezra held up better than you’d expected. Still, by late afternoon you could tell that he was getting tired. You had covered quite a few miles, although not in a straight line, due to the roughness of the terrain. When you reached a small creek, you scouted out a good place to set up camp.

“I’ll put out some snares, hopefully we’ll have a rabbit or two by morning,” you said. You had been on the watch for game all day but Ezra wasn’t as stealthy as you had learned to be and you hadn’t seen anything larger than a squirrel. 

It was a cold and hungry camp, but you’d been in that position many times before. “I’ll take first watch,” you told Ezra. He needed rest after all the walking and would be more likely to nod off than you. 

“Much obliged,” he said as he curled up in his bedroll. “I know this is quite an imposition on you, and I am grateful you did not just throw me to the wolves.”

You shrugged. “I did it for Cee,” you said. “She would have followed you.”

“She would indeed,” Ezra said. “A rare gem is that girl. Many would have already broken after some of the things she has seen and endured. Yet she still has hope in this weary world.”

“Well, she’s right about one thing. You do talk a lot. Get some sleep.”

The woods were quiet as you kept watch, one hand on your rifle. When the soft sound of snoring began to rise from Ezra’s bedroll, you smiled. 

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

The days fell into a routine. Up early, check the snares, skin and gut and cook whatever you had caught (if you were lucky). Eat, break camp, walk as due west as possible. Set up camp in the late afternoon, eat anything you’d managed to forage throughout the day, then an hour or two of conversation before Ezra retired. You were getting by on very few hours of sleep, and even those were light, as you didn’t trust Ezra’s left handed handling of the rifle to protect you both. And you were letting him have the lion’s share of the food, since he was still recovering from the amputation.

“Perhaps we should take a day of rest,” Ezra suggested one evening. “You are wearing yourself to the bone, birdie.”

“We don’t know how long the weather will hold,” you replied. “I’d rather push on and get to the settlement. If we do a layover day, we might regret it.”

In truth, you were tempted. A few more hours of sleep, the chance to do some real hunting … and more importantly, more time to just be with Ezra, who despite Cee’s playful description was less an asshole than a thoroughly charming, flirtatious gentleman. There were sparks between the two of you that could easily be fanned into flame, but there really wasn’t time for that, not with winter weather looming over you and miles of rough ground to cover.

“As you wish,” he said. “You do know best in this situation. I am still quite a fish out of water.”

“You managed to survive just fine up until recently,” you pointed out. A lot of people hadn’t made it much past outbreak day; you did your best not to remember just how many people had disappeared from your life over the years. 

“Sheer luck and pomposity,” he said lightly. “I bluffed my way into the protection of some dubious folk and kept my wits about me, that’s all. Many’s the time I almost shuffled off this mortal coil, surviving merely through the whims of fate or a perverse deity.”

“Let’s hope that luck holds,” you said, sniffing at the air. “It smells like rain and the last thing we need is hypothermia.���

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

The weather had turned colder but the threatening clouds had yet to reach you as you toiled through a particularly overgrown patch of woods. This area was in need of a good fire to clear out the underbrush. 

“The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak,” Ezra sighed as he slumped against a snapped off tree trunk. “I fear I am only slowing you down.”

“We’ll stop and rest for a bit,” you said. You were breathing hard after fighting your way through the latest thicket. “If we’re where I think we are, we should be reaching an old road soon. We’ll be able to travel faster along it. And there’s a better chance of finding decent shelter if that storm ever arrives.”

The traders who visited the compound every year used the roads a lot, and had told you about some of the abandoned buildings they used for shelter. Not every old building was safe; they were all deteriorating to some extent, and some had been taken over by raiders or even nests of Infected. Anything with a blue blaze painted on the eastern side was still useable. 

While you rested, you watched Ezra. He had his eyes closed, leaning back against the tree. He looked strong — and he was — but there was still a hollowness to his features that made you want to wrap him in a blanket and feed him soup and hot biscuits until he had regained his full strength. If the weather turned, and you had to stay at the settlement with him until spring, you would have the chance to do just that. You felt a pang of guilt at the thought of Cee alone at the compound all winter, but either way they would have to spend the season apart, and you selfishly hoped you’d be with him rather than with her.

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

You found the road about an hour later. You were able to move a lot faster, but it also meant you were completely exposed when the storm hit, arriving without even a preliminary drizzle. One moment the skies were merely ominous; the next, you were engulfed in an icy downpour that soaked through your clothes in minutes.

“We need to find shelter,” you yelled in Ezra’s ear. The rain was loud and drowned out everything. Although the odds of anything or anyone being out hunting in this were low, you’d never hear them if they were, and the threat of hypothermia was very real.

You stumbled along the road, dodging potholes full of water and rivulets of mud that streamed from the shoulder. It would be marginally drier under the trees, but speed was of the essence now, since you were both already completely drenched. You started to shiver and the icy jolt of genuine fear shot through your body. You could die out here, and very quickly, if you didn’t find shelter soon.

“Over there!” Ezra yelled. He pointed at a rutted driveway, little wider than a walking path. A rusty mailbox hung from a post. There was a smear of blue paint on the side of it.

The driveway was short, maybe a quarter mile at the most, and ended at a log cabin that looked like it had been built of Lincoln Logs. It was tiny and saggy and overgrown with moss and brambles, but there was another stripe of blue paint on the eastern wall. Your hands shook with cold as you fumbled with the doorknob, and for a moment you thought it might be locked. When you got the door open, the sense of relief that flooded you brought tears to your eyes.

It was cold inside, but dry. There was a wood stove, a box full of split logs, a bed with a stack of blankets neatly piled in the center, and a note lying on the table. 

“Take what you need, we’ll restock in the spring.” Below the words was a drawing of a bird rising from flames.

“A phoenix,” Ezra said, his teeth chattering.

“Thank goodness,” you said. “That’s the symbol of the group we trade with. They try to spread a little kindness wherever they go. Humanity rising from the ashes, that sort of thing. And speaking of fire, let me get one going. We need to get warm.”

You laid a fire and only used three matches to light the kindling. You were really starting to shake now. “It’ll get warm fast, but we need to get out of these wet clothes.”

Ezra nodded toward his right shoulder. “I may need a little help,” he said.

You knelt down and untied his boots for him, helping him out of them and his soaking wet socks. Next came his sweater, shirt and pants. His skin was clammy and cold. “Please don’t judge too harshly,” he said as your hand hesitated near the waistband of his underwear. “It’s really cold.”

It would have been flirty and funny if he hadn’t been shivering so hard. “Then we’d better get you warmed up,” you said, stripping off his well worn boxers and tactfully averting your eyes as you grabbed a blanket to wrap him in. “Sit next to the stove.”

You quickly stripped down to bare skin yourself, eager for the warmth of the wool blanket and not giving a damn what he saw. It was life or death at the moment. Anything else could wait until you knew if you were going to survive the night. 

Once you had a dry blanket wrapped around you, you turned your thoughts to the other key element of life: food. There was a cupboard on the wall behind the stove and it was well-stocked.

“Beans. Potatoes. Onions. Cornmeal.” You nodded. “I can work with this.”  The food was not fancy, simple staples with a long shelf life, but there was plenty of it. There was even a large stock pot and a cast iron skillet as well as a few mismatched utensils. 

Soon the stove was radiating heat and you had a pot of potatoes boiling away, as well as some beans soaking. “We’ll cook the beans tomorrow, they take too long, but we’ll have potatoes tonight,” you said. 

Ezra was huddled in his chair, as close to the stove as he could get without singeing his blanket. “Hey,” you said, shaking him gently. “Don’t go to sleep on me. We’ve got a fire and food.”

He smiled sleepily. “Just so cold,” he muttered. 

You grabbed the last blanket from the bed and pulled it around both of you. “Come here,” you said. “Let’s warm you up.” Skin to skin contact was the best cure for hypothermia and you opened your blanket to envelop him. His skin was like ice. “Shit.”

While the potatoes bubbled cheerily away, you concentrated on transferring as much of your own body warmth as you could to Ezra. “Stay with me,” you told him. “Just a little bit longer and those potatoes will be cooked and we’ll get some hot food inside you.” You could feel the warmth from the stove but Ezra’s body was sucking the heat out of you as fast as you could absorb more from the fire. Slowly, though, he was beginning to warm up. He burrowed his fingers under your arm, tucked his feet between your calves.

“Not exactly how I envisioned this moment, birdie,” he said, his nose tracing a cold path along your neck as he sought the warmest spot.

“After we eat, we can do this properly, in bed,” you promised. “Nothing like a little exercise to warm up the muscles, right?” He simply hummed against your throat, sending shivers through your body that had nothing to do with the cold.

After a bit, you untangled yourself to check on the food. The potatoes were soft and billows of steam rose from them as you lifted them out onto the plates and added a bit of salt and pepper. “Not fancy, but they’re hot.” 

The first bite burned your tongue but the warmth felt so good traveling down into your stomach. Ezra groaned with pleasure as he swallowed. “That, my dearest, is the best thing I have ever eaten. Plain, hot, nourishing food is a delight to a starving man.” He shoveled another bite into his mouth. “Just as the sight of you is a delight to one who suffers from another kind of hunger.”

You laughed. Your hair was still damp, tangled and stuck to your skin. The blanket that was haphazardly wrapped around you was not flattering in the least, and you were still so cold that only a few patches of skin were exposed to the air. “I look like a drowned rat,” you said.

“A beautiful drowned rat,” he replied. “A rat of great courage and intelligence and one blessed with every endowment a male rat could long for.”

“Enough with the rat metaphor, or you’ll be sleeping alone,” you said, trying to hide the smile that his unorthodox flirting had brought to your lips. 

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day instead?”

“Ah, Shakespeare, that’s much better.” You took another bite of potato, listening to Ezra recite sonnets while he ate, his eyes constantly flicking over you, gauging your reaction. You let your own eyes roam over his body. With only one arm, and that occupied with his fork, his blanket had slipped off his left shoulder, exposing a great deal of his chest. He looked like some ancient bard, spinning tales before the fire.

When the food was gone, you nodded toward the bed. “Get in. I’m going to stoke the fire and I’ll join you in a minute.” You added wood to the stove and draped all the wet clothes over the chairs and table so they could dry better. Then you joined Ezra in bed.

“I cannot guarantee my performance, most precious,” he said as you curled against him in a nest of blankets. 

“Neither can I,” you replied. “I’m bone tired and have a full stomach for the first time in ages.” You stifled a yawn.

“I would suggest we wait until morning, when we have both been restored by the balm of sleep,” he said, fingers trailing lightly down the side of your face to your shoulder and then lower. “But I have been thinking of this moment ever since I knew you were not going to blow my head off with that gun of yours.”

“So have I,” you said, cupping his chin in your hand, pulling his face closer so you could brush your lips against his. And with that, you found that Ezra was quite capable of expressing himself without words, his lips useful for more than sweet talk, his left hand still dexterous enough to tease your skin with delicate touches, and the rest of him … well, the rest of him was exactly as you could have hoped, and fit your body like a missing puzzle piece.

Neither of you was able to stay awake for more than a few hazy minutes afterward, but it was warm and cozy in the cabin, the rain still pounding on the roof. “We’ll have that layover day tomorrow,” you muttered.

“A lazy day in bed will do us a world of good,” Ezra replied. Then you felt him relax against you, the weight of sleep pulling you both down.

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

In the morning, the storm had passed, but the world was covered in ice. “Couldn’t move on if we wanted to,” you commented. “Good thing we have other plans.”

You built up the fire, chopped some onions and started a pot of beans cooking and then crawled back into bed. Ezra wrapped himself around you and picked up where you had left off the night before. You spent the day alternating between making love and taking naps, and both were delightful. 

“Maybe,” Ezra said as you laid your head against his chest, “once the winter is over, and Cee and I are reunited, you might consider throwing your lot in with ours.”

“That would be nice,” you said. You knew it was silly to get so far ahead of yourselves. You’d only known him less than  a couple of weeks and sexual attraction was not a good basis for a long-term relationship, but something about it felt right. You had been alone for so long, even while living in the compound. The prospect of a new life, with Ezra and Cee, was dazzling. Just like the icescape outside. Dazzling, but potentially dangerous.

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

The next day, with full bellies and a new bond, you set out again for the settlement. The weather was colder, the road slick with patches of ice and puddles of frigid water that soaked through your boots, but you had a warmth inside you that had no weather could suppress. As you walked, you and Ezra chatted quietly, exchanging stories about your lives before the cordyceps outbreak and your moon-eyed plans for the future. But at night, as you huddled beside a tiny fire, the rifle laid across your lap and his head resting against your thigh, you talked about life after Outbreak Day.

“Cee said you were with some smugglers,” you said.

“Only out of necessity,” Ezra said. “I did what I had to in order to survive. Unfortunately, my dove, that included thievery and assault, but never murder, if that assuages your heart a bit.”

“You killed Cee’s father.”

“A mercy killing. I saw — and committed — my fair share of those over the years.” He sighed. “It is a harsh world we inhabit. We have had to harden our souls to survive it.”

You toyed with his hair. “Do you think they’ll ever find a cure? Or a treatment? Maybe there’s someone out there who’s immune.”

“If there is, I wish them all the luck left on this sorry planet,” he said. “There are more dangers than cordyceps infection out there.”

“Maybe Cee will live to see it,” you mused. “Even if we don’t.”

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

You were falling in love with Ezra. Every step, every day, you found yourself thinking about him more and more. It was dangerous to let your mind wander, but you couldn’t help it. Just walking beside him made you flutter inside like a stupid teenager. Every smile, every brush of his hand against yours, every quick press of his lips on your skin, made you giddy. Still, neither of you was naive enough to let your guard down completely. You still set a watch at night, sleeping in turns, and you hadn’t indulged in anything more than a kiss since the night in the cabin. 

“So, do you think the weather will allow you to return to Cee or will I get the pleasure of your company through the winter?” Ezra was trudging along, eyes on the uneven ground in front of him.

“I’m not sure,” you said truthfully, looking up at the overcast sky. “We should only have a couple of days left before we reach the settlement. We can ask them what they think. They know this area better than we do.” 

A few minutes later, the first snowflakes began to drift down. “I should not have mentioned the weather,” Ezra said. “I have tempted fate.”

The snow came down slowly but steadily for the rest of the day. You managed to build a rough shelter out of pine boughs to keep the worst of it off that night, but it was too wet for a fire. The night was long and cold. In the morning, you set off again, leaving tracks in the fresh blanket of snow. 

After another long slog, you crested a rise and saw a welcome sight: smoke rising from behind a tall wooden palisade. You checked the height of the sun. “If we push ourselves, we can make it before nightfall,” you said. “How does hot food and a warm bed sound?”

Ezra grinned. “Like heaven on earth, especially with you beside me.”

You were tired and panting by the time you had the settlement clearly in view. You should have been paying more attention to your surroundings, but you were exhausted and lulled by the promise of shelter and food and another night in bed with Ezra. You didn’t hear the unearthly shriek until it was too late. You whirled around and saw them. A small pack of Infected, lurching with unnatural speed, following your tracks.

“Go, go, go!” You screamed at Ezra, shoving him ahead of you. You slid your rifle around, just in case, but you knew your only hope lay in speed. If you could get to the settlement wall before the Runners caught up to you, the sentries (oh, God, you hoped there were sentries!) could pick them off. If you were lucky.

You ran, your head swiveling back and forth to keep both Ezra and the Runners in your sight. Suddenly, the ground gave way and you and Ezra plummeted into darkness. The rifle flew out of your hands and disappeared.

“What the hell?”

It was a trench, hidden by the blanket of fresh snow. Seven or eight feet deep and stretching a dozen yards or so before dead ending. You were trapped.

Ezra scanned the walls. “You can climb out,” he said, nodding toward a jumble of rocks and sheared off tree roots that dotted the wall.

“You can’t,” you said. With only one arm, he’d never be able to scramble up the vertical wall.

“I cannot,” he said sadly. “But you can. Go, sweet birdie. And tell Cee I’m sorry.”

The Runners shrieked again, a note of triumph in their uncanny voices. They were close.

“I can’t leave you,” you said, your sight already blurred with tears. 

“You can and you will,” Ezra said. He shrugged off his pack and kicked it toward you. His eyes were hard. “I always knew my luck would run out, but I was gifted two lovely friends before the end. Take care of her.” He kissed you, whispering your name, before he pushed you away. “Go.”

You grabbed his pack and slung it over your shoulder. You began to climb the half-frozen wall of dirt, clods breaking off under your fingertips, but you managed to  find toe and hand holds here and there. It was a blur, your world narrowed down to the wall in front of your face, the shrieks of the Runners getting louder behind you. You were panicked, a prey animal desperate to escape.

Suddenly, your hands reached the top of the trench. You scrambled out, running almost before your feet hit solid ground. You ran and ran, a terrible noise in the air that you realized after a moment was coming from you. A scream of terror and grief that drowned out the shrieks of the Infected and the shouts of the people who were running towards you.

Someone grabbed you by the arms and guided you toward the palisade wall. “He’s in there,” you cried. “Save him. Save him.”

“We’ll try,” someone said. But you could tell from the tone of their voice that it was too late. 

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

You had always loved these trees. They were the first ones to leaf out in the spring, and clearly visible from almost anywhere in the compound. Normally, your heart sang with joy when you saw them, but today you felt only dread. The leaves were too bright. They hurt your eyes.

Cee came running out of the compound gates but stopped short when she realized you were alone. “Where — where’s Ezra?”

You didn’t have to answer. She already knew. You ushered her inside before you sat her down and told her, calmly and dispassionately, what had happened. How you and Ezra had fallen into the trench, how you had escaped, and he hadn’t. How the people of the Phoenix settlement had taken you in, cleaned you up, fed you, bandaged your wounds, and left you alone to grieve. How, a few days later, a patrol had encountered a group of Infected hiding a quarter mile away and put them down. How you had been led to the site to identify the one with a missing arm and a patch of blond hair still visible amongst the tendrils that had begun to sprout from its brain. How the bodies had been burnt, as usual, but Ezra’s had been separated, his bones and ashes carefully gathered into a plain wooden box that had been brought to you. How your new friends had dug a grave in the half-frozen ground and helped you inter the remains. 

You did not tell her about the nightmares, the recriminations you heaped upon yourself, the guilt you felt about not saving him. About the jealousy and hatred you felt for ordinary people going about their lives, men and women, fathers and daughters, who drew your irrational wrath just because they were alive and happy. About the nights you had lain awake, your tears spent, just existing until it was time to rise and get to work. You spared her all that. She had her own grief to shoulder.

“So what happens now?” Cee asked when you were done.

“That’s up to you,” you told her. “He asked me to look after you. So I will. We can stay here, if you want, or —“

“I want to see his grave,” Cee interrupted. “I want to go where he is. Then … then we can decide.”

You nodded. “We’ll leave in the morning.”

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

It was a pretty spot, on a small rise just outside the walls of the Phoenix settlement. A meadow of wildflowers, dotted with stones marking the resting places of those who had left loved ones behind. You led Cee to a raw chunk of granite, carved simply with one word: EZRA

“I didn’t know his last name,” you explained.

“Me either,” she confessed. “It didn’t seem important.” Her hand slipped into yours. “You loved him, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did. I only knew him a couple of weeks but …”

She nodded. “I only knew him a few months, but he was special.” She sighed deeply. “I want to stay here. Near him. My mom was buried by FEDRA; they never told us which graveyard. And my dad … Ezra and I buried him out there in the woods, where he died. I couldn’t find it again if I tried. But this place … I can remember them all here.”

“It’s a good place,” you said. “They welcomed me, helped me heal. And there are young people, a school … I think Ezra and your parents would be happy to see you here.”

“What about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want to be here? Reminded of him all the time? If it’s too hard, we can go somewhere else.”

“I want you to be happy,” you told her. “I want Ezra to be happy. I want … me to be happy.” You took a deep breath. “He and I talked about starting a new life here, the three of us. I wanted it so much. And this might not be exactly how we envisioned it but … I think we can make it work.”

Cee hugged you and you let your tears fall for the first time since you’d gone back for her. You had lost so much, both of you, but you’d found this, a glimmer of hope in the ashes of the world. You’d found each other. 

[milkymoon2483]

Kiss it better

Pairing: Jake Lockley x female reader

Summary: This fic explores cheating from the cheater’s perspective. You are a wife and mother, content with your life…until something awakens within you, and it will not go back to sleep. 

Rating: 18 + Minors DNI, this stuff is for grown-ups

Warnings: Angst galore, Cheating, infidelity, SMUT, Unprotected P in V (reader makes all sorts of bad decisions folks).

Dedications:

Thank you miss @cozykalii for sending me down the fanfic rabbit hole all those months ago. Thank you Cici @astroboots for being amazing and for answering all of my asks. Thank you bestie (you know who you are) for helping me bring this baby out.  ;-) Thank you @foxilayde for allowing me to tag you, and for the amazing stuff you write. Lastly, English is not my first language, Spanish is not even my 4th (thanks Google Translate) I tried my very best. 

Word count: ~8500

You were watching TV while mindlessly playing on your phone when it happened, you looked at the screen and the broad chest was the first thing that caught your attention, the camera moved down to his big veiny hands as he grabbed the weapon. Sweat glistened on his face, collecting in the cupid’s bow above his lips. You didn't know the actor’s name but you watched breathlessly, the surge of heat to your core was immediate. Oh my goodness.. you whispered under your breath. You wanted to lick the beads of sweat off his lips and take his thick fingers into your mouth, watch him gaze at you lustfully. Your husband’s snores from the other side of the couch  informed you that any satisfaction you were after would need to be achieved independently.

Not that he would be much help anyway…

It’s not that you didn’t love him or were not content with your life, it’s just that your sex life was never perticularly exciting. And it got much less so after the birth of your son. Babies would do that to you.

You knew you had everything that anyone could even want; A loving husband, a wonderful smart kid, a great job and a big beautiful house. You were happy to settle and keep your sexdrive in some hidden drawer at the back of your mind, stuffed behind embarrassing memories and questionable decisions. However that night it crept right back out, like a pest you could not get rid of, demanding your attention.

The batteries in your vibrator ran out the following week. You looked at the anatomically accurate member with disappointment. Feeling both frustrated at the sudden loss of pleasurable vibrations and ashamed at the amount of times you've abused it. You had plenty of orgazms but it was clear to you that you barely began to scratch your itch, you needed more. 

You wished you could dream about it. Even just once, you wished your mind would conjure a proper erotic dream. That would be enough for you, with all of your daydreaming and longing and inappropriate googling, you'd think that it would be able to come up with a decent dream. Alas your realm of dreams was filled with random stressful scenarios. 

You would find yourself on the streets naked (not in a sexy way), or you'd forget to pick up your kid from daycare, or you would leave something on the stove for too long, causing your entire house to engulf in flames. “Some very anxiety-ridden-demented-senile shit” as you described it to a friend. 

Any semi-sexual dreams would almost always be about rejection, or dissatisfaction, or the inability to have any privacy. They would almost always feature your husband. Because apparently your sleeping brain couldn't be bothered to keep up with your very filthy and creative waking brain. It had a very impressive curated selection of men to choose from, but it went with the blob snoring next to you. All you wanted is to be properly fucked, licked, adored, desired…to feel the delicious weight of a man on top of you as he glides into you, his kisses flowing from your mouth to your jawline and to the neck, him whispering softly how good you make him feel, how soft and sweet and wet you are for him…and a dream would do. You could live with a memory of it, it would possibly sustain you just for a little bit longer, maybe would quench your thirst, even slightly. 

*******

You were on your second chocolate bar of the day, looking at Vivienne typing away on her computer. She looked you up and down, judging silently your choice of afternoon snack. 

She's always on some diet or another. Probably explains the constant resting bitch face. 

You however, have been replacing sex with chocolate for weeks now, attempting to fend off the intrusive thoughts and somehow satisfy the hunger that was pulsating inside of you, permanent and relentless. 

The evening came quickly, you were grateful work managed to keep your mind busy. You were yawning repeatedly while trying to catch a cab. After waking up at 5AM that morning and working for 10 hours, the exhaustion was making your eyes sting. The rush hour meant that it would take some time, but to your surprise not a minute passed before a cab stopped.

The smell hit you as soon as you sat down. Musky masculine cologne mixed with something fresh and minty, and the faintest scent of a man, ghost like, almost as if you could smell his pheromones. You inhaled sharply, breathing in the scent. It brought back a memory that you couldn’t quite place. You never had a date that smelled this amazing, let alone a cab driver. “Where to miss?” the driver asked, his voice husky with a hint of an accent. You gave him your address, piercing brown eyes gazed at you from the rear view mirror. 

He drove silently through the dark streets, gentle Spanish music was playing in the background, the backseat was very spacious, dimly lit, you began to doze off, surrendering to the fatigue that had built up throughout the day.

Jake looked through the mirror, you were leaning on your palm, breathing peacefully. 

Your delicate neck was exposed, and he noticed the slight cleavage of your button-down top. You looked tired, but serene. 

He usually drove in silence, not eager to share his thoughts on current affairs or to have to listen to people’s problems. You seemed to appreciate it, as you fell asleep within minutes. He smiled to himself. He wished for a moment all of his passengers were asleep, which would have made the job much easier.

Jake parked the cab in front of your house, the suburban street was quiet. 

“Miss? Miss?... We're here, miss, wake up”

You did not budge, your breath heavy and steady. He waited a few more seconds, inspecting your sleeping body. Your head was still leaning on your palm, hair softly cascading down your shoulders. There was something picturesque about your pose. You looked like a painting or a photograph. 

"Necesito despertarla.. mierda" (I need to wake her, shit) 

You stirred when his large gloved hand touched your knee gently “Miss, wake up please” Now you could see his face, stern but handsome. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry” you finally came to it, his gaze felt heavy on your skin. Penetrating. You apologized profusely and opened the cab door to exit.

“It’s ok, buenas noches” he said, a faint smile on his lips did not reach his eyes.

You quickly bid him farewell, missing the lovely smell as soon as you exited the cab. 

*********

The next time you entered the cab Jake recognized you right away. “Buenos días, bella durmiente” (Good morning, sleeping beauty). He seemed quite pleased to see you. 

You recognized him too. He could see you take a deep breath as you sat down, closing your eyes at the beautiful masculine scent. A warmth pooled in your core. Am I getting turned on just by this guy’s smell? 

“Buenos dias to you too” you chuckled shyly. Gosh that sounds wrong with my accent.

“Hope you slept well, where can I take you?” 

You gave him the address, not saying anything else as you felt yourself actually becoming nervous. He drove silently for a while, but the nervousness continued. 

A song Jake loved came on the radio and he began to sing along quietly. Your eyes lifted to him and your ears perked up. 

His voice was beautiful and smooth, less deep than you thought it would be, a lovely tenor. You smiled to yourself as he sang, the Spanish flowing from his mouth so effortlessly. You finally worked up the courage to compliment him, but you waited until the song finished. He seemed to be enjoying it too much for you to disturb.

 “You have a great voice” You finally said. “Gracias, miss….?” He replied, with a genuine smile this time.

“I’m Y/N…. You also smell really good… I mean your car…CAB. Your cab smells really good”.

You felt yourself blush, cheeks heating up immediately after the words left your mouth. God that was embarrassing.

Jake chuckled “Thanks, sweetheart”

Sweetheart… you couldn’t help but smile to yourself.

He took the opportunity to look at you again for a brief moment, he saw you tucking your hair behind your ear. Light catching on the golden band on your ring finger, face blooming in a shade of pink.

“Im Jake, encantada de conocerte” 

“Nice to meet you too…?” You were not sure you understood but you guessed your best. Suddenly eager to learn Spanish.

“Ci, That’s right.”

“Maybe you should teach me some more Spanish, at least while I’m here”

Ok now you're FLIRTING…? You obviously forgot how to.. 

“Well I charge extra for that. Es muy caro” 

He's flirting back..? 

“I bet you do. Guess we’ll have to stick to English then”

“Or agree on a payment plan, I can give you a discount” He chuckled.Oh, he IS flirting back.

The tone between you two was playful, laced with just enough suggestion, and you were loving every minute of it. It felt like it’s been forever since you properly flirted with a man, and a warm feeling bloomed in your belly. 

When he stopped in front of your office building you were disappointed that you actually had to get off. 

He turned back, reaching out a gloved hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you” you said playfully, reaching your hand to him, expecting a handshake.

He took it gently, turned it and placed a peck on the back of your hand. 

Heat rose to your face and you giggled. 

Well HE obviously didn't forget how to flirt.

When you exited the cab you allowed yourself to smile fully, exhilarated by the exchange between the two of you. Ok calm down. He’s a cab driver, probably flirts all the time with his clients, just some harmless fun. He probably knows that women fall for the sexy Spanish shtick. 

You giggled to yourself as you repeated the words “sexy Spanish shtick” out loud. Giddy like a goddamn teenager.

Later you replayed the whole conversation in your head, overthinking as usual, you tried not to let it get out of proportion, it’s just that it’s been so fucking long since you felt noticed and desired, you were ready to cling to any interaction that made you feel like that.

Some low hanging fruit you are.. you told yourself, wondering if you cooperated too quickly, if the whole exchange made you look pathetic. 

It was hard to admit to yourself that you needed to be desired by men, other than the one you married. It felt juvenile, greedy even. Even when you did come to terms with it , it was clear to you that it was obviously limited to looks and words, you didn't plan on acting on any of it.

**********

The heatwave was washing over the city, laying thick like a heavy blanket you could not shake off. July was merciless, and the mid- day sun burnt so bright it caused heat to reflect from the scorching pavement.

You’ve spent all morning running errands, and now you were finally done at the market, making your way back to the bus stop. Your work did not cover cab fare on weekends and the bus ride wasn’t too long. The 5 minute walk to the station was, however, much longer than you imagined. With the heavy bags in your hands cutting the circulation to your fingers, your dress sticking to your body, sweat pooling on your back, and the blazing sun above, you felt as if you were about to melt into the sidewalk. You imagined yourself turning into a puddle, and then evaporating quickly under the blazing heat. 

BEEP BEEP 

The sound jolted you, you looked to your left as the cab window rolled down.

“Need a ride?” Jake smiled

Your core went all jittery at the sound of his voice. You'd clap with excitement like a baby seal if your hands were free…calm your tits.

“Hey Jake! I’m actually walking to the bus stop, it’s just around the corner”

You hoped he would insist.

“Come on, it’s on my way, I’ll drop you off”.

“How do you know it’s on your way? I haven't told you were I was going”

You just couldn’t resist teasing him.

“No seas un sabelotodo. You’re melting, get in” (don't be a smartass)

“If you insist… I AM actually melting”

Jake opened the driver’s door, he walked up to you and grabbed the grocery bags to put them in the back. You were finally able to get a good look at him. He was wearing a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, with a black tie. Hat and gloves still in place, defiant against the scorching heat. You couldn't help yourself from sneaking a good look at his butt. His dark jeans complimented his ample ass and thick thighs. 

“Get in the front seat, the AC is much stronger” 

You nodded and got in, the heavenly smell filling your lungs again, a bit stronger now that you sat closer to him.

Jake cranked up the AC as you leaned in, lifting your hair up, relishing in the breeze, albeit artificial. Your neck arched back, exposing more skin to the cooling air. You closed your eyes and a satisfied hum left your lips.

Jake was careful not to stare, but he couldn’t help but notice the way your neck was exposed completely, your skin glistening with sweat. Your dress rode up slightly when you sat down, revealing a little more of your thigh. 

A few seconds passed before he remembered he actually needed to drive.

“Where to, miss Y/N?” He asked

“Home please, the address is..”

“I remember where that is”  “You must have a great memory then, because in this heat I barely remember”

“I try to remember the important stuff” 

Jake replied, a small grin adorned his lips and you grinned right back, avoiding his eyes. That would be much too intense and you were already boiling. 

When you arrived he parked the cab. "I'll help you carry the bags inside" he said before you had a chance to protest.

"Please you have already done so much, it's really not that heavy" you tried to resist. He waved his gloved hand at your statement and proceeded to take the bags out and carry them towards your door.

As you unlocked the door your heart sank, you weren't sure you wanted him to come inside.

When you both walked in, he placed the bags on the kitchen island and looked around. There was no point in denying the family photos and scattered toys. 

"Cute kid, seems happy" he said, picking up one of the framed photos.

"Yeah, he is, thanks" you replied, smiling shyly, not willing to elaborate on the topic.

"I bet you're a good mom" he persisted, still holding your son's picture in his hand.  "I love him very much, so I try my best, though nobody's perfect, certainly not me". You replied. 

He smiled and put the picture back, perhaps sensing your discomfort. 

You never really spoke with him about being a wife and a mother (and you were grateful that both of them weren't home) Although you also never hid the wedding band on your hand. 

This was not ok, you knew it. 

What the hell is wrong with me?? Inviting a stranger into my house? Happy that my family is not home? Am I demented? 

You had to admit it to yourself, this scenario would be 10/10 creepy if Jake wasn't so attractive. He could also be like Ted Bundy, all smiles and charm before he chops me into little pieces. 

"Can I offer you something cold to drink?" You attempted to change the subject. 

Jake nodded and you promptly handed him a glass of cold water. 

He downed it all in one go, as you watched his adam's apple bob on his thick neck while he drank.

He handed you the glass and your fingers brushed against his gloved ones. 

"Thank you so much Jake, I really appreciate it, really, you shouldn't have" 

"Esta bien, dont worry about it, my pleasure" he smiled. 

You walked him back to the front door, feeling awkward and nervous. You weren't sure what to do. Do I shake his hand? Do I peck him on the cheek? Maybe a small polite hug? 

You both stopped by the door, facing each other, you finally met his gaze. Beautiful deep brown eyes were looking at you, adorned with long dark lashes. They seemed much softer than you initially thought.

"You have an eyelash on your cheek, may I? " he asked and you could only nod. 

Your eyes moved to his hands as he removed his glove, watching with tethered breath as if it was in slow motion. After removing the glove, he very gently brushed your cheek with his thumb. "Now you need to make a wish" he smirked. The air was thick and heavy ,and your heart was thumping in your throat.

Without thinking, you placed your hand on his, and blew on the small lash on his thumb.

As it flew off somewhere you made your wish.

Fuck me. Kiss me.

*******

It was just one of those days. Everything that could go wrong absolutely did. It started with a missed alarm in the morning, continued with a tantrum from your toddler, who was outraged by the fact that the banana you served him for breakfast was indeed shaped like a banana, and not like a pineapple. Following that was an argument with your husband, about the proper way to handle said tantrum. 

Your cab driver that morning was insisting on having a political debate which you didn't want to participate in, and to top it off, the traffic was worse than usual. 

By the time you arrived at the office you were 35 minutes late, and positively exhausted. 

You were sure that with the morning you had, nothing could possibly go wrong at work. You were proven wrong when your boss called you out on a very stupid mistake you made, and scollded you (publicly of course) about your lack of attention to detail. It wasn't like him to do that, but you guessed it fit perfectly with the rest of your miserable day.

After a quiet cry in the bathroom, you were finally able to calm down. You sat on the toilet, wiping your tears away, and the memory of Jake came to your mind. There was something comforting in the thought of him, he was your little secret. He made you feel noticed, seen. It's been almost a week since you last saw him, since the exchange that left you breathless and flustered. 

You could admit to yourself that you wanted to see him again, that you liked how absolutely dangerously close you were to making a mistake. All you needed at that point was a tiny push in the wrong direction. Then It made you feel even worse when you considered the implications, playing horrible scenarios in your head about how horrible this could all end for you. Trying to convince yourself that it’s not worth it. The price you’d have to pay would be too high. 

Not that anything will actually happen anyway… The thought made you feel both relieved and frustrated. Because damn it, you wanted it to.

When 5 o'clock rolled around you were DONE, completely defeated by the day. You grabbed your stuff as quickly as possible and practically snuck out of the office the moment your boss turned his head. 

Jake's cab was waiting under the building. You recognized it immediately. You wondered if he's free, allowing yourself to indulge in the thought of him waiting for you. 

For a split second you tried to think of an excuse not to approach him, because getting in the cab with him wasn’t a good idea, on the other hand you were grateful to see a friendly face after the day you just had. 

Jake smiled widely when he saw you, signaling you to get in. You got in the seat next to him, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. I will never get over how he smells you thought to yourself as you settled.

“Mi pasajera favorita'' He smiled widely, he seemed to be in a good mood, you smiled back, trying to fend off your lousy one. Although you were sure he’d react politely, you didn’t want to burden him with everything that happened, you didn’t think that cab drivers (or hairdressers, or nail technicians) should be forced to listen to other people's problems while trying to do their job. 

He began driving without asking you for an address. 

Jake could feel something was not quite right “Que pasa? Everything ok?” 

“Just a very lousy day, nothing much really” you replied, hoping he would leave it at that. 

“Do we need to go kill someone real quick? I’ll make sure they never find the body” he smirked, trying to lighten your obviously lousy mood. You giggled sadly, as your armor began to crack.

“Nah, I think I’ll let them live, I can’t get messed up in murder, plus orange looks terrible on me”

“Can't imagine anything looking terrible on you” he replied, serious all of a sudden. Your forced laugh tried to break the awkwardness.

“Seriously, you can tell me querida"

You loved his terms of endearment, especially the Spanish ones. 

“It really was just a crappy day. Lots of small things that went wrong, but I’m glad to see you. I needed a friendly face after all that shit” you ended the sentence with a bite of bitterness to your voice, fighting back tears that began to sting the corners of your eyes. 

It felt so stupid to cry, for a second time that day, and in front of Jake.

“Hey..hey querida.. No, don't cry…” He said softly, which had the exact opposite effect as more tears rolled down your face. It was as if he broke the dam, finally giving you permission to let your guard down.

He pulled over, it was only about half a mile before reaching your house, but he couldn't bear to see you like that.  

“I’m so sorry, this is so embarrassing, oh my god, shit…” you spoke through your tears, sniffling, desperately trying to stop them.

He unbuckled his seat belt and turned to you, placing his large hand on your shoulder, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles. It was heavy and warm and made you want to pull closer to him. 

“It’s gonna be ok mami, it’s just a bad day, you're gonna be fine…” 

You unbuckled and turned to him as well, the sobbing subsided, giving way to the nervousness that buzzed through you. Some tears were still escaping your eyes, he gently brushed them away with his hand and you leaned into his touch.

Your heart was beating mercilessly, belly in knots. You just sat there for a few moments, allowing his touch to both soothe and excite you. There was a lump in your throat and a pool of heat between your thighs. You knew he should stop but desperately wanted him to continue. 

“Do you want me to kiss it better…hmmm?” he asked almost in a whisper, making your heart flutter even more violently.

You did not respond, any response would result in a lose-lose situation. You didn’t want to admit how much you wanted this, you also didn't want to say no. You knew this was the dreaded push in the wrong direction, and you were paralized with fear, drawing only shallow breaths.

His gloved thumb grazed over your cheek and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, making goosebumps run down your spine. 

He leaned forward slowly placing a soft kiss on your cheekbone, 

and then another one on your cheek, 

and another one tethering on the edge of your lips. 

The fourth kiss reached your lips, soft and delicate, stained with your tears.

Your core heated up immediately, you couldn't help but lean into the kiss, pressing your lips onto his. His hand was gently cupping your face as your lips brushed softly against each other. It was a chaste, delicate kiss. His smell was making you dizzy, the masculine musk in it somehow amplified. 

You felt yourself physically torn, lust and guilt mixing inside of you into a nauseating concoction.  

"Stop please, I can't" you came to your senses briefly, laying your palm on Jake's chest.

"Lo siento" Jake replied softly, eyes still closed. You were still inches apart, you could still feel his breath on you, his hand still cupping your cheek. 

It took you all of five seconds before you were falling off the edge, pressing your lips on his again, admitting defeat, brushing his bottom lip with your tongue. That little flick of your tongue was all it took. Jake's hand moved to your neck, cupping your face between his thumb and index, his tongue licking into your mouth, his lips hot against yours, it was intense and possessive and conveyed nothing but desire and danger. He groaned softly against your lips as he claimed your mouth with his, you were barely able to catch a breath, heart slamming in your chest, mouth gasping for air but not able to break away from his kiss. He was kissing you like he wanted to have as much of you as possible while he still could. 

Jake felt the pulse in your throat in his palm, galloping at a merciless pace. He fantasized about this for weeks, and now that he finally gave in, he was afraid he would devour you without being able to stop himself. 

A very loud car honk jolted you both as your mouths finally detached. You were almost thankful that you were startled enough to stop, to replace the hunger in your veins with a stress response. You scrambled to collect your bag and quickly exited the cab, saying absolutely nothing, shocked at your own actions and at how far you've allowed yourself to go.

Jake stepped out of the cab after you, calling at you “Y/N I’m sorry! Please let me take you home! Lo siento mucho!” 

You were almost running away at this point, and he did not want to cause you any more stress by following you. It was clear that a line had been crossed. 

“Jake please go, I’ll walk home, please just go now…please” You shouted back with a shaky voice.

******

Your husband was a grateful man, he didn't know what happened, what prompted you to jump his bones the moment you put your son down for the night. It wasn’t like you to do that sort of thing, but he knew he would be stupid to complain.

You sucked him off like a starved woman before straddling his hips and riding him, your eyes shot with concentration, kisses hot and needy. 

All you could think about was Jake, hoping to miraculously conjure him into existence, but it all tasted and smelled wrong.

You finally were able to cum with the thought of Jake fucking into you, mumbling soft praises in Spanish. How sweet his moans would sound, how sexy he would look with sweat glistening on his pecks. 

FUCK you were screwed. You only had a small taste and it got you fucking hooked, nothing tasted like he did. You absolutely didn't want to want him as much as you did. 

******

The pain in your chest took weeks to subside, but you could still feel the slight sting of it. Finally feeling less and less guilty, although you couldn’t really quit Jake. You would bring him up from your memory every day, like an imaginary friend. Faithfull only in the technical sense, you convinced yourself that it’s good enough, that maybe that earth shattering soul crushing kiss you shared was just what you needed, that you stopped just in time before it all went too far. Truthfully you could only thank that honking car, it was the true ‘hero’ of the story, the thing that actually made you stop. 

You knew without a shadow of a doubt that another test would be impossible to withstand. Thank god you weren’t tested.

Until you were.

******

The evening was winding down, you had such a great time with your friends from work, better than you thought you would, you were in a cheerful mood for a change. It was a welcome break after weeks of nothing but work-home-childcare-bed, you finally had the evening to yourself. After three drinks it was clear you needed to call a cab. It would be a long ride, since you were not in your usual part of town. You decided to get yourself some water for the ride, to try and sober up a bit.

Walking into the bright convenience store made your eyes squint. The store was almost empty and quite large, allowing you to wonder quietly, contemplating the snack options that looked very appetizing in your drunken state.  All of a sudden you felt a tingle at the back of your head, as if you were being watched. When you turned swiftly there was no one there. As you kept walking the feeling increased, you could almost feel the breath of someone down your neck, but the store seemed completely empty. The alcohol in your blood evaporated instantly and you felt completely sober, as the paranoia slowly set in. 

You quickly grabbed a bottle of water and sprinted to the register. That was when you saw him. In the monitor above the clerk’s head, there was no mistaking that strong silhouette, but the cap was really the dead giveaway. He was standing behind the row of shelves, just out of your sight. What the hell?? Your heart rushed. Was it excitement? Fight or flight response? You were not sure. You turned on your heel, walking towards him before he even had the chance to realize what’s going on. 

“What the hell do you think you're doing?!” You asked, your voice came out stronger than you anticipated. Perhaps you were still a little tipsy.

“Joder! I’m sorry Y/N”

“Why are you following me? You scared the shit out of me.”

“I..I wanted to come up to you, wasn't sure it’s a good idea, I wanted to apologize, for that time..”

You lifted your eyes to his, dark and hooded, he looked tired. The bright fluorescent lights were probably not doing you any favors either. You wanted to hug him, but of course you did. “Apology accepted,” you muttered quietly.

“Not like this, por favor cariño, can we talk?”

He grabbed your hand in his large gloved one. You looked down and saw your wedding band, pulling it right back. You exhaled sharply “fine Jake, let's talk, not here.”

Maybe closure isn’t such a bad idea, maybe the fact that you feel a little aggravated with him will make this easier.

You walked out of the store, he was a couple steps ahead of you, and if someone had seen you from the side they probably wouldn’t think you were together. You made sure to stay behind him, even walking with him made you nervous, guilty.

The alley was quiet and dark, the street lights illuminating everything in a dim yellow. Jake's face seemed even more angular, eyes shaded completely by his cap, thankfully. You wouldn't have been able to withstand his eyes piercing into yours. You leaned on his parked cab, folding your arms on your chest, while he stood in front of you, keeping a ‘professional’ distance as much as he could. 

A heavy silence stood between the two of you, but your body reacted to the sight and smell of him. You were trying to ignore the need to pull him closer.

“Y/N, I'm very sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, it was weak of me. I shouldn’t have done what I did" 

You looked at him but did not respond, letting the obvious set before you could reply. 

“It wasn’t just your fault, Jake"

"Por favor Y/N, let me finish" His breathing seemed heavier, but he sounded almost authoritative.  

"I…I was selfish. I knew it was wrong, I should have stopped myself, I just wanted to make you feel better, soy un idiota.." 

The words you really wanted to reply sat on your tongue. Admit it already. Say it.

"Jake,I wanted it to happen. I kissed you back, 'soy un idiota' too.." 

"Soy UNA idiota..female tense" he chuckled as he corrected you. 

"Thank you for teaching me the proper way to call myself an idiot"

"Anytime, querida" 

His voice softened.

"I love it when you call me that.." 

You raised your eyes to meet his, as he took a step to close the gap between you, looking at you with an intensity and hunger, making your heart race.

“I was also weak” you whispered now that he was close, holding your hands in his. 

“You make me weak Jake” Your anger has all but dissolved, and you were standing in front of him defenseless, unarmed. There was nothing that could protect you now.

He removed his gloves one by one, placing them on the roof of the cab behind you. His cap followed, revealing a mop of thick black curls, brushing them back with his hand as a few stray ones still bounced back onto his forehead. 

You cupped his face, his stubble softly scratching the palm of your hand. 

“Kiss me” you finally said it.

One of his arms rested on the cab, cornering you in, your bodies almost touching now, his scent clouding every remaining ounce of judgment you still possessed. 

You could feel his heavy breath as he slowly ghosted his fingers on your jawline and neck and leaned in to kiss you. 

He set a slow pace, but his kiss was anything but chaste this time. Dipping his tongue into your mouth, gently sucking on your bottom lip, his lips were soft and pillowy and he brushed them masterfully against your own, before breaking off the kiss to swipe his thumb on your lips. Your tongue darted out to lick the tip of his finger as if by itself, Jake's eyes flickered and he slowly pushed it into your mouth, with a quiet moan. Your tongue swirled around the thick digit, teeth scraped it, before he pulled it out only to kiss you again, deeper and more desperate.

His hand laced through your hair, pulling gently and exposing your neck. Jake's lips trailed sloppy open mouthed kisses from the back of your ear and all the way down to your clavicle. His hips were brushing his hard length against your belly. The combination was making your head spin, and your heat pool in your center. Your moans and whimpers were music to his ears. "You sound so pretty like this querida, making those sweet noises" he said with a raspy voice, teeth nibbling at your earlobe. His palm glided down to your breast, he brushed his fingers on it so tenderly that you barely noticed it until a wave of arousal shot into your core. His weight was pinning you to the car, he slid his thigh between your legs, feeling your heat, grinding his clothed cock it into you. Your fingers squeezed under the waistband of his jeans, tugging at the belt, grabbing at as much ass as you could, pulling him closer. You began to pull his shirt out, hands sliding up his warm firm back, he shivered slightly at your cold fingers and chuckled at your eagerness. 

“Can I touch you? Do you want me to touch you, cariño?” he cooed sweetly.

"Fuck..ah..hhm" was all you managed to reply, it felt as if your wetness would drown you, your whole body felt liquid in his arms, reduced to a puddle of lust. 

He slid his hand under the hem of your skirt, warm callused palm traveling up your thigh. His lips detached from you, he was breathing heavily and studying you closely. Sliding his fingers gently over your drenched panties as your face contorted with pleasure, until your hips started to buck at him. "Please touch me" you managed to breathe out. He obliged, moving your panties out of the way and gliding both fingers in between your folds. 

His breath got even heavier as yours nearly stopped completely. "joder mami.." he muttered at the warm wetness coating his fingers. He circled your clit and then slid back towards your entrance, pushing slightly into you, repeating the motion with a featherlight touch. Your moans were getting quiet, reduced to quick sharp breaths and little whimpers. Brows pinched and eyes slammed shut. It was pure ecstasy delivered in the softest and tenderest of manners. "Breathe mami… I'll take care of you. You are so beautiful like this" he whispered and kissed you again, wanting to capture your pleasure with his mouth. 

This is what you wanted all along, to have no choice in the matter. To be seduced so completely that your ability to resist would disappear altogether. This must absolve you of some responsibility. 

The rolling thunder did not seem to distract you from each other, no honking car, no impending doom would make your mouths detach. You have allowed yourself to indulge in this, moral compass tossed into the nearest bin. 

His thick fingers slid inside of you, and every time he pulled them out just to push them back in, his palm rubbed gently against your clit, covering his hand with your arousal. You moaned into Jake's mouth, louder this time, as you felt the coil tighten in your core. 

"Tell me hermosa.." he rasped between soft kisses and licks,"Do you think of me when you touch yourself?" 

"Hhm, yes.." you replied, stating the obvious. 

"And do you think of me when you fuck your husband..?" Your heart raced at the question, it shouldn't have turned you on even more, make you even wetter, but it did. "Be honest, querida, it's ok" his voice was supposed to feel reassuring, but it was laced with coercion, luring and tempting your shameful truth out of you. 

"Yes" you whispered, your voice barely came out as a pathetic whimper. 

“Mmmm” He purred at your response. 

The thunder roared again, and little droplets of rain began falling.

"We're not getting in until you cum, cariño" He said playfully. You hated the rain, you hated yourself, but you would hate it more if he'd stopped. 

Your senses lit on fire as the pleasure in your belly was tightening. You felt the drops cold against your hot skin, the weight of Jake's body on yours, the gentle slide of his fingers, heard the sound of your kisses, moans, and heavy breaths, his smell and taste were intoxicating you.

It all accumulated, building up higher and higher, until you finally felt your pleasure spill over the edge. Wave after wave washed over you. You dug your nails into his shoulders, holding on for dear life, groaning into the crook of his neck. "así, mami, así" he said softly as you clenched around his fingers, pulling you gently down from your high. 

You both stood there for a moment, eyes shut, breathing each other's air heavily.

The rain intensified, beginning to soak into your hair and clothes, convincing you both to finally get into the cab. 

When you got in, the sounds of the street and the rain dissipated, it was so quiet all of a sudden, all you could hear was each other's breath. Your orgazm was still buzzing faintly through your body, but the guilt was slowly creeping up your back. 

You found yourself scrambling for something that would make you stop, but came up with nothing. What would be worse? Betraying the trust of your husband or denying yourself the thing you have been desperately craving for months with every fiber of your being? How strong did you have to be to resist this? 

Jake sat next to you, damp curls and white shirt slightly soaked by the rain.

He turned to you and placed his hand in the space between the two of you on the car seat, as if asking for permission all over again "Hermosa, are you sure? I will understand if you want to stop". 

Without his cap and with the soft look in his eyes he looked boyish, almost innocent. "You are so handsome" You said, as you brushed away a stray curl from his forehead and laid your hand on top of his, granting said permission silently, still not willing to fully admit to yourself what it is that you're agreeing to. "Please querida, I need to hear that you want this too" 

You scooted closer to him, slowly running your hands up his arms and shoulders and began removing his tie. Unwrapping your forbidden present to yourself. "I do. I'm sure. I want this. too much" you said, in a voice closer to a whisper, still trying to keep your 'secret' from him, as if there were any left.

You unbuttoned his shirt, taking your time with each button, until you were able to slide it down his shoulders, the tanned broad panels of his pecs finally at your fingertips. He was beautiful, the contour of him gently illuminated from the dim street lights.

You ran your fingers through his soft curls, pulling him closer for a kiss, your tongues swirled together at a leisurely pace. His hands slid up your legs, under your skirt, pulling your thong down. "Eres tan suave, tan dulce, necesito sentirte cerca.." he rasped as his fingers brushed on your thighs.

"You'll have to translate this one for me" you replied gingerly. 

He took your hand, laying it on his clothed cock, painfully hard under his jeans. "Here's a translation for you, querida" he chuckled, groaning softly at the friction. Oh god, of course he's big.

"Aww, is that what it's called in Spanish..?" you chuckled back, rubbing him softly through the fabric. 

You made quick work of his belt buckle, unzipping his constricting denim, tugging it along with his briefs down his strong thighs as he lifted his hips slightly.

You finally straddled him, your heat pooling in your core, begging to be filled. 

His gaze was fixed on your face as he ran the tip of his cock in between your folds. You bucked your hips at the delicious feeling and began to sink on him slowly, relishing every thick inch, every ridge and vein. "Ah.. fuck, you're a big boy" you managed a breathy whisper. Jake almost whimpered as your warm wetness covered him, sinking all the way into you. 

He grabbed your hips, impatient and needy, beginning to slowly grind you on his cock.

It felt amazing. That's the only way you would describe the exquisite fullness between your thighs, his thickness dragging against your walls, gently enticing every ounce of pleasure out of you. You raised yourself slowly, just to sink back again, and again, quickening your pace slightly with every thrust. He nuzzled at your breasts, sucking gently on the flesh he could reach, before grabbing the hem of your top and pulling it up. Your bra quickly followed. Jake latched his mouth on your nipple immediately, sucking hungrily, then pressing your breasts together and lapping his greedy tongue over both nipples. There was pure concentration in his face. His eyes were closed, soft long lashes laying on his sharp cheekbones. 

For years you'd retreat to the back of your mind, pull fantasies and memories almost forcefully, that's the only way you could enjoy sex. Now you could barely blink at the sight of him. Broad shoulders and strong arms, sharp jaw, black curls. Just so fucking gorgeous.

Jake sensed your gaze and opened his eyes, staring deeply back while he moved into you. Your orgazm began to approach rapidly, as you tightened around his cock. He planted his feet on the floor, thrusting harder, deeper. He spread your cheeks with his palms, slotting himself deeper still. His eyes darted from your eyes to your lips, to your breasts, before he pulled you into another kiss. You could almost taste your orgazm now, and you began moving faster, chasing it, you closed your eyes out of habit, before forcing yourself to keep them open. You needed to etch as much as you could into your brain. You wanted to capture it all - the sound of his groans, the skin slapping on skin, the smell of sex, the taste of him in your mouth. Every. Tiny. Fucking. Detail. Oh. My. God. Yes! Yesss! Fuck me! Fuck! Fuck!  The coil in your core finally snapped, stronger this time, hitting you harder. Jake felt you clench around him and he deepened his thrusts, crashing his hips into yours as you moaned and wailed.  No secrets to hide, no shame, you've allowed yourself to fully let go, confessing all of your sins loudly and without reprehension. Warmth spread all over your body, flooding your limbs, as the aftershocks of your climax kept coming. "That sounded so fucking beautiful, querida" Jake groaned. Your hands came up to his face, lacing through his hair, as you began kissing him again softly - on his lips, his cheeks, his forehead…You placed gentle kisses on his closed eyes, every soft kiss thanking him for the pleasure he brought you. Jake's pace began to quicken again, you matched his movements, you could feel him approaching his high, hands gripping your hips with surprising strength, moving you on his cock faster, harder, thrust after thrust after thrust. He groaned as he spilled inside you, neck stretching back, jaw clenched ,sweat beading on his chest. He was every bit as stunning as you imagined him to be. 

He collapsed into your chest, heaving from his exertion, thrusting his hips slightly into you, coaxing some final pleasurable little waves of post orgazm out of you. 

He looked blissed out, completely content.

You stroked him, gently grazing your nails on his scalp, brushing your fingers on his temple. He purred softly and nuzzled deeper into you. You both knew you had very few last moments to enjoy this, to breathe each other's scent and bask in the tender intimacy of it all, before you'd have to go back to pretending this never even happened. "Thank you" you whispered, kissing the top of his head. You really didn't know what else to say, how to express the mixture of gratitude and guilt you were feeling. Could you promise yourself this was the one and only time? Could you resist him? This? You couldn't tell yourself this was 'nothing' because it didn't feel like 'nothing'. Maybe with time you could convince yourself it was. 

"I have to get back home, Jake" you finally said. "I know querida, i know you do."

******

The tension had been building inside of you the whole ride home, and you went back and forth between the possibility that you'll be able to come out of this unscaved and the very plausable outcome of completely ruining your life. 

You unlocked the door to your house with a heavy heart, dreading what awaited you on the other side. How would you explain the late hour you came in? Would Jake's scent linger enough to be noticable? 

And what if you don't get caught, would you regret this? Surely you'd regret breaking their hearts, betraying their trust, being so selfish with your 'needs' that you didn't even consider another solution. But, would you also regret the scorching hot, charming, gorgeous man that fucked you like that, like you needed him to? And if you regret only some of it, does it count as actual regret? Does it matter? 

Your brain was running a mile a minute, perhaps trying to prepare yourself to 'face the music' if you must. The bottom line was that the deed was done. And it was lustful and passionate and every bit as satisfying as you've imagined.

As soon as you stepped in you knew you could breathe a sigh of relief. The glow of the TV was the only thing illuminating the space, and your husband's snores assured you that you were in the clear.

You headed into the shower immediately, relishing in the hot water on your skin. For the first time in months your mind was clear. You could think about your plans for the upcoming days, your chores, missing items on the shopping list, the kind of cake you wanted to bake for your mom's birthday… The lustful beast in you was full, satiated, resting in it's cave at the back of your mind. 

Thank you Jake. 

**********

Jake

The streets were almost empty, the rain subsided into a drizzle, the wet asphalt shimmered with blurry reflections of the street lights and passing cars. 

Jake opened the window and lit up a smoke, he enjoyed the cool air that smelled like rain, it blended with your smell on his fingers. 

"Do you think of me when you fuck your husband?" He'd ask them. 

Most froze, some tried to avoid the question, some would say "no, because I don't fuck him anymore". Hearing an honest answer like yours was rare. Your precious little "yes"... your voice barely whispered it, but it was enough for Jake.

You were special. Something about the guilt written on your face made it more exhilarating for him. You never did manage to hide anything, every emotion was visible, clear for him to see. Your reaction to his smell, to his voice, your clumsy and adorable attempts at flirting, it was all so endearing. You were always so sweet, so responsive when he finally touched you the way he wanted to.

He'd tell himself that he is actually helping. Every woman wants to feel seen and desired, every woman deserves pleasure. He was just happy to oblige, to offer himself up. He did have a type though, and they all had one thing in common - a husband. Some husbands were doing a fine job, but some were not. Dormant in their lives, maybe cheating, maybe just tired. 

He would never insist if he saw that the other side simply wasn't interested, but more often than not they were. And there was nothing quite like breaking through the initial apprehension, to reach the bleeding core of someone who needed this just as badly as he did. And boy did you need it. You were starved and he had the pleasure of feeding you. 

He apologized for his advances because he knew that you needed to think that he was as conflicted as you were. But he wasn't, he wasn't sorry either. 

How could he be when you moaned like that, clenching on his cock, digging your nails into his skin..? 

Fin.

[xoteajays]

in our bones.

relationship(s): takeshi x female!oc, marco x cosette, pi & yu. fandom: high&low. word count: ~8500. ao3: link. summary: Hinami and Takeshi have had crushes on each other for almost a decade. They’ve been best friends since childhood, they know each other inside and out … except for that one thing that apparently everyone else but them can see. When Takeshi confuses Marco’s well meaning lunch invitation for asking Hinami out on a date, it sets off a chain reaction that threatens to change the friends’ relationship for good. h&l tag list: @hiddenqveendom ** reblogs, likes/kudos, and comments appreciated!!

It gets boring sometimes, waiting for the SWORD leaders to finish their meetings when they get to arguing. It’s not necessarily loud, they’re not yelling, but they are sniping at each other and the rest of their respective members are stuck waiting for them to resolve it. Most of them get along, even if they usually stick to their own gangs.

Pi leans up against a concrete pillar, sighing quietly and shutting his eyes. It doesn’t seem like they’ll be leaving any time soon. Rocky, Smokey and Cobra are having the polite disagreement of civil individuals, though are clearly trying to not snap at each other the longer it goes on. Murayama and Hyuga are bickering amongst themselves about something unrelated, but they’re louder than the former trio.

Yu laughs, his lips pulling back from his teeth in a grin. He elbows Pi in the side, then nods his chin towards Takeshi, who’s sitting and frowning, not paying any attention to the bickering leaders.

“It looks like steam’s going to start coming out of his ears,” Yu teases.

Pi tracks Takeshi’s gaze, then he laughs too.

Hinami is leaning up against a pony-wall towards the back of the room, tossing up and catching a couple of colourful ohajiki pieces that flash in the dim light. Close at her side is one of the White Rascal’s SMG boys; Marco, Pi thinks, if he had to guess. He’s much taller than her and is leaned down slightly to talk with her.

The guy says something and Hinami laughs and Takeshi tenses, his jaw tight. The watching duo can’t help but cackle and Yu knocks into Pi’s shoulder, leaning against him. Pi had been watching Takeshi’s crush on Hinami develop for almost a decade, Yu had joined in his amusement too when he’d eventually joined the group; to them, it’s still funny seeing Takeshi pout and pine.

“What’s so funny?” A voice cuts in.

Pi and Yu jump. Takeshi has no reaction to their new companions.

The Daruma Ikka Babies had snuck up, joined by the remaining trio of the SMG, all curious to what Pi and Yu were so animated about. Being newer members of SWORD, the two groups seemed to gravitate towards each other. The one who had spoken - Agyo, Pi thinks his name is - raises a brow, shoving his hands in the front pocket of his colourful hoodie. Yu tilts his head towards Hinami and the SMG member.

“Takeshi has this huge crush on her,” he replies. Pi elbows him in the side and Yu pouts at him, rubbing his ribs. “What? It’s not like he’s paying attention anyway.”

He’s right. Takeshi is still just staring, a frown drawn on his lips.

The Babies and SMG look over. Hinami’s hoisted herself up onto the pony wall, lightly bouncing the curve of her makeshift flex-foot prosthetic against it. She’s passed one of the larger ohajiki pieces to Marco and they’re flipping them like coins and catching them, seeing how high they can get them without dropping them.

“She’s prett-“ Cosette starts.

“What happened to her leg?” Ungyo says at the same time. Futa leans around to slap the back of his head. “Ow!”

“Something happened when she was a kid, she doesn’t really talk about it, even with us,” Pi answers simply, “Takeshi's probably the only one of us that knows anything about it.”

“Well, anyway, I don’t think Takeshi has to worry ab-ack!” Heidi glowers, confused, at Cosette who had stomped on his foot to shut him up.

“So what’s Takeshi deal with her? Doesn’t she know? He hasn’t told her?” Cosette asks, ignoring Heidi’s pouting.

“He’s tried,” Yu replies with an all-too-knowing smirk.

“He keeps wimping out of confessing,” Pi continues, “It’s been at least three times now that he’s backed out last minute.”

“Seriously?” Cosette deadpans. Pi nods.

“Hey, we’re leaving!” Kizzy suddenly calls out to them. The SMG boys perk to attention.

“Okay!” They all quickly respond in unison.

Kizzy rolls her eyes, turning on her heel to stroll back over to where Kaito’s waiting by their respective bikes. Rocky and Koo are talking as Rocky swings his leg over onto his bike, settling. He looks a little annoyed. 

Apparently the leaders had resolved while the group were chatting - or they’d at least given up for the night.

The Babies hurry back to their own gang with swift goodbyes to the others. Sakyo’s already starting up his car. They knew full well that he’d leave them here and make them walk home if they didn’t hurry. The SMG trio start to leave too. 

In his periphery, Pi sees Takeshi shift, standing up. His shoulders are still tense and solid. Looking passed him, he watches as Marco takes Hinami’s hand, helping her down off the wall before pressing the ohajiki piece into her palm. They both smile and Hinami is nodding in reply to something before waving goodbye as Marco heads off to join the rest of the SMG.

Hinami starts to head back towards where the other Rude Boys were sitting. Yu holds back a laugh as he watches Takeshi attempt to look casual, as if he hadn’t been watching her the whole time; Takeshi’s gaze downturns, fiddling with the knotted thread of a friendship bracelet she’d made for just the two of them years ago.

Smokey joins them shortly before Hinami does.

“Time to go home then?” Hinami asks, stretching her arms above her head. “Did you figure it out? Whatever you guys were -” she pauses, readjusts to not say ‘bickering about’, “- discussing?” 

Smokey sighs.

“We’re at a stalemate. Cobra and Rocky are going to clear their heads and come back to it at the next meeting,” he replies simply, then nods, “Let’s go home.” 

Far enough away from the Rude Boys now, Heidi whacks a hand against Cosette’s bicep before he can get on his bike. Cosette narrows his eyes at him in a flower, rubbing his arm.

“What?” He asks, frowning.

“Why did you stop me from telling them you’re dating Marco?”

Cosette smirks, shrugging his shoulders as he swings onto his bike.

“Let’s just say I’m curious to see how this is going to turn out.” 

Cosette doesn’t escape that question so easily since, come nightfall, when the SMG guys are back in the apartment they share, Marco is posing it to him again.

Relaxing back on his futon, he’s flipping a page of his book when Marco flops down next to him and leans his cheek on Cosette’s shoulder, glancing at the page. There’s a brief silence then -

“So what’s this I’m hearing about you guys talking with the Rude Boys today?” Marco asks, head tilting to look at Cosette, setting his chin on his shoulder.

“Takeshi thought you were flirting with his crush,” Cosette answers plainly, flipping the page.

“Hinami?”

“He seemed really jealous too.”

“And you didn’t say anything?”

Cosette closes the book on his thumb, finally focusing his gaze on his boyfriend.

“Apparently he’s had this huge crush on her for years but hasn’t told her. Maybe if he thinks that she’s going to get snatched up by some other guy, it’ll push him into actually confessing.”

“…So you’re meddling?” Cosette thumps his head with the book and Marco drops onto his back on the futon, “Ow, hey! C’mon, Cosette, what if he tries to fight me? I don’t want to fight Takeshi! He’s scary with that kick move he does.”

Cosette tosses his book aside and swings over the top of Marco, kneeling over his waist and planting his hands on the futon either side of Marco’s head.

“You think you can’t beat him?”

“I think he’ll kick me hard enough to break my ribs.” Marco hooks an arm over Cosette’s neck, pulling him closer, “Are you gonna look after me if he does?”

“Depends on if you win or not, even with broken ribs.”

“So mean, Cosette.”

He just smirks, leaning down to kiss Marco. From the hallway, they hear Lassie groan and then the door to Cosette’s room slams shut. 

The sun is warm and high in the sky the next day. It’s a hot day in Nameless City; the sunlight quickly heats the metal structures, it’s as uncomfortable inside the makeshift houses as it is outside. The only respite comes in the small areas of shade and too-old electric fans. Pi, Yu and Takeshi are sweaty and each trying to catch the thin fan-forced breeze. Takeshi shoves Yu off when the latter leans in too close while trying to follow the rotating fan; it’s too hot to be in such close proximity.

The three glance up as they hear Hinami approaching, her gait easily recognisable by her prosthetic. She looks more put together than usual; she’s wearing some of her nicer clothes, not a tear or repairing stitch in sight. There’s a new bandage wrapped around her stump and half-up her thigh, disappearing beneath the length of her skirt. Takeshi shifts to give her room to sit, but she stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t bother moving, I’m not hanging around,” she says, smiling lightly. The three stare, confused.

“You going somewhere?” Pi asks.

“Yeah. With Marco.” She says it so casually, fixing and straightening out her skirt. Pi sees Takeshi balk.

“Nami … are you sure that’s okay? SWORD isn’t really fighting that much anymore, but are you sure it’s safe to be going into White Rascal territory?” Takeshi asks, concern creasing his features, thinly veiling jealousy. Yu and Pi share a knowing look, then Yu hides a smirk by ducking his head.

“Hence why we’re not going into the Rascal’s area, we’re going to Little Asia,” she says, hiking her bag higher on her shoulders. Takeshi’s mouth twists, but he doesn’t say anything.

There’s a rumble of motorbikes approaching and Hinami looks over, waving as she spots Marco; she’s not surprised to see Cosette riding alongside him.

“I’ll see you guys later,” Hinami calls as she heads off towards the SMG boys.

“Have fun!” Yu hollars back, “Bring us back something delicious!”

Hinami throws him a thumbs-up, then turns to take a helmet Marco offers her and puts it on. Swinging her leg over the seat of the bike, she sits and sets her hands behind her on the grab rail.

Takeshi’s still frowning as he watches the trio ride off, then swings up onto his feet to storm off. Pi watches after him, rolling his eyes. Yu immediately moves to take his spot, sighing in relief as the fan rotates back towards him.

“He’s going to be a grump all day now,” Yu comments, leaning back on his hands. Pi nods, mouth twisting as he replies.

“Yeah, but it’s his own fault for getting in his own way all the time.”

 

Takeshi flops down in the shade of one of his and Nami’s hiding spots. She’d found it first, some little hollow up on one of the roofs, joining two buildings, just big enough for two people. It’s one of the few places that stays cooler during these hot days, even with the absence of a fan.

He stares up at the low roof. Nami had jammed old glow-in-the-dark stars up there a few years ago. Most of them had fallen off by now, but a large handful still glint pale green, never actually glowing due to her lack of light that reached them. Leaning on his elbow, he stretches a hand out to flatten the curling-off point of one star, though the peeling-up sticky side is already dark with dirt.

He sighs, dropping back and tucking his hand behind his head.

It’s stupid to be jealous. He should’ve known that someone would ask Nami out eventually. She’s beautiful, not even the drear of Nameless could dampen that. More than that, she’s clever. Witty. Kind.

And now she’s out on a date because he’d never managed to open his mouth and tell her how he felt.

The image of her climbing onto the back of Marco’s bike flashes into the forefront of his memory. That smile on her face. The exact smile that had kept him going for years. The exact smile he’d been in love with since he was 13. His only solace was that she hadn’t swept her arms around Marco’s waist as she sat on the back of his bike.

He lets out another long sigh, digging the heels of his palms against his eyes as if he could scrub the memory from his head. 

It’s not often that Hinami gets out of Nameless City, and certainly not as far as Little Asia. She takes in the scenery as they drive and it’s not too long until they’re pulling in to park. In a way, Little Asia is a lot like Nameless, a bit rough around the edges but with a clear community within.

“I swear, there’s a shop here that makes the best mapo tofu in Japan,” Marco insists as Hinami hops off the bike and passes her helmet back to him.

He takes the lead and Hinami and Cosette follow along. They’re an odd bunch, standing out within Little Asia. Marco and Cosette wear their typical monochrome white outfits, Hinami isn’t sure how they keep it so clean. There’s not even a speck marring the bright fabric.

Hinami’s outfit might not catch many looks, but her prosthetic has always drawn attention; it’s a makeshift flex-foot cheetah, built out of spare parts by a man that had landed in Nameless after losing his job and then subsequently his home. Takeshi had managed to convince him to build it for her through a series of trades and odd jobs, and even got him to upgrade it as she outgrew it over the years.

Little Asia is full of twists and turns, and it’s crowded. Cosette sticks close to Hinami’s side as they follow behind Marco, keeping an eye on her; she supposes it’s a White Rascal thing.

Hinami can’t help but view the town through the gaze of someone who lives in Nameless City; she can piece together areas where she could climb or run along, which buildings were close enough together to jump across the roofs. It’s a whole new track, there’s a kind of giddiness in her chest at the thought of racing around here with her guys.

They turn onto a street with food vendors on either side and tables lining all the way down the middle in off-kilter rows. Marco glances over his shoulder at his two companions.

“You guys go find a seat, I’ll order,” Marco offers. Hinami moves to grab her purse out of her bag when Marco stop her, “Don’t worry, I’ll pay.”

“You don’t have to,” Hinami starts, but Marco stops her again.

“Seriously. I invited you, I’ll pay.” With that, he turns heel and heads off towards one of the shops while shooing them off towards the tables.

Hinami huffs quietly, then glances at Cosette.

“Any chance that if I give you the money, you’ll give it to him later?”

“Nope,” Cosette answers smoothly. Hinami laughs.

“You White Rascals are really pushy with this whole ‘gentlemanly’ thing, huh?”

It’s Cosette’s turn to laugh as he guides her towards one of the empty tables. They sit across from each other; Hinami shifts her bag onto her lap, Cosette leans back in his chair. From where they’re sitting, Hinami can see Marco at a shop-front stall, letting a pair of girls go ahead of him. She smiles lightly.

“Have you two been together long?” She asks, nodding towards him. Cosette glances over at him, a fond smile growing on his lips.

“A little while; started not long after we joined the Rascals actually. He’s … sweet.” Hinami smiles a knowing kind of smile and Cosette blushes slightly. He shakes it off, deciding it’s time to put the attention on her now. “What about you? Are you with someone?”

Hinami shakes her head, her smile slipping a little as she fiddles with an old tarnished ring on her finger. It makes her skin greenish when she wears it too long, but it’s a favourite of her’s.

“But you like someone, right?” He’s pushing now. She’s slightly pink, a little embarrassed when she finally replies.

“Well …”

“Oh, let me guess. One of those Rude Boys, right?” He pauses, as if thinking, like he doesn’t already know. He smirks, leans on the table closer to her, like it’s a covert conversation. “Is it Smokey? The whole leader thing is hot, right?”

Hinami laughs.

“No. Not Smokey. Geez, he’s like a big brother.”

“Tell me it’s not Pi.” 

Another sharp laugh in response, nose crinkling.

“No way! Pi’s just a friend.”

“What about Takeshi?”

Hinami pauses, mouth twisting, her gaze flickering away.

“… Takeshi’s my best friend.”

Hook, line, sinker. Cosette leans his arms heavier on the table, it rocks slightly on it’s uneven feet.

“But you like him more than just as a friend, don’t you?” She’s quiet. “He doesn’t know?”

“He’s my best friend, how could I tell him? If he doesn’t feel the same way …” she trails over.

He watches her thumb over a threaded string bracelet on her wrist, it looks old, clearly worn daily. He’d spied a matching one on Takeshi’s wrist, partly hidden by a cuff, but there’d been no sight of one being worn by Pi or Yu.

“You think he doesn’t feel the same way?”

She shrugs.

“I don’t want to lose him. I don’t want to mess up what we have. I just … want to keep him close, even if only as a friend.”

“What if it doesn’t ruin it?”

“Huh?”

“What if he likes you too? Wouldn’t you rather not have to hold back your feelings?”

Hinami frowns, falling quiet.

“Why is it so serious over here?” Marco cuts in, more concerned than curious, and carefully balancing three bowls in his grip. Cosette reaches out to take one of the bowls before it can drop.

“Just talking about relationships,” Cosette replies. Marco narrows his eyes at Cosette, a warning, then smiles at Hinami as he passes her a bowl.

“Well, forget about that and let’s eat.”

Hinami just nods, eager to eat and clear her head. 

Marco’s right, the mapo tofu is delicious. Hinami can’t remember the last time she’s been so full after a meal. When they’re finished, the boys follow along with Hinami as she heads to a few stalls, buying some food for the rest of the guys back at Nameless. There’s a lot of options, she almost can’t decide on what she wants.

The plastic bag’s soon full and it’s getting close to sunset, so they head back to the boys’ bikes. The ride back to Nameless is just as interesting as the ride to Little Asia, albeit Hinami’s mind keeps swirling back to her conversation with Cosette.

Why hadn’t she ever told Takeshi how she felt? Especially when she’s been feeling it for years? She’d never liked anyone else like she did him. Nobody knew her all the way down to her core like he did. Nobody else had seen her at her worst like he had. Was Cosette right? Could she really stand to be holding back these feelings forever? Would it be better if she said something, even if it changed their relationship?

She dwells on the thoughts for so long that she’s surprised when the bike slows to a stop and they’re back at Nameless City. Hopping off the bike, she passes the helmet back to Marco, thanks them both for the day out, and then waves as they drive off. 

It’s not hard to find the guys. As usual, they’re hanging out together. Pi and Yu perk up as she approaches while loosely swinging the bag in their direction. She’s sure they’re more excited for the food than seeing her return. Pulling out two of the plastic dishes, she passes the bag to Pi, and he and Yu quickly scrabble to dig through it all.

“Hey, don’t forget to share with Lala too,” she says, kicking her prosthetic into the side of Pi’s thigh.

“Yeah, yeah, we know,” Pi says, waving her off, slapping the side of the prosthetic’s socket. She lightly whacks him back with her free hand.

Walking passed the duo, she holds a bowl out to Smokey, who takes with a polite ‘thank you’.

“I don’t remember what it’s called, but it’s some soup thing. The lady said it had some really good health benefits,” Hinami explains. It’s the best she could think to do; at Nameless, they still hadn’t managed to pull together the money to get Smokey the medical attention he really needed.

By his expression, he seems to understand her intentions, smiling lightly. He knows how much they all worry about him.

“What’s that?” Yu asks, nodding towards the remaining plastic container in her hand. Hinami holds it closer to her chest, away from his greedy gaze.

“It’s for Takeshi. Where is he anyway?”

Pi and Yu both shrug, going back to dig around in the bag. Even they didn’t know all the places Hinami and Takeshi hid around when they wanted to be alone. Hinami glances towards Smokey.

“I haven’t seen him since this morning. He headed off somewhere after you left,” he answers simply as he moves to sit down with Pi and Yu.

Hinami just nods. She can figure out where he is. Likely the coolest place in Nameless City on a hot day like this. As she heads off, she hears Pi calling out for Lala to come eat with them. Slipping the container into her pack, she makes easy work of clambering up over railings and onto roofs.

Nameless City is a total maze to anyone who doesn’t know it, but Hinami knows it like she knows the back of her own hands.

She’s strolling along the roof, heading to the small hollow between two of the buildings. Already, she can see where Takeshi’s sitting, cross-legged and staring out towards the orange sunset. The sun’s already settling low.

She’s struck by the sight of him, like she often was. Late afternoon sunlight dances off his hair, his dark eyes shine, her gaze traces over the line of his profile. She could pinpoint exactly where his beauty spots were from memory alone, etching a constellation in his skin. He’s handsome, genuinely. Sometimes she wonders how he hasn’t been snatched up by someone already, though she’s quietly thankful that he hasn’t. She doesn’t know that her heart could take it.

Dropping down to sit next to him, she kicks her prosthetic out in front of her, curving her foot under her knee. He glances sideways at her, seemingly surprised, too caught up in his own thoughts to realise she’d been walking up to him.

“What are you doing sitting up here by yourself?” She asks, digging around in her bag to pull the container out and shove it into his hands. Takeshi shrugs as he pops the lid off, plucking up one of the steamed buns.

“Just sick of Yu leaning all over me to get to the fan,” he lies. Hinami stares pointedly at him and he doesn’t meet her gaze, taking a bite of the bun. He knows she can tell when he’s lying. She lets him get away with it at least, leaning back on her hands as they fall into a comfortable silence.

Takeshi forces her to take one of the buns, insisting on it when she tries to decline. It’s peaceful, casual even, until -

“How was your date?” Takeshi asks, trying to keep the jealous ire out of his tone. Hinami quirks a brow at him, confused, then she realises. Oh. He didn’t know.

“Well, it was more Marco and Cosette’s date. I think I was kind of a third wheel, actually,” she replies coolly. His head jerks to look at her, surprised.

“What?”

“Marco and Cosette, they’ve been dating for a while apparently.” Takeshi’s mouth opens to say something, but she continues. “Marco saw that dumb little tofu patch on my jacket and invited me to try this place in Little Asia, and Cosette invited himself along. They’re kinda cute actually.”

“Oh,” Takeshi says quietly. Hinami giggles.

“Did you really think I was on a date?”

Takeshi flushes pink and doesn’t reply, just looks back to the horizon and takes a large bite of steamed bun as a way to not answer. Hinami takes a quiet breath in, gathering some kind of courage, and turns her own gaze forward to the dipping sun. The sky is already turning a deep blue and dim lights are starting to get switched on across Nameless.

“Marco’s not even my type, you know?”

He glances sideways at her, munching slowly.

“He’s too tall. And his hair’s too dark. I don’t think any of those White Rascal guys could keep up with me either, not with those tight pants they wear. I could never date a guy that I couldn’t race.”

It’s all true. Takeshi can tell, he can read her just like she can read him. He watches her take a breath, twisting a ring on her finger, a nervous habit. Curiosity creases his brow. What was she nervous about?

Hinami’s wimping out. She can’t do it. Can’t tell him. So instead, she bumps her arm against Takeshi’s, smiles, and stands up.

“I’m going to go to bed early. Been a long day, you know?”

“Right.”

“Good night.”

“Night.” 

No one in Nameless has a typical home. A lot of folks share places, others stay on the streets. Kids usually trade around where they sleep, sometimes together, sometimes alone, sometimes in the small apartment-esque buildings under the watchful gaze of grandmotherly older women.

That much is familiar, it’s how it’s always been.

When Hinami, Takeshi and Pi were kids, they’d all piled together every night in some dingy old room sequestered away on the far edge of Nameless. They’d stack up old thin futons until they were comfy enough to sleep on and dole out snacks they’d gathered over the day and then pass out on top of each other like a litter of puppies. Smokey and Lala had shared a room all their own, as close as true siblings ever since the beginning. 

Now, Hinami has a room all her own. It’s tiny, barely able to fit more than her futon, a small cupboard of her clothes, and an equally small nightstand bearing a collection of knickknacks. She doesn’t always sleep there, sometimes she still heads off to pile in with Takeshi and Pi and Yu if she’s lonely and can’t fall asleep alone.

She drops onto her thin futon with a quiet sigh. After pulling off her prosthetic, she leans it against the wall by her bed and sets about unravelling the bandage around her stump.

Starting to roll the bandage back up, she flops onto her back, staring at the roof. A quiet sigh escapes her.

Cosette’s words flit into her thoughts and her chest hurts. ‘Wouldn’t you rather not have to hold back your feelings?’.

She’s a coward. She’d chickened out at the last minute. Again.

Takeshi … she knows how she feels about him. She’s been feeling it for years after all, ever since she could discern the emotions between ‘platonic’ and ‘romantic’, ever since there was clarity that how she felt about Takeshi wasn’t how she felt about Pi or Smokey. It complicates things. He’s her friend, yet she wants him like a lover. Still, she can’t manage to find the words to tell him so. It shouldn’t be so hard, they can easily talk about anything else, she can tell him any other secret. This secret is the only one she’s kept close to her chest, and for no less than years.

Tossing the rolled-up bandage onto the ground by her prosthetic, she  sighs and tugs her old blanket up over her body, curling in on herself.

Takeshi stays up in the hollow by himself for a while after Nami leaves. The sweet taste of the steamed bun sticks on his tongue. The sun fully dips away until he’s left sitting in the darkness. By now, a lot of Nameless is starting to head in for the night, finding places to rest. Smokey’s no doubt going around to make sure everyone is okay and settled in before he goes to bed himself.

Making his way down, Takeshi heads off to the room he and the other guys shared. He considers swinging by Nami’s room, he could make an excuse as to why, more than just wanting to see her. She’d let him stay. It wouldn’t be the first night he’d spent with her instead of the guys.

Eventually, he decides against it.

Walking into the boys’ room, he kicks his shoes off by the door. Pi and Yu are already getting ready to lie down. Yu is lazing while Pi tries to set the futons in line. Pi kicks at Yu’s legs, clearly frustrated by the lack of help. Both look back when Takeshi steps in and Yu takes it as the chance to sit up and redirect the attention off him.

“So did Hinami end up finding you?” Yu asks. Pi scowls at him, then goes back to fixing the futons.

“Yeah,” Takeshi says, quiet, kneeling to help Pi.

“Did you ask about her date?”

“It wasn’t a date. Marco’s dating Cosette.”

Yu and Pi blink, surprised. Takeshi lies down on his back, sighs, his gaze blankly staring towards the ceiling.

“So … that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Yu queries.

Takeshi makes a small affirmative noise, but says nothing.

“If it’s a good thing, why are you still grumpy?”

Frowning, Takeshi rolls onto his side, facing away from the two of them. Pi sighs, rolling his eyes and lying down as well. His arm is flush up against Takeshi’s back. Even with as annoying as he’s being, Pi knows Takeshi can’t sleep well without someone close by.

“You know, you wouldn’t be having this whole problem if you just told her how you feel,” Pi says, re-breaking the pause of silence. Takeshi sighs, curling slightly in on himself.

“You don’t get it.”

“I really don’t. Explain it.”

Pi’s getting frustrated. It used to be funny - especially when they were still kids - teasing and making jokes about Takeshi’s crush, watching him blush around her or pout when other guys paid her attention. Now it’s starting to get irritating.

Takeshi takes a deep breath. There’s a long silence. Pi glances sideways at him, watches as Takeshi puffs out an exhale. After a while, he still says nothing and Pi sighs. Yu glances at the two of them, then just gets up to turn the light off.

Pi and Yu fall asleep soon after.

Takeshi is still awake, deep in his thoughts.

‘Explain it’.

He doesn’t know how to. 

Everything falls back into rhythm for the next week.

Takeshi and Hinami slip back into their normalcy. He still can’t work up the courage to tell her. Hinami starts to confess and then stops herself more than once; the timing’s always wrong, or the place; any internal excuse to argue that she’s not still a coward.

It’s easy to say nothing about it, to stay friends, but Hinami’s heart still aches. 

Clambering up through one of Nameless’ buildings, Hinami finds Smokey exactly where she expects him to be. He likes to spend his time up there, high up above Nameless City. The air’s clearer up here, and there’s nothing obstructing the view of the sky. 

Smokey’s head is dropped back, his eyes closed. There’s a slight breeze that blows through his hair; she ignores the way he’s starting to go grey. He looks relaxed. She almost feels bad for interrupting, but then he looks at her and smiles. Stepping up, she leans beside him. Her head drops back, staring skyward. He soon follows suit.

The sky is bright and blue; there’s clouds far in the distance, slowly rolling in towards Nameless City. Quiet, Hinami distracts herself by trying to find some shape in the clouds.

“Something on your mind, Hinami?” Smokey asks finally, breaking the silence. She sighs quietly. Turning, she leans her arms on the railing. Her mind runs, trying to piece together her thoughts. She starts slowly.

“I was looking for some advice … for a friend.” What a lie. “There’s these two people, they’ve been friends for a while, but one of them really likes the other. Like, more than just as a friend. But … she -”

“You mean you and Takeshi right?”

Hinami stops, turns her head towards him to blink widely. She should’ve known better than to try and put one over on him; she’s not that great of a liar, especially when it comes to the guys who know her. Smokey chuckles, then continues.

“I’m not that blind.”

He’s joking, but it makes Hinami frown. She didn’t like to be reminded on it, that his eyesight was leaving him. There’s a blue-ish film that’s been starting to take over his brown eyes, his pupils aren’t quite as dark as they should be. They’re odd, and concerning. It’s yet another thing they didn’t have the money to help fix.

He nudges her bicep slightly with his elbow, prompting her to speak. She sighs, leaning heavier on her arms, her gaze turns over the rough lines of the buildings.

“I don’t know how to tell him how I feel.”

“Is it really so complicated?”

Her brows furrow.

“Yes?”

“I’ve never seen two people who understand each other as well as you and Takeshi do. Feelings are loud, actions speak loudly. Maybe some things don’t need to be spoken with words.”

Confused, she frowns slightly. As she falls quiet again, she leans her temple against Smokey’s shoulder, turning his words over in her head. Actions, could she somehow make Takeshi understand without having to speak it out loud? Or were the words necessary?

Turning his head, Smokey presses a short kiss to the dark crown of her head. It wasn’t often that Hinami got caught up in her head, but he was always honoured to be the one she turned to for help.

“I’m sure you’ll both figure it out. Don’t stress too much, Hinami.”

It’s a dreary day at Nameless. It’s only been a few days since her conversation with Smokey. The heat’s still sticking around, but it’s more the humidity now, hanging in the air with the thick dark clouds.

It’s always bad when it rains in Nameless City.

A lot of the buildings have leaks in the roofs, some of those same roofs are on the verge of breaking under the weight of gathered water; the ground gets muddy and it takes ages for the puddles to dry up in the days after; the Rude Boys have to be careful as they run around, lest they slip on the water, Pi had almost fallen off a roof once.

With Hinami hanging out with Lala, Takeshi, Pi and Yu are left to their own devices. Smokey’s up in his perch. They don’t like to bother him, they know he needs his rest, even if he says he’s watching out for trouble in Nameless up there.

Since Pi prides himself on being the best in Nameless, whenever Hinami gets close to beating him, Takeshi and Yu know they’re in for having to train with Pi. She’d almost managed to beat him the day before, catching him on a misstep. 

The trio have already run their usual track three times before finally convincing Pi to let them take a break. Sitting up on one of the sturdier rooftops, Takeshi’s sweating and laid back on the roof to try and soak up any form of coolness out of the metal. It’s only now that they’re noticing how bad the weather’s getting.

Yu whacks Pi in the bicep.

“Ooh! I call dibs on Takeshi’s side of the room!” Yu cries, gleeful. Pi groans, dropping his head back.

Takeshi stares, his brows furrowing as he sits up.

“What do you mean?”

Yu rolls his eyes, motions towards the grey sky with the half-empty water bottle in his hand, as if it’s obvious. When it doesn’t click for Takeshi, he explains.

“It’s going to rain. You always go sleep with Hinami when it rains.”

“No, I d-” he cuts himself off, frowning, “Well, she doesn’t like the rain.”

“Yeah, we know, but she never comes down to our room, you always go to her’s; so your spot’s free and it’s the spot that never gets hit by leaks.”

Takeshi gives it a moment’s thought, then kicks the side of Yu’s thigh.

“You’d better not be eating where I sleep.”

The cloud cover is so dark it’s hard to tell when it turns over from day to night. When the rain starts, it rolls in like a wave. It’s heavy, it’s loud. Storms are always loud in Nameless; the clattering metal roofs, the hollows that scream back echoes, the wind howling through the city. The electricity is usually bad in Nameless, it’s worse when storms roll in. Everyone’s stuck with battery-powered lanterns and whatever small fires they can keep out of the wet. 

Hinami is holed up in her room, she has been since the rain started.

It rained the day her parents abandoned her at Nameless City’s entrance. She remembers being left on the cold ground and watching them walk away; with no crutches or prosthetic, she’d been unable to get up and follow after them. They didn’t even look back as she cried out for them. The rain blurred them out until they were just … gone. And they stayed gone. The storm that day hadn’t helped to disguise her tears, and her sobbing hadn’t been drowned out by it; that much had been lucky for her at least, since her crying had drawn out Takeshi, who’d then gotten Smokey and Pi to help get her into shelter.

The memories come back every time it rains. Her parents leaving, her desperate cries for them to come back and not leave her, the wet chill covering her. They hadn’t even left her with a jacket.

Sitting in her small room, she’s trembling. The sound of rain comes from all sides. It’s bordering on thunderous on her roof. Curled in on herself on her futon, she’s got her ratty blanket covering her head as if it could dampen the noise.

There’s a soft knocking at her door, then the click of it opening and closing behind someone stepping in. She doesn’t need to look to know who it is. 

It’s hard to get to Nami’s room while dodging the rain. A lot of the regular paths get flooded quickly, and risking the fast way is a bad idea with how bad it’s coming down. So he has to slip through other routes, trying to stay dry. His jacket’s wet and his hair flops in his face when he finally slips into Nami’s room.

Her room is dim and the rain is noisy. His gaze casts around. She’s propped a bucket in the corner where the worst leak is, there’s a steady drip he’ll have to try and figure out a fix for.

Soon, his eyes set on her. She’s huddled beneath her blanket, trembling slightly. He sighs quietly. He should have gotten here earlier, but the rain came in too quick. She hasn’t even taken her prosthetic off.

Toeing his shoes off at the door and dumping his damp jacket on the ground, he moves to crouch down next to her.

“Nami,” he says, gently resting a hand on her shoulder. Slowly, she tugs the blanket down, peering at him. There’s tears in her eyes. Softly, he brushes messy dark strands back from her face, noting that her hair’s a bit wet. “Let’s get your prosthetic off, okay?”

She nods, quiet, and he helps her sit up, moving to crouch on her other side.

Slipping off the prosthetic, he sets it in it’s usual spot by the futon. She hugs her other leg close to her chest, sniffling quietly as she watches him. Takeshi starts unravelling the bandage next. She’ll probably need a new one, this one’s getting a little tatty, and it’s slightly damp like everything else she’s wearing. She must’ve gotten caught out in the rain.

There’s a clash of thunder and Nami flinches.

Takeshi makes quick messy work of rolling the bandage up, dropping it by her prosthetic and then hopping back over to the open space on the futon. Immediately, she curls into his chest and he lies them down. He pulls the blanket up, then wraps his arms around her. She’s still trembling slightly, so he runs his hand up and down her spine, hoping to settle her.

Shifting her head, she leans her ear flat against his chest. She’d once mentioned in passing that she found his heartbeat comforting. He feels her take a deep breath.

“You know I love you, right?” She says quietly.

His chest tightens. There’s a short pause of silence, only the sound of heavy rain, until he finally swallows and manages to reply.

“Yeah. I know. I love you too.”

Hinami feels lucky he can’t see her face at his angle as she mushes her cheek against his chest. A small frown creases her mouth, but it’s not from the rain now.

He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get how honestly she means it.

She loves him. More than platonically. 

“I’m hoping for good news,” Cosette says, passing her a soda as he drops onto the couch beside her. Hinami frowns, cracking the can open.

“You’re going to be disappointed then,” she replies. Cosette sighs loudly.

“Seriously? It’s almost been two weeks,” he complains. “I really thought after that day with Marco and I, you two would’ve made some progress.”

Hinami leans back into the couch, sighing herself. The couch is cushy, almost uncomfortably so. Nothing in Nameless is so soft. She practically sinks into it. The SMG’s place is nice. It’s all clean and there’s no leaks in the roof and their fridge is fully stocked. The Rascals really have it made.

But she’s distracting herself, looking around the place.

“I don’t know how to tell him. I don’t have the words,” she says finally, her voice soft, her gaze turned towards the ceiling. “I can’t just say I ‘like’ him, or that i ‘love’ him, that’s stuff we’ve said to each other before, as friends. It’s not like I can just kiss him, if he doesn’t feel the same way, then I would just mess everything up.”

Marco, sitting in an armchair, stares pointedly at Cosette. A silent conversation plays out, a push to just tell her, since he’s already been meddling this long. Hinami is just sitting quietly, staring at the blank clean leakless ceiling, mulling over her thoughts.  Finally, Cosette relents.

“Takeshi has a crush on you.”

Hinami sits up quickly.

“What? Who -”

“Yu told us. Back when Marco asked you to lunch,” Cosette pauses, Marco fixes him with a look, so he continues, “Takeshi’s apparently tried to confess before but kept chickening out. I thought if he saw you going on a date with Marco, it would push him into acting … or that I could convince you to confess if you liked him back.”

Hinami stares, dazed. She can’t even be upset that Cosette had kept it from her this long.

“He … likes me back? You’re sure?”

“Well, Yu and Pi were sure. And Takeshi looked like he wanted to kick Marco’s ass because he thought he was flirting with you.”

She stands up quickly, almost enough to send her toppling at the sudden pressure on her prosthetic but Cosette catches her arm.

“I’ve got to go,” she says. Cosette and Marco stare at her, then each other, back at her, then speak at the same time.

“What are you going to do?”

“What are you going to say?”

Hinami’s throws her shaking hands up in something of an ‘I don’t know’ motion.

“I don’t know, but I’ve got to do something now before I wimp out again.”

It’s not too long a drive back to Nameless City, certainly not long enough for Hinami to come up with a good plan. She has something of a plan though. An inkling. A whisper. It’s enough. It has to be. She still can’t find the words, but maybe she can manage action.

She throws a wave off to Marco and Cosette as she scrambles off the back of Marco’s bike outside Nameless’ entry. The sun is starting it’s afternoon descent.

There’s confidence spurring her forward, she lets it drag her. It’s like she’s being drawn on a string, like it’s tied around her waist and hauling her into motion, like the other end is tied to Takeshi and it’s drawing her to him.

Just like that, she finds him easily, lazing around with Smokey, Lala, Pi, and Yu. The string draws taut and she stops in front of where Takeshi’s sitting and bickering with Pi. She dumps her jacket in Pi’s lap, but her gaze is focused only on Takeshi. Before either can get a word out, she’s speaking.

“Race me.”

Pi looks up, opens his mouth to speak, but Hinami’s cutting him off.

“Not you. Takeshi. Race me. On the old track, the one with the jump.”

The jump she’d never managed to make, always stopping short and never throwing herself forward. It was a long leap between two roofs, she’d always been too scared to try and jump it. They - her and Pi - had since decided on a new path around Nameless whenever they raced now, but they all knew the old path.

“Okay,” Takeshi replies finally.

He seems to notice how serious she is, the almost-vibrating tension in her. Rocking up onto his feet, he stretches his arms above his head. Hinami bounces slightly on her prosthetic, high strung with energy. She’d often flit about while getting ready for a race with Pi or Yu, but this was different. There was more at stake, it’s now or never.

If she can’t find some way to make him understand now, she doesn’t know that she ever will.

With a short nod to their friends, the pair jog off to the starting point. It’s halfway up the Nameless City scaffolding, but not quite at the top of the city. The way up to the roofs is part of the path, it’s a complex route for testing both skill and speed.

Amused curiosity flickers across Takeshi’s features as he glances sideways at her, but seeing how focused Hinami is, he can’t bring himself to ask what’s got her so riled up. They don’t race as often as her and Pi, in fact she’s managed to beat him more than once. She’d once teased he wasn’t as much of a challenge anymore, so he doesn’t know why she’s asked him now. From the look on her face, it surely can’t be just for fun.

There’s the briefest pause at the starting point, then they’re both darting off. They’re matched in speed and their own specific techniques, enough to be neck and neck. As they run, Takeshi notices the smile that grows on her face. She’d always loved the excitement of a race, and he’d always loved to watch the thrill shine on her features.

They rise up, up, up the twists of scaffolding until they’re running on the far flat plains of the the roofs.

Hinami doesn’t glance his way at all. She’s laser focused. Her gaze is intense. She knows what needs to happen. It’s a chain reaction she needs, a line of dominos knocking over. She’s just got to make it to the jump, then she’s sure it all will fall into line.

Takeshi’s expecting the turn. Since Hinami had been stopping short at the jump, they’d changed the path before completely redesigning the route in a different part of Nameless. As they get close to the jump, Takeshi starts to turn, but Hinami doesn’t. His steps falter. He just watches, waiting to see if she stops but hoping she finally goes for it.

She reaches the edge of the roof. And she soars.

Staggering slightly when she lands, she still manages to stay upright. When she turns to look at him, she looks just as surprised as he does. With a holler, he takes off, following suit to jump and land on the roof with her.

“I did it,” she says, breathless, shocked, “I actually made it.”

When she stumbles slightly, Takeshi reaches out to catch her waist and steady her. She laughs, then flings herself at Takeshi to squeeze him into an excited hug. His own arms gather around her waist, hugging her back tightly, his excited laugh joining her’s. They’re both breathing hard, hearts pounding.

Settling, they start to pull away, but Hinami doesn’t move far out of his grip, his hands still steadying her at her waist. Her wrists rest on Takeshi’s shoudlers. There’s only inches between them.

She still doesn’t have the words, but maybe Smokey was right, maybe they don’t have to be said.

They’re so close. Hinami’s gaze flickers from his eyes to his mouth than back to meet his gaze. She watches his eyes draw the same pattern on her face. Some kind of understanding clicks, flowing between them. There’s a short nod from her, a slight dip of her chin, just barely noticeable.

When they start to lean in, it’s not a smooth motion, staggered and janky, as if expecting the other to suddenly leap away. When neither does, it spurns them quickly into motion. Hinami doesn’t know if she closes the gap or he does, but nevertheless, they meet each other in the middle.

The first kiss is short. A quick meeting of lips, as if testing the waters.

The second is slow, growing passionate while savouring the feeling. Takeshi pulls her in flush against him, his hands sliding over the small of her back. Her arms draw around his neck in reply, pulling him in closer too.

When they part, their gazes meets for a second. It feels ridiculous now, how they’d been toeing around the edge of ever saying anything for so long. They share a short breathless laugh, leaning their foreheads together.

Slowly, the sun sets, casting Nameless in it’s orange glow and, when it’s disappeared below the horizon and the sky is dark and twinkling, Hinami and Takeshi return back to their friends, smiling warmly and hand-in-hand.

[givereadersahug]

Non-AO3 Snarry Fics

I'm sure some on this list are also on AO3, but AO3 is currently down and I've been using the time to finally catch up on Snarry Games fics. Here are some I read that I enjoyed. (I'll come back to edit with AO3 links once the site is up, if it's on the site.)

*crossposted on Dreamwidth*

Title: 52 Hours

Author: jin_fenghuang

Pairings/characters: Harry Potter/Severus Snape, Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley

Rating(s): NC-17

Warnings/Tags: Humor, voyeurism

Word Count: ~6800

Summary: Ron to the rescue. When Ron sees more than he ever wanted he decides that there can only be one explanation: Snape has to have done something to Harry. But what?

Title: The White Door

Link: LiveJournal

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Author: Vain

Pairings/characters: Harry Potter/Severus Snape

Rating(s): R

Warnings/Tags: Dark

Word Count: ~4000

Summary: Chains are not the only way to imprison a person, but what escape is there when you yourself are the warden? –

Title: Dalliance, a Convenience

Link: LiveJournal

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Author: dracofiend

Pairings/characters: Harry Potter/Severus Snape, Severus/OMC

Rating(s): R

Warnings/Tags: infidelity

Word Count: 5350

Summary: It's an ordinary convenience that Severus enjoys.

Title: Playing Azkaban

Link: InsaneJournal

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Author: fuschia

Pairings/characters: Harry Potter/Lily Evans/Severus Snape

Warnings/Tags: underage

Rating(s): R

Word Count: ~6200

Summary: Using a pensieve confiscated during a raid, Harry enters two memories of Snape and Lily that Snape has left behind.

Link: InsaneJournal

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Title: Act Five: Deconstruction of an Architect

Author: dacro

Pairings/characters: Harry Potter & Severus Snape (mentor relationship)

Rating(s): PG-13

Warnings/Tags: AU (London 1884-1894)

Word Count: ~8500

Summary: A reporter once asked of me, ‘Sir. If the most notable moments of your life were to be documented for the stage, how many acts would there be, and what would they be called?’ I was of a mind to ignore him, and yet an answer came to my lips—much to my surprise. “Four acts—in no certain order: Death of a Father, Death of a Servant, The Bridge, and The Arrival of the Boy." There is also this movement, a fifth and final act that I neglected to share with him. It has no title as of yet.

Link: InsaneJournal

[thelavenderelf]

Unstable Chapter 7 WIP

This chapter is taking SO LONG to write, and it's even more monstrous than the last one (currently looking at over 8500 words and I'm still not done writing). There is also a hint of what the sequel to Unstable will entail ;D So please enjoy the unedited part 1 of this chapter:

The first time Sylvana visited Nightingale Hall, it was dilapidated and cold. Memories that weren’t hers seeped from every crack in the stone walls, reaching out to her like the frail hands of a beggar, yet she was the desperate one. It feels like every time she’s here, she’s desperate; ready to sign her soul away just to get through the situation she is in. And here she is once again, sitting in the hall desperate for a solution, but at least she is in much cozier surroundings. It now feels like a proper home with the candle light and much cushier furnishings. 

“I can't thank you enough for doing this,” Sylvana says as she watches Karliah flip open a journal filled with sketches and notes on botany and potions. Each diagram is meticulously detailed with curly handwriting, explaining alchemical knowledge far beyond her simple understanding. What little she knows is from Karliah herself, the amazing woman she looks up to for so much. She’s able to pick out a few words as she props her head up on the table they sit at in Nightingale Hall. 

“You don’t have to. Kaidan is a friend,” Karliah states as she sets the journal open on a page of anatomical drawings of the effects of a type of poison on the body. “I won't be able to concoct a true antidote without knowing the exact ingredients, but I may be able to make something that will help based on his symptoms. Now, was his tongue blue?”

“Um, not that I saw,” Sylvana answers as she twirls a strand of hair around her finger, slightly tugging at it.  

“Okay, any purple crust around the entrance wound?” 

“No.” 

“Spots on the back of his neck?” 

Sylvana shakes her head. She can barely remember anything peculiar about Kaidan, but she chalks it up to being too distracted by the fact that he wasn’t waking up. 

“Is there anything you can tell me?”

“This may be a bit of a stretch, but I think I may have been struck with a similar knockout poison. The only thing that really stood out to me was that I dreamed.” 

“You dreamed?” Karliah raises a brow as she shuts her journal. “Are you sure you were poisoned?”

“I’m certain. I even found the bottle.” Sylvana pulls it out of her pouch and hands it over. 

Karliah uncorks it before taking a sniff, instantly recoiling from it. “Ugh, imp stool.”

“Yeah, it’s nasty.” 

“Hmm, I think there is a hint of mugwort which is strange, but it could explain the dreaming. An odd choice for a coma poison though.”

Sylvana’s eyes drift to the side, thinking of the strange Dunmer she met in Dawnstar. If anyone were to know a thing or two about dreams, it would be an ex-priest of Vaermina. Perhaps she should send Erandur a letter. “If only we could ask who made it.”

“Well, most alchemists add a hidden signature onto the bottle as a way to track them. If we’re lucky, we might be able to tell if this was bought at a shop or not.”  Karliah says before holding the small bottle up to a torch. “Ah, see! There is a bee scratched onto the bottom of the bottle.”

“A bee? As in the letter or the insect?” 

“The insect! Look!” Karliah passes the bottle back and Sylvana holds it up, scanning the crudely drawn bumblebee scratched onto it. 

“Do you recognize it?” 

“I don't, but it is a bit of a lead. Where did you get this?” 

“Silverhand,” Sylvana sighs. 

“Silverhand? What are they doing going after you?”

“I’ll spare you the gory details, but I raided a base of theirs, and turns out they all got sticks up their ass.”

“Was it at least worth it?” 

“As long as Kaidan lives? Yes.”

“I will do what I can to make sure of that, but I do want to examine him myself before attempting to make an antidote. I’ll head out in the morning, but there are a few stops I need to make before I go to Whiterun.” 

“Again, thank you. This means a lot.”

“Of course! And it’s good to see you again, even if it’s due to unfortunate circumstances.” Karliah smiles and grabs Sylvana’s shoulders before pulling her into a hug. 

“I know, I’m sorry it’s been so long. Everything has just been crazy, I can hardly keep up myself.” Sylvi relaxes in the embrace of her friend, letting everything go for just a moment. 

Karliah pulls back, only to cup Sylvana’s face to examine it like a doting mother. “I see that. You look tired, my dear. Have you been taking care of yourself?” 

“I’m alive, aren't I?” She offers a tired smile, but it only makes Karliah tut and shake her head. 

“Well, that is better than dead,” Karliah says as she pats Sylvana’s cheek. She moves to the other side of the room where she grabs a rucksack and begins to pack it. “Have you spoken to Brynjolf yet?” 

“Karliah!” 

“What? He’s been a mopey, neurotic mess who won't leave me alone since you’ve left. I’m surprised he didn't follow you out here.”

“I’m sure he’s not far behind,” Sylvana groans, plopping her head onto the table. She shouldn’t be surprised he’s acting this way despite the way they left things. He may present himself as this carefree man, but underneath is a graveyard of memories buried under mounds of anxiety that make him believe everything can fall apart in a moment. It’s been especially bad ever since Mercer betrayed the guild. The worst part is that she only adds to it. 

“He told me what happened, and I let him know what a fucking s’wit he is.” Karliah puts her journal into her bag, closes it up, and places the whole thing carefully near her bed. “I just don't understand what that boy was thinking, but that’s not why I ask. Maven’s been trying to move in since your disappearance, claiming that your absence nulls the contract.” 

“That contract has been nulled since we repaid our debt.” 

“She claims we still owe her, and I fear that she will continue to do so until she owns the entire guild.” 

“I won’t let that happen.”

“Sylvi, it was Maven who set you and your friends up on that job. She’s going to do everything she can to make sure it does happen. Look, I know you have a lot on your plate, but don’t forget about the responsibility you have to the guild.  And don’t forget that the guild is here to help you too. You’re not alone in this.”

Sylvana rubs her brow, attempting to soothe the headache starting to bloom. Of course, it was Maven, she should have known. This is perfect, just another problem to deal with. 

Fuck, she needs a drink. 

[splendidissimus]

2004 - I haven't slept in days, but who's counting?

((Content warning: brief mentions of SA / nsfwhump / incest / sexual situations, imprisonment, emotional abuse, captivity, sleep deprivation, starvation (minor) ))

((Promptspiration: @whumptober 2023: day 12: I haven't slept in days, but who's counting? / Insomnia @whumpitlikeyoumeanit: "Whumpee tied up alone in a bare room... by Caretaker." (Hey, I'm allowed to use my own prompts, right?) ))

Description I feel is necessary: Draco is going insane from lack of sleep from a new potion, and his family have to confine him until it wears off, and Draco goes Full Malfoy in trying to get out. It's frankly hard to tell who is keeping whom hostage. He is brutal. This has Big Rough Draft Energy. It should probably break 10k words when done properly, but there is some yadda-yaddaing to hit the highlights.

Genre: whump

Romance level: some

Angst level: 4/5

Draco's headspace: vicious / irrational

((words: ~8500))

------------------------------------

Draco's previous record for going without sleep was five days. And then he had started hallucinating a little bit, which, yeah, obviously wasn't ideal. He had solved that, though. Now he was on day eighteen and he was fine — beyond fine. He had solved everything. Sleep was no longer a necessity, and it was glorious.

But they didn't understand. Or they were jealous. They were trying to make him sleep. They didn't know he'd already anticipated that, too. Theo had been watching him take his sleeping potions for three days now, and he obediently took it and made a show of being 'sleepy'. But what he didn't know was that Draco had developed — well, bought the formula for and then tweaked — the perfect antidote. He was now completely immune to sleeping potions, spells, hexes, curses, potions, poisons, and magical effects. Let them try. 

-

Theo stood in front of Lucius' excruciatingly neat desk with his hands behind his back, weathering his silently judgmental gaze and the more oblique inspection of the Elizabethan portrait behind him. Time was, that would have made him feel like he was a naughty student pulled up in front of McGonagall again; now he couldn't be bothered. "I need help getting Draco to Saint Mungo's." 

"Why?"

He sighed through his nose. "He hasn't slept in…" He shook his head. "I don't know how long, but I'm betting it's a lot longer than it should be. At least a week."

"It's your job to be keeping an eye on these things."

"Hey," he said firmly, rejecting the blame. "I'm doing the best I can. Do you forget how sneaky he is? I'm not the one who raised him to be a perfect liar who thinks he needs to hide stuff like this." Lucius raised one eyebrow, but Theo declined to be intimidated. "He's not just been avoiding sleep, he's been actively faking it. I knew something was up so I've sat there and watched him take his potions, watched him apparently fall asleep. I think he's developed or bought a new potion that nullifies sleep magic, so he just waits 'til I've gone. Hours, if he has to." 

"I was under the impression you were the one managing his potions."

"It's not like he's not got the use of his arms!" He threw up his hands in exasperation. "If he wants to go brew potions whilst my back is turned, there's nothing going to stop him. Unless you're going to hire in two more nurses and a house elf to physically hold onto him every hour of the day, he's going to be doing some stuff on his own, and some of it's going to be wrong, with the ideas he gets in his head and chases. And frankly, two nurses, a house elf, and me wouldn't be enough to stop him doing something he really wanted to, because you know there's only one thing that can even mostly control him."

"And, unfortunately, he can control her in turn," Lucius distantly agreed, tapping a quill on the blotter and looking thoughtful. 

The caught Theo a little off guard, because he was pretty sure he'd never heard Lucius agree with him so casually before, without couching it in insult or begrudging or some manner of sneer. Wait. Was the secret to getting Lucius Malfoy to interact with you like a human being just… standing up to him? Wow, that would have been nice to know years ago. 

"How is he functioning?"

"Weirdly well." Theo sat down in one of the chairs this side of the desk. "I want to be clear that I'm pretty sure he's off his nut, but at a casual interaction, you don't notice it. He seems energetic and in a good mood. A little volatile, but that's not really unusual."

"Is it actually a problem, then?" Lucius pointed out. "If he's found a way to be able to function without sleep, he might benefit from it."

"I did say he was off his nut, didn't I?" he pointed out. "But that's the problem, it's so subtle it doesn't look like a problem. Doesn't even sound like a problem when I try to explain it. But it's like… Okay, you know how when he's drunk, you can have whole hours of conversation, and it seems fine because he's all confident and charismatic, but if you really pay attention you notice he's not actually really responding to what you said at all? It's like that. His confidence and charm are carrying him, but I think he's actually starting to make really questionable decisions. For the moment it's mild enough that it looks like brilliance or eccentricity, but it won't last. And I want to point out that he's interacting with the public, just, constantly. He's going in front of the Wizengamot next week. Do you want him to do that in this state?"

Lucius made an acknowledging noise without actual words, continuing his pensive look.

"Plus," Theo said, slowly, trying to choose his words to phrase this with both the proper respect for Draco but also acknowledgment of the problem, "right now, he's in a good mood. He's basically treating everything as a game. Even me trying to sedate him, it's just a competition to him. That's fine, it's a good look for him. But I'm… kind of concerned… about what happens when that changes. If someone pisses him off, you know, with his,"  accidental, "magic and no impulse control? Or if something scares him, how'll he react?"

"It's a concern," Lucius allowed. 

Draco was naturally emotional; most of his moods were brief, but intense, turning like the weather. He was naturally cheerful and bright, and when he was up he was incandescent. But when he was down, he was brutal. 

—

((yadda-yadda-ing over the cat-and-mouse of actually capturing him))

—

Lucius brought Narcissa to the drawing room. "Take us off the floo network."

"What?"

"I'll get it repermitted, we can live without it for a month."

"Tell me what is going on."

"Draco hasn't slept in weeks. We can't let him leave." 

"That's absurd, if he truly hasn't slept he clearly should be in the hospital—"

"He just set fire to the house for a distraction, and Confounded you." That made her stop abruptly. "In the middle of a conversation, wandless and wordless. That is dangerous." It was impressive and could be beyond useful, but in this situation, uncontrolled… "And that's what he did to you. He can't be exposed to people he has no reason to care about." 

"That's hardly our concern. It's the healers' jobs to handle situations like this."

While her focus on Draco's wellbeing at the expense of everyone else was admirable, she was perhaps overconfident in their social stability. She thought that any repercussions for what Draco did would be easy to brush off — that everyone else must give him as much leeway as she did and forgive him as easily. 

"They can't hold him," he said flatly. "Putting him in the hospital will only give him more people to, at best, talk into releasing him — and more likely Confound or outright Imperius. Once he extracts himself from the hospital, he will be at large and increasingly more erratic. This may be our last chance to contain the situation."

"Draco does not need to be 'contained'. He has made it clear he has no intention of using the Imperius or of harming anyone." 

"When he's in his right mind," he pointed out. "In his right mind he would not be Confounding you to control a conversation. He has proven that he is still perfectly capable of using the Imperius, wand or no." She looked flatly displeased with his analysis, but didn't argue with it. "The best case scenario, should he make it out of the house now, whether to the hospital or of his own accord, is that his madness becomes public knowledge and his reputation is irreversibly undermined. The more likely outcome is that he destroys everything he's built and is eventually locked away, first in Saint Mungo's and eventually in Azkaban when nothing else can hold him."

"They would not."

"What else is there to do with a wizard who can control anyone he talks to and has no hesitation using it? They've no compunction imprisoning lunatics alongside criminals." 

Her lips pressed into a flat line. 

"Disconnect us," he repeated, stepping away. "I have Nott and the elf watching the doors so he can't Disapparate. I'll find him." 

She considered the fireplace thoughtfully as he left. 

—

When she went to her parlour, she wasn't surprised to find Draco there; he knew his father was looking for him and knew Lucius wouldn't come here, at least not until he exhausted everywhere else. He looked up from the book in his lap, chin resting on his fingers, a little smirk playing about his lips.

She allowed that she could believe Lucius' assessment that he wasn't entirely in his right mind. Lucius only ever saw the worst possible outcomes, though. 

"Is your father right, that you haven't been sleeping?"

Draco shrugged a little bit without changing expression. He seemed only mildly amused. "He might be."

"He considers this a problem worth solving." She studied him, the edge of smugness with which he was regarding her. "So do I," she added. "I need you to go to the hospital." 

He looked at her for several seconds without changing expression, but turning his ring around his finger with his thumb, then shrugged a little and set his book aside to stand. "Very well." 

Good — that would end this absurd situation with the least amount of drama possible. She nodded and led him out of her room, back to the floo fireplace in the drawing room. 

She was reaching for the floo powder when she heard a scuffle behind her and, turning, found the house elf latched onto Draco, just before they disappeared. 

—

Tolly Apparated with a struggling Draco down into a small room in the cellar where the wine had been moved out, leaving bare stone walls and ancient wooden cross-racks built into them. There was one solitary chair in the centre of the room. 

The very moment they appeared, Nott cast Incarcerus and caught Draco in magical ropes that bound his limbs and wrapped around his chest. Draco threw a wandless curse at him that deflected off a shield that Lucius raised just in the nick of time, and in the same moment, the elf took his wand from his robes and vanished. 

In the brief moment when Draco was disoriented by the loss of his wand, Lucius cast a different binding spell on him to replace the Incarcerus, because Draco would end that easily: the Living Rope curse, a Darker spell that needed the counter to be broken and would tighten as the subject struggled. It bound his wrists together and tied his arms behind him to the back of the chair, forcing him to sit. He also Silenced Draco, knowing that wouldn't hold long.

"I'll give you a moment to calm down," he said, pointed for Nott to leave behind him, and then stepped out of the room without turning his back, closed the heavy door firmly between them, and locked Draco in. 

Nott let out a heavy breath. "We got him."

"Yes. Now you have to identify and counter whatever he's been taking that allowed this to happen."

Nott nodded. "I have a sample of it. I can take it to Saint Mungo's and work it out with them."

"Horace Slughorn," he corrected.

"Ugh."

"Invoke Draco's name, and pay him whatever he's looking for." Lucius trusted people he was paying far more than those whose loyalties were split up between institutions and ideals that were hopefully encouraging them to do what he wanted. 

"I repeat: ugh. But fine. I'll work with Slughorn, for Draco."

"Master?" He looked down to see the elf at his feet, gingerly holding Draco's wand, and he immediately took it from her and set it on a high shelf that was now over-filled with disorganised wine bottles.

"You are not to free Draco," he told her, "tell anyone about this, or obey any of his orders until I tell you otherwise."

"Yes, Master…" She looked fearfully toward Draco's prison. 

His eyes narrowed slightly at her expression. That could be a problem. She obeyed him out of fear, propriety, and magic — but she actually liked Draco. A willful house elf had options. She might find a way to twist his words to allow her to help Draco, or manage to disobey his orders long enough to do so and then take the punishment. He needed to head that off. 

"This is for his good. He is unwell. He may sound reasonable, but he is not. Don't be fooled."

"Yes, Master." Her voice was more firm this time. "Mistress is coming," she added.

That wasn't surprising, but promised to be difficult.

Narcissa ran down to the cellar. "Lucius!" She was openly furious. The house elf cringed and disappeared, and Nott took one look at her and hurried up the stairs, managing to make his gangly frame scurry.

Lucius didn't move. "We have him," he said evenly. 

"You lied to me!"

"He can read you too easily. If you'd known the plan it wouldn't have worked." 

"You have no right to use me against my son!"

"Our son," he corrected patiently. "It isn't just you; he can read all of us. Whoever acted the bait would have been lied to. But you are the only one he would completely believe was trying to help him, so it had to be you leading him into the trap. I gambled that, it being for his sake, you would eventually forgive me." 

If she would eventually, she hadn't yet. Her expression only grew colder. "Where is he?" she demanded. 

He lifted his wand and drew a rectangle on the wall in front of him. The other side of the wall had been previously prepared, so his rectangle became semi-transparent, a greyish "window" into the room that was now Draco's cell. He was generally facing their direction, still bound to the chair, head hanging onto his chest. The light was coming from one torch beside the door, and there was a portrait on the side wall, the same Elizabethan Lucius Malfoy who hung in Lucius' study, currently looking fairly bored as he toyed with his walking stick and watched over Draco.

"What are you doing to him?" Her voice had risen, somewhere between fury and fear. Though she can't have thought he would actually harm him. It was likely just a shock to see him that way. 

"Ideally, I am stopping him from hurting anyone." 

"Lucius, this is mad!"

"Trust me." 

Nott's heavy step came down the stairs again, and hesitated, so Lucius glanced back at him to get him to speak. "He's still got his potions," Nott said. "I just thought about that. That might not be a good idea." 

He nodded toward the window again. "Relieve him of them."

"Right." He went around them and unlocked the door.

Draco lifted his head when he came in, and his eyes were wide. "Theo." His voice was breathy and relieved. "Thank Merlin, get me out of here…"

He knew better than to look him in the eyes, since that seemed to be helpful to Draco Confounding people, but it was hard. It was hard to see him like this at all. "I can't," he told him quietly, and came up to him, and started searching his pockets. 

"What? What do you mean, 'you can't'?" Draco squirmed to try to stop his search, but tied as he was it was only a little inconvenient. "Please!" 

"I'm sorry, Draco." He didn't find anything but Draco's potions bag and wallet in his pockets, and he cleaned them out quickly.

"Theo, Theo why are you doing this to me?" Draco pleaded, breath hitching. "Please look at me… please… Is it because I didn't want to suck your dick? I'm sorry, I just didn't feel good, but I will, I'll do whatever you want, just let me out. Please, I'll… you can fuck me, just please, please let me out," he sobbed.

Theo fled out of the room and slammed the door. He could still hear Draco sobbing with the occasional 'please' from the other side. Narcissa was staring at him coldly, while Lucius continued to look through the window at Draco.

"I didn't." His words tumbled over each other. "It's not— I wouldn't—"

"It's fine," Lucius observed clinically. "He's opening strong." 

"This is not a game!" Narcissa snapped. 

"We'll see. Nott, stay here a few minutes."

Theo hung around, trying not to look at Draco. Instead he unshrunk the potions bag and started setting them out on the wine shelf beside his wand, labels facing out, so they could be grabbed if they needed them.

Draco's sobbing eventually faded away to silence, and then, in a few minutes, he dropped his head across the back of the chair so that he was looking at the ceiling. A few minutes after that, he started pushing the chair up on its back legs, balancing there. 

"Go back in," Lucius instructed.

Theo glanced at him, and at Draco, and then silently did as he was told. 

Draco dropped his chair down when the door opened, and raised his eyebrows very slightly when Theo came in. "Oh, you're still here." Both face and voice were completely normal. "I actually thought that might work. They are watching, aren't they?"

"More like might get me killed! Why would you say something like that? You know I'd never hurt you."

"Technically, I never said you did. I suggested that you were leveraging your power over me for sex, which, let's be honest…"

"I never have done!"

Draco shrugged a little and leaned his chair back again, going back to looking at the ceiling. "If that's what you really think." 

"Draco…"

"No hard feelings, right? I mean, you are keeping me prisoner." 

"Draco, we're just trying to help you. You need to sleep." 

"With friends and family like you, one hardly needs enemies."

"I'm sorry." Theo backed out of the room again, and this time he locked the door.

When he looked at Draco's parents, his mother was staring blankly through the window with her arms crossed, and his father had his hands clasped behind his back. 

"If either of you doesn't have the stomach for this," Lucius said, "it would be best you leave now."

Neither of them answered, but neither of them left, either. 

—

Near the top of the first hour, Draco began calling for his mother, and after a few minutes she gave in and went to him. He leaned forward as much as he could, bound to his chair, when she came in. "Mother, please…"

She felt his forehead with the back of her hand and summoned the elf to bring her a blanket. 

"Mother." He was looking up at her with wide eyes, vulnerable in his drawn face. "Mother, look what he's doing." There was a quaver of fear in his voice. "This is insane."

"It is for your good." She put the blanket around his shoulders. "It won't be for long. Once you sleep, this will all be over." 

"That's crazy, Mother. Look at this…" He twisted to try to show his bound wrists. "This isn't for sleep, it's for torture!" 

"No one is here to torture you." She ran her hand down his hair. "You only need to sleep."

"I can't, not like this. Who could?" 

She stood with him for a while, but it wasn't really sustainable. Eventually she made a minor adjustment to the blanket to make sure it was tucked around him to keep him warm. "I have to go, but you are not being abandoned," she promised. "I'll be right outside." 

"You're going to leave me here?" His voice was getting shrill with fear. 

"Only for now." 

She was almost out the door when he called out to her again, voice cracking on the edge of tears. "Why are you letting him do this to me?"

She didn't allow herself to look back and quickly left, closing the door between them, only then clenching her hand into a quiet fist. 

"He's trying to drive a wedge between us," Lucius said.

"I know." She still didn't want to look at him. She silently took herself back upstairs. 

—

When Theo got back from meeting with Slughorn in Hogsmeade, he found Draco still tied to that same chair, in that same position. "We can't at least let him walk around, or lay down, or something…?" 

"It isn't possible," Lucius said flatly. "We only barely caught him the first time. To give him back his hands is to give him back a dangerous amount of magic. He's dangerous enough as it is. Without being able to Stun him, this is what controlling him looks like."

Theo looked at Draco again with an uneasy feeling. He didn't really disagree… He'd seen, he'd been on the receiving end of, what Draco could do without a wand. But this didn't feel right…

"He's also willing to hurt himself to manipulate us," Lucius said distantly. 

Theo glanced at him quickly, then looked back into the cell. There was a smudged back mark on the stone wall, that spread toward the ceiling, and he realised Draco's blanket was gone. He'd set another fire, he surmised. Trying to force them to send him to the hospital by breathing smoke? Trying to scare them? 

"At least this way, his options are limited." 

"I understand…"

—

"I'm bored of you," Draco commented to the portrait. "Go away," 

"Would that I could," the portrait sighed. "But you're such a scintillating conversationalist I find myself rapt." 

"Of course," Draco said. "It's my conversation, not your orders to spy upon me that keep you here." 

"Of course it is." He yawned delicately behind his sleeve. 

Draco silently considered the painting for a minute or two, then narrowed his eyes to focus. "Diffindo," he snapped, and a great slice raked it way across the canvas. The portrait's inhabitant yelled and ran for safety in a different frame.

"And that's what I think about your spies, Lucius!" he called out to the empty room, and smirked toward the ceiling. 

It was hours before anyone came to deal with that, and in that time Draco's smirk soured into a cold glare. He glowered and shoved the chair back, scraping over the floor, ramming it against the wall to try to break it, to no avail, although it did make his hands hurt. Then he started ripping out the shelves with his magic, littering the ground with broken shards of ancient wood, occasionally grabbing them and throwing them around the air with a yell. Those bastards! They just left him there to suffer…

When the door unlocked, he jerked his head up, and just as it opened he yanked his head to the side, and with that motion the ruined portrait frame flew off the wall and slammed into the floor right at his father's feet, spraying him with splinters and forcing him to cover his face. 

"Oops," Draco said blandly. "I must be doing accidental magic. Seems someone's taken my wand." 

His father gave him an unimpressed look and shook splinters out of his sleeve. "You know that was meant to keep you from being alone." 

"You know what else keeps me from being alone? People. Like the kind that I can be around by not being locked in this room." 

"That is true," his father said mildly. "You should have a nap and then go find some." 

Draco raised his chin with a sniff and glared. 

"Elf," Lucius said, looking over the room, and Tolly appeared at the doorway. "Clean up this mess before you bring Draco's breakfast." He looked back at Draco. "Next time you feel like throwing a tantrum and destroying your only company, perhaps wait until it isn't the middle of the night so someone will be there to deal with it." 

"You know, that is the one thing you have over Rowle," Draco noted. "When he had me locked away, I could still see hints of daylight. Not with you, though. Your torture is much more effective. This deprivation really goes nicely with my warped sense of time. I can't tell if it's been an hour or a week I've been here. Bravo."

"Well, I would give you a clock," Lucius said, using his wand to draw up another chair by the door and taking a seat, legs crossed amidst the detritus of Draco's night, to look at him. "But clearly it wouldn't be long for this world." 

"Well, at least the gears would be more interesting to throw around than this junk." Draco looked at a large chunk of wine shelf meaningfully and it flew across the room, making the house elf yelp.

His father didn't respond to that, just fastidiously cleaned under his fingernails, and Draco glared at him with mounting resentment. He was so smug… 

"When Rowle had me prisoner," he abruptly snapped, "he made me suck his dick. You know, because that's what fairies do. Is that where we're going here?"

His father's eyes shot up. "Disgusting," he said icily. 

But it gave him a reaction, that soothing balm that gave him back the feeling of control, and, satisfied, he leaned back in the chair. "I know," he agreed. "But I'm not the one who has me tied up in a cellar, just like the last guy. Forgive me if I can't help but notice some unflattering parallels." 

"It doesn't have to be like this." 

"Oh, no, of course not. Let me guess: I made you do this. Or Voldemort made you do this. Or your father made you do this. You didn't make any choices that led to this situation. Poor Lucius, just swept around on the currents of circumstance." 

His father's eyes remained cold, but his voice turned steady and calm. Patient. "Stop this, Draco."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" 

"Very much," he sighed. "Your only enemy here is whatever demon inside your head is making you behave this way." 

"Not from where I'm sitting."

His father didn't answer, and his resentment began mounting again. In a while, he rocked the chair back into the wall, then again, testing how hard it hit his head each time. 

After the third, his father summoned the chair back, scraping, to the centre of the floor, and then cast a sticking charm to hold it in place, so Draco couldn't even rock it back on its legs now. Draco twisted around in the chair, feeling the ropes tighten, and couldn't keep from yelling out his frustration. "Just fuck off already and leave me alone!" 

"I will not." 

—

Because he'd destroyed the portrait, it now fell on the three of them and the house elf to keep watch over Draco at all times. It wasn't safe to leave him alone, and if he was alone they wouldn't know if he actually did start giving in to sleep. 

But the real reason was that Draco simply couldn't handle being alone. Isolation was far crueller to him than to most people, as had been demonstrated repeatedly in the last several years, and the point genuinely wasn't to torture him. If there were any real way to simply hold Draco in a warm, comfortable bedroom where he could chat with his friends and play games until he fell asleep, that would have been far preferable. 

But no. His wandless magic — wandless but mostly assuredly not accidental, every single attempted Confounding and thrown teacup and fire set was under his complete and calculated control — turned every every small luxury into a weapon or an instrument of self-harm, so that he could have nothing but bare stone walls even he couldn't hurt himself with. He turned every attempt at care into a new gauntlet of emotional sadism as he probed for a crack in their defences to exploit, so that his mother had to steel himself before she entered the room and whatever fresh hell of accusation or pathos he was going to heap on her, and Nott threw himself into the analysis of his potion so that he had something more productive to do than weather another storm of Draco's guilting and debasement.

It was hardest to handle because probably very little of what Draco said was an outright lie. That was what made him such an excellent manipulator — he had a real gift for weaponising the truth. It was quite possible the pitiable things he was saying were his real thoughts, or had a kernel of his real thoughts at the core of them, merely now laid bare in the way calculated to elicit the most sympathy, or, if that failed, to hurt them the most. Every cruel observation wasn't merely a cutting insult but a blow to the heart of genuine insecurities he had gleaned. All of his accusations had either crossed his mind, perhaps not what he believed, but things he had at some point felt, or were things he knew they were afraid of. And he knew exactly how to turn every one of those feelings into a deadly curse. 

The house elf was largely immune to Draco's attacks because he knew it was pointless to manipulate her, knowing it was impossible to get her to do anything for him against her master's orders, but she couldn't watch him at all times; aside from the needs of the house itself, which were being neglected, when Draco grew too bored he would still attack her just for amusement. 

Lucius took most of the time the house elf did not. It was as much his role to keep Narcissa and Nott from being bewitched by him and giving in to him as it was to keep him bound there, and the best way to do that was to minimise their time with him. 

He was the most suited to bearing Draco's attacks… and the only one who managed to turn Draco's mind elsewhere for any length of time. He was able, temporarily, to distract Draco and keep him calm by challenging him to mental chess, or directing him into debate or diatribe where his vitriol could have free rein without turning personal.

But it wasn't safe. Draco was always looking for an opening. He once used chess, of all things, as a cover to Confound him, and the elf pulled him out of the room before he could free him; Draco's laughter after that episode was still haunting. His attention could turn in an instant, and the moment Lucius let his guard down the vitriol did turn personal and he found a way to turn the words against him. 

Even he could not hold up under Draco's attention indefinitely. He didn't let Draco be alone for more than a half hour at a time, but he did have to retreat to the other side of the door for respite every few hours. He stood in the same spot whenever Narcissa or Nott took his place, on guard for Draco's influence, and left the room only when the house elf took over the duty. 

This was not sustainable.

—

"Damn it, Draco!" Theo was this close to throwing the toast in his face. He probably hadn't been eating enough during all that time the potion was keeping him awake, and now he was refusing food entirely. He hadn't had more than water and a few cups of tea since he'd been imprisoned, and his body was showing it. He was quickly going from thin to skeletal, with his clothes hanging off of sharp shoulders and the ropes biting into the knobs of his wrists. It was like the potion keeping him awake was eating him alive from the inside to do it. "This isn't about control!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I must have got confused by the ropes and the locked door."

"I'm trying to save your life!"

"Of course you are; if I weren't here you'd have to go out and find yourself an actual personality. Could you be any more pathetic?" 

Theo let out a helpless groan and dropped onto his knees, with his arms on Draco's lap, holding his head. "Draco… Please, just fucking don't die…" 

"If I do, Theo, it's not going to be my fault." 

—

Draco was crying. Not sobbing, but almost silently, shoulders shaking like he was trying to suppress it, head bowed into his chest so no one could see. 

"This has gone far enough," Narcissa said sharply, going for the door.

"Stop."

"You're the one who needs to stop! Look at what you're doing!"

"He's manipulating you."

"It's not fake," Theo said quietly, staring through the window at Draco. "I've seen him cry enough… that's real."

He flicked that away. "So it's not false. It's still intentional. He's been making and allowing himself to cry to manipulate you since he was two years old; this is not a new tactic. If you let it work this time you're dooming him."

She ignored him and pushed her way into the cell. Draco looked up, eyes wide and startled, then ducked his head, embarrassed, to wipe away his tears against his shoulders. 

"Mother…" 

She came and wiped tears off his cheeks. He resisted at first, then gave in and leaned into her hands with a sigh, eyes closing. Maybe this would relax him. Maybe that was what he actually needed to sleep.

"Why don't you ever protect me from him…?" he asked in a faint, flat voice. 

She drew a sharp breath through her nose and gently lifted his chin to search his face. His eyes flinched away from hers in quiet shame and looked away to the corner of the floor. 

"I know what you're trying to do," she said quietly, and ran her hand over his hair. "It isn't going to work." 

He didn't look up, or give up the act. 

She ran her hand over his hair again, and stepped back out of the room. Lucius started to move, but she made a sharp gesture at him with one finger and carried on up the stairs.

Because she knew that Lucius had harmed Draco. Maybe even hurt him. She had laid ultimata when Draco was young to keep Lucius' darkness and violence away from him. She had intervened when his discipline became too harsh. But they were both prone to operating in shadows, to hiding and secrets. What did she not know? Had she been too distant? Placed too much trust in him? Should she have stood between them more? Had she failed Draco? 

She knew she had, on some level. But not this badly… 

—

"I'm cold," Draco said quietly. His voice was submissive, almost broken. Tired of fighting. 

"Then you shouldn't have set your blanket on fire." 

"You're right. I was just… scared, I guess. I thought you'd have to let me go. I wasn't thinking clearly. May I have another?"

"No."

"…I understand," he said in a small voice, and let his chin hang onto his chest. He was quiet for a little bit before he spoke up again. 

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "For everything. I should have been better. You deserve better. I'm trying, I try so damn hard, I just keep… fucking everything up…"

He didn't respond. Maybe, if he'd thought Draco were actually saying something he meant, he would have, but as it was, it was better for it to just be noise.

Draco was quiet for almost long enough that he thought he meant to stay that way. When he did speak, his voice was low, but without a trace of submission or meekness. "You have to sleep eventually," he said in a quiet, nearly casual voice, and then lifted his head just enough to meet his eyes. His eyes were piercing and cold as any blade. "I don't." 

Lucius was not intimidated — Draco interpreting the fact that he stood that way would be a mistake. But he was a realist, and he knew when wariness was appropriate; if there were any one of them Draco would actually try to harm, it would be him, and it would be best to change the situation before he started getting ideas. "You will, eventually," he promised, and left the room. 

—

The quality of Draco's breathing changed.

Lucius looked up and studied him. He was leaning forward, gasping quietly, eyes on the floor. "Draco?" He stood warily.

"...heart..." Draco gasped out.

Damn it, he'd been afraid of this. He stepped behind him to look, but he saw exactly what he expected to: on his wrist, above the ropes biting into him, the wrist cuff that measured his heartbeat was flashing in rapid alarm. Between the fact that he couldn't take his daily heart regulating potion and the stress...

He stepped out of the room without a word, leaving the door ajar to listen to Draco and looking over the shelf of his potions. He had medications for all of this. There was an emergency sedative precisely for the times his heart ran out of control.

The problem was, they couldn't use them. Nott had brought up a good point: in Draco's mindset of subterfuge and paranoia, they had no way to know which of his medications he had laced with the problematic anti-sleep concoction, but every reason to believe he had done so.

They also had every reason to believe the specific heart medication for this situation would be completely ineffective, at best. It was a sedative. It slowed his heart, for sure, but it also put him to sleep. The chances that his anti-sleep potion would nullify the sleep effect but leave the heart effect intact were slim. It was a carefully balanced blend custom formulated for him, and mixing it with this effect would be reckless and dangerous, even if it weren't laced.

He touched the bottle of sedative, still considering it, for a moment. What was the alternative? Sit back and stonily watch him have a heart attack?

Inside the cell, Draco groaned weakly.

He supposed the real only option was to bring him to the hospital. Maybe he was weak enough or distracted enough they would be able to control him. The risks of what he might do were real, but it would keep him alive...

"Wait!" Nott's voice came from the stairs, and his tromping steps brought him into sight soon thereafter. "Hold on, Tolly got me..."

He narrowed his eyes slightly. Hadn't he been with Slughorn, presumably in Hogsmeade? Willful elf...

"You haven't given him anything, right?"

"No." He dropped his hand from the potions. "There's nothing safe to give him."

"I'll see if there's anything I can do." He hurried past into the cell.

Lucius watched from the doorway as Nott inspected Draco, crouching in front of him, taking his pulse, taking a reading with his wand... Draco weakly twisted to get away from him.

In a minute, Nott stood again, face stony. "Draco, you..." His wand hand clenched tight as he turned away. "He did it to himself," he said in a flat voice.

"What are you talking about?"

"He hyperventilated to speed up his heart to set off the alarm so we'd give him his tainted potions, or send him to the hospital where he could escape, or... fuck it, just to watch us panic, probably. Who knows. It's already slowing down because he can't keep that up."

"Then he was never in any danger," he realised coldly, staring at Draco.

"No, that's the fucking stupid part! It's so bloody dangerous! When that alarm goes off it means his heart's going a hundred and forty times a minute or more, and just because he did it on purpose doesn't magically make it all right! It's still damaging his heart, still wearing out the spells holding it together, he's still going to throw himself into shock or a heart attack, and fucking die, and he doesn't care!"

Draco could obviously hear them; they were still standing there in his cell and Nott's voice was raised nearly to a yell now. But he didn't seem to care. He took a deeper breath and leaned back in the chair.

"He's just..."

"If it's any consolation," Draco said behind him, "it feels rather unpleasant."

Nott whirled on him, wand clenched, then stormed out of the room. "You want these bloody things so badly?" He yanked a potion off the shelf on the other side of the door and threw it. It exploded like a bomb at Draco's feet, spraying shards of glass and muddy red liquid that looked like old blood. "Have them!" Another flew past his head -- Draco flinched away from it -- and exploded against the back wall. A third one hit the floor beside the leg of his chair and didn't break, but skittered away toward the corner. "Fucking choke on them."

Draco looked up without a word, and Nott stomped away. In a second he was back in the door, though. "I just really want you to know that I was aiming for you," he said. "I just fucking missed." Then he was gone. They could hear the door at the top of the stairs slam distantly.

"You don't have anything to say?" Draco shook his head, leaning forward, to make sure there was no glass in his hair.

Lucius summoned the stray potion to hand before it could be forgotten and give Draco the chance to get it. "I applaud his restraint."

—

"You're the reason I tried to kill myself," Draco said in a casual, intimate voice, too quiet for anyone outside the room to overhear even if they were watching. "The thought of living with you a moment more was unbearable. Of being beaten down by you, pushed around by you, of trying to be made to live like you. The only way I could see to get away from you was to take all my potions and never wake up." He leaned back, gaze seeming wistful. "Even afterward, I still wished it had worked. I wished that she'd been a few minutes later and hadn't saved me. Shall we tell her that?" He dropped unblinking eyes down to watch him. "I think she deserves to know that, don't you?"

Lucius watched him expressionlessly, unmoving. 

"Or are you going to let me out?"

"You can say whatever you feel you need to," Lucius said evenly. "You are still not leaving this room." 

"She will never forgive you."

"So be it."

—

"I've got it." Tolly was the one spending the hour with Draco, and so Theo managed to find his parents both in the room outside the cell. They could have been using this time to rest, but instead they were still using it to watch Draco, compulsively, just out of reach of his abuse. 

"The antidote. Slughorn wanted credit for Draco's anti-sleep potion and I told him he was welcome to it, since it apparently drives people fucking crackers. But I've got it." He showed off a phial the size of a large finger. "Now we just need to get him to take it." 

"Asking nicely seems to be out of the question," Lucius said dryly. "Will it be effective diluted in his food?" Well, tea, which was all Draco really ate. 

"It would be, but I don't think he'd take it. He's so paranoid, so vigilant, he'd know something was up." Theo put the potion and his hand back into his pocket, watching Draco with them. "What about acting like it's a sleeping potion? Then he'd think he was immune to it and drink it out of arrogance, to rub it in."

"Maybe two days ago," Lucius said. "He's more likely to destroy it out of spite, now. It's useless to try to Bind him or similar, a wandless Protego is almost signature…"

"Imperius," Narcissa said.

They were both quiet. 

"He wouldn't forgive you," Theo said after a long minute. "He already feels like we control him too much. The moment he got better, he'd leave and we'd never see him again. …If he got better at all, instead of having a breakdown and being locked up in Saint Mungo's."

Lucius nodded. "I would rather not, anyway," he admitted. 

"…Do we have to just physically hold him down and pour it down his throat…?" Theo wondered. 

"A better question is if we can."

"I have four doses. If he breaks a couple…"

Lucius glanced over at met his eyes, considering, then looked at Narcissa, and Theo followed his train of thought with a moment of realisation. It might work. He took out all four potions and held them out to Draco's parents, keeping one for himself and giving her two of them; she blinked at it and at him, then noticed they were looking at her. She looked back at Draco, and nodded as she took them. 

—

On the fourth day, less than twelve hours after being fed the antidote, the quality of Draco's manipulations had changed. When Narcissa came to give him his breakfast, relieving the elf of its vigil, he jerked his head up to look. His eyes were red and sunken into dark circles. "Mother… I give in, all right? Just tell me what you want." 

She studied his face as she finished up his tea. Whatever Lucius believed, she knew Draco, and she wasn't blind to his manipulations, even if she, perhaps, found them difficult to resist; she could see there was something else there now. An edge of desperation, a genuine franticness. Perhaps he was such a master manipulator he could have faked trying-and-barely-failing to cover up his desperation, but he wasn't, not now. "We don't want anything from you."

She helped him to drink his tea, but he turned his face away, and she touched his hair to urge him back toward it. "I only want you to sleep and get better," she said.

"There's got to be something else!" He whipped his head away from her, and the teacup ripped out of her hand and shattered against the wall. "Let me go!" 

When he flipped the tea tray on her, she left the room and sent the elf to get Lucius. Theodore arrived swiftly as well, but Lucius kept anyone from going back into the room. It was cruel, but it was necessary; Draco was becoming more erratic in his desperation. For the first time, the flashes of his magic throwing things around the room did actually seem accidental. It was probably more dangerous than it ever had been; manipulative, he would be cruel, but erratic, he could truly hurt someone from fear or rage and regret it in the next instant, when it was too late.

They could watch the crumbling of his will as the treatment faded, quickly now that the first cracks had formed. His chin sank toward his chest and then jerked up seconds later, over and over. He lolled his head and squirmed in the chair, trying to keep himself alert. He muttered to himself, nothing really sensible, and then broke out into a scream. "Don't make me sleep! Please, I'm sorry, just don't make me!" He broke down into brittle sobs. "Please… please don't…"

He continued begging for some time, growing more incoherent, the words slurring into an exhausted mumble that faded into wordless sobs as he lost the energy even to voice his futile pleading, knowing it would do no good, no one was coming. His sobs trailed away into hitching wet breaths, and those evened out as he finally cried himself to sleep. 

Narcissa closed her eyes in quiet relief once she realised he was actually, finally asleep, and Theodore actually sagged against the wall with his head in his arms. Her arms ached from gripping them so tightly. "Elf," she summoned. She heard an acknowledging squeak and, looking down, realised that it had been there watching from the corner as well. 

"Wait," Lucius said grimly, staring into the other room. "It may be a ploy."

She nearly snapped at him, for caring so little about their son that he could watch even that and only see an enemy, but then she noticed his face. He looked tired. Maybe not physically, or not only physically, but from bearing most of the weight of keeping Draco imprisoned, of having to remain hard-hearted because someone must. Yet he still had to make sure that it was safe before he allowed himself to relax. While they gave in to relief, he didn't let himself feel it yet.

He was starting to move, but she touched his arm. "I'll check." She unlocked the door to Draco's cell. His wariness was contagious, and she wasn't entirely unguarded as she approached the lonely figure bound to the chair. She still didn't believe that Draco would hurt her, even now, but if he was making some last desperate effort for his freedom, he could lash out wildly…

"Draco?" She crouched in front of the chair, looking up into his face. He looked… if not peaceful, then at any rate unaware. He didn't move at her approach, and the quality of his breathing didn't change. After a moment, she reached up and lightly cupped his cheek, pulling her fingertips through his hair for a moment. Then she looked back to the window and nodded.

Theodore entered with the potion bag, taking out a Dreamless Sleep. "To keep him down," he said unnecessarily, and she held Draco's head to help him feed it to him. Draco stirred and tried to wake, alarming her, and she stroked his hair, settling him back into his sleep. She kept him until the potion had time to take effect.

He stood up, hesitating, watching Draco. "I do have some Draught of the Living Death left," he quietly, leaving the decision to them.

She glanced at him and at Lucius, looked into Draco's face, and in a moment nodded. The idea of him waking up again anytime soon was… unbearable. She held him while he fed him that, and Draco's breathing slowed to imperceptibility. Compared to the last few days, it was still a relief. 

Lucius released Draco from his bindings and caught him as he collapsed. Blood dripped from Draco's fingertip, a thin line winding from the deep, raw circles that showed how he had struggled against the ropes over the last few days, and especially the last few hours. 

"Put him to bed," she instructed the elf. "I'll be there shortly."

"I'll go," Theodore volunteered. "He needs healing… He might still need the hospital…"

"I'll be there regardless," she said firmly. The elf disappeared with Draco's limp body, and Theodore hurried after them. 

She touched Lucius' back. "You did well."

"There is no guarantee he will be in his right mind even after sleeping," he warned, looking distantly at the now-empty chair. 

"If not, we will handle it then. Rest."